#keep march away from me

[beelinx]

sadly i wholeheartedly believe whoever you romance in stardew valley / fields of mistria says everything about you as a person

[iheartfurrympreg]

The Harbinger Of Death

watch out gem and joel

close ups under cut and analysis in tags ->

[tsuchinokoroyale]

Guess the last version of this post got nuked from orbit 😮‍💨 I’m not rewriting all that context just know that I went to Texas, ate a ton of food, and saved a horse 🤠

[marigoldbaker]

you are my flower

sooooooooo what if as an experiment i posted 10k words of fic under the cut. here. just to see how it felt. a few things here and there might not mesh perfectly with all that sapphic old woman mystery fic when it's done, but i loved this so dearly when i wrote it and i want to start setting some of my backlog of writing free, if only here! i have been talking for so long about things without any context so maybe it is time to provide a BIT more :) as such: the story behind how thea acquired marigold. (warnings for blood + implied violence + a bit of murder. unsurprisingly, probably.)

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Of course it started to fucking storm at midnight. Thea woke up with the rain hitting her face and let out a long, frustrated sigh, rolling onto her back. She was seriously considering just stopping the adventuring outright.

It wasn’t half the worry it had been once, leaving the girls at home alone, but traipsing aimlessly through the woodlands wasn’t half the joy she remembered it being. She missed her little ones. Norie, fierce little spider, hated thunderstorms but refused to admit it; she would despise this weather and cuddle close under some complicated pretense that Thea would have happily indulged. Rosie loved any sort of big weather; she said that it was like the sky was trying to give them a bath, or share all the water in the world with them, or some other such nonsense that Thea would remember better with her here and dancing dangerously through the thunder and lightning.

Lianne had woken up too. She was shaking Chester awake; he grunted unhappily and put a hand over his face to cover it, then said, “Turn off the fucking water, Annie.”

“It’s not water,” said Lianne, in a put-upon sort of voice that Thea had to try not to laugh at. Didn’t work too well. “It’s storming. We need to find better shelter.”

Thea pulled out the parchment. Fucking thing was waterproof, of course. No new messages from Jaheira, outside of the old one: if you are in the area, there is a secluded grove some distance west of the rumored treasure. Mention my name there in case of emergency.

Meddling old hen. Thea wrote, WE’RE FINE. FUCK OFF, mostly because Jaheira had better things to do than check up on her every ten seconds whenever she went out of town. She pocketed the parchment again.

“Writing the wife?” said Fawn, sweetly.

“Oh, fuck off,” said Thea. Fawn laughed. “Annie’s right; we need to find a better camp. Think there was a bit of a path through the woods, yeah?”

“We don’t know what sort of people live in these woods,” said Lianne uncomfortably.

Gods, these fucking kids. Thea sent a look to Fawn, who made a bit of a sorry-about-them face, which, all right, yeah, she’d take it. Were their positions reversed, she’d have wanted her girls given a little leeway. “Pack your kits up,” she instructed, “we’re moving. Annie, if the people in the woods aren’t the nice sort, I’ll bash their faces in. That help?”

“…Um!” said Lianne, wincing.

“Teachable moment, kiddos!” said Fawn brightly. “You’ll have to get used to all sorts of violence if you’re interested in becoming an adventurer. Some party members, like Thea here,” she gestured with a little flair towards Thea, who would have really liked for them to get fucking going, actually, “may be much more comfortable with physical solutions to disputes, rather than tactical ones, which I know you two often prefer.”

Not for the first time during this journey, Thea debated just telling them all outright that the kids were not fucking suited for the adventurers’ life. But Fawn was an old friend, and she’d called in a favor, and it was the sort of favor that adventurer-Thea would have made a face at, which meant that mum-Thea had to actually fucking consider it. Course, the whole notion of serving as adventuring guide to a few green kids was horrible. When she’d explained it to Jaheira, Jaheira had looked at her for a few very astonished minutes before saying, “Is this some sort of situation where the mother is dying? Or do all of your friends simply call in life-debts solely to aid and abet phenomenally absurd situations?”

(Gods, she loved that woman.)

“I just think that there are ways to resolve situations without blood!” Chester suggested, in one of those voices that could really only come from a kid who was old enough to come up with thoughts but too young to realize people had already had those thoughts before them. “So unless it’s really necessary—”

“Teachable moment, kiddos,” said Thea tightly, “it is fucking thunder and lightning out here. Move your arses.”

The kids set to packing up their soaked-through bedrolls. Thea reached over and tucked some of Fawn’s hair behind her ears. “You’re getting too old for this,” she said.

“Which is why I brought you, High Hammer!” said Fawn, and grinned.

“Call me that again and I’ll start killing shit in front of your kids,” Thea threatened. “Scar them for life.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t mind that; they’d get sick of the road and we’d all get to go home,” said Fawn. “I’m giving them the authentic experience.”

“Mum tricks?”

“Mum tricks.”

They smiled at each other. Hysterically, Lianne called, “MUM! There’s a frog drowning in the rain!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” said Thea. Fawn hurried over to help.

Lianne tucked the frog into her pack, which was the sort of thing that Ros would do, which made Thea miss Ros all over again. Gods, she really wasn’t fucking cut out for this; she’d have to ask Jaheira how she managed when she got home. She had, of course, packed her shit up much quicker than the kids; Chester seemed to be trying to wring out his bedroll in the rain, which was ridiculous. “IT’S ALL GOING TO GET WET,” she shouted over the thunder, shepherding the kids forward. “KEEP MOVING!”

There was a bit of a path through the forest, which Thea had noticed before and hadn’t intended to take. Path looked man-made but ill-used—it had been cut out near a decade ago, if she had to guess, but it was starting to grow over, which usually meant a cabin with a rotting hermit corpse inside, and she wasn’t actually trying to scar Fawn’s kids for life. Still, needs must in a situation like this, so Thea ushered Fawn and the kids forward.

Lightning struck too fucking near them. Thea kept her calm. When she was Norie’s age, she’d been scared half to death of thunderstorms just the same, and Faenor Glorie, who’d done most of the job raising her, had told her what she told Norie at home: the thunder and lightning were the gods saying that today was an important day, somewhere, a day that you needed to pay attention to—electric fingers from the heavens, pointing the way. Thea had always thought it was a bit stupid, mind, but so had Norie, and Norie always liked saying that things were stupid, and thinking about Norie was enough to get anyone through any storm. Her wonderful, dreadful girl.

Lightning struck again. Lianne shrieked and grabbed for her mother. Chester, trying valiantly to look the part of a man rather than a boy with only half a patchy beard, steeled himself dramatically against the storm. Thea squinted forward, trying to see what lay ahead. She thought she could make something out—

There was a coppery taste to the air. That wasn’t right. Thea knew the electricity, knew the rain, but there was something else about this night that felt unsettling. She was a battle cleric; she knew in her blood and bones when something was wrong up ahead. “Fawn, I’m going ahead,” she said, leaning in, shouting anyway because the rain was getting that fucking bad. “You keep the kids back.”

“What?!” said Fawn. “Thea, it’s storming!”

“Fucking really?” said Thea. “I hadn’t noticed!”

She didn’t provide any further details, mostly because she didn’t know them—just pressed ahead, faster now, moving towards the end of the path and a dilapidated little house with the door hanging open. It was dark, but the house was lit, and the light streaming out of the front room—

Oh, fuck, thought Thea, her blood running cold, and she knew now she could not let Fawn and the kids go towards that home. She desperately scanned the area for something, anything she could lead them towards instead, and saw with a dizzy rush of relief that there was a barn just adjacent to the house. Wind in her face, rain streaming down, she sprinted back towards Fawn and the kids.

Fawn had seen it. Thea could tell. Her face had gone white and she wasn’t saying anything about how Thea was being ridiculous anymore. “Barn up ahead,” said Thea. “You take the kids there.”

There was her sensible adventuring girl: Fawn nodded, tightly, just as she had all those years ago, and bundled her kids towards the barn, angling them away from the house.

Thea didn’t wait to see where they went. She charged back up that path and towards the house. The door. The little girl.

The girl had been carved open. It didn’t look like a ritual; Thea knew the signs of a ritual, and the cuts, while sometimes just as violent, were usually accompanied by some sort of sigils or candles or something. Took place indoors, too, usually, and the way she was lying looked like she’d been flung half out of doors. Her hair was soft and red and she was the smallest thing Thea had ever seen—smaller even than Norie, somehow, all stick limbs and ill-fitting clothing.

Had she been living here by herself? No. Someone else had done this to her. She hadn’t fought back—no blood under her fingernails, no bruises, nothing but the carved-open chest.

“Oh, Lady of the Fray, show us mercy,” Thea whispered, her heart hammering, hurting. It had been easy, once, seeing kids like this, when she didn’t have kids of her own. She’d said a prayer, she’d moved on, end of story, but now—gods, who had done this? They were in the middle of the fucking woods, what was the purpose to brutalizing a girl like this?

And it was so fucking stupid, but she did it anyway, never mind the blood and the pulpy mess: she checked the girl’s pulse.

It was nothing. Next to nothing. A single jump under her fingertips, followed by the awful and familiar stillness. The girl’s eyes were glazed and open, lips parted. She had died that very second. And that meant—

Thea acted without thinking. Gathered the girl up into her arms, never mind the blood all over her armor; it had seen worse, anyway. Cradled the fragile little bones close and sent that call forward like a pulse: you come back, now. You come home.

She felt the girl stir, felt—oh, gods, the hunger, the immediate trust in response to a single tender touch! The girl’s face turned towards her without hesitation, curling into her arms, barely alive but alive enough to cling, never mind that surely the last thing she remembered was being stabbed to death.

She was still bleeding. Near dying. Thea fumbled in her satchel for a healing potion, forcing it past the girl’s lips. The girl blinked—golden eyes, bright and sweet as the summer sun—and sipped obediently.

She didn’t seem half aware of where she was, who Thea was, and her eyes were already slipping shut again, but the color was returning to her cheeks, so Thea wouldn’t begrudge her a bit of a nap. Scooping the little one into her arms, she stood, making her way carefully over to Fawn in the barn.

The children exclaimed when they saw Thea. There was an odd ringing in Thea’s ears, though, so she couldn’t half make out what Fawn was saying, only knew that she would not let anyone else touch this girl. Fawn was a fighter, not a healer, and the kids didn’t know shit, and the girl was on the very fucking brink of death, and here they were in the middle of fucking nowhere—

“—Jaheira,” Fawn was saying. “She said something about a, a grove—”

Thea let out a sobbing gasp and sat down hard on the ground.

“Oh, lovey,” said Fawn, all shaky, “it’s okay! She’s stable, isn’t she? We can move her. Here, we—I won’t touch her, just—just put her down, all right? See how those potions are helping. Doesn’t look like she’s bleeding as much.”

The girl’s flesh was knitting back together—badly scarred, Thea realized, because she’d gone for a fucking healing potion instead of her divine fucking magic, gods take her, she was fucking useless in a crisis. Her eyes were closed, her breathing raspy, but she was breathing, which was the best fucking news Thea’d gotten all day.

She reached out and touched the girl’s face. The girl mumbled something incoherent and almost smiled, rubbing her cheek against Thea’s gauntleted hand. Didn’t even make half the fuss Norie and Rosie did about the cold, prickly metal—it was enough for her to just be touched.

“Thea,” Fawn was saying. “Thea, Jaheira’s sent a—”

Thea reached for the parchment and realized Fawn must have taken it. She would have felt angry if the world was working the right way. With bloodstained hands, she gripped the parchment, staring down at Jaheira’s anxious script, clearly in response to whatever Fawn had told her: That does not at all sound like Althea. Is she all right? Give her over to me.

Thea wrote, Grive directins, distantly aware that things were being misspelled.

Althea, what has happened?

Thea couldn’t tell her; it was too awful. Help, she wrote instead, which she knew would worry Jaheira, but fuck if she didn’t need it right now. The girl was going to fucking die in front of them.

Jaheira didn’t respond. Fawn said, “We do have the grove directions already. We’ll wait out the storm—”

“No,” said Thea.

“Thea, you need to think critically,” Fawn pressed. “We can stabilize her here to the best of our abilities—”

“I have to do it,” said Thea, “or someone else who knows how, and I’m already fucking it up; I can’t cast like this. I c-can’t focus like this.” She touched the girl’s face again, heart steadying when the girl repeated that sweet little motion—reached up, this time, to brush her fingers sleepily against Thea’s own in return. Oh, the sweet little thing! “She needs to be at that grove now, Fawn.”

“You can’t just—”

Thea wasn’t listening. She picked the girl up again and moved past Fawn and the kids, which wasn’t too hard; they weren’t expecting her to really leave, because she was their guide, she was sensible, she kept a cool head in a crisis. Well, this went far past crisis and well into cataclysmic. Suppose Faenor Glorie had been right about thunder and lightning, all along.

The girl was mumbling in her sleep—something about animals, or angels. Thea smoothed wet hair away from her face. Her horrible little dress was muddied and bloodied; Thea resolved to get the girl a hundred new dresses as soon as they reached Baldur’s Gate. As soon as she was well again. She knew it in her bones, knew like she’d known Norie, Rosie, Jaheira: this girl was one of hers.

“…sorry,” the girl shivered. “Sorry s-sorry sorry.”

If Thea wasn’t wearing the stupid fucking armor, she’d be able to hold the girl close, keep her warmer. She tried not to think about that. She pressed forward.

The path went sideways into the forest, so Thea followed. Hard to navigate when the world spun with rage and grief, but she was doing her best. She knew which way was westward, anyway, and as soon as she got the girl settled she’d have it in her to go back for Fawn and the kids, so that was a plan. She was planning. It was fine.

Her foot caught on something. With a warrior’s training, she steadied herself and the girl, squinting in the rain and the low light to see what she’d almost tripped over.

Another fucking body. What a fucking day. No, that wasn’t right, Thea had tripped over a root—and it looked like whoever had fallen had done the same thing, tumbling down at exactly the right angle to half crack her head open on a tree. She was forcing herself to her elbows, the rain on her face, the blood coming down with it. So white she looked like a ghost, with long, limp black hair that could have been pretty, once.

Her eyes were unfocused. She didn’t look right. Instinctively, Thea drew the girl closer.

The movement caught the woman’s attention. Her eyes landed on the girl, bloodied, and she looked back up at Thea like Thea was judge, jury, and executioner. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. There was blood under her fingernails, on her beautiful dress, blood that even the rain hadn’t washed out.

For the first time in a very long time, Thea wanted to kill someone. She was a battle cleric, yeah, but that had never meant she was the sort to savor death, to go out of her way looking for an excuse to bring her hammer down. She did it for the good of whatever battle she was trying to win, not—not because this woman had blood on her dress, and was staring at Thea with horror—and, crucially, without guilt. She was unhappy to be caught.

Thea said, voice shaking, “Who’s this girl to you?”

The woman didn’t answer. She said, “Mari? Marigold. Marigold, you’re being a tad dramatic, don’t you think?” and at this point, Thea realized that the woman was dying. “Marigold,” said the woman, “you look at me when I’m talking to you. You look at me. You’re burdening our guest. I have—” She coughed up blood of her own. It trickled down her mouth. “I have set the table with the silver tea set,” said the woman. “I have the ribbons in my hair, the ribbons from my youth, I—I am a lady, I am Lady Olympia Northaven, I have waited so long for a fair stranger to come and—and rescue me—from my drudgery—”

“This your daughter?” said Thea.

The woman’s eyes flashed and she said, “She is a mistake.”

Only the thing was—Thea was realizing this—if she stood here any longer, her little girl would die. She could put Mari down, smash the woman’s brains in against the tree, feel the fucking wonder and the righteousness of it, but Marigold would die. And, gods, she’d never wanted to kill someone more, never, but standing here in the rain was wasting seconds she did not fucking have. She bundled Marigold into her arms and kept moving.

“Mari?” the woman called. “Mari! No, you’re not here for her, you’re here for me! You’re here for me!” She was screaming it, loud enough to near drown out the rain, hysterical, dying. “I’ve waited! I’ve waited!”

Thea walked past Lady Olympia Northaven and brought to mind all the best things in the world, the calming things: Norie’s rare, wicked smile, and Ros scrambling over like an eager puppy to hug her whenever she came home, and Jaheira, who would hear this story, weeks from now, and somehow know the rightest, wisest thing to say about it.

Marigold’s fingers curled against the metal of Thea’s armor. Against her heart.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The grove was fucking five minutes away. Felt ridiculous to have worried so much about it. Thea forced Jaheira’s name out of her lips—not that she’d much needed to throw it round; the druids saw the girl and didn’t even bother asking any questions. One of them tried to scoop Marigold away and Thea held on tight, and another one said, “We only wish to help your daughter, saer, I promise,” at which point Thea realized in full what she’d gotten herself into and her legs gave way. So then the druids were fussing over them both, for some reason.

Marigold was in the same room as her. The druids were willing to compromise on that. Thea watched her like a hawk, shaking, terrified that at any moment the potion and the spell would prove themselves too weak a tether to keep the little one alive, and then she’d be gone, and Thea wouldn’t have even fucking killed the monster who did this to her. Her own armor was removed; she was looked over, and healed, though she didn’t need it. It didn’t help. She watched Marigold.

One of the druids asked, “Was there anyone else in your party?”

“Fawn,” said Thea. “Lianne. Chester.”

“And what happened to them?”

“Barn,” said Thea. “They’re—sheltering, I—they weren’t hurt.” It was an immense effort to string together a sentence. She was halfway to another one when her eyes landed on—a druid. A druid with silver hair, feline grace, and a drawn, terrified expression, hurtling up to her and—

“Althea, you imbecile!” said Jaheira, and pulled her into a shockingly tight hug. She was soaked to the bone, just like Thea, which probably meant she’d been out in the rain too.

Thea let her cheek fall exhaustedly against Jaheira’s shoulder. “Got here fast,” she said weakly. Usually she would have argued with Jaheira about her being there when she’d a thousand more important things to do, and gods only knew how she’d gotten to the grove as fast as she had, but just having her there was—she didn’t have the words for it.

“You wrote help!” said Jaheira. “You never do that!” She pulled back to get a better look at Thea’s face. Thea realized that she’d stopped looking at Marigold and looked past Jaheira, who followed her gaze. “What…?” Jaheira breathed.

“Her mum killed her,” said Thea, and then again, hysterically, “her mum killed her.”

Jaheira raised a nervous hand halfway to Thea’s face, let it sort of hang in midair, and said, shakily, “And have you not seen worse in your time on the road? What has happened? Really?”

“No, I’m done,” said Thea fiercely. “I’m fucking done. I fucking hate it out here; I want to go back and see my girls. She’s so little, she’s—” Gods, was she crying? Who fucking gave one? It was the night for it. That little girl had died under her hands. “You’d never,” she said, grabbing Jaheira’s hands in her own. “You would never.”

“Of course I would never,” Jaheira whispered. “No mother would.”

“How do you do it?” forced out Thea. “How did it not—you love your kids, I know you do, and they love you. How can you keep doing this without going fucking mad?”

Jaheira’s mouth trembled and her fingers laced with Thea’s. She said, “I am sustained by the love and the grief of my friends. They hold what I cannot. And you—you hold so much in your heart that you are spilling over.” She tugged a hand free, swiping a tear away from Thea’s cheek with her thumb. “I must insist that you stop adventuring,” she said. “You will see worse if you continue. This is…” She looked truly worried. “I have never seen you like this.”

“I’d half stopped already,” said Thea raggedly, “I just—thought, I don’t know, showing Fawn and her kids the ropes could be—and she asked, and I do owe her, and—”

“This sort of thing is hardly a usual occurrence,” Jaheira pointed out. She removed her hand from Thea’s face, pulling out a soaking wet handkerchief, and dabbed very awkwardly at Thea’s cheeks.

“What,” said Thea, “trying to make it worse?”

Jaheira let out a startled bark of laughter that knocked a laugh out of Thea as well. The smile on Jaheira’s face—oh, it did settle her. Brought the world back into focus, at least a bit.

“The route you chose was sensible, uneventful, and you assumed reasonably that it would be relatively unpopulated,” Jaheira observed, in the tone she used for Harper briefings, continuing to stubbornly dab at Thea’s face with the wet handkerchief. Thea tried to wriggle away and found herself held fast. “There was no possible way you could have predicted stumbling upon whatever the hells this was.”

Thea swallowed. She said, “Ran into her mum.”

“Oh?” said Jaheira, dangerously. The handkerchief paused.

“Probably dead now,” said Thea. She added belatedly, “I didn’t kill her.”

Jaheira’s eyes flicked over towards Marigold and back again. She said, “I think that I would have.”

Thea felt a rush of feeling too big to be contained. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said, breathlessly. “I did need you, Jaheira, I’m—I’m so glad you came.”

Jaheira’s face trembled like she’d been waiting to hear something like that for a lot longer than just her showing up at the grove that night. “Hethtalos, I will always come when you ask,” she said. “You are my constant.”

“Gods,” said Thea, smiling miserably, “I’m too fucking tired to figure out how to make you regret saying that.”

Jaheira let out a wet laugh and squeezed Thea’s shoulder. “I will talk to the rest of the druids. You keep an eye on your daughter.”

Bless her girl. She always knew the shape these things took.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Marigold ached. She wasn’t where she last remembered being; it was softer and warmer than anywhere she could remember, at least recently, and someone was singing to her. Something about flowers.

There was a hand in her hair. Couldn’t be mum, then. There was something about mum that she needed to remember, but she didn’t need to now, so she let it go. She felt scrubbed clean, and the fabric against her skin was soft, and there was a hand in her hair. The voice was low and a bit croaky and it shook sometimes, in places.

Someone said, “I will—I will have to leave, you know, I was in the middle of—”

The singing stopped. The low voice said, “Even half a second of you’s enough to put the world to rights. You go where you’re needed next, Commander; I have this well in hand.”

A soft noise. A rustle. The hand in Marigold’s hair left, for a moment, before returning. The song resumed. Marigold tried to listen to the lyrics, but they felt as though they were coming from underwater.

Thank you, she wanted to say, but she was ever so tired, so she reached for the hand in her hair and held it and hoped that that would be good enough. It didn’t feel like mum’s soft hand; it was rough and broad and the fingers shook when they closed round hers, like they’d never been touched nicely before now. Marigold hung on tighter.

“Marigold,” breathed the voice. She’d never heard her name said like that before. She wanted to hear it again, forever.

It was so, so hard to speak. She tried anyway. Whisper-soft, she murmured, “Can you—sing? More?”

The voice started up again. Shook a bit more, this time. Marigold held onto the hand until she’d fallen asleep again.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Marigold woke up slowly. It hurt. The world around her felt lit with a soft glow, warmer than the cold barn and the rain, and she had the distinct sense that she was forgetting something important. She felt a hand stroke her face, which she wasn't used to; it felt like a hungry gash of teeth was opening up in her at just the touch. She pressed her face into the hand.

“There's a good girl,” said a voice she didn't know, or half-knew; it sounded like a voice she might have dreamt, maybe. It couldn't be familiar when she only knew Elodie and Reverie and mum—her thoughts did a funny stutter-stop, refusing to dwell on their names. She tried to open her eyes all the way.

“No, you get your rest, don't start pushing yourself,” said the voice, but Marigold knew that no one really meant that when they said it; it was a snare trap meant to get you to close your eyes so they'd tell you later how lazy and useless you were. She forced her eyes open.

The hand on her face belonged to a woman—smaller and stockier than mum, and a lot older, with a lined, scarred face that looked like it should have been angrier than it was. Her eyes were as soft as the little animals Marigold saw in the forest sometimes. She was looking at Marigold like Marigold was someone she knew. She said, again, “Get sleep, why don't you? It's been a day and change. You need your rest.”

Marigold wanted to say something, but the words stuck in her throat. Words could warrant a knife to the chest. (She didn't know why she'd thought that.) She stared at the woman, unmoving, because if she didn't move, the woman wouldn't take her hand away, probably, and they could stay like this forever.

The woman's hand moved from Marigold's cheek to her shoulder. She said, “You going to lie down, then, or just stare?”

Marigold squeezed her eyes tightly shut, just in case staring was wrong and she hadn't realized.

“Oh, Mari, it's all right, you can look,” coaxed the woman.

Marigold's eyes flew open. How do you know my name? she wanted to ask, but that meant speaking, and she wasn't sure she could do that. She always seemed to say much too much when people gave her room to speak, and she didn't want to ruin whatever this was with her mile-a-minute mouth. 

The woman tilted her head at Marigold, smiled, and said, “Well, your name couldn't be anything but Marigold, could it? That hair of yours…”

Marigold hated her hair. It was red and curly and ugly and it wasn't anything like her family's. It wasn't Northaven hair, it was elf hair. Rotten hair. Wrong.

The woman seemed to see the shadow crossing Marigold's face. “What's wrong?” she asked, gently, in the same tone of voice mum used when Reverie or Elodie was hurt.

Tears sprung immediately to Marigold's eyes. She tucked her head forward. The ache in her chest was spreading and it felt enough to bleed and kill. 

The woman caught Marigold's face in her hands again and pressed their foreheads together, briefly, which wasn't the sort of thing anyone had done to Marigold before. The ache worsened. “Budge up,” said the woman, and shifted onto the soft bed next to Marigold, tucking her into her side. She was a bit smaller than Marigold, but she felt bigger, somehow. “Now, what sort of stories do you like?”

Marigold didn't like that question. It made her think about sitting on the barn roof and staring in at mum in between Reverie and Elodie in bed, telling them stories with the window half-open like she knew Marigold was listening, only she'd caught Marigold up there once and threatened to push her off herself if she caught Marigold up there again. She had only heard some of the stories, and they'd all been sweet enough to make her chest hurt, lords and ladies and princesses. She would have loved those stories if she'd been allowed in the room for them.

She didn't want to be here. She didn't know why she was here. She didn't want to be anywhere.

“Easy, bunny,” breathed the woman, and Marigold realized she was shaking, which was hardly respectful of how nice this woman was being to her for no apparent reason. “Nothing too scary, then? All right. Why don't I tell you...ah, fuck,” she muttered, and Marigold looked up at her, delightedly scandalized. “I've not got a single story without blood in it.”

Marigold wanted to say something, now, so badly, and if the words would stick together long enough to make a sentence she would do it. She wanted to say, please, please, please tell me a bloody story, because that wasn't one mum would have ever told to Evie and Ella, proper ladies in the making. She stared eagerly at this suddenly very interesting woman who said rude words in front of children and couldn't think of good bedtime stories for little girls.

The woman took in Marigold's expression with surprise, at first, and then it gave way to a somehow even warmer look. She moved forward and pinched Marigold's cheek. “Little ghoul,” she said, but words that would have stung from mum didn't sting, here, at all. “You're the sort who likes a good battle, then?”

Marigold nodded and nodded, curls bouncing.

The woman's eyes went all soft and she said, “Brave little warrior girl.” She pulled Marigold in close and settled them both against the pillows. “When I was a girl—much older than you, I suppose, but forty to dwarves is still barely grown—there was a woman who they called the Whisper-Dagger, on account of the way she could kill with just her words. Not a wizard, mind, she just knew the way the world worked, and who made it work, and how, and those paying enough attention to do that can wrap the world round their little finger if they like.”

That sounded interesting. Marigold hoped that the Whisper-Dagger was the hero of this story.

“She was…” The woman turned a funny color, and said delicately, “a friend of mine, at the time. She was second in line to inherit her family's title, but she didn't mind all that; her sister could be the face of the family and she could do what she wanted on the side. Only one day, her sister turned up dead in the middle of family dinner, and because she and I were, were friends, she asked me to look into it, investigate.

“Well, I did, and what I found was fucking awful. The sister had been a good sort, but she'd had a lover before her husband, and the lover hadn't taken kindly to her marrying someone else. He had ties to the worst parts of the under-city, so there wasn't a court in the world that would touch him—no chance he'd end up jailed for what he'd done, no matter what it was. And that was a good girl he'd killed, all because he couldn't have her.”

Marigold shivered. The woman tucked her hair behind her ear and asked, “Too much for you, bunny?”

She shook her head. She didn't care what was being said if it was being said to her, for her to listen to.

“Well,” said the woman, “I was angry as the hells and twice as ready to burn the bastard down. The Whisper-Dagger couldn't do what she'd used to without putting the whole family at risk, now that she was the head of it and people were paying attention to her, so it fell on me to handle the thing, and handle it I did. Marched right into that fucker's office and challenged him to a fight at dawn—and I was young, and small, and didn't have half the muscles and scars I did now.” With her free arm, she flexed, surprising a whispering laugh out of Marigold. Her eyes shone with delight.

“So of course he said yes. Bastard thought it'd be an easy fight. But I brought my hammer when he was ready for a sword. I remember,” the woman smiled fondly, “he started laughing when he saw me, said gods, of course the dwarf would bring a hammer to a duel! But that's the thing, bunny,” she tapped Marigold's nose, “I said fight, he heard duel. Duels mean you have rules. Fights mean you don't. I ran in, broke his knees, pummeled him half to death, and that—” She stopped, searching Marigold's face. “You're sure you're all right hearing this?”

Marigold nodded with infuriated eagerness. They could hardly stop now!

“That,” continued the woman, “was when he started begging for his life. Started saying oh, please, please, Thea, it was a crime of passion, I was just so angry, I'll never do it again—” She smiled grimly. “And I didn't say anything back, because that was the Whisper-Dagger's sister. She was a good girl who'd done nothing but love, and love truly. Made the mistake of loving wrong once, but she hadn't done it again. She'd deserved life. He'd taken it away. Laughed in my face when I told him he should see justice for what he'd done. Second chances are for people who know they've done wrong.”

Marigold imagined mum under Thea’s hammer for half a moment, then flinched away. She didn't want to think about that.

Thea’s expression twisted nervously. She pulled back a little and said, “Sorry. That's—” and then Marigold realized that maybe Thea thought she'd said something wrong, which wasn't right at all, so she moved forward and wrapped her arms tightly round Thea’s neck. Thea made a muffled noise of surprise, then reached up to hold her, and said, “Bunny,” in that tone of voice you used when you were going to keep something forever, come hell or high water.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The High Harper was soaking wet in their kitchen. The only unusual bit about this sentence was the soaking wet bit, not really the High Harper bit or the kitchen bit; Jaheira in their kitchen was really just every other week, usually. Norie took this in, then went to go get the towels from upstairs, which meant it was Ros's job to sort out the hows and the whys of this whole situation.

“Everyone all right?” she asked carefully. She knew Thea wasn't dead, because if Thea was dead, Jaheira would have looked twelve times worse. But something had happened, because it wasn't even misting outside. “Fall in a canal?”

Jaheira sat down heavily at the kitchen table. She massaged her temples. “Your mother will be a few days late returning,” she said. “She asked me to let you know as soon as possible.” 

“O…kay,” said Ros slowly. “Still doesn't explain why you're drenched.”

“It was raining,” said Jaheira.

Ros turned slowly to look at the bright, sunny sky out the window.

“Not here,” said Jaheira. “There. Where your mother is.”

“Sorry,” said Ros, eyes widening, “you were with her?”

“Now is not the time,” said Jaheira shortly. She raised her head to look at Ros, with those steely eyes that meant she was about to say something really fucking important. “She is bringing back a little girl,” she said. “Fifteen. A year older than Lenora, but much smaller. Delicate. You and Lenora need to be prepared.”

Norie, who had been coming back in with the towels, stopped with a very pensive look on her face, which Ros understood completely. Thea didn't just go around picking up kids willy-nilly, and Jaheira didn't just drop everything she was doing to go check up on Thea—well, all right, Jaheira did do that, but usually not long-distance, and definitely not unless Thea asked her to do it, which in and of itself was a pretty fucking rare occurrence.

“What's this girl like, then?” Ros asked lightly, testing the waters.

Jaheira said, “Her mother stabbed her to death.”

Ros flinched back. So did Norie. Jaheira looked at them as if to say see? “She is an incredibly fragile sort,” she continued, “and she is not likely to respond well to…exuberance.”

Well, that one was clearly for Ros.

“Or antipathy.”

That one was clearly for Norie.

“Be gentle,” concluded Jaheira. “Both of you. As much as you can. With her, and…” She wavered. “And with your mother. She was badly shaken when I arrived.”

Ah, hells. “Is she okay?” Ros asked anxiously. “Should we—I don't know, go and visit her too?"”

“It is a bit of a ways away,” said Jaheira, smiling wryly, “and my means of transportation was very much emergencies-only. Your mother asked that I assure you both she is doing better now, which I can corroborate.”

“How are you?” Norie asked. It was the first thing she'd said since coming back with the towels.

Jaheira's face softened and she said something in Elven that Ros didn't know, but that made Norie blush a little and smile awkwardly. In Common, she said, “I am fine, spider. Thank you.”

Norie leaned down to drape the towel round Jaheira's shoulders, tucking it in place. Ros said, “Look, stay a bit, why don't you? We'll make you something nice.”

“I…” Jaheira wavered.

“You're dead on your feet, Commander,” Ros pressed. “Stay.”

She didn't bring out Commander often. It was part of the reason she tossed round stepmummy like she did, because when she did call Jaheira Commander, Jaheira looked startled, then touched, then gave in without very much arguing, which was what happened now. “…I could do with some of Lenora's hot chocolate,” she conceded, “if it is not too much trouble. The rain was quite cold.”

“Spiked?” Norie offered.

"You are fourteen; you are not supposed to know how to do that," said Jaheira severely.

“Spiked?” Norie repeated, as if Jaheira hadn't spoken.

“Hmph!” said Jaheira.

“We both know that's not a no. I'm putting alcohol in,” said Norie, and headed towards the cupboards. Jaheira smiled with annoyed appreciation and drew the towel a bit closer round her.

Ros followed Norie. As quietly as she could manage, she whispered, “Hey, Norie, what'd she say to you?”

“The translation is a bit ambiguous,” said Lenora. “The word can mean either busy-body or meddling daughter.” She smiled sweetly. “I like to think it's busy-body.”

“It isn't,” said Jaheira.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Marigold was a lovely name, of course, but Thea had landed on bunny and it was hard to stop after she'd started. The girl was twitchy, soft, wide-eyed, and she had a way of tilting her head that was a bit rabbitish in nature. She trembled when touched, but she didn't move away, just stared and stared with golden eyes that held the warmth and brightness of twin stars. She would smile on occasion, a barely-there little twitch of the mouth, and Thea always felt like she'd won a thousand medals of valor, bringing that smile forward. 

She ate sparingly. It was hard to convince her to eat at all, and harder still to find out why, but Thea thought it might have to do with that stick-thin woman in the woods who looked like she hadn't eaten a day herself. 

“I own a bakery in the city, you know,” she said. “Baldur's Gate. Bit of a distance from here, but the things we make! Breads, pastries, hot chocolate, fruit juice when the fruit's in season. You like fruit juice, bunny?”

This earned her only a blankly curious expression. 

“You ever had fruit juice?”

The red curls shook no.

“Oh, now, that can't be abided by,” Thea gently teased. “When we get home, we'll see what we can do.”

Marigold froze. She looked more frightened than Thea had ever seen her. The red curls shook no, again and again, no, no, no, no, no.

“Bunny,” Thea breathed, catching her gently by the shoulders. Marigold tried to squirm away. “Bunny, bunny, look at me. Look at me. What's wrong?”

Marigold shook her head. 

“You don't want to come home with me?”

Marigold's hands moved to her chest. The scar. The—

“Oh, fuck no, I'm not taking you back to her,” said Thea furiously, which stilled Marigold immediately into shaky relief. “I'd rather fucking kill myself. I say home and I mean my home, Mari, not your home. I want to take you to Baldur's Gate.” She hesitated. “It is a bit of a distance,” she said slowly, “so if you—want—to stay here, in the grove—”

Marigold let out a hiccupping sob. Her hands moved up and over Thea's hands on her shoulders like she couldn't half believe they were there. Held Thea fast, where she was.

“Do you want to stay?” Thea asked. 

Marigold shook her head, not half so urgently this time.

Heart pounding, Thea asked, “Do you want to come back to the bakery with me?”

Nodding, emphatically, so hard the little girl was shaking in place all over again.

Thea cupped Marigold's face in her hands. She said, a wet laugh in her voice, “We'll make a baker of you yet,” and Marigold smiled brightly enough to rival the sun.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Heading homeward. 

Jaheira traced the lines with her finger before responding. How is Marigold?

I'll give the quill over.

A long pause, followed by a few curious, swirling scribbles—then, charmingly, meticulously, Thea's own words mimicked in a wobbly hand, letter by letter. I'll give the quill over.

Clever girl! Jaheira wrote, enchanted. Should I assume she has not written before?

Clever girl! echoed the quill, still in that unsteady handwriting. Should I assume she has not written before?

Then, in Thea's print, Never, I think, but she's fucking obsessed with the parchment. You mind writing some things she can copy?

Jaheira considered. She wrote Marigold, and watched the quill repeat it, then write it four more times with increasing excitement; clearly Thea had explained what the word was. She wrote Thea, and after a long pause, this one was picked up and written all over the parchment, everywhere, every corner, scribbled frantically and delightedly and with too much love for one piece of parchment to contain. 

When the writing had faded away, Jaheira considered, then, testing out a suspicion, drew a perfect heart.

Another pause—not as long—and then: 

Marigold ♥ Thea

Marigold ♥ Thea

Marigold ♥ Thea

Thea ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ Thea Thea Thea

This seemed as though it might be going on for quite a while. Jaheira set the parchment aside. When she picked it up again, Thea had written, Fuck you; I nearly started fucking crying in front of her and that's your fucking fault. Go fuck yourself.

Jaheira ♥ Thea, Jaheira wrote back. Satisfyingly, Thea did not seem to have a response to this.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Roslin, Marigold wrote. Lenora. Thea. Marigold. Marigold. Jaheira. Marigold. Roslin. Thea. Thea. Thea. Lenora. Roslin. Thea. Marigold. Jaheira. Some of the names meant things to her and others were only abstract ideas. She wanted to ask Thea how to write bunny, but she'd need more words for that, and she still didn't have them yet. 

It was nice, too, that Thea didn't ask her to talk, or—well, do anything, really. Mum usually had something to say about what Marigold was or wasn't doing, but all Thea seemed to want to do was spend time with her, which was usually warm and cozy and involved Marigold listening to lots of different stories about all the things Thea had done. She was old—older than mum, even, who was the oldest of the people Marigold had known—and she'd done a lot of traveling, gone everywhere, but she said her favorite part was her girls at home, which did make Marigold a bit nervous. She'd been part of a family, a mum and two girls, and that hadn't gone well, so maybe this wouldn't either. What if she got there and the girls didn't like her? What if the girls not liking her made Thea stop liking her too?

Roslin, she wrote. Lenora. She tried to imagine them. Reverie and Elodie had names that sounded almost the same, but they couldn't have been more different. Lenora, Thea had said, was a human, but Roslin was a tiefling, and growing up in the woods with mum and her sisters meant that Marigold hadn't ever met a tiefling before. Or a dwarf, before Thea. She'd decided that she loved dwarves, based largely on the fact that one of them was Thea.

Tieflings had horns. Thea tried to draw one on the parchment, and then the parchment drew a better tiefling than Thea, and Thea wrote fuck off on the parchment, which Marigold had started to recognize by sight by now. She didn't exactly remember Jaheira, but apparently Jaheira had been there when Marigold had been healing. There were still parts of this that didn't make sense, but she didn't quite know how to ask about them. She almost didn't want to. She was afraid that asking would make it all fall apart.

The ride back to the city was long, and Marigold spent most of the road-time writing on the parchment to Jaheira, who would give her words to copy. Balance. Sunlight. Tree. Grass. Sky. Flower. Marigold was a kind of flower, so she wrote Marigold and flower next to each other, and Jaheira drew a little heart, which Thea had said meant love, so Marigold decided that she loved Jaheira too. Marigold ♥ Jaheira, she wrote, and Jaheira didn't write any more words for a few minutes, which made Thea laugh and laugh and laugh. “It's not on you, bunny,” she managed. “She's not used to people saying they love her. Doesn't always know how to say it back.”

Well, Marigold would make her used to it. She wrote Marigold ♥ Jaheira until it covered the paper, at which point Thea said that it'd probably take more than just one day to get the message across, and didn't Marigold want to learn a few more new words? Then she wrote something on the paper that Marigold didn't yet know how to read, but that got Jaheira to start writing long sentences back. 

The times they weren't on the road, they were in cities, with Thea getting food for her and for Marigold and having long conversations with people about how much money was too much money for food. Marigold tried honey and liked it so much that Thea bought her seven jars, and said that they couldn't eat it while they traveled but they could bring it home and she could have more there. “On bread,” she said. “Can't just eat sugar.”

Which mum had said to Reverie and Elodie before, but not the way Thea said it to Marigold—a loving reminder, not an indictment. Marigold ate four slices of bread with honey and no one said she was stuffing her face. Thea said she was so glad to see Marigold eating.

Thea wrote bread, honey, city, Baldur's Gate. Thea wrote fruit, apples, berries. She got them a sunmelon when they were three days from the city and chopped it with an axe, which Marigold hadn't even known women were allowed to do; mum had always said the knives and the axes weren't for girls. But Thea was strong and wore armor and chopped sunmelons, and the chopping was the best, because it meant Marigold could sink her teeth into the red, watery insides and let the juice run down her mouth.

Jaheira wrote green, red, brown, silver. Jaheira wrote blue, purple, pink, green. She wrote green a few times, like she was trying to make sure Marigold remembered it. Thea said, “Jaheira's a druid who lives in the city and it's hard on her sometimes,” which made Marigold wonder what kind of city Baldur's Gate was. They'd been to a few cities now and Marigold liked them so much more than nature, where there was no one around. Cities, everyone was there, and everyone had things to say. They'd say get out of the way, they'd say five silver pieces for a butter roll, they'd say a dress for the little one, saer? And Marigold got to watch Thea say YOU get out of the fucking way, fucker, or five silver for some moldy bread? You're fucking kidding me, or make it seven dresses, which was probably the best thing she could have ever said. Marigold got to change out of the clothes the druids had made her and into a dress that was yellow and green.

Thea said, “Norie might steal that when you get home, you know,” and off of Marigold's nervous expression, hastened to say, “Oh, you'll still keep it! Norie likes to embroider. She'll add some pretty flowers to the dress, give it back to you, it's just she doesn't usually ask before she adds things.”

Marigold didn't really see the point in asking to add flowers to someone's dress. Dresses were unilaterally better with flowers. Lenora sounded like she was just being smart about it.

Jaheira wrote, Scornubel, Triel, Elturel, Candlekeep. Rivington. Baldur's Gate.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Thea came back on a big old cart with fruits and breads piled high in the back. She jumped down and ran over and hugged Roslin and Lenora like she hadn't seen them in years, then pulled back to look at them, smiling all wobbly. “I'm not leaving,” she said. “I'm done.”

“Wow,” said Roslin, “this latest trip must have been really fucking terrible if you're all done making trips out of the city—”

“Missed you girls too much,” said Thea, which shut Roslin up. Lenora's heart swelled. “How's it been, spider?”

“Oh, you know,” said Lenora. “There was a wet Jaheira in the kitchen a few days ago.”

“So basically, yeah, you really do need to be home more,” said Roslin, which made Thea go crimson.

Lenora shoved Roslin sideways. She fell over laughing. 

There was a rustle of movement from the cart, like someone was trying to hide behind some of the fruits. Thea turned, her face softening. “Going to have to coax her down,” she said. “Give us a minute.”

Roslin and Lenora watched as Thea moved back up towards the cart. The girl really was little, Lenora thought; she looked closer to eight or nine than fifteen, which seemed a lot like Jaheira's daughter Rion, who had grown up slower on account of the half-elf thing. She was indeed a bit thinner than what seemed healthy. She stumbled a bit getting out of the cart, and gripped Thea's shoulder.

“Oh my gods,” said Roslin. “Oh my gods. Norie, I know Jaheira said no exuberance, but she's literally the cutest thing I've ever seen. I thought we were getting, like, another you or something?! But she's a baby?!”

No antipathy would not be half as hard a directive to follow. Lenora knew exactly what Roslin was talking about. The girl was barely taller than Thea and clung to her side as though the rest of the world was all shadow-monsters. 

“Mari,” Thea coaxed, “this is Ros, and that's Norie. Ros, Norie, you want to introduce—?”

“I'M ROS!” said Roslin very loudly, then clapped her hands over her mouth. “Fuck!” she said, mouth covered. “Sorry! You're just so tiny! Anyone ever told you how tiny you are? You're the littlest thing I've ever seen! You're—”

“Stop that,” said Lenora. “You're embarrassing yourself.”

Marigold's nervous expression was giving way to one of fascinated curiosity. Her eyes lingered on Roslin's horns. Jealously, Lenora wished she had horns, if it meant the little one would pay attention to her.

“Norie?” Thea prompted.

Lenora tried for a smile. It came out more of a nervous grimace. “I'm…Lenora," she supplied. “I like your dress.”

Marigold waved at them both, frantically and still a bit apprehensively. Her free hand tightened on Thea's shoulder. 

“You'll warm up to each other,” said Thea, mostly to Marigold. “They're good girls. Ros's just a bit overexcited; she's the older-sisterly type, and she always likes taking care of girls younger than her. And Norie…” She smiled, and said, “Norie's scary, isn't she?”

Marigold took this in. A small, sweet grin illuminated her face as her eyes flicked towards Lenora. She shook her head.

Lenora was now certain that she would burn down a thousand cities for that little girl.

“No?” said Thea, mock-surprised. “Well, should have known that someone as brave as you wouldn't be felled by our Norie.”

Marigold fidgeted. She rummaged in her satchel. Thea said, “Oh, she's been working on something for you! Wouldn't show it to me, even, so it'll be a surprise for all of us,” and then she stopped, mouth trembling, as Marigold held the drawing up.

Carefully and shakily rendered in black ink: a tiefling, a human-ish figure, a slightly small and curly-haired girl, and a dwarf of about her size, all holding hands. The drawing had been captioned Hello! I'm Marigold! every letter formed inexpertly but with clear effort.

Roslin burst into tears. Lenora didn't even make fun of her for it. She knelt down in front of Marigold and said, “You got my hair just right,” softly, running her finger along the black ink of the drawing. 

Marigold smiled very shyly.

Lenora tried to imagine anyone stabbing this girl to death, and couldn't. It was Ilmater, wasn't it, who watched over those that suffered the most? Who eased their suffering, one way or another, and ensured that it ended? Ilmater, then, must have saved this girl, because imagining a world where Thea had never reached her in the single minute that could be used to revive her was a sickening fucking thought. She would leave an offering. She would become a cleric, maybe. Absolutely. She would be a cleric of Ilmater.

Tongue between her teeth, Marigold reached out to absently touch Lenora's hair, then jerked her hand back as if expecting a reprimand. Lenora said, “It's fine, Mari, Ros does worse to my hair all the time. Don't you, Ros?”

“I style it,” said Roslin, who was fighting to maintain composure.

“She turned it into a birds' nest last year,” said Lenora. “A literal birds' nest. Put fake birds in it. She never does this to her hair, just to mine—”

“Um, if I do it to my hair, you'll make fun of me,” Roslin countered. “If it's done to your hair, you get to complain to everyone about how annoying I am, which I know you like.”

“Shut up, I'm bonding with Marigold.”

“I'm bonding with Marigold! Marigold likes me better!” Roslin scrambled forward. “Mari, who do you like better, me or Norie?”

“Don't crowd her!!” said an outraged Lenora, elbowing Roslin away.

Marigold was watching them both with that adorable little half-smile. She turned the parchment over and was immediately handed a quill by Thea. She turned away from them all, scribbling on the back of her drawing, and held up the paper again.

Marigold ♥ Thea !!

“Oh, that's not even fair,” said Roslin. “She has an edge! She literally just spent the last three days buying you dresses and fruit and things. Well, I have money, Marigold, I can buy you even better dresses and fruit and things—”

“Thea's all our favorites,” said Lenora to Marigold, deciding to ignore Roslin. “We have that in common; that's nice, isn't it?”

Marigold nodded so emphatically that her curls shook. Lenora decided to visit the temple of Ilmater in two days' time and ask about what it would look like to be a cleric.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Jaheira came to visit the next day with a bouquet of wildflowers: mostly marigolds, but there were quite a few daisies and violets in as well, and some sweet-smelling herbs. It was a visual cacophony. Thea was entirely unsurprised when Marigold lit up, hugged the bouquet, set the bouquet down, hugged Jaheira, hugged the bouquet again, gave the bouquet to Thea, and hugged Jaheira one more time.

“What was it you are calling her?” said Jaheira. “Bunny?” Her hand rested atop Marigold's head. “Seems apt.”

Marigold butted her forehead against Jaheira's hand. She let go and ran off into the kitchen.

Jaheira lowered her voice. “Althea, how—how are you? When we last spoke—”

“I can't half think about that night,” said Thea. She swallowed. “She is the sweetest little girl I've ever known. Loves easy as breathing. Trusts me with her life, and I can't say I'd do the same in her position—”

“You can't say you'd do the same?” Jaheira echoed skeptically. “Not even after you—?”

“We're not talking about it,” said Thea shortly, “I don't know how much she remembers, and I'm not dragging it up unless she mentions it first.”

Her eyes were still halfway following Marigold, who was running round the kitchen between Roslin and Lenora, standing on tiptoe to try and see what they were doing. Roslin caught her on one of her sprints and lifted her up to the counter, which made Marigold squeak and laugh in a way that at first seemed halfway frightened, then quickly became all the way joyful. Roslin called, “MUMMA COME IN HERE, WE'RE MAKING SCONES!”

Thea smiled wryly at Jaheira. “Duty calls.”

“The Lady of the Fray's strongest soldier,” said Jaheira. She squeezed Thea's shoulder. “You grow good things here.”

[electric-plants]

i got so blindsided and offended when i hit the spiral abyss levels that required two teams in genshin anyway you’ll never guess what just happened to me with the forgotten hall in hsr

[sunstainedpages]

WE GOT AN EP ANNOUNCEMENT!!!

[mintjeru]

please ignore the screenshot quality and allow me to brag for a moment-

[the-rat-eatery]

Do I care that I am currently in an echo chamber of how fun Hazbin is? NO!

I AM A SAD TEENAGE GIRL MY MIND WAS CREATED TO PING PONG AROUND ECHO CHAMBERS

[midsummersmorn]

My mum saying it’ll be alright to me and my sister when she’s all the way over in another country just gets me like 😐

[eosrambles]

hey hey hey

is it bad to plan to ruin someone's career if they objectively and obviously suck at their job (repeatedly proven) (very real)

[tearlessrain]

please help me- i used to be pretty smart but i’m having so much trouble grasping the concept of diegetic vs non-diegetic bdsm!

gfkjldghfd okay first of all I'm sorry for the confusion, if you're not finding anything on the phrase it's because I made it up and absolutely nobody but me ever uses it, but I haven't found a better way to express what I'm trying to say so I keep using it. but now you've given me an excuse to ramble on about some shit that is only relevant to me and my deeply inefficient way of talking and by god I'm going to take it.

SO. the way diegetic and non-diegetic are normally used is to talk about music and sound design in movies/tv shows. in case you aren't familiar with that concept, here's a rundown:

diegetic sound is sound that happens within the world of the movie/show and can be acknowledged by the characters, like a song playing on the stereo during a driving scene, or sung on stage in Phantom of the Opera. it's also most other sounds that happen in a movie, like the sounds of traffic in a city scene, or a thunderclap, or a marching band passing by. or one of the three stock horse sounds they use in every movie with a horse in it even though horses don't really vocalize much in real life, but that's beside the point, the horse is supposed to be actually making that noise within the movie's world and the characters can hear it whinnying.

non-diegetic sound is any sound that doesn't exist in the world of the movie/show and can't be perceived by the characters. this includes things like laugh tracks and most soundtrack music. when Duel of Fates plays in Star Wars during the lightsaber fight for dramatic effect, that's non-diegetic. it exists to the audience, but the characters don't know their fight is being backed by sick ass music and, sadly, can't hear it.

the lines can get blurry between the two, you've probably seen the film trope where the clearly non-diegetic music in the title sequence fades out to the same music, now diegetic and playing from the character's car stereo. and then there are things like Phantom of the Opera as mentioned above, where the soundtrack is also part of the plot, but Phantom of the Opera does also have segments of non-diegetic music: the Phantom probably does not have an entire orchestra and some guy with an electric guitar hiding down in his sewer just waiting for someone to break into song, but both of those show up in the songs they sing down there.

now, on to how I apply this to bdsm in fiction.

if I'm referring to diegetic bdsm what I mean is that the bdsm is acknowledged for what it is in-world. the characters themselves are roleplaying whatever scenarios their scenes involve and are operating with knowledge of real life rules/safety practices. if there's cnc depicted, it will be apparent at some point, usually right away, that both characters actually are fully consenting and it's all just a planned scene, and you'll often see on-screen negotiation and aftercare, and elements of the story may involve the kink community wherever the characters are. Love and Leashes is a great example of this, 50 Shades and Bonding are terrible examples of this, but they all feature characters that know they're doing bdsm and are intentional about it.

if I'm talking about non-diegetic bdsm, I'm referring to a story that portrays certain kinks without the direct acknowledgement that the characters are doing bdsm. this would be something like Captive Prince, or Phantom of the Opera again, or the vast majority of bodice ripper type stories where an innocent woman is kidnapped by a pirate king or something and totally doesn't want to be ravished but then it turns out he's so cool and sexy and good at ravishing that she decides she's into it and becomes his pirate consort or whatever it is that happens at the end of those books. the characters don't know they're playing out a cnc or D/s fantasy, and in-universe it's often straight up noncon or dubcon rather than cnc at all. the thing about entirely non-diegetic bdsm is that it's almost always Problematic™ in some way if you're not willing to meet the story where it's at, but as long as you're not judging it by the standards of diegetic bdsm, it's just providing the reader the same thing that a partner in a scene would: the illusion of whatever risk or taboo floats your boat, sometimes to extremes that can't be replicated in real life due to safety, practicality, physics, the law, vampires not being real, etc. it's consensual by default because it's already pretend; the characters are vehicles for the story and not actually people who can be hurt, and the reader chose to pick up the book and is aware that nothing in it is real, so it's all good.

this difference is where people tend to get hung up in the discourse, from what I've observed. which is why I started using this phrasing, because I think it's very crucial to be able to differentiate which one you're talking about if you try to have a conversation with someone about the portrayal of bdsm in media. it would also, frankly, be useful for tagging, because sometimes when you're in the mood for non-diegetic bodice ripper shit you'd call the police over in real life, it can get really annoying to read paragraphs of negotiation and check-ins that break the illusion of the scene and so on, and the opposite can be jarring too.

it's very possible to blur these together the same way Phantom of the Opera blurs its diegetic and non-diegetic music as well. this leaves you even more open to being misunderstood by people reading in bad faith, but it can also be really fun to play with. @not-poignant writes fantastic fanfic, novels, and original serials on ao3 that pull this off really well, if you're okay with some dark shit in your fiction I would highly recommend their work. some of it does get really fucking dark in places though, just like. be advised. read the tags and all that.

but yeah, spontaneous writer plug aside, that's what I mean.

[syluss-littlecrow]

release

<Caleb x fem!reader>

where both you and Caleb end up doing more than butt heads about his given curfew for you.

genre/warnings: smut, pwp, mutual pinning, mutual obsession & possession, jealous!Caleb breeding kink, multiple orgasms, a lot of cum..., perverted!MC, friends to lovers?, squirting, unprotected sex, morning sex, pure Caleb brain rot, it gets pretty nasty

a/n: Caleb, Caleb, CALEB XIA YIZHOU 😭😭 the way I've been giggling over Caleb while watching his story and going back to my home screen with Sylus looking at me with his arms crossed.... Anyway, enjoy this Caleb brain rot 🥹🩷 I'll do one with Caleb's military air force uniform when I can 😔🫡

I JUST SAW THE NEW BANNER DROP IM NOT OK IF ANYONES WONDERING.

w/c: 3.5K

Effortless. That is what Caleb feels like when his affections come to you. It bubbles and boils over when he thinks he's able to put a lid over it, and it overflows instead. It leaves him so defenseless. Yet, he can't seem to stop. It's the only thing that keeps him going in this hell. 

The only thing he feels is the metallic necklace barely weighing on his chest. It almost feels like you're here with him. 

And if you are, he wants to keep you here with him. Forever.

His eyes slowly open. His eyes focus on the hologram clock hovering at the side. 

You're supposed to be back already. 

Caleb contemplated on driving out to find you since he has your location pinging on his phone.

Since when did you have that many friends in Skyhaven? Why doesn't he know about them?

He checks the messages he's sent you, all unread. 

Caleb has to remind himself to stop clenching his jaw and biting his tongue. 

His stare towards the door grows anxious by the minute. Then he strengthens his resolve and marches towards the door, ready to leave and look for you. 

The second he pulls down the door handle, the jingle of the door unlocking from the outside sounds and the door swings open, making you and Caleb jump when he catches you in his arms from bumping into each other.

“Caleb!” You squeal, flustered at the way you completely ran into him. His warmth is radiating over to your skin. “Are you okay? Where were you gonna go?”

You watch a small pout form on his lips. He truly looks like a puppy when he does that, you can't help but think. 

“Look for you”, he curtly replies, making sure you've regained your balance before he releases your arms.

You straighten your posture, and sheepishly touch the nape of your neck, immediately avoiding his gaze. 

“Ah, right. Well, I got carried away with chatting with my friends and all…” 

Caleb crosses his arms. His pout turns into a frown, and his eyebrows are scrunched. 

Shit. He looks mad.

You inch closer to him, your fingers grazing over his knuckles. 

“I'm sorry, Caleb. Don't be mad okay? I'm home now, safe and sound, in the flesh, aren't I?”

Caleb breathes steadily, keeping his expression the same, but when you take his palm and nuzzle your cheek against it, Caleb feels the anxiety and frustration dissolve. He wants to reprimand you about the curfew, and why he implemented it in the first place. If you’ve stayed missing for a second longer, he would have completely lost it. But the moment his palm nearly touches your lips, it all dissipates, as if it never existed. 

Caleb exhales a sigh of defeat, letting it go just this time, alongside the countless times he did. 

“Go shower. I left the heater on for you.” 

You respond with a cheeky smile that makes something in Caleb’s chest bloom, and he lets you go, watching you disappear into your room. 

Caleb hears a knock on his door. He walks over and opens it, watching you coming into view. 

“Is there something you need, pipsqueak?”

You squeeze through the crack of the partially opened door and occupy his bed. 

“I'm just bored.”

Even though Caleb cocks his eyebrow, he still sprouts his smile, walking over to join you on his bed.

“Not because you're trying to make it up to me for coming back past curfew?”

Shit. 

Your smile playfully drops to a pout. “I got carried away yapping with my friends. You know I didn't mean to…” 

Caleb crosses his arms again.

“I could tell. My messages were all left unread.”

You curl your fingers to your lips when you realise you've been caught.

Caleb seems upset but you still see the softness beneath. 

He sighs. 

“I'm doing this for your own good, pipsqueak. I don't like you getting caught up in this.”

Caleb likes to think that it is that way, but he knows that it's more than just that. 

“As you can tell–” you’re showing off your body–your arms first then your legs, then your abdomen. But what Caleb didn't expect you to do was lift up your shirt slightly, your skin exposed, and have your shorts hike up your thighs, just to prove your point. “Nothing! You can check me for tracking devices too if you want to.” 

Something snaps in him.

“So do you let your friends inspect your body like that?” 

He crawls onto the bed, watching the smile slowly drop from your face. 

Caleb’s fingers trace your bare skin, drawing goosebumps from how ghostly the touches feel. His fingers slide from the top of your knees, and towards your thighs.

“Do you know how worried I was when you didn't answer my messages?”

You’re about to part your lips to respond, but he cuts you off. 

“I was wondering what conversations you were having that you ignored me.” 

“Caleb–”

He’s completely trapped you against the headboard of his bed. He's trapped you with his stare. 

Caleb inches closer, until he's close enough. His eyes glance down to your lips for a split second before his gaze meets yours again. 

Your breath is shaky when he leans in closer. 

Then he turns away. 

What the fuck? 

You watch in disbelief as he pulls away, your breath still caught in your throat from the tension.

Caleb’s signature smile returns and you feel his palm stroke the back of your head. 

“You should go back to bed. It's late.” 

He turns to open his door for you to leave. 

“Maybe I should start coming home later too.” 

He pauses in his steps. 

“I don't think that's a bright idea, pipsqueak.”

You slide off his bed and walk towards his door. 

“Maybe not. But I have brighter ones that consist of escaping your curfew.” 

You’re ready to leave the room with your victory, that is, until the door before you completely shuts. You see his shadow tower over you from behind. 

You turn to face Caleb, your arms are crossed. 

“Didn’t you ask me to go to bed?” 

“Changed my mind. I wanna make sure you're thoroughly inspected.”

You’re facing Caleb, back on his bed again. He starts with your face, but he lets his fingers linger around your lips, brushing across your bottom lip. You turn away, and his fingers catch your chin, forcing you to face Caleb.

“No looking away.”

His eyes are devouring every patch of skin that exists on your body. Even though you're clothed, you feel naked when he has his eyes on you this intensely. His fingertips trace back to your lips and he slides it down painfully slowly–past your chin, down your neck, through your sternum, past your stomach, and stops right above the elastic of your shorts. 

You want to shift, but you realise you can't–your body suddenly feels weighed down to the bed, and that's when you realise Caleb has you held down with his Evol.

The softness in Caleb’s eyes disappears, and something else replaces it. You watch him tug your shorts off you, and all you can do is watch helplessly. 

His kisses tickle from your ankle, and he builds them upwards at an agonising pace, each kiss feeling warmer as he travels up your thigh. 

Your heartbeat only accelerates from there, watching Caleb inch closer and closer to your cunt. Your thighs tense up from the sensitivity, the warmth of his lips spreading over your skin when you feel his tongue come in contact with your skin. 

“That tickles”, your voice is soft, as if the defiance in your tone before never existed.

Caleb’s lips press against your clothed pussy. Despite the fact that you’re trembling slightly, you've completely soaked your panties, and Caleb is more than happy to soak them even more. 

He buries his tongue, wetting the fabric even further. The pleasure draws soft moans, but evidently, it's not enough. 

“Caleb… Could you lighten your Evol?” You plead. You want to feel him so bad. 

Your body instantly lightens, and you almost think you're gonna fall off the bed. 

Something else holds you down this time, and it's Caleb. 

He tilts your chin up to have your lips meet his, now his kisses melting off the thoughts in your brain. Warmth burns through your skin. It takes you seconds to realise Caleb is lifting your shirt off you.

The clothing article is the next victim tossed somewhere else on the bed. 

You take his cheeks to your palms.

“I really need you now, Caleb.”

The softness returns to his eyes momentarily. 

“Are you sure you're okay with this?”

“I'll hop off right now and head straight to bed if you don't”, you huff. Fuck, the anticipation is just clawing through your insides, begging for Caleb to do something.

He playfully scoffs. 

“We both know you wouldn't.” 

Caleb tugs your panties to the side, and lines himself to your hole.

He thrusts into you in one swift motion, and you feel it all the way in. It knocks your breath out of you. Caleb watches you helplessly gasp for air and adjust to his size. He’s just filled you so full. 

He’s still supporting you so you don't fucking pass out. He feels you scratch all over his back from the pressure but he stays still, at least, until you've adjusted. 

“Shit. You're so fuckin’ warm for me”, he hisses into your neck, trying his best not to thrust into you. You feel so tight for him, he feels so good just staying there.

He stretches you open for him–your pussy fluttering at the feeling of him filling you up. The pressure slowly fades and you quickly adjust to his size.

Your vision blurs when he thrusts into you from below–the sensation so overwhelming that it's making you tear up. 

“So good”, you sigh, struggling to keep your eyes open–almost impossible when his cock is hitting your g-spot over and over again. Sparks burst into your eyelids whenever he hits the spot and it's evident that he knows he’s able to unravel you just like that, so easily. 

“Caleb…”, you moan. Caleb’s still fucking you, feeling the way you're just squeezing him, watching the way your fingers have gone clawing his back to his bedsheets, the way your tits are bouncing from fucking you, the way your eyes practically form hearts when he knows he's hit your sensitive spots.

“Faster, please. You feel so fucking good.”

He knows you shouldn't have said that. You're the only person who can rile him up like this. How the hell are you making him break his resolve when he's supposed to be upset with you?

He leans in, practically hovering over you. His fingers cup your cheek and he forces you to meet his violet eyes. 

In your fucked out haze, you blink, confused when he slows down. He pulls out completely, and you're about to complain until he rolls your soiled panties off your legs, tossing it to somewhere on the bed. 

You gasp when you feel his thumb graze over your wet and throbbing clit. 

“I'm gonna make you wonder what the fuck wrong with your body”, Caleb’s voice reaches your ears. His words sends a shiver down your spine.

“Your little pussy is gonna throb every time you think of me.”

That's all the warning he gives before his arms tower over you, holding your wrists down above your head. 

He fucks you into an orbit and you're practically helpless–forced to take his thrusts over and over. But fuck, it feels so good. It feels like fucking heaven. 

You like how dizzy it makes you feel. You like how he's not stopping, no matter how much tears stream down your face, and how pathetic you sound crying and moaning his name. 

“Fuck! Caleb, it's too much–” you whimper, the strange feeling building up in your stomach. It feels like it's about to snap any second. 

He acknowledges your words, but he doesn't bother slowing down. 

“Didn’t you promise me to be a good girl and take all of it?” 

“Caleb–!”

Your voice sounds so heavenly when you call his name.

The fluids fountains out of you, soaking everything near it's vincity–including the both of you. Your orgasm continues to wash over you and more fluids spray out.

Caleb watches you squirm and jolt while you make a mess all over him. 

He lets go of your wrists, the slight redness forming onto your skin, and his thumb caresses your bottom lip. 

Despite your arms feeling sore from resisting against his hold, you wrap them around his neck, pulling him close to catch his lips. He's taken back for a split second, but he returns the kiss, letting his soft moans drown into your lips while you clench around him.

When you both pull back, it's Caleb’s turn to have his eyes glazed and his cheeks dusted a soft shade of pink. 

“y/n, if you keep doin’ that–fuck”, Caleb groans, his fingers closing into a fist against the sheets. His breath is shaky. The euphoria is threatening to spill over–the fact that you're trapping him in like this with you, just the two of you solely existing together right now–he could get high off this feeling. He doesn't need anything else. 

“I'm so close. Shit.” You watch the bead of sweat trickle down his temple, down to his cheek, to his chin, and then it disappears into the mess the both of you made below. 

Caleb’s voice makes you refocus on him. 

His palm presses against your cheek again, his thumb brushing lightly on the corner of your lips. 

“You're gonna take all of it like a good girl, yeah?” 

You nod, almost too eagerly. Caleb can't help but think that your face after being fucked looks breathtakingly beautiful. It makes him want to hide you further. The world doesn't deserve someone like you. 

He crashes his lips with yours, melting into the kiss while he pumps you full with his thick cum–making sure he has himself seated deep inside so nothing spills out. At least, not until he pulls out.

The high slowly descends, and the both of you are left panting, getting lost in each other’s eyes just for that moment before Caleb slowly pulls out. 

Caleb then reaches for the glass of water perched on his nightstand to offer you. You take a good few sips of water, and hand it back to Caleb, who takes a couple of sips as well. He notices the way your cheeks are still flushed and that you're blinking more. He plants the empty glass onto the nightstand, ready to carry you to wash up and probably change the sheets after.

In a daze, you notice Caleb’s cum seeping out of your hole in small loads. You wet two fingers and slide them to your pussy–and you push the thick fluids back in, your body jolting in pleasure while you're pretty much fingering your pussy with Caleb’s cum.

Caleb swallows hard while he watches you pleasure yourself. He’s about to say something but you cut him off.

“Your cum keeps leaking out”, you point out, giving him the full view of your cum-soaked pussy. You look up at him with an innocent, poison-soaked gaze–your lashes wet and your thighs trembling from each time you feel his cum leak out of you.

“It’d be such a waste–”, you mutter, shivering one more time when your fingers fuck you again, the room only filled with your voice and the wet squelching sounds from your pussy.

“–if it doesn't stay inside.” 

You barely have time to process what happens next. The next thing you knew, Caleb has your hands pinned above your head with one hand, and the other on your cheeks. His legs stop you from closing yours, and you feel his wet thickness hard once more, resting on your pubic bone.

“You know, pipsqueak”, his voice drops an octave lower. His voice is clear, and he makes sure you hear him. “It's okay to just ask for more.” His eyes reflect such a gorgeous shade of wild you've never seen before, and it looks fucking good on him.

No warnings–your cunt is just wet and sopping that Caleb stuffs you to fullness once more–you give up trying to keep your eyelids open, your mind only processing the way he’s fucking so deep into you again and again.

“You know I'll always give it to you.” 

The way his fingers are cupping your cheeks stops you from answering. Well, he doesn't need a verbal response, especially not when you’re clenching him so fucking tight when your orgasm hits you for the…how many times was it now?

You feel stings that slowly dull around your shoulders and chest. The bites Caleb’s given you are as red as the ruby on his apple necklace. 

The night is drowned with sounds and sensations of both you competing to send each other to the heavens. 

What day is it now? 

Caleb blinks his heavy eyelids open. He soaks in the atmosphere around him, and it doesn't take him long to realise that you're lying on his arm.

Thankfully, it's not numb. Your hair tickles his cheeks. 

He notices the light peeking through his curtains. It's probably daytime. 

Caleb presses his lips against the back of your head, while he pulls you closer. He almost jolts when he hears a soft moan coming from you.

For some reason, something feels funny. 

He attempts to shift slightly, and realises the predicament–his dick is still hard as fuck, and he’s still nestled so fucking deep in you. Fuck. Did the both of you fall asleep mid-sex? The feeling bleeds into him again. 

Are you even awake to realise this? 

Caleb bites his inner cheek, the hardness only builds. Shit. Even after all of that, you're still this warm and tight? 

He watches your breathing steadily. 

He hooks your leg over his arm almost too easily, giving himself easier access to fuck you deeper. Your sleepiness is slowly dissipating, overtaken so fucking quick by the burning desire once more.

His thrusts bear slight friction at first, but somehow that only adds to the pleasure–the rawness, the fact that he's left a mess in you and kept that way, and that he gets to do it all over again in the morning. 

“Ca…Caleb..!” You squeal, uselessly fisting the pillows while Caleb rails you from below. 

“So perfectly warm for me, y/n”, his morning voice dousing you. He takes advantage to litter more bites to the back of your neck and shoulders, and spoils you with his strained moans when he reflects the way you whimper whenever he hits your sensitive spots. 

You sheepishly bury your teary face into the pillows, and Caleb pushes himself impossibly deeper, forcing you to face him when you jolt in surprise. His violet eyes are eating you up. You hear his voice ring in your ears.

“Wanna make you cry more like this. You're so pretty when you cry when I'm splittin’ you open like this.” 

More tears stream down your cheeks whenever your g-spot gets abused over and over. Caleb forces you to meet his gaze. His thrusts are slower, but harder. 

“Shit, you're really gonna milk me dry, yeah?” Caleb hisses when he feels you flutter around him. Your cum is mixed with his, and drips down his cock, to his balls. 

Caleb pulls you tighter, deepening the kiss one last time while he breeds you full over and over for nth time since the last night, devouring your whimpers when the words you muttered to him last night comes into memory. You're so dizzy with pleasure, and Caleb has stolen all of your breaths. 

He finally pulls out, his cum endlessly drizzling out of your abused hole, and it almost sets him off again. 

Nonetheless, he forces himself to get out of bed so he can get a towel and clean you up.

Another loving kiss he presses onto your temple.

“I'm gonna get a towel, pipsqueak.” His husky whispers send shivers down your body, and the warmth of his touch lingers on your thighs for a lot longer than you realise.

He leaves the bed for the bathroom. 

You nuzzle into the pillows Caleb was just lying on, drowning yourself with his scent. The wetness that sticks between your legs–you can't tell if it's your fresh arousal or if it's his cum anymore.  

Not that it mattered since steadying your breath when you realised he was still in you when you stirred before him to see what he'd do next, gave you such a big reward. 

And you'd do it all over again. You would say things to get under his skin, just to get a rise out of him, just to keep his attention on you, always. 

You wanted to keep his strained voice when he called your name, the way he looks at you with so much desperation when he breeds you full, in a bottle and store it for your perverted indulgence. 

No one else needs to know that this part of Caleb exists, because he belongs to you. 

The dim light catches your attention underneath the thick sheets. You take the device, unlocking the phone with your fingerprint. 

6 missed calls. 

You swipe them away. You shut off his phone.

He doesn't need to know.

He doesn't need to remember.

At least, not when he's with you. 

[maruflix]

CAVE CANEM #oneshot #squidgame #thefrontman

Cave canem. Beware of dogs. In the ruthless games, there are countless hounds looking for prey. Oh Young-Il promises to be your shield, your shepherd, your guardian angel— but you soon find out that it’s often the unassuming ones who are the most dangerous.

feat. the frontman / hwang in-ho / oh young-il　　⎯⎯　wc. 2.5k

cw: female reader, yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, manipulation, squid game spoilers, i’ll use all of his names & nicknames here so don’t get confused, i do not condone yanderes irl, no beta we die like all 455 players in season 1

I.

It’s funny how tragedy brings people together.

It has only been twenty two hours since you entered the twisted battle royale with 45.6 billion won dangled on top of you, but you’ve found companionship in fellow participants: Player 456 Seong Gi-hun, Player 388 Kang Dae-ho, Player 390 Park Jung-bae, and Player 001.

Oh, Player 001.

“How are your wounds?”

You look up to see Player 001 — or, as he introduced himself to you, Oh Young-il. His eyes gleam in worry as he takes in your appearance: hair disheveled, knee bruised, sleeves rolled up to reveal the scratches littering your hands.

You’re just glad you didn’t get killed during the Red Light, Green Light stampede.

“This is nothing,” you assured him with a genuine smile, “thank you for helping me.”

Young-il pauses. Then, as if remembering something, he reaches into his pockets and hands you a small carton of milk. “Here. You must be dehydrated.” He watches as you gratefully take it, instantly drinking the contents, “Don’t worry about the next game. We’ll get through it together.”

Tears are brimming in your eyes at the kind man’s encouragement. You let him take your hand and nod at him, smiling. “Thank you, Young-il-ssi.”

Young-il gives you one last smile before climbing back down to rejoin the rest of the group. His movements alerts Jung-bae, who mindlessly throws a glance his way.

Jung-bae instantly pauses. He knew from the start that Player 001 is not a simple man, but the expression on Young-il’s face is nothing short of terrifying, like a tiger eyeing its’ prey. He follows Young-il’s line of sight and finds you, curled on one of the beds.

A chill runs down his spine.

II.

You don’t know how you got through the Six-Legged Pentathlon, but you did.

Chosen as the one to play ddakji — it’s not like you sucked at it, but you were scared you would be a burden to your teammates — your hands couldn’t stop trembling.

The squares of ddakji felt like rocks in your hand, your shoulders heavy by the fear of dragging everyone down. Their encouragement and cheers merely heightened your anxiety.

That was, until a hand gently clasps your own. “Don’t think too much about it. You said you won more times than the ddakji guy, didn’t you?” Young-il’s eyes twinkle, his shoulders lax, as if he’s not currently playing for his life, “Well, you won’t receive slaps if you fail, so go wild.” It’s amazing how he manages to silence all your fears.

You flipped the ddakji on your first try.

III.

In-ho knew it from the start, but the reality of it still disgusts him. Humans are selfish creatures, blinded by greed, driven by instincts.

He sighs, looking at the results of the vote— 139 for ‘O’ and 116 for ‘X’. One hundred and thirty nine people marching to their own deaths like brainless maggots.

He sneaks a glance your way and sees that you’re shuddering. His heart drops to the pits of his stomach. Slipping away from Gi-hun, he makes his way to you. He keeps on surprising himself: joining Player 456 in the games, cheering with the others during the pentathlon, and now comforting you?

But In-ho is not one to ruminate over his actions too much. He knows what he wants, he gets what he wants, and right now all he wants is to hold you in his arms.

“Young-il,” your eyes instantly land on his and he wonders how it will feel to hear you call him by his real name, “I’m scared. I’m so scared, I don’t want to die!”

He’s beside you the next second, catching you before you can fall to the ground, strong arms wrapped securely on your waist. In-ho falters for a fraction of a second, but his hand quickly shoots up to caress your hair.

Receiving the kindest act for the first time in many years, you can’t help but to cry in his warm embrace, letting out all your frustration and fear. His touches are so tender, so serene, and being enveloped in his tall figure makes you feel protected.

In-ho calms your sobs with gentle shushes, rubbing circles on your back. He was unsure then, but his heart is determined now— he wants you, he’s got to have you, and there’s nothing under the seven heavens that will stop him.

He shudders at the thought of having you all to himself. In-ho can barely control himself right now, when you fit so good in his arms, your skin brushing against his. What would it feel like? To have you next to him every second of every day? He’d shower you with all of him— all his riches, all his affection, all his time.

First, the two of you will have to exit the game safely.

His grip on you tightens as he lifts his gaze from your trembling figure to the several pink guards stationed near the door. In the distance, they straighten their posture in alarm.

Even among the many faces of the players, they can locate their boss in a heartbeat — the Front Man is still the Front Man, even if he’s amusing himself by playing dress up. The way he carries himself is so telling, they have no idea how the players are none the wiser to the wolf hiding amongst the sheep.

... And right now, their superior’s glare speaks volumes about what he’s conveying.

A warning.

IV.

‘One more game,’ they said, ‘it’ll be fun,’ they said.

The rotating stage under your feet is spinning at a controlled pace, yet you feel like you’re going to throw up. The light feels blinding, the gasps from the participants making your head spin even more.

Amidst all the chaos, Young-il’s hand clasping yours serves as an anchor.

“You okay?” His voice is as gentle as ever, unworried.

Even Gi-hun, the former winner of the games, is not exempt to the anxiety and apprehension that shadows the rest of them, but Young-il has never showed any signs of stress— like he has a safety net... or like he’s very sure of his own abilities.

You nod, grateful that he’s allowed you to stick by him like glue all this time. He squeezes your hand in encouragement, smiling.

“Two.” The woman’s voice announces cheerily. In an instant, the crowd erupts in disarray.

Young-il looks around. “Stick close to me,” he murmurs before pulling you with him towards one of the rooms. Not wanting to be a burden to him, you quickly fall in line, matching his steps. His back is very comforting as he cleverly navigates the chaotic hall, avoiding the other players.

Just when the two of you reached the door, a player appears, crashing into the two of you and sending you tumbling away from Young-il. Your world spins as you struggle to pick yourself up, searching for him.

Thankfully, you locate him almost immediately. A few steps away from the door, Young-il is strangling your attacker. “Get in! I’ll be right behind you!”

Fueled by adrenaline, you nod frantically, moving to enter the room. But there’s already another person inside.

True to his word, Young-il quickly scrambles to the room, slamming the door behind him. He immediately takes note of the anomaly, his expression dark.

“I-I was here first!” The stranger sputtered, shuffling away from Young-il.

There are loud bangs coming from the other side of the door and you quickly hold onto the lock, tears now falling from your eyes. “Sorry!” You yell, ”Sorry!”

“Five. Four. Three.” The countdown continues mercilessly.

You look back, “The other guy—!” but your words are caught in your throat.

Young-il has the man in a chokehold. For a moment you had no idea why he’s handling the guy so aggressively when it’s obvious that he’s more scared of the two of you than the two of you are of him.

“Two.”

“Young-il!”

“One.”

CRACK!

You scream. The man slips from Young-il’s hold, limp.

Lifeless.

Young-il’s gaze meets yours. There’s an emotion you can’t quite place on them, but it’s quickly replaced by that of horror. “I-I had to do it.” Tears start to brim on the corner of his eyes, his hands visibly shaking, “I had to-” he desperately crawls away from the dead man as he covers his face in terror, “I’m a monster, I-”

Crying, you kneel next to him, pulling him into an embrace, “No, you’re not,” assuring him in between sobs, “it’s this game, it’s the game’s doing, it’s not your fault!”

Breath haggard, In-ho rubs your head comfortingly. You didn’t even realize that he has long since stopped crying. He covers your ears, knowing by now that the sound of gunshots horrifies you, and glances at the body of the man he just killed.

You watched him kill one guy and you get this rattled? He sighs quietly.

For you, he would kill a thousand more.

V, PART ONE.

“Hey girl,” a voice booms from behind you, catching you by surprise.

You let go of your hand that’s holding Young-il’s, turning your head to address the stranger.

“Saw you from afar and I can’t believe I didn’t talk to you sooner.” The purple haired man wastes no time getting into your space, running a hand through his hair. “D’ya know who I am? Because I wanna know who you are.”

You stiffen up. Of course you know him. Who didn’t? The number one ambassador of the ‘O’ team, aka the people who wish to continue the games, the outspoken menace, Thanos.

Thanos catches sight of something behind you and wavers before looking back at you. “A-anyway. I’ll see you around. Team’s always open, baby!” He exclaims, but it’s obvious that he’s trying to hide his nervousness.

You look back to see Young-il smiling at you. “Wonder what that’s about.”

The people here freaks you out. You sigh. “I know, right?”

In-ho hums, his finger treading along the sharp edges of the fork.

V, PART TWO.

The bathroom is a mess— team ‘O’ and team ‘X’, warring against each other, fueled by the actions of a junkie who’s high out of his mind.

In the middle of it all, Hwang In-ho calmly makes his way to a purple haired man who is slumped on the ground, yelling at his friend.

“Get him, get that sucker! He tried to kill me, man!”

A dark shadow looms over Thanos, and he looks up in terror, recognizing In-ho immediately. “W-what are you-?”

In-ho eyes him coldly before swinging down.

The cold gleam of a fork is the last thing Thanos sees before it penetrates his neck.

VI.

The fire of revolution burns bright behind all of you. Your hands may tremble, but your rifle is secure in your arms. All those first person shooter games are finally coming in handy as you manage to actually shoot down several guards.

“You okay?!” Young-il questions in panic, “You’re doing a good job! It’s gonna get more dangerous afterwards, but I can’t leave you behind!”

You nod, reassuring him, following him up the stairs with two other men in tow. Right now, you are brother-in-arms, comrades, fighting for your freedom.

Young-il halts, sensing the presence of a guard, before speaking into the comm, “Gi-hun-ssi, we found it.” he holds out an arm in front of you like a shield, “Start attacking and draw their attention. Then we’ll hit them from behind.”

Your knees tremble in fear and anticipation. Somehow, with Young-il on your side, you feel like this ragtag team of freedom fighters can actually succeed.

“Okay, got it!” Gi-hun’s invigorated reply came from the other side.

Young-il pockets the comm, nodding to the two men. They nod back in response and move forward. He quickly moves in front of you, signaling you to stay behind him.

Just when you thought about how reliable he is, two sharp gunshots resonates in the air.

Is it over?

You peek from behind Young-il’s back only to be met by the horrific sight of Player 015 and Player 047 sprawled on the ground, choking on their own blood.

Young-il’s rifle is still pointed at the two of them, his eyes cold.

Who is this person? You scramble to get away from him, alarm bells ringing in your head. Did he miss his shot? Did I see wrong? Is there a guard in front of him?

“Young-il-ssi, what’s going on?” came Gi-hun’s distressed voice from the comm, “Are you shooting?”

You watch in horror as Young-il calmly reloads his rifle before squatting down and glancing your way. “Gi-hun-ssi, I’m sorry.” Like a seasoned actor, the unscathed Young-il puts on a strained voice, “It’s all over. They got us too.”

Gi-hun’s voice is blurred as you fall to your knees, finally coming into terms with the betrayal of the person you’ve come to trust the most.

Young-il momentarily looks away from you to shoot the two men one more time. Cold, unfeeling, his fingers steady like he’s done this countless times before.

This is not the Young-il you know.

When it’s all over, several pink guards march up to him, a coat and a black mask in tow. Young-il (?) lifts a hand up to stop them, turning to finally address you.

Your breath gets caught in your throat, your fingers desperately trying to locate the trigger on your rifle, but the man in front of you is much quicker. He yanks the rifle from your trembling hands, unloading the bullets and kicking the weapon away as you back away to the wall, shivering in fear.

He sighs, taking the coat from one of the guards before kneeling down to your height. “I won’t hurt you. You know that, right?”

Confused, you can only gape at him. “W-who are you..?”

“Hwang In-ho. My real name.” he offers, tenderly wiping a tear from your cheek, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to lie to you. I’ll explain everything, if you’ll just give me a chance..?”

In one swift motion, he wraps his coat around your shoulders. You look at his eyes, as tender and unchanging as ever— then it dawns on you: he has always been this way.

“Mr. Front Man, sir, everything is ready.”

You let In-ho pull you to your feet, his touch as comforting as ever as the two of you pass by countless guards. They make way for the two of you, the hierarchy crystal clear when not one of them dare to step out of line.

You’ve been such a fool. All the signs were there, the reason why Player 001 carries himself with such grace as if he’s untouchable. How the guards say things about ‘not tolerating actions that will disrupt the votes’ and yet kept quiet when it’s Player 001’s turn to speak his mind. The way they would shuffle away from him slightly whenever he walks—

In-ho turns to look at you, his eyes kind, “Do you trust me?”

Yet, you can’t bring yourself to say no.

note: i know i appeared on the dash absolutely losing it over the recruiter/the salesman/ddakji guy (he’ll get his own fic after this don’t worry) but i took one look at this man with his hair down and i fell into a SPIRAL. this is totally a passion project. front man ftw 🙆‍♀️

[yearoftheotpevent]

hello fan creators!

Year of the OTP is officially back for 2025 with a new set of prompts!

we've switched some of the prompt categories around in an effort to make the event more inclusive of all kinds of fanworks. we've also included song prompts this year! the playlist is on spotify here.

we want to give a huge thank you to everyone who participated in the last event - it grew so much larger than we ever expected and it's truly amazing how you all took our last set of prompts and made so many wonderful things. keep it up!

a couple housekeeping notes: we will not be reblogging every entry this year. mods will keep an eye on the blog if you have any questions, but the reblogs were too much last time. thank you for your understanding!

we will be closing the 2023 collection on December 31. thank you for your continued participation, but it's time to look forward!

the link for the new collection will be posted here January 1.

we're looking forward to seeing what you create this year!

alt text below the cut.

Year of the OTP 2025

The Rules: the Ao3 collection accepts any /-ship works inspired by a prompt from this sheet The Challenge: make 12 works for one ship in one year, using prompts from each month

*you do not need to do the challenge to post to the AO3 collection, as long as you follow the rules*

January first kiss ♦ “may I have this dance” ♦ sharing clothes ♦ BDSM AU ♦ stockholm syndrome ♦ Strong – One Direction

February Valentine’s Day ♦ “it made me think of you” ♦ bed sharing ♦ multiple penetration ♦ mind control/mind break ♦ Like Real People Do – Hozier

March fresh starts ♦ “what are you doing with that”♦ florist/tattoo artist ♦ phone sex ♦ major character death ♦ Take Care – Drake

April pranks ♦ “right in front of my salad” ♦ running away together ♦ dom bottom/sub top ♦ raised to be a killer ♦ Drops of Jupiter – Train

May hanahaki ♦ “we’re dating? since when?” ♦ body swap ♦ magical sex toys ♦ stalking ♦ Paper Rings – Taylor Swift

June pride ♦ “I can’t get you out of my mind” ♦ relationship reveal ♦ unconventional sex positions ♦ paying a debt with your body ♦ Good Looking – Dixon Dallas

July vacation together ♦ “I like my _ how I like my coffee” ♦ kidfic ♦ mutual masturbation ♦ dehumanization ♦ You May Be Right – Billy Joel

August Sports AU ♦ “you’re thinking too much”♦ cooking together ♦ object insertion/ penetration ♦ becoming a monster ♦ You Shook Me All Night Long – AC/DC

September high school/college sweethearts ♦ “come here” ♦ date night gone wrong ♦ semi-public sex ♦ abduction ♦ Thinking Bout You – Frank Ocean

October costumes ♦ “boo” ♦ online dating ♦ shibari ♦ mutual non-con ♦ Mr. Brightside – The Killers

November camping ♦ “are you sure” ♦ touch-starved ♦ cockwarming ♦ abusive relationship ♦ A Thousand Years – Christina Perri

December holiday traditions ♦ “where are you taking me” ♦ bathing together ♦ food play ♦ tortured for information ♦ Everything Is Alright – Laura Shigihara

[inuiiwonderland]

BABY

The boys invite you over to their house but now suffer with their moms/siblings/parents showing you their baby pictures<3 gn reader!!!

-

Ace trappola

He leaves for ONE second. One second and he can already hear your small giggles coming from his room as he hears the voice of his older brother with you.

Oh gross don’t tell me he’s flirting with you!

Ace thinks as he quickly shoots his way up the stairs. The boy brows were furrowed as he slams the door wide open. He was ready to cuss up a storm like a sailor and tell his brother to fuck off and leave but froze once he sees what you’re holding.

Oh

OH!

You were the first one to break the silence as you throw your head back as a laugh escapes your lips.

“Oh sevens you were one ugly baby!” You say. Trying very hard to keep in your giggles as you look over at the picture. His brother cackling right next to you.

“Oh totally! He looked like a dried up raisin” His brother says in between laughter.

“HEY! No I didn’t!” Ace can feel the tip of his ears heat up as he marches right towards you two.

“These pictures say otherwise” You flipped to the second page and quickly slapped your hand over your mouth.

“Oh sevens…” Ace quickly tries snatching the book from your hands but his brother stops him before he could.

“Oh my! Is that-“

“Yep! He couldn’t go ANYWHERE without it!” In the picture, you can see THE ace trappola standing with a wide toothy grin on his face as he holds onto an equally adorable bunny stuffed animal.

“Oh this one is my favorite!” He points to a photo of baby Ace dressed up as a strawberry as he cried his eyes out. You can see his brother standing next to him with a big smile on his face as Ace looks like he’s about to pop a vain. The next picture shows him all calm and smiley as he’s given his favorite bunny stuffed animal.

“Aweeee ace! You were so adorable!!” You squeal. With his brother now laughing and wheezing, Ace was able to immediately snatch the photo album from your hands as his whole face was a bright cherry red.

“Okay that’s enough and get the hell outta my room jack ass!”

-

Deuce spade

He should’ve known something was up when it suddenly got quiet. He carefully walks back to his room with a tray in hand filled with cookies. The moment he opens the door he lets out a loud shriek as he watches his mom excitedly showing you his baby pictures.

“M-mom? What are you-“

“This was him at 2 months! Isn’t he cute?”

“For sure! Aw look at those chubby cheeks!”

“Oh and this was on his 6th birthday party! Look at those dimples!” She says as you squealed in awe. The two of you continued to flip through the baby album as deuce turned redder and redder by the seconds.

“Aww you were such a cutie deucy!” His face instantly goes red as he sets down the tray on the table.

“Oh oh! And look at this!”

“Is that a bunny onesie?” You squeal out. He immediately gulps knowing the embarrassing stories behind that onesie.

“Yes! I bought it for him for the white rabbit fest! He loved it so much he would always wear it to bed or when we go buy groceries. He cried really hard when he outgrew it though”

“I-I did not! I was just sad that’s all! I did not cry!”

“Oh! Look at this one! This was taken on his first day of school! I still remember it like it was yesterday. After taking that photo, he wouldn’t let go of me! He didn’t want to go in at all and we had to have three teachers come and drag him inside as he cried his little heart out! I remember feeling so terrible but I had to go to work”

“Okay that’s enough! No more baby photos and embarrassing stories!” He says as he snatches the book away.

“No wait please I want to see more!”

-

Sebek Zigvolt

It’s been 5 minutes already and you still weren’t back from the bathroom! You told him you would be quick and now he’s slowly growing impatient from your absence. He gets up and storms out of the room as he makes his way to the bathroom.

“Human! You have been in there for almost 10 minutes! Is something wrong?!” Silence. He frowns before knocking again.

“You know we have to study for that Alchemy test this upcoming week!”

Again nothing. Just as he was about to knock again a loud laugh and giggles could be heard from downstairs. And those giggles sounded eerily familiar.

Wait

That’s your giggles!

In a speed of light does he make it downstairs and to the kitchen where the laughs and giggles were coming from.

There stood you and his father going through sebek baby photo album.

“W-what are you doing?!” He screeched.

“Oh sebek! I was just showing your friend your baby photos!” His father said cheerfully. The half fae turned bright red as he was ready to yell but was stopped the moment he heard his name being called from behind him.

“Sebek Zigvolt. What did I tell you about yelling in the house?!” There stood his mother. Brows furrowed as her arms were crossed over her chest.

“Anywho! Look! This was him when he first came into this world!”

“Awww! I guess he’s always been loud from the looks of it” You say. Chuckling at the photo in front of you.

“Oh don’t get me started. He was crying up a storm and I swear I could feel my eardrums burst” His mother sighs as she walks over to the sink. His father smiles as he looks down at the album.

“Yeah he was a crier. Oh look at this one!” He shows you a picture of 4 month old sebek staring wide eyed at the camera. Chubby cheeks and big ole eyes.

“Awww! You were adorable!”

“Oh this is my favorite one!” His mother points at one where you can see sebek wearing a knight costume. From the looks of it it must’ve been Halloween. He wore a proud smile as he held up his sword. You coo at the photo as they both continued to show you more.

“Oh look at this one! He saw a horror movie for the first time and there was a scene where the father sacrifices himself for his kids and he burst out into tears! He wouldn’t let go of his dad for weeks!”

“Enough! Let’s go back to studying!” He says as he grabs your hand and pulls you away from his parents and the photo album.

“Wait no one more !”

-

This was an old draft from like a year ago🌝 I just decided to finish it now😖

I FULLY BELIEVE DEUCE HAD DIMPLES JUST LIEK ME! IDC WHAT YALL SAY!!!!

[tinythebunni]

thinking about overstimulating Clark Kent!

Clark had always been strict with his morals. he knew what was wrong and right and tried very hard not to stray from that path. he wouldn’t even kill a spider in his room, simply letting it out the window and onto a tree. i guess you could say he was a goody two shoes.

He’s been used to girls fawning over him but he never paid much attention. he feared what would happen if someone noticed his inhuman like abilities. or what if he got too excited kissing someone and he accidentally lasered their eyes out?

Clark kept to himself and never tried to date. it was as if he was uninterested in it entirely.

you took this as a challenge though. you met him at the daily planet, around end of March. you were a cute little thing, almost 5’11, his ideal height for a girlfriend. he loved the tall girls as he himself was almost 6’6.

dressed in pink and white skimpy outfits, heels that could break someone’s neck, and a glare comparable to his heat vision. everything about you made him nervous. he couldn’t figure out why you had this effect on him, but he knew he needed to stay away from you. before he broke his own rules.

you always said hai to him and batted your lashes in a way that would make his cheeks flush and his dick twitch is his oh so cute slacks!

he couldn’t seem to get away from the overwhelming smell of your vanilla cupcake perfume and the slight smell of arousal that came from you everytime he was around.

it was like you were his own personal nightmare.

it took around 3 month for him to crack, for him to finally say yes to your dates that always had an innuendo to them. he couldn’t tell though, he thought maybe if he went on a date with you that it would end his torment. but he was so wrong.

—————-

“wait, p-please slow down! fuck-i can’t take it!!“ he moaned out, forehead slick with sweat. you had Clark undressed , with only his tie and white socks on. he looked so cute and innocent like this.

you were riding him, your cunt gripping him like a vice. you could feel his balls hitting your ass as you bounced up and down, the feeling only spurring you on more.

his heels were digging into the mattress of the shitty motel room you dragged him to. with each movement of your hips he seemed to slide down further on the bed, but your feet kept him grounded there, making sure he didn’t fall.

“i can’t, bunny please! f-fuck needyouneedyou” he whimpered out through moans, his hands trying to lift you off of him. you moved your hand to rest on his neck, your perfectly manicured claws forcing him to lay back down. he didn’t notice the strange amount of strength you had, nor the way your eyes flashed white for a second. “stop trying to run from me clarkie! jus-oh god, take it like a good boy. i know you can.”

the smile you gave him seemed almost sinister, as you sped up and kept him down. he cried out, hopelessly trying to pry you off him and keep you close all at the same time. you leaned down and licked the sheen off his chest, taking your time over his pink raw nipples.

his tongue lolled out his mouth, eyes glazing over and body getting increasingly more and more warm. your hand reached down to grip his balls in grip almost painful to him, tugging and massaging as he writhed underneath you. moaning out pleas that fell on deaf ears, he came inside of you, plugging you up nice and full.

he thought you’d finally stop, he’d already came 3 times and he was sure he had nothing left in him, but you leaned down, muffling his moans that slowly turned into wails. “waitwait! i came, mmm pl-please i can’t! it hurts! gimme a break, jus 5 minutes!” the overstimulation had him turning dumb. mind fuzzy in ways that only he knew kryptonite could do. it was almost supernatural.

you pulled him up into a sitting position, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him closer, you kept fucking him deeper and deeper inside of you, chasing your own release. your hands were surely leaving dents in his back with how sharp your nails were.

shaking and spasming, you looked at him with blown pupils and a wicked smile, staring him in the eyes before you bite into his neck as you came all over him.

he was scared, understandably, as no one usually was able to penetrate his skin, but that was taken over by the immense amount of pleasure he felt after the bite. the slight warmth as you let go and kept grinding yourself down on him, overstimulating yourself. he looked down at were you were connected and saw the creamy white ring around his cock, dripping down his balls. he finally came for the last time with a dying out moan as he blacked out.

————————

when he finally came to, he was back in his apartment, in a nice robe clean and perfectly manicured, as if last night never happened. the only indication that it did? the mark on his neck and the note you left for him.

“i enjoyed last night, ill see you at work superboy! oh, and make sure to cover up that bite, don’t want anyone asking questions do you?”