#gm fic

[lilolilyr]

Lullaby - A ScarletMay ficlet for @flufftober day 16

1k words, rated G, no warnings

canon compliant except Madeleine lives!

Summary: Her first night back in the library, Scarlet has trouble falling asleep. Anna May doesn’t yet welcome her back in her bed but she still cares for Scarlet enough to want to help her get some rest…

[goodmode]

hey. hhhey. writing suggest that has no context for anyone else but whatever:

seer and lemm and dear little shadelord knight, and the whole misconception of lemm being their scribe and his following What The Fuck

hahaha okay

[context has been mostly included actually! the tl;dr for anyone else is: delicate flower ending, Shadelord!Knight introduces Relic Seeker Lemm to the Seer so he can get some valuable historical context for the Moth Tribe, Seer has some god-fearing issues that need to be worked out, and she assumes Lemm must be some kind of godly follower of the Lord of Shades.

Super TL;DR: Weird Old People 😎

(now posted to AO3, where the underlines and strikethroughs have been preserved properly. unlike here)

ok here]

(might put this on ao3 later. if i do i'll shove the link on this post somewhere)

***

Seer inclines her head in polite acknowledgement of the figures standing just outside her home. She heard them climb, and watched them hop (and clamber) over the edge. So, with their welcome, in pattered the Wielder.

Plus guest.

It had been strange enough that they brought a second bug with them, but when their small hand appeared from beneath their winged cloak to offer her a piece of paper, writ all over in appropriately inky glyphs - Seer had known, then, that the visit would be solemn.

With the paper held delicately in front of her, she understands that what she has been given is a death notice of sorts. Perhaps the Wielder expects her to be more surprised – but the utter dissolution of a Higher Being is something one tends to feel, when one is a Seer. Especially the dissolution of Her, when one is a Moth.

The Kingdom of Hallownest lies silent in a way it never has before, and in many ways Seer had expected this. In many ways it had been the point from the very start.

She was terrible, and it was a necessary thing, but Seer will grieve.

Later. For now, she folds up the grief and tucks it away beneath her wings with the Wielder's letter. They have introduced themselves to her now, and she must welcome a new Higher Being as is right.

"Lord of Shades," she addresses them now, as she must, and bends low in a gracious bow that has her limp antennae fall forwards to almost touch the floor. "United in Void, Victor in Dream –"

There is a stifled but noticeable scoff from the bug they brought as their plus-one.

Seer cautiously continues.

"...It is my honour to welcome you into my home, and to Hallownest proper. Whatever service you may need of me, I offer it gladly!"

Slowly, she straightens up.

Seer, who can see nearly everything in this room and then some without so much as having to turn her head, is not quite sure what she is looking at.

The Lord of Shades does not exactly look pleased with the formality.

The strange bug, who is round and two-horned and sporting a rather established beard, puts his hand on top of the Lord of Shades' pale mask as if such a thing would not be remotely sacreligious. The Lord of Shades' head turns, and the two of them share some glance that Seer is certain would be meaningful – if either of them were easier to read.

Seer lifted the Wielder's small body from the memorial site with little ceremony. That was then. Now, post-ascension to a being whose negative presence in this room makes her antennae feel static-charged, she would not dare.

This bug dares. It presents an interesting question.

"And… ahh…" she adds, wavering a bit.

"Relic Seeker Lemm," says the bug, matter-of-fact, and returns his hand to his lap.

The Lord of Shades turns back to face her, their cold, empty eyes offering no answers whatsoever.

She nods politely. "Greetings, Relic Seeker Lemm. I extend the same welcome to you!" she adds, just in case.

What, to a Higher Being, is a Relic Seeker?

—

Relic Seeker Lemm is here to ask you some questions, writes the Knight on the paper they've bought from the map shop. He is a historian.

"It can wait," adds Lemm curtly.

They nod. There are more important things to discuss; Lemm being here is a whole sidetrack of its own.

Seer kept to herself, and the route up through to the Resting Grounds doesn't exactly lead straight to its caretaker. It was no wonder, then, that when the Knight had let slip there was a member of the Moth Tribe still in Hallownest, Lemm had leapt at the chance to pick at some living history.

(He had been less thrilled about the discovery that the Moth Seer's home was tucked up and away in the corner of what amounted to underground cliffs. Even the Crossroads, he attested, were not this inaccessible. This had been followed by some quite imaginative complaints about the Kingdom of Hallownest's widespread lack of stairs.)

"I see," says the Seer, who looks like perhaps she does not. "It would be my honour to answer any questions on behalf of the Lord of Shades -"

Both of them shake their heads.

"My questions are my own," says Lemm. "They can wait," he adds, again.

The Knight watches the way Seer shifts uncomfortably in place. It's subtle, with most of her hidden by her wings, but they are perceptive.

You can decline to answer anything you would rather not, writes the Knight, flashing the paper at her. Hopefully that discomfort is an easy fix.

…No, now she just looks puzzled.

The Knight isn't sure what to do with that, so they move on.

I have some questions of my own about the nature of Higher Beings, and of Dream. My ascension was borne of necessity, and spurred by the urgency of my trapped sibling. Now things are less urgent I am not sure

Their quill stills.

Lemm, who has been reading sidelong while pretending not to, quietly offers: "Next step." He flicks a hand at their paper. You said 'next step' earlier on. That explained it quite well, didn't it?"

of my next step, they write gratefully. I was hoping you might have some insight.

Seer examines the paper with rising unease.

—

The Relic Seeker seems to be… an aide, of sorts? This does not narrow it down.

So far Seer is getting the impression he might be a communicant, an interpreter – some Higher Beings require one, when their will is above and beyond unknowable.

But this doesn't quite make sense. The Lord of Shades is apparently perfectly capable of writing down their wills and whims. Having words suggested when their mind stuck doesn't constitute interpreting, especially not if this was something they told him earlier.

Perhaps her assessment is wrong, still. Her memory of what has been passed down is patchy in places. Their numbers had been dwindling by Seer's time, and She had surpassed the need for interpreters long, long before then, if She had ever really needed them at all.

"Ahh… Of course. This humble Seer's knowledge is at your disposal, O Lord of Shades…"

The Lord of Shades sits there radiating discomfort, pen held still over their paper. Has she misstepped?

Lemm seems to study them for a moment, evaluating something in silence, and then flashes the Seer a flat look.

"You might drop all of that," he suggests, swishing a hand at her.

"...Ah?"

"The deference," explains Lemm. "Bowing and titles and such. Don't you two know each other already?"

Seer stares at him. Then at the Lord of Shades.

"We… are all different things to different people," she tries carefully, watching them both for tells in case her suggestion is about to be terribly offensive. "To me, you were the Wielder… Perhaps you would prefer I stuck to that, now?"

They nod enthusiastically.

This is all terribly bewildering, but Seer supposes she can see the merit. The title of Wielder still carries some deep respect. She can manage.

Maybe, in fact, it might be preferable. This is a thought for later.

"Well, then," she tries, studying the both of them for a figurative place to stand, "Ask your questions… Wielder." (Yes. That does sound better in her mouth.) "As ever I am at your service." Her eyes glitter. "Perhaps you both might like some tea?"

—

They are walking amid the graves of the long-dead, discussing the long-guilty.

It took more effort than anyone was comfortable with to convince the Moth Seer to open up about her Tribe's past. She kept those cards rather close to her chest, and now Lemm supposes he can see why.

The Knight has had some difficult conversations with her, and Lemm is not privy to all the nuance. He has promised to stay open-minded.

"...It was always determined that I would take it all with me, you see," she finishes explaining, sounding weary. "Those crimes and the guilt of them were to be committed to no memory after mine. It should be a weight off my shoulders, don't you think, Relic Seeker?"

He's not very good with cues, but that seems to be one.

"It isn't, then?" Is that what she wants him to ask?

Seer tuts.

"Ah, a poor interpreter you'd be!"

Seer shakes her head, antennae twitching, and she seems dimly amused at some private joke.

They walk quietly for a while longer, mainly because Lemm cannot for the life of him work out what to say next.

He prefers learning from relics. They're far less opaque than living bugs, and Seer is more opaque than most.

"I interpret a Wanderer's Journal well enough," Lemm gripes quietly, but not quietly enough.

"Ahh, I meant no offense!" She flags a hand at him as she stoops low over a grave, scrubbing away some lichen-growth with her thumb with the same care one might clean a grub's face of dirt. "I'm certain you're a professional. But you don't interpret for them, hmm?"

Lemm scoffs.

"Absolutely not. Their words are their own." …Seer may not know why that's quite so important. Lemm runs a hand down his beard and considers how much to tell. Eventually he settles on: "Hasn't had much of a say, of late."

Seer tips her head acknowledgingly. "They're very quiet."

"You'd think." Piles and piles of notes. Incorrigible little chatterbox is what they are.

He's kept all of them.

"Hmm…" She creakily straightens up. "What are you, then, Lemm?"

"What?" Lemm gingerly reaches out to pick at a different patch of grave-lichen, only for the Seer to lightly bat his hand away and do it herself. "I'm a Relic Seeker. I seek relics. S'a simple enough calling, isn't it? Pretty self-explanatory."

She stops and turns to face him, even though Lemm is pretty sure with those eyes Seer could watch him from the peripheral if she wanted.

"Yet we are all something different to someone else, are we not?"

Lemm scritches at his beard. This is the second time she's said something along those lines, and he feels oddly confronted.

"I think you've got the wrong idea about what kind of a bug I am," he answers stiffly.

"Ah…?"

Silence. Expectant silence. He hates this.

"What game are you playing," Lemm doesn't so much ask as accuse.

"None at all! I simply wish to know where I stand."

"I'm a Relic Seeker," he insists. "I'm just – I'm no one! I'm a historian. I remember things. Write things down, sometimes." He aborts a gesture. She knows what writing looks like. "I collect items of historical significance. ...Junk, to some. Wrongly. It's not that deep!"

Seer stares at him, long and hard.

With a nod that seems oddly final, she turns and carries on walking.

This whole exchange has felt like someone is prying at his shell. Relic Seeker Lemm follows her with an uncomfortable frown.

—

Record-keeper, Seer tries out.

But no, that doesn't fit, either. He would have given up his other calling. Be more fanatical. Preach more. If anything, Lemm refuses to preach a jot unless it's about general history.

When they end up at the grave of one of her ancestors, carved with Dream-sigils but modest and totally nameless, the Relic Seeker is nearly beside himself.

"Ah – look at that… The markings are more archaic than you'd think. Here, let me compare these…"

He flicks out a charcoal rubbing, and my, she's not even sure when he took that, she thought she was watching him. Has he been here before?

"You'd think the symbols would be cruder the further back you go, but it's the opposite here, d'you see? These are from the Pale King's era. Everything's more simplified after the religious shift. Stripped back."

"I see," says the Seer, watching him compare the charcoal impression to the ones on the headstone.

Lemm stands there awkwardly clutching the piece of blackened paper for a moment before backing off a step or two, clearing his throat, and gesturing to the grave again.

Very belatedly: "...Who was it."

"You're not a people person, are you, Relic Seeker?" she teases.

Lemm turns tense and strange and out-of-place, even more so than he was to begin with. He mutters something rather obvious about his preference for inanimate objects, and Seer cheerfully changes the subject.

The baffling thing about this bug is that he seems harmless.

Despite what might have been a fearsome horn in his prime, and the bearing of someone who takes offense and runs with it, Relic Seeker Lemm does not have the bold confidence of a Prophet, or the ceremony of a Confessor. Striking the might of the Shadelord or the warning of regret into someone's heart is clearly not Lemm's forte. He's not charismatic enough; it is excruciatingly obvious he is someone who keeps to himself.

What, then, has the Shadelord seen fit to appoint him?

—

"She's impossible," sighs Lemm, sounding irritated.

The Knight is sitting on his counter; it has been a long time indeed since he bothered to shoo them off it.

They're hugging a rather vintage cushion that made it onto their that side of the counter a while ago, because sitting on something so soft tips them diagonal, and refusing to admit it was a bad idea has become somewhat of a competition for them both. The Knight doesn't seem to mind finding other uses for it, so right now it's a comfy support against their front.

She's troubled, they write one-handed, leaning around the cushion.

Lemm scans their paper upside-down from across the desk and tuts.

"Aye, well. That's not what bothers me. She's… clever."

The Knight considers this, then tilts their head quizzically.

For a while there's just the scratch of his quill and the drum of the rain on the convex window.

"She thinks she knows better than I do," he says, eventually, without looking up. "Won't accept I'm just – this!" he gestures around, at the clutter and the thousand little legacies in his shop. "Relic Seeker isn't good enough for her! Well, she can stuff it. I am what I am."

Ah.

Seer seems like she looks for hidden meanings in things.

"She can suit herself. I've got no hidden meaning," Lemm retorts irritably. "What you see is what you get! I'm a shrewd business-bug –" he shoots the Knight a warning glance when they silently bob in amusement "– and a cantankerous recluse. There's nothing deeper going on. This Seer of yours is climbing glass."

The Knight tilts their head.

Lemm tips his horn towards the rainy window.

They consider a bug, sans Mantis Claw, trying to climb the smooth surface and sliding back down. An exercise in futility.

Idiom? they write at him.

"Pah," dismisses Lemm, which is a yes, and goes back to scribbling notes on Moth Tribe symbolism.

The Knight files that one away for later.

I hope you at least got what you wanted.

Relic Seeker Lemm side-eyes their paper. "Of a sort." Then, a little later, and far quieter: "You're right that she's troubled, Knight. I'd not upset her."

I know is written very hastily, and flashed at him with some insistence.

Lemm tries not to look too relieved.

"Aye, I know you know. Just bears saying. We don't have to get along. I'm capable of being civil."

The paper is flashed again. They know.

"Urgh. Quiet."

And it does go quiet, for a time.

The Knight taps twice on the counter, signalling they've somewhere to be in a way that does not require Lemm to look up from his work, and hops down from the counter. They make it halfway to the door by the time Lemm plucks up the grit to say the important part.

"Appreciate the introduction," he tosses after them, stilted and weird. "Not much of a networker. Got a valuable account out of it."

It's always so amusing when he remembers to be polite. Politeness on Lemm sounds the same way being overcharmed feels.

They pause to scribble a final note, and trot back to slide it onto the counter. They brace. There is a chiming, rushing sound –

"Don't you dare," warns Lemm, jabbing the point of his quill at them.

The explosion of the Crystal Heart going off rattles his shelves; the Relic Seeker lunges over his desk to flatten all of the papers with his arms before they can go flying.

"Menace!"

Grimacing, Lemm waits for the rushing to stop and the sound of the lift lever being smacked, and retreats back into his seat to snatch up their parting message.

You're welcome. We can visit again. Together maybe we can clear things up.

…Meddling little chatterbox, that's what they are.

Lemm stares out of the rainy window for a while, quill fidgeted absently in his hand.

—

"What?"

They pass about three more graves (one of whose names Lemm claims he recognises from an old artisan's annal) before the Geo drops.

"What? No," he sputters, suddenly. "No, I'm not a sage, what a ridiculous thing to say!"

"Ahh, can you blame me for that guess?" Seer waves off his indignation, almost amused. "You've the look of one, Relic Seeker."

Lemm scowls at her. And strokes at his too-long beard, as if to remind himself it's there. "I'm not a sage," he moodily insists. "If anyone's coming to me for wisdom they've a pin loose."

"Chronicler, then?"

"I –?" He stutters.

But he pauses, here, because technically… technically he does chronicle. That's part of the job, sometimes. (There are papers in his counter drawers back at the shop, penned and collated into a history Hallownest strived to keep hidden. The Knight's history, things they've shared with him in trust. And more than just theirs, now.)

"...I'm a Relic Seeker," he insists – a little less certain now, but adamant.

That is his only title, writes the Knight, a little shakier for being on the move, and shows it to the Seer.

"Aah…"

Why does she look so adamant that this is untrue?

"I've always been a Relic Seeker," he tells her, because she still seems to be waiting for a better answer, "and with any luck I'll remain one for some time yet." A pause. He barely stifles the urge to snap at her, and his voice sounds stressed and uncomfortable regardless: "What do you want me to say?"

Relic Seeker – The Knight helpfully thrusts their paper at her, and waggles it a bit for good measure.

Seer stops then, and Lemm almost walks right into her.

"Then I am at a loss, I'm afraid," she admits. "You each give so few clues…"

"Clues about what!"

Seer turns on them both, and for once the cheery spirit of guesswork seems to have left her.

"Your Relic Seeker, to you," she nods at the Knight, "and your relationship to your deity." A nod at Lemm.

There is a long, strange silence.

The Knight begins frantically scrawling What do you mean but speech is much faster and Lemm beats them to it.

"My-?" he splutters.

"You were introduced together!" Seer points out, a little distressed, as if there's something terribly obvious they're both missing. "You act just as any supporting acolyte, Relic Seeker… I must apologise…" She inclines her head, shamed. "But I've little etiquette for a Higher Being who won't use their title. And none whatsoever for a follower who won't associate!"

Lemm almost misses his footing.

"Acolyte?" he demands, utterly mortified. "I – you can't possibly think –?"

"...Ah–?"

WHAT

"Ahh – perhaps I've misspoken…?"

"They're not my anything! What are you talking about!"

Oh, dear. Relic Seeker Lemm looks terribly distressed, and the Wielder-Lord-of-Shades is scrawling frantically and crossing things out and looking to Lemm like he might know what to do. Clearly, he does not.

NOT MINE

Seer makes an uncomfortable noise and steps back, suddenly anxious. What has she done wrong? Her antennae twitch and fan out, instinctively sensing for any rise in Void and Shade that might signal some kind of deific displeasure.

Lemm scrubs the heel of his hand at his forehead and the base of his horn as though he's developing some kind of headache.

"Seer," he grinds out eventually, "am I right in thinking you've gotten me pinned as a priest?"

"Ah… Mm…"

No, writes the Wielder. And then double-underlines it and flashes it again. No.

Seer places her hand on a nearby grave to steady herself, watching them both carefully.

"Then… What–?"

"Our relationship," Lemm insists, looking even worse off than she does, "is professional. They're a client. They've been selling relics."

The Knight stops writing. Slowly, they look up at him.

"I've been buying from my – dealer since long before they turned into this," he struggles, waving a hand at them. "We just – know each other. Nothing else! They're the Lord of Shades, I'm still no one of any consequence, and we're nothing in that regard! S'that understandable enough for you?"

Seer is certainly listening to him. But she's staring at the Knight, intent and uneasy.

They lower their paper and quill to their sides.

"Lemm," she warns, suddenly aware of a prickling, cold weight in the air.

"We're business partners! Am I acolyte material? I've never followed a Higher Being and I don't intend to start now! Look around, see where it's gotten everyone else!" He gives a wide, sweeping gesture at the graveyard, and waves at the tunnel through to the distant jutting horn-shapes and the Dreamers' Memorial. "Do you really think–?" Lemm breaks off into a deeply uncomfortable argh sort of sound. "You've met me," he points out, glaring at her. "I'm nothing else than a Relic Seeker, not to anyone."

The Wielder takes up their paper again, clinical. Business partners, they write, in careful, clear glyphs. I am his client and dealer of relics.

There is a pause.

They write a little bit faster, then.

I would rather you knew me as you did. Lemm was right: I dislike titles and reverence immensely. I am new to the title of Shadelord and it fits ill. More so now.

I am the Knight, the Wielder, and

A pause.

a passing acquaintance. I am sorry, but I will leave you to work through that dissonance on your own terms. Lemm has had time. I will give you time as well. I cannot will not control how you think of me.

They hand her the note – rather, they push it against the front of her wings so insistently that her hand creeps out to take it instinctively – and they whirl to leave, the very ends of their wings rippling black.

The Seer and the Relic Seeker stand in the graveyard and watch the small, pale-masked figure disappear down through the crypt-hall.

Seer is the first to gather her thoughts.

She turns, slowly, to see Lemm staring after the Wielder. He is tense, hands clenching and unclenching restlessly at his sides.

Not so unkindly, she offers a pearl of wisdom.

"Huh. I think you might have whiffed that," she gently informs him.

Lemm shoots her a look of abject dismay.

"As if…" he starts. He coughs into a hand and folds his arms tightly over his beard, and belatedly attempts to mask the expression. "As – as if you'd know a thing about it! You've confused us both!"

Seer takes a small, polite little bow. Lemm looks taken aback by this – and a little suspicious.

"My sincerest apologies, Relic Seeker Lemm. We have all befuddled each other, it seems… Ahh, but I think I understand now." She straightens and takes his arm, ignoring a flinch. "Come. As they say, tardiness is better than a no-show."

Her grip is feather-light and trembling, but there's nothing quite like feeling like a lost grub in front of a Seer who knows better. He is too old for this. And yet Lemm is compelled to follow.

—

Blue Lake is a vast expanse of shimmering, serene blue; the cavern stretches on in all directions, the water punctured and interrupted here and there by old rock formations. The smooth, cool surface of its shore is flat and broad, and lined here and there with old, pearlescent shells and marginal plants that thrive in the reflected light.

The outcrop disappears away in a deceptively sudden drop, and even with the water so clear and lit from within by some distant, blooming glow, it is hard to see the bottom. Maybe things live down there. Maybe not. It is a melancholy place.

It is also a wonderful place to kick rocks and hit things, if one enjoys an echo. Blue Lake echoes beautifully.

The Knight drags their Nail down and swings it forward, casting sparks into the shining water. The loud, scraping shwing of metal on stone ripples out into the cavern and comes back from several directions, eerie and weird.

They don't quite know where the restlessness comes from, now. They thought they did, back with Seer and Lemm, but the meaning of it has compounded since the short trip here and they can't make sense of it any more.

Because it's true: Relic Seeker Lemm pays them for the trinkets they bring him, and that makes them business associates by default. The very exchange of Geo makes the Knight his client. That's not false.

Nor is it false that they're the Lord of Shades, as much as the title sits heavy and uncomfortable along with the King's Brand and the constant, shifting attention of their hundredfold Sibling-shades all held in their Void like drops in an ocean.

For the sake of it, and because there is a constricting sort of tension in their chest, the Knight curls in on themselves, focuses, and pushes Soul and Void both out into a charged Shriek that rattles the rafters.

As small pebbles plink down into the water's surface, they do not feel any better.

They feel rather adrift, in fact, like they have leapt into the water and gone floating off without a tether. It is not unlike wandering had been, before they followed that terrible call back to Hallownest. Only now, cruelly, they know to dislike the feeling.

Of course none of the facts presented today have been untrue. Acquaintance, client, Lord of Shades, and altogether not anyone's anything.

Swing. A large empty shell splits down the middle and falls apart in a way that should be pleasantly satisfying. They stare at the nacreous insides for a while, listlessly watching the way the colours shift with the reflecting rippled light of the Lake.

There are footsteps from the east tunnel they're most familiar with, the one that leads back to the City and the Resting Grounds both.

"...just don't know why I have to go first," carries a hiss in a voice they know quite well. "I'm not the one who –"

"Yes, you are," interrupts Seer, in a quiet but rather no-nonsense tone. "Both of us are at fault, Relic Seeker, and it seems you know them best. Don't be obtuse."

"Urgh."

The Knight stares at the split shell a moment longer, then stows their Nail at their back and goes to the edge of the flat stone shore, and hops down into a seated position, dangling their short legs off the edge. They don't even touch the water. They are small in a way the great, inky form of the Lord of Shades isn't.

The footsteps stop a little way away. There is a short silence.

Then a discomfited noise from Lemm, as Seer gives his back a gentle push and he reluctantly trudges the rest of the way over.

He comes to a halt just behind them.

Lemm is deeply, deeply uncomfortable. They don't need to look; they can feel it from here.

The Knight pats the shore beside them.

He doesn't come to join them, yet, but:

"Um," he says, and they're fairly sure the abrupt stop is because he is wincing at the volume of his voice in the echoing cavern. "...Knight."

They wait.

And wait. They really wish he'd get on with it.

"I'm not," and then he stops again.

"Um…" and, no, not this time either.

Lemm grumbles something under his breath. Then:

"Didn't think you'd – urgh, this is ridiculous."

"Ahh, what a mess!" chimes the Seer, and takes the initiative firmly out of his hands. "Wielder, we have both failed to address you as you are. Allow the Relic Seeker and I to make amends. Perhaps we've a few things to clarify…"

Relieved of having to take the lead, Lemm sighs in an exhausted sort of way and steps forward to carefully ease himself down beside them. His reflection appears beside theirs, the warm purple colour of his shell faded and hazy in the gently-lapping water. He is fussing with his beard, combing his hand through it like he does sometimes when he's struggling with a particularly difficult Journal dialect, and he stares stubbornly out at the Lake.

"Need the right words for this. Don't rush me."

In the meantime, Seer draws up to the Knight's other side, and after a moment's deliberation she stoops slightly to rest a hand on their shoulder. She is hesitant, because she is touching a Higher Being, unsolicited and probably unexpected. She does it anyway, because it needs doing.

"I have failed to accept the facts as they stand… and I hope you can forgive me. Not as the Lord of Shades," she adds, and the Knight barely resists the urge to look up at her. "As the Wielder. To me, you are the Wielder. I understand now that is all you wish for our relationship to be. It was no trap, nor test, nor hidden expectation."

The Knight, or rather the Wielder, gives the barest little dip of a nod. 

"Ah." Seer bows her head back. Her eyes glitter strangely in the mirror of the lake. "I'll need time to grow used to such a way of thinking, Wielder. I am old. In my time the Higher Beings I have known have been…"

The Knight understands, somewhat. They tip their head acknowledgingly and flip a hand, in the sort of vague gesture that says I know what you mean.

The Pale King, the White Lady, the Radiance. Unreachable and unfathomable and, sometimes, vindictive. All far above the common bug. The Knight wants none of it.

"...You offered me time. Does it still stand…?"

A nod, firmer this time. Yes. They can wait. Deeply-engrained ways of thinking are difficult to shake.

It would be nice if she did. She sounds like she'll manage. They aren't quite sure what to believe, exactly, but the spark is there.

Speaking of, and before Seer can get another word in:

"I'm not a people person," declares Lemm, quite loudly. It echoes across the water and back, but he seems to have braced himself.

There is a pause.

"Ah… That we know," Seer kindly confirms.

Lemm sags and makes an irritable noise. "I know. I know you know. Listen, I – we're – urgh –"

The Knight leans sideways and gives him a rough, annoyed little shoulder-check. Enough. Say your piece.

"Friends!" Lemm spits, throwing his arms up in frustration. "We're friends," he says again, for clarity, and leans forward to shoot a poisonous glare past them at the Seer. "We do business and we met that way and now they visit and don't bring anything with them, and freeload in my shop and waste my time! And I don't care," he miserably adds, and now he can't seem to stop talking. "To you they're the Wielder and to me they're – they're the Knight, they're a damned good friend of mine. I don't care about all this Higher Being business. I'm – I'm Relic Seeker Lemm, and I'm a friend of theirs, and that's all there is to it. Do I have to be anything else?"

Slowly, gingerly, the Knight inwardly feels around for a tether, just in case. They have a suspicion the crawling feeling in the depths of their Void might have shifted. They are pleasantly surprised when they find two more anchors than they did a few minutes ago.

Lemm is clearly not having an easy time of it, but they have to admit – the determination is admittedly a little bit endearing. As is the word-waterfall he seems to be suffering from.

"I'm not their follower," he continues to tell the Seer, who seems to be amusedly waiting to see how deep he'll dig. "They're not my Higher Being. Am I making myself clear?"

"Oh, crystal," she replies, with a gleeful, encouraging note.

"Good."

The both of them wait. They can see the words fizzing right behind his pained look, and it's a Geo-toss whether or not they'll come out.

Eventually, they do.

"If I was the pious sort," he forces, "and one had to be mine, it'd be the Lord of Shades."

The Knight kicks their legs, feeling oddly light.

"But I'm not. So it's the Knight. I mean – no, they're not mine –"

"Hm," says the Seer, loudly interrupting him before he can tangle himself any further. She turns to the Knight. "Your Relic Seeker seems to be struggling. Have you gotten what you needed, Wielder?"

Lemm goes abruptly silent, and stiff as a board.

He sways slightly back into place as a small, cool weight tilts to rest against his side.

"Ahh, good," says Seer. "Then perhaps it's time for me to return to my duties, if things are settled…"

A small hand catches at the edge of her wing.

Still rigid as a husk on the Knight's other side, Lemm manages to mumble: "Or you'll sit." A beat. "With your – Wielder."

Seer hesitates.

"...Or maybe I'll sit," she murmurs thoughtfully, and sits.

The quiet is pleasant. At least until Lemm can stand it no longer and has to break it with something clumsy.

"I'm getting too old for this nonsense," murmurs Lemm, and tries to sneak an arm around the Knight without Seer noticing, which is an act of complete and utter futility. Might as well be climbing glass.

"Speak for yourself," she tuts.

Subtly she shrugs a wing back and across, draping it behind the Knight (and Lemm's completely inconspicuous arm) like a curtain.

The Knight feels comfortably anchored. Friend, then. Wielder. Knight. Occasional Shadelord and King is acceptable, with those caveats.

The first one fits best.

[flawlessassholes]

Will we ever be blessed with more adventures of dirtbag Daniel x girl max?

considering they haunt my every waking moment with their disgustingness and love? yeah. Yeah. anyways here’s ~800 words of max trying to ‘apologize’ to daniel after baku 2017. (the apology may or may not be an offer of anal.) more under the cut!

It’s a tense fucking debrief after Max crashes him out of Hungary.

She’s red-faced, pouty, glaring at the table like it’s the steward who handed her the 10-second penalty. It wasn’t enough, Daniel thinks uncharitably. She’s going to be forced to apologize, and Daniel’s not going to accept. If she’s gonna act like the rookie she pretends not to be, then he’ll act like one back. She needs to learn that her actions have consequences, and since Christian wants to treat her like his golden little princess, that apparently falls to him.

The sun’s just gone down when she knocks on his motorhome’s door.

She’s still red-faced but freshly showered, her hair pulled back into two braids. Dutch, she explained after they fucked after he won Baku.

They haven’t since then. They won’t tonight, seeing as he’s still vacillating between throttling her and demanding she get sent back to Torro Rosso.

She holds up two beers. Awkward and stiff, like she doesn’t want to be here.

Daniel raises his eyebrows. “What are those? Apology beers?”

She nods.

He shuts the door in her face.

Childish, but Daniel never claimed to be anything otherwise.

“Daniel!” He can hear her huff. “Fuck you, Daniel, I am trying to be nice and do the right thing, and you of course won’t even let me because you are a massive dick and will only listen to me if—”

“Jesus Christ,” he yanks the door open to shut her up. He doesn’t know what’s at the end of her sentence, but he’s pretty sure Max isn’t above saying if I’m on your dick.

Which is, like, true. But he doesn’t need the entire paddock knowing that.

“Can you be any louder?” He asks. He shouldn’t because if there’s one thing he’s learned about Max between being teammates and fucking around with her, it’s that she’s got the humor of a nineteen-year-old guy when it comes to sex jokes.

Sure enough, she opens her mouth, big pink lips stretching wide, and he rolls his eyes. “Save it, will you? I’m not in the mood to pretend to laugh at your jokes.”

Max’s eyes narrow. “At least are you going to let me in?”

“Why, so you can give me a shitty beer and tell me that it wasn’t really your fault?”

“Well, I was going to let you fuck my ass, but—”

The rest of the sentence is lost to the sound of blood rushing to his head, or out of it, and him grabbing Max by the arm and pulling her inside, the door of the motorhome slamming shut.

“Jesus Christ, Max, you can’t just say that.”

“Well,” she says, far too smug. “It got me inside.”

“Oh, so that was just a tactic?”

Max frowns. “No, I meant it?”

Daniel shakes his head, takes one of the beers from her hand, opens it on the counter, and downs half of it as he sits on his couch, legs sprawled wide.

He wipes his mouth. Max is staring at his crotch. “It won’t be nice,” he says. “I’m too pissed at you to be nice.”

“I don’t need nice,” Max says immediately. Haughty. She sets the other beer on the counter and walks over to him. Most girls would try to be sexy, but Max is incapable. But despite her clunky, boyish walk, she still fucking is.

She straddles his lap, just like he taught her. “And you, of course, are never nice anyway.”

Max is a fast fucking learner when it comes to sex. Half a year ago, she couldn’t even initiate a kiss, and now she’s nosing at his neck and grinding on his lap. She’s still, like, hella awkward with it. But her inexperience—it’s heavy. And fucking hot. He said he wanted to be her first everything, and Max is apparently content to let him have at it.

He captures those plush, bitten lips in a hungry kiss, shamelessly groping her ass in her ugly khaki shorts. He can’t resist—he smacks her ass once, hard, and she yelps into his mouth.

“I am upset with you,” he says. She’s still writhing against him. Kinky. Neat.

“I am sorry,” she says, breathless as she pulls away. Then she climbs out of his lap, gangly and ungraciously, and pulls off her shirt and sports bra in one go.

He’ll never admit it, but her tits do make him forget why he’s mad in the first place.

“Alright,” he says, standing. “You want me to fuck your ass?”

He grabs her hips and spins her around so her ass is flush against his mostly-hard dick. He grinds against her, and she moans as she nods.

God, another first. He’s high with the thought.

He steps back. Spanks her ass again. “Get on the bed.”

[queenie-ofthe-void]

A Desperate Fool - Part 6

Part 5

Last Time: Nancy starts filling in the gaps of everything Eddie's missed

~~~

Max, Lucas, and Erica were the first to quit calling. Hell, they’d always been more Steve’s than Eddie’s, since he’d adopted Max with the last of his parents’ trust money when he turned nineteen. After the kids graduated, Steve had set himself, Max, and Robin up in a cheap two bedroom apartment in Chicago where they all started school. Then Lucas moved in only a few months later– Max and Lucas in one room, Robin and Steve in the other. Only for Eddie to then uproot Steve to LA just before he could finish his degree, selfishly isolating him from his family.

Dustin was the next to disappear. They were close, and Eddie considered the kid one of his best friends. It apparently didn’t matter, which–just like with the other three–he should’ve seen coming. Steve was practically a brother to Dustin, same as Max. Eddie just always thought the split was more fifty-fifty with Dustin. It was a thick pill to swallow, but he managed.

He reached his final breaking point when Nancy and Mike started ignoring him. Eddie could make excuses for the rest of them, they were Steve’s adopted, puzzle-piece family. The Wheeler’s were Eddie’s family by blood. 

His parents kicked him out for kissing the neighbor boy– well, his adopted parents. Turns out Karen Wheeler had put him up for adoption three years before she met Ted, but was too scared to reach out, hoping he was happy with his new family. When little twelve year old Eddie showed up with a social worker at her door the next day, however, Karen welcomed him with open arms. He figures he’d be dead if it wasn’t for them, caught up running petty crimes just like his dad.

But that all meant Mike and Nancy were supposed to love him, not Steve. He called non-stop once he’d finally understood what was happening, but they never answered. Eddie remembers lying in bed for days, ruminating on how they’d picked golden boy Steve Harrington over their own family. Old feelings of neglect and rejection curdled up in Eddie’s stomach. A reminder that he was just a burden. Some lost, broken, queer kid they never asked for, forced onto them when Karen and Ted already had three mouths to feed.

Eddie's resentment towards everyone carried the band through their first national tour. He wanted to kick-off on a festival tour in Europe once they finished, but the band was exhausted. They were desperate to take a break while Metal Munson was still riding on top of the world, a full-fledged rockstar getting invites to behind-the-scenes parties, walking the red carpet, and casually dating celebrities. 

But he still loved his Corroded boys, so he agreed, thinking the break would allow them time to recover and give him more time to reap the benefits of a rockstar lifestyle. 

Except staying out every night started to lose its shine. The parties were duller than he remembered, the lights less bright. Mindless flirting with boys only interested in Metal Munson strained his smile. Strange, strong hands started to feel like sandpaper across his bare skin, the tangled sheets between them constricting Eddie until he couldn’t breathe. 

It all came crashing down when he woke up in an unfamiliar bed next to a man with fluffy brown hair, moles scattered across his back. Brilliant, sky blue eyes staring back at him.

Eddie quit going out. Stopped answering phone calls– not that the calls came from anyone who actually mattered. 

Because Steve never called. Not once, still hasn’t. And Eddie doesn't think he ever will.

~~~

Part 7

Tag List!!!

@sadisticaltarts @5ammi90 @blacklegsanji21 @jaytriesstrangerthings

@thewickedkat you didn't actually asked to be added to the tags, but I included you bc of your comment on the last part. If you'd like to not be included next time just lmk <3

[sydsaint]

Things are a-changing in everyone's favorite polycule!!!

Summary: The WWE draft rolls around and GM!Reader invites Ava to observe. But that's not the only thing on her agenda for the first night of the draft.

It's late Thursday night as you finish up packing your bags for your flight to Cincinnati. Smackdown is hosting the first night of the draft in the city tomorrow, and it's bound to be an interesting show.

Off to the side of the room, the door creaks open. You glance at the door as Knight leans against the door frame. "You almost ready to go, gorgeous?" He asks you.

"Yeah." You nod and turn back to your bag. "Is everything in the apartment off? And did you set the feeder on the fish tank for the weekend?" You ask him.

Knight pushes off the door and walks over to you. He comes up behind you and wraps his arms around you. "Everything is taken care of, darlin'. Like always." He assures you. "Your boy toys are already on their flight. We're just waiting on you now, boss lady." He teases you.

"God, reliability is so sexy on you." You zip up your suitcase before turning around in Knight's arm. You wrap your arms around his neck and lean up for a kiss. "Can you take my bags down? I need to make a quick phone call before we get to the airport."

"Of course, darlin." Knight nods and lets you go from his arms. "Anything for you, sweetheart." He winks at you before grabbing your bags and hauling them off out to the car.

You fish your phone from your back pocket and begin switching off lights as you move through the apartment. You dial the number you need and the line rings a few times before someone finally picks up.

"Yeah? This is, Ava." A sweet female voice answers the call.

"Ava!" You smile to yourself and switch the last light in the apartment off. "Hey, it's YN. The GM for Smackdown?" You introduce yourself.

You hear rustling on the other side of the phone before Ava finally answers you. "Yeah! Of course! Hi." She answers with enthusiasm. "What can I do for you?" She asks you.

"I actually had a sort of business proposition for you." You explain. "I'm going to assume you know that Smackdown is hosting the first night of the draft, right?" You ask Ava.

"Yeah." Ava replies.

You linger at the front door of the apartment and check the security system one last time before locking the door and stepping outside. "Well, I'd like to formally invite you to Smackdown to be a guest on the show." You inform Ava. "If, of course, you're willing to fly out to Cincinnati by tomorrow night."

"Really?" Ava sounds surprised by your proposal. "Umm, yeah! That sounds great! I think that I can make it in time for Smackdown tomorrow." She adds, and you can hear more rustling on the other end of the line.

"Sounds great!" You smile to yourself. "Listen, I have to head out and catch my flight. But you have my number, so text me when you get your travel plans figured out. We can talk more later, okay?"

"Yeah, okay." Ava agrees and hangs up the call.

You put your phone back into your pocket and make your way out to the car. Knight has just finished packing up your bags by the time you get out there and greets you.

"You have a productive phone call?" Knight asks you.

"It was, yes." You nod and walk around to the passenger side of the car.

Knight comes around with you and gets the door. "Glad to hear it, sweetie. You ready to go?" He asks you.

You nod and the two of you head out to the airport.

The next afternoon you pull into the arena in Cincinnati alone, Knight, Waller, and Theory haven already arrived and been engrossed in some meet-and-greets for a few hours now. You head through the security gate and make your way down to your office. When you step into the hallway leading to said office, Waller and Theory are mingling outside the door.

"Gray? Austin?" You catch their attention as you make your way toward them. "What are you two doing back here? Don't you have a meet-and-greet before the show?" You glance down at your watch, briefly.

"Event ended a little bit ago." Austin explains and pushes off the wall he's been leaning against.

Grayson does the same and springs up to help you with the bag slung over your shoulder. "Thank you, sweetie." You thank Grayson and make it to your office door.

You head inside the office with Grayson and Austin following behind you. Grayson sets your bag down onto the desk in the room and you walk around it to sit down in the provided chair.

"How'd the event go? Lots of screaming girls thirsting over the two of you?" You muse and begin unloading your bag.

"Well, we are WWE's sexiest tag team." Austin chuckles and leans against the front of your desk.

Grayson laughs with him and they high-five before Grayson turns back to you. "Not that you ever have to worry about any of those simps, YN." He assures you.

"Good to know." You giggle and boot up your laptop. "Did either of you see Knight at the event center?" You ask them, attention on your laptop.

"We went by his booth on the way out of the center." Austin answers you. "He looked like he was wrapping things up."

You nod and enter your password on your laptop to boot things up. "Good, I have something for him to do for me tonight." You glance up at Austin and Grayson. "As for you two. No match tonight, sorry. But! I do have you two scheduled against Tez and Dawkins next week." You inform them.

"Not a problem." Grayson replies confidently. "That mean you're kicking us out for the night?" He jokes with you.

"Fraid so, pretty boy." You nod with a playful smile. "After one of you gets me a coffee from catering." You add.

Austin and Grayson both chuckle and Austin nods at you. "I got you, babe."

Gray and Austin head out and you try and get some work done before everyone from the Smackdown and Raw draft teams begin to show up. Knight eventually shows up to check in on you after he's done with his meet-and-greet.

"Working hard in here, sweetheart?" Knight saunters into the room with his usual confident swagger.

"Extremely." You laugh. "Thanks for stopping in, sweetie. I've got a job for you to handle real quick, then you're off for the night with the boys." You explain.

Knight nods and leans on your desk. He waits patiently and watches you answer a text on your phone before you turn your attention back to him.

"I've got a special guest joining me on Smackdown tonight." You set your phone down and glance up at him. "Ava Raine from NXT. She should be arriving soon. So, can you meet her and bring her down her for me, please?" You ask him.

"Sure." Knight nods. "No problem. Ava Raine, huh? She's that bright-eyed girl you were talking with last week at the PC, right?" He asks you.

You nod and get another text on your phone. You read it briefly and rise out of your chair. "Thank you, sweetie. You can just bring her back here. But I've got to go meet with Pearce and Hunter really fast before the show." You explain.

Knight nods and gets the door for you. The two of you part ways for the time being, and Knight heads on down to the loading docks to wait for Ava to show up.

It isn't long before Ava's uber pulls into the loading bay. She thanks the driver with a grateful smile and checks her phone one last time. There's a text waiting for her when she unlocks it.

Sent one of my boys down to meet you. See you in my office! :)

Ava reads the text before locking her phone again and stepping out of the back of her Uber. She scans the loading bay for signs of anyone waiting for her and it doesn't take her long to notice lingering around.

"Umm...hi." Ava walks over to Knight, unsure if he's who she should be lookingg for. "LA Knight, right?" She asks nervously.

"You know it, sweetheart." Knight flashes a grin at Ava and nods. "Boss sent me down to pick you up." He explains. "Come on. She wants you in her office before Smackdown starts."

Ava nods and follows behinnd Knight as he takes off further into the building. She rushes to Knight's side and falls into step with him.

"It's nice to meet you, by the way." Ava offers Knight a friendly smile. "Officialy I mean. I obviously know who are and all." She adds with a laugh.

"Pleasures all mine, sweetheart." Knight replies smoothly.

The rest of the journey back to your office is mostly silent. The pair reach the door and Knight knocks twice before pulling open the door.

"I went ahead and picked up that special package for you, darlin." Knight announces as he comes through the door with Ava.

"Perfect! Thank you, Shaun, sweetie. That's all I need for tonight." You look up from your phone, sitting beind your desk and looking all professional. "Ava!" You stand up and greet her with a wide smile. "It's good to see you again. I am so glad that you could make it."

You come around the desk and pull Ava into a hug. Knight gives you a nod and heads off back to the locker rooms for the night.

"I'm super honored that you offered to have me on the show!" Ava replies as you release her from your embrace.

"Of course!" You nod and gesture for Ava to take a seat while the two of you still have time to chat. "I like you, Ava. Honestly? You remind me alot of myself 20 years ago." You admit.

Ava nods and you can read the surprise on her face at your claim. "Really? Wow." She gushes. "I don't really know what to say." Ava rubs the back of her neck.

"Don't sweat it, Ava." You laugh casually. "You've got all the making of a future powerhouse in this business, kid. You're smart, talented, and passsioniate. Not to mention who your father is." You add. "All you need is a little guidance. And I'm here to provide that for you."

"You are?" Ava replies. "But why me?" She asks you.

You smile to yourself and glance down at your watch. Hunter and Pearce will be by to grab you any minute now.

"Like I said earlier. I like you, Ava." You answer her. "And, we need more women in posistions of power in this business, don't you think?" You add.

Ava nods and your smile widens. "Atta girl, Ava. Now come on!" You rise out of your chair and pick up a few papers off your desk. "Smackdown is airing in about ten minutes so we should be heading down to the conference rooms." You gesture for her to follow you.

Ava nods again and pops quickly to her feet. The two of you mingle all the way down to the conference rooms. Hunter and Pearce are both waiting when you arrive.

"YN." Hunter greets you with a friendly smile and handshake before noticing Ava standing behind you. "And, Ava?" He glances at her.

"Ava's here on my request, Hunter." You explain. "I felt like since some of her NXT stars are eligable to be called up tonight that she should be involved, right?"

Hunter nods in agreement and you take it as a good sign. Hunter and Ava step away to chat for a minute and you turn toward Pearce idling nearbye.

"Got a new pupil, YN?" Pearce teases you casually. "I gotta say. I never pegged you for the sympathetic type." He adds.

"Ava's an investment into the future of this company, Adam." You reply. "And you'd be smart to become friendly with her. Or I might end up aquiring all of NXT's best stars." You grin at him.

Pearce snorts and the two of you shake hands. Hunter lets Ava go and she returns to your side. Smackdown kicks off live on the air so Hunter heads off to appear on camera. You and Pearce step up to your respective conference rooms and head inside them. Ava follows silently behind you as you step inside the room.

"Good evening everyone." You adress the room. "I'm sure some of you regonize Ava Raine, the GM of NXT. Ava is here as a guest of mine, here to observe and learn." You explain. "Now! Let's all get to work in making sure that Smackdown stays the A-show, shall we? Starting with making sure that we draft Carmelo Hayes before Raw has a chance to take him."

You make your way across the room and sit down at the head of the table. You nod to the empty seat to your right and Ave sits doww silently.

Now it's time to get to work.

[darc-la-farse]

“....Are you okay?”

“If I weren’t, you’d be able to tell right?”

“Sometimes...Would you still tell me if you weren’t?”

[welcometoteyvat]

i think it's a shame that xingqiu and gaming (ship or friends) never got popular because everyone needs to insert chongyun in them; I like chongming as well and I like chongyun but I suspect the only reason mingqiu isn't popular is bc people dont like taking apart xingyun :| their mutual voicelines are incredibly funny, gaming and how he went out on a limb for lion dance is what xingqiu maybe wishes he could do with guhua martial arts, add in the fact that gaming has never been able to finish a book without falling asleep,,, i'd be really interested to see them interact together where the focus is their relationship, not the love triangle jealousy trope that most of the popular depictions of them are focused on :\

[twnj]

Re-draw of my first sketch from this fic. I cannot find the post.

'Elbows on the wooden surface, Shikamaru leaned forward, pathetically gesticulating floppy fingers as he spoke to the barman. His sharp nose jutted out of his profile, reddened with what seemed to be sunburn, and a little ball of hair sat knotted at the base of his neck. Stray hairs, not long enough to reach the hair-tie holding it in place, fell out to frame his face and ears, and below the little silver hoops in them hung a small pair of orange-padded earphones. Their colour was striking against his pale skin and dark hair, and Temari followed their cord down to his jacket pocket, where it disappeared entirely.

[...]

As quickly as it had hit her, the image of the little boy faded, and in its place stood a man: a fully grown man ordering a drink at a bar and plucking a cigarette from the pocket where his headphone cord disappeared. [...]

Shikamaru had grown up. When exactly, she couldn’t pinpoint — maybe when his father had died, maybe during their first night in Rome, or perhaps even before — but the fact remained that he had. There was stubble on his chin, stubble that was neither patchy nor short enough to suggest he’d just forgotten to shave.'

Grandmaster ao3 by @notquitejiraiya

[floreleine]

@janansammy87 made a wonderful moodboard for my GM prequel fic, more specifically for the first part A Number Of Firsts!

[essektheylyss]

Candela Obscura is very fun in terms of horror, because I have never been particularly bothered by horror, but when I have been, I'm always like, is this because of how I react in particular or because of how effective the visuals or the atmosphere are? And that's kind of hard to differentiate in the genre people most often consume horror in (film) and for me, who reads books very visually, it can be hard in that format as well.

With Candela it's like, this is deeply unsettling despite there being no visuals beyond the general set and the action being dictated to me while mechanics are happening, which is something that can take absolutely you out of the atmosphere of the thing. Even if you're used to the actual play format, a mechanics heavy scene especially without notable GM guiding is going to remind you that you are watching people play a game. There's a lot to say about how this show's cast have phenomenal grasp of the genre and the atmosphere, but even then, it is a hard line to manage, and they are doing it masterfully. And that's what makes it so fun as a concept! Candela has very effective storytelling, but it's also a lot easier to see the edges of the story, because the "man behind the curtain" of the story so to speak is on full display.

Anyway, this is a long-winded way of saying that I really have confirmed I have no issue with horror, because I passed out instantly upon going to bed and then let a lab tech take my blood this morning without even thinking of making some eldritch monster joke. Which is, not gonna lie, a little bit wild to me.

[hourcat]

good morning my love <3333 how about piarles + "gossip" for the 5 sentence fic prompts? ❤️

It's instinct for Pierre to find him the moment they walk through the threshold of the Driver's Meeting conference room--he knows Charles will have the seat beside him empty and waiting somewhere towards the front of the room, splayed out lazily in one of the folding chairs like they're actually comfortable and not set up all half-assed.

Charles, of course, is exactly like that when Pierre sidles up to him: he doesn't even greet his best friend before dropping into the available seat, their knees bumping as Pierre adjusts his position before turning, lifting his fist in greeting, which Charles bumps in acknowledgement before a wicked, dangerous expression flickers across his face.

"What," Pierre deadpans, and Charles doesn't even bother hiding his delighted cackle, shifting forward in his seat in preparation for whatever insane thing is going to come out of his mouth--probably gossip, which Pierre can't deny that he loves.

Except...Charles is too eager to tell him, and Pierre must be a little too eager to hear, because they move in imperfect tandem; Charles' mouth, normally a safe distance away, brushes against Pierre's earlobe with a wet exhale as he attempts to tell whatever secret had so hastily appeared on his tongue.

Attempts being the key word: Pierre shudders immediately at the intimate contact, head dropping forward just a little at the suddenness of Charles' lips against him, and the aborted sound that comes from his best friend's mouth is just loud enough, just close enough for him to realize that, of course, he'd noticed.

send me a ship and a word and i'll write you five sentences <3

[lilolilyr]

Summary: Madeleine used to be a model, Florence an up and coming photographer. Their paths have crossed here and their in photo studios and during fashion weeks, and each caught the other's eye...

Decades later, Madeleine is an antiques collector, back in London for one last modelling gig. When she arrives, she is more than pleasantly surprised to see that Florence is once again behind the camera!

2k words, rated G, no warnings

Moodboard by @janansammy87 - thank you for making this and getting me back into this fandom! It was challenging to try and find their voices again, but also so so much fun. <3

[goodmode]

B + Hornet

[x] B. Under cover of darkness.

In the deeper parts of Hallownest, the shadows tend to cling.

Hornet moves quietly, in the swift, light-footed skitter of a spider intent on being neither noticed nor followed. She has business at the bottom of the world, and the less attention she attracts on the way there, the clearer her head will be.

It must be clear. Her words must be… right, or as right as she can get them. There is much she doesn't know. Enough she does, though, and it is finally time to put what little clarity she has into the hands of someone who can do something with it.

She pauses, tethered by her needle to perch upside-down against the ceiling, to watch the little ghost of the past run on ahead.

It has the Brand, now. She had been of two minds about giving it any direction at all, but its intent has been visible from the moment it set foot within Hallownest's borders, and it has now proven its determination twice over.

In forcing proof through combat, Hornet wishes she were not so different from the Mantis Lords. There is a difference, however, in that Mantis tradition is entirely impersonal.

Either way, Hornet no longer worries about intent or uncertainty. All that remains is the choice, and making it clear that there is one.

Hornet drops as soon as the little ghost is out of sight again, landing neatly into the unsettling patterns of the Ancient Basin tunnels and taking a moment to ground herself. She will have to stand on that old platform and drill the gravity of this task into the little ghost with all the authority of the Princess of Hallownest, as if she still is, as if the Kingdom has not withered and died beneath her feet. As if she doesn't haunt this place just the same.

Speaking of which. Hornet tilts her head slightly down. She just barely catches the slow, lethargic pooling of Void into the cracks of the Basin floor where her shadow is cast. Being down here grows disquieting, after a time. It always seems to know she is here.

Better to be moving on. The old seal has already yielded to the King's command, she can feel it from here. Hornet steps away from the accruing puddle of Void, and continues the chase.

There is a long, terrible wait on the cold metal of the Abyss overlook, and it is everything she can do to keep herself still and steady when the echoes of pattering footsteps and fluttering wings reach her.

She is afraid, suddenly, that she will not be able to recognise whether they return with the same determination that drove them to descend. Perhaps that resolve will have been lost down there, shaken off by the full, sickening truth. In which case her words will find no purchase.

Hornet has a responsibility. She holds firm, though her heart threatens to hammer through her chest. She will speak either way, even if there is no way to know.

There is another flicker of pale light, another whisper of gossamer.

The Vessel sails up and darts towards the platform - and alarmingly, towards her - clothed in a rush of unsettling, inky darkness. No, not clothed in it. Steeped in it. She can see it roil back into place beneath the Vessel's cloak as it comes to an abrupt halt to look at her, almost expectant.

Hornet understands that a choice has been made, now.

She rallies herself to offer another.

[flawlessassholes]

I just wanted to let you know that to get through my work day I daydreamed about dirtbag Daniel and girl Max fucking. Thank you.

the anons thirst for dbd&gm, but unfortunately i don't have them fucking, i only have angst that i wrote on a train ride to see taylor swift and that didn't influence this at all.

She left on the last train. 

A million dollars and more, and she still had to take the train back to Monaco because she was drunk, and it would be a bad look for the face of Heineken 0.0 non-alcoholic beer to get arrested on some back road in France with her Aston Martin in a ditch. 

The city of love, he had said before they left. Max wanted to say, what was more romantic than Monaco, the Côte d'Azur? 

Now she wants to say, you don’t love me. You never did. 

Shitting bullshit. It was the city of lies, probably. And the city of bullshit. The city of shitting bullshit and shitty lies and the shitty bullshitting lying liars that tell them. 

Max had thought— 

Just. 

Who takes their fuckbuddy to Paris to tell them that they’re leaving to go to shitty Renault? 

Max knew—

She knows. Had known. That she is always loving Daniel more than he loved her. 

She would have thought that he didn’t love her, and that it was her being a stupid little girl with a crush like her father kept saying, but after Monaco—

Did he know in Monaco? As he moved above her, in her, with awed tears in his eyes, champagne or pool water making his hair extra curly, that he was leaving for Renault? 

Max had thought that was making love. Just like she thought this trip was the sign that they were—something. 

Something more. 

She should have known when he met her in Paris instead of driving from Monaco. 

He was meeting with sponsors, stupid French sponsors for his new, stupid French team. 

She takes another sip of her shitty canned gin tonic, staring out at the navy black beyond the train’s windows. They say it’s a nice train ride, if it’s not the middle of the night, and you’re not drinking and not not crying. 

Her phone lights up in the window’s reflection. It is of course Daniel. 

She needs to learn how to not pick up his calls. She needs to be better. Practice. Max is good at practicing. 

She’ll start now. 

The screen goes dark, then lights up again. 

It wouldn’t be the first time Max fucked up practice for Daniel. 

Maybe she’ll always be a fuckup when it comes to Daniel. 

She answers, and she listens to him rattle off excuses. She hates it. Hates him. Hates that he’s making her do this, promises to herself that she’s done, that this is it. 

And she hates, most of al, that he’ll make her break that promise. That she’s a silly little girl with a crush on a boy that she thought loved her. 

And she hates that he doesn’t. 

But she loves him, of course. More than all of that. 

Maybe she always will. 

[tetzoro]

hiya sweet friendz and happy timezones !!! (ㅅ´ ˘ `) i’m feeling so much better than i have all weekend and i’m so very thankful :’) but now i’m preparing to fight off the sunday scaries with silliness !! i hope everyone has had a restful & relaxing weekend !! mwah mwah 🤍

[sydsaint]

A little taste of what's to come with our fav GM Reader and her boys. <3

Summary: GM reader flexes her hard-earned experience and the benefits that come with it to Ava at a draft meeting. But offering Ava some wisdom isn't the only thing that she's got on the agenda.

"Your boys lost the match fair and square, Pearce." You smile across the table at your fellow general manager. "Which means that Smackdown gets first dibs at the NXT roster, courtesy of Ava, of course." You turn in your chair to face Ava sitting a few seats away from you.

Ava flashes a friendly smile at you. This is her first WWE draft meeting, so she's still in the feeling-out process of everything. "I'm just happy to be here." She admits.

"And we're happy to have you here." Pearce nods. "But back to business. YN, do you have a pick from the NXT roster to kick the night off?" He turns back to you.

"I do, yes." You grin and twirl your pen in your hand before pulling open the vanilla folder in front of you. "Smackdown will be taking Carmelo Hayes as our first pick from NXT." You inform the room.

A knowing scoff escapes Pearce's lips. He taps his pen against his palm and nods at you. "Excellent choice, YN." He compliments you. "Your eye for talent never ceases to amaze me." He adds knowingly.

"What can I say, Adam? I can't help but have good taste." You laugh and wink at him playfully.

The meeting drags on for a few more hours while you and Pearce go back and forth on draft picks. Ava chimes in when one of you has a question about the NXT roster, but otherwise stays silent and soaks in all the information she can get. Ava especially keeps a keen eye on you. She aspires to be like you one day. A strong woman that commands authority and understands the inner-workings of the company like the back of your hand.

After the meeting finally comes to an end, both you and Pearce are feeling satisfied with your respective picks. The two of you shake hands and part ways until the next executive meeting or PLE show. You are just about shoot the boys a text that you're finished up with your meeting when Ava approaches.

"YN! Hey, again." Ava cracks a friendly and eager smile as she walks over to you.

"Hmm?" You glance up from your phone. "Oh, Ava! What's up, girl?" You greet her.

Ava bounces on her heels nervously and smiles at you. "Sorry to bother you." She bites the inside of her cheek. "But I was hoping that we could talk for a minute?"

"Yeah, sure." You nod and pocket your phone. "I've got some time before my date gets here."

Ava nods and the two of you move to a more comfortable spot to chat for a bit. You both take a seat out in the outdoor lounge and take advantage of the warm sun still hanging in the sky.

"You were great earlier." Ava starts the conversation. "I mean. It's so cool how you manage to control the narative when you're negotiating with Pearce." She gushes. "That's what I want."

"Thanks, Ava." You giggle at her awe of you. "You did good for your first draft meeting too." You offer her an encouraging smile. "I know you haven't been in charge of the NXT roster for long. But you seem to have a good handle on it. Your knoledge of everyone really helped Pearce and I out with our picks." You assure her.

The smile on Ava's face grows wider at your encouraging words. "Thanks, YN. That really means a lot." She blushes.

"Of course!" You nod. "You've got a bright future kid." You knock into her shoulder playfully.

You and Ava chat for a while about work. You offer her some tips about things that you had to learn the hard way in order to move up in the business. Ava soaks up the information and doesn't hesitate to ask questions, which you like.

"Hey, I actually have another question for you." Ava prepares to drop another ask on you. Not that you mind. "If you don't mind, that is." She adds.

"Ask away." You smile at her.

Ava picks at her nails for a second before nervously meeting your gaze. "Are the rumors true about you, LA Knight, Grayson Waller, and Austin Theory?" She asks you sheepishly.

A laugh falls from your lips upon hearing Ava's question. "Well it's no secret that Knight and I have a special relationship." You half-answer her. "But when it comes to Theory and Waller? Well, some things are better left to the imagination, don't you think, Ava?" You tease her and your phone buzzes in your pocket.

You take out your phone and quickly read the new message. Ava watches you curiously as you rise to your feet and pocket your phone before pulling down your sunglasses.

"You're doing great as the GM of NXT." You praise Ava one last time. "But don't ever forget that being the GM comes with it's own special perks." You grin at her as a fast-sounding car whips into the parking lot.

Ava watches you gesture for her to follow you as the luxury car sounds closer and closer. She follows you out to the front of the building where she spots the luxury car she heard now sitting still. LA Knight leans against the drivers-side door and nods to Ava when he sees her.

"You out here picking up strays now, darlin?" Knight peers at you over the rim of his aviators.

"Just giving a newbie some tips from a pro." You grin back at him. "You ready to go? The boys are starting the party without us from the text I just got from the pretty boy." You add.

Knight chuckles and walks around the car to get the door for you. "The party don't really start until you get there, sweetheart. You know that."

"Take care Ava!" You offer Ava one last wave. "Shoot me a message if you ever need anything, alright, girl?" You add.

"Yeah! Okay!" Ava nods, her eyes sparkling with awe as you dissapear into the car.

Knight walks back around the car and pulls his glasses down to get a good look at Ava. "You have a nice rest of your day, sweetheart." He shoots a wink at her before pushing his glasses back up and disapearing into the car as well.

Ava watches the car speed out of the parking lot and shakes her head. Oh yeah. She's definetly got a new role model to look up to.

In the car you laugh with Knight regarding your little display. "Oh her face was so cute." You giggle.

"She did looked pretty shocked, yeah." Knight agrees. "How'd the meeting go with Pearce?" He asks you.

You smile to yourself and look at Knight knowingly. "It went great. Smackdown is about to become the A-show again. Trust me on that, babe." You laugh to yourself. "Because I've got Carmelo Hayes in my office on Friday night. And he's all mine to work with."

"Hayes, huh?" Knight glances over at you for a brief second. "You ain't looking to add another boytoy to the roster, are you?" He asks you.

"We'll see." You shrug, plans for new rivalries and storylines already forming in your head.