#AND BRIGHT ORANGE WITH A BLACK DROP SHADOW!!!!!!!

[margindoodles2407]

WHY is our copy of the Catechism khaki with an orange drop-shadow font

[khioneee]

𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐃.

simon makes weekly visits to your flower shop, leaving you curious about the person he’s mourning.

pairing. simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

word count. 4.2k

Every Tuesday, exactly at three in the afternoon—never a minute early, never a minute late—he walks into the shop. Simon always looks the same: tired and drained, pale skin stark against the bruised shadows under his eyes. The cracked red of his lips stands out like a wound, and the way he moves, slow and heavy, makes it seem like sorrow clings to him, weighing him down like an old coat that doesn’t quite fit. Among the bright flowers and soft light of the shop, he stands out like a dark cloud against a summer sky.

"Just a bouquet," he mutters, his voice rough, as though speaking is a struggle.

You grip the counter a little tighter, his presence unsettling yet familiar by now. "Any flowers in particular?" you ask, knowing what the answer will be.

"Doesn’t matter," he says, shaking his head. "Whatever works. I’m not staying long."

He avoids your gaze, as he always does, like looking at you would be too much. The question lingers at the edge of your tongue—Who are the flowers for? Why every week?—but you hold it back. The weight that surrounds him warns against prying too deep, like a thin layer of ice ready to crack.

Instead, you turn away and begin gathering the flowers. You choose yellow and orange roses, soft lilies, daisies, and carnations—delicate blooms that contrast with his rough edges. For some reason, the usual kraft paper wrap feels wrong today, so you arrange them in a small white basket instead.

He always drops more than enough money into the animal shelter’s donation bucket by the door, so you add a few extra roses—your own small gesture to a man who seems to be carrying too much on his back.

When you finish, you find him standing at the far end of the store, idly turning over small trinkets in his large hands. His fingers brush the edges of old picture frames and porcelain figurines, movements careful, almost reverent, like he’s touching something that once meant something.

You approach him quietly, the bouquet in hand. "Will you be back next week?" you ask softly as you hold the flowers out to him.

Your fingers brush his—just for a second—and it’s enough to make him freeze in place. His breath catches, and something shifts in him, like a fault line trembling just beneath the surface. His expression flickers, the tired vacancy in his eyes replaced by a sharp, aching sorrow.

"I… I shouldn’t be here," he mutters under his breath, as if he’s only now realizing it. His hand retreats from the bouquet, and for a moment, he stands there, lost, as though the ground beneath him has crumbled.

Before you can say anything, he takes a step back, stiff and disoriented, his shoulders weighed down by something unseen. "Sorry…" he mumbles, though you’re not sure who the apology is meant for.

Then, without another word, he turns and strides toward the door. The bells jingle softly as it swings open, letting in a gust of cold, rain-scented air. You watch as he disappears into the storm, swallowed by the rain, leaving only the faint scent of flowers—and the feeling that he’s carrying far more than anyone ever should.

You don’t see Simon for three long weeks. And when he returns, it’s not inside the shop—but at three in the morning, under the flickering glow of a streetlamp outside.

He stands there like a shadow—silent, worn, and distant, as if he exists somewhere far from this moment. His hood is pulled low over his unkempt hair, and his black jacket, torn across the chest, looks like it’s been through just as much as he has. One hand rests in the pocket of his jeans, the other dangles at his side, knuckles split and raw, as if he’s been fighting battles no one else can see.

At his feet lies a crushed rose, its petals scattered near the bushes where it must have fallen. And for a moment, you wonder if his heart lies there too—shattered and discarded among the ruins.

You step out into the quiet street, the cold biting your skin as you approach. Words linger on the tip of your tongue, but you’re not sure if anything you say will be enough. The silence between you is thick, oppressive, as if the night itself is holding its breath.

A distant siren wails through the empty streets, and a group of strangers staggers past, their drunken laughter too loud for the hour. One bumps into your shoulder, and the force sends you off-balance—straight into Simon.

He catches you easily, his grip steady and firm. But he doesn’t react. No flicker of emotion, no sound—just the same vacant stare, his gaze lost somewhere you can’t follow.

"Does any of this even matter?" His voice is low, frayed, and cold, as if it’s been left out too long, ready to snap.

You crouch down, gathering the crushed petals by his feet. "What do you mean?" you ask softly, trimming away the thorns with the small scissors always tucked in your work bag.

"Buying flowers for someone who’s gone…" He pauses, his words falling heavily from his lips. "What’s the point? They’ll never see them. They’ll never know they were meant for them."

The crack in his voice is small, but it slices through the night, sharp and raw. You know that kind of grief—the kind that lingers beneath the surface, waiting for a moment to break free.

"Maybe it’s not for them," you say gently. "Maybe it’s for… the ones left behind. Trying to find something beautiful in the loss."

For a moment, his gaze softens. Just slightly. Just enough for you to see the exhaustion hidden beneath the rough edges.

"Do you need a ride home?" you offer, voice careful, trying not to push too hard.

He shakes his head, glancing down the empty street, his expression slipping back into something unreadable. "I shouldn’t have come here," he mutters, raking a hand through his tangled hair, frustration bleeding into his tone.

"You called," you remind him quietly. "Don’t you remember?"

You must be insane, coming after a man this massive. When his call came, you answered without hesitation, not stopping to think how reckless it was to trust a customer you knew nothing about. Rationality had left you somewhere along the way.

“Such a savior you are.” A bitter laugh escapes him, more a sigh than sound. "You shouldn’t waste your kindness on someone like me."

After months of quiet visits and fleeting conversations, it’s hard to believe he was ever a stranger. You’ve learned the way he pulls away just before he opens up, the way sorrow clings to him like an old wound that refuses to heal.

Simon flicks open a lighter, the tiny flame flickering between his fingers. The cigarette at his lips glows faintly as he inhales, the smoke curling into the cold air.

"You shouldn’t try to save me," he mutters, more to himself than to you. "I’m already lost."

You don’t push him for answers, knowing he won’t give them. "I’ll call a cab," you say gently.

"Why?" His voice cracks, raw and tired. The cigarette trembles slightly between his fingers. "Why are you being kind to me?"

Your heart tightens with the weight of everything you can’t explain. There’s no logic to how you feel—no clear reason for the pull that keeps drawing you to him. All you know is that ever since Simon walked into your shop, something within you shifted, and the thought of letting him slip away now feels unbearable.

"I don’t have anywhere to go," he admits quietly, his voice breaking under the weight of the confession. "She’s gone. There’s no one left."

The way he says it. It’s not just a statement. It’s a confession, a truth too heavy to carry alone.

"Loving someone that much…" You search for the right words, careful not to tread too heavily. "It’s not something you just let go of. It stays with you because it mattered."

He doesn’t answer right away, his gaze drifting toward the sky where the moon hides behind thick clouds. The weight of the night presses down on both of you, but you stand there with him, sharing the quiet until it feels just a little less overwhelming.

And this time, Simon doesn’t walk away.

Simon’s frame fills the entrance, broad and imposing, but the way he stands, rigid and hesitant, makes him seem smaller somehow—weighed down by something invisible yet heavy.

"Hi, Simon," you greet him gently, already sensing the weight he carries. "Visiting her grave today?"

For a moment, his expression flickers, as if your words pulled him back from somewhere far away. "Who—?" He catches himself, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Yeah… yeah, I am."

You nod, knowing better than to press. Some things are only said when the time is right. "Anything specific you’d like for the bouquet?"

He shakes his head, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Whatever you think is nice… something you’d like."

The simplicity of his words catches you off guard, unexpectedly personal. Your breath hitches, but you hide it behind a small smile. You step behind the counter and begin gathering flowers: soft pink roses, delicate white lilies, and sprigs of lavender. Something light, hopeful, but not too much—a bouquet that balances beauty and sorrow without overwhelming either.

The silence stretches between you. Not uncomfortable, but thick with things unsaid. You can feel his gaze following your hands, watching as you arrange the flowers with practiced care. You wonder what it must be like for him, visiting her grave week after week, carrying a grief that never really leaves.

"It can’t be easy, coming by this often," you say gently, your voice soft as you focus on the bouquet. "That must be hard."

He shifts slightly, his shoulders sagging under the weight of something invisible. "No… it’s not," he admits, his voice low and rough, as if the words scrape on the way out. "But it feels right. I’ll do anything to see her."

You pause, heart aching at the rawness in his voice. As you finish tying the bouquet with a soft ribbon, you hand it to him. "She must have been lucky to have you," you whisper. "If you’ve been giving her flowers this often."

Simon’s hand hovers over the bouquet for a second, the compliment hitting him deeper than you expected. He shakes his head slowly, a sad, bittersweet smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Not as lucky as I was to have her," he murmurs, voice quiet but filled with something raw and unguarded.

For a moment, the world narrows to the two of you. His hand brushing against yours as he takes the bouquet, the warmth of his fingers a sharp contrast to the cold weight of his words.

"I'm sorry, by the way," he mutters, glancing down at the flowers, then back at you. "For disturbing you the other night."

His apology catches you off guard, not because it’s needed, but because it’s so unexpected coming from him.

"It’s alright," you say softly, offering a small smile. "You didn’t disturb me."

Simon gives you a subtle nod, as if the exchange carries more meaning than either of you will say aloud. Then, with the bouquet cradled gently in his hands, he turns toward the door.

The bell chimes softly as he steps out into the night, vanishing into the shadows beyond the streetlamp’s flickering glow. You stand there for a moment longer, heart heavy with something unnameable.

Simon’s presence was different today—darker, heavier. The quiet energy that usually followed him had given way to something more burdensome. His broad shoulders sagged as if carrying the world, and his gaze was distant, clouded with thoughts too deep to share.

You offered him a small smile, though you could feel the tension radiating from him. “Hey, Simon.”

He tried to return the gesture, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Hey,” he muttered, voice thin and tired, like it barely crossed the space between you.

Concern stirred in your chest, tugging you away from the counter. “You seem… off today. Wanna get out of here for a bit?”

He blinked, surprised by the suggestion, but didn’t protest. Maybe he was too tired to refuse.

“Come on,” you said, grabbing your jacket from the hook by the door. “I’ve got a place I think you’ll like.”

The drive was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Simon sat beside you, his gaze fixed on the passing scenery, lost in thoughts he wasn’t ready to share. You didn’t press him. The hum of the tires on the road filled the silence, carrying the two of you away from the noise of town and into somewhere softer, quieter.

The sun hung low in the sky by the time you arrived, casting the field ahead of you in warm hues of gold and lavender. Wildflowers swayed gently beneath the breeze, stretching out toward the horizon as if they could touch the fading light.

Simon stepped out of the car slowly, his breath catching slightly as he took in the sight before him. The field seemed endless, open and free—a stark contrast to the burdens he carried.

You sat cross-legged among the flowers, and Simon followed, settling beside you with his arms draped over his knees, staring out at the horizon like he was searching for something lost in the past.

For a long time, neither of you spoke, the breeze carrying the scent of flowers and filling the silence between you. Eventually, Simon’s voice broke through, low and rough like a confession.

“It’s been a year… since she passed.”

The words were simple, but they carried the weight of deep, unrelenting grief. His gaze stayed fixed on the sunset, as if watching the sun disappear beneath the earth brought him closer to her.

“I’m sorry, Simon,” you whispered, wishing there was more you could offer him. “What was she like?”

At first, he stayed quiet, and you wondered if you had asked too much. But then, in a voice soft with nostalgia, he said, “A lot like you.”

The simplicity of the statement caught you off guard.

“How so?” you asked, glancing toward him.

A faint, bittersweet smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“She loved flowers,” he murmured. “Used to fill the apartment with them, even though I told her it was too much. She’d just laugh and say there was no such thing as too many flowers.”

You could see it clearly—a home bursting with blooms, her laughter filling every corner, her presence bringing life to everything she touched. Now, it made sense why he returned to your shop so often.

Hoping to ease the heaviness in the air, you plucked a dandelion from the ground and held it toward him with a playful grin.

“Make a wish.”

Simon eyed the dandelion, a tired chuckle slipping from his lips.

“Wishes don’t work like that,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Maybe not,” you said, twirling the stem between your fingers. “But it’s worth a shot, isn’t it?”

He huffed another quiet laugh, the sound brief but genuine.

“Any chance you got a whole field of these somewhere?”

You tilted your head in mock consideration. “Not yet,” you teased. “But we’ve got this one, and I’d say that’s a good start.”

He shakes his head lightly, but the corners of his mouth lift ever so slightly. It’s a small smile—barely there—but it’s something, and that’s enough for now.

After that quiet evening in the field of flowers, something shifted between you and Simon. His visits became longer, lingering beyond the brief exchanges of bouquets. What had once been fleeting moments stretched into hours—sometimes the entire day—as if your presence gave him a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in years.

But Simon didn’t just idle. He threw himself into the heavy work around the shop without a word. If there were heavy pots to lift or supplies to haul, Simon was already on it before you could even ask.

"I’ve got it," he would mutter whenever you tried to help, brushing you off with that quiet determination. He lifted bags of soil with ease, rearranged displays as if it was nothing, and hauled boxes of supplies like they weighed no more than feathers. He’d even repair things you hadn’t realized were broken—fixing wobbly shelves or leaky faucets without waiting to be asked.

He worked with an intensity that didn’t match the simplicity of the tasks, as if lifting heavy things or rearranging displays was more than just helping—it was his way of staying close to you. The repetition, the quiet rhythm of it, seemed to steady something deep inside him, keeping him grounded. If exhausting himself with work meant he could be near you a little longer, he’d do it without a second thought.

Some days, the two of you would talk as you worked side by side. You’d tell him the little frustrations of the shop—how the clippers were always dull, or how the ribbon spools always seemed to run out at the worst time. You’d walk him through the same explanations, over and over again, with the same quiet enthusiasm every time. And every time, Simon would listen. Closely. Intently. Like your words were something invaluable.

But the truth was, it wasn’t new to him.

He knew the rhythm of your voice, the way you moved effortlessly between tasks, your hands brushing over scissors, twine, and ribbons with ease. It was too familiar, a life he once knew—now distant, fragmented, slipping through his fingers.

And every time you smiled at him, he had to remind himself: She doesn’t remember. She doesn’t know me.

You weren’t the same woman who had once filled his life with flowers and light. The way you arranged bouquets, the way you laughed, the way you tilted your head when you talked—it was all a little different now. Not enough for most to notice, but to Simon, the subtle differences were glaring.

And still, the pull of familiarity was there, undeniable.

There were moments when he stood too close, lingering a little too long, as if searching your face for something lost to time. When the memories became too sharp, he’d force himself to remember: She’s not her. She’s not the same.

But the words didn’t stop the way his heart softened toward you.

The quiet comfort of your presence, the sound of your voice filling the shop like sunlight through the windows—he found himself craving it. If he could stay busy hauling heavy pots, rearranging shelves, or carrying supplies just to stay close, then that was what he would do.

You weren’t the same woman he’d lost. But in ways that scared him more than anything, you were becoming just as important.

“Here,” you said, holding the flower out to him.

Hyuck blinked, caught off guard. “For me?”

You nodded, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah. It suits you.”

He stared at the rose in your hand, hesitant at first, as if he didn’t quite know what to do with it. But then, with a small, uncertain smile, he reached out and took it. His fingers brushed against yours in the exchange—soft, fleeting, but enough to make something stir quietly between you.

“Why a rose?” he asked, twirling the stem between his fingers.

You shrugged, tilting your head thoughtfully. “Because it’s beautiful, obviously.”

He gave a short laugh, the kind that carried both amusement and disbelief. “Did it remind you of me?”

“Maybe,” you teased, your grin widening. “Or maybe you just needed one. Ever think of that?”

He looked down at the rose in his hands, the smile lingering on his lips. For a moment, the usual shadows behind his eyes seemed to lift, replaced by something softer.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his voice quiet but sincere.

You leaned against the counter beside him, close enough that your shoulders nearly touched. “Roses are special, you know. They mean different things depending on who gives them.”

He glanced at you, curious. “And what does it mean when you give one to me?”

You smiled, the answer slipping out before you could stop it. “It means I want you to keep coming back.”

For a moment, Simon just looked at you, his expression unreadable. His breath hitched, and the weight of your words settled between you like the scent of roses on a warm breeze. Something flickered in his eyes, something that looked almost like recognition, but not quite.

He gave the rose a little twirl between his fingers before tucking it carefully into the pocket of his jacket, as if it were something precious.

"I’ll keep coming back," he whispered, the words low like a vow meant only for the two of you.

In that quiet moment, surrounded by flowers and the slow hum of the day, something shifted between you—something delicate, like the first petals of a rose unfurling under the warmth of spring. You felt it bloom, soft and new, even though you couldn’t fully name it.

But Simon knew.

Because as much as he tried to convince himself that you weren’t the same woman he had once loved—weren’t the same person who had filled his world with light—this moment, the way you smiled at him, felt like a memory he had been chasing for years.

And as he stood there, with a rose tucked safely in his jacket and the sound of your voice lingering in the air, he knew he was already lost to you—just as he had been once before.

And this time, no matter how hard he tried, he wasn’t sure he could let go.

So, Simon stayed—lifting, moving, fixing—working himself to the bone, not because the tasks needed doing, but because he needed this. Needed you. Even if you didn’t know who he was, even if you couldn’t remember the life you once shared, he remembered enough for both of you.

And being near you, no matter how different things were, was better than being without you at all.

The evening settled over the quiet town, the cool air thick with the scents of late autumn and flowers nearing the end of their bloom. Simon's steps dragged as he made his way toward your flower shop, exhaustion settling deep in his bones from weeks away on deployment. His body was used to this kind of weariness, but the heaviness in his chest, that was something else entirely.

Between his fingers, he toyed with the rose. The one you’d given him weeks ago, now dry and brittle, its once-vibrant petals curled and shriveled. He had carried it with him everywhere, like a lifeline, as if holding onto it might somehow keep him connected to you.

As he approached the familiar glow of the shop’s windows, Simon slowed. When he peered through the glass, he froze.

You were inside, dancing under the soft overhead lights—not alone, but with another man. His hands rested at your waist, and your smile was radiant, carefree in a way Simon hadn’t seen in what felt like a lifetime. Even through the glass, he could see the happiness in your face. Happiness that used to belong to the two of you.

The knot in his chest twisted painfully. He knew things had changed. People moved on, especially when left with no answers, no promises. But seeing you like this, with someone else, felt like a knife to the gut he wasn’t ready for.

He thought of the accident—the one that had shattered your life and stolen your memories. The memory was jagged and relentless, lodged in his mind like a blade he couldn’t pull out. He could still hear the screech of tires, the shatter of glass, and your voice, soft and afraid, just before everything went dark.

You had been with him that night. Trusted him. And he had failed. The guilt twisted in his chest, blooming like thorns, sharp and unforgiving. If he had been more careful, maybe you wouldn’t have ended up in that hospital bed, lost to the world. Lost to him.

Inside, the man twirled you effortlessly, your laughter filling the shop with warmth. To you, the accident, the hospital, and everything you shared with Simon had never happened. But for Simon, it was a moment he could never escape. A scar that bled every time he thought of it.

He remembered sitting at your bedside in the hospital, the sterile smell of antiseptic filling the room. Your body had been bruised and broken beneath the white sheets, and your mom’s sharp voice echoed in his mind.

“You prick yourself because you don’t know how to take care of flowers,” she had said, her words as cold as the machines keeping you alive.

Simon hadn’t argued because she was right. He didn’t know how to care for flowers—or for you, not without breaking something delicate in the process. He’d tried. God, he’d tried. But trying hadn’t been enough. And now, he stood outside your shop, watching you dance with someone else—watching you live a life where he no longer had a place.

If it were before—before the accident, before the memories slipped away—he might have begged for more time. A proper goodbye. Maybe even a lifetime spent loving you until the flowers grew over his grave, the weeds plucked away so only beauty remained.

But now, he stood outside, a ghost at the edge of your new beginning.

The worst part wasn’t seeing you in someone else’s arms. It was knowing that you had no idea what you once meant to him. That every time you’d asked, "Visiting someone special?" you never realized it was you—your memory—he was mourning.

You didn’t remember the nights when your fingers ran gently through his hair, quieting his restless thoughts. You didn’t remember the mornings tangled in bedsheets that smelled like the roses from your shop, or the lazy afternoons when you’d hold up dandelions with that teasing grin of yours.

"Make a wish, Si," you’d say, eyes bright with playful mischief.

And every time, he’d push the flower back toward you with a soft, knowing smile. "I don’t need to. I already have everything I need."

And back then, it had been true.

But now, standing outside your shop with the brittle rose clutched between his fingers, Simon realized just how much he had lost. Not just you, but the version of himself who once believed love could be enough.

He knelt slowly at the threshold, placing the dried rose among the wilted petals and fallen leaves scattered near the entrance. The petals cracked under his touch, their fragility mirroring the ache in his chest. He didn’t bother plucking the petals—didn’t need to play the old game of ‘she loves me, she loves me not.’ Love, he knew, didn’t need an answer. It just was, even if it went unremembered.

Through the window, he watched you again, the man spinning you under the soft light, your laughter carrying in a way that felt like a distant memory.

And despite the sharp ache in his heart, Simon smiled—a small, sad thing, but genuine.

He had loved you once. More deeply than words could ever express. He still did. Even if you didn’t remember. Even if you never would.

Maybe that had to be enough.

With a deep breath, Simon tucked his hands into his pockets and turned away from the shop, his boots heavy against the pavement as he walked into the night. Behind him, the dried rose rested among the dead petals and brittle leaves, marking the spot where he let you go—not because he wanted to, but because he had no other choice.

The cool night air wrapped around him as he walked down the empty street. He thought of those dandelion afternoons, how you used to hold the flowers up to him with a grin, urging him to make a wish.

And for the first time, Simon let himself wonder what he would wish for now, if given the chance. But deep down, he knew the truth. No wish could bring back the version of you who had once loved him.

With your laugh still lingering in his mind, Simon kept walking.

It wasn’t the ending he wanted, but it was the one he had.

And this time, he would learn to live with it.

[fartistt]

MAKE YOU MINE!

would you take someone else's hand if you had the chance?

fem reader

warning(s): fanon personality, fanon name, i'm writing this fic literally hours after the video dropped we deadass know nothing about this guy -🍝

if you enjoyed reading this fic, please consider donating to providing aid in palestine!

skelly, as much as he hates to admit it, has to come face-to-face with the fact that his little pumpkin patch has developed a bit of a trespasser issue. normally he wouldn’t mind—after all, what kind of pumpkin king would he be if he weren’t to share the spoils and wonders of his humble kingdom with the rest of his people—if it weren’t for the fact that whoever kept romping about his lovely abode wasn’t like the other pumpkin patch visitors.

see, skelly considers himself to be a gracious host. he is the pumpkin king, and the duty of any good ruler is to ensure that everyone within the gates, or in his case: sprawling fence, of his kingdom is enveloped in joy thanks to his wise governing. be they the resident mice or a lost passerby, his responsibility is to make sure they all leave with a wide grin. macabre perhaps, but his best dealings are in sparking happiness through the morbid. 

but you.

each time you come to his pumpkin patch, you come ready to burst into tears. your eyes are watery and glossy, vision undoubtedly blurry as you stumble over the pumpkins through the pitch black dark of the night. the first few times you’d come to the safe haven of his pumpkin kingdom to sniffle your eyes out, he ignored it. he figured you came here after something sad to cheer yourself up and would want space more than the consolation of a pale, creepy lonesome man, but once it becomes a semi-routinely occurrence, he makes the sage decision that now your issues have fallen under his jurisdiction.

isn’t he such a benevolent ruler? he knows it’s wrong to find excitement in someone’s despair, but he can hardly remember the last time he’s had a proper, breathing human visitor. it’s like fate, like destiny itself has drawn you from whatever it is causing you this much sadness and into the soothing comfort of his soon-to-be embraces.

“don’t you worry ‘bout a thing, sweet darling. i’ll be right there,” he hums to no one in particular when the quiet sounds of your clumsy footsteps alert him to your reentrance into his pumpkin patch. he thinks that he looks rather dapper, dressed to the nines in his finest tattered suit and pulling on a matching pair of gloves decorated with bone motifs. “your dearest king is but your humble servant. soon enough, i shall turn that melancholy of yours into unabated joy for none other than me. a far better outcome than whatever is ailing you, don’t you agree?”

there’s no one to respond to him, but he still stretches his dry lips into a satisfied smile. the final touch is his trusty pair of dark sunglasses. a good king never shows his true emotions even during the simplest of diplomatic journeys. that, and he doesn’t want to scare you with his bright orange eyes from the get-go.

it doesn’t take him long to find you. you’re planted in the heart of the pumpkin patch, ensconced and hidden away in the comfort of the long shadows of the night, hunched over and wiping futilely at your eyes while big fat tears drip over your waterline. the sight of you crying makes skelly’s heart wrench inside of his chest. what in the world could possibly make such a sweet creature like you cry like this?

he clears his throat. he’s a gentleman, and he doesn’t want to scare away his lone guest. “my dear… what’s troubling you?”

his voice is soft and careful, but it still makes you gasp and jerk away reflexively. he doesn’t blame you: the last thing you’re expecting during your nightly trips to what you probably assumed was an abandoned pumpkin patch would be a tall, lanky man hovering over you while you cried. he stays in his place and holds his hands up in mock surrender as if to signal to you that he has no foul intentions.

you wipe at your eyes and peer up at him through your clumped lashes, the serene moonlight bouncing off of your wet cheeks. your voice wavers and cracks, “who… who are you?”

“oh! i’m so sorry,” he gasps, placing a hand over his heart. “where are my manners? you may call me skelly. i’m the ruler of this quaint pumpkin patch, so to say. some even call me the pumpkin king. a bit pompous, if i do say so myself. i’d say that maybe you’ve heard of me, but given how surprised you are… i’d wager that you haven’t.”

he flashes you an innocent smile. you know the smart thing would be to run and never look back, but when he squats down so that he’s eye level with you, some part of you can’t bring yourself to muster the strength to flee. you’re already this miserable, what’s the use in trying to wade off an inevitable end?

“so what brings you here? this isn’t the first time i’ve heard you sobbing your heart out. it makes me rather upset to see you this distraught. i’ll lend you an ear, so tell me your troubles.” you can make out the slight glint of his eyes past the dark lenses of his glasses. “maybe i can help you out.”

you bite the inside of your cheeks. your mind is frankly too frazzled to think things through too thoroughly, but you still know better than to spill your deepest darkest secrets to some stranger that crept up on you in the dead of the night in the middle of nowhere. but at the same time, you’re only here because you’re at your wit’s end with nobody to turn to, and a chance encounter like this with a seemingly benevolent being might be your last straw to grasp at desperately.

you suck in a nervous breath. “it’s… it’s silly, really. nothing that the- uh- pumpkin king needs to concern himself over. i’m being dramatic.”

his dry lips twist into a frown as he peers at you. “i doubt it’s anything silly if it’s enough to make you cry like this. you can tell me everything. i promise it. take a chance on me, why don’t you?”

you gaze up at him. his white skin, the strands of his snow white hair, the outline of his body, the silhouette of dark suit and all of the pale ribbons cascading from his chest all seem to glow under the illumination of the night. every part of his man, from his painted smiles to his practiced words, are too good to be true. it makes him look almost deceptively angelic, poised perfectly so that you have no choice but to hand over yourself to him. you should know better than to gamble on something that’s not guaranteed, but you’ve chosen security before only to be stabbed in the back mercilessly.

you swallow back whatever fear bubbles up from the depths of your heart. 

“um… i go to a school nearby. night raven college. it’s an all boys school. maybe you’ve heard of it,” the words tumble from your lips clumsily. your heart thunders inside of your chest. “i’m from… somewhere really far away. i can guarantee you haven’t heard of it. no one ever has. the headmaster promised me that he’d help me go home in time, but it’s been so long without any progress. i’m starting to think i’ll never go home.”

you sniffle and hang your head, wanting to bury your face back in your arms. you mumble under your breath, “and… i don’t want to speak badly of anyone… but i’m sick of the students at the school too. they’re all mean and selfish, and i’m just tired. i’m tired, skelly.”

something in his unmoving dead heart stirs slightly when you sigh out his name. he reaches over and places a soothing hand on your shoulder, and a shudder creeps down your spine when you feel just how cold his body is even through the layers of his gloves. it’s like ice against your skin, the grips of frost tracing your body.

“homesickness, is it? i don’t think your sadness is silly at all. it must have hurt you so badly to have to endure everything in such an unwelcoming place. poor thing,” he coos. “no wonder you come here so often. you must have suffered so much if you preferred being alone like this over spending another night in that awful school… if only i knew sooner! i would have done so much  more to make you feel welcome.”

you shake your head. “it’s not your fault. i was the one who was too trusting from the beginning. i… i should have never taken the headmaster’s hand through the mirror.”

you feel pitiful under his gaze, but at the same time, you can’t help but feel a knot deep inside of you loosen slightly at his honeyed words. it’s childish, to want to be pitied and cared for, but simultaneously, this was the bare minimum of everything you wanted. all you had asked was for a place to make your own while you waited for a way to return home, and even that much was too much to ask for from the incompetent schoolmaster and his equally intolerable students.

skelly smoothes down the fabric of your clothes on your shoulder, each stroke of his long fingers like the unforgiving touch of winter. it’s like he’s trying to comfort you, but you fight off the urge to shiver under his hand. 

“say…,” he starts after a pause of silence, “i know a pumpkin patch is a far cry from the amenities of a school, but if you don’t want to go back… you don’t have to. i know it’s sudden, and you surely don’t have to give me an answer right away if you don’t want to. but what if you were to stay here with me?”

you freeze. you blink slowly, twisting your head so that you’re looking at skelly again. he offers you a placid grin, shrugging his shoulders slightly. 

“stay here…?” you mumble. “with you?”

“precisely, my dear. i’ve been growing quite lonely all by myself too. i think we have a perfect deal! a pumpkin queen to a pumpkin king,” his words take on a more lively note. your stomach churns, and skelly claps his hands together. “i would never mistreat you the way those silly boys do. i’m a gentleman, first and foremost. i’ll make you feel at home right away. you won’t even have the time to miss that school and all of the misery it's put you through.”

temptation. you wish you were smarter. more resilient. more grounded to know better than to be swayed by the offer of a total stranger. but you’re at your rope’s end, and anything sounds better than the gilded cage that night raven college has become to you. would it be so bad to take a chance elsewhere? to follow a man who solemnly swears that you can put all of your suffering behind you if you only have the faith to look towards him without any regrets or doubts?

as if he can read your mind, skelly stands up and turns back towards you. he crouches down slightly, dipping forward into a subtle bow, and he holds out a gloved hand towards you.

this scene is all too familiar to you. it harkens you back to the first night you landed in this universe, everything warped and unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. the all knowing moon, the darkness threatening to swallow you whole, a dark robed stranger with promises of salvation dripping from their lips, and a chance to take back some semblance of control of your life that’s jumped from your reach. instead of a mirror, your reflection stares back at you with a lifelessness from the wide glass lenses hiding skelly’s eyes. 

it’s like you never learn, and a sense of foreboding washes over you as the pumpkin king’s disarming smile widens.

a hand extended to you. a hand taken.

this time around, you hope you’ve chosen correctly.

x

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[theodorenmyth]

Enzo and mattheo sharing a lover who’s socially awkward

Two Suns, One Moon

Pairings ; Mattheo Riddle x GN!Reader x Lorenzo Berkshire

Summary ; Being the quiet, socially awkward lover of the ever-energetic Lorenzo Berkshire and the mischievous Mattheo Riddle often leaves you feeling like a shadow beside two suns. But a peaceful afternoon by the Black Lake reminds you that even the moon has a vital role to play in balancing the brightness of their world. What starts as a tranquil moment turns playful when a splash of water ignites a lighthearted battle, bringing the three of you closer together, reminding you that you belong exactly where you are—right between them.

A/N ; literally two orange cats, one black cat, two suns, one moon, two energetics and 1 calm trope. I LOVE THIS

warnings); none

Word count ; 1.7k+

The Hogwarts courtyard was alive with the usual bustle of students, but you found yourself seeking the comfort of the quieter corners. You sat on the edge of a stone bench, the cold seeped through your robes, but it didn’t bother you. It was familiar, grounding, a stark contrast to the overwhelming energy that usually surrounded you.

“Hey, love,” a warm voice called out, snapping you from your thoughts. You looked up to see Lorenzo Berkshire approaching with that ever-present smile of his, like sunshine breaking through the clouds.

Beside him, Mattheo Riddle walked with his usual confident stride, his gaze already locked on you, dark eyes brimming with mischief.

“Found our little black cat, have we?” Mattheo teased, slipping onto the bench beside you, close enough that you could feel the heat of his body. Lorenzo chuckled as he took the spot on your other side, sandwiching you between them.

You swallowed, feeling a little self-conscious, as usual. They were so effortless in their presence, like twin suns, burning bright and drawing everyone into their orbit.

You, on the other hand, felt more like a shadow, fading into the background as soon as they appeared.

“Are you cold?” Lorenzo asked, noticing how tightly you had your arms wrapped around yourself.

“I’m okay,” you mumbled, looking down at your hands, twisting your fingers nervously. Mattheo gently tugged on your sleeve, drawing your attention back to him.

“Liar,” he said, though his tone was affectionate. “You’re freezing. Why didn’t you wait inside?”

“I didn’t want to be in the way,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Crowds always made you feel like you were on display, and being around people as lively as Lorenzo and Mattheo only amplified that feeling.

“Nonsense,” Lorenzo said, his arm coming around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “You’re never in the way, darling. We’d much rather have you with us than hiding out here alone.”

Mattheo nodded in agreement, his hand finding yours, his thumb tracing slow circles against your skin. “Besides, we’ve missed you. It feels like we haven’t seen you all day.”

“I saw you both in Potions,” you reminded them, a small smile tugging at your lips despite your nerves.

“Yes, but that doesn’t count,” Lorenzo insisted. “You were all the way on the other side of the room. Far too far away for my liking.”

Mattheo leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “We were thinking of staging a little incident, you know? Maybe a small explosion to get Professor Snape to rearrange the seating.”

“Mattheo,” you gasped, eyes wide with alarm. But you knew he was only half-joking. “You’d really risk detention just to sit closer?”

“In a heartbeat,” Mattheo said, his smile wicked. “It’s boring without you to talk to.”

“And to copy notes from,” Lorenzo added with a playful nudge.

You laughed, the sound easing some of the tension in your chest. It was hard to stay anxious around them, even if they were as different from you as night and day.

“So,” Lorenzo said, changing the subject with that natural ease of his, “what do you want to do today? We’ve got a few hours before dinner.”

“Whatever you two want is fine,” you said quickly, not wanting to impose your own ideas. You were always afraid of making the wrong suggestion, of boring them with your quieter tastes.

Mattheo raised an eyebrow at you. “You say that, but last time we let Lorenzo decide, we ended up trying to sneak into the Restricted Section. And when it was my turn, we spent an hour trying to scale the Astronomy Tower.”

“You were the one who suggested the Astronomy Tower,” Lorenzo pointed out with a grin. “And I seem to remember you enjoying the Restricted Section.”

“Well, I did manage to find that book on hexes I’ve been wanting,” Mattheo admitted, looking pleased with himself.

You shifted, feeling a bit out of place. The truth was, you were just as happy spending time with them doing something simple. You didn’t need the excitement they seemed to crave. But saying that out loud felt.. wrong, somehow. Like you’d be dampening their spirits.

Noticing your hesitation, Lorenzo’s expression softened. “We don’t have to do anything wild, you know. Just say the word, and we’ll go along with whatever you want.”

Mattheo nodded, squeezing your hand reassuringly. “Yeah, we’re not trying to drag you into trouble. Well, not always.”

You felt a warmth spread through you at their words, the reassurance soothing your anxieties. “Maybe we could just…go for a walk? By the lake?”

Lorenzo smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “That sounds perfect.”

Mattheo stood, tugging you up with him. “Lead the way, love.”

As the three of you wandered down towards the Black Lake, you couldn’t help but marvel at how effortlessly they made you feel included, even when you felt so different from them. Where they were all fiery energy and boldness, you were quiet and reserved, more comfortable observing from the sidelines than being in the thick of things.

But somehow, they never made you feel like you didn’t belong. They accepted your awkwardness, your silences, and your tendency to withdraw when the world got too loud. They didn’t try to change you or push you out of your comfort zone, unless it was clear you wanted that.

Lorenzo kept up a light conversation as you walked, talking about everything and nothing, his voice a soothing backdrop to the crunch of leaves underfoot. Mattheo, on the other hand, stayed close, his presence a steady comfort beside you.

He’d occasionally point out something interesting, a particularly twisted tree root, a group of birds taking flight, and you’d find yourself relaxing, enjoying the moment without the usual pressure to keep up with them.

When you reached the shore of the lake, the three of you settled on a patch of grass, the sun dipping low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the water. You sat between them, feeling like the calm center in their whirlwind of energy.

“This is nice,” you murmured, the tension finally melting from your shoulders. “Thank you.”

Lorenzo leaned back on his elbows, tilting his head to look at you with a warm smile. “You don’t have to thank us. We’re just happy to be with you.”

Mattheo nodded in agreement, his hand finding yours again, fingers intertwining. “Yeah, we’re a team, remember? Two suns and one moon.”

You blinked, looking at him in surprise. “What?”

He smirked, clearly pleased with himself. “That’s us. Lorenzo and I, we’re the suns. Bright, warm, maybe a little overwhelming at times. And you, you’re the moon. Quiet, steady, a little mysterious. But we all work together, right? Balance each other out.”

Your heart swelled at his words, the metaphor wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. You’d always felt like you were on the outside looking in, but Mattheo’s words made you realize that, to them, you were just as important a part of their little world.

“I like that,” you said softly, feeling a little bolder, a little more at ease. “The moon is pretty powerful, you know. Controls the tides and everything.”

“Exactly,” Lorenzo said, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple. “Don’t underestimate yourself, love.”

Mattheo chuckled, leaning in to kiss your other cheek. “We certainly don’t.”

A peaceful silence settled over the three of you as you watched the sun's reflection ripple across the lake. The quiet moment was short-lived, however, as Mattheo suddenly leaned over, scooping up a handful of water and flicking it in your direction.

The cold droplets splashed across your face, making you gasp in surprise. “Mattheo!” you exclaimed, wiping at your cheeks with the sleeve of your robe.

Mattheo grinned, looking unapologetic. “What? You looked like you were getting too comfortable.”

Lorenzo laughed, watching the exchange with a gleam in his eye. “Careful, Mattheo. I think you’ve just declared war.”

You narrowed your eyes at Mattheo, a mischievous spark igniting in your chest. “You’re going to regret that, Riddle.”

“Oh, I’m trembling,” Mattheo said, mock fear in his voice, though he was already inching away from you, sensing your impending retaliation.

Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, you quickly dipped your hand into the water, flinging a larger splash back at him. The water hit him square in the chest, soaking the front of his robes.

“Merlin’s beard, that’s cold!” Mattheo shouted, but he was laughing even as he wiped the water off his face.

Lorenzo couldn’t resist joining in, his hands cupping water and sending it flying in both your and Mattheo’s directions. “It’s every person for themselves now!” he declared, his laughter contagious.

Soon, the three of you were engaged in a full-blown splash fight, water flying everywhere as you all tried to outmaneuver each other. Mattheo, not one to be outdone, managed to catch you off guard with a particularly well-aimed splash, sending a wave of water over your head.

“Okay, okay! Truce!” you called out, laughing so hard your sides hurt. You held up your hands in surrender, trying to catch your breath.

Lorenzo was grinning from ear to ear, water dripping from his hair. “Do you accept, Mattheo?”

Mattheo eyed you both warily, as if expecting another sneak attack, but finally relented, lowering his hands. “Fine. Truce. For now.”

You smiled, shaking your head as you sat back down on the grass, the cool breeze drying the water on your face. Despite the chaos, you felt lighter, the earlier tension completely washed away.

Lorenzo stretched out beside you, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as he pulled you close. Mattheo joined in, lying on your other side, his hand finding yours again.

“See?” Lorenzo murmured, his voice soft as he nuzzled into your hair. “Sometimes, all you need is a little water fight to clear your head.”

Mattheo hummed in agreement, his fingers tracing patterns on your palm. “And a reminder that we’re all in this together. Two suns and one moon, right?”

You smiled, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the sun as you relaxed between them. For the first time in a long while, you felt completely at ease, content in the knowledge that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

“Yeah,” you whispered, closing your eyes as you let the peacefulness of the moment wash over you. “Two suns and one moon.”

[naffeclipse]

I've been musing over a few thoughts inspired by this ask about a mafia-ish style of Apex Polarity without it being too close to Pearl Eye, and after watching a few videos of Orcas hunting their prey (which included dolphins), landed on a sort of Mafia inspired Apex Polarity AU

Also not to add another Y/N to Orclipse's growing collection but this Y/N is a white-beaked dolphin. Look! They're so beautiful!

Sirens are cunning, brutal, and take everything with teeth and claws. The strongest kill and maim at a whim. As a siren who's not particularly strong, though incredibly agile, with a tail streamlined and dark gray with white patches, fins curved and mostly black, you're somewhere at the bottom. You're doing your best to survive and avoid trouble. You pick your battles and you pick your escapes, and most importantly, you stay alive.

But then you do something really stupid: you venture where you shouldn't have.

You don't usually swim so far up north but you're hungry, and the thought of a few tasty squids distracts you from the silent waters and vast, blue emptiness. You realize a bit too late that you're not the only one hunting.

You catch the first orca siren in the distance as a dark figure, and then another. Two who immediately cut through the water, charging straight for you like shadows. Though you turn tail and bolt, you quickly spot them in the corner of your vision. They easily keep pace, their size and strength overwhelming as they flank you on both sides, wide grins flashing their deadly teeth. You can hardly look at the mismatched color of their eyes as you dodge and weave, diving down only to be cut off by one with midnight blue colors at the tip of his flukes, and shooting off to the left just to almost be snatched by the black-bone claws of a siren with bright yellow fins framing his head.

They're toying with you. You know that for a fact in how they just barely keep back, corraling you onwards, draining your already spent energy, and picking at your panicking pulse. You have no choice but to avoid the edges of their jaws and the tips of their talons, and swim in the direction they want.

You near a field of ice floes floating on the water, and though you cut into the jagged structures dipping into the sea, the orca sirens never lose you. A desperate need for air pushes you onward. One small drop of hope still burns in your chest. Despite the aching of your muscles, you steal a gulp of oxygen and dip back down once more, charging away—

Only to run smack into a third orca siren.

This one grabs you, his burning red and orange colors filling your vision. The other two orcas join to help their kin keep you in place long enough for you to truly regret ever venturing here. Between the three of what you can only assume are brothers, hands hooked over you shoulders, claws clutching your wrists, and palms pressing into your hips, you're a fish caught in a net.

You brace for a voilent end. It never arrives. Instead of digging into your sweet meat, the sirens offer you a deal. The tips of sharp fingertips trace your jawline and the soft inside of your arms and down your slick tail while they explain.

You keep watch for human ships and report back when they're getting close, and in exchange, you get the best food you can imagine, the entire Arctic Ocean to swim, and anything else you'd like. The best benefit? You're under their protection. Of course, they expect utter loyalty from you. You are no one else's. Failure to devote yourself to this work and the brothers would mean a grisly fate, but hey, you're nothing if not eager to not be torn apart. So you agree.

You have a few questions about this whole arrangement, struggling to understand why they, powerful orca sirens, bother with a smaller fish like you when they could rip you limb from limb and be done. What's with the human ships? Why task you to this? Are you just fodder so they can keep their fins nice and unscabbed? They reassure you that they'll explain in due time (the sunny one booping your nose, much to your chagrin), but for now, all you know to know is that the human ships are a problem, and you are their solution for it. You've never really encountered humans before, but they've never really encountered sirens, or so you thought.

The burning red one lets you go, but you don't slip away too far before he tugs on your flukes and tells you to follow him. It's not a request. The darker blue one leaves for a moment, jetting away as the other two guide you to a nice resting place on an icy shore. They introduce themselves, and then their brother reappears with a squid in hand, half dead, and an insistence that you eat—they could tell during the chase that you didn't have all your energy.

And that's how you unwittingly join a very powerful pod of orca brothers who may or may not be teasing and taunting you simultaneously.

[notapradagurl7]

For Mr. Robot/Joey BadA$$: can you do a Leon x Fem!Reader as Elliot Alderson where around late November/early December the reader (as Elliot) meets with Leon and seduces and tells him while she makes out with him, she wants him to help her take down Whiterose, with Leon promising her to be her "loyal knight"

My Loyal Knight.

Pairings: Black Fem! Reader(Elliot Alderson) x Joey Bada$$ as “Leon” from Mr. Robot.

Summary: See Ask. You worked in a cybersecurity company but a skilled hacker by night, and crossed paths with Leon. When you headed to his house, you decided to come over not only for a seductive encounter, you expressed your desire for his assistance in bringing down Whiterose. Leon promises to be your “loyal knight”

A/N: I really appreciate this, lovely anon! 😌 I've been eager to write about Leon in Mr. Robot for weeks, but here it is! Please resume sending in your requests for Leon in Mr. Robot! I wrote this with a black woman in mind but all are welcome to read, Don't forget to leave comments, likes and reblogs are welcome to support, drop a request if you like, they're always open! ❤️🫡

WC: 4,641k.

Warnings: dirty talk, cursing, mention of violence, seduction, mention of murder, consensual for both parties, steamy make-out session, fingering(fem receiving), use of AAVE, reader embodying Elliot Alderson, praise, mental health, reader being stressed out, paranoia, anxious reader, PWP, love-smitten Leon, mention of masturbation, jealous!Leon, smut, voice kink, (if you squint), slight masochist reader.

Taglist: @megamindsecretlair @satoruya @planetblaque

@playgurlxoxo @naj-ay444

@becauseimswagman1

@beenathembo @brattyfics

@hxneyclouds @henneseyhoe

@yassbishimvintage

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @nayaesworld @ovohanna24

@novahreign @writingsbytee @avoidthings @kimuzostar @slippinninque @keyera-jackson @theblacklewinsky

@euphorichappiness10 @life-in-the-slut-house @caashmoneynae @siqueth @miguelspvssy @liatreads @kaylaahisthebestest-  @uniqueoutlierblog @dxddyken

@mind-somewhere-else

@kindofaintrovert

@lady-olive-oil @23jammy @musicisme333  @saturnville @enchantedillumination  @mogul93 @theereina @uzumaki-rebellion @blyffe @hotmessexpress94 @fakxmbj @kumkaniudaku @ranikyani @mama-2001

—————

The biting chill of the winter air pressed against the windowpanes of your cozy apartment, sending a shudder through the old building. Each creak and groan echoed like a warning bell, a reminder of the impending winter that loomed over the city. 

You instinctively pulled the soft, woolen pink blanket tighter around your shoulders, seeking solace from the draft. 

The glow of your computer screen illuminated your face as you scrolled through lines of code, your mind racing by a second to second. 

You had been meticulously planning your next move against Whiterose, the elusive enemy lurking in the shadows of your digital world. 

The night still enfolds the world outside, yet your mind stirred restlessly, breaking the peaceful silence with a sudden, insistent thought that demanded your attention despite the hours of sleep you had already managed to steal.

The thought that motivated you was about taking down Whiterose, but somehow they returned to wreak havoc on everything and everyone you cared about. You couldn't allow this to happen—not to you, not to your best friend, and not to Leon.

With a soft sigh escaping your lips, you sprang up from your desk chair before turning off your computer and watching it fade to black, your socks gliding over the cool, smooth brown hardwood floors. 

As you gracefully navigated your way down the dimly lit hallway. Turning left, you made your way toward the warm bathroom, the faint scent of lavender from the air freshener lingering in the air ahead.

You flipped on the light switch before entering, completed your morning routine by showering, brushing your teeth, and washing your face, while the bright orange, circular light on the ceiling shone on your brown skin. 

Your brown pixie haircut framed your face, while your nose, lips, and determined brown eyes gleamed on that anticipated day.

It was a good thing you didn't have to worry about your hair since it was in a protective style, thankfully your aunt was a hairstylist. Free of worry, and free of charge was her motto and yours as well.

After that, you pulled on your familiar oversized black sweater and jacket, its fabric soft and worn from countless outings, enveloping you in a cocoon of comfort. 

The jacket draped loosely over your frame, the sleekness of your black sweatpants, which pooled around your legs like shadows. Your matching black shoes, polished yet understated, each step soundless against the ground.

However, you couldn't shake the annoyance that crept in whenever someone tried to disrupt that harmony. 

As a final touch, you settled a snug beanie over your head, its warmth reassuring against the chilly air, shielding your ears from the cold.

It was one of the many days you spent with Leon, you couldn't wait for it. You stepped out of the medium-sized bathroom with ease, and headed back to your bedroom.

Having Leon as a friend felt comforting. He was chatty as hell, and his words flowed effortlessly, while you found solace in simply listening, responding with soft hums and nods. He could go on and on about literature and television.

With him, your social anxiety seemed to fade into the background, allowing you to feel momentarily at ease in a world that often felt overwhelming. 

Today, you planned to visit Leon at his home to discuss your upcoming plans on taking down Whiterose. The anticipation buzzed in your mind as you thought about finally seeing where he lived, a place you had never laid eyes on before. 

Curiosity tugged at you; you wanted to know more about the space that Leon inhabited. He had mentioned that his house was situated near a location you had purposely kept to yourself.

Did the Darkarmy mention that particular detail to him? The thought lingered uneasily in your mind. 

You brushed it off rather too quickly, and preoccupied your mind with something else. Walking out of your safest sanctuary known as the bedroom, heading for the front door, and unlock it by using a key giving a swift twist. Heading out into the chaotic world of danger, thieves, and liars.

He had saved you more times than you could count, stepping in with unwavering courage when danger lurked just around the corner. 

Leon was not just a friend; he was a valuable asset to you, he used work for the Dark Army and skilled enough to handle any weapon that crossed his path. But now, he was a freelance agent.

You two had been friends for what felt like a lifetime, but there was something deeper simmering beneath the surface, something that both excited and terrified you. 

His unpredictability was both a comfort and a risk, and you had learned to trust his instincts as much as your own. He was a force to be reckoned with.

From the harrowing nights when menacing figures tried to kidnap you, to those moments when he intervened at just the right time to protect you from various threats, you always felt a mix of gratitude and admiration for him.

You had a tendency to overthink everything, conjuring up detailed scenarios in your head that often skewed toward the dramatic. It wasn't hard to do, especially considering all the close calls you had faced together.

You maintained a steady, smooth pace as you maneuvered through the bustling crowd, with the city's lively energy pulsing around you. 

The noise that filled the streets quickly faded into an unexpected silence when you took a sharp left onto a narrow sidewalk, leading you into a gate to a shadowy path and no one followed behind you. The sign said “Don't enter, danger”

As you entered a dimly lit tunnel of concrete, a weathered green gate groaned softly, its hinges refusing as you pushed it open. 

Bursting through the gate, you stepped onto the sidewalk and approached a quaint cul-de-sac, where rows of charming houses stood shoulder to shoulder. 

Leon’s house was the light green one in the middle of the other houses. You could almost spot the television rays filtering on the curtains, which was too easy.

The street was bathed in the warm glow of orange streetlights that flickered like soft fireflies against the inviting dusk. 

Each house was adorned with four neatly arranged windows and light greens, bright reds and oranges, their facades simple yet inviting, and the towering trees stood sentinel in the back.

It looked as if the trees were protecting them from whatever was out there, as some would say that Mother Nature was on their side.

The lawns were meticulously tended, the grass trimmed short and free of any debris, enhancing the serenity, this looked like seemingly ordinary neighborhood.

It also had the kind of charm that felt both nostalgic and safe, as you approached Leon’s house, a wave of excitement bubbled within you.

But still, you couldn't shake the feeling that your relationship with Leon was on the verge of shifting. 

The stakes were high, and there was no telling how this mission would change the dynamics between you.

Leon was likely already inside, probably watching something on TV, a grin plastered on his face as he lost himself in his favorite shows.

You knocked on the door, the rhythm of your heartbeat syncing with the theme song that played on his television and spilled out into the night.

Seconds later, the door swung open almost immediately, revealing Leon with that signature smile. 

He sported a simple black tee shirt, a camouflage jacket with and matching pants pooled around his legs, his locs in two-strand twists swayed gracefully with a navy blue bandana atop his head, the jewelry in his hair glistened prettily. Two earrings in his ears shone brightly from the glow of the television screen. His socks on his feet and shoes rested beside the door.

You quickly kicked off your shoes, then placed them beside Leon’s shoes, your sock-clad feet made contact with the cool, brown hardwood floors.

His face lit up when he saw you, a wide grin breaking across his attractive face with his dark brown eyes on youZ

“What’s up Y/N? Glad you made it to my crib, make yourself right at home,” he exclaimed, his voice rich with joy from seeing you.

You felt the corner of your mouth curl up in a smile, and stepped right in, “Hi Leon, Thanks,” you replied, stepping inside and closing the door behind you. 

His house was a reflection of himself, the walls painted in chocolate brown were adorned with posters of classic movies and shows, and the few remnants of night binge-watching sessions littered across the polished brown coffee table. 

The decor of his house, reminded you of green mint chocolate bars, a blend of it all made you smile. Simple but not too much color in one space.

He flipped the light switch, casting an orange glow to the spacious yet tidy living room, the light sprawled out in the cozy ambiance, and your eyes resumed roaming the place, it was your first time here after all. Maybe you could live in this neighborhood with him, hidden from the city and in this quiet place. 

The flat screen television rested on the black dresser, steady in place, showing off a TV show called The Wire.

“I've been binge-watchin’ The Wire and I'm four seasons in but I gotta say, that show is a masterpiece, This one character, Omar is a good villain, everyone starts runnin’ like hell whenever he’s around,” Leon trailed off, shrugging his shoulders.

You did the usual head nod and soft humming routine until your stomach growled in  middle of him talking, you liked to hear him speak, the way his Brooklyn accent left from his speech, the way his plump lips curled up into a smirk made those feelings come right back to you, it was only a crush though.

“I need to tell you something important, Leon,” You brought up, ripping the band-aid rather too quickly, hating that impulsive decision making side of yours.

He leaned back, one arm draped lazily over the back of the couch, raising an eyebrow. “I'm all ears, you know I'm down to help my girl out however I can.” 

His words sent a tingle through you, feeling the heat crept up on your cheeks. The way he said “my girl” felt like more than friendship, that unwavering loyalty he had for you made you grateful to keep him around.

He paused, his eyes locking with yours that made your heart race, “You hungry? My mom whipped up some bomb-ass food in the kitchen last night,”

You laughed softly, feeling a wave of warmth wash over you then rubbed your stomach in circles, “Yeah, I could definitely eat,” you replied, trying to keep the conversation light.

You didn't want to dive into the heavy stuff just yet—there would be a time for that later. 

Leon leads you to the kitchen, where the scent of beef pot roast, roasted vegetables, and dirty rice, he had the table set with a casual flair, and mismatched plates. Both of you took the seat across from each other.

“Here you go, sit down and eat,” he said, a proud grin on his face as he passed you a plate of food.

“Got some drinks in the fridge, help yourself,” he replied, gesturing toward the kitchen as he plopped down on the safe green couch.

“Thanks, Leon,” you called over your shoulder, opening it and grabbing a water bottle before twisting the cap, and taking a sip. Closing the fridge quickly.

As you dug into the delicious meal, you heard the man ramble endlessly about the characters from The Wire, such as Marlo, Wee-Bey, Avon, and a few of the detectives. Leon expressed that the show deserved an award, talking about how unfair it was that the show didn't have one.

After finishing the meal and he washed the dishes, you both migrated to the couch, settling back into the plush cushions with him. Leon flipped through the channels aimlessly, but his attention quickly drifted back to you.

Leaning a bit closer, his gaze searching your gaze, he couldn't read your mind but he knew that you had something to say, he’s so damn observant. That almost scared you.

“You good, Y/N? You seem kinda distant,” he asked, his tone laced with concern.

You hesitated, biting your lip as you felt the tension rising, “Just…a lot on my mind, you know?” you trailed off, shrugging your 

“Yeah? Wanna talk about it?” His voice was low, and inviting, but you your head, felt a rush of boldness through your being.

“Not yet, I want to feel something with you,” you said, your voice sultry as you leaned closer to him. 

Leon’s breath hitched, and you could see the flicker of desire in his eyes. “What’chu want, then?” he asked.

“Touch me,” you blurted, your heart racing as you closed the distance between you two.

Your hand softly glided up his arm, the gentle material of his jacket obscuring your tender touch, yet Leon could still sense it; your gazes intertwined with fervor, and your fingers caressed his arm once more, this time with deliberate slowness and meaning.

Until Mr. Robot spoke up in the depths of your mind, “Are you seriously wasting your time right now? You have a mission to do, take down Whiterose! Go!”

Your hand desperately gripped and pulled on the fabric of his jacket, pulling him closer as he caught on to the hint quickly, crashing his lips against yours, your mouth parted to moan, inviting him in before kissing him back again. Your tongue gliding across his upper lip, motivating his tongue to match with your pace.

You felt his fingers slide under the hem of your oversized sweater, his hand rubbing the small of your back, the softness of your brown skin made him groan in response, tasting the chocolate mint candy and lip gloss on you, “Damn, girl,”

But this time you ignored the voice of your father that haunted you for what seemed like years but you when you got closer to your knight in stylish attire, that voice went silent. Finally.

His hands glide back to your waist, pulling you close as he deepens the kiss, exploring your mouth with his tongue and eliciting soft moans from you while pulling at his bottom lip using yours.

Suddenly, Leon pulls away, leaving you whining from the loss of his warm lips, and you gasp as he sucked your pulse point on your neck with a fervent intensity, sinking his teeth in your skin like a vampire. 

Trailing kisses along your neck, Marking you as his girl, leaving a trail of tiny purple hickeys on you.

“You sure about this?” He asked again in concern, pulling away from your lip. 

You nodded, craving his touch. “Yes, I'm sure, I want this,” you replied back, giving him a small smile.

With that, he lifted you slightly on his lap. your hands gripped his shoulders from feeling the heat radiating off him, His hands slid over your sweatpants, gripping your ass with a possessiveness that the heat crept into your cheeks. 

Your bodies molding together perfectly as you straddled him, the strength in his arms as he held you tight, and it only spurred you on. He groaned in response until he kept his eyes on you.

He lifted you slightly, adjusting his position as his lips smashed into yours, his hand sliding past the waistband of your sweatpants as he gently tugged on them, “Take this off for me, baby,” he coaxed, gently lifting your chin forcing you to look at him. 

“Mhmm,” you hummed as you hands gently pulled down your sweatpants, your socks rolled off, and his fingers locked with your panties, pulling them off and watching a chain of your wetness separate from them.

His fingers found their way to your thighs, brushing against your folds, “So fuckin’ wet for me huh?” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. He withdrew his fingers from your pussy, and licked them clean before sliding them back in.

You only nodded too quickly, feeling the soft warmth of his fingers inside, your back arching instinctively toward him. “You taste better than I imagined,” he panted, rubbing your breasts in a steady motion while you looked into his eyes.

Your mind reeled back to what he said, Leon definitely imagined this just as you did. The fantasies in his mind weren't close enough to this very moment, it was even better. 

Thinking of you in various positions, saying his name repeatedly like a mantra, so wildly instead of a greeting. Your faces spurred him on and on, pushing him to give you more as you slipped your sweater off, his other hand massaged your breast in a swift motion and his mouth wrapped around your nipple, the other, You felt so filled up yet you needed more, but this will suffice, you kept your breathing steady.

Leon pumping his fingers in and out of you, your wetness pooling on the couch, wetting up in his palm, “You've been waiting for this? This is what you wanted?” he smirked, kissing along your collarbone.

“Yess..I wanted this so bad…” A moan escaped your lips, as you rolled your hips against his fingers. Your slick walls tightened around him, a multitude of waves washed over you immediately, bear-hugging him once you saw stars sparkling before you. 

“Oh, you did? and you feel amazing,” he encouraged, his voice low yet a bit raspy. His thumb circling your clit as he watched your reactions closely, curling up his fingers in a ‘come here’ motion inside, making it difficult to keep your composure. 

“Fuck, yes!” you breathed, the pleasure building with each stroke of his fingers, you were feeling the world fade away around you, the paranoia, the pain, and the problems. It felt so good to forget everything and not to worry about anything for a while, that was Leon for you. Your escape, your solace in an empty, cold place.

Leon observed how your pussy eagerly sucked his fingers back in when he nearly withdrew them, but he held off on teasing you for the moment. “If only you could see yourself, makin’ those pretty faces, sayin’ my name like this?” Leon teased with a smirk, enjoying every moment.

You were already bottoming out by the sensation you had long desired. You drew him closer for a passionate and untamed kiss while pressing your hips down even more. “Ah..shit! Leon! Fuckk! I..need!” you cried out in desperation, you quickly grabbed his wrist that was still around your throat. 

The pleasure coursed through your body over and over again, unable to keep himself quiet, moaning quietly. “Need what? Speak the fuck up, baby,” he growled with a deepened tone, His hand adorned with gold rings gently gripped your throat, momentarily constricting your airflow, eliciting a soft harsh gasp from you. 

“I need more…” you babbled with a slut like moan, your face twisted with pleasure, as you arched your head back, your mouth hung open and left breathless once his thumb flattened on your swollen, throbbing wet clit. He did what you requested, drilling his fingers into you relentlessly.

“You’ve been playin’ with your pussy? Hm? Who’s been on that nasty mind of yours?” Leon chuckled darkly, picking up the pace, as he watched your legs shake weakly and your hands gripped his jacket tightly. 

Your mind blurs from the pleasure into nothingness, going completely blank. Leon applied more pressure on your neck, you screamed in pleasure at the pain he was giving you, and he showed off a sadistic smirk, taking in your half-lidded eyes, feral moans and his name in between all of it.

It was too embarrassing to mention, Your crush was right there in front of you. You only moaned wildly as his fingers curled up again just to torture you further, relishing this, and he spanked you ass roughly in response. Bringing your face closely to his, his nose nuzzling against yours lovingly. 

So this is what love felt like that? That burning heat scorching through your veins, that soft warmth feeling swirling in the pit of your stomach, you didn't want to let go of this feeling. It was too precious and sacred to let go so fast, you had Leon. 

You etched that in your brain, as if it played like a cinema.

“I said, who’s been on your mind? Someone else? Answer me,” he recited in a possessive tone, you whined softly but your nails scratched onto his skin, you wanted people to know that he was all yours.

“Y-you! Shit…it’s only you Leon! I promise!” You screamed, the sound of his name a prayer on your lips. He wanted to be the one to answer that prayer, that call and give what you asked of him.

You were on the verge, hovering near the boundary you had crossed with him, and you noticed the intensity in Leon's gaze filled with passion, affection, and desire. 

“Good girl,” he murmured, the words wrapped around you and gave you butterflies. His fingers worked with precision and just when you thought you might burst from pleasure.

Leon leaned in closer, his lips biting on your ear, brushing against it before pulling back to look into your half-lidded eyes. His teeth dug into his lips, stifling a moan from giving you so much pleasure. He loved it, relished in it.

“Because I can't stand the thought of anyone else havin’ you, you’re mine, and I’ll do anythin’ to protect what’s mine, ours." He promised to you, feeling that sensation again but you could hardly breathe. 

He dominated the moment and ensured you experienced pleasure like never before. It surpassed mere goodness; it was extraordinary.

“Leon…I’m…I’m gonna—-” You groaned, the words barely left your mouth before he silenced you with a kiss, deep and passionate, as if he was trying to consume you whole. 

“You can cum, baby, I got you,” he breathed against your mouth, and that was all it took. That voice of his was dangerous, it turned you on deeply, making you moan again.

Your climax tore through your entire body, the knot tightening ready to unlace, but Leon drilled his fingers into you roughly and stood still, making you drool on his neck and your body twitching against him from overstimulation.

Your essence spilled out onto his fingers, pouring on his palm, making his rings glisten underneath the light. You screamed out loudly, the sound echoing in the stillness of the room. Your hand gripping his shoulders tight as you rode out his fingers in pure bliss.

His hand released your neck quickly and looked to see if he left anything, but there were only purple hickeys. He withdrew his fingers from you, He smirked at you and planting a sweet kiss on your forehead, pressing his against yours. It felt nice, felt right with him.

“You’re so good to me…Leon” you whispered to him, peppering sloppy kisses onto his soft lips as he kissed you back each time.

“Always, my beautiful girl,” 

As your body came down from your high, you found yourself collapsing against him, spent and breathless. Leon’s arms wrapped you, holding you close as you tried to catch your breath. 

“You good?” he asked softly, his voice laced with concren.

You nodded, a small smile creeping onto your face, “Yeah, I'm good,”

Leon sat up from the couch and made a left turn toward the closet, opening it and walked into the bathroom to wet the washcloth, he came back and crouched down in front of you wiping the mess between your legs, you twitched and hissed from the sudden touch, he looked up at you with concern.

“My bad, baby,” He said to you, his eyes flickering toward to him.

Oh right, you'd almost forgotten to talk about what you came over here for.

“T-there’s something I need to talk to you about, but i need to take a shower first,”

The rise and fall of your chest filled the room once you finally gathered your thoughts but you asked him if it was okay if you could take a shower, he said yes with a nod.

You made a left and headed for the bathroom, picking up your clothes, taking a shower and Leon cleaned up the mess on the couch. Heading back to the living room where he was still sitting on the couch. You drank some water and pulled out your laptop.

“I'm back, okay so here's my plan," You declared with confidence, walking back to the living room with same clothes you camw

“I'm all ears, baby girl,” 

You grinned like a Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland once you heard those spoken by him, Leon was putty in your hands. He was all yours and you refused to let go of him.

“I need your help with Whiterose, and I want to make sure that we’re on the same page and not distracted,” You replied to him with confidence.

“A’ight, I got you,” Leon replied back, nodding. His expression shifted to one of seriousness.

As you both settled down at the small dining table, you settled your laptop on it. The laptop brings a sense of clarity to your anxious thoughts. 

You started outlining your plan, and the screen reflected your strategy, the number of options and a way out for both of you to be alive.

Leon leaned in, his eyes scanning the screen with interest as you explained your ideas, the way you wanted to infiltrate Whiterose’s operations.

“That’s great, but we gotta be smart about this, we both know they don't play fair. You think that we can play it off without gettin’ caught?” He asked, feeling a sense of belonging.

“We have to, I can't let anyone else I care about getting hurt, not again.” You shot back with a resolution, nodding.  

Leon reached across the table, his hand covering yours, grounding you. 

“I promise to be your loyal knight, to every end. It’s us versus them, we‘ll get through this like we always do baby,” Leon promised to you, his lips curled up into a smirk. Giving you peace and soothing your thoughts.

————

[violettduchess]

A/N: I don't know where this came from. I just had an idea for it and wanted to write it down. A small, quiet moment with Gilbert.

Gilbert x Reader, comfort fic

WC: 500

Daylight wans. The sun begins its slow descent, acquiescing the reign of the sky to the night. The moon rises, regal as a queen, bringing with it a court full of cold, diamond-bright stars.  Your slippered feet move silently across black and gold carpeting, the lace hem of your nightgown brushing light kisses against your ankles. You pause outside his door, the massive dark wood carved with prowling tigers as if protecting the study and all of its secrets.

But you are not afraid of their claws or sharp teeth.

With a steady hand, you press down on the gilded handle and enter.

He is sitting at his desk, writing, working, always working. He’s shed his cloak, his gloves, his belt, his cravat, all the golden ornamental trappings of his authority. The sight of him, stripped down to his gray shirt, his dark pants and socks, flattens your lungs, swells your heart. One elegant hand is pushed into the midnight silk of his hair, his head tilted away from you as the dark feathered quill scratches continuously along the parchment. Moonlight spills like ethereal paint through the arched window, fighting with the soft, orange glow of the chamberstick over who is allowed to illuminate the planes of his face, which type of light is allowed to tenderly caress that pale skin, the gentle slope of his neck.

One step into the room and the quill freezes, his head turns and he sees you there. There are shadows under his brilliant, blood-red eye. You worry he is not feeling well, he is pushing himself too hard, he is drawing on a finite source of energy that may run out.

“Come here.”

The command is still a command, however gently he may speak it. But you go willingly, crossing the room until you are at his side. He shifts his body, pushing the heavy desk chair back slightly and then pulls you onto his lap, sighing when he feels your weight against him, as if it is relief, as if it is oxygen.

You are here.

The quill lies abandoned on the desk, losing its last few drops of ebon ink.

You are here and everything else will wait.

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you so tightly against him that every breath you take pushes against his hold. You don’t mind. He nuzzles against the silk of your robe, roughly pulls it until it drapes off of you, leaving him your bare shoulder and one thin silken nightgown strap. He buries his face just there, hides his unearthly beauty away from the world so that he may get lost in your darkness, your scent, the warmth of you. Your hands slide across his shoulders where you feel the tension coiled within, the serpentine stress that bites at him daily, sinks its gleaming fangs into him over and over without remorse. Your hand comes to rest on the back of his neck and you cradle him, loving and secure, against you. His breath is hot, unsteady as you tighten your grip on his nape, firm and unyielding.

I'm here, it says. I have you. 

The Conqueroring Beast can finally, finally rest.

Tagging: @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage

@tele86 @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @nightfoxqueen

@myonlyjknight @ikesimpleton @ikemenlibrary @namine-somebodies-nobody @whatever-fanfics

@justpeachyteastea @chirp-a-chirp @got7igot7family @kookie-my-little-sunshine @mastering-procrastinating

@portrait-ninja @starlitmanor-network @sh0jun @queen-dahlia @themysticalbeing

@nightghoul381 @whitelittlebunny @chi-the-idiot @bubblexly @joiedecombat

@ozalysss

[lesbiankimdahyun]

Karina(g!p) meeting at a Halloween party(she’s dressed as a slutty vampire) and reader is dressed as an angel. They’ve been eyeing each other all night and eventually end up in the bathroom with reader bent over the sink and Karina fucking her from behind

happy halloween, anon!!

Corrupting an angel

2.6k words

CW: g!p, alcohol

[GP!Karina x F!Reader]

You could hear the steady pounding of bass from outside of the large brownstone apartment complex. There was no need to double check to make sure you had the right address— the music and shadows of partygoers in the fourth story windows confirmed you had arrived. 

You hesitated for a moment, but then your roommate Ryujin tugged at your arm and you followed her up to the door. She hit the buzzer so you two could be let in, finally out of the cold, late autumn air. 

As the two of you bounded up the steps, your nerves got the best of you. 

“Ryujin, promise me you won’t abandon me in there?” you asked.

Your short-haired friend laughed. “Of course not,” she said, turning to smile reassuringly at you. “Don’t worry too much, you’ve actually met some of the people here! And I’ll introduce you to anyone you don’t know.”

Ryujin was right— once inside, you realized you did recognize a few faces. Her closest friends Lia, Yeji, Yuna and Chaeryeong were already there. 

You couldn’t help but giggle at Lia’s costume. She was a big, bright red strawberry. She looked absolutely adorable, even when she accidentally bumped into people and walls. The rest were dressed as matching skeletons. 

The two of you made your way over to the group, and before either one of you could ask, Chaeryeong sighed. “We tried to get Lia to go in on the skeleton costumes with us,” she said, “but she insisted on being a goofy, oversized strawberry.” 

Lia rolled her eyes. She tried to cross her arms, but the costume was too bulky and she couldn’t. It only made her look cuter. 

“Hey! I didn’t know the costume was going to be this big! Can we drop it already?”

The rest of the group broke out into conversation, but you couldn’t really focus on it, distracted by the sights of the party. 

You’d forgotten to ask whose apartment this even was, but whoever was renting it, it looked stunning. The large space, complete with crown moulding, rounded arch hallways and exposed brick walls, was perfectly decorated for Halloween. Orange and purple string lights lined the perimeter of the ceiling, fake cobwebs were meticulously placed along the corners of windows, and there were jack-o-lanterns, real ones with tiny candles inside illuminating them, on the living room coffee table along with fake skull caps full of candy. Tall, skinny black candles lined bookshelves, a string of black paper bats shared wall space with fake, bloody claw marks running along them. 

Lia bumped into you suddenly, bringing you back to earth. 

“Sorry!” she said to you and the other girl she’d accidentally collided with. 

You glanced over to see the other girl pat Lia’s costume reassuringly. She was dressed as a vampire. Not the Nosferatu kind, though. You felt a wave of warmth rush over you. She was hot, stupidly hot, as was her costume. 

Your eyes wandered slowly over her deep red sequined corset and its revealingly low sweetheart neckline. A pair of black booty shorts covered hardly anything other than her ass, but the simple black cloak she wore over her corset helped a little. A pair of fishnets and knee high, lace up platform boots completed the look. The ends of her hair were dyed a similar deep red color, and her long acrylics were stunning– black coffin shaped nails for the occasion.

The vampire’s eyes only registered Lia for a fraction of a second. The next moment, they were on you. 

You swallowed hard, quickly looking back up to meet her eye. Her gaze was intense, and so was the brief onceover she gave you before she finally turned around and walked back to her friend group without saying a word. 

By the time you recovered from the vampire, the conversation happening around you had already picked back up. 

“I’ll be right back,” you said to Ryujin, excusing yourself. 

You made your way down the hall into the kitchen. Some of the drink options were Halloween themed, like the cauldrons full of spiked spider cider and dark purple witches brew punch, swirling with edible silver glitter. A few handles of hard liquor and mixers, as well as beer were available, but you weren’t really in the mood to taste your alcohol.

After pouring yourself a cup full of the witches brew punch, you paused for a moment to glance around at the rest of the people at the party. 

The attendees had gone all out in their costumes, too. Ryujin had warned you beforehand that anyone who wasn’t in costume wouldn’t be let in, so as much as you didn’t care for dressing up, you had to admit, the costume rule made for an even better party. You hoped some of the more impressive costumes would distract from your own. You’d felt confident in it before you left, but now felt exposed.

It was Ryujin who suggested you go as an angel when you fretted about finding a costume. “Keep it simple,” she had said. “It’s just one color.” 

“I don’t know,” you had said once you tried on the pieces she’d found for you. “This feels damn near like, genuinely sacrilegious.” 

The halo headband was cute. It was the rest of your costume that definitely wouldn’t be allowed in any real church: white thigh high stockings with chunky white heels, white satin shorts, a matching satin halter top with a white mesh bell sleeve shrug over it, and a small pair of angel wings. Those were white too, of course. 

Later, Ryujin, keeping her word, introduced you to a few of her other friends. All of them were pretty to begin with, but the fact that their costumes were a little tighter against their bodies made you unsure of where to look as you shyly said hi to a Wednesday Addams who went by Winter, a workout Barbie who introduced herself as NingNing, and a Spider-Girl named Giselle. 

You had seen a fourth girl with them earlier, that incredibly hot vampire, actually, but now she was nowhere to be seen. Ugh. You craned your neck to look for her, hoping to be introduced, but you couldn’t find her. 

Just as you and Ryujin had said bye to the other girls and turned around, you spotted her out of the corner of your eye, rejoining her friends. Damn.

You almost asked Ryujin to go back and introduce you. The punch was stronger than you thought it’d be, and you were beyond buzzed now, feeling a little more confident and sociable. You were watching the vampire flip her long, dark hair over one shoulder when Ryujin interrupted you.

“Hey, where did you get that punch?” Ryujin asked, flipping up her pirate’s eye patch for a moment to get a better look at it. “I gotta get rid of this shitty beer.” 

“I can go get you some,” you said. “I need a refill anyway.” 

In the kitchen, your back was turned to the rest of the party while you scooped up ladlefuls of punch for you and Ryujin. Suddenly you heard a voice behind you. 

“How’d an angel like you wind up in such a sinful party?” 

You were about to scoff at whoever had just spoken to you when you paused– it wasn’t a man’s voice. You were used to cocky, suggestive comments from men, but the voice that had just addressed you was feminine.

You turned around to see the girl you’d been glancing at all night long– the hot vampire. 

“Wh-what?” Shit. You forgot to think about what you were going to say before turning around. 

The vampire smirked, merely raising an eyebrow in response to your question. “Do I… know you?” she asked. 

You shook your head. “I’m Ryujin’s roommate. I’m Y/N.” 

“Nice to meet you,” the girl replied. “I’m Karina.”

“Karina,” you repeated with a little nod. “Nice to meet you, too. I like your costume,” you said. 

The vampire’s smirk grew bigger. “I know you do,” she said. “Unless that wasn’t you leering at me earlier tonight?” 

You blushed, eyes widening. “Oh, I- I’m sorry–”

Karina moved in, pressing herself against you lightly as she took your drink out of your hand and set it down on the countertop next to Ryujin’s. “It’s okay,” she said, taking your hand. “Can’t seem to keep my eyes off you, either.” 

The next thing you knew, you were being pushed up against the bathroom sink with Karina’s lips kissing a trail down the back of your neck. Ryujin and the rest of the party had completely faded from your brain. You were soaked now, clit throbbing in anticipation. 

The vampire looked up at you for a moment, making eye contact with you in the mirror before pulling your shorts and underwear down in one fell swoop. Your wings were the next to go, and she took a moment to admire you before continuing on. 

Karina palmed your ass with one hand while she used her other to slide her shorts down, freeing her hardening cock. 

She held your waist steady as she slipped it between your legs, rubbing her cock against your wet folds. 

“A condom..?” she breathed, reaching up past you toward the medicine cabinet behind the large bathroom mirror. 

“I-I’m on the pill,” you replied a little too eagerly. Karina let out an amused huff. 

“Well then,” she said, bending you over farther, “be a good little lamb for me.”

The pet name and the sensation of her sliding into you made your legs nearly give out. She let you take a few moments to adjust to her. You hadn’t even gotten a good look at her cock but the way you pulsed around her let you know she was plenty big. 

The vampire let out a soft moan. 

“That’s it, there you go,” she cooed in your ear as she slid deeper inside you. You whimpered and she rewarded you with a kiss against your neck. 

You felt every bit as good around her cock as she thought you would. Karina closed her eyes, lost for a moment in the pleasure she felt being sheathed inside your warm, wet pussy. 

When you could finally let her move inside you, she started gently, her hands gripping your waist to support you. You were absolutely soaked, and the sounds of her thrusting became even more lewd as your wetness added to them. 

“Fuck,” she groaned. The vampire picked up her pace and it left you nearly breathless, unable to do anything but take her pounding and let out small, humiliating repetitive cries with each stroke. 

Your added slick allowed her to fuck you at an even faster pace. She leaned down over you, making you bend over further for her. At this new angle, you fell apart while she split you open. 

Gone were your soft cries, replaced with more raw, desperate moans. She felt so good inside of you; it had been ages since you felt this full and sated. 

Karina laughed as your cries grew louder. “Does it feel that good, angel? So good you want everyone to know how much you like being fucked right now?”

You could only moan in response, too focused on keeping the vampire inside of you to worry about the rest of your surroundings. You arched your back as much as you could, trying to entice her more. 

It worked. “Jesus,” Karina murmured. “You look just as good as you feel…” her eyes closed for a moment, losing her pace. When she resumed though, you knew you were really in for it. 

Karina’s thrusts became harsher, deeper, but also sloppier. She panted in your ear; her breath on your neck made you shiver. 

“Gonna cum,” she grunted. “You feel too fucking good.”

“I-In me,” you pleaded, knowing you must’ve looked as desperate as you sounded. “You can cum in me.”

Karina looked up at your reflection, catching your eye in the mirror. “Yeah?” she asked. You gulped. Her eyes were wild with desire. You nodded, and when she grinned in response, it sent an excited chill down your spine. 

The vampire took off again, plowing into you at a brutal, desperate pace that thrilled you. 

“Fuck, oh fuck,” she cursed, and then her hips slammed against you the hardest they ever had. You gasped when you felt it— Karina spilling her load in you. She continued to fuck into you as she came, bringing you closer to reaching your own release. 

Hearing your pants and whines get breathier, Karina snaked one hand around in front of you to tease your clit. 

You cried out, eyes squeezing shut as her fingers and your body fumbled for a few moments, both of you trying to find just the right angle that would— 

“Right there,” you rasped, your cunt clenching around her cock. “I’m gonna cum,” you cried, head tilting back a bit. 

Karina tsked in response. While one hand continued to circle your soaked clit, she used her other to yank your hair, making you tilt your head back up to look at the two of you in the mirror. Her thrusting hips held you in place. 

“Look at me when you cum,” she murmured, and you fought to hold her gaze. The moment you locked eyes with her, it sent you over the edge and you came around her. 

A satisfied smile crossed her lips, and then she released her hold on you. 

Catching your breath, the two of you stayed still for a minute until she could finally pull out. 

Some of her load spilled out of you, splattering beneath you on the bathroom’s tiled floor. 

You were slightly disappointed you couldn’t keep her full load in you, but Karina watched with great satisfaction. She gave your ass an appreciative slap, then squeezed your cheek in her hand.

The air was thick with more sexual tension as the two of you began to clean yourselves and the rest of the space up. The vampire helped you back into your costume, making sure your clothing was still in pristine condition. 

You tried not to look, but couldn’t help yourself from sneaking a glance at Karina while she tucked her softening cock back into her shorts. 

“Are you ready?” the vampire’s voice made you look up quickly.

“Yeah,” you said, not moving. Your nerves had returned. The music from the party outside was still just as loud, as were the conversations and laughter of partygoers, but you were anxious to see who was on the other side of the door– who, and how many, had heard you. 

“Hey, relax,” Karina said, sensing your mood shift. “It’s my party, no one’s going to say anything.”

You looked up at her curiously. “Wait— so you live here?” 

Karina unlocked the bathroom door and opened it. She led you out quickly. 

“Yeah,” she said casually, keeping your attention on her and away from some of the people nearby who definitely knew what had just happened between the two of you in there. “It’s a four bedroom. Ryujin didn’t tell you?” 

“N-no,” you stammered. You were going to say more but she was already leading you back to the main party space. Her warm hand held yours securely, but not tightly, as you weaved through the blur of people. 

She dropped your hand shortly after. You looked down, wondering why, when a familiar voice called out. 

“YN!” Ryujin said, approaching the two of you. “There you are!” Your roommate beamed at you, clearly having forgotten about the drink she asked you to get her. Instead, she held two tiny shot glasses in each hand. “Yeji and I were about to do some shots. I see you’ve met Karina.” 

You blushed. “Uh, yeah,” was all you could manage. 

“You didn’t tell me your roommate was so pretty, Ryujin,” the vampire said, stepping away. “I’m glad you came.” She winked at you, making your blush deepen. “See you around, angel.” 

[karlachismylife]

Hey, @nrdmssgs, sorry for annoying you, I'm mostly tagging you not for the text, but for the video. I just... thought you'd get it, you know? Sorry in advance if that won't really do anything for you.

It's just a little Nikto x reader something.

Song: Раньше в твоих глазах - Кино

Hot exhale turns into dampness on the cloth covering your mouth when it comes into contact with the cold air outside. Thick knitwear protects tender insides, but irritates skin around your lips, so pulling it down brings short relief before frosty wind bites into the vulnerable wet patches. Wiping it off with your sleeve is futile, wooly coat already covered in prickly snowflake crystals that melt against your skin, so you end up letting it go. Harsh cold kissing you with the passion of death personified.

Something you're familiar with.

Grey bumpy wall of a panel house with a cage wart of cellar maintenance entrance, frozen lock defying gravity and utterly useless with rusty hinges that will come off from a little nudge, protects you from the calm blizzard; little flame from your lighter licking at the end of your cigarette and successfully lighting it up first try. Orange light powers up with your first drag, shining just as bright and useless as the warm street lamps along the alley.

It's the cold, white ones, exposing every little snowflake incoming like icy missiles of the sky army, that actually do something to the darkness. Barely afternoon and it already feels like the middle of the night.

Smoke turns into purple mist when you breathe it out into the illusive air with the moisture of your lungs.

The world feels empty as you walk. It's undeniably riddled with signs of life, yellow windows of apartment complexes with a few pink or purple sprinkled in, crows cursing the cold, God - or maybe even you - hoarsly, crunchy snow pressed into a slippery surface by dozens of boots that walked in since the snowfall started. And yet you're filled with the peaceful feeling of being completely alone.

Funny how that makes you going out to the streets useless - before you exited your apartment, you were gearing up in warm clothes to meet someone. As soon as you stepped outside, liminal world of non-existent time - dawn, dusk and afternoon all at once - claimed you into its twilight mist.

Purpur twilight with glitter of snow wraps itself around another building that forgot it used to be white and pushes you between your shoulder blades. Same whirlwind moves a children's swing on a playground, fresh layer of snow where there's no one to sit anymore.

There's no one to lend you gloves as your fingers grow stiff, clutching an unflavoured cigarette. To your right, an endless stone wall with barbed wire on top drags along. Fluffy snowflake conglamerates get pierced by the spikes like inmates that weren't lucky enough to escape.

A bright white street lamp works as a floodlight in this one-person prison, sharp shadows softened by the twilight.

Crows notice him first. Shoulders slightly slouched to brace against the wind, hands deep in the pockets of a worn jacket with thick padding, heavy steps sinking into the fresh layer of powdered diamonds - a beast treading the zone. Grumpy birds scatter away, flapping their ashy black wings, unsynchronized choir of curse caws rolls off the man's broad shoulders with snow.

He notices you only after you drop what's left of your cigarette on the ground, barely warm butt burrowing itself into a tiny black dip, and take off. His steps stutter, then pick up again, and by the time you slam yourself into his sturdy chest, Nikto is already prepared for impact and doesn't even sway, catching you.

His hands are securely protected by thick black gloves, yet you still feel the desperation his fingers dig into your back through all the layers of winter clothes.

"Komu veleno bylo doma sidet', zhdat'?"* Voice muffled by his mask, he scoffs at the way you blatantly ignore his question, and leans even more in to brush what's left of his nose underneath against yours.

"I just wanted to meet you halfway." You shrug and roll your eyes as you see him pull off his gloves. A moment later your hands start boiling - fluffy insides of Andre's gloves accumulated so much warmth that your fingers prickle as they warm up.

"And I hoped I'd get fresh tea as soon as I come home." He chuckles, reaching into your pocket unceremoneously and fishing the cigarette pack and lighter out.

You escape the prison floodlight brightness and under gloomy protection of thickened twilight and grey concrete he exposes just his mouth to light the cigarette and take a drag.

"I boiled some literally a few minutes ago. And made pirozhki. A fuckton, actually, just in case someone comes home really hungry."

It's impossible to miss his subtle smile once you learn to catch it in the mere seconds it lights up his face and evaporates, like a shitty lightbulb at the stairwell of your building, reeking of old cigarette ash from the cat food can people use as ashtray at the bottom step. Nikto tilts his head up, letting the wind take his smoke and add it to the clouds that turn water into powdered sugar on the ground.

"S chem?"*

A panel house opens its maw, letting you both inside.

You stomp your feet in unison on the dirty, wet communal carpet, adding to the melted snow on it, before you move to the elevator.

"With love."

*Komu veleno bylo doma sidet', zhdat'? - Whom did I tell to sit and wait at home?

*S chem? - With what (filling)?

[monster-disaster]

[elf] Everen +1

elf!Everen x human!Reader Good to know: barely any spice

Summary: You barely get to the party but Everen already wants to leave.

Tell me again, why do I have to be here? The bright light of his phone illuminates his sharp features. The bluish glow follows the straight slope of his nose and the curve of his lips. They are currently twisted into a frown.

Because it’s your brother’s party, comes the reply after a few seconds, and Everen scoffs softly, his thumb hovering over the screen.

Where are you anyway? he sends back.

I’ll be there in a sec.

Everen huffs in displeasure but lets the conversation drop, sliding his phone into the back pocket of his tight jeans. He glances around, eyes skimming over the dimly lit room. The string of lights cast everything in shifting hues of orange and purple, making it feel like he is trapped in a nightmare full of carved pumpkins and fake bats. Shadows dance across the walls, stretching into long, twisted shapes that sway in time with the bass-heavy music. Paper ghosts and cobwebs hang from the ceiling, all cheap and hastily arranged, fluttering in the slight draft from an open window. Their eerie glow mingles with the festive lights.

The elf shifts his weight, trying to find a comfortable spot against the wall while glancing at the entrance door every now and again. He grits his teeth and forces himself to stay put, resisting the urge to bolt back outside into the cool night air. He’d promised to at least try to enjoy himself tonight, but it’s a promise that feels thinner by the second. As thin as the fake fog pooling around his feet.

“I see you are having fun, brother,” a familiar voice cuts through the thumping music.

Everen rolls his eyes, the irritation clear on his face as he turns his gaze toward the source. His younger brother stands there, dressed in a sleek black suit with fake vampire fangs that catch the dim light when he grins. His hair, a few shades darker than Everen’s, is tied back with a leather strap. It gives him a slightly rakish look that matches his playful attitude.

“Don’t even start,” Everen grunts, but his gruff demeanor only earns a warm, joyful laugh from Eenor. The sound is bright in the roar of the party.

“Where is your pretty assistant?” the younger elf teases, leaning in just enough to be heard over the music. “Maybe she’d lift your spirit.”

“She is on her way,” Everen replies. His tone is guarded as he narrows his eyes at his brother. Since when did he pay attention to whether you were pretty or not? He studies him, searching for the usual hint of mischief, but his brother’s grin is as easygoing as ever.

The older elf shifts his stance, trying to dismiss the discomfort that prickles at the back of his mind. His brother’s grin, paired with those ridiculous fake fangs, seems far too amused, and Everen’s suspicion only deepens.

“Oh,” Eenor breaks the silence after a few seconds, his grin widening as he glances toward the door. “She is here.”

Everen straightens instinctively at his brother’s words, a reflex that irritates him the moment he catches himself doing it. He follows his brother’s gaze to the entrance, where you’re busy maneuvering your coat onto one of the overcrowded racks. The noise of the party fades for a moment in his ears as he takes you in. Your tight black jeans hug your curves like a second skin. A loose white button-up shirt, clearly a few sizes too big for you, is tucked neatly into the waistband.

Next to him, his brother lets out a laugh, and Everen shoots him an irritated, confused look. The young elf's amusement only deepens, and Everen’s frown tightens. He shifts on his feet, the party’s rhythm pressing against his mind, but he can’t quite tear his gaze away from you as you finally manage to hang your coat and turn toward the room, scanning the crowd.

“We are here, Y/N!” Eenor shouts, waving his hand above the crowd to catch your attention.

You spot them quickly and navigate through the guest with a grin on your face. “Hey,” you greet as you approach, giving a quick glance around the room. “The party looks good,” you add, taking in the vibrating lights and playful decorations.

Everen, standing rigidly beside his brother, has to bite his lip to stop himself from scoffing at your comment.

He eyes you, frowning slightly. “What are you supposed to be?” His gaze sweeps over your outfit again.

You grin up at him, eyes glinting with mischief. “You.”

Everen’s eyes widen in surprise, his lips parting slightly. Meanwhile, his brother’s booming laughter fills the space between you, his amusement echoing off the walls.

“That’s great, Y/N!” the elf laughs, clapping you on the shoulder. “I love it. Let me grab you something to drink.”

“Thanks,” you reply with a chuckle, watching him head off before turning your attention back to Everen. You tilt your head, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “So? What do you think?”

Everen scowls, his arms crossing over his chest as he stares down at you. “You are not me.”

“Of course I am,” you retort, raising an eyebrow as you gesture to his outfit. He’s in his usual attire; fitted jeans and a crisp white shirt that hugs his lean frame perfectly. The resemblance is amusing, especially since you clearly put in some effort, unlike Everen, who didn’t even bother with a costume.

“It looks stupid,” he grunts, a frown etched on his face.

You blink at him, unimpressed. “Yeah,” you respond dryly. “I’m the one who looks stupid.” Your voice drips with sarcasm.

The room is a chaotic mix of dramatic capes, fake blood, and short skirts, with people leaning into the theme of the night with exaggerated enthusiasm. Around you, everyone is dressed as vampires, horror movie killers, and the inevitable assortment of slutty nuns and nurses.

Everen glances around again, following your gaze, and his scowl deepens as he watches someone stumble past in a cheap Frankenstein costume. The thick green paint on the guy’s face looks like it might peel off at any moment, and the elf can’t help but roll his eyes. A group of witches in matching hats giggle in one corner while a pair of ghostly figures with sheets draped over their heads approach them, looking more comical than scary.

“They look stupid, too,” he mutters in stubborn defiance.

You can’t help but chuckle at his irritation. You are used to this by now. “But that’s the point!�� you reply, your voice bright with laughter. “It’s Halloween. It’s all about being over-the-top and having fun.”

Everen shoots you a sidelong glance. “Fun for who?” he counters, eyebrow arched. “Not for me. I would rather be anywhere but here.”

You roll your eyes again, exasperated. “It doesn’t matter where you are, you always want to be somewhere else.”

A slow, sly grin pulls at the corners of his lips as he leans closer, his breath warm against your ear. “You know that’s not true.”

Your breath hitches at the meaning behind his words. Ever since you followed him to Ironridge, you find yourself in his arms quite often, much to your annoyance and his satisfaction.

“No,” you reply firmly, stepping back to create some distance between you, though your body betrays you immediately, craving the warmth he radiates. “It’s a party. We are here for your brother.”

Everen grunts, scanning the crowd until he spots his younger sibling among a group of angels with fluffy fake wings and short skirts. He is sipping from the disgustingly orange punch he originally intended for you.

“I think he is fine without us,” he mutters dismissively.

“Everen,” you groan. He doesn't even have to say anything, you already know his thoughts.

Your boss turns back to you. A smirk plays on his lips, and his eyes glint with mischief. “You can’t tell me you don't want the same thing,” he challenges.

You bite your lip, trying to maintain your composure even though you can feel the heat pooling in your belly. “This isn’t about me,” you insist stubbornly.

“Right,” he replies, sarcasm dripping from his words. “Just here for my brother, huh?”

"No," you reply. "I'm here because you wouldn't be here otherwise."

By the time you found out about the party, Everen had at least ten excuses to stay out of it.

"Come on," the male hums, stepping closer until his breath fans over your ear, warming you up from the inside out.

"People will see," you reason, though it sounds weak even for you.

"So?" He asks, wrapping his arms around your middle until you are pressed against his lean body.

You tilt your head to frown up at him, catching the faint smirk playing on his lips. “So?” you echo.

Your relationship with Everen is nothing short of a mess. He is your boss, a fact that should keep things strictly professional, but instead, it’s become another layer of tension. You sleep together, argue over the smallest things, and sometimes share lazy mornings like a couple. Yet, neither of you has dared to put a name to it. Most days, you’re both too caught up in your banter to dive into what this really means.

The elf, instead of answering, shrugs and shifts with an effortless motion, maneuvering you both until you find yourself between him and the wall. The fake spiderwebs hanging from the shelves above stick to your shirt, but none of you care about it.

"Everen," you warn, but your voice falters, betraying you as it slips into a breathless gasp when he slides his leg between yours, pressing up just enough to make your thoughts scatter. The closeness, the firm heat of his thigh against you, sends a rush of heat through your body. "Wha—" you try to form the question, but the word dies on your lips once again when the elf leans down, capturing your mouth in a kiss that’s as impatient as it is demanding.

You fall into his rhythm easily. Your body responds instinctively to the way his lips move against yours, taking everything he can from you. The hunger between you hums beneath the pulse of the loud music surrounding you. Each beat thrums through your veins and ripples down your spine. Your hands glide upward, fingers slipping along the firm lines of his neck before tangling into his white-blond hair. The strands are soft between your fingers as you pull him closer, opening your mouth to deepen the kiss.

"See?" Everen murmurs against your lips. His voice is a low rumble that you can feel as much as hear. His breath is warm and teasing, brushing over your flushed skin. "Nobody cares." His words carry a cocky edge, and before you can say anything, he moves his leg, pressing it more firmly between your thighs.

The shift sends a jolt of heat through you. The friction through the thick fabric of your jeans is maddening. It’s not enough to ease the ache building inside you, but just enough to make you crave more. The pressure is perfectly placed, grinding against your clit with every subtle shift of his body, making your breath hitch and your knees threaten to go weak. You bite back a whimper, clinging to his shoulders for support as your head falls back against the wall.

"Just say the word, and we can go back to my place." His mouth brushes over the corner of your lips, not quite kissing you again, but close enough to let you feel his smile, triumphant and amused.

"You are insufferable," you groan, half-annoyed, half-aroused.

The elf chuckles. His chest rumbles against yours. "Tell me something I don't know."

With feigned annoyance, you let out a dramatic sigh. Your grip on his shoulders tightens, though, as you look up at him. "Let's get out of here, then."

The moment the words leave your lips, Everen’s smile morphs into a wicked smirk. A spark of mischief gleams in his eyes underneath the vibrating lights of the party that faded into the background a long time ago. "That’s what I like to hear."

_ Tumblr Masterlist Original Everen Story Halloween week on my Patreon 🎃

[eclecticqueennerd]

Bad Dream

You rolled over in your shared bed with Ben and faced your nightstand. Cracking an eye open you read the digital clock, 3:30 in the morning. Sleep, slowly taking you back to dreamland, you hear the jiggling of the room door handle and the creaking of the door being opened. Hearing the soft padding of feet on the hardwood floor approaching the bed, a small, shadowed figure stood by your side of the bed. Opening your eyes fully, you see your son, clad in his cowboy pj’s, gently shaking you awake. Propping yourself up on your elbow you say,

“What wrong baby?”

“I had a bad dream; can I sleep with you and daddy?” You shift a little in the bed, making room for your son to climb in between Ben and you. Your son got settled in between the two of you, and wrap your arms around him, gently stroking his hair to calm him. During all this, Ben did not stir in his sleep, you’ve always been impressed with how deeply he slept.

“What was your dream about baby?” you asked your son gently.

“I had a dream that you and daddy died. In my dream, a supervillain and wanted to kill you for trying to get him in trouble.”

“Oh, well that is a scary dream. It’s okay honey, daddy won’t let that happen, he’s very, very strong. You, me, and daddy are all safe.” With a few more reassuring head rubs, your son fell back asleep, tucked against Ben. Sleep found you shortly after.

*

A few hours later, the sunlight poured into your room through sheer curtains framing your bedroom window. You shift in the bed to face your boys but noticed that the bed was empty. You slowly sit up and rub your eyes. You hear the soft cluttering of pots and pans and your son’s voice coming from the kitchen. Peeling back the blankets on the bed, you make your way into the kitchen and see Ben preparing breakfast while your son was drawing a picture at the counter.

“See daddy? This is what the supervillain looked like!” your son holds up the drawing and your stomach drops. A tall man with blonde hair adorned in a suit of red, white and blue, bright orange lasers coming from his eyes. Ben turns around and looks at the drawing,

“This is the guy? This guy is just puppet in a suit. He can’t hurt us, and if he tries, daddy punch him so hard his head will fly off.”

“But daddy I saw it! He used his laser eyes on mommy, and you were so mad, you then tried to beat him up and he used his laser eyes on you!”

“Sammy, I’m not letting anything happen to you or Mommy. It was just a dream, okay champ?” Ben reached out to give Sam a hair ruffle. You approached the two boys, sitting next to Sam.

“Let’s draw something else okay baby?” The two of you busied yourself while Ben made scrambled eggs and pancakes for breakfast. Before eating, Sam held up his drawing, proud of himself.

“Who are these people honey?” You point to a man in a trench coat with spikey hair and a fuzzy beard, a girl with claws on her fingers and scowl on her face, a short man with a mustache with big brown eyes, a large black man with a beard and a small, framed man with curly hair.

“They’re gonna kill the supervillain Mommy!”

“Okay, breakfast is done!” Ben said, placing the food on the counter.

*

What you didn’t know was that this was your son’s first power appearing, his power to predict the future.

[lauraschiller]

Bright Wings

(Written for the @inklings-challenge Four Loves Challenge.)

You may think you know this story. 

Think again.

Once upon a time, a handsome prince lost his way while hunting in the woods. Just as the prince had reached what is now called Swan Lake, and was taking aim at two particularly fine birds (even a whole flock, some say; hunters’ tales always grow in the telling), what should happen but, instead of both taking flight, one swan should suddenly spread her wings to shield the other? 

Surprised and touched, the prince lowered his bow. He was still more surprised when the rising moon broke through the black pines to shine upon their wings, and in the blink of an eye, two young women stood before him: one dressed in white and one in black, both lean and strong and silver-haired, our faces alike as two coins. We held our heads high, even as we trembled. 

I am the woman in black, and this is my story. 

The prince hardly noticed me that night, nor did I wish him to do so. The threat of sharp iron still rang through my bones, and so I faded into the shadows, keeping a watchful eye on my sister. Our father had always warned us that men (except for himself, naturally) were not to be trusted. In this arrow-wielding stranger, I saw all his teachings confirmed. My sister, however, always braver than I, forgave the prince as soon as his bow dropped into the grass. She held out her hand to him with all the grace and dignity of her nature, and he bowed over it with the air of one dazed.

“Forgive me,” he said. “If I had known … that is, I never meant to frighten you.”

Odette merely smiled and beckoned me forward.

“Do not be afraid,” she said. “He will not hurt us. Will you, Master … ?”

“Prince Siegfried, at your service.” He swept off his feathered hat. “And … might I have your names?”

“I am Odette, and this,” she drew her arm around my shoulders, “Is Odile.”

That was how it began.

He could not stay long that night, or any other night that followed. Father, who unlike us could change his shape whenever he chose, guarded his lands in the form of an eagle-owl. Whenever we heard him scream, or his wings darkened the moon, we always sent our secret visitor away, fearing for his life should Father discover him. Yet even those brief visits were enough for the prince to open a whole new world to us. He brought us rare fruits we had never tasted, oranges and mangoes from the palace greenhouses. He lent us books from his library, tales of adventure we read to each other in whispers. He played the flute for us and we danced, Odette following the music step by step as I spun and flapped to rhythms of my own. 

I no longer feared him as time passed. How could I, when he was so kind? I can see him now, with leaves in his hair and laughter in his eyes, leaning against the trunk of a tree. He would twirl me about and ruffle my hair as if I were his little sister, but it was Odette’s hand he lingered over every time he bowed farewell. My heart leapt when I saw him coming, only to sink when he left.

Still, I did not wholly trust him. 

When I found my sister weeping in her bedchamber one night after he had gone, my heart sank with premonitions of trouble to come.

“Is it Siegfried? If he has hurt you, I shall peck out his eyes.”

“He has asked me to marry him … and I said yes.”

“That is indeed cause to weep,” I said. “But I am surprised you think so.”

“Don’t you see?” She cried. “He wants me to come to the ball tomorrow, to introduce me to the Queen and ask for her blessing. Tomorrow is a new moon! Even if Father permits it, which he never will, I cannot go. I shall be a swan all night. He will be shamed before the court when the girl he spoke of never arrives, or if I arrive in swan form, they will call him mad. He will think I do not care for him, and that will break my heart,” and she hid her face in her pillow, like the waning moon behind the clouds. And like the moon, I realized, her thoughts were so hidden from me, I could barely follow them.

“You cannot mean to tell me,” I faltered, “That you do care for him?”

Odette’s look made it clear I was a fool for even asking.

“Enough to marry him? Enough to leave me here - with Father?”

Her eyes widened. It was a measure of her love for Siegfried that, for once, I had not even entered into her plans.

“I could take you with me, perhaps,” she said. “As my lady-in-waiting, if the Queen permits?”

I had little faith in such an idea. Siegfried had spoken to us often of the stifling conventions of his mother’s court, which he sought to escape with us. Any place that made Father’s lands look like freedom was not one I cared to call home.

“You do not know Father if you think you can escape him so easily.” Yet as the brief light of hope faded from her eyes, to be replaced by despair as deep as any I had ever seen (for she did know Father, and therefore knew that escape would be anything but easy), I knew what I must do, though fear lay in wait like a steel-tipped arrow.

“If you cannot go to the ball,” I said, “I will.”

I was the darkness to her light, and so our shape-changes were mirrored. If the swan in her was strongest during the new moon, for me it was weakest. 

“Oh, sister! Would you?”

“I will speak to the prince for you. He is not worthy of you, but if you want him, I shall bring him to you. I give you my word.”

She embraced and thanked me half a dozen times over, but even as I stroked her hair and told her all would be well, I felt a splinter of darkness drive itself into my heart.

Once I helped her unite with her prince, I thought, how long until they both abandoned me?

/

I had tracked Prince Siegfried to his palace more than once, thinking it useful to know where he lived. It was not far as the swan flies, yet by the time I saw its pale walls painted red by the setting sun, my wings ached from the speed of my flight. I had seen no shadow, heard no rustle, felt no stir in the air but my own, but all my bird-instincts cried out that I was being hunted.

I landed awkwardly inside a hedge maze in the gardens, so as to change shape unnoticed at moonrise. I had not expected the maze, which seemed so simple from above, to loom so tall and dark over my head once I was inside it. I turned one corner, then another. Surely, I would soon find a way out.

Something rustled behind me.

I whirled around.

Father stepped out of the shadows, his great brown eagle-owl’s wings shifting into a velvet cloak. He could fly as silently as darkness itself when he chose. I should have known.

“You must have thought you were very clever, child. Did you think I would not notice you stealing away?”

“Father! I - I can explain - ”

“No need.” He held up one leather-gloved hand to silence me. “Your sister told me everything.”

“ … she did?”

“Young Prince Siegfried has caught your fancy, has he?” His golden eyes gleamed like a night-hunter’s. “Odette tells me you have reached an understanding already, that all you need is the Queen’s consent. I had no idea you were capable of such ambition.”

I thought, at first, there must be some misunderstanding. I opened my mouth to correct him - tell him it was Odette, not I, who had fallen in love with the prince - when I realized what must have happened. Odette had made me her scapegoat, to protect herself from Father when he had demanded to know where I was. She had lied to him.

(Impossible, those who have heard this tale will say. She was the light to my darkness. If anyone is a liar, I am - but I leave that to you to judge.)

Neither of us had betrayed the other to Father on this scale before. Then again, neither of us had disobeyed Father on this scale either.

While I was still speechless, what Father did next frightened me more than punishment, for I could not begin to guess his purpose. 

He smiled.

“Come now, stop staring. I could not have chosen better for you myself. I am proud of you, my future queen.”

Never once had he told us so, in all our sixteen years. “Truly, Father?”

“Truly.” He placed his heavy hands on my shoulders and - for the first time in my life - kissed my brow. 

“But I must warn you first.” His smile sharpened. “Have I ever told you why you and your sister are swans by day and maidens by night?”

“All I know is that we have lived this way as long as I can remember. Why?”

“Because swans mate for life, of course.” He pulled a black feather from my hair and turned it in his fingers as he spoke. “When your mother broke her word, I could think of no better shape to teach her the meaning of loyalty. She sought to fly from me. I gave her wings.”

He crushed the feather in his fist and let the fragments fall.

My mind reeled. I remembered nothing of our mother, and neither, I believed, did Odette. There was not so much as a portrait of her anywhere in Father’s manor. He never spoke her name. We had never missed her, not knowing what there was to miss, but we had often wondered what she might be like. The mockery in his voice as he spoke of giving her wings made my own flightless body heavy as lead.

“You … cursed her?” I whispered through my dry throat. “Is that why she died?”

“I did not kill her. A hunter’s arrow did. It was a merciful death, I assure you.” There was no mercy in this sorcerer’s eyes. 

“So take care, my cygnet. If you or the one you love should ever break your word to each other, you will be a swan all your life, and Odile no longer.”

“I understand, Father.”

And indeed I understood - that my body, my sanity, my very self, were held by a tyrant from whom there could be no escape.

/

Father led me out of the maze, through the gardens and up the palace steps, where we joined the throng of arriving guests. I had not given a thought to my appearance, but Father conjured garments for us both. The ball was a masquerade and masked we were, he as an eagle-owl in brown and gold, I as a swan in black and silver. Father showed his note of invitation to the herald at the door, gave our name to him as Tannenwald, and mine as Odette. Soldiers in chain mail stood guard beside the doors and in every corner of the ballroom, to protect the royal family and their guests from just such impostors as we were, but they did not give us a second glance.

That was my chance to tell the truth, to run, to do anything but betray my sister, but Father’s arm and my own cowardice held me fast.

Our false names rang out into the ballroom.

I had never seen so many people in all my life, let alone all crushed together into one hall. More candles burned than we used in a year. Masked strangers whirled about in unfamiliar patterns, smelling of sweat and wine and perfumes. Painted nails flashed like talons, bared teeth like fangs. Fur and feathers shone with every movement. My swan-self screamed a silent warning: hunters on every side.

They all made way as Prince Siegfried bounded across the floor.

Alone among the company, he wore no mask. His handsome face, his blue eyes guileless and open as the lake at noonday, his dark curls that bounced with every step, I would have known anywhere. In honor of his guests, his clothes were finer than any in which I had seen him, though I missed his hunting leathers and was rather in awe of his velvet and gold. It was difficult to imagine this man content in the woods.

He bowed to Father with respect, but without fear. He then turned to me, smiling with unaffected delight.

“Odette! At last! I thought you were never coming - I - that is … how delighted I am to finally make your acquaintance.” He blushed as he took my hand. He could hardly admit to our secret meetings in front of Father. “I had heard that Baron von Tannenwald never left his estate.”

“Only for special occasions,” Father said smoothly. “Such as Your Highness’ coming-of-age, or my daughter’s first ball.” His fond smile looked almost genuine.

“You have two daughters, sir, have you not? Twins?”

“Odile is indisposed tonight. A trifle, never fear. She will soon have her chance.”

“I look forward to it.” Siegfried beamed. “Will you come and meet my mother?”

“We would be honored.”

The prince ushered us to the throne at the far end of the room, upon which Queen Hildegard sat with her courtiers about her. Her face was as handsome as her son’s, her blonde-and-silver hair tied back in a net of pearls, and her gown a rich shade of gold. Father swept her a bow, and I attempted a curtsey. She inclined her head graciously in response, but her smile was uncertain, perhaps even sad.

“You remind me of someone,” she murmured, her eyes fixed upon our masked faces. “I cannot think who it is.”

“This is the young lady of whom I spoke, Mother,” said Siegfried. “I told you she would be here.”

“She is as lovely as you said, my son,” said the Queen. “I am pleased to meet you both. Baron, may tonight be the start of friendship between our houses. Odette, my dear, I hope you enjoy your evening. Take care of her, Siegfried, for she has lived quietly, and we do not wish for the crowd to overwhelm her.”

Tongue-tied, I nodded.

“Of course, Mother,” said Siegfried, “May I begin now by asking for the honor of the next dance?”

“You may,” said Father, handing me over to the younger man like a parcel.

Siegfried led me away, waiting until we were out of earshot - he could not know that Father had the ears of a bird of prey - to lean down and speak to me.

“You look ravishing, though I have never seen you wear black before. I almost took you for your sister.”

One more chance to tell the truth. 

“Thank goodness you are not. Nothing against Odile, she is a sweet girl, only so odd I never know what to say to her.”

Once more, I let it go.

“Have you ever known a young lady to wear only one color?” I said, with Odette’s gentle smile. “We contain multitudes, my prince.”

“So I see,” he said, drawing me close as the orchestra began the next dance.

(I wish I could tell you what came over me when he took my hand. They say I was jealous. As the black swan, what else would I be? They say I set out on purpose to steal him from my sister and win him for myself. That was never my intent, and even if it were, a man’s heart is no trinket for the taking. But I ask you, if you were starving with a banquet before you, could you turn away? If you had lived for sixteen years with such a man as Father, how far would you go for a bit of attention?)

I did not know the dances of this court, but music had always been my refuge, whether it came from the prince’s flute, my sister’s lullabies, or the nightly songs of frogs, birds and crickets by the lake. I could not dance as anyone but myself, and so I did. I jumped. I flapped. I spun myself dizzy. I stomped until the floor shook. I swung Siegfried around, reeled him in and pushed him away. I danced out my wildness and my shyness, my fears and my rage. I danced to drown out the two discordant voices within me: the bird demanding to fly, the woman longing to be seen. 

I looked up, and Siegfried saw me.

The blue of his eyes was nearly swallowed up by the darkness of his pupils. His face was flushed from more than the dance. When he lifted me, I felt the heat of his hands through layers of black silk. 

That look, that touch, though it made my own heart race, by rights belonged to my sister. 

For all our sakes, I had to tell him the truth.

“I must speak to you alone,” I said, catching my breath in the moment between dances.

“Yes … ” He could not tear his eyes from me. “Alone.”

“It is a matter of urgency!” I snapped. “Is there any place we will not be overheard?”

I rose on my toes, searching frantically for Father among the crowd. If I could only get Siegfried far enough away from him, I could end this charade right now and take him to Odette as I had planned from the beginning.

“The balcony!” he gasped. “Come with me.”

He pulled me by the hand, weaving through a swarm of dancing couples, toward the balcony doors. 

He was already reaching for the handle when Father’s booming voice stopped us both.

“Not so fast, Your Highness.”

The other dancers drew away from us as he approached. Some lifted their eyeglasses to stare, others whispered and giggled. Even the musicians, who had just ended their previous piece, did not begin another one. 

In the silence that replaced their playing, I thought I heard a strange tapping sound.

“Sneaking off to a dark corner, were we?” He chuckled. “I was young once too, I understand. But,” his smile flashed into a snarl as his hand shot out to grab Siegfried by the shirtfront. “That is my daughter you are dealing with, not some common tavern wench. I expect her to be treated with all the respect due to her station.”

Gasps and excited chatter rippled through the audience. Apparently, the one thing these people enjoyed more than a dance was a scene. 

“Sir, please - ” Siegfried dropped my hand as though it were a live coal. “It was nothing like that. We were only - ”

“I needed to tell him something,” I broke in. “Somewhere quiet enough to talk, nothing more.”

The tapping continued, followed by a thump, as if something heavy had struck wood.

“Surely telling each other secrets can wait until you are married.” Father let go of Siegfried’s shirt and smoothed out the wrinkles, but there was an implied threat even in this. “You do intend to marry her, no? You have been paying such marked attention to her all evening, I would be very much surprised if that was not the case.”

“Are you implying that my son - your future king - is not a man of honor?” Queen Hildegard had made her way through the onlookers and was frowning at us all with royal displeasure. “Because I raised him as such, and have never known him to be anything less.”

“Please forgive any implied insult, Your Majesty,” said Father. “Naturally, I was concerned for my beloved daughter. When I see a man pulling her away to get her alone - ”

“He did what?” The Queen turned her frown upon her son. “Siegfried, explain yourself.”

This crossfire of questions and accusations from all sides, surrounded by scandal-hungry strangers, backed up against a pair of closed doors and with that relentless tap-tap-tap still sounding in the background, was like a nightmare from which I could not wake. Siegfried must have felt the same way, because when he spoke, he did so with the desperation of a condemned man. 

“Yes! Yes, of course I will marry her. I give you my word!”

The balcony doors flew open as Odette hurled herself through. 

The first thing she saw was her betrothed, with one hand gesturing to me and the other raised to heaven, pledging himself to another woman before her eyes. 

She hovered in mid-air, wings beating hard, beak open as she gasped for breath. Had she flown here for Siegfried, or for me? To keep her appointment, to apologize for making me her scapegoat, or to warn us of Father’s plans? Had he given her the same warning he had given me?

“If you or the one you love should ever break your word to each other, you will be a swan all your life … ”

What had I done?

/

Odette, speechless and tearless, let out a piercing cry and soared into the night.

Rage at all the world, myself most of all, boiled up within me and struck out at the most convenient target: Prince Siegfried.

“There!” I shrieked, pointing to the sky. “There goes your betrothed! I am Odile, you fool, not Odette! I tried to tell you - how could you not know? How can you say you love her, if you cannot even tell us apart?”

Siegfried glanced from me to the moonless night into which Odette had flown, then to Father, the Queen, and everyone watching. His face twisted from confusion to fury as he saw us, saw me, for who I truly was.

“You - you tricked me … you lied to me! Why?”

Too many reasons to name, all of them true, all of them worthless … and all of them drowned out by Father’s mocking laughter.

“You have only yourself to blame, young prince. So this is Odile, is it? No matter.” Father clapped me on the back, sending me staggering toward Siegfried, who recoiled. “You saw what you wanted to see, and blinded yourself to the truth. Still, you had better marry one of my girls, unless you want them both to be swans forever. Which shall it be, boy? Choose!”

Siegfried froze in horror, unwilling to condemn either of us to lose ourselves that way. 

It was the Queen who, hearing Father all but boast of the shape-changing curse upon his daughters, came to a conclusion about her formerly honored guest that did not please her in the least. She stepped forward, snatched the owl-feather mask from his face, and threw it at his feet.

“Rothbart,” she hissed. “Sorcerer. How dare you return, after all these years?”

“Is that any way to greet your future kinsman?” Father raised his arms in mock offense. “Since you banished me from this kingdom, there can be no sweeter irony than for my child to rule it - whichever one of them lasts the night.”

“I see you have no more regard for your daughters than you once had for your wife.” Her lips twitched and her eyes flickered, grief warring with anger across her face. “Ophelie was my friend. For her sake, I should have killed you when I had the chance. Guards, seize him!”

The royal guards drew their weapons and converged on Father. With a flourish of his brown feather cloak, he turned into an owl and flew over their heads, dodging spears and arrows as if they were toys. Guests shrieked and scattered in all directions as the guards tried to evacuate the room. Others raised shields around the Queen. 

Siegfried drew his sword as well, but I caught him by the sleeve.

“Get away from me,” he spat. “Witch!”

“Insult me later,” I shouted over the noise. “We must find Odette!”

“Yes, but - where could she have gone?”

“Where else but the lake?”

If the curse was already working, if my sister was fading and her swan-self taking control, she would be drawn there with the instinct of a bird. And even if she was still herself, where could she go? It was the closest either of us had to a home.

He nodded sharply and leaped over the balcony railing, climbing down by way of a strong vine that grew along the wall. I leaned down long enough to see him land on his feet and run to the stables.

I knew a faster way.

The swan called to us, you see. It was always there in the back of our minds, urging us to take flight. We could only change from swan to girl at moonrise, but from girl to swan at any time, if we were desperate - which I was.

I launched myself off the balcony and let my black silk gown ripple into wings.

/

I found Odette just where I had been expecting her.

An old weeping willow grew by the shores of the lake, its low-hanging branches making a curtain of leaves which, in swan form, sheltered us from the sun, wind and rain. The roots of this tree formed a hollow which, over the years, we had padded with moss, leaves, grass and shed feathers until it was as comfortable a nest as we could make it. We slept there in the daytime, to make the most of our moonlight hours as girls. If Father knew where it was, he had never sought us there. It was the most likely place I could think of for either of us to hide in a time of trouble. I landed on the surface of the lake as smoothly as I could, swam to the willow, and drew the leaf-curtain aside. 

Odette was a ball of rumpled white feathers in the middle of the nest, her head tucked under her wing. Her breaths, still rapid, were the only signs that she was still awake. She had flown so fast; she must have been exhausted. She had always been more of a woman and less of a swan than I was.

I had a thousand things to say to her, but even in the daytime, I would have been at a loss how to begin. How could I explain to her the tangled web of lies, manipulations, resentment and fear that had led us to this? How could I tell her that, when the sun would rise and her mind would break in a few hours, so would my heart?

I stretched out my neck and nudged her gently.

She flew up with a scream and attacked me in a flurry of beak and wings. 

I of all people, her twin, the one fellow creature who understood what it meant to be Father’s daughters, had stolen the only thing she had ever wanted for herself: the love that would have helped her escape. Soon, she would never be herself again, and it would be my fault. What I had done was unforgivable, and we both knew it. I deserved to be torn to shreds.

My swan-self knew nothing of remorse, however. It demanded I fight back, blow for blow, bite for bite, until one of us was dead and the other broken - just as Father would have wanted.

I refused to give him the satisfaction.

She was better than this. Even I was better than this. We had to be.

I made myself limp and defenseless, floating on the water among twigs and leaves. I would not raise a wing against her, even if she killed me.

She stopped.

Her head tilted sideways to look at me, her neck lowered, and her wings drooped. She pecked tiredly at our lost feathers, black and white, which had been scattered everywhere. The sorrow in her eyes had nothing swan-like about it.

When she began to shine, my first thought was that sunrise had come early.

Yet the sky above us was still dark, the new moon barely a sliver among the stars. Still she shone, whiter than paper, whiter than snow, then too impossibly bright to look at. I covered my eyes, but my own black wings were shining too, until there seemed no difference between them; both of us glowed with the blue light found at the heart of a flame. The pain of my injuries faded, healed by a warmth stronger than summer sunshine. I called out, and my voice was no longer a swan’s. I found myself laughing, or weeping, or both - and so did she.

When the light faded, we were standing on the banks of the lake, barefoot and tousle-haired, the hems of our dresses soaked with mud, human from head to toe. 

Her face, mirroring my own in wide-eyed disbelief, was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. 

We laughed. We wept. We embraced. We pulled water-weed out of each other’s hair and helped each other to the nearby cabin where we kept dry clothes and shoes. We tried to act as if this were any other morning shape-change, when we both knew it was anything but that.

“We broke the spell,” were the first coherent words I found to say. “How is this possible?”

“I am not certain,” said Odette, still breathless, blinking down at her own hands as if newly born. “All I remember is thinking that … ”

“Yes?”

“That I forgave you.” She looked up at me with an astonished smile. “I forgive you!”

“You … you do?”

“Always. Are we not sisters?” She squeezed my hands even as her smile faded and her eyes filled once more. “Can you ever forgive me? It was my idea to lie about which of us was betrothed - ”

“Of course I forgive you, how could I not? Father was using us both.” 

“So he did, but … oh, Odile, why did you let him do it?”

“I was jealous.” Beneath all of Father’s schemes I could have used as an excuse, this was the ugly truth. “No one has ever looked at me the way your prince looks at you.”

“No one has seen us for sixteen years, so how could they?” She tilted her head, bird-like even now, to give me that pointed look that told me to stop acting the fool. “You may yet have your chance. We are free now, to go anywhere and be anyone we choose.”

This idea was beyond my comprehension, so soon after breaking a curse that had lasted a lifetime. 

We could have debated for hours about what to do next, had we not heard the familiar sound of hoofbeats among the trees.

Siegfried came crashing through the undergrowth, leapt down from his horse and ran towards Odette. He stopped short for a moment at the sight of me, but continued on, even as she stood waiting beside me in the doorframe of our cabin with a dignity that would have done credit to Queen Hildegard herself.

“Odette? Thank Heaven you’re alright - but … how?”

“Odile saved me.” Odette wrapped her arm around me, refusing to let me hide (and showing him, unmistakably, which of us was which). 

“We saved each other,” I corrected her. “The spell is broken. We are no longer swans.”

Siegfried stared back at us, lost for words, struggling between joy for her, resentment for me, and sheer amazement at the miracle that had taken place. 

“I am sorry for my part in Father’s plot,” I added. “You deserved better than to be used like that.”

“Indeed not,” said Odette ruefully. “We hardly know each other, as tonight proves, and in that short time we’ve brought you nothing but trouble. I would not blame you if you chose to walk away.”

“Walk away?” Siegfried’s voice rose in disbelief. “Having met your father, if you think I would abandon anyone to him, let alone the woman I - ” He stopped, ducked his head, and shifted from one foot to another, like the bashful boy he must have been not so long ago. 

“I know you have no reason to trust me, after what I’ve done,” he said to Odette. “But please - all I ask for is the chance to earn it back. Let me take you - both of you - back to the palace. You will be under the Queen’s protection. He will never come near you again.”

He held out his hand to Odette.

She hesitated for what felt like a long time, and I wondered what she was thinking. Did she see that same hand in her mind’s eye, gesturing to me as he broke his promise? Which of us traitors would be easier for her to forgive: sister or lover? Did she still love him? Did any of us even know what it was to love?

“Can you really not see the differences between Odile and me?” she asked suddenly. “Or were you pretending not to, and using our resemblance as an excuse? If you were, tell me now. I would rather face the truth.”

“What a fool and scoundrel you must think me … ” Siegfried shrank into his evening clothes. “The truth is that Rothbart was right. I saw what I wanted to see, and blinded myself to the truth. Odile seemed so - so free on that dance floor, so unguarded … ever since we met, I always hoped to see you like that someday.”

Unguarded - with Father watching us all night? And yet I knew what Siegfried meant. I remembered a moment when the music had struck a high note and he had lifted me clear over his head, turning in a circle, so I could see the entire ballroom at one glance. I had never come so close to flying in my human form as I had then. 

“I have never known freedom in all my life,” said Odette, looking up at him so wistfully I began to wonder if I should leave them alone. “But with you, I began to believe it was possible … until tonight.”

“Couldn’t you still believe it? Even now?” Siegfried asked her in a low voice. “Couldn’t you try?”

I withdrew into the shadows. I believe they had forgotten I was there. Neither one could take their eyes off the other, even though Odette still held herself apart. 

Whatever answer she might have given him, though, was drowned out by the scream of an eagle-owl above our heads.

We all froze, like mice in a burrow hoping the hunter will pass them by. We should have known the royal guards could not stop Father, though they had certainly delayed him for a while. Breaking his curse had done nothing to prevent the hot knife of fear that stabbed me as I heard him call. 

We could not spirit our guest away and pretend innocence this time. We had no choice but to face him down.

“Well met, son-in-law,” said Father, landing before us with barely a rustle. “I thought I would find you here. So, have you made your choice?”

He gave no sign of being surprised, or even aware, that Odette and I had broken the curse. His owl-senses must have told him what shape we wore already.

“I am not your son–in-law!” Siegfried reached for the sword at his belt, which I had assumed was ceremonial, but which gleamed sharply as he drew it. “You have no right to call yourself a father to these women. In the name of the Crown, I order you to let them go.”

“Order me?” Father scoffed. “I give the orders here, little prince.”

He gestured with one hand. Siegfried’s sword glowed red-hot, as if freshly forged. He cried out in pain and flung it away, clutching his burnt hand. The sword landed in the lake with a hiss of steam.

“Father, please listen.”

Odette’s voice rang out in the cool night air, clear and confident, without a trace of the fear she must have felt. Siegfried had stepped in front of us, but now she did the same. She held out her arms to shield us. Even in the pale light of the new moon, the long sleeves of her dress shone like bright wings.

I had seen this before.

That sweep of white blew layers of dust from my memories, opening a strongbox my mind had locked and buried years ago. I had never forgotten it, only feared it - until now.

Baroness Rothbart. Ophelie. Mother. 

I remembered.

/

Mother is packing. Odette smiles as if we are going on holiday, but I am anxious. Mother is throwing clothes into a bag at random, not even folding them, which is unlike her. She keeps looking over her shoulder at the door. I try to stay out of her way as she hurries back and forth. 

The door creaks open. Father is angry. I thought he was going with us, but no - Mother really means to go without him.

“If you must leave, good riddance, but you will not take my flesh and blood from me.” He waves a commanding hand at us. “Girls, come here.”

Odette takes a step forward. I hide behind Mother’s skirt. She gathers us both close. “You are on the wrong path, Eric. You might not see it, but I do. I will not leave them - and certainly not with you.”

“Then you leave me no choice.” He raises his hands to cast a spell.

Mother throws herself between him and us, white sleeves billowing, 

He does not stop.

The world twists all out of shape, like your face reflected in the bowl of a spoon, like fragments of colored glass being shaken in a kaleidoscope. My bones are on fire. Odette is screaming, or is that both of us? No, all three.

We are a swan and two cygnets, lying dazed on the floor.

/

I remembered it all - Father’s hand tearing like talons through the air, Mother’s hand warm and trembling on my shoulder. I remembered the strange, kaleidoscopic world I had glimpsed as the curse took hold, a world of magic underneath the reality to which I was accustomed. It would have been beautiful, were it not so terrifying. Was this what Father saw, every time he cast a spell?

He made it look so easy. Could I do it?

Even as my mind reeled, Odette was calling on all the strength she had to reason with him.

“We are no threat to you,” she said. “All we ask is that you allow us to accept the prince’s generosity, and live at court like any other baron’s daughters. Our curse is broken, so you will no longer have to spend magic to provide for us. We can leave each other in peace. Was that not what you wanted by arranging this betrothal?”

Siegfried’s head lifted in joyful surprise, as this was the first sign Odette had shown of accepting his olive branch. Father, however, scowled.

“What I want, what I have always wanted, is to rule … and for that end, I begin to suspect the boy is more trouble than he is worth.”

Again, he flicked aside the veil between worlds; a small movement this time, but I still saw it. A crossbow appeared in his leather-gloved grasp.

“Stand aside, girl. This won’t take long.”

“We’ll see about that.” Siegfried, brave fool, raised his fists. “If this is your challenge, sorcerer, I accept.”

“No, please!” Odette cried. “Father, let us go!”

Father raised his weapon. Siegfried pushed Odette aside. History was repeating itself, just as it had all those years ago. Once again, I was helpless to do anything but watch … or was I?

Oh Mother, this is why you tried to save us. Shall we never be free of him?

That was when I felt something brush my shoulder, soft as feathers, and heard a voice in my mind that might have been Mother - or Someone else.

I am with you, my children. Free yourselves.

I burst out of the shadowy cabin where I had been hiding and flung up my hands. 

To this day, I can neither describe nor understand what reached out through me the moment I opened the veil. It was a force that could reshape reality as a child plays with mud. If Father thought he could control it, he was deeply mistaken. When he had told me he was the one to choose what creature we turned into, either he had been lying, or he did not understand magic as well as he thought.

Whatever it was, it poured out of me, flowed harmlessly in streams around Odette and Siegfried, and caught hold of Father as if he were a toy.

His conjured crossbow dropped into the grass. He roared and struggled, but the magic did not let him go. It tugged and twisted him this way and that, stretching his face into a beak, pulling at his shoulder blades until wings erupted. At first, I thought he was changing into his owl form again - although when he’d done it for himself, it had never looked this painful - but if so, this owl was taller than a man and had feathers that gleamed like knives. Its screech had a grating sharpness nothing living could produce - and yet, somewhere underneath it was still Father’s voice.

Odette was the first of us to recover her presence of mind. She pounced on the fallen crossbow and pushed it into Siegfried’s arms.

“Run!”

And so we did.

No matter what the ballads tell you, there is nothing glorious about battle. It consists of scrambling up trees, behind bushes or down muddy holes in the hope of not having the flesh torn from your bones. The crossbow was a magical weapon with an endless supply of arrows, but Siegfried’s shots kept glancing off the creature’s scales. The few that struck seemed to enrage it even further. All that saved us was the increasing wildness of its attacks. We were watching Father lose himself before our eyes.

But Siegfried was still a master archer, and eventually there came a moment when his enemy dragged himself along the ground, breath rattling, leaving a dark trail along the shoreline.

I thought of Odette, pecking at the feathers we had shed during our fight. If I spoke now, I might regret it all my life, but no less would I regret staying silent.

“Father? Forgiveness breaks the curse. It will heal you. It doesn’t need to end this way.”

Could I forgive him? Could Odette? I saw her from the corner of my eye, hiding behind a tree trunk, watching warily to see what he would do. Siegfried held his bow steady, poised to shoot at the slightest movement. 

The creature moaned. His eyes, yellow as an owl’s, seemed to darken with a look that was almost human. 

I took one small step toward him, then another. Odette emerged from behind the tree. Siegfried lowered his weapon.

The creature snapped at me, who was closest. Odette pulled me back. Its owl-eyes flashed up at us with mindless animal aggression.

Siegfried’s last shot struck home inside its open beak.

It fell, thrashing, and slid sideways down the bank and into the lake. The water hissed and bubbled until it was still.

Siegfried’s bow vanished in a twist of nothingness. He ran to Odette, kissed her as if he were the one drowning, and held her close as she melted into him. I backed away, but Odette caught me by the sleeve and pulled me in. Siegfried, after a moment’s hesitation, kissed me on the forehead like a brother.

The sun was rising. By its light, I saw us in living colour for the first time: Siegfried’s hazel eyes shadowed with weariness, Odette’s blue as the morning sky and red-rimmed with tears, and my own red-blond hair straggling down around my face. Our dresses, no longer enchanted to mimic the feathers of water birds, were streaked with dirt. We were beautiful. We were alive.

“Let me take you home,” said Siegfried, offering us each an arm.

Needless to say, we accepted.

THE END

[thevalkyriesshadow]

Moodboard by iris_mindplace on Insta

Gwynriel art credit: venusfolk on Insta

Divider by @strangergraphics-archive

A Waltz of Shadows and Ribbons

A fluffy Gwynriel ficlet inspired by Gwynriel as the Waltz aesthetic!

Gwyn and Azriel meet to rehearse the waltz they'll be performing in the Winter Court while on a mission. The waltz is an elegant, flowing dance that requires trust from both partners...along with lots of hand holding and touching.

Gwyn entered the great hall of The House. A room she’d never been in. One that she hadn’t ventured in yet in the handful of months she’d been living here. When she received the note from Azriel that this was where they’d be rehearsing she was admittedly nervous. A grand ballroom with only Azriel and Gwyn inside, occupying the room. Touching. Holding. Dancing with each other…

Read the rest under the cut or here on AO3!

Wiping the nervous sweat onto her Priestess robes, Gwyn gawked at the space as she entered. Windows that stretched from floor to ceiling showed the beautiful setting sun outside. Velaris was on display tonight, with lights twinkling against the deep oranges, rosy pinks, and soothing purples of the nighttime coming to life around them. 

Intricate moulding outlined the windows and edges of the room in a leafy pattern. Her eyes followed them around the perimeter, inspecting every aspect. Admiring the way the designs sprawled and converged together, creating a space that felt like art itself.

Faelights sparked to life in the sconces around the room, making Gwyn jump and gasp at the hissing sound as they flickered brightly until settling to a perfect, warm glow. Even a few floated above her head. Gwyn reached up to touch one, but it floated just out of her reach. Of course they were safety proof against curious minds like hers.

She studied the floor then, the bright marble mottled with a grey design, no doubt picked to hide scuff marks from the countless shoes that would dance across it. Her flat shoes whispered along as she travelled across the tiled floor. 

Her attention was pulled everywhere. Every new detail jumped out at her until a shadow passed in front of her, pulling her attention away from the magnificent chandeliers dripping with crystals to the darkest corner of the room.

Gwyn nearly jumped out of her skin when she realized someone was standing there.

Her hand flew to her chest, “Azriel –” she gasped. Then her eyes narrowed, her hands on her hips as she shot at him, “How long have you been standing there?”

A small curl formed at the corner of the Spy Master’s mouth, “Long enough.” He stepped out from the shadows. His wings tucked high and proud behind him, no doubt chuffed with himself that he caught her off guard. He wasn’t in his usual leathers, choosing a pair of black pants and a black button down instead. The material hugged the muscles that bulged when he moved, tightening around his warrior form. Gwyn hoped she looked half as cool in her Priestess robes as he did in his casual attire.

Azriel scanned her robes, his gaze simmering as his throat bobbed and he said, “I’m glad you chose a dress. As that is what you’ll be wearing for our mission.” He eyed the hem of the soft blue silk, “What shoes are you wearing?”

Straight to business with this one. “My flats. It’s these or my training shoes.”

Azriel waved a hand, “No worries.” A pair of sparkling silver heels dropped beside her, no doubt provided by The House. The faelights twinkled around them as if confirming Gwyn’s suspicions.

She bent and scooped up the heels – the extremely tall heels… “I – these are really tall. Are you sure –”

“If you can’t handle a pair of three inch heels, then maybe this mission isn’t for you,” Azriel replied, his voice low, but his tone playful.

Gwyn huffed, kicked off her flats, sat on the floor, and put her shoes on in the most unladylike fashion. She stood, a tad wobbly to start, but she stood. And she breathed out at that. “There. Step one. Done. What’s next?” She put her fisted hands back on her hips, looking a lot more confident than she felt.

Gwyn had never danced professionally, or with any sort of training for that matter. She literally felt like a fish out of water, and she was more nervous than a Lady before her coronation day. 

She had nearly fainted when Rhys asked her to be a part of this mission. Her qualifications as a scholar and warrior made her top choice. Seeing as Rhys needed some sort of information from the Libraries of the Winter Court. 

But in order to complete the mission, she’d need a partner. Cue her next wave of nerves when Azriel, her best friend and long time crush (a secret she held near and dear to her heart) was paired with her. Then she all but fell over when Rhys told her she’d need to know how to dance as part of their guise for being in the Winter Court.

Now here they were, their first waltzing lesson and Gwyn thought she’d explode with nerves and excitement.

“Well first,” Azriel began, sauntering closer to Gwyn. She’d guess that he was the epitome of chill, if it weren’t for his shadows that twirled excitedly around the talons of his wings. The dark tendrils seemed to buzz with anticipation as he drew near. They really did give away everything hidden beneath that cool exterior. And it settled something in her that she wasn't the only one feeling apprehensive for the task at hand. “We need to warm up.” He stopped a few feet from her. His cedar and night-chilled mist scent wrapped around her. “We don’t need you pulling anything before the mission.”

And with that, Azriel and Gwyn began their warm up. Pliés and relevés, sashays and twirls across the floor. Azriel was patient, showing Gwyn everything. By the time their warm up was done, she was sweating and panting for water. They hadn’t even begun waltzing and her legs were already worn out and tired.

“Ready to waltz?” Azriel kept his hands tucked behind his back as he walked out to the middle of the floor, waiting for her to join.

Clearing her throat and holding her head up high (She would not let Azriel see how exhausted she was already), she followed him.

“The first, and most important thing to remember about a waltz, is the timing. There’s a distinct one-two-three, one-two-three, you follow.” Music began to play gently throughout the hall, coming from a small, orb-like object off to the side. Gwyn recognized it as Nesta’s Symphonia. 

She watched Azriel as he stepped forward with his left, to the side with his right, then his left foot following. Counting out the one-two-three as he did so. Gwyn copied him.

“Wait, you’ll be doing this –” He stood side by side with her showing her how her right foot would go back, and her left to the side.

She huffed, “Wouldn’t it be easier to, oh I don't know, have us in the proper positions while you show me?” She turned to face Azriel, her new height difference bringing her to look directly in his eyes, rather than needing to glance up slightly. She had to admit, the heels made her feel more and more confident the longer she wore them. Azriel on the other hand – his confidence wavered; his hands slid behind his back again.

She understood then what was bothering him. What would come back and haunt him from time to time. Healing was a journey, one Azriel would always be embarking on. A journey Gwyn promised she’d take with him. Without missing a beat, she grabbed his elbows and slid her hands down to his wrists, pulling them out from behind his back until she was holding his scarred fingers in hers. His puckered skin was rough and cool against her calloused, freckled skin.

“If we’re going to be a believable pair on the dance floor, I’m going to need to hold your hands Azriel – or have them hold me in whatever way they hold a partner for the waltz.” She glanced down at his hands, then up to his face where he wore a warm smile.

He cleared his throat and nodded, “Right, um –” His voice was a bit shaky as he started. But Gwyn was patient. Waiting for him when he was ready. He guided her left hand to his shoulder, tucking his own under her arm. “Hold your elbow up. I’m supporting you, but not really. It’s more of an illusion. It’ll look sloppy and lazy if you just let it sit.” Her heart pounded against her rib cage as his hands slid over and around her, His fingertips dancing across the expanse of her back.

She gave him a wry smile and followed his instructions, holding her elbow aloft. “Okay. Now what?”

“Then,” he began, his voice stronger this time, he took her right hand in his, cupping his palm against hers, “I hold your hand here, again, keep your elbow up. If I let go, your arms shouldn’t falter. They should be steady and hold true. Like a statue. This is called a closed hold.” She nodded. Straightening her posture and holding herself like said statue. 

Her breasts brushed his chest, his large hand that was firmly placed between her shoulder blades pushed her closer to him. 

Everything stilled for a moment. Her cheeks heated under the Shadowsinger’s gaze. He was so close. His lips mere inches from hers. She could feel his chest against hers, rising and falling, as he breathed. His eyes searched her face, wildly scanning – “Is this okay?” He asked, breathless. His eyes dropped to her lips as she answered as breathlessly as he.

“Yes.”

He nodded, “Good. Um, now –” His left foot moved. “Right back…to the side…yes, slow. Take your time – careful!” Gwyn’s heel caught under her and she wobbled slightly, but Azriel held her to stay standing. “Good?” He waited for her nod after her initial embarrassment, and continued. “Again.”

Over and over they practiced the first basic step until they were gliding in a straight line across the floor. One boxy waltz step after another. By the end of the lesson, Gwyn could do it with her eyes closed. Azriel could back away and her posture held firm as he watched her glide by herself. Interrupting her here and there to correct the tilt of her torso or the position of her toes.

Many of their rehearsals were the same. They’d practice a specific step over and over until Gwyn could do it in her sleep. Until every move was second nature. 

And every rehearsal brought Azriel closer to accepting that his scars would be on display. She couldn’t be sure, but she felt that her complete acceptance and gratitude for his mottled hands helped to put him at ease. The more they touched, the more flair he put into his arm work. The more his hands found hers, the more she melted at every touch. 

Having Azriel in her space, so close, touching her back and hips and hands everyday was rewarding. But it drove her mad as she constantly had to focus on stifling her scent. Focus on the dance moves rather than his stupidly handsome face and the way his sweat soaked hair clung to his forehead.

It drove her to the point of incessantly touching herself when she got back to her room after rehearsal. Imagining Azriel’s thick, scarred hands traveling down her sides, across her hips, curling between her legs... This waltzing practice was only scratching the surface of that itch.

The time had come to start focusing on the more difficult moves she’d need for the mission and Gwyn was not prepared for what came next.

“Today…we’re going to tackle the intricate pas de deux that comes before the end of this particular waltz,” Azriel announced.

Gwyn tilted her head and teased, “You talk as if it’s hard to do? I think you’ve forgotten. I’m an expert now.” Gwyn twirled and sashayed around the room before coming back to Azriel who stood in the middle of the ballroom, now smiling ear to ear.

He ducked his head as Gwyn box stepped up to him, holding her arms out, ready to take him across the floor. 

Azriel chuckled and picked his head back up, licking across his lips before saying with a sigh, “You’re facing the wrong way.”

Gwyn’s brows rose and knitted together in confusion, “What?”

Placing his hands on her shoulders, he smoothed them down her arms, forcing her to relax her hold. Then with a twirl of his finger he said, “Turn around, Priestess.” Gwyn swallowed, but followed his command, turning until her back was to his. 

She waited. Wondering what he could possibly be doing. Then his breath tickled her ear, “Traditionally, this waltz is a celebration of relationships of any kind – with this section of the dance showing true trust and dependability.” He brought his hand around her shoulders, holding out a thick black ribbon. “They tie a ribbon around each other’s eyes and complete the rest of the dance blindfolded.”

Gwyn shivered at Azriel’s nearness, how his chest pressed to her back. The curve of her ass against his hips. “We have to do the rest of the dance – blindfolded?”

Azriel hummed, “Yes.” His other hand came to rest against her hip as he continued, “How does that make you feel?”

Honestly? 

Horny as hell. But she couldn’t say that.

So instead she said, “Nervous…unsure, but intrigued. Show me.”

Azriel made an approving sound behind her, the deep tone of it sending a vibration down her spine before he brought the ribbon to her eyes and tied it around her head. 

She was met with complete darkness, with the tiniest sliver of light at the bottom. Not enough to help her see a godsdamn thing, but enough to give her a thrill of not exactly knowing what was going to happen next.

A few steady, pounding heartbeats passed before she heard his voice again. This time directly in front of her. “Now you put the blindfold on me,” he said, lifting her hand and placing a silky smooth ribbon in her palm. 

Careful not to poke him in the eye, Gwyn felt for his face, her hands cupping his chin first. She felt the muscles in his cheeks pull up forming a small smile. She thumbed his sharp cheekbones, then placed the ribbon across his eyes and around the back of his head. Tying it off, she kept her hands on him, letting them settle on his shoulders. 

“Perfect,” he said, his voice low and husky. He cleared his throat and took her hips in his hands, pulling her into him. “This particular waltz combines the elegance and grace of a waltz, but the passion of lovers.” 

The heat was palpable between them as they got into the basic waltz stance. Azriel’s touch felt charged, prickling with anticipation. Gwyn’s breath was heavy, her heart pounding as she relied on Azriel’s guidance, his hands pawing her as he began to show her the delicate twirls and intricate box steps they’d perform together. 

They came to a sudden stop after their set of combinations and Azriel, from behind her, said, “Here you’ll spin, twice, coming around to face me – plié – then I lift you, before bringing you back down to finish out the dance with a pose of our choosing.” His fingers slid up her arms, goosebumps forming in their wake as he urged her to lift them and show off her long lines before she spun…once, twice…just as he instructed. 

She dropped into a plié and just as she started to spring back up, Azriel’s large hands grabbed her under her arms and lifted her – she squealed, not expecting to be lifted so high.

Then she was being lowered down, slowly, sliding against Azriel. First her thighs, her dress rising as she dropped down. Then her hips and stomach until she was chest to chest with the Shadowsinger. Their breaths heavy and panting in a syncopated rhythm.

His lips were again, so close, their noses brushing. If she tilted her head up…

“Not bad,” Azriel said, his words hot on her skin, “Again. This time without the squeal.”

She was on fire. Every part of her body shivered and shook with anticipation everytime they started this section of the routine anew. 

It was challenging to dance in such a fashion. Those Winter Court couples must love to torture each other. But…Gwyn loved it. She loved the closeness she felt with Azriel. The romantic air of the dance, even though they weren’t a thing, was palpable. The added blindfold made it feel like the accomplishment of a lifetime every time they completed the dance with little to know mistakes.

It took hours…days, to perfect the dance, like a relationship – it takes time. It takes care and attention and…love. The poetry of dance was beautiful and this dance? The waltz? It was steeped in that elegance and freedom of expression. A dance that is a clean slate for the partners to do with as they pleased. To tell their own story.

It was the last day of rehearsing with Azriel. Tomorrow they’d be in the Winter Court, dancing and gliding across a different marbled floor, performing an intimate dance in front of others –

And it was intimate, hers and Azriel’s rendition of the dance at least. She could feel it every time they held hands. Every time they touched and turned with each other. Every time the dance ended they were left breathing heavily, panting for each other.

Every time their noses would nust together, their fingers grasping... 

Gwyn wanted him and if she wasn’t mistaken – Azriel wanted her too.

Someone had to take that leap. Someone had to take those tangible moments of romance and ignite that spark.

So when Gwyn walked into the ballroom that evening, she’d called over to Azriel who was taking the Symphonia out of his bag and said, “I have an idea for the end pose for our dance!”

Azriel stood tall, brows raised, “Oh?”

Gwyn nodded, “Mhmm…but I can’t tell you.”

“And why’s that?”

She shrugged, “I think it’ll speak for itself.”

Azriel rolled his eyes, letting a small smile play on his lips as he sauntered towards Gwyn. His hands were in his pockets, exuding cool power as he joined her in the middle of the dance floor.

“Well then let us wait no further.” Azriel scooped his arms beneath hers, supporting her. “Ready Berdara?” 

“Ready Shadowsinger,” She replied, squaring her shoulders and getting into their starting pose. Nervous butterflies flitted about her stomach. 

Her head was turned to the side, looking off across the ballroom. She couldn’t see Azriel’s face, but she felt the way he inched closer, saw his shadows swirling excitedly around any part of their body’s that touched.

The Symphonia came to life and the two began their dance.

Gwyn and Azriel twirled across the floor. The first section of their dance comes to them like second nature. They swooped and tilted together, holding each other in a firm, assured hold as their feet stepped in time with the music flowing from the musical device.

She could feel the skirt of her dress hug and fall around her legs as she moved, Azriel’s thighs brushing hers occasionally, his body a constant next to hers. They danced as if they were on cloud nine. As if they had no other worries in the world.

The time for them to don their ribbons had arrived. As practiced, over and over, Gwyn came to a gentle halt in front of Azriel, her back to his chest and her left arm extended out. Reaching…reaching, until arcing up and back. She bent her arm, her fingers brushing the side of Azriel’s face, a tender gesture; a distraction really. It gave Azriel time to take the ribbon from his pocket and wrap it around her eyes. 

With adept hands and practiced movements, Azriel was standing before Gwyn, her hands roaming up his chest, slowly. Feeling. Exploring. Before finding his face, and donning his ribbon.

Her heart raced, her palms slightly shaking. 

Their pas de deux began.

Three standard box steps, arcing across the floor, before Azriel took Gwyn’s hand, twirling her out from him. He tugged her back, releasing her so she could hold her arms above her head while she spun around and around in a line of quick turns until she found herself back in Azriel’s arms.

His hands wrapped around her waist, halting her oscillation so she faced away from him. Scarred fingers danced up her sides, sliding higher and higher, his fingertips just brushing the sides of her breasts. Gwyn breathed out, feeling the exhilaration of the spins spiral out into a coiled pleasure. She raised her arms as his touch traveled along them until his fingers were lacing with hers.

Arcing and stretching into each other, the most intimate section of the dance played out. Azriel touched and Gwyn turned, melting into him. Gwyn kicked a leg out and Azriel sashayed along with her. A story of a female and a male, growing together, worshiping each other –

They came to that sudden halt and Gwyn’s legs shook. This was it. 

She spun once…twice…plié…jump. Azriel held her. Firm and true. Held her longer than he ever had before gently then ever so gently, he brought her down – turning slowly. 

Her toes touched the floor, her weight distributed from the balls of her feet, to her heels. 

Here we go…

Gwyn’s hands slid up Azriel’s torso, the Shadowsinger stilling beneath her touch. Realizing this was her secret addition. She heard him breathe out as she travelled higher and higher, gliding over slick sweat skin and into damp hair.

Azriel’s breath was ragged, his chest heaving as she rose up into a relevé, and kissed him.

The music hit a crescendo, driving forth the eruption of nerves and excitement that lived within her. Azriel stilled – but only for a moment, surprised by the unseen act of romance. A second later, his fingers tightened around her hips and he tugged her closer, his mouth slanting with hers as he deepened the kiss. 

As suddenly as she surged up and kissed him, she stopped and came back down on her heels, peeling away her ribbon. Taking in the sight of Azriel’s half-masked face peering down blindly at her before reaching up and letting his ribbon fall away. 

His cheeks tinged pinked, his hazel eyes shining with admiration in the dim light of the ballroom. 

The shadows around the room pulsed and the moonlight glowed brighter as it streaked through the windows, something sparking between them. 

“Gwyn,” Azriel breathed. 

“Azriel,” she replied.

The corner of his mouth twitched as he said, “That was our best run, but…”

“But?” 

“I think we need to run that last part again.” His eyes twinkled before he leaned in. His nose and lips grazed hers before he pressed his lips to hers again. Gwyn melted, taking in the feel of his mouth soft against hers, the way he tasted as they explored. Every tingling nerve ending exploded again and again the longer they kissed, the longer they held each other. Hands grabbed at shirt colors, fingers danced across shivering bare arms.

Gwyn let out the softest whimper as Azriel pulled away. He gazed down at Gwyn, his lips wet, his eyes blown wide. “I like your addition, Gwyn.”

She raised a brow, “Do you? I couldn’t tell.”

Azriel chuckled and he brought his hands up to cup her face and kiss her again, gently. And way too quickly, “From the top?” he asked.

“From the top,” she repeated, a smile blooming across her face. He took her hand as she passed him the ribbons and entered the dance floor, holding Gwyn out like a goddess to be revered. 

The music flowed out of the Symphonia, and Gwyn and Azriel’s pas de deux began again.

[indigofyrebird]

I decided this story needed some artwork.

Under the same Stars

2,050 words about Crosshair on that platform.

The rush of air from the Marauder hit him full in the face and Crosshair turned to watch them leave. He watched until the ship was a speck in the sky and then it was gone. Shit shit shit, he thought, reaching up to rub at the scars on the side of his head where a dull ache had started.

He walked to the edge of the utility platform, peering down to the sea below. It rippled endlessly to the horizon. The smoke from Tipoca city drifted away from him but he could still smell it faintly on the breeze. The ocean reflected the blue of the sky, scattered clouds mirrored across its surface.

The bright morning sun gradually changed to the harsh glare of afternoon sun as the day passed. Crosshair huddled in the meager shade of the railing that ran halfway around the platform. His head throbbed and he rested it on his knees.

You comin' with us? Wrecker's voice asked again. Why yes, Wrecker, just let me set aside my ridiculous ideals, my fucking pride...be right there.

"What did I do?" He spoke the words out loud, turning to rest the other side of his face on his knees. The sound of the sea lapping against the steel of the platform was a soft clink clink clink and Crosshair tapped his finger beside him to the rhythm.

He slept on and off. Standing to stretch, walking from edge to edge, poking around the central pillars for anything that might be of use. He gathered some rope, coiling it in a neat circle. He took the top shell of his armor off when the heat became too much.

Night came and the temperature dropped almost immediately. He shivered in his blacks, the sweat that had dripped down his back now sent a chill through him. But his exhausted body needed rest and the darkness brought a deep sleep despite the damp cold.

He woke when the shadow passed over his face. The early rays of sun were colored a sickly orange through the still smoking ruins to the East. His sleep confused brain tried to imagine a ship coming in for a landing and he stood up quickly, rubbing at his eyes. The "ship" was a very large seabird, its wingspan wider than a man was tall. It had landed on the far side of his platform, wings outstretched to catch the warmth of the sun. Its shadow must have woken me, he thought.

Crosshair started toward the bird and it flapped once before taking off again, squawking loudly. He watched it circle overhead, disappearing into the haze of smoke. He wasn't sure why he had wanted to get closer to it. Something about the emptiness of his surroundings had made him want to reach for the company of the creature.

As the day went on, Crosshair knew he would need water soon. The usually rainy planet had been dry the last two rotations. He had found a small puddle of rainwater under the large pillar yesterday and drank it up, on his knees like a dog. He ignored the grumbling of his stomach.

The wind had changed direction and now the smoke came at him, bits of ash sliding off his armor here and there. He coughed. He thought of the ruins beneath the water. Their barracks. They had grown up in those halls, training rooms, cafeteria. His stomach growled again. He violently shoved aside the memories of his brothers as they came. Memories of Hunter. Calm, level headed Hunter. In his mind he delivered a punch with his fist, smashing Hunter right in his smug nose. As soon as he thought it he wished he could take it back. He paced the platform, fist curling and uncurling.

The heat of the day grew and he looked down at the water, cool and inviting. He didn't want wet clothes so he stripped to his bare skin, climbing down the utility ladder to the ocean. He dipped a foot in and pulled it back. The water was cold but not icy cold and he let go of the ladder, falling backward into the sea with a gasp. He swam around the platform once. He cupped his hand as small fish darted around him. An idea occurred to him and he climbed back up, quickly retrieving his chest plate. Patiently he scooped up a few of the little fish with his armor until it was full and he carried it carefully back up the ladder.

His breath came out fast as he sat back, sides heaving, laying his catch next to him. He looked down at his naked body and laughed. He laughed at his position here, alone on this platform. He laughed to think that just two rotations ago his brothers had offered him a ride. He laughed even harder at the thought that he hadn't taken them up on it. His laughter faded and he lay back with an arm under his head, drying in the sun. He closed his eyes. What the fuck did I do?

He opened them again to see the bird flying above him. He scrambled to his feet. Taking one of the fish he had caught, he held it up toward the large bird. He made a sound in the back of his throat, mimicking its cry. He watched as it tilted its head downward, looking at him. It flew around him in a circle before drifting upward on the breeze. Away.

Crosshair held the fish a moment longer and then quickly, before he could think twice, put it in his mouth, chewing the cold, raw flesh. He ate three more, head to tail. He dressed again in his blacks, the fabric warmed by the sun. He took the remaining fish out and laid them in a row on the duracrete.

Day turned to night and Crosshair watched the stars come out one by one. He marveled at the rarity of a clear sky on Kamino. The smoke had mostly cleared and it was almost pleasant laying under the stars. He had learned about the planet's solar system of course and knew the basic constellations. He raised his hand, pointing at each one as he found them, as if he were showing them to a brother at his side. He traced the outlines of them. He could hear Tech's voice in his head telling them the details of the planets surrounding Kamino, the galaxy beyond that and further. He watched again as Tech turned away from him on his platform, as they all turned away from him. As the ramp was raised. As the ship broke atmosphere, disappeared.

Looking up into the arching darkness of the heavens he wondered which planet his brothers might be on right now. He chose a large, twinkling star, touched it with his fingertip. That one, he decided. They were there now. What were they doing? What were they eating? Were they talking about him? Were they looking up at the same stars? Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes and dripped onto the steel beneath his head. He called out their names. He called to them and he cursed them.

He was woken again by the bird. It hovered above him, huge wings outstretched. He took one of his fish, holding it by the tail. Standing on his tip toes he held it up. The bird floated down until it was close enough to touch, snagging the shriveled fish from his fingers. It flapped to the other side of the platform and landed, clacking its beak. Crosshair ate the rest of his fish then, watching the bird clean its feathers.

Clouds had settled and the smell of rain was heavy in the air. Crosshair was thirsty. His tongue felt like dried meat in his mouth. His stomach churned sickly after finishing his fish. He watched his bird and debated going for another swim to catch more before the rain came. His stomach decided for him and he groaned as it became worse. A wave of sickness came over him and he rushed to the edge, vomiting into the ocean. His forehead pricked with sweat. Thunder sounded, far off at first and the drops of rain started over the water, moving toward him in a sheet of moisture. Now this is Kamino, he thought, wiping his mouth and spitting into the water. His stomach felt better but his body felt weak and he crawled on all fours to lean his back against the pillar. It did little to protect him from the rain and he tilted his head back, opening his mouth to collect the fresh water. His bird stood on the edge, neck tucked in, eyes squinted against the rain. Crosshair retrieved his chest plate and used it to cover his head. He kept his eyes on the bird. His bird.

He knew he needed to eat, even if the thought of the fish made him want to vomit again. The rain drenched him and he constantly shivered. He caught more fish and ate them. He didn't see the stars again, or the sun. His body seemed to accept the fish now and he shared with his bird. It would fly to him at his call now, huge body hovering in the rain over him to snatch a fish from his hand. He slept in the rain and woke in the rain. He woke every morning to the bird landing on his platform, preening in the downpour.

He was grateful that he couldn't see the stars. Wasn't reminded of the fact that they were out there. He thought about them enough as it was. He wondered where it had all gone wrong. He remembered the feeling of waking up in the lab, his brain hurt and confused with thoughts of killing his traitorous brothers. Now he knew it was that fucking chip. He didn't want to kill them anymore. Maybe the kid...that annoying girl. They had taken her with them. Taken her and left him. No, he reminded himself, I stayed behind because I wanted to. I chose this. The Empire needs me. I'm important. They'll come back for me...

Weeks passed and Crosshair survived. He marked each rotation using the sharp edge of his shoulder guard scratched into the metal rail. He ate raw fish and drank rainwater. His bird kept him company. He spoke to it, expected it every morning, fed it from his hand. One day it didn't come. He paced all morning from edge to edge, wiping the rainwater from his eyes to peer into the gloom, watching for it, calling to it. He called and called, his voice becoming hoarse eventually. As the daylight faded, his hope faded with it. He sat on the edge, legs hanging over the side. He held his head in his hands and cried. He begged silently for its return. Darkness surrounded him and he thought of slipping off the platform into the sea. No one would know. Would they care if I disappeared? Would they know?

His breathing evened out and he stood. His legs were weak and he shook. He slept in his usual place at the base of the larger pillar. His sleep was filled with dreams of a ship taking off, landing, its wings flapping like a giant sea bird.

The morning brought more rain and an actual ship. A scout shuttle. It had come to his platform by chance. The man flying it was a clone. A reg. Crosshair had never been happier to see that face in his life. "How long you been here?" The reg asked him, looking his skinny body up and down, eyeing his prominent cheekbones.

"32 rotations." Crosshair said it with a small amount of pride. A part of him was ashamed, too. Ashamed that he had waited this long. Waited helplessly for rescue.

"Shit..." the clone said, looking away.

Crosshair settled into the shuttle and leaned forward as they lifted off his platform, looking through the viewport. He caught sight of a large seabird gliding low over the waves below and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"There you are," he mouthed quietly before leaning his head against the seat behind him.

[elliethefroggy]

Roy Kent: Minder Extraordinaire

Chapter 10: Roy Kent VS The Voices of Reason

Roy's kidnappers leave Roy no choice but to listen to them.

Ch9, (on ao3)

He doesn’t make it easy for his kidnappers. He kicks and punches as best he can, managing to land a hit on some of the fuckers if the whimpered curses are anything to go by. He shouts all manner of threats of bodily violence to them and their families, both immediate and extended. But still they carry him further and further into the building.

He is dropped on a chair as he informs them in detail exactly what he’ll do to their first cousins once removed if they don’t let him go. Before he can punch anyone else or start on what he’ll do to their second cousins, a dozen hands grab onto his arms and legs and tie them to the chair.

The bag is ripped from his head.

Bright light invades his pupils. He squeezes his eyes shut, the light dancing behind his eyelids, before opening them to squint at his surroundings.

The room is dark other than one bright light bulb pointed directly at his face. He unable to see any semblance of human shapes in the shadows. But he knows they’re there, standing just outside of the light, the exertion of having dragged Roy here making their breaths heavy, giving them away.

It doesn’t take a genius to realise where he is. Roy can recognize the putrid smell of the boot room, even if he can’t fucking see it. No matter how many scented candles or Febreze canisters Nate uses, the smell remains.

He pulls at the ropes binding him to the chair, straining his muscles as best he can, but whoever did the knots must have been some fucking boy scout because there is no wiggle room to speak of.

“If you fuckers don’t untie me right now,” Roy shouts, “I’m going to eviscerate each and everyone one of you, then strangle you with your own intestines, before acquiring some pigs just so I can feed you to them!”

A booming voice from the shadows speaks up, “You have been summoned to answer for your behavior and to insure the keeping of the peace.”

Fucking Isaac.

“What the fuck are you idiots playing at?” He asks the shadow also known as Isaac.

The shadow/Isaac steps into the light, “Answer our questions to our satisfaction and you shall be unshackled,” Isaac says.

When Roy sees what Isaac’s wearing, he wishes he still had that bag over his head.

An acid green trench coat paired with a bright orange deer stalker hat. Sunglasses inside, like a dick. To tie off the outfit, a bedazzled smoking pipe in one hand and a fucking magnifying glass of all things in the other.

“My compatriots and I will get to the bottom of this mystery whether you like it or not,” Isaac continues, “but your full cooperation would be appreciated to resolve this situa—”

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Roy interrupts him, because some things—such as that colour combination—take precedent over being tied to a chair.

“Do you like it?” Isaac asks, breaking into a grin, grabbing the lapels of his acid green trench coat and doing a half-twirl.

“No.”

“Oh,” Isaac frowns, his brow deepening, grin gone. Isaac takes a deep breath before smoothing out his expression, putting himself back together. “As I was saying, we are gathered here today—”

“Did you get dressed in the dark?” Roy asks, because that is the only possible explanation for that colour combination. This is why Roy always sticks with black; can’t go wrong with black.

“Too far, mate.” Isaac looks down at him, unimpressed and a little hurt.

Roy chooses not to care about Isaac’s feelings because he’s currently tied to a chair.

“As I was saying,” Isaac repeats.

“And what the fuck is up with the pipe?”

“Come on, man!” Isaac stomps his foot on the ground like a child instead of the fully grown tank of a footballer that he is.

“It’s about Jamie,” Sam, sweet sensible Sam, says, stepping out of the darkness. Sweet, sensible Sam who’s meant to be better than this nonsense.

“Sam! You’re meant to stay in the shadows,” Isaac whines.

Sam sends Isaac an apologetic smile. Sam does not send one to Roy even though Roy is the one tied to a chair against his will.

Fucking traitor.

“What the fuck does Jamie have to do with this?” Roy asks, even though he doesn’t want to think about Jamie right now. Doesn’t want to think about Jamie driving away, leaving Roy standing there in the car park, alone.

“We’re just concerned,” Sam starts.

“Wait, is this some sort of fucking interrogation?” Roy interrupts him.

“No,” Isaac says, “it’s an intervention.”

“It’s for your own good,” someone who sounds suspiciously like Colin whispers from the shadows.

Isaac turns towards the darkness and shushes the whisperer/Colin.

“Sorry,” the whisperer whispers.

Roy looks into the darkness, tries to spot Colin so that he can glare at him too, but that is made impossible by the one singular light.

“Would you lot just switch the rest of the fucking lights on?” Roy asks, “My eyesight doesn’t do so well with darkness anymore.”

Sam switches the lights on.

Isaac switches them off.

“You’re ruining the vibe,” Isaac whines.

“But the Captain asked.” Sam switches the lights back on.

Isaac switches them off.

“Isaac,” Roy says, “I swear to fuck if you don’t switch those lights back on…” Roy leaves the threat hanging.

“Yes, Captain,” Isaac says, chastised.

The lights turn back on indefinitely.

Seated in the centre of the boot room, he looks around to all the muppets surrounding him. Some look concerned, others are wearing frowns, a good handful are looking at him with eyes narrowed in suspicion. But excluding Jamie, every single member of the team is squashed into the small boot room, both fist and second team, all starring at him intently.

“Now, Roy,” Sam says soothingly like he’s trying to calm down some rabid animal, “All we want to do is help.”

“What did you do to Jamie?” Colin shouts, pointing accusingly at him

“We want answers and we want them now!” Moe raises his own finger to point at him.

“Did you break him?” Jeff asks, though with enough decorum to not point his own finger at Roy.

Next things Roy know, he’s got over two dozen footballers pointing fingers and yelling at him.

“Quiet!” Isaac shouts.

Everyone silences. All accusing fingers are lowered.

“Now, Roy,” Isaac says, “We have noticed some tension between you and Jamie today. Care to explain?”

“There’s no tension. We’re fine,” Roy lies.

No one looks like they believe him.

“Why am I the one being tied to a chair and not Jamie?” Roy asks, desperately trying to deflect.

“We tried that already. Jamie doesn't want to talk about it either, just said it was a small misunderstanding,” Jeff says.

“See? Nothing’s wrong. We’re fine,” Roy repeats, wondering how many times he’s going to have to say that today.

“Listen, mate, this is a safe space,” Isaac says, “We want to help. All we know is that the both of you are behaving fucking weirdly. You’re both acting all sad and quiet and shit.”

“Bullshit,” Roy says.

“You didn’t growl or grunt nearly as much as usual,” Zoreaux says.

Roy growls just to be contrary.

“Your frowning has been more pronounced today,” Richard says.

Roy feels his frown deepen even more.

“Even Jamie was frowning today,” O’Brien says.

“Which is very odd because Jamie has stated multiple times that he wants to put off old people wrinkles for as long as possible,” Dani adds.

“And he was so polite today; it was weird.” Colin says, “He didn’t once insult my locker room rendition of Mamma Mia.”

Which even Roy could admit was bad because Colin’s rendition had been pretty terrible. Both ABBA and Donna Sheridan would have been ashamed.

“Yeah, he didn’t insult anyone today.”

“Not even when I tripped over the ball twice in a row and face-planted onto the ground,” Cockburn says.

“And he kept saying please and thank-you,” Richard says.

“Even, let me have the last of Nate’s energy mix,” Winchester says.

“I personally believe we should consider my ‘Abducted by aliens’ hypothesis,” Moe says.

Everyone politely ignores Moe’s comment except for Winchester who looks like he’s really considering it.

“So, what’s up?” Isaac asks Roy before Moe can get the ball rolling and go into detail about flying saucers and little green people.

Roy doesn’t say anything, just sinks as far into his chair as the ropes will allow.

“As well as being a safe space, this is also a no-judgment zone,” Isaac says when no answer is forthcoming.

“This is fucking stupid,” Roy says, not sitting up even as the rope digs into his skin.

“No-judgment zone,” Isaac repeats, pointing the magnifying glass threateningly at Roy.

Roy continues to not say anything, everyone continues to stare him down, and Isaac continues to point the magnifying glass at him.

“I don’t fucking know,” Roy finally speaks, giving in because peer pressure is real, “He’s being an over-dramatic little shit. Throwing a tantrum because the world doesn’t revolve around him. Just because I didn't want to go to his stupid snobby restaurant,” he says knowing full well that isn’t all of it. Or most of it for that matter.

“Oh! Is this the restaurant Jamie wouldn’t stop going on about?” Colin asks.

“The one with the fancy gold steak?” Goodman says.

“And the foie gras and expensive caviar,” Richard adds, “I hear they also have an excellent wine list.”

“Yes, Jamie has been talking about that restaurant for some time,” Sam says.

“He seemed very excited by it,” Dani says.

Somehow, Roy manages to sink even further into his chair, deciding that blood circulation is optional.

“Did he finally get a reservation?” Goodman asks.

“Apparently the waiting list is well long,” Colin says, “It’s way exclusive. Even Anna Hathaway, the fucking princess of Genovia hasn’t managed to get a reservation yet.”

“Ex-fucking-scuse me but Her Majesty Amelia Mignonette Thermopolis Renaldi is the fucking queen of Genovia, you ignorant twat,” Roy says.

“Nah, she’s not,” Colin says, “Is she?”

“In ‘The Princess Diaries 2: Royal Engagement’, Mia Thermopolis is told she has to marry some fucking random dipshit because of the fucking patriarchy otherwise she can’t be coronated,” Roy starts, “Only she convinces everyone that the patriarchal society we live in is bullshit, making them change the laws, allowing her to become the rightful ruler of Genovia because no fucking Queen needs a man,” Roy finishes his rant, saying far more words than he’s used to.

Everyone stares at him, wide-eyed.

Roy, not physically able to slump down any further, says, “Stop looking at me; my fucking niece loves those movies.”

“Ahhh,” everyone says, nodding in understanding.

Roy does not add that he also loves those movies.

“Yes, he’s right,” Isaac says, “Mia’s grandmother steps down as queen, and Mia is crowned the rightful ruler of Genovia. In the end, she decides to follow her heart instead of some archaic sexist laws, and her heart leads her right to Chris Pine.”

“Understandable; who wouldn’t fall in love with Chris Pine,” Colin says.

“Yes. Definitely the better Chris,” Goodman says.

“He has such lovely eyes,” Dani says.

Finally, they’re making some fucking sense, Roy thinks.

“I actually prefer Chris Evans,” Zoreaux says, “I really enjoyed his portrayal of Steve Rogers. Especially the finale of End Game. I thought the character development was really interesting.”

Everyone looks at Zoreaux, horrified.

Roy can see an inner battle playing out across Isaac’s face: to keep on track with this farce of an intervention or to pause long enough to tell Zoreaux exactly how wrong he is.

The battle wages on for a moment longer before Isaac decides that there are some atrocities that have to be addressed right away, intervention be damned.

“You’re so fucking wrong mate, I’m embarrassed for you,” Isaac says, turning fully to face Zoreaux.

And the flood gates open.

Everyone pivots to Zoreaux to all loudly tell him why what he said was fucking stupid.

“The time-travel plot doesn’t make any sense,” Moe says.

“Steve Rogers should have stayed with Bucky Barnes. And then made out with him,” Cockburn says.

“Yes!” Colin shouts in agreement.

“They took some perfectly good character development, and then shredded it into pieces,” Roy himself argues.

“There was very little respect for the character’s ideals,” Sam adds.

“Going into the past and not doing anything to save past-Bucky from being forced into the role of the Winter Soldier was a dick move,” Goodman says.

Zoreaux tries to defend himself, to argue his case, but every time he opens his mouth, someone else starts shouting at him. He’s one very wrong man against a room full of highly opinionated footballers.

They are all so focused on giving Zoreaux the education he sorely lacks that nobody notices the door opening. But somehow the quiet “Oh my,” from Nate manages to pierce through the noise.

Everyone immediately shuts up, the onslaught of abuse hurled at Zoreaux stops, and they all look to the door where Nate stands, a pile of towels in one hand, the other hand on the doorknob, frozen still as all eyes focus on him.

Nate takes in the room with wide eyes. There’s Zoreaux cowering in a corner. The team packed like sardines in the small room, all turned towards Zoreaux, mid-shout. Isaac dressed flashier than a neon eyesore, his bedazzled smoking pipe refracting the light onto the wall. And Roy, tied to a chair.

“I—I’ll come back. Later,” Nate stutters, ignoring the SOS messages both Zoreaux and Roy are blinking at him, much like Roy did to him. Fucking karma.

Nate steps back into the hallway and shuts the door behind him, leaving Roy and Zoreaux to their fate. Roy can hear Nate’s hurried footsteps as he flees.

The short lull is, much to Roy’s grief, enough for Isaac to remember that the point of this meeting isn’t to go into great detail about the many downfalls of the MCU. Unfortunately, Isaac is reminded of the presence of their true victim.

There is nothing but relief on Zoreaux’s face as Isaac turns back to Roy.

“Now, Roy, we just want to help,” Isaac says, once again.

“We also don’t want Jamie to go back to being a prick,” Colin adds.

“Yes, that too,” Isaac agrees.

Everyone hums their own agreement.

“Jamie has become so much more tolerable since you two have become friends,” Sam says.

“We’re not friends,” Roy says, repeating the same words he’d said the night before.

“Yes, you are,” Isaac says dismissively, waving away Roy’s words with the hand holding the bedazzled pipe. It has orange and green rhinestones on it, matching the rest of the outfit.

“No. We’re not,” Roy grits out, this conversation giving him an annoying sense of déjà vu.

“Wait.” Sam says, “Did you tell Jamie that you two weren’t friends?”

“Yes!” Fucking honesty, right?

“Roy!” They all shout at him.

“So this must be why Jamie asked me if we were friends this morning,” Sam says, putting two and two together.

“Really?” Colin says, “He asked me that exact same thing.”

“And me,” Goodman chips in.

“Me too,” Dani adds.

Everyone in the boot room pips in, all saying that Jamie had asked them if they were friends.

“And what did you all answer?” Roy asks.

“Yes!” They say in unison, as though Roy wasn’t already feeling shitty enough about himself.

“Look what you’ve done, Roy!” Moe says, “You’ve made Jamie question his personal and professional relationships.”

“You’ve given him anxiety!” Kukoč says.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” Goodman says.

“What!” Ron shouts, straining at the ropes; escape would be quite good round about now, “I was being honest!”

Honesty was the best fucking policy.

“Like, listen, respectfully, Cap,” Isaac says, “but that was fucking stupid. Also, you’re wrong.”

“No, I’m not,” Roy says.

“Of course you two are friends,” Dani says, “You are inseparable. You spend all your time together.”

“No, we don’t.”

“You two hang out before work every single day,” Goodman says.

“That’s personal training,” Roy defends himself, “Because no way in fuck would Jamie be able to reach his full potential with fucking Lasso holding the reins.” Realising this doesn’t help his case much, Roy adds, “It’s also a bribe to make sure he fucking behaves. Which he has been. You’re all fucking welcome.”

“Is cooking for him also part of his ‘personal training’,” Colin says, finger quoting those last two words.

“Yes,” Roy growls, “He needs to follow an exact diet so that his body is up to task.”

“You two also carpool,” Kukoč says.

“That’s for the fucking environment. Global warming is a serious issue,” Roy says.

“True,” Isaac says, everyone nodding in agreement, “But saving the planet doesn’t explain why you have regular movie nights together.”

“That’s not because we’re friends; those movie nights are fucking educational moments because Jamie is wrongly convinced that The Muppets Take Manhattan is the best Muppet movie.” Roy and Jamie had been watching the best to the worst muppet movies. He’d been planning on putting Jamie’s favourite last to be a dick. Even though the worst one is definitely the Wizard of Oz one.

“Yeah the best movie is The Great Muppet Caper,” Thierry says, finally finding the courage to speak, even though he is still in his corner, once again stating the wrong opinion.

“No, it’s the 2011 The Muppets,” Colin says.

“Nah, nah, The Muppets Movie, 1979. The OG, bruv,” Isaac says.

“That one is a classic for a reason,” Moe agrees with Isaac.

“I love Muppets From Space,” Dani chimes in, all smiles, just happy to be part of the conversation. Fucking chipper prick.

“I personally prefer the Treasure Island one,” Sam says, “I really enjoy the retelling of a cherished childhood story. And I think Tim Curry played most excellently.”

“You’re all fucking wrong,” Roy interrupts, “The best one is the Muppet Christmas Carol.”

Colin opens his mouth to contest, but Roy’s glare leaves no room for argument.

“Right, yeah,” Colin mutters, “The Muppet Christmas Carol is the best one. Definitely.”

“Caring about him reaching his full potential, making sure he eats a balanced meal, movie nights,” Jeff lists off, “This sounds like friendship to me.”

“Don’t be fucking ridiculous,” Roy says.

“Yes, you are. And the sooner you accept that the sooner you can apologize for being an idiot,” Colin says, then after seeing the glare Roy directs at him, he adds, “I meant that respectfully, of course, Captain.” He scurries out of sight behind Winchester.

“Yeah, Cap. It is better to learn wisdom late than never to learn it at all,” Isaac says before putting his fake smoking pipe in his mouth.

“The fuck are you on about?” Roy asks, wondering if Isaac hit his head during training. It would explain the outfit.

“Sherlock Holmes, mate.” Isaac says.

“Colin and Isaac are right, Captain,” Sam says, because he remains a traitor, “We just want you and Jamie to be happy, and I believe for that to happen, you must both reconcile.”

“I do not want my friend Jamie or you, Captain, to be sad,” Dani says, all earnest and shit.

“I’m not sad,” Roy says immediately.

They look at him, everyone raising at least one eyebrow at him. Except Kukoč who raises both because he can’t lift just one eyebrow to save his life.

“I’m not,” Roy insists.

“Is that why you’ve been looking at Jamie longingly throughout the whole day,” Colin says from behind Winchester.

“Come say that to my fucking face, you coward,” Roy growls.

The coward remains exactly where he is.

“Every relationship goes through tricky periods. Every relationship has its arguments. That’s normal. Natural,” Moe says, “What you need to do is take some time for self-reflection to weed out the root of this conflict. Be honest with yourself in identifying the role you played leading up to the conflict. Recognize how your words have hurt Jamie, and then open up to Jamie about it. The only way to get through these rocky moments is by communicating and listening,” Moe concludes.

“What? As well as apologizing, you want me to talk about my fucking feelings?” Roy asks.

“Yes!” Everyone says.

“That’s stupid,” Roy says.

“You’re stupid,” is whispered from behind Winchester.

“I thought this was a non-fucking-judgment zone!” Roy says.

“No, you’re right,” Colin says, finally stepping out from behind Winchester, arms raised in what Roy assumes is meant to be a calming manner, “ I hear you, I understand you. You’re not stupid, and I’m sorry for saying so.”

“See, Roy?” Isaac says, “Apologizing is that easy.”

“Okay, you’ve made your fucking point,” Roy says.

“So you’ll talk to Jamie?” Sam asks.

“Fucking fine!” Roy says, mostly in the hopes that someone will untie him from the chair.

Everyone cheers, leaning over Roy to high five each other.

“Excellent,” Isaac says, pocketing the pipe and the magnifying glass, “Well, we’re done here. See you all at training tomorrow.”

Isaac opens the door, starts ushering everyone out, clapping them on the shoulders, congratulating them on an intervention well done.

Roy watches them go, bewildered as the boot room empties out. Roy continues to watch as Isaac guides the last few players out before following them himself. Roy is still watching, bewildered as Isaac closes the door behind him, leaving Roy alone in the boot room.

Roy waits a moment, breathes in, breathes out, opens his mouth, “Will someone get me out of this fucking chair!” He shouts.

Muffled by the door, he hears Isaac say, “Oh shit. Right.”

The door opens, and they all come back in, one after the other, looking appropriately contrite.

[sunecito]

Regressuary Day 1: 🐈‍⬛Little Brothers🏀

Prompt: Character A is always taking care of Character B while regressed. Maybe Character B would like to know what it’s like?

Fandom: Omori

Characters: Kel & Sunny

WARNINGS: MEGA SPOILERS, mentions of death, triggering topics, mention of scars.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Sunny?”

“I hope you’re doing well! I can see it in your eyes, you’re smiling more!”

“You have such a great support system now! I couldn’t be more proud of you as a big sister!”

“I know sometimes it can be tough, but reaching out for help isn’t hard when you give yourself that little push. Don’t be afraid.”

“I know you might not forgive yourself yet, but I know you will!”

“All it costs is your love!”

・・・・・

Bright orange eyes widened as the boy watched the two black haired siblings share a hug on the lake shore, the girl’s long black hair and white dress soaked as it hugged her younger brother’s figure, both of them crying, both of them wet.

“Sunny! You're okay! You're okay!... Don’t ever scare me like that again…!” Mari wept, her chin on Sunny’s boney shoulder as he shakily wrapped his arms around her waist in return. The evening sun setting radiated not light, but the love of an older sister.

Sometimes, Kel thought, if he were more quiet and aloof like Sunny, then Hero would dote on him more. He'd be lying if he said he was jealous that he didn't have an overbearing older brother, but maybe that's what made Hero and Kel’s relationship even more special. Because they weren't Sunny and Mari.

The second Kel saw Sunny tumble off the dock and into the water, his heart dropped. Mari and Hero ran down the dock but he stayed still, his body refused to move. Even when Sunny woke up, breathing and hugging his sister, the breath he held in didn't let go. Hero seemed to notice at that moment, and kneeled down next to the shorter male.

“Hey, Orange Joe?” A voice chirped with the nickname he used to despise. Kel didn't budge. “Hey… You're okay.” Hero’s hand was warm against Kel’s shoulder, his brown eyes comforting. “Sunny’s okay, Mari’s got’im, see? Listen to me, ‘kay?” Suddenly both of Hero’s hands were on his shoulders, his grip was firm but it didn't dig into his skin.

“Everything’s okay.”

・・・・・

Kel never had a “new normal” since that day. All the excuses, all the lies, all the truths, all the reveals, all the doors that were once locked now open. To be frank, it was a lot to deal with.

He was frozen in the hospital room the day everything turned upside down. Frozen again, just like he was when he was a kid.

Recovery wasn't easy. Basil overrun with guilt and self depreciation, Aubrey torn into a mix of anger and grief, Sunny standing in the center of the world with the biggest shadows that used to be his friends.

But… Time heals things eventually…

Kel got to know the real Sunny, the Sunny that didn't hide anything, the Sunny that wasn't ignorant. And although Aubrey, Basil and Hero took their time, they eventually got to know him too.

Though recently, maybe by a miracle, Kel got to know Sunny exceptionally well. It started from the small things; calls when Sunny moved away, presents when he visited the town, to the point Sunny would let him apply medicinal cream to Sunny’s scars (even the one where his eye used to be, now replaced by a white sphere and a long slash. To say Kel didn't wince would be a lie). But the pain soothed, a small comfort arose in those small moments. Sunny stopped flinching whenever Kel brushed up against him, melted into his hugs. He even started smiling more, which was an accomplishment Kel was personally extremely proud of!

And although Sunny was changing with time, something from his past still lingered from within. Sunny would space out… He would chew on his nails, go non-verbal, small habits he's had as kids.

After a pretty harsh therapy session, Kel realized the harsh truth; Sunny wasn't ever truly a kid.

That's when Sunny’s therapist recommended “age regression” as a form to cope with his trauma. Kel, with the tiny Aubrey in his head calling him “dunce-y”, chose to help Sunny with this process (well, he kinda had to. Sunny had no contact with his parents, and Kel was the closest he was in all of the group, besides, Sunny conveniently managed to find his way back to his old house back in town when he moved back, so he was just next door anyway). He looked up the term, and understood immediately! Finally, being a big brother to a baby helped!

Sunny’s age regression journey was actually rather quick. As soon as Kel proposed the idea and pulled out a pacifier and a cat plush than he'd bought priorly, Sunny fell right into Kel’s comforting arms. It was… a bit shocking at first, but it also felt so right.

Sunny, in his arms, felt so small in his embrace, like Kel could pick him up like a picnic basket.

It became a routine for Kel to go over to Sunny’s and help him regress every weekend at least, knowing his regression was more successful if he had a “parental” or caring figure to guide him. His house became sprawled with soft blocks, dolls, plushies, and so, so many drawings. Sunny already took up drawing as a hobby, so his drawings when he was regressed, while a little less professional, were still oh so beautiful (or maybe that was just Kel’s opinion. Aubrey said he was growing too old).

“Sunny-Bunny?” Kel asked one day, watching from the cough as Sunny drew from the floor. When Sunny turned his head, he continued. “How do ‘ya feel, Little One?”

Sunny put a finger on his chin and took off his pacifier. It looked like he was slowly drifting away from his younger headspace today. “I feel… Loved.”

At that moment, Sunny smiled, an actual smile. It reached his eyes, his cheeks a little pink as he giggled, shuffling over and wrapping his arms loosely around Kel’s waist. Kel froze, statue on the couch.

Sunny and Kel had a big height difference by now, but sometimes, Kel longed for the days they were the same height.

Suddenly, Sunny returned to his drawing, picking up the paper and giving it to Kel. It showed the two of them, Kel and Sunny, on a picnic within a green grass field and light blue sky.

“Is for you!”

He took the drawing into his hands, noticing some writing at the top of the page;

“All it costs is your love!”

・・・・・

“Hero! Please! I-I’m your brother, I just want to help!-”

“Help!? Help wont bring Mari back!”

“Hero please! J-just tell me what I can do!-”

“There's nothing you can do, Kel! You're worthless!”

・・・・・

What was it like to be young again?

It feels like forever since he could remember those times.

It was always “Hero will always be your big brother”, but sometimes, he doubted if he was “Hero’s younger brother”.

Over time, he learned there were different types of losses; Aubrey once lost her favorite doll, his dad lost his job, Sunny lost his sister. But what did Kel lose? Hero was still here, but why didn't he feel like a little brother?

In the place where his youth should have flourished stood the remains of a smile from a child that was long gone. A child that was now the anchor to the family; the one who felt like had to connect every piece together, a rubber band about to snap.

“Just smile,” he'd tell himself. “Just smile” he'd tell himself, even when he cried. Even when Hero would hug him and tell him he was there to help, he'd smile.

“Just smile, Kel”.

・・・・・

Forced to babysit Sally once more.

To say Kel was tired was an understatement; he hadn't slept well, he didn't eat, and his parents left him in charge of three year old Sally for the day. By the time she was in bed, he was exhausted. And yet here he was, dishes to clean and toys to pick up.

He picked up the toys one by one, recalling some of them from his own childhood… “Hah, the Captain Spaceboy and Sweetheart figurines… Geez these things are old… Aww! My Pluto plush! I missed this guy… Wait, is that Hector?”

Man… So many memories, so much fun. He couldn't help but settle the blue and pink figures on the table, Hector beside them and Pluto on his lap. Recalling the day he and Aubrey first read the “Captain Spaceboy and Sweetheart” comics, or the day he made Hector, or when Mari and Sunny got him Pluto as a souvenir. He felt something shift within him, he felt fuzzy… His house hasn't changed at all since he was a kid, aside from all the new modern toys that were hidden away by the basket in the corner, these toys were reminiscent of his childhood. The childhood that was stripped away from him…

Is this how Sunny felt?

He had to ask…

・・・・・

Sunny’s confused face wasn't the only thing that surprised him when he arrived at his house that saturday. The other was the fact that he brought his old toys with him.

“Sunny!” Kel exclaimed, taking Sunny’s hands into his, his eyes sparkling like two suns. “Teach me to regress!”

“W-Wha?-”

“I-I wanna know what it's like…” Kel admitted, a hand rubbing the back of his neck. “You've been getting so much better and- I- I wanna know what it's like to… Be young again…?”

For a moment Kel’s voice cracked. He had Hector in his pocket, pulling him out and staring at his hot-glued googly eyes. Sunny watched the interaction between his best friend and a rock, and despite how ridiculous it seemed, he knew Kel spoke sincerely. He knew Kel’s fake smiles every single time.

Before he knew it, Kel was pushed onto the couch, sitting down as Sunny grabbed the box on the bookshelf beside the TV and family portrait, walking back to Kel and opening the box.

“Pick whichever you want. I cleaned them all on tuesday.” Sunny smiled. This- This was Sunny pacifier box! The box that had all of Sunny pacis! And he wanted Kel to use one!? That was insane!?

“W-w-w-w-w-w-w-wait wait wait wait!- This is not- No these- These are yours I- I can't-”

Plop.

Kel felt the soft rubber of the pacifier in his mouth, sitting neatly in his mouth. Suddenly he felt his cheeks swell red to the point that steam would rise off him. He was about to open his mouth to retort when-

He suckled on the paci. Huh… It didn’t feel that bad… He tried it a few more times and the more he let himself go the more he felt his mind ease, the race ending its course. The paci bobbled in his mouth, memories long forgotten rising to the surface.

Sunny clapped, giggling. “Kel likes it!”

Jumping in his seat, Kel blushed and shook his head, but kept the paci in his mouth. It was a Halloween pacifier, decorated black and orange. No wonder Sunny picked it for him, eh?

Speaking of Sunny, he picked up a simple white pacifier with a black cat in the center and plopped it in his mouth, smiling at Kel.

Suddenly there they were. Two broken men- no, boys, sitting down in a house where so much grief had been spent rather than joy. A house now occupied by two younger brothers who had each other.

“It’s them against the world.” Mari told Hero once. Kel never forgot that.

In an instant, Kel and Sunny were running up to Sunny’s playroom (aka the room he kept all his toys and memories and junk), setting him down before piling toy after toy in front of Kel.

Kel just blinked, confused, but happy. Actually happy.

By that afternoon, they were doing their own things; Sunny was drawing, and Kel was playing with blocks. He was about to put Hector at the tippy top, declaring him king of the Block Tower when Sunny poked his shoulder.

“Mm?”

Sunny popped out his paci. “Look…!”

He shyly gave Kel the piece of paper, letting him hold it in his metaphorically tiny hands. There they were; Kel dawning the orange and black paci with Hector in one hand, and the other holding Hero’s hand, their heights changed to make Kel smaller. Tinier. To make him the literal little brother.

“…’eep it…” Sunny blushed, putting his pacifier back in his mouth. Looking down at the floor, Kel saw a matching piece of paper with Sunny and Mari on it, but instead of it saying “Big Brother Little Brother”, it said “Big Sister Little Brother”.

“It’s- Is amazing, Sunny!” Kel beamed, ignoring his tower (and Hector rip) to hug his best friend. “How much does it cost?”

Sunny smiled, nuzzling into the crook of Kel’s neck.

“All it costs is your love.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Hope you liked it!! Suntan is one of my favorite pairings in Omori and I just love their dynamic sm (I got my name from Omori if u couldn’t tell). Let me know what u all think!!

Thankies!!

- Sun Sun ☀️