#i wrote for my glorious blue eyed kind again

[peachversace]

feed the beast - gojo satoru

He’s insatiable.

You can see it in his eyes — Satoru wants to ruin you.

[writing-on-the-wahl]

Writing Snippet #16: Songbird

Part 2

So @im-a-wonderling had a fantastic plot idea... and I added wings.

(Collaborating with her on this one was so fun! I don’t normally write angst so it was new for me and she was an incredible help/inspiration!)

TW: blood, implied violence, general angst

———————————

Villain leaned back against the stark white wall. In fact, aside from his own dark blue attire, everything in the hallway of cells was white: the floors, ceilings, doors, even the metal bars were painted white.

Supervillain had always preferred things nice and clean and white.

Not the best color choice for the dungeon of a brutal supervillain. Villain wondered how they cleaned away the bloodstains.

Supervillain’s minions had been courteous enough when they brought him in, not that he’d been able to put up much of a fight after a sniper shot him with a power suppressor mixed with a sedative. He’d been barely conscious when they dragged him into this cell and left him alone.

That had been hours ago, and he still couldn’t feel his powers. Not the most ideal scenario. Especially considering the reason he was here.

Supervillain’s missing device. Her masterpiece. Prize of her collection. Peak of her creative genius. First of its kind.

And only, Villain thought smugly. He and Hero had stolen the device last week. And Supervillain was notoriously paranoid about her technology being stolen and never wrote anything down. She might be able to recreate the device, but it would take a few years.

He didn’t know how Supervillain knew he’d been involved. She was sure to demand the return of her invention, which was, unfortunately, currently in a thousand pieces at the bottom of the ocean.

Villain had anticipated a double cross from Hero, had thought the Hero Agency would insist on saving and using a machine that could duplicate superpowers and create new heroes, but Hero had been just as determined as he was to see the machine destroyed.

Personally, he knew what would happen if Supervillain managed to duplicate his powers, knew the destruction she would leave in her wake.

He wasn’t exactly sure why Hero had been equally as passionate, but he hadn’t been able to resist grinning at her enthusiastic smashing. He could have destroyed the device with a flick of his fingers, but watching her take a sledgehammer to the metal had stirred something in his chest. Admiration turning towards something warmer.

The door at the far end of the hall banged open, and two guards burst into the room, dragging a limp form between them.

Villain’s heart skidded to a stop.

The figure in the middle was small and slim, with oversized wings that dragged on the ground as the guards carried her forward.

Villain would know those wings anywhere: a blue so light it was nearly white, with feathered tips that looked as though they’d been dipped in the midnight sky.

Hero.

Villain stiffened, hands curling into fists.

They drew closer, and his breath caught.

There was blood dripping from a wound on Hero’s temple; the fair skin of her face and arms was already beginning to bruise.

The guards hauled her past, and his nails bit into the flesh of his palms at the sight of her wings, one wing hanging at a horribly wrong angle as it dragged on the ground behind her, spatters of red dotting the light feathers.

Fury pounded in his chest as his eyes stayed fixed on her mangled wing. If his powers were working, the entire prison would have been obliterated.

Hero didn’t stir as the guards threw her into the cell next to his.

His heart stuttered as logic warred with panic.

They wouldn’t lock her up unless she was alive...

Right?

Villain gripped the edge of the hard metal cot, the sharp corners digging into his palms as the guards strode by.

He offered a sardonic raise of the eyebrow as they glanced his way. One of the henchmen paused.

“The boss will be by soon to release you. She was given new information that revealed the true thief of her device.” His eyes cut to Hero.

Villain hummed disapprovingly as he leaned back, though every muscle was tensed, ready to spring. “I told Supervillain I was innocent of her allegations.”

Henchman blanched at the threat of retribution in his tone. “Yes yes. Hero confessed to everything.”

Villain closed his eyes briefly. Even though he had been the one to approach her. His idea. His plan. His fault.

And now here was his beautiful songbird, bleeding on the cell floor.

Villain studied Hero, taking in every bruise and cut and drop of blood.

His face was an icy mask as he faced the guard. “Yes. I can see that.”

The guard had the audacity to smile. “Oh, no. She told us the moment we brought her in. Yelled about how it had been her and her alone who took the device.”

Had she done it to protect him?

The guard waved a hand carelessly at Hero’s crumpled form. “That’s what happened when she told the boss she’d destroyed it.”

He was laughing as he walked away.

The henchmen were beneath him. At least, that was what Villain told himself as they continued down the hall. It was the only thing that kept him from murdering the two lackeys through the bars of the cell.

He couldn’t afford to reveal his connection to Hero. Couldn’t reveal how much he cared. Not yet.

As soon as their backs were turned, he studied Hero. She was on the ground, injured wing partially beneath her. Her other wing had fallen across her body when they dumped her to the ground, and he couldn’t tell if she was breathing.

He reached for his powers to rip the prison walls apart— to get to her—but that part of him was still numb.

His own breaths came in fast as his mind spiraled. He watched the blood dripping from the cut on her head, dark red spilling on the bright white floor.

Please be alive.

Please.

When the door clicked shut and they were finally alone, Villain dared speak.

“Hero.” He hissed. “Hero!”

She didn’t stir.

Villain thought that he could see the movement of breath, but that could just be the A/C ruffling her soft feathers.

He found himself holding his breath, waiting for hers.

The next moments were agony.

Lightheaded, he closed his eyes and took a large gulp of air.

When he opened them again, Hero was watching him, eyes wide, pupils dilated.

“Hero!”

She dropped her gaze, arms trembling as she struggled to push up out of the tangle of her wings, whimpering as the movement jarred her broken wing.

Villain ached to plug his ears, to block out each tiny heart-wrenching sound of pain, but he had no right.

Every mark on her was his fault.

Had they captured her after they brought him in? If he had confessed…

“Hero, they said you told them...” he trailed off as she deliberately twisted away and flared her wings to block him from view. A cry of pain accompanied this action, and her shoulders curled inward as they began to shake.

Villain slid to his knees, fingers uselessly clutching the bars between them.

“Hero! Are you ok? Please, talk to—”

He cut off abruptly as the far door burst open once more, and he forced his voice to go cold as he rose to his feet, praying Hero would understand.

“...nothing more than you deserve you filthy—”

“Ah Villain!”

The cheerful voice fanned the rage burning in his chest, and he didn’t try to hide it as he stepped towards the front of the cell.

“Supervillain.”

“Now, now, Villain.” She laughed as she straightened the cuffs of her fresh white lab coat, but she still had blood under her fingernails.

White hot fury ripped through him. It took every ounce of self control he possessed to school his features as she continued.

“I know you’re a little upset at my bringing you here.”

He growled.

“But as you can see, I’ve caught the true perpetrator, and I’ve come to offer my sincerest apologies.” She cocked her head and offered a smile filled with false cheer.

“And compensation for the inconvenience, I assume.”

She frowned briefly, then nodded. “Of course, of course. What is it you want?”

He offered her a sharp smile. “Let’s just say I’ll collect what you owe me later.” In blood.

Villain was the one powerless and behind bars, but Supervillain was the one who stepped back.

A guard approached at her signal, a pair of shackles in hand.

“Just a precaution,” Supervillain explained, “until you are off my base.”

Villain kept his protests to himself as he extended his hands through the bars and allowed them to be cuffed together.

He reminded himself that even with his hands unbound, there was no way he would be able to free Hero without his powers, trapped as they were at the center of Supervillain’s base, surrounded by hundreds of her people.

He filled his voice with bored curiosity. “What will you do with the thief?”

Supervillain smiled. “I had a canary once. Made a marvelous little pet.”

The memory of Hero soaring through the clouds, winds extended, glorious and free, flashed through his mind, and his stomach churned at the thought of her in a swinging cage, wings folded in, trapped and alone.

The cell door swung open, and Villain cast one last look at Hero, who now met his gaze with glassy-eyed terror. It was a look that would haunt him all the way back to his lair, where he would immediately send for Sidekick and make plans for a rescue against the most secure base in the country.

“Naughty thing kept trying to escape though.” Supervillain slammed the empty cell door shut for emphasis.

As Villain followed a guard down the hall, Supervillain’s bright voice echoed behind him, words that froze his heart and shattered his careful mask of composure:

“Had to clip its wings.”

——————————

*** full credit to @im-a-wonderling for the line, “And here was his beautiful songbird, bleeding on the cell floor.” The queen of beautiful tragedy, everyone.***

[luvdsc]

too hot! hot damn!

what do you get when you mix red and blue together?

pairing :: lee taeyong x reader genre :: fluff / boyfriend au word count :: 2,121 words warnings :: a tiny paragraph about making out playlist :: cherry kisses (chungha) ⋆ daft pretty boys (bad suns) ⋆ hands on me (taeyeon) ⋆ crash my car (coin) ⋆ shy (hunny) author’s note :: to the insanely talented goddess who wrote the first nct fic i ever read nearly 3 years ago and still love to this day!!! i didn’t think i’d ever get to be friends with one of my favoritest writers on here, but here we are :’) ily els @taeyongtime​ ♡ 

“It’s hot.”

You’re draped across the old, yet still very plush couch, the kitschy pattern spread across it now fondly regarded as one of the things that transforms this dingy little place from a shoebox apartment into home. The thin spaghetti strap of your faded tie-dyed tank top from your old sorority days hangs limply off of your shoulder, threatening to fall even more when you slump over to the left. The simple drawstring shorts you have on barely cover your legs, but you contemplate tossing them off still because it’s just. So. Damn. Hot.

“It’s hot!” you whine even louder, throwing your arms up in the air before letting them flop down onto the cushions dramatically. The nearby open window only blows in a measly little breeze that does nothing except dry the sweat on your skin for a few glorious seconds before it reappears like a stubborn stain. Your boyfriend only raises an eyebrow at you from his spot on the floor, sprawled out in front of said window and using one of his Nylon magazines as a makeshift fan.

Taeyong agrees, flapping the glossy pages in front of his face desperately. “It’s too hot.”

Two days consisting of barely surviving the power outage creeps into a third, the prospect of having AC again anytime soon becoming extremely bleak. The transformer had completely blown out, and the electric company finally sent out a crew to fix it earlier this morning. The estimated restoration was initially set to noon, but it was pushed back until 3 p.m., then 6 p.m., then 10 p.m., then 5 a.m., and now the big black bolded letters spelling out “undetermined” mocks you from the screen of your phone that's already set to the lowest brightness setting to conserve battery.

To make it worse, your city was suffering a heat wave, temperatures spiking to 105 degrees Fahrenheit every single day and simmering down to 80 during the night before climbing the thermostat again. The raging thunderstorm that plagued last night only resulted in unexpected humidity, making your clothes stick to you like a second skin.

“Make it less hot,” you moan, blowing air upwards towards your forehead in an attempt to cool down in the slightest way possible.

“I can’t control the weather, babe, but I can get you a popsicle?” Taeyong sluggishly pushes himself into a sitting position to face you. The shiny magazine in his hand still flounders around until he gives up on it and tosses it aside.

You turn your head, cheek pressing into the couch cushion, as you squint at him. “We don’t have any left. We took all our food from the fridge to Doyoung’s place. I can’t believe that bastard has a gigantic generator and is flourishing in his stupid air conditioned apartment and making frozen sangrias, while his best friends are about to die from heatstroke.”

You had sent back a rather crass Snapchat back to Doyoung after he sent one earlier of his perfect, Instagram story worthy, iced alcoholic beverage. It’s honestly a miracle that he didn’t toss your beloved brown sugar boba ice cream bars out onto his pristine balcony with picture perfect potted plants to perish. That man can still hold onto a grudge even after he’s on his deathbed and descending into the fiery pits.

Taeyong stands up and slowly ambles towards the refrigerator. “I saved two popsicles in the freezer. I figured it’d stay cold enough and not melt if we ate them soon.”

“Oh my god, that’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever said to me.” You struggle to push yourself up into a sitting position before finally being able to, watching your boyfriend open the freezer and pull out the last two saving graces.

“Do you want blue raspberry or cherry?”

He holds out the two icy sweets in front of you, one in each hand. You already know that he secretly wants the red one; it’s been his favorite ever since he was five and tried his very first one from the ice cream truck that still comes around his parents’ neighborhood. But you also know that he always lets you choose first and wouldn’t complain if you take that one.

You reach out and pluck the blue one from his grasp, and he smiles happily, eyes crinkling in the corners as he eagerly unwraps the cherry flavored one and shoves it in his mouth, tossing the wrapper into the nearby wicker trash basket.

He drops down onto the empty space next to you, reclining back and slouching in his seat. The two of you sit there peacefully, side by side and enjoying the cold snacks, until he wordlessly slides over, pressing the side of his arm and leg against yours.

“Move back,” you complain, shoving him over to his original position. “It’s hot, and you’re making it worse.”

“So are you calling me hot?” Taeyong wriggles his eyebrows at you before taking a bite of his popsicle, much to your horror. He moves closer to you again for the sole sake of annoying you.

“First off, I’m calling you sweaty. Secondly, did you just bite your ice cream?” You throw him a dirty look before moving over and turning to sit with your back against the arm rest, throwing your legs over his lap.

Taeyong slightly pouts at you, munching on yet another chunk of his popsicle and ignoring the way you wrinkle your nose in disdain. “What’s wrong with that? It’s melting, and I don’t want it to drip and get my hand all sticky.”

You can’t believe that you just discovered your boyfriend is a psychopath. He’s going to the same circle of hell as people who pour milk in before cereal and those who hate mint chocolate chip ice cream once he leaves this earth (He can even say hi to Doyoung as he descends to eternal damnation).

“Why didn’t you say anything about this before we started dating?” You are absolutely appalled. Horrified. Disgusted. This is the biggest relationship deal breaker you have ever come across.

“Next, you’re gonna say you hate me because I don’t like pineapple on pizza,” he says as his free hand settles on the top of your thigh, gently tapping rhythmically against it absentmindedly.

“Oh my god, you absolute heathen.” You really thought Taeyong was the perfect man of your dreams, but you unfortunately realize belatedly that even he has flaws. Some inexcusable ones, in fact. 

In the midst of your lamenting, you fail to notice melting sugar slowly trickling down until it leaves a sticky mess all over your hand. Desperately, you toss the empty popsicle stick into the nearby waste basket before licking off the remnants of your icy blue treat from your fingers.

“See? It melted all over you. I told you so,” Taeyong childishly sticks out his tongue as he waves his clean hand and empty popsicle stick around as if to emphasize his point.

“Your tongue’s red,” you say, chuckling slightly, and his eyes widen at this newfound revelation.

“Wait, stick out your tongue,” he demands as he throws away the wooden stick, and you comply with his request. He grins, delighted. “Yours is blue!”

He sticks out his tongue again, almost going cross eyed as he tries to catch a glimpse of his own. At that, your eyes zero in on his cherry stained lips, and an ingenious idea pops up in your mind as the sudden urge to kiss your boyfriend silly makes itself very known.

“Hey, wanna play a game, Yongie?” you ask slyly, and his attention immediately turns to you at the word “game,” interest piqued and eyes fixated on you.

“What kind of game?” he inquires cautiously, taking note of the mischievous glimmer in your eyes. You look like you’re up to no good, and your boyfriend wouldn’t be surprised if you have something up your metaphorical sleeve (Because nobody sane enough would be wearing something with sleeves in this weather from hell. In fact, you’re 66.6% percent certain that those fiery pits are probably cooler compared to here).

“Too hot.”

“Yes, it is,” he acknowledges, shaking his head in agreement, and you laugh, fanning yourself with your hands. “No, silly, I meant the game.” 

“It’s called ‘too hot’?” He raises an eyebrow at you, and you confirm, nodding your head. The expression of skepticism on his face says it all, so you throw in your bargaining chip.

“I hid a chocolate bar in the freezer’s ice chest. The winner can have it.”

His doe eyes immediately light up at the mention of his favorite sweet, and he grabs your hand, squeezing it tightly. “Okay, how do I play?”

“We kiss,” you start, and he’s already pulling you towards him enthusiastically, causing soft laughter to bubble up from your throat, before you swat his hands away. “Hey, hey, hey, I wasn’t done explaining it yet! There’s no touching allowed.”

“That’s no fun,” Taeyong whines, lips jutting out into a tiny pout that you want to kiss away already. “You said this is a game. Games are supposed to be fun.”

“But you’re getting kisses, and it’s already hot so it’s better this way,” you coax, and he relents with a drawn out sigh, and you quietly cheer. “Okay, ready?”

Taeyong gives you a tiny nod, and you grin before leaning in, eyes fluttering close. You gently place your lips against his, and he holds still. But then, a few seconds later, you feel his fingers barely grazing your cheek, and you immediately pull away with a frown.

“Baby, I told you that you can’t touch!”

“That rule is dumb,” he complains, crossing his arms over his chest like a petulant child. You frown at him, pouting until he gives in again because it’s you and he’d cross oceans and climb mountains for you.

“Okay, let’s try again,” he grumbles, glowering as he absentmindedly cards his hand through his hair, and you positively beam at him, and the sulking expression on his face softens almost instantly.

“What if we do baby steps first?” You pull your legs up onto the couch, sitting up on your knees and facing him. He fully turns to look at you, head cocked to one side.

“What do you mean?”

You lean forward and peck his cheek before moving back to your original position. “Like that. Now your turn.”

A lightbulb goes off in his head, and Taeyong leans forward and gingerly places a kiss on your forehead with an endearing smile. You inch forward and kiss his other cheek. He plants a tiny kiss to the tip of your nose, and you lean in to delicately leave a kiss on the corner of his mouth. He presses a kiss to the corner of your lips, and you do the same to the opposite side, much to his utter frustration.

This time, Taeyong chases after you when you pull away. You let out a noise of surprise as he gently tugs you forward, crashing his lips against yours and muffling your laughter, and you find yourself straddling your boyfriend. Your hands wind up tangled in his hair, while his arms lock around your waist and hold you close, game be damned.

You can taste a faint trace of cherry, causing the corners of your mouth to curl into the minutest hint of a smile before you press your mouth against his more firmly as he kisses you back eagerly until you both run out of air, pulling away breathlessly with identical smiles.

“You lost,” you tease, poking his cheek with your finger as your other hand curls around his shirt. He makes a face at you, his hands still resting on your waist, and you find that you don’t mind the warmth of them against your skin even in this ruthlessly blazing weather.

“But you’ll share the chocolate, right?” he mumbles, face still flushed and lips redder than before. He traces soft patterns against your hip as you tilt your head to the side, faking your hesitation.

“Hmm, I don’t know, should I? I won fair and square.”

He sticks his tongue out at you. “Meanie.” 

You laugh, sliding off his lap and onto the empty seat next to him (albeit a little unwillingly, but it’s still hot as hell unfortunately, and conserving body heat together isn’t helping at all). Your boyfriend frowns, mostly because you’re no longer sitting in his lap, but partly because he doesn’t understand why you’re laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

Your grin widens, eyes sparkling like you know something he doesn’t (because you do). “Baby, your tongue’s purple.”

Taeyong turns a shade brighter than his favorite popsicle flavor.

[cliffordchick]

Author’s Note: Wow, it’s been a long time since I’ve done this but here goes. I originally wrote this as a writing exercise with different characters in mind but decided it would be the perfect piece to test out my fic writing skills again. Please be kind but also don’t be shy with the criticism or love. 

“I never imagined myself in a wedding dress,” you say. You study your reflection for a moment in the floor-length mirror before your eyes drift towards Calum. He’s kneeling on the floor in front of you, pushpins balancing dangerously in between his lips. You can tell he’s trying not to look up at you, his eyes trained on the hem he’s working on. You stifle a sigh and push on. “I always thought if I got married, I’d just show up at the courthouse in jeans and a t-shirt. Oh! Maybe a bikini fresh from a dip in a hotel pool!”

The pushpins scatter, flying in all different directions as Calum lets out a hearty laugh. “You’re something else, you know that?” He drops the hem of the gown and runs his now free hands through his hair.

“You’d be so bored without me,” you pipe. 

Bored doesn’t even begin to describe it; he thinks as he steals a glance at you for the first time. He thinks back to the moment he first laid eyes on you, all those years ago. You guys were seven, and you were hanging upside down on the monkey bars, pigtails grazing the wood chip-covered ground in the breeze. He was drawn to you instantly, even when you let out the most menacing, Wicked Witch of the West style laugh.

Calum’s so lost in the memory he doesn’t even have time to process what you’re doing until it’s too late. You’re on your hands and knees, helping him pick up the stray pins. His heart nearly stops when the delicate lace on the bodice catches on the crystal appliqués of the floor-length mirror.

“Would you please just stand there and look pretty,” Calum hisses, shaking his head.

His words may be harsh, but you know there’s nothing but love underneath them. There’s never been anything but love underneath his words. Even that time he told you to “fuck off” when you barged into his dorm room freshman year, moments before he lost his virginity. You shake your head, willing the memory to go back into its box in the deepest, darkest corner of her mind.

You stand, looking down at Calum with a pout forming on her face. The Y/N Pout™ as Calum has come to refer to it as. “Am I not always pretty?”

Calum lets out an exasperated sigh. This is what he gets for asking you to fill in for a bride-to-be who had to cancel her fitting for a “venue emergency.” As if the wedding venue was more important than the wedding dress that cost the same as several month’s worths of rent at his shitty studio apartment.

“You’re gorgeous, Y/N; you don’t need me to tell you that.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t like hearing it,” you say, sticking your tongue out. Truthfully, he’s the only one who has ever called you gorgeous, but you’re not about to tell him that. It’ll just make him blush. And if there’s one thing you can’t resist, it’s a blushing Calum. Instead, you make a big show of getting back onto the pedestal, picking the bottom of the gown up as if you’re an eighteenth-century Princess who has just let the love of her life walk out on her. “How does she expect to dance in this thing?”

Calum reclaims his spot, kneeling in front of you. One hand holding the delicate fabric, the other working a pushpin through it for the seamstress. “She won’t. That’s what the reception dress is for.”

“A reception dress?” you choke out. “But she spent,” you pause, looking at the receipt on the small side table. “$10,000!” You fan yourself and turn around. “Ty, I don’t think I should be wearing this dress.”

Calum grunts in response, pushpins back between his lips. If there’s anyone who should be wearing this dress, it’s you. He quickly shakes the thought away, steadying his hands as he works the pushpin through.

“What kind of monster spends $10,000 on a dress she’s not even going to wear the whole night! I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Don’t you dare,” Calum warns, working the final pushpin through the fabric, securing the hemline. He stands, wiping his hands on his pants before offering you his hand. “Come on queasy, let’s get you out of that dress before you do something stupid.”

“I don’t think anything is stupider than spending $10,000 on a wedding dress,” you say, accepting his hand. You try to ignore the static shock that jolts through your body at the contact. He’s helped you up millions of times, and this should be no different. Before you have time to dwell, you carefully make your way back to the small dressing room.

Calum cleans up as you wrestle with the gown in the dressing room. A thread of profanities falls from your lips before you emerges a moment later in a bright pair of jeans and a polka-dotted sweater. You gently hand the gown to Calum, who gingerly hangs it back up on a rack full of white dresses — none of which sparkle quite like this one.

“I feel human again!” you shout, dancing around the room. “Next time you need a fill-in bride for a fitting, do me a favor and don’t call me.”

It’s Calum’s turn to pout, brown eyes growing three times the size. “But whatever are best friends for if not for trying on ridiculously expensive wedding dresses?”

“Fine,” you say, giving in. “But I expected a proper proposal next time. None of this five am emergency text nonsense.”

Calum grabs your hand and immediately drops to his knees; a playful glint dances across his eyes. You look at him wide-eyed, lips tugging up at the corners. “Y/N Y/L/N, will you be my fake bride from now until eternity?”

You clap your free hand over your mouth. “Oh, Calum,” you say, taking on a British accent for reasons not even she knows. “It would be my honor.”

Calum laughs so hard he loses his balance, sending you both tumbling to the pearly white floor. “What was that accent?” Calum manages to get out between laughs and gasps for air.

“I don’t know!” you shout, eyes brimming with tears from laughter. “It sort of just popped out.”

“Don’t you mean it, popped out?” Calum says, delivering the last part in his own take on a terrible British accent.

You shove him away before quickly pulling him back towards you. You bury your face in the crook of his neck. “I hate you.”

“Hate you too,” he says as his smile spreads across his face revealing a dimple on his cheek.

You stay like that for a moment. A tangled web of limbs, laughing and enjoying each other’s closeness. It’s been a while since you’ve just reveled in each other’s company even though you both live in the same city. Calum’s been busy, working crazy hours to prove himself at Something Blue, the wedding gown boutique that specializes in outrageous, occasionally blue-dyed wedding gowns. And you’ve been holed up in random libraries, working on your dissertation. You do text throughout the day. You send him various gifs of a person jumping off a bridge, and Calum responds with various pictures of glorious diner food items you’d miss if you did it. And you try to FaceTime at least once a week, but it’s not the same as being in each other’s presence. When the two of you are together, it’s almost like you’re two sides of the same person. You complete each other.

Neither of you is ready to pull apart, but your stomach doesn’t get the memo, sending an echoing growl through Something Blue. You move from the crook of Calum’s neck and instead muffle your laughter in his chest. Calum does his best to keep his heartbeat under control.

“Come on. I think I owe you and your Hungry, Hungry Hippo stomach breakfast.”

“Frankie’s breakfast extravaganza?” you ask, pulling away from Calum so you can look up into his eyes. It takes all your might not to reach out and poke the dimple on his cheek.

Calum gasps dramatically, “I’m offended you have to ask!”

Just as quickly as you fell, you’re back on your feet and standing a safe distance away from each other. The loss of contact is immediately felt between both of you but neither wants to admit it, out loud or to yourselves. Calum runs a nervous hand through his hair as his cheek dimple disappears. You tug at your sweater that had ridden up before you turn towards him, smiling again.

“Shall we,” you ask, British accent back in full force.

Calum shakes his head before offering you his arm, “Lead the way, m’lady.”

[haledamage]

I cannot believe I am already writing GreedFall fic, but here we are. The prompt was “An accidental brush of lips followed by a pause and going back for another, on purpose.” but the person it came from has since deactivated their blog so I can’t answer the ask

Kurt/Nadia de Sardet, five years before the game. probably not canon compliant on account of this fic assaulted me and demanded to be written before I’ve even beaten the damn game 😂 doesn’t matter, wrote it anyway

---

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Constantin’s voice rang out over the tavern as he stood up on a chair. “A toast! To my dearest cousin.” He raised his glass in Nadia’s direction, and she rolled her eyes good-naturedly as several others throughout the room did the same. “Happy eighteenth birthday, Nadi. May the next year be full of joy and adventure.”

“With your delightful company, how could it be anything else?” Nadia shouted in reply, and she took a healthy swig from her cup as the rest of the room cheered and joined the toast. She was pretty sure she didn’t know most of them, but Constantin seemed to, and he had the ability to turn anything into a party.

“How many of these toasts is he going to make?” Kurt grumbled into his mug. He stood at Nadia’s side, as he’d done for most of the evening, nursing the same ale and the same scowl he’d had since they arrived.

She draped herself bonelessly over his shoulders, just past the point of drunkenness that it felt both natural and obvious to do so. “Would it kill you to have a little fun for once?”

He carefully peeled her off his shoulders and set her firmly back on her own feet, though he didn't let her go immediately in case the drink put her off-balance. “I have plenty of fun, Green Blood. Just not while I’m on duty.”

“Kurt.” She just put her hand on his shoulder this time, then waited to see if he’d push her away again. He didn’t. She grinned triumphantly. “My dear Kurt, please call me Nadia.” He started to protest, but she persisted before he could. “Just for tonight. Call it a birthday present.”

He gave her a stern look, but she just kept smiling. He couldn’t fool her with that tough mercenary act; they both knew he was terrible at telling her no unless her life was on the line. “As you wish,” he said eventually, failing to hide his smile behind his mug. “If that’s your present, I guess you don’t want the actual gift I got you, then, Nadia.”

That shut her up. Nadia rocked back on her heels to stare at him, dumbfounded. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know.” Kurt reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box, the kind that usually contained jewelry. Nadia stared at it like she’d never seen one before, until he shook it at her insistently. “Take it before I change my mind.”

As she’d suspected, the box held a ring, a fairly simple silver band with a blue stone inlaid and a little filigree around the stone. “Kurt, it’s beautiful.” She lifted it out of the box, and nearly dropped it immediately as a tingle of magic zipped up her arm, the ring letting off a flare of purple and blue sparks. “A divine magic ring?”

“I know it’s not as flashy as that sword your cousin gave you--”

“It's not like I'll be able to hit anything with it, no matter how pretty it is--” she grumbled. Constantin meant well, but sometimes she felt like she barely knew which end of a sword was the pointy one, despite years under Kurt’s strict tutelage.

He spoke over her attempted interruption. “But it’s clear you have a gift for magic, and you should have a weapon that will help you wield it.” He watched as she slipped the ring on, then nodded, apparently satisfied. “It’ll keep you safe.”

She gave him a smile that was probably too close to adoring for comfort; she’d be embarrassed about it when she sobered up. “I have you to keep me safe.”

“Always,” Kurt said gruffly, looking away from her dopey smile and back toward the room at large. “But it never hurts to stack the deck.”

“Thank you, Kurt.” She leaned closer to kiss his cheek, refusing to let him escape her gratitude for what was obviously a carefully thought out gift. At the last second, he shifted, turning toward her as if to say something else.

So instead of his stubbled cheek, she made contact with his scarred - but surprisingly soft - lips.

He froze, and so did she, wearing the same wide-eyed expression as they stared at each other from barely an inch apart. Nadia could feel her heartbeat in her throat, frantic like a frightened rabbit. Was his heart racing too? Was that desire she saw in his eyes, or just wishful thinking on her part?

She slid a hand up to rest on his cheek where her lips had intended to land, feeling the rasp of stubble against her palm and the smooth lines of scars under her fingertips. Kurt still hadn’t pulled away, hadn’t moved at all in fact, and so she did the obvious thing and closed the gap once more.

This was not an accidental brush of lips. The alcohol may be making her bold, but Nadia knew what she was doing and what she wanted, and she tried to convey that as she pressed her mouth to his.

He finally moved, and for a few glorious seconds, Kurt kissed her back, hard and hungry, fervid in a way she hadn’t known he could be, and she tried to meet him with equal enthusiasm.

And then the moment was over, and he jumped away like she’d burned him. “Stop,” he said roughly, breathing harsh and unsteady but otherwise looking unaffected by the sudden unexpected direction their evening had taken. He put his hands on her shoulders as if trying to ward her off. “This isn’t right. We shouldn’t--I shouldn’t--”

“You shouldn’t what?” she asked breathlessly.

“Take advantage.”

“Kurt, I’m not--” She didn’t know how she intended to end that sentence. ‘Not that drunk’ maybe. Or ‘not a child anymore’.

It didn’t matter. He stopped her in her tracks with three words, his voice brooking no argument. “I’m sorry, Nadia.”

His hands dropped from her shoulders like lead weights and he took a couple steps back, keeping his eyes on her as if he expected her to attack. Then he turned and left without another word.

It was then that what she'd done finally caught up with her. She'd kissed Kurt. She'd kissed Kurt. What was she thinking? He was never going to speak to her again. Nadia had just started to feel like she was getting somewhere with him as a friend instead of him seeing her as his student or ward, but that was all out the window now. Nice as it had been, no kiss was worth losing his trust.

Though it had been a very good kiss.

Nadia was rescued from her ruminations as her cousin found his way to her, Constantin draping himself drunkenly over her shoulders like she’d done to Kurt earlier. She made no effort to remove him.

“Kurt left already?” She could hear the pout in his voice, even though his head rested on top of hers and she couldn’t see him.

“Got tired of watching you carouse, I suspect,” Nadia answered automatically, thankful that she sounded every bit as teasing as she intended - though she still stared at the space Kurt had been in just minutes ago.

“Really? I thought I had another hour at least before he grew tired of me.” Constantin sounded surprisingly serious, and for a moment she worried that he’d seen what transpired and was going to start asking questions.

Then the moment passed, and his good cheer was back as he dragged her back toward the party. “No matter. Come on, dear cousin, the night’s still young!”

[another-sonic-blog]

The Fanfictioner Ch.1

Pineapple Pizza

The Fanfictioner

Pineapple Pizza

10K (ShadAmy)

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The moon was above them and although it was a cold night, they didn't care. Sonic got closer to Amy, emeralds eyes shone brightly with love and desire. He caressed her as he softly placed his hands around her face, pulling her closer to him. Amy licked her lips as they begged to be touched by the blue blur. They have fought to be together for a long time and now nothing was stopping them. Finally, they could express and show their love to the world with no restrictions, with complete freedom. Sonic got closer to his lover, their lips just a few centimeters away and then-

"Amy, what are you writing?"

The pink hedgehog slammed shut her laptop as she mentally cursed for not being more delicate. Today was filming day but she promised her followers that she was going to update a new chapter of 'Falling Petals' by tonight. Of course, like the good fanfic writer that she was, she always kept her promises.

Amy shifted her body from the chair to look at the standing blue hedgehog behind her. She tried to hide the panic on her face but it seemed like this picked Sonic's interest even more.

"Um... my shopping list?" That came out more like a question than a statement. Once again, she cursed under her breath because although Sonic wasn't the smartest hedgehog out there, he wasn't dumb either.

"Then why are you acting so ... strange?"

Sonic had the sincerest of interest. He cared for the pink one and her recent actions had just baffled him. Recently, Amy was acting quite strangely. Before Sonic was free to use her laptop whenever he wanted and now, she kept it to herself and hid it as her life depended on it. The blue bur knew that Amy likes to write from time to time but now? Sonic found her writing whenever he visited her at her house. She would be checking her phone constantly and even smiled as she typed on it. The thought had crossed his mind that maybe Amy was 'seeing' someone and the thought alone just made him pay more attention to her.

"Are you sure-"

"Everyone get on ready on set!"

Amy was saved by the show's director once again. She smiled awkwardly at her blue friend as she placed her laptop on her chair. She heard Sonic sigh in defeat and Amy felt a little bit bad that she made her friend and love interest worried. However, she just couldn't go to him and say 'Hey, I know I have been acting strange but it's because I am writing fanfiction of Sonic Boom and I don't want you to think I am weird.'

Amy greeted everyone as she stepped on set. The camera, lighting crew and just every who crossed her path. Of course, her friends were there as well looking as fresh as they could be. They were outdoors and currently they were filming Sonic Boom's most recent and most wanted episode 52 of season 1.

"Hey, guys! Amy greeted her friends, Sticks, Knuckles, and Tails as they waved their hands from right to left, Sonic followed from behind.

Amy's attention was focused on the red echidna who had sleepy eyes. This was very strange because Amy knew that Knuckles was one who appreciated his sleep especially because he always woke up early morning to go workout.

"Hey Knuckles, you alright?" Amy asked. "You look very sleepy.

Knuckles let out a yawn as he stretched his body. "I didn't sleep much I was binge reading this book I found online and-

"WHERE IN CHAOS IS SHADOW THE HEDGEHOG?" The director of the show screamed in desperation as everyone was ready to go but the star of today's episode.

" I still can't believe they hired Shadow the Hedgehog to do this roll." Tails said with a bit of amusement in his voice. "I mean he is the same guy who appeared in Chao in Space 2."

"And in Anti-Vengers the Final Game," Sticks added.

"And in Fast and the Glorious 8," said Knuckles.

"It makes me wonder if Sonic Boom produces that much money for them to pay someone like him," Amy looked from side to side, in hopes that the black hedgehog would appear. She hasn't met him yet and if she was completely honest, she looking forward to his approval.

"He is not that big of a deal," Sonic rolled his eyes in annoyance. "I mean, I was in Chao in Space 2 as well."

"Yeah, as a side character. Shadow was actually the protagonist." Tails was saying this because it was the truth and not to annoy his blue friend. However, it was quite funny to see Sonic jealous over at Shadow the Hedgehog's accomplishments. Tails were lowkey a fanboy of the black hedgehog, although he would never admit that out loud.

"What is all of this fuzz about? I am right here,"

Finally, the hedgehog that everyone was waiting for arrived. He had an energy drink on his right hand and in one gulp he drank all of it. He then turned around to give it to his assistant who quickly took the can away from him. He stepped on the set where the rest of 'Team Sonic' waited to start.

"Mr. Hedgehog, nice to meet you!" Tails said as he extended out his hand, shaking a little due to the excitement. "I am Tails Miles Prower and I-"

"Yeah, I know who you are," Shadow said with a monotone voice.

The yellow fox leaned into Amy's ear and he whispered, 'Did you hear that Amy? He knows me.'

"You are the only one who has ... descent acting skills," Shadow let out mocking laughter as he looked down on the rest of the 'actors.'

Everyone looked at him, offended at his comment. It seems like the rumors that the black hedgehog had a prepotent personality was true.

"Says the one who can only portray edgy characters."

Everyone turned to look at Amy in disbelief. Actually, she had thought of that in her head but in one way or another, it came out of her mouth. The set was filled with silence until Sonic let out a big laugh and wrapped his right arm around Amy's shoulder.

"That was a good one Ames!" Sonic said.

Shadow wasn't expecting that from the pink hedgehog in front of him. Who did she think she was? She was no one compared to the great acting career he has had. Of course, he wasn't going down without a fight.

"My apologies, I don't accept criticism from people who can't even act," Shadow replied.

"Well maybe if you did, you would get a different type of role from time to time," Amy replied.

By now Team Sonic was static. There was so much tension between the two and they had only met two seconds ago. Vermillion eyes met emerald ones and neither one of them wanted to quit the internal battle.

Shadow the Hedgehog had to admit, this was interesting.

"Shadow!" Sonic Boom's director interrupted the moment as he had finally eyed the black hedgehog. "You are late! What were you doing?"

Mia, a brown girl hedgehog, and Shadow's assistant was watching the scene unfold from afar. She watched the director seated on his high chair and to prevent Shadow from getting scolded, she answered on his behalf.

"He didn't get enough sleep yesterday sir-" Mia said loud enough but the director, who was an old and strict monkey, raised his hand and interrupted her.

"I want him to tell him,"

In all honesty, if it wasn't because he was the director, Shadow would have said something offensive. However, the black hedgehog always had a sense of responsibility and respect towards his job and especially to the director.

Shadow sighed and looked up to the director, "I was up all night on my phone ... reading."

"Hey, me too!" Knuckles said in surprise. "I was reading this really good story about our show and-"

"I am sure that whatever you were reading doesn't compare to what I was reading," Shadow interrupted him and rolled his eyes

The director faced palmed himself and loudly he said, "I don't care! Just make sure this doesn't happen again, Mr. Hedgehog."

Shadow couldn't say anything more. It was his first day on set and he almost wanted to leave ... almost.

"Yes, sir."

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The day ended worse than Amy expected. Shadow wasn't only prepotent, he was mean, rude and jerk. He took in every opportunity he had to bully and tease the hell at out of Amy. The black hedgehog mocked her acting, made fun of her lines and bumped into her multiple times.

And today has only been the first day of filming for this month's episode. Good thing that filming only took around two weeks to complete due that the episodes were short. They started every first day of the month. Today was September 1, they will finish on September 14 and they will have the rest of the month free. Thirteen more days to go, thirteen more days that she had to endure Shadow's presence on set.

She was quite disappointed when she found out who the real Shadow was. Just like her friend, Tails, Amy was secretly a fan of the acting he has done in the past. Although his roles were kind of repetitive, his acting was always exceptional. Even today, his acting techniques were really good, she even liked the character he was portraying.

Amy stretched her back as had finally reached the insides of her home. During today's break, she was able to finish the last chapter of 'Falling Petals' and to make it extra special, she wrote a 20 thousand final chapter. This chapter was filled with a lot of drama, romance, and fights which will lead to the second book. She couldn't wait to just upload it to her page so her readers will enjoy and maybe cry a little with her writing.

After showering and changing to her pajamas, Amy comfortably laid on her bed with her computer on her legs. She logged into fanfiction.com where she had already hundredth of comments in her work, reading for her to read. She always made sure to reply to them whenever she had the chance. The pink hedgehog even had created a bond with a couple of people who always commented on her fanfics. She scrolled down the comment section as she replied to them and a familiar username came into her screen.

"I've following your work since I stumbled upon 'The Forest of Dreams: A Love Story' and in all honesty, you are the best fanfiction writer out there. You improved so much and now every story you publish is great and you develop the characters amazingly well. Yesterday, I was re-reading all 30 previous chapters of 'Falling Petals' and I got late to work but it was worth it. I can't wait to read the final chapter tonight."

By: The Fanfictioner

Amy smiled to herself, she was always happy to read comments and it was one of the few things that kept her going through the day. She took a few moments to think about what to write and finally she began to type.

"This means a lot to me. 'The Forest of Dreams: A Love Story' was the first story I wrote and I am really happy you still enjoy it. I appreciate you a lot, I see that you always like and comment on my work. I'll keep working hard for you and my other readers. I hope you like the last chapter of 'Falling Petals' ... Thank you!"

By: A Rose Without Thorns

After she finished typing and hitting 'Enter', our adorable pink hedgie was now ready to publish the last chapter of her latest work. She uploads her writing file from her laptop, publishes it and waits for her reader's reaction. Amy closes her laptop and places it next to her, closing her eyes, the pink hedgehog drifted into sleep.

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"CAN YOU GUYS BELIEVE SONIC LEFT AMY TO GO SAVE THE WORLD?!" Knuckles, who has his bubbly self again was walking right and left on the set. "AFTER EVERYTHING THEY WENT THROUGH, HE LEAVES!"

"Knuckles, I am right here," Sonic said as he read a magazine. It was early morning and 'Team Sonic' was waiting for everyone to arrive. "Also, I am not going anywhere. I have to save enough folks on the island as it is."

"I am not talking about you! I am talking about the Sonic on the story I was reading!" Knuckles replied again. "The writer said that they will publish a second book, so I have hope that they will end up together."

Amy, who was sitting on the actor's small chair circle, was interested in what Knuckles was reading. Especially since it seemed like he read the last chapter of her most recent work.

"Out of curiosity," Amy began. "What were you reading?"

"I read 'Falling Petals' by A Rose Without Thorns in fanxfiction.com," Knuckles replied. "I just love the writer's stories, they are so good!"

Amy hid her evident blush by taking a sip of her coffee.

"What if Knuckles is TheFanfictioner? He did say that he stayed up all night reading and his comment right now sounds a bit similar to the one of last night."

"Wait, fanxfiction.com?" Tails who was quietly drinking tea finally spoke up. "You read fanfiction?"

"I do," Knuckles said, still not seating down on his chair. "We need to support fans that create free content for others and besides ... Some of these writers are way better than the ones we have here."

"That, I do believe," Sticks puts down 'Theories Magazine', the issue of this month was government space theories. She was reading a very interesting story about a project that was created on a space colony and it was shut down due that scientists created a powerful ultimate life form.

"Still, it's lame," Sonic said, still not looking at his friends directly. "I understand your curiosity Knuckles, but I still think it's a bit weird. Especially the writer ... It's so cringy."

"It's not! Look!" Knuckles pulls out his phone and shoved into Sonic's face, making him drop the magazine that he was reading. "Read the first chapter! It's really good!"

The blue bur leaned his head a little, as he tried to catch a glimpse of Knuckle's phone. He read the first lines of the story and a smirk crossed his face. He grabbed Knuckle's phone and stood up from his seat.

"Although I was always pushed away by him, Sonic the Hedgehog was the only one for me." Sonic made his voice sound in a higher pitch, pretending to be the female hedgehog of the story. "His green eyes, his strong form, and heroic personality were some of the things that made me fall in love with him."

Tails and Sticks began to laugh. Even Knuckles who wasn't laughing at the story itself, but at Sonic's overly bad acting, let out a giggle or two.

"See? This is so bad!" Sonic said as he pointed to Knuckles' phone.

The blue one noticed that Amy was awfully quiet, just there, seating on her chair. As to look for her approval, Sonic asked, "Don't you think this is lame Amy? I mean just the fact that you love me is ridiculous enough!"

"Yeah, haha," Amy looked down to the floor, as she tried to hide her evident embarrassment. "It is pathetic."

She had never felt such embarrassment before. The pink one started this because she enjoyed writing and loved to write about the Sonic Boom characters. However, looking at her peer's reaction made her wonder. They were the ones who interpreted the characters and they thought it was lame. Maybe, she wasn't as good of a writer as she thought she was. Doubt filled her mind and before she could say or do anything else, Knuckles jumped to say something.

"You all are just uncultured," Knuckled said as he took his phone away from Sonic's grasp "You guys will never know how deep and life-changing 'Falling Petals' is until you read it-"

"Will everyone just shut up?"

The prince of dark and gloom appeared and to say that he looked bad was an understatement. Shadow the Hedgehog had dark circles under his red eyes. He arched his back and his stance was way too weak. He even looked sick. Shadow walked towards his chair and sat down with a cup of black coffee on his hand.

"Well, did someone forget to read today's script or something?" Sonic said mockingly.

"I had a very emotionally draining experience last night, I don't need your jokes at this moment," The black hedgehog replied. He was wearing a black leather jacket and out of it's right pocket, he pulled out some shades and puts them on.

"It wasn't a joke," said Sonic. "There was a change in plans yesterday and we are supposed to record another scene today, did you read your script?"

At that moment, Shadow thanked Chaos that he was wearing shades because otherwise, everyone would have seen his confused face.

Just like he sat down on his chair, he stood up again.

"I need to talk to my manager."

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It was already 11 in the morning and they still haven't started filming. At this rate, they were just going to lose the day. It was September and the sunlight was running out short. Sonic Team was already eager to start but there was no sign of the director. Even less Shadow.

"Everyone takes one-hour break, come back at 12 P.M." The show director appeared. He had a tired face, one that showed that he was done with his job.

The director came into the circle of actors and approached Amy directly.

"Ms. Rose, I need to speak to you ... Privately," he said as he made a motion to follow him.

"Of course, Mr. Johnson," the pink hedgehog stood from her chair and followed the old monkey. Once again, they were supposed to be filming outdoors. They had closed a small part of Hedgehog Village so they could film. Her friends were on the other side while Amy and Mr. Johnson had already placed themselves behind the camera crew to get some privacy.

"Ms. Rose, I need a favor," Mr. Johnson said. Amy nodded, not expecting that from the director. "I need you to stay here and help Mr. Shadow the Hedgehog finish memorizing his script. I know you are the best at that."

Great, this is just what she needed. To spend her break time with Shadow, the rudest hedgehog she has ever known. She knew that this wasn't really a favor but part of her job and she normally wouldn't have cared. Amy was glad to help her friends memorize their scripts but Shadow? He was far from being her friend.

"I'll do it but, can I ask something?" Amy asked.

"Go ahead."

"Why is he here? Don't get me wrong but Sonic Boom doesn't seem like the type of show that an actor of his caliber would want to do."

The old monkey sighed and placed a hand on his forehead. "To be honest I don't even know either ... He just came in saying that he wanted to play a role in the show. He is charging us half the price he normally charges and this will definitely increase the rating of the show ... I know Shadow doesn't have the best personality but for everyone's sake ... Just be nice to him."

Amy nodded. She knew that Shadow was hard to deal with, but just like the director said, having the black hedgehog on the show will help everyone. More ranting equals more money. Also, there was a small part of Shadow that intrigued Amy. Why would he want to be in this show if he could literally be in anything he wanted? Maybe if she could make him open up a little she can find out.

The pink hedgehog looked back at her friends who were laughing again at her fanfiction as she saw that Sonic was once again holding up Knuckle's phone. Spending time with Shadow didn't seem so bad now.

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It took all the strength in the world to come to terms with herself. Our pink lady was backing out of the previously made decision as she waited outside Shadow's dressing room. She knocked once and she wished for Chaos that whatever Shadow was doing will stop him from opening the door. Amy looked around nervously, it wasn't like she was afraid of the black hedgehog, well maybe just a tiny bit. She was more scared of having to go through an awkward situation or saying something that might cost her head. Incoming steps were heard by the pink one and in a blink of an eye, Shadow was in front of her holding the door open for her to step in. She looked at him with an awkward smile on her face as she made her way in, in a sense, it was her way of greeting him. Yesterday, they didn't have the best of days but maybe Amy could make up for that by helping him. As she made her way in, she realized that his dressing room was way fancier than hers. All black, a bed, a small kitchen, and even a small dining room. For all, she knew this could a small house.

"So," Amy pushed her thoughts away as she sat down on the small dining table. "Today's scene we are going to be introducing your character ... do you know any of the script yet?"

"Not really, I wasn't notified about today's change and I didn't have time yesterday, " Shadow sat down on the chair facing Amy.

"No worries, change in plans happen a lot around here so it's best if you get used to it now," the pink hedgehog kept her eyes glued to the script. "Alright, your dialogue start on page seven so let's go from there. If we can't finish memorizing the script then we can improvise-"

"Why are you helping me?"

The question took Amy by surprise, finally, she looked at the black hedgehog in front of her who had a monotone look on his face. His right hand served as support for his face as it delicately rested on his right cheek. The sunlight coming from the window highlighted Shadow's features and especially his eyes. Vermillion eyes studied her deeply and Amy could see why he was so popular with the ladies.

"To be honest, because they asked me to and ..." Amy sighed as she shook away the thought. "Because a part of me wants to start again with you."

"We didn't have a good start, did we?" Shadow looked outside the window as if he was in deep thought. Three seconds pass in which Amy thought it had been minutes, a very unpleasant feeling ran down her spine. She wanted to end with the awkwardness but Shadow beat her to it.

"There's no way I am going to memorize all 50 pages in one hour," Shadow said as he looked back at the pink hedgehog.

"Then improvise!" Amy replied. "This is your character, create your own dialogue."

"I don't know who this character is! And I am sure not even the writers know," Shadow stood up from the chair and walked towards the small bed that was across the dining table.

Amy looked over at the black hedgehog who was resting comfortably on his bed.

"Then even better! Make it your own!" Amy raised her voice a little. "Look, for what I know your character, 'Shadow', is mysterious and rude but he actually cares for others. He just doesn't know how to properly show it."

Shadow looked over to Amy and with a plain expression he asked, "Meaning?"

Amy stood up from her chair and placed herself in front of the black and red striped hedgehog. She looked at him as she placed her hands on her waist. "Meaning that maybe he had a tragic past, something that explains his personality. It makes him an interesting character ... You can work something from that."

"I don't know, doesn't it sound too-"

Shadow would have never expected what happened next. At one moment, he was laying peacefully on his bed. The next moment, he was still laying peacefully on his bed but the difference was that Amy was on top of him. Her hands were placed on the sides of his head. Her legs were slightly touching his as she had positioned them to each side of his legs.

"You need to stop!" Amy said, her face very close to Shadow's. "You have beaten up my friends! Why are you after us?"

Shadow blinked multiples times. First, nothing made sense but his brain connected the dots. This was similar to the scene he read on the script. Where Sonic pinned him down to the ground after a fight. He was pressured and he only had a few seconds, what should he respond?

"I am not after you nor your friends! I am trying to complete my mission and you are just on the way!"

A few seconds passed in which Amy and Shadow only stared at each other's eyes. Amy was looking at him, surprised that he actually followed along with her plan. And Shadow? Where he was starting to get lost. Lost in the pink one's emerald eyes and for a small fraction of a second, he had forgotten where he was.

"That was good!" Amy said as she made Shadow wake up from his trance. "It's a bit vague but that leaves up to interpretation and further build-up for the story."

The pink hedgehog moved away and took a sit on the edge of Shadow's bed. She didn't think too much about it. However, Shadow couldn't let go of that thought that easily.

"You are a strange one," Shadow said as he sat down on the edge of the bed, next to the pink one. "Last time someone confronted me like that was Rouge and it was a different circumstance."

"Rouge as ..." Amy gulped. " Rouge the Bat? The famous actress?"

"Yeah, do you know her?"

"Of course, I do! She is the best actress of our generation! She is great!" Amy said excitedly. Shadow noticed that Amy's tail was wiggling from side to side, it was something that he would normally make fun of but he had to admit that it is cute on her.

At that moment, Amy remembered that a couple of days ago she was reading a celebrities' magazine. There was a rumor saying that Shadow the Hedgehog and Rouge the Bat were in a secret relationship. She wanted to ask him about it but decided not to since that would be crossing the boundaries. Maybe she would ask ... Later on, if they ever get to be that open with each other.

"Anyways," Amy turned around to look at Shadow, who was once again looking at her with his vermillion eyes. "Should we practice a little more?"

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Filming the scene did not only go great but Shadow got praised from everyone after the shooting. Even Sonic had to admit that he had done a good job and Mr. Johnson went personally to Shadow and thanked him for his commitment to his character. Every time this happened, Shadow looked back at Amy and gave her a small smile to acknowledge her help. He didn't exactly thank her, but Amy knew this was the best thing she could get from him.

More days like this came. In two weeks, Team Sonic had slowly made up their minds that Shadow was going to be sticking around for some time. There was still some conflict from time to time but it wasn't anything that they couldn't handle. The black hedgehog would even 'compliment' the other members once in a while. 'Not half bad', 'Could be better but it wasn't horrible', 'If you are going to say that, at least keep your head up. It will make you look more credible.'

Shadow had slowly made his way into the Sonic Boom family and nobody was complaining. He still had his prepotency and pride, which he would show more often than his soft side. But at least he was trying. Amy Rose didn't care now. He wasn't interfering with her job nor she was interfering with his. They didn't have much communication since she helped him improvise. Maybe just the casual, 'Is there any coffee?' and a 'Yes, it's over there.'

It was the last day of filming and as usual, Amy said goodbye to everyone on set. She won't be seeing them until next month so she made sure she got to say her goodbyes to every last one of them. Finally, her friends were last. She didn't care too much about saying goodbye to them because she knew she will seem them in the next couple of days. Probably when Eggman is attacking or something like that. Strange enough, Eggman never attacked them on filming days, it was as if he knew and didn't want to ruin their day on purpose.

"I say we should go to the beach soon," Knuckles said.

"I am down," Tails said and Sticks nodded in agreement.

"Same," Sonic was then quick to turn around and face Amy who seemed to look at something or rather someone else. In hopes that she will give him some attention, Sonic raised his voice a little. "What about you Ames? Do you want to go to the beach?"

"What about Shadow?"

Amy's response wasn't the answer Sonic was looking for and instead, he proceeded to walk towards the pink hedgehog and placed his arm around her shoulder in hopes to comfort her. "I don't think he is the type to go to the beach."

"Should we at least invite him?" Amy said, still looking away. She was a bit embarrassed that Sonic was doing this more and more often. "I mean just out of courtesy ...It doesn't matter if he says no."

"I guess if you want to you can do that but ..." The blue one faced the direction that Amy was looking at. His green eyes met the black figure and a small hint of jealousy treated to overtake the blue blur seeing that Amy was giving too much attention to Shadow. "You are still coming with us, right?"

The pink hedgehog had finally faced her blue hero and saw a small smile placed on his lips. She returned it and kindly she said, 'Of course!'

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Shadow the Hedgehog was glad that the filming was done. A part of him was enjoying filming for this low-quality show but he still felt relieved that this was over ... for now. He walked outside the set where his beautiful black motorcycle waited for him. Today was going to be a relaxing night. Just him, a glass of wine and re-reading some of his favorite stories.

"Hey, Shadow!"

The black hedgehog recognized that voice, he turned around and met a running pink hedgie running towards him. Almost out of breath as if she had been looking for him everywhere. When she finally reached him, she took a few seconds to get air back into her lungs. Shadow watched every single moment of her and waited until she was ready to speak again.

"This month's episode is coming out next week. To celebrate the launching, my friends and I are going to the beach," Amy looked around, a bit nervous to look at him in the eyes. "I was wondering, I mean, we were wondering if you wanted to join us?"

Alright, this was something he had never experienced before. He was usually invited by other acting peers to go to parties and formal get-togethers where a large group of people were present. However, he had never been invited to such an 'intimate' activity before. Going to the beach? As like playing volleyball together? As building sandcastles? Doing a cookout and eating together after playing in the water?

Was Amy Rose that crazy?

"My apologies," Shadow said. "I am not interested in such things."

Amy mentally sighed in relieve, her job here was done. "It's alright! I won't see you for a while so if you need a friend, hit me up. I am one phone call away."

The rose hedgehog was already making her way out, she walked a few steps away until she felt something small hit her head.

She turned around again to face Shadow who was proudly playing with pebbles on his hand. "You said to hit you up if I need a friend."

Amy didn't know how to react to that. It was clever and even sweet of him. However, Amy didn't know until what extent he meant his words or if he was just saying it to tease her.

But she was about to find out.

"Well," Amy walked towards the black hedgehog, a small smirk decorated her face. She wasn't completely doing this, but she still decided to give it a try. She mounted Shadow's bike and placed her hands on the accelerator and the break. "I can be your friend right now."

It was very interesting, the strange dynamic that the two had. Shadow wasn't even complaining which even surprised him. He didn't let just anyone ride his bike, but if it was the pink hedgehog then maybe he could make an exception.

Her character and persona were just very intriguing to him. She was a simple hedgehog, very plain looking but still, there was something about her that attracted him to her.

"Very well then," Shadow said as he took a sit on his motorcycle. He placed his hands delicately on the pink hedgehog's hip, trying to touch as little as he could. They were close but Amy didn't seem to mind the contact at all. "Where to next?"

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There was a soft aroma that Amy couldn't quite describe yet. It was probably all the natural scents radiating off the jungle. If she was being honest, she didn't quite understand what was going at the moment. It was certainly strange for her to be this close to the hedgehog, more strange because well ... They weren't even friends. Just to strangers taking a ride together. Now that she thinks about it, this scene with Shadow was very ... Unusual. She didn't know much about the black hedgehog besides everything that she read on celebrities' magazines. Of course, they weren't too reliable.

The stars sparkled above them, the air caressed their faces and moved their quills along the dancing wind. Amy's mind drifted towards the dark hedgehog behind her. His hands were softly placed around her waist, trying to touch her as little as possible. It was actions like this that made the pink lady realize that there was more to Shadow.

Where could Amy take such a guy? Shadow was the most popular hedgehog in town and if she was being honest, Amy was sure that he had seen more of the whole island than her. She really didn't think this through, come on Amy ... What was a place that was good enough to surprise Shadow the Hedgehog?

Oh, wait there was a place.

The rosette hedgehog let out a small smile decorate her face. This might turn into an interesting night after all.

A tulip flower field that crossed through miles and miles of grass. All of them planted beautifully according to their color. Although it was dark, the moon provided enough light to differentiate the colors. Amy tried to not look at the dark hedgehog, but something inside of her was looking for his approval. After all, the pink hedgehog really admired the success of Shadow even if he didn't have the best personality.

Shadow's ear moved from side to side as he looked around the field of tulips. His face had a small smile and he moved his body from side to side as he tried to get all the view possible. Amy had to admit that the dark hedgehog being excited was a pleasant view to witness.

"Like what you see?" Amy asked as she approached the actor.

"I have to admit that I have never seen anything like this."

Shadow and Amy began to walk next to each other, following a soil path and the beautiful tulips were next to them.

Dammit ... This is getting awkward again. Why did I think this was a good idea?

There was a heavy silence in which only the crickets and the sound of shoes impacting the soil could be heard. The wind also helped the atmosphere to be less silent as the strong air made the tulips and grass move from one side to the other and they softly touched each other.

"How did you know about this place?"

Just like that, all previous silence was broken, Amy turned her head to look at the black hedgehog and immediately regretted it. The moonlight softly landed on his face enhancing his strong features. His vermillion eyes shone brightly and there was a certain confidence on his face that Amy couldn't quite describe. Wow, was Shadow the Hedgehog an attractive one?

"Well, to be honest, I kinda stumbled upon it," Amy answered as she looked away to make the small blush on her face go away.

"So you are telling me you found this place ... by accident?"

"Yes."

"How?"

Just the thought alone made Amy embarrassed. If she was completely honest, she found the tulip field on one of her many times chasing Sonic. When they were younger, she was a total fangirl. Always chasing the blue blur, but Amy was always left behind by Sonic. In one of those days, she was chasing him and of course, he ran away from her. In an attempt to keep up with him she ended up lost. She walked a lot through the jungle and when it was getting dark desperation began to hit her. Then, she ran at different directions until she finally came across the beautiful tulip field.

But of course, she wasn't about to tell him all that.

"Well to put it simply... I was looking for someone, lost track of them, and ended up here."

"And did you find the one you were looking for?"

It was strange even for Shadow to be this intrigued about someone else's life. He mostly would not talk or just talk the minimum. Nonetheless he saw this as a way to return the favor. She helped him learn how to improvise and in exchange Shadow will listen to her. Although to be honest, he didn't know if that was an equal exchange.

"Mmm ... Not really, but it's alright now. I do seem him daily-"

The rosette hedgehog shut down her lips as soon as the words left her mouth. Before, she wouldn't mind expressing her long history of loving the blue one but now ... Well, it was better to keep that a secret.

"Something tells me, that this has to do with the blue one."

She really thought she was about to have a heart attack. Shadow has been part of the 'team' for a couple of weeks and he already felt something going on between Amy and the blue one.

"Am I that obvious?" She asked almost in a whisper. The awkwardness between them was completely gone now. It was just two hedgehogs walking under the moonlight on a flower field and enjoying each other's company.

"No ... I just guessed, and well, you just confirmed it."

Amy thanked Chaos that it was night time because otherwise, she was sure Shadow would be able to see her intense blush. She also cursed at the God under her breath for making her so gullible.

"Don't tell anyone, Sonic believes I am over him and the rest don't know."

The dark hedgehog let out a small sigh, he looked over at the pink lady next to him. He nodded and reassured her.

"Your secret is safe with me,"

A thought crossed Amy's mind. One of her secrets had just being exposed, she was feeling embarrassed and awkward. The pink one concentrated on the black hedgehog next to her, this time she could tell he was relaxed. He didn't look annoyed nor angry nor gloomy like he usually does. What she was about to do was risky, the whole night could go to waste but as her secret has been exposed, she might as well get something worth knowing out of this.

"Since you know a secret of mine ... don't you think its fair for me to know a secret of yours?" With her peripheral vision, she could see the hedgehog had kept his relaxed face, making her feel more comfortable. "Only if you want to of course."

" ... What do you want to know?"

"I don't know ... Do you like pineapple on pizza?"

Amy kept walking but to her surprise, Shadow had stopped doing so. She turned around and faced the black hedgehog who was a few feet away from her. While she had a stern look on her face, Shadow had placed a hand on top of his mouth. However, his other actions could not lie. His eyes were closed and his ears were trembling a little. His body was shaking as he placed a hand on his stomach. Soft attempts of trying to suppress the air from coming out of his mouth couldn't be contained and delicate sounds were created.

Amy couldn't believe it... Did she just make Shadow the Hedgehog laugh?

"Are you laughing?"

At her question, the dark hedgehog made a small turn and completely gave his back to Amy, trying to hide his evident humor.

"No," he responded but small giggles were still coming out of his mouth no matter how much he tried to suppress them.

"That was a serious question Shadow! Do you like pineapple on pizza?

Amy's serious voice was the breaking point Shadow needed to let go. This time he was full out laughing, his voice echoed through the field of tulips and it was moments like this that Amy appreciated.

A few seconds passed and Shadow was finally able to control himself. When he turned around to face the pink hedgehog, he noticed a cocky smile on her face. Shadow blames himself and Chaos for letting him act so 'out of character' for him.

"So, are you going to answer my question?" Amy asked once again as Shadow walked past her, gaining his proponent posture back.

"Out of all the questions you could have asked ... You decide to ask me if I like pineapple on pizza?" Shadow watched the pink hedgehog take small running steps to catch up with him.

"Well, do you want me to ask more personal things? What about the rumors that you and Rouge the Bat are dating?" When the question left Amy's mouth, Shadow's face turned to one of nervousness.

"Why would you want to know that?"

"Rouge the Bat is my favorite actress, she is so beautiful and smart ...I just want to know if it's true .. I don't see her dating someone like you." Amy made eye contact with Shadow and a part of him felt strange because the pink one hasn't been this straight forward with him before.

"Wait ... What is that supposed to mean?"

There was a certain tone to his voice that made him sound offended and the pink one immediately panicked. She just didn't want to ruin the good moment she was having with the actor.

"Nothing! I mean, you are very attractive and all but-" Amy felt her muzzle get hotter by the second, especially when Shadow had a smirk plastered on his face. "I mean it's just that you seem to be very ... um, quiet and Rouge is very flamboyant, to say the least."

A few seconds passed in which Amy waited for the red striped one to say something or make any type of movement. However, nothing happened and our pink lady decided to break the silence once again.

"But of course you don't have to answer that, I prefer if you tell me whether you like pineapple on your pizza or not," Amy said.

"Is that information important to you?" Shadow asked. He looked at the pink one waiting for anything that indicated that she had changed her mind on the question.

"Well, I need to see if you are trustworthy."

"And the toppings I put on my pizza decide whether or not I am worthy of your trust?"

"Of course."

Just like the situation was strange for Amy, it was for Shadow as well. He had personally known Amy for a few weeks in which they had only talked a few times for no longer than 10 minutes. Now they were talking, walking together and sharing 'secrets'. Shadow had now realized that it was true about it being easier to talk about yourself to strangers. What was even more bizarre for the black hedgehog was that even when it came to meet other actors or strangers, they seemed to talk to him out of courtesy ... but Amy? She was genuine about getting to know him.

Maybe that was why he tended to let his guard down around her.

"To be honest, I don't know," Shadow began, "I've never had pineapple in pizza, so I don't know if I like it or not."

"Oh, then next time I'll take you to the best pizza place in the village!" Amy excitedly said as the previous embarrassment was totally gone by now.

"Next time? Who says there would be a next time?" Taking his previous proponent attitude back, Shadow rolled his eyes in annoyance, clearly wanting to anger the pink one.

"Well, I am sorry Mr. Doom and Gloom! I thought you were enjoying my company. We can just go home now if you want." Amy made a turn, showing her determination to just go back home. It was intended to follow Shadow's attempt to tease her and not meant to be taken seriously. However, it seemed like the black hedgehog did think otherwise.

"Come on Amy, if I didn't like you I wouldn't be here."

The sentence made Amy's heart skip a beat. After all, anyone would feel embarrassed if a boy as attractive as Shadow said those kinds of things naturally. It wasn't like she liked him in that sense it was mostly because she made a small realization.

"That line could work great for the fanfiction I am working on ... Thank you, Shadow!"

"Well, that's nice to hear," Amy said, trying to get the most out of the conversation. This could lead to some very good dialogue scenes. "And don't worry, I was playing with you, I like you too Shadow!"

Amy was waiting for the dark hedgehog to say something but instead, a puzzled look stayed on his face. He didn't say anything but the only thing that happened was that vermillion eyes met with emeralds ones. The dark hedgehog was in a trance, in disbelief and so, Amy questioned him one more time.

"Are you alright?"

"Uh? Yes, my apologies."

Shadow quickly turned around and began to walk once again on the soil path. He looked at the flowers from side to side and then at the moon in the dark sky.

He turned around again and faced Amy on the distance. She had a worried look but soft and gentle at the same time. Her face shone brightly and her emerald eyes were more beautiful than any Chaos Emerald Shadow has ever seen. Indeed, Amy was beautiful even when Shadow did not see her with romantic eyes.

Or so he thought.

Without him knowing, Shadow let out a small smile decorate his face.

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Amy had taken him to see other places. They were simple but Amy's small talk really made it memorable.

That night ended without any problems. Nothing else was said as they only enjoyed each other's company in silence during the motorcycle ride. Amy took Shadow across the island to see things he had never seen before. The moon provided enough light for them to fully appreciate the beauty of the forests, beaches, and even small villages. Amy let out a small smile whenever Shadow got excited about the smallest things. Did he see a pretty flower? His ears would move excitedly. Did he see a pretty view? Again his ears. Did he like the moon and stars? Ears. He was very expressive with them and Amy was found of such a cute act.

When their time as running out, Amy drove to her house. She thanked Shadow for the night and a sense of her told her that Shadow didn't want to say goodbye just yet.

She climbed out of the motorcycle and watched Shadow take her previous seat. The pink hedgehog was ready to enter her house but before, she had to properly say goodbye to those vermillion eyes.

"I'll see you next month Shadow," Amy said as she kept eye contact with the black one. "I hope you enjoy this month's chapter."

"Chapter?"

Holy shit.

"Episode! I meant to say, I hope you enjoy this month's episode!"

Amy cursed mentally at the fanfiction writer inside of her who was so used to saying 'I hope you enjoy this chapter.'

"I will ... I believe," Shadow replied.

"Well, you are a great actor," Amy said quickly. "Whatever you are on it, I am sure it will be great."

Her words weren't meant to come out of her mouth so easily. She said them so naturally that it caught her and Shadow in surprise. The pink hedgehog looked around nervously as she tried to hide the evident blush on her face. Amy wanted to disappear, to get inside her house, and just start writing the new fanfiction she had in mind.

A few seconds in which no one said a word until Shadow decided to break the silence.

"It will be great ..." Shadow said as he turned on his bike again, ready to leave. "Because you helped me along the way."

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The next day, Amy was happy to have some time for herself. She concentrated on writing today. The pink one had different ideas she would like to explore for her new story. Although she didn't have a title just yet. She had been thinking about writing a Sonic Boom alternative universe story in which everyone was part of a Resistance and they had to fight the forces of evil aka Eggman.

The rosette hedgehog, who was still on her pajamas, was laying on the sofa. Laptop on top of her, and a bag of chips next to her and the television on. She was writing peacefully until a 'ring' sound came from her computer. It was a notification from fanxfiction.com.

She didn't think twice about checking out the notification.

It was a comment from one of her loyal followers, 'The Fanfictioner.'

" After I got home yesterday I couldn't sleep and decided to re-read 'Falling Petals' I can't believe just how good this is! The characters are well written and the romance is well developed. Although I don't like Sonic's character much especially how he treats Amy at the beginning ... but overall it's amazing!"

The comment caught Amy by surprise. She had never gotten a comment before saying that they didn't like Sonic's character. The pink one wanted to know more about the opinion of her reader. She began to type:

"Thank you for the lovely comment! However, I would like to know why don't you like Sonic's character?"

The pink one-clicked enter and she thought that it will take hours for The Fanfictioner to respond. However, as to prove her wrong, the anonymous reader responded within a minute.

"Sonic was kind of a jerk to Amy at the beginning and even after he confessed to her, he treated her badly just because he is shy. I think if Sonic was truly in love then he wouldn't hurt her so much as he did. At least if I had someone I liked, I would never hurt them by avoiding them and leaving."

Wow, Amy was impressed. She had never thought about it that way. Amy had to admit that although her work was praised, she knew that she lacked in the romance department. Especially because she had never experienced it. Well, she does love someone and knows the feeling of it very well ... but her feelings had never been corresponded.

An idea popped in her mind.

"I had never seen it that way ... Actually, would you tell me more about your opinion about the characters and story?"

Once again after replying to the comment, it didn't take long to hear a reply.

"Sure, I would be delighted to talk to a talented writer like yourself. Do you have a Xiscord?"

She smiled to herself as she read the comment. It was nice to have someone who appreciated her work and without a second thought she began to type:

"Yes, I do, ARoseWithoutTorns#0923. Please add me."

Amy thought she would get some feedback from 'The Fanfictioner' and that would be it. However, it turned out to be more than that. Yes, there was great feedback but they also talked about themselves. It was strange for Amy because although she had talked to her readers before, it had never been to this extent. They talked about their hobbies, their daily lives, and things of interest. They texted and texted each other and the pink one couldn't think of anything else but to be happy that she had made a new friend.

TheFanfictioner#0619: I am so bored at home, I wish I could take a ride on my bike, too bad it's raining.

Amy had been so engrossed in their conversation that she didn't realize that it was raining outside.

ARoseWithoutTorns#0923: What a coincidence, it's raining where I live too! To be honest with you the first time I rode a bike was yesterday.

TheFanfictioner#0619: Really? How did that go?

ARoseWithoutTorns#0923: Yes. I actually learned right there and then. I am pretty sure the guy I went with didn't realize that was my first time driving a bike.

Amy mentally laughed, yesterday was her first time driving a bike and she learned from the few times she saw Shadow driving it. She knew that Shadow would have never let her drive his bike if he knew that Amy didn't know how to drive. Therefore, she had to look confident enough so Shadow wouldn't doubt her skills. She was actually proud of her acting because Shadow seemed to not know that she was a first-time driver.

TheFanfictioner#0619: Well, your friend must be an idiot, its easy to know when it's a person's first time driving a bike.

ARoseWithoutTorns#0923: Well, he can be an idiot. He is rude but he can be nice ... Sometimes.

Amy's mind diverted to Shadow. He was indeed a very interesting hedgehog. And very unlike anyone she had known before. He was mysterious, quiet, and wasn't afraid to speak up his mind even when he seemed extremely rude. That's what she had gotten from him and the few times she had talked to the black hedgehog.

TheFanfictioner#0619: Maybe he is rude because he likes you. He doesn't want to be rude but he is unconsciously rude because he doesn't know how to deal with his feelings.

ARoseWithoutTorns#0923: Hahaha I doubt it! I think he likes someone else ... Besides, I have feelings for someone else as well.

The pink one made a disgusted face at the thought of Shadow having those kinds feelings towards her. Definitely, Shadow wasn't her type and she was sure that she wasn't Shadow's type either. The only thing that could happen between them besides a co-worker relationship was a friendship and that Amy didn't mind at all.

TheFanfictioner#0619: Well, that guy must be very lucky.

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This month's episode of Sonic Boom wasn't great ... It was fantastic. People were just loving the introduction of Shadow the Hedgehog into the story. After a few hours of being aired, people were already talking about it their social media and other types of platforms. Amy even had to admit that if it wasn't because she was already in love with the blue bur, she might have been a Shadow fangirl. He acted amazingly and he made his character relatable which was very hard to compel.

Right now, the pink hedgehog was comfortably sitting on her sofa, as the TV was on and she was scrolling to her fanfiction web page. Tomorrow she was going to the beach with her friends and maybe she could take her laptop with her to finish some writing.

An idea crossed her mind and to celebrate the brand-new episode of Sonic Boom, she decided to open up prompt requests.

She began to type on her laptop.

"Sonic Boom's new episode was really good, wasn't it? To celebrate today's episode, I'll be opening up prompt requests! Send it right away and I'll answer you as soon as I can!"

By: A Rose Without Thorns

The pink hedgehog clicked 'Enter' and soon after she began to receive multiple notifications. She opened one from a username she clearly recognized. This person was a loyal follower of hers and it was now her personal goal to give them the best story they could ever ask for.

However, her heart skipped a beat when she read the prompt request.

"As I watched this recent Sonic Boom episode, I realized that Shadow and Amy's characters have great potential to develop a relationship. Can I request a story where Shadow and Amy fall in love? Thank you."

By: The Fanfictioner

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A/N: Finally, 'The Fanfictioner' is here. I am super excited to continue writing this story, it's been a while since I have worked on a series like this. The chapters would take around a month or so to come out, not sure. But they will be long chapters ... So I hope you enjoy each and one of them! Thank you for reading! This story is going to have a little bit about everything. Romance, mystery, comedy and drama. 

I want to thank @redsunlight for the amazing artwork, please everyone check out her tumblr! Once again, thank you so much! I also want to thank @mysuperlaserpiss​, @nothing-fancy94​ and @justasadcloudpassing​ because they are just lovely people!

Ps. My other story "By Accident" will be uploaded soon too with a new chapter :)

Prologue: https://another-sonic-blog.tumblr.com/post/621393124729683968/the-fanfictioner

Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/user/PeachesAndReams

[kazuharem]

“Promises of Forever” ↠ Lucien x MC [SMUT]

AO3 Link: here 

Pairing: Lucien x Female MC

Part I of the “Forgive and Forget” Series. This is “Forgive”

Part II: here

Warnings: Contains plots from chapter 13 and 16 -> basically the plot of Lucien’s Rainy Night Date

Description: Lucien’s POV from “Rainy Night Date” + lovemaking

Word Count: 10,660 (oops)

Genre: Angst, Smut

Summary: “When the daylight comes, I'll have to go. But tonight I'm gonna hold you so close"

Author’s Note: I started playing this game back in March, missed out on this karma, and is very bitter/frustrated by that fact. I don’t think I’ve ever fallen so hard for a 2D man, but here I am. I wrote this fic because there weren’t enough discussion about this date, which I think showcases Lucien’s true feelings. Especially when he gives the paper crane back to the MC. My horny ass just decided to throw some lovemaking into this scene. Ending is inspired by the lyrics of Maroon 5′s “Daylight.” Every line that I took from the actual date/plot will have * in front of it. I hope you guys enjoy it. ALSO LUCIEN DESERVES ALL THE HAPPINESS IN THE WORLD. I SAID MY PIECE. 

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

Here I am staring at your perfection In my arms, so beautiful The sky is getting bright, the stars are burning out Somebody slow it down This is way too hard 'Cause I know, when the sun comes up I will leave, this is my last glance That will soon be memory

And when the daylight comes I'll have to go But tonight I'm gonna hold you so close 'Cause in the daylight we'll be on our own But tonight I need to hold you so close Ooh whoa, ooh whoa, ooh whoa Ooh whoa, ooh whoa, ooh whoa

I never wanted to stop Because I don't wanna start all over, start all over I was afraid of the dark But now it's all that I want, all that I want, all that I want

How did it come to this, Lucien asked himself as he pressed himself to the side of her building, watching as reporters rushed at her, like piranhas after the scent of blood.

*“Producer! What’s your answer on your program’s ex-consultant’s remarks at the press conference?” One shoved a mic into her face. Lucien winced, but held himself back from going to her rescue. His appearance would only make the situation worse.

*“We heard that you and Professor Lucien are not only co-workers, but also neighbors. Anything to share about him?” Another reporter jogged next to her.

“Yeah, aren’t you two neighbors? So you must be close!” The crowd clamored around her, and Lucien clenched his fists.

*“We heard that you two are inseparable. Could you please…” The reporter’s voice asked eagerly, and her eyes squeezed shut.

He watched as her lips pressed into thin, white lines. “I’m sorry, I’m just trying to get to work. Can you please stop asking me these questions?” She finally said softly, with an undercurrent of hurt, thinly veiled, but Lucien heard her all the same. The world seemed so dreary despite the colors, and Lucien knew it was because of her mood.

The poor security guards struggled, trying to clear a path for her so she can enter the building. Kiki and Anna appeared, extending a hand towards her, and pulled her to safety within the glass doors of her company. The world faded into shades of monochrome once more and it was then that Lucien exhaled a quiet sigh of relief.

How did it come to this indeed?

It was supposed to be a simple task, a mission he could’ve accomplished with a flick of a hand. It was supposed to be easy. She was incredibly innocent and quick to trust; all he had to do was show her a little bit of kindness. And yet, Lucien found himself bewitched by her, getting his eye sliced open to prove to Black Swan that he was still on their side. That had been nothing more than a mere inconvenience for him. And yet, when the grunts had attempted to capture her, he failed to accomplish that simple of a task and instead, had let her escape. Lucien recalled the look in her eyes as she bravely held the pen-the very one he had endearingly given to her-to her neck and crimson blood leaked from her neck. That look had destroyed him. Only she was capable of such a thing. If she asked for Lucien’s heart, Lucien would’ve willingly torn it out and present it to her on a silver platter. Except for the fact, Lucien’s lips flitted into a wry smirk, he had no heart. His heart had belonged to her the moment she showed him the true brilliance of the world, the indescribable colors that had changed and wreaked havoc on everything he once knew. And Lucien had willingly allowed her to do so. Black Swan may have saved his life, but this woman, this woman who had entered his life in an explosion of colors, this woman had saved his soul. And in that sense, she had saved his life as well.

Falling in love with her wasn’t supposed to be part of the plan. Those who knew him, knew him to be ruthless, emotionally detached, and ever-so-cold. But from the moment his world exploded into a vibrant myriad of colors, he was hooked. He had found himself wanting to see her every moment of the day, a message or call from her would allow a fond smile to spring up unbidden. Lucien remembered the poisonous jealousy he had felt when he attended one of her company dinners and her coworkers had asked her who was the most important person in her life. A little drunk and giving in to the green-eyed monster, he had confronted her only for her to tell him that it was him. The relief he had felt at that moment was ridiculous, like a tsunami of emotions flooding his entire system. He remembered gritting his teeth and clenching his fists at the sight of the officer who had shyly given her that ginkgo bracelet. He remembered the utter panic he felt when he found out she was in the hospital because of a stupid trick Black Swan had attempted to pull off and later, he remembered feeling the stifling frustration when the LFG CEO had barred anyone from seeing her. And Lucien remembered trying to focus on his research but hearing the idol singer’s bright voice float through the thin walls.

“Miss Chips! I brought the newest video game! Play with me!”

He had hoped she would refuse, but to his surprise, she had readily agreed. And he had tried so hard to ignore the sounds of happy entertainment before giving up and angrily leaving his apartment. That had been the moment he had realized that, that simple, oh-so-easy plan was not so easy after all.

How? How could it have happened this way?

When did he start feeling these irritating emotions that made his chest clench so painfully?

Was it when he took her to the New Light Library to help her with materials for the show and he had blurted out, *“Will you teach me how to love?”

Or was it when he had gifted her that gardenia and they had decided to take care of it together?

Or maybe it was when he had taken her to a firefly exhibition and she had defended the poor firefly struggling weakly to survive, saying that all life should be respected?

Was it when they went to the aquarium together and he had warned her, but she had refused?

Maybe it was when he had to go to Denmark, and she had followed him, getting sick in the process but had clung so desperately to him?

Was it because she had been the only one who had cared about him, about his birthday, and worried so excessively over his happiness?

Lucien had tried so hard to push her away, but every time she would come back, worrying when he got sick, calling when he didn’t respond to her messages. He had lived his entire life knowing only the cold shades of black and white. But with her, he was able to see the glorious pastels of a rainbow after a storm, the vibrant reds of the Canadian maple forest, the cerulean blue of the sea, the brilliant golden flashes of fireworks, and the warm orange flickering of the lotus lantern they had sent down the river together. She had been the one who had turned his birthday, which had been countless anniversaries that reminded him of the tragic events from his childhood, to something he actually wanted to look forward to every year.

He didn’t know the answers to these questions, but when Hades had tried to capture her for his foolish RESET plan on the day of his press conference, Lucien realized that for the first time in his life, he felt fear. Fear of losing her. Fear of her being in pain. Fear that someone saw the dazzling purity of hers and tried to use it for dark and polluted gains. For the first time in his life, Lucien had something to lose. Something so infinitely precious to him that it was more important than his own life. And yet, this woman had been hurt by his own hand.

Pain was not a foreign concept to Lucien. Being in Black Swan, it was readily available. He had utilized it upon his enemies, upon those who had cast doubt on him, and upon himself. But none of it could compare to the pain he had felt all those sleepless nights hearing the broken sobs of the woman he had hurt so deeply. For the first time, Lucien truly understood what a deadly weapon pain could be.

And now…

Lucien looked at the still clamoring crowd of reporters lurking around the entrance of her building and clenched his fists. Because of him, her life was upturned once more.

He had been keeping a close eye on her after he brought her from Hades’ dreamworld, fearing that Hades would discover the way out and go after her again. His hunches were right after discovering Hades’ minions lurking about her apartment community. He had disposed of them quietly, of course, but the reporters were a different story. Lucien knew she had been working late nights just to avoid the reporters.

Which was why Lucien was now sitting in his car, in the parking lot of her building, waiting for her to get off work.

Fool, a voice whispered inside his head, but he ignored it. He was currently the only one who could possibly protect her. As jealous as he had been with Gavin, Victor, and Kiro, he appreciated the fact that all three of them had protected her. But now, Gavin had gone somewhere, Victor’s whereabouts were unknown and couldn’t be reached, and he didn’t know what Helios was planning after abandoning his image as Kiro.

The dull gray lights suddenly morphed into a muted yellow and Lucien looked up. She had appeared at last.

He got out of the car silently and walked towards her. She checked her phone and let out an exhausted sigh, rotating her shoulders.

Show no emotion, Lucien reminded himself. He grabbed her arm and pushed her into his car before she even had a chance to react.

“AH!” She exclaimed in surprise, preparing herself to fight.

*“It’s me,” Lucien spoke softly to prevent her from struggling. She froze the moment she heard his voice and turned, wide-eyed, to look at him. Lucien forced himself to look straight ahead. “Fasten your seatbelt,” he commanded quietly, before starting the car.

She gritted her teeth, *“Why do I have to go with you? Where are you taking me?” She demanded.

Lucien clenched the steering wheel. Hearing her voice-albeit angry-reminded him that she was alive and breathing. And sitting next to him. *“To your place,” he answered her question passively, trying not to give light to the murky emotions that swirled within him.

She fell silent and he drove on. The way home never seemed so long, and the traffic lights were not helping, stopping them at every intersection. But Lucien was secretly glad; the longer he spent with her, the more content he felt. Even though she was still angry at him, Lucien cherished the time spent with her.

He could sense her eyes watching him, questions as clear as day on her face. When he couldn’t take the stare any longer, he met her gaze through the mirror. As if struck by a live wire, she immediately dropped her eyes. Lucien noticed how her fingers clenched white against the seatbelt and he gripped the steering wheel to prevent himself from doing something he shouldn’t (like grabbing her hand and smoothing out her tension). He hated himself for causing these reactions in her.

*“I came out to tell you not to go out for a while, unless you have to,” Lucien broke the silence quietly, his voice slightly hoarse. The reporters should stop bothering her after a few days.

Her eyes flitted to him in surprise, *“But I need to go to work! Don’t worry, I won’t tell the reporters anything,” she added hastily.

Silly girl, he mused silently, you misinterpret my intentions yet again.

*“Do you think I came all this way just because I was worried you might blab to the reporters?” Lucien asked aloud, pressing his lips together thinly.

She lowered her eyes, ashamed, and they fell in silence once more.

Nothing more than acquaintances, Lucien thought to himself bitterly. There used to never be awkward gaps of silence between them, but now silence permeated every possible space between them. She was only sitting next to him, but she felt oceans away. It was clear that she felt uncomfortable, with the way she was twisting her body away from him. And it was all his fault, Lucien supposed, getting stopped by a traffic light yet again. Her finding out who he was, however, was inevitable. And in that sense, Lucien thought that she should know earlier before she had completely given her heart to him. That way, she could still keep a bit of herself intact.

After stopping at the last traffic light before her apartment community, Lucien broke the silence once more, *“Anyway, don’t get caught up in any unnecessary danger,” he reminded her again.

*“You as well!” She piped up immediately and Lucien felt his heart clench.

Still worrying about me, my little fool. Worry about yourself first.

Instead, Lucien grated out a laugh, *“Who do you think can hurt me?

How ironic, Lucien sneered at himself, the only person who could ever hurt him was sitting right next to him.

They had finally reached the gate and Lucien rolled down his window so he could greet the security guard. *“Hello,” he said politely, smiling warmly.

The security guard’s eyes widened when he realized it was Lucien.  *“Professor Lucien, worked late today? It’s been a while since I saw you!”

*“Yes,” Lucien replied evenly, “I’m dropping her off at home.”

*“Haha, you are still so close!” The security guard teased, and Lucien saw her look away hurriedly, fingers clenching on her seatbelt again. Lucien nodded, still smiling as he drove away. His smile faded when they had reached the entrance of her apartment building.

They had arrived at last. It was time to say goodbye once again.

Lucien reminded her again without looking at her, *“Keep in mind everything I have told you tonight.”

She huffed at him, *“I know what I’m doing,” and opened the door in her haste.

Lucien reached over and she stiffened immediately. She tried to push him away, but Lucien held her wrists.

*“Let go of me!” She glared fiercely at him and Lucien’s chest tightened in response.

*“Are you that afraid of me?” Lucien whispered. She stopped struggling at those words and stilled. It was then that he realized belatedly that he had said his thoughts aloud. Lucien looked away, unfastened her seatbelt, and leaned away from her when he was done. *“You forgot to unfasten your seatbelt,” he informed her quietly, internally struggling to keep his emotions down.

*“…Thanks,” she said grudgingly and got out of the car. She took only two steps and turned around.

*Lucien rolled down the car window slowly, “What is it? Did you forget something?”

*He couldn’t read her expression as she shook her head. “You, not me,” she exhaled and continued. “All those things you left in my apartment; I’ve packed them up. Wait here, I’ll bring them down.”

*“Are they heavy?” Lucien managed to ask. This entire scene was funny as if they were going through a breakup, but Lucien didn’t laugh, couldn’t laugh.

*“No. I can manage by myself,” she replied curtly, placing heavy emphasis on “by myself.”

Lucien pressed his lips together and watched as she walked away, away from him, just like she did the day she found out who he really was. And then again on the day of the press conference. 

Did my little butterfly already fly away?

He had no time to linger on his thoughts, however, as he soon noticed two men in black seemingly appear from darkness and look up in the direction of her balcony. He cursed under his breath. Hades. They were probably there to observe her movements and report them to Hades. He shouldn’t be seen by them, otherwise Black Swan will know of his betrayal. And she must not come out at this moment. Scowling, Lucien pulled out his phone.

*<Rest early. Just mail it to this address.>

After sending the message, he started his car and took note of how there were two additional men in black tactical gear near the entrance of her apartment. Hmm STF, he thought to himself. Interesting. He drove off, circling behind another apartment complex as to not draw attention to himself. It was late, she should rest anyway, given how exhausted she had looked when Lucien had picked her up. And she seemed to be well protected for now. He knew Hades’ men wouldn’t try anything with STF agents around. For now, it was safer for her that he left. And he needed to figure out how to deal with Hades.

Two days later, a package arrived for him, but he had no time to open it due to all the work he had. He sent her a simple, “Thanks,” but he had gotten no response from her. Lucien had checked up on her occasionally; but after a few days, as he had guessed, the reporters stopped bothering her as the city slowly dissolved into mild panic over how the virus had developed. His worry about her safety decreased when he had noticed that she had STF agents following her, but that didn’t extinguish the longing inside of his heart.

The days slowly morphed into weeks and Lucien had been quite busy. Hades had not made things easy for him, but Lucien didn’t mind the workload. Every step he made in his progress was a step towards her happiness, her safety.

After working straight for twelve hours, he stood up and stretched. On his way to the kitchen, he accidentally kicked the box she had sent up. He looked at the box for a moment before making the decision to open it. He peeled the tape that bound the box shut and the box revealed its contents. With growing despair, Lucien glanced at the variety of books and movies that he had lent the girl. Each title brought a special memory. The last things in the box were paper cranes strung up in long lines, cushioning the books and DVDs. He touched the cranes tenderly, smiling as he recalled the day she had taught him how to fold these cranes. He had pretended to be bad at the task, causing her to huff at him.

*"Seriously, are you pretending not to know how?” The girl frowned at him as she watched his fingers fumble with the piece of paper.

*"No one has ever taught me this before,” Lucien admitted sheepishly.

She straightened her shoulders proudly, *"Well, better late than never! This teacher has full confidence in your talent!”

Lucien smiled at her confidence. *"In that case, I will await your instructions.”

Under her careful tutelage, they had made many paper cranes that afternoon. *Lucien fondly unfolded each of the cranes carefully, remembering that she had written a wish inside one of the paper cranes. She had whispered it while writing it down and he had overheard it, pretending he didn’t.

It was a wish about them.

*Does that wish mean nothing to her anymore?

Lucien sighed and refolded the cranes. Perhaps he should be thinking like her, letting the past dwell in the past, he mused sadly. But despite his thoughts, he found himself hanging the strings of cranes up.

*The light outside the window shone down upon the cranes and the raindrops outlined the gray and dusty memory. The pouring rain couldn’t wet these cranes, but somehow, one of them had faint blots on its wing. He reached out and gently held it in his hands. It was the crane in which she had written her wish. Lucien swallowed, trying to keep the choking emotions from surfacing.

*“I wish Lucien and I forever…”

The rest of her wish was blurred by tearstains. But Lucien knew the rest. It was the same as his. Every single time she made a wish-be it on the candles of his birthday cake, or the glowing lantern, or this simple crane-all her wishes had aligned with those of Lucien’s.

Lucien caressed the crane, *when he suddenly saw a dazzling figure in a cream-colored dress in the midst of the gray rain. His eyes widened. She had appeared like a mirage, the manifestation of his thoughts and longings.

*Lucien frowned, Silly…How did you end up here?

Without a second thought, he *grabbed an umbrella by the door and hurried out into the pouring rain. The clattering rain drowned his accelerating heartbeat.

*Lub-dub, lub-dub...

So engrossed was she in her task, that she didn’t see Lucien approaching her. He held the umbrella over her, and she looked up in surprise.

*“Why have you come looking for me?” Lucien tried hard to quash the happiness in his voice. She didn’t respond and continued to stare wide-eyed at him. Lucien spoke up again, *“Why didn’t you call ahead?”

*“I…” her eyes skipped from his, *“I just want to return something, then I’ll be on my way,” she mumbled.

“What is it?” Lucien asked as he reached out to her to pull her closer under the umbrella. She shrank back, but slipped. Before he could even form thoughts, Lucien’s body reacted. He hurriedly grabbed her before she could fall and wrapped his arms around her. A sigh left his mouth that was lost in the rain as he felt her familiar warmth and smelled her comforting scent. She was safe.

In her panic, she tried to push him away, but Lucien gently took her wrists. They walked silently with the rain beating down on them. Lucien could feel her gaze on him once again. She raised her hand only to drop it back to her side. Lucien cast a glance at her, *“What is it?”

*“You’re getting wet from the rain,” she murmured as a dusty-rose colored her cheeks.

Lucien chuckled, and couldn’t help teasing her, *“Someone else also got soaked.”

Her cheeks reddened further as she looked down at her feet. She seemed to be at an internal struggle with the way she kept gripping her purse. Her eyes kept scanning around, as if looking for an exit route.

Lucien pretended not to notice and led her gently to his front door. *“Didn’t you have something to return to me? You’re leaving already? Come in,” he invited.

Stay a little longer. Please, Lucien pleaded silently.

She hesitantly walked through the door and ruffled through her purse. *“I’ll just leave this here,” she said softly, producing a DVD and setting it gently on the counter.

Lucien glanced at the title and his heart clenched. It was a film he had recommended her, and she had promised to give him a film review.

*“Wait a moment,” he managed to say, stopping her before she could leave him again. Lucien picked the disc up and came closer to her, caging her between him and the door. He kept trying to find reasons to stay with her a bit longer, just like he had done so at the end of the press conference. But this time, Lucien decided to let himself be a bit selfish. *“You still owe me something, right?”

*“Wh-what?” She stammered nervously. He saw through her purpose. She had obviously wanted to deliver the disc and leave as fast as possible.

*“A movie review,” Lucien answered, holding the disc up.

*She lowered her head guiltily, but Lucien lifted her chin, searching her eyes.

*“Or does our big-time producer not even have time to watch a movie anymore?” he asked. She didn’t answer, but he saw through her anyway. Lucien’s lips curved into a tiny smile. “This is a good piece of work,” he coaxed gently.

*“But I don’t want to take it back anymore…” she mumbled, biting her lips. Lucien saw her scan the living room and her eyes landed on the paper cranes. A wave of sadness swept across her face and she closed her eyes.

*“You can finish watching it here,” Lucien offered.

*“ …I’m running late for the last subway,” she refuted weakly.

Lucien almost laughed, “I’ll bring you home when it’s over.” He knew she wanted to end everything between them, but couldn’t bring herself to do so. Lucien decided to be the bad guy once again to save her the trouble. *“Or, do you want to keep owing me this movie review?” It was easier for him to do the dirty work.

With no room left to argue, she nodded resignedly and Lucien’s heart soared triumphantly.

He handed her a towel for her to dry off and went to set up the movie. She sat down stiffly on the couch and Lucien sat by the window.

What are you doing? Lucien chided himself as he watched raindrops glide down the window. He could feel her eyes on him again. Breaking his gaze away from the window, he turned to look at her. *“It’s starting,” he reminded her gently when the opening credits ended. She hastily turned her attention toward the screen.

Lucien watched her. He had chosen this specific piece because it served as another warning: he was not who he said he was. Throughout all their time spent together, Lucien had given her countless warnings only for her to dismiss them and run back into Lucien’s arms. And if Lucien was being honest, he didn’t want to let her go either. The longer he spent with her, the further the line between Lucien and Ares blurred, until Lucien didn’t really know who he was either. But now, he had one purpose. To keep her safe. It didn’t matter if he was Lucien or Ares. Around her, he was simply a man wanting to protect the person most important to him.

After a while, she turned to look at him again and their eyes met. Flashes of sadness, surprise, and longing ran across her eyes. Silence filled the air, but it wasn’t uncomfortable or stifling like it had been last time.

Lucien paused the film. *“Is the movie not good?” He asked softly after a while, not wanting to break the pregnant pause.

She shook her head silently. Before she could answer, however, she sneezed suddenly.

*Lucien sighed and got up, bringing her tissues. He shrugged out of his coat to cover her small shoulders. “How do you still take such poor care of yourself…?” The words left his mouth, exasperated. Embarrassed, she shuffled in her seat. Lucien brought her a cup of hot tea and she inhaled the fragrance. Her lips touched the back of his hand as he tried to cover the mouth of the mug. Electricity ran from where her lips had touched his hand and left tingles up his entire arm. “Always in such a rush…” he said fondly. “It’s still hot, wait a bit before drinking it.” He was unable to keep the affection out of his voice.

She stiffened and Lucien knew she heard the tenderness of his words. He berated himself. “Why are you being gentle to me again?” She whispered brokenly, squeezing her eyes shut.

There was no going back now.

*“A very interesting question,” Lucien finally responded, “But, before answering you, I also want to clear something up.” He moved slowly until he was sitting next to her on the couch. Ignoring how she curled into herself as he approached, he asked the question he wanted to know from the very beginning. “Each time I push you away, why do you keep coming back to me?” Lucien felt the tiny flutter of hope within his chest.

Could it be?

She didn’t answer, but Lucien dared himself to hope. And for the first time, he felt he wanted to bare his soul to her.

*He leaned in closer to her when suddenly the paper cranes broke from the ceiling and landed around them. Slowly, he found the crane that contained her precious wish and pushed it into her hands. “That’s my answer,” he said finally. He let her see him for who he truly was for the first time. He continued, “But the process of achieving this takes time and patience.”

And there it was. His heart and soul and all the feelings it contained for the woman in his arms were all laid out in front of her.

There was a small gasp before she dissolved into tears.

*“Liar… You said you didn’t see it,” she accused him tearfully, hand holding onto the crane.

Lucien pulled her gently into his lap as he enveloped her in his arms, his heart finally feeling full after a long while. She clung to him just as tightly, her arms encircling his neck. “Silly… *Do I need to peek to know what you’re thinking?” He whispered against her hair.

*He pressed his lips against her neck, a silent promise of his answer to her question. He wanted to be selfish for once.

She tugged at his tie, lifting his head and she leaned in. “Kiss me properly, Lucien,” her soft breath brushed against his lips.

Lucien acquiesced. Their lips met, soft like the fluttering of a butterfly’s wings. He tasted the salt of her tears, but the sweet nectar of her lips overpowered everything. Lucien was hopelessly and irrevocably addicted.

They broke apart slowly, breaths still mingling. *Lucien held up his hands, just like he had when he accompanied her on her quest to find the truth. *“This represents two choices,” he began softly, gazing into her eyes.  “The right is to finish what you came here to do. To return the disc and leave, ending everything between us. The left is to pursue the path you want. To act upon these emotions between the two of us, but the path ahead is unknown. It could be dangerous. Even I don’t know what lies ahead.” He offered her a choice; whatever she decides, Lucien would be willing to go along with it.

*Without hesitation, she placed her hand in his left hand just like she had back then. She looked defiantly at him, eyes shining with confidence. “I choose this. I will not run away.”

*“And if this choice brings you harm and turns your life upside down? You’d still choose it?” Lucien repeated the words he had spoken to her long ago.

*“Yes, I most certainly do,” she answered, leaving no room for argument. A warmth in Lucien’s heart blossomed and swelled. This woman! She came into his life in a whirlwind of color and always acted differently from Lucien’s every expectations. Lucien had never met anyone like her, and he knew that he never will. She was the only one.

*Lucien laughed and closed his left hand, clasping their hands together tightly. “I understand your choice.”

For tonight, Lucien decided to let himself pretend that the woman in his arms belonged to him and only him. That there wasn’t anything or anyone against them. That she wasn’t in any danger. That there was no Black Swan, no plot to overturn the world, no viruses, no pain, and no fear. That they were the only ones in this world and the only thing that mattered. That they were simply a man and a woman in love. And Lucien decided it was time to put his thinking and all his worries on hold. It was time to finally give in to the emotions that had been slowly consuming him. For once, it was time to let his heart lead instead of his head.

He leaned in to taste her sweet lips again, licking at the seam. He was granted access as her fingers danced along his collar to pull him closer to her. “Lucien…” the sound of his name on her lips spurred him on, igniting a fire that blazed in his stomach. He traced the inside of her lip with his tongue and was rewarded with a soft moan.

Her fingers worked nimbly on his tie and deftly unbuttoned his shirt as he mapped the crevasses of her mouth with his tongue. She moved to straddle him and he ran his hands down her body until he reached her thighs, where he gripped them to wrap them around his waist. Cupping his chin, she pressed herself to him, lips moving desperately against his.

Just for tonight, Lucien promised himself as he reached up to her face, brushing her hair back softly, just for one night.

He ran his fingers through her hair as he assaulted her mouth, biting, sucking everywhere he could reach. She finished unbuttoning his shirt and slipped her hands inside. Lucien shuddered at her touch, her fingers tracing fire and leaving sparks across his chest. He pulled away to stare at her. “I think I’m at a disadvantage here,” he pretended to frown.

Her laughter was infectious as it rang through the air. “Then you should catch up,” she quipped, bright eyes sparkling with mirth, cheeks ablaze with pink. She looked so beautiful that Lucien had to literally bite down the urge to take, to claim.

“So I shall,” Lucien breathed, fingers playing with the hem of her blouse. Still staring at each other, she slowly raised her arms and Lucien tantalizingly dragged the fabric over her head.

Lucien’s breath caught. She was dressed in a white lace bra that cupped her breasts enchantingly. A pink flush crept up her body and Lucien’s gaze changed. She shyly averted her gaze when she noticed how dark Lucien’s pupils had become. Lucien reached for her, crashing his lips against hers. “Mm!” She gasped against his unrelenting mouth. Lucien picked her up and stood up, causing her to squeak out a surprised, “Lucien!”

“As much as I’d like to have you right here, I think I’d prefer to have you on my bed,” Lucien’s voice was low, hungry. “Also people might see and the idea of sharing you is not particularly appealing to me.” He walked purposefully towards his bedroom; her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Despite his heated words, he took care to set her down gently on the bed, removing her skirt when he did so. He knelt on the bed to kiss her again, hands making quick work of her bra, and leaned back on his feet to look at her.

She swallowed hard when she met Lucien's heated gaze as he cupped her breasts. A small moan bubbled from her throat. Lucien watched, enraptured, as she closed her eyes and arched into his hands. His thumbs flicked over her nipples and he squeezed them gently, causing her to gasp softly. Beautiful. He was utterly captivated by this amazing woman in front of him. He bent down to suckle at her collarbone as he rolled her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, nipping her skin when he felt her nipples harden. He ran a hand down her stomach and teased a finger along the band of her panties, smiling against her neck when he heard a sharp intake of breath. Pressing a soft kiss against her neck, he let his lips travel upward and lightly nipped at her ear. 

“Mm,” she leaned into him, “Lucien…” she sighed his name, setting his heart and body aflame.

“Yes…” Lucien whispered as he leaned down to devour her lips, “Keep calling me, I want to hear you.” He kissed her deeply as he cupped one of her breasts, his other hand pressing her closer to him. He sucked at her collarbone and a scarlet rose blossomed beautifully.

“Lucien…” she moaned, arching as she pushed herself into Lucien’s warm hand. The sweet sound sent fire coursing through Lucien’s veins.

“Yes, beautiful girl…Just like that…” Lucien sighed as her hands pulled his neck down in an attempt to be closer to him. She leaned back on her elbows to look up at him and Lucien gazed at the sight from the foot of the bed, awed. Half-naked, hair mussed, lips swollen, she was truly a sight to behold.

They stared at each other, heated gazes meeting, acutely aware of what was going to happen, what they were about to do.

She bit on her lip as he shed his shirt and made his way back to her. They met in a fiery kiss with Lucien nipping at her lower lip. She moaned in his mouth and he swallowed her sound. Her sweet noises of pleasure were for him and him alone. He moved down to her neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the heated skin and felt her swallow. 

He nipped at her collarbone and kissed a path through the valley of her breasts. He kept his gaze on her as her breath hitched as he slowly moved his hands up her waist, making her moan breathily. “Beautiful,” he whispered, his breath sending a cool puff of air across the trail of saliva he had created and she shivered. She held her breath as Lucien descended on her breast, his violet eyes never leaving her face. Lucien took her nipple into his mouth, making her moan sweetly. He swirled his tongue around the nub, making a satisfied hum when it instantly hardened at the stimulation. He brought his hand up to tend to her other breast. She moaned lowly, arching her back, her hands landing in Lucien’s hair. He bit down and felt her fingers tighten in his hair, earning her a hiss of pleasure from Lucien. “Beautiful,” he proclaimed, letting go of her breast. He trailed his tongue down to her stomach, to her belly button and pressed another soft kiss there. Lucien traveled further down, making her breath hitch in her throat.

She swallowed hard, her breath quickly becoming short and staggered. She had never felt like this before. The way Lucien looked at her and touched her, worshipped her. He made her feel beautiful, made her feel like a goddess. He never had been one to be shy with his affections. But this. Even though she could never guess what Lucien was thinking, she felt his love through his touches, his kisses.

Lucien traced the band of her panties with his tongue. He kissed the apex where her thighs met through the lace material of her panties and felt her shudder. Smiling, he closed his teeth on the band and very slowly, gently, he tugged. “Lift yourself for me,” he breathed, sending puffs of warm air across her skin, which raised goosebumps instantly. He hooked a finger around her panties and she obliged, raising her hips so that Lucien could take the material off. Tantalizingly slow, he dragged her panties down her hips, down her thighs, down her calves, and finally over her feet. Kneeling between her legs, Lucien gazed up at her. “Beautiful,” he voiced, wonder lacing his word. Her breathing quickened as she noticed how hungry Lucien's gaze was. Slowly, he leaned down and pressed his lips to her knee, kissing a trail up to her thigh. He let his tongue trace over the skin of her inner thigh, his hand sliding up to do the same to her other leg. She trembled, needing his touch, she was so aroused. Tentatively, he kissed closer to her slick heat. Meeting her gaze, he slowly licked a stripe over the most sensitive part of her. He watched as she arched off the bed with a breathy moan, hands grasping at the bedsheets. 

“Lucien…”

“Delicious,” Lucien murmured, his mouth on her, sending a wave of pleasant vibrations. He committed all of her actions and reactions to memory. Lucien loved the way she reacted to the simplest of touches. He loved the way she moaned his name, perfect lips parting in breathless pants. He loved the way she trembled. He loved every little sound that came out of her mouth. Wanting more, he lapped gently at her heat.

“Lucien-“ his name on her lips was a shaky moan.

Smiling, he let his tongue trace lazy circles around her sensitive nub, making her whimper with pleasure. He didn’t tear his eyes from her face as he sucked on her folds, tongue picking up her sweet juices. Her breathing was starting to become short pants and Lucien slid his tongue inside her. She keened at the sensation, fingers tightening around the bedsheets. Lucien started to pick up his speed, licking more roughly, sucking harder.

“Lucien…. oh…. ah…mmm….” she cried as her eyes closed at the sensations, head lolling back. Every sound she made sent fiery waves through Lucien’s veins. He increased his speed, tongue going further, harder. She was close, Lucien could feel it in the way her legs tightened, her toes curled, and the way she clutched at the sheets. “Lucien-please…” She pleaded, and Lucien doubled his efforts. Her moans were getting louder as his name left her lips in breathless pants. 

“It’s alright, beautiful girl. You can release,” Lucien coaxed, pressing his tongue on that sensitive little bud. “Let go.” 

With a choked moan, she came apart, back arching and her thighs tightened around his head, toes curled in pleasure. Lucien admired the way her stomach muscles contracted and her breasts bouncing slightly and quickly committed the sight to memory. He didn’t want to miss a single detail. She was breathtaking in her pleasure, pleasure that Lucien had given her, and Lucien didn’t think he had seen a more beautiful sight. Without any hesitation, he slid two fingers into her and put his mouth back on her, making her whimper. Allowing her absolutely no time to come down from her high, he began working his fingers and mouth. Fingers curling inside of her to find her sweet spot and he grinned in triumph as she mewled loudly, muscles involuntarily clenching around his fingers. “Please…” the cracked whimper sent fire straight through Lucien’s body and he growled softly, increasing his efforts to make her fall apart again. “Luci-Lucien…I Oh!” Indiscernible sounds made their way out of her parted lips. 

"Come for me once again, butterfly," Lucien whispered, fixated on her as she threw her head back, mouth open with silent cries. "Come for me," he coaxed, fingers moving more urgently as he worked his tongue. 

"Lucien-I... I'm...Oh... Lucien please!" 

"Yes, come for me..." Lucien urged, followed by a soft nip of her sensitive bud as he curled his fingers inside her. With a shuddering moan, his woman fell apart beautifully once again as Lucien watched in rapture. The undulations of her body as she trembled before him from the full force of her orgasm. So tantalizing. So beautiful. Lucien didn't think he had ever been this aroused before. He pressed his mouth against her heat, tasting her tangy nectar as she shuddered around him. Withdrawing his fingers from her, he leaned back onto his knees, and while gazing down at his beautiful girl, he slowly ran his tongue over his slick fingers. She swallowed hard as a bright pink flush painted her cheeks when he popped his fingers into his mouth, sucking hard to clean them. She gazed back at him, chest heaving as her breasts bounced lightly from her exertion, looking like the prettiest picture of perfection. Lucien felt a sense of pride in his beautiful masterpiece. 

"Lucien..." she struggled to catch her breath as she weakly sat up. He leaned down and pressed a heated kiss against her parted lips. She moaned into his mouth when she tasted herself on his tongue.

“I’m not done with you just yet, butterfly,” he whispered, catching her as she collapsed against him. 

“Then you better take your pants off,” she demanded.Laughing breathlessly, Lucien leaned back to unbuckle his belt. Slowly, he unzipped his pants, eyes never leaving her face. Her hands joined his as they removed his pants and underwear together. He kicked the garments off the bed and kneeled between her legs. Slowly, Lucien palmed himself, still maintaining eye contact. He was already hard from pleasuring her and so he stroked himself roughly. “Like what you see?” Lucien’s voice was hoarse.

She eyed him, “Very much so,” And with saying that, she licked her lips.

Lucien chuckled but it died in his throat when she tentatively reached for him. He groaned when she wrapped her hands around him. She stroked him gently and Lucien swallowed thickly, throwing his head back with a low moan. Her touch was electrifying, carrying tingling sensations all over his body. Lucien whispered her name, hips gently bucking into her warm hand when he couldn't help himself. Another moan made his head tilt back once more as she caressed his tip with a soft thumb, spreading the leaking moisture all over. Lucien closed his eyes and began to lose himself in the sensations of her warm hand. He felt her lips on his throat and he shuddered when she bit down on the skin, sucking hard to make a red mark.

“Mine,” she breathed, tongue lapping against the mark.

“Yours,” Lucien replied, gazing at her with such tenderness that she felt like crying. He leaned forward and pressed her into the sheets gently, his hands coming up to frame her face as he rested his weight on his elbows. “I belong to no one else but you.”

“Lucien…” she whispered his name, tears springing to her eyes, “I love you…” Her confession was hushed, but her words pierced Lucien’s heart as well as his soul, shattering the walls he wrought up to keep out the world.

Instead of replying, Lucien kissed her fervently, putting all his emotions into the kiss. Silly girl, he mused silently, why would you love a person like me?

But that was just the kind of person she was. Doing the unexpected, the unconventional. She abided by no rules except her own. It was the thing Lucien admired most about her. And he had promised himself this one night...

And for this one night, he allowed himself to love this woman, the way she deserved to be loved.

Kissing her deeply, Lucien ran his hand down the length of her body, caressing every inch of her until he reached her dripping arousal. Dripping with need for him. And only him. That thought filled Lucien with wholly satisfaction. That he is the only one to see her, touch her, hear her, taste her like this. He slipped his fingers within her wet folds as she moaned into his mouth.

“Lucien…” she choked out his name in a breathy whine.

“What is it, butterfly? Tell me, what is it that you want?” Lucien’s voice was rough. He increased his speed and sucked at her neck.

“You…I want…you,” she moaned breathlessly as her thighs clamped around his hand.

Well, if it’s what she wants… Lucien thought he ought to deliver.

He slowly extricated his fingers from her, making her whine shamelessly at the loss of sensation. “Just a minute, butterfly,” he said hoarsely as he reached for the drawer.

Her arm came up to stop him. “No…” she panted, “I want…I need to feel you.”

The outburst made Lucien pause, his eyes widened in surprise.

She tugged at his arms, “Please, Lucien…I need you,” she implored. The way she looked at that moment should be illegal, Lucien thought to himself. Her hair was messy, her eyes were blazing with want. And Lucien would be the bad guy if he didn’t give her what she wanted.

He propped himself back onto his elbow and stroked himself urgently with his other hand. As he aligned herself at her entrance, he searched her eyes. “Are you sure?” His voice was strained, but he had to make sure she was absolutely sure about this, that it was her decision.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her. “Absolutely,” she breathed against his lips before pushing her hips to meet his. In a swift movement, Lucien entered her. For a moment, it felt like he was home. She moaned, arching to meet him as their lips crashed.

Lucien pulled back and thrust into her, trying to find the spot that had made her unravel so beautifully. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pushing him in deeper. Lucien growled, a low sound in his chest, as he adjusted his hips and was rewarded with the sweetest sound he had ever heard.

“Lucien!” She whimpered, rocking her hips to meet his thrusts, arms clenched tight around his neck.

“Keep calling me,” Lucien panted, speed increasing as their passion built. “I need to hear you.”

“Lucien…Lucien…” His name was a chant on her lips like it was the only thing she knew how to say. She was so tight and so perfect around Lucien as if made for him and him alone. Doubling his effort, Lucien pressed his thumb against her sensitive bud. “Lucien!” Her nails dug into his back and Lucien relished in the sweet pain, thrusting harder. He knew she was close with the way her thighs clamped around his waist and the way her walls tightened around him.

“Come for me,” Lucien commanded breathlessly, thrusting relentlessly into her, his thumb circling her nub. “Come for me, beautiful girl, I want to see you undone.”

One more thrust, and she exploded as waves of pleasure washed over. She tightened around Lucien and a choked gasp fell from his lips. Breathless and quivering with pleasure, she sank into the mattress, still clinging tightly to Lucien.

Lucien knew that in that moment, if the world ended right then and there, he wouldn’t have cared. He paused slightly to press his forehead against hers before continuing to thrust into her, his movements getting more urgent. She shakily cupped his face as she slotted her lips against his, silently urging him to chase his own pleasure. Lucien didn’t need any more heeding as his hips jerked frantically. His brows knit in concentration and his lips parted with effort. Lucien grunted as he felt her tightening around him once again.

“Lucien…Lucien…” she blabbered against his lips, entirely incomprehensible.

Lucien swallowed her every pant, every moan as he reached between her legs once more. He wanted to see her in the throes of passion as he came. 

“I love you,” she panted, “I love you.”

It was those words that made Lucien utterly fall apart. He tensed as his hips stuttered to a stop, spilling heat within her. His body shuddered from pure bliss as he slumped into her arms, breathing harshly against her lips. Stars erupted behind his closed eyes, the most brilliant and vibrant flashes of gold danced in his vision. His actions coaxed another release for her as she climaxed around him. The feeling was indescribable, and Lucien thought that if he were to leave this world, he'd absolutely have no regrets.

Trembling, she fell back against the bed, pulling Lucien down with her. He took great care not to crush her and laid down on his side, his arms encircling her waist. Their pants mingling together until they weren't sure who was exhaling and who was inhaling. They gazed at each other, still breathless, still connected. He could hear both of their hearts beating in time, synchronized thudding to a beat that was unique to only them. Lucien had never felt more complete. He reached out to brush a strand of hair from her eyes.

“Lucien, I love you,” she breathed, staring deep into Lucien’s eyes.

He leaned in to kiss her, lips conveying the words of his heart, the words he was unable to speak out.

I love you too, my little butterfly.

Moments passed, the two of them were content to lay in each other’s arms. After a little while, Lucien gently extracted himself from her, prompting a soft whine. He pressed a finger against her lips, shushing her, “Let me clean you up. I’ll be right back,” he promised. 

True to his word, he came back with a towel which he used to wipe her down carefully. She opened her arms invitingly when he was done, and he obediently fell back into her arms. Shifting slightly, he maneuvered them so that she was laying on his chest and he pulled the blankets around them.

“Are you tired?” He asked gently as he stroked her hair.

She shook her head, “Can we talk?” she asked shyly, voice muffled by his chest.

Lucien smiled, “About what?”

She shuffled so she was looking into his eyes. “I…want to know…about Black Swan,” she said hesitantly. “About how and why you joined. And…about Ares…”

Lucien simply nodded, unsurprised. He knew this conversation would come up sooner or later. “Are you sure you want to have this conversation now? It’s not exactly a happy story.”

“I want to know,” she bit her lip gently.

“Alright,” Lucien agreed without hesitation, “Where would you like to start?”

Her eyes widened in surprise, obviously not expecting Lucien to agree so easily. “How about…how you came to join Black Swan?”

Lucien’s lips pursed in thought, “Well, there’s not much to it,” he finally said. “A car accident happened when I was seven. It took away my parents and left me in critical condition. People from Black Swan found me, saved my life, and I’ve been with them ever since.”

She digested this information, “And…Ares?” she hesitantly said the name.

“Ares is the name I use within the organization,” Lucien told her gently, “I’m sure that you’ve noticed by now, that we prefer Greek god names.”

“But…” she dragged out the word slowly, “You seem like two different people when you’re…Ares and when you’re Lucien.”

Lucien sighed, “Ares is me. Lucien is also me. Ares and Lucien are one and the same.” There was a bitter tone in his voice.

She was silent for a few moments. “Maybe that’s true,” she murmured, “But I know you would never hurt me. And that includes Ares.” The last part was full of confidence.

Silly girl, Lucien sighed internally, “I did…certain things when I was Ares…Because of that, I have a certain image within Black Swan,” he started haltingly. She nodded like she understood. “I approached you as Ares pretending to be your version of the ‘Lucien’ that you know. I needed to get close to you so I could accomplish my mission. But…I failed.”

“How?” She asked him quietly.

Lucien chuckled, “What do you think? It’s all because of you, silly girl. I’m supposed to bring you to Black Swan, and I’ve had all these opportunities to do so. And yet, here you are.”

“Did you…get hurt?”

“Can you please worry about yourself for once?” Lucien tweaked her nose and sighed.

She wrinkled her nose, “I don’t need to worry about myself because I have you protecting me,” she smiled. “You said I’m an asset to you.”

“Are you always this trusting?” Lucien asked, exasperated.

*“You told me you would ensure my safety. And that you don’t engage in worthless endeavors. I thought that was because I am the Queen. But now like you said, I haven’t been taken to Black Swan, so what is it that you’re protecting me from? Why would you protect me from Black Swan when you’re a member of Black Swan?” She raised her chin, challenging him.

She had seen right through him. Lucien’s lips curved into a small smile.

His fingers traced gentle circles on her waist. “I think you already know the answer to that,” he murmured. “You should know…I never intended to lie to you, but my intentions were never good to begin with,” the last part of his sentence was a little quieter, as if Lucien were talking to himself.

“What changed?” She asked curiously.

Lucien heaved a self-deprecating sigh, “You,” he said, simple and straightforward. She looked at him, confused. Lucien cradled her face gently and smiled, “You did. You changed everything. You turned all of my plans inside out and my world upside down.”

Her brow furrowed, “Me? What do you mean?”

“You brought color into my world,” Lucien said simply, leaving her to wonder what he meant by those words. Before she could respond, he continued, “*You taught me all the beautiful things, like folding a paper crane. You showed me how beautiful a rainbow after a storm could be. *I used to not fear death, but I started fearing it only after I met you. And because of you, I want to live.”

Her eyes turned watery, “Lucien…”

“What?” he sighed, brushing his thumbs on her cheeks, “Why are you crying, silly girl? It’s all true.”

She sniffled, “I’m not crying,” she said hastily.

“Alright,” Lucien chuckled, pulling her closer and placing a chaste kiss on her lips. “You should sleep, it’s late.”

She pulled back to gaze into his eyes. “You’re going to hypnotize me, aren’t you?” Seeing his startled expression, she smiled wryly, “You were never this open with me before, something must be up.”

“Do you regret it? Your decision?” Lucien asked instead.

“Of course not,” she replied firmly, “I’m just glad that precious memories like these exist. And you can protect these precious and happy memories for us.”

“I know you made your choice,” Lucien started hesitantly but she shook her head at him.

“Lucien, I made my choice, but you must have your reasons. I’m choosing to believe that your reasons must have something to do with protecting me. And if it’s because of that, then I’ll allow you to do so. I respect your decision and your choices, just like you did with mine. And right now, I’m happy just to be able to be in your arms like this,” she gazed deeply into his violet eyes. “Being able to create these memories with you is enough for me. I shouldn’t be any more greedy and wish that I can cling onto these memories as well.”

Lucien’s breath caught in his throat. “Do you trust me?” His voice was low, full of unspoken emotion.

She nodded without hesitation. “I do. And I trust that you will come back to me.”

Lucien swallowed hard. “Then I will cherish and protect these beautiful memories,” he vowed hoarsely.

She beamed, and it was still the single-most bright and dazzling thing Lucien had ever seen. “Good.”

“Aren’t you afraid of me? And…the dark part of me?” Lucien finally voiced his worries.

“Lucien,” she smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck, “Just like you said, Ares is you. But it is only a part of you. Ares is not completely Lucien, nor is Lucien completely Ares. Everyone has a dark side, why should you be any different? I love and accept all of you, including Ares. I’m not afraid because of that. We may have different viewpoints and we might disagree with one another, but I’m not afraid of you. I was afraid, however, that all these memories we created together meant nothing to you. That they were all just part of the plan. I was afraid that your feelings weren't real. But now, I know how you truly feel about me and my fears couldn't be further from the truth. Your dark side is only a small part of you, but I love the whole you. As long as you’re Lucien or the part that is ‘Lucien’ exists, I will love you. And you already said earlier,” she touched the mark she had made earlier on his neck. “You’re mine.”

“Yours,” Lucien promised, voice thick with raw emotion. His heart swelled. He didn’t think he could love this woman any more than he already did, but she had proven him wrong. Again.

She smiled with satisfaction and leaned in, “I love you, Lucien,” she breathed across Lucien's lips, setting Lucien’s heart aflame.

He was going to do everything in his power to keep her safe. To return to her. So that the next time, they meet, they can love each other openly without fear. And that was a promise Lucien fully intended to keep.

“Wait for me,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against hers.

“I will,” she replied steadily.

There was a sigh of relief and Lucien tucked her under his chin, holding her close. “Sleep,” he commanded quietly, “It’s late.” He pressed his lips tenderly against her forehead, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into her back.

It was amazing how comfortable Lucien felt with her body against his, lying in his arms. He had not been this relaxed in a long time. She made him feel whole, as if she completed the missing part of his heart. 

And maybe you are, Lucien thought to himself, smiling as he occasionally pressed kisses to her temple, the person at the end of my red string. My little butterfly.

When she had finally fallen asleep, Lucien looked at the slowly brightening sky. His heart tightened. He wanted to freeze this moment forever. The pink-tinged sky didn’t grant his request and instead brilliant hues of orange and red started spreading across the sky, as if taunting him. He didn’t have long before they had to part. Slowly, Lucien eased away from the sleeping girl. He put on the clothes strewn around his room and tenderly dressed her, taking great care not to wake her. He caressed the light purple mark on her collarbone and smiled sadly. It was time. He picked up the girl gently. A bright white light flashed around the room.

They reappeared inside the girl’s apartment. Lucien carried the sleeping figure to her room and tucked her in. He then took out his phone and sent a message to her phone.

<Thank you for returning my disc to me. We had a bit of wine while you watched the movie so you can give me that film review. You got drunk and I brought you home. *Next time do not come to see me without notice. Take care of yourself. -Lucien>

He leaned forward and brushed her bangs back softly to press a soft kiss against her forehead.

“I promise you,” he whispered, “I promise we’ll go fly a kite when spring comes. I promise to celebrate all my birthdays with you. I promise to ensure your safety. I promise I will always come back to you. I promise that we’ll be together. I promise that I belong to you, and to only you.” He repeated all the promises he made her. “Wait for me, butterfly.” He hooked their pinkies together and kissed their linked fingers softly. “I promise.”

He then placed a tender, final kiss against her lips and breathed out the words that had been hidden under his heart for so long. “I love you.”

Lucien stood up and walked to the door silently, before turning around to take one last look at her. She was sleeping soundly. The gentle sun of the early morning cast a soft pink over her, a beautiful but cruel reminder that told Lucien he was out of time. The night he had promised himself had come to an end and now it was morning. It was time for him to go.

He had set a glass of water, along with two painkillers on her bedside table. There was also a paper crane standing guard. It was the one with her wish.

*“I wish Lucien and I forever…”

Underneath her wish, Lucien had added a set of words. Another promise.

*“For every forever that you wished for, I’ll be there.”

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

For more of my work: 📖

[shafiron-the-squirrel]

Broken Embrace - Short Story

He was out of breath, but still ran, falling every now and then. He ran like never before. His clothes were covered with mud, but the man did not care. His ankle throbbed, and his elbow had turned a bit red - but this did not stop him. The world turned into a blurred mess, as time did not matter anymore. He ignored the pain in his ankle, and kept going.

He stopped, gasping for life. He steadied his breathing, and turned back to look up at the shop behind him. An old board (the colours were faded), on which were the words - 'Sharma's Gift Shop' loomed right in front of him. The man walked in through the glass doors, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

He walked in, and a wave of mixed scents washed over him. He glanced over at the shelves and went over to them, his eyes finally resting on a glass orb, in which a pine cone tree stood, embedded in fake snow (it looked more like salt crystals to him). He picked it up, and got lost in his thoughts, when a man's familiar voice startled him. The man was in his late sixties, his hair a mixture of black, grey and white.                                                                                        "I'm sorry, I didn't hear. What did you say?"                                                           "I asked you, what you were doing looking at that orb for such a long time. If you want it, then come and pay for it, Satyaki."

Satyaki made direct eye contact with the man. His gaze was stern, yet kind, as if he was examining a student who had done bad on his viva but was thinking whether he should break the news to the child or not. He had lines around his eyes, and his spectacles were precisely placed between his head and his ears.                                                                                                                        "Uncle! Even after so many years, you did not forget me - tell me you're never going to change, will you?" He broke into a huge grin, and pulled the old man into an embrace.                                                                                              "How could I ever forget you, you dolt! You still have to pay hundred rupees more!". The old man tried to look angry, but seeing Satyaki terrified made him burst in laughter. Satyaki joined in. When they finally stopped, their stomachs aching from laughter, Satyaki voiced a concern lingering at the back of his mind.                                                                                                                        "Uncle, remember you used to have those 'special' thirty rupee pens? Do you still have them?". Sharma (the old man) looked with disbelief at Satyaki, and then exclaimed,                                                                                            "Of course I do! Those pens made almost a quarter of my profit, and the value of these pens has not changed much over the years." He strolled to the counter, and got a pen that had a white cap and blue body. Satyaki took it, turning it around in his hands.

                                                            •°•°• There was an assignment going on. Satyaki's pen flew across the paper ; he had prepared well for the test. On his right sat a new boy, who had come that month. He had written a few answers, but had paused for thought. Satyaki finished his test and handed over his paper. Others started handing in theirs' too - but the boy next to him made no effort to do so. He looked blankly at the paper, until Satyaki asked him, "Well, are you going to write down that answer or not?". His voice ringing with concern. 

The boy looked over and replied, "Actually, I did not prepare for this test. I repeatedly asked the classmates, but they all said that there was no test and then smirked. So, I don't know these answers, and am stuck on this question."Satyaki's eyes filled with pity (no, he was not crying), and then anger as he glanced at his classmates. All merrily laughing, talking, joking - while this boy sat, not even trying to cheat even though it was impossible that he would be caught. "I'll help you," decided Satyaki. "What? No - "I am going to hell you no matter what. You need help, you deserve it. The answer is defraction." The boy's eyes widened in shock, and then he wrote down the answer, and quickly handed in the paper as the teacher was leaving. The boy returned to his seat, and said, "Thanks!" He grinned, obviously pleased with this unexpected act of kindness.                                                                                                                               "No problem. By the way, do you want to eat your lunch with me?"                     "Oh! Sure." From that day onwards, Satyaki and Parijat (Satyaki later found out his name) became the best of friends. Glorious days were spent, and the two became inseparable.

Satyaki blinked back tears as he felt the 'crispy' notes in his hands. He stood up from his bed, and strolled to a desk. There was a lamp, and near it was a photo frame. Satyaki took hold of the frame, and then quickly put it back, for his hands were shaking. The photo (inserted in the frame) showed him with another boy, a bit taller than him, his black hair neatly swept off to one side. His black eyes looked as wise as his smile. He seemed satisfied with the world, as if he had everything that he could ask for. Satyaki ran out of his room.

He did not care anymore; he had mud streaks 'adorning' his shoes and pants as he hardly clutched the notes. He ran into a shop, gasping. He snatched a glass orb from the shelf, and ran to the counter. Sharma was sitting there as usual, his black hair neatly oiled. "How much?" Satyaki asked. "What - oh never mind. 20 rupees."Sharma decided, wisely, not to ask anymore, as he saw the kid red - eyed, and he looked as if he would break down any moment. Satyaki's face fell, and Sharma wondered whether he had done something wrong to make him sad. "I won't be able to buy that pen - his favourite pen," he sobbed. But before Sharma could say anything to console him, he put the cash on the counter and ran away. He ran with his gift, his hands occasionally going to his face to wipe off tears. He stopped in front of a black SUV, where a boy was checking the luggage packed in the back of the car. 

"Parijat," was the only word managed by Satyaki in that state. Parijat looked up, saw his friend and hugged him tightly. He smiled lightly, and said - " It's okay, Satyaki. You've been the best friend that I could have ever wished for. I promise - that I will come back here,". "Don't forget me," Satyaki whispered as he handed the glass orb. "And sorry, I could not get your favourite pen." Parijat put his hands on Satyaki's shoulders and said, "You did not have to. More than the pen, you are precious to me,".Satyaki smirked, and replied, "Bet you wouldn't have said that had I not brought you this orb," "Shut up. And stay in touch," Parijat elbowed Satyaki in the ribs and quickly turned. "Bye. Will meet again – promise." Satyaki took his friend's hand and did their secret handshake, as Parijat turned back for one last time. He sat in the car, smiled a bit and then his his face. As the car drove off, leaving Satyaki behind, he could not shake the feeling off that his friend felt as broken as him. As Parijat sat in the car travelling to his new home, faraway, his face hidden by his hands, he could not help thinking that about how he had perhaps lost a friend whom he would never find again.

                                                            •°•°•

"Satyaki? Satyaki! Are you all right? And do you want the pen or not?" Sharma screamed into his ear, and he jumped from fear.                                             "Yes, yes. I do. Do you have change?". As Satyaki waited for Sharma to find change, he listened to him muttering "silly boy", and "had gone out for a few minutes, this boy was still standing looking at the pen as if it could make him a millionaire".                                                                                              

“Thanks," he smiled, hearing his appraisal.                                                     "Hey listen - You have not and will not change as well, ever."                            "Ha ha uncle. Nice meeting you." He stepped out of the shop, and started like he was, earlier. He stopped in front of a black SUV. A man wearing shades leaned against his car as he waited for someone eagerly. Satyaki rushed over and handed the orb and pen to the guy. The man swiftly pulled off his shades, and his eyes widened in shock - but he quickly recovered and pulled Satyaki into a tight embrace. They broke apart, and he exclaimed, "Your hair is still messy as ever, Sattu." " And your hair is still as neatly combed as ever, Pari." They both smiled, then grinned widely.

 "You promised - and you came," said Satyaki. "I came here only because you had intended that you will give me the pen," Parijat replied. "Come, let's chat." The two men walked together, hand in hand, in the afternoon sunshine – never to be separated again.

[tenspontaneite]

Boundless (Chapter 1/?)

A powerful arcanum needs a powerful outlet. Where none exists, magic will create one, or kill you trying.

Callum’s human body isn’t enough to withstand the boundless power of the Sky Primal. But magic always finds a way.

(Or: Callum gains the Sky Arcanum, and swiftly thereafter begins to grow wings.)

(Chapter length: ~8k. Ao3 Link)

Preword: For the record, I’ve been planning this story since s2, and wrote this chapter and most of the next in the week following the 10th October. I have edited this chapter by a very small amount to make it align more fully with s3 canon, mainly for descriptions of early season scenery. If s3 made you hungry for wingfic, you’ve come to the right place!

Story warnings: I’m a lot more into wing and feather biology than a lot of wingfic authors are, and also I believe in making my characters pay for their goodies. As such, this story starts off much more ‘body horror’ than ‘glorious magic materialisation of wings’. As the story progresses, it’ll go into significant detail about wing-related anatomy and biology.

Chapter warnings: Blood, pain, body horror. Edging into gore territory for some of it, though it’s relatively short-lived. Also, milder warnings for suffocation and emetophobia.

 —

The first time Callum cast aspiro by virtue of his own arcanum, it was living triumph. A culmination of all the thought and fear and inadequacy that had chased him through the week, and the realisation of what his deathly dream had taught him. The magic of the Sky was around him and within him and everywhere, and as he cast his spell it settled like a spark into his heart. He felt it every breath thereafter, every second, with every gust on the cliffside and glimpse of the blue-above shivering through him like another kind of life.

It settled into his blood like the air did, it coursed through his bones and flesh and sinew – the Sky was a part of him and he was a part of the Sky, the understanding of it sinking deeper and deeper with every minute that passed. By the time he’d said farewell to his brother, the arcanum was as viscerally-rooted in him as his own skeleton, a precious and irrevocable part of him; a channel that opened him up to the vast and boundless magic of the Sky.

He and Rayla and Zym walked to the Breach, and if he noticed the ache in his back, he thought nothing of it. After all, hadn’t he spent hours today convalescent upon hard stone? It was only to be expected.

—

The second time Callum cast aspiro from his own breath and magic, it was amidst heat and urgency and the dread of a rising sun. The magic surged in him as he spoke and wrote and breathed, the feeling of it effervescent and electric at once, crackling in his blood and bubbling through every inch of him. It ached. It burned, too, but wasn’t that just the heat of the Breach? He worried more about directing the wind-gust from his lips, and watching Zym’s wings catch the air like twin sails, and seeing how great a shadow a young dragon could cast.

And when they were safely across, and Callum and Rayla threw their arms around each other from the pure relief of it, her arms around his shoulders were startlingly painful. Like pressure against a livid bruise. But the adrenaline of their success was enough to forestall the flinch, and she noticed nothing.

But when they drew apart, Zym cheerful and victorious between them, the ache at his shoulders didn’t leave. As though Rayla’s touch had wakened it, or perhaps awakened him to it, and it became insistent enough that he paid it notice he hadn’t earlier.

“You alright?” Rayla asked, as she showed him along the canyon-paths into Xadia, as he twisted his hands behind his back to pat cautiously at his shoulders.

They hurt, to the touch. Sharp and raw, like the worst bruises he’d ever had. Like blistering skin. “…My back is kinda sore.” He admitted, with a light frown. “Maybe I bruised it, or something.”

She blinked at him with a glimmer of concern. “…Well, hopefully that’s just from sleeping funny on a cave floor.” She offered. “Or maybe you hit yourself during your dramatic collapse earlier.”

He eyed her, fingers lingering on the fabric over his shoulders. “Dramatic collapse?” he repeated, uncomprehending.

Rayla averted her eyes. “When you…unchained the dragon.” She elaborated, and didn’t say when you used dark magic, and he knew at her expression that she hadn’t quite forgiven him for that.

“…Maybe.” He agreed, uncomfortable, and thought of the way the power of it had swept through him, heady and dark and burning. How empty he’d felt afterwards; hollowed-out and aching, like an empty husk.

Sky magic didn’t feel like that. His second aspiro had ached too, but not like the hollowness of the dark. Not like everything beneath his skin had been scooped out. More like…the magic had put too much back in. As if there was too large a force for too small a space, and his skin couldn’t quite hold it. He wondered, for a fretful moment, if the power of the Sky was too vast for him. If even the barest spark of it that was his arcanum was stifled in his too-human flesh.

Rayla watched him, unusually sombre, for a few more seconds. Then she reached out to pull his hand from his shoulder, and tugged him onwards by the fingers. “Come on, stop messing with it.” She said, deliberately light-hearted. “If you’ve hit your back you won’t do it any favours by picking at it.”

“I’m not exactly picking at it.” He complained at her, but allowed himself to be pulled unresisting further into the Xadian borderlands, where the canyon-tunnels widened out into the bright glow of red rock beneath the sun, where that same sun gleamed upon something gold and glittering and huge-

“Welcome to Xadia!” Rayla said, and when she saw him staring, turned to follow his gaze. Like him, she saw the immense shining form of the Archdragon, stopped short, stared with perhaps more horror and less awe than he did. “Oh no,” She breathed, utterly dismayed. “It’s him. It’s Sol Regem.”

And then they were entirely too busy figuring out how to bypass a dragon to worry about his back.

(The third aspiro, wielded against Sol Regem, might well have burned, and might well have seared; but there was no room around their desperate attempts to escape for him to notice it. If he was aware of the pain, it was in a very distant way, far-removed from the far more immediate issue of their survival. They passed into Xadia, and neither commented on the spell that had saved them.)

—

Later, when they were together and more-or-less unharmed past the gauntlet of a former-King, there was a little more space to breathe. A little more space to feel the Sky brimming up against his skin, to feel the breath almost too-deep in his lungs, like there was too much of it, like the air was filling him up like a balloon and he’d burst any second-

He only noticed that he’d fallen when Rayla caught him, his scarf still a vibrant streak of red about her neck. “Callum!” She said, alarmed, as she insinuated herself under one of his arms to hold him up. She put her arm around his shoulders to complete the support – and at the slightest pressure against his back, he cried out in pain. She released him as though burned, and then barely managed to catch him before he crumpled fully to the ground. “Callum,” She repeated, when all he did was breathe in quick shallow bursts, rather than answer. “What’s wrong? Is it your back?”

He was too-full of air, too-full of magic. He’d burst. He couldn’t breathe, but he had to. Near to hyperventilating, he sucked in more and more and more of the Sky with every second, and felt it brimming in his flesh, swelling his lungs, and it hurt. “No,” He managed, after another several conspicuous gasps. “I mean – yes – but not-“ He had to break off for another half minute, torn to pieces between the feeling that he couldn’t breathe and the utterly paradoxical sensation of his lungs filled past their capacity. The primal panic of breathlessness was a far more immediate thing than the searing pain on his back, though, and so much harder to resist. “Can’t breathe.” He said to her, when he found enough space between suffocating and bursting to speak.

He barely had the presence of mind to see the worry written all over her as she ran her eyes over him as if to inspect him for signs of damage. “Haven’t you suffocated enough for one day?” She asked him, with some asperity, as if it could disguise the fear in her eyes. “I hope you’re not planning on making a habit of this.” Gently, she pressed fingers against a point on his wrist, perhaps to feel the hummingbird-pace of his heart.

Callum tried to laugh, and the requisite loss of breath left him spluttering for long painful moments. “Sorry,” he said, once he had found some equilibrium again, and then descended once more into gasping, sucking in air as if there was none left in the Sky. But there was. There was so much breath, too much, too much to hold-

“Dumb prince.” She muttered to him, worried but achingly fond. She supported him upright, so that he was sitting up, and held him there, a hand on each of his shoulders, carefully away from his back. “Callum. Look at me.” She said, with such sudden command that his frantic breath stilled for a second, just to look at her. He stared at her as she stared back at him, and clung to the eye contact like a lifeline in the tide of breathless panic. “…Good.” She nodded, a little, and he abruptly realised that he wasn’t gasping so desperately now. The breathlessness was a constant pressure, though, and as he noticed it he started wheezing again – Rayla shook him, and the surprise of it stilled him again. “Just breathe.” She told him, in a way that was by now terribly familiar.

Hadn’t he heard it, drowning in the dream-state? Hadn’t he heard her? Hadn’t he heard the words from her lips, before he heard them from his mother’s? “…Trying,” he managed, still caught in the eye contact like a ship to its anchor.

“I know.” She said. “Just…try to breathe more slowly. Deeper, I guess.”

He tried. It was hard when the gasps kept bursting into his attempts at deep, steadying breaths. Harder when the pressure of breathlessness increased, even as the pressure of too-much-air decreased. The former was harder to bear than the latter – suffocation was death, but pain was only pain.

…But, by the sharp and tearing ache in his chest, he was reminded that some pains did lead to death. His lungs felt too-full. Like they really would burst.

He breathed through the panic, and did not suffocate, and did not rupture.

When his breathing was into more of a normal rhythm, and he seemed calmer, Rayla relaxed a little and lowered her hands from their urgent place on his shoulders. He managed to keep himself upright, and appreciated it more than he could say when she took and squeezed one of his hands. “Is it the dark magic again?” She asked him, after a moment, and he had breath enough to speak.

He closed his eyes, just briefly, and felt the Sky brimming beneath his skin. “No.” he said, shaking his head, vehement. “It’s not – it’s the Sky magic.” In the new sense of calm, Zym finally found space to insinuate himself between them, settling his front paws into Callum’s lap and looking up at him with wide worried eyes. He lowered his other hand to the dragonling’s mane, and felt a little calmer at the contact.

He could feel the Sky beneath his fingers. It was in Zym, too, but…settled, in a way it wasn’t with him. It belonged.

“The Sky magic?” Rayla repeated, after a second, clearly startled. “But – why? It’s Primal magic – it’s…natural.”

Water was natural, too. But it could still drown you.

He shook his head, almost more to clear the thought than as a response to her. “It’s too much.” He said, and then shuddered at expressing it. “It’s like – I’m filling up with Sky magic, and – and there’s no way out for it, and I’m just…” He raised the hand from Zym’s mane to wave frustratedly in the air. His voice trembled worse than his fingers. “It feels like I’m going to explode. I – I don’t think humans are made for Primal magic, Rayla.” His heart sped again, this time in a different fear, and she stared back at him with a furrowed brow. “I – I think I’ve really messed up.”

Having spoken the words onto the air, they felt too real. What if he’d messed with something he shouldn’t? What if – what if the dark magic was only the first thing he shouldn’t have touched, what if humans just weren’t meant to use Primal magic, what if he’d bitten off more than he could chew and – what if it killed him?

This moment he lingered in, caught between breathlessness and bursting…he couldn’t keep it up, surely. Either he’d suffocate or he’d explode, and it was all his fault. His fault for grasping at something he was never meant to hold.

“Try casting a spell.” She said, after a moment, and the words were such a shock against his thoughts that they practically gave him whiplash.

“What?” He demanded, breathing picking up again, even as he tried to calm it down. “I say I’m full of too much magic, and your solution is more magic?”

She stared back at him, unrepentant. “Spells use magic, right?” She pointed out. “Maybe casting a spell or two will let off the pressure.”

Callum blinked. “That’s….” He frowned. “That’s actually a pretty good idea.”

Rayla rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t sound so surprised.” She huffed. “Just cast your spell, alright?”

He considered her, and then considered the spell he hadn’t tried casting since the Primal Stone broke. The most powerful spell he knew. He nodded, slowly, and exhaled like it could relieve the pressure in him, and shuffled away. His fingers parted from hers, and still sitting, he raised them to draw in the air, the opposite direction from her. “Fulminis,” He said, with the breath he had, and the magic…changed.

It had been building in him, swelling in him, as aimless and merciless as water straining at a dam. There had been too much of it to sit in his blood, too much to fit in his lungs, and it had hurt. Too much breath, too much air, with nowhere to go.

The spell awakened it. That aimless, ruthless pressure went hot and bright and fast, like the sear of a lightning-flash against unprepared eyes, and the unleashed magic screamed through him with terrible purpose. It shrieked from his fingers, incandescent and sparking, and cracked through the Sky to shatter the quiet like glass. And then – in that moment-

His hands flinched back from the dissipating rune as if from fire, and flew to his shoulders. He gasped with pain, and hunched forwards the better to reach it, to feel something roiling beneath his skin, the lingering magic burning there like it had burned out of his fingers. Like it had unleashed itself upon some other conduit than a spell.

“Callum?” Rayla spoke, worried, when all he did was pat frantically at the searing pain on his back. “…Did it work?”

Was he imagining it? Was it just that his back was sore and swollen and the skin felt huge with the pain of it? Was it just his imagination?

“Callum.” She pressed, a second later, impatient enough that his head jerked over to look at her.

“Huh?” he thought. “I mean – yeah, kinda? But-“ The pressure that had built in him had released, in a way. He could feel it building again already, but – not all of that magic had gone into the spell. For a second – for a second, it had felt like – and now his back felt – but surely he was just imagining things.

…Well, there was one way to find out.

“…Could you, um, feel here for a second?” He requested, awkwardly, fingers still hovering over the pain on his back. “But – carefully.”

Her eyes flickered between his hands and his eyes, wary, but she leaned forwards, reaching out. He moved his hand to let hers pat gingerly at the spot over his shoulder-blade, and-

Any hope he’d had of it just being his imagination was soundly dashed the second her hand shot away again, eyes flying wide-open with shock. “What is that?” She demanded, in a strangled voice, nearly squashing Zym’s tail with how quickly she retreated.

He deflated. “I don’t know.” He admitted, a new fear beating in his chest. “It’s…I think it’s why my back is hurting.”

“There’s something on your back.” She told him, stridently, as if he hadn’t just figured that out for himself. “Is it – some sort of, I don’t know – did you break your shoulder, or something?”

For a second he entertained the brief and bloody image of a spur of broken bone jutting through his skin, and shuddered. “I think I’d have noticed that, Rayla.”

Her eyes moved from him to do a cautious sweep of their surroundings, and she exhaled. “We’ll need to take a look at it.” She said. “But…maybe we should try to find a good place to camp, first. If you’re injured…”

He grimaced. They had very little in the way of supplies, which had been okay up till now, but none of them had got hurt up to now either. “Yeah.”

“Can you walk?” She asked, quick and practical, and he considered himself.

He felt…okay. His back hurt badly enough now that it seared through him in bursts of pain that…pulsed, almost, like he could feel his heartbeat in the swelling over his shoulder-blades. But the pressure of too-much-magic and too-much-air was, for the most part, gone. He felt quite sure it’d be coming back, but….

“Yeah.” He answered, eventually, and rose to his feet.

She rose with him, and gave him a quick look-over before nodding. “Alright.” She said. “Let’s go.”

—

It took a while to find somewhere suitable to stop. The dry, dusty canyons of the borderlands began to give way to red rock studded with greenery, little waterfalls coursing down the vast cliffsides. In the distance, he could see the edges of a vast forest, but by mutual decision they made no attempt to reach it that day.

Instead, they settled for a sheltered little hollow in the rock, close enough to a river that he could hear the water burbling someway off towards the forest. By that time, though, the pain of the something on Callum’s back had magnified considerably, and he was gasping and wincing every time he moved. Every step felt like it jolted the searing, swollen agony that was building there, enough to send shocks of pain through much of his body. The fabric of his clothing over the skin felt too-rough, abrasive, and the whole area burned.

When at last Rayla ordered him to sit down and get his shirt off, he was almost too relieved at the prospect of – of removing the abrasion, finding out what was on his back – to be embarrassed.

Almost.

With Rayla’s help, he peeled off his jacket, gingerly enough to not pull unduly at the now very pronounced distension of his upper back. Then his shirt went too – and with only the thin undershirt in the way, it was evidently concerning enough to look at that Rayla cursed quietly. And then, feeling increasingly chilly and increasingly exposed, Callum divested himself of his undershirt, and understood the severity of whatever was going on by how utterly silent Rayla went.

“…What does it look like?” He asked her, once the fear of not-knowing had surpassed the fear of knowing, and the silence had stretched too long. “Rayla?” He prompted, anxiously, when she didn’t reply.

Very gently, she reached out and touched her fingers to the inflamed skin on his upper back. He flinched and jumped a little at the touch, her fingers almost startlingly cold on the burn of it. “….There’s something sort of…pushing up underneath your skin.” She said, after a moment, with the barest tremble in her voice. “In two places. Here,” Her fingers drifted, touching skin that wasn’t quite so painful, and then over to something that seared. “And here. Kind of….a little to the up and middle of your shoulder-blades, stretching down to here, on both sides.” Her fingers moved again, carefully gentle, and trailed a line down to maybe the middle of his torso. “It…looks pretty symmetrical.”

When she stopped talking, the silence resumed. He wasn’t at all sure what to say, and had to fight off the fear that gripped at his throat and made him feel increasingly breathless, increasingly – oh, but no, that was the…Sky-magic-thing, wasn’t it? He shivered, feeling the magic building in him closer and closer to that strange crisis point he’d reached earlier, not quite yet enough to hurt yet, but enough to make him want to gulp in air like he was drowning. And that was a thought, wasn’t it. “My back got worse when I used fulminis.” He admitted, a little hoarsely. “It was – almost like I could feel something moving. On my back.” He shuddered, all over, at the revulsion of the sense-memory.

She hesitated. “I’m…going to try pressing on it a little, alright? See if I can get any clues about what it is.”

He gritted his teeth, and nodded, bracing himself. “…Okay.” He said, grimly. “Do it.”

He exhaled roughly through his nose, stifling a cry, as she palpated one of the unnatural masses under his skin. It was unbelievably painful. It was beyond anything he’d ever felt. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on what she was saying, when she began to speak. “It’s…solid.” She informed him, voice a little choked. “Not just…bloody swelling or soft tissue or anything. I’m pretty sure there’s bone in there.” She prodded a little harder at one point, near the top end of a shoulder blade, where the distension was worst. “And there’s something at the top here, on both sides. Something sort of…a little pointy, poking at your skin.” She paused. “On the left, actually, there’s two little pointy spots.”

He shuddered, half with horror and half with pain. “What is it?” He asked at last, desperate, even though he knew she hadn’t any more idea than he did.

“…I don’t know.” She confessed, quiet, and drew her fingers away. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

He’d known that would be the answer. But it didn’t make it any easier to hear.

—

She located the nearby river, and brought him to its edge to make him drink. Then, carefully, she slathered cool-wet river silt against the hot agony of his back. It helped, a little, but not enough.

It was at least warm enough in the Xadian borderlands that it wasn’t too cold to go shirtless for such a long time, but when he’d tried to put a shirt back on, the pressure against the growing things under his skin was too much to bear. And they were growing. Rayla said she could practically see it, hour to hour, stretching his skin out until red-raw lines were drawn upwards to the peaks of the swelling. It felt like his skin was tearing every time he so much as moved a muscle, and she admitted that she wouldn’t be surprised if it really did start tearing soon.

Callum had thought, after that spell earlier, that the horror of his back was related in some way to the Sky Magic. It made him dread the way that the energy built up in his blood, the way his lungs started feeling too-full again, too full to breathe. He lingered on the edge of the suffocation, gasping frantically again, until Rayla clutched at his hand and said “Just cast another spell, Callum. It helped last time.”

“Last time,” He huffed, light-headed and fearful, “it made my back worse. Don’t want-“ He paused to gasp in six more frantic breaths. “Don’t want to get worse again.”

She shifted, uncertainly. “It…might not be because of that.” She said, though she didn’t sound especially convinced by even her own words. “It could be something else.”

He snorted amidst the feeling of his lungs straining, straining almost as much as the distended skin of his back. Tearing and stretching and- “Like what?”

“…Dark magic?” She suggested, though only half-heartedly. “That’s actually unnatural.”

“I think I’d have-“ He gulped air. “I’d have noticed if – Lord Viren – or Claudia – turned into – hunchbacks, Rayla.“

She watched him gasp, increasingly anxious, and finally snapped “Callum, you can’t breathe. Even if it does make your back worse – you have to cast something!”

He didn’t answer, and remained steadfast in his avoidance for about another minute of gasping for breath around straining lungs before he got light-headed and faint enough to agree with her. Torn two-ways by fear, he raised a finger and drew aspiro. He barely had enough breath to whisper it, but it was enough. The terrible over-pressure of breath and magic gusted out of him, potentiated into the purpose of the spell, rushing through his body and – and out three channels. One, his mouth, breathing the spell, and the other two-

The pain leapt and tore and burned.

Something gave way.

He wasn’t aware of much more than screaming, the seconds after he cast the spell, but when he regained some measure of awareness….the pressure of the magic was quiescent again, and…the pressure in his back had lessened, just a little, too. There was something warm dripping down his spine.

“…Okay, you’re right, it’s definitely the Sky magic doing it.” Rayla said, voice tight, and he realised that she’d been squeezing one of his hands the whole time.

“…My back,” he started, a little numbly, and tried to use his other hand to reach behind, to feel… “I’m – am I bleeding?”

She hesitated, nodded, and then dropped his hand to go have a better look. “The poking-bits have…” She swallowed, looking a little green, and turned aside for a few seconds to suppress a gag. “Well, they’ve gone through your skin, now. They’re…pointy. Whatever’s under your skin is bigger, too.”

He closed his eyes, and drew his fingers away from his back bloodied at the tips. “…right.”

Rayla had to take several more deep calming breaths before she could investigate further. “At least we’re next to a river.” She said, determinedly, and ushered him to the water again. “Let’s get this cleaned up.”

True to her words, she cleaned the blood from his back, of which there was quite a lot, draining from the blood-swollen tissues around the distension. With some of the pressure relieved, it…actually hurt a fair bit less, but it was still awful. And then, with the bleeding stopping, and his back clean, Rayla made her assessment of what had poked through his skin.

“There’s four. I think?” She said, poking at each of them in turn. “Small. Black and sharp. They look like claws.” She hesitated, and poked at the swelling behind the claw-things. “I think they’re on…I don’t know, fingers? Two on each side. And something underneath.” She frowned, and prodded something a little more purposefully. He felt something under his skin move aside from the pressure, and he shuddered. “…Definitely something underneath these.” She concluded.

He was silent for a while, processing that. “So, what.” He said, finally. “Am I growing a couple of weird clawed extra arms, or something?”

“Arms,” She muttered, almost scornful, and leaned away to shuffle around to his side again. “Honestly, Callum, if it wasn’t for the claws – and for them being all the way up on your shoulders-“ She stopped.

He eyed her, curiosity piqued, despite the ongoing pain. “What?”

Rayla frowned. “Sky elves.” She said, without preamble. “Skywing elves. Some of them have wings, you know.”

He stilled, and it felt like his heart stilled too.

“…But they have their wings lower down – sort of mid-back, underneath their shoulders and arms. And they don’t have claws on them.” She exhaled. “And they’re born with them, anyway, so – it’s not like-“ She waved her hands towards his back, very expressively.

Callum stared at her, his gut uncertain whether it was twisting or fluttering. “…I wasn’t born with an arcanum.” He reminded her. “But I got one anyway.”

She sighed, looking as uncertain as he’d ever seen her. “I get your point.” She said. “And I suppose it would make more sense for you to be growing wings because of Sky magic than – than some weird clawed arms. But it’s – it’s not normal, Callum. I don’t know what’s happening to you.” She sounded almost hopeless, at that. Afraid.

Unthinkingly, he clutched at her hand again. Squeezed it to reassure her, for once. “…well, whatever it is, we’ll probably find out soon.” He said, uncertain how he quite felt about that. “It’s been, what, half a day since I got my arcanum? It’s going fast.”

She glanced at him, side-long. “Magic speeds it up.” She noted, and he went still again at the implication.

“…You want to make it go even faster?” He said, aghast.

She shrugged. “Not want, but…it’s probably an option.” Her eyes slid over his shoulders again. “Where those claws came through…it’s healing quickly. Magic-fast, even. If you keep waiting until you need to cast a spell again…you’ll probably just keep tearing your back open.”

He shifted uncertainly. “I don’t know, Rayla. Maybe it’d be faster to just…cast a load of spells and get it over with – whatever it is, but…” He shuddered, at the mere thought of it. How much would it hurt, to have his skin roil and tear and peel away as the things on his back grew and grew and tore their way out of his skin all at once?

Rayla watched him, anxious but sympathetic, and squeezed his hand back. “…Let’s go to sleep, then.” She said, finally, glancing up at the growing gloom of the evening. “See how it looks in the morning.”

He exhaled, and nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

—

He slept on his front, with his shirts and jacket draped over him like blankets. Zym curled up beside him, pressed to his side, and wormed his way underneath Callum’s arm until he deigned to hold it around the little dragonling. He wondered if Zym was missing Ez. He wondered what Ez would think of the somethings growing beneath his skin. He wondered a lot of things, thoughts whirling and spinning around themselves, until he finally managed to slip asleep.

It didn’t last. He might have expected pain to wake him, but instead, it was the magic. He woke breathless and gasping, some hours into the night, chest tight and lungs swollen as the magic built in him to the point of pain again. He stumbled upright, dislodging Zym and waking Rayla, who sat straight up and rubbed her eyes, blinking blearily at him.

“Callum?” She asked, groggily, eyes settling onto his shoulders. “Y’alright?”

“Breath,” he explained, his whole upper back straining as he moved, and he turned aside to draw the zig-zagging shape of fulminis.

Just as before, the aimless magic in his body shifted and awakened and moved. Unlike before, barely any of it left his fingers. The lightning-bolt that emerged was thin and sparking and did not travel very far at all, spilling only the barest smell of ozone into the air, and instead – instead, all of that electric energy surged into his back as though to a lightning-rod, and it writhed.

He cried out with pain, Zym squeaking in fright and Rayla shuffling over to grip his hand, and familiar hot-wet spilled down his back again. Something had torn, again, more than yesterday, much more-

Callum reached back, to feel, to find out what had come through – and nearly vomited at the feeling of finding something small and limp and blood-wet and firm hanging out of the skin there. It was warm. Warm like a limb. Warm like a living thing – but wet and tacky and too-soft, like the thin weeping skin under a blister. On the end of the horrible hanging thing was something small and sharp. The claw.

So…the ‘fingers’, that the claws were apparently on. One on that side, and….he checked…two had torn free on the right hand side. The second on the left was still under his skin. And…wait.

Was that a third? He checked the other side, found something much like it in the distended shape of his skin, and felt his breath stutter with horror.

“That’s horrible.” Rayla told him, looking pale and a little green, as his fingers trailed blood over his upper back. There was so much pain now that it felt almost like he’d passed through it, to some numb other-side where nothing felt right and his thoughts were strange and scrambled.

“Mmhm.” He agreed, a little vacantly, moving one of the clawed-things between his fingers. It felt like a finger, slim and bony, even if the skin was all wrong and it was covered in blood and had torn its way out of his flesh-

“We need to clean you up again.” Rayla said, decisively, and moved to herd him over to the water again. He could hardly see anything around them, given the time of night, but the moon was past half-full and cast just about enough light to see by.

“…Wait.” He said, after a moment, and her fingers stilled on his arm. He breathed, not-quite-awake and not-quite-coherent, uncertain if he just hadn’t woken up properly, or if the pain had just…disconnected him from a proper feeling of consciousness. “You were right. I should just…get this over with. It’s not going to stop. So…I should just…” He squeezed his eyes shut.

Cautiously, she took his hand, and pulled him to his feet. “Are you sure?”

“No.” he admitted. “But I don’t want to keep waking up and – having to cast a spell and tear myself open again. Once these….whatever, once they’re out, it should be better. Right?”

“…Well, in theory, you won’t have anything trying to break out of your skin anymore.” She said, dubious, and a little wary. “So, I guess?”

He sighed. “This is going to suck.”

“It’ll also be pretty bloody, I think.” She nodded, looking as though she were trying not to think about it too hard. “So let’s get you to the water for this anyway.”

Once they were there, and Rayla had washed some of the blood off to see the new developments with his back, she reported on the state of things and confirmed his uneasy sense-impression of what he’d felt through his skin.

“It’s grown in the night.” She said, of the distension as a whole. “One of the clawed…fingers…is still under your skin. And…” She shivered, close enough to his side that it made the fabric of her sleeve brush against his shoulder. “And, I think there’s…three. Fingers, I mean, on each one. The third ones are still…inside your back.” Her eyes squeezed briefly shut, as if to forcefully expel the image from her mind as well as her eyes.

“…Thought I felt something like that.” He said, quiet and pale, mind too numb with shock and pain to offer much more than delirious dread. He had felt something that felt disturbingly like another digit, underneath the right-hand two that had torn out.

Rayla looked side-long at him, hesitating. “…Honestly, Callum? It might hurt less if – if we cut it, instead of letting your skin rip open.” Zym, who seemed to understand them quite well, quailed at the words, crooning and shrinking back.

He blinked, startled, not having thought of that. “With one of your swords, you mean?” He asked, and reached to the side to pat Zym on the head. After a second, he drew the little dragon into his lap. He wasn’t a human kid, maybe, but this was still kind of more gore than he was comfortable with Zym seeing. If he was in his lap…he at least wouldn’t see it.

At his words, though she seemed distinctly sickened at the notion, Rayla nodded.

It was probably a bad sign that he found the idea a relief. The clean cut of a blade seemed so much more merciful than skin strained to tearing. “Good idea.” He said, and wondered at how swiftly his life had gone weird, to make such a thing a sensible and merciful option.

Still, she hesitated, hand on the hilt of one of the weapons hung at the small of her back. “…Now?” She asked, unhappily. “Or when you cast the spell?”

He considered it. “….during the spell.” He decided, reluctantly. “That way we can get it all done at once.” Nausea rose in his throat, and he carefully swallowed it away.

Rayla shuddered. “…Alright.” She said, visibly steeling herself, and he heard the shnk of her blade assembling as she moved behind him. A couple of weeks ago, he’d have done nearly anything to keep her blades away from him, and now he was inviting them. The world was mad. “Go ahead.” She said, and lowered the tip of the blade against his skin, cold and sharp, just below the protruding left digit. He braced himself, and raised a hand.

Fulminis was somewhat easier to deal with, since he didn’t need to do any gusty exhaling for it, so he drew its rune crackling in the air. This time, when he spoke it, there was no well of expanding magic pooling and stretching him out from within – instead, it coursed in from the Sky, that inner-spark of the arcanum opening and welcoming it in. A little of it went to its proper place, coursing along his arm, but only a thin crackle and a few sparks emerged. The rest…

It surged to his back, and at once, the flesh beneath his skin swelled and grew and roiled, pressing and stretching and expanding into a searing, tearing pain. And then-

The sword was sharp. Incredibly so. There was barely any resistance at all as it parted his skin and the thin layers of flesh below it – it was so sharp and clean a cut that for a second, it almost didn’t hurt. He gritted his teeth and hissed and gasped, but even then – even then, there was such a relief to it. He could feel the horrible straining pressure easing even as the magic of the spell coursed in and in and in, even as the somethings under his skin grew, and grew, and finally-

Where Rayla had made the cut on the left, something spilled loose. Something heavy and fleshy and soft, limp and bloody, dropped out of the open wound and thumped wetly against his back. He heard Rayla gag, and felt nausea surge in his own throat at the mere feeling of it, but – she stayed her course, and moved her blade over to the right to repeat the cut.

The energy of the spell ebbed, even as the cut widened and the incredible relief repeated for the other thing, the wet meaty limb spilling down along his back in a trail of blood and gore. He clenched his fingers in Zym’s mane, stomach roiling. Voice hoarse, he asked “Is it all out?”

She gagged again, but answered anyway. “Think so.” She said, shakily, and moved to the side to wash her hands and blade in the water. “Feel for yourself.”

He wasn’t really sure he wanted to. Even the sensation of the things, wet and warm down his back, was viscerally disgusting, and his throat already felt fluttery with nausea. Still, though, he couldn’t quite restrain the morbid curiosity, and moved one hand from Zym’s back to feel around at his own.

His hand landed on something warm and wet and sticky. The skin was…thin, too thin, like something malformed and underdeveloped, and it was growing out of his body but he couldn’t feel it, couldn’t feel his touch on it, it might as well have been – have been something else, something not-him, something alien, something parasitic, growing out of him-

He lurched forward and vomited, managing to avoid Zym entirely. The dragonling scurried out of his lap in a hurry, yipping with alarm, and stared at the puddle of sick with wide-eyed consternation. Then he looked over Callum’s shoulder, and shrank back.

“It wasn’t much nicer to watch it, believe me.” Rayla told him, dryly, as she came over to gently bring him over by the water, steering him with careful fingers at his arms. “Come on. Let’s clean you up. Wash your mouth out.”

He was entirely too shaken to make any sort of comeback, and just nodded, leaning forwards to slip his hands into the water and wash the blood off and then cup some water from further up-river to his mouth. He washed out and spat it to the side, even as Rayla gently set to work cleaning the blood off his back and the things with water and a few wet river-leaves. He still had open wounds, of course, and she muttered a little worriedly about getting river-water in them, but…in the end, it wasn’t as though they had anything to boil water in.

Finally, his back was apparently clean enough, and she patted him on his clammy-wet shoulder. “That’ll do it for tonight.” She said, tiredly. “Wish I could bandage you, but…”

“No bandages?” He guessed, and she nodded.

“No bandages.” She agreed. “You are healing already, though. It’s already scabbing around the…” Her voice went odd. “…limbs.” She decided, eventually.

“…So that’s definitely what they are?” He ventured, brow furrowed. He reached over his shoulder and found, indeed, that the cuts she’d made and the tears around the protrusion of the things were already near-firm with hard coagulation, even though she’d just been at him with water. It was astonishingly painless, compared to how it had been not fifteen minutes ago.

“Can’t you feel them?” She asked, after a moment. Tentatively, she reached out, and he could guess that she picked up one of the limbs by the lessening of the sensation of weight, pulling at his shoulders.

He shook his head, unsettled. “I can’t feel them at all.”

Rayla grimaced, and then, not looking terribly pleased about it, gently manoeuvred the thing down and around to his side, so that he could actually see it. He twisted to stare at it, morbidly fascinated, the nausea lessened now that he’d already vomited.

“That’s gross,” he noted, almost fascinated now, and made a face as he reached out to touch it. It was warm, and that was even more disgusting, somehow.

She let it fall into his hand, and he inspected it. There was a joint at the end, like a wrist joint, with something that wasn’t really a hand hanging there limply. There were, at any rate, three digits, all of which clawed. The first digit was half the length of the second, which itself was half the length of the third. All of them had as many joints as a normal finger would, but the proportions were all wrong – stretched-out and heinously alien, not even close to human. With a raw, shocked sort of apathy, he took the shortest in his fingers and bent it, pressing the sharp point of the claw against his thumb.

“…Is there an elbow joint?” He asked, though he was already checking. In short order he felt along the limb and found it, and hummed pensively at the discovery. Oddly, the discovery of the joints made him feel a little better about it. The limbs were disgusting, and he couldn’t feel them, and he hadn’t asked for them, and it wasn’t even slightly normal to grow two extra limbs on his back – but, at the very least, they had an almost soothing structural similarity to his arms. An elbow and a wrist and a hand each. It was a paltry thing to be comforted by, but it was something.

“You really can’t feel them?” Rayla checked, again, fingers reaching tentatively out to poke at the limb in his hand. He could guess what she felt, when she touched it, by how it felt on his own hands: warm and somehow tacky, even with all the blood washed away. The skin didn’t feel right. It wasn’t like normal skin – it was….thin. Delicate, in an alarming way that made him feel he could rip it with the slightest pressure. Like he would rip it, if he weren’t very very careful. “They look…sore.”

“It’s just my back that hurts, around them.” Callum said, making a face at the two alien fingers on one of his new limbs. His new, limp, utterly insensate limbs. “I can’t feel any of this. It’s like-“ he swallowed against the taste of acid, against the shape of the thoughts that had horrified him earlier. “It’s like it’s – not even me. Just…something growing out of me.”

Rayla shuddered at that too – and for a long moment, he was suddenly, overwhelmingly grateful that she was here with him. Here to help him, here to empathise with the visceral horror of what was happening to him, just…here.

“Maybe that’ll change.” She said, softly, and he wasn’t actually sure whether he agreed or not.

If he never felt anything from them – if they stayed these disgusting, insensate things hanging from his body…that would almost be easier to deal with. At least then he could…look into getting them cut off, or something. But if he could feel them – if they really did become a part of him, these things that were on his back but shouldn’t be ­– that was somehow a whole lot scarier. What would that even mean? “…I don’t even know what they are.” He said, a little plaintively. “I don’t even know why they’re growing. No one else grows weird gross extra limbs from their backs like this.”

“No one else gets a sparkly new arcanum years and years after they’re born, either.” She pointed out, and he huffed, reminded of what she’d said before.

“So, what? Are they arms? Useless featherless wings? Something else?” He questioned, looking down at the disturbing tiny hand-joint thing she was still gingerly holding. Three-fingered, it looked nothing like a proper human hand – not even an elf hand – and the proportions were all wrong.

“If it’s an arm, it’s not like any I’ve ever seen.” She answered, after a moment, peering along the wrinkly too-thin skin, as if she were looking for something. “As for wings…I don’t know. I’ve never seen a Skywing without feathers, but…I’ve never seen the wings of a baby, either. Pretty sure they’re not born with feathers, so…”

“Too early to tell?” he suggested, and she shrugged helplessly at him. He sighed, and inspected the limb as best he could by moonlight. “Well, I guess it does look kind of…baby-skin-ish.” He concluded. “Like newborn baby-skin, I mean – all red-looking and wrinkly and gross.”

“…Well, they’re developing fast.” She said, dubious, and withdrew her fingers from the senseless skin. “Maybe they’ll look less gross and sore-looking and wrinkly by morning.”

Callum wondered, for a brief and distant moment, as if he should maybe be a little bit put-off by her using those descriptors, even though she was mostly just quoting him. After all, these new…things…were ostensibly part of his body, so shouldn’t he feel defensive about their appearance?

But he didn’t. All he felt was a sincere echo of her own sentiments and her own disgust as he looked at the limp thing in his hand. It didn’t feel like a part of him. It didn’t feel like a part of him at all.

His gut twisted, and he shivered. “Maybe.” He said, a little tightly, and dropped the limb. It dropped back down, sagging against his back with the other one. A small, insistent part of him was screaming to get them off, in an instinctive revulsion he couldn’t quite manage to displace. He swallowed against the nausea again, and tried to put the thoughts aside.

Rayla looked at him, for a long moment that he spent mostly trying to wrestle his gut into some semblance of good behaviour. He’d really like it if his stomach would stop roiling at every reminder of the things that had burst out of his upper back. “…If you think you can, it’d be a good idea to try to get to sleep.” She offered, eventually. “It’s still the middle of the night – and we have a long way to go.”

He frowned….but nodded, reluctantly. “I don’t know if I can.” He admitted, and thought the reasoning needed little explanation. “But I’ll try, I guess.”

As if encouraged by the words, Zym took that opportunity to butt his head under Callum’s hand, crooning a little when the motion automatically earned him some scritches around the horns. The little dragonling looked up at him in a way that suggested he was entirely ready for some nap-time, preferably with a large warm cuddle-buddy.

Zym hadn’t been this touch-hungry before, he didn’t think. Not when Ezran was here. Still…

Callum smiled, gentle affection replacing the churning in his gut, and reached out to hoist Zym into his arms as he stood. The new limbs swayed and slapped a little against his back as he moved, but he tried not to think about that.

“If nothing else, Zym definitely needs sleep.” He said, and tucked the dark blue dragon-wings neatly under his arms. Zym craned his neck backwards, trying to look at him, and then broke into a sharp-toothed yawn. In the contagious way of yawns, he was returning it a second later, abruptly more tired by all the pain and stress than he’d realised.

“Looks like Zym isn’t the only one.” Rayla observed, lips twitching, and then ushered him gently over to where they’d been sleeping.

Laying down took some arrangement, this time. He had to avoid laying on the new limbs, and somehow manoeuvre them into a comfortable position despite not being able to feel or move them. They were a strange, warm, foreign weight against his back. Eventually, Rayla took pity on him and tucked them inwards on his back, draping his jacket over him.

As a finishing touch, she picked up Zym, picked up his arm, and then planted the dragonling beneath it. Said dragonling chirped happily, and shoved his snout into Callum’s armpit. “Sleep.” She ordered him, or perhaps ordered them both, and slipped with a smile on her lips to lay just a little way beside him.

As unsettling as everything had been…it had been exhausting, too. He’d thought he’d stay up a long time, thinking about it all, but instead…

Instead, he closed his eyes, and fell asleep almost instantly.

 —

End chapter.

Notes: This chapter is the bloodiest by far. There might be small bloody moments in the future, but from now on it’s just steadily decreasing amounts of body horror and drastically increasing amounts of inconvenience, indignity, and fluff. There’s also potential for a more complex magically-rooted plotline eventually, but it depends on what I plot out. Could just end up being a relatively straight s3 fic with wing-related divergence points, could be very very different. We’ll see.

I really do mean it when I say I’m going to go very in-depth with the wing biology stuff. This will, in places, be slightly gross. Callum may be done with most of his pain but I have so many other ways to make him suffer.

World notes: Magic works a bit differently in this AU, which is why Callum is growing wings. Callum’s wings are also very different to an elf’s, and to the mage-wings as seen in canon. Still, there will be a whole lot of wingfic stuff and wing-fluff, which I imagine many of us are very hungry for after s3.

Hope everyone enjoyed s3 as much as I did!

Feedback and kudos etc very much appreciated. Chapter 2 is mostly done, just need to adjust it for s3.

[briannamarguerite]

I had an hour to kill and forgot my laptop so I wrote a quick Drabble off @londonfoginacup ‘s tags on a post with football-shaped bread (namely “baker Harry tries to woo Louis”) I wrote this on my phone so soz about typos😂)

Harry wanted to be romantic and say it was the boy’s eyes he noticed first. And he did get around to those, he did (they were pure and deep blue, the color of the evening sky just after the sun completely slipped below the horizon but before the black of midnight. See, would someone who was not romantic be able to come up with that?)

Or his smile. The one that Harry would later realized he craved, would later do everything in his power to earn. The one that tickled out the crinkles that told of a life spent laughing.

But in truth it was the boy’s ass that he noticed first. Harry couldn’t be faulted really, because it had been at eye-level at the time he’d realized anyone else had even come into the bakery.

He blamed it on the tray. Or the crack in the floor that no one else ever seemed to trip over but Harry swore was real (it was fucking real okay Susan?). And that’s how he ended up on his knees in front of the most delectable ass he’d ever encountered. It was plump, and jiggled beneath the worn gray of the boy’s joggers, and Harry curled his fingers until they dug into the flesh of his palm to stop himself from reaching out, making sure this wasn’t some sex-drought hallucination.

“Oh hello,” the boy said once he noticed Harry, his friendly smile bending toward bemused curiosity as Harry continued to gape (Or perhaps PERHAPS Harry was making that serial killer face everyone got creeped out by but that he could never seem to control until it was too late.) The boy crouched down, his thighs (his glorious thighs! Had Harry been killed dead by his ass? He was brought back to life with the thick perfection that pulled and bunched beneath the fabric). “Need help, Love?” The boy asked, his strong northern accent dropping the spaces between the words, reminding Harry of home.

Harry shook his head. Speech seemed ambitious at the moment, so he simply waved a general hand at the mess (what the hell that was supposed to accomplish he didn’t know) and then pushed to his feet. The boy followed suit.

By the time Harry made it back to the register, he’d somewhat untangled his tongue (don’t think about your tongue you bloody idiot) and managed a weak “Harry” followed by a wide-eyed stare he could only hope would be interpreted as, tell me your name please because I want to know what to call my future husband and also please be gay thank you.

“Louis” The boy said, his (beautiful evening sky) eyes all but gone with the force of his smile.

“Help you?” Harry got out past the disappointment that he couldn’t start doodling his future last name yet.

Louis glanced down at baskets of bread under the register, and Harry sighed both relieved and utterly devastated that he no longer held louis’ full attention.

“Lads and I are kicking around over at the park, but I’m starved. Have any sandwiches?”

Harry jumped into action (okay so it wasn’t technically on the menu but Louis needed to be fed, and who was Harry not to rise to the challenge?) and made Louis his famous ham and cheese using the special gourmet ingredients he kept in the bakery’s mini fridge for his own lunches.

“Cheers, love,” Louis said dropping his change in the tip jar. He bit into the sand which right then and there and Harry’s breath caught on the wrong side of his windpipe as he waited for the verdict. “Fucking sick, mate,” Louis said flashing Harry a thumbs up.

Then he walked out of Harry’s life, leaving only one last image of his perfect juicy peach pressing against thin fabric to fuel Harry’s after work stress relief. (Sex drought okay?)

The ladies of the bakery at first were endeared by Harry’s lamenting that he’d missed his chance with the boy who was clearly his soulmate, but their smiles took on a brittle edge by the end of the week.

It wasn’t until the next Saturday when Harry was vacillating between resignation that now that he’d met and lost the boy who was clearly the love of his life he was clearly destined to live alone, and blind faith that fate surely would bring them together once more when the bell on the door chimed.

The problem was he was near that crack again (which WAS REAL) and he was carrying a tray of cookies and honestly it wasn’t his fault, what was he supposed to do when his future husband was BACK and standing there in A SHEER WHITE T SHIRT that brought out the deep caramel of his skin? That revealed the sharp edges of his collarbones.

Well he ended up on the floor again, of course.

But then Louis was crouching next to him with that smile, the one that promised slow Sunday mornings, and stupid tickle fights, and private jokes shared across crowded tables at dinner parties. “So this is a common occurrence, is it?”

From then on Louis came into the bakery every Saturday, and Harry managed to stay on his feet (okay most of the time, god, alright?).

And they actually started talking. It was slow at first because Harry’s gaping kind of put a crimp on banter. But by the fourth visit they were chatting favorite music (indie for Louis, classic rock for Harry) by the sixth, family (“only one sister? Bless, I’ve got five meself and a brother on top of that) by the eighth, future plans (they were both in school but Louis wanted to try acting, Harry was mulling pastry institutes).

The problem was louis was very much not picking up on Harry’s attempt to woo him. Which, alright he admitted was subtle. But he’d baked the sandwich bread into a heart (and a smiley face and a star and any number of cute creative shapes to let louis know he was thinking about him) for gods sake. What else did a boy have to do to get asked on a date?

“why don’t you just ask him out, dear?” Babs asked as she watched him with his latest attempt (a football and to be honest if this didn’t work he didn’t know what would).

“Cuz” Harry said stubbornly pressing lines into the sticky dough, knowing he was being irrational.

When Louis came in that day, he was beautiful as always, a beenie perched on his windswept hair, turning all this features sharp and gorgeous. He smiled that smile at Harry and this time it promised Friday nights and silk sheets and lace underwear and expensive wine. Or Harry could just really be suffering from his sex drought.

“Hi Lou,” Harry sighed resting his arms on the counter in such a way to casually draw attention to the football-shaped bread in the basket.

“Umm,” Louis didn’t in fact look down. No instead his eyes were on the menu board above Harry’s head (come on! He hadn’t changed his order in all the weeks he’d been coming in. Harry tapped the glass, done with subtlety.) Louis’ eyes snapped to his and then darted away, his hands shoved in his pockets as he rocked back on his heels. If harry didn’t know better he’d say Louis was nervous.

“Yeah? harry prompted and there was pinging going on in the back of his brain, like he should be realizing something, but the messages weren’t quite getting through his Louis fog.

“Was wondering if you’d like to go out with me,” Louis said on one breath so that all the words slurred together and jumbled inside Harry’s head where a part of his brain had understood and was popping champagne while the other (which unfortunately was in charge of his motor functions) was struck dumb so that he was just left staring.

Louis flushed (a pale pretty rose color tint Harry noticed) and started backing away. “I mean ... sorry if ... misunderstood ... read this wrong ...”

“No!!” Harry’s desperation was somehow enough to get the word out and as louis’ face fell he nearly ripped off his tongue for how it must have sounded. “I mean yes!! You didn’t misread. I’d love to please thank you very much. Yes.”

Some point during Harry’s ramblings, Louis’ smile came back. And this time it promised tuxes and aisles and registries and (ok don’t get ahead of yourself here Harold).

“Sick,” Louis said on an exhale and then they both grinned at each other stupid and silly as they exchanged numbers.

Just before Louis turned to head out, he stopped, his eyes on the basket of bread. “Oh that’s so cool, you know if you squint hard enough those actually look like footballs.” He said it with a laugh and a wave and Harry told himself it wouldn’t be well done for him to murder his future husband.

[robininthelabyrinth]

here are some keywords about a fic (idk if it’s 200 words or 20k i’d read it anyway) if you wrote it: coldflash/coldflashwave kidnapped!tiedup!gagged!barry and some insane villain who enjoys driving len and/or mick mad.

A fill for Coldflash Weeks Day 2: Hostage Situation/Kidnap

Anon: I’m sorry. I tried. It came out as crack despite my best efforts.

Ao3 link

Summary: Leonard Snart joins the Legion of Doom as Team Flash’s inside spy, except then Barry gets captured and tied up by the leader of the group. Luckily for Barry, Len’s terrible sense of humor comes to the rescue.

——————————————-

It’d seemed like a good idea at the time.

“Our known enemies are forming a new League of Evil People Doing Bad Things, but they’re being super secretive about it this time – clearly the best way to figure out what they’re up to is to have one of our allies, someone no one will ever suspect, infiltrate it!”

Now, who do does Team Flash possibly know who could pull that delicate balance of ‘evil but not actually that evil’ off?

Unlike Mick, Len has the advantage of having spent a few years dead for tax reasons instead of running around saving the world, and his only famous exploits before that were as the Flash’s enemy rather than his ally. So, naturally, he’s the obvious pick for the job, even if he had originally planned on laying low for a while, recover from the whole death thing, maybe running a few heists to stay in shape, that sort of thing.

Despite Len’s best intentions regarding that, Barry tracked him down and asked Len to join the Loathsome Legion of Darkness. For his sake.

He even said please.

One day, Len will figure out how to say no to Barry when he’s doing that big wide-eyed “it’s for the good of the city!” pleading expression.

That particular day, alas, was not the day.

So Len took himself over to the villains they knew were involved and crashed their party, doing the whole smirking and innuendo and intimidation thing that basically counts as a supervillain’s resume submission, and he got himself a nomination for the Confederacy of Criminals.

It wasn’t all that easy, of course. They demanded a show of good faith first.

A demonstration of Len’s criminal credentials and his general villainous disposition.

Len robbed them while they weren’t looking and offered to give them back their weapons as their sign of good faith, with an added helping of his boot up their ass.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, that actually worked, and before you know it, Len’s a full-fledged member of the Malicious Mob.

Naturally, they don’t trust him at first, giving him little jobs that are more about appeasing him and keeping him in the group long enough to use him as cannon fodder in someone else’s plans, but Len’s nobody’s henchmen. He starts working his way up the ranks of the Network of Nefarious No-Gooders, making himself useful to one person, then another.

Of course, usually he’s helping people with backstabbing other members of the Society of Sociopaths, and the superheroes don’t really object to those - and, of course, the villains treat it as de rigeur. Sometimes, however, it’s pulling jobs against superheroes he’d never even known existed and has no particularly good ways of countering.

Luckily, Len is very good at his job.

Every once in a while, though, he’s forced to help with…less savory things.

For instance, today, the leader of the Band of Blackguards and Bad Guys had apparently managed to capture a superhero (how he avoided letting his overwhelming incompetence stop him from successfully doing so is a mystery) and wants Len to help torture him, or at least help keep watch while said superhero gets tortured.

Len never likes those jobs in the best of times, and he usually finds some way to avoid them, but in this case, he got a very special personal invitation to the torture session.

And the reason for that invitation is because the kidnapped superhero in question is the Flash.

“I knew you’d enjoy this one,” the leader of the Club of Convicts and Criminal Masterminds crows. “At last, Cold, your membership in our little group has paid off.”

Please. Like Len would ever need the help of the Atrocious Alliance to capture Barry.

Len could probably bait a cardboard box with some pizza and that would work.

Or maybe he’d just pop over to STAR Labs, where there is still no security system, and say “I need you for a kidnapping, please come this way” and Barry probably would.

Len loves the guy, but they really need to work on his gullibility.

As it is, however, Barry is currently a prisoner of the Order of Offended and Offensive Outlaws.

He’s still in his costume with his mask intact, which is good and means that Len won’t have to murder the leader of the Gang of Gruesome Gangsters to protect Barry’s identity, but he’s also, as Len likes to put it, a little tied up at the moment.

Barry’s on his knees, his body draped with silvery ropes that glimmer blue and look like something that just came out of the laboratories. His hands are tied behind his back and his knees are spread, and he’s been gagged with an equally silvery ball gag that makes his lips look even redder in contrast.

Len’s going to rescue him.

Totally.

He just, uh, needs a few seconds to fix this image in his head for posterity.

And possibly take a few pictures first.

Oh, now Barry’s glaring at Len. Specifically, at Len’s stolen iPhone that he’s using to take photos. But that’s okay! Len’s cool with it. It gives the pictures a very sexy implied non-con effect.

“Now, Flash, you are at our non-existent mercy! We have captured – are you quite done taking pictures, Cold?” the leader of the Syndicate of Sinister Scoundrels asks, scowling at Len.

“No,” Len says. “Hold up, I want to get a different angle.”

“Cold, stop that at once. You’re not helping create the appropriately intimidating effect,” the leader snarls.

“Don’t let me interfere with your monologue, O Glorious Leader,” Len says. “Hey, Flasher, gimme a smile.”

Barry glares death.

He must really not be able to get out of those ropes.

Len goes to get a picture from the back (Barry has such excellent assets, it’d be a crime to overlook them) and Barry flips him off from where his hands are tied together.

“Nice,” Len says appreciatively. “Very nice. You know I like it when you’re feisty for me.”

The leader of the Coterie of Conniving Crooks coughs pointedly. “Do you want me to let you have some…alone time with your superhero?”

“Yeah, boss,” Len says. “That’d be great. You can leave now.”

“The question was rhetorical,” the leader says flatly.

“And the answer wasn’t,” Len says. “What’s your point?”

“Are you sleeping with your superhero?” the leader of the Hookup of Hateful Hooligans demands. He sounds appalled, which is just offensive. He’s the bad guy here! He has no place to judge!

“I mean,” Len says, “not at the moment, no.”

“I don’t know if we allow that sort of thing,” the leader of the Association of Absolute Assholes sniffs.

“What if it was entirely non-consensual?” Len asks. It’s important to know where they draw the line.

“I wasn’t suggesting that it was consensual!”

Seriously?

Gross.

“Listen, are you going to let me torture him or not?” Len asks, putting away his phone and crossing his arms. “I thought that’s why you called me here, so I could get some of my kicks in before he’s inevitably rescued by the good guys.”

“Rescue is not inevitable,” the leader of the Institute of Incurable Idiots objects.

“It kind of is,” Len says. “Since they’ve done it every other time we’ve successfully kidnapped a good guy or done something else like this. Now shoo.”

“I want to torture him too!”

“You don’t get to,” Len says sternly. “He’s mine. I’m very possessive -“

"Since when?!”

“It’s a new development. Anyway, you don’t want to cross a possessive supervillain. Remember Gotham?”

The leader of the Circle of Craven Cowards winces. He does remember Gotham.

“Fine,” he says sulkily. “You can have him.”

“I’ll be sure to monologue before I do anything untoward,” Len promises. "I’ll follow your wonderful example.”

The leader of the Federation of Fugitive Felons scowls at him and flounces away.

He’d probably think of it as a menacing glide, but really, it’s a flounce.

Len turns back to Barry and removes the gag at once.

“Were the pictures really necessary?” Barry hisses.

“Entirely,” Len lies. “I definitely wasn’t taking them for my own amusement. Not at all.”

Barry tries to maintain a glare and ends up sniggering.

“But seriously, what are you doing here? Are these ropes actually enough to keep you back?”

“They’re problematic,” Barry allows, which means yes. “But actually, thanks to your intel, we’ve figured out what the doomsday device they’re working on and we’re planning a big attack on it tomorrow, so we’re here to pull you out. Ideally with your cover intact in case the Legion reforms after we take them down.”

It’s not like Len won’t leap at any chance to escape the Wicked Wrongdoers of the World here, he’s been dying of boredom for weeks, but an escape that keeps his cover intact means…

“You’re going to kidnap me?” Len says, starting to grin. “Oh, good. Will I be tied up? Will you use the gag?”

Barry rolls his eyes at him.

“What if I ask really nicely?”

“I’ve told you once, I’ll tell you again,” Barry says. “Not in public.”

“Spoilsport.”

[thefanficwriter]

Imbroglio: Chapter 1

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 1600

Summary:  Your entire life has been uprooted as you head to Asgard after being betrothed to Loki. You want nothing to do with him or the mystery surrounding his actions but as you learn more about him, your feelings begin to change into something a bit more extraordinary.

A/N: I wrote 2 chapters of this story years ago and I don’t think I’m ever going to finish this but I figured I might as well share this with you guys. 

You glanced at your reflection in the mirror as a servant finished buttoning your dress. You admired the way that the blue fabric clung to your curves, however it was only a reminder of the rather sad situation you were in.

Your father was the ruler of a quaint village not far from Asgard. As his daughter, you had become accustomed to the inner workings of politics between the neighboring towns and your own. While your village was a small one, its position was ideal and your father held much power, leading to all other towns wanting to ally themselves with yours. This, of course, included Asgard. Your father and Odin had been friendly for years, but a rebellious village, Kvivik, had put stress on the entire realm. To ensure that your father's village and Odin's remained allies, you had been betrothed to youngest of his sons, Loki.

You had met Loki a number of times at balls or visits to the palace, and while he had always been kind to you, you had heard the stories of the terrible things that he did, of the monster that he was, and the idea of being with him for the rest of your life frightened you.

Yet here you were, getting dressed to go to the palace where you would live for the next few months leading up to the wedding. Part of you knew that this was your duty, that being the daughter of an important official entailed certain responsibilities. But the other part of you was bitter and spiteful that your father would pawn you off and use you as a bargaining chip. You let out a sigh and tried not to harbor any bad feelings towards your father at the moment. This would most likely be the last time that you would see him until the wedding and you didn't want to spend it angry with him.

After taking a deep breath, you left your room and made your way to the front gates of the castle. You knew that the palace in Asgard was much more lavish than yours but you were still going to miss your home. Your whole life had taken place there and now you were expected to just pack up and leave. Thinking about it made you feel a strange combination of angry and sad so you decided it would just be best to meet your family outside. Taking one last look around, you opened the front gates and walked into the early morning sun.

Your mother, father, and sister greeted you with sad smiles as you eyed the carriage waiting in the street. Your bags had already been loaded into it by the the servants and the driver stood next to the horses patiently. All that was left to do was say goodbye. Slowly, you turned to your family, holding back tears. Why did this have to be so difficult? Your sister, Astrid, suddenly wrapped her arms around your neck and sobbed.

"I'll miss you." She said as you held her close and tried not to cry. Finally she let go and stood back, wiping away a few tears. "Okay, it's okay. It'll be alright." She said, seemingly trying to convince herself more than you that everything would be just fine.

You sucked in a breath and nodded, forcing a smile towards her. "It'll just be a few months until the wedding. And I promise to write you every week." This seemed to calm her and you were able to turn you attention to your parents.

Your mother smiled, though she had tears in her eyes. "We are so proud of you. I know that this may not be easy but you have always been strong, and intelligent, and resilient. I am so grateful to call you my daughter."

You thanked her while your father put a hand on your shoulder. "You will bring honor to us and I know you will be a wonderful wife to the prince." You smiled and nodded, bringing your parents in for a hug.

"Well then, I guess it's time for me to leave." You took a deep breath. "I love you all very much and will do my best to make you proud." You didn't want to say goodbye so instead you opted for, "Until I see you again," and turned to walk towards the carriage. The driver opened the door and you stepped in, trying to regain your composure. Once the door was shut you looked out the window to your family. When the carriage jolted forward they began to wave and you sent a halfhearted wave back.

Once they were out of view you sat back against the seat, desperately trying to convince yourself that life with Loki would be fine. But the more you thought about it, the more the pit in your stomach grew until you thought you might be sick, so you stared out the window, attempting to think about anything except arriving at the palace.

Soon enough though, you saw the scenic landscape turn into the glorious inner walls of the city. The views were beautiful, but Asgard never seemed like a place to call home. You loved to visit the city yet the idea of living there was completely unappealing. Everything seemed too formal, too expensive, and too pretentious. The carriage pulled up in front of the palace and you took a deep breath as the driver came around to open your door.

You focused on just putting one foot in front of the other as you followed a servant up the steps into the main hall. There, the royal family waited to greet you. You fell into a low curtsey once in front of them. "My King. My Queen." You said, bowing your head towards Odin and Frigga. Frigga gave you a warm smile as you moved down the line to Thor and Loki.

"Prince Loki." You said, avoiding his eyes. He nodded politely and forced a smile.

"Prince Thor." You said quietly. He smiled at you and grabbed your hand in his own, bringing it to his lips.

"It's always a pleasure, Princess (Y/N)." He said. Thor helped put you at ease immediately with his big smile and friendly eyes.

Odin began to speak. “We are so pleased that you have come to join us in these upcoming months before you and Loki are wed.” Very formal. Of course.

“It is an honor, my King.” You felt bile rise up in the back of your throat at the mention of the wedding but you tried not to let it show. Your eyes flicked to Loki who was staring at you intensely.

You turned your gaze back to Odin and Frigga, who was still smiling at you. “You must be tired darling,” she said. “We’ll have a servant show you to your living quarters.”

A young girl stepped forward from her place against the wall. “Right this way, Princess,” she said, bowing her head. You followed behind her as she worked her way through the maze of corridors. You had never been in this part of the castle before but it was just as beautiful as the rest of it. After winding your way down hallway after hallway, you finally arrived in front of a gorgeous set of french doors. The girl opened them and you stepped inside, taking in how nice the room was.

There was a glorious book shelf that took up one wall of the room and a beautiful mosaic on the wall opposite. A huge window took up the furthest wall from the door, overlooking the courtyard. Not knowing how much time you would be spending in this room, you were relieved to find out that you would at least have a wonderful view. A fire was going in the fireplace, making the room seem very cozy.

The girl followed into the room after you, turning left and pointing out a door that you had missed. “The bathroom is in here. I hope you find everything to your liking.”

“I’m sure everything will be just fine.” You said to her.

“Well, please let me know if there is anything I can do for you. I would recommend that you get some sleep. You must be awfully tired after your long trip here.” The idea of going to bed became very alluring to you. Maybe it was because you were so nervous, but you hadn’t even realized how tired you had become. “It has been requested that you meet with Prince Loki tomorrow morning. Someone will be in to wake you and help you dress.”

“Wait, I’m meeting with Loki tomorrow? What for?” The uneasiness lurked its way back into you at the thought of spending time alone with Loki.

“I’m afraid I am not sure, my lady, but I can assure you, there is nothing to fear.” The look in her eyes told you otherwise. “If that is all, Princess, I bid you goodnight.” She turned and left the room, shutting your doors softly.

You sighed and walked over to the large bed sitting up against the wall, falling on top of it and letting yourself relax. You could stress about meeting with Loki after you wake up, but right now all you wanted to do was sleep. You forced yourself to stand back up and made your way over to your bags which were sitting on the floor. You pulled out a nightgown and quickly changed into it before slowly walking back to the bed and pulling yourself under the covers. The stress of the day had really taken it out of you and it did not take long before you were pulled from consciousness by the hands of sleep.

[in-the-gardens-of-inspiration]

Yo, so let me preface this: I used to watch the 2003 4kids TMNT when I was a kiddo, and I've also been watching TMNT2012, and I'm also pretty hype about Rise tbh, but it got me thinking about the weird rabbit-holey SI/reader being in a relationship with one or more or all of the bros- and like, made me think back to the one I wrote a few years back when I was sick. It also made me think of Raphael having the Hebrew version of his name instead of the Latin/Italian version, Raffaello, and of course because Angelology is its own dark rabbit hole of research, yeah, I was thinking about the archangels, the Hamato brothers and a SI/OFC. Also a bible-thumping, born-again bus seat neighbour.

Then I decided, I have to write this glorious mess.

(It's for 2012, 'cause I'm most familiar with that incarnation atm)

__

There's something crappily unlucky about getting stuck in New York City after 10:30 in what many, if not most people consider the bad part of town.

It was a reprieve at first, honestly, but after the first 10 minutes, it just was such a drag.

Want to know what happened? Well, the Greyhound broke down, and the driver couldn't fix it, so he called another bus to pick his passengers up, which would be coming. Eventually. Some time after 11:30. Wonderful.

Great. Well, I wasn't beside a born-again Christian Evangelist Bible-thumper trying to shove her brand of religion down my throat, so plus.

On the flipside, minus: I don't know NYC, like at all, I was daytripping. So I wandered off because I was rather sick of my benchmate, the Bible-thumper, and, haha, of course, got lost.

Now I've heard some shit about the Big Apple recently, and like, it's wacky. Ninjas? Aliens? Oh get real. That's a movie publicity stunt.

But ho boy, was I wrong.

So while I was wandering, trying to find my way back to the bus shelter, I hear footsteps approaching me, and like these suited Pod-people clones with these gnarly laser rifles are following me. My eyes go wide, 'cause holy shit, this is either a ballsy as fuck publicity stunt or I'm about to get murdered or worse by these plug fugly clone rejects, and to be honest, either choice sounds kinda shitty.

So I'm there, speed walking the FUCK outta there, when I hear whooping, jeering and clanking metal, I turn, lo and behold: ... Uh turtles...?

I blinked a couple times, nope. Not a stress-induced hallucination, okay, that's good? Yeah, a quick pinch to the arm also verified it wasn't a dream, because oww... And uh, my stare was being returned, and I barely withheld a squeak of startlement, with a no-doubt awkward look I gave my rescuers a smile-and-wave combo. And immediately regretted it.

Between one blink and the next the turtly-shaped anomalies, there were four of them, all around 5-ish feet tall. All sorta staring- like what happens when you stare too long at the abyss, it stares back.

"Um, hi..?" Mouth engaged before brain rebooted, great start. "Thanks for saving me from those creeps..." I think I nervous blabber, that's gotta be the only reason I'm still talkin'. "My name's Daphne, you, uh, fine fellas see a bus shelter 'round here? Think I got a little turned around.." Finally, my mouth ran out of words to spew out, and I was left to get a closer look at my rescuers. I mean, outside of 5-ish foot tall turtles.

Decked out in domino mask-like bandanas, the quartet made for a fairly imposing image, weapons adorning them and blank eyes. Fairly imposing at least until the shortest one, in the orange, spoke, baby blue eyes glittering at me. My mental image of my knights in tortoiseshell armour tarnished a bit,. "Whoa, bros, she's kinda pretty."

She's also right here, I snorted, taken aback, god he sounded like a teen- oh shit, could he actually be a teen? Huh, that's not something ya see everyday, teenage ninja mutant turtles.

The one with the red bandana smacked the one that had spoken upside the head. "Why don't you think before you speak?!" ... Okaay, that's, uh, new.

He spoke again, absolutely unfazed by the whimpering, teary-eyed stare he was receiving, "Bus shelters about five blocks that way." And he pointed in the direction I'd come from, ah nuts, I'm probably getting more lost in the seedy part of an already dangerous city, great. I smile at them a bit wanly, "NYC's got my internal compass a little on the buggered side, but eh, thanks for the directions." I move to push past them, when a blast of pink energy from a nearby alley slams into the pavement in front of me, and I leap back with a choked off curse.

The one in blue grimaces, and barks out, "Let's take care of these pests first, Mikey, Don, can you cover for..?" I'm assuming he's the leader, but it still startles me a bit when he looks at me amidst the blaster fire. Holy shit, my day's just become an episode of a comedy sci-fi anime.

So Blue told Orange, 'Mikey', and Purple, 'Don', to cover me, the civilian liability, yeah, fair, but I was planning on booking it back in the ensuing chaos, nuts. Right, he asked my name again, "Daphne."

"Sure thing Leo!" Next thing I know after Orange chirps that is the sound of a facepalm, ah, that sweet sound of exasperation. I see Blue grit his teeth, and Red poorly hold back a bark of laughter. Ah, I assume they were going for subtle and mysterious. They failed. Oh well.

I fished my phone from my hoodie pocket, 11 pm, oh good. I had time. I put my phone back and sat crosslegged on the ground, and propped my head up. Makes both less and more of a target, I'd wager, plus with all this cloak and dagger, haha, ninja b/s maybe I'll make my bus before they drive off and I have to find a hostel or something.

Again I find my mouth running off before my brain can process, "So... Come here often?" Of course I had to imbue as much sarcasm as I could, raising my voice so all four could hear me- probably not my best call, but I was tired and getting quite cranky. All but Blue were at least amused, Blue, eh, ya can't win 'em all. "So, eh, what are these pod people supposed to be anyway? Rejected robot clone Men In Black?"

I flinch as a silver robot with a smirking brain goes to reach for me, but man am I glad I took a a few years of various martial arts. With a spot of grace, and it beint close enough to use it's brain as a spring board, I do a back roll, and end up knocking into Purple on the get up. "Sorry man, didn't mean to, ugly over there caught me by surprise." He turns to see where I rolled from, and spots a KO'd 'droidy bastard. "That'd be ugly then?" Giving him a cheeky smirk, I humm, "Mmhm, that's him, warts and all!" I stretch, mutterjng to myself as I do, "Ah man, it's been a bit since I've done that..." The four of them by this point have have taken care of the robo-menaces, and Blue still looks extraordinarily unimpressed. Almost like what happened was my fault.

"What are you even doing out here so late? Most people aren't." My eye twitched, yeah, that was equal parts tiredness and irritation, "Like I said, New York buggers with my internal compass and I got turned around. I don't want to be a target for less-than-savoury people, so I learned a helpful tip, called look like you know what you're doing. I'm pretty fucking lost right know, so some help would be much appreciated. If you want incentive, I've got some artisan dark chocolate, and some low-sweetness white chocolate, that ok?"

Eventually, after 10 minutes of bickering, a bar of white chocolate lighter, I was able to get an 'escort'. Red who I found out was properly called Raphael, who was equal parts volunteered and voluntold to make sure I was able to see the bus shelter before buggering off. As I walked the last couple of blocks, an errant thought popped into my head. Raphael was classically an Archangel. There were classically, at least in bare-bones Christianity, four of them. Micheal, Gabriel, Raphael and Uriel. That- oh boy, did that give me an idea if that lady was gonna try and make me change my beliefs and spirituality.

Plot twist, or maybe not, my favourite person in the world decided to sit rihht beside me. Again. For the long ride homewards. I think she took my silence as license to gab. Oh joy.

Putting on my most awed, touched by God face, from the shadows of my hood, and the most dreamy voice I can manage I put my plan into being.

I flip my hood down, and turn to face her a little bit more, "You know," I cut her off mid-I'll-be-damned-if-I-don't-convert speech, "I think I was visited by the Archangels, you see, I got a little turned around, and I think they guided me back safely." She was gaping like a fish, "One of them even spoke to me," I continued blithely, "He introduced himself as Raphael. That's after they scared off a group of muggers." She looked like I slapped her with a particularly slimy fish, "I-I, bwuh?" Eloquent, lady, very eloquent. "They were so kind and helpful, I can't believe they appeared to this sinful daughter..." After a beat or two, "Miss are you okay?" The fanatical lady was still a bit BSoD, which was a-ok by me, so I flipped my hood back up, and went back to trying to sleep.

I didn't think much of the whole incident for a while, until my friend flipped me a vid of a radical upstate New York lady losing her shit upon being interviewed by a televangelist. I wanted to laugh, I wanted to cry. She was talking about me.

Not quite in so many words, of course, since she wasn't there for what actually happened, but she flipped out when the 'pastor' questioned the validity of her, by extension, my story, through my phone speakers I could hear the question being asked, 'how do you know she was sober?' and the lady just loosing it. I wheezed. What?

[imagine-by-susu]

The Case of the Phantom Part 1

 A/N: Here you go guys. I received more likes than I thought. So I upload the first part. I hope you like it as much as I do. Also Ereena Valenza is an OC of a friend of mine and besides the known characters of Sherlock every other perso mentioned in it is imagined by me. Word count: 2140 (sorry for mistakes you may find) Warnings: None (I think) (Y/N) (Y/L/N)  = Your Name Your Last Name (Y/H/S) = Your Hair Style (Y/H/L) = Your Hair Legnth (Y/H/C) = Your Hair Color (Y/E/C) = Your Eye Color GIF IS NOT MINE Preview _______________________________________________________________

A cold wind blew in the air of Paris. It was in the early evening of October 1929. Cars were driving in the muddy roads of the French city, a few horses here and there were also seen, rare in this time when you had the money for one of this useful vehicles. One of these vehicles drove near the old Opera House, which held an auction of all the reminding items in the old building. Out came a Lady in her 40‘s with blond hair that already had a few little grey strands in it. She wore a green coat that ended by hear knees and had brown fur at the end of it. Together with a Nurse she helped an elder men out of the car and helped him into a Wheelchair. „Thank you love.“ the man said in a gruff voice. The blond Lady smiled to the man. „But of course Father. It is time for me to return what you gave me all your life.“ With that the Woman walked first to the Opera followed by the nurse who pulled the wheelchair.

In the old, dusty Opera house stood a few people. On a podium there stood a man with a long white beard and his wrinkled face looked into the crowed. In his right hand he held a Hammer. „Now to object 664.“ his voice rang through the whole building. The Woman and the Nurse stopped when they reached the auction. The man in the wheelchair looked up to the man on the podium. He hoped to may find something he could call a ‚memory from a glorious time‘. „Father why are we here again?“ The blond asked the old man. His blue eyes looked up at to her blue ones. „Because my dear Rosie“ he started. „Here in this Opera House happens unimaginable things. Both good and bad.“ than the Nurse spoke up. „Mr. Watson, I‘m sorry to interrupted you but we shouldn‘t stay here for long. It is very cold here and you still didn‘t fully recovered.“ The man only smiled a little but didn‘t say anything. The Auction man spoke again. „Sold for 50 French Francs to Monsieur Debeau. Thank you.“ the item got to a man in his 50‘s with kind of long grey hair. He seemed to be a big fan of this Opera House. Rosie Watson was totally confused as to why her Father wanted to go all the way from London to Paris just for this Opera. „Now to Item 665.“ John Watson looked around the room. Looked at the people who stood there. Till his eyes met familiar ones. The Face of an old Friend he once knew. The old Lady looked up with here grey eyes into the old blue ones of the resigned Doctor. She gave a warming smile like she did all those years ago. Her hair wasn‘t that shiny black any more. It was now grey and pulled back curly ponytail. „A Music Boy found in the catacombs of the opera. And it is still in tact Madame et Monsieur.“ The voice of the man on the podium boomed into the halls and John looked up to the music box. He remembered it. The old Music Box. He took a quick glance at Madame Ereena Valenza and she held a knowing smile on her old face. „We start with 15 French Francs.“ John pulled at his daughters coat. „Rosie please my dear. I need this music box.“ The blue eyed woman looked questionable to her father but nodded. She rose her hand. „I see 20 French Francs.“ But Madame Valenza rose her hand too. „And 25 French Francs. Anybody who offers more?“ Rosie again rose her hand up into the cold air. „30 French Francs are offered. Anyone who offers more?“ The looked around the room a few seconds and then slammed down his hammer on the podium. Madame Valenza smiled knowing how much John would like to have this memory. A man handed the old wooden Box to Rosie, who handed it to her father. He held it carefully in his shaking hands and smiled a little. In his head he could hear a familiar voice singing a song almost forgotten by time. In sleep he sang to me In dreams he came the voice which calls to me and speaks my name   And do I dream again for now I find The Phantom of the Opera is there inside my mind  A hand on John shoulder let him look up with watery eyes. „Are you okay Papa? Why are you crying?“ Rosie asked concerned for her Fathers well being. He shook his head. „Just old memories nothing to worry about my Dear.“ and he closed his eyes to swell into the Memories. Listening to the Auctioneer. „Now Object 667. The Chandelier from the mysterious accident involving the Phantom of the Opera...“ - The carriage ride to Paris was unbearable for John Watson and his Friend the famous detective Sherlock Holmes. „Why are we again travelling to Paris?“ John asked annoyed when the carriage again drove over a big rock sending both men out of their seats. „Because“ Sherlock Holmes started to sit in his right spot again  and fixing his top hat. „Mycrofts friends her in France bought a Opera House a few months ago, stupid if you ask me, but this so called friend meant there were ghosts.“ The Doctor rose an eyebrow. Holmes shook his head before his friend could say something. „Like I said before. Stupid. But something or more like someone is killing people in this Opera House and we my dear Watson will find out who.“ With that the conversation was settled. Just five minutes later they arrived at the infamous Opera House. When the British men walked out of the carriage and paid the driver, they were greeted by a man, Sherlock assumed to be the new owner and the friend of his brother. „Mr. Holmes I‘m so glad that you are here.“ The man took Sherlocks hand and shook it. The Detective could easily see that this man was afraid. His whole body shook, he was paler than the moon and he had dark circles under his eyes due to lack of sleep he had. „Monsieur Rousseau I assume than. You already know me.“ The dark haired man turned to his bearded friend. „Monsieur Rousseau this is Doctor John Watson. He will accompany me through this case.“ Both men shook hands and even John could sense the uneasiness that hung in there near the big, old looking building. Monsieur Rousseau lead the men into the house. His curly red hair shine in the golden light of the Operas impressive crystallise Chandeliers. „Welcome to the Opera House ‚Maison de Muse‘. If you need anything please let me know. Ereen Valenza and (Y/N) (Y/L/N) will show you around. I have to attend some business. Good day Gentlemen.“ With these Words he left and after mere minutes two young ladies came into view. One had long shining black hair pulled back into a half ponytail and with icy grey eyes but with a heart warming smile. The other Woman had (Y/H/S) (Y/H/L) (Y/H/C) and (Y/E/C) that came out just perfect into the golden lighting of the Chandeliers. Both wore some kind of ballet dresses. Both of them came to a stand in front of the men. „Bonjour Monsieurs.“ the black haired girl started with a friendly smile. „I‘m Ereena Valenza. But please just call me Ereena. My Mother Nicoline Valenza she is the concierge here. And this“ she pointed to the Girl beside her. „This is (Y/N) (Y/L/N). The greatest singer in whole France.“ she laughed and (Y/N) punched her shoulder a little. „I just dance in the background.“ she corrected her friend. John smiled at both of them. „Wonderful to meet the both of you. I‘m Doctor John Watson and this is my friend Sherlock Holmes.“ Sherlock was still the whole time. Examining both Women with his deducing skills. Ereen was easy to deduce. A only child but still loved by her Mother, has great talent in her and is a very friendly Girl. But this (Y/N) was a true mysterious to him. „We know who you are. And I have to say I‘m honoured to meet the man who writes these marvellous books.“ (Y/N) smiled an looked at John and he was surprised. Finally someone who praised his work and not only Sherlocks work of solving crimes that John wrote down. He thanked and she gave a grateful smile. Than the females let the British men through the Opera and telling them everything they knew. But not once mentioning the phantom that should live beneath this House. It took the girls two and a half hours to show their visitors the whole building. Out of breath Ereena looked up to the men. „Now that we are finished and no more rehearse are announced for this day I shall recommended that we should eat something. I‘m sure the Gentlemen are hungry as well after the long Journey from London to Paris.“ (Y/N) nodded her head and her (Y/H/C) hair bounced in the rhythm with it. John smiled and looked forward to get something in his empty stomach. The younger Holmes was still silent and didn‘t say a word, he just followed the three people into a room filled with people. The smell of different foods could be smelled and all the people talked and laughed together. An elder woman made her way to the four of them. „Finally. There you are.“ she gave a toothy smile. Ereena smiled too. „Sorry Mama but it took us a while longer.“ She shrugged it off. She then pushed both men to a table full of food. „I can‘t let visitors just starve after they had such a long ride here. Please take as much as you want.“ John thanked the Lady and elbowed Sherlock into the side to show him he should do the same and he just nodded to her. Now with plates full of food John and Sherlock sat on the table with all the stage workers. Ereena and (Y/N) opposite of them, eating their own food. Nicoline than spoke up to the men. „So come all the way from London to this old House.“ The Doctor nodded with mouth full of food. Sherlock than finally spoke his first words since they entered the Opera „More forced than willing. But it is better than getting bored.“ His friend glared at him and (Y/N) held back a laugh but not saying a word. „London. (Y/N) comes from there, too you know?“ Ereena spoke up to the men in front of her and take a spoon full of what looked like mashed potatoes. John looked to (Y/N). „What brings you to Paris than Miss (Y/N)?“ he asked curious. The (Y/H/C) haired woman looked up. „I came here with my father. He worked here behind the stage and I started learning to sing and dance. Unfortunately he died soon after when I turned nine years old.“ the blond man swallowed hard and said „I...I‘m sorry I… I didn‘t know...“ the girl laughed. „Don‘t worry about it Monsieur Watson.“ The dinner went silent after this conversation. Sherlock still tried to figure out the Girl with (Y/H/L) (Y/H/C) that sat in front of him. He could figure out that much that she is a very good singer by her way she breathed in and out and that she could dance better than anybody in this room together by the way she moved her whole body. Her Father died caused by an illness not curable he could tell because of the fear in her eyes when anyone in this room coughed or sneezed uncontrollably. But that was it. Nothing more and it made him furious. He hated not knowing anything. Interrupted by a voice beside he was brought back to the real world.

„Holmes? We should go to bed know. It is late and we have a lot to do tomorrow.“ Watson spoke to his friend and he just nodded and both men than stood up, said their goodbyes and good nights just to go to their assigned bedrooms that the Girls showed them earlier. The night should be silent. And for John it was. When he hit his head on the pillows he was out and was deep asleep. That didn’t count for the Holmes. He laid there in bed and thought like he always did. He didn’t need sleep. And now it should be helpful for once when he heard some voices in the distance. Knowing that everyone should be asleep by now he was surprised to hear them and he was positive that he didn’t imagine it in his head.

[loislaneinvestigatesauthors]

Douglas Cole’s The Gold Tooth in the Crooked Smile of God

You work the word 'beauty' into several poems in The Gold Tooth in the Crooked Smile of God, including in one piece where you list beautiful things. Interestingly abstract word for a down-to-earth collection. How would you define beauty, and how would you say it makes its way into your work?

My first thought is John Keats’ definition: “beauty is truth, truth beauty…” I know the things I list in that poem you mention might not be what most people think of as beautiful, but they’re truth and that is beautiful to me. True, as in that’s what happens in life. And that’s how I understand Keats’ definition: beauty is everything, everything in life, everything that is amazing and that we imagine, as well as everything tragic and quickly slipping out of reach…it’s all beautiful. Beauty is accepting truth, accepting life as is. Once you accept truth, accept life, it all becomes beautiful. And accepting truth is seeing that everything simply is, so, it’s neither ugly nor beautiful, really, and that way of seeing is beautiful. Because think about it, Keats wrote that poem (“Ode on a Grecian Urn”) knowing he was dying, knowing that he would not live to be with his love or create his art, but from that place he could still look at the world and say….beautiful. I agree with that stance. I sense a theme in your writing that life will still be okay, even when it feels mediocre rather than glorious. Such as in the piece about the man's garage, and another where the speaker urges someone who feels like a failure to 'sit down and have a drink/you've got all of us.' Would you say this is accurate?

Well, if you accept the truth that the world simply is and that we apply our judgments of good and bad and beautiful and ugly, yeah, it’s always okay. I mean, it just is, so it’s okay. What does the title 'The Gold Tooth in the Crooked Smile of God' mean to you? How do you choose titles?

I had other titles in mind for a while, a lot of them involving the idea of a carnival, like life is this carnival you get tricked into with wild rides and lights and sounds…yet it’s a little bit of a sham. Then that phrase popped into my head, lifted and altered from the film Searching for the Wrong Eyed Jesus, which is about a guy looking for beautiful music and stories in a gothic south and a bizarre world. I could identify with that. Then the image unfolded nicely: the crooked smile, god’s crooked smile as though god fooled you into being born (hence it’s crooked), god with a gold tooth like a gangster, a charlatan. But gold is also the alchemist’s symbol of enlightened being and purity, so it works nicely, a little ironically, and goes back to beauty being found in the strange… I didn’t do a whole lot of analysis about it, though. Most of these thoughts are after the fact. I liked the ring of it, the image. But it works on these other levels, too, I suppose. I probably shouldn’t even say what I think it means. I don’t know. How do you transition from poetry to prose? Do you work on both poetry and prose manuscripts at the same time? How do you know when a particular idea should be a story or poem?

Yes, I do work on both at the same time, but there’s no real conscious transition involved in going between them. I don’t really see them as all that different. The effort is about the same, the issues are pretty much the same—hook into the language. And I don’t really work from ideas to form, like have an idea for something and then figure out if it’s going to be a poem or a story. I mean, if it’s going to be a story, I see a story, a movie. But then again poems are often little movies in my mind, too. But the poetry is a little more liberated because it doesn’t have to be a story. It can be more associative, more snap-shot. I think a story has to at least move as a narrative the reader can inhabit, so I slow down to describe a scene or listen to dialogue. And I like a story that feels natural and real but also has the hint of the strange, the not quite right, even the poetic… But essentially, I don’t really see big boundaries between poetry and prose. They both come from music, language, and I just go with it. Some of your poems, particularly in 'The Blue Island' are quite the long, rambling ride! (In a completely positive sense, of course!) Do you know or plan how long a poem will be in advance, or do the lyrics overtake you?

I don’t plan a lot ahead of time, make an outline or anything. They come as they are, as what I’m seeing at the time. In revision, though, I might start to structure things, especially with a longer poem, as I discover patterns. But even with a narrative, which the longer ones often are, I really want the language to have an aural beauty, to sound graceful, to travel through the mouth easily…but always as a journey of some kind. Always like a good strong dose of mind opening organic chemistry… I notice an occasional nod to spirituality, particularly Buddhism, in your pieces. Would you say that a spiritual aesthetic informs your work?

Well, Buddhism fits pretty closely with the way I see the world, and I have read and studied it quite a bit, so I’m not surprised you see that. But I’m never out to preach a message. I’m more interested in experience. Politics, religion, social justice…if those things are happening in the story or the poem it’s really just because I’m embedded in a time and place. But I’m wary of writing with an agenda. I think that limits the experience and leads to timely but ultimately temporarily valid art, which might put me outside of the herd. I know a lot of writers and poets feel that writing should serve a social purpose. I guess I just want to entertain. Step right up! Well, maybe not just that. I think my writing is a byproduct of trying to see a bigger reality than the one we’re limited to through the historical facts. Although, the facts, the imagery, the people and the events are doorways…

What's your writing process? How do you develop, craft and revise a poem?

Write a lot, publish little? I find it a pleasant way to spend my time. I’d be up to no good, otherwise. So I do it, then something might stand out, like a bit of gold in a panhandler’s dish. And I follow it. I write by hand, usually, first, just because I love the freedom of it. No rough technology necessary! Then, if I like something, I type it up and start to evolve it. Stuff crossbreeds. A poem might influence a story, a story might fall back into a poem…it’s a discovery. I just keep opening the doors.

The Gold Tooth in the Crooked Smile of God is available here from Unsolicited Press. 

[chriskarrtravelblog]

2020 Hay Festival goes online

The 2020 Hay Festival has launched a free digital festival, which is online until 31 May. The festival features novelists Hilary Mantel, Anne Enright, Elif Shafak, Roddy Doyle, Margaret Atwood, Ingrid Persaud, Polly Samson, Ali Smith and Jessie Burton; actors and comedians Stephen Fry, Helena Bonham Carter, Dominic West, Sandi Toksvig, Vanessa Redgrave, Benedict Cumberbatch, Helen McCrory and Jonathan Pryce; and many more. 

In honour of our favourite literary festival, we asked a host of speakers and literary lights, “What’s your favourite place to visit in Britain and why?” Here are their responses.

Martin Shaw, author of Courting the Wild Twin (Chelsea Green Publishing, hardback RRP £14.99)

I’m lucky, the place I most love to visit is the place I live, Dartmoor National Park. Dartmoor is amok with 365 square miles of granite tors, swamp, old growth oak forest and staggering views right out over to the grey teeth of the sea near Teignmouth. Be warned, it’s prone to mood swings, and the petrol gauge has a nasty habit of hitting empty at dusk. It has proper, unbridled spook. There’s a pub (the Warren Inn) whose fire hasn’t gone out since the 19th Century, and contains beer as dark and chewy as the inevitable storm overhead. 

Brigit Strawbridge-Howard, author of Dancing with Bees (Chelsea Green Publishing, paperback RRP £10.99)

I fell in love with Northumberland on a school field trip, when I was just 13 years old. From the youth hostel in Wooler (still there today), we walked and picnicked in the Cheviots, travelled by boat to the Inner Farnes, and spent a glorious sunny afternoon exploring the Holy Island of Lindisfarne. I have returned since with my husband, my children and my grandchildren, and loved each and every visit. Northumberland has everything: history, walls, puffins, hares, romance, vast empty beaches and skies, castles, hills, rivers, rocks, and wild open spaces where you can breathe, and feel fully and completely alive. Definitely my favourite place in Britain to visit!

Lara Maiklem, author of Mudlarking (Bloomsbury, paperback RRP £9.99)

My favourite place to visit is a village on the Kent coast called St Margaret’s-at-Cliffe. It was my escape from London for years, I wrote part of my book here, and I have good memories of it. There is a small pebbly beach, which is perfect for seaweed collecting and pebble hunting, and a pub with views over the Channel to France, which is tantalisingly close. The walk from St Margaret’s Bay, over the white cliffs to Dover, is dramatic and moving. It is the front door of the nation, so as well as a sense of end there is also a feeling of welcome and beginning. 

David Abulafia, author of The Boundless Sea (Allen Lane, hardback RRP £35)

Credit: Marit Hommedal/SCANPIX

I live in (and prefer) Cambridge, so to say that my favourite place to visit is Oxford might sound like a predictable answer.  But it is the difference between the cities rather than their similarity that draws me to Oxford. The palatial grandeur of Radcliffe Square and the nearby colleges and libraries is not matched in Cambridge; nor does Cambridge make nearly as much use of the honey-coloured stone that is one of Oxford’s glories. And North Oxford, with its massive villas, parks and riverside walks, is a different and delightful world away from the crowds.

Miranda Krestovnikoff, author of The Sea (Bloomsbury Children’s, hardback RRP £12.99)

I love the island of Skomer, especially in May where it is washed with indigo as the bluebells emerge.  This is also the season to see the puffins – characterful birds with rainbow-coloured beaks, who always seem to be in a hurry. They nest in old rabbit burrows, the same pair nesting in each burrow year after year. Standing in amongst them, you are surrounded by wheeling birds coming in to feed their newly hatched chicks or pufflings, closely followed by marauding black-backed gulls looking for an easy meal.  At night, the nocturnal Manx shearwaters return to the island – tens of thousands of them. Poorly adapted to life on land, they land clumsily before waddling to the safety of their burrows. The sights and sounds of such huge numbers of these and many other seabirds is a real wildlife spectacle.

Jackie Morris, author of The Unbinding (Unbound, coming soon)

Credit: Davina Jelle

Two places draw my heart back. Both revolve around bookshops. 

The first is Dulverton in Somerset, tucked into steep wooded valleys, where the trees colour the land, bird filled and raucous with rooks. Number Seven is the smallest of shops but so filled with beauty, it’s a real haven.

The second is Grasmere, where I swam in the lake that mirrored the hills. Where a heron in flight almost touched wing tips to fingers. Where I sat beneath a beech tree drinking lavender tea in Faeryland, talking of swans. Where Sam Read books has shelves filled with wonder.

Oliver Bullough, author of Moneyland (Profile Books, paperback RRP £9.99)

I love wild bits of the British coastline, whether that’s northern Norfolk and the seals of Blakeney Point, or Jura and the crazed waters of the Corryvreckan, or the fossil beaches of Robin Hood’s Bay. For me, the best of the lot is the coastline of northern Pembrokeshire and Ceredigion, from Strumble Head, past the Teifi Estuary (with lunch at the market in St Dogmaels), on to Mwnt – with its gem of a chapel, and its tiny beach – and along to Penbryn beach. It’s as good as Cornwall, with a fraction of the crowds. 

Stephen Moss, author of The Accidental Countryside (Guardian Faber Publishing, hardback RRP £16.99)

I just need to pop down the road from my Somerset home, to the Avalon Marshes. These former peat diggings, within sight of Glastonbury Tor, have been restored as nature reserves, and are now one of the best places in Britain for birds. In winter, they are home to the famous starling murmuration, and watching these huge flocks as they form patterns against the setting sun is simply unforgettable. In spring and summer, the marshes echo to the sound of warblers, newly returned from their African winter-quarters, while great white and cattle egrets, and the secretive bittern, feed amongst the reeds and pools. 

Gavin Francis, author of Island Dreams (Canongate, hardback RRP £20)

As a boy my holidays would be to campsites of Fife’s coast; at night, as I drifted off to sleep, I’d watch the lighthouse on the May Island and dream of reaching it. In the Middle Ages its chapel was a place of pilgrimage; the whole island is now a National Nature Reserve and home to thousands of puffins, auks and gulls. In my twenties, finally, I went there as a volunteer nature warden, and the beauty and tranquillity of those weeks, the simplicity and the satisfactions of living and working there, have been a touchstone for me ever since. 

Joseph Coehlo, poet and author of Poems Aloud (Wide Eyed Editions, hardback RRP £12.99)

I’m a huge fan of antique shops and Rye has a tonne of them, I believe around 50 odd. So Rye is perfect for exploring and getting lost and perhaps finding some treasure, or at the very least some lovely tea and cakes. Nearby Winchelsea is also very much worth a visit for the Parish of Winchelsea and its associated ruins. When you’re done with the ruins and antique shops and had tea and cake, the sea isn’t too far away for a paddle. 

Mark Haddon, author of The Porpoise (Vintage, paperback RRP £8.99)

Very possibly the Pembrokeshire coastal path from Tenby to Abereiddy or thereabouts, excluding the Milford Haven oil refinery but very much including Skomer and Ramsay Islands. Running sections of it, early on a clear winter morning before everyone else is up and about is a particularly glorious thing to do. Sometimes, if I’m feeling cabined and confined, I will walk a section on Google Street View and even that makes my heart lift and swell.

Jenny Valentine, author of Hello Now (HarperCollins Publishers, paperback RRP £7.99)

I live in the landscape of the Black Mountains in Wales, rich and green, full of light and open spaces, so my favourite place to visit in the UK, for contrast, is my old home, London.  I miss crowds and strangers and movement and Art and noise and restaurants and traffic and Film and conversation and histories on that kind of scale. I love the pace of it, the flow and mess and heart and guts. From Hackney to Southbank to Hampstead Heath, as a guest in the city there is always something to see, something to learn, something to get involved in.

Allie Esiri, author of Shakespeare for Every Day of the Year (Pan Macmillan, hardback RRP £18.99)

If you have never been, you may know the north coast of Cornwall as the backdrop to Poldark moodily riding his horse across the cliff tops. The area is protected by the National Trust and is largely uninhabited save for the odd flock of handsome sheep. If you take a boat out you can see the old smugglers’ coves where pirates – as the storylines of Poldark often plundered – used to smuggle in their illicit loot. I love the cliffs, the coves and the beaches and you have to stop me quoting from Kipling’s poem, ‘A Smuggler’s Song’. 

If you wake at midnight, and hear a horse’s feet,

Don’t go drawing back the blind, or looking in the street,

Them that asks no questions they isn’t told a lie.

Watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by!

Five-and-twenty ponies, trotting through the dark—

With brandy for the Parson and ‘baccy for the Clerk.

Laces for a lady and letters for a spy,

And watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by!

Running round the woodlump if you chance to find

Little barrels, roped and tarred, all full of brandy-wine;

Don’t you shout to come and look, nor use ’em for your play;

Put the brushwood back again,—and they’ll be gone next day!

If you see the stable-door setting open wide;

If you see a tired horse lying down inside;

If your mother mends a coat cut about and tore;

If the lining’s wet and warm—don’t you ask no more!

If you meet King George’s men, dressed in blue and red,

You be careful what you say, and mindful what is said.

If they call you “pretty maid”, and chuck you ‘neath the chin,

Don’t you tell where no one is, nor yet where no one’s been!

Knocks and footsteps round the house—whistles after dark—

You’ve no call for running out until the house-dogs bark.

Trusty’s here, and Pincher’s here, and see how dumb they lie—

They don’t fret to follow when the Gentlemen go by!

If you do as you’ve been told, likely there’s a chance

You’ll be give a dainty doll, all the way from France,

With a cap of Valenciennes, and a velvet hood—

A present from the Gentlemen, along o’ being good!

Five-and-twenty ponies, trotting through the dark—

Brandy for the Parson, ‘baccy for the Clerk.

Them that asks no questions isn’t told a lie—

So watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by!

  Explore highlights from past editions at hayfestival.org/hayplayer

  The post 2020 Hay Festival goes online appeared first on Britain Magazine | The official magazine of Visit Britain | Best of British History, Royal Family,Travel and Culture.

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