#half of this is in jest you choose which half

[10001gecs]

idk the person who @d richard siken was stupid but i also think that when you're a popular artist you have to dissociate from social media because otherwise you will be overwhelmed by the psychic horror of stupid people enjoying your work and then you will start to be a cunt to them

[haetero]

all mine.

PAIRING: aemond targaryen x afab!reader. WORDCOUNT: 1.9k

CW: jealous sex, mating press (hehe), unprotected sex, breeding kink!!, creampie, kind of angsty but its porn w a little bit of plot. use of high valyrian + a sprinkle of aegon bashing! mdni <3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this was originally a 500 word drabble and then... i went a bit nuts.. if you enjoyed the fic, pls lmk! not proofread we die like literally everyone lol.

ABSTRACT:

aemond gets caught up with his royal duties and finds himself spending less time with his precious lady wife. determined to take matters in your hands, you make some silly choices involving another prince, which only makes things worse. till it gets better :)

this time, you think you deserved it.

what begun as a harmless jest to get aemond to pay attention to you quickly led to letting aegon drunkenly sweet talk you at supper. and yes, pretending to flirt with your husband’s brother in front of him might not have been the best decision, but you were just having fun right?

wrong.

you were perhaps the stupidest woman in all the seven kingdoms. really, there was no rationale for choosing to engage with aegon for more than ten minutes at a time and yet here you were, ‘giggling’ at his piss poor jokes and pretending to listen to his made up tales of something you couldn’t care to remember.

you could only chastise your past self for your poor decision making skills as aegon whispered into your ear, far too close to your liking. he stunk of the rich, dornish wine served earlier in the evening and his eyes lazily stared at the expanse of your chest. but regardless of whether he was drunk or not, aegon had enough wits about him to realise his brother was furious.

a sly grin on aegon’s face, he seemed to understand the predicament you were in and leaned in to plant a wet kiss on your cheek, before loudly announcing his exit with a parting “my lady”, to further enrage aemond.

internally groaning, you waited till aegon left before daring to take a peek at aemond. but he wasn’t even looking at you.

the complete lack of response terrified you. in fact, you’d almost convinced yourself he didn’t care at all, until you noticed his blanching knuckles gripping his silverware. “aemond, i-," you begun.

in an instant, aemond had gotten up out of his seat and finally looked at you with a look in his eyes that only meant one thing. he mumbled out a quick excusal for the pair of you, before extending his arm towards you with a pointed stare.

you were well and truly fucked.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

before you can realise what’s happened, aemond’s dragged you to your shared chambers at a pace you’re struggling to keep up with. quickly dismissing your maids, he shuts the doors firmly, before turning his back to you and shucking off his outer clothing. you dejectedly do the same, struggling out of your dress. you leave them in a heap on the floor, stripping down till you’re in your underthings.

the sounds of aemond changing have quietened down, spurring you to take a peek at him. he’s left in his pants; his broad shoulders and back on display for you to admire. maybe he'll listen to you if you explain yourself, you delude yourself. tiptoeing over to where he stands, you attempt a sheepish half smile, grabbing onto his bare arm to direct his attention to you.

“please, i’m sorry, i wasn’t thinking, i just missed you,” you start, attempting to make eye contact with aemond. he’s yet to talk to you, pointedly ignoring you. he simply stands there, jaw clenched, refusing to acknowledge you any further.

you feel stupid, really. doing all this to gain the attention of the man standing in front of you and even then, he doesn’t even spare you a glance. you wait for a few more seconds before deciding to save yourself the embarrassment. with a sigh, you turn back to your shared bed and sit yourself down.

you rush to unpin your hair, readying yourself for sleep. the dull throb of want in your stomach has you frowning but you know the only person who could satisfy you is aemond. in your distracted state, you don’t see that aemond’s turned back to face you.

“do you take me for a fool?” you freeze, not expecting that of all questions. you start to respond when he cuts you off with a glare. aemond huffs out a curse and walks over to stand in between your legs. a part of you think he looks majestic from this view, but you’re quick to silence your thoughts as he slightly lowers himself till he’s level with you.

“you missed me, so you thought it best to what? throw yourself at my brother?” the affronted look in your eyes tells aemond he’s wrong but he’s not feeling very charitable as you try to come up with right thing to say. “and you thought i’d just let him have you?”

“no! i swear, i was being childish aemond,” you try to reason with him. the longer you think about it, the faster you realise how childish you really were. but it doesn’t change your intentions. you were unsatisfied and tired. but you also hadn’t been this close to aemond without someone else being nearby in a while. the dull throbbing sensation in your cunt was starting to spread and you fought the urge to rip your underthings off and let aemond have his way with you.

“if you wanted something, all you had to do was tell me, not run off to aegon,” he muses, his right arm coming up to trace the veins in your neck. aemond can feel the way your breath stutters; he takes note of the way your lips quiver and fingers curl up slightly at his words. you not-so-subtly push your thighs together, trying to alleviate some of your lust by yourself.

a satisfied grin curls at his lips and aemond, finally, leans into the slope of your neck. you shiver at the feather-like sensation of his lips pressing into your skin, grabbing onto his arm to steady yourself before he pushes you onto your back. “aemond, i need only you,” you shyly mumble, before reaching up on your elbows to undo the clasp of his eye patch.

aemond lets you do as much before throwing it behind him, fixing you with a lust-filled gaze that has you whimpering within a second. he leans over you, and makes a show out of dragging the fabric of your underthings down till he’s rid of them, throwing them to the side. you’re shaking as you watch him eye your cunt with a starving look.

calloused hands grab at the fat of your thighs, kneading the soft skin there before pushing them to your chest. you mewl as cold air fans over your wet cunt, catching the way aemond eyes your hole greedily twitching around nothing. “this is what you wanted, right?”

“yes, yes, please,” you beg. if you weren’t so desperate already, you would have gagged at the sound of your whiny tone. but aemond seems to like your desperation. aemond undoes the string of his pants, before palming himself with a squeeze that has him sighing in relief. your mouth waters at the sight before you.

aemond gives himself a moment before he climbs over you, his frame gently pushing onto your knees in the position you’re in. your eyes flutter shut at the sensation of his warmth enveloping you.

“no, look at me, ābrazȳrys,” your silver haired lover grunts, as he goes to drag his cockhead over your slit. “i should get aegon to pleasure your whorish cunt instead.”

your immediate protests brings a smug grin to aemond’s face. of course, he would never let his brother anywhere near the ethereal sight beneath him, but seeing the tortured look on your face brings him a sick sense of pride. he plays with you like this for a moment, rubbing his cockhead over and over your clit till you’re nearly crying out in want.

after what feels like a lifetime, he decides to push into you. aemond intently watches the way his cock catches at the rim of your pussy before he slams into you. your resulting gasp has aemond’s chest tightening as he loses himself to the feeling of your walls clenching around him immediately.

letting out a strangled moan of your name, he sets a brutal pace from the get-go, ploughing forward until you’re clawing at his neck and shoulders for a reprieve. you’re a quivering mess under him, a mix of moans and cries escaping you. you can feel him everywhere.

a light flush rises on aemond’s cheeks and upper chest, a pink hue that matches the fine dresses you might wear to a banquet or a tourney. your teary eyes trace the faint red lines peaking up on his broad shoulders, evidence of your passion that has your core clenching tighter around him. aemond catches your stare, mouth agape in a euphoric state of mind and pushes your knees down even further, if it was possible.

his wife, his lover, his, his, only his.

"it's okay, sweetling," he vows, fat cock bullying your walls as he moulds himself into you. he bends down to leave a path of kisses trailing down your neck, assuming a steady yet punishing pace into your sopping core. "for me, remember? you can take it for me, right?" aemond groans, drunk on the way your pussy sucks him in, eyes squeezed shut in the pleasure you both share.

leaning back, aemond watches you grip the sheets tightly, he feels the way you soak his cock every time he rocks into your pussy. you've gone half mad, tongue lolling out as you chant his name as a mindless mantra. he drags your knees down to instead wrap around his hips, bringing you closer to plant wet kisses down your neck, nipping at the salty skin. you keen into his ear at the change of position, untangling your hands from the sheets to cling tightly to aemond.

"feel good, love?" he murmurs, trailing his arm down till it lights presses onto your stomach as he drives his cock back into you. "tonight's the night i'm filling you up. that way, my fool of a brother will know to stay away from you.”

you don’t even think you’re making sense as you blabber your agreement. you want, no, you need him to give you his heir. you need him to drive himself further into you till you feel him in your chest, in your heart.

the thought of a miniature aemond targaryen running around has your heart swelling in your chest; the life you’ve always wanted but never let yourself dream of for too long. your lives were far too cruel for such a precious being to be born into it, yet aemond seems hellbent on making it come true as he bullies his cock further and further into your cunt.

aemond slows to a dangerous grind and bends down to capture your lips, his lean torso catches on your clit as you arch up into his mouth. "aemond pl-please, i want it," you whine, your hips buck as his languid thrusts reach a spot deeper than you thought possible. "you're mine," he groans into the heat of your mouth, skilled fingers come down to rub taut circles on your aching clit. he feels the telltale signs of your trembling walls and your greedy eyes beg him for release.

“fuc-fuck, nyke’m bē konīr,” aemond huffs, feeling your cunt swell around his cock as he rams deeper into you. you’re scrambling to hold onto anything; his shoulders, his wrists, the pillow, the sheets.

when you start twitching around his cock, walls fluttering at a pace aemond can't keep up with, he thinks you're the most divine creature in all the seven kingdoms.

and as you cream around his cock, aemond finds himself pushing himself into you one more time, filling you with his hot seed and the unspoken promise to cherish you for as long as you'd have him.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

high valyrian translations:

ābrazȳrys - wife. nyke’m bē konīr - i’m almost there.

[tenjikufag]

Hello!! Hi I really love your stories. Uhm if I can ask, can you do a fluff of Dr ratio from honkai star rail x male reader. Once again I love your stories and creativity. <3<3<3

Let’s look at the stars.

Dr. Ratio x male reader

- Fluff, no warnings

-note, I apologize for ooc content (I’m not all too familiar with this character.)

“-immense pressures and temperatures in the star's core squeeze the nuclei of hydrogen atoms together to form helium, a process called nuclear fusion…”

Late nights spent listening to your partners current interest were quite common, you loved to hear him speak with such enthusiasm.. he was in his element and you couldn’t be more happy to be the person he chooses, time and time again, to share it with.

This time, his current studying led him to the stars. Many dumb them down to dead balls of gas, but to him they were so much more. Even if he wasn’t all that big on sentimental things, something about the stars only showing their bright beauty after dying- it moved him in a way.

The two of you laid under the stars, only giving him hums in response to assure him that you were listening. Not that you could ever get a word in, he kept explaining his findings and moving his hands outwards to point to the many constellations, the pathways, which stars had names and what they meant..

“Did you know stars don’t actually twinkle? The proper phrase for it would be scintillate, which only happens when they find themselves among the horizon..”

“Then where do you think the phrase came from?”

Glancing over at him, his lip curled into a smile at the question.. he didn’t have an answer for that, it was more of a metaphorical phrase and the ties to such a phrase would be as endless as a black hole. So, he only smiled and half-heartedly brushed off not knowing such an answer.

“Oh? The doctor doesn’t have an answer?”

The male chuckled, turning his head to look at you with a soft smile.

“Hm, although I know you ask in jest..”

You watched as he sat up, moving to hover his head just above yours.

“Let me conduct a.. study if you will..”

The love in his eyes reflected your own. Nodding, you let him instruct you.

Grabbing your hand, he held it firmly in his own and pressed it into his chest. He then instructed you to close your eyes and timed you to keep them shut for a few seconds.

“Now open..”

You felt his breathe on your lips, noses almost touching but he kept a strong gaze into your pupils.. he watched as they dilated and how they..

Twinkled.

Satisfied, he laughed to himself

“Just as I thought..”

He moved to straddle your waist, now holding both of your hands and again dipped down to closely watch your eyes and how the stars reflected in your irises.

“The term "twinkling stars" is derived from the Old English word "twincan," which means "to twinkle or blink.”

Sitting up, he found himself staring back up at the sky to observe the stars align and glancing down back to your eyes to see how the light refracted..

“This term was likely used to describe the flickering or shimmering appearance of stars in the night sky, which is caused by the Earth's atmosphere…”

Your body followed his, chests pressed against one another and arms now wrapped around his slim waist.

“Is that actually true? Or are you simply making things up again?”

He laughed, clasping your face in his hands in delight.

“It’s true dear, don’t think I didn’t account for such a question from you. I’m honestly.. quite flattered you’d think I could lie to you about such an intimate thing..”

Intimate?

“I see those gears turning, Y/n. Stars are seen as signs of affection by many people, looking up to see the same stars their loved ones are seeing or maybe even looking for their lover among them..”

His smile faltered, the gaze he held no longer as strong. You felt his lips plant themselves on you. Smiling into the kiss, he pushed you back to lay on the plush grass beneath you- hands moving to hold your neck and caress his fingers along your jaw. When he pulled away, an uncharacteristic bashful blush covered his cheeks..

“Even though my study was fruitful, and I quite enjoyed it..”

Lips met yours again, but for a small loving peck

“I must say.. I enjoy studying these ‘twinkling’ stars in your eyes much more..”

He left one more chaste kiss on your lips before sliding off of you, returning to his spot beside you.

The man would learn everything through you if he could, but to use his studying to show his adoration to you was something he’d never thought would be possible- it never crossed his mind before you came into his life.

He’d study a million stars if he got to see them in your eyes.

I really hope this was okay, and not too ooc- thank you for the request!

[hydrangeapartridge]

Neve's visit (Manfred learns about rings part 2)

As part of my EmmRook post game collection, I wrote a short fic about Manfred learning about rings (their use in magic but also their symbolism) which can be found here.

Here is the sequel. Enjoy! (could contain spoilers for the end of the game)

(Side Note: all my EmmRook fics can be found on AO3)

Emmrich was pacing. It was an unusual behaviour for him, reserved only to his reflexions on the most complex scientific questions he faced as a scholar. However he was not working now, but the fact remained that he was crossing the living room for the umpteenth time under Rook’s half amused, half worried gaze.

She sat on the meridian, waiting for Neve to arrive. It was the first time they would see her since Manfred bought her a gift; a pretty snake-shaped silver hairpin. If Emmrich had always had a very good relationship with Neve amongst the Veilguard, the prospect of the gift giving visibly caused him some distress.

“I never thought I’d get to experience a meeting with the in-laws while being the in-laws” Rook’s usual jest had the benefit of stopping Emmrich in his tracks.

He turned to her, a slight frown creasing the perfect line of his dark brows. “ Darling, this is nothing of the sort” He corrected her “Merely a reunion with an old acquaitance, in which Manfred will happen to gift a significantly costly jewel to a charming woman” Emmrich was talking with his hands, which he did when passionnate, but mostly when nervous. “People exchange gifts all the time. There is no particular stake in this particular exchange”

So he tried to convince himself. Rook shook her head, a fond grin splitting her lips. She got up and slowly stepped up to her husband.

She placed a hand on his elbow in a gesture that became as familiar as breathing. “Then why are you more tensed than before an important watcher’s assembly?” She teased him, caressing up his arm until her hand was on his stiff shoulder. “We’re seeing Neve. It’s going to be nice. Relax. ”

Emmrich sighed. “I can’t” He breathed in defeat, lowering his head until his forehead was resting against Rook’s.

“If we had more time, I’d offer plenty of ways to distract you” Rook whispered, her lips drawing closer to his.

Emmrich was usually a master of self-control. In the Watch, her learned meditation and breathing techniques to ground oneself, and how to be detached and impassible. But his naturally emotional nature still came back when dealing with matters important to him; more often matters of the heart than of the mind. Matters he couldn’t reason with.

Another sigh, but Emmrich didn’t pull back. “Dearest, you always do choose the most interesting times for your advances” He placed a hand on Rook’s waist and brought their faces closer. “I could certainly be tempted to indulge in you. It would make the wait far more pleasant indeed”

Emmrich’s poetic way with words always made Rook melt. She was surprised her flirting went through but needn’t be convinced any further, and pressed her lips against his in a tender kiss.

If their kissing started chaste, slow and comfortable, Emmrich grew bolder as he gladly lost himself in the distraction and comfort his wife offered. His second hand came to craddle the base of Rook’s skull, fingers carefully threading in her hair as he gently but firmly angled her head to deepen the kiss. His bangles sang as he teased her bottom lip with his tongue, and when she parted her lips, wickedly slipped inside, in a move only he held the secret to, that still made Rook’s knees weak even after years of practice.

Rook pressed closer to him, lacing her fingers behind his neck in an embrace that was only known to true kindred spirits. Together they formed a perfect entity, in a pose that could remind one of the romantic tableaux exposed in Orlais, painted to praise the devotion of eternal lovers.

While he thoroughly lost himself in Rook’s mouth, Emmrich moved his legs with intent so that his thigh ended up pressed flush against her center. Rook’s resulting moan was music to his ears, so promising. Too bad the next thing those ears caught was the sharp noise of a knock on the door.

The two lovers barely had time to step away from each other before Manfred came rushing down the stairs. The spirit made a beeline for the door, eager to be the one to welcome their guest. In his hurry, Manfred thankfully didn’t notice how breathy and flustered his caretakers were. They gladly let him open the door while they recovered from their promising but interrupted tryst.

“I’ll get the tea” Emmrich offered, reluctantly moving away from his wife.

Rook nodded, and after running a hand through her hair to make sure it was still in place, she headed to the entrance to greet Neve.

- - -

Neve Gallus was as always delightful company. Under her strict and cool appearance was a heart of gold. Ever thoughtful, she brought an offering of Carastian candy, chocolate coated treats from Tevinter, that she knew Rook enjoyed (Emmrich didn’t have as much of a sweet tooth as his wife, but he was known to indulge in them sometimes while grading papers).

She came alone, Lucanis being busy on a contract; which was probably better given Manfred’s generosity was reserved to her.

Neve got them up to date with the situation in Minrathous in more detail than she did in letters, and once it was done, they discussed more casual matters: recent activites and funny or scandalous anecdotes. Emmrich, ever the social butterfly, was absorbed in the conversation, but his never ending stirring of his tea told Rook that part of him was still slightly nervous.

At one point, Neve asked about Manfred’s learnings. The skeleton had been quietly sitting beside her, but he perked up when prompted with questions about his training at the Necropolis. While Manfred told Neve a few stories in his own imperfect way with words, Rook wondered if maybe he could be nervous about giving Neve her gift. Wisps were drawn to Neve, and Manfred was no exception. He always enjoyed her best amongst all their friends. But could he have learned reserve after spending so much time with humans?

It turned out Rook was completely wrong about that part, for two mere seconds after the skeleton finished explaining the most recent spell he learned, he announced. “Present for you” And promptly stood up to retrieve the pretty gift-bag he previously hid behind the couch.

Manfred proudly handed Neve the bag, and her usually hooded gaze widened. “For me? Really?” She asked incredulous as she took the package.

“Yeay!” Manfred confirmed and Neve chuckled.

“I’d say you shouldn’t have, but that wouldn’t be elegant of me” She opened the bag and peeked inside before she retrieved a squarred black velvet box from it. “Wow, this looks fancy. What’s the occasion Fred?” She asked, incredulous.

Rook heard Emmrich gulp beside her. She was hanging onto Manfred’s every word, eagerly awaiting his answer.

“To thank you for the coat!” Manfred replied casually.

A beat of silence. Rook felt stupid.

Given the circumstances of Manfred’s purchase for Neve, Emmrich and her automatically connected it to the rings they bought and their meaning. They didn’t even think to ask why Manfred wanted to get Neve a gift, probably too afraid of the answer. It didn’t occur to them either that Manfred could feel obliged to Neve for gifting him a new coat as a reward when he graduated from his first cycle of apprenticeship. That day Emmrich had given Manfred a gift too, Rook remembered; his first ever magic staff. It had been a wonderful day of celebrations.

A muffled chuckle beside her made Rook turn to her husband. Emmrich’s laugh then turned light and airy, relieved and joyful. It wasn’t often that Emmrich was caught laughing freely, and if the delightful sound of it surprised Neve, it sent butterflies in Rook’s stomach. She was grinning impossibly wide as her lover tried to cover his reciding laughter with the back of his hand in front of his mouth.

Neve looked to the couple with a frown but was unable to hide her own smile. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. Just that Emmrich was so afraid Manfred wanted to elope with you he almost gave himself an ulcer” Rook offered, voice singing with mischief.

“Rook!” Emmrich protested. The pink slightly dusting his cheeks was adorable.

“We were worried about the intentions Manfred put behind that gift and obviously made a too big deal out of it” Rook continued explaining more seriously, not minding the glare Emmrich sent her.

Neve raised one thick and pretty eyebrow, visibly judging Manfred’s caretakers.

“Well, can I open it now?” She asked, admiteddly a little amused.

Rook nodded and Neve opened the velvet box under Manfred’s undivided attention. He had observed their exchange but didn’t comment on it. Maybe he didn’t understand everything and was more eager to see what Neve thought of his gift than to understand what all this was about.

A little gasp of surprise escaped the ice mage when her eyes landed on the refined piece of jewelry.

“I understand your worries now” She lowly whispered before she turned to Manfred. “You truly shouldn’t have... but I appreciate it. This is beautiful Fred. I love it”

Manfred let out a victorious hiss, visibly happy with himself. Neve undid her coiffure, letting her long dark locks cascade on her shoulders. She took the hairpin and skillfully twisted her hair around it in a pretty updo. She turned her head both sides and asked. “How is it Fred? Suits me?”

Manfred clapped and cheared, making Neve chuckle fondly at his antics.

Emmrich watched the exchange, arms crossed over his chest, but a smile on his lips. Rook let her hand travel to his thigh and inched closer. “Relieved my love ?” She whispered in his ear.

He sighed through his nose before he gave her a warm smile that lit up his rich brown eyes. “Impossibly so dearest”

[elleneedsleep]

My Mouth Before It Called You A Lying Traitor

To those who belittle members of the lower class, they have failed to consider the ace that is knowledge. Rumours could be dismissed, but not forgotten. With the nobles now divided into two — those standing loyally by the Earis of Serulla, and those who believed in Sarl Zaros Atha'lin — gossip made for propaganda. Unfortunately, it seemed the information uncovered would help very little with the matters of the Trials. If anything, it only stood to fuel the candidates' internal conflicts.

Alongside the attendants who'd moved in to the Palace in order to tend to the son of Nira Atha'lin, came words of his... recent tastes. It was all speculation, of course, but the Earis's handmaidens had whispered about how all of his conquests had held a striking resemblance to them. Dismissal was the immediate response, followed swiftly by the slight hope that even an ember of their old friendship remained.

Zaros had been pinning an Atha'lin rose to his lapel, when his mother entered the room. She did not straighten his collar, nor kiss his cheek or envelope him in a hug — maternal warmth was not something he knew. But if anything, her cold nature had prepared him for the noble court.

"You look... decent. The rose is a nice touch." Nira appraised, gaze analytic as though she was a gardener pruning a hedge.

He did not reply, simply weaving blonde strands together into an intricate plait. Taking this as a sign to continue, his mother lowered her voice to a hiss, a plot readied on her tongue.

"Apparently the Earis was not as virtuous as they would have led people to believe — this will be more shocking to the court than your own exploits, fortunately."

Again, Zaros did not respond. He was not as naive as Nira Atha'lin assumed, nor did he have interest in winning through blackmail. Still, another reminder that he had forfeited his place at the Earis's side left him positively miserable.

"Zaros, are you even listening? Underhanded methods may not be your preference, but for the sake of reform—"

"—what has coveted your attention, mother?"

Blinking, Nira could not speak for a moment. She had half the mind to raise her hand to him for such insolence, but alas she could not afford to direct him back into the arms of that spoilt palace brat. Clearing her throat, she continued with her tale, though the expression on her face distinctly proved her unspoken warning.

"The Earis has shown favour to lovers reminiscent of your visage, my son. If they harbour any lingering affections from your youth, it would be wise to use that to our advantage. Surely you know that the loser of the Trials will be disgraced to the point that one's position may be futile in the face of mockery?"

A noticeable hitch in Zaros's breath caught her attention, but she did not scold him. No one was immune to infatuation but she had faith that he would choose family, and the ideologies she had spent countless hours teaching him, over childish emotions. Still, Nira had the sense to leave in that moment, aware that the second Trial required careful preparation.

The door may have shut, but for Zaros it was the sound of a dam cracking. He downed the glass of wine, filling it up again as though the alcohol burning down his throat was some herbal remedy. Had they thought of him, when they'd lain with people of similar likeness? Had they both been so prideful as to reject the implication of reciprocation?

With a curse, his fists hit the desk he'd been writing his arguments at. He wanted to make do on his jest, and climb through the window and hold his Earis in his arms. Eight long years, and still his heart was weak to that insufferable snark. To that self-righteous nature. To that dammed smile which spurred dangerous thoughts.

Shoulder to shoulder, like the pillars at the entrance to the library, two adolescents watched the stars as though waiting for them to unveil some hidden secret. One, clearly not used to such late night rendezvous, anxiously looked over their shoulder for fear of being caught. The other, noticing such with a merciless grin, draped his arm over them.

"Are you scared of being caught, belladonna?"

His words earned him a huff, and a jab to the ribs with an elbow at the use of the nickname. Clearly, they were not aware of the true meaning of that flower: a dangerous beauty, indeed. A few heartbeats passed before the victim of his playful tease answered with a sarcastic tone of voice.

"No, it's not like anything would happen to us if Madame Venys caught us out after curfew. She would applaud our climbing skills, for sure, and neither you nor I would spend the next few days organising the non-fiction section."

Zaros snickered, leaning into them. They nudged him in retaliation, but nonetheless did not pull away. It would always be like this with them, he could sense it. A verbal back and forth which secreted far too many glances. Silence came over them again, just shy of awkwardness yet comfortable all the same.

"One day," they started, "I'm going to make a map of the stars."

It was an unexpected declaration, but Zaros did not complain, his gaze softening. Something pulled on his mind; it would typically be buried, but his tongue had been loosened by her vulnerable statement.

"Will you go alone?" He asked, quietly.

"Would you want me to?"

The young Sarl almost wanted to scoff at their audacity to have a back and forth during what should be an intimate conversation. But, he knew now to look beyond that porcelain mask — the pretense of the expectations weighed upon them.

"I could not think of anything so honourable as ensuring that Her Emminence's second born does not do anything foolish on their voyage."

A well-crafted response. Not quite the I could think of no better place for me than by your side that he had wanted to say, but it was enough. Their hands crept closer, until their pinkies were entertwined in a silent vow.

Oh, but how the death of the original Earis could change everything.

[ellethespaceunicorn]

Shape-Up

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Cpt Syverson x Black!Reader

Fandom: Sand Castle

Word Count: 1.3K

Summary: Syverson and his girl, Peaches, try and trim his beard without causing a ruckus. Spoiler alert: they fail.

Warnings: Daddy kink, creampie, unprotected p-in-v, pregnancy sex, wasted sandwiches

A/N: There is a really good Syverson Spotify playlist I listened to for this. It was dope. Also, this is my first time writing Sy, so please, be kind. Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best. 

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

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My Masterlist

“Peaches!” 

You can hear the shout and start making your way upstairs finding your husband in the bathroom. 

“There they are!” He coos, kissing your cheek before sliding his hand across your slightly pregnant belly.

“Baby, I’m only at three months! There’s barely a baby yet,” you giggle, secretly loving how Sy has become so sweet suddenly.

“Hey, girl, you’re carrying my baby. Let me be cute, alright?” he insists, kissing your forehead, “Or if you want, I can trim my beard myself. I know you hate doing that for me,” he jests, enjoying the expression change on your face.

“Oh, come on, you know I love trimming your beard, baby,” you whine, pushing out your bottom lip and giving puppy eyes for good measure.

“Fuck, you know what that does to me, Peaches. That mouth of yours got us into this whole situation, ya know?” he jokes, gesturing to your belly. 

You feign confusion and Sy rolls his eyes, and you think he is unable to see the sly smile you are hiding as he turns away.

“You do know there is a mirror in front of you, right?” he warns, and you meet his eyes in the reflective surface, “I saw that smile. You think you slick, Peaches?”

“Daaaaaddy, come on. You know we technically were planning around this time to start a family,” you gushed, pulling him close by his beard, “Plus, how cute is this belly gonna look in all them damn sundresses you like so much?”

“What can I say? You have the curves that make a sundress a thing of beauty, Peaches. Just thinking about this lil bump adding another curve to you is doing something to me,” he flirts, his hands wandering over your hips.

“You are too much, sometimes. I love that you can’t get enough of me. But damn, I just took care of you this morning, Daddy,” you insist, trying to jog his memory of having you over the kitchen table.

You watch as the memory plays again across his face, and you can’t help but smile.

He has his beard-trimming kit out on the counter and you have him sit on the toilet and comb out his beard while he watches your face. He pauses, pulling out his phone, and suddenly ‘Just the Two of Us’ is playing.

“Our song!” you beam, smiling at your man.

“We might need a new song soon. It’s gonna be more than two of us. Us versus this lil menace,” Sy laughs, his hand going to your belly.

“I mean, this baby is half-you, so it’s gotta be at least 50% menace. You are right about that,” you agree, reaching for the clippers, “Now, hush up so I can get started, Sy.”

“You only call me Sy when you’re serious, so I’ll hush up this time,” he mutters, lifting his chin so you have better access to his neck.

Luckily, you have done this enough times that it is almost muscle memory at this point. Taking care of the neckline. Shaping up the frontline. Trimming what strays pop up from combing. It’s like an art form, beard trimming. You get lost in it every time.

“I’m almost done, can you play ‘Simple Man’?” you ask, getting in the zone.

“You got it, Peaches,” he says, leaning away to choose the song on his phone, coming back to where you are holding the smaller clippers.

You get back to work, holding his chin up so you can get any spots you missed. Turning his face this way and that, you are finally happy with your work. You were even able to work in a fade to the beard which isn’t his usual style. But when his usual style is basically human Wookie, it’s hard not to want to kick it up a notch.

You step away and let him get up to check out your work in the mirror. “So, how do you like it, Daddy?”

“I love it, Peaches. Damn, I’m looking kinda sexy,” he praised, running his hands over his beard.

“You are looking damn sexy, Daddy,” you flirt, landing a hand on his ass, “Now hit the showers and I’ll have lunch ready in no time.” You scamper out of the bathroom before he can get his arms around you. By the look of lust on his face, you’re lucky you got away.

You hear Sy’s heavy footsteps coming down the stairs and you hit play on the kitchen speaker. ‘Tennessee Whiskey’ starts to play as he rounds the corner and he gets a fantastic view of what you’re wearing.

The “Proud Army Brat” apron that Sy got you as a gag gift is on you, as well as nothing else. Well, nothing else but a smile, as you hold up his favorite lunch. BLT with a pickle spear and kettle chips. 

“You are so fucking perfect,” he mused, grabbing the sandwich from your hands and placing it on the dining table, “Can I have you instead of the sandwich, Peaches?”

“I’d be lying if I said ‘I thought you’d never ask’,” you hummed, wrapping your arms around his neck and swaying to the music.

You two lazily kiss and dance to the song until it ends and Sy picks you up, You wrap your legs around him. He walks to the living room and kneels in front of the couch, as to set you down to sit on the couch.

Once you are seated, his hands go to your thighs, spreading you open. ‘Kashmir’ starts to play on the kitchen speaker, and if this was pre-baby you would be lighting up a joint to share. But the kind of pleasure you are about to get makes a joint sound like a high-five.

Sy sinks right into your pussy, lips sucking your clit as one hand rests on your belly and the other finds its way through your folds. You moan and place your hands behind Sy’s head, beckoning him even closer to you. 

“Fuck, Daddy, you eat pussy like a god,” you breathed, catching his eye as he licks his lips.

“Damn right, Peaches. I love eating this pussy and you know why?” he quizzes, his thumbs running little circles around your clit.

“Because it’s yours, Daddy,” you groan, grinding your hips for any kind of friction you can get.

“Yes, Peaches. It’s all mine,” he growls, pushing his shorts down so his heavy cock pops free, “Daddy is gonna fuck this pussy now, ok baby?”

“Yes, please, Daddy, fuck me. I’m ready,” you gush, ready to be filled by him.

He takes the tip of his dick and collects some of your moisture, tapping the head against your clit so you moan for him. He lines himself up and pushes in, and you both hiss at the feeling. 

“Fuck, Peaches! This pussy is so good, almost too good, baby,” he grunts, holding on to your thighs and pounding into you. He continues to hit that sensitive bundle of nerves within you.

“I’m gonna cum, Daddy,” you whimper, legs shaking as your orgasm overtakes you.

“That’s my good girl, Peaches. Daddy’s right behind you, baby. Daddy’s right there. Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuuck,” he babbles as he empties inside you, his poor brain is pretty much gone at this point. But he still has the faculties in order to pull out and kiss up your belly, as if praising you. He picks you up easily, carrying you back up the steps and into the bedroom. He helps to wipe you down and undress you.

You are already half-asleep when you feel Sy wrapping his arms around you. “Sleep for now, Peaches, then we can try to eat again. No promises that it won’t end up exactly like breakfast and lunch but I’ll try my best.”

“Love you, Daddy.”

“Love you, too, Peaches.”

Follow-up to this story: My Little Strawberry

**Tag List**

@brattymum96 @ambinxe @avengersfan25

@astheskycries @enchantedbytomandhenry

Let me know if you wanna be added and for what plz  😁

[General Fanfiction (Everything), Henry Fanfiction, August Walker, Bright Like The Moon]

[joels6string]

More Than My Father's Son

Joel Miller x f!OC

Chapter 8 - Slow-Cooked Dreams

Summary: A day out and a night in are ready to force someone's hand into finally giving in.

Rating: E

Word Count: 5k

Content: NSFW, high levels of violence normal to the TLOU world, angst, fluff, miscommunication trope (it’s Joel Miller…), slow burn, Joel’s traumatic childhood, getting together, smut, canon divergence after SLC, fix it fic

As the air grew colder, you’d grown warmer, and somehow he’d remained a target of your blossoming affinity for company and laughter.

Chapter 7 || Series Masterlist

“What the hell are you lookin’ for again?” 

“A crockpot.”

“The hell do you need with a crockpot, Chef Boyardee?”

“It ain’t for me. And I cook better’n you do, kept food on your plate, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

They were on neighborhood two, house six, the two Miller brothers loudly rummaging through cabinet after cabinet in search of Joel’s prize. A light dusting of snow covered the countertops as he stood from his crouched position, the flurries fluttering in from the shattered remains of a window as Tommy swung open a large pantry, the top hinge snapping from the force of it. The eruption of gruff laughter could be heard from the sidewalk outside, had anyone been around, and when Tommy pulled out the gaudiest set of mixing bowls that definitely would have been worth money if the world hadn’t gone to shit. They didn’t even need to speak to know what came next. 

Fruit-adorned porcelain sat in a row on the front porch railing, Joel’s rifle locked and loaded as he aimed through the remnants of a storm door’s window, the first and biggest bowl shrieking as the echo of gunfire still reverberated through the mountains. Tommy went next, and the two alternated before the remnants of the antiques crunched beneath their boots, rows of clear drinking glasses flanking a coordinated pitcher as they pushed the guilt of wasting ammo to the wayside in favor of continuing the lighthearted laughter that had settled. 

Tommy took out a glass in the middle of the left line, Joel took out the end of the right, and as Tommy lined up again, a familiar sight came into view. 

“What the fuck are you two doing?!” you called out from the street, out of breath and sweating despite the frigid temperature.

“Just havin’ a little fun!” Joel called out mischievously, “Aren’t you supposed to be at the river?”

“Did the river. It’s clear. And then we hear gunshots on the way back and I raced over, all to find you in a battle with…Pyrex!”

“You gonna come up here and join us?”

He watched as you battled with maintaining your scolding position or giving in to the game at hand. He knew which one you’d choose. It had been two weeks since Tommy and Maria allowed you back on patrols a few times a week, not with the frequency of before but it was enough to scratch the stir-crazy itch that had put you into an even more agitated state than you already were. Joel had begged and reasoned, he’d even taken you out into the fields just up the hill from the gates with an assault rifle in hand, firing shots into bales of hay until you could make it from 3 shots to 10 before screaming at him to stop. Then days later it was 20, and then with a deep breath you managed to look at him with those bright green eyes untainted by fear and nod; it wasn’t perfect, it still scared you half to death, but you’d gotten enough of a grasp on it that Indy got her preferred partner back three times a week, your other days spent still sharpening the kids’ skills with a bow safely in the walls of Jackson.

“C’mon now,” he beckoned with a sly grin as he held the rifle out towards you, “Don’t be a bummer.”

“My mother would kill me if she knew I was shattering these historical relics,” you jested as you approached, “The pitcher is mine.”

“Go on then, Legolas. Last I knew I still had you beat in rifle work.”

“You watched Lord of the Rings?”

“No. I read it.”

“Guess that’s what we’re watching next.”

“Get that in one shot from behind that couch and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

The obstacles they’d set up in their game were still in place, a couch ten yards away set centered to the now empty door frame. Not like they needed to lock the place up. You positioned yourself behind it as if it were a blockade, a brother on either side, one intently watching the state of the glass outside, the other’s gaze firmly fixated on you and the way the snow nestled in the strands of your hair. He watched as you lined up the shot, confidence in your movements as the heel of the rifle nestled into your shoulder. Perfect form. He should have known. 

One shot echoed, the shattering of glass following, your beaming, smug smile shining up at him. He couldn’t help but let the corner of his own lips tug up towards his eye and he nodded proudly. He was hoping you’d make it. 

“Your place or mine?” you asked, dragging your lower lip through your teeth in that way that drove him insane. 

“Well you just did your…what was it again? Winter cleanin’?” he teased, recalling finding you on your hands and knees scrubbing the grout in your tiled bathroom floor last weekend when he came to grab you for the now-ceremonial bi-weekly market trip.

“You knock it, but I’ll be hibernating through the mountains’ winter with sparkling baseboards and shiny faucets. And come spring, I’ll have less to do.”

“If you say so.”

“You’re the one saying you want to come to my place because it’s clean.”

You had him there. It always smelled like lavender and the green of the plants you’d begun to accrue from people around town invited him into the space you’d made your own. As the air grew colder, you’d grown warmer, and somehow he’d remained a target of your blossoming affinity for company and laughter. He’d always known it was there, Ellie had always brought out the side of you that was buried beneath years of torment and hardship, but now you were releasing it for others to experience now and it was a wonder in and of itself. The way your nose scrunched up and your eyes crinkled at the corners when you laughed never ceased to pull a smile from him, it was like you were the god damn sun and he was just a moon in orbit, forever searching for more of your light. But you were still just as fierce, just as deadly, if not more so now with a steady place to anchor both physically and seemingly within yourself. He was infatuated. It was dangerous. 

“Alright you two,” Tommy chimed in with a knowing tone, Joel had just been staring at you and the way your eyes sparkled with pride and victory, he wasn’t sure how much time had passed, “We should get back.”

“Did you boys search the place?” you asked as you stood, “I’m still looking for a fucking slow cooker.”

Joel couldn’t help but smirk at himself, tipping his chin down to hide his satisfied expression. 

“We looked down here, upstairs is all yours.”

With Joel's rifle still in hand, you took off up the stairs, Joel avoiding Tommy’s eyes that he knew were waiting to be acknowledged. He wasn’t in the mood to hear one of Tommy’s speeches, he didn’t know what Joel had been forced to become privy to so many years ago. Tommy and his idealistic views that had somehow maintained even through the end of the world didn’t know the pain on the other side, and Joel prayed he never would. 

His attention followed your boot steps on the creaking floor above. He knew no one was in the house, but that didn’t ease his heightened senses as his ears tracked you through the rooms. What he didn’t catch was the way his feet also carried him slowly beneath you. Nothing more than a moon in orbit. 

“Hey Joel!” you called, “Joel!”

“Yeah?!” he responded loudly up the stairwell, your head peeking over the landing down at him.

“Come help me real quick.”

You were standing beneath a boarded-up attic, hands on your hips, the scar that decorated the seam of your jaw and throat on full display as you stared up at the ceiling. 

“I ain’t that tall,” he mused, standing beside you and leaning his shoulder against the wall.

“Just boost me up,” you replied nonchalantly like you’d done this a thousand times before, “that wood is fucking ancient. I can snap it.”

“If you say so.” This you had done before. “Up you go.” Your legs surrounded his head as you sat atop his broad shoulders, his knees straightening and pushing you up to grip against the rotted slats. 

After a few good tugs, you did exactly what you said you would, the barrier snapping beneath your leather gloves as you gave a small victorious laugh. At this height, you were able to simply pull yourself up into the attic, tossing him down a ladder so he could join you, his eyes automatically sweeping for threats as soon as the space came into view. You were already rummaging through boxes, not a care in the world, and his heavy sigh as he hoisted himself up had you whirling back to stare at him. 

“Gettin’ old, Tex?” you teased, his nostrils flaring in a way that had your face twisting in annoyed confusion, “What?”

“You need to be more god damn careful,” he scolded, growling into your ear as his chest brushed over your shoulder, “Anyone…or anything, could have been up here.”

“In a boarded-up attic? That’s one impressive food supply by the age of that wood and the rust on the nails. Lighten up, Joel. I can assess my surroundings just fi—“

Creaking turned to splintering as you turned back towards the pile of boxes you’d been searching through, his still-sharp reflexes wrapping his arm around your middle and pulling you back just far enough to keep your feet on solid ground as a gaping hole where you’d just been standing sent light beaming into the dark space. 

As the shock wore off, he could feel the way your breath was heaving in his grip, your fingers woven through his against your stomach as you gripped him and he cursed the cold weather for making leather gloves a necessity. It was instinctual the way he leaned his head against yours, his arm pulling you tighter as he pushed the what-if from his mind and grounded in the reality of you not impaled on the wood piercing up towards the sky, memories of his own injury that had almost left Ellie alone and abandoned in Colorado flooding back. He could feel the rebar piercing through his stomach, the agony of being pulled off, and the panic that had set in when hunters swarmed the old science building, leaving Ellie to defend him bleeding and sputtering on the floor. 

“Please be careful.” It was a whispered plea, not a demand but a desperate request. 

He felt you nod, your spine curling slightly to fit the contour of his chest, and the way you leaned back into him had his eyes drifting closed as the subtle scent of lavender paired with the warmth of your body and softness of your hair against his cheek infiltrated his senses.

“What the hell was that?!” Tommy yelled as he ran up the stairs to the second floor, his voice pulling both of you from the safety of the moment and back into reality, “Joel?”

“It’s alright!” Joel called back, turning his head to not yell into your ear but immediately returning as soon as the words left his lips, “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” you gasped, and he swore he felt you nestle your head against him further for a split second, your hair catching on his beard before you pulled away without a glance back, “Help me look around?”

The meekness in your voice was unsettling, but he agreed, lingering within arm’s reach as you found boxes of cold-weather clothing, pots and pans, Christmas decorations, and children’s toys. Tommy had gotten involved, both yours and his eyes lighting up at the hoard of useful supplies, Tommy taking box after box through the hole in the ceiling (from his perspective) as you and Joel worked as an assembly line in the attic on wood he’d deemed safe to stand on. 

As luck would have it, two large sleds were tucked into a back corner, their width when tied together with a thick wool blanket between them working like a sling just barely wide enough to fit the haul of supplies thanks to Joel’s ingenuity. Tommy and his horse hauled it along between you in the front and Joel bringing up the rear, the silence giving you time to reflect as the barren trees gnarled up towards the sky and the steady hoof steps of Bill your not-so pony echoed through the mountain's well-worn paths. 

It had been awhile since you’d been close enough to Joel to feel that lingering comfort of the scent of warm leather and sawdust that clung to him despite the canvas jacket he wore. The effect was still the same. Your head was swimming with the heat of summer, the phantom of his palms gripping the backs of your thighs, the sway of your horse mimicking that of Joel’s steady stride. You dwelled in these memories more than you’d ever admit, and far more than you preferred. 

Everything was so pleasant now. And you’d come to depend on him in ways you’d been warned many years ago to not dare consider. But none of it felt wrong. In fact, it had felt more right than any other decision you’d made. But still, that voice nagged in the back of your head that this was a bad idea, a risk, a disaster in the making, yet still a piece of you clung to the hope that this was different. He was gentle and kind—to you at least—attentive and generous, capable and strong, he was a man that shouldn’t exist after all he’d been through yet there he was, slinging a coat still warm from the heat of his body around your shoulders after you’d been too stubborn to wear one to your weekly Bison trip or fixing the leaky sink in your kitchen without so much as a grumble of irritation. But although you had changed entirely since arriving at the safe haven settlement of Jackson, the world hadn’t. And that was something you were constantly reminded of. 

Both of you helped Tommy unload the supplies at the inn, with you promising to return tomorrow to help Maria sort through them as he and Joel went out on yet another patrol. Things had gotten worse lately, both with infected and hunters, there was no shortage of bodies laden with bullets in the surrounding woods. 

“What’s this over here?” you asked as you tried to sort the boxes into categories to make the job easier tomorrow, your hand sliding over Joel’s back as you snuck through the small space between him and the wall, his muscles twitching beneath your touch as it grazed over him, “Can you put it over there?” you asked sweetly, peering up at him with a smile as he nodded, a soft “thanks” following as your fingers repeated their previous motion on your way back to the front of the room. 

It made his stomach hurtle to the floor. You’d been doing it for weeks now, fleeting touches as you passed by, playful hands on his shoulders, and knees resting against his beneath a table. Not reading into it had been almost impossible, the fact you also did the same with Indy and Ellie was the only place to ground himself he had. It was just you and how you’d rediscovered parts of yourself that had long been buried. 

“Joel!” Ellie’s exuberant voice called out as she rounded the corner, both your and Joel’s attention turning as your boots hit the street, “Joel…Cat found me…a Nintendo.”

“A what?” Joel chuckled at the way she was sucking in air.

“A Nintendo. You know…video games.”

“Oh, right. Well I’m sure you’ll have a blast with that.”

“Do you wanna play?”

“I think…playin’ with your friends is gonna be way more fun. I don’t know what I’m doin’ with those things.”

“Neither do I.”

Your elbow jutting into his ribs had his eyes snapping over to you, your eyebrows raising in a silent urging as you ticked your chin towards Ellie at his other side. 

“She wants to play with you,” you hissed through your teeth, hoping he could hear it and Ellie couldn’t, realization falling over his face, softening the fine lines etched into his sun-darkened skin.

Fuck, he shouldn’t have needed to be told that. It was all there in the hopeful gaze staring back at him, another pair of big green eyes that could work wonders against his stubborn ways. As the tug-of-war between his own self-loathing and the swell of pride Ellie’s desire to spend time with him raged, his cheeks flushing pink as the corner of his mouth pulled up into a smirk, your own reassuring one caught in his peripherals. 

“Arrow comin’ too?” he asked mischievously, knowing Ellie would never pass up a chance to have you around and damn if he wasn’t going to take advantage of that.

“Duh,” she retorted, and you smiled fondly at the ground as your chin tipped to your chest, warmth flooding your chilled cheeks.

“Alright kiddo,” he finally obliged, ��go set it up.”

Without a word, Ellie was sprinting back the way she came, Joel once again focusing his attention on you. There was a softness present, a vulnerability swimming through hazel that was typically hard as stone. 

“Hope you don’t mind,” he said with a bashful tone, and you shook your head, “I’ll grab dinner from the Bison if you wanna head over around 6.”

After a shower, the hoodie you’d managed to snag from the swap shop welcomed you in, a loose pair of sweatpants to match being donned after you twisted your hair into a messy bun; those two had seen you at far worse, one step from sleepwear wouldn’t change their opinions of you. The sun had already begun to set as you meandered your way to the white house on Rancher street, one your instincts could bring you to in your sleep, your knuckles rapping three times on the door before you let yourself in with a bellowing “hey” at the owner’s previous insistence. 

“Kitchen!” Ellie yelled, “Joel forgot to get you no tomato!”

“Why do you gotta tell her?!” you could hear him scolding as you approached, “I’m fixin’ it anyway!”

“Because it’s funny.”

“It ain’t funny… You’re gonna get me in trouble.”

“It’s kinda funny,” you agreed as you rounded into the dining room with a table too grand for the three of you, plates set out with each of your favorites from the only restaurant in town.

“I told him,” Joel defended, dropping a pitcher of lemonade onto the table hard enough to have some sloshing out, “I swear.”

“Is this Ellie’s famous lemonade I’ve been hearing about?” you asked after giving Joel a sarcastic nod of agreement, his flustered groan the reward you were seeking as he left to find napkins in the kitchen, “I’m surprised they gave you enough lemons to make all this.”

“Who says they gave them to me?”

A knowing scoff huffed free from your lips, Joel rounding back in with three old cloths he passed out before sitting down beside you and across from Ellie, the head of the table left empty. Joel’s penchant for leaving his elbows on the table had been something you’d grown fond of, awkward bumps soon turning into shoulders pressed together when space became sparse without a blink. He’d been bashful about it initially, the first time it happened during one of the group’s nights at the Bison, his cheeks burning red as he attempted to make his large, broad frame smaller by gluing his elbows to his sides and pinching his knees together beneath the wooden table. But it had grown to a common occurrence, soon bringing with it fleeting touches and gentle contact like it was a natural thing, entirely normal, almost expected. 

“So what games did you get?” you asked Ellie as Joel filled your glass with lemonade, a small smile thanking him before you flicked your attention back to the excited teenager in front of you.

“There’s a few but the only one I care about is ‘The Turning’,” she replied with thrill and competitiveness in her voice, “Riley told me all about it. Can’t believe I finally get to play.”

“Do you know how to?”

“No… Not really. Her and I pretended to once at… But I’ve never actually played.”

“What about you, Greybeard?” Another side eye earned, but the corner of his mouth twitching at the link to his own nickname he’d used on you earlier. 

“Never tried,” Joel huffed, “I never liked those things.”

“A grump even before the world went to shit. How fitting.” He may have thought the side-eye he gave in response was discreet but he found himself wrong as you laughed. “Guess you’re both learning today.”

“I assume you’re world champion of whatever this game is?” he drawled, leaning back in his seat and draping his arm over the back of your chair.

“No. I was always terrible. My brother always beat me. So I look forward to winning my first fight tonight against you.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“Are we ready?” you diverted, standing from your half-finished plate under Joel’s scrutinizing gaze. 

Ellie’s suite as you’d come to call it welcomed the three of you, Joel looking massive in the small space that contained everything a home would. A small bathroom was nestled beside a functioning kitchen thanks to the hot plate you’d found, her bed nestled on one side, a desk, wood stove, and small living room on the other. She’d set up the Super Nintendo unit on the TV across from her bed, the welcome screen of the combat game “The Turning” already sending the tacky techno music of its home screen ricocheting off the walls. 

“I hate it already,” Joel mumbled as he took a seat on the edge of the mattress, you and Ellie sandwiching him in as she threw a control into his lap, “What button does what?”

“Hell if I know,” Ellie retorted, mashing the B button, then A, then Start and finally finding success. 

“Well you know,” Joel pointed out, turning his attention to you, “How do we play this thing?”

“I’m gonna let you figure it out,” you taunted, crossing your legs in front of you and staring at the TV, Joel’s angry grumbles under his breath the only real victory you wanted that night. 

It was all mashed buttons, excited yelps from Ellie as she landed each kick, punch, and combo with her chosen character—Angel Knives—and a follow-up frustrated groan or “Oh c’mon now!” from Joel as his eyebrows furrowed further than you’d ever seen them descend. 

“I landed that!” he bellowed at the screen as his character dropped dead yet again, “I landed that hit! This is…rigged or somethin’.”

“One more!” Ellie challenged, “Best two out of three.”

“You’ve won twice.”

“Three to be the best.”

As she queued up another round, Joel glanced over at you beside him, his eyes gentle and gracious. He asked if you were having fun, a question to which you nodded in response with a content smile settled on your lips, one that he mirrored as he stayed trapped in the bubble of your gaze. Ellie was nudging him, telling him it was time to choose, he had to pick his fighter (he’d chosen differently for each other round), but it was only after you averted your attention did he finally refocus on the task at hand. 

“I’m gonna whoop your ass, you old fogey,” Ellie growled through gritted teeth, her expression all fire and focus. 

“You say that like it’s hard,” he teased, mostly himself.

It began as all the others had, Joel’s fingers fumbling over the buttons, Ellie landing combo after combo, and that’s when your pity for the man beside you finally won out. 

“Hit the two on the left at the same time,” you instructed, your palm sliding over his knee as you leaned over to watch his hands closely. 

“Wh-what?” he stammered, cheeks flushing crimson, “Oh…”

Art from @natendo-art 🥺

The combo landed, Angel Knives taking some significant damage much to Ellie’s dismay, her calls about cheating beginning immediately as you continued to coach Joel through the moves, your hand staying pressed against his thigh. Thanks to your narration, he was able to focus his eyes on the buttons, pressing each one with each of your commands with almost foolproof accuracy.

“You need glasses,” you whispered to him as Ellie groaned in frustration at her loss, Joel smiling ear to ear at his victory, “But congrats, old man.”

You were up next to face the vicious ire of retribution against Ellie and Angel Knives, your victories coming with difficulty but you pulled them off nonetheless, Joel cheering right along with every kick and punch landed. He muttered under his breath, you were positive he assumed you couldn’t hear him, or perhaps he had no idea he was doing it, but when you won the third of three (to be the best) you got a taste of what the man was probably like watching the football games he still reminisced about.

“All right you two,” you announced through the two of them bickering again about their final match being too close to cheating for Ellie to accept, “I’m heading home. I’ll see you,” you shoved Joel’s shoulder playfully,” tomorrow night. And you,” you pointed at Ellie, “tomorrow morning for practice.”

“Yes ma’am,” they said in unison, Joel’s tone much happier than Ellie’s who found target practice annoying. She had a right to. She didn’t really need it, but you weren’t about to relinquish her to the possibility of patrol training just yet.

“I’ll walk ya home,” Joel tacked on, giving Ellie a one-armed hug goodnight before following you out the door. 

For the last 20 years, routine had felt like a pipedream. It was survival, basic and primal, not a steady pillar walking beside you every time the streets were dark to ensure you made it home safe in a town where risks didn’t exist within the walls. They were typically silent, so comfortable and soothing, the scrape of his boots against the pebbles along the road always enough to fill the space. A heavy canvas jacket was hung silently over your shoulders, your hands pulling it tighter as you bathed in the heat trapped in the fabric. There was that familiar smell again battering against your tired brain, the moon bathing the silver strands of his hair bright enough that you could see it in your peripherals. The sight of your house was almost unwelcome now, it meant the night was coming to an end, and not even the guarantee of this happening again tomorrow, as it always did, was comfort enough to soothe the ache.

“My brother died before the outbreak,” you blurted out three houses down from your own, “Cancer.”

“Oh,” he sighed, coming to a stop beside you, “Sorry I asked.”

“No. I-I don’t know why I didn’t just…”

“S’fine.”

Always so forgiving and willing to forget, unless you were Paulie to which Joel still held a brutal vendetta against. He didn’t let the man within two people of you at any time, his eyes were always watchful when you shared a space. Paulie had already tried to get him to ease up, he’d apologized profusely, but it fell on deaf ears. Clearly for Joel, what had transpired was unjustifiable, and it was a fate Paulie had finally accepted.

“Hey, look,” he cooed tipping his head and turning you at the shoulders to face your right.

The lights of the Aurora Borealis shone brightly in the sky. Greens and purples erupted over the mountain tops, your breath hitching as you took in the sight for the first time. His hands remained perched on your upper arms, and in your shock and awe, you found yourself leaning back against him. The rise and fall of his chest was rhythmic and entrancing once again, but this time there was no fear as there had been earlier this afternoon as you stared down the gaping hole that had almost claimed you. Here it felt like home. 

“Ever see that before?” he asked softly in your ear, and you shook your head, too stunned and comfortable for words, “Me neither. C’mere, let’s get a better view.”

Your eyes were locked on the sight as he led you through town, you had not the faintest idea where you headed, only knowing that you trusted the man leading you implicitly. Before you knew it, you were faced with a ladder, the watchtower of the East gate reaching high into the sky above you. Jesse was up there, one of the newer patrolmen, and Joel told him to go take a breather and leave his gun as you both climbed up onto the small landing. 

"Everything you hoped for?" he asked barely above a whisper, his voice cracking, the quietness of his tone sending a shiver down your spine.

It was a better view up here. The colors rippled across the sky as the cool air bit against your cheeks. Joel had nestled up behind you once again, his body far enough away to leave you space but close enough that a simple adjustment would have you pressed against him once again. You opted for the latter, two thick forearms caging you in as he braced himself against the railing. It was here you stayed until Jesse’s arrival back cued it was time to leave. You’d thought you’d known peace here in Jackson; your turmoil had settled to a manageable level, the friendships built far more than anything you’d had in the past, and the security swaddling you like a blanket had created a world you never thought possible. But it wasn’t until now as the warmth behind you pulled away that you realized it wasn’t any of those things that helped silence the long-raging storm. 

It was him.

Chapter 9

[amethystunarmed]

we have loved the stars too fondly

Word Count: 1039 On the way to British Guiana, John grows closer to the Stratfords. Maybe too close.

After three days on the ship, John can safely say he is getting used to having company. It is different, having people around who are growing almost akin to... Friends. It is a new experience for him. While in South Africa, he had written to Nova often, of course, missed her like a severed limb, but he had grown familiar with solitude, just himself and the stars. Ever since meeting Margaret and the Stratfords, his life has gotten much... Louder than he was used to.

This is not always a good thing.

"Come on, you have to tell us which part was your favorite!" Rose says, eyes sparkling. 

"I most certainly do not!" 

Meals often look like this now, bantering and debating. Margaret retired early, and without her obvious scorn to dissuade them, they've taken to interrogating John about their hoax.

"That does make it sound like you have a favorite," Samuel points out, and John is fairly certain he feels betrayed. 

“Please, don’t encourage her.”

"Was it the pyramids?" Rose asks, "I bet it was the pyramids." Her whole face is lit up with unbridled joy, her whole attention focused on John. It feels like watching a comet blaze across the night sky.

"I'm partial to the bat people," Samuel adds. He sits back, hand on his chin in faux contemplation. The golden rim of his glasses glints in the candle light like the sun. 

Both of them are beaming at him, bright as stars, Gemini sprung to life before him. Mischief radiates from their expressions as they team up to tease him. John would have expected to feel bullied, like when the older boys at boarding school used to steal his notebooks or shove him as they passed. Instead, he has to work to keep his own smile off his face. 

“I think you’ll find I found all of it so heinous, I can’t think of which part I hated the least.” 

“Hey now!” Samuel protests, mock hurt on his face, but Rose's smile only grows.

“I don't know, I seem to remember you saying it was good.”

And she is not wrong. It was good. He had reread the first entry over a dozen times on his voyage to New York City. It wasn’t just good writing, it was good science. It was interesting and sound theory, and it had reminded John of being a little boy and staring up at the sky and asking a million different questions that, at the time, no one knew the answer to. 

It filled him with a wonder he has long forgotten.

But he had imagined the utter disdain on his father’s face when he learned what their name had become associated with, and found himself in printing house square nonetheless.

(And besides, he is certain Nova would never stop laughing if she heard what the Stratfords came up with, and he would like to avoid that if at all possible.)

“And yet sometimes good things have consequences, Miss Stratford,” he reminds her. Margaret’s absence is proof enough of that. Rose looks properly admonished at that, perhaps more than he intended, but the words still ring true.

“We... we’re figuring that out. Sorry, John.”

"Thank you. Now, Samuel-"

"Hey, wait, why do you call him by his first name!" Rose says, pouting. Her lip protrudes, just a tad, and John finds his eye drawn to it. He feels faintly flushed. 

"Why it's..." He stutters, fumbling over his words, "Not appropriate to call a lady by-"

"We're just that close!" Samuel cheers, and slides an arm around John, pulling him against him. He's taller than John, and easily tucks him into his side. “Right, Johnny?”

It’s a jest, John knows it’s a jest. But the lilt of Samuel’s voice as he says it, his closeness, the warmth of his arm around his shoulder. And even though they have been on a boat nearly half a week-

He smells divine.

John thinks he may be having a psychotic break.

John knows of these... inclinations. Of things that happen in the back rooms of London parties that everyone collectively chooses to ignore. Of his own tendencies towards such inclinations. It is not something he hates about himself. To hate it would mean hating Nova, betraying what she told him in confidence, and that is never something he could allow. But mostly, he ignores it. It has never been hard before. It has never been this strong, this pressing before. It has never felt so right before. 

His father's scowl flashes in his head, and suddenly the contact burns.

He lifts Samuel’s hand off of his shoulder, and ducks out from under it. 

“Look at the time, I ought to be going. Have a good evening, Miss Stratford, Mister Stratford.” He nods to both of them, a final acknowledgement, and turns to head back to his bunk.

“Wait, John, you don’t have to go!” Samuel says. He reaches a hand out, as if to grab John's wrist, but pulls it back quickly, like he’d been stung. John bites his lip to keep from protesting, telling Samuel to go ahead, touch him, please. “I was only teasing, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, we were just joking,” Rose adds, distress wrinkling her forehead. John wants to smooth over it with his thumb. “We know we can be...” She winces, as if remembering some long healed hurt. “A lot. We’ll stop, honest.”

John sighs. This is not what he intended to happen. “No, no... You both are quite alright, really. I suppose my travels have been more draining than I first thought.”

“Okay...” Samuel says slowly, skepticism etched in his face. “Get some rest then.”

John can tell they don’t believe him; they both stare at him with wary, guilty expressions. John knows how hard they have been attempting to rebuild their relationship with Margaret and it feels cruel, leaving them to think John had any hard feelings over this. So he indulges them, just a little.

“Good night Samuel. Good night Rose.”

He strides confidently out of the mess, ignoring Rose’s delighted squeal. A grin blooms on his face, and his heart flutters.

Damn. Nova is going to be insufferable about this.

[driftward]

Title: FFXIV Write 2024 - 14. Telling Characters: Zoissette Vauban, Solita Grey Rating: Teen Summary: Solita has two hands and two clients. One's a gadfly, the other's an idiot, this is a vexing evening. Notes: Weird Wild West AU, a Desertwalkers story

Solita was enjoying the pleasant turn in the evening at the Cat's Eye cabaret.

Her date for the evening had momentarily vanished, saying he wished to go refresh himself before retiring for the night. The man was a well meaning Hrothgar gentleman from Bozja. Apparently interested in local opportunities which he could leverage for his concerns back home. Kind enough, but she got the distinct impression he was not quite taking her seriously. He asked the right sort of questions, asking for her expertise on many matters, but was perhaps a bit too fond of his jests, and often seemed distracted. He had not been quite rude, nor quite condescending, but, well.

It was frustrating. But that was a common enough state of affairs in her line of work. She took a sip of her champagne. For all that, though, he had been charming, and had a likable demeanor. If he did not wish to heed her, that would be rather more his problem than hers, and she had high hopes for the momentary entertainments of the evening. In the morning, he would be on his way, and she could review what she had learned with the others.

For now, she found herself simply enjoying the atmosphere of the cabaret. She exulted in her senses, the taste of fine liquor on her tongue, the slightly spicy smell of people and cedar and food and drink that wafted through the air, the thrum of the music through the floorboards, the visual spectacle of dancers on the stage. Even the auras of the place were flowing and pulsing pleasantly, the Weave choosing to reflect everyone's good mood.

Her work could be frustrating at times, but it also had its perks, and moments like this were among them. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and just took it all in.

"Ah! Mz. Grey! I was hoping I would find you here!"

She pondered, for the briefest of moments, about the sheer relief and joy she might feel in getting help from Thancred to hide a body.

When she opened her eyes, she could see the bright starriness of Zoissette's aura before she caught sight of her big stupid grinning face.

Her ears went back immediately.

Zoissette didn't notice. She had one of her notebooks open, and was excitedly pointing at her entries in it.

"The petrified forest was a revelation! I have finished my spectral analysis, and you would not believe the aspects of the aether I found within them. Well, maybe you would, actually. I managed to confirm some of your-"

Solita reached up and grabbed the collaring on Zoissette's dress, pulling her ear down to mouth level.

"I am with another client tonight," she hissed. "Make an appointment."

Zoissette's expression immediately shifted to mild horror, and she cleared her throat as Solita let her go. "Oh, I apolo-"

"Why hello! Who's this!" boomed a cheerful voice.

Solita took a deep breath and forced a smile as she turned. The Hrothgar gentlemen had returned, and he took her hand, bowing deep to give it a gentle kiss on the back of her hand, before turning his attention to Zoissette, giving her a friendly smile.

"Hello, dear," said Solita stiffly. "Zoissette, this is the esteemed Pretorad Desasch, a gentleman from Bozja. Pretorad, this is Zoissette Vauban, who I believe was just stopping by on her way home."

Solita watched Zoissette sharply. Not giving a full introduction could be considered rude, but she did not particularly care just this moment. However, as she spoke, she could see Zoissette shift. The woman stood up a little straighter. Her previously open expression faded to a detached half smile. Her posture shifted, her arms pulling in to her sides, and she somehow made herself look more ... presentable? Elegant?

Not quite. Solita could now see what Thancred had already pointed out to her in an earlier conversation. Zoissette was a member of the gentry, possibly even nobility. She always had a certain poise and posture to her, but previously it had been open, care free. Now she was closed off but presentable, lightly guarded, somehow in that twilight between welcoming but not truly universally approachable.

This was a woman who was used to the upper echelons of the spoken and unspoken languages of power. A place where Solita herself lived these days, as part of her work.

"Pretorad Desasch, I do not believe I have known the pleasure," said Zoissette, her voice more airy than usual. Distant. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I must offer my sincere apologies, however, as the Mz. Grey has the right of it. I am only recently returned from my errands, and perhaps should be heading for my home."

Zoissette offered a curtsy. Her words and tone were polite. She was being mildly deferential.

"Nonsense," said Pretorad, as he wrapped one arm around Solita and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Any friend of Solita's is a friend worth getting to know. Come, stay with us a moment! Tell me, Lady Vauban, was it? What do you do around here?"

He gestured at the bartender while Solita continued to stare daggers at Zoissette. "I would say she is perhaps more of an acquaintance."

"Well, as mentioned, Mz. Grey has the right of it, and I do not wish to bother either of you much longer," said Zoissette, her face still wearing that distant half-smile. "But if the sir must know, I am a naturalist. My interests lie in the local flora, fauna, and histories."

"Oh, and were you trying to hide this gem from me, dear Solita?" asked Pretorad, laughing. "Or perhaps you were eager to retire for the night? But please, Lady Vauban, entertain me for a few questions, would you?"

Zoissette tilted her head, a question. But in the motion was a subtlety. The tilt was towards Solita, and angled so that Solita could see her eyes despite her glasses, see that she was clearly looking to her. Solita, after a moment's hesitation and thought, gave the slightest nod. There was little helping the matter now, she decided. Might as well get this over with and quickly, if possible.

Zoissette gave Pretorad a curtsey, and Pretorad waved his hand towards the barkeep. "Splendid! Simply splendid. Three drinks, my good man, whatever they like, and I'll have some of that local specialty, what's it called? Mezzal?"

"Mezcal, sir," said Zoissette politely. "I shall follow the gentleman's example."

Solita simply gestured for the barkeep to top of her glass, and he nodded. It did not take him long to provide their drinks to them, and Pretorad leaned his back against the bar, facing outward. Space enough for Solita on one side, but able to keep his attention on Zoissette on the other.

"A naturalist! Tell me more. Anything currently have your interest?"

"Verification of local histories and folklore while I survey the local landscape. There is a cornucopia of information to be gleaned for those who seek it. I am only recently back from an expedition, and Mz. Grey's services proved invaluable in its success."

Zoissette gestured at Solita as she spoke, and bowed her head towards her.

"Surveying, hmm?" said Pretorad thoughtfully. He glanced over at Solita. "And how did the seer's insight help with that?"

"She knows the local area far better than I, and its histories, as well as having an intimacy with the land that I lack. Her findings, combined with my own, enabled me to create a more accurate map with increased fidelity and previously uncharted information on aetheric densities in the area I explored."

"Fascinating, fascinating, simply fascinating! Aetheric densities, hmm? Well, wonders never cease, when it comes to wonders! Any plans for another expedition?"

"Ah. Well. When she is once more able to spare some time for me, I was hoping to gain her insight to the fields to the north, and perhaps begin another survey."

"Hmn. Might I be able to convince you to show me where you are speaking of?"

Zoissette hesitated, slightly, but after a moment, she pulled a map out of one of her bags, and carefully laid it out over two nearby barstools. She pointed as she spoke. "This is not a political map, so kindly overlook the lack of recognizable landmarks. I can tell you that Stonewood, where we are now, is here; my prior surveys happened in the grasslands not so far from here. And here, near the southern buttes, and here, in the petrified forest. My next survey I intend to perform shall be here, the outer ceruleum fields."

Pretorad looked over the map with a practiced eye, rubbing his chin. "Interesting," he murmured. He glanced over at Solita. "Some of these are places I too am curious about. I notice you updated the topographical markers, and made note of mineral veins and other such areas of interest. And these markings?"

"The aforementioned Aetheric readings. You may use the guide in the lower corner, sir."

"Hah hah! Of course, of course. And next, I cannot help but notice that is near the outer ceruleum fields. I believe they are yet virgin. Perhaps trying to get in on a little early tapping action, hmn?"

Zoissette stiffened slightly, and while Solita remained outwardly relaxed, she felt a twinge of alert.

"My interests, I assure you sir, are not commercial in nature."

Pretorad laughed at that. "Of course not, of course not! A naturalist would never sully their good name with such matters, I am certain. Why, they know every number except the economic, am I right? The quantity of every mass, but the value of none, to mangle a phrase? Hah hah hah!"

Zoissette froze for a moment, and Solita was immediately very on edge. She did not know fully which insults that Zoissette was prone to taking exception to, but this was one of Pretorad's not-quite-rude comments she herself had been diplomatically ignoring all night. But now she wondered if she would be having to deal with her client being stabbed.

But then, Zoissette laughed, a hollow, tittering thing. "Ah, of course, good sir, of course," she said stiffly.

"The sir may know the price of ceruleum futures, but 'tis the naturalist that sees the value beyond the economic. Such true value may be a question of taste, but if the good sir cannot see nor understand that which the naturalist values, he will find himself all the poorer for it," said Solita bitingly. She was not sure why she had been so deferential tonight, anyroad. The man was pleasant, but becoming a boor, and she nor her reputation would suffer fools.

Galling though it was to be stuck mediating between a fool and an idiot.

"My, I'd almost forgotten what a sharp tongue you have," said Pretorad cooly. He reached over to gently curl a finger under Solita's chin, and smiled kindly at her. "I hope to not find out anything about the sharpness of those teeth, later.

"But! You are right, and I would be more the fool to not heed your counsel which I am paying handsomely for, after all," he said, letting his hand drop. "My apologies to both of you, ladies."

Zoissette relaxed, and curtsied. "I accept your apology, and choose to take no further offense, sir."

Solita just made a small noise of assent and sipped her champagne.

"Hah! Well, thank you, my lady. My, you certainly know your manners," he said thoughtfully. "And your terrain," he added, gesturing at the map, which Zoissette reached for and began to roll up. "I wonder what you might say to a potential sponsorship, assuming you aren't self sponsored or don't already have one? Even if you do, I think I would be best pleased to offer my support. Or even just purchase first rights, whatever that would cost me. You've the seer's faith, it seems, and now that I've seen your work, I think I would like to pay for my own faith in your future work."

Solita watched this exchange with mild interest. Zoissette did not tense up again, and this was rather more like the business sort of conversation she had been hired on for with Pretorad.

"I appreciate your interest, sir," said Zoissette. "However, I find myself deferring to the Lady Grey. My work would not be possible without hers. I would prefer that you confer with her, and perhaps she can serve as a necessary intermediary between your business and mine."

"Oh, of course, of course," said Pretorad thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. He set his drink down. "Ah! I have forgotten my case and papers back at our table from earlier. How remiss of me to not bring them along for such important discussion. If you will give me a moment, I shall return."

He bowed to Zoissette, who curtsied in turn, then turn and gently took Solita's hand to give it a kiss. She gifted him with a smile, and a gentle wave.

As he left passed out of close distance, she turned on Zoissette just in time to see the woman deflate, turning to hold herself up against the bar.

She looked some kind of miserable, and Solita felt a pang of concern despite herself.

"I had forgotten how tiring all this could be," she said. "I meant to apologize earlier, Mz. Grey. I would not intentionally interfere with your work. And I must apologize now. I think, that I will be taking my leave."

Solita looked over at where Pretorad apparently was just finding his glasses in his briefcase, and beginning to flip through some papers he seemed to always have near or on him.

"He shall wonder at your absence," she said.

"Ah, the usual excuses shall suffice. I hate to be a further burden, but just tell him I excused myself with a case of the vapors. I doubt he is the type to be rude enough to insist on inquiring further after that. He should recognize the excuse for what it is." She paused. "Should." Another moment. "I hate all these stupid games."

"You seems to excel at playing these games of words and meaning," said Solita, feeling faintly baffled.

"I excel at being -polite-, which I choose to be," said Zoissette stiffly. "And - no. Forget it. I apologize, again. Good night, Solita."

Solita frowned at her as she went. "Hold a moment, if you would."

Zoissette paused.

"...you can make arrangements through Mz. Gohtawyn, if you still wish to speak to your findings."

Zoissette turned to her with a pained smile, pushing up her glasses, and just shook her head slightly.

"I will not waste any more of your time on this," she said. "Do not worry. If you are truly curious, I will publish to our local library before next season. Your contributions will be noted, and I do intend to seek you out before I make for my next survey. Take care, Mz. Grey."

Zoissette left, allowing no time for further comment, and Solita was left at the bar, feeling oddly bemused at the exchange.

Pretorad returned, with his case, holding some papers, looking around curiously as he did so.

Solita gestured to him with a champagne glass. "The Lady Vauban has retired for the evening."

"Has she now? I suspected as much. Damned shame, but understandable. I hope you're not too upset at my attempt to poach such a gem from your hand. I was told of your reputation, but to see the exact caliber of person in your orbit! Hmn. And her bearing... former military on top of all that, I'd wager. I have been short sighted."

Solita wanted to protest, but did not, instead just swirling her champagne in her glass. "More the fool you, then. You know my reputation. I can hardly fault you for not taking me at face value, but perhaps you might have verified such yourself."

"Hah! Forgive me my methods, but if you'll allow, I find that I have done exactly that."

"Well I hope you find yourself satisfied," said Solita, finishing her drink. She was tired of tonight, between these two. "Perhaps we might retire for the evening as well?"

He set down his papers. "Business before pleasure, if you don't mind. Indulge me?"

"If you insist."

They both sat down at the bar, and he began to go over his interests in the area once more, conversations they had already had. But this time, she noticed, to her rather deep annoyance, that he was paying more attention this time around, seemed more inclined to heed her words. Earlier in the day he had been more boisterous, more cheerful, almost at play. But now, he was clearly being more serious about matters, taking notes, deferring to her very expensive expertise.

She took the matter professionally, and hid her annoyance. At least he was finally taking her seriously, and frankly, that did give her a sense of satisfaction. As their conversation winded into the late hours and resolved, and they at last retired, Solita had one last annoyance, however, as she found herself wondering after one Zoissette Vauban.

[tealfling]

A/N: I was insipired by a post commenting on how obvious it would probably be that Astarion is a vampire to the characters. This went perfectly with my Tav and how salty she would be about being called naive by Astarion.

Astarion x FemaleTav, Named Tav, Amaranth- purple tiefling cleric

Summery: Astarion tried to convince Amaranth it would wasteful to not take the power of the Absoulte for themselves. Which is fine, he's always trying to get her to reach for more power, but he called her naive. As if her good nature made her stupid or blind. Him. His pale-assed, red-eyed, pointy toothed-self. The nerve.

Act2-ish, kinda proof read

Mentions: his scars, alludes to his backstory, and peppered in innendoes. PG-13-ish

Reflect

"You've been in the bath a long time, Darling. What's taking you so long?" Astarion drawled, walking around the divider.

Amaranth sunk deeper into the tub, her furrowed crystal gaze remaining out of the steamy water, but not turned toward the voice she recognized.

Astarion reguareded her, tilting his head. "tch. Oh, are we brooding? Moping?" he jested, "Your tail tells all my Sweet." Noding toward the slapping thud rippling at the corner of the tub. He thought for a moment. She'd been quite since they last spoke- about taking the power of the Absoult- so he carefully considered what he might have said to offend her. "Are you still upset that I called you naive?" he probed. Her eyes darted to him. Seemed so. "Don't be like that my dear, we all have our flaws-not me of course-but the others obviously," he teased grabbing a towel. "Now come out of there my Treat, there's no way that water's warm enough for you and I don't want supper getting cold." He tried to keep his air light and up beat. Whatever it was that they had going on was working, he liked his favorite traveling companion, maybe more than he cared to admit. The last thing he wanted was for her to cast him aside, especially now. They'd come so far.

Lifting her mouth out of the water, Amranth bit, "I just can't believe you of all people would think I'm the naive one."

Astarion's red eyes narrowed as he paused. "And what is that supposed to mean?" he hissed ready to take offense.

The purple tiefling turned to face him, gripping the side of the tub. "Well, since you don't know, let me paint you a picture," she said. "There I found myself on a beach, where I could hear the calls of a man for help," she said pushing herself up from the water. "When I found the man, I noticed how anemically pale he was, paler than any elf I'd seen-- and remember, Darling, I work with people preparing to be corpses," Amaranth stepped one foot over the tub. "True to form my bleeding heart fell for your siren song for help and pleading eyes, an unusual red color, by the way, but who's to say what's in one's ancestry?" She straightened, taking out the other foot and planting it to the ground, and standing tall. "Of course, this came to bite me on my sorry ass when I found myself thrown to the ground with the business of a dagger to my throat. There those red sullen eyes really bore into me, but what really caught my attention was the pretty mouth with fangs bigger than mine." She said, stepping forward to punctuate each sentence. Astarion, though unsure, held his ground as she approached. His eyes locked on hers.

Amaranth continued. "Now those, I couldn't think of an excuse for being in an elf's mouth. And all of these little things together might look a little suspicious to someone only half paying attention, but probably not anyone sauced out their mind in some tavern back-alley past mid-night. For me though, as someone that choose Deathcare as a career path, what really sells it for me are these. " Amaranth reached her hand and placed two fingers on his neck, one on each fang scar, ignoring the way Astarion flinched. "These aren't the small, tender bites you pepper across my flesh, no these are jagged and wild, made worse by these." she ghosts her fingertips between the holes, her eyes saddening. Astarion sntached her wrist preventing her from touching further. His jaw clenched, his eyes were furrowed and locked to her's, but he didn't interrupt her.

"This texture? Scars from his incisors. That son of a bitch bit you so hard he almost ripped your throat out," her voice cracked where she didn't mean and her eyes began to sting. Amaranth pulled her fingers from his neck, wanting instead to caress his check. Her wrist still trapped in his hand, she gently grazed her knuckle across his jawbone. "Sorry," she whispered smally. Astarion loosened his grip at her apologetic touch.

Trying to save herself, she joked, "You were also terribly conspicuous about the boar, Darling. Even before we even added a half-baked monster hunter to our group. So I don't see how I'm the naive one." Blinking away the wet in her eyes, Amaranth said softly, "No, I took one look at your cover and knew what kind of book you were, but I'm the one who decided to read you." She peeked at him through her lashes, "And I'm glad I did, I'm surprised by what I've found in your pages."

For a long silent moment, Astarion stared at her. Reading her or collecting his thoughts before scoffing, "I didn't realize I was so easy to read, I'll have to double my efforts for the future."

"As if you could, I'm your mirror remember? Now, hand me that stupid towel, dinner's getting cold," Amaranth said playfully reaching for the towel Astarion still held, but she failed.

With deft hands, the elf flicked the towel around her shoulders earning himself one of those darling smiles of her's he'd grown so fond of. She'd known all along. No wonder she reacted cooly, but it still didn't explain why she'd agreed to any of it. Always full of surprises. More so than him apparently. His eyes softened. She always saw him with those big, beautiful shining eyes of hers. He supposed he chose the perfect mirror. He pushed a wet strand of hair from her forehead. Her eyebrows pinched.

"You're giving me that look," she said.

"What look?" Astarion asked with the lift of an eyebrow confused.

Amaranth playfully narrowed her eyes, " That soft look. You know it makes me want to indulge you. Perhaps Gale is right, maybe I do cater to you too much."

At the mention of Gale, a switch went off in Astarion. "Gale's just jealous," he dismissed. "Here you are lecturing me naked, why I'm sure Gale just wishes he could indulge in the whole, Dinner and a Show package, you cater to me," he purred, closing in on her.

With a small eyeroll, Amaranth hummed, "You're incorrigible." She muttered an easy encantantion matching signs in her hand and instantly dried off. "All right, let's go. I think I've hogged the bathroom long enough," she said, ducking around him to grab her dressing robe.

"Lovely," Astarion said, straighting out her robe, "Now with all this talk of Gale-can we do it in my tent tonight? I want Gale to hear you indulge me." He asked through a devilish grin extending his hand.

Amaranth returned a cheeky smile, "If that's what you want. But I'm not going to be intentionally loud." She grabbed his hand to be led out the room.

"I'll see about that."

"You know I can cast Silence right?"

"Oh, you're no fun."

"I thought your whole point was that I am a lot of fun?"

[siberat]

There’s Always Room for Dessert

Have a little t/c x rat/chet Drabble. I am not on word nor have access to grammarly, so only simply edified.

The secret lovers meet up at a Buffett, and eating ensues. Chubfic.

Feeling the table press into his swollen gut was both satisfying and annoying. Another unplanned meet-up with the blue see/ker resulted in fine dinning at a local buffet. While the food may not have been top notch, it satiated one’s desire to pig out. And now Ratc/het sat back in the booth, rubbing his swollen gut.

“Don’t tell me you are full already,” Thunde/rcracker grinned, eyeing the massive belly. “I still haven’t hit up the dessert table.”

The medic groaned, rolled his optics, and stifled a burp. “I ain’t no whelp. However, I think dinner is done.”

“I’d say so.” The see/ker’s hand reached over and gave the paunch a playful pat. “Shall I select you something tasty from the cake section?”

“You better, or else.”

“Or else what?”

“Or else I’m going back to my room and sleeping this off.”

Thunder/cracker pouted. The pair didn't spend a lot of time together- being in the middle of a war had several drawbacks. And what little time he had, the ‘Co/n wanted to make last.

“Don’t you worry, my sweets. I will serve you the best tasting desserts available.” The see/ker rose to his feet. “Well, at least the best this place has to offer.”

“You better make it worth the wait.” The medic barked, a devious grin appearing on his face. While the flier loved watching the Auto/bot devour plate after plate, that gruff attitude always shown up if that mouth wasn’t full.

And Thunderc/racker loved it! That biting attitude, while always in jest, just really proved how playful the other could be. Because we all know under that hardened exterior, Rat/chet was such a softy.

Well, as of late, the medic’s protoform under his plating was growing soft as well.

But soon enough, a heaping plateful of cake slices, brownies, chocolates and ice creams were set in front of the medic.

“You better put your money where your mouth is,” T/C deeply growled as he took a seat next to the stuffed mech.

Ratc/het only responded by licking his lips and rubbing his belly as he looked over the mountain of scrumptious sweets in front of him. All the chosen foods looks so good! How could he choose which to consume first?

Turns out, the decision was made for him as a forkful of the rich, chocolate brownies was pressed to his lips. And just how could one deny such a decedent treat? The medic’s mouth opened and as soon as the warm, gooey mess hit his taste sensors, his engines rumbled.

And as soon as servo’s rubbed at his swollen tummy his cooling fans clicked on.

In fact, Ratc/het didn’t know what was better- being fed by his secret Decep/ticon lover or getting those belly rubs! When it came to attention, the see/ker never skimped. Nor let down. It was as if the fattened mech’s body was an idol, and T/C was the devout worshipper. And when it came to tending to needs, T/C had all bases covered.

“Here,” The See/ker held up a tall glass of cold ener-melk. “Tell me this doesn't hit the spot.”

Rat/chet didn’t need to take a gulp to know this beverage went well with the brownie- or any of the other desserts. He took a gulp before opening his mouth for more food.

And more came. Bit after bite of sweets were fed. Swallow after swallow sweets were devoured. It only took half the deserts being consumed for that belly to growl out in warnings of the upcoming belly ache. But Rat/chet did not stop. The food simply tasted to good to say no!

That, and Thunder/cracker did not relent with shoving food into his maws. Of course, Ratc/het didn’t stop him.

But as the medic began to slow down, that servo rubbed with more purpose at that rounded paunch. The touch was soft and gentle in the beginning, but now, the pressure of the touch built. Every little rumble of a belly quake was chased down and messaged. And that added pressure did something within that spare tire.

Something tickled deep within his tanks, causing minor cramping before rising upward. Upon those digits pressing firmer, the sensation grew, and soon, something traveled upwards. Rat/chet was happy he had time to close his mouth as to at least save some dignity and not let a monster of a belch escape full blast!

At least this one was muffled.

“Tum-Tum feel better?”

Rat/chet nodded and opened his mouth for more. There was no way he was finished. At least, he wanted those touches to his beach-ball sized belly to continue and he knew if he kept eating, T/C would keep rubbing.

Even when breathing became hard and swallowing became such a chore, the medic pressed on. Just hearing T/C’s words of praise and those caresses of encouragement gave him strenght to polish off cakes, pies and ice cream. All too soon, that monster of a belly no longer could fit any more snacks inside. Nor could it fit within the booth!

Nearly sweating, the medic leaned back, rubbing his own servo‘s over his overstuffed and sore belly. He panted to catch his breath and wished against wish to just lay down!

“You are so well for me tonight,” T/C cooed, giving the belly a playful pinch. Anything else catch your fancy?”

“The berth,” Rat/chet boldly stated.

“Hmmmmm… How presumptuous of you,” T/C deeply hummed.

“I want to lay down.”

“Do you need further soothing?” A smile appeared on the See/kers lips.

“You know, I do expect some royal treatment after that feast I consumed for you…”

“Allow me to tend to your desires….”

And Ratchet could help but smile at that. He knew just what this evening had in store. All the tummy tickles he could want- as well as other things getting special attention.

See, there was always room for dessert.

[just-a-carrot]

Hey, Carrot!!

Just wanted to confirm you that your self-indulgent does, in fact, also mean "us-indulgent" 🤣🤣

I've just played the game and I loved it🤩🤩

I was kind of mad when I saw that I could only choose the options with the hand so many times before the bar depleted and lost the chance of getting the true ending. (I wanted to "make a jest" so bad every time it appeared 🤣🤣)

I adore the menu screen once you get THE ending, it's just so sweet I will stare at it forever🤧🤧

Btw, the whole game reminded me a lot of that one piece of art from some time ago and I can't help but wonder: did this piece sparkle the idea of the game (like, the conversation that they could have given their roles, which would eventually become the game)?

Or maybe it's simply that they both happen in the same place and are inspired by dd2(?🤣🤣

(Also, I know almost nothing about dd2, what does it mean when his hand started glowing?)

WAH

i'm really happy you enjoyed it... 💕 thank you for playing! lkdjflaksdf i'm sorry about forcing you to choose other options 🤣 there are a couple different ways you can reach the end. i think you only need to save up will for like... maybe 2(?) choices. and there are a few possible choices where not choosing the hand option will still let you proceed

the rest of this got kinda rambly also with vid/images so i've put it behind a cut (what's wrong with me)

LOL i wouldn't say this game was directly inspired by that specific art piece, moreso that that place in the game is just really inspiring to me because it's so beautiful, so it fills me with all sorts of soft feels (and ideas) and also just gives me a sense of calm. it's also why i have so many shots of it in the music video LKDJFALSKD i think i've spent literal hours there i have so much footage there of just clips like this:

so it was more just me wanting to do something soft and sweet so my mind immediately went back to this place

re: the glowing palm scar LKDJFALKSDFA THAT'S...

ok so. mmm. the scar itself in-game is essentially a symbol of his connection to the arisen (iggy). it glows every time he gets summoned from a rift stone and is reunited with iggy... i think it might possibly glow at other (canon) times though it's hard to tell because until recently genzou's outfit always had gloves and/or he's often holding a weapon in his right hand (so i can't tell for instance if it glows when he's revived...)

on the left is the best shot i've gotten of it when not glowing. on the right is the only good shot i can get of it glowing because for this cutscene the game removes his glove lol... now that i have him in the new outfit with half his hand showing though i'd like to see if i can get a good shot of him being resummoned to see if i can see the glow. i need to try pausing and zooming in because i only have this faraway shot:

however for him to be resummoned it means he needs to die and that hurts my heart (and makes his affection go down LKDJFLADS) so i don't like doing it (but i would do it for science...)

ANYWAY. there isn't any actual explanation or lore given for it in-game besides being shown it and knowing that all pawns have this scar and it's their symbol. but ofc like so many things about this game, my head ran away with me and started coming up with many of my own head canons about the scar. mostly that i have decided it reacts to like... their connection in general. strong emotional responses between them (like when they kiss... ldkfajsldkfa). a literal symbol of genzou's internal psyche in relation to iggy and it'll flare up sometimes as a strong reaction to something about iggy, etc. i like to think that genzou gets embarrassed by it because it'll flare up if he's feeling particularly strongly LOL

i-it's just very precious to me... i think it's very sweet and cute and i love it very much...💦

I'M SORRY FOR RAMBLING I LOVE TALKING ABOUT THEM AND THESE SILLY HEAD CANONS LKDJFALSKDF

[chase-solidago]

Poesy rings - Also spelled posie or posey, these rings derived their name from the French word “poésie,” or poem, because of the short sayings with which they were engraved that were religious, friendly or amorous in nature. Posy rings were popular from the latter half of the Middle Ages, which extended from the 15th to 17th century. In medieval times, when religion was very much a part of everyday life, it was common for saints’ figures or religious text to appear on the rings alongside romantic expressions or even expressions of friendship. In this way, the rings functioned both as a religious talisman and a gift of love. The phrases were written in Latin, Old French or Old English. Until about 1350, the lettering was done in a script with rounded capital letters known as Lombardic, while later examples use Gothic script.  Certain inscriptions appear on multiple rings, indicating the goldsmiths of the day had a book of stock phrases from which clients could choose.

Phrases:

‘A Frindes gift’

‘A loving wife during life’

‘A true friends Gift’

‘A vertuous wife preseurueth life’

‘After consent ever content’

‘x AMICVS x TVVS’ ‘I love you.”

‘As God decreed soe wee agreed’

‘ As gold is pure, so love is sure’

‘AS I DESERVE SO I DESIER’

‘As I prove I wish your love’

AXCEPT * THIS * GIFT

‘Be true in Harte’

‘Bee firme in faith’

‘ CERT A MON GRE ‘ (certainly my choice)

‘Content is a treasure’

‘Continew Faythfull’

‘Denial is Death’

‘EN BON’

‘EN BON DESIR’

‘EN MI MARIE’ (to my husband)

‘Far of yet not forgot’

‘Feare god love thy choyse’

‘Feare not mee, i’le faithful bee’

‘God above increase our love’

‘God made us two one’

‘God send me always of his grace’

‘Harbor the harmless hart’

‘Harts United Live Contented’

‘Humility is the true Nobility’

‘I am free for God & Thee’

‘I cannot show the love I O’

‘I give it the to think on mee’

‘ I have obtained whome god ordained ‘

“I joy in one yet enjoy none”

‘I x LIKE x MI x CHOYSE’

‘I LIKE MY CHOIES ONLY’

‘I live in Hope’

‘I love and like my choice’

‘I rejoyce in the my choice’

‘I with your pretty sight, will breed you much delight’

‘In Christ and thee my comfort be’

‘In love abide till death devide’

‘In loyalty Ile live and dye’

‘In thy breast my heart doth rest’

‘In thee I find content of mind’

‘In thee my choyce I doe reioyce’

‘In thy sight is my delight’

‘Knit in one by Christ alone ‘

‘Let the Lord above send peace & love’

‘Let this present my good intent’

‘Let love continue’

‘Let us share in joy and care’

‘Let vertue rule affection’

‘Let vertue still direct thy will’

‘Let virtue be a guid to thee * ‘

‘Live & Love’

‘Live and Love Happy’

  ‘Live in Love & feare the lord above’

‘ Love I Like Thee + Sweete Requite Thee’

‘Love is my joy’

‘Love is the bond of peace’

‘love never dies where vertu lies’

‘Loue to be louved’

‘Love till you dye and soe will I’

‘Love vertu’

‘Moe love to Myne’ More love to Mine’

‘My gift is myselfe’

‘my hart is thine’

‘My Heart I Bind Where Love I Find’

‘My love by this presented is‘

My love to thee shall endless be

‘NE MEUR BON’  followed by a heart rebus (A good heart never dies)

‘No gift like good will’

‘No riches like content’

‘Noe Heart More true than mine to you.’

‘Noe recompence but love’

‘None Can Preuent the Lord’s Intent’

‘Not loft but gon before.’

‘Not so able as willing’

‘Not the value but my love’

‘Of earthli joyse thou art my choys’

‘Oh hurt noty [heart pictogram] whose only joy thou art’

‘One chosen both happy’

‘Rather dye then faith denye’

‘Remember the giver’

‘Sith hands and hart with one Consent let nought but death the Knot preuent’

‘Some love in earnest, some in jest, I love her that I like best’

‘Success to our fleet.’

‘The god of peace our love increase’

‘* THE HART SAW * THE LOVE CHOSEN * * NEVER BROKEN * JOYND ETERNAL *’

‘The Lord us Bless with Good Success’

‘The loue is trew that I O U’

‘The Love of thee is life to me’

‘The ring is round & hath no end so is my love for thy’

“Thinke it not strange though wee exchaing”

‘True love is endless’

‘True love will not remove’

‘TRYFULL+NOT+WYTH+THE+TRUSTY++’

‘UBI AMOR IBI FIDES’ Where There is Love There is Faith’

‘United hearts death only parts’

‘Vertue paseth ryches’

‘Wee joine our harts in God’

‘Wee joyne our love in God above’

‘When this you se remember me’

‘Yield and Conquer’

‘You and I will Lovers dye’

‘You have my hart’

‘You never knew a heart more true ‘

‘YOURS TO COMMAND.’

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

Confess

In which Anais Wildheart (half-elf!Agi) confesses her feelings to Halsin. Mostly SFW.

He’s actually joining us.

Anais Wildheart could not believe what she heard the morning after the tiefling celebration. Halsin’s joining us.

A month later, and she still could not believe it.

Halsin was a calming influence on everyone in camp whether it was him telling stories, giving advice, and offering a sympathetic ear to anyone. He also helped in camp with any task. Except cooking. Gale is like Mum in the kitchen---territorial and not wanting to be bothered.

Anais needed advice right now, but she could not go to him.

Because it’s about him. Gods, I wish Mum were here. Or my friends from home. Maybe I could talk to Karlach, but make sure she’s not too loud so no one will hear. She was taken out of her thoughts by the man himself.

“Are you alright, Annie? You seem far away.” Halsin asked gently, his arms across his chest.

Oh shit. Oh fuck. Be normal, Annie. BE. NORMAL. She fidgeted, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, me? Fine. Just thinking too much.” Thinking about how I need to tell you that I like you far more than a friend should. “I was wondering if you’d like to go somewhere to talk, erm…privately.” She offers a sheepish grin, hands on her hips.

Thankfully, he took no note of her nervousness. I hope. “Of course. With so many companions, it’s hard to find a moment or two of privacy. Please, lead the way.” He followed her to a small stream north of camp, and Anais sat on a large rock. Halsin sat and looked at her expectantly.

Here goes nothing. “It’s been really lovely to get to know you, Halsin. Truly. You’re a fine addition to our little family.” More like “very strange little family” but just “little family” will do. Smiling warmly, her brown eyes met his hazel ones. “And I was hoping that perhaps we get to know each other…other than as comrades.”

To her surprise, Halsin’s expression was one of amusement. “I would hope we already know each other as friends. Unless you meant to know each other as enemies?” He joked, chuckling softly. “I jest. I do wonder though what exactly you mean. If not as friends, then as…” His eyes widened slightly, and his lips quirked into a smile. “Lovers?”

Swallowing, Anais nodded. “Well, yes lovers but also…I suppose…romantic partners?” She could feel her cheeks burning. Why do I make things so awkward? Why am I so awkward? Why is this so awkward? Fucking hells. “Because I care for you. Very much.”

“And I care for you very much,” he rumbled, reaching for one of her hands and giving it a squeeze. “I’m three hundred fifty years old, Annie. I’ve had many lovers, but my heart has not stirred for some time.” Oh gods here it comes. Another rejection. Not beautiful enough. Not good enough. Just a friend. “It does now. For you.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

Though Anais was tall (one might say too tall), she always felt so small next to Halsin. One of my hands is completely…well, dwarfed next to his. He’s so warm… She stared at him, eyes wide. “Really?”

Halsin chuckled. “Yes, really. Is the notion that I love you truly so outlandish?”

The past decade flashed through Anais’s mind---other noble dwarven houses refusing to let their sons court her because of her heritage; her mother reaching out to elven, human, and half-elven noble houses for interest in her hand and promising a large dowry; Gregor, a human, courting her briefly and wanting to propose; and then Gregor breaking her heart, telling her no man would ever choose to be with “an ugly fat half-breed cow” like her. She blinked back a few tears. “I know you love my heart, but the rest of me…” Trailing off, Anais glanced downward. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

“Anais, you not only stir my heart,” Halsin whispered to her in elvish. She remembered mentioning to him one evening that her parents hired a tutor specifically to teach her the language of her birth father’s people. “You also stir my loins. Nature outdid itself when it created you, my love.”

A broken sob escaped her as she touched his face and slowly kissed him. It’s not like when I kissed Astarion. There wasn’t any feeling behind it…from either of us. This…oh gods, I feel like I’m going to burn up. The kiss got heated quickly with Halsin’s hands now gripping her hips while her arms went around his neck. Anais was left gasping when the kiss broke. “Gods, I…I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.”

“How long, dear one?” He murmured against her lips. “Because for me, when I saw you in those worg pens taking care of those goblins, how I wished to take you.”

OH?!??! “I, well…if I’m being honest, seeing you going out of wildshape after we did in the goblins.” A pink blush painted her cheeks. “You know, it’s funny…Rath said you turned into a bear. ‘You won’t mistake the First Druid for anyone.’ One look at the bear, and I knew it was you we were looking for.” She giggled, caressing his cheek.

“Friend of nature.” Kiss. “Lunatic.” Kiss.

Smiling wryly, Anais kissed him before speaking. “Or perhaps a secret third thing.”

“Heh. What’s that, my heart?”

Her nose touching his, she grinned. “I just fucking knew, love.”

Suddenly, they heard a rustling of leaves along with muffled voices. Wyll and Karlach. Probably worried about us. Oh dear.

Halsin gave her a quick kiss before standing and offering his hand. “Later, my love, come and find me. I would know how you taste this night.”

Nodding, Anais took his hand and stood. “Only taste?” She teased.

He kissed her soundly and to her pleasant surprise, he grabbed a generous handful of her behind. “I’ll not leave you wanting. It will take everything I have to not devour you, my heart.” He said in almost a growl, his hazel eyes twinkling. “Unless that is what you want, of course.”

Swallowing, she nodded quickly. “O-oh yes, that sounds amazing. Definitely want that.” YES PLEASE.

He smiled warmly at her, giving her behind one more squeeze. “Later then, dearest one.” Taking his hand off her, he waved to Wyll and Karlach. “Hello friends!”

“So, when’s the hot date, soldier?” Karlach said, elbowing Anais in the side. “Gale is the only one who thinks it’s when we get out of this place and hit a town. And you see, me and Astarion think it’ll be tonight because…” She gestured at Halsin with one hand and wrapped her other arm around Anais’s shoulders. “If you two don’t do something, then Annie here is going to die of overwhelming sexual tension.”

Die of embarrassment, more accurately.

“Come now, let’s return to camp and get things going. After all, we still have much to do.” Halsin chucked and then met Anais’s gaze.

He’s making sure I’m alright. He’s so sweet. A giant sweet bear elf man. She nodded and offered a soft smile. Her parasite connected with Karlach’s.

SERIOUSLY?!?!?

Annie, I’m not wrong!

BUT DID YOU HAVE TO SAY IT?!?!?

Okay, but the face you made was hilarious.

KARLACH!!

What?! I honestly didn’t mean to embarrass you, but good gods, you’ve been longing AND lusting after him since he joined camp.

There was a pause.

Right?

I mean, technically yes sort of…

Oh, I fucking knew you got the hots for him as the bear.

KARLACH!!!!!!!!!!!

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

‘What is it?’ Lorenzo asks with forced brightness, retaking his seat by Angelo. ‘What jest did I miss?’ ‘Nothing,’ Angelo grins, ‘Giovanni was just lamenting about the difficulties of love, that is all.’ ‘Yes, well, you did choose perhaps unwisely,’ Lorenzo sniffs. ‘I wish you all the best.’ One doesn’t choose, Giovanni wants to reply. One is simply living one’s life, contentedly, then suddenly one is introduced to a small, blond, eerily owl-eyed man with elegant hands who asks: Have you read Hermes? You have? Wonderful, walk with me for a while and we can discuss it. Then later the small, blond, owl-eyed man asks: Do you like music? You do! Do you play anything? No? But you sing! Excellent. We shall make music. And one does and it is pleasant and then suddenly one is reading Plato because the small, blond, owl-eyed, bizarre man with nice hands seems to like Plato. Then! Then one is somehow thinking that perhaps one should read more Saint Augustine and Aquinas and one is asking the small, blond, owl-eyed, bizarre, slightly mad man with nice hands if he has a liking for debates and then one is taking him to watch absurd debates and he is utterly pleased by this and one is pleased because he is pleased. Then one is asking the small, blond, owl-eyed, bizarre, not-handsome but handsome to the eyes of one, half-mad and fine-boned man if he has read Boccaccio and he has and then one is discussing Boccaccio in the hills deep into the evening and there are sunsets to write sonnets about and nightingales sing and one returns home with brambles following and the man says: I enjoyed myself. We should do this more often. I've never had a livelier conversation than when I'm with you. And then! And then! One is suddenly thinking mad, frenzied thoughts of desire and wanting to see the man and not wanting to see him and one is receiving manifold letters and they are so intelligent and kind and teasing and delightful and also reading them is akin to getting drunk and trying to parse Greek into Latin (fitting, fitting) and one never knows what to say in response because one should be intelligent and if not brilliant at least witty and in any case. It's complicated. It's complicated.

That is how it happens. There is little about choosing in the entirety of the affair.

a silly bit that probably wont stay in the story but I just am amused by the three of them.

Also Giovanni's recounting of their falling in love is very different from Marsilio's which I will write at some point.

[ask-wren-zhang]

William in his little vampire costume (complete with a cape, pointy ears, sharp fangs, and what you think is an enchanted gleam in his eyes that turns the irises red) slides past Wren and her date. With an excited "AHA!" as if just realizing who he saw, the prefect paddles backwards, beaming at the two girls.

"Greetings, ladies! What a majestic couple you are, I assume you are participating in ze costume contest tonight? Vell, vell, vell!" he chuckles, remembering to do what he considers to be a "vampire" accent.

"Ze competition is fierce tonight but I hope you vin! In ze general category I vill certainly be rooting for Theo and Montrose (if Andrew gets convinced to come at all). Speaking of costumes..." Will pauses ominously and then nervously glances at Imelda. He wonders if she will curse him some extra during the next Slytherin practice for what he originally planned to do with his friends. Oh, perhaps he should've caught Wren at a different time, when the Ravenclaw is alone... Too late now!

"Any chance I, a true and absolutely real vampire, can turn you into one?"

She’s never worn a dress suit before. The constricting attire isn’t the exactly the most comfortable clothing she’s owned, singularly held together by a sturdy tie coiled around her neck, closing in like a serpent with her every breath. The Ravenclaw had discarded her casual shirt and plaid vest tonight for something more presentable; not that she’s never been clad in fancy wear before, but can’t help wondering if she doesn’t look too pretentious.

She’s even tried neatening her hair, too, which Imelda’s received with mild bewilderment. (“Oh. So you do know how to use a hairbrush, after all.” The Slytherin has remarked in jest.)

Imelda has dolled up, too, clad in a very proper but heart racing ensemble: black form-fitting gown, with bell sleeves and a trailing hem in an eerie flourish. Her low ponytail let down, in a rare instance, a cascade of dark hair falling down her back. Thank the stars! Wren thinks, as tonight she is free to stare at those imperious eyes while threading her fingers through those locks without feeling like she’s being overindulgent. As much as she can pretend otherwise, Wren is perfectly aware she probably looks a tad smitten right now. She knows if the Quidditch Captain could pick, she’d choose their routinely evening flight without question. Yet Imelda is here of her own volition without much of a protest, so clearly Wren must’ve done too good of a job convincing her coming with her, as sappy or suggestive as that sounds.

They arrive at the table exhibiting varied morsels and refreshments, picking up a few of the Alihotsy-flavoured fudges and plucking the dressing with deft but messy fingers, crumbs flying in all directions.

“Mm. Come to think of it, we’ve just passed by two students and a ghost screaming at each other, a pirouetting scarecrow and a levitating niffler, but I find the most odd not one of your friends is yet to hijack any of the enchanted instruments.” Imelda grins.

Wren suppresses a smirk. “Odd, isn’t it? Not as odd as that.” She tilts her head towards a figure a few metres away. William, clad in a cloak spreading out like carefree wings, frolicking past them. Not half a second later, his little knees are shuffling as he backtracks closer with a red light of merry devilment in his eyes.

“Oh Merlin.” Wren snickers lowly. “He’s spotted us. Run, love - save yourself.”

She can hear Imelda’s scrutinising gaze before even assessing the situation. At least her girlfriend genuinely sounds entertained, especially when the prefect not-so-subtly slip into a curious new dialect. “He even sounds funny now. What did you do to him this time?”

Wren presses a hand to her chest in feigned offence. “Moi? ‘Villiam’ came up with this all by his own hand!”

A mention of the contest quickly kicks Imelda’s competitive edge into full force. Wren feels the grip tightening affectionately over her gloved hand, listening intently and can’t help but be caught up in either Imelda’s spirit in the dim light of the candles, or William’s almost childlike dedication in his role, surrounded with the scent of wood burning into fiery dust. It goes on pretty well after that, even after they catch William throwing Wren a coltish glance. His enchanted irises suddenly appear slightly redder when contrasted with his fangs that shine like pearls. It becomes clear now; the strange markings on her friends’ necks, the incessant, silvery giggling from the darkened corners, the strategic making of this ‘vampire army’ she keeps hearing about.

So she plays along.

Wren rummaged about till she whips out a hip flask she’s been carrying. “No trifling with me, ye fiend! I warn you that you do not turn me; to be your pawn for your unholy bidding, your jackal when you wish to feed!” She moves impulsively backwards, holds out a ‘protective’ arm around Imelda - who’s now staring at both of them like they’ve just grown a few extra limbs - and flicks the container, spritzing its sweetened content as if warding off a demon with holy water, into the prefect’s fanged smile.

“Don’t worry. It’s apple juice.” Wren snickers, before she laughs taking off with the incredulous Imelda in hand, into the dancing crowd, as quickly as her dress suit permits her. “You’ll never take us alive!”