#imagine seeing that thing galloping towards you head-on

[synthaphone]

i suspect they cut the 3rd stage of the manectric line for being incredibly stupid looking, but i think they should have kept it, exactly like that with no revisions. dog that got stuck in its one of its owners shirts and is trying to act like it wants to be there and can leave at any time

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — CHILDE x FEM READER

You think you’re being quiet. You’re not. Alternatively: when you can’t make yourself cum on your own, your roommate steps in. 

wc — 1.4k

tags — mdni, mild degradation, Childe is a little condescending, corruption kink, pussy spanking, mild dacryphilia

You’re horny. 

For the past twenty minutes, all you have been able to think about is getting stuffed full of cock until you can feel it in your throat. You’re biting your bottom lip between your teeth, feeling your fingers swipe uselessly around your clit again. That tantalizing buzz of mind numbing pleasure is just out of reach as your fingers can’t manage to find the bundle of nerves that make you sing like the pretty songbird you are. 

If Childe was here, he would’ve been able to make you cum in seconds. You savor the imagined scene: him, in front of you, clad in only the dark jeans you saw him leave the house in this morning. His shirt is tossed somewhere in the room so you can see every scar cutting across his broad shoulders and toned stomach. 

Childe, you moan feverishly - in your head. He’s home, after all, just a room away, and you don’t want to break the tentative friendship you’ve just barely established. You’ve wanted Childe since you’ve met him, but you’ve only just gotten to the bare minimum of being friendly roommates. You can’t ruin everything now. 

No matter how much you want to push him down on the sofa you picked out together and ride him until your knees give out, you know the important if delayed gratification. Things like this take time. 

Your eyes roll back in your head again, thinking of his pale stomach, as white as a shark’s underbelly. You want to bite it. You want to leave a mark on him in a perfect imitation of your teeth. Just the idea of parading him around with the imprint of your canines imbedded in his flesh, proclaiming him as yours, makes you a little hotter under the collar. 

It’s hard to stifle the little gasp you let out as your fingers brush over your clit, sending sparks skittering through your bloodstream. His fingers would be so much thicker and longer, you think as you lick your lips. He could fill you up the way you wanted, the way you needed. Instead, you content yourself with the first slow press of your fingers into yourself when- 

The door flies open. You yelp and snatch the blankets over your naked body. 

“Ever heard of knocking?” You snap, using anger to cover up your embarrassment. Your heart gallops in your chest, both out of fear and desire. Underneath the thin blankets covering your body, your core drools onto sheets. Interrupting you had led to an unplanned edge, and now you’re desperate to get back to cumming. 

“Look at this,” Childe commands, hand waving towards his pants. He’s visibly hard, his cock straining the plaid fabric of his pajama bottoms. 

“What the fuck?” 

“Don’t give me that,” he snarls, advancing towards you with little shame. He’s too bold for that, always has been. Childe wouldn’t know embarrassment if it struck him in the face. It was one of things you liked about him. You wish he would have a little more shame now. 

“Take responsibility for what you’ve done,” he says, tearing the sheets away from you. 

“What have I done?” 

“Oh, are we playing innocent?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Enough is enough,” he grits out through a tick in his jaw. You’ve never seen him so irked - not angry, but annoyed. 

Horny. 

“I’m sick of you rubbing your clit all night and not being able to get off. How do you not know how to fuck yourself by now?”

“I-“

He’s not done. “I can hear you through the walls, you little minx, writhing and moaning and begging to be taken care of. You know how many times I had to secretly jack off cause of you? No more.” 

You’ve never seen this domineering side of him before. 

He grabs you by the waist and yanks you up so he can situate himself behind you. In a second, you find yourself trapped between his legs, walls on either side of you. His chest presses against your back. He’s so close you can feel his breath on your ear when he speaks, so low and soft your stomach tumbles into aching anticipation. 

“I’m going to show you how to make yourself cum. You’re going to learn take it like the good girl I know you can be for me. Deal?”

You shudder against him, trying to drag his hand towards your cunt already. You’re ready for it. You can practically feel the blunt pleasure of his calloused finger tips against your clit, but instead he holds himself steady. He’s not even trying but he outmatches your efforts. 

“Oh, you sweet dumb thing,” he coos. “I haven’t even started and you can’t use your words?”

“Please,” you whimper, tasting blood from your teeth digging into your lip. “I need you.” 

When he first pets at your clit, the sensation is so overwhelming your head knocks back, resting against his shoulder. Your body jerks rigidly as if electrified, hands pawing at his thighs. He laughs at you, a little mean and a little adoring. 

With one hand, he carefully spreads your cunt apart so you’re on full display. When you squirm, mildly humiliated and hot and desperate, his other hand comes down on your cunt. The pain is so good it makes your brain go numb with pleasure. He tightens his hold on you, pulls you closer as his hand lands on your dripping pussy again. 

Deliriously, you wonder if there’ll be a next time. If he’ll let you bend over his lap and present your ass to be spanked next, lovingly tortured by those beautiful, veiny hands. He grabs your chin and draws your attention back to him. 

“Baby,” he coos, “watch carefully.” 

The two of you watch as he presses one thick finger into you. His thumb traces small circles around your clit, keeping you ready for more, but not quite there yet. You whimper, heart in your throat. It’s only been around thirty minutes, but you feel like it’s been hours. You’re as desperate as a cat in heat. It’s all you can do not to grind down on his hand, even as he slowly scissors you open when he adds a second finger. 

“Look at that, pretty,” he murmurs softly. “You really needed this, huh?” 

You turn your tear stained face into his neck, feeling too naked, your body stripped down to nothing more than nerve endings. It’s hot and humiliating and you want him to keep calling you sweet names as he makes you watch him fuck you with his fingers. 

He indulges you for a second, nuzzling his nose against your hair as you whimper against his neck, eyes closed so your senses boil down to nothing more than the smell and feel of him. The wet sound of your cunt, echoes in your ears as he pushes you slowly but surely towards a precipice that once scared you. 

You could never reach it on your own, always pulling away before you got there. It felt like too much, but it frustrates you to no end. Unintentionally edging yourself left you so pent up you’re nothing but pliant in Childe’s arms as every circle of his fingers tightens the tense coil in your stomach until it’s ready to snap at any moment. 

“Open your eyes,” he commands, and you listen. 

You’d do anything he’d tell you to, at the moment. 

“Good girl,” he croons. “Fuck, look at you. How badly did you need this?” 

You whine, unresponsive, and clutch onto him. Childe feels a surge of a complicated mix of protectiveness and the desire to corrupt you. He wants to treat you gently. He wants to fuck you up. You’ve never been so clingy in the past, and he loves it, his sweet girl begging for him with actions and not words as you press yourself against him. 

You’re starting to hit the point you normally pull away. It’s getting too intense. You’re scared of what’ll happen when the coil of white hot pleasure in your stomach finally snaps. It feels like Childe is punishing you, unrelenting as he plays with your clit. Your legs start to close when he forces them back open effortlessly.

“Too much,” you whine, hands gripping onto his shoulders for dear life. “Too good, I can’t, so good.” 

“All this while you’re grinding on me like a little slut? I know you can take it, baby. Come on, give me a show.” 

He doesn’t even need to ask. When you finally hit the first orgasm you’ve had in a long time, your mouth drops open and your head tilts back in a silent scream, resting on his shoulder. You tighten up so much Childe can barely move as he tries to fuck you through your orgasm. You’re babbling nonsense as you cum. He only stops petting your pretty pussy when your legs twitch from overstimulation. You slump against him, exhausted. 

Post nut clarity hits like a truck. 

“So.”

“So,” you return. “This is awkward.” 

You’re slowly returning to your senses, squirming between his legs. A hand on your hip steadies you, prevents you from moving. 

“It’s only awkward if you make it awkward,” he says. “I’m going to order us pizza. What toppings?” 

[queenlua]

your post about adding excitement to a story by increasing the pressure on a character was not something i’d heard before and i found it super useful. are there any other pieces of writing advice you find foundational and would be willing to share?

glad you found that tidbit helpful!

first, i’ll give my default caveat of “i’m just some guy on the internet, so take this with however many grains of salt you need”

plus my general caveat on… all writing tips/tidbits/advice? which is:

i find that, past the basics of “knowing about exposition/rising action/climax/denouement” and such, most writing advice ends up operating as a dusty old toolbox i open up now and again.  something in my story's not working; i’m not sure how to fix it; i pull out my little toolbox of tidbits i’ve accumulated over the years and see if any of the screwdrivers and wrenches in there actually fit.  the kinds of tidbits that are useful for me may be ACTIVELY DETRIMENTAL to someone else; someone who chronically overtightens their screws probably shouldn’t be told “have you tried tightening the screws more :D;;;;” or whatever.  and in particular what works for me is probably oriented towards genre-y stuff.

BUT, Y’KNOW, GIVEN ALL THAT

here’s the tidbits i find myself returning to over & over!

* three is a very powerful number.  i have a tendency to write myself into situations where you have Two Interesting Characters Doing Verbal Head-Games With Each Other, and that stuff can be tremendously fun, but it tends to run out of steam very quickly.  adding a third character to the scene combinatorially increases the dynamics available for you to play with.  so if you’re stuck, throw someone else in there.  (relatedly this is why awful dinner parties are Peak Literature™)

* if you’re writing a romance: put a sticky note on your monitor that says “WHY CAN’T THEY BE TOGETHER NOW?”  if at any point you don’t have a good answer to that, you’ve fucked up; rework the plot.

* this is a shlocky tidbit from the South Park creators that totally works: list all the scenes in your story, and then, between each scene, see if they are connected by THEREFORE or BUT versus AND THEN.

so., e.g., “the ocean levels in Tellius are rising, THEREFORE kilvas wants to migrate from their sinking islands and onto Serenes, BUT Reyson is opposed to that move, THEREFORE…”

that gives you a stronger structure than, like, idk, “the war ends AND THEN kilvas moves to Serenes AND THEN Reyson and Naesala get in a fight…”

you want it to be mostly “THEREFORE/BUT” and very few “AND THEN”s.  just a tighter overall plot structure

* each scene should accomplish at least two things.  the most common two things for a scene to do are “advance the plot” and “develop a character”; i have a hazy memory that when i first read this advice, there was a list of, like, 1-3 other things a scene’s allowed to accomplish?  but i cannot REMEMBER that list, lol.  but use your imagination; i’m sure you can think of another valid thing.

i think this is more useful as debugging/editing advice than upfront advice—often, when you’re writing something, every scene will *feel* necessary, but upon reread, you’ll notice your attention is drifting, this doesn’t quite feel tight enough… and you’ll realize, oh, ugh, i just had three scenes in a row that existed Solely To Hit A Plot Beat; why don’t i combine those three scenes into one, condense the action, and also make sure a character’s doing something actually interesting/new while i’m at it.

(i think i see this plaguing a lot of novels that come out of nanowrimo in particular.  i mean, not me, because i don’t have the fast-twitch muscle required to do nanowrimo, but when i read other people’s nanowrimo stuff, it often feels like it was galloping through a bunch of plot beats without bothering to do anything else interesting.)

* if you're stuck on a particular scene/chapter, stuff to try:

delete the current sentence and start over

delete the current paragraph and start over

change the font and reread what you've got so far

open the document on a different screen and reread what you've got so far

print the thing out and reread what you've got so far

open a brand new document and rewrite the whole scene/chapter/etc from the start (NO PEEKING AT THE ORIGINAL VERSION)

go outside and look at a bird for a bit

take a nap

shoot a whiny discord message to a friend about it (even if it's solely rubber ducking, this can be helpful) (though if you have any friends who are good at writing AND ALSO willing to put up with your shit and offer helpful feedback AND ALSO you're not too mortified by your writing dilemma to share it with them, that's even better) (btw, any friends reading this: if you want to opt-in to messages like this from me, LET ME KNOW lmao, i'm really shy on this front!)

if you're DESPERATE: open a new document and just write out, like, "Character X wants Y. Character Z wants Q. These are the sources of pressure on character X. These are the sources of pressure on character Y. I want R to happen but I feel stuck because of M" and so on, just... really trying to dissect what the scene's trying to accomplish? most often, the outcome of this is, i'll notice in that "thinking aloud" document that i'm circling around some central question that I Don't Know The Answer To, and i need to answer that question to usefully proceed. sometimes this will be painfully obvious in hindsight. (e.g., sometimes you'll go back to your outline and you'll realize you've literally just hit the bullet point that says UGH OKAY THEY GET TOGETHER SOMEHOW I'LL FIGURE THIS OUT LATER, and you're like, ugh, fuck, it's now later, why is past-me such a bitch!) but them's the breaks. (in particular, i remember getting catastrophically stuck on a "meet the parents" story until i realized i was... avoiding actually writing out the "meet the parents" scene... which feels "well duh" in hindsight! but, like, hey, in order to write that scene, i needed to commit to some specific decisions on What The Story Was About, the same way artists gotta eventually erase a bunch of sketchy lines to commit to the Lines They Will Actually Be Inking, and that decision point feels hard and scary and no wonder i waffled lol)

okay so that's all the super-specific-concrete advice. here's some stuff that's more big-picture but i've still found personally useful:

* i once went to a talk where a novelist said she doesn't start writing a novel until she knows exactly what she wants it to look like on the bookshelf. as in: is it a schlocky trade paperback or is it a beautiful hardcover thing with fancy paper? does it have IMPACT FONT for the title or something handwriting-y? how many pages is it? and so on.

in service of this aim, she never writes any of the novel (no notes, no outlines, no snippets of dialogue, nothing) until she has that image vividly in her mind + she can't physically STAND not writing it any longer. for her, this process allows her to be sure that she knows what her novel is about—not necessarily in every single detail or plot beat (though, often she has a lot of that in mind before starting), but in terms of "what am i trying to say," "how do i want the world to look at it," etc, and she's found through hard experience that, while it's easy for her to start novels, it's often hard for her to finish them unless she has that crystal-clear image in her mind.

i can’t quite do her purity-of-method (my brain is scrambled eggs; i HAVE to write down snatches of dialogue and such before i get started on something or it all leaks out of my ears), but i see a lot of wisdom in it.  i do a lot of prewriting & thinking & scribbling out little snatches of dialogue and such before i really begin writing. i think everyone develops their own little heuristic for when they can be reasonably confident they know what their story is about, so you should try and figure out what that heuristic is for you & learn to trust it if you can? (a common one you hear a lot is "i have to know how the story ends / what the ending feels like," which makes sense; endings usually have a lot to do with what a story is About. i know NK Jemisin mentioned once she can't really start until she's nailed down the voice, and that also makes sense to me—you read The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms and it's very clear that her choice of voice is a large part of what drives the story, it has a propulsive force of its own; it's The Thing that blasts the whole thing open for her. for me, i'm not sure i have a tidy heuristic, but there's a point where i've written enough snatches of dialogue plus bits of scenes that i've unlocked some core thing that i'm really excited about—i keep spinning out bits of dialogue and setting and such that are related to that thing, i'm so excited to see how that thing plays out across the story, i look at my outline and see only possibilities and wonder instead of connective tissue that needs to be filled in... and then, yeah, i'll know i'm cooking, but not one second before!)

note that the story is allowed to surprise me & change on me once i get properly started—my longfic changed substantially when i realized Reyson’s perspective needed a LOT more room to breathe than i had accounted for in the outline, and then changed substantially again when i realized the butterfly-effect-style implications that keeping Leanne around had for my entire storyline—the ending wound up being TOTALLY different than what i'd originally planned!—but like, in that case, i don't think my sense of what the story was about ever fundamentally changed; i just added two more huge elements that orbited that about-ness. if that makes sense.

* i think about this passage from Bayles & Orland's Art and Fear a lot. i'm actually not sure that advice is helpful for literally everyone—i do see people who somehow manage to write the same fucking thing over and over, for years and years, and never seem to develop their craft or make any movement toward saying something interesting.

but i do think most people are developing something even when it feels like "the same thing over and over," and as someone who probably tends toward too little output, i found it a useful reminder that returning to familiar forms, themes, and characters across pieces is intensely useful if it gets you in front of the keyboard again, so don't stress over novelty too much. (i find, if i'm still returning to a particular form/theme/character, it's because i feel like i still have some interesting new perspective on it that's genuinely worth exploring. if i have actually exhausted a topic, i'll know it because i myself will get bored, but anyone else's opinion is irrelevant!)

* ursula k le guin's steering the craft is more focused on craft & nuts n bolts than plot-debugging-type-things but i thought i'd give it a shout-out here because i've just found it so perpetually useful over the years. in particular we could all stand to read our stuff aloud more often; that fixes a lot of problems and she goes on about that in detail in chapter 1 haha

* oh, also, re: my "put more pressure on the characters" advice—you've probably already intuited this, but i think i found that framing more useful than the kinds of "raise the stakes / make sure every character has Stakes / Wants Something" advice you're likely to find in screenwriting workshops, because this framing feels like a more... abstract... way of talking about the same thing?

like, often those two types of advice are addressing the same problem, but when i start off thinking about "where is the pressure on these characters," i don't just have to think "time to heap more pressure on them," i can also, like. observe. where the pressure points in my work are. i'm not presupposing a solution. maybe there's a ton of pressure but it's the wrong kind of pressure. maybe there's a ton of pressure but there's nowhere satisfying for that pressure to go. it's very woo/fuzzy but yeah i use the general principle of "pressure" to frame a LOT of how i think about story construction; maybe that'll be useful to you!

* FINALLY, i don't have a nice packaged heuristic/tidbit/tool-shaped thing for this one yet, but i've been thinking a lot about how much perspective really Changes Everything about a work. your choice of PoV should be exceedingly deliberate; you should be taking maximum advantage of your choice of PoV at all times (what do they know? what don't they know? how do they think about the world? etc); also if you're editing something and you're noticing a lot of unconscious perspective breaks, that's a warning sign something's going badly wrong in how you're approaching the story overall—perspective should just be unconsciously correct if you're hitting stuff right imo

OK WOW SORRY THAT GOT SO LONG but hope at least one of these lil bullets are useful for ya! happy writing~

[arioloyal]

Yayy you're taking requests now!! If I may, can you write one where Baldwin's health improves and every woman wants to try their luck with him. But he remains loyal to the one who was with him all the time.

I love it that the fandom is growing have more talented writers so thanks in advance 💕💕

Hi!. Thank you for your words♡. To be honest, the fandom activity has decreased recently, so I decided to start writing by myself. Although it doesn't get enough notice, I will try my best. I hope you like it💖

(King baldwin iv x reader oneshot)

Warning: mention of d×eath and blood, leprosy

[Persia empire- 1181]

...About 3 months had passed since my father's death and the time did not help. Millions of thoughts passed through my head every day. Did he die because of the heavy burden of my sins? Is this God's punishment?

This morning at sunrise I kissed my mother's hand and set off. I always heard from pilgrims who had returned that Jerusalem is the best place to ask for forgiveness.

I jumped on my black horse and galloped forward. My mother's tired face flashed in my mind like lightning for a moment and then went off. I knew she was worried about me, but honestly, I didn't saw any reason for her to worry. As far as I know, we should worry about those who are moving away from God and love, not those who are always moving quickly towards love and destiny.

I didn't know what was waiting for me in Jerusalem. But I was ready to embrace any destiny the holy land had for me. Even with all the difficulties and sorrows.

...the night before leaving home, I opened the windows of my room all the way. The smell of darkness filled the room. I sat under the flickering light of the candles while looking at a large mirror. I braided my hair, cleaning my skin and put the red robe and turban by my bed.

When I was done, I checked my face. It had become more tender and beautiful. I had nothing left from the past. Just for now, I was ready forever.

I went to my mother's room and asked her to pray for me. When she saw my new face, she said: "I see that your journey has changed you, even though it hasn't started yet.

I said: "Love is a journey. The traveler of this journey, whether she wants it or not, will change from head to toe. There is no one who goes this way and doesn't change."

My mother smiled faintly and called me. Then she gave me a wooden box. Inside the box were three things: a mirror with a silver frame, an embroidered silk handkerchief, and a crystal little glass.

:"These will help you on your journey. Whenever you need, use these. If you ever feel ugly and lose your self-confidence, this mirror will show you the beauty inside you. whenever You feel that have no credibility and you are alone, this silk handkerchief reminds you that the most important thing is the purity of heart and soul and that medicine inside the glass, which is very rare, can heal any wounds."

After I caressed these three things. I thanked my mother, kissed her hand and walked towards destiny...

[Jerusalem- 1183]

About two years have passed since I arrived in the Holy Land. I didn't even imagine that I would be able to stay here for so long, and that was thanks to the royal court, who let me in as an advisor and mentor. I would be lying if I said that all of them liked me. Lord Lusignan and his followers looked at me as a witch who has bewitched and trapped the king.

I talked day and night with the leper king, that wandering ghost of the palace who has not sat at the dinner table with his knights for years. He always challenged me mentally, which of course was not easy, but his peaceful nature was always behind his beautiful calming voice, which made me more fascinated by him day by day.

But I only came here to seek forgiveness from God, not anything else...

Fate took me to another place that I did not even imagine. I gave him all the contents of the box. Those three valuable things. I used that ointment in the glass for his wounds. That box was destined to have another owner.

it worked...

After weeks, the purulent wounds and infections dried up. i think he was feeling better

:"Gather all your strength. God will make better things for you," I said as I bandaged his arms.

:"God, doesn't know me." His eyes never stopped staring at me and even penetrated to my bones.

- : "Yes, but I do."...

The news of the King's recovery spread across borders and seas and reached Damascus, Syria, France and England. Almost every day, the nobles and their daughters came from far away to congratulate the king and presented him with all kinds of gifts. But they were surprisingly rejected by Baldwin iv.

:"... Right now, all these gifts should be sold to the merchants, only that small fund will remain. From the cost of selling these, grains should be prepared for the people."

Tiberias asked with a surprised expression: "Is there any problem, my lord?"

:"No...by the way, where is lady y/n?"

....

Tiberias's face closed like an iron door. The question that he was afraid of was finally asked...

:"Tiberias?!

- :"Lady y/n ...honestly.. she's not here anymore. She's gone." Words tumbled out of his mouth like incoherent puzzles.

:"What do you mean she's gone?"

Baldwin's breathing became heavier and his voice more frightening. After staring at the box for a few moments, he broke the silence again.

:"Take the letter that I'm writing to her and bring y/n back to me anyway. If necessary, search this land from stone to stone. Bring her to me. I'm begging you..."

...I had reached Damascus and decided to stay in the caravanserai temporarily tonight. I shouldn't have forgotten my goal and stayed in a place where I don't belong. But I am nervous at the thought of Baldwin's concern, but I don't think that there is any need for my presence, while those beautiful and noble girls are hanging around him.

:" Please don't forget your turn y/n!"

- :" Oh, I'm sorry. Yes..." I looked at the chess board. I used to play chess there with one of my old friends. The more I looked, the more I saw that I had no choice but to get closer to Checkmate. With a bold move, I moved my queen forward.

It was at that moment that I felt a shadow above me. I recognized him.

:"it's Nice to see you again, Tiberias.

I said without looking up from the chess board. He wasn't a man who wanted to talk indirectly or make excuses, but I honestly didn't expect him to find me so soon.

:"Please come back. He makes so many excuses. He asked me to look for you everywhere. I couldn't lie to him that you were gone forever and I couldn't find you. But anyway...

He asked me to give you this letter."

I glanced at the scroll that Tiberias had pulled out from under his black cloak and handed to me. I accepted it and started reading:

"...the beauty of Jerusalem, my ruler, my padishah, my sultana, my y/n.

I wish now that instead of the smell of blood and dirt, I could smell your beautiful hair to revive this half-dead body. You are the light of my dark nights. I desperately ask you to come back to me for the last time.

I inevitably marched to the border of Kerak to prevent a w*ar. I am alone and the fear of losing Jerusalem does not leave me, but the fear of losing you is much worse than that. I still hope that you will come back and heal the wounds of my heart and soul like before."

("Baldwin iv of Jerusalem")

[sheriffgrimes-archerdixon]

Request: hi! I know this is a long shot but could you please do a quiet place: day one imagine between Eric and reader??? I don’t mind what happens! Thank you. I hope this is okay to ask!!

A/n: thank you so much for the request! This isn’t linked to the actual events of the films so no spoilers for anyone who sees it! Enjoy!!(:

One last hug

One finger was lifted to Eric’s lips his eyes wide as he stared at you, you had just stepped on a shard of glass and were now facing the consequences. About fifty of these crawling alien things making you want to run. But Eric kept one finger to his lips his other hand extended out towards you to ensure you wouldn’t run. As you stared at him and he stared at you a flash of recognition crossed across his features. This wasn’t your day. Nor was it his. You had both survived for an exhausting 1500 days at that point, and now, it seemed these aliens were finally going to get you.

His breathing was heavy, chest rising and falling before his hand extended out to stop you slowly turned his slender fingers stretched out towards you “come here.” He whispered, a reassuring look in his eyes as the prowling monsters chittered and growled as they got closer, trying to sniff the both of you out. You hurried towards him, the glass crunching underneath your feet as you grabbed onto his hand before your arms tightly embraced around his neck holding onto him like your life depended on it— which, thinking about it, it did. Your breathing was heavy and shaky eyes filling with tears as his arms snaked around your waist gripping onto you. He was the one facing all the monsters getting closer and closer, his fingers curling into your T-shirt as he saw the cruel monsters get closer and closer their claws crushing glass underneath their feet and he breathed heavily. You could sense that he was looking at them— looking at his death coming straight at him and so in a comforting manner you lifted a hand to caress against his hair, running your fingers through the soft dry mess of dishevelled hair

“Eric listen to me,” you soon whispered feeling the way he trembled but didn’t dare let go of you, “shh..” he tried to whisper his adams apple bobbing up and down as he struggled to contain his sobs “breathe… Eric…” he watched as the monsters grew closer and closer until they were only a few steps away his grip on you tightening “Eric close your eyes.” You gently coaxed the man and he let out a strangled sob, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “I’ve got you. Just keep your eyes closed.” You heard the chittering in your ear as you could practically feel it’s sharp teeth digging into your skin, but, seemingly the monster didn’t instantly attack….

You and Eric shared one last hug together, expecting it all to go dark. Expecting to die a cruel death just like the poor people whom had been killed by these monsters… but, nothing happened, the monsters didn’t attack. Instead their chittering grew louder as the sound of helicopters grew close Eric’s breathing growing heavy “Eric..” you whispered frightened, the man lifting a hand to press over your mouth silencing you as the helicopters grew closer the loud sound

“Survivors head to the dock. A boat will pick up any remaining survivors. The attackers cannot swim. I repeat survivors head to the dock.”

The voice spoke through the PA system of the helicopter and before you knew it you had pushed Eric down holding onto him tightly as the monsters instinctively followed the loud noises of the helicopters the rumbling of the helicopters making the monsters gallop past, snarling and growling, you burying your face into Eric’s chest as you both panted you gripping onto him repeatedly begging whoever was up in the sky at that point to just have mercy…

Your breathing remained heavy as the monsters continued to pass until seemingly all the monsters had fled, pursuing after the helicopters. You breathed heavily before pulling away looking at Eric who looked horrified but still he didn’t speak, instead he looked behind your shoulder the final chittering one another monster making your blood run cold, tears threatening to fall down your cheeks as your body began trembling, a distraught look on Eric’s face as the monster got closer to the both of you, before Eric opened his arms wide for you, pulling you into a tight hug as he stared up at the beast, listening to you as you sobbed babbling out terrified whimpers of how you loved him knowing it was the last thing you’d both hear….

He breathed heavily tears in his eyes before he forced you to gently look into his eyes the monsters hot breath fanning over the both of you. “Close your eyes.” He whispered with a reassuring smile, as he closed his eyes just as you did, as you both embraced each other desperately… darkness encasing the both of you, embraced in one another’s arms, forever.

I hope this is okay. Sorry it’s sad): I’ll make a happier one if it’s requested!!

[multifandomxzion]

Phaindei x Moonian! reader pt.4

(Spoilers for Amphoreas quest)

Its over. The war is over. Nikador has been defeated, and Caelus has even learned the power of ice and touched the path of remembrance! Everything happened so quickly.. and you and the others feel, just so.. So tired. You feel like you could sleep for weeks. Amd you do- well- atleast if castorice didnt wake you up

Castorice: I dont mean to wake you my guest, but its time to get ready.

Reader: Hm..? What?

Castorice: Mydei is hosting a feast and has invited you and your friends

Tribbie walks in, expression hardened

Tribbie: Why is Moonie not ready yet?!

Reader: Im up.. Im up.. *You suddenly seize still. Mydei invited you, Caelus and dan heng over for a feast.. Well, I mean.. There's bound to be food but an actual outfit?! Idk..*

Reader: Do I even have anything to we-

Tribbie: Let us worry about that! *she says as her other 2 twins appear out of nowhere, practically dragging you away*

The feast was a harmonius event, Phainon and Aglaea dancing, while Mydei and Caelus were having an eating competition trying to see who could eat more than the other (And Mydei was winning) You, Tribblets and Castorice practically galloped all the way there, hoping to not miss alot

Reader: We're here! We're .. *pant* here

You dont notice now, but Phainon and Mydei both stop in their tracks to look at you, your in a traditional robe similar to Aglaea, w/ a few of your own accessories ofc and a golden head piece! You looked like an average citizen and yet at the same time so...

Phainon: I...

Mydei: I...

Dan Heng: Come join us reader

You actually have alot of fun at this feast, Aglaea attempts to teach you a traditional dance, You eat to your hearts content ect! At some point you walk out to Mydei's balcony to get some fresh air from all the social interaction, only to be followed by a certain white haired individual

Phainon: Ah, so this is where you are! Are you ok Reader?

Reader: Yeah,, Just burned out.. Parties take alot out of me

Phainon: I uh.. I see! Shall I keep you company until you wish to go back?

Reader: If you want ig..

And thats just what phainon does, staying right by your side.

Phainon: Caelus told me that you have fun stories to share about your travels, I'd love to hear some.. To hear more about you

Reader: Huh? Really?

*Phainon looks away sratching his neck, signalling he's nervous*

Phainon: Yes, I eould like to maybe find a proper way to apologize that way. I um.. I was rethinking our interactions together and realize how I may have sounded like.. I only cared about one part of you, which isnt true, You have helped me save Amphoreus, as a warrior, that alone proves so many things about you. *He grabs your hands, intertwining them with his*

Phainon: Your brave, Courageous, sweet, you get the idea, and If it werent for your 3's help.. I dont even want to imagine such a fate.. I want to show you just how much I appreciate you. Not just your beautiful skin, but You as a person, reader. You are not some treasure to be searched, But a one of a kind to be earned and cherished!

Phainon stares into your eyes as he says every word, your stomach becoming queezy with butterflies as he compliments you, He looks like he has more to say but he's holding back

Phainon: I.. *he looks back at the party, then leans into your ear*

Phainon: I believe Mydei wishes to dance with you, but he is too shy to ask you directly, You should go dance with him!

Reader: But I havent mastered any-

Too late, Phainon grabs you and almost throws you back into the party, pushing you towards Mydei

Phainon: Alright you both, go dance!

You and Mydei get on the dance floor and dance together, weird enough even if Mydei comes off more aggressive and mean, He is suprisingly gentle when guiding you trough the dance, Your so focused on trying to get it right that you dont even realise the look of pure adoration on phainons face.. As 2 bright stars dance in front of him

(Sorry if this was alil rushed, its 2AM by the time I post this-)

Pt.5

Back

[shadowsingerofnight]

So um, to be honest I don’t know what this is. It was on a whim, written in one go so don’t take it too seriously lol

It was inspired by this post right here, by @dawntoducks

Hope you enjoy!

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

The sound of the door slamming shut brought Elain back to reality.

Standing in the middle of the sitting-room, she glanced to the window, to the city beyond. Velaris was in full bloom, children running and laughing just outside. She could even spot some kites flying this and that way, guided by tiny, giggling kids.

She had always thought kites to belong in fairytales, somehow never considered actually playing with one. She marvelled at them.

She kept watching- stalling, as one little girl accidentally bumped into the big magnolia tree outside the gate and let go of the slim thread she was holding. A cry sounded, the girl immediately getting up and jumping towards the sky. Desperately trying to reach high, high, higher- like the hurt didn’t matter, like she just wanted to get back what she had lost. But it was too late.

Elain blinked. Once. Twice.

Her heart began racing, the rhythm akin a horse’s gallop. Frantic, but with purpose.

It was always like that, her soul recognising a song she sometimes could faintly hear herself. A poem that had existed within her since the dawn of time, somehow.

“Are you okay?”

Somewhere among the blooming trees…

Elain had never heard a voice like that. Not when she was human, not after. Non since she had heard his for the first time. A voice so stark and yet warm. So deep and yet melodious.

She could feel it, tingling on her skin.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked, still not looking at him.

Outside, on a magic wind, the girl’s kite flew right back in her arms. Elain smiled faintly.

“I… felt something,” he replied. “Like you were calling for me.”

She was? Honestly, it wouldn’t have surprised her. Elain still didn’t quite understand how this whole thing worked. But could he actually feel when she was thinking about him?

It was quite a lot.

“That’s why I thought you were in danger.” He went on, “I assumed it was the only way you could call for help.” His tone was low, steady. Like he didn’t want to scare her away.

Because I know it wouldn’t be me you’d call if you could help it.

She hated that he didn’t understand. She hated that she could not bring herself to tell him the truth, how his smile was the first thing she saw in the morning. That his laugh sounded in her ears with every step she took. That his hands were what she imagined when she… Red stained her cheeks.

She hadn’t yet looked at him, but she could just see his head dip to the side as if wondering what she was thinking about. Or rather, was she really thinking about what he suspected?

At the top of the tallest mountain…

“Elain,” he whispered and then cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, okay?”

Elain furrowed her brows, but her chin remained dipped.

He sighed unevenly and then spat, voice higher, “I’m sorry the Cauldron made me your mate. I’m sorry I’m so abhorrent you can’t even look at me. Just tell me you’re fine and I’ll go.” His arms slackened at his sides. Defeated.

Elain’s head snapped towards him then. Her eyes met one of russet and one of gold, like the brightest of suns on a fall day. She saw the tears first, the same ones she could feel marking her own cheeks.

In the depths of all the seas…

“You-,” she sniffed. “You stupid, stupid prick.”

She saw his eyes widen the instant she closed the distance between them and pointed an accusatory finger to his chest.

“You know nothing!” She yelled. Actually yelled.

Elain wiped some of the tears away, but they kept coming like an overflowing river. Feelings buried so deep came afloat.

“Don’t you understand I can’t look at you?” She demanded more than asked.

“How can you not see I’m burning?” Her index finger kept poking his chest of its own volition while his face had paled alarmingly. He was looking down at her, tears glistening in the light.

On a journey so certain…

“You think I don’t feel anything”? Elain sniffed again. “Well, you’re so terribly wrong! I feel so much every time I look at you, I don’t know what to do.” Words were flowing and she didn’t even have to think them.

“You live with me every second of every day. You render me useless every time I think of you because all I want is to touch you and kiss you and hold you and never let go.”

He caught her wrist and flattened her hand above his heart. It was beating so fast.

“I want you, Lucien.” She could feel him tremble underneath her palm, just when he closed his eyes as to savour her words. “I just don’t want to burn you.”

Lucien smiled, so sweet and wicked at the same time, eyes so full of hope she cursed herself for not telling him sooner. “Didn’t you hear?” He whispered, his breath caressing her neck. “I’m the Lord of Flames.”

I search for light and I find you.

[fandom-puff]

A Doe Among Lions

Chapter 1: The Hand’s Tourney

A Doe Among Lions masterlist

ROBERT

How he hated Lannisters.

They were all much of a muchness: self-righteous and proud and green-eyed and blonde.

It was as though his wife followed him everywhere he went, although he did not actually know (nor care) where she was half the time. But her kin were everywhere. Her uncle’s lad, Lancel, poured his wine. Though the boy snivelled and shook at his booming voice, Robert could see the hatred glinting in those eyes. When Jaime Lannister minded his door while he ate and drank and shat and whored, he knew those emerald eyes that were twinned with his wife’s narrowed in distaste. Tywin’s eyes were icier than all of the North combined, but at least he had the good grace to keep to Casterly Rock.

But Seven Hells was Cersei the worst. Oh, she smiled and laughed and said all the right things, but by the gods was she cold. Colder than any northern bride ever would have been- his Lyanna was warm as they came, summer incarnate, with flowers weaved through her hair like a nymph. Cersei was easy enough on the eyes, but her regal beauty and her hard glare would never compare to his sweet winter rose.

He had decided very early on into his reign that emeralds were his least favourite gem.

At least his pavilion was separate to hers, and with Ned Stark by his side, the trumpets sounding and the banners snapping in the wind it was like the good days again. He had always said that his great antlered helm was far lighter than the crown he now wore.

It took little to make Ned Stark relent to this tourney; that frozen old wolf knew that the King’s word was law. And so the stands and the pavilions were erected; the aurochs were slayed and dressed and salted for the feasts; Dornish and Arbor wine was rolled in by the barrel; and the nobles and knights and commons all flooded to the Capital in preparation for the Hand’s Tourney.

“This tourney has naught to do with me,” Ned had protested weakly.

“I named you my Hand, it has everything to do with you,” Robert had responded, slapping his friend jovially on the back. When Ned changed tack and began fretting about coin, Robert had waved him off. “Littlefinger will find the copper, he always does,” he said easily.

Ned had grumbled that a tourney this grand would cost gold, but Robert simply laughed and said “Littlefinger finds his ways. This is how the Southron lords do it, Ned- best get used to it.”

—

He had taken his seat in the royal stand, waved his hand at the commons who called his name and called for the gods to bless him, and had his snivelling cupbearer pour his wine.

His eyes roved over the crowds, squinting for a flash of white scale armour. “Barristan,” he called, and the captain of his guard leaned closer.

“Your Grace?”

“Who have you set to guard my sister today. I would not have her alone with this many strangers about,”

Ser Barristan nodded. “‘Tis Ser Jaime’s turn this morn, your Grace, and I shall man his place once he takes his turn at the joust,” the king grunted, and Barristan nodded into the distance. “I see them there, your Grace, with the Queen and Prince Joffrey,”

Robert squinted, and sure enough there was a gaggle of colour, bookended by the white armour of Jaime Lannister and the dull mail of the Hound. The Prince had a fondness for Lannister’s dog, but Clegane was fearsome enough that people gave him a wide berth, so Robert permitted him to mind the boy. He spied Balon Swann a few paces from the group; no doubt he was minding the queen.

Cersei leant her golden head towards Helaena, and the younger woman tilted her head back. Robert fancied he could imagine the sound of her pleasant laughter as she tittered at the Queen’s remark. He pressed his lips together; he misliked the thought of Cersei influencing his sister, and he could almost picture her gilded claws piercing the girl’s shoulders under the guise of sisterly guidance.

When his queen joined him at the royal stands, their children ushered behind her, he kissed the ring at her finger as she sat down. She smiled pleasantly at the commons who called for her, just as Robert had, but he could see the lack of warmth in her eyes. He grunted, looking away from his bride. “And where is my sister?” He called to nobody in particular.

“She is with Uncle Renly, father, and Uncle Jaime,” said Myrcella. He nodded in acknowledgement to the Princess, before his youngest son spoke up.

“And with Lord Littlefinger,” he said. “We wanted to stay with them but our Lady Aunt said we must join you, father,”

“Lord Baelish, Tommen,” corrected Cersei. “And Helaena is quite right. You are the remain in the royal stands unless commanded otherwise. Look, now, they’re starting,” her voice was drowned out by a blast from the trumpets as Jory Cassel and Horas Redwyne readied their steeds.

—

RENLY

“Stand down, Lannister. I shall mind my sister from hereout,”

Helaena touched the green velvet of his sleeve lightly. “You know Ser Jaime cannot, brother. Robert has commanded he guard me,” she said gently.

Renly smirked at his sister, looking down at her. “And when have you ever paid any mind to what Robert commands, sister?”

Helaena suppressed a pretty smile. “There are many strangers at court for the tourney,” she said, “it would look bad for the king’s own sister to disobey him- and even worse for his own Master of Laws to do the same,” she added sternly, though her blue eyes glinted with mischief.

Renly grinned at his sister. He so enjoyed when she came to court- she made such a pleasant change from sour old Stannis. It was like their days at Storm’s End, in the lull between Robert’s Rebellion and Renly being made Lord of Storm’s End. They looked the most alike of all their siblings, and for much of their childhood it was easy to muddle the pair up. But now Renly was tall and broad where Helaena was shorter. Her hair had grown to her waist, while his remained at his shoulders- but the shade was the same: black as night and glossy like silk. Robert had said once that Helaena seemed to have stolen all of Stannis’s hair; Renly had roared with laughter, while Stannis had pursed his lips together.

“Will you be entering the lists, brother?” Helaena asked. “Ser Jaime and the other white knights have,”

Renly smirked easily. “Of course,” he said. “Though not until later on,” he said. “Can I count on your favour?” He asked, grinning as he nudged her. Helaena let out a laugh.

“Indeed not,” she smirked. “My favour is reserved for someone with a chance of winning,” she teased.

Renly pressed a hand to his heart. “You wound me, sweet sister,” he said, all theatrics. “And who, pray, do you intend to bestow that pretty kerchief upon?”

Helaena sighed, feigning wistfulness. “Oh, only the most gallant knight here,” she said solemnly. “Mayhaps Ser Jaime or Ser Barristan. Or one of Lord Stark’s northmen, they seem most honourable- and it is the Hand’s Tourney, not the Big Headed Brothers’ Tourney after all,” she added slyly. Behind them, Jaime Lannister snorted, his mouth pressed determinedly into a thin line, and Littlefinger let out a bark of laughter.

“Well met, my lady,” he said with an easy smirk.

Renly placed his hand on the sleeve of Helaena’s pale blue gown. He was not keen for his sister to be in Littlefinger’s company. Helaena smiled pleasantly.

“You are most kind, Lord Baelish,” she said pleasantly. “Oh- they’re beginning,” she said, standing on tip toe to peer down to where Cassel and Redwyne were bowing to Robert.

Renly watched with interest, smirking as Robert waved them away- he was sure he heard him call for them to “have at it, already.”

He leant towards Baelish. “What say you, Baelish. Twenty dragons on Redwyne? I doubt they get much jousting done at Winterfell,”

Baelish smirked. “Aye, I’ll take your wager,” he said with a nod. Within moments, the stands were full of murmurs and calls for various bets. Renly felt secure with his wager on Horas Redwyne- especially as he cantered past in his gleaming armour and his shield emblazoned with the clustered grapes of House Redwyne- and began agreeing on various other bets with those around him.

“Fifty dragons on the Northman!” Helaena called. The lords around her looked at her bemusedly.

“Are you quite certain, my lady?” One elder lord said.

“Sister, you do not have fifty dragons to wager- and I certainly won’t be lending you them,” Renly hissed in her ear, his hand at her elbow.

Helaena shook him off. “If I lose the wager, the winner may have my ring,” she said, holding up her hand, where a gleaming ring of silver and sapphires adorned her slender finger. A lordling below her eyed the ring hungrily; another peered over Renly’s shoulder as the clear blue stones caught the light.

“Done,” said Lord Baelish after a beat. Helaena smiled genially and accepted his handshake.

“You have already agreed to a bet against the Northman,” Renly protested.

Baelish merely shrugged. “If the Northman loses, then I get twenty dragons from you, my lord. If Redwyne loses… well I shall be twenty dragons poorer… but I shall have a fine ring worth double,”

Their discussion was drowned out by the blast of trumpets and the roar of the crowd and the thunder of hooves- and soon the thud of Horas Redwyne hitting the dirt silenced them all. Renly grumbled as he rifled through his coin purse, handing out the winnings to those around him, catching his sister’s triumphant smirk as she replaced her ring. “Not a word,” he said to her, though his smile broke easily when she let out a giggle. “Perhaps I shall have you broker my deals from now on, sister,”

Helaena laughed aloud. “Not a chance,” she told him, accepting the coin pouch Baelish had passed her. “I shan’t bet on every tilt,” she added sensibly.

“Ah, but you will bet on mine, I guarantee,”

“Naturally,” she quipped. “I’ve already bet with Robert,” she added, nudging him playfully.

The day wore on as more and more nobles and hedgeknights took to the field. The youngest Baratheon siblings shouted their support for their favourites and bickered over who they thought the victor would be. There was rather a game of musical knights when it came to be Ser Jaime’s turn in the field; Ser Barristan came to stand guard as Lannister unhorsed two men, and swapped back to do the same. Then it came for Barristan and Jaime to tilt, with Balon Swann blustering over while they jousted.

When young Hugh of the Vale was killed by Ser Gregor the Mountain, the colour drained from Helaena’s face as she stared at the pool of blood surrounding the young boy, and it took several more tilts for her to regain the spirit of the day. “D’you want to retire?” Renly murmured to her, but she shook her head and waved him away, plastering a smile on her face. Likely she did not want Robert to catch a glimpse and see that something was amiss; Renly was of the belief that Robert would keep her in a gilded cage if she allowed it.

“No,” she said bravely, looking up at him. “I must see your joust,” she insisted. Renly nodded and squeezed her hand. He kissed her sweetly on the forehead, before retiring to his pavilion to don his green enameled armour and golden antlered helm.

Renly’s joust was a failure; he fell to the Hound on the first tilt, a tine from his helm snapping with a terrifying crack that the crowd took for bones. Despite being the loser, however, the commons still cheered for him. When he returned to the stand, Helaena smacked his chest, the slap dulled by the velvet of his doublet. “Hey, now!” He said, grabbing for her wrist. “Clegane has already bruised my arse, sister. I won’t have you doing for my chest,”

Helaena frowned. “You frightened me, you fool,” she chastised. “And you lost me a barrel of my favourite summerwine,” Renly roared with laughter, and soon Helaena’s lips tugged into a begrudging smile. “From now on I shall bet against you,” she declared, but that only made Renly laugh harder, and the two sibling sat back down to watch the remainder of the day’s tilts.

The Knight of Flowers rode onto the field to cries of adoration from the crowd, his cape of a thousand roses streaming behind him, his polished armour gleaming in the sun. Helm in hand, he plucked a white rose from his cape and held it out to Helaena. As they spoke the usual courtesies of knights and high ladies, Loras’s brown eyes flicked to Renly’s, the two exchanging a secret smile before Loras cantered off.

His Knight of Flowers rode gallantly, and was soon declared a finalist alongside the Kingslayer, the Hound, and the Mountain That Rides, but the sun was setting and Robert decreed that the final would be on the morrow, before the archery contest and the mêlee.

“Come, brother,” Helaena murmured, drawing his attention away from the Tyrell boy’s streaming cloak of blooms and his enameled armour, and the ladies and girls with romance in their hearts swooning over him. “We must away to the feast,”

Arm in arm, the youngest Baratheon siblings began the walk from the tourney grounds to the feast, where a huge table had been laid out beneath the sunset. The air was perfumed by the smell of roasting meat and vegetables, of fresh seafood, of summer wine and plump fruit, and filled with mirth and celebration and plenty.

Already, Robert seemed to be in his cups, roaring with laughter at every jape, calling for his cup to be refilled by the minute, and for his friends’ cups too. Renly and Helaena took their places once the usual formalities had been spoken.

“Have you enjoyed the day thus far, brother?” Helaena said to Robert, who incline his head.

“Aye, especially when Renly was knocked onto his arse!” Robert said, his face already ruddy.

Helaena smiled politely, and rested her hand on Renly’s arm. “I have already had words with our brother,” she said, feigning seriousness. “And I shall have that barrel put aside for your next visit to Storm’s End. Perhaps we can share it- none for Renly,”

Renly chuckled at his sister’s teasing. “That’s fine, sister, I wouldn’t drink that piss you enjoy so much of you paid me!”

The three laughed, and the feast progressed. Joff was playing the perfect Prince with the eldest Stark girl, it seemed, despite all that bother with wolves and butcher’s boys on the Kingsroad. Ned Stark still looked out of place, even at his own tourney feast. The queen’s face was ice as well as her husband grew louder and louder, boasting of his prowess and his intention to put it to use in the mêlee. “Perhaps that is unwise, your Grace,” the queen said in a form voice. “I would not wish to see you injured,”

The laughter around them stopped, and the air soured alongside Robert’s mood. “I will,” he said stubbornly, waving for his cupbearer to refill his cup. Renly sat straighter, and he saw Jaime Lannister and Ned Stark do the same. Helaena opened her mouth to speak, reaching to take Robert’s hand, but he brushed off her sweet, mollifying words and her gentle touch as though she were but a butterfly.

“You will not,” the queen insisted, setting down her wine cup. “I forbid it,”

“NO!” Robert boomed, and silence fell across the full length of the table. “You do not command me, woman. I say I shall ride, so I shall ride!”

Face drained of blood and green eyes glinting with silent fury, the queen stood from the table and stalked away. Cross words were exchanged between King and Kingsguard, and Jaime Lannister was knocked to the floor. It seemed besting Lannisters was the only thing that could sweeten Robert’s mood, but the feast was called to an end all the same.

Helaena sighed and stood. “Come,” she said to Renly. “You can escort be back,”

Renly smirked, mentally replaying the moment the Kingslayer hit the dirt. “And if I want to stay here and drink and feast and whore?”

“Then I shall make my own way back,” Helaena said with a shrug. “It is dark out, brother, but it makes no difference to me,”

“Certainly not,” Renly said, standing and offering his arm, which Helaena took with a triumphant smirk.

“Do you truly care for my safety and honour on these dark roads, Renly, or do you fear our brothers’ fury so?” She teased. Renly rolled his eyes.

“Oh hush, you conniving wench,” he said, but he grinned at the mischief in her eyes, leading her back to the castle and safely to her apartments, his cloak brushing over young Loras Tyrell’s legs as he went.

I hope you are enjoying this story thus far! The first few chapters lay the groundwork, but the action shall truly begin soon… we just need rid of Robert…

[50calmadeuce]

Ch. 3: Til the Cows Come Home

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Top Gun: Maverick world, trademarked by Paramount Pictures Corporation. I do not claim ownership of the characters and the world that I am borrowing.

The story and situation I am creating are a work of my imagination and I do not ascribe them to official story canon. This work is for entertainment only and is not a part of the storyline.

I am not profiting financially from the creation and publication of this story, but I do hope it gives you happy thoughts.

These stories are my own, so please do not take them and use them for yourself without my permission. If you see them somewhere else, please let me know. :)

You woke up the next morning at three thirty, got dressed and walked into the kitchen where James was already drinking a cup of coffee. You headed straight to the coffee pot.

"I'm not sure if I should say good morning or tell you you look like shit," he says.

You flip him the middle finger as you filled a travel mug full of coffee and he laughs.

You turned to face him, your hair neatly braided in a French braid. You were dressed in jeans under a pair of chaps, with a light blue tank top peeking out from under a matching plaid shirt. The colors accentuated the crystal blue of your eyes. Taking a sip of your coffee, you let out a contented sigh. "That hit the spot."

James laughed. "Let's go saddle the horses."

You followed him out to the barn.

You were checking the straps on your horse when you heard the sound of a horse galloping up the driveway and you turned to look.

James looked to. "I wonder who that is?"

As the rider drew nearer, you recognized the figure on the horse to be your ex, Jake Seresin. He spotted you, redirected his horse in your direction, and came to a halt when he reached you. "Y/N."

"Jake," you responded and shot James a glare.

James cleared his throat. "I have to go check on the rest of the guys," he stated, then turned and walked away with his horse.

As James moved between you and Jake, Jake dismounted from his horse and walked towards you.

"It's nice to see you. You look good," Jake remarked.

"You too," you replied honestly. It was hard not to notice his muscular arms and body even under his jeans and red plaid short-sleeved shirt. That wasn't the Jake you remembered from ten years ago.

"When did you get here?"

"The other night. I stayed in a hotel and then got here yesterday."

"Oh," Jake said, looking a bit puzzled. "I stopped by yesterday, but James didn't mention you were here."

"I'm sure he didn't, just like he didn't tell me you stopped by."

There was a brief pause, a palpable tension between the two of you. Then, Jake spoke up again. "Look, Y/N, I know things didn't end well between us. But I wanted to offer my condolences. Losing your mom... that's never easy."

"Thanks." Just then, your cell phone rang in your back pocket. You retrieved it, glanced at the caller ID, and then turned to Jake. "I have to take this. Excuse me." You headed towards the entrance of the barn, ensuring Jake couldn't overhear your conversation. "Hey," you answered the phone.

"Hey, babe. How are you doing?" a male voice said.

"I'm doing good."

"How's your brother?"

"He's doing good too."

"It's quiet around here without you."

"I bet."

"When you coming home?"

"I don't know. It's the end of summer and we have to get the cattle in. The funeral is this weekend and I'm sure the reading of the Will, so maybe Wednesday? It all depends."

"Well, I just called to check on you."

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

"Everyone gather round!" James yelled.

"Look, Sean. I have to go. I'll call you later."

"Okay. Love you."

"Yeah," you replied, ending the call. You walked back over to your horse while Jake observed you intently.

"Everything okay?" Jake asks, concerned.

"Yeah. I'm fine."

You rode in line behind the other cowboys as you made your way to where the cattle were located. Suddenly, Jake rode up alongside you.

"Y/N. Can we talk?"

You glanced at him. Realizing the boyish features you had once fallen for years ago had matured into the countenance of a man. Before you stood the person you had once loved with a profound intensity.

"What's on your mind?"

"I think we need to talk about that night."

You let out a sigh. "Jake, that was ten years ago."

"And not a day has passed where I haven't thought about it... about you."

You locked eyes with him, those familiar green orbs that had a way of melting your heart. They were filled with mischief and love, just like they used to be. Your heart ached.

"I'm sure you felt the same way," he added.

Of course you did. You were on your second engagement since Jake.

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words. "I did."

Jake continued, his gaze unwavering. "Y/N, I know we've both moved on, but I never got the chance to properly apologize. For everything."

Have you? You swallowed, the past suddenly rushing back. "Jake, we were both young... We both made mistakes."

"That doesn't mean I shouldn't have done things differently. I should have fought for you. I should have been there for you."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of emotions swirling within you. It was a lot to process.

"And if you did, you wouldn't be doing what you're doing now."

"Do you even know what I do?"

"Honestly, no. I mean, James mentioned you're some kind of pilot."

He smiled. "I'm a naval aviator in the Navy."

You thought about it a second. "Wait a minute, you're...?"

"I'm a fighter pilot. I've got two confirmed kills under my belt."

You looked at him, shocked. "Wow."

"What about you? What are you doing?"

"I do search and rescue in Alaska."

"You moved to Alaska?"

"I did."

"Wow. How you liking it?"

"I like it there. Quiet and rustic. I've learned a lot."

"I bet."

You noticed James waving to you. "James is trying to get my attention. It was good catching up with you," you said, before turning your horse and riding towards James.

You rode up to James. "What's up?"

"I see you and Jake are talking like old friends."

You glare at him. "Why didn't you tell me he stopped by yesterday?"

He looked at you. "I didn't think you would care."

You didn't answer.

"He's changed, Y/N."

"Yeah, well, so have I."

"I didn't say you didn't." There was a brief pause. "You can tell he still cares about you."

You looked at James, frustration and confusion swirling within you. "What are you trying to say, James?"

"I'm saying that maybe it's not too late for you two. People change, Y/N. And sometimes, second chances can be worth it."

You glanced back at Jake, who was sharing a laugh with one of the cowboys. He must have sensed your gaze because he turned in your direction, giving a nod and a warm smile. Your heart ached at the thought of revisiting old wounds, but a part of you couldn't help but wonder… maybe James was right.

Your group located the head of cattle that needed to be brought back to the ranch and skillfully herded them along. Every now and then, you noticed Jake stealing glances in your direction. The one time your eyes met, he offered a smile and a nod, acknowledging your presence. It made you feel like you did when you were dating years ago.

It was well into the evening by the time you returned to the ranch, and Jake rode up alongside you.

"Thanks for letting me tag along," he said.

You turned to him. "Why don't you stay for dinner? It's getting late, and I can drive you back after we eat. You can board your horse here."

"I wouldn't want to impose."

"You wouldn't be, and you never have before," you assured him. "Besides, when was the last time you had a dinner cooked by Griff?"

He grinned. "You make a good point."

You dismounted from your horse, Jake followed suit and the two of you walked towards the barn.

"It seems like you haven't forgotten how to ride, " Jake states.

"Nope. We use horses in Alaska."

"Oh, really?" he asks as the two of you walk into the barn with your horses.

"Yeah. Depending on the situation."

"Sounds like you like the job."

"I do," you affirmed. You secured your horse outside its stall, and Jake mirrored your actions with his own, placing his horse in a stall across from yours. It was a routine the two of you had performed many times in years past. "What about you?"

Jake smiled. "I love it. Being so high in the air and the G forces. It's great."

You unsaddled your horse and Jake did the same. Then the two of you started rubbing your horses down. When you got done, you placed your horses in their respective stalls, gave them some oats and feed, secured the stall door and you met Jake in the middle of the walkway.

Just then you heard some music.

"I'm going to clean up. I'll meet you by the barbeque."

Jake smiled. "Sounds good."

[musical-chan]

Father of Time Chapter 17: Just Another Thing We Lost In The Fire

The next morning was sunny but with a chill in the air that spoke of the coming winter.  Link took full advantage of the warm breakfast at the inn, eating as many helpings as he could fit in his stomach.  As they left, he spared at glance back towards the temple with a little sigh.  "You didn't want to stay for a bit? So you could, I dunno, hang out with your brother some more?"

"If it wasn't so late in the season, perhaps.  It will only get colder from here and, even after we see Mother Din, we have a long way to reach the last Spring."

"Are you going to be able to see him again?"

Deity tousled his son's hair affectionately as they reached the top of the town and prepared to ride the horses once again. "Of course.  Now that we both know, we will search each other out. It is in our nature to Protect together when the need arises."

Link nodded and swung back up on Epona's back. The horse whinnied and tossed her head, eager to be off on such a nice day and the boy was content to let her gallop off into the grass. He had mailed off his letters to Malon and Zelda that morning, had a good breakfast, was able to wash up a little and felt the most rested he had in weeks.  Honestly, it was a good day.  Link was better able to enjoy the sights as they rode down further into what Deity had called Akkala.  They passed farms in the distance and he could see a town down in a hollow to their west. They did not pass any monsters that day and Link knew that Oceans had spoke true about protecting the coast. This land felt much the same as Hyrule did with the Fierce Deity around.  By evening, more clouds had blown in off the ocean and the pair set up their shelter for the first time.

"Well, the sun was nice while it lasted."  Link crouched by the firewood, draining through his magic in an attempt to dry the wood out enough to light. The steady stream of fire eventually took hold and he cheered at the tenuous flame. 

"You will wish for the rain when we get to Eldin."

"Bet you I won't."  Link grinned and plopped the pot into the fire. "I've had enough wet to last me a lifetime, I swear."  He was getting better at camp cooking and carefully portioned out rice into the pot. It was nice to have any sort of grain again; he had been getting tired of the meat and wild greens they had scrounged up the last week or so.  "How long is it going to take, dad?  To get to the Spring?"

"Perhaps a week, maybe two if the weather grows unruly."

"Man, it's a shame the Song of Storms doesn't stop the rain. That would have been handy."

In the end, it took just over a week to travel across the rolling grasslands and scattered trees.  It was a beautiful land and Link thought he might have actually enjoyed visiting it more if it wasn't for the rain that seemed to fall every other day.  At least they had something to sleep under and he was getting much better at drying out wood that seemed perpetually damp so they could have some sort of fire.  And they had one more night in an inn, a few days out from the village that housed the priestesses for Din's Spring.  The town they stopped in was pleasant, a farming village with an amazing array of produce. They even had carrots that the boy bought to give Epona as a treat. And then bought twice that number for Luna so she wouldn't get jealous. 

Soon they would be at the volcano and Link tried to imagine what meeting the second Goddess would be like.

(Read the Rest on AO3!)

[savebatsfromscratch]

No.14 Dragonbreath

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50826493

Words: 1,059

Cws: Threat of drowning, frozen water, torture

Notes: The part before the “I’ll Never Give Up Fighting, You Witch,” scene, I guess, never leaves my head. This isn’t fully accurate to it, of course, I was just making stuff up on vague memories. I highly recommend the original book over this fic, this is just a pale imitation of an incredible series.

Prompt: No. 14: “Feed me poison, fill me ‘till I drown.” Flare | Water Inhalation | “Just hold on.”

Hiccup didn’t even try to wriggle in his bonds. He didn’t need to try to get out to know that he couldn’t, especially not with half his body too sore to move. And, as a cruel bonus, the only unchained people in the room were Alvin’s Men who would gladly kill him if he got a chance to escape. Based on the hatred glowing in their eyes, if the dragon rebellion was not about to come to a close, it could have been all they had been training to do these past months.

All he could do was hope that Plan B was going to work. This hope, however, was pretty weak given how little time had gone into planning this mission, let ALONE Plan B.

That, at least, was evident in the position he found himself in.

It was clear that he had not thought about what he was getting himself into for nearly long enough, let alone a way out if something like this happened. 

But he was here, and she was here, and none of the promised King's Lost Things were here, and Hiccup was wrapped like a little present in thick metal chains that he doubted even Alivn himself could have broken out of. 

Hiccup was totally trapped, and his only hope at escape lay in the messily put together Plan B. He couldn't talk his way out of this, Alvin was already trying to argue why they should kill him immediately. He couldn't fight his way out, even if he wasn't chained up, his fighting arm was limp as crushed Nanodragon at his side. ...and Hiccup wasn't very good at much else, was he.

“Alvin my dear,“ the witch's awful whisper barely held back excitement as she scuttled around the room, ”Aren't you excited to see him drown?“

”I am, mother,“ muttered Alvin, nervously fiddling with his sword attachment, ”I just think we should kill him now to get it over with, you know how he is...“

”Pish posh,“ the witch cackled, ”he's just a BOY, and a very young one at that...“ she made a face at Hiccup, “it shouldn't take very long to break him,”

She galloped towards Hiccup, and he had to try very hard not to squirm away from her metal fingernails, even though he knew he could not be poisoned by them. 

“We're going to dunk you in that cold water there,” the witch purred, gesturing to a trapdoor that opened into the frigid winter ocean, “and when we pull you out, you're going to tell us the location of your mother's base, right?”

Hiccup could already imagine the pain of the frozen ocean, having fallen in once as a young child, but he tried not to let his terror show on his face as he shook his head no.

The witch's expression soured, and she scuttled backwards back to Alvin. Clearly, she thought that Hiccup was going to break, and, to be completely honest, Hiccup wasn't so sure he could disagree with her.

The chain began to pull him towards the hatch, slowly and painfully as Hiccup tried to fight his rising panic. So long as Plan B was getting followed through on, this whole thing should be survivable. (But, as he had realized before, the likelihood of that happening was one to zero, even with the months that he had spent perfecting his team's communication and collaboration skills.)

He wanted nothing more than to dig his fingers into the wooden floor of the boat, but the chains kept his arms in place. 

He looked up at the rows and rows of Dragonmarkers in the cages, each holding a solemn dull to their eyes, as if they had all already decided that he would break. The witch was right after all, he was just a BOY, and a particularly young one at that, what could he possibly do against the freezing, Winterflesher filled, waters of the archipelago?

He wasn't really all that impressive to look at, after all.

Hiccup was only a couple of feet away from the edge now, but his mind stretched milliseconds into minutes as he tried to look brave. If Plan B didn't work...

He glanced back at the opening and watched as a Winterflesher leaped a few inches out of the water, its shining white teeth glowing like little daggers in its mouth. 

Hiccup swallowed and did his best to square his shoulders.

If Plan B didn't work, he was going to have more to worry about than drowning or freezing to death. He'd seen Winterfleshers tear apart a fully grown deer in seconds before, and, as far as anyone in that room could tell, Hiccup was more comparable to a baby deer than an adult. There was no way he could stand a chance against those things.

One more foot.

One more inch.

Just a little more...

Hiccup felt himself tipping over into the hatch, and he only just managed to swallow in a breath before he hit the water.

The shock of it took a beat to hit him, and for that brief moment, all he could process was the incredible darkness of the water that surrounded him. 

And then the cold hit.

It took all of the strength he had not to let out his meager supply of air right then. (And even with his efforts, he managed to inhale a little through his nose anyway.)

It hurt so bad.

The ocean was so cold it almost felt like swimming in a pool of molten lava, and trust him, he'd gotten pretty close to that experience a couple of times.

He squeezed his eyes shut as salt began to burn them. (Or maybe it was so he didn't see the Winterfleshers that were getting over their surprise that someone had been thrown into the middle of them.)

He braced for the feeling of their teeth on his unprotected skin, but so far, nothing was happening.

He braced a little harder, but nothing happened.

Hiccup felt the brush of a familiar dragon on his side, and his frozen body seemed to warm up in relief. Plan B was a go. So, as Hiccup hung limp in the water, he opened his mouth to that dragonbreath that was filling his lungs. So long as he survived the cold, he could do this.

[mortemoppetere]

TIMING: current PARTIES: @vanoincidence & @mortemoppetere LOCATION: a grocery store! SUMMARY: emilio and van go grocery shopping and everything is really normal. CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

They were out of hot sauce. Again. It was Emilio’s fault this time, though he’d never admit it. The latest bottle had been yet another victim in the long-standing tradition of the slayer growing frustrated at the wrong moment. In this case, a burned batch of macaroni led to Emilio gripping the glass bottle a little too tightly, which in turn led to a very predictable explosion of glass shards that he was left sweeping up in a quiet panic. So, they were out of hot sauce. Whatever. It was a fucking thing, it happened to everyone, it was fine. He could just go to the store and get more, along with everything else on the list Teddy had left hanging on the fridge.

Why Van had decided to tag along for the ride, he wasn’t entirely sure.

“I am not buying you a candy,” he warned, yanking a shopping cart free from the jumble by the door. “You are a lot without sugar. I won’t add to that. We are only here for hot sauce. And…” He squinted at Teddy’s list. “What the fuck is chicken jello? Is that supposed to be chicken and jello? What are they using jello for?” He stuffed the list into his pocket. They’d figure it out. 

Turning to Van, he sighed. “We are in and out,” he told her sternly. “No playing at the little machine with the stuffed dogs in the glass. We get what we came for, and then we go. Okay? I will leave you here if you try to make it take longer.” He wouldn’t. “Just find the…”

The doors to the grocery store opened. Emilio froze. There was a giant slide ending in a gaping black hole in the floor. There were horses galloping through the aisles and running people over. A fan blew a miniature tornado around the floor. Emilio turned to Van. “How badly do you think Teddy needs chicken jello?”

—

Van had just been leaving after seeing Wynne when she saw Emilio heading to the store. She had nothing else going on, and being alone meant more than she could deal with these days, and after their newfound respect for one another, who better than to spend her time with? He hadn’t explicitly said no when she asked, and hadn’t stopped her from following him, so it was allowed, or so she deluded herself into thinking. 

She padded towards the store after him, rolling her eyes at his comment about not buying her candy. “I can like, totally buy my own candy.” She didn’t want to, though. By the end of this trip, she’d slip a bag of gummies into the shopping cart and by then, it’d be too late for Emilio to say no. Maybe. Van made a face at Emilio’s question. “They have some good ideas, and then there’s stuff like that, and I really can’t defend them. I don’t know.” The idea of chicken jell-o made her squeamish. Maybe it was for a spell? No, that didn’t make sense. 

Van sighed, rolling her eyes. “You’re just mad you can’t ever win prizes, aren’t you?” She had spent the better half of her elementary years at that machine, and it showed. She was a pro. “I don’t even have any quarters, anyway.” The doors opened, and Van’s hand shot out to stop the cart from proceeding further inside. She looked towards Emilio, eyebrows pulled together. “Um. Hopefully not at all? Maybe we can figure out a way to make nature’s jell-o or something.” 

“I think they will totally understand. Hopefully.” Teddy was an understanding person! Van couldn’t imagine them getting up in arms about jell-o. But before she could try and urge Emilio back out of the store, a serpentine shape slithered from between boxes of oatmeal, the jelly-like eyes stopping her in her tracks. “Is that a gummy snake? Five footer? I thought they didn’t sell those–” It unhinged its jaws, jelly tongue and jelly teeth in full view, before making a move to devour either her or Emilio whole. 

—

“Then buy your own candy.” She wouldn’t. Emilio knew Van’s play here, knew that she was definitely going to try to weasel her way into free candy before the shopping trip had finished. And Emilio, ever the strongest soldier, would deny her no matter how much she whined. He made a pact with himself now, prepared to steel himself against her inevitable pleading. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t afford to buy Van candy. It was the principle of the thing, was all. You buy a kid candy once, and she’ll ask a thousand times over. Kids had long memories when it came to things like that.

He snorted as Van, at the very least, agreed with him on the chicken jello. “They probably want to cook some big meal with it,” he warned. Teddy often had… interesting ideas about food combinations. Emilio wasn’t sure he had any right to question them, given his tendency to forget eating altogether for days at a time, but if Van agreed with him on this point, he figured it was a good question to ask. (Though, it was Van, still. Maybe he shouldn’t put too much stock in her.)

“I’ve never tried it. I would win prizes if I wanted to. It doesn’t look very hard.” Not nearly as hard as taking care of… whatever was going on in here. Emilio had half a mind to ask Van if she was responsible for this, eyes darting to the hole in the ground, but it looked different than what she normally caused. Less eldritch horror, more… cartoonish. “What is nature’s jello?” 

She was right, though. Teddy would definitely understand once they explained the situation. Emilio prepared to back out of the store, but the arrival of a giant snake interrupted the motion. He was just about to comment something dry and utterly unhelpful when the creature made a lunge towards both him and Van. Emilio rushed forward with the cart, shoving it into the snake’s mouth and tugging Van along with him instinctively. The snake chewed on the metal. Behind them, a creature with white fur and an unsettling grin scampered in, scribbling over the door with a paintbrush. When it pulled back, the door was gone. Emilio grunted in irritation. “Okay,” he said. “Looks like we’re… finding another exit.” The snake spit out the cart. “Quickly.” 

—

“Maybe I will,” Van challenged with a sneer that had little to no heart in it. They both knew that she had no plans of actually buying her own candy. She thought that was pretty obvious, and by the way Emilio looked at her, she knew it was obvious to him, too. The more time they spent together, the more he learned her tricks, but in turn, she learned his, too. It was weird, going from being perpetually annoyed by somebody to instead finding a level of understanding with them. Nearly losing both Wynne and Nora had done a number on them both, and with Teddy’s absence, there weren’t many others to turn to. Still, she was like, super annoyed by him and she let out a huff as if to exaggerate that fact. 

“I don’t think chicken and jell-o should ever be combined. Like, sure, maybe chicken stock is jelly-like when you refrigerate it, but I can’t imagine just eating that.” Her grandma had done that a lot with soup stocks, and it was always frustrating when she’d open a container of pudding to find jellied stock instead. One time, she hadn’t been paying attention and had taken a spoonful. It wasn’t nearly as good as when it was warm and not jellied. She cried a lot that night, scraping her tongue with her toothbrush to get rid of the taste. 

“I think you should try it. You’ll see how not-easy it is sometimes.” She hoped the machine would prove her right and Emilio wrong. If god were real, he would do this for her, she was sure of it. But they bypassed the machine and the longing in Van’s heart to click around on the big red button was subdued by Emilio’s question. “Um, bones. Probably. Yeah.” Gelatin was made with bones, right? Regan probably knew. She tucked away the question for later, still mesmerized by what was laid out before her. 

It was thanks to Emilio’s quick thinking that Van didn’t become a snack for the jelly monster. The cart was crushed between the monster’s jaws, and as Van felt herself being pulled backward towards the door, it vanished, just as a little creature scampered away. Van gulped, pushing herself to keep the anxiety at bay. The exercises she’d been doing with Teddy had to work, and she thought that the ring around her finger should, too. It should keep everything at bay. The great Melting didn’t need to happen, nor did a portal! They could do this without her doing those things! 

“This way!” Van grabbed Emilio’s sleeve, dragging him towards an aisle that was seemingly empty of any art. Except, as they got closer, the floor dropped beneath them. Van crashed down onto something soft, but the momentum was enough to knock the air out of her lungs. It took her a moment to understand where they were. “Are these– balloons?!” She looked around them, eyes growing wide as she took in the number of balloons that were reaching the ceiling. There were a plethora of different kinds, both plastic and foil. She could see her haphazard reflection in a GET WELL SOON balloon, and she refused to be a part of a situation where somebody would gift her one. “We–” She frantically looked around for Emilio, noticing he was more than a few balloons away. “How do we get down!? Do we pop them?! EMILIO, HOW HIGH UP ARE WE?!” 

—

“Great,” Emilio replied, knowing as well as she did that it wasn’t going to happen. He used to think he’d never understand her. The first day he met her, in the woods with the goo she swore was cheese and the desperation to keep her from eating it, he’d decided that she was the sort of person he’d never fully get. It hadn’t been something that bothered him, largely because he didn’t get most people. He hadn’t understood Teddy at first, either. Most days, he still didn’t understand himself. Not getting people was fine. He didn’t think there was anything wrong with it.

But… as time went on, he found he’d understood Van more and more, just as he had with Teddy. It was slow going, and often times she still left him puzzled, but he knew more than he used to. He didn’t think he’d ever be an expert — he wasn’t sure anyone was — but he knew enough. He knew she wouldn’t buy her own candy, he knew she’d beg him to get her some when they were done here. He knew he’d probably do it, because the way she made her eyes big and sad reminded him a little too much of something he’d lost a long time ago. He knew she’d be insufferable about it, too. That was the worst part.

He also knew Teddy well enough to snort, to put up a poor imitation of them by making his voice a pitch higher and attempting an accent that sounded more like a California surfer than anything close to his partner’s actual voice: “It’s good for you, Em,” he mimicked, smile tugging at the edges of his lips. “You haven’t even tried it, come on. At least take a bite.” He turned to Van, expression deadpan. “You’re right. We are not getting the jello. Especially not if there are bones.” 

Of course… they might end up getting nothing at all, with the way things were looking. The store was in disarray, and Emilio wouldn’t have known where to find chicken jello even if the aisles weren’t wobbling like the floor was made of rubber. Emilio managed to save them both from a giant snake, but they lost their exit in the process. And weren’t there other, bigger things to worry about? He let Van tug him along, away from the snake still pulling the shopping cart from its teeth.

He kept up with her as best he could, trailing along behind and grimacing a little more with each aisle they passed. That one was full of cartoonish looking bees in the middle of a court session. The one beside it had turned into a bright pink river with a frog floating atop a medicine cup. Finally, there was one that seemed normal enough, but stepping into it found them falling, Emilio scrambling for any kind of traction he could get. When the world stopped spinning, they were on the ceiling, balloons all around them. Emilio tried shifting closer to Van, but he felt a little unsteady. “Ceilings are high,” he said, looking down to the floor and trying to measure. “Maybe… six meters?” He grimaced, looking back to Van. “How do we get down? You come to these stores more than I do.”

—

“I don’t know meters!” Van rolled to the side, grabbing the balloon tightly so that she wouldn’t slide off. It seemed sturdy enough, but did she really know anything about this place? “You think all stores are like this!?” She gave him a look of desperation and disbelief. Why did he think this was normal? Or rather, did he think this was normal? “I wouldn’t take you to a store like this on purpose! You’d complain the entire time!” 

Van wiggled around, hopeful that the balloon she was sitting on would somehow float closer to Emilio. It did not. She reached out a hand, fingers ghosting through the air in an attempt to try and grab the tip of his shoe. She let out a huff, already annoyed by the constant squeaking beneath her with every move she made. She looked around them, hopeful that maybe they could propel themselves down the foil strings attached to the bottom of the balloons. 

Unfortunately, the large looking animated bee had other plans. It buzzed dangerously close, stinger fashioned like a needle as it began to pop every balloon, getting closer to the ones that she and Emilio were on. “I hate this town! There, I said it. I know too much, and I’m like, positive that it’s punishing me for knowing too much!” The bee was only getting closer despite Van’s hatred, and she turned to try and launch herself at Emilio’s balloon, it popped beneath her with the help of the bee’s stinger. She fell for what felt like an eternity, until the feeling of being submerged enveloped her. 

It was jell-o. 

“Emilio!?” Van called out, not certain if he was still above her, or somewhere in the hideous green, too. 

—

“Then learn them!” Frustration clung to him as he tried to convert the measurements in his mind despite the fact that it didn’t matter, anyway. What difference did it make the exact distance between them and the floor? The only important thing was that they were too high to guarantee a safe fall. “You do things that make me complain all the time,” he pointed out. “You were — The cheese!” It seemed worth mentioning their first meeting now, the way it had offered a quiet glimpse into the sort of person Van was. Of course she’d do something just to make him complain.

But… maybe that wasn’t the point right now. Maybe they had far bigger things to worry about, like the animated bee in the long, white wig currently flying towards their balloons, stinger out. Emilio cursed, scrambling to try to reach Van to see if he could pull her closer to the shelves before the bee found them, but it was a hopeless cause. The bee was too fast, and the shelves too far. 

The pop of the balloon seemed to echo as he grasped at thin air. He swore he paused in the empty space for a moment before falling, like one of those fucking cartoons Teddy sometimes put on for background noise. Bracing himself, he prepared for an uncomfortable landing on the hard tile floor, but instead, his fall was broken by something… squishy. Emilio half swam, half scrambled to the surface of something not quite liquid, but not quite solid, either. When he burst through, Van was already at the surface, calling out.

“I hate this town, too,” he ground out, rubbing the green substance from his eyes. It took him a moment to understand what it was. “This is not chicken jello. Is it?” Should they taste it to see? Or…

Something brushed his leg from beneath him, and he kicked instinctively. Whatever it was moved away, and a moment later, a bright blue fin broke the surface of the jello, circling the pair. Emilio clenched his hands into tight fist. “There is a shark in the jello.”

—

Van’s arms flailed out at her sides as she tried her best to push towards what looked like the edge of the jello. If she could climb up onto the shelves, then maybe– 

Emilio emerged from below, and she turned around to look at him, desperation (and jello) twisting her features. It was probably a good thing that something like this hadn’t happened to her before she accepted that magic was real. If it had, she might not have ever come back from it. Van kicked her feet, wiggling around until she got her other arm free. Finally, she reached out for Emilio’s hand, hopeful he’d have an easier time making his way towards her than the other way around. 

“I don’t see any chickens, no.” It smelled like citrus, and while she thought maybe eating her way through the jell-o would be the way to go, the idea made her stomach gargle in horror. 

“There’s a what?” Van’s eyes grew large, round as saucers as she took in the fin that circled them. She looked up towards one of the shelves she was closest to, seeing the creature who had the paint brush tail. “Hey! A shark is like, totally not cool! How is it even swimming in the jell-o so easily!” Suddenly, the creature extended the brush through the air, quickly and efficiently drawing what looked like hocks of fish before they fell from the sky, hitting her square on the head. “Oh. Ew. Ew. Ew!” Van closed her eyes as her hands moved around her face, trying to get rid of the fish that had landed on her. only, as her hand swiped them, she realized they were… plastic? Opening one eye, she observed the plastic, only to be faced with the face of the shark as it got closer from beneath the jell-o. Quickly, she chucked the plastic towards the opposite end, watching as the shark quickly made a beeline for it. 

It parted the jell-o, devouring the plastic fish, and Van noticed that the shark, too, was made of plastic. “I hate it here, I hate it here, I hate it here,” Van cried out as she wriggled around in an attempt to get closer to the shelf. Finally, she was able to grab on. Her other hand was still outstretched to Emilio. “I can try and yank– EMILIO, WATCH OUT!” The shark was barreling towards him, and Van tried desperately to will her magic to do something, but nothing happened. It was stagnant. 

—

Reaching out, Emilio grabbed Van by the arm and used the connection to pull himself through the jello, closer to her. Whatever the hell was going on, he got the feeling that sticking together might be the only shot they had at making it out of this in one piece. One disgusting, jello covered piece, but still. He wanted to keep an eye on the kid, even if she got on his nerves more often than not. She deserved that.

With the distance between them significantly smaller now, Emilio focused his attention on that fin circling the pair. “A shark,” he repeated. “There’s a fucking shark in the fucking jello, I —” The damn paintbrush creature was back, and Emilio shot it a glare. He knew that it was the thing responsible for all this, knew it had something to do with that tail it had used to remove the damn door. The chaos seemed to suggest it was some kind of fae, but he didn’t know if killing it would end the strange scenario they found themselves trapped inside. “Got lots of knives I could use to chop that tail off, pinche pedazo de m—” Before he could finish the insult, fish were raining down on Van’s head. Emilio made a face, leaning away from her, but… the fish were plastic? Somehow, it only made things seem stranger. 

If nothing else, the fish provided sufficient bait with which to distract the shark. Emilio watched as its head — also plastic — parted the jello to snap at the fish Van had thrown. It provided Van enough time to exit the jello, and Emilio felt some relief as he reached for her arm again. 

Of course, relief went out the window at her warning.

He turned to see the plastic shark closing in on him and, almost without thinking, swung a fist in its direction. The shark slammed into his knuckles, its nose collapsing almost comically in on itself as it was squished down, flattening its plastic face. The shark seemed to pause in mid air for a moment before falling back down onto the jello and sinking slowly beneath the surface. Emilio watched it disappear, turning back to Van after a moment. “We have to get out of here,” he announced, grabbing her arm and hoisting himself from the jello. “I’m going to lose my mind if we do not get out of here.”

—

Van wasn’t sure what she expected, but she knew that she should’ve guessed Emilio would punch the shark instead of trying to get away from it, or even trying to use the plastic fish snacks to his disposal. Emilio punching the shark square in the face was the least strange thing to happen here today and she knew it. 

At his insistence, she gave a quick nod, desperately looking around them as she pulled herself further up the shelf. Cans of green peas and corn fell into the jello, making a disgusting PLOP as they did so. She turned to watch them sink deeper into the green. Would things go back to normal if they left? Was this all some strange dream? Was the creature with the paint brush tail behind it all? Van had so many questions, and even if she asked them, she figured Emilio wouldn’t have the answer. He seemed just as confused as her. 

Finally at the top of the shelf (and out of breath), Van looked over to the other side of the aisle. It was… fine? Except for a hopscotch chalk drawing. It reminded her of Rosie’s drawings in front of Vic’s home. She looked over the edge of the shelf she was on top of and looked down at Emilio as he began to make his way up. “There’s a hop scotch thing over here. I think we should um, probably start from the beginning? I have a feeling if we start from the middle we’ll get in trouble.” She didn’t know if that was the creature’s rules, but she remembered being livid when her dad would interrupt her own drawings on the driveway of their home. Of how she would yell at him about not starting at the beginning, and how it didn’t count. Maybe that was like this. “We need to start over there.” She pointed towards the beginning of the hop scotch. She slowly got to her feet, staying surprisingly steady as she slunk towards the opposite end, accidentally knocking over extra canned goods as she went. 

—

Van climbed the shelf, and Emilio had little choice but to follow. The last thing he wanted was to lose sight of her in the chaos. So far, everything had been relatively harmless, but he knew how quickly the tides could change. The next time they fell from the ceiling, there might not be a lake of jello to catch them. The next time a shark came chomping for their limbs, they might not have plastic fish with which to ward it off. Even in a situation like this one — ridiculous and cartoonish in the way physics seemed to operate — Emilio couldn’t help but imagine worst case scenarios playing out, couldn’t help but pinpoint on every place where things could have gone terribly wrong.

Climbing the shelves was easier than it should have been; for whatever reason, things seemed to be lighter here than they were outside the store, and Emilio himself was included in that. With one hand over the next, he pulled himself higher and higher, keeping a watchful eye on both Van and the ground below them while also doing a few periodic scans for the creature with the paintbrush tail. He was positive that that thing was behind all this, even if he didn’t know how to stop it.

He got to the top shelf just a moment after Van, pulling himself over and doing a quick sweep of the store. The half they’d traversed so far was a mess of chaos, but the other side of the aisle looked… relatively normal aside from a strange drawing of boxes filled with numbers. Emilio squinted at it, confusion pinching at his features. “Hop… scotch?” There was no scotch in the aisle as far as he could see; it didn’t even seem to have beverages of any kind on the shelves. Van seemed to understand what the numbers meant, at least, claiming that they needed to start ‘at the beginning’ and pointing with her hand at the starting line. “Okay,” Emilio agreed, deciding to trust her. What choice did he have? “You… go first.” If he watched her, he’d probably pick up on whatever it was he needed to do. 

Getting to his feet, he followed her towards the opposite end of the aisle, adrenaline thrumming through his veins. When they got to what she deemed the beginning, they climbed down into the aisle, and he motioned for Van to go ahead and do whatever it was a person did to make ‘hop scotch’ happen.

—

Van nodded, “hop scotch.” Even though her father wasn’t there, she could see him, arms outstretched at the end of the lane. One foot, Vanessa! Two feet! Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth as the memory crashed ashore, but she couldn’t panic now, couldn’t follow that memory into what happened next– how her mother came out to yell at her for playing instead of doing her homework. How an argument would kindle between her parents and Van would be left sneaking inside, closing her bedroom door quietly behind her. If she got lost in that memory, then they’d never get out of here. Surely, the magic would pull one over on the ring around her finger and something bad would happen. So Van needed to keep her head in the game. 

She climbed down the other side of the shelf, grimacing in pain as her hands ran along the sharp edges of the plastic. It reminded her of when she’d been in a different store with Debbie, and how things had exploded around them as they crashed against one another in an effort to evade the glint of the knife. “You don’t know how to do this, do you?” She turned to look at Emilio as he climbed down the shelf. Van watched him for a moment, knowing that now probably wasn’t the time to poke fun, either. But god, did she want to. Part of her wanted to make him go first, just to see how badly he’d screw it up, but what would happen if he did? Would the ground swallow them whole? Would she finally experience what it was like to be one of the many individuals she’d sent below? 

She took a deep breath before she looked back towards the hop scotch, then she began. One foot, two feet, hop, hop. It went diagonal, and then in a circle, and Van did her very best to not stumble. She wondered if Emilio would be okay with his knee. She hoped so. She stood at the end that said FINISH, too afraid to actually step over that line in case something happened where she’d be separated from him. So she waited. “You can go now! Just like, take it slow! You’re old, so I get it, it might be hard for you!” 

—

She repeated the word like repeating it made it mean something, and Emilio stubbornly refused to ask the question clinging to his mind. Van, he thought, must have known that the syllables were utterly meaningless to him, must have understood that what she was saying made little sense. She’d either explain it, or he’d pick up on it by watching whatever she did. Either way, he wouldn’t have to cop to the fact that the plastic shark swimming at him through jello made more sense than the chalk drawing on the ground.

But, of course, Van couldn’t let it go without asking. Emilio grumbled under his breath as she raised the question, throwing his hands up in a frustrated shrug. “Why would I know how to do this? It is squares on the floor. I don’t even know what this is.” He settled onto the floor beside her, frustration making the pain in his knee a more distant thing even if only for a moment. He hadn’t been counting on this much physical activity at the grocery store; he had a feeling he’d be paying for it later, when the adrenaline of the moment died down a little more. He gestured wordlessly for Van to go before crossing his arms over his chest, jaw clenched tightly in irritation. Whatever this was, he could only hope it ended soon.

He watched as Van… jumped from box to box, going between standing on one leg to standing on two and alternating as she did so. Realizing that he would need to mimic this in order to make it to where she was, he sighed. Yeah. This was going to suck. He wondered what would happen if his knee gave out beneath him and sent him sprawling. Would the paintbrush creature erase him the same way it had the door? Would the shark grow legs and walk over to sink its teeth into his throat? Or would an empty pit like the one at the front of the store open beneath him and swallow him whole? Emilio wasn’t sure he wanted to find out the answer, dread at the possibility of fates far worse than a simple death clawing mindlessly at his throat. 

Hopscotch. Sure. He could do that.

He grit his teeth as Van called back to him, hating every ounce of uncertainty. Two feet. Hop onto the good leg. Two feet again. A hop onto the bad leg sent a blinding wave of pain over his head, and he stumbled into the next position on trembling legs, barely standing. He moved forward like this slowly, spending as little time on the bad leg as he could and waiting for the pain to pass each time he got off of it. By the time he made it to where Van stood, a sheen layer of sweat covered his brow, his breath trembling and his legs shaking. His bad leg held no weight at all now, hanging from his hips like a lifeless thing. “Let’s get this done,” he ground out through clenched teeth, grabbing Van’s arm and gently tugging her forward so that they both stepped on the finish line at the same time. 

The moment their feet hit the ground, the vast aisles of the store faded around them, and they were in a room. On one wall, a large picture window overlooked the floor they’d just been on; Emilio remembered seeing it from the shelves with the words Manager’s Office scrawled over it. In front of them sat a large wooden desk, the paintbrush-tailed creature sitting in a leather chair behind it. Emilio groaned, tired and irritated and ready to fight. He pulled out an iron knife, driving it into the table between him and the creature. “Cut the shit,” he ordered, “or I cut the tail.”

—

Emilio followed suit, and Van felt a pang of guilt as she watched the pain flash across his face. How many times had he mentioned his bad leg? Maybe they should’ve found another way, or maybe they should’ve climbed over the second shelf, but based on the buzzing sounds coming from the other side, she wasn’t sure that would’ve gone over well, either. She waited with baited breath, flinching slightly every time Emilio stumbled over so slightly, narrowly stepping over the carefully drawn lines. 

Finally, he stood next to her, and she turned to him, ready to say something, but Emilio was pulling her forward. Suddenly, their surroundings dissipated. There were no longer shelves with canned goods on either side of them. The floor was blank, void of the colorful chalk drawings. Instead, they had come face to face with the creature that was clearly responsible for all of this. Van frowned, heart skipping a beat. What did they mean if they were in front of it now? Her magic buzzed beneath her fingertips, but went otherwise unused. The ring that was twisted around her finger kept it at bay, and she felt it necessary. What if this was the last step? What if unleashing it meant something worse would happen? 

Van stood next to Emilio, taking a small step so that she was slightly tucked behind him. He moved forward, producing a knife that was now lodged into the desk the creature stood at. It reminded her of Nora’s knife– the one her friend had taught her how to practice with. It reminded her of Jade’s arsenal, too. Van blanched, but with a shaky voice she managed to stammer out, “yeah, what he said!” She bit the inside of her cheek, finally tearing her gaze away from the knife. 

She didn’t really want to see this thing die, even if it made their trip to the grocery store miserable, but would Emilio listen to her? Van took a small step forward, “we can just like, go! Nobody has to get hurt, especially not us, ‘cause like, he’s old and he’s probably already on his last days and I’ve got a long life ahead of me, you know?” Emilio wasn’t really that old, but maybe the beastly figure would find humor in her words. “And like, I’d really just rather not die to a plastic shark, you know? Or um, anything else that you might… be able to paint.” The creature looked at her blankly, and it was then that Van realized its pupils were different sizes. She wasn’t sure what that meant, if anything, but it was a detail she was sure would haunt her after the fact.

She looked to Emilio, ready to open her mouth, but suddenly, the creature was getting up from the seat, bounding towards them. It drew a circle around them with its tail, and then waved– it had waved, right? Van opened her mouth to ask Emilio if he had seen it, but a shriek came out instead as the floor disappeared beneath her. She closed her eyes tightly, only opening them as darkness enclosed. 

They were in the parking lot. They were out of the store. There was canned goods, candy, and jell-o everywhere surrounding them, but it looked real not like what was outside. She got to her feet, helping Emilio up, too. “Um, we’re out? I think? Right?” She touched the car next to her, and indeed it felt nothing like the objects inside. “I hate this place, can we please go? I’m going to like, only order groceries from now on, I think.” She paused, eyeing the jello on the ground before grabbing handfuls, stuffing them into her pockets. “For Teddy. Now we go?” 

—

She wanted to say something. He could see it on her face, could feel the concern radiating off her in waves, and he hated it. He hated the ache in his knee and the way he knew it would lock up later, just as soon as the adrenaline was gone. He hated the fact that she knew he was in pain, hated the fact that it wasn’t a thing he could hide. He hated the feeling of weakness that came with the shitty, damaged limb, hated knowing that it was probably at least a little his fault that it was this bad, hated that it was a reminder he couldn’t escape. Van wanted to say something, and Emilio hated it. So he interrupted whatever words had been aching to escape her lips, tugged her forward instead. 

There were bigger problems here than his bad leg. There were more things to worry about than the way he probably wouldn’t be able to get off the damn couch later, because in order for that to be a problem to begin with, they had to make it back to the couch first. They had to get out of this stupid store, and the only way Emilio knew how to do that — they only way Emilio knew how to do anything — was with a knife and a threat that wasn’t nearly as empty as Van probably wanted it to be.

The creature, whatever it was, didn’t seem very afraid of him. It looked at him with an expression that was impossible to read, looked at Van as she piped in. In any other situation, he probably would have laughed at the way she worded her plea. Jokes made at his expense, when they were like that, were among his favorite jokes to make. There were few things Emilio found funnier than his own looming mortality, much to the dismay of most of the people around him. It was a little funnier to hear the joke come from someone else, too… but he’d only laugh about it later. They needed to get out of the store first.

Glancing over to Van, he made a face. “Right,” he agreed. “We don’t want to hurt you.” It was a lie. Emilio did want to hurt the little… whatever it was. For the jello, for the shark, and definitely for whatever the fuck ‘hop scotch’ was. (He was still a little disappointed that there hadn’t been any scotch involved.) “Just show us to the door, and we’ll be on our…”

He trailed off as the thing moved forward, tensing and placing himself subconsciously in front of Van. It drew something at their feet, then took a step back and wriggled its strange fingers, and Emilio had just enough time to grip Van and take half a step forward before the ground disappeared beneath his feet. His stomach bottomed out, and the world went dark in a way his enhanced vision couldn’t quite cut through. The feeling of freefall tugged at his gut for a second, maybe two, and then it was finished. The world flickered back into place, and he was outside. He turned, confirming that Van was outside with him, then slumped his shoulders just a little. 

“We’re out,” he confirmed, glancing around to confirm it. A multitude of strange items surrounded them: jello, small figurines, a paintbrush. Spotting a cheap knee brace among the piles, he rolled his eyes. “Man, fuck that guy,” he griped, arms crossed over his chest. Van got to her feet, and Emilio let her help him up, too… but not before swiping a bag full of gummy candy from one of the piles. He thrust it towards her without looking, mouth set in a stubborn line that seemed to warn her not to mention it. “Yeah,” he agreed with a curt nod. “Let’s get the fuck out of here. And next time, we send Teddy to do the grocery shopping.” 

They’d probably love something like this. 

(Asshole.)

[benjiscorner]

Good Mourning, Deer - a short story of grief

I see the deer before she sees me. I approach from behind. She hears me with terrified clarity, and the rapid breaths fluttering in her belly quicken as I step closer. I crush leaves and twigs, dead things, forgotten things, to get to the deer—another thing this forest will soon forget. 

“Not forgotten,” Dorian says to my muttering; I had not realized I was speaking aloud. “This dead foliage decomposes and feeds the trees, and the trees feed your lungs, and thus we’re alive to forget about the leaves in the first place.”

“What do you think she makes of the foliage?” I ask dryly. 

“It’s her whole life.”

“And her death.” I circle around her until she can see my face. I squat down and regard the Amanita phalloides near her resting head—its rigid cap vibrant against the brown and aching forest floor, ashen with torn leaves. The gills shrivel towards me in agony, curling around her bite marks. Its spotted pattern: pure white against blood red.

They both hurt each other and now they both lie down in defeat. 

I tentatively extend my arm, fingers relaxed and curled towards my palm. She doesn’t move her body, but her midnight eyes frantically roll around like she’s trying to escape her own skull, run from here, dart away from what she has done, away from my confusing pity. I imagine she used to gallop elegantly, hopping over roots and diving under branches like threading a needle with her dainty pin-legs. 

“What shall we do with her?” Dorian asks. He’s in front of me, on the other side of the deer, standing straight with his hands clasped behind his back, how he stands when he wants to feel in control. But there is nothing to control here. The deer will die. 

“What is there to do?”

“Bury her?”

“That seems unnatural. Deer don’t bury each other. She’s not a human.” 

“No, but you’re attached to her in a human way. Would it not, then, be a sign of respect to send her off in a way that we find respectable?” Dorian’s eyes fan over her body. “Or shall we take her and turn her into pillows and rugs and portion her meat—”

“How could you say that?” I snap. 

His cool eyes meet mine. “That is simply the alternate human way.” 

“Ha. No, that’s not quite it—the human way is to shoot her and take her head to mount on a wall, and leave the rest of her here, desecrated.” 

“Forgotten, as you say.”

“No,” I say quickly. “No, I won’t soon forget her.” 

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. Will you?”

“No, I don’t think so.” 

Her eyes have relaxed, round and oblique, and she watches my hand, distilled, confused. I stroke her forehead and her feverish heat sears into my palm. The warmth seeps into my skin and away from her. I watch closely because every twitch of her ear and huff of warm, sweet-smelling breath will soon be lost and irreplaceable, and there will be too much pressure to recall it perfectly, so I will remember her essence, the pointless cruelty of the exchange between her and the Amanita phalloides, and her huge, wet eyes, black as night as night dawns upon her, like death invaded her head and welled up to her eyes, and if I did as Dorian said and took her home to eat I would cut into her and blackness would spill out, it would spill all over me, and then I wouldn’t remember her breath or her fur or anything at all. 

“No,” I whisper, “it wouldn’t be right to take her. We don’t own her.”

“Besides,” Dorian says, “I doubt you’d want to eat a poisoned deer.” 

I sigh. “You miss the point.”

“I understand the point. But there are many points to be made. One is that you wouldn’t eat a poisoned deer. Another is that you wouldn’t eat this particular deer at all.” Dorian kneels down and pets her back as I pet her head. Slow, long strokes of his palm until her breathing is shallow and sparse. 

“I am glad that she won’t die alone,” Dorian utters, surprising me. He waits a moment. “If this is how it feels… I am glad we’ll have each other.” 

I’m moved. “What if I die before you?”

He plucks the mushroom and holds it before his eye, twirling it curiously. “Perhaps I would consume my own Amanita phalloides.” 

I sit in the intensity of his statement. “Is it strange that I think I will still remember her at that time? Even if I’m senile…”

“You won’t forget,” he agrees.

I glance at her still eyes, her unmoving sternum, her cheek resting against the leaves that are now burned into my memory. With my two fingers I cast her eyelids over the death that glistens there. 

“I don’t believe that she knew me in any capacity, yet I wish she did,” I say oddly. 

Dorian stands and regards her, then me, with keen and observant eyes. “I believe she did. You are the last thing she ever saw; you are all that she knows. Kindness is all that she knows.”

“All that she knew.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “And it is all that you will remember of this day.” 

We leave her there.

She will sink into the ground, soak up into the roots and help unfurl new leaves in the trees, and one day I will breathe her in.

Will I smell her sweetness? Will I simply know? Or will she linger, unknown, every day from the moment she is released in the tree’s satisfied sigh, as she circulates through our houseplants and ourselves, until she is on every surface with which we are familiar? Until she has intimately understood my blood and my lungs; until she is the icy huff from my nose on a January morning and the smoke from Dorian’s cigarette; until I gasp her in and sigh her out a hundred times? Will I know? 

Dorian says it does not matter, and I think I know what he means. 

It does not matter. 

I will not forget either way.

[o-lanterns]

Short sweet little scene between Caleb and Evelyn I've been bouncing around my head for a while. idk here have it.

Caleb's eyes shot open at the last moment and he stumbled backward. His cheeks burned. They had been so close. Only the tiniest bit closer and they would have...

Evelyn reaches out. "Oh! I'm so sorry. I thought you wanted- it's okay if you don't."

"I did. I did want to kiss you. Very much so." Caleb avoids her eyes, wringing his hands.

"Then what's wrong?"

The heat in his face spread to his ears. "I can't... I can't kiss a woman I'm not married to. It's not right."

Evelyn tilts her head both in curiosity and amusement, snorting out a laugh. "Says who?"

Caleb sighs. "You know..." He looks up toward the stars. They were different here, though. He had learned a few constellations by now.

"Ohh. Right, your thing... Really? Wow, what isn't he against?"

He's quiet for a moment. "What about the Titan?"

"...What about the Titan?"

"What does it think about what you do?"

Evelyn only looks more confused. "It doesn't think anything, Caleb. It's dead. If there's anything left going on in that skull it sure hasn't let anyone know about it." She smiles. "I'd imagine a voice coming out of something that big would be pret-ty loud, eh?"

"But you said it created all of this."

"Well, indirectly. It's the reason we're alive and the source of our magic, but nobody gets to choose what grows up out of their corpse. It just happens."

Caleb stirs his thoughts. "Hm. I suppose you're right."

"I hope that wasn't your way of asking me to marry you, by the way. Not that I'm opposed, just that you could do it with a little more flair."

"What?! No, I-" Caleb sputters. "Although I'm not opposed eith- either- but-" Oh he is only digging himself into this hole deeper. Compose yourself, man!

He takes a deep breath. "I can't stay here, Ev. It's amazing and I'm glad I got to see it, but... I don't belong here. You know that."

She looks up. "Because of him?"

"No. Not just that. I can't leave Philip. I'm all he has."

"Then bring him here, too! You said it yourself, he's just as miserable there."

"No, no. He- he wouldn't understand. He's been suspicious lately, with my visits getting longer. He's going to figure it out- maybe he already has- and he'll tell the townsfolk and-" Caleb's breath catches in his throat and he leans back against the tree, head in his hands. "Ohhh. What have I gotten into..."

Evelyn runs her fingers through his hair and speaks softly. "Hey. Let's not make tonight about decisions. Just... Take a step back. Enjoy this time we have right now. I love you. If you leave tomorrow and never come back... I'll miss you, sure. But I'll live. You don't make a choice for anyone but your sake. Alright?"

He pulls his hands away from his face, looking up at her. Nobody had ever cared what he wanted. In this one life he's got, he had lived only according to what others expected. What did he want?

He shakily finds her hand with his, lacing them together easily. Perfectly. His other hand reaches up to trace her cheek, heart galloping. He wanted to kiss her.

So he did.

[waltwhitmansbeard]

go on, claim my heart: chapter five

see my masterpost for what came before this. inspired by @romeoandjulietyouwish's medieval au.

Vex is alternating between packing her gear for the journey ahead and barking out orders to her lieutenant, a young human man clearly trying not to seem overwhelmed as he frantically scribbles down everything she's telling him. It is difficult for her to decide what equipment might be useful for the expedition, but then, that's what happens when you charge off half-cocked toward unknown but certain danger. She pauses and takes a deep breath. She knows exactly why they're leaving as hurriedly as they are, and even though she herself would rather they take some time to plan, to strategize, to research, it is not her child who was so cruelly snatched from her bed in the middle of the night, and so she must defer to her brother.

Vax. All these years together, all the terrible things they have faced, and she has never seen him so desolate, so broken. Her brother has allowed such little joy into his life, has thought himself unworthy of it, but in these past two years with Keyleth and the few precious months he's had with their child, Vex has watched him blossom into a man of delight, of exultation, of bliss. When he holds Vilya, Vex swears he must be looking into the realm of the gods, so consumed by wonder and reverence is he. She feels a yearning tug in her own belly whenever Vax trips over his words in an attempt to wax poetic about his baby girl, and each time she and Percy leave an evening spent at the cottage fawning over her niece, she finds it difficult to meet his eye, wondering if his mind is racing in the same circles as hers.

Now, though, she feels nothing but fear regarding the idea of children of her own, for the notion that an infant could be plucked so easily from her home is nothing short of terrifying. Vex adores her little niece, and each time she thinks about what could be happening to her at this very moment, it is as if a red-hot iron poker has been skewered into her chest. So she hurries, ready to charge forth into the wide world without any real course of action, because that is what one does for family.

Her orders to her lieutenant are interrupted by rapidly approaching horse hooves. She shoves her head out of her office in the northern guard tower and sees a familiar horse galloping from the direction of the stables. She rushes down to the ground floor and spills out of the guard tower just Vax pulls Simon to a halt in front of her. "Why are you already on your horse?" she asks. "I understand the need for urgency, brother, but you must let us prepare ourselves for the journey."

"Keyleth left," he grits out. "I'm going after her."

Vex blinks, shocked. "Left? What do you mean left?"

"I mean she asked to go with us and when her father and I told her it was not a wise idea, she took off on Minxie on her own. I have no idea if she has supplies or even the faintest notion of where she's going."

Vex has to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling. It is endlessly foolish, of course, for a princess with no survival skills to abscond from the castle on her own, particularly in her current emotional state, and yet Vex cannot help but feel proud of Keyleth for not taking no for an answer. She cannot imagine a world in which her own blood is put in such acute danger and she is forced to stay behind while others go out to save the day. Vex has watched Keyleth take to motherhood like a duck to water, and she sees, beneath the delicate royal sensibilities and the general naïveté about the world, a simmering fire, a savage ferocity that Vex has witnessed in many a bear while their young are nearby. She understands her brother's concern, of course, for Keyleth's safety, but one thing she cannot understand is his surprise. Of course she stole away to go find her baby; that anyone could expect anything less of her is the true surprise.

"Go," she says, seeing the pack already on his back. "The rest of us will catch up. We'll bring extra supplies, just in case."

"She won't need supplies," Vax argues. "As soon as I find her I'm sending her right back here."

Vex sighs, then reaches up to place a hand on her brother's leg. "Vax...perhaps having her with us will not be the trouble you imagine it to be. She will stop at nothing to bring Vilya home, which to me is an asset, not a liability."

Vax looks down at her with a mixture of shock and betrayal. "You would have me risk my wife's life so easily?"

"I would have you remember that your wife is incredibly capable, as she has demonstrated on multiple occasions, and she is a person who ought to decide for herself what risks are worth incurring in the name of saving her child."

They glare at each other, each willing the other to see sense, before Vax lets out a frustrated huff. "I'm leaving. The rest of you come when you can." Then he snaps Simon's reins, and Vex watches them tear off toward the road out of Zephrah with a sigh.

.

In a lifetime marked by some truly, fantastically reckless decisions, this, far and away, must be the most reckless Keyleth has ever made. She is bent low over Minxie's mane, the hood of her plain, dark cloak pulled up to shadow her face from anyone she might encounter on the road. She managed to throw together one satchel of food in the brief time she had to collect herself, and she's grateful for all of the late-night escapades down into the kitchens for snacks that colored her childhood, giving her the precise expertise needed to get in and out unseen. She has no camping gear, no spare clothing, no weapons save one of Vax's daggers left in her chambers in the castle. For the first time in her life, she is outside the bounds of Zephrah without an escort, and she has only a vague idea about which direction to travel.

But the gods be damned if Vax thinks she's going to stay behind in their empty house while everyone else takes action to bring Vilya home. Doesn't he understand? Doesn't he remember? Keyleth had been so sure that she was not going to survive Vilya's birth, but never once did it cross her mind not to go through with it. She has been prepared since she first learned of their child's existence to give up everything for her, a clarity of purpose that she has never had in relation to her someday ascension to the throne. She is a mother, and to ask her to stay back while her baby is in danger is like asking the sun to move eastward across the sky.

She pushes Minxie as hard as she dares, knowing that her favorite horse is accustomed to casual rides through the countryside as opposed to hard road travel. It is about four days' ride to Syngorn, as Keyleth well knows, and another week past that to Whitestone. Keyleth's plan, such as it is, is to stop in Syngorn and request supplies from the High Warden. She has to imagine that after all of the commotion and tension of her last trip to the city-state, her presence will not be celebrated, exactly, but she cannot believe that they will turn a friendly royal away in a time of such great crisis. If they do, however, Keyleth hopes she has learned enough from Vax to steal what she needs to press on toward Whitestone.

A bit past midday, she stops in a heavily forested stretch of the road, taking Minxie a ways into the trees and tying her up behind a large oak to keep her from being too visible. Keyleth grabs just an apple from her sack, trying to conserve as much food as possible, and lets her horse munch on the low flora as she eats it. She's anxious to get back on the road again, knowing each minute stretches the distance between herself and Vilya. When she's down to the core of the apple, she remembers something she did once at the base of the cherry tree next to the cottage, back when her pregnancy nausea was such that she could hardly gain enough sustenance to support both herself and the baby. She chews on her lip, wondering if the delay is worth the risk, but more information is always better than less, so she sits on the crunchy, cold forest floor with her back to the oak, places her palms down to the soil, and closes her eyes.

It feels like the wind, whatever this strange nature magic is. It ripples up and down her arms as though something tiny were blowing on the fine hairs there, and she must resist the urge to shudder. She focuses on this wind, sending it out, further and further from her body, until it is whipping through the nearly bare tree branches and swirling out around the leaves, both falling and fallen. She senses every skittering thing, every prowler in the underbrush, and focuses on finding something small, something soft, something with a heartbeat as familiar to her as her own name.

The winds shift, pulling her attention to the northeast—toward Whitestone. She cannot be certain—not with this magic that she understands so little—but she somehow still trusts this base instinct in her body: her child is somewhere to the northeast, and for the moment, still alive. Keyleth's eyes flutter open with her first smile since this horrible day began. She's on the right path.

She scrambles back onto Minxie and drives forward, eager to close as much distance before nightfall as possible. Her legs start to cramp up fairly soon; she has never ridden at such an intense pace for so long. She is fatiguing much more quickly than she had hoped, and by the time the sun is dipping beneath the horizon, she's hanging on for dear life. She pulls Minxie off the road near some rocky outcroppings, which are tall enough to hide the horse, and then she has a decision to make. It is well into autumn now, and with the sun nearly gone from the sky, the air is chilling rapidly. She desperately wants to start a fire, but the last thing she needs is to draw attention to herself. She feeds some oats to Minxie and then a bread roll to herself, hungrier than she can ever remember being, hemming and hawing as the sun dips lower and lower until it is finally set and Keyleth is bathed in darkness.

Tired as she is, she has enough rage simmering beneath the surface to summon to her hand a small flicker of flame, and she uses this light to extract the single blanket she'd managed to stow away in her hasty escape from Zephrah. She rolls it out on the softest patch of soil she can find and uses her riding cloak as a second blanket on top. When she is all settled for what she knows will be the most unrestful sleep of her life, she closes her eyes, only to snap them open again when she hears a sound that makes her heart leap in fear: rapidly approaching horse hooves. All too familiar with the bandits that patrol this stretch of road, she quickly clenches her fist to snuff out the flame in it and lies there, heart racing as the threatening hooves get closer and closer in the dark.

[kindheart525]

Today was a momentous occasion for the royal couple. One year ago, they had barely met, but now, after months of getting to know each other intimately and choosing to love each other, they couldn’t imagine a life apart as they celebrated their first anniversary. 

Though a conflict between their kingdoms was what brought them together in the first place, things were fairly peaceful now and both families saw it as appropriate to meet up again now that a year had passed. A grand ball was to be held which the monarchs of both Equestria and Saddle Arabia would attend to celebrate the couple.

Which meant Sahar’s parents were coming to Equestria! 

The Saddle Arabian mare could hardly contain her excitement as she waited for her cue, looking around excitedly in hopes that she could spot them before the ball.

“At the wedding you meet my parents, yes? You do not talk to them a lot. Today you meet again, a real meeting.”

Heavenly nodded in response, feeling more nervous than she wanted to admit. She didn’t think she’d find herself so desperate to earn the approval of her in-laws, but she felt a lot of pressure especially after all the rumors that spread among the dignitaries about her. She felt like she had a lot to prove.

As much as she tried to hide it, Sahar noticed her hesitation right away as she tried to put her worries to rest.

“Do not worry! Very nice my parents are. They will like you very much.”

The hippogriff mare tried to calm her nerves as she was escorted to the ballroom doors. Sahar was probably right. If Gaia willed it to go well, it would. 

For now, she stood up straight by Sahar’s side, both mares looking their most regal as the doors opened for them and a guard announced their presence.

“Presenting the Grand Matriarch Princess of the Celestial Church Heavenly Glow: Bishop of Equestria, Vicar of Celestia—“

“Her Royal Highness Heavenly Glow will do. We don’t have all day!”

Heavenly interrupted the guard curtly and impatiently.

Everypony’s jaws dropped upon hearing this. Princess Heavenly Glow, for once not insisting that everypony refer to her by her full title? Outright rejecting it? It was as if the sun was shining at midnight!

“Y-yes, your highness—“

The guard struggled to conceal his shock as he started again. 

“Presenting Their Royal Highnesses Heavenly Glow and Sahar!”

“That’s better.”

Heavenly nodded in approval, gliding into the ballroom with her head held high. Even Sahar looked flabbergasted as she trotted beside her.

“You do not use the very long name? Very strange!”

“It has simply grown inefficient. I am tired of it.”

Heavenly answered matter-of-factly.

“There’s a time and a place.”

Sahar decided not to ask any further questions, turning towards the door just as it opened again to welcome more guests.

“Now presenting King Daler and Queen Farah of Saddle Arabia…”

She tuned out the announcer the instant she saw them, the two ponies she’d been waiting to see this whole time. The ones she held dearest. Her parents! 

There was no hesitation on her part as she galloped towards them, abandoning all regality for just a moment as she called out for them in her native tongue.

“Mother! Father!”

The instant their eyes met their daughter, Daler and Farah’s regal demeanors brightened up. 

“Sahar! My filly! My sunshine!”

Her mother was the first to cry out, opening her forelegs to embrace her. Her father quickly followed.

“I’ve missed you so much! I’m so happy you’re here!”

“You should have written! There is so much to catch up on.”

Daler smiled warmly but there was a hint of hurt in his eyes, having not received responses to most of his letters over the past year. 

“Oh! This must be Princess Heavenly Glow!”

Farah had no time to dwell on that as she turned towards her daughter-in-law.

Heavenly was utterly disoriented as she heard so many ponies speaking Sahar’s language, only able to pick out bits and pieces herself. She’d only been learning the language for a few months and didn’t consider herself an expert by any means, but in this moment she felt as if she’d overestimated her skill.

“Hello, Your Majesty! I am so glad to see you!”

Was what Heavenly tried to say in Saddle Arabian, but she knew it sounded really broken and was embarrassed by that fact.

“It’s okay! I understand you!”

Farah spoke in Equish to Heavenly’s surprise, taking her hoof in hers and shaking it way too hard.

“I have been waiting to know you! Every day I wondered, who is this mare who has married my daughter? What is she like? I am sure she is a good mare!”

“I think she is a good mare indeed. You are learning our language like Sahar has been learning yours. You speak very good Saddle Arabian!”

Daler shook Heavenly’s hoof next, also speaking Equish and showering her in praise that she didn’t know how to respond to in her humbled state. 

“Why…thank you, Your Majesty.”

But even as he praised her, she felt like he was still suspicious of her after all the rumors that had undoubtedly spread about her treatment of Sahar. Whether he really felt this way or she was just imagining it, her face grew hot with shame just thinking about it.

“I must know all about your life with my daughter! You are getting along? You make each other happy?”

As Farah started bombarding Heavenly with questions and ultimately distracting her, Daler stepped aside to talk to Sahar, the hurt returning to his visage as he spoke in their native language.

“Sahar, my daughter, why haven’t you written? Your mother and I have been very worried!”

He took her hoof in his, gripping it earnestly.

“We did not know if you were sick, or hurt, or unhappy in your marriage! You hardly wrote at all except for a few very short letters!”

“I’m very happy, Father! Heavenly and I did not understand each other very well at first. It took a lot of effort to learn how to work together. But it was worth it. I have learned a lot from her, and her from me. Now I love her more than almost anything! I didn’t want you to worry about me.”

“You didn’t want us to worry?”

Daler scoffed.

“If you don’t write to us, we’ll worry even more!”

“I can handle myself, Father!” 

Sahar chuckled, though she felt bad for making him feel this way.

“I know. You are a strong mare. But I still need to know that you are okay.”

“Yes Sahar! Where were all your letters? Did they get lost?”

Farah joined in the conversation at the end, prompting Sahar to explain it all again as Heavenly watched from the outside. She could hardly understand what they were talking about, but judging by their concerned expressions and mentions of her name, she feared the worst.

Heavenly Glow had made a bad impression, hadn’t she? Was she really enough for Sahar? Would she ever be enough?

With all the attention turned away from her for once, she stepped outside to ponder this.

~~~~~~~~~~

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