#her appreciating the world she had previously steeled her heart against

[bhaalsdeepbat]

Lae'zel is like a play on the "I'm not other girls" thing, except she's trying SO hard to be like other Gith girls. She's trying to steel her heart and be a perfect soldier in the collective army serving beneath Vlaakith. No will of her own. Just blind servitude alongside the other Gith who are also denying their own individualism.

Rather than gutting the companions right then and there - as any other Githyanki would do - she joins them AND promises them a cure. A cure that was meant to be ONLY for Githyanki warriors. And she doesn't know about the lies or the fact that he cure is a death sentence, but she still extends that olive branch to the group. She'll speak up when she's grouchy and try to project a hard exterior, but she's SO secretly soft.

When you approach Rosymorn, she'll stay on that part of the map if you try to leave. Upon returning, you can make her admit she missed you.

You can make the strong Gith who was raised to pillage, kill, and conquer admit that she missed the player character.

Lae'zel isn't like other Gith Girls.

Her act two scene is trying to progress the romance as though it were between two Gith raised within that culture. It's a fight to prove your worth through your battle prowess, which makes only the best *warriors* worthy of companionship. However, it becomes clear that isn't want Lae'zel wants. If the player loses, and Bae'zel beats the fuck out of them, she becomes distraught because she doesn't WANT to fight her romantic partner.

She wants to mutually protect one another. She wants companionship with her partner. She wants to enjoy the sunrise with them, feel the tickle of the night breeze, see the Tears of Selune chase after the moon across the night sky, she wants to live and she wants to share those experiences with her love. She doesn't WANT to be the stone cold Gith that she was raised to be.

Lae'zel wasn't given any role to do with the eggs, but once the egg is in the party's possession, she's instantly drawn to it. When Xan hatches, she gives him a name to represent that he'll be raised to be free to be himself. He'll have the freedom to choose his own path, whatever that maybe. Xan DOESN'T have to be like the other Gith. He could be a scholar, an artist, a warrior, anything he wishes to be. It's his life and Lae'zel is just happy to see her little Xan be raised with the freedom she didn't realize she craved until she arrived on that silly little planet.

Lae'zel isn't like other Gith girls because no two people are the same, even if raised in the same circumstances and culture. Everyone is an individual, even when they serve a collective or are fighting alongside Allies with the same main goal.

Lae'zel isn't just a nameless, faceless soldier. She isn't interchangeable with other Gith. She isn't like the other Gith girlies.

[mymelodyheart]

Miles Between Us Chapter 2 ~Words~

Picture Source

Previously in Stories She Wrote ...

Claire ignored the jest. "So you really think I should publish my story?"

Her friend nodded excitedly. "Absolutely! You should have let me read it sooner. From what I've seen so far, you have good, solid material, and I'm convinced, when I read the rest, it will not disappoint." She stood up and smiled. "Come on, in as much as I'm all fired up after reading your story, I'm famished." She got up and left the room.

Instead of moving from her position, Claire stared at her work for a few seconds and just breathed. Although Willie and Annalise were sincere with their praises, she couldn't help but still feel nervous. This next step in her life could either turn out to be huge, or it could get her mocked out of a dream career she loved. 

Pushing aside her doubts and thinking of Jamie, she quickly compressed a copy of her story's file and sent it to him via email to read, hoping he would like her written work too

  If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

If you wish to read this from the beginning:

AO3 link

Tumblr link

 WARNING: VERY EXPLICIT SEXUAL & LANGUAGE CONTENT

  Jamie walked into his cottage and was greeted by his dog Rollo and cat, Adso. He tossed his keys on the dining table as he absentmindedly rubbed his pets alternately behind the ears and scrolled through his phone. He smiled. There was an email notification from Claire and a text letting him know she would be calling after dinner. After turning on his laptop, he shrugged off his jacket, placed it on the back of his chair, and then went to the kitchen to feed his companions, thinking his own dinner would have to wait, too eager to read Claire's email. 

Feeling the chill, he put firewood onto the grate and set it alight, before making a mug of black tea and heading back to the dining table. Once there, instead of immediately opening his email, he stared at his desktop photo. It was of Claire, wearing nothing but his shirt and sitting cross-legged by the fireplace with a bowl of breakfast. Without conscious volition, he touched the picture on the screen and then brought his fingers against his lips. Miss you, Sassenach. Although work and obligations had filled his days, time seemed to go so painstakingly slow, his mind constantly wandering to her. It pained him not to have her by his side, but he knew it was a little sacrifice for what lay ahead of them.

Sighing, he opened the email. Please read and tell me what you think, love C, it said. 

After clicking on the attachment, he extracted the content and found a file with Word documents. He enlarged the first page, skimmed through the paragraphs and realised it was Claire's work. After taking a sip of his tea, he proceeded to read from the beginning.

A few paragraphs later, he was hooked. Not because Claire wrote it, but because of the beautiful marrying of emotions with words. He was instantly captivated. How could she have downplayed her talent when she had this innate gift? She once mentioned, there were talks among her peers, that editors were just frustrated authors. Weel, not this editor! he thought. But more than the mental images her storyline evoked, it was the words that moved him. It was as if he was reading a personal confession disguised in the characters she'd created and it spoked straight to his soul. He continued to read, and when he came upon a particular plot, his eyes slightly misted. 

From across the room, her gaze locked with his, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe. A live wire crackled and sparked, launching showers of tiny fireworks to light every dark recess of her weary soul. 

It was always going to be like this every time she saw him, she sighed. After all these years, nothing had changed. 

In their youth, she'd believed, they were bound together, not by something tangible, but by a profound, powerful connection that is ancient and older than the planets. It was as if she'd envisioned them a million times aeons ago and the stars finally heeded and arranged for their paths to cross. 

It had started with a touch, a soft kiss, a subtle stirring of their souls, and as if by magic, their story began to write itself from thereon. His strength had been her protection, her heart, his shelter, and in each others' arms, they were home. For at one time, love between them had been powerful than the fate and deeper than a naked eye. But that was then, she reminded herself ...before he found out she was from another place and time. Out of this tragedy, which altered the course of her life, was the infinite curse she must bear alone. But she couldn't blame him. It was her fault.

As a tiny sob escaped her throat, a man bumped into her, jarringly breaking her reverie. Annoyed with herself for feeling weak, she straightened her spine and squared her shoulders. And as she slowly made her way over to him, she hoped and prayed her face would not betray her emotions. There comes that significant point in life when one had to choose to either turn the page, write another book or simply close it. She chose the latter.

Jamie's heart drummed, and he puffed out a lungful of air. Settling back on his seat, he rubbed a hand over his face. He had this sudden burning urge to bundle Claire's story and gift it to the world. Why has she waited this long to pursue her dream? This is bloody insane! In each of the characters, he saw her - beautifully flawed and full of heart. She wielded words in her story as if she was tearing apart her own issues and exposing her loss and regrets, the courage and honesty so palpable, it jumped right off the screen. Och, Sassenach!

He needed more time to go through the story at a leisurely pace, so he skipped a few chapters out of mere curiosity and what he read next, made his heart rate doubled.

As soon as they were alone, she grabbed at his belt, her shaking fingers tugging the zipper. She'd waited for far too long and needed him now. Dropping down to her knees, she lowered his jeans to take him fully in her mouth, feeling him throb and jerk at her touch ...oh how she'd crave for the taste of him. She was hungry, oh so hungry, to feel his most private pulse beating against her palm. Despite the urgency she was feeling, she didn't rush as she wanted to savour every moment and taste of him.

He swallowed and realised his jeans were becoming too constricted. Ah Christ! There were only so many blows to the system a man could take and what he just read sent all the blood in his brain rushing southward so fast it nearly knocked him out of commission. Who would have thought a sex scene in a romance story could affect him so much?

He read a few more excerpts from the story, and when he eventually looked at the bottom right corner of his screen, he realised it was nearly ten. He'd been so engrossed with reading, he hadn't noticed the time. Claire was supposed to call. But maybe she's fallen asleep.

Reaching for his phone, he got up, shifted the bulging discomfort in his jeans and headed for the fridge. As his screen lit up, he tapped Claire's name and waited.

"Hello?" she answered, her voice thick and muffled, causing a sudden pulsing rush of longing in his stomach. A fog of cataclysmic lust descended, increasing the weight between his legs.

"Sassenach?" He grabbed a tin of beer, popped it open with one hand and made his way to the living room. "It's me." 

"I know." She yawned. "What time is it? Are you just coming home?"

"Ummm, no. I got yer email earlier." Smiling, he sat on the armchair and toed off a shoe. "I got caught up reading yer story, I forgot the time."

"A long day then. Sorry, I was supposed to call, but ...." He heard some rustling sound and then quiet.

He got his second shoe off and rested his feet on the coffee table. Right now, he wished he could teleport himself to Claire's side and slip in bed next to her. He'd wanted to come to London, but he'd been advised by Willie it was still too soon, and coming along could trigger his PTSD. Although the nightmares had stopped and he'd been following the meditation exercises Claire had told him to do, there were still times when panic attack got hold of him. They weren't as bad as before, but still, it was there lurking, ready to pounce at any time. He hadn't dared told his sister, Jenny, in case she nagged him to attend the therapy conducted by her friend Geneva. He knew what his sister was up to, and he wasn't about to fall for her matchmaking schemes.

He was just contemplating the merits of dropping everything and flying to London when he realised Claire had gone too quiet.

"Sassenach?"

"Hmmm?"

"Did ye just fall asleep on me?"

"Oh, umm, a little," she responded, utterly lacking in apology.

"Shall I let ye sleep? I can call again tomorrow."

"No!"

Relieved, he smiled. "So working too hard, I presume?"

"Yes," she mumbled. "Worked for seven hours straight. Then had too much food and wine, and too little fresh air. It made me drowsy afterwards. It's Willie's and Annalise's faults. They overfed me over dinner." 

"Mmm, in as much as I appreciate why ye're doing it, I dinnae want ye to become ill because of it." He heard another yawn and imagined her long, lean body stretching, her hair all wild against the pillow and her breast bare. When he realised where his mind was wandering to, he immediately put a stop to it. Christ, get a grip! With a steel will, he extinguished his filthy thoughts. "Ye should take care more of yersel', Sassenach."

"I'm fine ...honestly."

He was unconvinced but didn't push. "By the way, I read yer story. It's bloody good. No ...correction. It's great!"

"You like it!"

"I love it. Was that a story ye wrote a while ago? Or did ye write it recently?"

"A while ago," she hummed, her words muffled as if she had a pillow over the phone. 

He loved the way she sounded when sleep laced her voice. 

"Hmmm, a question ...how'd ye learn to write a sex scene like that, when ..." He needed a couple of seconds to find the right words. "...when ye were a virgin before we met."

"I might have been a virgin, but I never said I was a nun." 

He laughed out loud. It couldn't be helped. Though Claire could be shy at times, she always spoke her mind. "I'm sorry I didnae mean to laugh, Sassenach," he apologised when he finally sobered up. "It's just that ye wrote the sex part so vivid and graphic, it made me wonder how ye could have known the mechanics of lovemaking when ye were still a virgin at the time ye wrote that story."

"Well, I suppose I should confess ...before I met you, there might have been on a few occasions, that I had ..." 

"Watched porn?" 

"Yes ...but for research purposes," she said rapidly, her voice not sounding muffled anymore. She must have rolled on her back. "But what I meant to say was, I've had ...um ..." She trailed off.

He frowned. "Had what?"

"Physical contact, of course!" she replied with mild exasperation. 

Something heavy rolled over in his stomach. "Excuse me?"

She sighed. "When I use to date, dates sometimes end up in making out, kissing and petting, and I sort of got the gist of what normally happens afterwards." He heard her swallow. "I -I mean nothing happened of course ...at least, not in the biblical sense anyway. W-what I'm trying to say is, before we met ... I've never made it to the Old Testament with anyone. B-but you ... you're pretty special because you and I ...well, we're almost at the Revelations."

What the hell? She was rambling, and he realised she was becoming flustered. Her attempt to calm him down using the books of the Bible for analogy put a dent on his jealousy. He puffed out a breath. "I get it. I get it. Just do me a favour, Sassenach, will ye, huh? In the future, dinnae mention physical contact with other men ever again to me even if it's no' the biblical variety. It's bad enough we're separated, and here I am missing ye loads ..."

"Sorry, but you did ask how I knew about the mechanics of ..." she stopped and then sighed. "Let's change the subject, shall we?"

"Of course." He slugged back a mouthful of beer and placed it on the coffee table, before leaning back once more on his armchair. "We were talking about yer writing. I've read a few chapters, and I'm really enjoying it. Cannae wait to read the rest."

"I'm glad. Willie and Annalise liked it too," she replied, a smile in her voice.

"I'm not surprised. Ye should have published it a long time ago. Ye have a gift, Sassenach, one that I'm verra proud of." 

"Thank you. Writing does take a bit of time, and I needed a job while I was at it. I'm still glad I waited, though."

He shifted uncomfortably on his seat and paused, contemplating if ... "Are ye in the bedroom? Or did ye fall asleep on the couch?" 

"In my bedroom. I couldn't stand watching a movie with Willie and Annalise when all they do is snog in front of me. So I left them to it, thinking I'll rest my eyes for a few minutes before calling you. And that's when I fell asleep." Ah, the poor thing, she must have been so tired. At least she sounded a little more alert compared to earlier. "Seeing them cuddled up like that made me miss you loads," she added, huskily, "...and think of our time together."

Ah, hell! Her voice wasn't the only thing that was alert. His cock suddenly needed a wee adjustment. Again! He unzipped his jeans, purely for ease and comfort and to give himself room for a breathing space.

"You should sleep in tomorrow and get some fresh air too," he suggested, inhaling deeply through his nose as he felt the effects of the beer, reminding him he didn't have any food in his stomach.

"Definitely, I will have a sleep in." She drank something audibly and let out a sigh. "As for that fresh air, it will depend if it's raining or not. Annalise mentioned we're in for a horrendous weather tomorrow." He heard another delicate gulp.

"What are ye wearing, Sassenach?" His words came out before he could think and put a stop to it. It sounded much more sexual than he'd intended, gruff and hoarse, his dirty mind wandering to that explicit scene he read earlier.

There was a few seconds of silence. "Why?"

"Because I want to know ...if ye're warm enough."

"I'm warm enough." 

"So what are ye wearing?"

There was another moment of silence before she replied. "Oooh, I know what this is, James Fraser" she throatily laughed into his ears. "And, we are so not doing this." 

"Doing what?" he groaned, this time pulling out his cock. He couldn't deny himself any longer, when this woman on the other end of the line, rained havoc to his good sense. Running a calloused hand down the length of himself, he gave his throbbing erection a nice hard squeeze. "I'm only asking solely out of concern for yer health. It's cold, and I worry ye might catch ...umm ...pneumonia." He almost laughed out loud at his lame logic.

"Pneumonia? You don't have to worry, Jamie. It's warm in the apartment, and it doesn't take much to heat a small place,," she said with a hint of amusement. "And I'm not naked ...not totally anyway."

"Oh," he gritted, fisting his cock from the base to the head, as a blow of harsh breath escaped his mouth. He felt like a depraved, desperate man, but it couldn't be helped when his cock was so achingly stiff, and he wanted relief. No amount of wanking in the shower earlier had eased his need for her. In fact, it only intensified it.

As he continued to stroke himself, the house's interior closed in around him, the sounds of fire popping doing nothing to reduce the extreme feeling of airlessness. At this moment, as far as he was concerned, they were the only two people in the whole wide world awake, right here and right now, and he would die if he didn't get any release soon.

"I'm wearing undies," she finally said.

Allelujah! His fist tightened around his hardness, moisture seeping from its head. "Ah, Sassenach," he murmured. He imagined her, stretched out on her bed, the duvet kicked off, and how she had looked in those tiny cotton knickers. "And a pyjama top?" he muttered. 

"No," she sighed in sweet response, a slight shyness creeping in her next words. "I forgot to turn off the radiator before I went to bed. It's so warm I must have yanked off my top while sleeping." 

"Sweet Jesus!" He stilled his hand and cupped his balls, seeing her creamy breasts in his mind's eye. 

"Jamie ...what are ye doing? I mean, I think I know what you are doing. But I've never done this before," she whispered. "Maybe I should go and let you ...um ...finish your business?"

"No! Please." He closed his eyes and slumped deeper into the armchair, his feet spreading apart and his head falling back. "I need ye." 

"I ...I don't know how ..." 

"Sassenach." Saying his pet name for her was a mild distraction from the throbbing ache in his hand, as he swiped a thumb over the head of his erection and spread the moisture seeping out. "My cock is so rock hard, I think I might black the fuck out from wanting ye. Dinnae torture me by leaving me hanging."

Her breath hitched, and it was the most beautiful sound in his ears. "So you really are touching yourself?" she asked on a huffed breath.

"Jesus, Sassenach! Ye have nae idea, do ye? I wank every day and night to yer image in my head ...stroking so hard I can hardly breathe, thinking of our last night together ..." he swallowed with difficulty, his hand busy fisting himself. "It's so lonely without ye, and every waking moment is filled with thoughts of ye naked in my bed and every night ye haunt my dreams. What I would give to touch ye right now and plunge my cock between yer thighs." 

She gasped, and he wished he could feel her hot breath on his neck. "Jamie ...I don't even know what to say ... I ...this is out of my comfort zone.." 

"Touch yersel', and tell what ye're thinking," he commanded as he closed his eyes, the heels of his feet pushing against the floor and his muscles thighs tightening hard. "Have ye ever touched yersel'? Tell me." 

"Before you came along, there's been no one, and you know that," she said haughtily. "Giving myself an orgasm is the only reason why I remained a virgin for so long. I call it self-service." 

He let out a burst of pained laughter despite himself. "Ah, Christ, I'd love to kiss that smart-arsed mouth while taking ye hard ..." 

"I like it when you ..." she cut in, and he held his breath, agonisingly waiting for her to complete the sentence. "...kiss me between the legs." He heard her voice fade a little and swishing movements. "I think of you doing that when ...um, my hand is between my thighs."

"Is yer hand between yer thighs now?"

"Y-yes ..."

"Slide yer fingers in, Sassenach. And tell me ...are ye wet?"

"Yes ..." she softly moaned.

"How wet?"

"Very."

Ah, fuck!

He always thought dirty talks were arousing, but each shy admission by Claire was too bloody erotic for words, it made the already taut and strained tether of his self-control about to snap. He uttered her name with a litany of invocations to the saints, his hips shifting against the soft of his seat and his breathing becoming heavier. "Ye ken what I'll do to ye when I get to finally see ye? I'm no' letting ye out of bed," he groaned. "I'm gonnae worship that beautiful body of yers with my mouth until my lips are branded to your skin, and yer scent embedded in mine and yer taste in my mouth. Ye still have yer fingers inside ye?"

"Yes ..."

"Now imagine it's my tongue lapping ye up."

She sobbed, a whimpering sound full of longing and his heart twisted in a knot, creating a cluster that descended down to his belly and found its way to his cock, making his balls draw higher. His exhale came out like an animalistic grunt as Claire's breathing became more shallow. She gasped out his name, a soft plea that he badly wanted so much to pacify.

"Oh, sweet Lord, I want you so much, Jamie. I miss your hands on me," she whispered, her voice enveloping him, he could almost feel her breath on his heated skin. "Please don't stop talking ..."

"Ye think I could stop, Sassenach? I'd sell my soul just to hear ye come." Something told him the cries coming from Claire's mouth would ring in his head for days to come. Broken, sweet, desperate moans, interrupted by her breath hitching. Like she was drowning, just like him. "Ye miss me touching ye, is that right? Weel, let me tell ye something," he said hoarsely. "I spend every night looking at the bloody ceiling of my bedroom, envisioning yer sweet tits bouncing like wee temptations while ye ride me on my creaky bed. It hasn't creaked the way it used to, ever since ye left. And on some nights, I would lay on my tummy and grind myself against the mattress just to hear it creak and pretend it's not the bed I'm fucking," His hand went into overdrive stroking himself, fast and relentless. "But we both know we want the real thing, don't we now?"

"Yes, yes, yes," she whispered in a husky loop.

"Jesus, so sweet, my beautiful Sassenach ..." A drumming began in his head, inflicted by the raspy sound of her voice, the way her breath became laboured when he talked dirty to her. 

The pressure within him rose, and his breath came out in short, head-spinning gulps of air, his senses more heightened for knowing who the cause was for his predicament. Claire. Ah, Christ, he'd never anticipated for the possessiveness that tightened around his heart with a permanence that didn't alarm him. In fact, he'd always known, right from the beginning, she was the one for him. She was the only one who moved him to take a risk in love, to abuse his body for relief ...

"Jamie ...oh God ..."

Hissing out a wounded groan, Jamie fisted the base of his cock and pumped furiously. "I'm here, Sassenach," he whispered. "I hear ye. Always here for ye."

"I'm coming ..." she moaned. "Oh, my God ..."

His heart expanded as he listened to her, her breath shallow, his name a whisper, and he could picture her, turning and twisting against the sheets with her hand between her thighs. He was so close, it hurt. When he couldn't hold off any longer, he let go, his own orgasm coming in full force, spouting out of from his cock, seizing his body in an almost paralysing bliss. It went on forever, his seed spurting into his hand and thighs, his shouts reverberating off the walls and ceiling as the pleasure surged through him and rearranging everything in its route.

Finally spent, he slumped back on his seat, his breathing coming out in choppy waves as his chest rose and fell. After a long stretch of silence between them, he put down his phone and whipped off his shirt to clean himself up. By the time he grabbed it back and placed it against his ear, Claire's breath was calmer.

"Jamie?" There was a trace of doubt or maybe guilt in her voice.

Knowing Claire's strict Catholic upbringing in the boarding school, he didn't want her thinking what they did was wrong as it would only cheapen what they just shared. He needed to reassure her. "Sssh, Sassenach, I ken what ye're gonnae say. What happened between us was ... incredible. And ye ken, why?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Because we love each other. Ye understand?"

There was a long pause before she replied and he imagined her biting her lower lip in contemplation. "Yes," she replied eventually, her voice barely a whisper. And after waiting a few seconds more, he heard her soft snore and even breathing.

Smiling, he murmured good night and turned off the phone. He was just about to close his eyes to savour the moment when the doorbell rang, and a spooked Adso suddenly leapt onto his lap. Bloody hell! He plopped the cat down, righted his jeans and quickly got up, and as he peered through the window, he saw Mrs Fitz, the owner of the Airbnb from across the road, holding a dish in her hands.

What the ...? He opened the door. "Mrs Fitz!" The scent of freshly baked apple pie wafted from the dish she was carrying, making his stomach grumble. "It's kinda late. Is everything alright?" he asked, eyeing the aluminium covered plate. 

"Aye, son," she said, frowning, her eyes bypassing him as if she was in search of something or someone. "I saw the light, and I thought ye might like a bit of pudding ...for after tea perhaps or for breakfast. Yer lass ...Miss Beauchamp, I mean Claire is not here so I thought I'd check up on ye."

Jamie thought the older woman was acting a bit odd, the way she was trying to strain her neck to look beyond him. "Oh, Claire ...I was just on the phone with her."

Both her eyebrows arched. Then the frown on her face dissipated, replaced with a relieved smile and a reddening on her plump cheeks. "Oh, of course. I thought I heard some strange sounds. Ye must have been talking to her." She pushed the dish towards him. "Very well then, now that everything seems to be in order, I must go." Without waiting for him to reply, she whirled around and hurriedly left.

As Jamie stared at her disappearing figure, it slowly dawned on him, Mrs Fitz must have heard the sound he'd made while in the throes of self-love passion. Groaning inwardly, he realised Claire's writing studio shed wasn't the only place that needed soundproofing. If Claire was going to stay with him, he needed to soundproof the whole cottage. Bloody nosy neighbours!

  Dear Readers,

Thank you all for the positive feedback from the previous chapter - what a warm welcome from my readers. So chuffed reading the comments and seeing the kudos. Kudos right back at you, you wonderful lot!

I'll keep this short and sweet because I have heaps of things to do, but before I go, I'm sending you all my best wishes during this very odd times. Keep the good vibes rolling, ditched the negativity and most of all, take care of your health. Until next time ... X

[nicketynic]

between the shadow and the soul (1/1)

Hey fam!! Guess whose laptop is back from four weeks of computer quarantine (a.k.a. two weeks of fix-up and a godawful amount of time in the mail)!! 

This was originally intended for @jonsa-valentine. Originally a ~2,000 word take on a Robb Lives, Jon/Sansa falls in love despite her arranged Southron marriage, this grew and grew as I scribbled endlessly in my notebook. 

Enjoy!!

“Jon, you shouldn’t be here,” Sansa hissed fiercely as her leisurely stroll through a Redwyne vineyard was interrupted by her lover appearing suddenly from behind a vine-covered trellis. Outraged worry quickly replaced startlement as she took in his appearance: tousled, hurried, still clad in riding leathers. The reckless abandon of it all left her furious. “Have you even presented yourself at Redwyne Hall?”

“No,” Jon baldly confessed, shamelessly sidestepping her outrage as he shed his cloak and pulled her close. “I came straight from the harbor.”

Despite herself, Sansa went unresisting into his embrace, twining her arms around his neck and guiding him deeper into the thicket of grapevines. “Luck must be with you, then. Willas and his uncle are spending the day in Ryamsport, otherwise your absence would be noticed immediately.”

“Or a few well-placed silver stags will delay my arrival being announced until near the evening meal,” he countered, leaning in to nuzzle into her neck. 

The rough rasp of his beard and the weathered skin underneath, the calluses on his hands as he entwined them with hers a shock of sensory delight to her system. Pressing her cheek to his and breathing him in, she realized with appreciation that he must have stopped to bathe in Oldtown, lacking as he was the stench of horse and days-old sweat. Beneath an overlay of leather and seasalt instead lingered the fresh, clean scents of pine and snow. Home, her blood and heart and soul all whispered in unison, as she pressed closer and blinked away the prick of tears. 

Gods, she had missed him...missed Winterfell, missed the North. Sansa had gotten everything she was dreamed of, a chivalrous husband and a life full of Southron fancy, but she wanted none of it. She longed instead for evergreen and snow and solemn, long Stark faces. She wished for Jon, the embodiment of everything her heart longed for, everything she knew of comfort and love. 

As kind and chivalrous as Willas Tyrell had proven to be, as well as he continued to treat her, there was nothing she could do to change the truth of her feelings. She and Willas could have been Florian and Jonquil reborn, and still it would have come to no good end. Sansa Stark’s heart belonged to another, given away long before the Highgarden heir had ever cloaked her in green velvet and golden roses. She felt near-forgotten parts of her sparking alive everywhere Jon’s touch lingered, previously gone dormant under long months of Willas’ absent courtesy. Sansa had no true cause to complain as her husband’s attention was cast more upon his hawks, his horses, and his correspondence with a certain Dornish prince, but it was easy for loneliness to take root in the cracks of their relationship, lacking as she was any real bond connecting her to Highgarden. 

Three years without an heir sent plenty a Reacher tongue wagging, but both spouses duly ignored the ensuing gossip. His gaze turned firmly to the south, hers to the north, but they shared a common longing for the approaching summer. Summer brought the tourney season, inspiring the Red Viper and his paramour to journey beyond the Red Mountains. Summer stirred Winterfell’s king to send a trusted proxy to the Reach, protecting the vital grain trade cemented by Sansa’s marriage contract. 

Having expected to see Jon in Oldtown in the role of that proxy, a week out yet as Willas wished to visit with his Redwyne relatives before they were due to attend the celebrations for Old Lord Leyton’s seventieth nameday, it should hardly be a surprise that Sansa should be startled and confused with her former lover’s sudden appearance. 

Either ignorant or ignorable of her inner turmoil, Jon sighed her name, pressing soft, sweet kisses to her collarbone, her neck, her jaw, and her cheek as he raised his head to face her. “Sansa…”

“You’re mad,” she began, stopping when he winced and quickly corrected herself to avoid referencing the Targaryen heritage he found so abhorrent. “You’re foolish to have taken such a risk,” she finished chidingly, though her hands proved traitorous as they played with the hair at his nape and stroked his neck, soothingly away the reprimand. “You truly couldn’t wait for Oldtown?”

The touch grounded him, tempted as he was to take the rebuke as rejection and back away. Instead, he breathed out slowly, meeting her eyes with determination rather than chagrin. “I’m a fool, aye, mayhaps even more a fool than the Ser Florian of your songs. But I beg of you,” He tipped his forehead against hers, holding her gaze imploringly. “Here, in this moment, don’t send me away. I’ve missed you so desperately. I feel as if I’ve been cleaved in half everytime we part ways.”

“Jon…” Lifting onto the tips of her toes brought her lips to his and she let the kiss linger, slow and sweet as the first tentative touch they had shared years ago, the eve before she was due to depart for White Harbor to wed Willas in the Sept of the Snows. A clandestine meeting in the godswood to share a private goodbye had spiralled out of their control, as they surrendered to every forbidden longing overshadowed by her kingly brother’s negotiations with the Reach to get their people through a long winter, Sansa’s hand the bargaining chip key to secure the necessary grain trade. 

For her people, Sansa chose to do her duty, but first sought one last thing for herself. That night, she lay with Jon in the shadow of Winterfell's heart tree, rising again in the hour before dawn hiding away the gentle, fanciful maiden part of her to become the stern, dutiful woman set to marry Highgarden's heir. 

Pulling back at the need for breath, Sansa’s eyes were warm and full as she gazed up at her love. “Jon," she breathed. “Stay with me.”

He kissed her again, fumbling with his clothes as his hands were trembling, joy and desperation coursing through him like a maelstrom. “I’m here,” he whispered shakily against her skin as he kissed her throat, her breast as he loosened her corset and let her dress fall. “I’m here.”

Surrounded by the subtle sweetness of blooming grape clusters (so different from the cloying rose aromas permeating Highgarden, much to Sansa’s relief), they lay together upon the traveling cloak Jon had so carelessly shed. Rich, damp earth was soft beneath his elbows and knees, the sun warm against his backside as he kicked his breeches aside and leaned over her lithe form. His lips were soft as a butterfly’s kiss as he traced the constellations of freckles on her skin, clever fingers finding every secret spot guaranteed to elicit a sigh or moan. Her body sang with pleasure by the time she pulled him close and wrapped her legs around his hips, welcoming him into her body. 

And as he moved above her, she kept her eyes on his face, tracing over his beloved features, his flushed complexion, the wrinkle in his brow as he concentrated on finding the right rhythm to please them both. Committing him to memory, she slowly let down the guard keeping the dreamy maiden at bay, and it was hope and love enveloping her, practicality hidden away, when he began to show signs of his impending peak. Cinching her legs and arms tight around him, she held him fast when he attempted to withdraw, something they would have never dared that night in the godswood. But Sansa knew his visit couldn’t last forever, and she would be so very, very lonely again when he was gone. “Stay with me,” she urged once more against his lips, swallowing his startled yelp in a kiss as he tensed and stilled, finding his release inside her. 

And just like the flourishing vineyard around them, seed took root and slowly began to blossom. 

xx

As magic slowly faded from the world after the calamity of the Second War for the Dawn, the seasons falling into a pattern necessitated new alliances between all the kingdoms involved. Two years of winter would follow every three of summer, so on and so forth until cooperative trade was the key to survival. 

From then on, when the snows melted and spring finally arrived in full bloom, the future Lord and Lady Tyrell began an extended tour around the Reach and surrounding regions, visiting family and popular tourney spots, building relationships and connections. If they crossed paths with Willas’ dear friend Prince Oberyn more often than not, and Sansa was able to enjoy her cousin Jon’s company during his journey to and from Highgarden as King Robb’s envoy, the coincidence was all the happier for all involved. 

Surrounded by the sultry heat of a Southron summer, it was easy for most to forget that Sansa Tyrell was Sansa Stark, Daughter of Winterfell. But the reminder would always arrive when autumn's chill crept in and Lady Sansa's middle began to swell. Babes conceived in summer they may have been, but it was the winter of their birth that left its mark. Edwyn and his storm-grey eyes, little Alya with her Stark coloring; even sweet Minisa and spirited Brynden, fully Tully in looks, were Northern steel through and through when pushed passed their courtesies. 

The years rolled by, marked by passages of joy and pain, contentment and heartache. Seasons changed, politics shifted, children grew, and Sansa and Jon became Lady Tyrell and Lord Snow respectively. 

Just shy of her forty-fifth nameday, Sansa Tyrell leisurely strolled through the Beesbury family gardens, arm-in-arm with her beloved cousin, Lord Snow. Strong on the languid breeze was the thick scent of honeysuckle and the lazy swell of the Honeywine river, as Sansa cast reminiscent glances toward her companion through the fall of her lashes. 

The arm beneath her fingers was firm and muscular as ever, but Jon had grown adorably sheepish about the softening of his middle over the years, the silver shot through his hair and beard, the craggy lines left by hard winters. Sansa herself was well aware of the marks age and children had left, but it was easy to dismiss those insecurities when her mind was full with memories of the night before. 

The humid heat of the summer night had bogged down on them, clinging simply to their skin even as they clung closer to one another. Kisses tasted of warmth and sunlight, lingering gifts from the setting sun they'd made love beneath. Under the pallid luminescence of the night, her lover was a pale, solemn thing, meant for winter moons and cold starlight, but it was summer that gave them their union, and summer that touched the taste of their kisses, southron heat he gladly faced just to touch her once more. Cast with the warm glow of a full-faced summer moon, there was no mistaking the naked adoration and hunger those wintry eyes regarded her with, the same amorous gaze he’d given her at sixteen and twenty and thirty. 

Once more in daylight, they practiced considerably more restraint, but it was with a mellow contentment that they walked together. Sansa was reluctant to break the peaceful silence between them, but they only had so much remaining privacy before duty forced them to part company once more. Houses Tyrell and Florent were now kin through Edwyn's marriage to the lovely and clever Mara, and so when Lord Beesbury wished to host a small tourney to celebrate his daughter’s betrothal to Mara’s brother Rycherd, all related houses happily donated further funds to make it a grander event for all to attend. Honeyholt was consequently buzzing with activity akin to the hives it was named for, and Sansa and Jon finding a private moment had been a miracle unto itself. 

"Have you spoken yet to Brynden?" she inquired softly, watching him thoughtfully as they turned a corner between two appleblossom trees. He winced slightly, and she gave his arm a sympathetic squeeze, remembering how nervous he'd been when they discussed the matter the night before.

Jon heaved a heavy sigh, giving her a sheepish glance. "I have. I addressed the...situation this morning." A small, fond smile curled his lips, almost despite himself given his anxiety. "We were both eager to escape the formalities. It would have been remiss not to bring him along for my morning ride."

Sansa's returning smile was equally as fond and warm. "He favors you more and more every day," are the words she longed to say, but would never dare to do so in such a public setting. Instead, when she spoke aloud, it was to comment, "Bryn would live on horseback if I only allowed him. Wolf blood, I believe Father once called it." My blood. Your blood. Stark blood. He is every bit your son, Jon. 

"But wolf blood or not," she continued gently, "He holds to the Tully words as well as his namesake. How did he respond to your offer?"

Jon sighed, softly and wistfully, resting a hand over the one tucked against his forearm. "He wasn't displeased, at least. I'm not certain the surprise ever wore off by the time we returned to the stable."  He smiled wanly. "He asked for time to think. I suppose a crumbling old castle and a bastard’s name cannot compare to what Highgarden can offer."

"Jon," she sighed, the soft, tender tone to his name as close as she could come to the "my love" she wished to truly express. "You cannot truly believe any of that. A second son of a Reacher house can hardly hope for more than the tourney circuit. No boy with so much North in his heart could ever be happy as a pampered Southron knight." 

A ghost of a smile appeared on Jon's face, and she pressed on. "I've hardly known Robb to be as much a braggart as he was in his letters about the restoration of Wolf's Den. He was so proud to present it to you. To honor you, Jon, in thanks for everything you've given."

"An honor I was hardly worthy of," he murmured darkly, an echo of the guilt and shame he wouldn't be Jon without. As much as he loved her, every time he lay with a married woman, the cousin he was pledged to protect and respect, he felt he violated Robb and her late father's trust in him, rendering his honor a tainted, broken thing he could no longer be proud of. 

“Jon.” Bringing them to a firm stop next to a large flowering bush, grasping his forearms so that he would face her, she held his eyes intently. "You're one of the most honorable men I've ever known. Beyond that, you're kind, loyal, and dutiful to your core. How is that not a legacy Brynden would be proud to inherit?"

xx

At that very moment, however, all thoughts of legacy, inheritance, and choice were driven out of Brynden Tyrell's head when he was knocked hard into the dirt, courtesy of his older brother, whose smirking face appeared into his field of vision along with an extended hand. 

Heaving a sigh, he accepted Edwyn's hand, pulled firmly to his feet with a pat to his shoulder. A broad grin cut through Edwyn’s thick auburn beard, a low chuckle accompanying his teasing. "Didn't I tell you enough when we were boys to keep your shield up? Get distracted again, and I'll-"

"Ring my head like a bell," Brynden finished irritably, all too familiar with the phrase after a childhood of training with his brother. Eight years his senior and gifted with the stocky Tully frame, Edwyn had more often than not pummelled the lesson into him, but given Brynden’s undeniable skill with the blade now that he was nearly grown, he couldn’t deny the effectiveness of his brother’s teaching. 

A round of musical laughter and mocking applause from the sidelines drew a glare and a reprimanding side-eye from the brothers. Alya remained unrepentant, smirking and giggling. Perched on a fence post, one knee drawn up to her chin and her free leg swinging back and forth, she appeared more of a restless child than a young woman on the brink of sixteen.  

“Enough, Aly,” Edwyn firmly rebuked, the disapproval in his low tenor difficult to ignore by the younger siblings who so looked up to him. 

Deciding that mocking her twin wasn't worth drawing Edwyn's wrath, she snapped her mouth shut against the slew of creative insults she had planned. Instead, she cocked her head curiously toward Brynden. “What has you so distracted, little brother? Even Sanny would have seen that blow coming.”

Brynden didn’t bother to hold back from glowering at his sister for that particular insult, as Sanny was the family nickname for Sansara, Edwyn and Mara’s three-year-old daughter. “If you must know, Uncle Jon asked me to go riding this morning…”

After finishing his narrative of everything that had happened that morning, Brynden was left faced with his brother’s expression, so thoroughly dumbfounded the younger wasn’t certain how to decipher the mood. Before he could begin to question, a sharp clout landed hard against the back of his head. 

"Seven hells!" he yelped, protectively clutching the throbbing base of his skull as his ears rang and his head spun. He glared at his sister as darkly as capable through the pained pinch of his eyes.

"You're a complete and utter idiot," Alya hissed into his face, apathetic to the damage she'd caused in the face of her fury. “Uncle Jon offered to take you North, give you his name, and make you his heir! You have to think about it?!”

“Taking on a bastard’s name doesn’t require the slightest bit of thought?” Brynden scornfully shot back, immediately shamefaced and regretful before the words had even left his mouth. Alya’s stormy eyes lit with fury, looking ready to strike him all over again, Edwyn the very face of paternal disappointment. 

Opening his mouth to apologize, he was cut off by Alya storming up to him and grabbing a fistful of his hair, jerking his head around and forcing him down until her mouth was level with his ear. "Don't presume to forget the truth of your own origins, Brynden Flowers." The low hiss of her voice was barely audible save for the sheer vehemence of her tone. "Be glad it was love that birthed you, and not the wrong side of some spoiled lordling's bedsheet." 

Warring between shock and offense, Brynden could only stare at his sister, disbelieving that she would ever again dare to give voice to such a poisonous idea. He was so certain they left that ugliness behind years ago, fracturing their relationship in sacrifice to keep their world from crashing down around them. 

They were twelve the night Alya appeared in his bedchamber, exuberant with the breathless excitement of a newly-discovered secret, words rambling together with a speed he struggled to keep up with. But still, that understanding did begin to bloom, as did the chill of fear climbing up his spine. Anxious panic clawed at his insides, nausea settling in as he looked up and recognized the glitter of excitement in his twin’s eyes. 

She was so certain now that she had the answers, to all the questions she hadn’t been able to let go of the older they grew. Why none of them showed a trace of Tyrell save their name, why Father was never unkind but always distant, why Uncle Jon wrote so frequently and remained so affectionate and warm no matter how grown they became, despite only being a second cousin. 

What was there to be excited about, if such a ghastly secret was true? There were as many pricked and ready ears hidden around Highgarden as there were roses, and there were plenty of those sickly pungent blossoms to be found around the castle and surrounding estate. The stain of bastardry aside, forgetting the loss of their inheritance and names, Brynden would fight tooth and nail to never see their mother pay the price for such a revelation. 

How easily had Alya forgotten their lessons, to not realize the consequences of the Faith being so central to the Reach? Was it truly so difficult to remember Cersei Lannister’s disgrace, or Bethany Bracken’s death sentence? Even as the best-case scenario, if discovering he was a childless cuckold didn’t transform the mild-mannered Willas Tyrell into someone unrecognizable, the most they could expect was for Mother to be dismissed back to the North as a adulteress, taking her children with her bearing the name “Snow.” The shame and the ridicule would follow her, blacken her name and reputation, for the rest of her days. Would their kingly uncle welcome her home, or would he be ashamed and turn them away? 

Was it worth ruining all their lives just because Alya needed there to be a reason behind Uncle Jon’s love?

Those fears swirling around his mind, culminating in a maddening mantra for Alya to just shut up and think about what she was doing, Brynden had reached out to roughly grab her arms, give her a harsh, violent shake, and order in a low, guttural growl he couldn’t recognize that she would never, ever say these things again. 

He came back to himself a moment later to find a stricken, betrayed look deep in his twin’s winter eyes. Nausea and horror welled up inside him, as hardened steel replaced the pain and she spat at him, jerking herself away to disappear into the night. 

It was the last time she looked at him with anything lighter than mockery. And mockery it seemed to be now, making a mockery of the sacrifice he made to keep them safe. His nostrils flared, his fists clenched, his mouth opening to respond-

Thud!

Edwyn’s practice sword hit the ground hard as his patience finally snapped, striding forward until his siblings were within arm’s length. Strong hands grabbed the teenagers by the scruffs of their necks, with just enough firmness that wriggling free would be uncomfortable, and whirled them around to face him, stern mien only emphasized by the dark intensity filling his eyes. “Enough! The two of you will stop this incessant squabbling and remember that you are family and pack, or so help me, I will chain you together for the rest of your natural lives.” 

His face softened and he sighed. “You’re not getting anywhere continuing to hide from each other. Speak, and listen. Alya, tell him why it’s important to you that he go north.”

A brief mulish stubbornness appeared in her expression, but Alya’s eyes darted from Edwyn to her twin, vulnerability becoming more apparent the more she made contact with Brynden. “I-my betrothal has been arranged. I’m to marry Wyllam Manderly.”

Wyllam Manderly- heir to White Harbor. Which meant his twin, his other half, was being sent North, separating them for the first time in his life. Unless he accepted Uncle Jon’s offer and went north as well…

Oh. Oh. He swallowed hard against a lump in his throat. “Does that mean you don’t hate me anymore?”

Alya’s eyes went as wide as saucers, but before anything more could be discussed, they were all interrupted by the arrival of Edwyn’s squire. 

“My lords, my lady, I’ve been sent to fetch you. Lady Minisa had gone to the birthing bed.”

xx

If there was anything that gave Alya the slightest hope in regards to her future marriage, it was the genuine affection between her older sister and her husband, Ser Samwyle Tarly. Called Little Sam to differentiate him from his father, Samwell, the heir to Horn Hill had been hopelessly besotted with Minisa from the time they were children. It was likely that adoration that led to him indulging Mini’s wish to travel so late in her pregnancy, though thankfully the couple hadn’t traveled far, having been staying in Oldtown to celebrate his sister Maeve’s first child with Lord Hightower. 

Samwyle was a big man, tall and broad, his presence readily felt by all those with him in the corridor as he paced back and forth, Redwyne freckles standing stark against his pale, anxious face. Alya watched as Edwyn approached the nervous father-to-be, resting a hand on his shoulder and leaning closer to hopefully reassure and advise. Without the frenetic pacing to keep her attention, Alya found herself shifting restlessly, nothing left to distract her from her racing mind. 

Thoughts bouncing from the danger of Mini being in labor to vague, nervous speculation of one day being married to Wyllam and carrying his children, she found herself most often coming back to the fact that her twin, her other half, thought she hated him. 

Alya knew she was stubborn, that she was prideful, but even she had been able to admit to herself years ago that she had been hasty when it came to her suspicions about their mother and Uncle Jon. Yes, it had been wrong of him to respond the way he did, trying to force silence on the sister he knew valued the freedom of her mind above all else, but these days, needling Brynden was more habit than true antagonism. Calling him “Flowers” had been a childish thing born of her anger, but still, the only thing that could truly stick in her thoughts…

“Does that mean you don’t hate me anymore?”

She winced at the memory and stared blankly ahead, idly counting grains in the wooden table nearby in an effort to distract herself. A shift in the space, a creak from the bench beneath her, and a warm, solid body appeared at her side. Keeping her gaze affixed forward, she sighed, sliding over until they were shoulder-to-shoulder. “I don’t hate you,” she muttered softly. 

The body beside her went slack with relief, shifting closer still until they were hip-to-hip. “I accepted Uncle Jon’s offer,” he offered hesitantly. 

Relief rushed through her, and she let her hand fall onto the bench beside them, close enough to feel the warmth of his. They’d held hands so often as children, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d welcomed such a touch from him.  “And you’ll visit White Harbor often?”

“So much you’ll think me even more of a pest than you do now,’” Brynden replied honestly. He flexed his fingers, letting his pinkie graze against hers. He lowered his voice, muttering quietly. “I never meant to hurt you. I just wanted us safe.”

Alya sighed heavily, giving into her instincts and wearily letting her head fall to his shoulder. Her twin stiffened for only a moment, relaxing beneath her and gladly welcoming her proximity as he had since the womb. “I know. But we’ll all be well, Bryn. Mama will be accompanying me for a time. And Edwyn will be so proud of you, becoming a lord in your own right.” In his heart of hearts, Alya knew if there was any man that Brynden truly considered a father, it was their older brother. Edwyn had seen them through their childhoods with patience and strength, but he had children of his own now. If nothing else, Uncle Jon at least deserved the chance to guide Bryn through the clumsy first steps of adulthood. 

Brynden nodded softly, contemplatively silent rather than brooding. He gently settled his hand on hers and Alya reciprocated, their fingers entwining. There was much more left unsaid between them, so much to discuss and uncover, but for now, two halves were side-by-side. 

xx Feeling helpless as a spectator and uncertain how much of his heart he could truly show, Jon Snow could only watch the similar anxiety and tension carrying on around him. Along with his goodson, he winced as yet another sharp cry from the birthing room filled the air. 

Afternoon had quickly faded into twilight and later still into the hour of the wolf, and Jon had long since sent the twins to bed and his firstborn to tend his own young family. This left Jon as the only one to let the reassuring weight of a father’s hands rest against Little Sam’s shoulders. 

He wondered briefly if the boy bore any resemblance to his father anytime Desmera or Gilly had gone to the birthing bed with Sam’s impressive brood of eight Tarlys and Flowers. Jon and Sam’s friendship had continued over the years despite the distance, but necessity had seen him only sharing in the most monumental milestones of his friend’s life through letters. He looked at Little Sam, saw the near-resemblance to his dear friend save for a few distinct Redwyne features. 

Pushing away the melancholy, Jon forced his mouth into a reassuring smile. “Steady on, lad. Wasn’t your father or brother able to prepare you for this at all?”

“Aemon tried his best, but Father was too embarrassed.” Jon’s lips twitched into a more genuine grin, both at Sam’s expense and the reminder that “the little monster” had grown into the happy and respected Ser Aemon Flowers. 

Jon nodded sagely. “Fortunately there’s none of that shyness between old friends. It gets easier as time goes on, according to your father. Meanwhile, I’m here with you, and we’ll be strong for our Minisa. Why don’t you tell me what you two have planned once you’re able to take the babe back to Oldtown?”

The next hour passed peacefully with Little Sam’s hopes, dreams of his son or daughter growing up with Maeve’s little Lyonel, Aemon’s Hern and Flora, and Edwyn’s sweet Sansara  Samwyle’s happy voice died out as Minisa’s cries reached a crescendo, attention fixated on the door for a short eternity before the oak hinges creaked open, and Sansa stepped out into the corridor, relief mingling with fatigue in her expression. 

“It’s done. You have a son, Samwyle. Congratulations.”

“A boy.” Little Sam was euphoric and glowing in his joy. “May I go see them?”

“Of course. Minisa’s expecting you.”

The clandestine couple watched as the exuberant young man all but bound for the room, disappearing behind the door. In the sudden silence, Sansa looked back at her lover, something impossibly soft lingering in her eyes. 

“The birth was long and hard. I’m in need of freshening up. Will you escort me back to my guest chamber, Cousin?”

“I’d be delighted, my lady.”

Safely barred behind another closed door, Sansa’s lips stole his breath, soft hands linking around his neck to kiss him deeply, joy and life and love thrumming through every connection they shared. Jon made a soft sound of satisfaction in his throat, arms locking around her as they shared again deep, heated kisses. Nimble fingers slipping beneath the folds of his tunic, she flattened her palm just over his pounding heart, thinking fondly of the deep, unconditional love she knew resided there. 

Their caresses slowed, lips parting at the need for breath, and Sansa reached up to cup his cheek, smoothing her thumb over the ages lines around the curve of his mouth. “He’s beautiful, my love. I can’t wait for you to see him. I’m to bring you back once father and son have had their time, and Mini sends her poor husband to bed.”

Torn between elation and indecision, Jon hesitated. “A male cousin in the birthing room? Sansa, are you certain?”

“Yes. You weren’t able to meet Sansara until she was nearly a year old- you deserve to meet this child. Besides, Minisa insists upon it. She’s eager for you to meet your new namesake.”

As his eyes widened, she chuckled and stole one last kiss, a gentle peck to the gaping slack of his mouth. “Come now. Your daughter and grandson await you.”

As Jon watched his daughter hold her newborn son, her lovely face awash with a new mother’s love and tenderness, he felt a pang for a past he hadn’t been present for. He thought perhaps some of it was restored to him in this moment, for it must have looked similar to when Sansa held their children for the first time after bringing them into the world. 

Propriety checked at the door, there was no earthly force that could keep Jon back from sweeping over to the bed, leaning down to embrace his daughter and pressing a tender kiss to her brow. Minisa hummed with content, arms twining around his shoulders to return his embrace. She bussed a kiss to his bearded cheek, and when she whispered a soft, nonchalant truth sotto voce into his ear, he found himself passed panic or recrimination. Crystal blue eyes met his calmly, steadily, nothing but love and trust to be found in their depths. 

“Come hold your grandson,” she told him simply. No accusation, just a simple, short acknowledgment. 

Then there was hardly time to think on it further as Sansa placed little Jon Tarly in his arms, letting him carefully cradle the babe against him. He looked down at the tiny face with reverence and felt his heart swell with more love than he ever felt possible. Just like all those years ago, when somehow Sansa managed to work her way into his heart, giving so much and asking nothing in return, filling all the empty spaces inside him until she was a part of everything he was. How could he ever feel empty again, carrying memories like this one with him for the rest of his days?

[grimtwin]

Thirsty?

Finally, after three years, I've written something else for Hiei x Botan week! I'm a dreadfully slow writer, and this was meant to be out yesterday but whatever! It's still here and content is content!

Day 1: Desire

Let me know what you think, if you'd be so kind!

Botan swallowed thickly, her mouth dry, and feeling as though the temperature around her had suddenly risen to sweltering degrees. Something which Botan believed to be quite odd considering that it was a lovely Spring afternoon and she was sitting beneath the shade of Genkai’s temple awning, high in the mountains. Yet even still, a bead of sweat trailed it’s way down the length of her neck, dipping beneath her blouse, and Botan began to fan herself with her hand, feeling overheated and flush. It was ever so strange…

A flash of movement in the temple’s courtyard drew her attention, and Botan’s eyes settled onto Hiei and Yusuke standing opposite one another, battered, bruised, and breathing heavily. They had been… “sparring”, as Yusuke called it, training for the upcoming Demon World tournament, but from Botan’s perspective, it looked more like an all-out brawl. And both men could not have looked any more than pleased with themselves if they tried to do so. Botan sighed, shaking her head; she would never understand how they could be so happy to bash one another’s brains out, but she supposed it was just in their combative nature to be proud of their own strength… or more importantly, each other’s. Not that they would ever admit that tidbit out loud of course.

Stifling a giggle at the thought, Botan watched on as Yusuke beckoned Hiei with one hand and faster than she could blink, the pair were at it again, fists flying at blinding speeds she was unable to keep up with visually. “Impressive as always,” Botan thought to herself, waiting for the pair to slow down enough for her to watch once more. From what she has been able to witness over the last few days, it appeared as though Koenma’s concerns could be alleviated in some ways at least.

With the second Demon World tournament forthcoming, tensions in Spirit World were once again at an all time high. The previous tournament’s winner, Enki, had been a benevolent soul, and under his reign, instituted a decree stating demon-kind must leave humanity in peace for the duration of his rule. However, with the very real chance that a new ruler would be crowned in the coming months, panicked whispers had begun to spread throughout Spirit World, terrified that peace between the three realms may crumble with a tyrant in charge, and the Kekkai Barrier no longer standing. And it was for that reason that Koenma had ordered Botan to oversee the former detective’s training; the prince having high hopes that Yusuke could emerge victorious, and maintain the precarious peace between worlds.

It was good news then, that after years of living a quiet life with Keiko and Atsuko in the Human world, Yusuke appeared to be just as strong as he’d ever been! It had taken him a few days to get back into tip-top fighting shape, but it was clear that Yusuke would stand just as good a chance at winning this year's tournament as any of the other known S-Class demons! And Hiei… Botan bit her bottom lip, fingers toying with the hem of her skirt anxiously; he was another matter entirely. Even just seeing him in the Human World after all this time had been wholly unexpected, but he’d arrived at the temple shortly after Yusuke had, set on “warming up” before the tournament started. And after years of continued service under Mukuro while working for the Border Patrol, Hiei had grown in more ways than Botan could have ever imagined. He was always strong of course, but now…

A sudden, thundering crash jolted Botan from her thoughts, and she snapped toward the source in a panic, seeing little more than a billowing cloud of dust and raining debris. After a moment of silence, the smokescreen was swept away by a passing gust, and Botan was surprised to see Yusuke lying flat on his back in the middle of the courtyard, the force of his impact having left an indentation in the ground beneath him. Just as she made to ask Yusuke if he was alright, Hiei dropped down from above, standing in between them and any concerns Botan may have held for Yusuke instantly died on her tongue. Her breath hitched, and goosebumps rose over the skin of her arms and neck as she soaked in the sight standing confidently before her; Hiei was shirtless. At some point during his high-speed duel with Yusuke, Botan could only assume that the sleeveless, powder-blue shirt Hiei had previously been wearing, had gotten torn from his body, the tattered remains clutched limply in Yusuke’s fist at the bottom of his own miniature crater.

“You’ve grown soft over the years Detective,” Hiei taunted, standing above Yusuke triumphantly.

“Hiei had not,” Botan thought internally, staring wide eyed at the rippling muscles of Hiei’s broad back, slender waist, and powerful shoulders. He looked as though he had been sculpted from stone and his skin gently kissed by the sun’s rays. Botan’s tongue darted out to wet her lips, and she absentmindedly tucked a strand of errant hair behind her ear. This darn heat...

Below, Yusuke groaned as he sat up, rubbing his jaw gingerly, and spit a wad of blood and saliva to the side before hopping to his feet. He noisily cracked his neck to each side before jumping from the pit to stand in front of Hiei once more.

“Gimme a break Hiei, Keiko’s made an honest man out of me after all,” Yusuke said with a hearty laugh, clapping a hand down on Hiei’s shoulder, “I’ve just gotta get back into the swing of things. But look at you Hiei; Someone’s finally learned how to throw a real punch! That last one actually hurt. Feels like your arm is made of steel man!”

Botan’s eyes wandered over Hiei’s “steel-like” arms, noting just how much thicker they were from the last time she’d seen him, the sealing bandages wrapped around his right arm stretched taut against his biceps and triceps, threatening to burst at the seams whenever he raised his fist. Why, she was sure even Kuwabara would be envious of Hiei’s new size and definition!

Hiei scoffed, slapping away Yusuke’s hand.

“Had you stayed in Demon World, you may have become a more worthy challenge. You’ll waste away here.”

“Don’t you worry about me half-pint, when the time comes, I’ll be sure to kick your ass just like I used to,” Yusuke replied cheekily, waving Hiei’s ruined shirt between them, “If I can take this off you, I’m not as rusty as I think I am.”

Half-pint? Botan was astounded that Yusuke had the gall to even label Hiei such a thing, especially now that they practically stood eye to eye with one another. Sure, Yusuke was still fractionally taller, the pointed tips of Hiei’s hair not included in his height, but Botan was genuinely curious to know if Yusuke had noticed his former comrade had grown nearly a full foot since their last meeting. Because she certainly had... Botan even noticed that the once baggy clothing Hiei used to wear fit much more snugly on his frame, the black material of his trousers clinging shapely to his rear end and thighs, and now only needing one belt to keep them fixed into place! Another wave of heat passed over Botan once more, and she hurriedly fanned herself, trying to find some reprieve in her manufactured breeze.

Hiei snatched the shredded fabric out of Yusuke’s outstretched hand, and with a flare of dark energy, reduced it to cinders.

“Demon World won’t have just been sitting back, cooking noodles until the next tournament rolls around Yusuke,” Hiei bit back sharply, “Countless demons want your head. Either you rise to the occasion, or they will take it.”

“Aww Hiei, is that why you’re here?” Yusuke replied with faux surprise, trying to contain his building laughter, “Cause you’re worried about little ol’ me? I always knew you were a softie Hiei!”

“Fool. Go back to your hole.” Hiei growled, turning from Yusuke and beginning to stalk toward the forest.

“Hey,” Yusuke called out, sounding more genuine and serious, “You came all the way here to give me the kick in the ass I needed to get back on to your level... so thanks Hiei, I appreciate it. I’ll be ready for the tournament, you can count on it. No way I’m dying before I beat your ass again.”

Hiei stopped and looked back over his shoulder at Yusuke, an unreadable expression across his face.

“Hn. There won’t be any mirrors to save you next time Yusuke.”

Yusuke broke into a wide grin and threw himself at Hiei playfully, “Love you too Shnookums!”

Botan let out a gasp, hands flying to her cheeks and her eyes sparkling, too distracted by her own thoughts to notice Hiei dodging Yusuke’s advances in the courtyard, “Was Hiei always so kind and considerate!?” Botan asked herself incredulously.

Of course, she had always known Hiei to be a swell guy who held an obvious soft spot for Yukina, but this was the first time she had ever seen him go to such lengths to help out another person. Well, without being coerced into doing so that is. But still, it warmed her heart to witness first hand that Hiei truly did care for his friends and seemed to have grown comfortable enough to express those feelings in his own, awkward way. “Perhaps not in so many words... but actions always did speak louder for Hiei,” Botan thought with a giggle. Why, it was almost like Hiei had become a completely new man, and warmth blossomed in her chest realizing just how far he’d grown from being the nasty little criminal she had first met all those years ago. His maturation, both physically and emotionally, was really quite… attractive.

Botan could practically feel the heat rising from her cheeks and she buried her face into her hands as the realization dawned upon her; she was totally into Hiei!

Where had this come from and how could it have happened after so many years apart!? They had never been particularly close and she could practically count their personal interactions on both hands. She had always admired Hiei’s strength and reliability, but that certainly couldn’t have been enough to evoke these feelings, right? Botan peeked through her fingers over at Hiei, finding both he and Yusuke chatting about something that she couldn’t quite make out, but she glued her eyes to the fire demon, studying every aspect of him, searching for clues.

Hiei was an incredibly handsome man, and always had been, she supposed... but she had never really taken notice of his looks until after his prolonged absence. Before their separation, Hiei had always looked so angry at the world, his eyes sharp and distrustful of those around him. And too often had she felt his cold air of indifference or outright hostility directed toward their group of friends in the past than she cared to admit. He’d been so rude and cruel to those around him for so long that Botan supposed it was those lesser quality traits that had kept her from seeing his more positive, physical aspects in the past. At the time, she just couldn’t imagine him being a viable partner...

But now, Botan could see that Hiei had a more calm look on his face, the hardness in his eyes replaced by warm confidence and his body language more light and open, as though a massive weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Botan smiled fondly; whatever it was that Hiei had found in his life, it had clearly been good for him. Yusuke and Kurama had always placed their utmost trust in him, and years prior, she had wondered if they had been wrong to do so, but seeing Hiei now, it was clear that it was she who had misunderstood the way Hiei viewed his comrades. Just like Yusuke once told her; they could always depend on Hiei to save their butts in the end and realizing this to be true, allowed Botan to see Hiei in an entirely new light.

And his body!

Botan gushed, wiggling in her seat as she desperately fought off the giddy squeal of excitement that rose from the pit of her stomach. He was so incredibly sexy that she could hardly tear her gaze away from him! Never before had she been so fixated on a man’s physical prowess, but everything that Hiei had going on, just worked wonders for her. And now that he had turned toward her, Botan could fully appreciate his sculpted chest and core; each pectoral, oblique and abdominal muscle clearly defined by years of hard battle and religious training. Just the sight of them was enough to drive a girl insane with wanton desire and she could only imagine how warm and firm they felt under her finger tips. Her eyes moved ever lower, and the thought of what he may look like elsewhere drifted to the front of her mind...

“Thirsty?”

A wet, frigid cold touched the heated skin of her neck, and Botan could not contain the wail of shock and panic that slipped past her lips as she jumped from her seat and into the courtyard.

“W-w-what was that!?” Botan exclaimed, spinning around to see what had touched her.

Her panic quickly melted into confusion upon seeing Shizuru standing in front of her with a pair of canned drinks in her hands, and wearing an all knowing smile. One that made Botan immediately flustered, and feel as though she’d just been caught doing something she shouldn’t have. Peeking back over her shoulder, Botan spotted both Yusuke and Hiei staring curiously over her outburst, but she hurriedly waved them off, trying to avoid eye making contact with either of them.

“Shizuru, w-what are you doing here?” Botan stammered awkwardly, pawing at the air like a kitten.

Shizuru paused before answering, staring out into the courtyard and then back to Botan, who looked increasingly nervous as the seconds ticked by in silence. Taking a seat, Shizuru beckoned Botan over, and the pair sat side by side, long legs dangling over the walkway’s ledge.

“Kazuma heard from Kurama that Yusuke was up here training for that demon tournament,” Shizuru explained, tossing one of the canned beverages toward Botan who clumsily caught it, “He wanted in, so he used that dimension sword thing of his to bring us up here; makes for cheap and easy travel you know. I figured you wouldn’t be too far from the scene, so Yukina, Keiko, and I tagged along too.”

“O-oh! Well that’s just grand! Yes! It’s been far too long since we’ve had a little get together, let alone some girl time,” Botan said, popping open her beverage and taking a sip. Tropical berries, yum!

“That’s true,” Shizuru replied in a hushed tone, throwing an arm around Botan’s shoulders and pulled her in close, “But it looks to me like you’d prefer some one on one time with Hiei instead.”

Botan promptly choked on her drink, coughing and sputtering as her drink went down the wrong way. Shizuru then gently patted her on the back until her airway was clear enough to take an inhale of breath.

“Shizuru!” Botan exclaimed, positively aghast.

“Am I wrong?”

“I-I-I… well you see... but I didn’t even... um, h-how,” Botan stammered erratically, breaking out into a nervous sweat, her face reddened in embarrassment and humiliation.

“Uh-huh, that’s what I thought sweetheart,” Shizuru stated smugly. “Can’t say I blame you though, Hiei got really hot.”

Next to her, Botan tugged nervously on her ponytail, and nodded her affirmation. No sense in denying what was obviously true. “How did you know? I only just found out myself.” Botan whispered meekly.

“Well, it was pretty easy, Botan. You were ogling him like you wanted to replace your oar with his-,”

“Shizuru stop!” Botan wailed, trying to muffle Shizuru’s mouth with her hands but Shizuru leaned back out of the way, openly laughing at Botan's outrage.

Botan cast a panicked glance over to Hiei, hoping that he hadn’t heard Shizuru’s crass words, but froze solid upon seeing that he was looking right at her, his crimson eyes smoldering and a seductive smirk playing at his lips. She wasn’t even sure how it was possible to be both so incredibly mortified and aroused at the same time, but the look on Hiei’s face did both to her, and she couldn’t help but shiver under his gaze, her heart thumping wildly in her chest.

It was then that Shizuru leaned in once more, whispering, “Looks like Hiei’s pretty thirsty too. Why don’t you go give him a drink?” Shizuru then forced her own unopened beverage into Botan’s free hand and guided the ferry woman to her feet.

Across the lawn, Yusuke slapped Hiei noisily on the back, then jogged off with an amused cackle. Shizuru followed suit, sauntering away with a call of “Good luck,” before leaving Botan and Hiei alone to figure things out.

Botan swallowed thickly, briefly staring down at the chilled can in her hand, before returning her focus to Hiei. He... err, it was really was quite hot today... and she supposed that even fire demons like Hiei would need to quench their thirst on a day like today. Yes, she decided, there was nothing wrong with sharing a drink with an old friend. She took a tentative step toward Hiei and tried her best to ignore the butterflies in her stomach as Hiei began to advance on her in return.

[four-loose-screws]

FE8 Novelization Translation - Chapter 10, Section 2

If you would like to start from the beginning, read a missed part, etc., click here!

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I call this a “section” because it is not a separate part of the chapter in the book, but divided from the rest of the chapter by a scene break.

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Chapter 10: The Secluded Sage (con’t)

Everyone pulled out torches from within the convoy.

Because they did not want to have too much luggage, they’d prepared as few supplies as possible. Their thought was that it would be best to stock up on what they lacked in towns along the way, but that plan had now backfired.

Still, a little was better than nothing. A few soldiers grabbed the torches they had, and were tasked with maintaining a consistent field of vision.

The dim light shone throughout the fort and revealed the disgusting sight of vines snaking up its crumbling walls.

‘If only we had just a few more torches….’ As if someone had read Eirika’s thoughts, a bright light suddenly shone from behind her.

She whirled around in surprise, and was blinded. When she raised a hand over her eyes, she was able to confirm that the light was shining from the tip of Natasha’s staff.

“I apologize for surprising you…”

“Natasha, what is that staff…?”

“I thought maybe it might be helpful… Um, is it perhaps bothering you?”

“No, on the contrary, it’s very useful!”

It was a much appreciated staff that made up completely for their lack of torches. Because Natasha couldn’t go out on the front, it was decided that she would light up the rear line, and the army ventured inside of the fort.

The inside looked exactly as they’d predicted. While it had been originally built to fight against monsters, ironically, now it was a monster den.

Ewan darted around while shouting, “Whoa… it wasn’t like this in here when I explored it at all! It was totally empty and abandoned… How could this have happened in so little time!?”

“Ewan!” Tethys had heard what he was saying and ran up to him. She looked terrified, and grabbed his arm. “What are you doing!? You know it's dangerous to be out this far on the front, right!? Stay with me on the rear line…"

"I’m going to fight! I want to show everyone the magic my teacher taught me!”

“You can’t! It’s still too dangerous!”

“No it’s not! Just watch me, Big Sister!”

“Can’t you hear what I’m telling you? When did you turn into such a bad child? If anything ever happened to you, I…”

Tethys buried her face in her hands, and her shoulders started shaking. Any observer would know that she was faking it, but Ewan took her very seriously. 

He was horrified, and hugged her tightly. “I’m sorry, Big Sister! I understand. I’ll do as you say. I’ll stay on the rear line with you.”

Ewan guarded Tethys, who was still pretending to cry, as they retreated to the rear line.

Eirika was surprised at this unexpected side of Tethys. When she was with Gerik, she seemed so carefree. She didn’t seem like the type to be so concerned about family, but she completely spoiled her little brother.

Gerik saw her expression, and laughed. “You look surprised. Didn’t think she was so kind… did ya?”

“No, that’s not it…”

“You don’t have to be polite. I was taken aback the first time I saw her like this, too. It felt like the woman I’d seen dancing at the bar was a different person. It seems that they lost both of their parents very suddenly, and were living all on their own. Ewan’s all the family she has left.”

“Really?”

The young sister and brother, surviving by protecting one another, had no doubt struggled through a lot together. She must have worked so hard to develop her exceptional dancing skills so that she could raise him. And perhaps he’d decided to study magic at such a young age because he wanted, from the very bottom of his heart, to help out his sister however he could.

Eirika was silent, so Gerik worriedly whispered to her, “Hey, don’t look so sad! Tethys’ll rip me a new one if she figures out that I blabbed about her tragic past! She hates it most of all when people pity her.”

“I understand. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear anything.”

The battle had already begun on the front line. The nauseating and rotten smell of the monsters was all around them, and the monsters’ shrieking cries of death pierced their ears. Eirika and Gerik both withdrew their swords and started slicing up the monsters coming towards them.

The group nesting here at this fort was far stronger than that in the Za’ha Forest. 

This time, even Gargoyles, a pure black, winged creature, was among them. They wielded iron weapons likely stolen from people they’d previously fought with, and attacked at terrifying speeds. 

As Eirika had expected, both Lute and Artur played a huge role in this battle. They rushed around to back up all the soldiers who were having difficulty fighting. The effects of Artur’s light magic were particularly great. He defeated almost all of the monsters he fought with one spell.

“Lady Eirika, I have troubling news!” Franz, who'd been fighting on the front line, rushed up to her in a panic. 

'No… is someone injured?' Eirika wondered, but that was not it.

“There appear to be people inside of this building!”

“People…?”

"Yes. They are blocked off from us by monsters and we cannot get close, but we can hear their voices. They seem to be travelers who lost their way and were then attacked...”

"Understood. Let's make saving them our top priority."

When Eirika went in the direction Franz had told her, she also heard voices.

"Aaaaargh! There's no end to these monsters! What in the world happened to this fort!?"

“Please rest, Lady L’Arachel! I’ll take care of them from here!”

“No, Dozla. I will not be the only one to save myself from this danger! This is yet another trial sent to me by the gods!”

The voices were ones that Eirika did not expect, but remembered hearing before, causing her to stop in her tracks.

They belonged to a very odd lady and her retainer.

‘That’s right, she said she was going to take the land route to Rausten.’ She must have chosen to take the same route through the mountains as Eirika’s army.

L’Arachel sounded annoyed, but also like she still had strength to spare. Eirika and her army followed their voices as they cut down the monsters.

L’Arachel and Dozla were fighting in a small room, though it was more accurate to say that Dozla was the only one in direct combat with the monsters. L’Arachel rushed around behind him, waving her staff around. She seemed to be the same as Natasha, a healer who only knew how to wield staves.

They were one person short, so Eirika couldn’t help but wonder if Rennac had been killed. This made her even more worried, and she shouted out, “Miss L’Arachel! Are you alright!?”

“Oh my, that voice…? Aren’t you the person from the other day? So we meet again! We seem to be bound by fate!”

“Please retreat to a safe place! We’ll take it from here…!”

“Oh, you have no reason to be that worried! We are still on our journey to cast judgement upon all monsters! This lot is no trouble at all! Now see how magnificently we fight!”

“Miss L’Arachel, there are injured people on the rear line. If possible, I’d like you to please use your staff to heal them. They need you.”

Eirika’s plea immediately got through to L’Arachel. She cheered up and rushed straight to the back line, allowing Eirika to fight without worry.

L’Arachel’s companion Dozla was exactly as strong as one would imagine he was at the sight of his hulking body. He swung around a huge battle axe that any normal person would have trouble lifting with ease, and sliced through each and every monster with all his strength. He could even shrug off minor attacks with his muscles of steel, and took little damage from them. He was truly a warrior to be feared. 

The fog slowly thinned out as they fought, so the battle did not go on for long.

L’Arachel played a huge role in caring for the injured. She was a bit rough compared to Natasha, and even yelled at them a few times, but aside from that, her healing abilities were the real deal.

When the battle was over, Eirika sheathed her sword and called over to L’Arachel. “Thank you, Miss L’Arachel.”

“You can just call me L’Arachel… Um…” She tried to call Eirika by name, but cut her words short and tilted her head to the side. “Oh dear, now that I think about it, I haven’t asked you for your name yet. What is it?”

Eirika laughed. It already seemed like L’Arachel was an acquaintance, so it was strange that she didn’t even know her name yet. 

In a case like this, Eirika always used the alias “Eilis the Mercenary,” but she didn’t want to lie to these two, so she didn’t feel the need to do that. “My name is Eirika.”

Seth looked like he wanted to say something, but Eirika cut him off. “It’s okay, Seth. These two aren’t bad people. I don’t think we have to hide anything from them.”

L’Arachel stared straight at Eirika for a moment, then whispered, “I’ve been told that the princess of Renais’ name is Eirika! And that after the palace fell, she fled to Frelia, has been fighting ever since, and…”

“Yes. That is me.”

“Oh my, you’re the princess of Renais!? That is only logical. I knew all along that you were someone very refined. Didn’t you think so too, Dozla?”

“I did indeed think the exact same thing, Lady L’Arachel!”

“It is an honor to meet you! When I heard of another princess like I, traveling to each country while battling the evil rampaging the world, I wanted to meet her at least once!” L’Arachel took Eirika’s hands in her own, and squeezed them tightly.

“N-Not at all. I didn’t necessarily start traveling for that reason…”

“And we even got lost on the same rugged mountain, bringing us even closer together!"

It seemed that L'Arachel hadn't planned to climb the mountain, rather, she'd simply gotten lost. No ordinary person would climb such a steep mountain simply because they'd gone the wrong way.

"No, we didn't get lost. Actually…"

Eirika told her everything that had happened since they split up in Carcino, including Carcino’s betrayal, Pablo's surprise attack, the battle at the previous fort, and the village Ewan had told them about, Caer Pelyn. 

L'Arachel was deeply interested in the story from start to finish, and when Eirika was done talking, she said with conviction, "We were guided to meet here by fate! Please let us go with you, Eirika."

"Huh…?" Eirika had no idea what to say to the enthusiastic L'Arachel, and simply stared at her.

She'd seen L'Arachel and Dozla's abilities in action firsthand during the last battle, leading Eirika to very much want them to lend her their strength. However, they had no connection to neither Renais nor Frelia, and did not seem to be victims of Grado's violence, either. They were different from Eirika and her army, and had no reason to go on a dangerous journey.

L'Arachel noticed Eirika’s sigh, then pleaded passionately, "Please consider it! We're on completely different journeys, yet have met three times already! It is no coincidence! It is our fate to fight together!"

 “But as I just explained to you, Miss L’Arachel, we are being pursued by both the Grado Army, and now Pablo’s men. If you travel with us, I can’t even imagine just how much danger you’ll be put in…”

“Ha, do you think I fear danger? Since the day I decided to devote myself to the extermination of all monsters, I have been ready for anything! No matter how dangerous it is, everything is a trial sent to me by the gods. Helping you is a duty they have bestowed upon me!”

“I… I see…” 

As someone who was not a very devout religious believer, she couldn’t understand what L’Arachel’s excitement was about at all, but it moved Dozla to tears, which he wiped away with his giant fists.

And that is how it was decided that L’Arachel and Dozla would travel with Eirika’s army.

Eirika then asked about something that had concerned her since she first saw them in the fort.

“There was someone else traveling with you, correct? I believe you called him Rennac…”

“Yes. We lost him.” L’Arachel shook her head in disappointment. “He has no sense of direction, so he must have gone down the wrong path. It’s such a shame…”

She was completely blind to the fact that she herself had gotten lost. But knowing that he hadn’t been killed by a monster gave Eirika a sense of relief. “I hope you’ll be able to meet back up with him soon.”

“I really hope so too! It’s very inconvenient not to have him with us. He may be lazy, but because he’s greedy, if there’s a reward in it for him, then he’s excited to do anything. He’s as adept with his hands and as cunning as a thief, so he’s been very helpful to me…”

L’Arachel clearly had no qualms about speaking her mind. Although Eirika felt bad for Rennac, she didn’t feel that L’Arachel meant any harm, so it made her smile. “How do you three all know each other? Dozla seems to be devoted to serving you, but…”

“Yes, you are right. I am actually…”

“Lady L’Arachel!” Dozla placed one of his short fingers on his lips, signaling to her not to tell.

“But I’ve already become allies with Eirika! She is a kindred spirit, fighting to rid the world of evil, and bring peace! I’m sure everything will be fine if I tell her…”

“Do you forget what the bard Saga said? According to him…” Dozla whispered something in her ear.

L’Arachel nodded deeply in agreement. “You’re right. The truth is a secret that I cannot speak of casually, even to my allies… And that is much sweeter in times such as these! Thank you for reminding me, Dozla!”

“‘Tis nothing, Milady!”

“And that’s the situation, Eirika. I am an envoy of justice sent by the gods to exterminate evil, Dozla is my faithful servant, and.... Rennac is a lazy, greedy employee of mine… please accept that for now.”

“I will… I suppose…” She was probably in a position where she did not want to tell anyone. Eirika decided not to question L’Arachel any further.

-

Eirika’s army quickly left the fort, and headed for the sage Saleh’s house.

The remaining path was as steep as it had been the entire way up, but the fog had cleared. They no longer had to worry about not knowing what might be under their feet, so they were able to climb faster than before.

They arrived at Ewan's teacher's house before sunset. It was a simple house hidden among the trees on the mountainside.

Ewan ran in excitedly and slammed the door open without knocking. “Good afternoon, Teacher!” He seemed to always be this energetic, no matter the situation. However, no one answered.

Eirika peeked in from behind him. The only furniture inside was a small desk and a bed. His teacher seemed to live a simple life.

And, as far as she could tell, he had left without locking the door. It was unlikely that any thieves were ever in the area, and even if a bandit did get in, there wasn't a single thing they could take, so there was really no need to do so.

Ewan turned around with a disappointed look on his face. "I think he's out."

"Perhaps he's close by? We can wait here, in case he might come back soon…"

"Hmmmmm… I dunno. He travels a lot."

"He travels a lot!?" Colm exclaimed so loudly that his voice echoed through the house. He continued on, shouting at Ewan, who drooped his head, “We worked our butts off climbing all the way up here, and he’s out on a trip!? Give me a break! You can lead us the rest of the way on your own, right!?”

“I do know the road, but… I won’t be able to convince the people of the village on my own…”

“So we won’t be able to get through to them? Then what are we gonna do? Come back the way we came?”

“I’m sorry…”

“You sure talked big, but you just made a fool of us all! Seriously, after all this, he’s not here…!?”

“Colm!” Neimi nudged him.

While it got him to stop yelling, he still looked very displeased.

Ewan was so sad and dejected that it was nearly impossible not to feel pity for him.

Tethys said kindly to Colm, “I’m so sorry. He was just trying his hardest to help everyone… He’s always been treated like a child, so he wanted to do something all by himself, but instead, he made things more difficult for everyone. I don’t know what to say…”

“No… it’s okay. I didn’t really mean to attack him… Not even a little! I swear! I-I mean, it’s nice to go mountain climbing every once in a while, right?” When the bewitching Tethys apologized to him, Colm completely lost the last of his composure, even forcing a smile that was entirely unlike him.

Neimi still looked sad, so she didn’t seem to notice at all.

Eirika comforted the disheartened Ewan. “It’s too bad, but there’s nothing we can do about it. It wasn’t your fault, so please don’t look so sad. For now, let’s talk to everyone about what we’re going to do next…”

He looked up at her, tears in his eyes. But when his eyes darted past her, he gasped. “Teacher! Yay, you came back!”

“I told you not to come here, remember? I’m usually out.” A man appeared and scolded him in a harsh tone.

Eirika turned around and was so surprised that she couldn’t respond immediately, because she had seen Ewan’s teacher before.

The man did not notice her, instead trying to go around Ewan and enter his house. “I will leave again soon. If you want to master magic, then please find another teacher.”

“Um…”

When Eirika started to talk to him, he turned around with a stern look still on his face. He seemed to remember her as well, as he looked like he was trying to remember something.

“We met before. In the border town Serafew… You were looking for a lost child, if I remember correctly.”

“Yes.”

He seemed to remember now, as he was nodding his head. She wanted to ask him if he’d found the child, but he didn’t seem to be in the mood for casual conversation. 

He was probably still very young, but had a calm composure that did not fit someone of that age. To Eirika’s eyes, used to seeing unusual mages like Lute, he seemed to have a much more mysterious aura, one that most anyone would expect from a mage.

‘So this is the sage Saleh.’ For Innes to have known his name, he must possess such great power that even Frelia’s spies could not ignore gathering intel on him.

But Ewan clung to his teacher. He completely disobeyed what Saleh had told him to do, and said in his same tone as always, “So, uh, um, Teacher! All of these people want to cross the mountain to reach the country on the other side. So I decided to take them to Caer Pelyn! I can get there okay on my own, but I think it would be even better if you were with us!”

Judging by how disappointed Ewan had been before, it hadn’t seemed that he was confident he would be able to guide them the rest of the way. But now, he sounded completely confident in himself. 

Eirika thought that Saleh’s response would confirm he was a grouchy person, but contrary to her expectations, he nodded immediately. “That should be fine. I was about to return there myself. You can all come with me.”

“Really? It’s okay!?” Ewan asked without thinking.

Saleh replied bluntly, “We do not aim to keep outsiders from getting in. People simply do not try to interact with us. However, the sun is already setting. Let’s rest here for the night, then depart once it is light out.”

“He’s right.” Innes nodded. “Everyone is tired. And if a large horde of monsters like the one we just fought appeared, then there would be nothing we could do. It would be best for us to rest and focus on keeping our morale up.”

Everyone followed his suggestion, and it was decided that the soldiers would camp around Saleh’s house for the night.

While the soldiers were setting up their tents, Ewan said, "Should I go ahead and explain everything to the elder? If we suddenly show up with a group this big, we'll probably surprise everyone in the village."

"But it's already getting dark, Ewan…” Eirika tried to stop him, however, the speedy boy had already run off. He turned around once, said, "I'll be fine!" with a wave, and soon disappeared between the trees.

"Grrr, he's so naughty.. !" Tethys was worried, and tried to run after him.

But Saleh said, "Ewan knows these roads very well. You should let him go."

Tethys still looked concerned, so Innes said, "It’s not that I don't understand how much he wants to help. He cannot fight so well on the battlefield yet, so he wants to make up for it in other ways."

Ewan had teased him the entire way up the mountain, putting him in a bad mood the whole time. For him to say that he understood how Ewan felt was unexpected.

But Eirika put herself in Prince Innes shoes and imagined how he felt. He was proud enough for two people, and hated losing. He probably hated the memories of whenever someone took him lightly as a child.

The soldiers had removed their armor, and quickly set up camp. Now, those on cooking duty were making a hot meal, and those who were hungry hovered around the pot. Their grueling climb up the mountain became a funny story, and the entire area was filled with cheerful laughter.

When it came time to sit in a circle around the campfire, as they always did after dinner, everyone was far too tired. They all decided to quickly retire for the night.

-

Eirika’s army set out early the next morning. At almost the exact moment that the sun began to rise, Saleh came out of his house, ready to start moving.

When he saw Eirika's army was still fast asleep, he frowned. The soldiers on guard duty all shook everyone awake in a panic. The commotion also caused Eirika, sleeping in the same tent as Tana, to awaken.

"Wow, mages sure get up really early. Oh, but Lute usually sleeps in. I guess that means there's mages of all types?" Tana grumbled, still sleepy. 

Because Saleh was the one who would guide them to their next destination, they had no choice but to go with him. Everyone was still rubbing sleep out of their eyes when they started following Saleh further up the mountain.

Before they had even made any progress, Colm suddenly yelled, "Hey, something's coming this way! But it's not a pegasus. Its wings sound much stronger than that."

Eirika looked up. She saw three shadows in the sky. "Are they…?"

The shadows gradually became larger and larger, until everyone could tell what they were.

Seth whispered, "Dragons! I can't believe it… They’re imperial dragon knights…”

The knights atop the dragons were undoubtedly dressed in the empire’s colors. They were both more powerful than pegasus knights, and harder to damage. It was likely that they had been flying around the area to search for Eirika’s army. 

They’d decided to climb the mountain to avoid any enemies, but had been found even in a place like this.

The group only seemed to consist of the three knights. No matter how strong they were, it was far too reckless for just three knights alone to take on Eirika’s entire army. It was too difficult for her to judge what their true intentions were, so all she could do was stare at them as they approached her.

The dragons quickly descended. Seth stood in front of Eirika to guard her.

The knight leading the other two jumped down from his mount, then glared at Seth with a stern look on his face.

He was a young man with bright blond hair and a strong, masculine face. 

The moment she could make out his face clearly, Eirika gasped. “General Glen? It is you, isn’t it!? Everyone, I’ve met him in the Grado capital before…!”

The young man nodded lightly, the stern expression still on his face.

She had met him before, however, it was only once during a trip to Grado’s capital city. He sometimes passed by when Eirika and Ephraim were chatting with Prince Lyon, but one day, Lyon called him over, and introduced him to the twins. 

-

Glen had a very serious personality, and it showed in his greeting to them. Ephraim tried to joke with him, but Glen, standing at attention, did not even smile. That amused Ephraim all the more, etching the event into Eirika's memory.

He wasn’t very sociable, but politely answered a few questions she had about dragons. His manner of speaking was very boorish, but within his voice seemed to be hiding a very kind personality, so Eirika liked him.

When Glen left, Lyon whispered a secret to Eirika and Ephraim. “He’s really strong, and works very hard. If I was as tough as him, I’m sure I would enjoy combat training too, but...”

-

When Eirika remembered how Lyon felt about his frail body, she still didn’t know what to say.

Ephraim’s teacher General Duessel had also considered Glen like a son, and praised him as one of the youths who were Grado’s future. At that time, Ephraim was bitter that General Duessel would tell him his spearmanship couldn’t yet compete with Glen’s, and declared Glen his rival. When Ephraim told them he would kill Glen one day in a fit of rage, both Lyon and Eirika found it amusing, and looked at each other and laughed.

When Ephraim said “kill,” he of course actually meant that he would defeat Glen in a duel with set rules. None of them thought that a day would ever come where they must go to war and divide people into allies and enemies.

The feelings of nostalgia were still warm in Eirika’s heart as she looked up at Glen. “I never thought I would meet you here like this...”

“I didn’t want our second meeting to be like this, either. However, His Majesty has ordered it. Eirika, for the crime of massacring Carcino citizens, I must punish you.”

“What…!?” The next words to come out of Glen’s mouth were the last she ever would have expected from him. “I massacred…? What do you mean, I…”

“If you can explain yourself, then I will listen. However, your actions were unjustifiably cruel. You suddenly attacked the port town of Kiris, and slaughtered a great number of the citizens who were desperately trying to escape. You and your army were supposed to be Frelia’s allies! How could you unleash such cruelty upon the people of Carcino, who trusted you!?”

Eirika stared at him, mouth wide open. She didn’t know how to respond to a story that was so completely different from the truth. And he was not making false accusations against her. He really seemed to believe that Eirika’s army had committed a massacre. His chiseled face was twisted in a look of anger and hatred.

The one who answered for the bewildered Eirika was Innes. He chuckled and said, “Don’t be stupid. I thought you were General Glen, one of Grado’s famed Three Imperial Generals. You cannot be this foolish.”

“...What?” Glen furrowed his eyebrows. 

Innes’ tone became even more and more scathing as he continued, “We were the ones betrayed by Carcino. They hired mercenaries to attack us, so we had no choice but to fight back. None of the ordinary citizens should have been harmed. Try investigating on your own before you open your mouth next time! How dare you say something so foolish as Eirika committing a massacre! This was all orchestrated by the Grado Empire, was it not?”

“What did you just say!?”

“Amazing! So you did really believe those idiotic lies! I'm amazed you managed to become one of the Three Imperial Generals…"

“Stop it, Innes!” Eirika finally regained her ability to speak, and scolded him for provoking Glen. She then looked back at Glen, who seemed to be understandably offended. “Sir Glen, what Prince Innes just said is correct. We did not harm the villagers. But if you believe the emperor’s words over ours, then there is nothing we can do. I don’t want to fight because of a misunderstanding like this, however…”

Confusion appeared in Glen’s eyes. His intent to fight vanished entirely, and he became lost in thought.

Eirika waited. Glen was a smart person. She believed that he would surely reconsider everything.

Finally, he opened his mouth. His voice was much softer now. “I understand. You’re right. I don’t know anything about the damage in Carcino. I will come again after I have confirmed what happened. If what you are saying is correct… then what His Majesty told me is a lie. I must ask him what his true motives are.”

“So you believe us?” Eirika breathed a sigh of relief.

Glen looked at her again. He still had a harsh look on his face, but the anger he’d originally showed was gone. “No, this doesn’t mean I believe you. I will simply withhold judgement until I can confirm the truth. If I find out that what you told me is the lie, then prepare yourselves.”

“We will.”

“Sorry for bothering you.” Glen climbed back atop his dragon. 

The other two dragons following behind him also softly spread their wings and flew upwards. Their powerful wings sliced through the sky, and in the blink of an eye, they became tiny specks.

“I can’t believe the emperor would tell such a lie…”

Eirika heard a voice say from beside her. She looked to see who it was, and saw Amelia staring up at the dragons. On her innocent face was an expression full of regret. “Maybe… Pablo was the one who spread the lie, and tricked His Majesty… Yeah! I’m sure that’s what happened!” Amelia said to convince herself, then nodded.

Seeing Amelia like this hurt Eirika’s heart. She may be a member of their army, but she was originally from Grado. Her respect for the emperor was likely to still be very strong. Eirika understood her desire to think there was some sort of misunderstanding.

But Eirika was sure that this wasn’t some plot of Pablo’s, but a path the emperor had chosen for himself. He was the one who’d ordered the sudden invasion of Renais. No matter how horrible his methods became, nothing would surprise Eirika any more.

“Amelia, this actually gives me a sense of relief.” Eirika said.

Amelia looked at her with her mouth wide open. “What… do you mean?”

“General Glen said that he was going to go confirm the truth. So long as there are people like him, then there’s still a possibility that we can talk this through. There’s also the rumor going around that General Duessel is against this war, correct? They’re both central figures to the empire, so everything can still be okay.”

Because the emperor had planned his strategy poorly, he may have actually dug his own grave. Anyone who investigated into the truth could quickly figure out that Eirika and her army had not committed a massacre. Glen was unlikely to trust an emperor that lied to him. If they were able to convince someone like him, who had such a huge influence over the military, there was even a chance that it would mean the beginning of the end of the war.

Amelia’s expression also brightened.

And so, Eirika’s army continued to follow Saleh, beginning to walk even higher up the mountain.

[bubblyani]

Delicious as You

(Lucifer Morningstar x Reader)

A Lucifer Morningstar One Shot

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 2,304

Summary: Unexpectedly stopping by one night during your cooking adventures in the kitchen, Lucifer was determined to have you all to himself. But to his surprise, you were equally determined to get your cooking done. Who will win?

Author’s Note: Sorry for being absent without any Lucifer content. Had this idea while I was cooking one day. Stayed in my head for a while until I finally decided to vent my frustration through words. Enjoy Thirsty Luci-fans!

He watched her, like a hawk. But instead of having a predatory intention, he was full of fascination. He drank in the curves of her face, the warm cheeks that lifted as she smiled to herself, the wrinkles that formed in the corners of her eyes, giving her lips some competition with a touch of sunshine. He drank it all while she worked her magic in the kitchen. She was certainly lost in her own little world.

For she had not even noticed his presence for the last 5 minutes. Bored already, he decided to change that.

“Boo…”

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

“Boo!”

Looking up, a squeak came out of you as you clutched your chest, dropping the steel bowl on the counter top with loud clang. You realized it was Lucifer Morningstar standing before you, his hands resting inside his pockets while he watched you work in the kitchen island.

“Lucifer!” You cried out, “H-How did you get in here?” You babbled. “Well…I seem to recall you giving me a spare key to your humble abode…” he said nonchalantly, holding up the small key for display. Sighing with relief, you chuckled. Of course you did, you remember promising him one when he repeatedly demanded whilst claiming his rights.  

“Oh yeah…I forgot that” You said, pushing the steel bowl to the back, “Well…how can I help you today?” Your tone was a mocking equivalent to a sales assistant at a clothing store. Lucifer scoffed in kind.

“I prefer to call this a visit from a concerned lover, rather than a favor” he replied with much sass. You stifled a smile. Indeed, you were more than happy to have your super handsome, wonderfully talented and secretly benevolent boyfriend around more than anything. Truthfully, sometimes you would even wonder what made him fall for you in the first place.

“In the mood for a culinary adventure tonight?” Lucifer inquired, walking over to your side. You nodded.

“You bet, slow cooking night, baby!” You said joyfully, whilst peeling off the papery layers of some onions and cloves of garlic. Cooking was always exhilarating. But slow cooking with a touch of exotic flavors brought it to another level. No wonder you were in high spirits. No wonder a smile was on your face when the pieces of meat were seasoned with sea salt and ground black pepper, before Lucifer frightened the living daylights out of you.

“As much as I commend your love of the culinary arts…” Lucifer stressed, before wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, “…the dance floors at Lux misses you immensely…And so does my warm bed…” he purred. As much as it brought warmth to your heart, you laughed it out to sound unaffected:

“Ha! Now that’s a panty dropper of a line” you joked, taking the knife in hand to chop the onions. You felt Lucifer scoff as his breath fell on your neck.

“Oh! Humor was clearly not the intended emotion I was trying rouse from you…” he said, flashing a naughty smile. Though you were busy crushing the garlic, your heart felt heavy for the man. Due to your recent busy schedule, you were deprived of the opportunity to visit and witness the flourishing business of his nightclub, LUX. You missed it as well, for every night there was a night to remember. And seeing the proud smile on Lucifer’s face every time you would wake up in his bed was something to hold on to.

“Awww…” You pouted, looking his way, “…just be a little patient, babe…” you said, turning back to chopping, “I’ll be right…” you paused to yawn , “…with you”. Whilst yawning, your body involuntarily stretched, pushing your buttocks back, only to accidentally have them brush against his clothed manhood. “Oh…my” You heard Lucifer mutter with fascination. Not caring much for it, you completely missed the naughty smile that returned to his face. A few seconds later, you suddenly felt the tightly wrapped apron loosen.

“Lucifer…?” You began questioningly,“What are you doing?” When you caught him in the act.

“Oh, you know. Just being patient…” He said innocently, his hands firmly gripping on your waist, “…might as well keep myself occupied…” he purred. Suspicious, you raised your eyebrows. “Clearly…” you said, “But w-oh!” Your suspicions were on point when you realized his right hand quickly dug inside your elastic shorts. Stomach retracting in response, it was the moment you knew where this was heading, what his intentions were, “Oh…you’re cheeky…”

“Not as cheeky as you are…” Lucifer teased smugly, slapping your buttocks in an instant. You chuckled loudly. Except those chuckles only lasted a few seconds when you gasped , queuing his beautiful fingers to graze over your panties. The few weeks of sexual depravity was handed to the world on a silver platter with your hushed breaths and twitching.

“Your resolute attitude is much appreciated, Mr. Morningstar…” your voice shook, as you reached for the mortar and pestle, “…but I have a dish to prepare…Oh my!…” unable to finish the sentence, you cried out. He defied you when his skilled fingers dipped inside your cotton panties, obtaining close contact with the bare skin between your thighs.

This, this was a battle of the wills. Being the stubborn man he was, Lucifer Morningstar would stop at nothing to get what he desired: You.

But you were not going to give up so easily. No matter he would try to make you cave in, you will thrive with your culinary mission tonight.

“In the mood for some spices, Lucifer?” Your inquiry was brimming with teases, taking a few steps to grab the steel spice container. Like a conjoined twin, he followed you wherever you moved towards. “Why not?” He breathed against your ear, “Nothing’s better than getting this tongue fired up…”

Adding spices in the correct measurements to a mortar would typically be considered an easy task. But nothing was of the typical nature at this moment. Not when your lover was occupied in distracting you using the nastiest method possible. Your body began to jerk when you felt three of his fingers familiarize themselves with the fleshy outer lips around your slit. His index finger and ring finger marked their territories there, while his middle finger gingerly stroked the sensitive tip that began to swell the longer he stroked it in tiny flicks. Having gained access to the part which induced the most pleasure, Lucifer held the liberty to do whatever he pleased with it. His finger stroked it in circles, he stroked it in straight lines, in triangles, and even in shapes that only existed in his subconscious. Regardless, every second he played with you, a small fire was lit up within, only to have that fire burst into gigantic flames. When he daringly inserted that finger into your thoroughly wet opening. All while his ears indulged in your cries of pleasure.


Taking the pestle, you began to grind up the onions, garlic with the spices in a fashion that was much more intense than it was previously done. And Lucifer noticed instantly. He felt victorious.

“My my…aren’t you the hard worker?” He commented in a seductive tone. Bitting your lower lip due to the fact his finger was literally inside of you, chuckling was the only option. “Of course, how else am I to let my frustrations out?” You said, looking over to him. “Well…” he said, licking his lips, “…you can always turn back to me-” “Not until this is done” you insisted, not willing to give up. Not ever. “Your call, darling” Lucifer said, as his finger quickly began to move in and out of you. Groaning, you finally stopped grinding the spices. “Ah fuck!” You cried out, “…fuck fuck fuck…” you repeated through gritted teeth,  “Lucifer, that’s not helping” you added with desperation. “Who said I intended to help?” He said darkly, his stubble grazing over your shoulder. He was not jesting for sure. When your hand reached out to grab the salted meat in the steel bowl, Lucifer’s left hand surprised you, by reaching up to cup your left breast over the t-shirt. But you would be fibbing if you did not admit your increased arousal at that point. Feeling the softness that resting on his palm, Lucifer was more than pleased.

“Oh!” He said amusingly, “Braless at home, are we?” He smiled mischievously,  “Lucifer, you lucky devil…” he said to himself. You rolled your eyes with a grin. “And again with the Devil persona…Ah!” Once again, you were forced to bite your lower lip when his fingers moved steadily in rhythm. Closing your eyes, you wished to savor this. Savor his loving to your leisure. But you had meat to marinade. Looking at the spice paste and the meat, you inhaled with determination. “Okay…” you began, smearing the spices over the pieces of meat, “This shouldn’t be too hard…Oh fuck!” Throwing your head back, you felt Lucifer tease you even more. For whilst you smeared and massaged the raw meat with the aromatic paste, his eager right hand massaged your breast, even having the audacity to pull the nipple through the shirt, making it thoroughly erect. “Ah! Shan’t leave the other feeling jealous…” Lucifer said, which made your eyebrows furrow. “What? Oh Lucifer….” You moaned, when you realized how his hand moved to your other breast to do the same. With two erect buds at the mercy of his touch, you felt the heat increase within you like a sauna.

“Oh boy…” you exhaled frustratingly, trying so hard not to scream in arousal with this torture. This sweet, delicious torture to be specific. Turning the stove on, you poured the oil on to the Dutch Oven. But it was certainly a challenge when your lovers hands were all over you. Lucifer’s mischievous chuckle tickled your ears.

“Come on, Y/N…” Lucifer whispered, “You know you want this bad…”. He thought he had you, dead to rights.

When the ginger and garlic paste infused with the cinnamon sticks in the hot oil, the aroma was invigorating. Throwing your head back over his shoulder, you tried to distinguish the pleasures you were gifted with. The aroma of your cooking, and the eager passionate touch of the man you longed to defile everywhere with.

“Not…until…it’s done…” you said with difficulty. As much as you said this to him, this was also for yourself. Only a little while longer till you had to hold out on this frustration. Truthfully, you could just stop all this, spin around and pounce at him wildly. But the task you started with genuine interest would end up burnt, ignored and wasted. When you added the seasoned meat into the pan, you heard the pan sizzle loudly whilst indulging on the rich aroma that traveled all the way through your nostrils.

“Well, I do like a challenge” Lucifer cried out, proceeding to make everything more diffusely by kissing your neck. His lips on your neck, his hands on your bosom and between your thighs, he literally was lighting you in flames. The delicious aroma and the whiff of his cologne mixed together drove you wild with arousal. You could imagine it, his body on top of your own, licking his own lips before he proceeded to your lick your bare frame, eating off the food you just cooked. No matter what he did, he was insanely skilled at it. He was simply inhuman. Though you washed your hands frantically, though your cleansed your hands of the spices, your mind becoming filthier by the second. Holding the tap tightly, you felt a jerk inside. That was it.

“Lucifer!” You moaned, “I’m close…so close…” you breathed, motivating his fingers to increase speed. Moving your hands towards the marble counter, a loud cry exited your lips as you finally, found your release.

This release was certainly different from all the others you have shared with him.

“Whoa!” You panted, as his fingers retracted, “What-How did you even do that?” You said, looking at him over the shoulder. He smiled. “Darling…”  Lucifer began with pride,  “It’s me…” he said, making your jaw drop as he brought his finger to his lips, sucking your juices in front of your very eyes. You shook your head. “Show off..” You panted with a smile. He chuckled, looking at the pan,  “I bet that won’t be as delicious as you are, my darling” “Normally, I’d be insulted if anyone disses my cooking…” you said, as you stirred the meat, “…but in this case I really don’t know what to say…” you added dreamily. “A Thank you would be suffice…” “How about this…as a thank you?” You said, making his eyes widened with disbelief when you finally closed the the lid of the dutch oven, and turning the stove heat low. Your job was complete. And now it was all up to time to solve this culinary equation.

“Finally…” turning you towards him, Lucifer pulled to kiss you roughly on the lips. It felt like you were being gifted for doing a wonderful job. His kisses were that rewarding. You blushed when you tasted yourself in him, especially as his tongue jumped in to show you.

“Now that I have your complete attention…” your lover began, letting you go, “I’m afraid you won’t escape me for a few hours” he said. You giggled.

“F-few?” You inquired, seeing him put away his phone “Oh wow” you chuckled, full of squeals when he grabbed you by the waist once again.

“Darling…” he purred, brushing his nose against yours, “…Tonight I’m all yours…”

When he kissed you fully once more, you were certainly very glad you decided on slow cooking tonight.

——————————————————

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[bonjour-rainycity]

Odin’s Ward ~ Chapter 9

Link to previous part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/637789805440368640/odins-ward-chapter-8

Pairing: Loki x female reader

Word count: 5473 (wow I’m so sorry)

Warnings: None

Y/n: 18 // Loki: 20 // Thor: 24

Y/n’s POV

Loki and I do our best to make the remaining days count. He does as promised and keeps me in his bed as much as he can. When we are absolutely required to be somewhere, we attend together if possible and rush through our events if we must be separated. Every moment we spend together only does more to convince me that leaving him could be my undoing. I just can’t fathom seeing my best friend every day for half my life only to suddenly have him ripped away from me.

The sun is just beginning to rise. Normally, I would enjoy the sunrise, as it is a thing of beauty, but today, it may as well be an axe swinging to sever my head; today is the day I leave.

Loki’s arm pulls tighter around my waist. I wonder if he slept. I barely did, and not for sexy reasons. The dread kept us up most of the night, leaving very little energy for intimacy. Still, it was wonderful to spend my last night here in his arms. I know even at this early point in my life, that I will cherish him forever.

As long as I live, I will never love another as much as I love him.

Sighing, I turn to look into his eyes. We can ignore the day no longer. After a moment, Loki leans forward to kiss my forehead.

“Let’s get dressed. There’s something I want to show you.”

Confused but willing, I am soon dressed in what I wore yesterday. I’ll have to change into something more formal before I go to meet Father, I remind myself, doing my best not to cringe at the quickly approaching reunion.

I expect Loki to reach for me so we can teleport to wherever he wants to go, but instead, he offers his arm and we begin a slow and silent walk through the castle. The world is still asleep, save for a handful of servants rushing to get the palace ready for the day. They bow quickly to Loki as they go along but otherwise avoid eye contact, knowing better than to stare at the prince escorting a woman so early in the morning.

“Does it bother you that they don’t bow to you as well?” Loki’s sudden question breaks the heavy silence.

“No,” I answer honestly, having considered this before today. “I haven’t done anything to earn their respect. I don’t employ them, I don’t protect them, and I don’t command them. Why should they show deference to me?”

Loki lets out an odd sound, halfway between a scoff and a growl. “They should. You are the chosen of an Asgardian Prince.”

I stop walking and turn to give him a soft smile, doing my best to keep the sadness out of my eyes. “Not officially.”

He places a hand on my cheek sweetly, but there is regret in his voice. “Would that I could, Darling.”

“I don’t doubt you. I never have, and I never will.” The words leave my mouth without thought. For some reason, I just know he needs to hear this. And besides, it’s true.

A strange mixture of relief, love, and pain colors his face, although he is quick to mask it with a pleasant expression and a kiss on my hand.

We resume walking and are soon in a sort of attic located in one of the castle’s turrets. Loki releases my arm in favor of grabbing my hand and pulls me deep into what seems to be a storage room. He stops before an unassuming object hidden amongst the clutter.

“An old painting?” Surely he must understand my confusion. It’s just a shabby painting of a dusty blue door.

Loki grins with a hint of that trademark mischief and my stomach flutters. Not taking his eyes from mine, he reaches straight into the painting and pulls on the handle of the door.

“An old, magic painting,” I smile, catching on.

Loki’s grin does not last long, and apprehension gnaws at me. Why is he showing me this?

“Loki?”

He exhales loudly, running a hand over his face, and it becomes apparent that he does not wish to say what he has planned.

But he does.

“Y/n, you know I love you, but I—” he falters, giving me time to register the shop pain I feel stab in my chest. With a tightly clenched jaw, he gets the rest of the words out. “I cannot continue to be in contact with you once we are separated.” He looks me in the eye then, the hurt clear on his face. Loki so rarely openly shows his emotions, so I know how deeply he must be feeling right now.

I try to plaster my expression into something resembling an impassive calm. “I understand.” Despite my efforts, tears prick at my eyes and soon run down my cheeks.

Loki pulls me into a hug, tucking me securely under his chin.

“I understand, I promise,” I cry into his chest. “As terribly as it will hurt to never see you again, I think it would be somehow worse to hold on.”

“Yes,” he breathes, unable to put any strength behind the word. “However.” He clears his throat and pulls back slightly to look at me, his voice sounding somewhat stronger. “This painting is connected to you. Should you experience an emergency, write a letter and picture it appearing inside this door. I have a simple spell surrounding the painting that will alert me whenever something is placed inside the doorway, such as a letter from you.” His previously formal tone softens, and he looks me earnestly in the eye. “I shall check it straight away.”

I squeeze his hand in thanks, touched that he would prepare this and offer his eternal aid. I lean against him in silence.

The tolling of bells alerts us, and I squeeze my arms around him once before pulling away.

“We should get back so we can get ready.” I chuckle, though no humor lies within me. “Can’t have the whole castle know we’re screwing, right?”

His snort matches mine in terms of gaiety, but I appreciate the gesture nonetheless. “The way you were shouting last night, I’m sure they at least have their suspicions.”

A surprised scoff bubbles from my throat and I lightly smack my lover on the arm.

He smirks, true mischief in his eyes once more. “Not that I’m complaining. No, I adore every noise that comes from your mouth, especially when it’s wrapped around my—”

“Oh-kay! I cut him off, actually laughing now. “We get it, we get it. You’re a sounds guy.”

He scrunches up his face in confusion as we begin our descent down the staircase. “A ‘sounds guy’? Whatever does that mean?”

I shrug one shoulder. “You know. The noises your partner makes during sex turn you on.”

HE shakes his head in fond exasperation. “Dearest Y/n, wherever do you learn all these terms?”

“Books.” Duh.

He scoffs. “You and I must favor entirely different literature.”

I grin, stepping backwards off the last stair so I can tug on his hands. “That’s what makes us so fun.”

And, for just a few moments, we’ve forgotten what lies ahead.

{***}

“Lady Y/n, I am here to escort you out of the castle.” The guard’s voice is gruff and uninterested as he speaks through my door.

“Just a moment,” I call, stalling for time. “Dagmar, are you sure this dress is right?” I turn to my maid, who surveys my appearance with a careful eye. “Yes, My Lady. All of my research shows that this is the appropriate dress for a woman of your status in Alfheim.”

I wear a long, pale white dress that sweeps to the floor. Think golden ropes criss-cross the bodice and encircle my arms, the sleeves are long and elegant. The dress is entirely impractical and much too light for my complexion, but I suppose it doesn’t really matter. I’m not exactly focused on impressing anyone at the moment.

The guard knocks again impatiently.

“I’m coming,” I huff, annoyed.

Aware that I am unable to delay the inevitable any longer, I turn to Dagmar. “Thank you. I mean it.”

She curtsies deeply. “You’re welcome, My Lady. I wish you the best of luck and all the happiness you may find in Alfheim.”

With that, I steel myself and stride to my bedroom door.

{***}

The walk to the horses feels like a death march.

Nobles and prominent Asgardians line the path, doing their duty of seeing off the King’s Ward. Some look uninterested, others gaze at me with hostility, some with fondness.  I can’t focus on more than my breathing. If I lose focus, I worry it will become erratic with nerves.

At the end of the long, straight path lies the Royal Family. Thor, Odin, and Frigga look pleased. Loki sports complete indifference and keeps his eyes from mine.

When I reach the King, Odin begins to speak. His speech is loud and meant for the Asgardians making up his Court, not for me. “Lady Y/n, it was with open arms many years ago that I welcomed you into my home and family. I am happy to have provided you with an exceptional upbringing and the finest amenities Asgard has to offer. It is with great pride and a touch of sadness that I now send you back to your father, as I have come to have much fondness for you.” Lie. Several Asgardians dab handkerchiefs at their eyes in showy fashion. “Still, I know you are off to your home and you will be well cared for. My family and I hope to meet you again in the future, and encourage you to remember how Asgard has helped you when you one day sit in a position of power.”

I curtsey low as protocol dictates, though because I have ever-dwindling respect for Odin, the action is an empty one. “Of course, Your Highness. I extend my deepest gratitudes to you and your family for taking such wonderful care of me all these years and for sharing what you have. I, of course, will always keep Asgard and its people close to my heart.”

Speeches done, a servant arrives to help me onto my horse. On the way, Queen Frigga takes my hands and squeezes, looking kindly into my eyes. “I have complete faith in you, my dear. Please know that I have thought of you much like a daughter all these years, and although it breaks my heart to see you go, I know you are off to greater things.” She pulls me towards her conspiratorially. “You will be magnificent.”

My breath hitches and tears prick at my eyes. I’m touched. “Your Majesty, I have always had the highest respect for you and truly appreciate every way you guided and helped me through these years. You’ve been a wonderful mother figure, and I do hope to see you again.”

Tears appear in her own eyes, though she hides them well. She squeezes my hand once more before releasing me to the servant who fulfills his duty of getting me safely onto the horse.

I ride with Thor on my left and Loki on my right. As we leave, the people cheer and wave, though I don’t hear much over the ringing in my ears.

“Look, Lady Y/n, commoners have come to see you off! They adore you.” Thor’s comment piques my interest enough for me to crane my head around his tall form. I’m shocked to see that the spaces behind the lines of nobles are packed with Asgardians from the villages, all waving and smiling. Hesitantly, I wave back, and their cheers increase. Huh, who knew?

Thor encourages his horse to pick up speed, and Loki and I do the same, careful not to look at each other. We race from the castle and across the Bifrost. The wind whips my face, but Dagmar’s intricate braid ensures my hair remains neat and presentable.

All too quickly, we arrive at the end of the bridge. Thor moves to help me off the horse, but Loki huffs and steps in front of his brother, lightly gripping my waist. He still doesn’t look me in the eye, but his fingers linger on the soft fabric of my dress.

Thor grits his teeth, crossing his arms irritably. “Come now, brother, this is no time for possessiveness. You know Lady Y/n belongs to you no more now than she did back in the palace. It is time to let all this silliness go.”

Both Loki and I ignore him, but I can see the anger brewing beneath Loki’s surface.

The three of us enter the golden dome, and the closer we get to Heimdall, the faster my heart beats. I throw my braid over my shoulder and square my shoulders, doing my best to put on a confident air. Fake it till you make it.

Heimdall greets us with respect and instructs us on where to stand. I have only traveled by Bifrost once before, and that was when I was very young. Fear of the unknown brings a shake to my hands. Discreetly, Loki takes my hand in his, and I let out a breath, grateful for him even if our time together is shrinking down to seconds.

Without warning, light encapsulates our figures, threatening to burn my closed eyes. In the next breath, my feet his solid ground. The impact jolts through my bones and I stumble, unprepared for the force of it. Both Thor and Loki reach for me, having anticipated me being unbalanced. Again, Loki shoots his brother a withering glance. Once steadied, I take in the room. It’s not near as grand as the room in which Heimdall resides, but I can tell that this space holds great importance.

The boxy room is a pale, silvery white, much like the color of my dress. The podium we landed on is adorned with light-colored jewels that glow faintly. Eight guards in decorated silver armor stand in front of the exit, blocking our path. Immediately, they drop into low bows, their attention clearly focused on the two princes on either side of me.

“Rise, valued allies,” Thor speaks, and I can feel Loki’s annoyance at Thor delivering the command. Thor releasing the guards from their bow shows his rank to be superior to his brother’s when in fact, neither is yet a crowned prince.

A man clad in ornate silver robes steps forward. In taking in the room, I hadn’t noticed him before.

“Exalted Princes of Asgard, we are humbled to be in your presence.”

I do my best to hold in a huff. I’m right here! Isn’t anyone excited to see me? After all, this is my home…supposedly. I do my best to shake the bitterness off, but am largely unsuccessful.

“And we are here to complete a task.” Loki’s voice is cool, detached, and my heart begins to ache. A task, am I?

“Of course.” The man in robes snaps to attention. “If you will follow me, I will escort you tot he Chief Diplomat.”

The man, who still hasn’t introduced himself, turns and begins to lead us down what seems to be a very long and very wide tree branch. The guards follow behind.

With each step, I hear the blood rush in my ears. My stomach feels unsteady, and I must keep blinking in order to hold my focus. Get it together, Y/n. You cannot seem as frightened as you are. Hold your head high like you were taught and walk with all the confidence you can muster. You need to make a good impression on these people. I do my best to take the advice I just gave myself, and begin to feel slightly better.

That optimism disappears the moment we enter the castle.

The tall spiral stretches into the sky, its silver color looking rather dull in comparison to the sun. Based on its color and shine, I guess that it’s built to look grand in the moonlight, not the harshness of day. I can’t help but compare the building to Asgard, which feels much more like home to me than this place. The man leads us on a path to what I assume is the throne room, but no true monarch reigns here; Odin and his family rule all nine realms, but they have a stronger hold on some than others. And although he is not a ruler, he is the highest ranking official in Alfheim, so it is my father who occupies the throne.

I gulp.

He looks like me, I suppose. But he is of much taller stature and his eyes are a deep brown. Marks and wrinkles line his face, showing his age, his years of battle, and the stress of his job. As Chief Diplomat, he wears not armor but sweeping, heavily decorated robes. They are the palest, purest white one can imagine and adorned in shining braided gold ropes, much like the ones on my dress.

He stands and begins to walk forward.

“It is customary, I believe, to kneel when addressing Princes of Asgard.” Loki surprises me by being the first to speak, his voice a calculated mixture of cool authority and apathy.

A flash of hardness enters my father’s eyes before he breaks into a bright smile. “Of course. Please accept my apologies, Your Highnesses.” He kneels, bowing his head in deference to the men at my sides.

I have yet to be acknowledged by anyone.

Unable to stand it any longer, I clear my throat.

My father looks at me for the first time. Once Thor gives him the okay to rise, he puts his hands on my shoulders and looks me over. “Hello, my child. Welcome home. You hardly look as I remember.”

“That’s what happens when you don’t see someone for many years.” I’m a bit disconcerted by the resentment in my voice, and I can see that it makes everyone else uncomfortable too.

“Yes, well…” My father clears his throat and looks away, removing his hands from my shoulders as he takes a step back. “I am glad to see you now.” I can see the truth in his eyes, and my heart softens slightly towards him. I don’t have many memories of my time in Alfheim, but I know that my father was kind towards me…when he was around.

“Your Majesties,” my father steps back so he can see both princes once more. “I extend my deepest gratitude for you seeing my daughter safely to my home.”

“We do it gladly,” Thor answers, smiling at me with fondness. “Although I am saddened to have her leave Asgard, I know this is her home and she will have a wonderful life here.”

Loki says nothing, his mouth set into a hard line. My father seems uncomfortable under Loki’s gaze and turns his full attention to Thor.

“She will. I have a most prestigious marriage lined up for her, and once a wedding has been planned, I will be sure to extend an invitation to her gracious hosts.”

They’re talking about me like I’m not even here. Anger wells within me, shouting for attention. I take a deep breath in the hopes of calming myself. At the noise, Loki’s eyes dart to mine, the first time he’s truly looked at me since the early hours of this morning. Now, panic seizes my body and desperation strains my chest. Our time is almost out.

“My family will be thrilled to attend if we are able. But now, I’m afraid, my brother and I must return to Asgard.” Thor’s words show a clear intention of leaving, and my eyes go wide. Just as my father dips into a bow, I hear a strangled voice call out a single word:

“Wait!”

I’m shocked when the echo tells me the voice was mine.

All eyes are on me, with clear confusion and annoyance emanating from my father.

I swallow, hurrying to think on my feet. “It is customary, I believe,” I accidentally repeat Loki’s words from earlier, and I can see the twinge of pride in his eyes, “to extend an invitation of supper to my escorts.”

The hard line of his mouth tells me that my father is not pleased, whether with my habit of speaking freely or the possibility of continued scrutiny from his rulers, I don’t know. He quickly schools his expression though and enthusiastically agrees.

He certainly is a diplomat.

“My people and I would be honored to host you.”

Thor beams, amiable as always. “We are delighted to accept! Forgive our armor, we were not prepared to dine.”

Loki smirks and, with a flash of green light, is dressed in proper Asgardian dinner attire.

Father stares on in shock. “Well,” his voice is dry, and I can hear his fear. “The rumors are true. A sorcerer stands before me.”

Loki’s smirk deepens, and he clasps his hands behind his back in a false show of humility. Really, the stance just makes him look all the more powerful.

With clear effort, Father returns his tone to lightness. “If it pleases Your Highnesses, I will have my servants escort you to rooms so you can prepare for supper as you like. It will not take long for the food and hall to be ready.”

“Yes, that would be nice,” Thor agrees, offering Father a kind smile.

I can tell Father readily accepts this after Loki’s thinly-veiled hostility. “Wonderful! Y/n,” he is the first person aside from Loki to use my familiar name, and it momentarily strikes me. “Your handmaiden, Ragna, will escort you to your chambers and ready you for dinner.”

Ragna, a sweet-looking girl in her middle teens, steps forward and curtsies first to the princes, and then to me.

The first time someone has bowed to me. While it makes me a little uncomfortable, it also gives me a faint thrill of power. I immediately understand why Loki likes it so much.

Ragna sets off, and I realize that I am meant to follow her. I do so, forcing my feet to take action. From behind me, my father assigns groups of servants to Thor and Loki, and they are led down a parallel hall. I feel a jolt of panic at being separated from Loki. What if this is simply a distraction so they can leave without my knowledge? But I force myself to calm with deep breaths, trying to convince myself that that outcome is unlikely.

My handmaiden and I do not speak as I am led through the intricate, winding hallways. We climb many sets of stairs, telling me that we are heading up the spiral of the castle. Finally, on a floor high above the ground, we reach my chambers. She holds the door open for me and I step in, observing my new living space.

My chambers extend over a series of five rooms: a bedroom, bathing room, sitting area, tea/dining room, and what seems to be a personal library. Each room is long and narrow, most likely to accommodate for the height of this part of the castle. The room itself is that same pale, silvery white that Alfheim seems to favor. My bedding and couches are green, just enough to remind me of Loki and his chosen color, but it is completely the wrong shade. It’s much too light and like the green found in grass, not Loki’s ornate and deep emerald. It’s all wrong. My chambers are beautiful, and certainly more decorated than my room in Asgard, but I find myself missing my previous chambers with their warm, welcoming oak walls and deep purple accents. My eyes catch a table in the sitting room, and my heart sinks upon realizing that my magical flowers are not there. But why would they be, I question bitterly. Those belong on Asgard, along with everything else I treasure.

“Are your chambers to your liking?” Ragna has a high-pitched, timid voice, and I can tell that she fears me. I wish she wouldn’t.

“They’re lovely,” I breathe, trying to keep the pain out of my voice. This is your home now, Y/n. Better get used to it and just let Asgard go.

But it hurts.

Ragna can sense my displeasure. “The Chief Diplomat did not know what you favored, so he ordered the room to be decorated grandly, but in Alfheim’s neutral colors. If something is more to your taste, let me know and I will have it changed immediately.”

I think on this. Of course, redecoration is pointless depending on the date of my wedding. After that, I shall share chambers with my husband. “Will I be in this room long?”

Ragna nods. “Even when you are married, you will keep these chambers. You husband to-be has his own as well, and you will meet him in his chambers when he calls for you.”

It is not only her phrasing that makes my stomach twist. “He’s here in the castle now?”

“Of course. He must work closely with your father to learn all he can so he is prepared when the time comes for him to take over as Chief Diplomat.”

I scowl. “And he did not think it polite to greet me?”

Ragna shrinks under the harshness of my tone, and immediately, I feel bad. When she speaks, it’s through a wavering bottom lip. “I am sorry, My Lady.”

I sigh. “No, it is I who must apologize. My day has been long and the nerves from returning home seem to have gotten the best of me.”

Ragna smiles, and the beginning of trust shines hesitantly on her face. “All is forgiven, My Lady.” She pauses, then seems to overcome her nerves. “Would you allow me to re-do your hair? It is lovely, but wrong for our traditional style.”

I nod and follow her to the dressing table, doing my best to not seem attached to the Asgardian braid.

Ragna allows me to stay in the dress, praising my previous maid for ‘nailing’ Alfheim attire. “It shows your rank,” she explains, smoothing my dress out from below me. “The higher in status you are, the lighter your clothes.” I take notice of her light brown dress. Seeing my gaze, she nods. “I am a servant, so my dress is brown. But,” I hear pride color her voice. “I am a handmaiden to one of the highest figures in Alfheim, so that elevates my rank. If I worked in the kitchens scrubbing dishes, my dress would be dark brown. The kitchens are one of the lowest places you can go.” I hear resentment in her voice, and wonder if she once occupied a position there.

As Ragna continues talking to me, her voice becomes more confident and chipper. I can tell she is pleased to be here and will become even warmer to me with time. Perhaps one day, when my resentment and fear fades, I will have a friend in her.

A bell rings; Ragna straightens in response. “That signals dinner. I will escort you there and remain standing a few feet behind your chair. Should you need anything at all, simply wave your hand, and I’ll come to you.”

“Alright, thank you.”

She beams at my thanks. Perhaps servants aren’t treated as well here as they are in Asgard.

I follow Ragna down countless flights of stairs before she takes a hallway on our right. After a left, we enter a large dining hall, comparable in size to the one in Asgard. Due to my long descent, I am the last to arrive, and the men all wait standing behind their chairs. As they are higher in rank than my father, Thor and Loki take the heads of the table, my father and I are meant to occupy seats in the middle. Once Ragna pulls out my chair and I am seated, the men sit as well.

Interesting, I think. In Asgard, you just sit and eat, regardless of who is there. Yes, you stand for royalty, but you don’t wait for everyone to be in attendance. Just one of many new customs I’ll have to get used to.

The table is fairly long and feels much too big for the four of us, but soon the food is brought out and I wonder if the table is long enough. Roasted boar and hens and something else I don’t recognize are the main dishes, with countless varieties of fruits, vegetables, and breads surrounding them.

Thor grins and begins an easy conversation about how our friend Volstagg would adore the meal. Father extends an empty invitation of hosting him sometime, and Thor gives a pleased response that holds as little meaning as did Father’s invitation.

I take advantage of their distraction and glance at Loki. He wears a mask of apathy, but I know him well enough to see past it. His hand grips his knife too tightly and he stares blankly at his food, not eating. It is plain that he is in as much distress as I am. But we cannot allow it to show, because if Father finds out that I have been sleeping with Loki, all will be ruined, including me.

But would that be so bad, a rebellious voice within me questions. You wouldn’t have to marry that guy—my face scrunches as I realize I don’t even know his name—and you would be sent back to Asgard.

Inwardly, I sigh. No. Your duty is to your family and your realm, not to your heart and desires. Besides, it’s unlikely that Asgard would take you back. In hopes of covering my quickly tanking mood, I drink from my water.

Dinner is filled with casual conversation that holds no real meaning. I don’t know why I forced the invitation, as this is no true time with Loki. Still, I just can’t bear to see him go and will stall for as long as I can.

But time moves on and runs out all too quickly.

Before I can prepare myself, Thor is standing, and the rest of us must follow.

“I wish not to worry our parents any longer. Brother, we must return to Asgard.”

“Of course, I apologize for having kept you so long,” my father begins politely. But I don’t hear the rest of the conversation.

He’s leaving. He’s really going, he’s going to leave me here. My breathing picks up as panic sets in. I try to swallow, but can’t get around the huge lump in my throat. A white-hot feeling burns in my stomach, and I bite my lip, begging myself to calm down.

My footsteps drag as I follow Father, Thor, and Loki to the entrance of the castle. The same group of guards and the man in the ornate robe wait to escort the princes back to the Bifrost Room.

Thor turns to me, smiling kindly. “Lady Y/n, I am so glad to have met you. I wish you all the happiness in the world.” He bends to kiss my hand and then steps aside, allowing Loki the opportunity to do the same.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he nods curtly and turns on his heel, striding towards the exit.

I know why he did this. I saw the pain in his eyes and the strain in his shoulders as he fights the urge to run to me.

That doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

Without another word or glance my way, the princes leave.

A sense of numbness takes over. He’s truly gone.

And although Loki has completely faded from view, I do not take my eyes off the horizon as I speak. “When will I meet him?”

“Your fiancé?” Father’s voice is gruff and disinterested. “Sometime soon. He is a very busy man, you know.”

“Of course.” My words are polite but my tone is dead.

Father looks at me worriedly, unsure of what to do. “Perhaps sleep will do you well, my child. You have had a long day.” He gestures to Ragna, who flits to my side and carefully leads me to my chambers.

I keep it together as she helps me out of my dress and into my night clothes. My expression is blank as she brushes my hair and removes the makeup from my face. I mutter a polite, “thank you,” as her dismissal. She curtsies and leaves.

It’s the feeling of the cold, empty bed, so foreign from the warm embrace of Loki in his own bed, that breaks me.

I sob well into the night.  

A/n There ya have it! Sorry it was sad :( Let me know what you thought and if you would like to be added to the tag list! 

Link to next part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/637989270079078400/odins-ward-chapter-10

Tag list: @80strashbag @dark-night-sky-99 @what-am-i-doing10 @chxrryycola @ravenclaw5606

[etherealwaifgoddess]

A Quiet Normal Life

Main Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: When Bucky comes out of cryo for the last time all he wants is a quiet, normal life.  

Warnings/ Content: Feels. Lots of feels. Typical sad then sweet fic.

Word Count: 2.2k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! I wanted to try my hand at a different writing style and so this fic was born. I’ve never tried a more narrative style before so it might be trash but I kinda like it. Hope you enjoy it on this dreary cold Sunday! XOXO - Ash

A Quiet Normal Life

After his final thaw from cryo Bucky has more bad days than good. He spends most of his time wandering around the new and unfamiliar world in a fog, caught between trying to forget the decades with HYDRA and to remember his fleetingly short life before the war. They promise him things will get better and he tries to believe them. It’s six months before the bad days balance with the good. 

Slowly his prewar memories return, breaking free from his mind like waves; some soft and gently breaking the surface, others wild and crashing threatening to drown him with their force. Eventually though when Steve gets that far off look in his eye and says “Remember that time, Buck...”, he really does remember. He remembers the taste of Missy Hanson’s sweet pink bubble gum that she always forgot to spit out before he kissed her. He remembers the wailing sound of their neighbors cat that woke them up almost every day during the scorching summer of ‘41. Bucky prays that as his memories return he will feel less like the Asset and more like Bucky Barnes. The end result is something entirely new and he is working to make peace with that. He slowly starts to think about what he wants his life to look like.

It’s a year before the good days outweigh the bad ones. Bucky finds he’s able to hold a conversation with strangers for more than thirty seconds without having a panic attack. He stops surviving on take out and Steve’s kindness, and starts going out to the store for groceries and things for his home. He collects little succulent plants, liking how easy they are to care for even if he hits a rough patch and forgets to water them for days at a time. Bucky finds reasons to linger in public places, no longer hurrying straight home after his errand. He’s surprised he doesn’t mind small talk with the girl who runs the cafe he favors, and some days he spends an hour at the park feeding ducks bits of bread and watching the world around him. 

The nightmares ease up and he’s getting sleep regularly again for the first time in seventy years. Everyone tells him he’s looking better, healthier, stronger. He looks for signs of these things in the mirror and tries to connect with what he’s seeing. It’s not just a hand, it’s his hand. The hair falling into his eyes is part of him, not an outside presence. Bucky thinks his body is nothing like The Asset’s and tries to take comfort in finding differences. His grey-blue eyes are clearer now, his skin is tanned from days spent outdoors tending his flock, a soft layer of fat now blurs his previously harsh, lean muscles. No one stops and stares at him anymore; the world seems to have forgotten he is an enemy, a danger. Or maybe, he thinks, he is so far from The Asset now he’s unrecognizable. Bucky starts feeling tentative hope that he’s going to have a normal life one day soon. 

A year and half after cryo he meets you. You’re new at the coffee shop and he thinks your smile is so bright it could blind him. The way you repeat his name as you write it on his paper to-go cup makes his cheeks heat and he almost bolts from the shop when your fingers collide with his as you pass him his drink. The second time he sees you he’s prepared, he steels his nerves and asks you about the muffins in the display case. He’s never bought food there before but it seems a plausible reason to make conversation. You’re friendly, helpful, and he thinks he would do just about anything to keep you talking. Bucky chooses to sit in a corner with his coffee instead of retreating the way he usually does. He picks at the blueberry muffin, having bought it out of politeness and not hunger. New memories bubble up as he sits and he wishes absently that he had the blind confidence of his youth. Back in his early twenties he would have planted himself at the end of the counter and chatted you up until he had you blushing, smiling that perfect smile of yours, and agreeing to see him Friday night. But he’s over 100 now, not that he looks it, and has too many scars, both inside and out, that hold him back. 

It’s two weeks of stopping in daily before Steve realizes something is going on. Bucky has tried a dozen new drinks and various pastries all at your suggestion. He doesn’t care what’s in his cup but listening to you describe the different drinks makes his chest feel warm in a way it hasn’t been since before the war. Steve finally asks about it one day when Bucky stops in to his office for their morning hello’s. Bucky’s blushes brightly and tells Steve all the quiet things he’s noticed about you that have him going back everyday. Steve hugs him tightly, assures him this is a good thing: progress. Steve tries helping Bucky build his confidence, reminding him everything he is feeling is normal and okay. 

It takes four more weeks before Bucky is brave enough to ask you on a date. Not that he calls it a date. No, he stumbles over his words with shaking hands and a blush that spreads all the way down to his chest. He asks you to join him on a walk around the park after your shift ends in a few hours. You agree with a quick smile, relieved he’s finally asked you out. You know who he is, who he was, and it doesn’t dissuade your interest in him. You look forward to his morning trips into the cafe, your heart stuttering in your chest when he dares to look up at your face through those impossibly long lashes of his. He’s nervous and you try to keep from adding to that. You’re always calm and patient when it’s his turn at the counter, you don’t make any sudden movements and keep your hands where he can see them the whole time. Subtle, small things that most people take for granted but are ingrained in your habits ever since your brother returned from Afghanistan with his own set of demons. You know the steps to the delicate dance around a land mine filled mind.

The walk around the park is quiet at first, you let him take his time adjusting and give him quiet smiles when he glances over at you. Bucky worries you can hear the pounding in his chest when you smile at him. His breathing is labored but not from exertion and he tries to make conversation though he knows he’s not good at it yet. But you don’t complain, you just go along with the flow of things. He’s relieved you don’t push him when he stops mid-thought and needs a moment to collect himself again. The outing lasts all of thirty minutes and at the end he gives you a stiff, forced hug before parting ways. He wants to wrap his arms around you so badly, but the physical contact is almost a little too much and he’s terrified of how strongly he craves the feeling of your body pressed against his. You’re surprised when he begins pulling you towards him and you force your body to be still, giving him a chance to go as far as he’s willing with no pressure from you. It’s an exquisite form of toruture having him so near, wanting the physical contact so badly, and yet reigning in your desires to not scare him off. Bucky pulls back after a few seconds and you can’t hide the wide smile that’s formed. He smiles back, forgetting his hesitation for a moment, and your breath catches in your throat at the sight. Bucky retreats then, scared to prolong what had been a perfect outing for fear of ruining it in some way.

Walks in the park become a daily occurance and Bucky enjoys the easy flow of his days. There is a simple kind of peace in knowing what the next day will hold and he cherishes it. He feeds his flock, gets coffee, visits Steve and sometimes Shur or T’Challa, works on his little farm, walks around the park with you, and then heads home to read or watch TV during the heat of the day. Steve stops over most nights to hang out and it’s two months after his first walk with you that Bucky asks Steve to not stop by the following day. Steve is concerned but Bucky explains he is expecting a different dinner guest: you. The pride that burns in Steve is bright and radiates from him brilliantly. Bucky shies away from the attention but appreciates it all the same. 

Two hours before you’re set to arrive Bucky throws up and then calls his therapist. He’s not ready to bring you into his home. He wants to be, but the fear that claws in his chest reminding him that he’s dirty, rotten, damaged, ruined, dangerous, keep him frozen in place. He’s shaking and cold against the bathroom tile as his therapist walks him through grounding techniques and affirmations. When the nausea rises again forty minutes before you arrive he’s able to fight it back and thinks that’s enough progress to keep on as planned. 

Bucky feels your presence in his home on a visceral level; the air feels different, the light a little brighter. He wonders what his little collection of rooms looks like to your eyes. He knows it’s not much but it’s his and he hopes desperately that it meets your approval. Bucky hangs on every little sigh and hum you make as you wander around his living room. The delicate way you hold onto a terracotta pot with both hands, carefully admiring his Roseum plant, makes him want to feel your hands entwined in his. Bucky can’t decide if he loves or hates the way you are so painfully careful around him, and now also his home. He can’t help but notice the way you hold yourself back when you start to get excited over something, how you slow your movements so as not to startle him, always announcing your intentions if you have to move around him or touch him in some way. It’s a kindness he never expected and helps him let his guard down just a fraction more around you. He wishes it wasn’t necessary though; he wants to see you unfiltered, unrestrained, happy, and free. A long buried part of him wants to see you fall apart completely for him.

It’s another month before he dares to kiss you. The voice in his head that rails against him reminding him of his faults does not go away, but it quiets long enough for the briefest brush of his lips to yours. Two more months and you’re stumbling into bed together, literally stumbling. Bucky’s heel catches on the cuff of his pant leg and he falls gracelessly onto his grey blanketed bed. You flop yourself down next to him giggling, glad that the mood is lightened a fraction. You’re both nervous; Bucky worried about disappointing you, and you worried about doing something to trigger him. It’s awkward and stumbling and he wouldn’t have it any other way, because it’s with you. Things get better the second time around and even better the time after that. You take your time learning each other’s bodies, unhurried and patient.

A year and a half later you’re living together, choosing to move your belongings into his home where he’s most comfortable. The nightmares slowly receded until they are just distant memories. He feels safe letting you share his bed and secretly thinks your presence helps keep the nightmares away. You are more worried than he is about the change of merging your lives. Bucky likes the way your things fit around his, making his home feel full and warm. It gives him another layer of peace he didn’t know his life was missing. Bucky loves the quiet, sleepy mornings laying in bed with you when nothing else matters but the way the light hits your hair against the pillows. You whisper words of love in the dark at night, promises to each other for always. Bucky starts to think of his future in a broader sense than what the next few days will bring. 

The future comes. The years blur together as time passes and Bucky is awestruck by how quickly a collection of days becomes a year and then years. Bucky proposes two years after you move in, it’s not a grand gesture, barely more than a hushed plea. Your wedding is equally subdued, exactly as you both wanted it to be. Life goes on whether you want to slow it down or not and you ride the wave of time together. From celebrations to mournings you face it all side by side and slowly Bucky comes to realize he got exactly what he wanted all along. A quiet, normal life. 

[gabriel4sam]

The exiles of Zilo are quite happy about it (and have no intentions to come back)

I suddenly realized I hadn’t posted this fic on tumblr!

So, written for the @clonewarssavedexchange for @wrennette and beta-ed by @sithsoka, here is a little fix-it Mace/Ponds with an extra serving of Zilo beast!

It was a hot, humid muffling that woke Mace up, then a hot, moist tongue as big as his face undertook the cleaning of his neck. 

He groaned, tried to push it away. 

“Should have called you Pushy instead of Ber,” he grumbled to the little Zilo beast, whose tail threatened to send the entire bedside table crashing to the floor. 

One important secret about Mace Windu, which he would like to take with him to his grave for his reputation’s sake, was that he was very much not a morning person until enough caf to wake long-dead Jedi had been poured into him. 

He heard a laugh, opened a glaring eye, then hands, friendly, charming hands, took away the animal clambering all over the bed. 

“You’ll have to wake up, one way or another,” Ponds remarked, wrangling the little beast away. Of all the brood, this one was the only one who accepted going indoors. It even liked it: it was more attached to Mace, who had nursed it back to health when it had been hatched, weak and frail, already at death’s door, than to its own parent who had rejected it to use all its energy to take care of its healthy siblings. 

Mace got out of the bed. 

After a few false starts. 

Ponds had left him a gigantic cup of caf, just as Mace preferred it, with only a splash of cream and no sugar. Mace had a besotted smile. Almost ten years after they had, in Shaak Ti’s words ‘run away like two teenagers wanting to aggravate their parents’. The love Ponds had for Mace, and which was answered by Mace’s adoration, was still a delightful surprise for the former Master of the Order. Every day, it was like seeing the dawn on a new world, like the first taste of water after long hours of gruesome work in the sun, like the caress of the Force. 

From the window of their bedroom, he could see the rough landing pad and a part of their installations. For long, their little colony hadn't had a name, it was only “the installations on the Zilo moon” and the moon herself didn’t even have officially the name Zilo, it was just the nickname everybody had started to give to the unnamed moon of an unnamed planet in an unnamed system

The landing pad was more a hastily prepared square, made by cutting down trees with lightsabers and hauling them away with the Force. It was also surrounded by rough buildings of the same tree. With the years passing and their community growing, things were smoothing out, and not only metaphorically. Mace had been ready to throw a party when he had put the management of the outpost into more capable hands, hands who knew something about it, the growing and planning of their small outpost. Hours poring over everything possible on the holonet about city planning and needs wasn’t the same as spending years studying the stuff!

Across the landing pad he could see Ponds and Obi-Wan discharging a ship with the help of Waxer and young Numa, who was certainly trying to help, but was apparently busier exploring everything they had received this time. For a long time, she had been the youngest of their colony, smuggled there by Boil and Waxer after they had learnt of her parents’ deaths. Mace had been anxious about her presence at the time. It was one thing for grown adults to decide to live in a colony in a previously uncharted part of space for the love of a gigantic lizard, it was another to impose it on a small child! 

But Numa had not only survived but flourished and when the other children had arrived, first a small group of very grumpy initiates who hadn’t been chosen for Padawan and had no intentions to join the Agricorps when they could play settlers and then a birth, their first one, to a former senatorial aid and the clone she loved….Mace had been, as the de facto leader of their small community, ready for it. 

Later, he finally wandered out. He was officially on a rest day, something implemented by Master Eerin the moment she had put her foot on planet and banded forces with Kix, but he had no taste for spending the day in their quarters. He helped Cody, who was repairing a speeder. He liked this brother of Ponds, calm, thoughtful, with a core of steel like all the vod. And much less exhausting than Fives could be!

Together; they repaired the damages made to the motor by the high level of humidity in the air, almost without a word. It was a simple task and Mace appreciated it. There was some simple joy in the mechanics. Something was not working and he could do something about it and then the object could once again fulfill its tasks! So much easier than space politics, their backstabbing and their secret Siths…And Cody was a good friend. Any man who had made the choice to accompany this crazy expedition was in Mace’s good book, but the clones more than anyone else: they had been freed something like three days before the departure of the expedition and still, with so little time to choose, with all the galaxy at the tips of their fingers, a good chunk of them had chosen to come and to help. 

So much, in fact, that they had established a rotation, giving them time to explore the galaxy too, and still have the Zilo’s colony as their base, a place to regroup. 

So, yes, clones were some of Mace’s favourites people, and Cody had been high on his list for making Obi-Wan happy, and while that had inspired his initial trust and friendliness towards Cody, it had slowly deepened into a friendship because of Cody himself, for his dry humour and his taste for terrible ales and long walks in the forest. 

“You’re daydreaming,” Cody remarked, “Please tell me you’re not daydreaming about my brother and your bed in my company.” Mace made a face and didn’t answer. After a life of chastity, it was strange that everybody knew he loved Ponds and Ponds loved him, even after years, even coming from Cody, who loved Obi-Wan and was loved in return. 

When the speeder was finally running, they loaded it with lunch and went away to join Obi-Wan and Shaak. According to the roster, the two others were assigned to play guardians today, but nothing said an impromptu lunch on the grass couldn’t be organized. After all, it was a simple precaution, a presence which was needed, nothing lunch could break.

Twice already since their arrival, poachers had come from off world to try to kill their enormous friend and mascot. The two times, the Zilo Beast had eaten them, so it had never really been in danger. Nevertheless, prudence could never really hurt so now two Jedi were always standing guard. Also, people always made a fuss when the Zilo Beast ate someone, even when it had been provoked by people trying to hurt its young and they didn’t need more rumours on the holonet. It had already been complicated enough in the beginning when they had smuggled the Zilo beast off Coruscant in catastrophe, because they couldn’t be sure the Senate wouldn’t order its death. 

A small part of Mace, a part he wasn’t very proud of, still thought the poachers had it coming. 

Today, the beast was bathing in a small lagoon with its brood, minus the one who had chosen Mace as its parent. It had been such a joy to realize it reproduced by parthenogenesis. No longer the last of its species. 

And here it was. Glorious and enormous, glistening like a jewel between the droplets of water of the lagoon and the light of the sun. Alive. A beast supposedly extinct for centuries, alive and happy, with its children, as safe as it could be. 

Shaak and Obi-Wan were sitting on the shore, playing one of those horribly complicated board games from Alderaan that Mace found deeply boring. Obi-Wan was barefoot and Shaak had abandoned her outer tunic. Mace felt a pulse of joy, deep in his heart, as Cody put down their impromptu lunch on a blanket. 

He remembered, years ago. The exhaustion, the darkness. Shaak, frailer at every communication from Kamino, as she fought tooth and claw for the clones and lost, because the Senate was stacked against them. Obi-Wan, with bags under his eyes darker every day. His brothers and sisters, the ones he was supposed to guide, dying and Falling and coming back as shadows of themselves. 

They had traded all of that away when they had come here. The life of an exile was hard, but only in the way that it was hard work to colonize a world. 

And all of that wouldn’t have been possible without the Zilo beast. 

Like it had heard his thoughts, and despite what the Jedi more gifted in communication with semi-sentient beings said, Mace was almost sure the Zilo Beast could do it, the great head turned towards him. The Beast rolled over in the waves and splashed closer, its head leaning down to Mace’s level. 

“Hello, my friend,” the Jedi crooned without fear, as eyes bigger than himself lazily observed him. 

“No, don’t-“

Too late. 

The beast had licked him, a greeting it reserved only for Mace. Only its tongue was far bigger than its child’s!

Behind him, Mace could hear Obi-Wan stifle a laugh and the noise an elbow, probably Cody’s, Shaak had abandoned all sense of decorum years ago, made when connecting to the redhead’s stomach. With a sigh, Mace did what he always did in those moments, put his boots and socks on the sand and entered the lagoon, still dressed, to wash off the spit on his clothes and on his person. On the shore, Obi-Wan had thrown an arm around Cody’s waist and was whispering something in his ear which made the former Commander smile, soft and warm. 

Shaak was putting away their game and she laughed when all the brood came to welcome Mace in the exact same way as their parent, making all his efforts of washing away the spit for nothing. 

“That’s what you get for being the favourite,” Shaak quipped, her headtail almost vibrating in juvenile glee. Because here, she could. Here, she was free. 

Free because ten years ago, Mace and Ponds had refused to see the Zilo Beast put to death for having munched on the Chancellor of the Republic. At the time, they hadn’t known that the Chancellor had been a Sith, only the inquiries post-death had revealed it. 

Mace still had refused the Beast’s death. 

Ponds and him had crashed more than landed on this world, hurt, exhausted, with only the Beast and their tenacity and had been joined, little by little, by some other Jedi making the same choices, run away clones…And two years later, once the dead Chancellor had been officially and posthumously declared an enemy of the Republic, had they received their pardons and the opportunity to go back home to Coruscant. 

Mace had watched the envoy in silence for a moment, astonished that the other sentient didn’t understand. Ponds’ hand had searched for his and it was the former Commander who had answered, putting into words everything Mace and the other inhabitants of Zilo had felt. 

“Your Excellency,” Ponds had said, with this calm he had and half a smile, “We’re already home.”

[jennyfair7]

Inktober 1 - Ring

A day late, but who’s counting? I’m using the “official” Inktober list. This fic is from the same modern Leroux AU I’ve dabbled in previously (here & here on Tumblr or here & here on FFN). 

"Eleven o'clock has come and gone, Christine."

Erik reached for the box containing the remote detonator that would reduce the Opera to a pile of rubble. They would not be able to see the explosion from the safety of his penthouse, only the clouds of smoke that followed...

"Erik, stop."

He froze at her command, more out of habit than obedience. The sound of his name on her lips was intoxicating, a weakness he had never been able to overcome. It distracted him long enough for Christine to coax his arm back down to his side.

"I’ve decided. I will marry you."

He shrugged off her touch and turned to face her, amber eyes flashing behind the mask. 

"How noble of you. I can only hope your young man and hundreds of unknowing fools will appreciate your sacrifice." 

The hurt in her expression made it clear that his cold reaction was not the one she had anticipated, but she persisted. Erik watched in silence as she lifted the lid from the second box on the mantle to reveal a plain gold band. It was the same he had given her once before, and that she had lost. Christine took it cautiously, as if the scorpion carved into the wood surrounding it might come to life, and laid it in his palm.  

"I will stay with you. Be by your side, always. I promise."

She spoke her vows as a true bride might, with solemn conviction and eyes wide open. Despite his cruelest doubts, Erik knew she was not lying. He trembled as he placed the ring on her finger and leaned in to press his masked lips to her forehead. When she did not pull away, he dared to raise the mask a few inches. He only intended to repeat the action with no barrier, a fleeting brush of skin upon skin...but without his noticing, her hands had crept up over his shoulders and behind his neck, tugging him down to her.

Christine swallowed the whimper that escaped his throat as she kissed him, her mouth sweet and warm against his. He marveled at how anything could possibly be so soft in those precious moments before his legs gave out and he sank to the floor, choking on his sobs. Erik flinched at a slight pressure on his head and covered his face with his hands when he realized the mask was gone. She peeled away the wig to stroke the thin stands of his own hair, kneeling beside him and soothing him until he grew still. 

He met her gaze at last, steeling himself for the disgust he expected to see there. Instead, her eyes were gentle and swimming with tears. Christine took his hands and drew them to her heart.

“We’ll leave,” she explained. “Just the two of us. You can tell Detective Khan how to disarm everything, and where to find Raoul."  She looked away briefly, her voice dropping to a whisper as she spoke the other man's name. "We can go wherever you want. Tonight.” 

He had dreamed of taking her everywhere, of watching her perform in all the great theaters of the world. Now, he wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball at her feet and remain there forever. Beg for her forgiveness and another kiss in the same breath. 

“Say something, Erik. Please."

He slipped his fingers from her grip to reverse their positions, cradling her small hands in his. The ring shone from its perch and he rubbed his thumb over the metal, feeling how her skin had warmed it. She had taken an object of pain and jealousy and frustrated desire, and turned it into something beautiful. Christine had transformed him, as well, but he had not understood to what extent until this moment. 

He tried to memorize every detail - the shape of her face, the sound of her voice, the remnants of her taste. Erik hoped that she would look back and remember him with some tenderness, in spite of everything... 

"You will go, but not with me."

[gasp-iwrotesomething]

Ooh my angst request was soo good! I was hanging off every word! Dare I ask if we can find out what happens next?! 😳😬🙌

I’m really glad you liked it, @jlr22universe! If a continuation is what you want, then a continuation is what you’ll get! Thank you for your request and I really hope you enjoy again!

For context, read this

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The night following Helena’s explosion was one of the hardest MC had to face--and she had to face it alone, worst of all. She had slept at the opposite side of the tent, away from Helena, who offered nothing but a blanket she had lobbed at her. MC tossed and turned all night. She couldn’t imagine a world like this one--a world without Helena’s warmth, without her solacing presence. Her onerous trust and debilitating love. Without all of those conditions blanketing her, MC felt numb. Her heart a shell of the lovesick beat it had once pattered. If only I could’ve just used my stupid brain more than I did in that moment, I swear I would still be engulfed in Helena’s embrace. But MC had done the unthinkable without a shred of her common sense there to scold and compel her to do the contrary--she had betrayed Helena’s trust, forged what looked like a secret allegiance with the very people they were running from. People who wanted to deal Helena harm and trade her in to their queen like she was nothing. Just for the risk of becoming the Witch Queen’s new favorite pet. But the Witch Queen has nothing to offer them besides some pretty words and some deceptive expressions that were nothing more than masks she slipped on to fool her followers. Give them the taste of a poison that she concealed as an antidote. 

MC sighs, her fingers raking through her matted hair. Getting upset over someone as domineering as the Witch Queen is useless. I need to focus on Helena. On showing her that she can trust me. That I’m someone she can love and never expect something any less than that. Anything less besotted. That morning, Helena had announced that she was going to tour through a town they were nearing for supplies--and that she was going to do it alone. Without MC. Though the affirmation made MC’s poorly regenerated heart shatter all over again, she had agreed, thinking that the both of them needed some space. I need to find out how to show Helena that I can be trusted. And that I’m with her and not the Witch Queen’s soldiers. MC watches as Helena walks away from their campsite, her shoulders tense and her posture stiff; as if she was a brittle ice sculpture, constructed of ice so fragile that just relaxing would cause her to splinter and break. MC’s heart twinged for the thousandth time since the night before and she takes a deep, shaky breath. The urge to cry arose as panic trounced her heart, spearing her with a sense of uncertainty. A sense of helplessness. What if Helena is leaving for good? What if she never comes back? 

Two utterly suspenseful questions that made MC nearly break down with fear. It takes a moment to steel herself and even then she is suspended between the fear of Helena ditching her and the fear of the Witch Queen’s generals pouncing on her while MC’s away. No. That’s not happening, no matter what. Helena is capable of taking care of herself. She doesn’t need me tagging along everywhere she goes... especially when we’re arguing like this. With another long sigh, MC refocuses on packing away their things and preparing for their journey forward. Helena had asked her--no, more so ordered--to have all of their gathered supplies packed up together by the time she returned. MC was too predisposed in the orbit of your her thoughts to object. When she finishes, Helena still hasn’t returned. That fact alone made MC’s previously disregarded fears resurface, a whirlpool of possibilities swarming her mind. She tries her best to shun them, to hope that none of them are true. It somehow takes more effort than packing all of the supplies did. Helena will be fine, me. Take a chill pill and just logically think this out!

By the time Helena returns to their campsite, MC has a proper explanation prepared and most of her bearings regained. The tricky part is getting Helena to sit down and listen to me. Try to convince her to trust me again. “Helena, we need to talk. For real this time.” MC somberly begs the sorceress as Helena cobbles together their supplies, her arms laden with makeshift bags full of their essentials. “What is there left to discuss?” Helena mutters under her breath. She was still bitter over what she had discovered the night before. Obviously. It is still a fresh wound--talking about it is like picking at a scab. MC chews the inside of her cheek. “A lot. I need to explain everything to you or else I might lose you,” a lump forms in her throat as if enhancing the sentiment behind her words, “and I can’t live with that. You’re everything to me, Helena. Please understand that I truly do love you.” Helena frowns. Even though her back was towards MC, MC could still read her body language and understand that she was skeptical of her pleas. But the sorceress doesn’t say anything so MC continues. “I’m so, so sorry for what I did to. Really, I am. It was a shitty, misguided decision that I made for your good. I wanted to help you and I thought that those soldiers were actual townsfolk--if I had known they were allies of the Witch Queen, or hell, Lennox’s brainless cultists, I would’ve never made that call... I just wanted to help you, Helena.”

Silence looms between them like an air bubble caught in MC’s chest; pesky and prone to hurt. “...how can I trust you, MC?” Then Helena speaks up, killing the heavy air lingering between them. Though the sorceress didn’t explicitly say that she forgave or even trusted MC again, MC takes the question in as a good one--a sign that Helena was open to trust MC again. The revelation coaxes a relieved breath out of MC. “You don’t. I just want you to know the truth and understand that I have never wanted to hurt you. That I’m on your side and that I’ll always stay that way... unless that’s not what you want.” MC affirms softly, her grey eyes a space of comfort and solace. A sight Helena catches as she turns to face MC, her own sparkling with uncertainty and a smudge of anger. She was fighting with the instincts that had been traumatized into her system. The fact that MC had brought this tempestuous conflict to Helena’s attention made her want to kick herself. What kind of support system am I really? “I... I don’t doubt your intentions, MC,” Helena begins quietly, “I just feel that you left me in the dark about the entire encounter. I asked you and you didn’t tell me readily. It felt as if you didn’t trust me and that’s what upset me most of all.”

MC carefully nears the sorceress, whose features were now sprained with sorrow, and timidly leverages a comforting hand against her shoulder blade. To MC’s amazement, the tension constructing Helena’s shoulders dissipates slightly under MC’s touch. Her deep blue eyes find MC’s then and all of a sudden, the tirade of emotions swimming through her were projected to MC. An oceanic gallery of trauma and pain Helena has internalized over the years. “...I believe that I trust you, MC. I don’t doubt you love me either, I just find the idea of you obscuring the truth to me... debilitating.” MC stifles the urge to fiercely embrace Helena at the fog of sadness that clouds her face. “I know and I promise-” without thinking, MC grasps Helena’s hand and presses a firm kiss to her knuckles to hopefully soothe the rash her actions had caused “-I PROMISE that I’ll be more honest with you. More transparent.” She searches Helena’s eyes--a paradise of serene blue. Then she’s astonished when Helena squeezes her hand and smiles softly, even though her lips were strained. “I appreciate that promise, my love, but I want to hear what your heart sings. Could you seal your pact with a kiss?” Helena’s posture relaxes, her stoic expression evolving into something softer and more affectionate. MC smiles from ear to ear and cradles Helena’s face in her hands, icy blonde strands kissing her fingertips.

Then their lips connect, promising something more beyond what their words could ever pronounce.

Love.

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Thank you for your request! I loved writing this continuation for you!

If you want to request something, here’s the Prompt List, here are the Guidelines, here’s Who I Write For, and here is where you can Request me.

[cowboyshit]

La Princesse (Part Two)

I ahhh! here’s part two! I thought it would only be two parts, but I think it’s going to eventually go into a third part. no smut happens yet (sorry!), but I did decide to make jungle boy the foc’s best friend and might have hinted at a potential oc love interest for him IF I ever get the courage up to write a fic for him askjfkdfllsj hopefully I didn’t butcher any of the characters too much here!!!

Previously: part one

Ship: Chris Jericho x Sarah Rose (plus-sized FOC)

Summary: It’s been one week since Chris Jericho singled Sarah out at an AEW company party and asked if she’d let him be her sugar daddy.  One week.  That was all the time he gave her to make up her mind.  The more days pass, the more Sarah realizes she kind of really wants to say yes.. and when she does, she gets a small taste of just what Chris Jericho has in mind for her...

Rating: Mature (sexual talk / sugar daddy/sugar baby stuff)

Warnings: sugar daddy kink stuff, mainly dirty talk

Length: 4,991 words

Available below the cut

“Are you kidding me?!”  Her voice echoed around the empty, one-room studio apartment, yelled in irritated agony from her cramped adjacent bathroom.  “That’s the second time this month the hot water has gone out,” she muttered as she stumbled out of her bathroom with a large towel wrapped and secured around her, searching for where she’d set her phone.  Her large calico cat stretched and mewed softly from where it’d been lounging on the bed.  When she glanced over, she noticed her phone was lying by the cat’s side.

“Thanks Vixen,” she said, as if her cat had told her where her phone was and reached to grab it before dialing her landlord.

The phone rang.  And rang.  And rang.

No answer.

Suppressing a frustrated sigh, she kept her voice as level and calm as possible when the answering machine clicked over.  “Hi Blake, it’s Ashley.  The hot water is out again.  I’ll be leaving out of town today, back Thursday evening, so if we could get someone to come look at it before I get home, that’d be fantastic.  Thank you!” Ending the call, she groaned in irritation and sighed through her nose to settle her frayed nerves.  Getting upset about it wasn’t going to solve her problems and she had places to be.  Ice cold shower it was.

It’d been six days since Chris Jericho had cornered her at the company party and propositioned her to be her sugar daddy.  Every day since, when she came face-to-face with areas of her life that were less-than-ideal and would be easily fixed with money, his deal sounded better and better.  When she browsed social media and inevitably came across a post about him, she’d pause and eventually catch herself staring at him for a little too long.  All in all, the closer Wednesday drew, the more she began to realize she was considering accepting his offer.

She assumed he was only going to have her as his arm candy behind-the-scenes and couldn’t see him wanting to parade her out every time he had a show.  She’d been a bigger sized girl her entire life, bullied in school, bullied at home, and shunned from social events just because she wasn’t the “ideal size” by society’s skewed, incorrect standards.  Sure, the world was changing, growing, a body positive movement was on the rise, but there were still leaps and bounds to make.  She’d only just begun to respect her body herself and still stumbled from time to time, catching old, hurtful thoughts returning, but she supposed it was all a learning process.  All that aside, this was Chris Jericho.  He wouldn’t want a fat girl on his arm as a sign of status, right?  This would probably just be a fun, private thing.

Her heart sunk a little bit and she took a breath to steel herself against the disappointment.  Shaking her head, she glanced at herself in the bathroom mirror and rolled her eyes.

“You’re letting old insecurities get the best of you,” she reminded herself.  Besides, the point wasn’t whether or not he wanted to show her off. The point was that Chris Jericho confessed not only that he’d been watching her behind the scenes and not only that he thought she was beautiful, but that he wanted her.  He wanted to shower her in gifts his wealth and status could bring.  He wanted to spoil her.  All he asked in return was her dutiful obedience and her returned affections.  Which wasn’t a downside in the slightest, considering she was attracted to him.

She looked around her small studio apartment and met the green-yellow eyes of her cat, who softly meowed at her.  “We wouldn’t be heartbroken to leave this place behind, would we baby?” She asked as she moved to scoop her kitty up into her arms and scratched her affectionately behind the ears and under her chin.  “I’ll be back Thursday night,” she pressed a sweet kiss on her forehead, “you be good for the sitter.”

Goodbyes given, dressed and showered, she gathered her small carry-on and caught a rideshare to the airport.  Having to fly practically every week got her used to the hassle quickly, making most airports less intimidating than they’d originally seemed. Plus, since her best friend lived nearby, she often got lucky enough to fly to the shows along with him.

“Sarah! Hey!” Right on cue, a soft, warm male voice beckoned, raising just loud enough for her to catch it above the background chatter of the airport terminal.

“Jack!” She grinned as she caught sight of the slender, fit young athlete with the luscious, long tumble of soft, curly hair.  Jungle Boy Jack Perry was a few years younger than she was and the two had become surprisingly quick friends.  Surprising on Sarah’s part because she hadn’t expected to consider herself friends with any of the talent on the roster.  Jungle Boy was humble though, and down to earth.  Sweet, and caring.  She appreciated his friendship more than ever as well as his advice whenever she was faced with a problem in her life.

She hadn’t told him about Jericho’s offer yet… she didn’t think he’d be so interested in the idea as she was.  Not that she and Jungle Boy were anything romantic – they’d probably both laugh at anyone who suggested it – but because he didn’t trust Chris Jericho as far as he could throw him, and he wouldn’t want Sarah getting mixed up with the likes of the Inner Circle.

“Always love it when we get the same flight,” he said after a quick hug, then raised an eyebrow pointedly at the ticket in her hand. “I’ll like it even better if you tell me you’re sitting with me.”

Sarah looked at her ticket and read her seat number aloud.

A grin lit up Jungle Boy’s gentle, youthful face.  “Perfect! I’m next to you and Marko’s next to me. We’ve got the row.  Come on, we’re waiting over here.”

Jungle Boy reached with his long arms, fingers scooping the handle of her carry on and tugging it out of her grasp before she could say a word.  He led her toward the waiting area in front of the gate which was still only half-crowded and sure to gain numbers the closer that loading time came.  Marko glanced up from his phone as they neared, his voluminous mane of curly hair barely contained by the baseball cap he wore backwards on his head. His grin picked up bright, showing all his teeth, and Sarah found it infectious as always, smiling back.

“Sarah!  It’s been forever!”

“It’s only been a week, Marko,” she said with a laugh as she lowered to the seat beside him.

“Oh yeah!” He laughed and went back to typing on his phone.

Immediately, naturally, Sarah cheated her body toward Jungle Boy as he turned toward her.  They started talking, mostly about their day since they texted or talked on the phone or met up and hung out occasionally throughout the week.  When she’d first started in AEW as backstage personnel she’d felt completely out of her element and sure someone was going to point a finger in her face and tell her she didn’t belong, but Jungle Boy never did that.  When she confessed to him that she had pipe dreams about being a wrestler, he’d been encouraging.

And still was.  She hadn’t taken the jump yet to try and pursue that avenue, even though she was lucky to have so many chances at her fingertips.  Jungle Boy didn’t press, but he constantly reminded her of how important it was to follow your dreams, no matter what.

They were called for boarding and as they shuffled through the loading ramp to the airplane, Marko elbowed Jungle Boy in the ribs and jerked his head toward her.  Sarah caught it out of the corner of her eye, but it was clear she wasn’t supposed to.  They were exchanging looks, communicating without talking, Jungle Boy frowning and shaking his head as he motioned for Marko to stop, and Marko nodding encouragingly and lifting his brows higher.

“Uh, guys?  What sort of super-secret meeting are you two having?”

Jungle Boy jumped a little in place at having been caught and a sheepish expression crossed his sweet face as he looked at her and then down at the ground, readjusting his grip on the handle of his rolling carry-on.  Marko, on the other hand, didn’t look too upset at having been caught. His blue eyes jumped between them, back and forth and back and forth, and he raised an elbow and jabbed Jungle Boy again.

“Someone’s got to talk, otherwise this is going to be a long plane ride,” she said as they shifted closer to loading.

“Let’s talk after,” Jungle Boy suggested, his deep voice ever calm, but when Sarah met his eyes she saw something that gave her pause. Worry twisted in her belly. Jungle Boy said nothing, but reached between them and gently wrapped his long, artful fingers around hers. He gave a comforting squeeze and separated their hands.

The flight was only a couple hours, but Sarah spent the entirety of it wondering what on earth Jungle Boy wanted to say to her. And why did Marko know? Was Jungle Boy… into her beyond their friendship?  Never in a million years would she have the thought that he could want their relationship to be romantic, and nearly laughed the thought off. But you never thought Chris Jericho would look twice at you, did you?  Sarah frowned and pretended to be interested in the in-flight film, but she hadn’t been able to pay attention to it the entire time and still couldn’t, too caught up in the thoughts running through her mind.

She hoped that wasn’t it. It wasn’t any fault of his, he was handsome and sweet and charming… but he wasn’t her type.

They shared a ride to the hotel and had just checked in when Marko noticed a fellow roster-member loitering in the lobby. “Sammy!” He shouted, grin spreading with imp-like delight over his face as he ducked through the crowd, quick, and went for the phone Sammy Guevara was using to record his YouTube vlog with.  Sammy shouted as Marko snatched it out of his hands, and the shenanigans were on. The two sped off into the crowd, chasing one another, and Sarah grinned and shook her head. Boys.  

After realizing their rooms were near one another’s, Sarah and Jungle Boy started for the elevators. He still hadn’t started talking and she was too nervous about it to prompt him.  The tension between them on the elevator was thick enough to cut with a knife.  They’d never been like this before… Sarah was worried. Maybe she should be the one to start, to rip the band aid off and just get it all out in the open.  The doors opened, and they stepped calmly out into the hallway, beginning to walk toward their rooms. Hers came up first and they came to a stop.  Sarah drew in a heavy breath and turned toward Jungle Boy.

“Why were you with Jericho?” He said it softly, but it was loud enough. Sarah stared, still open-mouthed, and slowly closed her lips.  Jungle Boy’s brows dipped, and his eyes lifted to her face. He looked… concerned. Not angry. Not jealous.  Worried.

“When?” She said like an idiot, her brain still scrambling through the fact that Jungle Boy had seen her with Jericho when he proposed the idea she be his sugar baby.  How much had he seen?  Had he seen Jericho tilt the glass and gently pour expensive champagne past her lips?  Had he seen Jericho pull her in close as he leaned forward and leave a sweet, lingering kiss against them?

“At the party. Last week.”  He said it calmly, but with a rising edge to his tone. Don’t play dumb and innocent with me, Sarah Rose. I know you too well.

“Oh...I…” her face was getting hot. Damnit! She was always so susceptible to blushing, and remembering that intimate, shared moment with Jericho struck energy in her veins and made her heartbeat quicken.

“Look, Sarah…” Jungle Boy started, one hand on his luggage, the other pinching the slender dip of his hip, “I care about you, okay? I’m not going to sit here and tell you who to talk to and who not to talk to, but Jericho…” he trailed off for a minute in thought and shook his head, brow pinching in as his dark, worried eyes returned to hers.  “I just don’t think he’s a good person. I don’t think he’d really care about you.”  Her initial worry about not telling him for that very reason (that he mistrusted Jericho) had been right.  He and Jericho had their own slowly-brewing rivalry, after all.

Still, his concern touched her. Would it be different if he knew the truth? 

“Jack…” she glanced around and knew they might run into another familiar face or be overheard. “Come on,” she jerked her chin toward her hotel door and pulled the keycard free, swiping and unlocking it.  They walked in and she set her bag by the bed before lowering to sit on its edge. Jungle Boy leaned on the entertainment center in front of her, arms crossed over his slim but muscular chest.

“Chris Jericho isn’t going to be my boyfriend.”

He looked a little relieved but could read her and knew by her tone and expression that there was more coming.

“He… look, this is probably going to sound crazy, okay, but… hear me out.  He asked me if he could be my sugar daddy.”

Jungle Boy’s brows shot up, wrinkling his forehead, and then fell and pinched hard inward. 

“I know, I know. I couldn’t believe it either.  I mean,” she frowned and glanced down her front, seeing her belly protruding with how she sat.  “I’m not exactly sugar baby material for Chris freaking Jericho, you know?” She laughed, intending it to come across as a joke. A natural defense mechanism. Make the joke about yourself before someone can make it about you. She still hadn’t quite outgrown that gut reaction, even in Jungle Boy’s presence, who constantly chided her any time she said anything negative about herself. Even now, amid this new revelation, her self-deprecating comment had a stern frown from him thrown briefly her way.

“I haven’t given him an answer yet.” She said.

“And when you do? What are you going to say?”

She hesitated, gently pinching her bottom lip between her teeth as she thought. But it wasn’t her answer she was thinking so hard about. She was worried what Jungle Boy was going to say and how he was going to look at her if she told the truth.

“I think…” she forced herself to meet his eyes. “I think I might say yes?  I know it’s crazy, but I could really use the financial help, and… you know me well enough by now to know I like my men to be older. I dunno… it might be fun to just live a little, and I’ve never really been anyone’s first choice, romantically, especially not someone as in the celebrity spotlight as him.  It makes me feel…” she was bright red, but forced the word out, “sexy. It’s not like we’re going to fall in love or anything serious. It just makes me feel good that I have a multimillionaire who wants to spoil me and give me pretty things and have some fun with.  I’ve never had anything like that before, you know?”

Sarah trailed off, quiet, and swore she could hear the heavy beats of her heart as she waited for what he was going to say.  He sighed a long, low breath and reached up, pushing his long, thick curls out of his face.

“I get it… kind of. I mean, I don’t, but I’m… trying to.”  He looked at her and she saw the confliction written clear as day across her face.  “Just… promise me if it starts to go sour or he isn’t treating you fair, you aren’t going to keep it from me? Just… be safe, Rose. That’s all I’m saying.”  She could tell he didn’t like it, not one bit, but what could she expect? He already told her he didn’t like Jericho, so she couldn’t think he’d suddenly get over it and cheer for her. But… it meant something that his only worry remained for her. That he wasn’t going to tell her what to do or what not to do, even if he didn’t like it himself. He just wanted her to be safe.

Sarah smiled, standing from the bed and walking over to him. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cheek against his chest.  He sighed the tension from his body after a lingering second, then reached with his long arms to gently wrap around her and hold her against him.

“I’ll be safe.” She promised and felt a little giddy.  Saying it all out loud somehow made it more real. Like it wasn’t some fantasy in her mind. It was concrete. Factual. Tomorrow she’d be one-on-one with Chris Jericho, telling him she wanted to be his sugar baby and he, her sugar daddy.

“Alright,” he said, his chest rumbling gently with that smooth, low voice of his.  His arms squeezed a little harder for a second, then released their tension.  They stepped apart but remained close.  “And if he ever hurts you, Sarah, or tries to make you do something you don’t want to…” something crept in the underbelly of his voice – the hero’s tone – and he pulled her back, so his eyes could squarely meet hers, “you’re not going to keep it from me.  Me, Luchasaurus, and Marko… we’ll always have your back.”

Sarah doubted a man who was ready to spoil her was going to cause her harm, but she reminded herself Jungle Boy saw someone far different than she did when he looked at the likes of Chris Jericho.  The fact that he wasn’t making her feel bad for considering going for it and only making sure that she knew she had an out if things went sideways was what was most important.  So, Sarah held her tongue and didn’t argue or try and point out that Jericho could be different than what he thought he knew.  She smiled and reached for his hand, giving it a little squeeze.

“Thank you, Jack.  I don’t know what I used to do without you.”

His grin pushed higher into one side of his cheek than the other. 

 “Hey, by the way,” she kept her tone lofty as she released his hand and turned to start unpacking her suitcase, “I heard Valentina was going to be at the show tonight.”

There was a small stumble behind her, and Sarah bit down on her smile to keep it from spreading as she glanced over at him.  He tried to play cool, but she had always had a feeling he liked the little spit-fire independent wrestler.  Valentina hadn’t been signed to the AEW roster yet, but word was tonight was her try-out with the audience.  She’d have a match that’d air on Dark next week and they’d see how receptive everyone was to her.  Sarah had a feeling she was going to have an AEW contract in front of her before long… and it’d be fun to tease Jungle Boy about how bashful and tongue-tied he got around her.  

“Just thought you’d like to know.”  Sarah said with obviously feigned innocence in her voice and grinned over at Jungle Boy, who frowned and tried his very best to pretend he wasn’t personally interested.

“Oh, uh, that’s good for her…” His voice trailed, and he frowned and nodded. “I’m sure she’ll do well.”  He was doing his best, but Sarah was struggling to fight the smile from spreading across her face, clearly seeing how affected he was by just a mention of her. Sarah couldn’t believe she’d actually been afraid his feelings had gone romantic for her.

“Yeah,” she agreed, calming her grin as best she could. “Good for her.”

*****

“There you are.”

Everything inside her body seized and twisted tight.  Butterflies in her stomach.  The voice had come from behind her, and she’d been bent, reaching to fix where the cords had been taped to the ground.  A glance over her shoulder at him as she stood showed Jericho with his head tilted, eyes peering over his sunglasses as he appreciated her large ass bent toward him.  On the shoulder of his flashy, sequined suit jacket he held the beautiful AEW World Champion belt. For a second her eyes were stuck on it and the way it glittered like stars, even under the unflattering fluorescent lights hanging overhead.

Then she looked at him.  She’d turned to face him and felt entirely underdressed for the moment in her company t-shirt, a pair of worn jeans, and tennis shoes.  Her dark hair was tied back in a ponytail, and she hadn’t bothered wearing make-up. Sometimes she needed to run around backstage or jump in and help move something heavy, and she could work up a sweat.  Her job didn’t require her to look glamorous, though she’d thought about it that night, knowing Jericho would be coming to her before the show.

Damnit… she should have put some on.  What if he changed his mind?

In contrast to her, Jericho was ready for the spotlight as ever.  His long blond and peppered white hair was tied neatly back, not a strand out of place.  He must’ve shaved before coming to the convention center, because his face was smooth, without even a hint of a five o’clock shadow.  He had on a sequined black suit jacket, no shirt underneath, and it gave a peek of his aged, but sturdy, strong chest underneath.  Sarah swallowed her nerves down and met his eyes as he slowly pulled the sunglasses off his face.

Jericho leaned in and, gripping her gently on the elbow, turned her this way and that so he could lay a sweet, fondly lingering kiss to either side of her cheeks.  Sarah could feel how warm her cheeks had gotten when he moved back and saw the way his grin deepened as he noticed it too.  She was blushing beneath his stare, her heart beating quickly beneath his all-knowing stare.  He knew how much he affected her, and he seemed to like it.

“Did you consider my offer, baby girl?”  He reached lazily and brushed a strand of her hair back over her shoulder.  His eyes met hers.

This was it.  Sarah was going to tell Chris Jericho she wanted to be his sugar baby.

“Yes,” she squeaked and cleared her throat, floundering shyly beneath his steady, amused stare.

“And?”  His pupils jumped, studying her.  Was he… actually nervous she’d say no?  Was Chris Jericho worried that she wouldn’t want him?

“I… want to.”  She whispered it, couldn’t say it too loud, but she managed to push the words out somehow.

A smile spread over his face as he pushed his sunglasses up into his hair.  It was that same celebratory grin he wore whenever the world was turning in his favor; when thousands upon thousands of people chanted the phrases he spoke.  “Ohhh princess,” he chuckled breathy in a lower tone, licking his lips and letting his eyes drop purposely slow down every round curve of her body.  He leaned in, careful not to bump her into the world championship belt, and lowered his mouth softly against hers.  Sarah found herself naturally pressing up on her toes so she could deepen their kiss, pursing her lips.  Jericho pushed his tongue along hers and groaned as he did.  The sound of it rumbling in his throat tightened the muscles in her lower abdomen and made her shift her weight, pressing and squishing the fat of her thighs together.

“Heh,” he pulled away slowly and stared down at her.  His fingers slipped up and down the back of her arm, raising goosebumps where he touched.  As if unable to keep himself from her, Jericho leaned in again, one hand steadying the belt and keeping it on his shoulder as he pressed his nose into her hair and littered quick, soft teasing kisses warmly on the sensitive skin of her neck.  He spoke low, whispering promises as his free hand pinched into the fat over her hip.  “Mmm baby… daddy can’t wait to spoil you… I’m going to buy you the world.”

“God…” she whimpered, eyes wanting to roll.  Her fingers bent at her sides, desperate to touch him, to grab him and pull her hard against her.  She refrained, but just barely.  This was pornographic perfection and they hadn’t even done anything yet. It had to be some sort of dream or something, because real life couldn’t be like this.

“You can just call me daddy, princess.  No need to call me a god.”  He said as he pulled away from her, mouth spread in that trademark conceited grin of his.  It was the one that said he knew exactly what a shit he was being.  It was the one that said he knew he could get away with being a shit because he was who he was.  “Now,” he said, straightening and shifting the weight of the belt more comfortable on his shoulder.  He wore the strap with such comfortability, like an extension of his arm.  A piece of himself.  “We need to get you to wardrobe and make-up.  Come on.”

Jericho turned, hand settling on her arm, fingers gently pinching her arm.  He guided her alongside him and didn’t break stride, even when her confusion caused her to stumble a bit.

“Wait- Wardrobe?  Make-up?  Why?”

“Baby,” Jericho tilted his head and glanced down at her, sunglasses still pushed up into his hair so his blue eyes could be hers. “You’ve got new status now and daddy wants to make sure the whole world knows it.  You can’t come out with me and the Inner Circle in your company clothes.”

“C-come out with you?  Like… on live… television?”

“Princess,” he laughed gently, not mocking, “if you really don’t feel comfortable, you don’t have to.  You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do - hey-” he reached out and stopped her in the hallway, turning to face her. “I need you to understand sweetheart… anything that makes you uncomfortable, you need to tell me, okay? I want to show you off, but if you don’t like that, you don’t have to.”

Sarah barely felt like she could breathe for a minute, touched by the concern written sincere across his face.  She hadn’t… expected that. But then again, he was so good to those who were closest to him, should she be so surprised?  She was, essentially, a part of Jericho’s Inner Circle now, and she saw how much he touted the greatness he saw in every member of his faction.

“I… want to.”  She decided, nodding and looking up at him, nervous but excited smile pushing into her soft, round cheeks.

He lit up with what appeared to be genuine happiness, and Sarah’s heart lifted.  She had a feeling being his sugar baby wasn’t going to be hard at all, because she genuinely enjoyed doing things that made him happy.  She liked to think of herself as the one person Chris Jericho wanted enough and cared for enough that it’d keep his eyes and make him want to spend what he earned on her.  Only the best for a man like Chris Jericho, and he wanted her.

“Then come on princess, let’s get a taste of all the ways daddy is going to spoil you.”  He said, playfully slipping his fingers down the large curve of her ass and pinching into the ample fat there.  She squeaked in surprise and jumped a little, making him laugh and smacked his palm against it.  The clap bounced around the narrow cement walls of the hallway as he rubbed his hand gently over where it’d stung.  His fingers curled and squeezed into the fat and then released, finally pulling away.

“Daddy’s going to have so much fun with you,” he said with a chuckle, “I’m having trouble keeping my hands off you”

She ducked her head, cheeks warming again, and laughed.  Her dazed gaze reached his handsome profile. “I can’t wait until you don’t have to keep them off me, daddy.” She managed to say it, though it took a second longer than a natural flow to a conversation.  He didn’t seem to mind the hesitation, eyes jerking to her face and smile twitching over his lips. To hear her call him daddy seemed to have an instant effect, a damn near magnetized pull. 

“This is going to be the longest show of my whole damn career, isn’t it?” He asked as they neared the doorway with the printed paper sign slipped in a clear plastic sheet protector that read: WARDROBE.  He reached for the door handle and ran his eyes shamelessly again up and down her curved figure.  “All I’m going to be thinking about tonight is all the ways I’m going to get you to say, ‘thank you daddy’ afterwards and how many times I’m going to get you to say it.”

She couldn’t find sense to respond - she was breathless, dizzy, mind running wild with all the dirty thoughts he must have in mind and how badly she wanted him - he winked and pushed the door handle open, holding it for her before he nodded for her to step inside.  “Come on princess, let’s get you ready. Daddy wants to show his sugar baby off to the whole damn world.”

[lavender-hemlock]

(Sad prompt quote, from yours truly.) His emerald eyes begged. "Let me go. It's okay."

Clang. Steel bounced off the stone body of the manticore that roared in agitation at the occupants that had disturbed its slumber. One such occupant was the miqo’te that danced around the manticore, blade in hand, while the other was a midlander that cracked spell after spell against the backside of the manticore’s frame. The stone beast roared in its fury at the pair that coordinated to keep the animated gargoyle’s attention bouncing from one target to the next. When the manticore closed in on one, the other would do everything in their power to take its attention. They were a duo crafted by destiny.

Haine’s boots clacked against the thick layer of glass that made up the flooring. The flooring itself made her stomach lurch with each downwards glance into the abyss several leagues below. Golden eyes shifted to her valiant partner, the scarlet-haired miqo’te. He danced around the manticore that kept rounding on his position to try to snag him in its jaws. Haine tightened her left hand on her tome and in a flourish of her right she whipped her hand through the air to fire another burst of a quick-spell at the manticore’s head. As expected, the manticore straightened and lunged towards her. A drop of her wits and she felt panic swell to propel her form in a lunge to the left. Palms slapped flat against the bordering railing of the platform, but the manticore’s claws just narrowly missed crushing her in its effort.

 The miqo’te aligned himself back behind the manticore and struck out once more. Clang. The manticore straightened its spine to throw back its head and roar into the open emptiness of the ruins. Despite the deceptively large underground ruins the pair had descended into, the manticore’s mighty cry rang out to echo. Ear drums protested and joints below creaked in response. The sheer power reverberated in the glass and Haine stumbled back to grip the railing of the platform tighter. Blasted- A blur of motion far too close caught her attention. It occurred to her that perhaps the manticore hadn’t switched targets.  Her head snapped up just as the manticore’s red eyes bore into her own.

It had not turned.

Haine did not often feel fear. She had spent most of her life running out of fear. Fear was the humanistic behavior that defined a person to avoid the inevitable. One day she loathed herself enough to stop running. Haine did not wish to run from fate any longer. Yet now- she felt fear for everything she was about to lose.

“I’m not giving up on you!” Q’donis yelled as he broke into a sprint and slid across the glass. He glided underneath the manticore that had ignored him in a blur of red, black, and bright green. Then there he was- his hand outstretched to her. Just like always. The Manticore was none the wiser as its wide jaws lunged for her head. Haine did not hesitate to reach her hand out to place it in his outstretched grasp. Q’donis neither broke his gaze nor allowed himself to falter as he immediately tugged her down and into his waiting arms. The two adventurers fell back beneath the manticore and Q’donis gripped her frame tight to his to roll them out from under the manticore that moved to stamp at where they had just been. Not a moment of reprieve was granted as Q’donis swiftly shoved her away in trust the railing would halt her slide. Haine grunted as the railing knocked into her back and Q’donis rolled to his feet to draw the attention once more.

Both were quick to stand as the manticore whirled on them both. Its broad frame crouched and was ready to pounce to crush them both. Despite being a mass of fine marble- neither was willing to underestimate its ability to catch one of them. The pair both exchanged a brief look. A look that bordered on hope and weariness. One of them believed they wouldn’t make it out of this. Ever the pessimistic, she hoped to be proven wrong. 

Once the manticore lunged towards their position at the edge of the platform, Haine led the sprint with Q’donis hot on her heels. The manticore closed in second by second to bet its entire weight into the lunge. A beast fueled by pure fury and hatred to destroy it all. Even itself. They made haste with every force of their limbs to propel them forward, yet the animated beast was too angry to relent. Too fixated on its target-  its large left paw snapped at Q’donis at its passing. The briefest of adjustments snagged Q’donis’ footing just in time as the sound of shattering glass crashed in their ears. 

Time slowed despite the entire exchange occurring too fast. The manticore’s large frame impacted the glass and it was enough mass and momentum to crack the surface. The metal framework that intricately webbed underneath the glass screeched in protest as cracks angrily webbed outwards from the manticore that slipped through the broken platform taking security and history with it. The glass gave way faster than they could run and Q’donis’ only fell further and further behind in the wake of destruction due to snag in his ankle. 

Haine reached her hand back to snag his reaching arm to pull him more than they held onto one another.  The sprint across the flat terrain slowly became an incline. The flooring gave way to bend to the manticore’s weight. Haine grunted as she pushed her boots in to gain footing on the metal that remained of the platform, but to no avail as gravity was a much stronger force to reckon with. The pair began to fall as the platform suddenly swung downwards. 

She had gasped the moment her boots slipped off the metal. Yet, Q’donis lunged with his other hand to grip at the framework madly in their descent. His hand fumbled against metalwork until a sudden snag halted his fall and brought an awkward pop in his shoulder to occur. The miqo’te’s arm strained at the jerk of halting his fall, but even more so when he tightened the grip of Haine’s hand as she fell over him. His frame snapped to suddenly twist so that both of his arms were fully extended to support them both. Haine lifted her head to stare in bewilderment up at Q’donis who bared his teeth in agony at the joints that were beginning to burn in strain.

“Hang on!” She shouted to him. She swung her legs inwards to latch them onto the bars of the platform. Any support she found was met with another creak in protest from the joints that held the platform in tact from separating from the remaining walkway above. Haine’s heart lurched in panic as she released Q’donis’ hand so that he could be free of the burden of holding them both. Her hands and feet scrambled for placements to use the metal framework as a ladder to ascend up to Q’donis. “Come on- lets go. Lets go.” She hastened in tone. Q’donis groaned as he gave a nod and heaved his body to move. 

The pair worked to scramble to the top, but as time wore on- so did Q’donis’ energy. He was worn and damaged. She had a few knicks in places, but she worried for him above all. Her right hand reached to push between his shoulders in support. He spared her a glance in acknowledgement. “Just a bit more. We can-” His voice cut out over the large groan of the metalwork.The platform lurched as the left side of the connecting metalwork gave. They both quickened their pace as more and more bars that had been intricately woven together snapped. The remainder of their safety lessened by the moment and it only grew faster as less support held them up. 

As luck may have it- she reached the top first. She gripped the edge of the platform to pull herself up onto her knees and whirl around to assist him. Her right hand outstretched to him and he reached for her without pause. The trust and faith were there. The support was not.

The remainder of the demolished platform gave and snapped right from under her hand and Q’donis had to lunge his entire body against the giving platform to latch his hand to her arm. Even if it would pull her down, she would not let go. Her hand tightened to his no matter the cost and she felt her back ache in protest as she was yanked down to bow closer to the platform. Her right arm burned in strain. “I’ve- got you!” She gasped between breaths.

Q’donis glanced down and then back up to her in panic. His legs swung in emptiness and nothing could grant her strength no matter how much she heaved for her arm to pull. Her arm remained taunt and stretched. Q’donis narrowed his eyes on her and saw her frame slide to the edge of the broken platform. She ignored his decisive glances as she still tried with every budge of her shoulder yanking upwards to make even an inch of progress. The flooring of the remaining glass was slick against her trousers and the broken edges dug into her knees as she gripped with both of her hands. His hand loosened its grip. A flare of panic resonated in her heart. A babble of words tumbled out in haste to reassure him,  “Just hang on to me! I can get you up here! We’re almost out!”

Q’donis smiled weakly at her effort for his sake. He gazed up at her like she were the world. There was a lot to admire in his eyes. Her sense of humor, the glint in her eye and the corner of her lip that quirked often in amusement- sassy- and yet so endearing. He felt his heart skip and ache all at once. He recalled the last he had thought the very same things. A far more peaceful time. Now he could only focus on the time left before she would get pulled over the edge and both would be condemned to the depths.

“I have to let go.”

Haine snapped her head up a slight to stare at him, bewildered at such an idea. “What? No- No. I am not letting you fall. We can figure this out, we can both ge-”

“You can’t support us both, you have to let go.” He spoke to her softly. As though he had to prepare her for the fall. He was terrified for it to end here, but, she would make it out.

“No no no. Q’donis- please just help me!” She shook her head fiercely against all notion to the idea. He simply regarded her with the same look. An acceptance of reality. His fingers slowly uncurled from around her arm and that broke her voice into hysterics as she only tightened her grip with pleadings, “Hey- Stop. Please- Please don’t do this.”

His voice broke his guise just a slight. He wet his lips and whispered gently to her. “Hey.. It’s okay.” His emerald eyes begged. “Let me go. It’s okay.” Her eyes burned and obscured the image of him before her. A blurry understanding of the tan skin, bright green eyes, and sangria hair. Her vision cleared once the moisture began running down her cheeks with the fierce shake of her head. “I don’t want to- I don’t want to let you go. Not you.” He simply smiled weakly up at her as his arm slipped through her hands. “Wait- stop. Q- Please!” 

Q’donis did not heed her. Her hands struggled to maintain her grip. Her body ached painfully in strain until suddenly the resistance gave. A void of weight remained with her as she watched him drop into the abyss. She stared and stared. Mouth open in dismay. Her eyes shifted to find any trace of his red mane of hair. Her lungs expelled withheld air unsteadily. Her hands trembled into the open air until she slammed them down. She gripped into the serrated edges of glass that remained. She felt the bite of the glass slice into her palms yet it did nothing to lessen the loss she felt.

She sucked in a breath and her scream rang out through the emptiness longer than she could recall, until the only thing that remained was silence.

(Thank you for the ask. You sit with what you knowingly asked for. @sangria-fangs ) 

[lilyev]

wassup my dudes, i’m bee and i’m a huge ass nerd who’s super excited to be here ! pls take my daughter lily and love her, or hate her, w/e, i’m fine with it either way

isn’t that LILY EVANS ? yeah that is HER, sitting there at the GRYFFINDOR table with those other SIXTH years and i think i heard sybill saying they look like ZOEY DEUTCH… whoever that is! when she looks into her crystal ball she sees fireflies, coffee with cinnamon, cigarettes in the backyard, honey-flavoured chapstick, chipped nail polish, lying on the roof during a thunderstorm, flowers growing from cracks in the pavement, the feeling you get walking out from a cinema.  anyway i’ve heard they’re pretty TENDERHEARTED, TEMPESTUOUS, and INDEPENDENT. apparently they’re a MUGGLEBORN but i’m sure that’s not related. 

aesthetic: fireflies, coffee with cinnamon, cigarettes in the backyard, the smell of bookstores, honey-flavoured chapstick, whispered secrets, the burn of firewhiskey in your chest, chipped nail polish, polaroids, lying on the roof during a thunderstorm, chapped lips, the summertime buzz of cicadas, flowers growing from cracks in the pavement, burnt chocolate chip cookies, jane austen novels, angry tears, happy tears, scribbled notes in the margins of old books, the red glow of a sunset, the feeling you get walking out from a cinema

CHILDHOOD

lily evans grew up in cokeworth, england, a “distinctly unmagical” town that is solely known for being the fourth-largest steel producer in england. the steel factory smokestacks in the west loom over the town and its winding alleyways, cinder blocks, and weeds growing out of pavement cracks.

lily’s childhood was that of mowed green lawns, challah bread, flintstones reruns in grainy black and white, and playing outside after dinner with petunia till the sky grew dark and the fireflies and mosquitoes came out and their parents would call them back home for bed.

her parents were both university professors who had met while getting their doctorates, her mother in german literature and her father in political science. they were both academic, intelligent people, and saw no reason not to treat their children as such. this meant lots of political discussion over the dining room table — at nine, little lily knew more about the government deficit than most of her schoolteachers probably did. petunia tended to tune out these debates, claiming disinterest, but lily loved them, listening in avidly even if she didn’t understand. as she got older she began to participate more and more, and often even brought up issues she was interested in.

but despite her brightness, contrary to popular belief, school hasn’t always come naturally to lily. she just could never quite bring herself to focus in school. some teachers labelled her a chatterbox, others simply labelled her trouble. really, it was more of a combination of a desire to befriend every creature she met with an inability to sit still.

because lily yearned for something more than life at the end of the cul-de-sac, yearned for some great adventure. she was a curious, fearless thing as a child, always leaping off of the swing and tugging tuney to go explore on the other side of the tracks, where their parents didn’t allow them to go.

so when she met a sallow-skinned boy from the wrong side of town, and he told her about magic, lily was enraptured by the thought. severus snape and the world he spoke of represented, to lily, the adventure she’d only ever dreamed of.

you all know the story — lily didn’t mean to, but she traded one best friend for another, and petunia was left behind, hurt and angry.

HOGWARTS

flash forward to eleven year old lily – small for her age, sitting on a stool in the great hall and listening to the hat debate between slytherin and gryffindor. after she ended up being sorted into gryffindor, and heard everything her housemates had to say about slytherin, she couldn’t help but wonder why the hat had thought it might suit her. ( like mother like son, am i right ? )

but lily is ambitious and proud, and ( especially as a first year ) overflowing with a desire to prove herself. but when it comes down to it, she has a softness under her skin that doesn’t suit the cold blood of a snake, and her instinct to protect those she loves vastly outweighs her self-preservation instinct.

and all of a sudden, she was doing better in school than she ever had before. hogwarts gave her eager, curious young mind the adventure and intrigue it had been craving. for the first time, she actually wanted to learn. the professors quickly became used to the wiry girl with messy auburn hair and bright eyes sitting in the front row of every class and peppering them with questions.

she became the gryffindor prefect last year, something she was both very excited and very apprehensive about. she’s very conscious about the influence she has on younger students, and she’s determined to prove that she was the right choice.

PERSONALITY

lily evans has two main motivators: sentiment and spite. on one hand, she’s romantic and nostalgic, clinging to her fairytale endings and her belief that everyone has at least a little bit of good inside of them. she’d like to believe that everything will turn out the way it should, and that all pain is temporary and useful.

but on the other hand, she has her temper. lord, this girl is stubborn and proud to her very core. she does not easily admit she’s wrong, and she’s often guided by her emotions rather than her reason. it’s not a great combination. she has been called tempestuous.

she tends to make snap judgements about people and stubbornly sticks to those snap judgements. it takes her a while before she admits that someone isn’t as bad as she had previously thought, or that someone is worse than she previously thought ( see: james potter, severus snape )

she doesn’t react well to personal criticism. she can be pretty defensive and even hypocritical sometimes.

but for all her faults ( and she has many — she’s stubborn, over-idealistic, proud, spiteful, at times selfish, hypocritical, quick-tempered, biased ) lily loves. and she hopes. with all her heart.

she cares so much about everything. she wears her emotions on her sleeves. she cries when she’s angry, and when she’s happy, and when she’s talking passionately about something she loves.

if you’re someone lily evans loves, you should count yourself lucky, because she will defend you to the death. and if you’re a person who lily evans hates, you should also count yourself lucky, because no matter how much she hates you, there’s a little part of her that believes in the good part of you.

sometimes she wishes she was tougher, less vulnerable. she wishes the word ‘mudblood’ wouldn’t sting each time it’s flung at her like a grenade ( but it does ), and she wishes she isn’t disappointed with every chanukah that goes by without a card from pertunia ( but she is ). but in true lily evans fashion, she stubbornly holds her chin up high and smiles and doesn’t let the world see her hurting.

HEADCANONS

she keeps trying to keep a diary but she always forgets to write in it, although she refuses to admit it’s a hopeless cause.

has a love for sweeping, dramatic classical music and movie soundtracks

lily comes from a progressive jewish family ! lily was never really super into it when she was little ( she enjoyed the chanukah dreidel games and the purim festivities, loved listening to the stories of esther and the exodus, but fidgeted all through hebrew school and hated the solemnity and fasting of yom kippur ) but she has a greater appreciation for the culture now she’s older. still doesn’t really observe kashrut though.

[ HOLOCAUST TW ] part of the reason she’s super super super against blood purity is bc of this and obvs also cause she’s a muggleborn ! her mother was eight when the second world war started, and as lily’s gotten older she’s heard more and more about her mother’s experience. and it chills her how much it reminds her of all this blood purity and voldemort stuff. [ END TW ]

petunia converts to catholicism for vernon when they get married and lily is so angry she cries for days, but then their mother sits down with her and talks about how everyone has their own faith and you can’t judge someone else for theirs

loves cats even though she’s allergic to them ( has a toad named gilbert, after gilbert blythe from anne of green gables )

has an irrational fear of seaweed – not the kind you eat, the kind that brushes up against your ankles when you’re swimming. also afraid of flying and airplanes

has an extensive collection of nail polish ( picks at her nail polish when she’s nervous )

a physically affectionate person – loves hugs, and cheek kisses, and platonic hand holding

loves old audrey hepburn movies 

she always loved when her parents read to her but she never had the attention span for actually sitting and reading books even though she loved them

[ DEATH, SMOKING TW ] she smokes …… she knows it’s bad but she started after her paternal grandfather died when she was 12 – they were going through his belongings and she found a half-used pack of his cigarettes and pocketed them. she just smoked them to try and catch his smell and feel closer to him but it developed into a habit and then an addiction ( although lily will insist she can stop anytime ) [ END TW ]

bisexual as FUCK thanks 4 coming to my ted talk

[jellypackedart]

HidaKona Month 2019 - Remembering You - Phantom Pains

HOOO BOY im tired this took too long and im late BUT i did have a lot of fun writing something for the purpose of publishing it! I originally wanted to draw this out but i dont know comic layout right now.

This is my entry for the first prompt of @hidakonamonth and im so glad it pushed me to start establishing my reincarnation/high school akatsuki au!! I felt like i had to start with hidan for this type of story since exploring his character is gonna challenge me and the prompts really helped in planning the story!

Phantom pains didn't seem like the accurate term. Organs, tissue and cells all strewn about the makeshift grave. He'll scream like always, but the words get muffled by the sound of blood gushing around him. Painfully too aware of his nervous and respiratory system making a shoddy attempt at reviving whatever carved out piece of flesh it belonged to, he’ll fully experience the pain in every severed limb assorted above and below him. It’s intense enough to identify what was detached completely and which limbs were desperately hanging onto each other by threads of tendon. The harsh sting of each laceration coupled with the smell of seared flesh is always unbearable.

But this dream was different. 

Normally, his vision would be blocked by pounds of dirt branches, and stone. The pressure amounted over top and even stifled his face from scrunching in agony, the bitter taste of soil settling in his mouth because he never learned to keep it shut. It was always the worst type of deep sleep. The kind where his mind is fully alert but his body had no chance of fighting. Darkness would cradle his body while shockwaves ran through him.

The faintest glow of a lavender light demanded his attention this time. It contrasted greatly with the void that enveloped his makeshift grave. The pressure that had been straining against him backed off, layers and layers were stripped away and allowed the little light to grow stronger. Whatever it was that dug him out from his grave was not doing so with any degree of desperation. But he was caught off-guard by the disruption of the fixed routine of his dream. Once he could feel the open air gracing her touch along his face, he started to spit out the remaining dirt in his mouth and took a large gasp of air, exiting through the gash of his neck. Iridescent eyes tried to blink away the gritty soil irritating his eyes then opens them once more to look up at his savior.

She was there for a second, too high in the sky to see her full figure other than the wings flapping softly, a black and red cloak being the only thing he recognized. As if that second was already spoiling him, the next time he blinked, magenta eyes frantically looked around at the enveloping darkness. Was he in his grave again?

No. Hidan relaxed into the worn, spring-mattress and allowed his eyes to get used to the light spilling over from the streets and into his studio apartment. He was here again. The same aches that followed after his reoccurring dream lingered, intensifying at the joints where he was previously cut up. No, phantom pains couldn't describe it well enough. His limbs were here, and fully attached just like they always were. But his whole being throbbed, dealing with the trauma of what once must have been his body long since rotted. Hidan grumbled to himself. He hated that dream. It made him confused that the remnants of a past life never stayed buried in silence, it always screamed at him and refused to die. Because that was always the extent to his dream. No indication of who and where he was, not even why he was in that hole or why he couldn't just stay dead.

He usually brushed it off once the pounding against his body settles into waves of dull pain. What was different was the lingering image of those wings and that robe. And the light. Hidan blinked, the feeling of hot tears that stained his cheeks now evident. Those were new, too.

Hidan rolled over to get up from his bed. He didn't have to check his phone to see that it was the middle of the night. The dream was relatively short, and since it always ended around the time that the veil between worlds was weakened, he figured it was the best time to go and find a sacrifice. It was long ago that he decided that if those dreams served any purpose, it was reminding him of his mortality. When he was mortal, at least. The periods between those dreams were long and often indicated to him that he hadn't had the opportunity to fulfill his mandated exchange of a life for Life.

The ending of this dream lingered on his mind as he pushed up his maroon denim jeans and adjusted his belt. He can admit that he didn't have much going for him in terms of intelligence but even he could tell the break in the pattern could not be reflective of his requirements to his God. The silver pendant shined despite the lack of light entering the room, it was cool against his exposed chest. Hidan shuddered at the touch and turned his head towards the window to watch the gentle mist hovering over the city streets. He opted to wear a jacket, at least.

Leaving through the fire escape was easier than locking his room, walking down 2 flights because the elevator stopped working at floor 4, getting into the working elevator normally not lacking in the assorted bodily fluids, and weaving through bodies fraternizing either through shared decomposition or lowered inhibitions. The steel rungs of the ladders practically sounded off that the natural born killer was on his way, but the cacophony was lost in the dissonant white noise of the city. Old sneakers landed on the pavement of the alleyway adjacent the apartment complex, dull waves of pain caught Hidan's attention when he popped back up and started strolling around the block.

Hidan felt that picking off the barely conscious vagrants littered about the streets was too easy. He would call it mercy, as the Reaper patrolled the area and often fought bigger foes to them such as police, thieves, and even other killers and disposed of them because the bigger a spectacle he put on meant higher praise from his God.

He tilted his head at the sight of a girl on the corner. She wasn't a regular, maybe a rookie trying to claim her turf? The streetwalkers he did know and ran into were already converted, some that taught him the ropes and others persuaded by him. They had clear identifiers that proved they were off limits. This girl was about their age, probably a few years above him. Her form, although slightly clouded by the mist, demanded nothing more obscene than appreciation. She leaned on her left leg, hands shoved into the pockets of a black bomber jacket that fit too big on her, evident by the zipper reaching past her denim shorts. No silver pendant adorning her chest, no patches sewn about her jacket, and no tattoos littered across her skin, nothing that could indicate she was safe.

Conversion or sacrifice. Hidan would give her that choice.

As he took a step towards her, amber eyes snapped back and watched him. She straightened her stance and crossed her arms. This mist was growing too thick for him to catch the slight hesitation of her deciding against meeting him halfway. Her eyes flickered past choppy layers of blue hair to look behind her, not scared but rather affirming herself of what was behind her.

Hidan reached the girl, just a small gap in height between the two as the result of her heeled boots. Placing his hands at his sides to puff out his chest, he cracked a smirk. “Eh, what's a babe like you doing out here so late?” He leaned in closer to examine her face. The only disruption in her statuesque build was her quickly glancing up and down at him.

“I'm looking for a friend.” She said, voice low and steady.

“Ah,” Hidan leaned back then rolled his neck over to the side. “I know someone that could be your friend. You ever heard of the way of Jashin?”

Amber eyes narrowed at him as she examined him further for something in his iridescent eyes. Something was up. “Way of Jashin.” It wasn't really a question. The words rolled off her pierced tongue in revelation as if they were the last clue to mystery bothering her. The mist began to clear and allowed Hidan to look at her face. Her eyeliner was smudged like she hadn't taken it off to sleep and an array of blues and lilacs were painted onto her eyelids. Her lips were stained with the remnants of some black lipstick while an opalescent septum ring managed to avoid the pigment.

Hidan stepped backward, a sudden ache in his heart pulsing as he looked at her, the mirage of a ghost he must have known long ago. She was familiar, but not quite right, not formed correctly in a way that he could trace the reason for his pain. Why does she hurt?

Amber eyes softened at his confusion as her lips broke in a smile. She took her hands out of her pockets, and extended a hand out, beckoning him to shake. “There's a clubhouse nearby,” Her head tilted to point in the direction behind her. “Come tell me about it there.”

Hidan cocked a grey eyebrow, carefully examining her but satisfied easily with the fact that she was willing to listen to him, wanted to, rather. Magenta eyes dropped to her hand, nails painted to match her eyes. Hidan shrugged and took her hand into his own. Her touch was soft, cautious but welcoming. “What about your friend?” He asked after releasing her.

“I found him.”

[lets-talk-appella]

Just a Joke?

I was struggling with some writer’s block on a larger WIP, so decided to pound out a drabble challenge with the line “It was a joke, baby. I swear.” Any feedback is appreciated!

Summary: Jesse makes Beca mad; she goes to Chloe for comfort.

Timeline: Set about 2 weeks after the Worlds competition in PP2

Word count: 1,332

“Beca! Beca, come back!” Jesse’s voice rang out after her as she bolted to the kitchen counter to grab her purse, her hair flying behind her.

She forced her feet into her shoes roughly, jamming the heel down, not wanting to waste time putting them on properly. She could hear Jesse scrambling after her, knocking into a chair with a curse.

“Beca!” he called again. “It was a joke, baby! I swear.”

She snorted derisively as she flung open his front door and threw herself down the front steps. Once she made it down to the sidewalk, she paused only long enough to spin around and yell at him as he reached the doorframe, “It didn’t feel like a joke! I’m leaving!”

She turned and started running, actually running, down the sidewalk to put as much distance between herself and the Treble house as possible.

“Where are you going?!”

She looked over her shoulder and saw that he’d made it down to the sidewalk and had started to follow her.

She screamed back, her voice cracking with anger, “TO CHLOE!”

He stopped dead, staring after her with a pained expression. 

It took Beca only seconds to scramble into the Bella house’s yard. She wrenched the door open, barely noticing that someone had forgotten to lock the front door again, launched herself inside, and slammed it behind her, locking the deadbolt. Panting, she peered through the peephole. Nothing. He hadn’t followed.

Only waiting long enough to take a huge breath – was all that cardio for nothing? – Beca lunged for the stairs, taking them two at a time, her mind churning and her heart pounding. She was moving so quickly that she almost ran headlong into Flo on the landing.

“Woah, Beca? What - ?”

Without letting her finish her question, Beca moved past her at breakneck speed, hurtling directly into Chloe’s room without even knocking.

Chloe, who had been laying on her bed reading, jolted at Beca’s sudden appearance and shouted “Jesus!” as her book was sent flying.

She took in Beca’s messy hair, flushed cheeks, rapid breathing, and her halfway put on shoes. Frowning, she asked, “Bec? You okay?”

Beca shook her head, still trying to catch her breath. She turned and closed the door behind her, feeling Chloe’s eyes on her back.

“Come here,” Chloe said softly, patting a spot on the bed beside her.

Beca moved over to the bed and perched herself on the edge, not wanting to put her shoes on the covers. Her breathing finally slowed as she tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling, mummering, “Sorry to burst in. But I needed to see you.”

Chloe hesitantly reached out a hand, placing it lightly on Beca’s back. When Beca didn’t flinch away, she started to rub up and down her spine soothingly.

“Hey,” she said softly, not wanting to startle Beca, “what’s wrong? What happened?”

Taking a deep, shuddering breath to steel herself, Beca sighed out, “Jesse. He just… he made me so mad. I had to get away.”

Chloe’s hand froze for an instant in its path down Beca’s back, then resumed its course. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Tearing her eyes away from the ceiling, Beca looked over her shoulder at Chloe’s encouraging smile. The tension between her shoulders disappeared and the crease between her eyebrows smoothed at the familiar cerulean blue of Chloe’s eyes. She bent over to tug off her shoes and swung her legs up on the bed, scooting over to recline against the headboard next to Chloe.

“Yeah,” she replied, “I do actually. If that’s okay,” she looked anxiously at Chloe.

Nodding, Chloe said, “Of course it’s okay, silly. That’s kinda why I offered.”

“Shut up, weirdo,” Beca nudged Chloe teasingly, a small smile cracking her previously stormy exterior.

Chloe laughed, responding playfully, “Badass Beca Mitchell is about to open up and tell me her troubles. Mark this on the calendar.”

Beca rolled her eyes with a huff. “Do you want to know or not? I could just leave, you know!”

“Okay, okay,” Chloe said, raising her hands in truce. “What happened with Jesse?”

Beca’s face fell and she looked down at Chloe’s duvet. After a moment, she muttered, “He still doesn’t understand why I’m going to New York with you guys and not to LA with him.”

“Mmm,” hummed Chloe to show she was listening.

“I told him a week ago this was the plan! I don’t get why he’s still going on about it, I mean, it’s not like I’m going to change my mind,” Beca continued. “Sure, did I used to want to go to LA? Yeah, but I’m allowed to do something else! Our lease is up at the end of the week and sue me if I want to go where I have a set job. Why doesn’t he get that?”

She was staring at Chloe now, who’d been letting her vent in silence.

“Well,” Chloe began carefully, “I think he had counted on you staying with him for the long-haul, Bec. He’s probably disappointed and is going to miss you.”

Beca frowned. “It’s not like we’re not going to be together, like together together. We didn’t break up over it.”

Chloe’s eyebrows rose slightly. “You didn’t?” she asked, surprised.

“No…” said Beca slowly, looking just as surprised. “Why would we?”

Chloe looked away, a strange expression flickering across her face before becoming impassive again. “No reason, I guess. I just thought… never mind. Is that what you were upset about?” she added, changing the subject.

Beca cringed, looking down at her hand which began absentmindedly tracing the pattern of Chloe’s duvet. “Not that exactly…” she trailed off vaguely.

“Then what?” Chloe nudged.

“He – he said something bad. About why I was going to New York. With you.” Her face colored as she continued boring a hole into Chloe’s bed with her stare.

Chloe frowned, confused. “What?”

Whispering, Beca replied, “He said – well, implied – that the only reason I was going to New York was to be with you. Because I chose you over him. That I might as well be dating you instead of him.”

Stunned, Chloe sat staring at nothing. After a long pause, she found her voice. “He said that?” she croaked out.

Beca nodded, her face positively glowing red as she continued to stare down. “That’s when I got mad and left. Even though he tried to say it was a joke. It wasn’t funny.”

“Beca…” said Chloe, at a loss. Beca, who was still looking down, missed the look of hope that crossed her face.

“I mean,” started Beca, “why would he even say that? You’re my best friend, it’s different! He’s my boyfriend. I’d never cheat on him, and he knows how close we are. I don’t get why he’d say something like that.” She finally raised her head to look at Chloe. “You know? It’s just a dumb thing to say.”

“Yeah,” muttered Chloe. “Dumb.”

Beca huffed again, leaning back on the headboard and closing her eyes. “That’s it, I guess. He pissed me off, and I needed to rant. We’ll probably be okay tomorrow.”

Chloe nodded mutely, looking at the opposite wall.

“Do you want to watch Netflix or something?” Beca asked, trying valiantly to hoist herself out of her bad mood.

Chloe snapped out of her haze. With a “yeah, sure,” she reached for her laptop and opened it to pull up the app.

“You can pick what we watch,” she said, fighting against the urge to question Beca further. Clearly, the brunette was done talking for now.

As Beca settled in against Chloe’s side and started to scroll, she shoved down her unease. She could feel that something had been left unresolved, but she knew things would look better after she had time to relax with Chloe.

Somehow, her best friend always made everything better.