#ALSO I’M SO MAD THEY CUT THE ELF’S HAIR SHORT

[the-red-mafia]

The Carnival

The Carnival Post Information: The Red Mafia's on a new mission to rescue some people who had gone missing at a nearby carnival. When Mad is quickly separated from the group, shortly followed by Maroon and Thorn, will Velvet and Solana be able to find them and make it out alive? Also available on Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/user/TheRedMafia Next Update: [Updated] Word Count: 5075

6 days after "The Haircut" “Get your tickets here! Over here folks!” Velvet scoffed as the Red Mafia walked into the square. The area was packed with people as small children ran around with their parents chasing after them. Giant carnival tents and rides towered in the distance. Maroon pulled the sleeves of their brown mushroom sweater as they walked next to Thorn. 

“Alright, I’ll go get the tickets,” Solana began, “Mad, you wanna come with? Not sure what language they speak here.” A smile appeared on the robot’s T.V. screen. 

“Right behind you, Solana,” it said, turning to look at the three teenagers behind them, “We’ll be right back, don’t cause any trouble.” Velvet rolled her eyes. 

“We’re not little kids, Mad.”

“Had me fooled,” Thorn muttered, letting out a quiet laugh. The assassin turned and glared at him before sighing. 

“Whatever, go get the tickets.” Velvet plopped down on a metal bench and quickly pulled their phone out of their back pocket. Thorn sat down on the bench as well, followed by Maroon. The three teens sat in silence for a few moments. 

“Well, this is an interesting way to experience a carnival for the first time,” Thorn joked, smirking at Maroon. They returned a small smile.

“Yeah, I guess,” they said, “The rides look cool.” 

“We’re not here to have fun, Maroon,” Velvet stated, locking her phone, “We have a job to do.” Maroon looked towards the ground.

“Right…” Thorn rolled aer eyes and leaned closer to Maroon.

“We can sneak off and ride some rides later,” he mumbled, causing Maroon to chuckle.

“I heard that,” Velvet said, glaring at Thorn.

“Heard what? I didn’t say anything.”

“Don’t gaslight me, frūx.”

“I’m not lighting any gas, Velvet. You feeling ok?”

“Oh my gods-” Thorn broke out in a fit of laughter. Maroon looked up at their friend but stayed quiet.

“You are so fucking stupid, mihi deōs,” Velvet mumbled, standing up, “I’m going to talk to the others.”

“Tell them to hurry up!” Thorn called out as they walked away. 

“No!” 

“Mad, Solana! Thorn’s trying to gaslight me!” 

“I- What?” Velvet stopped in front of the two of them and crossed their arms. Solana broke out into laughter at the teen’s serious expression.

“Thorn’s trying to gaslight me so I came over here.” 

“...ok?” 

“Phew, Velvet, you are too funny,” Solana mumbled, wiping a fake tear out of their eye. The teen lightly punched his arm but he put his hands up. 

“Hey, I’m sorry, I’m-” the elf broke out into laughter again. Mad chuckled as the line slowly moved forward. Mad watched as the two jokingly argued (or, Mad hoped they were joking) and Velvet adjusted the strap on their side bag. They had slightly adjusted their usual style, ditching the hoodie for a simple black t-shirt and blue jeans. A red beaded bracelet sat on her right wrist, near a cluster of faded scars on her arms. 

She almost looked like a normal teenager, if it weren’t for the dagger stashed underneath her pant leg and throwing knives in her black bag. A pair of tinted sunglasses sat on her face, a precaution to prevent a repeat of the shopping trip incident. Solana had a pair too, pairing it with green cargo shorts and a white t-shirt. The elf, however, strapped a small handgun to her belt and covered it with the slightly-oversized shirt. 

A loud cough echoed from behind the three of them, cutting off Velvet and Solana’s conversation. They turned around to see a boy around Velvet’s age, with bright blonde hair and icy blue eyes. He smirked at them, glancing at Mad and Solana before locking eyes on Velvet. 

“Why hello there.”

“Hello,” she replied, “Can I help you?” The boy was slightly taller than them, almost as if he was looking down at them. 

“I was wondering if I could get your number?” Solana stifled a laugh, covering their mouth with their hand. Velvet closed their eyes for a moment. 

“No.” The boy chuckled. 

“Sure, sweetheart. How about I-”

“No thanks.”

“Aww, come on. No harm in it!” Velvet’s right hand fell to their bag. Solana quickly batted her hand away and Mad quickly grabbed her right arm.

“Come on, it’s time to get our tickets!” the robot said, pulling them away. Velvet followed along, letting out a groan. 

“I’ll kill them.” 

“They’re a kid, leave them alone.”

“Fuck off, Mad.”

Children screamed excitedly as the carnival staff opened the entry gate. Hundreds of people flooded in and quickly scattered around into the various tents. In front of the closest tent, a man stood on a platform juggling lit torches.

“Woah…” Maroon mumbled, “That’s really cool.” Velvet scoffed. 

“Please, it’s fake,” the teen replied sarcastically. Maroon’s face dropped slightly, causing Thorn to glare at Velvet. 

“No need to be such a buzzkill, Velvet,” Solana said, lightly elbowing the teen. Velvet rolled her eyes. 

“Whatever. Let’s just find a staff room and look around.” The group slowly made their way through the crowds of people. Velvet kept a firm grip on their bag as they moved through the crowd. The group followed close behind, using the path Velvet left behind them. Eventually, Velvet took a left towards a blue, unmarked building. As they approached they noticed a sign on the door that read “Authorised Personnel Only”. 

“Perfect,” the teen said under their breath. One try of the doorknob revealed that the building was unlocked and the lights on. Thorn smirked and lightly elbowed Maroon’s arm. 

“Well look at that, mushroom,” he said, “This mission should be easy. We’ll have plenty of time to ride the rides.”

“You two do realise this mission will probably result in the carnival getting shut down, right?” Mad said as Velvet examined the doorway. Thorn groaned. 

“Damn, really?”

“We are solving multiple missing person cases,” Solana replied, “Of course they’re going to shut it down.” 

“Bummer. We should go to another carnival after this.”

“You are a fucking child,” Velvet said, turning around, “Now walk through the doorway.” Thorn raised an eyebrow and Solana facepalmed.

“Why me?”

“Because I don’t want to get stabbed if it's trapped.”

“Oh, and I do?”

“You probably don’t, but I don’t really care what you think right now.” Mad sighed and walked in front of Velvet. 

“How about I go through the door first so no one gets stabbed?” The droid said. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Velvet asked, smirking, “But sure, be my guest.” Mad stepped into the building, looking around for people. Velvet watched the doorway closely as Mad went down the entrance hallway. 

“No traps?” Velvet wondered out loud, “This is too easy.”

“Hey, at least we’ll get it done quicker?” Maroon said. Velvet shook their head. 

“No, something’s wrong. Mad, come back here.” Before the teen could react, the door slammed shut. The remaining mafia members jumped at the noise, causing a laugh to echo from behind them. 

“What the fuck…” Thorn mumbled, looking around. Velvet quickly tried to open the door again, but found it had been locked. 

“Shit,” they breathed, “Mad! Are you there?” When their question was answered with silence, they turned to look at their teammates.

“Maroon, Thorn. Go check the left side. Solana, you’re with me.”

Mad banged on the door again and was met with no response.

“They can’t hear me,” the robot mumbled, “Great.” They turned around to get another look at the building’s interior. There was a central, grey hallway that seemed to stretch on forever. Every so often, a green door broke the grey monotone. 

The droid began walking down the hallway, looking at the signs on the doors. Most had been scratched out, as if someone was trying to erase them completely. A few were labelled as typical workplace things: bathrooms, a break room, etc. Every single door was locked, well, with the exception of the oddly shaped blue one at the end of the hall. 

When Mad got to that door, they quickly noticed it wasn’t labelled at all. The doorknob was bright gold, or at least a material that gave that illusion. Mad reached out and twisted the doorknob, surprise washing over them when the door didn’t fight it.

“Huh…” the droid mumbled, opening the door fully. The room behind the door seemed to be some kind of computer room, with a giant monitor in the middle. It was powered off, despite the hundreds of wires connecting it to various pieces of machinery around the room. The room itself was dark, almost pitch black. If it wasn’t for Mad’s night vision and the light from the hallway that the door let in, they wouldn’t be able to see. The robot took a step forward towards the monitor.

“Mad?” a familiar voice called out, causing the robot to turn around. In the doorway stood Rhyme Reuter, dressed in a pair of jeans and a tie-dye coloured jean jacket. Mad’s screen featured an exclamation mark as they stared at her. 

“Rhyme? What are you doing here?” Rhyme walked up to Mad, crossing his arms.

“Not important. What are you doing here? I didn’t think Velvet would let you all take a vacation day to a carnival. Also, why wouldn’t you invite me?” the thief joked, a smirk on her face.

“She didn’t, we’re on a mission.” Rhyme raised an eyebrow. 

“A mission? At a carnival?”

“Yeah. Apparently, a lot of people have gone missing here recently so we’re checking it out.”

“Huh, interesting. Say, could you help me with something?” A smile emoticon appeared on the droid's face.

“Sure, what’s up?” Rhyme took a step forward and grabbed Mad’s wrist. 

“Follow me, I’ve gotta show you.”

Thorn carefully looked around the corner of the building, scanning the walkway that went past it. A few of the patrons gave him weird looks, but he ignored them. Maroon walked up next to them and looked down the walkway as well. 

“It’s all clear,” Thorn said, walking forward, “You see any doors?” Maroon looked at the blue wall.

“Nope, nothing.”

“Huh. Maybe that’s the only door in. Think we should try to break it down?” 

“Maybe…” Maroon mumbled, “Let’s check the back first.” Thorn turned and saluted them, causing them to chuckle. The duo continued down the wall and turned to the back of the building. There wasn’t much space due to a hedge wall about a metre behind. Thorn stopped in front of an air vent that sat in the middle of the back wall. 

“There’s a vent back here,” he said. Maroon popped up next to aer and leaned closer to the vent. 

“Velvet uses vents, right? They could get through here as a last resort.”

“I’m not sure Velvet would fit through there, it’s pretty small.”

“True. Maybe-”

“Someone help!” a voice screamed, cutting off Maroon’s sentence. The teens turned towards the noise, which was coming from down the path. Suddenly, a little girl came into view, tears streaming down her face. She had light red hair that was pinned back with a flower crown made of pink roses. 

She couldn’t have been over the age of 10, considering her shortness and childlike structure. She wore what appeared to be a uniform of a black and white plaid skirt with a pink blazer. The kid quickly looked around before locking eyes with the duo. Her eyes quickly lit up and she ran up to them. 

“Thorn!” the kid shouted, wrapping her arms around the older teen, “Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” Thorn stared down at the kid, their eyes as wide as saucers. 

“...Iris?” The little girl wiped the tears out of her eyes and smiled. 

“Who else would it be, brother?”

Velvet kicked the wooden door again, but it refused to budge. They groaned and put their foot down on the ground. Solana stood next to them, arms crossed.

“All of them are locked?” the elf mumbled, “Weird, considering-” Velvet cut them off, throwing their side bag onto the concrete and looking around. The teen quickly spotted a fallen sign, which had detached from the metal pole next to it. She ran over and picked up the pole, returning to the door. 

“Oh Gazra,” Solana mumbled, watching as they placed it in between the door and the doorframe. 

“Gazra can fuck off,” Velvet replied, putting a foot on the pole. Before they could apply pressure, the door quickly opened from the inside. Velvet stumbled forward before Solana grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

“Velvet, what are you doing?” A robotic voice asked. Velvet quickly stood up and threw the pole into the grassy area next to the path. They looked at Mad as Rhyme walked out next to them. His hair had changed since Velvet saw him last, now featuring ice-blue tips instead of pink.

“Well, I was trying to save you,” Velvet answered, gesturing to Rhyme, “But clearly you didn’t need me.” Rhyme smirked. 

“Gotta be faster next time, Bolton.”

“Call me that again, see what fucking happens-”

“Chill, drama queen,” Solana said, letting go of their arm, “Who’s this?” Rhyme smirked and gave Solana a small bow. 

“Diamonds, world-renowned thief and criminal extraordinaire. Which one of the newbies are you?”

“Solana. It’s nice to meet you, Mad’s talked about you quite a lot.” Rhyme raised an eyebrow at Mad.

“All good things, I hope.”

“As good as they could get about you,” Velvet mumbled, crossing her arms. Rhyme laughed. 

“Sensing some hostility there, Bolton,” he said, “Don’t worry, the feeling’s mutual.” 

“What are you even doing here, Diamonds?” 

“None of your business. I just need to borrow Mad here for a few, won’t take long.” Velvet forced out a fake laugh. 

“That’s hilarious, Diamonds. And 100% not happening.”

“Velvet-” Mad began, but Rhyme interrupted it. 

“I just saved them from being locked in the building for who knows how long. It’s the least you can do.”

“Why, so you can steal some pocket money and a few chocolate bars? That’s rich.”

“Yeah, I will be rich when I finish this. Which is why I really need their help.”

“Just go back to your original plan without it, asinus.”

“Considering things have changed and I was about to call it anyway, no.” Mad sighed and grabbed Rhyme’s arm, stepping in front of him. 

“Velvet, it won’t take very long. This’ll let Thorn and Maroon try some of the rides like they wanted to before we end it.” Velvet glared at Mad

“We have a fucking job to do-” Solana quickly covered Velvet’s mouth.

“Go for it, Mad,” the elf began, pinning Velvet’s arms to their side so they couldn’t fight against them, “We’ll handle the mission. Just let us know when you’re done.” A smile emoticon appeared on Mad’s screen.

“Thanks, Solana.”

“No problem. Have fun.” Rhyme quickly grabbed Mad’s arm and pulled it forward. She ran deeper into the park with Mad barely being able to keep up. Once they got out of sight, Solana let go of Velvet.

“What the hell, Solana?” He looked at Velvet and sighed. 

“Sometimes, you’ve gotta let them do their own thing. The four of us can handle the mission just fine on our own.” 

“I’m going to tell you that when we fucking die.”

“How? You’ll be dead.”

“I- Shut up.”

“Brother?” Maroon asked, staring down at the small girl. She turned to them before letting out a quiet squeak. She jumped behind Thorn, who was staring at her with a few tears forming in aer eyes. She grabbed aer legs and stuck her tongue out at Maroon. 

“Go away!” She shouted. Maroon blinked a few times before looking at Thorn. 

“Thorn…?” they began, “Are you ok?”

“I-” Thorn mumbled, “What…”

“Thorn! We should go. Mom will be expecting us any time now!” Iris said, grabbing Thorn’s hand and attempting to pull him forward. Thorn knelt down and pulled the girl into a hug. 

“I’m…I’m so sorry,” Thorn choked out, “I’m so sorry.” Iris looked at it with a confused look. 

“What? Why?” Thorn closed aer eyes tightly but didn’t answer. 

“Thorn, why are you crying?” Iris asked, looking up at her brother, “Did I do something wrong?” 

“No,” Thorn stumbled over aer words, “You…you didn’t.” 

“Then why are you crying?” 

“I just missed you so much, bumblebee.” 

“I was only gone for a few hours.” Thorn shook his head. 

“No, Iris, you’ve been gone for a lot longer than that. How…how did you even get here?”

“Mommy brought me? Didn’t she bring you too?” 

“Mom’s here?” Thorn breathed, their body freezing. Iris nodded. 

“Of course she is, she and Papa would never let us go to a carnival on our own!”

“Iris, I need you to take me to her. Now.” Iris laughed and grabbed aer hand. 

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do, silly!” 

“What’s happening?” Maroon finally asked. Thorn looked up at them and stood, still hanging onto Iris’s significantly smaller hand. 

“It’s…hard to explain,” he mumbled, looking at the ground. Maroon took a step forward and pulled their friend into a hug. 

“It’s ok, you can tell me when you’re ready.” Thorn nodded, slightly resting their head on their shoulder. When they broke apart, Iris was staring right at Maroon. 

“Are you my brother’s boyfriend?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. The two teens went bright red, Maroon burying their head in their hands. 

“Iris, no-” Thorn said quickly, “We’re just friends.” The little girl frowned. 

“Aww, so no brother-in-law?” 

“Iris!” She laughed, gripping Thorn’s hand harder. 

“Come on, momma’s waiting!” Iris pulled Thorn behind her as she ran forward. Thorn almost fell over, grabbing Maroon’s hand. Maroon pulled him upwards, steadying him as Iris kept pulling them along through the park.

Zaeor’s phone buzzed as the god was about to take a bite of his turkey sandwich. He sighed, setting the food down and grabbing his phone off the table. He sighed as he read the notification.

“How does this always seem to happen?” he mumbled, unlocking the phone and dialling a number. It rang once before the other line picked up. 

“You couldn’t let me eat my sandwich, huh?” he joked. 

“Fuck your sandwich,” Velvet said from the other side, “Can you do a magic scan of this place?” 

“I already did, didn’t I tell you?”

“You did, but I want you to do another one.” Zaeor raised an eyebrow. 

“Another one? What are you looking for?” 

“She thinks there’s an illusionist running around,” he heard Solana say from the other side of the phone. 

“Hello, Solana.”

“Hey, Zaeor.”

“Anyways, Velvet, an illusionist? Do you know-” 

“Yeah, they’re extremely rare, blah blah blah. But hear me out.” Zaeor let out a sigh. 

“Alright, go,” he said, standing up from his chair.

“We’ve searched every place in this damned park,” Velvet began, “There’s nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing. No leads, no slip-ups, nothing. There’s been no suspicious activity the entire two hours we’ve been here. All the staff have no previous criminal record, not even any school disciplinary action!”

“Why did you check their school records?-”

“Anything can be evidence.”

“I’m not sure that’s a solid legal argument.”

“Tried telling her that,” Solana added before letting out an “ow”, no doubt from Velvet elbowing her.

“Not to mention Thorn and Maroon have…vanished or something.” The god’s eyes widened. 

“Wait, Thorn and Maroon are missing?”

“Presumably, yeah.”

“And you didn’t lead with that?”

“It’s not why I’m calling you so, no.”

“I-” Zaeor stopped mid-sentence, letting out a sigh, “Continue.”

“Anyways,” Velvet stated, “Unless it’s an outside party, which is unlikely due to the carnival's lack of reaction to the kidnappings, there’s some kind of magic going on.”

“That’s fair, but why an illusionist as opposed to just a normal magician?”

“Think about it, Zaeor. How could a normal magician hide a kidnapping?” 

“Mind manipulation?” Velvet groaned.

“You just love talking about mind manipulation.”

“Hey, it’s a cool power!” Zaeor chuckled, going up the pitch-black stairs that lead to the second floor of his home.

“A ‘cool’ power that would’ve showed up on the initial magic scan.” Zaeor stopped in front of one of the doors at the top of the stairs. 

“Oh, you’re right.” Velvet sighed.

“Everyone loves doubting me recently,” she mumbled. Zaeor sighed. 

“That’s not true, I just wanted to hear your reasoning-”

“It’s not important now,” the teen interrupted, causing the god to shake his head. 

“So you think an illusionist is kidnapping people and using illusions to hide it? But why?”

“To fulfil some sick desire, I don’t know.”

“Experiments maybe?” Solana chimed in.

“Maybe, seems weird though,” Zaeor said, opening the door, “Well, I’ll run an illusion scan and call you back. Stay hidden and blend in.”

“Alright-”

“And find Maroon and Thorn! Where’s Mad?” Velvet groaned. 

“We’re just. Not gonna touch on Mad right now,” Solana interrupted, “We know where they are and they’re fine. Just…not here.” Zaeor raised an eyebrow.

“That’s…ominous.”

“Yeah, I’m realising that.”

“But, whatever. If this really is an illusionist, you’re definitely going to need Maroon and Thorn.”

“Yeah yeah, I know. Call me when you find something.”

“Alright, I will. Good luck and don’t be stupid.”

“I’m never stupid.”

“That’s just a fucking lie,” Solana mumbled. 

“Solana-”

“And don’t kill Solana!” Zaeor added. Velvet groaned again. 

“Fucking fine! Alright, we’re going.” Zaeor groaned as he hit the end-call button on the phone. The god sat down on the large office chair in front of several different monitors around the room. He didn’t move for a few moments but eventually waved his hand. The turkey sandwich appeared in his hand as he booted up the device.

Alright, let’s see what’s going on.

Rhyme laughed as the pair slowed in front of a chain link fence. In front of them, a gate stood far above Mad’s TV. There were no signs on the fence, but beyond it stood a huge pink and blue circus tent. Mad looked up and down the fence but saw no gate. 

“What is this place?” the droid asked. 

“It’s the V.I.P. section.”

“The carnival has a V.I.P. section?” Rhyme shrugged. 

“Yeah, it has like, special arcade games or something. All I know is that there’s a lot of money in there.”

“So what do you need my help with?”

“You see,” Rhyme began, walking towards the fence, “The fence has something on it. I thought it was electrified at first.”

“At first?” Rhyme slowly bent down and picked up a fallen branch from a nearby tree and chucked it at the fence. As soon as it made contact with the metal, the wood burst into flames. Mad took a step back in shock. 

“I…don’t think an electric fence could do that.” Rhyme laughed. 

“Yeah, I think you’re right.”

“So it’s magic then? Mad said, turning towards him, “Why does that mean you need my help? I’m not exactly known for magic.”

“True,” Rhyme mumbled, turning away, “But I think there’s some kind of control panel to it. Think you can find it?” Mad looked at her before looking back at the fence. 

“Maybe…” the robot took a few steps forward, “Are there any wires?” 

“It’s magic, I don’t think it would be controlled through wires.” 

“I don’t know, then,” Mad mumbled, “Did you see another control room?” Rhyme crossed his arms and looked at it. 

“Hm,” she mumbled, tapping her foot, “Oh! Yeah, there’s one nearby.” Mad turned around, a smile on their TV. 

“Well then, Diamonds, lead the way.”

“Didn’t I tell you to call me Rhyme?”

Velvet kicked a rock down the sidewalk. People streamed past her, down the path towards the kiddie rides. The aroma of freshly popped popcorn and funnel cakes filled the air. Children screeched happily while their parents chatted behind them. Velvet took a step forward, only to find a piece of chewed gum had attached itself to the bottom of her combat boots. They let out a loud groan and ripped the gum in half. 

“Stupid fucking place,” they mumbled, “I can’t wait for this to be fucking over.”

“Vel, no need to be such a downer,” a familiar voice called out. Velvet’s eyes widened and she quickly spun around. There stood a boy about 13 years old, a big smile on his face. His bright emerald green eyes looked warmly at them, something they hadn’t seen in a long, long time. 

“Here,” he said, holding a pretzel out to her, “I got one for you. No need to be an edge lord.” Velvet stared at him, causing him to raise an eyebrow. 

“Vel? You ok?” 

“...Caran?” 

“Yeah? You feeling alright?” Velvet stepped towards him. The boy smiled, holding the pretzel out to them. Velvet ignored it, however, swinging a punch at the boy's head. He stumbled backwards, the pretzel falling to the ground with a loud thud. His bright blonde hair covered his face as he winced in pain. People stopped walking to stare at the developing scene, some parents even ushering their small ones behind them. Caran placed a hand on his face and looked back at Velvet, who kept her composure and crossed her arms. 

“That’s about all the proof I need,” they mumbled, shaking their head, “Next time, illusionist, pick someone who’s still alive.” Caran’s eyes widened as Velvet took a few steps forward and kneeled down next to him. 

“W-what are you talking about, Vel? O-of course I’m alive, I’m right here.”

“Now listen very carefully, illusion,” they whispered, glaring at the boy, “I can’t dissolve you here, that would make me look suspicious. However, if I see you again, in this form or any other, I will dissolve you on sight regardless of the consequences. Am I clear?” The illusion nodded fearfully, causing Velvet to frown. 

“That looks wrong,” they mumbled, standing up.

“Velvet, what on Gazra are you doing?” Velvet turned to see Solana pushing through the crowd, who were whispering as the scene unfolded. 

“I know we’re dealing with an illusionist now.” 

“What? How?” Velvet stepped to the side as she stopped and gestured to the illusion on the ground. 

“Take a look.” Solana’s eyes drifted downwards to the boy, who had tears streaming down his face. Their hands clasped over their mouth and they quickly dropped to their knees.

“...Caran!”

“Sol!” He jumped forward and pulled the elf into a hug. It took a few seconds for Solana to process what was happening but he quickly returned the gesture.

“Oh my gods,” she breathed, “You’re…alive!” 

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding,” Velvet breathed.

“Sol! I-I don’t know what I did but I-I tried to give Velvet a pretzel a-and-” the illusion stopped to take a breath, “S-she just punched me!” Solana turned to glare at Velvet, but the teen just looked confused. 

“Velvet-”

“Solana, are you serious right now? This-” Velvet gestured towards the illusion, “can’t be real. Caran is dead.” 

“Or, he could be standing right in front of you,” the elf mumbled, turning back toward the illusion, “How did you escape Unor?” The illusion paused for several seconds before sniffling.

“H-he almost killed me. But I ran. I’ve been wandering the wilderness for- I don’t even know how long it’s been now.”

“See!” Solana exclaimed, pulling him into another hug, “I knew you weren’t dead.” 

“You’re an idiot,” Velvet stated, running a hand through her hair, “Maybe there’s some mind manipulation going on after all.” Solana ignored them, instead focusing on the small boy in front of him. 

“I can’t believe-” the elf paused for a moment, “I’m so glad you’re ok.” Caran sniffled and buried his face in Solana’s shoulder. 

“I missed you,” he said, though it was muffled, “I thought I was seeing things when I saw you guys here and-”

“Shh, it’s ok. We can talk once we get somewhere else. Velvet-” The elf turned to talk to their friend, but she was already gone.

Eventually, Iris slowed down, allowing Maroon and Thorn to catch their breath. 

“She’s just over this fence, in that tent!” Maroon gave the child a confused look. 

“Why is she outside the park?” they asked. Iris turned back to look at them.

“She’s not outside the park,” she began, “That’s the V.I.P. section!” 

“V.I.P. section?” Thorn asked, “I didn’t know carnivals had a V.I.P. section.” 

“And what’s with the fence?” Maroon questioned. Iris frowned at the duo. 

“I don’t know, how would I? All I know is that mom’s in there.” Thorn put a hand on Iris’s shoulder and smiled. 

“Right, sorry Iris.” Maroon looked at the little girl before sighing. 

“Sorry.”

“We just gotta find a way over the fence…” Iris mumbled, looking around. Thorn laughed and turned to their little sister.

“Don’t worry, bumblebee, I’ve got that covered.” It kneeled down and pulled her onto its back. Iris let out a small shriek but a big smile took over her face once Thorn stood back up.

“Piggy-back ride!” she screamed, throwing a hand in the air. The two teens both laughed, causing Iris to turn back to look at Maroon. 

“But what about Mar-Mar?” she asked, “I don’t think he’ll fit on your back.” Maroon’s eyes widened.

Mar-Mar? How-

“They,” Thorn corrected, snapping the teen out of their thoughts. Iris looked at him.

“Oh. They.” Maroon looked at the young girl.

“It’s okay. And I have my own ways. I’ll meet you guys over there, okay?” Iris’s smile returned and she nodded. 

“See you there, Mar-Mar,” Thorn said with a smirk. Plants quickly grew from the ground and propelled the two of them over the fence. Maroon heard Iris screaming as they flew but then- nothing. The two of them completely disappeared from view, as if they had vanished. There was only the sound of patrons behind them and the wind. Maroon’s eyes widened. 

“Thorn? Iris?” they called out. No response. The plants Thorn had grown quickly withered and died in front of their eyes, which sent a chill down the teen’s spine. Maroon grew a mushroom underneath them and looked over the fence. Nothing seemed out of place, just normal fake grass that was spread around the carnival. The tent still stood in the distance but no one seemed to come in or out of it. Maroon took a deep breath before looking at the ground once more and hopping over the fence.

[ashleyeveerson]

It lacks heart, idk how to put it otherwise but it just does.

[bethansfandoms]

Could u maybe write a prompt from Sirius perspective, where he’s head over heels in love with remus, but isn’t sure how to tell him so he talks to Minnie/euphemia/poppy and thy help him, he confesses his feelings and then they are dating:))

Sirius, alcohol in hand, walked into the Potter’s kitchen. It was a warm summers evening and Remus, James, and Peter were already outside and had a small fire going at the bottom of the garden. The last remaining moments of sunlight painted the whole kitchen golden.

He padded through the room, only stopping when he caught sight of Euphemia Potter standing at the sink in front of the large window that overlooked the lawn. 

“Euphemia, what are you doing?” Sirius asked, smiling. Euphemia jumped a little at his voice before placing a plate back into the sink.

“Washing up,” she replied, cheerfully.

“But... can’t you just use magic?”

She scoffed, “Typical wizard. I could also ask my house elf to do it. I just think it’s nice to do things the muggle way sometimes, no? Gives you time to think.”

Sirius shrugged and placed the firewhisky on the table before grabbing a tea towel. “I’ll help.”

“Well, you’ve only been moved in for a year and you’ve already offered to do more housework than James ever has.”

Sirius laughed and looked out the window to where James was lounging at the end of the garden. Then, his eyes drifted to the person they always seemed to drift to.

Remus was wearing shorts and a t-shirt and the golden sunlight caught his hair making it seemingly glow. Sirius obviously couldn’t tell from this distance but he could picture the way Remus looked in this light. His skin soft and eyes bright and smile wide. He shook his head and got back to drying up.

“I can’t believe James is head boy as of September,” Euphemia muttered.

Sirius grinned, “It was a shock to us all. Gave him an excuse to write to Lily though, didn’t it?”

“Ah, yes. He’s very serious about her, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. Yeah, he is. They’ll be a good head boy and girl.”

“And how about you, Sirius?” Euphemia asked, smiling, “Come on, I’m your mother now it’s my job to embarrass you.”

Sirius couldn’t stop the grin at the idea of Euphemia being his mother. “Oh, uh, I’m not dating anyone, if that’s what you mean.”

“Is there anyone you’d like to? Come on, humor me.”

Sirius’ eyes flitted back up to the window where he could see Remus with his head thrown back, laughing. “Maybe. But I don’t know how to tell him. Her,” he corrected quickly, “bugger, I meant...”

Euphemia put the mug she was cleaning back into the sink and turned to face him. “It’s okay, Sirius, you can tell me about... him?”

“Him,” Sirius confirmed, sighing. “Crap. I didn’t meant to—James, Peter, and Remus don’t know yet. I don’t know how to tell them.”

“If you can’t talk to them about this boy, why don’t you talk to me, hm? Get it off your chest.”

Sirius abandoned the drying up all together and ran a hand through his hair. “He’s just... there’s nobody else I’ve ever... he’s so caring,” Sirius settled on. “He’s just so kind and so forgiving and so quick to help anybody if they need it. And he’s smart and funny and beautiful and he’s just the person I think about all the time. And I can’t tell him.”

“Oh, Sirius,” Euphemia said sympathetically, “I think you should. I think you should tell him exactly what you just told me, hm?”

“He’s not... he doesn’t like me like that. He’ll get embarrassed and then it’ll be weird and our friendship will be over just because I couldn’t get a grip.”

“Is Remus really the sort of person who would stop being friends with you over something like that?”

“Well, no, but—hang on. You know it’s Remus?”

“Oh, uh, well I just assumed... was that wrong of me?”

“No. Ugh. Am I that obvious? Do you think he knows too and hasn’t said anything because he doesn’t feel the same way or—”

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you. No I don’t think that.”

Sirius flushed. “The way he looks at me? What way is that?”

“The same way you look at him. Tell him, Sirius. You’ll be mad at yourself forever if you don’t.”

Sirius shrugged and picked the firewhisky back up from the table. “Maybe.”

He walked to the end of the garden and was greeted with cheers as he brandished the alcohol. His head was full of confused emotions and he took a swig of the drink to try and bury them.

“Are you alright?” Remus asked, softly as Sirius passed the bottle over to James and Peter. “You look down.”

Sirius felt his heart flop. “I’m fine, really. Just had a talk with Euphemia about some stuff, got a bit heavy I guess.”

“Talk to me if you need to, yeah?” Sirius didn’t get a chance to reply as James suddenly suggested a drinking game they should play and dived into explaining the rules. Sirius spent the whole time watching the way the fire and the setting sun made Remus’ features all soft and golden.

You’ll be mad at yourself forever if you don’t. Euphemia’s words were swimming around his head. He was a little drunk and had volunteered to clear everything away while James and Peter got ready for bed because Remus had offered as well.

They were alone and the sun had long since set and Sirius would be mad at himself forever if he didn’t say something now.

“You know how you said I could talk to you,” Sirius said, quickly as to get the words out before he could stop himself “I’m ready to cash that in.”

Remus poked the dying embers of the fire a final time and smiled, “Of course. What’s up?”

“There’s... it’s...” Sirius wrung his hands and sighed. “Fuck. This is hard. I’m worried you’ll be upset with me.”

Remus’ brow furrowed in concern. “Sirius, nothing you say is going to make me upset.”

“Really?” and because he was drunk, the words came spilling out. “Remus, I’m in love with you. Do you see, now? Do you see why I thought you’d be upset? I accidentally told Euphemia and she said I’d regret it if I didn’t say anything but now I’m starting to think my biggest regret is actually saying it because it’ll ruin—”

“Sirius,” Remus said, cutting him off. “Uh, in answer to your question, no, I don’t see why you thought I’d be upset about that.”

“What? Why? Because—”

“Because I’m in love with you too, idiot.”

Sirius just blinked at him. “Really? Are you sure you’re not drunk?”

Remus just laughed, “Yes, Really.” He took a step closer to Sirius and cupped his face. “Really,” he whispered again. Then, he kissed him.

[dior-dove]

Alright I gotta talk about it

Rings of Power : no spoilers

Ps: if you haven’t seen Peter Jackson’s depiction of elves this rant won’t be relevant to you

Who’s idea was it to cut the elves hair?

The elven male cast ( except arondir)all look like characters from succession dressing up in medieval garb. They look like sycophant tech bros and Mad Men™️

Elrond is a NPH look alike. Someone explain to me why he has blond highlights?????? Could we really not find a young hugo weaving??? Were hair extensions, hair dye, and lace fronts THAT expensive???

Gil-galad has a mullet and is a Kyle maclachlan look alike

Celebrimbor is an aged stede bonnet ???? Why did they do this to him! He’s a smith! And an elf!? He looks so old and HUMAN

The cast choice for these characters alone was enough to take me out of the fantasy vibes.

When watching Tolkien movies I expect an escape. The only thing elf like about them is their ears which really at the end of the day makes the VULCANS.

SINCE the elves are a defining perspective of this story telling, the characterization and story telling found in make up wardrobe and hair choices can’t be understated! I mean where are their circlets and regalia that set each rank apart???

The writing is great

The pace is great

The visuals and cinematography also great. The cgi is chefs kiss

I’ll be damned if 3 poorly realized characters will detour me from rooting for my forever homie Galadriel. BUT I am tempted. Knowing that I’m going to have to see them frequently as their roles in the plot are very important and every male elf with short pomade hair really grinds my gears

[numptypylon]

Epilogue

I added a short epilogue to Reunion and Intersection today, but I also wrote a much longer one, full of fluffy comfort, to get through the angst-writing in the first two chapters. It’s unedited, unfinished and ridiculously self-indulgent, and I don’t think it really goes with the story, so I elected to not post it, but I’m attaching it here, under the cut, for those interested. Keep in mind it’s a reject for a reason though; this is what my writing looks like in the explorative phase where I’m looking for the point, and in this case I didn’t really find it XD

~2K under the readmore

Callum got there early. A lot of people eyed him warily, but a letter from Queen Janai was a good smoother-of-grumpy-elf-tempers.

No-one had seen Rayla, so… she was probably not here yet.

He went to the inn, bought a large room, lit a roaring fire in there, activating the Sunfire rock he used to keep warm at night under the covers of the bed, and calling for the tub to be filled. It had the usual Skywing heating arrangement, only needing a good Fulminis to heat the water.

He resisted flying out to find her. He risked missing her again, and her leaving town before he got back.

It was about… hitting the point of intersection.

So, he waited at the city gates. He didn’t have to wait nearly as long as he expected, considering the distance she would have had to traverse. Maybe she had recovered and had travelled faster than he thought.

It was definitely her though. A small, lone figure on the mountainside.

He intended to wait for her until she got to him, but then she stopped to lean against a tree and he realized that she had not recovered and was up there sick in the snow… and that resolve evaporated like it had never been.

Like he would ever let her struggle alone a moment longer than she needed to.

 **

 It was a measure of her exhaustion that she didn’t notice him until he was basically right in front of her, and even then, her reaction was so much slower than usual.

It still… it was hard to believe it was real. For her too, surely more so.

He numbly pulled his scarf off, packing it around her neck and head. He grazed her cheek and felt it and she felt it and… she felt it, because the tears that had built up in her eyes spilled over at his touch, slipping down her dirty and flushed cheeks.

She looked ready to drop, and felt it too, when he put his arms around her and her disbelief gave way to relief. Whatever ridiculous level of stubbornness had kept her upright for the last day and night of walking through snow and up mountains when she should have been in bed… fell away and she slumped almost completely in his arms.

She sobbed hoarsely for a bit, and he let her.

And she let him, when his hand cupped the back of her head and her hair tickled his fingers and it hit him too that… it was really real, she was here.

They needed to… get to the inn though, so he pulled away and wiped his face. They could… and probably would… have a longer cry and a longer hug later. But she was sick and cold and there was a roaring fire and a filled bathtub two minutes of flight away.

“Let’s go,” he said. “I knew you were coming this way and that you were sick. And I booked a room for… you.” For them both, he hoped, but-

“What?” she blubbered. “But… aren’t… aren’t you mad?”

“I mean, of course I am, but… that’s not really… that can wait.”

“I’m…” she laughed weakly, more tears spilling over. “I’m so happy to see you and there’s… so many things I would like to say and… and I’m such a mess right now and so tired and I’m just… I’m so tired I cried earlier just because a stupid pine branch hit me in the face and knocked me off my sled and it continued down the mountain without me and I’d have to walk instead and-“

“Hey, hey!” He stroked down her flushed, wet cheeks, along fresh scratches where presumably that branch had hit her. Sledding, huh… she always was extremely resourceful and oh so daring. And that explained how she got here so fast. “Rayla, it’s okay. You can rest first. I’ll take care of things… of you. For as long as you want me to, but… definitely for the next few days.”

“How c-can you… are you… here-”

He leant his head against her forehead, relishing in the feeling of contact, even if her skin was clammy and too-hot. “That’s… complicated,” he said. “And also simple. You called me here. I came.”

“Manis. Pluma. Volantis.”

 **

 She staggered, when they set down, steadying herself on his shoulder, and Callum was glad he had elected to land in front of the inn instead of at the city gates.

She definitely wasn’t well yet, her breath rasping in her throat, her forehead beading with sweat, cheeks and ears flushed. The fever had maybe broken, but it hadn’t quite left. And she was exhausted, trembling with the effort of staying upright, her eyes dull and glassy.

People were staring, when they went inside, but the innkeeper came over and recommended the soup of the day, and their house-made herbal tea blend with Sky Yak milk, and assured them it would be brought to their room shortly, with a look of very obvious sympathy at Rayla.

And then the door shut behind them.

“I owe-” she started, but he cut her right off.

“No. You’re owed,” he said tightly.

“Owed what?” She sounded… nervous.

“Soup. Hot tea. A warm bed and a fire someone else made. General fussing. Love. Forgiveness. Kindness. A damn break, for once.”

“L-love?”

“Yeah, love.”

Her clumsy fingers fumbled at the clasps of her armor. They were still ice cold when he touched them, the skin red and no-doubt sore.

But she for once didn’t resist any help he gave, sinking gratefully into the tub he had prepared. A warm bath was possibly not great for her fever, but… it was pros and cons and he needed to warm up her hands and feet.

She was barely conscious when he helped her back out of the tub, so he just put her down on a towel on the bed, drying her hair as best he could. He at least managed to get her awake to pull off her own wet underwear and pull his clean night shirt over her head.

 **

 “Callum?” she asked, because… she wanted things, and she could have them. “Stay with me? Please.”

He pressed against her back, warm and real.

His hands engulfed hers, big and soft and familiar.

Full of real little details that her brain hadn’t accurately recreated.

The callus at the side of his right index finger, from his charcoal pencil. The scar from a clumsy sparring accident at the second knuckle.

His voice when he said her name and when he told her it was okay.

His kinda… snuffling non-snoring sleep-sound.

And new things, that she hadn’t known to add.

His arms, still skinny, but stronger than they had been.

His too-long hair flopping over his ears.

And things she had yet to find out.

 **

 “Morning-“ she muttered, as she woke, feeling warm. And her throat felt a lot better, too and most of that sticky, gross fever feeling was gone, although there was still some sluggish daze, everything just a bit vaguer and floatier than it should have been.

“Afternoon,” Callum corrected lightly, but there was something not so light underneath. “You slept for… 14 hours. I bet you’re hungry.”

“I bet… you were worried.” That was a long time to worry and not wake her to assuage it but just sit in it, watching her sleep.

She reached out to stroke his furrowed brow. Her hands were bandaged though, so she couldn’t touch him properly. She didn’t remember, but did recall something about Callum saying he had called a doctor, and then she must have conked out pretty hard and slept through it.

She clenched and released her hands experimentally. Seemed alright except for being stiff and sore?

“What’s wrong with me?” she asked, staring down at the thick bandages.

“Except for the illness that nearly killed you because you’re such a massive dummy? Lots of things.” He took her hands, starting to unwind the bandages. “For your hands, hopefully only frostnip. I’m supposed to check that, when you woke, take you back to the doctor if there’s signs of deeper frostbite.”

There was some thick ointment, probably the reason for the bandages. Her hands looked reddened, the fingers a bit swollen, but… not so bad. Nothing was white or black or blistered, so really, nothing to worry about, where frostbite was concerned.

Callum wasn’t satisfied with a visual inspection though, cupping her hands in his, methodically checking she could feel all her fingers and make a full fist.

“I think it’s okay,” he said, breathing out, relieved. He did tend to catastrophize- “No… no risk of amputation this time-” His fingers slid across her left wrist, the faint whitened scars from where the binding had dug into her skin and where the sunforge blade had burnt her.

“It’s definitely okay,” she said. “Barely hurts.” She cupped his face, feeling his skin just fine against her fingertips. “It’s not like back then, okay?”

“How do you feel today?”

“Better. Way better. I’m ready to go, if-”

“What?!” He stared at her in disbelief. “Absolutely not. You didn’t hear what the doctor said. But I did, she got here while you were sleeping. And absolutely not.”

“What-“ Was it not just a regular bug?

He breathed, slowly and deliberately. “You’re okay, it’s a regular winter infection going around. But you did a number on your own immune system with the hypothermia and mountain climbing and… she said you were undernourished, dehydrated, stressed and critically exhausted. And that you would do well to take a week or more to fully recover, during which you should eat and rest plenty, stay warm and keep stress down. Does that sound like your regular travel, to you?”

Well… not so much.

“So, I’ll ask again, how do you feel today?”

“Tired,” she sighed. “My hands are stiff and achy. My throat hurts. My legs are wobbly. My head feels full of snot.” She smiled, despite all that. “My heart is happy to see you. It’s okay if you’re- I know… that it’s complicated.”

“It is. We have… some things to talk about. Promise you won’t leave until we do?”

“I promise.”

“Okay. Then, I think we should put the complicated things away for a few days. Until you’re better and it doesn’t hurt your throat to talk. Because… we have a lot of talking to do.”

“You don’t… need to stay. For those few days. If it’s hurting you to-”

He sighed heavily. “It does.” Yeah, he couldn’t say that it didn’t. Being around her with so much… unresolved. She didn’t want that for him. She didn’t… want to have those long and hard conversations right now either, when she was still tired and fevered and liable to burst into tears at the slightest provocation. “But it would hurt me more to leave. Didn’t it hurt you? To leave?”

“Yeah.” So, so much.

He reached out to pack his scarf around her throat more closely, the soft, warm knit a soothing feeling against the raw ache.

“Lie down, okay? Be sick? I’ll read you a story. It has murder and dismemberment in it, I asked the innkeeper specifically.”

[midearthwritings]

The Lovers' Three Swords

It is said that you become conscious of what you have only when you lose it. Ofelia almost lost Kíli.

Words Count : 2,749

Pairings : Kíli x Ofelia (OC), slight Kíli x Tauriel if you squint really hard.

Warning : Angst, Canonical Events (but not too canon), Injury, Near Death Experience.

Author's Note : So obviously this is set during BotFA. This is pure angst. From beginning to end.

Also, the title in itself does not make much sense unless you know the meaning of Tarot Cards. I'm kindly inviting you to check the meanings of The Lovers and the Three of Swords.

Snowflakes were falling from the sky at a slow pace, delicately landing onto the cold ground. Everything looked so pure, immaculate. The rocks covered in white, the scattered goblins’ limbs, the crown prince struggling to breathe. Immaculate. 

The few sun rays that peeked through the clouds shyly made the snow shine like thousands of tiny diamonds. Ofelia had never seen diamonds before. But neither had she needed to handle a sword. So, perhaps the day would come when she would lay her eyes upon one of these precious stones.

She, too, looked immaculate, despite the blood that had splattered onto her soft face and ripped garments. Although, she did not know whose blood it was. Hers or theirs? It did not matter when she quickly pulled her blade out of one of those vile creatures to bury it into yet another one of them.

It was messy because she could not aim properly, her lack of skills causing her to tumble backward. Ofelia gasped in surprise when her backside hit the hard ground, sending sharp sparks of pain into her entire body. Or was it in fear at how vulnerable and helpless she now was, at the mercy of those who wanted nothing more than to spill her blood? 

There was no place for tears or thoughts in a battle. It was only about surviving or dying. As she watched a goblin charging in her direction while she desperately tried to reach for her sword, discarded further away, there was only one thought that crossed her mind: she would die.

Goblins were fast. Terrifyingly so. It was on her within a few seconds. Ofelia cried out, her feet kicking at the thin layer of snow beneath her. Her fingertips brushed against the cold metal of her sword’s handle. She cried out again as if to encourage the weapon to come closer. Of course, it did not. So, the poor hobbit kicked harder, sending the goblin onto the ground.

Ofelia thought she would die, but she would not. Not yet. She grabbed the sword tightly and moved back onto her feet. Inside her chest, she felt her heart swelling with fear as she lifted the blade above her head. If she aimed right, she could get rid of it. Kíli had taught her how to aim properly.

Kíli.

“What are you doing with that stick of yours?”

Ofelia turned around, her arms lifted above her head as she readied herself to hit the nearest tree trunk with a thick stick. It was easy to pretend it was an enemy, another troll perhaps. And the stick was heavy and long, like a sword. Not that Ofelia had ever handled a sword. There were not many hobbits that carried weapons around the Shire.

It was easier to pretend when no one looked. And looking—staring even—, that the dark-haired prince did really well. Ofelia’s arms dropped to her sides in defeat, her wooden sword hitting the ground.

“It is not a stick,” she explained softly, “it is a weapon. I, too, need a weapon”.

At Kíli’s roaring laughter, Ofelia felt her cheeks heat up. Unfair. It was mean and unfair. Sadly, she dropped the stick—the simple, idiotic stick— and began to walk back to the camp. 

Behind her, the thunder died down. She heard twigs and leaves cracking as the younger prince walked fastly, catching up with her.

“Oy, Feli!” he called, grabbing Ofelia’s wrist gently. “Please do not be mad. I didn't mean to offend you.”

“These are not proper apologies,” she snapped. “And do not call me Feli!”

The soft caress of Kíli’s rough fingertips on the sensitive skin of her wrist sent shivers down her spine.

“My apologies, Feli,” the prince declared solemnly. Although, she could hear the grin in his voice. “Allow me to make it up to you?”

The offer made her turn around to face him. Ofelia gave him a questioning look, eager to know more.

“How so?” she asked.

She stayed still and quiet when he began to look around them, his eyes scanning the area. Finally, after a quick study of their surroundings, he bent down and picked up another stick. Not as thick and slightly shorter than the one she was playing with a few minutes prior.

With a big smile plastered on his face, Kíli handed it to her. Ofelia took it hesitantly, her eyes still full of questions.

“Let me teach you how to fight.”

And so he had taught her. Every single night, they would both disappear. And, hidden from anyone’s view, they would train with wooden sticks. It had been hard, at first. But Kíli had been patient with her. 

It had gone on for weeks, months even, until Kíli had deemed that she was skilled enough to have her own sword. One of his swords. The same one that collided with the goblin’s throat and sent thick crimson liquid everywhere to soil the ground and herself a bit more.

As she stared down at the creature’s lifeless body, Ofelia mentally scolded herself. She should have gone with him. She should have followed Kíli and Fíli. Poor Fíli, he who was battling against himself to stay awake. 

Everything around Ofelia seemed to slow down when she stopped to consider that maybe Kíli was also dying somewhere. She felt her guts clench and the urge to throw up as a lump formed in her throat. She needed to find him.

Guided by only her feet and the wind’s soft whispers, she began to run. Clutching her sword as if her life depended on it—because it did—, she ran through the dozens of goblins that surrounded her, her blade dancing haphazardly in the air in a weak attempt to hurt anything that ventured too close to her.

“You must hold onto it tightly, Feli. But not too tight, or else it will be a bother and hurt you. Relax your fingers a bit more... Aye, perfect.”

The contrast of the cold snow beneath her feet and the leather burning her palms was overwhelming, but Ofelia could not bring herself to loosen her grip, was it only slightly. 

“Do not be so stiff, you have to rela- no, not too much. Here, just like that, alright? Great. Now hit.”

Ofelia’s muscles were aching with how tense she was. She swung her sword again in an all too painful movement. Her head was pounding. Was she running for his life, or hers? Perhaps both.

Everything looked the same, covered in pure white snow. Ofelia was pretty sure that she had come here at least twice already. A voice, coming from deep inside her heart, shouted at her that she should have never left the Shire. There was no place in this war for a simple hobbit lady such as herself. There was no place amongst dwarves and elves, men and orcs, for a little hobbit.

“It is not easy, using a sword, Feli. It is alright to make mistakes. Everyone does. Mahal, I do not have enough fingers to count how many times I made mistakes. But, it will be worth it, in the end. You will see, Feli.”

And once she would find him, it would be worth every cut, every blister, every tear. Firmly planting her feet on the ground, her lungs feeling too tight from how much she had run, she screamed his name. She called for the prince, snowflakes crashing onto her face, hoping that he was still alive enough to hear her and call back.

It was not Kíli who answered. At first, Ofelia thought it was an echo, sending her unanswered cry back to her. But it was not. It was an equally desperate voice, one that did not belong to her or Kíli. A voice filled with pain and fear.

Ofelia shivered and began running again. This time, she followed the foreign voice. Whoever it was that was calling after the prince must have known where he was. Hopefully.

It was hard, running in the snow. Inevitably, she slipped and fell, her chin colliding with the ground. Inside her mouth, her teeth sank into her cheek and soon she could feel the unpleasant coppery taste of blood. 

 Ofelia hissed in pain. But there was no time for pain, no time to stumble or fall. Once more, she heard someone calling Kíli's name. Louder, this time. She was getting closer to it. Closer to him. It was enough to pull her back up. 

 In the fairy tales children were told, no one ever spoke about how unreal and slow everything felt whenever the hero was fighting. Nor would they speak about how distorted everything looked, including distances. 

Ofelia did not think she was the hero, not even close to that. She was a hobbit from the Shire. A short creature who lived on good food and a pretty garden. But when she stepped forward, the prince and a red-headed elf—Tauriel— entering her view, she felt so far away. She felt as if she would never be able to reach them, no matter how many miles she would run.

 Further down, Kíli and Tauriel fought side by side. It looked beautiful, Ofelia thought. Ironically beautiful. They moved so easily as if they had been made for that and that only. It looked as if they were dancing a dance that could cost them life.

One of the Orcs was creeping behind the prince, ready to strike. The little lady felt her heart pounding against her chest, yelling at her to do something, anything. But she would never be able to reach them in time.

“Kili!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, hoping it would catch his attention. It did not. Although, her eyes locked with Tauriel’s green ones.

Ofelia had heard of the beauty of elves before leaving her beloved Shire. And she had witnessed it in Rivendell and when they had been held captive in Mirkwood, and again in Laketown when Kíli was ill. Tauriel was one of the most beautiful elves she had ever seen.

Quickly, she indicated the creature behind Kíli. Tauriel’s eyes followed the direction of her finger, and although Ofelia could not hear a single word, she was pretty sure that the elf had warned Kíli because he swiftly moved away.

 Caught into another frenzy, Ofelia rushed down the stone stairs, careful not to slip again. She was not so sure that she would survive it this time. 

Orcs were tall, way taller than her. It was easy to take down a goblin when it was almost her size. But this...It was monstrous. Next to it, Ofelia looked ridiculous. Yet, a spark of bravery shot through her body and she bolted towards it, burying her blade in its calf. She knew, deep inside, that it must have felt like a mosquito bite. Yet, she felt a certain pride when the Orc hissed.

 It did not last long because, in one swift movement of its leg, it sent her a few feet away. 

“Ofelia!”

The sound of his voice ringed in her ears and she looked up. Kíli was there, right in front of her. And she could not help but smile brightly at the sight of him.

“Kíli…” she breathed out. And like a toddler who craved their mother, she reached out for him, tried to pull him close to her. 

  But there was no place for love here. Before she could register what was happening, a greyish hand snaked around Kíli's throat and dragged him away from her. 

The prince looked worn out, exhausted. For how long had he been fighting before Ofelia had arrived? Was the blood on his face his or theirs? Tauriel, too, looked as if she had not been able to rest for centuries. Her breathing was erratic. They were not dancing anymore. They were dying. Both of them.

The Orc's blade was pressed against Kíli's chest, preparing itself to dive into the soft flesh.

She looked around for her own weapon. But the Gods were not on her side anymore, and she stared at the shining steel that laid at the Orc's feet. And she knew that the creature was aware of her helplessness when he gave her the coldest and cruelest smile.

“No!” she cried out, standing up to try and get her sword back. “No!”

The little lady did not have time to go too far when two slender, yet strong arms wrapped around her middle, keeping her on the ground. 

Tears began to run down her cheeks, bruising the soft skin. She tried to fight, tried to free herself from the strong grip.

“Ofelia!” Tauriel begged, struggling to keep her down.

Hobbits did not have the same eyesight as elves, nor could they hear the same thing they did. But when the blood-stained blade plunged into Kíli's body, she swore she had heard the sound of his skin being ripped in two. And although she was at a good distance from the prince, she saw his eyes turning completely black due to the pain, his pupils twitching disgustingly.

 Behind her, Tauriel sobbed. Ofelia felt the elf's nails digging into her skin. But all she could focus on was the tiny red droplets that glided down Kíli's body to crash onto the pure white snow. Immaculate.

Ofelia screamed. She screamed and it burned her throat, sucking all the air out of her lungs. She screamed until her jaw began to hurt and her voice broke into tiny sharp pieces that sliced through her heart. She screamed until Kíli's body hit the ground, his hair spread out beneath his head in a dark halo.

Death was not fascinating, nor was it intriguing. It was devastating. Although, Ofelia could not tear her eyes away from the prince. She watched as his chest rose and fell in a quick rhythm as he struggled to breathe. She could not look away from him, even when she saw the Orc coming closer from the corner of her eye. She could not look away either when Tauriel tightened her arms around her. 

For the second time this day, Ofelia thought she was about to die. And she wished to die looking at Kíli, son of Dís. But she would not die, not yet. Nor would Tauriel. 

The Orc—perhaps it had a name, Ofelia did not care—fell before them. A dagger was stuck in his skull, the handle pointing proudly towards the sky. It was dead.

Slowly and carefully, the short lady extricated herself from Tauriel’s protective embrace, and like a wounded animal, she crawled towards Kíli. She ignored the voices behind her to listen to his breathing.

“Oh, Kíli…” she whispered, her hand cupping his cheek delicately. 

The young heir grabbed her wrist, his fingers shaking. The pained moaned he let out broke her heart a bit more. Without help, he would die. Without help, she would lose him.

Ofelia turned around sharply, her eyes falling onto Tauriel and another elf, one with blond hair.

“Help him,” she ordered, her voice sore from the screaming. None of them replied. They gave her the look. The one that meant there was nothing left to do. Angrily, she pointed a finger at Tauriel. “You healed him once! In Laketown. Do it again! Do it again!”

“Ofelia…”

It was lower than a whisper, barely audible. And maybe Ofelia had imagined it. Maybe she had imagined all of it. She hoped so.

Kíli moaned again, louder this time. And perhaps she acted on impulse again. Perhaps her decision would be his ending. But at least, she would have tried. Ofelia decided that Kíli would not die, not yet.

Determination painted on her face, Ofelia stood up and pulled Kíli to his feet. He screamed in pain, hurting her ears.

“What are you doing?” Tauriel asked. “You’ll hurt him even more!”

It was true. Kíli was in pain and Ofelia could not even imagine how he must have been feeling at this moment. But she ignored his crying, and she ignored their looks. The little hobbit lady began to walk away, supporting the dwarven prince as best as she could.

“Kíli needs help or else he will die,” she explained, droplets of sweat already beginning to prickle on her forehead. She looked back at them one last time and pronounced the same words that Kíli’s own brother had used the first time he had been about to die:

“I will carry him if I must.”

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

*slaps roof of fanfiction* this baby can fit so much self-projection in there ~ @rauko-is-a-free-elf s wise words. enjoy <3

Dean's the one who can't get out of bed without coffee. The one who thinks sunday brunches are a thing just because real people aren't supposed to be up by breakfast time on the weekend. The one who'll crash face first into the couch, first thing he's back from college, because screw consciousness, that's why.

And yet, it's Cas who stumbles out of the shower on seven-am-biochem-Thursday, and proceeds to trip over the carpet and land in Dean's arms.

"I'm so fucking tired."

"Of the — carpet?" Dean frowns, looking over Cas's bedhead to examine the Queen lyrics-filled specimen. He's rather fond of it.

"Of being," Cas mutters, heaving himself upright and swatting at Dean's hand when he reaches to smooth his tie. "Whoever the fuck I'm supposed to be."

Dean tries to get to his tie again, and receives a particularly pissed-off glare for his efforts.

"And who is that?" Dean throws back, playful because why not; he's expecting a sarcastic comeback, a suffering eyeroll, or even to be annoyedly swore at — which he definitely wouldn't mind, coming from his best friend slash boyfriend slash dude with the literal sexiest voice Dean's ever heard — but he's definitely not expecting Cas to launch himself at him, purposefully this time, also gentler, and bury his face in Dean's shirt.

Dean waits, worried, but hands coming up involuntarily to hug back.

Cas doesn't budge.

"Babe?"

All the reaction that induces is for Cas to cling harder. And for words to get muttered — and reasonably muffled, into Dean's shirt.

"I hate that guy."

Dean raises his eyebrows, belatedly realizing Cas can't see them. "Huh?"

"The guy I'm supposed to be." Cas goes on, gritting his teeth. "Dean, I hate him. He makes my life miserable. And I — I'm just so tired."

And at that, Cas decides the point's been made, and stops talking entirely, leaving Dean with little more to do than hold on.

And think.

He knows Cas never got a chance to make the choices most people take for granted. The guy never got to choose his major, choose his hobbies. Hell, hardly even his friends. Private schooled and isolated until his parents up and shipped him off to Princeton pre-med, Dean's always believed Cas had the right to be mad.

Even though he's now in actual med-school, a year from becoming Doctor Novak — Dean gets a secret thrill every time he imagines that, and Cas knows, so it's not a very well-kept secret — and no longer in touch with his parents (who turned out, unsurprisingly, to be assholes who cut him off when they found out Cas is gay. Well, pansexual, but they didn't really care about labels once they'd met Cas's boyfriend. Dean. Who likes to take some of the credit for his boyfriend's relatively new disowned status, even though it had mostly been Cas being a badass, and finally, finally standing up for himself.)

So one might say things turned out fine, and there's no reason to hold grudges, but if Cas wanted to, Dean would have a hundred percent declared it valid.

But that's where Cas came in. That's where who he was, came in. A thinker, a dreamer, but grounded enough to not hold onto the anger. Independent, but rarely reckless. Plus, aware enough to work hard and reap well, while at the same time, searching for reasons to find the good in things.

Dean loves him, and admires him. Admires his intelligence, and tenacity, and courage. But this had never happened before.

Dean may have been the initiator of most hugs, but that could usually be traced down to Cas's nonexistent social skills, and Dean's embarrassing dependency on touch, in lieu of words. This, was one of the most passionately Dean had seen Cas feel something, outside of love.

And it was rattling.

If being this way — this ideal everything; top of his class, tireless, always in control — was burning Cas out, it couldn't go on. Dean would take a less 'functional' Cas over the wrecked-sounding prodigy in his arms anyday.

And god knew Dean Winchester was far from perfect himself.

There was only one way ahead.

Dean holds on quietly, and a couple minutes pass. Clearly Cas needs it, seeing as how he dissolves more into Dean as the seconds pass, the frustration leaving him vacant and devoid of energy.

"Cas?"

Cas shifts in his arm, tenses a bit. "I'm sorry, I —" He starts, sounding too obviously disappointed for some reason, and Dean hates it.

"Dude." Dean cuts him off, somehow not cheerful, but still bright. It's always easier talking someone down like this, and Cas has always, strangely, drawn from Dean's moods. "You're going to apologize for needing a hug?"

Cas remains quiet.

They both know it was more than that. Cas has calmed considerably, but he wasn't himself before. Or he was. Now, he's almost normal — but it feels like he's being who he's normally supposed to be again, and that's not good.

"Also," Dean continues, undeterred by the lack of response. "That guy? Sounds like a real piece of work. Ever thought of cutting him off?"

"It doesn't work that way."

"Don't see why not."

"Dean —"

"So it won't happen in a day." Dean realizes Cas is shifting again, and a little uncertainly, lets him pull away. Thankfully, he stays in Dean's space, albeit carrying his weight on his own two feet. Dean doesn't know what to do with his hands anymore, so he takes Cas's in them. Cas lets him. "It'll take time, be a process and whatnot, and you'll have me with you, you'll have all our friends really. Plus, isn't college about experimenting?"

Cas makes a sound which sounds like a chuckle he couldn't exactly help, and Dean preens, encouraged by it.

"And it's not like I'm about to let you go try and play for the other side," He adds, lightly. "You're stuck with me. But this could be your adventure."

There's a more comfortable silence.

Cas breaks it this time, clearing his throat. "You don't think I'm too young for a midlife crisis?"

"Take it from someone who raised Sam fucking Winchester, babe. This is way more of a teenage crisis." Cas cringes visibly at that, but that just means it's working. "Breaking out of your barriers, discovering who you really are? Netflix's coming-of-age producers are coming for your twenty seven year old ass."

Cas shakes his head, grumbling at him, but he's already sounding more like himself, and Dean can work with this. "You're mean to me sometimes."

"You tackle me like a mascot scoring a touchdown-hug sometimes."

Cas snorts. "That hardly makes sense."

"Your face hardly makes sense." Dean wastes no time in hurtling the first response in his head, and it earns him a less reluctant laugh. The weariness in Cas's voice remains, but the upset is wearing off.

"Great comeback, wasn't that?"

"Your face is a great comeback." Dean informs him with a huff, as he leans in to kiss the smug look off his boyfriend's face. Cas meets him halfways, tilting his head, and sliding a hand up Dean's arm and shoulder until it's around his neck. His fingers stroke the short hairs at the back of Dean's head, and he tugs just the way Dean likes it, earning a full shudder from the latter as he pulls back breathlessly.

"Are you trying to distract me?" Dean accuses dramatically, hand on his heart.

Cas shrugs, pulling on a nonchalant look, and almost succeeding. "You were making my dilemma sound too solvable. A man is excused some defense mechanisms, isn't he?"

"Not when I'm making progress, sunshine." Dean throws back. "Just, hear me out, okay? You want to do this, you're going to be making changes. Doing things, and more importantly, giving up things that don't feel like you. It doesn't even have to be a big deal. Unless you want it to be. I mean, you're a sucker for planning, making lists, that sorta thing, right?"

The easy smile has started returning to Cas's features again, and he nods. A little. (As if he appreciates Dean's rambling, and because he's Cas, he probably does.)

"So that's where we start. Hell, I could buy you a binder. There's this stationary place Charlie does not shut up about, and they might have those huge, black, spiralbound binders. Which I figure you're secretly obsessed with, you know, since you're secretly a nerd." Dean reasons, satisfiedly.

"It's hardly a secret."

"Oh, it is." He beams. "And I, your awesome, hot boyfriend, am your cover."

Cas rolls his eyes with feeling, leaving Dean basking in a momentary sense of accomplishment. But it's not the time. And it may have been him rambling, but it's not about him.

"So," He raises his eyebrows. "What do you say?"

Cas draws in a breath. "I say," he swallows. "Yes. Okay, I mean. Yeah. You — you make it sound doable. Plausible, somehow." Cas bites his lip. "Come to think of it, I haven't thought of a particular something I want to change, and I know I'll probably rethink everything six more times, and I know you'll still be patient with me, even when I don't change what doesn't feel right, just because I'm too used to it, and truthfully, maybe it's too soon to be thinking of changes, and we should slow down, especially you, because you're wonderful, but I don't think I can change myself as efficiently — and I don't think we can, either. But I'm grateful, and I agree, and I want to change things as well, and I'd like a binder, really, and you —" Cas scrubs his face with a hand. "I just know, that I - I feel different."

Dean grins. "Yeah?"

Cas breathes in again, slower. On the exhale, he sighs. "I love you."

"That ain't exactly a 'different' anymore, babe." Dean reminds, and it's all the motivation Cas needed to wrap his arms around Dean again, and plant a firm, telling kiss on his lips.

"I know. But it's easier to say, and I know you understand."

"Yeah, I do."

Dean smiles, and Cas mirrors it, crinkled eyes and showing gums, and an uncharacteristic dampness in his eyes in spite of the breathtaking smile, and it's too damn beautiful a sight to not kiss again.

So Dean does, and Cas only smiles wider, more beautiful.

*

In around twelve minutes, Cas's alarm for six forty-five goes off, and he pulls back in a frenzy — as dazed as Dean from the makeout, but senses just enough present to realize he's going to be late for his lecture.

They figure it out though, like they figure out most things — Dean puts together a sandwich while Cas gets dressed, and later drives him to class in his Baby, since he's obviously missed the bus. Cas ends up only three minutes late, and it's a good thing Dr. Harvelle is in a good mood, because she at least pretends to believe their unbelievably trite excuse, delivered in Dean's most earnest voice. ("Traffic.")

Later that evening, when Dean's back from his shift at the autoshop — it helps pay bills, and he gets to add 'experience' under engineering on his resume — and Cas is back from the hospital, and they're piled on the couch in front of the TV watching reruns of Doctor Sexy, tangled in each other, Dean remembers something he's been meaning to ask since the moment he gave what happened that morning, some thought.

"Hey, babe." he begins, as a by-the-way. "What exactly happened this morning?"

"I believe I tackled you like a mascot scoring a touchdown-hug." Cas answers, in the straightest of voices because he's hilarious like that.

"Yeah, I mean — you did." Dean snorts at the callback. "But like, what triggered it?"

"Oh." Cas pauses. "I believe we ran out of shaving foam."

"Shaving foam." Dean repeats, incredulously.

"Yes." Cas doesn't even have the courtesy to grin, when Dean snickers. "And usually, we have a spare bottle. I — I tend to make sure of it. But I checked, and we didn't, and I was supposed to make sure we don't completely run out of these things, and I didn't, and I —" He shrugs. "I just hated that I forgot, so much, in that one minute of staring at the mirror, and I was agitated, until —" Dean blinks, and Cas affords a tiny smile. "I realized I couldn't do this anymore. I had a revelation, it would seem, at how pointless all of that self-loathing was, and how I've tired entirely of being that person."

"So you got mad that you got mad?"

"I — kind of. But it was mostly the shaving foam." Cas points out, now deadpanning on purpose because Dean can't hold back the laugh. Nobody in the universe could have an identity crisis over shaving foam except for Castiel fucking Novak, and Dean gets to live with this ridiculous sonuvabitch, the adorable fucker, and watch him get more unbelievably perfect by the day.

"Cas?" He lets out, still laughing. "Proud as I am of your moment of truth, and you deciding to go easy on your expectations of you and all that, can I just say something?"

"Of course." Cas responds, immediately.

"I think I like you better with the peach fuzz."

And so it's Cas's turn to burst into a laugh, and it's not like Dean's stopped anyways, so eventually it's just the both of them laughing through the evening, and laughing through dinner, still tangled in each other, still piled on the couch, and Doctor Sexy still playing in the background, because some things change, and other things don't, and some things won't, and that's that.

[yatorihell]

In The Darkness Chapter 83 - Respite

Noragami x Harry Potter AU

Words: 2,245

Summary: The aftermath of their escape leads to an answer.

Also available on Yatorihell AO3

The salty sea air pushed Yato’s hair back from his eyes. He stood with his hands in his pockets, staring down at the stone he had dragged from the beach’s outcrop up a short distance away from the cottage. Carved into its jagged surface were a few words: Ebisu, a free elf.

Yato dropped his gaze to his shoes and then tilted his head back with a sigh. Thin beams of sunlight filtered through the cloud, but the wind was still biting enough to numb his cheeks.

When will it end? Yato thought. First Suzuha, then Sakura, now Ebisu. His friends, his family, all risking their lives to stop what he could. If he just knew where to look, to know where to find and destroy the horcruxes.

There’s no way to destroy them now, anyway, Yato had thought to himself. The Sword of Gryffindor was gone now, possibly already on its way back to Oshi’s vault in Gringotts or kept hidden so the Sorcerer would never know it was gone.

Yato tilted his head forward and stared out at the choppy waves for a second before heading back inside. They didn’t know where Ebisu had brought them, but they found refuge in a deserted cottage that sat on the edge of the shoreline. The white painted exterior had peeled away, and weeds sprung up from the seagrass and sand surrounding it. The sign nailed beside the door read ‘Shell Cottage’, but the absence of shells in the décor and the lack of nautical themes inside made the name’s whimsical appeal ring hollow.

The stairs creaked under Yato’s weight as he made his way upstairs. Kazuma and Bishamon were already asleep, having left Yato after Ebisu’s burial for a moment’s privacy. Yukine, on the other hand, was still awake.

The bedroom door was cracked open, and Yato gently pushed it open. Grey sunlight filtered in through the flimsy mess curtain, sending shadows across the bedspread. Dust had accumulated on the surfaces and drifts of sand had worked their way in through the cracks in the window frame.

Yukine looked up from his chair at the movement, and seeing Yato’s cautious approach, nodded.

Yato stepped into the room, eyes fixed on Hiyori. She was still asleep, hair messed up and her arm across her chest which rose and fell steadily. Spots of blood had seeped through the bandages already, marking the points of some letters of the ‘Mudblood’ wound Oshi had inflicted.

“How is she?” Yato said gently, taking a seat on the other side of the bed. A brief memory crossed his mind, of how he had sat like this with her in the infirmary at Hogwarts, hands intertwined, but he dared not touch her.

“Still asleep,” Yukine replied.

Yato nodded. Part of him felt guilty for not staying by her side despite his grieving for Ebisu, but a larger part of him couldn’t bring himself to face her after what happened. There was a pause of silence broken by gull cries over the bay.

Yukine looked at Hiyori for a moment, face soft, before he looked down at his own lap. “I… I don’t think her wound will ever fully heal…”

Yato stiffened, eyes flickering to the bandages. Just like what Oshi did to Yukine…

No. This was worse. No dark object had seared Hiyori’s skin like Yukine’s; this was caused by pure hatred.

Yato's fingernails dug into his palms, hands calmly as he tried to fight the guilt rising in his chest that threatened to claim him again. His vision was blurry. Why would he cry when nothing happened to him? When they did everything to... When he didn't...

"I did nothing."

The hoarse whisper clogged his throat like smoke. The one phrase that had become trapped in his mind since last night, like a butterfly in a jar, its wings becoming more damaged each time it hurled itself at the glass in the hopes of freedom.

“It’s not your fault Yato,” Yukine said softly. “Oshi is mad, and she wouldn’t have believed a word any of us said. We would all be dead if it weren’t for Ebisu.”

Yato took a shuddering breath, a warm tear splashing on his wrist. He wiped his eyes, throat burning and breath quivering. Yukine was right, but it didn’t make it any easier to block out those images. Those memories would stay with him forever.

Hiyori stirred slightly and they stilled. Her head rolled to the side, brow furrowed. Silence blanketed the room – for how long neither of them knew – before Yato spoke.

“You should get some sleep,” Yato said, not taking his eyes off Hiyori.

Yukine nodded. They had been awake all night, and Yato knew he should sleep too, but his mind was wired with grief and guilt. He didn’t want to leave Hiyori like this, and Yukine knew as much.

The door clicked shut behind him, and Yato allowed the tears to fall.

~

The first time Hiyori woke up was screaming.

Yato jerked awake, dull pain in his back from being slumped over, eyes wide and mind racing with the nightmare of the previous day fresh in his dreams. Hiyori was sat bolt upright, her hand wrenching away from Yato’s grip. The sheets had tangled her legs, trapping her and adding fuel to her panic as she screamed again.

“Hiyori, it’s ok, you’re safe!” Yato shushed, his hands pulling away from her and held up in the darkness.

Hiyori breathed hard, her eyes adjusting, ears attuned to the sound of his voice. She looked at him, the unfamiliar room, and the dark, curtained window. Her arm throbbed, fresh spots of blood blossoming from the sudden aggravation. Her mouth hung open, tears on her cheeks as she realised she was no longer a prisoner under torture.

“It’s ok,” Yato soothed, reaching for Hiyori’s hand. His skin grazed her fingers. “We’re safe.”

Hiyori flinched. Yato froze, and after a second, withdrew his hand back into his lap.

The house remained silent. None of the others had woken up from the outburst – probably too tired and out of it to hear the brief night terror screams to be roused. There was only the beating of their hearts and a silent understanding of what they had been through, of what they had survived.

Yato couldn’t bear it.

“I’m sorry.”

There was a beat of silence that hung in the air between them. Another apology for something he caused. Another apology for the hurt he brought those around him.

“It’s not your fault, Yato,” Hiyori tried to whisper, but it came out as a croak.

Yato shot her a sideways look, grief, and pain etched in his features. No matter how many times he heard those words, he would never believe them, not truly.

With a nod, Yato stood on weak legs and slipped out of the door.

Hiyori’s composure lasted long enough for Yato to leave the room. Once his footsteps faded, the first shuddering breath racked through her chest. Any remaining strength slipped from Hiyori's control as her breaths turned to cries that she muffled against her hand.

Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes when she squeezed them shut, trying to erase the memories that are scarred into her mind. Her fingers drifted to her arm, to the bandages. To the reminder of what she is.

Dirty blood.

~

Yato came downstairs with dark circles under his eyes, having been unable to sleep following Hiyori flinching at his touch and the new reoccurring nightmare that would seemingly plague his dreams. Yukine, Bishamon, and Kazuma were already in the sitting room, arranged on the dusty sofas and armchairs and ravaging the kitchen for what little food the cottages' owners had left.

Hiyori joined them not too long after, and a brief glance told Yato that she hadn’t slept well either. Bishamon set out a packet of half-eaten, stale biscuits on the low table that no one made a move to touch.

“What’s the plan now?” Yukine asked, resting his arms on his knees. “The sword is gone, and we don’t know where the next horcrux is.”

“We do know,” Yato said. All eyes turned on him.

“How can you know where it is? It’s been lost for decades,” Bishamon leaned forward in the armchair, hand straying to Kazuma’s hair as he sat on the floor in front of her.

“It has, but I’ve seen it,” Yato explained. He briefly described the vision he had of the goblet loaded with jewels and pearls, resting alongside the Sword of Gryffindor and the sound of a door grating shut.

“Oshi sent the sword to her vault in Gringotts,” Yato summarised. “But why was she so fixated on not letting the S-.”

“Don’t say that!” Kazuma and Bishamon said quickly, cutting Yato off. He, Yukine, and Hiyori looked at them.

“There’s a taboo jinx on that word,” Kazuma explained. “It reveals the speaker’s location. It’s how they found out about us since we said it so much on the radio.”

It suddenly dawned on Yato, Yukine and Hiyori: that was how the Deatheater’s had found them so quickly after the wedding attack. That’s how Nagini was able to ambush them, knowing they were going to Godric’s Hollow to look for the sword.

Yato nodded. “But why was she so fixated on not letting him know that we got into the vault?”

“Because Gringotts is impenetrable?” Kazuma offered.

“Yes, but what if there was something more important in there?”

The question hung in the air for a dramatic moment.

“What if,” Yato said slowly. “The horcrux is in the vault?”

The air stilled. The vision which showed the sword – which Oshi confirmed was in her vault in Gringotts – along with the goblet, spilling precious gems and glittering jewels. The heavy grate of a door – a vault door – slamming shut.

“Then we’re screwed,” Yukine said, flopping back on the sofa next to Hiyori. “As Kazuma said, Gringotts is impenetrable. And even if you did get past the goblins, the security, and the dragon, you would get lost and starve to death before you even found the right vault.”

“I don’t think there’s actually a dragon,” Hiyori said.

Yato looked at her. She had been quiet the entire time; a ghost in the corner watching them talk. He noticed her fiddling with a stray end of the bandage on her arm and looked away.

“Leave the dragon to me,” Yato said. “We just need to get in the front door without getting stopped.”

There was a momentary lull in the conversation as if they were contemplating whether Yato had too many knocks to the head or was getting desperate. To Yato, it felt like a mix of the two, but it was the only option.

Yato looked to Kazuma, questions brimming that he’d wanted to ask before they got Snatched, something that had been revealed to him in a vision. “We think another horcrux is Ravenclaw’s Diadem.”

Kazuma’s head snapped up at this, eyes reproachful behind his frames.

“We think it may be in Hogwarts. Is it kept in a vault, the common room…?” Yato ventured, but Kazuma was already shaking his head.

“The Diadem has been missing for centuries after Rowena’s own daughter stole it,” Kazuma said. “No one alive has seen it.”

Another silence washed over them. ‘No one alive who has seen it'. Yato sighed. It looked like it would be up to him to track down the Diadem too.

“Also,” Yato continued, arms crossed. “That newspaper in your house, about Professor Tenjin’s grave being disturbed, what happened?”

It seemed strange that someone would go to such lengths to tomb-raid a man of little extravagance, but it seemed that not even the Daily Prophet would report what was taken, which was suspicious.

Kazuma looked at Yato with a slightly surprised expression before he realised they had no way of knowing anything about it. “Someone – ‘persons unknown’ –, broke into his tomb and took the Elder Wand.”

Yato stared at him along with Hiyori, Yukine, and Bishamon.

“Are you serious? The Elder Wand exists?” Yukine said.

“All the Deathly Hallows exist.”

“What do you mean, Tenjin owned the Elder Wand?” Yato interrupted.

Kazuma shrugged. “Well, he didn’t go advertising it. You know what happens to its owners.”

Owners… Yato thought. A wand was either matched to a wizard at Ollivanders, inherited, or won. He didn’t know enough about the lore of the Elder Wand to know who possessed the wand before Tenjin, but he knew that winning a wand could be done by killing its owner. That meant…

“Kugaha owns the Elder Wand,” Yato said quietly, running a hand through his hair. “He killed Tenjin. He’s the owner.”

Yukine swore under his breath. The most powerful wand in the world was in a Dark Wizard’s hands. All he would have to do was lose a duel to the Sorcerer and it would be his. A chilling thought crossed their minds: Did the Sorcerer already possess the Elder Wand?

Time was of the essence. If the Sorcerer did own the Elder Wand, then he may also possess the Philosopher’s Stone and the Cloak of Invisibility. He would become the Master of Death; unstoppable.

“We need to destroy the rest of the horcruxes,” Yato said.

He looked at Kazuma, Bishamon, Yukine, and finally, Hiyori. It would be near impossible – a suicide mission – but it had to be done.

“We have to break into Gringotts.”

[firstofficertightpants]

In Your Honor - CH.3

Luz has wanted nothing more in life other than to join the ranks of the Emperor's Knights - the highest rank of royalty defenders, but after a disaster of a first impression with the bratty princess, she starts to wonder if it’s worth it.

The market was busy as ever, elves and demons pushing past each other as the shop keepers tried to sell their wares. The sounds of feet and hooves against dirt and the voices of the market goers mixing together in a weird harmony. Luz couldn't focus on any of that though as she followed her mother around, basket full of ingredients in hand. She let out a small whine as her mom stopped at yet another stall to look over their items, taking her time to ask the keep about the different ingredients he had available. Camilia picked out a few roots and paid the shop keep before moving on, Luz following once again. Eda tailed behind Camilia, taking a glance back at her step daughter. When Camilia stops again Eda takes the chance to pull Luz to the side.

“Hey kid, I know spending time with your mothers isn't ideal but don't let your mom catch you sighing like that.” The owl lady warned Luz.

“It's not that!” Luz defends herself. “It's just, Skaras birthday is today and I need to go get ready.”

“Ah, I see.” The older witch thinks for a moment. “Alright, here's the deal, I get you out of shopping if you take over my turn giving King a bath.”

“Whaaaaaat?” Luz whines before huffing out an agreement. Eda pumps her fist in victory before catching up with her wife.

Luz watches as Eda and her mom talk in hushed voices, turning her attention to the crowd with a “Blech” when Eda starts getting hansy. A few feet away, standing on a wooden box, was an elf boy maybe two years older than Luz. He was surrounded by a crowd of people as he spoke.

“WE NEED TO BRING THE BLIGHTS TO THEIR KNEES.” The boy shouted at the crowd, the crowd cheering in response. “TOO LONG HAVE THEY TAXED THE POOR AND LET US DIE IN THE STREETS AS THEY SIT IN THEIR CASTLE.” He points to the castle, the building visible from almost any place in the town.  “I SAY WE NEED TO MAKE THEM PAY, LET THEM ROT IN THE STREETS WHILE WE LIVE IN THE LAP OF LUXURY.”

“Alright kid, I got you out of shopping.” Eda returns to Luz as she watches the boy continue his rant about the elven royalty. The witch turns her attention to the kid and sighs. “Poor kids going to get himself in trouble.”

Just as the words left her mouth a duo of Emperors Knights approached the kid, cutting through the crowd. They stand to each side of him as they grab his arms and lift him off his box.

“You’re under arrest for disturbing the piece and threatening acts of violence against the royal family.” The knight to the left says.

“YOU CAN'T SILENCE ME”  The boy shouts as he struggles against their hold. The knight to his right takes his armored gloved hand and knocks him out, raising shouts of rage from the crowd who still lingered.

“Put him down!”

“Yeah, he’s just a kid!”

“This is why no one likes the royal family!”

“SILENCE.” A voice rings out through the market. Luz and Eda both turn their attention to the sound.

A large man makes his way through the crowd, his dark bird helm visible above the heads of the market goers. Luz decided he had to be at least eight feet tall, adult elves being able to reach seven feet by the age of twenty, and he towered over them all. He wore a dark blue cape lined with gold, that paired with his dark colored helm showed he was Captain of the Emperors Knights. Luz watched in awe as the man controlled the attention of the crowd. He stopped in front of the two knights holding the boy before turning around to meet the faces of the town.

“I assure you, my good people, this boy will be treated with respect as he is put on trial. If he is innocent, then he will be able to return to his home.” His voice was deep and gravely, “If we find out he is planning an attack against the royal family, well, we haven't had a public execution in a while..” The captain's words trail off as the crowd stays silent.

With a wave of his hand the captain and two knights walk off with the unconscious boy. When they are finally out of sight, Eda lets out a breath Luz hadn't even noticed she was holding.

“Good to know Captain Wrath is still as pleasant as ever.” Eda grumbled as her daughter looked up at her with concern. “What's wrong kid?” she smiles softly at the younger witch.

“Is that boy going to be okay?” Luz's voice comes out soft, her concern very evident.

“Oh, I'm sure they’ll probably just toss him in a cell for a few days then send him home.” Eda reassures Luz, ruffling her hair. “Now go, you have a party to get to!” She takes the basket from Luz’s arms and turns her around, pushing her towards home.

“Okay, I’ll see you tonight!” Luz waves at her mothers as she makes a mad dash for home.

-

When Luz leaves her house she sees the twins Edric and Emira who greet her with a luxurious carriage, much larger than the one Luz had rode in during her move. She heads down the few steps from her house and smiles up at the siblings. The twins had decided to wear matching yellow dress clothes. Emira wearing a nice dress and Edric wearing a fetching suit. Luz straightened out her suspenders, hoping that she wouldn't look too out of place with her simple white dress shirt, black dress pants, matching dress shoes and slicked back hair. As if sensing her concern the twins both looped an arm with the younger witch.

“Don't worry, Luz.” Emira smiled as she opened the door to the carriage. “You look great.”

“Couldn’t say it better myself.” Edric agreed as he helped the two girls into their ride.

“Thanks guys.” Luz chuckled nervously, a slight blush to her cheeks. “It's kind of hard to find nice clothes at such a short notice.”

As she moved into the carriage she was also greeted by Willow and Gus. She takes a seat between the two as the twins take the seat opposite of them.  Willow has dawned a lovely green ball gown while Gus decided to go with a nice blue suit. Luz made a mental note about how absolutely adorable they all were.

“They insisted that they come with us to get you.” Edric is the first to speak once they are all settled into the carriage and it starts its way towards the castle.

“It was so adorable.” Emira laughs as Willow and Gus mumble and hide their own blushes.

“We all wanted to see you.” Willow corrects.

“Thanks guys, I have to say I was a little nervous.” Luz admits. “But going to the party as a group is definitely calming my nerves.”

“That's great! Now before we get there we need to go over some things.” Gus speaks up from his spot next to Luz. “As a fellow commoner, there are a few things you’ll need to know before walking into the party.”

“What?” Luz nearly jumps in her seat. “You’re not royalty?”

“Nope.” Gus smiles. “I did pass the entrance exam into the royal school though, that's why I'm able to go.”

“He was the first commoner to do so.” Edric adds. “To the surprise of no one, it's a little harder for commoners to get a good education.” His words come out through gritted teeth as he crosses his arm and stares out the window.

“I'm just really smart!” Gus is practically beaming with pride. “But back to the main point.” He adjusts himself so he’s looking at Luz. “I’ve been to a few of these things, usually as Edrics plus one.” He shoots the twin a thumbs up and Edric responds with one of his own. “So I know how to act around royalty, but do you  know how to Luz?”

“Uh, is there more to it then just bowing?” Luz chuckles nervously and Gus plants his face into his palms.

“We should start with who’s important.” Willow grabs Luz’s attention with a gentle hand on her shoulder. “First you have the Blight family which you’ve already met.” She points to the twins. “Then there's Skara and Boscha who are both Duchesses, Skara’s the one with the birthday today.” Willow pauses to make sure Luz is paying attention, the witch in training nodding her head to have Willow continue. “Then there's my family, the Parks! We’re of commoner blood so we’re lower on the food chain but I'm still considered a Duchess.”

“Oh wow, there's so much to learn about elves!” Luz stares wide eyed at Willow.

“We’re almost to the castle so we’ll have to fill you in later on more of the details.” Gus interjects. “Mainly we need to cover how to NOT insult them.”

“First, you bow to anyone in a tiara.” Emira instructs. “Then you make sure to use titles like ‘your highness’ and ‘your majesty’.”

“But you don't have to do that with us, we don't care.” Edric adds.

“And don't make any moves on Mittens, Boscha gets really jealous when people talk to her.” Emira’s tone takes a serious turn. “Seriously, just don't.”

“Why would I make moves on Amity?” Luz blurts out, blushing. “I'm pretty sure she hates me!”

“We’re just looking out for you~” The twins speak in unison and it only kinda freaks Luz out. Just kinda.

The carriage finally pulls to a stop in front of the castle and Edric exits first, holding the door open for everyone as they leave the wagon, and the five of them head up the stairs to the castle entrance. The doors seem to open on their own as the group approaches and Luz finds herself staring again, the main entryway redecorated for the party. Along the walls were tables covered in all sorts of elven delicacies and the center of the room was left open for the attendees to dance as they please. A large orchestra band played music in the corner that carried through the room. Luz didn't recognize the music but it was nice and light, perfect to slow dance to but also nice to just listen to. To the side of the entrance was a well dressed snake man that reminded Luz of the cobras near her old home.

The man cleared his throat as they entered and introduced them as they made their way into the room. Luz gasped when he introduced her, turning to Willow with wide eyes.

“How did he know my name?” She asked her friend, her excitement barely contained.

“We have to give a list of our plus ones before the party.” Willow giggles at Luz’s excitement. “Since you came in with me they know you’re my plus one.”

“So cool.” Luz whispered, stars in her eyes.

The group made their way towards the snack tables, lightly chatting amongst themselves as the rest of the party goers entered the room. Luz looked over the table with awe and asked Gus about many of the small snacks and finger foods they had laid out. The smaller elf did a good job keeping up with her and even going as far as telling her which were his favorites. Luz had never seen so many different types of food before. She did her best to not over indulge herself though, not wanting to puke before the party truly got started. Just as Luz went to ask Gus about another strange snack she had seen, the doors to the hall opened once again.

“Her royal highness, and heir to the throne, Amity Blight.” The snake man introduced the princess, his voice echoing through the room. “And her majesty, Boscha.”

Luz looks to the main entrance and sees a strange elf girl with three eyes holding out her hand to Amity. The three eyed girl must have been Boscha. Luz could swear she saw Amity roll her eyes before taking the other girl's hand.

The redhead makes a point of pulling the princess closer to her as they make their way into the room. Amity wore the most elegant purple ball gown Luz had ever seen, not that she had seen many, and the girl accompanying her wore a red suit with a fur cape draped lazily over her shoulders. Boscha, which Luz had mixed feelings about, led Amity towards the snack tables and right for Luz and her group.

“Your highnesses.” Boscha bowed upon reaching the twins, the two frowning momentarily before offering their own greetings. “Willow.” Boscha says the name flatly, with a hint of disgust.

“Boscha.” Willow glares at the redhead before turning her attention to Amity. “Your highness.” She bows deeply, if not stiffly.

Amity gives a simple nod of her head as a response, her attention elsewhere. Her eyes scan the room before landing on Luz. Her eyes go wide as she points to the human girl who is currently stuffing her face with cookies.

“What are you doing here?” She hisses as Luz chokes on her cookies from being startled.

“Oh calm down, Mittens, we invited her.” Edric crosses his arms.

“But she's a commoner!” Amity weakly argues, her anger deflating at her brother's words.

“And so is Gus, but you have no problems with him.” Edric points out, completely shooting down his sister's protest.

“Yeah, well...he’s…” Amity struggles to find a good response when Emira tsk’s at her.

“We aren’t being racist, are we Mittens?” She raises an eyebrow at the younger witch.

“What? No!” Amity defends herself as Luz comes around the table to try and deescalate the situation.  

“I’m sorry, your highness.” Luz bows as low and as elegantly as she can handle. “I believe we got off on the wrong foot.” She stands up and smiles at the princess. “I'm Luz Noceda, Emperor’s Knight in training.”

Amity huffs, turning away from the human. Boscha, who had been busy talking to another attendee, returns her attention to Amity. She takes one look at Amity’s stiff posture and her eyes train on Luz. She steps closer to Amity and places an arm around the princesses shoulder.

“Is this human bothering you, your highness?” She basically hisses out the word ‘human’ as all three of her eyes stay on Luz.

“No Boscha, I can handle myself.” Amity mutters before turning and leaving, Boscha following behind her like a lost puppy.

Luz deflates as the princess and her escort leave. The twins give her a pat on the back followed with reassuring words. Luz doesn't really hear them though, her mind focused on other things. She was not a person to give up. Ever. If she had given up before then she wouldn't be where she was today. So help her, she WILL befriend Amity. She has befriended the siblings, how much harder could Amity be?

The answer was very. The rest of the party, Luz finds herself seeking out the green haired royalty. Every attempt to talk to her is thwarted, however. Either by Boshca or Amity herself. The human flops down on a chair placed near the back of the hall, letting out a deep sigh.

“Rough night?” Willow's voice brings Luz out of her thoughts. The green witch hands her a drink before taking the seat next to her.

“Yeah,” Luz pouts as she takes a sip of the honey drink Willow had handed her. “I keep trying to talk to Amity but.. I think she's avoiding me at this point.”

“Hmm, well, Amity is a tough one.” Willow looks out to the dance floor where Gus danced with Edric, the boy standing on the taller elves feet as he leads the dance. “We were friends once, back when we were younger.”

“Whaaaat?” Luz sits up in her chair and leans in closer to Willow. “Tell me more!” She pleads.

“Well, I mentioned earlier that I'm a lower ranking Duchess?” Willow waits for Luz to finish nodding her head enthusiastically before she continues. “Well my dads got the title of Duke by helping fight in a war a long time ago, their combined magic helping save hundreds of soldiers.” She lets out a sigh. “So we’re technically royalty but the other families, they don't see it like that. Amity, however? She never cared.”  Willow lets out a sad laugh. “Until one day when suddenly she did care, she said I was weak. That my family wasn't real royalty so she couldn’t be my friend anymore.”

“That's so mean!” Luz gasps, placing a comforting hand on Willow's leg.

“It's okay Luz, I'm over it now.” Willow reassures her friend. “My point is, Amity is strange. It takes a lot to be her friend, and you’re a commoner so she’s not even going to look your way.” The words come out harsh but Willow smiles at Luz. “That's okay though! Cause you have me, Gus, and the twins.”

“Yeah.. I guess you're right.” Luz beams at her friend.

“So, why don't we go dance?” Willow stands, offering a hand to Luz. The human girl takes it with glee and follows the other witch to the dance floor.

Maybe she couldn’t be friends with Amity, yet, but one day she was going to reach her goal of becoming an Emperor’s Knight. Then Amity would have no choice but to talk to her. It was a fiendishly clever plan, she thought.

[5lazarus]

#29 "if one of us sinned it must be God", your choice of what to do with it?

I cannot tell you how much I love the prompt list you made. Collected Works got lost in the mail, so I ordered To Axion Esti. Very excited to read! I’m thinking about going through all 40 prompts and writing each of them as a moment from Solas’ revolution, so here is the first. I posted it to AO3 here, there is no ithaca--I was rereading C.P. Cavafy’s poem “The City” and thinking about Solas and Arlathan, as I am wont to do, and decided to use that as my thematic base. because when I am not writing about a city? but without further adore, the story itself: “if one of us sinned it must be God.”Humiliation comes easy to a son of Arlathan. Solas goes limp and lets the vallaslin take control, shuntling self deep behind his eyes where even Mythal cannot see. He knows he is not wrong. She bends his knee and he stares steadily at the ground. His eyes do not burn. His lips do not contort into a snarl. Mythal shapes him into genteel obedience, as a reminder of what they are. She forces him. He resists gently. The punishment will be worse than this. He would punish himself worse, if he let her see his eyes.

“Even my own Pride kneels humbled before me,” Mythal chuckles. Hesitant laughter murmurs through the galley: he may be humbled today, but back at her side tomorrow. They all know this, especially him. He traces sigils in the mosaics, cold beneath his hands. They dance geometric before his eyes, and he wonders at the shapes into which they contort. He has dissected an elf’s eye before, assisting Ghilan’nain. What collection of minuscule muscular contortions make this? How can he replicate it? He tells himself: this is what I shall remember. Mythal’s grim smile and the uneven marble tesserae cutting into my minds, and I shall permutate the perspective until I can meet my own eyes again. He tests the charm quietly, tensing the muscles in his feet, but he cannot rise. Mythal still has him bound.

Andruil says wearily, “Really, Mother, is this necessary? Let him rise, and lick his wounds, and come back all the brighter tomorrow. We have work to do.” She flourishes a hand, so the light catches in her lyrium-gauntlet. He sees the red reflected in her shadow. Reflexively he shudders but he cannot, Mythal has him in place, and the horror comes to his eyes and Solas quashes it fiercely, because though he is bound, he still has his own pride, and he will not let Mythal corrupt his nature. She made him like this. He will not let her break him too. Mythal is amused. “Fine,” she says. She has made her point: the war against the dwarves will continue, and those pressed into the Evanuris’ service will stay their servants. There may be freedom for their grandchildren, down the line: so Solas’ own children, if he has any, will be born free. But the soldiers are bound to Elvhenan, and Mythal will not free them so long as Elvhenan needs them--and that includes binding her own Pride to Elvhenan’s will, however humbling it may be. The vallaslin sinks back into his skin, almost invisible, and slowly he rises. Expressionless he gazes upon Mythal. He thinks, your Pride shall be your downfall. He says the words he has rehearsed so often before, “Hail Mythal, adjudicator and savior! She has struck down the pillars of the earth and rendered their demesne unto the People! Praise her name forever!" Mythal smiles unpleasantly. “Enough of that, Dread Wolf. I have mastered my Pride. I do not need to see you grovel.” “I merely recite fact,” Solas says. “Fact you have had me say many a time before, and that I will repeat for any audience.” There is no point in staying. She will not listen to reason. This lyrium-sickness will drive them mad and wrap their minds right into that bizarre hivemind of the Titans. The Evanuris will not compromise. His people have sealed the road to the Titan, and he has been punished for it. He has taken liberties that were never his, enslaved to the will of Mythal, to guard those she does not consider her children. He holds the anger in the pit of his stomach and keeps his face blank. Mythal says, “See that you do. You may leave, Dread Wolf. You have sinned but you have been forgiven. Return to celebrate the spoils of our next campaign. I will not see you before then.” Solas thinks, I don’t want to see you before then, what makes you think I am so eager for punishment? I am not like Andruil, still slavering for a kind word. I have my own people to attend to--and yours. He cannot help but utter a short laugh as he bows his head. Smiling grimly to himself, he leaves, conscious of the court’s attention, and he cannot help but throw his shoulders back and walk as tall as he would after a battle bloodlessly won. His pride is smarting. He will lick his wounds, and recover. He walks back to his office and takes the eluvian back to his official household, where he removes the golden armor of Fen’Harel that he is really growing too old for, and changes to more comfortable clothes. He debates the utility of doing something dramatic with his hair, where gray is beginning to pepper at the temples. Restlessly he goes into his bedroom and packs a bag, thinking that he can go anywhere, slip away to another quarter of the city, where he can be yet another of the All-Mother’s slaves, and struggle to pay his rent and his tithe as he works a job marginally more satisfying than managing a losing war. He would like to paint. In another world, perhaps, he was never given that promotion, and returned to Arlathan not in Mythal’s own triumph, but as a weary footsoldier, seeking his allotment from the temple guards. He laughs. A slave’s life, regardless: he cannot imagine a reality in which he is not defined by the will that is Mythal. Then Wisdom says, “Look at yourself, Pride. You dressed yourself blindly. A costume can change but you remain the same.” He had not heard them creep behind him. He looks up at them and they smile, mirroring his face without the binding. Grief seizes him and he turns away, tears prickling at his eyes. He sits back on his bed and puts his head in his hands. Wisdom freely given can feel cruel. He thinks, I thought I had grown too old for this. “I envy you,” Solas says. “That you may take my shape without my obligations. That you are free from the will of Mythal. That your nature remains incorrupt.” He touches the vallaslin at his cheeks. He remembers fighting off the priests when they restrained him, as a boy. He remembers refusing to submit to the will that is Mythal. He bit one--his father had been horrified. They still branded him. He remembers the way that it burned. Wisdom is quiet. They sit next to them. He listens to them mimic his breathing. Outside the window the city seethes. Night is falling and there are plenty of places to go, a friend of his has a gallery opening tonight, and then there is the little cafe opened by a man from the Tirashan who sings exquisitely, and of course he has the dispatches to attend to, little favors to dispense, and his friends to consult about this latest humiliation. Wisdom says, “What makes you corrupt?” “The will of Mythal,” Solas says immediately, and then pauses. “The will that is Mythal. Obeying and disobeying. Either way is wrong.” He smiles ruefully. “I have sinned and I have been forgiven and I will be welcomed back to the fold, only to sin and be forgiven and welcomed back to the fold once more. According to the will that is Mythal. Because her Pride must be mastered.” “What makes you obey?” they say. Solas says bitterly, “Habit and the vallaslin. Blood calls to blood.” Sick shame and anger rush him, and his fingers claw at the quit under them; and then he breathes through the pain, as he has been taught, and the feeling of humiliation subsides into rawness rather than burning. Wisdom says, “What makes you disobey?” Solas looks at them askance. “Because I will not blindly follow orders that will get myself and my people killed. I will not commit workers who expect me to protect them to those mines. I will not let the Evanuris’ greed destroy us all. The vallaslin may bind me, but it does not command me. I will save the elvhen people, even from their own false gods.” Wisdom smiles, and Solas looks into the face that is so like how his own could be, unmarred by the vallaslin. “Then you have it,” they say. “You know your path. Walk it. Mythal gave you manumission, even if she did not give you your will.” “I cannot remove the vallaslin,” he says, amused. Wisdom loses its definition slightly, so Solas knows they disagree, even if they will not vocalize it. “What?” “You say you cannot remove the vallaslin,” they say. “But you also say that it does not command you. Then why do you let it define your face? You are limiting yourself, Solas. Why?” Solas says, only to fill the space, “You have given me much to think about.” It is unthinkable that the vallaslin can be removed, but he wants it gone. He has rarely circumscribed his desires before--it was unthinkable that a slave could become an evanuris, after all, but that did not stop him from steadily rising through the ranks. He rises and catches sight of himself in the mirror in the corner of his room, plainly attired, Mythal’s vallaslin burnt as prominent on his face as ever. He strokes the lines they burnt onto his chin, wondering what he would look like without it. He imagines himself without it, no longer resigned to the easy humiliations of Mythal’s service, and he sees, in a glance, the possibility. A shiver traces down his spine as Wisdom leaves the room and he is left standing before the mirror, thinking rapidly the chain of spells born in the blood and how they can be undermined, chipped away at, worn away like a river against the stone. He has brought down mountains and decapitated the heart of the Stone. What is stopping him now? When there is possibility, there is pride. Solas raises his head and meets his own gaze in the mirror and knows, suddenly, that his only master is his Pride, and that cannot be mastered.

[lostinfantasies38]

Ten Favorite Dialogues from 2020

I picked 10 dialogue exchanges that I loved from the stories I posted this year. A few of them are from the same stories, since I spent a good chunk of the year working on long fics instead of one shots or shorter stories. Under the cut bc they are lengthy.

I also realized that most of my zingers tend to be in my descriptions and don’t always make it into my character’s dialogue. I might have to change that. 

In no particular order:

1.

Dorian chuckled. “Honestly, you two are disgraceful. You can’t come to a club looking like sex on legs when you aren’t single. You’re going to give people a heart attack.”

“Jealous, Dorian?” Alistair needled.

“Insanely,” he replied smoothly. “Aside from myself and Zevran,”—he saluted the elf who shot him a saucy wink—“you’re the most attractive men here. And to add insult to injury, you’re together,” he sighed dramatically.

Accidental Alliance, a oneshot modern Cullistair AU 

2. 

“Step two of the pie liberation was to avoid suspicion of the adults.” Evan giggled at Connor’s phrasing and thought he heard Alex snort in amusement, too. “Zoe’s job was to act as a distraction, which wasn’t hard to accomplish because Cynthia decked her out in this frilly monstrosity that every woman within a five-mile radius oohed and aahed over. She fucking hated it, of course, but it worked in our favor for The Plan. And yes, those are honest to God capitals, babe. Think Mission Impossible: Thanksgiving 2010.”

“Alternate title: Pie Larceny,” Evan quipped, overjoyed by Connor’s rich laughter. Alex definitely chuckled at that.

“Yes! Oh my God, that’s amazing. I’m totally renaming it Pie Larceny.”

Save Me From Myself - part 3 of my DEH series, Connor Murphy/Evan Hansen

3.

“It makes me want to wrap you in blankets and bubble wrap and smother you with attention until you’re sick of looking at me, though.”

A broken laugh tumbled out of Evan’s mouth. “Well, there’s a mental picture. What are you gonna do? Roll me down the street?”

“I’m working out the logistics, but rolling you around does sound kinda fun,” Connor teased.

Snorting, Evan retorted, “I mean, you do have practice rolling joints. Guess a bundled up boyfriend isn’t much difference.”

Connor’s borderline hysterical laughter almost drowned out Evan’s airy chuckles. “Jesus Christ, Evan,” he wheezed, shakily wiping away tears. 

Save Me From Myself - part 3 of my DEH series, Connor Murphy/Evan Hansen 

4.

Returning his head to the shadows, he hissed, “Sister Agnes is milling around. I need a distraction so I can reach our room.”

Kai grinned and pulled a dehydrated pepper from his pocket. “Down the hatch.”

Gavin stopped him with a concern expression. “Are you sure about this?”

He snorted softly. “Please, I grew up eating these. My mum sends them because she knows I love them. They’re like candy. I’ll be shitting fire for a week, but they don’t hurt my mouth. I’ll burn hot and sweat like crazy though. Trust me, it’ll work.”

The redhead arched an eyebrow. “So you carry them in your pocket at all times?”

“No,” Kai answered irritably. “That’s why I needed Easton earlier. To act as a distraction for me so I could get it out of my room.”

Gavin sighed. “If you’re sure. I mean, we could brawl in the hallway, that would work, too.”

Alistair glanced around the corner. “Hurry up and choose. I’m not waiting forever.” Kai smirked and popped the pepper in his mouth.

“Well, that decides it,” Gavin groaned. Alistair tried not to laugh as over the course of a few minutes, Kai’s face visibly flushed in response to the spicy heat and sweat pooled under his hair, running in rivulets across his face.

“How do I look?” he asked.

“Like you’ve got the sweat,” Gavin replied sardonically.

“Perfect,” he retorted. “Right, good luck, Alistair. If I fail to distract everyone, Gavin’s got you covered.”

Find Me Well Within Your Grace - young Cullistair prequel fic - excerpt from Ch 11 featuring a few of my OCs and Alistair 

5.

Wrapping his arms around her as she hummed at the stove, he said, “Sirra and Alistair either just left my apartment or she only now deigned to tell me they’re gone.”

Eowyn grinned wickedly at him, checking the clock on the dining room wall. “My, my! Four hours later! Scandalous.”

“I wish you could have seen them. The magnetism! It was instant.”

She giggled. “I saw the photos. That’s more of Alistair’s almost-O face than I ever want to see again, thanks very much.”

He snorted. “Fair enough.” After a pause, Zevran chuckled, “I give them a month.”

Rounding on him in horror, Eowyn stared at him with wide mossy eyes. “You just said they were perfect together! Do you think we made a mistake?”

“No, amore mio. I mean, I give them a month before they elope. I might have been party to their engagement shoot today.”

She blinked slowly as the giggles built until she was clutching the kitchen counter in a fit of uncontrolled mirth. “Okay, that may be accurate knowing Alistair!”

“I’m thinking of changing my business cards. Should I add ‘Matchmaker Extraordinaire’ or ‘Signor Soulmate’?” he asked cheekily.

Shot In The Dark - Sirra Brosca/Alistair modern AU oneshot [dialogue shown is between Zevran/OC]

6.

Cullen grinned with him. “Me either. Maybe we can improve your chess skills enough for you to graduate from mediocre.”

“Oh, ha ha. You and the others can have fun with that, thanks very much. Here I was hoping we could spend more time in bed,” he teased, sliding a hand into his curls.

Rolling his eyes playfully, the blonde retorted, “Of course, count on you to think how often we can sleep together instead of improving our skills.”

“That is how we improve our skills.”

“Training skills, you fiend.”

Heaving a melodramatic sigh, Alistair quipped, “Well, one of us has to be the boring one in the relationship. Glad it’s not me.” Cullen elbowed him gently in the ribs, chuckling along with his lover’s bright laughter.

Find Me Well Within Your Grace - young Cullistair prequel fic, excerpt from Ch 12 

7.

“You’re not worthless,” Alistair whispered. The breath she’d been holding passed her lips with a tiny mewl of surprise. Still unable to look at one other, Alistair kept his hand on her wrist and she resisted the urge to scoot further away.

Sirra murmured, “You don’t know me, Alistair. You can’t say that.”

“I can,” he insisted firmly, his fingers pressing just a bit harder on her flesh. “It doesn’t matter who you were. When you join the Grey Wardens, all that matters is who you are. I may not know who you used to be in Orzammar, but I have a pretty good idea who you are in the sun.”

Sun Touched - excerpt from Ch 4

8.

“I’m sorry, Alistair, I wanted to surprise you. Most dwarves in Orzammar, caste and casteless alike, have genital piercings. It’s cultural and unrelated to murder.”

His eyebrows climbed into his hair. “Even the men? How in the Maker’s name does that work?” Sirra opened her mouth to explain, but he hastily held up a hand and shivered. “Rhetorical question. Please do not answer that.”  

Sun Touched - excerpt from Ch 14

9.

“I love you, too,” she murmured, gracing him with a watery smile. “If I had known you were up here, I would have left Orzammar years ago and tracked you down,” Sirra mused, only half joking. 

“Oh, really?” he quirked an eyebrow in amusement. “I can just imagine you sneaking into the droll monastery and breaking me out. I would have assumed you were a figment of my imagination, a desire demon, or Maker-sent. Regardless, I doubt I could have resisted the mischievous glint in your eyes as you crept in to find me in my smalls, surrounded by thirty other recruits, and told me to run away with you.” 

Laughing, Sirra raked her short nails down his toned chest. “A naked teenage version of you? I would have taken you on the spot, letting the recruits feast their eyes on us, before dashing out the front door with your bare ass in tow.” 

He closed his eyes with a lusty moan, and swallowed hard, his voice strained when he replied. “Definitely Maker-sent then. To think, we could have been on the lam for the last few years, making mad love wherever we went.” 

Sighing melodramatically, Alistair smirked and playfully bopped the tip of her nose with his. “Ah, well, at least I have you now and that’s all that matters.”

Sun Touched - excerpt from Ch 17

10.

“Stop it,” Morrigan mumbled irritably.

Alistair feigned innocence. “Stop what? I’m sitting here like a good patient. I wasn’t even talking until right now.”

Yellow eyes bored into hazel as the subtle light faded around them, his shoulder apparently healed. “You know very well what. Stop staring at my hands. ‘Tis most distracting.”

“And here I thought it was my hands distracting you during the fight,” he smirked. “Not where my eyes happened to land. How could you have known that I might have been paying attention, if you weren’t observing me, too, hmm?”

Scoffing, Morrigan took a large step back and crossed her arms haughtily over her chest. “You are insufferable.”

Sheathing his sword, Alistair shrugged with affected boredom. “I may be insufferable, Morrigan, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. Deny it all you want, but we both know the truth.” 

Snagging his shield from where it fell on the ground, he slung it over his back and murmured for her ears alone. “Besides, for a cranky witch who grew up in a swamp, they’re surprisingly soft and gentle… when they want to be, that is.” 

You Give Me That Lovin’ Feelin’ - ch 2. Part 1 of 3 of Morristair written for @scharoux 14 Days of DA Lovers 

[haro-whumps]

Box Boy Order Form

(Inspired by @shameless-whumper and @sweetwhumpandhellacomf

CW: slavery, brainwashing, dehumanization, implied noncon)

Ren knew, Ren knew that the reason companies sent out free products to popular youtubers was to get fans to buy said products. Ren knew that. And they absolutely hated that it was working. They loved Host, they’d been an avid follower since well before Colton had entered the picture, but nooooow. 

Ugh.

It wasn’t like they couldn’t. Ren was a real momma’s-child, and had the vast depths of her pockets at their disposal, plus the job they’d inherited--pardon, utilized their connections in order to acquire--paid well. And the way Host played with Colton, it just looked so… terribly fun.

So here Ren was, staring down a couple different websites, filtering their searches and scrolling through half-mindlessly, @just-horrible-things‘ unboxing video playing as a quiet form of background noise. Ren had been consuming all sorts of Box Boy unboxing videos ever since Host had done it, and it just made the itch of want worse and worse.

They almost scrolled past him.

It was the hair, hilariously enough, that made them double take, scrolling back up so the top half was re-exposed on their screen, and then they just stared, disbelieving, for a long moment, eyes locked on the image. That was Soren. Ren clicked on the thumbnail and clicked through the pictures, zooming in on the birthmark on his jaw. That was definitely Soren.

Sweet Soren, gentle Soren, darling precious Soren who’d had a hard time of it when they were teenagers. Soren had always been so nice to everyone he met, with the most beautiful long hair, a sort of dusty gold, and heavy freckles. He’d never been proud, either, he’d never called the nice things Ren did for him charity or rejected their generosity like those other washed-up, penniless nobodies. Soren had always been grateful and thankful and sweet.

Ren had tried, really really tried, back when they were teens, but they’d been fumbling, their efforts graceless and new. They’d tried their hand at manipulating Soren, but it never seemed to stick. He’d put up with Ren’s gentle teasing and playful roughhousing, but always called Ren out whenever he felt they’d pushed too far, and trying to guilt him with how nice they’d otherwise been never worked. He’d been… too secure. Poor and a little underfed, but still confident that he’d have a warm home to go back to that night with a nice family, nice like him. Ren had never gotten him eating out of their palm like the brown-nosers and the toads. And when Ren had blown their lid when he cut his hair, he’d cut them off. 

Oh, but Soren wasn’t so secure now, was he? He, ha, he wouldn’t even remember who Ren was! Oh that was perfect! A second chance. But this time, he’d love them the way they deserved, he would adore them, them exclusively. He’d grow his hair out as long as they wanted him to, nothing like the short and charming mockery staring up at them from the promotional photographs. 

They put their name and credit card down on his profile the moment they stopped being shocked by that cute little birthmark, and went into the customization options.

“You don’t get to reject me this time…” Ren muttered to themself, indicating that they wanted the processors to make him grow his hair out nice and long. They probably had products that promoted hair-growth?

I’d like it if you could make him, I guess touch-starved is a good word? Clingy? Needy! Needy’s the word. I want him hanging off of me. Sweet and doe-eyed, yeah?

They opened each photograph in a new tab, and saved them to their computer. They didn’t hit buy just yet, didn’t want to send off the customization requests before they’d had a chance to specify everything.

Eager and accommodating would also be nice, though I’m sure I can train that myself if you feel like that’s going to take up too much time. But then again, I’m not exactly in a rush.

It was true, Ren hadn’t seen sweet Soren in years, but they weren’t in any hurry. They wanted this to be perfect. They pulled up Host’s unboxing video with little fawnish Colton, who didn’t even have his name yet in that one. They’d seen it a dozen times, but now they were watching it like it was a rehearsal. Soon, they’d be doing this with Soren, and he would be their Soren.

They weren’t a youtuber, personally, but Ren thought about all the unboxing videos they’d been watching and decided to order a high quality camera while they were in a spending mood. They wanted to immortalize the moments when Soren first came to them. Ren also searched for subtle “elf on the shelf” type nannycams, but discreet. They didn’t actually want Soren to know that they were recording him, that they’d be saving the footage, watching his every move, keeping it like a dragon with its hoard. They found some cute decorative pieces, the camera holes so small or seamlessly integrated into the design that Soren would never know. Plus the items themselves were cute. Ren had been thinking of adding some more decoration to their home, anyway. They hit order.

I know you keep yourselves to stringent standards of ethics, and I of course would never doubt that. But if you feel like you need to, I won’t mind if you rough him up a little during training. It might make him even more grateful to be owned by me, haha! Don’t tell him I said that though ;)

The playlist automatically went to “First day with my box boy” and Ren watched it, nerves alight. They watched Host strike Colton, their own breath catching and a pleasant little shiver crawling up their spine, imagining doing that to Soren. They would be doing that to Soren, soon. They wondered what number Soren would have, but discarded the thought. It would never matter.

Could you also please make sure he doesn’t remember his old name, at all? I know sometimes your pretty box boys have foggy memories, at least the quick turnarounds do, but I would like mine to be as blank as possible.

Host went over the positions with Colton, and Ren’s mouth watered. They’d get a whole booklet of positions they could just say and Soren would do them. When Ren told Soren position twenty-three, would he flush and hesitate? Would he smile and duck his head, loose lock of hair falling over his left eye, like how he used to do when Ren bought him roasted almonds or offered to share their fleece when it got unexpectedly cold out?

What had happened to Soren? Sure, he’d never been well-off, but it was hard to imagine life getting so hard for sweet, precious Soren that he would sign himself over to who-knew-what. He could’ve always come crawling back to Ren! They would have forgiven him for acting unreasonable, just because they got mad. He could’ve been their pet and kept his memories, if he’d only asked.

Well, too bad, Soren. He was a pet now, and people that used to know him knew. One person specifically, knew, and now, he would be theirs.

Submit order.

They grinned, and clicked.

Next

[the-hilda-librarians-wife]

Family Fights - Chapter Twelve

Summary:  Even the strongest bond, the most loving family, can be broken by nightmares, and the librarian is soon to learn this. As she learns sinister things about a person who she had thought was lost forever, she realizes she will need the help of another witch to get her family back.

Notes:  Another short chapter but this time I’m proud because I wrote all of it in a single day! Also I’m going to take part in my country’s Student Science Olympics today, so wish me luck!

(chpt1) (chpt2) (chpt3) (chpt4) (chpt5) (chpt6) (chpt7) (chpt8) (chpt9) (chpt10) (chpt11) (chpt12)

Biting wind turned her cheeks pink, the sun quickly dying out as Maven stood under the trees of the Huldrawoods. Aside from draping her cape over her shoulders, she hadn’t changed the clothes she’d worn all day. There hadn’t been any time. As soon as Alfur had declared that the Thunderbird knew where her sister lived, she’d hurried to fetch him a map so that he could point out exactly where he’d seen her.

It felt like she’d been moving in a haze. She was certain that she’d told Hilda to stay safely in her house, but everything else she’d done in the last few minutes seemed like a dream from which she’d only waken up when she arrived at the spot the Thunderbird had circled. Now, as she looked at the ramshackle tend that had been built between two tall pines, she felt her clouded mind becoming clearer, making her cringe at her own impulsivity. In her haste, she hadn’t even brought anything to protect herself with. Now, however, she was too close to back away.

Her hands clutched her cape tighter around herself as she walked closer. As warm as the day had been, dusk was bringing about an unexpected chill, which combined with the fear and anticipation running up and down her spine, did not result in a pleasant sensation at all.

The tent was livable, but only barely. It leaned against one of the trees, and wooden stakes helped keep it upright. One single cutting of cloth made the ceiling and the walls. Whichever magic the marra had, it was no use in construction, it seemed. This tent was only a little better than the ones she and her sister would build as children.

Maven couldn’t sense her sister inside, so she found the area where the cloth had been cut to allow passage and allowed herself in. Once inside, the first thing she noticed was the abrupt change in temperature. In contrast with the cold outside, the tent could easily have had modern heating, and she attributed that to the oil lamp which hang from one of the stakes. Though judging from the green fire that burned inside, it was more likely that the lamp ran on magic rather than oil.

The shelter was very clearly Myra’s. The makeshift pallet bed wasn’t made the usual way. Instead, the blanket has been folded and put on top of the pillow, like her sister liked to do. The hairbrush that seemed to have been thrown on the floor without a care had no strands of hair in it, and Maven remembered how insistent Myra was in cleaning her hairbrush after every use.

Emboldened by these discoveries, Maven set out to look for more signs of Myra’s presence. She did find enough reasons to be certain that she lived there, but was also concerned by the lack of basic necessities in the tent. She could find no food at all, even though she knew her sister to snack a lot during the day, and the complete absence of clothes reminded her of how Myra had been wearing the same clothes as years ago when Maven last saw her.

Those things could probably be due to the marra’s magical nature. Though they looked like everyone else, Maven thought she would do well not to forget that they weren’t human, and thus probably didn’t have the same necessities as them.

It was when Maven was going over a notebook she’d found, apparently filled with descriptions of nightmares her sister had inflicted on people, that she heard a gasp from the entrance of the tent. Startled, she dropped the notebook and turned around to find Myra herself staring at her with shock on her features.

Both of them were paralyzed for long moments, doing nothing but staring at each other in incredulity until Myra shook her head like she was trying to wake up from a dream.

“What are you doing here?!” She shouted. Remembering that she shouldn’t consider herself safe just because this was her sister, Maven took a deep breath, gathering magic on her fingertips in case she needed to defend herself.

It took her long to find an answer. She hadn’t even thought about what she would accomplish by going after her immediately, she’d just been driven by the urge to see with her own eyes that Myra had somewhere to stay. That she was alive and well.

“I came to find you.” She said eventually, debating whether or not to raise her hand to her sister. She wanted to touch her, find proof that she was really there, really in front of her, but she knew it wouldn’t be welcomed. Myra continued looking skeptically at her, her body locked with tension.

“I wanted, I want to bring you home. You don’t need to stay here, Myra. Come back with me. I can forgive everything.”

Maven could pinpoint the exact moment when her sister went from mistrustful to furious. Green shone in the depths of her eyes and her fists balled as she bared her teeth.

“You can forgive everything?! Nothing about you changed, Maven. You really do still think that everything is about you.”

Before Maven could think up a spell to summon, Myra sent out tendrils of green magic in her direction. They seized her arms and legs, leaving a burning sensation in the spots where they curled around her limbs. When the marra made a sharp gesture with her hand, the tendrils send Maven flying out of the tent, hitting the ground outside painfully.

Groaning because of the impact, Maven tried to sit up as Myra chuckled at her.

“How pathetic. Why would I want to go back to being this meek?”

“Myra… this isn’t you. They have twisted your mind, haven't they? Please, sweetie, our parents-”

“Can’t you get this?!” The marra interrupted her, her magic feeding off of her anger and making her levitate inches above the ground as she spoke, in a way that soon she was leaning over Maven menacingly “I don’t care about mum, dad, or you! You are all weak, and I’m over you!”

“If you’re really over us, why haven’t you cursed some poor widower to take you in? Convinced a couple that you’re their child?” Maven said with as much strength as she could. Some time ago, she’d be mad to hear those words coming from her sister’s mouth. She’d seethe and cry out her hypocrisy, but it felt like something had changed in her. She’d come so close to failing Hilda that she could now see all the ways in which she’d failed her her sister. Not in not being able to stop her from becoming a nightmare spirit, but way before that.

The only effect her words seemed to have was to make Myra more angry, and she growled in a way that Maven was sure no human could. Nevertheless, Maven continued.

“Why live like someone who’s lost their home if you say we weren’t yours?”

“I should kill you!” She shouted, but Maven knew her too well. Those were nothing but empty words, and she didn’t believe the Marra even had enough power to murder someone. Not a trained witch, at least. Surely enough, when Myra realized that Maven was neither going to press her further nor plead for mercy, her fury deflated enough that her sister could see the reluctance in her eyes.

“But I’ll give you this chance to run. Go away and never come for me again!”

Maven shook her head.

“I can’t do that. I can’t leave you alone.”

Rolling her eyes, Myra sent out a burst of magic at Maven’s head. It made her vision spin and her mind feel hazy, and she collapsed against the floor once more.

“It wasn’t a question, idiot.”

_#_#_#_

“Maven!” Her eyes began to open as she felt someone shaking her shoulders. Everything was dark, and the first thing she was able to see was a head of blue hair.

“Oh dear, is she alright?” Another voice squeaked. She knew that voice, but her mind was so clouded she couldn’t link it to anyone.

“That was a really nasty spell. She might take a few minutes to regain consciousness.”

“‘M fine.” She drawled, trying to make sense of the situation. “Hilda? Is that you?”

The girl nodded and smiled nervously.

“Yes! Don’t worry, we’ll help you.”

The girl spent a few minutes trying to aid Maven to her feet, aided by a bird who the librarian soon remembered to be Hilda’s friend. The elf was also with them, unable to help but watching the scene from Hilda’s hair.

“Well, you seem to be recovering quickly.” The Thunderbird said when they began walking away from the Huldrawoods. Maven realized she’d woken up at the same spot she’d been before, but Myra was no longer there. “You are made of tough stuff, I’ll give it to you.”

“My own magic must have protected me. But I was lucky you were around to help me. ” She said, wishing that the magic would have protected her from heartbreak as well.

Maven stopped walking abruptly, turning to Hilda with crossed arms.

“And why were you around? I told you to stay at the house.”

“I couldn’t let you go alone.” To her credit, Hilda did at least look ashamed, fidgeting with her feet. “But I did stay hidden.”

Sighing, the librarian continued walking. “As long as you don’t tell this to your mother.”

“I promise.” She assured, content not to be lectured about safety and following orders. “She should be home by now. Why don’t you come over and drink something? You must need it.”

She raised her gaze to the night sky, now completely dark. The trees got on her way, making it so she wasn’t even able to take comfort in the calming sight of the moon. When she lowered her eyes again, she noticed Hilda shivering as she looked at her. The girl was still wearing the same clothing they’d worn to the beach.

Raising her hands to her neck, Maven unclasped her cape and draped it over her, hoping it was warm enough that she wouldn’t be cold anymore. When Hilda sent the librarian a questioning stare, she only shuddered and made a fireball appear on her hand, a source of both warmth and light to guide them.

“I have no better plan.”

[fandomn00blr]

What does Marian’s household look like physically and what is the vibe? How are Fenris and Anders getting along, being married to the same woman? Do the kiddos look obviously like/take after one of them or the other? How do the 3 of them divide parental duties? -Your secret Palentine!

Thank you, Secret Palentine! 

Ah, domestic fenhanders

Under a cut, because it ended up being super long…

“We have enough elfroot to heal an entire army, Anders. Why do you keep planting more?”

Hawke hated harvesting the stuff and unlike Anders, she preferred not to think about all the situations they could possibly find themselves in which might require such a quantity of the healing herb. 

Fenris, on the other hand, had come to appreciate the work of tending to their family herb and vegetable gardens…it was like meditation to him, so long as Hawke was far enough away that her cursing could be tuned out, or the children, working and playing alongside him, weren’t intent on asking too many questions. Or Anders wasn’t chattering incessantly at him about Maker-knows-what. Luckily, Anders often managed to get out of the majority of the harvesting by keeping the children occupied. So there was usually just the matter of Hawke to worry about.

Anders laughed. “I like to plant it so that Fenris has something to do. Plus, elf…root. Geddit? Huh?”

“No.” Fenris deadpanned as he squatted back down to begin harvesting another row. “Please…explain.”

Anders stuck his tongue out at him before turning back to Hawke. “But seriously, though, there’s no such thing as too much elfroot.”

“I could probably harvest it alone much more efficiently…” Fenris drawled.

“I’m helping…aren’t I?” Hawke held up a plant she’d ripped out of the ground and waved it at them before hissing and dropping it. “Maker’s balls! Why does a healing herb have such evil little pickers on it?!”

Before either of them could answer her, Leandera came running toward them from the other side of the cottage, out of breath.

“Papa! Malcolm was just practicing his magic without adult supervision!” she gasped.

“Is anything on fire or frozen or stuck in the Fade?” Fenris asked, wearily.

“Umm…no. He was just shooting sparkly things into the air. It was really pretty actually, but, but…he was using MAGIC!”

Even though she was normally very obviously Anders’ daughter, with her unruly strawberry-blonde hair and her freckles and his nose, she actually looked a lot like Fenris in this moment.

“And then when I asked him to keep doing it, he stopped.”

Ah, yes. There it was. So this was merely a revenge tattle.

Fenris sighed with a little bit of relief, eyeing Anders. This was his area of expertise, after all.

Anders leaned down, beaming close to Leandera’s face. “What kind of magic was it?” 

He didn’t even try to hide his excitement, even though he was the one who had suggested the rule for their son in the first place as an attempt to demonstrate to Hawke and Fenris that he could be responsible. He was, unsurprisingly, also the least likely to enforce any consequences when the curious young mage broke it.

“I dunno. It was…bluish? Greenish? A little pink at the end? Really sparkly, though!”

“So long as there was no blood involved or reanimated corpses, it’s probably fine…right?” Hawke shrugged.

Fenris grumbled something to himself and then resumed his work with the elfroot.

“But Daddy,” Leandera whined. “You told Malcolm he wasn’t allowed to do any magic without you or another adult…”

“You’re right, of course, Lele…” Anders nodded, trying to look very serious. “I’ll go speak with him at once. And then…” he whispered, just to her, “Maybe we can make more sparkly things together for you?”

“Okay!” Leandera went skipping ahead.

Anders turned back and shrugged at Hawke and Fenris.

“Why did we ever decide to let him get involved in raising our children?” Fenris muttered.

Hawke laughed. “It was your idea! You pulled him out of the Fade! I just wanted to stay mad at him forever…”

“Oh…right. Perhaps it’s not too late to send him back.”

“I CAN STILL HEAR YOU, YOU KNOW?!” Anders called out from the other side of the cottage.

“WE MEAN WE LOVE YOU AND HAVE NO REGRETS WHATSOEVER ABOUT THE COURSE OF EVENTS THAT HAS LED US TO THIS LIFE WITH YOU!”

“I THOUGHT THAT’S WHAT I HEARD YOU SAY…”

Hawke smiled and shook her head fondly. “You just had to go and be in love with him, too, huh?”

“I truly do not regret a thing.” Fenris stood up determinedly and kissed her.

Hawke pulled slowly away, a satisfied grin across her lips as she let the familiar taste of him – citrus and metal and faint floral notes – linger. “Mmm…it hasn’t been easy, though, has it?”

“Nothing worth doing ever is.”

“Did you read that cliche bullshit in one of Varric’s books?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I believe it’s something you once said…”

“Oh shit, yeah.” She winced. “I was drunk, though, so it doesn’t really count, does it?”

“Well, I still appreciate the sentiment.”

“Ok, but like, be honest, now that Anders is out of earshot…this is excessive, right? The elfroot I mean?” She gestured out across the expansive herb garden.

There were a few stalks of embrium, and a small patch of deathroot, but their overflowing herb garden was almost entirely planted with elfroot. Their pantry and cellars were already full of it in its various dried and preserved forms, and they had enough potions to supply the entire Denerim City Guard for a month.

Fenris took a deep breath. ��He worries. About you, about the children, about me. About the unsettled state of the world. And if hoarding elfroot gives him some relief or comfort in that, then I will gladly indulge him. It’s harmless, at least. Helpful, even, to have an overzealous healer for a husband…and I really don’t mind harvesting it.”

“Why are you such a better person than me?” Hawke groaned.

“I’ve lost both of you before. I won’t take either of you for granted again.”

“I don’t take you…or him…for granted!”

“I know. But you two, this family…” Fenris’ voice had gone hoarse. He tried to clear his throat, but the words wouldn’t come, only the glistening of tears in his eyes.

“I know.” Hawke pulled him into her arms before they could escape. “I love you. You make me want to be a better person. Even if I fall short of the ridiculous standards you and Anders set by example for our children.”

“I love you, too,” he murmured into her shoulder, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist.

Anders had come back around after his ‘intervention’ with Malcolm had ended in a combined fireworks display that had Leandera shrieking with glee and Malcolm smiling mischievously at him…a parenting win, he was certain.

He watched Fenris and Hawke, a warm smile on his face, not wanting to interrupt whatever tender moment they’d been having just between the two of them. He loved the quiet, steadfast way they loved each other, and he even enjoyed admiring it from a distance sometimes, as something unique and different from the ways they each loved him.

“Come here,” Hawke waved him over.

“I didn’t know if this was meant to be a group hug or if you two were having a ‘moment.’”

“We were,” Fenris huffed. “But when has that ever stopped you before?”

Anders grinned and wrapped his long lanky arms around them both. Fenris was nearly smothered between the two of them, and he feigned an obligatory amount of protest but nuzzled in against Anders’ chest far too quickly to convince anyone that he actually minded. 

“Did you convince her not to kill me again?” Anders asked.

Hawke kissed Anders’ cheek as he drew in closer, a wordless ‘thank you for dealing with the children’ before her smile became more menacing. “No, but he managed to make me feel just shitty enough about myself to hold off a bit longer.”

“Ah, good.” 

The three of them stood in their huddle for awhile, savoring the brief moment of peace and comfort that had settled over their often-chaotic, messy lives.

Anders finally pulled away with a sheepish grin. “I told Malcolm he could do magic tricks to entertain his sister, but that he was not allowed to aim anything directly at her and he wasn’t allowed to make any fireballs or ice blasts or Fade fists or…well, he seemed to get the idea, anyway, that he wasn’t to use any kind of combat magic or anything without one of us present.”

“Oh, well, that sounds like an easy policy to enforce with a four-year-old,” Fenris muttered, trying not to laugh.

“He’s a very precocious four-year-old!” Anders exclaimed.

“Exactly…”

“Well, at least Leandera will be sure to let us know if he violates any of these new rules,” Hawke offered as reassurance.

…

[creampuffs-and-cakes]

——The Making of A Pair——

By the time he came to a realization, Rose was already on his way to get married.

In this tumultuous path to the North where there lies his supposed prince charming, the bump on his head from carriage ride made him suddenly recall his past life.

And currently, he was a trash young master of viscount family Rosella Igritia, sacrificed to the so called monstrous and cold blooded duke of the Northern mountains.

Rose recalled that, shortly after his marriage to said person, his person … comitted suicide!

Aiyo, that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. But the reason was that the duke himself … was going to kill him when he finds out that he, Rose, was not actually a female, but male!

It needs to be said that, while same-sex marriages weren’t uncommon, it wasn’t hailed either. This kind of ridicule, wouldn’t anyone get mad? It was also telling the other person to have no heirs. Rose was getting a headache, not just from the bumpy ride, thinking about this.

He was already nearing the gate, so thoughts of escape were futile. Further, despite his tall and almost bulky build, the dress he wore made him look slimmer and catered to accentuate his hips and overall physique to be as feminine as possible. The white contrasted to his dark skin, and though the veil covered his face, it couldn’t completely hide his cotton pink hair underneath the sheer fabric.

One could only sigh and brace himself that … well, he wouldn’t be killed on sight.

“Presenting the viscountess, Rosella Igritia!”

Urgh. Rose was escorted down the carriage and into the large black castle surrounded by ominous winds and falling snow. Hello, dracula? Why the hell is it so intimidating? A normal lady would’ve fainted with fright.

Led inside … It looked completely normal. Like, what a normal castle would look like. Well-lit with many rooms, a carpeted floor—everything was clean and nice, in contrast to the looming doom of its exterior.

Stopping in front of mahogany doors, Rose was brought in the supposed office of the duke, and he was finally able to see his husband-to-be. With the veil, it wasn’t clear, but Rose could tell that the latter didn’t look as bad as the rumours say. He should know since he read the novel. The duke was supposed to be super handsome!

“... You’re a man.”

It was a cold and damning statement said in a deep and indifferent voice.

“Yes.” Rose could only respond as such.

“... Hah.”

Even Rose could tell how expected it would be—the mockery of this marriage.

The man stood up and walked over to him, noticing how he was actually taller than the duke by half a head. Somehow, it was pretty funny.

And the duke noticed this too. Because he scoffed and lifted the veil up.

Ruby red eyes met with silvery greys.

The duke had long brown hair, tied in a low ponytail. With their narrowed eyes and white skin tone, Rose thought the man might be an elf. Seriously, what’s your skincare? The man looked slimmer than him too, or maybe it was the clothes hiding it all. Nevertheless, Rose’s heart thumped in his chest, finding the other’s appearance to be in his strike zone.

“... Are you done staring?”

“Oh? Can I keep doing so?” Rose couldn’t help but smile cheekily.

“...... No.”

“Eeeh? But my husband is so handsome~”

The duke’s brow twitched. “Who’s your husband?”

“You!”

“You are a man.”

“Correct. And I’m also yer wife!”

The duke stared back at Rose with an expressionless face, but as to what he was thinking, Rose couldn’t guess.

“... You’re not afraid of me?”

“On the contrary, I like your face.”

The duke took a dagger by his desk and unsheathed it to point at Rose’s neck. But despite the cold pressure of the blade against his skin, Rose didn’t even bat an eye.

“Are you not afraid to die?”

“Very!”

“Then?”

“It’s just … husband was so fast. I couldn’t even react.”

“...” The duke pressed the blade, making a slight cut with a little blood seeping out.

“Husband, you should treasure me.” Rose pouted. “I’m yer wife.”

The duke blinked at the response. He stood there unmoving for a moment … and retracted the dagger. “Why do you insist on being my wife?”

“It’s like this hubby—,”

“Don’t call me that.”

“—I’m that infamous trashy son of the viscount and yer the so-called monster of the north. But! Isn’t one man’s trash another man’s treasure? Plus! Even though we’re scorned by society, doesn’t mean we can’t act the part.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Rose grinned. “Wouldn’t it be nice to live life happily by doing whatever we wanted—as the villains?”

“... Are you planning to rebel?”

“Not if you don’t want to be the emperor.” Rose hummed. “We can simply live life peacefully and happily by taking care of the people here. Besides, since you’ve amassed power enough to threaten the imperial family to act by isolating you like this, there is no problem with making the territory even better than before.”

That’s right. So what if society didn’t want them? These two outcasts, can’t they find their own happiness? Why’d they need to cater to the mass?

The answer? They don’t.

The duke stared at his so-called wife with scrutiny. “You can get killed with that mouth of yours.”

“That’d be a shame since my mouth can do other things more beneficial to you, hubby~”

“!” The duke’s expression didn’t change, but the heat went straight to his ears when he turned his head away. “Don’t be shameless.”

“But I want to flirt with my hubby and be all lovey dovey~” Rose’s bright and silly smile caused the duke’s heart to skip a beat. Even he had to admit that he also liked his partner's face.

“... It’s Arrow.”

“Arrow?”

“Mn. It’s short for Arial Narrow.” Leaving the dagger on the desk, Arrow came forward to cast a small magic that healed Rose’s wound. A cooling tingling sensation that tickled Rose to laugh a bit.

“Then, I’ll formally introduce myself. My name is Rosella Ingritia. Rose for short.”

“It’s Narrow.”

“What?”

Arrow looked up at Rose. “Your name is Rosella Narrow.”

… Rose chuckled. “Yes. Please take good care of me, hubby~”

It was a small missable smile that etched on Arrow’s face. “You’re too daring.”

“Well, I’m a man too. Oh but don’t you worry hubby. I like taking it from behind and—”

Arrow’s eye twitched. “And really shameless.”

“—I rather call it being honest.”

The duke sighed, and called the butler. “Guide him—”

“My wife!”

Arrow paused. “...... Lead my wife to our shared bed chambers.”

Rose was satisfied and obediently followed the butler. “I’ll see you tonight, hubby~! I’ll make sure to prepare myself very well for you!”

Arrow’s mouth thinned. His ears burned as he turned away and the doors closed.

Sitting back on his chair and looking at the documents calmed him down to think some more. “My wife, huh.”

The duke leaned back, and looked up at the ceiling as he closed his eyes.

He expected the ridicule, but he didn’t expect for the event to turn out this way. A trash and a monster … It felt very fitting.

It also seemed that being trash was just an act.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to live life happily by doing whatever we wanted—as the villains?”

The corners of his lips upturned as Arrow opened his eyes. “... It would be.”

He also didn’t like being pushed around and used by others.

Since he had come this far, building everything around him from scratch, why can’t he be overbearing then?

Wasn’t he a monster after all?

“Then I should play the part properly.”

[sprnklersplashes]

dead swan walking

Cursed!CS smut (but not very detailed) set in an alternate season 7. Rogers refers to cursed OG Killian and Jenny refers to cursed Emma Swan.

AO3

“Swan!” Killian runs up beside her, his voice shaking and desperate, a far cry from the smooth talking, innuendo swinging man she met on the beanstalk. Back then she had raised eyebrows at him open arms and fought the urge to sigh when he slipped his hook around her arm and drew her close to check her cut hand.

She grabs that arm now and pulls it across her body, her eyes not once leaving the black clouds spreading across the still morning sky, taking over the red hue painted by the rising sun.

Red sky at morning, shepherd’s warning, isn’t that the expression?

Hope and Henry are deep in the forest, running to find the wardrobe to take them out of the curse. It’s only half-finished; Lady Tremaine’s curse came earlier than they could have anticipated and they’re working on an awful lot of hope, but it’s all they have. She wouldn’t have called her daughter Hope if she didn’t believe in it.

“You’re shaking,” she comments with an empty smirk. “Hope it’s not because of me.” He huffs a laugh and kisses the back of her head, pulling her tighter against his chest like he can ward the curse off her himself. Maybe he can, he’s done more for her in the past.

She turns around in his arms, harder than you’d think when he’s practically squeezing the air out of her, and tilts her chin up to look at him, green eyes meeting blue. She puts her hand on the side of his face, memorising the curve of his cheek, his long eyelashes and stupid elf ears she likes to make fun of.

“I love you.” It’s a formality at this point, but she says it anyway.

“I know,” he jokes weakly. He doesn’t even know what he’s quoting.

She wants to kiss him. She wants to pull those lips against hers and forget everything, but in about ninety seconds that’ll be her reality anyway. So instead she buries herself in his chest, familiarising herself with the beat of his heart and the curve of his chest and the way his hair feels between her fingers.

She crosses those fingers now, for luck. Everything relies on Henry and Hope getting to the wardrobe in time.

Sometimes she wishes she wasn’t such a damn realist.

“Buying over?” Jenny asks, her voice so high it’s a wonder it doesn’t shatter the glasses hanging overhead. Belfry raises a smug eyebrow at her, leaning back in her barstool and flicking her golden-brown hair back. Jenny clenches her fist and presses it into the counter in an attempt to expel her anger. “What do you mean… buying over.”

“I mean I’m buying your bar over,” she says, talking slowly as though she was a child. It takes every ounce of self-control Jenny has not to reach across the bar and smack the self-righteous smirk off her face. “I’ve liked this little spot you’ve bagged here and thought I could make something of it. More than you are.”

“You can’t do this,” she says in a low voice. “You can’t. I have the right to this business!”

“Yes, you do. What you don’t have the right to is the building. I do. Every building along this street is owned by me and I have the right to use them in any way I want. You rented this place from me, Miss Bird. And as of now I’m terminating your contract.” She takes another pristine page out of her bag and slides it over the bar. “Take a look.”

Jenny’s knees buckle as she reads it, black print standing out starkly and mocking her. Every word is the truth, no matter how unfair it is. Belfry goes on about how come Monday the place is hers and Jenny has the weekend to clear out all her things and find a new job, but its white noise to her. All she can hear is her thudding heart in her ears and the memories of past rejections and her parents’ sighs of disappointment.

“I’ll see you on Monday to exchange the keys,” Belfry tells her, boredom evident in her tone. She gets up but walks away slowly, savouring the moment, eyeing every corner of the little bar Jenny’s called her own since… she can’t even remember. “I think I’ll turn it into a take away place. A healthy one. All that falafel and salad malarkey my Anna’s been on really got me thinking.” She doesn’t turn back for a response. If she did, Jenny’s pretty sure it would have been ‘go to hell’. Instead she strides out, pushing the door open and leaving her alone. The overhead light flickers and the tap at the bar drips incessantly despite her best efforts. She guesses that’s not her problem any more.

The streets are deserted when she walks home. Of course they would be; it’s so early in the morning that even the Seattle club scene has died down. The only people insane enough to be up right now are the drunk and the hopeless. She’s the latter, despite the shots she did in the bar after Belfry left.

And she’s mad. Holy fuck is she mad. Mad at Belfry mostly, but also mad at the world. Belfry’s just a product of it. Doesn’t excuse her, of course it doesn’t, but she knows how the world works. They’re all built into the woodworks of the capitalist system and despite what they’re led to believe in grade school, her name is carved into the lower rung of the ladder and Belfry’s at the top. She’s not pleading poverty at least. But she’s not living like Belfry and her daughters are either. She sells bits to make ends meet and they buy shoes they’ll wear once. She decides which bills can wait; they decide which car to drive that morning. It’s not fair and she knows it, so she’s not crying over it, despite the droplets on her face.

She presses her fist into her hand, biting the inside of her cheek in a bid to dispel the anger inside of her. That bar is hers. Belfry owns the building but never cared once for it, not even after it fell into Jenny’s hands. She is the one who lay on her back, sweat on her skin and sawdust in her mouth, screwing countertops on and who broke her back carrying kegs and taps inside. She is the one whose eyes were burning at 2am because she was writing down what she needed and how much. She is the one whose shoulders were aching after she carried crates of drink into that building and whose arms trembled after she set them all out. She is the one who spent her budget on placards and drink menus and the stained glass window claiming the place as hers.

Belfry could break that in one movement. It’s legal after all.

She slams her fist into the wall, desperate to feel something and to blame the tears on something other than her own stupid problems. She cradles it in her hand, setting her options out in front of her. She can go home, chug a bottle of whiskey and sprawl out on her bed. She can keep wandering the streets for the next twelve hours as if something’s going to come out that’s going to turn her shitty situation around. She can go back to the bar and actually get a head start on clearing up-

A light above her catches her eye; standing outside an apartment block, she sees a light switched on in a window. And not just any window. The same window she was on the other side of a while back, answering questions for a certain detective, the silhouette of whom she can see now, pulling on a t-shirt, his hair no doubt dishevelled and unruly after him having to keep it neat all day.

Her tongue darts out to the corner of her mouth as she realises another option; spend these eight hours getting freaky.

In the blink of an eye she’s pulling herself up over the low wall that surrounds the apartment block and her feet land on the solid soil on the other side, scattered with short blades of grass. She crosses the garden in double quick time, partially to escape the cold Seattle air. She cranes her neck, frowning. He’s on the third floor. And it’s not as though she can walk in the front door and use the elevator.

She takes a step back, shaking out her cold hands. She’s probably a hair’s length away from insane, looking around to make sure no one can see her (as if anyone would be out this late) and takes a few steps back, shaking out her hands. Just like fifth grade gymnastics, right? She won the bronze for that.

His window is closed and locked, as any sane man’s would be. Behind the curtain, she sees his shadow freeze, the outline of his shoulders tense and in the midst of everything, she’s sorry for the scare she’s giving him. Almost sorry enough to stop. Not sorry enough not to snap off his window lock.

Normally she’d knock but she doesn’t have the time.

“Miss Bird?” he asks as she stumbles over his window frame and lands in an unladylike heap on his carpet. She’s never seen his room, or his flat before, and wasn’t quite sure what she was expecting. Maybe stark white walls and black carpet, matching the no-nonsense, dedicated detective the town knows. Not flower patterned wallpaper and green carpeting in any case.

The man himself is half-standing and clad in pyjamas caught between pushing her out the window himself or calling the cops. Which would be him, she guesses.

“Miss… Jenny?” he begins, his shaking voice betraying his authority. Jenny pulls herself to her feet, yanking on her shirt to straighten it and tossing her hair out of her eyes. “What are you doing in my room?”

“Shh, shh, shh, shut up!” she replies sharply, waving her hand wildly in front of him. It’s his face, his eyes wide and his mouth half-open, that makes her remember herself. She flips her hair over her shoulder and strolls towards him, the grace and poise remembered from her old days, just starting out as a bartender, sweet talking tips out of older gentlemen. “Had to see you. Thing is, I decided I must ride you ‘til I break you.”

“Oh,” he squeaks, his cheeks pink. “Any um… any particular reason?”

“Well,” she sighs. She bites her lip, his comfort far, far too tempting. She could collapse in his arms and sob her heart out and tell him everything if she were here for comfort. But she’s not. So she falls back on an old habit and closes that door in her mind, the one that makes her think she might matter to someone. “Belfry. She says me and my bar have to go which makes you-” She pokes his chest firmly. “My last meal on death row. Now shut your mouth and lose the pyjama pants.”

“Why me?”

“What?”

“You could have any guy in town,” he points out. “Any man you like. Why pick me out of all of them?”

Crap, she thinks. She could give any reason; he was awake, he was there, he was close. Instead, before she even knows what she’s doing, her hands are on his shoulders, her touch gentle, their foreheads a breath apart. She has no right to be as scared as she is. Her mouth has no right being as dry as it is.

“Because… because you’re beautiful,” she says after what feels like an eternity. “And I know you have that lone wolf cop type thing going on but I think it’s an act. And the world is stupid and unfair and you know that and I know that and I want to lock it out there and pretend it doesn’t exist. I want to pretend that it’s beautiful.” She shrugs off her jacket and tosses it to the side. Her next sentence is both a demand and a question. “Let’s make this beautiful.”

“That works for me.”

And that’s all she needs.

She throws him onto the bed and pounces on top of him, kissing him hard while tangling her fingers in his hair. She allows him to sit up just enough to take that t-shirt off so she can drag her nails down his back, hoping she leaves a mark. If that doesn’t manage it, the way she’s sucking on his neck most definitely will. She uses all of her old tricks, some she thought she’d forgotten, some she can’t even remember learning. She kisses his neck slowly and his lips fast, digs her nails into his hips and pinning his hands above his head, being sure to always hold a little back, leaving him smiling and panting and wanting and begging.

He’s not half-bad himself, despite what she believes is lack o experience. He’s more than happy to follow her lead and obey every instruction, slapping her when he’s told to and pulling her hair on command, but he’s not totally submissive to her. He kisses her breast, then her neck, then the underside of her jaw. Even when she guides his hand he surprises her, massaging the skin gently or trailing his fingers to make her shiver. She picked a good one.

“Think we can break your bed?” she whispers in his ear, feeling herself close to finishing. She’s a little disappointed if she’s honest. She wasn’t quite ready for this to end.

“Think you already did that to my mattress, love,” he says.

“Rock this girl, then,” she commands. “Hope you weren’t counting on sleeping tonight.” She grabs the headboard with one hand and him with the other, kissing him with everything she can, a jolt of heat flashing between their lips as he keeps his hips rolling beneath her. She gasps a little, something hot rolling down her cheek. Could be sweat and she tells herself it is, because she won’t be the woman who cries during sex. “Make this whole town disappear.”

“As you wish,” he says, gasping a little between the words.  “Emma.”

A low moan she barely recognises escapes her lips, her body shuddering as the rolling of their bodies slows and nearly stops altogether. There’s a name on her lips that she can’t quite place, an image of wild dark hair and blue eyes.

She pushes herself off him and stares at the ceiling, breathless. Rogers lays beside her, his chest rising and falling rapidly. They sit in silence, or as much silence as they can allow, their bodies warm and sticky, her hair clinging to her shoulders. Common sense begins to come back to her, having taken its sweet time, and she flushes red, this time not from warmth or exertion.

“Wow,” he says after a while, his voice high. She doesn’t bother hiding her laugh as he coughs and tries to lower it. “That was….”

“Not bad,” she says.

“Is that my rating?” he teases. Even flat on her back, she can feel his smirk, normally hidden behind the mask of the strait laced detective with a too-big shirt.

“I don’t give ratings,” she tells him, daring to turn her head to look at him. “Whatever you might have heard.”

“I’ve heard nothing,” he replies. He swallows and bites his lip. A sarcastic remark enters her mind but he interrupts her before she can say it. “So Belfry…”

“I don’t want to talk about Belfry,” she says suddenly, looking back up at the ceiling. That’s what she came here for, to forget her, to forget everything.

“Indeed. Apologies.” She hums in acknowledgement, needing a change in conversation.

“Was that your first?”

“Jenny!” he squeaks. “Hardly an appropriate question.”

“What?” she laughs. “You’ll let a girl break into your house and ride you like a pony but you’ll draw the line at her asking about your sexual past.”

“Well it’s not a very sexual past,” he says. “Yes, Miss Bird, you were my first. Happy?”

“I’ll wear it like a badge of honour,” she promises. “But you know, for future reference most people don’t like being called a different name during sex.” She turns onto her side and finds him doing the same, frowning in puppy-like confusion. She raises an eyebrow. Not like she cares. Not like it meant anything. “Who’s Emma?”

“Emma?” he repeats. It’s a pretty name, and it sounds pretty with his voice. “I don’t know an Emma.”

“You clearly do,” she says. “I said ‘make this whole town disappear’. You said, ‘As you wish, Emma’.” She shrugs, her shoulder dragging against his mattress. “I’m not mad. Just curious. Who is she? An ex?”

“I have no idea,” he says softly. “I know I said it, but I’ve never met an Emma in my life.” She snorts and flips onto her back.

“You sound like my ex,” she says. “Exes. Never met an Emma, never met a Caroline, never met a Jennifer. You men are all the same.”

“I swear to you, love,” he says. “I have no idea who Emma is.”

He’s a good actor. Really good. His voice small and confused, his eyes moving around as he pretends to look through his mind, feigning innocence. It’s kind of cute, she guesses.

“I almost believe you,” she says. She presses her cheek further into the pillow, the adrenaline wearing off and the night catching up with her. “Now shut it, I’m tired and I need sleep.”

“As you wish.” She huffs a laughs as she closes her eyes, the weight of the blanket covering over her. “Jenny.”