#here it is in all its terribly paced glory

[incorporealbombchelle]

On Earth As It Is In Heaven

Mr. Reed x Fem! (Mid-20s) Reader (18+)

Synopsis: Pt. 1 - (y/n) is fulfilling her religious obligation to a very... curious older gentleman...

⚠️TW: Percieved Heresy (duh), Mentions of Catholicism, Possible Vague & Obscure Spoilers for 'Heretic' (2024), Age Gap, Condescension, Loss of Virginity, Raw P in V Penetration, General Smut.

A. Reed is the latest on my visitation list to request information on the faith and -poor thing- has a 'severe form of agoraphobia that won't let [him] leave [his] home'. This is common amongst middle aged and elderly people, so today should be quick, easy, and pleasant. Just a few small notes on how the faith will beautify his life and purify his soul, then I leave him to explore catholicism of his own volition and enjoy the reward of life everlasting when he passes in 4 to 7 years.

I make my way up the gravel driveway to the house and give the door a few quick knocks. I wait a few seconds "Mr. Reed?" I call. "My name is (y/n), I'm here to educate you on the catholic church?"

I wait.

Nothing. I decide if he takes over a minute, I'll just go. Come back another day. Enjoy some time to myself.

Just then, as I'm about to turn and leave, a rustle of some sort from the other side of the door. I straighten my jacket and practice my smile.

"Coming! Coming!" calls a muffled voice from the other side of the door. I hear some shuffling, a series of switches and clicks, and I'm greeted by who I can only assume to be one A. Reed. He's a tall, lanky man I estimate to be in his late 50s or early 60s, with well kept short grey hair, wire framed glasses, bright blue eyes, and a warm smile. He's wearing a quirky multicolored cardigan over a grey button down with corduroy pants and sneakers that allude to a more active lifestyle than I understand him to have. I can tell that when he was my age he'd have been very handsome, and that quality hasn't faded over his years. There's something modern, yet classic about him. Something young and cool. Something... attractive.

"Mr.... " I glance the visitation request form on my clipboard "Reed?"

"Yes! Yes, come in, please."

He ushers me past the small foyer and into the living room, making sure the door closes securely behind me.

"Hello" I smile and stick out my hand for him to shake, which he does.

"Hello dear, your name again?" He beams.

"(y/n)"

His eyes explore me "(y/n)! Lovely name, suits you well. Please, come, sit, I'll take your coat."

I take a seat on the small settee nearest the door, slipping out of my coat and handing it to him as I straighten out my skirt and sweater. He takes it to what I assume to be his coat closet and returns a moment later, shuffling into the cozy living room excitedly and planting himself on the chair across the coffee table from me.

"Now," he says, rubbing his hands together eagerly "let's get into it, hm? ; what's so great about catholicism?"

I give him my usual schpeel, feeling even myself lose interest in the trappings of the faith as I finish my (entirely too long) monologue of the catholic doctrine. I take a breath, satisfied that I've summarized our beliefs well enough.

"Can I answer any questions?" I offer.

"Y-Yes, actually," he gives me a close-lipped smile "I've just got... one question, although it may be a tad uncomfortable. Will you indulge me?"

"Oh, Gladly. Shoot."

"Well, Ms. (y/n)... as a catholic... do you personally believe that masturbation is sinful?" I feel my mouth grow dry as looks at me fondly, as though he's just asked to borrow a pen at the bank.

I hadn't anticipated... this. Especially from such a sweet, kind-seeming older man.

"Uhm... I... that's- well it's- yes, because you see, Mr. Reed, God puts lust before us as a test. We're meant to resist it until it's time for us to create a family. This ensures our passage to Heaven." I simper, hoping he can't sense my panicked improvisation.

"Ah, yes, I see. Very well. Indulge me further then, will you?"

"Sure...what's up?"

He chuckles at my casual address "(y/n)... good catholic girl that you are, have you masturbated before?" He leans back in his chair, smiling innocently, crossing one leg over the other and folding his hands over his lap.

I mirror him, crossing my legs and straightening out my skirt, trying desperately not to make eye contact. "Mr. Reed, I'm not sure that's appropriate to say..."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I did warn you my questions might be uncomfortable." I feel his eyes bore into me, wandering my face and body. I finally meet his gaze.

"Yes, but..." I sigh, keeping my smile to the best of my ability "that's just sort of...personal."

"Oh? Then let me ask you this ; do you belive in an omnipresent god, a God that can monitor your actions at all times?"

"Yes, of course, God watches over us always."

"Right, Right. So then, if you *had* masturbated, and God was aware of this, as we've established he is. Everywhere. Always., " he gestures around widely "you'd be disqualified from the race to heaven for the sin of... experiencing pleasure?"

"I-Yes, Lust is one of the seven deadliest sins a person can commit, after all..." I swallow, feeling my face flush.

"So you have then."

"What?"

"Masturbated."

My brow furrows and I stutter, unable to summon words. I take a breath, caught off guard. He smirks.

I watch Mr. Reed quickly make his way around the coffee table and take a seat next to me on the settee, angling himself toward me. He rests his glasses on top of his head.

"And I'll assume," he asserts in a lowered tone "you had an orgasm...yes?" He gestures to me to answer the question.

I shift in my seat, acutely aware of a faint tension in my core.

"I-That's not-"

"So that's a yes then," he goes on, eyes locked on mine, not skipping a beat "And (y/n), you just have to wonder, Why would a God who gave you a body, " his eyes dart down to my chest momentarily "a perfect... perfect, body, capable of experiencing the rapurtous pleasure of an orgasm, then punish you for your enjoyment of that gracious gift?" He raises his voice " Does God not want us to enjoy ourselves and the abilities he bestows upon us?" 

"He...does, just not in... that way?"

"Then in what ways, (y/n), does God approve of us enjoying our lives?"

"Through... worship, through service of those in need..."

"So we can only gain pleasure from actions that directly benefit God's good reputation then, hm?"

"Uhm-"

I gasp as I feel his hand rest gently over my knee, giving it a cautious squeeze.

"Mr. Reed-"

"I'm sorry, sorry, I get overly passionate on these matters, forgive my tone," he cringes to himself "I just think, don't we all deserve to feel... Good? Even just for a moment?" He scoots closer and I feel the outside of his thigh brush against mine.

I know I should move his hand from my knee. Shrink away. Say something. I should leave. But I don't. And as his bright blue eyes flick down to my lips, I don't want to.

I feel my breath catch as he delicately pushes my long skirt to just over my knees... then retracts his hands.

"(y/n), you've been so honest with me, and so generous with your knowledge and your time. Will you answer one last question for me?"

I swallow, "uhm... sure..." I manage shakily.

"Are you a virgin?"

The question hangs in the air for a moment.

"I don't see how that relates to anything" I squeak.

He chuckles "Oh, (y/n), this relates to... everything." He leans in, speaking softly into the shell of my ear "you can tell me... it'll be our little secret. God doesn't need to know all, hm?" I feel him smirk and I shiver as his arm snakes around my shoulder, his thumb massaging patterns into the outside of my sleeve.

"But he does know all," I protest, shivering as his lips brush my ear.

"Then there's no harm in confirming what he already knows... aloud, is there? Like I said...just between us... you, me and...him" Mr. Reed looks up briefly, acknowledging God's presence, then gives me a sweet smile.

"Are....You.... A Virgin? Very simple. Yes or no."

A beat.

I mutter an almost silent 'Yes'

"Hm? I'm sorry, the old ears, they're shoddy, come again?"

I close my eyes "Yes, Yes. I'm a virgin." A wave of shame washes over me at the admission despite knowing it's exactly God's plan for me. I look down, fussing with the hem of my skirt in an attempt to seem nonchalant.

"Oh...Understood. You do seem quite... sensitive to touch, mm?" He squeezes my arm and I jolt a bit. Mr. Reed snickers "Aren't you just the most gorgeous catholic angel? The polite, pretty, soft spoken girl, touches herself, refuses the touch of others, its all in God's plan... but don't you ever wonder..." his fingers trace lightly over my knee again, raising my skirt just an inch or two higher up my thigh "how good it can be?"

He lifts my chin so I have no choice but to look directly at him.

He's more attractive up close, the way his eyes radiate warmth, the softness of his smile, the thickness of his hair, the faint smell of his cologne...

I force a shaky breath.

"N-no," I sputter

"Don't. Lie to me." He looks me over, still holding my gaze  "You're an awful liar, and your body betrays you," he sing-songs, a self satisfied smirk playing at his lips.

"You're flushed, you can't sit still, your pupils are dilated, your nipples hard, but you sit here; so innocent, weak, pure and pliable, letting the silly old man in the checkered sweater touch your body, the most sacred possession a person has, while you confidently call yourself a devoted catholic and dedicated virgin. Now that is faith..." his fingertips trace slowly up and down my inner thigh as he says this; I gently place my hand over his wrist, squeezing my legs together, "Mr. Reed," but he doesn't stop, instead ghosting over the tops of my thighs, inching the skirt even higher. "What would God say... about this?" Each of his hands come to rest on my knees, slowly guiding them apart, sliding my skirt the last of the way up my legs, the front of my white cotton thong now visible... and visibly wet. I moan quietly as his fingers skim up and down the drenched fabric, a look of pure delight on his face as he traces over my clit then brings them back to his mouth to taste.

"Could it be that you'd *like* this to carry on further, (y/n)?"

I bite my lip, my brow furrowing as I struggle for an answer. Everything he does feels so good, so right, and entirely wrong all at once, everything he's saying... makes sense... and I'm so drawn to him...

I can't.

"Mr. Reed, may I please have my coat?" I stammer out quickly.

He removes his remaining hand from my knee, standing up. "Of course, dear, I'll just be a minute," he smiles politely. As he turns to leave the room I glance the way his partially stiff cock tents the fabric of his pants and feel myself tremble with want. Gathering all my restraint, I stand and walk toward the door, and a moment later Mr. Reed meets me in the foyer with my coat.

"One coat." He smiles, and walks back into the living room, settling in with a book as if nothing just happened.

I wrap the coat around myself and turn the front door's handle to push it.

It doesn't budge. I pull instead. It's stuck. "Mr. Reed, the- the front door is stuck here-" I call, silently panicking as I try the handle again, and again. I look it over to realize...there isnt an inside lock.

Mr. Reed makes his way back to the foyer, seemingly nervous before a realization apparently dawns on him. "Oh, goodness, I forgot to reset the timer after letting you in. All the locks in this house are on a timer.  Especially the front and back doors. My deepest apologies, (y/n) dear. Ugh. This sucks, hm?"

"Uh... yeah. Sorry I'm not sure I understand. How long is this... timer?"

"Twenty-four hours I'm afraid" he exaggerates an wince.

"Twenty-Four hours?"

"Yes, that seems to be the situation we've found ourselves in. So sorry, (y/n), I feel like such an idiot"

"You're not..." I trail off quietly

"Agh, but I'm so so terribly sorry. Can I possibly interest you in some pie while we wait it out? Absolute least I can do." He puts his hands together in prayer, begging my forgiveness.

"Uh... sure, yeah. Pie ... sounds great." I'm confused, terrified, and still somewhat aroused as Mr. Reed heads to grab our pie. What have I gotten myself into?

I make my way back to where I had been sitting just moments earlier, ignoring the moisture between my legs as I settle into my seat and lay my coat over the back of the settee.

He shuffles hurriedly back into the room holding two plates of freshly microwaved pie, whose smell fills the room instantly.  He hands me my plate and spoon and settles back into his chair across from me with his own.

I take a small bite of the pie. Blueberry. It's delicious, the best I've had, and before long I've scarfed the entirety of the slice down. I look up at Mr. Reed, realizing how I must have just looked wolfing down pie like I've never eaten before. "Oh my god, my manners" I giggle, covering my mouth as I finish the last bite.

Mr. Reed laughs. "Oh don't worry, that's the typical reaction I get with this recipe" he smirks proudly.

"I bet" I smile. He stands up and clears my empty plate.  I can't help but notice he's barely touched his own.

When he returns, I sit up straighter. "Mr. Reed, wouldn't it be possible to reset the timer?"

"It's old tech, none of this digital crap you're used to. It's fixed to operate on a rigid schedule.  Without exception." He says flatly, sitting down again.

"But I may be able to fiddle with it some," he leans in "for a small price."

"Price? I don't carry much money with me on these visits, the best I have is a bus pass, so-"

He laughs loudly "Oh-ho, no, no dear. Not money. Never money. I'd want you to give me something much more meaningful. More important."

"What then?"

"Your virginity." he states plainly, smiling innocuously.

"You want me to give myself to you?"

"Well, yes. And in exchange I'll see what I can do about the hold on those awful, sticky, locks. "

"And no one," he glances upward  "has to know.... a thing" he winks.

Mr. Reed extends a hand to me and before I can stop myself, I take it. He leads me through winding hallways lined with paintings, sculptures, artifcats, and ornate doors.  We arrive at the bottom of a wide hardwood staircase. I follow him up the stairs and down another long hallway. At the end, warm light pours from an open door. Mr. Reed steps inside and I follow closely behind him.

The master bedroom is large, almost too large to believably fit in this house. It's floors are dark stained hardwood and covered in layers of expensive looking carpets, while its walls are lined with overflowing and intricately carved bookcases of what I estimate to be every doctrine of religious text. A gilded chandelier hangs from the ceiling, casting dim, mellow light over the room. The entirety of the back wall is lined with backlit stained glass portraits of saints, angels, demons, and notable religious figures. In the middle of the room, a four-poster bed sits atop a double tiered wooden platform. It vaguely reminds me of the altar in a cathedral, the bed adorned in intricately patterned sheets and a multitude of different sizes and shapes of pillows...

"Now then," Mr. Reed says, slightly out of breath "I'd like you to walk to the edge of the bed for me, and bend yourself over it."

I open my mouth, willing myself to protest, to no avail.

"Go on, quick as you like"

I obey, slowly making my way up the steps to the bed and bending at the waist in front of it, letting my upper body rest against the silken sheets and closing my eyes tightly. This isn't happening. Is this how it happens? It can't be. I'm dreaming.

Within a moment I feel Mr. Reed's presence behind me, his hands positioned on my sides. He picks up my skirt and pushes it up over my hips, exposing my ass to him. I let out a moan of anticipation as I feel his hands roam over me, squeezing hard. "Mr. Reed..." I mewl, my body tense with need. He brings a hand between my legs and pulls my panties to the side, gliding his fingertips expertly along my folds, humming at the warmth and slickness of my vulva. He chuckles. "You really haven't been touched this way before, mm?"

"Never" I almost whisper

He slips a finger inside me, steadily dipping in and out. I feel myself spasm around his fingers involuntarily, eliciting a low groan from him "My god, so sensitive. So... tight. Christ,"  he continues working me at a leisurely pace, and after a few minutes I'm pushing myself back onto his fingers, craving more of him.

"Mr. Reeed" I whine, flushing at how wrong this all is. I want it. I need it.

I hear the sound of a belt unbuckling, a zipper unzipping and my eyes snap open. Oh my god. I can feel him lining himself up with my entrance. "You're ready then, pet?"

I give a hesitant nod, and immediately feel him pushing into me. I moan and gasp and feel so completely full of him, I can barely take all of it.

He doesn't move at first.

He rests his hands on my hips and takes a deep, shaky breath. "Look at you, all filled out." I crane my head to look back at him and he smirks at me.

Without warning, he gives a singular, hard thrust into my core and I yelp. He allows me a second to recover before falling into a steady, commanding rhythm.

Our bodies clap against eachother and my mind goes hazy as he fucks me, the sound only heightening the sensation of him moving inside me.

"Mr. Ree-eed?" I gasp hotly.

He looks up, slowing his pace somewhat "Yes dear, enjoying yourself?"

I nod again. "Yes, so much, but could you maybe... undress me more?"

"Oh of course, how crude of me!" He slips out of me with a wet pop and I gasp at the loss of contact. His hands grip my hips roughly and he turns me over as if it's nothing. He's older, but clearly not weak. He tugs the thong down my legs swiftly and helps me slip my sweater over my head. He looks my chest over, clearly pleased with my lack of a bra, and moves to unzip the side of my skirt before yanking it off my legs and tossing it aside with my other clothing. He removes my shoes gingerly, and I lay before him in just my knee-socks, flushed and panting.

I hungrily take in the sight of him. His body is nothing like I had assumed it might be. He's slim and muscular, with a touch of sagging skin in the places that make sense. If his hair color didn't betray his age, he'd be nearly indistinguishable from men decades his junior. His cock is thick, circumcised, and appears from this angle to be what I assume is a manageable length?

"Ohh, you are just the most gorgeous, breathtaking little thing," his hands slip under my knees and he pushes my legs forward, folding me in half, holding the backs of my thighs in place as his eyes rake over me. "Thank y-"

"Gorgeous things are to be cherished, no?" He interrupts me and before I can even think of an answer, he sinks into me fully again, more easily this time, and I. assumed. wrong.

I let out a strangled noise somewhere between a yelp and a whimper as I feel him impale me, my body tightening around him, aching with need. 

He gives me a moment to adjust to his size and then continues rocking into me at the same pace as before. He brings two fingers to my lips and I let them in, sucking enthusiastically, keeping my eyes trained on his.

He lets out a low hum,  contented with my impatience. "Atta girl,"

As I suck his fingers, he brings his opposite hand to my hip and kneads his thumb over my clit in slow, attentive circles. He removes the fingers from my mouth and runs them delicately over one nipple, hardening it instantly and sending a jolt through my body. "Mmmh, Misterr, Reed, I-" I gasp as a shudder runs through me. In response, he slows his thrusts to an agonizing pace, looking down at me expectantly. "I'm close," I pant.

He continues his slow, shallow thrusts and circles over my clit "Aww, and so soon? You are a virgin, aren't you (y/n)? So. Fucking. Delicate..." He teases, punctuating each word with a forceful buck of his hips. I whine. He gives a few quicker thrusts, and I squeeze my knees together as I feel myself clenching and pulsating around his girth. My vision goes white as I come, and I hear myself mewl weakly as I go limp beneath him.

As he pulls out, his eyes are hungrily trained on my body, and he strokes himself steadily for a moment or two before letting his head tilt back as he pulses out thick ropes of semen onto my stomach and chest with a low, labored groan. I gasp at the sudden warmth and blink up at him, panting, defiled, and entirely undone.

As Mr. Reed recovers from his orgasm, he huffs, drinking in my disordered state.

He reaches out, smiling proudly as he grazes a thumb over my cheek. "Wait here a minute, I'll be right back" he pads out of the room, returning seconds later wrapped up in a plush robe, holding a towel out to me "here we are," he beams. I take the towel from him, simpering, and wipe away the aftermath of his release.

I hold a pillow over myself as I sit up, hiding my exposed form to the best of my ability.  He situates himself on the bed next to me, his eyes searching mine "Now then," he takes a breath "how did that feel?" I nod slowly, still dizzy from my climax. "Words. Use them."

"It felt...hot...dirty...transcendent." I exhale.

"Transcendent." He echoes. "And does it seem your soul has been eternally damned??"

"No..."

"Do you feel dirty? Or wrong, generally?"

"No."

"Mm. So you had sex, for the first time -shock horror- with the kooky old man from the visitation list..." he trails his fingertips up the side of my arm "and not only did it not cause your immediate eternal damnation, but took you in the exact opposite direction, to the height of sensation, if I'm not mistaken."

"It..did..." I look away from him, feeling my face grow hot.

"And you still believe that a God who loves us, who wants us to enjoy all life has to offer, would deprive us of something so... transcendent?"

"N-no Mister Reed. I don't. Not anymore."

His eyes widen.

"Oh, changed your mind have you? How will you ever get to heaven without that... core belief?"

"I guess we'll just have to bring it down to earth..." I smirk up at him.

"We?"

"We."

[devildomditzy]

Devildom Ditzy's Birthday Bash

Here it is, in all its long-as-hell glory.

It's hard to celebrate turning 24, just like it's hard to celebrate growing up in general. This is for everyone that could use this today. Whether you enjoy your birthday, or hate it, hopefully this is one story you can enjoy for yourself.

No trigger warnings, besides language, a very small mention of blood from vigorous teeth brushing, and heavy mentions of birthdays (lol)

Happy birthday to you, whenever it is <3

You wake up to the sound of your screaming alarm, exhausted but obligated to start your day. As you stretch out and trudge to the bathroom to brush your teeth, you remember exactly what day it was. Wow. You forgot it was your own birthday? That's a new one. You shrug to yourself and continue your morning routine.

Birthdays used to be something exciting and important as a kid. Once you started to get older and the years passed by, its significance became less and less prominent to you, instead being replaced with the dread of getting older. Another step towards the inevitable. Hell, with the type of stuff you're subjected to down here in the Devildom, you assume you always have one foot in the grave anyway. Maybe... you should talk to Thirteen about that...

Well, there's one thing you can take solace in today, its the fact that you forgot what day it was. If you were that forgetful about the day you were born, there's no way any of the guys would have remembered. Except for maybe Luke. If he wrote down it in his calendar the first day he met you. And if he was there to remind them, maybe Simeon and Solomon would remember. Solomon was iffy, as he's so old himself you doubt he's keeping track of time in general. Hopefully the biggest fuss they'd make about you would be calling you over to Purgatory Hall for a slice of whatever birthday cake Luke conjured up. And if he asked for help baking it, maybe Barbatos would know too... and he'd tell Diavolo. And Diavolo would make it a national Devildom holiday or something.. You wouldn't put it past him.

And Diavolo would tell...

No. There's no way the brothers know when your birthday is. You don't remember telling any of them specifically. And none of them had mentioned anything about it approaching. None of them had been acting shifty either, and that's saying something. You know at least Levi and Asmo are terrible at keeping secrets. Mammon too if you pay him to spill gossip on any given being in the realm, family or not.

You shake yourself from your daze, spitting into the sink and seeing a mix of fluoride and blood. Whoops. Your thoughts had you brushing your teeth way too long. Splashing water on your face, you attempt to bring yourself back to reality to finish getting ready to go downstairs.

You slip on your RAD uniform and straighten out the jacket. Damn, birthdays are good for one thing. Maybe if you had told Lucifer, he would have let you skip today, or at the very least sleep in. Yawning, you look in the mirror, adjusting your hair so you look at least presentable. You mindlessly open the door to the hallway, meandering as you make your way down to the dining hall. You're in absolutely no rush to go to school. But as you approach the room, something shocking pulls you out of your stupor;

It was quiet.

Like, dead quiet.

You speed up your pace, now worried about what you'd find.

And you're surprised to find Lucifer sitting by himself, sipping on some kind of concoction, eyes meeting yours as soon as you walked in.

"Ah, good morning, MC."

"Morning, Lucifer. Where is everybody?"

He closes his eyes as he begins to sip his drink once more. "Have you forgotten its Saturday?"

You mentally face palm. Right, Saturday. No school. And here you are with your R.A.D. uniform on, looking dumb as hell.

"But it's a good thing you're dressed and ready to go. Lord Diavolo has requested your assistance."

"Oh, with what?", you question. This was out of left field.

"Extra student council work. It particularlly relates to the exchange program, so it will be you going. I will accompany you, of course."

"Oh, okay... I guess. Some kind of warning would have been nice", you mutter to yourself.

"Is there a problem, MC?", he questions in that intimidating tone that kind of still scares you to this day.

"N-no, not at all. I guess I'm ready to go."

"Excellent, then let us be off."

"No! C'mon, I told ya to the left!"

"Mammon, that's your right."

"You know what I meant!"

Hands on his hips, Mammon stands a few feet back, scrutinizing his brothers at their best attempts at following his not-so-clear instructions.

"Well if you don't like how we're doing it, why don't you do it yourself?", Levi snaps from his place on the left side of the Happy Birthday banner he holds in his hands.

"Yeah, Mammon! I don't wanna break a nail right before the party!", Asmo whines on his own ladder, holding the right side of the banner.

"Oh I'm sorry, I don't remember raising a bunch of whiners!", Mammon slides his sunglasses he refuses to take off even inside down the bridge of his nose to leer at the two youngers.

"You didn't raise us at all!", Levi exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air.

"Well I'm older than ya, that should count for somethin'", Mammon says matter of factly.

As Levi throws his hands up in disbelief at his incredulous older brother, the motion causes the other side of the banner to slip through Asmo's hands, half of the letters spelling "Birthday" scattering to the ground.

"Oh, great. That's great. Great job, you two", Mammon crosses his arms, clearly annoyed.

"You know, you're lucky this is for MC!", Levi sighs, growing increasingly tired at Mammon's attitude.

"Oh yeah? And why's that?", Mammon challenges back, not helping the situation at all.

"Becaaaause, if it wasn't, neither of us would be helping you. You should be thanking us!". Asmo remains cheery as he hops back down the latter, carefully bending down to pick up the unstrung letters to add them back to the banner. "You know we're only doing it for them!".

"Of course we're only doing it for them, you think we would go through all this trouble for you?", Satan groans, rolling his eyes as he walks by the three to set down the decorations in his hands, stopping to take stock of what was left to hang up.

"Wha- Now why'd you gotta go and say that for!", Mammon pouts back at the fourth born.

"Can you stop trying to boss people around and actual help for once?", Satan questions, roughly shoving a roll of streamers into Mammon's hands. "Here, make yourself useful."

"Tch!", Mammon grunts under his breath, but takes the streamers all the same, walking towards the supplies and grabbing a roll of tape off the table.

While the halls of the House of Lamentation could already be considered ornate, the boys were doing their best to kick it up a notch. It was a surprise party for you of all people, of course they were going to do everything they can to make it as extra as possible.

"So, is this still a surprise? Or have you already accidentally blabbed off to them", Satan asks, not sparing a glance to Mammon as he began to unroll his own set of streamers.

"Wow, ya really have that little faith in your big brother, eh?"

"Well, you follow them around like a lost dog 24/7. Chances are you already slipped up and told them something".

"W-well.. uh...", Mammon wracks his brain trying to remember exactly what he said to you that could have kind of maybe accidentally a little teeny bit ruined their plans for your party.

"So you did, didn't you!", Levi raises his voice, now taping his side of the banner to the wall.

Asmo takes a sharp gasp as he adheres his side as well. "J'accuse!"

"I-I didn't! I swear! At least I think", Mammon defends himself, muttering the last part under his breath.

Before the other three can begin to press him, the heavy front doors of the HOL swing open, two figures walking in side by side.

"We're back", Belphie calls out, walking into the house, cake in hand.

"Oh, good. How's it look?", Satan wonders, setting down the supplies in his hand to walk towards the youngest, leaning over the box in his hand.

"It held up great on the trip back", he responds.

"Sorry it took so long", Beel says to no one in particular, nodding his head affirmatively.

"I think Beel ate every other dessert they had for sale", Belphie chuckles, looking to his twin who smiles in response.

"Well, thank you for leaving this one in tact", Satan says, relieved that somehow sending gluttony to pick up your birthday cake did not end poorly.

"Of course. I'll always share my desserts with MC", Beel states, face super serious as if to show how important this was to him.

"We'll go put this in the fridge. Need help with anything else?", questions Belphie.

Satan shakes his head in response, a small smile making its way to his face. "No, no. We've only got decorations left over here and I think the four of us have it handled. Have you heard from MC yet?"

Belphie hands the cake off to Beel, taking his D.D.D. out of his pocket to check his notifications, pushing his hair out of his face to look at the screen. "Not in a bit. The last I heard they complained that Lucifer was making them go help Diavolo with official R.A.D. junk. That was about two hours ago".

"Wow, they must really got 'em runnin around. They haven't even texted me back yet", Mammon looks at his phone is disbelief.

"They haven't texted any of us back, Mammon", Levi reminds the former.

"Yeah, but I'm their first! They text me a whole of a hell lot more than you lot!"

"That's because you text them incisively", Satan remarks, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, clearly becoming annoyed.

"But-"

"Can you shut up and keep helping me hang these?", Satan turns towards Mammon, clearly trying his best not to lash out.

"Gah! Fine.", Mammon grumbles as he makes his way towards the back wall of the room. "Hey, fish brain, primadonna, come help me out, would ya?"

Levi's anger begins to boil to the surface once more as he snatches the streamers out of Mammon's hands. "Again. You are so, so lucky this is for them", he spits vitriol as begins to unroll the bundle.

"Exactly, this is for them, so let's try to get along while we finish this, kay?", Asmo chimes in, walking over to help Levi begin to find a place to hang the crêpe paper.

"Right, then we'll be right back", Beel says as he and Belphie make their way towards the kitchen.

"Luke is also bringing a cake, so can you leave room in the fridge for his?", Satan calls out to them as they go.

"Oh, don't worry. I'll make room", Beel confirms, speeding up to begin eating enough stuff out of the fridge so that both cakes could be chilled.

"I didn't mean eat...the entire....ugh", Satan grunts, realizing there's no point in redirecting Beel when it comes to food. He looks to the watch on his wrist to gauge the time before turning back to help the others. He takes out his own D.D.D. and shoots a quick text in a secret group chat you had just so coincidentally been left out of.

OPERATION: S.U.R.P.I.R.I.S.E (12)

Satan: We're almost done over here, what's your ETA Lucifer?

Lucifer: We'll finish up soon. MC is still under the impression that this work is critical for the student council. I believe they are almost done.

Satan: Seems everything is going smoothly then?

Lucifer: I'd like to say that but...

Before Lucifer can finish his message, a picture of a very, very happy Lord Diavolo holding something very colorful in his hands pops up on the screen.

Diavolo: Satan! Look at what Barbatos and I procured at the store for MC! It's one of those colorful horses humans whack with sticks to celebrate! I believe it's called a pen-yada!

Barbatos: Pinata, my lord.

Diavolo: Yes! Yes a pinata! Now more importantly, would any of you happen to have a very big stick?

Lucifer: For... what? Exactly?

Diavolo: Well MC is going to need something to open this up this paper pony thing with!

Barbatos: Donkey, my lord.

Satan: Lord Diavolo, not to be presumptuous but... what did you fill that thing with?

Diavolo: Oh ho ho! Wouldn't you like to know! But that's for me to know and MC to find out, right Lucifer?

Lucifer:...

Satan quickly backs out of the text thread to open one that is rarely touched; and messages his oldest brother.

1 & 4 (2)

Satan: What exactly is in that thing?

Lucifer: I am honestly not entirely sure.

Satan: Great. Could it kill a human?

Lucifer: I doubt Barbatos would have let him put anything lethal inside.

Satan: But do you know if Barbatos knows if its lethal to humans?

Lucifer:...

Lucifer: I will... be right back.

Satan's attention is ripped away from his phone screen when he hears his least favorite noise; the sounds of his brother's bitching yet again.

"It's crooked."

"How is it crooked?"

"What, do ya not have eyes?"

"Well it's hung isn't it? I didn't exactly see you running to do it yourself."

"I'm more of a watch and lead kinda guy."

"IF you'd two would be so kind", Satan starts, aiming his voice at Mammon and Levi, who had already begun to argue again, "MC will be on their way home any minute now. Can you get your act together before they walk in and witness this tragedy?"

The boys grumble under their breaths but stop all the same. They know the journey from the demon lord's castle to the HOL isn't that far, so now it was crunch time.

While Levi, Mammon, and Asmo finish up decorations, Satan, Beel, and Belphie begin to set up the rest of the party, setting out various foods and refreshments.

A knock at the door startles everyone, causing the room to fall to a hush, all eyes now staring at the front door.

"Can somebody open the door? This thing is really heavy!"

A collective sigh falls over the room as Beel walks to the front door and lets Luke, Simeon, and Solomon into the common room.

Beel takes the cake from Luke's hands, beginning to walk towards the kitchen.

"H-Hey! Give that back, you big oaf!", Luke shouts up at Beel who doesn't even question his insult.

"What? You said it was heavy? I'm gonna put it in the fridge next to the one Belphie and I got them."

"O-oh", Luke suddenly looks both relieved and sheepish, looking over to Simeon only to be met with that face Simeon makes at him when he knows he needs to apologize for being rude to anyone. "Sorry, Beel."

"We appreciate the help", Simeon beams at Beel in his own attempt to smooth everything over.

"So, do you need help with anything else? I hear MC could be arriving back at the house at any moment", Solomon asks, directing his question at Satan.

"I believe that's it, besides the presents. Would you mind-"

Solomon cuts him off before he can finish his sentence, "No at all, show me the way."

As the two finish up bringing all the gifts downstairs, setting them on the table across from the snacks, everyone's D.D.D.'s buzz with a text message.

OPERATION: S.U.R.P.I.R.I.S.E (12)

Lucifer: We are almost there. Prepare yourselves.

"You heard the man, everyone get to hidin'", Mammon shoos everyone off into different corners of the room where they would be invisible from the door's threshold.

And they wait.

And... they wait.

And? They wait?

OPERATION: S.U.R.P.I.R.I.S.E (12)

Mammon: Lucifer, what the hell's goin' on, huh? We've been hidin' for like ten minutes now!

Lucifer: Something has happened, give me a moment.

There are confused murmurs and worried looks exchanged as the whole room waits for another update. Another five minutes passes by.

Mammon: Yo! Lucifer, what the hell?

Asmo: Yeah, is everything alright?

There is still no response from any member of the group that was traveling back to the house with you.

"Ugh! I can't take this anymore. I'm gonna ask them what's up", Mammon exclaims, beginning to text furiously.

"Hold it! Give them a minute. I'm sure there's a logical explanation as to why they are late", Satan reasons, not able to hide the worry also reflected onto his face.

Another five minutes...

Partners in Crime (2)

Mammon: Hey, where the hell are ya?

Mammon: You're really startin' to freak me out right now.

Mammon: And Lucifer won't answer his phone.

Mammon: If you're in trouble you better summon me right now, dammit!

Mammon starts down at his phone in quiet desperation hoping to hear something, anything from you. Please.

Finally, after another few minutes pass by, his phone dings back.

Partners in Crime (2)

MC: I'm fine.

MC: And I really appreciate it.

MC: But I kinda just really wanna be alone right now, okay?

MC: Can you tell the guys I'm fine?

Mammon grunts in frustration, annoyed by your nonchalantness about the situation.

"Are they okay?", Asmo asks, worry clearly laced in his voice.

"Yeah, Mammon, tell us what they said!", Luke echos back, also clearly afraid.

"Just gimmie a minute, alright!", Mammon stresses, beginning to type again.

Partners in Crime (2)

Mammon: Whaddya mean tell them you're alright?

Mammon: Get over here and tell them yourself, dammit!

MC: Mammon, I'm fine, okay. I'm gonna turn off my D.D.D., I need to spend some time alone, okay?

Mammon: Ya know, I really don't like it when you're all ominous!

MC: Mammon, I already know. Diavolo let it slip on the way home. I really do appreciate it, but I just want to be by myself today, alright?

Mammon: Now why the hell would anyone want to be alone on their birthday? You're being ridiculous.

MC: Have you ever stopped to think about how I feel towards my birthday? I've never told any of you about it. I don't even know how you found out, besides Lucifer peeking at my R.A.D. files without me knowing.

Mammon: Can you stop being humble just for today? Let us celebrate ya. Now tell me where you are so I can pick you up.

Mammon: MC?

Mammon: MC, ya better answer me!

Mammon: I swear when I get ahold of ya I'll...

Mammon: Okay, I don't know what I'll do. But that's besides the point. We already set up all this party stuff for you! We need ya here.

Mammon gets no response from you as his phone gets a notification from a different chat.

OPERATION: S.U.R.P.I.R.I.S.E (12)

Asmo: C'mon Lucifer! What's going on?

Diavolo: I believe... this is my fault.

Diavolo: I got a little too excited about experiencing a real human birthday party, and I kind of let the cat out of the bag so to say.

Diavolo: I believe whatever I said must have offended them, as they ran off. We we're almost there too.

Diavolo: Lucifer told us to wait here while he went after them but I believe he is having trouble finding them himself.

Diavolo: I'm truly sorry. I did not intend to upset them, especially on their birthday. Though, I'm not exactly sure what I did that was so upsetting.

Mammon: I got ahold of 'em but they quit answerin'. Said they want to be alone

Asmo: Alone on your birthday? No way! Why would they want that? :(

Mammon: No clue, but they seemed really upset.

Mammon: I need to find 'em.

Levi: Are you sure we shouldn't just give them space?

Mammon: Nah, I kinda have a feelin' somethin' else is going on. I'll start looking.

Lucifer: Good luck with that. I've searched high and low and I don't have the faintest idea of where they could have run off to.

Mammon looks up from his phone to look at everyone in the room's uneasy faces.

"Well, how about a search party?", questions Solomon. The room begins to murmur in agreement before Mammon speaks up.

"Nah nah nah, no. I got this. Let's not overwhelm them, alright?"

"Why should you get to be the one to go find them?", questions Levi, obviously jealous.

"Well I'm the only one they texted back, ain't I? They're my human, what kinda guardian would I be if I didn't look for their sorry ass?"

Luke's eyes well up with tears. "I-I hope they're okay... they didn't even get the chance to try the cake I made them...". Simeon places a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry Luke, Mammon's going to take care of it, isn't that right Mammon?".

"Yeah, I'm on it pipsqueak, don't even worry 'bout it".

"Oh, that makes me feel soooo much better", Luke refutes in the most sarcastic voice he can muster before taking a beat and adding on at the end, "Please make sure they're okay, Mammon."

"Yeah, I got it kid."

Mammon ruffles Luke's hat into his hair before glancing at his D.D.D. one more time.

"I'll let y'all know when I find them, so keep your ringer on. But don't go swarmin' them either, okay? I need to figure out what's goin' on with them".

"Right", Satan gives a firm nod, one hand on his chin. "We'll be here".

Mammon gives a curt nod back before heading out the door. Well, at least he knows you're not at home, so he can rule that one out. If only this whole summonin' thing worked both ways. He could just appear in front of ya right now and make everythin' okay again. Why couldn't your stubborn ass just summon him? If you're going to sulk on your birthday, wouldn't you like a sulking buddy?

He's thankful that he knows you well enough. That'd he'd be the one to find you, to find you first. That'd mean he'd be first to see you, first to check up on you, first to comfort you, first to hold you.

Okay. He's getting ahead of himself.

Well, there's not very many places a human could hide in the Devildom and be safe, and even less places where you could hide and be alone. And he knows you're not stupid enough to put yourself in danger.

Not without him there.

Process of elimination finds him where he thinks he'd be most likely to find you, the edge of the forest near the HOL. It's peaceful there. You had dragged him to that spot time and time again to just sit and stare at the lake ahead.

He's relieved but not shocked when he sees your slouched over form sitting on the ground, hands picking at and ripping individual grass blades out of the ground while you stared intently at them.

He watches you for a moment before speaking. He doesn't want to scare you, so he clears his throat first. "Care to tell me why ya wanna spend your birthday alone, torturin' innocent blades of grass in the woods? Can't say it's my thing, but it does make ya look kind of weird. But to each their own".

You give a quick little "ha", before shifting your attention back down at the ground, finding your shoelaces now very interesting.

Well, a 'ha' is better than nothin'. Honestly he's just happy you didn't ignore him, or tell him to go away.

He slowly approaches and sits down next to you on the ground, watching you twirl the aglet between your fingers.

"Tell me what's goin' on with ya, huh? It's not like ya to just run off like that. Had everyone worried sick 'bout ya."

You make a solemn noise, not looking up, continuing your fidgeting. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize, just...just talk to me, okay? What's goin' on up there?", he says, exemplifying his point by poking you in the forehead, causing you to giggle a very small amount.

"There ya are', he smiles back at you - but can't hide the concern on his face.

You finally drop the lace from your hand and scoot to face him. He meets your eyes and waits patiently, just like he always does. Infinitely patient, just for you.

You take a long breath, breathing out hard before starting. "I've... never told any of you when my birthday is."

He waits, letting you continue to speak.

"There's a reason for that. I don't... I'm not comfortable... ugh. This sucks."

He puts an arm around your shoulder and pulls you into an awkward -'you're-both-sitting-on-the-ground-criss-cross-applesauce-so-its-very-uncomfortable' half hug. What? It's the best he can do in this situation, in the current position you're both sitting in. Don't judge him.

You look ahead, now refusing to make eye contact as you continue. "I don't like birthdays. Or my birthday specifically really. I don't exactly have... fond memories of it. Like at all."

He waits a second to see if you have anymore to say before he speaks. "Yeah? Is that right?", his face hardens. The idea of you never feeling happy on the day you're supposed to be at your happiest does something to him, and it's not good.

"I stopped expecting to celebrate any of them very early on. It was just another day really. Most the time everyone would forget anyway. So, I just let them. It... doesn't exactly make for the best day."

"So the idea of celebratin' upsets you?"

"Yeah. I guess something like that. I really appreciate what you and the others were trying to do for me, I really do! But... it just brings back awful memories", you say, resuming to pull at the grass around you again.

"I getcha. We all had a problem with birthdays too for awhile."

"You did?", you question, genuinely surprised.

"Yeah, heh. Another birthday just meant another year marking how long ago we fell. And ya know... how long ago we lost Lilith. And Satan, man, he had the worst time with birthdays. He was always so enraged, mad that he was born from Lucifer's image, and he sure as hell didn't want to celebrate that. And we didn't make him."

"You didn't?"

"Nah. We just left each other alone on those days. It was kinda an unspoken words kind of thing. But overtime, we all became more comfortable with the idea of bein' here. We got happier about the life we were livin' now, so it just felt right to start celebratin' em."

"I see", you respond, your grass pulling movements ceasing.

"Do you think you'd wanna give that a shot? Celebratin', I mean."

You stay quiet as he tries to catch your gaze. "We've already got the whole party set up. Balloons, presents, the whole nine yards. Luke even made ya a cake and if ya don't try it I think he'll cry so hard he'll throw up".

You giggled at his anecdote, "He so would not."

"He so would! He was so worried about ya, asked me to bring you home safe."

You sniffle a little. "He did?"

"Yeah dummy, everyone did. If you haven't noticed, we all really care aboutcha a whole lot."

You smile at his words. "I'm well aware of that".

"Then," he stands up, dusting himself off then reaching a hand out to you to help you stand, "why don't ya give it a shot. Now, I won't make ya do anything you don't want to do, but I know everyone's just really excited to see ya. We can treat it like a normal day if you really want. But, why don't ya let the people that care aboutcha take care of you for today, huh?"

You pause for a second, looking up at him.

"I promise I won't let anythin' happen to ya. And if you get there and decide you just wanna go straight to your room, then that's what we'll do. But c'mon, won'tcha at least give it a chance?"

You let out a sigh before giving a small smile and taking his hand.

"Atta human", he beams, pulling you up to your feet.

"Now c'mon, we got a very important human to celebrate."

As you begin to walk back towards the HOL, hand in hand, he wonders aloud.

"So, how exactly did Dia spoil it for ya?"

"He asked me if I'd ever seen a pen-yada."

"Of course he did."

[middleearthpixie]

The Ties That Bind ~ Chapter One

Summary: Although Erebor is his once more, Thorin knows there is still a great threat to the peace of Middle Earth. Azog is gone, but another has taken his place and has sworn to finish what Azog began. Erebor is back, but it’s sadly lacking in protection and as much as he hates the thought of it, Thorin knows there is one thing that will guarantee the safety and continuation of his line.

War is coming and all Eirlys of Mirkwood wishes to do is fight alongside her brother Legolas and the other elves, united with Men and Dwarves in their attempt to quell the renewed tensions between them and the orc army of the north. But, her father, Thranduíl has other plans. Unite his kingdom with the newly reestablished kingdom of Erebor and use the power of both to defeat the orcs.

An arranged marriage that neither side wants, but both sides need. But what happens when the two sides realize that maybe—just maybe—being together isn't quite as bad as they'd thought...

Pairing: Thorin x ofc Eirlys of Mirkwood

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.1k

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Erebor

“Thorin, will you just listen to reason?”

Thorin spun about to stare at his younger sister with a look that would have terrified a lesser person. Although it took more than his ire to make Dís back down, that didn't mean she wouldn’t be sorry she stood up to him in the first place. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. You are being unreasonable.”

“Am I? Am I truly being so unreasonable? Because from where I stand, I’m being perfectly reasonable.”

“You need to settle down, to marry and hopefully produce an heir. You’ve said so yourself. So, why is this such a terrible idea?”

He rolled his eyes as he paced along the length of the Throne Room. In the two years since he and his Company retook Erebor, and since he finally recovered from the near-fatal wounds he’d received in the process of said reclamation, the kingdom had come a long way. When they’d first returned, the once-mighty kingdom beneath the Lonely Mountain was little more than a ruin, having housed a treasure-obsessed dragon for over a century. It had taken work beyond measure to return the kingdom to its glory and for the first time since he and Balin had first come through the secret door, Thorin thought they might actually accomplish the task.

But, there were rumblings once more. The orc army, nearly decimated with the death of their leader, Azog the Defiler and his son and heir, Bolg, appeared to be growing stronger once again. And while Erebor was on its way to its return, it wasn’t there yet and its army was nowhere near large enough or powerful enough to take on a renewed orc power. Plus, he’d heard the rumors of Sauron, and if those rumors were true, Erebor could be in very real trouble in a very short time. 

However…

“She is elven,” Thorin said once he’d reached the far end of the large, rectangular chamber. Erebor’s throne, a massive block of elaborate carved obsidian, etched with gold and silver, was the only thing in the room and that was fine, as Thorin only usually came into it when he needed to think.

“So? The elves fought alongside you, didn't they?”

“She is the daughter of Thranduíl and I’d eat the Arkenstone if anyone told me he would be willing to allow his only daughter to come here.”

“There’s only one way to know. And Kíli said one of Thranduíl’s advisors brought up the possibility of an alliance between his family and ours. They took quite the hit themselves, if you remember. So apparently, he is quite open to the idea.”

He rubbed his forehead with one hand, a heavy sigh rising to his lips. Yes, he needed to think about marrying. And yes, Erebor’s army was only barely such. And finally, yes, an alliance between Erebor’s ruling family and Mirkwood’s ruling family would be wise and powerful. Especially now that the elves of Rivendell had been slowly taking leave of Middle Earth. They’d just begun their exodus, but he knew from his last visit to Rivendell that Elrond was also planning the time when he would join his kin.

But Thranduíl, of all people. The same smug princess king who’d simply tossed Thorin and his company into the Mirkwood dungeons over a perceived slightly that Thorin himself actually had nothing to do with. 

And now his sister, and his nephew, (and most likely his nephew’s wife, Tauriel, who had been a captain in the Mirkwood guard) were already making plans and testing the water for him to marry the princess king’s daughter. His only daughter. Who was, no doubt a spoiled and pampered princess to boot. 

“She’s very pretty,” Dís broke in, her voice slightly singsong in tone. Then, in her normal voice, she added, “At least, Kíli thought so.”

“Kíli thinks anything female is pretty.”

“Now, that is neither true nor fair.”

Dís was right. They’d traveled to Mirkwood only weeks earlier for Kíli and Tauriel’s wedding, where Thorin had caught a glimpse of Mirkwood’s only princess. Tall. Slim. Hair so blonde it looked almost white. Typical elf of the Woodland Realm. Pretty, but she probably knew it and he could only imagine how conceited she was as a result.

Still, this was one argument he knew he stood almost no chance of winning. Dís had thought her points through and perfectly so. Like it or not, he would most likely be marrying Eirlys of Mirkwood. 

He sighed, his shoulders slumping, and lowered his hand. “Dís, think about what you suggest? The Line of Durin would become half elven.”

“And the line of Thranduíl would become half dwarven.” She offered up a mischievous smile. “And I take a rather childish delight in that, myself.” 

“Of course you do.” He strolled back toward her, then skirted her to sink into the cold obsidian throne. “And you see no problem with this? None at all?”

“Thorin,” she moved closer, her hand coming to rest on his knee, “is the idea so abhorrent to you? I mean, you do have to marry sooner rather than later and if Kíli is to be believed, you could do far worse than Eirlys of Mirkwood.”

Despite what he’d said only minutes earlier, Kíli did have a eye for pretty girls, and Eirlys was most definitely striking from a distance. Up close, she was probably even more so. If nothing else, he’d at least enjoy gazing upon her. Small comfort, but if it was the only one, he’d take it.

But Thranduíl.

He drew in a deep breath. Exhaled slowly. Then met his sister’s gaze and he knew he was doomed. “What if she does not agree with this?”

“What if she does? Think of it, Thorin. Think of how much stronger Erebor will be, and how Mirkwood would be forever allied with us as well. This can only benefit us.”

“Which means I will never be rid of Thrandy.”

She didn't trouble to hide her smile. “No, you won’t. But… that might not necessarily be as terrible as you think.”

“Dís, you spent but a short time with him. Barely enough time for a conversation.”

“Oh, don't be silly. Of course I had more than a single conversation with him and I found him to be rather rather personable.”

“Even so.”

“No, no even so. If you insist on forcing a divide where one only exists in your mind, you will never be happy.”

“Dís.”

“Thorin.”

He just stared, and she stared right back. Seeing that he was not going to win this argument, arguing was wasted time and breath, and so he slowly bobbed his head. “Very well. I suppose it might be worth at least discussing it with him.” 

“Ah, at last, you’re seeing reason.” Dís grinned. “And I’ll wager she is not putting up that much of a fight about this, either.”

“You have lost your mind!”

Eirlys could only stare at her father, wondering if he truly had gone mad, for that was the only explanation for his ludicrous suggestion that she consider taking Thorin of Erebor as a husband.

But her father remained his usual cool, collected self, his blue eyes unblinking and his face void of emotion as he replied, “Why? Because I promise you that I am quite sane and this is a logical solution the problems at hand.”

“He is a dwarf, Father.”

“I am well aware of that, Eirlys.” He tapped his fingers on the woven branches that made up the arm of the woven sticks and vines that made up his throne. On those fingers, he wore several rings, one set with a gold and brown tiger’s eye stone, another that, like his throne, was woven vines set with a golden topaz. “But, as I know you are also well aware, an alliance with the dwarves would be to our advantage.”

“You speak of the Gundabad orcs, don’t you?” She didn't wait for him to nod, for she knew she was right. She’d overheard him and her older brother, Legolas discussing the orcs from the north the previous evening. “But orcs never come this far south.”

“They have been, though, and you know you heard that as well.”

Heat flitted through her at the stern look in his eyes and the definite scolding in his tone. But that didn't stop her from retorting, “Then allow me to fight, as you do Legolas.”

“No. I take no chances with you, Eirlys. And in Erebor, you would be safe, should our perimeter be breached.”

A small knot twisted in the pit of her belly. “You mean to simply send me away?”

“Of course not. Don’t be a fool.” He slowly rose and carefully made his way down the woven staircase to descend from the throne. He had to be careful because not only was the staircase curved, but he wore a ridiculously long robe of gold, green, and brown silk. His hair, the same nearly-white blond as hers, spilled over his shoulders and down his back like spun gold water, and was held out of his face partially by the crown of woven sticks and leaves, dotted with the same topaz and tiger’s eye as his rings. 

He stood only a few inches taller than her, shaking his head as he went on, “You are not being banished, only married.”

“To a dwarf.”

“It is not ideal, but elven royalty is at a premium these days and a suitable husband will not be found amongst those left. King Thorin will give you the life you should have, and that you will be safe, tucked beneath the Lonely Mountain, is only a bit more icing on the cake. He and I have had our differences, but he has since proven his worth and I would trust him with one of my most precious assets.”

She rolled her eyes. “Precious assets?”

That earned her a smile. “You do not agree?”

“You have gone mad.”

He let out a soft sigh, moving to drape his arm about her shoulders, a gesture he would not have done, had anyone else been in the throne room with them. He was loving, but reserved when others were about. After all, he had a reputation to uphold. 

“Eirlys, you must know that I have only your best interests in my heart.”

“By marrying me off to a dwarf?”

His smile faded. “Stop that. You met him at Tauriel and Kíli’s wedding and did not look down your nose at him then.”

Yes, she’d met him. Smiled and bobbed her head and then went off to dance with her friends, hardly giving the long-haired, rather shaggy-looking dwarf king a second thought. She had no idea what plans were going to be in the works following the rather modest wedding. 

“You didn't intend for me to take him as my husband then. And I don't quite understand why I can’t just stand alongside you and Legolas, should the orc army come this far south. You’ve let other women do so.”

“Enough now. You know full well why I will not allow it. You are not simply other women. You are my daughter. And I will protect you with every fiber of my being and if it means protecting this wood and those within it at the same time? I will do it. And in time, you will thank me. You will see.”

Eirlys offered up a long look. “I’ll not promise to not say I told you so, when you are wrong, you know.”

“I expect no less.”

“Good.”

“But, I have the feeling I won’t be wrong, either.”

She ignored that and the smug smile that accompanied his words. “So, when am I to be shipped off?”

Now it was Thranduíl’s turn to roll his eyes. “You’ll not be shipped anywhere. I will send word to Erebor that Thorin and his company should come here and we will work out the finer details at that point. But, you needn’t worry. The wedding will take place here.”

“Because that is my biggest concern. Where the wedding is to be held.” She pulled away, then turned to face him. “May I go then?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Thank you.” 

She was almost to the doorway of woven vines when Thranduíl called, “Eirlys?”

She paused, peering over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“You will see, this is for the best.”

She met his gaze and although she wasn't entirely happy with his decision, she knew that he did have her best interests at heart and would do nothing to put her in any danger. If anything, he was always overprotective of her and had been ever since her mother’s death. Knowing he did what he did out of love was enough to make her sigh softly as she nodded. “I know, Papa.”

His eyes softened and a hint of a paternal smile played at his lips. “Good.”

[padfootagain]

Pirates (VI)

Chap 6: The Predictions of the Witch

Hello, lovelies! Here we go with a new chapter for this Caspian fic!

I hope you like this new chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Caspian x Pirate!Reader

Warnings: depictions of violence in later chapters (fight scenes… nothing too terrible), slow burn, fluff!

Summary: As ships disappear across the sea, Caspian is forced to go investigate himself. But to win against the wild uncharted waters he must cross to reach his people, he needs to bargain with pirates. And then, he finds you…

Word Count: 2540

Masterlist for the series – Caspian’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

Journeying eastward was dangerous.

You were well aware of that fact. Travelling so far from the main land was a risky business, especially in these waters that were filled with treacherous currents, sea creatures that would eat you at the first chance they got, reefs sharper than knives, hostile islands and, of course, pirate ships roaming these waters in search for an easy prey.

But now more than ever, the trip was to be cautiously planned. There were rumours of ships disappearing for no apparent reason. And if there was one thing that you hated as a captain, it was to take a step into the unknown.

You had discussed the first steps of your journey with Sylvia, Caspian and Drinian and had agreed to head to the Red Island. It was but a small piece of rock and sand, a small forest sheltered at its centre. It was home to a small community that was friendly to pirates, and travellers in general. You counted on their help to get some information about the lost Narnian ships. But the journey would take two full weeks, at the very least, and in the meantime you had plenty of things to do and figure out.

Peter was a fraud, and you knew it. You had guessed that he had hidden his true identity, but he also seemed to heavily downplay the power he had over his men. He had claimed to be a rather unimportant Narnian Lord, volunteering for this mission in order to gain glory and attention from the King. You knew he was lying.

Who by Aslan’s tail was he?

You were torn from your thoughts when the bell rang. You got up from your desk, filled with maps and papers covered with calculations, crossed your quarters and walked onto the bridge.

You were not surprised to find Peter perplexed as everyone gathered around and then waited.

���What is happening?” Caspian asked his neighbour, a wolf called Maria.

“To reach Red Island, there are two different paths possible. One is longer, one is shorter.”

“And the safest?”

But Maria laughed in a barking noise, low and almost threatening, like all wolves do when they are in a good mood.

“Nothing is safe in these waters! It will depend on the weather and the current state of the currents. That’s why we need Bethy’s advise.”

“Bethy?”

But the wolf merely nodded towards the old blind woman Caspian had spotted as they departed that morning. Mere hours had passed since they had left Saint Iron, but they had crossed its perilous reefs safely already. They were travelling on an open sea once again, with a horizon that could barely be spotted between the blue of the sky and the blue of the sea.

Caspian frowned hard as two women were helping Bethy walk to the centre of the bridge.

She breathed deeply in the salted air, a smile spreading on her lips, and when she opened her unseeing eyes and turned her face to the heavens, Caspian thought that she could see, for a moment.

She walked towards the banister, turning her empty gaze towards the sea. All were silent on the bridge, and Caspian didn’t dare to speak either.

But Bethy shook her head.

“I cannot hear the sea,” she said.

Caspian was surprised when you crossed the deck and hurried towards the Dawn Treader, that was peacefully cruising next to the Bleeding Twilight.

You easily caught Sylvia’s attention, and placed your finger on your lips.

It took a few minutes for all on the Dawn Treader to grow quiet, but a nod from Caspian quickened the pace of Sylvia’s argument with Drinian and Lacusa. Meanwhile, Reepicheep was staring curiously at the old woman on your bridge.

“Try again, Bethy,” you encouraged her, and she moved closer to the edge a second time.

She took another deep breath, as if tasting the air itself. She raised a palm, listened closely to the waves, to the water hitting the hull of the ships, the wind blowing in the sails. She stood straighter, as if reaching for the sun she had turned her face towards.

It lasted a couple of minutes during which no one dared to move on either ship. And then, Bethy was turning back into the hunched old woman she was, reaching out a hand to silently ask for support; one that you quickly offered. As she took your arm, she smiled, recognizing you in an instant.

“The sea speaks quiet voices towards the south. We should take the short road. Clouds will be heavy on the other path. The currents will be against us if we follow the stronger wind.”

You nodded, turning to Charlotte.

“We head south. We’ll cross the Hundred Banks and change our course after we’ve left the sand behind.”

Charlotte nodded, shouted a few orders, and you guided Beth to sit down on the steps leading to the helm.

“It will be a difficult journey,” she warned you, her voice deepened by age and the salty air of the ocean. “Mind your heart as much as your reason. Great enemies are ahead, and they follow as well. Your sharpest wound will be caused by the dearest voice.”

She took a deep breath, hunched over a little more. But then, her usual, gentle smile was back on her lips, and she closed her blind eyes again.

“Oh, reaching for things to come is a tiring business,” she chuckled.

“Do you want something to eat or drink, Bethy?” you offered, voice gentle.

“No, no… I am fine. Bring me the boy though.”

“The boy? You mean… Peter?”

“Yes, bring him to me.”

You obeyed without a second thought, calling for Caspian. His expression was expectant as he approached.

“Yes, Captain?”

But Bethy held out her hand towards him, and you nodded, silently inviting him to hold her fingers in his.

She took a deep breath, while Caspian turned to you.

“What is this all about?” he asked, confused.

But Bethy spoke to you first.

“He lies. He lies but he doesn’t regret it yet. He will though. Soon, he will long for the truth.”

Caspian frowned hard, tried to let go of Bethy’s hold, but she clenched her fingers tighter, keeping him imprisoned in her hold. Her fingers were deformed by age, covered with wrinkles. Still, her strength was surprising enough for Caspian to be unable to free himself.

“His heart beats to the rhythm of the ocean. Seafarer he is called, or will be soon. He has seen light and darkness alike.”

And then, just like that, the crushing hold was gone, Bethy lowering her hand leaving Caspian more puzzled than ever.

Bethy turned fully to you.

“We can trust the boy. His heart is sad, it longs for something he will find during this journey, although it is not what he set out to find. He thinks he has lost something, but it was merely missing.”

“Can we trust him?”

“His heart is on Aslan’s side. He can be trusted.”

Caspian was even more puzzled to hear Aslan’s name spoken by a pirate, but you turned to him then, and he could only focus on you.

“Bethy is our matriarch, if you will. She keeps us safe,” you explained. “She sees things we do not. Call her what you wish, I don’t know the name you would give her in your land. In Saint Iron, she’s a witch.”

Bethy chuckled.

“And a good one too,” she laughed.

“Excellent, even,” you added.

“A witch? Do you know ancient magic?” Caspian asked, aghast now.

“Everything is ancient, boy,” she answered. “Everything is the same, but different. All that matters lingers through the centuries, no matter who is alive to see them. The rocks, the trees, the sky, the ocean, love, and hatred, and fear… everything is ancient, boy. Even our hearts.”

She chuckled as she rose in a slow, painful movement.

“I will go to the prow for a while. The wind is in a better mood there.”

You helped her through the stairs, but then she was able to hold onto the banister on her own and moved to her favourite spot by the prow.

Caspian remained standing behind you.

“I did not understand the words she spoke,” he admitted, and you let out a laugh.

“No one does. But sooner or later, everything she says turns out to be true.”

“So… you trust her to choose our itinerary?”

Your smile was mischievous when you answered.

“And blindly so. Now, be a good lad, and go help with the sails. These muscles have to be of some use.”

Before Caspian could reply, you had stepped away, and he was left with the ghost of an amused smile on his lips and a thousand questions.

There was a street in Saint Iron that was known for its nightly life. Or, to be more precise, for its brothels and taverns where one could get as drunk as they wished and fully succumb to their darkest desires. Most were too wise to venture there, but some were eager to forget the life they led, so much so that debauchery seemed a pleasant escape.

The fox was not walking through this street looking for a night of pleasure though. Instead, he was there on business. After all, who was easier to rob than a drunkard?

His expert paws were working magic, and he had already seized enough gold to get by for a couple of weeks, when he got himself into trouble. Or rather, when trouble found him.

Trouble that night was wearing a blue and white cloak, a white panache on his pirate hat. And despite handsome features, there was something so cruel in his gaze that all walked away before him.

And the fox was no exception. But then again, Devos was looking for him tonight. And one can never escape Devos’s hold…

“Foxie! How are you?” Devos had a grin on his face, that sent the fox trembling in a corner of the alley.

It was dark already, almost midnight. Besides rare torches, there was but the light of the moon and stars to light up the alley. It was a dead-end, and both Devos and the fox knew it. It smelled of urine and rhum, the cobblestone mixed with mud and dirt that stuck to paws and the soles of shoes.

“Captain Devos! To what do I owe the pleasure?” the animal asked, training a wary eye on the pirate.

“Can’t I bid a good night to an old friend? Must I have a reason to see you?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have called us friends…”

Devos laughed, too loud, the sound becoming threatening as it rang through the deserted street.

“You hurt my feelings here, foxie!”

“My name’s Salomon.”

“I know, foxie. But who calls you that?”

“My friends?”

But Devos was growing tired of the slow conversation. After all, he was looking for information. And he was definitely not friends with Salomon. He reckoned he was not friends with anyone at all, as a matter of fact…

“Actually, you are right, of course. I’m here with a purpose.”

“What do you want?”

Devos noticed the way the fox seemed to curl around the small purse by his side, but the pirate merely chuckled.

“I doubt that a pickpocket of your kind could earn enough gold in one evening for me to bother stealing it from you. No, what I am looking for, my dear foxie, is information.”

“Information?”

“About Blue Feather and her newfound friends.”

Salomon swallowed with difficulty. He was too afraid of Devos not to tell him everything he knew, but if you learnt that he had been revealing information about your crew… he didn’t want to imagine what you would do to him.

“What do you want to know? I’m not part of her crew, I don’t know anything…”

“Come on, don’t play humble with me. I know you like learning an awful lot of useful details about everyone here. After all, you do resort to blackmail every once in a while.”

“Only to make ends meet, it is hardly my main occupation.”

“Still, I know you have information on Blue Feather. So, tell me. What’s going on with her? Who are the men who were with her and when will she leave?”

Devos rested a hand on the hilt of his sword, but he didn’t draw it, and he didn’t need to. Both of them knew that his reputation was threatening enough.

“If I tell you, will you let me go unharmed?”

“Of course. I might need you again, in the future.”

Salomon slowly nodded.

“The Bleeding Twilight was moved during the night, but the tide wasn’t right. Rumour has it that she simply moved her ship to another part of the island, and waited there for the tide to allow her safe passage through the reefs. Some say that she’s still on the island, some say she’s gone with the morning tide.”

“Where did she go?”

“No one knows. I swear, I don’t know.”

“And the men with her?”

“Some claim they are Narnian. Some say they are even Lords! Blue Feather would have been hired as a guide. One of the men was spotted for a while on the island, he was stranded with some of his men on Saint Iron. Narnians. They were heading East looking for something.”

“Something?”

But Salomon shrugged.

“Some talk about ancient Narnian relics, pre-dating the Kings and Queens of old, some kind of old magic. Some say they are looking for disappearing boats. Some say they are looking for Aslan’s land.”

Devos rolled his eyes. Aslan… Ancient kings and queens… tales for children, bedtime stories, all of it.

“So, she’s gone East?”

“There is no reliable information. I’m just talking about rumours. I’m not certain.”

“Careful, as always.”

“Best way to stay alive in this economy…”

“Of course.”

Devos nodded, let Salomon go. After all, perhaps he would truly need him again one day.

The pirate was thinking as he walked back towards his own ship. There was money to be made in the company of Narnians – or rather, in the parting from them and the sinking of their ship. And you were involved, which only made Devos more interesting in the whole ordeal. After all, you were his rival. He both hated and loved you. He wanted to spend a night with you but also cut your throat. Who knew… he hoped he could do both, one day. If he had to settle for only one, then he guessed he’s choose to kill you with his bare hands, though...

A smile formed on his lips as his decision was taken. He shouted his orders to the man on sentry on the dock, right by his ship. He would not wait for dawn, not wait for the fading of starlight.

You had turned into a prey, and Devos was very, very hungry, indeed…

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

Taglist : @reg-arcturus-black

[strangelittlestories]

In the Mutable World, at the apex of the Wars of the Real, two men met in the Crucible of All Things.

This place had not existed a few days earlier. It would not exist the next dawn. But - for a brief time only - this was the most important place in existence. This was the spot where any choices made would echo and ripple, transmuting the world to match its shape.

Did the two men meet there because it was so important? Or did the place become important because the two men would meet there? Who can say. All I can say is what happened:

The men approached the Crucible. One came from the east. One came from the north.

The one who approached from the east was an old soul. He did not look it; his face was youthful, his eyes bright, his smile as easy as a breeze carrying the first scent of spring. But if you were around him for any length of time, you would know it. Nothing he did in particular would give it away - his every gesture was welcoming, his every utterance thoughtful and light.

It was just a vibe. A sense that some part of this man had *seen some shit*.

The one who approached from the north was a goblin. Or, to put it more accurately, one of the fair folk. His was a history of great and beautiful and terrible things - all the joys of endless summer and all the power of sudden storms. This being of noble grace and glory, who could have chosen any form, just so happened to prefer a more feral form.

But you would know as soon as you saw his grin, that this was a creature who had crawled happily out of a thicket of thorns. Who had stepped, whole and fully formed, from a vine of ripe grapes.

Yes, it would be more accurate to call him fair. But it would be more truthful to call him *goblin*.

The two walked, at no great rush, towards the Crucible. One at a steady and even pace, one swaggering.

They came to the centre of this locus of possibility, where a world breaking under its own weight could be made whole or sundered entirely, and they regarded each other for a moment.

"I've come to make things better." Said the Old Soul.

Behind his words, you could feel a history - of strange sights seen and weary roads travelled. Here was a person who had travelled the changing lands and had decided to stay in them. To stop, where he could, and to linger a while and help. A person who saw places and people with needs, and realised in that moment that he was a person with ability. It was only natural that he would do what he could.

"I've come to make things *worse*." Said the Goblin.

And his words were alive with mischief and deep with fatigue. It is so very tiring, after all, to have a good time for such a *long time*. This was a being that knew wildness, knew madness, and knew ecstacy and found beauty and kindness in all of them. He had made it his life's endeavour to help others to do the same. He was a person who had seen all the forgotten corners of the new world and the old and had carefully mapped the fractures that shot through them - who had mapped the world in its breaking and raged against them as much as he loved them.

A moment followed where the air around them was stretched with tension, ready to snap. It was the kind of moment where only two things could happen:

One, they would kill each other. The heavy air would break with thunder and these two beings - these two men who carried a world's potential in their shadows - would wreck themselves against each other.

Or two … what *actually* happened.

The Old Soul looked the Goblin up and down and saw all there was to see, then bit his lip and carefully said:

"Well … I suppose we could do both. If you'd like."

The Goblin stared with goblet-wide eyes back and grinned his grin that was like a crack in the void.

"Yeah. That sounds good. Let's do it … together."

And the two men walked back out of that place of change and brought it back into the world, side by side. 

They made it better. They made it worse. It was beautiful.

[devilruin]

【 Please note! 】 ⎯⎯⎯ Please remember to look at each author's do not interact criteria and blog rules before interacting with them! Also, please check each work for specific tags!

if a link to a piece is :

⛧ ⋅  italicized ― it contains explicit content

⛧ ⋅  bold ― it contains dark content

⛧ ⋅  italicized and bold ― it contains both dark and explicit content

✧ @abbacchiosbelt ― hayley has such great ideas that i just want to pick apart their brain to see how they come up with such splendid thoughts! they're honestly such a fun person, i want to give them all of my love and then some!

personal picks : stuck in a wall with genshin men (reader's just like "oh won't someone come save me? wait... not like that!") , glory and gore with toji (funny story, i didn't know they wrote this and posted the link in a server we share and they were like !!! i wrote that! needless to say i was super embarrassed) , yandere kaeya headcanons (i just think he's neat when he's unhinged) , arranged marriage with diluc (oh nooo what a terrible thing to have to deal with...), and someone great with gojo (gods he walks the line of infuriating/bearable every damn day)

✧ @after-witch ― theo has perfected the art of suspense. her immaculate pacing within her stories always blows my mind, and there has been a few times where i've gone "WHAT!?" while reading some of her works!

personal picks : good as gold (the ending of this! i love the implications sm), wife or death (its always morally correct to make a deal with the devil in one's time of need), alone in the dark with gojo (he's is such a vile pos here... not that i'm complaining!) , a gift with sesshomaru (adore the chance to see sesshy being soft for once), love is the honey with chrollo (honestly reader, same.), welcome home lord scaramouche (the absolute level of bitchiness this man possesses...), glass half full with dazai (him taking advantage of another person's feelings? its more likely than you think!), character development with fyodor (how to gain his approval: read books together), suffrance with chrollo (seeing such a normally calm character snap will never not be satisfying to me), and act of contrition with chrollo (my hand twitched at the end with the physical NEED to slap this man)

✧ @bye-bye-sunbird ― big sis sunnie!!! sunnie is literally a ray of sunshine, she's so sweet and warm-hearted, she always makes me feel so happy when i chat with her! i swear her smile can melt ice and make flowers bloom!

personal picks : necessity with scaramouche (this absolute menace, i hope a bird poops on his precious hat) , yandere diluc soulmate au (diluc refusing to lose the few things that bring him joy, no matter what the cost is, is so delicious) , waltzing with the harbingers (note to self: do not step on their toes) , blaphemous with pantalone (the gods do not exist here in these snowy lands, but don't fret, for pantalone exists in their stead) , and forced marriage with diluc (fuck there's something so sexy about diluc when he snaps...)

✧ @cinnamonest ― lena is a dark content creater / momcon enthusiast / CEO of feral razor / raging kurapikasexual that never misses with her works (did i mention she's got a great sense of humor paired with a big brain?) i love her mei mei series and hope to use her profile template in the future!

personal picks : dad kaeya with his daughter (love all of this series tbh) , the genshin boys' reactions to being slapped in the face (her rankings are always spot on) , genshin boys' dick headcanons (all i can say is yes, this is permanently engraved in my brain) , genshin boys' choice of womb tattoos (sex magic go brr) , dad diluc with his daughter (he'd be such an insistent and possessive father for sure) , moribund with childe (i wonder how many people he'd kill in one go while coming after you. surely he can't go after too many... right? right???) , and crepus with his daughter (thank you lena for always indulging my depraved thoughts!)

honestly everything from her is just so good!

✧ @ddarker-dreams ― lock's mastery of the english language is always a sight to behold! she seamlessly connects minute details from the original work (anime / manga / show / etc. ) or even from some of her own works into her writings, sometimes with no one noticing! scarlet bindings with diluc has a few different references (most of which are obvious) ! she's also a giant sweetheart who i absolutely adore bouncing off ideas with, and wrote cold to the touch with kaeya for me!

personal picks : tempting fate with scaramouche (lil sadistic gremlin will get what's coming for him... eventually) , "your body won't lie to me" with chrollo (he's such a bastard here, i love it) , yandere tartaglia with a fatui recruit darling headcanons (the chilling realization that reader is stuck with him as a superior...) , break a leg with gojo (his insufferableness bleeds through the words here) , the snowstorm with childe (imagining the bloodthirsty look in his eyes as he's coming after reader is just hngh...) , entanglement with kafka (she really is both the unstoppable force and the unmovable object) , smoking gun with johan (the realization johan has after speaking to reader is so good... i could feel the heaviness in the air) , loaded question with arlecchino (i always did believe that she's the type to play with her lover in more way than one...) , aftertaste with kaeya and diluc (never a good time with both of them, that's for sure) , in your eyes with izaya (gaining his attention never ends well, does it?) , exodus with chrollo (ngl, chrollo you're looking real smackable right now) , entrenched with kaeya (the audacity of this man never ceases to astound me) , comfortably numb with chrollo (what is numbness if not acceptance? what is ideation if not desire?) , quid pro quo with chrollo (going to be completely honest this piece lives in my mind rent-free) , and hell within reach (this series has such a special place in my heart, i love lady avalor sm)

not gonna lie, you could probably read any of her works and leave full and happy (or binge them all for a good time!)

(fun fact: lock was the first person i followed, and is one of my biggest inspirations for writing, which is why i like to call her the goddess of yanderes, suspense, and horror)

✧ @dear-yandere ― vanny (or as i like to call her, the yandere queen or queen of yanderes) is another one of the great yandere writers of tumblr! she's also the owner of a big heart (honestly i think she possesses enough love to fill a few blue whale hearts) and is such a compassionate person, whose writing (and artwork) is top tier!

personal picks : diluc's crush dating kaeya (a jealous yandere diluc is always a good pick! ) , acquiescence with pierro (oh yeah, love this old man so much) , little dove with columbina (she's so hauntingly beautiful and also frighteningly eerie) , vladimir (league of legends) at a bar with his darling (can i bite him back? please???) , shuu sakamaki being slightly tsundere + mean (he says he's not looking out for a walking blood bag, he's just upholding his father's rule (like he ever cared about it in the first place)), hisoka being his usual perverted + creepy self (ugh he's so hot like that though) , mafia boss dazai osamu drugging his darling (mafia dazai just hits different) , memento mori (chillingly ironic since it's starring mori ougai) , and little lover (shared harbinger darling) , honestly another writer where you just can't go wrong with any of her works

✧ @hypnoswrites ― their way of crafting stories is like a master painter. each line is a brushstroke and every word brings a new color to the piece. by the time i've reached the last sentence, my jaw is on the floor, my eyes are wide, and i have to take a moment to compose myself (in a good way!) after reading.

personal picks : nightly visit with astarion (fuck he's insufferable like this and im all for it) , quality time with shalnark (the only words i have is oh fuck, he's so manipulative with a soulmate) , heard through the grapevine with shalnark (all i can say is holy shit. i love reader's nen in this and the pacing is exquisite!) , spider cave with chrollo (the utter despair of knowing that everything you did was for naught is such a bitter taste and i gulp it down like the sweetest honey) , to prove oneself with hisoka (fuck yeah reader get his ass!) , and dissonance with demiurge (anti-magic runes? engraved in the walls. hidden listening device? secretly planted. hotel? nazarick.)

if you would like to be removed from this list, please let me know!

© 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐧 — 𝐮𝐩𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝟏𝟏-𝟏𝟑-𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑

[travelingtheusa]

OHIO

2024 August 4 (Sun) – We drove to Toledo today.  First stop was at the Glass City Metropark.  What an interesting park!  They have cabanas that you can rent to have an event.  Someone was having a birthday party in one.  Next to the cabanas was a roller skating rink that can be frozen in the winter for ice skating.  There was a play area with unusual playthings and a climbing wall.  All this sits on the Maumee River with a great view of the city of Toledo across the water.

      At noon, we went to the National Museum of the Great Lakes.  First, was a tour of the James M. Schoonmaker, the largest freighter on the Great Lakes at its time.  It was very interesting.  There were utilitarian rooms for the crew, then there were cruise line quality rooms for guests and the pilot (they don’t call him a captain).  Next to it was a tug boat that was also open to exploration.  We climbed aboard and explored the boat.  Tugs don’t have near the number of  spaces that a freighter does.

      Next was a stop at the Old Bag of Nails Pub.  We thought it was an Irish pub but turned out to be a seafood pace.  Paul had a burger and I had fish and chips.  I really wanted shepherd’s pie.  It was a little disappointing.  The fries were terrible.

     We drove through Toledo on the way back to the campground.  There were many stores and buildings closed up.  But there were also new stops and buildings with lots of murals around town.  I don’t know if the city is returning to its glory days or if it is on the way out.

2024 August 3 (Sat) – We woke to see airmen running on the track.  They must have been conducting PT tests.  Each person wore a numbered vest and ran around at least 3 or 4 times.  If I remember right, the PT test included a 2-mile run.

      We packed up and left at 10:30 a.m.  There were rumblings in the distance and we did get some sprinkles, but no heavy rain.  The drive was uneventful.  We stopped at a rest stop on the interstate.  Ohio has campsites at their rest stops.  We noticed them the last time we drove through Ohio in 2022.  Wish all the other states would do the same.  It is a convenient for a one-night stop on a long drive.

      Arrived at Camp Perry National Guard post in Vienna at 1:30 p.m.  When we went to check in, the clerk made us wait until 2 p.m. (that happened last time we were here, too).  So inflexible.  At 2 p.m. on the dot, she called the people waiting up to the counter.  We were third in line.  They even made a couple who only wanted to buy a tee-shirt wait.

      This is a very nice campground.  The sites are long but a little narrow.  We have FHU with a bathhouse.  The place is neat and well kempt; grass is cut and trees are trimmed. They are about 3/4 full.  Price is a little high for a military campground - $92.22 for 2 nights.

      There are national shooting matches on.  They started on July 4 and go to the middle of August.  We talked with a man who was also waiting to check in who comes here every year.  He said they have more than 15,000 people shoot.  They come at different times, depending on what weapon they use.  There’s pistols, air rifles, shot guns, different types of rifles, then the military hardware.

       Once set up, we drove into town for dinner at the Jolly Roger’s Seafood Restaurant.  We were early – 4:30 p.m. – so we didn’t think it would be very busy.  Boy, were we wrong!  The line was out the door.  You waited on a long line for 30 minutes.  When you got to the window, you placed your order, were given a number, then tried to find a seat in the very crowded restaurant and someone brought your meal to your table.  The menu had Lake Erie perch and walleye (the finest in Ohio) and we each ordered a meal.  The perch was better – light and mild.  The walleye was meatier and more chewy.  Both were good.

      After dinner, we drove the coastal road back to the campground.  Lake Erie is so big.  Looks like an ocean.  I think it is an inland ocean.  There were many gulls, just like on Long Island.  Folks were swimming in the water and boats were motoring and sailing along.

2024 August 2 (Fri) – We drove to Niles to tour the birthplace of President William McKinley.  There was also a McKinley Historical Museum.  He was #7 of 9 children.  The house (which was a replica since the original burned down) was tiny and it was hard to imagine a family of 11 living there.  It only had 3 bedrooms, a small kitchen and dining room, a family parlor and a formal parlor.  The museum was very informative.  It was massive with huge columns reminiscent of Greek architecture.  It was built by a childhood friend of McKinley’s.  I never knew much about this president.  It seemed like he was someone who served during a time when there was nothing going on and he just faded into history.  Boy, was I wrong!  He won reelection and was six months into his second term when he was assassinated.  He did from infection, not the gut shot.  During his term, he initiated tariffs of 100% because he was pro-American business.  His life story was not spectacular.  He didn’t live any way in which you could have predicted he would grow up to be a president.

       After the museum and home, we went to lunch at the Stone Yard Grill & Bar.  The place was small but very attractive.  I had an almond crusted white fish, which I didn’t care for.  Paul had a Cuban sandwich, which he seemed to relish.  We stopped at Meijer for groceries on the way home.  What a place!  WalMart on steroids.

      When we got back to the base, we drove around to check things out.  I spotted an Express Shop and we stopped to see about getting some liquor.  They did not have what we wanted so Paul got a bottle of wine.

2024 August 1 (Thu) – We packed up and left Bellefonte, PA, at 11 AM.  The weather was clear and uneventful, arriving at the Youngstown Air Reserve Station FamCamp in Vienna.  We were last here in 2022.  It is a very nice campground – FHU, clean and quiet, and just $15 a night.  Can’t beat it.

[amaya-writes]

Hello! I was thinking about BHNA and was wondering if you could angst/comfort where its character x platonic reader, and reader is having a terrible day so character comforts them! Have a good day + thanks!

Notes: aw this idea is so cute and I absolutely love it! I feel like I've been writing for the same BNHA characters lately so I decided to write for Denki this time since its been a while.

Warnings: n/a just fluff

Characters involved: Kaminari Denki

Gender-neutral reader, you/yours

Studying to become a pro hero certainly wasn't as easy as everyone made it out to be.

Unlike other courses you had to worry about your mental and physical capabilities to succeed as a hero, while also somehow making the public like you in order to gain support.

At first it was easy to let your excitement of being able to pursue your dreams cloud your overshadow your thoughts, but with time you found yourself giving in to the stress and anxiety.

No matter what you did you just somehow weren't good enough, weren't strong enough. There was always another classmate or hero in training who had encountered overcome obstacles.

Izuku and the others wouldn't understand your struggles, to them, it wasn't a competition but a race you were all running at your own pace. Perhaps that was why you found yourself stationed outside Denki's dorm room in the middle of the night before you could think twice.

He was supposed to be awake. And he certainly wasn't supposed to pull open his room door seconds after your hesitant almost nonexistent knocks.

Yet there he was— Denki Kaminari in all his glory with a set of long black earphones dangling around his neck and a bright yellow Pikachu hoodie obscuring his golden hair.

"What's up, hun?"

You hadn't realised just how overstimulated you were until heard his voice.

The familiar sound of his playful little flirts was enough to have you step forward and collapse against him with your arms loosely wrapped around his waist before you could think twice.

Thankfully, Denki was insightful enough to hold you against him just as you were going to fall, his arms steadily wrapping around you even as he let out a surprised yelp.

"Hey- hey, are you okay? Were you hurt? What-"

His words made your frown deepen as you realised just how concerning the situation must have been, but Denki didn't let you pull away even as you tried to explain yourself.

He instead tugged you further into his room until you were seated on the edge of his bed right beside the switch he was no doubt playing with before you showed up.

"You're not hurt, right?"

You shook your head at his question, making Denki nod firmly before querying you further.

"And nothing bad happened either?"

Another shake of your head, but this time, Denki wasn't satisfied with your silence and turned you to face him.

"Then why are you crying?"

You hadn't even realised a series of fat tears had slipped down your cheeks until he spoke, but by then it was too late to stop yourself from outright sobbing.

But Denki didn't mind, if anything, he seemed more than happy to once again hold you in his embrace as his hand softly carded through your hair while you sniffled away.

"I- I'm just overwhelmed I guess."

He nodded against your head at the confession, but unlike everyone else, Denki didn't bother trying to give you life lessons or console you. He was just there for you, just like he had always been.

"That's okay, hun. Hey-"

He slowly tugged your face back to lock eyes as he continued.

"-I'm always going to be here for you, okay? No matter what."

Spending the night huddled up in Denki's room playing animal crossing and talking about the most random things certainly wasn't what you had in mind after a day of stressful realisations.

But being able to spend time doing stupid teenager things without worrying about the repercussions was exactly what you needed to realise maybe hero work wasn't so bad after all.

[theobjectofyourire]

Can you give us a snippet of what your WIPs are ? I’m so excited to read all of them by the way!! Also don’t pressure yourself too much write at your own pace. Xxx

real talk - seeing this message made me tear up :')

to anon & all of my followers, THANK YOU FOR BEING SO PATIENT. I promise I haven't forgotten about the messages/requests in my inbox, nor have I abandoned any of the wips. They ARE coming, I'm just a terribly slow writer. This message really lifted my spirits and took some of the pressure off, so truly, anon, THANK YOU.

In terms of snippets, yes! I mean, if we're being honest, I have probably close to a hundred wips in the works because I'm incapable of writing like a normal person, but many of those aren't yet fit for human consumption lol. I'd say the two big ones I'm working on rn are Daemond fics - one was initially inspired by the 505 anon, though it's really taken on a mind of its own. the other is a brothel fic, where Aemond finds a certain someone in the heart of the pleasure house 🤭

Here's a peek of the 505 inspired fic (this will probably be finished first):

"It was his nephew he so craved, in truth, as the festivities had left him with something of a bestial hunger. Not a word had been spoken between them, though the glances exchanged were beyond count, the tension of their bond growing with each passing moment. The prince, in his rakishness had gone so far as to run a finger along the table, wet with a few drops of spilled wine, bringing it to his lips and sucking."

And here's a bit of the brothel fic:

"The most tempestuous and unbridled of all dragons, Daemon Targaryen seated himself upon a divan of resplendent amber, all but enthroned with a wantonness befitting the Rogue Prince. He had abandoned his tunic, allowing it instead to adorn a woman by his side, sharing in his high seat. A king of low places, he was more myth than man in the dim light cast by the flames, and Aemond could not but admire the scars that decorated his chest and torso, seemingly sculpted by the Warrior himself. He had the most intemperate urge to run his tongue along the wounds of war, to taste their glory and revere."

Both fics are currently around 3k and I still haven't gotten to the smut on either of them 😅 needless to say, I'm a big fan of building as much tension as possible - so much so that my friend @tattedkhaleesi has brilliantly labelled it smutception🤣

anyway, I hope those crumbs keep you going until I finish and upload! send me all the good writing vibes - lord knows I need them!

[untethereddreams]

Stone Soup

[Story starts below the ~~~ if you wanna skip the commentary/updates]

Guess who finally had enough spoons to type up the second sample story for the translation project! First story can be found here. If you want to be tagged for future updates please interact with the original project post or comment/message me to be added to the list! I seem to be on an up-swing right now so hopefully the first new translation piece, based on the stories behind the 36 Military Tactics collection of folk knowledge, will be done soon!

This story was another piece I wrote that was intended for oral storytelling at a specific event, hence the mention of a menu. I could have reworked the intro to cut that out but it would have taken more spoons than I have at the moment. Since this was intended as a performance piece the pacing and wording is a bit different from my purely written works. Still, it’s a story from my childhood that I'm excited to share with you all (historical accuracy not guaranteed, I’m literally telling it the way I remember it)

~~~

When I first saw that stone soup was on the menu it stuck with me: I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and the more I thought about it the more I knew that there was a different story I needed to tell, a story about a different kind of soup and how it led to the creation of a city.

Growing up, I’ve only heard one person, my father, tell this story, and it is in fact a tale told only by the inhabitants of my home town Xining, the capital of Qinghai, a province caught between Mongolia and Tibet. Until very recently it was an out-of-the-way place renowned only for its proximity to other things, so you can imagine what it was like a long, long time ago, before the city’s creation, all the way back in the Ming dynasty when this story takes place.

It was the Emperor’s birthday and the capital city of Nanjing was gearing up for a celebration like no other. Everywhere you looked decorations abounded and delicious smells permeated the streets. What you didn’t see were the brightest inhabitants of each street, for they were shut away, wracking their brains in secrecy for the glory of their neighborhood. The Emperor had declared that there shall be a Picture Puzzle contest in his honour and every street and neighborhood in the city was to participate. He, his Empress, and his concubines would judge the entries and the winner would receive honour beyond imagine.

One by one, the streets hung up their puzzles and government officials and peasants alike thronged the streets, gawking and guessing at solutions. Soon, one puzzle in particular drew the Emperor’s attention, but what rained down upon its creators was not honour but retribution, for all the Emperor saw in that clever, colourful painting were insults against his beloved Empress. Back then Emperors were akin to Gods, and the wrath of a God is a terrible thing indeed. In his rage, he ordered the entire street banished to the hinterlands at the very borders of the kingdom.

That night, as the oblivious city celebrated around them, every body on that street, no matter how young or old, packed what they could carry and fled from the guards. Fled from their homes. And so, they began their shameful journey to the end of their world and beyond.

It was a long, arduous journey across increasingly desolate landscapes. They sought help whenever they could, but people were wary of drawing the Emperor’s wrath so help was few and far between. Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and as the miles piled on snow began to fall. Soon, it was Chinese New Year Eve, the biggest celebration of the year, full of light and warmth and hope: foreign concepts now to this ragged band of unfortunates. Soul-weary and despairing, they huddled around a tiny fire and began to give up.

But as the children began to cry, the adults roused themselves. They all still had to eat. Someone produced a pot; they stuffed it full of snow and set it to boil. Someone else found their last hunk of dried meat and dropped it inside. One by one, the people gave what little they had to the pot, and as they watched the dancing flames and steam their spirits rose and they were, for that night, creatures of light and warmth and hope once more.

They shared the soup just as they shared their hardships, and when the fire died and dawn broke the horizon the warmth remained. Eventually they came to the foot of the Himalayas, the end of an almost 2000 km trek, and settled there. That settlement became a town, the town became a city, and the city became a metropolis, but those first families never forgot. Every New Years they would gather, make that soup again, and pass on the story of that darkest night, but though they were now warmer and their ingredients richer they could never match the taste of that first pot of soup.

[forever-rogue]

Sprinkle of Cinnamon

Summary | Another dull day at your coffee shop turns much better when an unexpected visitor becomes your favorite regular. 

Pairing | Bucky x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 4k

Warnings | none

Masterlists | Bucky, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The sound of muffled voices - disjointed laughter, a few groans. The ticking of the aging clock on the wall above the front counter. Tick tock tick tock. The sound of the oven timer in the back of the shop. The scrape of pastry knives on cutting boards. The sip of coffee through a to-go cup lid. 

It had all become such a stable part of your life that you could have cried from boredom. Before your regularly scheduled 3:02pm sigh, the door opened, the bell above it twinkling merrily. Your eyes peeled up from your book in surprise at the sudden break in monotony. Casting a furtive glance at the door and stashing your book away, you tried to see who the surprise intruder was. 

Your breath immediately hitched in your throat as you peeked through the pastry case and noticed that it was a man - a very handsome one at that. He was tall and lithe, dressed in dark jeans, topped off with a black shirt and leather jacket. He whipped off his sunglasses and tucked them into his pocket as he looked around the small coffee shop. His eyes were a striking cerulean, contrasting nicely to his dark hair. Classically handsome and modernly well-dressed. 

Shit, shit, shit. Were you really just staring at him pathetically, hiding behind pastries instead of greeting him and welcoming him into your humble little shop?

“H-hi,” your voice. It actually cracked on a one-syllable little word. You wished the ground would swallow you up whole then and there. Rolling your eyes, you cleared your throat and tried again, “hi.”

“Hello,” he shot you a quick glance, a smile gracing his features as he held up a hand and wiggled his fingers. Was everything he did, or at least the two things you’d seen him do - pulling off his sunglasses and greeting you - attractive? Or was he just the first person under fifty you’d had come through in days? 

“Hi,” you repeated, already internally groaning as he laughed lightly and came over to you. He approached the counter slowly, taking everything in stride as he looked around the homely little shop. He looked like a god in this small space, making everything seem old and worn, “what can I get you?”

“Hi again,” he smiled lightly as he leaned against the counter, watching you with keen eyes. You felt a flush of warmth well up in your cheeks as you bit on your lip and stared at the top of the counter, “I don’t take anything special - but you do have a strong dark roast?”

“We do,” that much you could happily offer him. Making a cup of coffee should be an easy and simple thing, “do you take anything in it? A little bit of sugar? Some syrup or creamer?”

“No, thank you,” a little half smile, half smirk combo pulled on the corners of his mouth, “but whatever you have that’s strongest, I’ll take it black.”

“Black? N-no creamer or sugar? Why do you hate yourself that much?” you couldn’t help but blurt it out. As soon as you did, your hands flew to your face in embarrassment as he immediately broke into a fit of laughter. Oh no. This man was going to think you were an absolute clown - whatever chance you had of him thinking anything to the contrary was now long gone, “I-I-I didn’t mean it! I’m so sorry...I should haven’t-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he insisted as he calmed himself down, “it’s not the first time, nor will it be the last, I’ve been asked that. You know, you just grow up with it a certain way, you get used to it.”

“Did your mother never let you try different creamers?”

“Something like that,” there was a huff of laughter as his tongue darted and wet his lips. You tried not to stare. It was a herculean task, “I’ll just take that - the largest cup. Ummm...any pastries you recommend?”

“I like the bear claws,” you shrugged lightly, still embarrassed by your earlier guffaw, “they’re always a good go-to. Do you like them?”

“Tolerable,” he admitted as you giggled lightly, “well then, I’ll take your largest and strongest coffee and a bear claw.”

“I thought you said they were tolerable?”

“I did,” he agreed, “but you recommended it and you look like someone I can trust. And besides that, they do actually look pretty good.”

“I do? They do??”

“You do," he nodded, “unless you’re doubting your own recommendations?”

“Not at all,” you offered up a confident smile of your own, “I’ll have it right up.”

"How much do I owe ya?" he pulled out his wallet but you quickly shook your head, playfully swatting his hand away.

"Its on the house," you insisted softly, feeling shy and nervous suddenly, "for bringing me the most amusement I've had in hours...probably days."

“I’ll get you back,” he grinned as he walked over to one of the empty tables facing the window. You tried to calm your inner squealing down as you watched him walk away, quickly facing the other way when once he sat down facing you. As you got to work on making his coffee, you could swear you could feel his eyes glued to you. But every time you sneaked a glance at him, you found him looking down at his phone, a little smirk tugging on the corners of his mouth. 

It wasn’t long before you finished his coffee and grabbed a fresh pastry from the back and slowly walked it over to him, a new flood of nerves welling up in your tummy. He was handsome - more so than should be allowed - and he looked slightly familiar. It was almost like you were positive you had seen him before, but just couldn’t place where. 

“Here you are,” you set everything in front of him with a flourish as he looked up at you and grinned, “if it’s good, I made it all, if it’s terrible, I wasn’t here.”

“I’m sure it’ll be great,” he promised, shooting you a wink as you offered a small wave and turned to go back to your station behind the counter. But before you could get more than a few feet away, you couldn’t help but spin on your heel as you faced him.

“Do I know you?” you blurted out, your face growing warm as soon as the words left your mouth. He seemed taken aback for a moment and his face flushed lightly as shook his head, “I’m so sorry, it’s just....you just look so familiar…”

“I think I’d remember if we’d met before. I wouldn’t forget seeing a face as pretty as yours,” he said softly. Completely turning the table as you tried not to completely melt into a puddle on the floor. You bit your lip before playfully rolling your eyes and walking away, “hey - what’s your name, coffee girl?”

You turned around and offered him your name before giving him a little mock bow, “but coffee girl works too, coffee purchaser - or do you happen to have a name?”

“Bu-James,” he quickly caught himself as you raised an eyebrow and tried not to laugh too much. His face immediately turned a shade darker as he stared at his coffee.

“Well, Bu-James,” you teased with a wink, “it was nice meeting you. Enjoy your coffee!”

You darted away and to the back as you attended to the pastries that needed to be prepared for tomorrow. Your body was practically buzzing with exciting energy as you tried to focus on the dough and batters, rather than the nervous fluttering in your tummy. Funny how one stranger could turn your whole day around. 

“Silly girl,” you whispered to yourself, vainly attempting to ground yourself in reality. It was one stranger - albeit incredibly handsome and funny - and that was all. Nothing more and nothing less. As soon as he left he wouldn’t even remember the fool that brought him his coffee, Meanwhile, you knew he would be lingering in your mind for some time. A heavy sigh escaped your lips before you finally focused on your work. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was a rainy afternoon, a completely out of the blue summer storm that had caused everyone to revel in the coolness while you were stuck working. It was even more boring than normal - if that was even possible. You cleaned over the same spot on the counter for the tenth time, glaring at it as you tried to eliminate it for good. 

“Hey coffee girl,” your heart practically did somersaults in your chest at the sound of the familiar voice. Be cool, be cool, you repeated to yourself several times before slowly turning to face the door. There he was - in all his golden glory, pulling sunglasses off and sticking them in jacket pocket as he approached, “just who I was hoping to see.”

“H-hey James,” you stammered nervously, dropping the rag to the side as you offered him a small smile. He strolled over at a leisurely pace before leaning on his elbows on the counter and resting his face in his hands. He watched you with a lazy little smile, “what are you doing here?”

“At a coffee shop?” he quirked an eyebrow at you in amusement, causing you to groan before the two of you shared a laugh, “I was thinking a coffee sounded good.”

“And does it?” you turned and gestured to the grinder as he nodded lightly, “coming right up. What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be outside enjoying the nice summer rain?”

“I’ve seen enough rain,” he shrugged as he watched you work, admiring your deft hands and the concentrated  look on your face, “besides, there’s something I wanted to enjoy even more.”

“Oh? And what could that be?” you topped his coffee off with just a sprinkle of cinnamon, “it was the bear claw, wasn’t it?”

“That was pretty good, but that’s not it,” he promised as you handed him the coffee. He gratefully took the coffee and held it to his nose, taking a moment to smell and inhale the delicious scent, “maybe it’s the coffee girl.”

“Stop,” you grabbed the rag and playfully swatted his arm with it, “you don’t have to pretend to be all nice and what not to get the coffee. As far as I’m concerned, it’s on the house.”

“Even if that was the only reason I was here, what’s the reason for it being on the house today?” he leaned in even closer and you could practically feel the warmth of his body radiating onto you. Where his eyes even bluer up close? Was his smile really that magical? Shit. You were in deep and you’d barely even spoken to the man. 

“I highly doubt the shop will dismantle because of one cup of coffee-”

“Two.”

“Fine - two cups of coffee I’ve given away,” you mirrored his position and the two of you watched each other closely, “and besides, maybe the company isn’t too bad at all, James.”

“I’ll take what I can get,” he grinned as the tips of his ears flushed red, “I-”

Just before he could say anything else, the bell above the door twinkled and a small group of people clambered in. You wanted to groan and wished you could tell them to leave, but instead you tore your gaze away from James and to the new arrivals. 

“Sorry,” you murmured softly as he nodded in understanding. You straightened up and reluctantly made your way to the other side of the counter. Before he could leave, you stole another glance at your newly anointed favorite customer and shot him a shy smile. 

Bucky watched you for a few moments before taking his coffee and heading for the door. He caught your eye briefly before raising his arm and giving you a quick wave. You timidly raised a hand in response and crooked your fingers, reluctant to see him go. This had to be the one time you’d had a sudden influx of customers.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It had been several weeks since you’d last seen James. Fifteen days to be exact. Not that you were counting or anything. Things just hadn’t been quite the same since. Days seemed to drag on and no matter how many customers you had been getting, both old and new, no one was quite the same as him. Everyone was so average. 

Before the break in his regularity, he was making it a habit of coming every other day or so, even if it was just for a few moments to say hi and grab a coffee before heading out for work. You come to enjoy his presence, and getting to know little bits and pieces of him. You should have known better than to slowly fall for a regular customer. Sigh. 

It was a slow evening, and you’d made your rounds and checked on the few customers that were lingering in the shop, doing things such as studying or reading. You’d cleaned the bar and counters down a couple of times by now, and decided if you cleaned any further you’d wipe them away altogether. You pulled out a book you’d been wanting to get to forever, deciding you might as well make some use of your time.

“Slacking on the job?” you almost jumped out of your stool at the sound of the familiar voice, slamming your book shut in surprise, “sorry, coffee girl, didn’t mean to scare you!”

“James,” you immediately knew who it was from his warm chuckle as you clutched at your racing heart, “y-you didn’t scare me…”

“Hmm,” he was leaning against the counter, watching intently as you put your book away, “is that why you jumped out of your seat and almost threw the book at me?”

“Yup,” you agreed with a shy smile, mirroring his position, “definitely why.”

“You can admit you were scared,” he insisted, “you’re pretty cute when you’re scared.”

“Shut up,” you bit your lip as you studied the wood grain in the seemingly ancient counter. He nudged his elbow lightly with yours, causing you to turn your attention back to him. The two of you stared at each other quietly for a few moments, “you came back.”

“Of course I came back,” he said as if it were obvious he would. You had certainly had your doubts - after all, why would he waste his time coming back to a small little hole in the wall? He tilted his head to the side and gave you a curious look, “did you think I wouldn’t?”

“I...ummm...no, I didn’t,” you confessed quietly, “it’s just, you were gone for a few weeks and then...this place doesn’t exactly seem to fit your vibe is all.”

“I was...working,” he admitted, although judging by the use of the word working, you couldn’t help but wonder what he did, “and trust me, this place is much more my style than anything fancy or whatever you want to call it. I came back as soon as I could.”

“Whatever for?”

“Really?” he laughed as your face felt warm and you hid behind your hands, “maybe it was for the excellent coffee, maybe for the coffee girl.”

“You’re too much,” you said as you reluctantly met his eyes, “you want a cup? I can make you one…”

“I’d love some,” he nodded, “but only if it’s with whatever little thing you do to it.”

“A sprinkle of cinnamon,” you confessed as you pointed to the freshly ground cinnamon you’d prepped earlier in the day. A look of surprise crossed his face as he just grinned at you, “it’s my secret little go, if I didn’t tell you, you’d never know. But it just adds a little something.”

“It makes it-” he was quickly cut off by the loud vibrating of his phone. He rolled his eyes and sighed as you laughed before fishing it. As soon as he saw who was calling him, he sighed again and gave you an apologetic look before answering, “what?”

Your eyebrows shot up as you tried to hold back your giggles at his exasperation. You busied yourself with brewing him a fresh cup and tried not to listen in too much - you were curious but not nosy. Singing quietly under your breath, you had his brew ready in no time. When you turned around, James was looking at you with a guilty little expression. 

“Everything alright?” you set the coffee down in front of him as he gratefully took it.

“I have to go,” he confessed, and he actually seemed reluctant to do so, “it’s...work. It’s just...pretty important. I’m sorry...I wanted to stay.”

“Now you’re being crazy,” you insisted, although the idea that he actually came to see you, made your heart skip a few beats, “go and take care of something much more important! If you need a cup of coffee once in a while, you know where to find me.”

“Ahhh, I like you coffee girl,” he reached into his pocket to attempt to get his wallet out. As usual you shook your head and pushed his hand away, “fine. Alright. Let me give you something else instead.”

“Okay, now that sounds a little creepy,” you laughed as he realized his gaff. His face turned a light shade of pink as he reached for a napkin and the pen behind the counter. He quickly scribbled something down as you had a feeling you knew exactly what it was. But you didn’t want to get too ahead of yourself…that was for later.

“Here,” he said softly as he pushed the nap towards you, “that’s my number - obviously. I...umm...if you ever want to talk or whatever, you can...yeah.”

“I’m pretty sure I can figure out what a number is for,” you shot him a wink as you grabbed the napkin and pulled it closer. Your heart was practically hammering in your chest at this point, “I'll see you around, James.”

“See you around, coffee girl,” he said softly as he waved his coffee cup at you and started to head to the door, “have a good night.”

“You too,” you said softly as he left under the twinkling bell of the door. You watched him walk away through the windows, sighing wistfully. He came back. He gave you his number. Holy shit. 

You looked at the napkin and the number he wrote. It all seemed normal until you saw that he had written his name. Except it wasn’t his name. 

Instead of James, it said Bucky. 

Who the hell was Bucky? 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You paced around your apartment as you stole furtive glances at your phone. To text him or not to text him? That was the question. 

It had been almost four days since he’d given it to you. You wondered if he thought about you. If he was wondering why you hadn’t reached out to him. Your stomach churned with guilt.

After he gave you his phone number, you’d gone home and googled it, along with both the names you now knew him by - James and Bucky. With just those few bits of information, it wasn’t hard to figure out who he really was. You were almost positive that he didn’t tell you his real identity for fear of you freaking out or being afraid of him. But you weren’t afraid - you had no reason to be. You just wished he would have told you in the first place, but you understood his reasons. 

A heavy sigh escaped your lips as you snatched up your phone and decided to just text him. Why not? There was literally nothing to lose. You might as well see where this went.

Hey James. Or do you prefer Bucky? It’s Coffee Girl. 

As soon as you sent the text, a sense of regret welled up in your belly and you groaned heavily. You tossed your phone onto the couch and headed into the kitchen to get a glass of wine. Anything to occupy your mind as you tried not to think about all the possibilities of what he could say in response. Or not. Perhaps he wouldn’t text you back at all. 

You weren’t sure which possibility was worse. 

Pouring the rosé with a heavy hand, you slowly filled your glass. Once you were satisfied with it, you took a long drink and refilled what you had just consumed. Your heart almost stopped when you heard your phone buzz from the couch cushion. 

You took another long drag from the wine and almost ran into the living room. You picked up the phone and excitedly saw that it was indeed from James...Bucky? You had saved him as James Bucky in your phone for the time being. 

Opening his message, you quickly read it, finding yourself grinning from ear to ear. 

Ahh, I gave myself away, didn’t I? Bucky. Call me Bucky.

You didn’t even bother to wait to send a message back: Okay Bucky. You did. Were you going to tell me or was I always going to have to figure it out on my own?

You wondered if you pushed him too far. Too much. But his reply suggested anything but.

I was going to tell you, believe it or not. I just wanted to make sure it was the right time. I didn’t want you to worry or hate me or be scared.

I’m not scared, I promise. Just wondering how I got to be lucky enough to be your coffee girl. 

Now you just felt like a stupid fool at your vain attempt at flirting. Cringe. You wanted to curl up and pretended that none of it ever happened. 

But to your continued surprise, he texted you back.

And then some more. Until the very late hours of the night where you reluctantly had to tell him goodnight for the time being before you fell asleep. 

It was okay, because somehow you’d managed to get a date out of it. You had an actual real life date with Bucky. Shit. How on earth were you going to survive that?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Bucky was nervous. Gods, when was the last time he ever felt this nervous? He couldn’t even remember. He had a small bouquet of flowers in his hands as he waited for you in front of the small restaurant you’d picked for dinner. He rocked back and forth on his heels as he looked at the time. You’d be getting there any moment. He’d been there for fifteen minutes. Wanting to be early, and also because he was nervous. Mostly because he was nervous. Ugh. He was almost tempted to run away and head home, just because he didn’t want to make a fool of himself. But he also really wanted to see you again too. 

“Hey Bucky,” the sudden sound of your voice almost made him jump as he turned around to face you. A smile quickly spread on his face as he drank in the sight of you; you were wearing such a simple dress, nothing too fancy, but you still managed to take his breath away. You snorted lightly when you noticed his silence, “you alright there - cat got your tongue?”

“No, I-I...hi,” he held out the flowers to you and you eagerly told them, inhaling their sweet, saccharine scent, “these are for you.”

“Thank you,” you said softly as you offered him the sweetest eyes he had ever seen, “they’re beautiful. No one’s ever gotten me flowers before!”

“I think it’s time we change that,” he said softly as you tried to conceal some of the excitement off your face, “I’m glad you came...I wasn’t sure if you’d say yes.”

“There was never a doubt,” you promised, “even if you had told me who you were right off the bat. See, I knew you looked familiar!”

“It’s a lot for people,” he admitted, “a lot of people just see the -”

“Bucky,” you interrupted him softly, “I just see Bucky. The handsome, funny man that made my day the instant he came in. That’s all.” 

“You’re something else, sweetheart,” he said softly as you reached for his hand, “you sure want to do this? You can still say no.”

“I want to Bucky,” you promised firmly, “how about we get inside before you change your mind and run off on me? Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

“I’m all in,” he agreed softly, giving your hand a squeeze. 

“Me too. All in.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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[pathogen-tempera]

soooo this is my first post and I don’t really expect it to get any traction but uhhh if enough people like it I’ll finish it and upload it to ao3? it’s just a scene from spring awakening’s script that I wrote like a book instead of a movie script about a year and a half ago and I never finished it, but again if it’s not Terrible and enough people like it I will post the full thing to ao3

but anyway. here’s my shitty fanfic, very melcritz centered, enjoy ✨

———————————————————————

To say that Moritz Stiefel was disturbed and confused would be doing him a disservice so deep and horrifying that its intensity could well rival that of the thoughts keeping him awake long into his restless nights, that of the desires he fought to curb during his daily battle with the living.

He’d gone to Melchior for help— there wasn’t anything new about that, of course he’d gone to Melchior— but for once, his friend hadn’t really been able to do much. Actually, the... material he’d given Moritz had made everything about ten times worse. His dreams and desires had gone from mild to intense, and every time he caught himself indulging his hormones with wild fantasies, he hated himself a little more.

That was almost impressive, actually. He hadn’t known his opinion of himself could go any lower.

Anyway.

He was currently pacing back and forth outside of his dear friend’s house, trying to work up the courage to knock on the door. He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t bring himself to do it, exactly, but something about the idea of Melchior seeing Moritz in his current state— frazzled, bags under his eyes, his hands trembling slightly from nerves— filled him with a horrible sense of dread.

This was stupid, he told himself, so unbelievably stupid. What was he doing here, bothering his poor friend in the middle of the night when they both should be sleeping? Well, okay, maybe Moritz should be studying, but Melchi should be sleeping, and that was what really mattered. Crawling back to him to complain at this hour was pathetic— or was it? Maybe if he really tried, he could act like he’d already finished reading Melchior’s essay, like he didn’t just skim through the hauntingly direct text, one hand half-covering his eyes like a child hiding behind the legs of their mother. Would that make him look cooler? Would Melchior be impressed with him if he could pretend like he’d taken everything he’d read about in stride? And a secondary question— why did Melchior’s opinion of Moritz matter so much to him?

...He didn’t want to think too long on what that answer could be.

Thankfully (or in retrospect, probably not), he was saved from having to contemplate that embarrassing question for more than a few heartbeats. He heard the telltale noise of a key turning in the lock of the door before him, and he immediately snapped to attention, standing perfectly still with his gaze locked on the doorway like a deer caught in headlights.

As the knob turned in the wooden frame, he tried desperately to formulate a reasonable excuse as to why he was out here, but each one he thought of was more flimsy than the last. His palms began to sweat as the door swung open, flooding him in soft yellow light. He was fully prepared to see Melchior standing there in all his frustratingly gorgeous glory, illuminated by the backdrop like an honest-to-god Angel coming to pass judgement on him... but the figure his eyes lighted on in the doorway was much taller, thinner, and mature than his dear friend, and Moritz quickly recognized the woman to be Frau Gabor.

His first thought upon discovering this: There truly is a God.

The second: I’ve been staring at her and not saying anything for entirely too long.

In a hasty attempt to break the silence, he bowed his head and spoke the first words that came to mind. “Um,” he blurted out, “F-Frau Gabor, I-I—“

He never finished that thought. At the same time, the woman broke out into a warm smile and said, “Herr Stiefel!”

When he realized he’d more or less interrupted her, he gave a start, jerking his head up to look her in the face. His cheeks flushed as a mixture of guilt and shame washed over him. You idiot, he hissed to himself, you’ve really gone and done it now, interrupting an adult like that, she’s going to be so angry with you—

Even as those ugly thoughts chased each other around in his head, Fanny Gabor let an unexpected laugh escape her rose-colored lips. “Oh, darling Moritz,” she chuckled, “my apologies. I didn’t mean to speak over you.” She stepped to the side, and as she beckoned towards the doorway she added, “Do come inside. I’m sure Melchior will be delighted to see you.”

…Delighted? He was painfully aware of the way those innocent words made his heart do somersaults in his chest. He knew she didn’t mean anything by it, that he was taking what she’d said in the complete wrong context, but he couldn’t help it. The idea that, in some world, Melchior felt all the same things Moritz did when they were together... it made him feel like a giddy little child. Perhaps it was the slightly over-the-moon feeling behind those thoughts that spurred him to finally take that damning step inside the house, but for a brief moment, he felt his anxiety ebb away. Melchior would be happy to see him. Adults didn’t lie, after all.

He followed Fanny into the hallway that led back to Melchior’s bedroom. She paused once they reached the doorway to the small room, knocking politely before she addressed him verbally.

“Melchior? Moritz Stiefel here to see you.”

She stepped back, gesturing for Moritz to go on through ahead of her. He was fine until he closed his hand around the knob of the door, twisted it aside, and caught sight of his dear friend reclined in the seat of his desk, his gorgeous face lit only by the flickering light of a lantern perched on the wood beside him, and suddenly all his earlier confidence was gone as quickly as it had came. He felt his heart leap to his throat when Melchior took his gaze off the papers on his desk, his hauntingly beautiful gray eyes fixing Moritz with a puzzled sort of look. It was a strange sight, to be sure, and that only made the knot of anxiety in Moritz’s stomach twist tighter. Melchior hardly ever looked confused— mostly he just seemed distant, lost in thought, melancholic and contemplating the world in the enigma of his mind’s eye. To Moritz, confusion was a vulnerable emotion, and the fact that he was privy to seeing Melchior in any sort of relaxed state really wasn’t helping him to stay calm.

His friend sat up when he saw him, the movement as slow and graceful as a cat. “Moritz...?” he asked, his voice sounding just as confused as he looked. It was clear that he hadn’t been expecting him, and Moritz was starting to doubt Frau Gabor’s certainty that her son would be pleased to see him.

“Sorry I’m so late.” He slid into the room and shut the door behind him, hoping to God that Melchior couldn’t see the way his hands were shaking in the dim light. “I yanked on a jacket, ran a brush through my hair, and dashed like some phantom to get here—“

“You slept through the day...?” Melchior’s gray eyes were piercing in the darkness, and though his expression held nothing but concern for his dear friend, Moritz felt like he could see right through him. Melchior had always been perceptive, especially when it came to him, and he felt a stab of guilt for causing the other boy to worry.

“Yes,” he answered quietly. “I’m exhausted, Melchi. I was up till three in the morning, reading that— essay that you gave me until I couldn’t see straight.”

“Sit,” Melchior ordered. “Let me roll you a smoke.” Before Moritz could protest, he had begun to roll his friend a cigarette, gesturing with his free hand to the chair opposite him at his desk. Numbly, Moritz took a seat, too shaken and afraid to refuse. He wasn’t sure if admitting that he’d been losing sleep over Melchior’s essay was a good idea, but it was too late now to take it back.

When he glanced up at Melchi, the other boy was looking at him expectantly, and he mentally cursed himself for bringing up the subject at all. Melchior wasn’t likely to let it go without further explanation, especially not now, not when the two of them were more or less alone and free from consequence of speech.

“Look at me,” Moritz murmured after a beat, “I’m trembling. Last night I prayed like Christ in Gethsemane: ‘Please, God, give me consumption, and take these sticky dreams away from me.’”

Melchior raised an eyebrow. “With any luck, He’ll ignore that prayer.”

“Melchi, I can’t focus— on anything.” Moritz‘s tone was pleading, almost as though he were begging Melchior to offer a solution that would banish these damned desires from his mind. “Even now, it seems like...”

He paused for a moment. He knew he couldn’t lie to Melchior, but what was he meant to say to him? That, despite being here with another male, he still felt all the desires that ran wild in his dreams; that even though Melchior was his best and practically only friend, part of him wished they were more than that? He could never admit such selfish, sinful things out loud, not when it meant he would lose everything he had if he did. He had to choose his next words carefully, or he felt like his entire world would come crashing down around him.

“...Well, I see, and hear, and feel, quite clearly,” he said at last. “And yet, everything seems so strange...”

It was a lackluster way to finish a thought, and Melchior didn’t seem satisfied by it. “But all those illustrations I gave you,” he pressed, “didn’t they help illuminate your dreams?”

The question was so hysterical that Moritz almost laughed out loud upon hearing it. “They only multiplied everything ten times! Now instead of only seeing stockings, I’m plagued by visions of Labia Majora and—“

He broke off abruptly when he heard Melchior’s door open, twisting around in his seat with a startled expression on his face. Frau Gabor had came into the room with a tray of tea for the two boys, a warm, gentle smile on her face as she gently sat it down on the table between them.

“Well, here we are, with tea,” she announced, sounding rather pleased with herself for bringing in the treat. “How are you, Herr Stiefel?”

“Very well, thank you, Frau Gabor.” It was a lie, and he knew it, but he didn’t want the poor woman to have to worry about him. He was sure she had other things that required more of her attention than she did, after all.

She shot him a skeptical look all the same. “Yes?”

“Just think, mama,” Melchior piped up eagerly, “Moritz was up, reading all through the night.”

“Uh, conjugating Greek,” he interjected, shooting Melchior a fierce glare before returning his attention to Frau Gabor. Why did Melchior have to say that? If his intent was to get him to talk, it would never work; he was not about to explain his awful dreams to his best friend’s mother, of all people. She might have his head if he tried.

Thankfully, she seemed to believe him that time. “You must take care of yourself, Moritz,” she chided. “Surely your health is more important than Ancient Greek.”

Moritz tried to give her a smile, but his heart wasn’t in it. Frau Gabor may have thought so, but his parents... if he did poorly in Ancient Greek, staying up late into the night to study would be the absolute least of his health-related problems, physical or otherwise.

If she had noticed the insincerity in his gesture, she neglected to comment on it. “And what have you been reading?” she asked her son, eyeing the pile of books on his desk as she spoke.

“Goethe’s Faust, actually,” Melchior replied with all the nonchalance of someone who was remarking on the cloudy weather. Moritz almost spit out his tea when the other boy spoke— if he’d told his mother that he was reading such a book, she’d have his head on the spot.

Fanny Gabor did not seem to share his shock at the admission. Though she looked slightly disturbed, all she said was, “Really? Well, I suppose you boys are of an age to decide what is good for you and what is not...” She shook her head and trailed off, a faint sigh escaping her lips. “If you need anything else, children, call me.”

And just like that, she was gone. She hadn’t even thrown a parting shot of harsh words over her shoulder at her son for reading a book most other adults would consider blasphemous. Not for the first time, Moritz envied Melchior that his mother was just so... well, remarkable.

So remarkable that he might have accidentally voiced that last thought out loud.

If Melchior found his comment odd, he didn’t say so. He just scoffed disdainfully and said, “Yes, she’s wonderful until she catches her son reading Goethe.”

Moritz winced. “I think she just meant the story of Gretchen and her illegitimate child...” He knew Melchior and his mother didn’t fight very often, but he honestly couldn’t blame her for finding the content of her son’s readings to be a bit disturbing. An illegitimate child was a controversial enough topic in the real world, let alone how authors could handle the subject with creative freedom in books.

Even so, Melchior didn’t seem to get where he was coming from. “You see how obsessively everyone fixes on that story,” he said scornfully. “It’s as if the whole world is mesmerized by penis and vagina.”

“Well, I am!” Moritz felt a little stab of hurt prick his heart at those words. “All the more so, I’m afraid, since reading your essay. What you wrote about the... female... I can’t stop thinking about it. This part here—“ he fumbled for a moment in his pocket before pulling out the crumpled copy of the essay in his pocket and holding it out to Melchior— “is it true?”

Melchior didn’t even look at the offered paper. “Absolutely.”

aaaaaand I’m sorry to tell u guys that’s where it ends… be brutally honest and tell me what u think

[hqamore]

boreal star ✵ chapter six

now, he’s pissed off. general kirigan was going to get his sun summoner and blast all of ravka to hell. he was so close to reaching his goals and no one was going to stop him.

chapter genre: action

series pairing: [past?] aleksander morozova (general kirigan) x reader

word count: 2.2k

author’s babble: surprise! so soon? i know. i cranked this chapter because i finally decided how this series would end. enjoy and tell me your thoughts!

here’s the masterlist

three days, you and mal agreed on. you procrastinated for the first two. well, not really procrastinated. you purchased some food and extra layers in balakirev the first day. the second day, you made your way to ryevost. to your misfortune, you were almost caught by aleksander and his merry band of misfits. but, his attention was stolen by teenagers? it was certainly entertaining to see the grisha get outwitted by the bunch.

you waited until you couldn’t detect them anymore. swiftly and careful to hide your face, you made your way to tsibeya on the third day. by high noon, the white forest greeted you with light snowfall. about 5km in, two huddled teens came into view. the crisp sounds of your steps alerted them, their eyes darting to you.

“[y/n]?” alina stepped in front of mal in a defensive position, light drawn at the ready. you surrendered your hands as mal lightly pushed away hers.

“alina, i told you they were coming,” he said.

with some reluctance, the sun summoner lowered her hands and eyed her. “why would baghra send you? you arrived at the palace the same time as i did.”

you smiled, ignoring her question, and strode past them, only pausing for them to follow. mal slung his sack over his shoulder and gave alina’s hand a light squeeze before jogging ahead of you. “i’ll look out for the stag. but, it’d be better for all of us if you answered her questions,” he whispered. “she’s naturally curious and very stubborn.”

you sighed and slowed your pace, matching your strides with alina’s. “baghra and i have a mutual understanding, one that precedes the importance of the second army,” you said.

alina glanced at you warily. “which is?”

“the black heretic cannot gain any more power.”

her lips pursed. “but, you arrived at the same time i did,” she quipped, “and i still can’t do much.”

you offered a dry chuckle. “i guess i picked it up that much faster.”

silence fell between you two, the crunching snow and distance chirps of birds filling the air. you took this opportunity to take in alina’s appearance. she wore ill-fitted clothing that couldn’t have been providing any warmth. her profile was worn, sunken eyes accompanied by an angry blush from the cool temperature. you shrugged your coat off, leaving you in your kefta, and draped it over her shoulders. she looked at you in surprise which made you smile softly.

with this small bridge, you spoke. “it must’ve been difficult escaping the palace without help.”

alina sheepishly smiled as she tugged the coat on, shuddering in the extra warmth. “not really. i just snuck into the trunk of a carriage and waited until it stopped.”

“you snuck into a stranger’s carriage?” you raised in an eyebrow, mirth evident in your eyes.

“not my best idea, but i’m safe now!”

you laughed at her embarrassed look, causing mal to look back. you saw as his lips quirked when his eyes met alina’s blushing face. warmth spread in your heart as you witnessed his loving gaze, almost feeling as if you were intruding on a secret conversation. you peered at alina who just returned mal’s stare with a blinding smile native only to one alina starkov. you envied their relationship, wordlessly intimate and completely trusting. sadness stirred at the bottom of your heart, memories of hushed giggles and longing gazes bubbling. 

all lies, it was.

—

the sun was setting and, luckily, the three of you had already arrived where mal had last seen the stag. mal said he doubted that the stag moved on, leaving you guys to wait around.

brushing some snow off of a log, you sat and hugged your knees closer to conserve some warmth. alina and mal joined you, leaning into each other to share their body heat.

“when we find the stag, i need to be the one to kill it,” alina grimly stated.

mal looked down at her. “you’re a terrible shot. they made you a cartographer for a reason.”

you snickered as alina feigned offense and mal grinned unapologetically. “besides, i thought we weren’t killing it,” the tracker said, glancing at you. alina’s forehead scrunched in confusion when she turned to you.

a puff of fog appeared as you let out a sigh. “we’re not. unless absolutely necessary.”

“if we don’t, kiri—”

“i have a plan, alina,” you interrupted. “all we need to do is guide the stag away. with a combination of your abilities and mine, it’ll be fairly easy.”

“that won’t stop him from finding it,” alina protested.

you gently placed a hand on alina’s head. “that’s why, once we get it out of fjerdan territory, i’m taking it to the wandering isle. the distance will prevent aleksander from coming for it personally and give me more time to work out a permanent solution.”

she stayed silent for a moment, mulling over your plan, before she frowned. “aleksander.”

your head tilted questioningly when her body faced you, a serious look on her face. “how do you know his name?” she asked.

sucking in a deep breath, you realized you had relaxed too soon. her sharp eyes trained on you as you rubbed your face. mal remained confused, leaning forward to observe the two of you.

“it’s difficult not to know the name of your warden,” you replied.

“warden?”

you debated whether or not to tell alina the complete truth, but you threw caution into the wind and exhaled. “my arrival at the palace was not the first time i had been there. some time ago, i actually called that place home. but, one day, i woke up from the false reality and escaped from the place that was, retrospectively, my prison.”

too intelligent, alina connected the dots in record time. “you’re the lover the servants talked about,” she said breathily. “the person baghra thought would change him.”

a bitter smile danced on your lips. “i’m not sure if he loved me as i did him, but i would’ve hung the stars if he asked me to.”

alina clasped your hand in hers, offering a weak smile. you returned it before continuing. “i met him about four-hundred years ago, when he was hiding from the crown. i was young and enchanted. i believed in everything he wanted for grisha and became his willing accomplice.

“when he returned to the palace, i followed. when he locked me in my room, i complied. as naive as i was, i was in love,” you paused to glance at the pair in front of you, reminded of their small moments that paralleled your memories.

“i was in love...” you trailed, staring at your lap as your chest panged dully. you shook yourself out of your daze and cleared your throat. “no matter, i saw him for the crazed tyrant he was and, when i found out you had been discovered, i returned to thwart his plans.”

faint rustling drew mal’s attention away, the tracker slowly stepping towards the source. alina’s eyes followed him as did yours. after a few seconds, he turned. “that way.”

like meerkats, you and alina shot up and crept beside mal. his eyes darted around the clearing you were approaching and, there in all its glory, was the stag. the three of you stopped at a safe distance when it turned to look in your direction.

you started laying out the plan. “okay. alina, you need to—”

“wait,” alina said, stepping forward, with her eyes trained on the stag. “i— i’ve been seeing it in these visions ever since i arrived at the palace. i don’t know why, but i think it’s been trying to reach out to me.”

then, the stag walked towards alina who took several more steps. she gingerly reached her hand out and the stag met her with its snout. light erupted from them and alina let out soft laughs, basking in the warmth of the light. you softly gasped at the sight. it chose—

suddenly, an arrow shot the stag, causing it to lurch away from alina in pain. she tumbled backwards as people rushed in from all sides. mal raised his gun and shot at the bowman, knocking him down. he swiftly notched an arrow in his bow, prepared to shoot the stag, when a strong wind forced it out of his hand. you turned and was faced with a familiar-looking squaller. you loosened gravity’s hold on her and forced her to float. when you were about to fling her away, a grunt sounded behind you.

“mal!”

your focus disappeared; you pivoted to see mal embedded with an arrow, effectively dropping zoya and incapacitating her. you went to help him when an intense pressure hit your chest, your heart beating erratically. it forced you onto your knees next to mal. your heart was pounding in your ear before it stopped.

bright flashes threw off the heartrender and bowman. you greedily breathed in air as alina darted to mal. you could hear the snap of the arrow followed by mal’s agonizing scream. glancing up, your vision slightly blurred, you saw shadows gathering behind you. at the sound of a billowing cloak, you rushed to create a gravitational downforce around you, not allowing anyone to move. you slowly stood up, facing aleksander with a glare.

he let out a haughty laugh. “i should’ve known you would be with her.”

“alina, i need you to get to the stag,” you commanded.

“but, mal! he’s— he’s dying!”

you glanced behind you to see her applying pressure on his wounds. thoughts raced in your mind before settling on one solution. “i promise you he won’t so long as you follow my instructions.”

desperation evident in her eyes, alina could only nod.

“get to the stag and shield us on my count.”

you inhaled deeply. “3, 2, 1!”

alina ran for the stag and created a barrier. you dove under it before it separated you from the others. outside of it, aleksander found himself free to move. creeping closer, he called out. “you can’t save them, alina. you may have the power of light but not the power to heal.”

alina’s resolve wavered as her eyes flicker to mal. “don’t listen to him, alina! i promised you, didn’t i?” you reassured.

alina bit her lip as she kept up the barrier. you made mal float and pulled him closer to the stag. you gently set him down and reached for the stag. it groaned and flailed in protest.

“i know i’m not your chosen, but please. i must heal him and then i can heal you,” you whispered.

the stag quieted and allowed you to touch it. with one hand on the stag, you hovered the other near mal’s wound.

“i’m sorry, mal, but this is gonna hurt like hell.”

you manipulated time on his body. blood slowly returned to the wound whilst the arrow pieced itself together, ripping itself out of him afterwards. mal let out a painful howl before the wound stitches itself back together, like no arrow had been there in the first place. as he recovered, you quickly moved around to the other side of the stag.

“i see you’ve been busy,” aleksander said sharply.

rage gathered in the pit of your stomach when you shot a glare at aleksander. “and you’ve been a complete fool. after all this time, you still can’t get it through your thick skull that morozova’s amplifiers have to choose you,” you spat.

you returned your attention to the stag’s wound. you murmured an apology before you worked on it. it whined through the pain but stilled once you finished. your hands trembled as you shakily pushed yourself off the ground. the stag stirred and stood on its legs, causing alina to follow in suit. you ran your hand through its fur and whispered. “just once more, friend.”

as if it reads your mind, it knelt before alina. you looked at her, mal now standing beside her.

“you two, get on.”

alina gave you a bewildered look. you returned it with a pleading one. without protest, she and mal both mounted the stag. then, it rose, looking towards you. you leaned your forehead against its snout. “take them far from here.”

you stepped to the side and took alina’s hand. “now, i only have so much energy left to keep them here. so, ride fast.”

“what? you’re not coming with us?” alina’s jaw dropped.

you offered her a melancholic smile. “please, if i have to witness anymore of your loving gazes, i’ll become a bitter spinster,” you teased before growing serious. “alina, keep the shield up until you’ve left fjerdan territory. only make it as big as it has to be. mal, you’re going to have to make sure she doesn’t fall off.”

you let go of her hand and gave mal a nod. inching away from them, you approached the center of the field, barely covered by alina’s light. you glanced back and jerked your head, signaling them to leave. you immobilized aleksander and his men once more, allowing alina and mal to slip through and disappear into the winter night. despite your raging headache, you kept your focus until you couldn’t see the light. you collapsed, the snow cushioning your fall. your vision blurred as you heard footsteps approach you.

“we’ll find them eventually.”

you squinted at your former lover. “no, i don’t think you will, aleks.”

aleksander crouched down and whispered in your ear. “i should kill you where you lay.”

“be my guest. you are well within your rights, general kirigan,” you taunted.

he sneered. “out of respect for our past, i won’t. but, you will be my prisoner.”

“what’s new?” you asked before promptly passing out.

taglist (couldn’t tag the ones in bold): @kykymyeon @shelivesindaydreamswme @blackbirddaredevil23 @amortentiaaaa @safetyhtom @savannah-elliott @deceivedeer @gloriousmoneyrascalbiscuit @sarcastic-and-cool @supersouthy @let-love-bleeds-red @andwhatofthelight @all-art-is-quite-useless​ @mixed-imagination​ @ashdab2611​ @aria-grace-scott​ @multifandom-addict​ @aleksanderwh0r3​ @p3nny4urth0ught5​ @kirigansgf​ @evyiione​ @theoutsidelandhere​ @wizardwheezes​ @partiesandblurrypolaroids​ @pansysgirlfriend​ @takethee​ @imrann123456 @rachellovesharry

author’s babble pt.2: ohoho! can you believe they did that? now, you may be wondering why [y/n] is able to manipulate time. it has to do with spacetime being 4 dimensional and the complexity that comes with the concept of gravity. a bit wibbly wobbly timey wimey (ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

continue to chapter seven? yes

[primasveraas-writing]

"the holy or the broken" -Ted Lasso

I'm so sorry.

WORD COUNT: 2401

XXX

There are three eras in Roy’s life, and they’re all defined by the same woman.

The third echoes the first: Roy Kent, angry at the world with no one to pull him out of his frustration. It’s also worse, though, because before, Roy lived in blissful ignorance of the joy and sorrow that laid ahead.

Rebecca and Ted express their surprise at Roy’s anger. They thought him changed, or perhaps that grief would prevail over rage, and they were wrong. Because Roy Kent, when stripped of everything he is -his athleticism and grim humor and the love of his life- has anger. Nothing less and nothing more.

At first, he can’t say her name. He doesn’t even think it, because every reminder of her is a reminder that she’s gone. Despite her mark on everything- the furniture they picked out together, the bed they shared, her usual seat at the dining table, the compliments she gave his hair and clothes- Roy doesn’t think of her. Which means he doesn’t think at all, so he becomes his anger and his pain, and nothing else.

He stops coaching, obviously. Nobody asks him if he’ll keep going, nor does he announce his departure. His absence, professionally, personally, emotionally- is expected fully. Though people still coming to the fucking house. He tolerates her parents, and Phoebe once or twice, but eventually the visits dwindle, and Roy doesn’t check his phone or answer the door. There’s shouting, sometimes- inevitably Ted Lasso- but Roy has soundproof headphones for a reason and he’s perfectly fine with calling the cops on Ted. And he does, more than once.

His sister begs him to talk to her, or at least to Phoebe, and Roy, in all his anger, doesn’t have the heart to turn his niece away. So it’s just her and Roy, a few days a week, and they order food directly to the house and Phoebe tells him about school, and he grunts in acknowledgment. She cries sometimes too, and that’s when he holds her. No words are exchanged, but he comforts her, enough so that the sobs stop. The numb feeling he has remains intact.

The yoga moms scout his address, somehow, and drop off a wine basket- they drink in relative silence, and clean up his house and make a few casseroles. He picks at the food, but they slowly disappear, and it’s almost nice to eat more than once or twice a day.

It doesn’t get easier. People tell him it will, that the pain will start to lessen, but it doesn’t. Not three weeks after, or four, or five, or when summer emerges and the lilies bloom.

Roy’s not particularly good at adapting. He never wanted to be. And it’s bullshit that he’d have to start now, for some shit fucking luck and life-alerting occurrences he never saw coming.

Because he never expected that there would be an “after” regarding Keeley Jones. It’s not something he planned for and certainly not something he ever wanted. It’s just: one breath she’s there and the next, she’s not. Gone and the house empty, her office too, and suddenly every space at Richmond is filled with flowers because Roy doesn’t accept a single bouquet.

He does start to say her name, although only to his sister- the only adult he talks to. He spits it out, with venom, and he suspects that it’s this habit that prompts Rebecca to show up at his house.

She sneaks her way in, the stubborn shit. Apparently, she hid down the street until he ordered food, bribed the deliverer with an obscene amount of money, and rang his doorbell herself. Rebecca slips into the entry before Roy realizes it’s her, and slams the door behind her.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He hisses, and to her credit, Rebecca doesn’t flinch. She gives her best businesswoman smile, the one that so directly contradicts the flint in her eyes, and straightens.

“Someone informed me that you made developments in your grief-

“Fuck you-”

“-so I thought a visit was due.”

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

“Somebody told me once that I was always welcome in her home. Has that changed?”

“Yeah. She’s fucking dead.”

Rebecca does bristle at that one but she doesn’t challenge the statement. Instead, she clears her throat, setting Roy’s food down on the table in the foyer.

“Your sister told me how quiet you’ve been. And that any time you talk about Keeley, you do so with an incredible amount of anger.”

Roy doesn’t deign to respond, glowering at Rebecca instead. She takes a look around the room, in all its dusty glory. Lights off, trash piling on the floor, clothes strewn over backs of couches. It matches Roy, in terms of appearance. Unkept. Uncared for. Unloved.

“I’m calling the police,” Roy decides, scanning the room for his phone. “You can’t fucking impersonate a food deliverer. Or fucking be here when I don’t want you to be.”

“I paid him handsomely-”

“-illegal. And fireable.”

“-enough so that his salary for the next few months should be covered.”

“Get out.”

“I can’t do that.”

“I don’t give a damn about what you’re here to fucking do or say. Leave me the fuck alone.”

“And leave you to stew in your anger and your filth? I don’t think so.”

And Rebecca struts into his living room and seats herself on a sofa.

“Dr. Sharon proposed to me that your anger had legitimate grounds. Not just your usual brooding about playing and coaching a game for a living, but you know,” Rebecca gestures to Roy. “Real reasons to be so surly.”

“My fucking wife died.”

“Yes, well. My best friend died yet I’ve been outside over the past few months.” She gives Roy another placid smile. “Despite the fact that I’m mourning.”

“It’s different.”

“Undoubtedly, yes. You’ve been much unhealthier in your habits.”

“Fuck you,” Roy growls. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“No.” Keeley would refer to that as Rebecca’s scariest tone. “I came to talk.”

“I don’t care.” His hands clench into fists.

“You’re angry at Keeley.”

“I’m fucking pissed at you and your fucking break-in habits. Did you fucking compare notes with fucking Lasso?”

“You need someplace to direct your anger, and since fate dealt you both such a terrible hand, the only thing you can think to do is blame Keeley.”

“That makes as much fucking sense as you impersonating a takeaway driver. Fuck you.”

“So you go from not being able to say her name to saying it like a curse because you’re much more comfortable with your anger than sorrow.”

“I can say Keeley’s name.”

“Can you say it without sounding like the angriest person on the entire planet, Roy?”

“Fuck off.”

“Well?” Rebecca stands. In heels, she towers over Roy, who glares right back at her. “Show me you can, Roy.”

“I don’t have to prove shit to you.”

“No. But I asked you to.”

“I’m not fucking angry at my dead fucking wife.”

‘You’re angry at someone.”

“Yeah. You.”

“Come on now, Roy. Do better.”

“I’m NOT fucking angry at Keeley!”

Rebecca raises an eyebrow. “Clearly.”

“Fuck you.” Roy paces before her, ignoring how every step makes his knee throb. “Fuck you, fuck off. Fuck you.”

“Are you even sad?” Rebecca says quietly, and Roy freezes, his muscles clenching painfully.

“Ask me again,” he dares, his tone low. He takes a step closer to Rebecca, who remains unfazed.

“I said: are you sad your wife died in your arms, Roy?”

“Fuck you!” Roy bellows. He spins away to upturn the coffee table, sending dishes crashing to the floor.

“Do you miss her? Do you wish she hadn’t died?”

“I’ll fucking kill you.”

“So I’ll see Keeley again. How lovely.”

Roy roars, using the full force of his body to punch a hole in the wall. His fist comes out covered in plaster, bright red blood leaking from his knuckles dusted white.

“She fucking died in a freak fucking accident. There’s nothing- nothing- she could have done differently.”

“But she left you.”

“She fucking- she-” Roy’s chest heaves as he looks wildly around the room, at anything but the woman in front of him. “She was supposed to get her fucking nails done. We were going to get Thai for dinner. We had a sexy fucking weekend planned, and she was going to come home and it all would have been fucking fine.”

“And now she’s gone.”

“We can’t do any of that shit. Can’t fucking fall asleep next to her ever again. Or hold her fucking hand. We had fucking plans-” His words catch in his throat, and he looks away, examining the new damage to the wall. “We had plans.”

“Roy-”

“Don’t.” He closes his eyes. “You riled me up. Is that what you fucking wanted?”

“Yes,” Rebecca admits, and she retakes her seat on the couch, disregarding the surrounding wreckage. “Since the one person you want to talk to is gone, I figured I’d substitute.”

Roy glances around the house, at the forgotten groceries by the entrance, at the overturned table, and at the destroyed wall. “Good fucking job.”

“Thanks,” Rebecca says swiftly. “I figured I’d be better at it than Ted.”

“I’d have fucking killed him.”

“I thought so.” Rebecca sighs, massaging her temple. For the first time since her arrival, her bravado fades and her shoulders slump. It’s a familiar sight, one Roy witnessed the last time he saw Rebecca- at Keeley’s funeral, where all traces of the usually confident woman had faded away, and a grieving shell stood in her place. “Is that it, then? All the anger is for what’s never to be?”

“Yeah. That’s it.”

“And this is the first time you’re realizing it?”

Roy’s eyes narrow. “Yeah, it is.”

Rebecca shrugs. “Okay.”

Silence prevails for a long while, then Roy sighs and takes a seat next to Rebecca.

“You know, my office has quite literally never been quieter. Even with Ted bursting in at all hours, it’s just… not the same. I started to get frustrated at Higgins trying to coordinate with me simply because he’s not the person I want to see. And then I woke up angry, too. Absolutely pissed at the sun just for rising. Because every day that I experience is one I should be sharing with her.”

She looks down at her hands, which tremble slightly. “It’s not fair. And I have nowhere to put all my anger and blame.”

Roy wordlessly gestures to the wall, and Rebecca gives a soft laugh.

“There’s one option.” Then, she swipes at her eyes, and sniffs.

“Keeley would have never forgiven any of us if we gave up on you, Roy.”

“I know.” He clears his throat. “She told me as much. About me.” He rolls his eyes, then blinks rapidly. “I’m not supposed to give up on myself.”

“Good job,” Rebecca retorts, and Roy growls, but Rebecca gives another breathy laugh. “You didn’t call the police on me. I’d say that’s a good sign.”

“Don’t let it go to your fucking head.”

“No. Of course not.”

“Thank you,” Roy says very, very quietly. Rebecca takes his hand and squeezes it briefly. Her palm comes away coated in dust and blood.

“Clean up, Roy,” she tells him, standing. “I’ll be seeing you soon.”

-

Rebecca leaves, but she sends over a team of cleaners and a fresh batch of groceries. For the first time since Keeley died, his fridge is fully stocked with food for him to make into meals, and the house is spotless. He sends a text to his sister, telling her to fuck off in a way she’ll know means thank you, and showers. He trims his beard and dries himself off with a freshly laundered towel, then he falls asleep ass naked on the bed and sleeps for twelve hours.

He goes to see Phoebe and the rest of his family. They catch him up on all the petty bullshit he doesn’t give a fuck about, and it’s nearly normal, except that he drives home alone to an empty house.

He goes back to yoga, and every stretch feels like he’s never done a downward dog before in his life. Still, the wine after is good, and he ends up going home with a spare bottle and another casserole, and so another part of his life resumes.

It’s a slow process. Richmond is a hard place to face, with Ted trying to be casual as he checks in on him, and the boys stepping around him like glass, and Jaime Tartt in tears when he first catches sight of Roy. Her office, the lack of visits from his wife during the day, and the plaque commemorating her on the wall hurt like getting that phone call all over again. But it’s the beginning of the mourning process, Dr. Sharon will tell him, and now that it’s started, the hurt will eventually lessen.

With every end, a beginning.

Roy takes his first steps.

-

There are three eras in Roy’s life, and a thousand different Roys.

There’s the prodigy footballer, eight years old and scoring goal after goal in every match. There’s the Chelsea player, a championship winner, then the Richmond player, bittered by age. Injured Roy Kent, retired, coaching his kid niece’s football team. Then, briefly: professional commentator. Richmond coach.

Roy Kent, who fucking hates Jaime Tartt except usually his girlfriend is nice at least. Roy Kent, Keeley’s boyfriend. Roy Kent, Keeley’s fiancé, husband- widower.

Roy Kent- a bastard luckily enough that Keeley loved him too. Roy Kent, who lit up when she walked into the room, who smiled more during their time together than he ever had before in his life. Who wanted to start a family with her. Who doted on his wife and promised her the world and a thousand other cheesy things, because she had that power over him.

Roy, who was beside her at the very end, who evoked her last words and smile. Roy, who had that horrible, painful privilege of easing his wife’s passing with reassurances and small comforts and anything he could do to make her feel his love.

Roy, who loves her still. Who’ll die loving her and missing her, and wishing they had just one more day.

Roy, who learns to live to make her proud.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 6 - ao3 -

As Lao Nie had predicted, Lan Qiren won the music competition.

This by itself would not excuse him from punishment – disobedience was disobedience, regardless of the result – but Lan Qiren’s brother, proud of the glory that had accrued to their sect under his leadership, decided that it mitigated it somewhat, and as a result the imposition of the appropriate penalty was postponed until they returned to the Cloud Recesses. There was a strong implication that any future misbehavior during the trip would be added in when determining the extent of the punishment, but Lan Qiren didn’t care about that: with his brother’s word, however careless, overriding his teacher’s, he was finally allowed to go out to look around the Nightless City.

Of course, by now all the other disciples had settled firmly into their groups, so he was still alone - he opted not to mention that to his brother. Given how cautious his brother was being to make sure that the conference went well and without interruption, he knew it would invariably result in his either being forced into someone else’s group or to not go out, and he didn’t want either of those. Anyway, he could take precautions by himself: since he knew he was traveling alone, he would be careful to stay in the areas that were indicated as safe, although he thought happily to himself that soon he would be old enough to go wherever he wanted without concern – not that he especially longed to go to the districts full of brothels or drug dens, of course.

It was reasonable to be cautious for now, though, given his unfamiliarity with cities. He was as dazzled by the massive night market – as boisterous as any of the daytime markets – as any country yokel, and the items available for purchase were as many and varied as the people who came to the Nightless City to sell them. It was almost a pity to have to return to the Sun Palace the next day for the remaining events of the discussion conferences, largely academic discussions and skill exchanges, or the day after, to spectate on the other competitions, both the minor ones for things like calligraphy and mathematics and, more importantly, the second main event, showcasing skill in riding.

Lan Qiren wasn’t competing, of course, but he obediently showed up to observe – or, rather, to daydream about something more interesting while keeping his face carefully oriented towards the competition stage – and the second he could, he slipped away into the depths of the Sun Palace once the competition itself was over. Actually leaving entirely would be rude, of course, even if it would have been his real preference to return to the wonders of the city. Still, he would much rather walk through the halls than endure the inevitable rounds of mutual congratulations that invariably occurred during the celebration held after the discussion conference’s main competition. All those sect leaders buttering each other up…

There were times, he reflected, when he was very happy to have been born a younger son.

Lan Qiren did his best to avoid any places where people were gathered, turning back at once if he saw the rooms were occupied. There was no formal banquet tonight, to his relief – they’d all eaten while waiting for the competition to finish – but the socializing had started in earnest, and it felt like there were people everywhere. It would go on late into the night, with sect leaders toasting each other from the endless jars of wine that could be found everywhere, and there would be a thousand and one boring retellings of the same old stories everyone always told at these things.

Better to avoid people.

Certainly better to avoid people like Wen Ruohan, Lan Qiren thought, backing away from a room that appeared to be a small library, where the sect leader was standing and gazing out of the window, not far from a small table with two place settings already laid out. Its presence suggested a more private rendezvous was anticipated, and others more inclined to gossip than he might have chosen to stay and try to see if they could figure out who Wen Ruohan would be meeting – probably Lao Nie, if Lan Qiren had to guess, given the whole Hanhan situation – or possibly to try to form a further connection with the aloof and arrogant sect leader, but Lan Qiren kept his brother’s warnings in mind: Wen Ruohan was dangerous.

Anyway, he’d gotten into more than enough trouble for one trip.

After a little more searching, he found a small, secluded garden – quite possibly the very same one from a few days before, now that he thought about it, though he’d long lost any sense of direction he might have had – and settled down on the bench with a relieved sigh. The party was far too loud and too boisterous for his taste, with far too many people. He might long for adventure and new experiences, but it was the lonely road and quiet towns that called to him, and sometimes also the massive and faceless cities, not the full-of-themselves sect leaders, each one in love with their own voice, that seemed to pride themselves on talking at least once to everyone who attended.

At any rate, it wasn’t his problem. His brother had made clear that he didn’t want Lan Qiren to assist him in forming connections for the sect – assuming he even could, with his terrible social skills that mostly made his brother and most of his etiquette teachers want to forget he even existed – and that meant he was completely justified in hiding himself away here where no one would find him.

“I never got a chance to congratulate you on your victory,” a low voice said from behind him, and Lan Qiren started in sudden surprise, having not heard someone enter the room.

Though, he supposed as he rose to salute, he wouldn’t – the difference between his cultivation and Wen Ruohan’s was like night and day.

“Sect Leader Wen,” he said respectfully, keeping his head down. His brother had been especially clear that he wasn’t to cause trouble for this man in particular. Not like last time, even though Lan Qiren still wasn’t entirely clear on what it was that he was supposed to have done wrong previously. He was starting to think he’d never figure it out.

Wen Ruohan walked into the room, his pace as slow and graceful as it had been three years ago – the glide of a very self-assured predator that knew itself to be the unquestioned master of its domain, not only fearless but also smug in its self-evident superiority. The aura of power, his cultivation at a level that could scarcely be dreamed of by most people, draped around him like a gaudy cloak, meant to excite envy and fear in equal measure.

Lan Qiren had heard rumors that Wen Ruohan would sometimes use the sheer weight of his power to lock people into place, forcing them to their knees or backs on the floor in front of him, humiliating and tormenting them for his own amusement, but he didn’t feel anything like that. It was a display of power, yes, but no more so than the priceless spiritual gem that hung on Wen Ruohan’s forehead or the luxurious quality of his clothing, white and red flame, black belt and gauntlets, the finest fabrics and the best embroidery.

“I thought I saw you earlier,” Wen Ruohan remarked. “Or at least the hem of your robes – were you running away from me?”

Lan Qiren’s face suddenly felt hot with embarrassment. “No, of course not!”

That interpretation hadn’t even occurred to him. Had he really been rude? Should he have stopped to greet him properly? He hadn’t thought so, since he hadn’t even entered the room, but his instincts on such things had always been terrible…

And there was still his brother’s exhortation not to spend time with Wen Ruohan.

“Forgive my rudeness, Sect Leader Wen,” he said, dropping back down into a second low bow before rising again. “No slight was intended. I’m not supposed to be alone with other sect leaders.”

“No? And yet yesterday I recall seeing you sitting here with Sect Leader Nie.”

That was true.

What was he supposed to say to that? ‘Yes, but he’s nice’? ‘But I’ve known him for years’? ‘He’s one of our sect allies, you’re too dangerous’? ‘I was told to avoid you specifically’?

Lan Qiren might not be the best at social niceties, but even he knew he couldn’t say something like that.

His face must be demonstrating some degree of his panic, because Wen Ruohan chuckled.

“You can make it up by spending some time with me now, little Lan,” he said, waving a hand in forgiveness. “Come with me – the study is far more comfortable than this garden, especially at this time of year.”

Lan Qiren didn’t really have any knowledge of what the garden was like at this time as opposed to other times, being that this was his only visit so far to the Nightless City, but he had no reason to question Wen Ruohan’s judgment on the matter.

A quick mental review suggested that he had no choice but to comply. His brother had been emphatic that Lan Qiren wasn’t allowed to draw Wen Ruohan’s ire, even if it meant complying with his instructions as if Wen Ruohan were an elder of his own sect; moreover, refusing now would probably be impolitic, especially given the other man’s misinterpretation of his earlier avoidance. In short, despite his best efforts, Lan Qiren had clearly stumbled into a social trap of what he assumed must be his own making. It usually was, after all.

It’ll be another punishment for this, probably, he thought, resigned. He didn’t think that anyone was going to come get him out of this anytime soon, no matter what his brother had said, and he was bound to trip up and say something embarrassing sooner or later. At least there’s only this evening and then the closing ceremonies in the morning – the sooner we get home, the sooner discipline can be imposed and the entire fiasco put behind us.

“Of course, Sect Leader Wen,” he said, and belatedly noticed that some of his resignation had seeped into his voice. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I will join you.”

Wen Ruohan chuckled again. “Most people would say that they were pleased to join me,” he remarked, turning and leading the way, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. “But you don’t lie, do you? It’s one of your rules.”

Lan Qiren felt helpless, following a few steps behind him like a small fishing boat caught in the wake of a warship. “It is one of our rules,” he agreed, since saying that he was happy to join Wen Ruohan would in fact be a lie. “I try to obey them whenever possible.”

“You’ve gotten wiser since we last met. I think I recall that last time, you said always obey the rules?”

“Wisdom comes with age.”

“Is that flattery?”

“Respect for one’s elders.” Lan Qiren paused. “Also a rule.”

“Of course,” Wen Ruohan opened the door to the study that he had been in earlier, the small library with its single table and two settings and window showing the outdoors, and swept inside. “Tell me, then, as the expert in your rules – what rule is it that allows the Lan sect to develop such skilled politicians? One would assume that lying was a prerequisite.”

He doesn’t actually care about the rules, Lan Qiren tried to remind himself, his brother’s voice echoing in his ears. And yet what else could he possibly talk about with Wen Ruohan? It was a question the other man had posed directly, and he was supposed to be obedient, or at least try to be…and he really, truly enjoyed talking about the rules.

“There’s some debate on that subject,” he temporized, but Wen Ruohan arched an eyebrow and inclined his head in an invitation for him to continue. “Some posit that the rules regarding the obligations to honor one’s elders and protect one’s family require that the benefit of the sect take priority over other obligations. Others take the view that not lying is an obligation of general good conduct, which cannot be disregarded, but that it is mitigated by other rules – do not speak frivolous words, for instance.”

“I take it that you’re in the latter camp.”

Lan Qiren was, as it happened, but he wasn’t sure he should say so. After all, it was Wen Ruohan’s ancestor who had first raised up his family and started the tradition of the clan as the sect rather than schools as it had once been, and by all accounts the process of doing so had been a bloody one – what was that if not a belief that your family takes priority over the common good?

He couldn’t say that, though.

Speak meagerly, for excess words only bring harm.

“I am,” he finally said, since Wen Ruohan was still waiting for him to respond. “It is a matter of personal opinion.”

He bit his tongue to keep himself from continuing to talk. There were at least fifteen other points of interest that had come to mind at once - the rule against lying was one of the more debated ones, and of course there were all sorts of writings on the subject of balancing worldly concerns with philosophical ideals more generally. And it was so rare for someone to actually express interest in it!

Speak meagerly, he reminded himself desperately. Meagerly! Haven’t you done enough harm already?

“I see,” Wen Ruohan said. “Come, sit.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose on the sect leader’s time,” Lan Qiren protested automatically. “If you’re already expecting company…”

“Who says I am?”

Lan Qiren looked helplessly at the table. There were two place settings, as he’d briefly glimpsed earlier, and a few snacks laid out already, mostly grilled vegetables – it was perfect place for a private meeting to talk business with another sect leader, which Lan Qiren wasn’t, or else to sit and converse with an old friend, which Lan Qiren definitely wasn’t.

“The servants make it up that way preemptively,” Wen Ruohan said, and Lan Qiren twitched as he realized that the other man had come up behind him, standing a little too close. “They do it in all the rooms, in the event someone wishes to use it. There’s no one coming.”

For some reason, that sounded almost ominous.

Presumably just Lan Qiren’s bad social sense again. Such a display was likely nothing more than the Wen sect showing off yet again, this time in terms of their wealth and the number of servants.

And, well, if the table really had just been set out to be used, surely it would be wrong not to use it? There were rules about avoiding waste, too.

“In that case, I thank Sect Leader Wen for the honor of the invitation,” he said, and sat down properly, sweeping his sleeves back and arranging himself. That it got him a little further away from Wen Ruohan was not as much of a secondary consideration as it probably should have been. “Would you like me to serve tea?”

“I was thinking something stronger,” Wen Ruohan said, sitting down as well, and reaching for the jar already there. “Why not a toast to your family’s victory? A double victory, no less, with you taking first in music and your brother the same in riding. Most impressive.”

Lan Qiren hesitated. That was a very appropriate toast, complimentary – exactly within the boundaries of what an elder ought to say to a junior, really. And yet, at the same time…

“Sect Leader Wen,” he said uncomfortably as Wen Ruohan poured out a double helping in each bowl. It was clear liquor, not wine. “This one apologizes, but…I am not accustomed to drinking.”

“No?” Wen Ruohan was smiling, but when Lan Qiren obediently met his eyes, there seemed almost to be something dangerous about his expression.

“It’s not that I question the quality,” Lan Qiren said hastily. “It’s only – you see – alcohol is prohibited –”

It was one of the rules. Unfortunately, it was one of the more controversial ones: it was generally waived outside of the Cloud Recesses, given how often hospitality required some form of drinking, and there were still elders in the Lan sect who simply refused to obey it at all, citing its uncertain lineage.

They were not in the Cloud Recesses now.

Wen Ruohan started laughing. “Little Lan,” he said. “Are you saying you’ve never had wine before? Aren’t you sixteen already?”

Lan Qiren’s shoulders involuntarily rose to his ears. “I’ve had wine!”

But only peach blossom wine, or rose wine, served at weddings as a toast for good fortune – but he couldn’t admit to that, since that was all kid’s stuff, barely classified as alcohol. He’d never even tried Emperor’s Smile, for which Gusu was famed.

Wen Ruohan’s smirk suggested that he’d guessed the truth anyway.

“It’s only a toast,” he said instead of calling him out on it, picking up his own bowl. “Surely you wouldn’t reject my good faith?”

When it was put like that, of course, there was nothing to be done for it.

Do not draw his ire, his brother had counseled him. If he approaches you, respond gracefully and comply with his wishes until someone comes to recover you.

After all, Wen Ruohan was well known for being moody and unpredictable, for having all sorts of strange whims and no inclination to refrain from indulging himself in them. Lan Qiren had no idea why he might suddenly be inclined to desire Lan Qiren’s company, of all people, nor as to why he would insist on him drinking a toast – at most, he could only speculate that it amused Wen Ruohan to force him to do things with which he was visibly uncomfortable.

And yet, as the saying went, it was unwise to refuse a toast only to be forced to drink a forfeit. Wen Ruohan, as the host, as the elder, as the powerful, could very easily press the issue even more than he already was, escalating from an interpersonal discussion to an intersect issue.

And how could Lan Qiren explain that to his brother?

“Of course not,” Lan Qiren said, giving in and lifting the bowl. “Thank you for your toast, Sect Leader Wen.”

He put the bowl to his lips and drank.

The liquor tasted sharp in a way with which he was unfamiliar, he observed, curious despite himself at the new experience, and it burned his throat when he swallowed. The sensation was almost distinctly unpleasant, actually, and he had to force his gag reflex not to activate, tears coming to his eyes.

He wondered, briefly, why people inflicted such a thing on themselves.

And then, just as he was thinking that, the alcohol hit him all at once like a tidal wave, descending in an overwhelming crash that obliterated all his senses.

[sweetalnazar]

Hey @pharry, sorry to keep you waiting but here's your gift! Looking at your faves, I had the idea for a silly crackfic thing where Valerius gets up to some investigation shenanigans with Vlastomil & Volta so here we are 😂😂

Enjoy~

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INTO THE GOAT'S DEN

2.8k. Valerius, Volta & Vlastomil, ft ghost goat!Lucio. Comedy/crackfic. Some suggestive past!Valerius/Lucio, though nothing explicit

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For the umpteenth time since they entered the Count’s wing, Volta screams yet again.

Likely it was another shadow or scurrying mouse, only this time her retreat is so swift her elbow slams right into Vlastomil’s stomach, the impact making a dull sound that echoes around the empty corridor.

Immediately, the Praetor doubles over in pain, his groans ghastly and monstrous.

Each groan is interspersed with squeaky apologies, “Oh no, oh no, Vlastomil, I am so sorry––”

“Would the two of you please shut up for one moment?!” Valerius snaps, glaring at them.

Volta satisfyingly shrinks back, but Vlastomil pays no heed, still making those awful damned sounds.

Not for the first time today, Valerius wishes he had had the good sense to grab one of his wineskins when he had left his estate this morning. Better yet, maybe he should have grabbed a bottle from Lucio’s collection, or two.

The man may have been pompous and annoying, but he knew how to splurge on good wine.

Sadly, there is nothing to dull the headache, not the one brought about by his companions nor the one from the task ahead.

Instead, Valerius sighs irritably, and forces himself to march onward, quickening his pace.

Better to get this whole ordeal over and done with.

Behind him, there is the hurried click clack of Volta’s shoes against the floor, along with the odd groan of Vlastomil, as they struggle to catch up.

“Oh, oh, Volta has a bad feeling about this. Yes, a horrible, terrible feeling indeed,” she mumbles over and over with each click.

“C-consul,” Vlastomil sputters and Valerius pauses, turning back to face them. “The Procurator has a point. This whole place is…unsettling. Dark and spacious as it may be, even my darling worms would shrivel having to stay here!”

Vlastomil motions exaggeratedly around the hallway, and he has a point.

The utter stillness of this corridor in a palace typically bustling with people, the giant gilded paintings of Lucio that loom over them, the dim lighting that has shadows darting in and out as if they are not the only ones here…

“Yes! Yes!” Volta cheers beside him, bobbing her head along as she chews the end of her scarf. “We should turn around, go back…to the kitchens, to scrumptious food by a warm fire…” She licks her lips and Valerius’s stomach rumbles ever so slightly.

The image is tempting, a bowl of chicken tagine and spiced rice, perhaps a nice caprese salad on the side. Oh, to pair that with a good wine, what a feast it would be…

Get a hold of yourself! Valerius was here for a reason, and no amount of ghost stories or the promise of food, comfort, wine, would force him away.

So he narrows his eyes, and in his iciest tone tells them both, “No.”

And sweeping his braid over his shoulder, he continues his path. They would move forward, no matter the cost.

It has been over a year since the disastrous fiery Masquerade, since Lucio’s untimely end and the beginning of the Countess’s slumber, since Valerius and the other courtiers had taken over the running of the city.

Although the situation wasn’t as ideal as he would have liked, Valerius had been somewhat content. He had more authority now, to help his city, to rebuild it to its former glory, and he no longer had to ahem get friendly with certain people to maintain his position.

Why, perhaps things could even improve further in the future, like say the other courtiers mysteriously disappearing and relinquishing all power to him.

Valerius is no fool though. Making a move against the violent wild card that was Vulgora, or worse, the ethereal, unsettling and certainly inhuman Valdemar, would not end well for him.

At least not as he is right now.

However, since Lucio’s death, the strange visions that were usually occasional visitors to Valerius’s dreams had been happening every month, every other week now.

His mother once said they had a bit of witch in their bloodline, one of the better ones, one with noble blood and disposition. So his visions were never ill omens, but rather, fortune seemed to find him, pointing him towards his field of study as a boy, then guiding him to the path of Consul as a man.

These days, the visions show no such clarity or good fortune.

Often, he is plagued by flashes of disaster and ruin, his beloved city crumbling and broken, and of a human-like ram decorated in riches, calling out to him. But no matter how hard he tries, Valerius can never reach the one calling out to him, and each time, he wakes up with the strangest sense of loss weighing on his chest, as if something precious has slipped through his fingers.

The witches in town weren’t giving him any answers. And his fellow courtiers were even less reliable. At least witches had a price.

That is until an offhanded remark from Valdemar caught his attention, some remark about amusing afterlives as they passed by the staircase to Lucio’s wing. Typical of Valdemar, the statement made no sense, but that brief twinkle of interest definitely meant Valerius should be paying more attention.

As he starts to learn of the rumors swirling around the palace, of ghost sightings and mysterious unsettling incidents, Valerius realizes maybe Lucio wasn’t as dead as they had thought.

Perhaps, Lucio might even have the answers he needs.

So Valerius has no intention of turning back today, not until he knew he had explored all his options to the best of his ability.

In order to avoid arousing suspicion––both from the servants and his fellow courtiers––Valerius had picked the two least threatening and most compliant of his colleagues to accompany him on an 'inspection', even if that meant they were both also the most spineless and bordering on most useless as well.

Unsurprisingly, both Vlastomil and Volta cower to the side as Valerius stands alone before the door, hand on the knob.

He can hear someone’s knees knocking, though it is uncertain whose knees, considering how both of them are shaking.

He turns the knob and Volta gasps.

“Oh, calm down already,” he tells her.

He pushes the door open and it swings so far inside that the wood smacks the wall with a bang. Vlastomil screams and jumps into Volta’s arms.

It goes as well as one might expect; Volta yelps, and before Valerius can so much as blink, they are already crashing to the floor in a heap.

Valerius massages his temples. “Why am I constantly surrounded by idiots?”

As the two courtiers struggle to get to their feet, Valerius enters the room. He covers the lower half of his face with his sleeve, and true to his expectations, clouds of dust rise with each step forward. His foot slams into a chair, or a stool maybe, and he hisses between gritted teeth.

It is then he notices that the area around him is silent, no footsteps or annoying whimpers or groans or anything else. He snaps his attention back to the door.

Vlastomil is peering in tentatively, while Volta clings to his shawl, peeping out from behind him.

“Hurry up and light the lamps already,” he hisses.

They both scurry in at the same time, momentarily getting stuck in the doorframe, only for Volta to shoot through and slam her head straight into the center of Valerius’s chest.

He coughs up a storm, while she frets over him, repeating incessant apologies once again.

“Just…light…the lamps,” he manages to hack.

“Oh yes, Consul, right away,” she says.

Massaging his chest, he watches as Vlastomil lifts Volta up on his shoulders. He grimaces, expecting one or both to fall over and drag the lamp down with them, but the room brightens with little fuss.

“At least you can do one thing right,” he croaks.

“Quite..macabre in here, isn’t it?” Vlastomil comments, as he lowers Volta back down.

Valerius straightens, eyes sweeping through Lucio’s chambers.

Dust and grime coat every surface, only their footsteps breaking through the layers of filth. The edges of the sheets and the canopy are still as scorched as the day the room and its owner went up in flames.

Valerius swipes a finger over the golden frame of Lucio’s grand portrait and comes up with enough dust to make a wig out of. He shakes it off, then reluctantly wipes it away on his robes.

No one has ventured here in a long time.

A few paces away, Volta sniffs the air loudly and wrinkles her nose. “Not good smell, no.”

“What do you smell?” Vlastomil asks, shifting one foot from another, as if he is waiting for something to jump out and allow him to flee as fast as he can.

“Charred meat and cloth, like a barbecue gone wrong. Oh, the poor meat!”

“That would be the Count, you dolt,” Valerius says, as he kneels by the bed to inspect the patches of soot and gray, the gray of the Count's ashes no doubt.

“That’s not all!” Volta pipes up, interrupting his thoughts. “There is spoiled food and bad magic and…” Her voice trails off.

“And?” Vlastomil prompts, his voice rising by an octave.

“Goat.”

“Goat?” Both Vlastomil and Valerius repeat in unison.

“Why, in the name of all that is holy, would there be a goat in the Count’s room, Procurator?”

She shrugs. “Volta does not know. But it was here, and it is…different. It is not an ordinary goat.”

“Oh a ghost goat! A demon goat!” Vlastomil cries out, and Valerius grabs his shoulder before he can leap into Volta’s arms again.

“Calm yourself, Praetor. Maybe a pet goat of one of the guests wandered in here before. You know how they like their exotic animals. Of course, they would smell different.”

Vlastomil relaxes, but Volta’s expression remains unconvinced, gnashing her teeth.

“We shouldn’t be here, we shouldn’t be here. Consul, let us leave soon before the goat is upon us.”

“Patience, Procurator. I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.” He reaches out to finger some of the dust, and his palm brushes the sheets.

There is the faintest breeze and for a heartbeat, he is unsure if he is listening to the wind or murmurs against his skin. Ignoring the hairs standing up on the back of his neck, he moves over to the closet, only to trip on the rug.

“Consul!” Vlastomil and Volta lunge forward, grabbing onto either side of him.

Unfortunately, their good intentions do little to help Valerius as he is shoved headfirst into the open closet, before the door slams shut behind him.

“You blubbering buffoons!” he hollers, nearly drowning in the layers of decadent silk and thick furs. “Let me out!”

Instantly, the door is opened with a click and Valerius tumbles out, along with at least half of the wardrobe.

“Oh no, the Consul, the poor Consul! Is he dead?”

“No, I think he’s still with us. Consul, can you hear me?”

“I wish I couldn’t,” he huffs, blowing a feather out of his face.

“See, Volta, he’s still alive. Here, Consul, take my hand.”

“Praetor, do you even know where I am?”

“Ummm…”

He sighs, long and defeated. “Just, please move out of the way.”

After some struggling and squirming, Valerius manages to rise up from the pile of clothing.

Volta claps her hands at the sight of him. “Ooo, Consul, you look quite lovely, yes.”

Vlastomil nods. “That outfit certainly suits you.”

Valerius glances down. He is wearing a winter coat, a pure-white that has yellowed slightly from age.

The weight of it feels oddly familiar, but at the same time, it definitely cannot be his.

It’s far too heavy, and long, and ridiculously fluffy for his tastes. Not to mention it is too long; Valerius has to grip the front of the coat in an effort to keep the hem from sweeping the floor and tripping him.

He sighs, before shaking the coat off and letting it fall to the floor. “Please tell me you brought the candles.”

“Yes, we did!” From the folds of her dress, Volta produces about a dozen candles, while Vlastomil produces another half dozen from his pockets.

“Good, let’s set up the ceremony now.”

He takes a seat on the bed and directs the other courtiers on the arrangement. Just as nearly all the candles are lit, there is a brush against his spine and he stiffens, back arching straight.

“Consul?”

“I’m fine. Continue.” Just a strange chill, nothing more.

Volta gulps, but lights the final candle anyway.

“What now, Consul?” Vlastomil asks.

“Give me a minute, I’m trying to recall the witch’s instructions.” He taps his chin. “Alright, the two of you, take my hand–– No, one of you takes the right, and the other takes the left! You can’t hold the same hand.”

“Ohhh,” the two courtiers exclaim, as if it has only just occurred to them.

Valerius isn’t sure whether to smack his own forehead or theirs. Instead, he proceeds with the next instruction, “Take each others’ hand––yes, like that. Now be quiet and let me speak.” He takes a deep breath. “Tonight––”

“It’s teatime, Consul.”

“I said quiet, Procurator. Now where was I––oh yes, tonight, we call upon the spirit of the late Count Lucio. If you are here, send us a sign.”

A wave of heat brushes them, like mist rolling through, and Valerius resists the urge to cough.

Vlastomil does not, while Volta squeaks, “Oooo, oooo, I do not like this, disturbing the Count, he is not happy––”

“I’m sure your whimpering isn’t helping his mood either,” Valerius comments, before continuing, “Please show yourself to us!”

A hollow unearthly laugh, so strange and inhuman that it could have easily been a gust of wind, a too-loud creak of the door, bounces around the room.

“Just like old times, eh, Valy?”

A shiver goes down Valerius’s spine, the hairs on his arms going up. His gaze darts to the coat, and it occurs to him why the weight felt nostalgic.

His mind flashes back to a distant memory, a game Lucio liked sometimes.

“Pick something from my closet, Valy,” Lucio purrs. “I want to see how you wear it.”

Valerius scoffs, both at the nickname and the suggestion, but he goes over and selects the first tasteful thing he spots: a ridiculously fluffy coat, pure-white and trimmed with gold.

He does a spin in the center of the room, clutching the front of the coat as if he’s covering himself from the cold, before letting the coat slip open and expose his naked form. Lucio’s eyes widen with delight.

Finally, the coat slips from his shoulders, pooling around his feet.

Lucio’s grin is wolfish, teeth bared. “Come here, Valy~”

Barring his bare body beneath the coat, he had played out the scene almost perfectly, and realization hits Valerius. “Oh no.”

The lamps swing back and forth, the light flickering and flashing. The closet rattles, its contents crashing against its walls like waves of silk and finery.

Valerius jumps off the bed, past the candles, into the center of the room. Before he can make it any further, the ground beneath his feet begins to tremble, and the whole room shudders and stirs like everything is about to crumble around them.

Clutching onto him, Volta and Vlastomil huddle together, terrified and shaking. Valerius himself isn’t sure if it’s just their trembling that is causing him to shake, or if he is shaking just as much.

“What’s going on?” Vlastomil screams over the chaos.

“The goat! The goat is here!” Volta yells, before everything fades to pitch darkness.

The first flicker of light dances in Valerius’s sight, before he realizes he’s looking at a lit candle. Then one by one, the candles are all lit. Except someone has rearranged them all, into the shape of a heart.

The array of flames illuminate the heap of clothes and accessories piled high on the bed, and perched atop the pile is…

In a seductive pose, the goat-man strokes his thigh, batting his eyelashes at Valerius.

“Come here, Valy,” he purrs.

Without a single second thought, Valerius, Volta and Vlastomil bolt out of the room, out of the wing, and out of the palace, not turning once to look back.

Now, the servants whisper of the night (or was it afternoon?) where Consul Valerius was seen fleeing from the palace while screeching at the top of his lungs.

They whisper of the haunted wing, where a bloody warrior guards the entrance, where ghost armies lay in wait for an ambush, where something had once sent the courtiers themselves running for their lives.

But for the handmaiden Portia, her favorite has to be the one about a strange goat-headed figure that roams the wing, who always kept muttering to himself. They say the goat is bemoaning the loss of a lover, the betrayal of a spouse, the grief over a life cut too short too soon.

But really, if anyone bothered to listen closely, it was very clear what Lucio was saying.

“Was I not sexy enough for him?”