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#that's why ivy is wearing a blue tie
cherubispunk · 7 months
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THANK YOU, MR. MILLER - bfd!Joel Miller x Reader
summary: caught up in the devistation of you parents ever crumbling marriage, you seek help and comfort from your older neighbour.
a note from lucy: this is one my faves i've written so far. I hope you enjoy because I did.
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wc: 7789 warnings: 18+ MDNI! no outbreak au! bfd!joel, angst, fluff, smut, p in v smut, fingering, oral - fem receiving, light choking, age gap (reader is twenty one, joel is in his forties), swearing, mentions of infidelity and divorce.
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Most days you wished you could tie your fluctuant thoughts together in a neat little bunch with a ribbon, maybe yellow or blue, knot it into a bow. Like a bouquet of flowers. Except they were not flowers. They were brambles and stinging nettles and those weird little dandelions that only stay pretty until a gust of wind strips them bare to their stalks. 
To spite this, you had an avarice for perfection. As a result of all the times life seemed to spiral out of control. Like ivy up the trunk of the oak tree in your back garden. You cried the day your father had to saw it down; Only being Eight and watching through the sliding glass doors of your living room. Your treehouse came down with it. All that was left was a stump now smothered by your mothers prize winning hydrangeas. Tonight seemed to be one of those moments. One of those life altering experiences that are jarring even if you see them coming. 
Deep down, in the pit of your gut that formed first at the family dinner table through awkward conversation, you knew it was coming. Your brother who left home a year before you, yet to return even once from the army, knew it. Everyone else on the street did too. Heck, maybe the whole of Austin’s suburbia knew? Knew about the pathetic crumbling foundations your parents’ marriage sat on. It was tilted at an alarmingly steep angle as pillars of salt corroded, eroded, dissolved. It was jarring in a way that knocked air out your chest and winded you. A way that blew your eyes wide. Now, without you or your brother in the house, they had no reason to keep up appearances behind closed doors as well as in the open, and they slipped.
It's why you found yourself staring at the front door of the Miller household. Praying that the only friend you had in close vicinity, heck in Austin, full stop, could hear you rant about the shit you encountered barely mere moments ago. The same shit that was happening under the roof of your childhood home. In your parents’ marital bed. 
Just like the decay of a loving vow, It was no secret you had changed over the time away. You filled out your clothes more, despite losing a little weight from how skint college made you. Long gone were the awkward blemishes to your skin, and growth spurts that made your jeans too short in the leg, and growing pains of puberty. You had a little skip in your step. One that was no longer weighed down from the dull life you lead when back home. Your first year of college was difficult to begin with. But you slipped into routine there. And you found your people. A few friends, some on your course, some not. But coming back after your third year…it was…new again. 
And the way Joel’s eyes roved over you for a split second upon seeing you at his door— it made an invisible shiver of something jolt down your spine. A shiver that rattled each vertebrae. It had you smoothing over the hem of your shirt into your stupid little gym shorts. You chose to wear them because it was comfortable to travel in. But now you felt cold and small under his gaze, like an ant under a. His face softened when he saw the shimmering streaks of tears run down your pretty little face, eyes red while you reached up to wipe your nose and sniff. God, the ground should just open in a gaping hole and swallow you, bones and all.
“Uh, sorry to bother you so late, Mr. Miller.” You choked, closing your eyes and holding in  breath, cursing how easy it was for you to cry. Your mother often chided you for it. Said ‘no one likes a crybaby’. And your father would butt in with ‘stop having a bubble’. Words that still sting as they yelled out in echoes in your mind while you stood on his doorstep. “Is…” another sniff, “is Sarah in?” Joel’s head tilted to the side slightly, only askew as he tutted slightly and offered a sympathetic smile of pity, “No. She’s with her boyfriend. Ain't been back yet.” 
“Oh.” You nodded. How foolish you had been to think that your end of term dates aligned with hers. “Okay. Thank you anyway.” You turned to leave, only getting about ninety degrees in your turn on his doorstep before he stopped you. 
“Do you want me to give her a message when she gets back tomorrow?” He watched as only your head turned back towards him, your feet staying firmly planted to the floor. Jesus Christ, you missed the sight of him. Missed seeing him in the mundane setting of suburbia. It made it so much more interesting. His shirt, it hugged his torso, the sleeves clinging to his large biceps like a second skin and stretching the dark fabric taut. A deranged part of you slipped back to your 18 year old self, peeking through the window to see him pushing the lawnmower across his front lawn in the dry heat, a dark patch of sweat collecting on the dip of his lower spine and across the wings of his shoulder blades. 
“No. That, uh…it's not urgent.” You tried, the corners of your lips tugging a smile, a sad little one that made you look far worse. A lie smeared across your now pale face. 
“You look tired, Sugar.” He said, the words seeping into the very marrow of your aching bones, wrapped up in that southern drawl you missed hearing through your open bedroom window. In the morning’s when he called out to his brother if he picked him up for work. Tommy, you remembered, was his name. “You got somethin’ weighing on your mind?” You willed yourself to shake your head, but you couldn’t bring it within yourself to lie right now. So instead you just nodded. “You wanna come in for a second?” He asked, glancing between you and the house across the street. The one unspeakable acts of infidelity were currently happening just beyond the white picket fence, and the manicured green lawn. It made your stomach twist into knots and your belly churn in a queasy mix of bile and the muffin you got at the airport that early morning. His eyes, however, stayed on you when you too glanced back, swallowing dryly when he saw the soft curve of your ass hang out the bottom of your bunched up shorts, the soft, malleable skin teasing him, making him hot beneath the collar. He had to adjust his jeans slightly as they got a little tighter, the nasty thoughts of how the swell of your rear would ripple with the dents of his fingertips if he was rough enough. Would they leave bruises on your skin? 
Fuck. Joel cursed himself in the tangled confines of his mind. Damining for the sexual frustration that caught him off guard. He hadn’t had a good fuck in years, but the way your tear stained cheeks glowed in the dim light of his porch had him caught up; Wondering if you’d cry like that for him as he bent you over his kitchen counter, tits pressed to the linoleum, cheek smushed under his hands, your body jolting from erratic thrusts, his hips sapping into your behind. Would you cry out his name? Or would you resolve into whimpers and whines? Joel would admit, using the sight of you as a way to set his dick wet was the lowest of low, a depth he didn’t think he’d reach even in the throes of painful, biting sexual frustration. But it seemed to have boiled down and condensed together over the years. And being parched of the sight of you, your innocence over the time you were away — to then have you flung back at him? It had him growling in his own mind. Clawing at the yellow wallpaper. Just shy of a year since seeing you last over the street. That’s all it took for desire to light a fire in the pit of his belly and set up camp. And it wasn’t a traveller anymore. It was there to stay until satiated. The length in his jeans wanted him so gravely of that. 
Pervert. He thought to himself bitterly, laced with a vehement venom. It neighboured his lust for you. 
“Okay.” He found himself blinking once, twice, a sharp inhale of air waking him up as it shot through his nose. You replied with the affirmative! 
“Okay.” He nodded back, jaw ticking, the muscle in his neck flexed under the pressure of his teeth biting together, making you want to mimic it with your thighs— to ease the ache just slightly.
He stepped to the side. 
With an audible gulp, one that made you cringe, you tiptoed on a proverbial tripwire, a livewire, into the foyer of his house, past him. A breeze followed you through with gusto, making a mockery of your senses as it blew his scent into your face when you turned back round to face him. He closed the door and you felt a relief, one that was short lived because you were now surrounded by him. His smell, his sight. Everything about him, it was clinging to the walls, painted a white that you imagined glowed a warm, mellow yellow in the morning light. An oddly domestic thought to be having given you were thinking of all the ways he might just make you fall apart just two seconds ago, drooling over him his tight fucking t-shirt.
It did look so warm, though, a faded black from being washed so often, the Rolling Stones album cover printed on the front was cracked, like the canvas of an old oil painting. Specks of white fluff clung to the fabric, a normal sight. But it did nothing to help your want for him. It would smell so richly of him, so lavishly of Joel. You knew it. 
‘God, this was so inappropriate!’ You scolded yourself in your head, letting him lead you into his kitchen. If you had a tail that little fucker would be folded shamefully between your legs, curled in sin.
The only sound in his kitchen came from a fan that hummed weakly as it oscillated on the counter. It reminded you of a thought you had when leaving university for the summer. Would I miss the cool rain of Colorado? You felt a lot like that fan. Pathetic. Swinging meekly between left and right. Never able to stick to one side due to the instability you grew up around. Smothered in. 
“College good? People treatin’ you well?”Joel asked as he filled up a glass of water for you and slid it across the counter your way. You nodded tentatively, wetting your lips with your tongue before raising the glass to them. He watches with a secret hunger as the cool glass met your lips and you take a small sip to soothe your parched dry throat. 
“Yeah.” 
“Where'd you go again? Washington, right?” “Colorado.” You corrected him.
“Colorado. Right.” 
He paused after nodding…and the air was once again stagnant due to the fall of conversation.
“What major?” He asked again, making you look up at him in a skittish movement. Like a fucking deer in headlights. You wanted to bolt like a rabbit at the sound of a shotgun instead. I’m your disgust, your feet stayed firmly planted into the linoleum tile of his floor. 
“Uh, I'm studying education.” He nodded, pursing his lips as he mulled the thought over in his head with a nod. 
“You wanna teach then?” He inquired. You nodded, “Sounds about right. You were always so giving. Very selfless of ya.” You set the glass down, swallowing down the sip you took just before. You can’t help but smile a little at that, eyes closing as you let yourself feel — for just a moment — that you were meant to be laced up in his words; Wrapped and held in place by a little bow. Like a birthday gift, or something under the decorated tree at Christmas. 
This little second to yourself didn't go unnoticed by Joel. It made his heart thrum rapidly, pinch behind his lungs in the cage of his ribs. It had him up in arms again over his riling thoughts. They stuck to the walls of his mind, clinging to them like a rabid animal. If you’d let him, he'd sink his claws and teeth into the action upon those images. Spur it into play. Maybe sink his teeth into the plush of your skin too. Would you like that? To be carnally desired. Would you consent to that horror born of lust? He thanked the separation of the kitchen counter hiding his cock that pressed to his thigh under his jeans, blood flowing south as you held back tears again after a wave of short lived relief. 
“What’s up, pretty girl?” He asked. Making your eyelids spring open again to meet the dark chestnut of his irises. The warm hue from the under cabinet strip lights illuminated the individual honey gold flecks in them. You swore your knees buckled, joined groaning. “You got a lot running round that head of yours.” He pointed out, noticing the tight scrunch of your brow. It would curl like that out of pleasure, give him half a chance. He was sure of it. Fucked out and overstimulated, limbs sprawled out beneath him like a wire in a snare trap. 
Your silence was deafening and he sought out to fill it when giving you another once over. Her rounded the kitchen counter, praying your eyes stayed on his because the way your shirt swallowed you whole had him wishing he was the one doing that instead, covering you with himself. Holding your naked self to his chest. Feel. 
“You wanna sit for a bit and talk about it?”
You gnawed at the tip of your thumb, a nervous habit that had Joel wrapping his large hand around your wrist and pulling it back. His digits engulfed your wrist completely. His size compared to yours was startling. His smile was kinda, masking the thoughts of what those tiny hands would look like, wrapped round his dick as he hissed at the friction your smooth plans would give him. Would it wrap round the girth perfectly? Would your thumb meet your middle finger as you took hold onto him? Probably not. 
He swallowed, trying not to think the same for your lips as you once again darted your tongue out to draw the plush pink of your bottom lip between the whites of your teeth. 
Instead, he settled for pulling you gently forward, cheating you round towards the living room with a steady palm to the small of your back. He felt the jolt you made, and then the way your muscles eased, the arch of your spine soothing and straightening out. 
With a gentle touch, he led you to the sofa, sitting beside you. Waiting for you to speak. 
“E-everyone saw it coming.” You croaked out, an annoyance and intolerable hate for yourself and your dumbfounded stupidity pinching at your sides. “Even I saw it coming! I just don’t understand why I had to find out in such a-“ Joel watched your eyes dart around the carpet of his living room, as if the answer would lay right there, nestled between the threads and fibres, “a messy way…” you continued with a small voice. He titled his head towards you, raising his brows with gentle ardence for what you had to say. 
And so you spoke. Told him of the messy tangling of your fathers limbs with another woman’s. The sound of them. Disgusting. Gut wrenching. How they mingled with the bedspread in a frantic assembly of passion and appendages. 
Joel’s face turned into a grimace. He knew. He saw the two of them enter your home together when washing the dishes of his meal for one. Drunk, cheeks flushed with the secret they carried. An infidelity. He’d seen your mother commit a similar sin earlier this very week. He cleared his throat, resting a careful hand on your thigh, one that would make him lose control had it not been for its place just above your knee. Any higher and he was in hot water. He knew it. 
“Sweetheart,” he started in a soothing, sympathetic but also telling manner, “Adults don’t always get it right. We…we ain’t perfect either.” He tried. He felt like he was having a conversation with Sarah. A torture of de ja vu. Way back when. Years ago she asked what happened to her Mummy. And he had said the same line of truth. A bitter, harrowing truth. But one everybody discovered sooner or later. He wished you knew it before and he wasn’t the one to twist those pretty features into pain instead of pleasure. He was silently begging to whatever higher power that was watching, that he wasn’t being perverted. That you didn’t see this is some little trick to get you vulnerable, in a headspace where he could fuck you until you felt better. Or until you entirely forgot. Forgot all but the way to mouth out his name in a shrill cry. 
If you even knew in first place all the things he wished to do with you. To you. 
“Sometimes you just find someone who ain’t right. They might be at the time. And you feel so sure ‘bout it that you make promises.” You listened, relayed it in your mind while you bit the inside of your cheek in futility. It wasn’t easy. Not by any means a conversation you wanted to have. But it was needed. The two of you knew it. A twisted part of you was glad it meant you got a chance to talk to him. To have him touch you gently. 
He reached forward, tucking a single lock of hair behind your ear to see the hues of your irises. The way they gleamed slightly with tears. It was the prettiest sight of total devastation he had seen. Joel was no man of hubris, but he’d be damned if he didn’t think that getting you on all fours, crying a little for him in pleasure would boost his ego. 
You glanced up at him, grinding your teeth together nervously while the ghosting of a calloused fingertip skimmed the top of your right cheekbone. If it weren’t for your thighs sticking uncomfortably to the leather of the sofa in this heat, you would have decayed to submission and slipped to the floor. 
Joel let his knuckles that he cracked together to feel the grounding of physical pain, feel a comfort instead as they skimmed down your jawline. Physicality was so much tamer to him than emotion. There was the promise of knowing when you’d feel better that came with the ache to his joints and lower spine. 
'`Thank you, Mr. Miller. It’s okay.”  You sniffed, “I- I’ll be okay. I think.” Joel let a kind smile spread over his face. 
“I know you will. You're a strong little lady. But please, call me Joel” Your eyes closed again and you swallowed. But opening them – that was the damning part. Because the moment they did, you saw how he flickered between each of your eyes. It must have been the intimacy of having the permission to use his first name, because it had you inhaling deeply in need of him. 
You were surely frozen to the spot, his hand moving slightly higher up your thigh in a gentle caress before dragging back down to squeeze your knee. You let yourself have the pleasure of gazing at his lips. A mistake because it made you yearn to kiss him more. How would rough hairs of his upper lip feel against your cupid's bow?
It seemed your body moved of its own accord, for your lips met his. It was unlike anything you could have imagined when in bed, two fingers buried in your pussy, imagining they were his. His hot breath fanned over your lips, making you want more. But it was cut short when he pulled away with a groan. 
Your skittish nature took hold of the reins and you jumped back, springing to your feet, hands tugging in your hair. “Oh, god- Joel- I…” You stammered, tears once again welling in your bloodshot eyes, “I’m so sorry. I thought…”
What? What did you think? That something would come of kissing your older, very age inappropriate neighbour? Fuck. 
He stood up quickly after you, fists balled as if he was holding something back. Joel watched as you paced the floor once, twice, stopping at the far end of the room by the wall, distance yourself from the magnetic pull you had to him. “Hey, it's okay.’ He assured, taking a tentative step closer, hands now flat, fingers spread slightly as he tried to calm you down. “I’m not mad, sweetheart, okay?’ You took a breath in through your nose. Let it out again in a tremble of breath. 
Another step closer. He was closer than needed, but you weren't the one making that call. He was. So you took it as a good sign, still pleading for his forgiveness though. 
“Sorry.”
“You don't have to apologise for nothin’, Sugar.” He assured with that slow southern drawl again. It stretched out his syllables and smoothed out his vowels with it. God, it was a beautiful sound. One you wanted to muffle with your lips, with your legs over his ears. He was now an inch away from your chest, leaning closer to whisper in your ear. “I’d be lyin’ if i said I hadn’t wanted it.” 
The sentence sent a jolt throughout you. 
“Look at you.” He mumbled into the crook of your neck, the junction of your throat. A swallow passed through it, the cartilage of your windpipe flexing under his lips. “Too beautiful not to be touched.” 
Those words struck a certain chord on your heartstrings. Plucked away at them like a harp. Made the beating of that very organ thrum in song. A tuneful symphony he felt through your pulse. 
Too beautiful not to be touched.
No one had said that to you before. No one. And it was like a life altering experience. A mere ‘thank you’ didn’t feel like enough to respond with. It felt pathetic to say in comparison. And silence was so much more pathetic. But you couldn’t really articulate anything to say back. You just…stood there in awe of him as he continued to place careful, open mouthed kisses to your neck. 
“How would you do it?’ You asked breathlessly, eyes closing, lashes fanning out over the tops of your cheekbones, “T-touch me?” You stuttered through fragmented, beating breaths. His kisses, they grew messier by the second now, and he hummed in amusement into your skin. Into the heat of it that crept up your throat. This was so wrong. So perverse it hurts is what he thought. But the pleasure from just his lips — it stung at the backs of your eyes like a prickling of tears; Oh god, it felt right. Right. Real. So, so…real- it was real. Repeating the word in your mind had it losing its meaning for a second, a jumbled up sound in the voice of your inner ear, your articulatory process working overtime just to feel into him. Feed the need for him.
“First.” He started, pushing you gently by the slope of your shoulders, until your back collided softly to the painted plaster of his living room wall, “I’d push you up against the wall.” He paused, pressing an open mouthed kiss to your collarbone, the shallow skin that was teased into view for him as he hooked a finger into the crewneck of your large t-shirt. “And then, I’d pin you down.” The thought made you whimper, a pulse of pleasure aching between your legs. Unquenchable, not able to be soothed by anything that wasn’t the touch of his rough fingers, the calloused pads of his digits. Middle and forefinger. 
“You want that?” You nodded frantically in reply, breath catching your throat as he tugged at your shirt more. “Words. Use that pretty mouth of yours for words, sweet thing.” 
“Y-Yes, Joel.” You stammered. Pathetic. Embarrassing. But it was impossible when his whole weight, his broad frame, toned with years of manual labour, pressed you into the wall. “Yes.” He let out another amused hum, except it tailed off into more of a growl now. A guttural one that rumbled in the back of his throat and reverberated in your ears. Rattled your ribs until they ached. It pinched them. The skin over them too and the lungs under them as well. Lungs that shivered from his touch.  
“You wanna feel pretty.” It was not a question. A statement of understanding. One that made you think he once cracked open your skull and read each thought. The pages of your diary, even. Back to front. Cover to cover. Scour each word, ravage it of meaning the same way you wanted him to do with you. To your cunt that pulsed and soaked the fabric of your underwear. It made the skin of your inner thighs sticky as it dripped down gluttonously. “You want me to make you feel pretty, hm?” 
“Please.” 
He pulled back, a gleam in his eyes, and an almost evil smirk to match curled at the corner of his chapped lips. “I can do that, sweet thing.” He cooed, lulling you into a false sense of security. “I can make you feel pretty. Matter of fact, doll. I can make you feel fuckin’ beautiful.” You were now waving a white flag over your head to him. In that battle between your morality and lust, the turmoil of your needy, disgusting thoughts that echoed in your bones. It filled the hollow space between them. He stole away into it. He would make you feel pretty. Beautiful. He said so himself into the skin of your neck that now prickled violently with goosebumps. They made his words physical, scribing them out. A beautiful collision. And a stunning one it would be if he defiled you with the thrust of his hips. He’d make space for himself anywhere and you'd let him. Let him make roots in your mind. And not just the thought of him that you conjured up. No. He’d anchor himself there. Without your help. He’d make them himself. Without your involvement or investment.  
It was no longer a question of how much you were willing to let up to him. How much of yourself you’d give up to him and set in his possession. It was now the complete certainty of how much he wanted. Or needed. You saw in his eyes he needed it. A comfort, a release of clashing teeth and viced limbs to his waist and back. It frightened you how easy it was to give that to him. To let him take that pleasure and make it his. His. His, his, his. Carve out a chunk of yourself from your arms that you hoped would surround him in the throes of messy heat. Give it to the man on a silver platter, surrounded by pomegranate, cherry and apple. Sweet fruits of you. Your fruits of your labours to him. 
“We should stop—” Joel said into the skin of your neck, hands grasping at your hips, upper thighs. His fingers sank and embedded into flesh. He kept changing his mind, you kept changing your mind. But the actions he bought on, pressed to your skin by crafted lips, a little too far away in his own head — they went against his inhibition. Perfectly encapsulated the erotic stimulation as his hand slipped down your side to tangle messily with the hem of your shirt. 
“We should.” You agreed breathlessly, immediately, chest in tandem with his, it’s rise and fall as they beat ceaselessly together, touching up to one and other. 
“—But I can’t.” He continued. 
“Neither can I. So please don’t.”
Being wanted. Wanting too much. It fed the idea of him but left you starving as you found those roots you made of him in your head being overgrown and overtaken by his own now. It was happening. In his own living room. Behind the closed curtains as he drew closer, closer, the windows seemingly fogged up to the outside. The suburbia that held its messy and primitive life, guarded by picket fences. Greying and peeling picket fences. Not white. Not pure. Not anything but decaying. Oh, you’d decay into him in a heartbeat. Give it all to him. Let him take it. Going through to the beating of your heart and crashing through your ribs. Rip it out your aching, pinching chest. A gaping hole left behind.
He didn’t stop. And thank god he didn’t. Because the way his hand smoothed between your thighs, between the seam of your shorts. Maybe it was something that was so taboo no one spoke of it? Maybe you too wouldn’t even speak of it after this. But it was too addictive to bother you. It seemed to flare your synapses, send shockwaves of rolling pleasure, cascading from your slouched shoulders as you slumped slightly more into him and off the wall. Your head spinning in circles loosened your chemicals. An endorphin rush. Pulled out your centrefold, staples bent and mauled as your pages fell from the book and onto the floor in front of him. Letting him tear you apart column by column. 
“Lean back, pretty girl.” He commanded softly. Deftly. It made you feel like fine art, sculpted veins of his hands that flexed as they palmed your cunt through the two thin layers of fabric, slick clinging to them. You obeyed so well.
Joel’s curved, rigid nose ran along your carotid artery. The one that thumped with your quickening pulse. This anticipation and forbidden pleasure made him realise he was always more comfortable in chaos. In something a little out of the ordinary and unstable. Unhealthy. Joel gave into the temptation of low hanging fruit because it was there. And you got so little from anyone that what small intricacies you were handed, you let him. Let him as he snatched it up and bit a hunking chunk out of your soul. A souvenir for himself. Pulled the apple from the tree in the garden of Eden, sank his teeth into it, let the sweetness seep out of the core onto his tongue as it unravelled into addiction. 
You were his apple now, and your teeth were bared to him, like his were to the delicate, shallow skin of your neck, the ridges one slopes of your collarbones. While his fingers, long and thick, slipped past the hem of your shorts, deeper past the little bow in the centre of the hem of your underwear. The crown of your head fell back gently to plaster, and mouth fell open with a small high gasp as he finally made contact with your clit. He hummed again. The slick you offered him made it so easy to give an experimental circle of his fingers. 
Middle and forefinger pinching it slightly, circling it the way you felt you circled each other before now. 
“Don’t wanna break you, sugar. Gotta be careful.” He said as his fingers coaxed you into bliss. Toes curling in your socks and high top converse. 
“Please- I don’t care if you do- just—“ More. You needed more. Nothing, no matter how much you dreamed of this, seemed to be enough yet. “More. Please let me have more.” 
“How much more?” He growled, rolling his hips into your thigh as he lost a little composure. It was just as he thought. Your begging was so sweet. Did God feel this way when he heard prayers?
“Inside. I want to feel you inside.” 
His breath hissed in his throat as it caught between the walls of his windpipe and the strings of his vocal cords. With a slow, dragging pace of rough fingertips, he moved further down your slit, spreading your lips apart and holding a single pad of his digit to your hole, teasing you at your entrance. He growled again, teeth and mouth parting as he sank them into your shoulder. It made you cry out in a sharp wail when he slipped a single finger into your fluttering heat, cunt suffocating his digits. He was up to his middle knuckle deep in you, pulling out to do the same with two now. Middle and forefinger, curling them. Physically be king you towards a release. Your legs tensed and relaxed as each wave of pleasure rumbled through you. Hips bucked slightly into him and his free hand grapes at the flesh of your hip once more to slam your ass back into the wall. 
“Good girl. Such a pretty little lady. Beautiful little cunt for me.” He cooed after unlatching his mouth from the purple bruise of a bite mark on your shoulder. His hot breath kissed the shell of your ear and made the ache settle into pleasure deep in your walls. Right at the end. Right there. “Is it all for me?”
“Yes!” You whimpered, “Yes— all for you, Joel.” 
“Mhm. Good girl. Beautiful little lady.” 
His fingers seemed to pick up a pace, but it was hindered by the tight material of your clothing. So he opted to shove it over the swell of your ass, down to your mid thigh. Not bothering for want and need of pressing his fingers back into you. Plunging them back into your tight heat. The warmth and wetness lead to lewd sounds squelching between your quivering thighs, the meat of your flesh. 
“Good girl.” He whispered again, grasping your chin in a vice grip and pulling you closer, crashing his lips to yours in a clashing of teeth and mingling of moans. “So fuckin’ needy. So fuckin’ Love it.” Joel growled, “And it’s all for me. Makin this old man feel so special, doll.”
Tears burned your eyes with the white hot pleasure that coarser through you like a racehorse. They slipped from the threshold of your waterline, and the moment he tasted them against your lips, he pulled from them, licking a hit stripe up your cheek. He lapped them up, inhaling deeply through his nose, caught up in everything your body gave him. “Gonna make you feel so fuckin’ beautiful. Make you forget about it all. Only want you to remember my name.” You nodded, his fingers now up to the hilt in your tight little hole that clamped around him, threatening to spasm as you lost control.
 It burned in your lower belly. The crying, shrill screaming promise of climaxing. 
“You’re so close. Can feel it.”
“Yes, Joel.”
“Want you to come for me. Let that pretty little cunt of yours come on my fingers.” It was purely debaucherous, disgusting how fucking good it felt. It made you angry for some reason unknown to your mind. But your orgasm was so tangible at the time you couldn’t bring yourself to care. 
You cried out, your slim fingers gripping at his hair, fisting the curls between your nails and palms. It burned you up inside. Or was that from his fingers? Fuck, the thought of his cock and what pleasure it would unfold inside your anatomy had your mouth watering. 
“Good fuckin’ girl.” He growled obscenely into your ear as the most animalistic howl you had made yet tore through your bronchioles and rattled in his ears; Bounced from the walls. 
The moment your walls stopped squeezing him he pulled his fingers from your messy heat and shoved them past your lips, teeth scraping at his knuckles. “Taste it. Ain’t it beautiful? Ain’t you just the prettiest little gift to me?” You nodded, eyes locking zealously with his while you cleaned his fingers of your release. The tang of your juices had your eyes rolling back in your head. And Joel wanted more. So he pressed them further into the cavern of your mouth. His blunt nails passed the hard palate of your mouth, pressing into your soft palate nod. And the gag you gave out had his already angry cock twitch viciously in protest behind his zipper. 
“Gonna get you naked now, Sugar. Gonna see what pretty little body you’ve been hidin’ away from me all this time.” 
You nodded frantically, these moments of oblivion being all that you needed now. The infidelity of your parents’ now a thing of the past, cast to the attic of your mind palace. The walls are now painted in colours of him. Lifting your arms to aid your own undressing, he yanked the hem of your shirt up, tossing it aside, large hands now hooking into your bottoms and pulling from your still quivering legs. Those same hands, ones that you were convinced were crafted and out into this very earth for your pleasure, hooked under your thighs, lifting you up into him. Legs wrapped around his waist without hesitation while he carried you to his stairs, ascending them with haste burning in his stomach. Your hands tugging at his hair and your lips to his neck made his strides larger, taking the steps two at a time. 
You were well into the belly of the beast now. Consumed and swallowed, wallowing in a haze of postcotial bliss.  
His foot kicked open the door of his bedroom, and you felt the spring of the mattress under your back, pushed down from the rebound as he found himself once again on top of you. His hips now met yours, still clothed and he could feel your wetness seep through the waters of clothing.  
“Please, Joel, wanna feel you.” He was slowly going at you with a stitch picker, pulling you apart from the seams of your fabric. And he relished in it. You both relished in it. “Wanna see you. All of you. Please?” 
A hand of his hooked behind your calf, pulling each of your shoes from your feet, followed by your socks and he smirked devilishly down upon you. “Oh, yeah?” He asked, chuckling evilly to himself. A sound that made you writhe atop his bedspread; Made you want to creek into his skin and barks yourself between his spine and ribs. Any free space of him. 
“Yes! Please.” You begged, reaching out to grasp the hem of that shirt he wore. It’s faded fabric bunching in your meagre handfuls. He growled, dragging you closer by the swell of your thighs, pressing the hard and defined line of his dick through his jeans into your wanting slit. Pink and puffy cunt swiping against denim. The friction made you jolt. 
“Sure thing, Beautiful.” – ‘I’ll make you feel fuckin’ beautiful.’ It echoed again in his words and wanting, hungry actions. – “As soon as I taste that gorgeous pussy of yours.” 
He sank to his knees, joints not clicking because he felt young. Fucking Alive. A hot stripe made by the flat of his tongue made you mewl, a hand in his hair once again. The other splayed out on the covers, propping you up to get a view of him buried so deeply between your thighs, nestled into their apex, tongue fucking into your fluttering hole and the tip of his nose pressed to you clit. Your brow scrunched, jaw unhinged. Like him. With every slight roll of his head, the defined curl of his nose brushed your clit deliciously, each nerve ending of the bud was alive, live a livewire. It rattled in your bones, steam through your blood. Tingling as the sensation spread through your limbs, almost like pins and needles. 
The angle was altered ever so slightly as he hooked both of your knees over his shoulders, inhaling the sweet musk of your cunt. He growled into it, lips smothered in your juices that gushed onto his tongue.”Come on, little lady. Wanna taste you gushing over my tongue.” Joel mumbled drunkenly between your parted thighs, his eyes boring deeper holes into your already blown pupils. Dilated and wide. 
It was all the coil needed to burn brighter and tighten in its twisted knot, snapping clean in half as you reeled. You shoulder blades crashed back down to the mattress, back arching, strung tight in a deep curve while you writhed. He tugged you closer, moaning lowly into the seam between your thighs, slurping needily at what your body gave him. He hummed, addicted now. That taste was fatal. He had his forbidden fruit and he’d jump to far higher branches to get another taste if it came to it. 
“Taste so good. So fuckin’ good, doll. Like sugar.” He cooed again, pulling back once he had his fill for the time being. A good thing because the way the scruff of his chin rubbed at your thighs was starting to become harder to ignore. 
You watched through heavy, half lidded eyes as he pulled off his shirt to reveal sweet skin, the slight pudge of his stomach. You followed the smattering of hair in his happy trail down to his jeans, just as he popped the button. 
“Gonna fuck you real good, now, Sugar. Gonna make you feel so beautiful.” You believed him. Every word as it became gospel to the pair of you sinners. “Gonna me you want it even after this.”
“Always wanted it, Joel.” You mumbled, hypnotised by his fingers as they hooked into his jeans. He tugged them down over his hips, dragging down his adonis belt, softer, less harsh compared to the contours of the rest of him, such as his arms. He pulled them down in one swift motion with his boxers, his heavy cock slapping onto his lower abdomen, thich, red, the tip swallowed and leaking, drooling gluttonously with a rivulet of precum down the underside of his length. 
His hand wrapped around it, the large splay of his palm did nothing to dwarf its size with he jacked himself once, twice, three times to the sight of you. Fucked out from merely his tongue and fingers. He squeezed the base of his cock with hiss, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth after cursing under his bated breath. 
“Promise it’ll only hurt for a bit, Sugar.” He swore sweetly at the sight of your anxiety. How you shifted slightly atop his covers. He was able to read you so well, like a book he had scoured the ages of every night before bed. It made you feel special. Sacred. The way he did it so easily. It was everything you wanted. Someone to tell you and assure you of your safety even when you didnt voice a single concern. “I’ll make you feel so good.” 
He ran the tip up and down your slit, having to hold back from slamming into you when the bulbous head notched at your entrance.
“You on birth control, beautiful?” He asked as he leaned over you, bent at the waist, wrapping your legs around him securely. 
“Y-yeah.” 
Joel took that as a go ahead to push into you, pressing his hips flush to yours as you swallowed him inch by deliciously thick inch. 
“Good girl.” He crooned, spelling both of his psalm over your hairline sweeping the hair that stuck to your forehead in the sheen of sweat atop your skin. His large hands dragged over the top of your skull to the crown of your head, down the back of your neck. The delicate dragged of roughened skin made a trail of goosebumps rise over your skin, blazing in his touch’s wake. He trod a path with his hands down to your breasts, kneading each one between his palms, still buried to the hilt inside you. How he had so much restraint, he didn't know. And neither did you. But the needy roll of your hips into his showed just how desperate you were. He groaned at the start of the friction between you, and slowly dragged back out of you, moving just as slowly back inside. 
The motion turned into a needy clash of his hips to yours. Again. Again. Again. Somewhere along the sting of passion and heat, his hand wrapped around your throat, feeling the flex of it as you swallowed under his palms. He bit down into your neck, reaching out from you as his hips slammed erratically. His heavy balls slapping against your ass. 
Your cunt drooled down his shaft, down to the base, down the sensitive skin of his cock. He growled and ground and hissed in your ear, grip tightening in your neck. You felt it tighten. And tighten. Right in the pit of your stomach, deep in your sopping wet cunt. Suckong him back in as the angle of his hips snapped up into the spot that had you seeing entire constellations. They darted to and fro across your vision. It blurred the edge, spotted slinging over the back of your eyes that now burned with tears of pleasure. 
His fingers gripped tightly at your hip, thin brushing over your hip bone down your mouth to toy with your clit. And action that sent you spiralling, babbling his name nonsensically among a string of curse words. So pretty and fucked out beneath him. Joel couldn't help but stare in awe as your eyes rolled back into your head when your orgasm hit like a freight train. 
He came undone coon after, his climax hitting a crescendo with a growl bitten into your shoulder, leaving another beautiful purple mark on your flawless skin. His thumb still rolled over your clit gently, helping you ride that experience out for all that it was worth. 
And then he scooped you, took care of you, let you stay the night. And when you were asleep, wrapped up in his sheets, clean, loved. He stole away downstairs, gathering your clothes, bunching up your panties in his fist, hiding them away in his nightstand. 
Not that you would have cared. 
You didn’t have to gather your thoughts anymore. Joel replaced them and the stinging nettles and the brambles and the dandelion stems with pretty sunflowers, lavender and sweet peas. And he tied them up with a sweet little ribbon of pure gold. Just for you.
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well he collapsed with stevens-johnson syndrome on the er floor panic attacked anaphylactic and ataxic and the way he spun his butterfly risked all six his phalanges roman candles at both ends in his synapsis and the method with which he recycled his humours trojan horsed his blood brain barrier and raised the ld-50 yes yes and through fight or flight revelation shame the blackbox warrior he skipped this town and headed straight down history shields himself from reason in a kevlar baby blue tuxedo quilted from the finest fibers flesh and fiberglass and flowers ego a mosquito evil incarnate good incognito pops placebos for libido screaming bless the torpedoes for what for what for what its worth if it was gonna kill you boy it would have by now for what for what for what its worth theres no more looking back its looking up or looking down well he was wearing stolen rubber shoes and wrapped a poison ivy noose around his lotus jugular when they came and they found him with a map to every victim of his love and a tattoo of a blue jay on his face and they waited for his vital signs to lie and let a flatline cry a hymn out in hungarian harmonic and he cocked his noggin through his stoma sang for aul lang syn happy birthday to the succulents ill die your hydroponics his ribcage was a hornets nest palpitations set the beat his vagus nerve a turks head knot an axel hitch a carrick bend he wondered if christ consciousness would charge a cancellation fee auf whiedersehn au revoir he gripped his wits right by their ends for what for what its worth if it was gonna kill you boy it would have by now for what for what for what its worth theres no more looking back its looking up or looking down hello welcome why dont you take a seat get comfortable relax take a second if you need to now what's bothering you well why dont we start at the beginning growing up how was your relationship with the fundamentals of conscious existence did you have xenon orchid sinews spilling down the outer center of your blooming escher/mandelbrot head and how about claustrophilic tendrils clapping caskets closed on seven-knuckle thumbs did you get along well with the gideon bugler pineal glands your projector eyes casting sci-fi's on your strd strands tell me about your nerve to steal nerves of steel from under bacchus bloody nose did namibian himbas tie-dye you your ears pierced with a phineas gage flagpole did you die before your day thursday traction tuesday titration my hope is to assess through my objective report of your subjective conjecture whether this proprietary bled of expertise and seasoning works as well as this transorbital ice pick holistic ballistics you got a better idea its about the best we could come up with what you think ideas spread because theyre good no they spread because people like them so now here we are once again holding as it were a mirror up to your mirror i guess its just something people do a bloody knife to split your infrastructure wine to rev your motor function coital machinations of the dead well you mainline your animus karate chop your abacus and learn to be an animal instead but I never did think you better than this your modus operandi causes nazi/skoptzyism and suicide why to thine own self be true when it is you who are the problem not the things you do but something sick inside lithium and dialectics boy you really is defective cbt dont seem effective for that cluster b accept it offer up your innocence please ignore the side effects youve lost your mind and almost lost your life before so youll be fine for what for what its worth if it was gonna kill you boy it would have by now for what for what for what its worth theres no more looking back so try to look forward now for what for what its worth if it was gonna kill you boy it would have by now for what for what for what its worth theres no more looking back its looking up or looking down
good morning :))
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Battle of the Fear Bands B2R4: The Corruption
BlackBoxWarrior:
“A song about a man struggling with his health (be it mental or physical). The song makes the treatment seem inhumane and just as terrifying as the initial problem. It’s almost like he’s getting sicker and sicker but just won’t die.”
youtube
Thermodynamic Lawyer:
““Disease is her primary language” - every line of this is filled with rot and disease and bugs and it’s 100% corruption.”
youtube
Lyrics below the line!
BlackBoxWarrior - OKULTRA:
Well he collapsed with Stevens-Johnson Syndrome on the E.R. floor Panic attacked, anaphylactic and ataxic The way he spun his butterfly risked all six his phalanges Roman candles at both ends in his synapses And the method with which he recycled his humors Trojan Horse'd his Blood-Brain Barrier and raised the LD-50, yes, yes And through flight-or-fight revelation shame the Black Box Warrior He skipped this town and headed straight down history Shields himself from reason in a Kevlar baby-blue Tuxedo Quilted from the finest fibers, flesh, and fiberglass, and flowers His ego a mosquito, evil incarnate good incognito Pops placebos for libido, screaming, "Bless the torpedoes"
For what? For what? For what it's worth If it was going to kill you boy, it would have by now For what? For what? For what it's worth There's no more looking back, it's looking up or looking down
Well, he was wearing stolen rubber shoes and wrapped a poison ivy noose Around his Lotus jugular when they came Well, they found him with a map to every victim of his love And a tattoo of a blue jay on his face And they waited for his vital signs to lie and let a flatline cry A hymn out in Hungarian Harmonic But he cocked his noggin, through his stoma sang, "For auld lang syne" "Happy birthday to the succulents, I'll die your hydroponics" His rib cage was a hornet's nest, palpitations set the beat His vagus nerve a turk's head knot, an axel hitch, a carrick bend He wondered if Christ Consciousness would charge a cancellation fee Auf wiedersehn, au revoir, he gripped his wits right by their ends
For what? For what? For what it's worth If it was going to kill you boy, it would have by now For what? For what? For what it's worth There's no more looking back, it's looking up or looking down
Hello, welcome, why don't you take a seat? Get comfortable, relax, take a second if you need to Now what's bothering you? Well, why don't we start at the beginning Growing up, how was your relationship with the fundamentals of conscious existence? Did you have xenon orchid sinews spilling down the outer center of your Blooming Escher/Mandelbrot head? And how about claustrophilic tendrils clapping caskets closed on seven-knuckle thumbs Did you get along well with the Gideon Bugler pineal glands? Your projector eyes casting sci-fi's on your STR'd strands? Tell me about your nerve to steal nerves of steel from under Bacchus' bloody nose Did Namibian Himbas tie-dye you, your ears pierced with a Phineas Gage flagpole Did you die before your day? Thursday traction, Tuesday titration My hope is to assess through my objective report of Your subjective conjecture Whether this proprietary bled of expertise and seasoning works as well as this Transorbital ice pick Holistic ballistics, you got a better idea? It's about the best we could come up with, what, you think ideas spread because they're good? No, they spread because people like them So now here we are once again, holding As it were, a mirror up to your mirror I guess it's just something people do
A bloody knife to split your infrastructure, wine to rev your motor function Coital machinations of the dead Well, you mainline your animus, karate chop your abacus And learn to be an animal instead But I never did think you better than this, your modus operandi causes Nazi/Skoptzyism and suicide Why to thine own self be true when it is you who are the problem Not the things you do but something sick inside Lithium and Dialectics, boy you really is defective CBT don't seem effective for that Cluster B, accept it Offer up your innocence, please ignore the side effects You've lost your mind and almost lost your life before So you'll be fine
For what? For what? For what it's worth If it was going to kill you boy, it would have by now For what? For what? For what it's worth There's no more looking back, and why would you want to look back? I mean, it's no good looking back, so try to look forward now For what? For what? For what it's worth If they were going to get you boy, they would have by now For what? For what? For what it's worth There's no more looking back, it's looking up or looking down…
Thermodynamic Lawyer Esq, G.F.D:
(I hold myself in contempt) Tearing the hair off a black baboon's skull Here's a bitch with some four-thousand names Vomiting lies through her theremin throat As some businessmen pick at her brains Pulls back skinny lips to reveal a proboscis Seems Seth Brindle's at it again Tears pages from spines as she judges the cover And shamelessly spoils the end Blood vessels drying and curling inside are Unfurling from out of her wrists Well, she wrings out a snake and collects all its poison Intending to learn it to hiss Foams at the mouth with a head full of acid And giving some poor illness the blame Knocking the pieces the fuck off the chessboard Insisting that she's won the game So all that I see absolute entropy As the chemical bonds fall apart Well, it seems she broke me But I swear she could not break my heart She could not break my heart, oh lord Makes up excuses for throbbing black bruises And uses them to her advantage Never came down from her last trip, oh Jesus Disease is her primary language Garbled and gruesome, her words so absurd Like a herd of transmissions from Apollo 13 No apology, I request misery So no rest 'til I've twisted her chest round my knee So squeal like a trolley wheel, cry like a baby With autism strapped to a ceiling fan Soil your visage with mucus and twisting of features unable to stand Buckle your knees looking up at me And beg me to spare thee the back of my hand For the sake of humanity, die of your blight We're blessed, you're barren as Mojave sands So all that I see absolute entropy As the chemical bonds fall apart Well, it seems she broke me But I swear she could not break my heart, whoa Now all that I see absolute entropy As the chemical bonds fall apart Well, it seems she broke me But I swear, she can go fucking die (kill yourself) You can go fucking die (kill yourself) Go fucking die (kill yourself) Kill yourself and go die
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brainrotgobrr · 6 months
Text
my opinions on the project sekai redesigns
our kids are growing up and entering a new year in high school, which means that they now have completely new designs because thats how idol gacha rhythm games work!!! woo!! and i have Thoughts
im gonna talk about my opinions on all the redesigns from least to most favorite. note that these are not my rankings of the groups themselves lol, thatd be
vbs -> n25 -> mmj & l/n (they’re tied for second) -> wxs
(from least to most favorite)
#5 - MORE MORE JUMP!
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ohhh my sweet girls, my precious girls, what did they Do to you.
the blue looks So bad on them. it clashes with minori and airi and feels too samey with shizu and haru. i like their shoes, tho, and i like how airi keeps her trend of her outfit straying just a little bit from the norm.
these outfits just feel so boring and lifeless, compared to their og ones that had a lot more personality and a lot more charm. i dont think the dresses themselves are ugly, in fact i find them quite pretty, but i dont think they suit the girls very well.
also what the fuck is miku wearing lmao (i like her hairstyle tho)
i like all the girls hair accessories tho they’re cute
i hate ranking them last because i love mmj so much but yeah im very disappointed and i honestly prefer their canon outfits that they wear while performing not in the sekai (the ones that their fans helped design in the metamo re:born event that i forgot the name of)
#4 - Leo/need
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firstly i wanna say im so happy that honami gets to be pictured with her instrument like the others, and i really like how they positioned saki’s keyboard
i dont hate these designs!! i quite like them actually. they seem more unified and professional, which fits because leo/need is SIGNED with an AGENCY now oh yeah im so proud of them
im sad that ichikas wearing her tie now rip ichikas tie around her wrist you will be missed by me and me only
i really like their new outfits!! the girls look and feel older. im not really vibing with the shade of gray used tho, i wish their uniforms were black or white or a different shade of gray. i also love the pins and buttons on mikus jacket (i actually prefer the shade of gray on the jacket why couldnt the leoneeders be dressed in that shade)
#3 - Wonderlands x Showtime
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#ruiturnaround #FREETSUKASAFROMTHEFLAG
mizuki POPPED OFF with these designs (assuming they made them again)
i really love wondershos new look, i just like the other two groups better. nene’s in particular is my favorite (but im biased). i love how professional they look, these new outfits really display this new step that the kids are taking into the world of theatre
so proud for rui for comjng out as nb can he turn around now my artist friends are crying
i adore all of these designs they’re so cute and fun and i really love the new vibe for wondersho as of recently. it seems like colorpale and the fandom are taking them so much more seriously
#2 - Nightcord at 25:00
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KANADE HAS BEEN FREED FROM THE CHAIR (but now miku has it. lol.)
guys. guys the - the symbolism. their dresses progress from pure black to gray showing how they’re slowly healing and bettering themselves and miku’s hair is begining to regain its green and the kids have different flowers that have symbolism that other people know way bettee then mine but MAFUYU’S IVY MOTIF AND ENAS NARCISSUS MOTIF ARE BACK BABY real missed chance to give kanade carnations tho. i dont have much to say but WOW i love the new look for the nightcords and i think they’re stunning. will accept zero hate for these guys they look great
also miku has shoes!!!! yes!!!!
#1 - Vivid BAD SQUAD
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yeah, i was surprised too at how much i like the vbs designs
i like vbs, sure, but they’ve always been the group that has piqued my interest the least. and ive never been super keen on the designs of the characters
but these designs??? i really like them. a lot. it feels like the kids are really coming into their own, with kohane and toya finding their personal styles, akito refining his, and an paying homage to nagi in hers. they’re becoming the young adult creators and musicians that they’re striving to be. i can really see vbs’s growth in their new designs, and i hope that i can grow to really love them and their story : D
(also mikus design is kind of. all over the place. lmao but i kinda love it)
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friendball-irl · 7 months
Note
Well he collapsed with Stevens-Johnson Syndrome on the E.R. floor Panic attacked, anaphylactic and ataxic The way he spun his butterfly risked all six his phalanges Roman candles at both ends in his synapses And the method with which he recycled his humors Trojan Horse'd his Blood-Brain Barrier and raised the LD-50, yes, yes And through flight-or-fight revelation shame the Black Box Warrior He skipped this town and headed straight down history Shields himself from reason in a Kevlar baby-blue Tuxedo Quilted from the finest fibers, flesh, and fiberglass, and flowers His ego a mosquito, evil incarnate good incognito Pops placebos for libido, screaming, "Bless the torpedoes"
For what? For what? For what it's worth If it was going to kill you boy, it would have by now For what? For what? For what it's worth There's no more looking back, it's looking up or looking down
Well, he was wearing stolen rubber shoes and wrapped a poison ivy noose Around his Lotus jugular when they came Well, they found him with a map to every victim of his love And a tattoo of a blue jay on his face And they waited for his vital signs to lie and let a flatline cry A hymn out in Hungarian Harmonic
But he cocked his noggin, through his stoma sang, "For auld lang syne" "Happy birthday to the succulents, I'll die your hydroponics" His rib cage was a hornet's nest, palpitations set the beat His vagus nerve a turk's head knot, an axel hitch, a carrick bend He wondered if Christ Consciousness would charge a cancellation fee Auf wiedersehn, au revoir, he gripped his wits right by their ends
For what? For what? For what it's worth If it was going to kill you boy, it would have by now For what? For what? For what it's worth There's no more looking back, it's looking up or looking down
Hello, welcome, why don't you take a seat? Get comfortable, relax, take a second if you need to Now what's bothering you? Well, why don't we start at the beginning Growing up, how was your relationship with the fundamentals of conscious existence? Did you have xenon orchid sinews spilling down the outer center of your Blooming Escher/Mandelbrot head? And how about claustrophilic tendrils clapping caskets closed on seven-knuckle thumbs Did you get along well with the Gideon Bugler pineal glands? Your projector eyes casting sci-fi's on your STR'd strands?
Tell me about your nerve to steal nerves of steel from under Bacchus' bloody nose Did Namibian Himbas tie-dye you, your ears pierced with a Phineas Gage flagpole Did you die before your day? Thursday traction, Tuesday titration My hope is to assess through my objective report of Your subjective conjecture Whether this proprietary bled of expertise and seasoning works as well as this Transorbital ice pick
Holistic ballistics, you got a better idea? It's about the best we could come up with, what, you think ideas spread because they're good? No, they spread because people like them So now here we are once again, holding As it were, a mirror up to your mirror I guess it's just something people do
A bloody knife to split your infrastructure, wine to rev your motor function Coital machinations of the dead Well, you mainline your animus, karate chop your abacus And learn to be an animal instead But I never did think you better than this, your modus operandi causes Nazi/Skoptzyism and suicide Why to thine own self be true when it is you who are the problem Not the things you do but something sick inside
Lithium and Dialectics, boy you really is defective CBT don't seem effective for that Cluster B, accept it Offer up your innocence, please ignore the side effects You've lost your mind and almost lost your life before So you'll be fine
For what? For what? For what it's worth If it was going to kill you boy, it would have by now For what? For what? For what it's worth There's no more looking back, and why would you want to look back? I mean, it's no good looking back, so try to look forward now For what? For what? For what it's worth If they were going to get you boy, they would have by now For what? For what? For what it's worth There's no more looking back, it's looking up or looking down...
Yet another song I don't know 😔
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twisted-bee · 1 month
Note
im going to bite you
OK WELL HERES THE LYRICS TO BLACKBOX WARRIOR - OKULTRA BY WILL WOOD FROM THE NORMAL ALBUM
Well he collapsed with Stevens-Johnson Syndrome on the E.R. floor Panic attacked, anaphylactic and ataxic The way he spun his butterfly risked all six his phalanges Roman candles at both ends in his synapses And the method with which he recycled his humors Trojan Horse'd his Blood-Brain Barrier and raised the LD-50, yes, yes And through flight-or-fight revelation shame the Black Box Warrior He skipped this town and headed straight down history Shields himself from reason in a Kevlar baby-blue Tuxedo Quilted from the finest fibers, flesh, and fiberglass, and flowers His ego a mosquito, evil incarnate good incognito Pops placebos for libido, screaming, "Bless the torpedoes"
For what? For what? For what it's worth If it was going to kill you boy, it would have by now For what? For what? For what it's worth There's no more looking back, it's looking up or looking down
Well, he was wearing stolen rubber shoes and wrapped a poison ivy noose Around his Lotus jugular when they came Well, they found him with a map to every victim of his love And a tattoo of a blue jay on his face And they waited for his vital signs to lie and let a flatline cry A hymn out in Hungarian Harmonic
But he cocked his noggin, through his stoma sang, "For auld lang syne" "Happy birthday to the succulents, I'll die your hydroponics" His rib cage was a hornet's nest, palpitations set the beat
His vagus nerve a turk's head knot, an axel hitch, a carrick bend He wondered if Christ Consciousness would charge a cancellation fee Auf wiedersehn, au revoir, he gripped his wits right by their ends
For what? For what? For what it's worth If it was going to kill you boy, it would have by now For what? For what? For what it's worth There's no more looking back, it's looking up or looking down
Hello, welcome, why don't you take a seat? Get comfortable, relax, take a second if you need to Now what's bothering you? Well, why don't we start at the beginning Growing up, how was your relationship with the fundamentals of conscious existence? Did you have xenon orchid sinews spilling down the outer center of your Blooming Escher/Mandelbrot head? And how about claustrophilic tendrils clapping caskets closed on seven-knuckle thumbs Did you get along well with the Gideon Bugler pineal glands? Your projector eyes casting sci-fi's on your STR'd strands?
Tell me about your nerve to steal nerves of steel from under Bacchus' bloody nose Did Namibian Himbas tie-dye you, your ears pierced with a Phineas Gage flagpole Did you die before your day? Thursday traction, Tuesday titration My hope is to assess through my objective report of Your subjective conjecture Whether this proprietary bled of expertise and seasoning works as well as this Transorbital ice pick
Holistic ballistics, you got a better idea? It's about the best we could come up with, what, you think ideas spread because they're good? No, they spread because people like them So now here we are once again, holding As it were, a mirror up to your mirror I guess it's just something people do
A bloody knife to split your infrastructure, wine to rev your motor function Coital machinations of the dead Well, you mainline your animus, karate chop your abacus And learn to be an animal instead But I never did think you better than this, your modus operandi causes Nazi/Skoptzyism and suicide Why to thine own self be true when it is you who are the problem Not the things you do but something sick inside
Lithium and Dialectics, boy you really is defective CBT don't seem effective for that Cluster B, accept it Offer up your innocence, please ignore the side effects You've lost your mind and almost lost your life before So you'll be fine
For what? For what? For what it's worth If it was going to kill you boy, it would have by now For what? For what? For what it's worth There's no more looking back, and why would you want to look back? I mean, it's no good looking back, so try to look forward now For what? For what? For what it's worth If they were going to get you boy, they would have by now For what? For what? For what it's worth There's no more looking back, it's looking up or looking down...
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rubywolf0201 · 11 months
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Ok this is just a random thought I have been thinking in my head for a very VERY long time but I’m incline to think the Firenese royals are foils to the Elusian royals.
Let’s start with Alfred and Ivy:
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- Color schemes are different: Alfred primarily dresses in white, blue and yellow whereas Ivy dresses in dark purple, pink and a bit of black.
- Heck their hair colors are different to drive the point home: Alfred has bright blonde hair and Ivy has dark purple hair.
- Personality and how they present themselves are very different as well: Alfred is a nice guy who is open to pretty much to everyone and can sometimes overstep his boundaries regarding his niceness, Ivy while she is nice, is pretty reserved and close off and is only open to people that she trusts.
- Speaking of trust: Alfred pretty much trusts everyone on the get go without suspicion while Ivy has severe trust issues and Supports has her slowly opening up to the people about why she’s very closed off.
- Ivy carries herself in a dignified manner while Alfred is casual.
- Alfred is a fitness buff who likes to train 24/7 while Ivy is a studious person that likes to spend her free time reading books indoors (confirmed in her A Support with Timerra)
Now onto Céline and Hortensia:
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- Again color schemes are different: Céline is dressed primarily in green, orange, yellow and white with a bit of black in it while Hortensia is dressed in blue, purple, pink and a bit of white.
- Hair color is different in the fact that Céline has long flowing blonde hair and Hortensia has purplish-pink hair that she tie in a ringlet hairstyle.
- While both are the innocent younger sisters, the way they present themselves is different: Céline is graceful and cordial but can be ruthless when push comes to shove whereas Hortensia is playful and vain but is a kind girl deep down.
- The only similarities they share is that both have access to tomes and healing staves but Céline also has access to swords as well.
- Oh and both wear pretty poofy dresses as well.
- Both also care for their older siblings (half-older sibling in Hortensia’s case) but isn’t afraid to be bratty with them. (Céline being exasperated with Alfred’s antics and calling him a barbarian in their B Support and Hortensia throwing a tantrum in front of Ivy in the main story when she thought that Ivy turned against her and basically left her all alone)
Abother thing they share is retainer format as well:
- Alfred and Ivy have retainers that are a physical juggernaut and range shooter (Boucheron and Kagetsu as the physical units but specialise in axe & sword respectively and Etie and Zelkov as the range shooter but as an archer and thief respectively).
- Céline and Hortensia have retainers that is a flying unit and lance unit (Chloé and Rosado are flying units but the former is a Pegasus Knight that specialize in lances and Rosado primarily uses an axe but can sometimes use a lance as well and Louis and Goldmary are lance units but Louis is an armor unit while Goldmary is an infantry unit)
I could be missing more but this is what I have so far and I would like to thank you for coming to my TEDtalk on why the Firenese royals and Elusian royals are basically foils to one another.
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Someplace Quieter
Aesop Sharp x OC
Description:
An American auror transferring to the British Ministry of magic for some peace of mind. She first has to undergo supervision under oath of not meddling in the British affairs. It was only a benefit to the ministry to place her under the supervision of the former auror now potions professor.
Notes:
Screaming in so many swear jars.
Chapter 3
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Chapter 4 - Burn
I pace around my bedroom, trying to find my belt. Looking through every crevasse and bag that I could find. My attention was into my bag, digging into every nook in an attempt to find it. A scratch of ceramic across the floor floods my ears. I look up to see my potted devil’s ivy using it’s leaves to push itself on the floor. I follow the line it was trailing to see my belt in front of the foot of the bed. Oolong perched by the windowsill, attentively watching the shrub as it moves.
“Thank you,” I said to the plant, grabbing it from the floor and wrapping it around my waist. I took a glance in the full-length mirror, littered with clothing around it that I still need to organize. Wearing a comfortable ivy green sweater, a white blouse worn under, and a yellow tie poking from the v-line. I fasten the belt, turning back to my shrub, looking completely withered. “Why are you always so dramatic?” I sigh, picking the plant from the floor to find a suitable spot with some ounce of light. It starts to shake like it was whimpering. I place it on the table in front of the window, trying to get it to soak in the dimming sunlight, Oolong flapping away from it. The shrub immediately reverts to a healthy look in content. I pet it’s leaves before placing Oolong in the comforts of my arms, turning to make my way down the stairs.
I was met with what looked like an explosion of greenery. Pots and plants were at a forefront in every place you looked. Still needed to be placed accordingly. I shift Oolong into my left arm to take off my broom, a silver arrow, from its mount. I took note to find the time to properly organize my new living space before continuing my path beside the dining table, a letter to Silas sitting neatly on it. I took the letter, putting it carefully in Oolongs beak as I exit into Hogsmeade.
“Make sure they both get this or it’s my head,” I lovingly say to Oolong before releasing her, watching her fly away before attempting to mount my broom. My neighbor’s door suddenly opens for an elderly lady, dressed in a simple blue gown with floral patterns, to pass through.
“Mrs. Sepony, anything I can do for you this evening?” I beam, lifting my broom from its position to stand beside me as I greet her. She looks back at me and smiles. She lives alone with her husband, though he doesn’t get out much anymore. Often coming by to talk about plants along with various sweets she makes herself, wonderfully paired with the blends of tea Silas has given me.
“Nani dear, good evening,” she says with delight. She gestures to her small garden, once barren now filled with beautiful moonflowers that I grew not long ago, “I must thank you for planting them for me.”
“No need, I needed to make room for growing new plants anyways,” I respond, “I can help manage them if you need it.”
“Oh no, I’m happy to take care of them, dear. I thought I had to part with gardening entirely with my bad back. thankfully, you moved in and did the hard part for me,” she chatters, “but enough about the moonflowers, where are you off to this evening, dear?”
“Ah, just doing some work, but I’m sure I won’t be out too late,” I respond, deciding not to explain any further for time.
“I see. Will you be working Friday evening as well?” she inquires further. I look at her questionably, wondering if there’s any important events going on at Hogsmeade. Then I wonder if she needed any help with the plants or any manual work.
“I’m not sure, what for?”
“Ever since my husband has gotten his bad knees, he hasn’t been too eager to go mingle at The Three Broomsticks anymore. We would welcome your presence if you’re free.”
“We?” I quickly ask, unsure of this third person.
“This lovely gentleman Jacob, just around your age, and he’s been just as helpful to as you are dear. We’ve known him since he was little. Now that he’s grown, we’d share a drink every so often,” she describes. I put on a kind smile at the notion of her setting me up with a guy. It's a kind gesture but one I’m not too eager to accept.
“I’ll have to look at my schedule, but I’ll let you know,” I say, trying my best to evade her offer, “I hate to cut this off short, but I do need to get going.”
“My apologies dear, don’t be out too late,” she concludes, cupping my cheeks with her hands before walking away from me, assuming whatever plan she had as she left her little home. I reassumed my position on my broom before quickly lifting off in the direction of Hogwarts.
It wasn’t hard to miss, but I wanted to familiarize myself with the landscape. Noting various things on my path, either ones that I knew or ones I’m going to have to learn. I spent some attention on the plants I could spot, thinking about whether I wanted to grow them. When crossing the waters of Hogwarts, I couldn’t help myself from lowering to the surface. I Switch my position on my broom like I was kneeling on it to get even closer. One hand gripping the stem of the broom to keep balance while the other moves to dip into the water below, creating a ripple from where it touched. I lift myself away from the water once I feel satisfied.
I land at the same entrance from the first time I came here, taking a deep breath in the hopes that I’ll remember the same path that minister Spavin and Black took. After a couple of moments and some wrong turns, I arrive at the potion’s classroom. I hesitate to open the door; a nervous pit fills in my stomach. I shake it off by the need to fulfill the wants of the ministry and slowly turn the knob. It opens with a slight creak, and I pass through, walking to him.
He sits at his desk, scrolls littered all over it. His jacket has been abandoned on his body, and the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to his forearms. Body hunched over, barely snaking a glance at me before returning to his work, “I see you’ve managed to arrive, Ms. Davis.”
“Is it that hard to call me Nani?” I raise the question. Stopping at the front of his desk, I lean over to see what he’s grading. Essays about the draught of the living dead potion.
“It’s highly unprofessional,” he starts, “It’s also a violation to be reading my students' assignments.”
My head jumps up from looking at the essays to his face, “Sorry,” I mutter. He never took an eye off the parchment. I took a moment to study his face. His brows scrunched together, trying to piece together the logic behind his student’s paper. So that’s how he has so many wrinkles. I smile slightly at it. I turn my body to lean my backside on the edge of his desk to hide my growing flush, “We’re going to be doing this for at least a couple months so might as well just forget that aspect. I’ve already been calling you Aesop.”
“I assume you’re not going to make any efforts to call me anything else,” he harshly scrapes against the paper with a fury. I slightly grimace at whoever’s parchment is being abused by his ink and quill.
“And you’d be correct with that assessment,” I grin, turning to him, which caused him to glance at me. Proudly displaying my persistence, “And I’ll continue to correct you every time you refer to me by my surname, so might as well just call me by my name.” A silent pause fell upon us. The only noise present is his scribbles and scratches on the parchment. Turning back to my original position, I tried to clear the air, “So what do you think is happening in the ministry?”
“Something serious, I presume, especially if they’re placing their new recruits under supervision of former employees,” he states, I chuckle pathetically at his answer. He doesn’t know much about it either. I start to think about the unwanted sacrifice he’s making for me, feeling guilty if I’m taking away time from anyone important.
“I’m sure the missus must be upset from this predicament,” I remark, turning to look at him again, still entranced with his work. He quickly raises his left hand, wiggling his fingers to garner my attention. No ring. My face litters with a mixture of surprise and embarrassment. Thank Merlin that he’s too focused on grading. “I’m sorry,” I sputter, “I just thought that you—."
“It’s none of your concern to worry about my marital status,” he says, visibly frustrated. I assume from the essay he’s been grading. I’ve been an auror for multiple years. How could I let something that simple as looking for a ring slip from me? A small part of me is partly delighted at that fact, but it didn’t matter currently.
I got up from the desk, standing firmly on my feet, I quickly tried to change the subject out of embarrassment, “So what will I be doing for you then?”
“Professor Black didn’t have a terrible idea so I made an effort to put a short list of items I’m running low on, figured it would be best to get a grasp of our geography from it. Shouldn’t be too difficult to obtain, which would help start off on the ministry’s primary concerns with your combat skills,” he explains, lifting various rolls of parchments, looking for something.
“Does he usually have terrible ideas?” I pick up the rolls parchments he was lifting to help him look for it, holding them in the arms of my hands. He looks up at me for a moment, trying to ponder what he should say about it.
“It wouldn’t be wise to speak how I feel about my boss here,” he brushes off my question. I become pensive at his words. He lifts one final parchment to reveal the list placed below it.
“Why is that?” I neatly place all the parchments I’ve been holding on the desk.
He lifts the list for me to take, “You haven’t met Peeves yet, have you?”
“Does he normally make an appearance?” I question back, hesitantly taking the parchment from him. His face slightly turns into a small smirk. I slowly look away from him to peruse the list, slightly pacing left and right from his desk.
“You’ll know once he does, but I guess I have to warn you,” I look up from the list to him, “he likes doing tricks with fire.” I blink at him in wonder at how he is allowed to be at a school for children. He focuses his attention back on his grading. He explains, “He has as big as a mouth as he does his tricks and he’s rather known to be quite the antagonist for both the staff and the students.”
“You certainly have a variety of characters at Hogwarts, though I still haven’t seen the giant squid unfortunately,” I turn my attention to the parchment. Mostly a variety of plants to be collected, inspiring to expand my variety in my house. I hear a small chuckle behind me.
“Is that why you transferred?” He jokes, which causes me to look up and smile at him, slightly glad he remembered our brief conversation.
“It would be a lie if it wasn’t a part of it,” I answered honestly. I finish reading the short list, ending off with horned slugs. I stop in my tracks, trying to rattle the usage of them. I’m unsure how often they’re used or what they’re even used for.
“Horned slugs?” I ask, looking to Aesop. His head snaps up to look at me. My attention is completely fascinated in his reaction.
He says with apprehension, “You read that correctly.”
“I don’t remember what they’re used for. Can you enlighten me?” I grin. He needs it for a particular reason, and I would like to know why.
“I thought potions weren’t favorable?” He remarks, I stare at him with a slightly offended expression.
“And this is your chance to start changing my mind about it,” I shot back, fighting a smile, “You already have my attention.”
“Horned slugs are primarily used for medicinal purposes,” he explains briefly.
I respond with a dull expression, “I had my fair share of medicinal potions,” he looks at me in question, “ones made with horned slugs were never present.”
“That’s because you’re not getting boils every other month,” he slips. So that’s what it’s for.
A smile crept up on my face at the revelation, trying to contain my laughter, “A cure for boils?”
“In my defense it’s not for me,” He withdraws from his grading, leaning back in his chair, smirking. My smile spreads onto him. He’s just as ecstatic about the situation as I am.
“Am I allowed to ask who then?” I pry.
“It would be unwise,” he simply states while I look at him, furrowing my brows for a second. It only took that second for me to understand who he’s referring to.
“Professor Black is really using his headmaster status to dry out the horned slug supply?” I laugh, bringing my hand to cover the extent of my smile.
“A surprising usage of his status, I will say,” He leans on the desk. My eyes couldn’t help but glance at his forearms as he rests them on the desk.
“I guess I better start my endeavor before Professor Black is littered with boils,” I joke, making my way to the door, I hear a distant chuckle behind me.
“I’ll see you in a few hours then,” he responds as I open the door.
I stop, “And if I don’t, will you come find me?” I ask with a playful smile, slightly caressing the door awaiting his response.
“I’ll have to,” he answers, and I exit, still grinning as I walk down the hall.
                                                           …
It didn’t take a lot to find the ingredients. The extent of my knowledge of plants certainly helped spot them along with extracting them. Before I knew it, I finally secured the last horned slug, securing the jar and placing it in a satchel along with the other things I collected. I look up from my position to see two men walking by the path, their face covered with masks with a heaping number of shining rocks in their arms. It sparks my suspicion, and I quickly move to avoid their sight inside a bush.
“Is this really not enough?” One young voice pique.
“I don’t really ask questions in regard to my clients. It’s better if you don’t either,” a hoarser voice replies.
“But I mean, there’s enough moonstone in our arms to last a lifetime. What could anyone be doing with it?” He inquires, not understanding his partner’s last statement. So, it’s moonstone. The conversation slowly lessens to a faint noise in my ear. I remove myself from my hiding spot, seeing their faint silhouettes on the path. I mount my broom before slowly trailing them to a small campsite. Landing on a tree branch slightly bordering it, if they were to look up, they might see me, but they’re too entranced at their task to check their parameters. The older man, dressed in green, points to the carriage, seemingly to instruct his inexperienced partner to load the materials on it. He then walks to the tattered table to focus his attention into a small black leather bounded book.
I try to my focus on the younger man, loading the moonstone into a carriage, but the creature drawing it catches my eye. It was like a black horse with the skin of a lizard. Its wings took a similar shape to those of a bat. It’s body frail and hollow, a nightmarish creature at first glance. I’ve never seen such a thing before, I’m sure I read about it somewhere, though. I should ask Aesop about it.
The young man finishes, securing the moonstone in a box before making his way to the other, colliding with the horse-like creature in the process. He frantically collects himself before trying to pet the mount on the creature, placing his hand on random areas before finally hitting his target. My face twists in confusion by the action, I find it hard for him to miss such a mesmerizing steed. He speaks to the other gentleman, engross in the notebook in front of him before pointing at the firepit below me.
I froze. hoping that the young man wasn’t astute enough to look up from the firepit, revealing my presence. The young man walks to the pit, placing a concerning amount of firewood in it, not even lifting his gaze a little. Is he trying to create a bonfire? Seems counterintuitive to what they’re doing.
He lights it all using confringo. I mount my broom, quickly removing myself from view. I watch from above, seeing the older man snaps from the book and to the recent explosion. He quickly makes his way to the other man in an angry fashion. My attention turns to the fire as they engage in some conversation. It burns brightly, catching onto the branch I was perched on, which quickly spreads to another. I’m sure I’m contributing to the spread from my presence.
The thought that I should leave pervades my mind, but my interest in their activities and the small book sitting on the table prevails. The fire quickly spreads throughout the plant life in the area surrounding the firepit, which catches the attention of the men. The older man quickly tries to cast a spell, water spouting out of his wand onto the expanding flames to try to calm it while the other secures all the items on the carriage. Once the fire became too overwhelming, the man quits trying to suppress the flames in favor of the products he gathered.
They both get on the carriage, hastily whipping the reigns so they can move, neglecting the little black book on the table. The horses quickly react, galloping a little before flying away, I made sure to avoid their sight during their departure. I lower myself back to the ground, ignoring the flames emitting around me as I made my way to the book. I lift it from the table. It felt like worn leather and even looked like such.
The cackle of multiple branches falling as the fire continues to consume causes my attention to break from the book. I look over to what looks like a mountain of flame, taking that as my queue to finally leave. I pocket the book in my waist, pulling my blouse and vest over it before mounting my broom. Lifting myself out of the area, making sure to cast a raincloud, that Maria begrudgingly taught me, above the area. I didn’t dally on my way back, filled with anticipation to look inside.
I immediately pace the journey to the potions classroom after I land. Taking the book out of my waist, I open to a random page. It was a list filled with random ingredients followed by a single letter and a number, assuming it’s the quantity of the product and a date. I continue to flip through, trying to find something of meaning, but it was pointless as I soon stood in front of the potion’s classroom. I stare at the door, unsure of how I managed to get to this part of the massive castle without thinking. I put the book back in my waist, adjusting to make it less noticeable. I walk through the door, small satchel in tow in one hand, while carrying my broom in the other. Aesop, not at all moved an inch from where I left him, glances up from the parchment he’s working on.
“You’re back already?” he checks the time. It should be about a couple hours since I left, beating his estimation by at least an hour.
“I’m decent with a broom,” I explain. Wiggling my broom out in front of him. “I made sure to gather extra slugs for Professor Black,” I smile.
“It certainly will save me a month or two on my part,” He remarks back, both sharing a quiet laugh. I place my broom against one of the stoves and the satchel on his desk, opening it to reveal it’s ingredients.
“Can I do anything else for you?” I ask, removing its contents.
“Wouldn’t you like to be back home?” he replies, removing himself from his work to look at me.
“I’m in no rush to leave,” I reply, grinning at him, “plus you still have a roll of parchment to scratch through.”
“If you insist, you could place the plant ingredients in their respective jars,” he suggests, pointing to the general area of where I could find it. I immediately walk over, picking them out from their color and lack in quantities. I grab the jars, making my way over to the front of his desk. Organizing the ingredients. During the process, I remembered the creature from the campsite.
“Aesop, I saw this horse,” I quip. Immediately being met with his signature unamused expression. I continue mindlessly sorting each ingredient, “Well, it was more like an abraxan but from a nightmare. It was black, and its skin was like a reptile. It looked incredibly frail, unlike an abraxans' full figure. I’ve never seen such a thing before. Do you know what it is?”
His face drops a little, “You saw a thestral.”
“Thestral?” I inquire, stopping my movements. Face contorts with weary from his expression.
“Yes, however, they are usually not seen unless you’ve witnessed death,” He speaks slowly. The fact that I’m describing it means that I’ve seen someone die, and he’s unsure how to approach the topic. My face softens with apprehension from his words. He looks at me with concern, “May I ask?”
My mind goes to debate how I wanted to phrase it. Mindlessly picking at the belladonna I’m holding for a moment. I decide not to risk it, “Someone who took care of me when I was young, he uh…got a fever that he never recovered from.”
“You haven’t considered a pepperup potion?” A question that I wish he didn’t ask, despite his well intentions.
"It was already too late,” I murmur, expressing nothing but guilt with a twinge of frustration. I wasn’t exactly wrong. It would be around five years after his death before I learned about it and what its capabilities are. Though it couldn’t be helped at that point. I continue to place the ingredients in the jars.
“My apologies,” he says quietly. Not daring to make a move with his quill.
“It was a long time ago, I made sure he’s resting peacefully,” I force a grin. I turn the conversation, not caring if he notices or not, “Is that essay being difficult?”
“That’s most essays, Nani,” he comments, making a couple of scribbles in the middle of the parchment. My grin turns genuine as my name came out of his mouth.
“See, it wasn’t that hard,” I chime, immediately reverting back to the same tone as when our conversation started.
“I’m going to revoke it,” he threatens, and my face drops to a comical pained expression. Placing my hand, holding a sage, to my chest dramatically.
“You wouldn’t. We’ve already come so far,” he subtly grins at my theatrical gesture. I place the last belladonna in its respective jar, securing them and placing them back on their original shelfs. I walk back to the desk, “Is that all I can do for you?”
“That will be all for today, thank you,” he dismisses me. I take my broom before making my way to the door, opening it.
“Oh, Aesop?” I exclaim, peering back at him, “Will you need me Friday?” I ask, hoping he’ll say yes.
He looks at me questionably, “Are you asking me to find something for you to do on Friday?” I smile at him, already reading my intentions.
“Precisely,” I nod. My smile spreads to him as he looks at me with a smirk.
“Then I’ll need you the same time Friday,” he says. I finally leave his classroom, keeping him on my sights as long as I can before the door closes. The feeling of delight spreads through me as I continue my leave.
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They Took The Crown But It's Alright
Companion to Call It What You Want To, Ivy edition (with a small excerpt from Soren's chapter- Would You Run Away With Me?)
Never say I don't contribute to this fandom- this is 20k words long. I wrote the majority of it in 12 hours.
Also, I'm so wildly grateful people are still thinking about this fic a year after I wrote it, asking questions and wondering what happened next. Despite how unhinged this fandom is, I am having the best time here.
No graphic, no summary. We die like men. Politely NSFW
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Ivy woke to the sound of pounding on her bedroom door. “Go away!” she yelled, well aware of who was doing the banging. Her cousins had arrived in the Sun Palace the night before and only Nyx would be up so early. “Aren’t you supposed to be a night owl?”
The door opened and Nyx stepped in, his bright blue eyes glittering with amusement. Tendrils of dark followed just behind, sucking up bright rays of light pouring through her window. “I can’t resist the sunlight or you, cousin. Why are you still asleep?”
Ivy sat up while Nyx dropped onto the cream-colored bedding and pushed dark hair from his eyes. He looked just like his father in nearly every way, save for his mother’s eyes. Archeron eyes, Ivy had been told. Ivy wouldn’t know—she was every bit her father, from the long, ruby hair to the russet-colored eyes. She even had his darker coloring and his magic, an unusual combination of fire and sunlight. It was her twin Soren who favored the Archeron lineage; blue gray eyes, fairer skin and their mothers ability for sight. 
“Yvette is going to be here soon,” Nyx interrupted Ivy’s thoughts, his eyes sparking with hope. Yvette was Kallias and Viviane’s daughter, the only child born to the High Lord of Winter and Nyx’s secret crush. Only Ivy knew as far as she could tell, though she was willing to bet Azriel’s son Auden’s shadows had spilled Nyx’s secrets to the rest of their cousins.
“That explains the clothes,” Ivy teased, gesturing towards the finely made black and silver tunic, handsome enough but way too warm for summer in Rhodes. “You’ll boil alive before she ever arrives.”
He shrugged. “As long as I look good beforehand. Get dressed. Don’t make me suffer through breakfast with the High Lord of Spring and his terrible sons.”
Ivy groaned too. Once a year, all the High Lords gathered in one of the Courts and spent a week discussing Prythian, policy, and everything in between. The year before they’d gone to Autumn where Uncle Eris had arranged a week-long festival celebrating Samhain and this year it was his grandfather, who she affectionately referred to as Papa Helion, hosting the High Lord’s and their families. 
He’d planned for the week to fall during the Hunt, one of their more ridiculous holidays in which females took over the city for a day, banishing the males to the sea. The evening culminated in the return of the males, who literally hunted down the women—or the partner of their choice—after finding one of the scarves females tied throughout Rhodes. Ivy had never participated and wasn’t about to start now, adult or not. 
Ivy banished Nyx to bathe and dress, choosing a long, white gown held up by heavy, linked chains above her shoulders. She wrapped gold cord around her waist to tie it all together and give the illusion of curves and allowed her ruby colored hair to fall in long waves down her back. Nyx had worn his silver starred crown and to that end, Ivy wove her own glimmering circlet through her hair, letting a tiny, jeweled sun rest in the middle of her forehead. She wrapped a snake cuff around her arm, knowing her father and grandfather would wear their own, and slid several rings onto her fingers. 
For every other Court in Prythian, it was the male who would eventually inherit the throne. Day was the exception. It was hardly secret that the magic that decided such things had skipped her brother, much to his relief, and had found her worthy. When Helion and her father died, it would be Ivy who ascended. She’d be the first Cauldron-chosen High Lady in living memory, as far as she knew, anyway. She was curious to see Yvette, to see if she was displaying the same magic Ivy was.
Not all the Courts had heirs, like Day and Night did. Winter and Spring and Autumn also had a generation the same age as Nyx and Ivy, but Summer and Dawn did not. Thesan seemed rather pleased to have never had children and Ivy supposed that stemmed from how proud Helion had been when her and her brother had been born. Her Uncle Eris and Aunt Arina had one daughter who was still quite young, little Isolde who was the same age as Spring Courts Aine. Spring Court was an odd place—Tamlin’s two oldest children were sons, his two youngest daughters. Alexander was the eldest, six years older than her and set to take his fathers place. He was the spitting image of his Tamlin in every way. While Ivy had been bred for politics and social niceties, Alexander had been born for war. 
His younger brother Finn was more tolerable, prone to the kind of mischief Soren and Nyx liked to engage in. They might have been friends with different parents. She’d heard the rumors of Finn’s rakish behavior and had seen him sampling the females each year in the different courts. They avoided each other for all the obvious reasons. She was far more partial to moody Saoirse and bright and bubbly Aine, though they rarely came with their brothers and father. 
The problem, for Ivy anyway, was the friendship that existed between her parents. Tamlin and her father, Lucien, had been friends for centuries and when their children were born, patched up their differences after their falling out when her Aunt Feyre had destroyed Spring, and forced Ivy, Soren, and Alexander together. Ivy was twenty-one, the same age her mother had been when she was made Faerie. She couldn’t be forced into unwanted playdates, especially with the brutish males of Spring. 
She left her bedroom and walked smack dab into her grandfather, dressed in a nice chiton and knee length sandals. His golden crown of sunlight sat atop his head, making his dark brown skin seem as though it glowed brighter than he already did. He beamed when he saw her.
“You’re up early,” he commented, throwing a strong arm over her shoulder. Though Helion would never admit it, Ivy firmly believed she was his favorite; of all her siblings, she looked the most like his wife, the former Lady of Autumn and current Lady of Day, Amera. 
“Blame Nyx,” she replied with a bright smile, hoping she glowed half as brightly as he seemed to. Helion’s amber eye’s twinkled. 
“I did see the rapscallion running about. I see not much has changed between the two of you. What shenanigans has he roped you into this time?”
“It’s secret, inter-court business,” she replied much to Helion’s delight. He mimed zipping his lips and Ivy whispered, “He’s hoping to catch a glimpse of the Lady of Winter, Yvette.”
“I’m told she’s become quite beautiful,” Helion half-whispered. “She takes after her mother.”
Ivy shrugged. “She’s too good for him, I’m sure.”
“Ah, but all females are,” Helion replied. “Don’t inform your father I said such a thing, of course.”
As if her dad wouldn’t be the first person to say her mother could have done better. Helion melted away, leaving Ivy to walk alone through the marble halls as early morning light spilled through high, arching windows. Nyx would be waiting on a private patio up on the third floor and while Ivy was anxious to see her cousin, that didn’t stop her from taking the longest route possible. Day Court was stunning, her home far more lovely than anywhere in Prythian. Ivy liked to bask in the warmth, to meander through its ancient, marble halls and imagine herself mistress.
It was a mistake. On the second floor, standing in front of one of the best views of the ocean, was blonde haired, green eyed Alexander. His back was turned to her, broad and muscled from beneath a light blue tunic. A sword hung from a brown belt at his waist and the sight annoyed her. What kind of danger did he expect to find here? 
As though he sensed her, Alexander turned, his serious eyes looking her up and down. Handsome, was her first stupid thought. He’d always been beautiful for a male who didn’t smile. Ivy was grateful he’d left behind his usual baldric of knives and she couldn’t help but notice that there was no golden crown of laurel leaves atop his head that might denote him the heir of Spring.  He never wore it, she thought with a frown.
Her eyes lingered on his full mouth just for a beat. Alexander said nothing at all as he assessed her, his gaze flicking from her head to her feet before he turned away. There was nothing to say, though it was quite rude not to even offer a polite good morning. Ivy scurried off, walking a little quicker than she’d meant to. The only sound was the hard soles of her sandals upon the marble and just as she rounded the corner she looked over her shoulder, surprised to see him looking back at her, too.
She shouldn’t care at all but…something warm bloomed in her chest.
It was sunlight over a garden. It was roses waking from a harsh winter. She shoved that feeling back down, joining a waiting Nyx on the patio, long legs stretched out in front of him casually. He smiled, golden skin basking in the daylight.
“What’s Alexander doing skulking through the halls?” she demanded, still thinking about his too-serious green eyes. She felt Nyx prod against her mind, violet eyes glittering with amusement.
“Maybe he was looking for something,” Nyx replied.
“Don’t be disgusting,” she complained. There had never been any love lost between them, even when she had been forced to spend time in Spring. Alexander, with his knives and his studying and his scowling. Ivy and Soren had each other, had always teamed against him until he locked himself up in the library or took to the garden to avoid them.
Nyx couldn’t argue on that front. The thought of Alexander looking for her was more than repulsive. It was against nature itself to consider him as anything other than an obnoxious adversary. He wasn’t the first beautiful male. He wouldn’t be the last.
“Eat your breakfast,” Nyx demanded, pulling her from her thoughts. “And help me think of ways to annoy him at the meeting later.”
Ivy would have bristled at his bossy tone normally. Today was different and for once, she was all too happy to dream up a little mischief. 
*
Alexander had kept far enough from the Spell-Cleaver-Archeron clan. He had no interest in being subjected to their scorn or their chaos, especially not at his expense. He and his brother Finn were meant to pay for the mistakes of his father, apparently, for eternity. Rhysand had never gotten over it and Nyx wouldn’t, either. Alexander might have forgiven them had their poisonous opinion not tainted all the other courts. Ivy and Soren hated him just as viciously, apparently intending to hold Alexander accountable for their mother’s dip in the Cauldron. He could recall years of their fathers trying to make the three friends as they patched up their own issues, leaving Alexander to the cruel whims of Ivy and the bored pranks of Soren.
No amount of apologizing from his father would ever make it right. It seemed nothing could garner their forgiveness and Alexander was not keen to try. 
One day Ivy would have to interact with him when she was High Lady and he High Lord. He intended to repay her for her kindness then. Still, at times Alexander couldn’t help but envy her and the life she led. It was clear no one cared if Ivy accepted the magic or not and was content to let her decide how her future might play out. Her brother Soren was given free reign to chase his own pursuits. Alexander would have committed an unknown number of atrocities for such freedom. 
He’d never been to Day Court before, having always hosted the Vanserra's in Spring. While his father made the rounds and Finn vanished, likely chasing the first pretty female he laid his eyes on, Alexander had gone looking for a quiet nook in which to find some peace. He’d thought he’d found a little patio high up on the third floor was decent, having tried the garden only to find Elain Archeron strolling the winding path. She'd been nothing but polite, had offered to show him around but Alex had panicked. He wanted to see it, loved the glowing peace and couldn't risk her eldest daughter stumbling in to survey him with her mocking eyes.
So he'd gone up for the open veranda of windows. He should have known Nyx would be waiting. He’d retreated before he could be the butt of any of Nyx’s sharp words, catching sight of the sprawling city from a window just outside the hall. He’d paused, drinking it in. The city was beautiful, set atop a hill overlooking a vast, sparkling ocean.
And then Ivy had arrived. Every inch of her was a Day Court princess—his eyes snagged against the glowing brown of her skin, contrasted with the wine red of her tumbling red hair. Russet eyes widened with surprise, assessing at him just as carefully. She was stunning, daylight personified. If anyone had ever been born to live beneath the sun, it was her. He'd had the most curious urge to reach out and run his fingers through her hair.
She said nothing, to his relief, foregoing her usual taunts. He turned away from her, a mixture of relieved and disappointed when he heard the slap of her sandals taking her away. Something soft snagged in his chest, fluttering gently like a feather. He couldn’t help but watch her go, eyes lingering on the sway of her hips. She hesitated at the sharp corner of the hall, looking over her shoulder.
Their eyes met for another moment before she vanished entirely. She was going to Nyx, her counterpart in Night. He had no intention of sticking around for that. Alexander turned on his heel, wondering if it made him a coward. 
He didn’t get far. Soren caught him on the steps, a basket of curling ivy in his hands. Soren paused, sinking to his knees when his eyes frosted over. He was a Seer, famously so just like his mother. Alexander had heard the stories but to see it in person was something else. He lunged on the steps, banging his knee roughly on the marble to keep Soren from smashing his head open the same way.
The male was out for only a moment before he blinked, laying amid his overturned basket. Alexander let him go carefully, stepping around his limp body before he could be accused of hurting the Day Court prince. Soren rounded on him, abandoning his plants to follow just behind. 
“Can I help you?” Alexander demanded, reaching the bottom step with a racing heart.
Soren shook his head, watching Alexander curiously.
“My sister means well, you know,” he finally said. “You should go easy on her.”
Alexander scoffed. “Excuse me?”
Soren only shrugged, clearly finished with their exchange. “It’s only a thought.”
Soren vanished without another word, leaving Alexander to wonder what, exactly, the younger male had seen in his vision. Alexander knew one thing, though. Going easy on Ivy was like dipping a bloodied hand into shark infested waters. If she sensed any weakness at all she’d strike, demolishing him before he had a chance to blink. 
He found his father wrangling not just Finn, but Saoirse too, just outside the large meeting room they were all expected to sit in. “This is not the place,” Tamlin warned, his finger too close to Finn’s scowling face. “You know what they think of us.”
“I don’t care,” Saoirse replied, her pretty voice a near match for their mothers. Finn knew better than to anger their father but Saoirse’s temper was legendary, matched only by little Aine. Speaking of—
“Where is Aine?” Alexander asked, drawing the attention off his younger siblings and on to himself. 
His father’s face darkened and Alexander understood his blunder. The assumption was they’d been together. 
“I’m sure she’s fine,” Finn said quickly, eyeing the carved, golden doors behind them. “This court is crawling with children.”
There was no time to argue, not when Helion arrived. He was cordial, kind even. His Autumn Court wife never stopped smiling, her pretty face sweeping over the four of them as thought to assess the interlopers standing in the hall. Tamlin quickly informed Helion of his missing child and her unfortunate habit of shifting into a bear when the mood took her. The High Lord’s wife slipped from his side after caressing his arm with reassurance.
“Amera is an expert in tracking wayward children,” Helion assured them with a twinkle in his amber eyes. Alexander almost smiled at the sight before remembering who Helion was to Ivy and Soren. He didn’t trust any of them. 
Helion pushed open the door, letting Alexander and Finn take a seat as far from Rhysand as they could. Tamlin didn’t seem to care as much, sitting just beside Finn a mere four chairs from the General of the Night Court. Cassian and Nesta. Lord and Lady Death. He knew them all by virtue of his training to be High Lord. Their eldest daughter Elyn had her wings tucked tight against the navy blue of her high collared dress. She was the spitting image of her father, from her long, dark braided hair to her hazel colored eyes. She was talking quietly to the shadowsingers son Auden, watching at whatever he scribbled on a nearby piece of paper.
Nearby, Yvette from Winter Court was sandwiched between her parents, relaxed as she listened to them catching up with Morrigan. Helion took his place at the front of the table just beside his son Lucien, murmuring whispered words. The other Archeron women– Elain and Feyre–stood beside a large, arched window talking animatedly, unaware of how their mates eyes continued to dart towards them, just to be sure they were fine.
Nyx swept in first, dropping beside his father with a grin. They were an identical pair save for Nyx’s icy blue eyes. Maybe that was, in part, why Alexander hated him so. Nyx was merely a minature version of his asshole father, born it seemed just to taunt Alex. Ivy was the last in, practically apologetic, a blonde child resting on her hip. Alexander knew that little girl, arms twined around Ivy’s neck, a protruding bruise marring her otherwise pretty face.
“I found a bear,” she told her father, sitting on the other side of Helion with a pretty smile. “I didn’t know bears were allowed to roam the halls of Day Court.”
“That’s Aine,” Alexander said before he could stop himself. For the second time that day, Ivy looked up at him with those unreadable eyes. Aine, hearing his tone, buried her face further against the slim, flawless neck of Ivy Spell-Cleaver.
“My apologies, lord, but I’m certain you’re mistaken. This is a bear,” Ivy argued, eyes narrowing. Aine giggled, not daring to look at him. The sight of Ivy holding a blonde child was making his chest ache though he didn’t understand why. He looked away towards his father, who was smiling with a soft sort of fondness Alexander didn’t see very often. 
Still trying to untangle his weird feelings around Ivy, who switched between rapt attention and softly tickling his little sister, Alexander hadn’t absorbed a word being spoken. He had no interest in any of this, couldn’t understand how anyone did. Soren hadn’t been made to participate, didn’t need to care about any of it. Beside him, Finn at least jotted down notes, ever the studious scholar. Alexander felt adrift in his own life, a leaf on the wind. He’d done everything his father ever asked by virtue of being the eldest. He’d led war bands, he’d learned a multitude of languages and the history of Prythian. He knew which fork to use depending on the food being served and how to himself among courtiers and High Lords. Sometimes he thought every inch of him was just his fathers design. What, he wondered, did he really know about himself?
Alexander sighed softly, suddenly aware every single eye was looking at him. He blinked, looking to Ivy who stared back expectantly, still holding his youngest sister in her lap.
“Tell them, son,” Tamlin prodded. 
“About the border,” Finn added with a sharp elbow. 
“Ah…” he began, still staring at Ivy. Something sparked in russet-colored eyes and she nodded her head as though encouraging him to say anything. He wanted to impress her so badly that something overcame him.
“The humans have abandoned their iron weapons for ash and have found a way to produce faebane without conducting raids. Whether the continent supplies it to them or they’ve found a way to grow it, I’m not sure. What I do know is one of my better skilled units was ambushed in the night….ten were killed. No humans were injured per our laws, and we were unable to take any hostage. They’ve become more sophisticated, bolder.”
It was Rhysand that drew his eyes from Ivy. “One random contingent of—”
“It’s not random,” Alexander interrupted with frustration. “It’s regimented and well organized and the attacks are increasing. They’ve destroyed several villages…they’ve taken hostages.”
“I want to see it,” Rhysand drawled. “Would you agree to showing my son?”
Alexander nodded tightly, his mood lightening ever so slightly when Helion added, “Send Ivy, as well.”
He looked back up at Ivy, unsurprised to see the disappointment on her face. 
Alexander should have felt it, too.
*
“Don’t make me go,” Ivy pleaded with her dad as her mother packed for her. “I hate Spring. Send Soren.”
“The other courts trust you more than they trust Nyx,” her father explained patiently. “They trust our family. It’s important to know what, exactly, is happening. I trust you. This will be good practice for your future.”
Her chest ached. Alexander had left the day before without so much as a word, taking his delightful sister with him. All the other courts were still here, would remain for the rest of the week. Just Spring felt themselves above everyone else, too good to mingle with the common folk. Perhaps she ought to be grateful for that given how pulled she felt to Alexander. It wasn’t just her, either. Soren, after years of helping her taunt Alexander, had spent the evening with Finn, of all people, creating mischief in Rhodes. 
“Can’t you—”
“No,” Lucien Vanserra’s eyes were cutting. She wanted to be High Lady, had begged and pleaded for the best education Prythian had to offer. Her father had taken her up on it and now Ivy would be made to prove it hadn't been wasted. . Nyx, at least, would be joining her, though she knew she would be expected to behave herself like a future High Lady and not like a wild child running barefoot through the countryside with her favorite cousin.
Nyx said nothing when Ivy found him the next morning, picking a piece of lint from his black tunic. She stepped beside him in her long, white dress with a sigh.
“Two days, max,” Nyx told her with a grimace. “Father swore it.”
Nyx looked glumly over the city rising with the dawn. “He thinks I don’t comport myself like a future High Lord ought to. Uncle Lucien is supposed to shape me up.”
“You and me both,” she commiserated. “I can be nice if you can.”
Nyx scowled, wiping the expression from his face the moment their father met them at the top of the steps. Lucien glanced outwards, dressed in pristine white from head to toe. “Ready?” he asked.
Nyx and Ivy nodded wordlessly, clasping hands so Lucien would be forced to winnow them all. Darkness gobbled them up, taking them from the oppressive morning heat of Day Court summer to the fresh, warm lilac breeze of early morning Spring. It was jarring to Ivy, who hadn’t seen the rolling, grassy hills in a good decade at least. Nyx, too, blinked against the pinkish glow of morning, his black boots crunching against the gravel drive. 
Her father was already walking towards the sprawling ivory manor, his former home once upon a time. Nyx and Ivy trailed behind him. How had he stood it, she wondered? How had this place been home for over a century? Even Autumn made more sense to her. Ivy preferred the blistering heat of Day Court to every other place and struggled to picture the severe, brutal Alexander frolicking in this place.
The Lady of Spring was waiting, her pretty lilac dress floating on a breeze. Soft brown curls blew about her lovely, fair face and Ivy wondered if she was happy. She could tell, from how still Nyx stood, that he wondered the same. She certainly looked it, beaming with pleasure as she led them in. Ivy had heard she was a commoner, had met the High Lord by accident and wondered if that was true.
“Welcome,” she murmured, so soft spoken her voice was practically lost to the lilac scented air around them. “Come, I’ll show you to your rooms.”
Ivy looked up at her cousin, aware her face must have the same skeptical look to it. Beside her, Lucien bowed gracefully before stepping into the estate, leaving her and Nyx to fend for themselves. They both gaped for a moment before Ivy remembered this female had done nothing wrong. She didn’t deserve to be on the other end of their feud with her husband. 
“You’re kind, Lady,” Ivy finally murmured, drawing on her training. She was, after all, still her father’s daughter and somehow her father had lived with him for a century or more before he’d met her mother. Nyx was clearly thinking the same, his blue eyes looking around, stunned perhaps that his mother had ever spent a minute somewhere as placid.
This place makes me uncomfortable, Nyx’s voice floated through her mind. She’d forgotten he could speak to her like this.
It’s so quiet, she agreed.
The empty halls unnerved her, too. Day was bustling, busy, and full of talking, of laughter, of music. 
“Please. My name is Adelina—”
“Lady Adelina,” Tamlin’s voice interrupted as he turned a corner. Both Nyx and Ivy stopped, confronted with the man who had done so much harm to their mothers. He assessed them, too, as though looking for any of the defiance that marked the Archeron’s. He knew Ivy well enough, paid her only a passing glance before his eyes settled firmly on Nyx.
I hate him, Nyx snarled. Ivy said nothing though she shared the sentiment. 
“Welcome to Spring,” Tamlin told them, the warmth in his voice unmatched by the coldness of his eyes.
Nyx cringed softly beside her. Ivy could do this. She was the daughter of Lucien Spell-Cleaver after all. Had Lucien ever once let his personal feelings get in the way of duty? Ivy smiled sweetly.
“We promise to take up as little of your time as possible. Truly, High Lord, this is too generous and we are forever grateful.”
Her words caught him off guard. “It…it’s nothing,” he replied and Ivy could see how her father had managed to live so long with Tamlin. Tamlin had none of her fathers talent for words, for social graces. 
Alexander is just like his father, she thought with more than a little wonder.
Why does that matter? Nyx asked, still in her head. She shoved him out before he gleaned any other information. 
“I have given you your fathers old room,” Lady Adelina informed them, smiling sweetly at her husband. “And your mothers. I thought perhaps…you might like to know more about them and their time here.”
A muscle worked itself in Tamlin’s jaw but he stepped aside and allowed his Lady to continue their descent upwards. Ivy took her room first, momentarily stunned at how much of her father still seemed to linger. It smelled just like him. Nyx, too, peered inside with curiosity before walking away, down the opposite end of the hall. 
It was strange to imagine a life in which her father was Autumn or Spring. To her, he’d only ever been the son of the High Lord of Day. Her father, happily married to her mother. He was the male who’d carried her atop his shoulders and thrown her off cliffs into sun warmed sea water. The male who built sandcastles and taught her how to lace her sandals. Who’d shown her how command wind and fire and sunlight, who taught her to read and to determine who lied and who told the truth. 
How had he stood it, she wondered not for the first time, running her fingers over dusty books stacked on shelves? She picked up an old forgotten dagger when a knock on the door turned her around.
“Can you believe our parents—” She froze, because it wasn’t Nyx who stood in the doorway, but tall, foreboding Alexander. She swallowed, watching his eyes drift from her face to the knife in her hand. 
“Can…do you have a moment?” he asked, quietly closing the door behind him. 
“I suppose,” she replied, that same strange pulling tugging in her gut. Alexander didn’t move an inch. It was as if she repulsed him. It hurt her feelings a little. Surely he couldn’t do better?
He didn’t speak. Silence stretched around them and finally, “Do you and Nyx plan to share a tent?”
“Oh.”
Confusion flitted over his face and, annoyed with herself, Ivy took the opportunity to make him feel bad about himself. “Where else would I sleep? With you?”
His eyes darkened. “By yourself,” he shot back. Suddenly it was Ivy who felt dumb. 
“Oh…by myself is fine,” she decided, glancing down at her feet. Alexander said nothing else, sliding from the room with disgust on his face. She supposed she deserved it. After all, it would be him, Nyx, and her alone for a day and a night and he was trying to be accommodating. 
Ivy sighed loudly, pushing herself from the bed and back into the early morning air. She was greeted by Aine, grinning brightly in a pretty dress of blue. 
“You’re back,” she said with a grin, offering up a chubby, sticky hand. “Let me show you the garden. Papa says good hosts do things like that.”
“Your papa is a smart man,” Ivy agreed, happy to be led through the same halls her father had once roamed. In fact, she caught sight of him in a parlor with the High Lord of spring, grinning ear to ear, a glass of brandy in his hand. He winked when he saw her but did nothing to intervene. Ivy wasn’t even sure she wanted him to, surprised as she was to see how easy going her father was. 
That was the courtier in him, she supposed. Lucien could stare down the person he hated most with a smile. Ivy was still struggling with that. 
“Do you love it?” Aine asked, weaving through glass doors towards the beginnings of a sprawling, lush garden. Ivy paused, momentarily stunned.
“It’s beautiful,” she finally said, ignoring how the little girl was jumping up and down.
“Will you chase after me again?” Aine asked, revealing her true motivation for bringing Ivy out to the garden. “Please? Please please please plea—”
“Are you going to be a bear again?” Ivy demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Yes.”
Ivy pretended to think about it, a finger pressed to her chin. Aine clasped her hands, holding them to her cheek.
“Okay. You better ru—”
 Aine had already shifted and was snorting through the garden, trampling a row of lovely irises as she went. Ivy smiled, hiking up the side of her dress to give chase. 
She supposed Spring wasn’t all bad.
*
Alexander was tasked with bringing Ivy in for dinner. She’d been out in the garden with Aine all day, far better than spending it indoors with Nyx. Alexander had caught Nyx in his fathers study, snooping through carefully organized documents and maps.
“What are you doing?” he’d demanded. Nyx had looked up, eyes flashing with guilt before settling into loathing.
“Looking for my grandmothers wings,” he finally said. 
“You’re grand–what?” Alexander demanded. 
“Your grandfather killed my grandmother and aunt,” Nyx began while Alexander crossed his arms over his chest. He’d never heard this story. “And pinned their wings up somewhere in the house.”
“He’s dead,” Alexander reminded Nyx. Nyx sneered.
“You don’t keep trophies?”
It had taken every ounce of Alexander’s willpower to keep him from hitting Nyx in the face. “Who would? There’s no honor in killing females.”
“And yet, your family did.”
“Did your grandfather not?” Alexander shot back. He knew who had killed his grandmother. They stared the other down for a moment, neither wanting to admit that perhaps both their families had done heinous, unforgivable things. Alexander’s eyes drifted to the map behind his fathers desk, trying to picture wings hanging there like some kind of disgusting trophy of war. He shook his head.
“Look wherever you like. Nothing like that exists anymore.”
He’d been grateful when his mother asked him to track down Ivy and Aine in the garden, brooding over that new information. He’d almost asked her before stopping himself–if he didn’t know, perhaps she didn’t either. Why dredge up that horrible piece of family history? 
Lucien Vanserra was standing in the drive, face bright with amusement. The sound of soft bear snufflings and loud laughter told him Ivy and Aine were playing Aine’s favorite game—the one in which she was a bear and everyone chased after her. Alexander didn’t have to do much to get Ivy. She emerged, her dress tied between her legs in a big knot, revealing slim, tawny legs that gleamed in the late afternoon sun. Her hair stuck against her pretty face, sweaty and still somehow lovely. She practically glowed, a princess of all the light that touched her.
Beside him, Lucien Vanserra cleared his throat loudly, eyes sliding towards Alexander. Too late, he realized his scent must have shifted and the elder male had caught it on the wind. Embarrassment crawled over Alex's skin, forcing him to look anywhere but at the red head grinning as she approached her dad. As if Alex were the first male to find Ivy appealing.
Ivy walked to her dad, who put his arm around her shoulder just in time for Alex to say, “Dinner is ready.”
He caught Aine with one arm before she could sneak off. She writhed, teeth sinking into his bare arm.
“You’re feral,” he complained, turning his back to the Vanserra’s to drag her inside.
“You’re a brute,” she retorted, blood staining her teeth. 
“Don’t you dare shift,” he hissed, tasting the magic in the air. His own claws punched through his knuckles in warning, just in time for Nyx to see. He smirked, as though every thought he’d ever had about Alexander was confirmed. Alex dropped his sister to the floor, angry that someone assumed he would hurt her just because she was annoying.
“Maybe the magic won’t choose you!” she screeched, dirt smudging her cheek. “Maybe I’ll be like Ivy and it’ll pick me!”
“I wish it would,” he snapped back just in time for Lucien and Ivy to see. Ivy’s eyes followed after Aine’s retreating form. Lucien put a hand on his back, apparently willing to overlook his momentary lapse of judgment in the garden and how he’s been all but ogling his eldest daughter.
“They grow out of it,” Lucien murmured, as if Alex hadn’t meant every word he’d said. He wished the magic would choose differently, that any one of his siblings might inherit Spring’s magic. It was mere guesswork that it might one day be him—he was strongest, had shifted youngest. Aine, though, was strong too and her magic was far more specific. Let her take over.
Alexander certainly wanted nothing to do with ruling.
Dinner was a tedious affair. Nyx and Ivy sat with Lucien between them to act as a clear buffer, His mother made the majority of conversation though occasionally Lucien would offer up a piece of long forgotten history and his father would smile softly, remembering those times. It was strange to see Tamlin that way and he wasn’t sure if he liked it. 
The only positive was Ivy and Nyx, forced by Lucien to keep their mouths shut. If they talked quietly in their heads between each other, Alex didn’t know. Didn’t care. He helped his mother clear the table before dropping them off to the servants in the kitchen. With nothing else to do, Alexander went outside to prepare for the coming morning. It was one day, one night, he told himself. He could manage that. He could handle Ivy and Nyx all on his own, could prove to his father he was High Lord material.
Tamlin was waiting when Alexander returned closer to midnight, standing just outside his study. “Take them nowhere else,” his father warned. “To the villages on the border and then back. I don’t want Rhysand’s eyes anywhere else on this territory.”
Alexander nodded, though he hesitated for a moment. “Did we used to display Night Court wings in this home?”
His father flinched. “I burned them.”
“Do they know that?” he couldn’t help but ask. 
“They are not innocent of the atrocities committed,
“I never said they were,” Alexander protested, well aware pushing would only make things worse. “But an explanation might go a long way towards fixing things between—”
“There is no fixing,” Tamlin interrupted. “Only control. What more can I do to show I’m not a threat to them? You’d think, from how Rhysand and his son act, I am still chasing after…” he couldn’t say her name. “It’s over. I’ve let it go. If they are unable…that’s not my problem anymore.”
Alex heaved a sigh. “Right.”
“Nowhere else!” Tamlin called after his retreating back. As if Ivy or Nyx would even want to see anything else.
*
After a quick goodbye with her father, Ivy mounted the butter yellow mare Alexander had provided for her. They wouldn’t be alone. Besides her and Nyx, he was bringing a guard of ten. It was a surprising mix of both males and females, apparently the first Spring had ever seen. Tamlin had explained almost apologetically at dinner, saying they respected females as gentle creatures in their court, and recognized some wanted to fight. Both Ivy and Nyx had kept their mouth shut over eggs, well aware their own mothers would have had something to say about gentle creatures.
Alexander had gruffly introduced them to each member in turn. Nyx, ever the politician, had gone around shaking hands as if he needed their approval to one day be High Lord. Ivy suspected he wanted to be sure that if anything went wrong, they’d have his back. She was far more optimistic that soldiers followed orders, offering a polite bow all at once. 
Alexander had tied his shoulder length blonde hair into a ponytail, a baldric of knives over his oak brown tunic. His arms were bare, muscles flexing as he moved. Ivy had to wipe her palms on her own tailored black pants, unsure why the sight of the Spring Court prince armed to the teeth was making her so nervous. 
There were plenty of handsome males back home. Day Court had no shortage of them and yet no one had ever made her feel so out of sorts like this. It was disorienting and beyond that, upsetting. It wasn’t just any male—it was Alexander. They’d never had one good conversation. She could take some of that blame but he’d never tried very hard, either. Sh couldn't remember having ever felt so drawn to him, to wanting to touch him with her traitorous, twitching fingers.
Ivy decided to focus on the sprawling countryside. It was so lush here, so green and bright. The air had that same lilac scent to it, fluttering against the braid of her hair as though it were an old companion. It was odd how much nothing there seemed to be. For several hours they sat in those saddles. Ivy ignored how badly her thighs had begun to ache, drinking in the surroundings. 
The road shifted from dirt to gravel to paved asphalt as the air, too, gave way. No longer did flowers hang on the breeze but a choking ash filled her nostrils. It took clearing a small hill to see why. Just beneath in a bright valley, lay the ruined, smoldering remains of what had likely been town large enough to practically be a city. Miles stretched in every direction, pouring smoke up towards the sunny sky. 
Ivy slid from her saddle, the first to hit the ground. She didn’t know why, but it seemed important to be on the ground as she strode through the once lovely archway. Alexander came next, his feet practically echoing beside her. The world seemed to groan at his presence, as though it recognized him, bowing to the future High Lord. 
“How close are we to the border?” Nyx asked softly, tucking his dark wings tight against his body.
“Hours, still,” Alexander whispered softly, the anguish on his face plain. Ivy couldn’t help but fall into step with him. They weren’t friends, weren’t even friendly. She could set it aside for this.
“How many people lived here?”
“Ten thousand,” he murmured. Nyx choked behind him, finally coming to the ground, reins in hand.
“Where did they all go?”
Alexander didn’t speak. None of them did. Nyx knew as well as her that no one had been spared. If the humans could come this far inland, could so easily decimate an entire city, what else might they be capable of? Not even the children had been left alive. It was stunning, the savage cruelty.
Ivy wasn’t prepared for the horror of the day. Each new, ruined village weighed heavily on her shoulders. Alexander explained not everyone was accounted for—some had been taken, though to what purpose, he could only guess. 
The border itself stood between the last small village and a dense woodland. “It should be impossible for them to cross,” Alexander told them as dusk began to fell. They were setting up tents just outside the village though the smell of smoldering wood and despair hung thickly in the air. Ivy felt exhausted, her mind blank. 
“A village so closed to the bordered might be considered provocation,” Nyx murmured, eyes staring into the darkness of the trees. She wondered what he saw. 
Alexander only shrugged. “And the others?”
Nyx didn’t have an answer to that. It was just like Nyx and Ivy to want to give humans the benefit of the doubt. Both their mothers had once been human. Those sympathies ran deep. Even now, Ivy tried to consider the fears of the humans. Maybe they thought it was better to attack first than be caught in whatever war they imagined was coming.
“They had to have known this was farmland,” Alexander was telling Nyx. “And families, females and their children—”
“How would they know that?” Nyx asked haughtily, turning his starry eyes towards Alexander. Ivy watched Alexander’s claws peek through his knuckles even as he swallowed his anger.
“I assume the screaming females attempting to flee with their young would have been the first indicator this was not a garrison.”
Ivy pressed her fingertips against her lips. “We need to speak with Vassa,” she murmured to Nyx. She was Queen now, was supposed to be overseeing these things.
Alexander scrubbed a hand down his face, the faint hint of stumbling gracing the strong cut of his jaw. She wanted to comfort him and didn’t know why, felt that strange pull again.
Ivy waited through dinner and drinking for his soldiers to retire. Alexander, too, slipped between the flaps of his tent until it was just her sitting in the dark. Nyx had left, his eyes farway. She knew he was communicating with his father in that strange way of his, connected despite the distance. 
She waited until clouds covered the moon, stealing the last little moonlight left. Ivy made her way to Alexander’s tent, pushing aside the flap. He was still dressed, lounging against his bedroll, one arm tucked behind his head. He went still when he saw her.
“Come in,” he offered dryly when she stepped inside. Ivy kept a healthy distance between them.
“How do you know this isn’t revenge?” she asked by way of greeting, vocalizing the thought she’d been keeping tucked tight in the back of her mind. Alexander’s handsome face immediately twisted to a scowl.
“Are you insinuating my people deserved what happened to them?” 
Ivy exhaled through her nose. “Perhaps the humans haven’t forgotten what your father allowed.”
He rose to his feet, so tall he had to duck at the tallest peak of the tent. “Oh? You know what my people haven’t forgotten? Your aunt destroying their home as an act of revenge.”
Ivy felt as if he’d punched her in the chest. She knew so little of that story, admittedly. Her father had always been sparse on the details that led to him fleeing Spring and she knew that bad blood had persisted long after Tamlin remarried. To hear Lucien Vanserra tell it, he’d gone on a harrowing mission to find his mate. 
“Maybe the humans are angry about that fucking wall. It doesn’t give them the right to murder innocents. Not when my father did his best to protect them and has aggressively punished any faerie caught crossing the border.”
Ivy took a step back as he came towards her. It had been a mistake to try and speak with him.
“I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Didn’t you, though?” he interrupted with a dry laugh. He came closer still, his body practically sucking up all the available space. Too late, she realized just how cramped the tent was, how close they truly were. What was she doing? Why had she come in here at all?
“I’m not my father,” he added after a moment. “But would it be so bad if I was?”
Ivy felt a punch of heat splinter at her back. “Oh,” she gasped, falling forwards. He caught her easily, holding her in warm arms. He smelled nice, of woodsmoke and pine. She took a breath, unable to understand why standing felt so difficult. The magic in her body lashed wildy before stuttering with a violence that made her choke. 
“You’re bleeding,” Alexander murmured, his hand on her back. “Ivy there’s an—”
Another arrow whizzed through the air, slicing through the tent and catching him roughly in the shoulder. Alexander roared furiously, waking his soldiers from their slumber. The two stumbled from the tent to find utter chaos. Choking, sickly sweet fog was racing towards them. She threw her arm up against it, blasting a pulse of white hot light towards the line of trees. Nyx was somewhere in the distance, weaving his own night kissed power blindly.
“Go!” Alexander roared again, realizing what was happening. Faebane in the arrows, mingled with the smoke, was choking the life from them. “Ivy, Nyx, you need…”
She never heard what she needed. She should have winnowed away even as she sank to her knees. Everything slowed, their voices distorted like she was underwater. It was all she could do to lay down and gasp desperately for air. Darkness seeped at the edges of her vision.
She was grateful to know nothing else. 
-
Ivy awoke to shooting, blinding pain. She groaned, twisting to touch her back. Chains rattled, iron digging into her wrists. She heard someone sigh.
“You’re awake.”
She opened an eye, and then another, disturbed to find herself in a cold, dark dungeon. Her arms were pinned up over her head and her back throbbed. She exhaled as Alexander came into focus. While just her arms were tied, he was chained at the neck, the wrists, and the ankles. His blonde hair was wild around his bruised face, his tunic torn at the shoulder. It was obvious he’d put up one hell of a fight. 
“What happened?” She croaked, tugging at her hands.
“We were betrayed,” he replied, his green eyes flashing dangerously. “Your cousin went for help but who knows where he landed when the faebane set in.”
“Who betrayed you?” she asked, resting her head against cool stone. 
“I don’t know,” Alexander replied. “But they’re owed a conversation with my sword.”
His voice was cold, dripping with promise. She shivered. “And if we don’t escape?”
His eyes found hers. “Do you doubt me?”
“I hardly know you,” she admitted. Alexander’s expression didn’t change.
“I’ll have my revenge.”
Ivy didn’t know how long they sat in silence. At some point Alexander fell asleep but she could not, kept awake by her aching back and her fear. Alexander was the warrior, she the politician and though her father had taught her to use a blade she would need Alexander if she had any hope to escape. That seemed unlikely given how Alexander was literally chained at the neck. How did he plan to escape? 
While he slept, Ivy thought. Perhaps she could lull their captors into a false sense of security. She could convince them she was harmless, nothing to be worried about. Alexander certainly seemed terrifying. He was six feet, five inches of pure muscle but Ivy was small, petite, and unassuming. The humans didn’t need to know that, of the two of them, her magic was stronger.
She heard them coming from somewhere above, heard them talking.
“…Surely the female must be awake.”
“Careful, she might bite.”
There was laughter. “The male went feral when we pulled her out of that tent. If he tries anything, put a knife to her throat.”
Alexander peaked open one eye to look at her before closing it again, his chest barely moving. A moment later the heavy iron door opened and two human men came in carrying water and stinking food. 
“Well, look who is awake,” the uglier of the two crooned. “How are you feeling?”
She didn’t respond though she jerked her head to the side when the other, just as ugly and reeking of blood and rotting meat, touched her face. “She glows.”
“Why do you glow?” the first asked, his brown eyes leering. She was dressed in pants and a fitted white shirt, stained with blood and dirt and yet might as well have been naked for how their eyes roamed against her.  
“Please, let us go,” she whispered as she tried summoning her magic. Nothing came. The faebane hadn’t worn off. “We’ll do anything—”
“That one will kill us,” the second reminded her, jerking towards Alexander. He flashed his teeth, his eyes lethal. “But maybe we’ll let you go…if you do something for us?”
A bargain. Humans didn’t understand fae bargains. She could use this to her advantage. “What?”
They both chuckled. “Hows about you touch our cocks, hm?”
Stupid. Alexander didn’t move, didn’t dare react. He knew, just as she did, that bargains with the fae needed to be specific. “And if I do, you’ll let me go? Immediately?”
They laughed again. “Right away,” they agreed.
“It’s a deal,” she replied, catching how Alexander’s eyes closed for a moment. He didn’t like it, didn’t like the implication of the what she'd agreed to, but Ivy didn’t care. She’d rip their genitals from their bodies, which counted as touching, and then she’d be free. Even without her magic she trusted she was strong enough to best a couple of dimwitted humans.
“Get your strength up, then. You have a long day ahead of you,” the second said. To her surprise, he unchained her hands before shoving a cup of water into it. One sniff told her it was laced with more faebane.
“Feed that one,” the first barked, tossing a tray of rotted food at Alexander’s feet. She waited until she couldn’t hear them any longer before skittering across the damn floor for the chain around his neck. She’d never been so close to him before and the scent of him was staggering. Alexander watched, eyes huge.
“That was a clever,” he murmured as she wrenched against the restraint.
“Would you like me to torture the name of your leak from them?” she asked dryly, sitting beside him when she realized the iron holding him wouldn’t budge. He grimaced.
“Only if you feel compelled to do so. When you’re freed…don’t come back.”
“I’m not leaving you—”
“Yes you will.”
She scowled. “You think you can tell me what to do because—”
“Because I’m my father?” he interrupted, irritated. She felt a prick of guilt because yes, that was exactly what she’d been about to say. He knew it, too. 
“How long do you think it takes the faebane to wear off?” she asked instead, holding that cup in her trembling hands. 
“Longer than it’ll take us to starve to death,” he replied grimly, nodding towards the cup. He opened his mouth and she poured water in, ignoring the way her whole body seemed tighten. She sniffed the food, splitting what was edible between them before settling back against the damp, stone floor. Alexander couldn’t move and Ivy was too tired to try. There was no way out but the door, besides. The room was so small, with the tiniest, barred window just overhead.
“Do you think Nyx got back okay?” she asked.
Alexander closed his eyes again. “Let's hope so.”
“I can’t leave without you,” she whispered, the truth of the matter. “We have to work together.”
“Whatever you say,” he replied with a voice that very much betrayed his belief that he would not be leaving at all. 
Ivy could still hear the humans talking just outside the door, describing how feral Alexander had gone when they tried to take her. How he’d fought with all those protruding arrows, even when he could have escaped himself. How he’d crouched over her body, half beast, half man, until he’d been felled himself. Alexander could hear it too, his arched, pointed ears twitching softly in the dim light. She didn’t dare look at him, didn’t dare ask what had provoked such a reaction. 
Why hadn’t he tried to escape? 
She didn’t think she wanted to know
*
Alexander woke to Ivy’s head on his chest. She was asleep, one hand curled against his chest, the other resting on his thigh. Something tugged in his chest, a feeling he was becoming too familiar with. He couldn’t bury it like he’d done back at the estate even as he ignored what he knew was barreling towards him. Seeing Ivy collapse in his arms, watching how she’d fallen to the ground had made him insane. He’d been unable to think of anything but protecting her, even at the expense of his own safety. It had been irrational, utterly stupid. He might have winnowed them both out if he’d kept his head on straight. 
He held himself still so he wouldn’t wake her, even though his spine ached from sitting so rigidly on the unyielding ground. Her hair spilled over his legs. It would have been an erotic sight if they’d been anywhere else. Even there, barely able to move, he felt taut and too fascinated. He shifted slightly, trying to take some of the pressure off his back. 
“You’re awake,” she murmured, her voice thick. 
“Go back to sleep,” he replied, aware it was practically impossible to sleep on the hard, stone floor. The only light they had was coming from her skin, marking her the undisputed Heir of Day Court. Dim, dull night poured through the window. They were in the human lands somewhere. That hardly bade well. 
Overhead, the humans were restless. Word had spread of Ivy’s willingness to touch them. They were all talk for the moment, boasting of all the ways they’d enjoy her. When Ivy slept, it hardly mattered what they said. Alexander had buried his hatred deep, deep down. Now, though, she stirred, pushing upwards to listen. Neither moved when their footsteps began to move towards the stairs. They were drunk if the jangling, fumbling keys in the door were any indication. Ivy looked to Alexander, who had nothing to offer her. 
“On your feet, whore,” they taunted. Ivy stood slowly, eyes shifting from their faces towards the open door. She could have run—even without magic she would have been faster than their eyes could track. She didn’t. She wasn’t leaving without him. Alexander almost hated her for it. 
There were two of them, older males by the looks of it, with graying brown hair and eyes that wrinkled at the corners. They leered at Ivy, likely the most beautiful female they’d ever seen in their lives. Alexander growled when they put their hands on her shoulders, forcing her to her knees.
“He doesn’t like that,” one taunted, pulling a knife from his ill-fitting brown pants. “I hear your lot claims their women.”
Ivy’s eyes burned with hatred when the first grabbed her wrists and pushed them back into the iron manacles. 
“He’s gonna watch me claim her,” the first laughed, drawing his own sword. “You know what else they say about your kind?”
He was too close to Ivy. She reared her head back and slammed it into his own. Blood poured from the human males face. He hit her roughly, over and over until Alexander was snarling, pulling against his chains as hard as he could. The iron groaned loudly but didn’t budge.
“That’s iron,” the second said, holding his dagger close to Alexander’s cheek. “You ain’t getting from it.”
Ivy gasped, spitting blood to the floor. Her russet eyes were glassy and bright, the glow of her skin dulled. Both men rounded on her, clearly thinking her weaker. “They say your kind heals real fast,” they told her. Ivy shook her head back and forth, hands clenched to fists in her manacles. “Is that true.”
“Get fucked,” she replied furiously. Alexander could do little more but watch that blade slice brutally sharp over her forehead, taunting as it just narrowly avoided her eye to dig against her cheek, kissing over her jaw before trailing down her neck. He struggled until the iron cut brutally against his wrists, unyielding despite his strength. She gasped softly when the sharp knife trailed down her neck, avoiding the pumping artery to slide fully into her shoulder. She cried in pain, throwing her head back, eyes squeezed shut. 
“Guess they feel some pain,” the second chuckled when the knife cut from her skin, dripping red with blood. Alexander was losing himself, could feel how desperately his body wanted to shift into a beast and rip them apart. 
Ivy’s screams filled the air as they tortured her, finding sick satisfaction as they broke her leg with a vicious stomp, as they slid her shirt up over her skin to poke their knife between her ribs and beneath her breasts. Alexander snapped when he watched one of them reach for the ties of her pants, ripping one his chains clean off the wall. 
It was his chest snapping, he realized, the other hand coming loose. Both men were looking at him with fear. “It’s iron,” one said to the other, his knife clattering loudly to the ground. Alexander pulled the restraint from his neck off with ease, rising to his full height so they could soak in their fear one final time. The scent of their arousal immediately shifted to piss and fear. He didn’t need to free his feet to catch the first, the one who’d begun touching her.
Mate, instinct screamed. Touched his mate. 
Alexander ripped his head off his body without a second though, tossing the body limply to the ground. The other tried to duck past him, losing his head the same way. Blood sprayed through the room, coating them both. Ivy was panting—staring.
“Oh no,” she whispered, staring up at him. She felt it too, felt that cord that tied them together. He said nothing, too keyed up to do anything but free them both. He’d worry about the rest when they made it out. Stealing the keys from one of the headless bodies, he undid the shackles at his ankles before staggering towards her. She might have already begun to heal if their magic was restored. Her own blood dripped from her still open wounds, her leg bent at an unnatural angle. Alexander undid the irons holding her, catching her before she fell. For as aching as he was, he knew he had nothing on her. 
“Can you walk?” he asked, ignoring the obvious question between them. Touching her was a new kind of torture, equisite and terrible by equal measure. All he wanted was to touch her, to smell her, to taste her—
“No,” she grimaced, leaning heavily against him. He crouched, gesturing for her to hold his neck so he could carry her against his back. Ivy didn’t complain, didn’t protest. He could feel the hammer of her heart against his skin, thrumming painfully loud in the silence. He hooked her legs around him, ignoring the hiss of pain against his neck. 
“You can’t fight like this,” she reminded him, her mouth inches from his ear. He was going insane. She was right about that, though for the wrong reasons. If she kept talking to him like that she was going to give him an erection. Alexander was certain he couldn’t do anything when he was fully hard and aching for her. 
“I’ve fought under worse conditions,” he lied, bending for one of the blood stained knives. He pushed open the door, the ring of keys in his pocket, and began walking the pair up the winding, narrowed stairs. He felt her nose run along the skin behind his ear, causing his knees to nearly buckle.
“Stop it,” he demanded roughly, adjusting the weight of her. 
“Sorry,” she whispered, maybe for the first time in her life.
“Don’t get soft on me now,” he retorted, listening for more humans. How many could he take like this? They were surprisingly fragile, soft and breakable in his hands. If he’d had his magic, it would have been no contest—but then, if Ivy had hers, there would be no need for him to shift at all. He’d heard rumors of her, of the blend of Day and Autumn Court magic thrumming through her veins. It made the other courts nervous. They kept to their own for a reason, not wanting to share their secrets. Eris Vanserra didn’t seem to care, at least. What would they say when they realized hybrid Ivy was mates with the Spring Court.
“You’re grinding your teeth,” she whispered. “Stop it.”
It only made him grind them harder. Clearly being mates hadn’t softened her feelings towards him, which was just as well. Alexander wasn’t faring much better. Wanting to fuck her and wanting to spend the rest of his life with her were two different things. She’d made his life hell for longer than he cared to admit. 
“When I’m well, I’m coming back to kill them all,” she whispered when Alexander wrenched open a door forcefully, spilling the pair into the cold night. 
“That’s the spirit,” he mumbled, surveying his surroundings. Something were innate and his good vision was one of them. He supposed he ought to thank his father for forcing years of tracking on him, of all those nights on his own with nothing but a weapon. Of course, he’d never been responsible for another injured person who was, for practical purposes, defenseless. Still, Alexander stepped into crunching snow. They were atop a mountain and no where close to home. Winnowing would be impossible. Their only option was to run. 
“Hold on,” he ordered. Ivy’s arms tangled tightly around his neck, her body taut against his own. Alexander swallowed the urge to shove her against something and take her in favor of breaking into a sprint. He needed to burn his new, restless energy. Just in time, he thought, as he began making his way down the mountainside as carefully as he dared. An alarm sounded behind him, warning the humans the fae were on the loose. Alexander almost smiled.
He hoped they were scared. 
*
Mates. Ivy turned the word over and over in her head for the duration of the night. Alexander didn’t falter though he did begin to slow as dawn approached. They were stuck atop a mountain she’d never seen before, far above a pine forest she could see lingering below. How close to Spring they were after that, well…only Alexander knew for sure. 
So they ran, faster than any human could catch, putting days between them and their would-be captors. She understood now why he assumed someone must have sold them out. If they stopped now, the humans might catch them in two days assuming they didn’t stop for breaks. By the time Alexander’s steps slowed to a plodding stop they were at the treeline. The ground was still covered in snow, still bitingly cold but better than the high elevation from before.
The fact that Alexander had run it was a testament to his training, if nothing else. He hadn’t complained, hadn’t set her down. He set her down as gently as could atop a cold, jagged rock beside a stream, dropping to a panting crouch to gulp down clean, clear water. He said nothing for a moment, working to catch his breath. 
Ivy scooted along the edge, fingering the bloodied scar over her face. It was hardly her worst injury but aesthetically, it was the most noticeable. Staring at her reflection in the rippling water, she thought she’d never looked more like her father. It was a comforting notion. Ivy couldn’t crouch like Alexander for water, could barely move her body at all. The knife wounds sliced along her body still oozed blood, battling against the shattered bone of her knee. 
He noticed, nostrils flaring. His own exhaustion was apparent in his grassy green eyes. Ivy said nothing as he paced towards her, hands clenched at his sides. “Do…do you want water?” he finally asked. 
“I can do it,” she lied, pushing herself gingerly to her feet. There was no lying between them now. He could feel her pain without having to guess, traveling down the line, golden cord now tethering them together. He hesitated for a moment, watching her balance on one foot before scooping her up like she was nothing. “I don’t want to be carried,” she complained, twisting in his arms. He grunted in response, kneeling beside the bank of the creek and setting her along the rocky shore. 
“Of course not, lady,” he offered sarcastically, scooping water in his broad, tanned hand. She drank, swallowing her dignity along with it. He helped her wipe the blood off her body, keeping his eyes to himself which she appreciated. She wasn’t ready to talk about what happened in that fortress. He’d ripped iron from stone to get to her, had torn two humans apart just for touching her. What else might he do?
He sat beside her for a moment, taking a long breath. “We should keep moving.” “Can you?” she asked. He scowled but Ivy hadn’t intended to be anything but genuine. He’d been running with her on his back for hours. Surely he was exhausted.
“I want…I need to put more distance between us,” he finally said, glancing over his shoulder. He presented his back to her and, gingerly, she climbed back on.
“I’ll try not to jostle too much,” he said after adjusting her weight. She rested her chin on his shoulder, arms wrapped around his neck. 
They lapsed back into silence. The continued steps rocked his body, almost lulling her to sleep. Alexander seemed to notice, perhaps because her hair had begun spilling down his chest. “Are you still bleeding?” he asked her. “Yeah,” she admitted, her clothes.
“It should have slowed by now,” he murmured, looking over his shoulder. It was a mistake. His mouth was suddenly inches from her own. He jerked back, eyes wide. Her heart pounded, desperate to just know. What would it have been like if he had kissed her? He was clearly wondering the same. 
Thinking about him made it easier to forget the pain in her body, if nothing else. “So…High Lord, huh?” 
His whole body went stiff beneath her as if he’d been electrocuted. “So they say,” he finally agreed. She remembered Aine screaming that she might steal the High Lordship from him and Alexander’s bitter words hoping she would. Careful as she dared, Ivy asked, “Do you want to be High Lord?”
“Worried about becoming Lady of Spring?” he shot back. “I’m sure my mother could give you some pointers.” “I’ll break the bond before I go to Spring,” Ivy shot back angrily. Alexander relaxed then, as if that was what he’d been hoping to hear. She’d said it to get a rise out of him, to make him angry. Knowing he didn’t want this at all filled her with dread. 
“Do whatever you want,” he said simply. 
“Glad we agree,” she hissed, her feelings hurt. 
They made it until noon without saying another word. Alexander was coated in a slick sheen of sweat while Ivy, despite being carried, was panting against his neck. “Please,” she whispered, unable to bear another step. “Please put me down.” She had her face buried in his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut. His fingers rubbed her legs reassuringly. “Soon.”
“Alex–”
“I swear,” he growled. “A few more minutes.”
It could have been hours for all she knew. She was whimpering by the time he gingerly set her to the ground. She curled on her side, inhaling through her nose and out through her mouth. She had the sense that he’d left. Good. He could go ahead and get help. She’d be alright. Her magic would return to her eventually. 
She heard his boots crunching and his soft breathing. “I thought you left.”
“Why would you think that?” he grunted over the sound of rough scraping.
“You’d be faster without me,” she murmured, sighing when a blast of heat covered her body. She thought it was her magic warming her—Ivy had always run hot—but when she opened an eye, she realized he’d found a cave and had built a fire. 
“I’m not leaving my mate–not leaving you behind,” he said fiercely, settling to the ground gingerly. 
“But you might leave me if I wasn’t?” It was supposed to be a teasing joke but her voice was too pained and soft to sound anything but pathetic.
Alexander sighed, scooting until he was just beside her. He lifted her head so she could rest it in his lap.
“No, Ivy. I wouldn’t leave you, regardless of how much you hate me.” “I don’t hate you,” she admitted. 
“What do you feel?” he pressed, fingers carding through her hair. She exhaled a pained breath.
“Drawn to you.”
“Ah,” he murmured. 
“And I suppose I’m the bane of your existence?” she tried to tease, perring up at him. His expression was unreadable, dark and soft in equal measure.
“You are the loveliest female I’ve ever seen,” he finally said, each word forced from his mouth as though it pained him to say it. “That has always been true.”
He leaned against the rocky cave wall. “Your father is going to kill me.”
She couldn’t argue with that. It wasn’t that he was Tamlin’s son as much as he was just any male who felt he had a claim on Lucien’s daughter. While Soren had been given a longer leash to galavant about, Ivy had always been her daddy’s little girl. He didn’t like the males of his own court sniffing around.
“Helion will be worse,” she finally said with a soft smile.
“And your uncle—”” “Eris will think it’s funny,” she interrupted, certain of that. “He loves these kinds of cosmic jokes.”
“I meant your uncle Rhysand,” Alexander finished, his thumb trailing over the gash across her eye. 
“Oh. Well…him and my dad tolerate each other at best…so you don’t have to worry too much. It’s not like you’re mated to Nyx—”
“Cauldron save me,” Alexander mumbled. There was more silence and then, “Does that mean you’ll accept the bond?”
“You said you didn’t want it,” she winced, rolling to her back. Ignoring Alexander’s heavy gaze overhead, she pulled her shirt upwards, horrified by what she saw. Instead of healing, like even a humans wounds might have done, hers were festering. Puckered and greenish around the edges, Ivy knew what she was looking at.
“Fuckers,” Alexander swore, hands hovering over the inflamed wounds. “They poisoned the blade.”
“How far are we?” she asked, pulling down her shirt. Her heart pounded a frantic beat in her throat, washing her blood with panic. 
“I don’t know,” he admitted. 
“You have to go ahead,” she gasped, grabbing his hand. “Leave me here, I’ll—”
“Absolutely not,” he snarled, his body practically vibrating with rage. 
“I’m slowing you down,” she protested. Alexander shook his head, blonde waves framing his wild face. 
“I’ll leave you over my dead body,” he swore. “Don’t ask me again.”
His words settled some of her fear. She curled closer to him, eyes heavy. “Will you wake me in an hour?”
His fingers brushed her cheek. “Of course, lady.”
She barely heard him at all before drifting into sleep.
*
Alexander let Ivy sleep longer than hour, checking her forehead for a temperature every couple minutes. Her skin was blazing hot, her face far too pale for someone with her golden complexion. He left her more than once to collect water. He told himself it was the bond demanding he care for there, that instinct made him want to care for his mate. It was flimsy in his own head. She was delirious, talking about being drawn to him and still it gave him far too much hope.
“Hey,” he murmured as darkness began to settle around them again. He wanted to keep moving, to get out of the cold if he could. “Ivy, wake up.”
She roused but just barely. “Are we home?” she asked him sleepily, nuzzling her head further into his lap. He had to move her, wondering if he was a monster for feeling so aroused while she was so badly injured. 
“Not yet. Come in. Can you climb on my back?”
It was easier to run when he didn’t have to carry her in his arms. Ivy nodded, pushing herself upwards on trembling, weak arms. He was concerned about the state of her wounds. The one on her face was bright red—it would scar if he didn’t get her to a healer. The thought of anything marrying her lovely face was sacrilegious. 
She held herself on his neck, head resting against his shoulder. Alexander had put out the fire before he left. Their tracks would be easy to follow in the snow even for clumsy, slow humans. Alexander ran again, sliding down the mountain with practiced ease. She didn’t move or speak like before. Her head bounced off his body, arms slackening only to retighten when she realized she was about to fall. Over and over, Alexander felt her grip him only to nearly slide off his back.
He’d be lucky if she managed another day like this. As he ran, he battled with his insides, trying to find even a kernel of magic he could use to get them back to Spring and to healer. It was all he thought of through the night, racing through a dark, endless sea of pine trees. He hated the cold, hated how it bit against his skin until it was all he could taste.
The dawn brought a shift in the treeline, warming the air noticeably until he was certain he must be close to Spring. Maybe not his Spring, but a human Spring none the less. They were nearing the base of the mountain and Alexander found himself facing down a new worry. Humans were likely to be lurking nearby. What would happen if they came upon their pair of them, starving and injured and newly mated? 
It was well past noon by the time he tracked down another cave for them to take shelter in. He left her long enough to build another fire and stalk after a lean looking deer, bringing it down with bare, bloodied hands. While Ivy slept on the cave floor, he carved it up carefully, roasting and eating until he felt almost settled.
“Ivy,” he tried again for the second time that day. She was harder to rouse, her lips chapped, skin ashen. Even her pretty hair seemed duller than it had before. She managed to open her good eye, peeking up at him with listless eyes.
“Are we home?” she asked him, reaching for his hand.
“Not yet,” he replied, hauling her into his lap. “You need to eat.”
She shook her head no. “No food.”
“Yes, food,” he insisted, pressing a piece of meat against her lips. “Open your mouth.”
It was the fever that made her complaint. She let him push the food against her tongue, unaware of how his fingertips lingered against the soft skin of her mouth. He swallowed hard. 
“It tastes like ash,” she complained, swallowing anyway. Alexander chuckled.
“Well, I’m not known for my cooking.” She pressed her head against his shoulder, inhaling again. One hand curled over the neckline of his shirt, fingers brushing over his skin. “What are you known for?”
“I…” he didn’t know. “My bees.”
That caught her attention. “Bees?” she questioned, nose nuzzling against his neck. He had to shift, to move her face to keep himself from hardening against her. He couldn’t help it—she was hurt, was seeking comfort the only way her inflamed brain knew how—instinct was screaming for him to claim her before another male did. 
“Spring is filled with flowers, as you may have noticed,” he murmured, rubbing his hand over her cool arm. “And flowers bring bees. I…” he’d never told anyone this, felt almost ashamed to admit it. “I keep bees.”
“You should see mama’s garden,” she murmured sweetly. “You’d be drowning in bees.”
“Oh?” 
“I’d keep away from Soren’s garden…he’s always planting poison but mama’s garden rivals your fathers. It’s so big and beautiful…I’ll bet she’d love it if you gave the bees a home.”
“That would mean coming to your court,” he reminded her. She smiled faintly.
“As consort. The first ever…male, anyway.”
His heart pounded roughly as he pushed her hair off her face. “I would, Ivy.” Her eyes were fluttering shut again, brushing sweetly against her cheek. “No male wants to play second to his female. You’re going to be High Lord, remember?” “No,” he replied, his voice insistent. She peeked back up at him, her hope so plain it made his chest ache. “I don’t want it. I never have.”
She sighed softly. “Remind me if we survive.”
“Don’t go back to sleep,” he tried, but Ivy was asleep again, her chest rising and falling slowly. “Ivy.”
She didn’t rouse, not when night fell and he needed her to climb on his back. She was burning hot despite the faint blue of her cheeks of how violently she was shivering. He dared to look beneath her shirt at her wounds, almost sick by what he saw. They were more than just inflamed but festering, slowly killing her in the most terrible way he could imagine. He could do nothing but watching, cradling her against his chest as he willed himself to winnow home. His magic was but a small flame, practically useless to him other than to verify it existed at all. 
She groaned when he stood, carrying her while he walked. Night had fallen yet again, giving him the cover he needed to stalk through the woods. They reminded him of home, had that same feeling of creeping magic. He ran as best he could, unable to keep himself from jostling her still bleeding body. Only once did he stumble on a pair of hunters, human males with bows and sharp hunting knives.
Alexander froze, holding Ivy closer to his body, teeth bared. He was vibrating, the urge to shift into a beast rippling just beneath his skin. 
“Your kind isn’t supposed to be on this side of the wall,” the first, palms raised outward defensively, was obviously nervous.
“We were brought here,” Alexander growled. “We don’t want anymore trouble.”
The second was peering at Ivy, his eyes too curious for Alexanders liking. He yanked her away, causing Ivy to moan softly in pain. 
“Looks like your friend is hurt,” the second said gently. He crouched to the ground slowly, slinging a leather bag off his shoulder. “I’ve got something that could help.”
“It’s your kind who did this. Why would you help?” he snarled. The second tossed a pouch halfway between their bodies before slinging the bag back over his shoulder.
“We’re not all monsters,” the first murmured, his dull eyes sympathetic. “I imagine your lot isn’t, either.”
“We don’t want any trouble,” the second added. “Wall is about two days walk east, if you’re trying to get back.”
Alexander waited until they crunched away, neither looking back. He had to set Ivy against a nearby tree to snatch the pouch. He inhaled it, recognizing some of the spices within. It wouldn’t fix her—nothing but a healer would—but it would slow her building infection long enough for Alexander to get to the wall.
He wasted an hour creating a poultice, using leaves and the tattered edges of his shirt to create a bandage. He pressed it against her wounds, careful to touch no other part of her. She whined more than once, twisting against the sting. 
“You’re hurting me,” she complained, reaching for her face to pull off the concoction. Alexander swatted her hand away.
“We’re two days from the wall,” he told her, hoisting her back into his arms. “According to humans. If we run, we can be there by morning.”
“I can’t run,” she protested. He almost laughed.
“I know you can’t, sweetheart. Just hold on, okay?”
“To your back?” 
He hesitated. He could move much quicker if he didn’t have to carry her. “Can you?”
“I’ll try,” she whispered. Using the sturdy, rough trunk of a tree, Ivy braced herself on one leg, wrapping her arms around his neck while he held her legs. 
“Good?” he asked, squirming against her mouth, touching his neck.
“Good,” she agreed. Relieved, Alexander took off with a burst of renewed energy. He could have done a full day like that, despite his lack of sleep. Knowing they were so close to the wall—close to home—made Alexander almost giddy with relief. Ivy, for her part, held tight just as she’d promised. Alexander vowed to find the humans who’d helped them and repay their kindness someday. 
“Look,” Alexander told her when that shimmering border to stone and metal came into view. Ivy practically sobbed her relief. Alexander maneuvered through it with the magic that had begun to return, undulled behind the dam. Ivy took a breath the moment they were out of the human lands, holding a hand in front of his face. Pale skin glowed again. 
“I can feel it,” she whispered. “It’s almost there.”
Alexander, too, thought they were probably a full day or so before the magic returned to them. They pressed forward, both conscious, both hopeful. He’d been so afraid she might die out there that Alexander could have laughed his relief into the lilac scented air of his home. He knew where he was now, recognized the hilly plains in front of him. Pink and yellow tulips swayed gently in the night air, dancing beside welcoming blades of grass. 
He saw the estate gleaming in the distance just as the sun broke the horizon, illuminating the gleaming ivory orange and pink.
“Father!” he roared, his steps slowing. Ivy’s arms tangled tightly around his neck, held at the wrist by one of his hands. He used his other arm to hold up her bad leg, letting her hold the rest of her body herself. “Father!”
It wasn’t Tamlin but Lucien Vanserra who appeared at the edge of the drive. The male looked haggard, his face nearly as pale as his daughters. He caught sight of them first, darting across the lawn for Ivy.
“What happened?” he demanded, prying Alexander’s hand off her to pull her gently against him. 
“We were ambushed,” Alexander said as his father approached. Tamlin seemed better rested, perhaps less concerned of the horror that might befall his son. “She needs a healer.”
Ivy reached for him limply, her pretty face half covered in a stinking poultice. The wind ruffed against them, bringing more than the smell of their unwashed bodies with it. Lucien turned furiously, snarling his rage at Alexander.
“What did you do to her?” he demanded, as if Alexander had any say in the matter at all. 
“Daddy,” Ivy murmured. “It was an accident.”
“We’ll discuss this later,” Lucien retorted, taking one step backwards before winnowing into darkness. Alexander lunged as if pulled by a string, furious another male was carrying away his mate. His father caught him before he could create a scene, letting Lucien and Ivy vanish in a cloud of smoke.
“You need to bathe,” Tamlin murmured. “And sleep before you do anything else.”
Alexander rounded on his father. “I’ll do as you ask. But when I wake, I want you to know I’m abdicating my place for High Lord. I don’t want it.”
“Don’t throw away your life on a female—” his father began, speaking from a place of too personal experience.
“I never wanted it,” Alexander snarled, stalking towards the front of the manor. “And the cauldron must have known it.”
After all. It had paired him with the future High Lady of Day. Only one of them could rule.
It would not be him.
*
“Just pry open her lips.”
“You pry them open, I’m not going to hurt her.”“Fine, I’ll open but you pour.”
“You’re insufferable, you know that?”
“I’m starting to think you like insufferable—”“Over your dead body, Vanserra.”
“How many times do I have to remind you? I’m not a Vanserra, I’m a Spell-Cleaver–”
“Stop it.” Ivy moaned, opening her eyes to see who was squabbling at her bedside. Soren was sitting on the edge, his auburn curls flopping obnoxiously into his fawn brown eyes. On the otherside was a female she’d never seen before—pretty, with her long curtain of jet black hair and her soft, upturned brown eyes. She was glowing the way both Soren and Ivy did, though the light was a brighter white. Ivy knew that glow.
“Dawn?” she asked stupidly, looking up at the olive skinned female peering down at her.
“I’m Mei,” she explained, holding out a vial. “This is for the faebane that might be lingering, and this is for your wounds.”
“Who did you piss off?” Soren asked, eyes twinkling. “You were half-dead when dad brought you in. He’s raging, by the way.”
Ivy took one of the glass vials and swallowed, choking against the strong minty flavor. The other was easier, a bright citrus that was almost sweet. Ignoring the strange female, Ivy pushed the blanket off her bed and yanked up the fresh shirt she wore. Thin, white scars cut across the brown of her skin, forever etched in reminder. Soren grimaced when her fingers reached for her face. “How bad is it?”
“It looks cool,” Mei said quickly, glancing at Soren. “Like you survived something.”
Ivy noticed the gold of her hand, clicking softly the same way their fathers eye did. Her eyes slid to Soren, who pressed his lips into a thin line. “I told you. Dad is in a rage. Mom practically chained him to the wall.”
Ivy took a breath, sitting up against a wall of cream colored pillows. “How long have I been asleep.”
“A week,” Soren offered, scooting closer on the bed. “You know, there are some things even I can’t See…like your death, for example. You scared the shit out of me.”
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“I suppose not,” Soren agreed as Mei made a quick excuse to leave. Ivy watched the slender female slip from the room, catching the all-too familiar scent trailing after her. The moment the door shut behind her, Ivy punched Soren in the arm.
“Ow! What was that for?” he protested, rubbing where she’d hit him.
“A mate?” Ivy demanded. Soren grinned.
“Ah, well. It’s going about as well as you might expect. She’s not exactly thrilled with the prospects. Our family reputation precedes us.”
“Have you tried being nice?”
He tapped a finger to his chin. “Nice…nice…no, can’t say I’ve ever thought of that. Speaking of which…a certain Spring Court warrior is making the wildest claims about you…”
“Like you didn’t already know,” she grumbled. “Why don’t you spare me the trouble and tell me how it all ends.”
“You know how it ends,” Soren replied serenely, flicking her in the cheek. 
“And you?” Ivy couldn’t help but question, resting her head on her brother's shoulder. “How does it end for you.”
“If I told you, I’d spoil my own fun,” he replied with a sigh. “Mom’s baking tonight, by the way.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you telling me because I look underfed?”
He shrugged. “I’m saying maybe you should wait another day before you go racing out of here to make an impulsive, highly questionable decision.”
Ivy glowered, her insides warming at the thoughts. “It all works out, in the end, doesn’t it?”
Soren bumped her shoulder. “I told you, Ives. Some things even I can’t See. I have faith, though. You should, too.”
“Be nice to your mate,” she told him, poking him hard in the ribs. Soren scowled.
“Has it ever occurred to you that it’s her being mean to me?”
“If she is, I have to assume you deserve it.”
“A fair conclusion,” he murmured. “Get some rest, alright? I’ll let mom and dad know you’re awake.”
Ivy didn’t think she could sleep anymore but as she so often was lately, she was wrong. She woke with a jerk to fingers touching her face. Night had fallen and her father was there, replacing the space her brother had occupied. He was illuminated beneath soft fae lights, his face one of anguish. 
“Your pretty face,” he murmured, his golden eye clicking softly.
“It’s still pretty,” Ivy assured him sleepily, sliding back into a sitting position. She bent her knee, relieved to find it intact and unbothered. 
“Your mother will be right back. She went to check on her bread. She bakes when she’s nervous.”
Elain Archeron was always baking. Ivy didn’t bother telling her dad that her mom baked to give him something to do, and that of the pair, he had always been the one who worried. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
“No?” her father arched an eyebrow. “I take my eye off of you for one minute and you get captured by humans and mated to one of Tamlin’s sons…”
Ivy looked down at her hands. “He saved my life.”
“So I’ve heard. Your cousin went through his mind—”
“He had no right,” she hissed, furious Nyx would do such a thing. Her father sighed.
“Alexander demanded it. It was good to know, though…good for us to see. Elain and I met with Vassa this morning to discuss it…she’s sending your Uncle Jurian out to deal with them.”
“And the leak—”
“Handled.” That was all Ivy would ever get to know from her father. She was sure Alexander had in his brutal, unyielding way. Her father shifted, holding out an arm so she could rest against his chest. “You know, you don’t have to make any decisions today. Or even this century,” he added after a moment. 
“Did you say the same thing to Soren?” she demanded.
“Mei is far too good for your brother and she is well aware of it,” her father replied easily, a fond smile over his face. “I don’t have to worry about him…he has that Vanserra blood, whether he wants to admit it or not but you have your mothers soft heart.”
“Seems like it worked out all right for you,” she reminded him pointedly. 
“In retrospect, a little suffering was good for me. Humbling, even,” he added as the door opened. Elain Archeron slipped in, lovely as the first light of dawn, her eyes reproachful.
“That’s not how I remember it,” she murmured playfully. “And you promised you weren’t going to bother her about her mate. 
“So I did,” he agreed sheepishly. Her mother set a tray of food on the edge of the bed, reminding Ivy that her mother showed love this way. Giving some something tangible–a meal, a good gift—was almost better than hearing her say she loved them. Not that her mom had ever been stingy with that, either. 
Her mother kissed her forehead sweetly. “Eat and ignore whatever your father has romanticized about the past. I assure you, he enjoyed none of it.”
“It was good for me!” Lucien protested, letting his mate tug him off the bed. He also pressed a swift kiss against Ivy’s cheek. “You’re beautiful, still,” he told her quickly, fingertips brushing her jaw. “Let Alexander suffer for a while.”
“Lucien!”
“What?! You’re ready for some frenzied male to come snapping in our home? You know how feral they can be! She’s still a baby—”“I am not!” Ivy protested, arms over her chest. Her mother shoved her father from the room playfully, listening to his complaints echo down the hall. There were a million things to consider, things she had no plan for. Ivy thought maybe she didn’t need any of those things.
All she needed were a few bees.
Ivy dressed the next morning just as Soren suggested she ought to. Her dress was perhaps a little risque for Spring, the criss-crossing gold fabric covering her breasts but leaving a triangle of her stomach and all over her back exposed. The skirt of it trailed to the ground, hiding the sandals she always wore. She’d taken great care with her appearance, making her face seem as if it glowed beneath the oppressively bright sun. 
She managed to avoid her parents simply by getting up before dawn and stealing to the kitchen. Just as Soren claimed, there were baked goods along all the surfaces. The staff worked around them without complaint, used to the Day Court princess and her strange ways. Ivy stole a slice of lemon poppyseed bread, wrapping it carefully in a piece of beeswax before leaving the palace behind. She’d be back.
She hoped she wouldn’t be returning alone. Buoyed by that thought and so wildly nervous she could have vomited on the marble steps leading into Rhodes, Ivy winnowed away, hitting the gravel of Spring before her stomach had a chance to catch up. She crunched up towards the estate, heart leaping into her mouth when the High Lord himself walked to the porch. His pine eyes were unreadable, face impassive when he saw her. It was technically forbidden to trespass this way—she should have written head and requested permission. Tamlin would be well within his right to send her home.
His eyes drifted towards the beeswax in her hands, nostrils flaring at the scene. She didn’t have to say a word. Tamlin spoke first. “He’s in the forest.” “Thank you,” she whispered, turning towards the forest at the back of the house. She had to cut through the garden to reach it, catching sight of Aine watching in a pale pink dress on the back terrace. It was Saoirse who drew her in, Finn just beside her. Did they all plan to watch and see what happened? No pressure, then. 
The only person seemingly unaware was Alexander himself. Ivy had hoped he might meet her at the tree line. She inhaled the sweet, floral air, catching the scent of warm pine on the air. She followed it, surprised that she could just follow the bond between them like a rope along the ground. She went in deeper, sandals catching on every stick strewn about the ground. The soft thwack of an axe grew louder until Ivy, nearly tripping over the hem of her dress, found Alexander shirtless in a clearing, splitting an absurd pile of logs. She hesitated, eyes lingering on his taut, rippling muscles as he brought that axe down.
She cleared her throat and Alexander went still when he saw her. “You’re alive,” he said, eyes sliding up and down her body. Ivy was scared suddenly and wondered if her father hadn’t had a point. She’d come all this way for what? To give him a piece of bread and ask him to move in with her? She barely knew him. 
“I uh…thank you,” she finally said, catching how his eyes snagged on the parcel in her hands. He knew why she’d come, then. She could practically taste his relief, more than a little awed at how it flooded her chest. Alexander took a step forward, reaching for the sword he’d tossed beside his shirt on the ground. She didn’t know what to expect when he unsheathed it, only that he probably wasn’t going to stab her.
He knelt at her feet, bowing his head in front of his hilt. “I know you’re worried my male pride will get in the way of your ambition,” he told her, shoulders bunched tightly. “I meant what I said, though you might have been to delirious to hear it. I don’t want any piece of your power…or my own, for that matter. I’ve told father I’m renouncing my claim as High Lord.”
“You shouldn’t do that for me,” Ivy murmured, resisting the urge to touch his hair. 
“It’s for me,” he admitted, finally looking up. “I never wanted it…I was only too much of a coward to admit it. It was a choice I made for myself…I want you. And I’ll wait, if you’re unsure, but you need to know that even if you wait a century, I’ll never claim the Spring Court throne.”
Too handsome, her mind screamed as she stared into his eyes. Take him, he’s yours. She’d been so sick during the first days of the mating bond snap that everything felt brand new and overwhelming. Instinct coursed through her, demanding she reach for him. 
“And what happens the first time someone has a snide thing to say about your status as consort?” she asked, fingers slightly smushing the bread in her hands.
“I trust you can handle yourself,” he replied with a shrug. “And if you can’t, they’ll taste the steel of my blade.”
“Okay, alright,” she grumbled, holding her slice of bread out to him. Alexander looked at the waxy piece of beeswax, unwrapping it with trembling fingers. It was strange to see him so easily undone. He looked as if nothing scared him. She supposed that was a good quality to have if he was going to join her family. He’d need more than a little nerve.
“This is forever,” he told her breathlessly, fingertips brushing the yellow loaf in his hands.
“Good thing, then,” she agreed. “I’m terribly jealous.”
She knew what he wanted to say but Ivy could not make herself say it first. Alexander stood, letting his sword fall to the side. “And you love me.”
“You ripped four iron rings from a wall to save me,” she murmured, pressing a hand to his chest. “It would be hard not to love you.”
The corner of his lips twitched. “And I’d do it again.”
“Eat the bread, Alexander.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. He shoved the entire thing in his mouth like a wild bear, his eyes flashing as if to say no take backs.
She took a breath at the feeling in her chest. That thread became gold, solidly tied to her ribs. There would be no breaking it now. She didn’t move when he came closer, his fingers threading through her hair. “I love you too, Ivy.” “This doesn’t mean I’m going to be nicer, you know,” she murmured, heart stuttering in her chest.
“I’d be disappointed if you were.”
*
Of all the things Alexander had done that Lucien Vanserra might kill him for, fucking his daughter on the woodland floor was likely at the very top. Over the past week, he’d imagined every single possibility in which she accepted the bond and he sank into the frenzy. Most of them involved bring her back to his suite while occasionally going to hers. All of them had a bed and someplace soft, someplace quiet. Fucking outdoors was for Calanmai and the common people. It certainly wasn’t for a princess.
It couldn’t be helped. He’d taken all of one step, meaning to grab his shirt when Ivy said, “I’ve never had sex before.”
He froze, the hair on the back of his neck standing on edge. She might as well have begun running the way that predators instinct raged through him. Every inch of him was suddenly on high alert, as if a parade of males were lurking in the forest, thinking of stealing her from him. He knew it wasn’t logical.
Alexander couldn’t help himself. He suddenly understood what everyone meant when they talked about frenzied, irrational males. He turned to look at her, forgetting his shirt and his sword. “What?”
She took a half step backwards, nearly touching a tree truck at the edge of the clearing. “I just thought you should know…”
“Why not?”
Ivy shrugged, stepping back again, her russet eyes wide as he approached. She was so small, her head easily tucked beneath his chin. She didn’t need to be protected and still he wanted to. The fact that she’d waited was almost too much. Day Court was famous for their orgies. He had no illusions she hadn’t participated at least once. 
He reached for her face, thumb caressing the thin, white scar streaking down her golden brown face. “You’re too sweet,” he told her.
“Don’t tell anyone,” she whispered, lips parted. Kissing her would be enough, he told himself. He’d kiss her, he’d get his shirt, and he’d take her inside. His parents would know to vacate his siblings for the evening. He only needed her once to clear his head. “I just thought…I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Good,” he growled, pulling her forward. Every thought flew out the window the moment her lips touched his, arms twined around his neck. She had to stand on tiptoes to reach him, her whole body pressed against the length of his own. Alexander’s eyes practically rolled in the back of his head at the heady, soft sunlit taste of her. He felt starved, needed her like he’d never needed anything in his life. His hands gripped her waist tightly, wanting to see that dress on strewn over the ground. He wanted to see her spread out over the ground, bathed in grass, her back pressed into the dirt.
His tongue swept into her mouth, eliciting the softest little moan from her throat. Alexander’s fraying restraint snapped. He couldn’t help himself. He needed more of her, needed to hear her make that noise over and over. She tasted the way magic felt, her body warm and pliant beneath his hands. He didn’t know who dragged who to the ground though he was aware it was him pulling her into his lap so he could grind her against him. 
Her hands rubbed against his chest, creating near burning friction. Her magic was bad, causing sparks of heat and light to jump over the surface of his skin. He groaned, twisting so she was laid over the ground just as he’d imagined moment before. Leaves immediately tangled in her wine red hair, making her look like some goddess of light, coming to earth specifically to bless him. 
“This wasn’t what I imagined,” he told her desperately, getting the fabric of her dress off around her head. He was careful not to tear, aware he’d have to walk her back to his court or hers. He’d be damned if he let any other male look at her naked body. 
“What did you imagine?” she asked breathlessly, her naked breasts rising and falling rapidly. Her head lolled to the side, breath hitching when he grasped them, fingers massing the peaked, dusky nipples. 
“A bed,” he replied, kissing the length of her neck. “Time to have you in all the ways I want you.”
“Tell me,” she breathed moments before their mouths collided with another messy kiss. Her legs hooked around his waist, dress pushed down to her hips. He was achingly hard and desperate for relief. There were things he needed to do before he could bury himself within her, before he could mark her thoroughly with his scent. He caught one of her legs, sliding his hand up her thighs towards the heat pooling between her legs. Her arousal perfumed the air, driving him half wild. 
He couldn’t tell her anything while he kissed her, even as he slid his fingers towards that heat. She writhed, her body moving on instinct. Her knees fell apart, giving him unparalleled access. 
Ivy might not have sexual experience but she knew exactly how to drive him over the edge. He slid a finger inside her body, his mouth trailing down her body so he could kiss each of those scars, making them his.
She gasped, squeezing tight around him. His eyes practically rolled inside his head at the silky soft feel of her. He was so utterly fucked and he knew it. If he lasted longer than a minute when he got his cock inside her, it would be cause for a parade. He worked in another finger just to see if he could, pressing his forehead between her breasts to gather himself. 
“Is this what you imagined?” she asked him sweetly, as if she knew exactly what she was doing to him. He pumped his fingers in and out, pushing them apart if only to get her used to the stretch. She arched her back for him, his own little private show in that grassy clearing. He withdrew his hands, desperate for a taste. Ivy watched with dark eyes, shaking her head back and forth when he put them in his mouth.
“You’re filthy,” she murmured.
“You have no idea,” he agreed, pulling her back to his lap so she could straddle his chest. “Touch me.”
He slid further down until her cunt was positioned just over his face. She squirmed against him, lifting a leg in an attempt to escape but Alexander held firm.
“Touch my cock, Ivy,” he demanded before licking up the center of her. She gasped again before leaning forward, her fingers clumsily untying the laces of his pants. He was distracted, lapping at her slowly, drinking in the musky taste of her.
Cool air danced over the overheated flesh of his cock. Her sweet, sharp intake of breath pleased him. 
“Stop smiling,” she snapped. “I have nothing to compare it to.”
“And you never will,” he assured her, kissing her thigh. She gripped the base of him, fingers unable to touch and Alexander redoubled his efforts. He wanted her to come on his tongue before he had her, wanted to feel how she might break apart against his lips and his penis. Her hand was unsure for the first few strokes, pumping and gauging with almost academic interest. Alexander curled his tongue inside her body, dragging a loud moan out of her, while prompting her to press her own lips to the beaded moisture at the tip of his cock. 
It was his turn to shudder a groan. “Did you imagine this?” she asked him, gliding the flat of her tongue up his shaft.
“Yes,” he admitted with a ragged breath. 
“I can’t take all this,” she murmured, as if he cared at all.
“You have centuries to practice,” he replied, too pleased when her teeth lightly nipped at his skin. She could take hardly more than the head without gagging, saliva flooding her mouth. Alexander groaned loudly, disturbing a flock of birds roosting overhead. He’d forgotten what he was doing for a moment, head thrown back, eyes closed.
“That’s perfect,” he praised. “You’re perfect.” She didn’t stop though she hummed a whine, the reverberation settling in his balls. She’d make him come with those little noises, with her wet, warm mouth sucking him. He redoubled his efforts by way of distraction, desperate to be fully seated in her, to know nothing but the feel of her body squirming under him, meeting him thrust for desperate thrust. He knew he had her when her mouth stopped working him, her hand falling from his shaft to his stomach to hold herself in place. Her hips ground against his face desperately, voice rising with each new stroke of his tongue. He wrapped his lips around her clit, sucking softly just in time for her to come apart, screaming loud enough for everyone at home to hear. The forest went silent for a moment, listening to the pair of them with interest. In Spring, two fae fucking in the woods was hardly cause for concern. It was practically his birthright.
He flipped her over rather than impale her, pushing her knees wide apart while she still came down. He pulled the swollen lips of her pussy open, watching her ride out that orgasm desperately. Alexander took himself in his hand, rubbing his head over the slickness, reveling in the undulations of her aftershock. He gave her no time to adjust at all, sliding the full length of his long, thick cock wholly into her body.
She arched hard off the ground, fingers scrambling for his shoulder. He kissed her, holding himself still despite every nerve begging him to move. Her heartbeat banged against her ribs, the feel of it a flutter against his own bare chest. He kissed her, tongue delving into her mouth so she could taste herself, until she lifted her hips. She was an offering and he was far too weak to resist. That first slide was heaven and hell all mixed together. Nothing had ever felt half as good in his life. He might have died for all he knew.
She exhaled softly, her nails dragging down his back. “This is what I want,” he told her, grunting the words between thrusts. “This is what I imagined.”
“Just like this?” she asked as he pulled himself back. He wanted to watch, fascinated by how accommodating her body was. She squeezed, sucking him deeper, taking everything he had to give. 
“Just like this,” he praised. “You take my cock so well.”
It was the only place she’d ever let him talk to her like this. He’d take it, take all of her and still beg for more. As release began to rise through him, tightening in his sac, Alexander knew there would never be a moment where he’d had enough. His thumb rubbed circles over her clit, dragging her back up with him until she was writhing, her rhythm non-existent as she brought herself to climax. He went with her, the roar of release almost embarrassing if he cared who overheard him. Let the whole fucking world know he’d pleasured is mate and he’d pleasured her well. 
He lowered himself back to the ground, stroking her hair and kissing her. He alternated between the two until the bright flush of her cheeks slipped away and her eyes lost their lusty haze. Only then did he pull himself from her body, revealing in the rush of fluid that escaped her. She was marked now and everyone would know it, would scent it. It was more than the bond between them but the completion of this act—followed by more sex, preferablly until the end of time. 
“I think there’s a rock in my back,” she said, pushing him back so she could sit up. The mere act piqued his interest all over again. She watched him warily, slowly reaching for her dress. He growled.
“One more time,” she whispered, her swollen lips parting ever so slightly. “But then we go home.”
He didn’t agree to that.
They’d be out here all night. 
*
Ivy managed to convince Alexander they ought to go inside for something to drink after twelve hours of nothing but fucking. Her back was dirty and scraped raw, her body somehow both aching and desperate for more of him. The frenzy had her by the throat in a way Ivy had not been prepared for. She’d thought it a mere excuse for a new couple to lock themselves up for a few days and avoid well-wishers. 
By the time they reached Day Court, she felt snappish and moody, frustrated by even strangers who looked over at the Spring Court prince. Her father was waiting, arms crossed over his chest with very obvious disappointment. Had he really expected her to wait a century? She’d been lucky she waited a full week.
Beside him, her mother’s excitement was undiminished. Nothing could disappoint Elain Archeron. At least, not where her family was concerned. She reached for Alexander, pulling him into a hug before immediately stepping back, nose wrinkled.
“Let's try again in a month,” she joked affectionately, her cheeks flushed darkly. Even after nearly three decades as Fae, she had all her human sensibilities. 
“Your room has been moved,” her father told her. “For larger accommodations.”
Far away from his own room was what she knew he hadn’t added. Tamlin, too, had discreetly taken the rest of his family when he saw the two of them approaching, packing up for their water estate and, more practically, avoiding overhearing what they’d surely known was happening in the woods.
Ivy raised her eyebrows, forcing her father to look at Alexander. “Welcome to Day Court,” he grumbled, clearly displeased with this turn of events. Alexander was absurdly kind, bowing with a grace her father absolutely did not reserve.
“I’ll endeavor to make you happy about our marriage,” Alexander informed their father, winking at Ivy’s grinning mother. He slipped an arm around her waist, letting her lead him into the palace with big, wonder-filled eyes. Day Court’s palace was twice as big as Spring Courts and the last time he’d been inside, he’d hardly had any time to appreciate it. 
“Where is Soren?” she asked, well aware her parents were skulking just behind her. There was a pause long and loud enough to make her turn. 
“Your brother is exactly where he wants to be,” her father finally said. That was true enough, she supposed. Soren was obnoxious with Sight in a way their mother never had been. He just knew, and if he didn’t like what he saw, he simply did not go.
“What is that supposed to mean?” she demanded, arms over her chest. Her mother stepped forward.
“Vassa asked him to see if he might uncover the gas the humans used on the pair of you,” she said earnestly.
“And we haven’t heard from him since he left.” Ivy frowned. “What are you worried about? Soren isn’t the letter writing type.”
“He took Mei with him and she’s the one no one has heard from. Thesan is concerned.”
“We’ll find them—” Alex began but Elain held up her hand.
“Soren is exactly where he wants to be,” she repeated. “He’ll return in his own time.”
“With Mei?” Ivy demanded, echoing Alexander’s sentiments. “How important is she to Dawn?”
“He won’t return without her,” Lucien said tightly, a reminder that a male wouldn’t abandon his mate. Soren would come back, limping, bruised and utterly unrepentant in a few days with his female in tow or they’d find his body scattered across Prythian. Ivy didn’t know if that made her feel better or worse.
“You’re in no condition to go after him,” her father added. “He’s likely to kill every male in sight which is hardly the promise I made to Vassa.”
Alexander merely shrugged. What did he care about diplomacy anymore? That was her problem. 
“Two days,” Ivy conceded. “Two days and then Aunt Vassa be damned.”
Her parents couldn’t argue, in part because Ivy didn’t give them a chance. She strolled away, sliding her hand in Alexanders as she went.
“Are you really giving him two days?” Alexander asked, guessing her thoughts before she ever had a chance to vocalize it. Ivy looked over her shoulder as she tugged him up a sweeping staircase.
“No. I’ll give him twelve hours while we get ready.”
He grinned. “And if I do kill some unfortunate male that gets a little too close?”
“Do your best not to,” she instructed. “But we did promise those humans a little retribution. Lets give it to them.”
*
Soren:
Soren stared up at the grated top of the pit he was trapped in. He’d seen the fall of course, had known he’d end up down here. He’d even brought rope in his bag to pull himself back out. Sight was a tricky thing—it didn’t show everything as it was. Little pieces, pictures of a larger puzzle, was all he ever got. He gambled on the rest. He’d never once been wrong until today.
Mei sat opposite him in the dirt, her pretty face streaked with mud. He was here because she wouldn’t take no for an answer. She’d have come with or without him. Better to be with him. After all, he had the sword hidden beneath his tunic, strapped at his back. He’d been trained by his uncles from the time he was a boy, knew his way around a sword. He also had the same Day Court magic Ivy boasted of, though hers was stronger, more heavily concentrated in light than the fire coursing through his veins. 
Mei accused him of being a Vanserra. Maybe she was right. At least neither of them were injured beyond a few bruises and still had their magic. He didn’t know if he could carry Mei down a mountain. He certainly didn’t want to find out.
Her eyes found him, narrowing to slits. “Why does it seem like you’re enjoying this?” she demanded. 
Because I am. “Is it so wrong to enjoy your company?” he replied smoothly. 
“At the bottom of a ditch? Yes,” she hissed. Soren shrugged casually. Humans would come checking on their Faerie traps. He needed to end his little game. Standing, Soren stretched long legs before pulling his long, auburn hair off his face with a leather strap. Standing on his tiptoes, he could reach one of the wooden bars preventing them from escaping. Humans were so stupid. They’d used iron on Ivy and Alexander—perhaps they’d learned their lesson though it would have been harder to pull apart an iron grate. He didn’t possess the Spring Courts supernatural strength. He reached for his boot, keeping his sword hidden for now. He didn’t need her knowing he’d come a little too prepared. He pulled out a curved, sharp dagger he’d snatched off Finn during the week the courts had come traipsing about Day Court. Spring had the most fascinating weapons.
Mei frowned, rising to her feet to watch him leap up, gripping one of the slats, dagger held between his teeth. Swinging, his feet scraping the earth, Soren hacked a whole big enough to swing his muscular body through. Bright light shone through the edge of the forest overhead, the same place his sister had been stuck in. He could see the mountain he might be dragged up looming above him. 
He’d fail Aunt Vassa by not figuring out what that gas was. He didn’t care much, wasn’t interested in being used like an experiment. He reached down a hand, thrilling when she touched him. Mate, mate, mate, his blood seemed to chant. He stuffed it down even when the soft scent of cherry and vanilla invaded his senses. He yanked her up, unprepared for how her lithe body would flop on top of his. 
“This is more like it,” he teased, enjoying how her cheeks flushed darkly.
“In your dreams,” she mumbled, scrambling to her feet.
“Too true,” he agreed, surveying their surroundings lazily. He knew they were lost, had known when they came in they’d end up this way. “C’mon,” he told her, gesturing for her to follow. “This way.”
Mei did as he said, trotting after him in her tailored black pants held up with suspenders, muddied from their fall, and her form fitting white shirt, tucked into the waistband. Her left her thick curtain of straight black hair hanging down her back, the tips nearly touching her hips. Soren was mesmerized by the swing of it, how the light caught blue against the glossy strands. 
“I can feel your staring,” she complained, those dark, almond eyes reproachful. Soren shrugged. 
“You’re beautiful,” he told her not for the first time. She dipped her head, clearly embarrassed. Her heard her hand click softly, that golden piece of machinery clenching to a fist. He wanted to know what had happened though he didn’t dare ask. He knew it bothered her, that she expected it to bother him.
Meeting his father had been good, he thought. Some little part of her had softened considerably, though it was an icy thaw. He’d need more than his dad’s missing eye and his sisters near death to make her melt. Preferably into his waiting arms. 
Trees thinned overhead, taking him to rocky shoreline. If he’d walked the other way, he’d have ended up in Spring Court in three days time, likely slamming into his sister and her mate. What he wanted was time.
Mei didn’t know that. She paused at the expanse of ocean ahead of them and the little boat pushed against the rocky coast.
“Are you serious?” she demanded, arms crossed over her chest. Ignoring the way it made her breasts swell beneath the open button of her shirt, Soren only grinned.
“I would never joke about seafaring,” he insisted, one hand pressed against his chest. “Where is your sense of adventure.” “We’re supposed to be doing a job,” she complained, following after him when he began walking towards the boat. It was big enough for two people to navigate, assuming both those people knew what they were doing. He did, of course…but judging from Mei’s wary expression, this was all new territory for her. 
“I know,” he told her, turning and holding her by the shoulders. She twisted for a moment, her eyes darkening. He never tired of seeing her own arousal and how she fought against it. What he needed was a little forced proximity. “Do you want to end up like Ivy? Or worse? Do you want to end up like Alexander, carrying my body down the mountain?”
She looked up behind him, heart shaped face glowing in the sun. She was so beautiful it threatened to sink him. He’d never wanted anyone more. 
“No,” she admitted. “I’ve never seen a human.”
“When we get back we’ll reconvene with Aunt Vassa,” he swore. “She owes my dad a favor, I think. Or maybe it’s the other way around…I can’t be sure.” His mother had told the story of Koschei more than once, for all Soren remembered. “You’ll get your antidote. I swear it.”
“Swear on our bond,” she said softly. She so rarely acknowledged the snapped mating bond between them that Soren, for all his jokes, would have done anything she demanded to hear her say it again.
“As you mate, I can deny you nothing.” Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “I swear it. Now, come on. Do you trust me?”
He held out his hand to help her up, intending to push the ship out to sea himself. She hesitated for only a moment.
“I trust you,” she finally said. He grinned, pulling her close and brushing a kiss over her knuckles. 
“I won’t let you down.”
Soren didn’t need the gift of Sight to make that promise. He’d fail her only over his own dead body. 
Of that, he was sure.
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spinchs-field · 1 year
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A night out on another planet's town; in which the crew gets ready
woooo part two! this was NOT supposed to be this long but my little peanut brain just couldn't stop typing so. here we are. because this part is so long i might split this story into four parts lol. anyway, enjoy [ part one ] word count: 2,049
Ashes carefully hooks a cufflink on their sleeve, glancing up at Tim periodically. 
“You have your own room, you know,” Ashes says with a smile. 
“I know,” Tim responds, leaning close to the mirror as he applies his eyeliner. “But all my clothes are in your room.”
“Yeah, I wonder why.” Ashes walks up to the mirror, grabbing a tie on the way there. 
Tim glances at them in the mirror. He smiles gently. “You look good.”
Ashes looms over Tim as they put on their tie. They tilt their head, grimacing. “This tie doesn’t, though.”
Tim waves his hand dismissively. “Bah, it looks fine. You’re overthinking.”
“It just doesn’t look good.” They untie it and pull it off, tossing it on their bed. “The colour looks weird.”
Tim finally pulls away from the mirror and glances at the tie. He leans back, propping his chin up on his hand as he watches Ashes. “It’s just red.”
Ashes digs around in their closet drawers, pushing aside the clothes Tim stuffed in them. “Not the right, uh… the right shade, y’know?”
Tim snorts. “How many ties do you even have?”
Ashes grabs a shirt with a cat on it and waves it at him. “How many cat shirts do you have?” They fold it up and place it carefully into a shirt drawer. 
“Alright, fair,” Tim laughs as he turns back to face the mirror. He stares quietly at himself for a moment, crossing his arms. “What colour eyeshadow should I use?”
“Don’t you do eyeliner after eyeshadow?” Ashes asks, finally pulling two ties from the mess of clothes. 
Tim squints at them in the mirror. “No. I was just doing the stuff on my cheeks and eyebrows.”
“Oh,” Ashes drawls as they make their way back to the mirror. “We could match, if you want to.”
“Match my makeup to your tie?”
Ashes shrugs. “It’d be funny.”
“Absolutely not,” Tim says with a smile. “You should wear the blue one.”
Ashes holds the tie up for a moment before letting out a short hum and putting it on. They glance down at Tim, holding back a small laugh as they watch him gather up blue eyeshadow on a brush. 
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“Hurry up!” Jonny hollers as he clumsily puts on his suit jacket. 
“I’m trying to eat, arsehole!” Ivy shouts back with a mouth full of cereal. 
“We can eat when we get on the planet, arsehole!” Jonny sneers. 
Ivy grabs a single piece of her cereal and chucks it at him. He dodges out of the way, struggling with a cufflink. 
“Jonny, you look horrible, hold still,” Raphaella says to him in a gentle voice, taking hold of his wrist. 
Jonny grumbles and just goes along with it. 
“Should I bring my violin?” Marius asks from behind the bar, preparing a drink for himself.
Nastya reaches over him for a shot glass and grabs a bottle of straight tequila. “I could bring mine, too. We can play together.”
“That sounds lovely,” Marius responds with a sharp smile. 
Raphaella perks up, tail wagging excitedly. “Oh! Can I bring my keyboard?”
Jonny snatches his wrist away as soon as Raphaella gets the cufflink on. “Absolutely not. We’re bringing our guns and knives, and nothing else.”
“I thought we were going for a good time?” Brian asks as he slowly floats toward the ceiling. He takes notice of this and calls for Ivy to help him down. 
“We are,” Jonny says harshly. “Where’s my gun?
Nastya raises her shot glass, waving it slightly. “I have it.”
“Well, give it to me,” Jonny demands.
“Nope,” Nastya responds with a grin as she brings the class to her lips. “Busy.”
Jonny grumbles under his breath and pushes himself over to Nastya, trying his best not to knock over any bottles of alcohol. 
The crew continue bickering for some time, eating breakfast, threatening each other’s lives, and slowly getting drunk. 
Eventually, the Toy Soldier pipes up, “Where are Ashes and Tim?”
The entire kitchen grows tense for a split second. The Toy Soldier had been sitting so silently at the table that it practically vanished. Plus, the thing never asked questions outside of an offering of tea.
The room went dead silent before Marius looked around the room, confused. 
“Yeah,” he drawls. “Where are they? Weren’t they the ones to invite us to this party?”
All was hush again. 
Jonny’s face slowly contorts into one of disgust as a thought enters his mind. His head snaps up toward a monitor, voice harsh with anger. “Aurora! Tell them to get the fuck down here!”
Nastya kicks him in the side. “Be nice.”
“Fuck you!” Jonny snaps. He pulls out his gun and lines it up right between Nastya’s eyes. 
She’s quick to draw her own gun, slapping his gun out of his grip and pressing her’s against his chest. 
Jonny just scowls at her. 
“Could you two calm down?” Ivy asks, face now buried in a book. “You’ll ruin your clothes.”
“My suit is red, I’ll be fine,” Jonny responds, pushing Nastya’s hand away and hurrying over to his gun. 
“Yeah, but you’ll make a mess.”
“I think Jonny looks nice with blood splatters!” The Toy Soldier says with a smile.
“Shut up,” Jonny demands. 
“Okay!” The Toy Soldier responds cheerily before going dead silent again. 
“Good God, you never let the thing speak!” Raphaella says sadly. 
“It’s creepy,” Jonny snaps as he holsters his gun.
“Tough!” She turns to the Toy Soldier and pats it on the head. “You can speak, Toy Soldier.”
Jonny groans and looks around the room. Still no Tim or Ashes. He grimaces. 
“Imagine they already left,” Brian laughs. 
“We got all fancied up for nothing?” The Toy Soldier asks, tilting its head.
“I sure hope not,” Brian responds, eyes flicking over to look at the door to the kitchen.
There’s a long, awkward pause. Everyone slowly turns to face the door, expecting the two “hosts” of the party to come walking in at just the right moment. Tension grows, and the silence becomes deafening. 
Marius sighs and takes a sip of his drink, shaking his head.
Raphaella rests her chin on her hands and asks the Toy Soldier to go get some tea ready.
Just as the Toy Soldier stands up, the looming shadow of Ashes creeps into the doorway, followed shortly behind by Tim. 
“I see we’re all ready,” Ashes says as they make their way in. 
There’s a collective sigh, and Jonny looks damn near ready to scream.
“What?” Tim asks, peeking out from behind Ashes. “You all look like you just left a funeral!”
“You were taking for-fucking-ever!” Jonny shouts, his anger finally coming to a boil. “We were about to just give up on this dumbass party because you two were off doing who knows what! Probably each other!”
Ashes can’t hold back the laugh that bubbles out of their chest. Tim barks out a laugh and steps into the room. He pretends to wipe away tears he can’t shed. 
Jonny tenses up as more giggles fill the room. He throws death glares at everyone, hand hovering over his gun. 
“Calm down, Jonny boy. I just kept messing up my makeup,” Tim says between laughs, patting Jonny on the shoulder. 
Jonny glares at Tim before tossing a glance up at Ashes. Smeared remains of lipstick cling to the edges of their lips. Jonny turns back to Tim, who just smiles like he has no idea what’s got Jonny in such a twist. 
Jonny shoves Tim away and shouts for Brian to do his job as pilot of the ship. 
Brian hums in thought for a moment before grinning. “And why should I listen to you?”
“Because I’m your captain—“
“First mate,” Ivy cuts in before anyone else can. 
Tim frowns. “Hey! That’s my thing!”
“Both of you shut up!” Jonny snaps at them before turning back to Brian. “Because I’m your captain—“ 
“First mate,” Tim quickly adds. 
“—and I’m going to dismantle you if you don’t land this fucking ship.” As soon as he finishes speaking, Jonny whips around and slaps Tim on the back of his head. 
Tim’s left eye pops out with the force of the blow, and he quickly snatches it out of the air and puts it back in. He grimaces at Jonny before moving over to Ashes. 
Brian sighs, putting up his hands in defeat. “Fine, fine, I’ll go land the ship.”
Brian makes his way out of the room, tipping his hat as he floats through the doorway. 
At that moment, Nastya seems to remember something. She hurries after Brian, a giddy look on her face. 
The room is quiet again, save for the sounds of the Toy Soldier preparing tea. No-one dares speak. 
Except for Marius, who leans back to see what the Toy Soldier is doing as he speaks. “What’re you making?”
“Chamomile,” the Toy Soldier responds. It turns around to face Marius. “Is there another tea you’d like?”
“Is chamomile all we have?” Raphaella asks from the table. 
The Toy Soldier turns its attention to her. “No. We have matcha, earl grey, and silver needle, as well.”
“Good God. I’m leaving,” Jonny grumbles, pushing past Ashes and most likely to where Brian and Nastya were headed.
“Silver needle? Never heard of that,” Marius says, somewhat to himself.
“It’s quite good! Would you like to try it?” The Toy Soldier asks excitedly.
Marius hums, looking down at his cocktail. “Nah, already got me a drink.”
“Ah! Quite alright!” The Toy Soldier sounds slightly defeated as it says that. It turns to Raphaella. “Would you like some?”
Raphaella glances out the window, trying to calculate how close they are to the planet and how long it would take to land, given Brian doesn’t go full steam ahead and nearly crash the ship. 
“I’ll have some,” Ivy pipes up, raising her hand.
“Me too,” Raphaella adds with a smile. 
“Lovely!” The Toy Soldier chirps. “How about you two lads?” It asks, turning to Ashes and Tim.
“Oh! I want some chamomile!” Tim answers eagerly, making his way to the table.
“I’ll pass,” Ashes says, turning away. “Gotta make sure Jonny doesn’t kill anyone when we land.”
“Right-ho! Farewell, Ashes O’reilly!” 
“Yeah, you too, TS.”
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Ashes enters the room to the sound of bickering. Quiet bickering, but bickering nonetheless. 
“Well, find one, then!” Jonny says harshly.
“I’m trying! Get out of my face!” Brian responds, elbowing Jonny in the side.
“What’re you looking for?” Ashes asks as they head over to the controls. 
“A spot to land. I could’ve sworn I saw a dock somewhere.”
“They’ll make us pay a fee for that. Just land in the brush, or something,” Jonny says, pointing to nowhere in particular. 
“What brush?” Brian asks with a twinge of anger. “It’s all cities! Do you see any plants outside of gardens?”
“Oh, just crash the ship already.”
“Absolutely not!” Brian snaps. “Nastya, get your dumb brother away from the controls.”
“Gladly,” Nastya says as she grabs Jonny by the collar of his shirt and yanks him back.
Jonny lets out a strained yelp as he struggles to balance himself. 
Ashes moves closer to the controls, eyes scanning the surface of the planet. Behind them, they can hear Jonny and Nastya arguing, but decide to just block out the sound. 
“There’s a dock,” Ashes says quickly, pointing to it. “Far enough for an easy landing.”
“Thank you,” Brian says, tossing a glare at Jonny. “Finally, something useful.”
“Hey, fuck you!” Jonny snaps before delving back into his argument. 
Brian pulls in the solar sail and turns on the coms, leaning close to the microphone. 
“Hello, stowaways, this is your pilot speaking. We’re getting ready to land, so grab onto anything that’s bolted down and hold on tight. Gravity’s gonna be a bitch.”
Brian buckles himself to the seat, and Ashes takes hold of one of the armrests. Jonny and Nastya brace themselves on the door handle, still arguing.
Brian smiles like a madman as he kicks on the engines for the first time in a few ten-thousand years, laughing at the roar that explodes throughout the ship. The entirety of the Aurora rattles to life, and Brian cackles as he sends her screaming toward the planet below.
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lalucoo · 1 year
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Well he collapsed with Stevens-Johnson Syndrome on the E.R. floor Panic attacked, anaphylactic and ataxic The way he spun his butterfly risked all six his phalanges Roman candles at both ends in his synapses And the method with which he recycled his humors Trojan Horse'd his Blood-Brain Barrier and raised the LD-50, yes, yes And through flight-or-fight revelation shame the Black Box Warrior He skipped this town and headed straight down history Shields himself from reason in a Kevlar baby-blue Tuxedo Quilted from the finest fibers, flesh, and fiberglass, and flowers His ego a mosquito, evil incarnate good incognito Pops placebos for libido, screaming, "Bless the torpedoes"
For what? For what? For what it's worth If it was going to kill you boy, it would have by now For what? For what? For what it's worth There's no more looking back, it's looking up or looking down
Well, he was wearing stolen rubber shoes and wrapped a poison ivy noose Around his Lotus jugular when they came Well, they found him with a map to every victim of his love And a tattoo of a blue jay on his face And they waited for his vital signs to lie and let a flatline cry A hymn out in Hungarian Harmonic
But he cocked his noggin, through his stoma sang, "For auld lang syne" "Happy birthday to the succulents, I'll die your hydroponics" His rib cage was a hornet's nest, palpitations set the beat His vagus nerve a turk's head knot, an axel hitch, a carrick bend He wondered if Christ Consciousness would charge a cancellation fee Auf wiedersehn, au revoir, he gripped his wits right by their ends
For what? For what? For what it's worth If it was going to kill you boy, it would have by now For what? For what? For what it's worth There's no more looking back, it's looking up or looking down
Hello, welcome, why don't you take a seat? Get comfortable, relax, take a second if you need to Now what's bothering you? Well, why don't we start at the beginning Growing up, how was your relationship with the fundamentals of conscious existence? Did you have xenon orchid sinews spilling down the outer center of your Blooming Escher/Mandelbrot head? And how about claustrophilic tendrils clapping caskets closed on seven-knuckle thumbs Did you get along well with the Gideon Bugler pineal glands? Your projector eyes casting sci-fi's on your STR'd strands?
Tell me about your nerve to steal nerves of steel from under Bacchus' bloody nose Did Namibian Himbas tie-dye you, your ears pierced with a Phineas Gage flagpole Did you die before your day? Thursday traction, Tuesday titration My hope is to assess through my objective report of Your subjective conjecture Whether this proprietary bled of expertise and seasoning works as well as this Transorbital ice pick
Holistic ballistics, you got a better idea? It's about the best we could come up with, what, you think ideas spread because they're good? No, they spread because people like them So now here we are once again, holding As it were, a mirror up to your mirror I guess it's just something people do
A bloody knife to split your infrastructure, wine to rev your motor function Coital machinations of the dead Well, you mainline your animus, karate chop your abacus And learn to be an animal instead But I never did think you better than this, your modus operandi causes Nazi/Skoptzyism and suicide Why to thine own self be true when it is you who are the problem Not the things you do but something sick inside
Lithium and Dialectics, boy you really is defective CBT don't seem effective for that Cluster B, accept it Offer up your innocence, please ignore the side effects You've lost your mind and almost lost your life before So you'll be fine
For what? For what? For what it's worth If it was going to kill you boy, it would have by now For what? For what? For what it's worth There's no more looking back, and why would you want to look back? I mean, it's no good looking back, so try to look forward now For what? For what? For what it's worth If they were going to get you boy, they would have by now For what? For what? For what it's worth There's no more looking back, it's looking up or looking down...
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Well he collapsed with Stevens-Johnson Syndrome on the E.R. floor Panic attacked, anaphylactic and ataxic The way he spun his butterfly risked all six his phalanges Roman candles at both ends in his synapses And the method with which he recycled his humors Trojan Horse'd his Blood-Brain Barrier and raised the LD-50, yes, yes And through flight-or-fight revelation shame the Black Box Warrior He skipped this town and headed straight down history Shields himself from reason in a Kevlar baby-blue Tuxedo Quilted from the finest fibers, flesh, and fiberglass, and flowers His ego a mosquito, evil incarnate good incognito Pops placebos for libido, screaming, "Bless the torpedoes"
For what? For what? For what it's worth If it was going to kill you boy, it would have by now For what? For what? For what it's worth There's no more looking back, it's looking up or looking down
Well, he was wearing stolen rubber shoes and wrapped a poison ivy noose Around his Lotus jugular when they came Well, they found him with a map to every victim of his love And a tattoo of a blue jay on his face And they waited for his vital signs to lie and let a flatline cry A hymn out in Hungarian Harmonic
But he cocked his noggin, through his stoma sang, "For auld lang syne" "Happy birthday to the succulents, I'll die your hydroponics" His rib cage was a hornet's nest, palpitations set the beat His vagus nerve a turk's head knot, an axel hitch, a carrick bend He wondered if Christ Consciousness would charge a cancellation fee Auf wiedersehn, au revoir, he gripped his wits right by their ends
For what? For what? For what it's worth If it was going to kill you boy, it would have by now For what? For what? For what it's worth There's no more looking back, it's looking up or looking down
Hello, welcome, why don't you take a seat? Get comfortable, relax, take a second if you need to Now what's bothering you? Well, why don't we start at the beginning Growing up, how was your relationship with the fundamentals of conscious existence? Did you have xenon orchid sinews spilling down the outer center of your Blooming Escher/Mandelbrot head? And how about claustrophilic tendrils clapping caskets closed on seven-knuckle thumbs Did you get along well with the Gideon Bugler pineal glands? Your projector eyes casting sci-fi's on your STR'd strands?
Tell me about your nerve to steal nerves of steel from under Bacchus' bloody nose Did Namibian Himbas tie-dye you, your ears pierced with a Phineas Gage flagpole Did you die before your day? Thursday traction, Tuesday titration My hope is to assess through my objective report of Your subjective conjecture Whether this proprietary bled of expertise and seasoning works as well as this Transorbital ice pick
Holistic ballistics, you got a better idea? It's about the best we could come up with, what, you think ideas spread because they're good? No, they spread because people like them So now here we are once again, holding As it were, a mirror up to your mirror I guess it's just something people do
A bloody knife to split your infrastructure, wine to rev your motor function Coital machinations of the dead Well, you mainline your animus, karate chop your abacus And learn to be an animal instead But I never did think you better than this, your modus operandi causes Nazi/Skoptzyism and suicide Why to thine own self be true when it is you who are the problem Not the things you do but something sick inside
Lithium and Dialectics, boy you really is defective CBT don't seem effective for that Cluster B, accept it Offer up your innocence, please ignore the side effects You've lost your mind and almost lost your life before So you'll be fine
For what? For what? For what it's worth If it was going to kill you boy, it would have by now For what? For what? For what it's worth There's no more looking back, and why would you want to look back? I mean, it's no good looking back, so try to look forward now For what? For what? For what it's worth If they were going to get you boy, they would have by now For what? For what? For what it's worth There's no more looking back, it's looking up or looking down
Wow so true !!
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jackalopes-pen · 5 months
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Chapter 3: Laughter
Summary: Stan needs tutoring and Pete is just the guy to get forced in to it. However, maybe Stan and Pete have met before under different circumstances.
Word Count: 959
Characters: Stan Marsh | Toolshed, Pete Thelman, XXXXXXX XXXXXXX | Asathoth
Previous: [Encounter] | [Oddity]
A/N: This is actually just for me now… I’m too invested to stop. With any luck this might get off the ground.
Stan groaned. One of the greatest heroes in the city, and he still has to take a bullshit language arts class. Sure he was barely passing, but c’mon. Who actually needs to know how to write and analyse poetry? He sighed and stared out the window at the city skyline. It was pretty, almost dreamlike how the clouds could seem to play between the buildings and the soft blues fought against industrial greys and whites. The few spots of green made a strange little world where industry and nature met and clashed. Industry tore down forests and robbed nature of everything, then nature would crack the sidewalks with roots and grow ivy over buildings. This constant fight to-
“Mr. Marsh! Would you care to tell the class your thoughts on the meaning of the second quatrain?” The teacher’s voice cut through Stan’s daydream.
“Uh..the hell is a quad-train?” Stan said, still a bit disoriented.
The teacher sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Mr. Marsh, if you can’t focus you will not prosper in my class.”
“Yeah, sorry.” Stan shrugged. He didn’t really know what to say, in this situation. He had a few choice words in mind but his mom would kill him for saying them.
The rest of the class seemed to drag on like molasses in an hour-glass. This damn sonnet was painfully boring and it was only worse that some disinterested high-schoolers had to give their thoughts on the deeper meaning. No one knew, no one cared. Eventually like a sweet mercy the bell finally rang and he could leave this child prison and just-
“Mr. Marsh, Mr. Thelman, please report to my desk.” The teacher tapped his pen on the desk as Stan and some goth weirdo walked up to his desk. “Mr. Marsh, your grade is falling in my class. I understand that poetry may not be your forte but you are required to pass to graduate. So, Mr.Marsh, meet your tutor.”
“Tutor?” Stan questioned
“What?! I have to deal with that jockey prep.. and get him to pass?!” The goth kid seemed utterly outraged at the prospect of dealing with a ‘prep’ as he called Stan.
“Mr. Thelman, control yourself. You wouldn't lose your scholarship, would you?” The teacher raised an eyebrow. Even for a shitty teacher, that’s just cruel.
“I- ugh. No.” The kid looked down, his face reading a lot of guilt.
“As I thought. Sessions will be Tuesdays and Thursdays in the library.” The teacher said with no room for argument “One hour, do try to focus, Mr.Marsh.”
“Okay, can I ask Michael to come?” The goth kid asked, slightly pleading.
“Oh, yes I recall him from last year, Mr. Acker. He would certainly be able to help, though he took the AP of my course.” The teacher huffed a short laugh “Yes, Mr. Acker can be of assistance.”
“It’s Tuesday today, do we have to go now?” Stan slightly groaned. He almost knew the response, but he didn’t want to hear it.
With that, the two boys were dismissed to their forcible tutoring session. Stan took the chance to actually size up this weird goth kid. The kid was extremely pale, a little shorter than Stan, and on the scrawny side, but not much. His hair was black and kinda greasy with bright red roots. He wore a frilly grey shirt, a bolo tie with a red gem, black jeans with a tentacle jeans chain, and some purple shoes. He certainly looked goth, that was no mistake, and.. was he wearing eyeliner? This guy has to be gay.
“So.. what’s your name.. Mr.Thelman?” Stan asked, wanting to break the silence a little.
“Why should I tell you?” The kid briefly glanced up from his phone, it seemed he was texting someone.
“Just.. curious. I’m Stan.” He shrugged a little and offered a small smile.
“... Pete.” Pete sighed and continued his texting. He seemed entirely disinterested.
“So, Pete, who are you texting?”
“A friend.”
“Which friend?”
“Michael.”
“Just trying to chat, that’s all. You’re really defensive.”
“I have my reasons.”
Stan proceeded through the tutoring. It was actually more interesting than he thought, cause they mostly taught him how to sound like knows what he’s doing without actually knowing shit. Though, in the back of his mind, he still wondered why Pete was so defensive and short with it. It was kinda eating at him in a weird way and-
As Stan tried to leave for the session he hit his face square into the metal door frame. He heard Pete laugh, which was actually kinda surprising that he was capable of laughter. His laugh was a good one though, it was hearty and kinda filled the room. When he turned back around he saw Michael cover his mouth with his hand and snicker.
“It’s not that funny.”
“Yes the fuck it is.” Pete bent over then, recomposed himself. “See you on Thursday, conformist.”
“You- you know my name!” Stan yelled after them.
It seemed like Stan was just off it today. He went to do patrol on an Omens call and saw Asathoth causing problems at a bank firm. He was doing fine, just fine, when he lost concentration for just a second and got hit in the face with a manual calculator. Asathoth seemed barely able to contain his laughter, as Toolshed struggled to get back up. That thing was the size of a typewriter. It hurts, damn it.
The asshole got away, but it left Stan to notice something, not just about the bullshit he had to live through. A voice changer could mask a lot, sure. However, the way that he kept his composure, the specific hand movements of it.. It was familiar.
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Battle of the Fear Bands B2R3: The Corruption
Entomologists:
youtube
BlackBoxWarrior:
“A song about a man struggling with his health (be it mental or physical). The song makes the treatment seem inhumane and just as terrifying as the initial problem. It’s almost like he’s getting sicker and sicker but just won’t die.”
youtube
Lyrics below the line!
Entomologists:
I hear, humming Buzzing, buzzing Today marks one long dream Burrowed deep inside Sallowing faces Leaving me behind They talk about me, see? I can hear them They call their friends Entomologists Knock on wood, but I'd rather stay alone And isolate intuition from unknown You've bent my world, now, I'll never figure out What it means, when I see, infestations in my dreams Today marks two long dreams Festering away Sallowing bodies Crawling on all fours They talk about me They get in real close They call themselves Metamorphosis Knock on wood, but I'd rather stay alone And isolate intuition from unknown You've bent my world, now, I'll never figure out What it means, when I see, infestations in my dreams
BlackBoxWarrior - OKULTRA:
Well he collapsed with Stevens-Johnson Syndrome on the E.R. floor Panic attacked, anaphylactic and ataxic The way he spun his butterfly risked all six his phalanges Roman candles at both ends in his synapses And the method with which he recycled his humors Trojan Horse'd his Blood-Brain Barrier and raised the LD-50, yes, yes And through flight-or-fight revelation shame the Black Box Warrior He skipped this town and headed straight down history Shields himself from reason in a Kevlar baby-blue Tuxedo Quilted from the finest fibers, flesh, and fiberglass, and flowers His ego a mosquito, evil incarnate good incognito Pops placebos for libido, screaming, "Bless the torpedoes"
For what? For what? For what it's worth If it was going to kill you boy, it would have by now For what? For what? For what it's worth There's no more looking back, it's looking up or looking down
Well, he was wearing stolen rubber shoes and wrapped a poison ivy noose Around his Lotus jugular when they came Well, they found him with a map to every victim of his love And a tattoo of a blue jay on his face And they waited for his vital signs to lie and let a flatline cry A hymn out in Hungarian Harmonic But he cocked his noggin, through his stoma sang, "For auld lang syne" "Happy birthday to the succulents, I'll die your hydroponics" His rib cage was a hornet's nest, palpitations set the beat His vagus nerve a turk's head knot, an axel hitch, a carrick bend He wondered if Christ Consciousness would charge a cancellation fee Auf wiedersehn, au revoir, he gripped his wits right by their ends
For what? For what? For what it's worth If it was going to kill you boy, it would have by now For what? For what? For what it's worth There's no more looking back, it's looking up or looking down
Hello, welcome, why don't you take a seat? Get comfortable, relax, take a second if you need to Now what's bothering you? Well, why don't we start at the beginning Growing up, how was your relationship with the fundamentals of conscious existence? Did you have xenon orchid sinews spilling down the outer center of your Blooming Escher/Mandelbrot head? And how about claustrophilic tendrils clapping caskets closed on seven-knuckle thumbs Did you get along well with the Gideon Bugler pineal glands? Your projector eyes casting sci-fi's on your STR'd strands? Tell me about your nerve to steal nerves of steel from under Bacchus' bloody nose Did Namibian Himbas tie-dye you, your ears pierced with a Phineas Gage flagpole Did you die before your day? Thursday traction, Tuesday titration My hope is to assess through my objective report of Your subjective conjecture Whether this proprietary bled of expertise and seasoning works as well as this Transorbital ice pick Holistic ballistics, you got a better idea? It's about the best we could come up with, what, you think ideas spread because they're good? No, they spread because people like them So now here we are once again, holding As it were, a mirror up to your mirror I guess it's just something people do
A bloody knife to split your infrastructure, wine to rev your motor function Coital machinations of the dead Well, you mainline your animus, karate chop your abacus And learn to be an animal instead But I never did think you better than this, your modus operandi causes Nazi/Skoptzyism and suicide Why to thine own self be true when it is you who are the problem Not the things you do but something sick inside Lithium and Dialectics, boy you really is defective CBT don't seem effective for that Cluster B, accept it Offer up your innocence, please ignore the side effects You've lost your mind and almost lost your life before So you'll be fine For what? For what? For what it's worth If it was going to kill you boy, it would have by now For what? For what? For what it's worth There's no more looking back, and why would you want to look back? I mean, it's no good looking back, so try to look forward now For what? For what? For what it's worth If they were going to get you boy, they would have by now For what? For what? For what it's worth There's no more looking back, it's looking up or looking down…
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joestylee · 1 year
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10 Celebrity Dads to Inspire Your Festive Holiday Style
The holidays provide an opportunity for families and friends to bond, share love and spend quality time together. This means there are lots of invitations to parties and outings. For fathers, invitations to parties mean dressing up which can give rise to confusion about what to wear. Here’s a list of dapper celebrity Dads to inspire your festive holiday wardrobe.
What is Festive Holiday Style and how to dress for it?
Festive holiday style is simply cocktail attire with festive flair that can be worn to formal Christmas parties, New Year’s Eve parties or your Christmas photo shoot.  The hall mark of festive attire rests on color, fabric, and details. Colors like red, green and jewel tones; fabric like plaid, tartans, tweeds, knits, cashmere, satin, velvet and details like sequins, rhinestones, and crystals. Basically, anything with a lot of sparkle or pattern or both.
Celeb Dads with the Best Holiday Style
John Legend
With his legendary song about what Christmas means to him and his excellent taste in formal wear, John Legend is a walking Christmas Style Bible for Dads. He is conscious about what he wears and puts in the effort to look good for himself and his family of four, soon to be 5. Get the scoop about that here. Though he says his style is constantly evolving as he wears what feels right in the moment, his go-to for classic tailoring is Alexander McQueen and Paul Smith.
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Prince Harry
His willingness to step back from Royal life to protect his wife and children from direct and indirect discrimination make this royal dad rank high on our list. Dad to Archie and Lilibet, Prince Harry is settling well into fatherhood. As a royal, his style is always impeccable no doubt, but Harry makes sure to add flair to his outfit with colorful ties and tries to color coordinate as much as possible with his wife for events. Can you spot his tie and the inner lining of his suit which matches his wife’s emerald attire? I can’t think of a better way to impress your significant other for year-end festivities.
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Kevin Hart
This celebrity dad is big on family. He never fails to release yearly Christmas cards with his kids Heaven, Hendrix, Kenzo and Kaori.  He’s also a star of Christmas cocktail style. Most notably is his consistent black and white palette which he explains makes his wardrobe classic and trend proof. A true man of style, he is particular about fit, which is why his Dior suits are always tailored to the nines. If you want to emulate Kevin Hart's style, keep your festive attire tailored, fitted and simple.
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Wizkid
In an interview with ThisDay Style, Wizkid revealed that what keeps him going strong in his career is family and love. Indeed, this celebrity dad is a family man, and his family comes first as shown by how he dotes on his lovely kids Boluwatife Balogun, Ayodeji Balogun Jnr, and Zion Balogun. So, what festive holiday style can we pick up from the Afrobeat star who has strutted international fashion runways? Replace the regular suit and shirt combo at your holiday party with a coordinating pant/shirt set in Christmas colors and a T-shirt. More tips on Wizkid’s style can be found here.
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David Beckham
Father to Brooklyn, Romeo, Cruz, and Harper Beckham, David Beckham has described his children as his motivation.  One of sports best dressed man, the Beckham name is synonymous with fashion because his, wife, Victoria Beckham is an acclaimed fashion designer. It’s no wonder that this celebrity dad schools other Dad’s on Dad dressing. A holiday fashion tip to pick up from Beckham is to pay attention to the fabric of your outfit.
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Jay Z
World famous rapper and entrepreneur Jay Z, is father to Blue Ivy, Rumi and Sir. Like Kevin Hart, he also likes to don a good designer suit that fits and is best known for his monochrome looks.  Our festive holiday takeaway from Jay-Z is to look for a color that is neutral but doesn’t wash you out.
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Will Smith
Will Smith is an older celebrity dad who has grown in wisdom about parenting. He admits in an interview with People Magazine that he didn’t always connect with his kids, Trey, Jaden, and Willow at the depth they wanted. However, that is changing because he has learnt that the best parenting is to admit mistakes or ignorance (don’t be a know it all) and learn and grow yourself. Style wise, Smith is known for tasteful fashion because he is very realistic about what works and what doesn’t. He also likes to keep his style fresh, yup he is the Fresh Prince of Bel Air remember? Our festive holiday learnings from Will Smith are that leather is a staple that always works and to keep things fresh and unexpected with pattern.
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Idris Elba
British actor Idris Elba is father to Isan Elba and Winston Elba. Our style takeaway from Elba is to step away from safe Christmas colors. A camel color suit paired with the right shirt is Christmas cocktail worthy.
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Ryan Gosling
Husband to Eva Mendes and dad to Esmeralda Amada and Amanda Lee, Ryan Gosling is a doting dad who keeps an eye on the clock because his children are growing up so fast, something all parents can relate with. This doting dad is also a dapper dad known for using color to add fun to black-tie outfits.
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Ryan Reynolds
Canadian American actor Ryan Reynold is the happy father of 3 girls with a +1 on the way. Reynold and his wife Blake Lively are the epitome of the all-American family; beautiful, rich and in love. Asides his humor, our holiday style lesson from the X-Men star is Ryan Reynold is how to power dress by mixing modern and traditional suit elements to create 3-piece ensembles.
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Save this article or share with someone you know, who needs some Dad style holiday inspiration.
If not, check out our celebrity wedding dresses with the stunning partner if you're seeking for wedding dresses for your wedding.
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mutant34 · 2 years
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The Rogue Files: Not So Scary
* Note: In my universe Riddler wears a green Ski Mask and carries a revolver*
The Riddler/ Edward Nigma was standing in the corner of Ivy's green house. He was invited to what was supposeidly her party which he assumed sense he was invited it was actually Harley's party and it was Harley who invited him. The other Rogues were crowded on the other side of the Green house making fools of themselves. Edward leaned aginst a wall on the opposite side of the green house with his left hand in his pocket his cane hanging from the crook of his left arm his dark green ski mask pulled just above his mouth and cigarette hanging from his teeth. He stayed as far from others as he possible could because they were all drunk and that was bound to end horribly, he glanced around Ivys Greenhouse but saw nothing interesting. He used his right hand to take a drag of his cigarette. He had the cold expression on his face. He didn't care to much about being alone he was use to it he preferred it there were only certain people he hung out with, everyone else only hurt him. He was so deep in thought he forgot about the cigarette which he held in a balled up fist it was burning a whole in his glove in his skin but he couldn't feel it he didn't feel much pain these days hasn't felt pain in a long time in fact. He dropped the cigarette on the ground and looked at his burned hand and smirked before he dumped it into his pocket. Edward pulled his left hand out of his pocket and moved his cane to the other arm. He pulled his mask back down over his face. Eddie got lost in thought again as a dark green figure jumped out and screamed "HOW DARE YOU LITTER IN MY DOMAIN". The figure pointed at The Riddler and screamed "I WILL DESTROY YOU". Edward snapped back to reality and stood there unaffected stareing coldly at the figure with no sign of fear or even the slightest amount of concern in his eyes. "Ivy how nice of you to drop in" Ed said sarcasticly. Ivy's face twisted into a puzzled like expression. "Why aren't you afraid" Pam snarled. Ed straightened his tie and looked at her with his head angled. "I don't fear people I can beat with a weed Wacker" he said with a cold almost somber tone. Ivy clenched her fist and screamed "PICK IT UP". Ed looked down at the cigarette then back at Ivy. "no" he said bluntly. A vine whipped out from above and stopped centimeters above his head. Ed still stood there cold and expressionless he didn't even flinch. He looked from the vine to Ivy. Pam straitened up crossed her arms and smirked in Eddie's direction. "Do you fear me now". Ed chuckled which grew into a full fledged cackle. "No I can still beat you with a weed wacker". Pam's face twisted into a snarl "I want to see you try". Ed used his left hand and pulled out his revolver from the holster that hung at his side and shot Ivy in the stomach. Pams eyes widened and her mouth dropped; She gripped her gut and took a few steps back in shock before dropping to her knees still clutching her stomach. "WHY DID YOU SHOOT ME". The Riddler's big blue eyes had a twinkle in them he was smirking behind his mask. He returned his gun to its holster. Ed put one foot forward and leaned forward slightly. "Because I didn't have a weed wacker".
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