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kim-monsterlings · 3 years

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Edel - M Nokken x F Human (Reader) // NSFW

The pictures do not belong to me. I only created the mood board, with a thank you to @handy-dandy-monster-candy for helping edit the photos! Do not repost my work anywhere.

Content: NSFW/Lemon; mentions of moving home, selkie friend, light flirting, gifted flowers, bakery treats, slight angst, flirting with fae, kissing, receiving oral, penetrative sex (+ mention of protection), with a fluffy ending

Wordcount: 4302

Faebruary Summary: of your new neighbour and struggling to befriend him

Masterlist // Faebruary Masterlist

No more than twice before moving in had you met your soon-to-be neighbour. On both occasions – the first a tour of the cosy, ground floor apartment, and the second on the day of finalising the lease - he greeted you with the gentlest of handshakes, warmed by a tenderness born of restrained strength. He owned the building and lived in the flat across from yours, apparently for years now.

“Call me Edel. It’s my pleasure,” he’d said the first morning, with a tilted smile and a soft, almost musical accent. His voice distracted you the entirety of the tour so much so that the flat itself barely made an impression. Instead, you remembered Edel and the soft waves of long, dark hair, how the sunlight caught his cheekbones when passing large, bay windows. “You’ll love it here. I promise.”

Had you moved in for the neighbour with a crooked smile and his unimposing nature, a month from dragging indoors the last of your belongings, you would have been sorely disappointed. Even your first meeting left you wanting more; whether that came in a passing smile when crossing in the hall or more, you weren’t yet sure. With less than a couple of feet from his home to yours, you still couldn’t find it in you to initiate that new relationship, and now it felt like you had waited too long.

You didn’t need to wait any longer.

Moving entwined with an independence you had lacked. Now closer to work, closer to friends and with enough distance from home you really felt free, settling into a new routine preoccupied you for a month. That, and decorating with warmer shades of paint and softer cushions, so that now, curled beneath small window lights, you saw him.

The farthest end of your shared garden faded into outgrown woods, sheltering a lake so far only seen in the advertised photos of the property. Not a cloud marred the pale light cast over Edel’s bare back, shadowed by the hair loose against his shoulder blades. He left the back entrance of the building barefoot, never looking from the tree line before fading into it.

He hadn’t returned when you retreated to bed, no matter how slow you walked, peeking back and hoping for another glimpse. With a fresh coffee in hand the next morning, a blur drifted by, the slender form of your neighbour emerging from the woods. In this light, warmer and clearer for your prying, a slight sheen glistened over his bare body, curls where his hair before rested straighter. Steam no longer rose from your mug when you finally looked away, but it was harder to force Edel from your mind.

Retaining the picture of the slight hue beneath falling water led you into your favourite bakery hours later. Favourite not only because your best friend owned it, but now for its proximity to your home, too. This infatuation thrived in the space of a month alone, then being for the soft touch of his palm to yours a, his quiet laugh at your persistent questioning the flat before he answered each with enduring patience. It was more than that, now, and when your close friend found you in her doorway, the dappled pelt draped around her shoulders reconciled with your neighbour’s night passed in a lake, and his melodic way of speaking.

Isla’s loose braids of pepper hair rested along her coat, flyaway strands wisping around her dimpled cheeks when she grinned. Since your moving, where before you would only see one another on occasion, you would pass with a wave, either beckoned by her or entering with some time for catching up, just to make up for the distance no longer between you.

Though, not today, and without a word of pleasantry you said, “I think my neighbour is fae.”

“You mean Edel?” With Isla so close and her recommendation an incentive to renting the flat, her knowledge of the area was invaluable, even in muffling a laugh behind a cough. Her lips still curled when she continued, “he’s a nokken. Didn’t you know?”

She asked like your drawn eyebrows and frown hadn’t been answer enough. “Like fae? Water fae?”

“Distantly fae.” As Isla reached for your favourite treats, the light caught her pelt. “You seem to attract us.”

Her teasing warmed through you as she handed you the warmed bag. She refused payment, though didn’t turn you from the tip jar on the promise of seeing her tomorrow.

This hadn’t changed anything. You loved your home and living with a nokken hadn’t – wouldn’t, change that.

Knowing what he was, tonight you crept nearer the windows at the faint creaking of doors opening in the hall. The same silhouette left and without the marring confusion or worry for him leaving so late, you tiptoed closer. On a darker night, the moonlight illuminated his muscles tensing with each step further from where a human would choose to rest.

Halfway gone, he faltered, a misstep bringing pale light to cast from his chest to his low hips. Hair darker than the shadows clinging to him tangled about his slender frame when his head tilted. With the slight wind fluttering his hair, it would frame his sharp features beautifully tied back, but then his eyes reflecting white light pinned you. Only then had you the sense to duck.

That shame clung to you long after retreating from your lounge. Maybe he hadn’t seen you, rather only the curtain swaying as you fled, but he had sensed you all the same, turned right to where the the netting tucked back for you to follow him down to the trees. If not for the signed lease, the mortification nearly had you packing your things.

Even as temptation tickled you with a shadow passing your window, you smothered it. Where you curled into the counter, kettle boiling, was far from view had he ever been able to see into your home; he couldn't through net curtains, but reminding yourself came with the sting of shame from last night.

Hiding from him worked until gentle raps came at your door. If he had come now to question your staring, to challenge your urge to watch him walk deeper like he belonged in the night, no defence would rise to your lips.

Edel braced himself on your doorframe. He'd just returned from the lake: hair curling now, the loose trousers cloying to his thighs. That little defence you had ready - an apology, really, drowned beneath the breath fleeing you at his fingers brushing your cheek.

“Come with me."

What little knowledge of fae you now cherished alarmed you, but not so much you didn't move from him. "To the water?"

"Wouldn't you like to?" Lake water followed the muscle of his chest, ending at the darker hairs of his abdomen. Edel's smile burned when you found him looking down to you. "Is that not why you watch me?"

"Call it curiosity," you said, though your breath trembled. He had seen you.

His warm hand fell from your cheek. "Tomorrow, then?"

With a noncommittal, "maybe," and a shared smile, Edel left you to collapse back against your closed door.

No invitation called you to the lake, but a water lily laid outside your door reminded you of the nokken across the hall. The cheaper rent - now, you knew, from fear of living with a creature like him, one related to fae - blessed you not only with a blossoming friendship, but fresh flowers brightening your home with his returns.

Each night on his path to the woods, Edel would pause. Sometimes that was all, just a second's hesitation, but other nights, he would turn and find you half-hidden. Those nights you treasured for the slight tipping of his head to the trees in an extended invite.

You never accepted, and he never stopped offering.

It wasn't so much the fear of entering unfamiliar waters with a nokken hindering you but that you would embarrass yourself. The bright lilies started your day warm, and to follow him would cross a line you weren't ready for; but one you so badly wanted to cross.

The soon familiar routine and its floral scent hadn’t seemed anything more than pleasantries, until a night you replaced the water for the flowers after waving Edel down the garden. Out of love for Isla when she waived a cost, you returned a tip, but you hadn’t offered anything for the flowers nor the smiles from your neighbour. Your friend would never claim a debt against you and while, you doubted Edel would, hoped he wouldn’t, the accumulation following weeks living on his property could amount to any kind of debt, if he chose to claim it.

What better way to appease fae, than with gifts in return?

"Fae like sweet things," Isla told you that afternoon. Sugar coated her fingertips from a long day, a slight dusting along her coat tucked at the back counter, never far from her. She gestured back to the shelves of recipes lining the old bakery.

That wasn’t all that you wanted, though. Isla waited while you fidgeted, seeking the right words. Of course fae liked sweet things, but you wanted Edel to like them, too. Not solely for their purpose in repaying a debt but for who gifted them.

“Like?”

"Bake him something sweet and the effort is gift enough. Try this."

Your friend scowled at the note tucked into her tip jar on handing over a recipe, but waved you out with a smile. The honey-sweetened scent lingered in your home with the flowers after meticulous effort, wafting with you into the hall.

Edel’s breath formed your name, your bodies brushing from his step taken out of his door. On time, too, and the flowery perfume rose from him, stronger and somehow sweeter. His gentle hands rose to your arms, thumbs rubbing slow circles. He was all that stopped you from trembling.

Through a warm accent, he asked, "have you come to join me?"

"Another night, maybe."

"Maybe," he echoed. His eyes fell to where you lifted a warm box. "Those smell lovely."

"They're for you. For the flowers."

"For the flowers," he whispered. The gentle embrace broke like he planned to accept your gift, but instead he brought a foot of distance between you. "You do not owe me anything. If the flowers created such an impression, I am sorry."

The forced tilt to his lips came and went before you could explain, and you stood in the hall long after the backdoor swung open and shut again.

He hadn't returned the next morning. No flower graced your doorstep but when you were just stepping indoors from work, the blur passed your window earlier than each night before, and your stomach dropped.

The tentative friendship fractured further come morning, at a time your absence was known. No flowers came when you left, but the backdoor closed as you turned down the hall. Your distraction allowed him time to leave without your seeing.

So when you finished a painfully long week of waiting and hoping to cross paths, you waited some more. You would go to the water as he had always hoped but going at a time when he was there hadn't been harder. He went to avoid you and by chance after waking late in the night unsettled, finding a glimmer of moonlight disturbed by your neighbour fading banished all remnants of sleep.

In all your nights of peeking through curtains, Edel had never shivered. It was cold. It was windy and dark and you had never been so far down the garden, spurred into the trees by the persisting ache in your chest. It eased when you neared the lake, but replaced with dread as you knelt on a small, wooden platform jutting over the bank.

The water was unforgivingly dark. An unholy screech tore from you when something skimmed your hand hovering against the surface. Edel rose faster from the water to steady you than you could comprehend, cold hands gripping you by your ribs before you toppled forward.

His thumbs stroked in slow circles as you forced yourself to calm down. "You deserved that."

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your heart a weight in your throat. "I miss the flowers."

"Oh?" His head tilted, bringing long hair to cling to his chest in slight waves. "The flowers and their debt?"

Each word hit like a crack to your ribs. "I'm sorry."

When his hold left, it felt like more of a rejection than his avoidance, until he sighed. "It's late."

"It wasn't just repayment. It was a gift, too." He hadn't looked up again. "I promise I've not be waiting, either."

Edel breathed a laugh. "How did you know to come now?"

"I saw you leaving."

His lips rose as you seemed to lie, but before you could remedy it, his palms flattened to the deck. He rose on the strength of his arms alone until water lapped at his hips. It was when he continued to lift himself that the absence of any clothing had you staggering back.

Old wood groaned beneath you but it was quieter than when you said, "I can walk back alone."

At first unsure, his fingertips brushed yours. You hadn't looked back - he was standing, dripping, bare, but curled your hand with his until you muffled your surprise at the touch of webbed skin, as timid a touch as his following whisper.

"You don't have to."

The walk would have been silent, had you not asked to suppress the rising fluttering in your chest, "why aren’t you cold?"

"Are you cold?"

"Freezing."

Edel squeezed his hand to yours. "Then dress warmer tomorrow. Goodnight."

Tomorrow came so soon, with a soft tap to your door all it took before you were smiling up to find him leaning close. No lily, but he reached out to take your hand again.

"Before we go," he murmured, and you rested against the closed door, angled back below him. "Do you know how long this apartment was left empty? Before you?"

His face fell when you shook your head. "I knew it was empty for some time, but…"

"Two years. Over twenty-six months." His touch softened when he released your hand, revealing the thin webbing tickling you. Edel's lips twitched when you traced along it with your fingertip. "Do you know why?"

You hadn't the heart to say it, only nodding.

"Those lilies were gifts," he began and stared at your hands sliding together. "I may be folk, but I have no malicious intent in luring you to the lake. I only ever sing in the shower or beneath the water. If I ever-"

"Never," you said. Irrespective of whatever threat he thought of he posed, you didn't care.

"I'd love your company."

When you tugged on his hand, he fell in step. "I'd love yours, too."

Late in the evening, Edel would meet you in the hall. Until you shivered or tired, you would spend the time on the deck while he floated in the water. The lilies returned after he ventured back to the lake, but without fail, he walked you back the short way to your door. His touch would pull on your hand until falling with a smile always soft on parting.

What little progress made found its way back to Isla when she urged you in, with instructions to offer him the same treats he before refused; not as a gift like they had been, but something you wanted to give him. You promised to meet him later, after you had warmed the honeyed puddings, even holding your ground when his frown tugged at your heart before leaving. Carrying them down to him was worth it, if only for the rising nerves in your chest - the good kind.

The scent teased him from the water. Edel extended a hand to draw you closer before his bright eyes widened. "Not in trade?"

"Not in trade,” you nodded. “I promise."

"While I do believe you," he murmured, and your throat tightened as he lifted himself to your height. "If this is not in trade, give me something more."

His breath fluttered against your face. Your fingers curled against the edge of the platform. "Like?"

"One kiss." Edel's hand stroked from your crossed leg up, rising to your waist. "If you would like to. As a gift."

The wood might have splintered beneath your hands when you lifted your chin. Water dripped from his hair, cold to your face but the heat of him, his hand tight against your hip, lit a fire in your stomach.

It lasted no more than a passing second before water rose back to his chest. Edel grinned from the lake, his lips fleeting against your knuckles still locked tight to hold yourself from following him in.

He no longer left bare down to the garden since your accompanying him, though the night you first saw him, he hadn’t been either. Whether he dressed anticipating your stare choked you, but freed you to turn once to your door. Edel stilled at the kiss his cheek and you were inside before he could fully utter your name aloud.

His cheek tasted of the sugar form your honey treats.

Another week, you would have celebrated the weekend, but nothing helped pass the time until it was late enough his door opened. Edel hadn't closed it again before you were there, breaths fast and smiling up.

"I'm coming."

"Good," he breathed, before lowering himself to steal a light kiss. His hand tugged on yours. "Now?"

Though this had been why you were restless all day, having him soften, both hands rising to your cheeks to lift you closer, nearly made you faint. He whispered your name and kissed you so gently, you tiptoed and sought him again.

This time, he lingered. With your foreheads together, he ran his hands along your arms. "I've never kissed someone into stupor before."

"Don't tease," you gasped. He was still sweet on your lips and he carried that same floral scent you loved, clouding your thoughts.

"Was I not clear?" He kissed you again but lifted himself so you could see the warmth to his pale cheeks. "It's you I want, not just company."

"Me?"

"You."

"You want me?" Edel hummed, his touch tracing up your arms again. "Prove it."

He gasped and as he stared after you, inching backwards over the threshold, it felt like too much of an overstep. Then it passed and he followed you, the door closed and locked behind him.

His lips rose crooked. "Go on, then."

The apartment mirrored yours in layout and later, by his side, you would marvel at the softer hues in his decorating, more greens and greys, but you were running beyond the lounge, past large windows to an open bedroom door.

His arms came around you and aided in slipping free your clothes, until his bare chest warmed your back. "I'm to prove I want you, yes?" The heat of his palm stroked down your stomach. "Is that right?"

"Yes," you gasped, trembling already at his hand slipping lower.

"Kneel on the bed for me," he whispered to your throat and you were helpless, only hesitating at the end. Edel circled the bed and when he turned, your stomach fluttered at him tying his long hair up. His chin tipped in an unmistakable invitation. "Come here, beautiful."

His hands on your thighs lifted you closer when you gasped, astride his chest and swallowing hard. He kissed your inner thigh, undeterred by your small whine.

"Wouldn't this be better if I laid down?"

His tongue ran over his lips. "Please."

"If you need to stop," you whispered, though the strain of withholding yourself from bringing his flushed lips to where you ached most nearly overcame you. “Edel?”

"If I need air, I will tap your thigh. I won't, though," he teased, and guided you to kneel around his head, so grateful his hair had already been knotted back. "Come here…"

You lowered yourself evidently not fast enough, as Edel let free a groan and drew in a slow breath. The headboard trembled with your clutching it tight, knuckles aching like last night on the lake's platform.

One, slight touch of his hot tongue to your slit had you gasping, forgoing any inhibitions and rolling down against him. Edel made as many sounds of contentment and circled his thumbs into your thighs, parting your folds for him to lift his face higher.

"Do you… do you need me to-"

"Closer."

Edel's groan came when his lips softened against your clit, gentle at first before he focused there, mindful of how you clenched and what made you whine, then what made you gasp. The flattening of his down dragged, coaxing your cries louder. He drew on the coil burning in your navel with each stroke of his hot tongue, down until he curled it against your aching centre and tasted you around him.

One hand fell low, tugging at his hair to keep him close. Every flick of the muscle prolonged the tingling running down your spine, down to your toes curled on the sheets.

Soft palms gripped your thighs in aiding you back once your moans eased to harsher breaths. Edel settled you over his lap, but your body already so sensitive against him made you tingle again. He faced you with a glistening smile, one tended to by his tongue before you chased after his moan.

"Is that proof enough?"

Your forehead rested to his, breathing deep. "Proof?"

"Proof of how much I want you." He laid kisses along your throat and when you thumbed the waist of his trousers, his eyelids fell low with a hummed moan. "Say no."

"No."

His cheeks were flushed, hair curling at his temples from your body around him, so unlike the weight to his dark stare. "I'd like to prove my want with you sitting like this-" he rolled his hips up against you, and both of you shared a moan. "Is that what you'd like?"

Edel relinquished himself to you. Only in trousers, you caught yourself moaning just from reaching to stroke his length. He stretched from the bed for protection as you inched closer again. The tint of blue to his body tempted you closer, wanting nothing more than to already have him.

Edel kissed the heat falling from your cheeks down to your throat as you undressed him. The tint to his body captivated you, down to the blue hue to his dark head. He stretched back from the bed for protection, though trembled with the pad of your thumb tracing up the veins running along his length.

That shared thought brought his hands to your hips, your body lifting above him. His cock pressed to you, slick and aching, and you clenched around him when taking him deep. That sensitivity hadn't faded and dizzied you, adjusting still when he kissed you.

"I was right. My pleasure," he said, before his body moved against you, his cock dragging along your fluttering walls.

My pleasure, he'd greeted you on your first meeting, but you disagreed. Every arch of his body brought him deeper, and every kiss enticed another whimper until you were trembling so soon around him again.

"So beautiful," he whispered. His hand cradled your face, thumb running along your parted lips as he peppered touches along the column of your throat. "Everything I've ever wished for."

"Edel-"

He gasped with you as you tightened your legs around his hips, clinging to him at the returning pressure in your abdomen. The lake could wait. You wanted to spend forever in his arms, letting your head fall back so his tongue could trace down to your collarbones.

Edel grunted from your hand unravelling his hair, only to draw his lips to yours as his thumb graced your flushed clit. One firm stroke and you cried loud, your rhythm faltering as your orgasm overcame you. He continued to rub your nerves, an arm banded tight around you until he moaned your name and stiffened.

Until your breaths eased, you clutched each other close. The gentleness in his care as you rested by his side was no different than any other time, tucking an arm beneath your crown as you lazed in his hold.

You woke alone.

The bedsheets were cold, tousled and bathed in the same moonlight he had left you for. No light came from his lounge as you left in his trousers and your shirt.

The night wasn't so cold, but quiet. Each step nearing the lake matched your racing heart, and it rose to a crescendo finding him waiting in the water, reaching out to hold you when you undressed. Even if the night hadn't been cold, the water was, so you curled tighter to his chest.

"You left."

He waded deeper, kissing your temple. "I'd have been by your side before you truly woke."

"I'm awake now."

Edel breathed quietly against your hair. "I wanted you to feel free to go."

"Is that what you want?" If not for the water strengthening his embrace, you would have turned away. "For me to leave?"

His lips curled down, though he looked beyond you. "I'd rather now than later."

"Was I not clear?" Edel's shoulders softened from beneath his jaw. "It's you I want, until you want me gone."

Where his lips had been hours before, he kissed your throat, soft against your flitting pulse. It was promise enough as he cradled you to him, holding you all the way back to his bed, and neither of you planned on leaving soon.

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

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Sunny Side Up

Summary: Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, right? And for Mike, there’s no better way to start it than by eating his favourite thing, ever.

Pairing: Mike Weiss x Reader

Warnings: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Brief mentions of drug addiction- nothing graphic. Language!

A/N: So this was what popped into my head after seeing @imanuglywombat post that damned latest Sex Position as part of her downright filthy and wonderful “Is That Even A Sex Position” weekly challenge. This position is called “The Special Breakfast”. See here for more information. And you can totally blame @sweater-daddiesdumbdork for this one. I wasn’t gonna write it but…yeah, I did. Sorry not sorry. I’ve tried to make the reader as non-descript and as inclusive as I can but I don’t usually do reader x fics so I apologise if it hasn’t quite hit the mark.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar the reader. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Tagged my permanent tag list.

Main Masterlist

********

“No, that’s not the same, at all.” Mike’s voice drifted up the hallway of you house as you closed the door behind you, shutting out the bitter January wind that has descended over Dover. “Yeah, well they signed up to the terms so....”

You glanced at your watch, it wasn’t even seven-AM yet and he was already on to someone about the current case he was working. But then, that was Mike all over. An addict, only now you were glad to say the only thing flooding his system was adrenaline and passion for his work.

You hung your jacket up on the pegs by the door, unwrapped your woollen scarf from round your neck and placed that over the hook above your jacket and then reached down to unzip you boots, before toeing them off. Your sock clad feet padded down the wooden floor of the hall towards the kitchen and you walked in to see Mike was bent over a file on the island in the middle, already dressed for the office.

“Clause ninety-one, paragraph twenty, sub-bullet two. Yup. We’ll present that to them today, give them chance to respond.” He paused for a moment, his head turning to you, a warm smile spreading across his face as you leaned over for a quick peck before you headed to the fridge for a soda. “Yeah. Okay, no problem, see you about half eight.”

With that he placed the cordless phone down and turned to face you.

“Morning, Baby.” He grinned, before he nodded to the Diet Coke in your hand. “Interesting choice of drink for breakfast.”

“Technically it’s not my breakfast time.” You shrugged back. “More like dinner, I suppose.”

Mike chuckled as he crossed to space towards you, his hands falling to your hips before he bent down and brushed his lips against yours in a hardly there kiss. “Good shift?”

“A heart attack, car accident, two broken legs, couple of flu cases and a shit tonne of idiotic drunks, the finest Delaware has to offer.” You shrugged. “Usual shit.”

“I don’t know how you do it, Dr Y/L/N”

“Lucky for you I do, or we’d have never met.”

“And I’d be dead.”

“Don’t.” You shook your head, swallowing a little. The memory of that night almost eighteen months ago was still raw. If you hadn’t stopped by at Mike’s that evening following an argument the pair of you had earlier in the day, you’d never have found him almost dead from an overdose. It had been a long road to recovery, and whilst nothing was ever proven, Mike and Paul were convinced that it was something to do with the safety needle case they had been working. Despite the fact that there was enough heroin in his system to stop his heart, Mike swore blind to you he hadn’t taken anything but a few lines that night, and there was something about the way he said it that made you believe him. And so did Paul.

The authorities never managed to prove anything, but there was one good thing to come out of it. When you had broken down and told Mike how scared you’d been that he was going to die and that you couldn’t cope anymore with the constant fear that one day he would kill himself for real, it gave Mike the final kick he needed because he didn’t want to lose you.

So he got clean. And this time he did it for good.

It wasn’t easy, for either of you. Once he was medically fit enough, Mike had been placed on a programme at a Rehab Centre, whereby he saw no one bar trained medical specialists and councillors for six weeks. It felt like the longest six weeks of your life but he did it. And when you went to pick him up, you instantly burst into tears at how different he looked, how better he looked, how healthy he looked.

The road to recovery is a long one, paved with temptations, you knew that being a Doctor. And whilst Mike knew and understood his triggers thanks to his programme, those temptations met him everywhere, especially because he knew exactly where and how to get his fix. So the pair of you agreed to take a fresh start. You traded Texas for Delaware, the State you were originally from, and you were beyond proud to be able to honestly state that Mike Weiss had been clean now for eighteen months. Well, apart from alcohol that is. But even that was enjoyed in moderation, and to be honest, you’d rather him sit at home with a glass or two of bourbon each night that sticking fuck knows what into his veins.

You cocked your head to one side as his hands flexed on your hip and he gave you a little side smile. “Sorry. Oh, hey guess who I got a call from?”

“Who?” You asked as he stepped back, grinning.

“The Alligator Farm. Snappy’s got himself a lady friend. They’re gonna send me some photos and stuff.”

You smiled, giving up that beloved alligator had been a hard sell to Mike. “That’s great.”

“Yeah. Oh and Paul was thinking of coming over with the family in the spring. I said they could stay here, I know it’ll be a squeeze but is that okay?”

“Course it is.” You reached up to cup his cheek. “It’ll be lovely to see them again.”

Mike smiled and dropped another kiss to your lips, this one slightly stronger before you pat his chest as he rest his forehead against yours.

“I need to go shower.”

“Want me to come join you?” He asked, eyebrow raised and you smiled.

“As good as that sounds there’s something else I want more.”

“Oh yeah?” He grinned, his eyes flickering down to the buttons on your blouse and you laughed.

“Calm down, Stud. I want pancakes and bacon, I don’t give a shit what time it’s supposed to be for me.”

Mike groaned as you moved away from where you’d been stood with your back to the large, stainless steel fridge and headed out of the room. He watched you go, the gently sway of your hips in your well fitted black pants made his groin twitch. He was half tempted to fuck your demands and go and jump you in the shower whether you wanted him to or not, but he’d seen the flicker your face had given when you’d described how your twelve-hour shift had gone down. Despite your blasé tone, he knew you too well and understood exactly how tired and stressed you were feeling. So, instead, he turned his attention to making breakfast.

Something he prided himself on was his cooking ability. He’d picked it up pretty fast since you’d moved here, he found it was a welcome distraction, so much so you very rarely made meals now, bar when you insisted on doing a roast which he never argued against. Within fifteen minutes he had a stack of pancakes, bacon, eggs- sunny side up, as you preferred- all laid out on the island and ready for you to help yourself to. He’d just poured you an orange juice when you walked back into the kitchen, hair piled on your head in a messy bun, wrapped in a dressing gown and he was pleased to see you looked relaxed.

“Oh, Mikey, this looks great!” You smiled as he wrapped an arm round you, kissing your head. He watched as you helped yourself to a huge plateful before making your way over to the table and sitting down with a sigh. Mike tucked his tie into his shirt to avoid it dropping into his food and plated himself a helping up before he sat down at the place next to you, cracking his neck slightly. The pair of you chatted about the day ahead, which for you consisted of sleeping until it was time to get up for your next shift, Mike’s contained a meeting with a company who he was currently in the process of negotiating a settlement with on behalf of a client. When you’d finished, Mike made to clear away the dishes but you gently placed your hand on his arm and stood up, insisting on doing it as he’d cooked.

When you returned to the table, Mike pushed his chair back slightly and patted his knee.

“Come ‘ere.” He smiled softly and you grinned, settling yourself on his lap sideways, your arm looping round his shoulder, fingers gently playing with his suspenders. He gave a contented sigh as he wrapped his arms around you and pressed a kiss to your head, happy to simply be close to you for a moment.

“You doing okay?” You asked and he smiled, your words carrying that hidden meaning- ‘Do you want a fix, today?’

“I’m good, Babes.” He pulled back to look at you. “I promise.”

Smiling you gently placed your lips on his in a soft kiss, which soon became heated as Mike’s hand slid up to the back of your neck, holding you in place as his tongue slid along your bottom lip. He was pleased when you reciprocated, opening your mouth slightly to allow him in. He could taste the sweetness of the syrup on you from your pancakes and, as your tongue gently swirled against his, he let out a little groan from the back of his throat and he felt you smile.

“How long till you have to be in the office?” Your voice was lower than you’d intended, betraying exactly what you had in mind and Mike grinned at you, pulling back a little, as he glanced up at the clock.

“Just over forty-five minutes, why?”

You bit your lip, fingers toying once more with his suspenders which were clipped to the waistband of his light, grey trousers and sat over a maroon shirt, set off with a black tie. “Do I gotta spell it out to you, Weiss?”

“No, I just like hearing you beg.” A cheeky glint flashed in his eyes and you gave a snort.

“I do not beg.”

“Really?” He arched an eyebrow and in a swift moment he stood up, causing you to give a shriek of a giggle as he sat you on the table in front of him. “I bet,” he pushed on your shoulders causing you to rest your weight on your elbows as he loomed over you, gently reaching for the tie on your robe, “that I can have you singing my name and begging for more,” his hands made quick work of the knot and pulled it open, before his fingers slid up the front, opening it to leave you bare in front of him, “in less than five minutes flat.”

“Less than five minutes?” You looked up at him, his eyes blown with lust and you smirked. “You’re so full of shit.”

He wasn’t though, you knew full well that you were the one full of shit. Mike had on many an occasion had you crying his name in less time than it took you to sing a verse of the National Anthem, and he knew it as the cocky expression on his face showed.

“Oh, Baby Girl.” He chuckled, bending over, his mouth brushing against that spot on your neck, the bristles of his short beard scratching your skin. “Have you learnt nothing, yet?”

“Only that you’re a cocky little bastard.” You tried to keep your voice level but it didn’t work. Your words came out a shaky whisper as one of his hands gently splayed on your stomach and brushed up your body to your sternum as he peppered hot, opened mouthed kisses across your collar bone, before his lips ghosted up your neck, over your chin and his mouth claimed yours in a searing kiss as his hand palmed at your breast. As he rolled your nipple between his finger and thumb you gave a moan and he smirked against your mouth.

Suddenly, he was gone from over you and you frowned, missing his sudden presence and you propped yourself up on your elbows to see him settling back in the chair by the table.

“Mike, what the-“

You were cut off as he reached over, grabbing your ass and hoisting your pelvis up, pulling you towards him. Before you could register what was going on, your legs were over his shoulders and you just caught a glimpse of his face, as he quirked an eyebrow at you, lips curled upwards in that maddeningly smug bastard grin, before his mouth was trailing up the inside of your thigh.

“Oh, Jesus.” You let out a little groan as he neared the place you now desperately wanted him and he chuckled.

“No, just me.”

“Fuck off you-“ But whatever it was you were going to call him flew from your mind as his tongue licked up your sex, and grazed against your clit, teasing it with quick, hardly there flicks which, you were ashamed to say, had you riled up something feral. His hands palmed at your ass, his fingers curling round the outside of your thighs as he quickened his movements, his mouth expertly devouring you, tongue flicking into your entrance as his lips circled that sensitive nub, giving a suck that made you cry out, your back arching off the table, pushing yourself further onto his face.

Mike let out a chuckle which vibrated exquisitely against you and you gasped again, your hands slapping onto the cool surface of the table, fingernails feeling the grain of the wood as he upped his efforts dramatically, lips and tongue teasing you in a way that was so delectable it was teetering along that fine line between pain and pleasure. His mouth expertly devoured every inch of you, from your inner and outer pussy lips to the depths of your walls, tongue fucking you like you he was starving, despite the breakfast the pair of you had eaten moments ago.

“Fuck, Mike, I need…” Your voice was croaky, the words sounded far off as they bounced around your lust addled brain and once again he chuckled.

“I told you.”

“Yeah, yeah you arrogant sh-oooh fuck!” You cried as he gently nipped your clit. “Shit!”

You were willing yourself to remain grounded, wanting to prove him wrong but you couldn’t. You couldn’t fight the urge you felt to ride over the edge which was building like a fire inside you. When his mouth was over you completely once more, tongue deep, you felt him move one of his hands and his thumb pressed against your clit, before the pressure eased off and his tongue slipped away.

"Okay, okay you win, Mike, please for the love of God!” You groaned and with a final, maddeningly smug chuckle he dove back in, only this time when you felt your orgasm brewing he didn’t stop. One of your hands flew to his hair, pulling lightly on his soft, spiky strands and he gave a growl as you tugged, his efforts doubling once more as his beard scratched against your sensitive pussy and inner thighs. The coil in your belly was tightening, your entire body quivered and with a final flick of his tongue you gave a cry as your orgasm crashed over you. Your toes curled into his back just below his shoulders, your own back arched as your walls clamped down over nothing, the room fading out as everything went silent and the lights erupted in front of your eyes, your entire body feeling like you were floating.

Mike grinned, guiding you through your release before he stood up, pulling you further to the end of the table as he undid the flies on his trousers, freeing his painfully hard erection. The swollen head of his dick gently swirled around your folds before he buried himself inside you, groaning as he felt you fluttering around him in the after throes of your orgasm. You let out a low groan and finally opened your eyes, looking up at him as he pounded into you, fully clothed, those fucking suspenders that drove you wild still looped over his shoulders.

He slid one, large hand under your back and pulled you up causing you to cry out as he drove deeper into you, his hand on the base of your back pulling you up and towards him as he dipped his head to give you a dirty, sloppy kiss whilst he rolled and thrust into you. Then His lips moved down, nipping at your neck, his breath hot on your ear as your head fell back, a low moan rumbling in his throat.

“God, I love seeing you like this, fucking wrecked all because of me.” His panted words made you groan even more as the heat in your groin was beginning to mount again. “Makes me higher than any fucking drug ever could.”

His thrusts continued, hard, deep, and you felt his dick throbbing inside you as he drove up against your spot, his lips back on yours as he kissed you hard, swallowing the pants and whimpers you were making as you began to teeter on that cliff edge again. With a deep roll of his hips you let out a low wail and came, once more, your core spasmed around him as your entire body tingled, and that was enough for him to follow you. With a powerful thrust he stiffened, a low grunt stuttering from his lips as he pulsed inside of you, his hips growing sloppy before they stopped completely. His chest heaving, he pressed his forehead to yours, the pair of you gasping for breath as you came down from your high.

“Shit, Mike.” You managed to stutter as he grinned, his lips meeting yours in a soft peck. “That was…”

“Yeah, I was pretty good.” He chuckled and you slapped his arm as he moved and pulled out of you. You straightened your robe and stood up, wincing as you felt his release trickled down your inner thigh.

“I need another shower.” You grumbled, before you glanced at his crotch, the damp patch where he’d pressed against you was clear as day. “And you should probably change your trousers.”

Mike glanced down before his eyes met you, and he shrugged. “Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll go into the office like this and then every time I see it I’ll be reminded exactly what a damned good breakfast I had this morning.”

You blinked before you shook your head, scoffing. “You’re gross.”

He laughed. “You love it, Sweetheart.”

“I love you.” You corrected, your hands sliding up over his shoulders and he smiled, a pure, innocent smile that made him look like a schoolboy before he took your face in his hands and kissed you deeply, pulling away, his nose bumping against yours.

“I love you too.” He whispered, his eyes locking onto yours. “Now go, before I decide to play hooky for the day.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time, Weiss.” You smirked, before with one final quick peck you left the room.

Mike watched you go, before he ran his hands through his hair and turned to glance around the kitchen, his eyes falling to the table he’d just fucked you senseless on.

He should probably clean that before he went to work…

#uglywombatsexpositionchallenge #mike weiss #mike weiss x reader #mike weiss x you #mike weiss reader insert #reader insert #mike weiss fanfic #mike weiss smut #chris evans #chris evans characters

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rachelbethhines · 3 years

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Tangled Salt Marathon - Be Very Afraid

This is the best story arc episode in season three and arguably the best written episode since The Great Tree, but it’s still season three so there are still issues with it.

Summary: When Zhan Tiri tells Cassandra she must destroy Rapunzel in order to wield the Moonstone's true power, Cassandra discovers that she can create, with fear, red rock spikes that cause fear and freeze their victims. Varian discovers the red rocks and teams up with Rapunzel to use his amber solution on them. Meanwhile, Eugene and Lance decide to throw a talent show to distract everyone from their fears.

Why Can’t Cassandra Control The Rocks?

The series never gives an actual explanation for this. She could control them just fine in Rapunzel’s Return, so what’s changed?

There is No Destiny!

There’s no prophecy, no oracle, no grand design nor master of fate to fight back against; the characters literally have no reason to do what they do. If you want destiny to be a goal then you have to establish what that destiny is first.

What does Cassandra want? How does this connect back to Gothel, Rapunzel, and the Moonstone? Why she just failing about like an idiot here? Did she not have a plan when she threw her life away for this stupid rock?

And of course Zhan Tiri is lying here, but why should Cassandra believe her? What does she gain by listening to a creepy ghost girl? This ‘destiny’ has not been established, so therefore there’s no hook nor bait for Zhan Tiri to trap her with.

Leading directly into “you should kill your bestie’ should logically put Cassandra off of Zhan Tiri’s advice for good because Zhan Tiri isn’t actually offering anything. Temptation requires the person to be, you know, tempted by what they want, but Cassandra doesn’t know what she wants so none of this makes sense.

The writing is desperately trying to make Cass sympathetic here, but all it winds up doing is making her look like a moron instead.

This Isn’t Consistent

Not only does this fail to explain why Cass could control the rocks previously but no longer can, but it’s also contradicted just a couple of episodes later with the incantation bullshit.

You need an established magic system in place in order for the character’s actions to make sense show!

This Ultimately Goes Nowhere

Ignoring how Varian should have been in season two and how translating the scroll should have led to freeing his father, which we’ve talked about previously; this subplot should have had more impact on the narrative than it actually did. Yes, Varian’s translation winds up driving the plot of Cassandra’s Revenge, but 90% of that episode winds up being utterly pointless, including the incantations themselves, so....

I Like This Sequence; Shame It Winds Up Being Undermined Later

Unlike the majority of dream sequences in this show, this nightmare has an actual point. It more firmly establishes Varian’s fears and gives the audience some insight into what happened to him back in season one. Something we were sorely lacking. It also becomes the core conflict and drive of Varian’s character development through out the episode.

Only for the episode to ignore Varian’s real issues and fail to adequately address anything. By series end this plot point will be completely forgotten. The show acts like bringing it up once and then never acknowledging it ever again just magically revolves Varian’s character arc. It doesn’t.

So How Come Quirin Isn’t Affected By the Rocks?

He’s right there next to them and he shows no reaction to them at all. You’re telling me the man who lost his home twice to these things, almost died to them, and nearly lost his only child because of them, is just not going to respond to new creepy red ones popping up?

Quirin would have a treasure trove of trauma to explore in his own right, that undoubtedly would connect back to Varian’s own issues, but we’re just going to ignore it and have Quirin off screen for the majority of the episode?

Are These New Character Models?

Are you shitting me!?

They built five new models just for a short two minute scene, one where none of the new characters are named nor given lines, only to never appear ever again!

What the fuck? Why did you waste time and money on this? What happened to all of the other background characters you already built? Did a bunch of season one models just get lost or deleted or something?

Also why are they all wearing green? Is it St. Paddy’s Day?

This Plot Point Wasn’t Established Enough Beforehand

Look, I’ll buy that there are people in Corona who still blame Varian for what happened in season one and for the Sapoiran take over. I mean they’re only getting half the story and were directly effected by his actions whether or not he intended harm to them. But we needed to see more of it beyond just this one scene.

No one was bullying him in Lost Treasure or The King and Queen of Hearts, so for all purposes he appeared to be integrated back into society, and now you’re telling me he’s not and that Rapunzel risked his well being by forcing him to interact with people who were hostile to him back in Lost Treasure?

And yeah you can’t really move Lost Treasure back any further than it already is cause that’d leave a giant hole in the wall of the throne room for over a year. Which also makes no sense either.

Or hey, maybe it’s just Feldspar being an asshole. In which case why should Varian or the audience care?

Eugene is Wasted

Look I understand that there’s only twenty five minutes to tell this story and that Eugene isn’t the focus of the episode. I also understand that the B-plot is meant to be comedic in order to relive tension from the A plot, but this wasn’t the best way to go about it.

The B plot swings too far wide in the other direction that it dilutes the tension too much. The A plot now has to work over time to keep the urgency going. I could understand it, if the show wanted start off with small fears first, but it needed to ramp up the drama as it got closer to the climax, not under cut it.

We never see Eugene freak out over anything other this this cowlick. In fact we never see him scared of anything else beyond this one scene, which undermines Rapunzel’s arc this episode as she’s suppose to be the only one bottling things in. What makes Eugene so special that he can keep a lid on it with out consequences, or are you telling me that a dumb cowlick is his only fear?

Either answer is stupid.

I Hope You Have Copies of the Map

You went through all that trouble to steal the journal for this very reason and now here you are prancing around without it like it’s not that big of deal. Way to undermined past story arcs.

It’s like the writers know that season one was their most successful season, and therefore try to make callbacks to it whenever they can, to make up for ignoring it in season two completely, but they still don’t want to actually acknowledge anything that happened during that season so they just refer to it in the laziest way possible, rendering the previous events pointless.

So Close and Yet So Far

I’m mainly posting this whole conversation so that you dear readers will have context for what I talk about next.

For you see, this scene starts out okay and it looks like we’re finally going to address the elephant in the room regarding Rapunzel’s involvement in Varian’s past trauma, only for the scene to immediately side step the issue all together and not resolve the conflict at all.

No! Don’t Interrupt; Listen!

Or at least go all the way and accept some of the blame yourself.

It may look like Rapunzel is comforting Varian here on a superficial level, but without her verballing acknowledging what she did wrong, this action just winds up taking the focus off of Varian and what he needs and places it upon Rapunzel, both narratively and physically.

So what happens is that, in universe, it comes across like she’s just consoling Varian for her own personal comfort rather than genuinely trying to help.

Why Would Varian Ever Think This?

Okay, first off this has nothing to do with what Varian was talking about previously. Why would he jump from discussing his trauma to praising Rapunzel? You know the woman who is responsible for said trauma?

Secondly, this switches the focus of the conflict off of Varian’s specific trauma and makes it about a generic “over coming fear” lesson mixed with an out of place validation issue. Which is not what’s actually needed for his character development; nor for Rapunzel’s for that matter.

Third, being the sundrop has nothing to do with Rapunzel as a person. Her being born with magical powers was an accident of fate, same as her being royalty. She’s not innately better than anybody else because of this and nobody has any narrative reason to assume otherwise. Especially since her powers are utterly disconnected from her actual personality, choices, and actions. All three of which have become unbearably unpleasant by the last season.

Finally, Varian, of all people should be the last person on earth to ever think so highly of Rapunzel. Them being friends again is already pushing believability. Him suddenly kissing her ass the same as everyone else this season is just flat out bad writing.

Varian knows better than anybody what an awful person Rapunzel is. He’s seen her at her worse. He’s seen her not live up to her hypocritical ideals. He knows the larger problems that steam from placing people in power on pedestals. As her former victim, Varian by all accounts should be the one person who can bring Rapunzel down to earth and poke holes into her ego, even while still being her friend. Especially while still being her friend. She needs that! Writing Varian as another blind Rapunzel stan is not only writing him out of character, but it also damages Rapunzel’s own development.

Also Varian hates magic. Why would he now worship someone just for having magic?

THIS AIN’T ABOUT YOU BITCH!!!

I literally yelled that at my tv screen when I first saw this scene. Those were my exact words upon the episode’s first airing. And believe it or not, I’m not one to usually scream obscenities at inanimate objects.

I understand what the writers were trying to accomplish here. They wanted Rapunzel to ease the tension by saying something funny and to make Varian laugh to distract him from his woes; thereby defusing the situation. But it doesn’t work because of season three’s tendency to make Rapunzel the most egotistical, smug, self-centered, abusive, self-righteous twat in the show.

It really boggles the mind just how unaware the writing is. Like, surely no one makes their protagonist this unlikable on accident. Clearly they meant for Rapunzel to be an ass on purpose right? They wanted Cass to have a reason to hate her so they decided to make her insufferable to the viewer in a misguided attempt to make Cass more sympathetic? Right?

Then where is the bloody comeuppance?

I genuinely thought this was all going to lead somewhere. That Rapunzel was going to learn to be a better person and I would have been fine by that. I would have applauded the show if they had turned her into an asshole intentionally so that they could teach a mature and nuanced lesson about morality.

But they didn’t, and here I am; still shaking my head in confusion over a year later.

Seriously what the fuck happened behind the scenes to cause this? How can processionals paid by the largest animation company in the world be so incompetent?

Having Trauma is Not the Same Thing as Having a Phobia

This is where Varian’s arc falls apart. Not only does the episode fail to have Rapunzel acknowledge her past wrongs for a second time, but it also completely mishandles Varian’s trauma because it equates it to being an irrational fear. One that can be overcome through pure force of will at that, same as Lance and everyone else’s fears in the episode.

Ok first off Varian’s fear isn’t irrational. He even just said so at the start of the conversation. Varian’s trauma is very real, it’s not a hypothetical unlike clown-spiders and cowlicks. Also has been given very little reassurance that it won't happen again. Varian has no reason to trust Rapunzel or anybody else in the show. They never owned up to abandoning him previously, and both he and the audience have little reason to believe that Rapunzel wouldn’t just neglect him again if it was convenient for her.

Secondly one does not simply ‘overcome’ trauma. Oh you can deal with trauma, you can manage it and learn to live with it. But it never goes away. It doesn’t magically disappear just because you ‘faced it’.

In fact confronting it head on is actually the opposite of what your suppose to do when going through something traumatic. Studies have shown that distracting your mind after a car crash or what have you actually helps with PTSD later on. And ‘dealing with it” doesn’t mean ignoring the problem out right, but rather learning how to function despite the pain.

But as the show acts like Varian’s trauma never even existed after this episode.

This Doesn’t Resolve Anything!

What does “being special” have to with fear? How does this help Varian with his trauma? Empty validation has nothing to with what we were just discussing.

Everyone gets afraid. Everyone has trauma of some sort. Are you telling me that my need for therapy some 20 years after being physically assaulted is just because I’m not special enough? Fuck you show!

Moreover, this doesn’t resolve the story arc from season one. Varian and Rapunzel’s conflict with each other has nothing to do with self esteem. It was about personal responsibility, conflicting needs, and abuse. Yes, self image and acceptance was a small factor in their motivations, but it was never the driving goal behind their decisions.

This is yet another broken narrative promise to the audience. There’s no closure to be had from this and leaves the viewer wanting, if not outright frustrated.

In order to justify this exchange fans have to ‘read between the lines’ and make shit up in order for any of this to make any sense. People who still defend season three do by doing all the heavy lifting that writers themselves should be doing.

If it’s not on screen, it doesn’t count.

If Rapunzel never apologizes on screen, then she never apologized. If Rapunzel never checked up on Varian on screen, then she neglected him outright. If Rapunzel never acknowledges her wrong doings on screen, then she’s never learned anything. The characters pretending like she has doesn’t make it so.

Why Does Cassandra Even Want a Destiny?

Yes, Zhan Tiri is lying, there is no destiny, but Zhan Tiri being a liar doesn’t absolve Cassandra of her own actions.

Cassandra herself believes in destiny and is looking for her’s, but why?

Why does she want a destiny? What is this destiny she’s after? Why does she believe such a thing exists? What does she believe it’ll gain her? Why is she willing to risk so much for such a vague goal? What does any of this have to do with the moonstone or her mother? How does this destiny connect back with her personal feud with Rapunzel?

It’s all disjointed and confused. Nothing lines up. It’s like the writers just had this dart board full of ideas for Cassandra’s villain arc, but couldn’t decide on which one to go with, so they just threw darts randomly each episode and went with whatever stuck for any given scene.

“Oh she want’s revenge for her mother during this scene, or wait no, she’s actually looking for destiny this episode?” “What destiny?” “Who knows. Now for this scene we need her to be sad because reasons...” “What reason?” “I don't care, make something up... Uuuuh, she’s sad cause she’s not a royal guard still” “But she became a guard during season one.” “Ignore that. Kids won’t remember. Now she needs to be angry and threating here” “Why?” “Because it’ll look cool.” “But why is she angry?” “Cause it looks cool Bob! Geez! Oh but she still needs to be sympathetic so give her a frowny face afterwards. Just have Zhan Tiri remind her how much she hates Rapunzel later, so as to egg her on and keep her doing stupid shit?” “But why does she hate Rapunzel?” “Do I have to think of everything BOB!!!???”

There, there’s my non-so-accurate behind the scene’s glimpse into the Tangled writer’s room when discussing Cassandra’s arc. I could be wrong. There could have been some intricate and complex plan thought out that just didn’t make it onto the screen for whatever reason, or maybe everyone involved was so far up their own ass that they just forgot to give their main villain an actual reason for being the villain. But regardless the over all effect is that Cassandra is handed the idiot ball for a whole freaken season in order to even have a conflict and that is never good writing; or rather she’s hit in the head with it repeatedly.

This Actually Goes Against Zhan Tiri’s Plan

Zhan Tiri’s short term goal is to be released from her dimensional prison and apparently she needs Cass and Raps to fight into order to do this. This was never established before hand and goes against her disciples pervious plans, but whatever. One could argue that this is just a lie in order to get them to fight later...

However, this lie jeopardizes her long term goal. She eventually wants to wield both the moonstone and the sundrop herself in order to destroy Corona, but Rapunzel is the sundrop and you can only take her power during an ellipse, supposedly, which means if Cass actually succeeds in killing Rapunzel before then, then Zhan Tiri is up a creek without a paddle. Also if Cassandra did manage to steal Raps’ power with or without an ellipse then Zhan Tiri would still be out of luck.

This was wholly unnecessary; you didn’t have to go from zero to sixty in one fell swoop. Have Zhan Tiri claim that fighting Rapunzel will award the power to the winner or something. There’s no need to bring up the ‘kill her’ option. That should logically just drive Cassandra away and puts Zhan Tiri’s plan at risk.

The series wants to act like Zhan Tiri is this master manipulator, a chess master like Zantos or Palpatine, but she couldn’t even tie their shoes. Her plans make no sense and often contradict one another. They only work because the rest of the cast are reduced to imbeciles in order for them to work.

This Plot Point Contradicts Season Two

His fear of spiders was establish early on, and I’ll accept the clown thing as there’s nothing to contradict it, but Lance has preformed numerous times before now and has never show stage fright. He’s a huge ham and back in Return of Quaid he mentioned how much loved acting and preforming and apparently been on stage before, so where does this fear of singing in public come from? Heck he sung in public just a few episodes ago in Rapunzel’s Return.

If you have to sacrifice established character into order to make your plot work then you need a new plot.

This Song is Nice; It Just Needed to Be in a Different Episode

I’m glad Lance got a solo. He deserved one and the song is good. However it breaks the tension of the climax and gives the episode tonal whiplash.

More than a song, Lance needed an actual focus episode in season three. One that was fully his. If anyone else shared it with him it needed to be Red and Angry, not Varian and Cass.

Just imagine if this song came during an episode where he had to watch the girls. Imagine if he was singing it just for them. How much more impactful would that have been?

Now imagine that we had a Rapunzel and Varian duet in it’s place here. That would have tied the episode together better and helped to further their own stories. Glenn Slater can write lyrics far better than Chris can write dialogue. I bet you a thousand to one Tangled the Series would have solved like half of it’s problems had Menken and Slater been allowed write and actual apology duet between Raps and Varian.

Such a duet was proposed during Rapunzel’s Return but it could have worked here too, and you could have placed Lance’s solo in Day of the Animals or something, just leave Rapunzel out of that episode all together.

Nothing honestly needed to be cut music wise, yet for some reason season three has less songs than the other seasons, even when counting the reprises, and they’re mostly shorter too.

That’s mismanagement right there. Plain and simple. Someone at the top didn’t know how to balance the budget or resources and didn’t know where to the throw the money at.

You Have a 70 Foot Shield Made of Magic Hair, Rapunzel

You couldn’t think to just block those rocks instead?

Giving your protagonist a big hero moment doesn’t work if they placed the person the have to save in jeopardy to begin with show.

I Do Not Care About Rapunzel Right Now, Show

Yes, she’s the main character. Yes, her feud with Cass is the main conflict of the season and kicked off the episode. That does not mean that I automatically care about her personal feelings at this moment in time.

Rapunzel has kept such a tight lid on her real feelings for the whole episode that this just comes out of nowhere. I was never waiting with baited breath for her to confess her deep dark secrets or whatever.

It’s not even an interesting reveal. It’s just “Oh, see Rapunzel’s human too. She’s gets scared just like everybody else.”. I already fucking knew that, thanks. And what she’s afraid of isn’t even that compelling either; it’s a just a rip off of the prophecy dreams she had back in season one. The same ones that had no explanation and never furthered the story, so why should I care about this one?

You have to earn the audience’s investment in your conflict. The character’s likability, as little as that may be currently, will only carry you so far, you have to establish shit first.

Varian’s conflict has been the focus of the entire episode so far, and it’s a conflict that was set all the way back in season one, so of course that is what I’m invested in seeing get resolved. Rapunzel is once again just butting in and making it all about her when it’s not actually her story.

And if you wanted it to be her story then you should have made her the actual focus to begin with and had her learn something by the end of it.

This is Poor Choice of Words, Writers

I could be generous here and pass this off as Rapunzel not fully believing in this prophecy. After all Corona’s destruction is still a hypothetical at this point and Cassandra really has left already. Since the episode is about fear, Rapunzel is of course more afraid of losing Cassandra’s friendship as it’s real tangible possibility.

More than a possibility even, Rapunzel’s been dumped. Season three is a classic break up story, right down to the poor plotting and tunnel vision, hence why it’s so gay baity.

However, this reading only carries so far. For starters this is Rapunzel’s what, fourth prophecy dream so far? Haven’t the past three already came true, so why would she think this one wouldn’t?

Secondly, all that good grace goes right out the window once it becomes clear that, yes, Cassandra is indeed a threat; a threat that Rapunzel refuses to take seriously because she cares more about her own personal validation than her kingdom.

Even as Cassandra does succeed in destroying Corona, and no doubt harms other people while at it, Rapunzel still is obsessed with ‘winning Cassandra back’. Oh and make no mistake, this is not because she actually cares about Cassandra as a person and her needs or feelings. Nope. Rapunzel just doesn’t like being dumped.

Why Does Varian Need to Shove His Feelings Aside for Rapunzel’s Bullshit?

Rapunzel’s ‘confession’ has fuck all to do with Varian’s current issues. They do not connect in any way.

Varian is dealing with real trauma, trauma that she helped cause, while Rapunzel is only dealing with a hypothetical prophecy and one very shallow, self-centered fear. There’s nothing to relate to here. Neither for Varian himself nor the audience.

Yet for some undefined reason this is what gets Varian to ignore his PTSD flashbacks? What?

This is once again break the narrative promise. I was promised closure for Varian’s story arc and instead of that the writers just brush it up under the rug.

From the outside looking in this doesn’t come across as Varian ‘overcoming’ his ‘fear’. It looks like an abuse victim using learned helplessness to placate his abusers.

And yes, for the last time Rapunzel is Varian’s abuser.

NEGLECT IS ABUSE!!!

And and even though he is no longer her ‘responsibility’, she is still neglecting him emotionally as his supposed friend.

Varian’s and Cassandra’s Stories Undermined Each Other’s

Varian stopped the rocks. Rapunzel had nothing to do with it. Zhan Tiri blaming Rapunzel for it steals agency away from both her and Cassandra.

However, if Rapunzel had used the hurt incantation to stop the rocks and Cassandra had felt it rom the other side, then you’d have something to back up Zhan Tiri’s claim and an actual point of real conflict to carry the rest of the season. Not to mention an actual tangible goal for Cassandra to work towards, survival.

Cassandra’s conflict with Rapunzel not only prevents the resolution to Varian’s arc from being satisfying, but Varian fulfilling his arc in turn winds up cutting off Cass’s story at the knees.

It didn’t have to be this way. Varian’s and Cassandra’s arcs should have complimented each other, but instead the creator decided to make them complete for screen time and relevance.

It is such an gratingly stupid and petty decision that winds up being a disservice for all the characters involved.

Cassandra’s motivation and goal should have been revealed back in season two. Varian should have been the sole focus of Rapunzel’s Return and gotten his big hero moment there along; with an actual ending to his conflict with Rapunzel that didn’t feel so lopsided and half assed. Then Rapunzel and Cassandra could have both been held accountable for their conflict in season three, instead of pretending like their shit smelled of roses the whole damn time.

Lance Got a Whole Crowd Cheering Him On For Singing a Song, Varian Just Gets One Asshole Giving Him a Single Line of Congratulations

Did I mention this show has an odd anti-Varian bias? Cause it does. For whatever reasons his own creators hate him and that’s just utterly baffling to me. Like why create a main character that you don’t like?

I look down on professional writers who treat characters they didn’t create poorly within their works, like with James Gunn and Scrappy Doo in the Scooby Doo Movie, Adric in the Doctor Who spin offs, or even the treatment of Doofus in Ducktales 2017. I don't care how much a character is liked or disliked by fandom, that shit is just tasteless and often unfunny. But at least I understand where they are coming from when they do it.

But I’ll never understand what compels a writer to sabotage their own work; one that they are getting paid to write no less. Especially when said character is super popular with their fans. And Chris knows this. He knows the ratings plummeted without Varian in season two. He knows the merch didn’t sell because there wasn’t enough Varian products. That’s why he hyped up Varian’s return a whole week before Season Three’s airing with a massive online campaign, but he wasn’t smart enough to treat the character decently afterwards?

I mean congrats, you convinced a just enough viewers to come back to season three to keep the show on the air I guess, but you left them all pissed off and have nothing to show for it to the higher ups a Disney.

And Chris wonders why he wasn’t asked back to work on new Disney princesses shows that are currently in the works.

That is Not Quirin. That is a Plank of Wood Pretending to be Quirin.

*Beep* *Boop*...*Dad Bot Is Proud. exe*

Quirin is such a pale shadow of his season one self that he might as well not exist. I genuinely don't know why the writers released from the amber so early if they weren’t actually going to use him until the season finale.

For the longest time I honestly thought that Rapunzel sucked out his soul with that decay incantation; what with that lyric about “setting the spirit free”. I genuinely thought that would be a later plot point, but nope, it’s just bad writing

Him just saying hi to son once and smiling blankly isn’t compelling and it’s isn’t fulfilling. It doesn’t actually resolve his arc. I mean he’s at least shown spending time with his son, but that’s not enough. We need to see him acknowledge past, we need to see him acknowledge his own flaws, and we need to see him being more attentive when Varian is in need. .

Season one Quirin would be trying to stop Varian from going near the red rocks, a post season one Quirin should logically go after his son to make sure he’s alright, even if he’s know longer trying to actively stop Varian like he once did.

There’s also that damn note and it’s secrets!

You know what? That’s it. That’s the problem. The focus is all wrong in season three. Episodes get pulled into to many directions trying to juggle too many characters rather than dedicating the needed time to each individual arc.

Season two’s finale should have been a three parter with Cass’s full motivation and goal laid bare before leaving.

Rapunzel’s Return should have been solely about Rapunzel and Varian’s conflict and resolving that arc fully

Either Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf or Day of the Animals should have been a Lance episode about him and the girl’s, no Rapunzel.

And this episode should have been about Quirin and Varian resolving their issues, with the Rapunzel and Cass stuff as the B plot not the stupid talent show

There, all fixed. You don't even have to cut much, just rework the focus and leave Rapunzel and Cassandra out of conflicts they have no business being in.

This Does Not Excuse Rapunzel’s Later Negligence Regarding Cassandra

Just because the red rocks was an accident doesn’t mean Cassandra should get a free pass for all the awful things she does later. Rapunzel uses this one interaction to excuse everything else Cassandra does in season three, as if she was just some poor lost baby and not a grown ass woman out to kill them.

In fact Cass showing hesitancy here actually makes her later actions even worse. This means that she fully acknowledges that what she’s about to do is wrong, but goes ahead and does anyway, even gleefully so at times. Then she has to gall to act baffled when people see her as a threat? 0.o

When fans say Cass isn’t redeemable or shouldn’t be redeemed, it’s not because he actions are so much worse than everybody else’s (even though they are), It’s because she doesn’t act like she wants to be redeemed half the time. The show doesn’t properly set up her ‘redemption’, instead it just lazily has Rapunzel yell at us how she’s ‘not lost’.

Like below for instance.

What Does Cass Need Saving From?

Cassandra is not in danger. She is the danger.

She made the conscious decision to leave taking a world endangering artifact with her, and she later makes the conscious decision to come back and be an asshole for no adequately defined reason.

She’s never shown to be in any physical danger from the rocks, the moonstone, or even Zhan Tiri herself. She apparently can take care of herself in the wild for over a year. She also has the capability of getting a job else where and just living out her life if she wanted to. Nothing is forcing her to listen to Zhan Tiri.

Heck, even her hurt arm, the one thing Rapunzel is responsible for and could potentially be a continued threat to Cass’s well being, is just completely forgotten about.

And no, mental illness and past trauma are not excuses as well. In fact it’s rather insulting to both people with mental heath problems and abusive survivors to suggest otherwise. We don't need ‘saving from ourselves’ and we aren’t automatically dangers to anybody. Nor do we get free passes if we hurt someone. A jerk who happens to have a mental illness is just a jerk who so happens to have a mental illness; coloration is not causation.

Conclusion

It’s better than Rapunzel’s Return, but this episode was still a disappointment. A small part of me whishes this was a two parter because it has so much untapped potential, but I know it’s just be wasted in Chris’s hands.

Anyways, I consider this to be the true mid-season finale of S3. Not only did the hiatus kick in after this episode, but it also clearly divides the season between the first half filler and the later Cass conflict. As such the next entry will be the mid-season recap. See ya, then.

Ko-fi https://ko-fi.com/rachelbethhines

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#anti-tangled #anti-rapunzel #anti-casandra #varian #tangled #tangled the series #rapunzel's tangled adventure

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inkweaver22-blr · 3 years

Text

Here’s chapter ten! I do believe this is the first chapter with absolutely no dialogue! I hope you enjoy it regardless!

AO3 Link

Scattered Cicadas - Chapter Ten: Soft Shadows

Redemption is a hard process. Yet the cycles seem to make it easy for one particular demon.

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Redemption was a tricky thing. It required so many different events to happen in a certain order that it rarely occurred.

The first step was to commit some form of wrongdoing.

This was unfortunately the easiest part to do and most people never moved on to the next.

The second step was to realize and acknowledge your actions as wrong or harmful.

Many had justified their own actions over the course of existence and never saw themselves as doing wrong. Worse, many knew their behavior to be cruel and simply did not care or relished the feelings of power it gave them.

The final step was perhaps the most difficult to achieve.

One had to feel genuine remorse for their actions and wish to change.

Very few actually made it this far in the process as it usually required a catalyst of some sort. A personal revelation after going too far or someone laying your actions out clinically so you couldn’t justify them. Even a single act of unconditional kindness and trust could make someone wish to change.

Then came the truly hard part: actively changing your actions.

The path to redemption was not a short one. It took a lifetime of pursuit and dedicated work to not slip into the temptation of reverting back to who you were before.

Closing yourself off and pretending you didn’t care was easy, after all. What was difficult was being honest with yourself and allowing yourself to feel.

It helped if you had people around you to offer support and love. If it was from the same people who you had harmed originally, all the better.

But earning forgiveness wasn’t the goal of redemption. Some would refuse to give it, and you would have to live with that as it was their right to do so. It may hurt, but you had hurt them first and have no right to demand it even if you had changed.

Being redeemed wasn’t for the benefit of one’s victims. The hope was that you could grow into being a better person. It was for your own personal peace of mind. Whether others choose to accept that you’ve changed was not up to you, but you must continue onward regardless if you were to ever live with yourself.

Tang was intimately familiar with this process. The amount of cycles where he had been some sort of villain was not small.

The first three steps came easy to him. Feeling remorse for his wrongdoings and wishing to change were simple for one stuck jumping through time.

He could even spot a suitable catalyst for his potential ‘redemption’ fairly quickly. MK’s kindness and belief of the good in most people had certainly been useful on many occasions.

Having the whole process down to a science himself, Tang was even able to pull others into changing their ways sometimes. The Demon Bull family were commonly caught in his actions whenever he was a part of it.

(Having Red Son as a younger sibling had been interesting.)

What was bemusing to the scholar was that throughout the cycles there was one person who would constantly be redeemed, even without his meddling.

The Six Eared Macaque was an interesting puzzle.

He seemed to fit into the group that knew their actions were harmful, but did not care. Yet time and time again, he would become one of their allies.

Tang hadn’t known much about the demon early on in the cycles, but the knowledge about him came inevitably.

Macaque had been a “beloved friend” of Sun Wukong in the past. At some point, they had a falling out, Macaque seeing it as being left behind by Wukong.

The scholar had actually experienced part of that tension back in that cycle with the time traveling cactus.

So it seemed feelings of betrayal, jealousy, and abandonment were Macaque’s main motivations.

That last one was eerily similar to MK’s insecurities.

Macaque was very much like both Wukong and MK when Tang stopped to think about it. All three had repressed emotional trauma and coped with them in wildly unhealthy ways. Usually by pretending they weren’t there.

Macaque channeled those repressed emotions into schemes of revenge. He used lies and illusions to get what he wanted. He was condescending and sarcastic to his enemies, seemingly cruel and uncaring.

And it was all a facade.

At least, most of the time. There were a few cycles where Macaque was genuinely a despicable person who showed no remorse.

As much as he tried to hide it, Macaque was actually a very emotional being. It was quite easy for him to get attached to one or more of their group and slowly his cruel streak would fade.

Macaque’s catalyst for change was usually a person. It differed from cycle to cycle, but someone would show him some kindness or trust and before Tang knew it they would have another sarcastic immortal monkey as a part of the team.

MK was obviously the most common person to get the demon to change. Macaque was not lying when he called him a good kid. Having four father figures in those cycles seemed to be good for MK.

Wukong, while usually not the initial catalyst, tended to play a big part in Macaque’s redemption. Being old friends, they knew each other extremely well. While that tended to lead to a lot of arguments, it also led to them picking up where they had left off their previous relationship.

It didn’t really bother Tang that said relationships were often romantic in nature. Watching the two monkeys cuddle when they thought no one was looking was just too cute.

Mei was an interesting choice for Macaque to become attached to. He often ended up becoming her mentor, teaching her how to properly wield the Dragon Blade. Both of their sarcastic natures worked surprisingly well together.

The biggest surprise had been Pigsy.

That cycle, Macaque was basically under house arrest as ordered by Heaven. Pigsy, not wanting the manipulative demon to be anywhere near MK, forced him to stay at their apartment. It was some time later when Tang had woken late in the night to some loud noises and had left his room to complain.

Only to find Macaque pressing a kiss to Pigsy’s cheek before fleeing his room, pursued by a flustered and angry pig demon soon after.

It was strange, but Pigsy’s gruff and silent compassion meshed really well with Macaque’s easy going and nonchalant attitude. The scholar found their affection towards each other endearing.

Tang supposed it was only a matter of time before he himself acted as Macaque’s catalyst.

The cycle had started early, about a year before the original events. While working at the library, Tang had been approached by what he immediately recognized as Macaque in his human disguise. He had requested help on learning more about The Journey to the West for a school assignment. Tang, deciding to play along, offered himself up as an expert on the story and they began meeting weekly to go over it.

Macaque truly did not know the full events of the Journey in this cycle and seemed upset at several points, such as learning about the fillet used to inflict pain on Wukong. Over time, the pair began to meet up more often and discuss things other than the famous book.

He really should have expected falling in love.

Macaque was still sarcastic as ever, but never malicious. He made jokes and comparisons that had Tang’s side aching from how hard he laughed. He was quick to pick up Tang’s quirks and preferences, surprising him with his favorite foods or a nice new set of bookmarks.

He was still Macaque, but this softer side of him made Tang’s chest flutter.

As he lay in bed with his partner, (who had still yet to reveal himself to Tang, but he was patient), Tang couldn’t help but feel a new place in his heart open up for the shadow demon. He had already been considering adding Macaque into his family due to the many times he had joined them, and this just solidified that decision.

Oh Tang knew the cycles where he never changed would be painful. Watching as someone he loved went down a path of self destruction wasn’t easy. But he held onto the knowledge that there would always be the cycles where Macaque did become a part of their family.

As long as the possibility existed, there was hope that the same could happen in his own timeline.

If he ever got back that is.

Tang shoved that increasingly reoccurring thought away and closed his eyes, letting the soothing sounds of Macaque’s breathing lull him to sleep.

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A NEW CHALLENGER APPROACHES!

Macaque is the fandom’s darling bad boy, so of course I had to have a chapter discussing his many, MANY redemption’s over the many fics and AU’s.

In particular, (Teach Me to Be) Tougher Than Leather, Softer Than Silk by *checks notes* HOLY SHIT! I had no idea this was by @ninja-knox-ur-sox-off until just now! *ahem* Anyway it is an AMAZING fic with a practically never used pair and I highly recommend it.

Tang seems to have a type doesn’t he? Demons that seem emotionally distant, but are big softies at heart. It’s probably the purring that gets him. ;P Also does Tang/Macaque have a ship name? If not I'm dubbing it InkyPages.

Don’t worry Tang! I’m sure those intrusive thoughts will go away all on their own.

Important notice! I’m probably going to be putting this fic on the back burner for a bit because I really want to write about the cycle mentioned here. Not as part of Scattered Cicadas, but as its own thing. So keep an eye out for that!

Until next time!

#Ink Writes #Monkie Kid #Scattered Cicadas #Tang #Tang Monkie Kid #Macaque #Six Eared Macaque #ninja-knox-ur-sox-off #(Teach Me to Be) Tougher Than Leather Softer Than Silk #MK #Mei #Pigsy #Sun Wukong #squidinknoodleshipping #Tang/Macaque #what IS their ship name anyway?#InkyPages #InkyPagesShipping #LEGO Monkie Kid

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duskandstarlight · 3 years

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Embers & Light (Chapter 26)

Notes: Enjoy! And let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list...

Chapter 26 Nesta

Solstice approached with terrifying speed. Somehow, Azriel managed to carve out time in what Nesta imagined to be a busy schedule to oversee her training when she was in Windhaven. Nesta did not know if that was simply because Rhysand did not want to hold true to his promise to train her himself, or if the Shadowsinger was doing them all a favour by keeping the two of them separate for a little longer.

Nesta could not say that she was disappointed. Whilst there had been a slight shift in the air between them, Nesta was not deluded enough to think that her sister’s arrogant mate had found it in himself to let go of the grudge he so obviously held against her. From the moment they had met in the Human Realm, Nesta had sensed his disdain and simmering anger towards her. Had dissected what he thought was a flawless exterior as something too careful, too polite. It had not quite been as if he was treading on eggshells, but as if he was having to use all of his power to reign in his own temper.

Yet, to Elain... that resentment and hatred had faded into acceptance and forgiveness over time. The same could not be said for he and Nesta. Even though it had been she who had fought and sacrificed her life in the war. Even though she had saved Cassian from the Cauldron’s blast. And even though it had been she who had killed the King, tracked the Cauldron and acted as Emissary, Feyre’s mate had been unable to hide the anger that Nesta had allowed her sister to provide for them when they were young.

So, Nesta had made it worse, testing the waters of that night eternal power to see how far she could go until he snapped completely. If their High Lord wasn’t going to bother to try and see the effort Nesta had made, then she would make life hell for him when she started to drown. She spent his coffers, banished her sisters and wrapped her words in thorns of steel. For some, it was not unlike the work of a petulant child desperate for a reaction. For Nesta, it was a method of slow, numbing destruction until she became nothing but a husk. It had been far more dangerous and much deadlier then any of them had imagined, and now Nesta was out of the other side, she understood why Cassian had look so ravaged when he had searched her face and assaulted her with words that should have been like spears to the heart but never hit home.

Even so, Rhys’s hatred of Nesta was a punishment she believed was deserved. Nesta knew that. And she would not take job offerings which were given out of loving duty and obligation to one’s mate. Nesta would only work for a court she did not view as hers if it was because she had worth and use. If she was needed rather than an irritant one wanted to banish.

This time had been different. The Illyrian cause was greater than the shattered pride Nesta would endure by assisting someone she did not want to be around. And Nesta had vowed to step out of the past and into the present. Had decided she would try with her sisters and start to rebuild who she wanted to be. Nesta did not want to be someone who selfishly stood on the sidelines whilst others suffered. It was true that she had been a victim and made others a victim of her trauma, but she was done weighing up old grievances and her many errors. She would bite her tongue and step forward into the present. And if that meant learning to be civil then Nesta would do it for the females and for Cassian, who she could not bear to make life harder for.

To think that Nesta might cause him to ache made it hard to breathe. So, should the situation demand it, Nesta had decided she would rise above it. She was strong. She was resilient. She was powerful.

She would protect and heal.

Nesta supposed her goals were the same as the rest of the Inner Circle, after all.

When it came to mastering her ability to read others emotions, Nesta found the power now came to her as easy as breathing. With the acceptance of her magic - the understanding that it was part of who she was and who she wanted to be - Nesta found it far easier to lower her walls.

Identifying and concentrating on one target was where she had difficulty, but in the end, even Azriel gave more and more praise in that solemn, cold way of his rather than constructive criticism.

“It’s all down to practice now,” the Shadowsinger had told Nesta after their last training session, as they walked through the camp back to the bungalow. “You know how to do it. It’s just a matter of tuning out the unwanted emotions of others and focussing on those that matter.”

“That’s easier said than done,” Nesta had replied, biting back a grimace. Sometimes she found the background ‘noise’ so overwhelming she wanted to vomit.

“It’s nothing you can’t master,” Azriel replied dismissively, in the way that Nesta had learnt to be a compliment. “As long as you hold on to something as a tether - something to ground you that will always pull you back and stop you from becoming overwhelmed - you will be fine.”

Nesta had glanced sideways at the Shadowsinger as they stepped up to the backdoor of the bungalow. Azriel often stayed for dinner after their training sessions, and Nesta found that she did not mind him joining she and Cassian’s shared space, mainly because it gave her the opportunity to witness the brothers relationship up close.

Whilst Cassian and Azriel might not have been related by blood, their interactions were bound in a way that melded them by flesh and bone regardless. And to Nesta’s surprise, she found that in a smaller group the Shadowsinger was not so quiet. He had a dry wit about him that often had Nesta biting back a smirk, especially as it was usually directed at Cassian, who would either gape in surprise or let out an unabashed bark of laughter that was so lovely it made Nesta want to both stare and look away.

“Do you have a tether?” Nesta asked Azriel curiously as she held her palm to the door. It was a blunt question that she only dared ask because she had no doubt that Azriel would swiftly cut her down if he did not want to answer.

“Of course,” Azriel replied as they stepped into the kitchen.

Cassian was by the sink, the sleeves of his tunic pushed up to his elbows as he washed some grains under the tap. He dared to wink at her as she entered, but he didn’t offer any other formal greeting.

Her blood heated and she ducked down to untie the laces on her boots.

“What is it?” She demanded.

Ariel had already made quick work of his boots, but he flung his wings out of the door to rid them of melted snowflakes. “What’s yours?” he had countered in that chilled way of his, knowing that she would not dare tell him. Would not tell anyone.

So, she had merely snorted in response, quickly disappearing in search of a hot shower before either of them could guess what she was thinking, dare her mask slip and render her readable.

On Solstice morning, Nesta found herself naturally rising with the dawn, even though Cassian had told her that it was the one day of the year that Illyrian’s did not train. Crawling out of bed to open the curtains, Nesta had sat in the window seat to stare out at the ethereal, low mists that shrouded the mountain pass and horizon in moving fog. Not for the first time, she wished she were already halfway up the mountainside; a part of the natural scenery rather than separated by glass, so she could see unhindered, the dusky streaks of colour painted across the sky and the yellow strip of light that signalled the sun was ready to start the day.

Nesta was first to breakfast. Cassian had been in Velaris the evening before and Nesta had not been awake to see him arrive back in Windhaven. He smelt distinctly of stale alcohol as he joined her in the kitchen, dressed in a pair of low slung pants and nothing else but wild hair and endless tan skin licked with ink that made her skin itch.

Sleepily, Cassian batted Nesta away from the stove as if she were an irritating fly, but she only hissed at him with such malice that he barked a hoarse laugh. When she thumped a mug of coffee by his side moments later, she did it with much more force than she usually mustered so early in the morning, and she caught his features soften for a fraction of a second, before he made himself busy at the stove.

They ate eggs and smoked salmon on toasted rye in relative silence, and Nesta watched Cassian proceed to eat two ginormous portions with a mixture of disgust and awe.

When Nesta loftily gave in to the temptation and asked Cassian whether he had considered saving himself for the Solstice feast, he had just snorted and told her that he was stretching his stomach. After that, Nesta was certain that he ate a third portion just to spite her, but even she couldn’t help but slide another piece of smoked salmon onto her plate, much to her chagrin when Cassian’s eyes glinted triumphant.

It was an hour later when a knock sounded at her bedroom door. Nesta was in the process of pinning her hair with the golden leaf pin Elain had sent her all those weeks ago, and she answered the door with one hand whilst the other held her hair in place.

“Are you ready?” Cassian asked as soon as the door opened.

For once, he was not leaning against the doorframe, but standing upright in a wide stance which highlighted just how broad and tell he was.

There was a look of impatience on his face, but Nesta paid it no heed and took a moment to survey how different he looked from usual. Today’s festivities had turned him out in dark pants and a shirt, the collar of which sat just below ink which whorled up the right side of his neck, stopping a few inches below his ear. The clothing made him appear the most human Nesta had ever seen him, if it had not been for the apex of his huge wings which he was holding high behind him.

As if they sensed her attention, his wings flexed in a movement that usually told Nesta that Cassian was either uncomfortable or nervous. They spread wide enough for Nesta to notice how magnificently they shone, as if they had been thoroughly scrubbed and cleaned for the occasion. Even Cassian’s hair gleamed, as if he had run a brush through it before it had scraped it back into a loose bun.

He looked unforgivably, heart-stoppingly handsome, not that Nesta would ever admit it out loud.

Ignoring the unusually apprehensive expression on his face, Nesta frowned and secured the pin at the back of her head. “Am I late?”

She had thought she had given herself plenty of time to get ready, but her half coronet had taken longer than usual. It appeared that three months of only wearing a simple plait had her out of practice. At least she had worn a loose braid overnight, which meant that her hair already hung in soft waves down her back. She knew that the Night Court dressed up on Solstice, and Nesta liked Lorrian and Frawley enough that she did not want to offend them.

Nesta had stayed with them twice since the kerit attack at Windhaven, where she had spent her days learning the art of the bow with Lorrian and practicing her healing powers with Frawley.

And the bow… Nesta loved it. It felt right in her hands, the way her muscles strained and trembled as she pulled back the string. Cassian and Lorrian had her working hard on her upper arm strength to the point that they felt constantly sore, but she did not care. Lorrian and Frawley had even taught her how to fly on Caerleon, with Lorrian insisting that when she was more able, they could practice shooting a moving target. Nesta had the sneaking suspicion that both of them had quickly realised that she hungered for the skies, but she did not mind that they had read her so easily. Being on the back of Caerleon, her fingers buried deep in the mane at his neck, was the most liberated Nesta had ever felt, to the point that she had laughed when the manticore had sent her into a nose dive and the wind had howled so fast around them that Nesta and Caer had become a part of the element rather than separate from it.

When Nesta had not been training with Lorrian, Frawley was teaching her how to harness her healing power. The witch had Nesta look inwards to her two strands of her magic, until Nesta could pick them apart with ease, summoning either silver or white at her palms. When she had mastered that, Frawley had plucked flower after flower from the forest floor, had them wither in her open palm and ordered Nesta to bring them back to life.

It wasn’t so much bringing things back from the brink of death that Nesta struggled with, rather it was knowing when to stop. The key, Frawley had told Nesta, was to constantly observe the patient as she healed. To understand what injuries were fresh and required immediate life-saving attention and what was old enough to be left well alone. The former always shone with a pressing light when Nesta’s magic passed over it, whereas the latter took on a dull, shadowy quality. There was also the matter that Nesta’s power reserves could swell to unprecedented levels, of which the bottom was determined by the energy she had sequestered.

The solution, Frawley had told Nesta, was to know what her reserves felt like, so that when her magic started to give out Nesta would know to stop.

That had been easier said than done, and it had taken Nesta hours to reach into herself and travel down, down, down to scrape the bottom of her own power.

“You will know when you reach it,” Frawley had only told Nesta with an infuriatingly mysterious air that had Nesta wanting to snarl.

But she had. It tasted like the last, bitter dregs of tea and metallic blood. It felt wrong and life threatening, enough for Nesta to pull away so sharply that Frawley had patted a shaking Nesta on the shoulder and passed her a steaming mug of energising tea.

But what Nesta hadn’t told Frawley was that she didn’t just sense white and silver when she looked within herself, but something else. Something hidden behind a veiled curtain which she couldn’t quite touch. A terrified part of Nesta wondered if it was the chunk of the Cauldron she had taken. The piece of inky black which sung of darkness and terror. Nesta had not found the words to ask Frawley about it. Was too scared about what it meant. That perhaps there was something rotting inside of her that would taint her soul and those around her.

It sung to her, the veil. It whispered reverently when she brushed against it. Her name over and over: Nesta, Nesta, Nesta.

She had stayed well away from it, after that, but sometimes she heard it whisper softly, the sensation like her power turning over in her veins.

Like now, as Cassian stared at her rather than reply, his hazel eyes darkening as his pupils widened and pressed against his irises.

Nesta tried and failed not to feel self-conscious. She smoothed down her midnight blue dress and walked past him, her back straight.

“You’ll need to shield my hair,” Nesta clipped, as she headed to the hooks by the door and slipped on her coat.

When she turned, Cassian was still staring at her with something that Nesta almost wished was longing.

She wanted to bite her lip, but she wouldn’t allow herself to do it. “Aren’t we going to be late?” she clipped.

Slowly, Cassian blinked. Then, his gaze dropped to her feet. “Are you going to wear those shoes?”

Nesta scowled. “Yes.”

“They’re not practical for flying.”

“I’m not flying, I’m being carried. And is it not custom to dress nicely for Solstice?”

She stiffened as those sharp eyes dragged over her body with such intensity Nesta felt as if her skin were entirely bare.

“It is custom,” Cassian agreed eventually, his voice so impossibly low she felt it rumble through her bones. Even as there was a bite to his words that suggested he was holding something back.

Perhaps how she had not bothered the year prior.

Nesta nodded as if to indicate that the matter was settled and wound a scarf around her neck. “Don’t set me down in any mud or snow and I won’t find it in myself to set you on fire.”

A derisive snort but no jab or jest as he opened the front door. Cassian stepped onto the concrete step just beyond the threshold and with a flare of his siphons, light-weight armour clicked into place scale by scale over his dark clothes, the action like a ripple of water.

He held out his hand to her. Nesta glared at him but squeezed onto the step beside him. His hands wrapped around her, gathering her to his impossibly warm body and the steady, reliable beating of his heart. He smelt wonderful — of woodland and bracing blue sky which sung Illyria. Begrudgingly, Nesta held on to him, absorbing herself even more in his scent as he shot them into the sky.

They travelled in silence for a long while, Cassian unnervingly quiet. Usually it was he who struck up conversation and Nesta found it disconcerting to be yearning to speak with him rather than the other way around.

She twisted her head up to look at him: the dark eyebrows that always made his hazel eyes stand out so brilliantly; the tan, freshly shaved face which took the ruggedness out of his features; the ebony hair pulled back into a casual bun that she had come to favour on him.

To his credit, Cassian had listened to her about her own hair, casting a shield that was void of the gentle breeze he usually allowed to filter through. Instead, Nesta was warm, the

gentle pulse of his siphons indicating that he was expelling his magic to alter the temperature for them both.

“You look clean,” Nesta observed, when she knew she had studied him for too long. He was deliberately not acknowledging her blatant staring. “Is this your first and only bath this year?”

Cassian snickered. “Very good, sweetheart. It’s good to see that the festivities haven’t smoothed over your sharp edges.”

“I wouldn’t want to bore you,” Nesta remarked drily, watching the craggy terrain; the snow capped mountains and the stretch of pine ahead of them. “Consider it a Solstice present.”

A laugh then, soft and throaty. More like himself. “You’ll have to save that fire for the lords tomorrow, sweetheart. It is no way to speak to your beloved.”

Sharply, Nesta craned her neck up to find him smiling down at her. It was a wicked smile that Nesta suspected he had willed into existence solely to stoke her fire.

“What,” she spat. Demanded.

Cassian’s canines flashed. “Consider me your Solstice present. I’d have wrapped myself in a bow, but we were in a rush.”

Nesta glared at him with such ferocity she imagined him burning into cinders. “And when were you planning to tell me that I have to pretend that we’re...” She trailed off, suddenly at a loss to carry on.

“Dating? Courting? Fucking?” Cassian said the last word with a grin that turned feral.

Nesta snarled at him with such savagery that Cassian choked on a laugh. His hazel eyes flared amber.

“If you start smoking I’ll have to drop you,” he warned, as silver sparked from her fingertips. “And I planned on telling you now,” he admitted. There was no apology in his voice, if anything it only carried amusement and a faint layer of… something else. “I thought it best to tell you when we were suspended in midair for my safety.”

“Insufferable,” Nesta muttered under her breath, irritated that she could not let go of him and cross her arms over her chest. “Not only am I to be stuck in a room full of Illyrians, but I have to pretend to be bedding the most irritating of them all.”

“Feel free to boast about my technique to those assholes at any point,” Cassian snickered wryly, but then his playfulness dropped at his next words. Nesta suspected he’d glanced down and seen her solemn expression, “Think of it as an unpleasant few hours for the sake of finding out more information.”

“Who do you usually take?”

A beat of silence followed her demand. Then, “Nobody.”

A disbelieving frown pinched between her eyebrows. “Ever? Not even your friends?”

She craned her neck to look up at him.

“It’s partners only,” Cassian explained, but he was looking ahead of them with an intensity that told Nesta he was deliberately not meeting her eye. “I very rarely have one and never one who I think could hold their own amongst the vultures.”

Some tension bled out of Nesta. She would have thought that Mor might have accompanied him at some point. Those lines were so blurred Nesta had no idea what to make of them other than that she hated it. Would never not hate it.

The amusement had faded from Cassian’s features and a muscle ticked in his jaw. He suddenly seemed angry and Nesta didn’t know whether it was her reaction or another memory. And perhaps her reaction to pretending to court had wounded him, especially given their turbulent past. Sometimes Nesta did not know where they stood with the other. The bond strung between them made everything so complicated, so much more difficult than other narratives. To understand what was fact and fiction. Lust and love.

The thought of pretending they were together, even for two days made it difficult to breathe. It was another twist in their storyline - another complicated strand, which warped what was honest and true.

“Don’t worry, Illyrians aren’t big on public displays of affection,” Cassian assured her, breaking her out of her worrisome thoughts. His dark eyes found hers again, and they looked a little sad, as he admitted, “The males here don’t cherish females the way they should.”

It took everything in Nesta to suppress the shiver that wanted to crash over her body and remain silent. They were tiptoeing around today, using banter and sharp words to cover up what had happened last year. How she had dismissed him so brutally… so effectively. How she had heard the water splash and ripple as he threw her gift in the river. How he had followed her anyway until she lit a light in her apartment, his wings a steady beat as she sunk to the rickety, splintered floorboards utterly numb.

It was not Cassian’s cruel words from that evening that haunted her — not even hers did — but it was oddly the vulnerability in his expression as he finally let her leave that repeatedly churned in the forefront of her mind. That made her think that perhaps Cassian had been genuine. That he wasn’t embarrassed of her, even if his actions — the way he ignored her when his friends were around — insinuated that he did. That he truly had wanted her, enough to swallow his pride and follow her. To continue to flirt and fight for her, even now.

But when Nesta remembered how he had laughed as he held up the satin undershorts from Mor, red slid over her vision.

Cassian seemed to sense that displeasure, remaining silent for the duration of the journey.

Caer trotted out to meet them as soon as they landed outside Lorrian and Frawley’s, his tufted tail dancing in the shape of a question mark. Smoke billowed from the crooked chimney of the cottage and the smells that wafted towards them on the soft breeze were so divine Nesta’s stomach grumbled.

Frawley met them at the open stable door, and to Nesta’s surprise, she bent to place a swift kiss on each of Nesta’s cheeks. She was wearing another dark dress the colour of smoke, the underskirts laced with a misty tulle that shimmered beautifully in the light.

“Happy Solstice, Nesta,” Frawley said brusquely. “We’re being thrown to the wolves tomorrow so we’ll have to make today a pleasant one.”

Cassian’s laugh was low in Nesta’s ear. “If past experience is anything to go by, I’d predict that Nesta will be the wolf and they the sheep,” he corrected, as they both stepped into the warmth of the cottage.

Lorrian appeared behind Frawley as he stepped into the hallway from the living room. His chuckle was deep and delighted. “I’m looking forward to witnessing that.”

Frawley’s grin was terrifying as she levelled her gaze with Nesta’s. “Surely they do not still think you’re a witch after the kerit attack?”

“No,” Nesta said slowly, thinking of Devlon’s begrudging acceptance of her. How the Illyrians no longer looked as if they might spit at her. At the distance the males gave her, as if she were finally a threat rather than a pawn in their game. “They don’t know what I am.”

“That probably terrifies them more,” Cassian told Nesta with a devilish grin as they followed Lorrian and Frawley into the living room.

Like the rest of the house, fresh greenery had been wound into garlands around the room. Beautifully arranged teardrop swags hung beneath the faelights on the white-washed walls: bundles of pine, cones, holly and its ruby berries, ivy and honeysuckle vines.

“Mulled wine,” Frawley told Nesta, thrusting a large mug into her hand. “I’ve magicked it to remove the alcohol. It practically tastes the same. Lorrian likes it, anyway.”

“It’s the closest I’ve had to the real thing,” Lorrian told Nesta with an easy grin as he finally moved forward to greet her. He bent to kiss both of her cheeks in an air of heat laced with sandalwood, the close cut of his stubble rough against her skin. “You look beautiful, as usual,” he told her.

Nesta’s snort was a soft dismissal, but she was secretly pleased. The dress she was wearing had hung off her months ago. She’d still had Mas take it in a little, but she saw her outfit as a symbolic triumph, having finally gained back the majority of the weight she had lost so dangerously after months and months of denying herself sustenance.

“Come,” Frawley beckoned to Nesta, “I’ve put your armchair close to the fire. You’re as bad as Caerleon. Sometimes I think he’d sit on top of the hearth if he could.”

Nesta’s lips twitched but she didn’t comment. It was true that now Nesta could light fires of her own, she could enjoy sitting by the hearth without fearing that it might send her into a downward spiral. Not that Frawley hadn’t taken care of that herself the two times she had visited, and as expected, the fire was already silently eating the glowing wood that had been stacked into the grate.

At the mention of his name, Caerleon padded towards Nesta just as she took a seat in the armchair and pressed his large head into Nesta’s lap. Burying her fingers into the beast’s soft, shaggy mane with her spare hand, Nesta huffed a laugh as the manticore let out a low whine in greeting.

“How do you usually celebrate Solstice, Nesta?” Lorrian asked conversationally, as he seated himself in the twin armchair opposite her and stretched out his long legs.

Nesta didn’t have to glance at Cassian from where he had settled on the low-back couch to know that his expression had turned tight. She felt the trepidation in her stomach. The more and more she dropped her emotional guard, the more keenly she felt him, even through the shield of fire he had resurrected around himself.

“Solstice isn't celebrated in the Human Realm,” Nesta replied in a way that she hoped came across as unaffected.

“Of course it isn’t,” Frawley interjected, glaring at her husband with an intensity Nesta was glad she was not on the receiving end of.

“Well, the good thing about Solstice is the food,” Lorrian told Nesta with an easy grin. “If you need a motivation to start celebrating it.”

Nesta harrumphed in the back of her throat. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

“Speaking of food...” Cassian started hopefully.

Frawley rolled her eyes but dumped a plate of pastries unceremoniously into the warrior’s lap. “Lorrian made these solely to tide you over until dinner.” She tutted as Cassian began to tuck in with gusto. “I’ve never witnessed anybody eat so much and I live with an Illyrian. Did you train this morning?”

“No,” Cassian said around a mouthful of pie. His voice was incredulous — offended, even. “It’s Solstice, witch, or have you forgotten in your old age?”

“I would not put it past you to train three hundred and sixty-five days of the year,” Frawley snapped in retort, “for fear that one day off would have those muscles of yours shrinking.”

When Frawley’s ice blue eye rested on Nesta, it was not sparking with anger but amusement, even as her face remained impassive. She and Cassian often bantered like this; with Frawley seemingly infuriated and Cassian prodding insults. “Am I wrong, Nesta?”

Nesta did not try to fight the slight curve of her lips, she was too amused by Cassian’s mouth which had gone slack. Thankfully, it wasn’t full of food. “No, he preens and puffs like a rooster.”

Lorrian threw his head back and laughed. Frawley snorted with delight. Grinning, Cassian stood to offer Nesta a mince pie with twinkling eyes.

Surprised, Nesta cocked a challenging eyebrow at him.

What she had said wasn’t true. Cassian’s physique was all to do with being a cut above the rest. He trained with an intensity that sung of a determination to prove that he was worthy. He allowed his body to become battered and bloody, his knuckles bruised and his hands calloused. He wore scars as if they were armour… as if they were akin to the black tattoos that licked up his body. Symbols of luck and glory and proof that he would endure, above all else.

So much of Cassian was worn on the surface if you chose to look.

And she certainly wasn’t complaining about his figure. Even if just staring at the corded muscles of his body made her fill with a liquid heat that both embarrassed and thrilled her… She had wondered on more than one occasion what it might feel like to straddle the vast width of him… to allow her fingernails to bite into his sizeable shoulders as she sank down onto him. The way he’d groan, the sound guttural in the depths of his throat. She had dreamt about it more times than she’d like to admit. She knew what it felt like to have his phantom lips bruise her skin and his teeth scrape at her pulse point. Knew what it felt like for that relentless drive to hound her blood, each throb of her veins pulling her towards him.

But if her blood was desire, her mind was logic and she knew why she felt like that. Why he felt like it too, sometimes.

So she kept her ribcage close around her heart. It was a shield rendered with gaps but it worked just fine if she fortified it with ice.

Those glowing amber eyes did not leave hers as she took a sweet pastry dusted with sugar from the plate. For a terrified moment, Nesta thought that he knew what she had been thinking, but then he turned to Frawley and said with such casualness it took her a moment for the words to sink in, “Not all of us can look as effortlessly devastating as Nesta.”

Cassian didn’t look at her for a while, after that.

The day was not like the previous Solstice: full of gifts and banter that she was not a part of. Nesta did not spend her time shying away in the corner for fear that the fire would make her power finally roar.

There was food. Lots of variety without being excessive. Roast meat, potatoes and steamed vegetables. Battered savoury pudding, gravy and pigs in blankets. Nesta ate more than she usually would, each dish so delicious she could not help what she piled onto her plate until she was practically bursting at the seams.

Afterwards, Nesta helped Frawley to carry the dirty dishes back to the kitchen. Lorrian had done the majority of the cooking and Frawley had woefully admitted that meant it was her job to clean up. Nesta had risen without thinking and in a blink of an eye she had her hands submerged in water and bubbles.

Frawley was telling Nesta that it was she and Lorrian’s anniversary the day before Solstice. That they had decided to become chroi on that day many years ago, and had the magic seal their intents a few hours later.

Despite Frawley’s fierce edges, the witch softened when she spoke of her husband in a way that told Nesta that the love ran deep. Not that Nesta couldn’t see that plainly before her whenever the two were in a room. They had a way of moving together that was completely at ease: respectful and kind and pure and accepting.

It made Nesta hungry for the love she had read about in her books. But she knew better than to believe she was deserving of it.

“How did you know Lorrian was the one?” Nesta asked curiously, as Frawley detailed how they had decided to intertwine their lives the same day in front of the other witches.

Taking a plate from Nesta, Frawley began to dry it with a seriousness that told Nesta that she was thinking hard. “I’ve lived a long life,” Frawley said eventually. “After a while, night and day become repetitive. Boring. I didn’t realise I’d fallen into a rut until I met Lorrian. He made me feel alive again.” She shrugged, the action unlike Frawley as she pinned Nesta with both her eyes. “And Caer liked him. Caer has always been an extension of me in some ways, so I knew that Lorrian was right. We fit like two puzzle pieces. We didn’t try to change who we were for the other, but our love made us happier, more content, even in the face of great challenges.”

Nesta wondered if Frawley was referring to their lost witchlings as well as Lorrian’s arm. She could not imagine losing something so precious. The thought made her heart ache with such intensity she wanted to run away for a moment, before she reminded herself that emotion was part of life. It was better than being numb.

Nesta wanted to see the world in colour, not in black and white. Training with Azriel had taught her that.

“It must be nice,” Nesta observed after a moment, “to know you both chose one another. That you had a choice.”

Both eyes swivelled to rest on Nesta’s face. The effect was alarming. Nesta was used to them moving independently rather than together. “Everyone has a choice in love, Nesta.”

Nesta opened her mouth to speak but then Lorrian and Cassian entered the kitchen laden with more dirty dishes. Lorrian mentioned a dessert he needed to take out of the larder and Frawley turned to help him.

Whilst Nesta’s stomach was full in a way that was uncomfortable, her ears perked up at the thought of something sweet, as if it would cut through her savoury food coma.

“I have something I’d like to show you,” Cassian said into Nesta’s ear, as Frawley batted away her husband with a tea towel. He was trying to take the pudding she was carrying from her. “Will you come with me?”

Nesta cast a look at Lorrian and Frawley, but they were still both fussing over the Christmas pudding to notice them. So she nodded and followed him out the back door and into the crisp night air. Already a layer of frost dusted the greenery on the forest floor and pine needles, but Cassian quickly cast a bubble of warmth around them. It had not snowed, a rarity for this time of year Cassian had told her earlier, especially in Illyria which was usually deep in blankets of snow by now.

Gesturing to the outbuilding to the left of the cottage, Cassian walked ahead of her, his large wings bobbing behind him as he moved. They flared slightly as he slid open the huge wooden door, before quickly tucking themselves back in, no doubt to protect them from the bitter cold wind which was doing its best to cut through his shield.

It took Nesta’s eyes a fraction of a second to adjust to the darkness, her Fae eyes gifting her with far better sight than her human body ever had.

She stared around the barn — the bails of hay, the wooden rafters…

She twisted to look up at Cassian, a frown on her face. “What am I looking at?

“There," Cassian said with a jut of his chin. Nesta followed the direction he had pointed in and then her eyes went wide.

There, on a makeshift bed of hay was a manticore. It was not like Caer. There was no orange mane, only beautiful sandy fur and a handsome, elegant head, large ears and huge, almond eyes. Her leathery wings were smaller than Caer’s but in proportion to her body and tucked in tight.

Her amber eyes glowed in the dark, that regal head cocking as her gaze clicked into place with Nesta’s. That one look had Nesta’s heart thumping in her chest. It was not from fear, but utter awe.

“Do you know the associations surrounding manticores?” Cassian asked. His voice was low in her ear. Intimate.

Frowning, Nesta dragged her eyes away from the manticore with regret. “They are an apex predator known to devour their prey whole,” Nesta said, reciting what she had been told since she was young. “They are vicious and deadly and cannot be overcome by man.”

But even as she said the words, Nesta knew them not to be true, because she knew Caer. Knew his empathetic heart and the way he had comforted her when she was sad. “Obviously, that’s another human myth that holds no truth,” she finished with a lift to her chin, daring him to laugh.

But Cassian did not mock her, he only nodded. “Yes. Manticores are ruthless creatures and because of their ability to kill with such ease they have been labelled as bringing strife and suffering to the world. But that is not true. Manticores are rare and hard to come by because they are born from the blood of true sacrifice.”

Nesta wondered what Frawley had done to earn Caer’s loyalty. For him to serve her above all others. From what Cassian had told her, Caerleon had been with Frawley for so long even history could not pinpoint an exact date.

“Rhys found this manticore in the spot where you healed Mas.”

A long, long silence. “Frawley took her back to The Steppes to raise her. Manticores grow incredibly quickly, as you can see, but are incredibly vulnerable when they are young, largely because their wings are not fully developed. Fae and humans alike also have a nasty habit of trying to kill young manticores as it is when they are at their weakest. They try to damage their tails so they cannot take life from range and injure their wings so they never develop.

The thought made Nesta’s stomach roll. To harm something so beautiful and pure.

“Sala is only two weeks but she has already taken adult form. Only a fool would try to take her down now.”

“If manticores are so deadly, why isn’t she trying to kill us?” Nesta breathed, her gaze again connecting with the beast’s.

“Because we believe that she is yours, if you want her.”

“She’s mine?” Nesta asked sharply, too surprised to arrange her expression into one of indifference. “How do you know?”

At the words, the manticore raised her beautiful, beautiful head. Golden eyes settled on Nesta as leathery wings unfurled from the beast’s back — stretching — as if she had woken from a long sleep. She rose until she was on her haunches and then her four huge paws.

The beast padded towards them, her hips slinking, her head low and assessing. Yet none of it was threatening. Instead, Nesta only felt a rush of calm as the manticore moved towards them. She stopped in front of Nesta, so close that Nesta could feel the warmth of her breath on her skin, could see that close up the shimmer of gold in Sala’s eyes, the dotted muzzle and the long, pointed incisors.

And then, the beast hopped up onto her haunches, her impossibly large paws coming to rest on Nesta’s shoulders. Despite the enormity of the animal, Nesta remained grounded without having to brace herself. Mesmerising gold filled her vision. It was an ancient, omniscient stare that sung of wisdom and knowledge, of years lived and lived and lived.

And then Nesta saw herself: a reflection of silver-grey; of elegantly pointed ears; of pale skin and pink lips; as if she had become a part of the beast, their lives entangled. Bowing her large head, the manticore closed the distance between them and rubbed her forehead against Nesta’s.

The action was gentle — a familial caress — and when the beast was done, she kept her head against Nesta’s, the gesture solicitous and binding. They breathed together, their chests moving at the same time, and Nesta revelled in the softness of Sala’s fur and the affection that laced the movement. The implication behind it.

“A manticore chooses an owner it deems worthy. Someone pure of heart.”

Cassian’s voice was a low rumble as Sala dropped to all fours. When Nesta twisted around to look at him she found him leaning against the barn, as if he had stepped away to give she and Sala space. His smile was crooked and so beautiful Nesta wanted to touch it; to trace the lines of his mouth where it curved upwards. But most of all, to draw the lines that creased around his eyes that softened the wildness of his features.

“The tuft of her tail is made of silver fire, which is also a giveaway,” Cassian mused, his hazel eyes glowing with what Nesta dissected as amusement. Had she been staring at him a little too long? “Manticores take on elements of their partner.”

Nesta hadn’t even noticed Sala’s tail, but now she could see the trail of silver flame as the tip flicked slowly from side to side in the dark.

The ice that protected everything creaked and cracked at the sight.

Nesta let it. She wanted to refute it — to tell Cassian that he was wrong and Sala wasn’t hers — but the moment Sala had rested her heads on hers, she knew that they were bound together. The manticore made her blood sing, as if their paths were irrevocably entangled in such a beautiful way that Nesta daren’t question it. It was a similar feeling she had encountered when Cassian had delivered the letter in the Human Realm; that compelling pull of destiny.

After the war, Nesta had thought they were done. That she and Cassian had made history and were now travelling on parallel paths of a forked road. But now she was not so sure. She had not been sure for a while now.

“And what if I were of bad intention?” Nesta asked, smoothing her palm over the manticore’s head. The fur was as soft as the finest silk; the touch so divine that Nesta wanted to bury her face in the beast’s ruff and breathe her in again.

A frown worried itself onto Cassian’s expression. Nesta pushed it to the periphery, keeping her attention focussed on Sala.

Nesta had thought revenge would be sweet. Thought that killing the King would have rendered her new and swept away all of the regrets and the pain of the past, but it had only set a deep fear within her. What if her palms only sung death and destruction? What if she was evil and cruel and a thorn in the side of everyone she met? What if she was bloodthirsty and she would not stop until she had quenched that thirst?

But when she had dropped to her knees in front of Mas, Nesta had felt a different hum of power; a magic that had been pushed down and quieted but was wholly good. And as Nesta had forged herself anew, she realised that her magic had presented her with a choice. She could be death if she wished. She could cause destruction and wreak havoc but she could also protect and heal. And whilst Nesta had decided who she was, the knowledge that she had the ability to take away life as she pleased still terrified her. The kerits were different. They were not Fae or human. They did not look like her, did not think like her, did not have conscious thought. Their heads did not tumble right, and whilst life disappeared from the depth of their eyes, it was not akin to the way her father’s eyes had faded, his very being sputtering out until there was only vacant emptiness.

Nesta did not want to take life. Not unless she had to.

She was not a killer.

Scar-flecked fingers tilted her chin and urged her to look upwards. Nesta had not heard him move, but she registered his warmth and saw his earnest expression as she stared up into Cassian’s tan face.

“You are not of bad intention,” Cassian said, as if he somehow could sense her self-deprecating thoughts. His voice had dropped; the tone soft, like a brush stroking tenderly against a canvas.

“What would happen?” Nesta insisted. She needed to know. Needed to understand as surely as she needed to understand that she would wake tomorrow and he would still be there; her steady presence.

“Then Sala would disappear into the ether, as it were. An allegiance can be changed, after all. Manticores are highly intelligent creatures.”

Nesta did not know what to say. Yet, whilst she had no words, she knew with a fierce conviction that she would not allow herself to lose Sala. This beast… she was a gift. Sala was the first true blessing that Nesta had been granted in a life that had only been bleak and cruel.

Sala was hers just as she would be the beast’s. A companion in the grey of her life. Another flicker of light in the dark.

“I thought she would give you more freedom around the camps.”

Nesta blinked. Cassian had dropped his hand but remained close to her. His warmth seeped through her clothing, the sensation welcome in the shadows of the barn. Sometimes Nesta felt as if his warmth was directed solely to heat her limbs.

“I know you must feel limited in where you can go,” Cassian elaborated, stretching his wings slightly. He kept the one closest to her outstretched; a barrier against the cold.

To Nesta’s surprise, Cassian’s cheeks stained a faint pink and he looked away. “I can’t imagine being in Windhaven and not being able to fly,” he confessed. “Sala can carry you about if you want to taste the wind. She can also fight alongside you should you ever need it, both on ground and in the skies.” Another crooked smile as those dark eyes rested back on her, as if he were making himself do it. It nearly knocked the breath from her lungs, the vulnerability in his expression. “She’s not a steed, but perhaps she will become a close second.”

Nesta didn’t know what to do with her body. She felt self-conscious beyond belief, thrown completely by the repeated offering — of freedom. Cassian knew of her growing love of flying. He had truly listened when she confessed that the air rushing around her made her feel alive. That she hungered for it — desperate to gobble up the adrenaline that for the short time, made her feel awake. The rush was akin to an orgasm; the sensation of hot, silky skin sliding against hers as the wave crested and shattered on the shore. Better in some ways. Healthier. More attainable.

Even though words flashed through her mind, Nesta only asked, “Sala?”

Cassian’s lips turned up at the corners as if he were accessing a memory. “It means fire in Illyrian. A temporary name should you wish to call her something else. Although she is rather attached to it, as you can see.”

Indeed, the manticore’s round honey-coloured ears had pricked forward at the sound of her name. She tilted her head slightly at Cassian, as if she were waiting for him to give her a command.

Nesta bent to scratch behind Sala’s ears.

“But where will she stay?”

It seemed a stupid question to ask, but the words blurted forth anyway.

Cassian shrugged but the gesture appeared relieved. Had he thought she would turn Sala away? He must have asked Frawley to keep the manticore secret so he could show her the beast himself. “She can come into the bungalow if she likes. Manticores are needy creatures who bond fast to their chosen companion. She’ll like to exercise and hunt, but she’ll always want to come home to you. It is in her instincts to protect and serve.”

Silence fell. Nesta brushed her knuckles across the beast’s muzzle, just as she’d seen Frawley do with Caer. Sala’s purr was loud and she dropped to the ground as if she were in heaven, rolling onto her back and stretching her legs out.

Nesta mouth widened into an unstoppable smile at the sight — of the open display of trust and affection which Nesta found so difficult — and squatted down beside the manticore to ruffle her ears.

“Do you like her?”

Cassian’s words caught her, reminding her that he was watching her. His eyes were soft and wide when she twisted to look up at him. The faint ghost of a smile was still hovering on her lips.

“Yes,” she said, in a way that she hoped didn’t come out stiffly. “Very much.” Then she frowned. “What if I’m made to go back to Velaris.”

It was a possibility Nesta couldn’t cast from her mind. Even though Feyre had insisted Nesta could leave Illyria should she want to, Nesta could not help but fear that some event would call her back to their City of Starlight before she chose it herself. That her involvement in court matters would demand her presence.

Cassian’s expression hardened, showing a hint of the warrior she had been privy to earlier. “I promise you don’t have to go back there if you don’t want to.”

“But what if—"

“I don’t care if it’s demanded of you, Nesta. You never have to go back if you don’t want to.”

The way Cassian spoke was short and dark… and troubled. He truly meant it.

Another creak reverberated in Nesta’s ears as ice tumbled from a glacier. Cassian’s words had reminded her of what she needed to do — what Nesta had known for a while but did not want to admit. It was another path that had been cleared of vines and brambles, but remained laced with thorns. It was not an easy route, but it was what she had chosen. “I do want to go back.”

Everything stilled. The air went taut around them and Cassian’s angry expression shifted into something else entirely.

Nesta watched him open and close his mouth, the movement small but enough to indicate that she had stunned him. Eventually he said, “Ok.”

Another long, long pause. She watched him swallow, the column of his throat moving up and then down as he looked away. “We can move you back, if that’s what you want.”

Arrows formed between her brows as she frowned. Did he think…?

Stupid bat.

“I have no intention of moving back there permanently,” she clipped. “I have things I need to take care of. I’ll go back with you. You said you were going for New Year’s Eve.”

Again, Cassian’s lips parted. “You want to visit?” he asked with a disbelieving frown. “I’m going for a few days. I’ll return New Year’s Day.”

Dread twisted inside of her but Nesta did not let it show. Determination won out. She would not stray from her path. Her intention was bigger then her fear to return back to Velaris, to undoubtedly have to face member’s of the Inner Circle in their home — their territory. Where she had been broken and lost and so numb she could not remember the year that had slid by in a roll of bare flesh and the burn of alcohol.

“Yes, for a visit,” she confirmed. Then, she added, “As long as I don’t have to stay in that wretched new house.”

Cassian looked away from her. “Your apartment is still there.”

Worrying her lip between her teeth, Nesta thought of that cold and dirty apartment with its four locks on the door. She had never felt safe there. And it was not a place for her now. A different Nesta had lived there … and Nesta was not that Fae any longer.

“Where will you stay?” she asked.

“I usually stay with Rhys and Feyre or at the House of Wind.”

“Why don’t you have your own place.”

Cassian laugh was rough and throaty and it made the hairs on her arm stand on end. “Why, would you want to stay there?”

Nesta scowled, even as she asked, “How insufferable would you be if I said yes.”

“Very insufferable,” Cassian assured her, his eyes twinkling.

“No, then,” Nesta replied … and Cassian laughed. The sound was bright and so, so delighted that she couldn’t help the twitch of her lips.

“Shall I send word ahead that you’re coming?”

Nesta shrugged. “If you like.”

A pause.

“Elain will be pleased.”

“Yes,” Nesta said tightly. Already she was starting to backtrack, the thought of heading back to Velaris too much. But then she thought about her purpose and the courage it gave her made her stand that little bit taller. Stiffer… but taller.

“How about this,” Cassian offered, as if he sensed her trepidation. “We won’t send word ahead until the night before. Then you have the night to sleep on it. If you decide you don’t want to go back, nobody is any the wiser and it means you won’t overthink things.” His expression was carefully neutral. “You could even have Sala come to meet you,” he added. “The journey would help to strengthen her wings.”

Armour. He was offering her armour amongst her fire.

Nesta loosed a slow breath and played with Sala’s soft ears. “Ok.”

Then she looked up at him, those stormy eyes suddenly clearing to blue as a small smile crept onto her face — she was still in too much disbelief to control it. “She’s really for me?”

Cassian reached a hand downwards. It hesitated in midair, but when she did not move away his thumb brushed the dimple in her cheek with such reverence something inside of her glowed hot.

“She’s all yours,” Cassian assured her, his expression so soft he looked as young as her. “We can bring her inside now if you like. We’ll have to watch Caer, he’s taken a shine to her.”

Nesta woke the next morning in the small bedroom she had been allocated at the cottage with Sala spread out on the bed beside her. The manticore’s body was deliciously warm and Nesta raised a hand to scratch behind the animal’s ears.

Already the beast was Nesta’s steadfast companion.

Sala let out a deep rumbling purr that continued to vibrate as she knocked her head gently against Nesta’s in greeting, and Nesta allowed herself a moment to rest her forehead against Sala’s, holding her close and breathing her in.

The night of festivities had bled into the early hours, and Nesta had only dragged herself to bed when her eyelids had become so heavy she could barely keep them open.

Blearily, Nesta dragged herself to join her friends for breakfast before heading back upstairs to get ready to fly to Ironcrest. She was just finishing weaving her hair into a coronet, when a knock sounded at the door.

Cassian was wearing elaborate leathers that she had not seen before. He had scraped half of his hair back into a top knot tied tightly with leather and red cloth. The rest hung to his shoulders in gleaming ebony, as if he had deigned to run a brush through his hair yet again.

Nesta considered making a comment about how he had brushed his hair two days in a row but stopped herself at the last minute. There was a tense set to his shoulders that she had not expected to see given yesterday’s festivities. She doubted it was because he was hungover. Nesta had noticed that he had not gorged himself on wine like he had the year prior, only enjoying a few glasses over the course of the day, as if he knew he needed his wits about him for the luncheon. And, she imagined, so as not to drink excessively around her. Not that she hungered for a drink, any longer. She hadn’t for a long time.

The solidity to Cassian’s frame was the sort that he used to wear when she first arrived in Velaris. It was a stance prepared for barbed words and insults, even as he feigned casual joviality. A stance ready for a fight he did not want to participate in.

Perhaps he was worried about today… That was a possibility. She had heard him tell Rhys ‘no’ when he asked them to stay the night at Ironcrest. There had been no contemplation, just fierce, adamant refusal…

Nesta had a feeling it had nothing to do with his safety but her own. And even though Nesta had her silver flames and her beginner’s training in combat, she was still the female who craved four locks on a door before she could go to sleep. The bungalow was different, it had a magical protection that Nesta had cause to doubt, but in a camp where the General and their High Lord were out of favour…

Even as her power moved restlessly beneath her skin, Nesta hoped she and Cassian were sharing a room. She would gladly pretend to be seen as a couple if it meant she would not sleep alone in a strange place. Just the thought of it made her fire want to roar, even as the thought of sleeping beside him made her want to self-combust.

Oblivious to her thoughts, Cassian bent to scratch behind Sala’s ears with a large hand. “Ready to go?”

Nesta’s eyes snagged on the chain dangling from his other hand and her magic gushed through her veins as if it were a flood.

“What’s that?” Nesta asked with a scowl.

For a moment, Nesta actually thought Cassian was going to turn on his heel and leave. A muscle feathered in his jaw, but in the end, he only stepped so close to her she almost had to take a step back to steady herself.

Sala came to sit by Nesta’s side. The manticore stared up at them with her beautiful, almond eyes that shone gold as Cassian thrust a hand out. “Here.”

Nesta stared at the silver chain that dangled from his fist and the pendant that hung from it. It was so odd to see an impossibly broad warrior holding something so delicate that Nesta wanted to laugh — the first time the sound wanted to desperately bubble out of her in his presence— but she knew to do so would be a fatal move; a wound that could not be healed. So she swallowed down the sensation and tilted her head to study the necklace instead.

She hoped that he couldn’t hear how fast her heart was beating in her chest.

When she opened her mouth to speak, Cassian swiftly changed tactic, steering her around so her back was to him. The movement was abrupt and uncontrolled, designed to stop her speaking and laced with something that Nesta thought she detected as panic.

The firm touch of his hands on her skin made everything hiss, like steam as water hit a hot pan on the stove. And once she had her back to him and the room stopped spinning, everything slowed. Hyper-aware, Nesta felt the movement of air against the arch of her neck; felt the way her body betrayed her and covered her in goosebumps as his calloused fingers brushed her neck. The pleasure at being touched coursed through her and she stiffened, suppressing the shiver that wanted to sweep her away.

She hadn’t been touched intimately in months. Hadn’t been touched tenderly ever and she found she craved for it.

The comprehension made her both sad and angry: a double-edged sword plunged into the gut.

“What do you think—” she started to snap, but she broke off as a light weight nestled on her sternum, a few inches below her clavicle.

For a moment, the stone was cool, but then it pulsed against her skin, as if it were a heart and it had been kicked into life for the first time. The pendant was a colour Nesta had never seen before - not quite gold and not quite silver. Understated but undoubtedly beautiful.

Nesta snapped her gaze up to Cassian as all seven siphons on his ornate armour glowed softly.

He was staring at her with apprehension… and he looked strangely vulnerable, as if he were ready to take a step back. As if he were about to take a hit.

Despite that, Nesta couldn’t help to stamp out the intimacy of the moment, even as her mind chanted for more. His head was bowed slightly towards her and she was so consumed by his scent that too much derision flooded her voice, “You’re giving me jewellery? I’m touched.”

“Very good,” Cassian snickered. His wary expression was suddenly replaced with determination, the shadows shifting on his dark, untameable features.

“I know you don’t usually wear jewellery,” Cassian said with forced lightness, “but I thought you might make an exception. The stone is made of pyrite. Pyrite is revered in Illyria for its protective properties—it’s very rare. It provides a level of protection over the wearer.”

Nesta fingered the beautiful pendant, the stone which was still warm against her skin. It reminded her of safety: of being curled up by a silent fire with a storm raging outside; of a hot meal settling in a stomach carved out hollow from weeks of barely having enough to survive.

She should accept the necklace and get him to leave, Nesta knew that, but her curiosity had been piqued even as something warned her to remain quiet, “When did you have time to hunt down a rare protective charm?”

A muscle feathered in Cassian’s jaw. Suddenly he was not looking at her again but past her, as if something had captivated his attention on the wall. “A while ago.”

And somehow she knew from those three words exactly what this was: the Solstice gift he had tried to give her.

All the fight bled out of her, because somehow Nesta knew that he had found this for her so she would feel safe. So when she closed the door to her apartment at night with the four locks or walked home well after dark in an inebriated state, that it would offer her protection. That even though she had rejected him and he knew that she was fucking male after male, that no harm would come to her.

At the time she would have been furious at the gift — at the audacity that he thought he should protect her. But that wasn’t it at all. It was because deep down, despite all her sharp words and his confusing actions, he had cared. And whilst post-war Nesta would have been so blinded by rage and numbing grief that she would have been unable to see the gift for what it was… the Nesta here and now - the female who was slowly emerging out of the dark - felt as if dawn was peeking on the horizon.

A lump formed in her throat. Had Cassian dived into the Sidra to retrieve it? When she had been so cruel to him and he so cruel to her? When she had lashed out because he would not listen. Because he had ignored her and flirted with Mor in front of her face as she felt discarded in the corner.

“It will provide you with an added layer of security during our trip,” Cassian told her.

Even now, Nesta did not want to discuss what they had been. What they could have been. So she said, “You think I need it today?”

“I think that I don’t trust Illyrian males, especially Illyrian males from Ironcrest. I think that you are stronger and more powerful than any of them, but I would rather die than have something happen to you on the off-chance that they got closer than you’d like or if they teamed up on you.” His words were a low vigorous rumble that shook her bones.

Then he hesitated. “And Illyrian males give a piece of jewellery to females they are promised to — it’s a symbolic gesture. For the sake of today’s pretence, it would be good if you wore it.”

A long, long silence where Nesta could feel Cassian’s pulse thumping against the skin of his neck. For one true beat, their eyes locked. His eyes were so dark and intense that Nesta couldn’t bare it.

She was thankful when they shifted slightly to stare right past her rather than tunnel far inside of her.

“It’s beautiful,” she conceded, unable to voice what she wanted to say. There was too much churning around in her mind, so she stared down at the teardrop pendant that glimmered against her pale skin.

“Good,” Cassian said, moving away from her with such abruptness it was almost military with intent. “Put it on and come downstairs.”

Tags: @arin1030 @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook @iammissstark @lovelynesta @melphss @nestalytical @darkshadowqueensrule @laylaameer01 @a-trifling-matter @grouchycritic7794 @thalia-2-rose @champanheandluxxury @swankii-art-teacher @princessconsuela02 @lavendergoomsltd @little-diyosa @princessofmerchants-reads @jeakat @sjm-things @imwritingthesewords @nestable @inejbrekkxr @silvernesta @inyourmindeye @amelie775

#embersandlightfic #embers and light #acotar #acowar #acomaf #acosf #acofas #nessian #nessianfic #nessianangst #nesta x cassian #cassian #fanfiction #acotar fanfiction

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omniscientwreck · 3 years

Text

Day 6: Time & Transformation // Temptation

Day 6 of @shadowgastweek (I’m very late I know I’m sorry!)

Please enjoy this little glimpse into the future I hope the wizards will get one day, please let me know what you think!

“Caleb?”

“Ja?” The wizard looks over, silver hairs peeking through the copper and he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose looking over from the loveseat where his papers and books were sprawled across the dark upholstery.

A familiar, grin spreads freely across his features.

“Can I tempt you away from your studies for a moment?”

Eyebrows raise and a mischievous glint, “Well you know, this is some important work I’m doing. I’m not sure if you can compete.”

Gliding over, Essek leans down over the human’s form, sporting his own devilish grin. The wizard’s eyes raked over him with a hunger. That could wait. They have time. “Oh I assure you I can be quite compelling.” And he leans in to kiss Caleb. Kissing him is so comfortable, safe, it fills him with a warmth he’d never previously known. It’s been years and it still excites him when their lips connect. Caleb’s short stubble scrapes a bit before they part, Essek righting himself and offering Caleb a hand.

“I have to say Thelyss, you make a good case. What is it?”

“I just wanted to talk with you, about tomorrow.”

As Caleb stands he smiles reassuringly, “Mein Engel, you are still nervous?” He grabs for Essek’s hand, lacing their fingers together. Caleb’s hands are strong and his fingers are wider than Essek’s. It’s easy to feel reassured in his grasp, familiar callouses rough as Caleb’s thumb rubs circles into his hand. “The spell has been performed many times without issue, we’ve got it figured out. I’m certainly excited to see what happens.”

Essek nods, “Of course I am excited too, but well. The other times it was you and now it’s me and transmutation certainly isn’t my specialty.”

A gentle laugh falls from Caleb’s lips and he squeezes Essek’s hand, “You know you really don’t give yourself enough credit. You quite nearly pioneered an entire school of magic. You’ve been it’s foremost scholar and teacher for some time. I understand nerves but I promise you I trust your ability. You’ll have the rest of the Nein there, Veth has had it done to her and the rest were there with us the first time. I will be okay. Besides, won’t you be happy for me to be rid of some of these age markers?”

He winks at Essek, teasing, already knowing the answer. “You grow more beautiful every day Caleb, I have never once regretted the aging of your body. You know very well it’s not about looks, it’s about time.” Caleb stops their walking and wraps his arms around him, pulling Essek in and kissing him gently, chastely. “Regardless of how old you look or what happens tomorrow I intend to stay by your side until death. But we only have one life so we may as well lengthen our time.”

Caleb kisses the tip of his nose and they continue outside of their home. The dark of the night engulfs them and the glow of the stars is vibrant as always, Essek looks at his husband and tries to quell the nerves, the anticipation, when a voice fills his mind, “Hey Essek it’s Jester! I couldn’t wait to see you and Caleb until tomorrow, it’s been so long and I’ve missed you so much. I’m-” the spell cuts off and he waits a few moments to see if she plans to recast.

When he hears nothing he responds, out loud so Caleb can hear, “Hello Jester. It is good to hear from you. We’re home and I believe you know our address. You’re welcome at any time.”

Caleb’s crows feet crinkle around his still piercing blue eyes, “Well, if Jester’s here then so is Fjord and I can’t imagine the others are far behind. We should prepare the guest beds.”

They float inside to welcome their friends and briefly Essek’s anxiety is pushed to the back of his mind.

-----

Long ago he’d finally stopped referring to the Nein as ‘Caleb’s friends’ and accepted his role in their lives and allowed them to step into their roles in his properly. Agents of change, bestowers of affection, it’s been about a year since they last saw everyone together.

Ten years ago when they defeated Lucien the group took a break. Jester and Fjord split off to Nicodranas with Veth, Caduceus went home, Yasha and Beau had posted up mainly in Zadash, and Essek and Caleb spent a great deal of time travelling and exploring. Whenever one of the Nein called they all answered, whether it was something as simple as providing fire power when Beau had an investigation or something as momentous as tying up loose ends from their past, they remained steadfast to one another.

Jester, Fjord, and Veth and her family are the first to arrive and Essek opens a well aged wine. Luc is a teenager at this point and he’s becoming a bit of a menace at the amusement of his uncles. Caleb had previously taught him message and he’s been getting a lot of mileage out of it. Jester and Fjord have stories from having come back from a few months at sea, helping with some errands for merchant ships for old times’ sake.

Their home feels full and alive, and the next moring when Beau and Yasha arrive, and then Caduceus it feels like the family is whole again.

They begin digging clay out of the back yard just as they had the first time and as everyone assumes their positions, laughing and joking, filling the backyard with cacophonous uproar, Essek is hit with nostalgia.

He misses travelling with them, having them by his side and standing at theirs throughout some of the worst confrontations in history. He misses the jokes they lob his way with ease, Fjord and Veth hurling insults back and forth, all of it. It seems like so much time has passed since they had last upturned his yard to help a friend into a new form, but in his comparatively long life it’s hardly any time at all.

They assemble the clay, sprinkling in diamond dust and Essek is basically useless with nerves, they’ve created the trough, incorporated the diamond dust. All that’s left is him. They pause to eat, Caduceus’ cooking a welcome break from the day’s preparations.

Dinner is delicious, and loud, full of stories Luc and Yeza have heard dozens of times but still delightful all the same. As they finish eating and prepare to cast the rest clean up as Essek floats outside to check their arrangement one last time. He feels a punch land on the back of his shoulder, where he was once marked by the Nonagon and Beau surveys alongside him, the day’s work. “Hey man, you okay?”

He should be used to her check-ins but she still puts him on edge despite their ‘beef’ as she put it having been ‘squashed’ years ago. “I am alright. This is a big deal and well, I just want to perform well.”

“You will.” She rubs his shoulders a bit and continues, “You know, I didn’t think you deserved him. Even after we figured our shit out and you like became cool. I didn’t think you were good enough for him. Thanks for proving me wrong, you’re good people and I know you’ll take care of him. You’re nervous because you care and that shows me a lot about you. You’ve always been that way but. Well, I see the way you look at him, it’s just real fucking nice.”

All he can do in response is nod and swallow hard, he doesn’t have words to explain what the reassurance means. He kneels down to ensure the dimensions are right for the fiftieth time and the others come out breaking the silence.

“Ah- before we begin can I steal him quickly?” Caleb asks his friends as if they have somewhere else to be or any reason to deny the couple a few words. He takes Essek a good distance away so they can talk without being overheard. “Schatz, are you ready?”

“It feels like I should be asking you that. You know the form you would like to assume?”

Caleb nods, “Just as we discussed, we’ll put us on a more even playing field.”

Essek tucks a stray strand of copper hair behind a rounded ear and looks at his husband’s face one last time, “I can’t say I won’t miss this view Widogast, you are a most striking man.”

Caleb just laughs and kisses him gently, “Well you have much to look forward to.”

They stay like that for a moment, hands clasped, pulling their bodies close, eye to eye. Determination and a stoic resilience fall over Essek and he nods to Caleb, “Ready?”

“Ready.”

All told the casting is uneventful. The Nein are knelt in a circle around Caleb with Essek at the head, kissing him one last time before beginning the incantation. As the wind picks up and arcane lines and symbols light up, Essek’s concentration is stone cold. The clay begins slowly building over Caleb, covering his face entirely and as the view of his partner is taken from him he seems to connect on a deeper level to Caleb’s psyche. They think together of the chosen form, and he can feel a reassuring wave come off of Caleb as he continues reciting the incantation. The runes light and as he continues casting and putting everything he has into ensuring their mutual happiness. His voice gradually rises and arcane power swirls around them, hair freely whipping around the faces of his friends, watching with confidence, Yasha smiling knowingly at him across the vessel. He can feel the heat radiating as his hands pass over Caleb and at the hour the clay bursts, the ensuing wave of arcane energy pushes him back a foot or so, even in his kneeling position. The light from the spell is snuffed instantly and the night is dark again. Before them is Caleb anew.

He brushes clay away from his face with slender fingers, gently sitting up as Jester helps him. Essek floats over, kneeling beside him where he sits.

Caleb turns to look at him, he has the same copper hair and bright blue eyes, but the skin is smooth and free of stubble, his ears narrow to a point, and his features are just a little finer.

They did it.

Caleb looks at Essek for a moment, not dissimilar from the look they’d shared as they met at the altar the day they were wed, “So this is what you look like in the dark.”

He cups Essek’s face with a smooth hand and laughs lightly as the Nein begin chattering around them, Essek doesn’t hear what they say as Caleb brings his new lips to Essek’s and they’re locked in their second first kiss. Pulling back slightly, Essek’s laughter rings out and they press their foreheads together. He feels someone wrap their arms around the two of them and eventually the rest of the Nein join. In the middle of the large group hug two wizards hold each other and time stretches before Essek as the full gravity of the what they’ve done makes his heart soar. Time will catch up eventually, it always does, but for now they have plenty.

#shadowgast #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #critical role #critfic #shadowgastweek2021 #I just wanted to write romantic semi-domestic fluff okaaay #god i love these two so much

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stones-x-bones · 3 years

Text

To Build A Home || Bex, Metzli and Milo

TIMING: The day after Metzli returns from this PARTIES: @deathisanartmetzli, @wickedmilo, @inbextween SUMMARY: Milo and Bex meet up at Metzli’s, worried about the state of their friend. CONTENT: Medical blood, Emotional abuse mentions, Domestic abuse mentions (All paragraphs labeled accordingly for triggers)

Metzli’s reflection stared back with vacant eyes. The same eyes that watched Anselmo’s life leave him. The same eyes that watched trees blur by in silence as Macleod and them waltzed through the forest. Making a new dance. A steady and careful one that moved them through the tree line and back into White Crest. The earthquake their body created brought in a devastating tsunami that they could not halt. And as the tap ran in their sink for a little too long, tears fell to join the waterfall.

Dejection. That was the best word for their state. Even after washing all the blood and dirt from their skin, their body was still painted with gashes, scrapes, and bruises. The chunk of neck bitten off being the focal point. It hadn’t closed nearly enough to not cause alarm. The hoodie Metzli wore barely covered it up and they didn’t have the proper medical dressings to patch it up. But that was okay for now.

With the water shut off, Metzli moved back into the living room to sit on the couch. They had barely moved since they got back. Yuca didn’t leave their side, taking to following them everywhere. Small graces that they adored. “Ay mi vida, estoy bien.” They cooed and scritched her chin. Mind wandered to the events that transpired and they flinched. It was painful to look back, but Metzli supposed that was okay. They had lost so much, but gained as well.

For instance, Metzli bit back at their clan for the first time ever. Made their first attempt at defense to show Eloy they were more than the definitions he thrust upon them. The painful history was embraced and within it they found the strength to rewrite the legacy. At least, that was the hope. A hope that came in waves and left Metzli to settle in their anguish when it receded with the tide.

Milo was undeniably anxious, but he knew he needed to visit Metzli. Even if Bex would be there with them, even if it felt awkward, unfamiliar, and uncomfortable. He wanted to believe Bex wasn’t scared of him, he wanted to believe things could return to how they had been. He supposed the only way to repair their friendship was to move forward, to focus on the present. And in the present, Metzli needed them. Metzli needed them both. So, swallowing, he hitched his backpack a little higher, hearing the three bloodbags inside it slosh in a way most people would probably find disturbing. He had been sure to drink one before leaving the house, not wanting to feel any kind of thirst or temptation when his friend inevitably tore into them. Metzli had only told him to bring one, but in his experience it was far better to have too many than too few, especially when recovering from an injury. Climbing the stairs, taking them carefully in a bid to prolong his arrival, he caught a scent he recognised, a scent that confirmed he wasn’t as early as he might have hoped. Maybe it wouldn’t matter who arrived first, but he had convinced himself he would feel less self conscious if he was already in the apartment when Bex arrived. Of course, nothing was ever that simple, so he grit his teeth, forcing down what was left of his anxiety before making his way towards the end of the hall.

Bex was standing outside Metzli’s apartment, hand raised ready to knock, and he felt a jolt of guilt upon seeing her. Resisting the urge to turn and retreat, he reminded himself that he was going to have to talk to her eventually. It wasn’t fair to avoid her, not after everything he had put her through. Taking heavy steps so that she would be made aware of his presence, he caught her eye as she turned to face him, offering her a hesitant smile. Metzli’s words echoed in his mind, predator, and prey. He repressed a shudder, refusing to acknowledge them. Jeez, it shouldn’t be this difficult. His skin was crawling as he remembered the last time they had seen each other. He hated it, he hated this. He hated what he had become. “Hey…” He whispered, not wanting to draw attention to their arrival just yet. “Does… does Metzli know you’re here?”

Bex didn’t know if vampires had first-aid kits. When Milo had shown up to their house needing stitches, Bex had wondered if it was because he didn’t have the right tools at his own. She didn’t really know how well vampires healed from wounds. She knew how fast Mina healed, she knew Morgainterrupting n healed instantly, she knew Deirdre healed quickly, she knew she herself healed extremely slow-- she still had the cuts from Milo’s teeth nearly piercing her skin before she’d thrown him off on her neck, after all-- but she didn’t know how fast vampires really healed. Milo had said his wounds had taken a few days to heal, but how bad were Metzi’s? If they’d almost died, they had to be worse, and Bex hated that thought. She didn’t know what she needed, if she needed anything, but she still stuffed the entire first-aid kit into her purse, sutures and gauze and hydrogen peroxide and all, before racing off to Metzli’s apartment.

She hadn’t even considered how she’d feel seeing Milo again. She figured it would all just be fine, she wasn’t mad at him or anything, and she knew he hadn’t meant it, but when he called out to her and she turned to see him, her body felt frozen, and she felt her magic rushing defensively to the surface, as if expecting him to lunge again. “I-- no, they-- no,” she stumbled over her words a bit, swallowing back the fear and the guilt and lowering her hand. “I haven’t knocked yet. I ran all the way here and winded myself,” she found herself admitting, for no reason, really. She always rambled when she was anxious, or when she was worried, or when she was panicked. Especially when she was all three. “We should go inside, though. We should really just--” but she still didn’t move, blinking as she looked at Milo.

Milo wasn’t sure whether to move closer, or stay where he was. The last thing he wanted to do was make Bex uncomfortable. Hovering awkwardly, he couldn’t help the familiar rush of affection he felt when she told him she had run to the apartment. It hadn’t been necessary. They both knew Metzli wasn’t going anywhere, but Bex wouldn’t rest until she was by their side. She needed to be there for them as quickly as she was physically able. Sometimes he found himself wishing she would put herself first, even once. But it wasn’t in her nature, and as somebody who frequently put himself first, he found it to be an incredibly admirable trait. “Yeah, we- we probably should.” He eyed the door, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment before speaking again, stopping her from announcing their arrival. He needed to say something, he wouldn’t feel right until he apologised. “Bex-” He took a hesitant step closer, breaking off as he struggled to find the right words. “I know you probably don’t want to talk about it but I- I’m really sorry.” Apologies were difficult, he spent most of his life deflecting responsibility so that he wouldn’t have to accept it. But this was different, he owed her this much.

Glancing down at her neck, tearing his gaze away before it could linger on the scarf hiding the evidence of his attack, he cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “I didn’t know I could lose it like that, not when I wasn’t hungry. I still have so much to learn but it… it shouldn’t come at the expense of my friends.” He caught her eye, his vision suddenly blurred by tears. He hurried to blink them away. “I should have told you- the moment I realised you were bleeding, I should have told you how I was feeling. It wasn’t fair… I was just so scared, and confused, and when the danger was gone this relief came crashing down and it overwhelmed me.” He took another step forward, listening to her heartbeat to ensure he wasn’t making her nervous. “Can you forgive me?” His voice sounded small, even to his own ears, and he realised he felt small. If she said no, he would be crushed. This level of vulnerability was alien, and unfamiliar to him. “I don’t want you to forgive me because you want me to be okay. I want you to be honest, Bex… I only want you to be okay.”

Bex turned to knock again but Milo said her name and she paused mid motion, again, glancing over at him. He wanted to talk about what happened and that made sense, but Bex didn’t really want to talk about it. This didn’t feel like the right time to talk about it. But she couldn’t just go inside and ignore him. She turned to look at him as he spoke, stumbling this way through an apology. And it wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate it, but she was curious. Hadn’t she already told him it was okay? That she didn’t blame him? Well, he hadn’t stayed online long enough for her to say much. She’d asked if he was okay and wanted to make sure that he was okay, and he hadn’t said much back. She looked at her feet, and then at him. “I-- I never said I didn’t want to talk about it,” she corrected quietly, shuffling her feet. “And I know. That you’re sorry. I know all that. I--” she stopped mid sentence, perplexed. “What do you mean can I forgive you? I already did? Milo, that...everything that happened that night was my fault. I don’t blame you for what happened. We were-- things were bad and dire and sometimes we just lose control. I...I know that feeling.” And she did, god did she know. Maybe it wasn’t a bloodlust or a murderous rage, but it was rage-- rage that could hurt and could make you bleed and could kill.

“I forgive you,” she stated, “I promise.”

The ringing in Metzli’s ears began to subside and they could hear Milo and Bex clear as day outside of the door. Yuca was rubbing up against it, the first time she’d strayed away from their side. Legs moved involuntarily towards her, towards the voices of friends that were coming over to help. Statements of apologies and blood and control and forgiveness…

Voices cut in and out, growing muffled and clear over and over again. It was a state of mind they hadn’t experienced before. A culmination of what had happened. A product of violence, pain, and distress. Metzli’s friends needed time, so they gave it to them. Waiting by the door, playing with the pendent Macleod had given them. Pressure built and it waned, only to build up once again. As a promise was spoken and as it tethered to Milo, the door opened suddenly. Eyes darted back and forth from the clasp around the door to Milo and Bex standing outside of the doorframe.

“Uh…I—super hearing.” Their voice was a mutter, barely audible. Metzli couldn’t move, realizing that they had just revealed not only what they heard, but their current state.

Milo faltered. Bex was right, she hadn’t said that. He realised, not for the first time, that he was projecting onto her. He was the one finding it impossible to navigate their situation. And he was trying to blame her for the emotional turmoil. He stayed silent, mulling over his realisation, along with his friend’s reassurances. He didn’t feel as though he had earned them, but he needed them far too much to try and deny himself. Feeling his shoulders drop as tension he didn’t know he was carrying left his body, he smiled again. This smile was far more sincere, a genuine smile, conveying his love, and his gratitude. “Not everything,” he pointed out. If he had only been better at communicating, she could have helped him, or made her escape before he lost control of himself. Instead, he had allowed himself to become distracted, too embarrassed, and ashamed of his craving to admit that he might be a danger. “I’ll be better.” He added. “I will.” Reaching up to brush the tears out of his eyes, doing his best to compose himself, Bex had been one of the first people to explain the true depth of a promise, and it wasn’t lost on him how important it was that she was making one now. She was okay. She wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t the truth, and he finally, finally allowed himself to relax. It felt as though a weight had been lifted from his chest, but before he could fully process the sensation, the door beside Bex opened to reveal Metzli; battered, and bruised, but otherwise whole.

[MED BLOOW TW]

Staring at them in shock, hoping his concern wasn’t obvious in his expression, he did his best to assess their injuries without drawing attention to them. Jeez, they were so much worse than he ever could have imagined. Maybe he should be fussing over them, running his hands through their hair to check for any further damage, observing their pupils for signs of concussion, or their temperature in case they had developed an infection. But Metzli was a vampire, and despite being one himself, he still wasn’t adept when it came to undead first aid. So he decided to do what he was good at, and he played off the situation as casual. “You look like shit.” The words escaped him before he could question whether they were appropriate, and he reached into his backpack, pulling out a bloodbag to thrust it upon Metzli. They needed to drink, that much he was sure of. Ignoring the smell of death that seemed to surround them, the congealed, and disconcerting scent of blood no longer circulating its body, he brushed past them into their apartment, gesturing towards the now empty couch. “Sit, Metzli. I mean it, you need to rest.”

[MED BLOOD TW END]

Bex, unlike MIlo, let all the worry and concern and fear show on her face. She was bad at hiding it now. She’d spent twenty-one years learning how to hide how she felt only to have it undone by just a few people in a matter of months. “Metzli,” Bex exhaled and as Milo pushed past, she just surged forward and wrapped her arms around them and felt the physical weight of their body in her arms and knew that it was real. They were okay. They were alive. She couldn’t even remember how many times she’d worried Mina wouldn’t come home, how many times she’d looked at her text messages and wondered if it was just someone else texting her and it wasn’t real. Things never felt real. But this was real. Metzli was real. She blinked back tears as she unfurled, reluctantly, and looked up at their face. It was torn and cut and bruised and there was just a gaping wound in their neck and Bex had to swallow because the last time she’d seen someone this torn up was when she’d found Mina half-dead in a forest clearing, bleeding out caught in a bear trap.

“Sorry, I-- I didn’t hurt you, did I?” She scraped the back of her hand across her eyes, wiping the tears away and gently tugging them inside, shutting the door. “Milo’s right, you should sit. I-- I brought supplies. First aid supplies. I can-- treat some of that. Or try to. I’m not a doctor but I know a little bit. I know how to do stitches, I learned after-- I learned recently.” Maybe, if she kept talking, she wouldn’t think about the people she cared about dying. Maybe her thoughts wouldn’t stop long enough for her to see them dead and bleeding and screaming. Maybe, if she kept talking, the images Roy had made her see wouldn’t come back.

[MED BLOOD TW]

Everything happened at once. The blood bag in their hand and the feeling of being squeezed forced Metzli to tense their whole body. But they were relieved, so happy to see both of them. And despite the lingering feeling of hope and happiness, their body trembled. From what exactly, they didn’t know. It was overwhelming, though and they were unprepared for how the effects would make their body react. Tightened eyes caused stars to shine brightly, even tighter body caused the two to stumble and push out a small groan. “Not any more hurt than I was before.” A smile teetered off of their face and pupils contracted as vampiric instincts infected their body. “B-Bex, back up—” They managed to say just before swiveling their body away from her to pierce the bag and wolf down the contents. The blood was the antidote and the effects of it were jarring. Having grown used to the dryness of their throat, Metzli hadn’t anticipated the bulldozing relief of consuming sustenance. Legs gave out and knees buckled, followed by a bony thud when they made impact with the floor.

[MED BLOOD TW END]

“I’m okay, I’m okay. Overwhelmed.” Metzli quickly said with an uncharacteristically empty voice. “Thanks, Milo.” The two locked eyes for a blink and the vacancy in theirs was prominent. Fear and pain made Metzli ill and deteriorated the person they once were. They were practically unrecognizable. Not from appearance, but from energy, or lack thereof.

A leg pulled forward, a hand leveraged itself on a knee, and they were upright once more. Bruises and cuts, even the bite, they were all visibly healing. Metzli felt better too. Not by much, but it was enough. More than enough. At least, physically. Emotionally and mentally, they felt far from better. But when it came to issues of the heart, the vampire tried to pretend they were unaffected. Even if it was useless. “I don’t know if I need medical attention. Most things aren’t as deep as they were. Don’t know if, um…” Words failed them, too nervous about fully revealing their most severe wound. A trembled hand pulled their hoodie down a little, and Metzli avoided both pairs of eyes. “Don’t know if you can stitch this. It’s uh, wide.”

Milo watched Bex embrace Metzli as he dropped his bag by the kitchen unit. There was something so wholesome about it, he could feel just how much his friends cared for each other. And he knew that if he was the one injured, they would be there for him in the same way. A strange realisation. He had spent so long only really having Dani, and a handful of people who enabled his habits, but who didn’t feel as though they could really be considered friends. Now he was surrounded by love in a way he never had been. In a way that made his still heart ache inside his chest. Maybe this was what it felt like to truly belong. Catching Bex’s eye at the mention of stitches, he offered her a gentle smile, remembering how she and Mina had taken care of him when he was drunk with nobody else to turn to. Averting his gaze as Metzli withdrew, turning their back to drink the blood he had given them, he wasn’t sure whether he was imagining the awkward tension. If Bex’s words in the hall were anything to go by then it was entirely in his head. But he didn’t look back up until Metzli had finished drinking.

The moment they were done with the empty plastic, he moved forward to take it back, but before he had the chance Metzli had fallen to their knees. Feeling a jolt of fear, he hurried to reach them, trying to understand why they had suddenly collapsed. The expression on their face was so unfamiliar, and when they spoke he realised they no longer sounded like Metzli. It was clear they were suffering mentally as well as physically, but right now their physical wellbeing was the only thing he could actively help with. “There’s more where that came from.” He told them, crouching beside them so they were on the same level. “I brought three bags, and I can always get more…” Trailing off, up close the bruises and cuts looked so much worse. He couldn’t help but stare at their throat, at the skin and tissue that was healing, but nowhere near fast enough to stop the injury from looking absolutely horrific. “Even if it doesn’t help, we’re treating you.” He said, leaving no room for argument as he forced himself to focus. He shot Bex a look, knowing they both felt the same way. It might not make a difference but they longed to be proactive, they wouldn’t be able to rest until they knew they had done everything within their power to heal their friend. “Come on, sit down…” When he was sure Metzli was steady on their feet, he stood upright, gestured towards the couch again, making sure they followed his instruction. Wincing, unable to help himself, as they pulled down the collar of their hoodie, he pushed his glasses further up his nose. “We’ll do what we can, okay?”

Bex tried to do as Metzli said and back away, but before she knew it, they were collapsing to their knees, and even Milo was rushing to their side to see if he could help. She fought the urge to grab them in her arms again and sidled over, uneasy, wondering if she should help or if she was supposed to still stay back. The blood bag was emptied, though, so she took that as a sign that she’d be able to approach. “Milo’s right, let’s just...get you to the couch and go from there,” she said, nodding, trying not to look at or think about the cuts and bruises on Metzli’s face. And that was just what she could see. She held out a hand, even as Metzli showed them the extent to the injury on their neck and Bex tried not to think about how it matched the gash in Mina’s side that Frank had left behind. She hurried Metzli over to the couch as much as she could, before dropping her purse and pulling out the first-aid kit she’d brought. “Okay, maybe no stitches, but I can at least wrap it, right? Cover it up a little, make sure it heals right. I mean, me and Mina helped Milo a few weeks ago, so this isn’t, like any different.”

She didn’t know if that was true, she didn’t think it was true. But she had to believe that, if she could heal the wounds, then maybe the ones inside might get better, too. Her hands shook as she unraveled a roll of gauze and held it up. “Just let us help, okay? That’s why we’re here. And-- and this way you won’t have to worry about hurting it more or getting things in the wound.”

With a nod, Metzli took Bex’s hand and listened to both of their friends. The weight they were feeling before, having to carry everything on their own, began to subside. It wasn’t just them carrying it anymore. This was a boxing match that they were tapping out of, for now, so their friends could take over. “Thanks,” They muttered, looking distantly at the black television in front of the couch. “Help. Right. I, uh. Right.” They removed the hoodie slowly, groaning in discomfort from the aches and pains. A slew of bruises and cuts covered their skin and two stab wounds lay at their lower abdomen. “Forgot about those.” A shaky finger pointed and they chuckled dryly. Being taken care of wasn’t a norm and it brought a sense of anxiety with it. Is this okay? Is this right? They’re in danger because of you. And despite the thoughts that circled in their mind, that paced a trail of misery, they leaned back onto the couch.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Which was a lie, it was even worse than it looked. Taking on several vampires, especially one that was over two hundred year old was extremely dangerous. The results of it were devastating and created wounds deeper than what any stab wound could make. “I’m really sorry you guys are caught up in this now. It’s my fault. And if I need to leave, I will. I swear.” Metzli began to ramble, to panic now that the mass was shared and no longer held the dam of anxiety and fear back. “I’m just sorry.” Was all that could be said as they looked away to avoid their friends from seeing their tears.

Feeling an odd sense of pride upon hearing he was right, Milo pushed it aside so that he could focus on helping Bex. He didn’t get many things right in his life, but maybe he had found something he was genuinely good at. Maybe he was good at helping his friends. At the mention of his stitches, he pointedly rolled up his sleeve, showing Metzli the faint marks left by the first aid that his friends had applied. It hadn’t been too long ago, but months may as well have passed him by. “Barely even a scar, I think it’ll be gone in a week or two.” He added, as though Metzli needed any more convincing. They didn’t look like they had the energy to protest, which was probably going to work in their favour. When they were comfortably settled on the couch, he pulled a second blood bag out of his backpack, handing it to them with a look that told them they had no choice but to drink it. “She’s pretty good, you know… Doctor Bex. Even as a vampire, I doubt it’s healthy to leave it all exposed like that…” Catching Bex’s eye, a warmth spreading outwards from his chest when she said we’re, he smiled at her, pulling his sleeve back down again. They were in this together now, with a common goal. With somebody they needed to protect. “And we’re not going anywhere either.” He moved to take a seat beside Metzli, knowing he didn’t have much to offer beyond moral support, and some blood. Bex had the tools to really help, and he trusted her medical abilities.

Understanding Metzli taking Bex’s hand was a sign of submission, a sign of surrendering themself to her care, he grinned, and it came far more easily than he might have expected. The situation was serious, and terrifying, but they had each other. And at least he and Bex weren’t going to have to fight against any stubborn insistence, or false bravado. “You don’t have to thank us, moron.” He carefully tugged at the hem of Metzli’s hoodie, helping to get it over their head without the material brushing against the worst of their injuries. Folding it neatly in his lap, it took all of three seconds for Yuca to jump onto it, obviously comforted by the scent of her owner. “Jeez, Metzli…” He muttered, looking away as they gestured towards their stomach. It seemed they had managed to get hurt in every area physically possible. How they were still walking and talking remained a mystery. “Bullshit.” He countered. “It’s every bit as bad as it looks. Why else do you think we came?” Scratching Yuca behind the ears, he pointedly held their gaze, daring them to try and contradict him. “And you’re not going anywhere either. No fucking way. What would you say if this was one of us?” He asked. It was undeniably a rhetorical question. One that they all knew the answer to. Making an effort to soften his tone as he noticed the sudden peak in Metzli’s anxiety, he leaned forward so that they would be forced to look at him. “Hey… Hey, look at me, Metzli. You don’t have to worry about anything else right now, just look at me and- I don’t know, tell me something interesting? What’s your favourite colour?” Glancing at Bex, he silently conveyed his plan to distract Metzli while she set to work on treating them. “Or favourite song? If you say anything with an apology in the title I will destroy your hoodie, don’t think I won’t.”

It was strange. Last time Bex had been trying to patch up someone this beat up, she’d had too few medical supplies, wondering if they’d make it through to the morning, or if they might both just die in the night. This time, she had too much supplies, as she sorted through the first-aid kit and looked for something labeled antiseptic or antibiotic. There was a little spray bottle with hydrogen peroxide in it and she picked it up, listening to Milo talk to Metzli. He seemed at ease, in his element, right now. Bex, however, could only let dark thoughts consume her, as she sprayed a cotton pad with the peroxide and tried not to show the horror on her face when the rest of their injuries came into view. She bit the inside of her cheek, glancing away and occupying herself with finishing up prepping the bandages. “Just...hold still,” she said after a moment, holding up the pad and pressing it to the patch on their neck, before she took the gauze and began wrapping it around. “That’s um, not too tight, is it?” She moved in closer to make sure she wasn’t messing it up, before taking the small scissors and cutting it off. Taped it down gently and sat back, looking to the gashes on their stomach.

[MED BLOOD TW/DOMESTIC ABUSE TW]

All she could see was the oozing, black wound Frank had left on Mina’s side and Bex fought to not just leap up and run away. She reached out with shaky fingers to touch gently next to the wound on their abdomen. “I should probably clean this, first,” she explained, trying not to let the anxiety and warble of Metzli’s voice get to her just yet. She couldn’t cry just yet. She looked over at Milo, then to Metzli. “It’s true. There’s no need to apologize. We-- we’re here because we want to be. Because you’re important to us.” She breathed in, held it. She hated seeing the people she cared about like this, while being too weak to do anything. Mina, Milo, Metzli...they could do these things, while Bex’s fragile heart barely let her get up the stairs nowadays. “No one’s going anywhere.”

[MED BLOOD TW/DOMESTIC ABUSE TW END]

With a deep swallow, Metzli managed to look back at Milo and listen fully. He sounded kind and worried. He sounded like he truly cared. Bex too. But her care came in the form of actions as she got them patched up. She moved with the gentlest of touch and caution, making them feel safe. “Mauve. Or forest green. Both nice colors.” They began, piercing the second blood bag that Milo had given them and sipping on it as they pondered on the second question. Most of their favorite songs were likely ones neither of them had heard of. Being that they were both classical and Mexican in origin. So they picked something they may recognize. “Oddly enough, I like that Linkin Park group. Uh, One More Light. Or that Swift chick. That new album was actually written okay-ish.” The corner of Metzli’s mouth curved into a small smirk, before frowning from the small wince they reacted from the gauze with. “No, not too tight. It just hurts in general.”

The tremor in Bex’s voice began to set in a worry that couldn’t be fought off. Wolfing down the last remnants of the blood bag, Metzli lifted a hand to Bex’s face and had her pause for a moment while they cupped her cheek. “You can take a second. I know it’s a lot. Just breathe a little. I’m okay. I’m alive.” Slowly, that same hand backed away and patted Milo’s shoulder. They smiled wryly, but it was soft and grateful. “You too. Thank you. Both of you.”

[DOMESTIC/EMOTIONAL ABUSE TW]

Never having a real family, Metzli always had to step out on their own, taking lonely steps into the storm. Weathering it alone was hard, and sometimes it seemed impossible. But right now, the future, making it there, seemed very possible. They were no longer left to get bloodied and dirtied alone, and maybe they couldn’t fully accept it yet, but they were going to try. Because it felt good. Because it felt right. It felt right to use the veins of their heart like a thread to connect themselves, their own heart to others who were willing to go into war with them. Others like Milo and Bex. And in the end, they wouldn’t have to count their pride as one of the casualties. Relying on people didn’t have to mean sacrificing pride. It just meant that you were expanding on it. Being proud of who you had.

[DOMESTIC/EMOTIONAL ABUSE TW END]

“Do I at least still look good?”

Staying quiet so that he wouldn’t disrupt Bex, Milo listened to Metzli’s answers, deciding that forest green suited them as a person. “Mauve is nice…” He agreed, his voice gentle as he did his best to distract them from any pain they might be feeling. “I like yellow… I think it’s a happy colour.” Anybody who knew him would be able to see yellow was his favourite. From his knitted sweaters, to his converse, he wore yellow far more often than not. The smell of blood hit him with force as Metzli began to drink the second bag, he was far closer than he had been for the first one. But he didn’t allow himself to dwell, almost proud of the fact that he was able to force down any thirst he felt. “You like Linkin Park?” He echoed in disbelief, doing nothing to stop a laugh from escaping him. “Do people even listen to them anymore?” Raising his eyebrows at the following names, if he had been surprised by Linkin Park, he was downright shocked to hear his friend list Taylor Swift as an artist they enjoyed. “Wow, I knew you had bad taste,” he teased, “but not that bad. This might be the end of our friendship.” His smile growing when he noticed Metzli’s lips twitch, it was all the validation he needed to continue in his strategy. But he was pulled out of his own thoughts by Metzli reaching out to caress Bex, their fingers soft, and comforting against her cheek. He suddenly felt guilty, remembering this wasn’t just about Metzli. He was used to the aftermath of injuries, not only because he was a vampire, but because of the people he used to surround himself with as a human.

He had been known to panic under the stress of chaos, but things weren’t chaotic right now. He was more than adept when it came to focusing on the task at hand, but maybe Bex wasn’t. Maybe this was a lot for her. Realistically, it should be a lot for anyone. “Alive, with terrible taste in music, apparently.” He added, hoping to draw a smile from both of his friends. It made sense to try and comfort them while he was the most emotionally stable, even if he wasn’t used to that particular brand of responsibility. Leaning into Metzli’s touch, he shook his head to brush off their thanks. “No thank yous, and no apologies, okay?” He ordered, knowing they were never going to follow his instruction. He could hold a stake to their heart and they would insist upon taking the blame. “The assumption being that you ever looked good?” He asked, feigning innocence despite laughing at his own joke, despite the deep, and painful injuries littering Metzli’s skin, despite being unable to avoid acknowledging just how close they had come to death… true death. He wanted to cling to the fact that they had survived their attack. They were still here, and for a brief moment in time, nothing else needed to matter.

Bex listened as she worked and tried to use their conversation as a distraction as much as Metzli was. Milo was doing a good job, keeping them at ease, even if they all knew this mess had been created by something far more terrible than it was being made out to be. She swallowed and tried to calm the shaking in her hand, reaching over with her free hand to stabilize it when she felt a cold hand against her cheek. She looked up to meet Metzli’s eyes, still for a moment, as she tried not to just surge forward and hug them again. But they were right, she had to remind herself they were right. They were alive and they were okay, and they could take their time, now, to regather and come up with a better plan so that this didn’t happen again. So that there wouldn’t be a repeat of what happened. So that Bex wouldn’t have to live through another Frank trying to kill someone she cared about.

She nodded and set her hands in her lap. She felt embarrassed, almost, that she couldn’t keep it together long enough to patch up her friend. Even Milo was taking this better than her. She knew Milo and Metzli were close, but she wondered if it was a different kind of close than her and Metzli. There was something between them but Bex couldn’t figure out what it was, exactly. “Taylor Swift is a great artist,” she said, mostly at Milo, before she gathered enough of herself to look back at Metzli and hold up the pad to begin cleaning their wounds. “And you look very handsome. Chicks dig scars anyway, right?”

Metzli scowled playfully at Milo, and blew a single raspberry at him. “Excuse me? I have great taste in music. Those are just the artists you’d know, for your information. Most of my music consists of classical and kumbia. At least you have decent taste in colors.” Stomach rumbled with their laughter and wincing only made them laugh more. Somehow laughing while in pain made it that much funnier. Being safe in the presence of friends made it feel safe to laugh. Whatever wounds they had would heal and fade, but the connection and care they had for one another wouldn’t. It was set in deeper than anyone could reach.

Being confident in their looks, a hand shot up to flip Milo off accordingly. “You’re just coming after me, huh? At least Bex has taste. She can’t take her eyes off of me, see? And it totally does not have to do with my wounds. Just my wonderful physique.” Metzli couldn’t help the smile that they poorly held back, letting it turn into a fit of laughter as they adjusted themselves to be closer to Bex and settle down. When the spray hit their wound, it surprisingly stung, making their hand jerk and squeeze Bex’s knee. If there was anyone they trusted to be remotely affectionate with, it was her. Meanwhile, Milo was someone they trusted to speak openly with and find the balance between humor and venting.

“By chicks, do you mean you, B—” They flinched again, and this time their other hand shot out to Milo, grabbing his hand. “Sorry. It stings a little.” Despite wanting to retract their hand, feeling like they may have invaded his space, they didn’t. The affection felt normal and like it was something they were missing out on. Letting themselves relax, they let their hands rest with each friend, finding comfort in it.

Grinning at Bex as she countered both of his statements, Milo’s eyes were shining in a way that made it clear just how much he enjoyed teasing her. It made things feel normal, somehow. And far less dire than they probably were. “Hm, this is something I have been told.” He added, trying to keep a straight face as though they were discussing an incredibly serious topic. “Why do you think I keep my scars to a minimum? I don’t want to spend my time fending them off, you know?” Biting down on his bottom lip to repress a smile, he gave up on any pretense when Metzli stuck their tongue out. It felt good to see them behaving so much like themself after their empty expression from earlier. It felt as though the presence of friends might be grounding them, might be slowly pulling them back to the surface. “So what you’re telling me is you have bad taste, and you’re pretentious?” He countered, catching Metzli’s gaze now that he was sure Bex had settled again. “Good to know.” Embarrassed to feel tears sting at his eyes when the unexpected sound of Metzli’s laughter hit him, he blinked them away, brushing at his cheeks with the sleeve of his hoodie. Bex and Metzli were both struggling, he needed to be the strong one, even if he didn’t really know how. “Yeah, I’m coming after you, because you nearly got yourself killed, and I don’t want to live in a world without Metzli Bernal, okay? This is me officially calling you out.” Glancing back at Bex, he couldn’t help but laugh. After so much worry, and concern, he needed this. He really fucking needed this.

Shifting on the couch so that Metzli had more room to adjust their position, the spray had obviously hurt them, but there wasn’t very much he could do to offer them comfort. He didn’t want to invade their personal space, but he was saved from the moral conflict when Metzli reached out first, taking his hand and holding it as though it was going to tether them, help them to navigate their obvious pain. He stared down at their hands, fingers linked as though it was natural, as though they had done this a million times before, and he realised with a jolt that it felt natural. He held them with a grip he hoped was gentle, and firm. He wanted them to know they were safe, at least for now. He wanted them to know that he was with them. “Squeeze my hand if it hurts, Metzli.” He prompted, noticing the way they were gripping at Bex’s knee. “My bones are a lot harder to break.”

[MED BLOOD TW]

In the moment, Bex really appreciated the mutual understanding that Milo and her seemed to have. He knew what she needed from him, what Metzli needed from him, and he seemed to be trying his damndest to do it for them, despite the sparkle of tears that she saw glimmering in his eye. She tried to pass him a short smile before she grabbed the suture needle and held it up, frowning at Metzli’s teasing. Her cheeks turned red involuntarily and she looked away, hiding it as much as she could, before leaning forward and squeezing together one of Metzli’s wounds and jabbing the needle in, a little less gentle than she normally would have. “Oops,” she said, grinning innocently up at Metzli,” my bad.” As she continued, she gave it a much more gentle hand, making sure to not pull too hard as she threaded the needle through their cold, damp skin. She looked up at them when she was done with the first patch and smiled. “See? My sewing lessons in school actually paid off.” She ushered to the next one and for Metzli to shift so she could get better access to it, laying her hands flat on their side for a moment, warming the skin up around the wound. “And you do have a nice physique. I’m allowed to look,” she stated, as if there was no room for argument. She didn’t look over at Milo, though.

[MED BLOOD TW END]

She glanced down at their hand on her knee. “So what if I do dig scars? My girlfriend has plenty for me to admire.” She took up the needle again and set to work, looking over at Milo. “Please don’t break anything. I would like to only have to patch up one friend at a time, thanks.”

There was a strained laugh when Bex admitted she was allowed to look. It always felt so humorous when she revealed her attraction to Metzli in some form or fashion. They supposed it fed into their ego, but at this point, it was just a fun game. “It’s always hilarious to get you to admit I’m attractive. See, Milo? I’m hot.” Metzli laughed harder, but tried to contain it in order to let Bex work effectively. The wincing was kept to a minimum for the most part, but at some points, it was difficult to keep the groans of pain muffled. When they squeezed their hands, it wasn’t too hard, but enough to cause notice. “Sorry. I just—sorry.” The pain took them back to their fear, the fear of Eloy’s impending arrival.

[DOMESTIC/EMOTIONAL ABUSE TW]

With the final stitch, Metzli’s eyes shut tightly and they tried their best to hold whatever tears that flowed forward, back. They could see Anselmo attacking them, they could see Eloy punishing them once again, they could see themselves dying and all of it scared them. They’d never been scared of dying before, but then again, they’d never had anything to lose. All humor was lost now, and tears streamed down their face even though they tried desperately to go back to what they were before.

Finally, their voice broke through and Metzli was able to ask their friends what had been on their mind. “Has Master Eloy contacted both of you? Did he threaten you?”

[DOMESTIC/EMOTIONAL ABUSE TW]

Milo watched Bex tease Metzli before fully dedicating herself to her task. It was clear she was feeling more comfortable, less overwhelmed by their current situation. Rolling his eyes at the mention of Metzli’s physique, he decided not to say anything. There were only so many times he could playfully disagree before it stopped being funny, and started feeling cruel. “Sure,” he answered instead. “You can’t choose what you’re into, right?” His smile growing when Bex began to talk about Mina’s scars, he ignored the voice in the back of his mind, the one telling him he was the only person in the room without some form of romantic interest. It was something he had been thinking about an awful lot, as of late. And he hated that he had started to want something so unnecessary, and inconsequential. Hadn’t he spent his entire life without a boyfriend, or a significant other? He was perfectly fine on his own. “Hey, if I break anything it’s going to be Metzli’s fault.” He pointed out, holding up their joined hands. “Don’t look at me.” Tightening his grip so that Metzli would know he wasn’t being serious, he inched closer to them, letting his shoulder rest against theirs.

[EMOTIONAL ABUSE TW]

“Hot is subjective.” He added, unable to help himself when Metzli continued to encourage their friend. Though it was undeniably amazing to see them so genuinely happy, it didn’t last as long as he might have hoped. The pain, and reality of their injuries was all too ready to bring them back down again. But he stayed where he was, knowing they would find comfort in the physical contact. “Do you want to talk about something else?” He asked, noticing they had closed their eyes. If only he could distract them, but he wasn’t given the chance. If anything, Metzli decided now was the time to distract him. Caught off guard by the mention of Eloy, he so wished he could convince them to stop calling him Master. It made him uncomfortable, it was an unsettling reminder that no matter what Metzli said, they still had a warped sense of respect for the man, or at the very least some twisted sense of loyalty. Tensing in a way he knew wouldn’t go unnoticed, he caught Bex’s eye, silently questioning whether they should be honest about what had transpired. “I-” He broke off, the words dying in his throat. “I don’t think you should be worrying about that. Not right now.”

[EMOTIONAL ABUSE TW END]

Bex’s nose scrunched. “Why’s it funny? I’ve never denied your attractiveness. You’re very attractive and so is Milo. You know,” she glanced over at him with a cheeky grin, “for a guy.” With the stitches finished, Bex leaned back. “There.” She reached out to pat Metzli’s leg, taking the hand they’d placed on her knee and squeezing it. Her face faltered at the mention of Eloy and the messages and she cast a quick look over to Milo, wondering what he might say about it. As she thought, he decided to try and avoid the topic. Milo didn’t like lying to his friends. He already told Bex he didn’t think she should hide this from Mina, but he didn’t understand-- sometimes you needed to lie, to keep people safe, to keep them okay. Mina was dealing with too much right now, she didn’t need this, too. And Metzli didn’t need to know what he’d said to her, they were also dealing with enough. Bex swallowed, forced a smile, and shook her head. “No, but, like Milo said, let’s not think about that right now,” she urged.

[DOMESTIC/EMOTIONAL ABUSE TW]

Metzli was crying, though, and Bex really hated it when people she cared about cried. She reached out with her free hand and wiped away some of the tears on their face. “Hey, it’s okay,” she said softly, “you’re safe.” Those were words she’d needed to hear every time she’d thought her mother might come barging in to Morgan’s house and try and steal her away. Or every time she thought she might fall back into that dark alleyway where she was being mauled to death by a friend. Or stalked by Frank. Or dying in a cabin. You’re safe, you’re safe. But Bex was beginning to realize that no one was ever really safe. There wasn’t safe, there was just feeling safe. Being with people who you trusted to keep you safe, to protect you. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms back around Metzli, gently this time. She wanted to be that safe person. She could be that safe person.

[DOMESTIC/EMOTIONAL ABUSE TW END]

And, besides, Eloy hadn’t technically threatened her. Only the people she loved. She’d tear him limb from limb while he was still alive, though, if he even touched any of them. That she was sure of.

Metzli zoned out again, consumed by the anxiety that was reeling through their mind. And then their hand was squeezed, and then arms surrounded them. Body went stiff and they almost lashed out until they could see Bex clearly. Safety. “Right. I don’t have to think about it…right now.” Relaxing into Bex, they let their tears fall and settled into her arms, still squeezing Milo’s hand. Having friends was not a bad thing. Connections weren’t bad. Everything Eloy had taught them was wrong. That was becoming more and more clear.

“Can we just stay here?” Metzli asked through small, choked sobs. “I just want to feel safe.”

“Ha ha, can we not?” Milo deadpanned, his eyes shining as he looked between his friends. But he soon fell silent again, a familiar sense of sobriety settling over him. He hadn’t lied to Metzli, he had been honest in the fact that Eloy’s messages weren’t something they should be thinking about while they were trying to rest and recover. Bex had outright told them no, told them Eloy hadn’t made any effort to get into contact. His stomach churned uncomfortably, but he couldn’t bring himself to take back her words. It wasn’t his place, and it would only make the situation worse. Waiting patiently as Bex brushed away Metzli’s tears, he smiled to himself. There was something so genuinely innocent about Bex holding Metzli, nothing else really came into play. Age, species, soul or no soul… he would do almost anything for these two people. He loved them unconditionally, and that was what he needed to focus on. He saw Metzli tense upon instinct, but he also saw the moment they realised they were safe, saw the moment that tension filtered from their body to be replaced by something soft, and sincere. “No, you don’t…” He assured them, making a note to tell them about Eloy’s messages when they were feeling better. “Of course we can stay here… we aren’t going anywhere.” Reaching out to carefully pack away the medical supplies, when they were safely inside their container he wrapped an arm around Metzli, and Bex, pulling them closer so that he could rest his cheek against Metzli’s shoulder. There weren’t many places he considered home, but Metzli’s apartment was very quickly becoming one of them.

Maybe, Bex thought, maybe things would all be okay. Maybe this problem would solve itself and no one else would get hurt. But she knew that wasn’t true. She didn’t say much as Milo folded into the hug with them and she settled her head against Metzli’s quiet chest. There was no heartbeat, and none from Milo either, so it was only her heart, beating slow but steady-- something it hadn’t done in a long time-- as she listened to the quiet sobs coming from her friend. She bit the inside of her cheek and held back her own. “We’ll stay,” she answered after a long moment of silence, “I’m not going anywhere.” She moved herself and shimmied onto the couch beside Metzli, kept them in her arms. “You’re safe.”

And maybe Bex didn’t quite believe that, but she could make sure Metzli did. That was really all that mattered.

#chatzy #wickedswriting #to build a home #medical blood tw #domestic abuse tw #emotional abuse tw #chatzy: milo #chatzy: metzli #metzli #milo

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hopelikethemoon · 4 years

Text

Breakfast in Bed (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: Breakfast in Bed Rating: PG Length: 1300 Warnings: None. Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set December 1992 between ‘Used to Be Lonely’ and “Merry Christmas, Baby’. Summary: Javier surprises reader.

@grapemama @seawhisperer @huliabitch @beccaplaying @thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow @plexflexico @readsalot73 @hdlynn @lokiaddicted @randomness501 @fioccodineveautunnale @roxypeanut @snivellusim @lukesrighthand @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts @awesomefandomsunited @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @exrebelshocktrooper @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @ah-callie @swhiskeys @exrebelshocktrooper @u-wakatoshii @space-floozy @cable-kenobi @cool-ultra-nerd @himbopoes @findhimfives @pedrosdoll @frietiemeloen @arrowswithwifi @cinewhore @random066 @uncomicalhumour @heather-lynn @domino-oh-damn @cyarikaaa @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @im-still-a-pieceofgarbage @ksgeekgirl @yabby-girl @xqueenofthecraziesx @punkass-potato @coredrive @pascalesque @theduchessofkirkcaldy @queenquazar @sabinemorans @buckstaposition @holkaskrosnou @yespolkadotkitty@seeking-a-great–perhaps @kochamcie @jaime1110 @katlikeme

The smell of frying bacon roused you from your sleep. You rubbed at your eyes as you stared at your bedroom door, wondering how it was that you could smell the food cooking across the hall. It had to be your neighbors, because you certainly weren’t cooking bacon — unless you had started sleep cooking.

“Bacon does sound good, doesn’t it?” You questioned as you ran your hand over your rounded stomach. Did you even have bacon?

You had meant to stop at the market yesterday, but the sudden evening rainstorm had convinced you that the better decision was to go home and curl up under the covers.

Alone.

Javier had already left the office by the time you clocked out — you hadn’t even had a chance to discuss whether he’d be over this weekend. A contact had reached out last minute and threw them into a stakeout on the other side of the city.

“Maybe he’ll come over tomorrow.” You mused, tracing your fingers over your stomach, drawing little shapes and patterns the way he always did.

You jolted upright when your bedroom door started to open, years of training kicking. The quiet sleepy reverie of the morning came to an abrupt halt as you reached for your bedside table to grab your gun.

“Baby, it’s me—“

Your fingers went slack around the gun, letting drop back into the drawer as you stared at him. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“We wrapped up the stakeout around six and I was nearby.” Javier explained as he stepped further into your room with a tray in his hold. “Breakfast?”

You blinked at him slowly, before a small smile spread over your lips. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?” You countered, sitting upright and leaning back against your headboard.

Javier shrugged a shoulder as he carried the tray to your bed. He sat down on the edge with it, smiling at you. “Yeah, probably.” He chuckled. “But I’m wide awake.”

“And making me breakfast?” You reached out and brushed your fingers through the hair that fell across his forehead. “I thought I was going crazy when I smelt bacon.”

He clicked his tongue against his teeth, “I should’ve called.”

“No,” You shook your head, running your hand down his shoulder and bicep. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Javier gestured to the tray on his lap, “I stopped by the market and picked up some shit I thought you’d like. You do like lulos, right?”

“I love them.” You bit down on your bottom lip as you met his gaze. You loved him too — but you still hadn’t reached a point where you felt like you could say it. “Thank you, Javi.”

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips, cupping your cheek. “Eat.”

“So demanding,” You teased, accepting your fate that he was going to fuss over you.

Javier settled the tray on your lap, taking the cup of coffee off the tray and sitting it on your nightstand. “It’s decaf.”

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed coffee. Where did you find it?”

“I picked it up last week,” Javier told you. “It’s been sitting in my Jeep ready to give you.”

“You’re too good to me.” You told him as you took a bite of the bacon. “Did you eat?”

Javier gave your knee a squeeze through the covers, “I ate a slice of toast.”

“Not good enough,” You shook your head, picking up a slice of bacon and waving it in front of him. “Eat.”

“I’m not the one who needs to eat,” He gave your stomach a pointed look. “My body doesn’t recognize that it’s morning.”

You hummed curiously, “Eat the bacon.”

“Baby, I’m not hungry.” Javier rolled his eyes, taking the slice from you and eating it anyways. “I’m running on coffee and nicotine right now.”

“That’s what I figured.” Your brows rose upwards, shaking your head as you forked up a bite of the lulo, “Did Chris drive you crazy?”

“He never fucking shuts up.” Javier complained, rubbing at the crease between his brows. “I blew through a pack.”

“I’m not surprised.” You licked your lips. “You made it what? A week?”

He dragged his hand over his face, nodding. “Yeah.” Javier pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek. “I’ll get there.”

“This was a nice surprise.” You told him, tearing off a piece of toast and eating it. “I was laying in bed wondering if I was gonna see you this weekend.”

“Of course you were.” Javier rested his hand on your stomach, “How are you feeling?”

You shrugged, wiping your mouth off. “I ate leftovers last night and they didn’t agree with me. Had some heartburn and finally crashed around eleven.”

“At eleven I was—“ He hesitated, his lips clamping shut.

“I bet I know,” You arched a brow at him. “Was Chris thrilled.”

“He stayed in the car,” Javier smoothed out his mustache as he stared at you. “Nothing happened.”

“Alright.” You glanced down at your breakfast, plucking up another slice of bacon and chewing on it.

It had only been a month since he’d told you that he loved you. A month since he realized he couldn’t keep playing the game the way he had been. You had no reason not to trust what he’d said, but at the same time you knew him. You understood the temptation.

And could you blame him, really? If something did happen. You hated that you even considered the idea that — ‘well you’re pregnant could you blame him?’ Because that wasn’t him and that sure as hell wasn't you.

You’d made it clear that you’d jump ship at the first sign that this thing was taking on water. You couldn’t set yourself up for trouble — your baby was depending on you.

“Nothing happened.” Javier insisted, his fingers fanning out over your stomach. “It was the most uneventful trip to a brothel.”

“I trust you.” You said quietly as you finished off your fruit and stacked the dish onto your plate. “Now, give me that coffee.”

Javier grabbed it off the nightstand, sitting it down on the tray.

You scooped it up and brought the cup to your lips, inhaling deeply before taking a sip. “You’re my new favorite person for getting this for me, Javi.”

“Who was your other favorite person?”

You smirked at him, “It may have also been you.”

He snorted, “I figured.” Javier dragged his fingers through his hair, “I meant what I said the other day—“

“Don’t.” You shook your head, giving him a warning look. “All that matters is you’re here.” You told him, leaning forward as you reached out to ruffled his hair. “I’m glad you finally used the key.”

“Seemed like a good time.” He cracked a small smile. There was something unspoken in his gaze, but you weren’t ready to address the elephant in the room.

You loved Javier Peña, but it was easier to keep that love at an arm’s length.

“Thank you,” You whispered.

“What are your plans today?”

“Making you sleep for at least three hours.” You said as you took another sip of coffee. “After I finish this coffee, I’m gonna brush my teeth, and join you in bed.”

“I’m not tired.”

You narrowed your eyes, “Your bags tell another story.”

Javier rubbed at his eyes, “That bad?”

“You’ve been up for twenty-four hours.” You poked him in the arm. “Get these clothes off and join me.”

“Gotta clean up the kitchen first.” Javier shook his head as he rose to his feet, leaning down to pick up the tray. “Where’s your stash?”

You scrunched up your nose, “Kitchen cabinet by the saltine crackers.”

“Thanks.” Javier clicked his tongue against his teeth. “I’ll step outside.”

“Or you could clean up the kitchen and come back to bed.” You offered, “You can do a week again. And then two.”

“You’ve got more faith in me than I do,” He retorted, sitting the tray down on your nightstand.

“Well, I happen to know you pretty well.” You met his eyes. “I expect you in my bed in ten minutes.”

Javier chuckled, shaking his head. “I suppose that’s an offer I’m just gonna have to take you up on.”

You sat your coffee aside and watched as he walked out of your bedroom. You hoped that he knew that you loved him too — even if you hadn’t said it yet.

#javier pena #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal x reader

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lupinsx · 4 years

Text

Conditions Attached

masterlist

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Gryffindor!Reader

Summary: After you get tired of Fred targeting you in all of his pranks, he offers a bet to possibly put an end to it. Alas, all deals come with conditions attached.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Just a kiss, nothing too graphic.

a/n — I hope you guys like this! I decided to stray away from Draco one shots for a bit because I really like this idea. Let me know what you think of it!

——————————

"Fred! George!"

The tranquility of the early morning was suddenly disturbed with your roaring yell. With bright pink hair laid wet against your neck and a thick bathrobe covering your skin, you stood with your arms crossed angrily at the stairs leading to the girls dormitory.

There was no movement upon your call. No pair of twins rushing to apologize or promise to fix what they had done. But yet again, you knew it would be a fool's game to try and get them to listen.

Storming down the stairs, you entered the common room without sparing another second. It didn't take long for you to notice the pair of orange heads sticking out among the group of sixth years. With a determined expression capable of intimidating a Dementor, you pulled them back by their collars, forcing them to face you.

"Now, which one of you thought it would be wise to put a pink hair potion in my shampoo," you spoke with gritted teeth, gesturing to your head. A couple of students tuned in their attention after seeing the commotion, so you weren't surprised to see a slight crowd forming.

There was a series of incomprehensible looks and murmurs Fred and George made to each other before they looked back at you with an amused grin. George then took the liberty to respond, not before receiving death glares by his twin brother.

"Why it's all Freddy over here- ow!" he paused to rub his elbow after the jab given by Fred. "He was the one who wanted to do it. Don't blame me!"

You turned your gaze to Fred upon his exposure, glaring at him with all your might while he met your stare with a lazy expression. You were furious — the potion slipped in your bottle was strong enough to withstand all of the spells you gave, so the prospect of living with pink hair seemed unfortunately too likely. But what exasperated you the most was the frequency of these pranks. It was only Wednesday, but this was already the fourth time you had to confront them for their misfit behaviour.

"Well, what do you have to say this time?" you hissed, watching his expression morph from unaffected to highly amused.

"That you took 'On Wednesdays we wear pink' a little too seriously."

You groaned as you tugged on your roots in frustration. Seeing as he is no longer needed, George walked off with loud laugh. Fred stood with his back leaned against the pillar and hands shoved deep into his pockets — a position you hate to regard as being unfairly attractive.

"Blimey, I'm just kidding Y/N. It'll fade away within a week, don't get your pretty face all twisted," he added with a wink, a side grin spreading across his mouth. "Anyways, I have a very simple way this could all end. A proposition, if you will."

You suddenly released your hair from your grip, and looked at him with curious eyes. You didn't know whether to trust him on this, but you figured you'd at least listen to what he had to say. The pranks and anticipation for the next one was beginning to feel exhausting. You craved your freedom back.

With a slight nod indicating for him to speak, Fred pushed himself off the wall and took a step in your direction. "I have a Quidditch game against Slytherin this Saturday. If they win; I'll leave you alone. No more pranks from me or my brother."

Your eyes perked up at his words. Already, you were seriously considering accepting. However, you knew bets have conditions attached, so you stopped to listen to the rest.

"But," he continued with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "if we win, you go to Hogsmede with me on Sunday. Deal?"

You were hesitant to accept his outstretched hand. On one hand, both options seemed favourable, as Fred has always been the one to catch your attention. However, the ambiguity of the second possibility left you worried. Who says the pranks will stop after your date?

Before you could dwell on the decision any further, you acted on the very recklessness that got you sorted into Gryffindor in the first place. You shook his hand with a confident smirk on your face. Merlin, please let Slytherin win just this once.

"Deal."

~~~

By the time Saturday came, your hair resembled a deep violet as the pink began to fade into black. You had a hard time covering your hair throughout the week, as the cloak's hood only did justice outside of class. Many cheap insults were given whenever the teacher would walk away.

You sat in the Great Hall, mindlessly playing with your scrambled eggs while the rest of the Gryffindor table failed to contain their excitement. Loud chatter engulfed the area, and hardly anybody was sitting down properly.

"Ready to cheer us on today, Y/N?" Ron came out of nowhere, patting your shoulders roughly while taking the space beside you. He grabbed your toast and took a generous bite from it, making you swat his hand away.

You gulped tentatively at his question. You decided not to cheer for anyone today, but to silently hope for Slytherin to win. Of course, you didn't want to disappoint your housemates by arriving in green paraphernalia holding a Marcus Flint poster, but the last thing you'd want to do is boost Fred's ego by cheering for his team.

So, you merely gave a weak nod to assure Ron for the meantime.

"That's our girl!" he rejoiced, giving another one of his aggressive shoulder pats. At the noise, Fred turned his attention towards his brother, and grinned upon noticing you.

Fred got up from his spot and moved down the table, landing on the seat in front of you. Leaning in, he spoke in teasing manner, not bothering to lower his voice for the people around them.

"Are you ready for our date tomorrow?"

The area grew silent for a moment. All of the surrounding Gryffindors paused their conversations and stared at the two with disbelief. Your cheeks became crimson in an instant. The sheer nerve of his was going to be the death of you.

After getting over the initial shock, your eyes narrowed at the cocky boy. "Who says you'll win today?"

"Wait, you? And Fred? Dating? Merlin- when were you planning to tell me?" Ron squeaked, his wide eyes darting between you two. The commotion attracted Harry, Hermione, and the rest of the Weasleys to the scene, while the remaining Gryffindors merely stood back with shock.

"We aren't dating! I swear, he's just being a cocky little git, that's all," you piped up in reassurance. Still, you received questioning eyes from your peers. You suddenly felt the urge to crawl into a hole.

Ignoring the stares he's receiving, Fred's mischievous grin grew at the corner. "Not dating yet, but we will be soon."

This comment caused an uproar. There was a chorus of questions and encouragement targeted towards you two while you glared at Fred's openness. He merely shrugged in response, answering vaguely to whoever asked.

"Y/N, is this true? You're going on a date with Fred?" Hermione asked impatiently, accompanied by a curious Harry and Ginny. You groaned and buried your head into your elbows in a pathetic attempt to shield your blushing.

"It's only if he wins the bet," you murmured inside your arms. "If Gryffindor wins today, I have to go to Hogsmede with him tomorrow."

Ginny squealed at the adorableness the situation is. She, alongside the others, have always been subtly shipping you and Fred. She found the banter between you two endearing, or as she likes to refer to it, 'just like an old married couple.'

"Well then, I'll make sure to play my best today," Harry said with a teasing grin, earning a playful shove from you.

At this point, people were beginning to finish their breakfasts and clear out of the hall. While the Gryffindors gave one last encouragement to the players, you managed to slip out unnoticed, headed towards the common room to do some last minute revision before the game.

You took your time travelling down the deserted corridor. It was quiet, unlike the populated Great Hall and rowdy classrooms you usually find yourself in. You enjoyed being able to hear your own thoughts without disturbance, so you chose to savour the moment of tranquility you had right now.

But unfortunately, life doesn't always offer what you desire.

"What, escaping already L/N?"

Fred stood at the end of the hallway, his loud voice nearly causing you whiplash. He wore his signature lopsided grin as he approached your still figure.

"Please, I'm only leaving for a little bit. Miss me already?" you mocked, diverting your eyes from the smile he held which you knew was undeniably attractive. The close proximity between you two didn't help with resisting the temptation to jump him on the spot, but you somehow managed to stay on your two feet.

"Why yes, quite actually," he said nonchalantly, catching you off guard. At that moment, he took a couple steps closer to your direction, making you walk a bit back. It was a relief that it was a lengthy hall and there wasn't a wall directly behind to stop you, but that wasn't an issue for Fred. His arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer to him, leaving your faces merely inches apart.

You stood frozen where he held you, shocked at his abrupt gesture. His eyes scanned your face, taking in your widened eyes, parted lips, and deeply flushed cheeks. He almost smirked at the sight, before leaning in slightly closer to speak.

"I'm only kidding. I came back for something in the common room."

And with that, he retreated his arms back to his side and walked off, leaving you as a flustered mess. He is truly going to be the death of you.

~~~

Once noon rolled in and the sun shined bright above Hogwarts, most of the school found themselves on the Quidditch field stands to watch the game. Gryffindor vs Slytherin is always a popular match to attend, given the high tension between the houses and the immense skill they both possess. Everyone had either red or green clothing to show support, with a couple exceptions of neutral Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs. You, however, remained the only Gryffindor in the section wearing normal clothes.

Eventually, the teams flew in for a lap around the field as their supporters cheered in encouragement. As the Gryffindor team flew by the sidelines, earning a roar from the crowd, you happened to notice the wink Fred gave you before he passed. A blush appeared on your cheeks as you shook your head at his flirtatiousness.

Now, let the games begin.

The beginning of the match couldn't keep your attention. To be fair, no Quidditch games ever did, but the closeness of the scores left you with very little satisfaction. You wanted the snitch to be caught and over with, and for your fate to be sealed immediately.

Come on, Harry, find the snitch!

Wait, no, I should be hoping for Malfoy to find it. What am I thinking?

You shook the thought out of your head and decided to occupy yourself with the match before you'd begin considering which side you're on. You knew that part of yourself wanted Gryffindor to win so you go out with Fred tomorrow, but you chose to ignore that, claiming the lack of food is getting to your brain.

You wanted Slytherin to win. Right?

"Another goal for Slytherin! I guess, if we're ignoring that disgustingly obvious cheat- ow! I'm sorry professor. The score is 50-80," Lee Jordan commentated with a brief interruption from Professor McGonagall.

They're winning. This is good, right?

Yes, you thought to yourself firmly. You wouldn't let yourself sway your opinion. A date is not as important as immunity to their pranks, you would convince yourself.

Suddenly, the whole crowd became silent, before erupting into louder cheers. The snitch has finally appeared. Harry seemed to notice it first and make the sharp dive immediately, while Draco happened to notice his figure and catch up shortly afterwards.

This is it. The moment that will decide whether you go to Hogsmede tomorrow with Fred, or can finally live comfortably and without fear in the Gryffindor dormitory. And you didn't know which one you wanted more.

Draco and Harry flew neck to neck as they chased after the snitch. It seemed just a little over an arm's length away, which was convenient for Draco's long wingspan. His fingers reached only slightly further, granting him an advantage over Harry which, given the high stakes, meant all the world to you.

Slytherin was just about to win this.

Suddenly, George passed the bludger to Fred, and he whacked the hard ball straight towards Draco's head. It was fortunate that he noticed on time and was able to duck, but this meant that his flight was briefly stopped, leaving him just behind the Gryffindor seeker for a moment.

Harry had caught the snitch.

Your jaw dropped, lips slightly parted in shock as the cheers in your section became deafening. Gryffindor won. Which meant that you had a date with Fred, and your immunity was no longer solidified. And oddly enough, you weren't entirely mad.

As the team all flew to where Harry was to celebrate, you noticed Fred fly away from them and towards the stands. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you watched him lay his broom on the railing and stride up the emptying seats.

Before you knew it, Fred approached you, making you stand on your feet. Then, he kissed you, holding your waist close to him and tilting his head to meet your lips.

It didn't take long before you began kissing him back. You were unaware of why, but you knew you wanted this just as much as he did. You loved the feeling of his lips on your own, how his fingers danced along your waistline and electrified your entire body, how soft his hair felt in your fingertips, and how perfectly you two seemed to fit into each other's bodies. The sounds of gasps and whistles surrounding you felt muted, like it was only you and Fred existing at the moment.

It was only you and Fred existing at the moment.

Eventually, Fred slowly detached from the kiss, planting another small peck on your lips before fully pulling away. He had a lopsided smile in his face, while you had an idiotic grin to match. It was then when a cough next to you pulled you two back to reality.

Upon seeing the crowd surrounding the area, you two immediately detached your arms from its hold on the other and separated in embarrassment. He gave a small chuckle at the situation while you looked down with cherry cheeks and eyes squeezed shut. They, including the Gryffindor team observing from the railing, had watched the entire kiss.

Please kill me now.

Fred cleared his throat awkwardly and turned towards you. "So, tomorrow at 11?"

"Yeah, I'll meet you at the Great Hall."

"It's a date," he murmured before running down the stands to grab his broom. Without realizing it, your fingers hovered over your lips, and the playback of the kiss viewing in your head brought a dreamlike expression onto your face.

You couldn't wait for Sunday to come.

——————————

a/n — That took a while to make. Please like, reblog, comment, or send something in my inbox to let me know what you think of this one shot! Thanks for reading.

#fred weasley #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley x reader #harry potter one shot #harry potter #fred weasley fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #my prompts #writing

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aizawaorkuroo · 4 years

Text

on the house (chapter 6) - coffee milk tea (with boba!)

Ship: Yagi Toshinori x reader

Rated: T

Word Count: 4.1k

Summary: You see Toshinori three times before he has to stop hiding.

Warnings: Language

AN: Sorry for the delay!! i like lost all motivation to write but i got it done! This chapter reads as a series of vignettes lowkey like at each line break. Let me know what y’all think 🥺💖 Also coffee milk tea is also called yuenyeung and it fucking slaps gerfwas

OTH Masterlist

_________

Toshinori texts you religiously after that weekend. A sprinkling of messages throughout the day that make butterflies swarm in your stomach. They start off in the morning when you’re already working at Sweet Bean.

It’s always something simple like Have a good day! :-) or Good Morning! But nonetheless, his messages always stirred up warm feelings.

It always makes you smile, which Aiko takes full advantage of. The teasing you got when you saw her was merciless. The number of jokes centered around “you’re absolutely glowing” astounded you. If she wasn’t such a valuable employee or a good friend, you would’ve thought about sending her home.

Yamada outright teases you, much to your horror. He’s relentless, maybe even worse than Aiko. But it’s Aizawa’s knowing grins that make your stomach flip. But when Toshinori messages you, the growing waves of affection confirm that you would put up with all the teasing and giggling in the world for a chance to have something real with him.

The days slip into something warmer and longer, the air becoming sticky and thick with rising heat. You can’t help but breathe a little easier in the summer. It’s especially nice whenever students come in while they’re on break. They bring a sense of life and youthfulness that warms your heart.

The group of girls Sato brought are back again, lounging around a table. They have stopped by a few times since then, and it’s been nice, watching them study, gossip, and celebrate the end of the term. This time, they’re joined by two other girls, and you can’t help but smile.

“Boss, stop being weird,” Aiko whines from next to you. You roll your eyes, tearing your gaze away from the group of girls to your bubbly employee.

“Don’t you have a summer class you need to be getting to?” you ask bluntly. Aiko’s mouth twists as she’s about to volley back another teasing remark before she freezes. Her eyes widen as she processes what you said.

“Oh shit!”

Your customers offer the two of you a small glance as Aiko rips off her apron, throwing it into the back. Without another word, she sprints out the front door. As she exits, she sails past Toshinori, who looks mildly alarmed.

You grin as Toshinori shyly waves at you from the entrance. There’s someone with him that piques your interest: a boy with green curls and freckles scattered across his face. When they walk past the group of girls, the young boy waves excitedly, stopping to talk.

Toshinori’s been stopping by more and more, much to your pleasure. There were some days where he forgets to order something, too enthralled in chatting with you and watching you work. But you’ve never seen the kid that’s with him.

When Toshinori steps up to the counter, your phone buzzes. Your head tilts as you read it, and you pinch the bridge of your nose.

Please clock me out!

“Suga, can you clock Aiko out?” you call to the back. You hear him mutter, and you smile when he tells you she needs to be fired or demoted.

“He doesn’t mean that,” you tell Toshinori, who looks a little concerned. “Also I want you to try something!” You beam up at him, watching as his eyes widen before a soft, tired smile crawls across his face.

“I trust you. I’m good with whatever you want to make,” he mumbles, not quite meeting your eyes. You hum excitedly, turning around to make his drink.

He watches you fondly as you flutter behind the counter. He meant it, that he trusts you. He just can’t tell you everything. Not yet, at least. It’ll all come crumbling down if he says anything now. The smile on his face slips into a frown, the peaceful feeling evaporating from him. Toshinori’s so lost in thought, he doesn’t even notice when you’ve turned back around and placed the cup down in front of him.

Furrowing your brows, you wave your hand in his field of view, grounding him in the moment.

“Where’d you go?” you ask gently. He shakes his head, eyes downcast.

He’s about to answer when the boy that he came in with bounds up to the counter. Toshinori smiles and glances down, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“This is Midoriya. He’s one of my students.” Midoriya beams at you, and something clicks. You’re almost positive you had heard about him before. You don’t know whether he came up from Yamada or Sato, or the group of girls, but you’re positive Midoriya has been brought up before.

“It’s nice to meet you, Midoriya. I’m Y/N.” He waves at you, and your eyes pass over the faded lines that cover his hands and arms. Your heart drops into your stomach as you force your gaze to meet his, trying to maintain the cheery attitude.

“Got any plans for summer break?” you ask, hoping he didn’t notice your concern for his scarred body. He blinks up at you, his smile never leaving his face. If he did notice, he’s doing a decent job at not caring.

“Just training camp! It’s what we were all talking about.” Your head cock’s to the side, and you glance at Toshinori, silently asking for an explanation. He chuckles at your confusion before elaborating.

“There’s a training camp for the Hero courses coming up, so both Class 1-A and 1-B will attend.” You make a noise of understanding before nodding your head. Your gaze flickers to the group of students that are giggling about something. Your heart warms at the thought of them getting a nice break to train somewhere fun.

“Well, Midoriya, I just made Toshi a drink that all your friends are drinking. Would you like one too?” Toshinori’s face flushes red at the use of a nickname in front of his student, and you wink at him. You stifle a laugh as his blush darkens. Midoriya looks at the counter, mildly uncomfortable at how you tease his mentor, but he nods at the offer. You immediately get to work, when his quiet voice pipes up again.

“How much is it?” he murmurs. You shake your head, working quickly.

“Don’t even worry about it. My treat!” When you turn around with Midoriya’s drink, he looks very excited, like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin. Maybe giving him caffeine is a bad idea.

“Oi!” A voice draws your attention to the back, and you roll your eyes at Suga sticking his head out of the kitchen. “Giving out free things all the time is not a sustainable business practice.” Your nose scrunches up, and you stick your tongue out at him. He rolls his eyes before disappearing to bake. You purse your lips and set the drink down next to Toshinori’s.

“Ignore him. Anyways, it’s a coffee milk tea with boba!” you say excitedly. “Suga felt like making boba, and I figured why not add some black milk tea and a little coffee!” Toshinori smiles down at you, affection running off of him in waves. You watch as Midoriya and Toshinori both take a tip. Midoriya’s eyes widen as he chews one of the tapioca pearls.

“I know! The texture’s perfect,” you hum happily. “Suga kind of makes whatever he wants, and I’m alright with that. We’ve been talking about expanding so he can do some more actual cooking besides the ‘fucking sandwiches’, but it’s pretty expensive.”

You tap your chin in thought as you ramble to Midoriya, and Toshinori’s face pulls into a sharp grin. He’s going to tell you soon. He swears he will.

_________

You fall back against your bed, exhausted after a long day at work. The temptation to just shut your eyes crashes over you. Your phone buzzes much to your annoyance, but any frustration you harbor disappears when you see the message is from Toshinori. You smile stupidly at your phone, curling up on your side as you read the message he sent over and over again.

Can I call you?

You bite the inside of your cheek, glancing out the window. The moon’s drifting across the sky, city lights washing away the stars. It feels warm, and something syrupy makes its home in your chest.

Of course! <3

You narrow your eyes, thumb hovering over the send button. You delete the heart and hit send. A stillness hangs over you, as you wait. When your phone lights up with his incoming call, you sit up, bringing your knees to your chest. Tentatively, you accept the call.

“Hi,” you murmur, trying not to feel shy. He’s fucked you before; a phone call should be nothing. You flush, shaking your head at the thought.

“Is there something you wanted to talk about?” you offer hesitantly.

“Not particularly, just wanted to hear your voice.” A smile unfurls on your face, and you let yourself fall back onto your bed, your legs spreading out in front of you.

“Oh I see, you go a few days without stopping by Sweet Bean, and you just go crazy without me.” He stutters at your words, not able to form a reasonable answer. You laugh at his panic, but change the topic, offering him a way out.

“How’s work going?” He sighs in relief at the question.

“I worked on some lesson plans, and the students will be leaving for camp in a few days.” Your eyes slightly widen as you remember the way Midoryiya said everyone was excited.

“Right, camp! That’ll be fun for them!”

“They’re there to train. But the Pussycats will treat them well.” You bolt upright at his casual tone.

“The Pussycats? As in The Wild, Wild Pussycats? The hero squad?” you ask, desperate for confirmation. He laughs but reassures you that it’s true. Your rest your head in your palm as the realization that Toshinori probably knows some really famous heroes settles in. Your thoughts drift back to the green-haired boy you met and the scars that litter his skin.

“And Midoriya will be going too, right?” you ask. He makes a noise of affirmation, but something lingers: an unspoken worry, a hint of doubt.

“Are you worried for him?” you question lightly, trying to get a better grasp at what’s eating away at him. Toshinori sighs into the receiver, the silence hanging heavily between you too. You hold your breath, waiting for whatever he’s debating over to spill out and into the phone.

“I want him to push himself and grow stronger, but not to the point where he breaks his bones. But Aizawa will be there, and I trust him.” You hum into the phone, brows furrowing with concern. He feels farther away than normal, the phone distorting his voice, but not doing much to hide the fact that he’s avoiding something. A seed of doubt lodges itself in the hollow of your chest, but you drop the subject. Whatever Toshinori’s hiding isn’t coming out anytime soon.

You frown thinking of the first time he slipped up. It was subtle, so tiny that you could’ve easily missed it. Just a few inconsistencies about where he had been. They were small enough that you didn’t say anything, and there’s a chance that you were overthinking it. But at the same time, it sat uncomfortably in your chest, where it rests now, weighing you down. You lie back, letting yourself flop against the bed.

“Besides working on lesson plans, what else are you doing over the next few weeks?”

“Not a lot,” he answers quickly, relieved at the change of topic. “I have some meetings, but that’s it really.” You nod to yourself, a sly grin spreading on your face.

“So, would you be interested in, I don’t know, having another date?” You hear him sputter into the receiver, and you practically see flames of red spreading from the tips of his ears to paint his cheeks. “And it’s not that I don’t like you coming to Sweet Bean, but it’d be nice to see you other places too,” you murmur. His breath catches and you bite your lip, trying to stifle a giggle at his reaction.

“I’d like that very much.” Toshinori’s voice is soft, sending butterflies gently floating through your stomach. You sit up again, nervously tapping your fingers against your thigh.

“Good. I was worried you were beginning to lose interest,” you tease. He lets out a laugh at the notion.

“Sweet girl,” he groans, making you flush, memories of the last time he called you that overwhelm your brain. “I’ll take you anywhere you want.”

“There’s a small festival that’s going on, actually. It’s some sort of dance competition I think. Would you wanna go tomorrow and check it out?”

“It’s a date.” A large smile forms on your face, and you make a satisfied noise.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you whisper.

“Goodnight, sweet girl.”

Laying your phone down in your lap, you look out the window and your brows crease, the twinge of concern solidifying its roots. The city lights look a lot colder now.

_________

The festival is wonderful, full of games, a variety of colors, and inviting scents. You had been right, and it was some sort of dance festival, much to your delight. Troupes of dancers in beautiful, flowing, clothing performed in the street all day.

You let out a little hum as you bring a spoonful of kakigori to your mouth. The sun hangs low in the sky, painting the scattering of clouds gold, and shining beautifully in Toshinori’s hair. You glance up at Toshi, before pulling the spoon out of your mouth and offering it to him. He grins sharply, accepting the spoon and taking a bite of the shaved ice.

“I swear, those people have the best topping options,” you exclaim. He scoffs at you, shaking his head as he returns the spoon.

“I’m pretty sure they’re the same as they are everywhere.” You narrow your eyes at him and pout. Toshi’s eyes widen before he lets out a laugh that resounds in the air around you, enveloping you in something warm and soft.

“I mean, you are right. Their menu is special,” he corrects himself, shoving a hand into his pocket. You laugh at him, before carefully holding the kakigori with one hand, and sliding your other arm around the one he just placed in his pocket. You rest your head on his arm, and when you glance up, a deep red blooms at the tips of his ears. You grin before looking towards the crowds on the street.

“I kind of wanna see another performance. What about you?” you ask. A noise of agreement rumbles through his chest, and the two of you walk towards the mass of people. You never let Toshinori go, holding him close until you reach the crowd. Making sure to keep an eye on your kakigori, you take his hand, trying to guide the two of you forward, but the crowd is surprisingly dense. You stand on your tiptoes, trying to see the current group of dancers that were performing, jealous of Toshinori’s height.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he gently pulls his hand away from yours. His eyes flicker over to you, and then back to his phone. You take another bite of your kakigori as you wait for him to tell you what’s wrong. Toshinori shifts uncomfortably on his feet, reluctantly looking back at you. Your stomach drops at the way his pointed face is twisted.

“There was an emergency at the school. I have to go.” Your brows shoot upwards. You had not been expecting a school emergency. Especially when they’re on break. But then again, it’s one of the most prestigious schools in the country, and some of the classes are about to go to a training camp.

You set your spoon down in the ice, and you nod, forcing a smile onto your face.

“I understand. Don’t worry about it.” His shoulders sag in relief, but you smirk and bat your eyelashes at him. “But I was looking forward to taking you home again.” Something full of pain and longing slips into his eyes, and his mouth fixes itself into a sad smile.

“Let’s have dinner tomorrow night. If you’re free.” Toshinori sounds sad as he says it, and you reach up to gently grab the side of his arm.

“Sounds good. I’ll see you then.” Your words give him permission to leave, and yet he hesitates. You squeeze his arm in reassurance. “It’s okay, Toshi.” He nods down at you, before stalking off into the crowd. You let out a sigh and turn back towards the dancers, taking another bite of the sweet kakigori.

_________

Toshinori is late. A twinge of annoyance flickers in your chest. He had already called you, apologizing to you about not being able to pick you up because something had kept him at work, and he was just now heading out. That was thirty minutes ago.

Starting to get flustered by the sad glances the waitress keeps sending your way, you pull out your phone pulling up Toshinori’s contact again. Before you hit the call button, Toshinori is sliding into the seat across from you. You blink blankly at him, before slowly setting your phone down on the table.

Something hot and sharp grows in your chest. He looks worn out, as if he’s being spread too thin, tugged in too many directions. He’s always looked tired, and you partially think whatever caused his scar is to blame, but this, this is different. A small frown forms on his face, and you reach out, resting your hand on his.

“Is everything okay?” you ask quietly. His eyes flicker between your hands and your concerned face. Toshinori’s face softens before he shifts his hand to squeeze yours lightly.

“I’m just glad to be here now.” You flush under his gaze and tighten your hand in his.

“I’m glad you’re here now, too,” you murmur. His large, calloused thumb strokes the back of your hand. You lean forward, wanting to bask in this moment. Toshinori mimics you, a smile tugging at his mouth. Your eyes trail up and down his face, and the tips of his ears turn red. Eventually, the waitress comes by again, and she looks relieved that someone’s finally joined you. She takes your order happily and manages to make only one comment about how long you’ve been waiting, much to your horror.

“Anyways, how was your day?” he chokes out once the waitress scurries off. Giving his hand one last squeeze, you pull it away, drawing back into yourself.

“It was fine. Same as every day. I’m sure your’s was more interesting.” Leaning against the table rest your head in your hand, looking at him expectantly. His eyes widen, and he opens his mouth, but before he can get a word out, he’s interrupted.

His phone buzzes on vibrate, and you bite the inside of your cheek. Toshinori exhales shakily, and he rubs the back of his head sheepishly. His face is downcast, shoulders slipped, and he meets your eyes reluctantly.

“Y/N, I am so sorry,” he starts, but you just shake your head cutting him off.

“It’s okay. We can reschedule,” you try to say brightly, ignoring the cold feeling seeping into your bones. He nods at you sadly and rises from the table. His mouth quirks up sadly, and he ducks down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. When he pulls away, Toshinori leans his forehead against yours and brings his hand up to caress the side of your face.

“Tomorrow,” he reassures. You nod against him, and he’s gone, tearing out of the restaurant in a flash. You twirl your straw in your drink and purse your lips, brain twisting along with the liquid. A frigid thought pierces through your muddled mind: maybe he wasn’t interested in you and didn’t know how to let you down? When the waitress drops off the check, she smiles sadly at you; you wish you were a thousand miles away.

_________

He doesn’t even make it the next night. You’re left by yourself for about an hour, trying to ignore the pitying looks from the waiter. You had been excited earlier, watching as the sun sinks lower and lower, until the sweet orange shifts into soft pinks and deep blues. But it’s dark outside now, and you feel nauseous.

Your phone rings, jolting you from your thoughts. Your mouth twists into a small frown when you see it’s Toshinori. You let it ring, tilting your head to the side as you look at his contact picture. It’s a selfie of both of you holding to-go cups from Sweet Bean. He had to duck down to fit into the frame, a pretty blush covering his face as he looks at you with more tenderness than you’re used to. You had taken it when he walked you home from the police station with the intention of sending it to Aiko. Taking a deep breath, you answer the call.

“Hi.” You wince at how pathetic your voice sounds.

“Y/N, I am so sorry,” Toshinori practically yells. His frantic tone jolts you out of your self wallowing pity.

“Toshinori, what’s wrong?” Your stomach flips as your mind races through all the worse case scenarios.

“There was a villain attack at the camp, and -” he breathes in sharply, trying to calm himself down. “I won’t be able to make it tonight.”

“Oh my god, do not worry about it. Do what you need to. I’ll talk to you later,” you reassure him, guilt pooling in your stomach. He quickly sputters out a goodbye, and the line goes dead. You walk home by yourself, and the entire time you think of those girls laughing inside Sweet Bean just a few days ago. When you finally go to sleep, your cheeks are wet and your eyes are sore.

It’s only the next day that you find out one of the students has been kidnapped. Bakugou Katsuki. You don’t know him, but you recognize him from the Sports Festival.

You close Sweet Bean for the day.

_________

Aiko is over the next night, watching you from the couch while you tend to the tea plants on your tiny balcony. She’s brought over takeout that’s been forgotten in your kitchen. You’re much too focused on trying to stay busy.

You hold the plants tenderly, trying to turn on the faucet of warmth inside you.

It’s foolish to be this worried about someone you don’t even know, but you can’t help it. You’ve met his classmates (and you are constantly worrying about them now), you know some of his teachers, and it’s horrible that he’s been kidnapped. It twists your stomach, and you bite back the bile that’s threatening to rise.

Your hands stay cold.

“Y/N, you should see this!” Aiko calls from the living room. Standing up, you wipe your hands on your pants and join her. On the screen is Aizawa, another teacher, and the principal of U.A. Your nerves pool in your stomach at seeing how much worse the bags under Aizawa’s eyes have gotten; you can’t help but think of Toshinori.

You space out, chewing on your lip nervously as the conference comes to an end. You hadn’t heard from him all day, and considering what was going on, that’s to be expected. But you just want to know if he’s okay. The panicked tone that was in his voice plays on a loop in your mind.

Aiko’s gasp jolts you back to reality, and your eyes zero in on the screen. There's a fight being televised. You squint, trying to make out the hero as the camera zooms and refocuses. It’s All Might, you realize. A shallow sense of relief overwhelms you. He’ll take care of this. But to your horror, the villain’s power is on par with his. You reach out, gripping Aiko’s arm, your jaw clenching.

Your brain slinks back to the day he had chastised you for running recklessly into a situation. It’s best to leave situations like this up to the professionals. That’s what he had said to you that day. And then he had stuck his neck out for you for no reason. He can’t lose. He can’t lose. He can’t lose, fuck.

You watch, mouth tightened into a firm line, as he takes a beating. After another forceful blow, Aiko stills next to you, the atmosphere between you two crystallizing into something cold and sticky as your jaw slackens.

On the screen, in All Might’s now baggy outfit, covered in blood is Yagi Toshinori.

________________________

Taglist: @bougainvilliea713otaku @chou-maitresse

#yagi toshinori x reader #toshinori yagi x you #toshinori yagi x reader #yagi toshinori x you #all might x reader #all might x you #all might fanfiction #bnha x reader #bnha fanfiction #bnha x you #on the house #my writing #💫.yagi

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bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture · 4 years

Text

Chapter three! I already skimmed through it and just. Holy fuck I’m falling in love with this series all over again, and this is just the opening arc, how the hell is this so good??? I’m genuinely just in awe and fuck is it making it hard to decide where to have a cut-off point for this chapter. I suppose we’ll just have to see what fate decides.

(Also, the temptation to just paste in all of the last three pages of the chapter is so incredibly strong, you don’t understand.)

[No. 3 - Entrance Exam]

We start off with some exposition: UA’s hero course is designed to give students all they need to go pro, and is the toughest and most popular hero course in the country, with only a 1 in 300 acceptance rate. Discounting the four slots that are recommendation students, that’s 36 slots a year, which is about…

Yeah. That’s a lotta applications, and that’s just for the hero course!

Several alumni are mentioned: All Might, who declined the people’s choice award; Endeavor, who’s stopped more crimes than anyone else in recorded history; and Best Jeanist, who’s won the Best Jeanist award eight years running. (One of these things is not like the other~ One of these things just doesn’t belong~) The exposition suggests that graduating from UA is basically a requirement for becoming a great hero - something which we’ll learn soon enough isn’t quite true.

But yeah, Endeavor with the record for crime handling, even above All Might. Quite the impressive hero, though that face…

Not precisely reassuring.

So yeah, Izuku here mentions the date of the exam - February 26th. I figure that this has to be a Sunday, for the simple fact that Japan has a slightly different school schedule than us. Most notably: Japanese schools (some of them, anyways) have 5.5 day school weeks. Yes, that means the first half of Saturday can still be a school day.

While I couldn’t confirm for sure whether this is more common among the higher end schools, I feel like a school like UA, with its ‘Plus Ultra’ motto, would definitely be a school to have a half-day (or even a full day) on Saturdays, and since they also have to accomodate for middle schools that have Saturday morning classes, I figure that it would make the most sense for UA to schedule this exam on a Sunday.

The benefits of this, as we’ve already seen, is that we can then narrow down the timeline for the rest of the series, just based on that single, confirmed date. We know from the last chapter that the Sludge Villain had to happen on a Thursday or Friday of the first week of school (April 14th/15th), with the first training session two days later (the 16th/17th). But what this also gives us is when Izuku’s first year of UA starts, AND the possible years it could start on.

Since we see the glowing baby is in a modern hospital, we can assume that’s correlated to about our times. Give it a few generations, and we can guess that we’re in the 2200s or 2300s for the current era. Based on that assumption, we get the following years that have February 26th on a Sunday:

23rd century potential years: 2204, 2209, 2215, 2226, 2232, 2237, 2243, 2254, 2260, 2265, 2271, 2282, 2288, 2293, 2299

24th century potential years: 2310, 2316, 2321, 2327, 2338, 2344, 2349, 2355, 2366, 2372, 2377, 2383, 2394, 2400

As a side note, when I got into the series, my brain weirdly latched onto the idea that this had to all be happening in the year 2317. I don’t know why I decided on that number, but that’s what I rolled with, and hilariously I could be RIGHT about the year the current manga arc is happening in, provided Izuku’s first year is in 2316. Sometimes you just know, ya know? I know at least one other friend made these calcs independently of me and chose to run with 2237, which is totally valid! Probably makes more sense to be in the 2200s, but there’s room depending on how much time one thinks has passed.

As for when Izuku’s high school school year starts, we know that Japanese schools start on the second Monday of April. Since we don’t know if this is a leap year or not, we’ll end up with two dates, but that’s fine!

Feb 26 (Sun) -> Feb 27 (Mon) -> March (6/5, 13/12, 20/19, 27/26) -> April (3/2, 10/9)

Therefore, Izuku’s first day of classes (not counting the orientation, which I’ve seen a few other timelines assume is on the Sunday before classes start) is April 10th (or the 9th if a leap year)! I know this is all in the future from this chapter, but still, I wanted to share this at some point and figured now was as good a time as always.

Math!

Sorry, I’ve just wanted to share this math I did for a while now, I put a lot of work into it and I am very proud of it. Let’s get back to the chapter.

So Izuku lives a 40 minute train ride away from UA, and has made it just in time for the exam. Apparently, this is only the practical portion? Or well, that’s the part that gets focused on in this chapter, with no mention of the paper exam. I would imagine they’d be the same day, though? But I suppose one can do whatever they like with it.

He’s standing there looking at the school, thinking about how he didn’t have a chance to test the power, while the other students head in-

Excuse me, Toga?? I know that hairstyle is just a bit off, but… ???

...right, anyways. Izuku is wondering whether the hair really did anything (also, it was apparently sour, which, ew.) Katsuki comes up behind him and tells him to move aside.

Truly a flattering image. Izuku panics a bit and greets him, but Katsuki just walks by without another word or gesture, leaving Izuku confused as he watches him head on into the building. The narrative notes that since the villain incident, Katsuki hadn’t bothered Izuku, while the unnamed characters in the background apparently recognize Katsuki from the ‘sludge’ incident (well, not shocked how the fandom held onto that name).

Izuku notes that he’s gotta stop flinching instinctively, and then tries to hype himself up, noting that it’s not like before, and think about the past ten months while taking a wobbly step forward- and then tripping over himself.

I’m sorry Izuku just has so many fantastic faces in this chapter I am crying trying to limit myself to just a few. But yeah, that little derp as he realizes what’s happening is adorable, especially while Ochako gently sets him back on his feet. She mentions that it’s her quirk, and apologizes for using it, but that it’s a bad omen to trip and fall. (I wonder if that gets played with again during later parts of the series… will have to check to see.)

While Izuku freaks out over talking to a girl, Ochako notes that the exam is nerve-wracking, and then heads off while wishing both of them luck as Izuku stares after.

This fucking kid. I love him so much. His flustered excitement gets him some weird looks from the others still outside.

We transition to a new character (Present Mic) who immediately shows off his performative side by calling for a ‘hey!’ which… is met with silence from the crowd. He doesn’t let this throw him off, instead letting them know that he’ll present the guidelines for the practical, followed with a ‘YEAH!’ that gets met with an even heavier silence.

Izuku and Katsuki are seated next to each other, with Izuku descending right into excited muttering over Present Mic and how he listens to his radio show every week. Also with the assumption that all the UA teachers are pro heroes, which I mean, true, but still. Katsuki tells Izuku to shut up.

Present Mic explains the test: ten minute long ‘mock cityscape maneuvers’, with the applicants split among seven arenas, labelled ‘A’ through ‘G’. With more than 10k applicants total, that’s about…

Yeah, more than 1500 per arena. Fucking hell, no wonder the robots deplete so quickly in only a few minutes. Also of interest:

“Bring along whatever you want.” So technically, if Izuku were able to procure the tech and training to handle the robots, there would be nothing keeping him from getting into UA quirkless… though I imagine any kid who gets in mostly on tech probably gets side-eyed… though if said kid made their OWN tech, they might also get an offer from the Support department.

(AU where Mei accidentally took the heroics exam and got a shitload of points, but she ended up taking the offer for Support instead despite setting the record for most points in said exam. Katsuki forever wants to fight her. Izuku and her are good friends.)

Also, another thing I love is how Katsuki just told Izuku to shut up a moment ago, and then:

He’s the one to initiate conversation on the details of the test, basically agreeing on the reasoning behind dividing up the students between arenas. Katsuki is annoyed at not being able to crush Izuku, which has Izuku awkwardly silent.

Also mini-Mic.

Poor, poor Mic. He just wants audience participation. Anyways, he continues on to explain the points system, with the help of cute little Mario-themed silhouettes. There are three kinds of faux villains, with different points awarded for defeating each based on their difficulty levels. Also, attacking other examinees is prohibited!

A student (cough Tenya) raises their hand to ask a question, going on to note that the handout sheet appears to have four varieties of villain, and that such a blatant error (if it is one) reflects poorly on Japan’s top academy. He then spins around and points at Izuku, calling him out for his muttering and how distracting he’s been, and that ‘if this is some sort of game to you, then please leave immediately!’

Is that… Mineta seated behind Izuku? I can’t find another panel that disproves that theory, so. Whelp. If you ever for some reason want to have Izuku accidentally deal with the grape early, he’s right there.

Anyways, Present Mic brings the convo back to the initial question/comment, noting that the fourth villain is worth zero points, and is more of an obstacle. He then brings up Super Mario Brothers, the old retro game, and compares the Zero Pointer to a thwomp. There’s one per site, serving as a gimmick that’ll rampage in close quarters. Tenya thanks Mic and apologizes for the interruption.

And so we get our final words from Present Mic:

??? either he's referencing the original guy (which I think would be a misquote because I doubt OG Nap ever noted anything like that) or some French hero or the like who took on the name.

Discord offered this to me while putting together the post:

So there you have it. Tentatively confirmed.

Those EYES man, dude’s got the Rinnegan going on.

Honestly, I have to end on this panel just because of that last line from Present Mic. Like, look me in the eyes and tell me this isn’t the exact point to end on.

The discord’s takeaway from this:

#chapter 3 #opening arcs #readthrough #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #uraraka ochako #yamada hizashi #iida tenya #I seriously cannot believe they actually said 'break a leg' while Midoriya Izuku was in the area #like talk about tempting fate #and that little bow #like 'yes sir i will do my best to break a leg'#'in fact i will break both legs AND an arm'#'Plus Ultra!'

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pitiless-achilles-wept · 4 years

Text

2020 Can Take My Hair, But Not My Hope

My hair started falling out on election night.

I thought at first it might be the anxiety, that I was literally pulling my hair out with worry over numbers I already knew were not going to be definitive before the night wore into morning but which I stayed up until 3:30am watching anyway. I tweeted rapidly, reassuring my jittery timeline that not only had we all known that the night would bring no results but that we had even expected Trump to lead in key states because of the greater number of mail-in ballots from urban areas that would largely count for Biden. We knew. We all knew. But we were all terrified, flashing back to 2016 and already dreading another four years of living life on high alert, in constant survival mode.

I posted a selfie with a tweet that read, "Could be the last presidential election I vote in (blah blah stage 4 cancer blah blah) and I wish it were better and clearer than this but it's a crucial privilege to have voted. Remember, whatever the outcome, the last thing they can take from you is your hope."

To me that last sentence has been a mantra for these years and for my treatment. I have consistently refused, despite overwhelmingly terrible odds, to lose hope. The story of Pandora's Box tells us that the very last thing left inside was Hope--that even once all the demons were out in the world there was that tiny, feathered creature left to hang on to. It hasn't been easy, but I am one of the most stubborn people you will ever meet (and if you doubt this just ask anyone who's ever fought me on anything!) and it has turned out to be a saving grace rather than an irritating personality trait. Feeling like the world was trying to take my hope away made me angry. And when I get angry I will fight back.

I know I'm not alone in feeling like we entered some kind of alternate nightmare timeline on election night 2016. To that point, despite periods of immense personal difficulty, nothing truly terrible had happened to me. Then, in short order, my marriage ended and I was diagnosed with and began being treated for a terminal illness, all against the backdrop of a regime so deliberately hateful that it was truly incomprehensible to me. Then, a global pandemic and national crisis swept away the small consolations I'd found in my new life with cancer. The temptation to feel hopeless was strong and I struggled with it, particularly in the isolation of quarantine. I'm struggling with it now, facing a winter of further lockdowns, social isolation, continued chemo, and the added indignity (and chilliness!) of not having any hair. But somehow the coincidence of my hair loss with election night seemed like a good omen for the future, if a sad thing for the present.

I heard the news that they had called Pennsylvania for Biden at a peaceful Airbnb in the Catskills after stepping out of a shower where lost hair in handfuls. It felt oddly like a sacrifice I had made personally. I joked about this with friends on the text chains that lit up and that (despite my promise to myself and my writing partner that we'd "go off the grid") I responded to immediately. Instant replies, with emojis and GIFs, participated in the fiction: "Thank you for your service!!!"; "We ALL appreciate your sacrifice!"; "Who among us would NOT give up their hair for no more Trump?". The feeling was real for me, though. It was as though the good news demanded some kind of karmic offering. You never get something for nothing, I thought, and really it was a small price to pay.

The rest of the weekend passed too quickly, with absorption in the novel I plan (madly, given that I also work full-time) to work on for "National Novel Writing Month" (NaNoWriMo), walks in the unseasonably warm woods, and nighttime drinks on the back deck under the stars, watching my hair blow off in fine strands and drift through the sodium porch light. My friend and I read tarot and both our layouts contained The Tower, the card for new beginnings from total annihilation, the moment of destruction in which (as the novel's title says) everything is illuminated. "This might sound dumb," he said, "but maybe yours is about your hair." It did not sound dumb.

[shaved heads, the 2020 election, and a couple pics under the cut]

There is probably no more iconic visual shorthand for cancer than hair loss. It happens because chemo agents target fast-proliferating cells, which tend to inhabit things that grow rapidly by nature (hair, fingernails), or that we need to replenish often (cells in the gut), as well as out-of-control cancer cells. But not all cancer treatments, not even all chemotherapies, cause hair loss. In my 20 months of being treated for cancer and my three previous treatments (four, if you count the surgery I had) nothing had yet affected my hair beyond a bit of thinning. This despite the fact that my first-ever treatment (Taxol) was widely known to cause hair loss for "everyone." I had been fortunate with this particular side effect in a narrow way that I have absolutely not been on a broader scale. "Maybe," I had let myself think, "I can have this one thing." The odds were in my favor too; only 38% of people in clinical trials being treated with Saci lost their hair. I liked the odds of being in the 62% who didn't. But--as we all felt deep in our gut while they counted votes in battleground states--odds aren't everything.

I had come to treat the "strength" of my hair as a kind of relative consolation (though as with everything cancer "strength," "weakness," and the rhetoric of battle have nothing to do with outcomes). I treasured still having it, not just out of vanity (though I have always loved my hair whatever length, style, or color it has been) but because it allowed me to pass among regular people as one of them. I had no visible markers of the illness that is killing me, concealed as first the tumor and then the scars were by my clothing. "You look wonderful," people would tell me, even when I suffered from stress fractures from nothing more than running or sneezing; muscle spasms in my shoulder and nerve death in my fingertips; nausea that I swallowed with swigs from my water bottle that just made me look all the more like a hydration-conscious athlete; and profound, constant, and debilitating fatigue. Invisible illness had its own perils but I would take them--take all of them at once if necessary!--if only I could keep my hair and look normal.

It was not to be. A part of me had known this, since a lifetime with metastatic cancer means a lifetime of treatments a solid proportion of which result in hair loss. But I had hoped. And I had liked the odds.

The hardest thing for me is having to give up this particular consolation before knowing whether or not my new treatment is also working on my cancer. Unfortunately, there really isn't a correlation between side effects like hair loss and effectiveness of treatment. If it is working then I will feel that--like the election to which I felt I had karmically contributed--it was all completely worth it. Yet, even in this best case scenario, there's a new reality for me which is that while I am on this treatment I will stay bald. When you are a chronic patient you hope for a treatment that will work well with manageable side effects. And if this treatment works--and if the other side effects are as ok-ish as they are now--then I will remain on it.

It's that future that I am furious about more than anything else. I want to continue to live my life, of course, but I don't want to have to do it bald! In part that is because I don't want to register to people constantly as an archetypal "cancer patient" when I know that I am so much more. It is also in part because I don't want to think of myself as being ill, and living every day having to disguise my absent hair will make that all the tougher. I have already noticed that I feel, physically, as though I am sicker because of my constantly shedding hair. How could I not, in some ways, when every move I make and every glance at myself (including in endless Zoom windows) shows me this highly visible change?

For that reason, I'm shaving my remaining hair tomorrow (Wednesday). It's a way to feel less disempowered--less like hair loss is happening to me--and wrest control of the situation back. I will try to find agreeable things about it: wigs, scarves, cozy caps, bright lipstick, statement earrings, and a general punk/Mad Max vibe that is appropriate to 2020. But I don't want anyone to think for a second that I find this agreeable, or even acceptable, or that I don't mind. I mind a whole hell of a lot. My hair was my consolation prize, my camouflage, my vanity, my folly, and my battle cry.

I dyed it purple when I was first diagnosed because I knew (or thought I knew) that I would be losing it soon. I didn't, and I came to cherish it as a symbol of my boldness in the face of circumstances trying to oppress me, to make me shrink, to tempt me to become invisible. I refused and used it to "shout" all the louder in response. Because of what it came to mean to me, I'm nearly as sad about losing the purple as I am about losing the hair itself. It both symbolized the weight I was carrying and also that I would not let that weight grind me down. It was my act of resistance and my sign resilience all at once.

I sent a text to my friends, explaining this and offering, as an idea, that I could "pass the purple" to them in some way, small or large. It would feel more like handing off a torch or a weight (or the One Ring) than anyone shaving their head in solidarity. (After all, if they did that it would just remind me as I watched theirs grow back that, in fact, our positions were very different.) You're welcome to do it if you'd like too, internet friends, with temporary or permanent dye or a wig or a headband or one of those terrible 90s hairwraps or whatever. But I don't require that anyone do it because I feel support from you all in myriad ways, all the time. (But if you do, please send me pictures!)

It's November 2020. The election is over and Joe Biden has won. I still have cancer and I'll be bald tomorrow. I hope it's a turning point, both personal and global, because it feels like one. We've given up a lot in the last four years and I cannot say that I feel in any way peaceful or accepting about having to give up yet one more thing. But in losing my hair I absolutely refuse to also give up my hope.

(On our walk we did also seem to find a version of The Tower, all that was left of an abandoned house)

#life update #my life as a cancer patient #stage 4 #mbc #metastatic breast cancer #losing my hair #unfair things #election 2020 #I just have a lot of feelings #the tower #us politics

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omgkalyppso · 3 years

Text

Honeyed Words

How many fics have this title? Probably a million. I wrote something featuring @esaari‘s tes breton oc Philip, and my imperial oc Oretia. Enjoy!

The grass was cold and wet from vestiges of the midnight frost puddling under the weight of the midday sun. Summer at Winterhold. The worst possible time to be a tome, or scroll, or a visitor. Inside the College, papers were kept magically dry and well kept, but as soon as you stepped one foot into the city, everything wilted with the humidity, including the people.

The citizenry was more amenable to the mages and their initiates since the reconstruction, after the civil war, but that did not forestall all of their prejudices, Philip had noticed. They phrased their suspicions of foreigners, of which he was no longer considered, as warnings of unstable mountaintops, roads that were thin with ice and awaiting unwary travelers, and beasts that roamed beyond their hibernal caves, but he heard the truth behind every bitter courtesy. ‘You are as unwelcome by the land as by our hospitality,’ they cried.

It was why they still lacked a dedicated blacksmith, a tanner, a wheelwright, fishermen — and Nine help that poor dentist who’d tried to move in four months past.

There were new bodies to fill the houses that had been built — carpenters and farmhands, tailors and midwives, but it was no wonder they still had to rely so heavily on the summer caravans.

The largest of the year was present now, the one that circled from Windhelm to Whiterun and Dawnstar, leaving Winterhold with both the last selection from Windhelm and the benefit of what the caravan had collected on its journey, just before they finished their circle and headed back home. The gamut of their venture was nearly complete, and so Philip felt triply insulted by the price being demanded of him to carry scroll and missive — which included a painstaking transcription of an extremely valuable book — to the new astrologer in Windhelm.

“Thirty gold is more than fair,” he insisted. “Twenty would cover a gold a day for the service, and fourteen was the cost last year.”

“Thirty might be fair,” replied the nord man, who was clearly dealing with other problems — but none of them were Philip’s, “but eighty is the cost.”

“Set by you, unreasonably.”

“Are you calling me unreasonable, my lord?” The title had been wrong, but Philip’s choice of words had been fumbling. He needed this, it was important.

“I misspoke. Surely, you are a man who knows his worth and his services, and so, you must know, that it is not up to the College to champion the losses of your caravan. You are headed to Windhelm anyway. I will offer forty, far more than you’d require.”

The nord nodded to someone standing outside of Philip’s periphery, and his shoulders tensed. The temptation to invoke others to grant weight to his title and his person was present, for he was on good terms with his Thane and his Jarl, and Skyrim’s champion of the war; but so too was he Archmage now, and whatever his personal insecurities, knew that he demanded his own respect. He shrugged his elbow towards the person who approached from his side, striking them, if lightly.

“I am not some common miscreant. Do not look to demean me. There are other couriers.”

“Then find one,” replied the nord.

Philip looked to the imperial woman at his side as she spoke and frowned in surprise. She was hobbling a little, unsteady on her feet, and not the manner of muscle he’d expected the nord to be summoning.

“And I wasn’t hired to help with customer service, Herknir. This doesn’t look like a case of banditry.” Her accent was thick and southern, and Philip flinched to look at her more directly as despite her words she still laid a hand upon him — but it was gentle, so much so that he couldn’t even feel it through his robes, on his upper arm, a signal to wait and not a reprimand. Philip took a step away from her anyway, disinterested in her reassurance.

“Take the illustrious Archmage for a walk, Oretia. I can smell the enchantments on him, and I won’t risk the safety of our men to the whims of secret, magical documents without collateral.” Philip blanched, he hadn’t expected Herknir to be thinking of anything beyond what he could get with the money. Herknir pointed a finger at him, to further cement his point, “If it were a message from one of your initiates back to their parents or their sweetheart in Windhelm, then that is one service; but you should know that your time is worth more, and you should be prepared to pay more in the future. Cool your head. Try Tilly’s honey-pops, and come back to me when you’re willing to talk business.”

“Sorry about him,” Oretia sounded exasperated, and Philip had to wonder if she had felt suitably chastised by Herknir over the course of her time with the man, as he did now, sent for a walkabout like a petulant child — though one who had been flirting with the crackle of magic on the edge of his fingers. “And me, I had assumed you were a nobleman. I should not have placed my hand upon you.”

“It is nothing,” Philip assured her, dismissing the perceived insult with a smile — tickled by the idea that she would more readily lay her hands on a Thane. They wove their way through a crowd, where the locals parted naturally by his presence. There was nowhere for Oretia to hide her stumbling.

“But perhaps I owe you an apology? Did I set you so off-balance?”

“Oh!” she laughed. “No, I— My legs are sore. I’d spent the last four days climbing up and down your mountains.”

Philip snorted, infected by his companion’s good humor. “Whatever for?”

She sighed, smiling, wistful. “To see my sister. It had been a few years and she’s settled up there. I thought that, seeing her would make it easier to accept, but now I’m less sure than ever about leaving; but you don’t need to hear about that. What was Herknir so upset about? Do you really have secret, magical documents?”

The way she exaggerated the word was light, teasing, and free of ill-will Herknir had managed to fit into the word.

“I—” Philip scoffed, “I suppose I do. The documents themselves aren’t magical, but few things that leave the College can be described otherwise.”

“Secretive?” Oretia prompted.

“For certain,” Philip assured her.

She seemed to take a measure of him then, a once over with suspicious eyes. Philip wondered what she saw.

“I could leave you now,” she suggested, tilting her head. “I rather doubt you need my company.”

Philip thought of the trader and patrons, and wondered whether for the moment she might need his. He wondered if she was asking for the freedom of privacy or to socialize with a friend from the caravan, but outside the College and inside Winterhold, his friends felt ever fewer, and Oretia had been friendly enough as to prove distracting from his other worries.

“There are a great many things I don’t need, but enjoy regardless. Of course, you’re free to go, and I’ll make my way back to Herknir in due time, but if you’d like to point me towards those honey-pops…?”

Philip felt any lingering stress melt off his shoulders when Oretia brightened.

“They’re very sweet, but delicious,” she insisted, directing them now with purpose. “There are some with raspberries caked in which are wonderful in tea, but they’re just as fine as a little delight.”

Philip bought ten for a gold piece, a strange assortment of things to pocket, even wrapped in wax paper as they were, but Oretia was right, they were good, as the two of them found a bench shielded by the cold of the sea, but still hidden by the warmth of the sun, as they each enjoyed one of the candies for a few silent seconds.

There was something about the way others seemed to have more time for trysts, and he wondered whether another person might take this time to proposition their companion. The pair of them with lips flush and spit slick from their choice in dessert, people might even think they had done something elicit when they returned to the main road. The air was thick and the blossoms were sweet, and Philip wondered whether he’d simply been surrounded by familiar faces for too long, that the blush upon a stranger’s cheeks would send his mind so far from his original intentions. He pat himself down, confirming the location of his missives, before plucking the honey-pop from his lips and assuring Oretia, “Thought I’d dropped something.”

He sighed, resting his hands on his knees. “Tell me about your sister? Might I know her?”

“No,” Oretia answered quickly. “Wylla Cosmotius — err, Wylla Ienith now, I suppose. She might have spent some time here, but wouldn’t have made a name for herself. Found the Shrine of Azura by accident, and then spent a few years “adventuring,” or whatever you might call it, with the priestess, to whom she’s now married.”

“Cosmotius?” Philip echoed. “‘Of the stars?’”

“Mm,” Oretia hummed in agreement. “A name I imagine Wylla was glad to be rid of. Pretentious ancestors. Not that the title of Archmage is any less assuming.”

“I?” Philip hesitated. “I didn’t choose that. And it’s practical, the position is what the title says, I oversee other mages, and am one myself.”

“I didn’t say it was wrong, I said—”

“You implied it was pretentious.”

“And you became defensive,” Oretia observed, amused. “Is my good opinion so important?”

“As important as any other,” Philip said, dismissive, shrugging. “There are a lot of things said about The Archmage, meaning both myself and my predecessors. I do my best to improve those rounds of gossip.”

“I apologize, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I know.”

Oretia bumped a knee against him. She went on, “My sister went through a lot, as a mercenary and … well as an imperial in Skyrim during the civil war. When I was a child I would think of how one day marriage might separate us, but I hadn’t expected to be lost to her when she needed me before that. To be treated as a guest, and not as family, when I would see her again. I worry that she could die on that mountain, and if I were to be in Windhelm, I should never know.”

“And so you’re thinking of staying?” Philip remembered. “Do you ply a craft? There are still incentives to settle in Winterhold.”

“The city is known for surviving winters without me. I don’t know how useful I could be, or how interested people would be in buying leathers, or how abundant the game is year round for the purpose of gathering supplies. I feel I don’t know much of anything lately.”

“If it’s any consolation I find that to be more true with each passing year.”

“Even for the Archmage?”

“Especially for the Archmage,” Philip groaned. “There’s much to learn and more to discover. That’s why I need to see my post sent to Windhelm.”

“I could take it,” Oretia suggested.

“As a reason not to stay?” Philip inquired, furrowing his brow.

She rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t just stay all at once. I have employment and friends and possessions. But I might come back. Settle. It wouldn’t hurt to be owed a favor by the Archmage.”

He hesitated, surprised and unsure. Philip wondered whether he could get her in trouble with Herknir, and whether she was even trustworthy to begin with.

“I couldn’t make a pact like that,” he said quickly, in regret.

“I’ll take the fourteen gold?” Oretia offered. “And no favor.”

“Thirty then,” Philip suggested. “And maybe dinner, if you return?”

#tes #skyrim #oc tag: oretia #long post #my writing #i made this #the fanfiction i mean #bless esaari's approval and excellent oc's #i'll probably write more of these two sometime #<3333333 #esaari's oc: philip

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potter-loves-malfoy · 4 years

Note

hey ! been a hp fan since forever but i’ve only recently started delving into fan fiction. are there any super iconic drarry fics you could recommend me or just any really good ones that you like ! thanks !

Okay I’m so so so sorry this is maybe like a year late. I, uh, don’t have an excuse. I’ll rec some here, also will link to my list of favourites. I also just like to sort by kudos on ao3 and just go through the most popular fics when I start reading for a new fandom so I also just suggest reading those for “iconic” drarry fics. I am also relatively new to the fandom I’d say, I’ve only been here for a little over two years, so I’m sure I have followers that are more qualified to recommend some Drarry Squad staples (feel free to add to my list! Please actually add to my list lol) These are just well known Drarry fics that I happened to stumble upon and really really love.

Higher and Higher (Temptation) by birdsofshore

Only Harry Potter could manage to put on a magical collar on impulse and find himself unable to take it off again. Now following Draco’s direct orders gives him intense pleasure, and Draco has a whole heap of troubles to deal with, not least the way Potter looks when the collar has him gasping with bliss. The whole situation would test the morals of a saint... and Draco’s no saint.

Lumos by birdsofshore

Harry never expected to spend eighth year listening to Draco Malfoy wanking.

The Critiquer by dysonrules

When Harry submits his cock photo to a renowned Cock Critiquer and gets a terrible review, he decides to take a photography class to hopefully improve his skills.

Running on Air by eleventy7

Draco Malfoy has been missing for three years. Harry is assigned the cold case and finds himself slowly falling in love with the memories he collects.

Draco Malfoy, It's Your Lucky Day by Faith Wood (faithwood)

Even though he's unarmed, injured, lost in the Forbidden Forest, and facing a possible murder charge, Draco Malfoy gets lucky.

All Our Secrets Laid Bare by firethesound

Over the six years Draco Malfoy has been an Auror, four of his partners have turned up dead. Harry Potter is assigned as his newest partner to investigate just what is going on.

Because Potter Is Allergic to Poppies by Lomonaaeren

Auror Harry Potter is in hospital being treated for a curse when someone tries to kill him. Obviously it is up to bored, trapped Apprentice Healer Draco, who was only admitted to the Healer Program in the first place to do the menial work, to find out who did it. Because then they will promote him. No, it’s for no other reason, thanks.

Right Hand Red by lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill)

Harry felt Malfoy's breath on his lips as they came together over the bottle, hands firmly planted on the floor as though they each needed their familiar soil, refusing to cross into enemy territory.

Except that Malfoy no longer felt like his enemy.

Malfoy felt inevitable.

All Life is Yours to Miss by Saras_Girl

Professor Malfoy's world is contained, controlled, and as solitary as he can make it, but when an act of petty revenge goes horribly awry, he and his trusty six-legged friend are thrown into Hogwarts life at the deep end and must learn to live, love and let go.

Reparations by Saras_Girl

Harry is about to discover that the steepest learning curve comes after Healer training, and that second chances can be found in unexpected places

Part 1 of Foundations!verse

Turn by Saras_Girl

One good turn always deserves another. Apparently.

Part 1 of Turn!verse

The Printed Press by Soupy_George

Draco Malfoy was still slightly amazed that he was standing on the doorstep of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. He never would have thought that Harry Potter's very public and very ... sweary, emotional explosion would have led to him offering Draco, of all people, a job.

Stately Homes of Wiltshire by waspabi

Malfoy Manor has mould, dry rot and an infestation of unusually historical poltergeists. Harry Potter is on the case.

Tea and No Sympathy by who_la_hoop

It's Potter's fault, of course, that Draco finds himself trapped in the same twenty-four-hour period, repeating itself over and over again. It's been nearly a year since the unpleasant business at Hogwarts, and Draco's getting on with his life quite nicely, thank you, until Harry sodding Potter steps in and ruins it all, just like always. At first, though, the time loop seems liberating. For the first time in his life, he can do anything, say anything, be anything, without consequence. But the more Draco repeats the day, the more he realises the uncomfortable truth: he's falling head over heels for the speccy git. And suddenly, the time loop feels like a trap. For how can he ever get Harry to love him back when time is, quite literally, against him?

Written on the Heart by who_la_hoop

Harry doesn’t mind that so many Slytherins from his year have returned to finish their NEWTs, really he doesn’t. It’s just – do they have to be so friendly? He’s not prejudiced, really he’s not. It’s just – they’ve got to be up to something, right? Unnerved by the attention he’s attracting from everyone – the Slytherins are the least of it, to be fair – and struggling with a raft of changes to Hogwarts itself, Harry wishes he could be happy that one constant remains: Draco Malfoy really fucking hates him.

When he’s hit by an illegal love-spell though, Harry finds he has more to worry about than whether or not Blaise Zabini actually wants to be his friend. For if everyone affected has been blessed – or cursed, by the look on Malfoy’s face – with a magical tattoo revealing the name of their soulmate, what does it mean that Harry’s skin remains completely bare.

Bonus:

I don’t know how iconic this one is, but I’ve recommended this so many times if only because it’s the fic that initiated me into the fandom. It’s the fic that made me start shipping drarry, It’s the fic that made me start to fall in love with these boys. So yeah in addition to being an amazing fic, it is also one that has a lot of personal value for me.

One Night at the Leaky by birdsofshore

Harry should have known better than to accept a drunken dare. Especially when Malfoy was sitting right there, looking like that and wearing those bloody tight trousers.

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cristalknife · 3 years

Text

Kadam Week 2021 Day 4 ~ You are my treasure, can I keep you as part of my hoard? 1/4

This is me trying to not start something on a platform only to post solely somewhere else aka AO3 and ff.net you can find the complete list of Kadam Week 2021 prompts and you might find more stories on the Kadam Week 2021 AO3 collection Someone please take the time to appreciate me not dumping a 23K+ story into a single post, OK thanks for coming to my Ted talk 4° prompt is I Had the Strangest Dream

namely kadam AU... And what you got is a dragons!kadam au where Kurt got into Nyada after his first audition, the story starts with Kurt still in Lima and still with Blaine. Because Klaine needed to die a painful death and you deserved to see that ship crash and burn... I present to you You are my treasure, can I keep you as part of my hoard? (In four parts Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 or read complete on ao3 or ff.net)

It was a rather well known fact that Nyada, being so exclusive and with limited opening every year, had a policy to never take more than a single student from the same school, even if there were more than one valid finalists.

What was not that well known, and certainly not at all advertised, was that such rule did not apply to supernatural beings.

If prospects were inclined toward the arts, and willing to join at least for the time of their education, the colony and the current ruling council.

Then they would be evaluated more on aspirations and skills, disregarding the presence of other finalists from the same school.

Once evaluated they would then be offered a position within one or more of the majors the school had that were in tune with the candidate's ability and affinities, rather than the candidate's preferred and declared choices.

Sometimes those two things matched, other times they didn't match at all.

In the end, once the offer was made, and it was cleared up that it was a non negotiable one, the prospect had to choose whether to accept the position offered by the Nyada's council, or simply choose to attend a different school.

When Kurt aced his audition he could hear the gears in Madam Tibideaux's mind turning, and humming pleasant vibrating sounds all around her. She was not at all like Kurt expected her to be, she felt like more, a more he couldn't place.

His dad had always been larger than life, Carole simply didn’t have the same presence about her.

And he knew that, despite loving how good she was for Burt, Kurt had yet to properly warm up to Carole. She was ok, he guessed, and she made his dad smile and feeling happier than Kurt could remember since his mom died.

But also she felt different... He felt awful for thinking so, but she sort of felt less...

Kurt had no idea who had come to examine him, or better he knew who she was, he just did not know there was also a what she was part that was making Kurt feeling even more invigorated and able to express himself fully.

Rachel on the other hand choked up, on a song she knew by heart, that she had sung so many times she should have muscle memories of how to produce those lyrics...

When the time got closer for their letters to arrive Kurt started to receive condescending looks full of pity, especially from his boyfriend.

When Rachel's letter arrived and she miraculously got in, everyone felt like they simply had to come to Kurt and offer their condolences and unique brand of what was supposedly comfort…

And worse of all Blaine had been the first in line to do so…

"Oh Kurt it's so bad you got to compete against Rach for the position at Nyada, but on the bright side you can stay here with me until I graduate and then we can move together to New York. Of course you'd have to wait another year before you'll be able to try again join Nyada, but at that point at least you'll have worked enough that maybe your cv won't look so anaemic..."

Kurt went rigid at Blaine's words and pressed his lips "Excuse me? Are you implying that you know already and more importantly you fully believe that I've been rejected when my letter didn't even arrive? And you dare to talk to me about my CV after you took the male lead part that was supposed to go to a senior in our only production? When you knew I needed it"

Blaine didn't even have the good grace of looking ashamed nor did he even give any indication of understanding why Kurt might be upset.

"Oh come on Kurt don't be so dull, we all know that only one student per institution can get in. And Rachel got her acceptance letter already, so clearly you've been rejected, but as I was saying it's ok. It even works out better this way. You'll stay here with me while I graduate and then we'll move to New York together, and we'll have enough money to have our own place"

That things with Blaine hadn't been that good was neither a good nor a new news, but this was taking the cake and Kurt huffed irritated "So you expect me to fail in reaching for my dreams, stay in Lima of all places, waiting a year for you to graduate and then do what exactly? Move to New York to work before I try to join my dream school, is that what you see and hope for my life?"

Blaine frowned confused "There's nothing wrong with that Kurt come on, you know what I mean, it's not like you're what people expect from a leading man anyway... I mean I support you but you do stand out too much, and you know, there's being a star and then being a little too unique to ever get a role. It's not a bad thing, it’s just, it makes things difficult and I don't want you to fail, I just want you to have realistic expectations... You know I love you, it's just you can be a little too much for people who don't get you..."

With every additional word that kept pouring out of Blaine’s mouth, Kurt felt something changing and growing at the very centre of his being.

Something he hadn't felt since he was a small child, and got so mad for the first time in his life that he pushed back one of the other kids that were tormenting him...

An action that then his mom scolded him thoroughly, making him promise to never seek violence as a way to solve a conflict. To always take a step back when he felt the sensation of something crawling under his skin ready to explode and make whatever was troubling him disappear.

This time however, it was starting to become harder to resist the temptation to just let it all go, just for this once.

Was this really how love was supposed to be? Because it was starting to seem like he was the only one with expectation to fulfil. And the worst of those expectations was the fact that apparently he was supposed to be the one making compromises…

It was becoming tiresome to say the least.

"Blaine tell me honestly is this what you think?"

Kurt's tone was clipped when he asked that, and yet Blaine once more gave no indication of seeing what was going on.

On the contrary, the boy had the gall to start getting upset, his voice turning into a whine

"Kurt come on, why are you being so difficult, I'm trying to be considerate here but you always make such a fuss about nothing, You're such a drama queen"

And with that something inside Kurt broke...

Whether it was something finally breaking free or simply a dam breaking down he did not know. Nor did he know whether where or how the growling sound reverberating in his throat originated from…

But one thing he did know. This was it, he had reached the point where he couldn't stand the being in front of that, that boy anymore...

With what was Kurt's iciest tone he said "If this is how you feel, then I believe we have nothing else to do. You are never around even for things you planned and scheduled. You don't answer when I call, and if you do answer my messages it’s hours later without apologies or explanations. And if what I've been told is correct, you'd rather spend your time with your friend Sebastian rather than staying with me"

Blaine didn't even let Kurt finish as he started countering "It's not my fault if you seemed so intent on leaving me behind as soon as you'd get your diploma from here. I was just trying to survive without you . Excuse me for being happy about not having to worry about being left behind by my boyfriend. Who I might add, was all too happy to discard me like yesterday trash for a shiny new life in New York, over six hundred miles away from me. How is it a bad thing being happy about having more time together?"

And Kurt was beyond furious "So as long as you are not left behind who cares if my life and my dreams get destroyed? Seriously what's wrong with you. You always comment on how supportive I am of you, and I've tried even when it hurt, even when to be honest I shouldn’t have. So why you never ever try to reciprocate? Why does it always have to be me, the one compromising?"

Blaine assumed that half irritated, half hurt that seriously implied that Kurt was being unreasonable and hurting him for futile reasons, as once again he started to talk over Kurt "Kurt stop being so unreasonable, why are you hurting me? I never asked you to compromise, in fact how can you even say such hurtful things? I was the one who left Dalton to transfer here for you, I was the one who didn't audition for Tony even if I could have used the role as well… It's not my fault if Artie, coach Beiste and Miss P thought I was a better Tony than you. Why are you blaming me for the decisions of others? Especially since it's not exactly my fault if you keep flaunting such extravagant outfits at all times... Why do you ask me that? It's not a matter of your dreams going up in flame or your life being destroyed, don’t you see that was exactly what I was talking about... You're just being overly dramatic instead of taking things with a pinch of maturity, you are such a crybaby at times, can we please stop this nonsense? It's just upsetting me, and it's not like it'll change the content of your nyada letter anyway. There's no need for us to fight over something so stupid..."

Then Kurt relaxed and nodded, and for the first time he saw exactly the moment when Blaine's expression shifted from hurt and pleading to a complacent one, clearly thinking that once more things had gone his way...

To a certain extent he was right, Kurt was going to at least partially grant him his wish for this to stop…

The only part Blaine might not yet realise was that Kurt would make it stop forever.

This was it, any chain, any bond that could have ever existed before, was now absolutely left in tatters on the floor as Kurt was going to soar high in the sky and fly free.

"You're right"

Blaine nodded and grabbed Kurt's hand patting it condescendingly.

Kurt hastily removed his hand from Blaine, motion that provoked Blaine's eyebrows to shoot up in surprise as he started to say "What.."

Kurt took a leaf out of Blaine's own book and started talking over him continuing with determination "You are right that we need to stop this nonsense, clearly you feel this way and I'm not going to ask you to change your mind."

Blaine's surprised expression softened into a pleased smile as he nodded, only to turn into a shocked frown as Kurt continued unrelentlessly "But I won't change my mind either. Whether I've been accepted or rejected from Nyada it won't matter. For one, I have other colleges I've applied to that I could attend coming fall, some of which I already have acceptance letters from. Something that had you been around like a boyfriend ought to be, you would have already known. So either as soon as I graduate or at the end of the summer I will leave Lima behind. But don't worry I won't leave you behind then"

Blaine was still frowning but offered a tentative smile and a nod. That until Kurt smiled back at him, in the same icy and sarcastic way that he had seen Kurt smile at Sebastian in those moments, right before and after they started one of their rounds of bickering.

"I won't leave you behind then, because I'm breaking up with you right now. Clearly we want different things from life, and hey we both know we had problems long before now... Who sets up appointments to make out? I might not have had other experiences before, but I can tell you this is not what I expected being with someone to be like. And you are not living up to the teenage dream you promised me either. So here's me growing up and taking things with a pinch of maturity. We’re done."

Blaine blinked confused and looked up at Kurt with his patented wounded puppy eyes, and for the first time Kurt started to wonder if what was going on wasn't as much as adorable obliviousness, as he had always assumed, but rather a masterful use of emotional manipulation.

Kurt looked down at Blaine, and for the first time he felt the bile rising up at the mere thought of having bowed down to this for over an year now, for having allowed himself to become nothing more than a spineless whipping boy. And in exchange for what exactly? For a boy who apparently had no care for him at all despite proclaiming his love? For a relationship in which he was the only one having to renounce things to make the other happy?

He didn't know anymore, and he wasn't that sure he even wanted to know at this point. He just wanted out of this situation for good.

Blaine was still staring like he couldn't understand Kurt at all as he voiced his confusion "What? I don't understand... Why are you trying to get back at me this way Kurt? Look I'll leave now, you clearly need the time to cool down, don't worry I won't hold this against you. I can see you're upset, and I do get how much it must hurt not having been accepted to the only school you applied to. There is no need to invent stories about how you applied to other schools and how you'll leave Lima after graduation or at the end of the summer just to get back at me. Rach told me you both applied only at Nyada and she got in, so clearly you would have no other place to go to..."

Kurt shook his head and felt the profound disappointment in seeing that even now Blaine simply either wasn't listening to him or didn't care at all about what Kurt had to say...

In a way it was a pity, he looked around and for the first time he was grateful that there were witnesses listening into every word they were exchanging, in fact Kurt thought he had also seen Jacob Ben Israel...

So he simply shrugged and left to go to his locker. He picked up what he needed, then simply walked out of the school without a second thought. Just to be on the safer side he sent a quick text to the whatsapp group chat that had all the glee club members on it that read simply ‘I just broke up with Blaine, I will never get back together with him so if someone is not happy with it either keep your mouth shut and your nose out of my own business or feel free to stay the hell out of my life for good. This is all I'll say on the subject and that's not up to debate. I hope we'll manage to finish the time we have until graduation with civility. Kurt’

Then as a second immediate action, he went and changed his status on facebook making a quick work of removing any trace of him and Blaine together from his albums and shared pictures, proceeding to repeat the procedure also on instagram and from his own phone.

The more he purged his profiles of Blaine, the more he noticed how much of a shadow of his former self he had become in the time they had been together. It was staggering seeing how, by removing Blaine from his storyline, only few traces were left of what happened to him in the past year.

Shaking his head he shot a quick text to Finn, letting him know he was going to pass by the garage to see dad before going home, and that he was leaving immediately because he didn't want to be cornered by anyone wanting to talk about the fact he broke up with Blaine.

Finn simply sent a smiley face and two thumbs up, apparently, despite all his fears, Kurt was still going to have someone on his side by the end of the tragedy... It was a comforting thought.

He relished in it as he drove to the garage, once there he called out "Hey dad do you have a minute?"

Burt called out from the farther aisle, and Kurt smiled and waved at Carl and Kenneth as he passed by the two other mechanics at work.

Once Kurt was close by, Burt tensed and looked completely frozen in worry and surprise a low growling "Damn" escaped Burt's lips as he grabbed the rag and cleaned his hand "Kurt we need to talk"

Kurt smiled and nodded "Yeah we do I just broke up with Blaine and I'd really appreciate your support if you could make sure to not let him into the house next time he comes around. Because despite telling him I was breaking up with him, he was acting like he wasn't listening to me, so I just wanted to make sure you knew. I am going to tell Carole as soon as we get back home, but... Dunno why, I felt like I had to come to you first and that it couldn't have waited till you'd get home, I'm not sure exactly on the reason behind such reasoning"

Burt kept a close look on his son and then said without preambles "Something else happened, didn't it?"

When Kurt didn't say anything but reluctantly nodded once, before looking surprised he had done that, Burt had all the answers he needed.

Kurt was as a dagon just like himself, just like Elizabeth had been, it was strange that it took so long for his supernatural heritage to pick that up, he should have taught so many things to Kurt already, but he never smelled like a hatchling or a youngling, Kurt had always smelled faintly like his Lizzy did... And a doubt started to creep up on Burt, Elizabeth and him had never discussed their supernatural heritage, he had always assumed that it was because Elizabeth was an orphan and she had ended up in Lima living with a distant relative that didn't have any trace of supernatural vibe to her, hence making the subject taboo in her household.

But now he wondered if she was simply not sure about Burt's own knowledge on the subject, or even possible reactions, if he was honest he could admit to have never been that interested in properly grooming that side of himself. He was more than happy to pass his live as a good mechanic, restoring cars to their original beauty.

He always felt too out of place in the sanctuaries, or trying to fly with other dragons living in the neighbourhood. He was nothing as impressive as the others, his own scales dull and his wings barely able to lift him off the ground and be serviceable, nothing like the spectacular acrobatics of the likes of Alexander Smythe or even Matt McNamara.

But that was still at a time when Lizzy was still alive. When she died, he simply didn't want to see the signs of what losing his mate had done to him, he had a normal kid, who apparently wasn't really normal at all, and in his grief he never looked deeper.

But something must have happened, because for the first time his son smelled like mint honey and rosemary, not at all like the sweet vanilla and ginger that was Lizzy’s scent, nor his own sandalwood and musk, nor was his son’s scent a mingle of those two scents as it would have been for a youngling.

Kurt had already grown into his own individual, and Burt had not prepared him yet for what it meant to be a dragon... And on top of that his kid was more than ready to leave and abandon this small town to live his life as soon as possible, giving Burt even less time to try to remedy to the many years they had already lost.

He was wondering exactly what happened for Kurt to break through, what probably was meant to be a temporary block that Lizzy had put on their child when he was very young, maybe to help him control his emotions, preventing emotional escalation and incidents that could have revealed their supernatural status to people without any prior knowledge of it, in a traumatic way.

"Let's go take a ride son and you can tell me what happened in details"

Kurt blinked confused, he had seen his dad looking at him rather surprised and then contemplative, and to be honest Kurt hadn't really intended to say or let his dad know that something had happened, mainly because he couldn't really explain it, he wasn't sure what had happened, even if he was sure something did…

While lying to his dad had not been an option, even when he managed to keep his mouth shut, preventing what seemed insane rambling to escape his lips, a part of him had wanted to just obey.

Somehow recognising the authority Burt still had over him, and it was a strange feeling, nothing like he had felt before, not that he didn't respect his dad, but at the same time he had never felt compelled to cower enough to tell him the whole truth…

As they walked out the garage Burt said softly "Do you want us to take the Navigator or shall we take my truck? We are going to do some off the road driving"

Kurt looked at his dad through slitted eyes, "I'll tell Finn to get a lift to pick my baby and take her home, we're taking your car to go wherever you want us to go, without me having to scrub mud from my baby for the next fortnight."

Burt chuckled and while Kurt took care of talking with Finn, he made a quick call to Carole telling her that something had happened with Kurt beside him breaking up with his boyfriend, and that he needed to get to the end of it, see if he could get his son to talk, and that he would tell her later what he found out...

He left behind that probably what he was going to share was going to be an edited version of what happened if his suspicions were proved correct. Burt, in a sudden strike of inspiration grabbed from the locker room Kurt's coverall and the changing bag his son had taken to keep here at the garage, if his nose wasn't wrong, then those might come in hand to make their journey back home more comfortable if things went wrong.

It took less than Burt remembered to reach the sanctuary's valley, and the closer they got, the more he could see Kurt's fascination growing, "So buddy what else happened, tell me please, even if it sounds crazy I want to know what went down with you"

Kurt looked a little worried before starting speaking "This might end up sounding crazy, but it felt like something broke, and at the same time it felt like I was free to fly for the first time... The way Blaine was speaking was making me so mad, and I know, I know I promised mom that I would never try to go with violence as a way to find a solution to an unpleasant situation. But I swear if you could have heard the bullshit he was saying, he was so condescending... Did you know that they are all assuming that just because Rachel got her acceptance letter from Nyada, that I would be automatically rejected? And I mean Rachel choked on her audition... If she did get in and I didn't I’m not even sure I'd want to get into a school with such screwed up criteria of selection."

Burt nodded, in that sea of words there were some things that clearly resonated with him. If Lizzy thought she and Kurt were the only dragons in their family then she probably had put a block around Kurt's powers to keep them tamed while he was growing up. Probably expecting to be there when he should have started to learn control over his abilities, around his twelfth birthday…

Burt hummed and nodded, totally understanding his son's point of view, and then prompted "And how did it felt? I'm not judging, but you sounded more surprised rather than upset about this whole ordeal"

Kurt took a deep breath and looked outside the window "I felt free... Like things were finally right, and Blaine, Blaine felt all wrong. Like I couldn't even believe why I had him in my life, like he wasn't supposed to be next to me at all. And it made me mad seeing that he wasn't even listening to me. I was there, telling him I was done with him and he left saying that he would not hold against me things I said when I was clearly upset... As if his assumption of me being rejected by one school would be the reason why I'd broke up with him, and it wasn't for example how he expected me to stay in Lima for another year until he graduated, in the meanwhile while I would surely fail again to get into nyada because he was applying..."

Kurt's rage was rapidly brewing up, and Burt could hear his son's breathing slowly turning into steam, only for his son to surprise him taking a deep breath and exhaling it with just a low hiss.

"He made me so mad I really fished to roast him, incinerate him right there where he standed, but alas even if I could have done that it was going to create so many problems that it wouldn't have been worth the satisfaction of doing it..."

Burt grinned amazed at his son's natural control, or maybe it was just that he trained in a whole different way than Burt himself had been trained...

He stopped the car and then patted his son on the shoulder "You did good son, I'm so proud of you, now come with me there's something I need to show you,"

Kurt felt himself preening under the unexpected praise. Burt directed them to what looked like the edge of a rather deep canyon, and Kurt looked worried at his father as he asked questioning "Dad?"

Burt smiled softly, in a way that Kurt hadn't seen since before his mom got sick "Buddy I don't know how else to do this, and I really wish your mom was here to help me out, so please forgive me for what I'm about to do."

The words made Kurt's blood freeze inside his veins, and in less than a second Burt had taken three steps back and was falling over the edge.

Without even realising he was moving, Kurt dived in after his father, and all of a sudden his vision changed, the world got blurred for a moment and the image of Burt falling body blurred as well, before being replaced by a bulky reptilian dragon, with sturdy wings to carry the compact body.

Kurt felt the wind offering resistance to his fall, and in a blink of an eye what was resistance was actually offering him support. Instead of keeping him from falling, like it had seemed in the beginning, Kurt found himself raising up above the canyon and into the sky.

And the dragon that used to be where his father was, suddenly raised up into the sky as well, emitting a sound that Kurt knew were not words, but that he could surprisingly understand anyway. They were directions telling him to land down on the clearing in the middle of the trees on their left. Kurt saw exactly the spot and dive in with surgical precision, landing exactly where he wanted, on the sandy patch on the lake shore.

Once there, in what felt a little mixed up curiosity and vanity he peered on the water to see his own reflection, and discovering that indeed he looked like a dragon too, he could see a silvery reflection, and he could feel something in on the top of his head, floating, he instinctively knew those appendices were having the same function as a cat’s whiskers.

As he tried to look at himself the only difference he could see, compared to what he saw of his dad, was that where his father was compact and sturdy, with wings short and strong, his own figure seemed to be made for agility and precision, his wings complimenting his agile body shining in the afternoon light.

With a lot less grace than Kurt had, Burt landed in the middle of the clearing where the grass was, he then turned into his human form to smile at his son "You did well buddy, now can you figure out how to return to your human form or do we need to find a way for you to get home this way?" the tone was teasing, and Kurt wasn’t amused at all.

He didn’t know exactly how it happened, but he could distinctly feel the need to express his frustration into a way this form’s language would not be able to properly express.

There was no such sound he could find that would carry on the meaning of your stunt scared me to death or the you don't get to make jokes like that.

There were some words that could be translated but even putting them together Kurt knew they wouldn't be able to carry on the same message he needed to rant at his father.

So there was no other option but having access to his human mouth, that was what he needed at the moment, and without even realising what he did, Kurt found himself standing in front of his grinning father.

He took exactly ten milliseconds of taking in his father’s expression for him to take a breath and starting to deliver a well deserved dressing down to the other man for his actions.

"How could you do that to me? I was scared to death, you made me think you were committing suicide in front of me. It sounded like you were saying goodbye and instead you just wanted to go for a fly? What the heck dad? Come on couldn't you have sat with me, safely inside your truck, and told me calmly Kurt we are dragons we can transform in giant flying reptiles and that's ok it's just who we are and there's nothing wrong with it, and then maybe actually telling me how that happened instead of jumping that way???"

If Kurt had been less scared and traumatised, maybe then he would have noticed the mischievous look into his father's eyes, as things were he completely missed that and when Burt opened his mouth and started answering Kurt’s immediate reaction was to groan "Well son, when a female dragon meets a male dragon and they love each other very much, they end up mating in human form, and the the female becomes pregnant, and then their offspring has high chances of having their supernatural heritage as well, meaning that he is born a dragon as well..."

Kurt scoffed irritated "Funny dad, very funny ah-ha"

Burt chuckle stopped and he sighed softly as well before saying sincerely "I'm sorry Kurt, I didn't want to scare you or upset you that much. I just didn't know how to do this. And I really didn't want to do to you what my pa did"

Kurt raised an eyebrow in silent question as he crossed his arms on his chest, realising for the first time that he was wearing clothes, and that those ere not the ones he had on before he transformed...

Burt shrugged and offered a tight smile "He was doing very much a lion king scene, you know that moment when Mufasa is telling to Simba about one day having to rule over all that was touched by the sun moment…”

Kurt nodded slowly releasing his arms listening as Burt continued "Only for him to then give me a pat on the back that sent me flying over the edge, making me feel like I was falling to my death before I figured out how to transform and fly"

At the scandalised look that Kurt was sending his way he simply shrugged "These were other times buddy, and I was a lot younger than you are... He didn't know any better, and that was exactly how his father had been taught him."

Kurt wrinkled his nose unsatisfied "I'm not sure I would have like any of those options…”

Burt scratched the back of his head and said wistfully "All I knew for sure was that I didn't want to do that to you, like ever, but now I'm not so sure my own was that much better"

Kurt sent him a levelled glare and shook his head, Burt then continued "But I had promised myself that I wouldn't do that to my son"

Kurt's eyes softened, as Burt finished softly "I wish your mom was here, she would have probably have handled all of this a lot better than I am"

Kurt smiled softly "If you can manage to avoid other scares like that, I'd appreciate it very much, but it's not like you're doing a terrible job of it dad"

Burt hummed softly and grinned "If you think you can figure out how to shift at will we can then head home and call it a day, putting all of this behind us."

Kurt attempted the shift a few more times, each time getting faster and easier than the time before. He kept repeating the action until both of them were satisfied with the results.

Burt smiled proudly and said "You are doing great son, once we're at home we'll get you a couple of books that will be useful and that you really need to read before leaving town."

Kurt nodded and simply followed his dad, they both shifted into their dragon form and flew to the car, before driving back home.

Once they reached the house, Carole hugged them both and then offered Kurt a sealed envelope "This was waiting for you when I arrived home."

It was the Nyada's letter Kurt was waiting for. As soon as he took it in his hands, and it got within Burt’s sniffing distance, his dad frowned and took a step closer so he could read its content over Kurt's shoulder, as he opened it up and read the school’s decision. ~End of Part 1 of 4~ Next

#kadam week 2021 #vcg73 #kadam fic #kadam #glee #glee prompts filling #my kadam fic #my glee fic #kadam glee #long post #it's a fic what did you expect #my writing is not suited for tumblr #~23.3K wc of story divided in 4 parts #part 1 of 4

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