#Marion Held

[anamon-book]

夕映えの道 エキプ・ド・シネマ第138回ロードショー EQUIPE DE CINEMA No.145 岩波ホール 監督・脚本：ルネ・フェレ／出演：ドミニク・マルカス、マリオン・エルド ほか

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 61

Chapter; Highlights (okay the entire chapter is a highlight)🤣

As requested @mysterylilycheeta I NEED TO SQUEAL IN WYVERN FANGIRL WITH YOU NOW CAUSE OH M GOODNESS THIS CHAPTER ON SO MANY LEVELS I JUST AHAKWIHUHFEJLZXBKEKA

Agony was a song in Lorcan's blood, his bones, his breath.

Every step of the horse, every leap she made over body and debris, sent it ringing afresh. There was no end, no mercy from it. It was all he could do to keep in the saddle, to cling to consciousness.

To keep his arm around Elide.

She had come for him. Had found him, somehow, on this endless battlefield.

His name on her lips had been a summons he could never deny, even when death had held him so gently, nestled beneath all those he'd felled, I, and waited for his last breaths.

And now, charging toward that too-distant keep, so far behind the droves of soldiers and riders racing for the gates, he wondered if these minutes would be his last. Her last.

She had come for him.

Lorcan managed to glance toward the dam on their right. Toward the ruk rider signaling that it was only a matter of minutes until it unleashed hell over the plain.

He didn't know how it had become weakened. Didn't care.

Still Elide kept urging the horse onward, kept them on as straight a path toward the distant keep as possible.

No ruk would come to sweep them up. No, his luck had been spent in surviving this long, in her finding him. His power would do nothing against that water.

The farthest lines of panicked soldiers appeared, and Farasha charged past them.

Elide let out a sob, and he followed the line of her sight.

To the keep gate, still open.

"Faster, Farasha!" She didn't hide the raw terror in her voice, the desperation.

Once the dam broke, it would take less than a minute for the tidal wave to reach them.

She had come for him. She had found him.

The world went quiet. The pain in his body faded into nothing. Into something secondary.

Lorcan slid his other arm around Elide, bringing his mouth close to her ear as he said, "You have to let me go."

Each word was gravelly, his voice strained nearly to the point of uselessness.

Elide didn't shift her focus from the keep ahead. "No."

That gentle quiet flowed around him, clearing the fog of pain and battle. "You have to. You have to, Elide. I'm too heavy-and without my weight, you might make it to the keep in time."

"No." The salt of her tears filled his nose.

Lorcan brushed his mouth over her damp cheek, ignoring the roaring pain in his body. The horse galloped and galloped, as if she might outrace death itself.

"I love you," he whispered in Elide's ear. "I have loved you from the moment you picked up that axe to slay the ilken." Her tears flowed past him in the wind. "And I will be with you ..." His voice broke, but he made himself say the words, the truth in his heart. "I will be with you always."

He was not frightened of what would come for him once he tumbled off the horse. He was not frightened at all, if it meant her reaching the keep.

So Lorcan kissed Elide's cheek again, allowed himself to breathe in her scent one last time. "I love you," he repeated, and began to withdraw his arms from around her waist.

Elide slapped a hand onto his forearm. Dug in her nails, right into his skin, fierce as any ruk.

"No."

There were no tears in her voice. Nothing but solid, unwavering steel.

"No," she said again. The voice of the Lady of Perranth.

Lorcan tried to move his arm, but her grip would not be dislodged.

If he tumbled off the horse, she would go with him.

Together. They would either outrun this or die together.

"Elide-"

But Elide slammed her heels into the horse's sides.

Slammed her heels into the dark flank and screamed, "FLY, FARASHA." She cracked the reins. "FLY, FLY, FLY!"

And gods help her, that horse did.

As if the god that had crafted her filled the mare's lungs with his own breath, Farasha gave a surge of speed.

Faster than the wind. Faster than death.

Farasha cleared the first of the fleeing Darghan cavalry. Passed desperate horses and riders at an all-out gallop for the gates.

Her mighty heart did not falter, even when Lorcan knew it was raging to the point of bursting.

Less than a mile stood between them and the keep.

But a thunderous, groaning crack cleaved the world, echoing off the lake, the mountains.

There was nothing he could do, nothing that brave, unfaltering horse could do, as the dam ruptured.

Rowan made himself stand there, to watch the last moments of the Lady of Perranth and his former commander. It was all he could offer: witnessing their deaths, so he might tell the story to those he encountered. So they would not be forgotten.

The roaring of the oncoming wave became deafening, even from miles away.

Still Elide and Lorcan raced, Farasha passing horse after horse after horse.

Even up here, would they escape the wave's reach? Rowan dared to survey the battlements, to assess if he needed to get the others, needed to get Aelin, to higher ground.

But Aelin was not at his side.

She was not on the battlement at all.

Rowan's heart halted. Simply stopped beating as a ruddy-brown ruk dropped from the skies, spearing for the center of the plain.

Arcas, Borte's ruk. A golden-haired woman dangling from his talons.

Aelin. Aelin was—

Arcas neared the earth, talons splaying.

Aelin hit the ground, rolling, rolling, until she uncoiled to her feet.

Right in the path of that wave.

"Oh gods," Fenrys breathed, seeing her, too.

They all saw her.

The queen on the plain.

The endless wall of water surging for her.

The keep stones began shuddering. Rowan threw out a hand to brace himself, fear like nothing he had known ripping through him as Aelin lifted her arms above her head.

A pillar of fire shot up around her, lifting her hair with it.

The wave roared and roared for her, for the army behind her.

The shaking in the keep was not from the wave.

It was not from that wall of water at all.

Cracks formed in the earth, splintering across it. Spiderwebbing from Aelin.

"The hot springs," Chaol breathed. "The valley floor is full of veins into the earth itself."

Into the burning heart of the world.

The keep shook, more violently this time.

The pillar of fire sucked back into Aelin.

She held out a hand before her, her fist closed.

As if it would halt the wave in its tracks.

He knew then. Either as her mate or carranam, he knew.

"Three months," Rowan breathed.

The others stilled.

"Three months," he said again, his knees wobbling. "She's been making the descent into her power for three months."

Every day she had been with Maeve, bound in iron, she had gone deeper. And she had not tapped too far into that power since they'd freed her because she had kept making the plunge.

To gather up the full might of her magic.

Not for the Lock, not for Erawan.

But for Maeve's death blow.

A few weeks of descent had taken her powers to devastating levels. Three months of it

…

Holy gods. Holy rutting gods.

And when her fire hit the wall of water now towering over her, when they collided —

"GET DOWN!" Rowan bellowed, over the screaming waters. "GET DOWN NOW!"

His companions dropped to the stones, any within earshot doing the same.

Rowan plummeted into his power. Plummeted into it fast and hard, ripping out any remaining shred of magic.

Elide and Lorcan were still too far from the gates. Thousands of soldiers were still too far from the gates as the wave crested above them.

As Aelin opened her hand toward it.

Fire erupted.

Cobalt fire. The raging soul of a flame.

A tidal wave of it.

Taller than the raging waters, it blasted from her, flaring wide.

The wave slammed into it. And where water met a wall of fire, where a thousand years of confinement met three months of it, the world exploded.

Blistering steam, capable of melting flesh from bone, shot across the plain.

With a roar, Rowan threw all that remained of his magic toward the onslaught of steam, a wall of wind that shoved it toward the lake, the mountains.

Still the waters came, breaking against the flames that did not so much as yield an inch.

Maeve's death blow. Spent here, to save the army that might mean Terrasen's salvation. To spare the lives on the plain.

Rowan gritted his teeth, panting against his fraying power. A burnout lurked, deadly close.

The raging wave threw itself over and over and over into the wall of flame.

Rowan didn't see if Elide and Lorcan made it into the keep. If the other soldiers and riders on the plain stopped to gape.

Princess Hasar said, rising beside him, "That power is no blessing."

"Tell that to your soldiers," Fenrys snarled, standing, too.

"I did not mean it that way," Hasar snipped, and awe was indeed stark on her face.

Rowan leaned against the battlements, panting hard as he fought to keep the lethal steam from flowing toward the army. As he cooled and sent it whisking away.

Solid hands slid under his arms, and then Fenrys and Gavriel were there, propping him up between them.

A minute passed. Then another.

The wave began to lower. Still the fire burned.

Rowan's head pounded, his mouth going dry.

Time slipped from him. A coppery tang filled his mouth.

The wave lowered farther, raging waters quieting. Then roaring turned to lapping, rapids into eddies.

Until the wall of flame began to lower, too. Tracking the waters down and down and down. Letting them seep into the cracks of the earth.

Rowan's knees buckled, but he held on to his magic long enough for the steam to lessen.

For it, too, to be calmed.

It filled the plain, turning the world into drifting mist. Blocking the view of the queen in its center.

Then silence. Utter silence.

Fire flickered through the mist, blue turning to gold and red. A muted, throbbing glow.

Rowan spat blood onto the battlement stones, his breath like shards of glass in his throat.

The glowing flames shrank, steam rippling past. Until there was only a slim pillar of fire, veiled in the mist-shrouded plain.

Not a pillar of fire.

But Aelin.

Glowing white-hot. As if she had given herself so wholly to the flame that she had become fire herself.

The Fire-Bringer someone whispered down the battlements.

The mist rippled and billowed, casting her into nothing but a glowing effigy.

The silence turned reverent.

A gentle wind from the north swept down. The veil of mist pulled back, and there she was.

She glowed from within. Glowed golden, tendrils of her hair floating on a phantom wind.

"Mala's Heir," Yrene breathed.

Down on the plain, Elide and Lorcan had halted.

The wind pushed away more of the drifting mist, clearing the land beyond Aelin.

And where that mighty, lethal wave had loomed, where death had charged toward them, nothing remained at all.

For three months, she had sung to the darkness and the flame, and they had sung back.

For three months, she had burrowed so deep inside her power that she had plundered undiscovered depths. While Maeve and Cairn had worked on her, she had delved. Never letting them know what she mined, what she gathered to her, day by day by day.

A death blow. One to wipe a dark queen from the earth forever.

She'd kept that power coiled in herself even after she'd been freed from the irons. Had struggled to keep it down these weeks, the strain enormous. Some days, it had been easier to barely speak. Some days, swaggering arrogance had been her key to ignoring it.

Yet when she had seen that wave, when she had seen Elide and Lorcan choosing death together, when she had seen the army that might save Terrasen, she'd known. She'd felt the fire sleeping under this city, and knew they had come here for a reason.

She had come here for this reason.

A river still flowed from the dam, harmless and small, wending toward the lake.

Nothing more.

Aelin lifted a glowing hand before her as blessed, cooling emptiness filled her at last.

Slowly, starting from her fingertips, the glow faded.

As if she were forged anew, forged back into her body.

Back into Aelin.

Clarity, sharp and crystal clear, filled its wake. As if she could see again, breathe again.

Inch by inch, the golden glow faded into skin and bone. Into a woman once more.

Already, a white-tailed hawk launched skyward.

But as the last of the glow faded, disappearing out through her toes, Aelin fell to her knees.

Fell to her knees in the utter silence of the world, and curled onto her side.

She had the vague sense of strong, familiar arms scooping her up. Of being carried onto a broad feathery back, still in those arms.

Of soaring through the skies, the last of the mist rippling away into the afternoon sun.

And then sweet darkness.

[shhhsecretsideblog]

Your prompt request #13 "not here... not now..."

In the midst of a battle between two kingdoms, you go into labor. While the city breaks into chaos, you try to escape while trying to deny the birth.

Female character can either deliver the child deep in the woods while on the run or hiding in the rubble, trying to keep quiet as she births her child.

You choose! And thank you for choosing to make an account for your wonderful work! Obsessed with your first fic! 🫶

Not Now… Not Here…

[This was one of the first asks/prompts I received and made me so happy to have created this side blog. Thank you so much Anon for your request and your kind words at the end. Hope you enjoy! 💜 Fpreg 2917 words & Beta’d by the wonderful @gravid-transluna ]

Marion stood by the open window in her bedroom, hands braced against the window sill, as she watched the billows of smoke and the sounds of screaming get closer and closer to home. Tensions had been building between Alleria and its neighbouring kingdom for many years and it had only been a matter of time before one of the Kings ordered their troops to attack. The battle had been raging for days… weeks now, with news from the frontlines making it back to the city as the wounded returned. Unfortunately for the residents in Alleria the battleground was moving ever closer towards the city, and for Marion this was even more unfortunate for she was currently deep in the throes of labour.

She gripped the wooden ledge below her window and bounced her knees and hips through the latest contraction.

“Mnnnnhhhhh… oh little one, you have a terrible sense of ti— ohhhhhh… timing.” Marion moaned softly, her hips swaying instinctively as the tightening coursed across her middle while the weight of the baby’s head filled her pelvis.

When the contraction had faded back into a dull ache Marion looked up again at the city slowly falling to the destruction of war. The smoke seemed closer than it had an hour ago, the battleground was heading right across the city in the direction of her home. The pains had started yesterday but were manageable back then - she could continue moving around and getting everything prepared for the birth. The war was far from the city at that point and it did not occur to Marion that she would not be safe to labour and birth here - Alleria had never allowed their borders to be penetrated before, but the invading Kingdom’s forces were too strong.

Marion held the underside of her heavy and tight belly, her thin olive green dress stretched around her enlarged middle. She had never given birth before but had helped in many a delivery around the town. It was a rite of passage for a woman to deliver her children - the men-folk would almost never be present while the labouring mother would be supported by female friends, family or neighbours.

Marion didn’t have any of those but she wasn’t phased to be doing this alone - she preferred things that way. However, as she looked down through her window at the empty and deserted street below, fear and panic began to claw at her thoughts. Perhaps she should flee the city as well. A loud scream and sound of metal against metal echoed through the streets. The battle was getting closer, she needed to leave. Now.

Grabbing a canvas bag Marion quickly threw some items inside; blanket, clothes, water, food. As she was frantically waddling around her small rented room another contraction hit out of nowhere only minutes after the last.

“Hoooooooo— oh fuck….” Marion doubled over and braced her thighs as the pressure and pain skyrocketed. Her pelvis was being pulled apart as the baby’s head shoved its way through, almost certainly at the top of her cervix by now. The immeasurable weight and pressure was overwhelming and Marion found herself grunting against it.

“Mnnghhhh!!!” Marion growled, but the sound was swallowed by a loud explosion coming from a few streets away.

“Ooooh… so— so low. Don’t come now baby, just a— a little bit longer.” She pleaded to her rounded belly, holding it with both hands as she straightened back up. Grabbing her bag of supplies Marion bolted for the door to the stairs at the back of the building. She had to get out of here, get herself far away from the incoming battleground before she delivered this babe.

The stairs were awkward and difficult to descend with her dangerously wide gait from an extremely low baby. But Marion eventually made it down to street level and looked around; there was no one left - everyone had already fled. She waddled as fast as she could in the opposite direction from the rising cries of battle, her hands holding up her taut and tensing belly as if her grip alone could stop her labour. Marion was too busy worrying about safe routes out of the city to realise the next contraction was fast approaching and when it struck she found herself dropping into a deep squat in the middle of the cobbled street.

“Grrrrrrrhhhhh….! Oh Gods… So— so much pressure!” She groaned, her bag of supplies slipping from her shoulder as she squatted and grabbed her knees. Instinctively she mooed and growled her way through the latest wave, each one seeming to strike with more ferocity than the last. Marion would be self-conscious making such a public display of her labouring but with the streets deserted she allowed herself to make whatever noises she needed to get her through the pain of childbirth.

Eventually it passed, but the delay in her movements meant the sounds of battle were only a stone's throw away. The harsh sounds of doors and windows smashing echoed off the buildings and Marion thought she could hear incoming heavy footsteps. If the owners of the heavy stomps were just of Allerian troops then she would be okay but, if they were of the invading forces there was no telling what they would do with a woman wandering alone on the streets. The clinking of swords colliding got louder. Both troops were getting closer. Marion could not get caught in the crossfire - she’d be as good as dead.

She ran, as fast as her wide legs could carry her, away from the brutal fighting. She barely made it round the corner down a narrow side street when she was forced to stop once more. Slumped against the brick wall, Marion curled around her hard belly and trembled as she struggled to stay upright. The heavy boulder of a baby’s head was right there, filling her birth canal with so much pressure she thought she might explode. There was no stopping the primal grunt that rattled her throat as every muscle seemed to contract and squeeze the baby towards its exit.

“Nnghhhhh!!!” She roared against the pain and it was immediately followed by a gush of warm liquid running down her thighs and splashing the beige cobbles underfoot. At the tail end of the contraction she felt it - deep in her genes an instinct was telling her to start pushing.

“No….” She whimpered. “Not now… not here… hoohoo-hoohoo…” Marion panted erratically, fighting against her body’s advancing labour.

When the contraction somewhat eased the mother-to-be staggered bowlegged down the deserted side street, the large head shoving its way through her cervix. She made it through to the next street over but Marion had no clue where she was going, no planned destination she was trying to reach. Instead she was just desperately waddling as far away as she could from the noise of battle. She thought she had more time to find an alternate place to give birth but the increasing weight and pressure between her legs was soon proving her wrong. Out in the open of this new street she doubled over against a shop window - palms flat on the glass, her hips jutting backwards and her heavy belly hanging towards the floor.

“Ohhhhhh… no, don’t push… don’t— mnghhh don’t p-p-push…” she chanted over and over, panting and sweating and shaking while the baby inside sank lower and lower.

Running and shouting and screaming could be heard from the end of the street. Marion, still caught in the midst of a powerful contraction, glanced down the road towards the sound and saw at least a dozen men rounding the corner. Their metal plated armour, the colours of their tunics, their pale faces - none of it was familiar. These were enemy soldiers. The labouring mother slipped around a corner to hide down another side street, her legs stuck so wide it looked like she was about to drop the kid any second. And it felt that way too. With one hand holding onto the wall, the other disappeared under her dress between her thighs. No baby yet, thankfully, but she was starting to bulge into her underwear.

Deep and gruff shouting echoed from the high street, the invading warriors were jeering and smashing everything in their path. Despite the continuing contraction, Marion shuffled a little further into the alleyway, into the shadows and tried to hide behind some broken wooden crates. The soldiers were shouting in a language she didn’t understand, but the tone of their rough voices were clear - they were winning this war.

One… three… seven… Marion looked through the gap in the crates counting the foreign soldiers as they stomped past the entrance to the narrow side street, the burly and primitive men kicking and smashing and destroying every single thing they passed.

The next contraction ramped up before the last had even faded away and Marion slapped a hand over her mouth to stop any sounds escaping. Her baby was insistent, desperate to be born. The pressure screamed at her to push and her stance instinctively widened, but as she moved her foot she kicked something hard and metal sending it tumbling across the cobbles with a clang.

Her heart stopped, her breathing seized. Marion’s eyes flared with panic and looked nervously through the gap in the wooden crates towards the entrance of the side street. There was no way that sound wasn’t noticeable, a second later Marion’s fears were realised when two strange looking men stood at the archway of the dark sidestreet, staring into the shadows looking for the source of the noise.

Push!

Marion stayed perfectly still, her hand squeezed over her mouth, her nose breathing as silently as humanly possible. She could not let them find her, Gods only knew what they would do to her, especially if they had conquered Alleria.

Push!

The contraction still tore across her body, her belly contorted into a solid, hard ball beneath her dress as it tried to deliver the child. The pressure between her thighs was making her eyes water, the weight was pulling everything downwards, and her vagina was starting to burn. And yet Marion remained still, not moving an inch.

Push!

The men were talking to themselves, grumbling incoherently in their foreign tongue, pointing and staring down the narrowed cobbled strip. Marion’s legs were trembling, her knees sinking, and as she held her breath in fear of discovery she realised too late that her body was pushing. Without instruction or permission the baby was shoved down the birth canal, feeling like it was seconds away from falling into her underwear. But she couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop herself from bearing down. Behind her sweaty palm Marion’s mouth opened in a silent scream as she pushed and immediately could feel her labia starting to part beneath her clothing.

Oh fuck! Marion thought, trying to stop the impossible. Please don’t come out now!

She fought against her instincts for the longest minute of her life, desperately trying not to push and trying to stay silent. Eventually the strange men lost interest, deciding nothing was hiding down this side street, and continued to ransack the surrounding shops with their fellow soldiers. Marion slumped back against the wall when the soldier's departure coincided with the slight easing of the contraction. With heavy breaths quieter than a whisper, she tried to regain a normal rhythm in her lungs.

This baby could not be born now, here, it had to hold on for her to get somewhere safe. Away from the carnage of war and away from her foes. Then there was a sudden bang, a moving wall of heat, and a victorious cheer coming from the adjacent street - the enemy had started burning buildings causing a giant explosion.

Debris flew through the air, shards of brick and building raining from the skies and Marion spun around, curling around her bump, to protect herself and the baby. She staggered, bowlegged, deeper down the dark alleyway to try to get away from the destruction but with the contractions almost on top of each other she barely made four unsteady steps before she had to pause. The baby was right there, she could feel it. Her hand dived between her legs to check and felt with her fingertips the spherical shape between her folds peaking into her undergarments. The primal need to give birth took over once more and whether she wanted to or not, Marion found herself bearing down with the contraction.

This baby could not be born, not now and not here. If she could not stop pushing she would have to find another way. With her hand wedged between her thighs she clamped it firmly over the mass in her sodden underwear, and with a low grunt she was uncontrollably pushing against the palm of her own hand.

“Nnghhhh— noooo.. don’t c-come o-outtttt…” she growled, her body pushing ferociously and she could feel the head slip forward.

In the shadows Marion grunted and heaved and pushed. Against these efforts she tried to keep her palm over the emerging head to prevent it coming out any further. Her legs were wide and trembling, the heavy mass between her hips forcing her pelvis apart. It was hell, being stuck like this, her labia stretching around the emerging head, the desperate need to get this over with - to deliver this baby. The placement of her own hand proved futile, her body outright refusing to do anything that could delay or prevent the birth. Instead her knees buckled, sinking into a deep squat, and her free hand flew forward to brace her labouring body against the rough bricks of the dark alley while the other hand cupped the head of the incoming babe.

“Ohhhhh fuck…” her groans barely audible, all efforts going into birth. “Oh Gods… help me… it’s coming— it’s coming o-outtt!”

The hand at the apex of her thighs was supporting the head rather than stopping it from coming out. She gasped, sucking in a desperate breath, and leaned into the push giving everything she had into bearing down. She sobbed as the head reached a full crown in her underwear, its large shape undeniable and filling her small palm. The clothing was damp and stretched but she couldn’t remove them, both hands were occupied - one holding her upright in the squat the other holding the emerging head. “Grrnnnhhhhh!!” The low and primal groan of effort rattled the back of her throat and ever so slowly the head was born into her palm.

Smoke was filling the city, homes and shops were on fire, the enemy’s army was tearing her home apart. Loud and sudden blasts echoed down the alleyway, shaking the streets and buildings all around her. Marion fell forward, scrambling on all fours to get away from danger, all the while her baby’s head hung from her body filling her underwear. The rough cobbled street grazed and cut her knees as she crawled further down the side street, desperate to find some shelter. Fluids were leaking from her opening leaving a trail of damp in her wake. She found a door, indented slightly into the brick wall. She tried the handle but it was locked. A cry of fear and frustration left her lungs as she pounded and pushed against the wooden door.

The baby wasn’t waiting for safety or shelter, the next contraction was soon taking hold and she rocked on all fours in the alcove, humming an instinctual noise as the baby’s shoulders started to press against her opening.

“D-don’t…. No….” Marion panted and pleaded with her body.

But her hips sank backwards and she was uncontrollably pushing once more, grunting with every wave as her body worked on expelling the child. “Mnnnghhhhhhh it— it’s coming… I can’t— stop p-p-pushingggggg!!!”

Marion clawed at the door bringing herself up on her knees as the shoulders stretched her opening wide. The baby was waiting for no one and it was coming out right into her underwear. Her fingernails dug deep into the wooden door, her hips sinking towards the floor and she roared with the effort of bearing down, of pushing the baby’s shoulders out of her body. She could feel everything as it slipped out - one shoulder, the next shoulder, its arms and hands and torso as it emerged into her undergarments. Marion managed to prise her hands from the door and scrambled with her clothing to free the path for her baby to enter this world. Pulling the underwear down a few inches she grunted with the desperate final push and the baby suddenly slipped from her body into her hands.

“Ahhh oh Gods… you’re here, you’re out….” Marion gasped, pulling the newborn straight to her chest and sitting back onto her heels. “Hello little one.” The baby shifted and squirmed in her arms and released the softest cry of a first breath.

Exhausted, Marion turned and slumped against the doorway, babe in arms. The sound of crying soon travelled down the side street and footsteps approached. Fear filled Marion’s heart, the enemy was approaching and both she and her baby were defenceless.

“Oh my goodness, is that a baby?” Came a gruff voice above her. She looked up frightened, but when she saw the familiar uniform colour and the warm caramel skin of an Allerian soldier Marion let out a relieved sob.

“Come on Miss, I’ll get you and your baby out of here.” He said kindly.

[mochinomnoms]

The Private (not) Thoughts of a Moray Chapter 3: They say it’s gotten out of hand, and I’m obsessed with you

Gender Neutral Reader x Jade Leech

Chapter 3 preview:

Hmm…maybe they’ll need tutoring? We can be alone then…perhaps in musicology, you’re not a very good singer, are you my pearl? …bitch. You huffed, turning your head to strictly face Riddle and Yev, blatantly ignoring Jade, who seemed confused, but still cooed.  Jade filled your head with an image of you pouting up at him, cutely rather than annoyed Are you pouting? What for? Oh, you’re so cute~  Stupid eel, it’s cause of you! Stupidstupidstupidstupidstupidstupidstupid—

[wc} - 8,471

[notes] - *dabs* enjoy and let me know if you can guess which characters the freshman are based on

back to chapter list

Chapter 3: They say it’s gotten out of hand, and I’m obsessed with you

You gazed into your cup as your coffee gradually lightened to a soft cream color from the oat milk, rubbing the tiredness from your eyes, despite the 9-hour sleep from last night, and stared at the young man that sat across from you in the cafeteria.

He was quite taller than many of your classmates, about Sebek’s height if you had to guess, though Sebek had grown a few inches over the summer. He was also fair, but still sported a warm complexion, which complemented his poofy, brown ponytail and dark brown eyes. In his hands, he fiddled with a small, golden necklace with a compass attached to it. 

Said man met your eyes and gave an awkward smile and wave, which you (equally awkwardly) returned before turning back to your cup of coffee to gulp it down in one go.

Fuck, fuck that’s hot. Why’d I chug thaaaaaat?

“Ah, are you okay Housewarden (Name)?” He gave you a concerned look. “That coffee was quite hot, wasn’t it?” 

You nodded quietly, clearing your throat, “I’m fine y-you don’t have to call me that, just my name or Prefect is fine James.”

Dammit, they told me that earlier! I’m sorry Housewarden (Nsme)! I don’t mean to disrespect!!

You sighed, I really wasn’t physically or emotionally prepared to have first-years in Ramshackle, damn you Crowley.

The student before you was James Bartholomew, Class A-12, and he was an eager, if a bit anxious man. He bore the rose-red vest and arm ribbon of Heartslabyul well, even if he wasn’t currently residing in their dorm. 

It seemed that, even with the chaos of last year, Night Raven College was practically bursting at the seems from the large influx of freshmen this year. Nearly 100 more students than average were accepted by the Dark Mirror, with no housing to accommodate. 

While Scarabia and Diasomnia were just bursting at the seams with their new students, Heartslabyul, Octavinelle, and Pomefiore were well over capacity. Luckily, Savanaclaw and Ignihyde were still rather spacious, as they had been the last few years, and students were placed in their spare rooms while the others were renovated. Crowley, ever soooo generous, offered your dorm up to the remaining students without consulting you.

James, as well as about 20 others, were said students.

“Good morning!” chipper, crisp voices piped up from behind you, interrupting the poor freshman’s internal panic attack.

Three more young students, triplets each sporting the deep midnight violet of Pomefiore, smiled cheerfully and waved synchronously. Despite being triplets, they looked remarkably different. 

“It’s us!” the one on the left began, “Wynfred!” He was average height, with short curly red hair that held two small braids with a golden moon holding emeralds, which framed his face. He was the palest of the three, covered in freckles and had sharp green eyes. Wynfred gestured to the sibling on his left. 

“Marion!” A short, maybe even more so than Riddle, man spread his arms up in joy as he shouted his name. Marion was more tanned than his sibling, and had softer, rounder features which included his droopy brown eyes. His hair was held up in a high ponytail braid, where the end held the same charm as Wynfred, replacing the stone with jaspers. 

“Silas!” The last shouted, jumping in front of their siblings, ignorant of their hands smacking into their faces. Silas was the tallest, fair, and had wide, light blue eyes. His hair was long, held in a half up-down do, with his hair band holding his matching moon charm decorated with an amethyst. 

Once the former two composed themselves, all three spread their arms out in theatrical fashion, before answering in synchrony, “The Salson Brothers!”

 …Why the fuck are they introducing themselves like that?

Stifling a laugh at James’s face, who seemed equal parts intrigued and disturbed at the triplet’s dazzling entrance, you instead cleared your throat and faced all four students. 

“Hello (Name)!” the triplets answered all at once. “Hello James!”

Oh, they are so fucking weird. 

“Hi everyone, how’s lunch treating you?” you stifled a laugh at James, and looked at the clock. “We have about an hour and a half! So we have some time to eat, and you can ask me anything you want regarding your classes.”

Clapping your hands together, you gestured for the triplets to sit at the table. While they did, you offered Grim part of your sandwich, who happily scarfed it down. 

Mmmmmhhh! Soooo yummyyy~

Marion and Silas sat next to both sides of you, while Wynfield had taken the seat next to James, who still looked mildly uncomfortable. Taking another bite of your sandwich, you clasped your hands together before speaking. 

“I’ll get it out of the way, I know Ramshackle isn’t the most glamorous of all the dorms—” you paused, sighing, “—it’s barely been a fully equipped dorm for a few months…”

It’s not too bad! We all get our own rules since there’s no one else! Silas seemed the most chipper of the tree, if his thoughts were anything to go by. I like the ghosties, they’re funny!

“As the…housewarden,” saying the words felt foreign. “I will do my best to make sure you’re all comfortable.” 

You shifted your eyes to stare at your hands, which were wringing nervously.

“I am a sophomore, a year your senior, and I am one half of a student with Grim, who you all met last night.” You looked up and smiled apologetically, as your familiar dozed off in a food coma.

“I’m afraid he’s rather food motivated, but I promise that he’s quite fun to be around.”

Gesturing your hand to the first freshman, you asked, “What’s your name, since we’ve yet to hear yours?”

EEK!

Jumping in his seat, said young man straightened nervously and took a deep breath. 

“I’m James Bartholemew! I’m from Neversea Harbor, on the western edge of the Queendom of Roses!” 

He took a bow, stopping midway and instead sitting back down out of embarrassment. 

“Sorry, force of habit…”

Wynfred stood up, and fluffed his hair before continuing, “I am Wynfred Salson, from Shalem, a nation out west across the sea, as are my siblings.” 

Gesturing to the two across the table, two brightened and giggled. 

“I’m Marion Salson—” his sibling interrupted

“—and I’m Silas Salson! Hehe!”

Smiling at the trio, you nodded, noticing a second pair of students join your table. These two were Octavinelle students. However, You weren’t sure if they were human. Apparently, it was rare for fae and merfolk to leave their homelands for a place like NRC. Azul once told you that merfolk, while fond of the stories like the mermaid princess, were at their core homebodies that were deeply attached to their homeland and wary of the surface. You remembered asking him why he and the twins had been three of only 5 merfolk at the school at the time.

“Human and merfolk relations have significantly improved in the last few centuries, but most still aren’t fond of needing transformation potions to consistently upkeep their legs. A visit once in a while is fine, but the paperwork required to simply receive a potion permit for non-magic users can take months. For those that stay longer, like the twins and I, it’s akin to a medication, lest you want to see us grow webbing and gills?”

You wouldn’t have been aware that the two were mermen if they hadn’t mentioned it. The smaller one of the pair was a tan young man just over 5 foot, sporting a slicked back black and gray undercut. Despite his height, the young mer was quite muscular and intimidating, sharp, and dark brown eyes that seemed to stare right into your soul. 

They probably would seem so if the following words didn’t tumble out of his razor-sharp toothed mouth.

“Your buddy's lookin' sharp today, Prefect! ou ain't gonna slip in a good word for me, are ya? Cross my heart, I know how to treat a dame proper!” he drawled, sliding himself in between you and Silas while draping an arm over your shoulders. 

“Mmph! T'ony, y'ur elbow's i' my face!" Silas whined, attempting to push against an unmovable object. 

Dame? Who—oh.

“Do…you mean… Epel?” you gestured at your friend who was currently sitting next to your usual group as he carved an apple into a spade for Deuce (who was delighted). 

“You see, a looker like her deserves a tough guy like me!” And, well, I can't do a pretty thing like you any favors. “Mama always raised a gentleman, so—”

You raised your hand up, interrupting him mid-sentence. Can’t do me any favors? What? 

“You do know that Epel is a guy, right?” you paused, giving you both a moment to look at Epel, who noticed and gave a happy wave. 

Waving back, you continued in a quieter voice, “He’s not fond of being mistaken for a girl, or being called cute, so mind your volume.”

Oh, she a he…

Tony paused for a bit in contemplation, before he made a sound of dismissal. “So, that a 'no' on introducin' me to him, or what?”

You snorted back a cackle, covering your mouth as giggles managed to escape you. You nodded at Tony, patting the surrounding arm in affirmation. 

“I’ll introduce you, no worries.”

Tony faced the rest of the freshman and began to introduce himself, “What's the word? Tony Lombardi 's the name, but you can just call me Jaws.”

Like the movie? That’s a bit spot on for a shark-mer.

Grinning, Tony barred his rows of pointy teeth that could rival the Leeches and snapped his jaw at James, who blanched at the sight. 

“That's how the crew back home knows me.”

Ridiculous, idiots the lot of you! 

You turned your head to look at the other Octavinelle freshman, who was as exasperated as his thoughts sounded. He was taller than average, built like a beanpole with how skinny he was. While he didn’t have any outwardly remarkable features that clocked him as another other than human, his light, wavy coral pink hair and light green eyes weren’t exactly common for even the most colorful humans in Twisted Wonderland. He also sported a beauty mark under his lip on the right side of his face, along with several soft freckles spread throughout his face. 

Meeting your eyes, the man scowled and raised his brow at you. 

What are you looking at? Stupid human. 

You quickly looked away from him, though you could hear his growing complaints.

Stupid humans with their stupid faces, I had to hear everyone talk about you all summer. You can barely do magic, what are you even doing here? The headmage should’ve thrown you out to sea to drown if he had any brain in him. 

Seemingly sharing a sixth sense for his friend’s animosity, Tony reached over to yank the unnamed fellow down to settle between you and Marion. 

“Hey, don't be a jerk, be a stand-up guy and say hello and introduce yourself proper.” Letting out a nasally laugh, Tony moved to whisper into his peer’s ear, just loud enough for you to hear, 

“Unless you're itchin' for me to spill the beans to your big bro—”

Tony was shoved off as the young man cleared his throat and straightened his uniform, “My name is Aspen Albamar, I’m a freshman in Octavinelle.”

Curt and to the point, can I go now?

Wynfred made a face as he eyed Aspen up and down, as said freshman followed in kind. 

“I saw that you had a transformation potion,” he started, ignoring Aspen’s sputtering noise. “You sure don’t look like an obvious merperson, what kind are you—”

“T-that was in my nightstand! W-why are you looking through my personal items?!” Aspen angrily hissed, his cool facade fading rather quickly. 

What is wrong with you???

“That’s not important, answer my question—”

“I will not! It’s none of your business!”

Wynfred rolled his eyes as he was interrupted again. So hostile! I was only asking a question!

Interrupted by an intentionally loud cough, you sighed in relief at the sight of your five friends. 

Jack was looking between Aspen and Wynfred as their small spat was paused mid-exchange, before opening his mouth, “Hey, (Name), how’d being a housewarden treating you? These freshmen giving you any trouble?”

Gasp! A dog! Silas perked at the sight of Jack, visibly in awe, to which the wolf beastman was oblivious to. James, on the other hand, stiffened in front of Ace and Deuce, who you remembered were technically his upperclassman.

You found the idea of your two boys being a “shining example” of Heartslaybul morals laughable. 

“Hi guys, no it’s fine Jack, we’re just getting to know each other,” you gestured to each of the boys as you introduced them, “This is James, Wynfred, Marion, Silas—dear please don’t touch Jack’s tail—Tony, and Aspen.”

I still have like 15 other students’ names to memorize, geez. 

“Guys, these are my friends, Ace, Deuce, Jack, Epel, and Sebek!” You beamed at them as they all greeted the freshman with various ‘hellos’ and ‘what’s ups’. “Jack and Sebek are actually vice-housewardens for Savanaclaw and Diasomnia, too!”

E-eh? Vices??

James looked close to puking while Silas still attempted to swat at Jack’s moving tail, their brothers looking amused. Tony, on the other hand, was quick to throw his arm over Epel’s shoulders, who looked visibly confused. 

“Hey there, doll. Names Tony, but you can just call me the dreamboat you've been waitin' for~” he cooed, either oblivious to, or blatantly ignoring Epel’s souring mood.

Jack, Deuce, and Sebek all made noises of confusion, while Ace snorted in amusement.

Eh? What's this feller reckon he's doin'? If he don’ mosey on outta my space, I'll just have to give him a good ol' nose-thumpin'...

Epel looked ready to snap at the other man, while Ace made eye contact with you and thought, I bet you that the frosh’s gonna get launched out the window in 30 seconds. 

Before that could, thankfully, occur, Tony yelped as Aspen reached over to pull at his ear, dragging him away from the now amused Epel. 

Aspen bowed his head politely and smiled at his upperclassmen. “I apologize for this brute’s behavior.”

He sided-eyed Tony, who was now whining about his ear, still currently pinched between his fingers, hurting. 

“I’m afraid he skipped his land training camp, so he’s not aware of the differences of courting culture for surface dwellers”

Ace let out a cackle before covering his mouth after Jack harshly elbowed him in his stomach. Deuce shared a look with Sebek as Epel turned pink in a flustered anger. You could hear Deuce mutter something to Sebek about short people getting ‘angry real quick, huh?’

“Well, here’s a lesson then,” Epel grumbled shaking a finger at Tony like a mother chastising her children, “Humans don’t tend to enjoy people who invade their personal space and call them names. So unless you want to get beat up, I suggest you respect that.”

Aspen and Tony both perked up, sharing a look before smirking and looking back. 

“Ah, well, some of the more predacious merfolk do enjoy a good bit of roughhousing with their mates.” Aspen chuckled as Tony continued. 

“Yeah! So fighting one of us for flirtin’ probably wouldn’ help.” The two giggled as Epel sputtered and grabbed onto your arm. 

“Ain’t chu their housewarden?” Epel hissed under his breath, “Tell them to quit with the teasin’! I’m their upperclassman, they should respect me!”

You patted Epel’s hand as you murmured some words of comfort to your friend. 

I should probably send Tony off to his next class, if just for your mental state. 

Giving your freshmen a smile, you asked, “Say, I believe some of you have your history class next? Why don’t the others take you, so you can find the best seats?”

Meh? When did everyone get here? Grim yawned, awoken from his post-lunch nap as he climbed Deuce’s shoulder. 

“Oh good timing, Grim!” The familiar perked up, still waking up from his early afternoon food nap. “I think we split up for this next class, why don’t you take James, Aspen, and Tony with you, Ace, and Deuce to Trein’s class?”

Why do I have to watch over a bunch of newbies? The Great Grim’s too great for something so little!

Ace and Grim groaned as you continued, “I’m pretty sure it’s on the way to your guys' duel class?”

You batted your eyelashes at the ginger, who rolled his eyes and gestured for the three to follow him. Yeah, yeah. I’m coming over tonight to eat your snacks though.  

Jack nodded, catching on to your plan. “We can take the other three over to Professor Kallpa’s botany class!”

The triplets stood to follow Jack, Silas still focused on the swishing tail, though he stopped trying to grab it. Wynfred and Marion started to excitedly ask Epel about Vil and “what was it like having THE Vil Schoenheit as your housewarden?” Epel deflated. 

You sighed as both groups left the cafeteria, looking up at Sebek who met your eyes with a firm look. 

Now, now. No time for resting! You’re a housewarden now!

Before he could open his mouth to reiterate this into words, you interrupted with a stretch. You could feel a satisfying pop from your spine. 

“Hey, Sebek, you wanna walk with me to the third-years’ halls? I gotta meet Riddle there, we share the advanced potionology class.”

Wonderful! I’d expect nothing less from the Young Master’s human! I should’ve never doubted his choice in friends!

“Of course! I can tell you all about the Young Master’s time back in Briar Valley! You know, you missed quite a lot after your visit! For example, did you know…” 

You smiled and nodded along to Sebek as he rambled about Malleus’s time back home. Particularly about the amount of times he simply disappeared from the castle, causing a massive ruckus until Silver found him admiring a new gargoyle added to the north tower. 

A few minutes in, you saw Riddle walking into your path from the adjacent hall. He perked up upon seeing you and smiled, nodding politely at Sebek. 

“Hello Prefect, glad to see you coming over early for class,” Riddle turned to address Sebek, “Sebek, I have three more freshmen that have shown interest in the equestrian club, could you please add these names and numbers to the list?”

The half-fae brightened at the prospect of new club members and nodded, taking the sheet of paper from Riddle’s hands and placing it in his folder. 

“Wonderful! I will be sure to send those reminders out tonight! I’m sure any self-respecting student would jump at the chance to join our club!”  

Beaming, Sebek noticed the clock on the wall and bowed his head goodbye to you and Riddle. “I must be heading off to my next class, I will be sure to send out the reminders for the first meeting, Riddle—Oh!”

“Prefect!” Gave you a stern look as he continued, “I will be coming over this weekend to start our weekly call with the Young Master. I expect you to put everything else on hold for him! I will see you after class.” 

 Riddle gestured in the direction of your shared potionology class, which was right down the hall. 

“Shall we? Now that you are a housewarden, I expect you to set yourself as an example for our freshmen as well.” he asserted.  

I’d expect nothing less of my favorite junior. Perhaps I should give you your own special seat at the unbirthday parties?

You chuckled out, “Of course, Riddle. Your freshmen have been particularly nice, I imagine you gave them a veeeery stern talking to before they came to me?”

He huffed, holding the classroom door open before he followed you in. 

“I simply told them that, unless they wanted to lose their heads, then they’d do best to treat your word as doctrine.” 

Ah, that explains James’s behavior, maybe I should tell him to take it back down a notch—

My pearl! Please wait right there for me, I must find a seat right next to you! 

You looked up from your peripheral vision and made eye contact with the 6-foot bane of your existence. Jade gave you a small smile. 

Darling!

Immediately grasping Riddle’s arm in a crushing grip, you yanked him to follow you to a pair of seats in the middle row, a student already in the spot next to your right, leaving Riddle to sit in the only available spot next to you. 

Yelping as he tripped over his feet and the desk chair, Riddle gave you a glare as you looked at him “innocently” in your newly, self-designated spot. 

“Look Riddle, seats right smack dab in the middle of the middle row! Isn’t this nice? We can see the board at, like, the optimum view now!” you gave the less than amused Riddle a nervous smile, looking at Jade as he entered the room rather coolly 

He was wailing in grief.

Noooooooooooooooooooooo, darling… why didn’t you wait just a bit longer…

“I believe,” interrupting your focus, Riddle crossed his arms as we softly muttered, “the middle of the row would be better for our academics, as—”

“Nope!” You interrupted, looking at the doorway which was now missing the shorter Leech. “Right here is fine, yessiry, take a seat. Take a seat. Right next to me.”

Riddle blinked. Huh. 

“Right there.”

Are you alright, Prefect?

“Sit. Now. Please?”

Okay…

Riddle took his seat next to you, looking more confused than annoyed now, as you sighed a sigh of relief. 

Listen to you sigh. You sound so tired, what’s exhausting you my love?

You stiffened, trying to pinpoint from where Jade’s thoughts were coming from. 

You do look oh so delightful in your uniform! Those are new slacks, I did like the skirt, but they fit you very well. Ah! And your cute little dorm ribbon, it’s wonderful—oh, I should say something about it, then I can have your attention. 

“Hello Prefect, how—”

“SAY RIDDLE!” You shouted, drawing your companion’s attention, as well as everyone else in and entering the classroom in an attempt to avoid any manner of interaction with Jade

What a weirdo…

I wonder what’s with the Prefect? 

Quiet the fuck down. 

“U-um, say, Riddle,” you said softer, cheeks turning pink as you smiled at him sheepishly.

I do cherish you so, but what is wrong with you my friend?

“Do you want to make some sort of schedule with me to—uh—make sure your students come and do their dorm duties and stuff?”

Yes! Good excuse! Sorry-not-sorry, Jade! I gotta do housewarden stuff with Riddle, no time to talky-talk! Nope, nope, nope!

“Ah! Great idea (Name), I couldn’t have suggested a better one myself” Riddle brought out his phone and started scrolling through a folder labeled ‘Freshman Schedules,’ showing it to you. 

“I was considering reworking the dorm duties shifts to make it so that the Ramshackle students would work less during the school week, but make up for it by working extra during the weekends.”

Riddle continued to explain his new shift system as you nodded along, attention flitting between him and Jade, who you noticed out of the corner of your eye was sitting in the spot right in front of you. 

Aaaaaaaah! I’m sitting in front of (Name)! I just wanna turn around and stare. You do have three of our students, yes? Perhaps I can use that excuse to speak with you! I can even ask you to meet me in private to discuss the details, oh~ It’ll work so perfectly! 

An image of you and Jade alone in what you thought was one of the private rooms in Mostro Lounge, lip locked and heavy petting each other flashed through your mind. 

“Jade, we’ll get caught here if we—Aaaah~” Jade was down on his knees, licking soothingly on the bite he’d left on your thigh while you ran your fingers in his hair. “Mmh, and? Everyone will know you’re mine then~” In response, you yanked Jade up to crash your lips against his, falling backwards so that you both fell on the couch with him on top. The two of you giggled against each other’s lips as you unbuttoned Jade’s shirt, hand gliding down his chest and reaching—

You covered your cheeks in your palms, shaking the scene away as if it was a bee hovering over your face. You rested your head in your hands, trying to pay attention to what Riddle was saying. Something about making two students head of the freshman, one for Ramshackle specifically. 

I’ll ask you now! Yes, then I can whisk you away. Riddle seems just about done talking anyway. 

The devil may speak in tongues, but he also speaks cruel truths, as Riddle ended his explanation. “Yes, I have a few students staying with you in mind to be the Heartslaybul leader at Ramshackle, let us meet tomorrow for the unbirthday party to work out schedules and choose one of those students.” 

You nodded, bracing yourself for the inevitable. However, it never came. Voice or thoughts, all was silent in front of you, though you didn’t dare move your gaze in front of you and test the sand. 

…Ah my heart is racing at the thought…are my palm’s sweaty? Is it just me or did they look scared seeing me earlier?

You took out your notebook and magipen, adored with a mauve gem that matched the one on Grim’s collar, and started to write the date and class subject on the first page. 

What should I say? Humans aren’t fond of spontaneous love confessions, so I have to work into that… It would be strange if I spoke to them too casually. Oh dear, this is a dilemma.

You relaxed, as mean as it might be, you were relieved that Jade seemed to be too anxious now to really have a conversation with you. 

“Hello Prefect, since you were discussing it with Riddle, may we speak about managing the few Octavinelle students you have in your care?”

DAMMIT! GOD-FUCKING-DAMNIT!!!

You looked up, still cursing Jade in your head, and gave him a small, but polite smile. “Sure, Jade, but it’d probably be better for Azul to be involved, about I come over later this week to meet with him? Could you see if he’s available?”

Jade, nonchalantly as ever, gave a polite smile and nod.

“Of course, I’ll be sure to speak with Azul tonight and have him reach out with a scheduled time.”

Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

“I’ll send him a text, but based on the schedule I have, how does Thursday evening sound?”

Why don’t we discuss it! Alone! Just me and you, my pearl. I’ll even show you the makeshift greenhouse I built, you’ll just love it!

“Sounds good, I’ll only stay for a bit though! Gargoyle studies club is then and someone has to keep Hornton’s club up and running you know!” 

You thought you could see Jade’s eyebrow twitch at the mention of Malleus, but before he could speak, the sound of Crewel’s wand whipping in his hand echoed in the room. Everyone drew at attention at the professor, 

“Good afternoon pups, welcome to Advanced Potionology and Magical Pharmaceuticals. Today we will start by reviewing the syllabus and my expectations for this class.”

Crewel handed out small stacks of papers, you assumed the syllabus, to the students at the front rows to be passed out behind them as he continued. 

“Seeing that you all needed extraordinary marks in your previous potions class and final exams in order to place in this class, I expect nothing but the best from you pups.” 

As Crewel continued to explain his expectations, you saw Jade turning to hand you his stack. Pursing your lips, you reached over to take the papers, the tips of his fingers ghosting over yours ever so slightly. 

You recoiled, papers in hand, like you’d been shocked and nodded at him. Jade on the other hand was absolutely elated as his hands ever so slightly shook in excitement, hardly noticeable, turning back around to face the board. 

AAAAAAAAAAAA! CUTECUTECUTECUTECUTECUTECUTECUTECUTECUTECUTE—

You took a deep breath as you handed the stack back, trying to ignore the flood of infatuated thoughts from in front of you. You also decided to ignore the sudden images of you in maid lingerie.

Seriously?

“Each of you should have received a syllabus by now. For the structure of this class, we will be splitting you into groups of four, let’s see here…”

Crewel began naming off groups of four, waving his wand to rearrange the seats and tables for the groups, cauldrons, tubes, and similar items floating from the nearby closet and setting on. It kinda looks like a chemistry classroom now.

The first few groups set themselves up at their new tables, while you perked up hearing your name. 

“Riddle Rosehearts and (Name) (Last)” you and Riddle shared a happy look, sharing a smile. “With Jade Leech and Yev Quispe.”

YES!

Your smile dropped, a nervous look replacing it, much to Riddle’s concern. 

“Are you alright (Name)? You look a bit nervous?” Riddle placed a hand at the small of your back as he guided you to your new seating lay out. 

“It’s just Jade and Yev, you've met Jade before and Yev is very polite, if a bit full of himself.” Riddle whispered the last bit to you, making you giggle your nerves out. 

Crewel smacked his wand-whip for your attention again. “Once you’ve settled into your groups, start with a class introduction, become familiar with your group mates, as they’ll remain the same for the year.”

Clearing his throat, your red-headed friend took the lead. 

“My name is Riddle Rosehearts, Heartslaybul’s housewarden.” He gestured to the student next to him, which happened to be Jade. 

“You both already know me, but for our new friend here-” Jade politely nodded at Yev, who returned the gesture. “I am Jade Leech, vice housewarden for Octavinelle.”

Yev puffed his chest out, gracefully gesturing his hand to his chest. 

“I’m Yev Quispe, I was recently placed as Pomefiore’s housewarden, I do believe we had few interactions the last two years, so it’s a pleasure to met you.” 

Yev locked eyes with you, smirking as he eyed you up and down. 

And then there’s you.

“And I’ve yet to be properly introduced to you, the infamous Prefect. How about you introduce yourself?”

It’s you! My little pearl! You chose to not glance at Jade. 

You nodded politely, responding a bit shyly, “Hi, we met at the check in, but I’m (Name) (Last), I-uh-skipped a year aaaand I guess I’m Ramshackle’s housewarden? Hehe…” 

Despite the proximity between Riddle and Yev to you, Jade’s thoughts overpowered them, 

(Name)’s class introduction…their voice was… really cute. Their moans are probably really cute too. 

“Aaah~ R-right there Jade! Your mouth feels—mmf~”

You shut your eyes tightly, rubbing your temples and eyes harsh enough that you could see spots spattering across your vision. 

God I wish I could turn this off.

“Uh, Prefect?”

“Yes, Riddle?” you sighed, dragging your hands down your cheeks. 

“Are you alright?”

You held an ‘okay’ symbol with your hand. “Yep, what were we talking about?”

Riddle explained the class schedule for the semester, pointing out when certain papers and projects were due and working out a meeting time for your group. 

As the class continued, everyone’s thoughts mellowed out a bit, even Jade’s own. For the most part, your peers were focused on figuring out their plan for their groups and work. Surprisingly, there were very few thoughts about things like ‘what’s for dinner?’ or ‘I wanna take a nap after class today.’ or even ‘this class is boring as hell.’

Maaaan, I’ve been hanging around A-Deuce and Grim for too long, I forget everyone in this class are a bunch of high-strung overachievers. 

You looked at Jade who was currently taking notes down as Riddle and Yev discussed (argued more like) about whose schedule should take priority. 

“Our meetings must be after 5:00pm! Rule number 345: Croquet must never be played after 5:00pm-”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not privy to follow the ridiculous rules of your dorm.” Yev sneered at Riddle’s angry flush. “I am not available after 5, I have a very strict self-care routine that must not be interrupted-”

The two continued bickering, cursing each other out in their heads. 

You pompous fool! Ridiculous? What’s ridiculous is you and the “secret” lab that everyone knows about! How is it secret when everyone knows about it!?

Who gives a damn about your 810 rules? One of them is contingent of a hedgehog sneezing, and I’m being ridiculous?

Your eyes kept darting between the two, slightly amused. It was like watching a game of tennis, where one thought the ball was hit just enough out of reach for him to win the match, just for the other to jump over and continue their fight. 

As they continued, you decided to daydream a bit and listen in to the other students and your professor. It seemed that Crewel was thinking about stopping at Sam’s at the end of the day for some treats for one of his dogs. 

Genghis has been a bit lethargic lately, maybe she’d appreciate a new snack…something heart healthy for her though so nothing processed.

A few of the students were thinking about what they’d have for dinner, one of the Scarabia students was lamenting about being put on chopping duty by Jamil. 

He’s gonna make me chop everything again I just know it! He always says I do it wrong, why does he keep making me do it then?

You hid your amused smile behind your palm as you rested your head against it. You decided to look at Jade, whose thoughts were rather quiet at the moment.  

Jade was still dutifully writing down notes, of what at this point, you didn’t know. He also was amused at the two housewardens still bickering, albeit less heated now. 

“May I suggest we meet during study hall?” Jade asked, drawing the other two’s attention. “I do believe they overlap for us, do they not?”

Yev shook his head and gestured towards you. “Not for the sophomores, don’t you have a morning study hall, Prefect?”

“Oh, yeah and I kinda need study hall anyways to catch up on all the practical magic stuff.” You replied sheepishly. 

“Of course,” Riddle chimed in agreement. “It’s to be expected since you didn’t grow up in Twisted Wonderland.”

Yev rolled his eyes, while Jade’s focus was shifted to you once more.

Hmm…maybe they’ll need tutoring? We can be alone then…perhaps in musicology, you’re not a very good singer, are you my pearl?

…bitch.

You huffed, turning your head to strictly face Riddle and Yev, blatantly ignoring Jade, who seemed confused, but still cooed. 

Jade filled your head with an image of you pouting up at him, cutely rather than annoyed

Are you pouting? What for? Oh, you’re so cute~ 

Stupid eel, it’s cause of you! Stupidstupidstupidstupidstupidstupidstupid—

“Prefect!” Riddle called for you, startling you out of your inner rant. “Pay attention! I asked if you had another suggestion for a meeting time?”

���Oh, um,” you cleared your throat. “Maybe during lunchtime? It’s the same for everyone, and we’ll be heading over here anyway soooo?”

Riddle nodded in agreement while Yev shrugged and replied, “I suppose that could work, I do have a private ‘lab’ of sort we could use-”

“Is it really private if everyone knows about it?” Jade asked, looking amused at a now visibly annoyed Yev. 

“Do you want the room or not?!” 

“We’ll take it!” You and the other two exclaimed together, right as the bell rung for the next class. 

“Alright pups!” Crewel spoke up over the bell as you and the other students began to pack up. “I do hope you and your group had a productive discussion, tomorrow we will review the class schedule and start our first module! Have a good day pups.”

You could here the internal groans and whines of some of your classmates. Quite a few spent the class time straight up arguing with their group, not unlike Riddle and Yev. 

Damn it, why’d I have to sit next to these dumbasses???

Crap, we just talked about our partners and dates, maybe I shouldn’t’ve grouped with friends? 

A shiver down your spine alerted you to Jade’s voice before you even heard it, like you were developing a sense for danger, much like an arachnid superhero from your world. 

Perhaps I should ask my pearl on a date? Yes, ease into it with a study session first, then we can follow up with a dinner at the lounge, I’ll make Floyd cook it. 

You froze in panic, images of the two of you transitioning from a normal, admittedly nice dinner to the both of you wrapped up in each other’s naked bodies in his bedroom.

Yes, I’ll lock him out of his room if he doesn’t agree. 

Contemplating the best escape plan, you clumsily stacked your notebooks and pen in your arms, locking on Riddle as your savior. 

“Riddle—”

“Ah, apologies Prefect,” Riddle started to walk away as he looked at the time. “Could you message me at the end of the day? My next class is in the wing across the castle, and I must leave now if I’m to make it on time. Goodbye!” 

Ah, good then perhaps I could escort them to class in his stead? Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Jade approaching you. 

Fuckfuckfuckfuck, what’s that other asshole’s name? Yev!

You turned to ask Yev if he would walk with you to the next class. “Um, Yev could I—”

Ugh, what do you want? Yev smiled at you and gave a “sympathetic” look. 

“I’m sorry, could this wait until tomorrow? I must be getting to my next class.” He waved you off as he walked away and called over his shoulder, “I���m sure whatever it is, you can handle it, after all you’re the ‘Ramshackle Prefect’, ta-ta now!”

Shit! No, please! I don’t care if you’re an asshole, come back!

“Oh my Prefect, did you want someone to walk with you to your next class?” 

Startled, you looked up at the teal-haired man, who loomed over you with a glint in his eyes and his usual smile. You could tell he was holding back from just giving you a gleeful grin.

“Ah, no! It’s fine,” You started to stutter as you waved your hands around, “I have to go to alllll way to the botanical gardens, l walk by myself—”

Jade interrupted you as he placed a hand on the small of your back to guide you out of the classroom. “It’s no trouble at all, I’m heading to the fields for flight class, so it won’t be out of my way at all.”

Aaaaah! Cute! My cute little (Name)! So small, so soft, you’d look smaller even if you were on top of me…

No touchy! Nope! I’m not encouraging this at all!

You slightly sped up your pace, placing a small distance between him and you as Jade daydreamed about your thighs spread across his lap, arms wrapped around his neck as he shoved his face into your neck. 

“If you say so…” You quietly replied, moving so that you were walking side by side instead. 

Jade seemed disappointed at the lost of contact, but content to be by your side. 

We do seem like a couple right now, don’t we? After all what gentleman wouldn’t escort his beloved to their destination?

You stayed silent, hoping that the lack of conversation would deter him. The crowd of students in the hallways dispersed as you exited the castle onto Main Street, leaving you two alone minus a on or two other students. 

Ah, just the two of us, this is the perfect time to ask them out! 

Taking in a sharp breath, you braced for the words you dreaded to come out of Jade’s mouth.

Yes…

You waited. 

…Any moment now. I’ll ask.

Sam’s shop was in view, thus the spot where you two would spit was coming up. 

Hmm…my chest…hurts? Why is it hard to breathe?

The gymnasium was in view now. You peered at Jade from the corner of your eye. He still looked as nonchalant as you’d come to expect. 

This is fine. It’s not as if they’ll say no…probably. Ha…it’s very hard to breath now. Is this what drowning feels like? Why am I dreading this? I want to ask them out! …Right?

You cleared your throat as you walked away and into the direction of the gardens. “I’ll be heading over here, uh, see you tomorrow?”

Jade nodded and gave you a pleasant smile as the sounds of screams and sobs echoed in your mind. 

“Of course, I look forward to working with you Prefect, have a good day.”

CURSES! DAMMIT, DAMMIT, DAMMIT! WHYYYY—

You quickened your pace, almost jogging, as you heaved a sigh of relief. 

Finally, god I can’t wait to lay down and just pretend I never heard any of that!

“Aw, come on! Spill it!” Ace pouted as he lay across your bed, throwing one of your pillows in the air to catch. 

He must have some freaky thoughts! Tell me, I wanna blackmail him!

“No???” You looked at him in disgust, trying your best to not throw your history book at him. “Especially not for blackmail, what do you think he’s gonna do to you if you try and blackmail him?”

Deuce, tiredly eyes boring into his mathematics homework, replied in agreement, “Yeah, what do you think he’s gonna do? Laugh and say ‘you got me’?”

Uuuuuuuuugh you two are boring!

Ace threw the pillow at Deuce. “I don’t know man, I just want a leg up on him, I’m still not over the anemone thing, you know.”

You sighed, watching Grim through the window as he tried to show his prowess on the broom to one of the Scarabia freshmen in your care. Wincing as the broom zoomed out of his grasp and he splat face down into the ground, you slid down your armchair and crossed your arms over your head. 

“I’m tired of this already.” You whined, opting to ignore your homework, rather walking over and flopping ontop of Ace on your bed. The ginger softly shrieked, turning into a starfish underneath you. 

 Of homework? Cause mood. Deuce nodded sympathetically, daring to look back at the question he’d been stuck on for the last 10 minutes. 

“Mmpht! Th’t’s w’at y’ get—mmft git opp!” Ace shove you off him as he continued, “That’s what you get for being nerds, hehe!”

Kicking your friend, you made yourself comfortable as you took a pillow and rested your head, arms crossed underneath it. 

“Not about school, dipshit, I mean the telepathy.” You murmured, eyes closed. “I don’t want it anymore. I’m tired of it, it lost its appeal. Can you take it?”

Ace snorted as he rested next to you and started scrolling on his phone. “Nah, I’m good, Deucey?”

Huh? What? Deuce perked up, blinking in confusion. “What? Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Take the mind reading! I’m sick of it! Someone else can deal with y’alls thoughts.”

Deuce made a sound of understanding, getting up to stretch his arms and legs before walking over and patting your back. 

“Uh, I think I’m good, if Jade is any indicator of the people in this school, I don’t think I could be mentally well hearing all that.”

You opened an eye to glare at Deuce. “… And you think I can?”

Deuce held his arms up in surrender, awkwardly thinning his lips in response.

“I just mean that, it came naturally to you, you know?” Deuce decided to sit on the ground and lean against the bed, tilting his head to look up at you.

“You got magic, then the mind reading? Maybe you’re meant to have it.”

“Oh yes,” you drawled sarcastically, “I’m meant to listen to each whine, complaint, mindless thought that everyone has, oh and don’t forget every horny man’s dirty thoughts! That’s especially important!”

You huffed, turning on your back and crossing your arms.

Aw, (Name) I didn’t mean it like that, don’t be mad. Deuce turned and rested his chin on the edge, giving you a puppy-eyed look. 

“I just mean that, there’s probably something great you’re meant to do?” Deuce grunted as you smacked a hand on his head before ruffling his hair. “I don’t know, just looking at the bright side.”

You hummed in response shrugging. “Maybe, who knows, not me, not Crowley. It’s just super fucked man, how ‘m I suppose to react?”

Blackmail, duh?

“Ace! Shut the fuck up about the blackmail, man!” 

Ace kicked your leg, to which you responded in kind. The two of you began exchanging kicks until you both of your feet were planted against each other. Pushing against each other’s foots for some weird form of dominance, the three of you started giggling. 

What the fuck? Deuce took his phone out to record as he laughed, “You two are so weird.”

The laughter grew as your left foot gave out, allowing Ace’s right leg to kick you off the bed. You gave a short scream as you fell on Deuce, still giggling. 

“HA! I win! I claim this bed as my prize!” Ace crawled over to look over you two before letting out a panicked yelp as you and Deuce yanked him down to join the floor. 

The three of you calmed down, sprawled out on the floor. Ace asked, “Does he actually say anything to you? Jade, I mean.”

Humming, you looked at Ace and scrunched up your face. “Eeeeeh?”

“‘Eeeeeh? What does that mean?” Deuce asked. 

“I mean, he acts and speaks the way he did before…he was gonna try and ask me out, but…”

But? Ace and Deuce’s synchronized thoughts created an echo in your brain, which seemed ironically empty after studying. 

“I think he’s…scared? To ask, I mean.” You made a sound of pity, pursing your lips. “It was…kinda sad actually? Now that I think about it.”

“Huh.” Ace hummed while Deuce mimicked your pitying sound. “He is just some guy, I guess. A scary, monster looking guy, but still just a guy.”

That does sound kinda sad, actually. He always seems so self-assured. Deuce clicked his tongue and spoke out loud. 

“Maybe he’s scared of rejection? He kinda seems like the type of guy that was never told no, growing up.”

“Ha,” Ace snorted, “probably because everyone was scared he’d eat them if they did.” 

“Yeah.” You replied in faux sympathy. “Just like how your girlfriend broke up with you ‘cause she was scared of the kids you’d produce with your ugly ass face.” 

You and Deuce started laughing at your offended friend. The laughter grew as he flipped you off. 

“You know what, I’ve decided I no longer sympathize, I hope he literally thinks about every single weird kink in existence with you, you fuck face.” Ace pouted as you two continued to laugh. 

Your laughter died down as you heard a knock on the door. Clearing your throat you called out, “It’s open, come in!” 

The Scarabia student from earlier, poked their head in and smiled nervously. 

“Hi, uh, Prefect? Grim got knocked out…he ran into the tree trying to show us a Spelldrive trick.”

The student entered, true to their word, cradling the now limp familiar as they placed him in your outstretched arms. 

“Also, one of the other Scarabia students, Yakub, finished making the dinner you suggested! They wanted me to call you down to dinner too.”

You smiled and nodded, grunting as you and the other two got up from the floor. 

“Thank you, I’ll be down shortly, you two,” You pursed your lips at Ace and Deuce. “Should he back to Heartslaybul, Riddle will probably be back from his club soon, don’t want to get in trouble so soon.”

Ace snorted as he grabbed his backpack from the nightstand. “Look whose talking! Dear ‘I broke an ancient chandelier on the first day of class’ Prefect.”

“That was also you, though??” Deuce gave Ace an incredulous look as he packed his stuff. 

Gods up above, why is he like this?

You chuckled, following the two as they walked out to the front door. 

“Ah, what would’ve I done if that never happened? I’m actually pretty grateful that turned out the way it did.” You smiled fondly. 

I never would’ve met you two if I didn’t. 

The two looked at you, needing no powers to know what you were thinking.

“Aww, is this where you confess your love to me?” Ace grabbed your shoulder and looked at you with a serious face. 

“Just so you know, I’m only into hot people.”

“Okay, goodbye!” You shoved Ace out of the door, waving as he and Deuce walked towards the Hall of Mirrors.

You sighed, still cradling Grim in your arms as you cooed down at him, “Let’s get you some food, I’m sure you’ll wake up once you smell some yummy din din!”

Locking the front door, you greeted the 20 freshman in your dorm. Silas, who decided to help with the cooking, noticed you and handed you a glass of what you presumed to be the apple juice Epel left you. 

“Here (Name).” He gently pushed you to the front of the dining table. “Give a toast!”

You chucked nervously as you obliged. “Alright guys, let’s christen our first evening at Night Raven College with a meal!” You smiled and raised your glass. 

“Ramshackle students or not, I am happy to be your housewarden this year. For however long you stay, may this old dorm bring you nothing but luck and cheer in your first year! Let’s dig in!”

The group shouted in merry agreement as you took a slip of your drink, unaware of the glower coming from the coral-haired man in the corner. 

Forgoing dinner and leaving the room in a huff, Aspen stomped into the room designated to him and three others. Muttering to himself, Aspen dressed down into his pajamas, before taking out a journal from his nightstand. 

“I’m going to prove to everyone what a sham you are,” He snarled, furiously writing something down. “Then, no one will have any reason to admire you, let alone like you!”

comments and reblogs appreciated 🩷

[leiawritesstories]

Horsey

Rowaelin Month 2024, Day 5: Birthdays @rowaelinscourt

Word count: 954

Warnings: so so SO much fluff teehee

inspired by the work of @sassyhobbits. i could not resist. enjoy!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Where’s the birthday girl?” Aelin crooned, pretending not to notice the big purple bow that bobbed behind Lorcan’s leg. 

“I right here!” The giddy exclamation was coupled with a blur of purple silk and dark curls as newly five-year-old Marion Salvaterre Lochan launched herself into her auntie’s arms. “Hi Auntie!” 

Aelin beamed and hugged her niece. “Happy birthday, Mari darling! Are you having the best day and eating all the yummy cake?” Marion nodded excitedly, clapping her little hands. She was a perfect image of her mother, but she had Lorcan’s sharp dark eyes. 

“Auntie Lyssie gave me pretty bwace-wet!” The small girl proudly held out her right arm. “See?” 

“Ooh, yes, very pretty.” Aelin kissed the top of Marion’s head. “Alright, honey, why don’t you go find your da? I think he’s looking for you again, birthday girl.” 

“Okay!” Marion ran over to Lorcan, her little purple silk shoes pattering on the tile of the Lochan manor’s sunlit ballroom. “Hi Dada!” Lorcan lifted his daughter into his arms, whispering something that was probably disgustingly sweet into her ear. Aelin chose not to let her Fae ears pick it up. 

Elide crossed the room and stopped to kiss her girl’s rosy cheeks before she came to Aelin. “Thank you so much for being here,” she said, beaming. “I know you’re terribly busy with running a kingdom.” 

“She has people for that,” Rowan murmured, just loud enough for them to hear. Aelin swatted his chest, sending him a long-suffering look. 

So uncivilized.

He smirked. That’s why I don’t take on court duties.

Maybe I should have commanded you to keep an eye on things while I went to my beautiful niece’s birthday celebration. 

And spent half the treasury on gifts? I think not. He dodged the elbow she angled at his ribs. Ah-ah, love. I know the way you move.

She gave him a saccharine smile. As do I, buzzard, she all but purred. 

Elide sighed loudly. “Will the two of you stop flirting with each other right in front of everyone’s poor eyes? It’s bad enough how disgustingly in love you are already.” 

“Says the woman whose husband willingly gave up five hundred years of warrior high life to play housemaid and change diapers,” Aelin returned, winking at her dear friend. 

The petite woman snorted. “Lorcan knows damn well he’s better off here than he ever would be whacking himself off in some army tent.” 

“Godsdamned right I do.” Lorcan covered Marion’s eyes and bent nearly in half to kiss his wife. 

Aelin groaned and covered her own eyes. “Gods above.” She tugged subtly on the blood oath before Lorcan could show her a vulgar gesture. “Now now, Salvaterre, there are children present.” At her side, Rowan snickered, amused at Lorcan’s grumpiness. 

“Why don’t we give our favorite niece her birthday present?” he suggested, smoothing over the situation before either Lorcan or Aelin could pester the other. 

Marion clapped and exclaimed her excitement. “Yes yes yes! I wanna present, Unc’a Ro!” 

Rowan laughed. “Alright, Mari. Should we go outside? I think there might be something out there for you.”

Led by Aelin, and with Marion still sitting comfortably in her father’s arms, the handful of them went out into the courtyard, where a small, intricately worked wooden trunk sat on the stones. Marion gasped and squirmed, and when Lorcan set her down, she ran over to the box and opened it up. Her dark eyes went huge with wonder, and she lifted a length of lavender silk and gauze out. 

“It’s a pretty dress!” she screeched, jumping excitedly. “Yay!” She brought the dress to her mother, who laid it carefully over one arm, and sprinted for her aunt and uncle, who showered her with hugs and kisses before letting her go back to her favorite spot in Lorcan’s arms. 

“There’s one more little present,” Aelin said, winking at Marion. 

The small girl’s eyes grew even wider. “Really?” 

“Really.” Aelin grinned conspiratorially. “Let’s go around the corner, shall we?” They walked towards the stables, and Rowan’s confusion crowded her mind. 

What did you get her, Aelin?

Something she’ll be able to love for a very long time.

That…is not very descriptive.

Of course not. She chuckled at his confusion and grandly slid the stable doors open. “Happy birthday, my little love!” All the sets of eyes peered into the stable, and shock bolted like lightning through everyone except the queen of Terrasen. 

Because there was an Asterion standing in the Lochan stables. 

Elide turned slowly towards Aelin. “Did you…No, you most certainly did not. I’m dreaming.” 

“Did you seriously get our daughter an Asterion?” Disbelieving, Lorcan asked the question Elide couldn’t vocalize. 

“She said she wanted a pony!” Aelin shrugged. “The royal stables have been taking wonderful care of our Asterions, and this young mare is three years old, fully trained, and probably the sweetest and most evenly tempered Asterion you could ask for.” 

“HORSEY!!!” Marion squealed, instantly in love with her birthday gift from Auntie Aelin. 

The simple, childish, gleeful declaration made the situation seem simple. Despite Rowan’s look that screamed we will be discussing this later, even he applauded when Lorcan set Marion astride the back of the young Asterion mare, which didn’t so much as twitch at the feeling of a passenger. She was so ecstatic that Elide just shook her head as she hugged Aelin. 

“You are far too extravagant, but we love you,” she whispered. “Thank you.” 

“Anything for my favorite and only niece.” Aelin had a soft, faraway look in her eyes as she watched Marion gently pat the horse’s mane, dreaming of the day one of her own children might do the same thing. “We love you too.”

~~~

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[cece693]

I absolutely loved well mannered son. I think it was some of your best work. I hope we have a sequel

Well Mannered Son Pt. 2 (Norman Bates x M! Reader)

Thanks for the sweet words. I initially wanted it to just be a stand-alone, but then I thought about it and wanted to show more of Norman's psycho side.

link to part one

After that kiss, Norman's world spiraled into a hazy blur, where nothing seemed real except the lingering warmth of your lips against his own. He clung to that memory, obsessively replaying it like a film loop in his mind—the taste of you, the heat of your breath, the way your hands had pulled him in as though you couldn’t bear to let him go. The vacancy sign outside flickered through the rain-streaked window, casting dim shadows that danced across the motel room. The storm was relentless, drumming steadily against the roof, keeping others at bay while he indulged in the fantasy of what could be.

But then, the loud chime of the door’s bell shattered his dreamlike state, snapping him back to reality. His heart clenched when he heard your voice mingling with another, lighter and sickeningly sweet. His eyes darted outside, narrowing when he saw you speaking to a woman. Marion, she had said her name was. Pretty, young, with a smile that shone through the rain as she leaned in just a little too close.

Norman’s jaw tightened, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the windowsill. The way she stood there, flirting with you so brazenly… and you didn’t push her away. You didn’t tell her you were his. No, instead, you just stood there and let her laugh, let her touch your arm like she had any right to. It was maddening. If you had kissed him, it had to mean something, didn’t it? That you loved him? That you wanted him? There was no other explanation.

"Look at her, Norman," Mother's voice slithered through his thoughts, dripping with scorn. "She's trying to steal him away. She thinks she can take what's yours. Are you just going to stand there and let it happen?"

For once, her words felt like a welcome comfort, wrapping around his mind like a cocoon. She was right. He wasn’t going to let some cheap little nobody take you away from him. You were his. It was fate. And fate wouldn’t be denied—not by some worthless girl who had wandered into the wrong place at the wrong time.

"There’s only one way to deal with a trespasser, Norman," Mother whispered, her tone laced with dark approval. "Make sure she never touches what’s yours again." The thought was a sudden, visceral rush, adrenaline coursing through him as he grabbed the knife.

When the deed was done, Marion’s lifeless eyes stared back at him from the blood-soaked bathroom floor. Her face was a grotesque mask of shock, a silent accusation that no longer held any power. Norman stood over her, breathing heavily, the metallic tang of blood filling the air, but instead of the usual horror that followed these moments, there was only calm. Satisfaction. A perverse kind of pride in knowing that he had protected what was his. She would never come between you again. No one would.

When you appeared in the doorway, Norman’s heart lurched. There you were, the object of his every fevered thought, every restless night. Your gaze swept over the scene, taking in the gore with a calm that seemed to resonate through the air. There was no revulsion in your eyes, no fear—just a faint glimmer of amusement, a dark fondness as you stepped closer, your boots leaving faint, bloody prints on the tile.

"You really didn’t like her, did you?" Your voice was low, a teasing growl that sent a shudder down Norman’s spine. You reached out, your hand curling around his jaw, tilting his face up to meet your gaze. Your touch was firm, commanding, making his breath hitch.

"I—I couldn’t let her take you," Norman stammered, his wide eyes glistening with a frantic devotion that bordered on madness. He leaned into your touch like a starving man who had finally found his sustenance. "You're mine…I…I know you feel it too. You have to…You wouldn’t have kissed me if you didn’t love me."

Your chuckle was dark, vibrating against his skin as you leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear. "I never said I didn’t like it, Norman," you murmured, your voice dripping with amusement. "It’s adorable, really, how far you'd go just to keep me."

Norman’s breath hitched, his pupils dilating as your words washed over him like a caress. Your approval was intoxicating, making his pulse race and his limbs tremble with a strange mixture of fear and desire. The knife slipped from his hand, clattering to the floor as you pulled him closer, crashing your lips into his with a raw, possessive intensity that made his head spin.

"I’m not going anywhere," you whispered against his mouth, your fingers threading through his hair and tightening just enough to make him gasp. "But know that I also will kill whoever thinks they can steal you away from me."

[transit-fag]

You gave me approval to post this (:

So I want to write a story revolving around the friendship of 6 queer people in New York

Here are their names:

Marion Lee

Sunny Dupont

Donovan Grace

Lucille Rose

Salinas Renne

Jean Domot

Here is a summary of the first Chapter :

The Story starts with Marion inviting Salinas to stay with her at her apartment in the Greenwich Village on his trip from Montreal. He is staying in New York to see their friend Sunny's theater show. After Marion picks Salinas up from Penn Station, they walk back to Marion's Apartment, stopping by a cafe that Marion works at and Marion picks up a Flyer for an arts show coming up as well as some coffee for the 2 of them. The 2 hang out for a day before Salinas finds a letter from Marion to Sunny where she admits to accidentally killing Jean. The day after he steals the letter, Marion and Salinas walk to Sunny's first theater show with a lead role, as they walk they discuss the art show coming up, Salinas is nervous during this, meanwhile as Sunny prepares for the show, he starts to talk to a man from a monastery on Staten Island promising an escape from his sinful lifestyle, sunny ignores the man and goes back to prepare for the show. When Sal and Marion arrive at the theater, Sal leaves the letter in Sunny's changing room. Sunny begins to read the letter after the show but the curtain call happens and he heads out to the lobby and spots Marion and Sal and decides to invite them to the cast's dinner at the diner near the theater. As he leaves he is held up by a reporter and tells Marion and Sal to go to the diner ahead of him. He heads back to his room to change, grabbing the letter and a gun before leaving. As they walk, Sunny reads over the letter again and again, eventually, they arrive at the diner and Sunny reads the letter one last time and approaches Marion about the letters contents, this leads to a fight between Salinas, Sunny and Marion about what happened, where it is revealed that Marion killed Jean and Salinas stole the letter, in anger about this, Marion takes the key to her apartment that she gave Sal back and storms out of the diner into the rain. Sal comes back to the apartment to find all his things are on the sidewalk. He calls up Marion who is smoking at the windowsill and tells her that he is truly sorry before walking back to the train station. Meanwhile Sunny stays at the diner and crys for a moment before running out and into a subway station, he is heading for Staten Island. As he waits on the subway platform, he listens to a small handheld radio and hears a familiar voice with a different name, the voice he hears is a radio DJ named Lucille, she is discussing the threatened execution of 2 revolutionaries and tells her audience to go and protest this crime, he turns off the radio and sits down on a bench in silence. At the diner sits a reporter at one of the empty booths, he gets up, asks where a pay phone is and calls up the papers in Boston

[residentsofhollowville]

The door to the post office opens, closing quickly after with a quiet click, like someone turned the handle so it wouldn't slam.

Pip streaks across the floor, a sharp pencil held between two hands. Marione himself is nowhere to be seen, but the constant quiet clicking that follows her can be heard faintly nearby.

- @eyes-that-decieve

Jack's been busy sorting letters since his legs started working again. He doesn't spot the horrid little cretin creeping up on his ankles, nor does he expect it to be immediately eager for violence, but, alas, such is its nature.

"Ow!"

He feels something jab into his leg hard enough to draw blood. The lead stays stuck in the wax.

"Little bastard-"

He dives for it and makes an earnest effort to start trying to catch it. This is not how he expected today to go.

[lunammoon]

You've captured the look exactly!

The thought of Marion looking scared when having her picture taken amused me so much I had to draw it! @lunammoon

[the1920sinpictures]

1925 Rudolph Valentino and Marion Davies dance the tango at a party held at her pool in Beverly Hills, California. From America in the 1920s, FB.

[ash-rigby]

Verdant Transmigration (Spring/Fertility God) [M/M]

Featured Characters: Male human and a male nature god.

Description: Marion, a cleric of one of his town's four resident nature deities, undergoes a ritual to become the next Vessel for Ta'lir who, among many things, is a god of fertility. A merging with Ta'lir requires a more physical element than a purely spiritual one.

Contains: Masked Nonhuman, Size Difference, Aphrodisiacs, Sex Magic, Fellatio, Hand Jobs, Self Lubrication, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Excessive Cum, Mild Cardiophilia.

Completion Date: March 23rd, 2024

Word Count: 3485

This isn't the next requested piece but it was the one I was getting ready to submit to this year's Spring issue of M❤️NSTER. I wound up not making the deadline but I like it too much to wait a year to share it, so I finished it up and here it is!

-

Marion walked into the ritual chamber under the gazes of many, his nude body catching the flickering firelight. He knelt on the floor of the temple as one of the other priests began to lay out a circle in sacred earth around him. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, drawing in the spicy yet floral smell of the incense. Drums beat softly on all sides and the sound of low flutes seemed to tickle the nape of his neck. 

He wasn’t nervous, as those around him expected him to be; he had spent the last three days since the previous Vessel’s death in deep meditation to prepare for being the next. Adola was a magnificent woman, a constant through all of Marion’s twenty-five years. A solemn presence with a gentle, motherly hand. Her grace had inspired him to devote his life to the god she carried within her—whom he would carry in her stead.

His city enjoyed the watchful eye of four nature gods, corresponding to the seasons and each with their unique divine favors to bestow. Some blessings and miracles, others that brought simple comforts through the unavoidable trials and pains of life. Whatever their will, it was channeled through a human host; a Vessel that embodied all they were and served the people. But a mortal body is a mortal body, releasing both spirits in death. 

With Adola’s passing, Ta’lir—a god of Spring—had returned to the Ethereal Grove where he fell into dormancy, awaiting rebirth into the mortal realm. The Transmigration ritual for each god involved a performance to inspire a merging of their spirit and that of the willing Vessel. There was the exuberant dance for Summer, a melancholy yet ultimately hopeful song for Autumn, and a grueling test of endurance through cold for Winter.

Ta’lir, among other things, represented fertility. Pleasures of the flesh were a common mode of worshipping him. As a priest of Ta’lir’s temple, Marion had partaken many times; alone, with one or two other clerics, and in the grand orgies. He was more than prepared for what was required of him in the ritual ahead. A spiritual and physical union with Ta’lir.

Marion felt a presence step in front of him. There was a rustle of fabric and the sound of bare feet padding against stone. He opened his eyes to see the High Priestess smiling warmly down at him, her face framed by long, brown hair. She held an ornate cup carved from wood in her hand which she leaned down to hand to him.

“Euphoric passage to the Grove,” she said in blessing as Marion took the cup.

He brought it to his lips, familiar with its contents. The cooled, maroon-coloured tea was brewed from a dried mix containing amiculus clover petals; a powerful aphrodisiac despite its mild, unremarkable flavour. Its influence on the body was enough to carry over even in the spirit through astral projection. Euphoric indeed.

Marion gave the empty cup back to the High Priestess. Another cleric, short in stature, took it from her and replaced it with a shallow bowl of dark paint. She knelt and began to mark him with the shapes and lines that would be branded into his skin once he merged with Ta’lir, denoting him as his Vessel. 

The tea quickly took effect. Heat swirled in Marion’s stomach before migrating lower as a pleasantly tingling pulse. His cock throbbed, gradually filling without a single touch until it stood erect. Need washed over him but he would not be stroking himself or seeking partners in the crowd around him. For once, that wasn’t a part of things; his body and ecstasy were promised solely to Ta’lir that day.

Marion breathed, his cock full and heavy. The High Priestess’ touch was warm and soft, her captivating bluish-grey eyes frequently holding his as she worked. He shivered at the memories of times he had the honor of worshipping with her. A hitched gasp left him, hips jolting slightly, as she finished the final line—a single, agonizingly slow stroke up the underside of his shaft.

She left him panting in the center of the circle, stepping back to join the other clerics who began to chant. The sacred earth gradually gained a bright green glow. Fractal patterns drew themselves into existence and spread inwards from it. As they reached Marion, the lines painted on him erupted with the same light. He was struck by the extraordinary pleasure of it.

His entire body felt alight and sensitive. Nobody was touching him, but the very air seemed to caress and tease. The chanting grew louder, the glow around him flaring as the ripples of invisible sensation intensified. It was like a fire; wild, blazing, hungry. Nipping, licking and leaving trails of desperation across every inch of him.

He fell back and only just managed to catch and hold himself up on his shaking arms, legs spreading open of their own accord. The flutes faded out but the drums beat harder, the sound of them pounding through him. Somehow in perfect time with every throb of his leaking cock. 

Marion tilted his head back, face angled at the ceiling bathed in that green light. Splayed out like this—wantonly moaning and achingly erect—he couldn’t help but feel like a beast crying out for another of its kind to mate. With that thought, the words came to him, spilling from his lips as if someone else had seized his voice.

“Take me, Ta’lir,” he implored to his dormant god. “Oh, Lord of my flesh. My erotic master. Take me!”

His vision became an all-consuming white. Images flooded his mind but did not linger on a single one for long. Wet, dripping holes swallowing his shaft. Slick cocks rubbing against his own. Tangles of hot, sweaty bodies thrusting and grinding. Groping hands. Eager mouths. On top of the drums and chanting came a rising, desperate cacophony of disembodied moans.

Just as Marion felt it all coming to a head, like he might just cum, a hand was placed on the center of his chest. It gave a hefty push and everything stopped. 

The surging, full-body pleasure was whisked away in a second. Though his cock still strained and he could feel the effects of the tea coursing through him. Silence settled around him like a fog, broken only by his heaving breaths. 

Marion was outside; he could feel a cool breeze on his naked form. There was birdsong and the whisper of leaves. The smell of earth, flowers, and petrichor filled his senses. He only realized then that the white light was gone, leaving darkness. His eyes were closed. Feeling slightly foolish, he opened them and awe took his breath.

The Grove was laid out in all its glory before him.

He was kneeling on a stone circle, carved with the same patterns that had sprung up in light back in the temple. Four tall, mossy pillars rose around him, made into the shape of rabbits standing on their hind legs, noses pointed skyward. Beyond that was a rich, verdant sprawl; long grasses, full bushes, and a dense wood that ringed the clearing he was in.

Directly ahead was a short staircase which led to a colossal tree. Marion gazed at its thick trunk and spotted a carved-out portion in the middle which contained a floating, glowing green mass. Lower still, sitting on a throne that melded into the tree, was the unmoving form of Ta’lir. 

Marion stood, not expecting the strength in his legs given what he had just gone through, and walked towards him. He had seen all of the sculptures, scrolls, and murals depicting Ta’lir’s likeness, but nothing could have prepared him for the radiance of the genuine article. 

Even sitting, the god was tall. Whatever visage he had, if any, was completely obscured by a wooden mask of a hare’s head that bore three eyes. There was a thick, lush mantle of vegetation growing from his shoulders that flared behind his head, speckled through with flowering clover. The torso and arms of the body looked carved from wood, though sleek. Marion could see the intricacies of it. There were joints that would allow Ta’lir to move with the ease of flesh and bone. 

The chest was a hollow like the one he had seen in the tree, though the hole was grated over with thin, uneven, wooden lines that intersected and split here and there. The result was a myriad of varying-sized, ovular holes. There were no innards to speak of; sunlight peaked through them to show the solid plane of the other side.

The wood of the upper half faded into the more flesh-like appearance of the lower, though green and mossy. Marion swallowed when his eyes travelled there and he laid eyes on it. Though dormant, Ta’lir was sporting a large, impressive erection. His thick shaft, with its enticing slight upward curve, stood proudly. Waiting. Propelled by piety and arousal that had far from relented, Marion wasted no time in kneeling between his god’s legs.

His hands lighted on Ta’lir’s thighs. The cock before him was almost intimidating, but reverence won out. He mouthed at the hanging, virile balls before working his way upwards. The taste was an ambrosia on his watering, roaming tongue. He licked the sensitive underside of the head, bringing his hand up to the shaft as he did. The sheer girth of it showed itself as his fingers couldn’t close around it.

Marion closed his lips over the round tip, stroking all he could. As he did, he felt a sudden throb against his palm. It came with a sound; a deep, heavy heartbeat sounding above him. He looked up to see the mass in the tree beginning to pulse just as a bright green glow came to the eyes of Ta’lir’s mask.

The large body drew in a breath—into what lungs, Marion didn’t know—and released it with a low, appreciative groan. Ta’lir shifted, his head rolling on his shoulders before tilting down. Marion’s heart pounded as their eyes met, but he didn’t dare stop; he couldn’t bear the thought of taking his mouth or hands off Ta’lir. 

A chuckle, cavernous and gratified, resounded in his mind rather than outward.

“Hello, dear one,” Ta’lir said, his voice thrumming through Marion’s entire being. It was reminiscent of the feeling he experienced during the ritual, though far less sourceless. “And have my thanks for—mmhn—for restoring me.”

Marion responded by taking Ta’lir further into his mouth, bobbing his head and pumping his hand over hot, turgid flesh. The god moaned and it went straight to Marion’s dick, spurring such an intense throb that his eyes briefly rolled. He could cum like this. Just from sucking Ta’lir’s cock. Just from the divine presence of his voice. He upped his pace, yearning to please and dizzy from the pleasure of every noise his efforts worked out.

“I know you,” Ta’lir said. “This eagerness…this lust. Oh, sweet Marion.”

With a wet sound, Marion pulled off of Ta’lir, his hand never stilling as his chest warmed in admiration.

“My reputation precedes me, Lord?” he asked breathlessly, eyelids flickering from the simple action of Ta’lir brushing a tender finger behind his ear—what it was going to feel like getting fucked by this being in this state was beyond his comprehension.

“Come here,” Ta’lir said, tapping his thigh. “Let me see you.”

Marion obeyed, climbing up into his god’s lap and straddling him. His cock raged, weeping onto Ta’lir; a simple but effective tribute. He was panting, well aware of his hole’s proximity to what every part of his insides ached for. Three glowing eyes gazed upon him. Though no emotion could be discerned from them, he could sense the radiating fondness. 

“Such a handsome figure,” Ta’lir marveled, fingertips lightly trailing over his Vessel’s sides. The smile in his tone was felt. “And this…”

His hand went to Marion’s dick, taking it between his massive forefinger and thumb. He began to stroke. Slow pass up. Pause. Slow pass down. The pattern repeated as he remained fixated on Marion’s face, drinking in his moans.

“My previous Vessel was a woman without this,” Ta’lir said. “I did love the change of pace, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss burying myself.”

Marion gasped; unable to speak, shaking from his god’s touch and the waves of his voice.

“You must get a lot of attention,” Ta’lir continued, stroking a little faster. “Such a big, gorgeous cock. This heat…and you throb so strongly. I can’t wait for it to be mine. Oh…we’ll do great things together.”

Marion felt his other hand reach to caress the small of his back, gliding down over the mounds of his ass. A long, dexterous finger breached him with surprising ease; was it his imagination or was he wet? His spirit’s burning desire to take Ta’lir into him in more ways than one must have manifested such things. That one, brief coherent thought melted away as he was deeply penetrated, a second finger swiftly joining the first.

They pumped rapidly, striking true against that near-blindingly sensitive spot inside him. His body jolted, back locking into a rigid, trembling arch as his breath halted. He was lightheaded by the time he was able to suck in air again through in quick, whimpering heaves. With a loud wail, he partially collapsed against Ta’lir, his fingers curling onto the inconsistent lattice that was his chest.

“T-Ta-Ta’lir! I can’t, I can’t—ahh!” Marion cried. “I’ll c-cum. I’m going to cum. I’m going to cum! I’m—!”

“Not until I do,” Ta’lir corrected, almost sing-song. “By what other power did you think we become one? I’ve been asleep for days…allow me some amusement.”

Marion’s head swum, time becoming an unknown blur. He wasn’t sure how long he experienced Ta’lir fucking him on his fingers, but every second was exquisite. If one was keen to equate the word to denial, that is; and he was. 

“You’re amazing, Marion,” Ta’lir praised. “Sucking me in so well. If this is how you take my fingers, then—.”

“Please, Lord,” Marion begged, forgetting himself at a mere insinuation. “I…I need it—.” 

“Not yet, my dear,” Ta’lir said, probing faster into the wet, yielding passage. “Not yet.”

True to Ta’lir’s promise, release didn’t come. Marion remained tottering on its edge. He bounced unconsciously, meeting the thrusts of those thick, relentless fingers. His cock felt engorged, hugged by his balls as his body was trapped in those euphoric seconds before orgasm. The roiling pressure, the fever overtaking his shaft, feeling the rivers he was leaking. He had never known such ecstasy; the Grove’s influence was a marvel.

Marion felt no exhaustion when Ta’lir finally removed his fingers. There was only exhilaration and hunger. He shifted his hips, moving until his ass found Ta’lir’s dick. Meeting the glowing eyes once more, he nudged it insistently. His hole was dripping. Twitching. Wanting.

There was that chuckle again. “How rude of me. Please, take a seat.”

“Thank you, Lord…thank you.”

Marion lined himself up and lowered down. His body shouldn’t have been able to take it entirely. Couldn’t have been able to. But it did, opening up as if driven by pure devotion. Every broad inch claimed him slowly until Ta’lir bottomed out. 

“Oh…oh, you’re perfect,” Ta’lir praised. 

The joy of such a connection with his god was overwhelming and Marion nearly cried. He sat there in hopelessly aroused disbelief, stuffed full and feeling every pulse that throbbed alongside that constant heartbeat. It grew faster as he began to grind.

He kept it slow; now that Ta’lir was inside him, he found himself wanting to savour it. Shallow thrusts were achieved as he lifted up slightly and slid back down. Even that pace felt like being stirred up, the sheer size of Ta’lir’s cock stretching him past his usual limits. His sweltering walls caressed and squeezed—mostly of his own doing, but involuntary clenches were inevitable.

“Yes,” Ta’lir breathed, a visible shiver running through his large frame. “Dance for me.”

His hands came up to cup Marion’s undulating torso, settling over his ribs as the thumbs found his nipples. The wide pads rolled and teased. Marion arched into the touch, expelling a breath that was equal parts a moan and a laugh; it tickled for a moment before settling on pleasure.

It wasn’t long before Ta’lir took control again. Effortlessly, he began to lift Marion up and down his cock. He would get him halfway up the shaft before dropping him to the hilt, that mysterious slick leaking out around him. His head tilted back against the throne as he groaned long and deep.

“Take me…take me.”

Marion’s breath hitched at hearing his own words echoed at him. “I’m yours.”

Ta’lir growled, a sound juxtaposed with the serene herbivore his mask depicted. It was more arousing than it had any right to be. He gripped Marion’s hips and began to pound up into him, grunting with each thrust. His cock seemed impossibly harder; thicker, swelling in its confines.

Marion’s mouth was open, stunned silence occasionally broken by moans cracking his voice to a higher register. He swallowed up that monstrous shaft as if he had been made as its sheath. Like he would be hollow without it. But Ta’lir would fill his empty spaces. Until death parted their spirits.

“I’m yours, I’m yours—ahhh, I’m yours!” he chanted.

He felt himself moving. Ta’lir was standing, hands supporting Marion’s ass as his cock stilled firmly inside. He turned them so he could kneel backwards on his throne and press Marion into its back. His thrusting resumed, faster than his previous position had allowed. A quick clap of meeting flesh filled the Grove.

Marion clutched at Ta’lir. The scent of earth and something more akin to a mammalian musk flooded his nose. The latter grew stronger the more Ta’lir thrust, close to overwhelming the rest and laced with intoxicating pheromones. Marion could practically taste it and drool began to gather in his mouth. He moaned, his hole becoming a desperate vice against the burning beast of a shaft plunging into him.

Gone were Ta’lir’s words, replaced by growls and other feral noises of pleasure as he slammed. Those once-gentle hands gripped, digging deeply into the meat of Marion’s ass. His precum was abundant and incessant in its flow, adding to the lewd squelch of every thrust. It had to be running down his balls, making a mess and dripping onto his throne.

The ever-present heartbeat above their writhing forms raced. Marion was vaguely aware of the glow of that pulsing mass reaching for them in vein-like streaks down the tree’s trunk. Their markings ignited and he felt the first tell-tale throbs making their way through his cock, matching the pace of that pulse. He was close. They were close.

“Cum with me,” Ta’lir said, his voice rough. “Cum…with…!”

He suddenly stilled deep inside and warmth surged into Marion a split second before his own orgasm gripped him. He wailed, explosive ecstasy rushing into every extremity as he excessively came. It seemed endless, spurting from him as his hole milked a similar, copious stream from Ta’lir. 

There was a flood; dripping down his sides, flowing into him. Pump after pump. Two voices, loudly moaning, were beginning to be drowned out by the furious thumping of the tree’s pulse.

Marion’s vision whited and—.

He was back in the temple, kneeling in that circle. His abdomen and thighs were covered in splatters of his own cum. It didn’t cease upon his return, pleasure working through him and making his hips buck as his cock continued to burst. His hole twitched uncontrollably; he could still feel the heat of Ta’lir’s seed and the stretch of his girth. The room was silent save for his own unrestrained moans as his divine orgasm was given proper reverence. 

A faintness washed over Marion as the magic tied to the ritual abated. He collapsed and was descended upon by some of the other clerics. They welcomed him back—a greeting for him and their god. He was vaguely aware of being wrapped in multi-coloured, flower-embroidered cloth and carried to the baths. Gentle hands cleaned him with steaming, pleasant-smelling water as he continued to shiver.

Through heavy eyes, he inspected what he could see of himself. The painted marks had permanently bonded to his skin in swirling lines of brilliant emerald green. But otherwise, he felt no different and a distant pang of concern came to him.

Did it work? Had he been enough?

The High Priestess was carding her fingers through his hair when a familiar voice came to him, clear in his mind; murmurs of praise and contagious excitement for a promising future.

End

Masterlist

[chaplinlegend]

Charlie Chaplin, Gloria Swanson (left) and Marion Davies (right) at a party held at the Ambassador's French Room on October 31, 1928, to celebrate Marion's return from a three-month tour.

Second photo - Marion Davies with Buster Keaton.

In the third photo - Gloria Swanson, Charlie Chaplin, Marion Davies and Harry Crocker.

In the group photo, guests, probably not all, who attended the party - standing, from left to right: Lorraine Eddy, Matt Moore, Aileen Pringle, Louis B. Mayer, Gloria Swanson, Harry D'Arrast, Miss Davies, Louella O. Parsons, Ricardo Cortez, Charlie Chaplin, Norma Shearer, Irving G. Thalberg, Harold Lloyd and Robert Z. Leonard. Seated in the foreground are Harry Crocker, left, and William Haines.

The Ambassador's French Room was transformed into a Parisian café for a surprise party for Miss Davies on 31 October 1928.

On this occasion, heartfelt thanks to the friends of the "Charlie Chaplin for the Ages" group on the Facebook community site, for providing some photos for this post.

[monstrousgourmandizingcats]

Some books and stories that I think are worth reading in conversation with Yellowjackets

Shirley Jackson, all works but especially The Sundial, The Haunting of Hill House, and We Have Always Lived in the Castle. Jackson might or might not need any introduction in this fandom. The Sundial is her take on doomsday preppers, Hill House is of course her haunted house novel (one of the classics of that genre), and Castle has a female protagonist who makes Shauna look like a plaster saint.

Flannery O'Connor, The Violent Bear It Away. O'Connor's work has some of the most pervasive darkness and brutality of any major American writer (maybe Ambrose Bierce comes close), and the second of two novels that she completed before her death is no exception. (The first, Wise Blood, is also very good; the intended third, Why Do the Heathen Rage?, only exists as a fragmentary short story.) Francis Marion Tarwater is kidnapped and raised in the woods by his great-uncle, who is convinced that Francis is destined to be a prophet. The great-uncle's death commences a bizarre adventure involving auditory hallucinations, sinister truckers, an evil social worker, arson, developmental disabilities, and baptizing and drowning someone at the same time. Content warnings for all of the above plus rape. O'Connor is also a fairly racist author by today's standards--she was a white Southerner who died in 1964--so keep that in mind as well.

Ruth Ozeki, The Book of Form and Emptiness. Teenage protagonist is schizophrenic and also a channel for a genuinely supernatural force; well-intentioned but poorly-considered efforts to treat one of these issues make the other worse. Sound familiar? There are supporting characters who are affectionate parodies of Slavoj Zizek and Marie Kondo. A minor character is a middle-aged lesbian who cruises dating apps for hookups with much younger women. Some people find this book preachy and overwritten, but I really like it and would plug it even if I didn't because the author is someone whom I've met and who has been supportive of my own writing.

Yukio Mishima, The Decay of the Angel. Can be read in translation or in the original Japanese. This is the fourth and last book in a series called The Sea of Fertility but I wouldn't necessarily recommend the first three as particularly YJ-ish; Decay is because it deals at great length with issues of doubt and ambiguity about whether or not a genuinely held, but personally damaging, spiritual and religious belief is true. There's also more (as Randy Walsh would put it) lezzy stuff than is usual for Mishima, a gay man. Content warnings for elder abuse, sexual abuse of both children and vulnerable adults in previous books in the series, forced abortion in the first book if you decide to read the whole thing from the beginning, and the fact that in addition to being a great novelist the author was also a far-right political personality.

Howard Frank Mosher, Where the Rivers Flow North. An elderly Vermont lumberjack and his Native American common-law wife refuse to sell their land to a development company that wants to build a hydroelectric power plant. Tragedy ensues. I haven't read this one in a long time but some images from the movie stick in my mind as YJ-y. Lots of fire, water, and trees.

Leonard Cohen, Beautiful Losers. Yes, this is the same Leonard Cohen who later transitioned into songwriting and became a household name in that art form. Beautiful Losers is a very weird, very horny novel that he wrote as a young man; it deals with the submerged darkness and internal tension within Canadian and specifically Quebecois society. One of the main characters is Kateri Tekakwitha, a seventeenth-century Iroquois convert to Catholicism who was probably a lesbian in real life (although Cohen unfortunately seems unaware of this). This one actually shows up YJ directly; the song "God Is Alive, Magic Is Afoot" that plays in the season 2 finale takes its lyrics from a particularly strange passage.

Monica Ojeda, Jawbone. Can be read in translation or in the original Spanish. Extremely-online teenage girls at a posh bilingual Catholic high school in Ecuador start their own cult based on such time-honored fodder as Herman Melville novels, internet creepypasta (no, this book does not look or feel anything like Otherside Picnic), and their repressed but increasingly obvious desire for one another. The last part in particular gets the attention of their English teacher, whose own obsessive internalized homophobia grows into one of the most horrifying monstrous versions of itself I've ever read. Content warning for just about everything that could possibly imply, but especially involuntary confinement, religious and medical abuse, and a final chapter that I don't even know how to describe. Many thanks to @maryblackwood for introducing me to this one.

Jorge Luis Borges, lots of his works but especially "The Aleph," "The Cult of the Phoenix," and "The South." Can be read in translation or in the original Spanish. The three works I list are all short stories. The first deals with mystical experiences and the comprehensibility (or lack thereof) of the universe, the second with coded and submerged references to sexuality in general and homosexuality in particular, the third with leaving your well-appointed city home for a ranch in the middle of nowhere and almost immediately dying in a knife fight, which is surely a very YJ series of things to do.

H.P. Lovecraft, "The Colour out of Space," "The Dunwich Horror," "The Dreams in the Witch House," and "The Thing on the Doorstep." Lovecraft in general needs no introduction--the creepiness, the moroseness, the New Englandness, the purple heliotrope prose, his intense racism (recanted late in life but not in time to make any difference in his reception history) and the way his work reflects his fear of the Other. These short stories are noteworthy for having settings that are more woodsy and less maritime than is usual for Lovecraft's New England, for overtones of the supernatural rather than merely the alien, for featuring some of his few interesting female characters, and for their relative lack of obvious racial nastiness. Caveat lector nevertheless.

Herman Melville, Moby-Dick. It's Moby-Dick. Once you realize that Captain Ahab is forming a cult around the whale and his obsession with it you can't unrealize it.

[darkpoisonouslove]

Griffin and Valtor's backstory is so fascinating because Griffin is still alive.

Think about it. She was literally attacked by the Ancestral Witches as she was escaping, then she kept fighting in the war against them and Valtor, whom she'd just betrayed, and she survived all the way to and past the final battle while all of them plus Marion, Oritel and Domino's population were imprisoned. Now I know this is mostly because the backstory was, in fact, added later but the trope of a former villain sacrificing their life as redemption was successfully avoided. She got to live/had to live depending on how deeply you believe she regretted her former servitude of the Ancestral Witches and/or the time period (as I think all remaining CoL members were devastated right after the final battle on Domino). She got to build herself a new life, independent of her previous mistakes only to then - almost two decades later - be forced to face the man she betrayed again.

The fact is that no one but Griffin herself ever attempts to justify her betrayal. No one. Not even once. When she confirms to the Winx and Mirta that she was a member of the Company, her previous affiliations are never mentioned. She is allowed to be an equal member of the Company that's never treated as lesser because she was initially working against them; she gets to share in both their victory and their failure (an entire planet perishing is hardly a real victory but they survived and the culprits of the devastation were imprisoned); her past is never held against her to imply she might not be trustworthy. Her course of action is understandable if poorly motivated in the minute this backstory gets to be explained. She is also never exonerated for betraying Valtor, though, which is, frankly, more nuance than you'd expect from Winx Club of all shows.

But then there's the flip side of this whole situation, which is even more intriguing. Just like she's forced to live with her betrayal, so is Valtor. Again, she is alive. Not only did she run away from him, but she also survived any subsequent attempts at revenge on her and remained at large while he was imprisoned. Whether because he still cares for her or his power simply wasn't enough to grant him his vengeance, he has failed to punish her. And failure is a rarity for Valtor.

With the might of the corrupted Dragon Fire, he is so powerful that none of the characters that have handled threats of universal magnitude before are able to stand up to him for longer than a minute. He's also smart and cunning, always knowing what to say to get on top of the situation. As such any failures he endures are far removed from one another and temporary. Really, most of his schemes during season 3 were initially successful and later only failed due to lack of direct involvement from him as he would leave the execution to his pawns - either Cassandra & Chimera, Diaspro or the Trix. The things he personally oversaw in their entirety did always succeed up until the very end.

His one colossal failure - allowing to be imprisoned - was hardly a bigger challenge than anything else he faced and would have eventually failed to contain him even without the Trix' intervention. For one simple reason - he is effectively immortal. He had all the time in the world and no one that could kill him, considering that Marion and Oritel would have probably done that rather than simply imprison him if they'd been able to. Sooner or later something (like the Trix coming across him) would have happened and he'd have been roaming around stealing magic again, his defeat barely registering except... for Griffin.

She is right there, his failure - in the flesh - staring him in the face. There is no way to rationalize this away. She betrayed him and joined his enemies. Either he allowed her to play him for a fool or his charm and power weren't alluring enough to keep her by his side. He can pretend she was too weak-willed to achieve greatness beside him but that is still a lapse in judgment on his part since he had deemed her worthy of being his partner. In fact, despite anything else he may say, he still speaks highly of their joint abilities so he definitely believed her to be a good match for him.

He fucked up. There is no way around it. And to differ from all his other failures, including his imprisonment, this one is not going away. In fact, he only temporarily succeeded with taking revenge on her by imprisoning her in turn and taking over her school and her students' minds but that barely lasted a few episodes. Before he knew it, she was free and running around again. His one permanent failure that he cannot get away from, that's been haunting him for literal decades now since she left him.

With how overpowered Valtor is, introducing such a permanent reminder that even he makes mistakes that he can't always fix with a snap of his fingers is ingenious. Granted, they don't really explore any of it but the fact is that that is the only long-term failure that he has to deal with aside from his subservience to the Ancestral Witches. The implication that the soured relationship between him and Griffin is the only thing that is even comparable in any way (as a blow to his abilities and self-image) to his slavery to the Ancestral Witches makes me mentally unwell.

Regardless of the nature of their partnership, Griffin is the only person that has managed to force him to look past his self-importance and egomania, which could have very well been traumatic in light of his lack of agency where his bond to the Ancestral Witches is concerned and has never been framed as the right thing to do on Griffin's part. It adds layers of complexity both to Griffin's morality and to Valtor's image and self-image (or at least would have if they'd explored it a little as forcing him to acknowledge failure would have added more dimension to him and tamed how overpowered he is). It's the perfect ground for headcanons and fanfiction examining the complexities of the characters and their relationship to thrive.

[allzelemonz]

Big, Not Dumb: Bill Williamson X Male Reader

Fictober Prompt: Day 2, Compliments Pronouns: None Mentioned, Reader referred to as ‘boy’ Physical Sex: None Mentioned Rating: T/Language Warnings: Referenced bullying, referenced crime, fluff, comfort, kisses, cuddling, bashful Bill, use of Bill’s birth name Summary: You get back to camp to find Bill in a bad mood, that simply will not do.

You can see it from across camp. You’ve just come back from a job with Charles and John, nothing exciting. It was your plan to take a few moments with your horse, give them some sugar cubes and pats for riding well done, but seeing the look on Bill’s face changes that rather quickly. You press a few treats into Kieran’s hands with a small nod and make your way over to the grumbling bear of a man. He’s already downed a beer, the bottle sitting at his feet, and he has another in his hand.

“You alright, Bill?” You ask, keeping your voice soft.

“‘m fine.” He mutters.

His gaze is fixed on the fire so you step in front of him.

“What?” Bill growls, staring up at you. “A man can’t have a drink in peace ‘round here?”

You hold your hand out to him. “Come with me, sweetheart.”

His cheeks turn rosy at the pet name and he grumbles to himself, but he takes your hand. You guide him through camp as he chugs the last of his beer and throws the bottle on the ground. The tent flaps are open but you close them after Bill ducks inside. He automatically settles on the two bedrolls that sit right next to each other and fixes his eyes on the ground.

“You wanna tell me what that face is about?” You ask gently, sitting next to him and putting an arm around his waist.

“It ain’t nothing.” He mumbles.

“Bullshit, Marion.”

“Quit it.”

“I’m serious.” You say, your free hand reaching for his and holding it against his thigh. “You know I don’t like seeing you upset.”

He’s quiet for a moment. Expressing himself, being open about his actual feelings, is straining and you don’t blame him. Keeping everything bottled up for his whole life and suddenly having a caring boyfriend that is sweet and understanding is a big adjustment. But you’re patient, happy to hold him and press kisses to his flannel clad shoulder as he thinks about what he wants to say.

“They was callin’ me dumb again.”

You tighten your arm around his waist, pulling him into you a little more. “You’re not dumb, Bill.”

“Course I-”

“Shut up.” You warn. “You are smart in your own way, Marion.”

“I ain’t smart!” Bill snaps. “I’m big an’ dumb, I’m a drunk, can’t even wire up dynamite when the whole damn gang’s countin’ on it-”

“Bill.” You say softly but sternly. “Shut. Up.”

“I ain’t smart.”

“You’re big, sure, but that’s not a bad thing. Widely handsome, in my opinion.”

His cheeks dust pink again. “Shut up.”

You pull him down with you, your arms automatically wrapping around him in the way you know makes him feel the safest. The large man snuggles into you, always enjoying being held despite what he might say.

“You made a mistake, but it hasn’t happened since.” You say, pressing a kiss to his head. “No one could ever hold a candle to your know-how on anything explosive.”

“I ain’t-”

“Stop.” You say, tugging him closer. “You are damn good at what you do, Marion. I love you for everything. Mistakes and imperfections, everything.”

For a moment he simply stills, then his arms timidly wrap around you. “Love ya too.”

You press another kiss to his head. “You are impossibly perfect in my eyes, sweetheart.”

“Quit it.” He mumbles into your shoulder.

“No.” You smile. “You’re so incredibly attractive and strong and funny-”

“I get it, alright?” He sighs. “I get it.”

“You just wanna cuddle, don’t you?”

He only holds you tighter. You return the pressure, nuzzling against his cheek and feeling the rare softness of a freshly washed beard.

[rel124c41]

WALT DISNEY WORMDOG III. jade leech/oc

please contact your local doctor if you are experiencing the following symptoms: prophetic dreams, the feeling that someone is calling from across the water and from across the wave, midnight visitors, scars from sand, new friendships, black blood coming out your ears but NOT your nose, inhuman strength, canine teeth on your throat, & the philosophy that we should move on from our past and never let it hold us back from the possibilities of tomorrow.

a/n: It's Wednesday night and we're going to play Bingo!

tags: main character deaths, symbolic and not literal, blackberries symbolic for overblot stones, bingo, mindfuckery, minimal flirting, & shotguns.

word count: 2,468

Eight tables are fashioned into a heptagon like an old Elizabeth II era coin. Table eight is placed in the heptagon’s center. Naturally, the placement already calls attention to itself because the center table disrupts the flow of the seven-sided shape. Attention is also drawn to the table because the attendant is late.

It is truly odd because neglected, unsought Malleus Draconia has even made his way to the meeting. Which is why the Headmaster asks with a string of impatience in his tune, “Does anyone know if young Marion is planning to attend?”

The typical happens when a crowd of people is asked a question: a head shakes, a monotonous no, some murmuring of didn’t he say he would be here in five minutes, have you seen him, i think he went to the restroom. No clear hint or knowledge about the situation. Three astute voices break the mumbles and murmur with more concrete words.

“I think he’s still cleaning up the cones for Vargas,” Jack Howl hypothesizes.

“His punctuality is unorthodox tonight. Let’s wait another minute or two,” Riddle Rosehearts suggests.

“His text messages indicate that he is planning to attend,” Ortho Shroud informs.

Thus, they wait for another extended period of time as the wick of the Headmaster’s benevolent patience shortens. Time passes with a bit of low mumbling. Nothing too secretive is said because each word and syllable feels like a gunshot in the silence. Floyd Leech takes to stamping Azul Ashengrotto’s non-dominant hand with a Do-A-Dot marker, fashioned into the shape of a periwinkle mouse head and mouse ears, because he has already polka-dotted the majority of both his forearms. Time passes slowly, and time passes even slower the longer it goes on.

Outside of the heptagon, three waiters wait like racehorses in a starting stall. Time will never accelerate for them as per their profession’s namesake. Besides. Waiting means not playing the game, which basically means they have already won. 

It is only when the Headmaster moves a taloned hand to close the door with magic that the young Marion shoves his foot in the closing door. No one says anything as he walks in, not with his head low in shame or with his head held high in confidence. He does not know he has been keeping everyone waiting. 

Demurely, Marion rests his double-barrel shotgun Excalibur on the edge of his table in the center and leans back in his seat. As soon as he sat down, the game began. Yet, Marion takes his time, straightening himself up like a string on the top of his head is pulled and the air bubbles in his back crack. Everyone else’s attention moves from the center and onto their paper cards. 

With a hollow, plastic ball already in his golden talons, the Headmaster says, “G17.”

The starting stall opens for the waiters. Dressed in shawl lapel suits, two of them make their way around the heptagon. They take to refilling waters that had been drunk in the waiting period. The third races towards the middle, his claws clicking on the linoleum. 

“Henchman, why don’t I get to play! We’re the same student. The sidekick shouldn’t be playing the role of the hero.” Grim pouts, resting his paws on the edge of Marion’s seat.

“B5.”

“I’m surprised. That makes it sound like you want to do work.” Marion takes a sip of his untouched water, not having looked at his playing card yet.

“O36”

Grim grimaces at his least favorite four-lettered word, work. “Playing a game isn’t work though.” He is a little too short to look at what is on the table so his eyes flicker to the sleek black shotgun. “I wanna play.”

“B13.”

Resolute, Marion shakes his head and sets down his water to grab something else. “No. Go help out Ace and Deuce.” The color of his Do-A-Dot marker is gray-blue. It matches Grim’s magestone – which is concealed under his suit. 

“I4.”

The dire-beast gives a miserable, little frown at Marion’s words. However, he concedes. It is only due to the good faith between them that causes the beast to waddle away on his hindlegs. Like a ringleader who must convince his lion that jumping through flaming hoops is fun, trust must be drilled and hammered into the relationship for continual flaming-hoop-jumping.

The game continues on without further interruptions. Each player devotedly reads their sheets when a number and letter is called. This first round has been outlined only as a test to familiarize players with the mechanics of Bingo. Like a prologue of a video game, there are no real stakes in this.

However, that does not lessen the arrhythmic fluster of every player’s heart when Marion, dominant hand painted in black, says Bingo with his arm raised. 

Less than a handful of wandering eyes flicker over to Marion with mild interest. Smidgens of skepticism colors their irises. A magicless student just won the practice round? However, anyone who did turn around in his seat or glanced in Marion’s direction turns back to their playing cards easily. Must be a one-off thing. 

As Marion wipes so purple-it-almost-looks-black juices from the blackberries he ate off his fingers, Ace delivers the playing card to Crowley for it to be checked. Crowley returns it with confirmation that Marion is the winner, the players throw their used playing cards in the middle, looking at their fresh one on the top of their pile of seven, remaining cards.

Marion feeds a blackberry to Grim so they can revel in their almost-shared victory.

“G2.

“I12.

“N49.”

So on and so on. It is a sparse wave of moving, stamping hands. Many do not seem to be participating. Predictably, people like Leona Kingscholar and Idia Shroud barely give their playing cards more than a glance every tenth or eleventh called out number matched with a letter. People like Riddle Roseheart are very vigilant. 

Serious-minded as always, he makes sure to pay attention to the rules of the game. The night before, he took to researching online a beginner’s guide to the game. And since he is fonder to strawberries instead of blackberries, his focus does not wilt away from the playing card.

Blood red drops stain B13, G2, and I61. With his free spot predone for him, Riddle Rosehearts only needs O30 to win his cross line. At his table, Cater Diamond is enthusiastic about his housewarden’s encroaching win and Trey Clover offers a timid smile of encouragement.

“Bingo.”

Attention is drawn once more towards the center table. This time it is Grim who takes the playing card up to the Headmaster. Marion does not sit back down as he waits patiently for confirmation that he has won. 

“Well done, Marion,” Crowley says as he hands back the playing card to the suited dire-beast. “Bingo.”

A smile graces Marion’s face. His hand is stainfree as he reaches down by his legs. Grasping fingers do not curl around his returned playing card but instead curl around Excalibur, leveling it in his arms. Shotguns are such weight-y guns, like trying to hold a snapping crocodile with the grace of a sleepy pomeranian. 

When he aims it at Riddle Rosehearts, the two other Heartslabyul students stiffen. “Nothing personal?” Marion asks, but waits for no confirmation this time, as he empties the chamber of one bullet shell.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ 

Bingo is a tactical game about tracking down who is the biggest threat.

You must survey each player like they are intruders in your household at night. You must always check each Bingo player’s hand for a Do-A-Dot marker each ten seconds or you might find they have switched out that marker for a gun. An essential rule of Bingo – as Riddle Roseheart, blood red smeared on his playing cards, read the night before – is to find the biggest threat and eliminate them.

To eliminate players, the only method acceptable is with guns. Usually, guns that fire off bullets made of void or elemental magic are a player’s favorite choice. Excalibur is a bit avant-garde in the sense that bullet shells are made magic relative to what Marion needs them to be.

“G7.

“G18.

“N55.”

Leona Kingscholar had not seemed like a big threat until the end, with a perfect, lucky lineup of golden dots on the numbers underneath the bold I. Azul Ashengrotto also hardly seemed a threat, with a slippery melange of snot and tears running down his face onto his periwinkle spotted playing card.

But, Marion had to clean house. 

So, he blew both their brains out with the swiftness of a seasoned pest exterminator. 

Deuce took to scrubbing up the blood on Savanclaw’s table while Grim stood on a magically-made stool to wipe down Octavinelle’s table. Since the waiters had their hands full with cleaning, it was up to someone else to aid Ace, who had already cleaned up Heartslabyul’s table and is refilling the bowls of blackberries.

Marion got to select from the crowd of individuals, surrounding him in a heptagonal ring. The Headmaster might have been calling the numbers, but Marion was calling the shots. “Jade Leech.” The Headmaster’s gold eyes search Marion’s green eyes.

“Have Jade Leech help serve.” His green eyes are so focused on the Headmaster that he misses the look of twisted longing that fills the vice-housewarden’s eyes, the skin of his blood-splattered, under-eyelids creasing with mirthful affection.

Jade Leech is dressed in a shawl lapel suit and given immunity. Azul’s blood is left on his face. The game continues on. Players maneuver Do-A-Dot markers that match up to their dormitory’s colors as waters and fruit bowls are refilled. Jade takes to refilling up waters Ace misses, so effective in a familiar routine that he has enough time to linger by the center table with amorous intents.

“G77.”

“Excuse my unprompted comment, but you seem to be having quite a stroke of good luck. Do you think it will be finite?” Jade fills Marion’s glass with a pitcher of plain water; they both watch it slowly rise to the very top and quake with surface tension.

“B93.”

Marion feels the keen eyes trained upon him with tangibility found in a very real knife or gun pressed to his temple. Sipping without spilling, Marion responds with his lips on the glass rim, “I’m hoping to come out victorious. A SS rank.”

“I25.”

“May I ask another question?” Jade tries to appear sheepish but it is hard with the cool, collective look he wears. He looks like he will ask the question even if Marion’s answer was no. “What is it: confidence or arrogance?”

“G46.”

Marion dots his playing card. He only has three dots on the twenty-five squares, which includes his free spot as well. Though he certainly seems to be losing, the Prefect smiles and asks a question in response to a question, “Aren’t those words synonymous, handsome?”

“O10.”

“Well,” Jade leans his body down and encompasses Marion’s bicep in his gloved hand, delighted that his fingers do not touch as he squeezes the flesh, “keep up the good work, Marion.”

Jamil Viper has been waiting for this for a long time. He has mapped it out in his head since he was young and he has prayed that all the puzzle pieces will fall into place. Though Bingo has always been a game of luck, Jamil Viper uses skill too in this operation.

This is how his Bingo board looks. Along the B row, he has everything besides B3. Four dark maroon dots. Diagonally, he has everything besides G14. Four dark maroon dots. Across his second row, he has everything besides a B3. Four dark maroon dots. If he gets a B3, he will get double Bingo. Victory is predestined to him. All of his hidden hard work will yield his success. 

“B33.”

A hysterical, frightened voice billows up from the heptagon. “Someone should call the cops!!” Only for it to reveal itself as Marion’s voice when he smiles, satisfied and smug. Witty, he sings, “I’m killin’ it~! Bingo!” 

He waits for confirmation as Jade passes off the playing card to Crowley. Jamil grips the edge of his table. There is still time to scrounge up his last resources; besides, Marion could be mistaken and misheard a number-and-letter combination. However, the table splinters under Jamil’s oppressive grip a mere second later.

Because of the familiar routine, the shotgun feels as light as a handheld pistol when Marion swings it up like a baseball bat and fires.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ 

The Bingo Hall is quiet and full of smoke. 

It floats at about shoulder height. It is thicker than any fog and stinks of acrid ammonia. If you were to playfully tug at it, the smoke would follow the motion of your hand in curling, gray-blue wisps. It is so thick that Marion sincerely thinks one of the residential ghosts of NRC might be swimming around in the fog. It covers like a fleece blanket, luring everyone to rest their heads on the tabletops in coma-like sleep.  

Malleus had meant to make them all fall asleep but …

Marion is the only one still awake. Even Ace, Deuce, Grim are laid comatose on the ground like discarded dolls, even Jade (stripped of his shawl lapel suit after Idia’s death) is resting his head on the table. Marion is awake. Though, not for long. It is evident through the way he rubs his eyes and continuously yawns. He is going to fall asleep any second now.

He can feel each breath lure him deeper into comatose. Thick nose-fulls of ghosts and fog running through his lungs. All you can hear is the sound of ragged, measured breaths. 

“Bingo,” Malleus states.

“Bingo,” Marion states.

Both at the same exact time.

The thing about Bingo is: the one that says the name of the game first gets their sheet checked first. Each syllable of theirs is perfectly lined up like the dots on their sheets. 

In the absence of waiters and headmasters, the Dark Mirror takes both the playing cards (one dotted with blue-gray and the other dotted with green) with levitation magic. The apathetic face searches each sheet, checking the numbers dotted with the number called. And even though the reviewing is not completed, Marion has his shotgun aimed at Malleus’s head and Malleus has his shotgun aimed at Marion’s heart.

A shotgun shell will rip through a body. A shotshell fires from the barrel after the heat and sparks in the primer starts the process. Pellets leave the barrel and begin to scatter or spread. Once the shotshell hits a part of the body, it looks like a fruit tree of shrapnel, holes like hanging oranges. 

One usually does not survive a shotshell because of this spread of pellets.

“Both of these are winners. BINGO.”

Malleus and Marion fire their weapons.