#I hope nothing but strife continues to find that fandom

[solarwynd]

Jimin being at the bottom of the army priority totem pole below two dogs is just so unbelievably wicked.

talm bout “Leave Bam some love.”

That dog can’t fucking read! But Jimin’s father can and he can see all the nasty comments jjks, kths and tkkrs leave on his restaurant’s insta as out him and his son. But y’all would sooner find sympathy for mongrels over human beings just because they belong to those two bastards.

[moodymisty]

Tree in bloom - Ch2

< Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 soon >

Author's Note: Tehe, hi. I take forever to draft things. Hope you enjoy.

-pushes this towards the darksiders fandom like a skiddish animal- hello please accept my humble offering I haven't done a multichapter thing in like 9 years sorry if it's a mess

Summary: Even after humanity has just been resurrected, Strife still finds himself using Jones. It’s easier; Until you find him out of his façade. (Taking place days after Death revives humanity, you wade through a world still infested by demons, while Strife struggles with growing attached to someone.)

Relationships: Strife/Fem!Reader

Story Wide Warnings: Canon typical violence, Friends to lovers, Teratophilia, Strife being an emotionally stunted jokster and pouter, Eventual smut maybe, Strife is clingy, One or two OCs maybe to fill things out at times, Shooting guns, rebuilding trust

Word Count: 3949

Ao3 Mirror

'thump thump thump'

Your heart pounds against your ribcage, willing your legs to push as fast as they can possibly go and beyond, stumbling and nearly falling multiple times.

What’s left of the concrete sidewalk crumbles under your shoes; Cracks going deep into the dirt underneath from one hundred years of strain and winding along like a spider’s web.

You have no goal in mind, you never thought even close to that far ahead.

You just need to get away. From everything. Your body had said to run and you listened, not caring where you would end up.

One of your knees almost buckles from how long you've run at a full sprint, struggling not to collapse under your own weight. When you finally do look over your shoulder you see nothing is following, though the Maker's tree is farther in the distance that you'd expected it to be. You can barely see the top of it from over the skeletal remains of buildings; It's safety is almost impossibly far away. Realistically it's probably only a few miles, but that might as well be a million or more right now.

There’s an abandoned storefront right next to you on the sidewalk that has a foyer-like entrance, and you quickly push against the wreckage of what once was a door to slip inside. The moment you do, you can actually stop for a moment and feel how your lungs burn in your chest, heart thumping against your rib cage as if trying to burst forth from it. With a few steps, you turn until you can press your shoulders against the wall, breathing for a moment while slowly sliding down it. Once you fall into a squat, your hands press against your cheeks.

How did he know your name? He spoke like he had recognized you, at least to some degree.

The fact that he had spoken at all had frightened you at first; As you'd been under the assumption that he was a giant, abit lithe demon. But demons didn't speak, at least not often. He also lacked an angel's wings, and was far too large to be anything close to human.

It leaves only one option, but you never really thought you'd live to see one of the Horsemen again. For the people of Haven there's not a single soul that doesn't remember the blur of War's red cape and thundering steed racing through the city, and those sights will continue to stick as a collective memory as they already have for so long.

Your heart still feels like it's in your throat from all the running, hoarse and dry, but at least you don't feel about to pass out now.

But you can't go back to the tree, not yet. If he was following you, walking back to the tree would absolutely make you run right into him again. Though if he was following you, it would be odd that he hadn't managed to catch up with you yet, as even with one look from a good margin away, his stature clearly dwarfed yours.

But even if you can't go back to the tree, you sure as Hell can't stay here. Almost every wall is glass, and any passerby human or other could easily see a cowering fragile mess of a human huddled in the barely standing remains of a building.

Sighing and using a significant amount of effort just to stand back fully upright, you look around through the glass of the door shortly before opening it.

There's nothing alive in view, but you can hear the crackle of never-ending flames and the screech of undead, hellish creatures, somewhere in the distance. It's best not to spend too much time around here, especially alone. You only have a single clip of ammo in your gun, along with a knife.

Just as you feel to make sure you didn't lose said knife in your scramble down the tree, you hear an ungodly screech loud enough to whip your head in every which direction, trying to find the source. When you don't it makes your heart beat faster once again.

There's no way I last through the entire apocalypse only to die to a random pissant demon.

There's a fire escape you quite noticed to your left; You can use it to climb to the top story of this apartment building and hopefully wait out whatever is stalking around, and then trek back to the tree.

The Makers are absolutely going to tear you a new one, that's for sure. Ulthane will probably travel miles from his hovel just to do so. You know it wouldn't be out of character for him, in response to you pulling a stunt as stupid as this. He's yelled at the humans for less.

Rushing towards what might be your safely the metal of the fire escape is horribly rusted, and you put your full weight onto the ladder with no small amount of uneasiness. It creaks and groans in pain, but doesn't break as you climb up the first two rungs.

Afterwards you dare to take a look over your shoulder, and what you see sends you into a fluffy of frantic, clumsy movements.

Quickly your pace increases, but once your hand touches the fourth rung the fire escape begins to pull away from the wall, forcing you to abandon climbing lest you get trapped underneath it. You let out a yelp of pain as the concrete scrapes against your clothes, ripping and biting at your skin through the fabric as you fall to the ground.

Get up get up get up!

But no matter how fast you try to will yourself to, your body is so tired that you can barely manage to scramble to your knees. As you do you hear him, getting closer and closer.

Your hands shake and once again your heart is trying to escape it’s cage, but you still try to push it a bit further, stumbling to your hands and feet getting ready to-

“Don’t run!"

He yells, the tone of his voice and wild glow of his eyes only serving to frighten you further. He looks like he could crush you in one fell swoop, which makes it all the odder when his voice actually fades down to a tone that almost seems unfitting.

"Please don’t run again?”

It seems like your fight or flight response is finally well and truly shot, frozen in place looking at him awkwardly as you pause stuck halfway between getting to your feet. But now it seems like he’s run out of things to say, and halts.

“Shit- I, Just-” A sharp gauntlet rakes through his wild hair, as he paces.

He shifts his weight from one leg to another, glowing eyes not looking in your direction. It's like he almost didn't expect you to actually listen to him. You finish rising to your feet, one slightly behind the other.

He's still trying to write up his next sentence or, something, as he's still looking almost beyond you. When he does suddenly make a move however, taking one step forward closer to you, it's a lightning quick habit to grab your gun and point it right at him.

His body posture doesn't change in the slightest, but he does retract his only step forward and raise his hands up slightly- like someone who is only jokingly being held at gunpoint.

“Look, respectfully; That gun really isn’t gonna do much more than hurt my feelings.”

He laughs, though it seems to be at himself more than anything. He turns his hands so his palms face the sky, and gives a heavy shrug of his shoulders.

“...You can shoot me if it makes you feel better... Or somethin’.”

What?

The barrel of your gun lowers slightly, mouth agape as you look at him. Every word that’s come out of his mouth has done nothing but confuse you even more than you already are. And in that bafflement, you lower down the gun just enough that you can speak to him, voice almost cracking with how dry and hoarse your throat is.

“What do you want with me?"

He just awkwardly laughs.

“I just wanted to make sure you were ok. There's demons all over out here.”

That was, not anywhere near an answer you had expected; And you really have no answer to it. Slowly lowering the gun to your hip height you keep your eyes on him, watching the way the light bounces off the shiner parts of his armor. Some of it is clearly worn down after an untold number of years of wear and tear, especially the scarf around his neck, as that remains as only tattered remains of what it probably once was.

Your feet smidge backwards just slightly, trying to get even the tiniest bit of space between the two of you.

“And what, you care that much about some random human?" You're not a fan of the way your voice shakes, even if barely. Not as if your emotions can betray you, as he probably already knows quite well you're terrified and nearly shaking like a leaf.

But it's just so weird, the way he's so casually talking to you. It wasn't exactly what you had expected from someone so... Fabled.

It's hard to tell what emotion he's feeling with his helmet covering all but his eyes, but it's clear he's thinking.

"Tch," He makes an almost annoyed noise. "Look; Back there, you weren't supposed to see that."

Perhaps it isn't the smartest thing to raise your voice at a Horsemen, and maybe you'll live to regret it later, but you can't help but reel back at the nonchalance; Almost disrespectful.

You caught him slaughtering demons- and whatever else, not doing something embarrassing.

'If he kills me, he kills me. There's no chance in hell I could run from him now.'

"See what? I was just looking for my friend! I-"

And you still haven't found Jones, but the Horsemen suddenly interrupts you before you have a chance to finish.

"And you found him!"

......

You stand there frozen and confused, eyes wide after hearing his voice rise to a yell for a moment, watching the Horsemen shift from one boot to another as if he's resisting the urge to pace. Your gun is still in your hand, you remember; The metal is cold and while you know it won't do shit to him, you can't quite put it away.

"I knew all the humans wouldn't trust," He gestures broadly and almost self-deprecatingly at himself. "Me, so... I made Jones."

Made?

Your lips part, eyes glancing over him as if the answer is going to lay somewhere else.

He has to be fucking with you. This is some sort of sadistic attempt to pull one over on a human thats already about to keel over like a frightened rabbit.

"This, this has to be a joke," You say, and he seems almost irritated you're still confused and flighty, if only for a moment. "This sounds insane, I don't know you're trying to do but-" You're backing up, getting ready to just bail from this and hope to whatever is listening that you can loose him and forget all of this has ever happened.

"Wait!" He stutters as his brain catches up with his mouth. "I know you, from the tree! I promised to help you once I came back!"

Looking back at him, you remember that yeah- Jones did offer to help you once he came back. And, well you think you'd remember if there had been a giant horsemen in the vicinity.

Sure you've been through the apocalypse, seen weirder, but you still have absolutely no idea what to say.

"I'm Jones. Me." He points at himself, but you aren't exactly fully listening.

This is... insane. But there really isn't anyway you can deny the fact that he doesn't seem to be lying, other than just trying to forget this all happened. A valid option, after everything.

“But...”

You can hear that he's probably giving some sort of smile behind the mask, judging by the surprisingly light tone in his voice now. He seems to have gotten over everything that happened before, and has done a full 180.

“I’m actually Strife.”

Your eyes glance back up to his face, instead of his chest. So you were right; He is one of the horsemen. You’ve heard his name before, and it was never said in a pleasant tone.

Granted you've heard all of the Horsemen's names from the Makers, though Strife's was the one that was usually said with the most amount of distain, or with a curse following shortly thereafter.

But once everything settles just a bit, you can't really feel much else but angry. Clenching your hands you throw them forward, before they go back to your sides.

“I, I trusted you!" The horsemen straightens up at your tone as if you hit him, surprised. "You were lying to me this entire time!?”

He seems almost surprised by your sudden outburst, prompted upon the realization that you'd been strung around in the dark apparently, for so long.

You're absolutely going to collapse when you fully realize the gravity of yelling at a man who's brother nearly destroyed Earth.

“Hey! I did it to avoid this!” He gestures between the both of you, and thus the defensive posture you still have. Quickly you fire back, your throat still hoarse.

“And so you thought lying was better!?”

He goes quiet.

When he makes another move you flinch, instinctively trying to keep a minimum amount of space between you two. You already regret yelling at a Horsemen, but he doesn't seem to take mind of it at all, surprisingly.

You don’t trust him as far as you can throw him; And that isn’t any at all, judging by the bulk of his armor and the way he towers over you. Even from almost two meters away, his shadow is still brushing over the toes of your boots.

He attempts to speak in a softer tone that seems incredibly unfamiliar to him- the caterwaul of dustwings echos off somewhere in the background.

“Look- You need to get back to the tree. Let me give you a ride.”

Eyes darting around you don’t quite know what he means by ride for a moment, though it’s only a moment, as he whistles and suddenly- something seems to just come from what feels the air itself.

The sound of metal clops on the pavement as it materializes, and you barely register that it’s shaped like a horse, before it looks at you and you almost drop dead right then and there. The whinny it gives sounds otherworldly, and it matches the look impeccably. With how much armor it has on however, it's nearly impossible to tell if there is an actual horse under there, or if it's just some sort of unholy creation.

Quickly backing in from the creature this time instead of the Horsemen, you shake your head and put your palms right out in front of you; Hell bent on putting as much space between you and it as possible.

“No! Absolutely no way!”

The steed paws at the crumbled concrete as if bored, it’s ghost-like mane flowing in the soft wind that sends a chill through your body.

'Strife', crosses his arms, looking down on you with those glowing eyes.

“What,” He's smirking, you can just tell. “Scared of a horse?” Quickly your face goes from shocked and frightened to angry and frightened, as you take yet another step back and hug your shoulders. You only pull one away from a moment to point at it, and as if on cue, the horse looks up at you seeming almost with banality.

“That, is not a horse! That, That is a-” He turns to look at his ‘horse’, for a second, before looking back to you and shrugging his armored shoulders.

“Looks like a horse to me.”

You never remembered Jones being this smug.

The horse snorts as it stands behind it’s rider, bored with it all as you continue to fight going anywhere near it.

“Mayhem doesn’t bite.”

Of course that's it's name.

You look at the way his eyes glow and the almost ghost-like nature of his mane, and find that reassurance hard to believe. The Horsemen however seems to not notice or doesn’t care that you don’t seem entirely convinced, and instead hits the saddle. You shake your head and speak at a more normal tone.

“No, I can walk.”

Strife seems to almost deflate at the way you refuse his offer, oddly enough. But he seems to reinflate fast enough to attempt at convincing you. He hits the saddle again.

“You’re not going to make it in one piece alone. Just,” He blows air from his lips that sounds similar to a raspberry from behind his mask. “Just let me get you back."

As much as you don’t want to admit it, he’s not entirely wrong. You’re out in the middle of nowhere, and running out this far has already sapped a good bit of your energy. You don't like the idea of taking up his offer, but it's not as if you have any better alternative.

So perhaps the ghostly steed and his lying owner could give you a ride. But once you’re in the tree, you don’t want to be near him anymore. You need time. To figure this all out.

“Ok," He perks up so much so you startle, shifting your feet. "So I just, get on?”

Strife, you have to remember his name, moves his hands, grabbing the saddlehorn with one and gesturing with the other.

“Like I said, Mayhem doesn’t bite.”

The jury is still out on that; You see the way this horse is staring at you as you approach his flank. He seems to only be allowing you this close because his rider is the one asking you to be. Or maybe his bored face just looks intimidating, but you're not going to take the risk and find out.

Grasping the edges of the saddle you heft yourself into the stirrup after a few tries, and eventually make it up without assistance. He originally moved to quickly help you, but when you shifted away, he seems to take the hint that you want none of that.

Shifting around in the saddle it's huge, fitted for a larger than human rider, but at least it's somewhat comfortable. Your toes can barely reach the stirrups however, now that you're seated.

Just as you're attempting to put a foot in one Strife Puts his right foot in the right stirrup, grasping the saddlehorn and suddenly shifting the whole saddle to one side. You grasp tight underneath his armored hand, the edges sharp against your skin before he takes it away once he's seated right behind you.

With one heel he gives the horse a gentle nudge and you’re moving forward, the jingle of metal the foremost sound in your ear. If it’s Strife’s armor, Mayhem’s, or perhaps a combination of both is unknown.

"See, It's not so bad," He says, The chains that serve as the steed's reins jingling in his hand.

"I mean Mayhem's probably the least scary one out of all of them," You assume by 'them' he's referring to the other Horsemen's mounts. "Maybe Ruin? He's just big."

"The one that helped start the Apocalypse?" You say quietly. Strife lets out a nervous laugh, and you can even hear him thickly swallow.

"Oh yeah... Right. That's still a sore spot."

Did he, think it wouldn't be? Humanity is still in shambles, and unless his outlook on life is overwhelmingly positive it's a bit hard to deny that.

It's not exactly something you want to think too hard about right now, pursing your lips.

"Don't worry," He says, continuing to ramble on despite the fact that you really aren't talking back; A combination of being like a deer in the headlights and still a flurry of emotions. "Me and Mayhem are far better than those angry louts anyways."

Hands tightening around the saddlehorn you see the tree coming closer and closer, and with it your home base.

You can almost feel the tense, borderline nervous energy Strife is exuding behind you, as he ushers his steed to pick up the pace. But even then he still doesn't get the hint that maybe you aren't in the mood to talk, rambling on and on.

You get the hint that besides his occassional words as 'Jones', he hasn't had someone to talk to for a long time.

When you stop at the base of the tree, you’re off the horse as fast as you can possibly go, beating even him to the ground. You have to hand onto the saddle and effectively plummet to the ground, but you manage it well enough.

“Don’t get into too much trouble.”

You purse your lips tight and nod.

“...You too.”

He may have lied to you but… It’s not as if you hope he gets hurt. Your feet scrape against the bark of the tree as you back away from him, before turning and racing upwards.

When you’re halfway up and glance over the side, you can see he’s still there, oddly enough. If he’s still when you enter the tree you don’t know, as instantly you feel multiple sets of eyes on you.

You can hear the voice of one of the Makers asking what’s on your heels, but you don’t answer. Instead you keep pace forward, up the rickety steps and out onto one of the larger branches of the tree. Outside of the main central 'room'. You can update them later, as you've going to make yourself far too hard for them to reach and try and force you to do so.

This is a go to spot for a few of the humans when everything is just a bit too much, and you don’t want one of the Makers bugging you. Or really anyone for that matter. As getting more than one person out on the branch would be precarious at best.

It’s decently cold tonight, and you would’ve needed something to bundle up with if you weren’t still so hot from running for your life. And while you are cooling down, the torn and weathered jacket you have on is enough for now. You wouldn't want to go get anything more anyways.

How do you even, how do you even deal with this?

Sickly for a moment you think you’d rather have just found Jones dead or gone, before instantly throwing out that thought.

No, you don’t want Jones dead. Strife. You’re just frustrated. Need a minute.

The two are nothing alike; And that will take more than awhile to get used to.

Get used to, as you assume you're going to see him again. What if he's just gone forever now?

Thats not really something you want, even after everything. His façade versus the real deal are so incredibly different, but he is still technically your friend.

You can here people talking inside the tree, probably about your raging entrance, but you just drown it all out.

A horsemen? This whole time?

You don’t know exactly how much time has past with you sitting out here, as it's not completely dark.

One rare nice thing about the Apocalypse was with most of the light pollution gone, you can see the stars in the city central again.

I need a fucking nap.

[randomfandomimagine]

Stars In Your Eyes (Cloud Strife x Reader)

Character: Cloud Strife

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

Tags: Reader Insert, GenderNeutral!Reader, Fluff, Angst With A Happy Ending

Warnings: None

Summary: Y/N has feelings for Cloud, but is convinced that he can't reciprocate them. One night, thoughtfully looking at the stars, Cloud finds Y/N wanting to talk.

Word Count: 1,5k words

A/N: Since I’m playing Final Fantasy VII Remake and even only being a few hours in, I wanted to write a little Cloud thing because I’m falling in love with him all over again. Enjoy!

You looked up to the sky, admiring the stars as though they had the answers you seeked, as tough they could tell you what could have been, Their beautiful glint reminded you of someone’s eyes, even if they didn’t hold as much complexity in them. Or so it seemed, because you could read his eyes better than any constellation. Everything he hid, everything he held back, you knew.

Heaving a sigh, you forced your glance down. 

It was so complicated... Even if you could tell what he wanted and you knew what you wanted as well... Well, you couldn’t force him to speak up, to admit his feelings to you when he couldn’t even admit them to himself.

“Y/N?” His very voice said amidst the heavy silence, causing you to jolt up.

“Cloud!” Your heart started hammering inside your chest when you turned to confirm it was indeed him. “You... scared me...” 

Hoping he couldn’t notice the blush in your cheeks in the dim moonlight, you averted your gaze. Certainly, his silent footsteps had startled you since he hadn’t anounced his presence. But what made it worse was the fact that you had seem to conjure him with so many thoughts regarding him.

“Sorry...” He muttered, towering over you as you reluctantly moved your head to watch him from your sitting position. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, I just wasn’t expecting you to appear out of nowhere” 

“Not that” His voice was deadpan as usual, but a subtle frown on his brow betrayed his concern. “You look upset about something” 

“Oh...” You fiddled with the fabric of your shirt, avoiding his eyes again. “That...” 

Cloud hesitated, but ultimately went to sit down next to you. His closeness only managed to fluster you, even if he appeared calm and nonchalant. He propped his leg up and rested an elbow on his knee, as if he needed to appear any more attractive or cooler than he usually was.

“Tifa told me you two talked” His grave voice once again broke the heavy silence that settled. “’Bout something that was worrying you” 

“Worrying is not the word I would use...” Relieved that Tifa hadn’t told him what was really the matter, you lingered in that secrecy. 

“Wanna talk?” 

“What?” 

“I mean... I’m here, and I’ll listen if you wanna... I could help” 

Your gazes unexpectedly met and your heart skipped a beat. Even in the darkness of the night, his eyes were absolutely beautiful. Blue mixed with a bit of green, a mako reminder of his past. They held so much contained emotion, so many unspoken feelings that he tried to conceal.

“I... uh...” You shook your head, trying to focus on the moment and not get carried away by your fantastical thoughts, by your romantic self that yearned for something that you may never have. At least not with who you wanted. “That’s very sweet, Cloud...” 

He fidgeted a little, and you observed him in curiosity. Noticing how your comment flustered him, you smiled. A sudden urge overwhelmed you, telling you to hold his hand. But you couldn’t. 

“That’s how I know something’s up” He suddenly said, perhaps to change the subject. “You’re in the clouds” 

You rolled your eyes at his unintended pun. If only he knew what was going through your head...

“Yeah, you have no idea...” You sighed, shrinking over yourself pretending that you were cold because of the cool night breeze. In reality, you felt incredibly small. “But... I’m not sure I can tell you”

“I... Look, I’ll just do my best” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Even if all I can do is just be here”

“That’s not the problem, Cloud” You whispered, feeling yourself shaking slightly. “It’s... about you” 

He quickly peered at you, equally intrigued and surprised. Cloud watched you with that piercing gaze, that which held such a mystery that only you seemed capable of solving.

“What’d I do?” He said in the same hushed tone. 

“Nothing!” You exclaimed, startling him a little at your sudden loudness. “It’s just...” 

You felt tears in your eyes. It hurt so much to love him and not be loved back. It hurt to be constantly charging against his defenses at top speed just to be pushed back time and again. How could you tell him any of this, though? 

Shaking still, you hugged your legs. 

“Y/N” His voice sounded stern, and still you recognized the panic layered under it, the anguish over seeing you in such state. “Tell me” 

You paused under his scrutiny. A sob escaped your throat, and you heard him gasp when you began to cry and crumble before him. Your chest was tight and painful.

“I’m in love with you!” Finally, the words left your mouth before you could control yourself. Those words that had been captive in your heart for so long. When you spoke them, a heavy weight was lifted from your shoulders only to be replaced by one even greater. “And you don’t love me back...” 

“I...” Cloud only said, restlessly turning his body to you. “Y/N, I...” 

“Forget it...” You continued crying, feeling stupid, tired and hopeless. “Now you know, just... forget it” 

Wishing to hide from that pain, you buried your face in your knees. Cloud lingered by your side, even if you had half expected him to walk away. But he was still there. 

For several seconds that felt like an eternity, the quietness reigned. He fidgeted next to you, starting to mumble only to stay quiet again. You considered asking him to leave you alone, but at the same time you didn’t want him to. In a way, at least he was with you, by your side. It was the closest thing to having that which you craved.

“I never said that” Cloud suddenly piped up, much to your astonishment.

Cautiously, you looked up at him. His eyes were fixed on the sky above your heads. 

“What?” 

“I never said... I never said I don’t love you” 

Your mouth fell agape as you watched him intently. He refused to meet your gaze.

“I’m just...” Cloud kept talking, and you allowed him. It wasn’t every day he spoke his mind like this, and especially, his heart. “It’s not easy to.... I’m not used to... well, it’s all new to me...” 

You paused, waiting to see if he said something else. When he turned his head to you, you knew it was your turn to speak.

“Do you want to try?” Your voice came out as a whisper, this time unwillingly. It couldn’t gather the strength to be louder.

Remaining quiet now, Cloud nodded his head. The gesture was small and barely noticeable, but you saw it. That was all you needed. Tentatively, you leaned closer. He did too. Slowly, cautiously, but he did.

Your heart began racing, making you feel light-headed. The closeness was causing you to internally scream, you had never been so close to him. Your lips then connected and you felt yourself floating. His touch was clumsy and light, but soft and tender at the same time. It injected you with pure happiness, with a newfound euphoria you couldn’t believe was at the reach of your fingertips. 

Cloud suddenly broke away, blinking in embarrassment. When he took a deep breath, overwhelmed, you read him once again, realizing why he pulled away.

“Sorry” He muttered, frowning as he absently looked back up at the sky. 

“It’s okay” You dared to finally reach for his hand. “I understand” 

“Thanks” He muttered, not pushing you away.

“We have time. If this is really what you want, we can take it slow” 

You knew how hard it must be for him to open up, and you were willing to be patient. It was good enough that he had been honest and let the light shine through the cracks.

To your surprise, Cloud locked eyes with you. He didn’t look away even as his hand slowly wrapped around yours. It was shaking slightly, reminding you of your own trembling.

Mesmerized by his eyes, you smiled a little. He tilted his head, curious about the gesture.

“What?” Cloud asked, clinging to your hand.

“You... it looks like you have stars in your eyes” You mumbled, still feeling the after effects of the euphoria inducing kiss.

At first, Cloud frowned. After a few seconds, however, he smiled a little as well. You gawked at him, opening your mouth to point it out. However, and before you could, he spoke up.

“You’re shaking” Cloud said, as though that was his excuse to hold your hand so tightly.

“Aren’t you cold?” 

“No, I’m pretty warm”

You chuckled, feeling stupidly happy even through that mild awkwardness. Hoping he didn’t mind, you leaned your head in his shoulder and shuffled closer to him. Indeed, his body radiated warmth, even if he was in his tank top. 

The bare skin of his arms felt warm against yours, slowly ridding you of the shivering that the breeze caused in you. Feeling perfectly calm in that position, you sighed in content.

Cloud didn’t move, but you felt he was relaxed under your touch. It may take some time to get him to open up completely, but you could wait if he was willing to try as well. 

You closed your eyes, trying to memorize that feeling of peace. As you sat there with him, you smiled. What you didn’t know was that, now that you weren’t looking, he allowed himself to smile again.

Tag list: @call-me-harley-quinn​ / @anxiouslyreckless​ / @xionroxas​ / @dancewaterdance02​ / @little-faerie-artist​ / @x-joie-x​ / @honeybunhanbin​ / @legallyblindgamer727​ / @goodmorningawfulbye​ / @trunks-kiwi​ // If you want to be added or taken off the tag list for these fandoms or characters, let me know!! // Reblogs and comments are appreciated!  

[rune-writes]

Poppies

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

Word Count: 4402

Rating: G

Summary: Mother’s Day is tomorrow and Tifa invites Cloud to gather some flowers from the mountain.

Note: Part 2 of an ongoing Mother’s Day series centering on Zack, Cloud, Tifa, and Aerith. Part 2 is Cloud’s story. Read Part 1 here. 

Read on AO3.

~*~*~*~*~

The neighborhood kids were hanging around the bottom of the water tower when Cloud walked home from his grocery errand, a paper bag in hand. They sat on the ground, their conversation fueled with energy and fervor. Cloud had half a mind to go around the other side, avoiding any unnecessary clash that would probably happen, but Tifa was there, sitting among the blocks of wood in her white dress and brown slippers. Her ebony hair hung loose down her back, swaying in the soft spring breeze coming down from the mountain. Before he knew it, his feet were already leading him there.

Snippets of conversation reached him as he neared. Cloud strained his ears, but all he could hear was something about a flower or a dinner, then an exploded oven and a ruined kitchen, followed by laughter. Hearty laughter from the stomach that shook their shoulders. Tifa was laughing too, though not as loud. She always laughed with them—laughing and smiling, as though she had all the time in the world. She never laughed with him.

Just walk by them, he told himself. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t—

He glanced up right as Tifa’s dark crimson eyes fell on him. Then it all seemed to happen in a slow motion—her eyes widening around the edges, her feet jumping up as a hand shot to the sky, her small mouth spreading wide into a bright grin, forming the word:

“Cloud!”

Her voice rang loud and clear across the village center. The boys looked up. It only took a split second for his heart to race and his stomach to twist. 

Cloud averted his gaze and quickened his pace. Tifa kept calling him. “Leave him alone,” the boys in the distance said. He hoped she would. But Cloud could only make it halfway to his house when someone yanked his arm and pulled him to a stop. Tifa was glaring at him, her lips set into a pout.

“Are you ignoring me?”

“No, I—” His voice failed him, he’d forgotten what he was doing and where he was going. The place where her hand touched his elbow felt warm. Tifa huffed and let go of his arm. 

“Me and the others are going to look for gifts,” she said. “For Mother’s Day. It’s tomorrow?” Cloud only stared, prompting her scowl at his lack of response. “Did you forget?”

Of course not, was what he wanted to say, but how could he, when he had never celebrated Mother’s Day before.

“Anyway, wanna come? There’s this flower field a little up the mountain.”

He would. Cloud would go anywhere if Tifa asked him. But before he could form an answer, the boys behind them jeered, reminding him why he had never liked them in the first place.

“Come on, Tifa,” they said. “He doesn’t want to come.”

Three pairs of eyes glared at him from behind her shoulders, challenging him to say yes. And maybe he would, just to spite them, because it was Tifa who had asked him, and they had no business to say no. Tifa ignored the jeers and waited with a small smile on her face. Cloud was about to nod and say, “All right,” but then, a door opened somewhere behind him, and the unmistakable voice of his mother called his name. 

“Cloud! Honey, lunch is ready!”

He heard the snickers almost instantly. Cloud gritted his teeth as his face burned.

“I got to go,” he said, quiet. 

He turned around without looking at Tifa and hurried home. His mother stood by the door, smiling at something behind him—or someone, judging from the wave she was giving. Cloud muttered an inaudible I’m home, ducking under her arm.

“Come over sometimes, Tifa!” he heard her say.

Cloud snapped his head up but his mother was still beaming and waving at the girl beyond the door.

“I will, Mrs. Strife!”

Tifa’s reply didn’t help. A bundle of energy packed into that one short sentence that buckled his knees and made the sky fall. That’s an idea. Have the cutest girl in the village come over to his house to—what? Play? He had nothing that would remotely interest a girl. Not that he could imagine playing with her without having jitters either. Or did his mother mean dinner? But that would mean inviting her entire family. They were neighbors and their mothers had exchanged pleasantries, but Cloud didn’t like the look Tifa’s father often gave him. Like dealing with a time bomb that could explode at any moment. Cloud brought the groceries to the kitchen table and pulled out bread and milk and cheese.

“What were you talking about?” his mother asked as she closed the door.

“Nothing,” Cloud said with a shrug. His mother moved beside him, sorting through the groceries and placing them in their respective places. Her eyes lingered on him for a few heartbeats. Cloud stifled a sigh. “They’re going someplace. She asked me to come with.”

“And?” his mother prompted when he didn’t continue. She reached over to place a sack of sugar in the cupboard.

“And what?”

“And what did you say?”

Cloud gave another noncommittal shrug. “You called.” He felt her stare and heard her intake of breath. Cloud didn't quite know what had warranted him a lecture, but he braced himself. He could already hear what his mother was going to say. That he should be nicer to Tifa, nicer to the other kids, to open up more and try to make friends. But the kettle whistled, breaking the silence.

His mother moved to turn off the stove. Cloud used the opportunity to fold the paper bag and quietly leave the room. But he had only taken a few steps when his mother spoke again.

“Lunch is ready. Could you bring some over to the Lockharts after you finish eating?”

“Why do I have to—” he began, half turning, but his mother’s stern gaze locked him in place.

“And make sure you make up with Tifa, all right?” she added with a hint of a grin.

***

Lunch was stew—his mother’s special stew. He loved the stew she made. Cloud had never had stew as delicious as his mother’s. And now he was walking over to the Lockhart’s, the two-story house beside his, carrying a tray with a lidded bowl in his hands.

The door opened as he reached their porch. Tifa’s mother stood there, her long dark hair tied in the village-custom ponytail. They said she was sick. In the rare chance Cloud spotted her in a village event, she would only sit and watch the merriment from the sides. But then she would cough, and her husband would usher her back inside. Tifa always looked sad whenever it happened. Now, Mrs. Lockhart’s usually dark, wearied eyes were bright, and they widened at the sight of him. The surprise only lasted for several seconds before her face broke into a small smile.

“What brings you here, Cloud?” she asked, her voice gentle and lilting.

Cloud held the tray out to her. “From my mom. She made a stew.”

Her smile softened, she accepted the tray with a thank you. Cloud mumbled an incoherent reply, straining his neck to see past her into the hall beyond. He had been inside a few times before whenever his mother brought them a dish or offered Tifa’s mother some help. She followed his line of sight, before chuckling under her breath.

“Tifa’s still out with her friends I think.”

Right. He knew that. Cloud ignored the rising heat creeping up his neck as he thanked Mrs. Lockhart with a small bow of his head before heading back to his home. But his mother was out, and he had finished his lunch. There was nothing to do, and as his footsteps faltered, Cloud found his gaze drawn to the path at the back of the village. It would lead him to the old abandoned manor and the mountain path beyond. He didn’t know where the flower field was, but if he just followed the path, he would eventually find it, right?

***

Wrong.

His soles stepped over gravel and dirt, one in front of the other, as Cloud climbed his way up the mountain path. The heat of the late spring sun beat him on his back. The path had been straightforward thus far but Cloud didn’t see any sign of a flower field at all. Had he even come to the right place? Had he missed a turn or a hidden path somewhere? But all he could see behind him was the downward trail of nothing but dirt and stone. The same thing up ahead. Maybe Tifa hadn’t even gone up the mountain.

In all his eight years of living in Nibelheim, Cloud rarely ever climbed the mountain. The adults said they shouldn’t. It was dangerous with rockfalls, ravines, and monsters. But even if he didn’t go far enough to encounter any of those, Cloud still preferred to stay away. Those boys often hung around at the base of the mountain.

People would have a better chance of finding him at the riverbank. He would play with his wooden stick, imagining himself a soldier at the front lines of the Wutai War. When the days were slow, the village men would occasionally come to fish. When they spotted him, they would call him over and ask him questions: why he was alone and what he was doing, so on and so forth. Sometimes they would teach him fishing tricks despite him never asking. Other times they would tell him stories—of cities made of metal in a continent across the sea, or ghosts from the abandoned manor roaming the night, or a pretty little flower field in an otherwise barren mountain.

Cloud stopped in his tracks. Voices reached him from ahead, and a moment later, three boys appeared around the corner. One, two, three—the group was missing one! He stepped into their path, cutting off whatever conversation they were having. The middle one, a tall and burly boy with a brown t-shirt and a cap, narrowed his eyes at him.

“What?”

Cloud set his teeth. “Where’s Tifa?”

They stared at him for several moments, before the middle boy nodded up the path. “Up there.”

The cliff face hugged them closely on both sides with tufts of grass here and there on the ground. The path curved to the left, hiding all the danger and monstrosity the mountain had to offer. Up there didn’t explain where Tifa was. Cloud bristled.

“You left her?”

“Flowers are for sissies,” the left one said. The other two snickered in response.

“Then you shouldn’t have agreed in the first place.”

It wasn’t rare to see Cloud fighting with one of the boys. He always tried not to get into fistfights, but more often than not, Cloud would go home with a bruise or a split lip. Then his mother would see, and she would sigh as she took out the first-aid kit from the cabinet and dabbed a gauze dipped in alcohol to his wounds. “It’s their fault,” he would say, because it always—or more often—was. Just because they were bigger and older and stronger. Now the three of them surrounded him, puffing out their chests and making themselves taller, as though that was supposed to scare Cloud. 

“Where is it?” he asked.

“Where is what?”

“The flower field!”

They exchanged glances, then looked at Cloud with wolfish grins. “What, you wanna go after her?”

This was why Cloud hated them. Gritting his teeth and clenching his fists, Cloud pushed past them and ignored the hoots and taunts. Careful of the monsters, they said.

Let them come.

***

Cloud remembered what the man at the river had said. At the first fork on the mountain path, hug the right side. A little way up, a little way down, the path would grow smaller and smaller until you reach a dead end. But it’s not a dead end. There was a path before rocks and boulders blocked it. Climb over and across it and you’ll find yourself in a pretty little clearing, with a spring bubbling up on one side and flowers blooming all around.

That was what Cloud found at the end of a long trek: a wall of rock reaching up to the sky with boulders stacked high on the narrow path across the rock face. 

Aren’t you a smith? Cloud had asked. Why would a smith have known a secret flower field? It had earned him a soft smack on the head.

Smiths seek ores and stuff, kid. The mountain’s basically my home.

So much for home. Either he didn’t know, or he didn’t tell, because Cloud highly doubted Tifa passed through here. There might even be more than one flower field up this mountain. Who was to know? He certainly didn’t, and there was no one else he could ask. There wasn’t even any guarantee that he’d find a flower field on the other side of this rock face. But his feet hurt and his chest heaved, so he put his hands and feet on the boulders and climbed.

Over and across, Cloud landed on the ground beyond with a thud. His practice with his wooden sword proved useful as the calluses had hardened his hands and made the climb easier. He swayed on his feet when he stood, his hand shooting out to the wall to steady himself. Undergrowth rustled at a shuffling of feet. A moment later, Tifa appeared at the end of the tunnel, still in her cream-white dress and brown slippers. Her hair swayed in a breeze he didn’t feel, her eyes widening at the sight of him.

“Cloud?”

Cloud’s sigh of relief was short-lived. He felt stupid now, for coming all this way and climbing a rock wall, when the girl in front of him didn’t even look like she had fought through dirt and stone.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” Tifa said.

“I never said I wouldn’t,” he mumbled after he had exited the narrow path into what appeared to be a clearing on the mountainside, with the rock wall on one side and close-knitted trees on the others. Water trickled down into a small bubbling spring, and a vast canopy of leaves shielded them from the harsh glare of the sun. After the long trek with the hot golden disc beating down on his back, the shade was a pleasant find. They swayed in the afternoon breeze, cool against the sweat on his brow.

Tifa stared at him, tilting her head to one side. Cloud didn’t care to elaborate and instead asked, “Did you come from there?” He nodded toward the path he had taken.

Tifa shook her head. “No. I came from there.” She pointed to one side, where a gap between the trees revealed a path through the forest. The foliage was as thick there as it was in the clearing, breaking the sunlight into a crisscrossing pattern across the forest floor. “It leads down the mountain,” she went on. “But there’s a path leading back to the path behind the village. You take the left road at the fork.”

Cloud wished the smith had told him that.

“So, you’ll give your mom flowers?”

“What?”

“Flowers.” She drew his attention to the small white flowers between her arms. “That’s why you came, right? The flower field.”

Tifa stepped back to give him a full view of the flowers blooming all around. They dotted the clearing in clusters of reds and whites and purples. Cloud recognized the scent, something he had associated with his mother and his house once upon a time.

“Poppies,” Tifa explained. Her smile turned wistful as she looked at the flowers in her hands. “The healer said they could help Mom.”

If Tifa had wanted to get any flowers, she could have gone to easier places. His secret spot by the riverbank had a cluster of flowers growing here and there at this time of year. A little off to the side right outside the village was also a field with blue flowers. If they knew where to go and what to look for, they could avoid any monsters attacking them. At least, that was what the smith-master had told him.

“Well, feel free to pick some.”

He watched her walk to the spring where she left her basket already half-filled with flowers. She crouched down, placed the white flowers inside, then picked up the red ones blossoming nearby. Cloud stared for several more moments before moving over to another patch of purple and pink and plucked them by the stems.

Poppies. Cloud never knew the name, but he remembered seeing them in a vase at home. Every time he sat on the dining table, the flowers would enter his line of sight, positioned in front of a window overlooking the mountain. It received a lot of sunlight in the afternoon.

He brought his forage to Tifa’s basket and dropped them all inside. Tifa looked at him, confused.

“I thought you’re bringing them for your mom,” she said.

“I am,” he said, and left it at that. 

Time passed and before they knew it, the lights had gotten dim. Tifa had filled her basket to the brim while Cloud had gathered an assortment of reds and purples and pinks. Not a lot, but he hoped his mother would love it.

“Here.” Tifa offered her basket. “I’ll give you yours when we’re back at the village.”

The forest had gotten dark. The sky was still a blazing deep orange, but the thick foliage blocked what little sunlight the sky offered. The air had gotten several degrees colder and Cloud noticed Tifa shivering. Her one-piece dress didn’t cover her arms.

“Ah!” Tifa stumbled on her feet, her leg tripping over an upturned root. Cloud’s hand shot out and grabbed her arm. Tifa murmured a thank you as she gingerly stepped over the root. Cloud only gave a wordless grunt, but he kept his hand firmly locked around her arm as they made their way through the dark forest.

“You remember the way, right?” he asked.

“I do, but it’s a bit hard to see.”

A wolf howled in the distance, making the two of them jump. Tifa clutched onto his arm, nails digging into his skin, as Cloud’s back stiffened, his eyes flitting in search for the source or something to ward it off. Stay away from the mountains, the village’s warning blared in his mind, especially at night. Monsters and beasts roamed the grounds. What would he give to have his wooden stick with him now?

“Come on, Tifa.” Cloud’s voice was almost a whisper in the eerie silence. Not even the sound of a bird or a cricket, as though all critters knew what dangers the night brought. He kept a firm hold on Tifa’s hand. “I’ll protect you.”

***

Dusk had fallen by the time they reached the fork. The waning moon hung low in a purple-indigo sky, the first of the stars blinking into view. Cloud still had his hand over Tifa’s, a firm hold she reciprocated, as the two of them fumbled in the dark. Tifa had slowly regained her courage after they found a familiar well-trodden path and a low-hanging branch. The dark had felt friendlier there, according to Tifa, and they had groped for tree trunks and branches, keeping their legs off any treacherous roots on the ground, until finally, they found a break in the trees.

Torches lit the path once they neared the village, more fires bobbing in a cluster up ahead. Cloud and Tifa shared a glance, their faces smudged with dirt and covered in sweat. Their clothes were dirty, and Cloud could see a few shallow cuts on Tifa’s arms from when the branches had caught her. Despite that, the two of them grinned.

“Cloud!”

It was more like a scream than a call, ear-splitting and raw. It jerked him to a stop. He looked up just as his mother broke away from the group of adults huddling together with torches held above their heads. She had a stricken look on her face as she ran towards him. Every head, every pair of eyes behind her turned. At the center was Tifa’s father, his stern lines giving way to relief at the sight of Tifa.

Cloud had only let Tifa’s hand go before his mother enveloped him in a bone-crunching hug. A moment later, Brian Lockhart fell to his knees beside them, pulling his daughter into his arms.

���Where were you!?” he said after he let her go. Tifa opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, her father had looked up and directed his ire at Cloud. “You brought her there, didn’t you!?”

Cloud froze. Whatever excuse or explanation he had had in his mind vanished. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t speak. His mouth had gone numb as his fingers went cold, trying and failing to stammer any sort of response that would appease Brian Lockhart.

His mother shuddered a breath before unwinding her arms from around him. She got to her feet. “Now, Brian—” she began but couldn’t get far, because Tifa had shaken herself off her father and now stood in front of Cloud, arms stretched on either side. 

“Dad! Don’t get mad at Cloud!” she yelled, crimson eyes blazing under the torches. Her father, and all the other adults, fell silent. “He came after me, okay? I wanted to pick flowers on the mountain. For Mother’s Day. The others left me. Cloud came after me. Here!”

She held up her basket, not filled to the brim anymore. Some of the flowers had fallen off. A murmur swept through the adults and Cloud spotted several nodding heads, but Brian Lockhart still had a frown on his face.

“What’s important is that our kids are safe, Brian,” his mother said, her voice unusually quiet. She had her hand in front of Cloud.

It took another moment for Brian to sigh and nod. “All right.” He looked at Tifa and Cloud saw a rare hint of a smile on his face. “I’m just glad you’re safe.” He stood up and held his hand out to his daughter. “Let’s go. Your mother’s worried sick.” Tifa nodded and grabbed her father’s hand. Then Brian shifted his gaze back at Cloud.

“And you.” It wasn’t loud, and he didn’t sound angry. Brian’s voice was deep and rumbling, like the rumbles Cloud would sometimes hear every time he pressed his ear to the ground. Cloud jerked to attention. “Don’t make your mother worry so much.” 

Cloud watched them leave, and the crowd slowly dispersed. They stayed there, his mother’s hand on his shoulder. Worry? Was his mother worried? It would make more for sense to say his mother was angry. Because his mother was rarely ever quiet. Yet now, there was only silence, and the silence was deafening.

“Mom?”

“Hm?”

At least his mother was talking to him. He mustered his courage and asked, “Are you angry?”

A pause, then his mother looked down; and no, it wasn’t anger that he saw. It was a mixture of emotions that Cloud couldn’t even begin to identify, only that it made his heart clench tight. She crouched in front of him, hands squeezing his arms.

“No, I’m not angry,” she said. Her voice was soft, somewhat deflated. The tension he had felt in her bone-crunching hug was gone. She brushed her hand against his hair, then at the smudge of dirt on his cheek. “I’m just worried.”

“Worried?” 

His mother laughed. “Am I not allowed to worry?” she asked. “You went off somewhere without telling me and no one knew where you’d gone. A parent would worry about their child.”

“I’m sorry.” Cloud cast his eyes down. “You told me to make up with Tifa so—”

“I know.” His mother smiled the softest smile. “Just… tell me whenever you’re going somewhere, all right?” Cloud nodded. She cupped his cheeks and gave a quick peck to his forehead. Then she stood up and held out a hand. “Come on. Let’s go home. You need a bath.”

They had almost reached their door when the house beside theirs burst open. Tifa emerged, rushing out the door with her feet still half outside her slippers, the flower basket swinging in her hand. She stopped a little past her yard, eyes searching the village center and the path to the mountain.

When his mother called her name, Tifa whipped her head around. Her lips broke into a huge grin at the sight of them. Cloud involuntarily stepped back, bracing himself for that rush of energy to hit him. When she did, panting, he stared as she held out her basket.

“Here,” she said, scooping a handful of red and purple flowers and holding them out to him. “Yours, right?” She gave him an armful of the small flowers, her toothy smile reaching her eyes. “Thanks for coming after me, Cloud,” she added, and with a final bow to his mother, Tifa rushed back to her own house. She looked back, once, and gave him a final energetic wave before disappearing behind the door. Cloud only then realized that the flowers in his arms were more than his share.

“Poppies,” his mother mused. He looked up to find his mother looking back, a small wistful smile grazing her lips. “I guess you found that clearing with the spring?”

Cloud stared, perplexed. “You know it?”

“Of course,” his mother said with a quiet laugh. “Your father used to take me there all the time. Remember the flowers we used to have? Those were poppies. Your father found them there.”

Cloud blinked, then stared at the small red and purple flowers in his hands. What were the odds? He looked up at his mother again and smiled, hugging the rest of them close as he held up one stem of red poppy to his mother.

“Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.”

Cloud’s mother stared at him for a silent moment before a laugh broke out of her, the kind that came from her stomach and shook her shoulders. She took the flower from his hand and pulled him into a hug, giving his cheek a quick kiss.

“Thanks, dear.”

~ END ~

[raywritesthings]

Once Upon a Star (City)

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, Sara Lance, Nyssa al Ghul, Damien Darhk, Ted Grant, Quentin Lance, Malcolm Merlyn, Dinah Lance, Robert Queen, Raisa, Tommy Merlyn, Thea Queen, John Diggle, Dr. Fate, Zatara, Zatanna Zatara, John Constantine, Olivia Queen, Willima Clayton Pairings: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen, Nyssa al Ghul/Sara Lance Summary: King Robert and Lord Lance enter their eldest children into a betrothal arrangement, only for the celebration to be interrupted by Damien Darhk. Will Lady Laurel fall victim the curse upon her, or will true love prevail? *Can be read on AO3 or FFN, links in my bio*

Long ago, the kingdom of Star had a very special year. Queen Moira was expecting a child, an heir to the throne. With this event quickly approaching, King Robert had his mind on the future. When it came time to meeting with the various nobles who had pledged fealty to the kingdom, this mindset went with him, including in his talks with Lord Quentin Lance.

Lord Lance was a prickly sort whose loyalty and sense of right could not be bought with money or simple gifts. He commanded a measure of respect among the common folk who tended his land and who he protected in times of strife. Good relations with the nobleman meant peace within his kingdom, and Robert thought he saw the way.

“Lord Quentin, I wish you well and congratulate you and your wife on the birth of your daughter.”

“Thank you, your Grace,” Lord Quentin answered with a short bow of his head. “We’ve named her for her mother. And it’s my hope she’ll grow into a true lady of the kingdom.”

“I am certain of that. It’s why I am prepared to make you a conditional offer.”

Lord Quentin frowned. “Conditional how?”

“On the birth of the new heir to my throne,” King Robert told him. “Should the infant be a boy, as I’m hoping he will be, I wish to propose a betrothal between your daughter and my son.” He could see the shock on the nobleman’s face.

“You’re serious?”

“I am interested in focusing on my people, Lord Quentin, not on the lands of others. The future Queen should be one of our own, and I can think of few families finer. But we shall wait for the birth before making any final arrangements.”

Prince Oliver arrived to much merriment, and the two families planned a grand feast to celebrate the births and the future union of their houses into one. All the kingdom was invited, save one.

The day of the celebration, three of the kingdom’s most respected and sought-after Sidhe were in attendance to bless the future union and the infants individually. First were the gifts bestowed upon the Prince, starting with the one called Fate.

He rose half a foot in the air with both arms held out as he spoke. “To the young Prince, I give him strength of body and strength of heart, to endure the hardships of the crown. Where others falter, he will lead.” Thus spoken, he lowered back to the stone floor of the great hall.

“Show off.” Constantine was the second of these Sidhe to step forward, striking a match against the baby’s crib. “I give the Prince what some may call the gift of diplomacy. With his wit and his humor he will charm those who seek war and and soothe those with rancor against the crown. And with this gift, he will woo the fair lady to which he’ll find himself wed.” That said, he stepped back and lit a smoke.

Last if the three was Zatara, who held a hand over the crib as he said his own piece. “To the future king I give a warrior and a hunter’s skill. No weapon wielded by his hand shall be bested, and thus restraint shall be the true measure of his ability.”

With these gifts given to the Prince, the Sidhe turned their attentions to the Princess-to-be. Again, Fate took his turn first.

“To the child, I give the gift of beauty, within and without. Her face shall inspire the poets and her kindness shall inspire the people.”

Constantine breathed out a trail of smoke before speaking. “I give the little lady the gift of a strong voice. Raised in anger or song, all will hear her and all will listen, or quickly learn their lesson,” he added with a smirk.

Zatara stepped forth, but before he could speak a tremendous wind threw the doors open and blew out every torch in the hall. The King, Queen and Lady Lance all drew back in horror.

Damien Darhk, most feared of the Unseelie, stepped through the open doors to several gasps. “Your Majesties, Lords and Ladies. Forgive my tardiness. I only just learned of this happy celebration today.” He walked up the aisle of people that parted at his approach until he had nearly reached the dais upon which the two ceremonial cribs sat. “I’m sure the messenger with my invitation has a good explanation for it.”

Lord Lance stepped forward, a frown on his face. He had never appreciated Darhk’s encroachments upon the kingdom nor his veiled threats. “There wasn’t one sent.”

The Unseelie drew back, face transformed into a mockery of shock. “Not sent? But that means… you didn’t want my presence at your celebration. Such a shame. After all, I only wished to give the dear little girl a gift of my own.”

“You did?” Lady Lance asked hesitantly.

“Why yes. Do listen.” He raised a hand. “The future Highness will indeed be beautiful and kind, loved by her Prince and all that feel her kindness. But—” And here his voice turned from pleasant to cold and hard. “Before the Earth completes its turn past her thirtieth year, she will fall to an arrow, and die.”

“No!” Quentin lunged, but was held back by his terrified wife.

“Seize him, before he harms the Prince as well!” King Robert declared. His guards charged, but the laughing Darhk merely disappeared in a flash of light and smoke. When it cleared, all were left in confusion and dismay. A celebration that had quickly turned to a time of mourning.

“Do not despair just yet,” Fate told the families. “For Zatara has yet to give the final gift.”

“You mean, you can reverse what that monster’s done to her?” Quentin didn’t dare to hope as he looked upon the Sidhe.

Zatara bowed his head for a moment. “Not reverse entirely, but lessen. With my daughter’s help, our magic can divert the course of Darhk’s prophecy to some degree.” He beckoned a small dark-haired girl to stand with him, and the father took the lead. “Dear child, though others wish you harm, I give you this final protection. Should the arrow pierce your flesh, death it will not bring, but sleep.”

“Peaceful sleep eternal,” the young Zatanna repeated. At her father’s urging, she continued with a brighter gleam in her eyes, “Though many may try to wake you, only one way will they find: the kiss of true love, a power stronger than all the darkness of this world, will end the evil curse upon you and bring the happiness once promised to us all.”

A faint glow seemed to emanate around the Sidhe and the cribs, sealing the magic before dimming once more.

“Thank you, Zatara,” King Robert said. “But there is nothing else that can undo this wicked trick?”

“None, save hiding the child away, which is what I would do if Darhk set his eyes upon me,” Constantine remarked. Then he turned and walked away. The other Sidhe soon followed.

The Lances were both crestfallen at this announcement; they could not simply abandon their station to seek a hideaway nor could they expect to keep their daughter safe from the threat of arrows within the kingdom. Lord Lance, however, was loathe to trust the power of something so intangible as true love’s kiss, and so he resolved to have his daughter hidden away from everyone, even himself.

The task was entrusted to a retired knight who held the highest honors: Sir Ted the Wildcat. His wilder nature, already tempered with age, would soften even further in the presence of the sweet child he would raise as if his own. He even gave her a new name to better hide her from Darhk’s spies: Laurel. In the dark of night, he slipped away with the baby deep into the woods in a tiny cabin, as removed from the pomp and circumstance she might have been raised in as one could get.

Lord and Lady Lance produced a second daughter they named Sara. The nobles and the royals decided the betrothal agreement between their families would go on, this time without a special celebration to commemorate it. And though they raised the young prince and the young lady with this idea in mind, their children proved far more inclined to pursue their own fates…

---

Fourteen years later, Prince Oliver of Star rode through the woods. “Ollie, come on! Stay on the path.”

He looked back at Tommy, his closest friend from childhood, and laughed. “You stay on it if you want.” He urged his horse on and soon found himself hopelessly lost, which was probably what Tommy had been trying to warn him about. Oh well. He enjoyed being out in the woods where he wasn’t the King’s son, heir to the throne and all that. He could waste a day away out here if he wanted.

Not far away in a tiny wooden cabin, Laurel was preparing for a day out with a book to read and a basket for collecting berries, herbs and anything else that caught her fancy. “I’ll be back to make dinner, Ted.”

“Don’t go too far,” he cautioned her, as he always did.

Laurel smiled and shook her head. He was such a worrier. She stepped outside and shut the door behind her, humming under her breath. As she went further out, confident in her complete isolation from even Ted, her humming turned to song. First under her breath, then louder as her confidence grew. She liked her voice, but she’d grown shy of sharing it when she hardly had an audience.

Yet that was about to change.

Oliver looked up, pulling the reins to slow his horse to a trot, then a walk. Had he heard something?

Then it came again, off through the trees. The most beautiful voice he’d ever heard. Like a siren’s call, perhaps, it beckoned him. And so he went, riding quickly and jumping over brambles and fallen logs in his path.

He slowed once again to listen, then swung off his horse and walked the rest of the way through the trees that separated him from the owner of such a voice. When he at last lifted a branch aside to see into a small clearing, he was momentarily stunned. “Lord…”

A maiden with long, blonde hair and sparkling green eyes swayed her way this way and that. Her clothes were plain and she’d forgone stockings and even shoes for the moment as she seemed content to feel the grass beneath her feet as she moved to the music of her own making.

Heedless to any observer, Laurel continued her approximation of a dance, the little she had gleaned from her books of how one was meant to dance. If only she had a real partner instead of her daydreams to help show her how it was meant to be.

And then, quite suddenly, she did.

Oliver had tied the reins of his horse to the branch, stepping forward just as her back had turned to catch her hands and guide her in a spin. The surprise on her face mirrored what he felt at his own daring; he hadn’t been able to resist.

“Oh!”

Instantly, he released her and stepped back hands raised. “I’m sorry. You looked a little lonely there.”

Laurel backed up into a tree, eyes wide as she took the young man in who was standing before her. She’d never met a man in the woods before; she was usually so much more careful.

“I wasn’t lonely. In fact, I’m meant to be alone,” she argued. “Or at least, not with some stranger.” There was no need to make him think she was all by herself, after all, even if she feared she was very much out of Ted’s earshot.

Oliver shook his head. “We can’t really be strangers.” He didn’t want this encounter to end so soon.

Laurel stepped away from the tree she’d half-hidden behind, intrigued despite herself. “Can’t we?”

He thought quickly, then asked, “Haven’t you ever dreamed of meeting some handsome fellow?”

Laurel ducked her head and blushed. “Yes.”

Oliver spread his arms. “Well then, here I am.”

“You’re very confident about that,” Laurel teased. “I didn’t even say if he was blond.”

For a moment, he seemed stumped. But Oliver quickly rallied. “Some have described my hair as a very light brown. I’m adaptable.”

“Are you,” she replied, grinning so widely she thought her cheeks might hurt. She wasn’t meant to find strangers so charming, but there was just something about him, as if they really had met in some dream of another life. “Who are you, really?”

He grinned. No one ever asked him that question. He found he liked it. “You can call me Ollie.”

She thought he might be a hunter of some sort. She’d heard them pass by her home a number of times but never seen one so close. And his clothes were of a much finer weave than any she might have expected a common hunter to wear. But whether he was or wasn’t, she didn’t find herself terribly worried. So she curtsied and said, “Well, Ollie, I’m Laurel.”

He bowed in turn. “Laurel. A beautiful name to accompany such natural beauty as I’ve found here.” He was happy to see her pretty blush again. “Shall we continue our dance?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t learned the rest.”

“Then I’ll lead. Trust me, I know them all.” They’d been drilled into his head by tutors, and though he’d been irritated at the time, he appreciated the excuse now to be nearer to her. Laurel allowed him to take one of her hands again as he guided her other hand to his shoulder before placing his own at her waist. He nodded to her once and they were off, dancing around the clearing.

Laurel could hardly believe this was happening. She’d rarely met anyone in her life besides Ted, and now she was dancing in someone’s arms. Ollie guided her less sure movements and never complained or asked why she didn’t know them. He was a perfect gentleman.

Although as they slowed in the middle of the clearing and his arm slipped around her waist instead of resting at the side, she remembered herself. “Wait!”

Oliver, who had just been about to give into the temptation of kissing the beautiful maid, stopped. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not sure I should — it’s just that, before they died, my caretaker promised them I would wait for my true love to have my first kiss.” She had no way of knowing, of course, that the story was partly a lie; the Lord and Lady Lance still lived.

Oliver, for his part, was saddened to know her life had been marred by such a tragedy so young. He stepped back to allow some space between them again. “I see. But, if you don’t let anyone kiss you, how are you meant to find your true love?”

She shook her head, smiling. “I’d yet to find anyone until today, so I’ll have to let you know some other time.” She scooped up her basket. “I’m behind on my errands. I should say goodbye.”

“And wander through the woods with no escort?” He offered his arm. “Please, allow me.”

With only a moment’s hesitation, she took it, walking along towards the berry bushes she knew would yield the best results for Ted’s cooking; she could not seem to produce food of any quality on her own, but she knew what went into it.

“What is your book?” He asked, nodding to her basket.

“Today, it’s a collection of decrees by the King. Not many apply all the way out here, but I find them fascinating. Like a glimpse of the world beyond these woods.”

“How did you and your caretaker come to dwell out here?” He couldn’t help thinking that Laurel belonged in the palace with all the amenities and comforts such a life provided.

She shrugged. “I’ve lived here my whole life. I think it was a woodcutter’s cottage before it became our home.”

“Laurel?” A voice called, one familiar to her but not Oliver.

“Oh, Ted,” she whispered. She pulled her arm away from Oliver and smoothed her dress. “You have to go. He can’t see you.”

“Alright. But when can I see you?”

“Sometime,” she promised distractedly. Ted had called for her again. “I’m always out here for this or that thing. Just come find me — coming, Ted!” She stopped and turned back to Oliver, grasping his hand with both of hers. “Goodbye. And thank you for showing me the dance.”

“It was my pleasure. I’ll come find you again, Laurel.” He held onto her hands as long as he was able before they slipped from his grasp and she was hurrying away through the trees. Such a strange but captivating young maiden. He longed to be with her again already.

Oliver went back to his horse and rode for home. He evaded all questions of where he had been and what he had been up to, excusing himself to see his betrothed. Though, truthfully, he considered her far more a friend.

Oliver and Sara had courted for a time, and indeed still did to keep up appearances. But Sara had confessed she didn’t wish to settle down and be Queen with all the expectations that came with it, and Oliver, young and uninterested in commitment himself, had agreed to the ruse with little hesitation. So she was the only person he felt he could safely tell his secret to. He told her everything from the voice he had heard to the lovely maiden and the dance and conversations they had shared. “I never knew meeting someone, even for a moment, could change so much. But I think I’m in love.”

“After only one meeting?”

“I’m going to see her again. And I’ll keep seeing her the whole rest of our lives if she wants. I can’t explain it, Sara,” he told her. “I just know this is right.”

“It sounds wonderful, Oliver, it does. But you know your parents will never let you marry a common girl even if they let you out of marrying me.”

The reality of his position caught up to him once more, and his shoulders slumped. Laurel was everything he might have longed for in his love, and he was sure the whole kingdom would find her a most beautiful, intelligent and kind Lady. Even a Queen, someday. But it would never be.

“Then I simply won’t marry,” he declared. There would be two lives for him. One, Prince Oliver, heir to the throne of Starling; the other, Ollie, Laurel’s sweetheart and companion. It was the only way.

---

For years, their clandestine meetings continued. Whenever the Prince could catch a few moments of privacy, whenever the Lady could escape her minder for an hour or so in the summer sun. Winters were long and lonely as they had no place to see each other that protected them from the elements. Campaigns with the knights to protect their borders occupied nearly five years of his time as well, though the fighting kept him from having to answer his parents’ increasing demands to settle down.

And Laurel was growing impatient as well. “Haven’t we waited long enough, Ollie?”

“I thought you were worried about leaving Ted?” Her caretaker had grown quite old in the intervening years, after all.

“We wouldn’t have to abandon him. But I want to make a life with you. A home, a family. We’re already thirty. How much longer should we wait?”

He sighed. It was wrong of him to keep delaying and never explaining why, he knew that. But he was convinced that he had lied for so long about his title of Prince that she might reject him if he told the truth now.

The other complicating factor was that he wasn’t sure he even wanted to be Prince any longer. Oliver cared about his people, but he felt lost trying to fill his father’s shoes. And knowing he would only be allowed to rule without the woman he loved at his side left him defeated and uninspired.

Perhaps he wasn’t meant to be a great King like his forefathers. Thea was of age and a bright young girl at that. She could provide the kingdom with guidance, couldn’t she?

“I’ve loved you for nearly half of my life, Laurel. Is this absolutely what you have your heart set on?”

“It is.”

Oliver nodded. It was time to choose, and he already knew his choice. “Let me return home and make arrangements, gather provisions. We’ll leave tomorrow on your birthday and make our own way in the world.”

Laurel beamed, throwing her arms around him in a hug that he returned, nearly lifting her off her feet. “Thank you, Ollie. I’ll wait for you at the cottage. We can tell Ted and get his blessing.” She leaned up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek — the closest intimacy they’d yet to share — and then they parted to enact their plan.

Once home, Oliver gathered his most trusted friends. This included Sara, Princess Thea, Tommy and Sir John, his most loyal knight and de facto advisor.

“Some of you know parts of this already, but I’ve finally made up my mind. I’m going to abdicate the throne.”

“What?” Tommy cried.

“Is it for your lady?” Thea guessed with a knowing smirk.

“Definitely gotta be the lady,” Sara agreed.

“Your Highness,” Sir John began with a frown. He had figured out some years ago that Oliver had been purposefully slipping his guard to go somewhere, but had never quite glean the location of the tiny cottage. A fact Oliver was grateful for, as it would have rather spoiled the whole thing. “What about the kingdom?”

“The kingdom is still in my father’s capable hands. And I’m sure Thea will make a better heir to the throne than me.”

“Whoa, who said I wanted to?” His sister asked.

“Ollie, just think for a minute. You’re going to leave your friends and family completely behind just for a woman you’ve met up with every so often?”

“And who you’ve been lying to,” Sir John pointed out.

“It’s not lying if I’ll no longer be the Prince,” Oliver argued, even as guilt twisted his insides. Maybe he would tell Laurel once they had gotten safely away, but he knew doing so right now would only complicate things, so what was the point? “I’ve made up my mind on this. Laurel is more important to me than anyone, so if I can’t have the life I want with her here, I’ll make one for us elsewhere. I just didn’t want you all to worry about me.”

“I say you should follow your heart,” Sara recommended.

“Yeah, but… we’ll miss you,” Thea added. He stepped forward and gathered her in a hug for a moment.

When he offered his hand to Tommy his friend reluctantly shook it before taking his leave. Sir John did not even offer his own hand.

“I suppose you’ll need to be making preparations, Oliver.”

Oliver sighed. He knew the knight thought he should be doing more for the kingdom, but he had served it for his whole life. Did he not deserve some of his own happiness?

Tommy returned to the wing of the castle set aside for him and his father, the advisor to King Robert — and Queen Moira’s lover, though only a very few within the castle knew that. Though he loathed his father, Tommy knew that leaving his authority meant losing his status in the castle, and he was prepared to admit he could not survive as a commoner. Though Oliver’s impending absence from the castle made it a far less appealing alternative.

“What has you in a sulk today, Tommy?” His father asked, sounding faintly amused at his expense.

Well, he had news that would likely knock the wind out of his father’s sails. “Ollie,” Tommy answered him. “He’s leaving his crown to spend his days with a girl he’s been seeing. I’m sure she’s beautiful and a terrific singer and everything else he’s said, I just—”

“She’s a singer?”

“Yes,” Tommy repeated slowly. “Not professionally, she doesn’t travel with the minstrels or anything. Just lives out in the woods with some cranky old guy named Ted.”

“I see,” said Malcolm, the wheels turning in his mind. 

What Tommy did not realize was that his father was not content with simply being the King’s advisor; he was hungry for ever more power, and if his suspicions were correct about the identity of this maiden, he believed he had a way to get it.

“I shall have to think on what this means for the kingdom,” he said out loud, excusing himself from the room. He stopped by the royal armory to retrieve a particular item, then descended deep into the dungeons until he entered a secret room which contained only a stone idol. Malcolm knelt before it and waited.

After a moment, a blinding flash of light emitted from the idol, then standing in the room was the Unseelie himself: Damien Darhk.

“You call upon me, Lord Merlyn?”

“Yes. I believe I have information on the Lady you have long sought. And I know how it can help us both achieve our own ends.”

---

In the old woodcutter’s cottage, Laurel had just finished packing her things when a knock sounded at her door. Drawing in a breath, she called out, “It’s open, Ted.”

Her old caregiver entered the room, raising his eyebrows as he noticed the state of her things. “You’re ready?”

Laurel blinked. “Well, yes.” How did he know? Was he just guessing, or had she been too obvious in her attempts to sneak away to see Ollie? “I’ve been meaning to tell you. I just hadn’t figured out how.”

Now Ted was the one confused. “Tell me what?”

“About my leaving to start a new life. I’ve met someone, Ted. Someone wonderful. And he thinks the same of me. He’s been a man of distinct honor,” she stated, as she could see his face already start to fall. “I kept my promise to you about waiting. But I — I really do think he might be the love of my life.”

To her disappointment, he only shook his head. “I should have kept a better eye on you. I didn’t want to restrict you to the house, that just didn’t seem healthy.”

Laurel frowned. “Ted—”

“It’s not your fault. You don’t understand. But Laurel, you can’t be with him.”

She felt the color rise in her cheeks as she marched forward a step. “And why not?”

“Because your marriage has already been arranged!” He exclaimed.

Laurel’s mouth dropped open, and Ted sighed.

“You are the Lady Dinah Lance, named for your mother who still lives. Her and your father, a prominent Lord of the kingdom of Star.”

“My parents? They’re still — but why—”

“At a ceremony commemorating your birth, an Unseelie cursed you over a petty disagreement with your father. The curse was said to take effect by your 31st birthday, but Lord Lance entrusted you to my care, to keep you safe and away from the evil seeking to find you.”

Laurel couldn’t even think of what to say. She’d been cursed? What even was it a curse of? Was it in effect now?

Ted continued. “At that same celebration, the kingdom was also celebrating the birth of the new Prince. It was decided by your parents that he was to be your betrothed.”

“I’m promised to the Prince?” Laurel managed to shake her stupor enough to ask. She didn’t even know who the Prince was! King Robert’s son, she supposed, but the books they had in the cottage were old and made no mention of him. What was he like? Surely nothing like her Ollie.

“When is your young fellow coming here?”

“Tomorrow. For my birthday,” Laurel answered numbly.

“Then we’ll leave immediately to reach the castle by sunset.” He raised a hand when she opened her mouth to protest. “It is better to not involve him. For your own protection.”

She didn’t know what to feel. Her parents were alive? She had a family who had sent her away, but were waiting for her. She was a lady — but betrothed to another man!

It was this that finally caused her to sink onto her bed, her head resting in her hands.

“This isn’t fair,” she cried, her shoulders shaking.

“Life often isn’t,” Ted said simply, though she knew he meant it as a comfort. “And your life has been harder than most.” She heard his footsteps shuffle to the door and back again. “I purchased this from a traveling caravan. It might not be the standards of the court, but I thought it might better suit a lady of your standing than what I’ve been able to give you all these years.”

Laurel raised her head to see the blue gown he held out to her. It was the nicest thing she’d ever had to wear, and all she could think was that she wanted it out of her sight.

“For your birthday, huh?”

Laurel stood slowly, ignoring the dress in favor of hugging her caretaker. “Thank you, Ted. I just wish… but wishing won’t do any of us good.”

Ted nodded and left her room to allow her to change, taking her packing with him to prepare for their journey.

She would have to return tonight to see her parents; they had sacrificed so much to ensure her safety, she felt an obligation to at least assuage the worries they had to have held all these years. Once done, she could explain her situation and how she simply could not go through with the marriage they had arranged for her. Even if it was to the Prince? Surely they would understand.

If they did, would she be able to find Ollie again? How long would he wait at their cottage until he had decided she had left him? She couldn’t see any easy way out of this.

With defeat in her heart, she put on the gown and descended the steps. She felt strange, almost out of her own body in the formal dress. Ted took her hand and led her out to a horse he must have arranged for. He helped her onto it while she figured out how to ride side-saddle, and then he took the reins to lead the animal in a slow walk. To her, it felt like a funeral procession; the end of her old life and dreams.

They continued through most of the night. Sir Ted was wary of stopping for too long on the open road. But eventually, their horse needed to stop for water, so he helped Laurel off while he brought the animal to a small stream.

Laurel stared out at the trees while she waited, wishing for all the world that something might forestall this unexpected change to her life.

Then something did. A green glow off in the distance that was at once captivating and entrancing. It called to her, nearly sounding like the voice of her dear love. Laurel walked toward it, unable to help herself.

Sir Ted turned the horse back around for the path, but stopped as he discovered his charge missing from where he had left her. “Laurel?” Off through the trees, he just caught sight of her back and the green glow drawing her like a moth to flame. “Laurel!”

Laurel was heedless to his shout, hypnotized as she was by magic — for it was Darhk’s magic guiding her steps, closer and closer. She believed herself to be reaching her beloved Ollie, and therefore raised not even a hand to defend herself when the Unseelie stuck her side with an arrow from the Prince’s own quiver.

Sir Ted crashed through the undergrowth just in time to watch his dear charge collapse into the deep slumber the Sidhe had predicted. “No!”

Damien Darhk laughed to see his revenge at last carried out. He dodged the knight’s enraged strike with ease before throwing him against a tree. “You mortals thought you could outwit me, did you? Let this be a message to you all. Of course, I haven’t finished my fun. There’s a Prince I need to see to next.” With that, he disappeared in a flash of blinding light.

Sir Ted crawled towards the fallen maiden, despair filling him at the sight of her still form. “I failed you. Lord forgive me…” His arm outstretched towards hers, he fell insensate for a time.

Sir Ted roused at the sound of hooves against the dirt path. “Prince Oliver!” A voice shouted. “Prince Oliver!”

“Help,” Sir Ted mumbled weakly, before rallying his full voice. “Help, please!”

A number of guards led by Lord Merlyn himself found them. “What has happened here?” The nobleman asked, directing his guards to help both the older knight and the young lady off the earthen floor. “Speak quickly.”

“I am Sir Ted, the knight Lord Lance sent with his daughter years ago to protect her from Damien Darhk. But this night, I have failed my sworn task. Darhk appeared to her and lured her into a trap where she met with the arrow that he foretold.”

“The Prince’s arrow,” Lord Merlyn said, picking the offending weapon up from the ground. “And the same night that he has fled the castle. There has been some treachery at work tonight.”

“It was Darhk, I tell you,” Sir Ted tried to explain.

“Lord Lance must be informed, and the kingdom prepared,” Merlyn said, ignoring the retired knight. He snapped at a pair of guards. “Bring the young Lady Lance. She should be allowed to rest with her family at last.”

They carried her away before Sir Ted could voice another protest. He hurried to his horse, determined to follow the group. Even if he had failed to stop the dark prophecy from unfolding, he refused to abandon his duty to Laurel.

And he sensed a kind of treachery indeed.

---

Within the court at Star, the Lord and Lady Lance were preparing a massive feast, for it was finally the day their daughter would return. Only the older servants truly knew this, though; Quentin and Dinah had long forbidden any mentions of their lost baby, for fear it would incur the interest of the Unseelie who lurked their lands.

Yet in the midst of their preparations, a servant showed in a most auspicious guest along with two of his guard.

“Lord Malcolm,” said Lady Dinah, curtsying low. “We are honored by your presence tonight.”

“I wish I could say the honor was mine, Lady Dinah. But I fear I bring you both news of a tortuous sort. My men encountered Sir Ted the Wildcat in the woods on his way here with a young lady. The one you have been waiting for, I believe.”

Lord and Lady Lance both held their breath. Unknown to them all, Lady Sara had stopped just outside the room, curious and straining to listen in on this conversation.

“She was struck down by an arrow just as you have feared these thirty years,” Lord Merlyn told them at last.

“No!” Lady Dinah’s legs could not support her, and she fell back into a chair.

“What’s more, it was done by the Prince’s hand.”

“What?”

Lord Lance’s exclamation covered his daughter’s own gasp. Oliver had killed some young woman? He would never! And anyway, he was on his way to the woodcutter’s cottage to run off with his lady friend.

“I have begun a search for the Prince. We have no idea what he plans to do next, but it is clear the royal family has turned on us if they have seen fit to rob you of your daughter on the eve of your reunion.”

Daughter? Sara mouthed the word to herself. What did that mean? She was right here.

“I cannot believe this,” Lord Quentin said. “After everything King Robert promised. That his son would — it’s unthinkable!”

“He’s gone mad.” Lady Dinah turned to her husband. “Quentin, if he struck down our eldest, what of Sara?”

“Lord Malcolm wishes to offer protection for her,” a guard stated.

“Thank you,” Lord Quentin said. “I would ask that you protect her and my wife. Lord Malcolm, I wish to join you in your search for the Prince so that my firstborn will be avenged.”

“Wait.” Sara came out into the open at last, startling the group. “What is going on? You’re all talking like I have a sister.”

“There isn’t time, dear,” her mother said. “Go with Lord Malcolm’s guards and I’ll join you once I’ve seen to the servants.

“Come, Lady Sara,” a guard said, taking her by the arm and having to drag her out of the home where they were joined by even more guards.

“What happened to her? Why did you lie to me?” Her whole life, she’d never thought she was anything other than an only child. Why would her parents have sent one of their own away, and why would Oliver ever do something so cruel as to harm her before Sara even got to meet her? This didn’t make any sense!

“Let me go!” Sara struggled to free herself from their hold, but they outnumbered her greatly and had weapons besides. So it was to her surprise that her captors suddenly stopped.

“Move off the path!” One of them ordered.

“I will not,” said a woman’s voice, powerful and vaguely foreign-sounding. When Sara peeked over one of the guard’s shoulders, she caught a glimpse of the stranger; cloaked and with a scarf over her nose and mouth, what struck Sara first was her dark and piercing eyes. Then the sword at her side.

“You will release the maiden and tell me where I may find Lord Merlyn.”

“We’ll do no such thing. Seize her!”

What happened next, Sara could hardly believe. The woman ducked and weaved through the guards, cutting them down with practiced ease until none remained standing. Then she was suddenly standing right in front of her, but Sara found she was the one breathless.

“Come with me if you wish to be safe from those men.”

Sara took the woman’s hand without question, being pulled along away from her family’s castle, through the village, and into the surrounding trees.

“Who are you?”

Her rescuer looked back at her. “I am Nyssa, Heir to Nanda Parbat. I have been sent to settle a quarrel my father has with your kingdom’s advisor.”

“So why save me?”

“Because you required it. Is it not common for those on a quest to rescue beautiful ladies in your land? I had read as such.”

“Um, yeah, it’s common,” Sara replied, feeling her face heat up. She thought she could see the outline of a smirk beneath the scarf still adorning her rescuer’s face. “I’m Lady Sara,” she said, rallying herself. She wasn’t usually so shy, but then, she’d never been saved by a gorgeous lady before!

“Lady Sara,” said Nyssa al Ghul, bowing low over Sara’s hand and pulling her scarf down at last in order to kiss it. Sara has been right; she was gorgeous. “Do you know where I may find Lord Merlyn?”

“All I know is he’s leading my father and a bunch of men to try and capture my friend, the Prince of Star. He’s claiming Oliver hurt my sister or something — he’s claiming I have a sister in the first place, which is already news to me.”

“The fabled Lady, cursed by Darhk, perhaps?” When Sara stared at her blankly, Nyssa elaborated. “My father’s sources told him of a Lady in the court of Star cursed upon birth to fall into eternal slumber after her thirtieth year. She was secreted away from your kingdom to protect her from the Unseelie they call Damien Darhk — but it seems to me this plot is one of Lord Merlyn’s design.”

“Eternal slumber? 

Sara wished she could have a minute to just process all of this, but her eye had caught upon an older-looking knight riding in on a horse with some sort of jungle cat embroidered upon his tunic. She pulled Nyssa along toward him.

“Sir Ted?”

“I am, yes. Forgive me, but I must find Lord Lance. I have news for him.”

“He knows about his daughter already,” Sara told him. “And I’m her sister.”

The knight’s face fell, and he dismounted. “I am sorry I could not protect her. But there has been a grave error made. The Prince was not her attacker. I must tell the court the truth, and then return to the cottage to see if I may find Laurel’s love waiting for her there. He may be her only hope.”

“Then it is true love’s kiss which breaks the curse?” Nyssa asked.

“My sister’s name is Laurel?”

Sir Ted looked down. “I called her such for thirty years to better hide her, yes. Her true name is Lady Dinah, the betrothed of Prince Oliver and therefore the future Queen of our kingdom. But if the man she met on her own is her true love, then nothing can stand in the way of bringing him here.”

“No, but my friend, Oliver, he’s the Prince. And he met a girl out in the woods years ago. He’s planning to meet her at her cottage and run away, and her name is Laurel.” Sara gasped. “Ollie’s Laurel. He’s walking into a trap!”

“Then we will attempt to intercede,” declared Nyssa. “I must borrow your horse, Sir. Come, Lady Sara.” Nyssa helped her step into the stirrups, then mounted the horse behind Sara, bracketing her with her arms as she reached for the reins to spur the horse into a gallop. 

“Find Laurel!” Sara called back to the knight. “We’ll bring Ollie to her!”

She could only hope they reached Oliver before her father and Lord Merlyn did.

---

As Oliver approached the woodcutter’s cottage for the first time, he observed his surroundings and slowed. The air was still, the trees quiet. Not a single creature making noise, and no candles were lit inside despite it being just after daybreak. Something was amiss.

The door swung open, and a man with nearly white-blond hair stepped out. “Oh fine, don’t fall for it. I can improvise.”

Oliver reached for an arrow in his quiver. “Who are you, and what have you done with Laurel?” He could tell by the man’s voice that this certainly wasn’t her caretaker Ted.

“I am Damien Darhk, the infamous Unseelie. And what I’ve done to your beloved is what I promised to do thirty years ago as thanks for the slight her father Lord Lance dealt me.”

Oliver froze. Lord Lance was Laurel’s father? But she’d told him she was an orphan, and Sara had never made mention of an older sister.

“I can see the wheels struggling to turn,” Darhk remarked with amusement. “Allow me to explain. When you were a baby, your parents entered you into a betrothal arrangement with Lord and Lady Lance’s daughter. Their eldest daughter. The whole kingdom was invited except me. Kind of a harsh way to find out you’re so disliked, right? So I cursed her to die before her thirty-first birthday.”

Oliver had been taught about the Sidhe and Unseelie by his various tutors, but this seemed unconscionable. “You cursed an infant for something she had no control over?”

“Yes. I am evil, that is the idea,” Darhk replied. Just as Oliver nocked his arrow on the bow, the Unseelie raised his hand and he felt himself frozen in place. “I wasn’t done talking,” Darhk said, his voice turning cold for an instant.

Try as he might, Oliver couldn’t seem to break the spell over him.

“Now, the dear girl’s parents hoped to keep her safe by hiding her out in the woods, and it might have worked. Except you told your good friend Tommy all about your sweet maiden with the beautiful hair and stunning voice, and he complained all about how you were leaving him behind to his father, Lord Merlyn. Who works for me.”

Anger, white hot, burned in his gut. His father’s best friend had betrayed them all?

“And see, this has all worked out even better than I could have planned. Your love now sleeps forever unless she can be awakened by true love’s kiss, which is you. But right now, Lords Merlyn and Lance are on their way here with a small army because I may have borrowed an arrow from your armory to do the job. Whoops!”

If he had his voice, Oliver would have uttered a thousand curses and oaths at the Unseelie by now.

“So, you get to battle your way through your own kingdom’s people on your way to the kingdom for your true love, who you may awaken with a kiss assuming you don’t die or have to kill her father or something else horrible,” Darhk said. Then his grin turned sharp. “Or I could just end it all right now and ensure the lovely lady never wakes up.”

He closed his hand into a fist, and Oliver suddenly found his breath stopped. He was choking on nothing.

An arrow shot past him and very nearly embedded itself into Darhk’s eyeball had he not grabbed it at the last second, breaking whatever hold he had on Oliver. “Hm, craftsmanship suggests Nanda Parbat…”

Oliver did not hear anymore. He went crashing through the trees, knowing he needed to put as much distance between himself and the Unseelie as possible if he was to ever reach Laurel.

To his right cane a shout. “There he is!”

Guards normally under the command of his father descended down a slope with swords drawn. He struggled to outrun them and knew they would soon be upon him—

“Ollie!”

Sara’s voice had him looking round. She was holding the reins of a horse while an unknown woman holding a bow swung off the back.

“How did you—”

“Come on!”

“Rescue your love,” Sara’s new friend ordered him. “And leave Merlyn to me.” She stride past him to face the oncoming guards.

Sara reached out a hand to help pull him up. “How did you figure all this out?” He asked her.

“I’m kind of learning as I go. Now you have to go wake up my sister so I can finally have one. I can’t believe you never brought me to meet her.”

“I didn’t know!”

“Sara, what are you doing?” Lord Quentin yelled upon seeing his other daughter preparing to take off with the man he believed to have harmed his eldest.

“You’ll understand later, I promise!” She snapped the reins, and the horse took off.

Lord Merlyn sent some of his mounted guards after them, led by Lord Quentin. Then he approached his adversary on foot. “Nyssa. I suppose I should have expected this.”

“And yet you made no preparations. How thoughtless of you.” She exchanged her bow for her sword, watching as he did the same.

“You think by beating me you will finally win your father’s elusive approval?”

“It matters not. You have conspired against a dear lady and her family.” She readied her stance. “For that alone, I will be glad to rid the earth of you.”

At once, the two charged, meeting in the middle with a clang of swords. Though Merlyn possessed great height and strength, Nyssa was his equal if not better in skill. She had prepared her whole life for the warrior’s path, and her fury at what had been done to hurt Lady Sara and her sister propelled her to new heights. They exchanged blow after blow, circling the small clearing again and again, until at last, Nyssa’s sword caught Merlyn’s and flung it out of his reach.

He held up both hands. “Nyssa, wait. I’m a father, the only family my son has left in this world.”

“Yet you ally yourself with those who would steal children from their parents.” Unwilling to hear his pathetic pleas any further, she cut him down.

Meanwhile, Sara and Oliver’s progress through the woods was greatly impeded by a forest of thorns spontaneously growing in their path every which way Sara turned the horse. “It’s Darhk,” Oliver realized. “I’ll have to go on foot. Hold off your father. Try to explain.”

“Alright, but hurry, Ollie.”

The Prince plunged into the brambles, hacking at them with his sword over and over, slowly but steadily cutting his path. They tore at his clothes and his skin but he battled through the pain, knowing that at the end of all this was something he wanted more than life itself.

He fought off beasts, transformed and monstrous with Darhk’s magic, and forded streams that had turned into raging rapids threatening to flood the land. When at last he spied the gates of the kingdom, he was forced to dodge a volley of arrows from the guards at the ramparts. Oliver used a back way he and Tommy had discovered as children to sneak over the castle walls and into the place he’d called home.

The castle itself was quiet and still. The sudden upset of the coup seemed to have all on edge. Nevertheless, he snuck his way to the kitchen where he hoped to find aid.

“Raisa?”

Sure enough, their old cook still busied herself by the fireplace, though she jumped in alarm at his voice. “Prince Oliver!”

He shushed her, and she glanced around before engulfing him in a hug.

“I’m so relieved you’ve made it home alive. But if you’re seen—”

“Some allies of mine are dealing with Lord Merlyn and the guards. What’s become of my family?”

“The Queen and the Princess have been confined to their rooms. No one is to go in or out, save select servants. I am one.”

“And my father?” He asked, dreading the answer.

Her crestfallen face told him the truth before her words. “Slain by Lord Merlyn. The servants all know it was him.” She wrapped him in a second hug, this time one of comfort which he gladly accepted. “I fear for your life as long as you remain here.”

“I have to put an end to this, Raisa. I have to break the curse, so that peace can be restored and the truth known. Tell me, do you know where they are keeping Lord and Lady Lance’s daughter? I don’t mean Sara.”

“So it is the lost Lady,” Raisa breathed. “I brought water and bread to a knight long retired from his duties. He has hidden himself in the highest room of the tallest tower, where he guards the young lady you speak of.”

“Thank you, Raisa.” He left the kitchens and made his way to the tower. Oliver took the stairs at a run, knowing he was trapping himself the higher he climbed. If he was discovered before reaching the highest room, it might all be over.

At last, he cleared the final stair to find a locked door. He knocked, calling out, “Sir Ted?”

For his part, Sir Ted has done as Lady Sara requested and found her sister. The guards had placed her sleeping form on a cart while they discussed their orders to shoot the Prince on sight, only leaving one guard to watch Laurel. Ted has chosen not to engage the younger man in formal combat and instead punched him out before securing his charge and hiding them within the unused room in the tower. He had hoped to spy the return of Lady Sara, Nyssa and Prince Oliver, but the forest of thorns had obscured his sight. Now, he rose and answered the door.

“My Prince,” he said, bowing his head slightly. Then, with a wary look down the stairs beyond, he opened the door another few inches to allow Oliver inside, taking his place on the stairs to watch for any guards and to grant the couple a moment’s privacy.

Laurel rested on the room’s only bed, her hair like spun gold fanning out over the pillows. Her chest rose and fell slowly, the one indication that she was not totally lost to this world.

Oliver walked forward, kneeling at her bedside and taking one of her hands. “Lady of the court or not, betrothed or not, you will always be the love of my life. I still need you, Laurel.” With this declaration, he softly kissed her lips with his own, pulling back to look at her with his breath held.

Her eyelids fluttered. That was the first sign. Then the color returned to her cheeks. Her fingers curled around his, and her green eyes blinked open.

“What? Where am I… Ollie!”

His eyes felt strangely wet for the wideness of his smile. “Prince Oliver of Star, actually.”

Laurel’s eyes widened. “You- you knew this whole time?”

“Not about this!” He hurriedly clarified. “I didn’t know you were really my betrothed who was cursed by an Unseelie or that I needed to break the curse by kissing you — but I’m glad at least about the last part.”

Laurel touched a hand to her lips. “You kissed me?”

He nodded. “Sorry. I would’ve waited for you to be awake, but that was kind of the problem.”

Laurel shook her head. “I cannot believe we were really supposed to be together this whole time.”

“I can.”

She smiled at him, shaking her head a little as she brought both arms around his shoulders to draw him closer.

But a flash of light startled them both and announced the arrival of Darhk himself. Angered by Malcolm’s and his own failures to impede the young lovers, he sought to take revenge for himself — until Lady Laurel released a scream from her mouth that threw him from the window of the tallest tower and to the ground below. He remained there, unmoving.

Laurel placed a hand over her mouth as Oliver checked this, and both turned upon Sir Ted rushing back into the room. “Laurel!”

“I’m fine, Ted. We both are. I just…”

“The Sidhe’s gifts,” Sir Ted concluded. “They are known to work in mysterious ways.”

Down below came a series of shouts. Loudest among them, the voice of Lord Lance. “Lay down your weapons! We’ve been tricked, all of us, by Lord Merlyn! The Prince is not our enemy!”

“I must tell your father the curse has been lifted,” Sir Ted explained, leaving through the door once again.

“My father,” Laurel echoed, standing to watch the people rushing about down below.

“That’s him there,” Oliver pointed out for her. “The young lady beside him is Sara, my friend. And your younger sister.”

Laurel gasped. “I have a sister?” A tentative smile rose on her lips. “And who’s her lady friend?”

Oliver watched the woman with dark hair who had taken on Merlyn as she followed Sara’s every step like a keenly devoted shadow. “I… don’t actually know yet. But they seem pretty close.”

“You’re the Prince. I’m betrothed to the Prince, which means… I’m going to be a Princess.”

“Not exactly.” When she looked at him, Oliver explained. “Merlyn killed my father, which means I have to succeed him on the throne.”

Laurel stared at him. “I’m going to be a Queen?”

“If you would. I was prepared to run away just to have a life with you, Laurel. I could never imagine doing this without you by my side.”

Laurel’s heart felt warm and nearly overflowing, to the point where all she could do was nod.

“We’ll worry about the details after you’ve had a chance to meet your family,” he promised her.

“And after you’ve had a chance to mourn yours,” she added, taking his hands. He was glad for that measure of comfort and support, and gladder still when she guided his hands to rest on her waist.

“For now, I for one believe I am still owed a kiss.”

“A kiss?” Nevertheless, he obliged.

Though the kingdom was in some disarray from the sudden upheaval wrought by Darhk and his conspirators, the emergence of the young royals would help to soothe the pain of King Robert’s loss for all. King Oliver, helped by his friends and advisors, would work to improve the lives of all the peoples of his kingdom. The most salient advice he found nearly always came from his Queen, whose own experiences growing up outside the courtly life often proved invaluable. 

Her sister, Lady Sara, would go on to be the kingdom’s emissary to the land of Nanda Parbat, which made both Sara and Nyssa very happy. The Ladies Lance would also quickly grow close and exchange letters and visits often. And even when Sara was away, Laurel found she had her father, Oliver’s mother and sister, Sir Ted and always Oliver himself to provide the companionship and belonging she had often craved in her youth.

And they all lived happily ever after.

---

“More, more, more!” Chanted four year-old Olivia Queen, still as wide awake where she bounced on her bed as when he’d brought her up here for her story.

“More?” Oliver let his mouth fall open in a gape. “But that’s it! That’s all that happened.”

“Nooo!” Olivia cried, the word drawn out. “They gotta bring peace to the kingdom and get married and go on dates with Lady Sara and her girlfriend and find a nice house for Sir Ted—”

“For the record,” said William, standing in the doorway, “it doesn’t make any sense for Sir Ted to have taken Laurel to the highest room in the tallest tower. How was he going to escape if he needed to?”

“Well,” Oliver said, floundering for a moment. “He didn’t need to.”

“An’ it’s special,” Olivia told her half-brother. Oliver gave her an approving nod.

“You mean it’s Disney?”

“Hey, we don’t support the monopolization of the entertainment industry in this house,” Oliver reminded, pointing a finger at his eldest. “But fair use is fair use, so—”

“I am not hearing snoring children,” Laurel’s voice came in partial sing-song from down the hall before she stopped behind William. “You nitpicking your dad’s storytelling abilities again?”

William shrugged. “A bit.” He wasn’t quite out of the teenage years, clearly.

“Mommy, you were a Princess!”

“I was? Well, that’s news to me.” She stepped around William and walked to the bed, guiding their daughter to finally lie down under the covers instead of hopping around on top of them.

“Uh-huh. And you were asleep an’ dad kissed you.” Olivia giggled, clearly thinking the idea very silly.

“Well, now it’s your turn to get some rest, Sleeping Beauty,” Laurel told her. “I can’t promise you a true love, but I can promise your dad’s pancakes in the morning before we take William to the train station.”

“Does Will have to go?” Olivia whined.

“Yes. We can’t hog him from his mom all the time.”

“Okay,” Olivia agreed, subdued.

“We’ll see him in two weeks,” Oliver promised, meeting William’s eyes and getting a nod from him. Then he stood and joined Laurel to finish tucking their daughter in. “And we’ll do a new story, then.”

Olivia smiled up at him before yawning wide. “I love you, daddy.”

And damn, that really always did something to him. Oliver blinked back the stinging at the corners of his eyes and bent down to kiss her forehead. “Love you too, beautiful baby.”

Laurel and William each exchanged similar good nights with Olivia before they shut all but her Flash-symbol nightlight off and left her room.

Laurel loosely draped an arm around William’s shoulders as they all moved down the hall. “You all packed?”

“Pretty much. Just, you know, toiletries and stuff.”

“Okay, good. Go get some rest, honey.”

“Goodnight, Laurel. Night, dad.”

“Goodnight.” Oliver watched his son head into his own room for the night, breathing in once and letting it out again with a distinct air of contentment.

“Sleeping Beauty? Really?”

He looked down at Laurel. “Why not? You’re beautiful, even when you sleep.”

Laurel swatted at his arm. “Why pick the story where I have to be asleep though?”

He shrugged. “You were only asleep for a little bit. And it kind of, I don’t know, mirrored our lives. The, the life support,” he muttered quietly, still finding it hard to talk about that horrible time she’d been hovering between life and death at the hospital.

It had forced him to grapple with his feelings for her and the conviction he needed to finally do right by her, but he would gladly pay any price never to have to live through something like that again.

Laurel seemed to sense his spiraling mood, for she stepped in close and wrapped her arms around him, fitting herself against him in that perfect way they had. “Hey, I’m fine. We both are.”

He held back a smirk hearing her unknowingly echo some of the lines he’d given her in the story. They really did know each other too well sometimes.

“We have a beautiful family, a city that’s on the mend even if it still needs some help here and there. And we have each other.” She tilted her head back to meet his eyes. “That’s my idea of a fairytale.”

“And here I thought you’d groan if I used a ‘happily ever after’ pickup line.”

Laurel’s forehead dropped against his chest. “I am groaning. That’s so bad.”

He grinned unabashedly. “So bad it’s good?”

“...if I say yes, does that get you into the bedroom?”

“It’s a safe bet.” He allowed Laurel to start pulling them along without an answer.

Fatherhood had certainly given him the opportunity to polish his storytelling skills, but it had also taught him not to let a quiet moment go to waste. And if that was one of the biggest challenges to his day, he had to agree with Laurel that they really were living their once upon a dream.

[canonconspiracy]

Cruel World (Joey Wheeler x Reader)

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh Duel Monsters (AU)

Fanfiction By: @rmorningstar21​

Pairing: Joey Wheeler x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Blood, Death of NPC

AN: This is set in a universe where Joey Wheeler grows distant from the group after high school, getting himself far above his head, and growing cold due to dark situations.

This will be cross-posted on my AO3 under my Yu-Gi-Oh AU Oneshot Collection.

__________

"Y-you're bleeding," your voice barely registered as a whisper, eyes wide as you simply stared.  How could you register anything as you were watching the blood drip down the blonde boy's forehead, completely registering the cold expression that pressed against his facial features.  Those soft brown eyes that you once adored were stoically staring back at you, and your mouth dried.  

Despite his stoic state, despite the blood running down his face, his arm reached out towards you.  In the musty stench of the real world, you were the only beacon of light, and yet the recoil of your body showed otherwise.  The chill of the rain poured on the two of you, caught without words to utter. Tensions grew between the fog of the particularly dense night air.  

The one thing that had not changed of the blonde that stood in front of you was his soft brooklyn accent, which you noted as he spat his words coldly at you.  "You're afraid 'a me," he said, more venomous than the boy intended. His lips dropped even further into a frown, your actions speaking louder than any set of words could convey.  

Biting your lip uncomfortably, you could feel your y/e/c eyes already filling to the brim with tears.  Pushing them back as well as you were able, you sucked in a shaky breath. "You've changed," you murmured, your voice harsher than you expected.  The knife had already been pressed into his skin with those words, though, and you knew there was no coming back from it. Your words fell like an acid rain upon his skin, growing from barely a whisper to a volume of true frustration.  "What happened to you, Joey? You never asked for help from our friends. We were there for you, and you just pushed everyone away! Now you're out here on the streets doing who knows what, alone." 

"You could'a been killed if it wasn't for me," he spat back, his words chilling your core as he spoke.  

Your heart tightened at his words, a grimace clear against your features.  A few stray tears had made their way down your face, though your eyes had already averted from his.  They fixated upon the body that lay limp, not far from the two of you. Swallowing hard, you pushed your pride away to the far corner of your mind.  There are more important things right now, you reminded yourself.  

Without words, no answer to the man's truth, you moved your body over to the grotesque guest the two of you had.  They were uninvited, burly and cruel. Your eyes were practically lifeless as you stared at the handiwork that Joey had done upon the man, though the smallest part of you could thank him for protecting you.  He didn't need to go this far, though, you thought as you reached to sling the corpse over your shoulder.  This was not an easy feat, struggling to stand under the weight of the burly man's rigamortis.  

Once the body had suddenly become lighter, you realized the blonde was helping despite the strife.  Silently, the two of you snuck the body to your trunk, throwing it inside with haste. Taking a spare blanket you stored within your trunk, you covered the bloody mess that now resided there.  The pungent smell of blood and onslaught of decay filled your nostrils as you made quick work of covering the corpse, closing the trunk quietly.  

"Ya act like ya did this before," he commented in a whisper as he slid uninvited into the passenger seat.  The comment was meant to sting, a needle jabbing into your spine in the form of the man's harsh words. His lips were still curled into a grimace, his stoic brown eyes avoiding glancing at your bloodied figure.  

Letting out a simple huff, you started the car.  You cringed at the sound of the passenger door closing behind him, showing that the blonde planned to join you for your cryptic journey.  Eyes fixated upon the road, you swallowed hard. "That's none of your concern," you said simply, your tone harsh.  

The roar of the engine was all that filled your ears for the journey, the passenger deciding it best to leave sleeping dogs lie.  He has to be in there somewhere, you thought to yourself as you continued to drive.  Or maybe I'll never get him back.  Why would I even want him back after tonight?

Disposing of the body upon the pier three towns away from Domino was the easiest part of the journey.  The two of you made haste with the body, dumping it after tying some heavy materials to it. Though the ties would not hold long, they would hold long enough for decay to leave the crime unsolved.  

The entire time that the two of you did the dirtiest deed together, you could feel your heart ripping more and more.  Occasional glances had proven that the man would not look your way, while your own mind shattered the silence, questioning your desire for him to look your way.  Loving bonds were broken, loved ones cast aside, and yet your naivete showed that you had the tiniest ounce of hope.  

When the two of you were entering Domino together again, you allowed it to slip past your mouth.  "You may need stitches," you said in a hard tone, though there was a minuscule trace of concern laced into your words.  You may have desired not to care, but with your organs battling for control over your actions, it was slipping through the cracks.  

"Then drop me outside 'a da hospital," he replied simply, his brown eyes fixed upon the world outside of your musty, death smelling car.  

A sigh pouted your lips.  "We just dumped a body, you idiot," you replied harshly, though your mind did not seem to care how cold you were being.  "You're getting patched at my apartment." 

"Y/N-," he started in protest. 

Stopping and shutting off the car, you turned a harsh look at the man.  "No, shut up," you spat. "You're coming up those stairs. I don't care where you go afterwards, but I'm patching you up." 

No matter how much he wanted to protest, he was getting dizzy from blood loss, and did as you said.  He followed you up the stairs, not even turning his eyes to take in the view of your apartment. The scent of blood and death caused the two of you to reek, and staring at the floor was at least allowing him to block that out.  

You had to move him physically with your touch, guiding him to the couch to lie down.  Mentally, you noted the fact that you would likely have to burn the cushions after this excursion, before you went to your bathroom to fetch the medical kit.  Sitting down upon your shoddy coffee table, you started with a disinfectant.  

His chapped lips uttered curses as you disinfected the area that would need to be patched up on his forehead.  Staring down at the blonde haired man, you worked in a tidy way, though you could not help feeling your heart aching.  "I have sterilization, but I don't have anything to numb it," you muttered as you got the needle ready. Your y/e/c eyes glanced over at the table you were sitting at, grabbing a leather piece from it and handing it to the blonde.  "Bite down on this."

Without question, Joey grabbed the leather from your hand and did as you said, much to your relief.  Muffled screams filled your ears, dulled by the leather inside of his mouth. Though you could make out a few of his profanities, your main focus was upon stitching the man's wound.  

As you were sure he could not focus upon your words, you spoke your mind as you stitched him up.  "I understand your home life wasn't great, Joey," you muttered during the first stitch. "We all knew, and that's why we tried to be there for you.  Everyone cared about you. I even loved you, Joey, but I guess that was never enough for you." By the third stitch, you forced yourself to stop talking, the threat of tears making it harder to stitch the man in front of you.  

What you had not known was as you were speaking, Joey could faintly hear your words.  Despite everything the cold world had done to the Joey you once knew, the inner Joey could not help the pain he was feeling due to your words.  Even when he tried to block out the thought that someone cared, your harsh voice was sincere.  

As you were getting up, tight lipped as your gaze moved from the man, a sigh forced your lips to part again.  Swallowing hard, you forced yourself to be strong, simply stating, "All patched up. If you want to shower, I probably still have your spare clothes around here somewhere."  You never came back for them, after all, you thought to yourself.  

The dizzied man pushed himself off of your couch carefully, every movement precise as he attempted to recover from the work you did.  After all, Joey may have allowed the outside world to get to him, but he wasn't an animal. Corpse stench filled his nostrils to the point that he wanted to gag.  

"I'll go find your clothes and a towel," you muttered out as you saw him make his way to your bathroom.  It took you merely a few moments to grab his clothes, though you stood in your hallway simply staring at the fabric in your hands, pursing your lips.  Letting out an exhausted sigh, you furrowed your brows, wondering, Why did I have to fall for him?  

Realizing taking too long or taking too little time were both risky situations, you forced yourself out of your thoughts to grab a towel from your hallway closet.  Making your way to your bathroom, you opened it merely a crack to push the messy bundle of cloth inside. It didn't take long after to see the wet haired blonde emerge from your bathroom, finally put back together.  

"It's all yours," he stated, his voice cracking a bit as he spoke.  

You thought nothing of it, as you desperately wished to rid yourself of the stench of death that you wore.  It took you moments to flip on the hot water, derobe, and start scrubbing. Hastily, you scrubbed each and every inch of yourself twice, just to make sure the smell was truly gone.  

Once you got out of the shower, part of you was surprised to see that the blonde had not left your apartment yet.  He had apparently found a blanket to place over the couch, and was sprawled out lazily upon it. Everything about Joey read of exhaustion, though in his clean state, eyes peacefully closed, a smile made it's way to your lips. 

You made your way over to him, figuring that he had already fallen asleep.  Moving his hair gently, you checked on the handiwork you did. While he was so close, so peaceful, you couldn't help stroking your hand down to his cheek.  Your touch was so gentle, like a feather moving down his face. With a small bit of blush, you forced yourself to move away.  

As you were moving, he managed to catch your arm.  With one questioning glance back at the blonde, you saw a glimmer of that old Joey Wheeler inside of those brown eyes.  His lips were still pouted downward in a frown, but his voice was a soft plea. "Stay," he said, though it was more of a request than anything.  

Your heart melted at that one word, his touch like fire upon your skin.  Pursing your lips, you swallowed hard before nodding. Following his grasp, you moved to lie beside him on your small couch.  Wrapping your arms around him, you allowed your body to relax.  

"I never knew ya felt that way, Y/N," he said barely above a whisper, his hot breath warming your face as he spoke.  "And I can't take anything back. I just want'cha to know, I love you, too." 

Those words would not fix everything, and he knew it as much as you did.  His words mustered a warmth in your heart, though. Just maybe there was a glimmer of hope through all the bad. 

[the-lightning-strikes-again]

In which I learned an important life lesson

Hi, all. I very rarely post about personal issues on this blog, and I want to respect any individuals who would prefer not to read salt/content relating to negativity, so I’m posting my salt about a recent Voltron fandom issue I’ve experienced below the line. Whether you prefer to skip over this message or read it, I hope you take care, and thank you again for all of the love and support you offer to me within this crazy world, haha. You’re all great. You inspire me to keep writing. <3

______________________________________________________

It’s a hilarious and painful moment when you see people being a harassing anti about a character, knowingly going into said fan community to spread their spam, who know they shouldn’t do that, but still do it anyway. And it’s even more hilarious when you try to play ball with an anti, because it just never ends well.  

For the record, I attempted to reach out privately to a very vehement Allura anti after they began posting in the Lotura tags, in an attempt to remind them that all fictional characters are ultimately at the whim of the humans producing them, and that VLD canon is a mess, and that many people in the fandom are aware of how canon absolutely stripped the potential and individual character arcs of not only Allura and Lotor, but also of every single character in the show, for the sake of cruel shock actor. My goal was to explain that this is why many adults in the Allura or Lotura fandom so easily reject canon as a poorly constructed fanfiction itself and turn to fanon constructions of both Lotor and Allura instead, where the damaging messages in canon don’t have to exist, and the story can be rewritten to champion wholesome messages, which is what a lot of Allura stans and Lotura fans wanted before canon stole that hope away. My goal was not to excuse or champion any damaging message or behavior as ultimately seen in canon VLD Allura, canon VLD Lotor, or any other character.

After I sent my introductory message, I was blocked, and the person posted particularly vehement messages to their blog about my and apparently other people’s attempts to reach out, refusing to speak to any Lotura or Allura fan while also violently continuing to spew their myopic hate and admitting they knew it was wrong to post in the lotura tag but that apparently they have a unique right to do so.

In case my name comes up in any derogatory manner regarding the whole thing, I want to clear the air right now about the message I sent to them, which I sent in hopes of building a bridge and having meaningful discussion, instead of turning a blind eye to ongoing strife in this fandom. This was the message I sent:

“Hello! I hope you're doing well today. I saw your recent anti-Allura post in the Lotura tag and wanted to reach out to you to talk about it. I have some thoughts for you to consider if you are interested. I felt personally reaching out first might be more respectful than reblogging with the details of how and why I have difficulty with some of the implications in your posted perspective. I'd like the chance to chat with you about some details that have helped me really put VLD canon content, and the ongoing Lotura fandom, into perspective. Please let me know if you'd be interested in a discussion of such. Thanks!”

Here is photo proof of that message in private message.

So in the end, sorry to all my followers that I felt I needed to post this information to protect myself in case they come after me. Perhaps it’s just my own paranoia, and hopefully nothing more comes of it. But lesson learned. There are some people in this world who want to hold onto their hate over having a meaningful discussion with other living human beings with feelings who hope for reconciliation and healing together from harmful canons. This person used to follow me and at one time I guess?? liked my works or parts of it?? which makes this whole scenario all the crazier and even more hurtful.

If you find yourself in a similar situation where you want to reach out to an anti, my hard-earned wisdom on this day says to just block them and leave it at that. People will continue to knowingly abuse the tagging system and troll fanon and incite strife among fans over the sake of one development/production team’s interpretation of fictional characters. But you don’t have to get caught up in it. Your time is precious. Don’t waste it.

Peace and love, all.  

[ikementally-deficient]

Oncoming Storm

Fandom: Ayakashi Romance Reborn

Rating: Carolina Reaper (See Masterlist for rating descriptions)

Warnings: Explicit, 18+

Summary: He wants to touch her, then, for as long as it pleases her.

Tags: Ginnojo/Futaba (MC), first time

Author’s Note: The poem Ginnojo quotes is from the Manyoshu, a collection of Japanese poetry written between 456 and 760 CE.

Female university students in the late Meiji/early Taisho eras wore school uniforms composed of short kimono tucked into fancy hakama.

Edited because I always forget that Tumblr likes to eat my italics.

*************************

Ginnojo is painfully aware that in terms of years lived, he is nearly three times Futaba’s aga. His hands are stained with the blood that washed away the Shogunate, layered in the decades since with that of traffickers and thieves. He is the last of the Shinsengumi, forged in strife and annealed by thirty years of protecting the Capital from the shadows.

In terms of the fraction of lifespan allotted to him, however, Ginnojo is possibly even younger than his Onmyoji. Mizuchi dragons are long-lived, and his experience with romance is non-existent.

We could hardly be called lovers if we let ourselves be embarrassed merely by holding hands, he’d said to her, feeling his cheeks burn. Kuro had interrupted them then, saving him from figuring out what to say next. Ginnojo had irrationally hated him at the time, but in retrospect he is grateful to have been granted reprieve. It had given him the courage later to speak his mind.

I still find myself wanting to touch you. He had been trembling as he said it, certain he had overstepped.

I don’t want you to stop, she’d said. The rest of the conversation had made it quite clear that she is just as inexperienced as he, but she had nodded assent when he asked permission to continue.

Touching they have done. They walk closely on the street now, shoulders and hands brushing. She sits next to him at the shop and at Raccord, letting their fingers tangle under tables and counters. He escorts her home in the evenings, and she touches his face when he bends down to kiss her farewell. Their touches are chaste, but heartfelt. Ginnojo revels in these moments of closeness, but he finds himself yearning to keep her even closer, to let his hands stray from the publically-approved areas of face and fingers.

May I touch you, then, for as long as it pleases you?

Consent, he understands, is paramount in these situations. That obtained, though, how best to proceed? Taking things slowly is not the issue, but determining the proper speed when he’s not even certain what the next step is presents . . . difficulties. 

Ginnojo is, at heart, a scholar. The bookshop does have a section of what is euphemistically termed ‘adult’ materials, but he understands that the content is frequently idealised. Perhaps it would be best to turn to a primary source instead. He sorts through the list of his acquaintances: Kuro is better at talking to women, but he has never been known to be intimate with one. Aoi is younger even than Futaba. Kuya, if presented with a woman, would be more likely to sleep next to her than with her. Yura and Gaku have been presenting themselves as children for centuries; they are unlikely to be helpful. Nachi is a cat. That leaves Toichiro, Shizuki, Koga, and Oji.

He dismisses the first two out of hand. Everything said to Shizuki reaches Toichiro, and Toichiro is willing and able to make a mockery out of anything. Koga, on the other hand, is personally invested in Futaba’s well-being as one of her contracted Ayakashi. Ginnojo has met him several times in the entertainment district in the company of geisha; the Oni Ogre must have some idea of how things work. 

*************************

Koga chokes on his sake. The Ogre spends several moments coughing into the sleeve of his kimono. Ginnojo feels the act is a little ostentatious, but does appreciate that Koga’s face is smooth and solemn when he finally lowers his arm.

“Let me make sure I understand you correctly.” He waves his cup at one of the bar girls, smiling as she nods and approaches with a bottle. He waits until she’s gone before continuing. “You’ve never --?”

Ginnojo feels his cheeks flame red as he shakes his head. “Never.” Koga’s lips twitch, but he suppresses the smile. Ginnojo forces himself to continue. “I have no prior experience to draw on here. I -- “ He falters, searching for words.

Koga rescues him. “You want to make sure that when the time comes, everything goes,” he clears his throat significantly, “smoothly?”

“I suppose that is as good a description as any.” If Ginnojo were given to fidgets, this would be the time.

Koga looks around at the bar girls, and past them to the geisha performing on stage. “Well, it’s easy enough to find you some experience. The girls here -- “

“No.” Ginnojo surprises both of them with the force of his denial. Koga stares at him before nodding.

“So it’s like that, is it?”

“It would be --” He stutters to a stop, then takes a deep breath, forcing his thoughts to straighten themselves. “I love her. To entrust myself to another in this would be unthinkable.”

“Hmm.” Koga drains his cup while he contemplates the situation. Ginnojo waits patiently.

“In that case, I’m probably not the one to talk to,” Koga finally decides. Ginnojo’s heart sinks, but Koga continues. “I bet I know who is though, and the old man probably understands your perspective a little better than I do.”

*************************

Oji does seem to understand. He is older even than Ginnojo, by far more than he looks, and takes Ginnojo’s stuttered explanation (with editorial commentary from Koga) in stride. After casting a glance at Aoi, he ushers Ginnojo upstairs to the room where he plays Go with Kuro.

The old man settles himself on the tatami and waves Ginnojo to do the same on the other side of the Go table. “So, you’re looking for advice on how to proceed with Bright Eyes, hmm?”

Ginnojo nods.

Oji makes a noise that Ginnojo can’t interpret. “You’ve thought about the fact that you’re, what, twice her age?”

Ginnojo bites his lip before nodding again. “Thrice would be closer. I have. But in this context --” he drops his eyes to the table, “-- in this context I am as young as she.”

Oji waits. Ginnojo lifts his gaze to meet the Dodomeki’s, and continues. “I wish only to ensure her happiness. She has given me her consent, but neither of us, I think, truly understand what that entails.”

Oji’s neutral expression breaks into a gentle smile. “Well, knowing that you know nothing isn’t a bad place to start.” He drums his fingers on the back of his head in contemplation. “But you do know there isn’t a list, right? No one’s giving you marks for doing all the steps.”

Ginnojo can only shrug helplessly. “I have no idea of any of the steps.”

Oji chuckles. “Well, I admit I thought I’d be having this conversation with Aoi rather than someone else old enough to remember the Shogun, but lucky for you I am somewhat prepared.” He leans forward. “First you understand that neither of you does anything you don’t like, you hear me?” Ginnojo nods, suddenly wishing he’d brought a notebook.

*************************

Three hours, two pots of tea, one game of Go, and some terrifyingly frank reminiscing by Oji later, Ginnojo leaves Raccord. His head is spinning with information and embarrassment, but he feels that he has enough of the basics down to plot a way forward.

First, the logistics: he arranges with Futaba to join him for a meal in his small flat above the bookshop. When the day arrives, he closes the shop and spends the afternoon searching Shinobazu pond for a few perfect lotuses. On the way home, he stops at Raccord to collect dinner from Aoi, not trusting his own utilitarian cooking for such an occasion. He follows Aoi’s instructions for keeping the meal warm to the letter, and the tempting aroma fills the flat.

The lotuses float in a clear bowl of water on the table. He occupies himself dusting surfaces and straightening books until the bell rings below. When he hurries down the stairs, Futaba is standing in the centre of the shop, looking about nervously.

“Futaba.”

Her face breaks into a smile when he speaks her name, and all his nervous energy of the last few hours dissipates.

“Ginnojo!” She comes to him, hands outstretched. Greatly daring, he clasps both of them in his own and brings them to his lips.

“Futaba,” he murmurs. Her cheeks flush brilliantly, but her smile doesn’t fade. “I am glad you came,” he whispers into her knuckles.

“Of course I came,” she answers. Her elbows bend, bringing her close against his chest. “I always enjoy spending time with you.” 

He locks the door and leads her upstairs, maintaining his grasp on one of her hands. Once safely in the flat, away from the shop windows, he uses that hand to reel her slowly into the circle of his arms. She responds by sliding her other arm up to his shoulder and burying her face in his collarbone.

They stand like this for several minutes, breathing each other in. Ginnojo rubs his face against her soft hair, the scent affecting him in the way he imagines alcohol does other people.

“Ginnojo,” she mumbles into his clavicle. The heat of her breath against his collar makes his head spin, but he gathers himself enough to raise his head and lift her chin to meet his eyes.

He takes a deep breath. “Futaba, I know -- I hoped -- “ he falters, but is buoyed by her warm gaze. His own words have failed him, but instead he reaches into his memory for a poem. “On Komochi Mountain, from the time the young leaves sprout, until they turn red --”

It is an old, old poem, and Futaba knows it as well as he. She picks up where his voice breaks. “I think I would like to sleep with you. What do you think of that?” Her eyelashes flutter shut, then slowly open again as she searches his face. “Are you sure, Ginnojo?”

“I have always been certain of my feelings for you.” Her hand on his shoulder feels like it is burning him. The heat of her muddles his thoughts, but brings his emotions floating to the surface. “Are you certain of yours?”

Her small mouth curves delicately in a sweet smile. “I am as certain as you are.” Futaba’s hand slides across his shoulder to the back of Ginnojo’s neck as she pushes herself up on her toes to reach his mouth. “I love you, Ginnojo.”

This kiss begins as chastely as all the others they’ve shared, but they each linger in a way they’ve never dared on the street outside Futaba’s gate. Ginnojo feels greedy for the way he sips of her; once on the bow of her upper lip, twice down the curve to the corner of her mouth. He strays briefly to kiss the dimple that appears whenever he makes her laugh, before returning to press against her bottom lip. She sighs into him, letting her lips part in invitation. Both of her hands cradle the nape of his neck now, fingertips rubbing into his hair, keeping him close when he tries to give her time to breathe. In response he slides his hands into her hair, glorying in the privacy to touch, to let it tangle around his fingers like kelp and seaweed tangling at the bottom of a lake. He finds the clips that keep it back from her face and releases them, pulling her hair forward over her shoulders until she looks like a mermaid, tempting him.

At last they ease apart. Futaba’s lips are flushed and slightly swollen, her hair in disarray. Ginnojo imagines he looks much the same. He realises they’re still standing in the entrance of his flat and steps back, tugging her with him into the main area. The smell of dinner reaches her and she squeezes his hand. 

“That smells delicious.”

“Aoi’s work.” Ginnojo hesitates. “You must be hungry. Would you --” but she shakes her head at him.

“We’ve spent so much time waiting for each other, Ginnojo.” Her entire face flushes with her own shamelessness, but her eyes are still dark with yearning when he meets them. “Please, let’s let dinner wait instead.”

Ginnojo doesn’t trust his voice to form coherent words after that. He brings her hand to his lips in place of speech, and leads her to the curtained alcove where his futon is laid out. The two of them kneel on the bedclothes and stare at each other. Finally, Futaba makes the first move. 

“May I --” Her voice cracks and she giggles helplessly. This seems to release the tension from both of them, and Ginnojo leans forward to kiss her laughing mouth.

“You may do anything you like, with me,” he assures her. 

“Oh, I intend to,” she murmurs into his mouth while her hands caress his nape. They continue to kiss as her fingers delicately trace the collar of his kimono, following it down his chest to the cord holding his obi. She makes a delighted ‘ah’ sound when the knot springs easily free and his kimono gapes open. He lets her push the garment off his shoulders and pulls his arms free to capture her before she can start on his nagajuban. Instead he pulls her down to lay on the futon next to him.

He’s spent many hours considering this, whether to be above or below her. Below, he fears, will make her feel exposed, but if he leans above she may feel trapped. Eventually, he decided, beside is the happiest medium. His overthinking is rewarded by her head resting on his arm and her lips against his neck.

Ginnojo returns the favour immediately, burying his nose in her hair while his lips explore the soft skin where her jaw meets her ear. She smells of lotus flowers and sandalwood hair oil, and the faintest hint of salt from the sweat of the day that crazes him with thoughts of the sea. He moans against her ear, crushing her close to him while his free hand roams down the curve of her back, finding the ties of her hakama.

“May I --?” He asks, even as his eager fingers begin tugging at the knot.

“Please.” She gasps into his neck. The ties fall open and there is a sudden flurry of hands as they both tug her kimono free of the loosening trousers.

At last they are both down to a single layer of clothing. Ginnojo presses more kisses down her throat, across her breastbone, drags his lips across her clavicle, pushing her nagajuban open with his mouth until he can taste the shallow dip where it meets her shoulder. Futaba’s hands still, and he casts his eyes up to her in concern.

Her eyes are closed, her lips are parted, and her breath comes in soft gasps. Her face is a picture of need, and Ginnojo is frozen with the sudden wave of wanting that crashes over him like a tsunami. Futaba’s eyelashes flutter open again.

“Ginnojo.” She eases onto her back and tugs him up to her face. “Ginnojo.”

“Are you all right?” He is suddenly afraid that he’s pushed her too quickly, but she slides her hand inside his nagajuban, splaying her fingers over his heart. He feels it hammering against his breastbone.

“I’m fine,” she reassures him. “I just -- please. Don’t stop.”

“I don’t want to hurry you.” Oji’s admonition echoes in his memory.

She gives him a breathtaking smile, like the petals of a lotus opening at dawn. Her small fingers find the knot in his datejime and she raises her eyebrows at him in question. He nods, his throat suddenly dry, and she pulls it open, baring his chest. Her eyes widen as she takes him in; the weight of her gaze reminds him of the many scars his clothing hides. Scars do not appear to be on her mind though.

“I always wondered,” she murmurs, “How far down your scales went.”

His own eyes widen. That she might find him as attractive an Ayakashi as she does as a man has never occurred to him. He examines the thought, and discovers it refreshes him like cool water on a warm day. 

“You will have many opportunities to find out,” he promises. “But for today,” he lowers his head to nose at the hollow of her throat, “I think we have enough new territory to discover.”

Futaba’s head tilts back and her back arches, hair snaking across the futon, and Ginnojo takes the invitation to slide her nagajuban off her shoulders. He watches her breasts fall free, small and round and flushed, with a dusky bud of gathered flesh that seems perfectly made to draw into his mouth, so he does, and feels her rapturous gasp in the pit of his stomach. It draws his attention to his own need; he realises he is erect, and has been for some time. It catches in his nagajuban and he makes a noise of frustration around the nipple in his mouth. Futaba seems to understand the problem.

“Still too many clothes?” The question is breathy, but there is nothing tentative about the way she yanks his final layer off of him. “Sit up, please.” He pushes upright, worried again, but she follows him quickly. “I want to see you.”

Ginnojo sits back on his heels and rests his hands on his thighs, resisting the urge to clasp them over his groin. He can feel the flush of desire and embarrassment spreading down his chest. Futaba kneels before him, placing her hands over his, and leans in to kiss him again.

“I just want to look at you, Ginnojo.” Her lips press against his mouth, then his nose, then his forehead. “I want to engrave you in my memory, this first time I get to see all of you.” She pushes back and he sees her eyes drop to his erection. It twitches upright, aware of being the centre of attention. Ginnojo bites his lip and casts his gaze up to the ceiling, about to die of lust or embarrassment, he’s not sure which.

Warm fingers stroke his length, and a groan escapes him before he can stifle it. Futaba is running her fingertips up and down him. “It’s so warm, and velvety.” Her voice is thick with desire, and he can see the damp glisten on her inner thighs. She flicks her eyes up at him through her eyelashes. 

“Futaba -- “ He swallows thickly, not sure he’s still capable of organised thought. “Futaba, please, I need --” Words fail him, but he surges up on his knees and takes her by the shoulders, crushing her against his mouth as her soft belly presses against his throbbing length. Her shocked little gasp melts into a happy moan as her hands slide around his ribs and down his spine. 

At last they break for air, and Ginnojo is uncomfortably aware he has been rutting arrhythmically against her stomach. She isn’t bothered though, running her fingers through the damp streaks he’s leaving with an expression of wonderment. She licks a fingertip.

“Oh. I wasn’t expecting it to taste salty.” She runs the rest of her fingertips across his lips, and his own scent on her hits him like a storm at sea, thunder crashing in his head as he pushes her back down to the futon and dives down her body to the salty apex of her. Oji has warned him of this, of the need to prepare her to receive him, and he fears he’ll lose control of himself if he lets her torment him any further. 

She cries out as he noses into the soft hair, parting her lips to taste the salty musk between them. His tongue laps out, searching, searching, and the shivering of her thighs around him tells him he’s found the centre of her. He sucks it in, the stigma protected by the calyx of her hips, and brings his fingers to brush against the petals of her sex, seeking the dew of his lotus flower. Here, there is no flowery scent, just the salt of her pulling his fingers inside her like the moon calling the tide. She arches above him, moaning his name as his callused fingers explore her slick warmth. Her hands land in his hair and he readies himself to pull back, but she clutches him tight against her. “More -- oh please, Ginno-- don’t stop!”

Encouraged thus, he crooks his fingers inside her, delving for the spot Oji had described, that firm locus behind her slippery velvet walls. When he finds it, she tenses, her clutching hands and shaking thighs trapping him within her as her sex clenches around him. Her moans spiral up into a crescendo of wordless cries.

Finally, she relaxes, boneless. Ginnojo gently withdraws his hand, pressing a final kiss to her centre before pushing himself up her body to look into her face. Her head lolls towards him on the bedspread of her hair and she gives him a languid smile. “Oh, Ginnojo. That was so beautiful.”

Shaking with relief and his own need, Ginnojo kisses her damp forehead. “No, Futaba. You are the beautiful one.” His slightly sticky fingers trace around the underside of her breast, enjoying the delicate skin. “I only bring forth what is already there.”

She’s already so flushed he’s surprised she’s able to blush at his words. In lieu of answer, she pulls him down for a languorous kiss, mouth loose and open, inviting his tongue to slip into her mouth. He presses the length of his body against her, clinging to her hair and waist, his arousal rock hard against her thigh. “Please,” he whispers. “Please, may I --?” His hips rut against her helplessly. “Let me love you.”

She nods silently, smiling, her eyes still dark and hazy. He moves over her, carefully positioning himself, and almost forgets what his goal was as the head of him drags through her wet petals. His heartfelt groan is echoed in the scrape of her fingernails against his biceps. With agonising slowness, he presses into her, feeling her give way inch by searing inch. At last he meets resistance, and remembers the last of Oji’s advice. “This part --” He gasps with the strain of holding steady. “This last part will hurt, for just a moment.” 

Her smile has become unfocused as her attention turns inwards to his intrusion, but she drags herself back to meet his eyes. “I know, Ginnojo. It’s all right.”

He presses his face into her neck, mouthing comfort as his hips drive forwards with no input from his brain. He hears the hiss of her breath between her teeth as he breeches that final barrier to pin her to the futon. Her arms lock around him, preventing him from pulling back, so he trails kisses up her neck and across her face, tracing her lips with his tongue until she opens to him and sucks him in. As their kisses become deeper, her hips cant towards him, urging him to move at last. 

Ginnojo rocks against her, easing back and thrusting forwards again and again. One of her heels lodges in the small of his back, pulling him deeper. Unnecessarily, some small spectacting part of his brain supplies. He doesn’t think he could stop now if his life depended on it. He is drowning in her, pulled deep within her with the force of an undertow, and he can tell she feels it too as she clenches tighter around him. He finds himself biting into her shoulder and tugging her hair, and she looses that crescendoing siren’s call again. He can feel the tension rising in his gut as she shakes under him, and pure animal instinct plunges him into her faster and faster until the lightning strikes and the heat pours out of him like waves crashing on the shore.

“Nnngggh --!” He’s heard himself make that noise before, his spectacting brain mentions, but that time he was the one being stabbed. He slumps onto her, completely unable to support his own weight, and she sighs blissfully under him.

It’s several minutes before he can gather himself to move again, and it’s only enough to roll to one side, careful not to trap her arm. Futaba follows, draping herself across his shoulder and chest, her hair spreading across him like seaweed and legs tangling with his. They lie there in silence, watching the last of the sun’s rays creep across the curtain.

Futaba mumbles into his neck, and he tilts his head to look down at her.

“Pardon?” His voice feels raw and rusty.

She shifts to free her mouth and tries again. “It’s like the calm after a storm,” she whispers.

Ginnojo smiles into her hair. “May we have many more storms like this one.”

*************************

The next day, a courier delivered a package to Oji at Raccord: two lotus flowers, blooming in a glass bowl of water. Aoi never did figure out why Oji laughed so hard, or why, when Futaba came in after school that day, she flushed so red at the sight of them.

[abundantchewtoys]

Homestuck^2 re: Chapter 6 “A Conversation Regarding Relevance“ p145-169

Page 145

Oooh, back to the pursuing crew!

... Seems we're in for some more insight into Alt Calliope! Cool! For all the things that are the same as regular Calliope, it's her different experiences that changed how she ended up.

How she ended up as being the more important iteration. Well, the more powerful one, at least.

She actually went in a rather Dave-esque off-track rambling there. Perhaps she just needs someone to talk to on her own level.

Speaking of!

She just verified she was able to communicate with Caliborn. So, did she actually have a meteor on her version of Earth? Or did she find some other communication device?

You know, it doesn't have to be that we're seeing the pursuing crew now. It could always turn out this'll follow the crew following Dead Jade's body - Aradia and Davebot, but I think it's a little too soon for that.

The content warnings indicate we'll learn some dark things about Calliope, or another character, so I'm intrigued.

---

Page 146

Moody, moody... Mood whiplash!

Pfffff, is this being surrounded by humans/trolls for so long, rubbing off on her? Or is it an upspike of Jade's personality?

Also, heh, orange juice. Dirk. This is also meant to show that Dirk hasn't just left the narration to Calliope.

---

Page 147

Oooooooh! Finally!

Finally we see some more of regular Jade!!!

So, she's stuck inside her own head, poor girl. A real Being John Malkovich problem. Though, it's kind of hilarious now, considering they're a bit like squabbling room mates.

I mean, okay. At first I thought Jade was just hating on orange juice because of Dirk. But no, she's really fed up with being possessed.

I suppose it's logical that Calliope would like some "meat" to her drinks, pulp in this situation. A bit more structure.

See? That's something both Calliope and Dirk (and Rose) have in common. They want to "save" the story from dissipating, but both differ on what that really means.

The fandom as well would differ on what it means to keep Homestuck alive.

Anyway, back to the snark-off/depression-off.

---

Page 148

Pffffffff.

So yeah, Calliope is definitely showing some personality here. She's quite petty in some regards. Like a toned down Caliborn.

And Jade was shown to be able to "hear" Calliope's narration, even acknowledging it as narration, but she doesn't "see" past that. Well, in-story, all she's doing is asking Calliope to stop saying everything she does in first person.

---

Page 149

Ooooooh! Hah, nice, Calliope summoned a mind place.

This is the first time we got a sprite for her!

And it appears Jade/Calliope has put on some eye shadow there.

So, uh, is the fact that Jade is wearing the outfit her body is currently in, an indication that Calliope chose it as a favour, because she knew Jade would like it?

---

Page 150

Teehee, okay this is getting interesting!

So, Jade has put up a valid argument against Calliope's omniscience. Even acknowledging she might have achieved ascended self status, she's still limited to her own experiences. So she doesn't have all the answers either! Good to keep that in mind. Go Jade!

And Jade has been growing in influence in Calliope's mind, very interesting. Her Witchy powers at work perhaps. Also, it's a nice parallel to how cherubs are supposed to consume another personality to become "whole". There appears to be some bleedover between Calliope and Jade. Wonder what that'll lead up to!

Jade's confidence about her own personality is endearing. It's good to be reminded of the fact that she apparently has a rather hefty supercomputer up in that brain of hers, so her mental presence is nothing to sneeze at!

---

Page 151-152

For a moment there I thought this was going the route of Caliborn & John's standoff, heheh.

But yes, Jade, I just got your double entendre there.

---

Page 153

Hahahah. Okay, so Jade has been able to separate the narration from her own thoughts. Good of her! Not even ascended Rose could do that. Only a Seer of Mind was able so far. The fact that it isn't related to her role or aspect is twice as impressive!

Apparently a Witch is closer to a Muse then. So it's a passive role, and Sylph it's antithesis, active! Huh, who knew. Well, we could've guessed, since Jade has been decommissioned a lot of times already, when you think about it. Still, iiiiinteresting.

Also interesting, in that Calliope is actually.... While not influencing Jade per se, trying to persuade her here. In the sense of: "you acknowledge the benefits of the arrangement, therefore you accept it as a premise".

She's looking for tacid agreement, passiveness on the part of the people she's acting through. That's interesting to note.

Dirk makes people bend. He doesn't necessarily make them act OOC, but he forces their decisions down fortuitous paths. While Calliope's way of control lies in a different direction. Perhaps equally sinister, that time will have to tell. Let's see if she's truly "evil callie".

---

Page 154

And there she goes. The cherub girl... HAS the Strider-esque soliloquy.

Ooooooh. Cool, calling out Callie.

This won't bring Jade over to her side of things, revealing that she could release control in fact.

I thought she needed control to be able to continue acting in this universe, but she could return in fact!

Heh, so, here's her verdict on humans. And a special personal indictment of Jade's promiscuous romantical enterprises.

---

Page 155

Hahahahahah. Jade is having none of this influence here! Coooool.

Will she skedaddle and break Calliope's control over her? Or just bonk her in the back of the head with the metaphysical orange juice? Maybe the latter will enable the former?

... Actually... If Calliope says that Jade could control the space they're in, they might actually be someplace else? And the orange juice might actually be there. Oh boy, she might actually be able to knock Calliope out?? That'd be a feat, tricking the narrator.

I'd like that, seeing Jade regain activity, rallying the troops and such on the ship, but ehhh...

---

Page 157

Oooooh! Another one of the panels that depict people symbolically with coloured silhouettes! Like the old face offs during the Murderstuck pages! Interesting to note their associated colours - red and green - too, since they're the same ones as cherubs, if we're not too picky on colour hues for the green!

And the "ground" they end up fighting on is the same colour as that spiral back in the day, when Roxy ended up finding Calliope! Are they in the same not-dreambubble space?

Hahahahah, Calliope is aware of the previous pages of the story!! That's actually grand. So, Dirk will be aware of what happens here as well! They just can't influence the story on either side.

---

Page 158

Technicolour freakout! Hahah.

So, who might come in, do a double take, and walk back out, huh? :P

Say, but, technicolours? Also associated with cherub powers!

---

Page 159

Is she regaining control or not? What will it be? In any case, this flickering epileptic panel brings back memories of )(IC and Grimbark Jade.

---

Page 161

EEEeesshs, yep, not an empty threat here! Chocolate's not good for dogs!!

So... Does Calliope REALLY not know this, or???

"at the end of the day, isn’t it the journey that is more important than the destination?"

So yeah, the candy might not ACTUALLY be chocolate, therefore not poisonous, but that's the thing, do we know for sure?

This is the third time we have this kind of threat in a strife situation. Rose/Mom Handmaid/Doc Scratch Jade/Alt Calliope

---

Page 162

Pffff, okay, I didn't even CONSIDER the peanuts in the treat, hahah.

So, uh, Calliope does make a valid argument, but then again, Jade's sacrifice would surely count as heroic, right?

---

Page 163

Oooooooooooh!!!! GOooooood points there Jade.

And HOLY SHIT THE FIRST [S] PAGE!

Of course there's a fairly good chance it'll end on a humorous note, that Calliope turns out to be right.

But really!!! Oooooh boy.

Is this where Homestuck^2's first "Act" ends? (Probably more likely where the first Part ends, or Disc, or whatever, so not really noteworthy in the story itself.)

But! In case this is more extensive than first assumed, I wonder if it'll actually show a mix of scenes! Both Candy Earth C, Deltritus, Meat Earth C and pirate ship! That would blur the lines between canon, but, really, that's what we're here for!

Let's not get our hopes up, though. I'm all for a silly flash on the same scale as there were in Act 1 & 2. Like Revelawesome.

I wonder if it's going to feature a new song. I'd be okay with a reprise of Revelawesome or a similar old song, in fact.

---

Page 164

Pffffffffffffff. Hahah.

Dirk and Rose's colours colour the grandfather's chimes now.

... Actually, the clock was represented by Prospit & Derse's colours, which are also gold & purple. Ohmygod.

Do they now decide what's heroic or just? Nah.

t1ck t0ck 8r8k H34DS honk HONK

---

Page 165

Pffff, the clock is actually there. So that's where Doc Scratch got it from? The void? :P

... N'aww, she calls them her friends, that's nice at least.

---

Page 166

Jade's right on calling her out. She stole her body and her life, and has the gall to say she's in the right without allowing it to be proven.

---

Page 168

Ooooooh! Calliope didn't dare to call it in. Point goes to Jade!

---

Page 169

And the Muse is back where she started. (Though with a spare Jade body on the loose.)

---

Gotta say, it's good to see Jade evolving in new directions. She's had it with being passified, and she's a really clever girl. She'll do just fine in the coming chapters, I'm sure.

Oh, she'll have to let Calliope back in at some point, I'm fairly sure. When Dirk starts throwing obstacles in their path, now that he can influence them again. Unless Calliope arrives in Dead Jade's body sooner than expected. Or unless Jade is now able to recognize when Dirk is influencing her friends!

[forkanna]

[AO3 LINK] [WATTPAD] [QUOTEV]

Characters © Frederator/Cartoon Network and so forth. Story ©2020 to me! All rights reserved.

This little fic was commissioned by MorbidHero. Enjoy! I'm not a superfan but I hope I still did the fandom justice, more or less. Even though there are no bacon pancakes or appearances from Billy.

Orono Or DIE.

The sign was unique enough to attract attention. That was probably the idea. Still, the girl with the long, black hair and the red-and-blue striped sweater seemed a little surprised when a car pulled over on the long, lonely stretch of Highway 95. Her eyes narrowed to slits as headlights attempted to blast the pupils wide, and she shadowed them with a pale hand.

"Hello!" cried a voice that sounded like a music box. "Are you in need of aid?"

"Uhhhh…" The squinting eyes shifted. "There a person in there?"

"Of course! I am a person! Please, it's too cold to be out here alone!"

The stranger approached the passenger window, bending down to look inside. By the light of the dash screen, she saw a rosy complexion and bright pink hair to match. The girl's round face held the sweetest, most angelic smile she had ever seen.

"I… whoa."

"Yes?"

"N-nothing. You're really gonna give me a lift? I could be an axe murderer."

The driver's eyebrows raised. "Are you an axe murderer?"

"Sorta." She opened her black guitar case, covered in stickers from all manner of bands and destinations, to display a red bass that actually was shaped like an axe, a snarky half-smile displaying some prominent canines. "I slay on this thing alllll the time."

"Oooh! A wandering minstrel! Prithee, do not tarry thither, but let us away in mine chariot!"

"I… huh?"

Cheeks turning a bit rosier, she whispered, "Just get in the car."

With her bass, cardboard sign, and knapsack stashed in the cramped back seat, the two pulled away from the shoulder and back onto the near-deserted highway. There reigned silence for a moment or two until the driver decided to attempt pleasant conversation.

"What's your name, minstrel?"

"Not Minstrel. Marcy. Or Marce, Marceline, Nightmarce… Elvira, if you're everybody in my high school."

"That sounds very unkind, and I am not from your high school so I will not do that." She smiled over at her. "I'm Bonnibel, or Bonnie."

"Cool. This, uh… this car seems weird."

"Oh!" she piped up animatedly. "It is a hybrid, but I have converted the combustion engine to run on used peanut oil."

"Is that why I have a craving for a PB&J out of nowhere?!"

Bonnie laughed, and Marcy wore a smile of her own. That was bizarre; why would she smile at some stranger who just picked her up to give her a lift? "Perhaps! It is also why I will eventually have to visit a Five Guys restaurant to refuel."

Chuckling quietly, Marcy fought down a groan as she struggled out of her black leather boots and propped her feet up on the dash. "Sorry, but I've been walking for hours. Nobody else would pick me up, except for this creepy trucker who would probably have murdered me. With my own axe."

"It is alright! I can't blame you, that sounds like a terrible day. How did you end up out here all by yourself? With no car?"

"Ash, ugh."

"Gesundheit?"

Rolling her eyes, Marcy explained, "No, Ash is my ex. Also the lead guitarist of our band, Vampire Queen. But like, he's been impossible since we broke up, and he threw his guitar at my head during our last show. I told him I wasn't riding in the van with him anymore and they took off without me. Jerkfaces."

Bonnie's expression was completely thunderstruck. She reached over to pat Marceline's thigh. "That is just unacceptable, you could have been hurt!"

"Uh… yeah?" She thought that was obvious. And the sudden physical contact made her squirm.

"No, I mean you should remove him from the band. He is clearly dangerous and you have every right to feel safe on the stage."

"Oh. Well… it's not that easy. He writes half our songs, and he's no great singer but he does know all the guitar parts already. But… I guess he's more replaceable than Fionna or Jake."

"You should send him to prison. Or castrate him," she added, tapping her chin thoughtfully.

Which is what finally made Marceline realize neither of her hands were on the wheel. She sat up quick and shouted, "HEY, we're gonna crash! Are you insane?!"

"Hm?" Glancing ahead, she calmly stated, "No we aren't, we're driving perfectly straight. And there are no other cars."

"Well… yeah, but…" She watched their course correct very slightly, still glancing at Bonnie's hands. "Oh, is this one of those self-driving things?"

"Yes! Oh, I see; you thought I was neglecting the wheel." The pink-haired oddity giggled as if Marcy were the weird one.

"Do you just pick up random strangers and scare them to death? Messed up hobby, girl. I can respect it though."

At that, Bonnie's smile lessened as she stared ahead again. "I'm sorry. Sometimes I forget that not everyone has access to the technology I do. I didn't mean to cause you any undue strife."

"Not everybody swallows a dictionary for breakfast, either." When that wiped the smile away entirely, the rocker turned to look out the passenger window as she tightened her arms around her stomach. "Nah… I'm sorry, I'm a bitch."

The car was silent for a few seconds. "You aren't. I just don't spend a lot of time with other people. When I do, they tell me I am awkward."

"Yeah? Agoraphobic or something?" She paused. "Yeah, I know some big words, too."

"I never said you didn't. But no, that isn't the problem. I'm a workaholic. Even when I'm not in my lab, I'm still focused on inventing or revising previous inventions. I like speaking with people, but there never seems to be any time…"

"Dude, nerdslut. Got it."

"WHAT?!"

The outburst was harsher than Marce expected. "Sorry," she muttered, head ducking lower. "I didn't-"

"I'm not a slut! I'm…" Her cheeks began to glow. "I've never even been on a date."

"I was kidding, man. I didn't really mean…" Her fingers ran through her fringe. "Look, you told me you don't get out much. So I'll do my best not to tease you like I normally would, but no promises. I'm pretty edgy." She even threw up devil horns to add to the effect.

"You're teasing. Yes, I understand." The bubbly girl sighed and relaxed, smiling again. Apparently, it was that easy.

"What do you do for a living, anyway? All the inventing…"

"Oh! Have you heard of PeebleCo?"

A brief pause. "If I say 'no', does that mean I'm dumb?"

"It's alright. I am the president and CEO. Though the board members make most of the day-to-day decisions, they consult with me before making any large changes. And I am also the head of the R&D department."

"Whoa. And you're what, like, eighteen?"

"Nineteen."

"Excuse me," she snickered. "But yeah, that's pretty young to have your whole future figured out. I'm still kind of drifting through life in the shadows."

Bonnie shrugged as she pulled off the highway. "It is okay. I know I am strange, and that most people have to take some time to find their true destiny."

"Where… are we going?"

"To this hotel! I have been driving all day."

"Oh. Guess this is where I get off, then."

"It is if you want. Or you are welcome to share my hotel room and I will continue to ferry you to your destination in the morning."

Marceline raised an eyebrow as she watched Bonnie smoothly guide the car into a parking spot — having to use her hands this time, of course. "Are you totally insane, or just the nicest person on the planet?"

"Does it have to be one or the other?" she asked with a huge grin. And yet again, Marcy found she was grinning back.

                                                      ~ o ~

Once they had brought their bags inside, the hitchhiker plopped herself on the bed and kicked off her boots again. Then she started tuning her bass. Bonnie started unpacking her little pink rolling suitcase immediately, though she cast a casual glance over at her guest now and then.

"What? Am I bugging you?"

"Not at all. I have just never seen someone play a guitar in person before."

"Never?!" When the inventor shook her head, Marceline chuckled softly. "Damn, you really don't ever crawl out from under that rock to see what the sun looks like. Not that I do, either."

"It's because I'm working," she protested with a slight pout. "Not because I don't want to meet people. I love people!"

"Oh yeah, me too. They're delicious."

Bonnie cackled as she plugged her BMO's charger into the wall. At least she got that joke. "You're so funny and cool! I wish I was like you."

"No you don't, trust me. I'm kind of a cunt."

"Are you? Well, I think that's still preferable to being boring. I might have an important job but as a person, I am… vanilla pudding."

"Yeah? Well I mean, vanilla pudding can be pretty good. Add a little red food coloring to make people think you're eating ketchup? I like red things, they look more badass."

"Vanilla is not interesting," she sighed as she seated herself on the other twin bed, pulling off her Uggs. Marceline tried not to pay too much attention to how her white leggings hugged her shapely calves and thighs. "Being a vanilla pudding when there are so many chocolate puddings around me… that is why I focus on my work."

The hitchhiker thought that over as she played a couple of notes, a few chords she used in their sets. The hook from "Smoke On The Water", then the bassline from "The Chain".

"I think you're cool, Bonbon."

"You do?" she asked in pure shock. Marcy looked up — and immediately averted her eyes when she saw her company was wearing only her underwear.

"WHOA, hey, warn a girl or something!"

"Oh, I'm sorry!" she hissed, arms trying to hide parts of her body pointlessly. "The other girls in gym class never cared!"

Pale cheeks flooding with color, the rocker cleared her throat and studied the carpet, watching pale pink toes curl nervously into the fibers. "Gym, yeah. Um… I'm sorry, that was stupid. Me flipping out. If you're cool with stripping down in front of me, like… it's your hotel room…"

"No, you are right, it was my mistake. We have only just met today. And I am decent." When Marceline chanced another glance, she saw a long pink nightgown covering Bonnie from neck to ankle. She was also wearing an embarrassed little smile that was more adorable than it had any right to be.

"You're definitely decent."

"Jingo-jango!"

"Gesundheit?" she re-joked with a slight smirk.

"Free candy!" She practically pounced on the little mint laying on her pillow, unwrapping it and devouring it in mere seconds. "Mmmmhhh… oh, divine!"

The moans of pleasure definitely made Marcy have to clear her throat again. Desire was stirring within her in a way that blindsided her; Bonnie was a girl. One she had met literally that day! Was she losing it?! Sure, she had always known she liked girls as much as boys, but she had never really been serious about one.

"Marcy?"

"SHIT!" she gasped out when she saw those beautiful features only a couple of inches away from her own. It seemed Bonnie's concern had brought her over to the other bed. "I… what? I'm fine, you can go back to getting ready for bed or whatever."

"You are flushed. What if you have a fever, from being out in the cold too long?"

Then the bouncy inventor touched their foreheads together, to check her temperature. Marceline knew that was the reason… yet she still felt her heart speed up, her sweat glands stirring to life.

But she was no shrinking violet. Anti-social, sure, and inexperienced hitting on girls versus guys. But she figured she might as well give it a shot and see what happened.

"You give me fever," she began to sing in a smoky voice. Bonnie's concerned eyes shot wide. "Fever when you kiss me, fever when you hold me tight."

A tiny whispered "What?" fell from small pink lips. And not even the oblivious shut-in could miss the rock star's meaning. "Me?"

After they held each other's gaze for a few more seconds, Marceline burst out with a chuckle and looked away, strumming her bass. "Couldn't resist. You're such a cute little marshmallow, it's too easy."

And that was that. Or so she thought. After she had played a few more notes and glanced up again, expecting that Bonnie would have rushed off to the bathroom by now, she saw she was being studied carefully.

"Sorry. Told you I'm a bitch."

"Why are you sorry? If you meant it… which you did…"

"Who says I did?" she grunted. "Hey-"

"I do," Bonnie told her in even tones as she finished pulling the guitar strap from around Marceline's neck. How could this awkward bean be so bold all of a sudden?! "You are blushing like I am blushing. That means you meant it, doesn't it?"

"No. It means… maybe I was out in the cold too long. Whatever."

Sighing like a patient teacher facing an obstinate student, Bonnie leaned over and took her lips gently. And poor Marcy felt her brain short-circuiting. This girl was going for it! How?! This girl?! Even more shameful was that it took three or four seconds for her to pull back from the kiss, panting and clutching at the bedspread.

"WHAT THE WHAT?!"

"Oh wow," Bonnibel whispered, reaching up to touch her own bottom lip with delicate fingers. "I did that."

"Yeah? Like, what, you're surprised you kissed somebody? That's fucking weird!"

"I am. I have never done it before, I didn't think it would be so easy. But I wasn't afraid like I expected to be, and I enjoyed the feeling."

One single fact kept Marcy from harping on about how bold of an assumption it was to kiss her out of nowhere. "Whoa, hold up. I'm really your first?"

"Yes," she breathed, cheeks warming to match Marceline's as she fidgeted with her fingers.

"That… amazing one you just planted on me was your first kiss?!"

Bonnie raised her eyebrows at her. "Oh, it was good?"

"Dude, I'm practically at full sail down here already!" When the hapless girl didn't seem to have any idea what she meant by that, she clarified, "Yes, it was good!"

"Oh. Then it was a successful experiment! Hooray!" Marceline just gaped at her open-mouthed. "We should do more experiments, I think."

"Yeah? What, you think I'm that easy?" she scoffed, trying to focus on reaching for her bass instead of blushing scarlet. But she barely touched the neck before firm hands were pinning her to the bed. "HEY!"

"You will assist me," the girl she had once mistaken for a marshmallow ordered her with a sly smirk.

Marceline finally understood that she had been hoodwinked. Well, not really; she believed this girl had no experience, but she had made the erroneous assumption that also meant she would be timid. Nope.

"I will? That's pretty interesting, I thought I got to decide that part."

"You do. But I already know you will decide to help me." Her hips started shifting on top of Marceline's, eyes briefly falling shut. "Mmm… mm?"

The rocker looked away, waiting for the backlash. Bracing to be shouted at, or called any number of names. She had been down that road before — most recently with Ash, who had no problem doing that to her but only when he was angry.

"You're a transgender person."

Stunned by the bluntness of the phrasing, she finally looked up to see nothing but surprise in Bonnie's features. No judgment, no disgust. "Um… yeah. Well, we prefer just 'trans'."

"Oh! 'Justrans' then." She shifted a few more times, prompting a little groan from both of them. "This will certainly make the experiment easier; I already know how to work with one of these from anatomy class."

Marcy knew she wasn't trying to be cruel. She could tell. But she still hissed up at her, "Can you like, not act like I'm some kind of sex slave robot? There's a real person with a real blackened soul down here."

With a little gasp, she covered her mouth. "Bloobalooby! I'm sorry, you're right." Her hips rolled again, sending a wave of heat down into the rocker from their point of contact, blinding her with pleasure. "Do you consent to experimenting with me sexually, and taking my virginity?"

Marceline could only sputter. And she almost told her 'no' simply because she was so shocked at the entire situation. But it was beginning to feel way too good. Why? Why did she want to?

"Sure. If you really don't care that I'm some problem you picked up off the side of the road."

"You are perfect." For just a second, Marcy felt a flutter in her stomach from such praise. Then Bonnie elaborated, "I'm comfortable with you, and I can tell that you are an adequate size to give me a wonderful first experience."

"Oh. That kind of 'perfect'. Right."

Genuinely puzzled, she tilted her head and asked, "What other kind is there?"

Instead of answering, Marceline pulled her down for a heated kiss. They kept that up while rolling around on the bed, running their fingers through each other's hair, humming into the contact. By the time they came up for air, she realized her sweater had disappeared.

"Can I see you?"

"Oh, is that going to help with the experiment?" Bonnie lowered her voice. "Am I… sexy?"

"Well, duh," she laughed as she dropped her jeans. But she fell speechless when she saw the shapely pink body coming into view. "I'm… yep. Definitely stand by my statement."

"I think you are sexy as well." But she was saying it shyly, as if stating a secret, rather than in a flirty way. This girl really didn't understand human sexuality but she was trying her best.

Weird but cute. And her face was glowing red like a stoplight… and Marceline liked red things.

They fell into each other with eagerness, kissing all over faces and necks as their bodies combined. Bonnibel was so soft inside, and her skin smelled like flowers. The little gasps and mewlings at the foreign sensations only made Marcy throb harder, willed her hips to begin moving.

Minutes later, she broke yet another kiss to whisper urgently, "I'm… I'm gonna finish, I d-don't have… a condom…"

"I'm on birth control, to regulate my cycle. I will not become pregnant." But she was biting her lip. The sensations had changed how she reacted. "Will you…? Please?"

She would. Moans fell freely from both of them as their bodies shifted faster and faster, until the dam burst and Marceline felt both their bodies convulsing with the proof of their pleasure. It was an instant, it was an eternity. It was everything.

As they lay curled up together, silence reigned for a few minutes. Experiment complete. Neither of the new quite what to say. Until finally Bonnie whispered, "You sang."

"Huh?"

"When you ejaculated. It was like singing." She closed her eyes, a small smile on her lips as her hand drifted up to cover her own heart. "It was so sweet…"

Marceline scoffed, resisting the temptation to roll over and away to protect her own feelings. "N-no way. I don't do 'sweet', you're loopy. Literally fucked your brains out."

"No, my brains are still intact," she teased with a light chuckle as she began to draw little circles on Marcy's pale shoulder. "And you sang. And I am very, very satisfied with your 'axe'."

That prompted a gleeful giggle from both women. "Told you. I slay all day, Bonnie-bae."

                                                      THE END

[writing-anomaly]

Torn

Fandom:  Jojolion

Summary: Yasuho’s life is tearing at the seams. The volatile Rokakaka trade is catching up to them and when Josuke unravels, Yasuho  is pushed to her limit. She’s left more vulnerable than ever as she struggles to protect two men who barely know her.

This a story in which the protected must become the protector.

Chapter 4

"Fuck!"

Josuke fell with a grunt, tasting all the gravel that hadn't lodged itself into the skin of his face, arms, and knees when he fell gracelessly into the bushes.

Following Yasuho had been a snap decision.

His lungs burned, his feet hurt, and his heart was freaking out.

In all honesty, he hadn't planned on leaving the Higashikata estate. But his gut made him go after her, slippers and all. Yasuho's face was seared into his mind.

The hurt in her eyes..

Why wouldn't she tell him what was going on?

He'd fix it no matter what it was.

Why couldn't she just trust him..

Josuke huffed, trying to regain all the oxygen he'd let slip away during his pursuit. He had sprinted with a reckless abandon, causing a ruckus as he almost ran into a bewildered drunkard. The man had wanted a fight, but Josuke hadn't the time.There were more important pursuits he was after.

Yasuho was keeping something from him.

Ignoring the pain, he hoisted himself back onto his feet, looking around to gauge his new surroundings. He stepped out of the bushes of what looked like a small a park and onto the sidewalk. This prefecture was more populated than the suburban area of the estate. The Multi-story buildings told him that he had reached the downtown area at the heart of Morioh. Neon lights blared offensively, bringing attention to a wide variety of shops. More than a few shady characters weaved in and out of questionable establishments with storefront windows displaying whips and an array of strange contraptions.

Oh, no. The bus!

Josuke nearly gave himself whiplash as he searched for where the bus had turned to. Letting his focus slip for a fraction of a second could cost him everything. Sure enough, he saw the rearview lights of the massive vehicle three blocks down from his current position and turning onto what he recognized as the entry ramp of the highway.

"Shit, shit, shit!"

He was prepared to hunt it down regardless. Savoring the last bit of unlabored fresh air he'd have for a while, he spared himself a cat stretch.

Then booked it.

He went on blind dash down the street, not bothering to look for stop lights, straight into the oncoming traffic.

"You stupid fucker!"

The driver of a red corvette expressed his displeasure as he honked his horn, swerving in order to avoid hitting the young man. The car after that stopped abruptly, earning itself a hearty ram from behind, curtesy of the next car.

But none of that mattered.

He was about to lose track of the one person who mattered in his life, aside from his "mother," Holly Kira. The streets were becoming increasingly more crowded than he thought they should be on a Friday night. Much to his irritation, he was forced to weave in and out of crowds of rough-looking night prowlers. The horde of hoodlums became thicker with each step and Josuke found himself having to push his way through, grabbing shoulders and faces alike, just in order to clear a path.

Not good.

At this rate, he'd never catch up to Yasuho. Josuke scowled. A burning Irritation was quickly replacing whatever hope he had to find her.

"Hey, watch it!"

A rough hand snatched the fabric of Josuke's collar, nearly choking him in the process, and he was forced to look into the green eyes of a very aggressive, haggard looking fellow. The large man appeared to be in his forties, with sharp features and an overwhelmingly prominent nose. His flushed face, was as round as the moon, and sparsely covered in what Josuke dared to call a beard. Two, equally unattractive women clung to either one of his arms, scantily covered in leather vests and ripped spandex. Their bodies were practically spilling out of their clothes.

"Listen punk, that was my gal you pushed just now. I don't take kindly to disrespect." The threat, hardly concealed within the man's thick accent. His weathered face contorted into an expression so fowl, the muscles in his forehead formed what appeared to be horns.

Josuke regarded the man with bewilderment. "What's that on your face?"

"The hell you talkin' bout?"

Josuke could feel his nose hairs disintegrate from the hot breath that escaped through the holes in the man's decaying teeth. Faintly, he pointed at the metal piece poking out from either side of the man's nose. Without giving him a chance to reply, Josuke pinched the tips of the silver stud where it rested in the bridge of his nose, and yanked it straight out.

There was a loud crunch followed by a scream as horrid as grinding metal.

The two accompanying females looked on in horror as blood gushed from their lover's face like a faucet.

"Kevin-kun!" The blonde woman shrieked as the brunette fawned over the Gaijin who was holding his face while crying in a fetal position.

"There, there, babe.." She dabbed his face with a napkin she pulled from her cleavage. The injured man paid her no mind, opting to look up at Josuke who was trying to rub the blood off his formerly white shirt.

"Aaaw, man. I just washed this too.."

"You bastard..." he growled in between snorting the blood that continued to leak out of his face.

Curious onlookers had formed a circle by this time, though none moved to intervene. A petty fight was not the outcome Josuke was hoping for when he decided to leave his house. He heard the siren of what he recognized as the police in the distance then decided it would be best to take his exit and avoid a more dramatic scenario.

Josuke scanned the area for a reasonable pathway, taking note of a wisp of pink hair flowing through one of the gaps in the crowd of people.

There was no need for him to push his way through this time, as anyone standing in his path was swift to remove themselves, throwing him wary glances as he wiped a few specs of blood from his porcelain skin.

"Yasu-" He began to yell for all his excitement, then thought against it.

Maybe he shouldn't disturb her.

When he was free from the multitude of people, he glanced at the massive entrance to the building that everyone had been crowded in front of. On the wall was a large poster signifying the concert of a punk rock band. It depicted the severed head of a goat along with snakes, skulls, and roaches crawling along an apple.

It was rather grotesque for his liking.

Shaking his head, Josuke continued to stalk Yasuho quietly from the shadows.

Yasuho climbed the stairway to her apartment with much trepidation.

Her mother had never brought a man home before.

..this was uncharted territory.

She tried to imagine what type of guy her mom would go for.

Rich, was a given.

Growing up, her mother never worked a steady job. Though, somehow the lights never went off and there was always money for food. It wasn't unusual for her to sport designer clothes and mink furs, so whoever she was involved with had to have been loaded..

He was probably an old dude too.

Yasuho imagined a short, little wrinkly dude, fawning over her mom as they shopped for the latest Gucci gear. She was aware of the whole sugar daddy concept, and most of those relations involved buttering up a lonely guy with deep pockets and nothing to loose.

Yasuho hoped her mother wouldn't resort to such.

Upon reaching the final step to her floor, she saw that the walkway was clear, and began to move toward her own abode. There were several wooden doors along the inner wall of the concrete building. Each had their own assigned number mounted in silver.

Unit 708 was the apartment she shared with her mother.

On second thought..

Yasuho took a moment to compose herself.

She stepped to the outer end of the breezeway, readjusting the heavy grocery bag in order to relieve the blood flow in her finger tips, before opting to set it down.

The cool air was exactly what she needed to soothe her nerves.

Leaning against the railing, she gazed upon the Morioh city skyline.

A thousand golden lights danced along the horizon, beautiful enough to rival the stars above. It was a clear night aside from a few sparse clouds that glowed pearlescently in the moonlight. The atmosphere was not quite as peaceful as one would expect to relax in. She could hear the bustling traffic and uninhibited yells of bar patrons beneath her home; an unavoidable cost to living in the affordable, yet sketchy part of the town.

Yet having spent so much time in that environment, Yasuho allowed the roars of the city to lull itself into a hum of ambience within her ears. It was like an auditory haven where she didn't need to process the day to day strife she was force to live.

It was a far cry from Josuke's peaceful abode in the Higashikata estate. He'd been adopted into a family of multimillionaires, and Yasuho was sure he still didn't know just how lucky he was. She, herself, was all too aware that he resided in a part of town she could only dream of being able to afford.

Speaking of which, the guilt of her departure was starting to sink in.

Technically, Yasuho had ditched him when he only wanted to ensure her safety. Josuke was such a gentleman and sweeter than any guy she knew. Yet, when he tried to comfort her, she pushed him away...and she felt so bad for it.

Was she thankful for the swift escape?

Of course, there was no denying it.

Buying the alcohol and spaghetti was not a problem.

Nothing unusual about that. Everybody had to eat. And she was grown enough to have a drink if she wanted it.

...but the condoms..

Yasuho peaked once again in to the plastic bag she held, setting her cheeks ablaze in an instant as she recalled her shopping experience.

She had tried to be as discreet as possible.

Morioh was a sizable town, but word spread around fast and she preferred not being the center of the latest gossip. Thankfully, no one was in the intimate care isle of the corner store so swooping in and snatching the XL pack went without incident. It wasn't until she presented her items to the cashier that the man took the liberty of reading the package label out loud.

With that stupid pervy look on his face..

"Extra large! My, you must be a lively young lady!"

She could've died on the spot.

All the more reason to be thankful that she had left Josuke behind. She couldn't fathom, having to explain to him why she was buying a pack of Trojans.

But still...she wished her mother just hadn't bothered her with the task at all.

With one last sigh she braced herself to face her mother and her mysterious love interest.

"Here we go." She walked up to her door and grabbed the handle.

Suddenly her phone chimed and her navigational stand, Paisley Park spoke up.

"Choose one option." Her stand's mechanical voice piped up

1. Text Josuke or 2. Text Josuke

"You're right." Yasuho happily agreed and typed up her 'apology' text.

Yasuho: I made it home safe.

That didn't seem to be enough.

Yasuho: Miss you already <3

She'd make it up to him later.

Gathering her resolve, she grabbed her bag off the ground, turning toward her apartment. Yasuho had barley touched the handle when the door flung open and she was rewarded with a mouth full of hair.

"Hi Honey!"

Yasuho's mother squeezed her like she was shaking down a bottle of ketchup. The curls of her honey auburn hair glowed like a wild fire in the fluorescent lighting of the foyer.

An array of kisses, assaulted Yasuho's cheeks.

As much as Yasuho'd hate to admit it, the overwhelming display of affection softened her heart. This was the mom she always yearned for. A mom who was sober enough to greet her with a smile; who didn't allow her own thirst for love to dry up any affection she had to give to her own child.

"Hi mom." she replied faintly.

Yasuho felt her body giving in..

..slipping, into her mother's embrace.

And it terrified her.

After they separated, Yasuho was able to get a good look at her mother, Suzuyo Hirose. The cigarette smell she remembered her by, was absent. Her eyes were bright, just like her hair which she had lightened from it's natural dark color. And her slim but curvy figure was clothed in a modest, white, polyester v-neck and a knee-length fuchsia pencil skirt.

It was very..professional..

Was this the same Suzuyo Hirose who gave birth to her?

"Oh! I have a surprise for you! Well, he's waiting in the kitchen.." Suzuyo smiled ecstatically and grabbed her daughter's free hand.

So I was right...there is a guy..

Kicking off her shoes, Yasuho barely registered the chime of a text alert before the door shut behind her and she was pulled deeper into this alternate dimension she called a home. The place was almost unrecognizable. What she had come to know as a landfill was now devoid off all the wear and tear that came with being occupied by a dysfunctional family.

It was clean.

Shiny even.

There were no empty food containers laying around.

The wine stains in the living room carpet had been eradicated.

No broken glass to cut her foot upon.

Yasuho could even see her own confused reflection within the dark wood floors.

Where am I, really?

Part of her was suspicious of a stand attack. This had to be some kind of mind freak, or practical joke. She wouldn't have been surprised if Tsurugi was playing one of his 'Let's trip up Yasuho' games again like he did when he took away her ability to differentiate faces and signs.

An even greater part of her feared that this was legit.

Yasuho's stupor was lifted when she bumped into her mother who had stopped short of the entrance to the kitchen.

"Mom, what's wrong?"

Her mother was trembling.

Suzuyo swiftly turned to face her. The faint crinkles above her rosy cheeks framed her glossy chestnut eyes. She squeezed Yasuho's hand, coming close to whisper in her ear.

"I feel like we're about to start a new chapter. I know I haven't been the perfect mother, but, just know that I love you and I want things to be better between us."

Yasuho nodded mechanically.

It felt like the right thing to do. Whomever this love interest was, had to be really important to her mother. Slowly, Yasuho brought her hands around the older woman and hugged her, resting her head on the crook of her neck. If she had truly found her happiness, then Yasuho would do her best to support her.

For now, she'd reserve her judgment.

Yasuho moved break the embrace, but found herself tangled within not one, but two sets of arms.

"You're just as lovely as your mother." The unfamiliar voice was deep and oddly rhythmic like the bass of a drum.

A tall figure overshadowed her mom from behind.

Yasuho's body tensed.

Omg, he's touching me!

"Kaito, I thought I told you to wait in the kitchen!" Suzuyo giggled, releasing Yasuho to grab ahold of her lover's arms from where they were wrapped around them.

"Sorry dear, sensed all the good vibes coming from the hallway and I couldn't help myself." The man, Kaito, was grinning wide as a Jack-o-lantern. He was a clean cut man, with a perfectly symmetrical face. His hulking frame was moderately built and draped in a perfectly tailored, emerald dress shirt that his ripped jeans rebelled against. Dark hair and brows accentuated his tanned skin, creating a stunning contrast to the platinum eyes in which the light seemed to dance.

Suzuyo playfully booty-bumped him, causing the man to hunch forward reflexively as he stumbled back a step.

He grabbed his crotch and faintly mouthed the word "Ouch."

Yasuho stood in silence, watching the playful interaction unfold.

"Sorry dear, let me introduce you properly."

Suzuyo Hirose bit her lip, eyes alight with a spark she hadn't seen since their family was in one piece.

The love doves shared a knowing expression then faced Yasuho together with the widest smiles on their face. They both presented their left hands to Yasuho, but it was her mother who continued to speak.

"I'd like you to meet your new father."

To be continued...

[randomfandomimagine]

Flowers (Arthur Pendragon x Reader)

Characters: Arthur Pendragon, Merlin Emrys

Fandom: BBC Merlin

Tags: Marriage proposal, love confessions, fluff and angst

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,4k words

Requested by anon: Hi dear I hope you are doing well would you be willing to write a ficlet for Arthur pendragon x reader were hes getting ready to purposes but reader is worried he wants to break up or something because he is being pretty secretive and if merlin could be in there to that would be wonderful i hope this is keeping to your rules if not sorry anyway please and thank you 

Arthur Pendragon x Gender Neutral Reader

_

The castle was swarming with people, and yet it felt empty somehow. Your footsteps echoed around the hallways, only increasing the feeling of loneliness. Everyone was behaving strangely lately, although you thought that perhaps they were only busy. It did feel like something was happening that you had no knowledge of.

A familiar figure appeared before you, and your heart skipped a beat at the sight of his him. He didn’t glance at you, yet you didn’t know if it was because he had not noticed you or if he was pretending not to.

“Arthur!” You called him as your paths crossed and you stopped before each other. “Arthur, dear”

“Not now, Y/N” He briefly replied, not bothering to even look at you still.

“But…” You held on to his arm, feeling the cold touch of his metal armguards spreading through your body and freezing your heart. “I just want to talk to you”

“I have somewhere to be” Arthur replied, continuing to walk like you weren’t there. Your fingers slipped off his arm as he did, leaving you holding on to nothing. An empty void joined the coldness of your heart.

Not knowing what else to do, you just stood there in the middle of the hallway, watching how he walked away. Arthur didn’t turn around nor glanced at you over his shoulder. Not even once.

You sighed, restless as you thought of a way to end your strife. What was the matter with him? For quite a while now you had been together, inseparable, but now… Arthur seemed to avoid you, he was distant and impatient. Perhaps he didn’t want to be with you any longer, perhaps he had grown tired of the relationship.

The sound of footsteps claimed your attention, and you smiled hopefully as you lifted your gaze. It must be Arthur, who realized his ill manners and had returned to apologize, surely! On the contrary, you saw someone else hurrying along the hallway.

“Merlin!” You called, mentally begging for him to pay attention to you. Fortunately, your friend stopped in his tracks and smiled at you. It was a warm gesture, familiar and comforting. It seemed that he had nothing against you, unlike everyone else.

“Yes?” He asked, looking you up and down. “Is something the matter, Y/N?”

“I…” You frowned, overwhelmed by a sudden urge to cry. Noticing this, Merlin put a hand on your arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. This encouraged you enough to continue speaking. “I fear Arthur is mad at me”

“Arthur?” Your friend chuckled, letting go of you. “That’s silly, Y/N. You know Arthur adores you”

As he spoke, Merlin averted his gaze. Watching him intently, you realized he was pursing his lips as though he was trying to keep quiet. You knew him enough to realize he kept something from you, as you had imagined.

“He is upset with me, isn’t he?” You sighed, wringing your hands in concern. “What is happening, Merlin? And why won’t anybody tell me?”

“I…” He cautiously returned your gaze. His eyes shone with empathy. “I can’t tell you”

“He will break up with me” You stated, more convinced by the second.

“No, I promise! You… he…” Merlin clicked his tongue, suddenly quite agitated. “I can’t tell you, Y/N, I’m sorry!”

“Have I done something wrong?”

“No” He paused to urgently take your hands in his. “You have nothing to worry about”

“But-“ You started, growing quiet when he vehemently shook his head.

“Trust me, Y/N” Merlin dedicated you a sweet smile. “Arthur loves you, and everything will make sense soon”

His eyes lingered on yours, silently asking you if you were okay and if you had understood what he was trying to tell you, if you believed him. The answer to all of those was no. You didn’t understand what was happening, and you were too hurt by Arthur’s demeanor to believe Merlin’s words of comfort. Nonetheless, you nodded your head.

“I must go” Merlin resolved, squeezing your hands one last time before letting go of them. “Be patient, he will come back to you”

There was this gentleness in his voice that meant to comfort you, just like the softness in his gaze. You nodded again, causing him to smile at you again before walking away.

Once more, you were left standing there alone as they left you behind. You resolved to return to your hiding place and walked inside your chambers again. They were too big for you, and Arthur only visited them during the night, although you were asleep by the time he arrived and lied down with you. As you lingered on your restless slumber, he held you tight every night and sighed at the wonderful feeling of you between his arms. You weren’t aware of this. Otherwise you wouldn’t be so worried over the situation, over your fear that Arthur had stopped loving you, because he loved you more than ever.

Unbeknownst to this, you absently paced up and down the room. You stared at the vase before you, delicately caressing the fragile petals. You remembered the day Arthur gifted you those flowers. Or rather, when he made Merlin bring them to you. You feared those days were over, in which you and Merlin joked about Arthur’s sappiness and his never ending gifts and affections directed at you. You feared that Arthur had grown tired of you, and you would wither like those flowers without their nurturing.

_

After quite a restless night, the sun had finally come out. The darkness ended, yielding to the light of dawn. Unable to fall back asleep, you feebly lay in bed. Negative thoughts plagued your mind, as well as that craving sensation that haunted you. Your hand fell over the side of the bed, there where Arthur was supposed to be laying with you. It was cold and empty. Had he visited your shared chambers at all last night?

You were startled when a knock suddenly came on the door. Quickly sitting up, you hurried to make yourself decent by clumsily combing your hair with your hands.

“Yes?” You asked, nervously reaching out for the hand mirror on your bedside table.

“It’s Merlin” Came his voice from the other side. “May I come in?”

You frowned, finding it unusual that he was so polite. As much as he was a servant, Merlin was your friend and often took some liberties. It was rare for him to knock at all.

“Of course” You muttered when you confirmed in your reflection that your appearance was good enough. Slowly, the door opened to reveal his smiling face. He peeked inside, looked behind him, and then came in.

“What’s the matter?” You asked him, wondering why he behaved so strangely.

“Someone wants me to deliver these to you” Merlin’s grin lingered, and it only grew wider as he revealed the big bouquet of flowers he concealed behind his back.

“Merlin!” You exclaimed in awe, taking them from him and admiring them in your hands. There were flowers of all colors, all of them producing a pleasant scent to accompany the beautiful sight they were. “Who sends them?”

Exchanging a glance with him, you had a growing suspicion. Butterflies erupted in your stomach at the thought, and they only increased when your friend looked behind him.

“Y/N is wide awake” He was saying to whoever hid behind the door. “You can come in now”

At the sight of a tall blond man, you tried to hide your excitement. Arthur had become so distant that your familiarity turned to hesitance and forced closeness. Nonetheless, as he stood there you couldn’t even be mad at him. Despite his broad complexion and high stature, he appeared incredibly vulnerable as he timidly averted his beautiful blue eyes.

“Arthur?” You whispered, nearly afraid to scare him away.

“I’m sorry, Y/N” He started, daring to look up into your eyes. “I know I haven’t been the best partner these last few days”

“Y-You were busy” You chuckled, trying to pretend like it didn’t hurt you. “Camelot needs you as much as I do”

“Perhaps, but that wasn’t the reason” Arthur took a cautious step forward. “I will never be too busy for you”

“Then why…?” You uttered, growing more confused by the second.

“I should go” Merlin suddenly mumbled, nervously stepping away, only to be stopped.

“Merlin, don’t leave me” Arthur begged him between grit teeth. Something was definitely the matter for him to require Merlin’s presence. What was he about to tell you that he needed his closest friend’s moral support?

“Arthur, you’re scaring me” The flowers shook in your hands. When you locked eyes with him, you were astonished to see no concern or sadness in them, only fondness. “What happened?”

What could excuse this behavior from both of them? What could possibly be occurring for him to be rendered in such a timid, timorous yet smitten state? It made absolutely no sense.

“I realized something” Arthur continued walking towards you until he was right before you. Then, he took the bouquet from your hands and absently handed it to Merlin. “Something that changed everything forever”

You helplessly glanced at Merlin, watching how he replaced the old withered bouquet of flowers with the new lively and colorful one. He was pressing his lips together and making a great effort not to watch you and intrude in that intimate moment.

“W-What is it?” You uttered as your gaze returned to your lover.

“I realized I am hopelessly lost in love with you” Arthur smiled, and despite it all you noticed the nervous twitch in his lips. “And how wonderful you are… and that I want to spend the rest of my life with you”

“What…?”

“Y/N…” One of your hands flew to your mouth when you saw Arthur sinking one knee on the floor and adoringly peering up at you. “Will you marry me?”

“What?!” You exclaimed, ignoring the badly contained noise of Merlin snickering next to you. “Is that what you were hiding from me?”

“Um…” Arthur, still kneeling down, froze for a moment. “Yes, I wanted to surprise you”

“I told you it was a bad idea to distance yourself…” Merlin said under his breath.

“Shut up, Merlin” The other one replied, soon after focusing his attention back on you. “For weeks I thought about the best way of proposing and yet… none of them seemed good enough for you, so… I decided to improvise”

You were left speechless by this discovery. When Arthur tenderly squeezed your hand, it dawned on you. You finally realized what was happening. Arthur had just asked you to marry him, he was proposing to you! That was what he was hiding!

“You scared me so badly” Suddenly overcome with emotion, you felt tears welling up in your eyes. “I thought you didn’t love me anymore”

“Forgive me, my love… That was never my intention” Arthur said from below. “Believe me when I say I could never stop loving you. I will make it up to you, I promise”

“Uh... Y/N…” Merlin whispered, calling attention to his long forgotten presence once more. “You haven’t given him an answer yet”

“Oh!” You exclaimed, startled by the realization. You had started shaking from head to toe at some point. In your mind, you were screaming at yourself to say ‘yes’ but you only gawked at him. You couldn’t utter even that simple word.

“Y/N” Arthur tried again, nearly making you swoon by the way in which he lovingly gazed at you, like his kingdom wasn’t even as precious to him as you were. “Will you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?”

A sob struck you, making it impossible to talk. You only stared at him, embracing the warmth of his hand against yours and just then seeing the beautiful ring he held up to you.

Moving sneakily, Merlin nudged you in the ribs. That gave you the encouragement you needed to reply once and for all. Unable to speak as you cried tears of joy, you decided to energetically nod your head instead.

Arthur heaved a big sigh, as he had been seemingly holding his breath all this time. His smile was almost blinding as he cheerfully jumped to his feet and slipped the ring around your finger. It was quite a hard task, as you were still shaking, though he only laughed a little about it. After all, his fingers felt clumsy too.

“I love you” He said, tenderly cradling your face into his hands and kissing you on the lips.

“I love you too…” You managed to say between sobs, hiding your head in his shoulder as you recovered from the many emotions that overwhelmed you.

As he tightly held you in his arms, Arthur laughed out of sheer happiness. You clutched on to his white tunic, starting to laugh a little yourself as you ran out of joyful tears. He placed a hand on the back of your head and sweetly kissed your temple.

“It didn’t quite go as I expected” Merlin joined your laughter too, although his sounded more amused than moved by emotion. “It was a disaster, honestly”

“You’re not helping, Merlin” Arthur told his friend. “Why are you laughing?”

“You should have seen your faces” Your friend laughed, pointing at both of you.

Arthur rolled his eyes, exasperated by his manservant as usual. It pulled a smile out of you, calming your racing heart as everything returned to normal.

“I thought you were worried about Y/N’s answer” He told him, but Merlin shook his head.

“I wasn’t, I knew Y/N would say yes” Merlin shrugged a little. “You’re made for each other”

Arthur left behind his joking reprimanding and vexed tone and acquired a more genuine one as he smiled at Merlin.

“Thank you, old friend” Soon, however, the gesture became mischievous. “But you have a lot to do now. You must help Y/N plan the wedding: the flowers, the food, the guests…”

Merlin sent you a look, one that screamed ‘help me’. You laughed, feeling how your nerves faded away completely and the excitement and glee settled. Arthur continued listing the things that Merlin needed to do for the wedding, and you only laughed more and clung on to him as he teased his friend.

Your eyes were directed towards the fresh bouquet adorning your vase. Red, yellow, pink, violet, orange, blue…  all the color that stained the petals seemed to seep into your life, transforming the dull black and white existence that you had been trapped in during all those long days into a rainbow of euphoria that foresaw happy days and loving moments.

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[twitchesandstitches]

I have an idea for two new factions to play parts as antagonists, but I need suggestions since I’m sort of operating a bit outside my usual series and I don’t want them to become like super over-saturated with just a few specific series.

Opening up suggestions for characters for two other factions, and I really would appreciate it if you send in suggestions ASAP!

First group is the Ringers, a warlike faction that’s intended to be a lot more morally darker than the Cobalts and serve as ideological opponents to the fleet, though they have some ulterior motives that make what they do reasonable, if not sympathetic at all. Their goal is to plunge the multiverse into endless war and conflict, in a fashion similar to Talon from Overwatch; they believe that warfare and conflict force people to evolve and become better people, and also seem to know something about an upcoming disaster or terrible shift in the multiverse that will make it necessary for people to be hardened in order to survive it.

Their overall themes include: Conflict Is Good, War as desirable or natural (with possible social darwinism), the craving of bloodshed and warfare in general, frowning upon idealism and notions of honor, building character through strife, and in terms of moral alignment, being a lighter shade of black; they’re not pure evil (for the most part, and those that are may be tolerated) and they’re better than the uncertain forces they have foreseen, but to those affected by their rampages and plots, but not by much.

Generally they go about stirring up conflict or engaging others in massive battles, attempting to attack people and force them to build alliances or exaggerate rivalries, and are usually plotting to find some relic or secret to do the one thing to make everyone start fighting.

Alternatively, they may be out to conquer the multiverse, or much of it as they can, in order to safeguard it from this unknown threat, and have a mentality that only they have the authority to do so and the will to do it. They may also have different sub-factions with different views, but in the end it comes down to the same methods.

I have some characters in mind, and may switch around others from various factions if they might fit better here, but i mainly need more Big Lady characters. Generally I would appreciate suggestions from some of the following fandoms: Marvel, Disney, DC, RPG-style games I can update for the setting, but I’m good for stuff I’m not familiar with. Just suggest whoever and I’ll see if they fit!

Some possible characters for this group of endless battle: Javik from Mass Effect, with elements of Doomfist from Overwatch (giant gauntlet that amplifies powers, the same motive, and goals). Azula from the Avatarverse, in full Evil Overlord lady mode, and perhaps Kuvira from Legend of Korra as a more straightforward warlord queen?

Airachnid from Transformers Prime, with characteristics of her IDW incarnation; less sadistic and more experiment-minded, and interested in psychological experiments on a vast scale. Also the Combaticons, all female here, as rough and tough soldiers that are like anti-Dinobots.

Maleficent from Disney, playing up her fae aspects to the full; she may have little interest in the actual purpose behind a multiverse of endless war, but is going with it for her own plans or amusement. Depends on how the Disney stuff interacts with this? She might be a dark goddess of magic backing them, too

The Condesce/Meenah Peixes, from Homestuck. In this continuity she was originally doing her endless war against all the multiverse in an attempt to build a homeland for the trolls, after their lost their homeworld of Beforus. After eons of endless war, she’s become incredibly bloodthirsty and perhaps a little addicted to slaughter, and may be losing track of her original goal in favor of slaking her bloodlust. (Alternatively, I may choose to put her into a criminal organization as part of the Midnight Crew and other groups that are criminals but not, y’know, total bastards. Depends on whether I want to play up her canon traits, or soften them.)

Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka from Warhammer 40k: he’s the embodiment of ‘orcs as warlike brutes’, how could i not?? Maybe a girl version for Ork Amazon fun?

Yellow Diamond: I previously implied that she, White and Blue were captives of Megatron and mere jewelery for him, but I might have it that she has become freed and joined up with these guys, embittered and coming to believe in their cause, desperate as she is to save her people.

Hel from Marvel, but with more traits of her mythical inspiration (perhaps she shifts between two extremes, one cold but fair, the other rather playfully malicious and hungry for death), acting as a divine backer for them?

General demony characters associated with battle and warfare: no specifics here at the moment, but characters that fit this motif would be good

In general, blood knight-types, femme fatales that can be read as warriors, and anyone that has a big character emphasis on strength would fit well here!

The second faction is a variant on the Suicide Squad/TAsk Force X from DC; an elite group of agents working on behalf of mysterious benefactors. Their true numbers are in the millions, but this refers specifically to a squad that is a recurring set of characters. They are not normally antagonistic, though their goals may bring them into conflict with the Fleet, and certainly they don't like the militant guys up there and the Cobalts fight with them….. A Lot.

This task force consists exclusively of anti-heroes, reformed villains, and characters who were once straight up pure bad but have since reformed. They are people looking for a chance to find a new life, atone for their misdeeds, or simply are looking for a better cause and were never bad to begin with.

They are run by Amanda Waller of DC, who may either be part of, or answer to, a governing assembly of big multiversal figures trying to bring some stability to the cosmos. They might also have divine backing; some of their agents are people who are definitely dead, but are still looking for a second chance.

Some possible members:

Reaper/Gabriel Reyes from Overwatch, playing up both his ghostly qualities and the idea that he is a double agent. Most likely the leader and role model for them, and is a straight up ‘anti hero that kills bad guys who deserve it’ character here, rather than the vengeful wraith he is in canon at present.

Blue Diamond: Assuming that its the same case with Yellow, she’s come to regret what she has enabled over the eons and come to conclude that Pink/Rose Quartz had been right all along. Note that her true form is likely planet-sized here. A good chunk of her loyal gems may attend as the squad’s brute muscle.

Shockwave: From Cybertron, mostly using his IDW characterization. Specifically, this is Senator Shockwave. Once this famously cold, heartless and logical ‘Con was a hopeful idealist until the corrupt leaders of his homeworld took his face, his hands, and his ability to feel anything but cold logic. Following recent events, though, his mind has been freed, and he is in shock at millions of years of horrifying cruelty, and he would like nothing better than tho put his scientific acumen to work helping the multiverse.

Bucky Barnes/The White Wolf: He’s Wallers’ attendant, representative in the squad, and something of a political officer, muddled by his tendency to be everyone’s obnoxious brother.

Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy: A two-for-one deal, both of them usually giant ladies or even a full on fusion, and their canon tendency to become better people by being around each other has blossomed into full on attempts to go Good. Harley’s actual job is to be an on-team psychiatrist, while Ivy has transformed into a full on plant monster lady who sees it as her job to restore devastated worlds to full health again.

Lust, from Fullmetal Alchemist. Honestly undecided if she belongs here or with the warmonger faction; either way, she is mostly akin to the canon Lust from the manga and Brotherhood, but with the motivations of her first anime counterpart. Big, busty and largely embodying bloodlust, she has somehow incorporated most of her fellow homunculi and gained their powers, most obviously Pride and Gluttony, becoming absolutely ravenous and death to all that face her, and she is called in to devour entire planets and absorb their souls if there is no other way to save them from otherwise certain doom. They can then be extracted from her and given new bodies at some later date.

Giganta, from DC. Drawing on the more benign or ‘hey, being a baddie is just a job, y’know?’ takes of her. With a bit of the friendly valley girl vibes she had in the DCU!

Slade Wilson/Deathstroke and DEadpool: Considered as one unit here because this version of Deadpool is a flawed clone of Slade, who was a highly skilled super soldier for hire. The squad dealt with Deadpool’s frustrated actions his makers forced him to do, and subsequently recruited both Slade and Deadpool into their ranks, with the latter being treated as an obnoxious little brother to Slade. This Slade is heavily based on his Arrowverse actor, and Deadpool looks like a melted version thereof.

Any additional characters are, again, highly encouraged! Generally I’m looking for characters who were anti-heroes or reluctant villains at best (think Mr. Freeze types; ones that felt they had no choice and they made you REAl SAD) or you could see them regretting what they did and wanting to atone for it.

Generally speaking, these guys aren’t antagonists except in the most genuine sense; they might have opposing goals to the fleet, but they are more likely allies than not. Occasionally their purposes might run counter and a fight starts, and they should ideally be so skilled as to pose a serious threat to even the most extreme numbers.

I’m rather lacking in Sexy Lady-Types for this faction, so I especially welcome suggestions on that score. Send ‘em in, please!

[albedosoyna]

46! Let's get a sneak peek at Soy's fic workshop! ^^

Well, here is a chapter of unpublished story.  This is FFVII

Tease:  RevivalConversations

Fandom:  FFVIICharacters:  Reno, Rod, Cloud (and mentions of others)Rating:  M  Content:  Unrequented love.Pairing:  Onsided Reno and Cloud.—-

Rod was nervously tapping his hands against the steeringwheel of the car and staring out the windshield, and not being a very good lookout.   Reno jumped in the air-conditionedcar and hit Rod in the side with his EMR.

“The fuck ya doin’? Quit lookin’ at the babes!   Yaare supposed ta be watchin’ my back when I did the drop.”  Reno poked Rod again as he tossed thebriefcase in the back seat.  Rod yelpedand he gripped his side.

“I’m not looking at chicks!” Rod quickly defended.  “I’m looking at that nice bike overthere.  I was contemplating taking it fora ride.”

Reno rolled his eyes as he adjusted the package in theback seat.  Rod was known for hisinfatuation with motorbikes.  It was howhe got into Shin-Ra, and he still had issues with going for joyrides on bikesthat caused him to drool.  Reno got thepleasure of knocking some sense into Rod before Tseng asked him to join up.

“It’s so sweet,” Rod crooned and chewed his lip, “Allthat black and gold.  I bet it has anitro switch.  The engine on that issurely custom and it can drive backwards as fast as it can drive forwards.  Oh man, look at the curves on that bumper.”  Rod made a groan that made Reno slap theyounger man in the back of the head.

“You own twenty bikes already, ya moron,” Reno said as hecrawled into the front seat and looked to where Rod was looking.  The bike was really familiar, even at thisdistance.  It was sitting in front of abookstore, and he could see the back end of it. It looked highly customized from what he could see.  It probably belonged to some rich kid thathad too much time on his hands.

“Can never have enough bikes, man,” Rod exclaimed.  “Can you go talk to the guy and convince himto let me ride it so I don’t have to borrowit?”

“Quit being a moron. Why would ya think that I can talk to him and convince him to let youride it, yo?” Reno said as he sank into his seat.  He was enjoying the feel of the airconditioning on his hot skin.  There weredays that he wished that he didn’t have to wear the suit, especially in themiddle of a heat wave.

“Well, it’s that Strife dude’s bike, right?  You know him from way back, right?  So you can talk to him and convince him tolet me drive it around the block a couple times.”  Rod hands were wringing the steering wheeland he was leaning forward in the driver’s seat.  “Dude, I bet that ride goes real fast.”

~Cloud~

Focusing on the bike, he saw Cloud walking out of abuilding with a clipboard in his hand. The red head’s heart skipped a few beats at the sight of the blondman.  Swallowing hard and leaning forwardhe examined how wonderful he looked as he absently leaned against his bike.

He had not seen Cloud since that day on the bridge whenhe had zoomed past him on that high-tech bike that the blond was now leaningagainst.  He looked great.  Cloud was wearing his usual bike gear; looseleather pants and belts, his sweater vest that was unzipped and showed hischest and bare arms, a pair of sunglasses pushed up into his soft-looking blondspikes.  Those amazing bright blue eyeswere focused on the paper that was in his hand. Reno could hardly breathe as he watched him stretch, stuff the clipboardin a compartment on the back of the bike and gracefully straddle themachine.  His graceful, lean body twistedand reached forward toward the handles. The leather pants stretched with him, and it showed Reno a well-defined bottomthat was the definition of perfection. He continued to watch as Cloud moved back on the seat before pulling hisphone out of his pocket.  He talked towhoever was on the other end and smiled.

Reno missed that damn beautiful smile.  It was gorgeous and made him miss Cloud allthe more.  The blond ran his gloved handthrough his hair and looked at the sky for a moment as he continued to talk onthe phone.  The redhead wondered what hewas saying and who he was talking to.  Itwas nice to see him looking relaxed as he leaned back on the motorcycle as ifhe was a model posing for a biker magazine.

Cloud was never one to realize how he looked to otherpeople.   He was oblivious as always tothe looks from the women who walked by him, nearly causing one to walk into apole when he stretched his back and continued to talk into the phone.  There were even a few guys who were givinghim appreciative looks.  He was a hero,through and through, like how Reno knew that he was going to become, even wayback then.  

The blond led the group that saved the world; he was areluctant hero, but still a hero.  Renolet out a sigh as the blond tilted his head as the clipboard appeared in hishand again and he began writing things down. There was still a wonderful smile upon his face.

“Hello!”  Fingerssnapped in front of his face, forcing him to focus back on the person that wasin the car with him.  He frowned andpushed at Rod.

“What the fuck is that about, yo?” Reno snapped.

“You went into la-la land, dude,” Rod said with achuckle.  “What?  Do you have the hots for him or something?”

Reno glared at him. “Shut up, ya dork.”  He lookedback over to Cloud, who was taking a new position on his bike as he was puttinghis sunglasses over his eyes.

Cloud was leaning over, checking something inside in oneof the compartments.   There was nothingwrong with that pose at all.  The blond’sshirt pulled up slightly, and a slip of his skin could be seen as well as the pullof his lean and strong muscle that was normally hidden from view as the shirttightened.

“You have it bad, man.”

Glaring at Rod, he thought about sparking the EMR intohis side.  Rod was really pissing himoff, and it would be worth a couple of night shifts, but he didn’t want to blowthe car’s starter.  “Drop it, dweeb.”

“Sure, whatever,” Rod said with a chuckle as he leanedback in the seat.  “So, did the job gowell?”

Reno nodded.  “Yawould’ve known if ya had been payin’ attention like ya were supposed to.  Were ya even listenin’ to me, rookie?”

“I’m not a rookie anymore, Reno.”  Rod ran his hands through his hair and laidhis head against the back of the seat. “I know what I’m doing, dude. Those guys were bit players, and they weren’t going to cause you anyproblems.  You knew that.  You didn’t need to bring me along to beginwith.”

Reno wanted to do this job alone, but he wasn’t given achoice of the matter, being still on light duty and all.  Tseng didn’t want him to be without a partnerof any sort on any mission — low risk or not — until the boss-man decided thathe was cleared for duty.  He wasn’tcertain what that meant and when he asked the old stick-in-the-mud Wutaian hadsaid it meant what it meant.

Normally, he would be on duty with Rude, but he wasn’t onany mission that was far from Costa Del Sol at the moment, as Cissnei was aboutto pop any day now.  He hoped that thekid would hurry up and crawl out of her already.  She was super bitchy about how swollen herbelly, ankles, wrists were, and complained about the heat in the house — evenwith the air-conditioning on full blast.  Also, there was the matter of her clothing and food choices; oversizedgrey sweatpants, and noodles mixed with pickles would be things that he couldwish he could forget.

Having a screaming baby around the house was not his ideaof a wonderful situation, but it would be better than dealing with a whiny,grumpy Turk that had access to a gun, who also knew how to use martial arts andthrow a knife.

“Yeah, yeah.  Easyas pie, yo, but ya should still do your job, dipstick.”  Reno looked over to see Cloud stretching andwalking away from his bike and heading toward a restaurant with one hand hookedin a pocket and the other hand swinging lazily at his side.

The name of the pub that Cloud disappeared into wascalled, ‘Goblin’s Shadow’.  Reno’s mindwas a swirl of thoughts of the past.  Allhis happy moments that they had together were mixed with the grief of havingTseng tell him that they had both died on the mission back to Nibelheim.  The brief moment of hope quickly disappearedwhen he heard they were alive and tried to find them, to find the remains ofZack on a cliff’s edge.   At that moment,he had been more concerned about the asshole that had stolen Zack’s sword.

He didn’t expect to see Cloud at the church, talking tothe flower girl in the slums.  He waseven more stunned to see him holding Zack’s sword as he defended her.

Cloud was different than when he last saw him, but it wasstill him.  He stood strong and in afighting stance with Zack’s sword drawn to protect the woman behind him.  When Reno asked the question if he knew hewas, trying to be confident as he bounced the EMR on his shoulder.  He didn’t expect the harsh answer to rip hisheart out.  It hurt like hell.  The lack of recognition in his former lover’sbright SOLDIER-like eyes and the coldness in his tone that made him feel likehe had lost the people he loved all over again.

It was pain that he had to push back and lock away so hecould continue on and do his job.  He hadto get Aerith and bring her back to the fold of Shin-Ra.  There was also a slim hope that he couldbring back Cloud and make him remember who he was and … what they had oncebeen.

Things did not turn out like they had planned throughoutthe whole adventure.

He was over-thinking of a way to talk to Cloud, and woundup drowning his sorrows in booze and bad company.  Having tried to show Cloud he wasn’t that badof a guy in Wutai, and let him walk when they were in the bar.  He knew he was acting like a jerk to them allas they rescued Elena and Yuffie from the clutches of the Don.  Sake and sorrow did not mix well and hardlyset him in a good light in this version of Cloud.

There was a small moment between them when he could havesworn that Cloud gave him a look, and almost a smile, but it was brief and toolittle for anything else to happen.  Itwas disappointing when the reluctant hero went on his own way, back on hisquest to save the world, and Reno had to go back on his, which was to stopthem.   He was Reno the Turk, and he hadto move on and do his job.

Now, he was sober and everything was different than backthen.  There was a slim chance that hecould be something more again; it was slim because the blond still didn’tremember him.  If he had a chance, hewould show Cloud that he was more than a jackass Turk, and that he could be theman that he was when they were together … when they were happy together.  They could talk about things that didn’tinvolve saving the world, swords, guns, or explosions, but maybe on how theyboth had moved forward.  He also wonderedwhy the hell Cloud was a delivery boy and not taking up Reeve on the job offersthat were constantly thrown at him.

For once, he was going to take Rude’s advice and try totalk to him.  Cloud didn’t need to joinShin-Ra or the WRO for them to talk to each other, or hopefully have arelationship.

It would not be the same as it was before, and he shouldnot expect that and had to put that aside The silly councillor had told him that as well as pretty much everyoneelse that he had talked too.   Rude evenmade him admit that his counselor who was helping him at one point.  It had helped to have someone that wasn’tgoing to judge him when he talked about something.

~They could startover~

It was risky and there was a pretty big chance that Cloudmay never remember that part of his life, as it may have been so far repressedto keep himself from going mad and losing his mind.  But it was a chance Reno was willing to take… for a chance to have a bit of happiness that he had before.

Reno straightened his jacket and took a quick look in thevisor mirror to make sure that he was presentable.  Cissnei was in her nesting phase and wasfuriously ironing everything in the house, and that included all his shirts,suits and socks.

He had never looked better as a Turk since she starteddoing his laundry.  The meeting he hadjust finished hadn’t wilted him and he figured that it was like a sign thatthis was the day that his life was going to change.

Hopefully.

“I’m gonna go talk ta Cloud,” Reno said abruptly as heworked on the cuffs of his jacket.  Hefrantically tried to think about what he was going to say to him.  How was he going to approach him?  How was he going to break the ice?

“Really!?”  Rodsaid and bounced in his seat.  “Do youthink he would let me ride his bike?”

Reno glared at him. “He’s not gonna let ya touch his bike, jerk wad.  Take the briefcase back to Tseng.  I’ll take a ferry back to Costa bymyself.  I got some other things to talkto Cloud ‘bout, yo.”

“What?”  Rod had adisappointed look on his face and frowned. “No way.  I’m not supposed toleave you alone, dude.”

“I’m a grown man, yo. I can go talk to Cloud without a babysitter,” Reno said as he opened thedoor, and Rod reached over to grab his arm. “Fuck, Rod.  I’m not gonna doanythin’ stupid.”

“Tseng will have my ass,” Rod whined.  “This is your transfer.  I’m just supposed to be the driver.”

Reno leaned back in the seat.  “This is somethin’ that I’ve been puttin’ offfor a long time, yo.  Take the caseback.  Cloud’ll most likely kick my assoutta there in no time, so I’ll meet ya there if that’s the case.”

Rod looked unsure; Reno was certain that there were amillion ideas rushing around in his head. “Ya won’t be blamed for anythin’. Just finish the job.  This issomethin’ I gotta do, yo.”

“If I get shit from either Rude or Tseng for leaving you,you’re going to owe me, dude,” Rod said as he rubbed his hands together.  “Big time. Rude threw me in the ocean last time I pissed him off, and I didn’t meanto break his sunglasses.  Tseng just canmake my life miserable.”

“It’ll be fine,” Reno said as he stepped out of the car,closed the door with a firm thump and started to walk towards the pub thatCloud walked into.

His heart was beating frantically, his mouth dry, hisstomach knotted up, and he felt like he had a fever, but this was his chanceand he had to take it.  He had to forcesome calming breaths so that he wouldn’t make a total fool of himself.  It was a make-or-break moment and he reallyhad no idea how he was going to approach him.

Standing before the entrance to the bar, he pulled outhis phone and looked at an old picture that he cherished.  It was one where Cloud was sitting betweenhimself and Zack in the mess hall.  Itwas before they had all been together. Cloud had just put them all in their place, and Cloud’s friend —John—had just taken the picture of them.  Hehad to confiscate the phone to get a copy of it, and he made sure he had backupcopies so that it would never be lost.

~couldn’t bearlosing all those pictures~

It was one of his favorites.

Taking a cleansing, deep breath he put his phone back inhis pocket, and put his hands and walked into the bar.

[emilyplaysotome]

Down the Voltage Rabbit Hole - The Sequel

Last year, to get out of my creative funk I wrote something just for fun that turned into a 50 chapter Voltage Crossover Extravaganza called Down the Voltage Rabbit Hole (read all the chapters here).

When I ended it, I left the door open for a sequel but I have been far too busy to even attempt to write anything. Well...I finished a massive project in my IRL life, and find myself where I was last year - creatively burned out and wanting to write something just for fun that I don’t have to stress about or overthink.

If you loved the original and don’t want to tarnish the ending by reading or if you’ve moved away for the fandom, just let me know and I’ll untag you. It’s very doubtful that I’ll find time to post the way I once did, but I’m hoping to try and do a post once a week or once every other week (and don’t be mad if I can’t stick to that!).

This story goes out to anyone who has ever been confused about their feelings...

Chapter 1 - Trouble in Paradise

I had figured that after a month of experiencing New York City in the real world, that the otome men I’d trapped here would have collectively realized that I was nothing special. After all, the women who live in New York City manage to be beautiful, smart, and witty in a seemingly effortless way as they go about navigating one of the most competitive cities in the world. Obviously a city having the nickname of “the concrete jungle” is not for the faint of heart, and as a result the population of women here exist on another level when it comes to both brains and beauty alike.

However, true to otome form Zyglavis’ eyes never strayed and Jin, Hijikata, Soryu, and Hiroshi continued to chase me undeterred by the ring on my finger. Zyglavis initially laughed off their attention towards me, but slowly their persistence started to wear on him. As Zyg had once done upon arriving in this world, the others quickly adapted as well.

Having been police officers for most of their lives, Jin and Hiroshi (despite my skepticism of their ability to make it in such a violent city) somehow managed to find their place in the NYPD. The two of them, though rivals for my affection, were also close friends and it wasn’t uncommon for them swing by my office that was only a few blocks away from the Tribeca precinct where they both worked. Initially they’d found jobs doing secretarial work, but when a serial mugger seemed to leave no clues behind and the seasoned NYPD detectives floundered, Hiroshi and Jin came together to teach their peers a thing or two. Thanks cracking the case of the Tribeca mugger, their supervisor crafted two personal recommendation letters that in turn managed to get them back to “rookie” status despite being far too old for the NYPD. I had figured that the NYPD must have a few loopholes only accessible to insiders, but it was still a surprise to see that both these men were able to reclaim the jobs that they’d been conditioned to have in their world. Because their precinct was only a few blocks away from where I spent most of my days at work, this odd couple of sorts always managed to get me to join them for lunch. Initially I told Zyg about our salad runs to sweetgreen (it was always the two of them and a few girls from my office), but as tensions grew surrounding my friendships with the guys I found myself keeping more and more to myself despite the fact that I saw them practically every day. Similar to Jin and Hiroshi, Soryu and Hijikata soon became thick as thieves.

Hijikata was someone who lived by his sword and would always be soldier at heart. His days had been previously spent training incessantly for war, yet living in the modern world provided little opportunity to fight. Training however, was something that CrossFit provided and Hijikata took to it like a moth to a flame.

Between Hijikata’s Shinsengumi code of honor and Soryu’s mob values the two normally stoic men somehow managed to get quite close, and before I knew it Hijikata and Soryu were two of the most popular instructors at a gym around the corner from me. Once they’d established themselves within the gym’s rotation, they invited me to workout with them. Not wanting to pass up access to a free gym (something far overpriced in New York), I attended in secret - worried that similar to the salad runs with Jin and Hiroshi my CrossFit participation would elicit unnecessary strife in a relationship that was far rockier these days.

I’ll admit that seeing Hijikata not only adapt so well, but confidently lead a class in a way he’d led his soldiers stirred something in my heart. It was apparent that I wasn’t the only one affected by his leadership skills, and as a result I was often forced to silently watch on as women attempted to get close to him (and Soryu for that matter). “Am I doing this right?” They’d ask, arching their backs and sticking out their rear ends with the hopes of enticing them a little. At first I could see that Soryu and Hijikata were offput by how forward women in this world were, but as the weeks went on they soon were unfazed by the behavior. I once overheard a conversation between them where they’d been keeping tally of how many women had made a stealthy advance on them – whoever had been approached more had to do the other’s laundry. I wish I could say it didn’t bother me and I knew it wasn’t fair to be possessive in any way towards these imaginary men who I’d rejected for an ex-God who seemed to grow unhappier with every day that passed in this world.

Most recently I’d seen one of the prettier women in class approach them after our hour of physical torture was up, and invite them to parties or for drinks – only to be met with polite decline. “Oh I’m sorry,” she’d said with a bright smile. “I didn’t mean to be forward. I just wanted to extend an invite - feel free to bring your girlfriends.” My eyes met Hijikata’s momentarily before I forced myself out of my old feelings for him, and exited the gym unclear as to what his response would be. It was in those moments that I questioned if choosing Zyglavis had been the right thing to do.

I felt greedy and selfish but something had happened with all of them that reminded me of the time I’d spent with them in otome-ville, and that they’d all collectively unlocked some long lost part of myself that wanted to believe in the goodness of men and possibility of romance. Naturally I would never act on the occasional flare up of feelings, but I found that despite this Zyglavis and I were arguing more and more.

“We have a responsibility to them!” I found myself yelling at him one night. “And you don’t get to dictate who I can and cannot speak with.” “This is different!” Zyglavis snapped. Leon had stopped by that night and had mentioned that with all the guys firmly settled into clear life paths, he felt that it was time for him to forge his own path in this world. He was moving out of the share house he’d found them in Bushwick and into an apartment of his own, where he could have more autonomy. He was fairly vague about how exactly he hoped to leave a mark on this world in his less-than-godly current state, but knowing Leon I wasn’t concerned for his well-being. I’d hoped that for once in his life Leon would refrain from upsetting Zyg, but naturally he found time to fan the flames right before he left our apartment by casually letting me know with an arrogant grin that my cross-fit routine was “really paying off”. I rolled my eyes at the unwanted compliment, and shooed Leon away but the second we were alone Zyglavis freaked out. I found myself trying to play it cool - noting that they invited me and it was hard to say no to a free class that normally would run for $50 a pop. Yet, as Zyg grew more and more irate and jealous, I realized that something between the two of us had broken.

Zyglavis has alluded to the fact that he believed my continued involvement with these men had meant that I was doing something wrong, and as a result I’d started keeping things from him. I could feel the tears well up and I shouted at him, “A relationship doesn’t work without trust. You either trust me or you don’t. And I guess you don’t anymore.” He froze in his tracks and looked forlorn before quietly saying my name. I tried to control my loud, ugly sobs as I packed a few things into an overnight bag and left our apartment wondering if maybe I’d made a mistake choosing Zyglavis after all.

In a group text to my girls I asked if any of them would mind housing me, and Meg offered up her spare bedroom immediately. As I headed over to her apartment, Sarita and Maya both extended offers as well, clearly concerned about what had happened. 

However, when Meg opened the door I was doubly surprised, as she looked just as forlorn as I did. Giving me a big hug she broke down and I learned that Noah had broken up with her. She’d been completely blindsided by it, having been with him the past 6 years, and as miserable as we both were I sought comfort in the fact that we were at least able to be miserable together. “I’m sorry,” she said, after telling me the whole story. “I should be consoling you.” I shook my head, “No way. For years you’ve listened to my misadventures in dating. I’m just having another one - this is different.” Meg burst out crying again, “6 years. We talked about getting married. And then...I don’t even know what...” I hugged her and couldn’t help but think about my harem waiting for me back on the east side. I wondered if Meg would believe me if I told her the truth about who Zyglavis was and if she’d judge me having done the hard work with a “real man” and yet here I was sobbing over someone I knew I could live happily ever after with if I’d just apologize.

I never revealed the truth about my situation and instead we spent the night drowning our sorrows in a bottle of wine that Noah had brought back from a work trip abroad.

Though there were many tears, in typical Meg style the next morning it was as if nothing had happened. She informed me that I could stay as long as I wanted, and that she was going to purge the apartment of all things Noah before taking a week off from work and heading to Connecticut to be with her parents in order to properly re-evaluate her life and reset. “Are you sure?” I asked, not wanting to impose. “Of course. It’ll be nice to know you’re here getting the mail and watering the plants while I’m gone.”

“Consider it done!” She paused momentarily, her eyes leaving mine before she mumbled, “Don’t make the mistake I made Omi. There were so many times I thought I’d end it and never did. If your gut pushed you to leave, listen.”

I nodded and worrying she had overstepped quickly added, “But no matter what happens I’ll be here for you.” I felt compelled in that moment to hug my strong, beautiful friend that hated sentimental bullshit and unnecessary familiar contact and said, “same.” She gave me a little smirk that indicated she’d be fine despite her eyes telling a very different story and then packed a few boxes of Noah’s leftovers for Goodwill and a small suitcase for the week at home. When she finally left and the unfamiliar apartment was filled with silence, my mind drifted back to what Meg had said. I thought about everything Zyglavis and I had been through.

I thought about why I chose him, and I thought about if I would have chosen Hijikata had he been an option back then. I thought about how Soryu had reformed and how he’d once made my heart race in a way that no one else had. I thought about leaving Jin behind because I was certain that he’d never make it in this world, and then had gotten to see firsthand how flawed that thinking was. Lastly, I thought about Hiroshi and how my coworkers were obsessed with him, insisting that I was crazy to have let him slip through my fingers.

Now that they were all here, the truth was that I could see myself being happy with all of them and it was a shame that the one man I was certain could make me happiest was making me more miserable than I’d ever been in my life.

I sighed and reached for my phone that had 10 missed calls and 15 text messages from Zyglavis. I felt badly that my silence had worried him, and even though I wasn’t sure what it was exactly that I wanted to do about our relationship I let him know that I was at Meg’s.

He instantly wrote back, “I’m coming over.”

And much to my surprise, a second later I heard a snap and he appeared before me.

“How…”

Holding up a gloved hand, Zyglavis looked like the man I’d met back in otome-ville except he looked sadder than I’d ever seen him.

“Do you remember the first big fight we had?”

“When you saw Jin texting me?”

Zyglavis nodded, “I left the apartment to cool off that night. At first I was just aimlessly walking, but my feet ended up taking me by Fairway – you know the outdoor area?”

“Sure, where there’s fruit and sale stuff stacked up?”

“I saw an old lady start to take an orange from the stack. She wasn’t tall enough to reach and as a result it started to fall and I just…muscle memory I guess…”

“Hold on – that was a few months back!”

“My powers have just gotten stronger since. Every time we fight – every argument, every positive thought you have about them and negative thought about me…”

Zyglavis looked down, pursing his lips sadly.

“…I feel it because I grow stronger.”

“That doesn’t make – ”

“Of course it does. The king told Leon to bring me home but he knew that could never happen if I still loved you…if you still loved me.”

“I…”

“Do you still love me?”

I held his gaze and we stood in silence in an unfamiliar apartment that was void of six months of our memories together. I wanted to be able to tell him that I did still love him, but Meg’s words weighed heavily on my heart. She’d been with someone for 6 years and had moments of doubt she now regretted pushing away and here I was feeling something unpleasant and uncertain that I couldn’t blindly ignore.

“I don’t know,” I whispered.

Zyglavis’ eyes filled with tears, and after a moment he cried out as I watched a surge of power overtake his body. I watched on as he raised his hand and snapped, almost as if it were against his will, and with that one gesture a third being was summoned.

“Well, well,” the king of the heavens said in an amused voice. “It would seem as if I’ve won this game of love after all…”

I could feel the terror I’d felt all those months ago seize my heart once more as I realized that my uncertainty might be the undoing of the happy ending I’d once worked so hard to achieve.

Read the next chapter here.

http://emilyplaysotome.tumblr.com/post/173448516237/chapter-2-the-return-of-the-king

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Thanks for reading :)

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[raywritesthings]

Granted

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, Felicity Smoak Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: “It was about faith, really. Trust. No one ever wanted to know who their soulmate was, if they’d been right. Not until the last possible moment.” // A person loses their ability to see color after their soulmate tells them they love them for the last time.   Notes: Angst and Tragedy, Canonical Character Death, mentioned Ol*city *Can also be read on my AO3*

She lost color two years ago.

It came on her gradually, in the midst of her spiral. By the time Oliver was walking away from her down a hallway, the words, “I have loved you for half of my life,” echoing around in her head, it was complete. And what was there to do but swallow down the fear and loneliness and rage — how dare he do this to her? how dare he bleed the color from her life so young? — and walk away herself. What else was there to be done?

It was about faith, really. Trust. No one ever wanted to know who their soulmate was, if they’d been right. Not until the last possible moment. Her mother’s favorite film, Technicolor, told the fairytale: a couple fell in love in their youth, built a life together, struggled through, and then on their deathbed in old age each confessed their love for the last time before falling peacefully into eternal sleep. The film faded from color to gray, before finally to black as the orchestra swelled and The End was projected onto the screen in curvy letters. That’s what everyone wanted.

Who would want to know the truth only to know their soulmate would never say the words to them ever again? Better the uncertainty.

But somehow, the world did not end despite hers being in shades of black, white, and gray. Maybe out of spite Laurel pulled herself out of addiction, got help, threw herself into her relationships with family and friends. And yes, that included him. Even if she was to never know that kind of love again, she could find some kind of equilibrium.

In times of strife, it was still Oliver who was there, as himself or the Arrow. Sometimes he would even say things that made her hold her breath — “It’s because I care about you.” — but there was no point to hoping. No point to wondering if those flashes of color were real or just desperately imagined. The last time was always meant to be the last time.

She stopped trying to remember what green or red or blue looked like, which of the grays they were. When Ted asked her which color she wanted to wear at the gym, her answer was a firm, “Black. Definitely black.” It was the one color she could rely on anymore.

She never told Oliver. Tempted as she was sometimes. Would it shock him? Would he even care? Sometimes she wondered if he’d already experienced it the same as she had, just one of a thousand hurts he kept shut up inside of himself.

Just once, she thought maybe she glimpsed the moment it happened. Thea had come to her with the truth of Sara’s death and Oliver’s knowledge of it. She approached him, tried to see if he’d admit to it himself, and his lie blinded her with an anger that nearly made her think she could see red.

“You know it’s hard to remember a time when I was actually in love with you.”

The words left her before she could stop them, and his face — but she turned away, just as he had only a year ago. She calmed eventually, as she always did, and there was no mention or indication from Oliver. Nothing that made her think he’d realized the despairing truth.

Did she really have it in her to say the words again? Even if she knew in the deepest reaches of her heart that they were still true, she couldn’t think of a way they might ever come out.

Not when he appeared to betray them to the League — “Oliver, we believed in you!” — not when he left with Felicity — a smile at his goodbye speech, little spoken between them at all — not when she and Thea set off to retrieve him — “We’re hoping you can’t change who you are in your bones.” — not even when he journeyed to rescue Sara from the other realm with her — “How can I say no to the man that helped me save my sister’s soul?”

Perhaps that the meaning underneath the words was there at all was enough. Perhaps love was more than four letters. Perhaps he would never know.

But a night months later found her in the hospital, weariness in her bones and yet clarity to her mind. She told the team she loved them, and all but Oliver echoed it. He couldn’t, after all.

The others began to file out while he remained. Forever lingering near if not with her. And it would be that way forever, unless she let him go now.

It was time.

—-

If there was one solace, it was that he still had color.

Through the years on the island and the horrors he endured, through the deaths he caused and learned to stop counting, through everything that had damaged him beyond repair, he’d never lost it. That had to mean there was something to keep striving for, wasn’t there?

With each failure of a relationship, he made it past the heartbreak with his sight the same as ever. Eventually, he knew the gamble would not pay off, his luck would have to run out. He would find and then drive away his own soulmate. But it hadn’t happened yet.

Not even when Felicity gave him back the ring. Not even when she packed his things and watched him leave their home. Not even when she denied the vows she had recited at their sham of a wedding to ensnare Cupid had meant anything to her at all.

Maybe there was still hope for him, for them. Hope that he would continue to hear I love you for years to come, that he wasn’t so much of a monster. That his soulmate could still love him, that had to mean he was doing at least one thing right.

Oliver was braced for those words, for the last time he would hear them. He thought he was prepared for it at any time.

Which was why when they did come, he felt it like a punch straight to his heart.

He didn’t know why he couldn’t say it back as he stood there by the foot of Laurel’s bed watching her and the team. “We love you.” They were simple words, true words, yet they bubbled up and caught in his throat so that he just nodded and felt his lips half form around the first syllable. Love was a complicated word for him and Laurel, after all.

Oliver stayed behind instead. Actions had always been his arena more than words. He would watch over Laurel all night to make sure she was safe and happy and knew how he felt, the deep bond and affection that all the years and hurts had yet to destroy.

When she asked him to fetch something out of her belt, he thought nothing of it. Until he saw what it was.

The photo rested between his thumb and forefinger as his eyes burned. When he asked, Laurel was at last free with her explanation, honest in a way that the two of them rarely were. It was enough to make his heart drop. But he couldn’t stop her; he owed her that much.

“I know how passionately you love, and how much it hurts once that love goes away,” she had said to him as she comforted him through his failed engagement. She had known. She had known all this time, and what had he done—

“And I know that I’m not the love of your life, Ollie. But you will always be the love of mine.”

It was a gradual fade. It seemed to leak in around the corners of his eyes at first, zeroing in until Laurel was the only bright spot in his vision. The blonde of her hair, the faint pink to her lips, her green gaze watching him with compassion until that too went.

Oliver choked on a sob. His legs buckled and he sat hard on the edge of her hospital bed, his hand landing on her knee. His mouth opened, her name on his lips, but she shushed him and reached, her fingers just barely brushing his. “You don’t have to say it,” she told him, words barely above a whisper. “It’s okay.”

He stayed there until he couldn’t, until the seizures began, and the doctors pushed him out towards the door.

He knew even as he stood there muttering prayers under his breath — “Come on, Laurel. Come on.” — and holding Thea with one arm — her hair was a deep gray now, and they all looked so old — that it was no use. Laurel would have never told him until the end, until the last possible moment. She would have wanted him to have the colors.

They pronounced her dead at 11:59, but Oliver’s world had already darkened several minutes prior.

He was in a daze over the next days. Funeral preparations, an impostor in her suit, John’s guilt and rage, it all felt both too much and far too in the background to be real. Nothing felt real except the gray of her tombstone. That, he knew he could see in perfect clarity, if not the flowers that rested below it.

He couldn’t tell what kind they were without the colors to aid him. Something he had taken for granted before. He’d taken so much for granted, and just as his sight was limited now he felt it a wonder he hadn’t been blind before. He had not been lucky; he had been selfish, scared to risk his heart and his feelings on the woman who had always been in his life no matter how hard it must have been for her.

Felicity’s car was still waiting when he at last got up and left the grave. He got in on the other side, glad she remained staring out the window. It was hard to look at her.

“You know what you have to do?” She asked him. “You have to kill that son of a bitch.”

Oliver’s eyes closed. He wanted to. Oh, how badly he wanted to. But in the end, he knew it would never be what Laurel had wanted. Not for him.

“Darhk will face justice,” he promised.

Felicity sensed the denial of her request, her head turning sharply. “Oliver, I’m telling you it’s okay.”

She was giving her approval, something only until recently he would have done anything to have. Yet though many claimed they had found happiness without their soulmate, though there were self-help books and TLC shows about Loving Without Color, he knew it wasn’t enough. Not for him. He was all-or-nothing, as Laurel had once so accurately described. God, she’d known him better than himself.

“It’s no use, Felicity,” he said. “I lost the colors.”

Her eyes widened for one long moment, and then her expression closed off. “I see.”

She faced forward in her seat, and it was a clear dismissal. Oliver opened his door and got out, watching as the car pulled away. He then turned and walked back to Laurel’s grave. It would be night before he managed to tear himself away and make the solitary trek back to the base.

He had been so determined to be alone through most of his life. Now that he knew for certain that he would be for the rest of it, his earlier resolve did little to comfort.

They should have had more time.