#but somewhere along the line someone decided to hide that particular magic away )

[soulsxng]

Though the brand in and of itself was enough, in Sivel's opinion, to warrant looking into Sahrin's words, she still provided him with further evidence before sharing her information. Evidence that would be a simple feat to prove true or not, which he would be sure to do, as well.

As for the information, itself...

"They said...that they were trying to help "sir" get his hands on someone specific. Someones, though nobody seemed to know who, exactly. Maybe because they weren't important enough to be told? Or...to prevent word about it from getting out, maybe. That's pretty much the same thing though, I guess. Sorry, I shouldn't speculate-- you just want the information."

She had began to list some of the things that she had heard over her time in captivity. Needing a way to block powerful telepathy was where it began, as well as a way to interrupt protective magics. As research continued, it seemed rumors had reached the ears of someone higher up in the group that the Aifaen were naturally resistant (or in some cases, completely impervious) to telepathic influences.

"That was when the plans for their hunts started, was when they found that out. It didn't sound like it was a big thing at first-- not anything like what's happening now. They most likely wanted two or three, to start their experiments on. That...that was the way it usually worked with them, from what I noticed..."

It was likely that Sahrin, herself, had been a victim of these, though she never expressly admitted as much. The one time Sivel had asked, Sahrin had gone pale; and though she had tried to hide the fact, the way her breath had hitched and quickened hadn't escaped his notice.

To him, it made her having heard these things more believable. It was likely that the "researchers" conducting the experiments were much more loose-lipped than those in other aspects of Ma'ilach. Their subjects were likely delirious, seemingly unconscious, or in some other state that would have taken away from any threat they might have otherwise presented if they heard some of these things.

After that, they needed magical energy. As pure and concentrated a source as they could find, evidently. That was around when Vasyri was added as a target, considering they were in the ancient realms, anyway.

The realm of Irekol was mentioned often. Sahrin thought there might be some kind of meeting place, or hub for the group somewhere in the realm. She didn't know where.

What Sivel assumed was the device the hunters were using to disrupt the magical energy in an area was apparently one of many versions. The one in particular that he had seen being the type they ultimately decided to test. Sahrin remembered them saying something something along the lines of the device needing to be capable of handicapping "that deity".

There was more...Sahrin had a good memory for detail, and though some of the information came from some speculation on her part, Sivel had to say that he was impressed.

Some more specific plans, potential points of interest, and names to look into. Apparently, though their devices were determined to be effective, both they, and some of their other experiments-- particularly those pertaining to the telepathy-- weren't lasting as long as they wanted.

Which meant more subjects were needed. The main portion of the group took interest when the "scraps" not needed in the experiments had sold for apparent fortunes, and that was when the scale of the hunts was decided to be increased.

Ugh...he had managed to look into much of the extra information given to him already. Shared it with the Ahniri, Aifaen, and surprisingly, the Setana, who had been urged by both the Ahniri and Aifaen to help handle the situation. None of them were happy with how complex the situation was turning out to be-- threads connecting places, places, and things in a seemingly random tangle that was proving frustrating for everyone involved to attempt unraveling.

There were still a few more people Sivel had to contact, and he was waiting on results from Ranadi, Alsina, and Sivan so the plans for how to proceed next could be determined. His head was starting to hurt though, and his eyes felt as though they were beginning to strain. Sitting for so long left him sore, and despite the fact that he was still fairly tired from maintaining the barriers around the Gathering City in Vasyri, it would probably do him well to move around some before he threw himself into anything more.

"Still...at this pace, we should be able to start making moves of our own, soon."

[nimueries]

REGARDING: NIMUE + THE FOURTH FACE

In Mists, we are introduced to the concept of ‘The Fourth Face’ and its existence within their lore by Viviane. The reference is actually made in regards to Morgause, who Viviane (the current Lady of the Lake and Morgause’s older sister in this variation) pointedly ignores when accounting for the figures who make up The Goddess at that time.

 "[Baby Morgaine] is not yet a maiden, and I not yet a wise-woman," [Viviane] said, "but we are the Three, Igraine. Together we make up the Goddess, and she is here present among us." 

Igraine wondered why she had not named their sister Morgause, and they were so open to one another that Viviane heard the words as if Igraine had spoken them aloud. 

She said in a whisper, and Igraine saw her shiver, "The Goddess has a fourth face, which is secret, and you should pray to her, as I do, Igraine that Morgause will never wear that face."

I could probably write a novel on how shitty Morgause is treated by the writing of this book but I don’t have the time. What’s important to understand is that at this time, Viviane is both Father Griffin and Morgaine to a pre-teen Morgause. She has magic but apparently she uses it frivolously and for selfish purposes? She’s too ambitious and willful and so she cannot serve the Goddess as she had originally wanted to. So, she pursues the only avenue that is left to her, which is to pursue her magic in private and marry and plot to marry as high up as she can. Obviously, this makes her the big bad. 

Now that we understand the concept of The Fourth Face existing in Mists canon, we can talk about how it pertains to Nimue. If we go with the notion of The Fourth Face embodying both Birth and Reckoning - what comes before The Maiden but after The Crone - we can tie it all the way to the circumstances of her conception. Nim’s birth is the product of deception and manipulation, a birth born from the destruction of Elaine’s purity and actual innocence. Beyond this, she is ultimately ignored and disregarded by mother, father, and priest. When she is acknowledged it is usually for the purpose of punishment and blame. 

During her formative years in Avalon, she is further isolated and placed in the shadows of all the other women on the Isles. During this time the roles of the Maiden, Mother, and Crone are played by Niniane, Morgaine, and Raven even if the fit isn’t quite right. Niniane even goes on to corrupt the role of maiden by participating in the Rites with Gwydion/Mordred, knowing that she wasn’t a virgin. Meanwhile, Nim is not given leave to speak with or interact with anyone save for these three personifications of The Triple Moon. Her virginity (which in itself is a squicky subject and deserving of its own meta entirely) is guarded and her growth as a maiden is stunted.

Of course, this all brings us to the reason that she’s been safeguarded for so many years. Which, is to ultimately punish the Merlin for his offenses against Avalon. (Which, again, I could write novels about how bullshit this entire plot is, but I digress. We hate MZB in this house and will continue to hate her long after our deaths.) This is where Nim’s ties to The Fourth Face begin to manifest in a more ‘on the nose’ sort of way.

First of all, she’s forced to hide herself while in Camelot. She’s physically present but every true thing about her is still plunged deep into the shadows. The magic that she’s working on the Merlin is ancient and dark, performed in the dead of night where no one else can see. The power that she is invoking is both ancient and largely forgotten, ripe with life and death. The most telling indication that Nimue has had to invoke The Fourth Face is that her spell will not come to full fruition until ‘the moon-dark.’ The night of The Fourth Face.

"When the moon is dark-" [The Merlin] flinched, and she knew that here was the moment of danger, the moment when the carefully played fish might slip off the hook and out of the net and be free. In Avalon the priestesses secluded themselves at moon-dark, and all magic was suspended ... but he knew not that she was of Avalon.

Not only is this an exceptional example of Morgaine and Niniane forcing Nimue to overlook her own training and betray the tenets that she had been taught, but it’s an exceptional example of where Nimue actually, ultimately, draws her power from. She has tapped into a force that even Morgaine has shied away from, and - through her own cowardice and thirst for petty revenge - left Nimue to drown in.

Nimue once against embodies the Birth and Reckoning/Destruction aspect of The Fourth Face on this night. Due to the dark sorcery of the event, Nimue is denied the ability to transition from maiden to mother through this act. She quite literally rejects the Merlin’s seed but through the blood she has enslaved him and ultimately destroyed him, birthing a new era for the Druids in the process since they have lost their corrupted leader. For herself, although she doesn’t realize it at first, this act is also a birth and reckoning. Nimue realizes that her faith has been betrayed by Morgaine and with the completion of this task there is the birth of a new woman in Nim.

Which, ultimately takes us to her suicide. This is by far the most ridiculous part of her arc and piss poor writing on MZB’s part, but I digress. I’ve ranted about it a million times and have since adapted it into something that makes more sense to my characterization of Nimue. Death is the ultimate sacrifice, the only pure thing that she still has left to give to her faith after Morgaine has defiled everything else. Through this death, through this sacrifice, Nimue is reborn because her faith is answered by the one goddess who has been beside her all this time. The Fourth Face. She is reborn so she can become reckoning. Avalon is corrupted. Camelot is corrupted. They must be devastated so that they can be restored.

After that first moon dark night, Nimue becomes that instrument of both devastation and restoration. An immortal entity that stands outside of the human coil. What was created by Morgaine will also be her ruin.

She was a charged vessel of power, like the Holy Regalia which it was death to touch unprepared, and all this power of her long preparation would be hers to bind the Merlin to her...but she must wait for the tide to slacken and fill again; at the dark moon she must take the other tide which came of the other side of the moon[...]not of life at all but of dark magic older than human life....

[sydneyshipsstuff]

so uh last night at like 4 am i couldnt sleep, decided to walk my dog, and came up with this bad boy. It’s a rough draft, though. um @professional-benaddict read it and told me to post it, so whatever rafni says goes. 

-Little! Peter with like everyone lmao (platonically), but main pairing is Tony x Peter. everyone is 18+ and Littles are known. but yeah, I call this “uncanonically Canon AU” because it follows canon character tropes (except Peter).

----------------

so i LOVE the doctor trope w stephen and tony to death, like probably a lil too much, but hear me out

--canon tony and the avengers with not canon (aka powerless) little peter

--im thinking how they met is before peter became classified as a little, he was smart smart. so, he still gets the internship, but a real one this time.

--hes hanging out with the other interns when he feels himself regress. he freaks and goes to hide in a bathroom or something

--he runs into (probably pepper??) someone and they help him get out of the tower because he's obviously very vulnerable

--they (pepper?) take him to the hospital to get tested and find out hes a high care little. once they find out peter freaks out because omg he cant work like this

--(pepper?) assures him that they will figure it our, but with no CG, and just for plot sake, he also is living alone at this point so they dont feel comfortable sending him home, so he stays overnight, at least, in the hospital

--(pepper?) goes to talk to tony himself about this since hes the one who chose and hired the interns. tony isnt quite sure what to do because peter is one of the best in their group

--(pepper?) suggests that he go have a one on one talk with peter and see what the boy wants to do with his future, and also meet with the doctors to see what they think is best for his future

--now, tony has met peter a few times, and the kid is pretty cool, but he never really cared about him (harsh, but canon tony is pretty reserved so yuh) so, when he goes into the hospital room to talk with him, hes mentally preparing to never see peter again

--but, when he walks in, he sees peter sat on a cot carefully coloring in an avengers coloring book, and his entire aura is different and /adorable/

--as if he wasnt already kinda done for, when peter notices he's there, he looks up, eyes blown wide and a kid-like face on full of awe

--he sits on the end of the bed and they simply stare at each other before peter finally gets the courage to ask why tony is there, stuttering through it like an adorable mess

--tony freaks out, because as good as peter is, he planned on letting peter down, but now that hes here, all he wants is to see the boy.

--instead he smooths his nervousness and easily asks about how the boy is doing. he asks if peter has a CG, and predicably, peter just sadly shakes his head

--anyways i dont really know how this part would be worded, and it probably wouldnt happen in just one day, but eventually tony asks peter if he wants tony to take care of him

--peter is a cutie and accepts, again dont really have this part planned out, im akward when it comes to writing about the adopting of a little

--he goes with tony and since he lives in the tower, he also gets the avengers as glorified CGs. now this is the part i LOVE

***added part by Rafni:

"I’d imagine that Peter would just be kept in the hospital, like he doesn’t need any meds nor saline so he doesn’t even have a drip nor is he hooked up to any monitors. He is just there in the hospital pyjamas colouring and waiting for someone to take care of him🥺👀"

And since there’s no medical concerns (anymore) the nurses would have more time to just chat with Peter and make sure he is like mentally taken care of 🌸🌸

---

tony stark- he's obviously the main man and does all the main caring. hes the one who sleeps with peter and makes sure he gets food, and plans the days. he also sometimes will hand make little gadgets (safe ofc) to occupy peter. he gets peter little engineering/inventing kits and will hold back any groans he has as peter hits his leg with a plastic hammer and screwdriver. he also is the one who is ALWAYS there, when he cries, when he's happy, when he's sad.

thor- he lets peter play with his hair, and even lets the boy snuggle, and sometimes even chew on, mjolnir (because of course peter would be worthy)

steve rogers- he lets peter look at and hold the shield. one day he finds the boy curled like a cat dosing on the inside of it

natasha- she speaks in russian to him, and when he goes outside to the park, shes there making sure no one disturbs him

wanda+sam (i had an idea for them when i originally thought of this, but i cant remember it now :/)

bucky- he lets peter also mess with his hair, although more rare than thor, but he does let peter suck on his metal fingers when hes really small, and will scratch peters scalp with it, the metal scratching much better than normal skin. also if he ever gets a fever, the cold of the arm feels amazing on his forehead

bruce- not strictly canon since hes more sciency than doctor, but i imagine bruce is the one who does checkups and takes care of the meds when peter is sick

stephen- he doesnt do it often, plus he's not at the tower much, but hell do little harmless "magic" tricks to excite Peter and when peter gets grumpy, stephen will give him a little stress spell thing to calm peter down

peter quill- i imagine hes the one who is down to do lots of fun stuff, but is also the most reckless towards the actions suited towards littles, getting a lot of scolding from tony. also, he has great taste in music, so when peter has bursts of energy, he'll bounce around the room dancing to old 80s music

rocket- hes the closest peters ever gonna get to a pet, and with lots of bribing from tony, rocket /occasionally/ lets peter pet him and feed him "treats", sometimes peter will ask rocket to do a trick like jump or spin, but rocket with always decline...at first. peters trademark pouts do the trick because either rocket will concede and hurt his pride, or tony will see and threaten rocket into making his little boy happy. its always worth it to see the happy little squirms and claps

gamora- she's the resident story teller. when its bedtime, she'll share her cool space stories, leaving out the gory/scarier aspects. it always does the trick as hes out in minutes. sometimes hell catch her and peter q engaging in loving activities (ie kissing, hugging, whatever), and he'll just giggle away, and as embarrassed as gamora gets, not being an openly affectionate person, she might just go to the extreme to hear the cute giggles out of the little boy

clint- hes pretty chill with peter. he also likes to play games with the boy, playing things like peek-a-boo when he's super small, or playing darts when he feels older. tony isnt /too/ happy about it, but its better than quill so he doesnt say anything.

pepper is there too because i love the idea of tony working away somewhere and pepper calling peter in, handing him a few sheets of paper, sometimes actual documents, sometimes just scratch paper to entertaim the boy, before asking peter to deliver them to tony. she always has a smile when peter eagerly nods with his whole body before running to the office to give tony the papers. it almost always ends with peter in his lap, but it /always/ ends in tony praising him, saying something along the lines of 'theres my little helper boy. look at you'

---

--on any particular day peter wakes up aged up, he doesn't even miss his old internship because this life is so much better, although on these days tony actually lets him help with some safer stuff in the lab with him

--also, they are still the avengers and still have to save the universe. tony leaves him in the care of Happy or Pepper, trusting them both to handle him. sometimes, it ends in disaster. sometimes, they are lucky enough to find happy laying on the couch, with a drooling little boy soaking his suit

--no matter how things end up, it never gets old being able to come home and cuddle up with the reason tony wants to save the universe.

--its no surprise peter is able to help the man just as much as tony helps him. tony stops locking himself up so late at night so he can put peter to bed and cuddle up. he stops drinking when he's stressed, instead finding his boy and reading a story to him. his hookups end, he wants to be there for peter all the time. he gets more work done, the added bonus of having a pretty little boy in his lap helping keep his mind on track.

--tony still has his canon issues, but having peter there makes everything a little more manageable. and when he eventually gets too old to be ironman, its okay, because his universe is lying in bed, a red pacifier in his mouth, and a family of superheroes softly arguing about who the boy loves most

--and despite tony being a narcissist, he knows this is not that, when he thinks that without a doubt he is peters favorite. after all, peter helped him see the good inside the bad

---

so uh yeah thats all i had to say. maybe in the future it will become an actual thing, idk. i still have so many projects im working on first. feel free to add whatever you want to it though !!

[nikibogwater]

Long-Distance: a Tales of Arcadia fic

Nari comes to an upsetting realization when Douxie makes a very important phone call.

Somehow this ask got me to write an entire oneshot after months of really struggling with writer’s block, so I can only conclude that the Non was a literal enchantress whose ask was packed with the magic of the muses. At any rate, thank you for the unexpected inspiration! 

Unfortunately I was not able to include a scene of Douxie stopping by Zoe’s place before he left Arcadia. The show heavily implied that he just grabbed Nari and booked it to New York City as fast as possible, which is a bit upsetting to the Zouxie shipper in all of us, but I did try to provide a bit of an explanation for it in this fic. This fic ended up being a two-for-one special, prominently featuring both Zouxie and the Magical Siblings (because I’m pretty sure I have a stipulation in my fandom contract somewhere that every ToA fic I produce must have Magical Siblings content in it). Also Archie being a marvelous little menace. 

Read on Ao3

Or under the cut:

Douxie had been on the phone for almost two hours.

From what Nari had observed of him, this was highly unusual behavior. He was typically very averse to making phone calls, and even when it came to checking in on his friends in Arcadia, the conversations never lasted more than thirty minutes or so. But he had seemed downright excited when he told her and Archie that he needed to make a call that evening. Archie must have known something Nari didn’t, because he swished his tail smugly and said “I see the lovesickness has settled in again.” Douxie threw a pillow at him, which he dodged gracefully, and began dialing before Nari could ask what any of this meant. 

“CASPERAN!” Douxie did not have the speaker on, but the others could hear Zoe’s voice screeching on the other end just fine without it. The wizard hissed and jerked the phone away from his ear, though his aura seemed strangely unperturbed by the less-than-friendly greeting. “YOU TRASH MY WORK AND THEN TRY TO DIP OUT OF TOWN WITHOUT TELLING ME--AND WHAT THE HELL IS ALL THIS I’M HEARING ABOUT YOUR DEATH?!” 

“S-sorry, darling,” Douxie sputtered. “I--yes, I know that wasn’t...I texted you as soon as I could! There wasn’t time to stop, the Order was practically breathing down our necks, and I couldn’t risk bringing them to you...Of course I’ve been meaning to call, but getting my phone replaced was a nightmare and there’s just been so much...No, I’m fine it was just...” The conversation continued at an ordinary volume from there--clearly Zoe had just needed to get the yelling out of the way first. But there was something odd about Douxie’s aura that puzzled Nari. Granted, she had not known him for very long, but she’d never sensed his spirit giving off this particular energy before. It was a sort of warm fondness, but somehow different from what his aura projected when he was near Archie or any of his other friends (she was only just beginning to dare to hope that perhaps some of that fondness might be directed at her). It was almost a happy ache of some kind, something that felt as gentle as a budding flower, but also as ancient and deep as a canyon. It took her a moment to recognize it, but when she did, it gave her an unpleasant start. 

“Archie,” she inquired softly, giving the Familiar a gentle nudge. The two of them had settled on the broken-down sofa near the front of the studio, while Douxie was flopped on his mattress near the back. Archie’s ear twitched and he looked up at her expectantly. “Is...Are Douxie and Zoe...” She dug through her mind in search of the correct human term. “...mated?” 

“The human word for it is married,” Archie informed her gently. “And no, they are not. Though they certainly give off that air.” He looked back at the wizard sprawled on his mattress, face aglow as he listened with rapt attention to whatever Zoe was saying on the other end of the line. 

“But they love each other as mates?” Nari persisted. 

“I would say that is an accurate assessment of their relationship, yes,” Archie chuckled. “They met back in Camelot, when Douxie was still an apprentice. Boy took one look at her and was instantly smitten. It was hell on earth trying to deal with him moping and sighing around the castle, sounding out ridiculous love songs on his lute at all hours of the night. Zoe took a bit longer to come around, but she did after a while, and they have been devoted to each other ever since.” 

Nari’s heart twisted. That was what she had feared. The guilt that had been nibbling away at her now began to gnaw like a ravenous beast. Douxie had not only left his home because of her. He had left loved ones. It had barely been a week since they fled Arcadia together, and yet his heart was aching for Zoe like they had been apart for years. And it was all because of her. Nari pulled her knees up to her chest and curled into herself, feeling sick. Douxie’s voice continued to fill the tiny space.

“...Mm-hmm...Yes...Yeah, I’ll be fine, Zo. Really. And I promise I’ll call again soon, alright?” There was a long pause. “...I love you,” he said softly. His aura gave a warm, fluttering pulse, a sure sign that Zoe must have returned the sentiment. Nari’s stomach turned uncomfortably. “...Yeah. ...Yeah, okay. ...I will. ...Goodnight.” The phone beeped softly as he ended the call with a deep sigh. He lay on his back for a while longer, staring up at the ceiling, a sad, dreamy look on his face. 

“Are you ever going to eat dinner, or do you intend to sustain yourself on yearning alone?” Archie called across the room. Douxie huffed and pushed himself upright to glare at his Familiar. 

“One day, Arch, I swear, you’re going to--” He stopped suddenly as his gaze landed on Nari, still huddled against the back of the sofa. “Nari? Are you alright?”  

“I....yes,” she fumbled, surprised he had even noticed anything. “S-sorry.” Archie was looking at her now as well, and she felt herself shrinking under both his and Douxie’s scrutiny. 

“Hey,” Douxie murmured, getting up and crossing the room to kneel in front of her. “What is it?” 

“...Why did you leave Arcadia?” Nari asked in a tentative whisper. Douxie tilted his head in confusion. 

“What do you mean, why did I leave? We had to. You wouldn’t have been safe there, the Arcane Order was too close.” 

“I had to leave, Douxie,” she insisted. “But you could have stayed. I have been hiding alone for hundreds of years, there was no reason you had to be part of that.” 

Whatever she had been expecting, it was certainly not the look of hurt that flashed across Douxie’s face, accompanied by the feeling of his aura flinching away from her as though she had struck him. 

“Do you not want me here?” he asked, voice tight with whatever pain Nari could feel turning in his spirit--it was an old pain, that much she could tell. 

“I...I want you to be happy, Douxie,” she replied, willing her voice to keep steady. “But the only thing my presence has brought you is suffering.” 

“Who told you that?” Douxie barked, voice suddenly sharp. He didn’t seem to want an answer, because he continued before she could say anything. “They’re wrong. I don’t care what they told you, they’re wrong.” Images of Bellroc and Skreal flashed through her mind briefly, but Douxie wasn’t giving her any time to dwell on it. One of his hands landed on her shoulder. “Nari, leaving Arcadia to protect you was my choice. Merlin entrusted me with your safety because he knew you are worth protecting, and I--” He stopped for a moment, searching for words. “...I agree with him. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, even if that means I lose something along the way. You are a part of what makes this world good, and I decided a long time ago that I wanted to protect all the good I can. But that’s on me, and me alone. You’re not responsible for anything the Order has done since you left them. Understand?” 

There were several things Nari could have said to refute his argument. She still had doubts as to whether Merlin would have ever found her individual safety at all important if it hadn’t been for the fact that the Order needed her to open the Genesis Seals. Douxie’s desire to protect what was good in the world was admirable, but also entirely foolish. It could only end in his demise (it already had once before), and someone with a heart as pure as his deserved better than to make such a thankless sacrifice. 

“...What about Zoe?” was all she said. 

“...I do miss her,” Douxie confessed, voice soft once again. “But this isn’t the first time my wizarding responsibilities have forced us to part for a while. I know she’ll be there when all of this is over, and that’s all I need. And besides--” He gave her a lopsided grin. “This is nothing compared to what it was like before the invention of the telephone. At least I can talk to her whenever I want now. It’s really not so bad.” 

“I can attest to that,” Archie put in. “This Lovesick Period isn’t nearly as horrendous as some of the others I’ve seen.” 

“Yes, thank you for that, Arch,” Douxie replied dryly. “Point is....I wanted to look after you, Nari. I made some sacrifices to do it, but I know it’s worth it. And Zoe feels the same. Honestly if I hadn’t been the one to take you, I’m half convinced she would have. She acts tough but she’s soft on the inside.” 

“...I do remember sensing that much when we met,” Nari admitted. She uncurled and folded her legs beneath her, reaching out and cupping Douxie’s face in her palms. His aura twitched in surprise, but he did not pull away from her, even when she tentatively pressed her forehead to his for a moment. It was a very ancient gesture of trust and affection--so ancient that Nari wasn’t even sure if most humans still practiced it. But it was the only way she knew how to convey her feelings just then. “You are what makes this world good as well, Douxie,” she murmured. “I will do my best to protect you in return.” Archie cleared his throat loudly as she pulled away from the wizard. “You and Archie both,” she amended, giving the Familiar a fond pat. 

“...Right,” Douxie breathed, his aura glowing with fondness once more--the familiar kind she had felt before. And this time, Nari let herself believe that perhaps it was for her.

[divagonzo]

Knackered

A/N: Praying this the start of the writer’s block crumbling away...

While I didn’t know about any Secret Santa exchanges (and being low on spoons) I did get some mild inspiration to write tonight. This goes out to everyone flying solo tonight at home, missing friends and family in the middle of all this madness and mayhem.

May your new year be better than the last one.

Note: This was partially inspired by my getting completely pissed Christmas night and posting an AMA and getting nothing. So tonight I’m sober and listening to Rand purring while asleep in my arms, while I wrote this up.

Rated PG-15/15/M for alcohol consumption to excess, consequences of drinking way too much, and some citrus notes at the end. 98% ace safe. 

Demarcation line for 2021 damnit!

Hermione was sitting at home, in her favorite chair by the fire, completely pissed.

Harry was at work and so was Ron. Ginny was off at Holyhead for the New Year's Day match against Puddlemere. Luna was off... somewhere doing Merlin knows what and her parents were in Ibiza on Holiday and patently didn't invite her along. Their relationship was hardly there anymore. She felt that painfully with every day she didn’t hear from them.

Hermione gave Kreacher the night off and bade him a good night.  She went to her beaded bag, which was beyond time for replacing yet she found she couldn't do an hour without it within reach, and pulled out a large brown paper sack containing two bottles she had picked up from Gerry's Wines and Spirits after work. She's popped in, taking in the selection of items and knowing exactly what she wanted tonight for her pity party of one she wanted to have. What kind of world was it that she was celebrating the turn of the new year, a new Millenia, the way some were saying, and all of her friend and family weren't present in her life, whether for work or for holiday. So instead, she'd have a pity party, indulge in more than some wee libations, and fall asleep by the fire tonight since she wouldn't see Ron until Sunday morning.

She wouldn’t see Harry or Ginny until late tomorrow night, if not Sunday morning either. She'd stood in the store, trying to decide on the spirit of her father's tastes - Balvenie, single malt, the older the better, or the tastes of her Mum - Rum, lightly aged, the darker the better.  Then again it wasn't like she was going to pop back up to see Aberforth and get a bottle of his Firewhiskey, not after the incident earlier in term and Ginny spouting off on things that shouldn't have been said in front of first years. She had enough for both and settled on that, knowing that she could take the other as a gift to the parents if she didn't indulge in them herself. Once Kreacher was off for the night, she plated some cheese and pickles and other finger foods and stood at the counter in the kitchen trying to decide on which. She settled on the Scotch her father loved drinking - Balvenie - and she opened the top of the bottle she'd chosen and took a sniff. Compared to her father's tastes, this one smelled a delight, with the color of Ron's hair with the evening sun drifting through it, reminding her of a particularly lovely evening at the Burrow out beyond the pond where he'd made love to her before they fell asleep under the stars. "Accio glass," she thought and a small heavy glass hit her hand easily. four ice cubes tinkled on the sides of the glass before she poured a full measure - two fingers, if she recalled, and took her plate and drink with her back to her chair by the fireplace.

"I better lock up before I start in on this," she muttered to no one, not even Crookshanks, and pointed her wand at the fire, locking the fireplace for the night. Even then locked was subjective, since Ron and Ginny and Harry could easily bypass the fireplace with the wards in place. Bill saw to that, strengthening the enchantments on Grimmauld Place when Harry moved in permanently the previous Summer. It was Harry’s residence but he also allowed Ron and Ginny in since he was also the Secret Keeper.  Sure she had a book, and her small and less than filling meal, and would miss her best friends on this cold night in London. But she had to let them live their lives on their terms, not on hers. She'd promised herself that once Ron and Harry made the Aurors and Ginny signed off on her contract - that she would keep quiet on the nights she would be home alone, by herself, no friends to speak of to have any sort of company. She lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip, savoring how smooth the beverage was on her lips. Then she reached for the little bit of prosciutto and brie and took a bite, then another drink before setting it down to read by the fire. It wasn't like Ron didn't know how she felt about his work, or how he stretched himself too thin sometimes, working full time with the Aurors and then so many extra hours with George. While the Aurors have him the notoriety and professional satisfaction he needed and craved, George was where he made his money, with his ideas and creativity. He had a real knack for coming up with an idea, one that George could run with, and make something of it, then refining it to sell it for profit. Just the few ideas of his that made it to production were enough to pay for their upcoming vacation to Athens, even if it was in the off-season but their first real vacation as a couple, for the two of them, and no finding parents or enormous stress behind finding them.

She picked up the glass and found it empty. "Accio Balvenie," she said aloud and waited, seeing it eventually settle down on the table in front of her. She poured another measure of the caramel brown distilled liquor, enjoying the taste enough to not mind the other effects, of which she wanted to enjoy, like quieting the anxiety in her head of Ron coming back to her.

Harry wasn't so much of a worry, given that Ron was there too. They had a sibling kind of love, one involving the occasional row and some days of not talking to one another, but deep down there was the respect and love forged in fire between them. One short conversation with Ginny was all it took to make things right for them, especially after burying the past actions that affected and harmed so much.

She'd been given a third chance and by God! She was going to not throw it away.

The plate forgotten, Hermione poured another measure. She hadn't been this inebriated since that night in Australia, where she had a meltdown to rival anything she'd had in her youth, and gotten pissed on brandy from a local store, hiding in the bathroom drinking heavily until she passed out. Ron eventually returned to find her, sobbing into a stinking toilet. Ron pulled her from the toilet seat, crying her eyes out and smelling of used brandy. He tidied her up, gave her a few glasses of water, tucked her into bed in his arms and let her sleep for almost twenty four hours.

It was the first time she'd truly felt alive after all the shite they'd gone through the previous year, including magically altering her parents memories to erase her from their existence. It was only earlier that night, before she ran out of their rented house on the Gold coast, apparating to the location nearest to the wizarding hotel they were staying in, and then spent half the night walking the streets, drinking brandy until the wee hours of the morning until she stumbled into their shared room, waking Ron from his fitful slumber, and promptly retching up everything she'd eaten in the past year.

Through all of the tears, the rage, the anguish, Ron was there, cleaning up her mess, tending her tenderly, and listening to everything and letting her vent her spleen of everything in her soul.

"Why couldn't he be home tonight when I need him?"

She picked up the bottle and poured one more, knowing that she would have a repeat of that night on the Gold Coast if she had more than that. She was a lightweight compared to Ron and Ginny, for sure, as long as it wasn't a particular kind of elf-made wine. Firewhiskey they could drink like a grouper and suffer no ill effects but a glass of elf made wine and they were having her reaction after too much brandy.

"Damn it, who schedules a raid on New Year's Evening? What bloody criminal is so mental to be out committing crimes worth catching tonight? I need Ron home, in bed with me."

She had a sniff and finished the liquor in her glass, looking forlornly at the fireplace. "I need him home to quiet the noise in my head. It's too loud in there."

Crookshanks came strolling in, purring loudly, having chased something earlier upstairs. He wasn’t Ron but he would certainly do for now. 

"Ready for a quiet nap in my lap?"

Sure enough, the territorial bundle of furr jumped in her lap and started kneading her legs, turning circles before purring as he fell asleep.

"At least I can comfort someone," She said to herself before falling asleep, the book in her hands forgotten in her inebriated slumber.

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

Hermione stirred, hearing a noise from the kitchen. She checked her watch, seeing it was past one am, and heard it again. "Kreacher must be back," she said to herself before hearing what sounded like a glass breaking and a "oh shite," erupting. 

Crookshanks jumped down when she wobbled up onto her shaky legs, pulling the black walnut wand from her hidden holster on her arm. While she was far from sober, the magic she felt growing inside along with the bone deep terror of someone in the house with her was enough to focus her mind on the coming task - seeing who was breaking things in their kitchen.

She stumbled slightly along the wall, using it to support herself up while holding the wand in her right, keeping a nasty curse at the front of her mind. Auror Jones taught her a few things she hadn't sussed out that would be just a hair under the line of being illegal curses. 

A light at the bottom of the stairs lit up someone in the kitchen, bent over the cooling cabinet. She took two steps and heard the step creak. "Shite," she said aloud, bringing her wand up.

And felt it soaring from her hands, landing in the outstretch hand of the person at the bottom of the stairs.

"Hermione?"

Ron stepped into the lights and she felt some relief wash over her followed by a moment of abject terror. 

"It's me. Christmas night I read a chapter of Hogwarts, a History, to you when you had trouble falling asleep."

Hermione took a step and felt her legs giving out, falling firmly on her bum on a step. "Whoa, easy there." Ron was up the stairs in a flash, picking her up and bringing her downstairs to sit at the enormous dining table in the kitchen. "Why are you home? Was I asleep that long? Is it Sunday morning?" Ron sniffed. "You had alcohol, didn't you?" 

She felt defensive a moment before that thought evaporated in her brain haze. "Yes I did. It's New Year's Eve and you were at work. I was all alone so I said I'd have a pity party." She looked him up and down. "Why are you home? And where is Harry?" "He's still at work, writing up some reports. I'm home because our mission ended early. We caught him almost immediately and I'm caught up on my work so Robards sent me home early, said that there were enough bailiffs and aurors on duty that he didn't need me tonight." He turned around and when he turned back he had a glass of water for her. “Drink up," he said softly. She did as he asked and felt a little better. "Do you want me to get a sobering potion from the cabinet? You know we keep them now for these occasions." "Yes, please," her voice was tiny compared to his. He laughed but did as she asked, handing her a vial of what looked like had been drug from the bottom of the Thames. "I hate this potion," she said aloud and chugged down the 45ml of potion, fighting the gagging reflex on the consistency of it. Slowly the fog lifted from her mind, negating all of the alcohol in her system. Ron knelt down in front of her, looking worried. "Drinking while home alone isn't a good idea, Hermione." "I know but I missed you terribly. I am being selfish, expecting you to be home when I want you here and not when you are here. It's foolish of me." "No it's not, but we can talk about it tomorrow after we've had some sleep. I'm knackered and I know you are too, just by looking at you." She stood hugging him tightly. "Quiet the storm in my mind before we fall asleep, please?" She looked up and saw him smile softly. "Promise me that you'll sleep 'til noon tomorrow if I do? I need the sleep too, ya know? And if you wake early, let me sleep in?"

The look of love on his face melted her. She’d do anything to see that smile she loved. He gave it to her willingly, without reservations, never holding back. That was part of why she loved him so much.

”I will. Promise.” Ron held her tight before she felt the magic surround them for the short apparition trip upstairs to their bedroom, for a fast and dirty session before she would sleep for hours - or at least let him sleep in. It was the absolutely least thing she could do for him coming home to her early.

[hanawrites404]

Wynne's Diary - Journey With Asra

(@sweetalnazar HAPPY BIRTHDAY SWEETHEART)

"Gosh.......how long is it?" I groaned and threw my hands hysterically.

"Just a few miles more, Honey. We are almost there" The whitehead held the map of the city in front of him and steered the paper around to find the right direction of the path. We were touring, since today was the day Asra wasn't being too cautious about my health and neither did I need to dispute against him for not ever bringing me to one of his journeys. But who told me that it was going to be this boring and exhausting?!!

We were walking during midnight on the lonely streets of a hamlet far away from Vesuvia for leisure. We were supposed to reach before evening, but due to some extreme weather, we had to stay back. It was only after five hours the sandstorm had settled down, but when we did reach our destination without any further problems, here we were irrationally strolling just anywhere, Asra being the slowest and worst navigator ever.

"Ugh, are you sure your broken compass is working?" I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms.

"Hey, it's not broken. It's just taking its time. Be patient, will you?" He blew onto the compass to remove the dust and shook it for the needle to gain some movement. He then kept it flat on his palm, but just as I already expected, it didn't work. The pointer fell back dead as before.

"bE pAtIeNt WiLl YoU?" I repeated after him. Asra sighed and kept the compass back into his pocket. He focused on the map instead, trying to find out which road we were on and where would the next milestone be. It had only been twenty-five minutes of us walking from the inn, but because of his sluggish navigation skills, we were sure lagging.

"Ugggh why don't you give me the map instead?" I suggested him.

"Wynne, you have never been in this town before. And the map has branched roads and connected at different spots, which makes it difficult to search for the right route. Give me some time to figure out" he dismissed me. But I didn't take it well as I scoffed and snatched the map from his hands.

"Was twenty-five minutes not enough for you???" I angrily stated with a pout on my lips.

"U-Uhhh....." Asra stammered. He didn't have anything to assert against me, so he just looked down and rubbed his neck. I didn't want to shame him, but damn I loathed his obstinacy and wanted him to just shut up and listen to me for once.

I sighed again and took a look at the map myself. I glanced at the entrance and remembered every turn we took to conform with the illustrations on the map. I noticed the pattern, thanks to the landmarks and me paying attention to the pathways unlike one stupid guy and dragged Asra by his sleeve to show him what I found.

"You see this here?" I pointed at the entry gates. "This is how we came in, after some kilometres, we reached the inn and from here, we went straight down and turned to our left, then we continued on that line at that's when we took a right, walked over that, and again right, and through the roundabout, we made our way to the left, then straight, again straight, and finally, to the right.

So according to me, we should be at least five miles away from the rocky beaches. Also, there must be a brothel somewhere like......" I looked up from the map and scanned around.

"no....no...no........no.....Ah! There" I pointed to our northwest where a grey and tall construction made its place at the corner.

"Oh! I....I never noticed that before" Asra rubbed the back of his head.

"Of course you didn't. If only you had brains like me, we wouldn't have been wandering around in the middle of the night looking like passive thieves!" I pouted again and flicked his forehead, earning a short yelp from him.

I adjusted the scarf around my head and closed the map. I We had figured out the whole passage so I we didn't need it anymore. I handed the map back to Asra and stretched my body for a bit. Seriously, walking continuously for twenty-five minutes may sound like a short interval, but you try it once, you will start feeling like weeping in the middle, especially when you realise that you don't know where you are going and how you are going to make your way back.

And people say that the journey is more beautiful than the destination. Heh, fucking bullshit. Let me hear someone say this when they almost died in the way and I'll fucking slap the morals out of them. I dare you.

"Now then, let's continue on our journey, shall we, My Beloved?" I swear I wasn't being sarcastic. Trust me.

"O-Of course. Sorry for earlier" he apologized timidly. I scowled at him for a moment but let it slip away. It was useless getting furious over him anyway.

"It's alright, at least we know our way now and we aren't lost. That would have been a waste" I snorted and carried forward on our steps, Asra following me shortly.

"Heh...I can't believe our time was saved by an unknown brothel" I kidded.

"Yeah... funny indeed" Asra snickered. I nudged him with my elbow playfully as we walked beside each other, my resentment finally melting away and being replaced with solace and comfort, with him and the starry night.

"So this is how you travel all the time? With no sense of direction and a broken compass??" I mockingly asked him.

"Well, not always. Sometimes I do get lost, not going to lie. But Faust helps me find my track back. Too bad she is not here with me since she wanted to stay back with Ichigo at the inn" I stuffed his hands into his pockets, his bright coat and the black hat he always wears during treks lightly fluttering in the subtle wind.

"And I know this local city well, yet I have no idea why my mind went blank so badly today. I'm sorry for the inconveniences I caused you, Wynne. I wanted you to show you the wonderful places this town has, but I only ended up making it worse for both of us" He held his forehead in his hand, his fingers mushing against his hair.

"Hey" I placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "This is not your fault, you have been travelling for hours barely with any rest. I can understand why you suddenly couldn't think of the path. Your mind must have gotten tired too, and there is no one to blame for that. And so, you shouldn't blame yourself too" I comforted him.

"But, I did waste your time. I know how particular you are about time, yet I consumed everything of yours so mindlessly" he shook his head again.

"Oh well, you are right on that" I truthfully agreed. Asra shot his eyes onto me. His expression of disbelief and bafflement.

I raised my eyebrow. "What? You thought I was going to say, no you didn't consume any of my time and then hug you tight and strangle you with kisses? Really, Alnazar??" I cocked. Asra's cheeks flared with ruddy as he looked down at his feet again. My smirk got wider, and I heckled him again.

"Ahhh so you were looking forward to it huh, Asra?? You naughty, wicked boy" I pinched his bronze cheek and laughed. He didn't reply to me and continued shying away and trying to escape from my tease. Looks like I embarrassed him this time. And I don't admit guilt of it as always. It was fun bantering him. But I think I have had too much fun because he was feeling awful, and I cannot just ridicule him anymore. That might just be plain rude, and I didn't want to be an asshole to my only husband.

"Fine, listen to me" I began. "Yes, I agree you did 'consume' my time" I specifically added quotations marks.

"But, you didn't waste it. That's absurd! You would do anything with my time than fritter it. Because.....every minute I spend with you is like magic. I get to learn more, experience more with you. And I discover my interests with you, Dear. You have never wasted my time. And neither did I ever said that to you, but you always assume wrong things and make me worry along with you" I raised my shoulders.

Asra stopped in his tracks, making me imitate him and stop walking too. He turned to face me again, his tanzanite orbs connecting with my golden ones. I peered closely into them, only to find myself in there. There was nothing else in him and that was very odd. Because usually his eyes were the real door to his true emotions and feelings, deeply hidden in like a prize of a maze, so I always stare into them when I want to know what he truly conceals into his deep irises, and I never cared how much time would it need to find them all because it was always worth it.

But.....I saw nothing in them. Just me. Me and my stupid face. Now, why would his eyes show me myself? What did he want to convey?? Was he feeling.....me?? Was he hiding.....me??? Was he............

Looking inside me????

I really had no clue. Asra though being more hospitable and extroverted than I was, always was the one to be more mysterious and secretive than the two of us. Maybe because he had more enigmas than I had?? I guess so. Or maybe he wants to wait for revealing them the right time comes for both of us. But because of never finding such a chance, he ends up being solitary though he never intended to be one.

But who knows. If Asra doesn't open up to me, I would be both courteous and disappointed with his boundaries. Complicated right? But that's how I am. A nasty unsatisfied bitch.

"Look" I held his cheek and stroked him. "If you don't believe me, that's fine. But remember one thing, Alnazar. You are my husband. We are bound together, and I'll never break apart from you, you hear that? And you have never, ever, let my time to waste. Because you are too sweet and cherishing for that, Asra. I adore you, and I'm willing to spend my whole life with you. And I had decided to since the day I yelled at you in the Lazaret for sacrificing your heart"

I sighed bitterly. That Lazaret occurrence had to be one of our bitterest times because we both impaired each other without acknowledging how we both felt at that time. But to be very honest, I never want to forget this. Because I want to remember how we were before and how far we have reached now. And I think that's plausible, and I guess Asra would approve with me on this.

"But back to the topic, you will never be a waste of time, My Love, Never. Mark my words, all this time I have spent roaming around with you and following that cursed compass which never helped had to be one of the stories I would remember and laugh about it every time. And you know why I would laugh at it? Because you were being nuts of course. But also because you were in it" I gently jabbed his nose.

"Every moment with you is like my treasure, Asra. And I don't want to lose it. I want to be greedy about it, and never let you get out of my sight. And I'll stick with you no matter what happens, and whether you like it or not" I tittered.

"I......" He opened his mouth.

"Yes, sweetie?" I tilted my head and innocently yet lovingly peeped at him.

But he ignored me again. He just pulled me closer, grabbed my waist to lift me to his height, and smashed his lips onto mine.

"Mmm!!" My voice became faint and my cloak dropped from my head, but I didn't protest against him and kissed back. My arms snaking around his shoulders and embracing his warm body closer. I was looming over him, and my hands slithered from his shoulders to his cheek, my lips working and pulling onto him.

Asra was a tremendous kisser, by the way. And how do I know? And is that even a question?

Both of our faces were red hot as we pulled back, my lips quivered from incitation and we both were panting away.

"I believe you...." He answered me and roughly kissed me for one last time. I moaned against his lips, wallowing in the pleasure I received from him, my hands curling around his hair and tugging it gently. He then pulled away and hugged me back as he breathed against my neck.

I exhaled with him, enjoying his sweet lips on me. But then I gently patted his shoulder to get his attention.

"hmm?" He replied.

"Hey....take me to the beaches....we came this far now" I told him.

"Ah....sure, Milady. Let's not keep you waiting" he sneered at me, but I was worried, to be honest.

Because I knew very well that it was a sneer of mischief he had on him.

I expected him to keep me down on my feet, but he abruptly let go of my waist and swung me up into his arms to hold me and carry me to the beach like a bride.

"You scared the fucking shit out of me there!" I caught my gust on time. The way I cried out as he took hold of me was the moment I want to shirk so badly. Meanwhile this white fucker was laughing away to glory at me! How fucking dare he?! Ugh I hate him when he does that!

"Tit for tit, sweetheart. I didn't forget the way you pinched my cheek" he winked. Blush swelled around my cheeks and I hid my face in his chest, Asra lightly giggling and resting a small peck on my head.

"Whatever" I muffled.

"Sure, suit yourself" he shrugged.

"Now let's show you the rock beaches" and there he was, holding his beloved wife close to him, never letting her go, never letting her feel alone. Because he was always there for her, and he valued every second with her like golden coins.

And they say, journey is more beautiful than the destination.

Heh, I guess they were right. But to me, both the journey and destination were marvellous when he was around.

And damn, I deserve a fucking slap for disagreeing with such a truth. Honestly.

[thornescratch]

🖊🌙 😐📝

What time of day do you prefer to write? Why?

Late at night, more out of necessity than preference. It’s when I have the least amount of interruptions. Also, it’s a proven fact that the words flow best and hardest when you need to be sleeping or getting ready for bed. It’s just how it works in the universal scheme of things.

What embarrasses you most about your own writing?

When I realize that I’m projecting too much on a character or situation and making it obvious. Like, there are some tropes I don’t mind revisiting over and over, but I get twitchy when I realize, Oops, that’s my issue, not Character X’s, and it’s less realistic they’d feel that way. Or when I catch myself reusing a description or phrase too often. I need to stop limning people in gold; I do it way too often. Or focusing on sweat in weird places during sex scenes. Though, it’s my experience that you do always notice the sweat during sexytimes.

Sometimes it embarrasses me how appealing I find some really OOC or over the top trashy stuff, but everyone’s got their favorite woobie and tropes, so I’ve stopped feeling bad about that.

What is one growth area you have for your writing?

Pacing. I do outline, but for a couple of my stories that were written for exchanges, you can tell where I hit deadline and had to just get it done instead of having a few more scenes or length that might have improved it. (Or, conversely, I should have been more brutal and cut shit that I liked but which ultimately wasn’t necessary. But then again, it’s fanfic.)

Also, uh, just finishing shit. And feeling less silly about it. I don’t like posting WIPs because I like to finish them first, but then I get interested in something else or I think it’s not good enough to post, and it languishes on my hard drive for years.

Post a snippet from a current WIP.

Again, not sure what fandom you're from, so let's go back to hockey since I have it open right now.

"Hey, hi, so like, O and Backy turned into chickens, it's not my fault," Willy said, standing on his front step with a large cardboard box in his arms.

"It's his fault," Burky said from somewhere behind Willy.

"Totally Whip fault," someone else—Kuzy? said, also from behind Willy, who took up a lot of space on a normal basis and even more so when he was apparently hauling boxes around. One arm poked out from behind him and waved wildly, and then there was an unmistakable giggle, so it was definitely Kuzy. "Batya, let us in."

"Fuck you, it's not!" Willy said, and then hoisted the cardboard box up slightly. The box peeped at Brooks loudly, and he jerked back in surprise. "Here, let us in, lemme just explain," Willy added, and then Brooks had three—no, four, no, five, Djoos and Orlov were apparently quietly lurking at the back of the pack as well—teammates stampeding into his house like they were trying to outrun the cloud of youthful indiscretion that Brooks could just fucking see hanging over them.

"Curse my slow door-slamming skills," he said to his now-empty front step, and then closed the door and took a deep breath in order to prepare for whatever the hell was going on.

Most of them were all in his kitchen. Willy had put the box down on the kitchen table and he and Burky were in his pantry; Kuzy was looking in his fridge; he didn't see Djoos; and Snarls, bless his heart, was the only one being polite and standing near one of the chairs, clearly waiting for permission to sit down. Brooks made a mental note to tell Ovi about it, since Ovi believed in positive reinforcement when it came to nurturing the kids, and would probably buy Dima a new car or something.

The box on the table was still peeping. Before Brooks could deal with that, it was drowned out by an even louder noise, which was apparently directly related to Kuzy pawing through his vegetable crisper drawer.

"Batya! It's terrible!" Kuzy said, leaning out of the fridge and brandishing an eggplant at him.

"All of his crackers are wholegrain stuff," Burky called out from the pantry, muffled. "He doesn't have any chips."

"He's got two bags of Skinny Pop, though," Willy added. "Original and White Cheddar."

"Everything so healthy," Kuzy said, making a face. "It's terrible but I guess also good. I know we make best choice to come here."

Brooks took the eggplant away from Kuzy and slapped it against his palm once with a pleasantly solid noise. It had some good heft. "The last person who isn't sitting down at the table quietly in the next fifteen seconds gets to explain to Barry why they have to go on LTIR because someone beat them senseless with an eggplant."

"Like, a real eggplant, or is this a dick joke," Willy said, leaning out of the pantry before his eyes went wide. "Oh."

Kuzy was already opening his mouth with that glint in his eye again, so Brooks pointed the eggplant at him. "Sit. Down. Where's Juicer?"

"I was using the bathroom, please don't hit me," Djoos said meekly, slipping back into the kitchen and sitting down immediately, hands folded on top of the table neatly like a good little d-man. Brooks made another mental note to let Nicky know. Nicky had his own nurturing system for the kids, though that usually ran along the lines of a series of slightly less murderous than usual glares that he used for those currently in his favor.

"Can we bring some Skinny Pop?" Burky asked. "Actually, can we bring both bags?"

"I mean, actually you wouldn't really need to explain so much—" Willy said, and then Burky wiggled past him out of the narrow pantry doors with a bag stowed under each arm, and dove for the table, yelling out, "Hit him, Batya, hit him!"

"Hey!" Willy said indignantly, rushing after him and almost knocking Kuzy over in the process.

There was a briefly chaotic interval like a particularly violent game of musical chairs, but it ended with everyone sitting down in a chair, even if Burky and Djoos were sharing one. Less sharing, maybe, than Burky getting physically dumped out of two chairs in quick succession by Willy and Dima, and then Burky climbing into Djoos's lap, planting himself there, and winding his arms around Djoos's neck despite Djoos's wide-eyed expression of panic, but Brooks decided he couldn't afford to be too particular about it, and Djoos was just going to have to learn to desensitize himself to Burky-induced boners and personal space issues.

The box was still peeping.

Brooks eyed all of them, trying to decide who he had the best chance of getting the story out of the quickest, and then decided that he might as well give up on that and picked Willy, since he had a distinctly guilty expression that was only slightly marred by how he was currently shoving a double handful of Brooks's Skinny Pop into his mouth. "Willy. Explain. And no one else talk until I say they can."

Willy swallowed and licked his lips. "Okay, so. Magic."

After a minute when nothing else seemed to be forthcoming, Brooks cleared his throat. "That's it? That's all you got?"

Willy glanced around the table where all of his teammates were successfully avoiding his gaze (Kuzy and Dima were both pretending to read the nutritional info on the back of the popcorn bag; Burky was actually hiding his face against Djoos's neck; accordingly, Djoos's panic looked like it had ratcheted up by several degrees, and he was staring off into the middle distance with a muscle twitching in his cheek) and when it seemed obvious that no help was forthcoming, he shrugged. "Kinda?"

[buttercup-of-kaer-morhen]

Magic and Exams: A magical College AU

I wrote a little a little drabble for my Geraskier magical college AU that has been stuck in my head.

Main tags: college AU, it's modern but with magic slapped in, Non human Jaskier, And they were room mates~, pure fluff, pre relationship, pining... Kinda, unbetaed, we die like Renfri

---------

    Jaskier huffed as he rifled through the pile of clothes he had on his bed, stuffing only a few articles into the large pack he was trying to fit everything in. He had finally wheedled his dorm mate into letting him go on one of the infamous weekend camping trips that his roomie was always secreting away to. For as long as he had been bunking with the man, Geralt would hike up a mountain or hill in the vast forest preserve that was conveniently by the campus-- which is probably why they had so many Environment and Monster Studies Majors now that he thought about it-- whenever he had a weekend that had a holiday or a day of cancelled classes attached to the weekend. The musician had literally come into the dorm to find Geralt suddenly packing on a friday morning because he got emails that his classes cancelled for the day. Now usually, one of his frat brothers-- Jaskier still didn’t get confirmation if they were his real brothers or not, which was weird cause his group usually could find out anything-- Eskel or Lambert would go with the witcher but both were busy this time around and Jaskier did not let the opportunity slip through his fingers!

 

    The thing is, as much as he pestered the Monster Studies major into bringing him along… Jaskier had maybe, kinda, never actually gone camping or hiking before in his life. Well, unless you counted the nights holed up in a pillow fort in the living room with Yenn under copious amounts of blankets and pillows or sleeping in the backyard in a hammock under the stars with his sister Renfri. He was going to guess Geralt was not one who would though. So he was quickly trying to figure out what to bring before shoving it in the bag specifically made for this-- he was unaware those existed-- which he borrowed from Renfri. She had always been the better scout when they were younger and actually stuck with it unlike Jaskier who opted out for more fun, indoor activities much to the displeasure of his father. She also did him the kindness of also filling the bag with the actual “essentials” as she called them, he was just adding anything he may want personally and his clothing. Thankfully, he knew exactly what to wear from the many magazines, movies, and such that he had seen. He had already put one such outfit on before he started his attempt at packing, that way he’d just be able to get up and run out the door as soon as Geralt arrived. He was almost done too and feeling rather satisfied! He had clothes, a battery pack for his phone, his notebook, and a few textbooks he may or maynot get around to reading for class while they were out there. 

    Just as he was closing up the pack, the very man he was about ready to go look for, stepped into the room. “Ah, Geralt! I’m just about ready!” He said brightly, beaming at the stoic individual who was currently looking him up and down critically, as if he were appraising the slightly smaller man. It sent a small spark of excitement through Jaskier, knowing he’d impress the other with his knowledge and fashion. He knew he looked damned good for this fall excursion, well as good as lumberjack apparel could, and he was giddy to get the other’s approval.

    “Stop messing around. Put on real pants Jaskier.” Was the gruff reply he received as Geralt stooped by the bed on his side of the room and pulled his pre-packed bag out from underneath. No compliment. No other words of any kind! Nothing!

    Jaskier practically sputtered in offense as he exaggeratedly rolled his eyes and threw his hands out wide. “W-what!? These are real pants! Have you never looked in a magazine much less gone into a clothing store before? Well obviously not, what with the broody biker/mountain man aesthetic you have going on, but really?” He argued, trying to hide how deflated he felt just from the one comment. The man had a real talent for stealing the wind from his wings with one clipped sentence, the filling-less pie comment still haunted his dreams. Worry was slowly filling him about everything else now too, from what he packed to whether he’d only be a bother on the trip. 

    Geralt stood back up, slinging his own absurdly large bag onto his back and rolled his eyes. “No, those are a second skin. They make your ass look great but are worthless for anything else. For Melitele’s sake, they don’t even have real front pockets Jaskier.” Geralt explained with a put upon sigh as if the article of clothing were the bane of his existence. He at least didn’t sound frustrated or exhausted yet, so Jaskier was counting that as a win!

    “These ones do!” He exclaimed excitedly, not really in defense of the garment but in actual genuine thrill, as he shoved as much of his hands as he could into the front pockets. It was just his fingers but it was something and it was one of the reasons he had got that pair. Then his distracted thoughts took a left turn and crashed as he remembered the other thing the man had said. “You think my ass looks good?” He asked, genuinely stunned. 

    Geralt gave him a look and, ah, there was the irritation. “Sweating. Chafing. Itching. No protection against anything like thorns or brambles or anything at all really.” Geralt listed each one, counting on his fingers visibly to punctuate his words. “I’m not going an entire weekend with you complaining because you chose fashion over practicality.” He growled lowly, which had no right making Jaskier nearly swoon from how hot it made Geralt’s voice, as he tried to get the musician to understand what he was saying. Now Jaskier knew that Geralt was right after laying out all of the faults in his choice of trousers but, you see, if he were to admit that he only owned skinny jeans, booty shorts-- those were a gift--, and a pair of fluffy unicorn PJ shorts-- again, a gift from Yenn-- then Geralt would definitely know he had never done anything like this before. “You’ve never gone camping or hiking before have you?” Geralt asked in his weird way that wasn’t actually asking but rather was a statement, as he eyed Jaskier’s bag. Before Jaskier could stop him, Geralt was already pawing through the contents.

    “Whaaaaaaaaaat?! Noooooooooo- How could you- Don’t be abs- Ok, alright fine. Yes…” The half-human sputtered, trying to deny the accurate accusation but the jig was up. Jaskier had wanted to keep up the charade but knew when to give up  the goat-- the metaphorical kind, not the one Eskel owned and was currently hiding in the frat house-- even if it meant he’d be barred from going on the trip now. He had really been looking forward to the trip and getting to know Geralt better. He couldn’t bring himself to meet the witcher’s eye now that his lie was caught… That and he didn’t want to cry in front of the man because he had to look into his crushes eyes which would only hold ire or disappointment from Jaskier not telling him the truth from the start. There was an awkward silence for a few minutes before Geralt was suddenly speaking.

    “This was terribly packed and you made a good call on the flannel and knit cap. It’s going to be colder than normal because we’re in fall…” Geralt offered as he began repacking for Jaskier. The musician’s head snapped up at the comment and he watched the other work curiously, as a flicker of hope filled him. “Do you own anything besides those sorry excuse of jeans?” Jaskier opened his mouth to reply but stopped as the other shook his head without actually looking up. “Actually, don’t answer that. We’ll stop by somewhere and grab you some real pants on the way. I’m also going to hazard a guess and say you don’t have hiking boots so wear your old converse and we’ll pick up a new pair along with the jeans.” This was the most Gralt had ever spoken to the Multi-Minor student at one single go and he decided to see how far this role would continue on. “You won’t be able to wear them this time but you  can at least start breaking them in as soon as we get back. Just wear them to class for a while and you’ll be good for next time.” Geralt grumbled, mostly to himself as he planned out what they had to do before making it to their destination, as Jaskier’s brain tried to catch up. He was practically beaming at the witcher by the time he had lapsed back into his usual silence. The musician practically tackled the larger man, who easily caught him in confusion. Not only did he get to go on this trip, but there were future trips from the way Geralt was talking. 

    “So, I can still come with?!” He asked excitedly, wanting to confirm it anyway as the anxiety still lingered slightly. It just seemed too good to be true!

    “Yes? Why not? Just cause it’s your first time, doesn’t mean I’m just going to ditch you…” The witcher said genuinely, a small frown on his face at the implication that he would just suddenly leave the other behind. “Besides, someone has to teach you the ropes and keep you from killing yourself accidentally.” The man half teased as his frown turned into a slight smirk. Jaskier would have been offended if he wasn’t so happy right then. He wanted to squeal in joy but refrained for the sake of his roomie/crush’s sensitive ears. He also really wanted to kiss the man if it wouldn’t have crossed a line and ruined the whole thing but oh well, he’d have to just try to squash the urge. “Also, are you going to bring your wolf?” The man’s sudden question snapped Jaskier back to reality again.

    “You mean Wolf? My dog?” Jaskier asked, incredulously with a roll of his eyes. They had had this particular back and forth frequently since the day he had snuck his dog onto campus and into their dorm to stay. Geralt didn’t ask questions, only worked with him and helped hide the large pooch so that the DAs wouldn’t find either of their pets that they were living with together. It was an unspoken agreement to look out for one another between the four living in the small room. Hiding a pet from campus officials was like  practically a sport for their friend group now anyway. It wasn’t just them watching each other's backs either really. It was a pact amongst them all to pitch in and help if needed. 

    Geralt snorted a laugh of disbelief as he shook his head. “It’s a wolf.” He stated matter of factly and Jaskier just could not understand why everyone insisted that his lovely beautiful Wolf that he found abandoned on the side of the road was a wolf.

    “He’s a dog! Also, is Roach coming? I know she’s a horse originally but with the spell you got from Triss to make her appear as a cat, does she like, I dunno, need to deal with horse things or stretch her legs. Metaphorically speaking or… I guess literally too? Can she even change back into a horse at will?” Jaskier tried to divert the argument, nipping it in the butt before it could really start, but ended up rambling. Jaskier was never really given details on the whole weird adventure of sneaking the man’s horse in and disguising it as a cat.

    Geralt gave him an amused look as he cocked his head to the side. “...Yes, no, and yes?” He offered, sounding unsure of what he was confirming and denying. “She comes with for the fresh air but she doesn’t need to. She’s perfectly fine in either shape. Also she can turn back into a horse but doesn’t want to most of the time.” He clarified and Jaskier nodded.

    “Alrighty then… Sure, we should probably bring Wolf along. He’d most likely enjoy the exercise and we won’t have to rely on anyone keeping an eye on him or the DAs.” Jaskier relented. Besides, it would be more fun with all four of them.

    Geralt hummed before handing Jaskier his own pack to carry, newly repacked and everything. “Let’s go then. We’re losing light.”  Geralt hurried Jaskier along out the door and they both snuck out Wolf and Roach through the, thankfully, empty building into the parking lot where Geralt’s old beat up pickup truck awaited their arrival. Once everyone was in the vehicle-- pets and bags in the back seat, people in the front-- they set off for their weekend getaway. Jaskier smiled softly at Geralt as the man focused on the road before looking out his window at the hint of sun rising to greet the day. Jaskier had a feeling that it would be a good trip and he was already looking forward to the future ones as well. 

[yet-another-saberface]

Interim Headcanons: Fuyuki -> Orleans

This is the first in what’ll be a series of story posts that are ‘Interims,’ or what takes place in between singularities! (Other than the eventual events.) They have less heavy story content but are still necessary because they do contain character stuff.

This one has a fic section roughly in the middle of the post! It’s around 1500 words & in the first person POV, which is actually what I’m most experienced with writing, so I hope everyone can enjoy that! There should be another short fic post coming out before I start on Orleans that’s less story and more slice of life stuff, but I’m still figuring out what exactly I want to do with that and had everything else done, so I decided to post it now!

We’re summoning some people, so get ready!

Between Fuyuki and the first real singularity, Eva practically refuses to have any downtime. She’s told that she should take it easy, let her leg heal, and wait for them to pinpoint the appropriate rayshift point. At some point they’ll help her set up the summoning circle for backup, but until then, she doesn’t need to be doing anything.

Instead of following those orders, Eva essentially ends up doing the work of multiple people herself. She hangs around the command room, usually standing the entire time, and will rush over to help anyone that seems to be having any difficulties. One of your numbers seems off? She’ll double-check it for you and if it’s correct she can explain exactly why. Tech isn’t working? Not her area of expertise but she’ll troubleshoot it until she can’t anymore, at which point she runs off to find Da Vinci. Something weird happening magically? You better bet she’s all over it and probably pushing you out of your workstation to handle it herself.

After a day or two, Roman notices what’s going on and takes her aside. She’s promptly banned from the command room unless someone asks for her to be there.

She tries to hide her disappointment… Which is surprisingly easy when the only emotion you can really convey at the moment is ‘tired?’ She heads back to her room, takes her boot off, and collapses onto her bed trying to figure out what else she should do, falling asleep in the process.

She wakes up around a full day later with a brilliant idea.

She’s gonna set up the summoning circle and perform the ritual herself. She forgets about the boot and immediately rushes off the Chaldea’s library with the intent of double-checking her memory.

She actually ends up spending a lot more time in the library than she intended when she finds out just how expansive it is. There’s all the books on magic she’s read before, along with literally everything else she could ever hope to find. This is how she finds herself filling a crate with somewhere upwards of 15 books and dragging it back to her room after leaving a note so people know who took them.

Mash catches her as she’s heading back with the books, glad to see that she seems less tired. When Mash offers to help with the books, Eva tries to say no, until Mash notices that she isn’t wearing her boot anymore. 

“Senpai, did Doctor Roman say your ankle is okay now?” “Uh… Wait. Right. My ankle is injured. Still. Crap.”

It’s only then that she starts to notice how the pain is coming back from all the unsupported weight she’s been putting on the injury, and finally accepts Mash’s offer to help with the books. When they finally get them back to Eva’s room, Mash makes sure that Eva actually puts on the boot this time. Afterwards, Eva is posed with a question she’s not sure if she should answer.

“What are you planning on doing with all of these books?” A pause. “I was just going to refresh my memory! I’ve done a lot of research into servants and stuff in the past, but I’m not sure how much of it I actually remember…” “That’s a wonderful idea, Senpai! Do you mind if I borrow some of these?” “Oh… No, go ahead! Just uh… Not this one, I was gonna start here!” She conspicuously grabs the book on rituals.

She spends the rest of the day reading up on how summoning rituals work, and later that night, when the fewest people possible are awake, she sneaks off to the summoning room that was pointed out to her earlier… 

        I open the door to the summoning room to find darkness. It’s unexpected, unsettling. Darkness is not something easily found in Chaldea, where everything is lit up with screens and fluorescent lights. It’s fitting, I guess, that humanity’s last hope should be constantly illuminated. But if that’s the case… Then why is it here, of all places, that I find darkness? Doubt creeps into my mind, as it always does. Millions of questions spring from that first one, slowly weighing me down, and looming over me like a shadow. Is this really a good idea? Maybe there’s a reason they said I should wait for their help setting this- No. I can’t just not do it. I need to prove it. That I’m capable of being the Master that saves humanity. And this is the first step. The light from the hallway illuminates just a bit of the room, but it’s enough that I can see that a circle has indeed already been drawn on the floor. Good. Now I just need to take care of… Everything else. I feel around on the walls by the door for a light panel until I finally knock my hand against it. The room lights up in blues and whites, unlike anything else in the facility, leaving me in awe. This is definitely the place to be doing magecraft. Glancing around a bit more, the room appears to be empty… With one exception. Tucked into the back right hand corner, there’s a small stack of white crates. Okay, then. Let’s start there. I make my way around the edge of the circle that takes up most of the room, ducking my head a few times as I try not to disturb any of the floating bands of light throughout the room. I don’t know exactly what they are, but I can’t afford to take any risks. When I reach the boxes, and carefully remove the lid of the top one to find it full of prism-like stones, each one containing every possible color. They’re big enough that I can only fit one in the palm of each hand, and are lighter than I expect. I set the one I’d been holding back down in the box, rummaging for the book I’d stuffed into my pocket before coming over here. I skim through the pages for just a second before landing on the one I’d marked earlier. Stones, stones… Gems, maybe? Why are these here? I’m halfway down the page when it hits me. They’re probably catalysts. I have no idea if they’re meant to summon anyone in particular, but there’s little chance they’re anything else. Summoning’s supposed to be easier with a catalyst, right? There’s several boxes of these… Surely using a few wouldn’t be noticed. And besides, most catalysts stick around even once the summoning is complete. Most of them. Hopefully that’s how these work. Given that I’m unsure what exactly they are, I grab 3 just to be safe after setting my book down on the floor. With one in each hand and a third tucked against my chest by my upper arm, I carefully inch a toe into the summoning circle. Nothing happens. …Okay then. It’s probably not activated yet. That’s good. I set the stones down in the very center, one at a time, so that they’re arranged in a triangle formation, before walking out of the circle as quick as I can. Still, nothing happens. Good. No surprises. I put the lid back on the box, grab the book, and then walk back around to close the door for good measure. Something tells me I don’t want anyone walking in on this. Circle, catalyst, mage… There’s no way this is as easy as it seems, is there? There’s gotta be a catch to it. But… If there is one, it’s definitely not mentioned at all. So all I can do is hope that what works in theory works in reality, like always. So I set my book down and stand my ground in front of the door, facing the circle. Don’t screw up the incantation. Remember how you changed it. Remember your theory. This is all gonna work out just how it’s supposed to. I take a deep breath. I blink. And before I speak, I picture it in my head. A drop of ink hitting paper, spreading a deep blue color across the white page. With that, I can feel the familiar hum and warmth of magic circuits spread through my body, giving me focus. I can do this.

“Let silver and steel be the essence. Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation. Let my own hope and faith in humanity be what allows it. Let a wall rise against the wind that shall fall. Let the four cardinal gates close. Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the kingdom rotate. Know this; I am all the good remaining in the world. I stand against all the evil threatening our world. And it is I that shall come to have dominion over that evil. Heroic Spirit, attended to by the three great words of power, Come forth from the right of restraint, keeper of the balance!”

As I progress through the lines of the chant, I can feel more and more magical energy building up in my body, desperately trying to be released. But that heat, that feeling of everything building up, cannot compare to what happens as I end the spell. All of the energy is pulled from my body at once. I can feel each and every individual nerve fighting against it, to no avail. It’s like my heart has stopped beating, yet is also beating too fast. I’m hit with a sudden migraine, yet the next second, it seems like it was never there in the first place. And all the while, I’m forced to close my eyes because the room, once dimly lit, is now full of a blinding white. And while they’re closed, images flash through my mind. Fire. Death. A silhouette, unidentifiable. And finally the back of a boy, my age, in a Chaldea uniform, standing at the ready. I hear something incredibly loud, some sort of boom, though maybe that’s not the best way to describe it, followed by a much quieter cracking noise, as the light behind my eyelids fades away. My hearing starts to recover, but I’m scared to open my eyes. I have no idea what just happened. Did it work? Was all of that meant to happen? The book hadn’t mentioned any of that. So I stand there, listening and breathing. Hoping against hope that everything is okay. Until I hear someone speak. “I ask of you, are you my Master?”

As I finally open my eyes, another girl stands before me in the center of the circle. The stones are gone. (Dammit.) As she looks at me expectantly, her green eyes seem to see right through me. I can’t tell if I’m being judged or not. But as I take in the rest of her, I do my best to offer a response, however quietly. “Yeah. I… I’m your Master.” It’s barely more than a whisper, riding along a shaky breath. So much for seeming confident. We stand in silence for a few more seconds as I catch my breath. It worked. It really worked. That’s a Servant. Right there. In front of me. That I summoned. This time when I look at her, I begin to notice things without trying beyond her physical appearance. For starters, she’s a Saber. Wait a- That’s not any Saber. That’s. “You’re King Arthur.” “That… Is correct, Master,” she replies, showing slight confusion. “Holy… Okay. Um.” As I’m pausing to take a breath, the door behind me slams open. I jump a bit, and when I land, pain shoots through my leg. My boot broke during the ritual. I glance behind me to find Mash, Roman, Da Vinci, and a few other staff members staring. “Senpai, what did you-” “IsummonedaServant,” I blurt out, trying to shift as much weight off my right foot as possible. When everyone keeps staring, I add on a halfhearted “...Sorry?” There’s a collective sigh from the group, none of whom really seem to know what to do. “You do realize we told you to wait, right?” Roman asks. “Yes, but I thought I could handle it, because I’ve studied this a lot, and clearly I can handle it, because it worked, so-” “Chaldea actually has an alternate summoning system-” Da Vinci starts, but I cut her off. “...Oh. Of course! That… Makes a lot of sense now.” I find myself looking towards the ground. “Why’d I go and do this?” I add at the last second, quieter than the rest. “Don’t worry, this is nothing I can’t handle!” Da Vinci responds. “Just make sure to let us know before you summon anyone again, okay?” “Okay,” I respond, still quiet. When no one else says anything, Roman speaks up again. “All right then, everyone else should get back to what they were doing.” He glances at the leg the boot had broke off of, even more worried than before. “Mash and…” “Saber,” the other Servant answers. “Right. Mash, Saber, can you help Eva to the infirmary for now?” The two of them nod before stepping over to me and adjusting so that each of my arms is over one of their shoulders. I cringe a bit when I have to adjust my right leg, and soreness is slowly starting to spread through the rest of my body. This idea is continually turning out to have been way worse than I thought it would be.

So, as it turns out, Eva continually doing things that put strain on her injury has set back the healing process, and even when it does heal, it’s likely still going to be weaker than it was. She won't need a cane or anything, but she should still be wary of it and avoid relying on her right leg too heavily from now on. Running and other simple physical activity is fine, but should she need to say, kick something, she should absolutely favor her left leg unless she’s made the necessary precautions and given her right ankle the support it needs to prevent more injuries. 

They get her a new boot and she’s essentially grounded for 2 days, not allowed to leave her room. They also start cutting the lights in her room on a schedule for as long as she’s grounded so that she’s forced to sleep.

She emerges, somehow, both less tired and more grumpy. Everyone catches on pretty quickly that she’s getting antsy because she’s not allowed to do anything, so they decide to set up the summoning system and let her try out a summoning that won’t make her injuries worse.

She’s initially hesitant to try any summonings with the more tech-heavy system, but she eventually agrees to go ahead with it after Da Vinci spends over an hour explaining every intricacy of how it works and how it differs from normal summoning. It’ll work, according to magical theory, so she doesn’t have anything to lose by trying it out.

This time, instead of just a single servant, she actually manages to summon several, those being Medusa, Caster Cú, Archer Emiya, and Saber Alter.

The tension between the 2 Sabers is pretty obvious, so Eva does her best to make sure that they aren’t forced to interact much while still spending time with and attempting to understand each of them. Since they’re both pretty reserved, it’s a slow process, but at least she figures out pretty quickly that they both really love food.

Cú is still salty that he’s not a Lancer, but is still glad to have at least been summoned again. He’s actually rather surprised by just how much Eva immediately puts value in him. She starts carrying a notebook around with her, and will write in it whenever she notices something new about Runes she didn’t know before. He actually tries to help her use Runes at one point, but it ends up blowing up in both their faces because Eva was focusing more on her anxiety than on the effect she wanted to achieve. 

Eva knew literally nothing about Emiya, so more than pretty much every other Servant that’s around, she tries to seem professional around him. That completely collapses when he catches her in the kitchen at 3 in the morning halfheartedly making grilled cheese. From then on she’s a lot more casual and every once in a while she pesters him incessantly about Reality Marbles. She’ll probably eventually figure out that he knows more about the Sabers than he lets on.

Medusa actually surprised Eva a bit. While Eva knows a lot about her from mythology, it took awhile for her to figure out anything about her as a Servant, other than what she could discern from practice battles. The first real bit of progress she makes is when she finds Medusa reading in the library. Now they just kinda have one of those “sit and read in silence together” type friendships.

Eva isn’t exactly all hyped up for whenever the next singularity is identified, but she promises herself that she won’t be scared to go and do whatever’s needed in order to correct it. After all, she has more allies this time, and it seems like her magecraft is getting better by the day. Now all that’s left is to save humanity.

New Servant Log:

Artoria Pendragon (Saber)

Artoria Pendragon (Alter)

Cú Chulainn (Caster)

Emiya (Archer)

Medusa (Rider)

I actually have an excuse to tag people and that makes me happy

@contractgreen​ @panyum​ @withanina​ @campanulabell​ @delfinaschiffer​ @princessaslan​ @armageddon25​ @patproductions​ @xviicprc​

[elyvorg]

AU: Kaito gets a genie or a wish granter. They offer him a wish of any kind. He wishes for his illness to go away, but he did hear the warning of the consequences of said wish. He was actually feeling better now and things were looking up until Shuichi starts vomiting blood. He tells Kaito that he always had this illness. Now Kaito has to reverse the wish before Shuichi dies.

I appreciate what you're going for here - delicious angst! Shuichi suffering a pain that Kaito knows all too well, and it's Kaito's fault! - but the thing is, I just can't quite see this particular scenario happening in the first place. Or, at least, if it does happen, I can't see it happening in a way which is meaningfully Kaito's fault at all.

(...Buuut then I also ended up thinking of a fun way this could play out anyway even though it isn't, so hold on for that at the end.)

The first thing is that, if this were happening in the killing game, and Kaito only had one wish, he'd never spend it on himself like that. He'd wish for everyone else to make it out of the killing game alive and safe. That's a far bigger priority than his own life.

So, okay, instead we can imagine this is happening in a non-despair AU in which Kaito has an equally bad (and presumably incurable) illness, and nobody else he knows needs that wish more than him. In that situation, sure, of course Kaito would probably wish for his illness to go away - but only if he had no reason to assume there would be bad consequences for anybody else.

If the genie made some vague warning about consequences before Kaito made his wish, there's no way he'd brush that off and ignore it. He'd demand they explain exactly what that means, and he wouldn't stand for any beating around the bush, especially not when this is his life on the line. It makes perfectly good sense that a life-or-death wish might have life-or-death consequences, and Kaito wouldn't just overlook this, no matter how badly he doesn't want to be dying any more.

See, Kaito's reckless - but he's not careless. Almost always, when he takes a risk, he's fully aware of what both the good and bad outcomes will be and has decided that the potential good is worth that risk. And whenever he does manage to straight-up ignore potential bad consequences that should outweigh the good, it's only when they affect himself. No matter how reckless he’s feeling, the thought of someone else maybe getting hurt would always give him pause, because his selfnessness is just that instinctive. Kaito only ever tends to make really serious mistakes that end up hurting other people in moments of heated emotion where he can't quite fully control himself. This wouldn't be that, because he'd have had plenty of time to reflect on the whole dying thing in a (relatively) measured way.

  So, I feel like the only situation in which Kaito would make a wish that ended up having these consequences would be if he was genuinely never given any reason to believe there'd be bad consequences to it at all. (Also, the genie would have to be very good at hiding this even outside of just their words, because Kaito's intuition can pick up on people's intentions pretty well.)

In short, the problem wouldn't be Kaito being careless; it'd be the genie deliberately choosing to obfuscate the truth. And if that's the case, then Shuichi's resulting illness is simply not Kaito's fault. It's the genie's fault for being a deceptive asshole who apparently felt like toying with people's lives for the lulz. No matter how desperate he was, Kaito would never wish his illness onto anybody else - not anyone, even if he didn't know it would be Shuichi.

Ultimately, this'd just be Kaito confronting the genie and furiously demanding that they reverse their bullshit that was never what he asked for and leave his sidekick the hell alone, perhaps with some pointedly explaining why this is not his fault if the genie tries to deflect their responsibility and insist Kaito totally deserves the blame. Which would still be fun, but it'd be a fairly straightforward Kaito Versus Bad Guy, rather than a more issuey Kaito Versus His Own Mistakes. There would be barely any guilt involved on his part. Kaito understands very well how responsibility works, and this would not be his.

(Or, well, it would be, but only on the level that Kaito feels like everything bad that happens to his sidekick is his responsibility as the hero to help with and fix, not in the sense that Kaito himself actually caused it.)

  Still, Kaito's guilt or lack thereof aside, there is a way I can imagine this being extra-fun anyway. What if, due to some arbitrary rule of this asshole genie's magic, the only way to reverse it was for Shuichi to wish his illness away, this time knowing perfectly well that it'll go back to Kaito?

Shuichi wouldn't want to, would he?

In fact, Kaito would probably expect that. And depending on how he found out how to reverse this - maybe Shuichi wasn't there - it could end up being possible for Kaito to lie to Shuichi about the consequences of the wish this time, since he knows that Shuichi might refuse if he knew the truth. Oh, man, Kaito would do that, if he could. He would absolutely do that, for exactly the same reasons he hid his illness from his sidekicks in the first place.

But also, it's fun to imagine what'd happen if Shuichi did find out the consequences and refuse to make the wish, either because he didn't buy Kaito's lie one way or another and prodded the truth out of him, or just because he was in fact there when Kaito learned this in the first place.

Imagine, as Shuichi keeps insisting he'd rather go through this illness himself than wish it on Kaito, Kaito's demeanour slowly slipping from a casual "All you gotta do is wish it away, easy!" to a more strained but still-grinning "C'mon, bro, you're my sidekick! I'll take all the burden for you, no problem, just leave it to me!", until it fully sinks in that Shuichi really is willing to suffer a slow and painful death in his place (no, no, that's backwards, that's not how this works...!). Kaito would get desperate, covering it up with something like anger at first - this should never have been Shuichi's choice to make! it's not fair! - but then somewhere along the way becoming straight-up pleading - this was meant to be Kaito's burden, it belongs to him, please give it back to him, Shuichi, please, he can't stand this, he can't bear to watch Shuichi die like this knowing that it should have been him.

(and of course Kaito still hates the fact that he’s showing weakness like this but oh god if he doesn’t Shuichi’s going to die and that’d be so much worse)

Seeing that this is hurting Kaito even more than the alternative, maybe Shuichi would eventually cave in and agree. But if he did, I imagine it would only be on the very strict condition that Kaito actually lets his friends help and support him once he’s sick again. Shuichi would not have been at all happy to learn that Kaito was once going through something this awful and he never even told them. If Kaito is going to insist that he dies for Shuichi and not the other way around, the least he can do in return is not let himself die alone.

[bigskydreaming]

remember when devin grayson wrote about green arrow flirting with teenager dick grayson and then bruce and dick have an incestuous relationship............................

Listen, I have no idea what this ask says, I just see a string of random letters followed by dot dot dot. 

In completely unrelated matters, the only dynamic between Dick and Ollie I abide by is one where the nicest thing Dick’s ever said to Ollie is something like “hey why does your face look like you killed a squirrel and glued it to your chin, is that what you were going for or do people just not like you and so nobody ever told you til now that that’s what it looks like.”

And even there, that’s still just the best Dick could manage (or was willing to even aim for) after Bruce gave Dick a totally and one hundred percent genuine and sincere Talking To about how he needed to be more polite to Ollie. Cuz the way I envision it, all that’s after Dick initially opened with something like, idk, “hey wanna hear a funny joke, it goes “what do you call a known Errol Flynn fanboy who thinks putting on a domino mask when he fights crime with a bow and arrow like, magically makes his goatee invisible? A dumbass who doesn’t get how secret identities work, that’s what. Get it, its you, you’re the joke.”

LOL for the record, I don’t actually hate Ollie and have no really strong opinions on him one way or another, it usually just depends on how he’s being written in whatever story or issue I’m reading with him. Its just canon that Ollie is like, one of the few people that Dick just openly can not stand, pretty much, with this stretching back far enough that personally, I like to headcanon it goes all the way back to even before Ollie took Roy in and has absolutely nothing to do with Roy whatsoever.

Idk, its just really fucking funny to me to picture that like, for whatever reason, ten year old Dick Grayson decided upon meeting the Justice League that they were all awesome except for Oliver Queen. Dick doesn’t know why, he doesn’t care why, he just knows that like, “I do not care for that Oliver Queen guy, not one bit, and no, I am not open to constructive criticism on this matter, UGH BRUCE STOP TELLING ME I SHOULD AT LEAST TRY AND BE NICER TO HIM, I SAID HE WAS A BUTTFACE AND I MEANT IT, WHERE’S THE CONFUSION.”

Because see, while Ollie is not Actually The Worst, he IS one of the League heroes who is prideful and petty enough to like, absolutely take offense to someone hating his guts for no discernible reason, while considering this more than reason enough to hate their guts right back. Even if that particular someone happens to have both miles and years left to go before they hit either puberty or the top side of five feet tall, and thus in the meanwhile, Ollie must literally lower himself in every sense of the word in order to return fire at his pint-sized and prepubescent critic.

Like, if Dick for whatever reason decided he just doesn’t like Superman or the Flash and he’s not gonna and you can’t make him, then I mean, Clark or Barry or someone else along those lines would just be like, oh, okay, that’s fair I guess. No, its totally fine Bruce, the adorable little human incarnation of glitter, cotton candy and all things Cute and Precious and Wee that you just took in is allowed to hate me if he wants to, its absolutely *wheezing sob* not a big deal. I’m a big boy, I don’t need you to intercede on my behalf with him. Now if anyone needs me, I’ll be wallowing in my room for the next 84 years, trying to figure out if I was some kind of monstrous puppy-kicker in a previous lifetime and that’s why my fate here in this one is to be despised by a ten year old with the superpower of Absolute Preciousness. Its my punishment, clearly, for being just the worst kind of monster to ever exist, the only kind that could actually be hated by someone like your adorable little Fun-Sized sidekick of joy and sunshine and l-l-laughter......no, don’t look at me, I’m hideous! *bursts into tears and scurries away to hide from the light*

But see now, Ollie, on the other hand, like.....he’s not a monster but he’s not about to let even some paragon of preciousness go around painting him as one. Why the fuck does he spend so much money on publicists if he’s just gonna roll over belly-side up the first time one of the people bad-mouthing him just happens to be like, a toddler instead of the usual TMZ?

So Ollie’s not about to admit that he’s actually miffed and even a little bit wounded that this cherub who seems to like even most supervillains more than he likes Ollie, just like, can not seem to be in his presence longer than sixty seconds before drawing his weapons and stabbing Ollie with words that hurt, dammit, because he has feelings too, y’know, he spent a lot of money on pricey therapists figuring out that yes, those are feelings he’s feeling and he can even name some of them.....

Like, he’s not quite on board with actually ACKNOWLEDGING that hey this stings, and that he really just wants to know what the hell this kid’s deal is and why don’t you like me, tiny human, what did I ever even do to you??? But all of that is like......Advanced Level Therapy stuff that he hasn’t quite gotten around to finishing yet at this point in time. Like yeah he’s already dropped a mint on the A-list of the head-shrinking world by now, but apparently he was supposed to keep coming back or something like that, they all keep making a really big deal about that for some reason, and look, he’s been busy. So he really just hasn’t had the time to finish up the course on How To Make Peace With the Fact That Sometimes Tiny Humans Don’t Like Me Even Though I’m A Fucking Delight, Dammit.

But even if the why of this kid getting under his skin so much eludes him for the nonce, Ollie is perfectly clear on one thing: he doesn’t typically go around making enemies of the twelve and under set, but if you prick him, he doth in fact bleed, you little prick. So if this knee-high nightmare is gonna keep coming at me and trying to start shit, then I am more than willing to throw down, is basically Ollie’s take here. 

“He wants to dance? Then c’mon, let’s do this thing. We can dance if he wants to. I’ve got the time,” Ollie says to himself and any other nearby Justice Leaguer who might be looking at him with that swiftly-becoming-familiar expression of mingled judgment, pity, exasperation and something a bit more ambiguous but which probably lands somewhere in the ballpark of “We honestly don’t know what to make of all of this but we’re all a little concerned This Is Not A Good Look, Bro. And also, we would like to formally request by way of this petition with all 200+ signatures of Leaguers and auxiliary members and support staff: please don’t escalate this into something where Batman might actually kill you, because that’s definitely not gonna make any of this less awkward for the rest of us, and uh....not to be indelicate here, but all those times we’ve all said things like no Ollie, we don’t think Bruce is a better fighter than you and we absolutely agree with you, you could totally maybe take him in a fair fight if you had your bow and arrows on you and he had the flu probably.....like. Umm. How to put this....Okay, soooooo....here’s the thing. There may, perhaps, ever so slightly be a possibility slash definite hardcore certainty that there were fib-like qualities to those conversations. A little bit. Oh hey, look at the time, we gotta run, there’s a fire somewhere, hopefully. Lol wait whoops did we say hopefully, that’s so weird like where did that even come from. We definitely meant to say probably. There’s a fire somewhere, probably."

But look, at the end of the day, the thing is, Headcanon Ollie is not like, proud of any of this, but he’s not unproud of it either. He is hashtag justified and he wouold appreciate some validation of that Ugly Truth, even if it might go against the grain and not ever exactly be a POPULAR opinion with the “please don’t tell the ten year old that nuh uh, his face looks like a hairy butthole, nobody wins there, that is not the victory you are looking for” crowd.

Honestly though, at this point Ollie’s list of Big Asks is quite small. Miniscule, even. All he wants, all he really really wants, is for someone, anyone, to join him in grasping the one essential corn kernel at the heart of this whole clusterfuck. The thing that nobody but Ollie seems to get and that Ollie’s pretty sure would be enough to allow him to die happily, if he could just manage to find one other person to sign on to the one single extremely obvious observation he keeps trying to point out to everyone, with a whole lot of nada to show for it:

Because see, the one thing about all of this that drives Ollie just absolutely up a wall, is that for some reason he can’t seem to get anyone to understand that like.....this whoooooole ridiculous mess, just like, even in terms of its very existence in the first place?

None of it is Ollie’s fault.

Dick started it!

Mere moments after frustratedly trying to convey this to Dinah for the umpteenth million bajillionth time:

“Okay, could you at least say something?” Ollie asked exasperatedly. “Anything? Seriously, I would take you counting to ten in Cantonese as an acceptable response at this point.”

“I’m just trying to decide which concerns me more,” Dinah said at last. Several epochs and the equivalent of the entire Jurassic Period later. But whatever, its not like Ollie was holding his breath at this point or anything. “The fact that you are genuinely trying to find and occupy the moral high ground in your feud with....a ten year old. Or that you actually think you’ve found it. That this is it, this is what that looks like. ‘The ten year old started it.’”

That was apparently all Dinah had to say. She fell silent again, and said silence lingered through a recreation of now the entire Cretaceous Period, before continuing into a revival of the whole Paleozoic Era from start to torturous finish.

“Well?” Ollie said with a patience that belied the urgency of the many pressing matters he had to attend to. Like the vanquishing of a ten year old archnemesis most foul.

Dinah just continued to frown pensively.

“Hang on, I’m still deciding.”

[hello-mojo]

[Ok so the following is a story, (Rise Above This was was a working title) I was working on this completely on my own and I was quite excited about it. I actually had tried to plot out the progression and main plot points, and a few other notes for things I needed to look up and research to mesh the timelines a bit better. I hadn't gotten around to it though and now... well I don't know if I'll ever bring myself to write fanfiction anymore. I loved this story premise though and had such Hope's for it... ah well. The first chapter was completed but there was supposed to be so much more.. Frances having accidental magic and then getting sick and Healer Harry to save her... ah well. If you like the fic let me know, if you want to adopt it, comment.

Oh one other thing... not all the songs are actually nirvana songs, there's a pearl jam song used too but I was looking for songs in the right genre that seemed to work for the plot. It's all fair in fanfic right?

Anyhooty... I doubt I'll post the stories that were completed on my main profile as I orphaned them and they can still be viewedon archive just look up my old. Penname CagedNTorn.

For unfinished stuff I had oh let's see... 3 different charlie/Draco fics I was working on, one that was all but complete... I had a draco/spike crossover fic, plus there was the sailormooon/Harry Potter crossover... that was actually a Drarry fic too, there were a bunch of things that I'll likely never finish. So I'll post them by and by.

Do let me know if there's a better place to post the plot bunnies that are up for grabs.

Now I've blathered enough so here's the first chapter of Rise that can be adopted if someone is interested in finishing it.]

Rise Above This

Draco was backstage at the place he was playing that night.  He sat tuning his guitar wearing ripped jeans and a white long sleeve thermal t-shirt with thumb holes burnt in and also a mohair sweater he was particularly comfortable in.   Western Washington state was wet and cold pretty much all the time.  

This didn't really bother the English man though as England had similar weather.   He'd grown his hair out and had it cut shaggy and it hung in his eyes perpetually now but he didn't care.  It drove his mother nuts whenever she came to visit.  

Narcissa still hadn't quite gotten the hang of blending in with muggles but she was getting better.   She was sitting nearby chattering about her trip to France.   She was wearing faded bluejeans and a fitted corset top that she'd bought in paris.  She also had a posh cashmere sweater on where most of the kids were wearing flannel and converse sneakers, just like Draco. 

She had her long blonde hair pulled up into a ponytail.   Draco smiled at her as she nattered-on about wines and the latest runway fashions.  At least he still had her.  Pansy was floating around somewhere too, probably flirting with someone.   

"I just don't understand why you have to look so scruffy though darling.   You have such a lovely face!  Can't you at least comb your hair back?"  Narcissa was saying.   Draco rolled his eyes at her but gave her a shit-eating grin.  

"Because I like looking scruffy.  It pisses off the establishment.  Even if it didn't, I'd still do it.  Hiding myself away is comfortable."  Draco said, handing his guitar to a stagehand.  

"Besides, this grungy war refugee look suits him.  He's ridiculously hot."  Pansy stated with a grin as she sidled up to accompany Narcissa out front to watch the show.  Draco could already hear the crowd cheering as the lights went down.  Draco and the 2 other blokes, 1 squib and one muggleborn, all cast outs of the wizarding world lined up off stage.   They formed a circle and everyone put a hand in and they shook them, clapped and cried out their chant.    

"Music and ass, gas or grass.  We're here for a good time, not here for a long time.   Lets do this!"  Draco led the chant the guys all cheered and then took the stage.  Dave went first and started a drum beat, Krist was next and began the base-line.  Then Draco, carrying his electric guitar, went to the mic.  He never looked at the audience.   He wasn't here for them,  not really.  He was here for himself.   Because he had something to say.  Even if no one really understood him or interpreted his messages clearly.  

"Come as you are, as you were

As I want you to be

As a friend, as a friend

As an old enemy

Take your time, hurry up

Choice is yours, don't be late

Take a rest as a friend

As an old memoria."   

He strummed the chords and sang the song not really looking at anyone.  He was trying quite unsuccessfully not to think about a certain messy haired brunette.   

After the war he'd had every single door slammed in his face.  Even the most menial of jobs wouldn't hire him.  Potter had kept his word and put in a good word for him and his mother but the blonde on stage really didn't know why he'd bothered.   No one in the Wizarding world wanted him or any other Slytherin around.   Dave was a muggleborn Slytherin in the year below Draco and had also been chased out.  

"Take your time, hurry up

Choice is yours, don't be late

Take a rest as a friend

As an old memory."  

It was hard not to think of Potter when he sang this song because it was about him, at least mostly.  There was always a thinly veiled anti establishment opinion mixed in. The fans loved it though and he didn't really mind.  It’s not like Harry would ever show up and hear it.  He was too busy still saving the world,  having babies and whatever else it was that heros did.  Not Draco.  His long shaggy hair hung in his face as he sang the chorus, and shook his head.  Just one word.  Memory.   His best and worst thing.  His respite and the source of his nightmares.  

He finished off the song and they hit a heavy chord progression into the next song.  

"Load up on guns, bring your friends

It's fun to lose and to pretend

She's over bored and self assured

Oh no, I know a dirty word"  

The kids surged forward jumping up and down and shaking their heads as they raised their fists in the air and sang along.  

Draco had worked with Dave to put his thoughts on the war into muggle terms.  He thought they'd done pretty good honestly.  Even if they hadn't,  the teenagers in Seattle and California couldn't get enough.   He screamed the chorus and the kids screamed it with him.  

"With the lights out, it's less dangerous

Here we are now, entertain us

I feel stupid and contagious

Here we are now, entertain us

A mulatto

An albino

A mosquito

My libido

Yeah, hey, yay"  

Five years ago Draco had left the wizarding world and his mother behind.  Narcissa was more than able to take care of herself.   Draco wasn't concerned about her in that respect.   His father had been a lot of things but stupid had never been one of them.  Misguided certainly,  but not stupid.   

Luscious had moved money around in various accounts all over the world.  He'd taken Draco with him on nearly all of his business trips.  Draco had had many private tutors growing up and could speak French, English, Russian and German fluently.  He could read in several languages.  His father had insisted.  Draco learned to balance a ledger when most kids were learning to ride a bicycle.   

When the ministry had seized their accounts in Gringotts,  they hadn't even seized a tenth of the true fortune.   Draco hadn't needed to work.  He'd wanted to.  However no one would let him.  So he'd packed a duffle bag of casual clothes,  taken his muggle id and cards and left for America.  He'd covered his accent fairly well he thought, and if he came off sounding like a stoned southerner at times… no one pointed it out.  

He met Dave hanging around kings cross station panhandling.   The two 18 year olds decided to strike out together.   Draco and Dave were sitting together at some boardwalk in Seattle, Washington when Draco flipped his skateboard and saw a kid playing guitar near-by.   He'd been hooked from the first chord.  He'd bought them instruments and they taught themselves to play.  

"I think you'll all know this next one."  

Draco hit the distinctive chords and the kids in the audience squealed with delight.  This was more personal,  more singing than the growly screaming.   More about his feelings than anything else.   He hid in his hair not seeing anyone.   In his mind he tried to be back in that skatepark with scraped knees, just him and Dave.  

"What else should I be?

All apologies

What else should I say?

Everyone is gay

What else should I write?

I don't have the right

What else should I be?

All apologies."

He sang the words not looking at his mother, not caring about her reaction to that statement.   He'd forgotten she hadn’t heard this particular song before.   Well she had to find out sooner or later he supposed.   

"I wish I was like you

Easily amused

Find my nest of salt

Everything is my fault

I'll take all the blame

Aqua seafoam shame

Sunburn, freezer burn

Choking on the ashes of her enemy."  

Draco finished the song and the kids were crying out various songs they wanted to hear while cheering and clapping.  Draco loved it.  He lived for it.  They only had one more song to play.  It would end the show on a high note before the next band took the stage.  The next song he was about to play was about a lot of things.  Various parts of the war, Tom Riddles beginnings, the discrimination in the Wizarding world,  his own parents a bit.   In hindsight, Draco realized that he likely should have adjusted the set list a bit when he'd found out his mother was coming to the show.  'Too late to do anything about it now.' He thought to himself.   Maybe they'd finally have a real conversation for a change.  He set his guitar in a stand nearby and took a deep breath.  

"At home

Drawing pictures

Of mountain tops

With him on top

Lemon yellow sun

Arms raised in a V

And the dead lay in pools of maroon below."  

He shook his head, hiding in his hair and not seeing anyone.   Only Dave and Krist, only his guitar.   The kids screamed and jumped and sang along.  Draco thrashed around stage with them, just the microphone cord wrapped around his hand.  

"Daddy didn't give attention

Oh, to the fact that mommy didn't care

King Tommy the Wicked

Ruled his world

Tommy spoke in class today

Tommy spoke in class today" 

The guys backed him up intermittently on the chorus and the base thumped throughout the song, a steady heartbeat.  Draco couldn’t let himself worry about hurting his mother's feelings.   He sang what he needed to say.  He knew nothing was ever simple.  There were at least two sides to every story and a variety of contributing factors.   

"Clearly I remember

Pickin' on the boy

Seemed a harmless little fuck

But we unleashed a snake

Gnashed his teeth

And bit the recess lady's breast."

Draco knew the words painted a vivid picture.   He didn't care.   Maybe people would learn that bullying others for shit beyond their control was stupid and had far reaching consequences.   There were certainly a few chapters in his story that he'd like to rewrite.   

"How could I forget

And he hit me with a surprise left

My jaw left hurting

Dropped wide open

Just like the day

Oh, like the day I heard."  

There was no possible way he could make up for some of the shit he'd done.  He knew that.  He tried to just pass on the lessons.  Hoping that if he could even reach just one person,  it'd be worth it.  Exile in the muggle world.  They weren't so bad really.   Their fashions were quite fun, and much more functional than robes.  He missed making potions, doing magic.  It was a particular skill set that he was good at.  There was no place in the muggle world for magic.  He had to be even more careful now that they were getting really famous.   People were always watching him.  Hiding in the bushes, trying to sneak into his hotel room, everyone wanted pictures of him to sell to the press.  He couldn't risk anyone seeing him perform magic.  He did little things like casting stasis charms or heating up a hot beverage,  or casting a cooling charm on himself and the guy's.  He knew his mind was spiraling away from the uncomfortable conversation with his mother that he was anticipating after this.  

"Daddy didn't give affection, no!

And the boy was something that mommy wouldn't wear

King Tommy The Wicked

Ruled his world

Try to erase this (try to erase this)

From the blackboard." 

He knew his parents had loved him.  They had been very cold, and reserved in all things though.  His mother could be formidable when she wanted to be and his father was doting yet terrifying.   That was something about Tom Riddle's life that Draco had been able to understand.   Feeling alone, as if no one cared, no one understood you.  He knew how cruel kids could be,  because he had been the one leading the mockery in his day.  

He'd never once thought about what it might feel like on the other side of it.  Until he'd been on the receiving end of such mockery, ridicule and unfairness did he begin to re-think his actions as a snotty young man.  The crowd was going wild.  

Draco stood as the lights came up and he bowed with the guys.  They all smiled and waved to their fans.   Off stage, he saw his mother standing with Pansy.  Narcissa looked a mixture of hurt, worried and angry.  A reporter from MTV was there, shoving a microphone in his face.  Draco smiled his small smile,  just a turning up of the corners of his mouth really.   He answered all of the questions asked in a rare and rather lengthy interview,  glad for the temporary reprieve from his mother for the moment.   

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a familiar set of green eyes and messy black hair, accompanied by none other than Hermione Granger and a regular. Analese Taylor was no stranger to Draco. She had been a fan since the band's boardwalk skate park days. Now that they were famous, she was their number one fan. The way Granger was clutching her arms, the strong resemblance between the two women, Draco could slap himself for not realizing what was so familiar about the girl. She had to be related to Granger, no other explanation.

Before he could really panic about the three familiar faces another familiar set of arms was thrown around his knees and a very delighted

"Daddy!" Rang through the room as his daughter Frances threw her arms around him. Draco glanced around for his soon to be ex wife. He spotted her nearby with arms crossed, looking furious. He sighed deeply as he scooped his daughter into his arms. The child was his whole world outside of his music. Draco glanced back towards Potter and Granger as his wife stormed over as the press and other onlookers were cleared out by Pansy.

[evergreen-dryad]

day 7 -night/names

[aka a Rise of the Guardians AU where Khun is Jack Frost, and Baam is the Sandman.]

It is not the first time AA has seen this scene. After all, night comes everyday, as regularly as the tides and time and the sun and moon — it is nature. The dark comes, as surely as there is light.

And then come the dreams.

Gold wreaths and drapes and pours over the black night sky like sand, like water, like magic — it is a steady stream of the human unconscious, shifting and permutating every which way.

It’s beautiful. It’s one of his favourite parts of the day — something to look forward to at the end of his working hours, almost. He likes to settle down somewhere, like perched on a tree or a pole or tucked on a rooftop, and watch the show go on. It’s even better than stargazing, and almost as good as people-watching — he really pities the humans who’re missing out on this.

Strands of glittering sand stretch and flicker out near him, and he reaches out his hand. With one touch, it bursts into life — the dreams supposedly lurking underneath his skin. He wouldn’t really know. He hasn’t needed to sleep after all, not when this body never tires.

But the sight oddly comforts him every time. It’s almost always fish of some sort. Fish frolic and dance around him, bodies waving gently.

AA supposes it’s only natural that he dreams of fish — he had been born from a frozen lake after all, where his only companions would have been them. Amazing they hadn’t nibbled away his body, but hmm.

That’s the power of magic, isn’t it? He turns his eyes to the scenery, watching the dreams that drift off from heads and windows. He could just zone out like this, staff in hand sweeping to and fro, occasionally sending out a burst of cold wind here, a zap of frost there. All while his dream fish hover around him, some nudging him playfully.

Look at the almost infinite number of shapes they could take. Fairies there, flutes over here, grocery lists for this one. Aeroplanes, manta rays swooping, and … was that an elevator?

His eyes drift along the strands slowly spinning over from the dark sky — wait.

They’re all like strings, aren’t they? Then logically, shouldn’t they be connected somewhere?

It had not occurred to AA before that perhaps… there was a source for these dreams. Other than just spawning from humans, every night without fail, when most of the human population entered REM sleep.

He slowly gets up from the crouch he'd been in, walking along the power lines. His eyes track the dark cloudiness of the sky, following the golden strings to their source. Surely, there is one, a nexus from which all these interconnect.

He leaps over to the next length of cables lightly. It feels almost like chasing a rainbow — it seems like there may be an end in sight, but it turns out it's all an optical illusion.

He's a spirit now. Laws of nature don't always adhere to known physics anymore, so he feels pretty good about his chances. Plus, a walk while on the lookout for something is definitely interesting.

He takes to the sky in one large leap, using his staff as a pole vault. Something new was always much welcome in his opinion.

*

It's a bit like trying to find a needle in a haystack, he decides much later. Most people sleep at night, and of that category everyone is bound to dream sooner or later. The golden sand is everywhere, hovering over cities like a golden spider's loom.

Now, how does one look for the root of all this?

He asks this out loud to the winds in frustration. They don't answer as always, not in speech, but he can feel them wiggle and flutter along his shins as if shrugging in amusement at him.

It takes him all night to realise the dreams stretch on like huge rainclouds, following wherever the night is. (So it's not really all night.) He's just been following the trail across timezones. AA reaches up to pinch the middle of his brow, exasperated. Right, wherever the earth turns, there's night facing away from the sun, and wherever that is at least a few thousand people sleeping.

He should take it a step up. Calculate ahead. Where should he go? He hovers above a bank of clouds, thinking.

Ideally, he should travel wherever people are just beginning to fall asleep, or wake up.

(Whoever was behind all this didn't get a rest at all, did they? AA's almost sorely sorry for them — and he thought he had it bad having to work an entire season twice, for each hemisphere.)

He immediately rules out the first. There's really no telling when people go to sleep, while the majority of people usually wake up whenever the morning hits.

Well, with how much he's been chasing the dreamclouds in this particular area, dawn was actually going to hit soon. He can tell by how quiet the air around them is — the particular stillness there is when nothing visible is moving around. The witching hours.

The dreams gradually lessen, spinning off to their source. AA follows them with his eyes, watching the ribbons swirl to a faraway point in the distance.

The air of quiet preparation as the earliest workers start to silently shuffle to life.

The softest tinge lightening the horizon.

And then—

AA spots it, that last strand of gold glinting in the underbelly of a cloud. At last. Wisps flow upwards, so he flies up too.

It is near the crack of dawn, a little yolk of sun peeping out from its place on the horizon when AA sees him for the first time.

Soft light falls around them as AA —oh god— freezes, on the spot. He can't look away.

A golden cloud of sand nests above the clouds, shifting to its own tune.

And at the centre of it all—

—is a small boy in a sheet, long dark mane of hair floating around him, as he wills more fantastic shapes to life with a flick of his hands. Hair black as the night flows in the breeze, with eyes as bright and golden as the dreams he brings. A butterfly bursts into flight, two, more, around him, and—

Ah. He thinks, as the being of the night slowly turns his head and finally notices him. It's all he can think.

He doesn't know what this odd feeling settling in his chest is. It feels heavier, like snow precipitating, but he isn't... sad, as far as he thinks.

Something in him races, like magic, like snowstorm wind, when those golden eyes start at his.

This is the first time in a long time someone has seen him. Is actually looking at him, with something that doesn't feel like an ancient being peering down its nose at him. Something beyond wanting to use him.

He doesn't quite know what to do about it.

He almost, almost wants to dart away at those eyes having seen him, but he stays his ground. His mouth is dry. His mouth can't seem the form the shapes to say words, what with the way the boy stares wide-eyed (He's staring back as well, isn't he?) at him, his dark brown hair floating in waves behind him.

This is ridiculous. He shouldn't want to hide.

Yet the grip he has on his staff almost goes slack when he realises the boy is actually coming closer. The cloud of golden sand follows beneath his feet.

It's only then he realises that they're around the same height. AA forms a small smile. Gods, it was so unfamiliar to him at this point. "Hello," he says tentatively.

The boy blinks, and slowly makes a gesture with his hand. Sand follows and flicks into the image of an ear. Huh.

"Are you... deaf?" He says, grip on his staff reaffirming. He's not sure what face expression he has on right now, but it doesn't seem to have scared this one away, if the fact he's still here and attempting to communicate is any indication.

The boy tilts his head at him, brows furrowed. He seems frustrated, judging by the way his sands shift around him, and how he spreads his hands outwards. He spreads them palms out towards AA, as if waiting to receive something.

The sand reforms into various forms of script and language, all piled up and mixed up. And then into a question mark.

"You don't understand," he guesses. The boy's stare is unchanged. "I see, then." AA's hands curl over one another in thought. How does one make greetings into an image?

What can't be conveyed in language might as well be conveyed in body language, he thinks, as he holds out a hand.

"Here." His voice sounds different to himself. Familiar-unfamiliar, the gentle tone in it. "Do you know how to shake hands?" He waggles his fingers, bending his wrist. The boy's eyes follow his movement, confused. They're as gold as the sand that eternally flows behind and beneath him. AA has to smile.

Tentatively, the boy's palm rests in his, all while he glances at AA doubtfully. He turns their joined hands and grips, shaking them. "That's how you shake hands," he explains softly, other hand pointing a finger at the action, just to say something despite the boy not understanding a word.

The boy responds to his voice, anyway, with the small smile spreading over his cheeks as his grip is reciprocated.

This was strange. The boy-spirit before him was probably older than him, yet he didn't know how to speak, or couldn't? Or, was it that being a spirit mainly of dreams, he was much more attuned to images?

Or perhaps no one had ever spoken to him.

AA's hold on his hand tightened ever so slightly.

“Let’s,” he begins. “Try something out, shall we?” He pulls onto the boy’s hand so they both descend onto the sandcloud. The feeling under his bare feet isn’t too bad, he thinks as he stretches his toes. It’s something between feathery and the grit of actual sand.

The boy is definitely confused, but seems good-willed enough to let him continue. AA twirls his staff, steadying the tip of it onto the sand. It makes a mark. When he lifts it, the sand shifts over.

He glances over at him. The boy seems to get it, so he smooths over the entire movement of the cloud. It’s now as flat as a board, ready and waiting.

AA doesn’t know if this will work. From the looks of it, the boy might not know how to read the script he uses.

*

It takes a lot of tries. Fortunately, the boy is patient.

When they finally hit on a common language AA could have cried from relief. He definitely exclaimed out loud. The boy had smiled at him sheepishly.

They’re both sitting down at this point, writing with their fingers.

What is your name? He writes.

The boy hesitates, looking at him. Sandman, he writes, clearly confused. Surely you know that, is written clear in the brow of his expression, as he side eyes him.

AA shakes his head. No. He takes ahold of his hand, lightly pressing upon it. The boy's eyes widen.

Those are what they call us. Most of the world may call you that now in their stories, but they change. Only half of the world likes to mention me as an aside as Jack Frost. AA cringes a little writing that name.

He underlines the your from before, and writes: What do you call yourself?

The boy is still for a while.

Finally, ponderously, he begins to etch out the lines for his name.

Baam. AA mouths. Night. It suited him.

Baam hesitated, and then he added more letters in front of his name. This time it was lengthy. AA leant back on his haunches.

"Twenty-fifth Baam," he reads out loud.

The boy nods, seeming to glow a little from the proclamation, satisfied. A small smile sits upon his lips as he mimics the movements AA made.

~

//so. I made myself finish this part for today’s prompt, but this is just an excerpt for the larger ROTG AU. Where khunbam is the focus and will likely be slow burn?

Come talk to me about this AU lol I still can’t quite decide if Rak should be Santa XD and Wangnan the Easter Bunny?? Concrit welcome :’D

[bi-naesala]

A young Naesala whistles as he wanders through the halls of Phoenicis castle, taking advantage of the fact that he’s the youngest and therefore less important member of the Kilvas’ convoy to explore the place. It hasn’t been much time since the two countries split, and thus he’s never been here.

Technically he’s supposed to still be with the others, but he had grown bored with discussing politics – what does he care? It’s not like he’ll ever need any diplomatic skill – and decided to sneak out. If someone catches him he can always lie and say he got lost looking for a bathroom.

With his hands behind his back and the bold step, he’s the image of carelessness, but it’s all a front: in truth, Naesala is preoccupied. “Of what?” one may ask. Well, the answer is simple: this isn’t just a diplomatic meeting, but soon a new convoy of ravens and hawks will fly to Serenes and, in a show of goodwill towards their heron siblings, they will all sing together inside the forest.

Singing has never been Naesala’s strong suit; he wouldn’t say he’s completely bad at it, but he is no heron. How is he supposed to show up there and ridicule himself like this?

 The truth is, he wasn’t even supposed to come.

He heard that there was a convoy leaving for Serenes and he invited himself along the ride; he wasn’t going to pass up a chance to meet with Reyson and Leanne, even if it meant to partake in some boring political congress or whatever they were going to do.

It was only once they were almost at Phoenicis that Nealuchi noticed him and informed him of what he had just gotten himself into, much to his shock.

It was too late to get back, however, so Naesala had resigned himself to the fact that, once they got to Serenes, he was going to sneak out again; he refused to undergo something so incredibly humiliating.

He just wanted to see his friends!

 His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of someone singing, or at least, attempting to, and even that seems too much of a compliment.

“Damn! I’ll never get this right!”

Naesala believes he recognizes that particular voice. Uh, he must’ve wandered off to the castle’s private quarters, because the voice that comes from behind the closed door on his left really sounds like Tibarn.

Thinking about it, he hasn’t met him yet; it would make sense if he’s been holed up in his room all this time.

However, Naesala is and will never pass up a chance to bother him, but first he needs to make sure of his actual identity. He presses himself against the door and he listens attentively; there are no doubts: it really is Tibarn, and he’s singing in ancient language what Naesala supposes is the song that they are supposed to perform in Serenes. He’s even surer of his identity when he hears a series of curse words after a moment in which his voice cracks; he really isn’t a good singer at all.

 Time to make his entrance.

He clears his throat, knocking on the door.

“Your presence is urgently required, your princeliness,” he says pretending to be a guard, and the squeak that comes out of Tibarn is almost enough to make him laugh and blow his cover, though it doesn’t take the other long to realize that no guard ever would call him “his princeliness”.

There’s an unimpressed expression on his face when he opens the door.

“Naesala. I wasn’t expecting you here.”

“Surprise! I decided to invite myself to this glorious event.”

At that, Tibarn can’t help but to snicker.

“Does that mean you’re going to be singing too? Do you want to kill the herons or what?”

 It’s during times like this that Naesala remembers how young Tibarn still his. Even though he’s hit his growth spurt faster than any other birds his age – and Naesala will never forgive him for that – he’s still a dumbass who laughs at stupid things.

One could argue that the same can be said for Naesala himself but he likes to believe that he carries himself better than that.

  “I’m surely a better singer than you! The way you were trying to hit that high note was pathetic. If the herons hear you I’m sure they will--”

Tibarn grabs him by an arm and pulls him inside, closing the door behind him with a quick movement.

“Will you shut up?! I don’t need everyone in the vicinity to know about this!” he says, looking outright embarrassed, and Naesala can’t help a chuckle.

“Even if they don’t know now, they will soon. What’s the point in hiding it?”

Tibarn grumbles something he doesn’t quite catch and looks away, a clear sign that victory is his.

 “Still, I have to concede that this is stupid,” Naesala says then, walking to Tibarn’s way too big bed and sitting on it like this was actually his room, “Hawks and ravens singing? That’s ridiculous.”

At that, Tibarn sighs of relief.

“I know! It’s humiliating!” he agrees, joining Naesala on his bed, and the raven nods.

“I understand the sentiment behind it, but I still think it’s useless: why should we offer something like singing when it’s never been part of our lives?”, he asks, letting himself fall on the mattress with his back, eyes up to the ceiling, “Now flying… that would be better.”

“Flying?”

“Yes, flying,” Naesala shrugs, “Everyone flies, whether it’s for sport, to play, to go somewhere…” he shakes his head, “Anyway, it would be better than singing.”

“Too bad we don’t get to do our own thing,” Tibarn mutters, but Naesala is smirking when he looks down, “What?”

 “We could…”

Tibarn recognizes that voice, is the voice Naesala uses when he’s up to something shady.

“We could sneak out.”

Usually, Tibarn would never do something so cowardly… but his pride as a hawk in on the line. Besides, with a troublemaker as experienced as Naesala, he doubts they’ll get caught.

“Well, I suppose with you it’ll be harder than I anticipated.” Naesala continues then, “You are big and noisy after all…”

 He gets a pillow thrown to his face before he can even finish the sentence.

  The journey from Phoenicis to Serenes is uneventful and extremely boring, as Naesala and Tibarn are flying separately with their own countrymen – they’ll be less suspicious if they do so.

Still, Naesala hopes Tibarn will be able to keep with the charade, because if they get caught it certainly wouldn’t be pleasant.

He’ll have to wait and see.

 He spots him once they land; he’s looking around probably in search of him. When their eyes meet, he winks.

 The herons’ welcome is as warm as always, and everyone feels right at home. There is no time for dwelling however, as preparations are made: they all regroup at the center of the forest, ready to sing together in harmony.

It’s then that Naesala manages to slip away and, after finding Tibarn, snatches him away by an arm. Soon the two begin to run away together, laughing at their – even if small – adventure.

 Soon, however, they stop.

They can hear the chants being sung and… it’s not that bad. They expected a cacophony of sounds, but this actually works pretty well. There’s also a hint of magic in the air, meaning that the herons are taking part of the ceremony as well; maybe that’s the reason it sounds so well.

 A beat.

Naesala and Tibarn look at each other and they smile. They don’t have to be able to read minds to understand what the other is thinking.

It takes them just a moment to transform, taking flight high up in the sky. They can see the forest underneath them, and they can still hear the echo of voices resonating within.

They twirl in circles, lowering themselves and then rising up again, their wings that brush against each other. Their special tribute to the forest, a dance born from the desire to be happy and carefree.

 At the sight of white feathers, they understand soon that they’re not alone anymore. Others have witnessed their dance, and they want to partake in it.

It’s a cluster of hawks, ravens and herons, all making circles around each other, joining in the chants with their cries.

With such an audience, it doesn’t take long for Naesala to start to show off his skills, which, to be fair, are quite impressive – nobody can match his speed. This doesn’t mean of course that Tibarn will let himself be outdone like this, and neither will the other falcons and ravens present, and soon this dance becomes something more akin of a competition to see who can pull off the most risky maneuver. It’s a true spectacle, something that beorcs can never hope to achieve, an event that will always be remembered by the tribes.

 Serenes has never been so alive.

[moon-ruled-rising]

as the rain hides the stars | xiv

Read the full story here...

xiv: we can’t make any promises

This ain’t for the best,

my reputation’s never been worse so,

he must like me for me.

We can’t make any promises

now can we babe?

But you can make me a drink.

-Taylor Swift, “Delicate”

When Dany was younger, she planned her future wedding with as much fever and gusto as a young princess with every resource at her disposal could. It would take place in the Great Sept of Baelor, obviously, as that was where all royal weddings took place. She would marry a wealthy foreign diplomat, or even better, a foreign prince. The guest list would be a mile long, with even more people attending the reception afterwards. Above all else, she remembered wanting one of those ridiculous many-tiered cakes and a hideous confection of tulle and lace for a dress. 

Of course, as Dany got older, the wedding day dreams were replaced with visions of a career and increasingly less domesticality. If nuptials ever presented themselves, she would go the quick and easy route of elopement. Anything else was frilly fantasy. 

Except now, those things were tangible and real. And the only thing that survived of her childhood wedding plans was the foreign prince, the only thing she didn’t have a say in. 

The Queen commandeered an old study near Dany’s guest room to be their official wedding planning headquarters. The whole space transformed and lost in the madness of planning two royal weddings in the span of a month.

In order for all the kinks to be worked out on the paperwork and numbers part of the treaty, Dany and Jon needed to be married as soon as possible. On top of that, both families were convinced they could sell the out-of-the-blue engagement as a whirlwind, love at first sight romance. Which meant they were stuck with a very limited window to get everything planned to the high expectations of the most important wedding of the decade. Maybe even the century. 

 Catelyn sat opposite of her with Elia and the Palace Event Planner, their electronic forms attentive on the screens. The Royal Event Planner from the Stark side was going over more options for color schemes. 

They’d ruled out Targaryen red and black unanimously and Dany shot down both the mauve and dusty pink options. She’d had enough of those colors in her youth. Varys always insisted she wear pink to everything important, as all unmarried Targaryen ladies did for centuries. The last thing Dany wanted was to deal with it on an already stressful, terrifying day.

The planner pressed a button on her little remote and another color palette appeared. 

“This one consists of laurel green, timberwolf, and a neutral grey,” she reported before continuing on about the reasoning behind the colors. 

“Too much green,” Dany said with only slight disinterest, reaching for a ring of fabric swatches near her.

“The ceremony is taking place in Godswood, the last thing we need is more green.” Catelyn agreed.

As Dany ran her hands over the pieces of cloth, she noticed a familiar color. 

“What about this one?”

She held the burgundy swatch up so everyone in the meeting room could see, including the two virtual guests. Deeper than Targaryen red and verging on purple, it was the same color as the heart-shaped leaves of the Weirwood tree.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Catelyn cooed.

Elia voiced her approval at the same time.

“Could you create a palette around this and bring it tomorrow?”

“I can have it to you tonight, Your Highness.” She collected the sample and made a note.

“Thank you. And there’s no rush,” Dany smiled.

Once the meetings were over she hoped to avoid anything marriage related. She looked at the long list they still needed to cover. At least we’re getting somewhere. 

“Next item of business is wedding party assignments,” the planner continued.

“Since this marriage involves someone who is first in line for the throne, candidates for bridesmaids and page boys are selected by proximity to the royal family as well as status within the court. Here is a list of possible candidates.”

A list of potential bridal attendants landed in front of her. Rhaenys and Aegon were at the top of their respective categories along with Sansa, Arya, and Bran but the rest of the list was names she was unfamiliar with. 

“Lyanna Mormont would be a good choice. The Mormont’s have always been strong supporters of House Stark and her grandfather, Jeor Mormont, is currently Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. Choosing her would be a statement about your commitment to the Night’s Watch, who defend our Northern Borders.” Catelyn suggested.

Dany made a star by the name and surveyed the rest; Karstark, Maderley, Tallheart. She wanted Missandei as her maid of honor but knew better than to suggest it. It wasn’t her wedding. Technically, it was a transaction between the heir and the useful spare. Everything had to follow tradition.

She expected there to be limits on what liberties could be taken. Rhaegar and Elia’s wedding was much the same way, everything decided for them and all they had to do was show up and say the words. It all looked sparkling and magical to fourteen year old Dany as she watched from the audience with the other bridesmaids. 

Another list was set in front of her but this time she knew the names. They were the great houses of Baratheon, Tyrell, Arryn, and Tully. There would be at least one bridal attendant from each region and with the wedding between Cersei Lannister and Robert Baratheon, there was a spot open. Dany marked another star by Myrcella’s name and continued to survey them.

“We don’t have to have them all decided today, but within the next few days is preferable. We still have to send out the invitations and notify the choices for bridal attendants,” the planner reminded the room as Dany placed the selective list into the binder holding all of the wedding plans.

The mockup of the new couple’s cypher was tucked inside the cover, an intertwined D and J with a crown over it. It was strange to see her initials with someone else’s. 

According to Catelyn, a traditional Northern royal wedding ceremony included a processional, presentation of a sword, exchanging of vows and rings, changing of the bride's cloak, and recessional. 

“I’m sure we have a maiden’s cloak somewhere in this palace. They were in fashion once,” Elai stated, “I’ll have someone start looking as soon possible. Unless, Dany wants to commission a new one but that would tie up the seamstresses.”

“I was actually thinking we could exclude the changing of the cloak,” Dany spoke up.

The look she gained from the room wasn’t what she would describe as pleased. 

“It’s been performed at wedding’s for centuries,” Catelyn argued.

“Well, then, what if we altered it. A veil, cloak, and dress is a lot of layers but if we substituted something else. Like…”

To be honest, Dany hadn’t thought her suggestion through and as she frantically racked her brain for an example, she remembered Sansa’s festival outfit and the particular piece of sparkle that caught her eye.

“A brooch.”

“A brooch, Your Highness?” the planner questioned.

“Yes.”

“I think it’s a lovely idea. There are certainly more dragon pins in our collection than cloaks,” Elia offered, being the only obvious supporter of Dany in the room at the moment.

“We would need to discuss it further,” Catlyn sighed, writing something down.

It was the first time one of Dany’s suggestions garnered such a reaction from Catelyn and she was especially grateful she hadn’t suggested Missandei be in the wedding party.

“Now, there is one more tradition that we would like to keep. The first dance is always performed as a choreographed reel.”

“Choreography?” Dany bleated.

“Dany, you’ve taken dance lessons,” Elia tried to reassure her.

“When I was twelve. And something tells me this is a completely different wheelhouse than ballet and ballroom.”

Catlyn spoke up, “Not entirely but it does require a few sessions to get everything smooth. Unless you want to do away with that too.”

The way the Queen’s eyes settled on her was a warning and a challenge. As if speaking against her would bring the whole wrath of the North upon Dany. 

She straightened and tilted her chin a fraction, “I haven’t made my mind up yet.”

The wedding planner cleared her throat. Dany took that as her sign to let the moment pass and return to the task at hand. 

“We usually broadcast the ceremony but given the circumstances we’ve decided against it,” the planner informed, “but there will be a photographer there to capture everything.”

At least she wouldn’t have to deal with bloggers analysing every angle and glance. 

Her phone buzzed next to her and she turned it over out of curiosity. The notification expanded even though Dany didn’t want it to, revealing the news headline about her engagement. Her throat tightened and she squeezed her eyes shut as she took a deep breath. For most of the morning she’d been able to sit through the planning session with a detached sense of reality, like she was watching someone else flip through books of swatches and check items off lists. 

“Your Highness, are you alright?”

“Could you all excuse me for a moment?”

Dany stood and walked from the room with as much control as she could. As soon as the door closed her pace quickened. She wasn’t sure where she was headed but the more distance she put between herself and the wedding business the better she would feel. It took a flight of stairs and several turns before she was satisfied, only to realize she was absolutely lost.

With only one tour of a place as massive as Winterfell, there was no way Dany wasn’t going to get turned around. The sounds of a conversation came from a room down the hall. As she approached the details of the exchange became clear.

“I mean, this woman hasn’t had a single long term relationship in her life and suddenly she’s up and engaged to a man with a much higher rank after a week.”

She knew at once what they were talking about and rolled her eyes. Jon wasn’t that much higher ranked. 

The door was open when she reached the room, so she leaned against the frame. It was a smoking lounge and the conversation was coming from an old radio. Jon sat in one of the leather chairs, engaging in the act that the room was meant for.

“I’ll tell you what it is, it’s southern imperialism.”

The second person laughed.

“You shouldn’t listen to this shit,” she warned, a hint of teasing in her voice, “It’ll rot your brain.”

When Jon looked up, she stepped into the room, crossing to sit next to the radio as well. The room had a masculine energy about it that Dany was smitten with. Dark wood and leather, the stone around the fireplace and the sleek bear pelt on the shining wood floor, just one of the many hunting trophies on display with old weapons.

“A King should always listen to what his people have to say,” he remarked.

“To genuine criticism, but this is just conspiracy and gross speculation.”

The radio personality continued, “We’re allowing this foreign woman access to the ear of the most important person in our country. Now, what do you think she’s gonna do with that kind of power?”

“Push her own agenda.”

“Exactly, her southern agenda. She may have had people fooled at the Midsummer festival with that traditional dress stunt, but I was not impressed.”

She scoffed. The outfit wasn’t meant to be a PR stunt. Sansa suggested it and Dany agreed but they failed to consider that Dany was actually a nice person who wasn’t putting on a front.

And as for pushing her southern agenda, Dany wished they knew how much she loathed her brother and refused to impart his plans on anyone. Especially after the text message she’d received from him the other night, demanding her to hurry up and seal the deal. It was then she figured out how to work the whole ugly mess to her advantage. 

No matter where in the world she ran, she still had to answer to her brother and the Crown. And renouncing her titles was a hassle with too many negative repercussions, including Rhaegar’s thinly veiled threat of black listing her if she did. But in his desperate attempt to settle her down, he was handing her an escape plan on a silver platter. 

It wasn’t the sort of liberation Dany was looking for but it was the only kind she was going to get. And if it weren’t for the hysteria surrounding the weddings, she might have counted down the days like she did before her departure to university, with giddy anticipation.

As she brought her attention back to the radio personalities and their outlandish theories, she let herself sink down into the club chair. It was much more comfortable than the wooden one she sat in all morning and she was past caring if she wrinkled her business casual ensemble.

“While I’m with you on imperialism, I think there is a more obvious reason they’re engaged so soon and that is Princess Daenerys’ wardrobe. If you didn’t know, the Targaryen’s hosted their annual charity gala and the dress she wore was … putting a lot on display, to put it delicately.”

“I know what you’re talking about. Is there not a dress code at that court? Not that it matters, I mean, we all know about her nip slip-”

We’re still on that? She supposed the news cycle in the North was slower, allowing people like the two morons on the radio to focus their attention on something the South already considered old news. That would take some getting used to.

“You know, they said that picture was doctored,”

“Yeah right. At least Prince Jon knows what he’s getting in bed because there is a popular interview with her ex-lover Khal Drogo, he compared her to-”

“Could you turn it off, please,” Dany asked, not wanting to hear what came next.

“Gladly,” Jon answered.

She reached for the cigarette case without a second thought and slid one free, Jon lit it for her.

“So, tell me the truth. Are you really a spy for your brother?”

“What?” she choked on her laugh, not expecting that particular statement.

“The seductress of the south sent her to infiltrate the royal family and sell our secrets to foreign enemies,” he said with humor in his voice.  

“I can assure you I’m not. Whatever nefarious plans my brother has at work, he hasn’t included me in them. Not that I’d want to be a part of his scheming.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

“I’m not,” Dany laughed.

“Promise?”

“I, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, first of her name, Princess Royal of the United Kingdoms of Westeros, and Lady of Dragonstone, promise that I am telling the truth. And when I make promises, I don’t break them.”

She lifted her cigarette back to her lips.

“I thought you were supposed to be in top secret wedding meetings all day.”

“We were in the middle of discussing the ceremonies and I needed to take a breather.”

“Let me guess, tradition?”

Dany groaned, “I’m going to be sick of that word by the time this is all over.”

“You get used to it.”

She wasn’t so sure. Her whole life was dictated by that word, and it wasn’t going to change anytime soon. But while the Northern traditions were a thorn in her side at the moment, 

She considered him for a moment, “You should come to them.”

“I don’t think I’d be of any help.”

“Yes you would. Right now, it’s me against Her Majesty and as much as we both dread it, it’s still our wedding.”

“What did you do to make Catelyn dislike you?”

“I merely suggested we re-evaluate a certain element of the ceremony and she acted like I insulted her entire life’s work.”

“As far as she’s concerned you did. Besides, if I showed up, there would be two people in the room she hates.”

“Exactly! Maybe she won’t even come. But it’s not her fault. There are so many rules about these weddings and she’s just trying to make sure everything goes smoothly. Now that I’m thinking about it, it would be more helpful if you weren’t first in line for the throne.”

“Not fair. That is all I have going for me,” he complained.

“Oh, whatever.” exclaimed Dany as she rearranged herself in the chair, folding her legs underneath her so she could lean on the arm and face Jon full on.

“You expect me to believe that you’re oblivious to the goo-goo eyes that get thrown at you everywhere you go?”

He threw up his hands in surrender.

“Oh my gods.” Dany shook her head.

“Okay, answer me this, if I wasn’t heir to a vast country who you happened to be engaged to and you met me at a bar, what would you do?”

Dany looked him up and down, trying to look like she was seriously considering his question. She already knew her answer, she’d admitted it to herself that night in the greenhouse. I wouldn’t hesitate to add you to my list. But hookups and marriage were different things with a common denominator and she didn’t want her answer misunderstood.

“Well?” he asked.

“Now I don’t want to answer it,”

It was his turn to roll his eyes at her.

A voice from the doorway called, “Your Highness”.

They both turned their heads. It was Ser Jorah and Dany sighed in relief even though she knew she was being dragged back into the wedding fray.

“Her Majesty wanted me to let you know the florist is here.”

Dany nodded and snuffed the butt of her cigarette into the ashtray. When she stood, she saw that her pants and blouse weren’t wrinkled and was relieved. 

“Have fun,” Jon said as she headed for the door.

Despite her best efforts, a chuckle and smile escaped her.

“I’ll try.”

[musicallibrarian93]

Summer Daisies (An Elain x Tarquin fanfic)

Chapter 1 | Word Count: 4301 | Rating: M

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29978781/chapters/73803669

Elain revelled in the early morning sunlight. The light of day making its ascent as she sat on her balcony overlooking the lavish gardens of the River house. She had a book in hand and drank deeply from her tea. Summer solstice was one of her favourite days of the year. She looked back on the past 10 years and smiled at the memories of how her and her family had often celebrated on the longest day of the year.

This year Tarquin had invited them to Adriata to celebrate with them and Elain was beyond excited. She’d visited the Summer court only a few times, but it always fascinated her. The way the sea was so bright, and the salty air calmed her. She also wasn’t complaining about how beautiful Summer’s males were.

She’d decided to reject the bond between her and Lucien just over five years ago, and he’d taken it surprisingly well. Nothing had happened to cause the rift; After the war Elain had just wanted to be independent, to see what life she could make not tied to a male but the bond had still laid between them  and it was easy enough to ignore it, especially as Lucien spent more time away, but that time spent where they had been mates but not mated was horrible because other males looked at her like she was taken, not that she’d set her sights on anyone in particular, but Elain didn’t like being seen as someone’s property. She was better than that. After rejecting the bond though, something still didn’t feel right, and Elain had needed more time to find her feet again.

However, something had shifted in the past few months. She was stronger and more confident than ever, joining the Valkyries for training and studying in the library when she wasn’t tending the gardens, but she looked at her sisters and her best friend Azriel who had people they were sharing their lives with, and Elain wasn’t ashamed to say she wanted to know what that was like too. Her sisters and Azriel had been fortunate to be mated to people who they loved with every ounce of their being. She knew that even without the mating bond they would have all chosen their mates. And that’s what Elain wanted, to choose. So, Elain rose from her chair, stepped into her bedroom and got ready to embrace all the world had to offer.

——

Nesta walked into Elain’s room as if she owned the place, with a multitude of dresses in hand. “I think I have a few really good choices here.” She said as a way of greeting,

“Let me see!” Elain squealed helping her carry the heavy fabrics. They were truly gorgeous. She could see Pastels and florals and lace; she did love this. Especially sharing it with her sister.

“Okay, so I have my eye on the Green one or the Royal blue one, but I don’t think you’ll mind if I claim either of those.”

“Certainly not,” Elain said as she stroked over a light pink gown that was now draped over her bed, “You’re right Nesta, these are gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” She said back, “But I’d hurry up and lay claim to one before Feyre comes.”

Elain glanced at all the gowns on display. She knows she shouldn’t have left it till the last moment but that was all part of the excitement. Somewhere along the way it had become a tradition for the girls to get ready together for events and Elain was so thankful that they had grown close enough to do that. “I’m going to go with this one.” Elain said, choosing a gorgeous Silky pale teal dress that had white flowers embroidered at the bottom of the skirt. When she turned it around, she saw it appeared backless with those same white flowers attached to a mesh that’d make it look as if they were stuck to her skin. This was the dress. “Good Choice.” Nesta remarked.

“I hope you two haven’t taken the good ones,” Feyre said in greeting, “I finally got the Children dressed so now Rhys just has to make sure they don’t spill anything on themselves.”

“Is Lyla excited?” Elain asked smiling at the memory of her niece showing off the dress they had bought for the occasion,

“So excited. It’s her first proper ball.” Feyre said, “She kept asking if she was going to dance with a prince tonight.”

“Well, I don’t hold a chance of catching a male’s eye if Lyla is there.” Elain laughed,

“She’s Six.” Feyre said,

“And already planning on seducing Princes at a ball,” Elain smiled once more, “Maybe she’s more like her Auntie Nesta than we thought.” Nesta just smiled broadly at that, proud that little Lyla was a little ball of energy, insistent on wreaking havoc and having fun.

“Just wait till you have children, Nes.” Feyre said, “I’m desperate to see what kind of trouble a little Cassian could stir.”

“Perhaps it might not be too long- “

“Nesta are you Pregnant?!” Elain basically screamed,

“No, Gods, No,” She got out quickly, “But we’ve been talking about it, having children.”

“That’s wonderful.” Feyre said hugging her sister,

“Thank you. On our last trip oversees we realised how lovely it might be for a child to travel and grow up seeing the world.”

“I’m so happy for you.” Elain said cupping her cheeks, a tear threatening to spill,

“Don’t get too excited just yet, it might be another few decades before it happens.”

“Do you guys ever think about what it would be like if we were still human,” Elain said, “How it’d be utterly unrealistic to wait decades to have children.”

“I mean Rhys and I hardly waited, but I do think about it.”

“I would not have married someone nearly as handsome.” Nesta said,

“I’d have married a horrible man and become a trophy.” Elain gagged at that thought,

“I’d have probably died a Spinster.” Feyre said,

“Come on, you had men fawning over you.” Nesta said,

“I’d hardly call Isaac Hale a man.” Feyre said causing Elain to giggle,

“Regardless, I’m grateful for this life.” Elain said,

“Me too.” Nesta and Feyre said as one,

“Did I walk in on a mushy moment?” Gwyn asked peering round the door,

“Gwyn! Come in I have the perfect dress for you.” Nesta said,

“Good, I’ve been struggling to find something.”

“I’m positive this will have Az on his knees.” Nesta said with a grin. The rest of the girls laughed in response.

It was going to be a good day. Elain could feel it in her bones.

——

The first thing that caught Elain’s eye was the Chandelier. It sparkled beneath the sun that was filtering through a skylight. The entire ball room was stunning, dressed in beautiful yellows, whites and teal. She had chosen the perfect dress. She loved how daisy garlands were strung from the ceilings and how the ballroom had an entire side that opened onto the gardens beyond the palace.

The second thing that caught her eye was The High Lord of Summer, donned in white with Golden cuffs that matched the Gold that lined his eyes, strolling towards them. He was gorgeous.

Of course, she’d met him before. The last they had talked properly was at the sporting events that had occurred a few years ago. Every decade there were inter-court Sunball games. These hadn’t been held for the best part of a Century with Amarantha’s reign and then the war with Hybern and then everything that went down with the mortal queens, but they’d held the first one in the summer two years ago. Elain hadn’t known much about sports, she knew people would compete in the mortal realms in different events, but she’d never deigned to care, but when she’d heard a rather enthusiastic Tarquin cheering his team on in one of the early matches, Elain had asked him to explain the game to her. The games had become much more interesting after that and she’d find any excuse to be near him during matches, even when they played against the Night Court.

Nothing had come of it though, she hadn’t wanted anything to come from it at the time, but now seeing him, calm, ethereal and downright stunning. Elain was re-evaluating why she hadn’t seen him that way before.

“Welcome,” Tarquin said in that deep voice of his sending goosebumps up Elain’s arm. It was boiling hot here, she shouldn’t be shivering, “It’s lovely to see you again.” He said clasping Rhys forearm, then giving Feyre a big hug and finally bumping a fist with Nyx. They had become incredibly close; Mostly down to the fact that Nyx had summer court powers. It had always been a thought, one no doubt all the High Lord’s had pondered, what powers would Feyre’s children possess; If she had the power of Seven High Lords would that pass down to her children or would they all receive something different. Nyx was already showing signs of immense power, but Summer’s called to him the most. Tarquin had lovingly offered to train with him and give him a safe environment to explore and master that magic.

“Excuse me, are you a prince?” We all looked down to see Lyla tugging on the High Lords robes. Feyre quickly pulled her away,

“No sweetie, Tarquin is like Mummy and daddy.” Mor explained to her,

“You’re a High Lord?” She asked in that adorable voice,

“I am,” He answered crouching down, “I believe you are Lyla.”

“Daddy says I’m a princess.” She said with a proud smile,

“Well, I believe a princess should get to show off that pretty dress.” He stood and took the little girl’s hand and led them into the gardens where the festivities were in full bloom.

Elain was blushing now and did not hide it when Tarquin glanced back at her. He was so good with her niece and nephew she could’ve swooned right there but instead she moved to Morrigan who was holding her wife’s hand. She almost didn’t want interrupt Emerie and her but Mor had already caught that Elain wanted to ask something. “Tell me about Tarquin.” Elain said,

“He’s Kind, Gorgeous, great with Children, supports those born into low-ranking families. But I think you already know all of that.” Mor said with a wink,

“But he’s never been married, no mate?” Elain asked,

“There are rumours his mate rejected him while he was still young, but he’s never confirmed that. I imagine like most he’s had lovers but none serious enough for us outside the palace to know of. He is young, soon to be a century, but I imagine his life has been so chaotic he might not have thought of romance.”

“He was not expecting to be High Lord, was he?”

Mor’s voice dropped so a soft whisper, “No, his cousin was killed by Amarantha. He’d tried to escape Under the Mountain and was caught; Rhys lied about his accomplices in order to save Tarquin’s life who had also tried to get him out.”

“He’s doing a great job considering everything he’s been through.”

“Maybe you should tell him that.” Mor said with that smirk, Emerie nodding along

“I think Lyla has already claimed him.” The three laughed in tandem, looking at the little girl holding onto his hand.

“Maybe you could ask him to dance.” Mor said suggestively,

“Maybe I will.”

——

Elain felt like her feet might fall off. She’d been dancing for hours not just with her brother in-laws but with Azriel and her nephew too. It had been so wonderful. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d danced this much and felt so free. She suspected the wine probably had something to do with her giddiness, Cresseida had told her it had been made by the very grapes that grew in the courtyard. Elain had tried many different wines while being Fae, but this was the most delicious.

She was just happy. She was living, truly living. The stolen glances towards the High Lord also made her feel more alive than ever before. He was wrapped in his Host duties but each look or smile he shot her way had her heart beating fast. It was a good job he’d invited them to stay for a few days or she might have been sad they had not gotten the chance to speak.

It was now early evening, and the sun was beginning to fade. The longest day of the year was coming to an end. She saw Feyre on the other side of the ball room and made her way towards her,

“Have you seen, Lyla?” Feyre asked, “She keeps running off, but we need to put her to bed.”

“I think she’s enjoyed it today.” Elain said, scanning the room and the gardens beyond,

“She basically ate the entire banquet table.” Feyre said with a laugh,

“Oh,” Elain said pointing outside, “I see her. She’s… with Tarquin.”

“Thank the mother,” Feyre said, letting out a sigh of relief, “I’ll get her.”

“No, let me.” Elain said,

She took a deep breath and walked towards the High Lord. It might have been the wine or the self-confidence she’d built over the past years, but she held her head high and didn’t shy away when he looked at her and smiled once more,

“Elain,” he said by greeting,

“Tarquin,” she smiled back, then turned to her niece, “Lyla, I believe your parents are looking for you.”

“They are, but I’m not tired yet, and I want to dance.” The little girl said, trying not to yawn,

“I know, Sweetie, but…” she couldn’t think of the right words to say as Tarquin had come to stand so close to her,

“But” he continued for her, “I promised your Auntie Elain a dance before the party was over.”

“Okay.” The girl said,

“You’re here for a few more days, I promise to take you around the City and to dance with you before you go home.” He said with such a loving smile, and then looked to Elain as if the offer applied to her too.

“Okay,” Lyla said again, “Goodnight Mr High Lord, Goodnight Auntie El.” Elain picked up the little girl and gave her a big kiss before sending her to where her mother stood waiting. Tarquin stood beside her and watched as Lyla left the ballroom.

“She loves you.” Elain just said to him,

“She’s a very sweet little girl and her brother too.” The pair looked over at Nyx who was standing with Cassian, looking like they were up to no good. Elain let out a small giggle. “Have you enjoyed the day?”

“I have. It’s so beautiful here.”

“Well, you certainly fit in.” Did he just call her beautiful? “So, May I have this dance?” She just glanced at him, and the beautiful blue of his eyes were as beautiful as the ocean beyond them. It was what made her say,

“Of course,” he took her hand, “I might only be able to stay standing for one more song though.”

“Okay, I’ll make you a deal,” he said leading her to the bustling dance floor, “You give me a dance and I’ll show you my favourite view in this palace.”

“Deal.” She said, damn those eyes that looked at her like she was the only one he could see.

When they joined the dance floor the music changed from the upbeat tune to a beautiful lilting melody. It wasn’t like other balls she had been to. There were not set dances one had to learn, everyone moved freely on the dance floor, with a partner or solo. She glanced around to see other couples holding onto each other swaying along with the music. Tarquin spun her so she faced him and bowed to her before taking her in his arms. She beamed at that bow, he’d done it purely out of politeness than what was expected, and she knew she had shocked him just as much when she slid her arms around his neck.

Her fingers were brushing against the hair at the back of his head, she marvelled at the beauty of his face. This close up she saw just how smooth his skin was, she wanted to run her fingers over his cheek, in his hair, maybe even further down that glorious set of abdominals that were proudly displayed. His skin had been lightly powdered with some kind of gold dust that had become alive under the light from the Chandelier. He was the most beautiful male she’d met. She already found herself dreading the dance coming to an end.

A small gasp escaped her lips as his broad hands found her waist. The thin Silk fabric she had donned was not thick enough to stop the heat of his hands seeping through. And for a while, the pair just swayed, not quite meeting the others eye. Elain couldn’t speak for the High Lord, but she feared that if she looked into those eyes much more, she wouldn’t be able to stop the urge to kiss him.

“Would you tell me what you’re thinking?” Tarquin whispered into her ear,

“I’m thinking,” she started, “That this is one the most stunning parties I have been to. That daisies are my favourite flowers and I’ve never seen so many.”

“Why Daisies?”

“They grow anywhere and everywhere.” She answered, “When we were children, Nesta and I would sit in the garden and make daisy chains, or I would while she would read. I got told off by a nanny once for making one and placing it on Feyre’s baby head.” Tarquin chuckled in response.

“If that’s the most mischief you got up to as a child, I’m afraid you’ve got some catching up to do.”

“Well what kind of mischief did young Tarquin get up to?” She asked, “Or have you always been calm and Kind?”

“I’m flattered you think that” he smiled. That gorgeous smile. “The Captain of the guard had a son my age and we’d get up to all kinds of mischief. My favourite one was when we created a slip and slide in the palace corridors.”

“That does sound mighty fun.” She laughed

“It was until we broke a few fish tanks and there were all manner of creatures sliding along the corridor with us.”

“Oh no!” Elain gasped,

“Yes, we were not easily forgiven for that particular stunt.”

“And now? Do you find you have much time to get up to these antics now you’re High Lord?” before he could answer the song came to a finish. Perhaps she’d overstepped, she had no right to ask of his personal life, but all her worries were stilled as he said,

“I believe I promised you the best view from the castle.” Elain only nodded and took the High Lord’s hand before Winnowing her away.

——

“Wow.” It was the only word she was capable of saying.

“I told you,” he said. It was stunning, the sun was setting, and they had the perfect view watching it make its descent. But not only that she could feel, in her bones, the vastness of that ocean that laid below them. She could see the city of Adriata where other solstice festivities were gathering. Looked out on the ocean to see a multitude of boats also celebrating. The curve of the small beach and the caves and cliffs that stood high above the waters made Elain realise how Feyre felt the urge to paint. To capture such a beautiful moment would have been impossible though.

She didn’t know how long she had stood there. Just that she thought she could breathe in that sea air forever. She’d barely realised they stood on a balcony that she had no doubt were attached to the High Lord’s personal chamber. She’d almost forgot who she stood with. She looked back at him who was just watching her with unwavering attention. “To answer your question,” he said stepping beside her to lean against the railing, “Being High Lord has kept me busy and I haven’t yet found that work, life balance that comes so naturally to the others.” He confessed,

“I think you’re doing a remarkable job.” She said glancing down at his people who were joyously celebrating,

“Thank you,” he said so sincerely she thought her heart might break, “I do wish I had the time to do what I liked.”

“What’s occupying so much of your time?” She asked,

“Already trying to get Court secrets from me?” he said with an eyebrow raised, she knew he was joking but still -

“Not secrets, per se. Just if you wanted to share the burden, even just by talking, I’d be more than happy to shoulder it.” She’d never meant anything more in her life. She wanted to be there for him, to care for him. Shit, she was in deep already.

Elain looked up at him through those long lashes and he turned to her. She tried to figure out what lay in his eyes, if it was sadness or gratitude. The next thing she knew she was reaching up to his cheek, finally feeling that smoothness beneath her fingertips and brushing away a tear that had fallen from his eye. “My apologies,” he said with a small cough, “I wanted to show you this place because it’s special to me but here I am blubbering away.”

“Never apologise for that, Tarquin. You deserve the happiness of the world. It’s okay to dream.”

“And what do you dream of?”

“For a long time, I thought happiness could only lay in what I could do for others. I believe it will always be my calling to serve and help but I didn’t know who I was. So now I dream that I will never lose sense who I am, and that I’ll be able to help others on their journeys. I know it isn’t much.” She said,

“Elain, I wish I had your sense. It takes a lot to admit you need to find yourself and to do the things you love.”

“And what is it that you love?”

“I love being High Lord, truthfully. I dream of making big changes in my lifetime. I just sometimes wish it didn’t feel so lonely.” He looked into her eyes with that piercing gaze and Elain’s knees could have buckled, but she held strong. Her hands found their way to his face one more, and she didn’t know what had possessed her as she stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his. Everything had gone so quiet; she swore she could hear the stars twinkling.

She pulled back slightly, the weight of what she had just done not quite crashing into her. She was about the open her mouth the apologise but she couldn’t as Tarquin took her in his arms and kissed her. Deeply and Soundly.

She tried to track his movements. She felt his hands around her waist like how they’d been when they’d danced. But they were trailing over her back now, over the embroidered flowers that were trailing along the back of her dress. She’d never been kissed like this before. Like they’d just wanted to devour her, and she did not mind it one bit.

Tarquin let out a small moan into her mouth when Elain had begun threading her fingers through his hair, pulling gently. She wanted that sound again, wanted to elicit every possible noise he could make. So, she did not complain as he’d walked her to the wall and pressed her against it. They were still outside, the sea air still making everything that much more intoxicating. All thoughts left her as he slid his thigh between her legs. She’d been with a Fae male once and it was good but this, this was something else. Another small moan escaped his throat when Elain began to rub that bundle of nerves along his thigh.

It was too much, but she needed more. She broke the kiss and looked at him, his breathing utterly ragged as he looked upon her face. They did not part, she thought that they might not be able to not with so much between them now. “Elain,” he said his voice a little more than a rasp, “I do not know what the future holds but I know you’re the most beautiful female I’ve laid my eyes on. And if I have misread anything please stop me before I completley ruin this.”

“Shh,” Elain said, before holding his face in her hands again and kissed him again. Not as intensely this time but it still felt otherworldly, “I think,” she said onto his lips, “That you are the most gorgeous male I’ve ever met.”

At that he picked her up and carried her through the balcony doors to the adjoining suite. She was right. His personal chambers. “Is this okay?” he asked as he walked towards his bed. It had been okay for a very long time. He could have taken her on that balcony for the entire city to see. To hear. She nodded and said, “Won’t you miss the ball?”

“I have everything I want right here.” He said before dipping his head to kiss her once more. He lowered her to the bed, and she found herself surrounded by gorgeously plush cushions and then the very welcome weight of Tarquin above her. “Tell me to stop.” He said gently,

“Please don’t stop.” she smiled with equal gentleness. And nothing. Nothing in the world could have prepared Elain, as the High Lord of the Summer Court began to make love to her.