#Quirked Hollow Knight AU

[astorichan]

★♦ the pale king~?

★ - sad headcanon

-points at Ashe- Okay, so, in Shatter AU he knows exactly what he's sending Hollow into. He knows that they are not pure and he knows that they will break. He knows that the most likely outcome is Dream No More, where they die and Hallownest is completely destroyed beforehand, with the only hope being that to rebuild. He struggles to give them affection in what ways he can—which is promptly used against Hollow, in a way of "he was trying to manipulate me into loyalty"—and he's proud of them. The sad of it is that I headcanon him as having seen several possible outcomes. He'd seen the Hollow Knight ending, with them dying and Ghost taking their place, he'd seen Embrace the Void and Delicate Flower endings, all of it. And he'd seen the Shatter AU outcome. It was the least likely of all and it was the best one. He never hoped that it could come true, though, because it was a completely negligible chance, almost a delusion of hope that he didn't allow himself to feel. ♦ - quirks/hobbies headcanon

Stimming. Stimming stimming stimming STIMMING this man literally doesn't stop, and oftentimes it leads to small injuries whenever he absent-mindedly drums his fingers on a sharp detail that he is working on, etc. He also has a lot of... what to call it. He remembers the exact amount of times he has to turn his hand to screw something together and GOD FORBID one day that amount changes, for example. Associative memory is also something I like for him. He has an absolutely INSANE memory, and it is very closely tied to the sensual. He recalls stuff by assuming the same position that he was in when inventing/working on it, for example. Or by shifting stuff around on his table to be the same way as it had been on the day when he'd worked on the thing he wants to remember. Hobbies I'm basic with: engineering, machinery and the sort. I also like to imagine that he loves running the kingdom—he enjoys doing all the economic stuff, all the behind-the-scenes tedious calculations and planning. He just hates being a public presence is all; but he has to do it.

[phoenixpearl-ashes]

Been playing Hollow knight recently and I just dealt with the Grimm troop and now I have an AU idea that won't leave my brain alone so I'm spitting it here. I'm calling it Grimm Remains for now. I want to do art for it now...

Right. Story and ideas below the cut.

Basically, knight does all the standard stuff, gathers the first two rounds of flame and all that jazz, has their fight with Grimm, blah blah. Grimm's impressed by the knight as is standard, knight goes to get the other flames and runs into Brumm, goes out to the edge of the kingdom and does end up banishing the troupe, but through some quirk or something Grimm himself gets left behind. But without the nightmare heart properly ingrained in himself he's a lot less powerful.

Cue the knight coming back into town to see just a much diminished looking Grimm wandering around fairly bereft and confused. Grimmchild almost attacks him I think, since he's generally been sort of an antagonist and is no longer quite as recognizable without the heart powering him. Knight has a whole sense of honor about it and doesn't let the child attack. Basically just goes about their business and expects Grimm will leave but he just...doesn't. He's always in town or near the surface, sometimes hanging out near the well but reluctant to jump down.

Grimm's a sad little bastard for a while but eventually deigns to let the knight try to help him (mostly because he's bored stuck up in Dirtmouth), so the knight takes him by stag station down to the city of tears and gets the nailsmith to fix up one of those million nails laying around. Cue the knight trying to show a very reluctant Grimm how to fight using a nail and not magic flame powers. After he gets the hang of it though (sort of. the knight is still doing most of the work but Grimm can at least stay out of the way), the knight starts inviting him along to his travels, and Grimm finds himself enjoying it a lot more than expected. He pretty much always stayed in the tent with the troupe unless they were traveling so actually getting to see the sights is pretty nice.

So basically they end up being a bit of a team. Grimmchild is their kid and the three of them will mess you up. They get pretty fond of eachother after a while. Grimmchild helps, since it basically sees Grimm and the Knight as its parents. (yes, Grimm's line about "our child" is what set this whole idea off, why do you ask?)

I don't imagine any of the canon endings go well for them to be honest. If the knight takes the Hollow Knight's place, Grimm and the Grimmchild will survive okay, but they're sure as hell not going to be happy about it. Grimm would take and use the knight's nail as a momento probably, and give it to Grimmchild once it grew enough. There is also the depressing concept of Grimm being the one to try to seal the Radiance within himself. That could go two ways in my opinion. Since he'd already had a higher being in his mind before, the nightmare heart, it is possible he'd be able to contain the radiance. There is however, the distinct possibility that since the nightmare heart was more..in line with his goals, the Radiance would absolutely both control and destroy him from within, forcing the knight to kill him. Or possibly they could enter Grimm's mind and fight the Radiance directly, but I suspect it would not leave Grimm without some additional lasting damage.

[indecisivebreadpeas]

Hollow Knight & My Hero Academia crossover idea

Note: I’m mostly gonna wind up plain rambling & get off-topic, plus all I’ve read of BNHA is from fanfics & the fandom wiki, I’ve never watched/read official sources, so disclaimer on that. 

Hear me out, the Radiance’s fluff is a similar color to Himiko’s hair & I mistoke Toga’s eye color for orange when they’re actually yellow according to the wiki, but the hair part still holds true. If we do some cannon divergence, maybe change up Himiko’s quirk into being able to turn into a moth, a moth goddess, or maybe the Radiance just winds up infecting Himiko, unless you wanna use the Infected Radience theory, in that case, whoever’s using the Radiance as a puppet infects her & she gets it willingly or something like that.

Wait, Hollow Knight, but w/ quirks, that makes things so much more interesting. Getting back on topic, however, may be the Radiance is actually a sibling of Toga & they had the Moth Goddess quirk, wind-ups, perhaps even loses their memory, in what is now Hallownest, the other higher beings: Pale King, White Lady, Nightmare King Grimm &/or Nightmare Heart, Unn, God of Thunder & God of Rain (what if we threw Godseeker in there?), Wyrms, Lord of Shades & The Abyss Creature were all just humans w/ shapeshifting/mutant quirks that maybe even forgot they were humans & forgot how to turn back. Imagine the mental whiplash when even one Higher Being finds out how to become human again & word gets out. A Higher Being has a form that is some pale pink to dark brown squishy being. Imagine if they remembered their memories w/ the human world & some of them were friends! PK & Radiance were the closest besties & now their enemies.

Now, are we doing the Big Bugs, Bug Tank, or the Human Sized AU? I’ll provide an idea or more for all 3!

Bug Tank AU: That GIANT squishy thing a Higher Being turned into! The Abyss creature is the first one to regain their memories & the forgetting mist doesn’t affect humans for some reason, it’s too low. They’re benevolent & worried for Hallownest & it’s neighbors they do the most logical thing. Put them in a giant tank & care for them. They’ll protect them with their life, & the insanity of the other Higher Beings having to adjust to this.

In a nutshell (if we make the Godseeker’s previous gods alive), like at least 9 people are living in this house maybe they have to have a schedule of ‘who gets to be human when,’ as they decided to live in a single house, & only some people can be in public. The villain & hero chaos doesn’t help, it’s hard enough hiding Hallownest in the usual day.

The shock of everyone else, their lives were a lie! What if the entirety, of Hallownest’s ancestry, was humans that could turn into bugs & they could become humans, or half-human, half-whatever species they are people, maybe their size is a balance between their the small bug & large human height? Quirked Hollow Knight AU!

Human Sized AU: Mosscreeps & other adorable bugs get domesticated, heck though, what would they think of their smaller unintelligent counterparts? Anyways, let’s focus on the “Radiance was sealed & it worked for some time” era. The cultural whiplash (that should have already been brought up), & the technology gap here. There’s also a possibility there’s a gap between how long the humans & bugs have been sapient for. Not to mention the shock of all the laws & the whole quirk stuff, & there are so many meetings between official leaders & ambassadors. I’m not sure if the maggots were slaves, but if slavery was a thing & the fact especially the upper class will have to think “I’ll have to pay everyone I want to work for me”. The possible tension between the two! They hear the story of the first quirk & they may be torn between “Did the Pale King/the Radiance/some other light Higher being create quirks?” The language gap, how could I forget that? Assuming the more people that believe in you the more power you get as a higher being, humans w/ permission explore this alien world & find out about almost every Higher Being we know about, & the population is like in the billions, everyone’s power level, skyrockets, whomst has awakened the ancient one skyrocketing. Hallownest’s reaction to nukes . . .

(I just made a whole branch AU) I wanna focus on the Mantis Lords tho, assuming the brother was yet to betray his tribe, what if they pushed the disabled to be as equally strong as the abled? What if they looked down on most of humanity for regressing practically just because they by chance got powers that could be greater than what could be done w/ soul by chance? What if word got out of their opinions and the quirkless flock to becoming mantis tribe citizens because they have a chance at being equal not because of their birth state, but because they worked for such a state? The Mantis Tribe population becomes large as heck since 20% of the human population is almost 1,600,000,000 likely, maybe not the whole percent but a large majority. The economy on a positive note maybe becomes Mt. Everest on the charts for both groups & it doesn’t crash hard.

The introduction of Void & Soul to humans may be a bad thing tho, what the difference between human souls & bugs? Does the murder rate especially towards bugs goes up, does a war break out? Multiple? Does the relationship between bugs & humans stick on the edge of breaking? Does Hallownest split into several groups & countries with different opinions thinking humans should be wiped out, they should be lower than them, they should join them? Do even the maggots join the “I don’t feel like praising the Pale King anymore” squad since humans without much direct contact with gods have gone so far they think “We don’t need gods, we need masks.” The Mask Maker now has a business & several apprentices making masks. This branch AU has the most opportunities for drama, that’s for a fact. The whole opinions split large populations happen w/ the humans too. Criminals may see Hallownest as an easy target for a mass steal meaning security & law enforcement will have to be increased and improved, they’re given aid but this also to an extent makes them dependent on humans.

What if the Kingsoul’s discovered & it’s mass-produced, killing’s not necessary guys! You can stop now! What if the same happens to the Dreamnail? 

The Howling Cliffs is certainly an obstacle here tho too, whether you go the easy or complicated route, that’s up for debate, does being outside of Hallownest effect Higher Beings, do Higher Beings also naturally have sapience & language as well?

Human Ancestry AU part tho, bugs went from having their exoskeleton outside, to having them inside, every bug needs clothes now (Editing this for a second time I thought that on the spot, why would they all have to wear them now?), not to mention, the different foods they’ll sometimes be able to consume & sometimes not- CORDYCEPS! It messes up non-sapient bugs but has medical properties & is edible to humans if it can affect the big bugs, perhaps a quirk made, scientific &/or magical vaccine will have to be made, maybe a quirk w/ time reversing effects are used to cure a victim. Some bugs try to even make their human form permanent if we’re in the “Pure Human form” side of the AU. If not, more debate between the two groups~! Heck, a cure’s technically impossible meaning bugs would have to wait for a vaccine to be made & it may likely take a really long time since vaccines for bugs are likely rarely be focussed on, & pray they go their life never contracting it. We can also just go the “the sapient bugs are unaffected enough/immune“ route to make things easier or ignore Cordyceps altogether. Would bugs have a coffee equivalent or could take just some coffee before it’s too much, pure human sub-branch tho, heck yeah. Does the whole food & drink stuff means bugs have to wait till they fully digest food then they’re safe to shift to the other form? Is soul needed to shift? Does the body know when it’s safe to shift after eating/drinking food deadly to the other form? 

Anyways, this AU also means bugs have to learn their bug language & human language in human tongue. Some bugs like the Mantis Tribe will stick as a bug as much as possible as an exoskeleton is more appropriate with a culture like their’s but even the Mantis Lords seem to have just a single claw, the equivalent to a single finger, they definitely shift when in need of hands. People like Quirrel & Monomon have 4 fingers per hand/many limbs to get the job done, so shifting is much less likely for people like them.

If the Higher Beings has quirks humans, chances are there were missing searches for them, they remember everything & they go “oh.” Even w/ any AU if this is the case, even more, legal stuff happens. The family reunions could be every awkward.

Big Bugs AU: Mt. Lady would quickly be considered a candidate for ambassador thanks to her quirk, however, that’d be shot down. Likely she’d speak the actual ambassador’s mind if they decided to have meetings. Humans may also help with technological progression though the main issue comes with materials available on Earth, time to mine the other planets & go to other universes.

That’s enough of those three AUs & branch AUs I feel like thinking about, however, the Human Ancestory AU+Human Shapeshifting Higher Beings can both individually be their own separate AUs w/o the whole BNHA Crossover stuff. 

It’s amazing how much came from me mistaking Himiko’s eye color. This is why you twist even the tiniest detail for no reason or remember what you made a mistake about in a show/game etc. & think, “what if that was actually the case?” Edit: Frick, mistoke Mosscreep for Mosskin

[psychicglitterdetective]

Headcannons: If Hollow Knight characters had Quirks

A/n: I did this instead of sleeping, I just came up with the names but I may specify how their “Quirks” work and how Quirks would be like in the world of Hollow Knight. I might also add more characters 

Pale King: KingSoul

Hollow Knight/Pure Vessel: Hollow: VoidSoul

The Knight/Ghost: VoidHeart

Hornet: SilkSong

Herrah: BeastSong

Troupe Master/Nightmare King Grimm: Nightmare Heart

Grimmchild: Scarlet Fire

The Radiance: Daybreak

Brumm/Nymm: Quirkless (I think he’d be extremly good in Combat)

Divine: Succubus

[drabbles-of-writing]

Since we’re just asking for AU drops now that you’re back, how about some Hollow Knight AU to help me convince myself to go back and finish it?

(Also, super happy to see you posting again, kid.)

Been a while but here we go!

Amity: [chewing on some weird substance] Luz: what do you have in your mouth Amity: [chews faster] Luz: I said whAT DO YOU HAVE IN YOUR-

Fellas is it gay to practice swordfighting with the assassin who used to want to kill you but now kinda tolerates you and she offered to teach you how to fight since she called it embarrassing how you fought on your own? is it gay to cross blades and get close as you stare into each others eyes and realize your both having fun? maybe a sword chin tilt for extra measure

Jerbo and Ed are NERDS and after they get used to each other, Em and Amity would eventually learn that if they can't find Ed, he's usually in the Greenpath or Fungal Wastes with Jerbo doing botanist things. Well, Jerbo does the botanist things. Ed just messes around and keeps bothering him. Apparently no one else knew where he went and assumed he was just Out and About cause once Willow randomly asked "oh, hey, btw, wheres Ed?" n Em just deadpans "with his boyfriend, as usual" and they all just WHIRL around as Amity is quickly explaining.

Gus is the kind of guy who would try to make bug wings you can strap to your back like a jetpack to nyoom around but they end up not working very well. they come through in a clutch sometimes tho. even if you get yote into the nearest stony wall for using it

The Blight Siblings didn't understand beds at first so when they fell asleep in the Owl House it would be literally anywhere but the beds. in cabinets, on counters, over the couch, deadass on the floor, on the table, etc. usually they'd all find a spot to curl up in and sleep in a pile, usually under the couch. eventually they got comfortable enough to just sleep separate wherever they wanted and everyone just assumed it was a weird quirk they had

[s-horne]

48. high school reunion au (steve/tony)

“Woah. That was a big sigh.”

Tony kept his eyes on the bar-top as he sighed again. “Big problems.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Mm.” Tony sipped his drink and finally looked up. When he did, his drink went down the wrong way and he spluttered. “Wow. Hi.”

The man at his side grinned, blue eyes crinkling. “Hi. So, want to talk about those problems? I’m a pretty good listener.”

“I’d rather talk about you,” Tony said, a purr slipping into his tone as though he couldn’t help himself. “I don’t remember you.”

The man’s face soured a little, handsome features twisting for just a moment. “No, I don’t expect you would. I remember you, though.”

A lot of people remembered Tony. Not all for the reasons that Tony would have liked, he thought as he turned back to his drink. He lifted his glass in a mock salute. “Two shitty high school experiences, then. I hope your reunion will be better.”

“Not been great so far,” the man said and Tony couldn’t stop himself from turning to look at him again, taking a moment to study his features.

He was gorgeous, that much Tony could admit. But however attractive he was, Tony saw nothing overly familiar about him. It was only his eyes that made Tony pause. They were a beautiful blue and there was something about them that sparked a memory. Tony just couldn’t put his finger on what it was exactly.

“Nor mine,” he said finally. “I fooled myself into thinking that my high school crush would be here, but he’s not.”

And, wow. No hesitation in admitting that. High-School-Tony would have rather been tied to the flagpole in front of every student than say he fancied a boy out loud, but times changed. His dad couldn’t hurt him anymore, after all.

“Oh?”

Tony nodded sadly, tongue flicking out to chase the straw in his drink. “Mm. Doubt you’d remember him. No one else seems to. I’m starting to think I made him up, actually.”

The man snorted. “Sounds familiar.”

“Looked nothing like you, though,” Tony said, giving the man a once-over. He quirked a grin and Tony matched it before he began to reminisce again. “He was tiny. Even compared to me, which is saying something given how big I was.”

“Wow. He really must have been small.”

“Hey!” Tony shouted even as he laughed. “But yes, he was. School punching bag, pretty much. Held his own, though. Or tried to, at the very least. Had a black eye more often than he didn’t and yet he was the fittest guy I knew.”

“Wait; who are you talking about?”

“Steve,” Tony said, sighing on the name. It still made his heart flutter, even if he hadn’t seen the guy since graduation. “Steve Rogers. Hung around with Barnes until he went off to college. I think they might have been brothers, even if the bullies used to say they were together.”

The man choked on air and Tony startled, reaching out to slap him on the back.

“Christ, are you okay?”

“You fancied him?”

Tony withdrew the helpful hand he’d offered and glared darkly instead. “Yes. Yes, I did. Were you one of the jackasses that beat him up?”

The man spluttered again, long limbs flailing so much he nearly fell from his bar stool. For someone so large, he wasn’t very aware of his size, it seemed.

“No.”

“Hm.” Tony narrowed his eyes as he settled back down. He let it go and turned back to his drink, taking another long pull. “I was going to ask him out at prom, but my dad wouldn’t let me go.”

“Maybe it was for the best,” the man said and Tony looked up at him curiously, intrigued by the careful tone, “I got beaten up at prom. Badly.”

Tony snorted and then held his hand up apologetically. “Sorry, sorry. I just bet that Steve did, too. A right knight in shining armour he was; always jumping into fights he should have stayed away from. Once, there was this girl from the chess club being harassed by the biggest guy in school and Steve–”

“What was I meant to do?” the man cut in hotly, “let her be groped?”

Realisation crashed over Tony and his mouth fell open. “Steve?” He floundered for a moment. “Steve Rogers? What happened to you? Were you a part of a government experiment; were you injected with something illegal and drug-related?”

Steve laughed, albeit a little stilted. “No. Nothing so exciting, I’m afraid. I joined the army. Me and Buck both did, right after my graduation.”

“Damn. God bless America.”

“You haven’t changed, have you?” Steve asked with a grin.

“Why would I want to?” Tony shot back, winking at Steve and ignoring the rapid pounding of his heart. He wasn’t a child anymore; he could handle a little embarrassment.

“No reason,” Steve said and his expression was so earnest that Tony felt a flicker of hope. “You should never change.”

“Thank you.”

Neither of them had looked away for a while, the air between them growing thick. When Tony hollowed his cheeks around his straw again, Steve’s gaze followed the movement.

“Well, tonight has been a disaster from start to finish,” Tony said, letting his tongue wet his bottom lip just to see Steve’s eyes fall there. “Maybe we can redeem it?”

“I’d like to think so,” Steve said, eyes darkening, “because I’m definitely not finished yet.”

(requested by @thequirkybookaholic from this list of short au prompts) 

[thegatesofinfinitespace]

MEET THE MUN.

TAGGED BY ; Stole from the Wife- ( @overx​ )

NAME ; Cristal/Cris. I also go by Xenos/Marz/Ares on most video games I play with the wife lmao. (So Halo PFFT) People can call me whatever though, I don’t really have a preference.

STAR SIGN ; Sagittarius (I’m a day off from Kara, idk what to tell you guys other than sometimes our families joke that we’re the same person) 

GENDER ; literally I have no preference? I could be call he, she, they, and all of them would be accurate lol

HEIGHT ; 5′3″ !! I can pick up my small wife, and I’m living for it.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION ; NO IDEA. It’s Kara. The easiest to say is that I’m a lesbian but I honestly uh. Don’t know and it doesn’t bother me that I don’t. I joke about the badonkers but literally I only have eyes for ONE LADY and I’m married to her.

FAVORITE COLOR ; red, most shades of blue, black, purple, anything you can use in a cyberpunk image as neon lights, THOSE COLORS.

TIME RIGHT NOW ; almost 1:30pm?

CURRENT LOCATION ; mmmmm it’s a location where there sure are mountains and trees (in the US)

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP ; could probably use more lmao

NUMBER OF BLANKETS I SLEEP UNDER ; ranging from 1-2!

FAVORITE FICTIONAL CHARACTERS ; A lot of my own and ALL OF KARA’s. I don’t think you understand how much we talk about them. (We brainstorm while falling asleep, we come up with a new AU literally every week or so--) UM. Danny Phantom, Edward Elric, recently got into Hollow Knight (I say recently but apparently it’s been a whole ass year) SO Little Ghost/The Knight and the Pure Vessel. Also Sonic the Hedgehog and Metal Sonic (and coincidentally Shard) because I am a simple person. UM. Vash the Stampede, Yuuko and Watanuki, and Syaoran and Kurogane (CLAMP my BELOVED), No one knows this one but Jintetsu. Oh and Shinichi Kudo/Conan Edogawa and Kaito Kuroba. OKAY. Okay I could keep going but these guys are the majors...???

Edit: OH MY GOD I FORGOT ZERO AND COPY X AND X. GOD. OH CHRIST. I EXIST ON THIS TUMBLR FOR AUS OF THEM OH GOD GUYS I’M SO SORRY I-- (insert my muses kicking the shit out of me)

FAVORITE BOOK ; oh man um. I used to read a lot more but I loved Cinder and the rest of that series (cyberpunk fairytales with aliens? sign me the FUCK UP). I used to love May Bird when I was younger, and the Dreamdark collection. Also the BOOK SERIES Kurogane. (Different from the character from CLAMP but I love him too). If you want to know my favorite quirks in a story, read Tsubasa/xxxHolic and you have me nailed. AND OH SHIT I ALMOST FORGOT. Artemis Fowl my beloved.

FAVORITE ARTISTS/BANDS ; Starset, The Birthday Massacre, Aviators, Palisades, Written by Wolves. I used to really like Dead by April. New ones are Silent Theory and KLOUD, and Solence is climbing up there.

DREAM JOB ; Same as Kara! Convention artist / webcomic creator. We’re working on it!!!!!

WHAT I'M WEARING ; ...So I like watching Markiplier and thus CLOAK. Tldr last halloween there were these black glow in the dark sweatpants with anime werewolf and vampire ladies. Yeah I had to get them, I was OBLIGATED TO. Also bats are my favorite animal and they’re on my tank top and hoodie too. All black. Of course. what am I, a hot topic loser? (yeah)

DO YOU HAVE ANY OTHER BLOGS ; @the-broken-variable and @ziel-soundwave are my main ones, but I recently made a proper artblog so @hellscythearts is there! Um... oh and a few other random ones I’m never on anymore but, @windbladed-knight was my Sonic that I write sometimes--

DO YOU GET ASKS ON A DAILY BASIS ; No, but I don’t mind? I wish I had time to write more but I don’t so honestly... it’s okay that I’m not swamped lol

WHY DID YOU CHOOSE YOUR URL ; hmm. I think I was trying to come up with a name that encapsulated the fact that this was always meant to be a multimuse. Since a lot of the themes I write have to do with inter-dimensional travel, and some of the MAJOR plots (MZ and Rock christ) are literally about two characters from COMPLETELY different universes coming together, well yeah. Portals = Gates, and space stretches on forever so that’s the more literal reasoning. (ALSO I am indeed making a hint-hint-nudge-nudge about Infinity, the main villain for the major story SO--)

TAGGING ; TAKE IT!!!!!

[crossiantgay]

I Shall Say Goodbye Till It Be Morrow

Logince, fantasy AU! Pt 2 coming soon!

He looked out, over the balcony watching the sun set over the horizon. He was the prince; he was supposed to love his life. It has so turned out, that most days he had turned to envying the commoner. With his wealth and lavish lifestyle came the shackles of responsibility and no control over his future. The air was sticky and humid, and the setting sun gave the air a hazy glow. His light, white blouse ruffled in the wind and he felt his caramel hair brush against his face. He heard the steady beat of footsteps behind him and he turned. Everyone was supposed to head home, it was long past working hours. When he turned, he saw his pageboy, Logan (insert last name) approach. He had ditched his navy-blue suit for just his white button-up shirt, almost similar to Roman’s own shirt. He stepped next to Roman, leaning over the balcony. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it” His voice sounded distant and monotone, but still had the warm undertones Logan often had in his voice. It was only a few seconds later, Roman realized he was expecting an answer. 

“Oh-yes. I suppose.” Roman drummed his fingers on the banister and Logan turned to him. 

“Is something bothering you, my prince?” there was worry etched into his face, the concern all-so-subtly seeping into his voice. He sighed. 

“Oh, it’s nothing. You know the princess of Lancaster?” Roman looked back out over the village below. 

“The daughter of our known enemy? Why yes, I am fairly familiar with her” Roman licked his lips nervously. The summer heat was making his lips crack and blister and it was rather unpleasant. 

“I am supposed to marry her in 3 months’ time” 

“Oh-” Logan’s voice sounded hollow, like someone had pulled the floor out from underneath him but his expression stayed unreadable. 

“And, to be honest?” Roman turned back to the man, waving one arm about. “I don’t even like women.” Logan quirked an eyebrow.

 “This particular woman? Or-” Roman shook his head. 

“All women. No princess has made my heart skip beats like a man with tousled hair and a well-trimmed suit.” Roman didn’t notice Logan unconsciously run a hand through his own hair.

“If I am to be… wholly honest with you, I have felt a similar way in recent months.” Logan tried to trace Roman’s gaze, find out exactly where he was looking. “I thought I was crazy. It’s great to know that I am not the only one who feels this way.” Roman gave him a small, uneasy smile. He paused and drew his lips in a thin line. 

“Did you know that there is no law that forbids a man from marrying another man?” 

“I-no. That is rather intriguing, thank you.” Logan gave a curt nod as silence passed between them, Roman draping his arms over the railing, unease clouding his mind. 

“I’m headed for a future I don’t even want.” Logan’s expression softened into something sympathetic and caring before fixing his eyes on the horizon line. Logan carefully reached out his hand, putting it on Roman’s. To his surprise, Roman didn’t pull away but refused to meet his eyes. They stayed like that in comfortable silence as the sun set past the horizon line.

__________________

Roman waved his maid away. 

“If you keep messing with my hair, it might fall out!” he ran his hands through his hair, fixing it to his liking. 

“My apologies, your majesty. However, I believe you are ready!” Roman stood in front of the mirror, admiring the suit. It was a red suit jacket with gold fastenings and trim, with a white undershirt and black dress pants. His maid hurried behind him. 

“Oh my! How could I forget the most important piece of all!” The maid delicately placed the gold, ruby and sapphire-studded crown atop his head. He straightened his posture and gave one glance back at himself before walking out to the ballroom. There was the drone of chatter along with the distant hum of classical music. He scanned the crowd for faces he recognized, only to find none. He made sure to keep distance from his father along with the princess, beelining it for the concessions. He stumbled into a few people, mutter half-hearted apologies, keeping his head down and his crown straight. Someone grabbed his arm and he jerked back. 

“Well isn’t it Roman Cassanova!” He pulled his head up to look at whoever grabbed him, searching his memory for this person. They were clearly important, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no-

“..hey.” The person hit him hard on the back and he coughed, immediately talking his ear off. He zoned in and out of the conversation, trying to keepy up when amongst the rambling he heard ‘my daughter’ and something that sounded like ‘marriage’. His blood ran cold and he tried to say something, but what to say to your future father in law? His stomach churned at the thought. As if someone has answered his silent prayers, an arm looped around his waist. 

“My highness, the king requires your attention immediately.” Roman recognised the voice immediately. 

“Ah, yes. Thank you. I shall-have to attend to that as soon as possible” he blurted out as Logan tugged him away. 

“ah, thank you.  A tap on the shoulder would have sufficed” He said when he finally gained his footing, when they were out of earshot. 

“Oh, please. You looked like dying cattle, I did you a favor.” Roman finally got a glance of his ‘knight in shining armor’ and his breath caught in his throat. To say he looked stunning was an understatement. He hoped his face wasn’t as red as it felt. Logan smirked. 

“What was that, my prince?” In truth, it was hard to see without his signature glasses but his jawline and cheekbones and oh my I think I might faint- he finally gathered himself and rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t believe that is how you should be talking to the future king” He stuck his chin up exaggeratedly and stuck out his tongue. 

“Ah yes, real mature your majesty.” A waiter walked by and roman grabbed two glasses of wine from his tray, handing one to Logan. 

“Are you sure? You’re not legal yet-” Roman waved a hand dismissively as he took a sip, shaking his head. 

“I have what, 4 months ‘till my birthday? The marriage is in two months so- 5 months. Close enough.” Logan shook his head and took a sip, eyeing Roman carefully. A hush fell over the room as the orchestra picked up. Roman finished his drink and looked up at him, placing it on the passing waiter’s trays. 

“Logan?” he batted his eyes and Logan stepped back. 

“No. no- no.” He shook his head but Roman continued, offering out a hand. 

“Logan, may I have this dance?” Logan sighed, taking his hand. 

“Fine. You may.” Logan took his head and was caught off-guard when Logan placed a hand on the small of his back. It did make sense, considering Logan was the taller one but Roman wasn’t super familiar with the ladies’ part in this dance. Roman placed his hand on Logan’s shoulder and Logan smiled slightly. They fell into a steady rhythm of dancing and they moved across the ballroom, Roman temporarily forgetting everyone else existed. That was, until the song ended and Logan and him stayed holding onto each other. Roman stumbled back when someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he felt the world crashing down around him as he realized it was the princess. Logan dropped Roman and Roman wanted to mourn the warmth, but knew where his priorities stood. He pretended the touch was just him reaching for Logan’s drink, because that was clearly the case, totally, and downed it in seconds. It was only right after he did so, that he realized Logan had not had champagne like he had, rather a much stronger liquor. The room spun around him. 

“Uh-hi” he said, trying to get his eyes to focus on the subject in front of him. 

“Hello, I assume you recognise me?” Her eyes flicked uncertainly to Logan, who stepped away. 

“Yes, I do. You are Bella Lancaster, yes?” Roman needed to get out of here, and fast. He felt as if any moment the floor would fall out from under him. 

“I am. And you are Roman Cassanova.” 

“Yes.”

“Yes.” She fiddled with the sleeve of her glove. “Fantastic. Okay. Yes” She looked off, as well. Though why he couldn’t tell. “I must go check on my-- my father” She smiled a bit and walked off and Roman made sure to count his lucky stars. 

“You should go.” Roman spun around and immediately regretted it, falling into Logan’s arms. 

“nOoO” Roman said, a bit too loudly, turning heads around them. Logan clamped a hand on his mouth before pulling away quickly.  

“Ew! Why did you lick me?” Logan said in a hushed voice, wrinkling his nose and wiping his hand on his pants. 

“Be lucky it was your hand this time, mi amor.” Roman said, clearly losing it and Logan flushed a glorious shade of scarlet. Roman had lost all sense of filter, something that was definitely required as a prince. 

“Maybe we should take you to bed,” Logan said, looking out at the numerous people staring at them. 

“Mhmm, bed, I like the sound of that” He purred and Logan sighed. 

“You are drunk off your ass and not thinking straight. You need to get out of here before you make a scene” Roman huffed, leaning more into Logan.

“Whatever you say..” he grumbled. “Your majesty…” his tone turned softer and his eyes fixed on something behind Logan. 

“N-no. Let’s go” He gripped Roman’s hand, in less of a handhold but more of a means to tug him along. Roman pouted the whole way as Logan did his best to discreetly tug him out of the ballroom, which went both well and not. Luckily, they avoided the king’s eyes but caught the likes of many onlookers, as Logan assured them that princey here had just had a bit too much. Once they were out of sight, Logan scooped Roman up in his arms and raced up the steps. 

“Woahhh” Roman giggled, with a case of the hiccups “You’re strongggg” Once they had made it to prince’s chambers, Logan set Roman down and unlocked the door with surprising ease. Roman stumbled into the room, pulling Logan in by his jacket. 

“Roman!-” With one final tug, he pulled Logan onto the bed. 

“You thought I was done with you? Not even close” Logan felt his once-gone blush returning as the prince fiddled with the fasteners on his jacket. 

“Nope nope nope nope nope-” Logan sat up quickly, pulling the prince’s hands from his jacket, running his thumbs over the scarred knuckles. 

“You’re intoxicated and about to do something you’ll regret.” He looked him in the eyes and Roman looked away. 

“But I want this-no- I want you.”  Logan’s expression softened.

“Darling, the wedding’s in a couple months. I don’t want to make anything harder for you.” A choked sob ripped its way out of Roman’s throat and Logan pulled him closer. Roman tucked his head in the crook of his neck. 

“I never wan-” He gasped, trying to catch his breath as more tears rolled down his cheeks. “I never wanted this! Th-these responsibilities a-and arranged marriages a-and-” Logan shushed him gently. 

“It’s okay. I’m right here, you’re okay.” Roman looked up at him with tear-stained cheeks and uncertain eyes.  Logan pressed a kiss to his forehead that lingered for a bit too long, breath ghosting over the skin. He pressed another kiss, this time to cheek, before another and another and another, touching every inch of exposed skin they could find as Roman’s mind went foggy, too overwhelmed by this absolutely wonderful sensation to even think. He feels a semblance of pressure at the back of his head, where Logan has his fingers threaded into Roman’s caramel locks, barely tethered there by the hand on his waist as Logan pulls his head up, looking at Roman with half-lidded eyes. 

“What about ‘not making anything harder for me?’” Roman says, a playful smirk evident on his face. 

“If you’ll allow me to indulge in a bit of selfishness, your majesty” Logan finally utters, his voice so much richer than Roman remembers; like the distant rumble of storm clouds.

“Yes,” Roman says, barely a whisper. “Please, yes” With that phrase, Logan captures Roman’s lips in a deep kiss, eyes fluttering shut despite himself. Roman blindly grasps for something to pull Logan closer, something to anchor him in this moment. 

                     ________________________

Loud footsteps can be heard from outside as Logan, who has been awake for about 3 and a half whole minutes, shakes Roman awake. 

“Huh? Who-” Roman groans as his suit uncomfortably pinches at his sides, very obviously not meant for sleepwear. Logan pointed towards the door and Roman noticed the heavy footsteps, which could only mean one thing. He looked to his side, about to urge Logan to hide only to find Logan was already under the bed, hidden by the maroon bedskirt. Roman sat up, trying to make himself look as presentable as possible as his father burst into the room. 

“Morning, son!” He bellowed and Roman winced, becoming acutely aware of his hangover. Roman blinked slowly, trying to wake himself up. 

“You look a little out of sorts. Get yourself ready and come downstairs! I hope you haven’t forgotten about our Day Of The Sun banquet?” Roman’s eyes went wide as he cursed himself. It was the summer solstice; where for the whole day a large party would be held across the kingdom. The festivities last night were just a precursor to that and this was definitely not the day to have a huge hangover and your assistant in your bed. Wait, how did Logan get here? His memory stopped after his talk with the princess. 

“Well see you down there, then…” The king trailed off, noticing his son staring at the wall and the look of distant fear in his eyes. He walked out, shutting the door behind him. Logan crawled out from underneath the bed, brushing himself off and laying beside Roman. 

“We should get ready,” Logan mused, taking in the prince once more. 

“What happened, exactly?” Roman asked tentatively and Logan’s cheeks went dark red. 

“Uhm, we kissed…” Logan said, avoiding Roman’s eyes and Roman blushed a similar color, envying the red curtains hanging in front of his windows. He, Prince Roman, heir to the throne of Cassanova, has kissed his assistant of 7 years. With his awaiting marriage in two months’ time. 

“Oh my” he whispered and Logan smiled at the remark. 

“Mm. Now we really should get ready, my rose-er, highness.” Logan stood up quickly and Roman shook his head. 

“‘My rose’ sounds better. Less formal.” 

“Noted.” He nodded a bit, trying to ignore the pinkish color of his cheeks. He paused for a moment. “I should get ready. Well, you too. We should get ready.” Logan gave a curt nod. Roman laughed a bit under his breath and stood up. He took Logan’s face in one hand and kissed it.

“I suppose we shall,” he flipped through his closet, looking for something light enough in the summer heat. He finally found another white blouse, frowning a bit as he put it on. 

“My hi-my rose-” Logan buried his face in his hands, looking between the gaps in his fingers and Roman shrugged. Logan went back to his chambers to change, Roman changing into black shorts. Finally, he grudgingly placed the crown atop his head. Everything he had grown to loathe incarnated into some dingy piece of jewelry. Logan returned a few minutes later, thankfully this time with his glasses, with a white button-up shirt unconsciously unbuttoned at the top and black suspenders. His black hair was messy and fluffy due to the humidity. Roman blushed when he saw Logan, stammering. Logan let out a puff of air, snickering. 

“You look lovely, my rose” he offered out his hand and Roman took it. 

“As do you, my love” he smiled as Logan placed a kiss to his forehead. 

“We should head downstairs,” Logan chided gently and Roman paused. 

“Just a few more minutes. I enjoy being here with you” 

                ______________________

The festivities were long underway, Roman hovering by Logan’s side the whole time as they talked with the common folk, eating all the delectable foods the carts outside the castle had to offer and embracing the enticing atmosphere. When the sun was just past halfway in the sky, one of the servants approached them. 

“Sir Logan, your family requests your attention immediately.” Logan’s brow furrowed as Roman held his hand tightly. 

“They live on the other side of the Alabaster River, why do they call for me- they know I have my responsibilities here-” 

“Your mother has fallen ill” the servant bowed and Logan’s blood ran cold. He nodded, shifting closer to Roman. He gave a curt nod, leaning over to whisper in Roman’s ear. 

“A week from now, meet me outside the city of Eastview at sunset.” Logan stepped away and Roman frowned, hurrying to the nearest carriage. 

                ________________________

Roman stood at the edge of his balcony, overlooking the edge to the drop below. It had been a week since Logan’s mysterious absence, and of course it took the King no time to appoint another in his position, a short and snooty page with a shrill voice who always insisted Roman was wrong, constantly babying him. Roman threw the rope over the edge of the balcony, double, triple-knotting it to the banister. With shaky hands, he slowly began his descent. He felt like fainting when he finally felt dirt beneath his feet, in all fairness climbing rope was not his area of expertise. He shook himself off before running to the stable, shushing the horses and grabbing one of them before making his departure from the kingdom. 

    After many uncomfortable minutes riding on horseback, he finally made it to Alogas, which was right next to Eastview. He was almost there. He looked worriedly as the sun started to set. He couldn’t be late. He couldn’t. 

    He finally made it to the border of Eastview, and his eyes lit up as he saw a tall, black-haired man in the distance. His smile only grew as Logan came more into view, in a wrinkled light-blue shirt and dirt smudged on his cheeks. He skidded to a stop and jumped off the horse, running into Logan’s open arms. They stayed there for what felt like an eternity, just enjoying the other’s embrace, Logan placing countless kisses to Roman’s head and Roman burying his face in Logan’s shoulder. 

“I missed you, my rose” He mumbled. It had only been a week, but Logan was always at his side so it felt like it had been months. 

“I missed you too, my love. Palace life has been near awful without you; have you seen who they hired to fill in?” Roman rolled his eyes and Logan chuckled. He placed a hand on Logan’s chest but when he did, his brow furrowed. He tugged at Logan’s shirt, tracing his hand across the scabbed-over gash. Logan took his hand in Roman’s, pulling it off the cut. 

“It’s fine. Just an unlucky accident.” Logan assured him. Roman didn’t seem satisfied. 

“Did someone hurt you?” Roman asked, anger seeping into his voice.

“No, my love, it was my own fault. I hurt myself while farming.” Roman looked up at him. 

“Farming?” Roman raised an eyebrow. 

“Yes, my punishment for getting fired by the king’s court.” He ran a hand through his hair. When he looked back down, he saw the alarm in Roman’s eyes. 

“Wha-how were you-” Logan wrapped an arm around Roman’s waist.

“Someone at the ball saw us, and ratted me out to the king. Next thing you know, I’m fired and a direct message from the king to stay away from you. My parents nearly ripped a new one when they found out. So, 8 hours a day out in the field.”  Logan sighed, caging his disdain at the incident. He looked down and met Roman’s eyes, recognizing his concern. He rubbed circles in Roman’s shoulders, looking Roman in the eyes. 

“Oh no, my rose, it’s ok. We’ll get this sorted out, I assure you.” Logan tried to reassure him. Roman nodded slowly, looking at the ground. In truth, he looked miserable. 

“Plus, now I don’t have to look over my shoulder to do this,” He leaned down and captured Roman’s lips in a kiss, Roman’s cheeks dotting a beautiful crimson. He trailed the kisses down his cheek, further, down the slope of his neck, soaking in Roman’s murmurs of praise and small laughs, fingers entangled in Logan’s raven-black hair. He finally pulled away, leaving a few love bites but nothing prominent, taking Roman’s hand. 

“I’ve known where you’ve grown up for most of my life, can I show you where I grew up?” There was a questioning look in Logan’s eyes and Roman nodded, brushing shoulders with Logan. 

“I’d love to.” He smiled, pressing another kiss to Roman’s cheek. 

“Let’s escape to this town for a little while” They walked together, watching the setting sun. 

                ________________________

When they got to the more busy section of the town, Roman went to drop Logan’s hand but Logan held on more firmly. 

“It’s fine, my rose. No one cares who you’re with as long as you can pay your bill” Logan’s eyes scanned over the crowd. Roman pressed closer to Logan’s side, Logan wrapping his other arm around Roman’s shoulder. They went from shop to shop, walking around the town. 

“Would you like to grab dinner?” Logan asked when he saw Roman eyeing one of the bakeries. He nodded a bit too frantically, a chuckle escaping Logan. 

“That would be… adequate,” Roman said, looking at Logan sheepishly. “I didn’t have dinner before I went to see you” 

“Dear gods,” Logan murmured under his breath. Logan walked over to one of the shops, Roman staying close behind. After a few moments, he handed roman a boar-and-cheese sandwich. He covered his mouth to stop himself from laughing as Roman practically devoured it, licking his lips. 

“What about manners? I thought you were a prince” Logan teased and Roman huffed, sticking his tongue out. Logan rolled his eyes playfully. He held Roman’s hand once again as Roman pulled him along, towards the local animal pen to see the deer and sheep, probably. 

    The end of the night came all-too quickly as Logan carefully eyed the sky. If he was correct, it was probably around 11 or so. 

“Roman, as much as I hate to say it, you should be heading home.” Logan said, drawing closer to where they first met. 

“No, it’s too soon. I don’t know if I can go without seeing you.” Roman turned to Logan, a pleading look in his eyes. Logan bit his lip. 

“We can tryst again, same time next week. How does that sound?’ Logan held both of Roman’s hands, gazing into those dark, chocolate eyes. Roman nodded, if a bit hesitant. 

“Promise?”

“Promise”

________________________

“What is bothering you? I know that look,” Logan said, looking deep into Roman’s eyes, as if he looked hard enough, what was bothering him would be written, clear as day. Roman folded his hands in his lap, mouth twisting into a grimace. 

It had been another excruciating week without Logan when Roman slipped out to meet his lover again. Lover, he thought. It has a nice ring to it. Roman got off of his horse to fall into those strong arms of Logan’s , all doubt leaving his body. They were so secure, so comforting. 

“Logan, take me somewhere we can be alone?” Roman asked, looking as the townsfolk hurried about. Logan nodded, walking away from the town towards the woods on the edge of the eastern side of town. Roman followed in Logan’s footsteps, never letting go of his hand as Logan led him to a small lake. Next to the lake was an old oak tree with a swing attached to it. Before Roman could think, Logan scooped Roman up in his arms and set Roman on the swing. Roman looked down, kicking off his shoes with euphoria bubbling inside him. 

“Ready?” He asked, arms looping around Roman’s waist. Roman nodded. Logan smiled, slowly pulling the wing back before pushing him forward. Roman couldn’t bite back the giggle that escaped his throat, happiness flooding inside him. They fell into a gentle rhythm of pushing and pulling, Roman’s laughter echoing around the forest. Eventually, the swing stilled into a stop and Roman scooched over, Logan sitting beside him. 

[sandalaris]

SethKate for the 10 sentence meme?

one sentence per genre for a pairing

How can anyone do any of these with just one sentence?! At least I tried.... there’s a lot of run on sentences in this, btw, although after a few I just decided the one sentence rule could shove it and went with keeping each one short, and at least one I said screw it and made it pretty long for a one-sentence story.

1. Angst

A shadow self, that’s what Amaru called them, the ones she twisted and turned and brought forth from the other side, and logically Kate knows he had no choice, knows he did what he had to do to save Richie and her and the world, but logic has no hold in the face of screaming gaping wound in her chest that pulses and weeps grief and guilt when she looks at Seth’s face. It’s a cruel and ugly twist of fate, to still love the man who killed her brother.

A/N: A mild AU I will never write (but have thought about what would happen before) in which Amaru did her shadow-self thing on Scott and Seth is forced to kill him.

2. AU

There’s nothing wrong with the school itself, she decides, even if she does find some of its rules and traditions a bit odd. She wouldn’t even need to be here except Our Lady of Sorrow holds the only duel credit program with both an opening in Statistics and Intro to Psych that was willing to let Kate in given her... unusual circumstances (being homeschooled, a devout Baptist, and technically enrolled at a local public high school - a PE credit apparently requires a bit more than her daddy and the internet can provide - had her sure that even applying was a lost cause). She only has to spend half a day on campus and only one of her classes is even near the annex building so she hardly sees Seth (she refuses to call him “Mr. Gecko” on principle. She’s only somewhat a student here, and he is certainly not her teacher, even if he is a teacher.. she thinks).

She’s counting the weeks until the semester ends.

A/N: I would love to read this as a full fic... just not sure I want to write it, lol. 

3. Crack

No. Nuh-uh. No way. Seth is not some pansy assed prince charming setting out on a quest or one of those glory seeking wannabe knights who graduate from the Fairytale Training Academy, and he’s certainly never wanted to be anyone’s goddamn hero, so little miss damsel in distress, who’s probably some secret lost princess because Seth’s read this tale before and he hated it the first time around, can save her sob story for some other guy because he is absolutely not-

“Please.”

...fuck.

A/N: A reluctant Seth who is entirely too aware of fairy tale tropes and trying everything he can not to be in a one? Way more amusing than it should be to me.

4. Future fic

Seth eyes the group of sparkly wrapped boxes sitting on the counter with distrust, part of him already counting their numbers and trying to figure out how many have his name on them. After last year, when Seth managed to sneak a peek at every single last gift and “ruined the surprise,” Kate had managed to hide every Christmas present so well he’d begun to wonder if she’d decided he didn’t get any this year.

He reaches for a small, shiny box, the tag just peeking out from the curly bow and revealing a “th” in a familiar loopy penmanship, when Kate suddenly hisses behind him.

“Don’t even think about it.”

A/N: “Future” makes me think domestic fic (at least in FDtD), and that’s not an area I’m real familiar with, so *waves hand* this is what you get. :P

5. First Time

Her hands are shaking. Not visibly, but enough to make her fingers feel weak and the gun in her grip far too dangerous.

“You ready?”

She doesn’t know if she’s imagining the doubt in Seth’s voice, regret bleeding through at agreeing for her to play a bigger role, but she nods firmly anyways, tightening her grip and stepping forward.

A/N: Kate’s first heist... although I doubt Seth let her use a gun the first time. Too dangerous in the hands of an amateur. And I’m pretty sure Seth kept Kate’s role as danger-free and background as he could, because she was still fighting so hard to be considered an equal partner at the beginning of S2.

6. Fluff

She’s just managed to settle into the perfect spot when the bed shifts slightly behind her and a familiar hand fumbles sleepily at her arm and over her stomach before finding the hollow dip of her waist. Kate lets out a half-hearted protest, bits of warmth escaping at the blanket slips down and the sheet bunching beneath her as Seth wastes no time tugging her across the mattress, the sound dying into a soft laugh as he tucks her half under him and grumbles wordlessly against her temple without even opening his eyes. She shifts, tugging the corner of the pillow down a bit so its not digging into her neck before letting out a happy sigh. Perfect.

7. Humor (I had a hard time with this one, so I just wrote something random)

Kate makes a noise of frustration, pushing herself from her chair and snapping, “I’m gonna die a virgin. Again!”

“You know,” Richie says with far too much brotherly glee, “if you’re looking for someone to-”

“Shut up, Richard!”

8. Hurt/Comfort (another one where I didn’t exactly want to go full hurt/comfort, so instead I went Hurt? As in injury? Yeah, lets go with that.)

“Ohgodohgodohgod.” She can’t seem to stop the litany of words, repeated phrase cycling through her mind as she presses harder. There’s blood, so much blood, seeping red and too thick through her fingers that she can’t even feel the pain.

She should feel it, she thinks, she did before. Or maybe its better that she can’t, she doesn’t want a repeat of the well.

She takes another step, seeing the door just a few steps away. There are people beyond it, Seth and Richie’s people (Seth’s going to be so pissed, she thinks with a kind of worrying detachment.) It’s a simple goal: get to the door. Everything will be alright if she can just get to the door.

A/N: Kate is totally OK in this. It’s bad, but not as bad as she thinks, and while she doesn’t make it to the door before collapsing, someone comes through really quickly and sees her.

9. Smut  Hand holding?

The leather is soft against his skin, well worn from years of near continuous use and Kate’s dedicated care. He remembers when she first got them, the fancy looking box with its folded tissue paper holding them inside like they were a gift. He had hated them, hated the way they covered Kate’s small, deadly hands, the way Dad expected for her to be grateful, how necessary they were.

He slides his hand up, pad of his thumb brushing over the expensive leather covering her palm before it presses against the soft, vulnerable skin of her inner wrist, and he swears for a moment her can feel the nervous flutter of her pulse before he curls his fingers to lock around her wrist.

She looks at him, an amused quirk of to the edge of her lips as he raises her hand between them and he meets her gaze, not bothering to measure the redness of her eyes as he reaches his free hand up to pinch the fabric just above her pinkie.

“What’re yo-” She cuts off with a choked gasp when he tugs, but doesn’t jerk back. He’s inexplicably proud of her for it.

Her eyes are wide and a little panicked, bottom lip trapped between her teeth as she watches him tug at the top of each finger, loosening the well-fitting glove until it sits loose on her small hand.

He takes in a shaky breath, feeling unaccountably nervous as he grips the empty tip of the glove’s middle finger, like he’s removing far more than just a simple bit of leather. But then again, maybe he is. After all, Kate’s almost never lets any of them see her without her gloves, not willingly.

He pauses at the thought, gaze flicking away from his task to look at Kate. He regrets it almost immediately. He wasn’t going to stop once he started, wasn’t going to give Kate cause to think he held any of the fear she’s convinced he must feel. But maybe she sees the question in his eyes, or feel it in the sure way he holds her wrist because she nods, small and hesitant but there. He pulls the glove the rest of the way off and lets it fall to the floor.

He lets out a breath just as Kate seems to suck one in, her gaze locked on her bare fingers and Seth loosens his grip, fingers already turning so he can run the flat of his palm up her wrist, forearm pressing against forearm as his hand aligns with hers.

He’s grinning, sudden and full of too much smug satisfaction if Kate’s affectionate eye roll is anything to go by, but Seth doesn’t care, already lacing their fingers together so he can hold her hand proper for once.

A/N: This is part of a tUA inspired AU that has no plot and therefore will never be written. But I know exactly what Kate and Seth’s abilities are, which is part of why this is such a thing for Kate here and why Seth feels her fears are unfounded.

10. UST (Unresolved Sexual Tension)

She doesn’t blink, barely seems to be breathing, holding herself so carefully behind her desk, straight backed and fingers laced together as she stares stubbornly up at him. He smiles, slow and measured and knowing, letting his gaze sweep over the cardigan she’s begun buttoning all the way up since he joined her little class, before leaning close, meeting her gaze and dropping his voice low, like a secret between them.

“And what do I get if I get it right?”

A/N: Seth goes back to school to get his GED, Ms. Fuller is not what he was expecting. I actually had a whole scene playing through my head for this, because I like build up, and it was really hard to pick just a small part to put here.

None of these are edited, despite how long it took to post, meaning I have mixed feelings on them, lol. I think I like more of them than I expected to, so yay!

[khunfounded]

Dearest (Oh You’re the Nearest to my Heart)

[For Day Four of khunbam week: AU! Based on the story of Tam Lin :)]

Khun Aguero Agnis, son of Lord Eduan of the Ten Great Families, stopped short in his stroll through the woods. Before his eyes was the most beautiful boy he had ever seen, with rich brown locks and golden eyes, sitting amongst the wild rose beds. He was also attempting to eat a rose, chewing thoughtfully before his face scrunched up and he spit it out. 

“What are you doing?” Khun asked, sedately walking towards him. When the boy looked up and their eyes met, Khun was instantly struck with a pang in his chest. Perhaps he might be dying, he thought vaguely. But oh, what a good death it would be, looking into those eyes.

“Oh hello!” The boy said, voice like honey and smiling face like the sun, saying utter nonsense in the loveliest tone, “I just walk by these roses so often, and I always wondered if they taste as good as they smelled”.

“And do they?”

“I don’t think so,” He replied, a sad little frown on his face that Khun longed to repair. But before he could, the boy’s face instantly lightened again, “Would you like to try?”

“... I’ll trust your judgement on that,” Khun hedged, before letting his curiosity get the better of him, “What is your name?”

“I’m called the Twenty-Fifth Bam”.

“The Twenty Fifth Bam, what sort of name is that?”

“It’s mine, sir. I was named after the day of my birth”.

“Well, since it’s yours, I think that it’s wonderful”.

The boy blushed at that, a soft pink that spread to his ears. Yes, compliments were a good call. After an appropriate amount of time of flustered sputtering, the boy asked him in return.

“What is your name, sir?”

“I am Khun Aguero Agnis. It is lovely to meet you,” He took a chance and sat besides Bam amongst the flower beds, and was rewarded by a bright smile. They were so close that their fingertips brushed as lightly as two rose petals in the wind. It was so small, and yet Khun felt this was somehow a momentous occasion.

“It’s lovely to meet you too, Mr. Khun. I didn’t think I’d find someone ever so nice wandering around here.”

“Please, call me Aguero,” He usually hated the use of his first name by anyone, but he wanted this boy to be the exception, for some reason he couldn’t quite place.

“Ah, Aguero then. That really is a beautiful name,” Bam said easily, as if he wasn’t playing Khun’s heart like a skilled lutist. It was Khun’s turn to blush fervently, though he thought he hid it well with a downturn of his head.

Bam’s head turned towards one of the dusty pink roses, before plucking it and leaning over. Their faces, for a few moments, were so close that their breaths mingled. Their gazes were stuck on each other. He gently tucked the rose behind Khun’s ear, unfortunately leaning back when his task was complete.

“Wha-” Khun wondered, hand coming up to his ear where the gift laid.

“I just thought,” Bam quickly looked at the horizon, seeming like his actions caught up with him, “That it was fitting”.

“Fitting?”

“Yes,” His eyes followed the dance of two doves in the sky, while Khun looked only at him, “A sweet rose for a sweet man”.

Khun choked. What this boy was doing to him must be a crime, surely, and it seemed like Bam did not even know he was doing it.

They talked like old companions, matching each other perfectly and trading humorous and sentimental stories in equal measure. Khun, who had spent his entire life living in the cold hollowness of his father’s court, had never felt warmer in all of his days. This lasted until sunset, when Khun unfortunately had to leave this perfect boy. 

Before he did, he took Bam’s summer soft hands.

“Promise me we will meet again,” He begged, looking into those earnest, liquid gold eyes, hoping beyond hope that this was something that would last.

Bam’s face spread into the most beautiful smile Khun had and would ever see, and he brought his lips up to brush Khun’s cheek, leaving just the whisper of a kiss upon it.

“I promise, Aguero,” And then he was gone, leaving Khun starstruck in his wake.

When Khun made it back to his chambers, his fingers caressed the blush pink rose Bam had given him, before he placed it between the pages of his favorite book of fairy tales. He wanted to preserve this memory forever.

The next evening, and the next, and the next, for an entire year, Khun returned to that spot, but he never saw the Twenty-Fifth Bam again after that night. Khun fell into a deep well of sorrow, and detested the frozen court he was stuck in. So, one night, he raided his family’s coffers and stole a golden steed, riding away from the palace that for him had become a hell.

The only thing he brought with him from his chambers was the book of fairy tales, and no matter where he was, for six long years, at sunset he would always take out the rose and give it a longing kiss.

He could not forget about Bam. 

Then one night, while he rested his tired limbs in a tavern, he overheard two patrons talking about a man with long, dark hair that trailed him like the twilight and golden eyes like two bright sons, who guarded the wild forest beyond Lord Eduan’s castle, and would hunt down anyone who trespassed there. Apparently, it was causing quite the problem for the Lord, which Khun took quite a bit of joy in, but that wasn’t the important part.

What was important was that he knew who that mysterious man was, and he had to get to him immediately. There was a promise that needed fulfilling.

As soon as he heard the news, he raced out of the tavern, dropping a few coins to cover his meal, and rode for seven long nights to the place he had thought he would never return. He searched high and low when he got there, leaving his horse behind so he could reach into the darkest corners, but what he sought was in a beautiful clearing of dusty pink roses surrounding a well.

It wasn’t the same clearing, but it reminded Khun so strongly of the one where they had met that he had to lean down to pick a rose, inhaling the familiar scent.

“What are you doing?” A voice came from behind him, causing Khun to turn sharply. He knew that voice intimately. It was in his dreams every night, though now it sounded a bit deeper.

When they locked eyes, Khun felt a pang in his chest.

“The Twenty Fifth Bam,” He croaked, voice suddenly hoarse, eyes suddenly teary.

“Aguero, what are you doing here?” Bam’s voice sounded pained. He should never sound so hollow, look so hollow. Not his Bam. Khun clutched the rose against his chest.

“I heard,” He said, edging closer, “I heard that there was a man with long, dark hair that trailed him like the twilight and golden eyes like two bright sons, who guarded the wild forest beyond Lord Eduan’s castle, and I knew. I knew it was you, Bam.”

Then, he pressed a finger against the taller man’s chest. Bam looked shaken, eyes widening behind curtains of hair.

“You promised me we would meet again, Bam. You promised! What the hell happened?”

Bam brought a hand up to cover the one at his chest, pressing it against his heart.

“I’m so sorry, Aguero. I had every intention of fulfilling that promise, but after you left I was tricked, caught, and captured by the Faery Queen. She turned me into one of her people, and only now has allowed me outside the court to guard this place. I couldn’t return to you, no matter how much I wanted to.”

Then tears fell from his eyes, rapidly, like a waterfall. Khun hurried to brush them away with the hand holding the rose.

“Bam, what is the matter, dearheart?” Khun couldn’t stand this, all the suffering and hurt his Bam had had to go through. He promised nothing like that would ever happen again if he could help it.

“Every seven years, the Fairy Court gives one of their people as tithe to Hell, on this night, the night of Hallowe’en,” Bam’s voice broke, “And I fear that tonight it will be me”.

Khun brought Bam into a crushing hug when he heard that, eyes wide.

“What can I do? Please, tell me I can do something. I cannot allow you to go through that”.

“There is, but it is an unwieldy task”.

“Don’t patronize me,” Khun admonished, “Just tell me what it is so I can do it”.

“I will be riding in a company of elven nights, you will recognize me by my pure white steed. When you find me, pull me down and hold me tightly. The faeries will attempt to make you drop me tightly by turning me into a whole manner of beasts”.

“A lizard, an adder, a bear, a lion, a white hot iron, and finally a burning torch. When I last turn, throw me into a well, and I will become a man. When I do, cover me with your coat, and I will be no one else’s but yours”.

“Well,” Khun replied, laughing, pulling away to look into golden eyes, “That sounds about as difficult as I expected it would. I cannot wait to get it over with”.

“You’ll do it?” Bam looked at him in wonder, and Khun placed the rose behind his ear, smiling at the beautiful picture it made.

“Of course I will, don’t be silly,” Khun hugged him once more before pulling away, “Now you better get going, you need to actually be with your company for me to catch you”.

Khun brought his lips against Bam’s cheek, and returned the kiss that had been given to him so long ago. This time it was Bam’s turn to look starstruck, blinking rapidly, before his lips finally quirked up into a small smile.

“See you soon, Aguero,” He moved away and Khun watched him disappear from view. But Khun knew this time would be different. He would get Bam back, he vowed it to himself.

When the sun finally set, Khun went in search of the faery company. He found them, knights all lined up on glorious steeds, but none of them pure white except one. The other faeries looked at him in shock as Khun raced, faster than he had ever run before, to Bam’s horse. He pulled the man down roughly, clutching him tightly in his arms.

Just as he had gotten a firm grip, Bam transformed into a tiny lizard, which he quickly cupped in his hands as it struggled to get out. He wouldn’t be getting away so easily.

After several moments of long struggle, he was gripping a ginormous snake, holding it tightly around the throat so it would not be able to sink its venomous fangs into him.

When Bam became a bear, Khun gripped his fingers into his pelt and cried out as the beast swiped at him. He could feel blood running down his back, but he would not relent. The bear shook back and forth, trying to launch Khun away, and when that did not happen, Khun found himself clinging onto a vicious lion whose sharp claws glanced at his side before he was able to maneuver himself to where he could not be harmed.

The lion raced around the field, dragging Khun around as he clung to its mane. The faery knights all rode to the sides of the clearing to get out of its way. 

When Bam became the hot iron, Khun screamed in pain, but continued to grip it to his chest as it seared his skin. Tears clung to his eyelashes but he thought of the beautiful boy who had stolen his heart and knew he had to keep going.

Finally, he was holding a flaming torch and he sprinted to the well at the center of the clearing, throwing it in. Out came the Twenty-Fifth Bam, looking soaked and exhausted, and Khun ripped out his cloak to cover him, whispering sweet somethings into his ear. “It’s okay,” He sobbed, not out of pain, but of joy, “I have you. You’re alright now, love”.

Slow clapping came from the side, and Khun looked up to see a gorgeous woman with blood red locks of hair.

“The Faerie Queen,” Bam mumbled. Khun gasped, gripping him tighter, covering him with his body.

“It seems as if you passed the test. Congratulations, Khun Aguero Agnis, you have freed the Twenty-Fifth Bam,” Her voice was stoic, though for some reason Khun thought he could detect humor in her tone. She snapped her fingers and he hissed as he felt his wounds closing, “Now get out of here, you ruined our tithing and I would really prefer to never see either of you again”.

Khun heeded her warning, and took them onto his own golden steed, where they rode until they reached the soft safety of the rose beds where they first met. When their feet touched the ground, they fell into each other's arms, both crying and laughing unabashedly. 

“Aguero,” Bam brought their faces together, kissing him all over, yearning finally over, “Aguero, you did it”.

Khun twirled them around, before they fell into the rose bed together. Khun leaned down, kissing Bam’s lips again, and again, and again.

“We did it,” He declared, “I wouldn’t have been able to do anything if you hadn’t told me”.

Then, he pressed a kiss against Bam’s chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath his lip, before moving up to stare into his eyes.

“I love you, Bam”, Khun grinned down at him, looking at this lovely man among lovely flowers. 

Bam intertwined their fingers and tugged Khun back down, “And I love you, Aguero”.

“I have a plan,” Khun said against his lips, feeling rather than hearing Bam’s chuckle.

“What is it?”

“We’re running away together. Far and wide, Bam. I’m showing everything you’ve missed these past seven years”.

“It sounds perfect”

“I knew you would think so”.

“Can we please stop talking now, love?”

“I’m sure I could be persuaded, dearheart”.

The stars that night were more gorgeous than they had been in years, but neither of the two noticed. They were rather more fond of roses, anyways.

[fangirl-1523]

My Sworn Brothers [Luffy x Crossover!Sister!Reader x Ace x Sabo]

A/N: Hey, so I want to write a High School AU of the many, many anime I have watched/ read. Bleach, Blue Exorcist, Devil is a Part-Timer, Durarara, Fairy Tail, Fullmetal Alchemist, High School of the Dead, InuYasha, Kill La Kill, Magi, My Hero Academia, Noragami, One Piece, Ouran High School Host Club, Pokemon, Saiki K, Sailor Moon, Seven Deadly Sins, Soul Eater, Sword Art Online, Vampire Knight, Your Lie in April, and Yu Gi-Oh. And I was wondering who would you like to be apart of your friend? And would you like to have a relation to any of the characters of the world. 

Summary: [Y/N] is the oldest sworn sister to Luffy, Ace, and Sabo. And after finding Ace and Sabo aboard Luffy’s ship, the Thousand Sunny, she explains to them who she is, her other sworn brothers and sisters, embarrasses the three of them (a regular Tuesday for her), and threatens them with a chalkboard for interrupting her. Multiple times. In this story, most of the anime I am into is in the same world (Bleach, Blue Exorcist, Fairy Tail, Fullmetal Alchemist, InuYasha, Magi, My Hero Academia, Naruto, Noragami, Seven Deadly Sins, and Sword Art Online.  I might do a part 2. 

Warnings: spoilers for the above mangas and animes, also, even though this is along the timeline of after the time skip (at some point), I took the creative liberty to have Ace alive during this meeting for a quad family reunion, might be language

Word Count: 1, 668

“How the hell am I suppose to believe that my three idiotic brothers would be in the same place at the exact same time I’m trying to find them?” the girl with [H/C] hair, old enough to be Luffy’s age, maybe a year younger or a year older than him. 

“[Y/N]!!” the rubber boy flung himself at her in a hug.

She fell down on her butt from the impact of the hug. She groaned before pushing the boy off of her and standing up, dusting herself off. “Geez, Lu. I was on a job, just finished, and I heard something about a Straw Hat, a Fire Fist, and a blonde with a top hat that put the mad hatter to shame. I just came to see if the rumors are true.” 

“What job did you have, sis?” Sabo said as he sipped a smoothie created from Vinsmoke Sanji. 

“Well, you see. In the ten years I’ve been gone, I’ve been busy. Both with being lazy and being diligent.” the girl explained. “I am a member of Fairy Tail. Dragon Slayer Magic, particularly fire, water, earth, air, and plant. Requip the Knight. Some space jumping there and vortex opening here.” 

“You got the two mixed up, kid.” Ace said from his spot next to Sabo. 

The girl grinned an evil grin. “Oh, did I, Ace of Clubs?” 

The raven haired pirate groaned at the nickname while Luffy’s crew members wondered after the nickname. Ace kept giving her the don’t-tell-them-anything look with a cut-it-out motion. She, like most people she knew, did not listen to reason. 

“Well, when we were younger, I attempted to teach the pour unfortunate souls that you call Luffy, Sabo, and Ace golf. And we played mini-gold. First hole we went to, the club flew out of Ace’s hand and crashed into the window where the pour lady working the club stand was clonked on the head and fell unconscious. Another fun fact: I’m overly competitive and therefore master of mini gold. Luffy on the other hand... beat my bowling high score of just a little over four hundred points.” [Y/N] explained. 

“THAT’S NOT HOW YOU PLAY GOLF, YOU IDIOT!” Usopp shouted at his captain. 

“Ace was a lot worse. However, on the eighteenth hole, got a hole in one. Although with team sports, I always sided with Luffy ‘cuz he was the baby of the family.” she explained. 

“Never play Volleyball with her unless you’re Luffy.” Sabo warned the Straw Hat Pirates. 

“Could you... possibly.... explain who you are?” asked Nami. 

“That’s an easy and excellent question, m’lady. I am [Y/N] [L/N], the daughter of the Demon King from the Demon Clan, Niece of Solomon, adoptive daughter of the great dragon, The Curse of Depravity, a mage of S-Class ranking, the best older sister anyone can have, a Shinigami, and the Pirate Fairy.” [Y/N] said with her hands on her hips like wonder woman. 

“You’re not wonder woman, dumbass.” Ace muttered. 

She scowled at the boy (who was now physically older than her). “I know that, asshole.” Ace shrugged his shoulders at that. “Anyways, I should get going. I’m here with my teammates. And Salamander will have a cow if he finds out I’m on a Pirate Ship. Which may or may not include Natsu asking you all to fight him at once for his sister.” [Y/N] shrugged. 

“SISTER?!” Luffy screeched. 

“YOU ALREADY REPLACED US?!” Ace and Sabo said in unison. 

“This is why I never took you to Amusement parks or sat next to you on a ride.” she clenched at her swollen ears.  “No, I was merely saying that I have something called [Y/N]’s Council of Brothers. They’re basically a band of boys I feel need my protection, wisdom, and power to embarrass them until they’re six feet under and rotting.” 

“She’s dark.” Nami said. “But can you explain this whole Council of Brothers thing. Because I’m not sure they,” the ginger pointed to the three brothers, “understand.” 

“Alright! I will go over a lesson here!” and suddenly a white board appeared by her side with writing already on it. 

“Where did you get the white board?” asked Luffy. 

“That’s not important right now.” she scowled. “Yes, Sabo.” 

“Was that Whiteboard always there and we just never noticed it?” the blonde asked. 

“No. Ace if this is a question about the white board, I will smack you with the same gold club that flew through that window. All questions about the stupid whiteboard will be answered after I explained everything. Got it?” 

The three brothers grumbled out a, “Yes.”  

“Good. Anyways, to start it off I have two half-brothers. Meliodas and Zeldris.” she slapped a pointer stick against the whiteboard. 

“Did she always have that?” Ace asked, whispering it to his two brothers. 

“I don’t know. I’m just glad someone noticed it besides me.” Sabo murmured back. 

“SILENCE, YOU INSOLENCE FOOLS!” and she threw a frying pan which hit Ace in the head. 

Why does she have a frying pan in her requips? Sabo wondered in his head, not wanting to get hit in the head with anything else she might have to throw at them. 

“Anyways, Meliodas and Zeldris are my half-brothers. Zeldris is the captain of the Demon Clan’s ten Commandments while Meliodas is the captain of Liones’s Seven Deadly Sins of which I am co-captain and the Phoenix Sin of Darkness. To be fair, I look more like my mother and I think the only thing me, Meliodas, and Zeldris share is our dumbassery we inherited from our father. Second off, my cousin is Magi Aladdin since my mother is his father, Solomon,’s sister. Now, that’s enough of my actual biological family. Now, I won’t go into detail about those three. Because you already seem well-acquainted with one another. Anyways, onto the next one. The next one on my list of brothers is a half-demon named Rin who is the son of Satan along with his younger brother, Yukio, but he doesn’t really need protection. next is Kazuto Kirigaya also known as Kirito. I prefer to call him that. He got stuck in a game where if you die there, you die in real life, but he defeated them. next, we have Satan himself, a king of demons, Sadou Maou. He works as a part-timer for a fast food chain which is sad to be honest. Next, we have Alibaba Saluja, a prince and a king’s candidate, also my cousin’s best friend. He wields the fire djinn, Amon. Also, he’s trying to be a gladiator while figuring out his feelings for Fanalis and former slave Morgiana. Next, we have actual God Yato who is a former god of calamity and a current god of war. I think. I’m not quite sure. But he and his two regalia, Yukine and a Nora named Kazuma, but also Kazune under Yato, must be protected by me at all cost. Then, we have Edward Elric, a alchemist missing both a leg and an arm because he wanted to see his mom’s smile again which kicks me in the heartstrings whenever I hear it. His brother, Alphonse, is an honorary member of the Council of Brothers. And he used to be entirely a soul attached to a suit of armor. No joke.” 

“Does no one else notice that they are mostly raven haired or blonde?” Nico Robin commented. 

The Straw Hat Pirates turned to the three sworn brothers who just shrugged their shoulders at that. “I admit I am guilty for that. But my actual brothers are raven headed and blonde, so that may be the reason. Anyways, off to the next people. Now, this person could make Luffy look like a genius. Sometimes. Natsu Dragneel, a salmon haired fire dragon slayer, is the brother of Zeref Dragneel, the black wizard, and also simultaneously END, the most powerful demon of the book of zeref which makes him one of the top fifteen most powerful demons. Next, we have strawberry boi, Ichigo Kurosaki, a shinigami who I’ve been helping train. He could see the dead and then he discovered his spiritual power, stole the shinigami powers of Rukia Kuchiki, and started to exorcist hollows and send souls to the soul society. Then, we have my favorite band of brothers since they could literally be in a band. Broccoli Boi, Izuku Midoriya, kinda has a power augmentation quirk, best way to describe it without giving too much away, Porcupine Katsuki Bakugo who can blow things up with help from his sweat. Zuko Wannabe Shoto Todoroki who can wield fire and ice. Also, his brother Touya may or may not be Dabi. Then, Pikachu Kaminari Denki who can utilize elctricity, but too much and he makes Luffy look like a genius. No joke. Well… maybe… I don’t really know. Anyways, then we have speedster Tenya Iida. Oh, there’s sharkboy Eijiro Kirishima. He can make himself go as hard as rock, but he has limitations. Then, we have spidertape Hanta Sero that can shoot tape out of his elbows. Then, half-demon InuYAsha who is the son of a dog demon and a mortal woman. There’s also Shippo who is an adorable little kitsune. And I think I got everyone.” the girl looked at her board before smacking it again as she noticed Luffy had begun to doze off while Ace had totally fallen asleep. 

The action alerted the two boys to wake up at once and glare at their older sister. And then, a silver haired undead man with a flying blue cat landed on the floor of the ship. “Thank goodness we found you. C’mon. We got a mission and you and your ‘Team Natsu’ have a job request from the old man and a princess.” 

“So Hisui and Bartra both agree to have us do something, but what is this so-called mission?” asked [Y/N]. 

Ban smirked. “We’re fighting slave-trading pirates.” 

“I want in!” Luffy cheered.

[mastrechef]

Here’s the intro for the reincarnation au I meant to write yesterday. I came back to this because it woke me up at 4am yesterday and I couldn’t get back to sleep until I’d typed up a rough sketch on my phone. My brain always chooses the most unreasonable times to be helpful.

Reincarnation happens all the time, although almost no one realizes it. Reincarnated souls may get an impression here or there, a niggling feeling they can’t explain. Nothing concrete enough to make the connection.

The point of reincarnation isn’t to remember, anyway. It is simply a natural occurrence. Strong souls are born anew, given another chance at life, another chance to have hopes and dreams, to experience love and loss.

One of the strange quirks of the reincarnation cycle comes into play when magic is involved. Magic is bound to bloodlines, but once a person is born into magic, it weaves itself into their soul. Any incarnation after that life, the magic will still be there, and with it the possibility of remembrance. It’s not a guarantee, but magic strengthens the bonds between past and present, and sometimes things slip through.

Nyx learns all of this from Ramuh when he is eleven years old, just shy of twelve, and he starts truly remembering.

He’d been having strange dreams for a while, of places and people that felt achingly familiar, yet he couldn’t put his finger on when or where he might have seen them. Some days he’d wake suffused with warmth, the kind he felt when he spent time with his mother learning to cook, or like when Selena was born and he held his baby sister in his arms the first time. Other days he woke in a cold sweat feeling hollowed out and drained, every good feeling and happy memory distant and out of reach.

Those days Nyx clung to his mother and Selena and Libertus until the cold and emptiness relinquished their hold on him.

Then one day, something in him cracks.

He remembers.

Like water bursting forth from the dam that kept it at bay, his head is filled with memories, old memories, from a lifetime ago. All the things from his dreams but with the gaps filled in, good and bad, and he knows. He knows those bright eyes and warm smiles belonged to his father, who laughed so joyously and loved so freely, who healed the sick and left him in awe every time, who taught him to play chess, who treated his son like he was his entire world. His father, his king, who was betrayed by the ones he trusted most for helping his people in the way he knew best. Who was then declared a monster and murdered by those same betrayers.

The betrayers which included Nyx’s uncle. The same uncle who had spoiled him rotten and affectionately called him Little Knight. The same uncle who had helped him organize a surprise party for his father’s birthday every year, who taught him to wield a sword alongside his father, who comforted him as he cried when his nana passed.

The same uncle who killed him.

Lightning streaked across the heavens and the oceans surrounding Galahd seethed in sync with his grief and agony as Nyx Antinous Ulric, who was once Nyx Estelle Lucis Caelum, remembered.

Additional tidbits under the cut

His mother must have had a gut feeling or perhaps Ramuh whispered to her, nudging her in the right direction. When Nyx had spoken to her of his dreams, she hadn’t understood them any more than him. But how else would he end up with a name like Nyx Antinous?

Ramuh’s explanation of the reincarnation cycle leaves a few questions unanswered. If people born to magic keep it upon being reborn, why are the only magic lines the Lucis Caelums and the Fleurets? (It isn’t until he learns of the Ring of the Lucii that he begins to understand. By binding the souls of the Lucian kings, not only was Bahamut influencing the entire royal line, but he was also skewing the natural order, preventing any of them from reincarnating. More than a hundred souls that could make a difference, that could potentially put a wrench in the Astral’s plans.)

When Galahd figures out what’s happened, they rally around Nyx because they remember. They know of the rightful King’s betrayal, of the murder of his only son and heir. They loathe the line of Somnus Lucis Caelum, the Usurper, the Kinslayer, with the fury of a thousand burning suns. Even more so they loathe Bahamut, the Draconian, the meddlesome King of Astrals, for his manipulations and his plots, for the curse forced upon the King. And they will not forgive. They will not forget.

Additional Notes:

-Today’s writing is influenced by Breaking Benjamin. The song Torn in Two (lyrics below) seemed fitting for Nyx and I could see Feed the Wolf as a theme for Ardyn.

Is this the way it's gotta be?

Ignite the fire inside of me

Embrace the life of tragedy

A tide of war and broken dreams

I am torn in two

Hold on, hold on

We're barely alive

I am faded through

Hold on, hold on

The fallen arise

I will fight this war for you

And let the dawn of love survive

Broken, I crawl back to life

-Slightly breaking the tradition of Latin/Greek naming conventions since Estelle is technically French, but it comes from Latin originally (also makes Nyx’s name very feminine but whatever) and I was going for a “star of the night” sort of vibe and liked the sound of it.

-As in the original post, Antinous refers to the Greek Antinous who was deified after his death; remembered as a hero or a god or both; as a god was a benevolent healer and conqueror of death.

-Don’t have a concrete age for when Nyx died, though leaning towards younger. I feel like magic would manifest pretty young but more specialized skills like Ardyn’s healing would come later. So maybe Nyx was young enough that they wouldn’t know if he’d inherited it, and Somnus killed him both because of him supporting his father and to preemptively stop him from following in his father’s footsteps. Don’t know yet if I’ll have Nyx actually inherit the healing ability.

-The ‘his king’ bit worked its way in on its own, so I’m going to go with the idea that Ardyn was crowned king, but was only on the throne a short time before Somnus killed him.

-Ramuh probably tells Nyx about what happened to Ardyn and so Nyx makes it his mission to find him again. No idea yet when or where or how that reunion will take place.

[johaerys-writes]

Witcher AU: Viper In Tall Grass

Chapter (3/3): Fast Approaching Dusk

Summary: Tristan of Toussaint is a witcher, his life dedicated to following the Path of the Viper. It is curiosity more than anything that leads him to Emperor Emhyr var Emreis's court. That is where he meets Dorian Pavus, lead sorcerer and advisor to the crown of Nilfgaard, and his life as he knows it changes for good.

They say that destiny is inexorable. Tristan is starting to see the wisdom in that saying.

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

This is the third and final part of the prequel fic I wrote for the as-yet-untitled Witcher AU my beloved potate @solas-disapproves​ and I have been working on! Hope you enjoy!

Warning: Smut under the cut :)

Read here or on AO3!

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

Pain, dull and hollow. Breath, short and panting. Head heavy. Lids heavier. Scattered thoughts, twisted images, broken shards of something that must have been whole, once, a long time before. A young girl’s laugh, blonde hair so pale it almost looked white. Blue eyes so dark they looked like deep, whirling pools. A mirror of his own. The gleaming edge of a dagger in the night. A viper’s forked tongue, flickering. A plunge into a yawning abyss.

Tristan woke up with a gasp, coughing and sputtering, agony spearing his sides. Bright light stabbed his retinas, searing white rays piercing his brain. He reached out, searching for his daggers, oblivious to the pain that flared with his every move. His daggers, he had to find his fucking daggers-

“Easy! Easy. It’s alright. You’re safe. Great Sun Almighty, you’ll undo all your bandages the way you’re thrashing about.”

That smooth, velvet voice made Tristan stop abruptly. He blinked, his vision clearing somewhat. Pavus was kneeling next to him, brows furrowed in concern. Tristan squinted, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the sunlight that was streaming through the foliage overhead, framing Pavus’s face like a halo.

“What- what happened?” Tristan said, his voice a forced croak. He tried to sit up, but the mage’s hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Lie down. You need rest.” He uncorked a water skin, bringing its mouth close to Tristan’s lips. His palm eased behind Tristan’s neck, holding his head steady as he helped him drink. His touch was gentle, caring. Tristan couldn't even remember the last time someone had touched him with so much tenderness. He made a weak attempt to pull away, but as soon as the fresh water reached his lips he realised how parched he was. He drank thirstily, thin streams of liquid running down his cheeks, soaking his hair that clung to the back of his neck. He drank until the water skin was empty, yet he would have gladly drank a couple more. Pavus gently withdrew his hand from under his neck, his fingers soft as they brushed against his skin. He let his head fall back on the makeshift pillow that Pavus had made for him. It felt like one of his cotton undershirts. It smelt like him, too.

“What… where is the Fiend?” he asked, trying to take his mind off of Pavus’s scent that seemed to be everywhere around him all of a sudden.

Pavus quirked an eyebrow as he put the cork back on the waterskin. “Where do you think it is? Lying dead in a bloodied heap, where you left it.”

“Ah.” Tristan took in his surroundings. A merry fire was crackling close to him, its soothing warmth seeping into him through his woollen blanket. A pot was hanging over it, its contents simmering away. Pavus’ bedroll, clean and neatly folded, was almost touching his own. Had he slept next to him all the while Tristan had been unconscious?

The swell of affection that flooded his chest was surprising, and wholly uninvited. Tristan took a breath and cleared his throat in an effort to ease it away. He was still woozy from sleep. Must have been. “How long was I out?”

“Two days. More or less.”

“Two days? Fuck,” Tristan breathed. “What… what happened?”

“What happened? You mean you don’t remember getting skewered by that Fiend’s antlers?”

“Yes, I… I remember.” Tristan winced at the memory of the Fiend’s snout, its foul breath so close to him. Of its burning eye in the darkness, luring him into an agonising end. Of its claws and its deafening roars, and of Pavus's face, pale and drawn as he watched him teetering on the precipice of death. Tristan shook his head gently, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before he opened them again. “What happened after?

“You were half dead by the time I dragged you off that thing. The antler had gone straight through your lung. Healing is not my field of expertise, but I did manage to stem the bleeding somewhat. Couldn’t do much about the scarring, I’m afraid. Had to stitch and wrap the wound with the healing kit I had on me. After that, I came back to fetch my horse and carried you back here.” Pavus let out a sigh, leaning back on his arm. A tiny teasing smile was on his lips when he gazed at him. “You’re much heavier than you look, you know.”

“Right,” Tristan said, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. “Sorry about that.”

Pavus waved absently. “Apologise to my horse. The scent of the Fiend’s blood almost gave him a heart attack. He’s still jittery. The faintest sound can send him off. Your horse seems to be doing splendid, though.”

“She’s used to that sort of thing.”

“I’ve gathered as much.” Pavus stood up, leaning over the pot by the fire as he stirred its contents. When he came to sit back down next to Tristan, he was holding a steaming bowl of stew. “You should eat something. Shall I help you with it?”

Tristan shook his head, propping himself up on his elbow, wincing at the pain in his side. The stew was hot, burning his tongue as he took a spoonful. It tasted faintly of spices. “It’s good.”

“Of course it is,” Pavus said with a smirk. “Certainly much better than that bland porridge you made yesterday.”

Tristan grunted a half hearted assent as he chewed, then nodded at a small pouch that was lying close to the mages’ belongings, stained with blood. “Did you get what you came for?”

“I did.” Pavus glanced over his shoulder, following Tristan’s gaze. “That Fiend won’t be missing its third eye.”

Its third eye. So that was what he’d wanted all along. That was what Emhyr wanted to get his hands on. A Fiend’s third eye was said to have many powers and strange applications, but most of the rumours were simply that; rumours. Superstition. Old wives tales about knights who battled Fiends to obtain their third eye, which would miraculously bring their beloved back to life or that could be given to demons in exchange for riches and power. Tristan doubted his knowledge now. What could the Emperor of Nilfgaard possibly want to do with that eye? What were they up to?

In his dream-like haze, Tristan almost voiced those questions. As soon as he opened his mouth, though, he quickly snapped it shut again. Witchers didn’t ask these sort of questions. Whatever Pavus was looking to do with it, was his own business. And as soon as Tristan was paid the entirety of the gold promised to him, this whole affair would stop being any of his.

“You witchers heal surprisingly quickly,” Pavus said as he watched him eat, stirring him out of his thoughts. “I managed to make you drink one of those healing potions in your pouch while you were unconscious - at least I hope it was a healing potion. It reeked abominably to me. You didn’t die, so I guess it worked, yes?”

“You went through my potions?” Tristan’s eyes widened. “You know they’re highly toxic for anyone that isn't a witcher, right? And how did you know which one to give me?”

“Oh, please. I could recognise the smell of swallow and celandine anywhere. Although there was something else positively horrid in there that I couldn’t quite place.”

“That must have been the drowner brains,” Tristan said, smirking when he saw Pavus’ eyes widening, his nose wrinkling in disgust. “Or the vitriol.”

“The horror,” he breathed, pressing his hand on his chest. “The things you poor fellows have to ingest. No wonder you’re so irritable.” Tristan glowered at him, and Pavus laughed mirthfully under his breath. He gave him a warm smile after his laughter had eased away, letting his gaze glide over Tristan’s features. Tristan felt that familiar flush returning to his cheeks, and he hastily looked away. When the mage spoke again, his voice was soft like a whisper. “It almost got you, you know. I’ve never seen a gash this nasty."

Tristan lifted the blanket that Pavus had draped over him. His armour had been removed to be replaced by soft cotton breeches. The bandages on his chest were clean, freshly changed, the strong smell of antiseptic ointment reaching his nostrils. And soap. A startling realisation suddenly dawned on him, making his breath hitch. Pavus had removed his armour, washed him, dressed his wounds, put him in clean clothes. Pavus had seen him naked. Fuck. Shit.

His face was burning when he swiftly let the blanket fall over him again. “I’ve had worse,” he grumbled, eyes fixed on his bowl of stew, hoping against hope that his furious blush wasn’t as noticeable, although he must have looked red like a pomegranate by then. He scooped up the last of his meal and pushed the bowl away, lying flat on his back with a grunt.

"That’s easy enough for you to say. You didn’t see the wound when it was fresh. If the Fiend's antler had got you just an inch to the right, I'm not certain I would have been able to do much. If it were your spleen instead of your lung you would have bled out before I’d even reached you."

Tristan shrugged indifferently. “Perhaps. But it didn’t. And I-” he shot him a sideways glance as he spoke at him, and his words died in his mouth. There was worry lingering in the mage’s eyes, his brows drawn in a thoughtful frown. Tristan felt irresistibly drawn to that curious silver gaze, like a moth was drawn to light. "I, uh…" he started, gulping thickly. "Thank you. You…" He paused, letting out a low chuckle. It sounded weak and painful. "It seems I owe you my life."

Pavus looked at him quizzically for a long moment, tilting his head to the side. "You think so? It never occurred to me. I could invoke the Law of Surprise, I suppose. That might come in handy."

Tristan frowned at him. Invoking the Law of Surprise was no laughing matter, and he had heard of countless people getting into trouble for merely mentioning it. Pavus huffed in amusement when he noticed his disgruntled expression. "I'm simply joking, naturally. If anything, I owe you my life. If it hadn't been for you jumping onto that beast's head, it would have been me lying where you are now. If I were here at all." Pavus held his gaze, his gaze softening. "If thanks are to be given, then you should have mine."

Tristan's heart fluttered in his chest, a blade of grass trembling with the wind. He licked his lips, swallowing thickly. "You-uh… It-it's alright," he stammered. "You don't have to… You placed yourself in danger, too. If it hadn't been for you drawing the Fiend's attention while it had me in hypnosis-" He shook his head. “You could have ran off, then. Should have, actually. Yet you didn’t.”

"Oh, please. As if I would have left you to die out there. Not when you’d finally started warming up to me."

"I… what?"

Pavus' smile widened. "You grabbed a Fiend quite literally by the antlers to save me. You also haven't snapped or grunted in the last ten minutes. Not much, at least. If that's not warming up, then I'm not sure what is.”

"I don't… that's not-" Tristan frowned, pursing his lips in some desperate attempt to appear stern. “I gave my word to the Emperor that I would see you back safe. Witchers live and die by their word. That's what they should do, at least.”

“Was that the only reason you did it?” Pavus whispered, shifting just an inch closer to him.

Tristan’s first instinct was to edge back, safely away. Instead, he found himself watching him wide eyed, unable to move, a deer before bright lights. “I… I-” He dabbed his lips with his tongue, swallowing thickly. The words left his mouth before he could stop them. “I didn’t want to see you get hurt."

With a soft sigh, Pavus moved closer still, covering the distance between them. His lips were only a hair away from Tristan's when he paused, his breath tickling his skin. "I like you, too.”

As if drawn by a spell, Tristan leaned in, catching his plush, velvet lips in a kiss. The mage moaned softly, fingers threading in Tristan’s hair. Tristan’s hands tangled in his robes when he reached out, pulling him towards him. His injury nipped with his movements, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Pavus’ lips were soft and warm against his, and he tasted of cardamom and cloves, and his fingers were soothing as they smoothed down the sides of his neck. Tristan could almost feel the vibration of his magic running over his skin, tingling, drawing him in.

“I want you,” Tristan whispered. He ran his palm down the mage's back, feeling his muscles under the thick fabric. “I want- I want-”

“I want you, too.” Pavus closed his teeth over Tristan’s bottom lip, nipping and sucking lightly as his hand left his neck to skim carefully over his bandages, palm brushing over the bulge in Tristan’s breeches. Deft fingers slithered under his waistband and it wasn’t long before Tristan groaned against his lips, thrusting into his hand when it wrapped around his hardness. “I want you so much.”

“Yes,” Tristan nodded, hypnotised, riding the waves of pleasure that washed through him, unable to hold back. Everything else around him had faded away, even the pain at his sides, and there was only Pavus there, and his lips, his tongue, his hands- fuck, his hands-

Pavus’ mouth left his own to brush along his jaw, down his neck, along the dip of his chest. Tristan held his breath as he watched him trail ever downwards, every touch sending ripples of electricity down his spine. The mage held his gaze firmly, lips quirked in a teasing smile before they closed over his cock.

Tristan moaned, fingers snaking into Pavus’ hair. His mouth was warm and slick, his tongue smooth like velvet as it pressed against him. He shivered as he was swallowed whole, that rich heat enveloping him until he could think of nothing else. He wondered idly whether he had ever felt anything as pleasant, whether there was anything in the world that would compare to that, to that sweet torture, to that slow, agonising pleasure. His fingers were soft when they curled around the base of his cock, when they caressed his thighs, when they trailed upwards to touch the exposed skin of his chest. His sterling grey eyes were fixed on Tristan’s, his intense gaze stealing the air from his lungs. How had he held himself back from this- from him- all these days? How had he managed to keep his hands off him for so long?

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Tristan rasped, pulling him up. Pavus hovered over him, straddling him. Tristan pried his mouth open with his tongue, the taste of him on Pavus’ lips sending shivers coiling and unraveling through him. He slithered his palms under the mage’s robes, feeling the tight muscles of his thighs, fingers digging at the firm flesh of his buttocks through his smallclothes. He hooked a digit over the waistband, the rich fabric retreating easily under his fingertips. “Silk?” he whispered, and the mage chuckled softly.

“Oh, yes,” he murmured against his lips. “Only the best kind.” He gasped when Tristan pulled at it, the silk fabric ripping at the seams. He edged back to look at him, a stern expression on his features. “You owe me a pair of very expensive underwear, you know.”

“I’ll make it up to you.” Tristan brushed his fingers over Pavus’ mouth, then sighed as those full, luscious lips wrapped around his digits. Sucking gently, caressing them with the flat of his tongue. Teeth closing over his fingertips. Eyes trained on his own. Did Pavus even realise the effect his eyes had on him? Could he see, could he feel the rolling waves of lust that rushed through him with his every glance? The pulse that roared in Tristan’s ears with every touch?

He dragged his fingers out slowly, replacing them with his tongue. “You’re brilliant,” he whispered, voice low and hoarse. “Just bloody brilliant.” He reached down, closing his palm around Pavus’s length, brushing his thumb over the bead of dew that had gathered at the tip. The mage tilted his head back, sighing as Tristan placed a trail of kisses along the underside of his jaw, pumping him slowly. He took a deep breath, letting his rich scent fill his lungs.“And you smell so… so-”

“Yes?” Pavus breathed, reaching out for his bag, rummaging through its contents until he pulled out a small vial. He dropped some of the liquid on his palm, then reached down between them to smooth it over Tristan’s shaft.

Tristan’s mouth watered when the spicy scent of the oil reached his nostrils. His pulse quickened, a hot white rush that surged through him in a wave. “You smell so-” he grunted softly, thrusting in Pavus’ hand. “You-you smell... incredible.”

“What else do you like about me?” the mage asked, carefully angling Tristan at his entrance.

“You’re- ah- you-” Tristan’s eyes rolled back at the contact. He clenched his jaw, fingers sinking in Pavus’s thigh. “Your mouth. Your lips. Your skin. Your eyes. They’re beautiful. You’re-” He gazed up at him, running his tongue over his lips. “You’re beautiful.”

Pavus leaned down, brushing his nose over his. “You’re not that bad looking yourself,” he whispered, his lips curved in a smirk.

Tristan groaned at the back of his throat as the mage sank slowly, ever so slowly over his hardness, as the tip of his cock slipped inside his tight heat. “Fuck, this is- this is-”

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Pavus said breathlessly, taking him in a little deeper. A deep flush had risen up his cheeks when he quirked an eyebrow at him. “Makes you feel like an idiot for not doing it sooner, yes?”

Tristan rolled his eyes and huffed in exasperation, though it was half hearted. Mainly because Pavus was right. “You talk too much,” he grunted, cupping his neck to pull his lips down to his, hips bucking upwards a bit more. He kissed him deeply, tongue caressing the roof of his mouth, drinking in the gasps that escaped Pavus as he thrust lightly, shallowly until he was sheathed to the hilt.

“Yes- Sun, yes-” the mage moaned, grinding helplessly against him. He was tight -fuck, was he tight- deliciously warm, infernally good. He pushed into him over and over, chasing every sliver of that sweet bliss. Pavus threw his head back when Tristan closed his fist over his cock, pumping him in time with his thrusts. “Yes- harder, please…”

The breathiness, the need in his voice, the flush of his cheeks, his glistening lips, they made the roaring fire that flooded Tristan’s chest soar to something uncontrollable. He gripped his hips, dragging him down as he surged up, driving himself deeper. His pulse was buzzing in his ears, warmth surging through him with every thrust, his breath catching in his throat, his breath-

Tristan stopped abruptly, his head falling back against the pillow as his lungs spasmed, seeking more air. His hold on Pavus’s hips tightened, holding him steady. “Wait,” he croaked, voice thick and strained.

The mage blinked at him, lifting himself up. “What? What happened?” He was panting, sweat gathering on his brow. It glowed in the evening sun, like beads of golden dew.

Tristan gulped, inhaling slowly through his nose. “I just- I need to catch my breath.” His wound stabbed him every time his chest rose and fell, making it hard to speak. Pavus was watching him wide-eyed, sitting perfectly still on top of him.

“Are you alright? Shall we stop?” he asked, anxiously searching his face. He shifted where he was, lifting himself up. “Perhaps I should-”

Tristan grabbed him tightly, pulling him back down. “Don’t- don’t move,” he rasped. He winced as his lung stabbed at him, and he felt the mage’s back stiffen, saw his eyes widen in concern. Tristan let out a slow exhale, caressing Pavus’s sides under his robes. His muscles were tight underneath his smooth skin, and Tristan let his fingers glide over them, tracing the line that led to his navel with his thumb. “Let’s just take it slow.” He languidly ran his fist down the mage’s length, watching with keen eyes as his eyes rolled back and his lips parted on a moan. “I want to feel you. Really feel you.”

“Slow. Yes.” Pavus nodded, breathless. “I want to feel you, too. You feel so good. So hard. So thick. So-” He rocked against him, palms bracing on the ground on either side of Tristan’s head. He was moving slowly, infuriatingly slowly, but his pace did nothing to quell the roaring blaze of want that surged through him. If nothing else, it kindled it even more.

Tristan fumbled with the buttons and buckles of Pavus’s clothes as the mage rode him - what need was there for all these blasted buckles, anyway?- until he was blissfuly bare, his robes discarded beside them. Until he was hovering over him in nothing but his skin. And what a glorious skin that was - smooth like velvet, rich like caramel, catching the rays of the setting sun, glowing. Tristan dragged his palm down his torso, feeling the contours of his taut muscles. He sighed when he brushed his thumb over a raised nipple, the tight nub stiffening under his touch. Pavus’s teeth closed over Tristan’s bottom lip, his hand slithering in Tristan’s hair as he moaned, as he picked up his pace, lowering himself over and over on his cock. “Tristan,” he breathed, long fingers wrapping around his strands, pulling. “Oh, Tristan-”

His name, spoken in Pavus’s breathless voice, was enough to set his blood aflame. Before he could stop to think, he gripped the mage tightly, shifting his weight to flip him on his back. The wound nipped under the bandage, and he winced in pain, biting the inside of his lip.

The mage gaped at him. “Wait- your injury-” he started, but only managed to let out a loud moan when Tristan thrust eagerly back into him.

“Fuck my injury,” Tristan grunted, crashing his mouth against Pavus’ again, ignoring the pain in his side as their lips touched, chasing every other thought and sensation away. There was nothing else in the world but him, his velvet heat warming him to his very core, his scent that flooded his senses, the taste of him that lingered on his tongue when he brushed it over his throat. He pushed harder, as hard as he could, hooking an arm under his leg to burrow more of his cock inside him.

Pavus’s head fell back, his fingers digging into Tristan’s shoulder blades as Tristan drove himself deeper. The mage’s lips that pressed against the side of his neck, the streams of garbled sentences and curses that ran over Tristan’s skin as he reached down to stroke himself in time with Tristan’s thrusts, his eyes that rolled back with his climax, they were all too much, far too much. The heat and tension that had coiled in his gut burst into something white hot and blinding as he shuddered, letting the vibrations of Pavus's ecstasy wash through him.

Tristan collapsed on top of him, suddenly feeling every last bit of his strength leaving him. His limbs ached and trembled, and the skin at his sides tingled when Pavus ran his palms over it. With soft, careful movements, the mage rolled him on to his back, his fingers lingering on him for just a breath before sitting up to pull a blanket over them both. They lay next to each other for a long while, the chirping of the birds and their own breaths, gradually softening, the only sounds between them.

Tristan inhaled deeply, taking in the quiet of the moment. He watched Pavus from the corner of his eye, studying his languid movements. His heavy lids, fluttering softly. The thin film of sweat that still clung to his brow. He wondered idly whether it had all really happened, or whether the past half hour or so was part of a fever induced dream. A wonderful dream, yes, but a dream nonetheless.

Pavus shifted were he lay, curling his arm under his head. “You can just look at me, you know,” he said sleepily. “You don’t have to peek.”

Tristan frowned, turning away. “I am not peeking.”

“Yes, you are. You’ve been doing it ever since the moment you saw me.”

Tristan’s cheeks flared hot and bright, and he cleared his throat irritably. “I’ve been doing nothing of the sort.”

“For someone who prides themselves on their stealth skills, you’re not very subtle.”

Tristan rolled his eyes, huffing. “Are you always so mouthy, Pavus?”

“Well, of course I am,” the mage chuckled. “It’s one of my greatest assets. Something to which you yourself can attest.” He propped himself up on his elbow to fix him with a pointed look. “And, by the way, my name isn’t Pavus.”

“What?”

“My name. It’s not Pavus. It’s Dorian.”

“I know what your name is,” Tristan grumbled, pursing his lips. He felt like a petulant child all of a sudden.

“You know it, yet you never use it.” He leaned closer, brushing his nose over his. “Just try it. It’s not that difficult. Dorian. Do-ri-an.”

Tristan took a tremulous breath, resisting the urge to surge forward and run the flat of his tongue over those full, glistening lips. “Dorian,” he said after a brief moment of hesitation, poignantly drawing the vowels out. “There. Happy?”

“Very.” Dorian flashed him a wide smile, his finger tracing the raised scar on Tristan’s collarbone. “Now that we’ve learned the basics, we can move on to something more advanced, yes? Let’s start with… ‘You look positively splendid today, Dorian’. That’s always nice to hear. Or ‘I thoroughly enjoy your company, Dorian’. Or ‘Your wit and charm is unparalleled, Dorian’. Or…”

Tristan pulled him down for a deep, passionate kiss, their tongues twining. “You drive me mad, Dorian.”

Dorian laughed against his lips, pressing his body closer against his. “I love hearing that, too,” he whispered. “Especially when it comes from you.”

**

The days of travel until they got back to Vizima rolled by swiftly, much more swiftly than Tristan would have liked. Even more than he would care to admit. The long hours on the saddle by day, listening to Dorian’s voice, drinking in the sound of his laugh. The longer hours at night, when they lay together by the fire until the early morning rays found them. It was as if Tristan was in a constant dream-like haze, his mind filled with thoughts of him, the taste of him, the feel of him. Pure, unfiltered bliss. Ecstasy in slow motion.

When the tall towers of the palace of Vizima rose before them, it was as if someone had stabbed him in the spleen and left him for dead in a shallow ditch.

They didn’t exchange too many words as they solemnly rode through the town’s tidy cobblestone streets. The people parted when they passed, with quick, uneasy looks at Dorian’s magnificent horse, Tristan’s armour and the amulet hanging about his neck. A few even flinched when they met his eyes, praying to their gods under their breath.

Dorian’s expression was serious and grim when their horses’ hooves reached the stone bridge that arched over the deep, broad moat that separated the castle from the rest of the world. They both dismounted, reluctantly handing their reins to the stable boys that rushed out to get their steeds. Var Heid was already waiting for them by the inner courtyard. He gave them both a small bow, hawk like eyes examining them when he straightened back up.

“Was the gentlemen’s journey satisfactory?”

“As a matter of fact, it was,” Dorian said with a sickly sweet smile. “But it was also long and tiring. So, you will excuse us if we go straight to our rooms, yes? I could use a bath.”

Var Heid’s gaze fleeted to Tristan, no doubt taking in every detail of his appearance. “I can imagine,” he said flatly. “I am afraid this is not possible. The Emperor has requested to see you as soon as you arrive.”

“I see.” Dorian straightened up, brushing his palms over his robes, then shot Var Heid a contemptuous look. “Well? What are we waiting for?”

Var Heid sniffed as he turned around, leading them through the castle. Dorian rolled his eyes behind the steward’s back, his lips pursed in an annoyed frown. Damn it. He was beautiful even when he was irked. Perhaps even more so then.

A sharp pang of bitterness drove through Tristan as he followed him through the narrow corridors, secretly wishing for Var Heid to take the long way to the Emperor's office.

A short while later, Tristan was walking back out of the palace, his coin pouch significantly heavier than it was before. The sun was setting, casting its waning golden light upon the world as he made his way to the stables. Almond neighed softly when she saw him, chewing on some fresh straw. He reached out, stroking her forehead, letting his gaze drift past the stable window, over the tall mountains in the distance.

So. It was him, Almond and the vast Continent once more.

“We’ll manage, won’t we, girl?” he whispered. “We always do.”

“Are you talking to… your horse?”

Tristan turned around at the sound of Dorian’s voice. The mage was leaning against the door of the stables, watching him. A soft smile spread on his features, interest flashing in his sterling grey eyes.

“I spend a lot of time on the road by myself,” Tristan replied. “One develops certain habits when they’re alone for so long.”

Dorian chuckled softly, pushing himself off the door. He sauntered towards him, hips swaying ever so slightly. “My initial assessment of you was correct, it seems. You are sentimental.”

“So was mine,” Tristan retorted. “You are mouthy.”

“Was that really your initial assessment of me?”

They gazed at each other for a long moment before Dorian’s lips widened in a smile. Tristan let out a low, throaty laugh, letting his arms fall to his sides when Dorian took a step closer to him.

“So,” he said quietly, “this is it, isn’t it?”

Tristan's stomach tightened uneasily. Dorian's scent was hypnotizing, his lips so close to his, his eyes glittering, drawing him in. The light of the golden setting sun reflecting on his features, making him look as if he were aglow. Tristan ran his tongue over his bottom lip, suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to take him into his arms, pull him down atop the hay and make love to him until the sun rose again. “I believe it is.”

Dorian’s finger trailed down his arm, sending shivers through him everywhere it touched. He leaned closer, brushing his lips against his. Tristan closed his eyes, tasting the spices on his tongue, drawing on his focus to discern every detail, every hidden undertone, etching the memory firmly in his mind. They kissed gently for a long moment, light touches that made Tristan’s skin prickle.

“Drop by sometime, will you?” he murmured against his lips, pushing a lock of hair behind Tristan’s ear.

“That is not up to me,” Tristan replied, a tinge of sorrow in his voice. “Witchers go where destiny takes them.”

Dorian brushed his nose over his. “You might be able to figure something out,” he whispered. “If that is what you want.”

Tristan leaned into his touch, helplessly drawn to him. He wanted to be close to him, as close as he could, for as long as he could. He reached out, fingers skimming his waist, itching to pull him into a tight embrace. With a soft sigh, Dorian took a step back. He held his gaze firmly, silver meeting slitted amber.

“So long, Tristan of Toussaint,” he said with a small bow of his head. He turned around, pausing to shoot him a glance over his shoulder. “Don’t be a stranger.”

Tristan stared after him, long after his form had disappeared around the stable doors. “So long,” he whispered to the swiftly approaching dusk.

[laurelsofhighever]

Chapter Rating: Mature Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Fereldan Civil War AU - No Blight, Romance, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Cousland Feels, Hurt/Comfort Summary: Alistair and Rosslyn end up somewhere they don’t expect.

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She sat tall in her saddle at the head of the column of riders, the salt breeze stirring against her face, tugging at her hair and the deep blue cloak arrayed over her horse’s quarters, while the jingle of harness rang like the clamour of Satinalia bells in her ears. She didn’t need to look behind her to see the array of the knights who followed her banner raising dust along the length of the Cullodhne Road, gleaming so brightly in their armour they seemed less flesh and blood than a trail of sapphires led on a silver string, like something out of legend.

On her right hand, Highever was laid out under the cloudless Kingsway sky, industrious as a beehive. Boats bobbed on the incoming tide, flashing signals to one another and to the dock workers to communicate their cargo, and further into the city itself smoke rose from the smithies, the bakeries, from the eternal fires lit in the various chantries scattered through the streets. The Orlesians had left it a wreck, blockaded as it had been during the Rebellion by Clayne pirates and abandoned by all but beggars and the most stalwart fisherfolk, but her father’s careful investment had mixed well with the forthright determination of his people, and bit by bit, like a kennelmaster nursing a starved whelp, the city had returned to prosperity. Now it sat, the third jewel in the crown of Ferelden’s northern coastlands, sleek on the riches brought south from all over the world.

And her gaze stretched beyond it, to the basalt cliffs that hid ribbed flats of silver sand and sparkling rock pools beneath their skirts, and as far again in the other direction, until the blue haze of distance stole all detail and blurred land and sky against the horizon. Stubbled wheat fields and rolling pastures dotted with livestock gave way to deep forest that fluffed like discarded bobbles of felting with the distance, but which grew tall with ash and oak and sheltered dense populations of game under their eaves.

A thought itched in Rosslyn’s mind, despite the beauty of the day, like there was something she had misplaced. The gates of Castle Cousland stood ahead, another hour’s ride away at the end of the road, the keep couched above the town like a lioness watching over her tumbling cubs. Squinting against the glare, she scanned the walls, though for what she did not know.

“Is it good to be home?”

She turned to Alistair, on her left on a great bay charger. “I can’t quite believe it yet.”

He reached across the space between their mounts to take her hand. His oak-bronze eyes softened with his smile, lending her strength and maybe taking some for himself too. Surely she should be allowed a little pride at having caught him, all handsome lines and wind-ruffled hair and laughter, a fierce warrior and a good man and hers.

“I love you,” she said, and he beamed.

They reached the castle gates to the clarion notes of a fanfare. People lined each side of the road, waving strips of brightly coloured cloth like pennants as they strewed wildflowers beneath the horses’ hooves. As the delicate stems were crushed, their sweet, herby scent rose as a greeting and Rosslyn sat a little straighter, determined to match the grandeur of the celebration. Her horse tossed its head. She had to let go of Alistair’s hand to manage it. They passed into the shadow of the barbican, clattering over the hollow boards of the wolf-pit to reach the second portcullis, and emerged again into the airy, gravelled space of the bailey. The Laurels flew from every pole, from the battlements and the towers and the tips of the standard-bearers’ pikes, framing the straight path to the keep in an undulating sea of blue silk.

Her parents waited for her at the top of the steps. For some reason her eyes darted to the western gate, but the shiver passed as her horse pranced sideways against the bit, and she dug her heels into its flank to keep it grounded.

A third figure waited behind her parents. As she dismounted, he stayed far enough back that all she saw of him was a shock of feathery white hair and beard blown over rich furs, but she turned to hand the reins to the groom that had emerged from the throng and thought no more about the details of his face. Alistair stepped closer to her, using their horses as a shield. With soft eyes, he leaned in and brushed his hand along her elbow, briefly enough to look like he was steadying her, lightly enough that she wished all the layers of her armour gone.

“I know there are people watching, but I really want to kiss you right now,” he murmured.

“Save it,” she teased, with a playful glance to his mouth. “Give me two kisses later.”

“Only two?”

Side by side they climbed the steps, Rosslyn with her stomach churning and the relief of home settling over her shoulders like a mantle. Feeling too hot, she tugged her gauntlets off her fingers and twisted them through her hands. Bryce and Eleanor came forward before she even reached the top, and smiled as they enveloped her in a hug, armour and all, holding close for a tight, desperate moment before they pulled back to welcome Alistair as well.

Her father bowed. “Your Highness, I am honoured to meet you at last.”

Alistair flushed to the roots of his hair. “And you – I mean, the honour is mine, Your Lordship,” he stammered, slinking into himself as he always did when his lack of confidence overcame him. For a moment he stumbled, caught off-guard by the two benign expressions, but when he glanced sideways Rosslyn lent him an encouraging nod, and the happiness clear in her eyes allowed his shyness to melt away.  

He cleared his throat. “Highever Is just as beautiful as I imagined it,” he said, and earned another proud smile from Rosslyn. “I’ve been told so much about it.”

“No doubt,” Eleanor replied on her husband’s arm. “But we must thank you for the help you have given our daughter.”

“Who, me? I mostly just cheered from the sidelines.”

“Alistair –”

Bryce laughed. “Handsome and modest to boot! Looks like you were right when you told Fergus you didn’t need any help to find a husband, Pup.”

“Bryce!”

“Hus–?” Rosslyn froze. “No, he’s – we’re not –”  

“Talk for another day, I see,” her father allowed, rubbing the spot on his arm where Eleanor had swatted him. “Well, no rush, as long as all stays fair. In any case, there’s someone else here who wishes to see you.”

He turned with an expansive gesture to the man waiting behind them. In the breath of space it left them, Rosslyn passed a squirming look at Alistair, expecting to see relief in his features now that her father’s scrutiny had been directed elsewhere. It was there, in the quirk of a brow and the tilt of his jaw, but it warred with a curious lift to his mouth that she didn’t know how to interpret. Before she could ask him what was on his mind, however, the expression disappeared in a shock of recognition as the old man finally stepped into their circle.

“King Maric!”

Startled, Rosslyn hurried to mirror Alistair’s bow, but the king made a noise of displeasure and waved the gesture away, as if such formality were out of place. The movement unsettled the mantle of wolf furs that bundled him against the chill of the autumn air, exposing the rich, embroidered cuff of his tunic. Up close, the white of his hair still retained a golden sheen, weak as winter sunlight, framing a pale face with the same square jaw and straight nose as both of his sons. A pair of washed-out, tired blue eyes regarded them from beneath a stern brow, but the moment eased and the frown melted into a kind smile as the old man reached out and laid his hands on Alistair’s shoulders. There was barely an inch of height to separate them.

“My son,” the king said in a quiet voice.

Rosslyn looked away, not wanting to intrude.

Maric’s smile faltered when Alistair remained too stunned to reply, but he seemed to share Cailan’s implacable nature, and recovered well. “Let me look at you, all grown – you’ve surpassed all my hopes for you, you know. Ferelden owes you a great debt, and your name – both your names – will be spoken for ages to come.”

“Father…” The word tripped from Alistair’s tongue, unfamiliar, guarded against all the things he did not say.

“You should be proud of the man you have become,” Maric told him. “As I am – especially given your excellent taste in companions. Will you introduce me?”

Startled into manners, the younger man stood back and brought Rosslyn forward with a gesture, remembering to let her bow before giving her name. Behind them, her parents’ attention was turned by the arrival of a servant, who whispered in Bryce’s ear before scurrying away again.

“Your Highness,” Eleanor called, “forgive the intrusion, but preparations are being made for this evening’s feast. since it isn’t for a few hours yet, would you like to get settled first?”

“Everyone is eager to see you,” her husband added next to her. “The two Heroes of Ferelden given a proper homecoming at last.”

“Your rooms have been prepared, if you would all follow…”

The brightness of the day gave over to the dim interior of the castle’s entrance hall, with its familiar gold-threaded tapestries and the view out onto the courtyard garden brimming with colour. Guards stood at attention in their alcoves. As Rosslyn lagged behind with her father and Alistair, rich, savoury smells wafted up from below, like in every celebration of her childhood, and without anything particular to take her attention, she drifted into memory. When she had last been here, garlands of holly and ivy had arched above doorways, twined with red glass beads and baubles enchanted to glitter like stars.  

The image made her uneasy, the same anxious flutter beneath her ribs that she had first felt… When? She knew it well, as the fire that sang through every nerve before a battle, but the details escaped, slipping through her mind like grains of sand through her fingers. Her disquiet must have shown on her face, because a hand brushed against hers, too casual to be noticed by anyone else, but deliberate enough that Alistair’s fingers didn’t move away when she returned the gesture.

Her father had pulled ahead slightly, lost in the castle’s rambling history, and didn’t notice them falling behind. It was a well-worn speech, the same one offered to all new visitors, though some bore it with more grace than others; Oriana’s parents had made it three hours and four ages back before the dainty Lady Ophelia had ‘twisted her ankle’ and begged them both out of climbing the tower. And yet, the comfort of the familiar words could not drown out the doubt in her mind that pricked at her like hailstones, drawing her in all directions like the echo of a shout across a foggy heath.

“What did we do?” she asked, when the wrongness finally clicked.

“What’s that, Pup?”

Her mother had turned, too, already five steps up the central staircase with the king.

“His Majesty said Ferelden owed us a debt,” she clarified, with an uneasy glance at Alistair. “But for what? I have no memory of it.”

Maric tutted. “No memory of routing the last of the rebel forces and saving us all? You are too modest, my lady. My son, surely you haven’t forgotten your victory?” He smiled, but the expression looked hollow as new ice, and the gap in her memory glared wider, insistent.

“There was the war…” Alistair tried. He scratched his head.

“The war is won,” Eleanor told him. She looked imperious, standing at the top of the stairs, her face backlit in sharp angles by the windows, her hair pulled back in neat braids except where loose strands fell around her face…

Rosslyn tasted bile. “You died.” Months of nightmares, the revulsion crawling across her skin, those last cold, desolate moments atop Harrowhill with the weight of the Cousland sword on her hip. “Howe killed you and put your heads above the western gate.”

“The men who told you were mistaken, Pup,” her father replied, laying a hand on her arm. “Howe got what he deserved, thanks to you, and you should be proud of that, but you’ve been too long in battle. You have forgotten the feel of peace, that’s all this worry is.”

She shook him off. “What men who told me?”

The challenge hung in the air. Her eyes, locked with her father’s, stared him down, waiting for a crack, a flinch, anything that might reveal what was really going on. A hand twitched towards the sword still buckled at her side.

“Come now,” Maric chuffed, catching the movement. “What manners are these? Is it not enough that we are all here, whole and well, and ready to celebrate?”

“King Maric died at sea.” Alistair spoke quietly, but he had shifted his weight further behind Rosslyn, and his hand, too, had reached for his sword.

“Shipwrecked, and a long time coming back to my rightful place,” came the reply. “You know this. I don’t understand why you’re both being so stubborn.”

“Pup, it’s time for you to rest,” Bryce said, and turned to Alistair. “You know she pushes herself too hard, doesn’t give herself the credit she deserves.”

“Yes…” He shook his head. “I mean, she does – you do – but this isn’t right.”

“Howe is still out there,” she insisted. “The war isn’t over.”

“Nonsense,” Eleanor snapped. “You are safe. There is no war, and you should be proud of your role in ending it.”

But Alistair was frowning. “We were in the tower, at the Circle. The last thing I remember was… Uldred – we were fighting him to save the mages.”

A flash blinked in Rosslyn’s mind, an image of dark stone and a looming monster, shards of black energy scattering across the floor. But a fog closed around it, cutting it off like a dream. Her father once more touched her arm, his smile kindly, his eyes soft.

“That’s not your concern,” he told her. “All we want is for you to stay here, and take your rightful places as –”

“You’re not real,” Alistair interrupted. “None of this is.”

Rosslyn stepped back, out of reach, sword drawn. “My father would never say such a thing, not while there was still fighting left to be done.”

An instant passed in which it seemed her father would try cajoling again, but they stood firm, side by side, and as he looked from one to the other his face collapsed into a snarl too twisted to be human. Ambient sound dropped like the sudden cease of a storm. Behind the demon, the castle blurred and shimmered, its details and those of the other players dissolving without the need to hold onto the illusion. Only the floor beneath their feet remained steadfast, solid enough to ground her as she drew her sword.

“You couldn’t just be happy, could you?” the Not-Bryce growled at her. “I would have given you everything you wanted, let you live the dream of everything you ever hoped coming true.” It circled them. “What fools you are – you delight in struggle, and wriggling like little hooked worms instead of the hawks you might have been. Even you, Lady Falcon.”

It made to lunge, starting forward with a hiss, and its hands curled into claws, but pulled up short before it reached them, head cocked as if listening to something.

“No – no,” it muttered. “They are mine. They are mine. You won’t interfere.” It shook itself, growing sinister and stretched out even as it kept Bryce Cousland’s form. Its words echoed with a second voice beneath the one it had borrowed. “You bring this on yourselves. If you will not give me your pride, I will take your pain, and such exquisite pain it shall be.”

Two guards leapt from nothingness and grabbed for Alistair. He cried out, but before Rosslyn could reach for him the blurred world dissolved into black, swallowing him with it. She stumbled, whirled, found the demon smirking at her turmoil.

“Yes,” It sneered. “I feel your pride. Fight me, give it to me, give me strength…”

She raised her sword. “You do not get to wear my father’s face.”

--  

The doors of the harrowing chamber burst open. Almost before the first abominations could turn, arrows took them in the throat. Soldiers roared, demons squealed, and in the confusion of the clash of metal and bone, Cailan stormed through, a war cry on his lips, resplendent despite the ichor staining his golden armour. His greatsword cleaved through everything that rose in his path as he wielded grace and violence in equal parts, and in moments the ragged line that had managed to form against him collapsed. He faced the thing that had once been Uldred. Only the barest traces of humanity were left in its face, in the carapace just barely clinging to its old proportions and the grin that stretched too wide with too many teeth. Energy crackled between its claws as it turned towards him, dark tendrils that coiled down and wrapped around the two motionless figures at its feet.

“Do you worry for your friends, little king?” it boomed when it saw the direction of its gaze. “Do you think to save them? Your pride will undo you.”

Cailan laughed at it. “I’ve roasted larger game than you, piglet! Come taste my blade and die on it!”

He charged, roaring, but the headlong rush was more controlled than the demon believed. As it swiped for him he dodged, rolled, came up under its guard and neatly sliced through the soft skin behind its knee. The demon howled, crashing to the floor as its hamstring was severed. Fade being it might be, but it had trapped itself in a mortal body, in the limitations and the pain of the physical world, and its grip on that reality seemed to be weakening. Unfocused, it lashed out, catching the templar on Cailan’s left, and one of its own kind as it tried again. The king parried the blow as he ducked out of the way again, and this time – there, beneath the arm. He sprang like a cat, thrusting his entire weight behind the point of his sword, straight into the exposed inch of flesh beneath the monster’s arm. The steel pierced deep, first through muscle and bone and then into the cavity of the chest. The roar became a gurgle, then a rattle of air. Blackish blood surged over Cailan’s greaves, into his boots, making him slip as he darted out of reach of the still-flailing arms, but as he swung to face his next opponent, he found the last abomination falling to his captain’s sword.  

Across the other side of the room, one of the templars was loosening the bonds on the remaining mages, and another had taken charge of the warrior who had accompanied Rosslyn and Alistair into the tower. All around, the carnage of the battle was being settled, picked through with the grim efficiency of soldiers practiced in war. Seeing himself not needed for the time being, Cailan wiped his sword clean on his cloak and sheathed it, shucking the confines of his helmet before turning to the two figures on which the demon had been feeding. Alistair was already awake, but Rosslyn still lay sprawled upon the stone, her face exposed and pale, all but unresponsive to the sound of her name or the hand on her cheek.

Slowly, she stirred, groaned, pushed herself onto her elbows and rolled upright, pressing her fingers to her temple. Alistair’s voice came low and soothing in her ear, his arm a support around her shoulders that she leaned into him like a small creature huddling from the cold, bringing their heads so close they seemed to shut out the whole world.

“… And I killed him,” she said. “I killed him. My hands – the blood –”

“It wasn’t real.” His hand covered hers. “We were in the Fade, and it was toying with us.”

“I - Your Majesty!”

They parted like scolded children, and Cailan, like a worried parent, found his hands going to his hips.

“You both seem determined to age me prematurely,” he huffed. “Not content with a failed assassination, you decide to storm a tower full to the brim with demons! It was well done with the rest of the brutes, but it seems lucky I decided not to wait – that last one nearly had you.”

Rosslyn frowned. “We would have defeated it.”

“You’ve been missing for two days.”

“Two –?”

“I had to threaten Greagoir with exile before he would let me help.”

Alistair sat up straighter. “Did he force the Annulment?”

The king shook his head. “Luckily for you, Val Royeaux is a long way off, and your heroics managed to give first Enchanter Irving a chance to slip away and explain the situation.”

But Rosslyn was still frowning. “How were we lost for two days? It was still afternoon when… Where is Enchanter Amell – and lieutenant Cullen?”

“They’re being seen to,” came the reply. “You’ll all be weak after so long without food, hold on – you there! Fetch water and some tack from the stores.”

With Cailan’s attention diverted, Rosslyn let herself sway against Alistair once again. “Two days…”

He traced a thumb along her cheek. “We were trapped in the Fade,” he reasoned. “Maybe time is distorted there? But we survived it, and that’s what matters. The Circle is safe and now Greagoir has no reason to allow the Annulment.”

A wet chuckle interrupted them. Uldred’s body twitched, its form shrunk back to moderate size now that the demon had been slain both here and in the Fade, but the transformation had left sagging folds of flesh poking through the ruined clothes like loose sails. As they watched, he hauled himself onto his front, head lolling, his breath a harsh rattle in his throat.

“You think it so – so easy?” he babbled. Blood trickled between his lips. “You have – only delayed the inevitable.”

“I see no victory for you,” Rosslyn snapped. “Your army lies dead, and the mages and templars still live. You failed.”

The mage’s eyes rolled back in his head, his words seemingly more for himself than his audience. “Loghain will come for you – all of you. And you will not – be able to – you won’t stop him. He can’t be stopped.”

“Loghain told you to turn yourself into an abomination and go on a murderous rampage, did he?” Alistair scoffed.

Cailan returned, his eyes narrowed and his mouth set in a grim line. “He is just a man,” he said. “Even if he did orchestrate this tragedy.”

“Another one to add to the list.”

“He promised us an end!” Uldred cried. “To fear – a life free of the Chantry’s leash – and I – would have gladly served. But you don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

The chamber rang with the harshness of the mage’s laugh. “You pretend you have no fear, but it knows you – all of you, what you cry out into the night, and – you will fail.”

“What knows us?” Rosslyn demanded, struggling to her knees.

“I am not the only one to seek help in the Fade.” Sightless eyes turned on her. “His ally is more ancient and powerful than anything – you can imagine. He will use it to burn you to ash, and I –”

“I’ve heard enough of this.”

There was a bright swipe through the air, and a wet thud as Uldred’s head was separated from his body and rolled away across the floor. Cailan stood over him, sword still raised, staring down at the corpse with nothing but revulsion in his face. After a moment, he shook himself, sighed, and crossed to kneel beside Rosslyn, taking a waterskin from his belt that he pushed into her hands. She took it without a word.

“It is over,” he said. “Brother, can I trust you to watch her? I must organise the relief and get word to Knight-Commander Greagoir.”

Alistair barely spared the king a glance. He nodded, already helping Rosslyn to her feet, ignoring his own dizziness and the weakness of his legs as he led her to a chunk of fallen rubble at the edge of the room. She stared at the floor as he knelt in front of her and shed his gloves, and only reacted when he pulled hers off too and chafed his palms over her fingers to warm them up.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry it took their faces.”

She blinked, softening as she caught up to what he was saying. “That’s not what… It tricked you, too.”

“It’s not the same for me,” he replied, still with her hand in his. “It’s not like Maric and I were close.”

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.”

He offered her a weak smile, a huff of laughter and a cautious look to see if they might be overheard. “My lady is too wise for me.”

“That cannot be,” she answered, leaning closer, “because my prince is not a fool.”

“Only a fool in love.” But he stopped short before he could kiss her.

Around them, the remaining mages helped to the lower levels by members of the royal guard, Amell was channelling a glow of healing energy into Cullen’s unconscious form, and the ichorous stain where Uldred had fallen had been scattered with sand from a bucket in the corner. Her eyes fixed on it, the levity of the past few moments falling away into a frown.

“A demon. He’s in thrall to a demon.”

Alistair followed her gaze. “If a demon’s manipulating Loghain, it explains why he’s dealing with Tevinter, maybe even why he started the war,” he reasoned.

“You don’t understand.” A muscle ticked in her jaw. She sighed to steady herself. “I… I almost gave him Highever.”

“What?”

“When I was escorting Baudrillard to the border, I drafted letters in case he betrayed us, declaring a turn of allegiance if – in case I was killed.”

His eyes went wide. “But that’s –”

“Treason. I know. I thought it would be the lesser of two evils in the face of an invasion from Orlais, but… now? A demon?” She sank her head into her arms. “I can’t believe I was so stupid.”

Gently taking her hand again, Alistair eased down next to her. Around them, the clearing of bodies continued without talk. Most of the dead were mages who had refused to yield to Uldred and his abominations, and they had been discarded for far longer than a mere two days, though with the pressure of magic in the air, the corpses had been preserved. The templars’ blank faceplates betrayed no emotion as they worked in pairs to lift each one to the lower floors, but they were focussed on the work.

“You couldn’t have known,” Alistair murmured, once the nearest templar was out of earshot. “What happened to the letters?”

“Burned. Gideon saw to it.”

He nodded, relieved. “Can you stand?”

“I may even be able to walk,” she replied, nudging against his shoulder. “Good thing too – it looks like we’re about to get our marching orders.”

Cailan appeared at the top of the stairs, his sombre mood already stuffed behind his usual joviality, his steps picking around the rubble still left on the floor.  

“They’re going to house us in the barracks, Travers here is going to show you where it is,” he told them. “I can take care of the rest for now.”  

“Did we thank you for rescuing us yet? Because we’re really grateful.”

The pair staggered to their feet, using each other for balance, their armour as much a support as a hindrance for exhausted limbs. Hunger gnawed at Alistair’s belly almost worse than the cramp in his muscles. He stretched, as far as his plate allowed, and tried to hide the purse of his lips when Cailan offered Rosslyn his arm.  

He wants to marry you, actually, he had said, with a serpent of jealousy coiling black in his gut. As if she hadn’t already woken up beside him and confessed that she loved him. He put the feeling to the back of his mind, along with the realisation that they might have discussed telling Cailan, but they hadn’t expected to meet him so soon. How would they broach the subject? What would they say? The answer could wait for morning. For now, he was content to follow, and leave the nightmare behind.

[twitchesandstitches]

Commission for @alt-hammer, who asked for a story centering around a fantasty-themed AU where the major troll families are nobles, and focusing on Cronus seeing his long time girlfriend Porrim in person, along with her family of fellow gravid vampires!

-----

The land was scarred by ancient wars long since forgotten, but the land still remembered. Sometimes the memories were bad, with some bright spots.

This was the understanding according to the sages of the Leijon tribes in the dark forests, and the blind seers of Pyrope lands rarely liked to venture out there for fear of what their mystic gaze might reveal, and the great desert was the worst of it all. A terrible scar upon the world, it lay in a region where rain should have fallen, with no mountains for a great distance, and the climate was fairC. There should have been no deserts at all.

But their land was one with a dark and troubled history; war had touched it often, no less than the recent conflicts that had produced the modern noble houses of the troll lands and their human allies, and those wars had left terrible scars. Most of the points of civilization were islands of light in a dark sea, and there monsters in the dark places inbetween. Horrors arose, seemingly from the magical miasma that pooled out from the seas, vast and terrible monsters that required great heroes to slay them, and of course some weird wizard might decided to craft some abominations for the fun of it, completely forget about them, and be inadvertently responsible for a village disappearing when his Exploding Slime Tesseract wandered there.

Cronus Ampora, scion of the wizard-kings and hopeful master of the fleets that connected them to other lands, had a duty to hunt down such dastardly fiends when he wasn’t skipping very close to being one of them. This wasn’t a bad thing, per se, in the Amporan lands. Violet tradition held that a nobleborn prince, or bard like he had become, who didn’t periodically cause some manner of wacky catastrophe was going to be too unimaginative to make a very good successor. Archmage Dualscar, father to Cronus, tried to encourage his children to do more of that.

Periodically scouring the continent to put down rogue monsters and arrest wizards of inappropriate conduct was a task assigned to the Orphaners; so named as they killed evil wizards, orphaning their creations, at which point the Big Dad energy of the Amporas would take over and they’d adopt them all. As a result, the Amporas had a truly massive army of militarized constructs, thousands of caretaker monsters of all kinds of descriptions, and many more strange beings peacefully integrated into their society. Being used to such diversity also made an Orphaner uniquely suited for diplomacy; they dealt with ‘Things Not Like Me’ on a nearly daily basis, and it helped to expand the mind.

Cronus spent a lot of time on land, therefore. He hated it. Violetbloods like him were adapted for the sea, and individuals varied on whether they were land walkers who could live underwater, or sea beings who could stand to walk on dry land for a while. Cronus was the latter. But his duties, interests, and deep fascination with land walkers of all kinds drew him to the world above, even if it was the people there he liked and the world itself was just the worst.

And the desert was the worst of all. The horror of the place clawed at him with the memory of ancient atrocities, leeching vitality out of him like the sun drying his flesh. They moved on the landships favored by the Nitram feudal lords, an assortment of their mounted knights as protection and a little bit of showing off, and even though it was comfortable and he had a big tank of water to recline in, the whole land felt wrong. He was convinced that some ancient magical catastrophe had scarred the land so badly it had burned, searing it with the energies of undeath. The hordes of the walking dead currently reduced to several tons of ash flying in the air now was proof to that.

But now, the character of the sand was changing; it was harder for the knights at their side to articulate why, though they were notably calmer, the tension loosening from their armored forms. They weren’t magic users, and weren’t able to perceive the subtle details in the sand now. Cronus didn’t doubt that they knew that something had changed, though. The threat upon the wind felt less oppressive. The teeming hordes of the undead, hoarded in this deadly place over eons and mummified by the burning sun, shied away like magical constructs warded away. By now, they had passed one of several enormous towers, of dark marbled stone and brighter patterns of magic-infused metals that all glowed like a torch against the sand, visible for many miles, and Cronus saw the wall of magic flowing through it. It was a relay point, and seen from above, perhaps on a Pyrope airship, he might have looked directly down and seen the network of barricade towers, standing guard against the sea of death.

And they were new. There were many wonders in the world, that was true. But most were ancient relics, reactivated and barely operational, their masters struggling to keep them just working consistently. Very few of them were completely new.

There was a reason the Maryam Clan of rainbow drinkers and vampires, despite being the smallest noble family, commanded so much respect. In a single generation, they were tearing the bloody heart of undeath out of their homeland, and restoring it to life again.

The caravan journeyed onwards, as as they did, Cronus noted the move of magical essence around them took on a drastically different character. The hostile desert behind them, shielded away by the mystic barrier, stank of death where it had any nature of all. Mostly it was a hollow emptiness, yawning behind them like someone physically standing behind with obvious ill intentions. But the sands blew with the hints of life beyond them. Birds flew upon the wind, flitting up to the towers to attend their nests. As they journeyed further, they saw small oasis here and there, clusters of animals standing there.

Cronus watched them. They had to be imported. Surely they couldn’t have revived the beasts that had lived here so long ago… could they? The long-legged creatures, antlers growing out into swirling patterns, stared placidly at him and continued to drink, judging him no threat. They did not look like desert dwellers, but like creatures who ran through heavily wooded forests. Just as this land must have once been.

Despite himself, as the caravan journeyed to the very center of the desert, he felt a sudden sense of joy come over him. The desert had not always been a desert. It was healing.

What wonders were the Maryams making? He was never more excited to be able to study there.

Soon enough, the distant sounds of water grew closer, and a city appeared on the horizon, even taller than the towers, hardy shrubbery cut into fanciful shapes surrounding it. “My lord!” said the cheerful voice of a bronzeblood named Chixie, cheerfully. “We are nearly there!”

She rode before him, a troll significantly shorter than average and nearly twice as wide as she was tall, praticularly at the hips and bust; they all wore light clothing for this heat, but hers had to be especially roomy for her voloptuous body. She was in a prime position to be lookout, as it were, and Cronus honestly wasn’t sure if she should be there; she wasn’t an actual knight but an honorary one, a bard inserted into the ranks to get an insider’s view.

Sure enough, they soon acquired an escort. Several human women, unusually curvaceous and beefy, bearing the flowering robes and veiled attire of the Maryam clan, though their dark skin showed no signs of vampirization; they were not inducted into the clan in particular, it seemed. They did bear the signature saw-swords of the Maryams, and these rested in a relaxed way indicating they still could be drawn if need be. “Bard of the Amporas,” one said primly. “Follow me, if you please.”

The caravan did so, and they came to the great city of the Maryams.

They came through the high gates of the city, towering doorways open wide as if to welcome all visitors. Before the shining colored stone of the domed architecture, before the staggering array of fabrics fluttering upon the thousands bartering their wares at a bazaar their path took them through, the thing Cronus was drawn to was the oasis. The city itself, he understood, had been build upon that oasis. He didn’t know if it had already existed, some remnant of bygone days, or created through a work of grand and exhausting magics. Even now, as the city grew, the oasis grew, its surface shining brightly. To his magical senses, it was incandescent, painful to look on directly. Life streamed through it, so much raw vitality that it seemed magic distilled into a liquid form, flowing its life-giving energies into the land around it, gradually wearing away the corrosion of death resonance.

The oasis was almost an inland sea; a vast and improbably deep pool of water, replenished by mysterious means, threaded throughout this whole region and emanating magic with a very specific flavor. There were a lot of resonances it split into, but the big one was… well, fertile.

It seemed to have an effect on the women, Chixie noted bluntly, as they walked through in search of their secondary escort, who had gotten a bit lost.

Those women (not all of them, but enough to be notable) were very large indeed; the average breast size began at ‘larger than your head’, and they stood notably taller than average. Even the humans were reasonably close to the heights of some of the trolls from his home fleet. And, yes, there. He could see rainbow drinkers in the crowd, shining with an eerie light as they moved, an alien grace in their robes. And human vampires as well, sheltering themselves from the harsh desert light, though it was largely unnecessary. One quirk of the oasis’ architecture was buildings were designed to bridge together, creating overhangs, walkways, balconies, launch points and other similar features. The end result was a ground level that was almost permanently shaded most hours of the day, as well as upper levels that suited trolls fond of leaping and climbing.

For a time, they wandered through the great desert city of the oasis. There was much to see, and one after another, the knights peeled away from the group. Their task, as delivered by their own lords, had been to securely bring Cronus to the city of the Maryams. True, when his business was completed here (perhaps months from now, or weeks if you were to be cynical), they were to bring him to his next destination. Perhaps to home, if need be. But for now, their task was done.

They meandered to their next destination, and this eventually took them to the markets. One by one, the knights departed, to secure their own entertainment and housing. Both would be easy to find; temporary homes had been provided for them in the fabulous hotels of the minor clans, and the oasis city was a wonder of art from all over the continent, scrolls and tomes of all matter of disciplines, and its scholars among the most learned. Whether it was art, lore or simple dialogue one craved, the oasis would provide.

Cronus, his violet courtiers, several servants attending to the more bureaucratic concerns, and a few knights who insisted on attending his person continued through the city, to where they were intended to meet up with a representative of the Maryams. They walked over canals, and admired the beautifully carved pueblo bricks set into the bridges. These canals webbed over the entire city, flowing beneath the streets that blossomed over them like forests of mushrooms, so that everywhere you went, the oasis flowed beneath. The architecture, Cronus noted, was specifically designed to make that magic flow.

As they crossed a particularly large bridge, close to the central regions of the great city, he saw that the buildings rose up at certain geomantic angles. He suspected it was to channel the magic most efficiently towards the sky, and project certainly spells into the air and wind. He said as much.

Chixie looked fascinated. “That’s very interesting, lord. What are they doing with it all?”

Cronus shrugged. “Heck if I know, dame. Part of whatever it does that’s making the desert fix itself from whatever our dumbass ancestors did here? Hell, could just be making a ward to block out whatever it is in sunlight that hurts human vampires.”

Chixie blinked. “...Okay, yeah, I can see them wanting to do that. I, uh. I DID see the human-looking vampires carrying those cute little parasols to keep the sun off. Why bother if they can’t get hurt here anyway?”

“We find that it helps to get people into the habit if they opt to leave!” said a peppy voice. It sounded perfect for a den mother, a caretaker of children, and a consort protector. It was the sort of voice you had a mental image for; probably someone quite short, wearing a lot of fluffy fabrics in warm colors, and built like the more generously fluffy plush toys.

They followed it. The voice didn’t entirely fit the mental image at first glance; the speaker was an outrageously gorgeous and stupendously stacked rainbow drinker; a jadeblood troll, who stood easily a couple feet tall than even the largest of their ground. Cronus doubted he was even as high as her broad biceps.

The escorts who had brought them bowed deferentially, and departed, symbolically passing them to her. It felt like a very big deal, indeed.

She approached, and the jade veils of the Maryam clan fluttered around her mouth, the elaborate robes of office about her body. It revealed little of her face; jewelry of high station hanging in chains off her delicately carved horns, both curving gently upwards, one zig-zagging in a brief series of sharp edges. She didn’t so much walk, honestly, as sashay dramatically, as her hips were far too wide to walk normally. It was a distinctive walk, her broad thighs swinging wide beneath a secondary dress worn over her main one, brighter shades of jade against its pale colors to indicate her social status.

Her skin, though at least the nominal black of a grown troll woman, also shimmered with the eerie light of a rainbow drinker. Long hair, with a streak of green, flowed behind to an enormously large backside shifting the flow of her dress. Swirling tattoos traced around what skin was visible, but most significantly, she was also pregnant. Extremely pregnant; her belly was a monstrously huge, distended orb projecting out so much, with so much weight, that it was more oblong. Not exactly a gut; her thick and fit body type wasn’t quite the right shape for the more extreme of big belly builds, and Cronus could see the weight of something humanoid resting there. Pregnant, in the special Maryam definition.

Her dress, as was custom for the Maryams, was cut to show off her belly, all the way to where it joined her body. Massive breasts, larger than her head and suspended over that belly, were supported by brighter bands of soft fabric, and the overall impression was of competent power, seductive appeal, and raw motherly power. It was a strange thing to have coupled with a voice that sounded more at home gently lecturing small children on the fine points of not smacking each other on the head over a toy.

Chixie swallowed nervously, gazing up at the towering jadeblood. She wasn’t the tallest of her kin Cronus had ever seen, but she was taller than most they had seen going around. “Um. Hello, ma’am. We were, ah. I was told to expect someone fitting your description…?”

Bronya clapped her gloved hands. “Ah! You must be the Ampora delegation, then?” Cronus nodded to her. “Bronya Ursama, I am. Of the Maryam Clan. I’ve been sent to bring you to the matriarchs, if you please!”

Cronus nodded, smoothly shifting into the manners Dualscar had sternly taught to them. He bowed low. “It would be my pleasure, Lady Ursama. I am Cronus Ampore, of the Ampora fleets, and I apologize for not finding you sooner.” He smiled, winningly. “We simply could not resist a bit of sightseeing.”

Chixie and the others introduced themselves to the towering vampire, increasingly awkwardly and with their faces heavily blushed at how… sexy she was. Bronya smiled sweetly, greeting them in turn, praising their lords for producing such fine stewards of honor (Chixie nearly stumbling in sheer shyness from that), and the only significant surprise was that Bronya’s belly lurched.

A human-sized figure inside her stomach turned, like a baby shifting in the womb, and a hand briefly moved against the surface of her belly.

Cronus blinked, fascinated; the knights were less calm. Chixie actually clapped her hands to her mouth: “There’s someone in you!”

Bronya nodded, looking nonplussed. “Oh yes. A charming young scholar, I actually tutored her during my residence in the ancestral library. I believe she intends to go on pilgrimage after her stay with me.” The knights stared at her, bafflement written on them. She looked bewildered. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Cronus coughed. “Eh, sorry, but these knights… eh. I don’t think they know about the particularities of the Maryam transformation. The process, I mean.” Inwardly, he cursed; he should have given them a primer on that!

Bronya inclined her head, understandingly. “Ah! Of course! Well, never fear. Come along, I shall explain.”

They moved along, the knights shying a bit away from Bronya now save Chixie, perhaps dreading visions of themselves being pulled into that belly as well. Cronus walked behind her without fear, following the slow wobble of her broad backside, and she took them across the bridge.

They came to a large castle, of sorts; it was clearly not meant for sieges, and was so open to the sky and walls, but for some fortifications, that it had only a hazy notion of ‘outside’ to begin with. It was older by far, and Cronus recognized the same kind of geomantic designs on the walls, and it was a simple thing to gaze up and see the magic in the air, vibrating around the elegant carvings on the walls.

Bronya spoke a password to the guards, who were women built on largely the same look as her though not pregnant with someone, and they passed through without incident.

Inside, it was much cooler; so much so that it had to be a work of magic, or at least very skillful air conditioning construction. Great woven tapestries hung from the walls, detailing both beautiful artworks and stylized portraits, and many doorways lined the halls. Bronya led them down a staircase carved into the floor, going underground, and as she did, she spoke at length.

First, she asked: how did they think new rainbow drinkers, or vampires, came to be? When Chixie awkwardly said that she thought their blood was drunk first, she laughed.

“It’s certainly part of the process,” Bronya said. “But it’s not the important one.”

To become a vampire was a very serious thing; it was a magical ritual of great importance, derived from some quirks of jadeblood physiology, and while it worked on non-jades and humans and some other beings, it had to be very carefully down. It took a vampire mother to make another, her fertile body literally reshape them into a new form, bringing them into the clan and giving them new life.

Vampire literature spoke often of living a new life, of being reborn, of gestation and being remade by one’s sire. Bronya assured them, there was no metaphor there.

Vampires like her literally absorbed another being (in a ritual she implied she certainly was not allowed to discuss with them at length), and contained them in their womb. The strongest could hold many; Bronya was inexperienced, and one was all she could manage for now. And for a time, perhaps years, the fledgling vampire was infused with magical energies unique to the Maryam Clan, slowly changed into another vampire with all its perks, and all the very extensive physical alterations. A vampire wasn’t just an immortal that drank blood, they were an entirely different sort of being.

Bronya paused, and for a moment looked quite tired. Her belly swelled, the figure within visibly shifting, and then stopped. She panted, her glow dimming. “It’s not something you enter into lightly, either,” She said, perhaps glad for this emphasis. “For either of us.”

Cronus nodded solemnly. The knights looked shaken, or thoughtful; with so much effort put into the transformation, no wonder the Maryam Clan was small by the standards of nobility, and so very tight knit. Plenty of them still looked uneasy at effectively being reborn in such an intimate way, and were baffled at the idea of willingly being inside a troll’s womb like that. Cronus, poker-faced, gave no indication of his feelings one way or another.

Soon, they came to a sanctuary deep underground, where once the ancestors of the Maryams had held sacred rituals. Here, it was still a private place, and when Bronya paused, giving the knights an awkward look, Cronus coughed. “I’m thinking I’m the only one technically allowed to go from here. Is that right, Lady Ursama?”

Bronya nodded, regretfully. “I apologize, dear knights. But entering here is a rather important matter. I assure you, Lord Ampora is quite safe in the grip of the matriarchs!”

Chixie winced. “You could put that a little less ominously but.” She nodded. “We understand.” She glanced aside. “Yes?” The knights nodded.

Bronya looked relieved. “Well then! If you will come with me, I shall find something diverting for you all. Lord Ampora?” She pulled on a small statue, and the vast door before them opened enough for him to pass through. “The matriarchs await you.”

Cronus entered, as the knights and Bronya departed. The door closed behind him, and considering that he was entering the lair of the most powerful vampires in the world, it was surprising he felt no particular anxiety. But then, there were few he trusted as much, and none he trusted more, than the namesake leaders of the desert nobility, the Maryam Coven.

-------

The outer chamber was as spooky as deserved for a vampire coven, the carved walls high, and torches held on the mouths of fearsome sculptures. The whole edifice looked… not fearsome exactly, but in that general area. It was certainly impressive, and would put any ancient sacrifice to vampire hungers in the appropriately awed mindset before the big moment and then the sexy, sexy recuperation afterwards.

As he approached the inner chamber, though, he heard some muttered arguing that rather spoiled the mood. “Hurry, hurry! Just, oh, mother, please! Just sit down!” That voice was very familiar to him, admittedly usually through translocational images as they spoke through magical devices. He swallowed, standing up straighter and trying to look cool.

The next voice was very similar, but deepened by age, with a cool and wry amusement at the antics of the first. “Calm yourself, dear. I am absolutely not going to hurry, not with this much weight to move.”

“Mother!” the first almost wailed. “Bronya made the signal, he’s here! I’ve put so much effort into this meeting, please, do not spoil the drama!”

The second chuckled with the distinctive sound of someone who is good natured but still used to a child being unflappable and calm, and was absolutely going to milk this for all it was worth. “Oh? Don’t want to scare him with a preview of yourself in years to come, I suppose? Imagine him coming in here, seeing all this, and immediately fleeing!”

There was a scandalized gasp. “Please don’t, you might jinx it!”

A third voice sighed, a perturbed air to it. She sounded younger than the other two, but with that distinctive Maryam accent, a lilt to the words. “Porrim… please, don’t make this so serious. I was calm when Rose was here…”

“And I’ve no idea why!” The first voice said, with an air of petulance that Cronus, intimately familiar with that voice, found truly surreal. “First in-person impressions are so important! If this goes wrong, or if one of you frightens him, I’ll… I’ll…”

There was a long pause. Cronus leaned in towards the door, fascinated despite himself for the juicy gossip.

“...Yes?” the eldest-sounding voice said, with a hint of mocking encouragement.

“...I’ll give the tailors the most abhorrent designs for your outfits, right when you’re so big it will take weeks for you to get new ones made!” The first said triumphantly.

From the sound of it, this threat wasn’t being taken too seriously. “How cruel of you, dear sister,” the younger said dryly.

Cronus leaned a little too hard on the doorway. First it creaked loud, no doubt causing those inside to turn, and then-

It opened inwards, too fast for him to stand back up. He overbalanced, having leaned on it so much, and as it turned out his first proper introduction to the love of his life and her coven was flopping into their sacred chamber in an undignified heap, his ropes splayed over him.

“Ow,” he said meekly.

Someone rushed towards him, with an outraged cry, perhaps at his loss of dignity. A genteel chuckling, from the same older voice, greeted him, and the first one scoffed indignantly; Cronus looked up into the first speaker, into the eyes of Porrim Maryam.

Quite a lot up, in fact, and fortunately she was standing at an angle that her considerable assets didn’t block his sight.

She looked gigantic as she approached him; a towering motherly titan that would have loomed over even Bronya. She could have carried Chixie about like luggage; no, she could have towed Cronus like that! The impression was reinforced by her powerful build; her shoulders were broad, packed with muscle, her arms wide from years of training with sawblades. Her body had an hourglass curviness, her small waist making her shoulders look even bigger, and her hips even larger. And her hips were massive, making Bronya’s look smaller. In every respect, she was bigger than Bronya, not just taller than her, but wider. Bronya had big hips, yes, but Porrim would have serious difficulty getting through doorways; they were almost three feet around, at least.

And then, there was her belly.

It was so large, Porrim moved with an awkward, limping gait, her body clearly not adjusted to its sheer bulk. The vast, shining orb projected out before her body almost as much as she was tall, its lower slope descending gracefully to the ground, and she wasn’t burdened with just one new vampire in there. Cronus saw several arms moving against each other, the dimple of multiple bodies seated, a bulge of several torsos…

The question blurted out before he could contain it. “How many do you have in there!?”

Porrim blinked, but at this angle it was hard to tell; her breasts were so monstrously huge they got in the way of his sight, almost individually as big as her belly, and even with the supportive bands of her bodice, there was only so much that could be done to keep them pressing down on on her stomach. Cronus could have slept between them, and the thought was badly tempting. She laughed, putting a hand to her veiled mouth, and giggled helplessly. Her whole body shook; her big belly, her massive hips, her powerful thighs. Her great mane of hair, fluttering down past her hips like a luxurious mantle, shook with her laughter.. Even the new vampires in her body trembled with laughs, though he doubted they were even aware of what was going on.

“She has rather more than was wise,” the eldest voice said dryly.

“Probably six,” said the youngest. “Porrim gets attached too easily.”

Porrim went ‘hmph,” with the lazy dignity he expected of her, and helped Cronus up. The impression of towering height didn’t end even when he was stood up; his head was still barely level with her elbows, and given just how much mass she had, he felt stick thin next to her, and when she swooped down to hug him and straighten up his robes, he was lost between her breasts, and in her arms.

“I am so, so sorry about this!” She whispered furiously. “I intended for this to be so much more, ah, inspiring, but no, Mother and Kanaya just had to spoil the mood.”

Cronus made a squeaking noise. Her breasts and belly weren’t so much pressing against him as carrying him up, pinning him, and holding him still with a delicious sort of pressure.

Porrim paused. Much as her sense of drama had been spoiled, she could still appreciate a good moment. She leaned forward, and for a moment, Cronus was in a position to appreciate the coven tattoos winding across her body in the ancient patterns of fertility, motherhood and predation; swoops and curls, winding on the arms, the legs, over her breasts and belly…

Her veil was lifted up as she pulled him close to her face. Her lips brushed against his mouth, and long fangs against his lips.

“Not to be a hypocrite, but please do control yourself, Porrim,” said the eldest voice again, a hint of dry amusement in it.

Porrim dropped Cronus, with a squeak of mingled dismay and frustration. She turned aside, almost knocking Cronus over with a belly he could have fit into (and now he wondered what it was like, whether it was warm or cool, how her belly might feel hospitable or if you would be rewired to adjust to it), and a heavy hand fell on his shoulder.

“Now,” said the voice, with an air of command different from her jovial tone earlier. “Let me see this saltdweller you have spoken so fondly of.”

Cronus was brought forward, a glimpse of extremely large chairs around him, perhaps intended to seat women that were very big indeed, and he had an impression of size before him, and a hand fell upon his face. Long claws moved against his gills, though not painfully so, and then moved his face up and down with a delicate but irresistible firm touch.

“Ah. The Ampora profile, for certain. You look very much like your ancestors; do tell me, how is your father doing these days?”

Cronus looked up into a face that was suddenly smiling, and even through the veil he saw the fangs, and the vibrant lipstick, the calm and assured competence so charismatic that she could have conquered the continent diplomatically, and more to the point-

She was nearly twice as big as Porrim, while sitting down.

The Dolorosa. The head matriarch of the Maryam Coven, mother of all living true vampires; one of the few to have successfully fought the mad pirate queen Mindfang to a standstill, to have brokered peace with the Pyropes during the years of fiery vengeance from the mountains. The first of the troll nobility on the plains to open her city gates to the carapacians, it was said, and from her wisdom great riches and discoveries had flown.

It was a little surprising that the stories about her said much about her wisdom, said a great deal about her honor, and said very little about how terrifyingly, attractively BIG she was.

Sitting on a chair that could have been designed for giants was a troll so large Cronus did not even come up to her waist now, and so outrageously curvaceous that just as Porrim’s thickness made Bronya look slender, the Dolorosa made Porrim look malnourished. Hips nearly as wide as she was tall, with a monstrously huge backside rising as high as her waist, the wides merging with her thighs evenly.

Her hair was cut short, and her horns elaborately carved; jewelry of religious significance were strung between them, green cloth shining onto her. Her face was more severe than Porrim’s, though kindly, and her tattooing was even more extreme than Porrim’s, with the curling inks brought to her face, her horns, and extremely intricate patterns on her shoulders and breasts. Cronus didn’t doubt that her entire body was a mosaic of art, though he was unclear on the meaning of the tattoos.

Her shoulders, broad and slabbed with muscle, heaved beneath her robes. She smiled indulgently. “Come, young man. Don’t tell me you left your tongue with Porrim.”

Cronus swallowed. Porrim went ‘hmph!’ again. The Dolorosa was an intimidating figure, not so much amazonian as she was an apex of the concept; her arms alone were bigger than he was, though she wasn’t at all toned. She was built like a strongwoman, really. Her robes were not especially revealing, but they still showed quite a lot of breasts that were… well. So incredibly huge, so wide and so bulky, that they were larger than a good portion of Porrim herself. Perhaps five feet high each, and wider across than that by far, they rested upon an incredibly huge and round belly that flowed over her throne onto a specially arranged dish set before her, over a dozen moving inside her stomach in expectation of vampirism.

That belly towered over Cronus, just as the rest of the imposing woman. The tattoos swirled over it, lovingly outlining its bulk. It looked bigger than a hut, or some boats he’d seen, bigger even that the Dolorosa’s entire body. How did she manage so many!?

Cronus found his voice, even as her smile grew increasingly more mischievous beneath her veil. “My father… he does well. He, erm. He asked, that…” he struggled to recall it, and found it hard to recount the unsual wistfulness that had come over his father then. “He thinks a lot about you.”

For a moment, the Dolorosa’s gaze went distant, thoughtful, wandering into the past. “I should hope so, the dear man…” She smiled fondly. She returned from whatever thoughts were on her mind, focusing on Cronus again. She raised a hand, and he flinched instinctively, but her intent was not hostile; her hand ruffled his hair, rather affectionately. “Please, do say hello, Kanaya!”

“I apologize, mother,” said the third speaker, who had been sitting to the side, on one of the smaller chairs, with an air of watching an amusement. Kanaya Maryam, youngest of the coven, and she looked a lot like a much smaller version of her mother.

Much smaller, in fact. After the overwhelming size of Porrim and her mother, Cronus was a little alarmed to see that Kanaya was much smaller than either. She was larger than him, though. Later, he would see that she was a little taller than Bronya, though not significantly so; as vampire fostering went, he learned, Kanaya was a lot more cautious. Much more than, say, Porrim was, and as a result she was a lot smaller for the moment. The growth that came with power, for the Maryams, was tied to this fostering ritual.

Kanaya’s tattoos were subtle, graceful curls at the edges of her robes. Her carved horns were obscured by fine rings that, Cronus noted smugly, came from the lands overseen by the Lalondes and had the distinctive unsettling artistry; her hair was short like her mothers, but her face rounder than either Porrim or the Dolorosa. She wasn’t quite as broad as her mother either, but was more powerfully built than Porrim, and definitely more heavy set at the waist. Her breasts were unusually large for a troll, bigger than her head, and rested on a belly containing a single vampire, though a fairly fierce one judging from how much her belly was wriggling. She didn’t seem to notice.

Kanaya bowed. “A pleasure to meet you at last.” she smiled faintly. “Porrim has been eager to bring you here, into our fearsome clutches.”

Porrim scoffed. “Kanaya, stop trying to convince people we are up to no good!”

The Dolorosa chuckled. “Oh, Porrim, don’t spoil the joke! After all, it’s not as if we’re going to keep him here and do terrbile things to this poor, handsome man!” She chuckled, and winked in an openly flirtatious way.

“Eep,” Cronus squeaked, blushing bright violet.

“Mother!” Porrim said, scandalized, though she’d said sentiments very much like that to Cronus before.

The Dolorosa chuckled. “Now, now. Sit him down, will you?”

Grumbling to herself, Porrim effortlessly picked him off the ground and returned to her seat, and it was specially designed so that there was enough space for him to sit comfortably on her thigh between herself and the seat, though sandwiched by her belly and one breast. He did not mind.

Porrim put one arm around him, and Cronus did the same, relaxing into her embrace as if he’d spent his life in her company. He relaxed against her, and she into him. “Awww,” Kanaya crooned mockingly.

Porrim raised an eyebrow.

Cronus said, as if to himself, “Ah, that may put me in mind of some interesting stories I heard from a certain Rose Lalonde, during her own time here?”

The Dolorosa laughed. “Oh, do tell!”

Kanaya blinked, and looked impressed. “...Hmph, not a bad move…”

In time, of course, the teasing faded, and later on, they held a proper official ceremony of presentation, as was traditional for the noble families. It cemented ties, and given that they had recently been at war, also put all their cards on the table. Officially that sort of thing wasn’t needed, but the gesture of trust was important.

Cronus felt it was more important to make it official why he was there; to learn. About their unique magic, to spread learning from his own fleets (and presenting them with a vast storehouse of scrolls, rediscovered magical artifacts, and tomes that made some of the scholarly inclined vampires at the ceremony gasp in delight, and talk ensued of entire new wings that would be built for them all), and to foster understanding between their realms.

‘Understanding’, in this case, having significant romantic undertones, as was now traditional in the other noble families, or at least the parts of them their age.

The Dolorosa smirked at that in a way that rather spoiled the whole game for Cronus, but given that he could finally have the days with Porrim he always wanted, he couldn’t complain too much.

[proheromidoriyashouto]

can,,, can I have more juice for the spiceyheathens AU,,,, like holy shit I had no idea I needed this in my life until now like holy fuJrjsbr

ohh my gosh you want more spicyheathens juice?! im touched i haven’t thought about that one in a while. it’s an older au and standing WIP i return to once in a blue moon.

let’s see...

Shouto ropes in Natsuo and Fuyumi into lace-crafts to reclaim that family tradition and have a reason to spend time together

Rei has some of Shouto’s Youtube awards -- think the million subs diamond-- in her home on the mantle

she’s very proud of him for finding his own path in life and making something of himself outside of his father’s influence

Izuku works out a lot and does a couple extreme sports events every year to revive interest in quirkless events like the Olympics and the X Games

he inspires 2 billion people to do their best and internalize their self-worth so its a lot of pressure

Japan’s Hero Boards only list him in the Top 25 and no higher despite higher approval ratings and performance levels but this discrimination is nothing he hasn’t faced before. His career goal is to break the Top 10 in Japan. if he can do that much, he’ll retire happy

Izuku is kinda Suave^TM thanks to Tensei’s influence and he’ll drop compliments that make Shouto blush like crazy

Shouto kept up a work-out routine-- nothing as rigorous as hero training, just to stay in shape-- but he’s rusty with his quirk/s and even his ice will act out when he’s flustered enough

Izuku’s 6′1″ and heavy as fuck. Jamm fuckin’ packed with muscle. Shouto tries to give him a piggy back ride and almost breaks his back bcuz he is not built For This. Izuku does the carrying for the safety of all parties involved.

He does old-school strong man competitions like deadlifts and pulling planes and shit

Izuku puts on considerable winter weight and grows his beard out during cold months. Shouto approves.

Shouto is a regular at cons and usually gets swarmed with fans

Endeavor is convinced he’ll “snap out of it” and announce a return to heroism-- which he never really started-- at cons and always has people following him around so Shouto will wear disguises

He makes a game of it and will live-stream it. Fans who find him get suprise lace-crafts and those who help him avoid detection get boosts on his channel.

He’s got a special side-satchel/backpack just stuffed full of lacey goods to hand out bcuz one time he ran out and felt super bad about it. The Deku pins are on the inside flap so he isn’t identified by them

people know that he and Deku are together and Izuku sometimes joins in charity live-streams on 2-player games

they are really bad at Overcooked, Shouto backseat drives during Izuku’s Hollow Knight playthroughs even though he’s the only one who can complete a Steel Soul 5-hour speedrun, Izuku is bad at shooters but great at survival games.

they also do non-video game content like fan AMAs; Izuku will upload short clips of Shouto singing to himself while doing chores or doing lil victory dances; Shouto will upload clips called Deku Disasters where Izuku is Failing at basic tasks like walking up stairs or getting ice cubes out of the tray without breaking the marble sink

they go on dates to arcade bars and pet dogs (we have one of these where i live don’t know about elsewhere)

Izuku doesn’t get too many international calls bcuz hero associations discriminate but he’ll go abroad for quirkless awareness events and to surprise people who sent half-hearted wedding invites and such on twitter or whatever

uh is this enough juice?? thanks for liking this au!