#he stops sitting back and fitting the role his mother demands

[octuscle]

I want to turn myself into a twinky fuck toy for a wealthy man. Can chronviac help me with that?

Well, as they say, everything's bigger in Texas… I'm a junior partner in a large New York asset management firm. We take care of the high net worth clients. To get into our client file, you have to have over USD 100 million in free liquidity. Our clients are demanding. But we are the best. And we do everything for our customers. Really EVERYTHING!

When I took over the clients of a colleague who had retired a month ago, I thought Chuck Tex was a stage name. Until I had my first appointment with him. His record was more than impressive. Heir to old oil and cattle nobility. Classic career of the Texas oil barons. School in New England, studied in Paris, Oxford and Zurich, founded his first start-up company at the age of 20. And sold at 25 for USD 500 million. Now in his mid-30s, he had not yet inherited a cent from his family, but thanks to his excellent education and connections, he had already amassed a fortune on a par with that of his old man. I expected… Actually, I had no idea what I was expecting… But I certainly didn't expect this:

Chuck looked like a porn star. Or a marriage fraud. Or just like a man who I couldn't wait to throw me on the bed and fuck me mercilessly. His handshake was firm, but finely dosed just before the pain threshold. His gaze could certainly cut through steel plates. But I was a professional, I kept my composure. After I asked him what I could do for him, he got straight to the point. First of all, he needed some cash for his stay in New York. USD 10,000 would be enough. Gladly 100 dollar bills. But hot off the press, please. That was no problem. I sent a short memo to my assistant and she would take care of it. But the real reason for his visit was a project in Greenwich Village. He had bought a few buildings there that he was renovating. His aim was to restore the Village to its former charm. That's why he wanted to create cheap apartments, studios and stores and eliminate expensive office space. The whole thing was not intended as an investment, more as a hobby. A kind of gay and creative Disneyland. I briefly wondered why I wasn't actually a billionaire… And then I asked Chuck what my role was. Whether I could help with the financing or with saving taxes.

Chuck just grinned. No, saving taxes wouldn't fit in with his understanding of patriotism. And he would have financed it all with his last start-up exit. But he would need someone to take care of the real estate. Someone to ensure the right tenant mix. Someone to give his studio apartment the right finishing touches. I briefly went through my network in my mind. I had a gay acquaintance who owned a number of bars and restaurants. And I also knew a good project developer. And one of my school friends was a hip interior designer. I smiled and said I probably had just the people he needed. Chuck smiled back. It made my heart stop. He didn't want anyone from my network. He wanted me. I was about to say that I was flattered, but that I wasn't available for such projects right now. But instead I said "Of course, Daddy". Did I want to accompany him to the construction site? "If I may, Daddy!" At that moment, my assistant came in with a bundle of freshly pressed banknotes. Chuck smiled and said he needed me for the rest of the day. Please cancel all my appointments. I nodded to her and followed Chuck like a dog to its master.

In his limousine, Chuck asked me if I had ever been to Texas. I answered in the negative. But the boots I was wearing looked authentic. Yeah, they were my pride and joy. But I wouldn't have ridden a bull yet. I shook my head and giggled like a schoolgirl. Chuck kneaded the bulge in his pants and said that I would definitely be fucked by a bull today. I only got out a "Thank you, Daddy". Chuck let me sit on his lap. He undid another button of his silk shirt and exposed his right nipple. Like a puppy on its mother's teat, I began to suckle. Chuck kneaded my bulge and said that I was a good boy.

The car came to a halt in the second row in front of an old brick building. The walls were covered in high-quality graffiti. There was a closed table dance bar downstairs and some kind of jewelry store upstairs. Some kind of jewelry on display. Made of stainless steel. On closer inspection, piercing jewelry, cock rings and stainless steel dildos. I looked in the shop window like a child in the window of a candy store. Chuck took my hand, pulled me into the stairwell and told me that I could choose something later if I was good. He stroked the long hair on the back of my neck. I love my Mullet. I look a bit like the young cowboys on Daddy's Daddy's farm.

We had just arrived at Chuck's empty apartment when I got down on my knees in front of him and unbuttoned his pants. "First you strip for me, boy," Chuck ordered. He tossed me a cowboy hat that was in a closet. "Everything but your briefs, boots and hat!". Eagerly awaiting the reward, I did everything I was told to do. "And now lube yourself up". He threw me a bottle. And I did as I was told. I could feel my hard-earned muscles disappearing. I felt younger and younger. Although it was hard as steel, my cock was getting smaller and smaller. "I think you need a little more decoration, boy," Chuck said and put a chain on me. Satisfied, he looked at me as I sat on the floor and could hardly wait for my reward.

Chuck took his boner out of his pants. And I leaned back in anticipation. I wanted to be a good houseboy. And today was the housewarming party.

Chuck's pic found @mensuited, yours @hellishin

[agentsquirrelsgotrobots]

@gelu-the-babosa-multiversal another chaos crossover for you.

Mary Poppins x It x rescue bots

Song rec!

I love Priscilla because of what's implied about her home life. It's implied that she basically lives by herself with the rest of the community presumably checking in on her. But, she's still a fourteen year old girl who's only way of getting attention is to demand it of others, and I think Mary Poppins would be an interesting foil for her - a magical being who is selfless to a fault, and isn't afraid to tell her off for being a brat to those who help her.

Priscilla's nanny was a living anachronism.

She wore a red and white dress more fitting for a 1950s house party than wrangling a pretentious brat like Priscilla. She wore a fancy hat, short evening gloves, a string of fake pearls, and had a sturdy leather carpet bag in the children's seat of her grocery cart.

Priscilla was dressed differently than her usual self, wearing an knee length pink dress, cut in a very childish style , with Mary Janes and a sweatshirt. Charlie took a double take, and realized that what he thought was a sweatshirt and dress was actually a pinafore over a long sleeved dress.

"hello, you must be the court ordered nanny. I'm Charlie Burns, Chief of police. Welcome to Griffin Rock."

"Mary Poppins, Au pair and live in nanny. Charlie, did you know that Psych residents had an empty pantry? That just won't do. I am teaching Prissy here to cook after we plant a nice vegetable garden so she can teach me how to make veggie pizza. Of course, the next couple of weeks look like I will be doing this Pro Bono, but don't worry, I know how to stretch a dollar where I can." She had a strange accent, one Charlie couldn't place. It sounded like something out of Kade's old movies.

"You shouldn't-"

"But no one else will, Charlie. I was the only one who answered the call for help." She grabbed a box of cookies from the end cap, and put it in her full cart. "There. That's a month's worth of groceries for the price of two weeks of take out. See Priscilla? I'm not going to say it isn't hard, but it's possible."

"I guess. Could we just go? All of this is just so embarrassing."

"it's not embarrassing Priscilla, it's real life." She replied, entering the check out line.

Charlie followed, fully intending on helping the kind woman pay for a portion of the presumably hefty total.

However, Ms Poppins had it covered, taking out a sleeve of cash and a binder of coupons from the pocket of her skirt. She paid, and put a little donation in the cup next to the register. She left with Priscilla, and Charlie checked out too. He took out his wallet, but the cashier stopped him. "she put fifty dollars towards your bill. Your total was fifty even." He said.

Charlie sighed, Mary's point well taken.

Back at the Psyche townhouse, Mary Poppins surveyed her work. When she got to the house, there was barely any furniture, decorations, or even evidence of life in the place. The house was the one thing neither the courts nor Madeline could take from Priscilla, being willed to her by her deceased grandfather with plenty of legal protection keeping it for her and her only, with money set aside with it for repairs only.

However, that didn't mean that there was enough money given to her monthly from her mother to do more than keep the lights on, water running, and Internet bill paid.

Priscilla was her most difficult case yet, a sufferer of both financial and emotional neglect, not just an unfortunate victim of a busy family. But now, there was future murals stenciled on the wall, a couple grocery bags of shelf stable and cheap food for her to teach the young teen how to cook, and more than just the bare minimum of furniture, with places to sit, pretty lights and decorations on the walls. Priscilla wasn't the artsy type, but Mary figured that everyone should learn how to paint a wall and use color theory.

It was hard, trying to figure out how to teach a human child the necessities of adult life that you yourself didn't need.

Mary could easily just live in her leather carpet bag in the back room of an antique shop for the rest of her life, and she often did, hibernating for decades at a time.

Priscilla brought in the rest of the groceries, Mary's previous sung lesson on proper fitness bringing her an easily maintained well of strength to tap into.

"Well then, let's cook!"

The two of them sat down in Mary's leather couch, moved into the living room in the same musical number that got both of them into shape.

Seven decades was a long time to hibernate in a carpet bag, and Priscilla's gym grades were atrocious.

They both ate their pizza, the remainder of that and a container of pasta was made to last them both the next few days.

Priscilla was actually a good cook, when she bothered to try.

That was the hard part. Getting the teen that had everything she ever had was taken from her without fanfare or given to her without an expectation of gratitude to give new things a try was an uphill battle.

Please and thank you was an old lesson that Mary Poppins had taught over and over again, and she gladly taught it to Priscilla again. She never blamed her or any other of her other charges for the failures of the adults around her. It wasn't fair, and no bratty child was too far gone to teach.

Luckily for Mary, Priscilla was not an evening person, and usually put herself to bed early. However, she would likely be up before Mary, and would probably be doing her homework at that time too. Mary didn't object to this, because it worked well for Priscilla, and if she was going to be up at that time, she might as well make the most of it.

That meant that Mary could improve her disguise. She could hear her old accent come out, and she needed to get more clothes that were a bit closer to modern than what she would usually wear.

Letting a few parts of her disguise go, she felt her legs buckle into her naturally digitigrade position. Curling up on the couch, she watched more modern British sitcoms to adjust her accent and slang. She found snippets or even while conversations that interested her, and rewound the show with a claw and mimicked the actresses until she could continue the part of speech without a script.

She brought out her compact, viewing her own uncanny face in the antique mirrored glass. The Dire Wraith smiled. She loved her job, and the kids she helped raise. Their joy fed her, kept her young and satisfied so she could live separate from the hive. She shifted her features back to her normal face, feeling a presence watching her. "Priscilla? Are you there?" Hearing no response, Mary Poppins got up and went to bed.

The next day was ... Eventful, to say the least.

The first of the trials brought against Madeline Psyche by the state of Maine was that morning, and in the evening, there was going to be a social worker visiting the townhouse.

Mary was determined to make sure that Priscilla had something to distract her from everything.

Starting with a new outfit. She had snuck onto Priscilla's computer the week before and found that she had a certain dress she had been looking at for ages. It had been out of the girl's price range, but as a treat, she had bought it for her.

By the smile on Priscilla's face when she opened the gift wrapped box on the kitchen counter, Mary had made a good choice. Her joy was filling, more than Mary was expecting.

"Priscilla, go upstairs and change, I will get breakfast ready. Pancakes and bacon sound good, right?" Priscilla nodded, and Mary wished that she could keep that sweet smile on her face forever. But, that's not how real life worked, but the least she could do was see if she could make it happen more often than not.

With a growl, Mary grabbed the dire wraith by the hair, hissing in Galactic Common under her breath before flicking a switch on her umbrella. An energon fueled blade popped out, no bigger than her thumb. She pushed it into the IT, and the wraith toppled over dead, Mary grabbing his collar before he could slide back into the sewer.

"Boys?" She said, gesturing to the bots. "Please take care of this predator. He's not safe for children."

She turned to leave, but before she could, Charlie grabbed her wrist. "Ms. Poppins, I want you to know that whatever or whoever you are running from, you are safe here. We take care of our own here."

Ms. Poppins smiled, tears welling up in her eyes. "Thank you." She said. "That means more than you think." She turned to Priscilla, who was shaking with shock. "Well, now that's settled. Priscilla, your hand?"

[transpat]

we weren't shown a lot of how pran was after the separation and so all we talk about is pat turned cold and harsh without pran in his orbit but i think pran's reaction after the kiss was the most telling of how he suffered during that period.

anyone else would be elated their crush of years liked them back but that incident became such a deeply seated trauma for him, his immediate response was to push pat away. he didn't think that they could lie, like he always has, that they could pretend, like they've always had to, that they could hide. he's such a thoughtful, rational person, he keeps his wits about him even when they run away, but in that moment where pat tries to change the natural of their relationship again, he doesn't think he runs away.

bc they've done this before. they tried being smth other than rivals, smth more than strangers. they tried to be just friends. and they were so violently separated. his mother reacted so drastically to him simply sharing a stage w pat. what if she caught him kissing pat just then? what if she noticed the meaning behind their shared gaze? what if found out pat loved him, what then? he lost pat once, he couldn't do it again, especially not now that he knew pat liked him.

i'd say he thought pushing him away would be better bc at least pat would remain in his life even if it was at distance. thou tbh i doubt he was thinking at all. when he ran from pat he wasn't thinking. when pat was banging at his door his thoughts were racing, incoherent strings of memories and emotions. when pat tried talking to him the next day, when pat came to his house, when he gave his guitar away, he wasn't thinking. he was on autopilot, the scar from three years ago reopened and all he was doing was trying to staunch the bleeding. the wound on his heart said: if u let him any closer, u'll lose him forever. and all pran was doing was tending to it, pushing pat as far as he could so he wouldn't have to lose him.

then pat wouldn't give up and followed him all the way to the beachside. there, removed from his mother and having had time to stop the bleeding, pran's head started to clear. there, alone w pat, he finally had space to breathe, to think. after he's pushed pat w all his might, after he's ignored him pretending pat was this insignificant little thing, after he's hurt pat as much as he's hurting, and pat still hadn't given up on him, pran slows down. the autopilot is shutdown, unrequired when he's alone w this boy, he slows down and finally thinks.

that's what u see him do during their impromptu date. bit-by-bit, pran is shedding his guard. bc last night he used his mightiest weapon, he drove it into pat's chest as deep as he possibly could, he thought now pat will give up, now pat will hate him, now things will go back to normal. but pat pops up again the next morning, unrelenting, unfaltering, unchanged. and pran's so relieved he loosens up subconsciously.

then he realizes that he can't do that either. he can't make pat hate him, bc that too would be losing pat forever. he can't take a step forward and its too late to go back, so he calculates his chances and lets pat in little by little. still scared of taking a plunge, still hesitant of rushing into a 'doomed' relationship, he instead uncovers the window to his soul. lets pat see. that he's not indifferent, that he's hurting as much as he hurt him, that he's just scared, petrified. pat understands what this is about and asks him if he hates him for the transfer. pran who knows how frightening the notion of pat hating him is to him says he was only angry.

after that pran continues to let him in, lets pat amble closer. they return back to their previous dynamic, but pran also lets him see he too is disappointed they didn't get to room together. pat obv knew who was the reason he didn't get beat up by the architecture gang that night. and when pat grabbed his arm, pran stayed w him.

now that he was thinking he had his doubts. how true pat's feelings were, how deeply they ran, what about ink? pat answered the former two w his actions and the latter w his words. he offered the bet, and now that pran was thinking he understood what this was about. understood what this meant for pat. for someone who always gets things done immediately to wait for pran, to offer him safe ground pran could back out of anytime, to hold back the confession he's clearly dying to spit. pran understands what it all means, erases any lingering doubts he had about pat's feelings. he needs what pat's offering rn so he takes it, but when finally takes a leap and changes the relationship, pran doesn't look back once.

[thisisarcanereverie]

Should’ve Known Chapter 7

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Wanda or Steve they are owned by Marvel, I don’t own the gif either I just got it from Pinterest,

WARNINGS:Angst, Swearing, the stages of grief, loss, dark themes, 18 + from here on out. Also mentions of potential abortions.

WORDS : 2,329

SUMMARY: You are detained and questioned by S.W.O.R.D. Wanda reality is breaking and Vision is acting differently than she remembers.  

In case you missed last chapter

series masterlist 

ULTIMATE MASTERLIST 

You stared at the plain and depressing wall in front of you. If anyone saw you they would say you were staring into dead space but that wasn’t true. 

Your thoughts were consumed of Wanda and the baby. 

You didn’t plan on giving up on Wanda, she had woken up, it wasn’t long until her reality came crashing down on her and you needed to be there for her. You needed to help her with the pieces that were going to be left behind. 

Your hand rested on top of your stomach, gently brushing a thumb over the shirt. You didn’t know what the doctors did to you while you were unconscious, but you were certain that eventually they would find out if they hadn’t already. You still had mixed feelings about this pregnancy. You knew deep down it was likely the only time you will be pregnant and you can’t lie, already you felt a connection with the child even though at this point they were only a little clump of cells. 

This kid would be special, you felt it oddly enough. You immediately wanted to apologize even though it couldn’t hear you. You wanted to apologize for the life that they might have to live if that were the case. 

You remembered all the somber nights at the Avengers Tower and Compound. All the nights Steve told you he sort of missed being that boy from Brooklyn who always picked a fight he couldn’t win. He told you if he had known what would happen when he accepted the role of Captain America. He probably still would have done it, but still live on to regret it. 

Wanda had told you that she could never truly let go, she can never fully release all the emotions she kept bottled up. That people got hurt. That if she could go back and never sign up for HYDRA’s experiments, she would.

None of them wanted the life that they were forced into. Yeah some of them had volunteered like Wanda and Steve, but they didn’t fully realize the consequences of such actions then. 

Nat and Bucky never wanted this life, never signed on for it. 

Your child would be forced to the same fate if you allowed the pregnancy. 

You considered aborting the fetus, maybe it was better for it to never live than be born into this world. 

Were you even ready to be a mom? You had money saved up but that was for rent and the last of Steve’s avenging money that he had left behind. 

Steve. 

The kid would never know their father. Steve would always be that blank figure to them. That blank figure would be filled with so many questions and doubts. Everything but him. 

You didn’t want your kid to look at that blank spot and only think of what might have been or hate. You didn’t want them to think their dad left them because they didn’t love them. 

You thought back to the chair splintering under your hand when you remembered the pregnancy. 

You could easily hurt them and the thought alone terrified you. 

There were so many reasons on why you shouldn’t keep it, how maybe it was better this way. 

On the other hand you wanted to keep it. 

You wanted to be a mom. Or at least give it a shot, at least for this kid. Maybe you would break the cycle of abuse that either your parents or grandparents started. 

There was no maybe about it. 

You would. 

You had to. 

Rationally you knew you wouldn’t be a perfect mom and the kid wouldn’t have that perfect life you always wanted, but that didn’t matter. This kid would have their own life to live, their own adventures, their own highs and falls. This kid would have something that you didn’t receive and that alone would make all the difference. 

They’ll have their mother.

-

-

-

Wanda didn’t know when all of this started. The endless pit of nothingness consumed her and that was it. She remembers everything thus far, the black and white changing into colors. You support her through it all just as you did before. 

She wished she didn’t have to send you away but she had no other choice. You brought her back, made her remember that none of this was real. 

Wanda made a different version of you, it was simple enough, it was a simple illusion. You were there, but not there. 

This version of you was happy all the time, was her closest confidant, all the things she wanted you to be. Like how you used to be before Steve had left. 

Steve did a number on you just like Vision did with her. Steve left you in a different manner than Vision left her but the emotional toll it took was very much the same. 

Steve left you on his own terms, he was selfish and left everyone who was counting on him to return. For that Wanda would never trust Steve, real or not real, again. 

Vision didn’t have a choice, Thanos had taken that choice away from him. 

Wanda could feel her blood begin to boil at the thought of Thanos, wishing that she could have finished what she had started on that battlefield then. 

Avenging Vision. 

Wanda recalls the nightmares she had when she came back, the image of Vision's eyes turning milky white and the stone being ripped from his head and the way his head caved in. You would always hold her, you would always assure her that you were fine and that she hadn’t hurt you during the nightmares. She knew you lied but the thought that you cared enough that you didn’t mind her or getting hurt in the process helped a lot more than you would ever know. 

After the funeral Wanda didn’t know she was going to bring you back to her apartment. She didn’t know how more precious you would become to her after living with her. Wanda came to depend on you a lot more than she intended. At first she wanted to be kind, she knew the pain you were going through and didn’t want you to be alone. You didn’t deserve to be alone. 

Then you began to heal together, you sat with her while she was on the other end of the phone lines waiting for answers and filling out paperwork she needed to sign to legally locate Vision. You hugged her during her nightmares, even though her powers had more than once flown something dangerously close to your head. 

Wanda had held your hand when she helped you move out of the apartment you and Steve shared. She was simply there when you needed her to be. 

Wanda grew curious easily, after the first few nights she was tempted to look into your mind. She had mastered the art of doing it without anyone knowing. However, she wanted you to tell her, she promised herself to never use her powers on your mind. 

Now she had broken that promise and made you play your part in this reality, the best friend. Wanda didn’t read your mind but she had played with it. She had played with something so fragile and even when you woke up from her illusions you didn’t care about that. You had only cared about comforting her, about bringing her back from the waves. 

Wanda had no idea what she could possibly have done to deserve someone as loyal as you were in her life. 

But now she’s sent you away, like she did with Garladine. 

She walked into her home that she shared with Vision, her heart filled with something so bitter and so sweet when she looked at him. Like she was seeing the sun after a whole week of only rain and snow but knowing tomorrow there would only be more rain and snow. 

Vision turned around upon hearing the door close, Wanda was expecting to see him with that light and lovely look in his eyes just as he’s always done. She nearly stopped in her tracks when she saw instead nervousness and caution. He didn’t look at her the way Vision had always looked at her, or hell even how you looked at her. 

He looked at her the way that everyone else has looked at her before. 

Like she was going to hurt him. 

“Vision,” she called her voice as sweet as honey, “is everything alright.” Her husband flinched back when she tried to reach for him as though her touch had become poisonous. 

“I spoke to Norm,” He said his arms were crossed over his chest. His face contorted into a neutral state. Wanda felt unsettled, she felt him become reserved. 

“Oh?” she said not knowing what about talking to Norm would make him act this way. 

“I unearthed the man’s suppressed personality and I spoke to him free of your oversight.” 

-

-

-

“Hello Miss. (L/n),” You didn’t bother looking away from the wall, already whoever came in here was on your nerves. 

‘Miss. (L/n) we need you to answer some questions about the Hex.” You looked over and saw a man with the most punchable face you’ve ever laid eyes on. His tone may be nice but you met enough men like him to know how to spot them a mile away. 

“Only if you answer a few of my own.” You retort, you saw how the man stiffened. 

“I don’t think you're in a position to be demanding anything Miss. (L/n)” 

“You wouldn’t have come to ask me anything personally if you didn’t need to. Unless there was something that I may or may not know that could benefit you and even then you wouldn’t have come yourself, men like you have people get the answers for you, no you would only come yourself if it was something vital. Something that no one else on this base knows about.” You cock your head to the side and smile, feeling empowered as you see his hands tighten into a fit at his side. You apparently hit the nail right on the head. 

“So I feel like an exchange is in order,” You say standing up from your sitting position. The guards on either side of the man raised their guns at you. The man told them to stand down. 

“I answer 5 of your questions and you answer 6 of mine.” You held out your hand. 

“Miss. (L/n) why do you get to have more answers than I do?”

“Simple, you want something from me and me alone. I can ask any other agents around here my questions and not make a deal with you at all.” 

His hands flex and ball themselves back into fists and his jaw clenched in anger. You really were getting on his nerves. 

“I agree,” he reaches for your hand and shakes briefly. 

“I’ll go first,” he says. 

“How long were you in the Hex?”

“I’m not too sure of that but it’s safe to assume that I was there since it happened.” you responded, memories of the Hex were confusing and the memories of that day were blacked out almost completely. 

“My turn,” you say. 

“Who are you?” 

“I’m Director Tyler Hayward of S.W.O.R.D.” 

“My turn,” he says in a slight mocking tone.

“How did Wanda create the Hex?”

“Wanda’s powers are tied to her emotions; it's probably connected to that” You state. “What is S.W.O.R.D.” 

“Sentient Worlds Observation and Response Department.” He responds. 

“Someone really wanted your divisions to be named Sword and Shield really badly didn’t they.” 

“Yes,” he said, “How long were you aware of the Hex while in it?”

“I was subconsciously aware the entire time, although I wasn’t completely aware until the Hex was in color and a hag gave me a notebook.”

His expression was puzzled but he dismissed it. 

“What did my lab results come back with?” 

“Why do you think we took blood from you while you were unconscious?”

“You're a powerful man who set up a meeting with me in secret to ask me a question you don’t want anyone else hearing. It’s not beyond you to secretly steal some blood to run secret tests on it.” 

“Touche,” he admitted, “however badly I would want that Agent Rambeau interrupted me before I could give the order.” 

Finally he reached the last question, the question he wanted to ask all along. 

“How did Wanda reboot the Vision?” 

Vision, he was after Vision. Somehow this made you uneasy, why would he care how Vision for rebooted unless...

“You have Visions body don’t you.” It wasn’t a question, his body gave him away. For a man who was running a semi secret organization he wasn’t that good at hiding his body language. 

“I believe you didn’t answer my question Miss. (L/n), “ he pointed out, “I guess that means one less answer for you.”

You rolled your eyes, you would let him have that. 

“I don’t know how she rebooted Vision, much less without a body, I don’t remember much of the day it happened.” His eyes hardened, upset that he had hit another dead end he went to leave. 

“I still have one more question Haybitch!” You called out, his feet stilled and he turned to you, eyes wide and offended at the nickname. 

“What are you planning on doing to Wanda?” That was the question you wanted to ask. His eyes crinkled as he gave you a sarcastic smile. 

“I don’t know,” he said, “I don’t remember much of that meeting when it happened.”

He then left you to wallow in your own thoughts. 

You knew he had a secret he didn’t want anyone else finding out. 

You knew Wanda knew it. 

You knew he wasn’t going to let her talk. 

You knew whatever his plan was involved her not being able to speak again.

[imthepunchlord]

so I recently read through your "Always a hero"-works. And now I am hooked on LfM. And while Adrien Seems so much different from canon, he really isn't? Marinette not being in his "friends-folder" means he sees no reason believing her over Chloe. (I cannot recall situations like that in canon but when does canon explore sidecharas much other than to akumatize them)

It essentially is canon Adrien, though been focusing on his worst aspects as we’re going into 4 seasons, and those issues have yet to be addressed and I’m a tad salty and LfM is a salt fic response fic. And Adrien for a while will have that salty focus. Largely because

And yeah, canon won’t put focus on side characters (or even truly focus on our lead herself) as those characters have to circle around the love square, their akumas, or 

Actually the most we got is Chloe. 

She got focus outside Adrien and the love square. Unfortunately, all her focus was a big waste of our time and essentially another tease of “is she going to be redeemed or not”. Ultimately not and its like, why even bother spending two seasons focusing on will she won’t she be better. That could’ve been shortened down to one. Now she’s a very irritating character and canon wise, I don’t want to see her with another miraculous ever again. 

Which is a shame as I was one of many up to see Chloe redeemed, especially since I’m fed up with the idea that 14 yos girls are irredeemable but Gabriel will probably be redeemed. It shouldn’t be like that for Chloe or Lila. But they want to push that these girls are absolutely evil, more so than the active terrorist who is a neglectful father and by Chat Blanc abusive so... 

It’s also a big shame cause there was so much potential in the side characters outside love square and Adrien. 

Putting this under cut cause I just go off and it gets lenthy. 

Alya could’ve had an amazing arc if she was a full time hero. Could’ve had a struggle of balancing her hero and civilian lives, as one she is essentially living her dream. Another option is learning, hey, being a hero isn’t all glory and glamour. And depending on the miraculous, there was more to learn, especially since I myself am not big on her having Fox anymore and there are better alternatives, both in matching her but also teaching her things she needs to learn. She could learn to be more of a team player and to be more conscious of her friends as when she gets going in her goals, she can be quite inconsiderate. She can also learn to be more self conscious of her own security as she can rival Adrien in reckless behavior around akumas. And in truth, any miraculous can teach her the importance of secrecy, not Fox exclusively. 

Honestly, Alya and Nino should’ve had their miraculous swapped (most characters actually don’t have a miraculous that suits them in terms of kwami,  powers, or/and symbolism).  Alya at the core is meant to be a supportive friend that is supposed to have her friends’ back, but also prefers to be on the front lines. Turtle would allow this, and teach her to be more aware of the danger she and her friends are in. It won’t essentially stop her reactive behavior, but she can learn to be more smart about it. 

And with Nino, it was always weird to me how popular it was for him to get Turtle. And then it happened in canon and I’m just put off by the assignment. Nino at the core isn’t a character that wants to be on the front lines, but Turtle is a miraculous that is meant to be on the front lines as a protector. Nino is a support role, but not in that sense. Fox would’ve been better as its more designed to help from the shadows. It won’t be as aesthetically pleasing still as Nino is so color coded for Peafowl, but would fit better as it allows Nino to be a background support. It would also help him learn to be more observant and aware of others, and wanting to be a director, you need to learn to put on a good show that draws your audience in. Mirage can give him a chance to truly practice this. Mindful, Fox still isn’t my top pick for Nino (I think Fox would be more fitting with Marinette or Felix), Peafowl still is as that’s what he is coded for, and even canon wise, it would be a more fitting miraculous for him than Turtle. But of what Fu has, Fox would’ve been the better pick for Nino. 

And speaking of Nino, it’s revealed from a tweet from Thomas that Nino had lost an older brother and that his hat belonged to him. That actually gives Nino an emotional tie in to the plot as, while he wants his brother back, he wouldn’t go to the extent that Gabriel is. 

Classmate wise, there’s potential too. 

Origins shows that everyone was afraid of Ivan and assumed the worst of him, he could’ve had an arc of changing those views. Go from being feared to being seen as a hero to trust. A source of protection and security. 

Juleka wants to shine out more. But she struggles in that spotlight and to even be heard. She could have an arc about being heard, and building her confidence. 

Rose is a girl ruled by her heart and is full of love and trust for others. It could be interesting seeing her have a miraculous and struggling with the factor that fighting is involved, but she herself is a pacifist (at least I get that impression). And that can be an interesting thing to explore, as she’s not wrong, but sometimes fighting is the only way. She can also learn to be more conscious that there are those who will take advantage of her and will have active malicious intents to her and others. 

Kim actually states that he wants to be a hero. Not only could him as a hero be fun, it could help him mature as a character and be more serious, as akumas demand focus and be treated as serious. Copycat shows that he can be an observant character, I’d be intrigue to see ML’s residential himbo be surprisingly observant and offer up advise to his friends. 

And of alternative love interests... 

Well, this is more Kagami than Luka, at least in terms of character potential and an arc to see. Though, as of now, if all the predictions are correct SPOILER ALERT, Lies will break up Adrien and Kagami, to me its going to make them another Chloe. More specifically, why did we spend two seasons building up and teasing these alternative love interests only to immediately break them up at the start of s4. 

To me, that sets them up as pointless inclusions who ultimately didn’t bring anything to the narrative. 

Either way, this is about character potentials and I see more potential to explore with Kagami than Luka, and that’s more on the writers and how they handle Luka as most Luka episodes wound up more about Adrien than him. So he is largely a character I just don’t know what to do with. 

Kagami though, she’s an aggressive character that could learn to cool it, she wants to branch out/rebel from her mother, she wants to make friends but struggles with it, and can learn to be more conscious of others and step up into the hero role, of helping others. 

Honestly, working solely off Riptose, she would’ve been a better rival for Adrien than Marinette. Not just as a love rival, which he truly has yet to have, but a rival in general. While she wants to branch out from her mother’s influence, fencing is still her passion and her goal, something Adrien himself lacks. Outside being romantically involved with LB, he has no passion or goal for himself. Kagami can challenge this, why is he here when he doesn’t truly care about fencing? 

And as a romantic rival, she’s one of the few who doesn’t need a miraculous to join fights, she can vigilante to assist LB and pay her back for her helping in cleansing her, but could end showing that she’s a better partner to LB as she takes things more seriously and is more battle smart in fights. Which ultimately would force Adrien to step up his game, take things more seriously, and wise up for throwing a tantrum will only take you so far. Especially when there’s a 3rd party member that’s judging you for your immaturity and shows LB she doesn’t have to bow to his whims just because he’s having a tantrum. 

...You know, maybe Luka then would’ve been better as Marinette’s rival. Not a love rival, Marinette has enough between Chloe, Lila, and Adrien’s fanclub. But more of a rival for Ladybug. Though, it won’t so much be an arc for Luka himself but one for Marinette. If Kagami and Luka are supposed to help Adrien and Marinette grow, then this at least keeps in that theme. 

With the show taking a turn that Marinette is feeling overwhelmed and stressed with her role as a hero and now Guardian, and slightly playing off Origins and her doubts of whether she’s a good hero; Luka could’ve been an interesting character for her to come across and consider. Ultimately, he is set up to be a very solid hero: he is calm, mature, shown to be a planner, and considerate and aware of others. Only thing he has against him is that he’s a removed character and is mostly seen sitting on that boat. 

Romance between them I’d leave as optional, but it could be intriguing to see Marinette considering the possibility of retiring as Ladybug and passing it on to Luka so she can fully embrace her Guardian duties and not be so overwhelmed. And in general, it is a big wonder, who would take over as the Ladybug if Marinette has to leave and not come back, or that she can’t balance between being a hero and being the Guardian (and in truth, Tikki is no longer a good kwami for Marinette to have as she’s developing an Atlas complex through her and she hasn’t been helpful as a guide and adviser in a long time). 

Now the show writers would butcher this, but it could’ve been interesting to see. Maybe Luka could’ve been a means to help her learn to manage things better if she has to stay LB and Guardian. 

But yeah, it’s a shame that this show won’t delve past the LS which has long since gotten stale and quite toxic. There’s a lot of potential, but they won’t touch it. Won’t care to. 

[gentlemancrow]

jonmartin, pre-romance, #15/28??

I did manage to get BOTH of these in! So we have a combo of "You called me, remember?" and "It's too early for this". Much like the others, the MINUTE I read this prompt an idea popped into my head that I just HAD to go with! This is actually based off a real life incident I had with a friend (They know who they are...) but it fit both Jmart and the prompt PERFECTLY! The names have been changed to fictional characters to protect the innocent. (Hint I was the Martin in this situation) Anyway this was super fun and cute to write and I made myself all squishy a lot. HOPE YOU ENJOY! <3

There were precious few reasons why Martin’s mobile should be ringing at exactly 5:47 am on a Tuesday, and precisely none of them were good. Still, the anxiety inducing sound alerting him to something ominously, ambiguously amiss struggled to worm its way through a rather lovely dream of his acceptance speech after being awarded poet laureate. The poem he had prepared for the occasion was marrow-deep and hauntingly beautiful, or at least he remembered it that way until suddenly he was reciting the lyrics to Abba’s ‘Waterloo’ instead and sweating profusely as the audience began to murmur in disgust amongst themselves. Waterloo was indeed blaring, but from the ringtone of his phone, not from his lips, and his stomach performed a cold somersault with the force of the wave of anxiety that had begun in his dream and crested up to lap at the base of his barely functional brain. The few synapses he needed for basic motor function and reading comprehension crackled to life as he clumsily batted the buzzing device on his nightstand into his hand and squinted blearily at the name.

It was small. That was an immediate relief. If the care home had been calling about an incident with his mother, either her health or the staff’s as a result of her, it would have been the full moniker of ‘Sunrise Acres Care Home’ ticking across the caller ID. Yet small implied a name, a person, someone he had in his phone and not just a random spam call, and anxiety spiked again as Martin scrubbed at his eyes until ‘Jon’ appeared in white hot letters on the screen. Sleep dissolved from him in an instant and he sat bolt upright in a tangle of covers as he smashed the green answer icon with his thumb and threw the receiver to his ear.

“Hullo?! Jon? R’you okay? What’s happened?” he demanded, voice still slumbery thick and groggy.

“Martin!” Jon’s silky, prim voice, thinned out to a tin can vibrato over airwaves, answered, “Good, you’re awake. I need your help. Urgently.”

Martin was already out of bed by the time ‘need’ reached his ears, yanking on the first pair of jeans he spotted in the laundry heap on the floor and hopping on his free leg to the en suite with his phone pinched between his cheek and shoulder.

“I’m on it!” he assured him despite having no clue what ‘it’ was, exactly, “I’m coming to you as soon as I can. Where are you? Are you hurt? Should I bring a first aid kit? I don’t think I have a first aid kit… should I buy a first aid kit? There’s a Boots just down the block from my flat, I could-“

“Martin, stop! What the hell are you on about?” Jon’s annoyed tone cut through his panic like a scalpel.

Martin stopped in the doorframe of the bathroom, brows knitted, jeans puddling around the one leg he’d managed to get through and left once again in naught but his boxers as he gripped his phone back into his hand.

“Huh? What are you on about? You said you needed help!” he snapped.

“I do! But not like… not like THAT. What kind of mortal peril do you imagine I would find myself in at a quarter to six in the morning?”

The initial surge of adrenaline fizzling out uselessly in his veins the more Jon talked, Martin sagged against the doorway and pinched his temples as he strained his words through a colander of civility.

“I don’t know, Jon. You called me, remember?”

“Right, right…”

A terse, lowly hissing silence of dead satellite replaced Jon’s voice, twisting Martin’s nerves as acrobatically as he twisted to avoid the point. He kicked off his jeans and stalked grouchily back to bed where he threw himself face down and unmoving.

“So, what is it then? Wi-Fi gone tits up? Forgot how long to steep Darjeeling?” he hissed into his rumpled duvet, a little nastier than he would have liked given the deadly combination of interrupted slumber and primordial biological survival instinct.

“I uh…” Jon’s voice deflated over the speaker, “I have a… problem.”

“Yes, we’ve so very, very clearly established that. What kind of a problem, exactly…?”

“A problem of an upsettingly… Arachnid nature.”

“A spider…?”

“…Yes.”

Martin propped himself up on one elbow, eyes narrowed with genuine and curious concern.

“Wait like a… like a spooky spooky spider? Or just an ordinary kind of spooky spider?” he inquired with as much levity as he could muster, given one of the likely options.

“Stop saying spooky. And the ordinary kind. I think. No, I’m sure of it. It’s merely the sitting on my kitchen wall like it owns the place and staring at me rudely with all eight eyes, judging me for skipping breakfast again, kind,” Jon answered with clinical pointedness.

“O… kay…?” Martin drawled, suppressing a giggle, “So, what’s the problem then?”

“What do I do?”

Martin opened his mouth to answer, but closed it again as he doubted that he had actually heard Jonathan Sims, the irascible, pompous, only capable of truly looking at him down his nose Head Archivist Jonathan Sims, ask him, a lowly assistant, what to do. With a spider. It would have been almost adorable, had he not scared the life out of him initially, but even that knocked it only down a single peg to helplessly charming.

“I-I mean, the normal thing one does when encountering a spider in one’s home? You kind of only have the usual two options? Er well, three, if you count just leaving it be, but I doubt you’re amenable to that one.”

“No, absolutely not, out of the question,” Jon declared swiftly.

“Didn’t think so,” Martin chuckled, rolling onto his back and sagging in relief into the mattress.

“So?” came the impatient invitation to continue.

“So what?”

“So, then what do I do?” Jon repeated brusquely.

“Well, you either kill it or let it go, of course! What else is there to do? Invite it to brunch?”

“I know that! I’m not an idiot!” Jon erupted furiously, “Good lord, Martin! Do you really think I would have called you because I didn’t know the only two options for dealing with an eight-legged criminal invading my home were kill it or let it go? Really?! Did you suppose this was the very first spider I ever encountered in my life? Is that what you thought? Or perhaps I had my own personal valet to attend to all of my insectoid tribulations, hmm? Just call the bug butler, he’ll attend to it straightaway! Do you ever stop to think before you open your mouth? Or do you customarily just air out whatever inane notions blow through your ears, no matter how puerile? Christ!”

Martin let the phone drop onto the bed beside him, away from the verbal darts hurled directly into his eardrum and taxing the output matrix of the speaker, as Jon launched into an affronted, mortified tirade, smirking and shaking his head.

“It’s too early for this…” he mused to himself ruefully, rubbing both hands over his face and eyes.

Once the phone stopped humming and glowing white hot with remote rage, Martin scooped it back up and yawned into the receiver.

“You alright there, Jon?” he asked in a gentle tone.

A ragged sigh crackled into a blip of feedback from lips too close on the other end of the phone.

“…Not really?” came Jon’s tremulous reply, “Listen, I’m sorry I went off on you. That was unfair of me. I-I just… I really… really hate spiders.”

Something squeezed in Martin’s chest, something about the confident bass flayed neatly out of Jon’s usually assertively solid mannerisms, leaving it abnormally thin and rickety. He sat up on the bed, cradling the phone much more gently to his cheek.

“Hey hey, it’s okay,” he assured him, “If anybody sympathizes about being afraid, you definitely called the right person. Need me to stay on the line with you while you whack it? A good heavy book will probably do the trick, or if you need speed and agility a rolled-up newspaper or a magazine might be better?”

“No! I wasn’t calling because I needed advice on how to murder the damn thing! I’m quite capable of doing that on my own. Frankly, I’ve taken rather a vested interest in honing my spider termination methodology over the years. I called you because… well you were going on about how you thought they were…” Jon trailed off in a series of garbled sounds of disgust, “Cute… of all things.”

Martin grinned and had to put the phone on his bare chest a moment, as if Jon might somehow perceive his giddy glee through the receiver.

“To be fair I’m a little odd that way. Most people feel much the same as you do about them,” he commented as he picked it back up.

“True, but that’s not even the whole of it!” Jon went on exasperatedly, “I also overheard you talking… must have been to Tim or Sasha but… you were explaining about how helpful they are to the ecosystem and what a vital role they play in that natural order of things, and how we always see images of them eating butterflies and beautiful things that make them look sinister, but how really they mostly control pests and the like… how you thought they got kind of a bad rap?”

“Wow I uh… I can’t believe you remembered all that,” Martin muttered, freckled cheeks dusting a light pink, “But what does that have to do with your unwanted houseguest in particular?”

“It was the last part, mainly. That’s what got me. The part about fear. That they’re afraid, too… You said there had been studies that showed a clear fear response in spiders… to us. They’re afraid of us, demonstrably more so than we are of them…”

One word of all of those slipped between Martin’s ribs and into his heart. Too. They were afraid, too. His thumb stroked and consoled the edge of his phone unconsciously as Jon blustered on, unbothered by his own unconscious admission.

“And now I can’t do it! Now I have to set this bloody spider free because you think it’s cute and want to make friends with it, and I can’t make it an innocent victim of my fear and I have no idea how!”

Martin couldn’t help but smile, imagining how Jon must be in his flat on the other end, scrunched in a corner all hunched up shoulders and furrowed brow with hackles bristling, squaring off with a creature who was possessed of no knowledge of the fear she symbolized, or the grace to understand the iconographical divorce to her salvation. Only Jon, quivering and still bed-rumpled and frazzled, could understand the magnitude of cupping that fear in the palm of his hand while reaching out to him with the other. And now Martin understood it, too.

“Hey alright, I’ve got you. Steady on Jon, we’re gonna get through this together. I’ll talk you through the steps, you just follow what I say, okay?” he instructed in his best 999 operator performance.

A beat of silence ensued, followed by a much more robust and emboldened, “Okay.”

“So, what you want to do first is get a glass.”

“A glass?”

“Yeah, like a water glass. And a stiff piece of paper or cardboard or something. If you’ve got a bit of post lying about, flyers and coupons and the like, those usually work well.”

There was a period of distant shuffling, clattering, and indecipherable muttering as Jon gathered his weapons, then sucked in an audible breath through his teeth.

“Alright I’ve got them, now what?” he asked, sounding a bit winded.

“Now you very carefully put the glass over the spider, then slide the paper under the glass so you trap it inside. Then you can take it out without touching it or worrying about it scuttling off on you and set it free wherever you think it’ll be happy!” Martin answered sweetly.

“Okay, okay. I think I can do that,” Jon chanted for steadiness, “I’m putting the phone down so I don’t louse it up, but d-don’t hang up, stay on with me, okay?”

“I’m not going anywhere, Jon. I promise. You’re okay.”

“O-Okay… Okay… Okay…!”

Martin listened as Jon’s voice grew distant, but somehow stronger, more like a war cry, with the soft pad of socked feet on tile, then a short stretch of silence, and then a chorus of oaths and yelping, rising to the crescendo of a door being messily flung open, shut, then opened and shut again. A drumbeat of returning feet rolled mutely close and melded into the scratchy rustle of the phone being picked back up.

“I’m back,” Jon announced.

“Is it done?”

“The deed is done… your little friend is enjoying some lovely pink dahlias out front as we speak.”

“I’m pleased for her! And… for you, too,” Martin said, voice melting into lilting tenderness, “I’m honestly really proud of you, I know that wasn’t easy for you.”

“I… Ah… No, it wasn’t. Thank you, Martin,” came the sheepishly measured rejoinder.

“You’re very welcome.”

Martin smiled privately to himself, and ran a loving thumb down the edge of his phone once more.

“So then may I rightly assume I have permission to come in an hour or so late today so I can go back to sleep?” he continued, already knowing the answer as he flopped back down on his pillows and rolled up into the covers.

He was relieved to hear a husky chuckle rumble through the phone.

“Yes, yes. I think you’ve more than earned it.”

“Brilliant, see you in a bit then? And for lunch?” he added hopefully.

The brief silence as Jon calculated his response hung thick and palpable in the digital airwaves.

“Lunch sounds good,” he replied at length, “See you then.”

“G-Great! Great! See you!”

Their phones clicked mutually off without the awkward jumble of sign-offs, pleasantries, and accidentally stumbling over each other’s words. Martin thought glimmeringly of the spider hunting free in plush pink petals, none the wiser, and of Jon, with new and irrefutable proof that not everything ugly or quietly cunning in the world lurked behind to cast its shadow over him. A spider could be just a spider, and Martin back asleep with both hands still clutching his phone to his chest, dreaming of singing Waterloo again, but this time to a rapt audience and thunderous applause.

[wafflesandkruge]

have your way with me until you go (zoyalai)

Nikolai and Zoya's morning routines are like clockwork. She wakes him with a drop of stimulant. He makes a witty quip. Neither of them acknowledge what's between them.

So when Zoya shows up late, it's reasonable to assume that nothing else will go as planned.

@grishaverseonline mission 06: free for all

a/n: it’s literally just 2k of pining, pls take it, it’s all i have to offer. meant to be a parallel to the carriage scene at the beginning of kos but it got a bit out of hand 😔 big thanks to @storm-dog-pirate and @mareshes for helping me beta!

ao3

---

When Nikolai woke, it was less surfacing gently from the sea of sleep than being abruptly spat out onto dry land by a monster. He inhaled sharply, his mind instantly assaulted with his surroundings. He was on his bed at the Grand Palace. Chains were once again fastened around his wrists. And an unfairly lovely face was hovering above his, her dark curls brushing his bare chest.

“Zoya,” he greeted with a groan, “how kind of you to grace me with your delightful presence this fine morning. I feel healthier already.”

She barely spared him a glance as she leaned over him to unlock the shackle on his right wrist. He caught a whiff of her hair, the same strangely familiar wildflower scent as always.

“Getting a head start on the flattery, are we?” Her voice was rough, strained. He could see a near imperceptible tremor in her hands as she fitted her key into the lock. It took her multiple tries to get the stubborn thing to turn. Odd, when she’d practically perfected the technique of unchaining a king from his bed months ago. 

He shifted to get a closer look at her. Dark shadows bloomed under her eyes, her brows furrowed as she attempted to unlock the last shackle. Her hair was in sore need of brushing. Saints, had she really emerged from her rooms looking like that? Perhaps she was human like the rest of them after all.

“Late night?” he attempted. “Fun night?”

“Only you would think of fun while facing war on six fronts, my king.” She moved away as soon as the shackle sprang open as if she didn’t want to be near him for any longer than necessary.

He sat up and watched her retreat into the sitting room, rubbing at his sore wrists. Had he done something to offend her recently? Besides daring to breathe the same air as her, naturally. He pondered the question as he washed and dressed mechanically.

When he emerged from his room, he found Zoya hovering in front of a gilded mirror with a ribbon in her hands. As he watched, she attempted to pull her hair into something more manageable than its current frazzled state, but each time she’d miss a strand or the knot would become undone as soon as she dropped her hands. His eyes met hers in the mirror. The dark smudges under her eyes only seemed to make them bluer than ever. An untold secret seemed to lurk behind their depths, but she’d probably sooner jump out the window than confide in him.

“You’re a mess, Zoya.”

“Says the man who was just chained to his bed.” There wasn’t nearly enough venom in her voice to reassure him of his general’s wellbeing. He crossed the room and plucked the ribbon from her hands. She made no move to stop him.

“You know, I once had a promising future as a hairdresser,” he remarked idly as he took a strand of her hair in his hands after a moment’s hesitation. It was impossibly silky, and if he’d been wearing his gloves, he was sure it would have slipped right out of his hands. The dark scars on his fingers were hidden among the loose curls, and for just a moment, he could pretend he was just another man. But Zoya would never be just another woman to him, would she? He used his fingers to carefully comb out the worst of the tangles. 

“Is that so?” The words were a challenge, or perhaps an invitation. He could never quite tell with her.

“Girls would line up at the door when they heard I was in town just to get the newest styles done by me,” he boasted. It was true, to an extent. By “girls,” he’d meant Dominik’s two little sisters, Faina and Polina who had adored their brother’s mysterious friend. They’d forced him to arrange their hair just like the ladies at court, and because he never did anything only halfway, he’d bribed one of his mother’s servants to teach him just so he’d have something to delight them with. For a moment, he could hear Dominik’s warm laughter as his sisters eagerly showed off their pretty braids. 

Some prince you are, he’d said with a grin as the two of them tore into his mother’s sweet pastries. All you’re good for is making the ladies happy.

Not just the ladies, Nikolai had wanted to say, but Dominik had already turned to yell at his sisters for playing too close to the river.

But now Dominik was gone, and all he had left was the broken country that had failed him. And Zoya, always Zoya. 

His fingers skimmed the warm skin at her neck as he pulled back another strand of hair. Zoya was barely moving, only letting out the occasional hiss when he accidentally pulled too hard. As he plaited her hair, his eyes wandered down to the collar of her kefta. It was slung unusually low this morning, and from his vantage point, he could see the tip of one of her scars, the paler strip of skin just visible beneath the fur collar. He couldn’t help thinking about how easy it’d be to lean forward and press a kiss to the back of her neck. Would she pull away? He swallowed and averted his eyes. Saints, this had to be some game of hers, didn’t it? Sometimes he wondered if the little things she did- sending looks his way that from anyone else, would have been a reason for scandal, or letting her fingers linger on his as she handed him something- were on purpose. But he'd heard the stories of the people she’d toyed with when she was younger and crueler. She played for the sake of the game, not the prize, and if the stories were true, she had yet to lose. He was never quite sure if she was playing the same game with him, but if she was, her winning streak wasn't going to be broken. He blinked and focused on Zoya’s reflection again.

“Zoya.”

“What?”

“What’s wrong?”

As expected, she crossed her arms and scowled into the mirror. “Nothing. Hurry up so we can be on our way, or people will talk.”

“People already talk. Why do you look like you stayed out drinking with Genya and didn’t get a wink of sleep?” He pressed the issue, not sure if she would tell him anything at all. Even after three years of rebuilding a country together, there were still some lines Zoya refused to cross. 

“Maybe I did go out drinking with Genya.” Her voice was curt, clipped. He didn’t believe her for an instant.

“Without inviting me? How treasonous.” 

“You were unwanted.” 

At least her poisonous tongue was back. He supposed it was better than nothing. His braid finished, he tied it off with a neat bow. “There,” he said softly, admiring his handiwork. He let his hands linger in her hair for a moment longer before pulling them back. “Now you look a fraction more presentable.”

In the mirror, Zoya’s lips quirked upwards. “What an excellent valet you make.”

He was instantly reminded of that night in the carriage, Zoya snug in his arms as they played the role of sated lovers. She’d seen him at his worst, and yet she was still here every morning to wake him and face the country together. He supposed he ought to have returned the favor somehow, but what did he have left to give? Somehow, Zoya didn’t seem like someone who’d have use for his eternal gratitude or respect. 

“Your buttons are done wrong,” he muttered as he caught sight of her kefta in the mirror. Either she’d had a very good night, or a very bad night, but he couldn’t decide which was worse. He spun her by the shoulders and hesitated for a moment before kneeling. Vasily’s voice echoed in his head as he refastened the first of the pearl buttons. A king never kneels, brother. But his brother had never met Zoya Nazyalensky.

He glanced up at her, but her gaze was faraway, her arms crossed over her chest as she worried at her bottom lip. 

“A king’s kneeling in front of you, shouldn’t you be a bit more excited?” he quipped, somewhat desperate to get a normal reaction from her. 

She raised a brow. “I’ve had plenty of men kneel before me in the past. Why would a king be any different unless he offers me a country as well?”

He moved on to the buttons over her stomach. “If I recall correctly, I already did. You weren’t thrilled.”

She stiffened. He rose to his feet again as he finished the buttons over her chest. The pearls gleamed in a neat line down the front of her kefta, nestled in the whorls of silver embroidery. He could spend hours tracing the patterns with his eyes, and he often did during particularly trying Triumvirate meetings. He resisted the urge to trace one of the spirals with a finger. Finally, he got to the buttons at her neck.

"Do take care next time to not look like..." His voice trailed off as his eyes left the saints forsaken buttons for a moment to find Zoya's exquisite face entirely too close to his. Even exhausted, her features still spoke of regality and poise, her blue eyes bright and defiant as they stared right back at him. Nikolai's eyes tried to return to the task at hand, but they met a distraction on the way, namely, her lips. Saints, her lips. He swallowed hard and tried to force his fingers to move. 

"Like what?" she demanded. 

"Like..." 

A girl in need of kissing. 

"...a toddler who tried to dress herself," he finished weakly. Then, as if his hand had a mind of its own, it drifted upwards and swept an errant lock of Zoya’s hair back behind her ear. His palm brushed her cheek and hovered there. He could scarcely breathe as if her closeness had sucked all the air from the room.

Zoya peered up at him from under her lashes, her gaze inscrutable. Then she sighed and let her cheek rest against his palm for the briefest heartbeat. Her warmth had barely registered before she was stepping back again, her general’s mask firmly back in place as if nothing had happened. Nikolai tried not to let it sting too much as he tucked his hands into his coat pockets. 

“Anything else for me to fix? A broken shoe? A lonely heart?”

The last one was a jest, but Zoya’s lips pursed as if he’d caused a problem she’d have to fix later. “No. Let’s go. The Triumvirate has been waiting long enough.”

She turned to go, then paused halfway to the door. A foolish seed of hope took root in Nikolai’s heart, only to be trampled with her next words.

“Don’t forget your gloves.”

She swept out of the room without another backwards glance, the scent of wildflowers and thunderstorms left in her wake. 

He would play her game, he decided as he found his gloves and slipped them on. Having his heart broken by Zoya Nazyalensky was still preferable to the impossibility of staying away from her. 

[exquisitley-obsessed]

Fiancés, Firebirds, Foxes and Fawns: 10

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: A few weeks after Briallyn’s attempt at uniting with Koschei, Lucien opens the door of Lockhart Manor to find Elain, cold from the rain and holding a note from the High Lady of the Night Court demanding her to assist Lucien in building alliances with the human councils. Forced to work together by their exhausted High Lord and Lady, Elain is able to convince anyone to do anything, while Lucien has the acquaintances to go anywhere he likes. Together, they attempt to unite the fae and mortal lands and unravel the deal made between Koschei and Vassa, while Lucien remains haunted by his own promise to Elain’s father. ELUCIEN, POST-ACOSF

Pairings: Elain x Lucien, Elucien

Warnings: Nine

A/N: I’ve added a tag list for those who wish to stay updated with this story! Just message me if you wish to be added <3

MY MASTERLIST

THIS FIC’S MASTERLIST

AO3

Chapter Ten: Human not Humane

Huckleberry Hall was thriving with life. Lucien had apparated at the bottom of the pathway leading up to the external arches and courtyard placed before the hall – and there were people everywhere.

Elain saw all walks of life, from noblemen to peasants crowded on the lawns and paths. It was like looking directly into a memory. In another life, Elain would walk among these people with her sisters and parents. Nesta would trot directly behind their mother as she sneered down her nose at the farmers and tanners, Feyre would drift a little further behind, looking up at the clouds in the sky. Their father would walk at the back holding little Elain’s hand, pointing out the flowers and the trees and showing her how to make a trumpet from a leaf.

That was another life and what Elain had always assumed was a happier one.

Mother knows what she thought now.

Lucien and Elain were hidden from sight down the pathway, and it looked as though they were the last to arrive. Looking around, Elain saw stableboys managing a small army of horses, farmers sitting next to wagons full of seeds, grain and fruit, there were even Lords and Ladies, perched under umbrellas in fine chairs, tutting to themselves at the display.

It was so…human.

The rowdy chatter, the children playing hopscotch, the delicacy of these little lives and how they were interwoven with one another. Another way in it being so human was that Elain knew she didn’t fit.

Years ago the sight of all these people would have simply washed over Elain, now it threatened to drown her. Looking around all she could see were people, people and more people. People she didn’t know in a situation she couldn’t control. How long had it been since Elain had spoken to anyone outside the Inner Circle or the Band of Exiles? She hadn’t been taken to any of the meetings with other Courts or any trips abroad – her family hadn’t even told her. They’d just left her alone and hoped she’d be fine.

Breathing started to become a little difficult.

“Are you okay?” Lucien’s voice husked in her ear.

Elain just stared blankly up at him; she wasn’t sure. His own eyes were assessing her carefully.

“If you don’t want to do this just say the word and I’ll take us home.”

Home…

“I’m fine,” Elain said, though a little breathily, “It’s just…I haven’t been around a crowd in a long time.”

She flinched then as a carriage thundered through the woods on a path far to their left, the noise scaring the birds who began a loud chorus of squawking. All of the uproar felt as though it were washing over Elain, dragging her down, suffocating her.

“Hey, Elain, breathe,” Lucien’s hands came up to rest on her shoulders as he pulled himself in front of her, blocking her view of the Hall and all the people surrounding it. Now, her attention was on him.

“Breathe,” he commanded once more before he joined her in taking deep, long breaths. In, out. In, out.

Slowly, the roaring noise and itching anxiety began to fade away as she became encased in the sensation of Lucien. The smell of him surrounding her, his hands on her shoulders, his eyes concerned as they roved over her face.

She wondered if this is how he often felt – like his entire universe sometimes shifted so that she was at the centre.

Once Elain’s breathing had returned to a steady pace for several moments, she felt something tugging from within. Without thinking, Elain brushed up against the bond and was surprised to feel a wave of emotions – Lucien’s emotions – washing over her. She was even more surprised at what those emotions were.

“You’re angry,” Elain whispered after a moment. Lucien shook his head but, he was. His eyes were burning, his jaw set, his brows furrowed – he looked as though he were furiously trying to stop himself from talking. “You are,” Elain prodded because, well, it was a good distraction.

Lucien sighed before looking warily down at her, almost as though he were contemplating telling her whatever it was that had set him off.

“I told Feyre a long time ago that she should’ve been taking you out to see the ocean or sunlight. Instead she…” Lucien trailed off. Elain wished he didn’t, she wished he just said what he so clearly itched to get off his chest.

“I like the indoors,” Elain shrugged.

“Do you?” Lucien cocked his head, “I thought you used to spend all your time in gardens and your greatest wish was to see the continent.”

Elain paused. How did he know about the continent…

Her father. When Lucien had come for Vassa he’d met Elain’s father and he must’ve tried to inconspicuously pick up as much information about her as he could. Maybe once Elain would’ve thought the notion strange but, she couldn’t stop herself from smiling shyly.

“Okay…” Elain tilted her head, “But I needed the indoors.”

“You needed both,” Lucien said as his eyes softened, “Fresh air, new places, new people – they remind us that the world is bigger than the rooms we lock ourselves in.”

The hands on her shoulders began to rub soothingly along her upper arms, and once more Elain’s entire focus zoned in on that point of contact.

“Did you used to lock yourself away?” Lucien grinned.

“Elain, I’m a 400-year-old fae, I’ve spent my fair share moping indoors. Tamlin was the one who eventually had enough, he threw me out into the woods of Spring one day and said if I couldn’t catch anything, I wasn’t eating dinner.”

“That sounds mean,” Elain half-laughed.

“Maybe,” Lucien shrugged, “But it got me out. He was a bastard though, I spent all day in a river collecting enough bass to feed a small army only to come back to the Manor and find an entire spread waiting for me: potatoes, honeyed-ham, even Tipiati – it’s a delicacy from Dawn. It’s this little bird and you cut it open and eat the heart raw-”

“Oh, ugh!” Elain giggled as she scrunched her nose.

“What’s wrong petal? Raw bird heart not sounding good? Wait until I tell you what they do with the eyes-”

“Okay, okay! Feeling better! Ready to seize the day just please, stop talking about those poor birds!” Elain laughed, feeling for the first time in forever the weight on her shoulders disappear.

“I’m going to get you to try it one day,” Lucien grinned, looking rather smug with himself at having made her laugh.

“Oh, in your dreams,” Elain looped her arm through his as they made their way up the path and into the view of the humans.

“Just you wait, if we’re ever in Summer I’m making you try Calamari.”

“I don’t even want to know,” Elain smiled, and for a moment, she forgot where she was.

Because her arm was in Lucien’s and he was smiling down at her as though she were a forest nymph bedecked in moon-flowers and in this moment, everything felt alright.

It was only when they were halfway down the path to the Hall, that Elain began to remember where she was, and she felt the eyes of the humans – humans she once knew – boring into her. She simply kept her own stare ahead at the open doors of the Hall in which she could see the fiery glint of Vassa’s hair and golden dress.

But her fae hearing picked up on everything. She heard the whisperings of the peasants, both enchanted and disgusted by her beauty, she heard the Ladies muttering to one another about her dress and how disgustingly uncivilised it was.

She heard the Lords grinning to one another about how they knew Elain when she was a little girl. About how they had first dibs…

If she wasn’t mistaken Lucien had gone somewhat rigid next to her and he was once more pulling himself to his full height, looming over everyone in the courtyard. One glance up at him told her that he was wearing his fiercest scowl, his entire being practically thrumming with magic that she knew was hot under the surface of his skin.

Then, Lucien was leaning low, his lips coming close to her ear as he whispered three little words. And then, his voice was the only one that mattered.

“I’ve got you.”

***

Time started to move quickly after their laboured walk into the Hall. Once they were in and grouped with Vassa and Jurian, Elain found herself being introduced to a plethora of Noblemen and Ladies. They shook her hand with introductions and light discussions of who they were and the role they played in the rebuilding of the mortal world. Elain was glad she had spent so much time looking over the documents and contracts as she found herself maintaining elaborate, detailed questions with everyone she came into contact with – and as each successful conversation passed, so did her anxiety, and she truly began to believe she could do this.

She often found herself using the same techniques her mother had taught her when attending balls. Except now, instead of conversations about dowries and marital prospects, she was speaking of trade routes and contractual obligations.

On more than one occasion she came into contact with someone whom she once knew. Some people, such as older, less wealthy men were kind and joyful, telling Elain how they were glad to see she was at least healthy and alive following the Battle against Hybern. With others, Elain could read the quite plain apprehension and slight disgust in the eyes of those she’d once known – particularly of father’s whose sons she’d once been a contender for marrying.

The Hall was busy with chatter as this was also the first meeting in which Queen Vassa was in attendance, and with the two new, unusual arrivals, there were many mortal civilities that needed to pass before everyone was to take their seats in the main hall at the southern end of the building.

Lucien never left her side, but not in a way that felt claustrophobic or hovering, but merely in a way that told her that he had her back. Whenever she tuned into his conversations she found that most mortals responded somewhat well to Lucien. At least, as well as they could given the circumstances. Many mortal Lords were interested in Lucien’s weaponry and experience in battle, there appeared to be an endless amount of questions regarding his sword of choice.

There was only one time in which Elain overheard her name in his discussions.

“Are you and the Lady Elain married then?” Lord McAdams, an old man who owned the human libraries inquired over a glass of port.

“We’re acquaintances, and while she is here she is under my protection,” Lucien replied smoothly. He was the image of relaxation, an easy smile that lit up the room playing on his features.

“Ah, I see,” McAdams winked at Lucien, who merely tilted his head in response.

“Pardon?”

“I won’t tell anyone, of course, you see, it is highly unusual for an unmarried woman to…well to…though it does happen.” McAdams was old enough that he wheezed as he talked.

“I’m quite lost Lord McAdams, though I’m sure you mean well.”

“Of course, of course, my boy. Of course, I mean well,” McAdams chortled, “Besides, I can’t blame you can I? You know I knew Elain when she was a little girl, her father used to take all three of them round to my house so they could have their pick from my libraries. She was the prettiest of them all, even then, and it’s always interesting to see how they…turn out.”

Elain was nodding along as a young Lord who owned the rice fields out West continued to chat extensively about himself. Though at that moment, she felt a pair of eyes searing into her back, particularly her behind. At that moment she didn’t need to reach for the bond to feel the protective fury that was radiating from her mate.

It was strange, but for some reason, she liked it. Some guilty, deep down part of her shuddered in agreement at the idea of Lucien being protective over her in the face of these men. It was almost a nice idea, belonging to him…

“Elain!” A saccharine voice pulled Elain from her internal tribulations and Lucien and McAdams faded away as a silver blur appeared in front of her. “Oh Elain it’s so good to see you again, you look…well!”

Delilah Darlington exploded into the conversation, nudging into the side of the young Lord who grumbled in response. She was bundled in a rather ridiculous silver gown which was bedecked in frills of lace that hung off the fabric like cobwebs. Delilah was beautiful, though, and a sweet kind girl.

She did not deserve the cruelty of someone such as Graysen.

“Delilah, I’m so glad you’re well! Congratulations on your engagement,” Elain said with as much earnest kindness she could muster as she pulled Delilah into a brief embrace.

They’d been friends, once, along with a small gaggle of girls. Nesta couldn’t stand any of them, she saw them as competition at balls and discouraged Elain from forming any kind of relationship with them. Elain had anyways, of course. It was something to look forward to at those balls, something to distract her from the wandering hands and unwanted touches.

“Oh, well, yes I-I uh, I didn’t know you were coming back.” Delilah looked strangely guilty for a moment, and Elain felt something in her chest squeeze. Graysen wasn’t deserving of this girl, and he wasn’t worth coming between them.

“Well I’m only here until some political goals are accomplished, then I’ll probably be heading back over the border.”

“How exciting, you always wanted to travel.”

“Yes,” Elain grinned shyly, touched that Delilah remembered such a trivial detail. Looking around Elain realised that the young Lord had disappeared, and she felt herself relaxing from the forced courtly act she’d been playing.

“It’s wonderful Delilah it really is. Being turned fae has been difficult, more than difficult it’s been…well, it’s been hard, but it’s almost worth it for the beauty of Prythian.”

Delilah, unlike the other mortals who changed the conversation once anything beyond the wall was mentioned, grinned widely and rubbed her hands together.

“I read a book after you were taken over the wall, it was a forbidden scripture from McAdams library that I managed to steal when I was over there. It detailed all things about Prythian, is it true there are Seasonal Courts?”

“Oh yes,” Elain grinned, allowing her courtier’s exterior to crumble, “Lucien hails from the Autumn Court.”

Elain shifted so that she was now standing next to Delilah against the wall and pointed out to Lucien, though there was no need, he stood head and shoulders above everyone, currently nodding along to something a small gaggle of women were chatting about.

“Oh of course, I can see it now,” Delilah muttered with a smile, but Elain was fixated and the now growing group of women that were trying to gain her mate’s attention. Delilah, seeing Elain’s line of sight, smiled wider. “They do that every week. They’re all eligible brides, see there’s Isobel and Lottie…not that they would ever admit it, but I think some of them want him to propose.”

“Propose?” Elain couldn’t stop herself from spluttering, feeling a protective fiery anger move through her at the thought. The idea that these women had gathered week after week trying to sway Lucien into offering them his hand in marriage for two years, it made her feel feral.

Lucien was hers.

The thought was like a stone to the head and suddenly the protective rage was cleared, leaving behind her internal shock and confusion had having had such an audacious thought. But by the way Lucien was now grinning slyly at the women before him, his confidence having tripled within the minute, Elain was pretty certain she’d accidentally sent that thought down the bond.

“Is he really your mate?” Delilah asked, her eyes twinkling slightly. Elain stayed quiet for a moment, and then.

“Yes. He is. We’re bound together by fate and the Mother herself.”

“That sounds very beautiful,” Delilah said softly, but Elain could not take her eyes away from her Autumn Male. It was like the thought had just truly dawned on Elain, the reality of their situation.

Lucien was her mate. In that way, he was hers.

And she was his.

“It is…”

“The meeting shall begin in ten minutes, please, may you all take your seats!” A loud, brash voice called from the looming doors of the main hall and the crowd began to move in the direction, the babbling only increasing as wives got left behind and Lords could engage in the locker room talk before the politics – Elain didn’t miss the several glances thrown her way as the men’s rowdy chatty began to fill the building.

“I must go but, I’ll see you soon,” Delilah hopped out away from her, giving Elain a quick embrace and a kiss on the cheek before she was waving and disappearing into the crowd. The crowd where her fiancé no doubt was hidden.

She had not yet seen him.

Just as she was about to lose herself in the throng, Lucien was in front of her, pushing through the men as though they were no more than butterflies to swat at. Before she could say anything, he was holding out his arm with a slight bow.

“Lady.”

Unable to help herself, Elain grinned at her mate as she looped her arm through his and was rewarded with an equally bright grin back. Lucien led them through the crowd into the hall, people parting for them as though they were a plague to be avoided. Elain didn’t mind, especially if it meant no one would stand on her train.  

“They can’t take their eyes off you.” Lucien didn’t move as he spoke, he merely muttered the words under his breath and had he been talking to any mortal, they would’ve been lost on the wind. But Elain’s fae-hearing picked them up, and she felt a shiver run the length of her spine at the secret conversation in plain sight.

“Feeling territorial?” Elain surprised herself by husking back.

“It would seem I’m not the only one.” She didn’t need to look at him to know he was smirking coyly.

“I don’t like the way they talk about me,” Elain moved on before her cheeks could start burning, “The men who watched me grow up.”

“It’s repulsive.” All humour left her mate’s tone. “If it soothes your mind know that I won’t let them lay a finger on you.”

“I don’t know if touching is the problem so much as the looking.”

“That dress isn’t doing us favours I’m afraid.”

“Oh, do you wish for me to get rid of -”

“Don’t,” Lucien said too quickly, his arm going rigid from where it was interlinked with hers. Elain smirked. “It’s…it’s a fine dress.” Lucien tried to concede.

“I think so.”

“It reminds me of home.” Elain stole a glance at him then.

“Because of the fabric?”

“Well yes,” Lucien’s brows furrowed as his eyes met hers, “But…that dress was my mothers.” Elain felt her shock roll through her. His mother’s? But this was a gift from Mor – right?

“You didn’t know,” Lucien mused, now seemingly unable to take his eyes off of her. Elain shook her head. “Ah, of course, I gave it to Nuala the other day, she wouldn’t take it until I said it was from Mor.”

“I’ll…have to ask her about it. Why do you have your mother’s dress?”

“Eris delivered it months ago, apparently she’d heard of our bond and wished to gift it to you as a mating present.”

“Oh-”

“I don’t intend to – I’m not giving it to you for that reason I just, I explained to Nuala my thinking about how the fabric and style is perfect for setting intention.” Elain just drifted next to him, turning his words over in her head.

“Is this why you are always dressed so finely, because it is a political motive?” Lucien, to her surprise, grinned wickedly.

“Nothing is coincidental, Elain, from the clothes we wear to the way we talk.”

“Whose we?” Lucien shrugged.

“I would’ve said Autumn Court Males but, I believe it is only Eris whom I share that trait with. Ah, here we are.”

The hall was set up like a Courtroom, with certain families, estates, and job sectors, sectioned off into small groups. Elain and Lucien, being the representatives for The Fae were somewhat isolated from everyone else. They were near enough to Vassa and Jurian who were bickering quietly from where they were seated to their right. The room was still squabbling and rowdy with chatter, and there were only men besides Elain and Vassa. The other mortal queens were not even present.

Elain’s eyes unwittingly began to search for Graysen. For some reason, not having seen him yet was making her nervous, it felt as though the longer she waited, the worse it was going to be. She just didn’t want to have anything sprung upon her.

Perhaps with the bond having been in more use the past few days, it seemed that Lucien was somehow easily able to gleam that Elain’s attention had returned to her ex-fiancé. Elain knew because he’d gone rigid next to her.

“What?” Elain prodded, turning to him. With the hall still full of chatter, she wasn’t worried about anyone overhearing their conversation. She’d thought she and Lucien had been good on the Graysen topic following their conversation in the kitchen doorway. Lucien didn’t look at her, instead, he appeared to be assessing the Darlington’s as they made themselves comfortable. “Lucien,” Elain stressed.

“I um, I felt you the other night, when you found out Graysen was engaged,” he began slowly, still not meeting her eye. Elain tugged on his sleeve forcing him to look down at her, she raised her brows questioningly to show she didn’t understand. Lucien breathed deeply, his eyes closing momentarily before he looked deep ahead, avoiding her pleading look. “I could feel what you were feeling.”

The way Lucien looked ahead, his jaw set and his eyes unfeeling, it was as though that little sentence had explained everything. But she was just more confused.

He’d felt her? Her emotions? What had she been feeling? She’d found out that Graysen was engaged, and she felt…She had felt tired, relieved, pitiful even. It was like some door had finally jammed shut after it had been fluttering between open and closed. It was a final sever in their bond and as she had fallen asleep that night, she’d welcomed the end of her time with Graysen. Her dream that night was a reminder that her relief was earned.

How could any of that upset Lucien?

Then Elain realised that Lucien had felt it. That longing, and by the way Lucien was now glaring at his hands, curled into fists in his lap, she’d realised that he may have misunderstood what, exactly, she was longing for.

She didn’t want Graysen. She wanted what he had. Not in terms of Delilah but, she wanted his ignorance, his ability to simply move on and find a new wife. She wanted his strength to not change, to still be who he was, to still have the world the way he wanted it with him at the centre.

She longed for the bliss Graysen had found, simply because that bliss made her agony so much more tender.

Lucien had misread her. She almost sighed with relief. She could fix this; she could simply explain to him why, and the small waves of hurt currently rocking through her would disappear.

Lucien wasn’t Graysen, he wasn’t going to leave her side in an instant just because of a misunderstanding. But even as Elain repeated this to herself as the room quietened and the meeting began, some part of her refused to believe it – some part of her refused to trust.

***

The meeting was rather boring. After all her research and all her note-taking, the first two hours involved discussions Elain had no interest in. It was about internal disputes, farmers angry with one another over borders, fisherman demanding wage rises, etcetera, etcetera. Elain was forced to watch as the Lords and Noblemen sneered down at the lower class, working men and had to bite her tongue the entire time.

It seemed that Lucien shared her disgust, as he regularly whispered quips in her ear about how mortal and fae weren’t so different after all. That the High Fae and these Noblemen had more terrible things in common, such as their treatment of working families and Lesser Fae.

Elain had tried to watch with an assessing eye, categorising the figures she needed to remember for later discussions. But by the time the lunchtime break came about, she was practically falling asleep on Lucien’s shoulder. It was after lunch that the room seemed to clear slightly, the farmers and peasants going home to their families as the topic of the Fae and Queen Vassa was brought up.

Queen Vassa made her introduction to the room, her voice full and powerful as she stood, Jurian watching with an all-knowing smile at her side. There were some small talks about property and Vassa was able to confirm her signature on several contracts.

Lucien got involved in discussions several times, and Elain was more than happy to sit quietly and watch as he worked the room. He was perfect. The way he eased into conversations, the easy-going smiles, the unconfrontational comments on trade routes and Fae resources.

Elain was surprised to notice that several Noblemen had taken a shining to Lucien and seemed to actively pursue his voice in discussions. She could tell a lot of it was fake, the way Lucien grinned at men whom he’d whispered insults about in Elain’s ear but, his courtier’s mask was perfect.

Elain was beginning to think that she might make it through the meeting without having to stand and utter a single word, until Lucien interjected a conversation about wrapping up for the week.

“We must speak of the matter that is Koschei.”

This seemed to be the first thing Lucien had said which the Noblemen did not instantly grin and nod along to. Instead, Elain saw heavy sighs and the rolling of eyes. It would seem that these Lords did not mind discussing with the Fae so long as it was about mortal matters. But talk of Death-Gods and magical firebirds, seemed to rather put them off.

“We have spoken of it. Weeks ago.” Elain heard Lord Nolan’s tired voice swim into the room. He appeared humoured by Lucien’s statement while Lucien simply remained passive. Stoic. They were sitting far to their left, and Elain had already glimpsed Graysen perched next to his father, leaning back in his chair. It was almost like he was trying, and failing, to impersonate Lucien’s image of confident boredom.

“May I remind you, Lord Nolan, that fae resources are only open to you so long as you stick to your word.”

“My word-”

“-yes,” a shimmer of anger was seen in Lucien’s eye, but beyond that his courtier's mask was flawless. “Your word that you would assist both Queen Vassa and her fae acquaintances in disposing of the Death-Lord, whose residence is not far from this very hall.”

“The agreement was to help you reverse the so-called curse placed on the Queen, and as we can all see, Queen Vassa has joined us today and therefore one might consider that vow fulfilled.”

“I am here on bought time,” Vassa now stood, her voice dripping in authority and power as she asserted herself amongst the men, “I shall not explain the means, as the explanation shall no doubt be lost on a room of mortals, but what you see before you is merely a temporary solution to the problem.”

“It would do you well, Queen Vassa, to remember that you too are mortal,” Lord Darlington now husked, his eyes predatory, “Or at least you were…once.”

“Oh don’t worry, Darlington, she’s just as mortal as I am,” Jurian grinned, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Darlington merely sneered in disgust.

“The point is Koschei is still at large-” Lucien tried again, the picture of relaxation from where he stood, looming over the room.

“And what do you expect us to do?” Elain felt her heart shudder as Graysen’s voice finally joined the others. It was only a matter of time.

Even though he was speaking to someone else - to Lucien - Elain felt her fight or flight instinct kick in. The last time she had heard that gravelly, low voice, had been when it had broken her heart.

“You fae clearly see us humans as inadequate, as proven by your Queen forgoing explaining her sudden appearance. No doubt caused by some dark magic, the same magic that threatens to infiltrate our lands and poison our people.” Graysen rose to his feet, his voice growing louder, and Elain noticed how much he had aged since she’d last seen him.

It had only been two years but the stress of rebuilding the mortal world without a wall had taken its toll: thinning hair, lines around his mouth, he’d also put on quite a bit of weight. He was no longer the young boy Elain had fallen in love with, a dreamer who wished to rid the world of evil beings. He was a man with a heart full of hate.

“Two things,” Lucien’s own voice didn’t waver as he turned to address Elain’s ex-fiancé, and she wondered how much they’d had to see of each other over the past two years. “One, Vassa is not my Queen. Two, it is somewhat hilarious to watch you whine like a pup over Queen Vassa not explaining to you her magic, when you are already so prejudiced to not comprehend the difference between the fae and Koschei. There is no magic seeking to infiltrate your lands apart from the work of the latter.”

“Koschei is fae-”

“-Koschei is a Death-God.” Lucien’s tone turned cold, and at that moment the sun dipped behind the clouds. “A survivor from the time of Old Gods. He is not fae, he is a threat to us as much as he is a threat to you.”

“The threat to humans are all fae and everything that comes with them.”

“The fae of Prythian have no interest in humans-”

“Oh please, one must only look to my ex-fiancé for proof of their machinations.”

The room went cold. The sun having now truly disappeared from sight, leaving behind a world of blue and grey shadows.

“Look at her, look at her unnatural beauty. Many of us knew Elain, the true Elain Archeron, the human one. She was beautiful but plain of the mind but set to live a normal, human life. Now look at her, she’s no better than a siren or a nymph, her beauty is of a freak nature and it’s only purpose is to lure you in, to cover the ugly truth underneath. Her and her two sisters were turned, stolen from their beds in the middle of the night and taken across the wall. I’m surprised to see you here Elain,” Graysen had been talking theatrically to the room, but that last sentence was personal, intimate. And when he caught Elain’s eye, she could only think one thing.

She hated him.

“Surprised but I suppose that’s my own fault, you always had a small fortune of ugly secrets you liked to keep hidden - and to think I almost fell into a marriage with you. You see, this is another reason the fae wish to infiltrate our lands, they wish to take our wives. Elain was stolen and turned only to be given to the male we see before us,” Graysen held his arm out to where Lucien was standing, still as stone at Elain’s side.

“This male was able to lay a claim on Elain the second she was turned. We’ve all heard of the mating bond.” A ripple of disgusted murmurs went around the room. “At that moment Elain, my soon to be wife, belonged to a fae male. Mother knows what atrocities occurred in the time between their mating and the moment Elain finally remembered her fiancé and came back home.”

Outrage and disgust were expressed around the room, and Graysen looked almost gleeful as he assessed the crowd.

“These two, this harlot and her owner-“

Elain shot out a hand and gripped the fabric of Lucien’s trousers if only to stop him from burning the boy to a crisp from where he stood.

“-have come here to mock us! They have come as a warning, to show us what will happen to our people - our women - if we allow this alliance with the fae to continue!” There were shouts of encouragement swelling from the crowd. “If we continue on this path then our women will look like her, horrid in their beauty. And worse, our women will belong to him as Elain belongs to him, as little more than a personal prostitute!”

There was something feral in Lucien’s eye as he glared at Graysen across the room. But while her mate was focused on her ex-fiancé, Elain was drowning in the leering coming from the crowd. People she had just introduced herself to a few hours earlier and had pleasant conversations were now staring at her with revulsion and disgust. She heard shouts of people calling her a ‘witch’, people telling her that she had no shame, that she was to burn in hell.

With her hand fisted in Lucien’s trouser leg, Elain drowned it out, she drowned it all out, and reached for the bond within.

Lucien was a tempest. Brushing up against the bond, Elain herself could feel the fire in his veins, could envision the rings of his powers, burning hotter and hotter all the way down to his golden core. The mating bond was taut in his skin, demanding him to defend Elain, to rip out the throat of anyone who would insult her. But there was another anger there too, a personal one. Lucien was furious on Elain’s behalf; she could read that now. He thought so highly of her and to hear lesser men insult her was turning him livid.

Sharply, Elain tugged on the bond and in an instant, his eyes snapped to hers.  

There was so much emotion in that one look. Concern, fury, bitterness, doubt. It was all there for her to see; he didn’t dilute anything. With as much delicacy and care as she could muster, she slipped her hand from his pant leg into the hand that was dangling by his side.

Slowly, she rose to her feet.

“It is true,” she began, and she felt Lucien’s hand squeeze her own. “I was stolen in the middle of the night by a group of fae. They stole me across land and ocean, all the way to Hybern. It is there where I was thrown into the Cauldron, the maker of all life, and transformed into a High Fae. This is all true.

“But my transformation was an irregularity, an unfortunate yet calculated political move whereby the King of Hybern attempted to get back at my sister for her killing of Aramantha. I expect you to all remember the King of Hybern, given that your own armies joined the fae in the Battle that catalysed these meetings two years ago.

“The King of Hybern was evil. Not the fae of Prythian. The King of Hybern was your enemy and the threat to human life. Not the fae of Prythian. Those such as Lucien here fought for your freedom. Fae died on that battlefield for you to stand here today, and you repay them by villainising them.

“There needs not be any animosity between these mortal lands and the fae realms of Prythian. I grew up like you, believing the fae were evil incarnations that existed to tempt human morality. But unlike you, I have travelled Prythian, I have seen fae from all walks of life, and the reality is the cautionary tales we all heard growing up were nothing more than fiction.

“The fae have homes, wives, children. They have towns and cities, farms, libraries and schools. They wake up each morning and go to work and each evening they have dinner with their families.

“This alliance is not about turning humans into fae, nor turning fae into humans. It’s about recognising life and seeking to protect it from those who might threaten it - and Koschei threatens all of us. We know he seeks to free himself from the confines of his lakeside Manor, we know he wishes to seek vengeance for his imprisonment. But there is much we do not know.

“We do not know how Koschei was bound to the lake, how he steals women of this land and turns them into swans, why he took Vassa, nor what it will take for him to be free. That is why this alliance is paramount.

“Koschei has a fascination with the mortals, he steals mortal women and mortal Queens. His residence is only a few miles south from here, deep in the forest. It is because of this we need mortal alliances.

“You do not need to believe the fae are good, nor must you trust us. But you must understand that all we wish to do is destroy a being who threatens everyone in this room. The alliance need not be a happy one, but it is needed.”

The room had quietened, the shouting had stopped. People were listening to her, and Elain had finally found her voice.

Lucien’s hand squeezed her own and she realised they were both standing before the room of mortals. She could only have an idea of what they must’ve looked like, side by side, glistening with the beauty of the Fae. They must’ve looked united and commanding.

They must’ve looked powerful.

Then, across the room, a man got to his feet. Looking at him for a moment, Elain realised it was the young Lord she had been speaking to with Delilah who owned the rice fields out West. He looked tentative and young as the spotlight fell on him, but when he met Elain’s eye, she saw a fierceness burning there.

“What do you need?”

***

Lucien wanted to get Elain home quickly after the meeting. Today had been unusually tiring, what with Elain’s debut in that dress this morning to the crowds turning on his mate halfway through the meeting. He just wanted to go home.

Correction, he needed to get Elain home and safe and away from these horrible men and their horrible thoughts.

A few noblemen came forth following the meeting expressing their devotion to helping Elain and Lucien in tackling the problem of Koschei. Most of them were young Lords who had come into their father’s wealth unexpectedly after the war, and their hearts had not yet had a chance to become polluted with years of hatred for the fae.

That was a success. No matter how often Lucien had tried to convince the noblemen to even speak of Koschei in the meetings, it seemed that the missing element was both Elain and Queen Vassa.

But before long Lucien had had enough. He wanted Elain home and safe now, and expressing a few half-hearted apologies he looped Elain’s arm through his and guided her out down the pathway before winnowing away without a second notice.

They made their way to the house with some small talk about how well the meeting had gone (Lucien tried his hardest not to spend all his time grovelling about how amazing she was and how fierce and strong she’d looked when addressing the crowds). The maids were there waiting for them with a pot of tea whilst they began on dinner.

It seemed that the meeting had gone on well into overtime and the sun was now distinctly plummeting towards the horizon. But when Vassa and Jurian finally made it back on horseback, there was only Jurian who entered the living room with a glass of whiskey.

“Where’s Vassa?”

“She decided to get her firebird overtime out the way,” Jurian sighed, something bitter in his eye as he flopped carelessly on the couch next to Lucien.

“Does that mean she won’t be turning back tonight?”

“We assume so, we’re not sure how the ring works but if Koschei’s little note is correct then I believe we won’t be seeing Vassa for a few days.”

Lucien cursed under his breath. Jurian just looked tired and…angry.

“There was a note?” Elain asked from where she was perched on her armchair, her legs tucked up underneath her, her dress outlining every curve of her body.

“Yes,” Jurian eyed her for a moment, “You did well out there princess, Lord Cao looked practically ready to sign you his battlements.” The Lord who had spoken at the end of the meeting.

“We talked after,” Elain mused, her finger running around the lip of her glass, “His residency is the closest to Koschei’s manor and he’s invited all of us to come visit, I think if we get close enough we may be able to get a read on the magic that’s bound to the manor.”

“Oh, fun, a day trip,” Jurian sighed bitterly, something clearly having aggravated his mood. He turned his scowl to Lucien. “Are you really going to let your mate within a mile of that place?”

Something dark flickered in Lucien’s eye.

“If Elain deems it a worthy trip then of course we must go. I thought you were interested in seeing Vassa free of the curse?”

“Of course I’m interested in seeing Vassa free, why do you think I’m here?” Jurian hissed.

“To generally give the manor a feeling of unease?”

“To make rude comments about people’s sisters in an attempt to start a fight?” Elain added.

“To make indecent comments about people’s mates in an attempt to-”

“Alright, alright. Mother, you two are no fun.” Jurian rolled his eyes, but some of the tension seemed to leave his body at the teasing. “Have you already eaten?”

Elain and Lucien nodded and Jurian got up with a stretch.

“Yum, leftovers for me then,” was all he said before he headed for the door.

“Jurian,” Elain called, “That note Koschei sent with the ring, could I see it?” Jurian glanced between her and Lucien, seeming to think before he nodded.

“I’ll send it up to your room in the morning," was all he said before he left the room. And once more, Lucien and Elain were left alone with nothing but a crackling fire.

There was a tension there that hadn’t been there before, or maybe it had, maybe they’d both just been too ignorant to see it.

The reality was there would always be that tension between them, that intrigue and possibility. Looking at her now, curled in an armchair, the dress having turned a glittering emerald in the firelight, he felt every inch of his skin respond to her.

Not for the first time, an unplanned fantasy strolled through his mind. An image of himself getting up off this couch and walking over to her, of him placing his knee on her armchair, in between her thighs, capturing her throat in his hand and lowering his lips to hers.

One blink and the image was gone. Perhaps it was the bond showing him these things, taunting him with a possibility that at this moment seemed unachievable.

“I, um, I wanted to talk to you actually,” Elain spoke into the silence, and briefly Lucien fretted if his scent had changed.

“Oh?”

“Yes…about Graysen.” Lucien’s hope dropped like lead in his gut.

“Oh.”

“I just wanted to say that I think you misread my emotions when I found out he was engaged which, I mean that’s not your fault. This whole bond kind of disrupts communication.”

Lucien just nodded. Looking at her, he saw the strands of hair that had come loose around her face, he wondered if they were as soft as they looked.

“I’m not upset about it. I don’t want him anymore,” Elain said plainly. “I just…I guess I want what he has.”

Lucien blinked. That wasn’t what he was expecting.

“What, specifically, do you want?” The words were careful, calculated.

“I’m not sure…his happiness? His ignorance?” Elain seemed to scowl slightly and then she was standing, setting her drink on a nearby table as she turned to the fire to warm her hands. Lucien pondered for a moment, definitely not using that time to worship at the way the dress followed the swell of her behind and, Mother help him, her thighs. Then he was up, moving around the table to join her at the fire.

Elain turned and watched him approach with an enigmatic stare, the fire reflecting in her glassy eyes.

“Graysen’s life is perhaps an easier one,” Lucien eventually breathed, “But whilst yours may prove more difficult, it is certainly more worthwhile.” Elain paused as she pondered his thoughts, and Lucien once more allowed himself to drink from her ever-flowing fountain of beauty.

“I just, I think it’s all so unfair.” She wrapped her arms around herself.

“Why?”

“Because why does he get to be happy? Why does he get to continue to live his life and just find someone else to marry? Is there no such thing as justice?”

“You are free to seek retribution Elain-”

“And give the humans further reason to hate the fae?”

 Lucien blinked. The timing of Graysen’s death would be unfortunate, but Lucien wanted to see the boy dead, even if that meant tomorrow an army would be at his door.

“The humans should be grateful the fae are ridding them of such vermin,” Lucien couldn’t help himself from spitting as he glared out the window. But not before he caught Elain giving a weary look and for the first time, he realised just how tired she looked. The way her shoulders hung forward and her arms curled limply around herself. Something akin to agony washed through him at the sight of his exhausted mate, followed by the overwhelming need to fix it, to take her into his arms and protect her from all the things that worried her. Lucien had to fold his arms tightly across his chest to stop himself from reaching out.

“I don’t want to have any revenge when it comes to Graysen because it’s not going to make me feel better,” Elain looked at the fire as she spoke, and Lucien hated the wobble in her voice. He hated that he didn’t know who was making her cry – him or the boy.

“It might.”

“No. It wouldn’t,” she said with such ferocity Lucien was temporarily reminded of Nesta. “You know why?” Elain scowled, her eyes tightening and her lips turning down into a cruel frown.

“Because I would’ve still loved him if he’d been the one to come back changed. I would’ve still married him, and I would’ve told him it’d be alright, and we’d figure it out together – and killing him isn’t going to change the fact that he wouldn’t do the same for me. That he would’ve never done that for me; and that means he never loved me the way I loved him. You don’t get Lucien. Killing him means nothing because there is nothing I can do to him to make him hurt even half as much as he hurt me because he simply, doesn’t, care. He will never even comprehend what he did to me. He will spend the rest of his life, even if that life ends tomorrow, in blissful ignorance of what he did and the damage he caused. Hurting him back would just be so…so pointless, and…I’m tired.” Elain curled in on herself with an exhausted, angry sigh.

“I know you think I came here because I was ready to finally deal with this…with us,” she met his eye and hunched herself into a smaller ball, her arms winding further around herself, “But that’s not it. I came here because I’m tired and there nothing left for me and, and I’m running out of-of-I’m running out of-”

She was starting to hyperventilate. Madja had warned her of this, the panic attacks that had become a side effect of her depression. She needed to breathe, she needed to calm down, she needed-

Lucien crossed the room in three strides. Some part of Elain wanted to recoil at him approaching her with such ferocity in his step and steel in his eye, but she couldn’t be scared of him. She could be afraid of the bond and what it meant to her, what he meant to her, but Lucien would never hurt her. Ever. That she knew.

He’d stilled in front of her, looking down at her enigmatically. She’d run out of words, and she didn’t know if Lucien understood what she was attempting to say. Every part of her was ready to just break down from how exhausted she was.

The silence drew on. The tension turning palpable, and when she was just about ready to fall to her knees and let the agony take over, his arms wrapped around her, and he pulled her firmly against his chest.

Elain let out a small sob as her face was pushed into the fabric of his shirt, her head resting against his upper ribs and lower chest. She’d never been so aware of how different they were in size; he was the tallest of them all and she the shortest. But it felt…good. And maybe she was touch-deprived, or maybe she was just deluded, but she found herself burrowing into him. He was so warm, and with his arms around her she felt like…like he had her. Like it didn’t matter if she let go and just crumpled because he had her and he wasn’t going to let her hit the floor.

At this point, falling was inevitable. Elain had been falling for some time, plummeting down and down after the Cauldron had tipped her out and washed her corpse on jagged stones. But with Lucien holding her she considered, for the first time, having a soft place to land.

She didn’t want him to see her cry, so she burrowed deeper. Her arms were still curled around her torso; Lucien’s curled around her back. Both of them holding onto her and keeping her together. A few seconds, minutes, hours of silence and she realised that after this, she could never forget how he smelt. Apples, warmth, musk, fresh Earth, smoke. Familiar and foreign. A stranger but…hers.

He smelt like an evening, an Autumnal evening, with a brilliant streaking sunset. The kind where it seemed like the sun had never been so alive, where the sun took the sky and turned into its masterpiece.

He was that masterpiece. The Autumnal sky. The Autumnal Sun.

Sighing, Elain waited for him to recoil. For his arms to slacken and for him to move away, for them to nod awkwardly at each and then go to bed and try to pretend that this conversation hadn’t happened. But time ticked by, and Lucien didn’t let go. If anything, his steely grip only tightened. As though with each passing second, where Elain expected him to drift away, he set out to hold on tighter. Their words had run out tonight, but Elain heard the message he was saying as he held her closer and closer. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.

Elain breathed him in, and allowed herself to stay.

***

Right then, she wanted to tell him that she didn’t know how to do this, but she knew she didn’t want to hurt him. She wanted to say that she wasn’t sure if she could love again, that she might be a lost cause because Graysen had so thoroughly ruined her trust, and she wasn’t sure how high she’d built the walls around both her heart and mind. She wanted to say that she was lonely, and that she thought he was too, and what a funny pair they were in this world full of light and dark. Where good came in the form of people who made them both feel so alone.

She wanted to say that she was at a breaking point and had been for some time. That even though the war had ended it still raged within her. That no one else seemed to care because they’d got the happy endings whilst she just…existed.

She wanted to say that she didn’t know what she wanted. That her dream of being a wife and mother had been buried when she first tried to kill herself, three days after the Cauldron. Because how could she care for anyone else, especially a child, when she couldn’t care for herself.

She wanted to say that right now, in this moment, she just wanted to know him.

She just wanted a friend.

She wanted…

She wanted…

She wanted to run away and never look back. She wanted to damn the world that damned her. She wanted a brain that worked. A family she felt connected to. Someone to care.

Someone to fucking care. That was all.

But for now, this was enough. Lucien pulling her into his arms before she finally collapsed was enough. And so, tonight, she’d sleep. And that was enough too.

[dragon-ball-meta]

It's amazing how the very things some 'fans' dunk on Krillin and Chi-Chi for and wonder why their significant others chose them are the very things that 18 and Goku love about them. I.E his gentleness and good heart and her tough as nails strong willed nature etc.

OK... I have a take on this that may be a tiny bit controversial, but I feel it needs to be said. The reason Krillin and Chi-Chi are dunked on for their personalities, especially in a series where characters with similar ones are loved, is not because of their personalities. ...it’s because they’re not seen as sexy. Both in terms of appearance and personality. No, you didn’t read that wrong and I’m going to explain to you why. Chi-Chi is seen as bitchy, bossy, always trying to have things her way, “forcing Goku to do things he doesn’t want to do” like... get a job or spend some time doing normal family stuff. How awful. The thing is, there’s another character in this series who had similar personality traits dialed up to freakin’ 11. And that character is Bulma. Bulma was always very bossy. She was borderline abusive at times (if you look at that outside the context of comedic overreactions, at least), she would throw a fit over other girls talking to Yamcha and accuse him of cheating, she would demand attention, she would turn on a dime and flirt openly with anyone she found attractive, and even when on a mission to revive her boyfriend whom she had wept over, she... found herself thinking of other men and even trying to throw tail at Zarbon (in her anime depiction at least, but in the manga she was still dazed by his good looks). She was selfish, would slap, kick, punch, scream, etc. But she’s never really considered to be a shrew, or a “bitch”, or what have you because... well... she’s sexy. She shows skin, shows cleavage, flaunts her curves, is fashionable. She’s seen as a sort of “sex symbol” for it rather than in any sort of negative light. And yes, Bulma does change and grow up as the series progresses, but there are still elements of this present in her, and even when she hadn’t? She was still loved by the fandom. And to further illustrate this, not only does Vegeta acknowledge that’s part of what he finds attractive about Bulma, a la Goku with Chi-Chi, but even in the fandom itself, when there are fan works or figures sexualizing or “sexing up” Chi-Chi in the same way as Bulma? They are RIGHT there lining up to drool. The same dudes who say they can’t STAND her will sit there and WISH she would wear that in the show, act like that in the show, etc. They openly bemoan that she stopped wearing the barbarian bikini armor and started dressing more conservatively. And on the flipside, some also bemoan that she, unlike Bulma, is a more traditional housewife, happily. Bulma’s out there running a whole company, y’see, so any of these other women being more traditional wives or mothers? That’s a negative. And since Chi-Chi is the epitome of that, SHE is bad while Bulma is good. (To be clear, there’s a whole other discussion to be had there as to whether some of that is a valid series criticism to some degree, but I’ve seen people take that wayyy too far with Chi-Chi.) They say she was hindering Goku by trying to hold him responsible, they say that she “ruined” Gohan by FORCING him to study instead of fight, and ignore that Gohan himself preferred it. (He’s a SAIYAN, y’see, he HAS to like fighting, it’s in his blood. Chi-Chi just choked it out of him, that’s all!) Ridiculousness of that sort. And on the Krillin front... well.. just look at Gohan. Gohan and Krillin have shockingly similar personalities. They’re both dorks, they both have a corny sense of humor (in a loveable way), they’re both a bit socially awkward with the opposite sex, they both love and dote on their families and adore their daughters, both even get back into martial arts for the sake of their families but put their jobs and roles as family men and breadwinners first and foremost.  But for some reason, you see Gohan with these ridiculous, over-the-top harems and Krillin the victim of NTR by pretty much every character in the entire franchise at this point. Some people actually even ship 18 with Gohan over Krillin because they think the “take-charge dominant woman x nerd” dynamic is better when that’s the same dynamic that exists with her and Krillin. Why? Well... because Gohan is sexy. Gohan is powerful, traditionally handsome, tall and muscular. Krillin is... short. Missing a nose. Comparatively not powerful and not as muscular. His gentleness is seen as weakness, not kindness. He doesn't have his badass moments of beating the snot out of the main villain while glaring and making women swoon and men jealous. Ergo, he is bad. He is a beta male. He is a “cuck”. He doesn’t “deserve” his wife, he doesn’t “deserve” to be anything but a joke. 18 “settled” for him, and thus their relationship is “toxic”. I even once saw someone say that she settled in a series where “the men are ranked by actual, literal numbers (power levels)” and that 18 thus “not only settled, but sank to near the center of the earth” with Krillin. I’ve seen people say that since Toriyama said in interviews outside the series that he partly let Krillin have his dream of getting married because he felt bad for always writing him having bad things happen to him, that their relationship is bad because that also means 18 got with him out of pity or obligation and teaches that “women are rewards” when the manga itself shoots that whole idea down. These are all real takes. Make no mistake, Gohan will sometimes be bashed by those who have toxic ideas of masculinity as well, but he still gets an overall pass because of his cool factor and... well, sex appeal. Even straight dudes find him cool enough to project onto, and others just lust after him. Plus, if push comes to shove, just imagine that Gohan became “badass again” in fanfic land. Much harder sell with someone like Krillin. The fandom has a very, very nasty case of double-standards throughout, however. This is just the tip of a very unfortunate iceberg.

[amwritingmeta]

15x19: A First Ending

This was a good episode! Oh, I know, I know - we didn’t get Cas back. But oh, boy, that should mean that Misha shot for five of eight days for 15x20 and that makes me want to rub my hands together with the hope of what that might mean. All the good things!

Oh, don’t hang your hopes on mine btw. I had very high hopes that we’d get Cas back, or very strongly established as coming back (as per 13x04) with a final scene of him waking up in the Empty or something like it, and that didn’t happen, but omg I’m so glad they didn’t.

When Jack started praying and reaching out to Cas my heart almost stopped. 

If Dean doesn’t instigate Cas’ return, then oh it would take away too much!

But then Jack’s moment didn’t lead to anything, and now, the more I think about it, there more it feels like a plant. A reminder of how he prayed to Cas the last time, and woke him. We shall see, eh?

And then we got Dean telling Chuck to bring Cas back, which was a pivotal plant as well. I’d been worried if they hadn’t mentioned Cas more than once, with Dean telling Jack and Sam that Cas sacrificed himself to save him, yeah? 

If there had been no more Cas for the entire episode then, narratively speaking, I would have started wondering what role Cas might actually play in 15x20.

But Cas was mentioned more than once. We even got to hear his voice and have that fake return to stir our... I almost wrote loins, but that’s not appropriate so let’s change it to stir our... martinis. 

Ah yes. We could all use a drink, I’m sure.

The dog as well! Dean was so happy and he carried the dog and petted the dog and put it in Cas’ spot in the backseat and was all, yes, emotional substitute! And then... poof. Because it’s not going to be that easy to replace Cas. *fingers crossed*

Here’s mostly why I’m hopeful for something quite different as the actual finale of the show, the proper wrapping up of these character journeys:

This first ending is for those who have followed the show explicitly to watch these two brothers. (yes there’s a word for them but let’s not)

It ends exactly how these viewers -- and quite possibly the writers who wrote it -- always saw the show ending. It gives an emotionally satisfying wrapping up of all the thematic threads of the show and gives the brothers their hard-won freedom, and keeps the brothers riding in Baby, together, indefinitely. 

And these viewers and fans will always be able to stop watching the show there and keep that as their perfect ending.

Except it’s not the ending-ending. Is it?

This episode neatly and gorgeously wrapped up the Michael/Lucifer/Chuck storyline. It wiped the slate completely clean. Especially with Michael killing Lucifer and Chuck killing Michael. These characters just completely annihilating  each other because they’ve all served their purpose.

And Chuck being drained of his powers and ending up ignored, never to be worshipped again, or even remembered, is such a fitting ending for him! And with Dean refusing to kill him, leaving him to his fate, I’d call that Dean integrating his Shadow.

No more fearing it. It’s powerless. Thanks to Jack (Dean’s inner child) who now holds all the power in the universe.

I’d say Dean Winchester has reached a point of internal balance.

And for all of these good things: Chuck powerless, Jack the New God, surely helping to fix what Cas broke by restoring Heaven (I’m assuming Heaven will be repopulated or that God’s grace will level it out) and Jack stepping into shoes that Cas once tried to fill and failed to, to the detriment to so many of his kin, is simply stunning.

I cried, properly, at Jack’s speech. It was beautiful.

But for all these good things and wrappings up of stuff, didn’t the ending feel kind of superficial? Like stuff was missing in those final five minutes or so? Like... I don’t know... Sam mentioning Eileen maybe? Because surely she was brought back along with everyone else, and one episode ago he was losing his mind over the loss of her.

And they didn’t even mention Cas. Jack mentioned Castiel as a good influence, but Cas was just bunched in with “everyone we’ve lost along the way”.

Meh.

Hey, it’s fine if all you care about is Dean and Sam and you think that they’re at their happiest when they get to drive along a road in Baby, listening to tunes and play-fighting and reminiscing about all those people that have come and gone, while they know they’ll always remain the same.

I mean, if we hadn’t gotten that montage at the end of this episode (a fucking MONTAGE ppl) I would’ve started thinking that maybe Misha was coming back to shoot flashbacks for 15x20, as we got to see the brothers remembering Cas (like with Mary), taking a walk down memory lane and driving around to well-known locales for a final hurrah.

But we got that fucking montage, ppl.

Leaving me to feel that they probably won’t also spend forty minutes rememberembering those same people. You know?

Also, dull. And Dabb is anything but dull. And Dabb loves pulling on stuff he’s hinted at in the first ep of the season. 

And I remember reacting to Sam being the one to escort the kid and her mother into the, what was it? The high school, right? For safety.

While Dean and Cas had that tense exchange by Baby, where Dean couldn’t not ask if Cas was okay and Cas saying, hopefully, that he was, but Dean remaining stone faced and distant. “Awkward” is what Belphegor called it.

Oh. Please let there be awkwardness in 15x20. I beg on bent knees. Beg, I say!

Anyway.

What is 15x20 going to be about if it isn’t about finally answering the question of what will make the brothers happy?

A balanced universe, of course! But freedom without love... sounds kind of lonely to me. 

So, have they answered the question of What do I want? yet? Is this what they want for themselves? More of the same? This season has hinted that it isn’t. It’s hinted very strongly that it isn’t.

So, I’m holding my breath that Dean’s final confrontation is to do with happiness and daring to want it for himself. Daring to admit to wanting it for himself. Daring to go after it... 

Cas does not belong in the Empty.

And hope that it’s telling how Jack didn’t even think to get Cas out of there and bring him home. God got Lucifer out of the Empty so Jack definitely has the power. 

And Dean didn’t ask him to get Cas out of there, not because he doesn’t still want Cas out, but because it would ruin the first ending for the people who want Cas to stay dead. Yeah? 

It’s kind of beautifully done, to my mind, as a nod and a thank you to the people who have supported one reading of the show. It’ll be difficult for them to go apeshit when Dabb and the writers can simply tell them they don’t have to watch further than 15x19 and be content that they’ve got an ending that lets them cling to the brothers as the begin all, end all.

And yes, I remain believing we will get Dean and Cas together-together before the end of the show. I have no clue how much of a together-together we’ll get, but for the show not to give us a clear understanding of how Dean loves Cas back is unthinkable at this point, and will stay unthinkable until the show tells me otherwise, because nothing but those two together makes even a lick of sense to me.

Dean’s feelings were in the subtext this episode because that’s where they always have been and hopefully fingers crossed because this ending wasn’t for us, it was for other sides of fandom, giving them room for denial, if they simply don’t want to see that what Dean wants is Cas back.

Our ending isn’t happening until next week.

Dean: It’s a helluva time to bail. There’s a lot of people counting on you. People with questions—they’re gonna need answers. Jack: The answers will be in each of them. Maybe not today, but someday.

For me this may be setting up for 15x20.

Dean could be said to be accepting the reality of Cas being gone this episode. He starts off not telling the whole truth about what happened with Cas (of course), he’s drinking himself stupid, he tries to demand of Chuck to bring Cas back, he finds that emotional crutch in the doggo and he moves into acceptance because what else can he do?

Especially if he’s still reeling and is struggling with his fear of happiness, with not feeling deserving, with it being easier to simply let it all go.

But.

Letting go of the need is healthy, allowing it to make way for the real want that is about choosing Cas, not because he feels lost without him, but because Cas completes him...

That would be something. 

(oh shush let’s get with the romance) (Jerry always brings it)

The brothers love each other, but throughout this narrative there’s been hints that they both long for more. So much more. It would be so weird if it didn’t all wrap up with more being wanted and chosen and offered and had.

So if the answers are to be “in each of them -- someday”, then maybe Dean just needs to reach a moment where he’s ready to admit to himself that he can’t stand the fact that Cas died not knowing that Dean loves him back.

I wonder if Sam will push for this admittance... I’d like to witness that conversation, that’s for sure.

And Eileen. I hope she’s back sooner rather than later next episode!!

What’s next episode going to be about if it’s not about the breaking of old patterns to make way for new ones...? Are we going to follow the boys around as they do laundry and cook and make a few tentative plans for their unknown future? They won’t be hunting much in 15x20, at least if Dabb is anything to go by. I guess there might be something brief as a final The Boys With Their Weapons Doing Their Thing, but... it won’t be a case episode. And it would’ve been strange if it was, you know?

So then. Hope. One more week breathing eating sleeping on hopes and wishes and we shall simply have to wait and see what we get.

I have every faith it will blow us away, but I’m also sitting pretty. Reining in those horses lest they run away with me. And whatever comes our way, I’m so grateful for this show!

[tryingmybestpls]

Home

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Skywalker fem!Reader

Summary: Poe has a series of thoughts while watching the reader sleep beside him.

Word Count: 1.5k

Rating: T

Warnings: fluffiness? Angst maybe? Mentions of death I guess but like not really

A/N: I don’t know what this is. I feel like it’s shit? I have no clue. Uhhhh enjoy?

Light was barely creeping into the windows when Poe woke up. Y/N was still sleeping, curled up against him. One of her hands was resting on the growing bump hidden underneath all of the blankets and sheets. The image brought a sleep filled smile to Poe's face. Even while sleeping, Y/N can't help but be protective.

He had found out that she was carrying after Exegol, that night when they finally retired to their shared room. Y/N had known for awhile now, a month at least. There hadn't been a right time to tell him, not with everything that was going on. Her mother had told her that there was never going to be a right time, but she had also told Y/N to wait another month just in case something happened to the baby. But after the death of her mother and brother, she felt like she had nothing left to lose.

Y/N hadn't looked excited when she told Poe, but then again with everything that had happened, it was difficult to be happy. Everyone else was celebrating the end of the First Order, the death of Palpatine and Kylo Ren while she was mourning the loss of her mother and brother, the loss of her father and uncle still fresh wounds. Y/N had broken away from the festivities, finding a medical droid to make sure that she and the child were okay. By the time Poe had returned to their shared room, the secret she had been holding immediately spilled out of her mouth.

Poe had been extremely confused at first, her words settling in slowly. It was the tears in her eyes that made him snap out of it and walk over to her, pulling her into his arms. Y/N was worried that it was all too much, especially since Poe was going to be co-General with Finn. She knew more than anyone how much that job takes away from family, how demanding it was. In addition to that mess, they weren't even that serious. They'd never talked about the future of the relationship. Kids had never been brought up, but now they didn't even get a chance to discuss it. The resistance pilot told her that it was completely okay that she was pregnant. He told her that he was more than happy, elated, by the fact that she was with child.

They had waited another month before telling their friends. Rey, Rose, and Finn were all extremely excited as soon as news tumbled from Y/N’s lips. Poe had held her hand the whole time, watching his partner closely as their shared friends babbled enthusiastically. A smile was even growing on her face, that was until Rey asked if the child was going to carry the Skywalker or Solo name. Y/N's smile turned into a thin line as she shook her head. Before Poe could open his mouth to change the subject, Y/N said firmly that the child growing inside of her was going to carry on Poe's last name.

Before that moment, they hadn't discussed names and Poe had been perfectly okay with the child carrying Y/N's much more famous surname-in his eyes, it would just make more sense for the child to be a Skywalker or a Solo. He didn't mind in it in the slightest, but Y/N saying that the child-their child-was going to have his last name? Maker, it made his heart pound in his chest and brought a smile to his face. When they had both returned to their room for the night, Y/N had made it clear that she didn't want to force that arduous legacy that came with the Skywalker name onto their child. She didn't even want to name the baby after one of her family members.

"I don't want to curse this child before it's born, Poe."

"You're staring, Poe." Y/N's sleep filled voice yanked Poe out of his thoughts. Her eyes were still shut, but a tired smile had appeared on her face. He smiled back at her, his arm wrapping around her a little tighter.

"Can you blame me, princess?" He murmurs to her, his voice roughened with sleep. A yawn slips out of her mouth as she snuggles a little closer to him, legs entangled.

"Tell your child it's not time to get up. They won't stop moving." Y/N says softly, her eyes opening slightly to look up at him. Poe chuckles, the sound vibrating his chest. His hand moves to rest on her stomach, a soft smile on his face. The child had been restless, constantly moving whenever Y/N was trying to rest. She’s been a lot more tired than usual, always retiring early to their shared room soon after they’d eat.

“Kid, you got to let your mom rest.” Poe says sweetly, his thumb moving against her shirt in a soothing manner. The early morning grumpiness Y/N usually feels slips away for a second as she watches him. She wishes they can stay like this a little while longer, but with how bright the room is getting, Y/N knows that they don’t have a lot of time left.

“You have to get going soon. You have a meeting with Finn.” Y/N reminds him as she moves to lay on her back, wiping a hand over her face. Poe watches as the ring on her left hand catches the light as she attempts to brush the sleep off of her.

He had given Y/N his mother’s ring a week ago. It wasn’t much-it was just a steel washer that his father had given his mother. It was far from the jewelry Leia had wore, but you wouldn’t have thought that with the way Y/N had acted when Poe presented her with the ring. Her face had lit up and almost immediately her eyes filled with tears as he held out the steel ring. Big fat tears rolled down Y/N’s cheeks as Poe explained that he wanted her to have it and that his mother would’ve loved her. Y/N knew why he wore that ring around his neck. Poe had told her before that he was saving the ring for the right person and the fact he was giving it to her-Maker, she couldn’t help but be emotional.

“Finn can kriff off. I wanna look at you a little longer.” He tells her, grinning at her. Y/N rolls her eyes, but she can’t help but smile back at him. Poe moves a little closer, pressing his lips against her temple. Y/N turns her head and presses her lips against his. Poe immediately kisses her back, his hand moving to cup her cheek as he shifts in the bed.

“You need to go. Please, Poe.” Y/N says between kisses before she pulls away, his lips chasing after hers. Poe sighs, pouting slightly before he sits up. The blankets and sheets fall away as he stretches before he gets out of bed, immediately moving to turn the light on. Y/N sits up a little, watching him as he moves, her hand resting on her stomach. The smile stays on her face.

When Poe turns back to look at her, he can’t help but grin as he tugs on his boots. Y/N is laying in his bed, her hair a mess. She’s wearing one of his shirts, her bump fully on display as she holds her stomach, smiling at him. Poe really wants to crawl back into bed with her and hold her close. He knows that as her due date grows closer, these days are getting harder for her. Poe knows Y/N wishes her family was here. She wishes that her mother could be guiding her through this new, untouched world. Wished that her father and her Uncle Luke would be giving Poe a hard time. Y/N even wished Ben was here, taking on the role of an uncle. He knows that she meditates everyday, hoping to have her questions answered but to no avail.

She tries not to talk about it, not wanting to pile anything more on Poe’s plate, but he knows that she’s hurting. Y/N was always good at hiding her emotions. Leia had once said that what makes Y/N such a good soldier-that ability to make her face completely void of what she was feeling. That might be the case, but in instances like this-well, it made Poe’s job as Y/N’s partner a lot harder. So in times like this where she was actually smiling, he had to keep her happy.

“Do I at least have time to give you a goodbye kiss?” He questions, sauntering over to the bed after slipping his blaster into his holster. Y/N tries to withhold the girlish giggles that threaten to slip out her mouth as he climbs onto the bed.

“I think you can fit it into your schedule.” She replies as she moves to sit up. Poe cups her face sweetly, leaning down and capturing her lips.

[itssuppertim3]

Second Chance (Miraak x Reader) Part 4:

The truth,

Before we knew it, a week had already flown by. Much like a mother educating her child, I taught Bjorn many things he might've forgotten about the world. I reminded him about the war, to which he was thoroughly shocked over, I demonstrated how to plant various plants and crops, and I even gave him a few spell tones to study.

The two of us sat in the shade for a while, chatting away. I remembered Elsbeth throwing several mischievous glances my way throughout the week. In my own confusion, I let it be and pretended to act aloof. "Did you know that you can even heal plants?" I flipped over to a certain page in the book and ran my finger across the wording.

I provided him a quick example by plucking a dandelion from the ground and snapping its stem in two. I focused a small percentage of healing magic over the damage and let the energy flow from my palm. With a swipe of my hand, the flower was replenished in seconds. "How interesting, though I fail to see how it can be beneficial," he confessed. "It usually helps with alchemy, but judging from how skilled you become, you could even fasten plant growth and create a barrier for defense!" He truly seemed to be intrigued by the lesson. "You're a good teacher, Y/n." My cheeks burned at his compliment and I scratched the back of my neck bashfully. "I'm really not that good. I just read a lot and work hard. Plus, there's still so much I need to learn," I clipped. "Hey, you two! I have some jobs for you to do," Elsbeth called from the porch. Bjorn rose to his feet and lended me a hand, which I gladly took.

Once we made it back to the cottage, we were both given a task. Bjorn was requested to cook dinner, and I was sent to feed the chickens. One would only think our roles would be the opposite. "I'm gonna visit Alvor for some supplies before it gets too late. Don't let me down!" We waved her goodbye as she slowly retreated down the hill. "Would you like for me to help you with the feed?" he asked. "No. I think I can manage," I laughed. "Just make sure not to set the kitchen on fire."

When he retreated into the house, I went to fetch the chicken feed. Roosters and hens combined, they swarmed around my feet, demanding their supper. "Alright, Alright! No need to get aggressive!" Their attention diverted in a flash as soon as I began to scatter their food around. While they were busy pecking away, I exited the pen and headed back towards the cottage. Before I could reach it however, I saw two figures approaching.

It seemed to be a woman and a man dressed in gawdy uniforms. "You there," the man snapped. I stood my ground and flashed a cautious smile. "Yes? Can I help you?" They both stopped just feet in front of me. Now that I could see them more clearly, they looked like something straight out of a nightmare! Their apparel was oddly fashioned, both torn and sloppily stitched. But what frightened me the most were the masks they wore over their faces. I gulped and tried to remain calm.

The woman retrieved a rolled up slip of paper from her pocket and held it to my face. My stomach flipped upon examining the illustration of a character with the very same mask that I still had in my bag. "Have you seen someone who looks like this?" he interrogated. I was somewhat able to maintain my stoic facade, though I could feel it cracking. "No. I haven't," I said, stiff as a log. "She lies, just as that deceiver did," the woman hissed. "I will ask again." I yelped when he grasped my shoulder. I sucked in a breath after feeling a dangerous heat emitting from his hand. "Where is our Master Miraak?" My eyes grew as wide as stones at his words.

"What...?"

My blood ran cold as he ignited a flame into his other hand. My shoulder started to burn painfully. "I don't know what you're talking about," I whimpered. Still, the man refused to release his hold on me. My heart drummed against my ribs and my throat ran dry. These people were going to kill me. I didn't even have enough time to watch my life play out in front of me.

Suddenly, I heard the door open from behind me and a heavy pair of footsteps marched over to us. The two culprits beamed in delight at his presence. "Master Miraak--!" A large hand swooped in and clutched the exterior of the man's face, while another shielded my eyes. I could hear my attacker kick and squirm under my savior's deadly grip. I flinched in terror as his entire body burst into flames. The heat completely overwhelmed me, licking my face as it did. And oh, the screaming. That agonizing screaming. My ears couldn't take anymore.

I knew the other one had been running by now. I cringed at the thought of being forced to endure the same awful shrieks of pain again. I tried to claw my way to safety, but I couldn't move. I was completely and utterly paralyzed under Bjorn’s touch.. "Fus, Ro Dah!" A deafening force reverberated through my very bones and melted through my skin. I couldn't even begin to comprehend it. Was that what a shout sounded like?

Although I was finally granted permission to see, I didn't dare open my eyes. I couldn't. But eventually, I did. All that remained was a pile of ashes, though there were no signs of a second one. Bjorn, or Miraak, had already left my side and was now facing away from me. I peered at him in a mixture of fear and disbelief, and something else. Sadness. I was sad. I was so terribly sad because I knew he was going to leave us; he was going to leave me. Now that his secret was out, there was no reason to stay. We were both aware that I was scared, but I wasn't scared of him. I was scared for his safety, I was scared of those people that were after him. But most importantly, I was scared for myself. I didn't want to say goodbye to someone who had brought so much light into my tiny world. And I was selfish for it.

On impulse, I ran forward and threw my arms around him. He stiffened sharply, but didn't utter a word. "Don't leave. Please don't leave." My voice was barely above a whisper, so I was certain that his ears didn't catch my plea. But he eventually tilted his head down at me in a sullen silence. My chest panged at the sight of his face. He didn't want to leave, but his words spoke the opposite. "There will be more. Your life has already been endangered once, and I can't let that happen again. Let me go, Y/n," he demanded. "I won't," I cried. I only held him tighter. "I know I'm selfish and naive and foolish, but I won't let you go!" One by one, tears slid down my cheeks and bled through the fabric of Miraak's shirt. I always loathed the way I sobbed. They were a loud and ugly mess, but that didn't stop me regardless of how embarrassing it was.

I soon found myself trembling on the ground with my hand now clutching the hem of his trousers. The tall ravenette slowly crouched to my level and reached out. However, he stopped himself and went to retract his arm away. Before he could, I grabbed his hand and held it against my damp cheek. He traced his thumb over my eyelid to rid of my tears, but frowned at his unsuccess. "What would your sister think? She'd have my head for making you cry like this," he said suddenly. "Yeah, she probably would. Don't tell me that's why you're so eager to run away," I jested. He was relieved to see me revert back to my cheerful self, but the corners of his lips flattened once again.

"You are hurt because of me. If I stay, then..."

His sentence escaped him when I shuffled closer to where we were only a breath apart. "Then take me with you." I then leaned in and softly connected our lips. I was fairly inexperienced with kissing, so I didn't know if I was doing it right. All I could do was scrunch my eyes shut and pray that he understood. My heart leapt when he returned the kiss. His lips were chapped and his scruff tickled my cheek. Everything felt so surreal. It was as if I was under some sort of hazy hypnosis. Miraak's hand cupped the back of my head while his other squeezed the small of my waist. I enclosed my arms around his neck in wild euphoria. We both seperated with great reluctance, exhaling heavily. I giggled as he began to peck every inch of skin of my face starting from my jaw to my temple. Knowing him, he probably hadn’t even held a woman in centuries.

I grimaced, instantly reminded of my current delima. Miraak threw his arms back as if he was the cause for my pain. "Come, let's go back," he recommended. I nearly released a squeal when he hoisted me into his fit arms. "What are you--what are you doing?" I stammered, face as red as the evening sky. I knew our body comparisons were different in both height and size, but this was the first time he made me feel so tiny. "I am carrying you," he stated a-matter-of-factly. "It's just my shoulder. I-I can still walk!"

“You’re still injured. It’d be shameful of me not to at least take you off your feet for a short while. Such a gentleman! Miraak's bicep curved against my back and my other shoulder bounced against his broad chest as he walked. I wasn't convinced that my face could get any redder! After acting so boldly a moment ago, I should've expected the embarrassment to catch up with me. I couldn't help but voice out a squeak after his fingers slid a bit further past the bend of my knee. "Are you alright?" It was an easy question to answer, but my mind was so scrambled I couldn't form a single syllable!

I buried my face into his shirt and shook my head. "Are you in any pain?" How could I be? I was far too distracted by my current situation, I couldn't focus on anything else! Again, I managed a silent 'no'. Miraak stood in contemplation before resuming towards the porch steps. He placed me down with great care before sitting down beside me. I avoided eye contact as he closely examined my face and held his forehead against my own. "You're warm. You must be running a fever," he concluded. I fidgeted under his touch. "Um, I don't think I have a fever," I timidly denied. Miraak's confusion roused. "Then why are you so red?" He was so close, it was like he was trying to see through my soul! "I just--," I stumbled. "I'm just a little embarrassed, is all..." He sat there a minute before also averting his gaze. "Oh. I see." The First Dragonborn cleared his throat. The two of us sat there quietly, a blushing mess.

Once Miraak was able to regain his composure, he slowly etched forward once more. He then directed his finger to my shoulder. "May I?" I nodded curtly and steered my sights to the floor. Miraak gingerly tugged at the neckline of my blouse and inspected the raw burn on my skin. I waited with interest to see how skilled he was with Restoration magic. He probably had hundreds of years’ worth of experience. A soothing warmth enveloped the entirety of my arm. It reminded me of the many hugs and kisses Pa gave me on the days before he left for yet another journey. The nostalgia brought a smile to my lips as I continued to reminisce back on my childhood.

Alas, with a snap of a finger that warmth had abandoned me. I peeked at my injury, which vanished without a trace. "If I would've known how good you are, I wouldn't have wasted time teaching you things you already know," I chuckled. The man hung a light smirk over his features before drawing me in for another kiss. "You've taught me many things, Y/n. And I am hoping for you to teach me many more." By now, the only thing I could hear was a high-pitched ringing with Elsbeth's voice echoing in the background. Wait, Elsbeth's voice? "Well, well~! I'm hardly gone for thirty minutes and you two are all over each other," she taunted, clearly amused by the display in front of her. Miraak and I both jolted away from one another and fiddled our fingers in ungodly embarrassment. “El...! When—when did you get back?” I stammered. “Oh, not long. But just in time to see the juicy bit! Tell me, how long have you been together?” Knowing that she had already seen him kiss me was humiliating enough, and she wouldn’t be my sister if she didn’t make it worse by talking about it!

That night, I told her everything, well, almost everything. Miraak and I decided that it would only complicate matters further by revealing the truth to her. Even now, she was terrified of the stories. I couldn’t even begin to imagine her reaction after realizing that it was him the entire time. I neglected to mention the assaulters, as well as the ash pile on the ground outside. As odd as it was, Elsbeth was completely unbothered by our newly founded relationship. “Y/n, you’re my little sister. Sure, I’m mad. I’m mad that a man succeeded in stealing your heart, but I’m not Pa. If you two are in love, who am I to stop you? I want you to live a full life, as well as a happy one,” she had said. In a matter of seconds, I took her into my arms and thanked her profusely. In addition, she even consented in allowing me to travel with him.

Although Miraak was paranoid, we stayed at the ranch for another week before packing our gear. I searched around my room, collecting an assortment of knickknacks and storing them into my bag. As I opened my satchel, a certain mask greeted me. I held it gingerly in my hands. The eye slits peered up at me in such an eerie way, yet I felt no fear. If anything, staring down at the pitiful thing made me feel almost melancholy. That damaged wood carving was once a shell of such a wonderful person. I brought the mask to my chest and held it there a moment with a somber smile. “Is something the matter?” I felt a warm hand on my shoulder, causing me to turn around. “No, I’m good. You’ll probably be needing this back, huh? I’m sorry I kept it so long,” I chuckled. Miraak examined the worn face piece with uncertainty. He ran his thumbs along every edge and crease and even tipped it upside down. “How do you feel?” I asked him. His green orbs met mine in a look of puzzlement. “I feel... nothing,” he stated simply. “Seeing this mask after so long, I imagined I would be more impacted. But instead it just feels silly to be haunted by it for so long. It all feels like a tucked-away nightmare.” My lips stretched into a grin as I leaned forth and wrapped my arms snuggly around him. "And that’s exactly what it is. It’s all a tucked-away nightmare.” Miraak hummed, smiling at me with adoration. He then bent down to my level and gave me a soft Eskimo kiss.

When we left home that day, we bid our farewells to Elsbeth and I made sure to do the same with all of the cows, goats, chickens, and pigs as we went. Once we reached the gate, I looked back at the ranch one last time. I thought about all of the many times I walked past this gate thinking about how extraordinarily dull my life was. Everyday, I fantasized about romance and adventure. I didn’t think someone with my position would be blessed with such an opportunity, but here I was, madly in love and on my way to start an adventurous life of my own. “Did you leave something behind?” I faced him and shook my head. “No. Let’s go!”

——————————————————————————

Yayy, finally finished the 4th part (this took me freaking forever)

[prolestariwrites]

Tension

Fandom: Devil May Cry Rating: Explicit Characters: Dante, Vergil, Reader (no Spardacest) Tags: MMF, Threesome, Explicit Sexual Content, Oneshot Words: 5539

Collab with @solynaceawrites​

Summary: Dante and Vergil fight about everything, even you. Tired of the arguing, you decide to make them use all that energy in a much more productive way. Contains MMF threesome but not Spardacest.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━ You’re not quite sure when the tension got so unbearable. 

Maybe it's on you. After all, you had been the one to kick Dante to the van while letting Vergil stay in the shop, and you know that the two of them have a rivalry a mile wide and a thousand feet deep when it comes to anything and everything. So, you suppose that it's possible that Vergil had, in some way, seen that as you choosing him over Dante, though really all it had been was you needing time to deal with Dante being back. 

You and Dante had had a complicated relationship even before he went off to “fuck around Hell”, as you liked to call it. Friends? Friends with benefits? Love? You never had the chance to really define it before he left you for six months without a word of goodbye and the deed to the Devil May Cry, making you the owner. For six months, you thought he was dead, mourning the loss of the man you thought you’d be with forever, until he waltzed back into the shop like nothing was wrong and got a well-deserved fist to the face courtesy of you.

When they returned, you refused to give up ownership, too pissed at Dante for leaving so recklessly and breaking your heart to give him the satisfaction of getting it back. So you remained on as the boss, a role Dante didn’t seem to mind at all, even though your two new employees were very talented at driving you crazy. You had given jobs to both of them as equally as you could. You gave Vergil the same cold shoulder you gave to Dante. In all ways but where they were sleeping, you treated the twins exactly the same, but somehow it's all led to this. Even though you’re not quite sure what this is. 

After a month of living in the van, you had let Dante move back in, albeit begrudgingly. He'd wanted a second chance to apologize and make things right between you, and you missed him enough to let him do it. Slowly, painfully, he'd opened up to you, all of those secrets he'd held onto for so long spilling out in fits and bursts over weeks until you knew everything he'd been through and the hurt that'd been festering in him since his mother was killed. You hadn't quite forgiven him completely, but he'd been back in the bedroom by then and you made the choice to try and put the past behind you so you could grow together. 

You hadn't noticed Vergil's behavior until you walked into an argument between him and Dante that had wrecked half the shop. Sure, he'd been a bit nicer to you, or his version of it anyway, helping with the files and the bills, making sure that you got first call on the shower. Small things that you’d expect from someone walking on thin ice as far as you were concerned. Dante had told you later on that Vergil was doing his best to court you in his awkward way. It'd been a shock, but knowing what to look for had made it painfully obvious how blind you had been to what he was doing.

Which has led to your current predicament, standing between the twins and trying to keep them from tearing into each other. "Would both of you knock it off?"

"Tell Vergil to knock it off," Dante growls. 

"Stay out of my way," Vergil warns him. "If I catch you in my things one more time—" 

"The things I pay for?" 

"I work too." 

You clear your throat. "Stop it. I mean it." You side-eye Dante with hands on your hips. "What were you doing?" 

"Just lookin' for something. Such a damn baby—" 

"Say it again, baby brother." 

"Okay!" You cry. "Dante, leave Vergil's shit alone. Vergil, stop being so damn possessive. There." 

You hope it is over as you move to go back to your desk, but you hear Dante make a snort. "Right. He's possessive over shit that's not his." 

You freeze at the desk, the hair on the back of your head rising as you can tell they are gearing up for another argument. "What was that?" you bite over your shoulder. 

Your eyes land on him sharply and Dante gives a shrug that annoys you to no end. "I'm saying he thinks everything is his. The jobs, the weapons, even you." 

"What?" You frown in surprise, but they are arguing again, and you put up a hand to get their attention. "I'm sorry, who belongs to who?"

"Ol' Verge here thinks he owns you." Dante grins, but it lacks its usual humor. "So, I told him to keep his fuckin' hands off shit that doesn't belong to him, he said that I was the one who needed to keep my grimy paws to myself. What do you think, darlin’? You belong to him?" 

"I belong to myself," you say sharply. 

His brows flick up in surprise even as Vergil utters a wry laugh. "You say she isn't mine, she says she isn't yours. I suppose that means she could belong to me, does it not?" 

"Hell no! She’s my woman, not yours." 

"Like Yamato?" 

"I haven't touched that thing since you came back, jackass."

"How about this?" you snap at both of them. "I don't belong to either of you. You—" here you point at Vergil with a warning look, "—work for me, and that's it. And you—" Your gaze at Dante is even sharper, "—I'm still pissed at. So both of you can forget whatever this whole argument is." You fold your arms, silently fuming. 

The brothers glance at each other, both wearing expressions that are a weird, smug sort of anger. But then Dante walks towards you, and you slide back to sit on the desk and cross your legs, wanting to keep him at a distance. "Don't come over here like we're friends," you say. 

But your tone isn't harsh, and they both know it. You both know the smile he gives you is going to needle its way under your skin, and he knows just how to stand, one palm on the desk next to your thigh and the other on his cocked hip, looking up at you with a sexy smirk that is accentuated by the day's worth of stubble on his face. Fuck him and his stupid handsome face. "Come on, babe," he murmurs, giving you a wink. "We both know we're getting back together. You don't have to play it like that when you already have my attention." 

Ordinarily you would dig your heels in more, and the first words that rise to your tongue are you wish . . . and then he licks his lips, and you seem to feel the weeks and months without him all at once. 

"You don't have to answer that." 

Your attention is pulled towards Vergil, who is standing with arms folded. His gaze on you is so intense you actually gasp, and he starts to move closer, almost prowling. "Leave her alone, Dante," Vergil says darkly.

"Get yer own woman," Dante replies, his eyes still on your face. You had almost forgotten how mesmerizing he can be, those icy blues like a physical weight that pins you in place and demands your attention so that you don't notice a hand closing around your wrist until you are pulled to the side. 

Vergil's lips caress the back of your hand as he scowls at his brother. "I'm quite fond of this one." 

"Is that right?" Dante catches your knee and leans over you, crowding you half against the desk and half against Vergil, and you glance between the two of them in utter confusion. "Tough shit. You can't have her." 

It nearly makes you laugh, the age old tug-of-war you had gone through with Nero manifesting now with these two, but the air around them feels thick and heavy, and a thick coat of sweat dampens the back of your neck. Vergil pulls you farther backwards, ignoring your "hey!" as he tries to get you out of Dante's reach. "She'd be better off with me, and you know it."

"Stop that," you say. 

You step back again, the backs of your thighs hitting the desk. The air is crackling now, and your heart responds with an uptick in speed, your mouth going dry as you try to swallow. It's as if the room is filling with tension, and you laugh nervously. "You two fight over everything. What did you do when you were kids?" 

"What?" Dante looks away from his brother to frown at you. "What do you mean?" 

"When you had a toy or something you fought over," you explain. "What did you do to resolve it?" 

They exchange a glance, and you can see something pass between them. "We had to share," Dante replies. 

You laugh again. "Too bad you can't share me then." 

You grin at Dante, but they are staring at you with a look you’ve never seen. Your eyes go wide and you glance at Vergil, whose usual stoic expression seems to have intensified. "Guys, I was kidding . . ." Weren't you? 

"So you get to decide," Vergil proposes. "But we both have to prove why we deserve you." 

You blink in confusion, but as you stare at Vergil, you feel a hand slide along your arm and Dante's lips press to your temple, making your breath catch. "What do you say, babe?"

"Uh . . ." Fuck yes. "Isn't this set up to fail? I mean, toys, sure, but whoever I don't pick is gonna . . . You know?" 

Vergil steps forward, one of his hands pressing firmly against the small of your back while the other smooths over your cheek. "As children, whoever was proven to use what we both wanted most was given possession of it by our mother. We've learned not to hold a grudge." 

Right, like the grudge that brought all of this about, Vergil's desire to best Dante causing not one but two tragedies. You look away, but that puts your face right in front of Dante's, and he wastes no time in kissing you, ignoring Vergil's disapproving tsk as he sucks on your lips before prying them open with his tongue. "Really, Dante," Vergil sighs, "didn't you ever learn to treat a woman with respect?"

You laugh against his mouth, part in nervousness and part at Vergil's statement. Dante has always been like this, aggressive and sexy, even silly and sloppy in the way he kisses you, but it is always so sincere that you never minded. As if to drive the point home, Dante pulls your tongue into his mouth and sucks on it slowly, your faces tilted as he takes his time. The shameless display must look ridiculous, but you have to admit the way his teeth scrape and the slight pain from the tug has your pulse racing. He lets you go with a smack of his lips and grins, and you smile back instinctively. 

Then a hand is in your hair and your head is turned before Vergil's lips press against yours. Vergil's kiss could not be more different: hard, demanding, precise. The way he tugs your lips and slides his tongue in long strokes in and out of your mouth seem almost practiced, but it works. You are groaning in no time and leaning into him, trying to take more. It's as if he read a manual on how to turn you on and can hit everything you like in a kiss. By the time he releases you, your body feels weak and there is definitely a dampness between your legs that has you flushed.

You barely have time to gather thoughts before Dante scoops you up and strides towards the stairs, smothering your protest with another kiss. It seems like it's going to be a theme for the night; the two of them, fighting over which one of them deserves you more, and you caught in the middle. Not that you really mind. 

Halfway up, he pauses to call over his shoulder, "Hurry up, Vergil, or I'm lockin' you out of the bedroom!" 

There's a rush of air as Vergil appears on the landing, his eyes narrowed as his lips curl into a smile that sets your heart racing. "Always the fool," he proclaims. 

You huff and wriggle until Dante sets you down. If they keep carrying on like this, nothing is going to happen, and you make sure your hips sway and your body brushes Vergil's as you finish the climb on your own. "You've both got sixty seconds before I decide to go to bed," you say breezily.

One of them grabs your backside, and when you see Vergil stride ahead and push the bedroom door open, you smack Dante on the arm. He grins at you playfully but you grab his shirt and tug him close so you can whisper. "You sure about this?" 

"Oh fuck yes." His hands go to your hips and tug you against him, and as Dante grinds you can feel his erection already straining under his jeans. He presses a kiss to your jawline and then his lips go to your ear and whispers, "I want to watch you get fucking filled." 

You swallow and let him pull you to the bedroom. Vergil has already removed his shoes and his shirt, and you gape for a second as he opens his belt. He is just as gorgeous as Dante, his body carved, but leaner: where Dante is all strength and muscle, Vergil is a fighter, his body meant for movement. He catches you watching and gives a crooked grin before pushing off his pants; now just in his boxers, Vergil crosses the room towards you. He is as tall as Dante, forcing you to look up at him, and Vergil brushes your hair back over your shoulder. "Let's get you comfortable, hm?" he says quietly, and his fingertips slowly glide down your front and graze your breasts over your shirt.

You hold your breath as he works through the buttons of your blouse, slowly unhooking each one and parting the fabric before moving on to the next, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. It's a different sort of anticipation than what you tend to feel; with Dante, it's hot and quick, leaving you impatient and eager. But with Vergil, it builds slowly, crawling up your spine and squeezing your ribs around your lungs. Each slight touch feels like a promise and a threat all in one, leaving you trembling as you wait to see what he'll do next. When he reaches the last button, you slide the shirt from your shoulders without asking, and his lips tilt at the sight of your bare chest. "No bra?" he murmurs.

You blink, and it's Dante who replies, "She doesn't wear 'em at home," as he comes up behind you, his bare chest scorching against your back. You gasp when he cups your breasts, his lips grazing your neck, and Vergil's hands land on your hips as he kisses you again while Dante teases and plucks your nipples into stiff buds. "Feels like we might need some ground rules?" Vergil hums inquisitively, though he doesn't draw away from your lips, and Dante chuckles lowly. "This one won't say no to anything. We gotta do it for her."

You sink against his touch as Vergil kisses you deeper, his tongue rolling around yours and leaving you breathless when he pulls away. "Well?" he asks with an arch of his brow. 

"What?" Your heart is hammering in your chest as Vergil slides his hands into the waistband of your leggings. Dante's mouth nips the side of your neck, making you yelp, and your lips open as you watch Vergil sink to his knees and drag the fabric down your legs. Vergil's mouth presses to your navel as he pulls your clothes away, leaving you bare, his hands sliding back up the sides of your legs as he leaves a trail of kisses down your stomach. 

"Babe," Dante says against your shoulder, his thumbs rubbing slow circles on your nipples. "What do you want?" 

"I . . ." You are squirming now, arousal dripping onto your thighs, and as Vergil's mouth works over the top of your mound your body gets even wetter. "Anything. Everything," you whisper. 

Vergil looks up from your sex and your eyes connect. "Just say when to stop," he says. 

You nod. Vergil opens one of your thighs, pressing his face to your center, and when you feel his tongue press against your hood you groan and lean your head back. Dante's mouth is on your cheek and you turn to meet his lips, and he kisses you slowly as Vergil's tongue finds your clit. They both hold you upright, your senses going a bit overloaded at the sensations. Dante releases your nipples to run his palms up and down your front, massaging your chest as he kisses you. Vergil presses against a particularly good spot and a moan catches in your throat, but Dante smiles against your lips and murmurs, "It's okay, let him hear how much you like this."

You reach down to tangle your fingers in Vergil's hair, surprised to find the strands silky and soft instead of tacky with gel or spray, and he lifts you easily, letting Dante support the weight of your torso as he drapes your legs over his broad shoulders. Like this, he can reach more of your sex, and you cry out when he kisses your body deeply, thrusting his tongue within your opening before swirling it over your clit. Dante holds you easily, fluid smearing along your back as he grinds against you leisurely; between the two of them, you are spinning, and it isn't long before you’re rocking into Vergil's mouth, chasing the pleasure tightening within your core.

"She's gonna come fast, Verge," Dante pants against your neck, and like magic, you arch against him as your orgasm breaks. Your hand yanks his eager mouth against your clit as the other reaches up to grip Dante, and you feel almost weightless as he licks you through the contractions, his tongue rough and electric on your body. A cry erupts as it crests, and Vergil gives your clit a final, gentle suckle before lapping you gently as it finally begins to finish. 

You are deposited on the bed, and one of them—Vergil, you realize after a moment—climbs over you to kiss your lips. You can taste your own arousal on him and you eagerly respond, sucking on his tongue and lips, the taste of him and sex driving you wild. How was he so good at that? The thought flickers briefly before he pulls away, and you pant as you look at the ceiling, the weight of what you had just done settling on you as the mattress dips.

You’re not worried about Dante being pissed. He'd been just as eager for this as Vergil, by his own admission, and if he tries to say something about it later, you’ll be more than happy to remind him of his comment about seeing you fucking filled. It's not even guilt, really. But there is something a bit strange about having your maybe-if-he-wasn’t-such-a-jerk lover's brother give you the best oral of your life while said lover watches, and you’re trying to process that when another mouth covers your sex, the heated insistence of it letting you know right away that it's Dante. 

Your back bends as you reach down to grab his hair. But hands catch your wrists, and you look up with surprise as Vergil carefully winds a strip of black fabric around them. He catches you watching and gives you a little grin. "You should pay attention," he murmurs, and you open your mouth to ask him what he means just as Dante parts your thighs and sheathes his cock within you with one fluid thrust.

You groan, long and loud. Dante's hands are heavy and familiar on your thighs as he massages your flesh, and then he starts to move slow and deep, your sensitive body sparking to life with his movements. Meanwhile Vergil leans over you and kisses your breasts, using that mouth that just gave you such an amazing orgasm on your nipples, teasing and driving you crazy. You are helpless with your arms tied, but that seems to suit you just fine. Being between them is overwhelming, and you want to give yourself over to it and see where they can take you. 

But his mouth is heaven while Dante's thrusts are sin, and the combination leaves you gasping for more. You turn your face and kiss Vergil's thigh, needing to do something, hearing one or the other or both laugh. Something like embarrassment flushes through you, but it's sweeter, twisting your lungs and making you stretch your body. Your only thought now is them, their eyes and hands and bodies on you, and you want to ruin them just as much as they will do to you. 

"You just had to ask, princess," Vergil murmurs. His hand cards through your hair and then his cock presses to your lips. Eagerly you open, moaning as it fills your mouth, and Dante stops his movements to watch. "Oh fuck," he groans, his hands digging into your open thighs. "Fuck, swallow him, babe."

You do your best, pleasantly surprised by how similar his cock is to Dante's. Along with the angle, it makes taking him into your throat easier, and you suck as he pumps in and out of your mouth, holding your head steady with one hand as he fondles your breast with the other. But he tastes different; the only way you can think to describe it is cooler, less earthy than Dante, and you moan around his flesh. Dante finds your clit with his fingers as he begins to move again. Quite literally pinned by their bodies, you willingly surrender yourself to them, uncaring which of them does what as long as they don't stop.

"So good . . ." Vergil groans. Something in his voice makes you shiver, like he is losing that tight grip of control, and you lift your head slightly to take him deeper, sucking hard on his length as you hold it in your throat. 

Dante curses again, his hips moving faster, and you can feel your body tightening. You gasp around the cock in your mouth but Vergil is thrusting just as hard, and before you realize it the thick fluid is filling your mouth and throat. You nearly choke on it before he quickly eases back, and with the taste of Vergil spilling over your tongue you start to orgasm again, a cry erupting as Dante's touch on your clit works you into another that is intense but all too brief. 

You come down moments later to the sound of your bodies slapping together. Dante leans over you and covers your mouth with his, and you groan into his kiss as he grinds deep inside you. "So damn hot," he whispers, his hands sliding along your arms. He pushes your wrists into the bed and jerks his hips sharply before he lets out a groan and his seed starts to shoot inside your body, hot and slippery and filling you up.

It's barely over before you become aware of Vergil moving to stand impatiently next to the bed, and Dante huffs a laugh as he draws his body out of yours, leaving you gasping at the drag over your sensitive flesh. "Can't even give me a damn minute, huh?" 

"You've had your turn," Vergil argues. 

Dante snorts. Each of them grab you, moving you as they move until you’re on your knees with your ass in the air and your face pressed to Dante's thigh. Vergil tsks as he settles between your trembling legs, and Dante cards a hand through your hair as he says, "What? I like it better this way."

Your wrists are still tied, and you run your fingers over his leg, looking up. "Untie me." 

Dante's lip rolls up as he grins, pulling the tie off and tossing it. You press on your palms to go upright, your lips grazing Dante's chest. "You want to stop?" he murmurs. 

Your eyes flicker up to his. "No," you say. Then you turn to look over at Vergil, who is watching intently, his palm rubbing his growing erection. "Touch me first." 

The corner of his mouth quirks and Vergil reaches between your legs with his free hand. His fingertips stroke your opening softly and you sigh, tilting your head back. Dante strokes your cheek sweetly, and when he runs his thumb along your lip you catch it playfully between your teeth. "I can't wait to feel your mouth," he says. 

"Stroke your cock and get it hard," you order, your words breathless as Vergil slides a finger along your clit.

He keeps his eyes on yours as he obeys. His knuckles bump your stomach with every pump of his fist, and his tongue slides out to wet his bottom lip. You watch his pupils dilate and his nostrils flare, and then he cups the back of your head and guides you down so your lips rub over the tip of his cock; eagerly, you part your lips, and as you sink down on him, Vergil sinks into you, and the sound of both of their groans mingling in the air is one of the most erotic you’ve ever heard. Instead of thrusting to meet you, Dante simply moves your head, and the slow, steady movements of Vergil's hips help you set a rhythm as you swallow his flesh.

You grip his thighs tightly as you bob your head up and down, swallowing the thick length as best as you can. He tastes like sex, pure and simple, and the sensation of being filled is different this time now that you control the movements. You start to rock your hips to meet Vergil's thrusts, and he presses one hand to your stomach and the other to your thigh, stretching you open to accommodate him. Vergil is long and thick and the precision he used to kiss you is still there as he fucks you slowly and methodically. Your orgasm builds just as slowly, tingling along your spine, and when his hand slides around your hip to your backside you shudder at his intimate touch. Meanwhile Dante strokes your hair, the movements intoxicating, pulling you under his spell as you suck him greedily. Usually he is playful, vocal and thrusting into your mouth, but now he lets you enjoy, his sexiness just as intense but different.

Your release this time crests in waves that rock you instead of pull you under, and you moan around Dante's cock as Vergil continues to fuck you with those steady, practiced movements. On and on it drags, fueled by the fullness of Dante in your mouth and the fullness of Vergil in your sex. "What do you think, hon?" Dante murmurs, sweeping your hair from your face. "Which of us fucks you better?"

You curse as you pull your mouth from his cock, sinking down to catch your breath and mouth at the base. "Fuck, fuck," you whisper as Vergil snaps his hips sharply against you. 

You dig your nails into Dante's thighs, drawing a hiss, and he tugs your hair, pulling your face up to his. "Yes . . .” he groans. 

Vergil's hands roam your backside, rubbing and massaging your flesh. "She's still coming," he pants.

"You serious?" You can't see whatever expression Vergil is making, but it draws a low whistle from Dante. "Damn. You been holdin' out on me, sweetheart?" 

You do your best to give him an unimpressed look. It's ruined when a hand curls under your throat, and you yelp as Vergil pulls you up until his chest is flush to your back. "Hey!" Dante complains.

You shudder as Dante’s eyes drag down your body, stopping between your legs where Vergil's cock fills your sex. His eyes go lidded as he licks his lips, and you wonder what he is thinking. But then Vergil pulls out of you, and the slow drag of his cock leaves you breathless, gasping when you are suddenly empty. "Time to choose," he murmurs against your cheek, his hand caressing your throat lightly. "Whose cock do you want?" 

"Both," you pant. You lock gazes with Dante for a moment before closing your eyes. "Please, both of you fuck me. Same time." 

You don't even have to look to feel something pass between the two brothers. Fingers press against your clit—Dante's, you are pretty sure—and stroke you softly. "Will you come again if we do?"

"Yes," you plead. Vergil releases you so that Dante can grab you and draw you forward into his lap. His lips cover yours as he pulls you down onto his cock, his fingers stroking over your clit with the patterns you love, and you fall into the familiar, comforting weight of his touch. Hands press to your back, pushing you forward into an arch, and then Vergil is behind you, his cock pressing against the seam of your body.

Dante's mouth covers yours, and he swallows your groan as Vergil's thick cock enters your opening. Three orgasms have you weightless, almost boneless as you drape your arms around Dante's shoulders, clutching him at being so filled. Dante stays still, his cock inside you halfway, and Vergil pumps his hips gently to bury himself deeper. "She's so tight," he gasps, the cool veneer finally cracking in the way his voice shakes, and you consciously relax your muscles, trying to open yourself to them. 

They find a rhythm where one withdraws as the other enters, a lovely back and forth that sends your body and mind into a tailspin. And they are everywhere, hands and mouths greedy on your body, not an inch of you untouched as they grab at your breasts and hips and shoulders and calves, tracing your spine and skimming along your neck and scraping your thighs. You’ll have marks everywhere tomorrow, you are sure, but it's like riding an ocean of bliss, and you start to drown in it, suffocating as the twins take over everything and begin to drive you towards another orgasm.

Dante finishes first this time, yanking your hips down to fill you completely as he comes. The seed pumps into you in gushes that make your body slick, and you can feel his cock pulsing as it continues. While Dante kisses you, Vergil continues pumping, his length stretching you and making you cry out when his hips go flush to your backside. With Dante still sheathed fully every time Vergil thrusts your body reacts with a shudder.

There is something inside you that starts to spark, and without warning your body snaps as you start to come again. This time it truly is devastating, your cries sounding foreign to your ears. Dante’s murmured praise and two sets of hands firmly holding you are not enough to steady the swell of emotion that sparks, and you let go a sob when Dante withdraws his cock. It drags over your clit and sets off another wave of pulsing bliss, and you are only dimly aware of Vergil’s mouth on your neck and the creamy heat that shoots inside you. Vergil leans forward as he grinds deeper as Dante grinds upwards against your sex, and you are trapped between their solid bodies, barely able to breathe.

Everything goes quiet except for the sound of heavy breathing. Vergil gently withdraws and you sag against Dante, whose hands hold you firmly against him. “Hey,” he says, and you press your face to his shoulder, aftershocks from your orgasm igniting and leaving you shivering. You can feel how flushed your body is, and when he tilts you back and you feel a cool cloth between your thighs, you sigh gratefully as you roll against the mattress, craving the softness after the two hard bodies that nearly tore you apart with pleasure.

You end up between them, their hands stroking you with gentle caresses that pull you towards sleep. Faintly you think about how sore you will be, but it will be worth it. A pair of lips meets yours each time you turn your head, and when their touches start to grow a bit more aggressive and sweep over your folds and your sore nipples, you groan internally. Dante was always an insatiable lover, and now it seems like you’ve woken a second beast.

“Sleep first,” you murmur as you push a hand away from your slit—Vergil’s, you’re pretty sure. 

“Told ya,” Dante chuckles, and he gives your shoulder a kiss. 

“You did not,” Vergil mutters.

You sigh as they argue quietly, and when the topic turns to who gets to give you your first orgasm tomorrow, you smile at what is to come as you drift off to sleep. It seems as if this argument isn’t resolved at all.

[tessaliagrey]

Day 7 - Free Day

Summary: A family visit.

Author’s notes:

Okay, you guys (may) know I’m a sucker for BoFenn. I mean, yeah, I know, we see them together in only two episodes of Rebels, but I mean, come on! They just have that “I made heart eyes at her/ at him when I was younger” dynamic. To me, it feels like they have met before, most likely during the Mandalorian Civil War when they were much younger and maybe again during Bo’s regency. The fighting scenes in those episodes look like they have fought side by side before. And the way they talk together about Sabine; they are no strangers. Face it, they have potential ;-P

I like the fact that in order to save Satine, Korkie teams up with Bo-Katan. It’s like “Let’s break Auntie Satine out of prison – again – but this time, we’re gonna bring guns”. To me, Korkie feels like someone who knows that violence is always the worst answer and who will always try to find a better solution to a problem. But he’s no one to just sit there and watch things go overboard. He will take action if needed. I like the idea that he is kind of a middle ground between Satine and Bo-Katan.

This is written from Fenn’s POV.

I wrote this in one sitting tonight because I didn’t have anything for today until today, so be merciful with your judgement 🥰

Tagging: @bokatanweek

This is quite long, so maybe its more confortable to read it on AO 3.

07 - Free Day

It wasn’t the first time that Fenn had been to Evaar’la Yaim, the colony of the New Mandalorian exiles. The place at the edge of the galaxy that Bo-Katan and Korkie had picked to hide the survivors of Maul’s and Death Watch’s coup on Mandalore and the subsequent rise of the Galactic Empire almost twenty years ago. Evaar’la Yaim was one of the best guarded secrets in the galaxy. A safe haven for those Maul and the Empire would rather see dead.

Bo-Katan had deemed it sensible after being made Mand’alor, that, as leader of the Protectors, Fenn should know about this place. Just in case.

This time, it wasn’t a visit out of necessity, but for joyful reasons. Korkie’s wife had given birth to their fifth child a few weeks ago, and now Bo-Katan had finally found the time for a short visit. Two nights was all they could spare; Mandalore demanded Bo-Katan’s full attention.

Fenn walked out of their ship and onto the grass-covered clearing they had landed in. He had taken his armor off and just wore some gray pants and a black shirt. Though Korkie seemed to have no problem with his aunt being a warrior and wearing armor, others on this planet would always frown upon it. Korkie and Bo-Katan had deemed it sensible that for the durations of her short visits, she’d forgo the armor. And since he accompanied her, Fenn followed suit.

The planet Bo-Katan and Korkie had picked was a mixture of everything. Woods, lakes, mountains, plains,… You name it. It must have been inhabited at one point by others; ruins of a different civilization dotted the planet’s surface all over the northern hemisphere. The people, however, must have been long gone.

The Mandalorians in exile had taken the ruins of the larger settlements and used them as a base for their own permanent settlements. Bo-Katan had explained to Fenn that in the beginning, all it was were tents and mobile command units. There was nothing else left. The rebuilding of the ruined settlements had taken time, but by now, they were viable towns, if not small cities. The planet had gone from dependent on supplies from outside to self-sustaining within just over a decade.

As Fenn walked out into the clearing, he saw that Bo-Katan was already waiting for him. Fenn had seen her out of armor more than once. Mostly in training gear when they sparred. But now and then… He was her Protector – the only Protector, for now – and as that, he was around her almost all the time. He’d had to go and wake her up on more than one occasion, and he was one of the very few who knew what clothes the Mand’alor slept in. Or how she looked with tousled hair. Or how beautiful her face was when she slept soundly.

Fenn sighed and reminded himself that he shouldn’t be having thoughts like that about his ruler. But he just couldn’t help it. Even now, with her wearing just standard black pants and a black tunic, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

At first, Fenn had thought it was just a crush. That she was ‘just his type’. But the better he got to know her, the more he fell for her. Now, a year later, he was pretty damn sure it wasn’t a crush. It was love. But still, she was the ruler, and he was her Protector. And that was all they could be.

###

They walked the short distance from the woods to the small city mostly in silence, enjoying the warm sun on their faces, the fragrant air blowing in a gentle breeze and the sound of small animals hidden in the undergrowth. This world was so different from the dust ball they called home.

After a few minutes, they came across one of the main roads and took it to get to the city’s main gate.

Other people were on the road, too. Some on foot like them, others in speeders or on speeder bikes. Someone was pulling a large, fruit-laden cart tied behind one of the domesticated larger local animals. Some people threw them sideway glances, others even ogled them openly. But most people just ignored them. And some very few even nodded their heads or smiled.

The first time Fenn had been here, Bo-Katan had warned him about all the different kinds of reactions her visits got. But that, given that she was partially responsible for Satine’s death, being largely ignored was probably the best she could hope for.

When they were finally in view of the main gate, Fenn heard a high-pitched squeal and saw a young girl break into a run in their direction.

“Aunt Bo!”, the girl yelled, making everybody around them watch and shake their heads.

Fenn was pretty sure the girl didn’t even notice. She didn’t even slow down much when she reached them, but threw herself into her great-aunt’s arms.

“Hey, Ca’tra,” Bo-Katan managed to say, despite her breath being knocked out of her. Fenn had to chuckle.

“I saw your ship!”, the girl explained excitedly. “Buir said I could go and pick you up at the gate.”

“Thank you, ad’ika,” Bo-Katan said smiling, detangling herself from her grandniece. She pointed at Fenn. “Do you remember Fenn?”

“Sure,” the girl said with a broad grin, waving.

“My lady,” Fenn said and bowed slightly, only to watch the girl role her eyes. He grinned.

The girl, Ca’tra, took Bo-Katan’s hand and started to pull her towards the city.

“Come on,” she said impatiently. “Dinner’s almost ready. And Ka’ra is like having a growth spurt, so if we’re not home on time, she’ll have eaten it all.”

And so, Bo-Katan let herself be pulled through the city gates by an eight-year-old, a big grin plastered on her face. Fenn followed smiling.

###

Like the first time he had been here about a year ago, Fenn marveled at the city the exiles had built. Or re-built, in a way. Everywhere, the old structures could still be seen. It was a symbiosis of old and new. Some houses had the ground floor made of the yellowish stones that all ruins here seemed to be made of, while the top floor was all dura- and transparisteel. Classical Mandalorian architecture, intertwined with the remnants of a lost civilization.

The city itself was positioned on top of a hill, and the three of them had to walk uphill to get closer to the city’s center. Bo-Katan and Ca’tra made easy conversation.

“How is everybody else?”, Bo-Katan wanted to know.

“Well, Elyria has been taking flying lessons, and I think she’s kind of good at it. Evy is kind of annoying right now. She’s like super giggly and she starts to think boys are cute.” The girl shook herself, like she couldn’t fathom how that could possibly be. Fenn raised his eyebrows, Bo-Katan snorted.

“And as I said, Ka’ra is having a growth spurt. I mean…How much food can possibly fit into a five-year-old? Apart from that, she’s as annoying as ever.”

“And your parents?” Fenn inquired.

“Tired,” Ca’tra said, grinning. “But that’s all Ijaat’s fault. She cries a lot.”

“She’s just a few weeks old,” Bo-Katan tries to reason.

“Yeah, I know, I know,” Ca’tra answers with a sigh, and Bo-Katan affectionately ruffled the girl’s hair.

Fenn realized suddenly that the girls name, Ca’tra – Night Sky – was very apt. The girl had the pale Kryze skin, but dark brown hair and rosy cheeks like her mother. Her eyes were a deep blue, just like the night sky.

About halfway up the main street, they turned right, and the girl guided them through several smaller streets and alleys, before she stopped at a door that could have been any door in the city.

“Home sweet home,” Ca’tra said and punched in the key code that opened the door.

As the door slid open, the noise of several people talking all at once suddenly flooded out into the street.

“We’re here!” Ca’tra yelled into the hall. “Tell me you haven’t started dinner yet!”

Two other girls suddenly appeared. One about fifteen; tall, and with red-blonde hair and green eyes, she looked much like Bo-Katan, though her face looked more like her mother’s.

“Aunt Bo!” she said and embraced her aunt, though much gentler than her younger sister had.

“Hey, Elyria, how are you?” Bo-Katan asked, hugging her back in return.

“Good. There is-“

“Move over, I wanna say hello, too,” the other girl said, tugging at her older sister’s clothes.

Elyria let go and let her younger sister throw her arms around Bo-Katan’s middle. Apart from the blue eyes, this one – Ka’ra, Fenn remembered – looked like a miniature version of Bo-Katan. The same face, the same flaming red hair. Even the same freckles. Just the eyes were the pale bluish-gray eyes of her father.

“Come on,” Ka’ra said, tugging at Bo-Katan’s hand. “I’m starving.”

“So we heard,” Bo-Katan answered grinning.

The rest of the family was inside the large living area. Fenn liked the Kryze’s house. It felt…yaim’la. It was a place so full of life. A bit chaotic, a bit loud, and lots of love.

“Aunt Bo!” Korkie Kryze exclaimed as he walked over to hug is aunt.

In Fenn’s memory, Korkie Kryze was a lanky fourteen-year-old with a talent to attract trouble. And though he had seen the boy – no, the man – only a year ago, Fenn still hat trouble to reconcile the adult in front of him with his mental picture. Korkie Kryze was just a tat taller than his aunt, his hair blonde, and his eyes bright blue. And one point, he had grown a well-kept, close-cropped beard.

The biggest shock, however, was seeing Korkie’s second daughter. Evy Kryze was the spitting image of Duchess Satine in her early teens. The twelve-year-old just waved over from the table she helped setting.

Korkie’s wife was walking up and down in front a large window front, gently rocking a small infant in her arms. She smiled at them and came over.

“Sorry for the chaos,” she said, gesturing at the general surroundings. “You’d think that by kid number five, we’d get the hang of it…”

Bo-Katan waved her off. “Who cares?” she answered.

Before they got any further, Ka’ra yelled across the room. “Can we eat now?”

###

Dinner had been a joyful and delicious affair, and Fenn felt stuffed and content. He was now sitting on one of the comfortable couches next to Bo-Katan and had to take care not to doze off.

It would be all too easy. He was sitting on one of the sides, being pushed into the downy cushions. Bo-Katan was right next to him, being pushed into his side by Ca’tra, who was leaning into her. All Fenn would need to do was rest his head at the back of the couch and close his eyes.

It was slowly growing dark outside, and the younger children were yawning now and again, though they tried to hide it.

“All right, girls,” Korkie eventually said. “Time for bed.”

He was met with loud wailing from his daughters, but in the end, he managed to usher them all upstairs.

Bo-Katan now had a lot more room on the couch, but to Fenn’s great surprise, she didn’t really move. Korkie’s wife flopped down on next to them, the baby asleep in her arms.

“I though Ca’tra might have exaggerated when she said how much Ka’ra is eating right now,” Bo-Katan began. “But dang…that girl really is on a growth spurt, huh?”

“Oh, and you haven’t even seen the worst of it,” Soniee replied. “It’s moments like that I’m glad we don’t have any boys. I remember how Korkie and Amis used to eat at fourteen… Nothing was safe from them.”

“I bet,” Fenn answered, and the women chuckled.

“You were like that, too?” Soniee asked, looking at Fenn.

“You bet I was.”

Before their conversation could get anywhere near other topics, the noise level upstairs escalated again.

“Mom!” yelled one of the girls. “Can you come up?”

Soniee sighed.

“Here, can you take Ijaat for a second?” she asked Bo-Katan. “I’ll be right back.”

“Uhm, sure,” Bo-Katan answered, but Fenn thought he detected a hint of panic in her voice.

Soniee placed the infant in Bo-Katan’s arms and headed up the stairs.

Next to him, Fenn could feel Bo-Katan let out a long, low breath.

“You alright?” Fenn asked quietly.

“I’m always afraid I’ll break them,” Bo-Katan answered, an apologetic smile on her face. “I mean sure, I carried Korkie around as a baby, but that’s like almost forty years ago now. And Ursa used to shove baby Sabine into my arms on occasion. But it’s not like I got any real practice or experience.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Fenn answered. And he did. Both of them had no children of their own. And though Fenn knew that neither of them actively regretted not having children, it were moments like this that still made you think of the what ifs.

Fenn leaned in closer to get a better look at the small child. She looked so peaceful in her sleep.

“She’s a lucky girl,” Fenn says, though why he says it out loud, he doesn’t know.

“She is, isn’t she,” Bo-Katan agrees. Then she sighs. “I don’t think I could live here all the time,” she continues. “But it’s good to be here now and again. With family.”

Fenn nods. Family. His family used to be the Protectors on Concord Dawn. But now his family was gone.

Before Fenn could get melancholy, the child moved in Bo-Katan’s arms, giving off small noises.

“What do I do now?” Bo-Katan whispered.

“I have no idea,” Fenn whispered back, and they both quietly chuckled.

###

Fenn couldn’t sleep. He tried; he really did. But every time he closed his eyes, he could see his fellow Protectors being slaughtered by Saxon and his men.

So, he had gotten up as quietly as possible and was looking out of the window of the Kryze’s guest room.

The last time he and Bo-Katan had been here, they had separate rooms. But with the addition of Ijaat, only one guest room was left and he and Bo-Katan had to share. Not that Fenn minded. But he didn’t want to wake her, so he tried to pass the time by looking at the foreign sky.

But Fenn heard the rustling of sheets behind him and turned around. Bo-Katan was pushed up on one elbow, looking at him.

“Can’t sleep?” she asked.

Fenn shook his head.

“No,” he answered. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” she assured him. “I…have trouble sleeping through some nights myself.”

Fenn nodded. He understood.

With no more need to be overly quiet, he went back to his bed and sat down at the edge of it.

“What do you dream of?” Bo-Katan asked him, sitting up herself.

“Concord Dawn,” Fenn answered.

Bo nodded. She didn’t really need any further explanation.

“And you?” he asked in return, though he wasn’t sure if she would answer.

“Satine.”

To Fenn’s great surprise, Bo-Katan got up and walked over to him, sitting back down right next to him on his bed.

“Do you think we’ll ever be free of our ghosts?” she asked, looking down at her hands in her lap.

“I don’t know,” Fenn answered honestly. “On the one hand, I wish they wouldn’t haunt me. But on the other, I don’t want to forget.”

Bo-Katan nods, and, to Fenn’s even greater surprise, she carefully leans her head against his shoulder.

###

The next day passes in a kind of blur. Maybe because all Fenn could think about was Bo-Katan’s head on his shoulder, and how, eventually, her fingers had laced with his. Fenn knew it had been for comfort, but poor mind had a hard time to leave it at that.

And even worse – or best of it all, depending how you looked at it – was that fact that at one point, they must have fallen asleep. In the same bed. Because when they’d woke up this morning, they had done so next to each other. They weren’t cuddled up, exactly. But still.

It was probably a good think it wasn’t a workday on this planet, as it meant that all the Kryzes were home and kept Fenn and Bo-Katan very much occupied.

As Ca’tra had already told them yesterday, Elyria had been taking flying lessons, and Bo-Katan had told her over breakfast that Fenn was – and those were her words – an extraordinary pilot. Fenn had felt himself blush like a schoolgirl. After that Elyria had talked him into letting her fly Bo-Katan’s kom’rk (with Bo-Katan’s permission, of course). And Fenn had to admit that girl had talent.

When they were done, the girl had headed off into town to meet friends, and Fenn had returned to the house. When he got back, only Korkie was home, carrying little Ijaat around.

“Where is everybody?” Fenn wondered.

“Grocery shopping,” Korkie answered. “How was flying.”

“Elyira is very talented,” Fenn answered. “It comes to her very naturally.”

Korkie nodded, a proud look on his face. But Fenn thought he also detected a hint of worry.

“Something on your mind?” Fenn asked, deciding that in his experience with Kryze’s, it sometimes paid off to be blunt.

Korkie grimaced.

“You know,” he began, “it’s easy for us grown-ups. We chose to live here. We chose to hide from the rest of the galaxy. The generation of our children, however, did not. They know there is a whole wide world out there. And eventually, they will want to see more of the galaxy than Evaar’la Yaim, beautiful as it may be.”

Fenn nodded. Then he had to grin.

“Five more Kryze women running around the galaxy…”

“Oh stars,” Korkie groaned, but then laughed.

###

Fenn felt almost a little wistful that their time on Evaar’la Yaim was coming to an end. They would be leaving tomorrow morning after breakfast.

Tonight, there was a small festival all around the central town square, and the girls had talked everyone into going. Bo-Katan had objected that a lot of people might not feel comfortable with her being there, but the girls had just told her that other people were free to go home if it bothered them.

Fenn was glad they had gone. It was a beautiful summer evening; warm, with a soft breeze. And the town square looked amazing. Lights were strung up around and above it, and groups of chairs and tables were placed everywhere. Street vendors were selling food and drink. Music was playing and people were dancing in the square below the lights.

The girls were running around here and there, talking to friends, but regularly coming back to their table to spend time with their great-aunt. Who knew when they would see each other the next time?

The adults had gone from water to wine and from dinner to desert. Fenn watched Bo-Katan try some uj cake. She took a bite and closed her eyes.

“Oh stars,” she muttered with a full mouth. “This is so good.”

Korkie snorted. “Of course, it is. This may not be Mandalore, but we are Mandalorians. Of course, we know how to make damn good uj cake.”

“Stars, Fenn, you gotta try this,” Bo-Katan said, and pushed her plate toward him.

Fenn obligingly broke off a piece and put it in his mouth. Dang, it was good.

The evening passed into night and if it were for Fenn, it might never end. Bo-Katan was sitting close to him, and at some point, she had put her head on his shoulder again. Fenn wasn’t even sure if she had noticed. He didn’t mind. Everybody else at the table had most definitely noticed but had the good sense not to say anything.

But it was getting late, and Ka’ra and Ca’tra had a hard time keeping their eyes open, and so they eventually headed back to the house.

###

Back in their guestroom, Bo-Katan leaned against the door of the ‘fresher and Fenn had a hard time keeping his eyes off her. She was wearing what she always wore at night. Comfortable pants and a tank top. But stars, she looked good in that.

Fenn cleared his throat. “I think your worries about other people’s reactions tonight were mostly unfounded,” he said.

Bo-Katan raised an eyebrow, but then smiled. “Yeah, I think after twenty years they trust me enough to not ruing their evening by blowing the place up.”

“Imagine how it’ll be in another twenty years.”

Bo-Katan grinned. “In twenty years, I might even dance and nobody will take any special notice of it.”

“Don’t you always say that you don’t dance?” Fenn wonders.

“True,” she admits. “But I will make an exception in twenty years jus to see their faces.”

Fenn snorted. “Maybe you should practice before that.”

“Ey, I said I don’t dance, not that I can’t dance,” Bo-Katan said. “I was raised at court.”

Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the uj cake, and maybe it was the lingering feeling of Bo-Katan’s head against his shoulder that inspired Fenn to make a bold move. He got up and held his hand out.

“Prove it,” he said.

“What?”

“That you can dance. Prove it. Take my hand and dance with me.”

For a fleeting second, Bo-Katan looked surprised. But then, she pushed herself off the doorframe, and walked over to Fenn.

“One dance, Protector,” she said.

“Yes, my lady.”

And then, she was in his arms, so damnably close that her scent filled his nose, and he felt the heat of her body radiate outward.

People never believed Fenn could dance, but his mother thought it important that he learned how to. And if it was just for this moment, where he danced with his Mand’alor in her nephew’s guest room. Danced with the woman he loved as moonlight filtered through the windows.

Fenn had no idea how long they danced. All he knew was that they moved closer and closer together until her body was flush against his and her head pillowed against his chest. Fenn was certain she could hear his heart hammering in his chest, pounding wildly against his ribs.

At one point, they stopped moving and Bo-Katan looked up at him. Stars, she was beautiful Her green eyes, her freckles, her lips. Damn, those lips. Fenn’s eyes lingered on them, watched how they parted and breathed out his name, and Fenn’s brain short-circuited. He leaned in and kissed her.

And to his great surprise – and great relief – she kissed him back.

[elvendara]

😉Fake Dating for @what-imfabulous-acceptit

I also realized that I used the 🤑 emoji twice so...guess I'll have to do both! LOL

I hope you like what I wrote! And thank you for the ask!

“Come on Saeyoung! It’s just one day!” Yoosung pleaded with the red head.

“NO! Absolutely not!” Saeyoung’s amber eyes were wide with disbelief at the continued bombardment from Yoosung. “I’m not going to let you ‘borrow’ my wife just so you don’t have to face the ‘why don’t you have a girlfriend yet’ questions from your family.”

“Please! I’m begging you. You don’t know what it’s like!” the blond fell to his knees and clutched at Saeyoung’s shirt.

MC was having a difficult time controlling her laughter and Saeran, who stood right beside her, sucked on a lollipop with a smirk on his face.

“Maybe if you put this much effort into actually finding a girlfriend, you’d have one.” Saeyoung tried to pull the shirt from Yoosung’s grasp. Saeran shook his head at the comedic gold unfolding before his eyes.

“Now you’re just being mean.” Yoosung let go of his best friend and fell back, sitting on his heels, rejected.

“OK OK, I’m sorry.” Saeyoung laughed and squatted in front of Yoosung.

“Does that mean that I can take MC to my family’s reunion as my girlfriend?” Yoosung asked eagerly.

“No.” was the firm answer.

“Oh.” Yoosung hung his head again. He would just have to suffer another year of his far flung relatives shaking their heads and clicking their tongues at his inability to snag a mate. He was 22 years old now and still never had a girlfriend, his teenaged relatives were going to tease him again.

“Why don’t you ask Saeran?” Saeyoung suggested. Saeran choked on the lollipop and he doubled over in a coughing fit. Yoosung’s head swiveled towards the other twin. Saeran? He blinked, really thinking about it. Would it matter if he had a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend? Sure, some in his family would disapprove but so what? It was still better than the alternative.

He stood so fast he inadvertently shoved Saeyoung on his ass. The blond didn’t even give him a backwards glance let alone an apology. MC hurried to her husband and helped him up.

“What about it Searan? It’s just one day. Well, a day and a half maybe. We’d stay in my old room. Mom’s not a prude so she would assume we’re already sleeping together. And it would be better that way, it would save a lot of questions about why we’re not in the same room. I know my family, they tend to get nosy. But you don’t have to say anything. I can tell them you’re shy and very private. They won’t leave you alone just because of that, but you can get away with some one-word answers. It’s my sister you have to worry about. She’ll drill you, so we’d have to get our stories straight, you know, how did we meet? Well, that’s easy I guess, you’re my best friend’s brother obviously. What was our first date? When did you know you liked me, a…”

“Shut up!” Saeran had been taking several steps back until he hit the couch, Yoosung coming at him like a machine gun. Yoosung’s amethyst eyes blinked slowly, his cupid’s mouth turning into a frown, his lower lip trembling. “Damn it! Stop looking at me like that!”

“Like what?” he asked innocently, eyebrows knitting together pathetically above his eyes.

Saeran sighed and looked away. “Fine! I’ll do it, but I’m not answering any questions and I’m not going to be nice to anyone, got it?”

Yoosung threw himself on Saeran and hugged him tight. Saeran stiffened, not returning the hug, but not pushing the blond away either.

“OK OK, get off me!” Saeran finally pushed Yoosung off and rubbed his arms. “I’ll go pack. One day! I’m giving you one day that’s it!” the red head stated as he walked towards his room. “And don’t expect me to change who I am!” he called over his shoulder.

“Never!” Yoosung laughed jumping up and down with joy. His own bag was already packed. He’d waited till the last minute to ask about MC pretending to be his girlfriend, hoping it would help in making Saeyoung say yes. He’d been wrong. Of course, if he had a wife of his own, he wouldn’t like letting her pretend to be anyone else’s girlfriend either. “Oh, Saeyoung, can you drive us to the train station?”

Saeyoung and MC both took them to the station and stayed until the train pulled away.

Yoosung was grateful for their support, but still a little worried about Saeran.

“Thanks for doing this. I know you don’t really want to.” Yoosung said as the train began to move. They faced each other and Saeran had wasted no time pulling a book out of his bag to read.

“Whatever. Why do you even care what they think about you anyway? So what you’re taking your time to choose someone. If you ask me, people are too quick to jump into a relationship.” He went back to reading his book as Yoosung spent the rest of the ride thinking about what he’d said.

Once they stepped off the train Yoosung grabbed Saeran’s arm. “Wait. I shouldn’t have asked you, or anyone, to do this. It’s stupid right? I mean, what you said, about caring what they think? I don’t know how to answer that if I’m honest.” He ran a hand through his hair, the corners of his mouth tightening.

“Look, I get it…well…I mean, I don’t really have family like you. If I did, I wouldn’t want all their unasked-for interference in my life either. If it means you spend a day and a half without having to fend off all those aunts and uncles and cousins asking about your nonexistant love life and trying to give you advice, it’s worth it.” Saeran shrugged. “Don’t worry about it.” He held out his hand and Yoosung grartefully took it.

“Are you sure? I mean, I can just introduce you as a friend.” Yoosung offered.

“Nah, I’m already in the boyfriend mindset! Hmm, I say we hated each other at first. I would tease you for being so naïve and gullible and you’d tear into me for being an asshole and mean. But we spent so much time together, with Saeyoung being your bestie and all, that we kind of became Saeyoung and MC’s double date couple until I asked you out for real. What do you think?” they walked hand in hand out of the train station and hailed a cab.

“Sounds great actually. Well, I say our first date was at a super fancy restaurant, since you asked me, but we ended up ditching it for a burger joint that had the greasiest burgers in town.” He smiled, really getting into it.

“Love it! I know the exact place too. Jujin’s Bites.”

“Oh yes! That place would be perfect!” Saeran opened the door to the back of the cab and Yoosung climbed in, Saeran right behind him. He took Yoosung’s hand again and it made Yoosung’s heart race. What was this feeling? He felt so at ease with Saeran but at the same time his heart had never raced so fast next to him like this. He leaned against him and Saeran squeezed his hand harder. Was he just getting into the role of his boyfriend? That had to be it right?

Saeran kept talking during the fifteen-minute drive and Yoosung just nodded and made general ascenting noises. His mind was working overtime, trying to calm himself down. This wasn’t real, but it suddenly felt very real. Confusion clouded his thinking as he sifted through his feelings. The ride was way too short to figure anything out definitively, so he tried to just shut it down. Shove those feelings into a box, tape it up, and lock it behind a closed door in the back of his mind.

Taking a deep breath, he allowed Saeran to help him out of the car. The red head then paid the driver and picked up his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. Yoosung did the same with his. They reached out to each other, holding hands quickly becoming a thing of ease and habit. The door to his mother’s house opened before they were even halfway up the sidewalk. His mother came rushing out and hugged him tightly. He let go of Saeran and returned his mother’s hug. His father and sister stood in the doorway, his sister, Yasmine, arched her eyebrow and gave him a very pointed questioning look as those same lavender eyes transferred towards Saeran at his side.

“Mom, you’re cutting off my circulation.” He managed to squeeze out.

“Oh, sorry, it’s just so nice to see my baby.” Saeran snorted but kept his comment to himself.

“I was just here last month.” Yoosung said.

“And who is this handsome fellow?” she asked, taking a step back and eyeing Saeran up and down.

“Oh, well, uh…” Yoosung suddenly couldn’t lie to his mother.

“I’m Saeran, Yoosung’s boyfriend.” Saeran introduced himself and bowed to the woman respectfully.

“Boyfriend? Why didn’t I know about this?” she asked, steely eyes turning to her son.

“I wanted to tell you in person that’s all.” Yoosung looked away.

“We’ve only been seeing each other a couple of weeks. At least, officially.” Saeran tried to smile but it looked like a smirk and Yoosung was sure his family was getting the wrong idea.

“Yeah, uh, maybe we can talk inside?” the neighbors had suddenly decided to be a bit nosy, and it was making Yoosung uncomfortable.

“Of course, come in come in.” his mom stepped between them, turned around and slid her arms into theirs, leading them into the house.

Yasmine had that look in her eyes and Yoosung tried to catch Saeran’s eye to give him an “I’m sorry” look. It was going to get ugly.

^^

The train ride back was mostly silent as they sat side by side. Sleeping in the same bed had been awkward after spending the day with his family. Yoosung had been right, some people in his family had not approved of two men being a couple, but their protests had been quickly shut down by his own mother and many who supported the relationship. Saeran had been a hit. Even with his dour expressions and curt answers, they had loved him.

There had been one uncomfortable moment when his sister had questioned their relationship and asked for proof by demanding they kiss. Yoosung had turned beat red at the idea but Saeran hadn’t hesitated, taking his chin and tilting it up slightly with thumb and forefinger. He had grazed Yoosung’s trembling lips, and softly pressed against them with his own. A sigh had escaped Yoosung’s lips as he felt Saeran’s wet tongue infiltrate his mouth. His head swam and he felt as if he would pass out, but Saeran held him close and didn’t let him slip. His sister had been satisfied and Yoosung had to admit, he had too. He’d spent the rest of the day thinking about that kiss and wondering if there would be more.

Unfortunately, there hadn’t been, but it had made for an awkward night. Saeran never mentioned it and Yoosung wondered if it had been no big deal to him. He felt sad at that thought. He chanced a glance to his side and saw that Saeran’s eyes were closed. He studied the profile, the sharp angle of his cheek, he still looked like he needed to eat more, but Yoosung knew that frailty was an illusion. He was strong, stronger than anyone he’d ever known. He had to be to still be somewhat sane after everything he’d been through.

He studied the delicate eyelashes, a soft orange that matched his hair. His eyes ran across the smattering of freckles and he ached to reach out and touch them. The feel of Saeran’s lips were still on his mind and he couldn’t help but to ingrain every inch of the soft pink flesh into his mind. He didn’t want the subterfuge to end he realized. He wanted to make it real. Saeran, Saeran was who he had been waiting for all his life. This man, with all his faults and trauma. Love wasn’t rose petals and rainbows. Unicorns and fantasyland. It was reality. The will to be with someone who wasn’t perfect but was perfect for you. The desire to make that person happy and to share their burdens. To walk on solid ground while looking up at the sky and weathering every storm that hit them. Together. He reached out and took a hold of Saeran’s hand and as he watched, those soft lips he had been studying shifted into a smile.

[miserable-pile-of-lies]

The Sleeping Prince of Wallachia Ch. 2 (Full)

Here's the entirety of chapter two in all of its glory, I hope you guys enjoy the small lore that I created regarding Greta!

Summary: Wallachia is in great peril at the behest of Death himself; all those who have attempted to battle the creature have swiftly been executed and made an example of. The key to defeating the beast lies in Dracula's castle, located twenty odd miles out from a small village by the name of Danesti. In this village, the headwoman Greta must act quickly to save her people from the onslaught of attacks by night creatures and other ungodly minions who have sworn their loyalty to Death. Will she alone be able to stop Death or will she require additional aid to save her people and those in Wallachia?

Roasted walnuts indecorously bestrewed the forest floor, being tossed from a perch high above that stretched into the sky. Humming a cheerful tune that foretold the story of Queen Dido, a thirteen-year-old Greta smacked her lips obnoxiously as Marius attempted to scamper away from the branch they sat upon. The young girl hurled an emptied shell of a walnut into the air, given to her by the portly baker Grigore, a Wallachian native that had recently settled in Danesti to toil his goods.

“That isn’t how the founding story of Carthage goes, Queen Dido was bewitched by Cupid’s arrow,” a twelve-year-old Marius moaned wearily at his older friend who crossed her lanky arms unimpressed by the explanation. The Roman boy dug into the pouch that sat between him and his companion, uttering a cry when he felt a pinch twist the doughy skin of his love handles. Offering his finest glare, the adolescent lobbed a walnut at the lass who only ducked backwards in response to the sneak attack with a snigger.

“That cannot be, Prince Aeneas deceptively seduced our founding mother with sweet words only to leave her high and dry in the pursuit of his journey, ultimately courting Princess Lavinia of Italy,” Greta bit out with a scowl as she described the cowardly philanderer that covertly escaped into the night when leaving Carthage at the command of Jupiter. Prince Aeneas went on to become the founding father of Rome, previously recognized as the city of Lavinium when the metropolis was founded by his followers to honor their queen.

Marius merely shrugged at the latter details relayed by Greta, knowing how the rest of the myth went. Queen Dido, in a fitful rage, committed suicide out of spite at the abandonment of Aeneas and sparked the Punic Wars that led to the annexation of Carthage. Presently, both civilizations were relics of the past and the descendants of Aeneas and Dido had long forgotten about the dissension that divided the two to begin with.

“Who cares about any of that, it’s all ancient history anyway; more importantly we should talk about Faiza,” Marius clucked out with a cheeky grin as Greta’s face promptly flushed at the mention of the girl who currently held her affections.

Nimble fingers tapped bashfully against the coarse bark of the tree as she thought of the remarkable Moroccan beauty, two years her senior with an unmatched intellect that could not be found elsewhere in the village. Clearing her throat with a thunderous cough that echoed amongst the thicket of trees, thick chestnut brows quirked up to implore Marius to continue his line of questioning.

Sighing heavily in exasperation, the young man reached across to tug at his closest playmate’s cheek, earning an appalled yelp in reply.

“You vexing little runt, what was that for,” Greta demanded with a scoff, lightly slapping the terracotta toned hand away as Marius held his rib from chuckling harshly at Greta’s indignation. Thoroughly riled by the taunts, the daughter of the headman gracefully descended from the tree, stirring up the emerald leaves that laid in the low grass below. Lips curved upward at the sound of an astonished choke, knowing that Marius would take much longer to get down than Greta.

Leaves crunched in protest, alarming the teenager, who speedily pulled out her short sword to defend both herself and Marius from a potential assailant. Pale green eyes squinted in concentration, rising from the thick branch he sat upon. Marius tactically retrieved his elm bow and arrow to target the source of the commotion hidden by the overgrown shrubbery. Palms were presented in a mock defense manner and soon both sword and bow were lowered without further inquiry; the newcomer was a fellow inhabitant of Danesti who went by the name of Felix. The scrawny queer man looked affright when he saw their weapons drawn, shaking like a white flag in the wind signaling a surrender from a defeated camp of soldiers.

“Greta and Marius, I’ve come to retrieve you both on behalf of Tobias, he says that your mother is nearing the end of labor,” Felix squawked out nervously forcing his hands to his sides while tipping the crooked point of his jaw in the air, an attempt to reinforce his position as an elder among the children who innocently snickered at the poor fellow.

Tobias was the current headman of Danesti, father of Greta and husband of Iman, patiently awaiting the arrival of his second child with the rest of the men in the village. As per custom, Iman was currently being attended by several midwives and parish priests recruited from the capital of Târgoviște; a far journey that took the travelers weeks to make it to the settlement in time for the birth.

The leader of the village had forfeited several family heirlooms to afford the care needed for Iman and adequately compensated those assisting in the birth. Childbirth was an unforgiving ordeal; one could never be too safe to preserve the life of both mother and child even with the aid of experts.

Honeyed eyes crinkled in joy; the youth absolutely thrilled that she would finally meet her younger sibling. The young girl had been praying that it would be a boy so that her father could be at peace and have a successor that would eventually inherit the role of headman. If that occurred, her father would stop stifling her fun with Marius and the other village children, forcing her to sit through tedious meetings with the village council about the daily state of affairs in their community.

Regardless of the gender of the newborn, Greta promised her mother that she would look out for her younger sibling and her mother beamed from ear to ear while affectionately carding her rich brown hands through her daughter’s silken hair. Often wrapped in colorful linens covering her form and adorned with intricately knotted scarves, her mother dressed in the traditional garb that was expected of women hailing from Somalia, a resource rich country found in East Africa. Though it was rare to see out in the open, Greta adored seeing her mother braid her kinky curly hair into the fine thin rows of braids decorated by glassy beads and golden hair cuffs imported from North African traders passing through the area to sell their finery.

The relationship between Tobias and Iman was an anomaly to all onlookers based on the traits of the two; Tobias was a brash man who had no filter and the shortest temper that could set off at a moment’s notice while Iman was quiet spoken yet assertive in her demands, effortlessly carrying herself like a member of royalty. Additionally, Tobias carried the wide frame of a brutish bull, but he was slightly below average in stature while Iman towered over her husband with long slim legs and a slender frame hidden by her garments.

“We need to hurry, I don’t want to miss the birth of my baby brother,” Greta complained impatiently while Marius climbed his way down the birch tree with cautious steps, ensuring that his footing was secured along the way.

“You keep saying that you will have a brother, but how can you be so confident,” the boy queried warily with a suspicious glance, unconvinced that intuition alone could predict such a momentous event. Landing upon the ground, the youngster hollered upon Greta roughly grabbing and shaking him by the shoulders in frustration. Hoping that Felix would lend a helping hand against the rambunctious girl, Marius silently implored the middle-aged man to intervene and separate the two.

“You sound so skeptical my dear Marius, you should know that I’m quite clever when it comes to these matters,” Greta pledged eagerly, forcibly disconnected from the lad by an already fatigued Felix. The old man wished to return to the village before the three lost daylight and encountered the mischievous spirits of the forest.

“Enough out of you two, come along now,” the farmer churned out with difficulty, feeling hoarse at the thought of the journey back to the township.

Nose scrunched with a harrumph, Greta filed behind Felix with a small pout and Marius walked beside her feeling a small pang of jealousy. His friend had spent a great deal of time boasting about the new arrival of her sibling that he could not help the thorns of envy that pierced the entirety of his being. Thick as thieves, just about everyone in the colony had known how close the two were, rarely seen without one another. With the arrival of a newborn, Greta’s responsibilities and chores would increase tremendously as her mother recovered over the span of the next two months.

What if we grow apart Marius mused gloomily, instantly prickled with guilt at the selfishness of his thoughts but was shaken out of his stupor when he felt a hand roughly the same size as his own. Jade orbs welled up with teardrops as a thumb brush against his palm and he gripped the hand back in silence.

“What are you thinking about,” Greta murmured with great care; a tone rarely used in their conversations due to the spitfire personality that defined the young maiden.

Brushing away the tears in his eyes with his available hand, Marius contemplated how much he would be able to disclose without feeling entirely embarrassed by the pettiness of his emotions. Initially shrugging his shoulders in deference, his ample cheeks burned in shame as he slowly treaded along the path hand in hand with Greta.

“Promise not to laugh,” the boy pleaded with a defeated look, not being able to make eye contact with Greta who openly stared at him with such unease. Taking a deep breath in, the young girl released her hand from Marius and grabbed her friend’s knobby shoulders with an intense hawk-like gaze.

“I swear upon our friendship that I will not laugh, nor will I reveal the contents of this discussion to any soul,” she assured with a heavy sense of conviction, unconditional love filling her freesia eyes. Lips parted in mirth from the sheer honesty of his friend, a chuckle threatening to bubble up from his throat at his own foolishness.

“Can you promise that we’ll always remain friends,” Marius entreated faintly, inspecting the approaching dusk of the sky that precariously peeked through the treetops.

Although dumbfounded at the soft plea, Greta did not dither in responding to the vulnerable request, “Even if we were friends for an eternity, it still wouldn’t be enough time together.”

A wave of warmth washed over Marius at the declaration, assuaged by Greta’s consideration of his intrusive thoughts. Playfully knocking his shoulder into her own, the childhood friends smiled at one another, before redirecting their attention to the approaching sight of their settlement.

The trio slowly came to a stop at the barricade that was currently bolted shut from potential new arrivals in the village; Felix hesitantly craned his willowy neck upwards to see who stood guard at the top of its walls. Sure enough, a stout man roughly in his late thirties beamed at the sight of the three, quickly retrieving the bast rope to lower the door of the enormous, antiquated gatehouse. Squeaking in protest, the barricade slowly opened to the three, dust settling in the air upon impact. Without further notice, Marius and Greta speedily dashed across the oak wood of the gate while Felix’s knees trembled from exertion as he slowly limped into the community.

“Didn’t think the three of you would make it in time,” Luigi snorted cheekily, teetering towards the post to relatch the gate on the headman’s orders. Shortly after, the hefty man climbed down the shifty ladder that squeaked every step of the way before reaching the ground to properly greet the triad.

“If these two hadn’t been gallivanting about in the forest, we could have been back much sooner,” Felix complained rubbing his sore shoulders. Holding his rounded stomach while unleashing a booming guffaw, Luigi playfully shook his balding head at the mention of Marius and Greta’s predictable antics. The adolescents wordlessly exchanged a sour look before politely excusing themselves from the drawn-out discussion between the two chatty adults.

Heading towards her family’s residence, Greta and Marius spotted almost every villager crowded outside of the gate of her ancestral home. The gate was carved with several strokes belonging to the Punic alphabet and astrological formations that foretold the perilous journey of her forefathers.

Standing at the forefront of the assemblage, Tobias paced back and forth worriedly awaiting the nursing aides who instructed him to stay outside until the birthing ritual was completed. The sound of a woman wailing reverberated within the family home and Tobias wished for nothing more than to be by his wife’s side. A sizeable number of villagers swaddled their leader in support, all holding celebratory gifts to offer protection against any harm that may come to Iman or the arriving infant.

Lengthy, partially braided chestnut tresses fell past sun kissed broad shoulders; the headman possessed a striking profile that was disrupted by the prestigious wide hook of a nose displaying his Carthaginian roots. The warrior’s features were that of a handsome hero residing in an epic poem, his Herculean body cladded in his finest olive tunic befitting the occasion. Despite Greta clearly resembling her mother far more, both father and daughter shared the same honeyed gaze that resembled the jewel tones of amber.

The entire village of Danesti recognized the headman and his wife as the most handsome couple in the village, both easy on the eyes and charming in their own way. However, the couple had eyes for no one else; the village leader was completely smitten and dedicated his every waking moment to Iman while Iman could not see another man loving her the way Tobias did. Tobias claimed that he fell for Iman from the moment that he had laid his eyes on her, formally the daughter of a Somali livestock peddler who regularly passed through Danesti on route to the numerous towns in Wallachia.

Whenever Greta asked about the tryst, the older villagers professed that no one had silenced Tobias in quite the same manner that Iman did upon their initial meeting, the headman completely bewitched by her stunning beauty and graceful manner. Falling to his knees shamelessly, the newly appointed leader of Danesti begged for Iman to allow him to worship her for the rest of his days and Iman accepted the shocking proposal with a shy smile. Despite the two reciprocating feelings for one another, her father Assad was completely against the courtship as he had plans to marry Iman off to a thriving merchant who lusted after his eldest daughter.

In the end, Tobias challenged Assad in a physical brawl for the hand of Iman and the rest was history. The two wasted no time in conceiving a child within the first year of their engagement, naming Greta after the precious gem that adorned the ring Tobias gave to his wife, formerly worn by his late mother who died in the aftermath of his own birth.

Bushy brows seemed to cement into a permanent pinch, clearly distressed until he heard a familiar voice.

“Father, how is mother doing,” Greta questioned tensely, pushing through the crowd while Marius was herded in by his folks despite the boy’s protests.

Exhaling with a frightful glower, Tobias channeled his anxiety into outrage at the late arrival of his daughter, “Have you had your fill of prancing off with Marius?” Ears ablaze in mortification at the scrutiny of the villagers who went silent at the confrontation, the young girl stopped a few feet shy of her father.

“I needed to go somewhere quiet to complete my gift for mother,” Greta confessed weakly, digging into the goatskin satchel slung across the finely threaded olive tunic that mirrored the one that her father donned. Carefully, her uncertain fingers produced a small carved sculpture of a woman holding an infant while shameful tears muddled her vision. The craftsmanship of the small carving was remarkable, the creation a labor of love worked on by Greta and Marius over the period of a fortnight.

Rumpled brows sheepishly slackened at the admission, knowing that if Iman had been present, she would be livid with her husband’s arbitrary treatment of their daughter. Hesitantly, the headman closed the distance between himself and Greta who stubbornly withheld her tears as he approached.

Lifting the corner of his mouth minutely, the gruff man reached out and gingerly carded his chunky fingers through the beautiful chestnut hair of his daughter, not one for sentimentality or overt displays of affection in front of others. Peeking from beneath the reach of her father’s labor-thickened hands, Greta gathered the courage to blow a raspberry in retaliation. The sound of laughter erupted amongst the crowd of villagers, thankful that the situation had not escalated any further. The tense line of Tobias’ mouth relaxed for the first time all day; a small smile coaxed from the outrageousness of his adorable daughter.

Seemingly out of nowhere, the door of the cruck home belonging to Tobias and Iman flung open. In the doorway of the home stood the principal midwife, looking to Tobias with a weighted gaze that forebode tragedy. All went quiet in shock, the exultant air of the villagers immediately vanishing in fear of what would come next.

Face crumbling in misery at what lied ahead, Tobias sucked in his plump lower lip, approaching the doorway of his home with solemn steps. Before fully making it over the threshold, the headman threw a backwards glance at his daughter whose eyes carried a sorrow that was beyond her years.

“Restrain your grief,” Tobias uttered cautiously, directing a grim expression to Greta before entering his home. Marching past the chaste kitchen of his abode, the man followed closely behind the midwife who remained quiet as a mouse before arriving at the door of the room that had been prepared for the birth. Closing his freesia eyes with a silent prayer, he opened the door and his husky body crumbled to the ground.

His beautiful wife had never been so pale, the rich brownness of her skin ashen from the exertion of labor and her mouth ajar as she wheezed harshly. Her lithe form sagged uncomfortably on the birthing stool that she sat upon. The maternity gown cloaking her frail form was drenched in excess blood from the pelvis down, the essence of life puttering silently onto the floorboards of the room. The secondary midwives turned their remorseful glances upon the speechless headman who saw the swaddled form of his stillborn son, laying in the woven basket of his crib perpetually silent, never to awaken from his eternal slumber.

“Where is our boy Tobias, they refuse to let me hold him,” Iman churned out deliriously, blearily making out her husband who still sat in the doorway. With great difficulty, the thirty-five-year-old rose to his feet, ambling towards his wife who reached out her hand in search of her beloved. Arriving at her side, he pressed his lips to the clammy forehead of his wife who shook like a leaf in his embrace. Shushing his wife with a gentleness that only she inspired, Tobias softly asked Iman to rest despite her repeated question. Eventually, she dozed off from the sheer pain of her loss and the weakness of her body while Tobias held her fragile hand to his cheek.

“There is something I must tell you,” the central midwife addressed miserably, knowing that what she was about to disclose would break the man before her beyond repair. Heartbroken from the loss of his ill-fated son, Tobias shook his head refusing to part from his spouse.

“No more, not now,” the warrior beseeched quietly, incessant tears drenching his face, looking down at his doomed wife; the village leader had spent enough time entrenched in death to know the telltale signs. Even in her sleep, Iman breathed with difficulty and her body was soaked with cold sweat from the feverish trot of impending death.

Nodding with a heavy heart, the midwife stepped out of the room with her aides, giving the couple their much-needed privacy with the promise of addressing the village in place of the grief-stricken man.

Setting foot into the dusk of the evening, the middle-aged woman was immediately met by the mob of villagers who had not breathed a word since the departure of their leader. Hands were gravely clasped in prayer with heads bowed, hoping that at least one of the poor souls had survived the traumatic birth. The daughter of the village leader looked at the midwife with lifeless eyes, slowly stepping forward with clenched fists, nails digging violently into the skin of her palms.

“Where are my parents,” the minor queried weakly; she looked nothing like the spirited girl that danced gleefully at the arrival of the midwife with her aides. Lip trembling, the adolescent brushed past the midwife with an anguished cry, marching into her household completely distraught. Marius observed his friend from afar, feeling the pit of his stomach drop into the deepest depths, wishing that he could provide an iota of comfort. Nothing he said would erase the sorrow that would forever mark this day; he could only hope that Greta would find the courage to smile again one day as tears ran down his face.

Spiraling into complete panic, Greta made her way through the simple structure of her home, wiping her tears with the sleeve of the cotton blouse her mother had just laundered a few days ago. Arriving at the door where her parents were surely behind, her face flittered between dread and hysteria. Intaking a deep breath, she pushed the door open silently and an ear-shattering scream reached the villagers who all mournfully turned to embrace their own families. The village men removed their hats out of respect while the women held their children close to their breast, some too young to understand what was going on.

Tobias abruptly removed himself from his wife who was still barely holding on at the sound of his daughter’s screech, silently standing up with his back facing Greta. Nose flaring irritably, ire scathed his irises when he looked at his daughter who was amid a panic attack. Chest heaving up and down in apprehension, the child convulsed as an ugly cry cut through the silence of the room, not knowing whether to stare at her condemned mother or brother.

Tears still lingering in his eyes, Tobias savagely stomped across the room, standing before his firstborn without penitence.

“Straighten up now daughter of mine, you need to grow up,” he shouted venomously, grabbing the girl roughly by her slightly too large tunic to ground himself. Blunt teeth bared wickedly for all to see, the chieftain burrowed his daughter against his strong chest with silent tears, words at odds with his current actions.

Nothing reached Greta who continued to wail, the strength in her knees disappearing entirely as she slid to the floor, her father silently sinking with her. Thick snot and tears ran amuck, her breathing clearly affected by her frenzied state while a hand gently rubbed her back. The edges of her vision blackened as she fainted; Greta vaguely recalled her father raving like a mad man in his native tongue, sobbing harshly as he brought his beloved child firmly into the embrace of his burly arms. It would be the first and last time the future head woman would see the resilient man brought to tears, the love of his life stealing them away permanently with her unexpected departure.

_____________________________________________________________________________

I have lost my other brother Greta thought ardently, turning the statement over and over in her head a million times, wondering when the immediate grief of Marius passing would slither away. Presently, her muddied sleeves were rolled up to her elbows as she gathered the remains of the corpses strewn about her village. Dismembered bodies were carefully laid on thick tarps customarily used to protect the produce cultivated by the farmers of Danesti. One thing was certain after last night’s invasion; the village of Danesti had fallen and it had occurred under Greta’s charge.

Invisible unrelenting fingers pointed at her in a silent accusation, calling for her execution and demanding that the head woman be replaced by a more capable hand. Loading up a wooden cart with rows of bundled corpses, amber eyes sorrowfully looked onto the Earth that bled her people dry in this latest attack. Less than forty percent of the inhabitants of Danesti and those belonging to other nearby villages survived, many children becoming orphans while the women were widowed in the aftermath of their closest victory against the night hordes.

Humiliated by the string of her latest failures, the village leader could not bring herself to thoroughly engage with anyone. If a villager approached her for further instructions regarding their task, she cowardly evaded eye contact, automatically generating an appropriate response. Despite the fatigue eating away at her strength, Greta refused to stop busying herself with the innumerous number of tasks before her. Very few members of the village council had survived, leaving her with an excessive workload to keep her out of her thoughts for a decent stretch of time.

If the previous headman could see her now, he would probably double over in shame from beyond the grave, wondering why his daughter failed the colony given all that he had taught her. In his last days, Tobias constantly reassured Greta of her position as next in line for the leadership of the village, silencing anyone who stood in opposition of her inheriting the role.

“Only you have the abilities to lead Danesti beyond its current splendor,” Tobias affirmed maniacally before he passed from a broken heart, his health steadily declining over the years, leaving a depressed and scared eighteen-year-old Greta to pick up the pieces of his ambitions.

Watching her once indestructible father devolve into a mass of sinewy muscles on his deathbed emotionally ravaged Greta. However, she could not afford to mourn for months like she did with her mother and baby brother, for the sake of the villagers now depending on her counsel. Burying her emotions deep in her breast, Greta only divested her authentic emotional state to Marius in moments of deep insecurity. The young woman feigned abundant confidence in the presence of her people, strategically dispatching a witty remark here and there at anyone who dared to challenge her position of power.

With the hammer of Tobias, Greta led a new age of prosperity in Danesti over the next four years; encouraging the expansion of the village as well as carefully managing the resources to supply the newcomers settling in the community. Branches of commerce grew as well, the wardress carefully researching the highly sought goods of Wallachians nearby to encourage her people to communicate with others from their native countries for trading purposes, utilizing the diversity of her community.

Slowly beginning to recover from her past traumas, a cruel God deemed that it was time to awaken Greta from her dreams of a brighter future, Wallachians region wide receiving a wave of brutal attacks by the night hordes. Death was an inevitable foe that she knew she would never be able to completely curb, stealing her villagers every now and then due to tragic accidents or old age. What she was facing now was entirely different; mass graves were being dug due to the surplus of carcasses that cluttered the lands, because there were not enough hands available to dig individual graves.

Snapping out of her thoughts, she looked to her bounded shoulder to find a tanned hand planted there, meeting the eyes of the Speaker who saved her life the previous night. Once again, finding heavy worriment in those cerulean-blue orbs, the young heroine found herself almost cursing the woman for rescuing her and Marius in that instance. At least if she died then, it would have been at the side of her dearest friend whom she considered to be the last member of her long-gone family.

“We need to talk,” the ginger-haired woman whispered gently, seeing the vacancy and pain that traversed the head woman. Stopping her task at the bidding of an invisible force from the ether, Greta allowed herself to be led away from her people who stared at their leader sympathetically.

What the fuck am I doing the hammer-wielding warrior questioned, chewing her lower lip aggressively while darting her eyes to the back of the Speaker’s fiery strands that bounced at the beating of the morning wind. Finally, the two ceased further movement upon arriving at a patch of undisturbed land that had not been scorched. The unknown woman turned to Greta with the irritated twitch of her nose, the stench of smoke still filling the air long after the Speakers had put out the flames.

“My name is Sypha Belnades, I’m the granddaughter of the Elder Speaker that leads this particular caravan,” Sypha extended politely, introducing herself with a small bow out of respect for the chief ruler of the village. The young mage happened upon Greta shortly after the night hordes fled from the assault on Danesti, feeling an unconscious link form between the two at the vulnerability that the young leader displayed for her people. Tears of empathy sprouted at the sight of Greta sprawled over the newly deceased Marius, knowing the importance of bonds and how easily a community could translate into the bonds of family.

Nodding in acknowledgment, Greta bowed as well with a forced smile, “I’m Greta of Danesti, daughter of the deceased Tobias and Iman,” responded punctually before allowing the sorcerer to continue her train of thought.

Clearing her throat in discomfort, Sypha attempted to regain her footing in the exchange, finding it difficult to formulate her thoughts amid the tragedy that she had witnessed firsthand.

“Our chapter of Speakers have spent the last couple of weeks traveling throughout the region of Wallachia, striving to put an end to the massacres that have swallowed up these lands,” Sypha started with an explanation, recounting the horrors that she had seen in her travels with a dire countenance, clearly bothered by the amount of death she had seen in the last two months. Unspeakable calamities had been dealt out without reasoning, leaving the group of Speakers at a loss in how they should advance and lend aid.

Unsubstantiated rumors circulated around the fabled entity known as Death personally commanding the army of night creatures; however, accounts from the commonfolk reported several different descriptors identifying the mystic general behind the current campaign of genocide. Some said that the commander of the army was a cloaked young woman with dark skin possessing unsettling hues that glowed, while others detailed an older male vampire who lacked the expected regalia of his kind.

“Currently we are at a disadvantage, my caravan alone cannot provide the support desperately needed across Wallachia,” Sypha confessed uneasily, rubbing her chilly fingers together to ward off the unforgiving chill that the morning air brought.

Pinched by the unyielding sense of compassion instilled by her late mother, Greta straightened her undignified form with a newfound purpose. No matter how lost she may have felt, the headwoman could not idly stand by while innocent people were slaughtered without just cause. Brown slim fingers extended out and clasped Sypha’s shoulder with certainty at what would come next, her amber eyes lighting up reinvigorated at the unspoken pledge of defending her remaining charges.

“What can I do to help,” the young warrior inquired with haste, not realizing that this exact moment would turn the tides in saving Wallachia and spark the ensuing chronicles that celebrated the legendary heroine and her fellow comrades made along the way.