#i polish and cut mine and he uses his to sharpen

[ask-ethari-anything]

How has Runaan been handling the fact that Rayla is now dating a human?

All of his blades are extremely sharp now.

[allisonbaelfire]

Amethyst. - PART 20

I stepped into the agency, catching sight of Bakugo as he stormed outside with some of Jeanist’s sidekicks. His eyes locked on mine, and the glare he shot me was intense—angry, even. I felt a strange twist in my chest. What was his problem now?

Shaking off the thought, I made my way toward Best Jeanist’s office. He was already waiting for me when I entered, his posture straight and impeccable, as always.

“I hear you assisted in apprehending a thief today. Your teamwork with Mirko was commendable,” he said, his voice calm, yet sharp with precision. “I must admit, I didn��t expect you to collaborate so effectively with others.”

I frowned internally. Why does everyone keep saying that? Probably because of the Todoroki name—people expect us to be loners, like my father. But I’m not him. I couldn’t help but smirk, feeling a bit proud.

Jeanist’s keen eyes caught the expression immediately. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment on it. Instead, his tone became slightly more curious. “You seem to be in high spirits, Miss Todoroki. Let’s see if you can channel that focus properly. Show me the full extent of what your quirk is capable of.”

________

I followed him into a vast training room. It was immaculate—sleek metal walls and polished glass overhead. The open space had a sterile, minimalist design. It felt too clean, too controlled, and that made me uneasy. There were no obstacles, no clear targets—just a vast emptiness waiting to be filled.

Jeanist noticed my hesitation, his gaze sharp but patient. “No one but me will observe you,” he said, his tone steady and professional. “You don’t need to concern yourself with damaging anything here. And you certainly won’t harm me.”

I glanced at him, momentarily caught off guard by how easily he seemed to read me. There was something about him, the way he stayed composed, always a step ahead.

“This training area,” he continued, his voice maintaining that calm cadence, “was built for those with far more volatile and less controlled quirks than yours. It will endure whatever you unleash—ice, fire… even your dragon.”

I hesitated. Dragon. The word alone made my stomach churn. When I was still a child, I lost control. I had spent years keeping that part of me hidden. After the festival, feeling that monster again… I wasn’t ready to face it. I was afraid—afraid of what I could become if I unleashed it the way Jeanist wanted me to.

Jeanist gave me no time to dwell on my fear. Without warning, denim threads shot toward me, swift and precise, like coiling snakes. Instinctively, I threw up a wall of ice, feeling the familiar chill wrap around me as the ice shot forward, meeting his quirk with a sharp crack.

“You’ve honed your ice well,” he noted, his voice still calm as he withdrew his threads, as if he was merely observing a minor experiment. “But that’s not what I’m interested in.”

His attacks came again, faster and more calculated. Every move he made was deliberate, forcing me to react, to stay on my toes. I dodged and countered, sending more ice to block his advances, but it was clear what he wanted. He wanted the fire. He wanted me to lose control.

But I wouldn’t let it happen.

The threads constricted around my arms, pulling tighter as I struggled to maintain focus. My muscles were starting to burn from the exertion, my mind fraying at the edges. But I refused to let go. I wouldn’t let it out. I wouldn’t lose control again.

Jeanist’s voice cut through the tension like a finely sharpened blade. “You’re holding back, Miss Todoroki,” he said, his tone not scolding but sharp enough to demand attention. “That hesitation, that fear, will cost you. You’ve faced worse than this. Why stop yourself now?”

I stumbled back as his threads pulled tighter, restricting my movements even more. I could feel the pressure building inside, but I pushed it down, the cold of my ice spreading beneath my feet. “I don’t need the fire,” I shot back, my voice tense. “My ice is enough.”

Jeanist’s eyes narrowed slightly, his expression still unreadable but his tone taking on an edge of challenge. “Is it?” he asked, his voice measured. “Your brother thought he could manage his power alone too… look where that got him.”

The world seemed to stop. Those words struck deep, igniting something I couldn’t control. Anger, sharp and blistering, surged through me. How dare he mention him?

“You don’t know anything about him!” I shouted, and in that moment, I lost my grip. The fire broke free, erupting from my hands in a scorching wave of heat, hotter and more intense than I had ever let it burn before.

Jeanist didn’t move as the flames surged toward him. His gaze remained steady, analyzing every detail, every movement. It was as though he had been waiting for this moment.

“That’s more like it,” he said, his voice even, watching with focused interest as I unleashed both ice and fire in a chaotic swirl.

But something was wrong. This fire didn’t feel like it belonged to me. It pulled at me, something deeper, something primal, waking inside. Heat and cold surged together, and my vision blurred. I felt a creeping sensation at the edges of my mind, like something—no, someone—else was there. A shadow stirring, growing, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was watching, waiting. My body felt distant, as though I wasn’t fully there, like I was watching from a foggy distance, disconnected from the reality in front of me. And then, I saw it.

The dragon.

It appeared slowly at first, a hazy outline forming out of my flames, its body lined with shimmering, icy scales. My breath hitched as I felt its presence take shape, solidifying, towering above me. The creature’s eyes glowed the same deep purple as mine. I watched, helpless, as it moved with a will of its own—roaring, loud and deafening, shaking the very air around us.

“Stop… I don’t want this,” I whispered, my voice trembling, but the words barely escaped my lips. The dragon didn’t respond. It was like it didn’t hear me—or worse, it didn’t care.

Best Jeanist’s voice came through, steady but with a sharper edge. “Y/N, stay focused. Don’t let it control you. You are still in control.”

“I… I’m trying!” My own voice felt far away, like it was being drowned out by the roar of the flames and the crackling of ice beneath me. I reached out, trying to pull back the power, but it was too much. The dragon was too strong, and it wasn’t listening to me.

A sharp, jarring sensation ran through me as I tried to reel it back. I reached for control, but it slipped through my fingers like water. Panic rose in my chest as I realized I couldn’t stop it. The dragon wasn’t just a manifestation of my quirk anymore���it had its own mind, its own power.

“Y/N, focus!” Jeanist called out again, his voice cutting through the chaos. He moved quickly, dodging as the dragon’s massive claws slashed through the air, the ice beneath it cracking under the pressure. His eyes remained locked on me, calculating. He wasn’t panicking, but I could see it in his gaze—he was analyzing every move, every reaction, waiting for the right moment.

“I can’t—” I gasped, feeling the fire rage hotter, the cold biting deeper into my skin. “I can’t stop it!”

“You can,” Jeanist insisted, his voice firmer now. He dodged again as the dragon lunged toward him, flames and ice tearing through the room. “This isn’t just your quirk, Y/N. It’s connected to your emotions. Calm your mind!”

But I couldn’t calm it. The dragon was feeding off something inside me, something dark and uncontrollable. It was like it didn’t care about my fear—it thrived on it.

“Stop!” I yelled again, more desperate this time. But the dragon moved on its own, relentless and brutal. It lunged toward Jeanist, its eyes glowing brighter, and for a moment, I felt like it was smiling—enjoying the chaos, enjoying the power.

I stumbled, falling to my knees as my vision blurred. The flames surged higher, and I could barely breathe. It was too much. My heart raced in panic, but my body stayed frozen, trapped in the storm of power surrounding me.

Then, through the haze of ice and fire, I heard Best Jeanist’s voice again, calmer but urgent. “This is more than you’ve dealt with before, but you can handle it. I need you to breathe. Focus. Regain control.”

“I’m trying!” I shouted, but the fear was overwhelming. The dragon roared again, its massive head twisting toward the viewing window. My eyes followed, and there, standing behind the glass, was Bakugo. His face was twisted in frustration, fists clenched at his sides as he yelled into the speakers.

“Frostburn! Stop this shit right now!” His voice boomed over the chaos, sharp and angry.

The dragon paused, its massive body shifting instantly. It walked toward Bakugo, its glowing purple eyes narrowing as though it recognized him as a threat.

He was still standing behind the viewing glass, his crimson eyes fixed on me – ignoring the Dragons gaze. But unlike before, his expression wasn’t filled with anger or frustration—it was something else. Concern, maybe? No, it wasn’t possible. Bakugo didn’t do concern. But there was something about the way he stood there, fists clenched, jaw tight, like he was holding back from stepping in himself.

“Katsuki…” I whispered, the name barely making it past my lips.

Then, through the haze of ice and fire, I heard a voice—deep, monstrous.

“He’ll hurt us.”

No. A spike of fear ran through me. The dragon’s going to hurt him. I wanted to shout, to stop it, but the words wouldn’t come. The flames inside the dragon grew hotter, crackling with intensity as it prepared to strike. And then I felt it—a wave of heat rising inside me, something dangerous. The dragon was reacting to my emotions, my fear, and it wasn’t going to stop.

“He’ll hurt us,” the voice growled in my head, louder this time.

“No,” I managed to say, a little louder this time. “He won’t.”

But the dragon didn’t care. It snarled, flames curling up from its mouth as it reared back, ready to attack. I could feel the heat rising again, burning through my chest, suffocating me. My control was slipping, and the dragon was ready to strike.

Bakugo’s voice cut through the haze again, this time rougher, but still sharp enough to cut through the fog in my mind.

“Don’t give me that crap, Frostburn! I know you can stop this!” He took a step forward, hands clenched at his sides. “You control it! Not the other way around!”

His words hit me hard, and I could feel something inside me shift. My breath came out in short, ragged gasps as I tried to focus, tried to take back control. But the dragon wasn’t listening to me anymore. It was too strong, too wild, and it was feeding off everything I didn’t want to admit—fear, anger, frustration. I wasn’t in control.

“Katsuki…” My voice trembled. “I… I can’t…”

Bakugo slammed his fist against the window, his face twisted in anger. “Bullshit! You did it before! You can do it again!”

Best Jeanist watched me, his threads shooting out to intercept the dragon’s attack. The flames collided with the denim, but they didn’t stop. They were too hot, too powerful, and they melted through Jeanist’s defense like it was nothing.

The dragon reared back, preparing for another strike, its eyes glowing with that same menacing purple light. Stop, I wanted to scream. Please stop. My heart pounded in my chest, fear clawing at me as I struggled to take control.

“Remember, you control it! You’re stronger than this! Fight back, Frostburn!”

And then, through the storm of power, I heard Bakugo again. His voice was different this time—not angry, but determined.

I felt something shift inside me, his words cutting through the fog. Stronger… I could feel the dragon’s power, but I could also feel my own, buried beneath the fear. It was there, waiting for me to take hold. My breath came in ragged gasps as I reached for it, my hands trembling as I tried to regain control.

The dragon’s eyes flickered, its gaze snapping back to me for the briefest of moments. The flames around it slowed, the ice beneath its feet cracking but not spreading. I could feel it—my control returning, bit by bit. But it wasn’t enough. The dragon still moved, still raged, and I wasn’t sure I could stop it.

Jeanist’s voice echoed through the training room. “Y/N, focus! You’re the one in control. Not the dragon. You!”

I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to breathe, to focus on my own power, not the dragon’s. The flames inside me flickered, the ice cracked beneath my feet, and I pushed harder, reaching deeper for control. The dragon roared again, but this time, it didn’t attack. It hesitated, its movements slower, less wild.

“Bakugo, keep speaking!” Jeanist ordered, his voice cutting through the tension.

“Tch.” He muttered. “I know you can do it!” Bakugo yelled through the speaker. “You did it at the festival—just do it again!”

And then, with one final surge of energy, I felt it—the dragon’s grip on me loosening. The dragon dissolved into mist, its flames and icy scales fading into nothing. But the air was still thick with tension, the cold biting at my skin as I dropped to the ground, gasping for air. My legs felt weak, trembling beneath me, and my heart pounded wildly in my chest.

I glanced down at my hands—pale, almost blue from the cold—and for a moment, all I could hear was the deafening roar of my own heartbeat. My breath came in short gasps as I tried to steady myself, to make sense of what had just happened.

Jeanist approached cautiously, his gaze trained on me, watching for any signs that I might lose control again. “Y/N?” His voice was calm, steady, but there was an edge to it now—an understanding that hadn’t been there before.

I nodded weakly, trying to force my breathing back to normal. “I… I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice raw and hoarse. The words felt hollow, meaningless. Sorry for what? For almost losing control? For the dragon? For the voice that I wasn’t even sure was real?

Jeanist shook his head slowly, crouching down to meet my gaze. “There’s nothing to apologize for,” he said firmly. His expression softened, but his eyes remained sharp. “Now we know what we’re dealing with.”

I swallowed hard, my throat tight with fear. “I… couldn’t stop it.” The words tasted bitter on my tongue. I had lost control—not just of my quirk, but of myself. And that scared me more than anything.

Jeanist’s gaze didn’t waver. “You did stop it,” he said, his voice unwavering. “You regained control. And that’s what matters.”

His words were meant to comfort me, but they didn’t ease the knot of anxiety twisting inside. The dragon wasn’t just a technique—it was alive. It had its own will, its own mind. And for a terrifying moment, I hadn’t been sure if I was in control—or if it had been controlling me.

That voice… That deep, monstrous voice. Was it mine? Or was it the dragon’s?

I clenched my fists, still shaking. I wasn’t sure what scared me more—the fact that I had unleashed the dragon, or the part of me that didn’t want to let go of its power.

Jeanist’s voice was calm, measured as he stood. “You’re going to need more training, Y/N. This isn’t something we can fix in a week. I’ll talk to Aizawa—we’ll need his help to get this under control.”

Bakugo’s voice came through the speaker again, quieter this time. “Frostburn… Told ya, you can do it.”

I glanced toward the window, my breath catching in my throat. Why did his voice cut through the chaos when I couldn’t even reach my own power? It wasn’t right—he shouldn’t have been the one who got through to me. That should have been me. But… it wasn’t.

Jeanist turned to Bakugo. “Your assistance was timely, Bakugo. You provided what was needed for her to regain control. I’ll handle things from here.”

Bakugo didn’t protest, but his gaze lingered on me before he turned and left. I watched him go, my mind a swirl of questions and confusion.

__________

Jeanist’s attention returned to me, his expression thoughtful yet composed. I clenched my fists, still shaking. I wasn’t sure what scared me more—the fact that I had unleashed the dragon, or the fact that a part of me didn’t want to let go of that power.

But there was something else gnawing at me, something I didn’t want to admit. The dragon had been protecting me. I could feel it, deep inside, that primal instinct driving it forward, to shield me from harm. And that voice—it had said he’ll hurt us. But who? Bakugo? Jeanist?

Or… me?

Best Jeanist’s gaze remained steady. “Fear and anger fuel chaos, but what grounded you today was something else—your emotions, tied to Bakugo. Whether you realize it or not, they helped bring you back.”

I stared at him, my chest tightening. “My emotions… tied to him?” The thought seemed impossible. Katsuki?

Jeanist nodded. “Strong emotions, when properly directed, can bring clarity. Your connection with Bakugo helped center you. But you need to find that balance on your own.”

I frowned, unable to shake the discomfort. Bakugo? It didn’t make sense. He was loud, annoying, always pushing my buttons. How could he have any part in me regaining control?

“I stopped it,” I muttered, more to myself.

Jeanist’s expression didn’t change. “You did. But his presence helped you focus.”

I clenched my fists. Why him? Why did his words cut through the storm when nothing else did?

Bakugo was loud, obnoxious, and always getting under my skin. He was a constant thorn in my side, always pushing my buttons. But then… there were the moments that didn’t fit that picture. At the festival, his words had snapped me out of the chaos, given me control. And then, when he came into my room the other night, fell asleep next to me… I hadn’t had nightmares for the first time in years.

Jeanist rose, leaving the thought hanging in the air. “Reflect on it. For now, remember, you’ll need to find that strength without relying on anyone else.”

_______

Amethyst. - Masterlist: click here -> You can find my Story on Wattpad!

_______ Please don't forget to like and share the Story if you like it!

[sharpen-jadescythe]

Deep thoughts with Sharpen

In a dim-lit Panderen poetry lounge, Sharpen sits on a stool, smoking. The himbo wears a fine suit, looks unusually thoughtful.

"There's a secret about my family name, Jadescythe." He exhales a blue-grey drag from his dark Panderen cigarette, "How can any weapon be made of jade? Let alone a scythe, you dig?

"Jade is precious, yes. Sometimes exquisite and expensive. But it's also brittle. What would you cut with it? More often, when you apply pressure to jade, the thing you're pressing it into breaks the jade.

"So how could a jade scythe ever exist? And then my whole name, Sharpen Jadescythe... what is that, man? What is it?

"Well, it could be a dirty joke in the end. If you really think about it. I'm walking around with this blatantly wrong name, waiting for people to point out that it's impossible, that jade breaks. That I'm asking to get myself broken."

A final drag of his cigarette, a neat snarl, "Then I say, 'Yeah, I like getting broken off. You offering?'"

Sharpen leaves his stool, perches on the bar behind him. Then, he turns and leans all the way back, to lay on the bar and smoke.

"Or maybe that's a fantasy of mine. No one's ever hit on me, using my last name before."

The Pandaren bartender can no longer stand there polishing his drinking glasses, as there's a large Night Elf in a black suit lying on the bar. He puts paws on his hips.

"Sir. You cannot just lie down here, like a hibernating bear!"

Sharpen sighs unhappily, "I'm nothing but a big himbo with a bruised ego. I'd say it's about the same. Wake me in the spring, man."

"Alright look, Mr. Sharpen. I promise you I will break your jade if you would please just get off this bar! Alright?"

Sharpen makes a hopeless shrug, smokes his cigarette. "Sorry, Yoon. I'm so brittle now. In pieces. The moment's past."

Sharpen crosses his ankles. His fine, pointed leather dress shoes catch the candlelight just so.

A lone cellist strums. The Pandaren audience snaps their fingers politely.

[sin-of-jess]

“I love you...”

How Tanjiro, Zenitsu, and Inosuke would react to hearing their S/O tell them they love them for the first time!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tanjiro

Quiet and peaceful times weren't an easy thing to have with Tanjiro, between working with the Demon Slayer Corps and training with his comrades there wasn't much time for us.  

At the moment that didn't matter though, and as the two of us sat together under a tree admiring the sunset there wasn't a single thing that could ruin the moment.  Our shoulders were perched together, our fingers interlaced and resting on his thigh.  Our voices are just above a whisper as we discuss the events that took place while the two of us were apart.  

There was just something about the way he discussed his friends and sister, every emotion he feels as he speaks flash in his eyes as he goes on about the most recent adventure he had.

"I love you..."  I found myself saying, so soft I hadn't even realized it was out loud.  His eyes widen as his head snaps in my direction and it felt like my throat had closed up.  His eyes darted around my face and there's so much going on that it felt impossible to tell how he was feeling.

It felt like I could breathe again when his face broke into a smile as his grip on my hand tightens, "I love you too, Y/N."  He replies, using his free hand to gently grip my chin and bring me in for a kiss.

+++

Zenitsu

He really is a hopeless romantic.  He won't admit it, but I think he even keeps literature on romance in order to do more.  It was sweet, and though he wasn't good at surprises it was nice when whatever he plans comes together as it did now.  

I knew something was up when it was nearly impossible to go through a certain area of the butterfly estate.  It was a section of the outside I made an effort to go through if it was on route, and for an hour if I came close to the corridor that led that way there was always someone there to usher me the other way with a piss poor excuse on why I had to go back.  

I was happy to see why though, a beautiful spread of desserts and teas sitting on a silk blanket.  Zenitsu was on one side, sitting with his legs tucked beneath him stiffly as he looked at me like a puppy.  I could tell he wanted to know how I felt, so I wore my expression and lit up as I sat down beside him.

"This all looks amazing..."  I say to him, his body relaxing as he lets out a breath of air.  It was as if his nerves melted away, grabbing a few of the treats and hand-feeding them to me.  I let myself enjoy the pampering before returning the favor, giggling as I placed a sweet to his lips as he had been doing for me.  

"Zenitsu, I want you to know I love you,"  I tell him, biting back a smile as I watch about thirty emotions fly across his face.

"Y-you really mean that Y/N?"  He asks, his voice soft but anxious.  When I grin and nod his lips turn into a quivering smile as tears spring from his eyes.  I roll my eyes and lean over, Zenitsu meeting me halfway to crash his lips into mine.  "I love you too,"  He tells me between kisses.

+++

Inosuke

Bonding time between my feral boyfriend and I was often based around our time in the Demon Corps together.  Tanjiro had gotten hurt more significantly than Zenitsu and Inosuke, therefore Zenitsu waltzed around flirting with the residents of the butterfly estate while Inosuke trained.  That's what led to the situation I was in now, sharpening my weapons and slowly wiping them down while admiring the flexing back muscles of the boar masked man a few feet away from me as he practiced his sword swings.

"Y/N!!  Watch this technique!"  Inosuke yells in my direction as he does a flip and spin while simultaneously spinning his swords smoothly.  He lands and immediately takes a large leap, landing close enough to me that I could feel the hot breath shooting through his mask and onto the hand still resting on my half-polished weapon.

I pull the boars head off and am greeted with the same, almost irate, look he always makes when I take it off without prompt.  He doesn't attempt to yank it back on though and I can't help but laugh softly as his gaze turns confused.  

"I love you, Inosuke,"  I say lowly, my heart rate increasing as I anticipate how he'll react.  Our relationship wasn't traditional, and when milestones like this came up there was no telling how he'd react.  

His eyes widen and at first, it felt as if my nerves had tensed up.  I barely had time to drop my weapon before Inosuke's body hits mine, my back landing in the soft grass and my view being devious blue eyes.  "Inosu-"  He cuts me off with a rough kiss, his hands traveling to my cheeks and holding them as he presses his lips to mine.

[oh-for-fic-sake]

What is August going to do if his little decides to play with his forbidden knife collection? :3

Omg so this took a while and i'm sorry but im sooo happy with this! It got a little long so im hidig it under a cut but i hope you enjoy! @littlefreya @viking-raider

August swore vehemently looking around for the blades he'd sharpened specifically for his next assignment.

This needed to be silent and precise, he'd sharpened each blade twice! Not once but twice!

He wouldnt even attempt his 'arm hair' shave test this time knowing he may have gone over board with the sharpening.

But he couldnt help it, he found it therapeutic running his hands over the blades again and again, it was like medatation for him.

But they were no where to be seen! Hed placed them each delicatly in the rolled travelling leather holster, useing the small poppers to lock each dangerous blade in place and then hid it in the small safe in the wardrobe.

"Baby girl! LITTLE ONE HAVE YOU BEEN IN THE SAFE?!" He shouted down the stairs only not to get an answer, the radio on the kitchen drowning him out.

You were baking, well 'bakeing' he had bought a 'unicorn gingerbread box kit' for you both to make today.

It was a small treat he would spend the day with you doing anything your little heart desires befor setting off onto his week long mission.

You were currently rolling out the gingrbread and he had decided to sneak his weapons into his bag while you were preoccupied.

August never liked rubbing innhis occupation with you, never liked faceing the awkward questions, he wont lie to you but in being truthfull he can sometimes frighten you.

In the bedroom he was as ruthless and rough and demanding as he was at work.

But like this when you were little, you drew out a softer side. Well as soft as he was capable of, he was a stern man in everything he did, even in daddying you.

August huffed and zipped his case violently stressing out he needed to go down and pversee ou before you did something foolish, like tried to put the gingerbread in the oven.

Your panicked hyperventilating and bitten 9ff screams drew his attention immediatly!

He bolted down the stairs as fast as he could, so panicked by the cries and screams from the kitchen he raced through the housestomping and crashing with all the grace of a bull in a china shop.

Oh hell.

He froze, face paling mouth agape as he took in the scene.

Then he roared in a way you'd never heard.

You cowered holding your hand tightly as it bled profusely red life blood poured all over the white counter ruining the sheet pan dusted with what was once pure white flour.

The blood was also over the rolled out gingerbread, along with a very familiar knife.

You cried and staggered over you august holding your wound tightly tripping over your feet to him, wandering blindly unable to see much through your tears. Or hear past your frantic crying and yelps of "daddy!?"

August quickly decended on you grasping a teatowel from the laundry basket on the counter and tookover holding your offered wounded hand whislts snappjng at you in worry fueled anger.

"What the fuck are you dojng with that!? They are daddies special knives! You know not to touch thwm you silly little girl!"

"I'm s-so-rry! OUCH, NO-OO DAD-DY IT HURTS!" You cried out complaining as he dabbed the wound inspecting it.

It wasnt to deep just long, across the whole of your palm. He could tell your slipped and probably didnt evwn notice youd cut yourself untill it'd sliced fully across.

He'd sharpened them that much.

"You will be! By god little lady you will ne so very very sorry when im done woth you!"

"Come on sit down before you pass out and bleed all over the kitchen" he said tying a knot in two corners ot the teatowle making a triangle like a sling and looped it around your palm then fetched a wooden spoon slotting it in the large opening and began twisting it tight making a tourniquet.

You hissed as he pulled the clother thighter and tighter then slipped the wooden spoon into your fingers holding the teatowel still, before raising your hand high letting gravityhelp slow the bleeding.

"Now hold that there, dont you move, w need to stop the bleeding so i can mend it" he snipped grunting to himself. He wasnt worried as such, it looked worse than it was he had tended to worse on himself.

"Y-you can fix it da-ddy?" You sobbed tryi g to be brave but you were shaking like a leaf, youd never bled that much before.

"Yes daddy can fix it poppet, daddy can always fix it" he said quickly pulling out his... vast medic kit that was fully stocked to deal with everything from burns and cuts to bullet woulds and decapitated fingers. Because ou never know.

"A-are you mad da-addy?!" You whined eyes wide as he huffed and sighed dragging his hands through hos hair irritated

"Im not angry im very very disappointed. And you can bet your little ass is gonna be meeting that spoon shortly!" He said vehemently trying to calm himself and remind himself it wasnt too serious and he could deal with this cut.

You didnt even argue just looked down, dropping your watery eyes to the floor like a kicked puppy, and it wasnt even to soften him either.

"Why were you touching daddies private things?" He spoke tyring to take both his and your mind off your wound as he located everything he needed from the box.

"A'cos i wa-nted to see...they were shiney after you were polishin'em" you explained hicupping slowly weeping still as the pain and throbbing set in.

"I was sharpening them poppet, not polishing" he uttered quickly with a sigh trying to find a quaze big enough to wrap in a bandage.

"I just wanted to see... Never gon' touch" you sobbed bijng your lip eyes flickingnup the the now red teatowel, your figers were going a ittle numb from the tight tourniquet.

"And then?" He asked quirking a brow as you before waling to the kitchen sink washing and rinsing the washing up bowl thoroughly befpre filling with fresh warm water and a new clean cloth.

"Then the box said cut round the unicorns with a knife... And I already got it out to look at" you said shrugging a little as he moveed down your hand. Luckily the bleedig had stopped.

"I also says let and adult do it" your daddy chided as he slowly and gwntly unwrapped your hand making our fingers sting a little at the renewed bloodflow

"Im an-adult" you argued weakly then hissed as he begancleani g the wound dabbig it ever so lightly knowig he had to use clean water instead of antiseptic that could slow the healing of the delicate skin.

"Your a baby" he said with a roll of his eyes 'a spoilt baby' he added as an after thought to himself.

"...but im carful never cut myself with my big girl knives!" You agrued then gasped giving a small 'uh oh' you mouth had run away with you again.

"You mean the kitchen knives?" August asked quickly coming down on the new information like a... well hammer on a land mine.

"No... my saftey knives daddy" you uttered under your breath hissing as he moved on to the next stage of tending to your wound pressing the gauze to it.

"What do you mean your safety onives little one?" He said paying close attention to the bandages he was unravling over your hand trying to keep it firm but comfortable.

"My safety knives... i-in my purse?... Incase of baddies" you whispered slowly praying he wouldnt hear you. But his fingers paused for a second before quickly tying off the bandage in a knot and gave you a fierce look.

"You have knives in your?- wait hold-" august frowned and held a hand up singnalling you to stay then left the kitchen.

He returned moments later and emptied your pjrse only to growl shaking his had as a plethora of 'cute' weapons fell out. Hello kitty switch blades, rainbow blades, pink pocket knives and suspicious looking comb, key knives, pen knives you name it! There was even a ... cat keyring obviously meant to be some sort of pointy eared knuckle duster.

"Really poppet? Knives and... knuckle dusters- these are" he began scolding you but you cut him off

"I know i know daddy im sorry-" your apology was halted as your daddy spoke over you in a warning to e, he didnt like being interrupted.

"No where near good enough! These are all close range! If your close enough to use these then your already fucked! No you need pepperspray and a tazer!" He growled quickly picking up the feeble knives that had no grip to them, and wasnt ever sharp!

"T-tazer?" You stuttered tiltinnyour head cradling your injured hand to your chest.

"Yes, they are close range but will stop any attacker in their tracks! You can get away whilst your attacker is convulsing and laying in a pool of his own piss!" August growled becoming more and more aggravated as he realised you had now real way of protecting yourself when he wasnt around, big or little!

"Im getting you a tazer- today! Before i leave" he decided nodding to himself as he binned the now soiled teatowel and wash cloth.

"...can i have a pink one daddy?" You asked not being the slightest bit against having a tazer, it would make you feel alot safer then a knife.

Knives needed a proper opening and some brute force to protect you and could really really hurt someone!

A tazer was just a button and could work nomatter where ou hit the baddy and would kill them just make em gall over and pee.

"You can have a pink one princess... or a lipstick one or a tampon one?" Auguast suggested trying to thinl of the best one for you... he was sure a smaller discreet one whould be better than a law enforcement grade.

"That sounds uncomfortable daddy..." you uttered shuddering at the thought of that... being mistaken.

"Its not really a- fuck it... Right come on lets get in the living room you can go pick a tazer online" he said beginni g to pack up the first aid kitpillig everthing neatly into the box.

"O-okay... but no spankies daddy... I'm hurt" you warned cautiously waving your bandaged hand

"Yes spankies! Absolutly spankies! You take this spoon with you and you can pop it on the table as a reminder!" He ordered holding you with a level gaze blue eyes warning you to do as you were told.

"But my hand-" you said sniffling cradling it.

"Will be the least of your problems when I'm tanning your naughty butt! Now go or else" he threataned clipping the first aid box shut still watching you, staring unblinkingly.

"Or else what-" you started but your daddy was havig none of it and cut you off again.

"There is a silicone butter icing spreader in this kitchen that will be much worse than thw wooden spoon! Now get in the living room befpre i make you find it" he growled not about to let you throw a paddy about getting your ass blistered after the stunt you pulled.

Your lower lip wobbled but yu nodded giving up, plucking the wooden spoon and turning around leaing the kitchen in a walk of shame muttering a tiny 'yes daddy, sorry daddy'

Auguast watched with a stern face, before turning his attention to the bloody kitchen he will clean before coming to deal with you.

A good fifteen mineut wait will let you have time to reflect before he comes in and tans you hide.

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Evan’s 6✩ Inspiration: Umbrae Secrets [繁荫秘语] Date Translation (END 7 + 8: Heart-throb)

"It feels pretty good to have your wish granted by someone else.”

*Light and Night Master-list | Evan’s Personal Masterlist *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *This 6✩ Inspiration has 8 Endings!! *Reblogs and likes appreciated! *Evan’s tag will be #For Night, For Revolution *Will be taking a short break for one or two days for mental health reasons, so no TLs will be uploaded while I’m gone

✥ Choice: Heart-throb [心动] ✩Light & Night★

After pondering for a while, I finally decided to…

✩ E7 LIGHT: Rest here ✩

MC: The view's pretty nice. How about we rest here for a while?

Evan: Sure. Let's sit here then.

I followed Evan and seated myself atop a rock by the river and gave a good big stretch, easing the tension out of my slightly sore hips and legs.

The vegetation around us was a little sparser now, and the golden sunlight fell upon us in mottled spots. The river had crystal clear water. The sunlight pierced through the waves, leaving shimmering gold patterns that wavered along with the current of the river.

There were occasional grey shadows that darted through the water. I excitedly patted Evan's arm to catch his attention the moment I saw it.

MC: Look! There are fish in the river!

Evan: There's quite a bit of them. Those look like striped bass.

MC: They're so big…

Staring at the plump and juicy-looking fishes, I suddenly became acutely aware of the snarling abyss that was my stomach as it slowly woke back up.

I never expected to get hungry just from that short trek.

Those fishes would be delicious steamed! Add soy sauce, a little wine to taste, and the meat will become tender and succulent, absolutely flavorful...

But it would also be equally good braised! Deep fry it first, then add soybean sauce, Sichuan pepper and star anise to spice it up. Then add water to let the sauce soak in, producing a flavourful, mouthwatering, aroma!

I couldn't help but swallow in anticipation. I guiltily cast a glance at Evan, hoping that he didn't notice my guilty inward musings of a glutton.

Evan: Don't tell me you're thinking whether this fish would be better braised or steamed?

MC: ??? ...Remove the camera you installed in my brain!

Evan: Why would I need a camera? It's written all over your face.

Evan: It'll be a little hard to steam or braise anything here, but we can try grilling the fish if we have a stove to work with.

Hearing the words "grilled" and "fish", I instantly felt rejuvenated. Gone were my sore hips and aching legs.

I jumped up from the rock I'd been sitting on with a start.

MC: Grilled fish sounds good! I've got the stove! And grills! And seasonings!

Evan: Brilliant.

MC: Then there's only one thing missing… How are we going to catch the fish?

Evan surveyed the area and pondered for a while before speaking.

Evan: There are traces of grilling being done on the ground. Someone must have grilled fish here before.

Evan: We can look around and see if there is any equipment left behind that we can make use of.

MC: Okay!

Evan and I each took one side of the river as we scoured the bank for any items that may be of use.

Soon after, I moved a patch of tall grass aside and lifted something in triumphant joy.

MC: Evan! Look at what I found! A harpoon!

Hearing me call out to him, Evan headed over. He took the rusty harpoon from me and gave it a once over.

Evan: Sharpen it on the rocks and it should be good to go.

MC: Great!

Evan took the harpoon to the rocks and gave it a thorough sanding to get all the rust off. Soon, the once-rusty harpoon regained its sharp, deadly, metallic glint. It looked as primed as ever.

After he was done polishing it up, I excitedly picked it up. Evan looked at me in slight surprise.

Evan: You want to try?

MC: Yeah! Plus, I'm wearing a dress, so I don't have to worry about getting my pant leg wet or anything like that!

Evan took one glance at the way I was brandishing the harpoon, looking ever so eager to try my hand at it, and softened. A helpless yet tender look dyed his orbs.

Evan: Alright, but be careful not to slip.

MC: Right!

I took the harpoon to the river bank and quietly searched for my quarry.

Soon enough, a shadow slid smoothly across the water. But, it had already gotten long out of reach before I had the time to react.

I observed the waters for a while more, familiarizing myself with how the fishes moved.

When another fish appeared, I timed myself, raising the harpoon high and bringing it down hard!

The harpoon jostled the river and disturbed the dirt at the bottom of the riverbed. However, there was no fish in sight when the waters came to a standstill once more. There was only a harpoon, firmly embedded into the riverbed.

MC: Feels like I'm swerving my hits a bit…

A small laugh came from behind as a warm hand enclosed mine, wielding the harpoon together with me. He dislodged it and returned it to my grasp with surprising ease and finesse.

Evan: It's alright. Try again.

Evan: Throw the spearhead further to prevent hurting yourself.

I nodded and took the harpoon. Soon, I took my aim at another incoming fish.

I inwardly encouraged myself: I'll get it this time!

I swung the harpoon and sent it stabbing downward. This time, I felt like I'd hit the target quite accurately!

However, the fish wiggled for a bit beneath my harpoon before speedily making its slippery escape…

MC: *Sigh*...Is it because I'm too weak?

Evan: It's because you hesitated.

MC: Hmm, maybe a little. I suddenly feel a little hesitant to deal the finishing blow when I think of how this harpoon inevitably pierces the fish’s body.

Evan: Reluctance to deal the finishing blow is only normal. How about I do it instead?

A strong wave of reluctance surged up within my heart. I swiftly hid the harpoon behind my back.

MC: Nah. I’ve only tried it twice! Give me a couple more chances and I’ll definitely be able to do it!

Evan: If you say so.

Evan: Then you'll have to be faster, and you'll have to land harder hits than that.

Evan: Or you can think of it as your enemy, or maybe someone you dislike?

MC: Hahaha… Well, about that…

I thought about it seriously for a while, but I couldn’t think of anyone I particularly disliked.

Hence, I looked back at Evan and casually dropped him a question.

MC: I can't really think of any off the top of my head. Do you have anyone you dislike?

Evan was taken aback. His eyes were slightly lowered as if he was hiding some sort of emotion that dwelled within.

I suddenly recalled that we’d come on this trip precisely because something had happened beforehand to make him unhappy. Now, his expression only made me understand it more with stark clarity: yes, he did have someone he disliked...

MC: You don’t have to think about unhappy things! I’m sure that person’s not a good person if they’ve made even you dislike them! I’ll teach them a lesson!

Evan: Why, thank you.

With the harpoon in tow, I returned to the river bank. Reflected in my mind was none other than how Evan had reacted to my earlier question.

Just what sort of issue would trouble someone as strong as him? On that same note, just what sort of person would cause someone as powerful as him to become this restless and uneasy?

Then, a fish slowly swam into my line of sight. And it was precisely with this sort of mood that I raised the harpoon high in the air, sending it plummeting downward without a moment’s hesitation!

However, the sudden force I’d flung it down with made me lose balance as I went down with it. I felt my waist move backwards from the force as my feet slipped from beneath me...

MC: Uwah!

Splash!

Water splashed in all directions as I slipped right into the river...

Evan: !!

Fortunately, this river wasn’t deep and only reached my waist. Evan swiftly support me as I stood up.

Evan: Are you alright?

MC: I'm fine… my butt's just a little sore… Ow…

Evan: Slowly.

He supported me back to sit on the rock. I looked down to inspect myself. My dress was soaked and dripping water everywhere.

I gathered my dress and wrung out a load of water from it. Ah, how I’ve screwed up...

Evan: Does it hurt anywhere else?

I gathered my hair together in slight embarrassment as I shook my head.

After ensuring that I was not injured in any way or manner, Evan moved to light the stove by my feet. He then removed his jacket and placed it over my lap.

Evan: Be careful not to catch a cold.

My stomach gave a loud rumble in protest the moment he finished. I quickly covered it in embarrassment.

Evan: Alright. Let me procure our lunch.

MC: I'll have to trouble you with it then…

Evan: It's no trouble at all.

Evan removed his glasses, rolled up his sleeves, and picked up my abandoned harpoon on the river bank.

Wrapping his jacket around myself, I looked up at him curiously.

I wonder what the CEO of Warson, ever dignified and well put-together, would look like brandishing a harpoon of steel?

❖☆———————————★❖

Just as I was thinking about that, Evan suddenly went rigid; and I, in turn, watched him with bated breath.

His gaze seemed to be transfixed on a particular fish. His dark red eyes narrowed with intent as the light in his orbs instantly turned to a cold glint; one as sharp as a deadly blade.

He raised the harpoon, the muscles on his arms and chest rippling as they made themselves known in their usage and exuded a raw, primal, sense of power.

The sun's rays glinted off the sharp blade of the harpoon, reflecting the cold light of the forest.

I watched him in a daze. It was almost as if I was watching a formidable and ruthless beast at work after having set eyes on its prey.

I'd rarely seen Evan with such an expression on his face. A thought suddenly popped into my head out of nowhere.

Maybe this was how Evan had always dealt with his enemies; swift and ruthless.

Then, the harpoon flashed through the waters as quick as lightning.

Water splashed everywhere as a muffled thud sounded. Evan had made his quarry, no doubt.

❖☆———————————★❖

With another slosh, the harpoon was withdrawn from the waters. A huge fish followed the length out of the water, trashing incessantly, its tail flicking to and fro.

When Evan turned to look at me, the usual warmth found in his eyes had returned.

Evan: Can you help me fetch a bucket?

I snapped out of the trance, hurriedly moving to fetch a bucket and brought it before him.

MC: You got it in a single strike! You're really awesome, Evan!

Evan: A young lady is waiting for me, hungry and cold, after all.

Embarrassed, I stuck my tongue out at him.

He removed the fish from the harpoon and dumped it into the bucket before returning to the river bank.

Following his return, the harpoon made continuous sounds as it pierced through the waters again and again. His actions grew increasingly precise, and I could tell that he was trying to let out some steam with how much strength he packed into each stab.

Soon, he managed to spear another two fish out of the river. They were both huge and plump, and he seemed to be much more relaxed when he turned back around again.

He knelt down and weighed his spoils with satisfaction.

Evan: The biggest catch weighs nearly 2kg. It should be enough for us.

Afterwards, he neatly killed the fish by the bank before putting them all on the grilling rack. I brushed the fish meat with the barbecue sauce that I'd brought.

The stove burned ever so strongly, and the place was instantly doused with the delicious aroma that rose into the air alongside the smoke. I rubbed my hands in anticipation, so excited about it that I couldn't quite sit still.

The fishes were finally cooked. I quickly took a bite out of it, leaning back in satisfaction as I did.

MC: How fresh! This is too delicious! You should try some too, Evan!

Evan: Sure. Careful not to burn yourself on it.

Saying so, he too, took a piece of the fish and brought it to his mouth. Under my watchful gaze, he gave it a serious chew or two as he contemplated the taste. Eventually, he gave a nod of approval.

Evan: Mmhm. Your sauce does a mean job too.

MC: Not bad, right? This is my personal recipe!

MC: With the fish you caught and my speciality sauce, these fish taste way better than any I've ever had in high-end restaurants!

Evan: We can always eat this again whenever you want to, so long as you're willing.

I nodded, unwittingly flashing him a smile, almost as if making a silent promise to him that we most definitely would.

MC: Have you ever gone fishing, Evan? You technically score full marks in wilderness survival!

Evan: I once lived out in the wild for a while at a time in the past, after all. But, I never had a harpoon back then, so today's my first time using one.

MC: Then you must be a naturally born hunter!

MC: I felt like you were exuding a predatory area when I saw you fishing earlier!

MC: How should I put this… It's as if you'll definitely catch the prey you set your eyes on.

MC: Unlike me… *Sighs*...

Evan: Why the sudden sigh?

MC: Well… I just thought that I'd put up a rather disappointing performance today.

MC: I was the one who got all enticed by the tasty-looking fish, but in the end, not only was I unable to spear a single one, but I've also rendered myself into a right state.

MC: The cat depicted in the cat emote pack online's definitely me. "Small, pitiful, and weak, but eats a whole lot like Tubbs"!

Evan smiled and shook his head. He rested his big hand on my head.

Evan: I don't think this is a fair comparison.

Evan: A kitten won't help me deal with the people I dislike, but that throw of yours earlier was one done with all your might behind the harpoon.

Evan: It makes me feel like I've met someone whom I can entirely trust.

His tone suddenly turned tender and very soft. So soft, that it was almost as if he had all his guards down; but so heavy, that it was as if he'd placed all his trust into it.

It was akin to a small drop of honey, the vicious liquid slowly spreading through my heart.

MC: Of course… I'll always be your most reliable buddy, ever!

MC: But, I'll be happier if I can really be of help to you!

Evan: You've already helped me plenty.

Evan: Next time I have to deal with them, all I have to do is to remember how brave you were and draw strength from that.

I froze. The only thing that my helpful brain provided was the image of me slipping right into the river, butt first. I panicked, instantly setting my chopsticks down.

MC: No! Forget that terrible throw I made earlier! Vanquish the thought!

I laughed as I ate, making a fuss of it all. Before we knew it, all the fish on the grilling rack had been swiped clean.

I embarrassedly put the chopsticks away, awkwardly coming to the realization that I was, in fact, not full yet.

70% filled is still considered full… I inwardly hesitated, mentally debating with myself. I was so absorbed in it that I failed to notice how Evan had a clear view of the expression that flickered across my face yet again.

Evan: I'll go catch some more fish to grill.

MC: Uh… About that… I'm sure the fish meat gets digested quickly! I'm sure that's just what it is!

Evan: No worries.

Evan: The charcoal fire's still going strong and it's still early before sundown. Plus, your dress isn't completely dry either.

Evan: We have more than enough time to slowly eat here, and we can do it until you're full and satisfied.

Evan: And as for just how many fishes you ate… I'll make sure to keep it a secret for you.

MC: Wha?

MC: Evan! I never pegged you for one before, but are you actually up to no-good!?

Evan: I'm being serious here.

Evan: It lifts my spirits whenever I see you eat.

Evan: It makes me feel like there's no simpler pleasure than that.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

After pondering for a while, I finally decided to…

★ E8 NIGHT: Walk a while more before resting ★

MC: I'm good. Besides, it'll be hard to get going again once we sit, so how about we carry on a little while more and see how it goes?

Evan: You're here for fun, so you don't have to be so hard on yourself.

But he'd probably seen the determination colouring my eyes, for he immediately added on to his previous sentence.

Evan: But I'll listen to the leader.

MC:  Hehe. Now that's more like it.

❖☆———————————★❖

We continued our trek deeper until the forest. Enamoured by the various sights and sceneries, the sky had turned dark long before I knew it.

Evan: Let's find a place to put up the tent. I think this place is pretty suitable.

MC: Okay!

We chose a location with a wide expanse of flat ground. Then, we set about executing the next step of the plan: set up the tent.

I took the tent from my bag, spreading it out on the ground.

First, we had to insert the two rods into the tarpaulin sheet. Then, we had to insert each end of the pole into the small hole on each corner of the tent.

However, this tarpaulin sheet was just way too big. One corner came loose right after I secured the other.

I tried my hardest to spread my arms as far as they could go, but it was still a struggle to secure both ends of the pole at the same time. I fought valiantly, only to end up covered in sweat from my moot attempts.

MC: This is the only time I hate having short limbs…

Evan: Let me help you.

I looked back in surprise. Evan had already returned from fetching water by the river.

He put the bucket down and came up behind me, spreading his arms and holding the curved poles in place with ease.

However, doing so made our positions very close to one another.

His arms were warm, firm, and much longer than my own; long enough to entrap me within when he spread it out horizontally like that. Adding on to that, our clothes were both slightly damp and sticking to our skin. I could acutely feel the faint rise and fall of his chest from behind.

The surroundings seem to be growing warmer, and I felt an inexplicable sense of panic.

Evan: You just have to pin the four corners down.

MC: Okay...

I fumbled as I ducked out of the cage of his arms, putting the rods into the small holes.

❖☆———————————★❖

With Evan's help, the tent was soon set up in no time at all.

Afterwards, we ignited the kerosene lamp again and set up a simple table and chairs. And thus, our little fort out in the wild was finally complete.

Everyone has an innate love of small secluded private spaces at least once in their lives. Looking at our small lodging, I felt a sense of joy well up from the confines of my heart.

MC: Evan, let's go in and have a look inside!

I couldn't wait to delve right inside. It was only after I'd spun a full round in fascination that I realized Evan was still standing outside.

That's not right. How could I have fun all by myself? The goal of coming here today was to make Evan happy!

I thought of a way to nudge Evan into action. A light bulb lit in my head.

MC: Evan, I'm the leader today, so you'll do everything I say, right?

Evan: Yes. What do you want to do?

MC: I want to play a game.

MC: I'll be your personal Doraemon for the day. I'll help you fulfil any wishes you want!

A flicker of surprise passed his face.

Evan: Why do you want to play a game like that?

I pulled him along with me, sitting him down on a chair before sitting right across him.

MC: You've always been my Doraemon, so today, let me enjoy the joy of giving just this once.

Evan: I mean, it's not like you can't; but, what are you sure you want to be doing that here?

MC: Challenges only make it that much more interesting! Feel free to shoot any request you may have!

Unable to ignore my insistence on this matter, he folded his arms and lapsed into thought.

Evan: Then I'll just make a random wish… I want this tent to look prettier.

MC: Gotcha! Leave it to me!

This was probably the first time Evan had ever wished anything of anyone…

And now, the one to listen to his wishes was no one but me… Thinking this, the yearning to fulfil his wishes for him only burned ever stronger.

I suddenly remembered how I'd brought a string of small, colourful, fairy lights with me; if only because I'd seen someone decorate their tent with it online some time before!

I held my excitement in check as I rummaged through my bag for the fairy lights, connected the battery to the string of light and turned it on. Then, I flashed it before Evan.

MC: Ta-daaaa! Look!

❖☆———————————★❖

It was well into the night. Dishing out the fairy lights in peak darkness lit up our surroundings in a dazzling array of colours.

Evan widened his eyes in surprise, gently taking the fairy lights from me and scrutinizing them.

Evan: You actually bought fairy lights? You're a competent Doraemon, all right.

The bedazzling lights shone on our faces, adding a couple more watts to his smile.

Evan lowered his eyes, seemingly lost in his memories.

Evan: You know, these fairy lights remind me of the New Year holidays.

Evan: I walked on the streets and saw the doors of many families decorated with fairy lights like these.

Evan: Celebratory and homey… I really adore it.

Watching Evan's wary manner of carefully selecting his words, I couldn't help but feel my heart clench slightly.

Maybe… this was what he imagined home to be like…

However, he quickly snapped back to reality, his gaze falling to the fairy light before us once more.

Evan: The workmanship of these fairy lights are very intricate, and each bulb is shaped differently.

MC: Yeah. Look, this one’s a small pepper and this one’s a little eggplant...

Evan: Yes. And this one here. This one looks like you; the little rabbit.

MC: It really is a rabbit! You've got some keen observation skills.

MC: But, why am I the only animal? That sounds a little lonely…

Evan: You won't be lonely; because the one right beside the little rabbit's me.

Evan spread his arms, displaying the light bulb beside the little rabbit on the string of lights. But, all I saw was a red ball of light there.

MC: And what does this one look like? I can't really tell

Evan: It doesn't matter what it looks like; because I'm the only one who will stay by the little rabbit's side, regardless.

Although his smile was much warmer in the light, his tone still held an undeniable wistfulness.

I felt an odd sense of panic, but I didn't feel like fleeing from it.

❖☆———————————★❖

Eventually, we put the fairy lights up on the tent.

The constantly flickering and changing lights made the tent look cuter, and much more lovely. It felt like home.

I watched as Evan entered the tent, settling himself comfortably within, his eyes narrowing into happy little slits in a closed-eyed smile. Seeing him this relaxed made my heart fill with joy.

MC: Time for your next wish, Evan!

Evan: Are we continuing? I'm already pretty satisfied.

MC: The game's only just started! You can be a little more willful; just like a little kid!

I gently tugged at his arm, softly coaxing him into giving in.

Getting him to relax was no easy feat; and now, I was finally seeing a glimmer of hope! I can't let it go to waste!

Evan: Alright, one more then.

MC: I'll say this first, but you're forbidden from wishing for something overly simple! I'm Doraemon; you've gotta put your trust in me!

Evan: Okay. Then I want to drink hand-brewed coffee.

He levelled a calm gaze at me, seemingly waiting for me to admit defeat; but I only smiled triumphantly.

MC: Just you wait and see!

I knew that Evan loved coffee, so I’d brought some ground coffee powder along with a set of simple brewing tools.

I lit the stove, boiled a pot of hot water, and slowly poured it into the filter where I’d placed the powder, balanced atop an empty cup, going in circular motions. Soon, a cup of fragrant hand-brewed coffee was made.

I handed the cup of coffee to Evan. He lowered his head to give the aroma a whiff, a pleased smile appearing on his face.

Evan: A fragrance that I love.

Evan: But it's missing a little something.

He then moved to personally make a similar cup for me. We both sat down across each other, nursing our cups of coffee and taking small sips from it.

Even while sitting on a foldable chair, the way he drank his coffee was still as elegant as ever.

The forest was silent. The only thing that could be heard was the sound of intermittent chirping of the insects hidden within the foliage, adding to the relaxed and leisurely atmosphere.

MC: Evan, don’t you think that it’s been a long time since we’ve stepped away from the bustling city life to simply spend time together like this, thinking about nothing?

MC: You seem busy lately. I'm honestly a little concerned if you actually have time to wind down…

Evan: Thank you for your concern. I do have the time to do so once in a while.

He raised the cup of coffee in his hand.

Evan: This is the aroma I settle down with every lunch break, to watch a movie, or to read a book.

MC: Right, I often do the same as well.

A flicker of thought entered my mind, and I immediately latched on.

MC: I know! I've helped you think of your next wish!

Evan: Oh? And what is it?

I smiled mysteriously at him, turning around to rummage through my bag.

I happened to bring a book along with me today, so I searched the contents of my bag for it, pulling it out and handing it to him.

He ran his fingers across the gold-gilded text that had been printed onto the book cover. After a while, he suddenly returned the book to me. I raised my head in slight surprise, only to see the slight smile hidden in the corner of his eyes.

Evan: If that's how it is, then could I trouble you to read a paragraph for me?

MC: Sure.

Opening the book, I picked out a story that was about the forest and slowly started reading aloud.

It was seemingly enough to please him. He held onto his coffee, slowly leaning into the soft pillow, closing his eyes in satisfaction.

After finishing a paragraph, I closed the book, only to find him staring at me seriously. There was a fire flickering within his crimson orbs.

Evan: You know, I actually like this story a lot.

Evan: The first time I read this book, I imagined myself in the protagonist’s shoes.

Evan: Riding a small boat in a remote and secluded river, letting the current take me wherever it goes.

Evan: Expecting nothing, with no destination in mind. It doesn’t matter if I get stuck in a rapid, or if I’m just turning around in place.

MC: Sounds romantic enough. What happened after? Did you ever try doing so?

Evan: Not yet. Later, I ended up coming to the forest many times, but unfortunately, none of it was to seek recreation.

Evan: Which means, this is my first time.

Evan: So, thank you; for making this a memorable night for me.

He seemed a little tuckered out, and his voice was as soft as a mere whisper. His eyes were slowly fluttering shut as he spoke.

His eyelashes slid down as his eyes closed, casting a faint shadow on his features. I quietly observed how picturesque he looked like that as I thought back to everything he’d just said. A new plan was born within my heart.

Perhaps this wish was something that I could truly fulfil for him.

❖☆———————————★❖

The next morning, at exactly 5 AM. I was roused from my slumber as my alarm clock rang.

I gave a big wide stretch, casting a glance at Evan. Thankfully enough, he hadn’t been awoken by the alarm and was still curled up in the sleeping bag next to be, fast and soundly asleep.

After doing a simple wash up, I quietly exited the tent.

We passed by a commercial campground yesterday while searching for a suitable campsite. It provided rental services of a wide variety of camping equipment.

That’s why my first thought had been this place when I heard Evan mention boating last night. Hence, I contacted them and reserved an inflatable kayak.

With the help of my mobile GPS navigator, I walked the forest for about half an hour before I finally arrived at the campsite.

After waiting outside for a good long while, the owner whom I’d previously made an appointment with came up to me in a right state of panic.

Campsite Owner: Sorry! Some trouble cropped up, so I’m late…

MC: Don’t worry about it. What happened though? Do you need any help?

Campsite Owner: Can I bother you? If so, then yes please! I’ll tell you what happened…

After a while, I handed a trembling kitten to the owner.

It began rolling about as soon as it returned to its owner’s arms, acting like a baby as it rubbed itself against the owner’s palm, as if expressing regretfulness for its actions.

MC: The little guy must have been scared out of its mind.

Campsite Owner: Yeah. Thank you so much, Miss! I have no idea what I'd have done without you.

MC: Don't worry about it. It's no big deal.

When I came to the campsite earlier, the owner had been in the middle of a cat problem. It had climbed to the top of the tree without anyone's notice and didn't dare come down.

It had been meowing helplessly at the very top. Hence, I immediately joined the rescue effort without a second thought.

I hear that it had already been stuck up the tree for about 10 hours or more. We didn't have a tall enough ladder, so it took a great amount of improvisation to finally save the poor kitten.

Campsite Owner: Oh, right. J nearly forgot your kayak. This isn't light, though! Can you carry it alone?

MC: Huh?

I stepped forward to test its weight. The folded inflatable kayak was indeed heavier than I expected. But thinking about how Evan would react upon seeing this kayak, I suddenly felt that this extra weight meant absolutely nothing in comparison.

Campsite Owner: *Sigh* Since you've helped me, I ought to repay you the favour by lugging this back for you. But I've still got appointments later so I really can't afford to leave...

Campsite Owner: Rental's free of charge then! Have fun with it!

MC: It's alright, I can just take my time carrying it back. Thank you!

After bidding my farewells to the owner, I took the kayak with me and left the campsite.

I hadn't made it fat when my arms started feeling sore. All I could do was to put the kayak on the ground and take a short breather.

As I spaced out, I suddenly heard a muffled sound coming from within the depths of the forest.

My ears tuned in to the sound in full alert. Whatever that was, it was by no means small. 

Was it an animal? Or was it someone?

The crunching sound of leaves approached closer and closer. Now, I could tell without a doubt that those footsteps were most definitely human. And it sounded a little rushed; panicked, even.

Feeling a little uneasy, I couldn’t help but stand back up.

Then, a familiar figure emerged from the dense forest.

MC: …Evan!?

He seemingly breathes out a long sigh of relief upon spotting me. He quickly strode up to me.

Evan: I finally found you, at least.

Evan: I woke up in the morning to find you missing, and you never picked up even when I called. I was worried sick.

He looked as calm and unruffled as ever at first glance. The only difference was that he seemed a little out of breath.

This place isn’t close to our campsite at all. How long has he been searching for me out in the woods?

Thinking about it made me feel a little guilty.

I ended up telling him briefly about the unexpected situation I’d encountered in the commercial camp and everything before that.

MC: I left really early. I initially thought that I’d be back before you woke up, but I never thought that I’d take that long to get back...

MC: I’ve been busy this entire time so I didn’t have the time to check my phone. Sorry for worrying you.

Evan: It's okay. Just… Don't leave my side without saying anything next time, alright?

I nodded and lowered my eyes in embarrassment. Unexpectedly, I then noticed that he’d buttoned a button near the hem of his dress shirt wrong.

Having never seen Evan disregard his appearance in this manner before, I very nearly failed to suppress my snort of laughter.

Evan: Hm? What's the matter?

I shook my head, undoing that button and rebuttoning it right. It was only then that he noticed his slight gaffe. He laughed at his own mistake.

Evan: …Thank you.

Looking into his eyes, I couldn't hold back the urge to ask him the one thing that had been nagging at my mind.

MC: This place is not anywhere close to our campsite. How did you know I was here?

Evan: I couldn't contact you in the morning, so I searched around the tent to see if you left anything resembling a note behind.

Evan: I remembered that you seemed interested in this place when we passed by it yesterday, so I thought that maybe this was where you'd gone.

I hadn’t expected him to see completely through me as he cast a glance at the kayak on the ground.

MC: *Sigh* Why did you figure everything out like that? I wanted to surprise you!

Evan: Don't worry about it. This is also a surprise in and of itself, don't you think? Thank you for all the effort you've put in.

Evan: It feels pretty good to have your wish granted by someone else.

He gently took my hand in his, enveloping my palm in his bigger one, transmitting his unusual body warmth.

Evan: But I also want you to know that just you being by my side's more than enough for me.

My train of thought was disrupted by his tender gaze, making it hard for me to gather my thoughts together.

MC: But I don't think that's enough.

MC: You’re always taking care of others and listening to their wishes, but you can’t forget yourself and your wishes.

MC: I want to hear more of your wishes. You can always be a little greedier when you’re with me, Evan...

He looked at me for a fleeting second before suddenly closing in on me. He only stopped when my figure was completely enshrouded within his shadow.

Evan: Then, can I be greedy one last time?

MC: Huh…?

Not waiting for me to give him an answer, he advanced a step forwards, pulling me into a hug.

His arms were solidly wound around me, and the fragrance of wormwood that came with his embrace was lasting and stronger than ever.

The strength behind his action made it hard for me to reject him, hard for me to escape. 

Oddly enough, I felt a little intoxicated by it, slowly closing my eyes.

❖☆———————————★❖

The next day, early morning. I woke up to the melodious singing of birds.

Evan was already awake, neatly dressed and sitting on the folded chair at the entrance, sipping on a cup of coffee.

Evan: Good morning. Sleep well last night?

MC: Brilliantly! I was so tired from walking so long yesterday that I fell asleep the moment my head met the pillow.

MC: Oh, right. It’ll take quite a long time to go back where we came, so let’s eat something, pack up, and leave as soon as possible!

Evan set his cup of coffee down,

Evan: Aren’t you forgetting something?

MC: Huh?

Evan: I recall you wanting to see bamboo piths, but we have yet to see any.

I froze, awkwardly laughing it off

That had originally been an excuse to get him outside and I’d totally forgotten about it.

MC: Hehe. I’m not that adamant about seeing bamboo piths.

MC: I only said that back then as an excuse to get you out so that you can relax.

MC: I heard that you had things rather rough before that so I was a little worried about you.

He looked slightly surprised. Then, he lowered his eyes, a warm smile catching onto the sides of his mouth.

Evan: So it was because of me.

Evan: Thank you for accompanying me here. I’m certainly much more relaxed now.

MC: But considering how you were previously… Are you really okay?

Evan: Yes. It’s probably not as bad as you’re thinking. I was just thinking about some old people and old things and felt a little glum about it.

Evan: I never thought that I’d end up alarming others.

MC: Why am I “others” now?

MC: Don’t bottle your troubles up to solve them yourself. You need to remember to share them with people close to you as well!

Evan: Okay. I will keep that in mind.

I still didn’t know what he was troubled by, but I suppose this was still within my expectations.

From my impression of him, he has always been strong. It was almost as if he was shouldering a mission that no one knew about, walking down a similarly obscured path.

After finishing breakfast, we packed and prepared to leave the forest.

We idly chatted with each other along the way until suddenly, Evan stopped short while we were passing through an area.

Following his gaze, I saw a unique-looking umbrella-shaped thing growing within the shrubbery’s shade.

Evan: See? We still managed to chance upon it.

MC: Wow, are all of these bamboo piths?

We walked over together, squatting beside the small white fungi.

It had a small black cap and had grown out a long white mesh skirt.

This was the first time I ever saw a bamboo pith growing in the soil. I widened my eyes in surprise, unwilling to blink as I drank in the sight. After observing it for a while, I finally raised a finger, reaching out to touch its “skirt”.

MC: It’s so wet and soft-looking! It’s adorable! Have you seen it before, Evan?

MC: I can’t believe you managed to recognize it at a glance!

Evan: Yes. It was back during the first time I’d been driven into the forest as a child.

Evan: I witnessed the law of the jungle and escaped from the jaws of death of a snake. I felt like the forest was a place filled with danger and wanted nothing but to leave the place the faster, the better.

Evan: Then, just as I was hungry and exhausted, I saw a bamboo pith.

Evan: At that time, I didn’t know what it was and if it was actually poisonous.

Evan: Deep in the throes of despair, I thought “why not just take it, eat it, and see what my fate turns out to be”?

MC: Evan…

Evan: But guess what I saw while I was hesitating?

Evan: I saw it growing its fungus skirt. All it took was a little effort on its part, and its little skirt grew longer and longer.

Evan: I stared at it blankly, in a daze. I didn’t even notice that my legs had gone numb from how long I’d stared at it.

He retracted himself from his memory palace, turning around to face me with a smile.

Evan: It was as simple as a little young lady, capable of encouraging me with its adorability and enchantments.

Evan: It made me understand that forest, in all its gloom and doom, still has its own little interesting spots.

Evan: And that one is only capable of seeing it by living on, don’t you think?

His expression was quiet, but within those calm eyes of his, I could see that little boy who’d struggled his hardest to remain strong. I felt my heart constrict slightly at that and moved to hold his hand tightly in my own.

MC: Evan, that’s all in the past. You’re no longer that helpless little boy.

Evan: No, I’m fine.

Evan: I might have forgotten even this if we hadn’t seen the bamboo piths today.

Evan: It feels a little unbelievable when I think back on it now. It was a memory plagued by darkness, yet it still held its own beautiful moments.

I felt a pang of sorrow creep into my heart. Words of comfort were right at the tip of my tongue, yet I felt like they’d be completely helpless.

This man before me, strong as a warrior; someone who’d been forced to face life-or-death decisions from a very young age… Maybe he wasn’t as complicated as I initially thought he was.

There are many reasons why one would choose death, but to choose life? The reason was simple; just a little spark was required, and Evan was no exception.

MC: I forgot who said it, but someone once said that the meaning of existence that people spend their entire lives seeking out is actually hidden in the simple things.

MC: Evan, won’t you say that you might end up thinking similarly as well one day?

MC: You might not be able to find it immediately, but that’s fine. I will accompany you in your search for it, no matter how long it takes.

Evan fixed me with a profound look before stretching out his hand and reverently crossing it over my own.

Evan: Alright. Together we shall be.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

✥ Choose your Ending:

END 1 | Choice: Do Nothing [都不做]

END 2 +3 + 4 | Choice: Call Out [呼唤] ⊹Speak⊹

END 4 + 6 | Choice: Approach [亲近] ⊹Touch⊹

END 7 + 8 | Choice: Heart-throb [心动] ☆Light & Night★

❖☆————— ⊹ For Night, For Revolution⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Prologue)

[tenspontaneite]

Beyond the Moon Gardens - Extracts (1)

For lack of anything else to post today, I’m releasing some extracts from one of my non-public fanfictions – Beyond the Moon Gardens – as my participation in the @raayllum valentine’s event.

Information on and context of the story itself is below the cut. The 10k of snippets are also below the cut.

(General overview of the content of the snippets: established rayllum, fluff, domesticity, horn care, silliness, cuddling.)

-

Story information:

‘Beyond the Moon Gardens’ is a successor to ‘In the Moon Gardens’. The former was written in a month in late 2020, and has been worked on sporadically since. The latter was written in approximately three weeks between December 2019 and January 2020. Both are currently incomplete. I do not intend to publish either to the public in full, but may well post further extracts in time.

‘In the Moon Gardens’ is a story about Callum and Rayla getting married; however, the circumstances are deeply unpleasant and the experience is traumatic. ‘Beyond the Moon Gardens’ is considerably longer, and is focused on trauma recovery, hurt/comfort, relationship development, and fluff. The story is structured around a plotline involving rescue and disaster relief efforts in a Sunfire elf city called Lux Marea.

All snippets presented below take place on day 7 of the story’s timeline. They have been carefully curated for fluffiness for the purposes of Valentine’s day, and do not contain any of the hurt/comfort or post-traumatic scenes prevalent in the story at large. Some extracts have been edited to slot together and minimise empty space.

I may potentially post further snippets throughout the week if people are interested.

-

The extracts:

(Snippet 1: domesticity, fluff, city descriptions. Context: Callum and Rayla are staying in fancy diplomatic quarters in the city, where they arrived somewhat earlier in the day.)

Rayla turned away from her reflection and went for the door.

She glanced around, and found Callum in his own robe sat at the sofa in front of the window. Surprisingly, he wasn’t drawing. He was just staring out across the city, looking pensive.

“Not drawing?” She asked, and he startled, looking up at her in surprise.

He blinked. “Oh. I didn’t hear you.” He said sheepishly as she approached.

She snorted, and moved around the sofa’s edge to plant herself down beside him. “So I noticed.”

Callum smiled at her, looking for all the world like the best thing that had happened to him today was her sitting down next to him, eyes settling on her like he’d be perfectly happy to do nothing but look at her forever. She withstood that expression for only a single second before she had to lean in and kiss him. He made a pleased sound, reaching out to rest a hand on her back, fingers stroking reflexively over the thick wool of the robe. “You smell nice.” He said happily, turning his face sideways to tuck his nose behind her ear. He was undoubtedly getting a face full of wet hair that way, but he didn’t seem to mind. “Fruity, sort of.”

“They’ve got a lot of soaps in there.” She said, and her voice came out more soft than amused. Stars, but she loved him. “It’s nice. There’s all these soaps, and towels, and I think bath oils too.”

“You think?” He inquired, curious, still with his face in her neck. He pressed a kiss to her damp skin.

“Didn’t check them out properly or anything, but there was a drawer full of some fancy stuff. Bottles and the like. Looked like it might be bath oils.”

With a final kiss to the edge of her jaw, he pulled back to resume staring at her contentedly. “We’ll have to have a look later.” He said, and paused to give her an appreciative once-over. “That dressing gown looks nice on you.”

She rolled her eyes. “You say that about literally everything I wear.”

“That’s because you look good in everything.” He claimed staunchly, and honestly, he wasn’t looking half-bad in his dressing-gown either. The colour was familiar on him, but the casual comfortableness of it was weirdly pleasing to look at. Made him look cosy and cuddlable.

Rayla shook her head, then leaned in to kiss briefly along his jaw. It prickled a little. “You might want to see if they’ve got razors in there.” She said dryly. “You’re starting to prickle.”

He blinked, startled, and raised a hand to his jaw, feeling along it. Mercifully, he grew facial hair extremely slowly, making it less of an issue on the move, but it did still grow. He’d last made an attempt at shaving some two weeks ago, and that had sufficed up to now. “Elves don’t grow beards, though.” He said, after a moment. “I’d probably better just stick with mine.”

Once or twice, they’d made an attempt at shaving his bristles with Rayla’s swords, which had been kind of nerve-wracking, and plenty memorable. For lack of proper razors to be found in Xadia, they’d eventually ended up getting him a small knife that he claimed was alike enough to a ‘straight razor’ to work, though it periodically needed to be sharpened to an absurd degree. It was all very strange to her, even after a good half year of living with him. “Maybe.” She agreed at last, and gave him a sniff. Fresh from bathing, his state of uncleanliness was far more obvious to her nose than it had been before. “You should be getting washed up first though. You’ll make your dressing gown stink.”

He snickered. “Bet I reek to you now that you’re clean.”

“Just a tad.” She prodded him in the side until he started moving. “Off with you. Wash up.”

Evading her hands, he leaned in and planted a final kiss on her forehead before leaving, disappearing into the bathroom while she shook her head at him. She heard the water start up quite soon after, and eventually ended up staring out of the window like he had.

The city was still bright, both with sunlight and with the ongoing glory of the temple’s radiance. Settling into a sort of quiet lassitude, she watched it with eyes half-lidded, following the patterns of steaming light as though the smoke from a fire.

It was a striking city. Unlike Lux Aurea, which was so much gold it hurt to look at, Lux Marea was a thing of contrasts. The buildings were all built from the same dark stone as the bathroom had been done in, a grey that cast deep black shadows behind the gaze of the sun. And yet – every building was lined with gold. Accents on the corners, or moulding between the bricks, or running in thick channels up the walls…it gleamed, rich and distinct against the stone. Some of the largest, richest buildings had elaborate golden murals on their sides, luridly metallic and shining in the sun. All of that gold was glowing with magic now.

Rayla wasn’t much for aesthetics. But even she could appreciate the beauty in that view. She watched it for a while longer, lulled a little by the twisting patterns of glowing haze rising from the buildings, then stood and went to find something to do.

 -

 (Snippet 2: Calum and Rayla investigate the supplies their fancy bathroom is stocked with, discover bath bombs and are confused, Rayla points out various horn-care items, and Callum makes her very flustered by offering to use said items)

  After that, they went through and classified each of the mysterious drawer goodies a little faster. They found more varieties of lotion, some weird nearly liquid soaps, and a pot of some mysterious mini chalky spheres whose purpose neither of them managed to guess until Callum’s hair dripped on one and it sizzled. “Is it supposed to go in water?” Rayla wondered, befuddled.

“No idea. Try it.” He suggested, and they took the rinsing pot, filled it with water, and dropped the thing in. It fizzed and foamed magnificently, releasing pleasant odours and bits of dried flower as it dissolved, and both of them stared at it with fascinated consternation.

“Is that for baths?” She asked him, befuddled. “What’s the point?”

“…Fun, maybe?” He offered, reaching out to swirl a finger in the foam. “It looked pretty cool, after all. Maybe you’re supposed to throw them in the bath for the fun of it?”

“Fun foam and nice smells?” With a huff, she put that pot aside as something to maybe experiment with if she felt like it. “Well, maybe.” She snorted, and in the last unexplored corner, found something highly important. “Oh thank god.” She said, in that way she’d absolutely picked up from Callum, and he looked over with interest.

“What did you find?”

She brandished it triumphantly. “Toothbrushes.”

“Oh thank god.” He echoed instantly, peering over. “My teeth feel disgusting.”

“You’re not the only one.” She withdrew both toothbrushes from the drawer and set them aside. “Well, at least we know what everything in there is now. Mystery solved.” She went to close it, but was stopped with a hand on her wrist.

“Wait, but what about those?” he asked, indicating the small collection of things she’d already set to one side of the drawer with the horn-scrub.

“Oh.” She’d forgotten he wouldn’t know those on sight. “Right. Well, this thing here-“ She plucked up a narrow, vaguely curved implement with a soft-smooth coating. “-is a horn buffer. For making horns smoother once you’ve already scrubbed all the rough bits out with a proper scrub.” She planted it in his hands, since he seemed fascinated by it, and withdrew a sort of soft spongey thing with a texture like felt. “Horn polisher. Same thing, kind of.” He took that as well, and she pulled out a pot of thick paste that turned out to be exactly what she thought it was when she uncapped it. This one had obviously attempted to smell as pleasant as possible, but it still had a very strong and distinctive edge to it. She wrinkled her nose. “Horn polish.” She said, closing it up again. “To be applied and used with the polisher. And lastly-“ She picked up one of the remaining bottles, “horn oil.”

He looked weirdly interested. “What’s the oil for?” He asked, leaning in. “I mean, I guess the rest of it’s to make your horns smooth and shiny, right? So what about this?”

“It’s kind of fancy and unnecessary, and expensive, so not everyone uses it, but usually you put it on after scrubbing or polishing.” She explained, withdrawing the bottles one at a time. “They smell nice, which is good after the polish, and letting it sink into the horns is supposed to make them healthier and glossier-looking. You can technically put it on multiple times a day if you’re really into your horn presentation, but pretty much no one bothers.”

“Because it’s expensive?” Callum guessed, and she made a so-so noise.

“Well, there’s that.” She said dryly. “But it’s just kind of a lot of hassle, you know? If you’re already washing and doing your hair and keeping your horns not-gross, it’s just extra fuss you don’t really need.” She shook her head. “It’s less effort than full on polishing, I suppose, but I’ve never been bothered about polishing my horns except on special occasions anyway. It’s a lot of work.”

“Huh.” He said, in a sort of weird tone of voice. Rayla turned to him, and found his expression similarly strange. Thoughtful, interested, and a little bit furtive.

She eyed him suspiciously, picked up an armful of the supplies they’d set aside, and stood up with them. “What’s that look for?” She asked archly, setting things onto the broad side of the bath. He followed her lead, picking up the rest of it and standing, looking a little shifty.

“What’s what look for?” he asked innocently, putting it all out in neat rows.

“I know that face.” She told him, unimpressed. “I’ve told you so many times I know that face. That’s your dumb idea face. So out with it.”

For a moment, Callum looked sheepish. Then he cleared his throat, and looked at her, and she reflexively fell silent. “I…was wondering if you’d let me do your horns.” He said at last, and she made a strangled noise in the back of her throat.

“What?”

  -

 (Snippet 3: tail end of the horn-care discussion, domesticity, Rayla bemused by the concept of room service, Callum pestering Rayla for details on how horn care works, and discussion of one of Rayla’s newer hobbies)

 “That’ll be nice, then.” He said, sounding very at peace with the idea. “I can wash and comb out your hair, maybe. Give you some hornrubs.”

Her cheeks heated. “Callum.” She complained. “That’s so sappy.”

He pressed his face close alongside hers, and she could feel his smile against her cheek. “Treat you real good.” He said, very contentedly. “I’m gonna spoil you rotten.”

Rayla managed a strangled, deeply embarrassed sound in the back of her throat. A little indignant, she protested “You can’t just say things like that.”

“I can, and I did.” Callum grinned against her skin, and leaned in further to kiss her near the corner of her lips. “Love you.” He lifted a hand from around her waist, fingers settling at her jaw with a gentle suggestion of movement. Feeling near to bursting with mortification and adoration, she grumbled wordlessly but followed his hand, allowing him to lead her face around so he could kiss her on the mouth.

“You,” she muttered, into his lips, “need to get dressed.”

He paused, then huffed a surprised breath over her skin. “That’s right, I’m still just wearing a towel.” He remembered, ruefully. “At least I’m drier now.”

“It’s been ages, of course you’re drier.” Rayla shook her head at him, then nudged at his arms until he let her go, extricating herself from his embrace. She had difficulty looking him in the eye when she turned, after all of that. “…Get dressed.” She repeated, softer, and shoved the dressing gown he’d hung nearby into his arms. She leaned in, kissed him once on the lips, and then turned away to leave the bathroom.

She settled on the sofa, ensconcing herself beneath the soft blanket she’d found, and stared out at the city while her heart recovered. Sometimes, she loved Callum enough that it was a little hard to cope with, like she was afraid that the emotion in her would rupture if it built too far. He was used to her retreating a little at times like that, just long enough to breathe and feel slightly less overwhelmed.

He took long enough in the bathroom that, eventually, she guessed that he was shaving. That disappointed her, a little. She liked to watch him when he shaved. It was always so strange to her, something quintessentially human; a bizarre banal grooming ritual that reminded her again and again that he wasn’t an elf, he really was a whole different kind of being to her, and his humanity was made of so many little things. He never failed to chuckle at her for how she watched him shaving, but had grown very used to her keeping him company for it.

She sighed, and looked out on the city under the sun, and regained her emotional footing. By the time he emerged, clad once again in the dark red dressing gown, she had her equilibrium back and looked up gladly at his return.

“Where’d this blanket come from?” He asked, bemused, coming over to join her. She held one end up so he could sit down under it with her.

“One of the drawers. There’s a bunch of stuff in here.” She informed, and once he was seated she didn’t waste any time in reaching out to run her fingers along his still-damp jaw. It was so smooth. She murmured, pleased, cupping his face between both hands.

He coloured a little, looking across at her with soft eyes. “You’re so weird.” He told her, sounding utterly besotted, and she leaned in to kiss him lightly along that jawline.

“Love you.” Rayla said contentedly, and drew back just enough to nestle firmly against his side. He wove an arm around her back and turned his head to kiss her at the brow.

“Love you too.”

After a good bit of cuddling and watching the city together, Callum admitted to wanting a drink and Rayla to not knowing whether their waterskins were still filled. They were, as it happened, but-

“You know, if you wanted fresher water, or moonberry juice, we could just ask for it.” He pointed out. “All we’d have to do is open the door and ring a bell and someone would come up, and we’d ask for a drink, and they’d have it up for us just like that.”

She shook her head, utterly exasperated at the idea. “That’s so weird.” She said, and then actually considered it. “…Let’s do it.”

He laughed, and obligingly got up and went to the receiving room to fetch the bell. He mostly-closed the intervening door for her sake, so that when a servant responded to the ring she didn’t feel particularly on edge about it. They couldn’t see her. It was fine.

After a short conversation with the servant, they were off, and Callum shut the outer door before returning. “Five minutes.” He said, and true to his words, there was a knock at the door not too much later. He went to answer it and brought back an actual platter, balancing an entire jug of moonberry juice, an entire jug of water, and two glasses.

“Did you ask for a whole jug?” She asked, disbelievingly, as he set it down on the low table ahead of the sofa. “Or the water?”

“Nope. Actually, they passed along their apologies for not leaving a jug of water in here in the first place. Apparently that’s their usual thing to do, but since they were hurrying for us it got forgot.” He poured her a glass of juice, and then some for himself, and sat back.

She snorted. “What a terrible standard of service.” She said, mockingly. “I mean really, forgetting to leave us wee little glasses and chilled water, what is this place coming to?”

He snickered at an inopportune moment, very nearly making a mess with the glass he’d been in the process of drinking from. “Don’t say that around Vervain, I think she’d actually explode.”

“Right there on the spot.” Rayla agreed. “It’d make a terrible mess.”

They traded a few light-hearted quips on the subject of the accommodations while they had a drink, then they set it all aside for later. Callum, who was clearly angling for it, managed to get her onto the topic of how exactly a proper horn care-and-polish was supposed to go, and she spent pretty much the entirety of that torn between being increasingly embarrassed and increasingly amused. He was so interested, like she was sharing arcane magical knowledge instead of stupid basic grooming tips.

“I mean, I’ve seen you using your horn-scrub on the road sometimes, to file away rough or flaky bits, right?” He was saying, while she leaned over to lay against his chest. He reflexively put an arm around her even while gesturing with the other one. “You kind of go…with the sort of curvy lines in your horns? Like one at a time?”

“They’re called ridges, Callum.” She informed him, incredibly amused. “And yes. You need to file along them all one by one, and be careful to keep the shape too. If you do it badly you’ll flatten out the tops of the ridges and it looks really stupid.”

He stared down at her horns with fascination, and lowered his gesturing hand to trace the shape of – she presumed – one of her horn-ridges in detail. She made a flustered sort of murmur at him, but he seemed too busy to notice. “Right, so, hm.” He almost seemed to be speaking to himself. “Yeah, if you just file it from the top it’d all flatten out. So you have to sort of work around each one? Following the curve?”

“That’s why Moonshadow horn-scrubs are so much more complicated.” She informed him. “We need the wee fiddly parts to get between all the ridges and file it right without losing the shapes. Takes forever. Our horns are more of a pain than almost any other kind of elf’s.” She grinned up at him. “Unlucky for you.”

“Are you kidding?” He asked, incredulously. “This is great. Means I get so much longer to spend on you. You never let me spoil you enough.”

She processed that, and groaned, burrowing her face into the wool gown over his chest. “You’ll change your tune soon enough.” She muttered, but wasn’t entirely convinced. Callum really was an incredible sap when it came to doing things for her. “It takes so stupidly long.”

“I’m counting on it.” He declared happily, and she huffed.

“You’re ridiculous.” She informed him, and after nearly ten more minutes of him trying to wrangle intricately detailed horn-polishing knowledge out of her, just rolled her eyes and said with exasperation “It’s like polishing armour, Callum. Or boots. You just buff it up, then go at it with polish on the polisher for ages. There’s not much of a trick to it.” She paused, but did add “Gets kind of messy though. The filing stage puts horn dust and bits everywhere, and once you start polishing you get like…murky polish liquid all over your hands. Better put a towel down.”

Eventually, after enough sitting around that the cuddling alone wasn’t engrossing enough anymore, Callum did go and get his sketchbook and immediately sat down to begin producing what Rayla was certain would be the first of many, many drawings of the city. He drew it as seen from above first, and Rayla settled in to watch with half-lidded eyes.

She’d grown very used to spending time watching Callum draw. In large part, this was because he tended to spend a lot of his free time doing it, and she was often around when that happened. It was quite satisfying, to sit there and observe as the shapes on the page took form. But even so…

There was only so much of watching him draw that she could do before she started getting bored. Throughout their journeying, it had rarely got to that point. What with the time constraints of camp-craft and travelling, there’d been little enough spare time that Rayla hadn’t felt compelled to find anything else to do. Now, though, she found with surprise that her fingers were itching for her knives.

“Huh.” She said to herself, with interest, and Callum turned his head to peer at her.

“Hm?”

“My knives.” She said, and then realised this wasn’t especially helpful. “My carving knives. Just realised I’m hankering for them a bit. That’s never really happened before.”

“Oh.” He thought, then looked pleased. “Looks like you’re starting to make a habit of it after all. That’s really nice.”

“Less nice when I don’t actually have the knives.” She snorted, and considered her empty hands.

Rayla, on the whole, tended towards active ways of passing the time. She liked to train, and she liked to exercise, and if Callum was free she always liked to go flying with him. But inevitably, after half a year spent together, there had been plenty of afternoons and evenings in their off-time when she was too tired to go out for training, or Callum was spending time drawing and she wanted to be around him, and she ended up with nothing to do.

He’d been the one to gently pester her into taking up some sort of hobby. At first she’d just grumpily sharpened her weapons over and over again, but with enough work he’d got her to try other things. He’d suggested either knitting or whittling, on the basis that both involved the use of stabby implements, and she was a fan of those. Knitting she hadn’t taken to. But whittling…

At first, she’d just done it because he’d prodded her into it, and she didn’t hate it, and there was nothing better to do, so she might as well. But now, considering her empty hands with consternation, Rayla realised for the first time that she actually kind of wanted to be doing it. When had that happened?

He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Pick up some things in the city tomorrow, maybe.” He suggested, and turned back to his drawing.

“Bit of a waste, when I’ve got a plenty good enough set of knives at home.”

“You don’t need to get a full set. But it could be nice to have a couple of the main ones around, for travelling with.” He shrugged. “You can practice on any random bits of wood, right? So it’s mainly the knives you need.”

She snorted. She’d learned enough to know that the type of wood one chose was, in fact, very important. But…yeah, for messing around like she did, random wood was usually fine. If splintery. “Maybe.” She said in the end, already thinking of the knife she used most. “It’s not a bad idea. Clothes and supplies are the priority, though. So maybe if there’s anything left after that.”

“We’ll need cold-weather gear, if we’re going through the Shiverthorns in winter.” He remarked, and huddled into the blanket like the mere thought was making him cold. “Thick cloaks and stuff.”

“Which are expensive.” She reminded. “And also heavy. It’ll slow you down.”

He shrugged. “I figure that’s okay. We won’t be in a huge hurry to get back, after all.”

  -

 (Snippet 4: Callum and Rayla discuss dinner options, watch the sunset, and investigate the light fixtures. Context: in this story, I worldbuild Sunfire elves as some weird blend of French and Roman.)

  He hummed by way of agreement, and pulled her tighter in to his side. “For now, let’s try not to worry about that.” He said, determinedly. “Today our job is to relax and rest up, and that’s it.”

Rayla sighed, and shifted around to lay part-way across his front, face half into the red wool at his chest. “I can probably do that.”

They cuddled for what actually didn’t end up being that long, because there was a knock at the door. It echoed sharply through the polished wood, even with the intervening door closed. Rayla, who’d heard no footsteps of any kind due to the ostensible soundproofing, stiffened immediately.

Callum blinked, then carefully extricated himself from her. “I’ll go get it.” He said, and she didn’t object. She didn’t relish the thought of being seen by strangers when she was in her bathrobe. That was private.

He unlocked and opened the receiving room door, closed it behind him, and then unlocked and opened the outer door. There was actually a decent degree of sound loss between there and Rayla’s current spot, so she couldn’t hear what was being said beyond stray words. After a while, Callum said something in a distinctly goodbye-ish sort of voice and the encounter ended. He considerately locked both doors for her on his way in.

Over his arm, he was holding a neat stack of clothing and armour. “Already?” She asked, startled, and watched as he set it all down on the bed.

“Already.” He agreed, seemingly pleased. “I guess their drying spells really are useful. Look, they’ve cleaned your armour. And our boots.”

Rayla lifted herself from beneath the blanket to go over and look. All of their things looked fresh and new, bereft of the dull beige hues imbued by travel and sleeping in dust and dirt. It half looked like they’d re-dyed some of it, honestly, to get the clean colours back. She lifted Callum’s scarf from the pile, sniffed it, and hummed at it.

“Laundry smell?” He asked, amused, and she shrugged.

“Unsurprisingly.” She considered putting it on him, but in the end decided she was enjoying the look of him in the bathrobe, all cosy and comfy-looking. “What else were you talking about?”

“Hm?”

“With the servant.”

“Oh.” He paused to collect his thoughts. “Dinner stuff. He wanted to tell me the options they’ve got, so we can order ahead of time.”

Rayla made a thoughtful noise, and drew him by the wrist back over to the sofa again. “And?”

“You want me to list it all off?” She nodded, and obligingly he went off listing the various items on the menu, many of which were evidently examples of bizarre Sunfire ideas about cooking. Snails, really? Frog legs? Her nose wrinkled at that one, and Callum’s lips quirked. “They serve glow toad too.” He admitted ruefully. “I mean, I guess I heard they were delicious, but it’s one thing to hear it and another thing to have it on the menu, you know?”

She made a face. “Ez would never forgive us.”

“Bait would never forgive us.” He agreed, snickering.

“And besides – ew.” Rayla shook her head, and waved her hand. “What else?”

He went through all of the selections, drinks and desserts included, and then finished up by saying “He left a sort of booklet thing behind with it all written down, if you want to look over it.”

She stared at him with exasperation. “Callum. You really just stood there and said it all when you could have just handed me the bloody menu?”

“Well, you did ask.” He said, like this was reasonable, and she sighed fondly at him.

“You dumb prince.” She told him, affectionate, and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek before going to look for the menu.

By this point, it was around four in the afternoon, and the sun seemed to be making a very definite bid for descent. She retrieved the Booklet of Food Options and retreated to the sofa with it, where Callum had already planted himself to watch the city. There was a hint of yellow-green in the bright clear sky, and the angle of light from the sinking sun was casting some particularly dramatic shadows. The temple was still gleaming with light off to the side, and the golden circuitry through the city still exhaling. She stared at it for a moment, certain that tonight’s sunset really was going to be spectacular, and then opened the menu to start looking.

It had been long enough since lunch that the sight of so many food options was plenty enough to make her start considering the idea of an early dinner. In an hour or two, maybe. Some of it was too weird or too exotic to consider, but there was a lot that wasn’t.

She passed the booklet over when she was done making selections, but Callum seemed too occupied with the burgeoning sunset to want to look at it. She snorted, leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, and then leaned comfortably into his side to watch the city.

The sun fell over a period of around half an hour, sinking lower and lower, until the sky filled with such intense yellows and deep reds that it seemed almost to have caught fire. The grey slate of the city turned bloody red in the light, every golden trace lit up and shining in the growing dark. The few wispy clouds left in the sky were shining too, until the sun began to pass beneath the lip of the sea on the horizon, and the blue-green edges of the dusk glittered with stars.

“That,” He said, very softly, when dusk was ebbing into twilight, “was a really incredible view.”

Rayla had little artistry in her heart, but she’d appreciated that sunset. She knew that by contrast it must have touched Callum deeply. She looked at him, taking in his expression, finding it every bit as amazed and awed and happy as she could have hoped for. Her heart fluttered, happy for that he was happy, and in the warmth of that contentment she reached over to cup his cheek with her hand.

He looked at her, leaning into the hand, and offered her a small and very soft smile. Her thumb smoothed over his cheek as he lifted his hand to settle atop hers. Wordless, she leaned in to kiss him, warm and brief, and lingered there close by his face for a long while after their lips parted. He sighed very quietly, entirely happy and entirely at ease. It was peaceful in a way she’d dearly missed.

Feeling utterly suffused with warmth, Rayla nestled in beside him, fingers hooking lightly in the soft red wool of his robe. His arm came around her, and both of them sighed, and both of them settled, and it was quiet.

Neither of them felt the inclination to move or speak for quite a while. The sky was dark and full of stars by the time she shifted, and the city’s golden circuitry shining boldly through the shadow. The Moon, ascendant in the sky, was very nearly full.

“Might not be so bad after all, staying here a while.” She said, finally, and pressed her lips to his neck. “Comfy, nice bathroom, nice views…and the food options look kind of incredible, honestly.”

He chuckled, soft and fond. “Bit of a weird honeymoon.” He murmured into her hair. “But I’ll take it.”

She huffed. “Honeymoon.” She repeated, shaking her head.

Well. She supposed if they’d had to go through that whole forced marriage ordeal, they did at least deserve to get a nice holiday out of it. Even if most of that holiday was going to be spent working, the not-working parts of the day looked to be a lot fancier and more luxurious than they were back home.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Was her conclusion, in the end. “Did you decide what you’ll be eating?”

“Pretty much.” He kissed her brow. “You ready to order? It’s still kind of early.”

“Eh. It’ll do.” She shrugged, and listed off her selections. He kissed her again, then gently untangled himself from her limbs to go off and summon a servant.

The room had gone darker while the sun set, and the soft yellow glow of the fireless light fixtures along the walls had grown more prominent. Now a little curious, Rayla took the opportunity to investigate one, and on closer inspection found it to be some sort of…weird bioluminescent plant. Or maybe animal? It had long rigid tube-like structures that had plainly been cultivated into ornamental shapes, that looked almost like some sort of stone, though it had obviously been painted or dyed the usual deep red. It exuded a number of softly glowing yellow-orange tendrils from the openings at the end of the tubes, short and blunt but weirdly pretty.

She reached out cautiously to touch one, and at once the tendrils retracted inside the tube, the light dimming. Startled, she drew back to watch it, but the tendrils didn’t start to tentatively reappear again for another minute, during which she heard the light murmurs of Callum conversing with whatever servant he’d summoned.

When Moonshadow elves wanted light after dark, they just used enchantments, or glowstone, like normal people. Fancy Sunfire elves, however, apparently favoured plants. Or animals. She honestly wasn’t sure which this one was. Some sort of land-coral?

“I ordered the food.” Callum said, when he returned. “They said it’ll be about half an hour. And they’ll bring it all up at the same time so we don’t get disturbed twice.”

“Perfect.” She pronounced, with satisfaction, and then dragged him over to meet the light fixtures. Predictably, he spent a good ten fascinated minutes investigating the weird glowing polyps, and then a while longer sketching one out, and was half-way through that when the food arrived.

 -

(Snippet 5: after dinner, Callum and Rayla engage in some silliness, then cuddle. Domesticity.)

 “I’m so full I’m not going to move for a week.” Rayla announced, after staggering her way back through to their sofa, followed by an amused Callum. “It’s going to take at least that long to digest all of that.”

“That might make it tricky to get supplies.” He said, pretend-thoughtful. “But I’m sure we can work something out.”

She snorted, patted him on the shoulder, and then promptly pulled him into her side when he started looking at her in the imminent-cuddles sort of way. He hummed contentedly, turning his face into her shoulder, breath warming the wool over her collarbone.

“This bathrobe is so comfy.” He said happily, words muffled by wool. “It’s so nice.”

Having had very similar sentiments about his bathrobe earlier, she quite agreed. “Shame they didn’t include wool pyjamas, really.”

He didn’t offer any response for that, just snuggled, putting an arm around her waist. It was almost a little uncomfortable, really, what with how full she was, but she didn’t protest. She just held him close, smoothed her free hand over his hair, and looked out over the city. In the dark, watching the vaporous light rise felt very much like watching fire. It was very entrancing.

Some time later, Callum started to show signs of beginning to fall asleep on her. She looked down at him, snorted, and then nudged him until he stirred. “If you fall asleep now you’ll be up too late.” She informed him as he made plaintive noises at her. “I’m not having you exhausted and useless for your magic channelling nonsense tomorrow.”

“But you’re too comfy.” He complained, and she smirked.

“That sounds like an invitation to be less comfy.”

He opened an eye to peer at her suspiciously. “What do you mean, ‘that sounds’ – hrk!” His words cut off as, unceremoniously, she swept him up with an arm under his back and another under his knees, on her feet with a quick shift of her weight and his. She grinned down at him, finding him instantly and distinctly awake. “….Honestly this is still pretty comfy.” He said, weakly, when he’d spent enough time staring wide-eyed at her to recover his words.

Rayla pretended at thoughtfulness. “That sounds like a challenge.” She said, and he looked alarmed.

“It wasn’t! It wasn’t!” He protested, to no avail; she stepped around the sofa, judged her angle, and tossed Callum at the bed.

He wasn’t particularly aerodynamic, but her aim had been good enough anyway; he sailed neatly between the posts at the corners and impacted decadent Sunfire quilting with a muffled oof. She was laughing at him outright when he turned, staring at her with a sort of red-faced stupefaction that told her exactly what he thought of the whole experience. “Your face right now,” she managed, doubling over to snicker in his direction. Hilarious.

“You know, there’s a saying,” he began, a little dazed. “About trusting someone as far as you could throw them.” He pushed himself up on his elbows. “You could probably trust someone a lot, is what I’m getting at.”

“…I actually do sort of know how far I could throw you, now that I think about it.” Rayla said, thinking back. “It comes up in assassin training sometimes. Throwing teammates at walls and the like, to give them a leg up. I lobbed someone about your size around six, seven metres once.” She paused, and added “Lengthways, I mean. Throwing someone upwards is a lot harder.”

This did not make him any less wide-eyed. “That’s like, over twenty feet,” he marvelled, looking at her with plain admiration. “You’re amazing.”

She huffed, reflexively bashful at the praise, and shook her head. “Amazing at throwing people, at least.” She said dryly, and went over to stare down at him from the foot of the bed. “How’s the bed?”

“…Very nice, actually.” He said, after a pause for consideration. “You’re pretty bad at making things less comfy.”

“You’re definitely awake now though.” She pointed out smugly. “So my work here is done.”

He snorted, sitting up fully to beckon to her. Obligingly, she bent forwards to meet him with a brief kiss. “Hard not to wake up when someone throws you half-way across the room.”

She rolled her eyes. “It was not that far.” She said, and after a moment made the executive decision to fall forwards onto the bed, face impacting the plush duvet and sinking in. Her feet hung from the edge, and Callum giggled.

“Hehehe toes.” He said, and reached out to poke one. He found her four-toed feet amusingly charming every time he was reminded of them, which would have been funnier, except her feet were pretty ticklish and she twitched every time he prodded like this.

“I will kick you.” She warned, and he subsided with another snicker. Instead of messing with her any further, he shuffled over and started playing with her hair. “Mm. Better.” With a sigh, she closed her eyes and tipped her head forwards, face smooshing deeper into the bed. His fingers carded through her hair, nails trailing lightly at her scalp.

“You didn’t brush it.” He noted, carefully working out a couple of tangles, and she shrugged.

“Couldn’t be bothered. ‘Sides, it only tangles again when we cuddle, anyway.”

He hummed, and went through it again more purposefully, parting it carefully around her horns as he looked for and eliminated a few knots. He brushed around her hornbeds and she shivered. Apparently noticing the reaction, he did it again, more deliberately, chuckling at the way she murmured and pushed her head into his hand. “You look like a shadowpaw when you do that.” He said, affectionately, scritching gently around her horns. “Headbutting people’s hands when they pet you.”

“Anyone else and I’d be cutting off their hands, trust me.” She mumbled at him, already a little indistinct and fuzzy around the edges of her thoughts. Hornbed-scritches did that. “…Suppose the shadowpaw’d do that too. Except they’d bite the hand off instead, if they didn’t like you.”

“What I’m hearing is that if you were an animal you’d probably be a shadowpaw.” He sounded very fond.

“Mm. Guess so.” What would he be? Something doggish, probably. Friendly and playful and loyal, and then all teeth and fierceness when threatened. That sounded about right…

She drifted, a little. It was hard not to, when collapsed onto a comfy surface with one’s hornbeds being rubbed. He stopped after a while though, evidently noticing her drowsiness, and stroked a hand over her head between the horns as he chuckled. “Now who’s falling asleep?” He teased, and she made a half-hearted rude noise at him.

“’s your fault.” She muttered at him, indistinct around the duvet in her face.

“Uhuh.” He sounded amused, and stroked the back of her head again.

 -

(Snippet 6: very detailed depiction of horn care, which in-setting is considered intimate)

 She was suddenly very glad he’d interrogated her so persistently on the procedure earlier, because she wasn’t at all certain she’d have been able to tell him anything more sophisticated than ‘um’ when he was literally about to do her horns for her.

“You’re so cute.” He told her affectionately, obviously very aware of her current emotional state, and then finally set soapy hands onto her horns.

“Oh my god.” She muttered, cheeks flaming, feeling the weight of his hands, the subtle pull at the rest of her skull. She had never been quite so aware of her horns as when he started soaping them up and washing them, and it didn’t take long at all for the warmth of his skin to soak far enough through the keratin so that she could feel it in the living horn. A little while later, he applied the coarse-bristled-brush-side of the horn-scrub to her left horn, and she made a tiny embarrassed sound at the ceiling. “You should scrub them harder than that.” She managed after a moment, since he really was being too gentle about it. “Horns are tough, you know.”

He hummed with interest, and obliged, scrubbing hard enough that it pulled at her head a little. The towel-pillow had been a very good idea of his, really. “How much horn care do you normally do?” He asked, curious, getting the washcloth to rinse her horn before scrubbing again. “I’ve seen you file them, but…”

“…Usually just this. A good scrub to make sure they’re clean, and then filing down the rough bits.” Rayla offered a mortified noise. “But it’s been weeks and I’ve not even done that. They’re probably so dirty…”

“Shush, they’re fine.” He huffed at her, and kept on at her left horn until he was satisfied with it, moving over to the other one. Rayla regarded the ceiling with a persistently red face the whole while, cheeks feeling nearly as warm as the half of her body that was still in bathwater. “I wonder if your face is going to be this red the whole time.” He remarked, when he’d apparently finished with the washing.

“Probably.” She muttered, self-consciously, and felt her gut squirm when she felt the first experimental scrape of the fine filing parts on her horn.

Callum laughed softly, and started setting to work with the file. “If you say so.”

For all that he’d never done this before, the muted sensory feedback Rayla gleaned from her inner-horns and her ears suggested that he seemed to be doing fine with it. He readjusted the file enough that she could be relatively sure he was respecting the curve of the ridges, and worked slowly along the shape of each one, from the hornbed to the pointed tip, over and over again.

As she’d told him, it was a long process. It took a long time. Long enough that, contrary to her words, her embarrassment did start to burn out a bit, the red of her cheeks easing until she only felt a little flushed, a little flustered.

“I see why you thought the cloak would be a good idea.” Callum said ruefully, a while in. She could only imagine how much horn-dust and flaky bits of keratin must be littering it. “This does get kind of messy.”

“Told you.”

“For now this is just making your horns go sort of…pale, and scratched-looking.” He commented, working the file around one of the ridges on the underside. “I guess it goes dark again once you start buffing it?”

She made a small despairing noise, but agreed “Yeah, basically. Honestly all you really need to do is wipe it over with a wet cloth and it’ll stop looking like that. But…”

“But I’m not stopping there.” He said, with evident satisfaction, and a little more heat rose in her cheeks.

He was slow and meticulous about the filing, but got through it a lot more quickly than she could have if she’d done it herself. It was hard to work on your own horns – the angle was bad, you couldn’t see what you were doing, and adjusting to get the undersides was a huge pain in the arms. By contrast, doing it for someone else was just…a lot easier.

Finally, he set the scrub down and went for the washcloth again, soaping up and rubbing her horns clear of dust, poring over them for any spots he’d missed. When he was finally satisfied, he said “and now I buff them?”

“Mmhm.” She confirmed, bringing her hands up to hide her face for a moment. So, at her confirmation, he started on that part next. He evidently hadn’t expected how vigorous the buffing and polishing stages of horns were, because she kept telling him to press the buffer harder, and he kept making worried noises about it, and she had to keep assuring him that no that’s how it’s supposed to be, and eventually she start started laughing helplessly at him.

“I feel like I’m going to hurt your neck,” he complained at her, when the strength of the requisite motions pulled at her head. “Or like, hurt your hornbeds, or something.”

“I’ll be fine, Callum.” She assured him, still laughing, mirth and embarrassment squirming in her chest. “This is just how it goes, you know.”

“At least I brought you a pillow.” He sighed, and obligingly kept on. A fair while later, when he was done with the buffing and had washed her horns again, he leaned back a bit to admire his work. “That really is looking a lot smoother and shinier.”

“And you’ve not even done the polishing yet.” Rayla felt very weird then, laying back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. She’d been through embarrassment, and then amusement, and now…now, there was something else. She felt almost calm. Almost settled, like she’d finally started to grow used to this. Like the novelty of his hands on her horns had worn through.

Now, she felt kind of comfortable. At ease, in a way. Her mind was drifting in the way it did when Ethari or Runaan had helped her with her horns before, like this was just a normal thing. A normal thing that took ages, and that one had to daydream through to pass the time.

“I’m actually really looking forward to seeing what they look like when I’m done.” He was saying, as he put the buffing things down and went to get the bottle of polish and the polishing tool. “I’ve never seen your horns all done up before.”

“Maybe now you’ll finally understand what I mean when I say my horns have gone gross.” She pondered, and he laughed. “Finally you’ll know what well-kept horns are supposed to look like.”

“I have seen other Moonshadow elves’ horns, you know.” He informed her, obviously amused, and she heard the cap of the polish opening. A moment later, she smelled it, because there was really no mistaking that smell. “Yours still look nice no matter how long it’s been since you scrubbed them.”

Rayla made a disagreeable noise at him, and he snickered back, and then finally set about the polishing.

She’d told him, earlier, that horn-polish was pretty potent stuff, and that’s why you applied it to a sort of spongy cloth attached to a handle, rather than scrubbing with it by hand. At full strength, it actually melted the outer surface of the horn – just a little, just enough to meld it all down into a smooth, gleaming, perfect surface. Diluted polish was fine if you did it regularly, but with how long it had been for her…she’d told him to keep it undiluted. And it stank.

Her nose wrinkled, even with all the pleasant soap smells competing, and held her neck lax as Callum worked on her horns vigorously enough to pull her head back with every other movement. That was just how it went, so she wasn’t bothered. The towel was enough padding that it didn’t hurt, so she just laid there and let him work.

“Think I might actually nearly be done.” He pronounced at last, sounding genuinely a little out of breath. She’d told him it was hard work, and evidently he’d found that out for himself. He sounded very pleased, though. Like he’d done a good job and knew it, and was plenty proud about it. “Just got to wash all this polish muck off, right? Soap your horns up again.”

“That is the last stage.” She agreed, trying to glance up at him, but all she could really see was the top of his head. “Aside from oiling, I suppose.”

 -

 (Snippet 7: aftermath of horn care, domesticity)

 It was then, by the sink, that Rayla finally removed the towel from her head, and Callum made a loud noise of pure joy at her. She stared at him, alarmed, and then noticed where he was actually looking. Oh.

“Shiny!” He exclaimed, gleeful, and reached out to stroke her horns. “Oh my god.”

“Callum!” She complained, but she was already laughing, because honestly she should have predicted this reaction. He practically groped at her horns, bright-faced and beaming, and she flushed all the while she stood still and let him. “Are you going to let me see them any time soon?” She asked him, dry. “Or are you just going to stand there groping them?” He subsided at that with a very high-pitched giggle.

“Hehehe,” he offered, and then “yes, go look! You need to tell me how well I did.” He took her by the shoulders and turned her to the mirror, his face lingering by her shoulder in her reflection with the enormous grin still very much in residence there. He was such a dork, honestly.

Finally, Rayla tipped her head forwards and inspected her horns. They were…shiny. Very shiny. Every ridge had been filed and buffed and polished to a gleam, and when she turned her head, the light glimmered off of them like they’d been waxed. Her eyebrows went up, and she lifted her own hand to feel along one. It was smooth. Entirely dry, but as she ran her finger along one ridge, it felt so smooth. Their dark colour was actually glossy. “…Wow.” She said, a little admiringly, and tilted her head to watch the light move. “That is shiny.”

He looked absolutely delighted by that response, as if he’d needed her go-ahead to be certain that, yes, that was definitely impressively shiny. She smiled, helpless to stop it, and turned her head to kiss him on the cheek; her reflection mirrored her.

“You did a great job, Callum.” She told him fondly, her cheeks pink at having seen exactly how great a job he’d done. Stars, but the second anyone saw her they’d know exactly who was responsible for those horns. “My horns haven’t been this shiny in years.”

Callum looked at her like she’d hung the Moon, like this praise was enough to render him utterly overjoyed. He tugged her around enough to kiss her, deep and excited and full of energy, so much so that she made a muffled noise of surprise into his lips. It caught her off-guard, and she was feeling a little breathless and a little dazed when he drew away a few moments later. “You have to let me do this again.” He told her, beaming. “I’m going to keep your horns this shiny, just you wait.”

Her cheeks flamed, and she ducked her head, suddenly flustered. “You can’t just say things like that.” She complained at him, and of course he looked utterly unrepentant. He leaned in and kissed her, then moved and kissed her on one cheek, and then on the other cheek, and his hands were already up and stroking along the wide bases of her horns again.

“Smooth,” he commented, gleefully, fingers warm around her horns. His face was very, very close to hers. “They’re so nice.”

The heat in her face decidedly didn’t abate. “Oh my god, Callum.” She mumbled, shaking her head, and he just kissed her again. Feeling increasingly dazed, she said into his lips “you know, it’s a lot faster if you’re doing it regularly. You can skip the filing and just buff and polish instead.”

He considered this excellent news, if the way he kissed her was any indication.

Finally, she summoned the force of will to reach up and peel his hands from her horns, stepping away. It was not easy, because – because when he looked like that, so elated and alive and full of delight, when he kissed her so enthusiastically, it was hard to think of pretty much anything. She looked across at him, incredibly flustered, and couldn’t see anything except how beautiful he was. “You, calm down.” She ordered him, gruffly, and led him by the shoulder to the basin. “We came in here to brush our teeth, you numpty. Not fondle Rayla’s horns.”

“But Rayla’s horns are really really pretty.” Callum pointed out cheerfully, and she made an involuntary noise half-way between embarrassment and pleasure.

“Be that as it may, Rayla and her horns want you to brush your teeth now so we can go to bed.” She said, and she shuffled over to the basin to make good on her words.

 -

 (Snippet 8: Callum and Rayla go to bed finally. Cuddling, fluff.)

 It proved as magnificently soft and comfy as she might have expected, when she peeled back the covers and climbed in. Callum meanwhile was perusing the canopy with consideration.

“Curtains or no curtains?” He asked her, and she considered it.

“Curtains.” She decided, and watched with satisfaction as he reached out and unhooked the bed’s attendant drapery. She reached to the one closest to her, and he got the rest; it all fell into place, a rich dark red that blocked out the light from the room around them and cast their bed into soothing shadow. Something settled in her then, that hadn’t quite been at ease in the unfamiliar surroundings, or the openness of the room. She sighed, and burrowed down under the duvet, laying her head back on the pillows.

He joined her, lifting the covers and slipping in, closing his eyes for a second in obvious profound enjoyment. “This is so much better than hard cold floor.” He murmured happily, and she smiled, tugging him to her with a hand at his shoulder. He went gladly, and within moments they were pressed close, legs tangling, the warmth of his skin comforting against her own.

“Been a long few weeks.” She sighed, resting her forehead against his, and he lifted a hand to stroke her cheek.

“Kind of an understatement.” He murmured back. “I’m glad we’ve got a chance to rest now.” A pause. “Sort of, anyway. Aside from the work.”

She understood his meaning, though. There was something strangely safe about the idea of the time they’d spend here, whether it would be a week or longer than that. This wasn’t home, where there’d be people to explain things to, or where they’d have to adapt their old life to fit around what had happened. This was a new place – unfamiliar, but easier to cope with for that unfamiliarity, in its own way.

Here, she thought, they’d be able to find their footing a little. Settle a little more into their new normal, before the vagaries of travel and normal life needed intrude again.

“Me too.” She agreed, at last, and reached a hand across to press lightly around the back of his neck. He made a soft, pleased sound, then shuffled to give her better access, face smooshed into the pillow. She kissed him on the cheek, and he peered at her with one green eye, a smile fluttering on his lips.

“…Thanks for letting me do your horns.” He mumbled back, eventually. “I liked it.”

Her heart fluttered. “I’ll repay you sometime.” She promised, and moved her hand to smooth down along his upper back, enjoying the warmth of his skin. “Tomorrow, maybe. Give you a nice backrub or something.”

“Sounds great.” He shifted closer, tucking his face against her shoulder with a sigh. She kissed him at the top of his forehead, stroking him gently from the nape of his neck to his shoulders and back. He made quiet contented noises at her, drowsier and drowsier, and steadily began to drift off.

She lingered there, holding him, trailing fingertips over his neck as he settled into sleep. It really had been a long day for him, for all that they’d spent the latter half of it indoors and resting. Now, finally, he’d be able to sleep properly, in a bed comfortable enough to ease the ache of his overworn muscles. Now, finally, without the city’s doom hanging over them, they could rest a little.

Rayla smiled into his hair, nestled against him, and closed her eyes. She wasn’t aware of falling asleep, but it took her anyway; almost between one moment and the next, she was gone.

[stillness-in-green]

Spinaraki Week Level 2, Day Five: Rain | Steampunk

I don’t know anything about steampunk but take this anyway and I hope it’s not TOO obvious that I’m a huge poseur.  I promise I did at least some research.

———–      ———–      ———–      ———–

The brass city fell.  It didn’t even take Gigantomachia, in the end, just Shigaraki and the change in his disyncrasy: steel to rust, bone to dust. Anyone within half a kilometer of the epicenter had gone up like so much ash, give or take some lightning-fast limb-cutting, and that had been that.  Case closed, except for the evacuations to somewhere the Hero Corps wouldn’t be sticking their noses while Shigaraki’s new army figured out the new status quo.

The Liberation Army had airships on hand—it was the easiest way to get into Deika’s isolated mountains—so that was where the League wound up after the initial flurry of medical care, piled into the nicest cabin of the nicest airship Spinner had ever set foot in.

Not that there was a lot of competition on that front.  Spinner had been in exactly one airship in his life, and that was the one he’d taken to get to Hosu.  He’d shared with two others a third-class berth that had reeked of sulfur emissions the entire trip.  Blankets had been request-only, for a surcharge.

This place was huge, an apartment of rooms in the upper galleys, all mirror-polished oak floors and white linen sheets in the beds.  Every room had a glass door that lead out to a railed deck you could walk all the way around the stern, as long as you were the kind of person who had no fear of heights whatsoever.  Shigaraki’s was at the very back, a sitting room with the standard door and a ridiculously well-appointed bedroom with its portion of the deck walled off from the rest, turning it into something more like a private box.  Spinner had seen whole kitchens smaller than the bed.

Shigaraki—who’d rolled his eyes at Spinner’s hovering, but Spinner didn’t trust that automaton of Skeptic’s enough to let Shigaraki walk around alone with it—looked around, ambivalence in every line of his face, then turned back to Spinner and grinned.

“Want to break the bed in?”

They didn’t manage it, not for lack of intention or for absence of Spinner’s sputtering, but just because Shigaraki was asleep two minutes after he hit the mattress, and Spinner, despite his best intentions, wasn’t far behind.

-

He woke hours later to a shift in the sound of the engines’ dull rumbling.  Nearby warmth confirmed that Shigaraki was still with him, but dead to the world, unresponsive to Spinner’s tentative nudge or careful edging out of the bed (once he found the edge of it, anyway).

The only light in the room came from a yellow glow seeping in from the door to the balcony.  When Spinner crept over and tilted his head way back, he could just make out the bottom edge of the huge lantern hung above the deck, lit up so bright he had to blink away spots when he averted his eyes. Outside, any sign of the land below was obscured by the balcony railing; above it, a ribbon of sky tumbled behind them endlessly, empty but brilliant with stars.

The future looked a bit like that for all of them now.

Spinner shook off the half-formed thought, heat in his cheeks at the naked romanticism of it, and turned back towards the bed.

He didn’t know enough about airship engines to know what the change in sound meant.  Maybe they were changing directions, maybe they’d hit a headwind, maybe they needed to refuel; he had no idea, and he wasn’t going to leave Shigaraki to go find out.

He pulled a chair over to the side of the bed and arranged himself in it, the last of his knives recovered from the pile of their gear on the floor and resting over his lap. Resolved to stay awake in case someone came, he fixed his stare on the door and waited.

-

He woke up again, this time to gray light and the sound of rain on the window.  The bed stood empty, and the cane the medics had given Shigaraki (that on top of a leg plaster, an arm brace and a jar of laudanum the size of Spinner’s fist) was gone.

Hissing a curse under his breath, Spinner stumbled to his feet and swept the room.  The balcony was obviously empty, and there was no answer to his knock on the bathroom door, nor was Shigaraki passed out in the wood-paneled bathtub.

Just as he lay a hand on the door to the sitting room, he heard the laugh from inside—Toga.  Spinner sighed in relief, giving himself long enough to pick out Shigaraki’s voice before he doubled back to the bed to throw on his coat and loop his sword belt over his shoulder.

When he pushed into the other room, it was to find Shigaraki and Toga perched in the pair of chairs positioned in front of the doors to the outside deck.  Toga was wrapped up in Shigaraki’s tattered greatcoat (which definitely looked like it was sporting a few new patches), her legs drawn up into the seat and her skirt tucked close enough around her feet that it was obvious she wasn’t wearing shoes.  Shigaraki, lacking a table to kick his legs up on, sprawled sideways in his chair, bare feet dangling in the air over the arm nearer the doors.  Both of them looked over at his approach, Shigaraki craning his neck back over the other chair arm and Toga shooting him a suspiciously satisfied grin.

Unlit and gloomy, the room was bitingly cool, and Spinner levelled a reproachful look at the both of them.

“There is a radiator in here.  We don’t have to sit around being cold anymore.”

“It’s a nice atmosphere!” was all Toga had to say in response to that.  She’d upgraded to an eyepatch from the gauze packing of the infirmary, a dark swath of leather over her right eye that made her skin look almost white. Given the amount of blood she’d apparently lost, she was probably supposed to still be in bed just like Shigaraki, but the gods knew the two of them didn’t exactly have the best self-preservation instincts in the League.

“We’re supposed to get to the new hideout in a few hours,” Shigaraki weighed in.  “You can go sleep some more if you want.”

“Everyone else is,” Toga added, in the tones of one who’d checked.

“It’s fine.”  I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep right now anyway, he didn’t finish, instead just arranging himself in a cross-armed lean on the wall.

Shigaraki and Toga looked at each other, silent for a beat, then went right back to the conversation they’d presumably been having when he came in.

“So?” she prompted.  “How’d it feel?”

“Terrible,” came Shigaraki’s answer, flatly candid, but then a snide grin teased its way over his face as he went on.  “At first. Felt pretty good by the end, though. Real liberating.”

“Mine didn’t feel bad at all,” Toga replied, drawing out the last word in a dreamy gratification.  Something seemed to strike her, sharpening her previously unfocused stare.  Her wide smile drained away for just a moment before twisting itself back up into a smirk, taut with a spite he hadn’t seen on her face since the whole thing with the Shie Hassaikai.   “I can’t wait to try it on someone I actually like.”

“What are you talking about?” Spinner asked, bewildered.

“She unlocked it,” Shigaraki said shortly, then his lips hooked up into an anticipatory little smile as he watched Spinner’s jaw drop.  “Her disyncrasy.”

“I can change shapes!” Toga announced, her expression melting back into eagerness.  “Not right now—that’s what I need blood for—but that’s what I’ve always wanted it for!  I figured it out when that reporter lady wouldn’t leave me alone.”

Spinner’s mind reeled with the possibilities.  They’d been out of contact with their supposed spy since Shigaraki’s master was taken, but with that kind of infiltration capacity on the table, on top of Shigaraki’s rust now affecting everything, not just metal…

“You too, right, Spinner?”

Toga’s coy voice clipped off the unspooling ends of his thoughts and he looked up into barn-owl yellow eyes that saw straight through him.  “Wh-what?”

“You changed too.  I can smell it.”  The assertion made no sense, but her smug certainty drove heat up into his cheeks anyway, because damn, she was right, even if there was no way for her to have known about it.

“It’s really nothing,” he muttered, not daring to look at Shigaraki, though he could feel the stare without even needing to.  “Not compared to—”

“You an’ me’ve read a bunch of the same serials, Spinner,” Shigaraki interrupted him dryly.  “If you unlocked something, there’ll be a way to use it.  What’d you get?”

Spinner closed his eyes and bit back a groan.  Rubbing at his face did absolutely nothing to alleviate the weight of their attention, though, so he gripped his hair and pulled his own head up enough to glare back at Shigaraki, hollowness chewing at his stomach.

“Climbing on walls.  Like a—” and he broke off to gesture at himself with his free hand.

“That’s fun!” Toga chimed; Shigaraki just looked thoughtful, which was—well, it was a better response than Spinner’s gnawing anxiety had been expecting, anyway.

“Yeah,” he said at length. “I can come up with ways to use that. Who looks up at ceilings, anyway?”

“What were you thinking about when you figured it out?” Toga asked, and grinned completely unrepentantly when Spinner moved his glare over to her instead.  “I bet I can guess.”

“Leave him alone, Toga,” Shigaraki said, an off-handed defense that still filled the emptiness in Spinner’s guts with sudden butterflies, the blush now for a wholly different reason. “That’s five of us.  Just one more to go.”

Toga moved her fingers for a moment, frowning down at them.  “…Five?”

“Dabi’s holding out. He’ll tell us when he wants to.” A beat, then a huff.  “Hell, Compress might be, too.”

They went on talking, and Spinner let them, watching Shigaraki with a tingle in his mouth that felt like a promise trying to make itself known.

[sakuratragedy]

Emperor’s Consort | Chapter 1

Fandom: Genshin Impact Pairing: Zhongli / Childe, #Zhongchi Tags: R18, A/B/O Dynamics, Royalty AU Summary: aka "Emperor's consort doesn't know the difference between being a concubine and being a consort" Tsaritsa wants her child to have a good life after serving her on the battlefield for so long, so she makes a deal with an old friend. In exchange for her military might, he will marry her son. Childe who has no formal omega training has to do his best to cover up the fact he has no idea what he's doing. Do your best to be a good omega Childe!

“If we are the last two left, I’ll give up and let you be the Tsar.”

“‘That is only if we are the last two standing. We need to think of who to take down first.”

She had her back against the wall, listening to her brothers through the slightly open door as they sharpened their weapons while whispering quietly amongst themselves. The sound of blade being polished against whetstone echoed through the room.

“Yelena’s strike is the fiercest. She should be dealt with first.” she hears her brothers when the blade lifts from the stone before another sharp sound is heard.

The succession rites to become the next Tsar hosted by her father started tomorrow. The Tsar was an old and terrible tyrant, taking eight wives and will be making his children slaughter each other for the sake of tradition. She hated him and his rancid smell, the same stench he used to command his court by exerting his alpha pheromones and bringing them to their knees. She especially hated when he would use her mother as a means to torment her. She would feel the spikes of rage and the flash of red in her vision when he would threaten to humiliate her mother in front of the court to get her to do what he wanted.

The succession rite was a chance to change all that. She could fix decades of ugly rituals, dismantle the corruption and burn it to the ground, raising a new court from its ashes. She'll get rid of the corruption with her own two hands.

If she survives the succession rite as the true heir.

First, she had to survive the night. She moved away from the wall, making sure her footsteps were light so her brothers would not hear her.

-

The dawn came quickly with few casualties. Two of her eight siblings were missing during the morning ceremony. It was right to assume her other siblings had started early by eliminating some competition before the rites. They were surrounded by spectators from the court, their mothers cry and sob as their children were cut down and their father, watching them with a smirk on his face.

She was fast, she had to be to survive the slaughter. While her brothers and sisters were stronger, she was swift to cut deep and fast at their necks before avoiding the rest of the fight.

As she held her dagger to her dear older brother’s neck, his words echoed through her ears.

“Yelena’s strike is the fiercest.”  

She hesitated for a split second when he smiled at her and closed his eyes, giving up the fight and giving in to his death.

“I’ll give up and let you be the Tsar.”

Perhaps he knew that she was there that night. She frowned. She swore for her brothers and for her mother that this ugly methods of succession would die along with them. She landed a swift killing strike to make his death painless before a booming laughter filled the court. Yelena got off her brother's corpse and turned to face her father behind her.

“Who would have thought.” she turned to her father, who had a smirk on his face, overlooking his five dead children and his sole heir bathed in the blood of her beloved.

“My littlest won the succession rites all on her own. It is as true as the court says,” her scowl deepens at his show of pride. “You do have my good traits.”

-

That night she killed the tyrant that was her father.

-

It had been 40 years since she was 15 and living the nightmares of her succession rites. The ghosts follow her as she burns away the old world for her new one. One where her children do not have to cry from the heartache of losing their families. For 40 years, she had destroyed her fathers empire and built it back up with her own hands the way that she desired. Everyone in Snezhnaya are her children, as long as they were born in this frosty land of ice and snow they would be cared for by her.

Her children always did say that she loved too much. She loved too hard and that made her soft.

She had never been married, but she had adopted 11 children from different family situations to be her official princes and princesses, her Harbingers as they liked to call themselves when they assisted her in her endeavours. The fights are long and tiresome but after 40 years of fighting for her ideal world she can finally rest peacefully with her family.

Unfortunately, she had spent the last 40 years hardening her 11 children for battlefields and life in shadows, so suddenly wanting to have a loving relationship with her children was less than fruitful. Especially with her older children, which was understandable since Pedrelino and Dottore had been with her longest and since they were young she hadn’t been treating them like children. They were forced to oversee missions from the shadows, travelling Teyvat for her and lengthy battles away from home, so she understands when they couldn’t receive her motherly love very well.

Her younger children however were very welcoming to her attempts at affection.

She sat on her throne, she watched her only daughter approach her along with two fatui skirmishers by her side.

“Your majesty.” La Signora did a low curtsy before her. She nodded and the two skirmishers dismissed themselves, leaving her and her daughter alone together.

“Signora. How was your trip to Mondstadt? I trust you had a wonderful time.”

“It was alright.” she glanced over to the side, making a face the Tsaritsa couldn’t really read, but she could guess that it was distaste. The reason for the distaste was unknown, but according to the intel that reached her ears before Signora did, it could have something to do with that mysterious traveller and that omega bard she had encountered in Mondstadt as she was leaving.

“I’m glad you’re home.” she started before hesitating, clearing her throat behind her fist before shyly admitting. “I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too.” Signora responds shyly, her neck and ears flushing red clearly unused to the outright affection. The red flush made Signora look like a young maiden in the moment, you could have forgotten that she was one of the Tsaritsa’s coldest killers. The Tsaritsa smiled behind her hand at how cute her daughter could look before she decided to move on to other matters.

“Signora, an old friend of mine would like support from our military might regarding a ghost from his past.” she started with a serious voice as she leaned into her throne. Signora’s expression changed immediately to her usual stoic expression as she listened to her mother speak.

“Don’t support him.” she says sternly without hesitation. She understands why her daughter feels that way. A foreigner having control over their old and great military might unsupervised would be an unwise decision for both Snezhnaya and her old friend. While the Tsaritsa knows that her fatui agents have good independent action and work in a team, sending them to a foreign land two weeks away from Snezhnaya without supervision for a friend could turn dangerous.

“He is a dear friend and I owe him a favour.” she continues. “When Pedrelino was very young and I was rebuilding Snezhnaya, he lent me a hand in terms of investigation of the court. I feel the need to return the favour.”

Signora still looked against the action, but Yelena was determined to convince her daughter.

“We both know how I feel for those who have ghosts.”

“Your majesty, I’m stepping out of line when I say this but you love too hard and too deeply. It is my job to make sure you don’t get hurt and by making such a bold decision to send our agents for this person... It is just unreasonable, especially if they are unsupervised.” Signora has her hand on her hips as she borderline lectures the Tsaritsa.

“We could send a Harbinger if supervision is your concern?” Tsaritsa says as she avoids her gaze. She knows her daughter is glaring at her. She hears Signora give in by her sigh and her fingers rubbing at her temple.

“Who is your friend? Let me get Dottore to run a background- ”

“He is the emperor from Liyue.”

“Tartaglia spent a year in Liyue, didn’t he?” Signora said as she thought out loud. Perhaps they could send a portion of their military might if it is under the supervision of their youngest Harbinger.

Then again… it is Tartaglia they’re talking about.

“Yes. Tartaglia is familiar with foreign languages to a certain degree as well, is he not? Perhaps we could send him as a consort?”

“Mother.”

“Yes?”

“Did you say consort.”

“Yes.”

A long silence filled the throne room.

“Your majesty.” she let out another heavy sigh. “Harbingers are not marriageable. Especially Tartaglia.” Signora knows her mother is a kind hearted woman, but attempting to marry off Tartaglia as a favour to the Liyue emperor was mind boggling. Surely, Tartaglia was the only omega of their siblings, but he was still a Harbinger. A nasty, cold hearted killer with blood on his hands.

Not to mention his pheromones that smelled too strong of withered roses, a result from years on the battlefield fighting through his heats by literally fighting enemies, muddying his scent by surrounding himself with bloodshed. No high class alpha let alone an emperor would be in their right mind to want to mate with him.

“Do not say that Signora.” Signora’s posture straightened at the appearance of her stern voice, perhaps automatically out of fear or respect, or something between those lines. Regardless her daughter had reverted back to actively listening rather than roasting her brother.

“Tartaglia has worked hard for years for this country. Nevertheless, he is an omega forced to live like an alpha for years on the battlefield for me. Snezhnaya is entering an era of peace, I would like him to start living like his age.” Signora still looked against the suggestion of sending Tartaglia to be married. She understands that perhaps it would be troublesome for her as well, since they were close in age and she would essentially be losing her closest sibling.  

“I think this would be good for him.”

“Mother… Tartaglia has no formal omega training for a supposedly ‘high class omega’, considering he’s a prince. If the emperor takes a whiff of his scent, he’d be sent back in a crate to Snezhnaya like an animal.”

“There’s no harm in letting Tartaglia try his chances. If he turns out to be the emperor's concubine, it would not be too bad, would it?” she says softly. She watches as Signora’s expression softens as well at her tone.

“Alright. I’ll let Tartaglia know and make the preparations.”

“Thank you Signora.”

-

“Childe! Be reasonable!” Signora yells as she chases her half naked brother through the palace gardens, passing by agents and maids who were forced to avert their gaze in fear of being beheaded for looking at the prince half decent.

“Advert your eyes!” Signora points at the oncoming squadron who were heading in their direction. Their faces turn to all different directions to avoid seeing the prince and princess racing each other through the palace grounds.

“Childe!” she lets out a shrill scream as she continues to chase him.

“No! I’ll never marry! You can’t make me!” he jumps over mother’s marble fence and lands behind an unfortunate fatui agent, making him jump from the scare. It doesn’t phase Childe and he continues running. Signora looked down from where Childe jumped and looked at the heels she was wearing ‘ah… my 500 thousand mora heels...’ and decided against it.

“Don’t treat me like a fucking omega!” he sneers at her. She rolls her eyes. In her vision Childe is nothing more like a hissing kitten.

“News flash genius, you are an omega.” Signora managed to catch up to him and successfully cornered him in his room after a long chase outdoors that lasted approximately two hours and forty five minutes, not that she was counting to spite him later. Her angry pheromones leak and overpower Childe, bringing him to his knees. If he were in his prime state, he would be able to resist her pheromones without flinching, but this version of Childe had taken a short break from the battlefield and has started to enjoy living the life of a spoiled prince.

“I’ll make him kick me out in a week if you keep this up.” Childe gasps with his mouth before pinching his nose, trying not to breathe in too much of her scent.

Signora rolls her eyes at how dramatic her younger sibling is being. In a palace full of boys and her being the sole princess, she lives in a house of stubborn alphas. Somehow, Childe being the only non-alpha had caught their terrible personality traits.

“Get up off the floor we have to start going through basic training now.”

- “Ow!” Childe whines when Signora pushes the dildo into him. His ankle rested on one of her shoulders as she stood at the end of the bed, monitoring how much slick he produced.

“Come on, you’ve got to be better at producing slick than this .” she says with a mixture of disappointment and irritation. Firstly, she had to chase her brother through the gardens and now she was in charge of his training?

Well, she did promise the Tsaritsa that she would handle it. But it doesn’t mean she couldn’t complain about it.

“It’s not my fault. You don’t turn me on.” Childe mutters into his pillow below his head, crossing his arms across his torso. Signora smiles, irritated before pushing the dildo further in harder than she should have. He flinches violently before sitting up.

“Ow!”

“The Tsaritsa wants you to go to Liyue and play nice with the emperor, and you know that whatever mom says goes.” Signora ignores the high pitched whine that Childe makes when she gently pushes the dildo further into his cunt.

“Mom just wants to marry me off to some old geezer. Isn’t the emperor supposed to be a 40 year old man.”

“Don’t call her mom. Refer to her as ‘her majesty’.” “You literally just called her mom.”

Childe feels a knot form on the base of the dildo, expanding uncomfortably against him while hitting all the wrong places that made him uncomfortable. One particularly hard thrust caused him to flinch violently again, arching up against the bed in discomfort.

“Ow, ow, ow! ” He complains as Signora finishes pushing the knot into him.

“You’re such a crybaby. How are you going to withstand those dreadfully long hours of mating when you can’t even handle a fake knot.” she pushes his ankle off her shoulder and they fall limp onto the bed below them. She throws her hair behind her shoulder before moving across the room and sitting on the sofa in his room, lying herself across it as if she’s done some terribly hard task. Childe sits up to look at her, irritated at how dramatic she looks.

“Mom should have gotten you a proper trainer years ago rather than this ridiculous last minute coaching.”

“News flash genius .” Childe bites back at her. “I was away on the battlefield ever since her majesty adopted me as a Harbinger? How long has that been, hmm?” he taps his chin, ignoring the shiver that ran down his spine from feeling so much of the knot against him.

“One? Two? Three years?”

“So you’ve been away for six years. Big deal. All of us travel around for her majesty’s missions.”

“None of you alphas need whatever this ‘formal omega training’ is.” he makes air quotations with his fingers. “Cause none of you are omegas.” he glares at her. He knows she can feel the glare, but it's making him angry how easily she ignores him in favour of closing her eyes and sinking her head into the plush pillow on the sofa.

“Most high ranking omegas from across Teyvat go through formal omega training. It teaches you the basics from how to control your pheromones to the importance of heats and proper mating rituals.”

“I’m not most high ranking omegas, if you haven’t noticed.”

“You’re right.” Childe feels some sort of pride with being agreed with.

“You smell like smelly roses and you’re not soft or cute at all.” He made an unhappy noise at his sister. How typical of her, unable to compliment him at any time. He feels the knot soften inside of him and thinks that it was the perfect opportunity to work the dildo out of him before aiming for his sister's head. The dildo misses Signora by two inches before falling on the other side of the couch.

“Tartaglia!” the shrill scream echoed throughout the palace.

- The day he was sent away, the Tsaritsa and Signora stood out at the front gates to bid Childe goodbye. He kisses her majesty’s knuckles before meeting her eyes.

“I promise I’ll do well.”

The Tsaritsa smiles at him, gentle and motherly while a step further behind her Signora is glaring at him with all her might. The wind blows harshly, little flakes of snow sticking to Childe’s red hair. He smiles mimicking the gentle one she gave him.

“I know you will. Even if he does not choose you to be his mate, as long as you are happy,” she hesitates and bites her lip. She knows that she would be lying if she continued. “I will be happy.” she finishes.

In her heart she is hoping that it does not come down to that and that her old friend would treat her son right, but the possibilities are endless when it comes to Zhongli. If he was similar to her image of him when they were younger, he would still be an unpredictable enigma, coming and doing as he pleases like an outdoor cat. Then again, Tartaglia was a hurricane in a human shaped shell, with the ability to sweep everything in his path off their feet, dragging the air from their lungs with the chaos he’s capable of leaving in his wake.

“Even if you come home, I’ll take you with open arms.” she says softly, unsure if he heard her over the harsh blowing of the Snezhnaya wind. He turns back to look at his mother (and his sister who caught his eye, and looked away) and the palace he could be leaving for the rest of his life before he boards his carriage that would take him to the docks to board his ship to Liyue, this time with no predicted date of his return.

If he would even return. He was unsure.

The carriage left the front gates of the palace, but the Tsaritsa continued to watch until it was out of their sight.

“I wonder if it was a good idea to send Tartaglia.” she puts a gloved hand to her mouth and another on her stomach. “He has no formal omega training. I’m afraid if he were to lose out to any other potential omega the emperor had his eye on.”

‘I literally told you that.’ Signora thinks, but she gives her mother a sympathetic look and places a hand over her shoulder, pulling the Tsaritsa close to her body. Tsaritsa’s eyes widen in surprise as she feels herself being pulled closer to her daughter's body. Signora is taller than her and blankets herself over her mother, sharing their warmth. While she’s proud that her daughter isn’t as afraid of her as she was years ago, she’s still worried about Tartaglia.

“You worry too much, your majesty. He will be fine.” Signora says as she brings a gloved hand to the Tsaritsa’s back and strokes fondly, comforting her.

[takethehighwaytoheaven]

The crysanthemums by John Steinbeck

Warning: This story is NOT mine(No hell) Hope you like it

The high grey-flannel fog of winter closed off the Salinas Valley from the sky and from all the rest of the world. On every side it sat like a lid on the mountains and made of the great valley a closed pot. On the broad, level land floor the gang plows bit deep and left the black earth shining like metal where the shares had cut. On the foothill ranches across the Salinas River, the yellow stubble fields seemed to be bathed in pale cold sunshine, but there was no sunshine in the valley now in December. The thick willow scrub along the river flamed with sharp and positive yellow leaves. It was a time of quiet and of waiting. The air was cold and tender. A light wind blew up from the southwest so that the farmers were mildly hopeful of a good rain before long; but fog and rain did not go together. Across the river, on Henry Allen's foothill ranch there was little work to be done, for the hay was cut and stored and the orchards were plowed up to receive the rain deeply when it should come. The cattle on the higher slopes were becoming shaggy and rough-coated. Elisa Allen, working in her flower garden, looked down across the yard and saw Henry, her husband, talking to two men in business suits. The three of them stood by the tractor shed, each man with one foot on the side of the little Fordson. They smoked cigarettes and studied the machine as they talked. Elisa watched them for a moment and then went back to her work. She was thirtyfive. Her face was lean and strong and her eyes were as clear as water. Her figure looked blocked and heavy in her gardening costume, a man's black hat pulled low down over her eyes, clod-hopper shoes, a figured print dress almost completely covered by a big corduroy apron with four big pockets to hold the snips, the trowel and scratcher, the seeds and the knife she worked with. She wore heavy leather gloves to protect her hands while she worked. She was cutting down the old year's chrysanthemum stalks with a pair of short and powerful scissors. She looked down toward the men by the tractor shed now and then. Her face was eager and mature and handsome; even her work with the scissors was over-eager, over-powerful. The chrysanthemum stems seemed too small and easy for her energy. She brushed a cloud of hair out of her eyes with the back of her glove, and left a smudge of earth on her cheek in doing it. Behind her stood the neat white farm house with red geraniums close-banked around it as high as the windows. It was a hard-swept looking little house, with hard-polished windows, and a clean mud-mat on the front steps. Elisa cast another glance toward the tractor shed. The strangers were getting into their Ford coupe. She took off a glove and put her strong fingers down into the forest of new green chrysanthemum sprouts that were growing around the old roots. She spread the leaves and looked down among the close-growing stems. No aphids were there, no sowbugs or snails or cutworms. Her terrier fingers destroyed such pests before they could get started. Elisa started at the sound of her husband's voice. He had come near quietly, and he leaned over the wire fence that protected her flower garden from cattle and dogs and chickens. "At it again," he said. "You've got a strong new crop coming." Elisa straightened her back and pulled on the gardening glove again. "Yes. They'll be strong this coming year." In her tone and on her face there was a little smugness. You've got a gift with things," Henry observed. "Some of those yellow chrysanthemums you had this year were ten inches across. I wish you'd work out in the orchard and raise some apples that big." Her eyes sharpened. "Maybe I could do it, too. I've a gift with things, all right. My mother had it. She could stick anything in the ground and make it grow. She said it was having planters' hands that knew how to do it." "Well, it sure works with flowers," he said. "Henry, who were those men you were talking to?" "Why, sure, that's what I came to tell you. They were from the Western Meat Company. I sold those thirty head of three-year-old steers. Got nearly my own price, too." "Good," she said. "Good for you. "And I thought," he continued, "I thought how it's Saturday afternoon, and we might go into Salinas for dinner at a restaurant, and then to a picture show—to celebrate, you see." "Good," she repeated. "Oh, yes. That will be good." Henry put on his joking tone. "There's fights tonight. How'd you like to go to the fights?" "Oh, no," she said breathlessly. "No, I wouldn't like fights." "Just fooling, Elisa. We'll go to a movie. Let's see. It's two now. I'm going to take Scotty and bring down those steers from the hill. It'll take us maybe two hours. We'll go in town about five and have dinner at the Cominos Hotel. Like that?" "Of course I'll like it. It's good to eat away from home." "All right, then. I'll go get up a couple of horses." She said, "I'll have plenty of time to transplant some of these sets, I guess." She heard her husband calling Scotty down by the barn. And a little later she saw the two men ride up the pale yellow hillside in search of the steers. There was a little square sandy bed kept for rooting the chrysanthemums. With her trowel she turned the soil over and over, and smoothed it and patted it firm. Then she dug ten parallel trenches to receive the sets. Back at the chrysanthemum bed she pulled out the little crisp shoots, trimmed off the leaves of each one with her scissors and laid it on a small orderly pile. A squeak of wheels and plod of hoofs came from the road. Elisa looked up. The country road ran along the dense bank of willows and cotton-woods that bordered the river, and up this road came a curious vehicle, curiously drawn. It was an old spring-wagon, with a round canvas top on it like the cover of a prairie schooner. It was drawn by an old bay horse and a little grey-and-white burro. A big stubblebearded man sat between the cover flaps and drove the crawling team. Underneath the wagon, between the hind wheels, a lean and rangy mongrel dog walked sedately. Words were painted on the canvas in clumsy, crooked letters. "Pots, pans, knives, sisors, lawn mores, Fixed." Two rows of articles, and the triumphantly definitive "Fixed" below. The black paint had run down in little sharp points beneath each letter. Elisa, squatting on the ground, watched to see the crazy, loose-jointed wagon pass by. But it didn't pass. It turned into the farm road in front of her house, crooked old wheels skirling and squeaking. The rangy dog darted from between the wheels and ran ahead. Instantly the two ranch shepherds flew out at him. Then all three stopped, and with stiff and quivering tails, with taut straight legs, with ambassadorial dignity, they slowly circled, sniffing daintily. The caravan pulled up to Elisa's wire fence and stopped. Now the newcomer dog, feeling outnumbered, lowered his tail and retired under the wagon with raised hackles and bared teeth. The man on the wagon seat called out, "That's a bad dog in a fight when he gets started." Elisa laughed. "I see he is. How soon does he generally get started?" The man caught up her laughter and echoed it heartily. "Sometimes not for weeks and weeks," he said. He climbed stiffly down, over the wheel. The horse and the donkey drooped like unwatered flowers. Elisa saw that he was a very big man. Although his hair and beard were graying, he did not look old. His worn black suit was wrinkled and spotted with grease. The laughter had disappeared from his face and eyes the moment his laughing voice ceased. His eyes were dark, and they were full of the brooding that gets in the eyes of teamsters and of sailors. The calloused hands he rested on the wire fence were cracked, and every crack was a black line. He took off his battered hat. "I'm off my general road, ma'am," he said. "Does this dirt road cut over across the river to the Los Angeles highway?" Elisa stood up and shoved the thick scissors in her apron pocket. "Well, yes, it does, but it winds around and then fords the river. I don't think your team could pull through the sand." He replied with some asperity, "It might surprise you what them beasts can pull through." "When they get started?" she asked. He smiled for a second. "Yes. When they get started." "Well," said Elisa, "I think you'll save time if you go back to the Salinas road and pick up the highway there." He drew a big finger down the chicken wire and made it sing. "I ain't in any hurry, ma am. I go from Seattle to San Diego and back every year. Takes all my time. About six months each way. I aim to follow nice weather." Elisa took off her gloves and stuffed them in the apron pocket with the scissors. She touched the under edge of her man's hat, searching for fugitive hairs. "That sounds like a nice kind of a way to live," she said. He leaned confidentially over the fence. "Maybe you noticed the writing on my wagon. I mend pots and sharpen knives and scissors. You got any of them things to do?" "Oh, no," she said quickly. "Nothing like that." Her eyes hardened with resistance. "Scissors is the worst thing," he explained. "Most people just ruin scissors trying to sharpen 'em, but I know how. I got a special tool. It's a little bobbit kind of thing, and patented. But it sure does the trick." "No. My scissors are all sharp." "All right, then. Take a pot," he continued earnestly, "a bent pot, or a pot with a hole. I can make it like new so you don't have to buy no new ones. That's a saving for you. "No," she said shortly. "I tell you I have nothing like that for you to do." His face fell to an exaggerated sadness. His voice took on a whining undertone. "I ain't had a thing to do today. Maybe I won't have no supper tonight. You see I'm off my regular road. I know folks on the highway clear from Seattle to San Diego. They save their things for me to sharpen up because they know I do it so good and save them money. "I'm sorry," Elisa said irritably. "I haven't anything for you to do." His eyes left her face and fell to searching the ground. They roamed about until they came to the chrysanthemum bed where she had been working. "What's them plants, ma'am?" The irritation and resistance melted from Elisa's face. "Oh, those are chrysanthemums, giant whites and yellows. I raise them every year, bigger than anybody around here." "Kind of a long-stemmed flower? Looks like a quick puff of colored smoke?" he asked. "That's it. What a nice way to describe them." "They smell kind of nasty till you get used to them," he said. "It's a good bitter smell," she retorted, "not nasty at all." He changed his tone quickly. "I like the smell myself." "I had ten-inch blooms this year," she said. The man leaned farther over the fence. "Look. I know a lady down the road a piece, has got the nicest garden you ever seen. Got nearly every kind of flower but no chrysanthemums. Last time I was mending a copper-bottom washtub for her (that's a hard job but I do it good), she said to me, 'If you ever run acrost some nice chrysanthemums I wish you'd try to get me a few seeds.' That's what she told me." Elisa's eyes grew alert and eager. "She couldn't have known much about chrysanthemums. You can raise them from seed, but it's much easier to root the little sprouts you see there." "Oh," he said. "I s'pose I can't take none to her, then." "Why yes you can," Elisa cried. "I can put some in damp sand, and you can carry them right along with you. They'll take root in the pot if you keep them damp. And then she can transplant them." "She'd sure like to have some, ma'am. You say they're nice ones?" "Beautiful," she said. "Oh, beautiful." Her eyes shone. She tore off the battered hat and shook out her dark pretty hair. "I'll put them in a flower pot, and you can take them right with you. Come into the yard." While the man came through the picket fence Elisa ran excitedly along the geranium-bordered path to the back of the house. And she returned carrying a big red flower pot. The gloves were forgotten now. She kneeled on the ground by the starting bed and dug up the sandy soil with her fingers and scooped it into the bright new flower pot. Then she picked up the little pile of shoots she had prepared. With her strong fingers she pressed them into the sand and tamped around them with her knuckles. The man stood over her. "I'll tell you what to do," she said. "You remember so you can tell the lady." "Yes, I'll try to remember." "Well, look. These will take root in about a month. Then she must set them out, about a foot apart in good rich earth like this, see?" She lifted a handful of dark soil for him to look at. "They'll grow fast and tall. Now remember this. In July tell her to cut them down, about eight inches from the ground." "Before they bloom?" he asked. "Yes, before they bloom." Her face was tight with eagerness. "They'll grow right up again. About the last of September the buds will start." She stopped and seemed perplexed. "It's the budding that takes the most care," she said hesitantlv. "I don't know how to tell you." She looked deep into his eyes, searchingly. Her mouth opened a little, and she seemed to be listening. "I'll try to tell you," she said. "Did you ever hear of planting hands?" "Can't say I have, ma'am." "Well, I can only tell you what it feels like. It's when you're picking off the buds you don't want. Everything goes right down into your fingertips. You watch your fingers work. They do it themselves. You can feel how it is. They pick and pick the buds. They never make a mistake. They're with the plant. Do you see? Your fingers and the plant. You can feel that, right up your arm. They know. They never make a mistake. You can feel it. When you're like that you can't do anything wrong. Do you see that? Can you understand that?" She was kneeling on the ground looking up at him. Her breast swelled passionately. The man's eyes narrowed. He looked away self-consciously. "Maybe I know," he said. "Sometimes in the night in the wagon there—" Elisa's voice grew husky. She broke in on him. "I've never lived as you do, but I know what you mean. When the night is dark—why, the stars are sharp-pointed, and there's quiet. Why, you rise up and up! Every pointed star gets driven into your body. It's like that. Hot and sharp and—lovely." Kneeling there, her hand went out toward his legs in the greasy black trousers. Her hesitant fingers almost touched the cloth. Then her hand dropped to the ground. She crouched low like a fawning dog. He said, "It's nice, just like you say. Only when you don't have no dinner, it ain't." She stood up then, very straight, and her face was ashamed. She held the flower pot out to him and placed it gently in his arms. "Here. Put it in your wagon, on the seat, where you can watch it. Maybe I can find something for you to do." At the back of the house she dug in the can pile and found two old and battered aluminum saucepans. She carried them back and gave them to him. "Here, maybe you can fix these." His manner changed. He became professional. "Good as new I can fix them." At the back of his wagon he set a little anvil, and out of an oily tool box dug a small machine hammer. Elisa came through the gate to watch him while he pounded out the dents in the kettles. His mouth grew sure and knowing. At a difficult part of the work he sucked his under-lip. "You sleep right in the wagon?" Elisa asked. "Right in the wagon, ma'am. Rain or shine I'm dry as a cow in there." It must be nice," she said. "It must be very nice. I wish women could do such things." "It ain't the right kind of a life for a woman. Her upper lip raised a little, showing her teeth. "How do you know? How can you tell?" she said. "I don't know, ma'am," he protested. "Of course I don't know. Now here's your kettles, done. You don't have to buy no new ones." "How much?" "Oh, fifty cents'll do. I keep my prices down and my work good. That's why I have all them satisfied customers up and down the highway." Elisa brought him a fifty-cent piece from the house and dropped it in his hand. "You might be surprised to have a rival some time. I can sharpen scissors, too. And I can beat the dents out of little pots. I could show you what a woman might do." He put his hammer back in the oily box and shoved the little anvil out of sight. "It would be a lonely life for a woman, ma'am, and a scarey life, too, with animals creeping under the wagon all night." He climbed over the singletree, steadying himself with a hand on the burro's white rump. He settled himself in the seat, picked up the lines. "Thank you kindly, ma'am," he said. "I'll do like you told me; I'll go back and catch the Salinas road." "Mind," she called, "if you're long in getting there, keep the sand damp." "Sand, ma'am?. .. Sand? Oh, sure. You mean around the chrysanthemums. Sure I will." He clucked his tongue. The beasts leaned luxuriously into their collars. The mongrel dog took his place between the back wheels. The wagon turned and crawled out the entrance road and back the way it had come, along the river. Elisa stood in front of her wire fence watching the slow progress of the caravan. Her shoulders were straight, her head thrown back, her eyes half-closed, so that the scene came vaguely into them. Her lips moved silently, forming the words "Goodbye—good-bye." Then she whispered, "That's a bright direction. There's a glowing there." The sound of her whisper startled her. She shook herself free and looked about to see whether anyone had been listening. Only the dogs had heard. They lifted their heads toward her from their sleeping in the dust, and then stretched out their chins and settled asleep again. Elisa turned and ran hurriedly into the house. In the kitchen she reached behind the stove and felt the water tank. It was full of hot water from the noonday cooking. In the bathroom she tore off her soiled clothes and flung them into the corner. And then she scrubbed herself with a little block of pumice, legs and thighs, loins and chest and arms, until her skin was scratched and red. When she had dried herself she stood in front of a mirror in her bedroom and looked at her body. She tightened her stomach and threw out her chest. She turned and looked over her shoulder at her back. After a while she began to dress, slowly. She put on her newest underclothing and her nicest stockings and the dress which was the symbol of her prettiness. She worked carefully on her hair, pencilled her eyebrows and rouged her lips. Before she was finished she heard the little thunder of hoofs and the shouts of Henry and his helper as they drove the red steers into the corral. She heard the gate bang shut and set herself for Henry's arrival. His step sounded on the porch. He entered the house calling, "Elisa, where are you?" "In my room, dressing. I'm not ready. There's hot water for your bath. Hurry up. It's getting late." When she heard him splashing in the tub, Elisa laid his dark suit on the bed, and shirt and socks and tie beside it. She stood his polished shoes on the floor beside the bed. Then she went to the porch and sat primly and stiffly down. She looked toward the river road where the willow-line was still yellow with frosted leaves so that under the high grey fog they seemed a thin band of sunshine. This was the only color in the grey afternoon. She sat unmoving for a long time. Her eyes blinked rarely. Henry came banging out of the door, shoving his tie inside his vest as he came. Elisa stiffened and her face grew tight. Henry stopped short and looked at her. "Why—why, Elisa. You look so nice!" "Nice? You think I look nice? What do you mean by 'nice'?" Henry blundered on. "I don't know. I mean you look different, strong and happy." "I am strong? Yes, strong. What do you mean 'strong'?" He looked bewildered. "You're playing some kind of a game," he said helplessly. "It's a kind of a play. You look strong enough to break a calf over your knee, happy enough to eat it like a watermelon." For a second she lost her rigidity. "Henry! Don't talk like that. You didn't know what you said." She grew complete again. "I'm strong," she boasted. "I never knew before how strong." Henry looked down toward the tractor shed, and when he brought his eyes back to her, they were his own again. "I'll get out the car. You can put on your coat while I'm starting." Elisa went into the house. She heard him drive to the gate and idle down his motor, and then she took a long time to put on her hat. She pulled it here and pressed it there. When Henry turned the motor off she slipped into her coat and went out. The little roadster bounced along on the dirt road by the river, raising the birds and driving the rabbits into the brush. Two cranes flapped heavily over the willow- line and dropped into the river-bed. Far ahead on the road Elisa saw a dark speck. She knew. She tried not to look as they passed it, but her eyes would not obey. She whispered to herself sadly, "He might have thrown them off the road. That wouldn't have been much trouble, not very much. But he kept the pot," she explained. "He had to keep the pot. That's why he couldn't get them off the road." The roadster turned a bend and she saw the caravan ahead. She swung full around toward her husband so she could not see the little covered wagon and the mismatched team as the car passed them. In a moment it was over. The thing was done. She did not look back. She said loudly, to be heard above the motor, "It will be good, tonight, a good dinner." "Now you're changed again," Henry complained. He took one hand from the wheel and patted her knee. "I ought to take you in to dinner oftener. It would be good for both of us. We get so heavy out on the ranch." "Henry," she asked, "could we have wine at dinner?" "Sure we could. Say! That will be fine." She was silent for a while; then she said, "Henry, at those prize fights, do the men hurt each other very much?" "Sometimes a little, not often. Why?" "Well, I've read how they break noses, and blood runs down their chests. I've read how the fighting gloves get heavy and soggy with blood." He looked around at her. "What's the matter, Elisa? I didn't know you read things like that." He brought the car to a stop, then turned to the right over the Salinas River bridge. "Do any women ever go to the fights?" she asked. "Oh, sure, some. What's the matter, Elisa? Do you want to go? I don't think you'd like it, but I'll take you if you really want to go." She relaxed limply in the seat. "Oh, no. No. I don't want to go. I'm sure I don't." Her face was turned away from him. "It will be enough if we can have wine. It will be plenty." She turned up her coat collar so he could not see that she was crying weakly—like an old woman.

[the-fiction-witch]

Jojen's Sword

TV SHOW GAME OF THRONES

COUPLE JOJEN X READER

RATING SMUTT AF

I had been hired by the lord of the grey water marshes to be a teacher so I happily obliged my father taught his daughter Meera the ways of the sword a few years ago however my father was off traveling so it fell to me to teach the heir to grey water once I arrived at the castle they took me to the training feild in the garden and not long after lord reed aproched

"Miss y/L/n I presume?" He asked and I nodded with a slight bow "excellent, this is jojen my son. I want him as good as his sister" he said presenting his son he looked about my age with a mop of fluffy blonde hair and a nervous look on his face

"Of course my lord" I smiled, he smiled and walked off as I got the practice swords made from wood "first lesson let's see how good you are" I told him throwing him the wooden sword which he missed and dropped to the floor

"Sorry" he says shyly picking it up I was gentle testing him on a few little blocks and attacks the sort of thing you do with very young children he was doing well but he began to get cocky trying to catch me out he went to attack thinking he had caught me but I simply gabbed the wooden sword twisting him around and pushing him to his knees with my foot holding his sword behind his head and my own Infront of his neck he gulped his face red as his brown eyes watched mine in fear

"You have much to learn young lord" I smirked taking the swords away and offering my hand

"Just jojen is fine" he smiled taking my hand to get himself up

"Alright jojen" I smiled handing him back his sword "again" I told him

I sat rather proudly on the wall of the garden watching as Meera and jojen spared with the wooden swords I know she was going easy on him but he was doing well

"Not bad little brother, she taught you well" she smiled going to attack but he blocked perfectly

"Ohh did she? Jealous?" He smirked

"Of what?" She laughs

"Of my amazing sword skills sister" he smiled

"Don't get cocky jojen" I warned

"I rather think I'm allowed" he smirked as he attacked her and she didn't block in time "maybe I just have the better teacher" he smirked "or I'm amazingly skilled"

Meera simply grabbed her actually sword and cut jojens wooden one in half letting the shaft of his wooden sword fall to the ground with a clunk

"You where saying?" She smirked before walking back inside

"I did warn you jojen" I laughed jumping off the wall to help tidy up "your a good sword boy... Until you get cocky"

"Maybe... I can't help getting cocky, maybe my cock can't help getting involved with you around" he smirked

"When your older jojen" I smiled giving his cheek a kiss and snatching his wooden sword out his hand

"What? Why?" He whines

"Your not old enough" I laughed trying to tidy up

"I'm plenty old enough" he complained following me like a lost little puppy

"When your mature then" I smiled putting the swords away in a little shed in the garden

"I'm mature" he complained putting his hands on my waist trying to cuddle me from behind however something else took over as he pushed himself against me rather lustfully gently beginning to rub himself on my leather pants "Uhhh!! You feel so good" he muttered uncontrollably

I smirked a little grabbing my dagger from the side and turning to face him being as close as he already had be face to face with him my dagger on his cheek and he panicked

"How about when you get good enough to use a real sword" I smirked moving my hand down "we'll play with your sword okay jojen?" I smirked grabbing his hard cock thought his pants

"Okay..." He nods very excited "blunt swords?"

"No real proper swords jojen" I laughed "go on run along before lord reed comes looking for you" I told him giving his cheek a little kiss and he nodded running off back inside.

I smiled as he won out little game as we where inside today due to the weather so we where up in his room practicing

"How'd I do?" He asked

"Very well, your improving" I smiled taking his wooden sword and putting it away in the box

"I thought we still had more time this week?" He asked

"We do, I think it's time to level up" I smiled getting the blunt metal sword out "it's blunt but it's metal help you get the feel and the weight but be careful you can still hurt people" I told him handing it to him he was incredibly excited "jojen calm down" I laughed handing him the sword

"Whoa... It's heavy" he says

"Indeed now we need to do a little lesson" I smiled standing behind h pressing my body against his back and making sure he has both hands in the sword "first what do you call the container for the sword" I asked as I slipped a hand down to untie his pants

"What are you doing?" He asked in panic but holding back his excitement

"Answer the question" I smirked

"The sheeth" he says

"Good boy" I smiled slipping my hand in "now tell me where do you hold your sword jojen?" I smirked grabbing his cock

"Uhhhhh...." He moaned in shock "the Uhhh the handle" he says

"That's not what it's called jojen" I smirked squeezing on his-

"Ahh!! The hilt" he groans

"Good, now the hilt of the sword connects to what?" I asked

"Well some swords have these little guards to protect your hands some don't" he answered

"Good boy" I smiled giving his cheek a kiss "what's next?" I asked

"The Uhhh the base" he smirked realizing what I'm doing to him

"Very good jojen, now the base is the lowest part of the actual blade" I smirked wrapping my hand around the base of his cock "and you should always start sharpening or cleaning your sword from the base down" I smirked gently moving my hand up and down to pump his cock

"UUmmm I usually start with that yeah" he nods "I uhh I think this sword is uhh very very dirty I think we should uhh clean it a little faster" he begged bitting on his bottom lip

"I think we should move on to the next bit" I smirked "which is?" I asked

"The uhh the blade?" He smirked

"Well yes, but some have another word for it" I smirked gently moving my hand up and down the length of his -

"S-shaft!" He groaned his hands tight in the sword

"Excellent jojen" I smirked "relax" I whispered my other hand making his relax on the sword

"Kinda hard when your... Polishing my shaft beautiful" he smirked

"Well not much left now is there" I smirked "now lastly and probably the most important" I smirked

"Yeah" he nods biting his lip hard his eyes closed melting into my grip

"The sharpest and most... sensitive place on a sword" I smirked "Humm? What's that place on your sword called jojen?"

"The tip" he groans breathy and desperate "please, please" he begged so I smirked moving my hand to gently rub on his head rubbing in all the pre cum that had formed running my hand all over him "uuuummmm!! Uh yes! Oh god!!" He groans

"Doesn't it eel so much more sensitive there jojen?" I asked rubbing on the soft skin of his head

"Uhh Hu!!" He groans "so much more beautiful"

"Doesn't it feel better there?"

"It feels amazing" he gasped " Touch me please"

"Humm you like when I touch your sword jojen?" I smirked

"Oh god yes beautiful" he groans "umm more please, my swords so very very dirty" he begs

"Humm you should clean it more often" I smirked

"I think your better at it then I am" he smirked

"That's enough for one class jojen" I smirked taking my hand away and packing up my things I saw his lustfully eyes turn even more desperate I got my things turning to leave but he grabbed me pushing me hard against a stone pillar in his room throwing my things to the side as he kissed me deeply he pulled away grabbing my dagger from my pocket resting it close to my neck he smirked kissing me again softly this time as he used my dagger to rip the ties holding up my pants

"Your not going anywhere beautiful" he smirked.

I smiled as I stood in the garden with my swords as jojen arrived "morning beautiful" he smirked trying to give me a cuddle but I moved away

"No no come on you promised straight to practice this morning" I smiled handing him his new sword freshly sharpened this morning

"Come on don't I get a little good morning kiss?" He whines so I gave his lips a gentle kiss and he smiled trying to pull me closer but I walked away

"Right today we work on unexpected attacks' I began getting my own sword but as I turned back my top fell completly off exposing my bare breasts as my shirt had been cut off jojen smiled hiding his sword but very pleased with his work

"JOJEN REED!" I yelled very angry with him covering myself best I could

"Wasn't me" he lied I sighed bending down to get my fallen shirt and i heard him moving around and as I stood my pants fell too leaving me pretty much naked

"Aaahhhh!!! Jojen!" I screamed trying my best to keep myself covered up

"Awww sorry beautiful" he lied so I grabbed my sword doing my best to cover myself and hold my sword cutting his pants and within seconds they fell to the grass in shreds "alright, you win beautiful... " He sighed dropping his sword and pulling me close to him "how about we just head back to bed?" He smirked grinding his hard cock against my naked body

"Alright" I smiled

[durgas]

the vampire of carterhaugh

Summary: Caroline is the daughter of a local lord set to inherit Carterhaugh from her father and so sets off to claim it for herself. Upon her arrival, she meets Klaus who has been the subject of folktales for many years and is unwilling to relinquish the house. How will she banish him from her newly acquired house?

Pairing: Klaus x Caroline

Damp moss, fragrant flowers and the scent of good air hit her nose as she approached the forest with a cautious heart. It was a dark place filled with ancient, looming trees and crimson flowers growing in clumps upon what could be seen of the ground. Caroline picked one from the ground and felt a sharp prick from its hidden thorns. She held it regardless within her hand, ignoring the warm droplets of blood that fell from her palm in favour of its beauty. She was transfixed by the deep, silky petals and the mysterious yet addictive scent that it was emanating. Tucking into the bosom of her dress, she continued on her way.

Her mother had told her not to tarry and she intended to keep her promise. Though her mind still heard the foreboding words of her neighbour, the wise woman known only as Madame Sheila, who had warned her and her friends not to go into the forest.

O I forbid you, maidens a’

That wear gowd on your hair,

To come or gae by Carterhaugh,

For young Klaus waits there.

Fear had swept into her soul as Madame Sheila told them the story of the vampire Klaus who would not let a girl leave without a gift as the woods of Carterhaugh were his to haunt. Elena and Bonnie had refused upon hearing those dreaded words and yet Carterhaugh was to be her inheritance now at the request of her father She would not relinquish it for a ghost story. She walked on deeper into the forest, pressing her palm against the side of her dress to stem the bleeding. She was glad she had chosen a dark green dress, the blood would be indistinguishable from the velvet of her fine dress.

An old house stood in front of her.

Ramshackle, covered in wild weeds and with a pony tethered to the side it was not what she had expected from the house of her father. But, it was hers now. She took a deep breath and resolved to hire men to restore the house to a liveable state starting with the half broken door that welcomed her. She entered. A chill was in the air and her bare arms were pricked with pimples as she surveyed her house. Dust swam into her lungs causing her to cough, a feeling that she often found unbearable. Untidiness was manageable, uncleanliness was unacceptable. She strode through the house, hand over her mouth as she inspected the contents.

As Caroline came to the dining room, she noticed that upon the scratched wooden table there lay a silver bracelet in the centre. It was untouched by the dust, shining as if it had been freshly polished that very day. She used the skirts of her dress to pick it up, unwilling to touch the years of dust with her hands. The bracelet had a pendant engraved with the symbol of a rose. A lover’s gift, perhaps? It was finely wrought and a good weight. She wondered who was the owner of such an expensive bracelet; it did not belong to her father for certain. Circling it with her finger, she admired the craftsmanship before slipping it onto her wrist.

“Take it off, Caroline, for it is mine,” A man said as he appeared. He was handsome with russet hair although there was a devilish glint in his blue eyes.

She wrapped her arms around herself. “It is in my house and so it is mine, ghost.”

“Your house?” A smirk began to form upon the man’s face. “It is my house, love, and that is my sister’s bracelet that you dare touch. Have you not heard the stories of Klaus?” He bared his fangs at her and his eyes flashed an impossible colour.

His very presence sent a shiver down her spine and she felt fear rise up. This had been what Madame Sheila had warned her about and yet she had come anyway. She relaxed her shoulders and straightened her spine. It was her house. She would not be afraid.

“My father has gifted this house to me, Klaus,” she said in a gentle tone. She wished to reason with him if possible and experience had taught her that soft women were more likely to be heard even though she felt anger burn in her veins.

She saw his teeth sharpen as he spoke. “You did not ask my permission before entering, Caroline.” He moved closer to her and she smelt the rust upon his breath.

“I need not ask your permission to come nor to go, it is my own,” She met his eyes. She was resolute, it was her house and she would not bend for a single person. It was her right to enter and leave as she pleased.

He moved closer still. She felt fear and delight race through her body as he extended a hand to touch her face. It was cold, devoid of any humanity, and yet her heart raced with anticipation. She willed herself to back away, slipping her face from his touch. There was a distance between them but she was still within his grasp. The door was close enough to her, she could flee away and return once she had aid. Madame Sheila may know a way to cast a vampire from a house and it seemed the practical solution. Yet, her feet did not move.

“Fair Caroline, you have taken from my house and so must gift a token of yourself before I allow you to leave,” Klaus said. “A lock of your hair, a kiss of those fine lips or a drink of your blood would be an adequate gift.”

She would leave, she decided. She backed away again, her movements slow and steady, as she took each backward step. Klaus followed, his presence lingering in the air as he moved. She was nearly to the door. One more step. She clattered to the floor and heard his throaty laugh. He looked at her with amusement and offered her a hand. She pushed it away. She stood up on her feet and turned round to look at the door. There was nothing visible. Lifting her hand, she tried to move it through the door but it just bounced back at her each time she tried. Frustration thrust into her expression.  She was trapped. And, the smirk upon Klaus’s face was beginning to rather irk her.

“I refuse to allow you to trap me,” She said with crossed arms. Her blue eyes were ice cold and narrowed upon his peculiar yet handsome face. “And I’ll not offer up even a single drop of blood, a kiss I’ll not give and my hair I’ll not cut.”

Klaus stood with a cocksure smile. “Then, what will you give? I do not allow girls to pass from here without a gift from them,” he said.

She felt his gaze upon her, half unwelcome and half with appreciation. Boastful though it may be, she knew the whole village desired her hand in marriage for her looks were a frequent topic upon the lips of all who knew her. Elena and Bonnie often wagered upon the lucky man who would one day win her hand, it was no surprise that Klaus also appeared to have an interest that was not wholly unwelcome. He was a man after all, long before he had ever become a vampire. Yet, she needed to focus her thoughts. He would not let her leave without a fight and she knew she would not beat him. She needed to give him a gift of some kind.

“Tarry not, love, or else I may never let you leave,” he said with a mischief in his tone.

Breathing in, she smelt the spice of the wild red flower at her breast and remembered how she had plucked it from the forest. She had sacrificed her blood to take it, surely it would be offering enough? Her nimble hands quickly unpinned it. She felt the gentle petals in her hand one last time before opening her palm silently for him to take it.

“Take this token, Klaus,” she said with an impatience in her tone. “And, let me leave without delay.”

She felt his frozen hand brush against hers. He plucked the flower from her palm and she felt a strange pleasure begin to warm her body. It lasted for mere moments. Caroline almost wished that she could touch him again. The bargain was struck. He had accepted her gift and she was free to leave which her mind believed to be the safest option at this point. Her heart spoke of another matter. Klaus would still be here upon her return, she had merely delayed the confrontation that she was certain would be necessary to remove him from her house.

“Goodbye, fair Caroline,” Klaus waved at her with a glint in his eye. “I’m certain our paths will cross again if fate is true.”

Caroline walked through the door. “I hope to see you gone when next I come.”

Waving at him, she felt pangs of longing embed themselves within her heart. Her words had been sharp but there had been no bite; she wished to see Klaus again despite her mind listing every reason why she should not. She walked back through the forest, a slight spring in her step, as she mused over the day’s events. She stopped only once to look amongst the flowers for the crimson beauty she had gifted to Klaus but there was not a single flower to find. The heady smells of the others, some sweet and some tart, all tempted her to pluck another but she moved past with a contented smile. The colours were astonishing, more visible in the clear daylight now than in the morning. Large bright pink flowers, tiny nestled blue buds and proud orange berries accompanied her on her journey.

It was time to return to her father.

Read on AO3 here :)

[iragin]

1/2

TW: gore, body horror, torture, death

Unfortunately, as the video starts, the action has already begun. Were it planned under better terms, the viewer would have context behind the squirming and screaming of a desperate Rahzel. He is strapped to a slab made of stained marble and though his face isn't on the frame, he is panicked.

The hand that holds the camera is steady but far too low to capture the scene properly, that is, until the image shakes as if they're turning around and climbing onto something. Amidst the shuffling of the equipment, a conversation can be heard in the background.

“I didn't do shit to spite you!” It’s obviously not Wrath’s voice but Rahzel’s, trying to bargain. “This," he stammers. "This, this shit with Kurloz was so fuckin' recent. I been keepin' my distance all this time before-HH. HAND! N-ever stayed in a room w- he! With him for longer than five minutes. I don't know w-GH, why I did it. Fuck!“

A thud cuts part of what Wrath says in response, more shuffling causes an obnoxious grainy sound to lower the quality of the audio until the camera is picked up again. It shows Wrath, from the chin below, going around the slab, strapping the restraints tighter around Rahzel. "-- to fuck up as hard as ya can on all that ya be told not to fuck up." Iron clinks and bends as Wrath wrings the material.  "Most folks would be ectastic to know they aren't allowed to die, and what's one motherfucker to avoid in multiverses fulla the same of 'em?" He bends down to look into Rahzel's eyes, his voice is a distant whisper. Luckily not so much it's incomprehensible to the audience. "You're a disgrace, and don't get to keep mine soul for that. I'm takin' back what's mine."

Wrath's movements are silent, save for the way he sifts through a wooden box seated by the person filming everything and his raspy words too close to the camera. "Brought everythin'?" And he receives a soft mmhm as answer. "Good."

The dagger in view is white, and if it looks like it isn't suitable for cutting, that's because it isn't. Thin golden veins run across the edge, Wrath holds it up in front of the camera as he polishes and sharpens the edge. He does the same thing in front of Rahzel, a decision that stirs the lower demon’s personal uproar.

"Wait, wait, WAIT. FUCK! WAIT! I'll. I'll st-stop going to Gram's! FUCK, HOLD ON. NO GOING THERE, NO KURLOZ!" As if on cue, the tip of the dagger is brought down to touch the side of Rahzel’s neck, right under his chin, alongside one of Wrath’s hands pressing down his chest.

"Yeah, I know ya will. I'll make sure of that." Wrath rips the fabric covering Rahzel’s torso, the loud noise is insufferable on the audio and it fades as quickly as it starts. He brings a hand up to the chained demon’s cheek, patting lightly. “Were mine rules not clear enough? Too strict, huh?" He runs a finger over Rahzel's chest, simulating patterns until he decides on one to use in any future incisions, also taking a moment to feel the heart beat under his palm. "I don't understand where it went wrong. Simon thinks it's Gram's fault, for influencin’ ya somethin’ hardcore. What're yo thoughts on that?”

An answer doesn’t come straight away, but Wrath waits. He stands still, his hand following the raising and falling of Rahzel’s sharp and quick breath. 

As he’s about to give up waiting for an explanation, it comes. "I think...Y- yeah, kinda? Foo-fool, I was, my- fu-fuck. Fool I was myself. B-but even Zzzo thinks I should stay 'way from his place. Gram's." Rahzel’s sincere about it, Wrath wished that wouldn’t be the case. His hand tightens into a fist; his face, into a frown. “Wrath, please.“

“Please, what?”

"Please, don't kill me..."

> Part 2

[cruelzy]

I’m actually nervous about sending in a request cause I love your writing so much and honestly don’t feel worthy to make a request of you. However, I would like to request a Legolas Drabble/fic/whatever you call it based on the prompt that’s like “five times he almost kissed her and the one time he did” I really love your writing and I wasn’t aware requests were open until just now.

notes: i did three and one love cuz ain’t no one got time for that

i. 

Legolas hesitantly concludes that his best decisions are made without much thought.

Not to say he is rash. On the contrary—though his every inhale could do with less contemplation beforehand—he considers himself rather circumspect. (As modestly as one could ever self evaluate anyway.) 

There tends to, nevertheless, be a lack of time to muse in the thick of battle. He can count on one hand any gargantuan choices he’d had to make outside of a particularly tense situation. 

Point: world changing verdicts were normally decided on direct instinct, rather than any gradual, logical philosophy. 

Reality: he has had all the time in Middle Earth and more to think about why he should not be with you.

Cannot, he corrects himself. Nay should not. Cannot. 

Greed. Coil. Collapse.

Will not.

Your own indecision is louder in the silence. 

It’s never truly silent for him, not really, but onset of moonless night has coaxed the land into a reluctant still. His awareness fractures, branches out among the slow shifting plains beneath his feet to the anxious fidget of your dry fingers, the deep seated craving of the forest, the heat of the sleeping company bolstering against his back, bare and familiar and grounding. He keeps watch, the storm in his ears approaching steadfast in the east—torrents to be upon them by noon the latest of morrow, so he plans; he listens to the far flung sea, ever present in her rhythmic whispers, he tracks the mechanical open shut of your mouth in hushed breath as you slowly but surely build your confidence—"Legolas?“

Thunder unfolds itself from the sky. 

Your head snaps to the heavens. Blinking against the night, clumsy in that distinct way of man in dark, “you had something you wished to tell me?”

“No.” Legolas says. “Nothing.”

ii. 

Time marches on.

They rise. They move. They fight. They sleep. They rise. 

The good and the bad scatters into the wind, lingers in their eyes and their jokes and their bones at the fire. They keep moving. Solidarity is a drive half-cool, offering much needed relief against the merciless sun every moment between. 

“Say, do your hands serve the same purpose as your feet?” A voice rises into morning dew. “If you drop on all fours, you may be able to advance faster than that!“ 

“Ha!” You scowl in response, posturing an air of exaggerated disdain and failing terribly. Your lips quiver up at the corners. “I could run to the sun and back and you would still be doing up your boots!“ 

The brown eyed dwarf you speak to turns swiftly on his heels, holding Legolas in his sights. He grins wide, the physical embodiment of mischief. "What say you, elf? Who is swifter?”

“Foul play! I have seen the food you offer him after hunt!”

“Give the truth as you see fit, great war-bow warrior, keen-eye of Mirkwood—”

“Bribery!”

The rest of the circle keeps quiet in amused exasperation, wholly familiar with  your antics. 

“Perchance he should race with us to properly judge. If he loses, the punishment shall be a pleasure of mine to ruffle at least two, no, three hairs loose from his perfect mane!” There’s a teasing incredulity in his purr. “Unimaginable!" 

Legolas smiles. "I do not think you could reach.”

You throw your head back and laugh heartily as the BlackLock squawks in outrage. Legolas watches your face glow. The joyful sound unfurls him from the inside out like wood flowers in springtime. 

Longing surges fast. Sudden.

It would be so easy. 

The thought loiters for only a second, but it is a second far too many. His reaction is all but physical: restraint forcefully barreling into him like a tidal wave. Ire immediately follows. Always, always this with you. Eats him alive. Haunts. Marvel at the vast expanse of his own incompetence, tossed about like a raft in the surf, lost to emotion’s every beck and call as though he were a boy. And if there is anything Legolas is not, it is a boy. 

Outwardly, his ears twitch once. 

The sea laughs and laughs.

iii.

(SII’ !)

Peace shattered by a cacophony of yells. 

He should have known—the forest had been teething in unrest all morning, but he was, of course, unusually distracted. 

And where there is one warg, there are bound to be more. Packs never stray far. Honestly, he would have been more concerned if there was a solo beast; lone, exiled wolves always tend to be more unpredictable, and consequently more dangerous. 

His own pack has tightened, too well polished to break formation. Legolas assesses the situation in a brisk glance before raising a fist level to his sternum, parallel to the ground. The company obediently scatters. Divide. Lure. Incapacitate. 

Earlier hypothesis confirmed, he thinks, absentminded. He did not hesitate for that course of action, now did he?

Legolas frowns. A harrowing blur of teeth and claws draws him back to reality, three answering growls sounding from behind. He presses his lips together. He is in no mood for this. 

In the end it is less a skirmish and more an execution. 

Today, the concept of mercy may as well be as far from him as the Halls of Mandos. He yanks his arrows back from the bodies, apathetically maneuvering around the excessive bloodshed. None of his companions have disappeared from the corners of his visión; in fact, most are beginning to take rest as the struggle winds down. Hard resistance to his movements makes him pause.

The last shaft is unrecognizable amongst the shredded cartilage and sinew. 

Legolas blinks owlishly. 

“Report." 

"All accounted for,” there’s your voice, effortlessly branded to his skull, “don’t worry about the blood.”

He tips his head. Legolas has both been around long enough, and been around you long enough, to recognize nuance when he hears it. The timbre of your tone is too innocent. “Is that s–”

You enter line of visión, and whatever amusement there was fizzles entirely out of existence. 

You’re a bath of carnage from head to toe.

He straightens, bewildered. 

“Don’t worry about the blood,” you repeat. Upon your smile is victory, but he can hardly register such a thing, already crossing the distance in three long strides.

Sturdy. Sturdy in front him. Strong as a bough; chest high, shoulders back, hands slick with sweat and grime. Still vulnerable. The stench of moldy earth fills his nose. “Report." 

You wipe your blade on the grass, eyeing the hand on your arm strangely. Quiet, then whoosh, air punching through your nose in an obvious joking redirection—"Puppy just got too close for comfort. I live.”

Once he has visibly confirmed what you say to be true, the relief is dizzyingly tangible. It feels as though his mind is shooting out sparks. 

Will not. 

Desire alone he could handle, but this is something else, something more tender. And what of it? A living disease.

“Plague,” he hisses.

Now that the threat of your demise has cut short, he cannot ignore the heightened adrenaline running rampant in his veins, yet to temper from the sudden battle. 

Fingers clamp tighter into flesh, as though you would vanish into thin air the moment he took hands off you.

For all your confidence, your palms are shaking. This, however, does nothing to the vicious triumph etched into your visage. 

Something slowly jostles awake within him. 

There’s a sense of pride, yes, but what raises heavy head under his bones is far more ancient, more volatile. He touches your cheek, watches the up down heave of your chest quicken. Liquid crimson marks exposed skin, slides wet between his knuckles. Your brow is slick with sweat. The trees grow louder and louder in their whispering, crisp leaves crunching underfoot where he inches closer. Every detail on your face has sharpened to a point, and Legolas knows his eyes have blown wide and luminescent.

When he says your name, he can barely recognize his own voice. 

“There is a stream up ahead!”

Reminder of an audience makes him all but growl. The fingers on your cheek drop, lightly brushing up and under the curve of your jaw on their way out. He does not imagine the violent shudder that runs through you.

Legolas endures. 

“Alive, indeed,” he quips, gaze smoldering. “Be more careful.”

———

You are going to murder an elf.

You’re going to rip out his entrails and wear them as a badge of honour. You’re going to wrap up the remains and send them to Thranduil himself. You’re going to tug him down to your level and you’re going to, you’re going to kiss the ever living daylights out of hi—

No!

You grind your teeth together, stalking down the hallway threateningly. Passersby steer nervously out of your way. 

When you finally find him, he is alone in the kitchens. “Ah!” Your exclamation is purposefully loud, as you vehemently wish he would jump and smash his perfect head into the pans from surprise. Of course, no such thing happens. He probably heard you coming. This only incenses you further. “There you are you intrepid, lousy, good for nothing—”

“I did not know,” Legolas drawls, “that it was a crime to prepare oneself a drink.”

“Hilarious. You’re hilarious. No really, if you ever tire of being a prince, a jester is right next in line.”

Hot and cold and hot and cold for months on end with the pointy-eared bastard. He’s put the icing on top by avoiding you, when he well knows that with the journey commenced, you are leaving Mirkwood soon.

“There are rumors you have been searching for someone. Were you successful?”

There have been absolutely no such thing—

“Oh? I haven’t heard.” The last dregs of patience spill out of you like a runny egg. “Whose mouths spout such gossip? Ghosts? Are there spirits in these halls?" 

"Perhaps.”

“Alright.” You are very very done with this conversation. “Here it is. I am going to talk, and you are going to listen.”

His eyebrows raise, bemused. Legolas spreads his upturned palms placidly as if to say go ahead, then turns back around, the frame of his body blocking whatever his hands are occupied with from eyesight.

You squint.

“What are you doing?”

“Making tea,” he says. He catches your gaze, and without any semblance of warning, you are struck, once again, by his beauty. 

You swallow. 

One would think the novelty would eventually fade and disappear, but not so. It is a fact of his existence: just as the colour of his hair, or the sound of his voice. Noticing is simply seeing. Unavoidable. Legolas is impossibly beautiful, and you are trapped reliving it again and again. 

He calmly slips a spoon into his mouth.

“Care to taste?”

Before your own cowardice can psyche you out of it, you dart forward, tugging the utensil from his lips to thoughtfully place between yours.

A beat.

Legolas tilts his head like some lazy jungle cat, eyes impassive. 

As if on cue, explosions of colour practically bang behind your teeth: pungent woodsmoke and spice and evergreen, acrid, fine sugared juniper flooding thick down your throat. If the very heart of the earth had a taste, it was this.

You choke.

“That,” says Legolas, “was alcohol.”

“Pardon?" 

You gag around the weapon in your mouth, pulling it out faster than the speed of light in genuine panic. If Legolas was capable of downing an entire bar of alcohol without feeling a thing, what would one drop of elvhen alcohol do to you?!

The face you were making must have been hysterical, because Legolas laughs breezily, sweeping up the mug in one smooth motion and taking a long, deliberate sip. 

"I was joking,” he finally says. “It is tea." 

"Truly?” You clarify. “No repercussion?”

“Well, you may feel unnaturally clear-headed.”

Forget sending remains to Thranduil. You are going to hang them above your front door. 

A sarcastic response nearly flies off of your tongue but dies of clipped wings half way out. You frown. With a start, you realize he’s steered you away from your original topic with frighteningly choreographed ease. 

Unease makes you fall quiet, apprehensive.

“You’re dangerous,” you say. 

“Yes.” He smiles, deliciously slow. “Does that scare you?”

You think even a whisper would drain whatever breath you have left, so you don’t answer. All the air has fled your lungs.

“A score and two moons ago,” Legolas continues evenly, as if you had not become a living statue, “you and I stood outside my father’s throne room. Do you remember? You peered out at the turning of the leaves, those great trunks in their shadow, and wondered how glad I was at heart. You said you would be old and grey by the time my father decided we were worth his presence.” His eyes crinkle at the corners again, sadly. “I know why you are here, valarhîw. It cannot happen." 

You imagine how you must appear to him. The march of time on your features, mortality burning out quick and bright in every tuck and crease of skin, leaking out of each pore, impermeable in your predestined fate. Brevity of such a high-tensioned existence: chase of second to second, the constant companion that is anticipation, desperation, anticipation, you imagine, is inconceivable to a being thousands of years old. Your entire life is simply one of his weeks. 

And yet, something traitorous whispers in your ear. He is still here. 

"You know what I think?” You croak.

Legolas does not respond.

“I think you are trying to scare me off. I think you are more terrified of the alternative.”

“Trust me, child,” he sounds seemingly the same, but his gaze is molten. “Heartbreak is no simple matter.”

The inevitable tragedy of your story. You logically hear what he is saying, but your heart has stopped listening ages ago. The concealed pain on his face squeezes a hand round your ribs and pulls. 

Desire alone you could handle, but this is something else. Something more tender. 

And what of it?

“We will cross that bridge when we get there.”

“Please,” he breathes, struggling against the typhoon that is your humanity, the whirlwind of here and now buried in your species’ gravity, your rage against the dying of the light—tiny little blips in a grand world ruthlessly determined on stamping their footprint on eternity. It completely contrasts his very identity. His mask cracks, soft and unguarded. “You do not know what you ask for. Please." 

"Or maybe,” you sneer. “You are not able to give.”

The words hang in the air. Staggering.

Legolas slams you into the counter. You see a flash of teeth, quick as lightning, before his mouth is on yours. 

The first thing you think is that you were way in over your head. 

Then you’re not thinking anything really because all else instantly ceases to matter.

His kiss is white-hot and overwhelming, drawing a hopeless whimper up your throat like water from a well. You throw your arms up and around his neck until utterly no space exists between your bodies. Or, trying, failing, hands dropping to frantically press and wander about his chest because why is he so tall, your mind going void again as he crowds closer, thighs pressing to thighs and large hands searing above your waist, behind your head. The mug shatters at your feet. Punishing bites are soothed by slow, firm strokes of his tongue, leaving you to gasp and shake against the hard planes of him. He is relentless, steady and insistent against your urgent quickness. Legolas kisses you and kisses you until you think that maybe that talk of mortality was for nothing, no, you are going to die of pleasure right here and right now, at the mercy of your tormentor.

“If—” you tear away just enough to cup his face in your sweaty palms, fighting for air, “if we do this, it is all the way. You do not, you do not take the parts of me you want, you—wait—you accept all of me—”

“Ed’ i’ ear ar’ elenea, Melamin!” He laughs, clear and bright. “For once, shh!”

Your reply is lost to the wind. 

Or his mouth.

(It was definitely his mouth.)

[witharsenicsauce]

Chosen Stories From the War #23: The Outrider’s Mission

(Content Warning: This chapter contains descriptions of violence/gore, and implied drug use)

With the help of Vahlen’s phone, it didn’t take long to get hold of Firebrand, who had been panicking about losing four of the most important recruits XCOM had ever had. Eventually, she managed to get close enough to one of the trees that they were able to make the climb up to her. The ones who couldn’t climb rode on the backs of the stronger, more nimble Chosen.

As they landed in the garage and the door slid open, the group stepped off the Skyranger, rubbing sore muscles and nursing minor wounds, but with a general cheer about them. Bradford was waiting for them, as per usual, but this time Senuna had also joined him.

“Welcome back, Menace 1-5.” Bradford said with a smile. “Your mission was a big success.”

“Was it now?” Verge raised a brow. “No one from the ship is with us. In fact, they are all presumably dead.”

“No, but you found the UFO.” Bradford said. “As far as the mission is concerned, that’s all we asked of you. Good job, people.”

Gur-Rai crossed his arms as he met Senuna’s eyes. “Well Commander, it’s an honor to see you out of bed before noon.”

Senuna smiled irritably. “Don’t make fun of me, Darkstrider. I wanted to see you all back myself.” She pushed past him and walked up to Dhar-Mon and Malinalli, her eyes softening. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Malinalli saluted, her eyes against the floor, and Dhar-Mon bowed. “I must apologize, Commander.” He said. “We were careless in allowing ourselves to become lost.”

“Oh nonsense!” Senuna reached up and put a hand on his massive shoulder. “You survived out there and kept each other safe. If anything, it was my fault. I didn’t expect the forest to have a dampening effect on our communications.” She looked to Malinalli. “And you, little one, fared wonderfully.”

“Thank you, Madam.” Malinalli seemed to blush. “I try my best, each time.”

“Commander.” Kon-Mai stepped forward. “I believe we may have something of interest to you.” She held out the old phone.

Senuna’s eyes immediately widened, signifying she recognized the old device. She gently took it from Kon-Mai’s grasp, as if she feared her touch would break it. She turned it on, and let loose a small whimper at the sight of the picture on the home screen. They could see tears welling in her turquoise eyes.

“Where did you find this?” She asked.

“On the crashed ship.” Gur-Rai said. “It looked recent.”

“That photo is of you.” Malinalli said. “And Vahlen…?”

Senuna grit her teeth. “ADVENT can’t have gotten to her before us.” She turned. “I will have Shen begin work on opening this immediately. It might give us more clues to her whereabouts.”

“We need Shen to hack it?”

“Moira changed her code every other month because she was paranoid.” Senuna shrugged. “Or to keep me from ordering food using her card…the point is, I don’t know what her code was, but Shen can probably get into it.”

“Well, Shen might need help.” Gur-Rai rubbed his hands together.

“She might.” Senuna smiled. “But it won’t be from you, Darkstrider.”

He raised a brow. “...Did I screw up already, Commander?”

“Oh no. You just have another mission coming up.” She giggled. “And this one is gonna be fun~”

.

.

A good night's sleep was what they all needed to process what they had learned in the forest, though their dreams did not offer any solace.

The Shrinemaiden dreamt of a child she couldn’t see, with eyes that looked like hers, following her through the forest, seemingly only visible when the sun rays hit just right. 

The Darkstrider dreamed of guns in his palm and riding shotgun in a beat up old truck, laughing with a joy he had not known since he’d been human. 

The Hieromonk dreamed of a murky river, upon which he floated on a raft. From bubbles under the water came distinct notes of saxophones, drums and violins, and a man’s voice singing, the sound of which made him sad. It was a relief when his alarm went off, and he was jolted from his slumber. 

The sun was already up, painting the sky orange behind thick clouds. He groaned as he sat up, rubbing the knot of muscles that was his neck. No matter how he tried, he never seemed to be able to fully relax. How his sister did so was beyond him.

Dhar-Mon rose from bed, running a hand through his hair, which had been growing ever since he’d arrived on this ship. For some reason, now that he was out of the Elders’ embrace, it seemed to grow faster. It was down to his mid back now. He considered cutting it…

Then he felt where the screws and bolts used to be, the ones that tethered those heinous red contraptions to his skull. They were gone now, ripped out by the medical team so they could perform his brain surgery, after his “father” nearly killed him. All that was left were the deep, ugly scars.

He stood and went to the bathroom, stared briefly at the toilet he would never have to use, and then looked at himself in the mirror. 

Ugly: that was the first word he thought of. Ugly. Before all this he could have looked in the mirror and insisted that the Elders blessed him with the visage of gods. Now his blue skin and red eyes only served to distance everyone else on this ship from him, reminding him he was not-

There was a knock on his door, and he quickly threw on his robe (the very soft, plushy pink one Kon-Mai had made him), and pressed his ear to the metal. “Who is there?”

“Just me!” Malinalli’s happy voice replied. “You okay?”

He opened the door, so eager to see her that he forgot about his state and, as such, was embarrassed by her giggle when she laid her eyes upon him.

“You look so cute!” She cooed.

He blushed, his blue skin turning deep violet. “I…was dressing and...well it would be rude to leave you out in the hallway.”

“I can wait if you want me to come ba-”

“No, no no.” He stepped to the side. “Come in.”

She followed him inside and, suddenly, it occurred to him just how much smaller she was than him, especially when she sat on the bed that was literally twice as long as she was. He was 8’2, and she was almost half his size, maybe 5’5 at most. Her small body did not hold much muscle, but instead was soft and cushioned, her face round and her arms and legs thicker than he had seen before, but then again his frame of reference included only his sister and, maybe, the Commander. Malinalli was certainly chubbier than both, but it seemed to give her an even, healthy glow. If anything, it was fetching.

She looked up at him, looking like she wanted to say something, and he raised a brow in her direction. “Yes?”

“Hey, so, I had a question, before we practiced today.” She swallowed, looking nervous.

“You may ask me anything.” He assured her, straightening up in an attempt to look regal...in his fluffy pink robe. Thankfully, the attempt seemed to work, because relief flooded her face, and she looked up confidently. 

“Can I braid your hair?”

“I...beg your pardon?”

She suddenly looked away again. “Braid it, like mine. When I’m working, I braid it so it stays out of my eyes, and your hair is getting longer, so I was wondering...maybe you wanted…” She coughed. “It’s not a big deal, really, just...something interesting. I thought it might be fun to try.”

Dhar-Mon stared at her for a moment. His priests used to tend to his hair, combing out each and every knot, carefully anointing it with oils to maintain it’s sheen, but...they’d never styled it. Never braided it. And it was beginning to get out of hand…

“...Very well.” He muttered. “Would you prefer I sit?”

“Oh! Yes! Please.” She giggled, her face lighting up in a way that made him oh so happy.

.

.

“I am not happy.”

“I know.” Mox said to his seething wife as she paced around the armory. “Perhaps the Commander will reconsider.”

“The ‘Commander’ does nothing but play games with us like we’re dolls!” Elena hissed, checking her gun and reloading the bullets again. “One mission with Darkstrider was enough. One mission I could deal with. But he’s going to be in our home, Pratal!”

“I know.” He stood. “It is very angering.”

“It’s in Reaper territory!” She cried. “And he KILLED the Reapers! Hundreds of us! He killed Major Eli!”

“I know.” He just kept repeating. “I can talk with the Commander and ask her to reconsider.”

“She’ll just get angry at you.” Elena pressed her fingers to her temples. “I just...I wish he’d never joined! I wish I’d…” She pressed her face against Mox’s shoulder.

“...Was it not five years ago, you said the same about me?” Mox chuckled. “And ten years ago, you claimed to Volk you would never look a Skirmisher in the face without vomiting.” He planted a kiss on her ear. “And yet, you now wake up beside me every day.”

“Well one day I may vomit after waking up beside you, but it will be for a very different reason.” Elena chuckled. “You...you were different, Pratal. You are different.”

“Perhaps I am.” He said. “But neither of us knew such a thing, until you gave me a chance.”

“But I don’t want to give him a chance.” She whispered. “...I look at him and...I see…”

Mox’s eyes darted to the floor. Her words hurt his own heart just as much as it hurt hers.

“I know it’s been 10 years.” She whispered. “And I love you so much, and I wouldn’t trade my life with you for anything in the world but...I still see his face when I look at him, and it makes me so angry.”

“I know.” He said, pulling her ever closer, squeezing her tight around the waist. “If you cannot work with him, Elena, it is okay.”

“No, it’s not…” She sighed. “I’m sorry. I just...need to move past this.” She took a deep breath. “Tomko is dead. Gur-Rai is not-”

“Gur-Rai is not dead, thank you very much~” That infuriating voice piped up behind her as he waltzed into the armory. He was sucking on a lollipop and it was turning his black tongue slightly green.

“You’re here early.” She growled.

“I wanted to add a new scope to my Darklance.” He chuckled. “And sharpen my machete. She still needs a name, if you have any ideas.”

“No.” Elena grumbled, going back to polishing her gun.

Gur-Rai shrugged and walked past her. “Mox! It’s been years, quite literally! How nice to finally be on a mission together, just like old times!”

“The last time I was deployed with you I ended up with severe brain damage.” Mox said, raising a brow. “And you exploded one of the helicopters.”

��Yes, but because of that, you now have a better paying job and a beautiful wife.” Gur-Rai gestured to Elena. “So if anything, Mox, you should be thanking me~”

“Point at me again.” Elena hissed, aiming her gun at Gur-Rai. “I dare you.”

“Well, someone is touchy.” He winked at Mox. “Luckily, some men like that in a girl.”

“I will shoot you.” She hissed.

“Will you?” He smiled. “I suppose you’ve done it before. Still have the hip to prove it.” He walked off towards the scopes. “Let me know if you think of any good names for my blade!”

Elena wanted to scream.

.

.

Kon-Mai had never been good with machines. That was her brother’s territory. She had a much better time with organic things. Notably, humanoid things.

So why was she down here in Engineering, she asked herself as she peered over the counter at the many half-finished projects Shen had left out. Most were a tangle of exposed wires and cords, some plugged in and powered on, some effectively dark.

Including Vahlen’s cell phone.

Kon-Mai picked it up and pressed the power button. The screen came to life and, once again, she saw that picture on the very front, displayed proudly: the Commander in a short white skirt and casual blue sweater. Vahlen stood beside her in equally relaxed clothing, their arms linked like a chain. In their free hands, they each held an ice cream cone.

She puzzled over the picture. How long ago was it taken? Senuna looked relatively younger, perhaps in the eyes, but her face always looked incredibly youthful, and her short hair added to the aesthetic. Vahlen’s brown hair was long, pulled into wavy pigtails, and her green eyes were bright. Kon-Mai noticed the scientist was actually noticeably darker in skin tone than the Commander, and in fact she was also a bit taller. She definitely looked younger than in the WANTED posters.

“Whatcha doin?”

Kon-Mai jumped, dropping the phone as she whirled around and met with the smiling face of the Commander herself, who looked like she was giggling at Kon-Mai’s shock.

“I am so sorry.” Kon-Mai stammered, putting the phone back. “I simply...I wanted…”

“It’s okay.” Senuna assured her, picking the phone up and handing it back to her. “...You like that picture?”

“I just…” She struggled for the words. “That is Dr. Vahlen? In the picture?”

Senuna chuckled and sat down on a nearby stool. “Yes. I know, time took its toll on her a bit since that was taken.” She stared wistfully at the phone for a moment. “...Stars. She was so young back then.”

“How old were you both?” Kon-Mai leaned on the counter in absence of a stool of her own.

“Moira was twenty-two.” Senuna said. “She had just been accepted to a Masters program all the way in Southern Ireland. To celebrate we went on a road trip from Munich to Barcelona. That’s where we took that. Have you ever been to Barcelona, Konnie?”

Kon-Mai nodded. “Once, but never to the beaches.” She examined the crashing waves in the background. “The water is so blue…”

“You’ll never swim in a warmer ocean.” Senuna giggled.

“So you knew the doctor, before XCOM?” Kon-Mai asked. “How did you meet her?”

“College.” Senuna chirped. “I was getting bored of my current job; I was making and selling jewelry at the time, which was quaint, but I needed something new. So I went to Germany and applied to Ludwig Maxililian for another degree.”

“...Another?”

“Yes. This one was in Bioinformatics. To be honest I just chose it because the name was cool~”

Kon-Mai blinked. “...What is that?”

“It’s basically using computers to design software to map the human body and figure out how things tick.” She giggled. “And I’m REALLY good at staring at screens and noticing patterns. Moira was in my Intro to Gene Mapping class, and we sat next to each other in the lecture hall.” She smiled wistfully. “She was kinda shy back then. But I talked enough for the both of us.”

“I think that is true for anyone who speaks to you.” As soon as she said the words, Kon-Mai turned pink, putting a hand over her mouth to stop herself, but the words were out. “I am sorry, Commander.”

Senuna laughed. “No no, it’s the truth!” She winked. “I don’t mind looking at myself in the mirror. Well, after I put my makeup on, that is”

.

.

It always seemed to be dark in Reaper territory.

The Darkstrider shivered; not with fear but anticipation. The clouds covering the sky gave the air a green, glowing tint and made him oh so excited. He could hear his prey slithering in the cracked streets and between the buildings, the groan of distant Lost, the gentle clatter of Chryssalids…

Gur-Rai ran his fingers along Darkclaw. “Tonight is a good night.”

“Indeed.” Outrider muttered. Even she couldn’t argue with his excitement: it was present in all Reapers. They were all hunters. It was in their blood.

Mox, on the other hand, heard the sounds and seemed wary. “We must meet with the rendezvous soon.”

“Already here.”

The three turned around at the sound of the soft, scratchy voice. A young woman who was nearly as tall as the Darkstrider himself emerged from the shadows. It was hard to see in the darkness, but the coat she wore was of green snakeskin rather than the usual black leather the Reapers donned. She lowered her hood to reveal stark white hair, chopped haphazardly, and green eyes that pierced the darkness with their intensity.

“Cruzita.” Elena said. “Where is Lars?”

“Behind you.” From off the bridge, a short, slender man jumped into view, emerging from the darkness like a dolphin from the depths of Hell. He landed in a crouch, his gun already drawn. “There are many snakes out tonight.”

“Wonderful~” Cruzita smiled, her teeth as white as her hair. “I do so need a new coat.”

“First we weed out the Lost.” Outrider said. “Then we-”

“Pardon me, Elena, but I don’t think I’ve met your friends.” Gur-Rai chuckled. In reality, they did look semi-familiar, but that part of his memory was lost to him.

Cruzita stepped up to him, looking him up and down. Despite his own great height, she was nearly up to his chin, and the burning look in her eyes was beginning to make him nervous. She looked like a cat waiting for it’s prey to make a move before she pounced.

Then she put her hand out. He noticed her nails were blood red. “Cruzita de Vries.”

Putting on his best smile, Gur-Rai shook her hand in return. “Gur-Rai Madron.”

“I like your skin.” She said, her lip twitching. “It’s very smooth...and blue.” Her eye seemed to twitch as well. “I love the color.”

“Well, I thank you.” He chuckled, trying to hide the absolute terror he felt in the presence of this insane woman. He turned to the man. “And you?”

“Lars Velasco.” The man said in an accent that was not quite German and not quite French. He lifted his head to nod, and Gur-Rai could see the glint of glasses under his hood.

“Now if you’re done-” Outrider began.

“Hold on now, let’s all go around the circle and say one interesting thing about ourselves.” He laughed at the look Outrider gave him. “I’m kidding, Elena.” He hauled his gun off his back. “Where do we start?”

“There is a group of Lost over by the old tailor’s shop, that way.” Lars pointed behind her. “I saw a pod nearby. Mostly Vipers.”

“Wonderful.” Elena said. “We start there then.”

“And then we get the snakes.” Cruzita looked excited.

“Of course.” Finally, Outrider smiled. “None shall escape the Reapers’ sights today.”

.

.

Malinalli loved running her hands through Dhar-Mon’s hair. It was so fine and delicate, with strands like pure silk. The softness was incredible, almost enviable. Her own curls took at least an hour of maintenance if not more each day, and here he had just woken up looking flawless. She often tried not to dwell on her appearance, but...how was she worth anything to a being like him? Perfect, beautiful, and yet here he was, right in front of her.

As she worked, Dhar-Mon seemed to grow more and more relaxed than he had been when she first arrived. His stiff posture was beginning to unwind, and his robe slipped off one shoulder, and that was when she saw it. The skin under was splotchy, a mix of light blue skin and dark blue scar tissue, and Malinalli felt a pang in her chest. Not thinking, she reached out to touch it.  He flinched, hissing.

“I’m sorry!” She gasped. “Does that hurt? I’m so sorry.”

“No.” He whimpered, and it was an obvious lie. He went to pull his robe back around him but...then he stopped.

Her fingers tingled, and she had to ask. “...Did the Elders do that?”

“...Usually they did not leave marks.” He let his robe drop more, until the entirety of his back was exposed. Instead of dark scars like on his shoulder, there were lines, soft criss-crossing ones, They seemed to glow like his veins did and if you blinked, you’d miss them. But as Malinalli reached out to touch them, she could feel the heat radiating off of them.

“Do they hurt?” She asked.

“One can grow accustomed to pain…” He muttered.

“Not this.” She sighed. “I’m a nurse. I can’t let these just sit.” She touched them again and her fingers prickled even more, as though her hands were falling asleep. “Wait right here.” She stood up. “I’m going to grab something.”

“Wait, Mali-” He called out to her. “Did I upset you?”

“No, not you.” She gave him her warmest smile. “I’m just gonna get something to help you feel better.”

“...Did the Elders upset you?”

“The Elders always upset me.” She spat. “Now moreso than usual.”

.

.

“And then there was one time…” Senuna pressed a hand to her face. “Oh my god, I can’t believe we did this.”

“What happened?” Kon-Mai pressed her.

“Okay: we had just come back from a party where there was lots of beer, and we SHOULD NOT have been driving, both of us were pretty wasted. But since I handle my alcohol better, I was behind the wheel, and Moira was in the passenger seat.” She continued. “Well we’re driving, the road is completely clear, I’m going...I forget how fast, but probably too fast, and Mora decides to crawl out the window and car surf on the roof.”

Kon-Mai thought back to the Sectopod she had fought and shook on instinct. “That sounds terrifying. Why would she do something so dangerous?”

“It was college, she was young and we were both very stupid.” Senuna sighed. “So she’s on top of the car, and all of a sudden this REALLY sharp turn pops up. I hit the breaks as fast as possible; the car fucking spins, and I heard this loud ‘KA-THUNK’ as Moira topples off the roof and into the street.”

Kon-Mai gasped. “Was she alright?”

“She was fine, except for her knees.” Senuna chuckled. “It’s funny now but at the time, oh stars, it was so scary. She’d landed on her knees and basically tore the skin right off. Like, you could see bone, it was that bad.”

Kon-Mai put a hand on her mouth, and would have gagged if she had the ability. “What on Earth did you do?!”

“You’d think we’d have gone to the hospital.” Senuna shrugged. “Nope. We found a Drogeriemarkt and I wrapped up her knees in gauze and tape in the bathroom of the drug store.” Senuna sighed. “And that’s when I learned healthcare was not for me~”

Kon-Mai nodded dubiously. “...You two had such adventures together.”

“We did. She was…” Senuna stopped on that word, “was.” It seemed to drain the happiness from her eyes. “...She was my best friend. We made so many stupid decisions, but we kept each other safe.”

Kon-Mai smiled. “I know how comforting that is, Commander. And I’m happy you know as well.”

.

.

The darkness surrounded the Reapers like a warm blanket, and within its confines, they were safe. Gur-Rai especially cherished the warm embrace, like a mother’s hug. He could see everything from the shadows.

”Now remember. The Lost are drawn to explosions.” Outrider’s voice was scratchy in the comms. “No grenades or claymores yet.”

”Understood.” Mox said, the only one who didn’t seem enthralled by the darkness. He held his own, probably a side effect of being married to Elena, but he’d never be a Reaper, in love with the shadows themselves.

Gur-Rai took up a vantage point on top of an old warehouse and crouched down, looking through his sights. There were the Lost, and behind them, there was the old capsule of radioactive material, glowing green and smelling like sulfur. Being near it made his skin tingle, almost like the static that came with Psionic energy.

“I’m taking the first shot.” Cruzita said over comm.

”Affirmative.” Elena said. ”Lars, on overwatch.”

”Verstehe.”

There was a moment of silence broken only by the gentle moaning of the Lost. Then a bullet ripped through the darkness. Then another. Then another. Then another. Four lost fell dead in rapid succession, and the rest looked around in confusion as to where that had come from. A cackling laugh pierced the blanket of darkness around them. She might have been creepy, but at least Cruzita had the skills to pay the bills.

Mox came next. His gun was nowhere near as accurate as a sniper rifle, but he was still on the ground, within a few deadly feet of his target. He poked his head out from around a corner, and with everyone holding their breath, mowed down three more lost.

“You’re up, Elena.” Gur-Rai purred.

”For the last time. You will refer to me as OUTRIDER.” She snapped in a display of anger Gur-Rai rarely heard from her. ”And do NOT mock me, Darkstrider. I have fought more battles than you ever saw in your days with the Elders.”

“I don’t doubt that.” He chuckled. “I’m only trying to help.”

"You want to help? Do not speak to me unless I speak first.” He heard a gunshot, and three Lost dropped as the bullet cut through their skulls. “Are we clear?”

“...Yeah.” He muttered. “Crystal.”

They sat in silence for a bit, only speaking to pass the baton to one another each time it was their turn to shoot. Gur-Rai kept his mouth shut, his aim slightly off, missing more Lost than he hit. It bugged him. Outrider’s comments were stuck in his head, playing on repeat. Maybe he had been goofing off. Maybe he crossed some line he didn’t know was there. But why in the Void’s name was it always his fault?

As the number of Lost began to dwindle, he heard a hissing noise behind him and ceased his fire. “Outrider.” He hissed. “Something is behind you.”

Outrider didn’t answer, but he could hear her moving.

He repeated his statement. “There’s something on this roof. I’m going to relocate and I think you should too.”

“There’s nothing here, Darkstrider.” She snapped. “I’ve already swept the area.”

He wanted to believe her. But now, he could feel the slow creep of something slithering along the roof tiles. The hissing noise grew louder and he could hear it in Outrider’s comm too.

“Mox.” He leaned over the roof, trying to yell and whisper at the same time. “I need your help! Come get Elena!”

“What?!” Mox yelled up to him. He couldn’t hear him, and if Gur-Rai yelled, Elena was sure to kill him. With no other option, he sat in the darkness and put a hand on his machete, as the hissing came up behind him and rose, ready to strike.

Then Elena screamed. Something darted through the darkness towards him just as Gur-Rai whipped around, pulled his machete from his belt, and cut the encroaching Viper across the snout. It reeled back, blood spraying all over the Chosen man as it shook it’s head and hissed at him in pain and anger. 

Instead of staying to fight, the Darkstrider took off to the other end of the roof, set up in a crouch, and aimed at the Viper that had recovered and was now careening toward him. He didn’t even have time to make a quip before he sloppily aimed and took the shot. The Viper fell dead, just as Mox’s ripjack pulled him onto the adjacent roof, where Elena was wrestling with her own Viper. 

Lars was waiting, aiming with his rifle for a free shot, meanwhile Cruzita had dove to the ground and landed on the back of a third Viper that no one had even noticed. Black knife in her hand, she was riding it like a merry go round. Lars, instead, turned to that one and shot, but he aimed wide and missed.

Gur-Rai shot his grappling hook to the other roof and pulled himself over, just as the Viper bit down on Elena’s shoulder, drawing a huge amount of blood and venom. She staggered backward and fell, where Mox caught her and hauled her off to one side, ready to block the next strike with his own body. 

Gur-Rai was going to make sure he didn’t have to.

Landing behind the snake, he took a shot with Darkclaw, cutting through the snake’s flap and drawing a trickle of blood. It whirled around and shrieked at him, and just as he was about to grab his blade, the snake lunged at his arm and sank it’s fangs into the metal plating of his armor. Normally that could stop bullets, but he could feel those fangs graze his skin. As he tried to pull back, they only dug deeper.

He fell backward, the snake still attached to him and now beginning to wrap around him, tail around his neck.

“You’re just like my ex.” He choked out. “She liked choking too.” He broke off as the tail squeezed his windpipe and cut off his air. He tried to reach around for his rife, but he was fucking laying on it so that wouldn’t work.

“Out, demon!” The rapid fire of a bullpup cut through the air, as well the snake that was holding Gur-Rai. The grip loosened just enough for him to wrench himself out of her grasp and grab Darklance off his back.  As the bleeding Viper made one more lunge for him, he fired into her face. She fell back, bleeding and dead.

Before Gur-Rai could even say “thank fuck,” another hiss to his right set him off. He rolled to the side as another snake lashed out at him. “HOW MANY OF YOU ARE THERE?!”

“Too many!” Outrider cried. “We...we need to evacuate.”

“Bryni, we need a pick-” He gasped, scrambling back as the Viper went for him again. In his hurry to get away, he tripped and slammed headfirst into the pavement. He heard the clatter of his comm link falling out of his ear and hitting the ground, as the Viper teeth sank into the fleshy skin of the back of his knee.

He cried out and yanked, the teeth tearing his flesh as he broke free and, with sheer tenacity, reached out and pulled Darklance towards him. The Viper reared up, bearing down on him, and he let out a hiss of his own and pounded three bullets into her chest, her ribs exploding in blood and venom.

Despite the pain in his leg, Gur-Rai stood. “Outrider, what’s the plan?”

Outrider⁠—Elena⁠—looked green and her eyes were unfocused. Mox leaned down and helped her to her feet, and she kept most of her weight on him. “The venom, it’s…”

“I know.” He could already feel his leg tingling, and it was getting hard to breathe. “What’s the plan, Elena?”

She shook her head. To clear it? Maybe. But she didn’t say anything after. Mox was practically carrying her.

“Cruzita.” Mox called.

“Down here!” She called through the comm. Something was squelching in the background.

“How many more snakes do you suspect there are?”

“Probably two…” She paused. “Lars says three. I already have enough for a whole new wardrobe.”

“No, at least four.” Lars clarified. “I took down another one that was coming up behind me.”

“We must evacuate.” Mox said. “Elena needs medical attention.”

“I’m fi-” She broke off, her head lolling briefly. Mox caught her before she fell. “I’m okay…”

“You’re not.” Gur-Rai insisted. “And I’m not. And my comm is dead.”

“Firebrand is watching.” Mox said. “Do we have a flare?”

“I have a gun.” He said. “Not sure she’ll see it though.”

“Do we have antivenom?” Cruzita called from below.

Gur-Rai shook his head. “I probably should have thought to bring some.”

Mox growled, holding Elena close to him. “We must seek medical attention. Lars, Cruzita, begin scouring the area for supplies. Anything that can be used to slow poison.”

“I see planes on the horizon.” Lars said.

“No doubt they’re bringing in reinforcements.” Mox said. “We must retreat.”

Gur-Rai set up beside the two with his rifle poised. “Well then, get ready to shoot your way out of here.”

.

.

Malinalli caught a stray dribble of Aloe Vera as she slathered it on the remains of Dhar-Mon’s open wounds. He insisted they no longer hurt, but she could feel him relax as she did this. The unclenching of his muscles was noticeable.

“Has anyone ever tended to these?” She asked.

“...No.” He admitted.

“Not...not even the priests? Your own servants?”

“They were the Elders’ markings.” Dhar-Mon said, almost leaning back into her touch. “And thus, if they left scars, they were meant to remain untreated, reminders of my failure.”

Malinalli swallowed the lump in her throat. “...I’m so sorry…”

“Do not apologize, little phantom.” He smiled back at her. “Your presence makes me forget the pain.”

She blinked, then smiled at him. “I’m happy…” She said softly. “I’m happy you say that…”

He turned back around, and she laid her fingers in the crevice of one particularly deep scar, her finger tracing half-dead tissue. Running it down his back, she felt that prickling again. She closed her eyes, just working up the courage to keep going, keep looking at all this. It was so horrible.

When Malinalli opened her eyes, she gasped. “The cuts!”

Dhar-Mon cried out, not so much in pain, as in surprise. As Malinalli watched, the tips of her fingers glowed with the deep blue-green of her own psionic power. Around her hand, the skin began to shift, molding itself back together, enclosing the long exposed flesh. She dared not move as the largest gash finally fused back together, a faint line the only trace it was ever there.

“Oh my god…” She whispered. “...Tell me you felt that.”

“What was it?” Dhar-Mon asked. “I felt...tingling.”

“Your cut just...It just…” She covered her mouth. “It’s healed. It’s gone.”

“What?!” He jumped up, forgetting his robe had fallen off, and ran to the bathroom, turning to look at his back in the mirror. “...Nalla itzar…” He whispered. “Malinalli, you…” He looked at her, smiling widely with tears in his eyes.

She burst out laughing, her own face wet, and jumped up, running to him and throwing herself into his arms for a hug. “I healed you! I healed you!”

Dhar-Mon picked her up off the ground and squeezed her. “Thank you little phantom…” As his faculties returned to him, he quickly dropped her and grabbed a towel, wrapping it about his waist. “I-I am so sorry, I-”

“No, it’s fine, it’s fine!” She giggled. “We’ve seen each other naked before, it’s fine.” She wrapped her arm around and felt his back again. “How did I do that…?”

“You have an aura of healing.” He chuckled. “I do not know…perhaps your psionics are stronger than I once thought…”

“Psionics…” Malinalli began to look around. “Hey, do you have something sharp?”

“What do you need something sharp for?” He looked wary.

“Nevermind. Let me…” Malinalli rolled her sleeve up and bit down on her arm. She cried out a little bit as she drew blood, then held out her hand. “Try it, Dhar-Mon. Try and heal me.”

“Why would you do that?!”

“So I can test it! I have an idea! If it is psionics then you can do it too!” She nodded. “So give it a shot. Try and heal me.”

“What if I can’t?!”

“Then I’ll put a band-aid on it, I’m a nurse.” She took his hand and laced it with her own. “Just give it a try, Dhar-Mon.”

He sighed loudly and patted her arm. There it was, the tingling. “It will not work.”

“Yes it will.” She winked. “I know it~”

.

.

“Tomko…?”

Gur-Rai shook his head to clear the fog that was coming in. He could feel the venom in his veins, blurring his vision and leaving him sluggish and slow. His alien blood could synthesize it better. It probably wouldn’t kill him. Probably. Elena however…

He looked over at the sound of her voice. She lay back against the wall, her shoulder wound already beginning to ooze. Her eyes were clouded, pale grey in this cold orange light. Gur-Rai raised a brow and, reaching up, lowered his hood. “Elena…”

She blinked at him, slowly. “No.” She hissed. “You’re not him.”

“I know.” He put his hood back up. “I’m not trying to be.”

“I don’t want you back.” She spat, her voice shaking. “You’re not him, not anymore. And it’s too late.”

“I know Elena.” He growled. His whole body was burning and this was not helping.

“I hate you.” She said, and this time he heard her voice breaking. “I hate you because you took Tomko. You killed him. You killed him and took him away from me…”

Gur-Rai turned to look at her again. “How did I kill him, Elena?”

“You…” She searched her venom saturated mind for an answer that made sense. “You’re wearing his skin…”

“No. He’s wearing mine.” Gur-Rai hissed. “Tomko is the foundation I am built on. I WAS Tomko, Elena, you know it and so do I.”

That seemed to startle her, even scare her, and her eyes filled with tears. “...Why did you kill him…?”

“Because fate is a cruel bitch.” The Darkstrider snarled. “Maybe it was chance, wrong place, wrong time. Or maybe Tomko was always destined to end up in the tank, and from the moment he was born your love was doomed. But however it happened, it’s OVER, Elena. Tomko is dead; for the love of the stars, let him die with some FUCKING DIGNITY.”

Elena seemed to crumble at that, large hot tears streaming down her face. “I miss him…”

He turned away. “Yeah. I miss him too.”

“Darkstrider.” Mox hissed into his comm. “I have visual of the second pod.”

“Finally some good news.” Gur-Rai rubbed his eyes. If he’d had a stomach, he’d have felt like throwing up by now. Instead, he just felt like someone was rearranging his organs. “Elena is down for the count.”

The silence that followed conveyed Mox’s fear. “And you?”

“I can shoot.” He assured him. “Just...don’t expect heroics.”

“I will not expect much.” Mox assured him. “Lars and Cruzita, get into an overwatch position.”

“Yessir.” Cruzita sang. Gur-Rai saw her and Lars each get on either side of an awning, just as three Vipers and a Sectoid came marching down the street.

Only three? That seemed odd. Gur-Rai felt that prickling on his skin again. “Be careful, you two.”

“Careful?” Cruzita giggled. “Never heard of-” Her words morphed into a scream as the awning came down, sending them tumbling into the grasp of the Sectoid and two Vipers.

“Shitshitshitshit!” Gur-Rai fired off one shot blind and, off course, missed. But he did manage to draw the Sectoid’s attention, who turned and, upon seeing him, let out a screech that shook him to his core.

“MOX!” He screamed, reaching for Elena. “TIME TO RUN!”

“No…” Elena tried to wriggle out of his grip, obviously delirious. “No, not without Tomko…!”

“Tomko is dead!” Gur-Rai hissed.

“No, they took Tomko!” She screamed and pulled away. “I have to save him!”

“Elena!” Gur-Rai snapped. “You have a husband, remember?! A husband that ain’t Tomko! Even if he were alive-”

“I know that!” She screeched, her voice wavering as she tried to balance her rifle on her torn shoulder and aim for the Sectoid. “But he’s more!”

“More than WHAT?!” Gur-Rai yanked the gun away. “This isn’t the time to be star crossed lovers!”

“I let him go!” She cried. “It’s my fault he is gone! It’s my fault they took him! I can’t let him die again!” She tried to grab the gun, slipped and fell. Gur-Rai caught her arm and lowered her slowly, watching as she dissolved into tears.

“...It’s not your fault, Elena.” He whispered. He knelt down beside her, and looked into her eyes. “...I’m Tomko.”

Her unfocused gaze turned to him. “...Tomko…?” She smiled.

“Yep.” He smirked. “And I’m gonna hold off the Vipers for you. Your husband is coming, so go with him ok?”

Elena blinked. “...I’m married now…” She looked so happy, and yet so sad. “I didn’t wait for you…”

“I didn’t want you to…” He wasn’t sure if it was the venom that was making him dizzy, but he felt light headed. “Just go, Elena. You don’t have to save me.” He stood up. “I can do that myself.”

There were footsteps behind him, and Mox came running up, obviously out of breath. The second Elena saw him, her eyes lit up and she crawled to him, throwing her arms around his neck as he knelt down. “My love…” She whispered.

“I have made contact with Firebrand.” Mox panted. “She is en route. We must move to the rooftop of the building with the large “Staples” sign.”

“Gotcha.” Gur-Rai shifted, his leg nearly collapsing in on itself from the pain. He could feel his wound swelling but also knew if he took off his boot to look, he’d never get it back on again, so he hoped and prayed that the pressure applied somehow helped. 

“I love you, Pratal…” Elena whimpered as Mox lifted her into his arms.

“And I love you Elena…” Mox hesitated. “Cruzita and Lars are in position.”

“Good.” Gur-Rai looked out over the dark streets. “I’ll cover you while you get Elena there.”

“Are you certain?”

“No.” He sighed. “But it’s the least I can do for dying.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing.”

.

.

“You have done so much, Commander.” Kon-Mai mused, watching as Senuna played with the accessible buttons on the phone. “And you have learned so much. An intelligent woman like you; why did you not strive for a doctorate as well?”

“Eh.” Senuna shrugged. “Maybe I would’ve, given more time. It just takes so long and...normal things don’t hold my interest for very long.” She chuckled.

“And yet, XCOM?” Kon-Mai raised a brow.

“You could say XCOM was a family business.” She giggled. “My father founded it, it was only natural I take over~”

“Your father…?” It was strange to hear that. “I’ve never heard you discuss your family before, Commander.”

“Well, he wasn’t my 'biological’ father: I was adopted, you see. But he raised me, taught me everything I know...everything Earth had to offer.” She leaned on her hand. “You know he was a Doctor, he would have loved for me to get a doctorate but...that just ain’t me.”

Kon-Mai wanted to ask who WAS the Commander then. Who was Senuna, the woman who sat before her? But it all felt so intrusive. It was all right there on the surface and yet, still it felt as though Kon-Mai was unintentionally twisting the knife in an already deep wound.

“How did you convince Dr. Vahlen to join XCOM?” She asked, trying to change the subject back to something light hearted.

“Oh, that was difficult. You know she was actually scared? Vahlen! Scared!” Senuna laughed. “It’s so funny to think...I think she was afraid to leave the family she’d built in Ireland. But things were starting to head south with her boyfriend, and she has a tendency to cut ties and run.” Senuna shrugged. “I convinced her to leave. It was hard for her to go, but she was happier here. And she was the best Chief Scientist we ever had before Tygan.”

Kon-Mai nodded, smiling whimsically. “You must miss her…”

“...Yeah.” Senuna sniffled. “Every day.” She went to stand up. “We should probably get going.”

“Going…?”

“If you want to greet your brother on his return.” Senuna chuckled. “Firebrand is coming back.”

“I had not realized!” Kon-Mai straightened up. “Will you lead, Commander?”

“I’ll poke my head in, since I’m already heading that way.” She turned to the door. “What about you?”

Kon-Mai looked puzzled. “Who are you…?”

“Not you.” Senuna winked and cupped her hands over her mouth. “Wanna join us, Jane?”

Kon-Mai looked at the empty doorway...no. Not empty. Something was there…a wisp of brown hair as the shadow pulled away. “Major Kelly?”

Slowly, Jane Kelly poked her head out from around the corner and stood at attention, completely silent.

“Were you listening the whole time?” Senuna laughed. “You could have joined us!”

“I apologize, Commander.” Was all Jane said. “I became...wrapped up in the stories.”

Senuna raised a brow. “...About Vahlen?”

“...Yes, Madam.”

“Hm. You would, huh?” She approached Jane slowly. “Don’t flinch, child, you’re not in trouble.”

Jane nodded, but Kon-Mai saw her face turning red.

“Konnie, go ahead without me.” She turned back to Kon-Mai. “I’ll meet you there.”

“Yes, Commander.” Kon-Mai bowed and pushed past the two. As she left, she heard Senuna whispering something to Jane, in a voice barely above silence.

“She’d be proud of you. You know that, right?”

Kon-Mai held her head high and went on her way.

.

.

Dhar-Mon watched in wonder as the wound on Malinalli’s arm began to shimmer, then the skin stretched and closed itself back together. At first a scar remained, then even that faded, until all that was left was a slight discolored patch that was barely visible.

Malinalli looked up in wonder. “...Dhar-Mon. This is…”

“This is magic.” He said. He had known psionics could do a lot: they could bend the will of even the strongest mind or tear apart space itself, but...heal? He had never known this cosmic energy to be able to regenerate.

“Think of all the lives we could save!” She grabbed his hands. “We could teach others! Start a whole clinic based on psionic healing! She giggled. “You and me!”

“You and me?” He hesitated. “And you would want me there?”

“Of course! I lo…” There she went again, stopping herself. Her dark skin turned almost red as she blushed. “You’re my best friend.”

“And you are mine.” He smiled warmly. “My closest friend besides my siblings. I would trust you with my life, Molly.”

She pressed a hand to her cheek and beamed. “Thank you, Dhar-Mon, that’s all I ever want.” She straightened up. “We were supposed to go practice but-”

“Technically, we did.” He chuckled. “And we have developed something even greater because of it.”

“How about you get dressed then?” She giggled. “Your brother is coming back from his mission, we should show him our new trick.”

“He will undoubtedly need healing.” Dhar-Mon chuckled. “Let me dress myself, then I shall come along.”

“Mind if I wait in here? I won’t look.” She promised. She really wanted to look. But that would be weird.

“I suppose.” He chuckled. His hair was still in a braid. He decided to leave it.

.

.

The Darkstrider stepped off the Skyranger and into the arms of his sister, who was waiting for him. Her smile was worried, even more so when she saw Elena’s injuries. “What have you all done now?”

“Nothin’.” Gur-Rai muttered as he collapsed in her embrace. As soon as she had a good on him, his leg finally gave out, and damn near took the two of them to the ground together. Kon-Mai gave a yell of surprise that was mirrored by his brother’s voice, as Dhar-Mon and Malinalli entered the garage as well. Immediately, Kon-Mai called for the nurse, but he waved her aside.

“Outrider first.” He croaked. “Then me.”

“Outrider?!” Malinalli rushed onto the Skyranger. “Oh!”

Dhar-Mon knelt beside his brother. “He has been poisoned.”

“Viper venom. I’ll be fine.” He smiled. His teeth were chattering together and he couldn’t stop them.

“He’s burning up.” Kon-Mai snapped, laying her cool hands on his forehead. “We need antivenom. Get Tygan.”

“Wait, Sister…” Dhar-Mon held out his hand. “This...works for wounds. I do not know how it will work for poison…”

“What works?” She watched as Dhar-Mon lowered his hand over Gur-Rai.

“Where were you bitten?”

“Leg…” He coughed. “Left leg…”

“That one consistently gives you trouble…” Kon-Mai sighed.

Dhar-Mon picked up his leg and undid the Velcro on his armor, pulling down the legwarmer, then the boot. The wound was already inflamed and oozing, and the skin around it was beginning to turn black.

He pressed his bare palm to it, and within a moment, both Chosen felt the tingling of psionics. Gur-Rai reached up, grabbing Kon-Mai’s jacket and hissing with the discomfort this brought. Then, he suddenly relaxed.

The wound closed beneath Dhar-Mon’s touch. The swelling melted away, the regular blue pallor returning to Gur-Rai’s leg. Soon all that was left were two, fain bite marks.

Kon-Mai looked up at Dhar-Mon like he was made of gold. “How did you do this…?”

Dhar-Mon smiled. “Molly discovered it. I merely learned from her.” He stood up. “Molly! Do you need help?!”

“Her wounds are a lot worse!” Malinalli called. “But...I think I got her stable. Can someone get Tygan?”

“I will go!” Mox said. Then he stopped as Elena reached out and grabbed his arm. “I will not go!”

“I will.” Dhar-Mon stood. “He will want to hear about these...new talents of ours anyway.”

.

.

Back in the med bay, once again. This time, the lights were all off except for the one in Tygan’s little corner office. Gur-Rai bobbed his foot back and forth, side to side. It felt fine, but he was still running a fever from the venom, so Tygan had insisted on keeping him overnight, the absolute worrywort.

He looked over at Elena, in the bed beside him. She had been in much worse shape than him, having to get a blood transfusion due to the venom coursing through her. With that, and the antivenom they’d pumped her full of, she’d managed to pull through, but to be honest there had never been any doubt that she would make it. Mox was sitting beside her in an uncomfortable-looking chair, but he had drifted off and was snoring lightly.

“Hey.” Gur-Rai called quietly. “You awake?”

“Yes.” She said, turning to face him. “Unfortunately. “ Her entire arm was bandaged and wrapped in a sling, and her skin was pale. She had definitely taken the venom worse than he had.

There was a silence between the two, and Gur-Rai wanted to say something. “I’m sorry.” He said.

Elena growled. “Shut up.”

“Look, I’m try-” He began, but she cut him off.

“I’m the one who is sorry.” She hissed. “If I hadn’t...if I’d listened to you, this wouldn’t have happened and I wouldn’t be in hospice right now.” She sighed and laid her head on the pillow. “...I’ve been cruel to you this whole time.”

“Well, I’m sorry for dying on you.” He said. “That was pretty rude of me.”

Elena’s eyes went wide. “...Darkstrider, how much...do you remember?”

“About?”

“...About Tomko.” He could read her face. She had meant to say, “about me.”

He looked up at the ceiling. “I remember you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” He raised a hand to his lips. “...We were a couple.”

“..Yes. We were.” She sounded so broken. “And I...I loved-” She covered her mouth, leaving the sentence to hang.

“I know.” He sighed. “You loved Tomko.”

“You're just like him.” She sobbed softly. “You talk just like him, you act like him, whenever I look at you…it’s like he’s back and…” Her voice was shaking but so silent, Gur-Rai had to strain to hear her. “I’m happy with Pratal, I love him so much, but I feel so cheated whenever I look at you, I look and think...you should be Tomko.”

He nodded. “You’re right.” He said. “I should be Tomko.” He turned on his side to face her. “What the Elders did...it was a fucking crime. And it can’t be forgiven or undone.” He looked her in the eye, his glowing irises cutting through the darkness. “But there’s no future for us, Elena. Not anymore.”

“I know.” She sniffled. “I’ll never regret marrying Pratal. Just...if they hadn’t taken you...do you think there was? Do you think…?” She let it hang.

He waited for a moment, breathing deeply. The silence was enough to destroy them both.Then he spoke. 

“No.” He said. “Sorry, Elena...we were young. We were in a war. We were excited and...it all caught up to us.” He looked at her. “I loved you in the moment. And maybe Tomko always will. But we’d never have worked out.”

He heard her sob almost silently, and she turned away from him for a moment. And for a second he wondered if she was going to kill him. Wouldn’t that be a good way to die. He always knew it’d be at the hands of one of his lovers.

Then she looked up and, for once, her eyes were smiling. “That’s all I needed to hear.” She said.

“...It was?”

“Yes.” She said, turning toward Mox, who was still sleeping. “Tomko is gone now. We’re not…” She took his hand, and in his sleep Mox squeezed hers. “I’m not. And he’s not.”

“See? There you go.” Gur-Rai gestured to the still sleeping Mox. “You two were meant for each other.”

“I suppose we are. Fate does have a strange way of operating.”

“Kind of like us Reapers.” He chuckled, turning over so she couldn’t see his face. 

He felt terrible for lying to her, for saying they had no future. For not telling her that, if Tomko had lived, he would have followed Elena through Hell and back. That Tomko would always love her, even in death. That he regretted not asking for her hand while he was alive...

But that was all in the past now. She was happy. And that was more than he’d ever wanted in this world.

.

.

The Sectoid that limped into the chamber, accompanied by two guards, immediately drew Vox Imdugud’s attention. He straightened his crippled back and floated over, looking down at the pathetic slave creature. “You have news for me of great importance.”

The Sectoid nodded, dropping to it’s knees. “Vox Zagre is alive.” The pulses from it’s mind were frantic and almost painful. “Please warn the others. The Chosen live, and they have betrayed us all.”

.

.

.

.

.

(The beginning of this chapter sees our gang returning from their previous mission and handing over Vahlen’s phone to Senuna, who sends it to Shen to be hacked. The next morning, Malinalli comes to visit Dhar-Mon and braid his hair, while Elena and Mox prepare for another mission with their former arch nemesis. Kon-Mai begins investigating the abandoned phone and, upon being found by Senuna, begins talking with the Commander about her past with Vahlen. The two met in college, and partook in many wild adventures before Vahlen went to South Ireland for a Masters program. On the Reaper’s mission, Gur-Rai meets two other Reapers, Cruzita de Vries and Lars Velasco, and Elena is obviously still holding a grudge against the Chosen, making it hard for the two to work together. Soon, they are ambushed by Vipers, leading to both Gur-Rai and Elena being wounded. On the subject of wounds, Malinalli finds old scars on Dhar-Mon’s back from his days with the Elders, and accidentally discovers that her psionics have the power to heal injuries. Still out in danger, Elena talks with Gur-Rai as though he were his human self, Tomko, and the two argue until they are extracted by Firebrand, leaving the last pod unkilled. Kon-Mai and Senuna leave to welcome Gur-Rai home, but Senuna is distracted by Jane Kelly, who was listening in on their conversation about Vahlen. Upon returning, Gur-Rai collapsed and Dhar-Mon uses his new psionic healing to treat his brother’s leg wound. Elena and Gur-Rai are transferred to the infirmary, where they talk about the past, and eventually come to an understanding.

Long one today, and I feel it was too brief in parts. But do let me know what you think!)

Archive: chosenstories.tumblr.com/

[thewillowbends]

Bearing in mind that I only know of Lucifer from your blogging and, uh, inferring from the source material, I wish you would write a Lucifer/BotW crossover involving the Yiga Clan.

This is hands down the weirdest thing I’ve ever written. Lucifer/Breath of the Wild crossover fic below. 2200 words of madness.

-------

His companion liked to talk.

Link knew this because the man had been talking since their first encounter when he had crash landed outside of his home in Hateno Village.  He had continued talking through the evening after Link had dragged him into the house and gotten him sorted, even after polishing off the last two bottles of his Gerudo wine.  In the morning, he had begun inquiring almost immediately about what was to be done about his situation (Impa, he thought, definitely one for her), as he had “very important business” to get done with “The Detective” (Link could feel the capitalization implied in his tone).  And now, he was still talking as they traveled down the road toward Zora territory.  Most of what he talked about, Link hadn’t the faintest clue to what it pertained, but he was clearly passionate about it and spoke about it at length with humor and surprising fluency.

The experience was both novel and nerve-rattling after so many months of carrying the weight of both his sword and his silence.  Novel, because Lucifer was certainly peculiar and of interest, nerve-rattling because he literally would not shut up, not even after they encountered a hidden nest of bokoblins.  He fired off three arrows in quick succession, the third going wide as he started as Lucifer flung a wing out in a broad, gleaming, fatal arc and cleanly removed the head of the last, very startled bokoblin.

Link had forgotten about the wings.  He was still digesting the fact that the guy had wings.

His companion was unperturbed.  “Rather unfriendly sort, aren’t they?  I’d say it reminds me of Hell, but even the demons were better company than that.  Is everything in your world so primitive or is it merely my misfortune to have been dropped in the most well-funded Renfaire nightmare this side of a Tolkien convention?”

Link didn’t know who this Tolkien was, but he definitely did not like Lucifer’s tone and gave him a sharp look for it, which Lucifer promptly ignored.

He watched as the other man adjusted his cufflinks on a suit that had seen better days - which he insisted on wearing despite bemoaning its ruin a tragedy of its own.  In fairness, it wasn’t much Link could offer that would have fit him, anyhow.  Lucifer towered over not just him but the majority of the Hylian residents they came across, so much so that Link considered whether he could have been an aberrant male offspring of the Gerudo, but his complexion spoke fair and his dialect had not their rhythmic lilt but rather the crisp, clipped sound of the old Hyrule courts.  Back when there was one, anyhow.

Lucifer must have taken his silence as an answer, so he shrugged his wings away (and wasn’t that nearly as remarkable as their existence themselves) and brushed some bokoblin splatter from his shoulder.  That was another mystery in and of itself - despite his elegant apparel and generally imperious mien, the violence seemed to have hardly fazed him.  Link filed away with the rest of the crazy he had labeled the mental box named “Lucifer.”

“Where off to now, then?  More riveting scenic travel through the idyllic monotony of open grassland?  Another row with the natives?”

Link’s patience was waning rapidly.  He opened his mouth to tell him exactly what he thought of interdimensional travelers who descended in an otherwordly fireball, crashing into and destroying his favorite vegetable garden, finished off all of his alcohol stores in one night, and then insulted his fashion sense, when he was interrupted by the sound of bushes rustling.  Both of them turned abruptly to face the intruder, Link’s sword raised in warning.

The young woman who stepped out from the outcropping gave them both a look of alarm as she spotted them, first at Link’s sword, then at Lucifer’s…everything.

“Oh, hello there!  I wasn’t expecting to encounter strangers ‘round here!”  Her eyes flicked between them, and a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.  “Or such handsome ones, for that matter.”

Lucifer preened.  Link ignored him, fastening his gaze on her, though sheathed his sword.  She seemed to take this as an invitation and moved out of the foliage.

“Where are you two headed?”

“Certainly nowhere as interesting as where you are going, darling.  Or coming, for that matter,” Lucifer cut in with a grin.  He stepped out between the two of them, offering his hand, leaning a touch too close to her.  “The name is Lucifer.  Morningstar.”

“Nice to meet you....Mis - Mister Morningstar,” she said, catching her own words.  She blinked owlishly, then added quickly, “I’m Riza.”

Lucifer’s smile only grew wider, and Link rolled his eyes.

She cleared her throat, blushing.  “You don’t look like you’re from around these parts.”

“Quite.  Long story, love, involves a very angry knife and a space vagina, but I’ve been in stranger places as it were.  Hitler’s art studio, for instance.”

“Oh, oh that’s, uh, very interesting.”  Riza looked askance and traded A Look™ with Link.  “Have you come by way of Hateno village, by chance?”

“That cheery little backwater with the vertically challenged residents?  What a coincidence, we most certainly have.  My laconic companion here has us off to consult some ‘Sheikah elder,’ or something of that nature, to see if she’s got the cure for this little interdimensional travel problem of mine.”

Riza’s eyes narrowed, cutting a glance between the two of them. “You’re friends of Impa.”

“Friends is a stretch at present, though I am hardly one to turn down an opportunity to know a woman better,” Lucifer answered with a smirk.

“So you’re going to Kakariko village, coming from Hateno village,” she asked again, clarifying abruptly.

Something in her tone had sharpened, and Link fastened his gaze on her, suddenly suspicious.  He tried to recall her face from his previous travels, outside the Necluda peninsula.  Somewhere farther out, maybe near...

“I just said that,” Lucifer answered in exasperation.  “Are you hard of hearing or something?”

Several things happened at once.  Riza whipped a knife free of her belt and sent it spinning toward Lucifer, who looked at it with puzzlement as it bounced off his chest, then forced him backwards with a spiral kick.  Link pulled his sword free from his sheath milliseconds after, twisting his body to throw the full power of his strength into the blow as he swung forward.  The glamour exploded off her in a wave of magic, revealing her yiga armor, backflipping to dodge the strike of his blade.

Of course, he thought, moving forward aggressively to pursue her, his sword swinging upwards in a diagonal arc.  Something about her features had been a little too familiar, and he remembered well enough the young woman he had encountered near the Zora springs only days earlier.  It was impossible for her to have come that way in the same amount of time from the opposite direction, and her interest in where they were heading had done the rest of the work in clearing up his suspicion.

She blocked his sword with one of her long knives, dodging the punch he followed it up with and landing a glancing blow of her own at his shoulder.  Fortunately, the blade’s edge bounced off the edge of his armored shoulder, throwing off her balance.  He moved in on her, sending out a sweeping kick that caught her unawares.  She caught herself only at the last minute, somersaulting backwards to avoid the next blow.  Frustrated, he gritted his teeth and went for his quiver -

A sharp whistle startled them both, and they both froze and turned dumbly to see Lucifer standing nearby looking determinedly put out.

“Are you quite done?”  he asked, brushing grass off his shoulder, then adjusting his cufflinks one after another with exaggerated movements.

Riza snarled.  “Our work is never finished until the Hero lies dead and buried and Lord Ganon is allowed to rise again and be restored to his rightful place of power.”

“Yes, yes, very exciting.  Sounds very Revelations and all.  However, as entertaining as this violent little tête-à-tête appears to be, I am most certainly short on time and patience both, and more importantly, I imagine the Detective has worked herself up in quite a tizzy over my absence.  Therefore, let’s get this done and over.”

Moving in on them, he forcibly pushed Link aside to stand before Riza.  “Come now, miss….I suppose Riza isn’t your real name, but no matter.  Legolas here won’t be attacking you for the moment.”

The Yiga assassin sat crouched for a moment longer before slowly, warily getting to her feet.  When she was at full height before him, Lucifer clapped his hands in approval.

“Excellent.  Now, my dear, I need you to look me in the eye and answer one very simple question for me:  what is it that you desire?”

Beyond affronted, Link started to move in on them, but Lucifer held up a hand in warning, annoyed.  “Do not interrupt us.”  Turning back to the Yiga, he reached out a hand to stroke her masked face.  “Come now darling, I know you wish to tell me.  A life of humorless roadway murder can’t be all that exists for you.”

To Link’s shock, he watched as the martial tension eased from Riza’s body, the knife falling to the ground.  She swayed for a moment, then opened her mouth and out came - 

“Banana.”

Lucifer pulled back abruptly.  “What?”

“I want,” she repeated firmly, “a banana.”

Link stifled a laugh.  Lucifer looked between them, his expression quizzical.  “Banana?  As in...oh dear, that’s not even a euphemism is it?”  At Link’s nod, he gave her a piteous glance.  “Well, alright then.  I can’t argue with the results, disappointingly banal as they may be.”

Turning to Link, he asked, “I don’t suppose you would have a banana on hand then, would you?”

As it turned out, he did.

Holding it out to Riza where she could see it, Lucifer quickly snatched it back before she could close a hand around it.  She growled at him, but he held up a finger, demanding patience.

“Let’s make a deal, Lady Vengeance.  I give you this banana, and you let us part ways without incident so you can continue on your merry way, and I can finally see this Impa and get this little interdimensional problem of mine sorted out.”

“Yes,” she practically sighed, reaching out her hand longingly.

With imperious regard and grand generosity, Lucifer gently placed it in her hand.  He patted her arm, picking up her knife and handing it back to her.  “Off you pop now.”

“Of course.”  Shaking her head suddenly, as if a spell had been broken, she backed away slowly, into the bushes.  Before fading into them, she pointed a knife Link’s way.  “Watch yourself, Hero.  Next time we meet, you won’t be so fortunate.”  Clutching the banana close to her chest, she disappeared in an explosion of black magic, so bright it blinded them both temporarily.

When the air had cleared, the road was clear, and Lucifer was standing before him expectantly, fixing his cufflinks.  “Shall we?”

Link opened his mouth, then closed it.  Opened it again but nothing came out.  He had so many questions pertaining to, foremost, what had just transpired, what Lucifer had even done to the woman, and most importantly, what were the chances he would have had that banana on hand at just the right moment?  He hated bananas!

He had seen a lot of strange shit in his life, but this was definitely - and dangerously - coming close to the most insane thing he had encountered since he had awakened in the Resurrection Shrine four months ago.  Something dangerously like panic started to steal over him, like perhaps he should have heeded the little voice in the back of his head that had warned him not to eat that handful of deeply suspicious mushrooms he had found buried at the bottom of his sack the day before.

Fortunately, his mental breakdown was interrupted by Lucifer clapping a hand on my shoulder.  

“No need to thank me, as it were.  I can tell you’re quite the laconic sort.  But we really should get going.  Goodness knows how the Detective is faring without me.  She can be quite emotional.”

Pausing, he gave Link a good once over.  “I have to say, you look quite ill-sorted, my long-eared friend.  I’d say a good drink would bring you around, but as we’re in the middle of nowhere, that’s not going to be happening anytime soon, which suggests we should get a move on, yes?”

Numbly, Link nodded, burying all of his existential terror and confusion in the place where he put all of his feelings that did not contribute to his ongoing survival: deep inside, where they would likely fester until he died - which, as it stands, could be happen at any point in his near future.  

But not today.

He survived Calamity Ganon, Link thought.  He could survive this.

Taking a deep breath, he sheathed his sword.  Lucifer patted his shoulder.  They started to make their way down the path.  They managed to make it a good fifty or so feet before Lucifer got antsy and started talking again.