#I was like: she gets on the ground and grovels and says 'my lady I will do anything you ask I am your unworthy servant'

[theburiedgay]

also unrelated my cleric got to talk directly to her goddess and it was hilarious. I told the DM 'tell me if this will derail the end of the campaign bc she's ready to walk and lose her powers' and he was like '....your goddess was convinced by your argument that your murder sprees were for fighting evil. Barely.' so she gets to keep her powers AND her evil bf. living the dream

[thebreakerofchains]

Lights Down Low

A/N: So, I was listening to this song, and I was hit with the thought of Nesta and well...Less than decent thoughts. So, I mused to myself "why not?" and wrote this self indulgent one-shot. Keeping in mind that while I am a pro at reading smut, I am all but a novice writer of it, at best.

Nesta Archeron x Fem!IllyrianReader

Warnings: SPICY!! DNI if you are a minor.

Cassian had woken you up that morning frantically spewing about how he wouldn’t be able to go to training – you were barely awake let alone properly hearing what he threw at you full speed at those ungodly morning hours – all you got was that it had something to do with the Illyrian camp and Devlon and that he really would appreciate if you could cover for him seeing that leaving the females with Azriel being the only instructor was as dangerous as lighting a match near gasoline. And, if you knew something about Nesta, Gwyn and Emerie it’s that do they burn and blow easily. 

So, you decided you were in a generous mood today while you dressed up in your fighting leathers and headed towards the training area at the House of Wind. He also owes you one, naturally, and you had almost the perfect idea as to what favor you’d call in for that, you think to yourself with a wicked grin. 

“Good morning, ladies.” You say with a smile to your face at their already sweaty state, considering they have been here for forty minutes at most.  

Azriel gives you a once over from where he is standing and an inquisitive look, “I didn’t know you were joining us today.” 

“Nice to see you too, Az.” You feign an expression of hurt, “Glad to know you have missed me.” You had been on a diplomatic trip with Morrigan to Vallahan for a few weeks and had only recently got back as of two nights ago, and the only people you got the chance to see were Rhysand and Feyre for the report, and Cassian this morning as he groveled at the end of your bed for you to cover him for training. 

“I am glad you two are having a great time chatting away, definitely don’t mind us.” Nesta said from where she stood in a stretching position that looked about as painful as it probably was. “Should I ask the House to bring you some biscuits and tea so you can get properly acquainted?” 

You bite the insides of your cheeks in an attempt to control your grin from growing any wider. How you missed those snide comments. Not that Mor wasn’t stimulating company during that rather boring trip, but no one could entertain you so effortlessly like Nesta Archeron. 

Rhysand says you are a different brand of masochist for enjoying the blue-gray-eyed woman as much as you do. Well, you and Cassian, who also never shied from a mostly healthy banter with her – without dramatic repercussions, at least. 

“If you gave the same attention that you do us to your stretching you would see more effective results, Archeron.” I wink at her and she eyes me with a look I do not know how to describe other than ‘I will make you eat those words’; I shiver inwardly. 

I am distracted, or rather saved, by Emerie to my side as she groans out, “This is insanity.” She moves out of position with a deep intake of breath, and I see my opening. 

“Here, let me help.” I move to her sitting on the ground, silently asking for permission as I move my hands to her arms. She nods slowly in recognition and I start adjusting her sitting stance spreading her limbs wider apart and then holding her upper members up from behind her. My chest is pressed on her back, and I move my head to the side of her ear before asking, “How does it feel?” 

“Fine.” She breathes out low and quick. 

I hum, slightly puzzled with her reaction wondering if I am somehow making her uncomfortable. I look above her shoulder and see Gwyneth’s teal eyes gazing at us, cheeks red adorning a mischievous smirk. I clear my throat and get up from my position behind Emerie, “Now, you only have to keep it up exactly like that, and you will see that as nagging as it is, it won’t be quite an unbearable pain as before.” 

I circle around the field correcting the priestesses here and there, mostly giving them verbal instructions on how to improve their stances and the whole time I could feel a much familiar fire burning on my back. I was being watched. 

The training ended on a positive note, and much to Azriel’s dismay, the priestesses all left with a thankful and hopeful murmur that I should lead the sessions more often to which I just smile shyly at. As soon as they left, I start tiding up until I hear the swish of a small blade, looking back to see who my companion is, I meet the face of Nesta and her intense eyes as she plays with a dagger. 

“Can I help you with something?” I ask, mentally cursing myself from being that affected at the sight of her in training leathers. 

“So, this is how I find out you are back home?” She runs the blade on the wooden table where the other weapons laid, slowly approaching me, closing me in a lot like a predator hunting its prey. 

“I didn’t-” I start and she pauses me raising the blade to my lips, the sharp end meeting my skin with a blazing cold touch much like Nesta’s own. 

“I don’t care.” She eyes me in a silent dare to try and explain myself again. 

I for one, get so completely lost in her eyes and the smell of her that all I do is take one of my hands up to her face where a strand of her golden-brown hair slipped from her updo and remove it from where it laid on her sweaty forehead. Nesta sharply intakes air and I lose mine altogether, as if she sucked in my very breath to her lungs, her full breasts touching my own, her nose brushing on mine. 

“Did you miss me?” She husks. 

I nod gradually. 

“Hm.” She hums out, “Is that why you were feeling up Emerie at practice earlier?” 

My eyes widen at the implication, “I would never!” 

She merely grins wickedly to me, her leg moving between my own and I feel her leather covered core press down on my thigh. I let out a gasp, and she strokes my hair gently, “I wonder if you didn’t look for me because you were too busy with Morrigan. You did spend two full months with her at Vallahan – so eager to help, volunteering yourself like that – and we both know you don’t last long being on your own, don’t we, baby?” 

She blows soft air to my face, as if it would help me cool down. “That is absurd, Nes. Morrigan doesn’t see me that way, or any other female, that we know of.” I muse out. “Well, maybe Emerie if we are being honest, but I know better than to raise the question to her.” 

She presses herself further into me in a way I didn’t even know that was possible, I see stars and my hands find her hips in a possessive grip, “Nesta...” I mean to sound warning but it comes out a tad too desperate to be anything else other than pleading.  

“Yes?” She drawls out sensually, hips moving away and right before I answer she pulls them back down deliciously deliberate and steady. A growl leaves my lips and I switch our positions, her back now touching the stone-cold rock walls. “I thought you could help me out with my stretching exercises, unless that special attention is reserved for Illyrian females only.” She draws out and I swear I hear a hint of jealousy to her tone. 

“I can always make an exception for you.” I decide to tease her back, “If I am not too busy. You high fae do bend different.” 

“Oh?” She lifts one of her perfect eyebrows at me. “Care to elaborate, professor?” 

“For example, you are much more sensitive here,” I say as I slid a hand down her ass touching her inner thigh from the back, “than most Illyrian females I taught before.” I drag my hands upwards again, purposefully grabbing her ass and she lets out a small squeal. “Or maybe, that is just you.” 

She moans out, “You are right, just me.” Enunciating the last two words roughly with intent as she pulls me for a mind-numbing kiss. My grip to her back tightens and my other hand finds its way to the mess of tangled hair that was once her braid, deepening the kiss, she gasps in surprise and I take my opportunity to slowly enter my tongue in her mouth giving her lower lip a teasing lick before sucking on her own. At this point, we are both frantically panting, all I can see, sense and smell is Nesta as her nails scratch my back until I can feel blood coming out. I draw back from the kiss and she glares at me in her dizzy state, I give her a mirthful look and she seems to understand exactly where my thoughts went to just as I rip her top apart and am met with her creamy perky breasts waiting to receive my undivided attention. 

Wasting no time, I take my mouth to her left breast as my hand that was in her head seconds ago playfully twists and teases the other one, her hips still moving, relentlessly searching for any kind of relief and contact they can find. 

“I reckon you missed me as well, Nes.” I breathe out between my ministrations as I move to the right side and suck hard on her hardened nipple. She moans out my name, “Ah, Y/N!” 

“I want to hear you say it, Nes.” 

She looks down to me, and it’s like something snaps between us. I have fucked Nesta thoroughly and often for a while now, in many occasions – and positions – but never have I felt such a feeling like the one engulfing me right now. It’s like the time we spent apart left the thing desperate, as desperate as I was when I thought of her, especially in the night when my hands drifted between my legs and I would come time and time again at the memory of her. 

I move my head to her neck and with a bite I order, “Say. It!” 

She screams in pleasure and I pull back to look at her dazed eyes while she says, “I missed you.”  

I waste no time as I take her into my arms, and fly to my room, the House apparently ever attuned to Nesta had the whole ambient ready for us. From the corner of my eyes, I could see red candles were lit all over the place. The curtains were now closed and there was a dizzying smell, but that was no one else’s credit but Nesta’s as her deep arousal hit my nostrils. 

Her hands that laid with a tight grip on my back move up to plant a feather-like touch to my wings and I shiver out a moan, “Illyrians and their wings.” She breathes out teasingly. 

With a snarl I rip her leather pants off her finding her glistening exposed sex so fucking ready for me. I ghost touch it and she arches her back trying to draw my hand closer to her center, “How long do you plan on making me wait?” She lets out petulantly. “Weren’t two months of touching myself at the thought of you enough punishment?” 

I raise my eyebrows at her, smiling wolfishly like a starved madwoman, which I am sure is the exact definition of what I am right now. I lower myself, kissing her inner thigh leisurely, and she grips my head her nails scratching on my scalp. “Y/N, please, I need you.” 

“That was fast, maybe I should go away more often, it seems you finally gained some manners while I was gone.” I say before planting a teasing kiss to her clit. 

“Baby!” She screams. 

I decide to put both of us out of our misery and draw my tongue from bottom to top before closing in my mouth on the bundle of sensitive nerves, I hungrily move up and down, circling and sucking in different points and directions before moving one finger close to her entrance. 

I look up to what is one of my favorite sights in the world, her golden-brown locks sprawled on my pillow, body glistening with sweat, her forehead creased in pleasure as she bites on her lower lip punishing the plump part before locking her gaze with mine and saying, “I need to feel you inside of me, love.” 

I suck at her clit before speaking, “Only ever me?” 

“Yes, yes, only ever you. I don’t want anybody else. Just you!” 

I groan on her pussy, a low guttural sound that has never come out of me before as I insert one finger inside her soaking wet pussy. “You are mine, Nesta Archeron.” 

“Yes, I am yours, all yours.” 

I put another finger inside her, mouth working mercilessly on her sensitive bundles as she screams chants of pleasure, and I can feel she is getting close and I am not far myself, she takes one of her hands to my wings and strokes a particularly soft spot and I moan loudly on her pussy. 

“Cum with me, baby.” She lets out breathy, mind close to succumbing. I move my fingers faster, harder and she continues stroking the spot on my wings, my climax borderline here until I feel the knot on my lower belly tighten impossibly and in a blinding flash of life I come just as her juices flow out of her and I divert my mouth lapping as much of it as I can. Licking her clean, fingers now moving slower and softer to help her ride out her high. 

I let go of her, a string of saliva between me and her intimate area, she pushes my head upwards and I meet her with a searing kiss. Her legs engulf my torso pushing me closer before she bites down on my lips strong enough to draw blood, and as the metallic tinge of it fills my tastebuds Nesta says lowly: 

“If you ever leave me for that long again, I will hunt you down, and I will kill you with my bare hands.” Her blue-gray eyes locked on mine, daring me to protest in any way. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” I give her a slow kiss. 

She gives me a smile that bore nothing good, and I knew I would be in for one long, long night. 

[kamen20ghost]

Arcfall fail

Jaune sister had come to visit and he was hanging out with his best friend ren and girlfriend cinder who she meeting for the first time.

jaune: Hey guys this is saphron. This is cinder and you both know ren. I’m get something to drink do you guys want anythin.

Saphron: waters good.

Jaune: Ok. *Walk out of the room into the kitchen.*

Saphron: Hi! *Looks over to cinder.* your really pretty

Cinder: *Intimidated* duh sarha was it?

Saphron: Saphron

Ren:*Look between the Girls with a smile on his face.* This going to be so good.

Cinder: so… how long have you know jaune?

Saphron: practically my whole life.

Cinder: huh that weird.

Ren: Wait for it.

Cinder: He’s never mentioned you before.

Ren: *Pretending to hold a mic like a commentator.* Cinder comes in with a right hook will saphron retaliate.

Saphron: Funny I could say the same about you.

Ren: Saphron holds her ground and the crowd, waited for the next move.

Cinder: Slightly annoyed. Haha funny girl, huh. So how’d you meet?

Saphron: my mom introduced us. How long have you know jaune?

Cinder: for like 3 years now

Saphron: Huh doesn’t ring a bell actually, I don’t think he’s ever mentioned you. At least not by name.

Ren: Saphron wipes, the floor with cinder. Will she recover?

Cinder: I doubt he would talk to you. I’m the only girl in his life you bitch.

Ren: oOoOoOoo the crowds settles as the stand off continues.

Cinder: This is my boyfriend’s apartment.

Saphron: *Understands what happening.* Ooooooooo…

Ren: Ladies and gentlemen saphron has connected the dots will cinder catch on?

Cinder: *Still oblivious.* That right, I’m his girlfriend you tramp. I don’t know what you think you’re doing here but you need to leave.

Ren: *Grinning at how cinder messed up big time.* The stakes raise, does cinder realize what she doing?

Saphron: *Having fun before the revel.* You know what I think I have heard of you.

Ren: *Really excited.* The crowd waits for the final shoe to drop

Cinder: *Is angry.* Of course you have. Because I’m the only woman in his life, now leave.

Saphron: *With a smirk on her face.* Hey jaune can you text mom and let her know that i’m here.

Jaune: *Comes back from the kitchen with her water and heard what saphron said.* Already did and here you go also I’m glad you’re getting along with my sister. I was a little worried not gonna lie.

Ren: The crowd goes crazy as cinder stands there with her dick in her hand.

Cinder: *Surprise mix with worry.* Sister?!

Saphron: *Grabs her drink.* Thank you jaune and yup

Cinder: *Trying to do damage control.* Wow you’re so pretty.

Saphron: Tired of Cinder’s BS. Nope too late. *Turns to her brother best friend.* Ren which one is she?

Ren: *Looks over to Cinder smirking.* Saphron makes her final move.

Cinder: *Very confused.* Which one what do you mean which one?

Saphron: I’m trying to figure out which one you were on the roster. Is she the rebound or the one who sharts in her sleep?

Ren: *Is bowing repeatedly.* All hail saphron she is the god of retaliation.

Cinder: look I’m so sorry! Please don’t tell jaune!

Ren: ladies and gentlemen in an unseen sight. Cinder grovels for forgiveness will saphron accept?

Saphron: *Smirking evilly.* This is gonna be fun.

Ren: oh my god that terrifying you should really be worried.

Cinder: *Hopefull.* So am I forgiven?

Saphron: For a price.

Cinder: Oaky fine I’ll pay anything. What’s the price?

jaune: *Was texting with his mom so didn’t notice what was happen.* hey mom wants us home for dinner. You ready? *Makes his way to the front door.*

Saphron: yup ta-ta Cinder I’ll see you later. * Follows after jaune.*

Ren: *Chuckling.* You’re so screwed.

Cinder: *Waves them off and glares at Ren.* Ren what the fuck?

Ren: ok let not pretend you did not have that coming.

Cinder: why didn’t you warn me that she was his sister.

Ren: let’s also not pretend like where friends okay

Cinder: ugh whatever

[l0velyrand0m]

Old Soul - The First Avenger

Third chapter, here we go.

I've gotten a reblog and a few likes, so I figured the third chapter was in order. Maybe theres people actually enjoying this, yknow?

As always: The full story in it's entirety is on Wattpad (l0velyrand0m) and there may or may not be a second book in the works? This is all mostly for my enjoyment, there's no demand or anything, I'm just addicted to fictional men punching people.

The prior chapters are on my blog, the first chapter is pinned and the second chapter was posted not too long ago.

"Faster, ladies! Come on! My grandmother has more life in her, God rest her soul!" Peggy shouted at the soldiers lined up doing push ups on the ground. Eliza watched and observed the men. Erskine had given her the task of watching out for the "least fit" in the group. No idea why, but she was sure it was her brother. Until she overheard Phillips.

"You're not seriously thinking about picking Rogers, are you?" the Colonel asked the doctor next to him, who simply nodded.

"I am more than just thinking about it. He is the clear choice. I'm hoping our Nurse friend over there agrees," Erskine replies. Eliza was thoroughly confused.

"When you brought a ninety-pound asthmatic onto my Army base, I let it slide. I thought, what the hell? Maybe he'd be useful to you, like a gerbil," Colonel Phillips explained. Somehow him referring to her brother as a "gerbil" made Eliza almost offended for him. "I never thought you'd pick him."

Eliza walked over to the two men and joined the conversation. "Gentlemen," she greeted. Erskine offered her a small smile.

"Up," Peggy commanded the boys once she saw Erskine, Phillips and Eliza gathered together.

"Doctor Erskine, forgive me," Eliza began. "What is the Super Soldier breed exactly?"

"A Super Soldier is a highly advanced superhuman, given abilities from a serum I invented. It's highly intuitive - made to make the weakest man stronger. But it only amplifies what's already there. Give the serum to the wrong person, and you've just made them more of themselves." Erskine's explanation made Eliza nearly sick to her stomach. She wasn't entirely convinced that Steve would survive such a thing. "Rogers is a perfect candidate. Determined, clever. The serum will do him well."

"You stick a needle in that kid's arm and it's gonna go right through him!" Phillips exclaimed. Eliza almost wanted to agree.

They glanced over to the recruits scurrying to straighten up at Peggy's command.

"Look at that. He's making me cry," Phillips scoffed.

"I am looking for qualities beyond the physical," Erskine says. Eliza was starting to dislike his philosophical speeches.

"Do you know how long it took to set up this project?"

"Yeah, I know."

"All the grovelling I had to do in front of Senator What's-His-Name's committees?"

"Brandt," Erskine corrected. "Yes, I know. I am well aware of your efforts."

"Then throw me a bone. Hodge passed every test we gave him," Phillips says. Eliza wrinkled her nose. She didn't want to have to work with Hodge anymore than she already had to. "He's big, he's fast, he obeys orders. He's a soldier."

"He's a bully," Erskine corrected Phillips again.

"You don't win wars with niceness, Doctor." Phillips reached into his pocket and pulled out a hand grenade. "You win wars with guts."

Phillips threw the grenade into the area where the men were training. "Grenade!" and all the men scattered.

Except for Steve.

Steve jumped on the bomb and covered it with his body. Eliza's heart dropped. Peggy stood wide eyed at the boy.

"Get away! Get back!" Steve yelled. He waited for the bomb to go off, but nothing ever happened.

"It was a dummy grenade." Eliza whispered, and looked to Phillips.

"All clear! Back in formation." an officer waved all of them back into line.

"Is this a test?" Steve asked, peering up at Erskine, Phillips and Eliza.

"He's still skinny."

•••

Eliza laid silently on her bunk. She couldn't believe the nerve of Steve earlier. But at the same time... she was astonished. Proud, even. That her brother would think to do that. Suddenly she understood what Erskine meant about choosing Steve over Hodge. Whatever was in the serum wasn't just enhancing the physcial stuff. It would enhance him mentally, too.

A knock at her door drew her attention back.

"It's just me, are you decent?" Steve asked from the other side of the door.

"Decently mad at you, sure," Eliza remarked. Steve sighed. "Yes. It's fine if you come in."

The door opened to reveal her twin brother. She wanted to question how he got over here in the first place, but then she noticed Erskine behind him and assumed the german doctor had something to do with his arrival.

"You have five minutes, then you must return to your barracks. I need to speak with Miss Rogers as well."

Steve nodded and closed the door. "Look, Liza, I never meant to piss you off this bad, I just-"

"You saw an opportunity and you took it. I understand. How do you think I'm here, Steve?"

He smiled slightly. "I'm sorry for being such a jerk, and not listening to you when you were only trying to protect me."

"I should've realised you didn't need protecting. You're not a 16 year old kid in Brooklyn anymore. You're grown up. And I'm proud of you."

Her words sent a stab of remorse through Steve's heart. The words, coming from her, meant the world to him. But he was only recieving them because he made her feel like the bad guy for doing the right thing.

"Thank you, Eliza. I'm proud of you too."

"Five minutes are up, Steven," Erskine said, opening the door. "Say your goodnight and goodbye so I may speak with her."

"Bye, Elizabeth, have a good night."

"You too, Steve," she said, watching him walk out the door.

"Miss Rogers, it's come to my attention that Steven is your twin brother?"

"Yes, sir."

"You've had a knack for taking care of him. So I have a promotion for you once our project starts. You'll be his personal aid. I'll teach you everything I know about the side effects of the serum and what to watch out for starting tomorrow. Are you interested?"

•••

"I know this neighborhood," Steve wonders, looking out the window of the car. "I got beat up in that alley. And that parking lot. And behind that diner."

Peggy stared at him cluelessly. "Did you have something against running away?"

"Yes. Yes, he did," Eliza chimed in.

"You start running, they'll never let you stop. You stand up, push back. Can't say no forever, right?" Steve pondered. Peggy's expression changed from confused to curious.

"I know a little of what that's like. To have every door shut in your face."

Eliza nodded. "It's annoying."

"I guess I don't know why you'd wanna join the army if you're a beautiful dame," Steve wondered aloud. Peggy raised a brow at him, and Eliza looked over with a look of "what the hell". Steve immediately tried to recover. "Or a beautiful... a woman. An Agent! Not a dame. I mean you are beautiful but-"

"Please, for the love of God, shut up, Steve," Eliza groaned.

"You have no idea how to talk to a woman, do you?" Peggy snickered.

"This is the longest conversation I've had with one. Woman aren't exactly lining up to dance with a guy they might step on," he shrugged.

"You must have danced?"

"Well asking a woman to dance always seems so terrifying. And the past few years didn't seem to matter that much. Figured I'd wait."

"For what?"

"The right partner."

The car pulled up by an antiques shop. Peggy and Eliza exited the car, Steve trailing behind, completely clueless. Eliza was too, but she trusted Peggy enough to follow her without question.

"This way," Peggy instructs him.

"What are we doing here?" Steve asked.

Peggy smirked. "Follow me," she says, guiding Eliza and Steve into the shop.

"Wonderful weather this morning, isn't it?" the shop owner asks Peggy.

"Yes, but I always carry my umbrella."

The shop owner nods, and Peggy leads the twins to a basement. It opens up into a large circular laboratory. Erskine's team was huddled around the center and around different machines. Steve was lead to the center of the room, however, where a pod was fixed in the floor.

"Good morning!" Erskine greeted the twins happily. He takes Steve's hand and shakes it as someone takes a picture. Eliza hated being in pictures. Something about people seeing her long after she was gone, and there was nothing she could do to tell them not to look. She didn't like that sort of thing. "Please, not now," Erskine shooed the photographer away. Steve looked at the pod curiously.

"Are you ready?" Eliza asked him. Steve only nodded.

"Good! Take off your shirt," Erskine instructed him. Steve did so, and climbed into the pod, laying down on a table. "Elizabeth, go assist Mr Stark, please."

"Yes, sir," Eliza nodded. She walked over to the man, and then it hit her who Stark was. Howard Stark. The genius inventor. "Mister Stark, my pleasure."

Howard turned around to look at her, a smile falling on his face. "You must be Elizabeth Rogers."

"How'd you know that?"

"Erskine was talking you up earlier. Apparently you're a really good nurse?" he comments with a smile.

"Well, I don't like to brag," she shrugged. "But I wouldn't mind the compliment."

"Mister Stark, how are your levels?" Erskine shouted across the room.

"Levels at one hundred percent," he answered. "So is that your brother? Steven?"

"Good!" Erskine replied.

"Yeah, my twin," she answered.

"Interesting. The twin sister of a super soldier, huh? How weird has that gotta be?"

"It's not quite set in yet. He's still gonna be a twig in my mind forever."

"Hope you didn't pick on him when you were younger," Howard smiled. Eliza recalled her mother's sayings, not to pick on him because one day he'll be bigger than her. Though she wasn't sold on it, and she definitely wasn't ready for that to be the case artificially. "We may dim half the lights in Brooklyn, but we're as ready as we'll ever be."

"Elizabeth! Come here!"

"Gotta run, Stark. Nice conversation."

"Yeah.. Yeah let's do this again sometime. Maybe under different circumstances?"

"Maybe."

"How do you like your coffee?"

"Elizabeth!"

"Cream and extra sugar."

Eliza ran off back to the table where her brother lay. Erskine handed her a needle, of what she assumed to be penicillin. "Inject him with this, then come back with me."

"Hey, Steve," Eliza said calmly as she walked over with the needle. "I'm here to inject you with the euthanasia."

His eyes went big before he realised she was joking. "Oh, haha."

She squeezed his skin gently and gave him the shot.

"That wasn't so bad," he said softly.

"That was penicillin."

Steve's mouth formed an "o" as she took the needle away and Erskine came back to his side.

"Serum infusion beginning in five, four, three, two, one," Erskine counted. Eliza wished she could hide in the viewing room with Peggy and Phillips. But here she was. Watching her brother and best friend get experimented on. Steve winced as the serum was injected into him. "Now, Mister Stark."

Howard pulled a lever, and Steve was upright in the pod as the doors closed. Eliza wandered back over to Mister Stark's side as he amps the procedure.

"That's ten percent," he informed Erskine, but pointed it out to Eliza. "Twenty percent. Thirty."

Eliza could start to hear Steve's pained screams as the vita rays transformed his body. She lowered her head slightly and watched the numbers raise with intent on focusing more on Howard's numbers than Steve.

She had focused so hard, that she blocked out all the noise in the room until she heard Steve yell in response to the scientist. "No don't! I can do this."

"Eighty. Ninety. That's one hundred percent."

The power in the lab overloaded, and Stark rushed to open up the pod and get Steve out. Eliza's breaths were shallow as she waited to see what happened to her brother.

Suddenly everyone came rushing out of the observation room and into the lab. She steeled herself and turned her head to look at her brother.

She was shocked. Steven Rogers was now the first successful Super Solider.

[swallowedbyfandom]

Darling sister,

Is Colin still alive? If he has survived the night may I remind you that you are much too pale for mourning colors. Also I am entirely too busy right now to attend a funeral.

If he has not survived, I am sure your mother knows a questionable doctor that can make it look like alcohol poisoning. Or I can help you hide the body? We can say he ran off to the continent out of fear for your response.

Your ally in sanity, against all things Bridgerton,

Kate

Dearest Kate,

Death would be a mercy I shall not provide my boorish husband with. Did Anthony tell you what that drunken fool did? Last night Colin drunkenly boasted to all of White's Gentlemen's club that his seed is so superior even spilling on my bosom managed to impregnate me! As if it was not enough that he has gotten me with child, again! That bastard did it without even spilling in me! How is that even possible?

The beautiful simpleton I married does not even realize that now every horrid gossip will question our new child's legitimacy. I have my staff packing for Colin. I am sending him off for an extended stay with his mother. Let me look Violet in the eyes and explain why he has been exile from our home. I would love to watch that show. He can come back home once he has groveled sufficiently.

I swear the first time some Cad makes a comment about spillage or my bosom I will burn White's club to the ground. Perhaps then Will and Alice can reestablish their club. Their clientele were much better than the entitled snobs found at Whites.

Your irate ally,

Pen

Sister,

I assure you, I warned everyone present that I would not tolerate disrespect towards you. I was very clear that I would not take kindly to any rumors or comments getting around over my brother's inappropriate statement. We also gave Colin a good ear boxing before sending him home to you.

Please do notify me if anyone makes a comment that makes you uncomfortable. There is no reason for you to sully yourself with arson, our family is rich enough that I already have someone on retainer for that. It seemed like a prudent investment when Berbrooke made himself an issue. Lady Whistledown saved me a lot of coin running him out of town when she did.

There is no need for you to physically exert yourself, sister. You should be resting. I know how difficult the early stages of pregnancy can be on you.

Fondly,

Your favorite brother

Dearest Colin,

Albion bought me the most disturbing tale about your conduct at White's last night. I did not believe it for a single second. Sadly I can see you have been exiled to your mother's house. Which must mean there was truth to his accounting of your behavior. Perhaps I set my expectations too high. I am so very disappointed right now.

Oh Colin, I thought you were done drinking to excess and using your words to bring shame to my daughter. I had believed you learned from your mistakes. Instead I hear you were careless in discussing your martial relations. I didn't think I needed to tell you this, but what happens in the bedchambers between a husband and his wife is private. It is not fodder for tales or boasts. Commenting publicly about the intimacies you share with your wife is practically an invitation to others to do the same. I hope we both agree that Penelope deserves better. I hope you understand that I expect better from the man I trusted with my daughter's future.

Love,

Mama Portia

Colin,

Who is Portia's favorite son now? Thank you for blundering in such a spectacular manner. How does defeat taste? Is it as overly salted as you claimed my last cheese spread was?

Ha ha,

Albion

(Note slipped under Colin's door)

Col,

Ben saids Pen sent you here on a time out for your "fool antics". I love you Col but don't get too comfortable. If your presence here means she won't come for tea and tutoring then you will have to move in with Ben. I won't let you ruin this for me! You will not come between us.

Love,

Hyacinth Bridgerton

Apprentice

[ashleyfanfic]

Love your blog! Huge Jonerys shipper and just finished Seaosn 2 of Bridgerton and LOVE Polin! Kantony was amazing too! I am so excited for Season 3! Did you see the trailer! Would love yo know your thoughts! Hope you have a great day!

OH! SO EXCITED TO TALK ABOUT THIS! Thanks for asking.

First, Jonerys will always be my OTP. Yeah, the show ended like a burning pile of dog turds, but in fan fiction they're living happily ever after as they should have. The one good thing is that Kit's show is not going to be made which means they will not be able to profit off Daenerys Death anymore than the already do. Kit, find you another franchise where you can swing a sword. I'll watch it. I sat through Pompeii I can do anything.

Second, I love KANTHONY!!! I mean, the PINING! THE UST! LOVE IT! All the glances and touches and the "You are the bane of my existence and the object of my every desire" yes, sir! PLEASE. Love them. So glad we get to see them happy and in love this season. Just a boon, for sure.

Third, POLIN! Ok, hang on, let me get this out of the way first because it is a huge concern to me. I do not, under any circumstances, want to see Eloise join in with Cressida to make fun of Penelope. I get it, she's hurt, but please don't let her do that because she knows all of the sensitive points about Penelope, not even counting Lady Whistledown. She knows the things she's sensitive about and stands to truly hurt her. I had my former best friend do that to me and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Though, Nicola and Luke were both adamant about their love for Eloise. So, here's hoping.

POLIN - Alright, I'm going to say what I'm sure many other people are thinking -- Colin needs to grovel in apology for what he said. It's already difficult enough for Pen, with her introverted nature, to meet and talk to people. That has been clearly established. But to then have an influential man in the ton declare that he would never dream of courting her? I mean, talk about ruining a girl's chances all around.

There are little things throughout the trailer that fascinate me. One being that I think Penelope isn't going to arrive to one of the balls with her family but fake an illness and stay home. Perhaps after seeing Eloise with Cressida at a garden party earlier that day. Something sparks within her and causes her to no longer lie there, but throw open her wardrobe and we see her getting dressed. We do see Pen see them walk away together. So, I think she comes in late, dressed in a different gown, with a different look. Perhaps she asked Madam Delacroix to make it for her outside of her mother's knowledge. Because we see her standing at the top of a staircase in a red cape and then dramatically allowing it to fall to the ground. Everyone turns and looks. (My favorite thing, is if you look at the crowd, her brother-in-law, Mr. Finch is smiling at her - such a sweet, cheese loving boy!). But Cressida and Eloise look shook. Also, in this same scene we do see Francesca and Pen later talking. This is important to me as it is said in the books, Colin is very close with Franny, especially once he starts traveling and she moves to Scotland. Lady Danbury is obviously speaking with the Queen about the possible matches that could be made. So far, all the writings we've seen about this season show that Mister Dankworth is interested in marriage, but instead of being along the lines of Nigel Berbrook, he's more along the lines of Prince Friedrich. You might root for him if Colin wasn't already in the picture. I have a feeling that while his interest will spark jealousy in Colin, it will also spark confidence in Penelope. Which, judging by some of these awkward convos we see her having with some of the other men of the ton, she really needs. But the sight of them dancing beneath the moonlight in the ballroom, and their heads close together over a book, and Colin having to sit back and watch as a bystander, is too sweet for me to take. Colin is the sort you have to hit over the head and drag him to it. Someone else finding her desirable could spark that wait, what have I missed. We love our leading man, but baby are you dense. The scene where he's sitting back and the flame slowly lights, it's like Colin's love for Penelope. It doesn't happen all at once, but as it grows and glows it gets brighter. Their trope is she falls first, but he falls harder. And in the books, that 100% true. He's my wife this, my wife that. Once he realizes that he's in love with her, there is nothing else that matters to him BUT her.

[cherryredcarousel]

A New World

Village Invasion

Watching Momonga try to use the mirror of remote viewing was like trying to watch a grandpa text on a phone. Eventually he was able to zoom in to which Sebas clapped, "Congratulations my lord, I knew you could do it." "Thanks Sebas, I appreciate your support." Sebas bowed his head slightly, "of course, it is my duty as your personal butler. The soul reason I was created by Lord Touchme was to carry out your orders no matter what they are." Momonga hummed before looking back at the mirror, "Hm is this a festival?" Sebas leaned down to look himself, "no my lord, it appears to be an attack."

A village under attack? It's a group of knights from the looks of it.. "Wonder why their attacking that village?" I leaned forward in my chair as I got a closer look at the situation. "I'm not very sure, let's just leave them be for now." Momonga said as he went to swipe away from the mirror. <Message> Touchme would have done it, besides maybe we can use the village to kind of get information about this new world. <Message end> I looked at Momo. "You know what? How about you go take a look." He gestured toward me to which I stood. "Alright I will." I turned around and opened a portal for Aasim and I. "I'll be back."

On the other side of the portal I was met with two girls, one younger than the other. Two guards stood behind them, one already stricken a slash across the older girls back. "I don't think that was very nice." I said as I fling one of my small daggers into the guards heart. He fell dead as the other one fell back in shock, "what are you?!" He yelled as he picked up his blade, it shook as he stared at my form. "Nothing special, dragon lightning." He screamed with agony before dropping down. Such a weak spell, only fifth tier and yet he dropped like a fly. "Aasim go take care of the knights that wear that armor." He nodded before teleporting away. Now for these two, "are you okay dear," i kneeled down to their level. "Clearly not, as there is a slash on their back. Stupid question me." I reached into my inventory pulling out a healing potion. "Here, it'll heal you." She nervously took it, "is this poison?" They think I'm gonna kill them when I just saved their lives not even two minutes ago, and did they NOT HEAR ME SAY HEALING. "No it isn't, it's a healing potion." She nodded and quickly downed the whole bottle, her wound immediately sewed itself together. "Oh wow, the pains all gone. Thank you!" I nodded and stood back up. "Well then, have you heard of magic?" She nodded, "yes ma'am there's someone who comes to our village who is a magic caster." I hummed before raising my hand, I cast a few protection spells. "That should protect you as long as you stay right there, and here's this in case the spell doesn't work." I threw them two goblin horns, i quickly explained before walking toward the village where Aasim should be done with his task.

"W-what are you?!" A knight said as he groveled below Aasims boot. He did not answer as he lodged his axe into the knights left shoulder. A knight struck his back, his sword shattering. Aasim turned around "now what if you had scratched my armor? The armor gifted to me by my master. I think death wouldn't even suffice for the attempt." Aasim said as he grabbed the man picking him up. The man screamed, Aasim reached around his back ripping his armor plate off and digging his hand into his back, tearing his spinal cord out. "Lay in the ground and die." He said as he threw the knights spine at him. A fraction of the knights ran, Aasim teleported, cutting down the knights as he went. He muttered to himself, counting as he killed. "57....58...59..." he paused, "I have missed one." His blade dropped as he looked around for the 60th knight. "I have failed to eliminate them all." He stood in disbelief.

"Earth to Aasim?" This was the tenth time I've called his name.. He quickly snapped out of it, "my lady!" He threw himself at my feet, his armored faceplate kissing the ground. "I have failed, I failed to kill them all. One got away.." I kneeled down to him, "it's fine, maybe they'll tell their leader about us. Then we'll be famous." I mused as I pat the back of his head. "Now stand up let's talk to the village folk." "Actually I'll do the talking." Momo said as he appeared behind me. "Maybe that's best, after all your best when it comes to talking." I walked beside Albedo as Momo talked. From the looks of it the talking was going well.

I walked around the village as the village chief and Momo talked in a building, Aasim was walking beside me. "Excuse me?" I looked around seeing no one. Hm? I felt a tug on my pant leg, looking down I was met with the cutest kid. "Well hi there." I kneeled down. "Why do you have four arms?" "You dare question my ladies appearance?!" Aasim went to grab his weapon, i lift my hand. "It's fine, but back to your question. Let's just say that I'm very special, maybe one day you'll grow more arms too!" I chuckled. My ears perk as I hear talking of more men coming. I wave bye to the little girl and catch up to my brother who was standing, watching as an group of men on horses came up.

"My name is Gazef Stronoff the chief warrior. I have been ordered by the king to come take care of the invading knights. Your people are safe now, we will protect you." The village chief thanked him, Gazef spoke again after giving our little group a look over. "Who is the man and women with you?" "These two are the ones who have saved our village." I stepped toward, "we are some measly magic users who just so happened to be strolling by when we saw the knights attacking, so we being good people of course took them out." Gazef's stare lingered on me before speaking with Momonga. "General! There are an army of unknown surrounding the village as we speak."

"We can take care of it, no biggy." I smiled.

[honorhearted]

"Well, it seems then that you have not met very many real ladies,” Francesca fired back. “Which is a surprise, really, as I seem to remember you being quite popular with the young women of London.”

"Popular in the way a novelty toy poodle is, I suppose," Benjamin retorted. "And truly, maybe you're right...those women were ladies, but far from ladylike. I hadn't seen so much drooling since my last Setauket banquet."

Francesca's cheeks colored pink, though the sparkle in her eyes belied any potential displeasure. “I hardly think that a penchant for reading makes one brilliant, but surely if it does I cannot take all of the credit for it,” she pointed out. “You are the one who agreed to tutor me, after all. I would not have found half of the books I love if you had not recommended them.”

Benjamin grinned, fondly squeezing her hand on his arm. "If I'd known there would be mutual groveling here, I would've brought a puke bucket," he teased. "Still, I can't argue with your reasoning -- we are, after all, about fifty-fifty on that ground, but surely you recognize that a tutor can only do so much? The progress depends entirely upon one's pupil."

Regardless of his deflection, a giddy warmth filled his heart at the admission that because of his off-hand, albeit excitable recommendations, Francesca had acquired many of the same favorites he held so near and dear.

Francesca wrinkled her nose at him. “I am not saying that I was a saint,” she deflected. “Just that I was the least… rambunctious. Remember that Benedict is your brother too, now. You shall see an entirely different side of him, I’m sure.”

He laughed. "You know, 'Saint Frannie' has kind of a nice ring to it. And if I am to see an entirely different side of Benedict, I at least hope it's the kind that doesn't end with me in a headlock. I had more than enough of that from Samuel."

A sly look filled Francesca's face as she admitted, “I remember pelting Anthony and Daphne with snowballs when we were little – Benedict, Colin, Eloise and I. We had spent hours piling them up, and there truly must have been hundreds.”

"You're right. Your japes truly weren't outlandish. I'm afraid that as my wife, you're going to have to do far better than that," Benjamin teased.

She appeared skeptical. “Don’t tell me that you and your brother never got into mischief. Surely you played pranks on each other.”

"Well, of course," Benjamin allowed, "though it's nothing I ever liked bragging about. Most especially since Sammy did the ol' hand in the water bucket prank on me...the kind where you fill a bucket of warm water, stick your victim's hand inside, and then they end up wetting themselves." Sheepish, he explained, "You married a bedwetter, but only because of his prowess. I certainly made sure to get my revenge. I told everyone in town that Samuel was looking to help out and collect everyone's garbage, so we woke up one morning to a lawn full of refuse. Father was not happy about that one."

"Of course I grabbed you! I had to win somehow, but truly: a real lady wouldn’t have retaliated.”

"Well, it seems then that you have not met very many real ladies,” she shot back, knowing full well that most of the women she spent her time with would not hesitate to engage in a brawl if it meant winning a game. Then again, most of the women she knew were Bridgertons or fond friends thereof. “Which is a surprise, really, as I seem to remember you being quite popular with the young women of London.”

“How unfortunate for you that you were born brilliant. And yes, maybe I am attempting to soften your sensibilities.”

Despite the less-than-flattering way he spoke of his childhood infatuation, Francesca still found herself pleased with his compliment, cheeks flushing pink as her hold on his arm tightened in gratitude. “I hardly think that a penchant for reading makes one brilliant, but surely if it does I cannot take all of the credit for it,” she pointed out. “You are the one who agreed to tutor me, after all. I would not have found half of the books I love if you had not recommended them.”

Then he mentioned the fish prank, and Francesca could not hide her snort of laughter, unable to quite believe that she had told him about that.

“I am not saying that I was a saint,” came her rebuttal. “Just that I was the least… rambunctious.” Still, Ben’s talk of her elder brother did cause a scoff. “Remember that Benedict is your brother too, now. You shall see an entirely different side of him, I’m sure.”

“Having you by my side seems like a fair enough trade���only, you do have me curious about Benedict’s japes. Were they truly so outlandish?”

Francesca thought back, visions of a childhood so full of sunshine and laughter skating past her eyes akin to a familiar storybook. “I suppose not – Although they seemed rather hilarious as a seven-year-old.” A pause later, she glanced back up at him with a soft smile. “I remember pelting Anthony and Daphne with snowballs when we were little – Benedict, Colin, Eloise and I. We had spent hours piling them up, and there truly must have been hundreds.”

That was the life of siblings - Francesca could still hear the laughter even now.

“Don’t tell me that you and your brother never got into mischief. Surely you played pranks on each other.”

[sarascamander]

I finished Quest of Glory and I have so much to say!!!

1. That ENDING??? I love it! The plot twist is chef kiss, the tension and the stake is exploding and the chaos is marvelous! I LOVE IT. I love the ending that keep me begging for me and the if the fifth book wasn't already released, I'll probably be crying and groveling for more!

2. I realised I haven't given any appreciation to the Coven and shame on me! Anadil, Dot and Hester are THE witches. I love their friendship, I love their vibes, I just love them, they're perfect and I'm glad we get to see them more.

3. I love the setting. The last three books were grounded to the school and around it and usually I don't quite like adventure fantasy where they travel the world or something but I think because of how familiar I am with the world now, I absolutely love the fact that we are exploring it and travelling. It's refreshing and interesting.

4. Lancelot! Omg I don't even like him in the previous book but he utterly broke my heart in this one! And I don't care about anything else, I will always love Lady Gremaine.

5. That chapter where Tedros, Agatha, Sophie and Rhian went on a double date and just hang out together — it was so good! I wish that was the ending! It's nice to see them relax and just enjoying each other's company. It's good while it last.

6. Honestly, a book wouldn't complete without Agatha and Tedros relationship drama. If they were not established, I would hate them. But they're working on it and trying to be better and I kinda like that. If they all lovey dovey the whole time I actually would find them boring.

7. I actually like Rhian 😭 why must he do that to me?? I think he and Sophie happened quite abruptly but in the end I could imagine them together! Rhian didn't always indulge Sophie but at the same time adore her, they're adorable together! They have potential! But in reality, he is quite sus and phony. Like plastic.

8. I think it's funny how Sophie was checking Rhian up to make sure he's not an evil psycho like her last boyfriend and Clarissa gives Rhian the parent talk and approves and even Tedros assure Sophie that Rhian is a good man — only for it to end up that he's actually another evil psycho. Poor Sophie, can never have a good love life.

9. Which actually makes me wonder if he's actually interested in Sophie or just using her. I know he needs a Queen but why Sophie?

10. I don't quite like Nicola at first but I think it's more because she's a new character and I warmed up to her significantly as the book progress (read: the moment she and Sophie become friend. I'm bias, sue me.)

[itsalwayswellattheworldsend]

Chapter 1 - Ralph Meets With Love in the Wilderness

Text

Audio

Synopsis:

Ralph and the Lady abscond together, really talk to each other, and some unpleasant truths come out.

Summary:

 "Tell me truly, and beguile me not; for I am a young man, and without guile, and I love thee, and would have thee for my speech-friend, what woman soever may be in the world. Whatever thou hast been, what art thou now? Art thou good or evil? Wilt thou bless me or ban me? For it is the truth that I have heard tales and tales of thee: many were good, though it maybe strange; but some, they seemed to warn me of evil in thee. O look at me, and see if I love thee or not! and I may not help it. Say once for all, shall that be for my ruin or my bliss? If thou hast been evil, then be good this one time and tell me."

Ralph awoke while it was still night, and he knew that he had been awakened by a touch, but like a good hunter or warrior, he was not startled and did not cry out. When he was fully awake, he saw the Lady bending over him, and she said in a kind and quiet voice: “Get up, young man, get up, Ralph, and be silent. Come with me into the woods before dawn, for I need to speak with you.

So he got up and was ready to go with her, his heart thumping with joy, but she stopped him. “No, get your sword and armor in case something bad happens. Put on your chainmail; I’ll help you.” And she held it for him while he put it on. “Now,” she said softly, “put a helmet on that curly hair of yours and strap on your sword, then follow me.”

He did so, and felt her take his hand (for it was still dark as they went into the trees), and she led him into heaven, for he heard her whispering voice and it was like a touch and a laugh of joy in each word.

She led him quickly, not stumbling at all on the paths between the pine trees, though it was as dark as it could be. Ralph thought that at any moment she would stop and tell him what was going on, and that she would then have to leave him, so he prayed that the silence and handholding would last a long time—for he could think of nothing else but her—and in truth it did last a long while. She said nothing, though now and then a small laugh—like the softest warbling of a bird—would come from her lips, and the rippling of her clothes as her swift feet carried her sounded loud to him in the dark, windless wood.

At last, after more than half an hour of walking like this, it grew lighter and he could see her beside him, and she still held his hand and glided on faster and faster, it seemed to him. And soon he knew that outside of the woods dawn was passing into day, and even there among the trees it was hardly darker than twilight.

A little further, and it grew lighter still, and he heard thrushes singing a little way off and knew that they were on the edge of the pine woods, and still she ran swiftly onto the grass, where there was nothing but maples and thorn bushes: it was light here, though the sun was not yet over the trees.

There she let go of his hand and turned to him, her face flushed and excited, and her eyes were very bright and her mouth half-open. He stood looking at her, trembling with eagerness and fear of what she would say when he told her what was thinking, for he had made up his mind to do just that. He took off his helmet and set it on the grass, and he noted that she was only wearing her dress, having left her cloak and coat behind.

Ralph straightened up and was going to speak when she put her hands to her face and shuddered, her shoulders quaking with sobs as she burst out crying so hard that tears flowed between her fingers. Then Ralph threw himself on the ground in front of her groveled before her, wrapping his arms around her knees and pressing his cheek against her skirt, saying many soft words of love while she continued to weep wordlessly. At last she reached down and held his face in her hand, and he let his lips press against it, and they stayed like that a while. Then she pulled him to his feet and led him away quickly once more, and he did not know what to do or say, and he did not dare stop her, and he could not form the words to ask for an explanation.

So they ran across the open ground, unhindered by the trees, he being silent and she never tiring or slowing or faltering in any way, until they came into thick woods again. Whenever he would open his mouth to speak, she would hush him with a “Not yet!” Until at last when the sun had been up for more than three hours, she led him through a stand of hazel trees like a thick hedge and into a clear, grassy place where there were great grey rocks around them, as if they were in the crumbled remains of a circle of standing stones built by some forgotten people. Then she threw herself to the ground and buried her face among the flowers, and was weeping and sobbing again as he bent over her, until she turned to him and drew him down to her and put her hands on his face, laying her tear-streaked cheek against his, then kissed him long and sweetly, so that he almost began crying, himself.

Then at last she said: “This is the first thing that I have said to you since I have brought you away from death, and it is so sweet to me that I can hardly bear it.”

“Oh, and it is sweet to me,” he said, “for I have waited for you for many days.” And he kissed and hugged her as one who would never have enough of it.

At last she pulled away from him a little and, looking at him, smiling with love, she said: “Wait a little, until we’ve spoken some.”

“Yes,” he said, “but may I hold your hand while I wait?”

“No harm in that,” she said, laughing, and she held out her hand to him as she said: “I said that I have brought you away from death, and you have not asked me about that.”

“I will ask you now, then, since you want me to.”

“Do you think that he would have let you live?”

“Who would kill me, when you would let me live?”

“Him,” said the Lady, “your enemy, the Knight of the Sun. Why did you not run from him before? He didn’t want to kill you, just drive you away, but if you were at Sunhome with him, he would run a sword through you, or at least throw you into prison for the rest of your life—or so it seemed to me.” She faltered as she spoke, looking at him.

Ralph said: “How could I leave when you were with him? Did you not see me there? I thought that you wanted me to stay.”

She looked at him with such tender love that he started to throw himself upon her, but she stopped him and smiled, saying: “Ah, yes, I saw you, and I did not think that you would leave me; therefore, I had to be careful.” She touched his cheek with her other hand.

Ralph sighed and furrowed his brow a little, then said: “But who is this man that he should kill me? And why is he a tyrant over you, that you must flee from him?”

She laughed and said: “Fair creature, he is my husband.”

Then Ralph flushed red and he opened his mouth to speak, but she stopped him and said: “But he is not quite my husband. Before we got to bed, he cursed me and drove me from his house.” And she smiled, but her face reddened so deeply that her grey eyes looked strange.

But Ralph jumped up, half-drawing his sword and crying out: “I should have killed him! Why didn’t I?” and he angrily paced back and forth across the grass in front of her.

But she leaned forward to him and laughed, saying: “But, my Champion, we will not go back to him, for he is stronger than you and would kill you. We are far from anyone here, but you are being loud—maybe too loud. Come, rest beside me.”

So he went back and sat down by her, and he took her hand again and kissed her wrist and said: “Yes, but he wants you, that was easy to see. It’s bad that I didn’t kill him.”

She stroked his face again and said: “It would be a long story if I told it all to you. After he drove me out and I fled from him, he caught up to me several times, which is not unusual for his brother is the Captain of the Dry Tree, that tall man with whom you have seen me. Each time, this lord has come to me and confessed his love as one who would be in utter despair if I did not love him back but oh, my love with the bright sword” (and she kissed his cheek and held his hand with both of hers) “each time I rejected him.” And again she blushed.

“And his brother,” said Ralph, “the big captain that I have encountered these four times, does he also desire you?”

She laughed and said, “Only as much as other have, no more. He will not kill anyone over me.”

“Did you know that I was waiting for you at the Castle of Abundance?”

“Yes,” she said, “Did I not say that I told Roger to lead you there? That was after the first time we met, after I had ridden off on the horse of that butcher you killed.”

“Why were you so long in coming?” he asked. “Would you have come if I still waited there?”

“What else could I want except to be with you? But I had to travel alone, for our riders had gone north to fight those of the Burg, but as I came to the Water of the Oak, my husband and that other man caught up to me. And this time, all of my refusals were not enough, and whatever I said to him, he demanded that I return with them. But they quickly turned to fighting each other, as you saw.” She looked at him sweetly and honestly, as he had been her dearest brother.

But he said: “You were upset that they were fighting; have you known the Black Knight for long?”

“Yes,” she said,  “I will not hide that he loved me, but he has also betrayed me. It was because of him that the Knight of the Sun drove me away. Pay attention, for this concerns you: he spread a rumor of lies and truths mixed together, saying that I was a witch and an enchantress, and my lord believed him. I was shamed before the entire house, and thrown out in anguish, barefoot and bleeding.”

He looked and saw the pain and grief of the memory in her face, and the fierceness of his loved changed his expression so much that she got up and withdrew a little away, standing and looking at him. But he also got up and knelt before her, and he reached up and took her hands and said: “Tell me truly, and with no tricks, for I am a young man and not wise to uncovering hidden meanings, and I love you, and I would have you as my partner, whatever sort of women there might be in the world. Whatever you have been, what are you now? Are you good or evil? Will you bless me or curse me? For I have heard tales of you: many were good, though strange; but others have warned me of evil within you. Look at me and see that I love you! I cannot help it. Say once and for all, will you be my ruin or my bliss? If you have been evil, then be good this one time and tell me.”

She neither reddened nor paled at his words, but her eyes filled with tears and they ran down her cheeks, and she looked down on him as a woman looks on a man that she loves from the root of her heart, and she said: “Oh my lord and love, I hope that you will find me no worse for you than the best of all you’ve heard. But how can I tell you about myself when you would believe absolutely anything I said? But oh, my heart, how could you, so sweet and fair and good, fall in love with an evil thing? At least I will say this, that whatever I have been before, I am good to you—I am good to you and will be true to you.”

He drew her down to him as he knelt there, putting his arms around her though she still shrank a little from the eager flame of his love, but she gave herself to him and let her body glide into his arms, and loved him no less than he loved her. And there in the wilderness, there was between them all the joy of love that could be.

Notes:

Apparently, Ralph has curly hair.

It specifies the “Seventh Heaven,” which is a mythological/cosmological distinction that I don’t want to pry apart right now for a metaphor, so just suffice to say that he’s very happy.

The “circle of standing stones” is described as a “broken doom-ring of a forgotten folk” which is a really metal way of saying it’s like stonehenge.

The story repeatedly uses the verb “fell” to mean “begin” (such as “they fell to eating” or “fell to talking”) but it also uses it for kissing which makes me laugh for some reason.

I left the line “She laughed and said: ‘Fair creature, he is my husband.’” completely untouched because I love it. This is the second time she’s referred to him as “creature” (though I believe the first time it was “creature of God.” I wonder if anyone else refers to anyone that way in this story?

The exact situation (as she says it) is: “Yet is he not so much my husband but that or ever we were bedded he must needs curse me and drive me away from his house.” Basically, they were married or betrothed or something, but before they had sex he turned on her, kicking her out and then chasing her down.

When I used the word “partner,” the original word is “speech-friend,” which is the word the Maiden used to refer to her missing beau.

A recap of the Lady’s backstory as I understand it (just the part she talks about here). She and the Knight of the Sun were involved and probably wedded, but before they had sex, the Black Knight (probably trying to stop the wedding so that he could have her) lied to the Knight of the Sun and made a believable tale claiming she was a witch (we’ve heard these accusations against her before, and I have no doubt the Knight of the Sun had, too). The Knight of the Sun shamed her publicly and threw her out of Sunhome, and she returned to the Fellowship of the Dry Tree (this all happened some time previously, not in the period of time since Ralph first met her).

The Knight of the Sun, still loving her and wanting her back, pursued her and (since her Captain is his brother) found her many times since she left. She refused to return with him. This most recent time, Walter was with him and they fought each other, which we saw in the story.

I’ve always found the bit here about whether or not the Lady is good or evil very interesting. One would expect that the truth is that she is good, and that all the bad things said about her are simply jealous rumors… but that is not what she says. She isn’t good or evil; she’s human, but she promises to be good to Ralph.

As for their love, remember what I said before about Tomie. The Lady possesses an extreme charisma that draws others to her and entangles them in her love. I’ve hinted before that Ralph possesses some similar power (perhaps hers was at the same level before she drank from the Well?), and the narrative has also given us signs before: I think specifically about the Maiden saying that even if he found bandits in the Wood Perilous, he’d most likely win them over to his side and have them as his own men; and also of Roger who declared his allegiance to Ralph in the Burg (which I took as true, even though he was otherwise deceiving him). Not only is Ralph entangled by the Lady, but she is also somewhat entangled by him. Someone said before that they didn’t think the Lady would ever love some man unless he is one “with whom all women are in love.” This same phrase was also used earlier, where it was said that such people are those most likely to find the Well at the World’s End.  I do believe this will be further expanded upon later.

And one last note: I left the last line relatively unaltered. The original is “And there between them in the wilderness was all the joy of love that might be.” I’ve wondered about this since the very first time I read it, but does this mean they had sex? At first I thought yes, then no, then back to yes, and now I’m not sure. I can say that (despite his religious beliefs), Ralph isn’t too hung up about premarital sex (at the very least in situations where the two people are very much in love and dedicated to one another).

Map updated to show the lake’s name (the Lady called it the “Water of the Oak”).

Map:

[soliloquyepistolary]

In the dream, I am driving and my phone is on the car phone holder on the right hand side. Luke calls me on the phone out of nowhere and we are chatting about some things. There are periods of silence where we don’t say anything such as when I’m preoccupied with driving and it isn’t awkward, it feels natural. He starts saying that he misses me and he wishes he could see me in person. He is trying to ask me if I return the feelings he has for me. I am not really confirming or denying but he is trying to manipulate the truth out of me by being bashful. I am not having any of it, I see through it for what it is and I tell him what’s the point of saying anything, of expressing anything. He believes that we could make something of us but I do not want that, I feel it is a dead end. I do actually have budding feelings for him.  There is a strange attitude coming from my end however during this conversation, because even though he is manipulating me, I am manipulating him right back. It’s fun I see it’s not that serious even though the conversation is serious. We are both playing the game and I am enjoying this. The angst and dramatics of it. There is a smirk on my face and it’s like I’m saying my lines to a movie. I am playing my part convincingly but I know it’s not real. 

I do a U-turn to get into the parking area, there are a few cars waiting to enter this area. I have arrived at some kind of red-carpet event. It’s a high of profile event and I see Elon Musk is here. He has parked a white car right in front of the venue, it doesn’t look as impressive as I’d thought it would be. There is paparazzi and crowds outside. I need to go the toilet so I ask an Asian lady that I find in the car park where the nearest toilet is. She leads me downstairs to a room that looks like a typical Asian household setting, like lower socio-economic status. There are a few older family members just sitting around and it’s like everyone is waiting to hear news of the event.

A doctor comes into the dispensary into the second medication aisle and and starts looking at stock (I think anti-biotics since so many are in short supply) to see what he can prescribe and he drops a box of tablets on the ground. He doesn’t pick it up, at least straight away and I get really angry because he is being disrespectful. I am telling him off and being really firm, I am saying ‘you need to pick that up, pick it up!’. He is being rude and refusing so I escalate it further saying you need to apologise to me. I am demanding to be apologised to. There is a clash of egos. I don’t want this doctor think he is better than me, walking all over me.  I am trying to show that I am not to be trifled with or taken advantage of. On some level, it feels like I am just acting here, I am not really mad at him. It’s like I am (over)reacting in this way only so that SM can hear (I know he must be within earshot) and be emotionally influenced by what is occurring. I want him to feel bad. Essentially, I am trying to manipulate him because I feel he owes me an apology for the things that have transpired between us in the last few weeks but I don’t how to ask outright. At the same time, I don’t want to grovel for an apology so this is my way to desperately make things right again between us. But the thing is, what’s the point if I even have to do act like this?

[kazucee]

THE ENDING MADE MY HEART DROP?? KOUE? ARE YOU OK? IM AT THE EDGE OF MY DAMN BED AND YOU DROP THIS CLIFFHANGER???? Anyway besides that ending (internally I'm cursing at you but also kissing your feet because this was absolutely magnificent !)

your writting gets better every time I read one of your works. going piece by piece of my favourite bits (though lets be honest, every part is so well written I could write a whole book report on it despite it being the prologue and first chapter)

'It's like a piece of candy given to a wailing child, if all is devoured and nothing is on their palm, they would whine once more. Greed birthing upon greed like one hurricane of a sinful cycle. For a war cannot be ceased. No matter how much a pacifist begged and prayed and groveled till their knees bled beneath the stones.'

this part??????? hello? koue and political themes is something I didn't think I needed (but now I'm invested and I demand more) gosh this blurb got me by the throat, like my lungs stopped working type. political themes slap so hard when done properly and madam served so hard with this! 'knees bled beneath the stones?' felt. me begging koue to release any of their writing frfr.

'Tenderly, the boy brushes your feathers with his knuckles, inspecting closely. From the audience's seats, he didn't notice a single thing wrong about you, but up close, your colored plumages feel stiff and rough beneath his skin, untended and oily and not preened properly—the aspect of a halovian's wings are their basis of pride, divine innocence and most of all, freedom. It's their most cherished possession, ridding one of its feathers means cutting their life to the ground, to be helpless, to die flightless.'

THIS ONE MADE MY EYES GLASSY IF I'M BEING HONEST. had to stop, chat koue, reread it, and inhale. reread, inhale, wipe eyes, repeat. It sent me through a rollercoaster, and I got whiplash. READER MY BELOVED CHILD, SHE IS JUST A BABY. WHEN I FIND THE PEOPLE WHO DARE HURT HER. But koue? The emotion in this scene is so well delivered (articulated, presented, THE WORDS? THEEEE WORDSSSS) and I like how you included how sacred halovian wings are to them (yes. YES.) 'to be helpless, to die flightless.' my heart pinched, legit ached, did I mention how well written this part is? don't underestimate koue and their angst capabilities or you'll get shot.

"My dream will involve everyone. It will be a paradise where the weak will be protected and one day, when we are older, if you wish for a stage to perform I'll build you one, something more grander than Velvet house, where everyone will love you and your voice. Pain and harassment will not be a factor."

dare i say the best dialogue to ever dialogue. LIKE YES SIR GET YOUR DREAM ! I LOVED THIS PART. idk it shows how determined this young man is to give the people a better life (YES KOUE. YES. HIS CHARACTER IS JUST CHEFS KISS. guys its THE Sunday writer ever) i want nothing but to hug Sunday, you made him all rough edges and callouses at the ripe age of 15 (i hate that he's pushed to study so hard already, seething actually) yet despite his upbringing he still finds a way to be a gentle soul (and a total loser but we love him for it) 'if you wish for a stage to perform I'll build you one' OK? SIR? its giving 'if i cant run to you ill walk and if i cant walk ill crawl'

'It only took a day or two to realize how similar you two were; she dreamt about being a star one day, you responded kindly to the same notion, your child-like dreams of performance still small and conserved, passion growing like a flavorful fresh fruit.'

reader being best friends with Robin is everything to me ! i love them, two twin stars taking the world by storm >:.DD AND SUNDAY BEING HAPPY ABOUT IT? BUT ALSO NOT BEING ABLE TO JOIN THEM BECAUSE OF HIS STUDIES? IM SOBBING. GOPHER WHEN I CATCH YOUR ASS. but sunday being soft towards the two special ladies in his life??>>>>> SOBBING.

“Don’t leave yet, you don’t have to if you don’t want to—” You were quick to say, noticing the complicated expression caking his golden eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It’s just been two weeks and I…I have been looking for a reason to approach you, this was the only thing I could come up with.”

IF THIS DIDNT MAKE YOU SOB. there's smth so innocent and pure about their relationship (living for it, I truly am holy shhhhhhh) and I AM LOVING THE PACING (CALLING IT, FRIENDS TO LOVERS, MAYBE ENEMIES ALONG THE WAY) but like their conversations >>> koue can really dialogue like no other. it's so in character? it's so animated and it really brings the entire story to life? i can't compliment you more my darling well done indeed.

'And as for Sunday, the young scholar boy continues to fall into the currents of your mannerisms, your bold trajectory, your hauntingly drawn smile, deeper than anyone can sink themselves into.'

gosh i honestly wish i could quote the entire book because !!! but. anyways. I'm in love with reader? like robin is, the children too and the sisters and sunday? LIKE COUNT ME IN BECAUSE READER IS SUCH A LOVELY DARLING GIRL I LUV EM SO MUCH. PROPS TO YOU FOR MAKING SUCH AN EASY TO LOVE CHARACTER.

end notes: yes i could rant about this till the next day, yes I'm serious about the book report part, yes idc if it is tldr because I needed to express my love for this series. i remember koue mentioning that they're afraid of posting because it was too long? but honestly the wc doesn't even matter to me especially if it is well written and paced nicely ! it's like I'm transported into the world and I get lost in it, to my beloved spouse, your writing is great, if you still doubt yourself then this entire ass reblog was for naught >:O. ALSO, I am doing this of my free will because I want to, not because I'm compelled to, I see a well-written story, I compliment the crap out of it, and that's it, nothing to it. KOUE DARLING, ONCE AGAIN, STANDING OVATION FOR YOU (PLS DROP THE NEXT CHAPTER SOON BEFORE I START CHEWING ON THE BARS)

CHAPTER ONE. HIS BECKONING SALVATION.

SERIES SYNOPSIS, “For his tongue reckon with the beggary and treachery of her.” The narrative of the sun-burnt boy towards the moon-bruised girl, wherein Aeons dare play them both like a sedative, bore them starved for a disastrous relationship.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: Sunday x fem!halovian reader. mentions of physical abuse and mutilation, religious metaphors, world-building for Penacony, not canon-compliant to hsr lore. historical + semi-steampunk au! [8.1k wc]

𐔌౨ৎ 、 MASTERLIST ノ NEXT CHAPTER

“Hounds, seize the man in the red tailcoat. The girl is a victim." His young raspy tone coils around the audience like a snake, the pin drop silence, then the haunting allure of your voice comes to a decrepit halt.

Sunday tastes the chaos first before understanding what had happened, what he had just done.

The Hounds were on the move due to his command, undressing clear aggression towards the people in charge of tonight's show. The audience had jumped up from their seats, scattering and fleeing when they recognized the Bloodhound seals on their vest and the muted colors of their uniforms. Gopher Wood doesn't spare another second once his feet touch the stage, his long coat swishing through the cold air.

"In the name of Penacony's esteemed law, I hereby arrest the suspected perpetrators involved in Velvet House's illicit activities of child trafficking."

"Mister Chamberlain, sir!" The man in the red tailcoat stresses out, cries, struggles out of the grasps of a Hound tying him down like a shackle.

"Please have mercy! I was wrong, I was—"

"Your words have no power here." Gopher's tone is ice cold, his crow wings rustling sharply. "Save your pliant cries before the Judges, and pray that your punishment will be in your favor."

"No, please I cannot afford this! Please let me explain myself!"

"Take him away."

Gopher waves a hand at the Hounds, they simply nod their heads, dragging the hysterical man off the stage. Sunday is reluctant as he steps beside the Minister, fingertips trembling from anxious thrill.

"...What will become of him?" He asks.

"The man had committed a heavy crime in the Ménage, if all votes are in favor of punishment then he as well as the folks involved will be sentenced to death—each will take a silver cup of poison wine." Gopher doesn't dare sugarcoat his words, pin needles of guilt pricks at the flesh of Sunday's benign heart.

"And, if the votes go for the latter option?"

Gopher takes a glance at him. "The latter option is seeking atonement for their sins. If the President orders it, they will be exiled to the borders of the Reef where they will spend their remaining days begging for absolution, forced to train as soldiers, they will die valiantly trying to protect our Nation from the remaining Legion."

So death, still.

The guilt within the boy grows thick, enough for bitterness to settle heavy on his tongue. These men will be dead because of his command.

"That's horrible."

"Sunday, I'll speak candidly with you." The young boy is surprised when Gopher drops to a knee in front of him.

"You've done well speaking up." Gopher says. "Cease such sensitivity of yours. Sometimes, there will be a price for freedom. And to fight for goodness, there will be moral conflicts that will be sent to you as a challenge. To protect the weak, we could trample over those who take advantage of the downtrodden ones. It is difficult but it is still our duty, Sunday."

Protect the weak.

The man straightens, then once Sunday's name leaves his lips one last time, without awaiting the response of the young boy he saunters off to deal with the aftermath of the subjugated traffickers, telling Sunday to take a rest if he feels overwhelmed with the situation. What he had said was the truth, after all.

Sunday is not God, he cannot appease everyone, and not everyone will see his beliefs to be absolute, that's why law enforces such as the Hounds still exist even after the civil war—or any war even before that, even when the bold words of Independence happen to be pasted in every billboard and graffitied walls around the Capital—

It was simply just another appeasement.

Another reassurance for the public.

It's like a piece of candy given to a wailing child, if all is devoured and nothing is on their palm, they would whine once more. Greed birthing upon greed like one hurricane of a sinful cycle.

For a war cannot be ceased. No matter how much a pacifist begged and prayed and groveled till their knees bled beneath the stones.

Gopher Wood told him so during one of his studies, don't waste your time clinging to hope that can kill you, even with your selective ignorance on the matter the results will not change.

Even when he had uttered the command to send traffickers to death's door, it was supposed to be an accomplishment.

But Sunday's too bitter and guilt-ridden to feel a huff of pride from his achievement.

An hour has passed then, still, Sunday muddled on his transgression. Thirty minutes later, he pins his back straight; the theatre now is empty of audience, under the jurisdiction of the Bloodhounds, from the report given to them, there are roughly twenty-one children found in the backstage of the building, some former orphans from the war, others trafficked to be laboured as rising singers for on stage performances.

His leg couldn't stop bouncing. Restless, he's so restless all of a sudden. Sunday cannot help but let his thoughts wander to you, the young Halovian on the center stage that had such a grenadine syrup singing voice. He hasn't seen you since your call for help and his command to arrest. Did something happen?

"Would you like a drink, young lord?" A younger Hound had approached, a glass of water in hand.

Sunday takes it silently. "Where will the children go after this?"

"Well, it depends. First, we need to verify their identities before they are taken here. After that, they will be taken to the Great hall where parents with missing kids will come to pick up their kins."

"And, if the children have no parents nor identities?"

The dark cobalts of the Hound's eyes flicker briefly to him. "Then, the Governors will assign them a residence, they will be raised in comfort then trained to be military civil servants."

The young boy couldn't stop himself from feeling so utterly restless, he stood up. "May I ask where they are now?"

There was a brief hesitancy with the young Hound. "I believe they are still backstage, going through individual inspection."

Sunday thanks him and saunters off towards the direction pointed.

Once he opens the heavy flaps of red theatre curtains, he cuts through the small crowd, side-stepping with ease. Big, amber eyes fly quickly—he's trying to find you, a girl with wings and a ringed halo like scattered stars, wearing attire as bare white as sunlight, white ribbons that drag across the stage floor. He remembers your cocktail hat that rests like a crown above your head, the white veil that hides the elusiveness of your eyes, the curve of your lips as you smile. It's daunting to him, he doesn't know you and yet he still seeks you out.

Where could you have gone?

Eight minutes have passed, his footfalls take him to every nook and cranny of the Velvet House until he is certain he has reap the entire place. When the time bleeds five more minutes, his steps turn mild and he's heaving tired breaths, hand pressed against the wall supporting his weight.

For a split moment, he wondered if you ever existed at all—it's like you had vanished like a wisp of dainty smoke when your performance was interrupted prematurely. Sunday dabs his forehead with the edge of his sleeve,

Then, he hears a foreign noise.

It almost sounded like a chair creaking under heavy weight.

When the boy glances up, there's a sliver of moonlight spilling in from one of the open doors on the corridor he was on. Without thinking and with nowhere else to go, he approaches slowly, carefully, the door croaking loud when he pushes it open.

Under the dimly lit room he is greeted with the sight of a girl, standing on her tippy-toes up on a rickety chair, reaching for something that's clearly out of her reach at the top shelf of a bookcase. His sudden presence clearly alerts her and she spins, almost stumbling from her perfect stance—Sunday's eyes fly open and his heart stutters as she starts to lose her balance.

"Hey! Be careful—!"

The chair topples and a heavy thud resounds around the room, along with a few books that fell from its place in the case.

Sunday's chest and entire back blooms with a sudden rush of pain, his face crumpling on a wince.

"Oww..."

His amber eyes peered down and his eyes lock with you as he had you in his embrace to crush the fall of your impact.

The boy diverts his eyes, then looks back at you, clearly at the loss with what to do.

"Uhm." His hands come up to softly hold your shoulders. "Are you okay?"

A second of silence.

"I think so.."

With two of his hands on your own, he helps you up slowly. Then he leans down to brush the dust from your dress.

"Sorry." Sunday goes for an apology. "I didn't mean to startle you, I—"

"Wait a second."

He looks up at your cushiony voice, your eyes seem to hover on the shape of his halo under the candlelight.

Sunday could've sworn he saw wonderment within your eyes.

"You're that halovian boy with the large halo." You say, your enthused tone resting upon his ears and it seemed as if the world had stilled.

Sunday sees the expression on your face and finally he takes every inch of you. Gone was your stylish hat, what remains is a silky dress that seems to ebb and flow around your limbs and legs. Your eyes encased his in orphic merriment.

"Yes, hi." He almost scowls at himself, he hates how that sounded between his teeth. "You're...the one that performed today, your voice is very beautiful."

Your chuckle is feathery and tasted like sweet fruit. You turn away from him to pick up a notebook that fell on the floor, brushing your fingers against its leather cover.

"So why are you in this part of the building, lost?"

"Of that nature, yes."

He doesn't say that he's been looking for you, specifically. He doesn't even know why he felt that way. At the corner of his membrane, he vaguely wanted to ask if you were okay—or inquire why you had asked for his assistance, he wouldn't have made a move if you hadn't done that.

To the boy's misfortune, you see through his white lie.

"You know, if you hadn't called for the Bloodhounds earlier, I would have assumed you were really lost." You tell him with a hardened look. "You're not even supposed to be here in this room."

If you hadn't called for the Bloodhounds.

"So you knew I wasn't just some audience member from the start." He asks you, non-accusatory.

"It doesn't take a genius to see you are different from the rest." You start. "You were in one of the high balconies—only those in high positions are allowed to enter there."

Sunday doesn't know whether you said it as an insult or a compliment. He clears his throat, "Then I wanted to ask you something, why did you ask me to help you?"

Sunday remembers his own humming halo, before hearing your voice in his head. He wonders why you had chosen to converse with him of all people in the audience, you could've called for the Minister instead, but you chose him specifically.

"I just knew you would help." Your gentle smile doesn't leave too much for him to wonder. "I saw it in your eyes."

It takes a long time for you to answer, his amber eyes don't leave you as you brush past him, footsteps thudding softly against wooden planks to stare out the window that acts like a halo around your figure—like performance lights.

Skepticism is sewn between his brows. Everything is quiet now, Sunday doesn't know what to say or do but watch you. The room is too dark to completely see anything but for a split second when the curtains raise to invite street lamps to pour in the room—he notices something.

His heart stutters, then he closes the distance between the two of you. One hand weighs heavy on your shoulder, the other rips the curtains wide so the light has no choice but to cascade in.

Sunday's shock at the sight.

There are deep scars, clumsy and messy, almost like wine blemishes greeting him between the peaks of stylish fabric. Amber eyes then trace along the wounds, it stops closely at the deep scratches where your wings were, like someone had dug red in the root of it.

"What happened to your..."

Your smile is bitter but you dare not answer him. Despite being young and powerless, Sunday's not a fool. He instantly places two together.

The reason for your cry for help, the trafficked children, your injuries...

"You're not from Penacony, are you?" He touches your wrist, pulling you close then closer, breathing almost a whisper in case anyone else was listening.

"You're from New Ebondium."

Sunday's eyes are wide open now, grim and stiff with the revelation—a polar opposite from yours that remains passive, too calm for his liking.

"I guess."

"You guess?"

You chuckle then, it seems like the situation hasn't weighed down on you. Even if it did, you don't seem too concerned with it. "You're smart. I am a foreigner, I was trafficked from New Ebondium. It's easy to exploit a land that was defeated, no?"

Your eyes trail to the window, massaging a tentative finger to your wounded ear wings.

"They tried to cut it off with a pair of rusty old scissors a few days ago." You start, "to them, they didn't care what I am—I'm nothing but a scum from New Ebondium—they said. They also wondered if halovian wings would fetch a high price in the market. That's why I asked for help from you, I thought you'd do something about those bastards and you did."

Sunday's shock turns to fury.

"Blasphemous."

White hot anger rises from his throat and deeper within his veins, a surge of protectiveness. It didn't matter if war ceased three years ago. Whatever the outcome, the victors would always be aligned with honor, breeding pride and prejudice, a slow cycle for the absolute victors and punishment-bearers.

This was not the dream of victory Sunday honors.

Tenderly, the boy brushes your feathers with his knuckles, inspecting closely. From the audience's seats, he didn't notice a single thing wrong about you, but up close, your colored plumages feel stiff and rough beneath his skin, untended and oily and not preened properly—the aspect of a halovian's wings are their basis of pride, divine innocence and most of all, freedom. It's their most cherished possession, ridding one of its feathers means cutting their life to the ground, to be helpless, to die flightless.

It's the fact that your birth-given wings beneath your ears have already been threatened to be chopped off, you haven't even fully grown out your secondary wings yet...

Sunday pulls himself out of his own thoughts when he feels palms lifting his cheeks up.

His eyes lock with yours and for a moment the two of you stay like that, watching the other's folded expression closely.

"You're sad." You concluded after your inspection. "Why are you sad?"

Why were you asking this question?

"You think I shouldn't feel sad about this?"

"No one has." You answer him. "Not the Penaconian folks and definitely not someone like you."

Someone like me, you say. Sunday should feel insulted from such distinctions. But at the back of his head, he knows you're right.

He lets out a shaky exhale.

It's weird. The feeling tickling in his chest is different, there's a tentative pull that he feels towards you but he cannot quite understand why. Aside from Robin no one else had expressed trust in him, a trust that didn't have any basis or solid ground. You had trusted him the moment your eyes met from across the stage, trusted him of your origin and your wounds from harassment that mar the canvas of your body.

You trusted him despite not knowing him.

Sunday doesn't understand.

By the time the inspection was finished, Sunday had to leave the room and you were called back with the other kids. The night was dead and the rain had stopped pouring, mechanical carriages awaited outside as Bloodhounds ushered the children within.

"Where have you run off to?"

Sunday looks up at Gopher, the night rests peacefully upon his face, his arms crossed softly over his chest. The young boy avoids eye contact first, then looks back at his deep eyes, "I just wanted to take a look around the area."

"Hm." Gopher hums. "Next time, take someone from the Bloodhounds with you. You could've run into trouble."

Run into trouble. The man's deep voice invokes doubt, enough to pierce and stumble Sunday's self-morale.

He bites his tongue.

"Of course."

The young boy focuses on the line of children in front of them, he's reminded of you. Sunday knew that if these kids will grow up, they will be like lambs to a slaughter. To be entangled in a more governed and high atrocity the closer they get to the Capital.

And then there's you, a girl from the enemy land, the girl who loves to perform—born to be one. One mishap from you and your life would tumble down like a weed in a garden.

'Oh, aren't you that halovian boy with the large halo?' 'My instincts told me to trust you.' 'Why are you sad?'

Your voice is in Sunday's head, your tone absent of any sort of expectations or contempt.

It felt like petals falling, your voice that is.

Sunday wants to hear it again—he cares.

He felt like he had the responsibility to look after you now after that statement of yours, after relishing briefly in your company, the young boy cannot help but crave for more, like a moth to a flame.

So when you appear from the door, following the line to the carriage—he steps out from his place beside the Minister, he cannot help but reach out and circle your wrist, the line that flowed like a stream suddenly meeting its disturbance, the boy could feel many eyes on him, burning his skin. It almost makes him flush red with embarrassment, but your eyes appear gentle like he'd remember a few moments ago beneath that moonlight, encouraging, so he stills his determination.

"Son?" Gopher questions.

But Sunday's eyes are on you.

You're sad. Why are you sad?

You think I shouldn't feel sad about this?

No one has. Not the Penaconian folks and definitely not someone like you.

"You're wrong because I care." He tells you, he feels the warmth of your wrist, the pulse on his fingertip, pouring at a similar rhythm of his own heartbeat. "Pain is still pain. It does not discriminate, not with rugs or with riches."

From there on, he has made his final decision and turns to his guardian.

"Mr. Gopher Wood." Says Sunday, a tinge of weakness in his tone, he takes another breath, fists clenched.

"I want her." He says. "As a companion for Robin and I."

"Sunday." Gopher's eyes narrow. "If you demand something, speak with a voice of confidence, only then will I listen to you."

Sunday's eyes widened, this was the first time the Minister had given him a chance to explain himself. He feels the warmth of your skin beneath his palm.

He looks at you gingerly. "Will you come with me?"

You seem also shocked by his actions, but you're quick to recover. "Only if you allow it."

"Then, she'll be coming back with me to the Church, Mr. Gopher Wood."

There was a splotch of silence, then a small exhale from the tall man. "Alright then. If you wish for a friend, who am I to refuse my son's request?" Sunday's surprise of Gopher Wood's pliancy on the matter. Sunday beckons you to stand with him and watch as the last remaining kids enter the carriage. The Minister had his final say with some of the Bloodhound officers and Sunday diverted his attention, ready to take you to their carriage.

He stops when he notices you staring up at the Velvet House once more, you squeezed Sunday's hand. "You told me pain is still pain despite rugs or riches."

"Yes, I did."

"Then, do you truly understand my pain?"

Sunday notices the melancholy framing your irises and the lilt of your tone, he tilts his head and says your name for the first time that night. That garners your attention and you look back at him,

He releases your hand only to reach out and hold both your ear wings upon his cupped palms. He feels the feathers once again and remembers its touch of roughness—he hasn't told you this, but there was a time where both he and Robin had smoke rubble and tangy blood caking their feathers. It was such a long time ago, but Sunday would dare not forget his mother's caresses and final words.

He holds your face softly, "My dream will involve everyone. It will be a paradise where the weak will be protected and one day, when we are older, if you wish for a stage to perform I'll build you one, something more grander than Velvet house, where everyone will love you and your voice. Pain and harassment will not be a factor."

You stare dumbfounded at his bold statement, Sunday sees your eyes turn starry-eyed.

"You promise?" You asked him, hopeful.

The boy is still young, doe-eyed and ruddy-cheeked, skin still dewy from any tribulations, with the first touch of the sun on the tip of his tongue when he says,

"I promise you."

“Another dead Halovian, sir.” There is a strain in the officer's tone, the body before them covered with a plain sheet, concealing the corpse.

"She was a widowed baron's wife." Gopher Wood's brows knotted, conflicted. The night lamp from afar provides ample light, glittering the chain hanging from his glasses.

"Are there any leads?"

"The local detectives are on their way here. But it will take about a day or two to gather any concrete evidence."

"What a waste of precious time." the man chastises. "By the time the detectives finish their work, the perpetrator would have escaped the city."

"My apologies, Chamberlain. However with the issues of Lady Constance's funeral preparations, the missing merchants and the suspicious activities of New Ebondium our resources are running incredibly thin."

Gopher Wood cannot help but pinch the bridge of his nose, rarely does he show any pint of irritation but the ongoing problem has been thinning his patience. "I had told those ignoramus Family heads to handle this affair weeks ago. Time and time again they have proven to be incompet—"

He catches himself before insults can spill any further. The atmosphere hushes into silence, merely the humming of lamplight and the distance roars of mechanical gears fill the cracked air.

Gopher barely turns his head, fixing his gloves. "Sunday."

"Yes, Minister?"

"This situation shall be kept hidden from the public and there's nothing more for you to learn today, you may head back to the Church."

The boy tilts his head. "Then, I’ll take my leave."

The night is achingly cold, even with him bundled up in a woolen scarf. His chauffeur guides him back to the awaiting carriage at the end of the alleyway, the young boy gets in and they are set off. When Sunday leans his elbow by the window sill, the radio starts to sputter:

"Convicted suspects of the horrible discovery in the downtown sector of the Velvet House have already been sentenced to their execution a few system hours ago. Their punishment to drink a half-pint of foxglove from a silver goblet, they have been—"

Sunday closes his eyes.

"Coach."

"Yes, young lord?"

"Please turn the radio off."

"Right away, young lord." His eyes remain vacant on the moving road, his fingers thrumming on his lap. Aside from the silence from the lessening radio, he could hear the distant roars of mechanical wirings and cogs from the Industrial Capital, the clips of horses' hooves as his carriage continued to roll by the granite road.

And just like that, after two weeks of hearing about the trials, the judgment, following the Minister around, the people involved with the trafficking had met their tragic end.

Penacony's news and radios had been sputtering about the incident, coupling it with the gasps from passersby and locals of all the sectors that bore witness to such atrocities. Two weeks of nonstop rumors and gossip about the tainted downtowns of deepened black market connections running haywire, and how they had gone radio silent after the crimes had surfaced to the Capital and the Bloodhounds.

In a couple of weeks people will move on from the topic, and days will continue to ebb and flow like clockwork.

That also means it has been exactly two weeks since you came to the Church.

Two weeks since Sunday last spoke to you.

Your schedule doesn't seem to find a crossroad. On the night of your arrival to the Church, the Minister had pulled Sunday aside,

"You've matured, Sunday." Gopher Wood had a different expression on his face. "I will tell the Academy to change your general studies to something more befitting. It's about time you start learning how to be a leader of this Nation."

Sunday should've been more aware of this outcome. The price of the Minister's lack of scolding on the matter concerning you—was Sunday's obedience and devotion to his growing responsibility. And thus, more weight was added on his shoulders.

With more duties on his plate comes the sacrifice of spending less time with his sister or having leisure time for himself.

The carriage stops. "We have arrived, please watch your step when you exit, master."

Sunday straightens, picking up his textbooks and exiting the carriage, what greets him at the entrance of the Church was one of the sisters that raised him, her smile kind, "Welcome back, Sunday. You've done well today, allow me to take your textbooks to your room."

"Thank you but there's no need, Sister Ruth." Sunday hesitates. "Is Robin home already?"

"Yes, she finished her recitals earlier and is now singing for tonight's sermon—ah." Ruth's eyes brighten. "That young girl volunteered to sing tonight as well, both have such lovely voices. Miss Robin and her seem to be enjoying each other's company."

A small smile graces Sunday's lips. "I see."

During the short time busying himself with the Minister's demands, he has found how you and Robin had grown closer to one another each passing day.

It was an instant click of friendship, Robin warmed up to you first after hearing of your circumstances (of course, Sunday hid the fact that you were New Ebondium-borne).

It only took a day or two to realize how similar you two were; she dreamt about being a star one day, you responded kindly to the same notion, your child-like dreams of performance still small and conserved, passion growing like a flavorful fresh fruit. The other day, Sunday saw how Robin had enthusiastically pulled you to join her in her recitals and practices, sometimes during the lukewarm afternoon light, he would hear you both giggling over in Robin's room or he would see you two care for the other children, tidying up the dinette table together, talking and grinning, the kids offering you a wreath to crown your head, the sisters patting your head or cheek affectionately.

It always brings a smile to Sunday's face to see you getting along so well with the others, a little relieved that Robin has another companion of her age whenever the boy is too busy. But at the same time, Sunday cannot help but feel a bit left out, a type of bittersweetness on the duvet of his expression whenever he sees you and the others, a gaping ache of loneliness in his chest that continues to grow a ravine, but he swallows down his own emotions.

"Would you like to join them?" Ruth asks. "I can go ahead and—"

"No, it's alright. I…" Sunday hesitates a second too late. "The Academy is expecting me to do well for the next exams, I have to study. Please send my greetings to those two."

Ruth's smile is softer now, sad. "Okay. Be sure to take breaks in the middle, young lord." The boy feels a warm hand caressing his cheek, almost achingly akin to a mother's touch of concern. "You're still fifteen, you shouldn't be worked up over things like these so early."

"I know." Sunday sends her a kind smile, pivoting in his heel after bidding her a curt farewell.

But he can't help but worry about his future responsibilities as the future successor, too busy worrying to join you and Robin so leisurely,

And his loneliness is quickly filled with matters of the Ménage.

The night is growing colder by the minute and Sunday finds himself leafing through the pages of one of his books—he cannot find it in him to sleep with ease, deprived and muddled with so many troubles. The Academy has high hopes for him to rank one and sooner or later depending on how he performs, he will be introduced as the Chamberlain's successor at the next banquet in the heart of the Ménage.

Sunday closes his eyes for a moment, a headache rampant. It's too much.

He sighs heavily, leaning his head against his arm. A knock on the door pulls him from his own thoughts, he flinches at the unexpected disturbance.

"Who's there?" He calls out softly, his eyes wander to the clock, 2:34am. It's so late for someone to come over. Silence answers him at first, however Sunday could hear the heartbeat of the person on the opposite side of the door, a mellow whisper and a dainty shuffle of feet beneath the wood.

"Sunday?" His breath hitches at your soft voice. "May I come in?"

The chair is dragged back as he stands. When he reaches the door he cannot help but fleet his gaze to the mirror in the corner, he squints beneath the dim light, pressing his shirt flat from creases, making sure his cowlicks are tamed down and presentable; he fusses over his appearance for a while before he cracks the door open.

His eyes sought yours and just like that, his lethargy lessens. You greet him on the other hand, your familiar smile decorating your lips, head tilted to the side.

"Hi."

"Hey." Sunday pauses, eyes looking you up and down, a frown on his lips. "The night is getting chillier, why are you only wearing cotton?"

He reaches out, albeit reluctantly for your hand to tug you in—only to jolt from how icy your fingers feel.

He sighs then. “Take care of yourself.”

His kiss-warmth hands are firm over your own, the boy pulls out a wool blanket from his wardrobe, wrapping it generously around your shoulders. He closes the door to his room and asks you to follow him to the lounge where a fireplace rests. You both sit in front of the hearth as Sunday clumsily cracks fire embers on the wood, it took a minute or two before red crumbs grew bright, licking up charred wood and humming through the empty air.

"Thank you." You let out a puff of breath, inching your cold fingers near the fire, then you turn to him. "Sorry if I'm disturbing you, I just couldn't sleep."

"No, no—" He's quick to clear his throat. "It's alright, really. I couldn't sleep either." His golden eyes drop to the heavy book being cradled to your chest.

"Looks like the two of us have things on our minds."

When Sunday looks back at you, your eyes are tipped upward in a smile.

He looks away immediately.

He hasn't mentioned it but it still feels a little odd to see you walking around the Church like that; hair untied, dressed in a simple cotton fabric—maybe he was used to seeing you in that silk-priced performance dress back at Velvet House but as you walk around, there's something else that seem to change about you.

There's still an air of untouched sophistication about you, your steps feather-like and quiet, sometimes he feels like if there is any form of danger right around the corner you won't hesitate to up and vanish like a smoke. But now, there's grounded reassurance—with the light of the fire, your wings appear preened and fluffier than usual, like it's been taken care more, it susurrates as you flap it. You settle comfortably on the floor beside him, nose buried into the blanket around your shoulder, and Sunday thinks that you look domestic, more like a child now than before.

You open your eyes. "Robin mentioned how much of a scholar you are."

He chuckles. "I'm just alright."

"Really?" You tilt your head. "You seem to like spending more time with books and scriptures than wanting to spend time with us."

Sunday's lips curve into a thin smile, he jots down about your unexpected boldness in his head then he quietly takes the empty space beside you, the floor creaking under his light weight. His wings flap once, twice. peeved and troubled. "I don’t particularly like scriptures as much as you thought." He turns his attention to the book you have. "What do you have there?"

He sees you look at him, down at the book, then up again.

"Oh." Your fingers are tentative over the letters inked onto the book. "This is just a book from the library I found. I was wondering if you knew of this." A pause. "I just didn't know how to approach you."

Sunday shakes his head, then leans in. "What is it? I can teach you if you want."

The boy wasn't expecting you to inch closer to his face, he refrains his wings from expressing his fluster and surprise, tucking it beneath his ears daintily when he sees you cup a palm around your mouth, your voice becoming whispery and hushed on his ear.

"It's about the Reef."

"The Reef,” He echoes. “The one that borders Penacony and separates the land from New Ebondium?" Sunday swallows his bash and answers you in a scholarly tone.

You nod your head. "Yes."

"Why are you curious about it?"

"The folks from the Velvet House mentioned it a couple of times back then." There's a look of adamancy in your expression, something that stirs Sunday. "They mentioned how difficult it is to go through the Reef and cross the border, why is that?"

The young boy thinks about it for a moment, during his travels he finds himself picking up certain information not privy to the public ears—on one of his journey towards the Serenity District, the closest location to the Reef itself—he has heard of Bloodhound officers talking about a creature spotted in that zone, not exactly the Legion but something more sinister.

Sunday spares you a look, his amber eyes glowing beneath the late hour. He leans forward, enough that his lips are brushing the feathers of your wings.

"There's a mimema in there."

"What's a mimema?"

"A meme." He simply says. "A creature as big as the most priced stallions in the high districts, said to have multiple eyes, golden claws and a weird...inky proportion."

He can feel your long silence. Then you ask, "Like a monster almost?"

"Yeah, almost. People have been said to have disappeared whilst crossing the Reef, mostly verified merchants trading to and fro." Sunday pauses. "That's just a myth though."

"I see." Your fingertip runs across the page, tracing the lines of a map on the book. "Then, can you teach me more about Penacony? I barely know anything about it aside from the Velvet House."

Sunday blinks his amber eyes down at you, the fire continues to crackle and burn. "Why me?"

"Why not you?"

"I'm," he looks away, insecurity is quick to well up inside of him as he remembers Mister Gopher Wood’s critique. You still have a lot to learn, son. He told him one time, and the young boy is quick to believe it.

"I'm not that good yet.” He tells you, and a pang coils through the air at the sound of rejection, he readies himself to stand and return to his room. “Forgive me but it’s best if you ask Robin or the Sisters…”

“Sunday, wait.” You catch the palm of his hand in yours, stopping his pace completely.

“Don’t leave yet, you don’t have to if you don’t want to—” You were quick to say, noticing the complicated expression caking his golden eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It’s just been two weeks and I…I have been looking for a reason to approach you, this was the only thing I could come up with.”

Then and there, young Sunday realizes the issue. He starts to piece together your unexpected visit, your sudden interest about Penacony and your request for him to teach you.

Two weeks, he has busied himself with other matters that he hasn’t spoken to you in that long. He thought Robin’s company was enough to satiate you, or the presence of the Sisters and the other children that you don’t need him.

He thought you didn't need him, but here you were, reaching out to him first when he should’ve kept his promise to you the moment he intertwined his hands with yours and offered you to come live with him.

“I just want to spend more time with you.” He finally sees the look of loneliness in your eyes, your hand squeezes his own, a lingering yearning in your own eyes. “You were the one that helped me and took me away from that hell. I just want us to be friends at the very least.”

Sunday cannot help but stare at you simply. There's valiance pooling in your eyes, a shine that dares to overflow it makes his breath hitch. The young boy clears his throat, he turns away—the apple of his cheeks burning and not because of the hearth's warmth—he traces his steps back and occupies the space beside you once again, the action makes your shoulders slump in relief.

His amber eyes are akin to the fire in front of both of you, “You don’t need to say all of that, I already see you as a friend.”

Your eyes seem to sparkle at his reply, your hands are still latched, and the boy is hyper aware of the feel of your cool fingers and the mild calluses written on your palm. He reaches out to brush some rebellious strands from your face, “I should be the one to say sorry, I was the one who brought you here and I never gave you reassurance.”

You shake your head. “I knew there were other things that worried you. I saw it in your eyes when you were talking with that Minister,”

So, even you noticed that.

You continued, “Robin has told me a lot about you.” Sunday cannot help but feel bashful at your confession. “She’s worried about you too, you know. She wants you to lean on her when you feel overwhelmed.”

Sunday’s smiles thin and he replies to your statement, a light-hearted chuckle leaving his lips. The night continues to prolong and ink through the minutes, however the two of you find yourself staying in each other’s company in the lounge. You were an easy person to be around, you were willing to listen as conversation quickly fills the background. Your chatting ranged from random spurts of topics you wish to tell the other—talking about your days in the Church, what you liked and disliked—to in-depth talks about philosophies from Sunday, even if there was a lack of heartfelt conversations tonight, it didn’t matter. The boy had yearned to interact with you since he saw you in Velvet House, being able to chat with ease about anything and everything was all that he needed.

That night, Sunday learned more about you as you did with him. You didn’t realize how long you both lingered and talked that the fire had reached its lifetime, and the dregs of sleep had pulled you both under, conquering your consciousness. The enthusiastic chattering quickly shifts into silence and you both fall asleep on the lounge floor, huddled together with the blanket Sunday had lent you.

By the next morning, the young boy awakens with Robin poking his cheek. His drowsy amber eyes fall to his sister’s sly expression and only then did he realize how he had fallen asleep whilst chatting with you throughout the night, and how he had you close to him, an arm beneath your head to act like a cushion at the absence of a pillow and his other arm draped over the blanket like he’s shielding you from the cold.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Robin coos teasingly. “Seems like the two of you had fun without me last night.”

“It’s not like that.” Robin could only laugh sweetly which made Sunday’s ears brush red yet again. It seems as if his soft skin had melange with rud these days. The boy sits up, cradling your head as you continue to slumber and he looks down at you softly.

Robin sees this and gets up from her crouched position, her dress fluttering “Her room is just across from mine.” She tells him. “I’ll help make breakfast. Take care of her, brother. She’s been through a lot.”

With one last smile in his direction, Robin exits the lounge leaving Sunday to ponder. Take care of her, brother, the sentence resonates through him. Without sparing another second, Sunday winds a hand around your shoulder and the other under your knees to lift you up into his embrace. You seem to unconsciously drift closer to him, your cheek and tucked wing making home on the crook of his neck as Sunday takes you to your own room.

It doesn’t take long for him to reach it, struggling a little with you in his arms and juggling the doorknob open. Sunday hasn’t been inside your own space before, but as soon as he steps inside the boy cannot help but realize how much the room is akin to its owner—he was reminded of the room he found you in at the Velvet House. The honey gold spilling through the thin curtains and melting down the floor looked like performance lights. Your bed is a fluffy nest, with layers of caked beddings and duvets, he spots a vanity, a wardrobe, a desk with a singular notebook tucked by the corner. He diverts his attention and waddles his way to your mattress and slowly sinks you on its comfortable sheets.

He cannot help the smile from invading his lips when you let out a breathy sigh of comfort. His hand inches to brush your hair again but his fingertips stop just as it graces your forehead, “It should be me, thanking you.” He mutters out softly.

“If it weren’t for you…”

Sunday pauses briefly, amber eyes observing your peaceful expression. He ruminates upon his thoughts as the morning continues to float around the room in gentle waves.

Sunday had kept his promise to you. After the whole ordeal with you visiting him and asking him to teach you more about Penacony—he approached you the next few days and was more than willing to give you a few pointers of what he was taught by his tutors and the Academy. Ruth specifically was elated at how you two are getting along now. More importantly, looking at the gentle look Sister Ruth gave Sunday, the boy knew why she was relieved.

Ever since taking private lessons to be the head of the Church at thirteen, Sunday stopped acting like a child and had been making surface-level relationships. Aside from the people within the Church, Robin and Mister Gopher Wood—he never let anyone genuinely in.

You were the first in a long while that Sunday was letting into his life.

Of course, neither Sunday nor Sister Ruth mentioned that fact as he guides you to his room, books already stacked and ready at his desk for topic reviews.

Time passes in a blink of an eye.

After a few slices of moments together, Sunday came to a quick realization that you don't seem to hold a heavy amount of worry about the future like he does, and even if you did, it didn't seem to affect your person.

Bright, glittering, crystalline water—that's what he describes you as. With your grinning eyes, curves of your lips and alluring tone—it's easy for anyone to fall into your own little puddle, you seem to have a talent with that. By the next month since you've arrived in the Church, you have become the sweetheart of many. It's well known how much Robin had considered you her dear friend, or how the younger kids had called you their pretty older sister, or how the Sisters of the Church had called you their darling girl.

And as for Sunday, the young scholar boy continues to fall into the currents of your mannerisms, your bold trajectory, your hauntingly drawn smile, deeper than anyone can sink themselves into.

All those routine nights studying alone through wordy scriptures and heavy proverbs was simply replaced by your presence and the crackle of fire. That one late night visiting Sunday turned to two, then four—to the point the boy doesn’t question when he hears his door open and close because he knows it’s just you, another new book in your arms and questions ready to slip between your tongue.

You were easily Sunday's best student, you were quick to understand certain verses, can make analysis and theories on certain economic and political decisions of the Ménage, get into deep discussions with him in terms of Penaconian history and learn its linguistics. It had quickly become a study session for the two of you—one of the last things on his routine which Sunday favored the most. It was the only time you two got to spend time together since his mornings and afternoons were preoccupied by private tutoring.

"You learned the Penaconian language faster than I expected." Sunday's impressed at your written notes, they are all correct and easy to understand. Then he starts cleaning up the mess of cards and parchments from his room floor. The boy was too busy to notice your long stare. When he gathers up the last remaining notes, he barely sees you reach out your hand until he feels the touch of fingertips grazing the feathers of his wings, touching a nerve.

Sunday jolts back in surprise, curling his wings protectively beneath his gray hair. "...What is it?"

"Oh sorry. It’s nothing, I just..." You seem to be daydreaming, stagnant and saddened all of a sudden. "To Halovians, wings are their lifeline. Scriptures and textbooks have mentioned the divinity and the meaning of wings to Halovians so I still cannot understand why there will be people out there that desire to cut off our wings."

Sunday is quiet for a moment, he cannot help but sigh heavily. "Did you eavesdrop on the passing guards outside of our Church?"

Your silence is almost deafening. "What do you mean?"

"Did you hear about the recent serial murders of Halovians?" He asks. Your expression shifts: shocked, caught, then melancholic.

You nod slowly and the boy's shoulders droop.

A month has passed already, and that meant three more dead Halovians found in ditches and alleyways with no clue of the murderer behind it. The only alarming difference from the first found body—was that the recently murdered Halovians had ripped off wings and missing halos. Maybe the black market networks are finally making a bold move after the execution of their own? Sunday hasn't heard anything from Minister Gopher Wood in awhile since the first case.

The very thought of those mutilated Halovians twists ichor and sickness within Sunday.

Then for a moment, everything seems to stop.

The two of you hear clattering, then the door creaks open, Ruth emerges with a lantern in hand, her expression creased with panic and worry. Something felt wrong.

“What the matter?” Sunday is up on his feet, his pulse is racing.

Ruth is reluctant for a second, then she says. “It’s the young miss.” She says. “We can’t find her anywhere.”

Robin. Sunday felt like his whole world crashed for a momentary second.

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[fangirleaconmigo]

I so share your opinion on the word butcher and the meaning for Geralt and I hate the writers for choosing that particular word. I can't accept that they don't associate it with racism bc that was the whole point of the first episode and they made it obvious how much Geralt hate being called like that. But the sad truth is that seeing some of Lauren's tweets she really seems clueless with such things. And knowing what happens at the end of the lady of the lake, it makes it even worse. Also I don't understand the people who wanted Geralt to ask for forgiveness for his behavior in 1x06 but are completely fine with the song. One was having a bad behavior towards a person privately, he was lashing out and he definitely should ask for forgiveness but it was a private fight, no call for hate for jaskier. The other was telling to a crowd that hates the witchers and considers them monsters, that in fact they are monsters. I hope they revisit that in the future but I doubt it. Thanks for your metas.

Thank you!

I find it so interesting. Geralt and Jaskier’s conflict is like a Rorschach blot test for viewers. I mean, all art is. But how we respond to fictional conflicts has everything to do with our own personal flaws, experiences, and traumas.

For example, that scene on the mountain and how someone responds to it, usually says something about whether that person is typically the person who loses their temper or if they are the one who people have lost their temper on.

And to complicate it further, how do people feel about the relationship up to that point? The big theme of their relationship is that Geralt refuses to call him his friend. He refuses to admit he likes him, and even refuses to use the word.

So. Do you (the general you) think that Geralt very obviously cares about him and is just being grumpy? Or do you feel that Geralt barely tolerates him? That probably depends on your own values or expectations of friendship.

Then FURTHER complicating THAT is the fact that there is little actual development of that friendship “on screen”. The friendship is drastically underwritten relative to the emotional role it must play. So we are all operating from different impressions of what that relationship is like day to day.

I have been on witcher Twitter, Witcher tumblr, ao3 and (until recently) discord almost every damn day since the show came out. So I have seen every possible characterization and opinion on their conflict. And at this point in the fandom, there has been backlash, backlash to the backlash, and another round of backlash to that as far as how people feel about, or characterize it.

But I digress.

Then we finally get S2 and we find that Geralt actually left him on the mountain and hasn’t returned to find him or apologize the entire time, and Jaskier is singing Burn Butcher Burn, a song that I find (I’m with you on this one) completely inextricable from racism and bigotry.

So.

If I were to acknowledge and perceive Burn Butcher Burn, here is how I see it “in world”. (this is not an endorsement, babes I’m just talking)

You know how someone is mean to you and you lose it? Maybe stuff has built up or you’ve got other shit going on? So you react with such disproportionate spite that you INSTANTLY lose all high ground? Two second ago you wanted an apology and now your dumb clown ass has to grovel? Lmao

That’s how I see this. So now you know my very personal individual reaction to it based on my own psyche.

Geralt said some cruel shit. That sucks. It’s not ok to yell at people you love and talk to them that way. An apology would have been in order. I personally hate being yelled at with my whole heart and soul. But if I love someone enough to be friends with them for 20(!) years, I’m gonna forgive someone a mistake in the heat of the moment. People make mistakes.

Now we find out that Geralt apparently left him there without saying a single word. That’s worse. He would have a long way to go to make up for that. If Jaskier didn’t want to he his friend anymore that would be his decision.

But Jaskier?

Burn Butcher Burn???????? Since we have established that I associate that with racism and bigotry against Geralt, and it is unquestionably associated with one of his worst traumas this side of the trials, I literally cannot think of many things more singe-your-eyebrows off cruel. Joey played it with such amazing grief and emotion. But even so. How long was he singing that? How many people did he sing it to? Over and over and over? And publicly?

The facts of it can’t overcome even that gorgeous performance.

It is, for me, from my perspective, unthinkably cruel.

I’ve had people say to me “haven’t you said anything out of cruelty?”

And to that I’d say two things. First, haven’t you ever loved someone so much that no matter how you break up, whether they are in your life or not, there is always a part of you that will protect them? Have you? I have. And the second and most significant bit it…if bigotry is not in you, it doesn’t matter how hurt or drunk you get, it still ain’t in there.

So again, we’re back at the various ways you can look at the word Butcher.

So. If I have to put this “in world” I have to believe that either Jaskier doesn’t make that connection, or is in such grief that it’s like a fugue state and he doesn’t grasp the reality of what he is doing.

Then if I were writing their reunion, I would have the reality, the full weight of what he’s done just drop on him like a load of bricks the moment he sees Geralt’s face in the flesh.

And he would apologize. And I would write Geralt responding in the most emotionally devastating way possible: by instantly forgiving him.

Yeah. It’s fine.

Because deep down, Geralt has always suspected he is actually a butcher or a monster.

And that has to devastate Jaskier because he has worked SO HARD for SO LONG to get Geralt to see himself as a good man.

And in the end, he is the one that has pushed the ability to do that out of Geralt’s grasp. Because if the friend who loves him most sees him that way the minute he hurts him, well then, it must be true.

I think it’s a long way back from that one. And though Geralt forgives him, he never forgives himself.

But of course I’m not writing the show.

[ekaterinatepes]

Nothing but the Best

Author Notes:

Hello Everyone and welcome to my second update. I wasn’t certain about the kind of reaction and feedback I would get from the public about this fic. But so far it has been wonderful! Thank you so much to all the people that liked, reblogged and commented.

I personally love to see Gojo grovel at y/n’s feet. It’s not often we get to see the mighty Gojo Satoru all weak for that one person. Yes I am a sadist lol and if you are enjoying this fic, so are you! Lol

English is not my first language so if you notice any grammatical, structural or spelling mistakes please bare with me, I am doing my best.

PS: This fic does deviate from the canon since in my story Suguru never got killed nor is his body possessed by a cursed spirit. He is living and well. As he deserves, because I love him. ❤️

Series Master List

II.

(1 month ago)

Suguru Geto was not a very social man so to speak, he didn’t have many friends except for an eccentric and rambunctious blue eyed sorcerer, a gloomy lady doctor who was probably dissecting some dead body at the morgue of the Jujutsu Tech and of course… the lovely Y/N L/N well… now Y/N Gojo.

It was rather odd how both Satoru and Suguru had met Y/N. They were in their early twenties, in a mission as per usual. A special grade curse in a ballet studio. When they went in there all they found was a beautiful young woman immersed in her own world dancing to the mellow notes of “Kissing You by Des’ree.

They went in expecting as per usual to find the nasty, rotten decay of a curse taking over and what they found instead was nothing of the sort. Satoru’s six eyes saw clearly the lingering cursed energy floating around but it was oddly not attacking her. It was almost as if her dance and the music had appeased the curse’s destructive wrath, it had… distracted it. They would have to wait, standing on that spot with their feet stuck on the ground, unable to remove their eyes from the beautiful vision in front of them. Her precise and elegant movements, infused with the strength of her muscles to perfectly execute them in what looked like an effortless sequence…. Hypnotising, was the word.

The duo couldn’t very well try and exorcise a curse when an innocent and beautiful civilian was in the middle so they settled for giving her some time to be done and abandon the place before they could get to work.

When she was done, a thin layer of sweet clung to her S/c skin. Wiping her face softly with a towel she picked up her belongings, turned off the music and the lights; putting on a light beige jacket she finally left the building. As soon as she crossed the door the curse woke up from its lethargic state. What in the fuck was that!? They had never seen a curse stopping to enjoy artistic beauty before.

After quickly disposing of the curse both men looked into each other’s eyes as if to say ‘who the hell was that?’ In silent agreement they followed the woman and soon caught up to her walking down the dark streets of Tokyo while listening to her music in her earphones. Oblivious to her surroundings she almost got hit by a vehicle, that is exactly when Satoru warped to her and pulled her away from the danger.

The young woman was surprised when the lights of a car flashed before her eyes and just as suddenly she was pulled away; looking up she found a platinum haired blindfolded man holding her in his arms with a wide grin saying “that was a close call doll!” She blushed noticing his handsome features perfectly visible despite the garment hiding his eyes. The closeness of his body made her heart beat increase. In that moment Suguru arrived, running and asking “are you alright?” Concern noticeable in his rich and velvety baritone voice. Looking up to the newly arrived raven haired man she blushed even deeper. “I… uh, I’m alright!” She quickly added, forcing her brain to work “sorry! I was distracted… but, thank you for that!” she quickly added with a little smile moving away from the extremely tall snow haired man who moments ago had her stuck to his body. “That’s alright!” Replied Satoru, his smirk growing even wider if possible “we were here to save the day!” Winking at her with the cheesiest line ever “but allow me to introduce myself! My name is Gojo Satoru and this is my friend Geto Suguru”

A little nervous and embarrassed she collected herself to reply “nice to meet you both! My name is Y/N L/N”. Satoru was the first one to answer “Y/N L/N? Where are you from?” Asked with childish excitement to the clearly foreign woman. Her features, eyes, hair and skin color made it obvious she was not Japanese. Her exotic beauty was nevertheless captivating.

-

A knock at the door interrupted Suguru from traveling down memory lane. Sighing he stood up from the couch where he had been lounging with a book he was pretending to read while reminiscing. When he opened the door, the sight shocked him “are you alright?! What is wrong?!” y/n was at his door, her beautiful e/c eyes red and puffy from crying, looking devastated and in the middle of a panic attack. He wrapped his arms around her in a hug asking what was happening, where the hell was Satoru?! But when he mentioned his best friend’s name her crying intensified.

“Sugu…” in a trembling and cracked voice she started “he is cheating on me… with another woman…” he wasn’t moving, he wasn’t even breathing. Those words simply struck a cord within his chest that made something snap inside like a rubber band.

He didn’t want to overreact, what with her current state, it wouldn’t do any good “are.. you sure?” He asked in a whisper stroking her back while she hugged him holding onto him for dear life. She nodded and then she cried harder.

“Yes…” whispered the woman against his chest “I hired a private investigator and he gave me the pictures and all the confirmation I needed”.

In all the years he had known Y/N he had never seen her so… distressed, broken… frail. She usually was quite the opposite. Energetic, full of life, fire and spunk. Ready to take down anyone, even Satoru himself. Which was probably why Satoru had been so smitten. No woman ever had treated him the way she did, as if he was just another normal guy. It forced the egocentric jujutsu sorcerer to have a humility check rather often; oddly he enjoyed the feeling of being treated like a normal person. She appreciated him for who he really was aside from his name, the money and the power. She saw right through him.

Seeing her in this deplorable state, a carcass of herself was heart breaking to Suguru who had strong feelings for her.

Suguru wasn’t surprised she had hired a detective, she was smart and resourceful. “I,..” controlling his rage he softened his voice “I am sorry kitten” said calling her by her given nickname. “What can I do for you?” Asked stroking her tresses, trying to comfort her while attempting to appease the anger inside him. “I… don’t know” a broken whisper was suffocated against his damp chest “I want to leave…” continued “would you… help me?”.

“Are you certain that is what you want?” Asked calmly wiping away her tears. The h/c nodded. “I will help”.

That is how they both had planned everything in detail. She wanted to disappear from the map which normally shouldn’t be too complicated but when you have THE Gojo Satoru hot on your trail it became extremely challenging. Getting a fake identity, passports, money, bank accounts, airplane tickets, picking what places she would go to and what name she would change to every time was a tough task but she had decided she didn’t want anything to do with Satoru anymore.

Suguru even offered to come along since he didn’t want her traveling alone but she refused. He understood she needed time alone to heal; at least he still could keep in touch and help her through her journey.

—-

(Tonight)

Satoru didn’t even bother to knock at the door of his best friend’s apartment, he warped right in the middle of his living room where he found Suguru with a glass of whiskey in hand and a book on the other. The dark haired sorcerer arched an eyebrow while staring at a frenzied looking Satoru.

“Where is she?” White disheveled hair framed two crystal blue eyes with blown pupils that took in his surroundings, examining every corner as if he was expecting to find a clue to his wife’s whereabouts. He just knew Suguru would know where she was. Y/N and Geto were very close and Satoru was not ignorant about the obviously one sided infatuation he had with his woman. But it was all platonic and y/n would never do anything suspicious, he trusted her with his life!

“You would have to be more specific Satoru” retorted in a calm tone before taking a sip from his drink. Finally setting the glass on the coffee table in front of him.

“Oh don’t fucking play that bullshit game with me Suguru! Where is MY wife?”. Geto watched his friend while he tried to contain his anger, the tense posture, muscles contracted, energy cracking around him…Satoru was about to go feral. “And how am I supposed to know where YOUR wife is? Isn’t she your wife? Shouldn’t you know here to find her?” Now he was just poking the bear.

Satoru smirked, a dark and terrifying gesture “don’t fuck with me Suguru and just tell me what I want to know”.

“I don’t know…” was his meek answer. Suguru stood up and walked to the window looking at the night lights of the city bellow “she said you would come here first looking for blood so she made sure not even I knew where she was going” answered in a careless tone as if he was talking about the weather instead of Satoru’s wife leaving him.

———> Chapter 3

Tags: @Sleepyamaya, @Cloudsinthecosmos, @Jxvajxy, @satoruhooraaa

[engie-ivy]

Minerva isn't sure she can protect Remus Lupin any longer now a student has been injured the night of the full moon. Especially when Walburga Black is demanding repercussions for her son, after what was clearly a Werewolf attack. Sirius Black, however, tells a very different story.

Lupine Lawlessness

“This is outrageous!” Walburga Black immediately rounds on Minerva the moment the woman strides into the Hospital Wing, her voluminous robes billowing behind her.

Minerva notices Mrs Black barely spares her injured son in the bed a glance. She also notices how the boy slightly shrinks in on himself as he hears her voice. Then, Mrs Black is standing in front of her, and all her attention is directed at being on the receiving end of Walburga Black’s fury.

“I knew you and that old fool would be the ruin of this school. It’s one thing that the place is infested with Halfbloods and Mudbloods, but harbouring a Dark Creature?”

“Mrs Black,” Minerva says politely. “I understand this must be very distressing for you as a mother, and I’m very sorry indeed, but we are yet to establish what happened.”

“Do you take me for a fool?” Mrs Black spits. “That type of claw marks, on which Healing Magic has no effect, while yesterday was a full moon? It’s very clear what has attacked him, and that thing had no business being on school grounds.”

Minerva herself has put two and two together as well. It was easier for her, as she’s aware there’s a student infected with Lycanthropy attending Hogwarts. A student who also happens to have been a close friend of Sirius Black.

Oh, she had really thought they were going to pull it off. They had come so far. She had been sceptical at first. A Lycanthrope attending seven years of Hogwarts without any incidents, without anyone finding out? It appeared unlikely, but she had agreed to try. And then she met Remus Lupin, and she had been very glad she did so. The boy was sweet, modest, hardworking and clever, and he deserved to have a proper education, but also to be around peers, make friends, and have fun. Now, when she had really started to believe it was going to be alright, the worst had happened. A student had been attacked.

It’s not difficult to reason out what must’ve happened. Sirius Black must’ve seen his friend disappear into the tunnel below the Whomping Willow, and had decided to go after him, only to end up face-to-face with a full-grown werewolf.

Minerva’s first reaction had been relief. Relief that Sirius Black was going to be okay. Some nasty injuries that would leave some nasty scars, but no permanent damage, which is quite a miracle. It could’ve been much, much worse.

But relief had quickly been replaced with worry. While the headmaster and herself can get in serious trouble for allowing a Lycanthrope in the vicinity of children, her worry was mostly for Remus Lupin. The world is unfairly cruel to Lycanthropes. Graduated from Hogwarts, with his formidable grades and excellent recommendations from his teachers, the boy would’ve at least had a chance, but being expelled from Hogwarts... His only option might be The Werewolf Camps in the mountains, where Lycanthropes go if they have nowhere else to go, which, regrettably, is often. Stories about those camps make your stomach churn, and it’s not a place for a boy like Remus Lupin to be.

Sirius Black must surely know it was Remus Lupin who did this, and he has every right to be angry. School is supposed to be a safe place, not a place where an unsuspecting student can suddenly be mauled by a Werewolf. Minerva doesn’t know if, or how, she can protect Remus Lupin from the consequences.

“The House of Black is a highly esteemed family,” Mrs Black goes on. “A Black being attacked by such an inferior creature without any repercussions would be an insult to our family name. It’s already a great show of disrespect that you even allowed this to happen, and we do not tolerate disrespect.”

“I truly regret the situation,” Minerva says, hoping to sooth the other woman. “At Hogwarts, any student should be safe from any kind of danger-”

“But this was not just any student or any kind of danger,” Mrs Black interrupts. “This was the Noble Blood of Black being spilled by a filthy monster that should be removed from society!”

“Really, Mrs Black, we are yet to determine-”

Once again, Minerva is interrupted, this time by the arrival of a man.

“Lady Black, my apologies for my tardiness, but I came as you requested,” he says, ignoring Minerva in favour of focusing all his attention on Mrs Black. The man is short, with sharp eyes and a pointy face, and he looks at Mrs Black with reverence.

Mrs Black scoffs. “Quit wasting time then and get to work.”

The man starts opening his briefcase, taking out a quill and parchment.

“What is the meaning of this?” Minerva demands. “Who are you? What business do you have here?”

“Mr Hesner is from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures,” Mrs Black replies. “And he’s here at my request to make a report of the situation.”

The colour drains from Minerva’s face. Being expelled is bad, but nothing compared to an official Ministry report. If a Lycanthrope is reported to have somehow been involved in an attack on a witch or wizard, the Lycanthrope will get the annotation ‘Feral’ in the Registry. All hopes of ever finding a job or a place to live will be lost. The Lycanthrope will have to report at the Ministry at frequent and irregular times, and any failure to report will lead to the Lycanthrope immediately being locked away. The Lycanthrope will be out on the streets without any money or prospects, and even the smallest transgression will lead to being locked up. Almost every Lycanthrope with the ‘Feral’ annotation will be either locked up, or forced to flee to the mountains within a year. Remus Lupin certainly does not deserve such a fate.

“Is... is that really necessary?” Minerva asks.

“Very necessary indeed,” Mr Hesner replies. “If you had any sense of morality, you would’ve contacted us yourself, Ms McGonagall. Luckily, we could count on Mrs Black to do the right thing,” he says, with a grovelling smile in her direction.

“Can you imagine if that beast would’ve bitten him?” Mrs Black shudders. “What a stain on the family tree that would’ve been, to have a Lycanthrope in the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black!”

To make sure no one will make the mistake of confusing her fear for shame on the Black family name with fear for her son’s well-being, she doesn’t mention that her son might not have survived the bite, or that he would’ve had to live with an extremely painful, chronic condition for the rest of his life. She probably would’ve burnt the boy off the family tree herself, and sent him to go live in the mountains.

“That would’ve been such a waste,” Mr Hesner agrees, before turning to Sirius Black. “Well, young Mr Black, I need an official statement containing your description of the events.”

Sirius Black looks thoughtful for a moment. “I was... attacked. By some kind of creature.”

“Describe the attack please,” Mr Hesner instructs without looking up from his parchment, quill at the ready.

“Oh, the creature was... round.” Mr Hesner’s eyes snap up, but Sirius Black continues. “Like pumpkin-shaped. But huge. Like a huge pumpkin. Only covered in bright yellow feathers. With bulging eyes in between. And two glittering horns on top of its head.”

“You’re treating this like some kind of a joke!” Mr Hesner says accusingly, pointing his quill in Sirius Black’s direction.

“Why, sir,” Sirius Black says, pretending to be shocked. “I protest. I would never!”

“If you can’t be serious...” Mr Hesner says, gritting his teeth.

Sirius Black blinks innocently at him. “Ask anyone, Mr Hesner, and I’m sure they’ll all tell you that I’m always Sirius.”

“I’ve dealt with Magical Creatures for longer than you have lived, boy,” Mr Hesner spits. “And I know such a creature as you described does not exist.”

Sirius Black shrugs. “Who knows what creatures the Forbidden Forest hides?”

“Did the attack meddle with his brain?” Mrs Black demands.

Minerva shakes her head. “Madam Pomfrey has assured me that his mental state is unaltered.”

“So I have to believe he was attacked by a horned ball of yellow feathers?” Mrs Black snarls.

“Who knows what creatures the Forbidden Forrest hides?” Minerva repeats Sirius Black’s exact words. Sirius Black gives her a pleased smile, which she gladly returns.

Mrs Black, on the other hand, gives her a nasty glare, and then switches her attention to Mr Hesner, who shrinks in on himself. “His chest is covered in Werewolf marks the day after a full moon. It’s obvious what happened even without his statement.”

Mr Hesner gulps. “I... I’m sorry, lady Black. I’m not allowed to report an attack without an official statement from the victim. I mean, only if the victim had died I could’ve...” He trails off.

Mrs Black now directs her glare at her son, like she regrets the last isn’t the case. “I’ll make you pay for this.”

Sirius Black becomes even more pale, but he continues to defiantly meet his mother’s gaze.

“I do not tolerate anyone threatening my students,” Minerva speaks.

Mrs Black turns her head to her. “He’s my son. I can do whatever I want when it concerns him.”

Minerva takes a step forward. Her eyes are like stone and her voice is like ice. “Not in my school.”

To her great satisfaction, Mrs Black takes a step back and swallow. She quickly recovers though, and pulls her cloak tighter around herself. She gives Sirius Black a quick glance and hisses “I’ll see you this summer,” before walking out of the room in quick strides, Mr Hesner having to dribble to keep up, her robes billowing behind her in that way only purebloods ever seem to manage.

“Are you quite done?”

Minerva turns around to see Poppy standing behind her, her arms crossed over her chest. “Really, you don’t have to be a professional to know that a recovering patient needs rest, not all this uproar and noise. That goes for you too, Minerva. You might run this school after Albus, but I run the Hospital Wing. Now leave. My patient needs to sleep.”

A few days later, Minerva makes her way over to the Hospital Wing. Sirius Black has had some days to recover, and luckily, his recovery is going well. She hopes he has also been able to process everything that happened.

A difficult conversation still needs to be had.

She’s immensely glad Sirius Black hadn’t wanted to report Remus Lupin at the Ministry, but still, he could’ve been killed, and she can’t imagine he’ll be okay with there being no repercussions at all. She thinks she might be able to talk him out of demanding Remus Lupin to be expelled, and in the best case scenario, she can convince him to keep it quiet.

It’s not that she thinks Sirius Black is in any way cruel or anything like his family, not at all. She has a very high opinion of the boy. It’s just that Lycanthropy prejudice is very strong throughout the Wizarding World. Even the best person has some negative thoughts regarding Werewolves. The sentiment is especially strong among the pureblood community, and Sirius was raised with their norms and values. Regardless, she can’t imagine anyone would be okay with finding out a person they thought they knew is a Lycanthrope. Remus Lupin will definitely have to move out of the boys’ dormitory, maybe even to a private room. No one would be willing to keep sharing a dorm with someone that tried to kill them. Maybe she can-

Minerva stops in her tracks as she reaches the Hospital Wing, all thoughts of appeasing Sirius Black disappearing from her head.

Sirius Black isn’t alone. Remus Lupin is with him. Like actually with him on the bed. Remus Lupin is curled up at Sirius Black’s side, his hands gripping Sirius Black’s robes and his head resting on Sirius Black’s chest. Sirius Black has one arm firmly wrapped around Remus Lupin, and with his other hand he’s gently threading his fingers through Remus Lupin’s hair. The boys haven’t noticed her presence.

“I am so, so, so sorry,” Remus says, and probably not for the first time.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I did it.”

“You can’t control it.”

“I could’ve stayed away from you,” Remus argues. “I can control that. A filthy monster that should be removed from society.”

Sirius huffs. “That’s just a bunch of pureblood bollocks only stuck-up twats with half a brain still living in the Middle Ages actually believe.”

“Your mother thinks so.”

“I rest my case.”

Remus chuckles and presses his face closer to Sirius’ chest. “I can barely believe you’re real. I don’t deserve you.”

“Moony,” Sirius says with a sigh. “I told you, The Wolf wasn’t even trying to hurt The Dog. You weren’t feral! The Wolf wanted to play, and didn’t know his own strength, and kind of forgot dogs aren’t as strong as Werewolves. Even transformed, you never meant to hurt me.”

The Dog? An absurd thought enters Minerva’s mind, a thought that surely sheds a different light on what may have happened. Absurd for sure, but also... plausible? And if anyone can do it...

No. Minerva firmly pushes the thought away. It might be true, or it might not be. Either way, she doesn’t need to know. After all, what you don’t know, you can’t report to The Ministry.

“And even if The Wolf fancied himself some Padfoot for breakfast,” Sirius continues. “I still wouldn’t have blamed you. It’s not you.”

“You’re going to have a scars for the rest of your life,” Remus murmurs against Sirius’ chest.

Sirius gently tilts his head up. “Then it’s a good thing I think scars are sexy,” he says with a wink, making Minerva wonder whether it might be more than just close friendship she’s looking at.

A faint blush spreads across Remus’ cheeks, and he slightly shakes his head. “You can’t accept my apologies that easily.”

“Oh no, Moony. Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Sirius says, tapping his finger fondly against Remus’ nose, which again makes Minerva question their level of intimacy. “I have, in fact, not accepted your apologies, as I refuse to accept an apology for something someone could’ve done nothing about.”

Remus scrunches up his nose. “You’re stubborn as a mule.”

Sirius chuckles. “I could teach mules in stubbornness. But if you insist on making it up to me, I suppose you can help me win the bet.”

“The bet?”

“I’ve made a bet with Prongs that I can make at least half of the Gryffindors believe I was attacked by a pumpkin-shaped yellow feather ball, while Prongs says I won’t even make ten.”

Remus shakes his head. “You’re an idiot,” he says, though it sounds fond.

Sirius grins. “But you love me.”

Remus leans forward and presses a kiss against Sirius’ lips, making Minerva blink, but confirming her doubt. There must be something more between those boys for sure.

Remus pulls back, but gently rests his forehead against Sirius’. “Merlin, I do love you, Sirius Black.”

“I love you too, Remus Lupin.”

Minerva smiles to herself. There’s no need to worry after all. If one thing is stronger than prejudice, it’s love.

[kingandfireheart]

Lucien Vanserra Sass Appreciation Post

For more serious Lucien content see my other posts:

What the fuck is happening in the Autumn Court series Part 1 (Eris) and Part 2 (Lady of the Autumn Court)

What stories are left: Lucien

When Lucien introduces himself:

"Lucien," my captor said quietly, the name echoing with a hint of a snarl. "Behave."

Lucien went rigid, but he hopped off the edge of the table and bowed deeply to me. "My apologies, lady." Another joke at my expense. "I'm Lucien. Courtier and emissary." He gestured to me with a flourish. "Your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold."

When Lucien is intrigued by Feyre:

"Well," Lucien said, his remaining russet eye fixed on me, "you don't look half as bad now. A relief, I suppose, since you're to live with us. Though the tunic isn't as pretty as a dress."

When Lucien wants to know if Feyre thinks he's hot:

"Thank you for the meal," I said. It was all I could think of. "Won't you stay for wine?" Lucien said with sweet venom from where he lounged in his seat. I braced my hands on my chair to rise. "I'm tired. I'd like to sleep." "It's been a few decades since I last saw one of you," Lucien drawled, "but you humans never change, so I don't think I'm wrong in asking why you find our company to be so unpleasant, when surely the men back home aren't much to look at." At the other end of the table, Tamlin gave his emissary a long, warning look. Lucien ignored it. "You're High Fae," I said tightly. "I'd ask why you'd even bother inviting me here at all-or dining with me." Fool-I really should have been killed ten times over already. Lucien said, "True. But indulge me: you're a human woman, and yet you'd rather eat hot coals than sit here longer than necessary. Ignoring this"-he waved a hand at the metal eye and brutal scar on his face-"surely we're not so miserable to look at."

When Feyre leaves their first dinner together:

He gave a distant nod and motioned for me to leave. Dismissed. Like the lowly human I was. Lucien propped his chin on a fist and gave me a lazy half smile. Enough. I got to my feet and backed toward the door. Putting my back to them would have been like walking away from a wolf, sparing my life or no. They said nothing when I slipped out the door. A moment later, Lucien's barking laugh echoed into the halls, followed by a sharp, vicious growl that shut him up.

When Lucien notices Feyre checking him out:

Lucien paused, and I found him smirking at me, making the scar even more brutal. "Were you admiring my sword, or just contemplating killing me, Feyre?"

When Lucien is a sarcastic motherfucker:

“So is this what you do with your lives? Spare humans from the Treaty and have fine meals?” I gave a pointed glance toward Tamlin’s baldric, the warrior’s clothes, Lucien’s sword. Lucien smirked. “We also dance with the spirits under the full moon and snatch human babes from their cradles to replace them with changelings–”

When Lucien describes Amaratha perfectly:

"What happened to the magic to make it act that way?" Lucien let out a harsh laugh. "Something was sent from the shit-holes of Hell," he said, then glanced around and swore. "I shouldn't have said that. If word got back to her-"

When they run into the Boggee:

"I heard its voice in my head. It told me to look." Lucien rolled his shoulders. "Well, thank the Cauldron that you didn't. Cleaning up that mess would have ruined the rest of my day." He gave me a wan smile. I didn't return it.

When he gives Feyre a title:

"Are you a warrior, though?" Would you be able to kill me if it ever came to that? Lucien huffed a laugh. "Not as good as Tam, but I know how to handle my weapons." He patted the hilt of his sword. "Would you like me to teach you how to wield a blade, or do you already know how, oh mighty mortal huntress?

When Lucien just needs someone to spar with:

“Do you ever stop being so serious and dull?" "Do you ever stop being such a prick?" I snapped back. Dead—really, truly, I should have been dead for that. But Lucien grinned at me. "Much better.

When Lucien and Feyre spend quality time together:

Over the next three days, I found myself joining Lucien on Andras's old patrol while Tamlin hunted the grounds for the Bogge, unseen by us. Despite being an occasional bastard, Lucien didn't seem to mind my company, and he did most of the talking, which was fine; it left me to brood over the consequences of firing a single arrow. An arrow. I never fired a single one during those three days we rode along the border. That very morning I'd spied a red doe in a glen and aimed out of instinct, my arrow poised to fly right into her eye as Lucien sneered that she was not a faerie, at least. But I'd stared at her-fat and healthy and content-and then slackened the bow, replaced the arrow in my quiver, and let the doe wander on.

When Lucien diagnoses Faerie problems perfectly:

A brush of ice slithered across my nape. "He would be that brutal?" Lucien studied the wine in his goblet. "You don't hold on to power by being everyone's friend. And among the faeries, lesser and High Fae alike, a firm hand is needed. We're too powerful, and too bored with immortality, to be checked by anything else."

When Lucien is told to Back Off, so he exacts his revenge:

Lucien's russet eye was bright, though the smile he gave me didn't meet it. The face of Tamlin's emissary-more court-trained and calculating than I'd seen him yet. "I'm unavailable today," he said. He jerked his chin to Tamlin. "He'll go with you." Tamlin shot his friend a look of disdain that he took few pains to hide. His usual baldric was armed with more knives than I'd seen before, and their ornate metal handles glinted as he turned to me, his shoulders tight. "Whenever you want to go, just say so." The claws of his free hand slipped back under his skin. No. I almost said it aloud as I turned pleading eyes to Lucien. Lucien merely patted my shoulder as he passed by. "Perhaps tomorrow, human."

When Lucien hides:

"I had to go sort out some hotheads on the northern border-official emissary business," he said, setting down the hunting knife he'd been cleaning, a long, vicious blade. "I got back in time to hear your little spat with Tam, and decided I was safer up here. I'm glad to hear your human heart has warmed to me, though. At least I'm not on the top of your killing list."

When Lucien and Feyre become friends after he tells her how to trap a Suriel:

Another riddle-and another bit of information. I said, "It's a good thing that while you have superior hearing, I possess superior abilities to keep my mouth shut." He snorted as I took the knife from the table and turned to procure the bow from my room. "I think I'm starting to like you-for a murdering human."

When Lucien is day drinking and living his best life:

“Would you like me to grovel with gratitude for bringing me here, High Lord?" "Ah. The Suriel told you nothing important, did it?" That smile of his sparked something bold in my chest. "He also said that you liked being brushed, and if I'm a clever girl, I might train you with treats." Tamlin tipped his head to the sky and roared with laughter. Despite myself, I let out a quiet laugh. "I might die of surprise," Lucien said behind me. "You made a joke, Feyre." I turned to look at him with a cool smile. "You don't want to know what the Suriel said about you." I flicked my brows up, and Lucien lifted his hands in defeat. "I'd pay good money to hear what the Suriel thinks of Lucien," Tamlin said. A cork popped, followed by the sounds of Lucien chugging the bottle's contents and chuckling with a muttered, "Brushed.”

When Lucien is incredibly casual for a guy going to an orgy:

What?”

Lucien laughed. “Yes—all those female faeries around you were females for Tamlin to pick. It’s an honor to be chosen, but it’s his instincts that select her.”

“But you were there—and other male faeries.” My face burned so hot that I began sweating. That was why those three horrible faeries had been there—and they’d thought that just by my presence, I was happy to comply with their plans.

“Ah.” Lucien chuckled. “Well, Tam’s not the only one who gets to perform the rite tonight. Once he makes his choice, we’re free to mingle. Though it’s not the Great Rite, our own dalliances tonight will help the land, too.

When Lucien is the mom friend:

"You look . . . refreshed," Lucien observed with a glance at Tamlin. I shrugged. "Sleep well?" "Like a babe." I smiled as him and took another bite of food, and felt Lucien's eyes travel inexorably to my neck. "What is that bruise?" Lucien demanded. I pointed my fork to Tamlin. "Ask him, he did it." Lucien looked from Tamlin to me and then back again. "Why does Feyre have a bruise on her neck from you?" he asked with no small amount of amusement.

When Lucien loves drama:

"Accountable?" I sputtered, placing my hands flat on the table. "You cornered me in the hall like a wolf with a rabbit!" Lucien propped an arm on the table and covered his mouth with his hand, his russet eye bright. "While I might not have been myself, Lucien and I both told you to stay in your room," Tamlin said, so calmly that I wanted to rip out my hair. I couldn't help it. Didn't even try to fight the red-hot temper that razed my senses. "Faerie pig!" I yelled, and Lucien howled, almost tipping back in his chair. At the sight of Tamlin's growing smile, I left.

When Lucien bolts:

“I had to keep my hands clenched at my sides to avoid wiping my sweaty palms on the skirts of my gown as I reached the dining room, and immediately contemplated bolting upstairs and changing into a tunic and pants. But I knew they’d already heard me, or smelled me, or used whatever heightened senses they had to detect my presence, and since fleeing would only make it worse, I found it in myself to push open the double doors.

Whatever discussion Tamlin and Lucien had been having stopped, and I tried not to look at their wide eyes as I strode to my usual place at the end of the table.

“Well, I’m late for something incredibly important,” Lucien said, and before I could call him on his outright lie or beg him to stay, the fox-masked faerie vanished.

When Feyre goes to a party:

"Cauldron boil me," Lucien whistled as I came down the stairs. "She looks positively Fae." ...

I squared my shoulders, disinclined to let him see how much his words or voice or sheer well-being impacted me. Not yet. "I'm surprised I'm even allowed to participate tonight." "Unfortunately for you and your neck," Lucien countered, "tonight's just a party." "Do you lie awake at night to come up with all your witty replies for the following day?" Lucien winked at me, and Tamlin laughed and offered me his arm. "He's right,"....

"So there's singing and dancing and excessive drinking," Lucien chimed in, falling into step beside me. "And dallying," he added with a wicked grin.

When Lucien plays a prank:

"I also remember you telling me how witchberries were harmless, and the next thing I knew, I was half-delirious and falling all over myself," I said, recalling the afternoon from a few weeks ago. I'd had hallucinations for hours afterward, and Lucien had laughed himself sick-enough so that Tamlin had chucked him into the reflection pool...."

When Feyre gets drunk of Faerie Wine:

“Tam would gut me if he caught you drinking that.”

“Always looking after your best interests,” I said, and pointedly chugged the contents of the glass. It was like a million fireworks exploding inside me, filling my veins with starlight. I laughed aloud, and Lucien groaned.

“Human fool,” he hissed.

But his glamour had been ripped away. His auburn hair burned like hot metal, and his russet eye smoldered like a bottomless forge. That was what I would capture next.

“I’m going to paint you,” I said, and giggled—actually giggled—as the words popped out.

"Cauldron boil and fry me,” he muttered, and I laughed again.”

When Lucien is hungover and third-wheeling:

Lucien kept rubbing at his temples as he ate, unusually silent, and I hid my smile as I asked him, “And where were you last night?” Lucien’s metal eye narrowed on me. “I’ll have you know that while you two were dancing with the spirits, I was stuck on border patrol.” Tamlin gave a pointed cough, and Lucien added, “With some company.” He gave me a sly grin. “Rumor has it you two didn’t come back until after dawn.” I glanced at Tamlin, biting my lip. I’d practically floated into my bedroom that morning. But Tamlin’s gaze now roved my face as if searching for any tinge of regret, of fear. Ridiculous. “You bit my neck on Fire Night,” I said under my breath. “If I can face you after that, a few kisses are nothing.” He braced his forearms on the table as he leaned closer to me. “Nothing?” His eyes flicked to my lips. Lucien shifted in his seat, muttering to the Cauldron to spare him, but I ignored him. “Nothing,” I repeated a bit distantly, watching Tamlin’s mouth move, so keenly aware of every movement he made, resenting the table between us. I could almost feel the warmth of his breath. “Are you sure?” he murmured, intent and hungry enough that I was glad I was sitting. He could have had me right there, on top of that table. I wanted his broad hands running over my bare skin, wanted his teeth scraping against my neck, wanted his mouth all over me. “I’m trying to eat,” Lucien said.”

When Lucien drops one of the best lines in the book:

"I see," I lied, not quite seeing at all. Lucien chuckled, sensing it, and I glared sidelong at him. "You've been noticeably absent again." He used the dagger to clean his nails. "I've been busy. So have you, I take it." "What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded. "If I offer you the moon on a string, will you give me a kiss, too?"

When Lucien doesn't know what is coming in the future:

Downstairs, Lucien snorted at the sight of me. "Those clothes are enough to convince me I never want to enter the human realm." "I'm not sure the human realm would know what to do with you," I said. Lucien's smile was edged, his shoulders tight as he gave a sharp look behind me to where Tam was waiting in front of a gilded carriage. When he turned back, that metal eye narrowed. "I thought you were smarter than this."

When Lucien admires Feyre's attitude:

“Don’t you understand what Rhys is?” “I do!” I barked, then sighed. “I do,” I repeated, and glared at the eye in my palm. “It’s done with. So you needn’t hold to whatever oath you swore to Tamlin to protect me—or feel like you owe me anything for saving you from Amarantha. I would have done it just to wipe the smirk off your brothers’ faces.” Lucien clicked his tongue, but his remaining russet eye shone. “I’m glad to see you didn’t sell your lively human spirit or stubbornness to Rhys.”

When Lucien is a fashionista:

Lucien had gifted both to me—the dagger during the months before Amarantha, the belt in the weeks after her downfall, when I’d carried the dagger, along with many others, everywhere I went. You might as well look good if you’re going to arm yourself to the teeth, he’d said.

When game recognize game

“Cursebreaker,” some murmured. “Blessed,” others whispered.

I made a show of looking surprised—surprised and yet accepting of the Cauldron’s choice. Tamlin’s face was taut with shock, the Hybern royals’ nothing short of baffled.

But I turned to Lucien, my light radiating so brightly that it bounced off his metal eye. A friend beseeching another for help. I reached a hand toward him.

Beyond us, I could feel Ianthe scrambling to regain control, to find some way to spin it.

Perhaps Lucien could, too. For he took my hand, and then knelt upon one knee in the grass, pressing my fingers to his brow.

When Lucien is scared of Amren:

“I think Amren would probably deny that she feels any affection for us—”

“Amren is a bedtime story they told us as younglings to make us behave. Amren was who would drink my blood and carry me to hell if I acted out of line. And yet there she was, acting more like a cranky old aunt than anything.”

“We don’t—we don’t enforce protocol and rank here.”

“Obviously. Rhys lives in a town house, by the Cauldron.” He waved an arm to encompass the city.

When Lucien is a little murderous:

“You’re working with that prick,” Cassian cut in, whatever catching-up now over, apparently. He moved to Mor’s side, a hand on her back. He shook his head at Azriel and Rhys, disgust curling his lip. “You should have spiked Eris’s fucking head to the front gates.”

Azriel only watched them with that icy indifference. But Lucien crossed his arms, leaning against the back of the couch. “I have to agree with Cassian. Eris is a snake.”

When Lucien volunteers to go on a quest:

“You will be going into the human territory,” Rhys warned. “I can’t spare a force to guard you—”

“I don’t need one. I travel faster on my own.” His chin lifted. “I will find her. And if there’s an army to bring back, or at least some way for her own story to sway the human forces … I’ll find a way to do that, too.”

My friends glanced to each other. Mor said, “It will be—very dangerous.”

A half smile curved Lucien’s mouth. “Good. It’d be boring otherwise.

When Lucien makes a friend

“Not for long—not if Vassa has anything to do with it.”

“You sound like an acolyte.”

Lucien blushed, glancing at Elain. “She’s got a foul temper and a fouler mouth.” He cut me a wry look. “You’ll get along just fine.”