#leaf tunic dress thing

[tiny-dragon-of-art]

Made my fae sona for @valrayne-faeu a couple days ago because this AU is so cool!

[deantfwinchester]

A New Chapter

Pairing: No-Outbreak!AUJoel x Teacher!Reader (pregnant)

Moving forward in the narrative a bit y'all. Our girl is pregnant now, so we're a couple years into their marriage. The premise of this one's a little goofy, but he looks so pretty in the Gladiator trailer I couldn't help myself.

Summary: You and Sarah go Halloween costume hunting and find the perfect family costume, much to Joel's chagrin. He'll do just about anything for his little girl, though. :)

Warnings: fluff as per usual. a teeny bit of angst and emotional h/c, but so so fluffy. a couple of suggestive little innuendos for fun, but very much PG as usual.

A/N: I'll make a little timeline at some point explaining how these all fit into the same universe, but they're definitely the same couple so far! I've got plenty more planned for these two, and I'm excited to keep going, but I've also got a kind of multi-chap AU situation I may try to write? Idk, guess we'll see which bulleted fic I'm inspired to expand next, lol.

Word Count: 3.3k

__________________________________________________________

“You can’t be serious,” Joel looks at you, exasperated. 

“Serious as a heart attack,” you respond, smiling wide. 

“Hell no!” he says, amused at the very idea. 

“What, Sarah’s got that precious little goddess dress from the costume store, and they were right next to it!” you exclaim. 

___________________________

You’ve just presented Joel with a gold and white roman general costume you found while you and Sarah were shopping for Halloween costumes. You took her to the costume shop after picking her up from school and the two of you were over the moon. Halloween is your favorite holiday hands down - you and Sarah have always had that in common. It was one of the first things you bonded over, and Joel was thrilled that the two of you wanted to do that together. You hadn’t been looking forward to finding a maternity costume though - it was still early September, but you knew one that fit well right now would be pretty uncomfy by the end of October.

You and Sarah walk a few aisles in before stopping in your tracks at a beautiful mythology display - long dresses and beautiful accessories with the names of different Greco-Roman goddesses in a row, with a family-costume display showing mannequins of an adult man, adult woman, and a teen girl and young boy. The young boy’s costume had a shield and chest plate of worn-looking plastic, and the teen girl’s costume was a long ombré-colored dress with little gold appliqués printed on the hem.

Sarah was enchanted. And you were enamored with the childlike wonder she felt touching the low-quality polyester and spandex blend. The adult women’s costume mirrored the toga-like shape of the girl’s, but was one-shouldered and of a different shade. Sarah saw them and immediately knew what she wanted to be for Halloween this year - a princess in this goddess dress and you an empress to match. The names on these costumes were inaccurate as hell, but you weren’t here to hold Spirit Halloween to historical accuracy or academic integrity. The look on her face made it clear you couldn’t say no - especially when you saw the Maternity option hanging in a thick plastic bag next to it closed with a plastic snap. At least this costume would hang loosely no matter how much you’re showing by Halloween. Might even drive Joel a little crazy. 

Once you agreed to it, you decided just the two of you couldn’t do it alone - not when there was only one member of your family to be left out. You grab the Adult Men’s costume hanging next to the mannequin - it was different from the boy’s, not some sort of battle armor, but labeled Emperor to match the adult women’s. It’s white and lined in gold leaf appliqués just like the goddess costumes. It's a beautiful costume, with a cape and a little caged skirt thing hanging over the tunic. You’re especially fond of the myriad golden accessories accompanying this costume - wide bangles and a little headband of golden leaves. You’re torn between cackling at how much Joel would undoubtedly protest such an elaborate costume and practically salivating at the image of him wearing it. He’d look ridiculously hot in this costume — you’d just need to convince him. 

Joel isn’t totally averse to costume-wearing, especially for his girls’ favorite holiday. He would put on a little something here and there to appease you or Sarah - maybe a cape or a few accessories. You’d seen pictures from one Halloween a few years before you met them with Sarah in a pretty little pink fairy costume and Joel in a much too small pair of wings and a feathery tiara, holding a matching wand. Seeing it never fails to make you smile.

Joel is a wonderful father to Sarah - he can always tell her No when necessary, whether it has to do with her health and safety, development, or due to financial constraints, but always explains to her why. As much as he’d love to spoil her to pieces, he wants to make sure she grows up with a realistic understanding of the world around her, and understands both her privilege and the difference between Want and Need. The way he communicates with her and makes parenting choices with a focus on the kind of person she is and will become is in large part what drew you to him - to a place where you not only felt comfortable being with him, but having a child with him. You are more than confident he’ll be a wonderful father to your next child as well — he’d made that clear when you’d first found out.

When it wasn’t necessary to tell Sarah No, however - he couldn’t ever look his little girl in the eye and resist. Letting her polish his nails, play with glittery make-up, and wearing little wings to match her own were just a few of the things he’d done to make her smile. If the only reason to say “No” was that he didn’t want to, well it simply wasn’t reason enough.

With this knowledge in mind, you were fairly certain Joel could be convinced to put on this elaborate costume - maybe with some work boots instead of the mannequin’s little sandals, though. And a pair of shorts under the skirty pieces, probably. Once you and Sarah have picked out the shades you want and spent way too much time staring at the wall of accessories for your own costumes, you leaf through the men’s costume bags for Joel’s size and snag one off the rack. Sarah’s eyes go wide when you turn around and raise your eyebrows at her, and a huge grin spreads across her face - she’s laughing excitedly at just the prospect of her dad in this elaborate costume, and shaking her head vigorously while agreeing - it has to come home. 

____________________________________________

“C’mon baby. Y’all’s are beautiful but this?,” says Joel, gesturing to the elaborate white costume you’ve removed from the bag and hung up to present to him in all its gilded glory. ���This is insane. Looks more like a damn wedding dress than a Halloween costume.”

“Oh but Joel, it’s so beautiful! I know it’s a little elaborate, but Sarah and I are already gonna be matching. We want you to do it with us! Dress as a family for the party,” you plead, and you can see his resolve beginning to crack. He shakes his head, both hands on his hips, and glowers at you, though it lacks any real contempt.

“Darlin’ I think it’s precious that you and Sarah got these little matching costumes. Hell, nothing could make my heart happier than seeing you two looking so gorgeous together in these pretty dresses she chose. But y’all are my beautiful little stars of the show, let’s be honest,” he finishes, placing his hand heavily on your hip and drawing you closer. “You, Sarah, and her perfect little sister on the way,” he grins, resting his other hand on your belly and locking eyes with you. 

“That’s kinda the thing though, Joel. This is the last Halloween we can do this, just the three of us. Every Halloween after this will be a different kind of special, but it’ll never just be us and Sarah again after this year. You know she’d love it, no matter what the reason,” you say with a slight smirk, knowing you and Sarah both want this, at least in part, to mess with Joel. 

He locks eyes with you,and his are gentle and wistful at the idea. You’re both elated at the mere thought of the future ahead with your growing family, but the change is a big shift for all of you. You worry about Sarah more than anything. You’ve had this conversation a couple of times already — the age gap between Sarah and the baby is so big, you just worry she’ll feel left out when you two get busy, or get hyper focused on the baby those first few months. 

You aren’t afraid to admit that you’re scared — scared you won’t be able to give the baby everything she needs or scared you won’t bond like you should. It’s a big relief to you, a new mom, that this won’t be Joel’s first rodeo. He’s already assuaged your worries on multiple occasions during this pregnancy and preparation period with his existing knowledge in child rearing. There’s not a man in the world better suited to fatherhood, and his quiet confidence and reassurance when your anxieties arise comfort you more than he’d ever understand.

But the fear is still there — fear of not being enough, leaving Joel to feel like he’s alone in this all over again, even with you standing beside him. You’re especially scared you won’t ensure Sarah continues to get all the attention and love she needs. You know fully well that your love can only multiply — it does so a little each year a new set of students arrives at your classroom door — but your attention can unfortunately divide, and sometimes will, despite your best efforts. 

Yes you both want to mess with Joel a little with your request that he wear this elaborate costume that’ll make him a bit bashful; but more than anything, you want him to do it with the two of you for Sarah. To make that choice to remind her that the two of you would do anything for her — as goofy as the request may be — no matter how much your lives change in the coming years. You want to do as many special things for her as possible beforehand — and you need his help for this one. 

“I just — I know it’s silly, but I want her to enjoy this chapter as much as possible before things change. And I know you do too, I’m just…,” you look down at your feet as you say this, unable to find the words to continue. Your eyes mist over as you think about it, and before you know it, you’re in his arms, face pressed tightly against his chest. His hand holds the back of your head, pulling you close, thumb moving gently back and forth over your crown, soothing the concerns he could see encroaching as you spoke. 

“Sweetheart.‘S not silly at all,” he pauses, searching for the words to help you find solace in your unease. “I know you’re worried about that, I do. And do you know how much it means to me that this is on your mind? That you’re busy growing a little person in there, having to think about mothering a baby for the first time, and she’s at the top of your list?” Joel stares at you with a sincerity that aches in your chest before he continues, “And that’s why I want you to remember that she knows. You’re an incredible mother already, baby, and none of that’s gonna change. The fact that you’re concerned about it in the first place is enough. I really believe that, baby. Sarah’ll always know that we’re here.”

You’re crying for real now, burying your face in his chest again as he squeezes you tight, resting his head on yours as it lies in the crook of his neck. He closes his eyes and holds you for a bit longer, slightly swaying back and forth to soothe you. He knows the hormones are playing a part in your worry and reaction, but also knows better than to identify them as such. No matter the cause, you’re experiencing these feelings — and no matter how fleeting they are, he’ll make sure you get what you need. 

After a minute or two of holding you in silence, Joel pulls his head back and looks down at you, rubbing your back to rouse you from your trance. You look up at him to see a small smile on his face and enough warmth in his eyes to have you weeping all over again.

“Alright darlin’, let’s go give this ridiculous getup a shot,” he says, gesturing toward the bedroom with his head.

“Really Joel?,” you ask, voice filled with hope and gratitude. 

“Course baby. If I’m gonna wear it, gonna damn well make sure it fits right.”

“Wait’ll you see the accessories!” you say excitedly, wiping your eyes and sniffing back the last of your tears.

“Oh good lord,” he huffs out, rolling his eyes playfully before grabbing your hand and leading you to the bedroom, costume in hand.

______________________________________________________

~ Halloween Night ~

“Have I told you yet how gorgeous you look in this costume?” you ask in Joel’s ear as Sarah runs ahead of the two of you toward the door to Tommy’s. 

“Only about seven times since I first put it on, sweet girl,” he says to you through a smile, chuckling at your insistence. “Better give it a rest, or my head’s gonna be too big to fit through the door by the time we get home.” He smirks at you, squeezing your hand in his as you cross the yard. 

“Ah, I think it’ll fit just fine,” you reply, rubbing a gentle hand against his chest. “Did I tell you how sexy you are tonight yet?,” you whisper closer to his ear now, smiling while you do it, grinning wider as a light blush touches his cheeks before he smiles at you as well.

“Hmm, I’m not sure. Mighta mentioned it once or twice.” His brows furrow as he feigns consideration. “I’d much rather talk about how incredible you look tonight, darlin’,” he whispers into your neck before pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder, all too softly for the hormones rushing through your system. He knows it too, when your eyes go wide and your own cheeks flush, and is far too satisfied with himself for your liking. Years into your relationship and he can still drive you wild with so little — you have plenty of tricks up your sleeve as well, but the second trimester has been giving him an unfair advantage lately. 

Before you can gather your thoughts, you’re behind Sarah at Tommy’s door as he opens it to greet you, cowboy hat on and beer in hand. Otherwise, still dressed in his work flannel and jeans. Damn, Joel’s gotta be jealous right now. 

Tommy hugs Sarah and ushers her inside before looking at the two of you, eyes widening as he takes in Joel’s appearance, pretending to hide the elation growing on his face at seeing his brother in such an elaborate outfit. 

“Well ain’t that a lotta gold? Not sure what I expected when Sarah told me, but this wasn’t it,” he says, biting back a laugh. “Gotta say brother, didn’t think you had it in ya,” he says, clapping Joel on the shoulder, unable to conceal his entertained grin any longer. Joel rolls his eyes in response, and along with Tommy, looks to you.

“Now you look beautiful honey. Though I gotta say, if you’re goin for one of the Vestal Virgins, I think you may be in trouble,” he jokes, looking down at your growing bump and pulling you in for a hug.

“Aren’t you a riot,” you say flatly, rolling your eyes and smiling at his comment before hugging him back, “Hi Tommy. Y’all having fun in here?”

He moves aside so you and Joel can enter the house and Joel follows after Sarah to grab you both a drink. He’ll grab a beer like his brother, while you’re relegated to a soda without caffeine for the time being. 

“Course we are!” He waits until Joel moves further away and leans toward you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “I have to say — Thank you. Thank you so much. For that,” he gestures toward Joel at the little drink bar with Sarah. 

You chuckle a little with him, “You’re welcome. Go easy on him tonight though, alright? I know he’d much rather be wearing what you are right now,” you ask.

“Alright, alright, I promise. But please take pictures. Take so many pictures,” he laughs, and you laugh with him. “Seldom I get to see my brother like this, I’m gonna need a record of it.”

“Oh yeah, that’s kinda the idea. Speaking of which, you really put some effort in on the costume for tonight, huh?,” you ask, unimpressed, but good-natured.  

“Hey, I’m hosting! A little busy gettin’ everything together. Besides, a cowboy hat always suits me,” he gives a winning smile before changing the subject. “Now how are you and my little niece doing tonight?,” he asks, moving a hand down to your belly and bending a bit to greet the little one from outside. You place your hand on top of his and move it over to the side where you’ve been feeling the baby moving around lately.

“Say something to her again,” you instruct, “she’s been wiggling up a storm today.”

Tommy speaks to the baby above your belly again and you feel a little foot move ever so slightly against his hand. The way he lights up warms your heart, and you’re nearly overcome with emotion. He’s so excited to feel her that he hugs you to him once again. 

The two of you talk a bit longer about the newfound quickening, and you’re elated at his enthusiasm. It’s an incredible feeling, knowing just how much this baby will be loved — how surrounded she’ll be with family, and how happy everyone will be to have her there. Before you can think yourself into happy tears, Joel returns, smiling wide overhearing his brother’s excitement. He has a beer in one hand and an odd-looking green drink in the other, adorned with a black bendy draw covered in skulls. Your eyes widen as he hands you the cloudy slime-colored monstrosity. Tommy looks warily at the drink, and excuses himself to go talk to Sarah instead. 

“Oh Joel, what is that?!” you ask amused.

“Go on, try it darlin’” he says, gesturing for you to take a sip.The morning sickness had been rough in the beginning, and though it had tapered a few weeks back, you weren’t exactly looking to reawaken the nausea anytime soon. 

You sip with hesitation. It’s surprisingly tasty, a little fruity and fizzy. When you look down in it to find two gummy eyeballs staring back at you, bobbing around in the green. You laugh aloud at the sight, and Joel smiles so wide his eyes nearly close - he has two favorite sounds, and that’s one of them. Soon enough, he’ll have three. 

“It’s delicious, but what the hell is it?,” you ask through the laughter. 

“Sarah and I thought you might like a little Halloween mocktail to shake things up. I think it’s lemonade, sprite, and some of that blue stuff? Might be some pineapple or orange juice in there too, I think Sarah just started adding stuff. Gummy eyeballs were apparently a necessary garnish - she said they’re ‘on theme’ and that you’d agree.”

“She’s very right. Thank you sweetie, I appreciate it,” you say, taking another sip before kissing his cheek. You got him this time, and he grows a slight bashful blush at the public affection, but it’s never unwelcome. 

“Course. Happy to experiment for you anytime, sweetheart,” he grins back and you lose the battle, jaw dropping open a bit in response, eyes wide at him. 

He laughs again and puts his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side, before kissing you gently, just enough to keep the rise going. The two of you look over to see Tommy and Sarah talking excitedly, mixing some sort of other “punch,” this time in a shade of red. You raise your cup to Joel’s lips, and he takes a sip, looking surprised at the quality of their amateur mixology. You lean your head against his shoulder as you both look on at the party, wistfully watching your daughter enjoy herself. You stay there for a while, doing everything to remember the final Halloween of this beautiful chapter, just before a new one begins.

[beatinginavoid]

The Forest

Part 1 of 6 fics.

The forest was a dangerous place.

All of the people that lived nearby knew it intimately. They took extra care to warn each and every traveller of it too. It had been this way for generations, and would doubtless continue in this manner for generations more. Whether or not their warnings were heeded were another matter entirely.

One traveller, dressed in a leaf green tunic, had brushed off the repeated warning.

“How can such a lush, enchanting forest possibly be dangerous? I’ll relish the scenery,” they had said.

So what happened when they entered the forest?

— — —

The forest was just as beautiful as you thought. Flourishing green plants and trees everywhere, wildflowers and mushrooms scattered about. Somewhere nearby burbled a river or brook, the relaxing noise mingling with the songs of various birds, creating cheery and soothing ambience for a picture perfect scene.

You walk further in, admiring the greenery and running your fingers over and through it. You stoop to smell a particularly pretty flower, closing your eyes and letting the scent invade your senses.

“Oh, a nature lover!” says a sweet voice.

Startled, you swiftly turn around and stare. There, little more than half a dozen feet away, stands an attractive figure. They were clothed only in leaves and draped all over in jewellery made of flowers. Their hair was the same shade of lush green that had drawn you to the forest in the first place.

“Hello,” you say politely.

“Do you like green growing things?” they ask.

“Of course! They are the inspiration for my art,” you proudly proclaim, gesturing all around you.

The figure smiles happily. “Do you like to water them? Make sure they are nourished?”

You raise an eyebrow and nod. “Naturally,” you reply.

The figure clapped their hands together. “Wonderful! Wonderful! What a truly good heart you possess for a human!”

“Why thank you,” you say before the last part of their sentence registers fully in your mind. “...for a human?”

You scrutinise the figure closely. The nose was slim, the hazel eyes slanted, the ears pointed. This figure was clearly not human. Was it some kind of forest sprite? A dryad? Something you had never heard of?

“Yes. For a human.” They flick a finger in your direction and grin widely, eyes sparkling with joy.

You tilt your head in confusion and take half a step back, ready to flee. Was this enchanting figure what the townsfolk had tried to warn you of? A tiny pinch of pain hit your chest. Was it from fear? You had to move. You try to take another step but it’s like your feet are rooted to the ground.

Fingers, head, spine, nothing responds to your will but your eyes. You stand there, frozen like a living statue as your heart, lungs and ribs retain their movements. Every breath and each accelerating beat resound through your body with a force you’ve never felt from your organs before.

It made you more aware than you’ve ever been about your own fragile mortality.

Your heart settles on an elevated rate as the figure doesn’t make any further moves. They merely smile at you in a friendly manner, looking like some benign entity. All they do is blink at you.

You feel as if they are waiting for something. Your heart continues pumping at its current pace but each beat becomes more forceful, pounding harder and harder, slamming into your ribs. It throbs harshly, shaking your whole upper body. It’s so loud you can hear it.

BA-THUMP BA-THUMP BA-THUMP BA-THUMP BA-THUMP BA-THUMP BA-THUMP BA-THUMP BA-THUMP BA-THUMP BA-THUMP 

You have never felt your heart beat like this before. It was both unnerving and intriguing. You admire life in many forms, particularly those of plants, but being confronted with your own so clearly threw you for a loop. Plants did not have a pulsing organ within them to pump lifeblood, so you never really paid attention to the source of life that powered other organisms.

Now that your focus was on it, you could feel a weird tickling sensation coupled with an awkward heavy feeling. It only increased as the seconds ticked by. Your chest was starting to feel painful, your breathing picking up.

Your pounding heart spiked in pain with every single beat. As your lungs began to heave, your pump decided to race once more. Your lungs were working harder than ever, but air seemed frustratingly hard to come by. The heart, desperate and panicking at the lack of oxygen, was thundering into your ribs faster than ever before. You began to feel lightheaded and dizzy, your vision going a bit blurry.

The pain, heavily focused in the centre of your chest, became sharper, tearing, until an agonising spike doubled you over at the waist. A thorny branch, like a thick rose stem, thrashed free from your chest, leaving pieces of broken ribs to fall to the ground.

Your eyes are as wide as they will go as you behold the sight.

Speared upon the thorny branch, and now dangling down from your broken rib cage, is your heart. It is still attached inside you and you can feel the rapid pulsing of blood still flowing around your body. Each frantic beat sends the apex of your pumping muscle swinging slightly. The organ also sends out spurts of blood from every thorn caused laceration, dripping and spraying onto the ground near your feet in a macabre parody of watering a flower.

You pant and gasp, barely hanging onto consciousness, gawking in disbelief as your heart frantically pumps in the open air in plain view as it tries to keep life in your body.

Beat, spurt, beat, spurt, beat, spurt, beat, spurt, beat, spurt, beat, spurt-

Your heart clearly starts to struggle as the oxygen and blood levels drop quickly. The pumps contracts at such a rapid rate that you can’t even feel the blood moving through your veins anymore. The poor organ was practically covered in crimson liquid, the blood dripping at your feet with every tiny movement.

“Yes, you will make such a dazzling addition to the forest!” says the being.

Your vision is blurred so badly, black encroaching at the edges, still locked on your life’s core, that all you can see is a trembling, wiggly red blob. The heart is still racing, yearning for resources it couldn’t have, but the pumping was weaker. The contracting muscle did not spurt blood nearly as far as before, the weakening beats turning it into more of a waterfall fountain.

Your body is frozen in place again, though this time it seems your lungs have been affected as well. You gasp and wheeze with only the tiniest trickle of air getting through. Your beleaguered heart no longer had a steady rhythm. It pumped erratically, skipping and stuttering over multiple beats.

The agonising pain was consuming your mind, but you were almost unaware of it through the cold numbness spreading across your body from your fingers and toes. A small blessing.

“That’s it… Feed the forest…”

You hardly heard the voice over a low drone, punctuated by the irregular beats of your own heart that were directly in your ears. There was no air left in your system whatsoever. The vulnerable heart convulsed roughly, spasming in a last ditch effort to retain some semblance of rhythm. All of a sudden it stopped, falling into a vaguely jiggling, bleeding mass. Your eyes finally slip shut as your heart fibrillates. Your consciousness, and life, fled.

After an unknown amount of time, the fibrillation of the muscle quivered to a stop.

“Perfect. Very well done, human. Just need that last little bit…” the entity praises.

They reach out a hand and caress the bloody heart softly, slowly, and lovingly, their eyes full of adoration. They let both ventricles rest in their hand and suddenly crush both chambers in their grasp. Blood flies and dribbles over the being’s hand as they squeeze every last drop from the sad, wilted, deflated organ.

Days later the frozen body was no longer there. In its place stands a tree with beautiful white flowers. The speared and dangling heart was now a large, juicy fruit. The tree only adds to the picturesque scenery.

The forest was a dangerous place.

-----

I keep getting ideas, help! D:

I plan to write 5 other fics like this one, each with their own sort of theme.

While I prefer light cardiophilia (except heart exposure I guess?) I do dabble in the dark.

This is for anyone reading my works that wanted something darker!

🥀🫀

[neonlight2]

Please can you write about the boys not wanting jaehaera to marry prompt

Thank you ❣️

Sure babe, thanks for the request, hope you like it. 🥀

Warning: incest?? (Not actually related but… adoption??), implied vulgarity/smut

Jaehaera Targaryen (OC) x House Targaryen, Hightower, and Velaryons

Masterlist:

The boys don’t want Jaehaera to get married just as much as she doesn’t…

To preface, there is no doubt every Lord AND Lady would have their eye on Jaehaera. More so when she comes of age, because as you do— and you will come to see, she does things that surpasses beliefs by then.

Along with the strife for power and wealth, many will simply be enticed by the princess. She is a striking sight to be held. Differing greatly from her family, yes. However the opposition within her beauty only makes her all the more mesmerizing… to everyone.

Her hair, longer and thicker than even the lion on the crest of the house of Lannister— whom would try and fail in humiliating rejection. It was black as obsidian and would sway when not put up. Sometimes, even when it was up, strands would fall, effortlessly finding the middle of her back.

That of which was her biggest controversy.

Her back.

Great lines, mimicking that of lighting within a raging storm, ran across her back. From nape to the bottom of her spine it spiraled and branched to vast whatever left on the sides. It contrasted her skin in every season. Turning a deep red in winter as her skin grew fair from the frosty air and decaying leafs, and white as bone as the sun’s rays caused the air to go hazy in one’s eyes, whilst sinking into flesh— making her a glowing bronze.

Many nobles found her lack of shame for them to be obscene. She seemed to like flaunting them, purposely wearing backless dresses, or ripping her tunics as to “feel the breeze against her skin”. That was the excuse that put Viserys at ease, for at least she was not simply laced by binding leather or cloth, which covered only as much as deemed necessary by Jaehaera. The decision always came down to her mood really.

Yet, as it became normal to people of court, those whom admire her couldn’t help becoming enticed by the scars. Later enticement lead to lust, and the princess was no stranger to things of that nature.

If anyone was lucky enough to even touch the princess, one would live in content for the rest of their life. To bed her was another, far too good to be described by any that had anyway… or maybe too dangerous. (We’ll find that out later.)

As Jaehaera became one with her body, controlling her limbs to her advantage in strategy of battle and manipulation, as well as the curves she had grown fond of, more took notice.

And those that had loved her before it all, well… it wasn’t long until they could no longer idly stand by.

Daemon felt as if he had been struck…

the moment he arrived on king landing soil he had at least expected his brother to welcome him home, being as that he was the one to send him to the wall in the first place. But when his feet hit the ground, and all he was comforted by was the sound of singing not too far away. Was there to be a celebration he knew not of? Daemon refused the idea of being left out of a party, and a part of him was eager to know that this mascaraed was for his victory.

News flash… it wasn’t.

He walked in, already stripped of armor, which he disposed of on the way there, and his eye grew wide. The magical purple of his iris had diminished into the blackness of his pupil. The sight in front of him was something he’d remember always; a cherished memory he wished to relive, yet was only satisfied whilst dreaming.

There she was, at least two feet taller than when he had left, spinning in circles. Her hair was let free, spiraling around with her, making those within her circle have to duck in cover or allow distance in between themselves and the Princess. She was a sight to behold, flush that traveled down all the way to her collar bone, skin glistened in a thin line of sweat from the activity. Daemon would bet that she had been like this for hours. And that was the only thing that irked him; he’d been too late to see the beginning.

While Daemon’s eyes took in all he could, the prince couldn’t help but noticed how her attire changed. How it caressed the curve of her breast, more full than before, whilst gripping her waist tight— as if to tease him. She had always been dangerous, but as Daemon felt his heart skip, he knew that she was now lethal.

“Brother! Finally you’ve joined us!”

His brother had never seemed more irritable.

Viserys was quick to beckon his brother, pulling him into a hug when able. He was definitely more drunk than sober. And it would seem he had his niece to thank for that.

“I thought it best to have a celebration for your return uncle.” Said a familiar voice, one he’d also missed and brought him great warmth.

Oh his princess.

“So this was your doing then, Rhaenyra?” He smiles, cocking his head at her coyly.

Laughing, a small blush creeping onto her face at his attention, she shook her head. “I thought to have a celebration, but Issa qēlos demanded it be done right here.” My star.

Glancing back onto the dance floor he noticed his raven haired beauty was no longer there. “Well she is a force to be reckoned with, that much I know hasn’t changed.” He stated, brows scrunched as he searched.

“Oh a lot has changed while you’ve been away Dae.”

Zipping around, he’s faced with shadow like girl. “Jaehaera.”

Raising a brow teasingly, she tilted her head to look past his shoulder at Rhaenyra. “I suppose he forgot his promise.”

Dawning on him as quick as an arrow, Daemon laughs. “Then allow me to apologize with a dance, Issa jaesa.” My goddess.

She took his hand without hesitation this time, only stopping his lead to whisper into Rhaenyra’s ear— making the pair giggle.

It would seem he’d have to catch up on inside jokes.

And he was right. Daemon’s chin rested comfortably against the crook of her neck, her head now too much of a stretch for him to place it there. As sad as he found the loss, secretly, the Prince couldn’t help but love the fact his nose was nestled close to her jaw. If he were to croon he’d feel her pulse. But he knew better than to do that in front of his brother. Especially since he’d only just returned.

“I’ve been a bit bored without you.”

“Oh? Do tell.” Daemon practically purred.

She hummed in confirmation, “Rhaenyra and Alicent have been the only people to keep me sane around here, and poor Queenie already has to deal with her own pestering suitors—,”

Jaehaera’s almost tripped due to Daemon’s feet halting at an obnoxious speed. She was just about to snip at his behavior when she met his eyes, which were anything but playful. Backing her head slightly to get a better grasp of his expression, she noticed a vein twitching at the side of his head.

“What?”

The word was harsh, force through gritted teeth as his hold on her grew more secure. His arm now wrapped around her middle, whilst his other intertwined with her own.

He was intimidating, no one could say otherwise, but Jaehaera knew better. He’d never actually hurt her, on purpose anyway.

“Don’t ‘what’ me Daemon, and don’t look at me like that. I’ve done nothing wrong.” Jaehaera remarked, pushing her body against his to make him move once again. She didn’t need her father being suspicious of their sudden stop of festivities.

“And it’s not like you’re the one being bothered by a bunch of pompous pricks.”

Shifting his tight jaw, Daemon exhaled deeply through his nose and ease back as much as he could. But his eyes had a mind of their own, jumping to every lord around, marking each one that even dared to glance at the princess as a target.

“What has Viserys said—?”

“He told me that I could do as I wish.”

Daemon’s shoulders loosened at that.

“I’m guessing you put them all in there place then?”

“All the arrogant ones,” she stated with a small smile. “Some were quite polite actually.”

Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, Daemon twirled her ferociously before picking her up to tower above all others.

“Is that what pleases you? Politeness?”

Biting her lip to surprise a giggle, Jaehaera stared down at Daemon— those amber eyes lit aflame. “Respect is nice, but I do enjoy good groveling.”

Nodding, Daemon lowered the princess slowly till they were face level. He was going to whisper sweet, nasty things to her, wanting to see her blush desperately, but she beat him to the punch.

“I do like my lovers on their knees.”

A guttural moan found itself lodged in the rogue Prince’s throat. “I’ve made you insatiable haven’t I, Issa jaesa.” My goddess.

“You and Rhaenyra alway insist to feed my ego,” she shrugged playfully, slowing as the dance came to an end.

“I’d gladly take the blame. Something divine as you should be worshipped. Settle for no less.”

“I think you just don’t want me to get married.”

“No lord nor lady here deserves you.”

And he meant every word. From then on Daemon was a menace. If anyone approached her and Jaehaera didn’t seem the least bit amused— they were done for. Even in some events where they did please her, Daemon could not help but for jealous by the loss of attention. Sure, he could share with Rhaenyra and his brother, perhaps even lady Alicent at times, but he refused to let anyone outside the tiny circle Jaehaera had made up for herself have her. He was never one to cage her in manner of physicality. It would be hypocritical of him. But he always made it known when it did displease him.

Then he was either scolded or given the attention he had been begging for. Both made his blood hot and his head fuzzy. As long as he kept those addictive eyes on him, and her hand free.

Aegon was a passive aggressive little fucker…

He would shamelessly throw himself onto Jaehaera, being the clingy bitch he is. It didn’t matter if they were at a huge gathering or in their own company— Aegon was touching her in some way or lingering in her vicinity. It had been that way since he was young. She was the only person he ever longed to be with always. And if he wasn’t it was one of two reasons:

1. Jaehaera was traveling, which much to his disappointment was more often than not.

Or,

2. He was compensating for the lack of attention she was giving him by drinking his weight in wine or surrounding himself with women who kept his mind fuzzy enough to imagine that Jaehaera was there with him.

Oh, and Aegon was by far more vulgar than his brother in his affections for her.

It shouldn’t be a shocker how dirty Aegon is. In most regard, Jaehaera was the only figure he ever looked up to and felt completely loved by.

His father thought him a waste of space, a disappointment to his mother, and he fell short completely to his siblings. Not to mention he had little to no relationship to his sister Rhaenyra nor her children— even though he did quite miss his friendship with Jace, whether he admitted or not.

The single bonding factor for his family was her. And in a way, he loved her more for it.

But then again, Jaehaera was there for most of his childhood. Which meant while he was going through puberty, she was the only woman beside his mother and his sister that was around him most of the time. And he found her glorious.

He found that the maids he haphazardly fooled around with to be nothing in comparison. Thankfully however, he did treat them respectfully in that regard. He was still a proud prick about his status, but there’s no way he’d be disrespectful to a woman— especially one he’d slept with, while Jaehaera was around.

She definitely covered for him in the beginning. After finding him balls deep in one of the older ladies of court, when Alicent had been searching for him at during a banquet, she could only laugh to herself and tease him about it later. Nonetheless, she told Alicent he was taking a piss and would be back soon enough.

He would for sure test his limits with her. At first he’d hang on her figure whilst she discussed formal business, totally unamused and making himself busy by playing with the long strands of hair falling to her back. His cheek would lay heavy on her shoulder, collecting sweat in between as time went on, and his fingers would trail. Once he let them glide delicately against her scars, liking the differing texture in skin. At first it could even be counted as innocent, which would only last for a few moments. Soon his hand would trail down, and Jaehaera would sway him hard enough to make him hiss and back off. He’d give her a “sweet” grin and speedily kiss her neck before running away.

Being that as it may, he didn’t take it to kindly when Lords would approach her. Ladies he didn’t mind, and he would admit that it was because he was rather fond of Jaehaera’s ambiguity within sexuality. He just didn’t like when there could be a legal tie involved. And if any lord was to be with her, there was a higher chance to push marriage.

Not to mention, if we’re being completely honest, he just doesn’t like when she pays attention to any man other than him. This included his brother to an extent. But most of the time he needn’t worry, because his family always seemed overly protective and possessive of Jaehaera. So he wasn’t alone in his efforts.

Although, there was an infamous spectacle involving him and Lord Lannister…

“Have you lost your mind boy?!”

Aegon blinked slowly at his father, waiting for this to all blow over, as if dismembering the son of a high lord were a small mishap.

“Father, the only one who’s lost anything is Lord Lannister—,”

“What in the seven hells were you thinking?!” Viserys bellowed

Aemond could help but scoff out a laugh, surprisingly proud of his older brother. To be fair, if Aegon hadn’t done it, he would be the one being scolded.

“Lord Lannister crossed a line—,” Aegon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. His head was pounded something fierce, and he couldn’t decide whether to blame the alcohol he had a few hours before or this whole conundrum.

“What? Did he harm your ego so far that it gave you the means to cut off his finger?”

“My king,” Jaehaera stepped forward, brushing Aegon’s side with a gentle hand to his shoulder— a gesture of comfort— without looking at him. “I will speak for him.”

Viserys let out an exasperated exhale, “You protect him too much. The boy has to learn to justify his actions.”

“Father, I only did what anyone else in this family would have.” The prince watched as his father scoffed, taking the hand Jaehaera offered instantly. His mother, Alicent stood by, inching her hand to grab the other in order to feel some relief.

Even she seemed to not believe him.

“Lannister put his filthy hand on Jaehaera.”

Everything went still. All that could be heard was a quick wince come from the tall princess.

She really wished to keep that a secret. Enough trouble had begun already.

“Father, it’s been taken care of.” Her words were meant to coo away any violent thoughts warping Viserys mind, but it hardly worked with so many around.

“You should have aimed for his whole hand.” Alicent stated, anger flashing in her eyes.

“Ali!” Jaehaera hissed, yanking away her hand.

She only received a flickering glance before Alicent shared a knowing look with her husband, then moving toward her son. Eventually kissing his cheek while muttering, “Well done.”

He smiled like an idiot for the rest of the day. Cause I’m his mind…

He still had a chance.

Aemond was possessive, and he wasn’t shy about it…

But he was far more strategic and regal in his affection or actions. Unlike his brother, he understood the importance of court.

Aemond’s touches were subtle and his words witty. He would take every opportunity to compliment Jaehaera. He would even go as far to put the thought of a ball, festival, or banquet into his mother’s head; it was all in hopes of seeing Jaehaera and spending numerous hours with her.

For most of his childhood, her presence was capricious. She came and went faster then the seasons changed. The kingdom would be lucky if she stayed for a month, for there was always work to be done across the sea. There was a rumor that if she and her dragon were to stay longer than a moon’s time then they’d turn to ash. Sadly, Aemond couldn’t prove them wrong.

But when she did come home, it was always when she was urged by her family. Of course, the request had to be occasional, or she’d discard every other one in the fire of Shykros breath or the salty mist below them. Most of the time they knew the chance of impending dance would lure her back.

One of his fondest memories with her was when she had come home two days before the timely hunt of the season, followed by a sleepless night of eating, dancing, and fucking. No one slept of their own free will; it was only until they could no longer stand or ached to move. By royal decree. Part of the few Jaehaera had set into motion.

As she spared with him, a exuberant smile etched into her face, Jaehaera practically twirled with every turn. Disarming him in few minutes, she always picked up his sword (which she gifted him) and spoke eagerly. “Again.”

Dare he say, he’d never seen her so elated during training. Sure, Aemond knew her to be playful and cunning. Perhaps a bit mischievous at time— wicked when provoked— but otherwise she was always calculated while sparring. She practiced like it was battle. As if she would die that very session. The only sign of humanity during the process was shown at the end, after her opponent laid on the floor beneath her. Sometimes if she was too far gone she’d even have them pinned, her foot on their chest and her blade hovering just above their neck.

Rare, but he’d seen it. She was ravenous and chaotic, yet so controlled. Aemond was enthralled by Jaehaera, and he made it known. (Much like Daemon in that regard.)

“Why are you so happy Fae?” A nickname he’d given her in his youth after she told him the tails of fairies and mythology. While magic flowed through his veins, he thought her the definition of magic.

“Why wouldn’t I be happy?” She quipped back, flipping her sword around her hand. “My whole family is to be under the same roof.” Jaehaera was beaming at the thought.

Aemond couldn’t help but feel torn. He loved that expression she was wearing, but what brought her happiness also meant he lost pieces of her. Parts of herself she would give away to his sister and uncle.

“Gods I haven’t seen Nyra in forever.” Jaehaera let out a proper giggle. Eyes shining bright. “Daemon will be there too no doubt. That is if his petty fit is over.”

“It’s diminish the moment he hears your attending.” Aemond said, his tone sharper than he meant. Their blades meeting briefly in the same second.

“Yes I suppose. I haven’t seen him in a month, and I know by the lack of responses to my letters of Dorne he and Nyra’s aren’t necessarily pleased.”

Furrowing his brow, he blocks her advance and lunges to the side. She pounced to the opposite. “Why is that?”

“I was propositioned five times. A valiant effort I’ll give them that.” Jaehaera laughed as her mind wandered far. “I almost said yes to one.”

Aemond couldn’t help but grind his teeth.

He knew she loved Dorne. Everyone knew she loved Dorne. She found their customs more comely than the pristine life at court. It was natural for her to fit in there.

That frightened her family to no end.

Locking his jaw, Aemond fueled his anger into his legs. And for a short time he even managed to back her close to the wall. But they never made it there.

It was quickly over after Jaehaera hit the hilt of his sword, making him stagger— she didn’t care if the sword grazed her skin. Her eyes were always on the prize. Soon enough he was on the floor. Both could only hear each others heavy breathing and the thumping in their chests.

Except Aemond’s heart was fueled by adrenaline and worry.

“I cut you—,”

“It’s alright. My move was risky. You did very well.”

“No, I should have—,”

“Aemond,” she looked down at him, tone stern and hand reached out. “You did well. You’re improving.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Aemond nodded with a downcast expression. His hand finding hers.

“Would I lie to you?”

“No.”

“Then don’t look as if I have. It’s a happy day, and I expect you to have a glorious time. I can’t dance with moping feet.”

Sure enough, Aemond perked up. She danced with him for almost half the night. In the beginning of the banquet he had her all to himself. He would have accompanied her during the hunt, but Dameon had to fucking steal her the moment he arrived.

Aemond knew he’d have to be a fool not to count Daemon and Nyra as competitors. Seven hells, he felt jealousy creep up his spine when his own mother and siblings had her attention.

He knew about his mothers past with Jaehaera. It was the plot to most of his bestie stories as a child. The fondness of Alicent’s voice while talking about her seeped into his ears like wax on paper. Sealing a decree like a code of honor. Only as he grew older did he recognize the emotion he knew all too well within his mothers eyes. And his brother and sister were no better. 

So he’d use the similarity in interests to his advantage.

If Jaehaera was on training grounds, so was he.

If she was in the library it was because he had ordered new books, told her of them, and awaited for her there. Where they would talk of philosophy, fantasy, politics, and morality. Often whilst sitting in close proximity— enough to be considered in each others laps (head, feet, hips, all were touched when in reach).

He’d ride beside as they flew through the sky. Their dragons kindred. Sometimes they’d race, sometimes Aemond watched as she do tricks— practically hanging from her saddle.

And if this weren’t enough…

He’d place his hand strategically wherever was closest to touching another person. If they were in a group, and someone’s shoulder was close enough to brush against Jaehaera’s— Aemond’s hand was there in seconds. No one but family deserved to touch her, and even then he felt limitations.

He’d see Aegon kiss her skin and cling to her “like a child”. The bastard was more cunning then he let on.

Most of the time he had the strength to let it go, but other times he simply walked over and kicked his brother in the shin.

Holding her hand was his predominant way for showing his affection. He wasn’t shameless like Aegon. He saved farther physicality for private. There he was more aggressive. Constantly grabbing what he was allowed, nudging the rules as him and Jaehaera talked by the fire in his or her room— hand creeping and molding into her thigh.

OH— and the level of obsession he has with her back is insane. Sure, before his own scar, he found them mesmerizing, but after the incident they took on an entirely different meaning for Aemond. He knew how it felt. To be marked. For all the world to see.

What people didn’t know was that her scars didn’t stop at the end of her spine. They went till the middle of her thighs, circling around them like snakes. And a few even made their way around her rib cage, just below her breasts.

Only few had seen them (cough cough– Daemon and Rhaenyra, and a few others you’ll meet), and he’d only got the chance because she needed help replacing her bandages one day after coming back from battle.

She’d never let the maesters treat them. She thought them imbeciles. And if she were to be open— as she was with anyone she allowed to see; they always asked the same question: “How did you get them?”

It was a sensitive topic for her. And the story only made Aemond feel even more encompassed by his love for her. (That’ll be a story for later.)

Let’s just say, he rubbed that in his brothers face— tastefully. No details of her tale, but enough to get back at Aegon for his vulgar comments.

Aemond always kept his eyepatch off when they were alone with each other. Simply because Jaehaera had picked out the very gem laying in his socket, and she said “You look beautiful.”

Let that sink in.

Jacaerys and Lucerys felt the same in this regard…

Both agreed that no one (lord, lady, or ruler) would be worthy of Jaehaera. It was simple as that. A shared idea amongst the whole family. She was the one thing that could unite the feuding sides.

However— unlike their cousins— they viewed Jaehaera like another mother. So while Aegon and Aemond had their own selfish ideals— along with their mother and Daemon— the boys just wanted Jaehaera to be happy.

Yes, they were Rhaenyra’s boys. But they were also her boys.

And from what they could see, and the way in which she spoke to them, she already was happy. Traveling was her passion, and they never wished to see that disappear. She was their idol, who they looked up too (other than Rhaenyra).

She taught Jace everything and anything to do with swordsmanship and whatever else he needed or wanted. The same with Luke. She treated them equally, distributing affection evenly through words of praise, tight hugs and loving pats atop their heads.

Luke never felt left out for his lack of experience in sword craft, nor was he shamed for not wanting his position. She praised him for his kindness and compassion, while others mocked it for weakness. Jaehaera urged his love of music and poetry, and often snuck him out of the palace (as well as Jace if he wished to come) to travel to foreign lands. It didn’t matter if he’d have to go to schooling with only an hour of rest. He’d do it every night if he could.

Jaehaera never once made Jace feel pressured in his title, being heir to the throne— when so many questioned his legitimacy. She would simply say, “if they call you illegitimate than I am a fraud.” For if he could defend her name with valiance and ferocity , then why could he not do the same for himself. She never denied that he was of Strong, but she never let him say that he was not Laenor’s son. Her dear friend doted more dutifully to those boys than most fathers in general. He was, in every sense she believed important, their father.

So… both were more supportive than the rest in the notion of her getting married. Secretly, they may hope she’d marry someone close to them so they could see her more (a little bias towards some suitors). But as long as Jaehaera is happy, they are too.

(We’ll talk about Laenor later, just know he’d support whatever she’d want caused they’re each others emotional support people. Besties for life.)

Viserys hated the thought as well…

and was ever so delighted upon hearing her destain for the idea as well. Hypocritical of him, he’d admit. Pushing for one daughter to marry while pending the other for as long as able; it was chaos he had a hand in. But in his heart and mind he knew it must be that way. But his word always guaranteed the very known truth…

Jaehaera was not to be touched, unless she wished it so.

***

(Definitely gonna do the girls later, but I think it’s kinda obvious that they’re somewhat the same as the boys.)

[flowerandblood]

The Pearl and The Sapphire Chapter Preview & Series Moodboard After a while, the music changed. It too sounded like something suitable for a court dance, however there was a much older sound. A couple emerged from the entrance dressed in renaissance costumes sewn with incredible for him details. The attire of the young dark-haired, bearded and well-built men consisted of an elaborate black tunic over which was superimposed a chain with animal head motifs. He, however, could not take his eye off the girl who walked holding his hand. Her gown was phenomenal, a brownish-blue, its bodice only beginning below her breasts, which were covered only by a thin white undershirt. Her buff-coloured sleeves were slit and tied with ribbons, with white fabric sticking out from underneath, he had the impression that the whole thing was made up of coloured stripes. Around her neck hung a beautiful, delicate gold necklace of three teardrop-shaped pearls, complementing her sun-shaped earrings. Her dark hair was woven into an elegant braid, with the netting at the back of her head, characteristic of renaissance hairstyles, also interspersed with pearls. There was something about her appearance, the way she gazed softly and warmly at the men standing before her, her barely perceptible smile, the glint in her eye, the lightness of her movement made him hold his breath. He swallowed loudly when they suddenly began to dance, he felt as if he had been transported back in time and was in an italian renaissance mansion at a feast of one of the great princes of Florence or Milan, their movements unforced, fluid, graceful and respectful. They made motions to the rhythm of the music moving in a circle so that everyone could see up close what they wore around their necks and hands. Only then did he see that there were beautiful rings on her tiny fingers, one of which had a sapphire wrapped in a gold leaf border. The whole time he was looking at them his throat was squeezed, his heart pounding hard for some reason. He wasn't sure he had ever been so enamoured of anything or anyone as he was of this young girl he had just seen before him.

(I will use taglist from the Impossbile Choice here, let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist for this one. Kisses!)

[roseofithaca]

Broken Bird

(A side follow-up to @idiotwithanipad 's The Return, following Gore Mary and Silver. Ft a brief appearance by her oc Amy).

She can't stop fidgeting. Not that that's anything new, she's nearly always twitching or shuffling or moving her hands, a near endless bundle of energy. But this was different. This was excitement. And nerves. But mostly excitement!

Mummy tuts again; "Silver Ravenstars Guppy, you must learn to be still."

"Sorry, Mummy. I'm just totally buzzing!"

"Hmm, I can sees that. You is a right little bumble bee this eve. But if you don't sit still enough for Mummy to finish sortin' your hair, I shall turn you into a buzzin' bee for reals and put yous to work pollo-newtin' thems flowers!"

Silver giggles earnestly, covering her mouth with her hands as she squirms with delight. Mummy always says such silly things that make her laugh.

She sits on her bed, letting Mummy finish braiding her hair. Today, in her shattered mind's eye, it's long enough to reach down her back. The pink in her fringe hangs in curly bangs framing her face.

"There. I 'spose yous shall do." Mummy was determined to make her hair as neat as possible (which took bloody ages).

That was fair enough, Amy's daddy was a Lord. A Knight, even. Did that make Amy a Lady? Silver wanted to make a good impression if he was looking out on the two of them.

Silver jumps to her feet and spins around, visualising the skirts of her magnificent dress twirling around her in flows of night black and pink to match her hair.

"How do I look, Mummy?"

Anyone would think the child was getting ready for her first prom, rather than a play date with the first child her own age she's met in twenty years.

The wraith of smoke and bone looked at her daughter, grinning from ear to ear, spinning on her toes, convinced she had been donned in an outfit far more glamorous than the ones she died in, her hair luscious locks cascading past her shoulders rather than a leaf-ridden ebony haystack.

Mary answers truthfully, eyes shining with pride; "Beautiful, my darlin' girl. As always."

"Not too beautiful though, I don't want it to seem like I'm showing off or trying too hard. If she does like the dress, then I can ask you to make her one? She didn't quite look like a dressy sorta girl though...Maybe she'd like a tunic and breeches, or some armour, or something completely new and cool-"

"Little'en!" The witch said, pointedly, taking her hands, "Your tongue soon be tying itself in knots before yous can call for the girl to come out! Breathe."

The dead Wiccan obeys her mother, as she always does, squeezing the smoky gloves that cover the skeletal hands of the older woman, as she takes a deep breath in and then out, though the odd inevitable giggle continues to leak out.

"I just want her to like me, Mummy, so she'll want to come out and play again and again." Silver explains.

"She be the biggest fool in the country if she don't, my love." Mary says, with a bop of her finger to Silver's nose. "Do stop fretting so when there be no need for it."

"Okay. I'll try."

Her mother mimed, putting a cloak around her daughter's shoulders, adding to the child's delusions about her outfit.

Silver admired her reflection in the mirror she imagined before her, instead of the blank tree her disconnected eyes truly observed.

"I wonder what games she'll like to play. Hide and Seek? Tag? Probably not 20 questions but I suppose we can find out another way to say yes and no without her speaking. Or maybe she's just one of those girls who just likes to talk? Best that she can, with all that water. Like you said my Godmummy did."

A smile would have twitched on the charred woman's lips had they not been burned off. Ever since she'd told Silver about Annie, it always warmed her heart for her child to refer to her as that.

"We can find a way to talk about boys. Or girls. Or maybe she likes both, or neither. I wonder if she likes video games and horror films? She can tell me about all the new ones that have come out since I returned from my wicked false family. Oh, we're gonna have so much fun! It's gonna be awesome! Hehehe."

Mary's fingers glided through her adopted child's hair; "I'm sure it will, dearest love."

There was a touch of melancholy, of bittersweet loss, in her raspy tone.

Silver turned and gripped her mother's hands.

"Thank you! Thank you so much for arranging all this!" She beams, nearly bouncing on her toes. "I know you were so scared of me talking to people after what happened to me as a baby. But you knew how important this was to me! You've made me so happy. Argh! You're just the best mum in the whole wide world!"

She threw her arms around the witch's torso, hugging her tight. There was a wince, followed by her mother's body gasping, and going very stiff.

"I'm not hurting you, am I?" Silver asked, face pressed against Mary's chest.

Her mother shook her head and just patted the young girl's hair.

"Never, my darling."

She gently pulled Silver back and smiled, lovingly, at her. A smile for Silver's warped mind alone to see, but true as any.

"Now you go have a good time. Our sweet beast will stay close by and walk you back to me at dawn. Remember, no entering the house or talking to any others 'sides your friend. That be understood?"

Silver nodded, eagerly; "Yes, Mummy."

"That's my good girl. Run along now." She kissed her daughter's brow and patted her lower back. "Tell me all abouts it on the 'morrow."

"I will! 'Night, Mummy!"

With a heavy, blackened lump of a heart, Mary watched as the girl she'd claimed and believed to be her own skipped off out of the woods and towards the field. Her baby bird, taking her first flight on such fragile little wings. Oh, how she'd thought if she kept her cage looking all sparkly and gold with as many treats and toys as she did need, she'd never want to leave it. What a fool she'd been.

The witch went to her ally, the beast who was scratching furiously at the ever present flea in his ear. At her hand on his mane, he grumbled, then relaxed as he recognised her acrid scent. He dipped his head in reverence.

"Bring her back to me at first light. Not a minute later."

-

"Amy! Amy, it's me! It's Silver, remember? We met a few nights ago...Or was it a few months? Hehehe, I don't quite know, time is so funny, ain't it! Anyway, you should come out and play! Don't be scared. Mummy said it's fine!"

Humphrey watched the dancing girl twirl on the field. The strange, feral child rarely came this close to the house. A well-bred instinct to be repulsed by her filthy, shameful appearance conflicted with his compassion and pity for the mad, blind little urchin.

Were her mother not a witch, he'd usher her inside quicker than two shakes of a lamb's tail. He'd employ and house her, not as a scullery maid, but as a handmaiden and companion for his little girl. Every Lady should have one, just as Sophie had her beloved nurse. It would do his Amy good to have female company, especially in her mother's - albeit brief - absense.

Sadly, she was no orphan, no unclaimed soul. Her mother was one of the most terrifying creatures he'd ever laid eyes on. It baffled him still why she'd shown mercy and let him and Amy go, given the tales about what she's done to others who have stepped too close to her daughter. The fellow with no breeches still carried the welts on his exposed knees.

"Amy! Fizzy Girl? Can you hear me?" An hour had passed and the girl was still hollering from the field; "You haven't gone to bed, have you? Please wake up, Mummy says we can only play together till sunrise! It's because I can dance much better in the moonlight, see? Will you come dance with me too? Amy?"

"SILENCE, YOU INSOLENT LITTLE BEAST! YOU'RE DISTURBING MY KATHERINE'S SLEEP!" Humphrey heard the grey lady holler from the east wing.

Even he knew better than to venture near the sick little lady's room on the other end of the house, where the stern matriarch kept her under lock and key.

He wasn't that bad with his Amy, was he? There were genuine dangers to protect her from.

Such as misinformed guards. And witches.

At first his little girl hadn't seemed to grasp the reality behind what prompted him to want to coddle her so. She had been confused, which was understandable given they hadn't had known each other long, Sophie having hidden her all these years. That was fine. They'd have time to build their relationship. But Amy had been indicating a desire to leave, to escape as she called it. Perhaps merely out of worry and wanting to find her mum. He got it. Girls need their mums. But dads have their uses too.

Finally she seems to understand that now. On her last return to the house, something or someone had spooked her so. Now she rarely leaves his side, either gripping his head to her when he's separated, as if he were a doll to bring her comfort. Or she's clutching onto the robes of his body, trembling ever so, reluctant to go near the windows.

Oh it brings him no joy to see his little girl so afraid. But better that she's aware than have her stumbling into danger out of ignorance. As much as he wished to shield precious eyes from the horrors of the world, he'd only be hurting her more.

"Amy!" The witchling called again, after a while, clearly not frightened off by the angry Lady from the Button family whoever they were; "Amy, please! I'm sorry if I did something wrong before! I didn't mean to poke your eyes or squish your face, if that's why you don't want to come out. I promise I won't do it again! We can play anything you want, promise!"

There was no way of unhearing the sheer, innocent yearning in the child's voice. The loneliness. Humphrey peeked ever so carefully through the gap in the curtains.

The girl continued to spin and giggle. A curious, spine tingling little wraith. Had the mist grown thicker on the field since he'd last looked out?

"Amy...Amy, come out and play. Please. If you need to get ready, that's okay, I'll wait. Just please come out soon..."

Poor child. If only he could at least toss her some bread and cheese. He has a ghastly image in his head of the witch feeding her human flesh on the bone.

No. Maybe that was unfair. Again, she had let him go. And his child.

A father you be. A mother is I. Hadn't those been her words, more or less? Maybe the demon only committed evil acts to protect her daughter. God knows, if he had such powers, he'd rip the world and all those therin into shreds to keep Amy safe. Hell, his headless body seemed to be half way to doing so when they were separated.

Humphrey moves back from the window, looking over at his daughter on her bed. He sits beside her, folding part of his robe over her as a blanket, though she's already confined herself inside her little black robe.

"You don't wish to go out there, do you, Poppet? I have no way of guaranteeing if the girl's claims about her mother approving of this is true...But if you did want to-?"

Amy doesn't reply, not that she can in words without vomiting. But she doesn't so much as raise her head. All she does is grip his cloak and hide underneath, still trembling terribly.

His heart panged. If only she could tell her old dad what traumatised her so. Then he might be able to help make it better.

"No, that's fair, Amy, love." He sighs and strokes her head through the cloak and thick hood she wears; "You get it now, don't you? Dad isn't just being a silly worry wort. Best to stay inside where I can look after you. Perhaps when your mum is back, we can talk about you making some friends. Sound good?"

-

First rays of the sun begin to creep over the treetops. The mist had formed thick dew drops that trickled from the leaves and branches, as if rain had fallen on the clear night.

The blind girl continues to spin, though her movements are becoming lazier, arms drooping at her sides. She's been going straight for hours, her throat a little sore from the constant calling.

"I'm still here, Amy, just in case you fell asleep and changed your mind...It's okay...I get sleepy too..." She murmurs to the misty ether.

A growl behind her makes the hairs on her neck rise. A hairy head nudges her hand.

"Please...Just a little bit longer..."

A louder growl responds. Tired. Annoyed. Not in the mood to argue.

"I know Mummy said to return at dawn but I haven't even-"

The beast snarls at her now, then wraps his claw tight around her arm, tugging her back towards the forest.

"No...No, please...Mr. Floof, just five more minutes. Be kind, please."

He ignores her, tightening his grip.

Silver giggles, a tear falling from her eye.

"I hate you."

The beast stills.

"...Oh? You heard that, did you?" The young girl cackles; "Why, does it matter? You hate me too, right? Why else would you be so cruel? Why else would you never want to play with me? Why would you give me away when you were supposed to claim me as your own?!"

He let's go of her arm only to roar in her face. The girl shudders but stands her ground.

"That's right, isn't it? You watched me die. You found me. Mummy said that's how lost children are claimed. But you didn't want me, so you gave me to her. You gave me away."

Hot, ill-tempered breath wafts against her face.

"It's fine! It's fine, it's all fine, hahaha..." Silver giggles, manic and distraught; "You're not the first, or the last it seems. No ones ever wanted me, except Mummy. Not even the people who stole me wanted me. And now Fizzy Girl doesn't want me either..."

Another huff, then the beast grabs her arm again. Perhaps a little more gentle this time.

She doesn't move her legs.

"Mummy said you were a daddy once."

He stills. He growls louder this time. Silver smiles, knowing she's punching below the belt. Good.

"Did you hate all kids who weren't your own flesh and blood? Did you throw them away or pass them off to others because they weren't yours? Or am I just...broken?"

A warning snarl and a gnashing of teeth. Silver almost thinks she hears the words 'shut up' there somewhere.

"It must drive you mad. You wanted rid of me and yet my mummy orders you to watch over me. Hehehehe. I bet you dream of lashing out at me, don't you? You dream of tearing my annoying throat out with those claws and biting off my fingers? Go on then. Do it. DO IT!"

This next roar in her face makes her hair move, eyelids blinking to avoid the spit.

That's all he'll allow himself to do. Because anything worse would be welcoming his mistress' wrath. That's all that's holding him back, Silver knows. No care. No love.

She's nothing to him.

Just as she was nothing to the kids at school. To her false family. To the people in the house. Nothing. Nobody.

Silver laughs, tears falling fast. She wants the teeth. She wants the pain.

"Do it! Do it! Do what you want to me, make me suffer, tear me apart like you fucking want, you horrible, heartless creature-!"

"SILVER GUPPY, STOP THAT NOW!"

Her hands are fists. They were beating into the beast's mane, knocking into his brow and cheeks. A mixture of growls and confused whimpering filled the air as she finally ceased her mad flailing at the sound of her mother's bellow.

In her mind's eye, she sensed the beast shuffle away, more emotionally wounded than physical from her attack. There was a pang of regret and pity in her heart before she reminded herself of how little he cared about her.

Arms formed out of thin air around her. She smelt the heavy burning smoke as the tornado appeared and swallowed her in its grip.

"We are going home this instant!" Her mother hissed into her ear.

In a split second, Silver could tell they were transported back to the forest.

Mary released her daughter and turned her to face her, gripping her shoulders.

"How dare ye abuse our poor ally in such a way! He doth so much to protect us and asks for so little! It not be his fault that his noggin' be demented after aeons of pain and loneliness! And it not be like you to lash out with such cruelty! What on Earth possessed ye-?"

Silver burst into tears, her sobs heavier than ever in the last twenty years. Her grin remained but it was impossible for anyone to see the girl's face and mistake it for anything other than devastation.

It melted the witch's heart in an instant.

"Oh darling! Oh my darling girl, come here." She wrapped her up in a tight hug, ignoring her own discomfort; "Mummy's got you. It's okay."

"She didn't come out, Mummy. Amy didn't want to play...She didn't want to be my friend..." She wept, sounding more five than nineteen.

"There there." Mary let her daughter cry out as much as possible until she was nearly out of tears, slumping with exhaustion against her.

She sat with her on a log and rubbed her arms, humming her baby girl's favourite lullaby.

It were a while till she spoke her next words.

"Mayhaps it be for the best, little'en. Better you lose her now than later on when you two be close enough for her to betray your trust." Mary tried to console; "Don't worry. Mummy will always be here."

Silver stopped crying.

She sniffed and pulled back from her mother's hug, the light in her eyes suddenly snuffed.

"Yes. You're right, Mummy. You're always right." She said, her smile never more false.

Mary felt an invisible knife stab at her chest.

"I don't always likes to be, darling girl." She says; "T'is only because I care. You understand that, don't yous?"

"Yes, Mummy."

The response is robotic. One out of obedience and fear. Nothing more.

Mary tries to tickle under Silver's chin; "Now come along. What can I do to cheer my little one up? Another dress? A freshly baked cake? How about a fantastic quest or a grand ball? Or I cans summon a unicorn or a dragon to be thy pet? What it be? Say anything."

Silver's sightless eyes meet hers.

"Anything, Mummy?"

"Yes, my little love, anything your heart doth desire!" She would throw herself upon the pyre or be dunked a thousand times to make her daughter happy.

Silver takes Mary's hand and places it to her own temple.

"Make me forget."

Mary blinks.

"Forget? Forget what, darlin'? The cloaked ones child?"

She nods; "Yeah. Make me forget her. Then make me forget about the years I was away from you. Make me forget about the people I saw in the windows of the house. Make me forget the dog I loved and who loved me back, and the few friends I had in the old world. Make me forget why Mr. Floof won't love me. Make me forget it all. Please."

Mary wonders if the child is serious or baiting her. The tone of absolute rejection and heartbreak in her girl's voice worries her so.

She strokes her cheek; "Silver, sweetheart, there be limits to memory spells. Take away too much and ye will lose what makes you who you are."

"Good."

Now that shakes her to the core. The witch stares, the horrified one for a change.

"Little'en, don't-"

"I don't wanna be me, Mummy! No one wants me! You only do because you're my mum. But Amy, the beast, everyone else, they can't wait to get away. They hate me and I hate who I am. Hahaha, I hate remembering a time when I didn't have to smile and laugh! Hahaha...I can't do it anymore..."

Mary shuffles closer to her poor child, opening her arms.

"My sweet baby, I never meant for-."

Silver collapses forward, burying her head in her mother's lap. There was no strength left to wail. But every little sigh and lament she utters is filled with tragedy.

"Just take it all away. Make me a pretty, smiling shell. I can be your good little girl and nothing else." She whispers, clutching at the remains of Mary's dress "It's all I'm good for after all, isn't it? Haha...hahahahaha..."

Mary just sits and caresses her daughter's head for the rest of the morning. No. No, of course she'd never do such a thing. Even if it was a guarantee of ensuring her daughter's happiness, it wouldn't be real. She wouldn't be her Silver. Her kind, imaginative baby girl. The witch wanted a daughter. Not a doll.

Deep in her own mind, there fidgets a niggle of unspoken guilt and shame. It seems she had been too harsh on the girl after all. She was a child, the same age as her own little one. Mary would have incinerated anyone who scared her daughter the way she had the mute girl. But she'd thought it was necessary, to let the child know how serious she took the joy and safety of her darling girl. And....it had been centuries since she'd shown any of her softness to someone who wasn't Silver or her ally or Annie.

Her daughter's tears are on her hands, both figurative and literal. Her actions had broken the child's precious wings before they'd had a chance to take flight. What had she done? And what could she possibly do to fix it? Or was it better she kept her distance and waited to see if the children would find each other again?

"I'm sorry, darlin' girl. Mummy's ever so sorry."

[indeedcaptain]

Spirktober 2023, Day 5: Focus

I'm caught up on the Spirktober prompts! Yay!

I hope you enjoy this fic about... insomnia.

Also posted on AO3 here.

☆ ☆ ☆

Spock did not believe in coincidences, or curses, or bad luck. He believed in probabilities and physics. But if he did believe in forces outside of random workings of the universe, he would have thought that something was out to get him today.

He had woken up at his standard time, stretched, abluted, dressed, and eaten on his normal schedule. He nodded to the officers that he normally saw in the mess, nodded to ensigns he passed in the hallways, and entered Laboratory C five minutes before the start of his shift, as was his custom. He had an ongoing experiment, courtesy of Lieutenant Sulu’s participation from Botany, regarding growth rates of plants based on different freeze-dried and revivified fertilizers. He was unwilling to hypothesize without additional data, but should his results be statistically significant, he thought that they might be important for the transportation of fragile crops on long space flights. He and Sulu had even started to talk about a paper.

A human and traitorous part of Spock’s mind thought that the ship was out to get him when he entered Laboratory C to find that the temperature controls had malfunctioned, frozen, and then defrosted his plants overnight, killing them all. He gingerly lifted a limp leaf and sighed quietly through his nose, sent one quick comm to Sulu asking for his assistance and one to Scott asking what had happened, and set about salvaging what data he could from the remains.

The abrupt and premature death of his plants was one thing. The next was a replicator malfunction spraying his face and tunic with plomeek soup at lunch, necessitating a return to his room to sonic shower and change, which made him late for his bridge shift. The science officer who had sat at his seat before he had was shorter than he was, and had adjusted the chair to suit her height, which was a logical decision except for that because he was late he did not adjust the chair to his height upon his arrival and smacked his knee into the console, drawing further attention to himself and pulling a high-pitched squeak of laughter from Chekov. He turned his back on the captain’s empathetic smile and hunched over his station as much as a Vulcan could hunch for the rest of his shift, counting the milliseconds until he could return to his quarters and meditate. Although they approached no rips in the fabric of spacetime or black holes that he saw, he could not help but notice that the time seemed to pass interminably slowly. 

It was, if Spock was being honest with himself, a bad day. 

☆ ☆ ☆

The bosun call announcing shift change rang through the bridge, and Spock stood immediately. He inclined his head to the rest of the bridge and strode to the turbolift, directing it to take him to his quarters. 

Before the door could slide shut, though, Captain Kirk slid in with him. He grasped one of the other handles and smiled at Spock. 

“Captain,” Spock said.

“Sulu told me about your plants,” he said. “That’s a tough break.” 

“It was an unfortunate accident of engineering. Mr. Scott has assured me it will not occur again,” Spock said. 

“Isn’t that what I said, Mr. Spock?” 

They exited the turbolift and turned left down the corridor. Spock’s door came first, and he halted in front of it. Captain Kirk halted with him. 

“Is there anything I can do for you, captain?” 

“Are you busy this evening, Mr. Spock? We missed our last chess match after that mess on Aldux II. I was hoping for a rain check.” The captain smiled up at him. 

Spock had not made a habit of denying very much of anything to his captain, but he could sense that he was one ‘unfortunate accident’ away from losing control and causing structural damage to the furniture and potentially the ship itself. 

“My apologies, captain. I require meditation.” 

“Very well, Mr. Spock. Another day.” The captain smiled at him again and turned, walking down the hallway to his own quarters. With a small sigh of relief through his nose, Spock let himself into his quarters, locked the turbodoor behind him, turned the lights down and the heat up, and settled himself on his mat for as many hours of undisturbed meditation time as he could steal from the ship that never slept.

☆ ☆ ☆

Spock knelt on his mat in front of his firepot, breathing in the familiar scent of Vulcan incense. He had sorted through his feelings of the day (frustration, more frustration, and then compounded frustration) and dismissed them, slowly letting the tension from the day melt out of his muscles until he had returned to homeostasis. 

Despite these successes, he was unable to focus enough to sink any further into his mind, to achieve the deepest levels of meditation necessary for renewal of the mind. He rejected the threat of further frustration and opened his eyes. 

He was used to sharing a bathroom with the captain. It had been over two years now, and he had found the captain to be as considerate in bathroom usage and space sharing as he was in all other aspects of his life. He had grown accustomed to the noises that Kirk made as he rattled around in the bathroom. His pre-bed routine rarely varied: he urinated, washed his hands and face, brushed and flossed, and returned to his room. He preferred to shower after sleeping, before their shift; he liked using water showers instead of sonics when they had the resources for it; and he shaved every third day. Spock had long since adopted the background noise of Kirk in the bathroom into his understanding of the Enterprise soundscape. It was as familiar to him as the rumble of the engine through the walls. 

It was the discrepancy between this night’s noises and all the other nights that prevented him from focusing. An unfamiliar sound came from the bathroom, leaking through the wall. He stood and approached the door, listening harder. If Kirk had brought a companion to his room, and whomever it was had decided to use the bathroom, that was Kirk’s prerogative. There was no logic to discomfort regarding Kirk’s potential sexual exploits. Then again, perhaps there was an intruder in their bathroom. That situation seemed less probable than the first, given that they were in deep space, but trouble followed Kirk like a shadow. 

As he listened, mumbled sounds and tones resolved into words and a melody he recognized, one that wrapped a hand around his heart and squeezed: Kirk was singing an ancient song from Earth, one that his own mother had sung to his father. 

“Like a river flows, surely to the sea, darling, so it goes…” 

When he was a child, his mother had sung, “Some things, you know, are meant to be,” and his father had taken her in his arms and said, “Kaiidth, my wife,” and they had swayed together in the kitchen in their house on Vulcan and he, Spock, had turned his face away, embarrassed at the naked emotion on his mother’s face and the intensity in his father’s eyes. 

Now, here, on their ship, in their bathroom, Kirk sang, “Some things are meant to be,” and trailed off. Had he stopped singing, or had he departed? Whatever the cause, the music stopped, and Spock found himself bereft without it. He had never heard Kirk sing before, and now that his voice was gone the room was too quiet; even the rumbling of the Enterprise had faded before the sweet tenor. 

Spock retrieved his lute from its place on his shelf and settled back onto his mat. He returned to his memory and listened to his mother’s sweet voice, singing as she swayed by herself in the kitchen. He forced himself to watch as his father entered, pulled in by the music of his wife, and then he laid his hands upon the strings of his lute to pluck the simple melody by ear. 

Maybe, he thought, he could play this and surprise the humans the next time Uhura dragged him to the rec room after their shift ended. Maybe the captain would enjoy it. Maybe he would even feel moved to sing again. Maybe Kirk would say that some things were meant to be, and Spock would tell him, “Kaiidth,” in return. 

The focus required for meditation had escaped him, but it had returned to his hands, and when he set the lute aside some hours later, satisfied with his arrangement, something knotty within him had loosened. He lifted his padd to check the time and saw that he had received a scientific journal article from the captain just moments before, titled “Regeneration of Flash-Frozen Plants: Possibilities for Post-Climate Upheaval Agriculture.” So the captain was awake as well. Before he could convince himself of the illogic of the decision, he instant-messaged the captain. 

STS > Good evening, captain.

JTK > Good morning, more like

JTK > What’s up?

STS > Thank you for the article. Are you unable to sleep? 

JTK > Too many reports, too little time. You too? 

STS > Yes. 

STS > Would this be a convenient time for your “rain check”?

Thirty seconds passed, and the captain had not responded. Perhaps he had fallen asleep, or was no longer interested in playing chess. Perhaps he really was doing work related to the ship, but somehow Spock was less convinced of that option. 

Forty-seven seconds after Spock’s last message, the door between his room and the bathroom slid open. Jim stood in his pajamas, chessboard in his arms. Spock stood and beheld him. His hair was a golden bramble around his head, like he’d run his hands through it repeatedly. The circles beneath his eyes, which faded and returned according to Kirk’s stress levels, were a shade darker than they had been the day before. His pajamas were soft and gray, and a triangle of light brown chest hair appeared above the top button. Spock was struck with the urge to tuck his commanding officer into his bed and demand that he sleep until he was sated. 

“Captain,” Spock said. 

“Rematch, Mr. Spock?” Kirk said, and even though it was the middle of the night, his crooked smile made Spock feel like the sun had started to rise. 

[lamuradex]

Signs of Light and Shadow - Book 1

Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

Prologue

The trees rustled, wind whispered through branches, and a loud crack echoed through the woods. Leaves shook and fell as a woodsman pulled back his axe and buried it in the trunk again. The wood creaked. The tree was as wide as the woodsman’s shoulders, but it was still giving way, chop by chop. With a final cut, it began to lean. The woodsman stepped back as the tree’s own weight tore its trunk, ripping and collapsing it, the oak falling with a grim, splintering groan.

“Timber!” he yelled over the noise.

The tree thumped heavily into the muddy forest floor. Birds fled from the disturbance and the woodsman raised his axe again, chopping the trunk into smaller, manageable pieces. Sweat covered his brow, blonde hair sticking to his forehead, he stopped to lean on his axe and catch his breath, drying his face on his tunic, a new pile of wood at his feet. Satisfied, he piled the wood onto a sled and pulled it away, leaving tracks in the forest floor as he went.

The sky was clouded and the air cool as he arrived at a large clearing. A woman sat at the centre, clothed in a long green dress, her black hair spilling about her shoulders. A bubbling pot sat in front of her with various vegetables and herbs beside her on a cloth. The cauldron’s fire cast a warm, flickering light, as the woman added another leaf to the stew, stirring, and quietly humming to herself.

“I’m back,” the woodsman announced.

“Oh!” she started, greeting him with a surprised smile. “I didn’t expect you so soon.”

The woodsman walked over and kissed her on the cheek. “I found a good tree. Enough for a few days.”

“Well, throw some on the fire then. It’s getting low and I need it hot for this stew.”

He did as requested, placing some wood on the fire, then put the rest under an awning to shield it from the weather. He then knelt and wrapped an arm around his beloved’s waist, planting another kiss on her cheek. She grinned and wrapped her arm around him in return.

“What are we cooking tonight?” he asked.

“Deer. I’ve added some herbs, but it’ll be pretty simple.”

“Deer is good enough for me, dear,” he smirked, releasing the hug and starting back towards the sled. “Tomorrow, I’ll see if I can track down something different. Maybe fish. That might make a change.”

“We have enough for now. No need to risk the journey.” She picked up a small sprig and scraped the leaves into the pot.

“No risk. Didn’t see a trace of wolves out there today,” he said, throwing a spare log from hand to hand. “They must have migrated to the western side of the woods.”

“That’s strange. Usually they’d be all over at this time of year.”

“Maybe something scared them off.”

She shot him a look. “Something scared the wolves… and you still want to go hunting?”

He smiled cheekily back. “Honey, I didn’t see hide nor hair of anything out there. Maybe it was a clan of hunters, maybe it was just a bear, but I should go hunting too while the getting’s good. It’s no trouble,” he assured.

“Well, if you want to go, then go,” she relented. “Just please, be careful.”

“You know I always- Car’zit!” he swore, dropping the log to suck one of his fingers. “Dra’am splinters.”

“Language! The girls are just inside,” she whispered, glancing towards a den built inside one of the larger trees trunks.

The woodsman took his finger from his mouth. “The girls alright? They’re usually a bit more energetic this time of day.”

“They’re fine. Elena just got stung by a nettle. She’s been sulking.”

“Poor thing. And Cerris?”

“She went out with me to pick some lemon flower, water fruit, and willow blossom. The old remedy. Elena didn’t like how it numbed her shoulder though and Cerris is just keeping her company until she can feel her hands again. She insisted on applying the mix herself.”

The woodsman nodded. “I’ll go see how they’re doing.”

“And set a good example. No more of that cursing,” his wife added with a teasing grin.

 He playfully brushed a hand through her hair as he passed, making his way to the large tree at the edge of the clearing. Hollowed out and dead, it was short but very broad, wide enough for a family to live inside. The door was an open gap with a blanket hung over it like a curtain, barely sheltering the inside from the cold.

The inside was lit by candles in little carved alcoves, which also provided a little extra warmth. Four chairs surrounded a small table in the centre while three beds sat against the walls, two on one side and a third wider bed on the other. On the far wall was a small wooden shrine, specifically lit with several candles, and across from that, beside the door, hung an old ornate shield. The shield bore a weathered emblem of a blue wolf standing before a red oak on a field of gold.

“So, how are my two favourite girls doing?” the father beamed as he entered.

“Hi Dad,” smiled a girl in the closest bed. She was sat on her knees, wearing a simple grey cloth dress, dark hair hanging past her shoulders. She couldn’t have been older than twelve. She also wore a huge smirk. “Ha ha. Mum yelled at you,” she teased.

Her father nodded piously. “And rightfully so, Cerris. I shouldn’t use bad language like that. I should make amends.” He walked over to the little shrine and knelt before it, stealing a glance to make sure Cerris was paying attention. She was watching intently.

Happy, he looked to the shrine. There were three vague figures carved into the wood. He raised his hand to them in turn.

“Forgive me for my rudeness, oh, Gods of the Heavens. First to the Father of Skies,” He gestured to the large central figure, “then to Aheazal of the Dark,” He put his hand to the right, “and then to Zaheal of the Light,” He put his hand to the left. Finished, he stood back up.

“Dad? What do those bad words mean?” Cerris asked curiously.

“Oh, one of them just means manure. The other is just something animals do. Still, best not to use them,” her father dismissed. “Never mind that though. How have you two been today?”

“Today was fun,” Cerris bounced on the bed. Then she paused, noticing a lack of movement from the other bed. “Time to get up, Elena. Dad’s back.”

The other bed was occupied by a little blonde girl of a similar age. She wore a brighter yellow dress and lay huddled against the wall.

 “Oh yes. I heard you had an accident with a nettle,” her father said, sitting beside the huddled girl.

Cerris rolled her eyes. “Her sting wasn’t that bad. She’s just sulking. I got stung by a bush a while back and it didn’t hurt that much.”

“Now, Cerris, don’t be rude,” her father gently scolded. “So, Elena, what are you making such a fuss about?”

“It hurt,” came the muttered reply.

“Does it hurt now?”

Elena slowly rolled over to face him. “My arm feels weird.”

He put a comforting arm around her. “I know, but by the time the numbness wears off the stinging will have stopped. All the balm does is numb the pain.”

“Yeah, see? My hands stopped tingling a while ago,” Cerris chimed in, proffering her hands as proof.

“You see. It shouldn’t be long now.” He smiled as Elena sat up. “Nothing to be sad about.”

“Ok,” Elena conceded.

“Great. Now, do you feel up to helping your mother with the dinner?”

“Yes…” she said with a small smile.

“That’s my girl.”

“What about me?” Cerris bounced excitedly.

“Calm down, I think you can help too…”

“Honey?” The shout came from outside.

“Just a minute, girls.” Their father stood and moved back outside. Elena and Cerris hopped off their beds, following to the doorway. Their parents were stood near the fire, talking.

“…I could have sworn I saw something,” their mother muttered, glancing about.

“Could have just been the wind.”

“Maybe, but I thought I heard branches breaking.”

“Hold on.” Their father walked back towards the door. He smiled at the girls as he reached in and grabbed the shield off the wall. He placed it on his arm, returning to the fireside. “Could it have just been a wolf?”

“It sounded bigger.” She eyed the nearby trees warily. “A bear perhaps?”

“They don’t normally come this far south, but one could have gotten lost or driven away from their hunting grounds.”

“It couldn’t be a person could it?”

The father drew his axe from his belt. “I’ll go take a look.”

He shifted the axe in his hand, creeping to the edge of the clearing. He peered into the dense trees beyond, between branches and thorns. Something rustled, maybe twenty paces ahead. His grip tightened. A shape moved amongst the branches. He stepped forwards, pushing the brush apart to step. A twig snapped. The movement in the bush ceased. He took another step.

Something moved. Something big.

It roared.

Branches splintered and earth trembled as something barrelled towards the clearing. The woodsman retreated as the beast tore through the brush. It stopped, looming over the camp. It was twice the height of a man, with black fur and grey markings. Its forelegs were sturdy, with two massive claws in place of toes, while its rear legs were nimble and hooved. Its body had the broadness of a bull with various sharp quills littering its back, its head was something between a wolf and a boar, armed with dozens of sharp, snarling teeth, and two tusks protruded at the edges of its maw. Along its snout, a plate of something resembling bone stretched from the nape of its neck to its nostrils, as its eyes gleamed from the side of its head, small, red and shining.

The beast roared. The woodsman swung his axe. It connected with the beast’s snout and the monster recoiled. He turned to his family.

“Run! Take the girls!”

The beast swung a claw and caught his raised shield. The mother ran to the girls, still standing frightened in the doorway. She grabbed their hands and ran. They ran and ran. The roar of the beast echoed through the forest behind them, but still they ran on. They ran until the noise became distant. They ran until they had to stop, panting and exhausted. The girls clung to their mother. She kept looking back the way they had come. She dropped to one knee and looked each of her children in the eyes, first Elena then Cerris.

“Stay here. Don’t move. I have to go back to help,” she said desperately. The girls nodded. Then their mother let go and ran back the way they’d come. She picked up a large branch as she went, glowing runes searing into the bark at her touch. Then she was gone.

The girls listened to the noise. The rustling of trees. The roar of the beast. The thunder of its footfalls. The sun grew low in the sky, and the roars became more and more distant. Finally, there was silence. The girls didn’t move. The air turned cold as evening crept in, and the sisters huddled together. There was no noise other than the birds and the trees.

Slowly, holding hands, they wandered back the way they had come.

“Mum?” Elena called out into the fading day. “Dad?” Both of them shook as they drew close to the camp.

“Mum?” Cerris cried fearfully. “Dad?” They gripped each other tightly as they reached the clearing. They stood before the scene.

They saw the bodies that lay before them.

Tears ran down Cerris’s face as Elena screamed.

[sinnohlunarfestival]

The Most Beautiful Flower Contest Appeals

The stage for the contest is alight with gorgeous blooms and sparkling lights! Trainers and their Pokemon line up on stage as well as in front to view the show. Kinsey was hosting it with great gusto, a camera on her to televise the small event.

Bowing to the audience, Kinsey swept her arms out towards the contestants and their Pokemon.

"Winner will be decided by popular vote! Loudest cheers will decide who our Most Beautiful Flower is!! So for now, without further ado...let's welcome the contestants and their lovely Pokemon!"

APPEAL #1 - Kianga & Cerise the Dwarf Meowth @kokorowoutsu

Kianga steps out dressed in an outfit that's reminiscent of colors regarding the small pink Meowth accompanying him. A simple tunic and pants and barefoot, the hybrid begins a dance to a hymn that has the Meowth beginning to leap and jump, letting out happy meows as she runs and twirls across his shoulders and in between his feet. Moves she uses bring out a mix of Misty Terrain and Grassy Terrain to form a enchanted forest with large illusionary trees and mushrooms that mimic Glimwood Tangle.

She also shows off moves in tandem with some abilities that could be missed if blinked by Kianga in form of Fairy Wind and Quick Attack to make the pink fairy breeze stretch about the area. Aromatherapy is also used to bring about a scent from the illusionary forest and once the performance is done, the little Meowth leaps up onto Kianga's shoulder, both bowinv once the song comes to an end. "We hoped you enjoyed our performance. Cerise here was the one who wanted to take part. May you all have a happy lunar new year."

[YOUTUBE]

APPEAL #2 - Gardenia & Roserade @svndrenched

The stage is bathed in a comfortable, amber light, warming the faces of the spectators like a spring day. Roserade twirls once and a graceful flurry of leaves dance around her in a wide spiral, shimmering and swirling just beyond the reach of everyone watching. They catch the light and flash like a school of Goldeens, lazily swimming just under the surface of the water.

Roserade raises her flowery arms and redirects the foliage skyward in a tight gyre. The resulting movement whips the leaves into a frenzy, and she performs an elegant pirouette. The vortex reaches higher and higher, an invigorating green energy emanating from somewhere within the spiral. Just as it looks like it reaching its apex, Roserade throws her arms wide and the leaves fall delicately to the stage, where she stands with her feet pointed and arms gently aloft.

To Gardenia, Leaf Storm has always been the most beautiful, impressive thing Roserade could do.

APPEAL #3 - Vathki & Fyriane the Grass/Fire Roserade @cosmoscourge

Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all? In a flourish of flame as the music bursts triumphantly onto the scene, her Grass/Fire Roserade variant appears! She’s melanistic as well, with a black body that bears striking blue and green flame patterns that look like live flames, and her coat shines as fabulously as a Shiny’s. She gives several deft and delicate twirls in a Fiery Dance of multicolored blaze as Extrasensory creates shining white-blue mirrors behind her, reflecting off her shining body and the dancing flames at every angle. She struts forward as though she’s Elesa strutting down a catwalk, each step perfectly on-beat with the techno drums, the flames plus Extrasensory forming a cape around her as she extends one rosy arm to let the “cape” flare out. The whole time, Extrasensory also flashes colorful lights in the backdrop that are reminiscent of the Lopunny Rave, which further reflect off her gorgeous body. Themes from the rave soundtrack blend delightfully with each other as Roserade dances sensually, the flame patterns on her body actually flickering as the Fiery Dance swirls around her.

But she can do more than just show off. She’s got the talent to back up her good looks as well. Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s most talented of them all? The music shifts from the harder, faster techno tones of IDOL / Eurobeat Remix and Bad Apple’s Hyper Rave Remix to the more suspenseful music that Goldenrod Radio was playing over its announcement of the race. Grass Knot blooms into elaborate statues in the shape of each racer, down to specific trademark details, with the Extrasensory mirrors rotating around to show the statues’ reflections from every angle. For example, there’s Yris with long yellow vines to mimic her incomparable hair, Brian with flowers that look like they were cut from gemstones since he’s a Rock specialist, Rika with her trademark Clodsire on her shoulder and Hassel with Prof. Gible on his, Ashe with fiery embers surrounding her representing fae dust, Alistair with smoke around him like a ghostly aura to show his Ghost-type specialty. And then there’s the two that are nearest and dearest to Vathki. There’s Aluwa vainly blowing a kiss to the audience, with a flickering flame in her center to symbolize her volcanic homeland. And there’s a shirtless Ghetsis with a lovably grumpy expression. The statues rise out of the ground to dance in formation with Roserade for several beats, before Extrasensory grows Garchomp-shaped formations of psychic energy underneath all of the racers. As they lift into the air, Fiery Dance creates a whirlwind of flame that engulfs all the statues, rendering them invisible before twelve bursts of New Year firework-like sounds go off, the energy from the combined moves popping into firework patterns that resemble the racers.

And now for the grand finale–Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the kindest of them all? For her last trick, Roserade uses Growth, soaring in size until she’s as tall as a one-story building–the nuanced shades of her flame-colored patterns now much easier to see, as is the fact that her black body in fact has a rainbow iridescent sheen. The music shifts to one similar to that used in the initial parade that kicked off the festival. “Now I’d like to take a moment to acknowledge all the other stars here,” Vathki says–“That’s you, our lovely audience!” And from the folds of Roserade’s rose petals, Extrasensory sends an array of treats down into the audience as she spins around, floating off the ground with that same move. There’s mochi, each one packaged individually in a festive wrapping, matcha, Roseli Berry and tiramisu flavored Kit Kats, White Rabbit rice paper candy and of course, lots and lots of New Year’s money! At the end of it, Roserade strikes a pose, one arm lifted to the sky, and then makes a bow as she returns to her normal size. No matter the result, Vathki is satisfied with their beautiful tribute to the Sinnoh Lunar New Year festival.

[evanyaglad]

The Compromise (JaTD/Janther fanfic)

I don't claim to know much about medieval history. Although accuracy within canon and time-periods have always been things important to me in fandoms. So I will tentatively be dancing around the character's ages in this fic. I want people to be able to interpret the ages with how they feel comfortable. Meanwhile, I will be attempting to keep things historically accurate with whatever Google tells me is correct. I found this article that seems to cover all topics in a straight forward manner, so it's my main point of reference as of the writing of this chapter. https://www.medievaltimes.com/education/medieval-era/marriage I don't plan to upload all the chapters to Tumblr, so please follow it on FF or Ao3 if you want updates. https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14279425/1/The-Compromise https://archiveofourown.org/works/50150686/chapters/126652345

It had been a whole year since the last ball. The ball that Jane stubbornly didn't go to despite the princess' pleas. With the event coming up again in a month, Jane knew her mother would be hounding her soon about the "dress" subject. She was trying to keep herself so busy with knightly chores that her mother wouldn't have the chance to talk to her. Unfortunately, today was particularly slow. Mainly because she had been completing all the chores in record time and there was now none left until the day after tomorrow. All this work left her tired and sore but she tried to act as if everything was normal. The last thing she needed was anyone asking questions about the embarrassing subject.

Today, Jane found herself sparring with Gunther in the training yard while Dragon was sitting on his favorite spot on the wall taking a nap. They had been at it for about a half and hour now, neither willing to yield first. Although her muscles desperately craved for it to end, her pride wouldn't allow it. Within the year, Jane's relationship with Gunther had changed from when she started her knight training. The journey for sky-leaf on the far side of the mountain gave them a basic level of respect for each other. From there, an odd form of friendship started, although they still teased each other relentlessly and their rivalry was as strong as ever. Not to mention, she did not want Gunther to see her in a dress. This thought clung in her mind as she saw her mother approaching out of the corner of her eye. This laps in focus is all Gunther needed to get the upper hand in their battle, smacking her wooden sword aside and holding his staff to her neck. His face was as smug as ever and Jane knew things were about to get a whole lot worse.

Jane raised her sore arms dejectedly, "yield"

"I guess extra credit doesn't make you a better knight, hm?" Gunther sneered, obviously upset by all the praise she'd earned from Sir Theodore these past couple of days.

Before she could defend herself, her mother's shrill voice pieced the air as she drew closer, "Jaaaane, dear, you've been avoiding me all week. I really need you to try on the gown I got you for the ball, so I can have the seamstress make adjustments." Her stare was threatening. Jane could tell she was attempting to keep her cool, even though she hadn't even acknowledged Gunther's presence yet. Who had taken a few awkward steps back from the two.

Jane spared a glance towards him and saw realization flicker through his eyes before they hardened into something troublesome. She knew she had to say something before he had the chance, "Mother, I told you before, I will not be wearing a gown to the ball." Her teeth were clenched as she tried and was failing to act normal.

"I'm sorry Jane but this year the King has insisted you come on account of the Princess," Jane's mother replied almost before Jane could finish.

"Then I shall wear my knight tunic," Jane attempted to sound firm in front of Gunther, although she was afraid of angering her mother and escalating the situation.

"Unfortunately for you I have already spoken to your father and he supports me on this decision," Adeline said as she turned to leave, "Come along now."

Jane was stunned by that revelation. Her father supported her last year, so she wondered what made him change his mind this time. She awkwardly locked eyes with Gunther again as she debated on what to do.

"Go on now, fair lady. I'm sure that dress will match your 'rough and tough' image perfectly," Gunther teased as he walked off laughing that infuriating laugh that made Jane want to slap him.

Dragon at some point had woken up during the conversation, "I could force him to wear a dress to the ball," he said in a mock threat.

Jane giggled despite the circumstances and turned her attention to her lizard friend, "Although that offer is tempting, i fear I'll have to figure something else out." She placed her practice staff back on the rack where it belonged and reluctantly followed where her mother had gone. "If I can just speak with Father, I know I can get him to change his mind."

Although her mother didn't wait up for her, Jane knew she (and the gown) was probably in her family's courters in the castle. Leaving Dragon to continue his nap, Jane passed by the kitchen, waving to Rake as she went by. "Is anything the matter, Jane?" Rake must have seen her mother's scornful face and feared the worse.

"I'm sure it'll be fine, Rake. Thank you," Jane replied as he nodded and returned to his work fertilizing his garden. Jane shuddered with the knowledge it was Dragon dung and rushed along up the steps to the main garden.

As she walked, she glanced at the roses in the garden and wondered what she should say to her parents once in the castle. The gown debacle had been an issue since Jane was little and expressed a desire for knighthood. She remembered when she always used to wear a dress as she followed her mother around learning how to be a lady in waiting. She knew deep-down, that she was a disappointment to her mother. The lady-in-waiting to the Queen and Princess was a high honor. She had been blessed to be born into nobility so closely associated with royalty. She used this leverage to her own advantage to become a knight, but, as an only daughter, she knew it wasn't what her mother wanted. With her mind muddled, Jane found she had wandered to the garden fountain. Letting out a loud sigh, she sat on the rim.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of jingle bells, "A clown is just what you need to turn that frown up-side-down," he said as he took a seat beside her.

"I doubt so. It has to do with the ball, or more importantly, my mother," She said, refusing to meet his eyes as her fingers danced along the water's surface.

"Ah, 'down with the gown," he mumbled.

"How did you know?" she asked, finally meeting his eyes.

"Jane, how could your best friend forget about the events of last year?" He smiled.

"Second best friend!," Dragon's yell rang from across the castle grounds. This caused the two of them to burst out laughing.

After an embarrassing snort, Jane finally answered Jester's question, "Well, as my 'second best friend' do you have any advice for me?"

"In my expert dress-wearing opinion, I think it doesn't matter what you wear. Whether tunic or gown, you are still Jane," he said in that low and loving voice she knew he used when he was serious.

Jane appreciated the sentiment but couldn't help but add, "No one will ever take me seriously again as a knight. Especially Gunther," she groaned.

"Who cares about Gunther, anyway?" There was an edge to his tone, "He'd be left too stunned by your beauty to even think of insulting you!"

Jane knew Jester meant that as a compliment towards her instead of a real example of how Gunther would act. However, her stomach turned at the thought. Jane never saw herself as beautiful. Her lanky legs, freckled face, and wild hair was not the traditional definition of beauty. Not to mention the bruises and smell of sweat her knight training left her in. She wasn't sure what Jester saw in her, for she knew about his not-so-well-hidden crush. Nevertheless, she appreciated the gestor, "Thank you Jester, I'll keep that in mind."

As she stood up from the fountain she felt slightly better, "Well, time to face my demons," She waved goodbye to her friend before making the daunting journey into the castle. Inside, the castle the hustle and bustle was almost overwhelming. There were servants everywhere, hanging decorations, setting up tables, cleaning surfaces, and anything else one could think of preparing for the biggest party of the year. Jane's heart began to race with excitement. The Grand Ball was her favorite event the castle hosted and she was still disappointed in herself for missing it last year. Although she tried to convince herself she wouldn't have done anything differently. This thought brought her back to reality as she remembered the reason she was even in here. She dodged and weaved her way through the crowd, trying not to get in anyone's way. The movements soon became like a dance to her, delicately maneuvering the area with ease. Oh how she loved this. She loved parties, people, and dancing. The sound of people talking and laughing rang as a joy filled heart-beat in her ears. A natural chorus, the music of life.

The fun ended once Jane slipped into the hallway that led up to her parent's courters. The number of servants in this area was not as abundant, so she was able to walk through without hassle. It was funny to think she grew up in these very halls. She used to follow her mother around everywhere and she even remembered the duties they preformed. After a few flights of stairs, Jane neared the door to her childhood home. The hallway felt like it was getting longer and a pit begun to grow in her stomach. Taking one last deep breath, Jane opened the door without thinking to knock. Inside, her mother was with a woman Jane didn't know but assumed was the seamstress.

"Oh my goodness and there she is!" Adeline seemed breathless, as if she didn't expect her daughter to show up. Which, admittedly, was a high probability. She quickly rushed over to her, flailing her hands around until they grabbed onto Jane's wrists, pulling her deeper into the room. All three of them turned to an alcove with a large mirror. Nearby was a beautiful long emerald colored gown with gold trimming. jane cringed knowing her parents probably spent a fortune on it. It also set her suspicions high, wondering what the special reason behind such a gorgeous dress was.

Jane was ushered up onto a stool in front of the mirror and was then stripped down and helped into the dress in question. With her mother tying up the corset in the front, Jane glanced at herself in the mirror. The dress truly was beautiful. The green shimmered as she turned to face the mirror after her mother finished. The collar was square and the sleeves bellowed at the elbow. The dress hugged her in a way that made her feel feminine. There was a silence that fell upon the women. The seamstress standing apart, waiting for instructions. While her mother stood with her hands clasped together at her face. She looked close to tears and had a wide smile. She was obviously happy with what she saw. Meanwhile, Jane felt the person she saw in the mirror was foreign. The dress didn't match the girl at all. It was soft, shiny, and perfect in every way. Jane was rough, covered in dirt, and ugly. At least, that's how she felt.

With the silence stretching out, Jane eventually realized everyone was waiting for a response from her. "I can't wear this," She blurted.

Her mother groaned dejectedly, "Jane don't be ridiculous! You are a lady of the court and this is what ladies wear!"

"I don't want to wear this!" Jane practically shouted as she turned to face her mother.

"What's wrong with it?" Adeline screeched back. The poor seamstress looked as if she wanted to become part of the wall but Jane didn't care. This had gone on too long!

"I am a knight, and knights don't wear gowns!" she begun to undo the ribbon on the front. Her face was hot but she refused to cry.

"Knights are also not women, and yet here you are!" What her mother meant by that statement, Jane wasn't sure.

There was another silence as neither women broke eye contact. Jane continued to fiddle with the corset until her mother grabbed her hands. "You have to wear it! Things have already been set in place and we can not back out of them."

That revelation ceased Jane's struggle against her mother's hands. "What things? What are you talking about?"

Adeline released her hands and turned away, as if ashamed. Her hand coming up to her mouth as she thought of what to say. Finally, she turned back to her daughter, "Jane, as you know, you are of marrying age-"

"No! You didn't!" Jane's gasp turned into a shout.

"There are many powerful men that will be attending the Ball this year, and your father and I agree this would be the prefect time for you to find a husband."

"I won't do it! You can't force me!"

"Just consider yourself lucky I'm giving you a chance to meet a man you like while at the Ball! Something could have been arranged without your involvement." The way her mother punctuated informed Jane the conversation was over.

Jane bit her tongue. If she had to guess, it wasn't just her parents that felt like marrying off a noble knight to someone of importance at the Ball would be a good political move. Her mother had told her the King insisted she come on account of the Princess, but Jane wondered just how important the guest list was this year. Either way, Jane knew she should have thought better as to think her mother wouldn't marry her off as soon as she came to age. That had always been the plan even back when she was still training to be a lady-in-waiting. Girls were nothing but property to be bought and sold for personal gain. Her mother gasped as her daughter begun ripping the dress clean off before grabbing her training gear and putting it back on.

"If you do this, mother," she turned to see her mother cradling the discarded gown, "I'll never speak to you again." With that, she left, slamming the door behind her.

[midnightskyeneko]

I wasn't anyone special to the human race.

Every unmarried human between the ages of 18 and 45 were given a series of numbers and letters to identify them in the lottery for this intergalactical marriage.

Why this marriage had to happen was up for debate among many circles and countries all around the world. The official consensus was to avoid war, like we were in olden times. It seemed to be the only thing both species understood.

The lottery happened in the evening where I was. I looked down at the number that was given to me through the mail. Like every other lottery I've entered, I didn't expect to "win". Still, my heart pounded against my chest, staring at the screen with bated breath. The screen behind the world reporters started to scramble letters and numbers together as if on a wheel. The whole world didn't dare utter a noise.

Or were my ears ringing? My ticket flashed on the screen. I didn't feel the tears running down my cheeks, my breathing stopped by mucus, or my entire body trembling. Everything in me shut down as I heard the muted voices of my name being called.

My phone rang. I picked up on the second try. My sister and I talked for a long time. I met with my family the next day, trying to reassure me that everything will be okay.

We knew nothing of this other civilization other than its existence and appearance just a few months ago. We didn't even know what they looked like, or what kind of language they spoke. Their threats must have been deep to rattle the human race this way, and to influence them this deeply.

I was picked up by the a federal security team that evening. They had a large truck ready to gather my belongings and my pets. Everything was surreal and my brain worked on autopilot until I saw the plane that would take me to my final destination. To my future spouse. To the rest of my life. Everything was numb.

It took two days in a secure hotel before I was brought into a small meeting room, complete with two comfortable lounge chairs and a loveseat sofa opposite of each other. A large window opposite of the door gave a beautiful sight of the glittering city below, but I couldn't enjoy it as I was sat in one of the chairs, making my stature small. A black dress, and black shoes. Hair up in a braided crown. Face veiled in white. Was this a funeral or a wedding?

A knock on the door, and in came a man, escorting two....somethings into the room. They were tall and thin like tree branches, faces oval with a pointed tip. One was dressed similarly to myself, except in a black human-style suit and a circlet around a hairless head that veiled their face. The other dressed in a pink tunic-like garment, rings of gold wrapped around their neck and wrists. Their face...large human-like eyes that reflected a deep blue, two slits for a nose and thin lips. Humanoid creatures, with five thin fingers on each hand and wore what seemed like moccasins on their feet. I didn't want to know what they looked like.

"This is who you would call my son, The'nagra Blathain-Jusni. I am what you call his mother, Slanti'ain Jusni-Ka." The pink-dressed creature said, using her hand to gesture at the other creature beside her. I nodded at them, before my eyes fell to the floor. I held my hands tightly enough to make them go pale. One of the guards nudged my shoulder, and I took a shaky breath before lifting my head.

"I am...I..." I couldn't get the words out, but noticed the creatures tensing up, as if expecting me to do something. "I am...Amelia Smithson."

After introductions and a brief report of what was to be expected, I was left alone with the suited creature, told to call if I needed anything.

We didn't look at each other for what felt like hours. We kept our eyes either at the floor or at the window, as if trying to distract ourselves from this situation.

"Y...you're not as violent as I've been told." A voice as shaky as a leaf but as soft as fur spoke. I flinched, head jerking to look at them, or was it a him as The'nagra was described as a son? A nervous smile played on my cheeks, not that he could see.

"I try not to be...n-not that I am anyway, j-just..." A lump caught in my throat, and I forced it down as best I could, blinking away tears. This is my life now, isn't it?

"Our reports told us you were a violent species. When we arrived, we had only seen the giant scaled things from our planet. Now, it was run by multi-colored things that were far more intelligent than we first expected." He sounded like he was running his mouth on autopilot. His body trembled, and he seemed to be inching closer to the door to try and run. I didn't blame him. I'd run too if I had the option. "We were told you were called humans, and translating a variety of your history books taught us that bloodshed seemed very important in your culture. So many weapons of destruction, improvised or not. We...we only came in contact after one of our scouts was captured by your military. We had no choice..."

My heart sank into my chest. I can't imagine what he was going through in all of this. To be whisked away from home to not only a different planet, but to a different race of people whom you only thought to be violent and unforgiving. I stared at my feet.

"Were you randomly chosen too?" I asked, keeping my voice almost a whisper.

"No, just the last son of of my 43 siblings since--"

"43?!" I exclaimed, which made The'nagra jump from his seat and run to a corner. I regretted my shouting.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. It's a...big family to have, at least by human standards..." I didn't dare move.

"How big are human families?" He asked tentatively. He didn't move from his corner. Was...that a tail wrapped around his leg? I hadn't noticed that before.

"That depends on a lot of things...usually people only have a few kids, maybe two or three. Sometimes more, sometimes less..."

The night continued, and talking became a little easier. The'nagra eventually returned to his seat after two hours. if we were to be married, this talk was helping out, hopefully.

I guess humans are scary on their own.

You were terrified to Marry a non human spouse to keep the peace. It’s only when you meet them that you realize that they’re far more afraid of humans.

[albertcapraro]

July 4, 1976 - The Daily Oklahoman New Fashions Previewed (Excerpt) By Joan Gilmore Women's Editor ONE OF THE more wearable, feminine, and fashionable collections is that by Albert Capraro, one of the First Lady's favorite designers. Betty Ford was wearing a Capraro design last September when she and the president were here for the opening of the State Fair of Oklahoma.

The young (33), personable (he smiles a lot), bearded (see photo) designer told me in an interview following his showing, "As lifestyles become more active, complicated, clothes must be more simple."

His collection, originally 80 designs but edited down to 60 for fall, is in a size range of 4 to 16. "I don't feel I design for a specific age woman," Capraro said, "I have customers who are 19 and others who are over 50."

ABOUT HIS most famous client, Betty Ford, Capraro said, "She wears things beautifully and confidently. Mrs. Ford has a gorgeous figure and wonderful stature, so she carries clothes very well. She has marvelous legs to show with slit skirts." Capraro doesn't believe her recent mastectomy has had any effect on her fashion appearance or choice of clothes. "I haven't had to do any special designs because of that," Capraro said, adding that "Plunge (necked) dresses are all right (with Mrs. Ford), but her modesty keeps her from too deep a neckline."

Among Capraro's other notable clients are the $5 million woman Barbara Walters, U.S. Ambassador to England Anne Armstrong, Paulette Goddard, Polly Bergen, Luciana Avedon, Tatum O'Neal ("My she's precocious," he said in the understatement of the year) and Miss America-turned-sportscaster Phyllis George.

When the current Miss America, Tawny Godin, appears in the September pageant, be sure to check her clothes. Capraro has done what he calls her "finale" wardrobe for the Atlantic City stint.

AND WHAT does Capraro's fall 1976 fashion collection look like? It's softly tailored, and it has mixed textures. It features wrappy stoles and. slim chesterfield coats. It includes jumpsuits and skirts. He does several tunics over pants similar to those he did this past season. "I'll continue to do some version of the tunic as long as it doesn't add bulk (in the figure) and as long as it gives versatility to the wardrobe," Capraro explained.

For fall '76, Capraro, whose collection is manufactured by Jerry Guttenberg, Ltd., likes darker tones for day wear. He puts navy against caramel and ginger, and he also favors loden and leaf greens, tweedy browns in minichecks, and gray, black, and rust. For evening his color palette includes corn-flower blue, rose, flame, emerald, jade, and tigers eye.

Incidentally, Guttenberg, who's pretty personable himself, will be in Oklahoma City on Aug. 9 to do a benefit for the Oklahoma Museum of Art, but more about that later.

[afoolandathief]

Hi tea leaf

Pick one (or a few) ocs and describe a typical outfit. And, of you're feeling fancy, a nicer outfit for some event. Reference photos are optional.

Oohh I love this one!!

(I may have overdid it with the number of characters, sorry)

First, here's Something Wicked:

Jade Shaw: A black or dark-colored dress or skirt, jean jacket, messenger bag, boots, several piercings and dark makeup.

For more formal events, Jade at one point wears a vintage, beaded dress Ruby lends her. At another event (a wedding) she wears a black dress with straps and an empire waist. She looks amazing in it.

Caz Mraz: Well-fitted suit in various colors, usually black, gray, checked or pin-striped. A dress shirt or tie underneath, often in bright colors that pair well with the suit. Dress shoes, a hat.

For more formal events, well, Caz always dresses well, but he wore a silver suit to the casino when he first met Jade. At the aforementioned wedding, he wears a white suit with a pink shirt and pocket square (it matches his date Minnie's dress). Yes, Caz is exactly the sort of person to wear white to a wedding.

Violet Anouilh: Overalls or jeans, t-shirts (especially ones her mom got from various political campaigns over the years), dirty converse sneakers. Eventually she wears her hair in locs, but initially ties up her hair with bandannas or scarves.

For more formal events, Violet might wear a jumpsuit or a suit. At the wedding she has on an amazing green jumpsuit.

Ruby Hall: When she's performing, a sequined red leotard, fishnets and heels. When she's not performing, either '40s style dresses or flashy tops over jeans.

For more formal events, anything with sequins or in red.

Now, here's Those Horrid, Horrid Things:

Loki: Varies based on their gender presentation, but often encompasses billowy fabrics and jewelry. Band tees and stacked bracelets. Dresses and funky clip-on earrings. Lots of hoodies and eyeliner. Tunics with big cloaks or robes and dresses with a gold torc and kohl.

For more formal events, at one point they wear a pink suit with a white puffy shirt, purple eyeliner and purple flowers in their hair. Does not happen in the story but I've already decided they wear a dark green dress that fluidly changes to a set of dark green robes.

Angrboda: Leather jacket and jeans and death metal band tees in Midgard. Or shorts and a sweatshirt when working out. Tunics and pants with layers of furs and plate-leather armor back in Ironwood. Hair always neatly tied back unless she's with someone she truly trusts.

For more formal events, a nice suit when at events in Midgard. Her battle gear at formal events back home.

Sigyn: Tanktops and gym shorts since she's a gym teacher. Simple blouse or a t-shirt with jeans otherwise. Either battle-gear over a dress in Asgard, or just a dress with overdress and brooches.

For more formal events, a simple dress, usually flowy to provide range of movement, with her hair tied up in a bun, or a more nicer overdress and brooches in Asgard.

Bonus: images by @artbyeloquent of some of the characters to give some idea of their outfits:

Pictured: Caz, Jade, Loki

[laputian]

abatina :   is there anything in life your muse has changed their mind about over time   (   due to becoming more educated on the topic ,   certain experiences  ,   etc .   ) ,   or that they   would   change their mind about under certain circumstances ?  

honestly i can safely say that for all of muska’s “never love anything!!!” deal, it’s because he knows that he’ll outlive anyone he cares for. he used to be quite loving, a loving husband. a loving father. a king who adored his people and did everything he could to make things better for them. but, grief caught up to him— and that will also be addressed in the next answer. over time, he became jaded with a great deal of love. not that he didn’t have anahita’s reincarnations, not that he didn’t love every single one he met, but imagine losing your soulmate again and again and again. he used to think of love as a sort of salvation, but at this point, it’s absolute agony. he wouldn’t want to not have it, but it still causes so much pain. 

still, with the right people, he stops being “never love anything” and actually can see love in a more positive, less painful light, because he needs to learn that it’s not like ... he’ll never have people to love ever again, it’s just he has to open up?? to more people, and that’s the tough part, but it isn’t impossible.

aloe :   how does your muse handle grief ?

ok so laputians have rituals for mourning, so many of muska’s behaviors in times of grief are also deep seated in his culture. laputians cut their hair with a ritual dagger when they’re mourning and then allow it to grow back ( as a sort of symbolic healing ), they trade the vibrant colors that they wear for muted tones. really, they simplify— no jewelry or hair accessories, fancy “merge this metal with our bodies and look pretty”, etc., because for the laputians, grief is a period of time where they also need to grow again. 

muska grieved for his people for 700 years. explaining his short hair and earth tone suits. to fit in with humans he looked put together, but from the laputian standpoint, there was nothing flashy about anything he was doing. this continued until after the second fall, where he realized that his people were not coming back, he still lived and it meant the earth wanted him to heal. and while he’s got a lot of self-hatred in there, he’s healing. 

in his mainverse, which i peg as a few months after the ending of castle in the sky, he’s let his hair grow long again and since laputians can fashion aetherium from stones on the ground just by like. being laputians, he’s fashioned a few aetherium things. notably, while he dresses for comfort ( a tunic and slacks and shoes ), he does have a few silver bracelets with aetherium decorations and if he took off his shirt, he does have a gold leaf pattern over his left shoulder; something that the laputian royals did to Look Prettier ( as if they needed to lmao ). 

[lietwice]

GARAK STARES AT HIM. He feels... entirely unprepared for such a declaration. When he's imagined this before, in his dreams, it's been such a big moment, set up so perfectly. He'd be dressed in his best tunic, and Julian in his uniform, and they would've been debating something hotly over lunch, or spending time together in the holosuite, or even taking a walk together. This isn't like any of that. It's perfectly ordinary day, and Garak is dressed in what may as well be loungewear in comparison to the outfits he'd wear to leave his quarters. He's got slippers on. He's been sketching new clothing designs, sat in his armchair, wondering whether to have some red leaf tea or whether he might fancy a glass of kanar. And here he is now, faced with an intensely honest Julian Bashir, saying things Garak has only dreamed of him saying. It's a lot to take in.

JULIAN HAS MOVED CLOSER. The hands on his arms are warm and grounding, and the touch prompts him to instinctively reach for Julian in return. He hesitates, though, hands landing uncertainly on Julian's arms. "Doctor..." he breathes, tense and measured but with desperation in his eyes, "if this is any sort of a joke, or an experiment... I must ask you to stop, now..."

"Yes. Yes, I think I'd better." The alternative is to profess his love while standing out in the corridor, and he can't imagine that that's what Garak would prefer. Julian steps inside, and then he leans back against the door to stare longingly at Garak. Then, before he can be asked any questions, which will surely interrupt his momentum, he starts again. "It was a time anomaly. A whole planet full of our descendants, because leaving the atmosphere of the planet was going to send us into the past. And the crew agreed... The crew agreed it wasn't worth it, to change time and kill all those people. Our families. But- But Miles had it right. And Odo. Older Odo. We have families here. I have you here. And even given a century, I don't believe anyone could make me forget the loss of you." He pushes off from the door and right into Garak's space, where he can rest his hands on his upper arms. "You mean too much to me. You and me are... We're too important. It's too right."

[steddiesupportgroup]

@corrodedcoughin your wish is my command! I wanted Eddie to make a sword too much to keep him at a basic level, sorry about that. He’s got many talents.

First of all, Steve does not get ren faire. It’s the middle of the blistering summer, the grass is brown and dead and there’s not a tree in sight in the field where they decided to hold it. He’s only here as the babysitter, as most of his outings are, and the surrounding tents are packed with people in the lamest outfits he’s ever seen.

Every one of the kids pressured him into buying an overpriced outfit when they got there, and he tells himself that he’s really doing it for Will. Steve’s got a huge soft spot for him and that kid is diligently sweating it out in full-blown wizard’s getup with no plans to compromise it for the sake of his own comfort. So Steve buys something basic, whatever the kids wanna see him in that somewhat works with his budget, and he looks okay, he supposes.

But damn, they couldn’t have let him wear a hat with this tunic?

At least he’s not the only adult on this quest; Robin and Nancy are here too, but they didn’t have to be pressured into dressing up. Robin’s some kind of dark fairy and Nancy is an elf (and Steve learns that it’s not even her first time doing it, which tickles him).

After sweating his balls off for a couple hours and silently thanking the tunic for hiding evidence of any swamp-crotch, the kids use the map to hop, skip, and jump their way to Eddie’s station. Steve didn’t know that Eddie was working here, but it makes sense. He’s a dedicated actor in every other sense of the word, after all.

Steve’s too engrossed in conversation with the girls to notice when they’ve reached Eddie’s spot, and Robin gives him a knowing nudge and a nod when they get there.

Steve turns his head and holy shit.

There’s Eddie Munson, slaving away over an anvil, striking down on a red-hot sword and surrounded by a dozen impressed onlookers. Steve knows that ren faire is hot temperature wise, but he feels like it’s been hiked up another hundred degrees.

Eddie’s shirtless under his long leather apron, the sun kissing his shoulders and leaving freckles in its wake. His tattoos are on full display, save for the ones covered by elbow length black gloves. His hair is tied up on top of his head and loose strands wave with each strike of his hammer. He’s too focused to notice that his friends have showed up, his mouth pressed in a firm line, and boy is he sweating. Drops of moisture bead along his forehead and temples, drip down his sides and line his upper lip.

Nancy presses a water bottle to Steve’s chest, and his mouth is too dry to thank her for it.

Once Eddie’s done shaping the metal to his liking (letting out low grunts with each hit, for fucks sake) he looks up and beams at their kids crowding around him.

He lifts the sword high over his head and bellows, “Behold! The fruits of mine labor!”

Steve wants to drop to his knees and scream. He can’t believe he’s crushing this hard on a grade A nerd, but here he is.

After telling the kids that no, they can’t hold the sword, Eddie answers all their questions and takes their compliments in stride. A few minutes and a whole water bottle later, he finally walks towards Steve, Robin, and Nancy, praising the girls on their costumes.

When he gets to Steve, he smiles and adjusts stupid little leaf crown on top of his hair and says, “Looks like you’ve been initiated, pretty boy. It’s a good look on you.”

Steve ends up asking his own questions, prompting Eddie into showing him everything else he’s made as a blacksmith just to stare at him for as long as he can. Eddie looks delighted at Steve’s interest and does, letting Steve hold the cooled and heavy creations in his hands.

“Now, technically I’m not supposed to give things out for free, but,” Eddie looks a little nervous in the shade of the blacksmith tent, “I thought I’d give you a souvenir, just as a thanks for humoring us,”

And he hands Steve a pair of brand new but ancient looking handcuffs.

Steve doesn’t know what to say, and he doesn’t get a chance to come up with something normal before his mouth betrays him. “They’re cool. Show me how they work sometime?”

Yep, Steve wants to die. Or maybe not, because Eddie blushes a color that has nothing to do with the summer heat.

They both just kind of stand there and gawk at each other for a moment before Eddie lets out a surprised laugh and says, “As much as it breaks my heart, they don’t actually work,” And before Steve can backtrack and save himself a smidge of humiliation Eddie continues, “But, I have some that do. I’ll show you those…if you’re good.”