#in some way if she’s getting something out of it too. waving golden jewelry in her face buying her things etc

[kendallroygf]

One thing that goes crazy is those distant screaming calls for help you can hear in the background of off to the races. Like the whole basic premise is this lolita inspired dynamic between this young lonely girl and this much older man where she swears that nobody else in the world would even have her except for him and this in itself is a feat because she’s ‘crass’ and has a ‘broke down life’ etc and the whole thing is entrenched in denial. He loves her in spite of all these things wrong with her, all he asks is that she does what he wants, he’s like an omnipresent figure for her - watches her in the bathroom, getting dressed etc. and the almost hyperbolic way she describes herself smitten with him and how she believes she needs him, she’s nothing without him, the dependency borders on the paternal. It’s not that she’s unable to leave it’s that she believes she has nowhere else to go, he’s made it so she’s so enmeshed that she simply thinks she could not survive without him. he’s ‘saving’ her from herself and she’s in even more debt to him for it (sorry that im misbehaving!!!) and imo she’s almost a parody of herself bc she doubles down on this narrative that’s she’s a seductress and insane and crazy and she needs looking after by this mature older man when in reality she’s so troubled, under constant observation but she twists it so it’s like she’s running away to be caught by him rather than to escape. And in the end her calls for help can barely be heard under the passionate repetition that he’s her one true love

[surielstea]

Strings Attached

Based on this request.

Pairing: Helion x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader has had a crush on Helion for awhile now but feels inadequate when compared to the partners he brings to bed.

Warnings: fluff | Suggestive | Slight angst

3.3k words

The giggling in the room next to mine has me fighting back from hurling my guts out.

Helion was with yet another female tonight— perhaps multiple based on the sound emitting through the walls. Some part of me felt anger, everyone who was interested in the male seemed to get the chance to roll in the sheets with the High Lord while I sat in my room alone, trying to ignore the obnoxious thudding of the headboard against the connecting wall.

I put a sound shield over his room for him, he seemed to forget half the time which left me restless and annoyed.

Finally, at peace with the quiet, I release a soft sigh and my head comes down onto my pillow. The brunette that he led into his room tonight was particularly gorgeous, with long dark locks and beautiful caramel-colored skin. She was from the Summer court, cousin to the Day court. She looked like she'd been bathed in the sun, like not a single cloud had ever settled over her.

I was from the night court.

Born in the hewn city and fleeing the court entirely when Amarantha was defeated after those long years Under the Mountain.

It was noticeable I didn't belong in this court, this palace, the libraries, or the shops. I'd get looks of all sorts from strangers or other court members who thought it best for me to return to where I came from.

Helion made me his second in command after a few years of serving as his emissary. I've been with him for nearly a decade now and my feelings towards the high lord have yet to fizzle away. He's my best friend, yet I couldn't help imagining something more than just being on the sidelines, I wanted to be looked at the way he gazed at potential partners, wanted to be touched, and loved the way the females rave about as they're leaving the palace.

In between thoughts I manage to slip into a gentle sleep, a light slumber that I could easily be startled from. The large bed felt empty like I was drowning in it, like I needed someone next to me to make sure I didn't fall through the mattress.

________

I was standing at my workbench, bright light shining down onto my most recent invention. I peered through my magnifying glass at the inner mechanics, making sure all the gears shifted with each other as they spun. I've been fiddling with the small device for a while now but haven't been able to get it just right. "Let's try this again," I mumble before pressing the button atop the small cube. It makes a quiet beep and my brows shoot up. "Testing," I say into the microphone of the cube.

"You're so smart, starlight." A familiar voice makes me jump and I whirl around to face the High Lord. "You'd make the perfect high lady for this place." He hums and I flush, taking my eyes away from the handsome male and back to my invention. He walks over to me, the warmth of his skin radiating onto me. "What is it?" He tilts his head as he peers over my shoulder.

"A recording device," I say, glancing at him— which I realize was a bad idea because, Cauldron, he was so close. "If it works, we'll be able to start recording audio to put in our libraries for people who can't read,"  I explain and a soft smile curves his full lips.

"Genius." He hums. "It's not finished yet." I wave him off and press the button atop the recording device and set it down.

"Did you need something?" I turned to him fully, he wasn't wearing his crown or any golden jewelry, just glowing dark skin contrasted with his clean white robe. "I can't pester my favorite emissary?" He arches a brow, and my heartbeat quickens.

"I'm your only emissary." I remind him, cleaning up my workspace as he toys with a pair of miniature tweezers, his calloused hands seemingly too large to even hold the tool. "That doesn't mean you can't be my favorite." He mumbles, concentrating on picking up an even smaller screw from the desk with the tweezers.

"Helion," I pluck the tool from his hands and he pouts dramatically at me. "I was only going to ask if you'd like to join me for dinner, but you seem busy." He knocks on the wood as a farewell and takes a few steps away. "Wait," I look to him. "I could eat." I shrug and a wide smile spreads over his sharp features. "Follow me then."

Helion leads me down the halls of the palace, I still marveled at the beauty of this place despite living here for nearly a decade now. The high ceilings held up by large pillars, the floor-to-ceiling windows putting the Court outside on display in a decoration of its own, the crystal clear lake that spreads on the right side of the residence reflects the moonlight right onto the white palace, making it reflect and shimmer like a sun.

"Amilia?" Helion calls as we enter the long dining hall lit by golden chandeliers and tall, skinny candles. "Yes, my lord?" A kitchen maid scuffs into the room with bright green eyes and large voluminous curls. "I have a guest joining me for dinner, we'll need the table set for three." He informs and the maid bows her head with a soft smile. "Right away Lord Helion." She turns on her heel and shuffles towards the kitchen. "Thank you!" The male hums as she disappears behind the swinging doors.

"Three plates?" I ask curiously, coming up to his side. "Not just us?" I say and he looks at me with raised brows. "I have another courtier coming to meet with me from the Dawn court, but I'd be happy to cancel so it's just us." He offers and I shake my head, hair swishing with the movement. "That's alright, I won't disrupt your schedule." I brushed him off, even if a buried part of me felt disappointed. It's been some time since I had some alone time with Helion, he always seemed to be busy as High Lord— or spell cleaver.

I walked over to the table and took up the seat I always sat in, directly beside the head of the table, where Helion planted himself. A maid came over and poured both of us glasses of white wine. I thank her and she nods before skittering away.

The doors to the dining hall open and both Helion and I look up to spot a butler accompanying a gorgeous female clad in lilac and rose-colored robes that draped over her full frame in long sweeping motions. Her deep brown hair was combed up into an intricate style, and the golden bangles at her wrists clanked against each other as she walked in like she owned the place. "Lady Basu." Helion stands with a polite tone. "Please, my lord; call me Imara." She begs of him in a delicate voice. Is she the courtier from Dawn?

"Then you can call me Helion." The Lord gives her a seductive smile. I was going to need more wine.

Dinner was utterly delicious if it weren't for my need to hold back gags every time the two in front of me obnoxiously flirted, I watched as she noticeably stared at him while wrapping her perfect lips around her fork. They weren't even discussing anything pertaining to the courts, perhaps I was blinded by jealousy but what was the point of this female being here if she wasn't going to mention where her court lies with alliances?

"Amilia?" I call the maid, neither of them notice but the female shuffles over to me with an inquisitive expression. "Can I have some more wine?" I ask her. She nods her head and pours the pitcher until my glass is full again. "You know what, I think I'll just take this." I reach for the decanter and her brows raise slightly but she allows me to have the pitcher before I put it down onto the table. Helion looks at me with creased brows but I don't say anything.

"Are you enjoying the food Imara?" The high lord hums. "I've had better things in my mouth." She teased and I nearly choked. "Is that right?" Helion's reply only makes me drink deeper from the goblet, chugging down the rest of the liquid until I'm refilling the glass again.

The flirting grows so insufferable that I have to take a deep breath to control myself from yelling at them to keep it in their pants or take it to the bedroom. So instead I stand up, grabbing my wine glass, my chair loudly scraping against the floor.

"You okay?" Helion looks to me concerned. "Fine, just tired." I brush him off. "I think I might turn in early," I add and he only nods. "Sweet dreams, starlight." He hums. "Good to meet you Imari," I give her a wave. "You as well." She smiles at me even though she's been glaring at me all meal like I was a threat, as if Helion would ever choose me over some drop-dead gorgeous female offering herself so openly to him.

Helion's fingers intertwined with mine and I look at him curiously, his warm hand somehow heating the entirety of my body right down to my very bones. "Get good rest, alright?" He smiles sadly and I get the feeling that he wasn't originally going to say that, that he’s holding back.

"I should be the one telling you that." I joke as I drop his hand but he doesn't laugh, instead, he looks at me with something tender and wanting, that gaze that makes butterflies awaken in my stomach. I ignore it, giving him a nod before spinning on my heel and walking towards the doors, thanking the cooks and maids on my way out without another word.

______

My hangover was pounding into my skull as I stood at the kitchen counter, peeling an orange as my negligent breakfast. Luckily the morning was quiet, the bird’s song flowing in through the open windows, goldfinches perched on the aspen trees outside.

I hum along to the familiar tune with a gentle smile at the tranquility of it, everything going so smoothly until the smell of ginger and honey floats into the room and I know Helion has entered.

"Starlight," He grins widely as he approaches, his hands behind his back like he's hiding something. I narrow my eyes at him skeptically, wondering what it was he kept tucked away from my vision. "How are you so awake?" I sighed with a slow blink. "It's daytime," He looks to the window. "Should I not be awake?" He arches a brow. I shake my head and return to peeling the rind from my fruit.

"Have a good night?" I tilt my head. "Eh," He shrugs and I scoff, a small smile forming on my lips at his dissatisfaction, something like precedence blooming in my chest.

"I have something for you." He bounces slightly on his heels and I look at him unamused, my migraine slowly fizzling away as he gazes at me. "Do you now?" I tilt my head and he nods, pulling his hands from behind his back and revealing a small black box meant for jewelry. "I felt bad last night, you seemed upset so I got you these at the markets this morning." He explains before cracking open the lid of the velvet box and revealing a stunning pair of earrings. A clear sunstone gem framed by gold plates, the stone dangling from a golden clasp.

My brows raised as I looked between him and the expensive gift. "Helion I can't take this," I shake my head. "Sure you can." He urges me. "You can’t just give me things because I'm the slightest bit upset." I sigh, taking the box from him. "Sure I can." He reiterates and a small smile forms over my features. "Thank you," I say, taking the earrings out of their box right then and there before sliding them into my earlobes.

He smiles and tucks my hair behind my pointed ears. The male grins cheekily and I look at him, with stained cheeks. "What?" I cross my arms over my chest. "You're the most beautiful female I've ever seen." He states proudly. I chuckle and tear my gaze away from him, his expression falls. "I'm serious, you are." He nods his head and I only shake my head and continue to peel the tangerine.

"No, I am not." I toss the rind in the trash, trying to ignore the fact that the air in the room has gotten noticeably thicker. "Do you think I'd lie about such things?" He seems genuine which only makes me want to laugh more.

"You lie to me all the time." I shrug and he looks at me like I've gone crazy. "Nonsense, name a time." He commands and I roll my eyes. "Just yesterday you told me I'd make the perfect high lady for the day court." I remind and he twists his lips to the side. "That doesn't sound like me." He shakes his head. I deadpan at him before removing the small invention I've been working on from the pocket of my dress and pressing the button on the bottom.

"Testing," My voice emits from it, louder than planned and all too close to the microphone. "You're so smart starlight," another voice sounds from the speakers of the cube. "You'd make the perfect high lady for this place." It quoted and I glared at him before turning off the invention and putting it back into my pocket. "It works!" He says excitedly and I glare at him.

"Alright fine, so I did say that but still; I didn't lie." He argues and I huff out a grumble of curses. "I'm a truthful male." He drones as I return to picking the spongey white excess along with the fruit of my orange. "No, you're a flirt," I grumble. "Can't I be both?" He shrugs and I shake my head. "No, not if you're telling me I'm the most beautiful girl you've ever seen whilst bedding females ten times prettier than me." I defend and his jaw falls slack, slightly taken aback at my prepared remark. "But they're not prettier than you." He admits and I avoid his gaze that seemed to be analyzing every move I made.

"Stop lying." I grit out and he releases a sigh, his arms coming to either side of my waist, trapping me between his muscular frame and the counter.

"I'm not. You're out of my league." He says breathlessly as if he couldn't believe it. I turn to look at him, my brows pulled tensely. "Then why can't I be one of them?" I utter and he blinks. "One of what?" He asks, his dark brows quirking together. "One of the females you take to bed, if I'm. So beautiful then why haven't you shown it?"

The look on his face was pure shock, his ears perked up at the sound of vulnerability coming from me. I begin to grow embarrassed at what I just confessed.

"Starlight," He sighs, looking down at me with remorseful eyes. "Those partners mean nothing, there's no emotion. I'm simply admiring an art piece, there's no strings attached." He explains and I wait for him to tell me whatever art I am isn't good enough.

"I don't want that with you." He confesses and I swore my heart stopped.

I look up at him with tears welling in my eyes. I wasn't ready to confess and didn't have the confrontation skills to tell him how I truly felt. I swallow thickly and nod. "I understand," I mutter, dipping my head down. His large hand comes up to cup my cheek, tilting my head back and forcing my gaze back to his. "I want the strings attached, with you, is what I mean." He explains and I blink a few times to make sure the make that stands in front of me is real.

"What are you saying?" I need clarification, what does that make us, what can I bear to him without showing my soul in its entirety?

"I'm saying that I want you, for a lot longer than just a night." His hand slips from my cheek to curl around the back of my neck, his thumb stroking along my jaw. "Helion," I warn and his eyes are soft, this is real, he wants this as much as I do. "I know it's unprofessional but—" He begins to argue and I lunge upward, slinging my arms over his shoulders and planting my lips onto his.

He stumbles back, his other hand coming to my hips as he immediately kisses me back. I smile against the feel of it. Gods, he tasted like honey. I pull him closer, his chest pressing into mine as I balance on my toes just so I can reach up to him. He hums against my lips before pulling back with a knowing smile. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," I admit and his eyes gleam with pure affection.

"I have some idea." He reassured me before dipping down again and this time taking my mouth entirely, my lower back pressed against the counter behind me, his hands dipped down, sliding along every inch of my body until finding purchase at my thighs and hoisting me up onto the counter, my legs immediately wrapping around his torso as he pried my mouth open with his tongue and I allow him to explore every inch, I've dreamed of this, fantasized of this. Every male I've ever been with never amounted to what could've been with Helion, and now I have it and I was never going to give it up.

My hands go into his hair, dragging through the black locks as he presses his wanting hips into mine. I begin to work at the top of his robes, dipping it off his shoulder. He backs away with a restrained movement. "We can wait." He pants out. "We can go slow," he reassured, staring at me with every ounce of self-discipline he possessed. "I don't want to wait," I shake my head. "I need you now," I add and a smile curves his lips— then a soft gasp releases from his lips, looking at the center of my chest with creased brows.

A sudden sort of devotion overwhelms my body and I look down, spotting a golden string, sprouting from my abdomen and tethering directly to his. "Mate," I mumble, the only thought racing through my head. My body heats at the realization and when he pulls me into a kiss this time it's pure adoration, in every movement he holds utmost love and respect.

"You're my mate," I mumble into his mouth and he nods with a smirk on his lips. "Wait—" I say and he immediately rears back. I turn to look beside me, the freshly peeled orange untouched on its plate. I pick the fruit up and split it into two. "Eat." I hold the tangerine out toward him. His expression turns into something tender and he takes the fruit, taking no time to consume the citrusy fruit, handing me the other half and beckoning me to eat too. I smile and peel one slice off and pop it into my mouth.

A sudden smell of arousal takes over the space and as soon as I swallow down the slice his lips are on mine, his hands pulling me closer, kissing me deeper, harder. He tasted of citrus and that fact fueled every nerve in my body. Mates, we're mated. His tongue enters my mouth again and the mating frenzy seems to take him full throttle. He winnows us into his quarters, carrying me towards his bed.

Something told me we wouldn't be leaving this bedroom for weeks.

General Taglist: @fxckmiup @olive-main @iluvyewman-blog @gaymistakeboi @glam-targaryen @going-through-shit @fauxdette @impossibelle @amara-moonlight @webecheesy-blog @sarawritestories @tele86 @rogersbarnesxx

[editoress]

Trust Issues amusement park | role reversal | “you got away with the crime while the knife’s in my back”

[throws all of Char's issues into a blender and emerges with something so convoluted and full of spoilers that I may be the only one to comprehend it]

*

When Char came to, head pounding and eyes blurry, she would have loved to be confused. She would have done anything to wonder how this had happened, or hope it was some misunderstanding. Instead, she thought: Fuck. Jules was really paying attention on those hikes.

Char was not especially enamored of poisons, but she necessarily knew what roots and herbs would do the job, if only to avoid them. She had passed that knowledge on as part of her larger, years-long lesson: how to survive, anywhere, no matter what you had to do.

Her vision was clearing, but her arms were tied behind her. She flexed her shoulders and pressed back to find the shape and feel of a wooden post. Made sense. There were three other thin columns around her, supporting a two-story-high ceiling. The ground floor was bare and empty. There was something of a second floor on the other side, like a broad mezzanine. This place might have been some kind of storage, once. Now it was only storing Char. She didn’t understand what all the space was for. Being drugged and captured in a fit of vengeance, she could buy. But what was with the damn secondary location?

She craned her neck to look around. Julian couldn’t be far; he would have planned out something dramatic, besides which he would never pass up a chance to rail at her. And in fact, movement caught her eye in the back corner. There was a figure moving with the soft step of someone accustomed to evading attention. If Char’s vision wasn’t so sharp, she would never have noticed him. She started to call out.

But something was wrong. The figure’s movements were too easy, almost jaunty, as if this was second nature. Char caught the shape of a knife but not the shine of it. The figure was too well built. And when he turned his face toward her—

It wasn’t Julian. It was a half elven man in his prime, golden brown hair pulled back and kohl around his widening eyes. “Alya?” he called, voice strained with disbelief.

This was what called up panic and confusion. Kelton Renard was not part of her present world. While Char’s mind raced, trying to figure out what he was doing here, Kelton touched his bracelet with a mutter. She remembered that—he always stocked up on jewelry that let him cast little spells, mostly to detect other people’s magic. He didn’t find any, because he lowered his knife and stepped forward, gaping. “Holy shit! You’re alive!”

It figured that the two possible assumptions had been dead or deserter, and he would come around to the other one soon enough. Still, she said, “Kelton, I… yeah, I’m alive,” because she had always expected that if they ever met again, he’d greet her blade-first.

Instead, he was leaning down to take in the sight of her. His hand landed on top of her head. “What are you doing here?” he asked wonderingly. He shook her head a little, which was awful on her headache. “What happened to your horns, little demon?”

Maybe she had needed that jostle, because Char finally recovered her wits. The reason Kelton shouldn’t—couldn’t—be here was because she still expected Julian to arrive at any moment. She took a deep breath and hardened her voice. “Get out. It’s a fucking trap.”

Kelton might have been a friend once, but he wasn’t a sap. He was a professional. As soon as he registered the words, he drew back, scanning the shadows of the building. Char heard the too-late snap of a crossbow. Kelton was well out of the way of the bolt by the time it hissed by.

“You said,” came a voice from the mezzanine, “that you didn’t know who the assassin was.” It was an arch voice, still carrying the accent of the Yoran upper class, but the years had deepened the timbre that echoed through the empty building. “But I found him.”

The first wave of anger was because Char must have told him a thousand times not to give away his location by talking. The second was worse—helpless. What more could she have done to keep these parts of her life separate? What more was she supposed to have given up to keep this from fucking happening? “Don’t,” she warned through gritted teeth.

Kelton sidestepped another bolt. The third made an eerie, high-pitched ringing noise against his knife as he deflected it. The half-elf slipped into the shadows behind her. Not even Char could hear him move. She turned her temper toward the mezzanine. She knew about where Julian had set up, though she couldn’t see him. “Stop it, now,” she bit out. “This isn’t a game. He’ll wipe the floor with you.”

And because Renard was a killer, because he’d been doing this for decades, a clash of metal on metal broke the silence first. Only after they’d traded blows did he add smugly, “Sure will. Hey, where are you going?”

Julian appeared at the edge of the mezzanine and all but slid down the ladder to the ground floor. Kelton did the same a moment later—faster, easier, more graceful—and chased him into the moonlight that fell in the center of the building. Julian turned to stand his ground; they locked eyes. For one frozen moment, it was as if Char didn’t even exist. Her heart sank. Julian was a young man now, still gangly from gaining all his height at once, but he had started to grow into his sharp, aristocratic features. Kelton might look at him and see the parents—

“Emeristov,” Kelton hissed. “You’re the Emeristov kid.” His guard didn’t waver, but his burning gaze turned on Char. “What the fuck is he doing alive, Alya?”

Funnily enough, what she hated most in that moment was how long it had taken him to figure it out. And then Julian gave a single mirthless laugh and said, “Oh, tell him, Mum,” and she had something to hate worse. Julian had never called her anything like that. She’d never asked him to, known he never would.

“What the fuck?” Kelton seethed. His voice cracked with rage. “Do you know what kind of shit we were in? Because of you. What the boss had to pay up, what we all had to go through?”

“I couldn’t do it,” Char said tightly. She’d never, ever considered having to explain herself from the other end. “I wanted out.”

“So you fucked us? After we took you in?” The angle of his stance was shifting to follow his fury. “Do you know who that fucking client was?”

The throwing knife came first, flashing through the air before burying itself in her shoulder. Kelton followed in a full-body lunge, teeth bared. Inexplicably, Char didn’t die; Julian tackled him aside. Char thought numbly, Well, at least he doesn’t want me dead. 

The grappling slowed. Julian was holding one of Kelton’s arms twisted behind his back with a grim death grip; he was using all his weight to keep the rest of him pinned to the ground. “You,” he panted, “killed my parents. So I’m going to kill you.” He glanced up at Char. “You killed the last person I cared about, while I couldn’t do a single thing about it.” He began to reach around carefully, trying to get his dagger into position. “So you’re going to watch.”

Julian’s weight had to shift to get an angle on the man beneath him, and Char knew what would happen an instant before Kelton flipped him over. He looked mad, with his hair half undone. “Wrong,” he hissed. “I’m gonna kill you both.”

“No,” Char blurted out. Renard turned a deadly indifferent look on her. She swallowed. “There’s no point. The job’s over. He’s just a dumb kid. Let him go.”

Julian was straining against Kelton’s weight, face contorted in anger. Kelton said, like it was a joke, “Great. You know I love easy work,” and brought the knife down.

“No!”

Julian caught his wrist, but Kelton was older, bigger, and stronger. He bore down, and Julian’s resistance slowly began to give way.

Char pulled at the ropes around her arms. She kicked, she screamed. She had gotten everything else wrong; the one right thing she’d managed was keeping Julian alive. That was all she had to do. But just like he’d wanted, all she could do was watch. “No! No, stop, fuck, please—Julian! Julian!”

[tvrningout-a]

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CHIYO!" the divinity would shout out in excitement as the other entered her hut, revealing how her living room had been clad in various colors & some of the most cheesy decorations one could buy for a birthday celebration. "surprise, surprise!" she said with a grin whilst passing by, pointing at the kitchen island crossing near her living room. "i baked you a cake! well, i baked you . . . cakes! i wanted you to have variation. the boys should also be here soon to show you your birthday present but i wanted to give you mine first." a mischievous glint lingered within her eyes whilst she pulled out a small crimson box, covered in velvet fabric. "there you go!" once the other opened the small package, a glint of gold would be seen first: dainty thread of gold was woven into perfectly constructed jewelry. two main pieces, a golden ring & golden bracelet, were connected by equally gilded, elegant chains. along the chains & bracelet multiple crystals of lilac & blue could be seen, the gold metal constructed into shapes of various flowers. "ah, i hope it's not too much! i could not decide if i wanted to make a bracelet or ring, so i connected the two!" a pause, sheepish grin lingering. "the crystals & stones are tourmaline & opal — your birthstones. i've also inlaid them with runes . . . it's a small protection spell." alas, before the other could explain further — a knock at the door was heard. "oh! that must be niko & rayo, don't let me stop you! i'll get ready for the small celebration later . . . now, go! have fun, darling!" — ( part 1 / 2 )

it's chiyo's birthday! | @vonerde made her a gift!

gratitude and something much warmer blossoms in chiyo's chest the minute she walks through gaia's door and catches sight of all the decorations ( they might be cheesy, but cheesy is exactly her style ). though she knew to expect something like this from gaia, she couldn't have anticipated so much effort; the cakes just begging for her to dip a finger into their frosting inspire something akin to guilt, but it's... happy. a happy guilt. the happiest guilt chiyo thinks she's ever felt.

this is plenty already, " thank you, " and, " you didn't have to go through so much trouble! " on the tip of chiyo's tongue when gaia passes her a little box. the velvet feels nice between her fingers. her heart feels so full, and she glances at the goddess with soft, flustered smile.

" you're spoiling me, y'know. "

the contents leave her stunned, eyes roaming every delicately crafted detail of the jewelry. it's beautiful, nicer than anything she's ever owned, but more importantly than that, gaia made it for her. she took care to find her birthstones, to make something not only gorgeous but useful as well. she did much more than she needed to, much more than chiyo would have wanted her to because... well, because gaia cares that much.

the warmth grows within chiyo's chest until it's nearly unbearable, nearly choking her with its intensity. chiyo raises her gaze to meet gaia's, lips parting---

there's a knock upon the door. niko and rayo are here.

gaia doesn't want to keep her -- after all, they'll all be together in a little while -- but chiyo doesn't let the deity go without first crushing her in a hug. she wonders if gaia can feel the warmth that's consuming her. " thank you, " chiyo says, resting her chin upon gaia's shoulder ( soft yet heavy, the artist isn't referring to only her gift ). the brunette hesitates only for a moment before she's pressing a kiss to gaia's cheek, pulling away with a grin that could rival any sunrise.

" i can't begin to tell you how perfect it--- all of this is. it's way more than i'd ever ask for, and just... thank you, gaia. i love your gift, and--- " chiyo nearly says something she shouldn't; she covers it up with a laugh as she nods towards the kitchen island. " i-i'm gonna eat so much cake. "

the boys' voices can be heard behind the door, prompting chiyo to hurry on. she gives gaia a little wave as excitement joins the party of feelings dancing within her chest. " i promise we'll make it back soon! "

[nyxicnymph]

Meteor Showers

A Ganyu x Yanfei fanfic for Ganyu's birthday, based off of the song Meteor Showers by Cavetown.

Ganyu looked up from her desk at a gentle, yet insistent tapping. Her eyes met the deep teal of her partner's. Yanfei smiled at her.

"Ready to wrap it up?"

Ganyu blinked, then nodded as she stood up and began to pack up. Once she was done, Yanfei extended her hand, and Ganyu took it. The two girls left the Qixing building hand-in-hand, the sunset casting a golden glow over the harbor.

Ganyu had many regrets in her long long life, but Yanfei, and their relationship, did not fall into those regrets. Yanfei was clear cut and easy to understand, not confusing like some of Ganyu's other friends. Maybe it was just Ganyu, but either way, she was glad she had Yanfei.

The sun slowly crept beneath the horizon as they strolled down to the lower side of the city, slowly making their way to the southern wharf. Yanfei stopped to the side, and for a moment, Ganyu panicked, worrying that she'd upset Yanfei with her silence.

But Yanfei had just stopped at the jewelry shop to look at something. She brushed off the lady's attempts to persuade her into buying something, and rejoined Ganyu.

"Sorry, I thought something looked familiar. Unfortunately, I was wrong."

Ganyu nodded as Yanfei took her hand again. "So, what's the plan for tonight? You don't ask me out unless you have a plan, usually."

Yanfei giggled. "well, there's a meteor shower predicted for tonight. I wanted to show you. Even if you've seen a million of them, I wanted to see one with you."

Ganyu's heart warmed. "I would watch a billion meteor showers with you."

Yanfei grinned. "You're so sweet, Ganyu. Come on, I need to pick something up from Third Round."

Ganyu happily followed her beloved up to the restaurant, and while Yanfei was inside, gave a small wave to Zhongli. He smiled and nodded back at her, before turning his attention back to Tiang. As Ganyu waited, she saw the Tianqiang coming up as well, and she quickly looked away. She didn't need to know.

Thankfully, Yanfei returned then, and handed a covered a basket to Ganyu. "Quickly now, I don't want to miss it."

"Me neither," Ganyu agreed, excitement starting to pulse through her body.

They laft the city, and started heading towards the Golden House. Yanfei found a small clearing, and seemingly out of nowhere, she laid a blanket on the ground, and set her basket on top of it. Ganyu followed her lead, and then sat on the blanket. Yanfei sat next to her, and began to pull food out of the baskets.

"I actually didn't order much, but in the event of us not finishing any of it, we can always take it home."

Home. A word that Ganyu used frequently, but never used to associate it with any one person or place. Home used to be wherever she needed to be. Not a place to rest, relax, to hide from the world and recover.

But now her home was Yanfei, was wherever Yanfei wanted to be. And Ganyu felt she finally understood what "home" meant.

"You're drifting, love," Yanfei said, bringing Ganyu back to earth. "We still have some time before the meteor shower. Here, have my plate. You don't have to eat everything, but eat something, okay?"

Ganyu nodded as she accepted the plate from Yanfei. "I love you, you don't have to do all this."

Yanfei pressed a kiss to Ganyu's cheek. "I love you too, that's why I do it."

A half hour passed before the sky began to start changing. Unfortunately, it wasn't filling with illusions of falling stars, but instead with clouds. Yanfei quickly stood up.

"No! Go away, clouds!"

Ganyu's eyes widened as she realized what was about to happen. "Yanfei, we need to get to cover! It's about to rain!"

Yanfei cursed, and quickly packed up the remains of their evening picnic. Ganyu formed an umbrella with her cryo vision and held it over both of their heads. This time, Yanfei took both baskets in one hand, and used her free hand to hold Ganyu's empty one.

"I could carry one," Ganyu insisted.

Yanfei shook her head. "I want to hold your hand. Don't worry, love, they weren't heavy to begin with, and since we both ate, they're less so now."

Yanfei was always phrasing things like that, making sure Ganyu knew she wasn't at fault for eating, whether a little or a lot. She wondered if Yanfei knew how much it meant to her.

Just as they began walking back to the harbor, Ganyu felt the shift in the clouds, and channeling more cryo energy into her umbrella, started sprinting, pulling Yanfei along. The heavens opened up, and a cold ran came pouring down.

It wasn't cold enough, though, because each drop that hit the icy umbrella over their heads melted it just a little bit more. Ganyu kept repairing it as best as she could, but it wasn't holding out. So, just before she let the umbrella go, she pulled Yanfei off the road, and dashed for the nearest ramshackle building. She vaguely recognized it as one of the impromtu inns from when Ningguang was rebuilding her Jade Chamber, but that didn't stay long. It was just shelter.

Yanfei giggled breathlessly. "Wow. So I guess we did get a shower. Even if it wasn't the shower we wanted."

She inhaled after her giggling, and just took in the moment. In the stormy darkness, her hair mingling with Ganyu's in the tiny space, the pink and the blue swirling together like sugar candy. She turned her head just enough to reach Ganyu's ear.

"How did you know that they were rain clouds?"

Ganyu flushed. "I could feel them. Half Qilin."

"Oh, right! Archons, you're so cool." Then Yanfei winked. "And not just because of your vision."

Ganyu buried her face in Yanfei's shoulder. "You continue to fluster me."

"Might as well make the most of this moment!" Yanfei said happily. "Still. I'm sorry your birthday surprise got rained on."

"My birthday?"

"Mhm. I figured you wouldn't remember, so I wanted to surprise you. Instead, it seems I've gotten you rained on."

"Yanfei."

She looked into Ganyu's eyes, which were suddenly serious. "Yes, Ganyu?"

"Can I kiss you?"

"Always."

And so fire met ice under an abandoned porch roof on the outskirts of Liyue Harbor, in a simple declaration of affection.

[mitsuki-komori]

hmm… can we get a part 2 of Your Yunoleo jealously fic where Leo hangs out with David again and then chaos happens-?

Took longer than expected, but here you go. I hope you enjoy it

Yuno took a deep breath. He had just finished a mission and he was pretty tired. He was on his way back, the only thing keeping him from falling over was the thought of sleeping in his comfortable bed.

As he approached the base of the Golden Dawn he spotted Letoile, he got off his broom. “What’s got you in such a bad mood?” He asked in a tired tone. She shook her head trying to hide her irritation.

“It’s just David. I actually invited to hang out for ONCE since he’s always asking me, but he refused because he’d rather hang out with your boyfriend.” She explained, Yuno tilted his head in confusion.

“What?”

Her expression turned into an apologetic one. “Oh! I didn’t mean that in a bad way, there’s nothing wrong with Leo, I’m just saying that-“

“It’s not that…” Yuno interrupted her, reassuring her he had taken no offense. “So Leo and David are hanging out?” 

Letoile nodded, “Yeah, they left for the capital an hour ago.” Yuno nodded, his expression indecipherable. He silently stood there. So Leo was hanging out with David… again. Why though? It’s not like he and Leo made plans, and if Leo were waiting for him he would still be at the base. Leo only hung out with David once to kill time, right? Or… Did Leo come to the Golden Dawn just to hang out with David?

“I see…” Yuno mumbled. Maybe he shouldn’t jump to conclusions, after all, Leo was very in love with him and he loved him just the same. Still, that didn’t change this feeling of rage and jealousy from welling up inside him.

“I think you should probably get some rest after your report, you seem tired. Maybe Leopold and David will be back when you wake up…” 

Yuno nodded and waved at Letoile before turning to walk inside… Leo and David… Yuno didn’t like it. He fell asleep with the distasteful thoughts of Leo and David hanging out.

“Really? I’ll definitely keep note of that, no ever going to the beach or eating seafood then? Man, that’s rough, I feel bad for you… I’m glad I’m not allergic to seaweed.” Leopold pitied David, he just sighed.

“Yes, well it’s fine. I’m used to it, just because I’m allergic doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy viewing the waves of the ocean… Although why do that when I can just look at a mirror instead?” He smiled, Leo rolled his eyes and scoffed.

“You sound like Kirsch… You know, it’s strange. I swear Yuno told me Asta has the same allergy! Maybe it’s more of a common allergy than I thought.” Leopold went into thought. Yuno… Apparently he went on a mission today. He thought about coming over to hang out with him until he heard that, but he decided to go anyway to hang out with David. He and David got along more than expected, they had pleasant conversations. So Leo only went to the Golden Dawn to hang out with David… Or so he would like to think, but deep inside he knew he secretly wanted an excuse to stick around long enough for Yuno to return. However, David had an idea to go to the capital to pick up some jewelry or food. Anything to make them go out into the world.

Leo didn’t get much, in fact, he just got two things. It was a bracelet and a necklace. David insisted he got at least one thing, so he figured he’d get a gift for Yuno and Mimosa. He got the  necklace for Mimosa. It was a silver chain and attached to it was a flower charm. It looked like a diamond, and in the middle of it were a few smaller gems consisting of the colors green and orange. He thought she might like it.

The bracelet on the other hand, it had five charms attached to it, Leo thought about getting the gold chain, but David convinced him to get the silver instead since it would go better with practically anything. The charms in it were a Lion charm, a flame charm, a wind charm, a four leaf charm, and lastly a heart in the middle. It all seems too perfect and Leopold could’ve sworn David did something, there’s no other way he’d just happen to find something so perfect!

Leopold snapped out of his little trance when he saw he and David were already back at the Golden Dawn, already? 

They both walked in. Leopold looked around and spotted Mimosa, he ran over to her. “Hey Mimosa!” He greeted her, she turned away from Klaus and smiled.

“Hello Leo! Welcome back, did you have fun?” She asked him, he nodded and reached for something in his bag. 

“Mimosa, close your eyes and hold out your hands!” Leo told her, confused, she did as he said. He pulled out the necklace and placed it in her hand. She opened her eyes and smiled when she saw the necklace.

“Wow Leo! This is beautiful! Thank you so much!” 

“I thought you might like it. Just a little gift!” Mimosa put it on, it did look great. “Have you seen Yuno yet?” Leopold questioned, Mimosa nodded.

“Yeah, he came in a little bit ago… Although he seemed a little grumpy if you ask me, don’t tell him I said that though!” She nervously laughed, Leopold nodded. Yuno was grumpy? Sounded silly said out loud. Why though? Leopold got ready to make his way to Yuno’s room.

He knocked on the door, but nobody answered. Was Yuno not there? Leopold decided to go check his office instead. He opened the door and walked in, but Yuno wasn’t there either! He went further into the room, and in doing so, he glanced out of the window. His eyes widened when he saw Yuno and David, they seemed to be sparring. Leopold quickly rushed out as fast as he could so he could get a better look.

He watched as they attacked each other, however this was just a one-sided battle. David was losing by a lot. “Yuno, what are you doing?” Leopold shouted. Yuno glanced at him for a second.

“Nothing much, just training. I thought maybe I could spar with someone.” Yuno explained, although it wasn’t the best explanation.

“Against David? This is just a one-sided battle though. You’ll hardly get any stronger unless you face someone more on your level.” Leopold walked up to Yuno, David clearly took offense to that.

“Perhaps your right, beating David is just too easy for me.” Yuno stated, Leopold tilted his head. That was certainly a strange sentence for Yuno. Leopold was confused, it was almost as if Yuno was trying to-

Oh.

That’s when the realization set in for Leopold. Yuno was jealous. He started to laugh. “Why are you laughing?” Yuno asked, very confused.

“I’m sorry, it’s just- I never thought you’d get so jealous because of me!” He snickered, Yuno jerked his head more towards Leo.

“What!? Jealous? Why would I get jealous? You can hang out with whoever you want…” Yuno denied it.

“It’s alright Yuno! I think it’s cute!” Leopold smiled, Yuno blushed. Leo thought him being jealous was cute!? David sneaked away while Leo and Yuno bickered. “But there’s really no need.” He started.

“What?”

Leopold smiled. “I’m always going to love you Yuno, no one else! I’m always thinking about you, nobody else could take that place in my heart, like today!” Leopold reached into his bag and held the bracelet in front of Yuno. “I got you this! I really wanted to get you something, and I thought you would like this…” Leopold nervously looked away.

Yuno stared in shock for a second and took the bracelet. He looked at it and smiled before putting it on. “Thank you Leo, I love it.” Leo’s smile widened and his face turned more red. “I’m sorry for acting like such an idiot. I guess I just hate seeing you with other people more than I thought I would…” Yuno apologized.

“Don’t worry about it! I mean, you’ll have to apologize to David later, but-“

“No.”

“What?” Leopold muttered. Yuno shook his head and pouted.

“No.”

“What!? What do you mean ‘no’!? You can’t do that, you have to apolo-“ Yuno cut Leo off by pulling Leo into a kiss, Leo quickly gave up. They pulled away after a few seconds.

Leopold took a few steps back, his face completely red. He pointed accusingly at Yuno. “Y-you can’t do that!” He yelled.

“Why not?” Yuno asked, he knew exactly what he was doing.

“B-b-because!” Leopold stuttered. Jeez… Why was he acting like this? They’ve kissed before, why did he still get nervous like this sometimes? Guess Yuno’s just got a special talent for Leo.

“I’m sorry, you just looked so adorable I couldn’t resist.” After Yuno had said that Leopold stood there, speechless.

“YOU IDIOT!”

[goldenholi]

I have written another! Stuff is shuffling around story wise, but the structure of the narrative is heading in a similar direction. This chapter things get unfortunate.

Chapter One: A Great Start

Chapter Two: The Lunch

Atlas took it upon himself to prepare her for lunch. He gave her everything. A dress, a comb, a set of shoes, a bracelet, a necklace. The necklace irritated her skin. She decided not to say anything, itching absentmindedly at the slope of her neck.

“Just keep your mouth shut,” Atlas had told her.

“And comb your hair.”

“Flatten out your expression. You look bitter.”

She wanted to tell him she was bitter. That he sucked the energy out of her being, that she couldn’t make a choice without preemptively imagining him finding a way to fault her. She settled her face into a blank, faintly pleasant structure.

“Good enough,” Atlas muttered, taking her by the arm. “We’re going to Juniper’s for lunch. Be a lady. You’ve done it before you can do it again.” She felt offended at the implication that she could only ‘play’ at being a lady, as if it were something out of reach, but she bit her tongue and walked with him, down to the belly of the Lantern Lit Grove.

A somewhat large room, nearly a hall, with a ceiling made up of beams carved like the canopy of a forest. Hanging from many branches at different lengths were large, golden lanterns. They yielded no light in the daytime, but in the evening they made the space glow pleasantly. The space was currently teeming with Atlas’ people. Mostly men and women who worked the perimeter, or men who worked the caravans but had dodged their last assignment. Atlas smiled amicably but all Naivara could focus on was maintaining her calm as they left, and folks began to follow them. She never understood the impulse to follow. She was very comfortable with the sight of someone walking away from her. It must have been because of the honored speech. The signal to feast. To tear into delicious meals provided by the largest employers in town: Atlas, Juniper, Sloan. (A few others of relevance, like Mallory, who kept an eye on the forest’s patterns would be there too, but they didn’t employ anyone. They were just important enough to deserve a seat.)

Atlas waved them all off and they receded. Naivara tried to pay no mind to the way people looked at her. Some folks looked a bit bitter, others looked excited. A few looked jealous, eyeing her jewelry intently. She wished Atlas hadn’t made her dress up the way Sutero women did. It worsened everything. She was already darker than a majority of people in town, did she need to dress in different dresses, and wear different jewelry? Atlas thought so. Something to do with appearances. She dreaded his stance on appearances. She never fit the bill.

The Farm was something Naivara had always admired. It was quarantined from the rest of the town behind several large gates but was visible despite them: a towering structure with tiers of produce. She spotted glossy, round tomatoes and verdant beds of tall herbs. Brightly colored peppers dappled the structure in color, while some beds teemed with the tell tale signs of tubers.

As they approached, the gate opened. A man welcomed them in, then guided them to the modest house that Juniper’s family had called home for generations. Naivara heard chatter, and laughter, and a newfound sense of ineptitude had her breathing around a rock in her throat as they entered a very homely kitchen. Atlas began shaking hands. She took a seat, smiling the best she could.

Everyone knew why she was there: because she was Atlas’ fiancé, and where he went, she went. She didn’t earn her way in. She didn’t manage trade or feed the town, or teach people how to defend themselves. Only Mallory, Huxley, and the butcher knew what Atlas had in store for her. What she was doing. To everyone else she was just some girl. Some ungrateful, hysterical girl that threw tantrums over jewelry. Running away looked real good right now.

“When’s the Bloom?” Atlas asked.

“Day or two,” Mallory said curtly. “We’re right on the cusp.”

“Send Huxley and two others over tomorrow,” Juniper said. “We can set the food in motion, at the very least.”

“We,” Atlas said, pouring himself a beer. “Have had an excellent year.” Everyone nodded in agreement. Mallory cleared his throat. The room stilled. Atlas tilted his head expectantly, daring him to speak.

“It’s been a good year,” Mallory said. “We should be careful though. I spotted twice as many direwolves in the forest this time around.”

“Oh don’t kill the mood, Mallory,” Sloan shot. “What does it matter?”

“It’s because they kill all the deer,” Naivara said. Her father had taught her these things when she was younger. Told her that nature was all about balance, and that imbalance led to sharp swings and hardship for people and creatures alike.

“Exactly,” Mallory said, pointing at her with his fork. “Then they get desperate, then they try to eat anything they can stomach including people. So when I say to be careful, I mean it. Expect a venison shortage.”

“Why,” Juniper said. “Are you such a sourpuss?”

“I’m not a sourpuss?” Mallory said. “I’m being realistic. This impacts everyone in town. Isn’t this lunch meant to discuss things that matter?”

“It’s supposed to be a celebration,” Sloan said. “But now you’re turning it into a downer..”

“If there are more direwolves,” Naivara spoke. “Then there will be less meat. Less meat means less leather, which means less armor, shoes, pelts-”

“Less materials across the board,” Atlas said. “That bodes poorly for everyone.”

“Not Juniper,” Mallory said. Juniper shot him a glare.

“If demand for staples go up I can’t gaurantee anything for anyone,” she said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Atlas asked.

“If meat is off the table,” she said. “Then people will want the staples. If everyone wants the staples, including the Sutero, I don’t know how we’ll divide it all up. Raaian comes first.”

“If we want pacci,” he said. “We need to maintain the same level of output to the Sutero.”

“Well,” Juniper said. “We might not be able to.”

“We have to,” Atlas said forcefully.

Naivara dropped her chin, staring at the decanter in the center of the table. Atlas’ ability to ensure Sutero folk down under got their leathers, vegetables, fruits and furs was a point of pride. There was a pre-existing agreement between the surface and the underground, one Atlas had inherited from the last owner of the Grove. Raaian provided raw goods, the Crown offered up medicine, jewelry, and a steady flow of people cycling between the surface and their homeland. If Raaian fell short, the Crown would match their productivity. It hurt Raaian more than it could ever hurt them.

“We might just have to brace ourselves for shortages,” Mallory said. “The forest will re-align itself with time. We can try hunting direwolves-”

“That’s reckless,” Skipper said. “It’s a waste of energy and resources. I don’t encourage it in the least.”

Atlas was silent. He kept glancing at the butcher, who looked thoroughly uncomfortable.

“I trust what is said at this table stays at this table,” Atlas spoke. The butcher gave a tightly lipped nod.

“As of now it’s all speculation,” he continued. “Right, Mallory?”

“The wolves had a population boom. I wouldn’t call that speculation.”

“But none of these things have happened yet?”

“No. There’s a very real chance they will.”

“Which means there’s a chance that we’ll have clear skies,” Atlas said. “If there’s a chance of something going wrong, there’s a chance of something going right.” Mallory pulled a face.

“I think we should be proactive,” Mallory said. “If-”

“If, if, if,” Atlas said. “How about we set things in motion once we know there’s an actual problem?”

“What if we offered to pay Sutero traders for pelts and meat?” Naivara asked. Atlas looked at her with a flash of indignity.

“I like that suggestion,” Junper said. “Then we don’t have to do anything. The Sutero coming up will pick off wolves, bring up what matters. They get coin, we get resources we need, hopefully we dodge the whole meat shortage by making game the norm.”

“I back Naivara’s idea,” Skipper said.

“I think it sounds solid,” Sloan spoke, not particularly enthused.

“My concern is they would be selling meat to us,” Atlas said. “We’re the hand that feeds them. Not the other way around.”

“Let’s table the idea,” Sloan said. “Why don’t we just eat? Can’t we just have a good time?”

Before anyone could so much as lift a bite to their mouths, they heard a dull roar in the distance. Skipper and Mallory lept to their feet.

“Sit back down,” Sloan said. “You’d be useless out there.”

“Time for the first defense of the season,” Mallory said. “Care to join, Atlas? I hear that once upon a time, you were good with a crossbow.”

Atlas piqued up, took the crossbow propped up at Skipper’s side and left, Mallory trailing behind him. There was a dull drum in the distance: foot steps against the walkways.

“Men,” Juniper muttered. “Can’t we just let the perimeter guards do their jobs?”

“The daytime shift tend to be poorer shots,” Skipper said. “Forest is quieter during the day. It’s good that they’re going. They’ll need some support.”

“Lousy teacher,” Sloan said.

“I teach the night shift,” Skipper shot. “They’re better in every regard. Maybe if Atlas bothered to wake up at a decent time, he could train the day shift. Why does he wake up so late, Naivara?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Skipper asked. “Come on. There must be a reason.”

He knows that people dislike him, she thought. It’s easier to pretend they don’t at night. Because it’s harder to see peoples expressions. Because he can write off being given a weird look as someone being tired. Because he thinks he’s closer to Sutero than he is a surface dweller, and feels less out of place when they’re up and about.

“He just prefers night time,” Naivara said.

“Boring answer,” Sloan said. “I don’t think you’re being honest. Atlas trained you well.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him you think so,” she said. “I’ll let myself out. It was nice to see you all.”

She hadn’t shut the door when she heard yelling. She craned her neck over the farm’s fence and made out the sight of guards on the perimeter. They stumbled over each other, some vaulting over the walkway. To Naivara, it looked like they were dropping off the perimeter and into the sky. She heard chorus’ of “GO GO GO” and distant screams. In the chaos, she heard a singular word that stopped her heart: Caravan.

She kicked off the pointy-toed, heeled shoes that Atlas had gotten her and sprinted off the farm toward Eastgate.

EASTGATE.

“INDOORS!” Atlas ordered. “EVERYONE INDOORS NOW!” People scrambled out of the streets, rushing into the nearest buildings.

“NOBODY OUT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES!” He twisted back toward the forest, setting his sights upon a behemoth of a direwolf. The thing was massive, the length of several men laid back to back. It had a bloodied eye and torn ear, and teeth as large as his forearm. He notched and arrow and fired for its jaw: it let out the most bestial yelp, retreating a few paces.

Still got it, he thought to himself, notching another arrow. He had arrived too late to prevent a fellow from being mauled, but the priority now was to kill the damn thing. Four guards flanked it from afar, darting between trees. Arrow met flesh over and over, but it wasn’t until someone landed an arrow through its eyes that the bast gave a great groan. It slumped against the earth, seething.

Mallory leapt off the perimeter. Atlas elected to stay right where he was, watching as Mallory approached the beast. He raised his arms and thick, gnarled grass erupted beneath the wolf. The wolf thrashed weakly, then fell still.

“We’re good!” Mallory called.

“Gate doesn’t open until the thing is dead,” Atlas called.

“It’s dead,” Mallory called back, approaching it. “It’s not gonna-” Atlas fired. The arrow flew over Mallory’s shoulder, into the mouth of the direwolf. Blood gurgled and the beast dropped its head against the earth.

“I repeat,” Atlas said. “Gate doesn’t open until it’s dead. Not thought to be dead, not grappled, dead.”

A slurry of arrows fired against the wolf. It twitched and hissed, and when the beast stopped jolting, the gate opened. Atlas remained where he was, watching the wolf bleed out until the gate cracked back down against the earth. He tore his eyes from the carcass and turned, looking down at everyone who had made it in. The whole caravan. Minus goods lost in transit. Some folks were hugging, others were scattering to go get a drink. There was a crowd around...a light?

He craned his neck and spotted Naivara, screaming and kicking against a man he knew as Juno. Juno blocked her from the crowd. She wasn’t wearing any shoes. What the fuck happened to her shoes?

Atlas vaulted over the perimeter, cutting a path toward her.

“What’s wrong?” He asked. “What happened?”

“Savan got bit,” Juno said. Another wail, so pained he felt it in his bones.

“Let her see him.”

“Atlas, it’s bad-”

“Did I stutter?” Atlas repeated. Juno relented and Naivara disappeared between several figures.

She hit the ground so forcefully that her skirt tore. His armor was split, several deep gouges marring his chest. He was pale, paler than she had ever seen him in her whole life. His eyes were open but his gaze was lifeless. Once upon a time, she admired his eyes. They were blue, faintly grey. They reminded her of pale clouds over a blue sky. Now they scared her. She couldn’t tell if he was there or not. She took his hand in her own, trembling as a man across from her set glowing hands upon her father’s chest. He was tan, with dark hair. He was bloodied too, his face severe, sweat beating along his brow.

“It’s gonna be alright Mr.Goldenholi,” he said. “It will be alright, you hear me?”

“Better be,” her father choked out.

“Estarás bien,” The man said forcefully. “Me escuchas? Estarás bien.”

“You speak Ors?” The question leapt from her mouth quicker than she could think. He father laughed, then winced.

“Got bigger fish to fry here,” he said. “Yes, I speak it, and I do magic but I’m not a doctor and magic isn’t infinite, are there any doctors? Anything?”

Atlas crouched down at Naivara’s side. He leaned in close and spoke softly, his tone firm.

“We have to move him,” he said. She shoved at him and he caught her arm. “He’s going to be alright. We’re going to move him, alright?” He nudged her aside, made a motion and her father was lifted onto a stretcher. He didn’t touch her, trailing behind her and the stretcher as the group hurried to the Grove, up to Room 4. It was a spectacle the whole way there, but Atlas had enough sway that one sharp look at onlookers made them avert their gaze.

Room 4 was already prepared. The bed was stripped, covered only by several plain bedspreads. Her father was laid down and he kept groaning, hissing, and seething at the slightest physical disruption. it hurt Naivara to see him in pain, but him in pain was better than him flirting with death. He was bandaged.

“You’re gonna be alright Mr. Goldenholi,” the healer said. “You’ll be fine.”

“You,” Savan managed to hiss out. “Are a fool.”

“Hey,” the fellow teased. “This fool stabilized you.”

“You’re young and stupid,” Savan squeezed out. “But thank you.”

“Don’t talk, Savan,” Atlas said. “Do you want something to drink?”

Savan shook his head, breathing with his whole body.

“Are you sure?” Naivara asked, leaning in close. “We have pacci. It will take the edge off.” He shook his head. “Would you stop being so stubborn?” Her vision became a slurry of color. “You could have died and you, you won’t even try to ease your pain? What’s wrong with you!”

“You aren’t helping him,” Atlas said. “Come on.”

“Quieres sufrir?” Naivara shot. “Quieres?”

“Cálmate-”

“No voy calmar! Porqué debo calmar un lobo te atacó!”

“Señorita,” the healer said. “Por favor, dejalo en paz.”

“Can we speak a language I understand?” Atlas said cooly.

“Is there something other than pacci or alcohol we can give him?” Naivara asked.

“Manazilla,” Savan said.

“Té?: Naivara asked in disbelief, her voice raising. “Que té pasa? Porqué no quieres algo fuerte?”

“Naivara,” Atlas said. “Common.”

“He wants chamomile,” the healer said.

“After a wolf bite?”

“After a fucking wolf bite!”

“Fine,” Atlas said. “I’ll go get him tea. I’ll be back.”

He excused himself.

“And you,” Naivara said, rounding on the healer. “You, you don’t get to tell me what to do when my fucking father gets attacked by a wolf!”

“Yelling is helping anyone,” the healer said.

“I’m not yelling to help anyone I’m yelling because I want to!”

“Starshine,” her father said. “Please don’t yell.” Naivara turned on him, then caught herself. She fumed where she stood, swiping at her eyes.

“I think I have the right to yell,” she said lowly, her voice trembling. “You could have died. Might have if not for a healer.”

“I didn’t.”

“If you had where would that leave me?” She asked. “I’d be lost. I don’t want you going on the trails again.”

“Podemos hablar sobre esto otro dia?”

“Fine,” Naivara said. “Fine. What’s your deal?” She turned on the healer then. “What are you doing here? You speak Ors. Are you from there?”

“I uh...didn’t think I’d be put on the spot like this.”

“You’re the first Orsi to visit this town in decades,” Savan said. “Forgive her interrogation.”

“Why would you ever come here?” She asked. The healer smiled wryly.

“You haven’t even asked for my name.”

“Well?” She said expectantly. A light-hearted scoff escaped him.

“My name is Mason,” he said, extending a hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Goldenholi.”

“It seems you’re on good terms with my father,” she said, shaking his hand.

“He was happy to see a fellow Orsi,” Mason said. “I caught him up to speed on some world events.”

“The war ended,” her father said. “Two years ago.”

“Well that’s good,” Naivara said. “I imagine that means...you had no reason to go south. What’s wrong with you? You’re coming here during peace time?”

“Ouch.”

“Don’t be cruel, Naivara. Some people are stricken with wanderlust.”

“He could have wandered a variety of better places,” she shot. “Could have gone to Vijen, or headed east or west from Orsil. Why here?”

“Because nobody knows anything about this place,” Mason said. “And I’d like to write about it.”

“You’re a writer?” Naivara asked, dubious.

“I am,” Mason said. “I want to write about the flora and fauna, and maybe even relations between this town and the world beneath. When...your father is in a better position, the chance to learn from either of you would be-”

The door opened sharply. Mason jolted, then laughed nervously as Atlas cut straight toward Savan.

“Here you go,” Atlas said. Savan took the tea and sipped it, then pinched his face in distaste.

“Too much honey,” he said. “Thank you, regardless.”

“Have your fill,” Atlas said. “Naivara, could I have a word with you?” They stepped outside, Atlas shutting the door with his forearm. “Are you going to stay with him?” He asked, his voice low. She nodded, then he nodded. “He’s going to knock out soon. I put pacci in his tea.”

Naivara shoved him in disbelief. His face soured at the motion.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she said.

“You wanted him to have something to take the edge off,” Atlas said.

“It’s about what he wants, not me.”

“Your father may be educated but that doesn’t make him smart. He’s going to have the best sleep of his life,” Atlas said. “He’s going to wake up feeling infinitely better. I thought you would appreciate my decision.”

“I...I mean I do,” she said, dropping her gaze. “It just feels sneaky. I don’t like sneaky, Atlas.”

“Sometimes,” he said. “You have to be sneaky to get what you want. Do you want to stay with him until he’s better?” She nodded. “I’m fine with that. I’ll get the healer his own room and...I’ll see about bringing a sofa in. Something you can rest on.”

“I can handle the floor.”

“I’m not letting my fiancé sleep on the floor,” he said, dragging a hand down his face.

“It’s a hassle.”

“If it’s a hassle to make you comfortable, so be it. I’ll be back.” He kissed her forehead. She didn’t register it until he was going downstairs, calling out for some help. She stared dumbly after him. Her face was warm. She hadn’t wanted a kiss but that had been nice. He didn’t do that often. (Did she have to have her world fall to pieces for him to kiss her? In an emergency she always felt secure. In idle times she always felt afraid. She was so very confused.) She turned back toward Room 4. She took a breath, hoped she wasn’t too red in the face, and entered.

Her father was passed out in bed, cheek buried in a pillow. She very gently tugged a blanket over him.

“Fuerte manzanilla,” Mason joked.

“My fiancé slipped medicine into it,” Naivara said. Mason raised his eyebrows. He had a nice face. His skin was fairer than her own but more tan than her fathers. His nose was strong and had an arch to its structure that she found appealing. His eyes were dark. He didn’t say anything but Naivara got the impression of disapproval. “I’ve heard it all before,” she said. “Could we skip the whole ‘oh you’re so young’ bit?” He nodded. He licked his lips and looked away.

“I play guitar,” he said.

“I don’t know that game.”

“It’s an instrument. I’m a musician. I thought it was gonna get awkward so I threw out a fact about myself. Am I making it worse?”

“You all but saved my fathers life,” Naivara said. “Please don’t feel awkward.” He smiled at her. There was a warmth in his eyes that left her feeling quite soft. She glanced away from him. “Thank you for saving him.”

“I don’t know if I saved him,” he said. “But I’m glad to be of service.” All of his equipment was strewn out against the wall. It was bothering her.

“Collect your things please,” she said. “Atlas is bringing in a couch for me.”

“Atlas,” Mason said, pulling his bag over his shoulder. “Grey guy, right?”

“Yes but please don’t refer to him or his siblings as a Grey,” Naivara said, grabbing a contraption of wood and wire. “People in town call them the Grey’s and...it’s just impolite. They have a last name. It’s Denari.” Mason nodded along.

“Got it,” he said. “Could I have that, please?” She handed him the contraption and he held it gingerly. The structure was similar to her mother’s violin but much larger, and she didn’t see the stick that was meant to glide upon the strings.

“Is this the guitar?” She asked. He smiled at her and nodded, but before he could speak the door opened.

“Hey, you got to get out,” a fellow said. “We gotta fit this in, so could you both just exit for a sec?”

The two slipped out quickly. Atlas motioned for Naivara to stand at his side, which she did. They fit the sofa into Room 4 and there was just enough space for someone to strafe in, and her father to get out of bed. “Thank you,” she said to Atlas.

“You’re welcome,” he told her. “Go get a change of clothes. You-” He turned to Mason. “Here.” He offered up a key ring. “You can stay in Room 2 long as you like. No charge, nothing.”

“Oh, thank you-”

“Come downstairs with me,” Atlas said, clasping him on the shoulders. Mason nodded. Atlas started walking but Mason didn’t move. His gaze fell on her for a moment. His gaze darted between her and Atlas. Naivara shook her head. Then he followed Atlas downstairs.

That was strange. The look. The expectation of her joining. Mason was unusual. Didn’t he catch that she was expected to go upstairs and he was meant to go with Atlas? What an odd fellow. Very odd. There was an easiness to him that felt peculiar as it did good. Probably because he saved her father’s life. That was it.

When she entered home she heard a cry of horror. If there was a proper way to respond to a noise like that, she didn’t know it. Kallisto held her hands to her mouth, eyes blown wide. Her hair was loose, fiery curls spiraling down to her waist.

“Are you hurt?” Kallisto asked, rushing forward. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Naivara said. “My father got hurt. Direwolf.”

“Is he alright?”

“He’s fine,” Naivara said, rubbing at her eyes. “I’m going to just get a change of clothes and keep an eye on him tonight.”

“You need to wash up!” Kallisto insisted. “You’re filthy. You go get your clothes, I’ll get get the bath in order.” Naivara sighed.

“Atlas told me to just get a change of clothes.”

“No, you need to clean up. Has he lost his mind? You’re tracking dirt everywhere. You need a bath.” She glanced down at her bare feet. She forgot about that.

“Fine,” Naivara said. “You have a point. I’ll clean up.”

The room she shared with Atlas was large, filled mostly by a bed. There was a closet, big, stuffed with armor and shirts and pants and dresses. She rifled through it until her arms hurt, found a night-gown and tugged it out. It would do. She didn’t feel like spending the whole night rifling through a closet.

Naivara knocked and then entered the bathroom. Kallisto saw the nightgown draped over her arm and frowned.

“Not actual clothes?”

“It’s nearly night.”

“Atlas won’t like you walking around in a nightgown,” Kallisto said.

“He never likes anything,” Naivara said. “My father could have died. I’ll wear what I like.”

“At least take a coat with you,” Kallisto said. “He’ll hate it if you...walk around like that.”

“It’s sleeping wear.”

“It’s not proper,” Kallisto said. “He’ll get mad.”

“Please go,” Naivara said, holding the door open. Kallisto twitched in displeasure, her hands seizing as if she could somehow correct Naivara’s decision. Then she tightened up and left, shutting the door in her wake.

Naivara had spent a majority of her life making due with a bucket, soap and a rag. The first time she used the bath, she sat in it for hours and savored the pleasant warmth that sank into her being. She wanted to stay there forever. And she still adored the warmth, but right now all she wanted was to be clean. So she slipped into the water and scrubbed at her skin, under her nails, at her knees. Dirt and blood were a uniquely ugly cocktail. Beneath the grit, her skin was raw.

She was tracing a square around the scrapes when the door opened. She wasn’t looking and didn’t care much, but then she heard a gasp and snapped her neck to the side. Mason.

“Sorry! So sorry I’ll go I didn’t know anyone was in here-” The door shut with a crack.

She sank deeper into the water, her hands over her face. 3-2-1...

Atlas slipped in, his eyes blown wide.

“What the fuck?” He asked. “I thought you were going to just get a change of clothes.”

“I-”

“You didn’t even lock the door?”

“I thought it was locked-” He grabbed her by the hair and she froze, hear heart in her throat. He just held it, nails sinking against her scalp. Didn’t jolt her. Didn’t shake her.

“You,” he said. “You.”

“Why is he even up here?”

“Because he’s a bard,” Atlas said. “Because bards mean people, people mean sales, and we have the only tub in the city. I was trying to help the Grove. I can’t believe this shit.” He let go. “Were you just going to wear a nightgown? What, were you going to rip it down the middle for him? I’m humiliated.”

Naivara shrank in on herself.

“I’m going to pick a respectable outfit for you,” he said. “And then you are going downstairs and you are staying with your father. Don’t open the door to anyone, today has been stressful enough for us both.” She wanted to fight him on that, but he looked at her so tersely she froze.

“I’m sorry.”

He shut the door with a crack. She dried herself off immediately, then retreated away from the doors line of sight. Not long after he returned with a skirt, a long-sleeved shirt, and a coat. He was very sour in the face.

“Avoid him,” Atlas said. “He may have saved your father but I for one think he’s a bit crooked.”

“Crooked?” Naivara asked.

“I don’t trust him. Get dressed.”

It was always unpleasant to get dressed when Atlas was near. Naivara didn’t consider herself an especially romantic person, but she knew that men who liked women tended to look at them. He was skilled in looking at her general direction without actually laying eyes on her. Another tell. Another lie. What a disappointment.

“You look good,” Atlas said. “Come on. Grab the nightgown and we’ll go downstairs.”

He rushed her away. She could hear Kallisto talking to Mason somewhere in the house, fawning over his guitar. She disliked it. Atlas kept his hand against the slope of her back until she was inside Room 4.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Atlas said. “I’ll check in. I promise.” Naivara nodded as if she believed him. He shut the door on her, leaving her feeling quite gross, with only her sedated father for company. She tossed her things on the couch and collapsed, holding her head in her hands. What an awful day. First a fight over jewelry, then her fit, and then a direwolf attack. Now, being seen downright naked by a stranger from far, far away. Who she would continue to have to see, courtesy of Atlas wanting him at the Grove. A truly great start to spring. Truly. At the very least, he could help liven up the festivities. The festivities she would most likely spend hiding in a corner. Would the suffering ever end?

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a book. She pulled her hands away from her face and stretched for it, then held it gingerly. Not a book. A journal. She opened it and her mouth fell open at the sight of a brilliant drawing of a bird. It was green, with a fine beak that looked more like a very, very long nail, tiny eyes and iridescent feathers. What a beautiful creature. And behind it, the indication of a garden, and further back, the faint impression of a building. A fine one, with large windows.

She began flipping through the pages hungrily. She saw a long, orange creature that was cat-like, and a very rotund, fluffy creature with horns. She turned the page and gasped, slamming the book shut, her cheeks burning. Then she opened it back up, peering at the drawings mutely.

She had never seen a completely naked figure. Call her naive, call her a prude or sheltered or boring, it hadn’t come to pass. Maybe Atlas was right, maybe Mason was crooked. Despite that little voice, she locked the door and found herself examining the drawings intently. Some were female. Others were male. Naivara couldn’t deny the skill demonstrated in the sketches. She saw muscle, and fat, and weight. It was impressive. She felt a very slight joy at spotting a figure like her: twiggy, thin. Small breasts. Naivara often felt a bit lousy about her body. It seemed all the other women in town were curvy and well-endowed. (Once, when she was still working at the Grove, she overheard a conversation where some men very drunkenly tore her figure to shreds. It still made her skin crawl, reflecting on how unkind they had been.) She appreciated whoever inspired that sketch. It was nice to know her body wasn’t an anomaly.

What was different was the male figure. She had been taught about sex. Somewhat. Her father taught her the bare minimum: the male sex had penises, the female sex had vaginas, if a penis goes inside a vagina often enough a pregnancy occurs, followed by a small, screaming thing. He handed her off to the one other elven woman in town, Treasure, who had taught her the one thing her father couldn’t: the rotten luck of a female elf. Two words: Random periods. Three more words: Always Use Protection. Naivara had nodded along, even though she didn’t care much for sex and thought it sounded quite gross. She didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t feel like recognizing it, and floated through much of her life without giving it a thought. She had never wondered what a penis looked like. Well. Now she knew.

She couldn’t imagine a town so comfortable with itself that people would just draw others naked. What a thought! That would never occur in Raaian. Not in a hundred generations. People were quite possessive. She couldn’t imagine letting anyone see anything outside the context of a relationship. No wonder Atlas had been so upset. It was an intimate act, seeing a bare figure. At least in Raaian it was.

Though he didn’t really look at her figure (clothed or not) on a good day. And she didn’t really look at his, if she was honest. They shared an aversion to it. Another reason their engagement was doomed. She shut the journal and placed it back against the wall, splaying out on the couch.

“When you wake up,” she said to her father. “Remind me to ask about how you break off an engagement.”

______

Hrogh. This one was tricky. I was initially going to start from the POV of a different character but decided against it. I think that this draft is going to slim down and focus primarily on Naivara, less so...the others. We shall see how it pans out but I'm feeling pretty good. And now Mason is here!

Thank you so much for reading <3 Please consider reblogging if you enjoyed.

[starlightswitch]

The Story Behind the Promise

(for Writer's Month day 3 prompts seashell and festival setting. I was out of town last weekend and will be again this weekend, so I need to catch up! This was written from August 3-5, a bit on my phone in the car, most of it in a notebook while in New Jersey.)

Their last full day of vacation turned out to be the first day of some sort of beach summer festival. There were food trucks and a sandcastle contest and a boogie boarding contest, and the the streets near the beach were lined with tents of people selling everything from spice mixes to wooden signs. Vivian and Hunter tried to see everything, cheering for the boogie boarders, making custom shave ices, lingering a long time at a jewelry booth with seashells edged in gold until Vivian decided she wanted to save her money until she left for college.

Things were dying down at the end of the night, but they could still hear music from somewhere when they finished dinner outside and Hunter asked if Vivian wanted to take a walk down the beach.

Vivian’s stomach fluttered. This seemed like it would be it.

She’d kept talking about how she wanted a promise ring. Ashton had one, which her boyfriend had given to her before they went to different colleges. She’d been so excited to show it off to Vivian, and Vivian had thought it made the relationship seem so serious, so meant-to-last. And it had lasted, because here they were three summers later, people casually asking if they were going to get engaged soon, the ring with its wavy pattern of tiny stones still glinting on Ashton’s finger.

She didn’t actually know how Mark had given Ashton her promise ring– he hadn’t started coming with them to the beach until last year, luckily Vivian’s parents weren’t as picky about how long you had to be in a relationship before you could bring the guy to the beach– but a walk when it was close to sunset and the light was all golden seemed like a perfect way.

She let Hunter take the lead, and after walking a ways down the beach he turned toward the water. She stopped to pull off her sandals, and they walked just to where the longest reach of the waves were hitting the sand. The breeze caught her hair, and the sunlight outlined his, and someone at the festival was playing a guitar and singing.

“So,” said Hunter. “You’ve been saying you really want something to take with you to college to remind you of me, and that I promise to stay with you even though… we’re apart.”

Vivian was going to answer, “A promise ring,” naming it, but that sounded a little silly in her head. She nodded seriously.

“So…” He reached into his pocket and pulled out something wrapped in tissue paper.

Vivian looked at it for a minute before she realized he meant for her to take it. She had sort of thought he was going to put it on her hand, but maybe it was like getting engaged and he wasn’t going to do that until she’d accepted? Made him a promise too? She really wished Ashton had told her how Mark had done it. She took the little package and unwrapped it, careful not to drop the ring.

It wasn’t a ring. It was a seashell necklace.

“I saw how much you liked them. And when you wear it, you can remember this week, and this moment, and know that I love you just as much when we’re apart as I did standing on this beach in the sun together.”

A necklace.

Not a ring.

Not something he could put on her finger. Not something someone would see on the third finger of her hand and ask if it was from someone special. Not something she could just wear, all the time, like Ashton did.

She really didn’t want to make him sad, and she really didn’t want to ruin the moment, but she was also really disappointed that it wasn’t a promise ring, and it felt a little bit unfair not to get one after she’d made sure to tell him how much she wanted one. She tried to think of the nicest, most gentle way to say it. “So… you’re not getting me a promise ring?”

She was sure what flickered in his eyes was sadness, but it was gone as soon as she saw it. “If you still want a promise ring, I’ll get you a promise ring. I just thought you would like this, since you seemed to like them.”

That was nice. It was still a little bit annoying that he’d thought getting her a necklace meant he didn’t have to get her a promise ring, and that he’d done a special moment like this to give her the necklace so she was pretty sure he wouldn’t do another one for the promise ring. But it would be cute to have a necklace.

“Are you going to put it on me?” she said, still holding it.

“Sure, if you want me to.”

“Sure,” she said, and when he put it on her it settled right where she liked a necklace to sit.

They walked back, and she tried not to think about what could have been.

Ashton was in the kitchen scooping ice cream out of the carton. “Want some?” she said when she looked up. “This is the last of it–” she tilted the scoop toward Vivian– “but we can split it.”

“Um, sure? If you don’t mind sharing.”

“Of course,” said Ashton, and got out another bowl.

When the bowls were ready Ashton handed Vivian hers and glanced at the back door but then started eating her ice cream where she was at the counter. “I almost thought he was going to propose,” she said in a tone that was probably joking.

Vivian tried to smile.

Ashton stopped smiling. “Did you get engaged?” she said, looking down and trying to see Vivian’s hand.

“No,” said Vivian, like that was crazy, because it was. “Why would we get engaged before you?”

Ashton shrugged.

“I thought he might give me a promise ring.”

“Oh. He didn’t?”

Vivian shook her head.

Ashton fiddled with hers, spinning it with her thumb, then ate another bite of ice cream. “Does he know you want one?”

Vivian nodded. “And I reminded him.”

Ashton laughed. It was an appreciative laugh.

“How did Mark give you yours?”

“What do you mean, how did he give it to me? He said ‘Would you like a promise ring?’ and I said yeah and then a week or something later I saw this one and said ‘If you didn’t pick a promise ring yet can I have this one?’ and he said ‘You bet’ and he bought it and had it shipped to me.”

Vivian stopped with her spoon in the air. “He didn’t give it to you?”

“I said he bought it,” Ashton repeated, like that was the question.

“But he didn’t give it to you?”

“Like…?”

“Like make a speech and put it on your finger.”

“Oh. No.”

“Then how’s it a promise ring?”

Somehow Ashton was seeming more confused the more Vivian tried to explain. “Because that’s wh…at he gave it to me as?”

“But he didn’t promise you anything.”

“The ring… is the promise?” Ashton kind of smiled at her. “Are you telling me we’re doing promise rings wrong?”

“No,” said Vivian, because how could anything about Ashton and Mark’s relationship be wrong? “I just… think I’d want a speech. About what he promised me.”

“Oh. Yeah, a speech could be cool,” said Ashton, but she said it like there was an ‘if that’s what you want’ attached, not like she cared she hadn’t gotten one herself.

Ashton hadn’t gotten a speech. She hadn’t gotten a promise. She had a ring, but she didn’t have the story to go with it– at least not the kind of story Vivian wanted for herself.

Vivian had the story. She didn’t have the ring, but she had the story.

A whole lot of things had turned inside out in the last couple hours. She was going to have to sleep on this.

-

2020 Day 3: What She Wanted (magic)

2021 Day 3: Outside Perspective (outside + wedding setting)

2022 Day 3: A Little Too Real (actors AU)

[dear-mrs-otome]

Silvio Ricci - Main Story - Chp 01

Standard Disclaimer: I do this for fun. I don’t, and never would, claim to be proficient at JP. There will be mistakes herein. There will be dialogue I choose to smooth out or change, because it feels choppy just straight translating. There will be the occasional snarky aside and irreverence and just plain summarizing. If you’re looking for 100% pure accuracy, without commentary or localizing, this is not for you. If you don’t mind that…then proceed, and I hope you enjoy! And please, support your local localizer (they make this stuff look easy) and Cybird by playing the games and routes when they come to English.

~~~~~~~~

In his room in Benitoite, Silvio wakes up one morning to the sound of waves as usual. It’s clear there’s been some fuccin going on in this bed, but he’s alone now - he always kicks his partners out the moment they’re finished, so as to never have to wake up next to anyone.

He pours a drink of water from the (golden, of course) jug beside his bed, and is chugging it, thirsty af. But he catches a glimpse of himself in a nearby mirror and curses at the sight of lipstick marks on his body - marks that only smear when he tries to rub them off with his hand.

“Disgusting…” He scowls, but gives up on the attempt, and goes back to drinking his water to quench his dry throat. 

The first prince of Benitoite’s mornings always begin like this. Parched.

~~~~~~~~

It’s a few days after the 4-country summit in Rhodolite took place, and Sariel and Rio are both oddly busy with duties. Emma is left strangely to her own devices, when…

“Yo, woman, let’s go.”

Her door is kicked in, peaceful morning ruined by Silvio strolling in her bedroom. Silvio, AKA can’t use his hands to open a door like a normal person, has to wear all that expensive gaudy clothes and jewelry, and is currently giving her his best haughty rich asshole look. 

She asks where the heck they’re going, it’s the first she’s heard of this, and he replies that he only needs her to agree to someone like him - he’s in need of entertaining, and she’s the one to do it.

She’s wtf-ing over this ridiculous demand, still not totally with it even, and he grabs her hand and starts hauling her off. She demands he explain, at LEAST, and he says he figured he’d have her serve him breakfast. As she’s still boggling over this, he reminds her how he’d told her the other day she’d have the opportunity to make things up to him until he’s satisfied (for the champagne that Rio ‘accidentally’ spilled on him at the summit gala to save her in the Act 2 prologue).

She hadn’t thought he was actually serious then, but it seems he was - and she’s freaking out because she’s totally alone now too. Nobody to go to bat for her here...and she’s wondering if he suspected as much when he came to make this demand. He reminds her she can’t really say no, and silently she has to agree that she can’t refuse him.

There’s already breakfast laid out in the parlor when they arrive, a spread fit for a king that’s far more luxurious than even the Rhodolite princes usually eat, she notices. He’s eating and she ends up almost mesmerized by how impeccable and elegant his manners are, despite his arrogant ass exterior. At least, she is until he starts demanding something to drink. 

She points out the rose tea that’s right there, but he wants something COLD he insists. She’s grumbling inside that this is the sort of thing a maid would usually take care of, but strangely there doesn’t seem to be one at his meal. She’s eaten with the other princes often enough by now to know that’s the usual case.

It seems obvious he’s paid off people left and right to get her maneuvered into serving him breakfast.

She comes back shortly with cold tea prepared, and presents it to him…but he only returns a grin that makes her nervous. “For a noblewoman, you can't seem to offer someone a cup the right way, can you?”

She manages to reply that it’s because she’s never played waiter before, but inside she’s dismayed to realize there’s some kind of ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ way to hand someone a cup?!? Silvio’s clearly watching with a keen eye, missing nothing, and she KNOWS he’s gotta be staying in Rhodolite for more than just to have her and Rio make things up to him. It’s obvious he’s trying to figure out who she is - so she reminds herself she has to be careful.

“I’m certain I won’t be able to serve you to your satisfaction.” She tries to make her excuses politely. “Shall I call for the maid?”

He points out that that wouldn’t be her making up for her transgression if someone else serves him. “Besides….from now on, you’ll be my hostess.”

“Oh, okay…” She answers on reflex, and then stops. “No, wait - what was that?”

She’s thinking frantically - she hadn’t heard anything about serving as hostess to Silvio, not from Sariel or such. He goes on to say how he'd gotten the okay to stay in Rhodolite for an extended period of time, and if he's gonna be here awhile he's gonna need someone to entertain him.

She tries to say that he should have someone better suited to diplomacy doing that, not her, but he's not taking no for an answer. Even if she protests that she has other duties to attend to, he scowls that she should get permission to attend him - and remember that this alliance hinges on her.

This is getting way outta control but she can feel her hands are being tied. If Silvio suspects something about her real identity, she can't risk him discovering it or turning this into something that breaks their countries' alliance.

He says don't worry he'll only take up her mornings and evenings, and she's dismayed to hear he's going to want her evenings too, prompting him to scowl at the sour look on her face when she questions that. 

He pinches her nose and she's telling herself…put up with it, put up with it, he's royalty and all that jazz…

Imperiously, he says he's having a party tonight for some Rhodolite merchants, and she's going to be there to serve. She’s not seeing a good way out of this, even if she talks to Sariel…but she gives it one last shot by trying to brush it off as a good joke, which only earns her a smirk and an ominous promise to work her twice as hard for her impertinence.

~~~~~~

Later…

A smiling Rio is asking Emma to condone murdering the gaudy bastard in Sariel’s office, as she tries to calm him down. She’d made a beeline here the moment she’d escaped Silvio that morning and told them both what had happened.

A dismayed Sariel admits they were well-played, but he’d suspected something had been up since the sudden incidents that came up and required his and Rio’s attention that morning had to do with merchants. Silvio clearly plotted this all out, Sariel confirms to her. 

Rio’s protesting that he can’t let Emma be Silvio’s hostess, least of all when he’s the one who dumped the champagne on him. He’s determined to go have a ‘chat’ with Silvio about being the sole person to make amends for that, but Sariel yanks him back by the collar and scolds him for being a bad dog before he can get more than a step towards the door.

He’s reiterating how much trouble Silvio went through just to get to Emma, it’s clear he’s focused on her, and she says aloud that this is really about him trying to find out who she is, isn’t it?

They discuss how Silvio’s clever and realized something about her has to do with the state of their country - if he finds out she’s Belle, that’ll expose the fact that they’ve been hiding the truth about the king’s death from their ally. Which needless to say, would be Very Bad if they ended up left high and dry.

Damned if they do and damned if they don’t though…even if they told the truth about the king, there’s the chance that Benitoite would try to take advantage of the chaos and try to benefit from it themselves. It’s a heavy burden she’s carrying right now, one that could crush her with one wrong move.

Sariel assures her he’ll think of SOMETHING to try and do about this, but for the moment she’s got no choice but to go along with this party tonight and try to make it through as best she can. She’s nervous, but she feels confident in Sariel’s training to help her be a noblewoman, and she didn’t take the job of Belle to half-ass anything. 

She also kinds wants to stick it to that tyrant, she admits to herself.

Pleased, Sariel bids Rio to accompany her, saying he’ll make sure he’s not waylaid tonight, and a grateful Rio vows to protect her from Silvio that evening no matter what.

“His aim probably isn’t just to discover Emma’s true identity…” Rio muses, and Emma presses him - Silvio has some other purpose?

“Maybe...I’ll tell you about it someday,” Rio says to her, and she sees sadness flash across his expression. 

Realizing it might not be something he wants to tell her she assures him she’ll wait until whenever he’s ready to talk, and a blushing Rio gushes about how much he loves her kind self which she waves off with her usual grace.

Sariel reminds them to let him know if things get too hairy, he’s got a duty to keep not just Emma but Rio safe as well, which Rio is grateful for. Regretting his show of gratitude when a moment later, Sariel hands him a veritable stack of work to accomplish in return.

She feels as if they can handle any situation when she’s with the both of them, and the anxieties Silvio had raised all fade away…at least, until that night comes.

~~~~~~

The party is out in the garden, where Silvio is so blinged out he practically hurts her eyes. The people in attendance are pretty glitzy as well, as if also wealthy merchants - a glimpse into a world that’s utterly foreign to her. But more than all the finery and glamor what stands out to her is the rose petals scattered everywhere, trod carelessly under the partygoers’ feet. 

It might be a scene of beauty to some, but it makes her uncomfortable for some reason. It feels tacky and wrong.

Rio notes her discomfort as she’s staring mutely at the tableau, but she waves it off as nothing and shoves back the feelings she can’t place. Making her way over to Silvio where he’s lounging on the sofa, forced to step on rose petals herself as she approaches…and every step she finds it harder and harder to breathe.

Silvio gives her props for showing up, but he’s displeased she brought the shitty dog with her. Rio reminds him that he’s her butler, and where Emma goes he goes. Claiming to be shorthanded with staff, Silvio orders Rio to help the servers out - clearly trying to keep him away from Emma, she realizes, which doesn’t help her misgivings either.

Rio refuses to leave Emma, and Silvio makes a thinly veiled threat to escalate this to diplomatic issue if he doesn’t get his way of having Emma entertain him. She tries offering to go help the staff herself, but he reminds her of what he’d said that morning, that her job was to serve him and entertain him. 

“Or is there some reason why you absolutely need your butler glued to your side?” Silvio challenges. "If so, tell me. If it’s a good reason, I’ll consider it. And you, damn dog, keep your mouth shut. I’m asking her.”

Rio just glares in angry silence, and she’s stewing over how Silvio’s done nothing but make her look stupid so far - implying that she’s an easy mark without Sariel or Rio around to run interference for her. Needled by this, she asks Rio if he can go ahead and help the staff out.

He finally agrees, but warns Silvio that he won’t stand for anyone disrespecting his mistress, foreign bigshot or not. Silvio dismisses him as a rabid dog, and Emma has to assure her on-the-verge-of-murder butler that she’ll be fine before he’ll finally leave.

No choice now but to grit her teeth and make it through this, really. 

“Woman, your place is here.” Silvio pats at the seat next to himself, closer than she’d like to be. Realizing that being a hostess to him is different from maid duty. 

She sits down as far away from him as she can, indulging in her tiny defiances, but Silvio just hooks an arm around her waist and the exotic scent of his cologne surrounds her. She protests his idea of ‘entertaining’ but he reminds her no talking back as he orders her to pour a drink.

Patience, patience we will not rip this asshole a new one, she reminds herself as she complies, though she half shoves the glass of rose wine at him. 

One of the blinged-out party guests comments on how they didn’t know Silvio had a ‘cherished flower’ in Rhodolite, but Silvio dismisses the idea. She’s not pretty enough for that sort of thing, though a sassy woman every once in awhile isn’t so bad, he muses. The merchant says he’ll make note of the fact that Silvio would get tired of beautiful flowers if constantly surrounded by them…and Emma’s unable to even muster a smile in return as the man gives her a once-over, as if appraising her value.

She gets the impression that by ‘cherished flower’ they mean something like a mistress…and the thought that anyone would mistake her for Silvio's lover is all kinds of nope.

“Don’t just sit there with your head down and a pout on your face,” Silvio tells her. “I told you to entertain me.”

She makes her excuses, trying to coach herself to smile. Reminding herself the future of her country is at stake here, so she’s gotta squash her bad feels and put up with it…but somehow Silvio doesn’t seem satisfied. 

“She’s a rare flower indeed,” the merchant agrees. “For in your presence, Prince Silvio, every flower would blossom beautifully.”

Silvio poses the idea that a flower like this might be worth the effort, grinning as he reaches out and breaks off a nearby rose beautifully in bloom. Playing with it in his hand for a moment before he crushes it, the sight of petals spilling out between his fingers burning itself into her eyes.

“Stop…please,” she begs, and goes on when he looks her way, unable to stay silent. “Don’t trample on any more of our roses.”

“I thought you were in a strangely bad mood, maybe that’s why,” Silvio observes.

She’s livid and finally realizes the why - it’s because he’s been disrespecting these roses, the symbol of her country. It makes her feel as if something precious to her is being trashed, and it sickens her so much she can’t even put it into words.

Silvio reminds her that he bought everything here, he has a right to do what he chooses with his possessions, and she has to admit to herself that he’s right. She doesn’t have grounds to speak up when his money’s made this all his. 

His smirk flattens. “You’ve got a sassy look in your eyes,” he states, but she only holds her peace. “If you want to get your way so badly, why not just kill me?”

She’s taken aback by that random suggestion, still trying to process it when he says he’ll even offer her the chance. With a haughty smirk tilting the corner of his mouth he lifts her up to kneel on his lap, and tells her how if she’s got an opinion she wants to get across, she’d best show him the guts to do so even if it means killing him. But if she can’t follow through, she’d best not talk back.

She’s only silent, still reeling, as he taunts her to try wringing his neck because you can’t win a fight with words alone right?

It’s so far beyond the pale…she tries to get up, but he grabs her hand and forces it to his throat. All the guests surrounding them are looking on, drinks in hand and laughing, as if taking in a sideshow at the circus or something. She’s wondering to herself if she’s some sort of comic relief to them, if it’s really so laughable of her to be so angry over someone trampling and trashing the roses.

“They’re all on my side, not yours. Do you know why?” Silvio presses her. “Because I bring them benefits. But you, you bring them nothing. What you say is worthless. All you’re doing is embarrassing yourself in front of everyone. Powerless and wretched…you’ll never be my equal. So you’d better think for a second about what it means to stand up to me.”

She may never have been so miserable in her entire life. She can sense Rio’s murder-rage even from here, and somehow Silvio seems to be enjoying himself. She knows that a hostess’ role is to please guests, but she loathes this sort of ‘entertainment’.

Still though, she has to just endure it for now. Confronted by the overwhelming power that money bestows, she can do nothing but tremble with these feelings that have no other outlet. 

~~~~~~~~

Chapter 02 >>

[startanewdream]

For @sweeethinny, inspired by her drawing of Lily's dress for the celebration of her 25th wedding anniversary, because I couldn't think of anything else since I saw her beautiful drawing:

~*~*~*~*~*~

“This one looks nice.”

“Nah, it’s too thick. You have tiny fingers.”

“What about that pair then?”

“Too thin. It looks like a keychain.”

“And I’m guessing that one is too fancy?”

“You know me all too well, Lils.”

She shakes her head, more amused than anything after three days into their shopping spree. For a pair of wedding rings.

Everything else went smoothly on their wedding plans. They agreed on the venue upon first visit and the date they wanted was available. They decided on the wedding cake and the decoration and even the template for the invitations—the designer didn’t understand the stag and doe, but didn’t ask many questions either—, including the type of paper. Lily picked her wedding dress on the first store she visited, to her friends’ dismay. James got his suit approved by Sirius on the second try, which was considered a success.

Until they went shopping for their wedding rings and then they realized that there were multiple options of wedding rings and surprisingly none of them seemed to fit.

“We can just craft one,” she mumbles to him while the kind sellswoman runs to present them another set of wedding rings.

“It could be…” James mumbles, unsure, and Lily can’t blame him. She is also starting to think they won’t ever find the perfect ring. Until— “Hey! Those are cool!”

Lily follows the direction of his gaze. James is looking at another shelf, one that wasn’t presented for them and Lily knows exactly why as soon as she notices the rings there.

“We can’t have those, James,” she tells him patiently. “See the silver band around them?”

“Yeah, that’s what I liked! It reminds me of the rings my parents had.”

“They would have. The silver is to represent their 25th wedding anniversary.”

“How come?”

“Oh, you don’t know? Each anniversary of a wedding is associated with some type of gift. The first year is cotton, I think. The most known are 25th and 50th anniversaries. Silver is for 25th, golden is for 50th.”

“But wedding rings are already made of gold.”

Lily shrugs. “I don’t know, it’s just the way it is. It’s cute to think your parents had a wedding ring with a silver band, some couples add the silver to their wedding ring for celebration.”

“Why can’t we have one of those now anyway? I’m planning to stay married with you all my life, and that includes all wedding anniversaries.”

Warmth spreads through her body. Lily blames the easiness in James’ voice; he is not trying to declare his love for her in his sentence, he is speaking as it is obvious they will be together, as if he can’t fathom his life otherwise.

It’s nice to imagine them 10, 25, 50 years in the future, growing old together.

“Let’s save those rings for our 25th wedding anniversary,” she tells him, placing a soft kiss on his lips. “And hopefully find our perfect wedding rings so we can get married in the first place.”

________

The bells ring at the small church at Godric’s Hollow and Lily feels back to 25 years ago, standing nervously at the doors of the church, holding her father’s arm. It had been silly to feel any fear then, because she had been sure about her decision to marry James, young as they were, and it’s even sillier now, but she can’t help the quick beating of her heart.

“You know, you can still give up,” Sirius tells her, smirking, as he offers her arm to her. “I can lend you my motorbike, it’s parked outside.”

“You are 25 years late in your proposition, Padfoot,” she replies, grinning as well, and he winks at her as the doors of the church open.

It’s a Wednesday night and the church is almost empty save for Lily and James’ closest friends and family. She gets a quick glimpse of Harry waving at her from the first row of seats, but then, just like it happened all those years ago, once Lily meets James’ eyes, she can’t see anyone else.

Twenty-five years ago she didn’t doubt she still wanted to be with him and she still doesn’t.

“You look beautiful,” he tells her, his whisper carrying through the church and making their guests chuckle with the obvious adoration in his voice.

James is oblivious to anything else but her; he raises his hand, running it from her cheeks to her shoulder and down to her bare arms before he intertwines their fingers, and when his gaze falls to the slit that shows her leg, he winks at Lily with an expression that seems better fitted to their upcoming second honeymoon.

And then, just like in the first time, she can’t really focus on the ceremony.

“Your wedding rings?” the priest asks, and James glances at their son. Harry rushes to give him a velvet box that seems strangely worn out and dusty.

When James opens the box, Lily sees a pair of shiny new wedding rings, the gold and the silver intertwined in a delicate pattern. There is something strangely familiar about those rings, but not what she expected.

“Those aren’t our original wedding rings,” she notes, surprised. James grins.

“No, these are the ones we first saw in that jewelry store the day we bought our first wedding rings.”

“You went back there to buy them? I thought that store had closed years ago.”

“Oh, it did. I went back to buy them the same day, right after you got home.”

“You did? Why?”

“I told you we would still be married in 25 years. I kept them all those years waiting for this moment.”

“Oh, James…” She pulls him closer, kissing him even though the ceremony is still not over. There are giggles and sighes, but Lily feels only James’ lips and that happiness she associates with him for more than twenty-five years. “All I want is 25 more years with you.”

“And then 25 more?”

“As long as we can have it. Until the end.”

[liminal-storage]

Fata Morgana

Prompt 23: Pitch

Characters: Okuni Tomioka and some weirdos in her dreams. Or are they dreams?

Warnings: None of note.

Notes: This is pretty much just self-indulgent player-created lore. It's not really lore-breaking because it simply doesn't exist in game. But if that isn’t your jam, I understand and hope you find something you enjoy reading. Part two of this previous post, and ties in with these two posts as well.

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

Okuni was immediately aware of the fact that she was dreaming. That was probably a good thing, as it meant she at least hadn’t died from the blow to the head outside in the waking world. Unless, of course, this was the afterlife, in which case she was going to have to have some words with whoever ran the place. 

Because for one thing, greeting the recently deceased with the sight of three strange faces hovering naught but ilms from hers was just plain rude. 

The figures those faces belonged to were androgynous-looking, lean and almost ethereal. Long-limbed, not unlike the birch that had chased her, but more…reasonable and person-sized in that regard. All three wore light leather armor that covered them from head to toe, the layers consisted of scale-shaped panels fashioned from materials the color of the night sky. Deep blue to black, and whatever it was glimmered faintly like the distant stars.

Their…she could only assume it was their skin, almost meshed with the color of their raiment, a deep blue-black obscuring most of their features in the dim light. Their eyes though…she could make out their eyes. Wide, gleaming, and crimson, lacking a discernable pupil and instead having the multi-faceted surface of an insect’s compound eye. Dark hair curtained around the figures’ heads, and she could see long, thin horns like those of an antelope spiraled behind them. 

She stared while the three tittered excitedly at one another in some language she didn’t understand. One pointed at her before whispering something to the other two, the second one laughed, and the third stared at her in turn. This went on for a while until she started to get a bit bored and sat up. 

“Oh no, you mustn’t!” 

“You must not!” 

“Rest, you must!” 

Pointy-fingered little hands reached for her as if to ease her back down to a supine position, and it was then that she noticed she was not on the ground but on some soft surface that depressed slightly as she moved. A bed or a couch of some sort, no doubt. She batted their weird little hands away. 

“Children, please. Allow our guest her space. This is no way to treat a Shadow-Born.” 

The voice came from somewhere behind the trio, who immediately turned to bow and, in doing so, parted away from where Okuni lay. The voice belonged to a figure whom she couldn’t seem to make out, no matter how much she squinted and tipped her head. It was as though the glow of the golden trees was too bright around their back, providing just enough of a glare to obscure the figure’s features to a mere silhouette. And the sound of that voice did nothing as far as helping her identify what the person might look like, seeming more like a sound that resonated in her head like her own subconscious than someone actually speaking. 

“Sorry, Your Grace.” 

“Sorry, we are!” 

“Apologize, we do.” 

The silhouette waved a dismissive hand and the three scampered away somewhere out of sight. Okuni could just barely make out the glimmer of some kind of jewelry adorning that hand. Even when they came to stand next to her, she couldn’t discern a single thing about their appearance. 

“...as far as dreams go this is definitely one of the weirder ones I’ve had,” Okuni murmured. 

“A dream?” The figure tilted their head at her. “You think this a dream? Ahh…I suppose one would, after the fall you took. No, little Shadow-Born. We have awaited your arrival for a long, long, time.” 

Okuni sat up the rest of the way and, on impulse, reached a hand out towards the figure. But it swept right through their body, as if it were made of smoke. 

“...that seems like a dream-thing to me,” she answered. 

Then again, how many utterly bizarre entities had she encountered just working with Priarch? Ghosts and otherworldly assholes had just become a part of everyday life. 

“So, what do I call you?” 

The figure hesitated before answering, and when it did, it spoke a word that she didn’t understand, something that seemed more like a drawn-out sigh or the first couple of notes to a tune one might hum to themselves. It felt like something more than it sounded like something. Like the unseen presence you feel when you’re alone and paranoid. 

 It wasn’t a name at all, at least not one that meant anything to her. 

“But, if it pleases you, you may simply call me Umbra.” 

The figure bent to sit upon the edge of the bed next to her. Okuni felt disturbed at the fact that she still couldn’t make anything of their features out. This being was, for all intents and purposes, a living shadow with the voice of her innermost thoughts and a name that described the emptiness of a room. She wasn't fond of that. 

“...okay then. Going to have to lay off the fantasy novels before bed. What do you want then, Umbra?”

The figure outstretched an arm, reached towards her as if it was going to brush some hair out of her face for her. But that hand stopped short, perhaps because the figure knew it would pass right through her face. 

“You have seen the Other Things, have you not? Twisted creatures in the forest. Things inhuman and monstrous which borrow the forms of the familiar and corrupt them. An animal, a tree, something which slithers. All of them preying on the living, destroying their surroundings. You have seen them, yes?” 

Okuni nodded. Yes, she had. In fact one of them had chased her here trying to eat her. The fact that this figure seemed to know about them felt a bit disturbing, but then again, dreams. One carried their subconscious thoughts with them, didn’t they? 

“They do not belong in your world. Unruly children, they are. Not unlike the three who greeted you here, but rather…lacking in impulse control. Our youth is for traveling, for seeing the other worlds. Once we become adults we can no longer cross the threshold. And if we are still within your world when we reach adulthood, we become trapped.” “So you…what? Want me to scold your unruly terrifying birch child until it comes home?” Okuni sounded absolutely incredulous. What the fuck was this dream? People were asking impossible tasks of her in her sleep now? “For everyone’s sake, yes. The destruction they have wrought in your world cannot be ignored. They will find punishment upon their return. We know that you’ve already meted out punishment to the devourer in the ruins. Rest assured we bear no ill will towards you for it. Such is within your right. But we would see our other children returned home before they wreak more havoc.” Meted out punishment? The devourer in the ruins? Her thoughts sprung to the pig and bat-like creature and its gory den, the thing that had killed one of Actaeon’s hounds. Ohhhh. 

“Forgive me for sounding…you know, incredibly fucking confused here. But why are you asking me to do this for you?” 

If the silhouette could have blinked, she was sure it would have. 

“Why, because you are one of few who can come and go over the threshold. Such is the right of the Shadow-Born. If you do this task for us, we will tell you what that means.” 

Okuni bristled with annoyance. Do something for me and then I’ll tell you. How many infuriating times had she heard that or something to the same extent in the waking world? It was completely unfair that this was now happening even in her dreams. Still, at least this one didn’t sound like an entirely impossible task. Just…very very difficult. Besides, this was thrice now that the Umbra had used the term Shadow-Born, and she’d really like to know what book her subconscious stole that idea from so she could avoid reading it again when she woke up. 

“...very well. So I just need to bring the bitch…the birch back here. Somehow. How do I do that, exactly? I’m not even sure how I got here in the first place.” 

“Lead her to a crossroads. Shed her blood and yours upon the center, and you will find yourself returning here. Just be certain that you have a hold on her before you do, and she will come with you.” 

Hold up. The birch thing was female? Why was that so ludicrous to her? This all just sounded so immensely absurd to her. It made for a good fantasy novel and an interesting dream, but she found herself growing restless now. It must show on her face, for the entity spoke in her head once more. 

“Rest, Shadow-Born. We will see to it that you return from whence you came.” 

Perhaps owing to the nature of dreams, Okuni decided not to question it too much. She was tired, and her head felt like it was going to split open. She closed her eyes and breathed deep. 

When she opened them, it was to a searing headache that had her nearly hyperventilating from the pain. She moved too quickly to sit up and triggered a wave of dizziness and nausea that had her heaving there where she slumped. A shaky hand raised to press against her scalp and came away coated in red. Oh, that wasn’t good. How long had she been out? She carried memories of a very strange dream, some vague recollection of a task she’d been given buzzing in her skull along with the agony. 

A head wound and sleep weren’t a good mix. But she found herself unable to move much, let alone stand up. It wounded her pride to do so, but she reached for her tomephone which had by some miracle not jostled loose in her fall. It didn’t take her long to call for Abel to come get her, even if the process of calling in the first place was difficult owing to the dizziness. 

“Where am I?” 

She glanced up, spotted a dusty old sign hanging next to the road. Huh. Here she’d thought she’d simply ended up in a spot deep in the woods and hard to find. 

“At the crossroads of Mosswood and Split Oak. Yes. I’ll be here. Not like I have any other choice. …and thank you.” 

She put the device away and forced herself to keep her eyes open, much as she would absolutely love to just slide into unconsciousness again. She was almost certain that she had a concussion, and who knew how much worse she’d made things for herself by napping already? That dream was definitely a direct result of her injury, and it wasn't as if she wasn't already achy from the unseen thing in that damn house that had thrown her against the doorframe just days prior. Her eyes fixed upon the road sign and she frowned. 

A crossroads... 

[giorno-plays-piano]

I would like a request for Steve Demon, something very dark and hot, thank you! 😈❤️

Hi darling! Thank you for your patience 🙏💖 This story was inspired by Slavic witch legends and VN Demonheart!

Oh, my love, don't forsake me

Pairing: demon!Steve Rogers x witch!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, dark magic, dubcon, witch!Nakia, mentions of violence.

Words: 1670.

___________________

You remembered your first encounter with him well. It had been your first Walpurgis Night when Nakia presented you to a coven: you had been taken through an initiation ritual to become a true witch, and all of you danced and drank and laughed, jumping through grand fire and burning your clothes till you all had been naked, only jewelry - necklaces, earrings and bracelets - left on your bodies.

It was then when demons had arrived, many of them flying directly to their witches and starting dancing with them, picking them up and letting them ride them high up in the sky as if they were horned horses, and you froze on your spot, watching their red bodies glowing.

"You will choose your demon lover today." Nakia whispered to you, smiling to her own mighty demon, his shoulders wide and muscular, his gaunt wings so large he could cover ten people with each. "There are several of those who are free."

"Today?" You asked her nervously, watching those demons without a witch on their backs. "But I thought I would be given time to let them know better."

You knew no one but Nakia, and the thought of choosing your demon right this very moment seemed a bit frightening to you. The witch was choosing her demon lover for eternity - unless both her and him would decide to separate, but it was highly unlikely as the bond they built had always been hard to break. How could you do it without knowing a demon first? Today you could make the worst mistake in your entire life - and afterlife, considering that your soul would travel back to Hell with your demon by your side.

"Don't fret over little things." The witch flashed you a wide smile, her flawless skin glowing softly in the dim light coming from the fire meters away from you. "You will be fine. Look at them! Who is the one you want the most?"

She motioned to the demons flying up in the air, their wings flapping, and you realized you could actually see what was beneath the loincloth of some of them, your face growing unbearably hot. How indecent! Why didn't they wear something more concealing?

"Because they are showing new witches what they got to offer." Your mentor laughed at your bemused expression, and you chuckled, thinking how you were standing naked in front of them with just a think golden necklace on, the only valuable jewelry you had. "Don't be shy, dear. Look, look at them! Ask me if you see someone attractive, and I will tell you everything I know."

Oh dear, it was probably the most embarrassing thing you had ever done, but you couldn't miss your only opportunity to know more about your future lover. Besides, you didn’t become a witch to spend your days caring about morals and decency, did you? You were going to sin till the very end of your life, and today could be a nice starting point. In the end, a physical body and all its parts were nothing to be ashamed of.

Watching several men, their skin scarlet, floating above the grand fire and laughing along the other couples, you tried focusing on those who you thought looked the strongest and sheepishly whispering to Nakia. You felt a little distressed her own lover had to wait for you, but the demon only grinned at you, baring his pearly white teeth, and bowed his head a little, visibly agreeing to wait longer. Maybe they weren’t all as scary as you imagined? You certainly hoped so, pointing to several demons and asking your mentor about them.

“This one? This is Tony, he’s a clever but vicious sort.”

“Aren’t they all?”

Turning her face to you, Nakia gently caressed your head as if you were her child. “No, darling. Not to us. But you are right, I doubt Tony would be the right choice for you. Maybe young Peter? It is his first Walpurgis Night, but he’s of age. Or Brock, that demon over there? Oh no, look at this ruthless barbarian...”

However, before you had time to look at the man she had pointing at, another demon suddenly crossed your way, and you stilled when he looked directly at you, his large crimson wings blocking the view for both Nakia and you. He stood out from the crowd with his glowing golden hair and immense wings that were bigger than even Nakia’s lover, and you frown when the demon landed on his goat hooves, aggressively ripping his loincloth away and baring his flesh in front of you. Your face grew hot at his shameless display, and searched for your mentor’s hand, clutching it in yours like a child, truly. What was that? Did you make the demon upset? Had you broken some rule you didn’t know about?

Nervously glancing at Nakia’s lover you saw him distressed, too, but he didn’t move further to protect you, standing on his place. Was it because there was no true danger or because he simply couldn’t protect his witch against the monster in front of you?

“Who is he?” Your whisper was barely audible as you trembled, clinging to Nakia, and she wrapped her warm arm around your shoulders, leaning closer to your ear.

“Steven of Triskelion. Do not be scared, my darling, he isn’t here to hurt you. I wonder why he’s courting you so... passionately, though.”

“Courting me?”

“Oh yes, my dear. Look at him, putting himself on display like that for a young witch. His desire for you must be strong.”

Softly waving at her lover and seeing him relaxing, Nakia gently pushed you in front, encouraging you to come closer to the demon whose gaze was so intense you were worried he would make a hole in you. Oh, you needed to talk to him. Probably. You weren’t sure, but by the look on the witch’s face you guessed the demon in front of you wasn’t necessarily a bad choice. Judging by his enormous form and his thick, veiny cock in between his muscled legs, maybe he really weren’t.

Suddenly feeling very self-conscious in front of him, you tried smiling and prevent yourself from covering your body with your hands - he had just shown himself completely naked to you, and it would be disrespectful of you to do otherwise. You certainly didn’t want to upset a demon like him.

“Hello, Sir. It is a pleasure to meet you.” You said politely, hoping he wouldn’t mind the way you talked to him. Should you bow to him? Offer him your hand? Kiss his cheek? No, no, you wouldn’t dare.

For a second you thought he was going to hit you, but you knew a demon would never do that to a witch, especially with a whole coven present. They’d ban him from ever pairing with any of them, stripping him of a possibly ally and lover. Only the most insane demons would try doing something as reckless and disrespectful, but they weren’t allowed to Walpurgis Night celebrations. Thank... Devil?

The demon suddenly chuckled, baring his sharp fangs, “You don’t have to be so polite with me, little witch. I am sorry for intimidating you for it was not my intention. Come closer.”

Liar! He loved the effect he had on you, you didn’t have to get inside his horned head to see it. Was he of patronizing kind? Maybe. It wasn’t the worst one among demons straight from Hell, and you smiled at him, putting your arm in his as he drew you closer to him, his other arm softly cupping your chin. His crimson body was radiating heat, and you enjoyed it when demon made you lean onto his wide chest. Despite being somewhat shy about the whole encounter, you were starting to warming up, demon’s touch having a strange effect on you.

“Allow me to give you this.” The man murmured into your ear, and you felt the heaviness of a string of pearls on your neck, touching it with your fingers and watching the demon with wide eyes.

Of course, you have heard of witches receiving gifts from their demonic lovers, but Steve was still a stranger to you. Was it right to accept something so expensive from him? While you tried looking for Nakia to ask her advice, the demon wrapped his large gaunt wings around you two, preventing you from searching for your friend, and forcefully turned your face to him, claiming your lips as if he wanted to devour you. You had no time to react before his huge tongue got inside your mouth, his clawed hand running up your rib cage and cupping your breasts as you whimpered against him, his body blazing hot. He didn’t give you a second to get accustomed to the kiss before spreading his wings and flapping them as he unceremoniously grabbed you by the hips and flew up, taking you with him. You let out a little mewl, clinging to Steve for life. What was he doing?!

“Don’t be scared, kitten. I’m not asking you to ride on my back just yet.” The demon’s voice was soft, but you could see his grin getting wider, and a part of you was nervous at his somewhat aggressive courting. “But wouldn’t you like it? I can be a powerful ally for a witch and a gentle lover for an innocent kitten like you.”

“Be careful, dear. Steve became bitter after his witch has left him to return to God,” Nakia’s voice said in your head, and you frowned, knowing the demon most certainly heard her, too.

She left him for God? What, how was this even possible?

Demon’s grin turned wicked as he kissed your forehead, getting higher and higher as other demons and witches danced below you. “It’s true, darling. That’s why after you choose me to be your lover I will carve your heart out of your chest and keep it with me.”

_____________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki   @helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherubwrites @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @ximebebx @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @iheartsebandchris @lovelydarkdaydream @soleil-dor @illyrianprincess

[boop-le-snoot]

this song is stuck in my head, thanks to tiktok. this ficlet correlates (ish?) with my two previous pieces of stephen brainrot.

.

"That's not your place to decide," arms crossed, she stared Stephen down with all the forces of nature behind her, like an iceberg, all sharp edges, and incoming avalanche.

Stephen stood equally frozen, blue eyes as piercing as the most hard-working icebreaker. "No," his voice thundered, echoing between the rest of the team who watched the spectacle with little more than amusement. "And that is my final word."

It struck a chord within her, it was obvious. From the way she straightened in her spot to the way her fingertips dug into the softness of her arms, her body pulled as taut as a bowstring. "You are not my boss, you are not my father," the last word spoken with a smirk; she was openly mocking Stephen. "Some nerve you have, giving me orders."

The golden embers sprung to life in his eyes fully, fingertips shooting tiny little sparks flying over the table. Magic that the rest of the team pretended not to see - because, well, it wasn't like they could do anything about it and Loki was obviously enjoying the circus.

"I will lock you up, if I have to," the calmness in Stephen's voice was deceptive. "It's for your own good. You are not trained to be in the field."

That makes her laugh almost hysterically. "I am not trained?.." She trails off, shaking her head to clear the venomous, malicious joy. "Baby, I am a woman. All we have been taught is to appeal to men, from the day we wear our first clothes to the day that we die, all covered in flowers and make-up as we're quite literally decaying," there's a hidden rage in her words; she leans in, catching Stephen's wide eyes.

Natasha whistles, quietly, and Wanda shuffles in her place, looking awkward and uncomfortable. It isn't lost on them how most men blank at her statement. Stephen's no different. He remains quiet.

"So I will get this sonuvabitch without even really having to try. Because men think that they can make decisions for me, and I'm pretty," her words seep bitterness, like the strongest gin, they can all taste it in their mouths.

Loki's grin slides off his face like a Christmas ornament that has been hanging out for far too long.

She's drop-dead gorgeous in her dress. The fabric glistens in the candlelight, and she cocks the gun of it right at their unsuspecting target; he falls for it, of course, and they are forced to watch the exchange of pleasantries thorough several cameras; listen to the man's blatant flattery through several mics.

The worst part of it isn't concern for their un-official teammate; there was always a mutual understanding that she wasn't, didn't want to be quite one of them. She wasn't even a baby agent, just a civilian that knew a little too much.

Having to see her genuine personality, the, at times, obscenely joyful words melting off her tongue directed at someone else, at an enemy - it feels like walking on broken glass, like dragging bare feet through burning coal. They're all jealous. Natasha hasn't stopped grumbling about how she's laying it on too thick but deep down, everyone knows that the spy is just impressed by the sheer amount of charisma their girl seems to be in possession of.

"I'm not a fan of classical music, it's boring," she says, convincingly, playing the part of a slightly-above-average college student.

"What do the youngsters listen to these days?" The target asks in a patronising tone.

Somewhere in the background, Tony makes a quiet, sharp inhale into his mic. He'd said the same thing to her not too long ago. But it was different.

Instead of shooting the target a sarcastic grin and showing her teeth, she softly sings, coos. "Baby, I'm a gangsta too, and it takes two to tango," the song is vaguely familiar and a few of the team snort. "You don't wanna mess with me, mess with me," their target had leaned in, eyes darting between her plush lips and her cleavage.

"That's cute," the man breathes, but it's all wrong.

Stephen glows. A golden glow surrounds his bailed fists, a cloud the size of Manhattan hanging over his head like a lead curtain. Not one person can blame him, though.

She briefly upturns her nose, scoffing, and if they knew her even slightly a little but less, they would have been forced to give a standing ovation to her fake-flirting skils. Except the scrunch of her nose is quite obviously disgusted and her body language has that subtle undertone of wariness, as if she is trying to figure out how to inconspicuously shake off a piece of shit stuck to her shoe.

The mission is a success. They apprehend the man in his hotel room, Natasha waiting for him leisurely reclining on the bed and Loki holding onto a seething Stephen for his (and the criminal's) life.

She grins at them, all canines and blood-red lips. Stephen shudders, looking away, going through the motions of opening a portal just for the sake of doing something. Her shoes lay abandoned by the bed, bare feet padding on the carpet and into the portal, greeting the emptiness of the common room with a stretch.

Quick fingers make the work of removing the jewelry; its empty shine forlorn and discarded. Diamonds or just stray rays of the sun caught in the prismatic glass surface, they bear no meaning. The tight peplum dress gets hiked up to mid-thigh, the intricate hairstyle crumbles into endless waves of unruly hair, cascades over her shoulders.

Stephen watches with the portal shrinking behind his stiff form. The light of the hotel room on the other side makes a for a halo around his lithe form.

She admires it, the flow of his ironed dark robes, the graceful posture. Not without the eyebrow arch, however. She waits.

His eyes rake over the expensive dress, now crumpled and misshapen, the lipstick, now smeared from the bottle of some fancy soda; the way her hair stands up in all directions. Stephen can so nothing but shake his head at the provocation.

"Baby, I'm a gangsta too, and it takes two to tango, you don't wanna mess with me, mess with me..." She drawls mockingly, a challenge they both know he won't be able, doesn't want to resist.

[ptergwen]

hi ma’am, it’s the mj wh*re anon! 🥰 i know last time i requested some jealous/overprotective!mj, but what about “flustered mj who only wanted some coffee but the barista is TOO cute and she doesn’t know what talking or coffee is?” 😩

sugar, cuz you’re sweet

w/c: 1.1k

warnings: peter and ned are annoying, cussing

a/n: i love how that’s what we’re calling you 😭 and this is adorable thank you <3

-

michelle jones is the most honest, real, never afraid to speak her mind type girl in all of new york city. she knows it. everyone does. don’t get into a debate with her because you’ll lose, no matter the subject. she never concludes an interaction without a few snide remarks. they’re smarter than whatever you had to say.

the point is, mj is unapologetically herself in every situation and at all times. or so she thought.

peter and ned are making her order their coffees. they’re supposed to take turns, peter being all about equality in the group and the golden rule and blah blah blah. it reminds mj very much of somebody’s kindergarten teacher. she’s always found a way out of ordering because she’s mj. clever, persuasive mj. she can talk her way out of anything.

except for today when peter catches on. her excuse was lame. “i need to put down my backpack.” but, hey. you try fooling the only two people smarter than her. you’ll run out of ideas eventually. peter is pouty as he tells her that, “mj, it’s not fair! you haven’t gone up one time. how would you like it if-“ she has to interrupt him before she gets a speech.

“alright, alright, mother teresa. i’ll get the freaking drinks,” mj groans and kicks her chair back. peter smiles smugly, ned giving him a pat on the shoulder. “thanks. do you know what we want?” she blows at a piece of hair covering her eye. “you losers get the same things every time.” not bothering to push in her chair, she slumps over to the line.

ned yells, “don’t forget the whipped cream!” at her. that makes mj let out the longest sigh of her life. she very rarely does favors for other people. if you’re lucky enough to be one of them, it means she really loves you... or whatever.

mj waits on line while peter and ned get into a discussion about their nerd movies. her turn is next at least. she’s all prepared to grumble the order at the poor cashier, then you call her up.

“i can help whoever’s next,” you chirp, leaning over to see the group. your eyes land on mj. with a grin, you nod at her. the permanent scowl on her lips disappears. she takes a few steps up to you, feeling small even though she’s far from it. she finds herself thinking fuck, she’s pretty as you point at her torso.

“wait, i love your shirt,” you compliment and sound completely genuine about it. it’s mj’s favorite, her joan of arc one. a hint of a smile graces her face. “thanks.” her voice comes out much quieter than she intended it to. she didn’t know she was capable of being so... shy.

you tilt your head to the side and look down at the register. you’re still smiling. “no problem. what can i get you?” mj doesn’t hear a word you say. she’s entirely captivated by you, whoever you are. she notices pins with band logos on your shirt, ones she listens to. the probably homemade jewelry around your wrists. most importantly, your name tag. she’ll remember it.

mj doesn’t do the whole crush thing, not really. you just seem so chill and like you’d have a lot in common. also, you’re so pretty.

“do you know what you want?” you tap your nails against the register buttons. “i can suggest something, if that’s cool.” “um, i think so. the... the...” she can’t for the life of her remember what the hell peter and ned wanted. her face falls at that. sensing her nerves, you start punching things in on the register.

“i’ll surprise you. i’m good with those.” mj notices the corners of your lips turn up slightly. into a smirk. are you flirting? “ah, thank you. i’m, uh, not sure why i’m being so weird,” she laughs out. she’s very sure why. “you’re fine,” you snicker back and look up at her again. “just one drink?” “three,” mj quickly replies.

she rocks back and forth on her feet, you finishing up the order. “they’re on the house, by the way. they should be done soon,” you shrug the statement off. ok, you’re definitely flirting. “woah, thank you. can i give you a tip?” mj tucks the same piece of hair from earlier behind her ear. your eyes lock with her sparkling ones.

“nah, you don’t need to. just your name.” you’ve been waiting to get to this part. she’s not far behind you. “mj,” she speaks with the most certainty since you two began talking. “mj,” you murmur to yourself and punch it in. “you’re all good, mj. enjoy your drinks.” you give her a final heart racing smile. she really doesn’t want to go yet, but she has no choice.

returning the smile, mj waves at you. “bye.” she leaves the counter then, and you watch her go before calling up the next customer.

the drinks are done about five minutes later. mj has never been so excited to chug down a random liquid. that reminds her, she has no idea what you chose.

for the other two drinks, you made them your most popular. they’re larges, too. you decided on a plain black coffee with an obscene amount of sugar packets for mj. there’s actually a good reason behind it. you felt like she’s into the classics, and you aren’t wrong one bit. you left a note for her on the side of the cup.

‘lots of sugar, cuz you’re sweet ;) lol i’m bad at this but i liked talking to u, come back soon!’

mj giggles, literally giggles as she reads what you wrote. she should’ve ordered here a long ass time ago.

she’s in her happy place when she brings the tray back to the table, ned pursing his lips at her. “what’s with the face?” he comments on her dazed out look. peter is about to complain that she got their drinks wrong, but mj answers first. “the barista, she was cute and gave me the drinks for free. i think i like her.” she bites her lip to hold back yet another smile.

peter happily pulls one of the drinks from the tray, no longer concerned with its content. it’s not often mj is like this. he’ll bug her another time. “that’s awesome, mj. did you get her name?” he opens up one of the straws mj throws on the table. “y/n,” she sighs out in content. ned’s eyes go wide. “dude, y/n? she asked about you last time.”

and he didn’t think to tell her that? the part she mainly focuses on though, is that you noticed her. you wanted to meet her. this could actually go somewhere.

“you know what?” mj looks between peter and ned while ripping open one of her many sugar packets. “i’ll be the official drink orderer from now on.”

[the-kingshound]

ROs reactions to MC becoming a cold and calculated killing machine because of the torture with RO now being their only soft spot?

Ohh, anon, I love this ask and since in game action will have permanent consequences I will make a follow up of this scenario so every RO's MC has been through a different kind of torture. It got a bit long, sorry, I kept writing and writing!

Arthur

When the Knights see you, they bow.

"Your Majesty."

You nod in their direction, signing them to raise. You then unsheathe your sword and stare at them with a pragmatic, focused glance "follow my lead."

You join the battle only after the second wave, attacking from the side and rapidly gaining the upper hand. When no more opponents stand in the field but injured and dying fighters, your chest heaves and your sword drips crimson blood from the tip.

"Your Majesty, a couple dozens of rival soldiers are retreating in the woods."

Your voice betrays nothing but a cold type of control when you answer "get the heavy chivalry to chase them. If possible, we take prisoners."

"Yes, your Majesty."

Arthur will be here shortly, you think just before you start metodically cleaning your sword to sheathe it. Your King, as you predicted, reaches your small group of knights shortly after. He seems to glow like a majestic, regal vision in the bright daylight. You can never get enough.

As you approach his knights, between rigid strides you crouch down briefly to pick up something from the grassy field. You have most of the knights eyes on you as you get near your husband and offer him a daisy.

He takes it with a radiant light in his eyes, you know that the softness there is more than reflected in yours. You plant a soft kiss on his cheek before you retreat.

"For you, my King."

And when Arthur keeps you close at night in your shared bed, holding your hand and kissing your knuckles one by one, you know you you could lose you fingers and your ability to wear his ring, but never his unrestrained, blinding love.

Evaine

Arthur strides through the castle's halls with his usual composed demeanor, exhuding a reflective sense of peace that is only exterior. Inside, he is worried and scared. Ever since the kidnapping, you've been cold and distant. More focused, in a way, calculated when you would have hesitated before. No matter the thin scar that marked your face or the limp that now slowed you down in combat, you were merciless. Arthur just wants you to feel safe again.

He rounds the corner and stops in front of his knight's door. He knocks and recieves no answer, probably because of the sound of more than one voice inside. Slowly, the King opens the door, calling with a soft voice "Evaine?"

The sight that greets him is... unexpected.

Evaine's room is drowning in garments, dresses, robes and cloaks are all over the bed and the large vanity. You're standing in front of the mirror, Evaine is just behind you, their finger ghosting on your skin as they tie a golden neckerchief around your neck.

As soon as Arthur's presence is noted, you clear your throat, molding your expression back in a neutral one, but not quite as closed off as the one you always wear.

"So, how do I look?"

You turn around to let him see the dress in its entirety, the wip scars quite visible on your back. Arthur's pained grimance fades quicky in favour of a soft, sincere smile "you're stunning."

His attention is then on his knight. Evaine is radiant, more relaxed than he's seen them in a very long time. More... present. They've not been well for the past months.

"You wanted to talk to me, my King?"

"Yes," Arthur nods "since I had to reschedule some of today's appointments, your schedule has been rearranged. You have the rest of the afternoon free."

If that's not entirely the truth - Arthur was in need of a Knight for the squire training, but it was also true that it has been too long since he's had fun with the younglings - no one needs to know.

And with a cheeeful "have fun" he's out of the room.

You look at the dress you're currently wearing in the mirror one more time, than turn back and take another robe, soft and tighter fitting, from Evaine's wardrobe.

"How about this?" you ask them.

"Mh," they hum, giving it a very serious assessment "it would compliment your eyes perfectly. And it's not that heavy compared to the previous ones."

You send them a blinding smile, trowing your arms over them in a playful hug, than you let them help you hastly put it on.

Sometimes you forget yourself to the memories and the freezing phantom of a long gone pain, but everytime Evaine is there to bring you back, offering distractions that bring you joy and happiness. That night Evaine tells you you're the most beautiful and bright star in the sky and, for the first time since the kidnapping, you believe them.

Morien

Whispers of the King's hound gone rabid have all but taken hold of the settlements near Kev, the last town to know your uncontained fury as your informants found some dissidents nobles. You made sure not to leave the town unscathed to be of warning for whoever next dared to conspire against the King.

There are frightened voices murmuring of an heartless punisher, what they recount are mostly exaggerated distortions of true events, but they do get right the almost lifeless glint in your eyes as you write down orders.

At this point, even some knights are scared of you, of the seemingly merciless way you stare down at them without ever breathing a word. There is only one person able to get past the coldness that replaced your lost tongue, and it's the court physician.

You are currently in Morien's arms, buried in the familiarity of their scent that is secure and grounding. This feels like a rare privilege for how much Morien usually shyes away contact. With you they have reached a level of comfort, through, that sees you gifted with the warmth of their body whenever you need it and you couldn't be more grateful for that.

"Plans for today?" they ask you a rough but comforting tone of voice.

Frighten the knights, you sign and instantly they let out a humored chuckle.

"Alright, you have my attention. How do you want to proceed?"

Just tell them I want to see them all in the courtyard. They skipped training yesterday and went out drinking to celebrate. you let out a voiceless hum  I'm not really mad but they don't know that.

Morien's laugh is brief but sincere "well, let's go then."

And as you get ready, you tie a red ribbon to your wrist, very alike the ones that sometimes Morien themselves ties to their cane. The physician looks as it and then their eyes are fixed on your face with a mixture of emotion that is both fondness and tender adoration. You shrug, then offer them your arm as you walk in silence through the halls in the courtyard's direction.

Gwyar

The mark has made very difficult for people to meet your eyes and watch you in the face. You don't hold it against them, though, you know you're not an easy sight. The only ones in this room who can actually stomach it are Arthur and Gwyar, and while the King can hardly suppress the guilt, your manservant has managed to push it down in favour of their usual attentive posture.

With a fluent movement they are beside you, refilling your cup of whine and whispering in your ear with a bland tone.

"Lady Deva is under the impression that a necklace has been stolen by the less than reputable Lord Havet."

Your interest piqued, you arch a brow in their direction, only to catch at the corner of your eye the sparkling of jewelry.

Careful to mantain a neutral expression, you subtly extend your arm in their direction with the open palm facing upwards. Gwyar lets the necklace fall in your possession with an effortless movement, then they fall back behind you with the grace of a liquid shadow they've always possessed. No one seems to have noticed the brief exchange.

It does take the meal to finish before finally some action unfolds. You register Lady Deva bringing her fingers to her empty collarbone and instantly her eyes snap to the Lord at her side.

"How dare you" she hisses, low enough not to make a scene but with enough vehemence to make him reel back.

"My Lady, I sincerely don't know what-"

"My necklace."

"What of it?"

By now the altercation has managed to attract most of the other nobles attention. The argument gets heated quickly and as the situation unfolds you fail to contain a wicked grin. Arthur, to your left, is surprised by it ony for a second, then he catches the feral glint in Gwyar's eyes, just behind you, and he has to bring a hand to his mouth to suppress a laugh of his own.

Taking pity on them, you clear your throat, your voice steel cold but not unkind "did it have by chance an engraved pendant?"

The scraped sound of your voice, a bit rough from unuse, is enough to snap the entire room to silence and attention. The lady's eyes widen as she watches you extract the necklace out of your robe, her eyes immediately falling off your face as her expression contorts into a mixture of embarassment and fear.

"I found it just outside of the chamber, in the hall."

"Ah, I- I probably lost it" the lady stammers and you have to figh your lips from curling upwards as another wave of hilarity hits you.

That night, Gwyar is so undeniably proud of your performance you can only laugh with them and take them in your arms as you both fall on the bed. They let their gaze wonder on your face and they breathe out a raspy praise. You are motionless as they kiss your mark and you think in that instant that you'd let it happen only with them. Only with them - and the phrase holds a strange type of comfort.

[lambourngb]

a skeleton of something more [2/6]

previously here. malex wip fic. a short serial leading up the premiere.

spoilers for the trailer and promo, will be instantly AU. If I’m going to the trouble of writing a malex fix-it for the season 3 opener, why not fix 2x13 too?

**** THEN **** 

After Alex closed Tripp’s journal, he met Michael’s gaze across the table at the Crashdown. 

His golden-brown eyes were heavy with pain, the reminder of how his mother’s story had ended was still fresh between them despite the span of months since the fiery end of Caulfield. What had resulted in being the fiery end of them, even though Alex hadn’t known it at the time. The look of sleeplessness in Michael’s face reminded Alex, that outside of this small piece of Nora, he had the weight of Maria still in the hospital recovering from the pathogen Flint had released. The press of the Deep Sky ring in his pocket warred with the hesitation to place one more burden on Michael, would the abacus of their fragile friendship balance out?

He flashed to that last argument in Michael’s bunker, a disaster of his own making, thinking he could believe in his father, but thankfully harm was averted at Crashcon. That recent memory was motive enough for Alex to decide. Whatever happened next, he needed Michael on the same page with him.

As Isobel moved to leave the table, explaining to Michael that she needed to check on Max, Alex held Michael’s gaze deliberately. Then he folded his fingers down, until the last three fanned out in a downward W. 

“After what happened with Maria, maybe you should come with me, Michael. You can help me shake some sense into Max,” Alex heard, tuning back into Isobel’s voice. Her eyes moved back and forth between them, a crease of suspicion wrinkling her upturned nose, as she stopped on him. “It’ll be a good distraction.”

Without looking at Isobel, Michael’s eyes remained trained on Alex’s hand. “No, thanks, I’m good here. I’ve had my fill of stubborn ass people who don’t want to listen to sensible advice from me, so I’ll catch up with you later, Isobel.” 

She made a dismissive huff but did not argue, leaving with the barest semblance of a polite goodbye to Alex, but that was typical Isobel Evans. Michael waited until his sister was on the other side of the door, before speaking quietly, his gaze finally moving up from Alex’s hands to his face. “I haven’t seen you flash that sign to me in years.” 

“Glad to know you haven’t forgotten it.”

“You, making the ‘wait for me, I want you now’ signal? Nah, that’s been burned into my brain over the years.” Michael said it with a faint trace of bitterness. “I guess news travels fast, Maria only dumped my ass this morning.”

Alex winced and looked down, swallowing the surprise and spark of hope that welled in his throat at that disclosure. It was better to concentrate on the unique talent he had of stepping on landmines around Michael, than wonder about what had happened with Maria. It looked like he was still good at causing harm without intention, judging by the stung bite in Michael’s voice. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have-”

“No, I’m sorry,” Michael cut off his apology firmly with a wave of his hand, calling a time-out. Alex waited, his teeth pressed into his lower lip as Michael rubbed his eyes with a weary half-smile. “I’m being an asshole right now, and that’s not fair to take it out on you. It’s been a shitty day already, and — anyway, … you definitely know how to get my attention, Alex.” He tilted his head, self-deprecation on his face, “for better or worse, you’ve always been good at that.” 

It had been the sign they had developed whenever their paths had crossed over the years while Alex had been on leave in Roswell, but it had started that summer after high school. After Michael’s hand had healed poorly from Jesse, the last three fingers had been left frozen in a claw, it had been a shared fuck-you to his dad to use it to form their own secret communication. A three-fingered W, turned upward meant it wasn’t a good time, and he would find Michael later; turned downward, well, that meant it was safe to approach him, and it had often ended in a hurried blowjob in his car. Perhaps he should have used more care in using it now, but Michael wasn’t the only one running on the fumes of insomnia and stress. “Sorry, I needed to talk to you, and I wanted to make sure you didn’t leave with Isobel-”

“It’s fine, really. It’s not a bad memory either, remembering that we had our little secret language.” Michael wiggled his fingers in reassurance, his left hand still wrapped with a bandanna. “I can make that signal a hell of a lot easier now, too. But anyway, what did you need?”

There was still a voice inside Alex’s head that said ‘you’, no matter how long it had been. He shoved that down deep, along with his curiosity about Maria, and concentrated on his purpose. “Your advice on something, and then if it’s not too much to ask, your help.”

“Anything.” 

Alex blinked, nonplussed by the easy acceptance. 

Michael gestured encouragingly, “seriously, anything, just tell me what’s going on because the way you’re hemming and hawing, it is freaking me out.” Suddenly, all expression washed out of Michael’s face as a horrible thought occurred to him. “Did you get deployed or something?”

“Not exactly, not how you’re thinking,” he winced at the earned glare from Michael as he continued to stall while the words still tripped and fumbled around his mouth, heedless to the mounting frustration between them both. He sighed, and regrouped. Pushing the closed journal aside, Alex dug into his pocket and laid the signet ring on the table before Michael. “Let me start at the beginning, I found this in my dad’s things.” 

“Jesse never seemed like a jewelry kind of guy to me.” Michael picked up the ring, examining it closely with a sarcastic smirk. “Other than parading around town with that wedding ring, when everyone knows your mom left him back during the Bush years, Dubya that is.”

“My father is all, was all, about appearances.” Alex placed the photo of the group on the table, sliding it over to him. “That ring marked his membership in this paramilitary group called Deep Sky. Every man in that photo worked at Caulfield, at one time or another.” He tapped his finger over the face of his father, then moved it to the right. “That’s my dad, and that is Ricky Long.”

Michael frowned, pulling the picture closer to squint at the faces. “Wyatt’s dad?”

“No, Forrest’s.”

“Nazi guy? Seriously?” He rubbed at his chin, the stubble longer than usual painting his jawline. Alex dragged his eyes away with effort as Michael considered that information. There was a reluctant understanding in his eyes, having recalled that Forrest Long wasn’t just ‘Nazi Guy’ to Alex, but someone who had expressed interest in Alex. Personal interest. “I guess that’s something you guys have in common then, dirtbag dads.” 

He didn’t look thrilled to admit that to Alex, but it was a mark of how far they had both come as friends that Michael had said it anyway regardless. It was kind of him. It was the same type of empathy Alex had extended toward Michael, when he had expressed interest in Maria. Cut open, bleeding under his skin from all the ways he had squandered his own chances, he had said something similar to Michael once upon a time. That was what love was all about. Then he had kept saying it, until he believed it most days because wanting Michael to be happy was the easier ask.

It was a gracious sentiment that was entirely wasted by Michael when it came to Forrest Long. 

“It would be, uh, something to bond over, if I hadn’t noticed that Forrest wears the same ring now.” 

Michael’s eyes sharpened. “Family heirloom or do you think he worked at Caulfield?”

“I don’t know, but he is an ex-Army vet.” Alex tapped the photo of the members gathered together, “That was part of what I’ve been looking into, identifying everyone who worked at Caulfield right until the end. As for Deep Sky, I don’t know if it’s military service, Caulfield, or a family legacy that ties every member together, I just know that Dad kept in touch with those who were involved at the prison.” 

“Makes sense, Jesse was able to get a hold of the atomizer and pathogen that Charlie developed from somewhere. For all of his strutting around at Crashcon with a uniform on, that didn’t look like it was an official use of government property.” 

“Right, it definitely wasn’t, and before you tell me to leave it alone-” Alex began, remembering Michael’s response to the investigation into 1947. He had considered Alex’s actions back then to be an act of futility, something that could only hurt by being revisited. The past being the past, unable to be altered. 

This time Michael cut him off, “No, I was wrong about that. I, um, I finally realized that just because I don’t see you connected to that place or the rest of your family, doesn’t mean you don’t. And while I wish that you didn’t, Alex, if digging into this gives you some sort of peace over it, then do it.”

Alex looked down, feeling the weight of relief that Michael understood. After his father’s body had been removed, after the questions and lies had been spun, he had spent the entire night sleepless over having been made into an effective weapon to force Michael’s compliance. Helena had known where all the weak spots were thanks to Flint, and had armed herself with a depowering agent. Once Flint was recovered, there was nothing stopping him from employing a similar tactic in the future.

“If anyone’s going to destroy me, it might as well be you.” Michael had once declared with a bold carelessness that had infuriated and terrified Alex at the time, but that was nothing compared to now having a lived experience to back it up. His mind had easily used the memory of Maria’s collapse after the faintest exposure at the Crashcon and had exchanged her with Michael, being torn apart molecule by molecule, by an invisible threat.

Give him an enemy that he could see any day, especially one that bled. 

“I’ve been fighting so long, I don’t know what peace looks like anymore.” Alex held out his hand for the ring, and Michael gently laid it in his palm, brushing his fingertips over Alex’s skin. A lifetime of controlling himself kept the reaction off his face as he rubbed his thumb over the raised emblem of Deep Sky. “But I have learned recently that when something seems too good to be true, it is.” 

Neither of them mentioned Jesse and his performance from the last few months, but Michael frowned again, “Wait a second, you think Forrest targeted you on purpose?” 

“A member of a secret paramilitary organization just happens to ask me out after I was involved in the destruction of Caulfield? You really think that’s a coincidence?” Alex raised his eyebrow skeptically at Michael, before looking out the window to watch the pedestrians on the street. 

“I think you’re the hottest guy in Roswell, so I’m not surprised he asked you out.” Michael flushed a little when Alex turned back to stare at him in surprise over the flattering comment. “Seriously, you’re a catch, but I will agree, it’s not a good look that he’s got that ring. But maybe it’s crap he wears because of his dad, and he’s got no idea he’s parading around?”

“You’re being awfully generous.”

“Isn’t that what you want? Because last time I checked, you were the one telling me that I should have faith in people, even if they give me no reason to.” Michael flattened his hands on the table, drawing Alex’s attention to the bandanna on his hand again. That damn fight kept echoing between them to Alex’s dismay, but Michael didn’t let him linger over it, “While I stand by what I said about Jesse, ‘cause he messes us both up, all I know about Forrest Long is that he is way too interested in Nazi history and he has good taste in guys.” Michael wetted his lips, nervously to tack on, “I also know that I trust you, and your instincts, so if you say there’s something not right about him, then I believe you.” 

“There’s something not right about him,” Alex repeated seriously.

“Then I believe you, so what do you need me to do?”

“He wants to get close to me for some reason, probably related to what I know about aliens, so I’m going to let him. And I need you to back me up in case something goes wrong, and maybe use that lock pick you have in your brain?” Alex waited until Michael nodded in agreement, feeling the swell of gratitude at his support. Anyone else would probably think he was being paranoid, or that this was a delayed reaction to his father trying to kill them, but Michael, for all of his previous counter-arguments, had never truly believed in the good of humanity. Maybe in a few days, Alex would feel guilty in relying on that. Maybe in a few days, his suspicions about Forrest would be eliminated.

“He’s involved in running the open mike night at the Wild Pony with Maria, so I thought maybe I could perform a song or something? He drives a Prius, and while he’s listening to me sing, you could slip out mid-song and insert this into the code reader of his car.” 

On the table was a small device that mimicked a thumb drive, small and black. It was the type of technology that Alex had used in the Air Force, tracking terrorists abroad. It had taken a fair amount of searching to purchase the equivalent stateside to have on hand. Michael picked it up curiously, turning over his hands.

“It’s designed to download the GPS history of his car,” Alex explained, before rubbing the back of his head in thought. “That’s how I uncovered what my dad was up to, first by tracking his movements. If I let Forrest take me home, I can gain access to his laptop and phone.”

Michael furrowed his brow in concern, “You’re really willing to go that far? And what if he is involved in something shady, what then?”

“My father and brother both used me to get to you, there’s really nothing I wouldn’t do to keep that from happening again and if it means playing along with this guy, letting him lead me to the members of Deep Sky? Then I will.” If anything, his words only deepened the concern on Michael’s face, but Alex had been committed for a long time. Since the red level threat. Since the short ride to the recruitment office. Maybe as far back as his guitar going missing in the music room.

“I’ve slept with guys for worse reasons.”

CONTINUED HERE