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[snoopychris]

busy woman

warnings: video sex, masturbation, dirty talk, kinda sub matt, matt's still kind of an ass but not as much, a few sabrina carpenter references

mateo81

free tonight?

cherrychapsdick

depends on the time? 

have to do a live stream at 6:45

mateo81

perfect

u free b4 or after?

cherrychapsdick

both 

free from 4:30-5, 6:15-6:45 and then 7:45 till EOD

mateo81

4:30 works fine for me

you’re a busy woman

cherrychapsdick 

gotta make a living somehow ;) 

mateo81

i’ll see u at 4:30 then :))

matt hopes that the click that came from his phone was silent enough to not disturb the quiet work time the classroom was given. his eyes scan the room for a few moments, noticing the way each person in the room was in their own little bubble of the world. the jocks in the back row near the right were hitting each other and stealing each others things. the more studious girls in the middle row, each listening to some different sort of music. and then there was you. you were isolated in the front row today, the headphones over your ears blasting music loud enough for him to faintly hear. your phone was tightly wrapped around your fingers alongside your pencil. he sighs quietly as he gets back to his own schoolwork, glancing at the professor besides him.

“dr thomas? my mom just texted and she needs me home earlier than expected so i’m gonna head out at 4:15 ish. all of last weeks tests are graded. grades are updated.” matt smiles, jotting down a few more ideas on his paper. he quite enjoyed the professors presence, but he still couldn’t wait to get all of the requirements needed for his masters degree. matt’s eyes go back down to his class work, getting distracted shortly afterwards when someone walks up to the desk. he doesn’t look up instantly, instead deciding to use context clues. the first thing that he uses to determine who’s at the desk is the jangle of the jewelry. the second thing is the dr martens on the feet of the person. the final thing is her voice. your voice. matt’s eyes look up at you, a small scoff leaving his lips. 

“dr thomas… i’m not feeling too good. would you mind if i left early? my works done and turned in.” your voice sounds so sweet. so… spoiled. matt thinks. he bats his eyes at you, a look of shock in his eyes. you failed your last test and you’re asking to leave early? matt didn’t get it. he lets out another scoff as you walk out the door with your professors permission, beginning to pack up himself. he bids his farewell and begins walking go his car in the parking lot, rolling his eyes when he sees you standing next to his vehicle to get into your own. 

“following me, matt?” 

matt shakes his head as you unlock your car, his arms crossing as he leans against his door. “that mercedes on daddy’s car insurance plan?” you swallow as you lick your lips, shaking your head. “no.” matt chuckles as he unlocks his car door, glancing over at you. “you have to take out a loan for it then?” his eyes widen at you, pursing his lips. he knows the answer is no. he also knows, well, he thinks, you’re lying to him about your dad’s involvement in your finances. your eyes scan his tattoo covered arms up and down, pursing your lips. “you pay for all those yourself?” “well no. when i was younger my mom helped pay for so-“ “hypocrite.” matt scoffs when you shut your car door on him mid-conversation, speeding off like you had somewhere to be. he had completely forgotten that he had somewhere to be. 

matt had never driven faster in his life. he drove like there were no other cars on the road. it probably wasnt healthy that he was doing all of this for a camgirl. it had to be a level of whipped that had been undiscovered by most men. his entire ride home is spent with nothing but thoughts of you, even if he didnt know it was you. he thought of the way he had joined each of your live streams in the past week, sometimes spending more than 20 dollars just to compliment your lingerie or to tell you to move your fingers a little bit faster. he hadnt even realized how much of his brain you had been taking up, but it was nearly all of it. at some point or another during his drive home, matt had grown painfully hard. as he puts his car in park in the garage of his apartment complex. the tote bag he uses as a backpack was thrown over his shoulder for a moment, but matt decides it would be best to hold it over his crotch, just until he gets inside. Matt’s legs move quicker than he intended them to, and he groans in frustration when its 4:31 and the elevator is still going painfully slow. when he finally reaches his floor, he borderline sprints to his door, kicking off his shoes and taking off his sweater. its quickly tossed to the side and discarded, and its 4:34 by the time he actually opens his laptop. he hopes that he’s not too late.

mateo81

hi sorry, computer died ://

cherrychapsdick

perfect timing omg 

my last one on one went late

mateo81

busy busy

cherrychapsdick

*sent a link* 

here’s the zoom

u can join anonymously if youd like :)

an exhale that matt didnt know he was holding in leaves his throat when you sent the link. he clicks it gently, making sure of two things when he does. first, he makes sure hes on incognito mode so that it doesnt show his email or anything of the sorts. the second thing he does is make sure his camera and microphone are off. when he fully joins the call, his breath hitches in the back of his throat. youre wearing a light blue set. he had never seen it before. he had even gone back one day and scrolled through all of your saved streams  and it wasnt in any of them. he goes to type a message in the chat but youre already speaking by the time his pointer is hovering over the text box. “hi mateo.” fuck.

your voice was as smooth as silk, if not smoother. “sorry i was late… my last guy took foreverrrr. can you imagine that? im dolled up all pretty and he didnt even finish.” even though he couldnt see your face, matt knew you were pouting. his fingers hover over his laptops keyboard for a moment before he begins typing, watching as youre toying with the hem of your panties. couldnt imagine that, not in a million years. I was late too, class ran late. Matt doesnt even realize what he was typing until it was already sent. he knows the chance of you knowing him is extremely slim. there was 8.1 billion people on planet earth, there was no way he would be recognizable enough to you based on the mention of a class. this subsides the anxiousness coursing through matt, palming at himself through his sweatpants. 

“you in school? college i hope… you smart? I bet you are. bet youre the top of your class. bet youre always so well-behaved… just like you are for me.” matt swallows, nodding rapidly even though you cant see him. he feels awkward only staring at you and you not seeing anything but a black screen. his fingers move faster than his brain does, typing and sending another message. can i turn my camera on? you giggle as you reach besides you to your bedside table, grabbing your skin toned dildo and holding it close to your body. “if you really want to. im not gonna force you. if you only wanna show your bottom half like be thats okay too.” matt licks his lip as he looks around the room, grabbing a long sleeved tshirt. it’s just to cover his tattoos. to subdue his fear of getting caught.

once his shirt is on and his pants are off, he positions his camera for you to see him— part of him. the part of him he’s probably the most proud of. there’s a faint click in his bedroom, and then he’s on screen. you giggle on the other side, bringing out a self consciousness in matt that he didn’t know he had. “well well well… look at you hm? y’tellin me you walk around with that thing all day?” matt bites his lip as he gives a thumbs up, groaning as he does so— why did he even do that? you giggle once more, rubbing the silicone in your hand over your clit. “well… if it helps. i’d much rather have that than this. if you wanna keep givin thumbs up… i’ll let ya.” 

matt lets out a small whimper as he begins stroking himself to your words, quietly hoping that his body language is enough. he bites his lip as he uses his free hand to type another message to  you, watching as the silicone dick slides between your legs, your underwear still on. he’s so visibly hard that it makes you almost feel bad. “all that for me?” matt holds up his thumb again, a groan exiting his lips. when you slip your panties to the side and slide down onto the silicone toy, matt just about loses it. his hand begins moving faster than he wanted it to, but he doesn’t mind. you just look so pretty bouncing like that. “wish it was you… fuck wish it was you! bet you’d… fill me up so good. so so good. mhm… holy shit.” matt’s mouth drops wide open at your words, precum leaking all around his tip. 

your eyes— even though he can’t see them— haven’t left his throbbing member since you laid eyes on it. some of the people you usually do this with are just older men who haven’t gotten it up properly in years. something about this one is different. there’s a sense of familiarity within the call. your lip is being held tightly between your teeth as your movements start to teeter, slowing down while looking at matt. “d-do you want me to cum for you, sweet boy? i can hold it if you want. make the 30 minutes you’re paying for last all 30.” matt groans at your words once more, spreading the precum over his tip. 

no. please. don’t wanna hold you back. matt’s message in the chat is clear to you, and you take it as permission to let the feeling wash over you. your cum begins to coat the dildo you were riding, the creamy white substance becoming clearer as its spread all around. “mmmmph!” you yelp, throwing your head back onto the pillow, giving matt a much clearer view at your pussy. your face remains out of sight, as does matt’s when his spurts of cum begin to coat his webcam. his eyes are tightly squeezed shut, opening them to watch you ride out your orgasm. you sit back up on your bed, sliding out the toy and tossing it to the side. “oh look at you… came all over your camera like a good boy. really had fun today. i’m sorry i didn’t make it last longer… just got really worked up i guess.” 

the pout on matt’s face is there. he wishes you could see it, but he just opts to send another message in chat. you do a lot of stuff in 15 minutes. never really came that fast before. u got a gift or sum. his typing was never this unprofessional, but he still wants to make sure there’s no evidence of matt being, well, matt. “oh well thank you. i’ll see you another time okay? oh! oh my gosh i didn’t even mention the pay. um… i should’ve before we even started. usually it’s 50 for a first time one on one. then next time it would be 60 cause like a dollar per minute. you know usually… um. because i was late and we didn’t do the whole thirty minutes just… 40… is fine… my cashapp is in my account. you text me and keep me updated okay? i’ll see you another time.” matt smiles to himself as you speak so sweetly to him, leaving the call to clean himself off. it doesn’t take him very long, but by the time he’s done, he’s gotten a few texts from his brothers asking if he wants to go out. a new bar opening or something. he hesitantly agrees, throwing himself back on the bed for a few minutes before getting ready for the night. 

the hours ticked by slowly for you, the only source of pleasure and enjoyment being long gone after your call with mateo. you wondered where he was right now and how he was doing. it was unusual. you hadn’t ever really gotten attached to any clients before. you’re pulled from your thoughts when there’s a knock on your door, standing up and looking at your roommate on the other side. “cmon cammy i need you to come with me! how am i ever gonna pull girls if there’s nobody there to distract the hot guys? hm? what’s the point of having a hot roommate if she isn’t gonna put her tools to good use!” you giggle at his words, looking back at your bed. “give me 15 minutes. i’ll be ready. can we go to that new place on hill street?” you smile, shutting the door in his face. the getting ready process doesn’t take you long, already having been slightly glammed up for some of your clients who paid more to see your face. you glance down at your lingerie set, grabbing a matching blue top from your closet— one that’s just slightly more bar appropriate. you let out a small huff as you grab your bag, walking back into the kitchen. “let’s go then.”

the bar is more packed than you or matt could’ve expected. neither of you really wanted to be here. matt would much rather be in his apartment watching tv while he watched sonic run around the living room like he usually would on fridays. crazy enough, you would rather be camming right now. you lick your lips slightly as you flirt your way into another drink, smiling at the unlucky gentleman and walking back onto the dance floor. at some point along the way, you bump into an unknown figure, groaning when it’s just matt. “what are you doing at a college bar?” he asks, his voice cocky as ever. “i’m a college student. what are you doing at a college bar? trying to pick up a younger girl or something?” you quip back, rolling your eyes. matt can’t help but notice the way your blue top looks familiar.

he’s seen the color before, but never the top itself. matt swallows slightly as he realizes he forgot to pay earlier, shaking his head at your question. “no… just here with my brothers. stay safe tonight okay? it’s new and dangerous out here.” he whispers, pushing away from you. you furrow your brows at his word, making your way over to talk to your roommate. “tucker i think our teachers assistant got laid.” you mumble, taking a sip from your espresso martini. tucker chuckles as he takes a swig of his beer, waiting for further explanation. “he was… actually nice to me for once.” 

the conversation begins to flow, both on your side of the bar and matt’s. matt can’t stop thinking about the color you were wearing. he feels the guilt eating him alive. he can’t believe he didn’t pay cherry earlier. there’s a point when chris is deep in conversation with nick that matt uses as an excuse to pull out his phone. he quickly opens cashapp, sending the money to the username he’s become so used to lately. You sent $40 to cherrychapsdick! 

on the other side of the bar, nearly at the exact same time, you felt your phone buzz in your skirts pocket. you pull it out for just a moment, smiling at the notification. mateo81 sent you $40! 

a/n: not to sound like an ao3 writer but my apologies for not writing/uploading anything... i got into a car crash and then midterms beat my ass. anyway!!!! also like... support ur writers by reblogging and commenting! but i wont force u. but also i love reading reblogs and comments.

tags (reply or comment to be added but it may be full soon i dont remember. im not a professional) @mattsstarlet @oopsiedaisydeer @marrykisskilled @ifwdominicfike @frankoceanfanpage @mattssslutbby @sophand4n4 @matthewsturnsgf @izzylovesmatt @m11rx @chris-hallelujah @sturniolotoast @mattsbrat @wastelandzella @le4hsblog @mattsd0llfac3 @st7rnioioss @isabellewhatt @sturnslutz @freshhhloveee @courta13 @sturns-mermaid @ivysturnss @slutformatt17 @emely9274 @princessesgarden @cykss @throatgoat4u @blahbel668 @ivyyyyyysposts @h0e4fictionalme-n @sofieeeeex @littlebookworm803 @allylovescody @ribread03 @cheesecakedolll @chrislova @ikyoudreamofme @jetaimevous @muwapsturniolo @sturnsrecord @13hoax @whore4mattsturniolo @sophsturns @chrissweetheart @cl1tlover3000 @applecidersturniolo @babytrapsosa @backwardshatnick @camzeecorner @leoslaboratory @princesspeach0-0 @sturniolosrtewsexy @mattswifeyy

divider creds to @bernardsbendystraws !

[commandershepardvasfuckit]

Kingsguard part 3

Part 1 | Part 2

M!troll x f!reader

3.3k words

You still were not entirely sure what made you give in, though you were not upset with your choice. Ba’tual may not be the most dignified option, but he was still an option.

(Rough sex, size difference)

————

Ba’tual led you through the streets, winding his way between the crowds, light on his feet as ever, occasionally looking back over his shoulder to make sure you were still behind him.

The chill of the night was starting to set in now that you were away from the fire and the crowds, a consequence of a city in a ravine in a desert. You nearly had to jog to keep you with his long strides, thankful that at least all the movement helped keep you warm.

He stopped suddenly, causing you to nearly collide into him, “Here we are” he said, stopping in front of a door. There was no keyhole on the door, but a low light radiated from the knob when he grabbed it and a muffled click could be heard from in the door.

The door opened into a spacious room, similar to what you had seen elsewhere in the city. It was orcish in design, centered around a hearth and cooking area to heat the space, the only separate space being the washroom.

Several sconces around the room roared to life with a flick of Ba’tual’s hand and he busied himself with his armor, carefully removing each piece and setting it aside.

“Please, get comfortable” he began, “I’ll start the hearth in a moment, but it’ll be a bit before it warms up. There’s more than enough blankets on the bed so you don’t freeze”.

Awkwardly you sat on the corner of the bed, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders as you stayed upright to watch Ba’tual. He was meticulous in his movements, each piece of armor removed with a high degree of reverence and carefully hung in its place. Lastly his mask, heavily lacquered wood carved in the visage of the Lord of Shadows, placed high up on the wall above the other places.

“Sorry for the wait, but Tsov’ka would not be pleased if I showed him such disrespect by just tossing my mask down”.

“Tsov’ka?”

“The Lord of Shadows, he does have a name, and he expects his followers to show him respect in all things” he knelt at the hearth in the center of the room and began adding wood to it. With a few words in troll flames leapt from the wood, “It might take a bit, but it should warm up in here”.

He stood before you in just the pair a fitted knee-length pants he had on under his armor. In truth it was not much different than you usually saw him when he was sparring or training, but here, in this light and context your breath quicken at the sight of him.

“Still sure, little one?” he asked.

You nodded, sure of what you wanted but unable to find your words.

“I want to see you” he slipped the blanket from your shoulders and knelt on the floor in front of you, almost eye level with you still, “May I?” he asked.

You did not know exactly what he was asking, but the answer was a resounding yes and you gave a small nod.

With the same reverence he had given his armor and mask he gently began removing the jewelry Bira had loaned you, each piece laid out carefully next to the bed, his fingers lingering on your skin just slightly longer than necessary with each touch.

He moved to where your top was tied behind your back, loosening and undoing the knot and untangling the fabric from around your neck. Before even touching you he folded the fabric and set it next to the jewelry.

His slow, methodical movements were driving you crazy. For all of his talk the last thing you expected was how slow he was taking everything. When he finally did reach up and cup your breast in his hand you found yourself learning into his touch, the anticipation killing you.

His hand was warm and his touch firm as he gently squeezed your breast and rolled your nipple between his fingers. His other hand now resting on your thigh while he rubbed small circles against the inside of it with his thumb.

Small moans escaped your lips and Ba’tual kept up with his exploration of your body. The hand from your thigh now moving up to grab at your hip, his fingers pressing into the soft fat that padded them.

Slowly he rose to his feet, towering over you and lifted you onto your feet. His hands found the waist of your pants and slid them down along with the skirt and your undergarments all at once. You stood bare before him, fighting the urge to shrink away and hide as he took in the sight of you. Where he stood trim and well muscled, you were soft and round, self conscious of how he would perceive you now that he could finally see all of you.

Without a word and guided you to the bed and sat you on his lap, your back pressed against his warm, bare chest. Once more his hands roved your body, kneading into your plump hips and thighs as he took his time acquainting himself with your form. A hand drifted down between your thighs to spread them and you stiffened up automatically as his fingers grazed your folds.

“Relax” he cooed in your ear, his chin resting on your shoulder, “One step at a time, ok?”

You nodded again.

He slipped his finger between your folds, slowly tracing you up and down, “So wet already” he murmured.

His other hand left its place on your hip to join the first one, dipping down to find your clit and rubbing slow circles.

Your breath hitched as Ba’tual continued a steady pace, your hips bucked into his hand involuntarily as you sought out more friction. You could hear how wet you were as his other finger stroked your center and your toes curled as you felt the building pressure of your pleasure in your core and between your legs.

“There you go, little thing. Let go and let me make you feel good” came his voice in your ear.

He kept his pressure steady as he matched the movements of your hips, letting you grind into his hand as you felt your orgasm build to its peak.

You moaned and cried out as it hit you, tossing your arm back around his neck to pull yourself closer to him. Never once did he let up rubbing your clit while you rode out the waves of your pleasure until you were a heaving and panting mess.

With your mind less clouded from lust you were now very aware of his hardened cock pressed against your back, twitching and throbbing as you squirmed about on his lap while he still slowly stroked your dripping cunt.

“Feeling more relaxed now?” he asked.

“Yeah” you managed to pant out.

“Oh? So you do have a voice again”.

“Was just a little overwhelmed”.

“Mmmm, I do have that affect on most people, don’t I?” he teased.

You playfully bumped your shoulder back against him.

“Are you ready to continue?” he asked.

“I’m ready”.

Upon your words you felt his thick finger press into your entrance and a hiss left your lips from the sudden intrusion.

“It’s alright, you can take it, can’t you?” came his voice in your ear.

“Mmmhmm” you struggled out.

“Good girl” his finger slid just a bit deeper into you, making you see stars. Your walls clenched around him, his finger thicker than any dick you had taken before and you struggled to adjust to the stretch.

“Nice and easy, see? Such a good girl for me while you let me get you ready for my cock”.

His words made you pant and squirm, the thought of how much more of a stretch his cock would be intimidated and aroused you. Still farther he pushed his finger into you, forcing you open more than you had ever been. The minutes dragged on while he painstakingly worked you open, every little movement from him made your whole body shudder and twitch.

“Too, too much” you panted.

“You’re ok, just relax. I know you can take it” his words were soft and assuring as he pressed the last of his finger into your overstuffed cunt, the tip of it rubbing against your cervix.

You moaned as you felt him settle deep inside you, so impossibly full from just his finger.

He gave you a moment to breathe before slowly sliding his finger entirely out and you felt your muscles flutter and relax after being so over stretched. Once more he worked his finger into you, still slowly but without pausing this time.

“What a tight little cunt, you’re going to feel so good around my cock” he teased.

At this point his words did not have meaning as you writhed under his touch. Slowly he increased his pace, trying different angles as he fucked his finger into you until he found the spot that made you come undone.

Immediately you were reduced to a babbling mess, incoherent words pouring from your lips as you urged him to keep going and he was happy to oblige.

“Good girl, cum for me” his words were warm against your neck and his tusk brushed against you.

You leaned your full weight back against his chest and wrapped your arm up and around the back of his neck again, allowing him to spread your legs farther and target that one spot better. He had been right, it was better than anything you had before.

For the second time that night you came. Your legs shook and felt weak while Ba’tual kept his relentless pace until he felt you go limp.

“Oh by the light” you gasped and came down from your high.

“Are you alright?” he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close and running his fingers through your hair.

“Much better than alright”.

“Good, because I’m not done with you yet” he wiped you hair back, damp with sweat, from where it stuck to your forehead.

It was hard to keep your eyes open, between the late hour, the alcohol earlier, and being throughly fucked out you found yourself nearly dozing in Ba’tual’s lap.

“Tired, little human?” he cooed at you, his words were sweet but teasing.

“Mmmhmm” you mumbled.

“I’m going to pick you up, you don’t need to do anything, ok?”

You did not protest as he lifted you with ease, nor did you open your eyes while you heard him shuffle around. It was not until you felt him lay you down on your stomach on a hard surface, your feet not even touching the ground, did you stir at all.

He lifted you hips up and tucked a pillow under you and you turned your head to look at what he was doing. Like with everything else, he was carefully folding his pants and setting them aside. For the first time you got a good at him.

Impressive was an understatement. You had felt him pressed against you while dancing and while you were in his lap, you knew he was large by sheer virtue of just being so much taller than a human, but the difference between knowing and seeing was now apparent.

Ba’tual must have seen the surprise in your face, “I’ll be gentle with you, just as before, I promise. Just relax, you don’t to have to do anything”.

He position himself between your legs behind you and bent one of your legs to push it up on the table to better spread your legs.

You felt him run his finger between your legs, “Spirits, you’re a sight like that. And still wet even, what a perfect little thing you are”.

His thighs brushed yours as he positioned himself, his tip pressed against your entrance and you whined as he slowly stretched you open once more.

“It hurts” you cried out. It stung as he forced you open, even taking his time to let you adjust as best possible it was still much more than you could handle. You squeezed your eyes shut and bit your lip, anything to focus on instead. Automatically you squirmed, subconsciously trying to get away from the source of your discomfort.

Firm hands held your hips down, “I know, I know it’s a lot, but you can take it for me, can’t you?”

“I can’t” just his tip alone made you feel like you were being ripped in half.

“Shhhh, I’m gonna help you” he gently slid himself out before rolling you onto your back. A thick finger now on your clit while he rubbed small circles against you, “Just going to give you some nice to focus on, ok? And before you know it you’re going to take all of it”.

Again he began to enter you, the pain was the same but his deft motions on your clit helped you block it out.

“Look at that,” he muttered, “Tight little cunt stretched around my cock. That’s why you’re here isn’t it? What sort of human would want to come to a city of trolls and orcs and minotaurs right after a war unless there was something very worthwhile here”.

The way he spoke to you should not have turned you on so, but it did. You had not come to Kor���mal seeking this sort of hands on education, but it had only been a few days before you had started to get curious anyways.

A muffled “mmhmm” is all you could manage.

“Now look at you, all teary eyed while while a troll fucks you. So damn wet even though it hurts, still moaning while I rub your clit”.

You liked this sudden change in his demeanor, though it was a strong departure from how gentle and careful he had been up until now. There was something deeply arousing about this show of dominance.

“Did you get what you wanted, little human? Getting to be helpless little thing while some troll fucks you? You haven’t told me to stop though, have you? Enjoying being a pretty little toy?”

“Yes” you panted.

“Good, because from the moment I saw you I wanted you like this. So small, and soft” his hands glided up and down your sides, grabbing at your chubby thighs and the soft pudge of your hips, “So different”.

Being desired for something you were often self conscious about was a strange sensation. Often you had batted hands off of yourself in the bedroom, keeping minimal contact on yourself, but now? Now it was making you blush fiercely and you could not meet his gaze as he watched your reactions.

“Good girl, you don’t have to do anything. Just relax, close your eyes if you want to rest, and just let me fuck you”. He held you in place while he agonizingly entered you bit by bit, the sting slowly subsiding into nothing more than mild discomfort by the time he bottomed out.

It was the fullest you had ever felt, wonderfully stretched around Ba’tual while his tip pressed into your cervix. He held you there, his own eyes closed and taking measured breaths, savoring how you felt. Slowly he began to move, even the smallest movement caused your toes to curl and your mind to go blank, his size reached every inch inside of you.

“Do you know how hard it is to go so slow with you?” he asked. “But you’re such a sweet little toy, it would be a shame to break you” and he punctuated his statement with a firm thrust into you, causing you to let out a yip in surprise.

“Too much for you?” a teasing tone in his voice.

“No”.

“Maybe I’m being too gentle with you then” he gave several more deep thrusts, “Maybe I can let a little loose then”.

You whined as he began a steady pace, already overstimulated from before coping with the new sensation of being so full. Every thrust filling you beyond what you could handle, his tip poking into your cervix every time and filling the room with both your moans and wet sounds.

It did not take long before you felt yourself getting close again, every movement rubbed right against the most sensitive spots in you and with his finger still on your clit you were lost in bliss.

Ba’tual leaned down on his elbow, his own breathing ragged, his massive form pressed against you and pining you down. Instinctively you wrapped your arms around him, clinging to him desperately as you felt the first tingly waves of your orgasm begin.

“Come on little thing, cum for me” his voice was so soft and low in your ear. The warmth of his breath tickled your skin.

You cried out for the third time that night and wrapped your legs around his hips, your walls clenching around him and sending waves of warmth through your whole body as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm.

“Spirits” his voice barely a gasp.

Your whole body twitched in overstimulated as he jerkily thrusted deep into a few more times. His cock throbbed in you as you felt the warm flood of his cum fill you, some how filling you even impossibly more.

He lowered his face down to you to rest the side of his head on your chest “Fuck, I want to do that again”.

A nod was all you could manage, your throat dry and sore from panting and moaning. By the Light it had been incredible. Sure your hips were sore from being spread for so long, and until now you did not know that your clit or cunt could be sore either, but it was all a good sore.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Incredible” you answered.

“Good” Ba‘tual slowly separated himself from you and you felt the gush of cum spill down yourself, “wait here” he instructed as if you had the energy to do anything anyway. He left the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Annoyingly he had been right when he said it would good. Part of you had wished that it would just be ok, enough to sate your curiosity and move on, but it had been so much more than that. As much as he had said it would be a one time thing you hoped for at least one more time.

A warm, damp cloth along your thighs jolted you from your thoughts. Ba’tual was carefully cleaning you off.

“Thanks” you muttered, “Could you grab me my clothes?”

“Why?”

“So after I catch my breath I can get going”.

“No” he said firmly.

“No?” you questioned back, an edge of annoyance seeping into your voice.

“It’s very late and it’s freezing out, I’m not letting you walk home like that”.

“It’s fine. Walk me home if you’re so concerned”.

“No. We’ve both been drinking, it’s freezing out, and I’m exhausted anyways. You’ll stay here tonight” his tone left no room to argue.

Wordlessly he continued to clean you off until he was satisfied before scooping you back up and carrying you to bed, though he did not join you right away. Instead he tucked you under the blankets and busied himself meticulously wiping down the table.

Finally he returned only once everything was up to his standards, “You should really drink something” he told you as he handed you a glass.

“Thanks” you mumbled, grateful for the water, your throat dry and scratchy from all the panting and moaning and quickly finished it.

“Get some rest” he told you and settled down on the other side of the bed from you, his back to you. With another flick of his hand the hearth and sconces flickered and extinguished.

————

Part 4

[noonesgaylikegatson]

The majority of rich people on this earth are broke. They don't have any money. I'll explain why:

Rich people don't make enough money to afford their lifestyles. What they do is that they they take out loans. These loans are countered against the property, businesses, and shares they hold.

So a rich person who brings in about 250,000 a month, will take out a loan for about $10 million to afford their lifestyle. That's for buying property, cars, going on vacation, hosting parties, jewelry etc.

They don't have enough liquid cash to afford any of these things on their own. That's why they take out these loans. Plus they have lines of credit.

This of course is not free money. They have to pay back monthly premiums. If they ever default, the banks will start snatching up their assets. This is where we start the nonsense:

Lower taxes? Rich person bringing home $250,000 a month that means they pay close to $150,000 dollars in taxes. They want to pay less taxes so they can:

get bigger loans

have more cushion rooms to pay their premiums

As you can imagine, getting a 10 million dollar loan, and spending it on luxury life style, will cause that money to quickly run out, and now they're paying premiums and are broke. They have to take out more loans, get more credit, it's a violent spiral.

(This is why I always say that people who complain about taxes are bad with money.)

How it fucks you: Less taxes means services get cut, and become worse.

Rent? A lot of rich people invest in property because it gives monthly income that they can use to pay their bills. The push against work from home? Majority of companies rent out their corporate spaces. With WFH, many companies downsized or got rid of their spaces. We saw a lot of rich people who expected monthly income suddenly lose that income. This scares them because they were counting on that income to pay their bills.

They're also against zoning reform, and building more houses because that could potentially lower rent, which would mean their monthly income would reduce.

Remember, the loans and credit that these broke fucks have to pay back, don't decrease.

Layoffs? Rich people who have shares in companies get dividends. When a company makes 1.2 billion in profit, those dividends go to the shareholders. If next year, the same company makes 800 million in profits, the shareholders get smaller dividends. Rich people are expecting on the money they receive from these companies to stay the same or get bigger.

Every wonder why companies rush out products that are obviously not ready? Those shareholders are pushing for the product to get out as soon as possible so they can quickly get the profits so they can pay their bills.

Investment bubbles? Rich people throwing their money in the new shiny thing in hopes it explodes and they make profit in order to pay off all their loans and credits, and then get even bigger loans and larger credit lines.

Literally every shitty thing in society can be traced back to rich people's poor money management. Very few rich people have liquid cash. This is why billionaires are so powerful.

When interest rates go up and causes premiums to balloon, rich people have to sell their assets to stay afloat, Billionaires can eat the costs, buy up businesses, properties and capital at lower rates, and then sell them when the economy recovers and the value bounces back.

You ever wondered why celebrities and athletes make so much money and then seem to lose it all? It's because of what I described as above. They get loans to afford their lifestyle, and then when their earnings dry up, they can't afford to pay their monthly premiums and the bank takes everything away.

We are told stories of "irresponsible spending" ex: buying golden yachts. When in actuality, they were simple doing as the romans do. Majority of celebrities don't have consistent income that lasts for decades unlike rich people have jobs and companies that pays them regularly for decades.

In conclusion: we need to destroy the lifestyle of the rich.

Loans should be regulated to things like buying property (homes people live in, and primary cars), entrepreneurship, life events, (weddings, ceremonies, plastic surgery, medical issues, emergencies, necessary renovations etc), education, research, etc. and other loans (luxury items, extra homes, personal loans etc.) should be penalized and taxed.

By forcing rich people to live on their liquid cash, would literally shift our society to a more egalitarian one, and make a healthy economy that focuses on progress and growth.

[tiaramania]

Tiaras of the future Queen Mary

I love a good list and @duchessofostergotlands requested one of the tiaras that Mary will wear as queen. As usual I had a lot to say.

Crown Jewels

Queen Caroline Amelie's Emerald Tiara

Denmark is unusual among modern monarchies in that they still have wearable jewelry in their crown jewels. There is a diamond set, a pearl and ruby set, and of course the beautiful emerald parure. This tiara cannot be taken outside of Denmark and is only worn by the queen. I really hope Mary wears it for her first official portrait as queen.

Major Tiaras: Non-Restricted

Princess Louise's Pearl Poiré Tiara

This tiara has only been worn by Queen Margrethe during her reign but previously was worn by crown princesses and princesses. It is a very important tiara but I wouldn't mind Queen Mary loaning this one occasionally to other people like Christian's future wife.

Queen Désirée's Ruby Parure Tiara

Queen Ingrid kept this tiara even after her husband passed and then left it to Crown Prince Frederik for his future wife so it was never worn by Queen Margrethe. I expect Crown Princes Mary will continue wearing this tiara for now as the parure was extensively remodeled to suit her. When Christian marries, she may decide to pass it on to his wife establishing it as the de facto crown princess tiara, keep wearing it herself, or ideally keep wearing it while also loaning it the future crown princess.

Minor Tiaras

We don't yet know how Queen Margrethe will handle passing on her jewelry. In other countries with recent abdications, Queen Beatrix of the Netherlands still attends tiara events but Queen Paola of Belgium and Queen Sofia of Spain do not. If Margrethe decides to keep attending them she may hold on to some of these for a while.

Grand Duchess Louise of Baden's Palmette Tiara

This isn't my favorite tiara in the Danish vault because of the way it ends so abruptly instead of tapering off. Queen Mary's going to have to pull off some great tiara hair to cover that up.

Crown Princess Margaret's Turquoise Daisy Tiara

Queen Mary looks good in turquoise but I'm really looking forward to seeing this tiara on Princess Isabella and Princess Josephine.

Queen Ingrid's Floral Aigrette Tiara

I've loved the way Queen Margrethe played around with this tiara but I am looking forward to Queen Mary putting it back on a tiara frame like Queen Ingrid wore it.

Queen Margrethe's Naasut Tiara

Queen Margrethe was given this tiara by Greenland in 2012 and I have been waiting for day it is worn by Queen Mary. I think the delicate gold flowers are really going to look great against her dark hair.

Personal Tiaras

Wedding Tiara

Queen Margrethe gave this tiara to Crown Princess Mary as a wedding gift and Mary later had optional pearls added.

Ruby & Spinel Necklace Tiara

Mary bought herself this tiara at an auction and debuted it 2015. I think it was a very smart move because it was only 8050 EUR (probably less than some of her gowns) and it will be a great piece for her children to wear in the future.

Every country and monarch handles jewelry a little differently. Queen Margrethe gave each of her daughters-in-law a tiara but did not share any of her tiaras with them. She did share with her nieces (the daughters of her two sisters) when her sisters didn't have enough tiaras to loan them for events. I would like to see the future King Frederik X and Queen Mary change how the jewelry is dispersed.

First of all they need to stop giving away jewelry. The mainline has already lost the Queen Alexandrine's Diamond Drop Tiara to the Countess of Frederiksborg and Princess Dagmar's Diamond Floral Tiara to Princess Marie. Those are both beautiful, versatile tiaras that would have served the family well in the future. In the previous generation, Princess Benedikte was given Queen Sofia's Star & Pearl Tiara and her Floral Birthday Tiara made from other jewelry and Queen Anne Marie was given Crown Princess Margaret's Khedive Tiara and her Antique Corsage Tiara made from other jewelry. There's no reason to give away tiaras anymore to people whose descendants will have little reason to wear them.

Then to make up for not giving away any jewelry there needs to be more sharing! I don't want to see the same person wear the same tiara to every event. Queen Mary will have the Emerald Tiara exclusively and then may choose to keep the Pearl Poiré Tiara and Ruby Parure Tiara to herself but everything else should be shared among her daughters, daughters-in-law, and other members of the extended Danish Royal Family. It would make things so much more interesting.

[runningfrom2am]

requiem // part four

summary: according to coriolanus snow, his best friend had the most beautiful voice in all of panem. she had been training her whole life constantly to get where she was; being up for a residency at the most elite opera house in all of panem. singing was her passion. her true love; and when that got stripped from her in a second, his world became a whole lot quieter. he loathed every minute of it.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.3k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: opera singer!mentor!reader (blink and you'll miss it), she's kind of a prodigy!! p cool imo, mute!reader, bestfriend!coryo, friends to lovers trope ooo, mentions of graphic violence early on (particularly the prologue) but after that it's pretty safe, depictions of ptsd/trauma, mental illness and minor suicidal ideation but at least she's not entirely alone, descriptions of minor medical treatments and use of medication.

a/n: fighting for my LIFE trying to sort out my student loans rn. also i'm sick. butttt i did just finally get my hands on hogwarts legacy so that's eating up all my time. anyway that's a small update on my life.

also, reminder to follow @runningfrom2am-library and turn on my notifications there to join my taglist for this series!!

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist // pinterest board

three months earlier

"You could write her a song." Clemensia suggests with a shrug, tapping her pen against the inkwell, hardly looking up from it.

Coryo scoffs, shaking his head. "Don't mock me, Clemmie. I'm serious."

"So am I!" She laughs, facing her palms up against the table and looking across at him now. "She likes music, it's like, the only thing she likes. It would make her happy, I'd bet. Is that not the whole point?"

In the face of something so juvenile as asking his best friend to go to their graduation gala together, Coryo is stumbling. You were his best friend, yes, he could just outright ask- especially considering nearly everyone had already just assumed that the two of you would be attending together, but something about that didn't sit right with him.

Other girls were getting special things. Flowers, jewelry, notes, and love letters that he had genuinely heard that, on a couple of occasions, brought tears to their eyes. Not that he wanted you to cry, but... He wanted you to feel that he cared. It was important to him that you knew he really cared.

"It is." He grumbles, rubbing his forehead.

"Okay, then-"

"I'm not writing her a song."

Clemensia sighs, rolling her eyes. "It doesn't have to be any good. Maybe it's even better if it's bad! She'd get a good laugh out of it too."

"Yes, and then I'd never live it down." He says, pushing his hair back out of his eyes and trying to put his focus on the assignment they were supposed to be working on. "Besides, I didn't ask for your advice. I don't need it."

"Yes, you do." She insists with a teasing smile, reaching over the table and poking him in the shoulder with her pen. "You wouldn't have told me otherwise. You were just too scared to ask directly."

Coryo lets out a deep breath through his nose, shaking his head in quiet denial, but she can easily make out the pink tinge on his cheeks.

"Coryo, you know she'll say yes no matter what, right?" She adds, her voice softer this time.

"That's not... that's not what I'm worried about. Necessarily, I mean."

"Ah." Clemensia hums in response, taking the end of her ink pen between her teeth. "More like... you just don't want her to get the impression that she was a last resort?"

"She's not." He defends quickly.

She raises her hands defensively, a short and quiet laugh falling from her lips in the library. "I know. I know that. I'm just clarifying that you don't want her to get that impression."

When he doesn't respond, pretending to pour all his focus into taking notes again, Clemensia lets out a dramatic sigh. "I don't know, just ask her. She knows you well enough that I really don't think it matters. Just... when's the next time you're hanging out?"

"Not sure." He mumbles, scribbling down some notes that he knows are hardly legible.

"Well, what about after class today? See if she wants to go get coffee or something."

"She's coaching until seven."

"Tomorrow?"

"Rehearsals."

Clemensia lets out a huff. "This weeken-"

"Orchestra practice." He cuts her off this time.

"Panem that girl is busy." She sighs. "How does she even have any friends at all?"

"We make time." He shrugs nonchalantly, as if it didn't bother him that he hardly ever saw his best friend this late in the academic year. That was common for you, though. Usually come summer and fall you had more free time to share with him. And he was happy to wait- it wasn't like he didn't get busy during exam seasons too.

"Okay, well, now is the time to 'make time'." She exclaims sternly, leaning closer across the table and lowering her voice to a whisper. "Because I heard rumours that Sejanus Plinth was intending on asking her, and you and I both know that she is far too kind to say no. Even if he is District."

Coriolanus' jaw tenses at that and he grips his pen just a little bit harder. "Have you done question fifteen yet?"

He had already been thinking about that for weeks, and he would torture himself for another week before he finally took Clemensia's advice and "made time".

You had seen him since that conversation he had had with Clemmie, but that didn't mean he could ever get himself to actually bring up graduation outside of asking you casually if anyone had asked you yet. To which, the answer was always an unbothered "no", and a shrug that allowed you to mask the sadness behind your smile.

He didn't exactly "make time", though. His plan was quite the opposite. Knowing you had morning practice, he got to the academy early and shoved the folded up paper in your locker and practically ran down the empty halls to the library. No taking it back now.

'A note? That's so stupid! She's your best friend! Just ask!' His thoughts race at him, but that's exactly why he did it this way. He couldn't back out again now.

"Coryo," Your familiar voice says as you slide into the seat next to him, hair perfectly styled and uniform ironed flat despite the early morning you must have had.

He looks over at you, eyes slightly wide out of nervousness. "Uh, hey... How's, um... How's your morning?" He asks, trying his best to play it casual.

You smile, sliding the folded up piece of paper you had found in your locker back over to him. "Good." You answer, already going about taking out your books. "Yours?"

"Good." He nods, mouth dry as he stares down at the paper, looking between the sheet and you.

Silently, you nod for him to open it, a small smile on your lips.

He hesitates before opening it, the conscious effort it takes to not tremble taking over his nerves.

He curses himself for his own fears about what it would say, blinking a couple times before reading the note.

'Want to go to the grad gala with me? -Coriolanus'

And then in small, flawless handwriting, a swift and smooth print that lacked any hesitation, there was a new line underneath.

'Yes :)'

"I only tried on fifty different dresses to decide on the fit and style of what I wanted." You say with a slight laugh, unzipping the garment bag that held your dress.

Coryo was sitting on your bed, like he often did, hands fidgeting in his lap. Fifty dresses to him seemed unnecessary, certainly you looked just fine in the very first one all the way through to the very last. But he did understand how seriously your family took your dresses, for both your performances and events like the one you would be attending together.

"That's... that's a fair few dresses." He laughs with a small nod, gazing into your closet and away from you for just a moment, trying to get a glimpse at your performance gowns you had stashed in bags and lining the wall. It's a wonder you had room for everything, he knew you had never tossed or re-worn a single one- all large in either sheer poofiness and volume, or bright colours and patterns that drew the eye and held them hostage in your form. Sometimes both. Coryo was never sure if it was the intent to make you look like a princess from a fairytale, but a few times a year he got to see you look just like one. What he imagined them all to be, anyway, when recalling the storybooks his mother read to him and left on the untouched shelves in his should-have-been baby sister's nursery.

"Yes, well, I wanted it to be perfect." You hum, pulling the dress out of the bag and turning to him, holding it up against your chest. "Thoughts?"

Coryo nods in response, swallowing hard. The dress was stunning, and the colour was rich- it would compliment the tones of your skin and hair beautifully. He had very little technical knowledge of fashion, but what had trickled into his mind from Tigris would lead him to believe it would be complimentary to you.

But he had no idea how he would match that.

The last of his father's salvageable dress clothes was that shirt Tigris is working on for the reaping ceremony in a couple of months, and he couldn't possibly wear that twice. If she could even salvage it. Maybe he should ask her to prioritize making it into something that would better match your dress, or just wear it plain white with the black stripes to the gala instead, so he would at least feel worthy of standing at your side. Then he could wear his academy uniform on reaping day, and claim he forgot the occasion. Would that be believable?

No, of course not. That's the day the Plinth Prize will be awarded.

Hopefully to him. Definitely to him, he had to pray. He was never a religious man- no one really was anymore, but reading about it in pre-Panem history textbooks, he couldn't deny the temptation to beg some higher power for help.

The prize would solve everything.

"You like it?" You ask, drawing him from his internal panic and he nods, smiling.

"Yeah, yes. Wow. It's lovely." He nods, clearing his throat.

"Thank you." You grin, looking down at the dress and smoothing it against your leg a bit to try and get another good look at it yourself.

You let out a soft sigh of contentment before hanging it back up. "Anyway, do you want to do like a matching thing, or is that tacky?" You ask, turning to face him again.

Coryo purses his lips in thought, drumming his fingers on his lap. "I'm not sure. Are other people matching?"

You knew about his situation, of course, though he wasn't fond of talking about it. Obviously not, who would be? It never bothered you, at the end of the day he was still your best friend- even if he never let you come over to the renowned Snow penthouse unless it was some kind of emergency. Regardless, as far as the two of you knew, you were the only one outside of his family who had any idea. And you both intended to do everything you could to keep it that way.

"I think so, I heard some of the other girls talking about it." You say with a shrug. "Just something simple like a matching tie or something, we don't have to go crazy with it."

"Right." He nods, thinking it over.

"Here," You say after a moment, reaching into the bottom of the garment bag and pulling out a much smaller plastic bag with fabric samples in it from when your dress was made. "I asked for more extra than they would normally give for fabric samples, in case we wanted to match. I was hoping we could ask Tigris to make a tie or a pocket square or something, or maybe cover your cuffs with it." You suggest, sitting on the bed next to him and holding out the bag.

His heart aches as he reaches out to take it from your soft hands. It's hard to place, almost- whether or not it's gratefulness or loathing of the fact you had considered such a thing at all. Attending an event with a Snow should not include the accommodation of whether or not they could afford to dress accordingly.

The bitterness fades and settles into thankfulness for you, and all you do for him. Silently. Without discussion, without real, significant thought.

You could be friends with anyone; the girls with wealth enough to bathe in like your own, Sejanus Plinth, even, whose family quite literally bought their way into the Capitol. But you chose him.

Granted, when you chose him, you didn't have the slightest clue of the financial state of his family name, but even when you had stumbled across that fact, it didn't deter you. Coriolanus often wonders why, but who was he to question it? Hell, sometimes he wonders if the roles had been reversed, would he have been so gracious?

"Thanks." Coryo mutters, clearing his throat and nodding. "I mean, she's the expert, so I'll talk to her about what she thinks will work best."

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea." You agree with a soft laugh that makes him smile by instinct alone. He couldn't help it.

"Um, I meant to ask," Coryo says after a moment, tucking his feet up on the bed and sitting back a bit, getting more comfortable. "Did your coach agree to let you change your song for the year end gala? The one you pitched to her, that was really good. You did amazing. At least, in my opinion but I don't really know what I'm talking about."

"Thank you." You reply through a sigh, laughing slightly as you flop back on the soft cushioned duvet next to him. "But, yes and no. Yes she's letting me do something other than 'Never Enough', but it's not that song I showed her while you were there. She said it was too long and would disrupt the entire schedule, which, in hindsight does make sense and I wouldn't want to do that to everyone else."

"Well, what is it?" Coryo replies, eager to hear something new from you. It was special, he knew that it was. He had seen first hand how badly you wanted to do something else.

You smile, looking up at him as he leaned back on his hands next to you, blue eyes searching yours as if they could somehow portray the answer sooner than your lips- despite you knowing it would be a song he's never heard or even heard of before.

"I decided on something else. It's gonna be a surprise." You answer with a small, almost sly smile while you prop yourself up on your elbow, gazing up at him with your chin in your palm. "But you're gonna love it, I think."

You really hoped he would, at least.

While Coryo protests, tries to squeeze the information out of you in the light-hearted way only a best friend could, you don't budge. The song in title and content reminds you far too much of him; of his pretty face, and electric soul.

no taglist this time around!! my fics usually get over a hundred requests to be added to the taglist so instead i made a library! follow me over on @runningfrom2am-library and turn on notifs to get updates when i post new parts!!

[rapturousfrog]

the beginning of the end pt 1.

ummm so wrote this little thing, this is the first part. this thing would go on to tell the story of daryl and his childhood best friend (maybe more) until they have a falling out, until she meets shane, until they are reunited when the world ends.

lmk thoughts?

daryl dixon x female oc (eventually)

warnings: painfully slow burn, lots of cursing, drugs, mentions of abuse. not super family friendly!

“im going to apply to nyu.”

the words, to say they were foreign was an understatement. college, cities, the rest of the country– hell, the rest of the world– felt like a delusion when she was 13, 14. and it suddenly felt all too real as she stared her high school graduation in the face.

how many nights had she laid on the top of the shitbox rusted out trailer blowing cigarette smoke at the moon and counting the days until she could leave? imagining all the different possibilities of colleges and careers and mortgages and car loans. a fucking life.

a lot of them. she had spent a lot of nights doing that. then, less and less. then, the thought started to give her anxiety.

now? now saying those words made her physically ill.

it’s not that she doesn’t want to go. everything in her body her entire life has pushed her towards this point. she has that drive that is buried somewhere deep inside her, she has always felt it. she knows that she is going to go.

it’s not that she doesn’t want to go. it’s that she doesn’t want to leave.

--------

if she had to pinpoint when her constant daydreams of escape dulled into just a quiet, deep-seeded wish, she would have to point to when she met the fucking loudmouth from across the trailer park.

he was screaming and ranting and raving and swinging and drinking. he was just too much. but he was screwing with the one neighbor girl in the entire town that she had made friends with. leering over her and taunting her. she heard her friend telling him to fuck off, and as she approached the scene she saw the vulgar boy, no older than 16 but still a good deal older than herself, grasp her friend’s wrist and pulled her back to him.

she was a lanky little thing at 12- tall for her age but an absolute child. and still, she marched her little child ass up to merle dixon and slapped him across the face with the full force of her body. which was granted, not much, but not nothing.

he jeered and got angry, which she reveled in. it’s nice to get under the skin of assholes sometimes. but sometimes, it could be a little risky. she learned this a few days later.

she was ambushed coming out of her shitty trailer one morning by the carcass of a dead racoon being whipped at her. she managed to turn her body but it still slid against her shoulder, earning a visceral reaction on the inside.

but she kept silent! she was good at that. she knew he was expected screaming, crying, maybe another slap. she just stared at him, then down at the dead raccoon with sympathy.

interrupted from her silent condolences, another twang broke through the air.

“what the hell you doin’, merle?” the voice was angry, much younger than that of her current nemesis. she snapped up to meet the dangerously blue eyes of a boy who looked to be about her age, maybe a year or so older. the boy was clearly enraged at his- brother? and an argument did in fact ensue. she calmly walked by the fight and took herself to school.

that day, the blue eyed boy wandered over to her house, apologized for his brother in not so many words, introduced himself as daryl. she introduced herself as lily, and the rest was just fucking history.

--------

were someone to chart out the time spent with daryl and the frequency of lily’s wanderlust daydreams, they would find an incredibly inverse relationship. so much so, that she was ill when it was college time.

18, not a lanky little kid but a tall woman. curves and fiery red hair and edgy jewelry and cigarettes- so many cigarettes. and daryl. 19, rippling muscles, brooding fucking attitude, shaggy hair and clothes constantly covered in dirt.

the only good thing she has known her whole life.

she’s not just going to college, she’s leaving daryl dixon.

it’s not that she doesn't want to go. it’s that she doesn’t want to leave.

--------

“i’m going to apply to nyu.”

she stared expectantly into those blue eyes that of course, averted themselves almost immediately after her words. the cicadas were all that answered her.

daryl was very much aware of her plan- of her dreams. he listened in detail as she explained the possible avenues she would take once she graduated. of course, this was at age 14, when everything was a fucking game. as they got older, the talk of dreams and escape and “new chapters” slowed when the booze and and the weed and the mischief picked up.

he knew she was leaving. hell, he always wanted to leave too. but as the calendars got thrown out year after year, shit just seemed darker and darker. he carefully observed the path his brother was on- bender, juvie, bender, military, bender, jail. and how was this any different from his father? what path, what escape, what skills did he have?

daryl will be the first to tell you that he has none of those things. and he never will.

somewhere along the way, whatever little flame of hope that was kept inside him blew out. his father, his brother, his whole fucking life was absolutely destitute. she was the only good thing in it, he realized to himself, still sitting there in silence. she was the only thing that stopped him from walking into the creek and never coming out.

and now, she was taking that very real step on the very real path of leaving his very pathetic life.

“tha’s… tha’s real good,” he gruffed calmly, sincerely. but still not meeting her eyes.

“yeah,” she murmured, looking out over the park from where they sat on the top of his trailer. “it is.” she simply couldn’t shake the painfully dejected tone in her voice.

[the-empress-7]

My completely made-up tin-hat theory about the aquamarine ring is this -

Meghan was lent that aquamarine ring for her reception as something of Harry's mum (Diana) to wear for the big day, and also a sweet nod to something blue. I think William may have had a hand in this decision and it was mainly something nice he did for his brother. Meghan and her PR then ran with it and said she inherited the ring as Harry's wife. The products cycle around that was massive and may have put William and the BRF on high alert with the way Meghan was claiming to now own that ring. There may have been some difficulties getting that ring back from Meghan after that.

I've thought this because very soon after this, during the aus tour, there was an article (in the Times maybe?) that said William had banned Meghan from ever borrowing any BRF jewels. At the time I thought what was this decision based on? Apart from the wedding tiara Meghan had not been lent any other BRF jewels, except for Diana's aquamarine ring. So was there maybe some problem in getting that back from her?

Then she wore the blood diamond earings and made a big deal about how she owns them. And she wore them twice just to make a statement. So who was she making this statement for? The public didn't know the full story then. The staff didn't even know she was going to wear these, so why would she have travelled with those earings all the way to Australia? My guess was that she was showing the middle finger to whoever had said no to loaning her BRF or Diana jewels.

My guess is that because of Williams' position and him being the eldest son all her estate was inherited by William and not infact divided 50/50. When he turned 30, his sisters and brother (who had probably been the caretakers and keeping it at althorp) gave it to him.

Sometimes last year, karen Spencer said as much in her comments section on insta on a Diana related post.

Because of the provenance of her jewellery, it may have gone in bulkto William as part of the estate (ie , inheritance). Harry may have just inherited the money and trust fund. And some smaller keepsakes for sentimental reasons. He likely did not mind this earlier, but Meghan, once she got to know, took offence. But neither of them would say anything against the Spencers and what is likely a perfectly legally binding inheritance situation. .

Talk about stories that are a blast from the past! I think your aquamarine ring theory is pretty solid. If we know anything about Meghan, it's that if you give her an inch she will take a mile.

I do think William banning her from borrowing royal jewelry had to do with Tiara Gate and the appalling way she and Harry treated everyone as a result of it. Also remember that things went south very quickly after the wedding. By the time the Sucks left for ANZ, William had already started the process of kicking them out of the Royal Foundation. The stuff that we the public know, is just the tip of the iceberg.

If Meghan really did still have some of Diana's jewelry in her possession there is no way in hell that she wouldn't be wearing it all the damn time. Instead she is left cosplaying her outfits.

[warwickroyals]

Sunderland’s Royal Jewel Vault (5/∞) ♛

↬ Glencairn Lover's Knot Tiara

In terms of jewelry, Sunderland has a very rich history that dates back centuries. The Glencairn lover's knot tiara is one of the oldest in the royal vault and has been passed down, from parent to child, since the days of King George. It is uncertain when this tiara was made. Featuring thirty-eight pear-shaped pearl pendants and lover's knot motifs, the design has proven popular. The Sunderland lover's knot is joined by the Cambridge and Bavarian lover's knot tiaras. All three tiaras were created in the 1800s, and all three are often mistaken for the much younger British version that was commissioned a century later. Despite their similarities, each of these tiaras have a distinct history and providence. In 1837, the Sunderland variant was gifted to Lady Imogen Longford as she prepared to marry the Duke of Glencairn, the second brother of King Louis III. The tiara was among other priceless gifts, for Imogen wasn't just marrying some prince, but a likely future king. The Duke's two older brothers had no surviving legitimate issue, and Sunderland was in the midst of a fierce succession crisis that pitted brother against brother. Ultimately, Imogen never became queen, that prize belonged to her German sister-in-law, Princess Caroline of Mecklenburg-Stralsund. However, Imogen was the mother of a king, giving birth to the future King George in 1839. As a result, most of her jewels are still worn by members of the royal family to this day. Sunderland's lover's knot tiara is perhaps the most famous of Imogen's jewels, having been worn by princesses and queens from every generation succeeding her. Despite rumours that the tiara is noisy, producing an awful "clacking" sound with every step its wearer takes, it has been a favourite of Queen Matilda Mary, Queen Anne, and Queen Irene in unflinching succession. The tiara is easy to fiddle with, flexible, with the top rows of pearls being removable. Since the 1830s it has starred in countless portraits, official images, and state events. Today, the tiara is on a long-term loan to Tatiana, Princess of Danforth who debuted the tiara in 2001. Since then the tiara has become her one of her most worn, next to her family's own diamond tiara. With the lover's knot's enduring popularity, it will be interesting to see who will don the sparkler next—at this point, it's almost a rite of passage.

A 1927 portrait of Queen Matilda Mary. She wears the tiara with its 18 pearl toppers.

Tatiana, Princess of Danforth wears the tiara sans toppers at a reception in June, 2018.

[aidanchaser]

Perpetual gratitude for @yellowbullet100 for all of their tireless work on helping me polish this fic into something presentable and to the @mlbigbang2024 for organizing the community and creators. It has been a blast. I'm so sorry to be approaching the end.

Chapter Five: On the Subject of Curses A young witch may feel any range of intrigue towards and repulsion away from the darker craft of curses. The temptation relies in the relative ease of casting a curse. The structure of a curse is indeed identical to any other spell in its requirements of components, intention, ritual, and flourish, and it is also true that curses may be encountered in any magical discipline from illusion to divination to transformation.

Witches will argue that a curse finds its distinction from other spells in its impact on others, more specifically that a spell cast against a target’s wishes is what defines a curse. But the truth is that all spells, including curses, must be defined by the witch’s intentions. It is this ill-intention that distinguishes a spell from a curse. Though the mundane and magical alike claim that the road to hell is paved with good intentions, in truth, the road to hell is paved the way all roads are paved: by the repeated ritual of a walk in a singular direction. In short then, a curse must be defined by a witch’s intention, and whether those intentions are truly for good or ill will be illuminated by the accompanying ritual.

Marinette told Kagami everything. It wasn’t easy to admit the truth of how she had first met Adrien, and as she stuttered through everything from her first dance with Adrien to her encounter with Félix in the jewelry shop, her cheeks grew warmer and warmer. She felt stupid for being embarrassed—whatever Adrien thought of her was unserious, playful at best. There was certainly no excuse for curling up on her lap in the greenhouse.

But as reckless and mischievous as a kiss on the side of a moving carriage felt, the ring in her hand felt heavy with the seriousness of its implicit request. He trusted her to undo the curse his mother had laid on him, and that request hardly felt flippant.

Marinette turned Adrien’s ring between her fingers, but she could feel no indication of the thread tied to it. She had tried to show Kagami the thread using the seeing stone, but it was too dim in the carriage for either of them to make out the thin black line.

“And you believe Félix has been afflicted in the same way?” Kagami asked.

“He panicked the same way that Adrien did, when I touched the ring on his finger.” Marinette bit down on her lip as she recalled the desperate, “Don’t,” both boys had whispered. Now that she had a glimpse of what this ring was capable of, she could only imagine the terror they must have felt. Not only could she have unveiled their secret by removing this ring, she could have taken their humanity from them, their very agency. It also meant that by surrendering this ring to her, Adrien had willingly given up his ability to be human.

That didn’t seem like the sort of thing someone did just to be mischievous.

But there had been no need to kiss her, and certainly not in front of Kagami, who he was still supposed to propose to.

As the carriage drew up in front of the bakery, Kagami asked, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do,” Marinette murmured. Adrien must have expected her to be capable of something, or he would not have trusted her with this ring, but Marinette had no idea what he expected her to accomplish. As long as that brooch remained damaged, there was no way for anyone to undo the spell.

Marinette said her goodbyes to Kagami and stepped out of the carriage. Though she hoped to slip into the bakery unnoticed by her parents, she was still wearing the borrowed pink silk gown.

“A friend loaned it to me,” Marinette explained, as she tried to get upstairs and away from their questions—but they persisted in pestering her.

“Quite a loan,” her mother murmured as she sorted the coins from that day’s sales. “What on earth for?”

“Just a tea—she needed a chaperone.”

“And the flowers?” her father asked. He set aside the dishes he had been wiping down in preparation for the next morning’s work to look directly at her.

“Not romantic, Papa,” she insisted, but explained nothing more about the bouquet nor what it meant. He was the last person she wanted to tell about what she had learned from Félix today. “May I go upstairs and change before I accidentally trip into a stack of eggs and ruin this gown?”

“But who gave you the flowers?”

“No one!”

“Your father has a right to know if you’re being courted,” Sabine chided. “We both do. And if you’re courting someone who’s hosting teas fine enough for a gown like that, then we need to start putting a lot more into your dowry.”

“What’s the gentleman’s name?” her father asked.

“I’m not courting a gentleman. I just chaperoned Kagami Tsurugi so she could meet with her intended. That’s all, I promise, and good night. Love you,” she added hastily, as she hurried upstairs.

Her parents’ raised eyebrows remained suspicious, but they did not call after her.

It wasn’t that she felt they would disapprove of anything she had done. If anything, her parents might warn her to be cautious before getting in over her head, but they had never reprimanded her for offering help to someone who needed it. And she knew they would understand, perhaps more than anyone else, just how terribly Félix and Adrien needed help. Marinette just wasn’t ready to see her father’s old wounds dredged up by a story about a boy who had been cursed by his mother.

Marinette shed the fine dress and replaced it with her heavy tinkerer’s apron before falling into her desk chair. She lit the lamp on her table and examined the ring once again. The thread was there, difficult to see in the flickering candlelight and impossible to get between her fingers, but it still existed.

She imagined the other end of it, still wrapped around Madame Agreste’s finger, and somewhere in the middle it looped around Adrien’s throat.

As Marinette’s grandmother had explained to her, and as Marinette had just explained to Kagami, every magical spell had three important steps. The first was intention, the second was ritual, and the third was often referred to as the “magical flourish.” This varied from spell to spell, and few practitioners had defined it clearly. Marinette’s grandmother had told her that most witches considered it instinctive, and following this instinct successfully and consistently was what made a witch outstanding. Marinette, who valued over-thinking rather than following her gut, felt that the magical flourish was less about instinct and more about reaffirming a commitment to the spell’s intention.

She thought about the spell she had cast to remove the bloodstain from Félix’s shirt. Her intention had been to remove a stain. She’d cleaned it to set her intention, embroidered it for the ritual, and had used a kiss to finish her spell. A kiss had made sense in the moment; bloodstains were tricky things, marks of life and death, so Marinette had concluded her spell with something just as certain: a display of kindness. It had also echoed her true intentions behind the repair—placating a boy who had seemed so terrified.

The trouble with curse-breaking was that it had to maintain the three steps of a spell, but it also had to undo, in reverse, each step of the spell that had cast the curse in the first place.

Marinette reached for a bottle of milkweed nectar and dabbed it onto her fingertips. Not only was she used to using milkweed to prep threads for magical ritual, she was still thinking about Félix’s floral conversation. Milkweed, or butterfly weed, could be used to tell a former love, “Let me go.” It seemed a fitting component for Marinette’s intentions.

She pinched the space that the thread appeared in Alya’s seeing stone. Though she could not feel it beneath her fingers, she rubbed the milkweed along its length, at least a couple feet, before it disappeared through the window beside her desk. The nectar clung to the thread like morning dew on a spider’s web, droplets suspended in open air.

Marinette set the seeing stone down and looked over the ring. Now that she could find the thread without magical aid, it seemed tempting to just snip it. But if this ring was the thing that kept Adrien human, by cutting off his connection to it, she might doom him to life as a cat forever.

She had to determine how the spell had been cast in the first place. She knew the components: rings, a black thread, and a brooch. But if any additional potions or charms had been used, Marinette could not be certain without asking the caster herself. Similarly, she could not determine the caster’s intentions without getting the answer directly from Madame Agreste. Turning her son into a cat was a consequence, but not necessarily the initial intention.

And, even when it came to the ritual component, Marinette could guess that the intricate knot that bound the thread to the ring had something to do with it, but there might have been more to it than that. And heaven help her if she tried to guess what the magical flourish had been. It might have been something affectionate like a kiss, or perhaps it was something as violent as tightening the thread around the boys’ throats.

The only thing that Marinette was certain of were her own intentions to free Félix and Adrien, but that seemed to matter little in the face of everything she did not know.

She spun the ring on its end and sighed as it wobbled and fell flat. She did not know what she was supposed to do with it. And even if she had known everything she needed to, she continued to bump up against the same initial problem that even Madame Agreste could not solve: there was no undoing the curse without first fixing that brooch.

But Marinette’s determination was not to be put off by such challenges. She continued to fuss over the ring with the seeing stone and her boxes of charms and potions. Even if she couldn’t break the curse, perhaps she could mitigate it somehow.

The only thing Marinette managed was coaxing the ring to change its form. She found that a bit of fire droplets along the rim transformed the ring into a delicate silver chain, too large to be a bracelet and too small to be a necklace, but perfectly sized for a cat’s collar.

While she found it an interesting development, she did not see how it was particularly useful.

Not until, just after midnight, when she heard something scratching at her window.

Marinette’s heart raced with an instinctive fear of something trying to get in. She lifted her lamp to the glass pane and saw a cat’s glinting green eyes staring back at her. It carried something in its mouth and Marinette prayed that this really was Félix or Adrien, come to bring her an important message perhaps, and not some strange cat with a half-dead bird in its teeth.

Warily, Marinette unlatched the window and the cat readily pushed its way inside. But what the cat dropped into her waiting hand was no message. It was the peacock-shaped brooch.

“Where did you…?” Marinette stared at the cat, who took a seat on her desk. He batted at the end of the silver chain.

“How did you—Why—” But why was the only question Marinette knew the answer to. Whichever boy this was, he hoped that she would be able to fix the brooch where the jeweler and Madame Agreste could not.

“I don’t think I can help you,” she said.

The cat only looked up at her. It was impossible to tell if he understood her; his gaze was as steady and unflinching as any true feline.

“I’m sorry. I thought—I don’t know what I thought. But I certainly can’t fix this brooch. And I can’t undo this curse, especially when I don’t even know how it was cast in the first place.”

The cat meowed at her. She wondered if it was supposed to be critical or comforting. She supposed that depended on whether it was Félix or Adrien. Though she’d only met each boy three times, she felt she knew their measure and the distinctions between them fairly well.

Marinette reached her hand out and scratched the cat between his ears, and he rubbed his head up into her palm. It occurred to her that she would never dare run her fingers through Adrien or Félix’s hair like this, but the cat did not seem to find anything odd in the gesture, and she didn’t mind it. Perhaps the cat’s comfort with the contact told her everything she needed to know about who he was.

“You are Adrien, aren’t you?” she asked.

He merely meowed, which was impossible to interpret as either affirmative or negative, and batted at the chain again.

This time, Marinette took the hint. “I didn’t think you’d be eager to have your collar back, but if you insist.”

He held perfectly still as she wrapped the chain around his neck. As soon as she fastened the clasp, she had to scramble backwards, for there was no longer a cat sitting on her desk, but a boy.

He groaned and pressed a hand to his head.

“Adrien?”

“Just a moment—please.” He took in two slow, deep breaths and rubbed his eyes. “It’s always jarring—like getting a bucket of cold water tossed onto your bed.”

Marinette raised an eyebrow. “Has that… happened to you often?”

“Twice. But only because I was pretending to be my cousin.” He looked up at her finally, and she knew at once by the mischievous smile on his lips that she had correctly guessed which cousin this was.

“Adrien—But how—why—”

“You need this, right?” Adrien picked up the brooch and pressed it into her hands again. “My mother and my aunt were talking—well, arguing—tonight. I gathered that this is pretty important to breaking the curse. Félix broke into my mother’s study so I could steal it then he distracted her so I could get away unnoticed.”

“So you sneaked out to bring it to me?”

“How else was I supposed to get it to you?”

“But—Adrien, it’s not enough. I don’t know how it broke, or what spell was cast, or—”

“Didn’t Félix tell you everything today? My mother was furious with him.”

“All I know is that sometimes you’re a cat, and sometimes he’s a cat. I know your ring keeps you human. I know your mother’s the one who cast the curse… But that’s not enough.”

Adrien stood up and stretched his arms over his head, flexing his hands like a cat that had just woken up from a long nap. “What else do you need to know? I’ll tell you anything.”

Marinette folded her arms over her chest. “Really? Because you’ve been pretty careful about telling me nothing so far.”

He fell back against her desk as if she had struck him. “I’ve done my best. If this secret came out, it could ruin not just my future, but my cousin’s as well. Believe me, not a week has gone by that I haven’t thought about penning a letter to the paper spilling all of my mother’s secrets, but I couldn’t do that to him, too.”

“So kissing me in front of your fiancée twice—”

“I’m not engaged!”

“—was just you making sure you could trust me with the knowledge that your mother cast a curse on you?”

Adrien tightened his jaw and turned away from her. Her room was a mess of half-finished projects, but he seemed to be looking past all of it to something further off. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, like he’d stepped into a confessional. There was no more mischief or humor in his tone. “I found your bakery because I wanted to see you again. No one… no one had ever been kind to me before, not like you were.” He twisted the ring around his finger, but kept his gaze pinned on the past. “I thought, if I could make it through the day without being found, maybe I could ask for your help. Maybe you’d know a witch that I could trust. But then my cousin found me and—and even though he was rude to you, you used your magic to help him. So I sought you out at the Midnight Market, thinking I might ask for your help. Then Félix kept breaking your things to prevent me from saying anything, so I thought I’d ask for your help if I ran into you at Lady Tsurugi’s, but well—anyway, I am sorry I didn’t tell you everything. I wasn’t sure how.”

Marinette did not know how she was supposed to be irritated with him for any of that. She dropped her voice to meet his tone and stepped closer to him.

“And kissing me?”

“I asked for permission.”

“The first time.”

“I will admit to being swept up by passion the second time. And I apologize for being untoward—although your response would suggest that it was not unwelcome.”

“And the third?”

He turned to look at her, brow furrowed, but she did not wait for him to infer her intentions. She wrapped her hands around his and pressed her lips to his. He sank into her at once, and pulled her closer as readily as if he were the one who had initiated.

Their first kiss had been wary, their second rushed. This one was neither, and yet it was not unlike their first two kisses. He was gentle as he slid one hand along her arm and to her waist, careful as he pulled her against him. She was eager as she pushed herself up onto her tiptoes to meet him and moved her hands to his waist.

It was not particularly difficult to tug him by his waistcoat and turn him so that he was against her bed instead of her desk. He fell back with a laugh, and she knelt down beside him.

“My mother always impressed on me that chaperones were essential for keeping a lady’s honor intact.” He stared up at her with that mischievous smile that was beginning to make Marinette’s heart sing. “She never implied that it was my honor I needed to be worried about.”

Though Marinette put one hand on his waist and slid the other along his palm, she said, “I’m not planning to threaten your honor.”

“I’d give it if you asked.”

Marinette bit down on her tongue, painfully aware that she had him beneath her, and perhaps it would be untoward of her to ask difficult questions in a position like this, but she needed answers before she went forward with any of this—either the kissing or the curse-breaking.

“And if—if I can’t break the curse, will you marry Kagami?”

He did not answer her at first, which she took as an answer in itself. She tried to stand, but he refused to let go of her hand.

“Wait,” he said, “it isn’t that simple.”

“It was a yes or no question.”

“But it’s not a yes or no answer.”

“Isn’t it?”

“If I say no, if I go back to my mother and tell her it’s you or no one, would you be willing to accept that we might never see each other again?”

“That’s ridiculous—”

“Everything I am is in this ring. If she’s unhappy with me, all she has to do is take it.”

It occurred to Marinette that the answers to her questions might be far more uncomfortable than the questions themselves. With a fair amount of trepidation, she sank back down onto the bed so that she and Adrien were eye-to-eye and asked, “What’s the longest she’s kept the ring for?”

“Two months.”

“Adrien…”

“I don’t want to marry Kagami. But I can’t pretend that there aren’t a lot of things I would suffer if it meant being free of my mother.”

“Why is she so insistent that you marry Kagami?”

“It’s been arranged for years. My parents put Lady Tsurugi off for as long as they could, but their vague excuses can only go so far. If things had gone normally, Kagami and I might have even had a normal courtship and decided for ourselves whether we wanted to go through with it. But, as things are, my parents are eager to see me married and settled before this has a chance of becoming a scandal and ruining the family forever. They can’t afford to let me or my cousin out into society properly, but they can’t keep hiding us away, either.”

“And what if…” Marinette bit her lip. “What if you marry Kagami and your mother still refuses to break the curse?”

“She can’t.”

“What?”

“I can’t get married in the dead of night. At least not without people asking questions.”

“She wouldn’t have your cousin stand in for you?”

“She’s promised Aunt Amélie that she won’t use Félix in any part of the courtship with Kagami. And she knows how much worse things could be if Kagami or Lady Tsurugi discovered that Félix and I were both pretending to be me. We look alike, but unless we’re really trying, we’re not hard to tell apart.”

Marinette remembered how obvious the distinctions between the two boys had seemed once Luka had pointed out the possibility of two different people who merely looked alike. Surely it would be harder to maintain the lie if they were having intimate conversations with Kagami across several days, and harder still if neither was very invested in keeping up the lie.

“So you get to be yourself at night…”

Adrien hummed an affirmation.

“… and your cousin gets to be himself during the day. Do you… do you two ever get to talk?”

He smiled, but it was not his gentle nor his mischievous smile. It was that wry, bitter smile he’d worn when he had first alluded to his mother’s curse. Her stomach turned uneasily, not because of the smile itself, but because she now had a much clearer and more unpleasant picture of how he had become this way.

“My cousin and I haven’t had a conversation in five years. We used to write letters to each other, but when our parents caught us, well, that’s why my mother decided to take my ring for two months.”

“Why? Why on earth would your parents not want you to even speak to each other?”

“It’s why my mother cast the curse in the first place. To keep us separated.”

Marinette didn’t like the way Adrien shared this so plainly, as if it were normal for cousins to be kept apart by a curse, to be kept under control by a change in form. Though she doubted she had any ability to truly help, she felt more determined to try.

She sat up and reached for the small stack of stationery she kept by her desk. For the first time in her life, she was grateful for her small room, because she did not have to let go of Adrien’s hand to reach paper and ink. She did, however, have to use both hands to hold a pen and to balance paper on top of her ledger, so she would have something to write on while she sat beside him.

“You said you’d tell me everything about the curse,” she said as she dipped her pen into the ink.

“I said I’d tell you anything you asked.” He eyed her and the pen warily. “Are you… taking notes?”

“If I’m going to break it, I need to know everything—and I need to remember it all. I could make it worse if I’m not careful.”

“And… what exactly do you need to know?”

“Tell me what you remember.”

“Oh.” He seemed to deflate, as if he were about to disappear into her bed and never resurface. “I thought—” His throat lurched with a hard swallow. “I thought you might just have a few questions.”

He had been so nonchalant about other terrible things—being isolated from his cousin, being trapped as a cat for two months, being forced into a marriage he didn’t want—she had not expected him to balk when it came to sharing the events of the curse.

“Do you remember it?”

“Every detail.”

Marinette let her ledger slide off of her lap as she reached for his hand once again. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I can’t know what to ask for when I don’t even know how much I don’t know.”

“I’ve never had to tell it before.”

“You can take your time.”

“I only have until sunrise.”

“Then don’t take your time. Talk very quickly so that I can get to work and we can go back to kissing and putting your honor in danger.”

That, at least, made him laugh, even if it was a weak laugh. “I’ll do my best,” he promised.

Marinette, though she risked dripping ink into her bed, adjusted the ledger on her mattress so that she could write and hold his hand at the same time. She could understand his need to have an anchor to this moment before dipping into a memory he did not truly want to revisit. But he still did not speak, even when she gently squeezed his hand.

“I’m sorry.” He rubbed his hand over his face like he could scrub out his fear. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Do you know why she did it?”

“We’d run away again. Well, not run away, exactly, just… left without permission. She said she was tired of it, and tired of us swapping places, and she was going to put a stop to it.”

Adrien paused here, and Marinette jotted down what he’d said. She didn’t think it was exactly the intention she was looking for, but it helped.

“Where were you when it happened?”

“She took us into her study. She—she had my father and my uncle hold us down while she worked.”

It was not relevant to the spell, but Marinette had to know: “Where was your aunt?”

Adrien didn’t answer right away. His grip on Marinette’s hand tightened, rivaling the grip he’d had as he had clung to the outside of a moving carriage. “Please—don’t write this part down.”

Marinette set her pen aside without question. She pulled his hand to her lips and pressed a kiss to his fingers, like she might make the words easier to bear.

His cheek pinched with worry, but he finally began, “My aunt and my mother were arguing. I was used to the adults debating about what to do with us, so I wasn’t listening. Félix must have been, though. His father had to drag him into my mother’s study kicking and screaming.”

Adrien paused again, and Marinette tried to imagine Félix, who she had only known as restrained and reserved, fighting back with all that he had.

“While they were arguing—I don’t know what was said, exactly, but my aunt refused to go along with my mother’s plan. I think she might have threatened to take Félix and leave if my mother tried to go through with it—she must have, because threatening to leave was the only thing that—” Adrien swallowed. “My uncle hit her. It—you know, I actually thought for a moment that was going to be the end of the whole thing. I thought my mother was going to be so angry with him that she’d forget she was angry with me. And she was angry with him—she told him if he ever did that again, she’d end him. He told her that if she ever tried to tell him how to keep his wife in line, he’d leave and take his wife and son with him. I—I think they might have kept arguing if—if my father hadn’t interrupted, and reminded them that they were supposed to be deciding what to do about Félix and me.”

Marinette, true to her word, did not write any of that down. But she did, mentally, add Madame Agreste’s argument with Monsieur Fathom to her growing list of Madame Agreste’s intentions. Casting any spell while angry, let alone casting a curse, was always dangerous, as anger was volatile and could muddle true intentions. Madame Agreste’s anger not just with her sons, but with her brother-in-law as well shaped the nature of the curse, certainly.

“They left my aunt in the drawing room—I think someone might have locked the door. I know she was still furious when it was over. She tried to undo it herself a few times, during that first year. It didn’t work, I mean—of course not. I wouldn’t be here if it had.” He tried to laugh, tried to reform his silly grin as he looked up at Marinette, but it only served to make him look rather pathetic.

She rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand like she could erase the tension in his grip. She did not say anything, did not ask any new probing questions, but she did pick up her pen again.

Adrien looked at her pen like he was waiting for it to continue the story, like he could convince her hand to write down his words without them being spoken aloud. If Marinette knew of such a spell, she would have happily spared Adrien the trouble.

“She took our rings from us,” he finally said, voice distant, and he paused as Marinette jotted the detail down on her stationery. “Félix and I had each had a ring from our mothers’ family. She took those rings and tied a black thread to them. Then she pulled the thread through the ring and wrapped it around my neck.” His hand drifted to his collar, fingers brushing against his throat, like he was checking to see if the thread was still there. “She kept… apologizing. She said she didn’t want to do this, said we’d forced her hand. Said it was our fault, if we’d just listened, if we hadn’t kept leaving…”

Though she knew she shouldn’t interrupt, Marinette could not help herself. “You know that’s not true, right?”

He pulled her hand against his lips, but he did not answer her question. She thought that did not bode well for his answer.

“Adrien, she made a choice. A choice your aunt wasn’t willing to make. It wasn’t your fault. And if—” Marinette bit down on her lip. “If she really regretted it, if she really thought it was a mistake, she could have tried to undo it. She didn’t have to wait until Lady Tsurugi was pounding down her door to ask about your arranged marriage to start trying to fix it.”

“If I believe that,” he murmured, “then I have to accept that my actions gave me no control over my own life, that all of my choices were meaningless, and she was always going to do this.”

“You chose to give your ring to me tonight,” Marinette said. “You chose to keep writing letters to your cousin, even though you were unable to talk to each other. You chose to sneak out to my bakery, to a dance, to my room… Those choices matter.”

He squeezed her hand, but she could not be sure if it was because he was accepting her answer or merely avoiding a reply. Marinette did not press. It was clearly a conversation he did not want to have, and she was already asking more of him than he had been prepared to give.

She reviewed her notes. She felt that she had a decent grasp of Madame Agreste’s intentions—probably a fear of losing her son, or perhaps even a desire for him to depend on her, if Adrien’s memory of his mother’s terrible apology was an accurate glimpse of her desires. The desire for dependence matched the choice of the rings, as well. They were a family heirloom, specifically from her side of the family, not the boys’ fathers. And the work of tying a knot around that ring, a tether, seemed to be about keeping the boys close.

The piece Marinette was still missing was the magical flourish, and it would help to know exactly when and how the brooch had been damaged.

“Do you remember what she did with the thread after—” Marinette cleared her throat. “—after she tied it around your neck?”

Adrien hesitated, and by now she was certain that his hesitation was not because he struggled to remember, but because he struggled to put words to the story. She couldn’t blame him.

“She looped it through her own wedding ring,” he finally said, “then tied it to the brooch. Then she put a drop of her own blood on each thread. I remember the blood sliding down the thread and when it hit our rings there was a loud crack—it reminded me of a mirror shattering, but I don’t remember her using a mirror. There was a flash of light, too, and when I could see again, everything was above me, like I was lying down, but I couldn’t get up—I remember looking up at my father and trying to… trying to figure out why the colors were wrong. I looked to where Félix was supposed to be and there was just this black cat. I was so angry—I tried to tell my mother to stop, to fix it, to undo it—but I couldn’t talk. When I looked at her, she was bent over her wedding ring. Blood dripped from her mouth, but I couldn’t even ask her what had happened, if she was okay—I couldn’t see what she did to her ring, but once she was done, she reached out to me and pulled the ring away from my throat. I thought—I thought for a moment she really was going to undo it. But instead, she took some—some potion, I’m not sure what. She spread one potion on my ring and another on Félix’s. They both turned into these silver links of chain, which she fastened around our necks. Félix turned back into himself, and I remember being so relieved. At least one of us was okay—but then an hour later, after the sun set, he was a cat again, and I was human. At least for a little bit. I think I barely made it through a few sentences of yelling at my mother to make it right before she took my ring from me. She immediately unfastened Félix’s collar as well. It was a rather quick education on the confines of the spell.”

It was all Marinette could do to bite down her anger. She had expected to be upset with Madame Agreste for being a terrible mother. She had not expected professional indignation to come into play. It was no wonder Amélie Fathom had not been able to undo the curse. Not only had Madame Agreste used a single brooch to affect two transformations, she had done so in anger and used her own blood as a component. Any spell or curse with such limitations, divided intentions, and volatile components would have rebounded in the way that Adrien had described. If Madame Agreste had not managed to refasten the thread to her own wedding ring the moment the brooch had broken, it was likely the thread would simply have vanished, and the boys would have remained cats forever, with no tether to her nor their humanity. And to use her own blood, something so unpredictable in any spell, when she was already angry with both her son and her brother-in-law—Marinette imagined writing a very angry letter to Madame Agreste, outlining each and every stupid decision she had made when crafting this spell.

“Marinette?” Adrien asked. “Are you all right? Is eating your pen part of the curse-breaking process?”

Marinette pulled her pen from her mouth and tossed it onto her desk. She was more careful about returning the inkwell to her desk. “I’m sorry,” she sighed. “I don’t—I don’t think I’ll be able to break the curse.”

“Oh… Are you sure?”

“I would still need to repair the brooch first…” Marinette glanced down at her notes. She would never be able to repair it with materials equal to its monetary value, which is probably what the jeweler had tried to do. Without access to such expensive materials, she would have to choose things with sentimental value—value that was also resonant with her intentions while counter to Emilie Agreste’s intentions.

Gold would work best. Though its value was not comparable to the gems in the brooch, the value it did have was often amplified by sentiment in things like heirlooms. Or wedding rings.

Marinette wondered how Alya and Nino might feel if she asked them to give her their brand new engagement bands to be melted down. Even though the bands were in fact brass, the true commitment to each other would be a fine counter to Emilie’s selfishness of trying to keep her sons at home against their will. Marinette wasn’t sure how she would ask her friends for such a sacrifice, though.

And then, even if she managed to repair the brooch, there were two far more difficult components to acquire.

“I need your mother’s wedding ring.”

“Félix has always been the expert at sleight of hand.”

“I’d also need your mother’s blood to manifest the threads again in order to untie them. I don’t see her giving that up.”

“She is an identical twin,” Adrien offered.

“That wouldn’t work. Magic is less about physical property and more about emotional weight. And anyway, even if I repair the brooch, even if I get your mother’s wedding ring and her blood, I can’t promise it will work.”

Her intentions would have to run counter to Madame Agreste’s and she would need to determine an appropriate magical flourish for the end of her counterspell. Something that confirmed her intentions, something as powerful as a mother using her own blood in a spell against her family, something strong enough to break such dramatically enforced ties.

Marinette tipped her head back against her wall and stared up at her ceiling. She didn’t have an answer, but she was certainly going to try.

“If I do this…” She bit down on her lip. “If I do this and it all goes wrong, you could be stuck as a cat forever.”

“Then don’t let it go wrong.”

“I’m serious, Adrien. This is a risk I have to know you’re willing to take—that Félix is willing to take.”

He looked up at her, and she was surprised to see something like confusion in his eyes. She supposed, based on what he had just shared with her, that no one had genuinely asked him to make an informed choice about his future before.

“I know you trust me,” she said, “though heaven knows why—I haven’t done anything other than put a glamor on a tiny bloodstain and sell you some scented oil for a problem that was literally going to fix itself—but this is a really big thing you’re asking of me, and there’s a very real chance I will fail and if I do—”

Adrien sat up and cut her off with a kiss. It wasn’t as passionate as their last one—he didn’t pull her into him or run his hands through her hair or anything. He merely pressed his lips to hers and pulled away, like he might draw some of her anxiety away with it.

And it did work, almost like he had cast a spell of his own.

“I trust you,” he whispered, “because you have always asked how you can help. I don’t need anything more than that. And I think Félix will understand, too.”

Marinette swallowed. “Oh—okay—but I have to hear it from him.”

“We’ll write him a letter.”

“And—Adrien, I… I’m sorry to ask but… I think I’m going to need help.”

“I’ll do anything you ask.”

“I mean from another witch.”

He frowned. “We could ask my aunt.”

“We could…” Marinette swallowed. “Do you want to put her in that position?”

He looked down at the ring on his finger. “I suppose it wouldn’t be my first choice.”

“I’d like to ask Alya. She helps me craft a lot of my spells, and I trust her with my life. I would feel a lot safer if I had her help.” Marinette would also need Alya’s help repairing the brooch, particularly undoing the glamor that concealed the fracture, let alone the material components she was still going to have to figure out how to get from Alya.

“Alya is…?”

“The illusionist you met in the market.”

“Ah. I did like her, but I don’t know her.” His brow furrowed with doubt, but he sighed and kissed Marinette’s cheek. “If you trust her, I’ll trust her, too.”

“Thank you.” Marinette pulled him into another kiss.

There was no work she could do tonight, not without getting Alya’s help first. So in lieu of curse-breaking, they simply had no choice but return to the other primary activity of the evening—kissing.

It was another night of Marinette falling asleep in her stays, but she was not worried about the stiffness in her back when she woke up. Instead, she was more worried about the cat curled up next to her. She shifted and he immediately awoke, arching his back and stretching his claws on her sheets. He yawned and blinked at her, like he wasn’t entirely sure where he was, then immediately curled back up over her arm and laid down.

Marinette scratched behind his ears and stroked his cheek. He purred beneath her hands, but that only made her heartache stronger. Privately, she vowed to herself that he was not going to wake up as a cat tomorrow. She was never going to let him wake up as a cat again. No matter what it might cost her, she would undo this curse before the day was done.

❖❖❖

Marinette sent Adrien off with a letter fastened to his collar. She was exceptionally nervous to see him leave, nervous he might get caught and their letter intercepted, and nervous that his mother might take his collar away from him the moment he was back in her grasp.

Her letter to Félix was essential not just because she needed to be assured he was willing to accept the risks of her breaking the curse, but because she needed his help gathering the materials for it. Alya could help her repair the brooch, but she needed Félix to retrieve the rings that bound him and Adrien, including Madame Agreste’s wedding band. She also needed him to, somehow, get a hold of some of her blood.

But none of that would matter if Marinette could not repair the brooch. She rubbed her thumb over the curve of the peacock’s fan tail. Sapphires embedded in oblong emeralds winked up at her, as if they were mocking her determination. This brooch and all its opulence was almost as intimidating as Madame Agreste herself had been, striding into the jeweler’s shop.

Marinette swallowed down her self-doubt and tucked the gem into her pocket. Adrien was counting on her.

She found Alya at a table in her mother’s boarding house, refilling drinks of the guests and excitedly recounting Nino’s proposal to them. A middle-aged couple laughed as Alya exaggerated how nervous Nino had been, and they politely smiled as she showed off the ring.

Marinette’s heart sank into her stomach as she watched the morning light glint off of the small diamond. But of course, if the request was easy, the magic wouldn’t be nearly so powerful.

Alya waved excitedly at Marinette. Marinette flashed her an uneasy grin and followed her back into the kitchen.

“Where have you been?” Alya asked. “You disappeared in the middle of the dance the other night, and at first I just thought you’d run into Luka and left, but when I couldn’t find you anywhere yesterday, I started to worry your mysterious gentleman had kidnapped you.”

Marinette tried to laugh. “No, no one was kidnapped. I—I didn’t even see Luka at the dance.”

“He arrived just when you left. I really thought you’d just been trying to avoid him. But if he wasn’t why you vanished, what was it?”

Marinette swallowed and her hand disappeared into her pocket. It wasn’t the brooch she went for, however. It was her notes from Adrien’s story that her hand closed around and her thumb worried the edge of.

Marinette glanced through the back door to the rest of the house. She didn’t see anyone else nearby, but this kitchen was a space people frequently came in and out of. “Could we talk somewhere more… private?”

Alya asked no more prying questions. “You know where my room is. Give me five minutes.”

Five minutes was usually about the amount of time it took Alya to convince her father to set aside his zoology books and tend to the guests.

Like Marinette’s messy bedroom that also served as a workspace, Alya’s own brand of chaos filled her bedroom. A small collection of seeing stones in varying hues had been lined up on her window sill, and there was a basket on a washtable full of trinkets that Nino had given her over the years. Coronets of dried flowers hung from the handful of mirrors scattered around the room. Some of these coronets had dance cards attached, and Marinette did not need to open the dance cards to know that Nino’s name would be the one scribbled across most of the spaces.

While Marinette waited for Alya to join her, she did her best to rehearse her request. She tried to think of how many different ways she could ask for Alya’s engagement band. None of them seemed to convey just how badly she needed this favor of Alya and that she also understood exactly how difficult a request this was to make of her friend. In fact, as her eyes wandered across all the little things in this room that emphasized just how intertwined Nino and Alya were, Marinette became more and more certain that she couldn’t ask at all. She might just have to share what she could and hope Alya offered the solution on her own.

Which is why, when Alya finally joined Marinette upstairs, Marinette merely shoved the set of notes at Alya without preamble.

“What am I looking at?” Alya frowned, but it was not difficult for her to recognize the structure of a spell in the middle of Marinette’s chaotic scribbles.

Her brow furrowed as she read, and her eyes darkened. She sank into a chair by her dressing table and began to chew on her thumb as she worked through Adrien’s story.

Marinette fidgeted with the brooch once again and glanced around Alya’s room, but the coronets, the trinkets, and the dance cards all served as brightly painted warning signs to usher her away from this course of action.

Finally, Alya set the notes down on her vanity and looked up at Marinette. “Marinette, what have you gotten yourself into this time?”

“‘This time’?” Marinette echoed, forgetting for a moment her anxiety about her request.

“How many times do you need to stick your nose into other people’s business before you learn that it always gets you in over your head?”

“You’re the one who encouraged me to talk to him at the Midnight Market.”

“This is about him? The boy from the town dance? I just thought a little flirting would be good for you, since you hadn’t taken an interest in anyone since Luka. I didn’t think you’d involve yourself in a high society scandal, risking the ruin of what sounds like two families’ reputations and your own reputation, let alone the risks of getting this wrong. Are you seriously going to go through with this?”

“I’m not going to stand by and do nothing!”

“No,” Alya sighed. “I suppose you wouldn’t be Marinette if you did.”

Marinette blushed, embarrassed to be have been recognized so keenly—particularly in the same way by both her best friend of over a decade and a gentleman she had met only four times.

“So, will you help me?” Marinette asked.

“Depends. Are you doing this because you love him?”

“How—Alya—I hardly know him—I couldn’t say—”

“Oh, you’re properly smitten, aren’t you?”

“I’m not!”

But Alya looked grim as Marinette protested. There was none of the teasing she expected from her friend who had joked about the size of Adrien’s hat and encouraged Marinette to strike up a conversation with him.

“You’ll need to be careful if you’re going to go through with this,” Alya said, tone surprisingly serious. “If you love him…” Alya twisted her engagement band. “You just want to make sure your intentions are clear. Love isn’t necessarily counter to the intentions in this spell you’re trying to undo. And you know things can get messy when you mix love and curses.”

Marinette swallowed. “His mother behaved selfishly. Surely love—if I did love him, which I don’t—would be counter to her intentions.”

“Sometimes love is selfish. You can’t be in love if you aren’t a little afraid of what you might lose. I’m just warning you. If you want to do this for him, you can’t do it for you—at all.”

Marinette swallowed a lump of anxiety that persisted in her throat and nodded. “I know.”

Alya raised an eyebrow at Marinette, and Marinette set her jaw defiantly. She was doing this for Adrien, not for herself. Hadn’t she asked if he would leave his intended fiancée for her? And hadn’t he said no? There was no guarantee that saving him would secure his heart. The possibility couldn’t factor into her spell, for her sake and for his.

“If you’re sure,” Alya finally said with a shrug. “Do you have all of your components?”

“Only one, and it’s, well…” Marinette passed the brooch to Alya and the seeing stone.

Alya set the seeing stone aside and turned the brooch over in her hands. As Marinette suspected, even without magical aide, Alya squinted at the brooch and ran her thumb over the exact place the fissure ran through the stone.

“That’s a quality glamor,” Alya murmured. “Almost like an incomplete fix. Did you do it?”

“I’m absolutely not that good at glamors.”

Alya smiled and shrugged. “You consistently surprise me. You’ll want to repair it with gold, right? Probably something sentimental?”

Marinette had nothing left in her pockets to fidget with. She was left to twist her hands into her skirts. “I had a… a thought about that. I don’t have anything gold, nor something of value that would suffice. But I thought—well, it was just an idea…”

“Marinette, I do illusions, not divination. Spit it out,” Alya sighed.

“I just thought that… your engagement ring—I know it’s brass, but with all the work Nino put in for it, and how long you waited—I’d find a way to repay you, I swear.”

Alya frowned.

“I’m sorry—I know that’s a lot to ask—I just didn’t know what else to do, what else would work.”

“I’m not saying no,” Alya said, “though I very much want to.” She picked the notes back up and reread the details of the curse. “I think you’re right,” Alya murmured, “that the metal from my engagement band would repair this brooch to its original power—but I think you’re wrong that it will help you break this curse.”

“But—it’s a ring, and you want some semblance, otherwise it could make it worse—”

“But an engagement ring is an engagement ring. It’s a visual symbol of a deep bond and loyal connection. You’re trying to break a connection, a connection already symbolized in familial rings. Using my engagement ring to fix this gem would probably just make this curse stronger.”

“So what am I supposed to do?”

Alya sighed. “You’re not going to like my answer.”

“I didn’t like asking this of you in the first place.”

“Well, this request is significantly harder.”

“How can it be worse than asking my best friend to give up the symbol of her relationship, of a commitment she’s been waiting for years to see come to pass?”

“Because you’ll have to talk to Luka.”

❖❖❖

Luka was always hard to find when Marinette wanted to see him, and somehow excellent at turning up when he was the last person that she needed.

She started her search at his usual haunts—the town square, the public hall, and the church—but he was not there, even though many professed to having seen him there earlier that week. And if he was not there, playing music and making conversation, then Marinette knew he had to be somewhere in Artisan’s Alley, picking up a day’s work where he could get it.

The peacock-shaped brooch hung heavy in her pocket as she made her way to the alley. She was unreasonably nervous about taking it so close to the jeweler who had worked on it for the Agrestes, as if he might sense it was near and have her arrested for thieving. It was a silly fear. She simply had to leave it in her pocket, and no one would be the wiser.

She glanced first in the cobbler’s window, then the tailor, and then—Luka’s laugh reached her ears. Her heart jolted again, though thankfully, it was not with longing, just anxiety at what she had to do. She followed the sound to a familiar jeweler’s shop, and Marinette glared up at the door balefully, as if Luka had somehow chosen this shop on purpose to make her task harder.

She looked up at the sun, just beginning its descent for the afternoon. If she wanted an answer from Félix before dark, she needed to move quickly. With a deep breath, and a reminder to leave the brooch in her pocket, she pushed the shop door open.

The bell of the door jingled, and Marinette was immediately greeted with a cordial, “Good afternoon, how might I—oh! Marinette!”

She smiled uneasily at Luka. In front of him, a gold bangle in the shape of a coiled snake rested on the glass display. It glared up at her with a single sapphire eye. The other was still in a pair of tweezers in Luka’s hand, but he readily set it down in a velvet box and set the work aside. All of his attention was hers.

“How are you?” he asked. “I missed you at the dance the other night. Alya said you had just been there, but I guess we passed each other.”

Marinette ran her tongue along her teeth, unsure exactly where to start. “Is the shopkeep in?”

If Luka was put off by Marinette avoiding his question, it was impossible to tell. His voice was as even-keeled as ever. “He’s in the back. Would you like me to see if he could speak with you?”

“No, no, I was—I was actually looking for you.”

“Oh! That’s a change.”

Her face flushed. “It’s not that—not that unusual.”

“Not at all,” he replied easily. “You’ve only been avoiding me ever since we called things off. I assume that’s why you disappeared from the dance the other night, even though Alya said you had seemed to be enjoying yourself for once.”

She tightened her hands in her skirts. He was certainly not making this any easier on her. “I—I need to ask you for something.”

“I am at your service entirely.”

“Alya said—” Marinette took in a deep breath. It was best just to get it over with. “Alya said that before we, you know—” she struggled to define the end of their relationship, and chose to borrow his words, “before we called things off, she said that you had already bought engagement rings.”

The temperature in the shop seemed to drop by several degrees. Luka’s easy-going posture vanished, and his arms, which had been resting easily on the counter as he leaned closer to Marinette, suddenly folded over his chest as he straightened.

“Maybe. What of it?”

“I—I’m trying to break a curse. And I think—well, Alya said—I mean, she thinks that they would work, that they would be the thing I need to fix the gem that broke when the curse was cast.”

Now it was Luka who could not look at her. He stared down at the floor, like Marinette’s request was written in the woodgrain beneath his feet. “Why does it have to be these rings? Surely you’ve got jewelry of your own. You didn’t toss everything I gave you, did you?”

She nearly had, but no, she had not gotten rid of all of Luka’s gifts. He was still, despite all their discomfort—discomfort that until this exact moment she had believed belonged only to her—a friend.

“I can’t use just anything,” Marinette murmured. “It’s a curse that binds two young men against their will, and Alya thinks—” She bit down on her lip. “—I know that I need to repair the gem with two objects, and I think it needs to be these rings. You bought them out of love, but you’ve let that love go. It’s the right thing to break this curse.”

“Can I see the gem?”

Marinette swallowed. “Um, no?”

“Why not?”

She glanced at the door that led to the back of the shop. “I—”

“Just let me take a look. Maybe it’s not as bad as you think.”

“Alya already looked at it.”

“Alya’s good at glamors, not curses.”

“And you are good at curses?”

“I’m good with charms,” he said, with a small, charming smile, “just like you.”

Marinette did not meet his smile, but she could tell she was not going to get what she had come for if she did not show him the gem.

Reluctantly, she passed the brooch to Luka.

He picked up a jade seeing stone from beneath the counter and turned the brooch over in his hands. “That is quite a break. I see why you want gold to fix it.”

“It’s not the gold, Luka. It’s the commitment—and the letting go.”

He sighed, and his hand slid into his jacket. “Marinette, only an idiot would let his love for you go.” He set two plain gold bands down on the counter, but he did not take his fingers off of them. “If I didn’t still love you, I would not still be carrying these things around.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You want me to give it to you, so you can use it for someone else that you love, is that right?”

Though Marinette had protested her affections for Adrien to Alya and to herself, she could not do so now. If Luka gave her that ring with any hope she might still return his love, the magic would not work. He had to truly give her up.

She nodded once.

“I’ve always meant it,” he murmured, “that I like being your friend. Is it wrong for me to also miss being more?”

“If this were easy for either of us, I don’t think the rings would work for the spell.”

His lips twitched with a soft smile. “Lucky for you, then. Lucky for him.” He slid the bands and the brooch across the counter top.

Marinette closed her hand over them. “Thank you, Luka. I mean it.”

“It’d be too easy if you didn’t.”

As she turned to go, a low voice called, “Mademoiselle!”

Marinette jumped and tightened her grip on the brooch. The elderly jeweler stood in the doorway behind the counter, leaning on his cane. The gold threads shot through his white suit glinted in the early afternoon sunlight, and their gilded rays danced across the green jade buttons down the center of his jacket.

“I apologize for taking up your assistant’s time,” Marinette murmured with a brief curtsy. “I’ll just be on my way.”

But instead of admonishing or assuring her, he said, “You were in here before.”

“Er—yes, when my friend was purchasing an engagement ring.”

“When the Agrestes came in.”

Marinette could see no way to lie. “Yes.”

“And did I hear you correctly, that you are set on undoing a curse that has bound two young men?”

Though Madame Agreste had refused to give this jeweler details of how the gemstone had fractured, how much had he been able to infer from his own attempts to repair the brooch?

“I am. But I’m afraid it would not be my place to say more.”

He waved a hand dismissively, and the sleeve of his jacket slid down, revealing a bangle made of the same quality jade as the buttons of his suit. “I’ve no desire to press. Just one question, for Monsieur Couffaine.”

Luka’s brow furrowed. “Yes, sir?”

“Do you trust what this young lady is attempting to do is worthwhile?”

“Always.”

“Then we should assist her as much as we can, should we not?”

[flyingwargle]

flufftober day 4: market day

amagasaki is home to several indoor and outdoor markets that appeal to different audiences. the indoor market attracts artisans and small businesses that produce household items, jewelry, and crafts. the outdoor market is where independent grocers, farmers, and most food trucks congregate, occupying parks wreathed in autumn colors, accompanied by music from local artists and bands.

osamu borrowed everything for his booth. the tent is from inarizaki’s volleyball club. the metal trays are on loan from his old home economics teacher. the folding tables are from aran, the cash box and chalk sandwich board from omimi. the disposable plastic gloves, napkins, and takeout bags are from kita. the truck that he used to transport everything is from his uncle.

it’s only his onigiri that belong to him.

he opens the tent, sets up the tables. he slides the trays of onigiri into the transparent food displays, stickers already in place with the price and filling. he places the cashbox beside it, along with a stack of business cards, which only has his name, phone number, email, and ig. the storefront will come in the near future.

atsumu joins him after he’s set everything up and takes a piece of chalk to draw on the sandwich board. in uneven letters, he scrawls onigiri miya and doodles onigiri in the corners. he takes a handful of flyers that osamu printed with the available flavors, and atsumu starts walking around to distribute them. the morning is still young; business will pick up, hopefully.

“hey, osamu! nice booth ya got here.”

his smile widens at the pair of familiar faces. “aran! kita-san! good morning!”

aran waves, and kita nods. “how’s business so far?” aran asks.

“the market just opened, so i haven’t sold anythin’.” he gestures at the empty park. “’tsumu is walkin’ ‘round ta advertise.”

kita picks up several flyers. “i can take a handful ta bring back ta the farm an’ distribute ta the neighbors.”

“oh, same here. my team is nowhere nearby, but it helps ta spread the word, yeah?” aran does the same, tucking them under his arm. “well, i should show some patronage. i’ll take a tuna mayo, please.”

“konbu fer me, please,” kita adds.

osamu packs their orders, deposits their change into the cashbox. “thank ya both. will y’all check out the rest o’ the market?”

“of course. we’ll come back ta say bye when we leave.” aran steps away, giving him a final nod of encouragement. "good luck!”

he sells a few onigiri, and atsumu returns to deposit the remaining flyers in hand. “didja see aran an’ kita-san?” osamu asks him.

“yeah, i saw ‘em walkin’ round. i saw akagi an’ omimi-san too, they said they’ll come by.”

as if he summoned them, their upperclassmen arrive. “look at ya, osamu,” akagi says, slightly teary-eyed. “workin’ on the other side o’ the counter fer once.”

omimi rolls his eyes, although his expression is soft. “shinsuke gave us a glowin’ review. can we get one o’ everythin’?”

“thank ya both, akagi-san, omimi-san,” osamu says, beaming as he packs their orders. “i hope ya’ll enjoy ‘em.”

“ya better,” atsumu adds. “that’s yer kouhai’s cookin’ yer ‘bout ta eat.”

“i’mma enjoy the hell outta ‘em,” akagi reassures him. “if ya aren’t sold out by the end o’ the day, i’ll come back an’ buy the rest.”

the height of the afternoon approaches, and the crowd thickens. atsumu, after a brief phone break, goes back out to advertise, and osamu continues to sell a few more. a small line forms but quickly dissipates, and he’s left with another pair of familiar faces. “gin! kosaku! yer back in town?”

“we came ta support ya!” ginjima knocks his fist against his. “it’s yer first gig at the market, yeah? it better not be yer last.”

osamu shakes his head. “i’m gonna be at two others after this. gotta balance it with work.”

“which restaurant are ya at?” kosaku asks. “are ya still at the teppanyaki place?”

“nah, the owner recommended me ta his colleague’s kaiseki restaurant. it’s been hard, but i finally got on his good side. good thing, or i woulda had ta work today.”

“hey, guys!” atsumu returns, empty-handed, knocking fists with their friends. “ya’ll came back just ta support ‘samu?”

“obviously. we gotta support, ya know?” ginjima’s eyes gleam as he takes his wallet out. “i’ll take a negitoro onigiri.”

“i’ll take bonito flakes,” kosaku adds.

the onigiri steadily decrease from the trays. business is steady, with many eager to support him online or await his physical shop. for now, they’ll have to contend with his appearances at various markets in town, until he’s able to expand further out.

“tsum-tsum! so this is where you’ve been!”

atsumu straightens from behind, stepping next to his twin at the owl-haired young man and his dark-haired companion with glasses. “bokkun, keiji-kun! nice of ya’ll ta come by.” to his brother, he introduces them. “bokuto koutarou, my teammate, and akaashi keiji, his friend.”

“it’s nice to meet you, mya-saam!” bokuto says cheerfully. “your onigiri look amazing! i could buy all of them!”

“please don’t, bokuto-san. you don’t have enough luggage space for all of that.”

“oh, that’s true! okay, i’ll take your last mentaiko and one salmon!”

“i’ll get salmon, please,” akaashi adds. “i wish your business the best of luck, miya-san.”

osamu hands them over. “thank ya. yer support means a lot ta me.”

meian, atsumu’s captain, also stops by, along with inunaki, barnes, and adriah. atsumu converses with them while osamu bags their orders, dwindling his stock further. there’s still an hour until the market ends, with three onigiri left. he wonders who’ll take the last of them.

his answer comes as soon as his brother’s teammates leave, replaced with another trio, this time led by a familiar face. “hey.” suna has his hands in his pockets, a smile on his face. “hope we’re not too late?”

“so this is the humble beginning of an empire, huh?” his companion asks. “i’m lucky to be part of it.” there’s another person lurking behind him, and atsumu immediately singles him out.

“ya lied ta me, omi! ya said ya wouldn’t come by!” atsumu shouts.

sakusa glowers at him, the lower half of his face hidden behind his face. “it wasn’t a lie. i was brought here against my will because of motoya.”

“we have to show our support! it isn’t every day that a new onigiri restaurant is in the works,” his cousin insists. “we came just in time to snag the last three!”

it’s easy for them to decide who gets what: sakusa gets umeboshi, komori with kombu, and suna with tuna mayo. osamu slides his gloves off, satisfied that he’s sold out.

they stay to help him dismantle the stall, and promise to meet with the twins for dinner after. atsumu loads everything into the truck and climbs into the passenger seat beside osamu, clicking his seatbelt on. “that was a pretty good first day, yeah?” he says. “just wait ‘till ya get yer storefront. the line will go fer blocks.”

osamu smiles, inserting the key into the ignition. it’s so easy to imagine it, to envision the happy customers with his onigiri in hand, to visualize a full house. “i can’t wait, either. thanks fer yer help, ‘tsumu.”

“any time, ‘samu.” they knock against each other’s fists.

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[thecoochiefairy]

𝖓𝖊𝖜 𝖘𝖆𝖑𝖊𝖒

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR.

more suckin’ and fuckin’. beware !

𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐌𝐀’𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄.

“PUT YOUR CARDS UP, MOTHERFUCKER.”

Sin has her eyes squinted as she stares with a vengeance, the deck of cards in her hands hovered over the rest of her face as she hides them. Aries sits across from her with an equally competitive look. They had been playing Uno for about two hours now, unable to quit the game since Aries had yet to win a round. It had gotten to a point where they were now gambling the children’s game, taking this as seriously as they would anything else.

“The color is…green,” Sin grins.

“Green? Again? You’ fuckin’ with me now,” Aries curses, drawing another card as Sin begins dancing in hopes that it’d piss him off.

“Awe, no greens in that deck?” Sin teases, taking a scoop out of the ice cream carton she holds, placing the spoon in her mouth as she takes her cards back in her hands.

“I said I’ve had no greens since we started this round, but I bet you knew that. You’ probably know every single card I have!”

Sin gasps, “Are you accusing me of cheating?”

“I just might be. Now stop stalling, put your cards down.”

“Hm, you might be onto something, cause I have another green,” Sin shrugs, placing her card down as she’s now left with two. Aries then places two of his cards down, Sin then scoffing.

“Nuh-uh, playboy! Who said we was stacking? We never agreed to that!”

“Imma’ do what I have to do to win this game, I want all my money back!”

“Looks like you’re gonna need a loan, cause—“ Sin then places all of her cards down, all of them shining the color of green against the table, “Uno, Uno out, all that good shit!” She cheers. Aries throws his cards down as she slides the money in between them closer, giggling evilly.

“That’s a damn shame,” he shakes his head, “I’m never playing with you again, thief.”

“Yeah, yeah. But uh— this ain’t enough for me, the hell I’m supposed to do with ten dollars?”

“Make it enough?” Aries frowns, “What the hell else do you want? You’ve already stolen my pride.”

“Hmm,” she thinks to herself, scanning the infinite amount of jewelry he wears, a thought then appearing in her mind.

“You gon’ have to come up off that chain.”

Aries places his hand over his chest, looking around at the other people standing around the Training Building as he asks, “Who you talking to? You can’t be talking about my chain.”

“Sure am. Specifically the biggest one, that Jesus piece. Cough it up,” She places her hand out, clacking her nails together as she waits.

“C’mon, pretty—“

“Oh spare me that, the new found nickname is cute, but it ain’t enough. I’m waiting!”

“I’ll do anything else…I’ll roll all your blunts, rub your ass until you fall asleep, hang from the corner of the table by my shirt, please?”

“All sounds appealing, but not as appealing as that chain. Now remove it before I get to moving shit with my mind.”

Aries groans, mumbling curses under his breath as he removes the chain from around his neck. Although he wants to slam it down in her hand, he gently places it in her palm. Sin smiles as she takes the jewelry and clasps it around her neck, the large gold piece shining along her brown skin. She stands from the table as she dances in a circle, modeling the piece as she teases, “Mhm, you like?”

“You look alright. But nah, forreal, we doing another round. I need my shit back immediately,” he responds, suppressing the smile that wants to come upon his face as he watches her.

“I’ll tell you what,” she then sits back down, removing the necklace and placing it back in her palm as she requests, “Come get it back.”

Aries tilts his head, “You tryna’ be funny?”

“Nope. You want it back, come take it from me,” she taunts, smiling evilly as she sees his facial expression.

He raises an eyebrow, “You wanna play?”

“I don’t see you making no moves yet,” she recalls, swinging the pendant back and forth in front of him, quickly moving her hand back as she sees him lean forward. She then puckers her lips as she smooches towards him.

“We snatching chains? Count me in the game!”

Sin and Aries both turn their heads as Buffy appears with Elijah and Trey behind her, all of them seating themselves at the table with the two.

“I’m already up a Jesus Piece, try your chances,” Sin invites. Aries shakes his head as he disagrees, “She is enjoying the five minutes she got with my shit. I’ll go get another set of cards, there isn’t enough for five people.”

He stands from the table and makes his way towards the kitchen, Sin looking back as she sees all three of them smiling weirdly at her. She frowns, “What?”

“Nothing. I just see that y’all both got each other’s noses wide open,” Buffy teases.

“Girl bye, kiss my ass,” Sin chuckles.

“No thank you, seems like Aries has been doing enough of that!” Trey flicks a card at her, Elijah unable to hold back his laugh as well.

“Fuck you,” Sin chuckles.

In the week that had gone by, Sin feared ever since her and Aries were intimate that it would’ve been awkward or change their relationship entirely. It instead brought them closer together. It did make them more lustful for one another, hence her friends making fun of her for it. With her body transitioning and her senses heightened with everything she did, intimacy felt a thousand times better with the benefit of never becoming tired. She wanted to tell herself that she was using it as a distraction, but she couldn’t deny the connection she felt with him, sex or not.

“Aries must be putting that shit down when there’s a constant smile on your face. Has hell finally frozen over?” Trey gasps.

“You don’t have to question that, I got the chance to hear them go at it. I’d watch, sounds like y’all be having a great time,” Buffy shrugs.

“What?” Sin’s eyes went wide, “Why didn’t you tell me you heard me?”

“Oh girl, don’t be shy. Me and Blue came to Adonis’ place cause he was looking for Aries, when we opened the door we just happened to hear,” Buffy shrugs off, Sin unable to help but feel embarrassed.

She wasn’t trying to broadcast her and Aries’ newfound part of their relationship, but she knew there was no way in hiding it either. She could tell Aries didn’t have a problem publicly expressing his feelings towards her, but she could admit that it made her a little uncomfortable due to it being something she’d never experienced. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel for him either, she just wanted to make sure the sex wasn’t the reason for it.

Sin raises her eyes as she sees Aries appear back with a new set of cards, Buffy then complimenting her as she continues to poke fun, “I love you in a black dress, who you looking sexy for?”

Her bare face and freckles combination looked almost russet from being in the sun, cobalt hair and body-con onyx dress complimenting her well. She could feel Aries’ eyes suddenly on her, unsure why the stare he had made her skin feel warm.

“Me and Sin went down to New Orleans this morning to a crystal shop, nothing too special,” Elijah explained, offering a deck of cards to Buffy.

“Rude, and you didn’t invite me?” Buffy turns to Sin, snatching the cards from Elijah’s hand.

“The man came knocking on my door asking to drive with him at seven this morning, girl. You were asleep,” Sin blinks.

“True. Still could’ve texted,” she playfully rolls her eyes.

“You uh…heard from Cloud?” Sin then changes the topic, her friends seeing the worry upon her face.

‘He said he hasn't been feeling well, been in his room for about a week now,” Elijah shrugs. She nods her head, unable to respond. Rethinking their entire situation just made her stomach ache. 

“I need to borrow Sin real quick, my pops just mind linked me,” Aries announces.

“What happened?” It took Sin’s attention, placing her cards down against the table.

“He needs to talk to you about getting in contact with Faye from Elysian. He’s tryna’ set up another meeting,” He explains.

“Why does he need me to talk to Faye?” She frowns.

“He said maybe she’d be more comfortable talking to you, I don’t know,” Aries shrugs.

Sin rolls her eyes, not in the mood to have any important discussions. At the same time she’s not the one to go against Adonis, so she stands from her seat and passes her cards to Elijah.

“Hold these for me, lovely. I trust you won’t look at them,” she grabs her carton of ice cream, placing her purse next to him as well.

“Got you,” Elijah nods, putting them beside himself.

“Sure you coming back?” Buffy teases, the rest of them watching as Aries is already walking towards the meeting room.

“Yes, be prepared to get that ass whooped once I come back!” She calls, now following behind Aries once they continue their game.

Sin continues to walk behind Aries as they enter the quiet hallway, her eyes focused on her carton of ice cream as she absentmindedly enters the meeting room and hears the door close. When she looks up, she sees that the room is completely empty, chairs against the walls as if no one had been in there for days.

“Um, are they coming now?”

“Nope,” Aries replies. Sin shrieks as he lifts her onto the table effortlessly, scooting her closer to him by her thighs.

“You lied to get me out of the Uno game? Damn shame,” she shakes her head, Aries placing his lips against her neck and kissing passionately along her skin. She presses her unoccupied hand against his chest as she laughs, “What did you need?”

“I haven’t been alone with you in a couple of days,” he travels his hand to the back of her neck, keeping his eyes upon hers.

“Boy, I came to your room this morning and have been with you since then. I was busy last night,” she explains.

“Doing what?”

“Oh?” She raises her eyebrow, “Don’t be getting all nosey. I hung out with Mariah and Buffy, we went to Dutchess— one of the girls in your pack— she does piercings.”

“Nobody being nosey, I’m just asking. You got anything?”

“I got a tongue piercing, but then immediately removed it, hence why I’m eating ice cream. I was thinking about getting another tattoo, but the healing process is kinda a pain in the ass—which I’m not understanding, I heal extremely quickly everywhere else,” she banters, Aries continuing to latch along the skin of her neck as he sucks aggressively.

“Mhm,” he pushes her to continue, hands traveling down her body as his fingers find the top of her dress. He easily pulls it down, seeing the cross in between her breast as he pulls the material to her abdomen.

“Are you listening?”

“Yeah. I like this dress,” he compliments.

“The dress or the way I look in it?” She plays along.

“The way you look out of it,” he replies. Sin lifts her hips as he pulls the dress to the floor, now leaving her bare as she wears nothing under.

Aries takes one of his hands, reaching out to gain access to the ice cream container beside the both of them. He leans back a bit to press his finger into the cup, Sin watches as he then runs his finger over her neck,  the coldness making her jump.

Tracing the vanilla ice cream from her collarbone to her abdomen, Aries couldn't help but admire how lost her eyes became with just the littlest movements of his fingers. She was practically hypnotized.

He ran his tongue all the way down her stomach, Sin giggling at the ticklish feeling as he spread her legs wider and lifted them over his shoulders. Dragging her to the end of the table, he gently pressed kisses along her inner thighs which coaxed her to let out a breathy exhale. The advantage of her wearing no underwear had her bare opening glistening tempestuously, her posture completely normal all up until his tongue ran along her clit.

She ignited his taste buds, groaning at how something so vulgar was alluring, locking his mouth down as he sucked wildly. Sin’s lower abdomen trembled at the merciless action. Her upper body seated up as he slowly shoved his fingers inside of her, scissoring her open and Aries listening as she moaned in his ears. Her long acrylics rubbed at the pattern of his waves, his nose inhaling her vanilla scent and delectable taste, a mixture of inebriety that he now desired for.

Not having the patience for any foreplay, they pulled one another into a kiss that caused Sin to sigh through her nose. She kept her arm around his neck as he picked her up from the table, alarming her to wrap her legs around his waist, back colliding with another cold surface that had been the wall across from them. Aries bent his body to lock his forearms under her knees, Sin flexible enough to make her knees press directly along the wall.  His arms were now the only thing holding her up. Sin was now planted only a few inches below him,  fire in her eyes as she stared up at him, the bright hues of blue from her hair stuck to parts of her face yet she looked flawless to him.

  He slides into her, a gasp he hadn’t gotten tired of hearing streaming past her lips. Aries slammed in after their hips touched, deep enough to have her chest release all air she breathed.

  He relentlessly fucked her, her throat locked tight although her mouth had been parted for her to release mewls for him. He cocked his head to the side as he looked down at her, figuring he should do something to get her to actually speak. He then pulled out of her until only the tip kissed at her opening, Sin groaning from the loss of fullness, begging quietly, “Don’t stop.”

He dragged out the tension as he slid her back down, Sin slapping a palm across her mouth as she let her muscles relax, moaning loudly that she felt as though someone would hear.

  "There you go," Aries arrogantly muttered, waiting for that reaction as he beckoned, “Tell me it feels good.”

  "Yes. Yes, it feels good," Her eyes watered, hands precariously slapping against his back to dig her nails into his skin, tiredly gazing into his eyes. Her stomach coiled to inform her of the heavy orgasm approaching her body.

  "Tell me when you're cumming."

  Her hand flew back to cover her mouth, eyes wide as they bore directly into his, small tears leaking down her face as she muffled her own sounds. She said something, but he couldn't hear her. He fucked her harder to get an answer.

  "I can't hear you." He went to kiss her neck, feeling the vibrations from her throat on his lips.

  "Yes, I'm cumming," She gasped, pulling her hand away as her eyes fluttered shut.

"I'm cumming,” she repeated again.

  "You cumming?" He teased, making his voice a beneficial aid to her orgasm, Sin nodding vigorously. She makes herself dizzy as she lands her lips right back on his, Aries parting his lips to descend his tongue across her own, Sin keening and wrapping her arms around his neck to deepen their kiss.

  "I'm cumming." She answered him asthmatically amongst his lips one last time, her orgasm rippling through as her chest collapsed on Aries’. Her arms are ready to snap like twigs. It was silent, accepting her climax striking at her like thunder bolts. She released the loudest moan she’s sure she’d done at this moment, dragging out the words to make it more definite.

“Cum inside me," she pleaded, Aries staring at her like she had lost her damn senses. She definitely wasn't in her right mind at the moment. "Please."

  "Sin—“

  She reaches between them to take hold of him, pulling him back in and lowering her legs to wrap them around his waist. She rocks her hips down to let him feel how much wetter she became, the squelch echoing in the room evident to their ears which had Aries grunt. She ran her tongue across his Adam's apple, bringing her face back up as she lowly laughed, pure lust against her face.

  "Do it, please.”

Aries spread her ass apart with his fingers and took a step back so they could be away from the wall. He drove into her, flesh pinched between his finger tips, abdomen tingling and giving her his last few movements before he released inside her. Sin blissfully closed her eyes and trembled at the feeling, call her crazy.

“You tryna’ trap me,” he states, lips almost touching hers as he breathes heavily into her mouth.

Sin teases, “Boy—please,” going to lower her hand and grab between his legs. The sudden vibration of her phone against the table catches her attention, her eyes able to read that it was a text from Sybil.

Sin’s entire posture changes. It annoys her with the kind of power this woman holds over her. Sybil could change her entire energy by something as simple as her texting, she really didn’t want to know what she needed.

“Fuck,” she mutters.

“What’s wrong?”

“Sybil wants me to come visit her,” she becomes irritated, releasing her arm from around his neck yet he still holds her, seating her lower half on the table with his arm wrapped around her waist.

“You need to go talk to her anyways. Tell her what’s been going on and ask her about Oseidon,” Aries points out, ignoring the way her eyes rise up to look at him with displeasure.

“Ask her what? She’s just gonna lie.”

“Or maybe she doesn’t care enough to be the villain that she’ll tell you everything you need to know? You don’t even know what’s gonna happen once you get there.”

“You’re a great help,” Sin smiles, nothing behind it.

“I’m just saying that you need to go talk to her. If you feel like you have nothing to say to her, the least you can do is go ask about what’s going on with your dad. I know you want to hear about that,” Aries encourages.

She doesn’t want him to be right, but she knows that she’s itching to know anything about Iver. If he’d awoken, moved, even if he breathed heavier than usual. She wanted to be able to talk to him instead of Sybil, but considering she was the only person she had back in New Salem, she figured— fuck it.

“Okay,” she simply says, not wanting to talk about it anymore.

“Okay?”

“Okay, Aries,” she brushes him off.

“I’m not tryna be your father or anything, I’m just saying. You being stubborn isn’t gonna help you or the people in your coven. The faster you talk to her, the further we can figure out all this witch hunter bullshit.”

“Yeah,” Sin sighs, “I know. I’ll be fine, imma’ just talk to her and let Adonis know what she says.”

“When you plan on leaving?”

“It’s still pretty early, I wanna get this done as quickly as possible so— I’ll probably pack now and then head out,” she plans.

“Okay. I um…wanted to ask you something?”

“Yeah?” She halts her movements of getting dressed, her eyes boring into his movements that suddenly become nervous.

“Well—not ask. I wanted to…..apologize…”

“For?”

“...I realized it might make you uncomfortable if I put my hand around your throat during sex. Maybe even a trigger or sum’—“

“Aries, that’s sweet, baby. But you’re fine,” Sin can’t contain the small laugh at his random concern.

“You sure? Cause I can stop,” he suggests.

“I accepted your apology about it the first time, and I’m accepting it now, okay? You have my consent. It’s actually enjoyable when it isn’t murderous,” she kisses his chin a couple of times, Aries uttering, “Doesn’t make me feel too much better about it but I hear you.”

Her heart squeezes in her chest as he leans down and actually kisses her, rising upwards as he then wraps his arm around her shoulders and plants his lips upon her forehead. They sit in a comfortable silence.

“Want a little sum’ before you go?—“

“And you ruin the moment,” Sin sighs, “Boy, one— you just gave me some dick. Two, I’m gonna use this time to give my coochie some hibernation. If you’re not eating it, you’re fucking it.”

“Thought you didn’t get tired?” He pokes fun.

“Mmm, my body doesn’t get tired. My vagina however, wants a little breather. Is that okay?”

“When you was gonna tell me that you like for me to nut in you?” He changes the subject.

“Uh— I don’t know? I didn’t think it was anything important to tell you.”

“Are you on…?”

“Why the fuck would I ask you to cum in me if I didn’t have anything to protect myself?” She shoos off his hands, grabbing for her dress that’s on the ground and she begins putting it back on.

“I don’t know, maybe you’re just psychotic,” he grabs her ass as she bends over, Sin swatting his hand aggressively.

“Funny. I’m a witch, but that doesn’t make me a woman without a uterus—or ovaries that can create babies. Sybil has this spell, she calls it a ‘Plan W.’”

“….Like Plan B?”

“What’s that?”

“Do you know anything forreal’?”

“Bite me,” she spits, adjusting her dress as she grabs for her phone. She doesn’t realize that Aries is right behind her again.

“Say less—“

She yelps as he tries to grab for her, jerking out of the way as she opens the door and slams it behind herself. She could deal with his nymphomaniac tendencies later.

                                               -

THE TWO HOURS OF SILENCE WAS ALMOST THERAPEUTIC. Sin being able to swim in the ocean of her own mind gave her time to figure out how she wanted to go about this conversation with Sybil. She didn’t want to be catty or bitchy. Peaceful was the word that continued to cross her mind. When she arrived at New Salem, she spoke to a few of the people that still decided to stay despite everything going on, letting them in on what information she had. She knew she was stalling at this point.

But once she arrived at her grandmother's house, greeted her with a hug and Sybil responded with a look of confusion— she was entirely wrong about her approach. Sin now sat across from her at the dining table as she stared down as the beignets waiting to be ingested. It was unfortunate that she was entirely too annoyed to overkill her favorite dessert.

“What happened to us, Sin?”

Sin’s blank stare disappears as she looksat Sybil, immediately ready to pounce at such an empty question. She quickly fires back, “Us? What happened to you? I’m good on my side.”

“Well amuse me then. Tell me about some things going on in your life,” Sybil suggests.

“I’m not in the mood to entertain, why do you care?”

“I can’t be interested in what my granddaughter has to say?” Sybil asks, her voice anything less but condescending in Sin’s ears.

“No, you can’t be. Considering you’ve never been interested until it’s time to have a serious conversation and you’re trying to avoid it.”

“Have you been…feeling any different?”

“Why would I— what the hell are you talking about?” Sin frowns, ready to get up and walk out.

Sybil eyes her up and down, the previous question not nearly as bad as she then asks Sin, “Have you been having sex?”

“What?” Sin feels her heart had sunk to her ass, “W—What does this have to do with anything?! Why do you need to know who I’m—giving my goodies to?!”

Sybil still remains calm although her questions are absolutely insane. Her posture of carelessness Sin never carried within herself, it almost made her enraged.

“You’re being real’ weird right now,” Sin squints, “Anyways. Since you wanna know so much, I’ll tell you we haven’t got much information out of any place we’ve been to. Except that despite us all being in the same boat, it doesn’t make us ally’s.  We went to Oseidon and were kidnapped. Did you know that?”

“Not up until this moment,” Sybil replies, taking a small plate beside her and placing a beignet upon it.

“You sure?”

“If you’re trying to get at anything specific, please spare the passive aggression,” Sybil sighs. Sin scoffs, crossing her arms.

“I don’t know, stuff just doesn’t seem to add up. While being held hostage they told us that confidential information was released by a witch. They seemed to believe I was that powerful witch they spoke upon, but I don’t recall being the most powerful witch at this moment,” she sarcastically shrugs.

“You should take it as a compliment.”

“You tryna’ be funny?”

“No, but you are being a smart ass.”

“We were there for an entire week, grandma. Tortured and probed on some bullshit vendetta that wasn’t even for us,” Sin becomes serious, trying to allow Sybil to understand the severity of the situation.

“Tortured, how so?”

“Tortured as in tortured. Pheme and Cloud were critically assaulted, he refuses to tell me the specifics of what happened—“

“You don’t know something that happened to your partner…whom you’re supposed to share everything with?” Sybil’s face fills with a confusion that makes Sin want to itch.

“Is that what you’re seriously taking out of this entire conversation?”

“Well you can’t seem to answer the question of what happened to Cloud or anyone else, so maybe the extremity to you may be hyperbolized.”

“Hyperbolized?” Sin raises her eyebrows. She laughed at how pointless talking to her felt, knowing that when she arrived home it would come with some bullshit, but she didn’t think it would be this bad.

“I’m over this. Where’s my father?” She stands from the table.

“Why can’t you feel comfortable enough to talk to me about anything you have going on, Sin?”

“Our relationship started off with you only wanting to use me for your advantage. Not for the fact that your first and only son gave you a grandchild, not because I could’ve continued the legacy of my mother. This relationship is strictly business at this point. I’m gonna make sure our coven is protected and you could do me a favor by doing the same. Now what’s going on with Iver?” Sin can feel her temperature rising, imagining herself jumping across the table.

“We moved him to his bedroom and made sure he’s bathed and comfortable, that’s all I can tell you,” Sybil shrugs, bringing the mug she holds up to her lips.

“That’s it?”

“That’s all,” Sybil stirs the spoon inside the cup, holding the handle across from her face.

“Hm. It’s funny, you had me drive two hours to interrogate me, yet you bring absolutely nothing to the table. You always cry about how you want us to work things out. Here I am, look what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing to you, exactly?”

“You’re not doing anything to me. But you are lying,” Sin fires back.

A flash of emotion comes across Sybil’s face. It’s like she’d almost cracked, like she wasn’t expecting Sin to catch onto her undermining ways. She’d seen this before, the animatronic movements Faye responded with in Elysian.

“Sin, I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Oh! You don’t want to talk anymore? After having me waste my time and come all the way down here to please you, you don’t want to talk anymore. That’s fine. I’m leaving—“

“I didn’t say you had to leave, Sin,” Sybil reminds.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because it’s late at night, and that’s a long drive.”

“Because it’s late at night,” Sin repeats, almost bored.

“You haven’t finished your beignets,” Sybil then points out, pushing them to her side of the table as she continues, “You can head back to doggy daycare tomorrow.”

“I wasn’t asking for permission to head back to Providence. Have you even spoken to Adonis?”

“Why do you think I called you?”

“You can’t be more ridiculous,” Sin blatantly states.

“Why don’t you tell me about this boy that’s on your mind?”

Sin’s taken aback. She clears her throat as she interrogates, “Who said anything about—“

“You’ve clearly got it all wrong about thinking I don’t know you.”

Sin seats herself back in the chair. She figures that she needs to make this two hour drive worth the time, maybe a grandmother's touch to all of her personal issues wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe Sybil did know her more than she thought.

“Well…you’re right. There’s another boy.”

“You’re interested in him?”

“Interested is a bit of a loose term,” Sin mutters, taking a small plate from the middle of the table in preparation to take a beignet.

“How so?”

“Um— we really like each other? It’s just too much going on to elevate in terms of an official relationship. So for now—“

“For now you just have sex.”

Sin can feel her cheeks becoming warm, now dreading the fact that she allowed herself to open up to Sybil.

“Not exactly?” Sin twiddles her fingers.

“Okay, y’all have—fun together. Let’s say that,” Sybil corrects herself.

“Yeah, fun. He’s just— he’s been a comfort to me despite everything going on with Cloud, Pheme and Nadia. After the whole situation happened at Oseidon they completely shut me out, and the pack members have been really supportive towards me. More than my own family. They’re starting to feel like family more,” Sin admits.

“Well let’s not get too ahead of ourselves, Sin. You can’t trust them so easily. Don’t be naive, a wolf will always be a wolf.”

“What?” Sin frowns, “They’ve been more trusting in these months then you’ve been!”

“So now we’re back to bickering,” Sybil sighs, drained of Sin’s back and forth emotions.

“Maybe they can teach us something, grandma. The way that Providence is united is something we need.”

“So you’re turning on me?”

“You know that’s not what I meant, grandma,” Sin pinches the bridge of her nose.

“If you want to befriend those dogs, fine by me.”

“Don’t call them that.”

Sybil finds that statement amusing, laughing as she replies, “You get offended as if you are one!”

Sybil continues laughing, unaware that Sin has gone quiet at that statement. Sin stands from the table and pushes the beignets back to the middle, grabbing her belongings as she tells Sybil through her laughs, “I’ll stay the night with Dad.”

“What’s that on your arm?”

Before Sin can protest, Sybil’s already grabbing her arm and looking at her wrist, seeing the green veins protruding out she runs her finger along the skin.

“What the hell is this?”

Sin almost panics at the question. She knew Sybil could barely put a smile on her face at the thought of Providence, she couldn’t imagine the baby she’d have knowing that she had become one of them.

Sin snatches her arm back as she says, “Stop acting as if you’re actually interested.”

“Why is it always a knife fight with you?”

The question has Sin halt her movement as she’s now on her way towards the front door. It was a simple question, yet the feeling that went along her body made it way more than that. It angered her that Sybil acted clueless to her actions, her patronizing tone, and her bad attempt at hiding her true motives. She didn’t know how much more of it she could take.

“It isn’t a knife fight for me, Sybil. You’re the one that hides the knife behind your back, while my hands are completely empty.”

With that, she slammed the door behind herself. For once she’d left Sybil entirely speechless.

[orexias]

presenting : advisor enver gortash & lady nesta d'angelis.   ,  a pre-plotted thread featuring @banedicti .

one might expect someone of such noble upbringings to understand a modicum of decency, the conservatism that comes with the higher baldurian courts. the d'angelis family had investment hands in just about everything - banks, loans, development projects... political campaigns. and with lady rhiannon and lord owain always so invested in the needs of their inferiors, lady nesta was always not far by their side. this gala, in particular, was one of importance, one that nesta was very much so informed she did not have the option of attending. it is important, as members of a society that works in the darkness behind the scenes, to maintain a shiny exterior, for the brighter the light - the bigger the shadow becomes. and the measure of nesta's reach is that of her beliefs - all-encompassing and all-consuming.

the dress is beautiful: evening gown of stygian shade, golden epaulets, a cloak to hide her exposed back from mischief-makers who might be otherwise entitled to lay claim to the small of her flesh, to touch that which is not offered. a circlet adorns her head, golden jewelry shining against the white of her hair, of her skin, of her eyes - as if she is an angel, like the ones depicted by the lathanderian temples. but the glass of wine in her hand, the rose brooch, no - those are all effigies of her intention. that she is a rose with thorns, that bleeding is sanctimonious, and that parties like these pale in comparison to the indulgences beneath these very floorboards. still, it is a good, quiet night - until it becomes instead an interesting one.

to see him is to gaze upon roadkill, nesta thinks; to be enamored by the charisma he exudes and yet repulsed by the act that put him here. this is not the first time she has met him, nor will it be the last, but she is amused, regardless, at the intention with which he strides across the room, long before the first dance, to greet her. this must be kismet, nesta thinks, and not statistics, with the number of times they've interacted with one-another in the settings belonging to her mother and father. despite this, her voice is low and sultry even still, her hand already extended for him to shake, to kiss the back of her knuckles, to do as he pleased. in settings like this, women were objects to greet and examine as they pleased, though nesta's calculating demeanor often intimidated away those with low charismatic fiber.

enver gortash, unfortunately, was not one of those men.

" advisor gortash, " she hums, pale eyes hiding a concoction of amusement and annoyance as her dreams of a quiet night are all but dashed away in favor of a wretched game of thrones and crowns. " what a... well, how appropriate it is to see you here. lady whittnia throws quite the ball, no? "

[euphoriaith]

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