#Three Stories chapter

[traumawhomst]

Solaris and Songbird

A snippet of a full version of this earlier post I made

(450 words)

Fae King and (GN) Child Reader

The Summer King was not always the most kind Fae, he could scarcely afford it. In his world kindness was weakness waiting to be paid back in kind. So when he heard a young voice pierce his quiet peace, he decided to use the as a lesson about his forest. It would an easy task, appear and play with them a bit, maybe turn them to a songbird since they seemed to love their voice. A punishment to neglectful parents about teaching your child to walk around the forest alone as if they owned it.

He had admit that the child did have a rather sweet voice for a human, and he thought of doing something more than just a simple songbird, maybe one that could also speak and mimic sounds. It would be amusing if nothing else.

The child was bent over in the dirt, singing some old folk song, hair loosely pulled back dirty and sweaty. Who knows when they last had a bath, the King scoffed internally. It only strengthened his resolve to turn them to a songbird. At least he knew how to care for his things.

He stepped into the forest clearing, the air around them both growing thick and wild, a smell of hot summer grass hung like a cloud. The King watched with a smile as the figure froze in place, smart child, to know when they were outmatched, no grand heroics or disrespect would save them now. The child lifted their face, and the King was oddly pleased, it was cleaner than their hair and he could that the child had spent most of their life facing towards the sun. Their eyes looked the same as a fawn caught in the sight line of a wolf, but their mouth was turned into a hesitant smile.

The smile caught him off guard, and before he could think too much on it, the child open their mouth and spoke

“Hello,” they said, their voice soft with a slight tremor but a distinct note of hope, “what’s your name?”

With those simple four words, the King knew that this was to be his third child. A neglected songbird, but with a quick wit and curiosity that spoke of greater things than their tiny village. He wanted to scoop them up, and tell of all the great things they would see and do. But this was not his first time bringing a child of his own. So he smiled as he knelt to be closer to the eye level with the child.

“You, songbird, may call me, Solaris, may I know what you to call you songbird?”

When the child’s face brightened, any hesitation or second doubts were gone, this child was his and he couldn’t wait to bring them home.

[muffinlance]

Me: Don't write a 20k chapter don't write a 20k chapter don't write a

Also Me: ...but what if

[warwickroyals]

ONE OF THOSE EARLY SPRING SNOWS.

MARCH, 2025

[violetscanfly]

I did it I redrew the besties!!

[draco-eta]

Senshi fans having quite the meal with the latest episode

[casuallivi]

The Midnight Kiss

Warning: blink and you have a giant doc worthy of flashbacks but moving the story forward is a hassle to you, huh? this is a self critique. I guess in the end we do write what we want to read, there's no escaping our kinks.

Enjoy. Comments are welcomed and cherished :)

Part 9: 500 days of Azriel - part 2

DAY 348

“Hold for me!”

The feminine pitch echoed in the parking lot, bags fumbling against her ribs and sneakers thumping in concrete as she ran for the elevator, Azriel using a hand to keep the door open.

“Good morning, sexy.” A slightly out of breath Elain greeted him coming into view, a messy braid swaying from one shoulder to the other.

“That’s no way no greet your boss.” He stepped aside, allowing her to enter. “Don’t mimic me.”

“I wasn’t gonna,” Elain denied mid eye-roll, mouth already twisting to repeat his words. “I wasn’t! Gosh, you’re stiff from sunrise to sundown, and not in the fun way.”

Ignoring her blunt lie Azriel took the heavy black bag containing a heavy camera support from her shoulders and pressed their floor number.

“You chatter from sunrise to sundown, and don't see me complaining.”

Her braid slapped him in the chest, Elain turning to look at a him, mouth hanging open as if she could not believe her ears.

“Are you freaking kidding me!?! Of course, you do! You complain about it all. the. time!”

“Nah, that doesn’t sound like a me thing.”

“Unbelievable. Hold this.” she muttered pulling the light orange scrunchie from the end of her braid, nimble fingers combing through her hair to undo the thing. Azriel slipped the accessory in his wrist, watching she bang her head from one side to the other.

“Are you trying to get messier?”

“I’m giving it a sexy spin. You wouldn’t know nothing about that miss my-mommy-combs-my-hair-every-morning.”

A couple more shakes and she was done, picking her phone from the back pocket of her jeans and opening the camera app, moving her neck this way and that to check herself.

“Say My girlfriend is the sexiest in the whole world!”

Azriel frowned at the blinding flash lights coming out of nowhere.

“A little warning.”

“I like organic moments. And you never come out looking ugly anyways. Is infuriating.” She moved closer to him, opening her phone gallery and proceeding to show him the picture.

Azriel barely paid attention to himself, eyes fixed entirely on Elain, mapping the constellation of freckles framing the bridge of her nose and puffed cheeks pushed upwards by a big smile. Then her finger was swiping on the screen, showing him three more photos she managed to snap in succession

"Look at my lazy eye! Christ, even glaring you look good. Never managed to catch up with an open mouth, eyes rolling, sneezing, poking your nose, nothing! It’s like you are prepared every goddamn time.”

He chuckled at her indignation.

“Why do you take so many pictures?”

Elain shrugged.

“I like documenting stuff. Stuff that catch my attention.”

“Everything catches your attention. You have the attention span of a hyperactive toddler.”

“Oh, shut it. I bet you have some weird photos in your phone, you probably collect feet or something. Where is it?”

A sneaky hand quickly found its way to his front pocket, Elain made sure her eyes were wild open to taunt him. "My, my, is this phone in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"

She didn’t wait for him to answer, taking the phone out with a false victory cry.

“What’s your password? No! Let me guess…. 0828?”

Her question caught him by surprise.

“You remember my birthday?”

“Sure! How could I forget you’re a tight little virgin?” Elain pumped her eyebrows up and down, getting an eye roll as response. “Wait a minute,”

“Here we go.”

Azriel stepped out from the elevator making away to the rented shoot set, not bothering to check if Elain was following. He knew she was. She would never pass an opportunity to tell him whatever nonsense she had come up with.

“Now that I think about it… does that mean I get to pop your cherry?” She gasped exaggeratedly, placing a hand in her heart. “Do not worry Marino, I’ll do right by you, I’ll give –”

“All right now, let’s not. 1234. The password is 1234.”

Elain typed the password clicking her tongue, a fake expression of disappointment fixed in place.

“Christ, you’re a grandpa. This is a terrible password, too easy to remember.”

“That’s why I put it.”

“That’s why is bad.”

She went on and on about him being an old guy who was not deserving of technology, Azriel not really paying her much attention until she squealed like a guttered bunny.

“Oh my god,”

Elain exited the gallery and return dozens of times, thinking his phone may had malfunctioned or something. Nope, the phone was working just fine. She waved it in his face.

“Why are there no pictures in here?”

“There are.” Azriel said nonchalantly, jerking his chin at the few images appearing in his gallery.

All impersonal and irrelevant, mostly pictures exchanged throughout the day in Marinos’ group chat. Elain shook her head in denial.

“I mean personal pictures, pictures of things you captured with your camera because you liked them, not because they are in a vision board from next month’s issue.”

Azriel frowned in confusion

“Why would I take pictures? I can just look at the things I want.”

Elain let out a dramatic gasp, hand to heart and everything. Before she could berate him a chirpy blonde fellow approached them.

“Morning boss. Morning El. What me to set you up?”

“Morning Tommy. You can take the bag from the handsome.”

Nonchalant, Azriel dropped the bag in the boys arms not bothering to make the transition easy, Elain’s assistant for the day nearly collapsing under the weight. Azriel watched the new intern struggling not to drag the bag away.

“I don’t like him.” He said serious. Not an ounce of strength in those arms. He would not last.

"You don't like anyone."

Morning El.

"I specially don't like him."

“Are you a serial killer?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

"This is not normal."

His phone was pushed on his chest and then Elain was back on her phone, frantically swiping her fingers across hundreds of pictures gleaming in the bright screen. Literally hundreds. She gave him the phone and Azriel kept scrolling. Different shoots of ice cream, juice, pizza, donuts, pasta and other food related items passed by.

“Are you setting a portfolio for a culinary magazine?” he joked.

Elain slapped him in the arm, the aggression changing to a caress when her fingers splayed over his shirt, curling around his covered biceps.

“God, you’re big. Strong too.”

“Open space. Office hours.” He chanted, not bothering to remove her hand. Once could say he flexed a little, but Azriel would firmly deny.

“I know. What were we talking about?”

“Food.”

“Yeah, food… I could eat you up.” She sighted lost in a dream.

“Elain.”

“I said food gives me joy.”

Azriel rolled his eyes. Judging by her phone gallery, everything gave her joy. Parcs, dogs, kids, houses, rain, trains, books, fresh laundry. Eventually, his employees began to fill the screen as well, goofing in their spare time, posing in the allocated sets with some model, posing with props, taking mirror selfies, cataloging material in their reunions, then it came him. Azriel clicked on a couple pictures of him taken recently, face serious and sleeves rolled upwards as he examined a variety of reports covering the meeting room table. He turned to Elain, questioning her with a look

"You look good when you are focused." She shrugged. “By the way, you don’t have to make the intern cry. I know you don’t believe it, but it is possible to treat people nicely and not die on the spot.”

Azriel sighed deeply. Never a single topic with this one. Elain’s mind had a tendency of jumping from one subject to the other, the conversation never floating in a single direction.

“I’m not running a daycare, Archeron. I’m their boss.”

“I know that. I still think you can be less of an asshole,” suddenly, she pointed a finger at him saying, “and praise! Everyone likes a little praising every once in a while. You never praise anyone! It’s absurd.”

“When one of them do something worthy of my praise, they’ll receive it.” A bit of silence passed, and Azriel could feel Elain starring a hole at his face. “What?”

“It’s that your kink? Making someone working hard for your praise?”

The more his ears turned red, the playful glint in her eyes shining brighter. Where Azriel wasn’t one to make jokes or sexual innuendos in public, Elain used them as a second language, not ashamed to shoot her shot any time. At first he thought he hated her jokes, annoyed at how inconvenient she was. Later, Azriel realized his annoyance came from the fact that he was not able to quip her with a response, a fitting rebuke only coming to mind when it was already too late.

“Do you like receiving it or giving it? No matter, I guarantee I can satisfy you either way.”

“Nope. I’m done talking with you now,” he announced walking away from her. “I have real work to do.”

“I work too you know! I make the stars in this set shine!” She yelled after him. “Have a good day, lover!”

DAY 424

“All I’m saying is you can tell me. I’m your brother, for fucks sake.” Cassian whined loudly from his chair, legs shaking like a goddamn toddler.

“I’m not talking to you.” Azriel said from behind is computer.

“Come on, bro. All I’m asking is a little bit of gossip from how are things progressing with our sweet little Lainy. For example, has she taken your virginity yet?”

"She's not yours anything." Aziel said monotonously, not bothering to give his brother too much attention. “And I am not a virgin.”

“Men don’t count.”

“Fuck off.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure our Lainy won’t –”

“Not yours.”

"Agree to disagree. Since you decided playing this fake dating shit, she sure ought to be my something." Cassian taunted. “Come on Az, I know you are not dating her. You can come clean now, I won’t judge. Much.”

Azriel watched his brother, his restless hand tapping against the armrest, the smirk that didn’t quite meet the eye. His brow furrowed.

Azriel and Cassian had a complicated relationship in boyhood, having to relearn how to navigate around each other once they were adults. The boys weren't in speaking terms for two years of their late teens and the majority of their twenties. When they were seen together at last, everyone assumed the brothers made piece to take over the family business because it was the natural outcome for them.

In reality the biggest reason behind Azriel’s return to America was Marinos wasn’t as profitable as before. While Azriel followed Morrigan across the globe her modeling career took flight but his grandfather got sick, and Cassian –who had always been the favorite for choosing to learn the finance trade– took over the family publishing business, only then discovering the trojan horse his favorite relative had left him. Their grandfather’s entire publishing business was facing bankruptcy, the magazine being one of the remaining divisions that still hadn’t gone under.

By the time he asked for Azriel's help, it was too late to save most of the branches, but Azriel did his utter best to save Marinos –a fashion magazine originally envisioned by his mother that no one ever really cared about. It cost him four years of strenuous hard work, twenty percent of the shares sold, multiple department changes, function extinctions and staff rearrangements, and the woman he thought it was the love of his life gone, but Azriel got Marinos back to its feet.  

Azriel watched his brother, the nasty memory of their split replaying in his mind. It would be a lie for him to say pettiness wasn't what guide him to drop himself -almost- on top of Elain Archeron on that night. The woman had a massive crush on Cass, and knowing his brother's ego as he did, Cass was probably nursing said crush to act on it. That night Azriel’s drunken mind conjured a reality where if he was lucky, he would make his brother a little jealous, just enough to give him a bit of satisfaction. A petty payback for succeeding in doing what Azriel never could.

“You are awfully interested in my girlfriend.”

“Am I?”

Seeing his brother show such blunt display of interest in Elain gave Azriel a couple emotions, and satisfaction was none of them. It doomed on his mind that he had become attached to Elain rather quickly, because playing petty games Morrigan and his brother didn’t seem so interesting anymore.

An uncomfortable silence settled between them, Cassian sneer daring him to submit, to speak first, to cry and beg and plead for his brother to leave him alone as he would do when they were kids. Azriel wasn’t a kid anymore.

Cassian opened his mouth, and Azriel would never hear what he was about to say. Two knocks on the wood and the brothers broke their staring contest as a twirling Elain made her way into the room, the skirt of her dress swaying around her legs.

“See? I told you it wouldn’t wrinkle! I’m all ready for – Cassian.”

Her eyes grown bigger mid-sentence, surprised to find his brother there, same brother who wasted no time in placing two finger on his mouth whistling loudly.

“I'm ready for you too. Looking good, Lainy.”

"You're back."

Azriel watched her expression change from mirthful to bashful. He wondered if she was feeling shy of embarrassed. He hoped it was the latter.

“Yep, and just in time to make your wishes come true. I’m not Santa, but you can sit on my lap and tell me everything you want. I'll give it to you."

“Christmas in long gone, Cass.” She snorted.

“Oh, a daddy is never of duty,” he winked at her.

Elain suppressed her giggle, Azriel gagging all the wall to the coach hanger. “You are disgusting.”

Cassian ignored him, all smirk and bravado as he got up and moved toward Elain, malice radiating from every step. He appraised her from head to toe. It was a rare event to see Elain in a dress. Glittering eyelids matched the cleave-free green dress that stopped a few inches above her knees, white flats completing her look. His eyes returned on her knees, his smile dropping, replaced by a frown. There, pinkish than the rest of her skin, laid a perpendicular scar dividing her knee in half, stretch marks from the stitches leaving the skin heightened in a standing position. Cassian had never noticed that scar before. He wondered if it was new.

Elain cleared her throat, a blue jacket appeared in his line of sight as she repositioned the piece of clothing in her arms to cover herself, uncomfortable with his stare. Cassian smiled at her, deciding it was best not to ask about it.

“So, where we going?”

He offered her a hand, the promise of a kiss in his eyes. Elain had always loved the kisses he deposited in her hands and cheeks, lips lingering on her skin to enjoy the squirm she thought he couldn’t notice. He did notice, every time. Cassian loved making her squirm, delighting in her little crush.

For the great shock of a nation, Cassian had not fucked Elain, but now that his brother was he wondered if he had missed some kind of swift opportunity.  Elain wasn’t ugly, and it had been a long time since he found a match to his twisted sense of humor. What a delight it was that her sense of humor came wrapped in a package with a killer pair of legs, which should definitely be exposed more often. His look drift to her chest. She didn’t have much in that department but that didn’t matter much, he was more of an ass man anyways. No, Elain wasn’t ugly at all, and Cassian liked looking at her very much.

She could dress better, tho. He preferred his women with smoked eyes, sexy dresses, thigh slits and high heels. Women looked very fuckable in heels, all perched ass and tits pushing in his direction. He loved it.

Brown eyes sparkled with joy, a pretty smile blooming on her lips as she raised her hand. Except she did not place it in his expecting one, no. A harsh push forced him to the side, Azriel replacing him to take her hand, a light kiss landing on the back.

“You looked lovely.” He complimented taking her from the room. Not bothering to say goodbye to his brother, choosing to forget he existed all together.

"Good enough to eat?"

"Behave."

"Only 'cause you asked, love."

Contrary to Azriel, Elain had not forgot Cassian was there.

"We are going on a date!" She shouted back at him while Azriel walked faster to get her away from his brother. Cunning bastard.

Cassian watched her wrap her other hand around his brother’s flaccid biceps, smiling as she murmured softly to him. His expression faltered for a second. What was so funny about Azriel’s sad lack of mass muscle? Fixing his face, he jogged towards the couple, reaching them near the elevator, meddling in the middle to keep them apart, an arm around his brother and the other around Elain.

"Now this is a development I had not seen coming. Lainy, is this some kind of bet gone wrong? You can tell me if it is, as his boss I have the power to set you free."

"You are not my boss," Azriel pipped at the same time Elain said, "We are good."

Under his arm, Elain shrugged.  Azriel breaking free to go stand at her other side, pulling her by the waist till she parted from Cassian.

“This makes no sense. You are two fight like dogs… Is little Azzy threatening you?” Cassian concluded at last. “Is that it? You can tell me if he is, I’ll beat his ass for you.”

Elain simple laughed.

"Please, like he could handle me. Did you know that my sister,"

"Is a professional MMA fighter." Azriel finished the sentence in her place, winning an ugly glare. "Yes, he knows, everybody knows. You've mentioned it. Several times."

“Meddlesome.”

“Broken record.”

“Maybe he didn’t know.”

“He knows.”

“How do you know? You’re not entitled to everyone’s knowledge.”

She bumped him with her hip, Azriel not moving an inch, and turned to Cassian.

"Anyway, your brother confessed his undying love for me, and how all that stress was his way of demonstrating affection. Like a little boy pulling the pigtails of the girl he thinks is pretty." She sighed deeply. "I knew my irresistible charms would get me in trouble someday."

"I'm right here." Azriel reprehended pulling her closer.

"Oh my, you are here, love? You are so pretty for a second there I thought you were a painting." She slapped him lightly on the cheek, Azriel grabbing her wrist on the second tap.

“No hitting.”

”Why? Is it that your kink?” She asked using a tone Cassian could not distinguish, as if she was sharing an inside joke with his brother.

The elevator doors opened, his existence completely forgotten by the couple bickering as they walked inside and off they went.

DAY 489

Had someone told him he would be outside his girlfriend’s apartment, making out against a door like a couple of fucking horny teenagers, he’d have called the bloke mad. Now here he was, being the mad man himself. One side of her overall had unbuttoned, the metallic piece rasping on the wood as Azriel pressed Elain harder against the door, two bodies merging together.

The goodnight kiss was supposed to be gentle, a tender caress to remember till he saw her again. Azriel would be gone for a couple days, and Elain insisted he walked her upstairs before he left.

“I’m not coming in,” he warned her back in the car.

“Just walk me to my door, that is.”

“I will. But I’m not coming in.”

“Gee, you said that. I just want to give you a proper goodbye,” she said with false innocence.

Liar.

Once upstairs she invited him inside again, but Azriel would budge.

“Fine. Can I at least get a kiss?”

He gave her a peck.

“Goodnight, Elain.” He said knowingly. Azriel called her by last name to annoyed her, a petulant childish trait that he seemed to have absorbed around her.

Determined hands wrapped around the lapels of his suit, Elain tiptoeing to tug him down.

“I wear black and white you think I'm a nun? Don’t you dare leave after giving me this slob sorry excuse of a kiss Azriel, or I swear to God –” Her empty threat was swallowed by a kiss.

Azriel wouldn’t admit to a soul, but riling her up was fun. Their breaths mingled in a slow and sloppy kiss, Azriel walking her backwards up till she hit her door, a painful hiss drowning on the slow sleek of his tongue. In the many days following their agreement Azriel and Elain had kissed many times, which had him quickly learning that she was a frenetic kisser, aggressive in her necessity to take the lead in a succession of hurried uncoordinated motions as someone who was ready to torn her clothes apart, moving too fast as she often did in every other aspect of her life.

Like a caveman first discovering fire, he enjoyed her enthusiasm with an intense amount of male pride burning in his chest. The problem was his body was still recovering from the aftermaths of a bad love. Until Elain, Azriel had only ever loved one woman in his life, had only ever been with her. Sure, he had been on a date here and there when things went south and they broke up for a few days of weeks. Pity-dates set by friends who could not understand why a twenty-something hadn't had a single girlfriend in his entire life, pity-dates set by worried familiars who secret thought him homosexual.

He remembered being set up with solid young women whose personalities were nearly a mirror of his own, having forgettable dates where he couldn't, for the life of him, recall what they talked about, kissing some of them goodbye with a lie ready on his lips that they should do it again. Tepid kisses that were closer to a handshake than caress between possible lovers. He went to bed with none of them.

Looking back, it was almost laughable how he caught Morrigan in an intimate act with another men more times than he liked to count but had never managed to move forward with another woman himself. Too hung up in a promise she had no interest in fulfilling. Now Azriel was done chasing a woman who had no love to give him, but his body was still fearful of getting with someone different, someone new.

He needed more time to adjust, time his volcano of a girlfriend seemed to not need at all. Tenacious hands found their way inside his jacket, running wild all the way from his hip to his neck, pressing him harder against herself, her soft breast rasping against his dress shirt with every move she made. So he had to educate her.

Where Elain was a trashing hurricane, Azriel was a placid running river, moving with deliberate slow and steadiness, guiding the kiss to a less hectic pace, leisured wet tongue kisses mingled with soft peck to stable his breathe, strong hands shaping the outside of her body without being too brazen, bold enough to soothe his curiosity in caressing her body but enough to blur the lines he wasn't ready to cross.

Hands moved to him front, trailing down from his chest to his waistline, closing precariously around his belt to get him closer. Azriel stopped the kiss, pulling away slightly. Blown-wild pupils had nearly encased the entirety of her irises, a breathless Elain looking up and expectant at him.

“I want to see you naked," she hushed. Quiet words spoken in a frenzy, a solid request with no shyness in the borders.

Despite his efforts to mellow the kisses, his heart thundered inside his chest. The feeling of soft curves molding perfectly to the hard shapes of his body making him dizzy. He collared her neck, not to choke, just to hold her in place.

“What would your neighbors say?"

Azriel meant to sound playful, calm. He sounded lustful and agitated.

Elain watched him like a hawk, searching his eyes for a bit, noting the tension in his shoulders, the uneasiness in his strained smile, a quiet tell for a question she would not ask. Not yet. With a yielding sigh, she hid her face in his chest.

"She’d probably thank you, that lady is a pervert,” came her muffled reply. “We could put on show for her.”

"Is that your kink? Exhibitionism?" His smugness could not be missed, Azriel feeling pretty proud of himself for the quick thinking. Elain had been antagonizing him about kinks for weeks, now it was his turn to make her hot and uncomfortable.

"Dunno. Wanna help me figure it out?" He groaned lordly. Of course she wouldn’t stay down. “I bet she’s more kinky, tho. Did you know she watches porn without headphones?” She lifted her head again, face soured by the memory. “We do not have good soundproofing walls, Marino. Sometimes I can hear it as I'm climbing upstairs!"

Azriel chuckled, moving his hand to her face, his thumb making circular motion in her cheek. Even at night Elain seemed to glow, her supple skin calling at him, begging for a stroke, for a touch, for a kiss. So soft and so, so,

“So pretty,” he finished out loud. The unsolicited compliment turning her face red.

She recovered quickly, fully leaning into his hand to say, “I’m prettier naked. Wanna see?”

“Out in the hallway?” He challenged mildly.

“Out in the hallways.”

“For everyone to see?”

“Eve-ry-one.” She said secured. “But mostly you.”

“You are confident."

“Maybe I am an exhibitionist.”

Azriel laughed quietly, cradling her face in both hands now, a kiss landing in her forehead. Having known Elain for over a year, Azriel has lost count of how many sexual innuendos he heard coming out of her mouth. He was mostly shocked at first, mildly annoyed later, and full-on done with them once Cassian joined the mix, an insufferable nasty match that could put hookers to shame. Then he asked her to date him, and Elain perverted agenda had seemed to find a new single target: him.

Azriel would have been caught by surprise had he not been so used to her being deliberately inappropriate. Elain wanted to have sex with him and would spare no efforts to make sure Azriel understood that, but Azriel was scare to correspond because he wasn’t sure of how his body would react with a new partner.

Truth be told, he was scare he would not react at all.

“I’m sorry.”

"If you apologize for that I'll feel like a predator." Elain grimaced, exhaling in defeat. "It’s all right, rain check on exhibitionism. This is actually a very good choice you know, I remembered I'm wearing an ugly beige bra."

Azriel gave her one last kiss.

“My favorite color.”

“You would, wouldn’t you? You do seem like a guy with a boring favorite color.”

DAY 500

Her shirt had been distracting him all afternoon. The darned thing wasn’t even a sexy one, just a simple white cotton t-shirt with a stupid drawing of potted plants having a conversation.

Azriel used her jeans belt loops to turn her around till her ass was pressed on the table "You are fun, but funny, tsk tsk. Funny is a big stretch."

His fingers dug in her in waist, cutting her cognitive abilities, stopping her from registering the insult. "Cute shirt."

Elain looked down on her white tee design, where two potted plants were having a conversation. One saying, "Aloe, how are you?", the other "Hey, long Thyme no see."

"Thanks."

He traced her lower lip, muttering. "No lipstick, today?"

Her tongue darted outside, meeting the pad of his thumb. "Didn't want to smear you."

"Glass walls. Office hours." Came his low warning.

The usually cool space of the meeting room now felt like a glass furnace, his body burning from the inside out.

"Technically, we are past office hours.” She countered with a sassy tone. “I'm friends with Marie, you know, the cleaning lady. She gave these glass walls an extra glow this morning, I can guarantee you'll find no germs in it. Now, if you wanna put some germs in it, I have a few ideas about what we could press there. Who. You. could press there. But I should warn you, the dress code suggestion may get a little skimpy."

There was no hidding his smile now, except he wasn't amused. His smile was wicked, smoldering hazel eyes hiding delirious promises. Azriel cleaned her saliva over her cheek, finding her neck. Before he could rip a page from her book and make a nasty suggestion of where to put her tongue next, knuckles rapped on the wall, a voice calling for him.

"Az."

Azriel blinked, relaxation morphing into anxiety. He didn’t recognize it at first. The voice that had not called him in a while. Her voice.

“Az?” She tried again.

Blood drained from his face. Azrriel didn’t move. Couldn’t move. The sound of clicking hills filled the unnatural silence, and he knew he could not escape any long. It would come any time now.

"Az... Azriel."

There it was. The trembling call, the crying in her voice. He withdrew from Elain completely, no wanting to soil her with the disgust leaking out of him. Taking a deep breath, Azriel faced Morrigan at last.

“Hi,” she said with trembling lips.

He didn’t greet her back. Didn’t bother too.

"Can we talk? Please. I really need to speak with you."

His heart beat faster. Beneath his skin a new kind of emotion began to shimmer, rageful and blinding, so overwhelming he didn't process Elain's soft "I'll give you a minute," didn't felt the comforting swipe of her hand on his back before she left them alone.

Elain left him and Morrigan stayed.

“I missed you. I’ve called and called and you did not answer me. You know I need you,”

Morrigan was talking.

Morrigan was talking to him.

Her mouth was moving and he had no fucking clue about what she was saying.

Azriel couldn’t listen to a single word, too busy watching her. Watching her meticulously painted cherry red lips. Not a smudge in place, not even when a tear slipped past her black-lined eye the red did not smudge. She remained perfectly put together. He followed the lonely tear all the way to her chin. From there, Azriel kept going, descending to the gold choker around her tanned neck, to the strapless blood red jumpsuit that left her arms and neck uncovered but protected everything else all the way to her ankles, finishing in the black stilettos that made no more noise because she hadn’t move an inch.

Azriel would have easily fell for it in the past. The watery eyes, the singular tear drop streaming down her cheek, the trembling lips to make sure each word came out a little shaky, just enough to make her look pitiful, careful to still enunciate them properly for him to understand every word.

Words he'd latch on, let it sink, let it drown him in guilt and misery and a feeling of longing for a relationship that never existed outside of his head.

Now that he didn't listen to her, Azriel saw her. Her well-manicured coffin nails, the sunglasses on top of her head, the lasted Dior jumpsuit draped over her body. Nothing in her posture or clothes showed a person suffering as she claimed to be. 

Azriel saw Morrigan and it saddened him how easily it was to manipulate him.

To let himself be manipulated.

“Are you done?” His question was cold, cutting her sob story in half.

Morrigan sniffed, big brown eyes looking pitifully at him until she saw his resigned expression. His lack of will to entertain her. That's when her face changed, her real self breaking through the cracks of the insecure and pitiful persona she was trying to play. She looked at him regal and feral, Morrigan looked at him with the uttermost conviction that she could bring him back to her world in the snap of her fingers.

"Are you done?" she repeated back at him. Voice clear as water.

"I'm done with you."

"Stop this bullshit Azriel, we both know you don't have it in you." She pulled a small hand mirror from her purse, padding the area beneath her eye where a second tear was coming down. "I've entertained you long enough. It's time for you to go back to where you belong."

"And where would that be?"

"Beside me."

Azriel was stunned for a second. Then he was laughing, howling even. His laughter was a sad thing, carved from disbelief. He must have misheard her. Behind me, that's where she meant. Behind her, after her, pinning for her like a dog while she lived her life to the fullest not bothering to give a fuck about him. Azriel ran a hand over his hair to pull the edges hard, moving on to rub his face furiously. No, no, no. He wasn't doing this, he wasn't going to entertain her anymore.

Sharp nails carved a path on his forearm as he tried to pass by her, Morrigan grabbing him with all the strength she could must.

"What are you doing?"

"Leaving."

"I'm talking, Azriel."

"I'm not listening, Mor."

Azriel held her stare, all the love he once felt turning into an ugly thing inside his chest. She held him harder, nails sinking deeper. Her voice reflecting every ounce of authority she deem to exercise over him

"I'm talking, Azriel. And you're listening."

[cupophrogs]

Was daddy longleg mad or sad about mommy's death

“Perhaps it’s wishful thinking, but I wish I could’ve saved Mommy. She was as much a victim of this wretched place as I, she deserved better.”

[alicedrawslesmis]

We tend to skip this part of Valjean because we do like to focus on his better traits in fandom (or on his self-loathing) but he's also very sexist asdfghjkl

and this presents itself in the way that he's constantly trying to spare women from danger to the point of fault. He separates the genders in his factory and he separates Cosette from the world and then later from the truth (and what him and Marius are up to etc). He feels himself responsible for preserving the innocence of women. This is probably due to his past, having to provide for his sister and her kids all of his life. But this is also just a character trait of his, that remains even after Fantine dies:

Father Madeleine required of the men good will, of the women pure morals, and of all, probity. He had separated the work-rooms in order to separate the sexes, and so that the women and girls might remain discreet. On this point he was inflexible. It was the only thing in which he was in a manner intolerant. He was all the more firmly set on this severity, since M. sur M., being a garrison town, opportunities for corruption abounded.

This is what does Fantine in (much more than Victurnien's probing later, btw. I have Opinions on the way the fandom talks about her. But we'll get there when we get there). He could very well not have that rule and Fantine would not have lost her job. Like, in France at that time nobody cared if the factory worker had a bastard child, this is a factory in the early industrial revolution, they employed anybody willing and able to work. This included children and single mothers. The purity rule was Valjean's idea and weird hangup.

I think this is also part of Hugo's point. That this attempt to separate men and women and then to also cast away women who are corrupted from society, and close monitoring of everyone's morals, is bad. It doesn't protect people, and makes life worse for sex workers and for just about every woman who doesn't behave as a perfectly chaste virgin

(obviously there are good reasons why he made that choice, it's not like it was made in a vacuum. But it does place unreasonably higher standards for his female workers and in turn it's what makes Fantine's story take the biggest turn into tragedy)

[existence-is-a-liminal-space]

shigaraki tomura you deserved so much better

[olasketches]

so because we have only three chapters left, I’ve decided that I’m going to wait for the official release instead of going through the leaks as I’ve been doing for… almost the past 2 years. I don’t want the leaks and the fandom discourse to ruin my last experience with jjk as a still ongoing manga… plus I thought it would be more fun and enjoyable this way... more special ig (I’m being so sappy ik) wish me luck guys!!

[teddybearty]

After reading a fanfic called Another Side: Sporting Hopefuls, I’ve constantly had Celeste X Chihiro on the brain. Is it ok if you draw them, I love your art style and I’d love to see them shipped together more often?

Lovers of Dresses 🐱💕🐰

[souenkun]

Is anyone ever curious about why the house that takashi's parents owned was never taken over by any youkai, even when it has been abandoned for years, when this series has given us plenty examples of youkai inhabiting a human's dwelling, whether there were still humans living there or not (and either because they like the house, or they just want to mess with humans)? I do wonder if this is relevant to the main plot in some way (like the natsume family name being a ward on its own, hence youkai naturally avoided takashi's parents' house as a result, or if someone had set up wards when the house was built that are still up and functioning to this date, in which case, the question is who would go to that length to protect the natsume family)?

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 61

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

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

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

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

To keep his arm around Elide.

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

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

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

She had come for him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

To the keep gate, still open.

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

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

She had come for him. She had found him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No."

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

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

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

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

Together. They would either outrun this or die together.

"Elide-"

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

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

And gods help her, that horse did.

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

Faster than the wind. Faster than death.

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

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

Less than a mile stood between them and the keep.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Aelin was not at his side.

She was not on the battlement at all.

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

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

Aelin. Aelin was—

Arcas neared the earth, talons splaying.

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

Right in the path of that wave.

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

They all saw her.

The queen on the plain.

The endless wall of water surging for her.

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

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

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

The shaking in the keep was not from the wave.

It was not from that wall of water at all.

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

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

Into the burning heart of the world.

The keep shook, more violently this time.

The pillar of fire sucked back into Aelin.

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

As if it would halt the wave in its tracks.

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

"Three months," Rowan breathed.

The others stilled.

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

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

To gather up the full might of her magic.

Not for the Lock, not for Erawan.

But for Maeve's death blow.

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

…

Holy gods. Holy rutting gods.

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

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

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

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

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

As Aelin opened her hand toward it.

Fire erupted.

Cobalt fire. The raging soul of a flame.

A tidal wave of it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A minute passed. Then another.

The wave began to lower. Still the fire burned.

Rowan's head pounded, his mouth going dry.

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

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

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

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

For it, too, to be calmed.

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

Then silence. Utter silence.

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

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

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

Not a pillar of fire.

But Aelin.

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

The Fire-Bringer someone whispered down the battlements.

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

The silence turned reverent.

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

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

"Mala's Heir," Yrene breathed.

Down on the plain, Elide and Lorcan had halted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She had come here for this reason.

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

Nothing more.

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

Slowly, starting from her fingertips, the glow faded.

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

Back into Aelin.

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

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

Already, a white-tailed hawk launched skyward.

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

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

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

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

And then sweet darkness.

[chantillyxlacey]

after writing that analysis post i kinda want to make a cheeky meta variation of The Princess based on the ideas of "the game Slay the Princess is a narrative about the nature of narratives" and "the Construct is what happens if you turn a narrative into a literal physical cage"

a Princess who somehow is made aware of the loops in Chapter One and in Chapter Two becomes fixated on documenting everything she can about the different routes of the game, the different ways things can play out-- how to get different "bonus" voices to spawn in Chapter Three, how different Chapter Two's can lead into the same Chapter Three, etc.

she's determined that if she can just amass enough information, then surely she'll be able to figure out what it all MEANS, and if she figures out what it MEANS and what it's FOR then she'll figure out how to escape it!! she'd be paired with a new voice-- the Voice of the Curious? Voice of the Obsessed (wildly different from the voice w this name from the first demo tho)?

In one of her potential Chapter Three's, she takes this a step further and is determined to assimilate as many "routes" into herself as possible in an attempt to transcend the narrative all together. She attempts to out-Shifting-Mound the Shifting Mound; to become her OWN story rather than part of someone else's

you can slay her like usual, lead her to the peaceful resolution of realizing that being folded into the Shifting Mound was never being erased-- that not being the Only Part of the story never meant that she wasn't part of the story to start with, or that she didn't matter

OR you can help her achieve her goal, which nets you a new ending to the game (no matter how many or how few loops/vessels you've done at that point)

How are these for Princess/Chapter titles:

The Archivist and The Archive :3

[clickerflight]

Whump Art Trade

Here we have Dew from @whumpy-wyrms 's story. I hope you like it! Love drawing a sad little character with wings.

@whump-art-exchange

[vampiricstoryteller]

Moonlight 🌙 - Chapter 3

Hey y’all I’ve finally got the final chapter of my first Richette series ready to be read! Thanks so much for sticking around to witness this lil side adventure I thought up for them!

Read chapter two here, chapter one here

Read on A03 here

All mistakes are my own

Warnings: scary themes and moments, cursing

Chapter 3 - Astral Formation

Richter hears Annette before he sees her. The wind carries her screams right to him, pulling him towards her; deeper into the woods and farther away from the nearby road. He makes marks every few trees as he runs, leaving himself a trail to follow back once he’s got Annette in his arms. It’s dark, but with his magic, Richter can light their way back; he knows it.

It doesn’t take long, five minutes or so of tracking by hearing. The strained exhaustion in Annette’s wails push him to go faster and faster. The woods are large but Richter will find her no matter what.

When he spots the flicker of a fire he climbs into the trees, taking the branches slow so not to creak or break them. The bark digs painfully into his hand but Richter barely pays the stings any mind. He approaches from behind, surveying the scene before him in confused terror.

A large pentagram has been drawn into the grass and dirt, white rabbits curl along the outer edge of each point and red powder sits in a neat pile at Annette’s feet, who is in the middle with the demon.

The cloaked shadow has Annette suspended midair, her arms and legs held by charred vines; its blackened claw holding her head up by her hair and a single line of blood runs down the middle of her forehead. With its other hand, it feeds a steady stream of bloody bones plucked from the darkness of its self into the wolf jawbone; red eyes never leaving Annette’s tear stricken face.

Richter grits his teeth, taking several deep breaths. He knows he could try and blast the demon from up in the trees but the possibility of hitting Annette is too strong so he resigns himself to attacking from behind. There’s maybe 20 feet between him and the demon, not a lot of room for error so he ties his headband on and lays his hand over the whip at his hip.

He slides down the tree carefully, crouching low as he tries to close as much distance as possible between him and the demon. His fingers buzz with jolts of magic, sparks sizzling from the tips the closer he gets.

Bones crunch under his boot. Richter doesn’t have to look down to know that’s what the sound is, he’s heard it many times before. The demon turns, its eyes zeroing in on Richter and the jaw bone finally moving; dropping down so it can let out an ear shattering scream.

Richter cracks the whip, his hands ablaze in blue flames of magic that crystalizes all the way down to the tip. He throws once, putting all his might into getting the demon’s claws out of Annette’s hair; and takes off the demons arm at the elbow.

It shrieks, the sound sending the rabbits scampering and sleeping birds startle into the dark sky. Richter closes the last bit of feet between them, clenching his left fist and swinging the blue flamed brick of flesh hard. He breaks the wolf jawbone, shattered it upon impact and the shadow shrinks away; the claw it has left scrambling to try and catch the pieces of bone that are dropping away.

Richter cracks the whip again, looping it around the demon several times over until it can’t move, he forces three spears of ice through the middle of the darkness and is delighted to see blood begin to leak from the wounds. It may be the kind of nightmares, but Richter knew he could make it bleed.

He spins around to face Annette, promptly freezing the vines holding her in the air, yanking on the ice Richter breaks shrubbery into millions of little pieces.

She falls, dropping out of the air like an anchor has been tied to her waist. Richter’s there to catch her, barely containing a cry of triumph when the weight of her settles in his arms and puffs of her breath hit his neck.

“Annette,” He kisses her forehead. “I’m here, I’ve got you.”

Behind him, the demon snarls in rage and Richter’s spears of ice break like glass. Yanking his whip back to him, Richter flicks it back twice towards the demon. The first flick misses but the second one pops one of the demons red eyes completely out of its shadowy head. Its screams of rage slide into ones of agony, its whole being suddenly stretching towards them, a pitch black hand reaching menacingly for them.

Richter turns and takes off running back the way he came. His grip on Annette brutally tight as the blue magic pushing from the soles of his feet light up the forest floor several paces ahead of them.

“Please wake up Annette.” Richter pants, twisting and turning to slip past trees; mentally counting each one that he previously marked. “Please, I don’t know what to do, I need you.”

Behind him, the looming pressure of nothingness licks at the heels of his magic and Richter pushes himself to run faster. The trees start to blur together, his markings zig zagging in his vision. He squeezes Annette to his chest, his voice desperately growing louder.

“Annette, please.”

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

She thinks her head is going to explode. The pounding is deep, intertwined with the muscles and nerves; Annette is certain that if it doesn’t cease soon then her brain will simply stop working.

Every time she opens her eyes she can only see the dimensional glare of the nightmare demon. There are stars in the blood red orbs, bursting and reforming in a rapid succession that makes Annette want to vomit.

Her face is wet from her tears and her throat raw from screaming. She can’t help but fear that the demon did something to Richter, hurt him or killed him and he won’t come for her.

Her body is paralyzed with agonizing fear that Richter isn’t going to come for her, their adventures are over and she’ll never get to tell him how she feels.

An imagine appears before her, an illusion she’s sure but that doesn’t make the image any less upsetting. Richter is laying in a puddle of blood, his neck broken, his once vibrant blue eyes dull and lifeless; Annette would rather claw her own face off than continue to look at her favorite person broken and defeated but she’s been unable to move for what feels like days now.

It’s there when her eyes are open and when they are closed, the demons other worldly voice making her shiver as it rings in her ears.

“Silly little girl, no one will miss you.”

Annette looks towards the creature, the shadow that is its body blurry from her tears. She grits her teeth, willing her arms and legs to move but the restraints only tighten with every little movement she gives.

The demon moves, advancing towards her and Annette’s screams turn from pain to panic. She tries to pull from her magic, produce any kind of weapon to defend herself, only for her arms to pulse painfully in response.

Her fear threatens to swallow her entire being, images of Richter dead from different causes flash before her and the demon chuckles sinisterly.

“A few more moments silly child, just a few more and your soul will be—“

Annette jerks when suddenly, the demons jaw begins to crumble and one of its arms falls away from its body. For less than a second, it seems shocked that something outside of them has interfered, then it snarls in rage and disappears from her line of sight.

For a moment, Annette doesn’t know what to do. Her tears are still coming fast and heavy, her limbs still tightly help by things she can’t see. But then she feels ice along her forearms and calf’s, and suddenly she’s free.

Annette doesn’t feel her body hit the ground, in fact she’s pretty sure she doesn’t land at all but it none of that matters because in the darkness of her mind; Richter’s thick blue magic shines on her skin and Annette’s heart lurches into her throat.

‘Annette, I’m here. I’ve got you.’

She starts running immediately, her legs feel like fresh jam but a new spark has ignited in Annette’s lungs.

Richter has come for her, she is getting out of here.

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

His magic isn’t the problem, it’s the running that is. Can a human out run a demon? Richter didn’t know but he was willing to be the first person to try if it meant getting Annette to open her eyes.

He’s soaked with sweat, stinging his eyes and dripping from the tip of his nose; Richter has never run this hard in his life. His muscles ache, his fingers losing their grip in Annette and the cuts on his face from tree branches splash blood down onto her shirt.

He tucks his chin as he ducks under a particularly low branch, the burn in his legs almost debilitating. His lips mush against Annette’s clammy forehead and he whispers to her breathlessly,

“I need your help Annette, please.”

Another branch nicks at his temple.

“It’s going to catch us, we have to face it together Annette, please wake up.”

Something snatches the heel of Richter’s boot, forcing him to stumble and go sprawling. He twists into his back, refusing to crush the woman in his arms and bites into his inner cheek when his skin catches on rocks and rips. They slide to a stop, Richter clenching his jaw to the point his teeth groan in protest as waves of pain flitter through his back. On his chest, Annette shudders and her fingers twist in his shirt.

“An-Annette?” He digs his fingers into her shoulder blades hard.

At his feet, a heaviness settles over his boots and pins them to the ground. He shakes her, feeling the golden tips of her locs hit his chest.

“Annette, my love, please wake up.” Richter hisses, his voice cracking in fear. “I can’t do this without you, Annette, please wake up, for me, please.”

The heaviness has crawled up to his knees, it’s cold and sticky; suffocating already even though Richter’s chest is heaving.

“ANNETTE!”

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

She runs until the darkness tilts in her favor and she’s able to grab hold to climb. Wind hits her face in random gusts, the smell of trees, dirt and Richter guiding her towards a the only thing she can really see; a soft blue light that reminds her of his eyes.

The higher she climbs, the more air she’s able to suck into her lungs. Her legs burn, her chest practically bursting open as she pulls herself up by her hands higher and higher.

“I need your help Annette.”

Richter’s voice pushes her up, the sound exploding little drops of energy into her open mouth.

“It’s going to catch us, we have to face it together,”

Annette can feel Richter’s fear, it grips her heart the way it must be already eating his. Fingers press into her shoulders, shaking her and Annette can feel frustrated tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She has to get out of here, she won’t remain here and leave Richter to die.

“Annette please, wake up for me, please.”

She climbs and climbs and climbs, stretching her entire body towards Richter’s voice and the blue light of his eyes.

“ANNETTE!”

Stretching her palm wide, Annette pushes off the darkness with all the strength she has left; throwing herself up and up and up, her voice stretching wide.

“RICHTER!”

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

Richter’s just begun to form shields of ice around Annette, keeping the heaviness thats now at his hips from her entirely. It can take him, but he refuses to let it have her.

He’s just pushed a layer up her back when her body goes ridged on top of him and she sits up quickly, Richter is unprepared for the shift in her weight and as she literally sits on his stomach he loses all his wind and the ice around her shatters.

“RICHTER!”

Her face is full of terror, her hands scrambling on his chest and tears splashing from her eyes. Richter is quick to interlace their fingers, squeezing her hands to draw her from the panic she’s in.

Annette looks down at him, her doe eyes widened and blood shot.

“Annette,” he grunts, “It’s right behind us.”

Her eyes trace the outline of his body and Richter becomes aware of the stickiness that’s pulling at his earlobes, matting hair and pinning his shoulders down.

“You have to run.” He can feel a thick sticky thread wrap around his neck. He freezes it and she yanks at the inky blackness to get it away from his windpipe.

“I’m not leaving,” She insists one hand cupping his face while she turns her torso and stares at the demon.

With its jawbone and eye gone, there is only a massive glop of nothingness with one floating red orb in the center. She distantly wonders if this is its true form. At her hips, Richter’s fingers dig into her skin

“I told you, you could not escape me, silly little children.”

Annette squares her shoulders and pulls from the earth around them. The palm of her hand heats up as clumps of dirt and grass roll themselves together, she sneers at the demon when Richter squeezes her hips and hisses out,

“Fuck you.”

She flicks her wrist, sending thousands of freshly formed boulders flying towards the demon. They collide around the darkness, sticking to it and building off of it, piece after piece finds foundation in the onyx abyss and Annette throws all her strength into lifting the stone cage into the air.

As it rises towards the light of the sun, the demon tries to claw its way free. Its one blackened hand leaving indentations in the stone bars as it screeches and shrieks in hysterical rage. Annette’s body shakes, her focus on pushing higher into the sky until they’re able to bath the entire thing in the sun.

The demon lets out one last feral scream, cursing them with its last moments just before it explodes under the light of the dawn; the sound so loud it shakes the trees to their roots and makes Annette’s teeth chatter.

As blackened dust flitters down around them, Annette lets out a shaky breath and flops backwards onto Richter’s chest. They in silence, his arms wrapping around her in a tight hug as he says,

“Welcome back,”

Annette huffs out a laugh, patting his forearm thats lying across her stomach.

“Thanks for not leaving me.” She chuckles.

“Never,” Richter says immediately, his hand stroking her hip. “I will never allow anything to take you from me.”

A comforting feeling of warmth spreads through Annette’s chest and she lets out a slow breath.

“Thank you Richter.” She turns her head to look at him, the places where the black stickiness touched him are red and irritated.

Gently, she drags one fingers along the shell of his ear. “We should get back to the others.”

Richter nods, looking at her as he strains his neck a bit to kiss the tip of her finger. “Yeah, we should find you some pants. I’ll never heard the end of it if you come back without any.”

Annette snickers, shifting herself to her feet slowly and looking around the now bright forest. The birds are chirping and the sound of water rushing nearby can be heard, it’s hard to tell that this place was a nightmare heaven less than five minutes ago.

They walk back to the abandoned shack of a house with their fingers twisted together. Both of them exhausted as they find their now dry clothes and dress with their backs to each other.

It doesn’t take them long to find the road back the way they came and halfway there Alucard is waiting for them, a bored look on his face when he asks if they’d survived the night alright.

“Of course we did,” Richter says with a tired grin. “It’s not like we’re afraid of the dark or anything.”

Annette can’t help but to roll her eyes at him, agreeing with Alucard when he makes the comment that Richter’s hunger easily makes him more scary than anything residing in the dark could ever hope to be.

The End…….

Ahhhh thanks so much for reading y’all! Did you like it? Let me know what you think!