#anyway i hope that kind of answered that!!
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Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You — Part 17
Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader
a/n: does anyone mind the slightly longer chapters? I feel like I keep accidentally adding scenes in and I’m not sure if it’s too much? Anyway, regardless of length, I hope you enjoy! 🧡💛
word count: 8,024
-Part 16-
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“Was that necessary, Mor?”
Neatly groomed brows narrow over hard amber eyes, stood at the edge of the room, still cast in shadow before walking to be stood closer to the bed that’s been pushed so it’s beside the open window.
“Stay out of it, Az,” Mor murmurs, arms folded over her chest, eyes cast downwards. “You should be focusing on getting better.”
Azriel is quiet for a bit, his gaze weighing on her but she makes no move to look at him, a hint of anguish in her normally bright expression. He sighs, shifting against the pillows as he glances out the window, inclining his head a little as a light breeze washes over him, sending silky strands of hair fluttering up from his brow.
“You know she didn’t do it to hurt you,” he says, watching as the clouds shift in composition in the sky, small dots flying in the distance as they arc and dip with the winds. Hazel eyes flick back across the room, but Mor’s head is still lowered, her expression resentful. “You know you were being cruel.”
“And you’re in a position to criticise me?” Mor replies quietly, hard amber piercing into him. “You’re the reason this became such a mess. You should have said something. There’s no way you couldn’t have noticed.”
“I made a mistake,” he concedes reluctantly, holding her gaze.
“You made more than a mistake, Az. Now we’re all hurting because you—”
“Mor,” Azriel interrupts. She stiffens but doesn’t yield, that look of reproach returning to her expression. “You can’t lash out at us whenever you hurt,” he says thickly, still watching her. Silence stretches between them, centuries worth of history pulled taut in the quiet.
“What does Rhys think?” Mor diverts, successfully switching subjects. Azriel sighs, leaning back into the pillow, “about which part?” Mor’s brows narrow a little, “all of it, I suppose.” Azriel’s jaw works, glancing briefly out the window again to peer up into the sky, the winds calling to him and his wings move subtly at his back, repositioning themselves against the large stack of cushions placed to prop him up.
“He’s furious that it got this far,” he replies, features carefully neutral as he answers the question. Amber eyes observe, offered insight through those years of friendship that others might struggle to pick out—the guilt he feels for failing. Not just her, or Mor, but Rhys and Feyre. For inadvertently allowing a situation to unfold where his brother would be forced to remember those months…years of grief after his family was slaughtered. After his sister was murdered. The whole situation is dredging up unwelcome memories, for all of them. They can’t let another one be lost.
“He wants to know how Eris even got to her in the first place,” Azriel admits, glancing warily at Mor to gauge her reaction. “You don’t know?” She asks, pushing past the tightness in her throat at the mere mention. But the Shadowsinger shakes his head. “There wasn’t really time to ask,” he supplies quietly. She wasn’t really even in the right mindset to be asked.
“What about Cassian?” Mor queries, but Azriel shakes his head.
“You know I won’t tell you.” Because to know Cassian’s thoughts on the matter would likely be to know Nesta’s, and that isn’t the kind of emotional intimacy any of them would be comfortable with. It’s strange how emotions intermingle like that, how swiftly things can complicate themselves when new figures are added to the equation.
A beat passes, then Mor’s shifting on her feet. “You know, there was a time when we shared everything between us. Wasn’t that easier?” She asks neutrally.
“Mor,” Azriel warns lowly, causing Mor’s upper lit to curl slightly.
“Don’t take that tone with me, Az,” she mutters, resting her full attention on the injured male. “Don’t act like you’re completely blameless.”
“Assigning blame won’t fix anything,” he replies shortly, hazel eyes losing a little of their softness. “I’m sure that narrative suits you well,” Mor counters sharply. “I think you’re glad that I said those things to her so that you have a chance to redeem yourself by condemning me. You’re the one who started this whole mess, so—”
“Mor.”
“Shut up, Az,” Mor hisses, warmth vanishing from her face, eyes hardening as shields rise. “Don’t you dare try and twist what happened. You made mistake after mistake because you were too busy chasing Elain, and too busy ignoring what you didn’t want to acknowledge by hiding behind your work instead. At least I had a damn reason. What was yours?”
Azriel gives nothing away, his expression cold and blank.
“I tried to help her, I reached out my hand and offered her a chance. And she repaid that by going to Eris,” Mor hisses, unable to help the stark pain that bleeds into her fury. “She could have come to any of us. It’s more than we ever had, and yet she ignored it. Then tries to pretend it away? I’m not immune to that. If she can’t even be bothered to care about my pain why should I give a damn about hers?” Mor breathes, eyes feeling hot as the words gush out. “It is nothing compared to what we endured.”
————
You manage a small smile as Madja enters your room, Elain closing the door behind her as she takes a seat at your bedside.
“How are you feeling this morning?” Madja asks as she settles in the chair provided for these visits, a kind look on her face that you know you should be grateful for, but it’s difficult to summon anything when you know she can’t do anything. All this is, is documentation. An observation to see what happens to you. Because it’s undeniable something is happening.
You swallow thickly, but nod your head. “Good, for the most part,” you answer, truthfully. “I’m still feeling generally fatigued, but I wouldn’t say it’s particularly interfering with my day? I’ve had some pains in my stomach and back though, but I think they’re just…you know…” Madja raises her brows in question, silently asking you to continue. Heat rises beneath your skin and you avert your gaze, hands wringing together beneath the duvet.
“Would it be more helpful if it were just the two of you?” Elain suggests carefully, and teeth push into your lower lip. Then you give a small dip of your head, too embarrassed to look her in the eye. But she doesn’t seem to mind, telling you’ll she be a few rooms over, and will return once the examination is done. Madja looks patiently at you, a kind expression on her features that soothes you slightly. She’s a healer, surely she’ll have seen and heard worse…
You clear your throat, peering into your lap to avoid looking at her. “I think they might just be…” you trail off, glancing at her then gesturing vaguely to your stomach, hand hovering over your abdomen. There’s nothing impatient in her smile as she speaks, “your cycle?” You snap your eyes away, a flush of mortification rising to your skin, shoulders tightening as you stare into your lap but force yourself to nod.
“It’s perfectly fine to speak about that with me,” Madja says gently, “it’s a normal occurrence with females, there’s no need to be embarrassed about your own body. There’s nothing wrong with it.” You nod again, just to try and appease her, but in truth you’re desperate to escape the subject. “I’m sorry, I just— I find it hard to believe you aren’t…uncomfortable, discussing such topics.”
“Well, I’ve been a healer for most of my centuries in this realm,” she says calmly, and you can imagine that kind expression on her features, peaceful and infinitely patient. “I’ve worked during both wars, not to mention helping with your sister’s pregnancy. There’s very little that could ever cause me discomfort in regards to how the body works, so you don’t have to concern yourself.”
You shift again in the bed, but manage to nod your head. Madja seems to be satisfied with the response, smile broadening, and a slight bit of tension is relieved from your shoulders, breath easing into your lungs. “So you’ve been experiencing some abdominal and back pain?” She questions, and you nod again, feeling a little useless. “Can you describe it to me?” She asks, and you swallow thickly. “I…it’s like a dull ache in my back, near the base of my spine but a bit to the right. Then it’s quite sharp in my…abdomen. It doesn’t happen often, but I thought I should mention it…”
“I don’t think you should be experiencing any pain at all,” Madja replies. “And may I ask when you’re next due for your cycle?” You look away briefly before again meeting her gaze—nothing to be embarrassed about, she’d assured. “In about three months,” you answer quietly.
Madja nods in approval, and you begin to relax back into the pillows. “And have you noticed any bleeding at all?” She asks gently, and you freeze in the bed.
“No,” you answer hurriedly, without thinking, “no. Not from— No.”
“Alright,” she smiles calmingly, “anywhere else? You have some scabs on your hands, isn’t that right?” Your throat rolls but you nod, releasing your tight grip on your nightgown, bringing yourself to raise them from beneath the duvet so she can examine them. “And these bumps,” she inquires, “can you tell me how long those have been there for?” You blink, trying to remember—they’ve been there for months it feels like, but it can’t have been that long, can it? How long has it been since you first told Azriel?
“I think…” you hesitate, unsure of yourself, “maybe a month? Two? They don’t hurt, but they do sometimes…bleed.”
“Okay, would you mind if I had a look at them?” She requests, and you silently offer her your hands for her to take. That tingling warmth feathers beneath your skin, as if the flesh has fallen asleep, and you watch curiously as she probes along your knuckles, examining your palms, grazing your wrists. “And may I look at the area you experienced the pain in?” She asks, and you stiffen but nod. It’ll be the same thing as last time, you hope, and that wasn’t too bad since she had managed to work through the fabric of your night gown. The duvet is rolled back and you sit straighter in the cushions so she’ll have better access.
“Can you point out where exactly you were feeling the pain?” She requests, and you gesture to a horizontal strip of skin below your middle. “It was the sharpest here,” you answer, “but I sometimes get a small ache further to the left or right.” Madja doesn’t reply, her expression showing concentration as she moves her hands across your stomach, gently pushing at the parts you’d mentioned as that warmth settles pleasantly into you. You can’t help as your attention drifts to your own hands, how flaky and lumpy they are in comparison to her tender set. It’s so dry, small scabs where blood had leaked from…you wish at least the bleeding didn’t happen. So many pairs of gloves you have to wash repeatedly to make sure there aren’t any stains.
It’s become such a normal part of your life it had slipped your mind that pain shouldn’t be a normal part of it, nor the bleeding.
The bleeding…
A cold feeling washes over you, like you’ve had ice tipped down your spine as you remember the scare you’d experienced in the Autumn Court.
If Madja notices how you’ve frozen, she doesn’t mention it, but a slow feeling of slippery dread unspools in your stomach as you recall the blood you’d noticed when visiting the washroom one morning. You’d thought it was your cycle—the slight pains had added up and the night sweats had made sense—but then nothing had happened and you’d forgotten about that blood.
Nausea churns in your stomach, a district feeling over lightheadedness overcoming you and you force the calm breaths into your lungs…deep, and steady. You choke on saliva and your palm flies over your mouth as you twist your head to the side, coughing.
Madja glances up at you, brows slightly pulled together from concentration. “Have some water—are you remembering to keep yourself hydrated throughout the day?” She asks, handing you the glass that rests by your bedside table. “For the most part,” you answer after taking a few sips. Madja pauses briefly, a look of consideration passing behind her eyes before speaking, “would you mind if I checked your lungs? It’s likely nothing, but might as well be sure since I’m here, don’t you agree?”
You blink at her, looking slightly perplexed but you suppose there’s no harm in it, so you nod your confirmation, handing her back the glass before settling into the cushion. That familiar warmth tingles in your skin as she tentatively lays her fingers just below your collar bones before pressing down a little firmer and making her way from one side to the other. Her features remain set in an expression of concentration and she returns to the tops of your sternum before going a little lower. You tense, but understand she’s performing a medical examination.
“Can you sit upright a little more? I’d like to search a little lower, just by your ribs,” she adds, seeing your startled expression. You nod, understanding, sitting more upright independent of the cushions. “Now if you can raise your arm?” She requests gently and again you follow, raising your left arm so she has access to the side of your ribs. The tingling sensation returns and you think you can feel as it searches through your body, though it doesn’t feel invasive like you had expected.
Madja’s fingers pause, before she’s pressing noticeably firmer and you have to steady yourself so she does upset your balance. The sensation becomes more acute, able to feel as the tingling feeling concentrates near the middle left of your lower ribcage. When she retracts her hands she looks a little confused.
“Is everything okay?” You ask nervously, uneasy by her expression.
“There’s what feels like a small lump connected to the tissue of your left lung,” Madja explains calmly, and you nod your head. “If you’ll let me, I’d like to try and purge it. I haven’t seen it in any other patients, and there’s no reason for it to be there—it isn’t a natural part of your body. Would that be okay?”
You nod your head—if she’s found something wrong with you, that sounds promising…? And if she thinks she can…purge it, that seems even better.
“Alright, if you lean back into the bed to keep your upper body relaxed that would be perfect,” she guides and you settle down. “Okay, I’m going to apply my magic to the growth. You might feel a sudden heat or a ticklish sensation but if you can avoid coughing that would be helpful,” she explains, and tension rises in your chest as she again puts her hands against the side of your ribcage.
Sure enough, a sharp heat fills a spot on your lung, and you press your lips together to prevent from coughing or inhaling suddenly despite the abrupt tickle that’s manifested in your throat, an intense itchiness in your lungs…an itchiness growing in the tips of your fingers…growing hotter…and hotter…beginning to burn, and…
Madja pulls away, a gentle smile on her face, “all done. You did well not to start coughing in the middle there, it helped make the process much easier for me.”
“So, it’s gone?” You ask perplexedly, hand gingerly rising to press into your ribs, testing as you inhale. Sure enough, the tickling feeling has gone, and so has the tightness in your throat, suddenly feeling much clearer. Like when you’d had a cold as a human, feeling the distinct relief once you were able to breathe freely again, having to become reliant on inhaling via your mouth rather than nose. One never appreciates how seamlessly their body works until it’s compromised.
Madja smiles, “it’s gone.”
A hesitant smile makes its way across your mouth, peering down to where you hand is settled.
Maybe it isn’t as bad as you’d been telling yourself.
————
Golden eyes gleam from within the home, the scent of rosemary so familiar emotion swells in your chest.
“Hey, Bas.”
He pauses briefly, and you hesitate, waiting to see what he’ll do. Then he’s shifting in the doorway, opening it wider cautiously as he take you in, taking up most of the entryway. “You’re back…” he greets, but the note of caution in his voice has you hesitating again. But you push a small smile to your mouth, remembering yourself. “I’m back,” you agree, nodding your head slightly, “how… How have you been? Everything okay?”
Bas is silent, simply watching you with an indistinguishable look and you resist the urge to move beneath his attention, instead waiting it out, wondering what he’s thinking.
“Where were you?” He asks, catching you a little off-guard with the question. You hadn’t really considered he might question where you went. “I was… I visited another Court. Temporarily. Just to see more of the world, I guess…” You peer up at him—he isn’t moving from the doorway, remaining blocking it instead of inviting you in like you’d anticipated. Things feel strange, to how you remember them. “Is everything…okay?” You hedge.
“Is everything okay?” He repeats softly, as if to himself. His golden eyes regain awareness, pupils tightening as they look at you. “Why don’t you tell me?”
It’s enough to have you faltering, temporary confidence stumbling as you peer up at him questioningly. “I…what do you mean?” You ask, unsure what he’s asking after.
“I mean, why did you disappear like that, huh? You just— went. Without telling me where, without telling anyone where, apparently. Do you know how dangerous Prythian can be? Especially for someone like you, and you just decided to leave? What were you thinking?” Bas asks, his patience steadily slipping as he speaks, thoughts pouring from his lips. “Someone like me?” You repeat faintly, pinning him with a look, “what’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re smart. Not strong,” he answers succinctly, but bluntly, “you should know what sort of creatures are out there.”
“That didn’t seem to bother you the night I left,” you counter, a note of disbelief in your voice.
“Because you’re smart,” he repeats as if it’s obvious. “You’re smart, so I assumed you’d make a smart choice. Not just go out into Prythian on a whim. You don’t even know how to fight. Do you understand what could have happened to you?”
“Bas, I’m fine,” you reassure, trying to understand his temper is coming from a place of concern. “I…I went to meet someone. I didn’t just go out into the wilderness, you don’t need to worry,” you explain, knowing it’s best to keep the details vague.
“You know your family came to visit, right?” He asks, again catching you off guard as you stare at him. “No,” you answer, quietly, “I didn’t. Who—… What happened…?” Bas shifts in the doorway, settling to lean against the threshold of the entrance, and a small grain of relief passes through you at the distinctly familiar gesture. “Azriel visited first, and I told him he wouldn’t get anything out of me because I had decided to trust that you knew what you were doing. And you know what he told me?” Bas asks harshly, shaking his head and not waiting for reply. “He told me I was interfering with Court affairs, that withholding information might result in the High Lord personally questioning me. And I still didn’t tell him anything.”
“I…I’m sorry, Bas,” you manage, guilt at last beginning to rise in your chest, head lowering slightly. “I’m…thank you. For trusting me.”
“I’m not done,” Bas says quietly, but firmly, causing you to glance up at him questioningly. “He came back, that time with Mor.” There’s no way for you to conceal the pain and conflict that passes through your expression. Even if you could, even if you knew how to hide your emotions like that, you have the distinct impression he knows you well enough he’d be able to see through it, and the thought is surprisingly uncomfortable for you. Knowing someone so well they could see through your lies…that kind of vulnerability…
“She was the one who convinced me to admit I had no idea where you’d gone. She was clearly worried, and I had to look at her and tell her how you hadn’t trusted me enough to say where you’d be going, but that I had decided to trust you enough that I’d been fine not knowing.” His voice has lowered, becoming rougher, and your shoulder slope with shame. “Can you understand that? To realise you’ve been deceived by someone you cared for like that? To admit that to people who had been smart enough to know better?”
“I’m sorry,” you murmur, raising your eyes to meet his, gloved hands wringing together. “I didn’t mean for it to seem like I didn’t trust you. I do.”
“Then where were you?”
You raise your head to look at him, then. Heart sinking because—you can’t tell him. You’re in enough trouble as it is, with Rhys, with Mor, with Azriel. Probably with your sisters too, they just haven’t shown it yet. You can’t cause more problems. More problems for them is more consequences for you, and you have a long list of things to make up for. Dauntingly long. Almost unbearably… “Bas…I…”
“Can’t tell me?” He finishes, his tone telling you it’s exactly what he anticipated.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” you say softly, holding his gaze imploringly. “You know I trust you. That I’ve told you things I could never—… That I could never tell anyone else…”
“Then why can’t you tell me, huh?” He asks, a touch more gentle, sounding as helpless as you feel.
“Just…I need you to…”
“Trust you?” He scoffs, shoulders jerking in an unnaturally sharp movement.
“You’d made it sound like they didn’t care about you,” he says quietly, and you look at him wearily. “I thought you were on your own, you know.” Like me, is what he leaves out, but you can hear it clear enough. “I have my ma, and you have your sister, but beyond that I thought you had no one but me.” And I had no one but you—again, you can hear those words he’s not saying. “That we were going to be there for each other because we understood what it was like. But they care for you.” A strange sense of shame settles heavily on your shoulders, and your head lowers, but you don’t look away.
“It was obvious,” he murmurs, his brows curving almost imperceptibly, a kernel of pain passing behind sharp golden eyes. He sighs, shaking his head, pushing up from the doorframe and you watch silently as he begins to draw the conversation to a close. “I won’t begrudge you of that. I’m glad you have people. Family. But I…” You lied.
“I don’t—” You say abruptly, rushing into speech, hurting without thought, just needing to explain yourself, even if it opens up something you aren’t ready for. “They don’t,” you breathe. “I—… It might look like they do, you might know they do. Maybe they really, actually do.” You stare up at him, feeling that emptiness lethargically blink itself awake, mouth yawning open in preparation to begin swallowing you down again. Pulling you into that inescapable state of overwhelming darkness. “But I can’t believe it,” you whisper, feeling as your eyes fill with wetness, and something hot spills down your cheek, another following when you blink to clear it away. “I can’t…” you breathe, trailing off. “It doesn’t matter what happens, Bas. I just—…I can’t believe it.”
“And I should believe you?” He asks quietly.
You stare at him helplessly. There’s nothing else you can say. You’ve tried to convince him, you’ve been as honest as you can physically tolerate, and it…it just isn’t enough. You aren’t enough.
Your heart doesn’t plummet like you’ve learned to anticipate. Instead a vague feeling of disappointment calmly soothes your skin, glum pessimism setting in as the high emotions fade into watery greys. Desaturated, and bearable.
“I don’t know what else to say,” you tell him quietly.
“Just tell me the truth,” Bas asks, golden eyes showing his hurt. Another case of betrayal you’ve brought upon yourself.
Would it be unfair to ask his forgiveness?
“I’m sorry,” you give as your answer. There’s nothing else you can say.
Bas’ eyes dull slightly, and you understand how you’ve let him down.
His jaw works, looking away briefly before returning his attention to you. “I’ll see you later.”
————
The wind breezes through you as you walk along the cobbles, the sun long since dipped down beneath the horizon, leaving a chill in the air that manages to sink through the silky orange material of your scarf.
You can’t bring yourself to try and tackle the emotional conflict with Bas yet. You’re drained, and tired from the past months—maybe longer—and you don’t want to put yourself through more self-inflicted sadness. If you really need to release some bottled up emotion, you know you’ll have no choice in escaping it. If you have the option to keep yourself from hurt, you’ll take it. At least for the moment.
Bas had said he’d see you later—you have to trust him. As a friend, as someone who’s been there for you, and you for him—you have to believe you’ll be able to fix this. There’s good in the world, Feyre had told you, you just have to trust that you’ll find it. Even if it’s seemingly alluded you until now, in the moments you’ve needed it most.
A silhouette seems familiar in your peripherals, a distinctly fae sense recognising the shape, or…something, of the figure, and you glance over.
Cassian raises his hand in greeting, his expression clear and untroubled as he walks over to where you’ve paused, wings kept neatly tucked at his back to keep them from bumping into things. “You know, I’ve been told you’re supposed to be staying in bed,” he greets in his deep voice, tone similar to one someone would use when catching another doing something they aren’t supposed to, but considering joining in anyway. It’s very him, in a way.
“I…” you begin, about to mention Bas, but then decide otherwise. “I’m feeling okay today. I thought a walk might be nice. Fresh air’s supposed to be good for you, right?” You ask lightly, volume low. Cassian’s quiet for a beat, unnervingly sharp hazel eyes weighing into you calmly. Then he sighs, shrugging his shoulders a little before shifting on his feet, making to turn around, to lead you somewhere. “I suppose I can’t fault you for keeping things to yourself.”
You watch as he turns, obviously expecting you to go with him, but the moment caught you off guard. “…keeping things to myself…?” You hedge, managing to get your feet moving to walk a little behind him, not particularly wanting to go with him but knowing it would be unreasonable to turn away. Especially after all the trouble you’ve caused—like having such poor control of your—
You halt abruptly, staring up to the cliff-face that contains the House of Wind. Sure enough, even from so far below, you can spot the large break in the rock-face, able to pick out what had been your bedroom, and the sides of the rooms either side of it. You feel as the blood drains from your face, shock icing your body as you’re unable to look away—you caused that. “Something wrong?” Cassian asks, calling back to you a few steps away.
Words have left you, unable to figure out what to say, mind struggling to wrap around all of it. Another thing to make up for, and that one’s pretty big, too…your shoulders slope as you stare at the hole blown out of the rock. The damage you’ve probably caused the interior too… How much will it take to repair that? Isn’t the building itself old? Even to fae standards?
How can you ever make up for something like that?
Cassian walks back over to you when you don’t reply, pausing at your side, hands on his hips as he follows the direction of your gaze. “Pretty impressive,” he says conversationally, “you’ve got a way to go before you can manage an entire building, though.” Then he pats you lightly on the shoulder, wing curving round your body to get your legs moving as you’re pulled away, view with the House broken.
“I—…” you choke out, “did…did I do that?” You manage hoarsely, looking up at him as your feet start moving one in front of the other, subconsciously wary of bumping into his wing. “Sure did. Blew right through that noise cancelling ward Feyre put up,” Cassian answers, keeping his attention ahead as he leads you through the city streets, people automatically making way for the familiar face. “I told her she’d been slacking off in practising her magic,” he murmurs under his breath, but you aren’t paying much attention, too overwhelmed with debt to really engage.
“I’m sorry,” you breathe, feet hesitating as they move over the cobbles before stopping firmly, shoulders bunched as you glance up at him. “I’m so— I didn’t mean to make such a mess— I just— I just didn’t— I didn’t know what to do. And I thought he was going to—”
“It’s okay,” Cassian says firmly, standing in front of you so there are less places to look away to. “It’s Rhys’ anyway. You don’t need to apologise to me.”
“But…it was given to you,” you hedge, staring up at him—and if it’s still Rhys’, that’s so much worse. So, so much damage.
“Would you feel better if someone was angry with you?” He asks seriously after a moment of pause. You freeze, startled by the question. “…what?”
“Would it make it easier?” He repeats, watching you solemnly, “if we acted how you’re waiting for us to?”
You stare at him, struggling to pull together a reply, startled from the strange clarity of his questions. Seconds pass and all you can do is look at him, too afraid to answer—not of him, but…something.
Cassian breaks the connection, glancing away, half turning his body to face the direction you’d been walking. “Maybe that question was too much,” he says, almost to himself. He sighs, eyes closing briefly, before he’s glancing at you, wing opening as if to guide you along again. “Come on,” he says, voice having lost that solemnity, back to the familiar timbre, “we’ll be late.”
“Late?” You manage as you somehow get your body to fall into step beside him. “What…where are we going?”
He looks at you strangely, as if the answer’s obvious. “Dinner, of course,” he replies, returning his attention to the streets ahead, sure enough taking the path that will lead directly back to the River House. “They’ll start without us if we aren’t there on time.”
“Dinner?” You ask, feeling lightheaded. Too many new components being dropped on you for you to entirely keep yourself together. You swallow thickly, fumbling for excuses because you can’t do a dinner as you are—not after yesterday. “I’m not feeling too great, actually,” you say hoarsely, “besides, if I eat this late I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep it…” you trail off, realising he probably doesn’t want to hear about you throwing up meals every now and again.
“Madja’s told us you need to keep your strength up,” Cassian replies, and you’re unsure if he’s intentionally chosen a counter-argument you’d have trouble escaping or whether it was inadvertent. “Eat what you can—it’s important during recovery, even if it might feel insignificant, or pointless.” You glance at him again, that strange feeling creeping into your chest at his wording—is it some kind of intuition that’s leading him to say these things?
“…Will everyone be there?” You ask quietly, trying to calm yourself as the River House comes into view, not far away now. “Az will probably want to eat in his room,” Cassian answers neutrally after a temporary pause, “but everyone else will. You’ll be sitting besides Elain.” There was no reason to add that on.
You can’t manage it, but you can’t figure a way to escape. There’s no out you can find—saying you aren’t hungry, or you’re tired won’t get you out of it, he’s already said to just eat what you can meaning you have to have at least a bite or two. But the idea of sitting with all of them, when everything is still so unclear…You can’t.
The River House looms before you, and you can swear you feel a cold sweat appear on your back, hands turning unnaturally clammy, so accustomed to the skin being dry and flaky that to feel the dampness on your palms has slippery discomfort roiling in your stomach.
Cassian walks up the steps, hand settling on the door, and you watch in motion slower than usual as he begins to turn the handle.
A slight breeze blows, pulling strands of your hair forward, as if trying to push you into the House, and Cassian pauses, door opened only a few inches. Beats pass, but you keep utterly still, both wanting the moment to end but also desiring nothing more than to run from the oncoming meal.
Strangely observant hazel eyes flick over a broad shoulder, meeting your own set and you tense, hairs rising at the nape of your neck, getting that same feeling you’d had when speaking with Rhys, that he can somehow see through you too clearly, like you’re too easy to read. Fearing what he’ll be able to find before you’ve had the chance to discover it. Watching you fumble in the dark for something that was so easy to locate. Struggling with a problem embarrassingly simple to decipher.
“You don’t need to be scared,” he says, holding your gaze. Are you really that easy to see through? But then he continues, and the surrounding world warps a little.
“You have a right to be at that table as much as any of us,” he says, those keen hazel eyes remaining steady. “Keep that in mind, when you go in.”
Then the door’s opening wider, and the smell of a hot meal wafts out into the night. You trail behind him, latch clicking at your back, following as he makes his way to the dining room. He had believed the words he’d told you, that you were deserving of a seat at their table. You can’t really bring yourself to believe it, but his sincerity has shaken your ground a little.
His expression shifts when he rounds a corner, brows rising as his lips part in a broad smile, voices rising in greeting and you can see why Feyre treasures his company. He’s surprisingly gentle, oddly perceptive.
They probably all already knew that, though. It’s your fault for casting roles on them before really even getting to know them, assigning characters after only a handful of proper conversations. If only you’d made the effort to step out of your own little circle, maybe the circumference wouldn’t be as strangling as it’s become.
If you’d stepped out sooner, could you have been first choice?
But, glancing again at Cassian, his profile captured in a look between irritation and affection, turning the corner into the dining room and seeing the scrunch of Feyre’s brow as she replies to whatever he’d said…no. It wouldn’t have mattered.
But it’s not the end of the world that you weren’t made that way.
————
It’s good to see her smiling again, he thinks.
With the past months having been so draining, the symptoms of her restlessness only exacerbated in the last few days given the turmoil they’ve all been thrown into, it’s good to see the light in her eyes gleaming again. More than just good, but there isn’t quite a word right enough to express the soul-deep relief he feels at seeing her smile. A strange conviction that everything will be okay now that she’s on the way better.
Her ears twitch once before she’s shooting him a half-glare, having felt his gaze roaming over her. “Family dinner, Rhys,” she snaps under her breath, but he can see the heat in her eyes, the silent agreement that’s exchanged in the brief moments their gaze locks, and Rhys’ mouth curves suggestively, his brows rising in feigned ignorance. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he murmurs, looking down at his mate with an intensity he knows she adores. And yet she lightly smacks his thigh anyway.
“I’m serious,” Feyre warns, that heat dissipating as Cassian picks a seat at the table, dragging the feet across the floorboards with a grating noise that’s thankfully drowned out by chatter while a smaller figure quietly follows after him, taking one of the two remaining open seats. Unlike Cassian, she lifts her chosen seat from the floor, trying to keep as silent as possible and blend into the background as she sits beside Elain. “Don’t scare her off,” Feyre murmurs under her breath. Rhys hums compliantly, eyes twinkling as he spends a few extra moments looking at his mate. Moments he thinks he might at long last be beginning to lean into.
“Where’s Mor?” Cassian interrupts, and Rhys reluctantly shifts his attention to his brother, who has taken the seat opposite Feyre. He sometimes wonders if Cassian choses moves like this intentionally, whether they’re conscious decisions or whether these actions result from a wish to have his family united. Cassian isn’t like himself or Az, wasn’t taught to conceal his emotions as they were—well, in his own case it was taught. For Az it was a matter of survival.
“Taking supper up to Az,” Nesta’s voice cuts through the previously enjoyable atmosphere, the noise similar to recognising the hiss of steel being drawn within a temple. A few centuries ago, his ears might have twitched at the distinctly unpleasant intrusion, but Cassian’s eyes have already left his own to seek out the icy silver of his mate’s, softened at their edges.
“More than just supper,” Amren comments, one space over to Rhys’ right, sat at a corner seat. “She took an entire bottle of wine with her.” Laughter rises, and Rhys allows his attention to briefly sweep over across the table where the two sisters are involved in conversation, as if there’s no one else to speak with. He supposes one of them might very well believe that, and with a fraction of a thought swiftly removes the precautionary enchantment of the silverware so they won’t vanish if she reaches for them.
At least she’s there, though he’s fairly confident Cassian has something to do with it. Rhys can picture how the light in Feyre’s eyes might flicker learning she had found a way to shut herself away in a house where avoiding others was almost impossible without intent. No amount of luck or coincidence would keep her entirely hidden. Especially over meals.
Violet eyes return to his left, feeling the familiar ease that settles through him at the reminder of Feyre’s presence. A deeply-treasured reprieve from the strain and stress that’s been thriving amongst them as of late.
————
“How was the check-up with Madja, by the way?” Elain asks, using one of the large wooden spoons to shift a few roast potatoes onto her plate.
You nod slightly, lips pressing together in a small smile that you hope is reassuring. “Good, for the most part,” you reply. “I think she still wants to observe what happens for now, but she did…do something, which might have helped?” It reminds you of the lightness in your lungs, the strange openness of your throat and you instinctively take in a deeper breath, basking in that odd clearness. Elain hums in question, silently offering you the spoon for potatoes, but you shake your head politely. “I’m not sure…I don’t think dinner is the best place to discuss those check-ups,” you say quietly, a half-smile on your mouth. Elain’s lips curve, eyes gleaming as she nods in agreement, “you’re probably right.” Then she glances across the table before returning her gaze to yours, a new, preempted question already rising to her mouth. “What are you going to eat?”
The smile on your lips becomes strained, gloved hands shifting in your lap as you keep the orange, silk scarf pulled over your arms to conceal the wretched skin. You wish you’d at least had the chance to change before coming here—your mind will mostly be preoccupied with making sure none of them are forced to see the state beneath the silk. “If I’m honest, I’m not really that hungry…” you hedge, but Elain gives you a look that tells you she won’t stand for it. Although it comes from a place of care and love, you can’t help feeling a little suffocated.
“Just have a couple of bites, okay?” Elain reasons gently, “Madja’s told us it’s good for you to eat, it’ll help you recover.”
“Apparently Madja’s been saying that a lot,” you mutter under your breath.
“Madja’s a highly respected healer,” Amren cuts in from across the table, her eyes sharp as they pierce into you. “If she’s said you should eat, you should eat.”
You aren’t sure if you imagine the way the noise level seems to drop at that, but the familiarly dull pain of humiliation flickers across your chest, ashamed to have sounded so ungrateful. Your head lowers a little, unable to think of a reply as your hands wring together beneath the table, tucked away in your lap.
“Unless you really feel sick,” Elain interjects a little defensively, her hand subconsciously placing itself on your upper arm in what you’re certain she intends to be a comforting gesture—in truth it causes your flesh to ache, but you keep your mouth shut. “I’m sure I can manage a bite or two,” you get out with a small smile and you hate that you know it won’t reach your eyes, so keep your head slightly ducked as you put a few potatoes on your plate. You can come down later, once everyone’s gone to bed if you’re still hungry.
A beat passes, and Elain shifts at your side, a fresh smile on her face, trying to brighten your mood—you dip a little lower at that, that she feels responsible, but if you don’t pull yourself together she’ll keep doing it. “How did you and Cassian bump into one another?” She asks, reaching for something else on the table that you don’t look at. Cassian doesn’t make to answer, so you have to, feeling the distinct weight of the table’s attention. “Just coincidence, I suppose,” you reply, managing a faint smile, keeping your eyes on your plate as you slice one of the roast potatoes in two, steam wafting up from the hot centre.
“Went out for a walk?” Elain asks. There’s an almost unnoticeable tone of relief in the question—you probably wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t as close to her as you are. Is that how easily she can pick out your own thoughts? “Fresh air’s probably good for you, right?” She says smiling, causing your own lips to curve at their edges fondly. “I think so,” you murmur in reply.
“Have you had a chance to read any more books recently? I haven’t seen any in your room…I could get some if you want?” Feyre speaks from across the table, and you bite down on the way you want to shrink into yourself as the conversation is drawn over to you. “I haven’t, and it’s fine, thank you. Have you been painting recently?” You ask, swiftly shutting it down and shifting the conversation back to her, hoping you’ll be left out of it now.
Rhys’s attention flits over her a split second before something passes behind Feyre’s eyes, but she swallows and nods. “There hasn’t been as much time as I’d like, but I’m finding moments,” she answers, but goes no further. You’re glad she’s still getting time to herself in spite of being High Lady and more importantly, a mother. You can’t imagine how difficult it must be if it’s taking up that much of her time…and you probably hadn’t helped…she’s been visiting each day… You should have succeeded.
The passiveness of the thought catches you a little off guard. Since when had thoughts like that become so habitual? So flippant? You spear a piece of potato with your fork, bringing it to your mouth. It was just a fleeting thought, it’s fine. Weird things happen in the mind anyway, as long as you don’t mean it, you’re okay.
“Would you…” Feyre’s asking, “be interested in joining me? We could have an easel set up in your room?”
A part of the potato goes down the wrong way as you hear the question, hand grabbing the napkin as you cover your mouth, coughing. You clear your throat when you’re done, making sure to wipe your lips subtly as you pull the napkin away, sipping on the glass of water to help clear your throat. Once you’ve recovered, you remember her question.
It would be nice. Really nice, actually, but… “it’s fine, please don’t worry. Painting’s your thing, and I think…personal, to you. Besides, I have my books,” you excuse, heart sinking a little, but it’s for the better. She’s already short on time anyway, she needs to keep that for herself, even if you can’t help but want it.
The same look passes behind her eyes, and you now wonder if you can’t figure it out because…because you might no longer know her well enough.
“It’s probably for the better,” Rhys announces, bringing the moment to a swift end, “Feyre’s nude models would probably upset your delicate sensibilities, anyway.”
Your eyes widen and you nearly choke on air as wild, ferocious heat swarms your features, staring ahead, bewildered.
Rhys grins as a fuming Feyre smacks him on the shoulder, indignant rage lighting her eyes. “Lies! All lies,” she snaps, before sparing you a somewhat apologetic glance. “He’s joking, obviously,” she reassures, shooting a glare Rhys’ way at that last part. “His humour’s apparently a few centuries out of date.”
“Speaking of things on the old side,” a golden voice calls from the hallway, parading into the dining room in heels tall and thin enough to potentially run someone through. “Rhys, is there another case of this stuff? Az wants some more.”
The High Lord rolls his eyes, amusement clear, Feyre settling at his side, feigned anger dissipating as if it were never there, her eyes twinkling again.
“We all know you finished off the bottle before you even reached Az’s room,” Amren snipes, thickly-jewelled fingers sparkling as she nurses her own glass, laughter rising from the table.
“Oh, like you’re any better Amren. You could polish off bottles of blood in the time it took me to eat an appetiser,” Mor replies, heels clicking across the floor as she sweeps through the room in a flurry of vibrant red and stunning gold, taking her seat opposite Elain—between Amren and Rhys.
One seat and across from your own position.
The meal fully commencing now all able players are assembled at the table.
——————————————————————————————————————————————
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when did you know you loved me? pt.1 /4 ♡
for puppy!reader, being john booker routledge’s girlfriend meant asking random questions at random times. would you still love me if i was a worm? what would you do if someone tried to kidnap me? who would win in a fight between you and a shark?
what you loved about john b, was that he always had an answer. that was this thing — always having a solution, a plan A, plan B, it was all he knew, so he never had trouble thinking of ways to answer your innocent, inquisitive queries.
it was on a stroll through the neighbourhood, hand in hand when the question occurred to you. this was the first time you’d ever loved someone — so you wasn’t sure how it was supposed to work. sure, you’d said ‘i love you’ to eachother, many times — but you wasn’t sure if you could pinpoint the moment it happened. the moment you realised.
“i thought of a question to ask.” you swing his hand in your own as you walk carefully alongside him, careful not to trip on any loose tiles in the sidewalk like you’d done five minutes prior. you seem to have snapped him out of some thoughts, possibly a conundrum he was facing with the pogues or about some maps, but he seems happy to escape his thoughts — head snapping towards you with a small smile.
“yeah? shoot, pup.”
“when did you know you loved me?” you’re a little quieter today, perhaps timid to ask such a vulnerable question. as you ask he feels your eyes flicker up from your shoes to his hand, up his arm and then to his face. it wasn’t like you to be shy, not with him — which only filled his heart with more of that warm admiration.
“ohoho— that is a good question. one i actually, have an answer to.” he smirks, and you can’t help but grin, already feeling at ease. there was always a story with john b, it was never a simple answer.
“yeah?” you sound hopeful, staring up at his profile as you walk now, trusting him to guide you away from anything that could cause you to trip once more.
“uh-huh. i even remember what you were wearing that day.” he hums, enjoying the element of you having to draw it out of him, although he would have definitely have just told you anyway without any convincing.
“tell me!” you gasp with an elated giggle and he chuckles in response.
“okay, okay— but look, don’t expect anything crazy. it was uh… kind of a regular old moment? you know? like… you’re gonna be confused.” he nods as he gathers his thoughts. you come to a brick wall, one with chipped white paint, and pink flowers sprouting from the overgrown grass around it. you take the moment to let go of his hand and leap, clambering up to sit on top of the wall. instead of telling you to be careful like he usually might, he joins you — sitting side by side on the wall.
“okay.” you ready yourself.
“we’d maybe known eachother for…” he blows a puff of air from his cheeks as he thinks. “six weeks? you’d started coming to the chateau pretty regularly, kind of just showing up without an invite which i didn’t mind ‘cus you know, i was falling for you pretty fast.”
you smile, remembering what it was first like when you were getting to know john b.
“so… you’d fallen out of that tree. you remember? the one out the front, just… dropped right down from the branch. what you were doing up there, i don’t know, i mean i told you not to climb it, but there you were, climbing it anyway… and…” he rambles comically, gesturing you falling from the tree eliciting a small laugh from you, he trails off, thinking back on the moment with a softness to him. “you were wearing this cute little blue shirt and a skirt, and when i was patching you up i remember thinking how blue is like… definitely your colour.” he nods, and you find yourself mirroring his nod, so entranced in the way he speaks.
“anyway, uh — i was patching up your knee, and despite everything you still had your headphones over your ears. i gestured for you to take them off so, you know — i could ask if you’re okay, and uh…” he chuckles, shaking his head. “you said no. because your favourite song was still playing and you wanted to let it finish. yoooou and that damn walkman.” he shakes his head again in faux disappointment as you grin proudly, beginning to remember the day he spoke of.
only then he breaks out of his storytelling trance, turning his head to look at you from where he was staring ahead. “aaaand… yeah. love kinda just… happened? i know for a fact i knew in that moment that i was in love with you.” he finishes, his voice low and warm as he looks at you like you hung the moon and stars. john b was never one to shy away from affection— he was a loverboy at heart and this only proved it. you bite your lip, feeling your nose get a little runny like you wanted to cry. noticing this, john b smirks, tilting his head a little.
“what, too sappy? didnt wanna make you cry…” he jokes, reaching over to cup your cheek, swiping his thumb over it like he was wiping the tears that hadn’t fallen.
“it would be a happy kind of cry… because you make me happy.” you’re lost for words, but you swallow down the lump and smile anyway, kicking your legs on the wall with glee.
“well that’s good. i definitely like making you happy.”
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Only an Almost (XIV)
Chapter 14: Heartbreak
Hi! Here comes a new chapter!
Alright, buckle up! We’re up for a wild ride! We are reaching the heights of the angsty mess, from this chapter all the way to chapter 17. Is our girl going to be an asshole? Yes, I’m afraid she’s about to fuck up big time...
Apologies for all the damage that is about to be made in this chapter.
It’s also the first chapter I wrote for this fic! It all started with this mess…
I hope you’ll like this chapter! Please, tell me what you think!
*************************************
Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader, friends with benefits AU
Warning: No explicit smut or nsfw content, but there are sexual themes and heavy make-out sessions (it’s a friends with benefits AU, I can’t really escape it), so 18+ only!
Summary: Andrew has been in love with you for years, and yet he has never confessed his feelings. But a night out celebrating the engagement of his best friend changes everything. However, you don't seem ready to be with him just yet. You make him an offer that he can't refuse... but will certainly regret.
Word Count : 3450
Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist
It was 11pm, which was early for a night owl such as Andrew, but late for his friends. Neither Sam nor Daphne were nocturnal creatures, and so Andrew answered his phone in a hurry when Sam’s name appeared on the screen. Something had to be wrong. He suddenly wondered where he had put his car keys, in case he needed to leave in a hurry.
“Hello? Andy? It’s me. It’s Sam.”
“Yeah, I know, are you alright?” he asked with worry making his voice deeper than usual, pausing the tv-show he was watching, lounging on his comfortable sofa.
“Yeah, yeah…”
“It’s 11pm, is there something wrong? Is Daphne okay?”
“What? Oh, no! Don’t worry, we’re both fine!”
Andrew heaved a relieved sigh.
“God, don’t scare the shit out of me like that ever again…”
“Did I wake you? I thought you never went to sleep before dawn.”
“Vampires tend to do that indeed.”
“Whose blood did you drink this week?”
Andrew wanted to answer, but he heard Daphne pestering Sam about not having much time, and he merely frowned instead.
“Right… sorry, darling…” Sam mumbled through the phone. “Are you alone, Andy?”
“Erm… yes…?”
“Okay, erm… it’s… it’s about Y/N.”
Andrew sat straighter this time.
“Y/N? Is she okay? Did something happen?”
“No, no… I mean… she’s fine, but…”
“For fuck’s sake, Sam! Spit it out! What’s going on?”
“Look I… I know that you said that I couldn’t tell Daphne about you and Y/N… but Y/N told her, so we’ve talked about you two together…”
Andrew rolled his eyes, lying back down, resting his head on the armrest of the couch.
“It’s alright, Sam… I knew you’d break it to her sooner or later anyway.”
“No, Andy… look… have you talked to Y/N lately?”
Andrew frowned.
“Erm… I don’t know… about… three days ago. Why?”
“I think you should talk to her.”
“Why? Sam, what is it?”
There was a short silence, while the couple exchanged a glance, no doubt.
“Daphne thinks she might take a terrible decision,” Sam answered.
“What kind of decision? What are you talking about?”
Andrew was growing annoyed at this game of riddles. If something was wrong, he ought to know what it was…
But even if he insisted some more, Sam refused to speak.
“Just… call her, and tell her you love her. Tell her to choose you.”
“’Choose’ me? What do you mean?”
“Just… do it tomorrow, will you?”
“Alright, alright. I’ll call her tomorrow.”
“Good… good…”
When he hung up, Andrew stared at the ceiling for a while.
Choose me?
Andrew didn’t need to call you the next day. You were the one to call, and ask him if he was free tonight. You didn’t offer an activity, like you usually would: a movie on Netflix, the cinema, a walk, going to the beach, eating together… There was little ambiguity to the reason behind your demand, and Andrew wasn’t sure whether he was flattered or vexed by it.
He warned you that he wanted to talk to you about something tonight though, and you agreed. You had something to ‘discuss’ with him too. His heart dropped as you spoke those words through the phone. It ought to be some kind of bad news. Or maybe not. Maybe he was reading too much into this, and you meant… to talk about the upcoming wedding, or your job, or… something else entirely. He wondered if you knew that he meant to tell you that he felt more for you than what he had let on.
He parked his car in front of your house, but didn’t climb out just yet. First, he ran through his speech one last time.
I know that you are not looking for a relationship at the moment. But I want more than just sex when it comes to you. To us. Our arrangement can’t go on like this. Again, I understand that you are not in a position now where you want to be in a relationship. And that’s okay. If you tell me that you could give us a chance, I will wait for you. I’ll wait until you’re ready, until your job is more stable and you’ve figured things out in your life. I’ll wait until you want a relationship with me. I have feelings for you, feelings that go beyond a casual fling. And that’s the reason why I’m asking you now to give me a chance. To give us a proper chance…
No l-word yet, you might freak out if he used it. But this speech seemed good enough. Short, to the point. He had written six versions of it this morning.
He took a deep breath, before finally climbing out of his car and walking up to your house.
You were quick to unlock your door and welcome him in. You looked lovely tonight. But then, you were always beautiful…
You went through some meaningless chit-chat while Andrew took off his coat and shoes and followed you down the hall to your kitchen.
You offered him tea without asking if he wanted one. It was late afternoon, but not quite dinner time yet. He could have used some alcohol, but it would have been impolite to ask for some, so he thanked you when you handed him his favourite mug with two teabags plunged in warm water. He leaned against your kitchen counter, his back to your tiny window and your sink while you were facing him, a couple of steps away.
“You… you wanted us to talk about something,” Andrew reminded you, taking a sip of the warm beverage. “And I wanted to talk to you too, so… who should start?”
You were growing nervous, the signs were obvious. In your modern kitchen, there was a window above the sink that let in some golden light. The photons embraced your form, in a way that made Andrew’s heart skip a few beats.
You pushed back some hair behind your ear, pulled on the sleeves of your jumper. Andrew frowned at the sight.
“You’re alright? I can start…”
“No, I… I reckon I should start.”
“Okay.”
He was nervous beyond reason and measure. Andrew dried his clammy palms on his jeans, tried to breathe deeply through his nose, but his heart kept on pounding and his stomach was turning into knots…
You stared at each other for a moment, him expectant and you hesitant. He raised an eyebrow as a silent encouragement for you to speak, but you merely bit on your lower lip.
But then you heaved a sigh, crossed the distance between your bodies in a hurry. Andrew barely had time to blink, and you had grabbed him by the collar, pulling him down to you while you rose to your tiptoes so you could slam your lips to his. But kissing you was a habit by now, and a delicious one too. Andrew’s body was reacting on instinct as he kissed you back, messy and passionate and breathtaking. Your teeth bumped into his in your passion, but he didn’t mind. It was easy to deepen the kiss instead, cradle your face in his hands while you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, closer, always closer.
You were making his brain short-circuit, despite the important talk he wanted to have with you. You were everywhere, blurring his senses, making all traces of reason disappear…
Only when he felt your fingers travel down his chest and towards his belt did he stop you, pulling away.
“Wait, wait… stop…”
You immediately took a step back, looking up at him with wide eyes.
“You’re okay?”
“Yeah… yeah… I… look, we… We wanted to talk, like… I think we should, erm, talk before we…”
“Or we can have sex, and talk after that.”
“Is that wise?”
“Do we really need to be wise?”
It was tempting. Too tempting to resist. God, he couldn’t think about anything else but your lips, how inviting they looked, how he wanted to kiss your neck too, he could feel his fingers tickle at the thought of touching all these places of your body, entire landscapes of bare skin…
He blinked a couple of times, struggled to swallow, trying to calm down. But blood was pulsing in his ears, and when he tried to remember his carefully-crafted speech, he couldn’t remember a word…
Fuck all of this…
“Alright,” he nodded. “But we talk tonight… cause it’s important…”
“Deal. Deal. Can I kiss you now?”
“Yes… God, yes, please… please, kiss me…”
You were back in his arms in a second, hands in his hair at first, while his travelled along your frame, from chest to hips and arse, feeling your shape through your clothes. You detached your lips from his to take his hand and guide him to your bedroom.
“We should get dressed to talk,” Andrew proposed, his breathing finally settling back into a regular rhythm.
He threw his condom away in the tiny bean next to the door of your bathroom. He grabbed his underwear as he walked back to your bed and handed you your large jumper.
“You’re too beautiful not to be distracting,” he chuckled, only half-joking, while you put on the piece of garment he was giving you.
He noticed how you looked away, how you seemed uncomfortable, all of a sudden. Instead of joining you in bed once more, Andrew sat down on the edge of the mattress, right next to you.
“So… who should begin?” he asked, voice soft and a little timid. “I… like… actually, I think I should…”
“Andy, I… I think you should get dressed.”
He frowned at that remark, or rather… he frowned at the tone you used. Cold and distant, whispered, and your eyes were still fleeing his.
“Why? Am I distracting too?” he asked with a charming smile, forcing a chuckle out. But you didn’t laugh, merely brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear.
Andrew’s nervous smile soon crumbled.
“Right,” he let out in a breath, blushing hard now, heart racing.
He grabbed his undershirt, slowly put it on while trying to swallow back the lump in his throat.
“Look, I… We should talk about… this arrangement of ours…” he started, but you interrupted him, blurting out words he wasn’t expecting so fast he second-guessed if he had heard you right.
“We need to stop sleeping together.”
He was half-bent to grab his pants when you spoke. He froze, looking up at you, cursing at his long hair when it fell before his eyes and hid you away. He stood back up in a jolt.
“What?”
“We… we need to stop this arrangement. Things have changed.”
And all of a sudden there was hope again, brighter than a sun and blinding every bit of reason in him… And he fell for it. No matter the odds, he fell for it, flew straight to it like a moth ready to be burned at the pyre of your flames…
“Right… things have changed for me too. So, actually, I do think that we need to change things between us…”
“I have a date next week.”
He froze again. Stared at you, too stunned to say a thing, too stunned to protest or ask any question or even comprehend what you were saying.
“I… I have a date with a coworker, Maggie. Next week. So… we should stop this… We said we would if we wanted to try something with someone else…”
A date? Next week? Maggie?
You… you wanted to date again… just… not him…
“But… we’ve just had sex,” breathed Andrew.
It sounded stupid and he knew it, and yet these were the only words he could summon now. The first that came to mind, the only protest he could find.
There were too many emotions all at once. It felt… like falling… falling forever… like the ground being stolen from under his feet. He had no air left in his lungs, and he had forgotten how to breathe.
“Yeah… it wasn’t planned. But I… I just… Maybe I shouldn’t have done that…”
His lip trembled, but his cheeks were still dry.
You were regretting him now?
“I think I just… wanted one last moment with you. Before we’d stop and I would date someone else.”
“So… you… you have a date?”
“Yes, I have a date with Maggie.”
“What do you mean, you have a date with Maggie? Who the fuck is Maggie?”
Andrew stared at you as he was about to cry, and he couldn’t help it. He blinked tears away, but they lingered at the edges of his eyes, ready to fall at your words.
“She’s nice. She works at HR, she’s a secretary. She asked me out, and… I don’t know, I said yes. So… I think we should stop this arrangement.”
“Oh…”
At long last, the information was being recorded in his brain. Andrew shook himself back to earth, turned around, fleeing you and your beautiful eyes, hurrying to put his trousers back on. He almost fell in the process, already looking for his shirt. He felt so exposed like this, so vulnerable, so flawed…
You were going on a date… with someone else… because you didn’t want to date him… he was the fucking problem. He was all along…
“I just… it was… good.”
He nodded, but didn’t let out a sound.
He couldn’t look at you. He would start crying if he did. He needed to run away as fast as he could…
“And she’s nice, you know? And… just… easy. Not like, easy to sleep with, but…”
“I understand.”
Of course, he did. Same argument all over again. And he couldn’t blame you, how could he?
But what if he dropped everything? What if he stopped touring? Stopped the whole music thing?
He thought about what you looked like right now, perfect and dishevelled and still gently glowing after the efforts of love-making. Absolutely perfect. Yeah… yeah… You deserved better than him, no matter the touring or the staying…
“Andy… are you angry?”
He didn’t answer. He couldn’t start acknowledging his feelings now. He would start crying if he did.
Where the fuck was his sock?
“I loved the nights we had together,” you went on, apparently unaware of the daggers each of your words planted through his heart, and for the first time in the long years the two of you had known each other, he wanted to stop hearing your voice.
You seemed to need to fill up the silence that Andrew was trying to maintain. Perhaps it was a way to reach out, perhaps it was a way to keep him at bay. He wasn’t certain about that.
“It was nice.”
Where was that fucking sock?!
“Andy?”
He put on his jumper, abandoning the thought of his black sock. He couldn’t lose any more time, he couldn’t breathe properly anymore…
“You’re okay? Can you say something?”
Silence. Only the rubbing of fabric against fabric as Andrew was getting ready to leave. He only had to grab his shoes and jacket in your hallway.
“Andy, wait!”
But he was already outside of your bedroom.
“You can’t be mad at me! We agreed about this, Andy! We agreed that… that… this was nothing but sex! It didn’t mean anything.”
He was blinded by tears when he reached for your doorknob, unlocking the door without seeing the keys he was turning in the lock.
“Andy! Where are you going? Stop! We need to talk about this!”
He shrugged you off when you reached for him.
“Andy!”
But then he was shutting the door behind him, his movement so harsh it shook the doorframe. He hurried to his car while he dried his eyes, refusing to crumble now, in the alley leading to your house.
He drove blindly, unaware of a destination, of a will behind the turns he took and the roads he chose. The words kept ringing in his ears, he couldn’t shut them out, they played on repeat in his busy mind…
This was nothing but sex.
It didn’t mean anything.
Did it not? The way you touched him, the way you kissed him, the way you held him… did it not mean something?!
His hold tightened on the wheel. His jaw clenched until it was painful, until he could hear it.
Nothing. The tenderness in your touch, the fondness in your gaze, the sighs on your lips. The way you held him after it was done, like you needed him to land again gently on the ground, like you held onto a dream before it faded. How you stared into his soul when you connected in the most intimate way possible. How you laughed together until none of you could breathe, how you talked for hours about the most meaningless things and the most intimate parts of your lives. How you let him be yours, how you almost let yourself be his…
Only an almost…
He parked the car before a house he had always called home, and it was only then that he realised where he was. He stared at the familiar door of his parents’ house, the curtains behind the windows, the light that came through them.
So, you had let him love you, and it meant nothing at all?
He turned off the engines, stared at the house for a suspended moment. What would he do now? He couldn’t possibly face you again after this. He was about to lose you for good; because after having a taste of what loving you felt like, he couldn’t go back to being a mere friend. No… no, he wasn’t strong enough for that. For seeing you happy with someone else, knowing that you held him close for a moment only to let him go, because he wasn’t enough.
He picked up his phone, ready to do something stupid, something he would regret the second his thumb would press send. He typed the text under your name.
If I gave up on touring, if I stayed home… would you give me a chance? Would I be enough if I weren’t just a ghost?
He heaved a sigh, resting his head against his seat, head tilted upwards in his exhale. He blinked tears away, staring at the dark ceiling of his car.
Did you really feel nothing now? Did it not hurt at all for you? Not even a little bit? Not at all?
Andrew didn’t press send. He deleted the text, opened the door, climbed out of the car and into the street bathed in an inky darkness and orange streetlights. His feet guided him to the safest place on Earth while he tugged his phone into his pocket. His right foot was hurting in his shoe without a sock on. He didn’t even notice.
It took his mother a moment to open the door, nothing surprising at this hour. She saw him through the glass of the backdoor, and her eyes grew round. Andrew finally noticed he was crying.
The door opened in a hurry, bumping into Raine’s foot in the process.
“Andy? Honey, what’s wrong? Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
His lower lip trembled as he stared at his mother, hands digging further into his pockets, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His throat was too tight to speak.
“Honey, what’s wrong? Tell me. Tell me what’s wrong?”
She narrowed her eyes a little as she guessed, aiming straight for his heart.
“Is it Y/N?”
He opened his mouth to answer but all that he could let out was a sob. His legs were shaking, he could feel all of his strength leaving his body. He barely registered his own moevements as he bent into his mother’s arms, folding around her frame.
“Oh, Andy… here, it’s alright. It’s gonna be okay, darling. It’s okay. I’m here, I’m here…”
She rubbed his back, in this soothing movement that had never failed to appease him ever since he was a child. His voice was a hoarse whisper when he let out the most painful words he had ever pronounced.
“She doesn’t love me, mom. She doesn’t feel anything… What am I gonna do? What am I gonna do without her?”
She let him cry for a moment longer, his father calling from the living room to know who was at the door. Raine merely answered with her son’s name, and gently pushed him upwards so he would stand straighter again.
“Well, for a start, I’m going to make you a cup of tea, with a lot of honey. And then, we’ll figure out the rest.”
#hozier#andrew hozier byrne#the hoziest#hozier x reader#hozier x you#hozier x y/n#hozier x fem!reader#hozier fanfiction#hozier fanfic#hozier series#series#fanfiction#fanfic#writing
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EA ramble so Spoilers hehehhe (it’s very long and half of it probably doesn’t make sense i’m sorry)
FIRST OF ALL the start of the audio oh em gee he’s such a horny bastard i love it. i need to stop saying that um anyway. tbh i wasn’t even caught off guard that much bc that’s just the kind of thing i expected from a porter audio.
THE SAM CALLL AAWHHH porter’s genuine shock at sam, vincent and lovely leaving the house hurts me because he can’t seem to fathom having the kind of freedom and lack of obligation to make that choice AGH and i love his attitude he’s so silly.
“i am busy with someone very important to me.” kill me now please i can’t take this anymore. this whole audio’s focus was the fact that porter and treasure don’t know each other that well but despite that, porter cares too much about treasure to just up and leave them even at the mention of his house falling apart. it’s crazy how much he cares for treasure already and I LOVE IT wow sure do hope nothing bad happens to this weak defenceless unempowered human….
speaking of unempowered, i LOVE that porter addressed the power imbalance and how that was affecting treasure’s responses to him. i know treasure seemed to be stubborn, straightforward and upfront in porter’s sleep aid audio but i have a feeling that after porter denied “talking” so adamantly, treasure didn’t want to keep pushing him. not just out of care but also a slight hint of fear. not only are they unempowered but they were also completely uninformed before porter and i’m sure they still know little to nothing about the magical world. i can’t blame them for being hesitant to push a vampire, whose abilities they don’t really know the full extent of. saying that, they do still obviously care for porter and i’m so so glad that porter addressed this to ensure that treasure’s fear of giving the “wrong answer” doesn’t hurt their relationship with him.
and on the topic of their relationship, porter’s soft “do we?” after talking about the possibility of wanting to make their relationship long-term and more in depth AAAAAHHHH he’s so cute. and him acknowledging that it’s been a while since he’s had the desire or even the time to get to know someone outside of the solaire house hurts my heart so much. the fact that even after he was “freed” of his maker, he still was too absorbed by the need to appease william that he didn’t have time to live his own life outside of that is so painful to think about and i love it. also he’s just cute when he’s unsure heheh.
ngl i thought porter mentioning treasure’s surname would lead to him revealing his own true surname. but that’s mostly just me being hopeful because it’s still quite soon in his and treasure’s relationship. he doesn’t even know treasure’s surname so i doubt he’s in any place to just drop something so personal, maybe even something that brings up such emotional memories considering even his life before turning wasn’t the best.
porter’s little darling’s hehehe erik loves that term of endearment so much i swear. OH and porter’s repeated mentions of sam, to me, prove that there is something more to sam’s friendship with porter than there seems to have been shown to us. sam himself has already said he has a sort of tolerance for porter’s bullshit, even if it has limits. and now, porter’s mentions of sam throughout a conversation that doesn’t involve him tells me that the pair are closer than they seemed to be. which makes sam leaving the house hurt even more oh my god i can’t believe how porter feels considering maybe the one person in the house he could stand to be around is leaving. and even after trying to make up with vincent, now vincent is leaving too. porter lets pack our bags too and run away together as well please, you deserve everything.
UGH TREASURE MEETING SAM AUDIO WHENNNN??? erik please give sam a chance to reflect the “sam landed you?” comment onto porter with treasure.
AAAGGGHHHHH i can’t wait to see where this relationship goes. i didn’t think this would turn into such a long ramble wow i love this man (he’s fictional) he’s such a cutie (he has no canon appearance) i wanna marry him (he’s nothing but a voice).
#thank you erik for switching the dates i’m going to combust#i think i’m actually going crazy#redacted early access#redacted patreon#redacted audio#redacted asmr#redactedverse#redacted porter#redacted treasure
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Been scouring your blog to see if you have a specific take and i only managed to find the post where you said you are more for people coming up with their own meaning for Tolkiens work. anyhow, after reading you boromir post on how hope is his poison I am super curious as to what meaning you personally ascribe to it all. A lot of scholars will tout hope over despair as the ultimate meaning here (and the ultimate meaning of real life...ugh) and considering your very gut wrenching but meaningful takes on boromir i was just curious. Your thought process is fascinating from a scholarly viewpoint (which is not my strong suit) but also an artistic, emotional, philosophical, and human viewpoint. Whew sorry this ask is so long and disorganized! Have i mentioned I am not a scholar? :D
First off I love this ask it made me so happy to read I had to do so like five times before I felt qualified to answer it and then I spent like months writing this response which is over 4000 words now if you want to know. And, on that note, dw about scholarliness or whatever this ask has more desire to engage with lotr in nuanced ways than most tolkien scholars achie- (gets hit by a piano) anyway~!
It's also just extremely flattering that you're curious of my personal opinion at all so thank you so very much!
(this is the post anon is talking about for context)
As with all things, my answer has many layers. At the most basic and applicable level, and when taking only my Gondorian/Stewardship investment into account, I am engaging with the story for personal catharsis.
The fact that Gondor felt hopeless, that the enemy was merciless and invincible, that even those figures who were supposed to help had only judgement and platitudes to offer until it personally benefitted them, that Boromir and Denethor were isolated and generally condemned and that many only showed them pity after their deaths, feels extremely cathartically familiar to me and my story with chronic illness. I've spoken about this before here and there, but that is the kind of simplistic, energy giving, 'he's me fr fr' comparison that brings me uncomplicated comfort and inspiration.
But that is definitely not 'what lord of the rings is about' not even just to me, it's not even just what BOROMIR is about to me, it is an element of the story and worldbuilding that I have isolated and consumed but that still exists within a far larger whole. And that whole is also fascinating and compelling but in a far more esoteric and harder to define way.
BUT before we get into it, I do also feel the need to explain the limitations I percieve within the 'lotr is about hope over despair' narrative since you've brought it up but neither your ask nor the post you mentioned properly explains it and it'll enhance my point later. SO.
As far as my experience has lead me to believe, when people say 'lotr is about hope triumphing over despair' they mean it in a moralising fable kind of way. This is definitely the narrative the films latched onto, like a leech. Good characters have hope, lose it only to reclaim it again, teach others to have hope etc, and that is good of them. Bad characters are despairing and therefore have no hope, and they do evil deeds because of the despair and lack of hope. The Aragorn vs Denethor film paradigm.
But nothing within the books is anywhere near as cut and dry. As I said in the linked post, Boromir gains hope after having none (the hope that he can save Gondor by using the ring) and that is bad, it is something he has to 'pay for' according to the narrative. Meanwhile charmed and blessed Faramir admits that he never had any hope quite a few times, yet he is not punished for it. Theoden also has no hope and is explicitely going to war to die, but his death is not considered evil or selfish by the majority. Saruman is very hopeful, he's hopeful that Sauron can be reasoned with, that if they work together they can make a better world, but he suffers 100 indignities and then is killed by a cannibal! And most of all, Frodo also rarely (if ever) shows any signs of hope, he merely doggedly marches on regardless and in the end even takes the power of the ring for himself, essentially the ultimate evil act of desperation, but that saves the world!
For the record the idea that LotR is a fable-narrative of any kind seems exceedingly erroneous to me, like the idea that we are supposed to glean any universal Good Moral from the tale due to Tolkien's 'emminent wisdom' feels bizarre in and of itself. But at the very least this aspect is more complex, I think we can all agree.
But even more than that (and this is more perspective than narrative analysis I suppose but I think it bears saying), ‘despair is evil’ is a kind of horrible thing to teach! If the villainisation of people driven to desperate actions or anhedonia because of the deep despair they are suffering is what LotR is about then that’s.. awful! That sounds like a bad book and I don't think I'd want to read it. But lets put a pin in the concept of condemning people for despair for now, look out for the pin cus it’ll be coming back later.
FOR NOW lets get back on topic, if I don't think LotR is 'about' hope triumphing over despair, what do I think it's about?
Well. I know what I'm about to do appears highly out of character for me so please remain calm and gird yourself before I say this but; Let us start with hearing what Tolkien had to say on the subject.
I do not think that even Power or Domination is the real centre of my story. It provides the theme of a War, about something dark and threatening enough to seem at that time of supreme importance, but that is mainly 'a setting' for characters to show themselves. The real theme for me is about something much more permanent and difficult: Death and Immortality: the mystery of the love of the world in the hearts of a race 'doomed' to leave and seemingly lose it; the anguish in the hearts of a race 'doomed' not to leave it, until its whole evil-aroused story is complete.
(this quote is actually from a letter to a fan who suggested lotr was an allegory for atomic power and he was pretty mean and dismissive about it in reply, it's kind of funny)
Now I've been a bit glib about this in the past, along the lines of 'tolkien's own opinion on what his book was about changed for every year of his life and by the time all his friends started dying around him it became about death, what a surprise' mainly because, again, we've had enough people caring about Tolkien's opinions to do us for the rest of civilisation. But I've always known this glib comment to be pretty baseless and unconsidered, since death was a major aspect of his life from his earliest childhood and it makes sense for that to have been a large part of his work. And since I am being sincere I will, just this once, take Tolkien's hand instead of ignoring him.
For him, the theme of his book was not power or domination (or the evils of war or hope over despair), it was about death. It was about people trying to deal with the realities of death existing for them, not existing for others, and what love (loving the world) meant in that context.
On it's surface I find this quote kind of clinical in it's first impression. There's a prescriptiveness to it that does not inspire me, which isn't surprising since this came from a letter full of veiled snootiness on his part.
But mostly, as a concept.. it seems pretty distant from what actually happens in the story itself, right? What aspect of death and immortality was the fellowship embodying? Boromir certainly died, but he was not looking for immortality and his death is far more concerned with guilt than the fact that he is dying. Theodred is dead already, but not even his father appears all that bothered about it and it's quickly set aside to focus more on the war. Denethor kills himself but his and Gandalf's last interaction says far more about despair and faith than death.
And then no other main character 'dies' at all, unless you count Gandalf. And the only main immortal character we have (other than Gandalf) is Legolas whom, whilst he does have quotes associated with his immortality, is far more invested in his and Gimli's relationship than anything else. It's no wonder people choose 'war is hell' or 'hope over despair' narratives over 'death' as the main theme for lotr from their perspective.
It also does not satisfyingly link to one of the most compelling aspects of the books as a whole; that of how they are presented. The thread connecting death and immortality to writing a story that is from in-universe historical accounts, editted and compiled by many subsequent in-universe hands, is there but hazy. The intense catholic-ness of the story is also intuitably related to death and immortality, but not explicitly.
In essence, death does not feel like the main theme of the books when you are reading them, at least I don't think most experience them that way.
However, in spite of all that, Tolkien's opinion on what his books are 'about' is still the closest I have seen anyone come to my own. Which I assume is hard enough for you all to hear, but imagine how I feel 😩
To me, LotR is most themactically consistent when viewed through the lense of Frodo and Gandalf's ever misquoted early interaction;
"Behind that there was something else at work, beyond any design of the Ring-maker. I can put it no plainer than by saying that Bilbo was meant to find the Ring, and not by its maker. In which case you also were meant to have it. And that may be an encouraging thought.’
‘It is not,’ said Frodo. (emphasis mine)
It is not comforting to know that the suffering in front of you was always meant to happen, no matter how comforting the idea of a divine plan might be to some. And that is what Gandalf is offering Frodo in this moment, the relief of a divine plan and its ‘high beauty for ever beyond [the Shadow’s] reach’. But this is never comforting to Frodo in the books, the comfort he finds on his martyr's journey is in Sam. Indeed, it is actually Sam who finds comfort in 'the high beauty', this reminder that beyond all his own suffering there is an imperishable and eternal light that can never be dimmed.
But not Frodo, how can he? His eventual fate is to grasp the power of a weapon so unholy it sickens his soul, to do that which he has been told is irreversible and unforgivable, so that he can never be at ease or even survive in the lands he has loved ever again. The 'High Beauty' is what is doing this to him, what made the rules, what meant for this to happen, what he is doing this in service of. And Gandalf, whose soul will be present to see the very end of this tale, cannot possibly understand what it is for your whole life to be encapsulated by just your own small painful part of what Gandalf would propose was a beautiful and universal tapestry.
And lack of agency against the divine plan is precisely the narrative thread that ties every character together. To some it is a comfort, Aragorn and Gandalf and Sam are all gladdened and encouraged by the knowledge that there is some higher power ordering their lives, some greater beauty they are all a part of beyond any earthly pain or suffering. They are not in control and to remember this is a relief. It inspires them to better fulfill their ordained duties and drive themselves through terrible trials.
To others it is no comfort at all, Boromir and Frodo have no faith in the prospect that the divine plan will include success or happy lives for them at the end of their tasks. But it is a hopelessness and uncertainly that they both accept. They simply believe their duties must be attempted anyway, hopeless or not, even if it makes no difference to the outcome in the end. Lack of control is just a reality they live with.
And to some it is a horror. Denethor and Eowyn want to fulfill their duties, but these duties are torture. They demand loved ones die, they demand relentless fear and sacrifice, they demand ceaseless and hopeless toil. And in the end both of them are given rebellious breaks from these duties by the narrative, ones that are horrifying in and of themselves (and portrayed as wrong to one degree or another) but that are still extremely cathartically presented as attempts to reclaim control of their lives away from a callous divine. Even if, ultimately, this also was out of their control.
Merry, Pippin, Legolas and Gimli appear to have never quite had to confront the realities of their powerlessness before. But through the story they become intimately aware of it in ways that force them to make choices they are not ready to make. For Merry and Pippin, this leads them to ultimately empathise with Eowyn and Denethor’s positions, wracked with guilt and equally horrified, attempting to find agency in death where (it appears) none can be found. For Legolas and Gimli, they confront the spectors of lack of agency/death for the first time in the narrative (sea-longing and the Paths of the Dead) and are irrevocably changed by them, eventually leading them both to attempt to circumvent their fates by illegally sailing to the uttermost west. Obviously fandom likes to believe they made it and live happily, but narratively it is also suggested that they died at sea in the attempt.
Now, at the risk of indulging in my ever-derided biographical criticism, I do think that all of these characterful arcs are represented in Tolkien’s own life. I feel comfortable saying that Tolkien was not a happy man by default. He was wracked with guilt from a very young age (wow a catholic with guilt, groundbreaking) but that guilt followed him and found new reasons to manifest until the very end of his life. And a lot of this guilt had to do with death, his father's death, his mother's death, his friend's deaths. And a lot of it had to do with fear of leaving unfinished or poorly finished business behind him at the time of his own death: guilt about how he had taught his students, about his scholarly work, his parenting skills, his so-oft-mentioned faith.
And being a man of faith, he would have experienced all these things as a part of the divine plan, even as they were also his guilt to bear. So, clearly, Tolkien's experience encompassed all of these characters, right? The despair and the torment and combined love-of and frustration-with the divine. The failure. He knew them all. And within all of them, as well as within the narrative and world itself, there is a wrestling, there is an ever-shifting complexity and multitude of different opinions to how one experiences a life that hurts in a beautiful world that you love but that you eventually must leave, with the sensation that you have no control over any of it.
However, a complication to any declaration of ‘what LotR is about’ is that it is a self-admittedly unreliable narrative. If you cannot necessarily believe everything the narrative is telling you, then suddenly additional layers of complexity come into play in determining the meaning within an already complex text. In LotR you can actually track which characters are recounting which parts of the story to Frodo or Sam at the time of writing. But it is also just obscured enough to make it ambiguous and to enforce the idea that this is a version of this original story edited and compiled for many generations after it's writing.
So not only are these characters and events transient, uncertain and being (sometimes bluntly) misrepresented by the narrators, YOU are now complicit in that. You are yet another interpreter to alter this narrative through your perspective, just as all works and all lives are interpreted by those who view them, with no way to control that judgment. You are also a character now, making it even more difficult to make definitive judgments about a question like 'what LotR is about'.
The clearest example of how this narrative unreliability and reader interpretation comes into play within the text itself is when Frodo describes the fellowship's entrance into Lothlorien to Faramir. He is being blindfolded in order to be lead to Henneth Annun, and he recounts;
‘As you will,’ said Frodo. ‘Even the Elves do likewise at need, and blindfolded we crossed the borders of fair Lothlorien. Gimli the dwarf took it ill, but the hobbits endured it.’
But we, as readers of the previous book, know this is a gross mischaracterisation of Gimli. He did not take issue with being blindfolded, he took issue with being singled out as the only member of the fellowship who needed to be blindfolded.
‘As was agreed, I shall here blindfold the eyes of Gimli the Dwarf. The others may walk free for a while, until we come nearer to our dwellings, down in Egladil, in the Angle between the waters.’
This was not at all to the liking of Gimli. ‘The agreement was made without my consent,’ he said. ‘I will not walk blindfold, like a beggar or a prisoner. And I am no spy. My folk have never had dealings with any of the servants of the Enemy. Neither have we done harm to the Elves. I am no more likely to betray you than Legolas, or any other of my companions.’
In this one moment Frodo has taken what was a reaction of justified indignation against racial prejudice, and made it sound like a minor tantrum over a shared burden. He has also used it to further aggrandise his own people in Faramir's eyes. And it is up to YOU to notice this, to review it in your mind, to choose what it leads you to believe about all characters involved. The narrative certainly never helps you, or addresses it ever again. You have to wrestle with what it means in your mind.
I believe this is the reason I have observed that every person who reads LotR and loves it and keeps rereading it feels like they are excavating something. There is a narrative under the narrative for every new pair of eyes on the tale. And that narrative is you, it's who your experiences and sympathies lead you to listen too harder, it's the story of the experiences you understand. And in that excavation, you are also reclaiming a moment of control for yourself in conversation with the story and whatever you have chosen to excavate. One might say these are all aspects of every story, but LotR is unique in its investment and immersion into the concept.
Because, to me, when Tolkien says his story is about 'death and immortality', what I read is that it's about the ultimate lack of control we have (death) and trying to empathise and accept the unfairness of what will become our inherently false legacies (immortality). And then just the vast spectrum of experiences and emotions those things conjure. It's not just about those things, it is an attempted soothing of those fears and struggles, it is an offer of comfort or catharsis or applicability. It is also an acknowledgement of the love that drives you and that you will eventually grieve.
Frodo leaves the shire to save it because he loves it, but he knows the entire time he will never be able to fully return. He is frustrated, it hurts, but a piece of the Shire in Sam comes with him and whilst it cannot save him, Frodo is still comforted.
Sam leaves the Shire because he loves Frodo, and he loves the high beauty as embodied by elves and magic and history. He also knows implicitly that this is a task he cannot refuse, but these things comfort him. He is glad to be guided and strengthened to even greater feats the more he trusts in a higher power, but he has a life and a family in the end. And if that is what the Higher Beauty decrees for him, where it has doomed Frodo to incurable soulful wounds, are we surprised at either of their choices? Can we blame anyone for their hope OR despair in the face of powerlessness? Oh! Look at that! It’s that pin I mentioned quite literally last century ago. TOLD you it’d be back.
And that brings us back to the question, what do I think LotR is about.
We are all powerless in the face of death and in writing a book about death Tolkien’s work has an inherent universal applicability in this regard. Tolkien asks an unconscious question within lotr, how should we cope with being creatures that love the world but that are doomed to die and leave it? And then he leaves that question entirely unanswered. This is what sets lotr apart and truly creates a story in which people can read narratives therein that appear entirely separate from death or any other recognisable theme others might see, without losing the sense of universal appeal. He offers multiple perspectives, including that of the dominant religion’s prescriptive decrees of right and wrong, but there is no solution brought forth in the story that saves anyone from grief or death or regret in the end. Not even Aragorn or Arwen, who are in essence the most holy and faithful characters barring Gandalf within the story, end without heartbreak and despair!
‘‘I speak no comfort to you, for there is no comfort for such pain within the circles of the world. The uttermost choice is before you: to repent and go to the Havens and bear away into the West the memory of our days together that shall there be evergreen but never more than memory; or else to abide the Doom of Men.’’
‘‘Nay, dear lord,’’ she said, ‘‘that choice is long over. There is now no ship that would bear me hence, and I must indeed abide the Doom of Men, whether I will or I nill: the loss and the silence. But I say to you, King of the Numenoreans, not till now have I understood the tale of your people and their fall. As wicked fools I scorned them, but I pity them at last. For if this is indeed, as the Eldar say, the gift of the One to Men, it is bitter to receive.’’
‘‘So it seems,’’ he said.
There is no such comfort!! … Or is there?
To me, the appeal of Boromir is in the solution he offers; the comfort is in the wrestling!
Aragorn and Arwen did absolutely everything they were supposed to do, unquestioningly, to the point that Aragorn goes to the Silent Street and just lies down to die because it’s ‘the right time’ and he mustn’t become ‘unmanned and witless’. And then he dies and he makes a beautiful holy corpse that cannot comfort Arwen or his children or his people for even a moment.
But Boromir dies with a smile. Aragorn promises that Minas Tirith will not fall, and that does comfort him, because that was the wrestling he chose, the love he decided to hold, the meaning he decided to find and fight for beyond all his powerlessness to protect it. So that’s the answer I find and it might be different from yours, but it’s in LotR to be read because the story is about the wrestling as much as (if not more than) it is about the end. The road DOES go ever on and on, after all!
So ye das wat lotr was about I fink thanks 4 askin 👍I REALLY hope it makes sense. I also really hope Anon manages to see it after it took so goddamn long to respond 😂
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THE LOVE LASTS SO LONG (9)
In which Aubrey gets interviewed...
series masterlist
ellemagazine posted
ellemagazine Our June edition features Aubrey Yang on her directing debut, the trajectory of her career and new friends in Formula One. Full article linked in bio.
tagged: aubreyyang
liked by formula1, olliebearman, mckennagraceful and 80,944 others
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user1 ON MY HANDS AND KNEES BARK BARK SHES SO FINE
aubreyyang thank you for having me Elle! always a blast 💋
-- aubberieloverss MOTHERRR
dior.n.goodjohn ILY UR SO BEAUTIFUL AND ETHERAL
-- aubreyyang stawpp ur making me blush
formula1 thank you for the shout out! hope to see you in the Ferrari paddocks soon 🏎️
liked by aubreyyang
-- f1wagsupdates BAHAHA f1 admin ur brave for that one
lilymhe prettiest girl
-- aubreyyang me and dior miss u tons! can't wait to see u soon
mvertsppdudu can ollie fight ill catch him in the paddocks
ELLE MAGAZINE
NEW ISSUE
INTERVIEW WITH AUBREY YANG
Aubrey Yang, the multi-faceted actress debuts her talent and grit for directing and screenwriting in her short film Pelt, winning the Best Screenplay and a notable nominee for the Best Film during London Film week. Since we've last seen her at Elle New York, she has turned 18, nearing 19 now, and made some drastic changes to her life.
Since her film, Yang has not been in any other production as talent, but teases us with a new project "that's coming soon, don't worry". She adores her new found love for being a creative, and is scouting to get her hands on more projects in Hollywood on that side of the camera.
Her studies continue at New York University and she is set to graduate early, next year. When asked about her ability to balance school and work, she smiles knowingly and tells us that "it's important to take breaks, but more importantly, I've chosen things I love to do".
During these breaks, Yang is often seen with fellow young actress Dior Goodjohn and international pop sensation Olivia Rodrigo. But 18 has brought a new hobby: Formula One.
"I met Lily [Muni He] and Alex [Albon] at a gala, and we hit it off. They're like my parents" she answers adoringly. She has been seen multiple times in both the Williams and Ferrari garages visiting with fans and learning about the mechanics of racing.
"I've met some wonderful people; I never really got to be a regular teenager because I was working and going to university early. They've really helped teach me about having fun and letting loose."
Next year when we inevitably feature her lovely face again, we'll see the new changes to her life.
MESSAGES
ollie
I read ur article it was great
sad I didn't get a shout out tho :(
aubrey
sorry boo
PROMISE TO GIVE YOU ONE NEXT YEARR
ollie
okay :)
anyways r we still on for the trip?
aubrey
yes mr. bearman
ollie
I was thinking Charles and Alex might want to go w us
aubrey
YESSS MY FAV MONAGESQUES
ollie
gotta go but talk later? ☺️
aubrey
kk cya bearman
ollie
bye yang :)
MESSAGES
alex 🖼️
cou cou chérie!
(hey dear)
aubrey 🎬
AHH ALEX J'avais l'intention de t'envoyer un texto ! On part en voyage en Europe ?
(I was meaning to text you, are we on for the Europe trip?)
alex 🖼️
yes but I have smth to ask
aubrey 🎬
um not the English what's wrong
alex 🖼️
DO U LIKE OLLIE
aubrey 🎬
UM BYE WHY
alex 🖼️
bc I have to watch him text u and its dégoûtant
(disgusting)
aubrey 🎬
bro idk
dior thinks we like each other
its just hes becoming such a good friend
he makes me smile
and hes so sweet and kind and gentle
hes not like any other guy ik
alex 🖼️
its going to be such a long trip 😔
aubreyyang posted on their story
olliebearman replied to your story
cute 😊
aubreyyang
ikr shes my cousins baby
olliebearman
oh
very cute
wanna play 9 ball on message
aubreyyang
YOURE ON
bearyfast_04 posted
bearyfast_04 I think im ready to be a father
liked by alexandrasaintmleux, leosdad and 10 others
leosdad fatherhood is hard
-- landoakabob u have a dog
-- leosdad u take that back hes my son
pastryboy SIR U ARE 21 WDYM CHILDREN
-- bearyfast_04 but look at her 🥰
-- arthuranddw another fallen soldier
______________________________________________________________
Taglist: @callsignwidow @iloveyou3000morgan @honethatty12 @taygrls
© sweetteainthesummerx.tumblr. all rights reserved. unauthorized copying, translation, or claiming of my writing or any works as your own is strictly prohibited.
#f1 drivers#f1 smau#f1 x reader#formula 1#ollie bearman#ollie bearman x reader#ollie bearman x you#charles leclerc#f1 imagine#formula one#f1 2024#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#ollie bearman x female reader#ollie bearman fluff#ollie bearman imagine#ollie bearman x y/n#oliver bearman
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youtube
Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc
The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!
#ACLA24#ACLA24HighSchoolStudents#youtube#youtube video#climate leaders#climate solutions#climate action#climate and environment#climate#climate change#climate and health#climate blog#climate justice#climate news#weather and climate#environmental news#environment#environmental awareness#environment and health#environmental#environmental issues#environmental education#environmental justice#environmental protection#environmental health#high school students#high school#youth#youth of america#school
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Won’t Fear Love (6/6)
Pairing: Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland
Rating: T
Word Count: 1.900
Read on AO3
„We should go a date“, Charles says on a perfectly bland Tuesday, looking up at Edwin from whatever he is doing at the moment.
If Edwin wasn’t dead already, he would suspect that Charles is trying to kill him.
or:
Five times Charles takes Edwin on a date to figure out if he could fall in love with him, and one time when he has an answer.
tagging all the lovely people who wanted to give this fic a read: @itsablueberrycow @piristephes @assignedpeanutallergyatbirth @mylu @oneweirdbean @lifeinvirtualreality
It’s the second Wednesday of the month again, for the eighth time since they have started this experiment, if Edwin’s tally is correct.
Which, of course, it is.
The last two weeks have been filled with a new case, one that is turning out to be much harder than expected, and so Charles and he are sprawled on the sofa, books in their hands, while Crystal is out to find someone whose mind might provide them with some kind of insight.
So far, Charles has not declared any plans for the night, but then again, he seems to enjoy surprising Edwin, seems to enjoy keeping him in the dark for as long as possible.
Just the month before, he had taken Edwin to a botanical garden so they could enjoy the mild weather, the flowers and the gentle quiet there; they had been holding hands, Charles had woven a crown from daisies and dandelions for him and later kissed Edwin beneath a vine-covered arch, another time just before they had left the gardens to walk back to the agency.
Now, he is laying on the sofa with his head in Edwin’s lap, which makes Edwin’s own reading slightly more difficult as there is nowhere to rest his book but on Charles’ forehead (which he had tried, but Charles did not appreciate) but is also more than worth it.
It’s nice to be this close, to weave his fingers into the curls of Charles’ hair and make him hum happily, to look down from time to time and watch Charles’ eyelashes flutter, his forehead furrow in concentration.
It’s domestic in a way that is painfully familiar and delightfully new at the same time.
“Hey, Edwin”, Charles says eventually, and when Edwin looks down, Charles is already watching him, the book set aside and resting on his chest. “I know it’s Wednesday and I do have a little something planned, but would you mind if we just spent this one at home?”
His eyes are wide and soft and dark, and Edwin knows he could say no, and ask to go anyway and Charles would take him to… well, wherever he was planning on going.
Not that Edwin ever would, not when Charles is not feeling like going on a date. Especially, since the reason for these dates is for Charles to find out if he wants this.
Edwin is about to smile, tell him that of course, they can stay in, but then there’s a flash, a thought so bright and sudden wrecking through his brain that it stops Edwin dead in his tracks.
Because that was the deal they had, wasn’t it? That they would go on dates and Charles would figure out if Edwin could be someone he’d want as more as a friend.
And if Charles doesn’t want to take him on a date tonight, then…
Suddenly, Edwin feels his metaphorical heart speed up; if he still had a breath, it would be shaky, coming in gasps, because his whole existence zeroes in on this, on Charles looking up at him, on Charles asking to stay at the agency tonight.
He puts down his book, sits up straighter, and the change in posture must have been noticeable because Charles quirks an eyebrow, even if he doesn’t move; Edwin isn’t sure if he is grateful for it or wishes it was different.
“Charles”, he starts, unsure how to phrase it when part of him wants to abandon rhyme and reason and beg Charles not to break his heart. “Please correct me if I am misunderstanding the situation, but are you trying to say that you are ready to make a decision regarding… us?”
He puts it as delicately as he possibly can, tries to keep any kind of hope, of desperation, of bone-chilling, all-encompassing fear from seeping into his voice, but he isn’t sure how, or even if he succeeds.
Especially since Charles doesn’t react at all at first, then scrunches up his nose, forehead furrowing.
“What?”
Since there is no universe in which Charles would ever treat him unkindly on purpose, or make this harder than necessary, the confusion must be genuine, which makes it easier, makes it harder still.
And, a treacherous part of Edwin’s mind whispers, what does it say about their situation that Charles seems to have forgotten about it entirely?
“Us, Charles”, Edwin repeats after a moment and even to himself, his voice sounds off, too composed to be anything but a facade. And it is, because Edwin isn’t even certain how he is formulating words, sentences, when every spectral molecule of his body seems to be frozen in hope, in terror. “When we started this… experiment of a sort, it was very clear that we would go on dates so you would be able to make a decision about our romantic future, or lack thereof. So, since you are proposing that we do not go on a date tonight, I was wondering if you were indicating that you were ready to make said decision.”
It sounds stilted, it sounds forced, but Edwin cannot make himself stop talking until he is finished, because if there is a chance that this is what Charles has planned, then he has to get it over with as quickly as possible, no matter the consequences.
His hands are shaking and Charles must see it, so Edwin folds them and presses them against his chest, while he watches Charles sit up slowly, eyebrows still drawn together like he is trying to find the last piece for a puzzle he wasn’t expecting to solve.
He’s beautiful in a way that makes Edwin wish he had a heart that could beat for him, a breath that Charles could take away; he’s anything Edwin could ever want and although ever since they started this, Edwin has been doing his best to keep his hopes in check, he suddenly realises with startling clarity that he has colossally failed in that regard.
There is still nothing that could ever keep him out of Charles’ life, but it would take decades to piece his heart back together, should Charles decide he would prefer them to be friends.
Because he had a taste of it now, of holding Charles’s hand when they are walking through the city, of cuddling close to him at night and kissing him in the morning, when the early sunlight is making his skin glow golden.
And even if for Charles this was a trial run that was found lacking, it had never felt like that for Edwin.
“Just so I can get this straight”, Charles starts very slowly, like he isn’t certain what to say, or how to say it, “Are you under the impression that I haven’t made that decision yet?”
He sounds like he cannot believe he is saying it, and Edwin cannot do anything but nod helplessly, the weight of the rest of his existence making it impossible to speak.
It takes a moment, but then Charles laughs, incredulous and yet sweet, and even if it doesn’t clear up anything, it washes away at least some of the tension. Because Charles wouldn’t laugh at him, not before breaking his heart.
“Edwin, we’ve been cuddling until a few moments ago”, Charles tells him and his voice is so gentle, so fond that Edwin wants to sway closer, wants to spend the rest of time surrounded by its timbre. “We’ve been holding hands for months now. I kissed you this morning when we were watching the sunrise. Twice.”
He smiles at the last part, like it is a memory worth reliving and that is enough to stun Edwin into talking, to kickstart the heart he doesn’t have into beating once more.
“I thought you were trying it out. To see if you liked it”, he explains, and slowly, ever so slowly, hope is spreading through his body, pumped through astral veins from his chest to the tips of his fingers, the soles of his feet.
“For the first twenty minutes of it, maybe. Not for several months”, Charles replies and he is smiling, the curve of his lips seeping into every word. “Crystal even introduced you as my boyfriend last week.”
“I thought she was teasing me!”, Edwin shoots back, but there is no heat to his words, there couldn’t be, when Charles is looking at him like he doesn’t want to look away again.
The words startle a laugh out of Charles, who then reaches out to pull Edwin’s hands from where they have been resting against his chest, holds them tightly between his own.
And suddenly Edwin’s skin feels like its thawing, like Charles’ touch is breathing air back into his lungs, is making bringing his heart back to life.
“Edwin, listen to me”, he says and there is nothing Edwin would rather do. “I made my decision months ago. I thought you knew.”
Months ago, he says, and Edwin thinks about snuggling up to Charles when they were both doing research in long, dark nights, about tangling their fingers together between their bodies while following Crystal down one of London’s long, winding streets, about Charles kissing him last night, crowding him against the door and only stopping when Edwin’s head was spinning.
It feels impossible, it feels real at the same time, and Charles is watching him with such tenderness that Edwin cannot even ask if he means it.
Because Charles would never lie to him, not about something like this.
“Can you just say it?”, he asks instead, sounding breathless and overwhelmed and happy even to his own ears. “So I can believe it. Just once.”
Charles’ fingers tighten around his, and maybe that is an answer in itself, but then Charles says, “I’ll say it as often as you want to hear it.”
And he leans in, close enough that Edwin almost closes the distance and kisses him instead, stops himself just because he knows he needs to hear it, that he will have time to kiss Charles later.
“You, Edwin Payne”, Charles starts, and raises their joined hands to press his lips to Edwin’s knuckles, “are the love of my life in every possible way. And there is nothing I want more than to spend the rest of my existence at your side.”
He smiles and his eyes are so full of love, of affection, that Edwin feels like he is drowning in it, unable, unwilling to resurface. There are tears stinging in his eyes, but Edwin blinks them away, because he needs to see, needs to commit Charles’ face to memory like it is right now, his curls mussed from Edwin’s fingers, his eyes glittering in the dim light of the office.
“I love you, too”, he whispers into the sliver of space between them, hopes to fill it with everything else he wants to, will, say. “More than anything.”
Charles’ eyes light up as he leans in, makes them shine so brightly they’re almost blinding, and just before their lips brush, he whispers, “I know.”
And kisses Edwin soft and sure and overwhelming, one hand letting go of Edwin’s so it can reach up and cradle his jaw instead, holding him steady, holding him close.
Edwin kisses back, and there is a moment where he thinks, please.
Only to realise, as Charles kisses his love onto his lips, that there is nothing more he could ask for.
#dead boy detectives#dead boy detective agency#dbd#edwin payne#edwin paine#charles rowland#painland#payneland#paynland#chedwin#charles x edwin#edwin x charles#i'll really miss writing this fic#so much#my boys ♥♥♥
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A Taste of Plums | Astarion x Female!Tav
Chapter 10: Want
Summary: Astarion finally leads Tav to a pretty, private clearing. ❤️🔥
Rating and Warnings: 18+ Explicit Content ❤️🔥. Kissing, Praise Kink, Vaginal Fingering, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Sex, Creampie, Unprotected Sex But No Pregnancy, Sexual Abuse and Recovery, Dissociation, Flashbacks.
A/N: Please mind the tags! This will be a horny and hopeful story, but I also want to honor and explore Astarion’s sexual abuse and recovery journey.
Full tag list on AO3. Read on AO3. Chapter 9. Read from the beginning.
Tav was late. Astarion resisted the urge to pace and instead stayed in position, leaning against a thick oak tree. He had brought a spare bedroll with him, which he had fluffed and arranged nicely on the forest floor, alongside a fresh bottle of Ithbank he had stolen from their supplies. He had even brought the nice glass chalices he had “found.” He didn’t have any flowers or chocolates, but at least he had decent wine. Obviously, he had removed his shirt. Once Tav entered the clearing he would reveal himself, his lean body a vision in the soft moonlight, and begin the romantic monologue he had prepared.
He was looking forward to it. He had used the same rote moves over and over again in the bars, the flop houses, the brothels. With strangers, it was better to stick to a safe script, even the repetitive one that had been trained into him. But this was a rare moment of theatricality he could plan.
Crickets chirped. An owl hooted. A few fireflies flickered and danced across the clearing. It really was a lovely spot.
He had spent a long time thoroughly choreographing this encounter. It had to be perfect. Would Tav like it soft and romantic? That was always a safe bet. Or would she surprise him? Was Tav secretly a naughty little thing underneath her do-gooder veneer? Was she as bossy in bed as she was outside of it, or would she attend his every command? He wasn’t completely sure what Tav would like, but he had a few educated guesses. Most people liked the same kinds of things anyway.
Tav was a bard. Given their reputation, he assumed she would at least be competent.
Finally, he hears new footsteps approach and Tav steps gingerly out of the darkness. She’s freshly bathed and dressed in a loose, flowing peasant blouse that sits low upon her shoulders, revealing her gorgeous collar bones. On cue, Astarion strides forward into a moonbeam, angling himself so that the light catches the hard planes of his chest, the hills and valleys of his abdominals. Tav is appropriately awestruck: she looks him up and down and up again, her pupils dilating with undisguised surprise and desire.
“There you are. I’ve been waiting,” he purrs eagerly. He prowls towards her. “Waiting since the moment I laid eyes on you.” His voice is soft and low with promise. “Waiting,” He pauses for effect. “To have you.”
Tav’s lip quirks. “Really? From the moment you laid eyes on me?” She questions. “So, was it from the moment you saw me on the Nautiloid and thought I was a Mindflayer? Or was it when you threatened me at knifepoint?”
Astarion purses his lips. He had forgotten about all of that sordid business. He was just trying to say something alluring.
“The point of the matter is, I’ve been aching to have you,” he counters smoothly.
“Well, you don’t have me yet,” Tav teases.
“Don’t I?” He softly calls her bluff. “You’re here! And I don’t think you want to talk.” He steps forward, bringing his hand up to her face. “I think you want to be known.” He brushes a few stray locks behind her ears. His fingers linger against her cheek. “To be tasted,” he whispers.
“And what do you want?” Tav breathes, her eyes wide and glassy. What a question. He wants so many things. Power. Control. Vengeance. Freedom. Safety. But in this clearing, there’s only one right answer.
“What do any of us want? Pleasure.” He holds her gaze, lowering his lashes in a sultry stare. “Yours.” His hands grab her waist. “Mine.” He pulls her body close. “Our collective ecstasy.” He studies Tav’s face, his eyes flickering back and forth across her features. She studies him back, her eyes boring into his own like she’s searching desperately for something. Suddenly, Astarion feels insecure. Why else would she be here if not for this?
“That is what you want, isn’t it?” He asks apprehensively. “To lose yourself in me.”
It’s what they always want. In these moments Astarion is not himself. If he exists, he is a pair of pecs, a ripple of abs, talented fingers, a wet mouth, a hard cock, a tight and willing hole. He is merely a reflection of his partner’s desires. It doesn’t matter what he wants.
Tav places a hand upon his own, leading it up to her mouth. She places a light kiss across the back of his knuckles.
“What I want is the chance to get to know a man who seems-" she turns his hand over. “Clever.” She kisses the palm of his hand, her soft lips lingering against the sensitive skin. “Witty.” She kisses his wrist. She ghosts her mouth up his arm, her warm breath trailing over his cool flesh. “Cunning.” She places a scorching kiss on his shoulder. “Ambitious.” She lays an open-mouthed kiss at the base of his neck and Astarion stifles an involuntary sigh. She moves upward, finally to his mouth.
“Fierce,” she declares. He instinctively leans in and captures her lips with his. She parts her lips for him and Astarion stops himself from groaning into her mouth. She kisses him back softly, her plush lips moving against his with a tender fervor that makes him feel dizzy. He forces himself to break the kiss, dropping his hands to the backs of her thighs and hoisting her up. Tav instinctively knows to jump as he lifts, wrapping her legs around him as he pivots smoothly to press her into the trunk of the nearby oak tree, pinning her there with the weight of his frame.
He kisses her again, basking in the passionate, sensual slide of her mouth as they embrace against the tree. It always felt wrong to allow himself to enjoy the tenderness of a kiss, knowing what awaited his partners. But this is a moment of his own. As he dips his tongue into her hot, wet mouth he finds that it is not enough. He wants more. More heat, more touch, more connection. Tav’s fingers thread through his curls and he shivers in both delight and dread. But her fingers stay soft, her grip stays kind and the longer she caresses him, the more he finds that he likes her attention. He squeezes her ass and Tav releases a breathy sigh into his mouth.
“Please,” she breathes. He buries his face into her neck, where he can’t help but smile against her skin.
“Please what, darling?” He teases, the smirk evident in his voice as he lays a kiss against her throat. Tav guides his face back up to hers. She pushes herself against him, clinging to his chest, and for a moment they are perfectly balanced upright. Then, Tav uses her weight to tip him backward and they tumble into the downy grass. They land in a playful tangle, Tav now seated atop him. She arches her neck in a sinful curve.
“Bite me,” she begs. “Please.” Her thighs clench around his waist. “Please, Astarion.”
Astarion surges forward, flipping them over. He was ready to forego this, but now that Tav has asked for his bite he has no qualms about giving it to her. He dives down to her neck, sinking his teeth greedily into her. Tav cries out, but her cry of pain quickly turns to pleasure as he takes his fill. As he drinks, he slots himself between her legs, settling his weight on top of her as she trembles under him. She’s perfect like this, pinned beneath him with his fangs in her throat. His neglected cock throbs for attention.
Too soon, Astarion rips himself away from her neck. As much as he loves this, he wants her alert. He needs her to feel everything he plans to do to her. He laps at her pretty wounds, swallowing every last drop. Tav bucks beneath him, seeking friction. He has mercy, grinding his hardness down against her.
“As delicious as this is, there’s something else I want to taste,” He whispers in her ear. He moves lower, pulling the loose fabric of her top down beneath her perfect, round breasts. She isn’t wearing any kind of bra or stays, a delightful surprise. He lavishes each breast with nips and kisses, her nipples hardening under his touch. He takes one in his mouth, circling her nipple expertly with his tongue as he kneads the other. Her tits feel perfect in his hands, their softness a beckoning temptation. Tav quivers and sighs as he caresses her, petting his head in a way that he imagines is loving. He wonders what it would be like to bite her here. To lay his head against the pillow of her breast and hear her hypnotic heartbeat. But as beautiful as that thought is, her chest is only an apéritif. Tav groans when Astarion moves even further down her body.
Astarion smirks to himself as he descends. He is very, very good with his mouth.
He unlaces her skirt, then hooks his fingers into her smallclothes, sliding them both completely off and depositing them somewhere irrelevant. He lays a kiss on her ankle, then her knee, then on the inside of her thigh, where a major artery throbs with precious blood. He wants to sink his teeth into it. Instead, he lays another kiss against her plush skin.
He leans forward between Tav’s splayed legs where her wet, pretty cunt glistens. He inhales deeply, openly enjoying the musk of her arousal. He looks up at her from between her legs and catches her staring, propped up on her elbows, as he knew she would be. Maintaining eye contact, he dips down and licks a slow, sensual line across her opening and up to her clit. Tav sighs, her freshly-kissed breasts heaving as she arches her perfect neck upwards. The bruise of his bite stares back at him as Astarion dips back down.
He begins with hot, heavy strokes of his tongue, savoring her taste. Her essence mixes with the lingering taste of blood still on his tongue and he moans at the heady combination. His cock twitches and a spurt of precum suddenly drips from his tips as he sucks and laps at her delicate folds. Gods, she's making such a mess of him.
He circles the delicate pearl of her clit, gradually increasing speed and suction as he works. Her hole clenches needily and he dips one, then another, elegant finger inside her, stroking her silken walls in time with the swirl of his tongue. She’s dripping with want, her channel slick and eager for him. The glide is practically effortless. He adds just a little bit of oomph behind his thrusts, jostling her hips as if he were fucking her with his cock and not his fingers. A small prelude of what is to come. She is going to take his cock so, so well.
“Astarion,” she pants. He moans against her in answer, a deep purr of approval. He crooks his fingers inside of her, massaging her relentlessly. He can feel her twitching, tightening around him. She’s almost there, he can feel it. She grinds against his face and he holds firm, providing her with the sweet friction she needs.
“Astarion!” She clenches around his fingers, gasping as she comes in tight, rippling spasms. He rides her through it, never stopping his ministrations. Not until the sweet undulations of her cunt cease and Tav relaxes in a sweaty, spent puddle. His face is a lovely, sticky mess. He gives her one last sinful lick before moving back to nuzzle her inner thigh. She whines at the loss of his tongue and fingers but he peppers her body with apologetic kisses. She grabs a desperate, but still gentle, fistful of his curls, rubbing his scalp in smooth, soothing circles. Astarion shudders at this new, intimate pleasure.
“Bite me. Please. Again,” Tav whimpers.
“How could I refuse you,” Astarion groans. He hooks one of her thighs over his shoulders, opening her up even more for him. He finally sinks his teeth into the artery in her thigh, relishing in the decadence of such an intimate bite. It’s perfect, exactly what he had wanted. He sucks hard and Tav jerks beneath him, her cunt gushing with renewed wetness. As he drinks, he snakes his hand back up to her clit, rubbing fast circles against her slick flesh. Tav cries out, whining as she quickly approaches a new peak. He releases her thigh, lapping at his bite needily.
“So good, Tav,” he slurs huskily, both her blood and her cum dripping messily down his chin. “So good for me, my darling.” Tav shudders, looking up at him with open adoration in her eyes. “My favorite.” Her face scrunches up, her body pulled tight with pleasure. He holds her gaze. “You’re such a good girl,” he moans for her.
Tav comes for the second time, her back arching off the forest floor as her empty pussy spasms. She releases the sweetest moan as she orgasms again. When she’s finished she reaches for him, pulling him up her body and back to her mouth, where she kisses him with her own deep and fervent hunger.
“You’re perfect, Astarion,” she says, kissing his cheek, then his neck, then his shoulder. “You’re so beautiful,” she murmurs worshipfully. She reaches down to cup his aching cock, rubbing him through the fabric of his trousers. Astarion groans softly at the contact.
“Your turn,” she says with a playful smirk, and Astarion realizes that she intends to work her way down. Tav begins to flip their positions but Astarion holds firm, anchoring himself above her. He wants her. But that’s not the point of this.
“Not tonight, my love. Tonight, I want to positively ravish you,” he insists. Tav groans with thwarted longing, but still arches herself up against him to kiss his treacherous lips.
“You sweet, sweet man,” she says, laying back down beneath him. He knows it isn’t true. Tav only has half of the story, by his own design. Astarion knows he isn’t sweet or kind in reality, but maybe he could be. For a night. For Tav.
“Let me show you just how sweet I can be,” he says, returning his fingers to her swollen pussy. He knows she’s already dripping for it, but he longs to feel the proof of her desire again. He did this to her. He lines himself up, teasing the tip of his cock against her drenched opening. He rubs himself languidly between her legs, coating his cock in her nectar as he continues to tease her.
“Astarion, please,” Tav whines, grinding her hips against him to match his rhythm. A shiver runs up his spine at her wanton cries. He loves it when she begs for it, desperate for anything he will give her. He wants to push it, but he stops himself. He said he would be sweet.
“Anything for my favorite,” he hums, easing himself inside of her with a shallow thrust. He works his way slowly inside of her, enjoying the way her body stretches to accommodate his girth. Tav mewls when he’s finally seated inside of her, and Astarion gives an experimental grind that makes her gasp in pleasure.
When he feels her body relax around him he sets a firm, but steady, pace, humping into her with practiced abandon. His cock drags along her tight walls, spearing her core over and over. He angles himself up against the delicious spot inside her that he knows will make her see stars. He finds it easy to fall into this rhythm, to let his mind wander away while his partner writhes in ecstasy. To let his hand find their clit, toying with it perfunctorily as they languish beneath him.
“Faster, please,” someone begs.
“So polite,” He chuckles darkly, increasing his pace. Sweat begins to bead along his brow. A hand comes up to wipe it away, jolting him out of his reverie. Lips find his own, but it’s too much right now. He gives them a quick peck then straightens his spine, keeping his face far away from that tempting and forbidden throat.
“Astarion,” a voice calls, breathless and keening. Fingers trace over his chest, running down his side, grasping at his hip. They begin to move across his back, dangerously close to it. He immediately laces those curious fingers in his own, pinning them above their head. He begins pounding in earnest, obfuscating with his body.
He feels his partner shatter underneath him, their hole clenching and sucking around his length. Their pleasure ripples through him in tight, pleasing waves and he slows his hips to a gentle roll as they come down from their climax. Tav squeezes his hand in hers, turning her face to kiss his knuckles again.
“Come here,” she beckons, drawing him down to her chest with her other hand. Astarion obeys but turns his face away from her delectable neck. Any moment, He will interrupt-
“That was so good,” she says. “You’re so good.” She coaxes him further up her body, angling his face towards the crook of her neck. She allows him to hide there, unaware of the tempest that wells inside of him.
“Please, take your pleasure, Astarion,” she urges, rubbing those diabolical circles into his scalp. “I want to feel you come,” she pleads. His hips twitch and he jerks inside of her, his body moving of its own accord. He has whispered words like those a thousand times, but Tav sounds so sincere when she says them.
It’s been so long, too long since this happened with another person. He doesn’t know if he can. But he wants to. Her arms cradle him as he moves against her, trying to lose himself in the way that he’s supposed to. That should be instinctual, that should be his by right.
He buries his face in her neck, resisting the desire to bite down. He feels the warmth of her body, breathes in her comforting scent. This isn’t just anyone. It’s Tav. Tav. Tav, Tav, Tav, Tav, Tav-
He comes hard, releasing himself deeply inside of her. A moan tears itself from his throat as he is wracked with full-body contractions, pleasure coursing through him like lightning. He takes big, gasping, unnecessary gulps of air as he hurtles over this unexpected cliff. Tav holds him through it all, whispering kind, encouraging nothings.
She turns to kiss him and he lets her, grounding himself in the push and pull of her lips. He opens his mouth to her, wanting to feel it all. Tav props them both up on their sides, brushing his sweaty curls out of his face. He can feel her smiling into the kiss and it makes him smile too, just a little.
“You forgot handsome,” he says after a moment, breaking their kiss.
“What?” Tav asks blearily.
“Handsome. Funny, clever, cunning, ambitious, fierce, and handsome,” he explains, as if it were obvious. Tav snorts inelegantly, a cute puff of air tickling his face.
“And very, very handsome,” she concedes, settling against his chest.
They stay like that for a long time, silently luxuriating in each other’s arms. Astarion can’t remember the last time he trusted this peace. He’s waiting for it to be interrupted by the the click of a door handle, the muted tap of a staff against ugly carpet, and the red glow of his sire’s cruel eyes, freezing them both in place on one of the overstuffed, impersonal beds of the palace.
Tav shifts in his arms and he resists the urge to hold her tighter. Her hand strokes his chest in a consistent, easy sweep that lulls them both into a deep, peaceful rest.
#astarion x reader#astarion x tav#a taste of plums#astarion smut#astarion pwp#astarion fanfic#astarion longfic#the night shift#astarion romance
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almost every origin being more fun and compelling to play as a woman but Morrigan only being romanceable by men is so cruel of bioware. how dare. anyway love and light to Rory, I hope he lives the dream (kissing Morrigan)
its sick and twisted fr...
i’m having fun with rory though!! f!brosca is most notable for not being anything like her sister and performing this very masculine role instead, which whether she likes it or not kind of removes her from her gender in others’ eyes and has some really fascinating moments. (brosca origin is really incredible for this. taking a man’s role as well as a warrior caste role in the proving, leske saying hail to the sodding king! regardless of brosca’s gender... crazy. love it.) m!brosca is the more obvious answer for a tough carta dwarf guy and less blatantly has Something Going On, but also on top of that he was primarily raised and educated (insofar as he is educated) by his trained courtesan sister, which has a little sprinkling of fun gender to it in itself. in that he’s like the reverse of that action woman trope whose older brothers taught them how to fight. i’m not sure yet how far i’m pushing that—he still is the rough carta guy—but i think that’s going to be really fun to play off morrigan who in some ways has quite a prescriptive idea of what men are like or at least in her experience finds threatened masculinity easy to target. i don’t think “guy who will offer to do makeup and braid hair without batting an eye at any comments over it” is really a category of guy she’s adapted to especially when it’s not really what you’d guess from looking at him
#i think he definitely talks a bit fancy like rica had been trained to talk bc they practised all her voice lessons together#which is my explanation for giving him the charming elf male voice as a treat bc its my favourite#and he would probably get more heat for that in dust town if he didnt also hit so goddamn hard#... which is probably *why* he can hit so hard#but i think that only rlly comes across to other casteless i dont think the party are really reading that until they’re in dust town#it would be funny to switch him to a dwarf voice now lmao like it changes depending on who’s listening#actually that would be cool...#rory brosca
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The Harbinger
Summary: Ventress’ return to the screen was iconic, but what if it didn’t happen? What if…someone else came to tell the Batch about Midichlorians? And that someone just happens to be Darth Maul? A different story begins to play out, as this time our visitor has dangerous ulterior motives.
Word count: 1706
Notes: Based on this post by @third-generation-female-warrior ! This may be one of my favorite ideas ever and it was so fun to write! Hope you enjoy.
Tag list: @traveller-of-word-and-screen
Omega walked along the Pabu beach, Batcher right next to her. It had been a very peaceful day so far. It was good to be back on Pabu, to be back home. Omega and Batcher walked in the sand, the cool morning air of the sea breezing by them. The skies were becoming grayer day by day. Omega hoped that didn’t mean another sea surge, or anything bad for that matter.
Omega was near a rocky part of the beach when Batcher began barking. The lurca hound then ran off towards the cavern up ahead.
“Batcher, wait!” Omega called after the blue hound. She quickly ran after her. She came to the cavern and saw Batcher standing just outside of it, barking at whatever was inside.
“Batcher relax,” Omega said, patting the hound’s head. “It’s just the cavern. We’ve been in there plenty of times before.” Batcher whined and ran around Omega, clearly nervous. Omega sighed and turned on her flashlight.
“Okay, okay. I’ll check it out.” She grumbled. She loved the hound, but sometimes she really got on her nerves. She walked inside and immediately noticed something new. Something strange. A large ship had landed inside the cavern, and it just barely fit inside. Omega hadn’t seen this kind of ship before. It had a round body, and large wings that looked like they could spin while flying. Omega’s flashlight illuminated the black and red colors of the ship. She reached up and touched one of the ship’s large wings.
“Where did that come from?” Omega wondered aloud. She heard Batcher barking again and turned around. Batcher was still at the entrance to the cave. Suddenly, the hound backed up and ran away from the cavern.
“Batcher! Where are you going?” Omega called. Omega suddenly felt a presence behind her. And it was not a good one. She turned around and saw a man in black robes, with a red and black face with all kinds of markings. He had horns on his head that formed a sort of crown.
“Ah, hello.” He said. His voice was eerie. Omega didn’t like this. She began backing away from him, trying to get out of the situation. She hoped Batcher ran off to get her brothers.
“…who are you?” Omega asked, still trying to back away. The man swiftly walked around her, forcing her path to now go back towards the ship, away from the cavern’s entrance.
“Well, Fennec sent me. She said you needed…help. Something about Midichlorians?” He said. Omega was still very wary of him. “Come along, there is no need to be so anxious.” He said, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “Would you like my help, or not?” Omega stopped backing up. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself, like she’d seen Gungi do in meditation. She faced the man once again, feeling a little less nervous but still on guard.
“First, tell me who you are. And how you got here.” She said, folding her arms. The man smirked and nodded.
“Yes, yes, of course. One cannot skip the pleasantries. You may call me Darth Maul. As for your location, you needn’t be worried that Fennec ratted you out. I found you myself. Now, why do you want to know about Midichlorians? It’s quite reckless to inquire about such things.” He said, clasping his hands behind his back. Omega paused for a moment, then answered as best she could. She couldn’t tell him the truth, she didn’t trust him just yet.
“It’s…for a friend. The Empire’s after her, and…she’s worried it’s because of the M-count thing.” She said. Maul looked unimpressed by her lie, but played along anyways.
“I see. Well, Midichlorians are something in the blood. Everyone has them, but…at varying levels. It is believed that the more you have, the more able you are to wield the force. Jedi…and Sith were known for having higher counts.”
“You’re saying I’m a Jedi?! I mean..” Omega blurted out. She did not mean to say that out loud. Now he knew for sure she’d been lying before. Omega watched him nervously as he laughed softly and smirked.
“Well, not quite. You would need…training to be a Jedi. However, that can be easily arranged. So, child, are you sure that you have a…high Midichlorian count?” Maul asked softly. Omega could tell he was trying to gain her trust by being less intimidating. She decided this was the only lead she had, and curiosity got the better of her.
“I’m not sure. Like I said…the Empire’s after me. I think it’s because of M-count. I can’t be sure though.” Omega said. Maul placed a hand on her shoulder, and Omega got a very uneasy feeling.
“Well, then you have come to the right person. I…can test you for any signs of a high M-count. It shouldn’t take long. I know a planet where we can go that has the necessary equipment. A ruined place, but plenty of old Jedi equipment was left there. I know their ways, and I am sure that—“ Maul was cut off by the sound of blasters clicking. Omega looked past him to see Hunter, Wrecker, and Crosshair with their blasters up and pointed at Maul. Batcher was beside them, growling.
“Step away from her.” Hunter said firmly. Mail took his hand off Omega’s shoulder and turned around to face them, hands behind his back once again. He took a step away from her. Omega warily moved away from him and over to her brothers.
“Who’re you?” Wrecker asked. Maul stepped out of the shadows of the cavern, fully illuminated by the midday light peeking through the clouds.
“I am Darth Maul, as the child already knows. Fennec sent me to help with your…questions.” He said, examining the group with care. “The child has explained. I can help, but I will need to take the child off world to test her—“
“Not happening.” Hunter said, tightening his grip on the blaster. Maul grumbled and took a step closer to the group.
“Listen carefully. That child is in danger. The Empire is hunting you because of a high Midichlorian count. I can…protect the child. I have been looking for a new apprentice for a very long time, and I—“
“I’m not going with you.” Omega spoke up. Crosshair handed her the electric crossbow from behind his back. Omega knew what this was coming to.
“That…that is unfortunate,” Maul spoke softly, then reached for something at his side. “For you.” He drew what looked like the hilt of something and it ignited into a red blade. Hunter and Wrecker immediately began shooting at Maul as he rushed towards the group. Crosshair pulled Omega out of the way and began trying to get a good shot at Maul. Omega readied the crossbow and began shooting at him as well. Maul was fast, clearly experienced. He used his saber to masterfully deflect each blast away, and then he made his offense. He went for Hunter first, dashing towards him and kicking him square in the chest. Hunter was knocked back a decent amount, and then Omega noticed something strange about Maul’s legs. They looked like Echo’s. Tech had explained what happened to Echo (with Hunter filtering some of it), that his legs were cybernetic. Droid parts. And Maul’s looked the same. His legs were artificial too, meaning that any kick he gave would be incredibly powerful. Just like getting hit with a giant block of metal, since that’s what was essentially happening.
But Wrecker hadn’t noticed this. And when Maul went to use the same move on him, he tried to deflect it. He ended up getting thrown off to the side, and hitting his head on a nearby rock. Maul turned to Omega and Crosshair next. Wrecker was near the water, out cold. Hunter was several feet away, struggling to regain his breath. Maul took a step towards Omega and Crosshair, who’d lowered their weapons and stopped firing for the time being. He held his lightsaber to the side and outstretched his free hand.
“Child. I am giving you one last chance. Come with me, or die with these fools.” Omega looked at Maul’s hand, then back up at him.
“I won’t be dying with fools,” Omega said, confident. Maul had a pleased look on his face. Just as he went to say something, Omega brought her crossbow back up and shot Maul’s shoulder. “I’ll be dying with my brothers.”
Crosshair took his chance while Maul was stunned. He shot Maul in the rib as he stumbled back towards his ship. Maul grumbled angrily, but recognized the situation he was in. This wasn’t worth it. He didn’t even have confirmation the child *was* force-sensitive. He limped back to his ship and stood on the ramp, looking back at the clones.
“…you are lucky I have…other options.” Maul then entered his ship, and a few moments later the red and black ship flew off. Omega immediately ran over to check on Wrecker and Hunter.
“Wrecker?” Omega called for her unconscious brother, trying to shake him awake. Wrecker stirred and slowly got up, rubbing his head.
“Ugh…that guy was no joke.” He said, sitting up. Hunter had gotten up too, and he was walking over to Omega. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, a concerned look on his face.
“Are you alright, Omega?”
“I’m alright.” Omega said, smiling. She stood back up from Wrecker’s side. Crosshair stepped forward, placing a toothpick between his teeth.
“So. You told him?”
“…yeah,” Omega said, now feeling a little guilty. “I thought he was going to help. But…it’s clear he wasn’t going to.” Omega looked back to where the ship had been moments ago. “I guess we’re no better off now than we were before.”
“No. He knew how to find us..did he say how? We never told Fennec our location.” Hunter asked, still looking concerned.
“He didn’t. I didn’t know you hadn’t given her our coordinates, so I didn’t ask,” Omega said. “But he did tell me what Midichlorians are. So…it’s a start.” At this, Hunter smiled softly. She always tried to make light of the situation.
“It is. It certainly is.”
#the bad batch#star wars#star wars the bad batch#sw tbb#the bad batch season 3#star wars tbb#sw the bad batch#omega tbb#darth maul#maul opress#tbb omega#crosshair tbb#hunter tbb#wrecker tbb#the bad batch fanfiction#star wars fanfiction#tbb fanfiction
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Yuusha is such a cute name omg🥺🥺😭💞💘💞💘💗 How did you come up with and find it??? THIS NAME SUITS YUUSHA VERY GOOD XDD💞💞 HAVE A NICE DAY✨
AJBDJSSJ HI HI OYA THANK YOU SO MUCH AND WHAT A SURPRISE SEEING YOU IN MY INBOX 🥺🥺💖💖💕 I HOPE YOU HAVE A NICE DAY TOO 💕💕💕
so short version answer -> i got her name from this yuusha from a visual novel game app!! i just thought the name was so pretty so i kept it in my back pocket just in case i wanted to use it for one of my ocs, so now here i am with my yuusha!! :DDD
"yuusha" is also a protagonist/MC in the game so i just thought this tidbit from the wiki really fits her!
(longer version answer below because i kind of went on a ramble before deciding to shorten it aahhhhh 😖😖😖)
aahh so i tend to make a lot of OCs so i just keep a list full of names that i find that i think are interesting so i don't have to keep looking up new ones!
when i was looking for names with "yuu" i forgot i wrote down "yuusha" as an idea in my list and i'm so happy i found it again because if i didn't, yuusha would have been yuuki/yuki instead (because i also played obey me back then hfdnsnfd)
also also!! the yuusha which i got her name from is also an isekai protagonist into a fantasy world which is SO ironic (yuusha is their default/"canon" name in the story!)
(the game is named "Lovestruck" and it was one of my favorite visual novel games because it has a diverse collection of stories and characters, but it was recently discontinued/shut down in 2022 and you can't download it anymore 😭😭)
AAHH ANYWAYS if you've read this far, thank you so much for liking her name and i'm glad to hear you think that it suits her!! 🥺💖💕💖💕
#ALSO i really appreciate your likes and reblogs 🤧💖💕#you're always so very nice and lovely and i enjoy your art and your posts!!#thank you again!!! 🥺🥺💖💕💖💕#[—#✦ asks#☆ oc rambles#(💜) yuusha#—]
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I noticed for the rlgl au the boys seem to have eyelashes when at work, and none at home, do they wear make-up or have other ways to fancy up for work?
They help eachother put on the makeup before work! Its special makeup made for robots (stays well on silicone and metal) that is reflective and plays with the light emitted by their eyes! Imagine something really iridecent!
#sundrop#moondrop#dca#daycare attendant#fnaf sun#fnaf moon#my art#rlgl au#if you want i could make like a small addition to what kind of makeup looks i think theyd have#but that would take some time#also i know absolutly nothing about makeup#so idk#anyways i hope that answered thequestion<3#also yes moon is wearing lace boxers in this
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Questions TBB Better Fucking Answer Soon:
Where the FUCK is Tech??? Stop fucking giving us hope that he might be C2-X or whatever the fuck. Fucking show us his dead body or give him back to us!
Where the FUCK is Cody?? Huh??? Where did he go??? Only acceptable answer? He's on his way to Tatooine to be with Obi-Wan. You reveal that and all will be forgiven. I promise. Maybe.
WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED WITH WOLFFE FOR LETTING REX AND THE GANG GET AWAY HUH??? I'M SURE THERE WERE CONSEQUENCES!! WHEN THE FUCK ARE WE GOING TO GET HIM BACK???
What the fuck is up with Omega. Straight up. What. How. and Why? Same with Emerie. How the fuck did they come to be? Are they trans? yes. next question.
Also why does Emerie get a last name and nobody else does, hm? Why is she Emerie Karr, is that like,, did she choose that or like?? Ok dumb question sure but like,, EXPLAIN HOW AND WHY OR JUST CONFIRM SHE'S TRANS OR SOMETHING C'MON NOW.
SHOW US WHAT THE FUCK IS IN THOSE FUCKING TUBES!
I'm sorry, I'm yelling but I've spent most of this season fucking confused and frustrated.
Where the fuck did the zillo beast go? And when is it going to eat Hemlock and Palpatine?
So...Senator Chuchi and Clone Revolution when?
And like...Cid is just...she's just going to be able to get away with what she did? We're just gonna forget about her? I mean sure, but I really thought they'd bring her back or something.
What the fuck happened to Crosshair on Tatniss? Wait, nevermind, don't tell me, I don't want to know, it'll only make me sad-
WAIT SO LIKE,, DID CROSSHAIR EVER ACTUALLY GET HIS FUCKING CHIP REMOVED OR NOT???
Explain again Hunter's enhanced senses and why the fuck he seems to have lost them in this season.
Also answer why Wrecker is the most perfect man ever? Why did they craft the most wonderful man to exist and then make him not real? You trying to kill me or what?
Feel free to add on because there are only the ones on the top of my head.
#i feel like i have a lot more questions than answers#and that gives me hope that maybe we're getting a new show or something#but like#i shouldn't hold star wars to that kind of standard now should I?#whatever man#no way they're tying this all up in two fucking episodes#god fucking dammit#i mean i'm sure they'll answer most of those things#considering there is only TWO FUCKING EPISODES LEFT#i think you can tell why i'm so on edge#anyways#max's musing#tbb#t#tbb s3#the bad batch#tbb hunter#tbb echo#tbb wrecker#tbb crosshair#tbb tech#tbb omega#royce hemlock#doctor hemlock#emerie karr#commander wolffe#commander cody#captain rex
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drabble request u say??? mayhaps a punkflower cuddle sesh??
If it was strange for four people to have the same love language, Miles and his friends were complete anomalies. They’re always touching in some way— secret handshakes, hugs, entwined fingers, or sitting side-by-side like he and Hobie are now. So Miles doesn’t really think much of it when Hobie swings his legs up over his own.
They’re watching some movie, or rather, a movie is playing while Miles tries to beat his high score on subway surfer and Hobie takes intermittent naps. Miles thinks Hobie is just stretching out, that he’ll settle back down into a comfortable position and drift off again like he has many times before— but Hobie isn’t so easily appeased.
Hobie stretches out again, lifting his legs and then dropping them back down on Miles’—waiting for a reaction. When he doesn’t get one he huffs, flipping himself over and reangling his long limbs until his head is in Miles’ lap, watching him tap away at his phone.
Hobie can’t see the amused smile that works its way onto Miles’ face.
After a few more moments of silence, Hobie makes a noise of discontent. He’s bored and tired and tired of being ignored, although he would never beg for attention (no matter how badly he wants it). Instead, he slips his hand up into Miles’, effectively forcing him drop his phone.
“Hey-“ Miles’ starts to protest, although he doesn’t put up much of a fight when Hobie’s fingers interlock with his and he readjusts again. Hobie joins him on the L-sectional, forcing himself between Miles and the arm of the couch, tucking himself in the gap like it was made for him. He’s much more content now that he’s a tangled mess around Miles, letting out an exaggerated sigh as he closes his eyes again.
Miles isn’t one to deny him this, equally content as he relaxes back into the cushions.
Illuminated by the blue light of the TV, the two boys fall asleep in each others arms— lulled to sleep by the soft sound of the other’s heartbeat.
#fens fables#hobie sleeping wherever he wants 🤝🏾 my cat#anyway i hope this is at least kind of what u were hoping for !#atsv#flowerpunk#punkflower#i don’t know which is right and i refuse to learn#i’m running off of 4 hours of sleep and thoughts and prayers so if this is bad lol?? whoops ig#fen answers#fens fics
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The Accident - Part XIV
Atsumu x fem reader
Warnings: Alcohol
Words: ~ 2.3 k
About: Meeting Atsumu- not in the way you planned though >.<
Part I II -> Next Part
"How would you feel about maybe going out tonight? Hinata and Kageyama will be there too. They would love to see you again, y/n!" You press the phone against your ear and listen to Yachi's cheerful voice while you get a glass of water. "I'd rather stay at home, if that's alright with you." Yachi breaths out deeply at your reply, and you embarrassedly scratch the back of your head.
"That's okay. Is it... because you're still thinking about him?" She carefully asks, and your heart skips a beat when your thoughts drift to him.
She's talking about Atsumu, who still hasn't tried to contact you after more than a month- and you still stalk his Instagram every day, kind of hoping that he'll notice you. A part of you finds yourself very pathetic for that, but you know that you'll let him go eventually. Or at least you hope that you'll be able to. You still feel a pang in your heart whenever you receive a letter addressed to "Mrs. Miya" or when you look at the diamond ring that you finally put aside in a box in your nightstand.
"A bit, yeah. But it's not because of him. I'm just a bit tired. I'll probably go to bed early today."
She hums and hesitates for a second. "If you need me, or if you need to talk about him again, you know that you can always reach out to me, 'kay?" You smile fondly at her words, her concern for you making you feel a bit more at ease, because you know she'll always be on your side. "Thank you. Have fun and say hello to Hinata and Kageyama!"
"I will!"
You both say goodbye, and then you end the call. A relaxing night with a good TV show and a facial mask sounds just perfect to you. And this also might help you to get Atsumu off your mind.
xxx
The shrill ringing sound of your phone wakes you in the middle of the night, and you're alert when you blindly reach out for the phone and see the contact's name.
Osamu Miya is calling
You remember when he had given you his card back then at Onigiri Miya's while Atsumu was using the restroom, just in case anything ever happens, and you had saved his contact without giving it much thought but never reached out to him. Why would he call you in the middle of the night?
You hesitate but finally take the call.
"Hello?"
"Y/n? It's Osamu. I know you probably don't wanna talk to me too, but can I ask for a favor?"
You're in shock when you hear his familiar voice, even more so when you hear his request. "Uhm... what favor?"
"It's about—ya know. Tsumu. He's... kinda unstable ever since ya ignored him. I wanted—" You frown at his words and can't help yourself but to interrupt him.
"Wait a second. What do you mean ignored him?"
You sit up straight in your bed, all your fatigue gone instantly. "The message he left last week? Listen, I get it, he is an idiot, and he is a little pain in the ass, I wouldn't listen to him either."
You blink confused, having no clue what he's talking about and he seems to interpret your silence as agreement.
"Forget it. Y/n, the favor. Can ya come over at Onigiri Miya's? He's drunk and dumb, and I can't do this anymore. I don't know what'll happen if he keeps up with that attitude."
You hold your breath while you listen to him, and your jaw drops at his words. "I- I don't know what to say. If you really need me, I'll come. I don't know if I can be much of a help though."
"Yes. Yes, we need ya here. Ya need a taxi? I can get ya one." He is quick to offer and you hear him sigh in relief.
"Uhm... yes, that would be good. Thanks." You hear a loud shout in the back and the sound of a shattering glass and flinch subconsciously. Osamu curses and yells something inaudible before you hear him clearly again.
"You're welcome. Thank ya for helpin' me out."
"Uhm... sure? I Shouldn't you call his girlfriend though?" Osamu yells another time and you nervously fidget with the blanket in your hands.
"His girlfriend? Wait. Ya actually met her? No wonder ya never tried to reach out. Forget that freak real quick, just come here. He can explain that whole thing to ya."
You stay silent and then nod. This might be the only way for you to find out what really happened back then. "Okay. He'll have a lot of explaining to do, though."
"Sure."
You nod and hang up the call to get off the bed, your whole body feeling electrified. You definitely wouldn't have thought that you'd meet him so soon- leave alone tonight. But thinking about how you've been feeling during these past few weeks, you know that you need this. You need to talk to Atsumu Miya, and you need to talk to him tonight.
xxx
You take a deep breath when you finally stand in front of Onigiri Miya. Not exactly how you expected your Saturday night to go, but here you are. At 2:10 am.
You hesitantly reach out for the door and pause. How will he react when he sees you? Has Osamu already told him that you'll come? How will you react when you see him? You push the door open with sweaty palms and you're met with a sight you did not expect.
Atsumu is sitting at the counter of the restaurant with Osamu standing right next to him, both of them yelling at each other and Osamu wildly gesticulating and throwing a towel. You spot two bottles of beer behind them on the counter and you're pretty sure that they are both from Atsumu. They both don't seem to notice you, still too absorbed into their fight.
The door loudly falls shut behind you and both suddenly stop yelling—not that you could even get a single word—but the sudden silence is almost awkward. They turn to you, and they both just look at you like you're a ghost, without saying anything. You wait for a few seconds, but can't stand any more awkwardness when the silence stretches longer.
"Uhm... hello?"
Atsumu suddenly gets on his feet and approaches you, and you stand there frozen when you see his red-rimmed eyes and the way he's almost stumbling while trying to reach you. Before he gets even close to you, he suddenly falls to the ground, his feet clumsily tangling with each other.
"Atsumu!" you quickly get closer and kneel next to him, concern evident in your voice, and he heavily gets on his arms and lifts his upper body just enough to look at you. You stare wide-eyed at him, your hands hesitantly reaching out for him but pausing mid-air while you look down at him.
"Y/n?" It sounds a bit slurred, and you nod with a frown.
"Yeah." You awkwardly stare at him while he clumsily takes a seat on his ass, his eyes now shining happily while he watches you. "I missed ya." You force a smile on your lips that you hope doesn't look too bitter. He pinches his eyes together, and one of his hands comes to your cheek—almost slapping you, and you flinch a bit when he leans a bit closer, the strong alcohol in his breath evident when he exhales deeply. "Ya don't look happy." He looks sad while he watches your face, and you suddenly feel tears in your eyes. "I'm... you hurt me, Atsumu." You know that he is intoxicated, and that he is in no state to give you a proper answer, but you still needed to get this off your chest.
"Hurt?" he echoes, his eyebrows furrowed while he's trying to understand your words. "Don't wanna hurt ya."
You nod and gently take his hand to remove it from your cheek and hold it. He looks kind of cute sitting there on his ass, and you simply stare at him, a part of you wanting to cry while another part wants to yell at him, but you just stay silent.
You hear someone clear his throat and look at Osamu standing behind him and watching you both attentively. "Don't wanna interrupt, but I wanna go home. I couldn't get him to leave tonight. It's gotten worse since last week. Since that message he left ya."
"What message?" You frown and direct your attention to Osamu. He raises an eyebrow and gestures towards Atsumu. "The one in which he pathetically asked ya to talk to him?"
You shake your head. "I didn't get a message from him."
"Oh." You look blankly at Osamu, and he looks blankly at you. Atsumu's hand suddenly tightens around you, and he whines cutely. "Y/n! Talk to me- yer here for me!" Osamu rolls his eyes and sighs deeply.
"I'm sorry. I was just so annoyed, couldn't stand him. It's fine if ya don't wanna give me a hand here."
"No, I can... I can help you out. What do you want me to do?" You try to ignore how your skin prickles where Atsumu starts to rub circles on the back of your hand, something that feels surprisingly way too intimate for you.
"Can ya help me get him home? I can get ya a taxi or- wait. Do you have a driver's license?"
You nod, and Osamu smiles happily. "Ya wanna drive his car then? Don't worry about the insurance, it's all good. You're officially married after all." He snorts at that and grabs Atsumu's bag to search for the keys. "It's only fair that ya get to drive his damn car then."
Your eyes go wide when you think about driving Atsumu's luxurious car, but you know that Atsumu does not live too far away, so you hesitantly nod, thinking about how nice Osamu has always been to you and how you want to help him out of this misery. And since you're already here, you can at least help him get Atsumu back.
You turn to Atsumu and try to smile as sweetly as you can. "Atsumu? Will you come with me then?" Atsumu seems to have a hard time understanding what you want from him, but finally nods and grabs your hand tighter while he tries to get on his feet. Osamu is quick to come from behind and to pull on his shoulders until he's fully standing, and you raise your brows when you see Atsumu barely pulling himself together. "I'll help ya get him in the car. I need to close the store; will you manage on your own after that? You can call if you need me."
You nod wearily and watch him carry Atsumu basically to the front door, when Atsumu starts complaining. "Y/n, come with us—" he whines and grabs your hand tighter, and you actually smile a bit when he's pouting adorably. "I'm here. Don't worry."
It feels like an eternity to get Atsumu in the car when he calls for you every few seconds and wants to make sure you're still with him, but Osamu finally managed to get Atsumu on the passenger seat where he starts snoring after a few moments.
Osamu sighs and rubs his eyes. "If he's not waking up when yer at his place, ya can call me. I'll take care of him then."
You nod and take the car keys with a slight hint of nervousness. You're just glad that the streets are basically empty at this time, so it should be fine for just a few minutes of driving. And technically, you're still his wife, so this should be fine, even if you scratch it accidentally. Osamu looks at you and nods, and you grab the keys tighter. "Thank you." Osamu opens the car door for you, and you slowly get on the seat. "I really appreciate it. Yer gettin' a free meal when yer comin' to Onigiri Miya next." You softly laugh at his comment and nod. "I'll come back to that offer."
He grins and yawns tiredly. "Drive safely."
You turn on the engine, and you wave at him. "You too. See ya."
"See ya."
xxx
The ride went smoothly, and you couldn't be more thankful when you finally park the car in the spacious garage. Atsumu has simply been snoring next to you, just mumbling a few inaudible things every now and then and the streets were basically empty at this time. You exit the car and open the door on his side, softly shaking his shoulder. "Atsumu? Can you come with me? Atsumu?" You coo, trying to softly wake him up, and he finally opens his eyes, still groggy and sleepy. "Y/n?"
"Yes, it's me. Will you come with me?"
He seems to have a hard time understanding what you want from him again, but he nods.
"Come here." You wrap Atsumu's arm around your shoulders and desperately pull him with you, and he finally gives in and lets you take him out of the car. "Y/n... missed ya. Yer gonna stay the night? Ya can have my bed. We can share. Share with my pretty- wife." He hiccups, and you take a deep breath to suppress your feelings. He sounds so genuine and cute, you almost want to believe his words. "Come on. We can talk about that later."
You have no idea how long it takes you to bring him to the elevator—more like drag him to the elevator—but you sigh in relief when you press the familiar number, even though the elevator has brought you so many painful memories by now. He mumbles some barely understandable words in your neck, his weight heavily resting on your body while you pull him with you as soon as the doors open.
"Come on, we're almost there."
"Hmm... coming." He lulls, following your direction, and you both finally make it around the corner—only to find someone already standing there. A familiar face that you hoped to never see again.
"You?"
#haikyuu fanfiction#haikyuu x reader#atsumu#atsumu x reader#atsumu fluff#WELL!#seems like we're not getting answers in this part#BUT IN THE NEXT PART#I PROMISE!! <3#hope you enjoyed this#and driving Atsumu's car#I just know my hands would be so sweaty omg#ANYWAYS#i just thought that I kind of like Osamu x y/n#they have a very cute dynamic#NOT ME SHIPPING Y/N WITH OSAMU NOW AHH STOP WHY IS OSAMU SO HOT AND PERFECT I'M SUCH A SIMP#Atsumu needs more sweet and fluffly moments#GRRR#PULL YOURSEF TOGETHER MAN#He'll be back in the next chapter- no worries here! <3#LOVE YA!#stay safe and healthy y'all! <3#feel hugged and sleep well! <3
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corvin
[id: two digital drawings of corvus from the video game paladins. he is a pale-skinned young man wearing a red and black caped coat with the collar pulled up over his mouth, and has brown hair with a white streak. the first image is a portrait of him from the shoulders up alongside a full-body drawing. text beside it reads 'guy who really needs to stim but isnt letting himself so hes just standing about looking intensely uncomfortable'. the second image is a full-body drawing of him holding his pistol and knife in an action pose against a background of scenery from the game. overlayed text reads 'I'M JOINING THE WAR AGAINST AUTISM ON THE SIDE OF THE AUTISM'. end id. ]
#paladins champions of the realm#pcotr#how do i tag him he doesnt have a surname does he. or does he <- guy who doesnt know the lore#paladins corvus#that should do it. im a tagging master#anyway i have been playing more paladins than is good for my health recently and i love this guy a lot#i love For The Greater Good characters especially when they are extremely autism also#it makes me so sad that so many people hate him. i mean i get why but also Hes fun :( and sillay#my entire perspective on him changed once i realised he was autistic (which was almost immediately tbf)#everything made sense. enlightenment#anyway i cant decide if i would recommend paladins because it has kind of ruined my brain and also my sleep#schedule but if any of you already play it/play it in the future im VictorKain over there :-)#can you guess who i main. anyway feel free to friend me (altho i wont know who you are unless you message me first)#i hope you are all doing well my friends! i still have some things to answer im sorry about that i am a slow beaft#i love you all very much. kiss you on head#artwork
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