#my first time writing oc fic

[hom3landr]

Icarus Falling

Chapter One: Flight Risk

Homelander X OC

When Vought decides to shut down a failing experimental program, a little winged loose end is left. Years later, a bitter young woman named Dove lives in isolation under Vought’s close watch. Not quite human but not quite a supe, Dove must use her wits to survive when Stan Edgar appoints her to The Seven for unknown reasons.

Dove’s tongue peeks out of the corner of her mouth as she concentrates on making her brush strokes as even as possible. The sudden garish swipes of polish scratch something in her brain. Her hands are steady now. She no longer leaves a mess all over her fingers from hands shaky with uncertainty. Instead, the ritual has become a balm to her constantly racing mind. The patience to achieve perfection is one of the few things that bring her peace. She prefers bright gaudy colors that irritate the eye. It makes her think of poison frogs and she envies their ability to maim simply by a touch. She wishes she could have had that mutation if she was destined to be a freak. She contemplates whether she’d like to try some nail art today. She isn’t good but that’s not the point. It’s not like anyone will see them anyway. No one ever sees her.

She neatly finishes her nail, happy with the final result. A bright neon green, her nails seem to shine in the beige bleakness of her Vought sponsored house. She supposes that she could make the place homier but she refuses. It feels wrong to make peace with what scraps Vought throws her. She refuses to take comfort in their blood money. Her body may bear signs of their interference but it’s still hers. Her body will have to be her home as it is the only thing she can trust.

Her feathers flutter gently as the oscillating fan blows lukewarm air on her. The sticky summer air lingers and her bare skin is damp with sweat. Her curls are pulled up away from her neck in hopes of some relief from the muggy air. Of course Vought didn’t feel like springing for working air conditioning for her. She guesses it’s because it’s not “cost-effective”

She stretches out her wings behind her, wincing slightly at the way her shoulder blades ache. They may be part of her but the human body isn’t made to have wings. Her muscles are forced to shift and pull in unnatural ways to account for the unfamiliar DNA. She’s no different than a poorly bred dog, too many elements being blended together and spit out without thought to nature’s elegance. The weight of them makes her constantly sore, even with the harness for support. It’s nothing fancy but the leather contraption helps take some of the strain off her back. Her wings are another reason she doesn’t decorate. Furniture tends to be a hassle more often than not when it comes to accommodating her. Couches and any chair with a back is a solid no-go, unless she wants a wing cramp. She’s currently sitting on her unfolded futon she uses as a makeshift wing-friendly couch.

She happily observes her nails as they dry, so used to boredom that watching the slick wet polish turn tacky is a decent passtime. She whistles a jaunty little tune along with the music playing softly on the radio. She decides that she will try some nail art. She could use a little cheetah print.

Alas, her relatively good mood instantly sours when a sleek black car pulls into her driveway. Her stomach turns. The only people who ever come to visit are Vought cronies, usually doing the bare minimum to make sure she’s still alive. Her house that was supposed to be her refuge becomes just another lab. She angrily screws back on the cap to her polish and sluggishly rises with a groan. She didn’t realize she’s due for another checkup so soon. She contemplates grabbing a shirt but decides they don’t deserve the privilege of decorum. She doesn’t feel like putting in the effort of trying to wrestle her wings into one. She never bothers when she’s alone.

Something still feels off and there is a prickle on the back of her neck as she watches the car park. She double takes when she sees the figure getting out of the car. It’s not some nameless lab tech. It’s not some suit here to chastise her for flying high enough to be seen. It’s Stan Edgar, the man whose machinations led to her fate but who never found her important enough to speak to directly. He’s almost a mythical figure to her and her throat tightens. She doubts this is another quick checkup to endure. This is something big.

Once more she wonders if she should grab a shirt. But again, she decides against it. Maybe she’ll get lucky and the shock of her nudity will give the old fucker a heart attack. Her shoulders pop as she shifts. Clad only in a pair of ratty denim cutoffs, she opens the door to stare brazenly at the leader of Vought with her hand placed impudently on her hip.

“It’s rude to show up without calling”

Much to her dismay, Edgar doesn’t even flinch at her exposure. Although the same certainly can’t be said for the two bodyguards flanking him. Even with their sunglasses, the tilt of their heads is an obvious indicator of just where their eyes are focused. She rolls her eyes internally despite never breaking eye contact with Edgar. She’ll die before she’s the one who blinks first.

“I thought a visit might be pleasant considering your…isolation.” He smiles emptily at her. She grits her teeth and fights the urge to spit on his fancy suit.

“I think our definitions of what “pleasant” means may differ. I consider it pleasant to have some privacy, Sir.” She cocks her head at him. Her wings fluff up with displeasure. She should probably use her manners in front of a man as powerful as him; especially one who technically owns her. There’s a tiny voice inside begging her to practice some self preservation. But then she looks at him and she remembers. He wasn’t in the lab with her but whatever tortures she had to endure were committed with his full knowledge and approval. As far as she’s concerned, he might as well have been holding the scalpel himself.

He seems as unfazed by her remark as he did at the sight of her bare chest. She clenches her fist as he looks at her like a bored parent waiting out their child’s tantrums while in time-out.

“Allow me to introduce mysel…” His polite greeting is abruptly cut off by Dove’s scoff.

Settle down. The voice inside her implores but she brushes it from her mind like flicking a flea.

“You’re Stan Edgar, Head of Vought. I know.” She replies, hackles raised at his infuriating calm. “You’re the one who dumped me here.”

He smiles.

Bastard

“A decision that was made with your wellbeing in mind. But if that is your grievance with me then allow me to supply you with some good news. May I come in so we can discuss it?” He asks as though she has a choice in the matter. They both know she doesn’t, not really.

She pauses, two sides of her viciously battling it out in her brain. One side wants to fight and push just to see how far he’ll let her go before his facade finally cracks. The other side just wants peace. She grits her teeth. If she wants him to leave, she’ll just have to endure his visit so she sighs and steps to the side. He nods and enters, flanked by his leering entourage. She does roll as her eyes at their stares this time and grabs a scarf she spies draped over the edge of a nearby table. She follows them over to the futon, threading it through her harness and tying it into a makeshift top.

She plops down on the futon, crosses her legs and looks up at him blankly. She doesn’t offer him a seat. Of course, there really isn’t a place for him to sit even if she did feel like being polite. The living area of her tiny one bedroom house is bare except her futon, a small table with the fan still whirring away and her radio, and a short cabinet that she mainly uses to store her collection of polishes and a few dvds gathering dust. The walls are blank and cold.

“You should let Vought know you are in need of some furniture.” Edgar remarks as he looks around at the sad state of her place.

“I’ll get right on that.” Dove says wryly. She has no intention to ask for anything from Vought.

“Actually, I wouldn’t bother just yet. That's one of the things I wish to speak with you about.” Edgar replies. Dove regrets sitting because now she has him looming over her. The power play was fun at the moment but she’s quickly realizing that Edgar has a way of making them feel pointless and immature.

“I didn’t realize you cared this much about my interior design.” Dove can’t help but retort.

“It does seem pointless to furnish this place considering you will be moving in the near future. I’m sure you’ll enjoy a place with a little more class.” He’s smug, clearly trying to lead her somewhere. He says it like he’s expecting her to jump up like her team just won the superbowl. There is always the undertone of condescension and superiority that makes Dove bristle. She’s known this man for all of ten minutes but that’s all she needs. She doesn’t even register the meaning of his words. She’s too angry and it clouds her judgment. She doesn’t immediately register that he’s offering her an out.

“Vought has class?” She bites out, her joking tone too harsh to be taken lightly. The hurt behind it is open and raw. Edgar’s smile drops. She should feel smug that she finally got the mask to drop. She doesn’t.

“I’m sure you think that your comments are cute but I came here expecting to talk to an adult, not a petulant child.” His voice sharpens but the pitch never changes.

Dove’s mouth snaps shut and she bites her tongue till she tastes iron. Her feathers fluff out involuntarily as she seethes. She’s tempted to snap back but she begrudgingly realizes that the sooner they can get through this conversation, the sooner he’ll be out of her hair. She frowns when she notices one of her still tacky nails has smudged.

Fucking great

“Fine, just tell me then.” She crosses her arms before promptly relaxing them, not wanting to let him know how much she’s pouting.

The corner of his mouth curls up but his eyes stay as empty as ever.

“How would you feel about finally putting your skills to good use?” He asks.

Dove double takes and stutters out a bemused laugh. Not once since they threw her out with the bathwater had they ever indicated she had any use besides what failed experiment they had been planning. She is baffled as to what they could possibly want with her.

“I think my current situation shows what Vought thinks of my skills. Can’t you get one of your precious little supes to do it?” She replies with sheer disdain.

Psh…Supes

Oh, she despises supes. Spoiled little brats. Spoiled pampered little brats. Vought’s golden children. They’re genetic freaks too but they get freedom and fame. They have lives and families. They only have to endure a little shot of go-go juice as a baby and the world is handed to them on a golden fucking platter. Meanwhile here she is, weak, hidden, abandoned. She had to endure endless tortures and for what?

“We need someone with your unique composition.” His face gives nothing away.

That doesn’t sound good.

“…Oh.” She shifts nervously. A sick feeling starts to brew in her gut. She becomes viscerally aware of the prickle of sweat under her arms and running down her spine “I’m not…going back, am I? You all promised me I wouldn’t have to go back there anymore.”

Edgar laughs. He fucking laughs.

“Yes and no, but don’t worry, we won’t have any need for that. I think you’ll enjoy what we have planned.” He replies with false peasantry. Dove inhales tightly. Her hackles are raised at the constant dancing around the question. She highly doubts enjoyment is on the table. When has enjoyment ever been on the table for her?

“Well, are you gonna tell me what it is?” She retorts sharply. The constant whirring of the fan grates on her strained nerves and in this moment she wants nothing more than to chuck it across the room.

Edgar nods at one of the bodyguards who steps forward to hand her a fancy embossed letter. She resists the urge to snatch it rudely from his hand. She minds her manners though, being careful not to rip the fancy paper. Edgar stares her down as she opens it. Luckily her nails are dry enough now to not stick.

Her heart stops dead as she reads.

WHAT THE FUCK

Her hands start to shake.

This is a joke

This is a joke

This is a joke.

This is a fucking joke.

What she is holding is a genuine, bonafide, official invitation to join The Seven.

Dove drops the letter like it’s a scalding hot coal. A furious stinging longing like nothing she has ever known throbs hot in her chest.

Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? For your pain to mean something?

“No.” She replies shakily. “No, I don’t want it.”

She does. She wants it so bad.

“No.”

She knows what she is. She’s not a supe. She will never be a supe. That had been quite clear to her with every broken bone, every bruise, every slice of the scalpel. She was deemed unworthy with every scribble of a scientist's pen. Her only claim to fame is not dropping dead from her inhuman slurry of mismatched genes like the rest.

Whatever worth she has, it’s definitely not as one of Vought’s shiniest gems. She doesn’t have the luxury of hope.

“No? I assumed you’d be glad for the opportunity. Especially considering your…situation.” He nods at her wings and she draws them closer to her body.

“I’m…not one of them. I’m all but human. What need could you possibly have for me in The Seven. I’m…” She cuts herself off.

Weak

That’s the whole point of her existence really. Vought wanted to create a new breed of supes that weren’t supes. People with abilities but without the pesky super strength that makes things hard to manage. They wanted to corner the labor market. Who wouldn’t want to hire a worker capable of more than a human could ever be while still being easy to control? So, they turned to animal DNA, to see if they could generate specific traits based on carefully selected genes. It failed, the constant deaths of the subjects deemed it too cost ineffective to keep trying. When they shut it down, all they had to worry about was one winged little loose end.

“You let us worry about all that. You’ll just need to follow instructions and smile pretty for the camera.” He reaches out to take a shaky hand in his, his demeanor unnervingly parental in this moment. He pats it soothingly. She fights the urge to flinch away at the touch of skin. She’s painfully unused to human contact that doesn’t involve harm.

“What kind of instructions?” She’s wary.

“I told you, let us worry about that. I promise it won’t be anything you can’t handle.” His voice has warmed considerably as he tries to gain her consent without having to resort to more unpleasant means. After all, no isn’t really an option. Vought owns her. The invitation is merely a polite formality.

“No,” Dove repeats more firmly, a steely resolve in her eye

“No?” Stan Edgar raises an eyebrow.

Dove doesn’t want to hear anymore. What they’re giving her is not an out but a golden cage. She’s Snow White being handed the poison apple. She won’t be a victim of Vought’s plans again. She won’t be that stupid.

“What makes you think I want to do anything to help Vought out? What makes you think a bit of fame is enough to make me forget the shit you put me through?” Dove stands, staring Edgar down. She clenches her fists and the body language of his guards changes immediately. “If you try to set my ass in front of a camera I’ll spill everything. All I want is to be left alone.”

Edgar remains unphased by her outburst. He’d expected as much. The reports from her check-ups had informed him of her temperament. He has one more card up his sleeve before things have to get nasty.

“I understand that you’re disgruntled by your previous treatment. As an apology and as incentive for joining The Seven, Vought would like to reunite you with your mother. Remain as a member for one year and fulfill all your necessary duties, and we’ll get you in contact with her.”

His voice fades out into a droning buzz.

I have a mother.

Dove’s head swims.

She tries to speak but the words catch in her throat. She makes a strangled noise at the revelation. What can she even say to that? How is she supposed to respond to her whole world getting flipped on its head? Unwanted tears prickle in her eyes as her knees give out and she drops back on to the futon.

She’s always been so alone but all this time…

All this time…

“How come you never said anything? How come I didn’t…” Her voice trails off. “You’re lying.”

A photo enters her field of vision and she takes it shakily. There is a young woman in the picture, with curly hair and dark familiar eyes, Dove’s eyes. She doesn’t look much older than nineteen but the resemblance is unmistakable. She's wearing an all too familiar medical gown and her hand rests on the subtle swell of her stomach. Her expression is solemn. Dove chokes down a sob as she softly strokes the woman’s face.

“She signed a contract saying that she did not want any contact with the child post-birth. In recent years, she seems to have changed her mind. She’s expressed a desire to reconnect. If you agree to our terms, we can facilitate a reunion.” Edgar explains.

Dove can’t take her eyes off the photo.

Her mom abandoned her. She abandoned her to Vought’s heartless clutches. She’d walked away without a care. Dove should rip the picture up and tell Edgar to stuff it. She shouldn’t feel anything towards this woman…her mother.

Dove had never known where she came from. Vought had never specified. Now she has a chance to know. What is her mother like? Is she happy now? Why did she leave her alone? Why does she want her now? Did her mom ever love her?

Dove is furious at herself for feeling conflicted even as questions fill her head. She has so many questions she can get the answer to.

“I…” Dove flounders. She doesn’t want it. She doesn’t want anything else. She hates this mystery woman who left her in Vought’s clutches. She needs more than anything to be held in her arms, this woman with the dark sad eyes.

Don’t you fucking dare! Something inside her pleads. You’re going to regret it. You will never be free from them

Dove swallows thickly and with the finality of an executioner's swing, she gives Stan Edgar her answer.

“I’ll do it.”

[suntails]

hijo de la luna

[luxaofhesperides]

For the ghostlights drabbles: “Say my name” with a favor being called in?

Duke had saved Phantom years ago, back when he was just out of high school and working to take down a branch of the government that was kidnapping and experimenting on people, targeting magic users and metas. Phantom had been working on his own to take them down, and they met in the middle, trashing a lab and freeing as many people as they could.

They had managed to shoot his back, knocking him down and making him bleed a glowing green. Phantom couldn’t move, protecting two kids with his body, and Duke couldn’t reach them in time before they were taken away by another swarm of agents. 

He was able to go after them in time, free Phantom and the kids, and evacuated the victims before Phantom rained hell down on the facility.

At the end, standing in the background as they watched paramedics treat the victims and take them towards the nearest hospitals, Phantom had turned towards him and thanked him.

Or rather, he thanked the Signal and offered him a bracelet with a rounded orb of ice, glowing faintly in the dark. If you ever need me, he had said, Hold this, and call me name.

Phantom vanished once the last of the victims were transported to a safer location, and Duke hadn’t seen him since.

He’s kept up with news about Phantom as best he can, but from what he could tell, Phantom is based primarily in Amity Park, Illinois, and the town is fiercely protective of their hero. News rarely leaks out of there, and with them running on their own servers and independent internet, it was nearly impossible to get in from the outside. 

Phantom remained a curious and distant figure in Duke’s life. He holds onto the bracelet still, guarding it carefully and sometimes running his fingers over the ice that never melts.

But he doesn’t call in that favor. He’s never to.

At least, not until now.

Sucking in a breath, Duke prepares himself and holds the orb of ice in the palm of his hand. He’s in civies, unable to hide his identity for this, and closes his eyes. “Phantom,” he says.

For a moment, nothing happens. Duke blinks his eyes open and frowns, mind already forming new plans to contact Phantom. Then the ice goes bitingly cold, almost painful, and the temperature in the room drops dramatically. The ice lifts up from his hand, floating in the air, then cracks open.

White-blue light spills out of it, growing brighter as it seems to swallow up the room entirely. Duke hurries to back up, an arm thrown up to protect his eyes. His breath mists out before him and he shivers as the sound of ice cracking fills the room.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, the light disappears and the cold fades away like a bad dream. 

Slowly, Duke lowers his arm and looks up at Phantom, floating in the middle of his living room with a crown made of ice, engulfed in blue fire, hovers above his head. He looks older, more regal, holding his head high. 

He regards Duke carefully for a minute, then tilts his head and says, “Signal?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Man, I’m so glad you came.”

“You… need help with something? You’re calling in your favor now, right?”

Duke nods. He understands Phantom’s confusion; being in the hero business means that favors like these tend to be used only during the most hopeless of times, when the world is close to ending, when the chances of getting out of a situation alive is close to impossible. It’s exactly the kind of thing Duke was expecting to call Phantom in for.

Not the kid sleeping on his couch.

“You’re a ghost, yeah?”

Phantom blinks at him. “Ghost king, now. Why?”

“Well…” Duke rubs the back of his neck, nervously. “I didn’t really know who else to call, and I can’t do this on my own since I’m not a ghost. But this kid got attached to me and won’t leave, so now I’m taking care of her and I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“I don’t know why you think I have any experience with kids but—”

“She’s a ghost.”

Phantom stops short. “Ah. I see.” He floats down until his feet touch the floor, and then he’s standing like any other person. “Where…?”

Duke looks past Phantom’s shoulder, and Phantom turns to follow his gaze. Chelsea, the ghost girl, looks to be around nine years old and is fast asleep on the couch, curled up under Duke’s softest blanket.

“Signal,” Phantom says quietly, “What, exactly, is the favor you need from me?”

“You can say no,” Duke starts. “I get that this is a lot. But I need help raising her. And since you’re a ghost, I figured you could help me learn about the ghostly side of things. You don’t have to raise her with me or anything! Just… I would appreciate any help you’re willing to give me.”

Phantom doesn’t say no. He doesn’t say anything. He just stares down at Chelsea, an unreadable expression on his face. 

On the couch. Chelsea shifts in her sleep, brows furrowing as she makes a choked noise in the back of her throat.

Moving on autopilot after so many nights of this routine, Duke kneels next to the couch, fishing one of her hands from beneath the blanket. He gives it a few reassuring squeezes, keeping it a slow rhythm to pull her gently from her nightmare. She settles down in just a minute, brow smoothing out as she continues to sleep. 

The silence grows and Duke is all too aware that his heart is the only one beating. 

He doesn’t hear Phantom move. Doesn’t realize he’s right next to him until he sees Phantom’s hand reach out towards Chelsea. When Duke looks, Phantom is sitting on the floor next to Duke, looking at Chelsea with something soft and devastated in his eyes. His hand hovers about her head for a long moment, then slowly lowers to rest on her head. 

The touch looks gently, barely putting any pressure on her head, but it’s enough to make Chelsea’s eyes snap open, suddenly wide awake. She stares at Phantom with wide eyes, then sits up and looks between him and Duke.

“Who are you?” she asks in a small voice that makes Duke want to stand against the world to keep her safe. 

Phantom smiles. It’s casual and charming and makes him look like anyone else, as if he’s not a powerful king from a realm unreachable to humans. “Hi there,” he says, “I’m Danny. I’m a ghost like you. Signal called me and asked me to meet you.”

The Ghost King is good with kids. Who would have thought?

Chelsea looks at him for confirmation and only relaxes when he nods. “I’m Chelsea. What do you mean ghost? I’m not dead.”

Both he and Phantom tense, carefully keeping their expressions neutral. She hasn’t told him much at all, just that her parents were gone and forgot her and she got hurt, so she wanted to stay with ‘Mr. Signal’ because he’s a hero and heroes keep people safe and he was the only one who was Black like her. Duke hadn’t had the heart to say no, and began searching for her family, only to find that her parents had fled the state, and likely the country, after killing their only child through neglect and a dangerous environment. 

It was then that he realized that her powers were not because she was a meta, but because she was ghost.

It still hurts to realize how young she is, how much of her life had been stolen from her in an instant. Duke hadn’t been brave enough to broach the topic with her, instead choosing to let her grow comfortable in his presence, get them both settled into a routine now that he was her primary guardian. 

“I know it sounds scary,” Phantom says, “And you may not want to believe me, but it’s true. I’m sorry that you died so young, but that just means you get to hang out with me and other ghosts from now on!”

Chelsea crosses her arms over her chest and glares at him. “I am not dead,” she says.

“Cici, I’m sorry to say this, but you are,” Duke cuts in. “That’s why I called… Danny. You have new powers as a ghost, and he can help you get used to them.”

“I’m not dead!” she says again.

“Kid,” Phantom begins, but Chelsea shakes her head hard and hops off the couch.

“I’m not lying! Watch, I’ll prove it to you!” She closes her eyes and scrunches up her nose, concentrating. Her hands curl into tight fists by her sides, and the glow around her grows dim. Two faint, stuttering rings of light appear around her waist. They flicker and wobble in the air, as if weak and uncertain of their own existence, then split apart, one moving up towards her head while the other falls to her feet.

Beside him, Phantom sucks in a sharp breath, but Duke can’t turn to see what’s wrong when he’s trying to take in the sight of Chelsea suddenly full of vibrant color, looking more solid that he’s ever seen her, very much alive.

“See?” she says proudly, lifting her arms and doing a spin to show off her right she was. “I told you I’m not dead!”

“No, you’re not,” Phantom agrees, sounding shell-shocked. When Duke is finally able to look away from Chelsea to check on him, he looks awed. There’s the smallest smile on his face, just the slightest upturn of his lips, but it makes him look softer.

Duke turns his attention back to Chelsea before he can be caught staring. “Cici, can you come here for a second?”

She goes before he’s finished speaking, crossing the space between them in a single jump, then grins up at him. Her hair is a bit of a mess, the two buns he managed to get her hair into falling askew. He makes a note to visit the old aunties in the Narrows later to ask them to teach him how to do hair. For now, he holds out a hand and Chelsea drops an arm into it.

It seems to good to be true, having her be alive, but her pulse is steady and strong when he presses his thumb against the inside of her wrist. 

“Well,” he says, leaning back and letting go of her arm. “You certainly proved us wrong.”

Chelsea doesn’t have much time to look smug before PHantom quietly says, “You’re like me.”

“What?”

“You’re like me,” he tells Chelsea. “A halfa.”

She tilts her head to one side. “What’s that?”

“Someone who is half human and half ghost. Both dead and alive.”

Duke blinks, taking in the words, then turns to face Phantom so quickly he’s worried he might give himself whiplash. Halfa, he said. Like me, he said. 

And sure enough, two rings of light, bright and strong, appear around Phantom’s waist before splitting in half, moving over his entire body. 

Gone is the Ghost King, all powerful and adorned in dark clothing with a crown of ice above his head. In his place is a guy who looks to be Duke’s age, eyes a deep blue and his black hair messy, feet set solidly on the floor. He looks completely normal, completely human, and no longer an impossibility.

“You still up for learning how to use all your new powers?” Phantom asks.

Chelsea grins. “Yeah!” And then, with a quick flick of her eyes going from Phantom to Duke that he almost misses, very innocently asks, “Are you going to stay with us then?”

“I… don’t know?” Phantom looks to Duke for an answer.

Already, Duke can see this going two ways. The correct way forward, the normal one, has Phantom popping in every so often, taking Chelsea out for a few hours to work on training her and her powers. It’s easy and routine and they can keep their boundaries uncrossed and be professional. 

The other path is what Duke wants most that he shouldn’t impose onto the literal Ghost King. He could have Phantom living with them while he’s on Earth and out of Amity Park, having a place at the table, a section in the closet for his own clothes, a quietly domestic night together while Chelsea sleeps where they can get to know each other more, get to know each other outside of news reports and texts on a screen.

“You can stay with us if you want,” Duke offers, casually, “It might keep my apartment safe from her powers acting up on their own again.”

“Are you sure? I could always just fly in on the weekends or something.”

“I’d appreciate having you around. So you can help Cici.”

“If you don’t mind,” Phantom says, looking away. Like this, fully alive with a beating heart, it’s easy to see the blush steal away across his cheeks. 

“I don’t.”

“I don’t either!” Chelsea pops in, looking far too gleeful by their awkward conversation.

Duke can’t help but laugh, feeling lighter than he had in ages. The relief of knowing that Chelsea is alive, for the most part at least, eases the guilt of thinking he had been too late to save her, that there was no chance she could have made it out and had a future, makes him feel weak. All the exhaustion of the past few weeks hits him all at once and he wants nothing more than to collapse in bed and sleep for twelve hours.

“Alright, squirt,” he says, reaching out to pat her head. “It’s late. We can talk more in the morning, so go to bed. In your actual bed this time, not on the couch.”

Chelsea stands up taller, ready to argue, but Duke gives her a Look™ and she quickly shuts her mouth, nods, and drags her feet back to her room (the former guestroom he can never give any of the other Waynes ever again, once they find out about her). 

Sighing, Duke collapses onto the couch once he hears the door shut behind her. Phantom joins him after a few seconds, sitting tentatively on the edge of the couch. The cushion moves beneath his weight, another reminder of how solid and alive he is right not.

Duke wants to touch him, to reach out and feel for himself his pulse, the warmth of his body, his chest lifting with each breath. 

He doesn’t move. He stays where he is, hands carefully still, and tries to think past the dizzying thoughts of she’s still alive, I’m not too late, he’s still here, he’s alive.

“Rough week?” Phantom asks, voice purposefully light.

“Something like that.”

“You should get some sleep too.”

“I don’t think I can. Not after everything. My mind’s too loud right now.”

Phantom shifts closer to him, hesitant in a way that Duke has never seen before in him, and asks, “Want me to stay with you until you mind quiets down some?”

“Yeah. I’d like that. Thanks, Phantom.”

“You know, if I’m going to be around so often as Chelsea’s halfa mentor, then you might as well call me Danny.”

Truth be told, Duke didn’t think that was his real name. He’s glad to know it’s not. 

“Then call me Duke.”

“...Are you sure? You could still hide your identity from me.”

“Nah, I trust you. A name for a name, yeah?”

Danny smiles. “Duke,” he says, testing out the name, and it’s never sounded better than when it falls from Danny’s mouth.

“Danny,” Duke returns. He belatedly realizes that they’ve leaned towards each other, drawn together like gravity, stuck in each other’s orbit. It feels natural. It feels like this is where they’re meant to be.

Maybe he should be more cautious. They’ve only meant once before, after all. But he’s read all he could on Phantom and has seen how Amity Park loves him. He’s stressed and exhausted and trying to figure out how to look after a half-ghost child that’s already been dealt a bad hand in life. He should be keeping Phantom at a distance, watching over him carefully to ensure he isn’t a threat to Chelsea.

But Duke saw how he acted with Chelsea, so gentle and understanding and kind. That’s all he needed to see.

He may not know much about Danny, but he knows this: he is trustworthy.

Enough to entrust his identity to him.

Enough to entrust Chelsea to him.

It’s more than a favor; it’s a promise to walk this road together. 

There’s no one he’d rather do this with. 

“Thanks,” he says again, “For all of this. I know it’s a lot.”

Danny shrugs. “I don’t mind. Really. It’s nice to know there’s another halfa out there, no matter how she came to be one. Makes things feel less lonely.”

“Will you tell me more about halfas?”

“Later. Once you get some proper rest. We’ve got time, haven’t we?”

“We do,” Duke agrees, affection settling warm in his chest. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

Learning how to control her new powers won’t be easy for Chelsea. Learning how to take care of her won’t be easy. Learning how to do things together, as Duke and Danny rather than the Signal and Phantom, won’t be easy. But Duke knows with a certainty he feels in his bones that they’re going to be fine.

So long as they’ve got each other, they’ll be fine.

[serbarris]

Imagine Being Loved By Me

Dragon Age: the Veilguard, no spoilers

Pairing: F!Rook Ingellvar x Emmrich Volkarin 

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Emmrich gives Rook a gift, then takes care of her *waggles eyebrows suggestively*

Words: <1000

Extension of the 7th scene in I'll Crawl Home to Her

Slowly being added to ao3

“My dear, please sit still or else I shan’t be able to give this gift properly.” Emmrich teased. Of course, he’d give her the present no matter what. But after finally acquiring a fitting token of his affection, his love, he wanted to give it to Rook exactly as he imagined. Calliope had once again stolen one of Emmrich’s shirts to wear, undone, over her undergarments. Calliope enjoyed being surrounded by the scent of Emmrich, which helped calm her, remembering the times Emmrich had helped ground her with his embrace.

Stepping behind her to the other side of his desk, he opened the soft bag that contained her gift. “Close your eyes,” Emmrich asked, peering around to ensure her eyes were tightly shut. Letting out an exhale of satisfaction Emmrich gathered Rook’s hair, holding it tightly in his hands he twisted her hair up and out of the way, a wry smile on his lips as he pulled lightly on the bundle. Calliope let out a gentle hiss, and heat began to pool between her legs. “If you could please hold your hair?”

Satisfied, Emmrich proceeded to undo the clasp of the necklace, threading it around Rook’s neck, his fingers ghosting over her skin as he did so. After it was joined, Emmrich’s fingers lightly traced the chain over her clavicle, and he placed tender kisses on the back of Rook’s neck. Calliope felt the cool weight of the necklace on her sternum, reaching up to touch the pendant, she gasped as she raised it into her view. Finely detailed skeletal hands cast in gold grasped a large garnet, it was hard to tell upside down but it almost looked like the stone was vaguely heart-shaped. “Emmrich, this is far too much! I can’t imagine what it must have cost!” Emmrich paused his careful mapping of Rook’s neck with his lips and moved closer to her ear, his light stubble scratching at Rook’s skin.

“I saw this when we were back home and I couldn’t resist picturing how it would look around your neck, Calliope.” Added to the ministrations on her neck, he knew the reaction she had to Emmrich saying her real name, how a delicious red would start to paint her cheeks and chest, creating the perfect trail for Emmrich’s fingers to follow as he pushed her shirt to the side. Calliope’s squirms brought herself closer to Emmrich, her back hitting his chest as he gently grasped Calliope’s neck with one hand, his other tracing the long line of her tattoo down towards her soft lower stomach. His cool rings icy against her heat.

“Emmrich” she gasped, breath hitching, reaching for the back of his neck, bringing him closer, and kissing him deeply. Soft moans emanated from the both of them, Calliope broke away inhaling, trying to extricate herself from Emmrich’s grasp, but he coaxed her back to her original position. “Calliope, this is about you, my love.”

The hand around her neck loosened, tracing down her chest until it enclosed around her covered breast. The pressure was a welcome relief to Calliope, her nipples already straining against the fabric of her bandeau. Emmrich’s hand slipped under the fabric, allowing him to tweak and pinch her nipples as she mewled, “Emmrich, please.” Her back arched into the hand playing with her breast, Emmrich’s other holding her hip tight.

“Patience Calliope.” Calliope shivered at the loss of heat as Emmrich pulled away, moving in front of her, pausing to take her in as she sat before him wound tight and panting from his teasing.

“Remove your undergarments” Emmrich ordered, his tone heavy with lust. Calliope began to remove his shirt from her body, “The shirt stays.” Emmrich directed.

Loosening the laces of her bandeau and knickers Calliope shimmied to let them drop to the floor unceremoniously. Emmrich’s eyes darkened as he drank in her body. She had yet to put on her own jewellery that day, her mismatched gold still sitting on Emmrich’s bedside as they had a rare day to themselves. The necklace he’d given her lay between her plump breasts, the candlelit room casting shadows across her tattooed sternum. His shirt draped over her naked form as she waited for his next move.

Something primal heated in Emmrich’s chest at the sight of Calliope only wearing his shirt and his gift. Calliope heated under his gaze, her chest almost as red as the jewel laying upon it. “Look at you,” Emmrich began, stepping forward and taking Calliope’s chin in his hand, “I don’t think I’ll ever tire of seeing you flush with desire, my darling. When we were flirting I always wondered what colour your cheeks might bloom during intimacy, and now I know they redden like a rose because of my touch.”

Emmrich’s thumb grazed her bottom lip before he gripped Calliope’s hips, pulling her towards his body as he captured her mouth in a rough kiss. Calliope yelped as they collided, feeling Emmrich’s hard length between her legs. Instinctively she rolled her hips, moaning as she attained some of the friction she desperately sought.

“So needy Calliope.” Emmrich chuckled, Calliope’s breath hitched as Emmrich’s hand cupped her mound, a sound of pleasure leaving Emmrich as he felt the damp curls between her legs, his middle finger tracing up and down her slit, threatening to plunge between her folds.

“I want to see you come undone by my touch,” Emmrich growled, plunging his fingers into Calliope, leaving her gasping as he stroked her exactly where she needed. “Wearing my shirt, my necklace, you have me completely enthralled Calliope. You are mine.”

Calliope whimpered as Emmrich’s words aided her to dance along the edge of release, she was so close, her core tight as she constricted around Emmrich’s fingers. His thumb found her clit, gently pressing down on the nub, knowing this would cause her climax. “That’s it Calliope, cum for me.”

[songofsoma]

can’t believe i never posted the commission i got of karlach and daefina from the talented @b0zart i’m still so in love with it

[trevination]

sink to black from blue (a marlie drabble)

(for those sadly uninformed, marlie is micah foster/charlie torres-moore aka trevor & josh’s greaser characters who are basically our ocs <3) (just scroll the #marlie tag on my blog lmao

inspired by this post! canon universe, post-rumble! shout out to @elisadoreyou & @wassupmygays creating these guys with u have been so fun omg

Micah winced at the alcohol sting. The cut on his temple was nasty, probably could use a stitch or two. The thought was almost funny ‘cause he sure as hell didn’t have enough money to afford stitches. It’d leave a tough scar. Good.

“I said I’m fine, okay? This ain’t my first rumble,”

Charlie’s face was pinched tight, lips pressed in a thin line. He was kneeled in front of the toilet, where Micah was leaned over himself. One hand on Micah’s knee with his thumb rubbing back and forth.

He hissed at the next sting. It did nothing for his bitch of a headache.

The rumble did a number on him, he’ll admit it. He could hold his own fine — more than fine. And he did— but those football Socs could throw a hard punch. It made something rough boil in the pit of his stomach.

“Don’t care. You shouldn’t go out getting all hurt like this.”

It felt like a stab to his pride. He’s been doing this for seventeen years— yearly eighteen. He can handle himself. He don’t need taking care for.

“I fight, Charlie, that’s what I’ve always fucking done. I don’t need a babysitter,” He bit it out in quick barks. Everything felt red and hot.

“That’s not—”

“I’ve done this a million times alone—” He tried to swat the bottle out of Charlie‘s hand, but Charlie pulled away quick. It just made him madder. “And I don’t need someone to fucking lick my wounds for me.”

“That‘s not what I’m trying to do!” Charlie snapped back. Blood rushed in Micah’s ears. He could feel the anger on face through heat and the strain on his scraps. It burned

“It fucking feels like it,”

“I’m trying to help, okay?”

Micah couldn’t even process the sweep of desperation in Charlie’s tone before the dam burst.

“I don’t need help, damn it!” He was too loud, he was gonna wake the kids up. Fuck. “I’ve been out in Tulsa my whole damn life, and y'know who looked out for me? No one. I sure as hell don’t need someone to act like I’m some baby! You weren’t out there fighting with me so you can fuck off trying to help now!”

He knew he didn’t mean the words as soon as he said ‘em. Charlie didn’t need to fight in that rumble. He didn’t think he wanted him to. That night was ‘bout the bloodiest night that he’d seen in a long time. He gets why. Ponyboy and Johnny Cade’s face are still circling the papers every morning, calling for their arrests. Those Socs aren’t letting ‘em go for nothing.

He didn’t want Charlie caught up in that at all.

The blood in his ears and pounding in his head was so loud, Charlie had to squeeze his knees for Micah to realize he’d been talking.

His jaw was set hard and his eyes were so damn sure. But trying to get through a brick wall with words did nothing. Something inside of Micah ached. Was that all he was now?

“I ain’t a fighter, Micah,”

He swallowed hard. He hadn’t met what he said. “I don’t need you to be one, Char. You just—”

“No, look, I— I don’t get this fighting stuff. I wasn’t raised with it, I’ve never fought a fight like— like that shit in my life, okay? That’s not ever in the cards. I’m useless right now and seeing you all beat and bruised makes me feel sick or somethin’. I gotta…” He swallowed thickly and the frustration on his face broke into something raw. His breath trembled. “I gotta do something to help. I can’t fight and I care about you so—”

They both paused at the confession. Charlie’s brown eyes were wide and Micah was sure his were too.

What’s been going on between ‘em hasn’t necessarily been left unaddressed, but it’s been left unspoken. They both know. It’s obvious as hell to the both of ‘em. It hasn’t been spoken not because of fear, but survival.

“I know,” Micah whispered, almost a croak. Hope sparked to life in Charlie’s eyes. “I do, too, I…”

He didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t know what he could say without crossing some unspoken line.

Micah has only focused on the important things— his family and their survival. That’s the whole point of his fighting, his work, his life. He’s never wanted. Not like this. Not in such a selfish, indulgent way that feels like something stabbing through his heart.

Nothing else could be said from him.

Charlie smiled tentatively. There was something fragile in the air.

“Just let me do this.” He whispered. “For me. Seeing you like this all alone makes my heart feel like it was in that rumble, too.”

Charlie’s eyes practically pleaded with his resolve. He wanted to shut the door in his face and gasp through the pain and slip into bed next to his siblings and pretend like nothing hurt until he couldn’t anymore. He was used to being alone. What was one more night?

But another part, something so deeply pushed down, he barely even knew it was there— longed. For Charlie’s smile, his touch and soft hands on his face, his lips on his head, whispered words only the two of them knew. It was a terrible part of him but Charlie didn’t care.

So. Against all his seventeen years of fighting, Micah let his wall break down and he nodded.

“Thank you,” He croaked. He wasn’t going to cry, but the emotion was there all the same.

Charlie’s smile was gentle, so sure, so caring. He could tell Micah all the world would be fine and he’d believe him. He picked the bottle of alcohol up off the floor and raised a hand to Micah’s cheek.

His palm was soft. It just grazed against his face, but for once, Micah let himself lean into the touch until Charlie’s hand cupped his cheek. Charlie rubbed a thumb over his cheekbone. His dark eyes reflected the bathroom lights.

God, Charlie could break open Micah’s every defense and he doesn’t even know if he could put up a good fight.

“Thank you,” Charlie whispered back into Micah’s eyes. His lips parted— and he picked up the wash rag.

[myokk]

before it felt like a sin, ch. 1

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

word count: 3000

summary: Eloise never wanted to be different.

And yet, her differences are what have defined her life up until this point: growing up as a squib in one of the most prominent wizarding families, being exiled to muggle society, and then attending Hogwarts at the age of sixteen.

She finds herself thrust into the life she should have been prepared for from birth but was denied. As she navigates this new life and her new precarious position in her family, she must come to terms with the fact that maybe what she dreamed of her whole life isn't turning out how she ever expected it would.

a/n: Hi everyone!! I decided to post this here too...I'm slowly going through everything I've written so far, and I want to post each chapter here as I edit them. I'm hoping that this can be a way to a) get back in to writing more, and b) get better at my art as I make full illustrations for each chapter. Let me know what you think!! :)

There is nothing quite as horrible as being a muggle, Eloise thought savagely as she ripped out yet another stitch in the landscape she was embroidering. At least, it was supposed to be a landscape. Maybe with her head tilted to the left and with her eyes almost closed so everything blurred together, it might resemble one. She did just that, trying her hardest to make out some recognizable shape and blast the stupid practice of manually pushing colored thread through a fabric in some sort of -

“And what is this, Miss Babbit?”

Eloise jumped at the sound and looked up at the scowling face of her teacher, and then quickly back down at the tangled thread in her lap. Behind her, she could hear the hushed giggles of the other girls in her class.

“Oh! Er…it’s -”

“How long have you been here?” the woman interrupted.

“One hour…I just -”

“Don’t be smart with me. I mean, at this institute.”

“Five years.” Eloise glared down at her embroidery as if it had personally offended her. It wasn’t like she was actively trying to be bad at everything, but she had the distinct disadvantage - how had it ever come to be that she would be at a disadvantage to muggles? - of not having spent a lifetime being prepared for muggle society and all that it entailed. The last five years had been a monotonous, endless cycle of lessons designed to turn her into the perfect lady: French (a waste of time as Eloise was already fluent), embroidery (a waste of time as the things she embroidered weren’t actually useful), dancing (a waste of time as she was already engaged to be married - why would she bother trying to woo another silly man?), and her most dreaded class of all: etiquette. No matter how many years had been spent trying to assimilate into muggle culture, her thoughts still got muddled when she tried to remember the steps to a dance, or how to properly address the son of a duke.

Did it really matter, anyways, what the other girls thought? She had pretended her whole life to be the daughter she thought her parents had wanted - now she was simply pretending that she hadn’t been thrown into the muggle world without a second thought. What was a bit more pretending - that she didn’t care? That she hadn’t been tossed aside without a second thought?

“Exactly. Five years. And yet, you have shown no progress whatsoever. This -” a finger jabbed accusingly at the embroidery - “is absolutely horrendous. If your parents hadn’t continued to make such a sizeable donation every year, I would have deemed you a lost cause and sent you packing when you first arrived. How your family ever managed your betrothal to the son of an earl is beyond me.”

Eloise grimaced at the mention of her fiance as her teacher clapped her hands together to get the attention of the class - a wholly unnecessary action due to the fact that it was already being given. “Class is dismissed. Please collect your belongings and put them in the correct place. Remember, as future wives and mothers, you must be organized in all aspects of your life. Many of you will be managing important households and the slightest misstep -“ a slight glance to Eloise out of the corner of her eye - “can cause the biggest of scandals.”

Eloise raced to gather her things and leave the classroom before everyone else. No matter how many years had been spent at the school, she couldn’t help but hate sitting through the classes amongst the judgmental stares and snide remarks. Although things had started out shaky at the finishing school - to be expected, really, when you’ve grown up in wizarding society and then are then forced to live as a muggle - it still stung that after all these years, she still hadn’t found a friendly face. She was treated as if she were a pariah: it was as if the other girls just knew that something was different about her. But…wasn’t that the great irony of it all? She wasn’t different than them. She was a filthy squib.

When she first arrived at the school, she was an anomaly. A twelve-year-old girl who didn’t know how to play the piano or who the queen was. It was clear to everyone that Eloise wasn’t the charity case of the school - her parents were obviously quite wealthy - and yet they seemingly wanted nothing to do with her. Whereas the others got regular letters and visits from their family, it was as if Eloise were an orphan. Nothing new to her of course, but to her peers this otherness aided them in her ostracization.

Upon entering her room, she was abruptly pulled out of her thoughts. Something wasn’t right. Everything seemed the same: a twin bed perfectly made opposite a small wardrobe, a plain wooden desk placed between them. The weak afternoon sunlight shone through the window, illuminating her desk. But…there.

That…

Placed on her bed, resting on the pillow, was a letter.

She never received letters.

Eloise shoved her embroidery under her bed and hungrily grabbed at it, pausing when she saw the address. Miss E. Babbit. The Third Bedroom on the Left… It seemed vaguely familiar to her in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

As she read the letter, though, it became apparent to her exactly why this was. Although not exactly the same as the one her brother had received six years earlier, it quickly became apparent that this was a Hogwarts letter. For her. For Miss E. Babbit.

Hands shaking, she set the letter down on her desk and sat on the edge of her bed. She smoothed her hands over her skirt over and over, taking comfort in the familiar softness as she tried to even her breathing.

How was this possible? She had all but accepted the fact that she was a squib. The shame of her family, a dirty secret to be hidden away and never talked about or mentioned again. Her parents had suspected as much by the time she had turned seven without any signs of magic whatsoever manifesting around her - not even a basic transformation of brussel sprouts to sweets during dinner. It was ultimately confirmed, however, when her own Hogwarts acceptance letter never arrived. She had spent the whole year before her banishment daydreaming about her life at Hogwarts, still optimistic that there could be something magical inside of her. Her brother, Leo, came home every holiday with wonderful stories of his new friends and teachers, and the subjects he was learning at school. Even back then, at twelve years old, Eloise hadn’t been sure if he was actually hopeful she wasn’t a squib, or if he had been trying to prolong the fantasy for her before it all came crashing down.

Although she had had five years to come to terms with her new life, there was still a small part of her that hoped. A small “what if…”. She had tried time and time again to squash that tiny ray of optimism that would escape every so often, tried so very hard to cultivate a hard exterior that wouldn’t let any sort of vulnerability shine through. And that optimism was a vulnerability, after all. It was that vulnerability that had made it absolutely impossible for her to fit in the muggle world, and made it so that she didn’t really want to try.

Five years to come to terms with the fact that she needed a new purpose for her life and…

…not anymore?

Eloise grabbed the letter and greedily read through it again, drinking in all of the words. She paused at the end, thinking. Was this a forgery? Some sort of awful joke orchestrated by her brother? Leo had never been cruel to her in the past; in fact, he was the one who always encouraged her and was the most probable source of the small optimism that remained within her. However, she had no way of knowing how he had changed since she had last seen him. It had been, after all, five very long years. And not once had she heard from him, even though he had promised her through huge sobbing gulps that he would never abandon her. Maybe their parents had slowly poisoned him against her. It would be right on the nose for them, after all.

Looking at the envelope again, however…Third Bedroom on the Left…no. It was too specific. Nobody in her previous life had any reason to even want to contact her again, and nobody in her current life even knew what Hogwarts was, let alone have the ability to convincingly forge a letter just to have some fun at her expense.

A light, bubbly feeling began to spread throughout her body as it sunk in that this was real. She was going to Hogwarts. Soon, a - squinting at the letter again - a Professor Fig would be contacting her and giving her things to study. A huge grin slowly spread across her face and she hugged the letter to her chest as she fell back on her bed. She read through it again. Was it the fifth time already? It felt as though no amount of times rereading the letter would ever be enough.

Eloise got up and walked over to look at the calendar on her desk. She was surprised to see that September 1st was in only two days. The days at the finishing school moved in such a strange, sluggish way. They all felt the same. Monotonous. French and Latin and embroidery and household management and Merlin even knows what else all blending into each other in an endless parade of dusty classrooms and gossip and boredom.

The light feeling left her in an instant as, after years of practice, the optimism was squashed back down. But how will you even get to London? And, her brain added sneakily, you haven’t even shown any signs of magic. Maybe you’ll just be returned back here after they realize their mistake.

No, she thought fiercely, gripping the letter. Until -

A tapping came from the window. A tentative smile returned at the sight of a tawny brown owl with another envelope in its beak. She ripped it open as soon as it was in her hands (again addressed to Miss E. Babbit) and along with the letter a small, purple pouch fell out of the envelope and onto her bed.

Miss Eloise Babbit,

I am pleased to be the wizard charged with such an important task as escorting you to Hogwarts in two days’ time. It is something extraordinary to be accepted in your fifth-year, and as such, I expect extraordinary things from you. I have enclosed a small pouch along with this envelope, and in it are some items that will be vital to you in the upcoming days. I have included books for you to study at your leisure, and a small gobstone that will bring you to our rendezvous point in London. All you have to do is touch it at noon on the 1st and you will be transported instantly.

Your family has not been informed of your acceptance. I am sure you understand why - at this, Eloise scoffed quietly to herself - which is why I will personally be your escort.

I am looking forward to meeting you and bringing you to the sorting ceremony in two days’ time.

Yours,

Eleazar Fig

The handwriting was tiny and spidery and cramped, but it didn’t stop Eloise from reading it with the same vigor as the previous letter and as many times. Finally, she turned to the small pouch that had fallen onto her bed when she opened the second envelope. It must have had an invisible extension charm, because it was filled to the brim with books on basic spellwork and general wizarding history. Professor Fig had no way of knowing, but Eloise had already read many of these books and many more during the year her brother had started Hogwarts, as she had needed to know absolutely everything about what would be awaiting her. A few years may have passed since she had stepped foot in her family’s library, but she couldn’t get the books or their contents out of her brain even if she had wanted to. She had really wanted to forget everything she knew about the magical world when it was confirmed she was a squib but it was a futile effort. As she zoned out during her piano lessons, she would find herself mentally going through the movements to cast different charms.

It was painful to be thinking about things from the life that had been ripped away from her, to know that what she was thinking about would never come to pass, that she would never be able to wield magic - and yet she couldn’t find herself able to stop.

As Eloise picked out one of the books and settled into her armchair, a steely resolve overcame her.

She would prove that she deserved to be there, and was just as capable as any of they were. She would make her parents regret ever discarding her like she was nothing.

She was worthy. She was capable. And she would prove it.

The morning of September 1st dawned cold and rainy. Absolutely perfect.

Eloise had pretended to be sick the night before, and no one had suspected a thing when she stayed in bed long after all of the other girls had gotten ready and headed to breakfast. As the last of the chattering faded away down the hallway, Eloise finally got out of bed and prepared herself for the day. It was difficult to sit still long enough to braid her hair. Her fingers wouldn’t stop trembling and she had to restart countless times. Finally, she tied the black ribbon at the end into a neat bow and turned to the drawer of her desk to retrieve the small purple pouch she had hidden away.

Everything she deemed important enough to come along with her had already been placed inside: the books from Professor Fig, the hair ribbons gifted to her by her brother many years ago, and some clothing. Nothing else was coming with. She needed the fresh start. Besides, anything else she might need would be supplied, as her acceptance letter had specifically stated that any school supplies would be provided to her.

Waiting the hours before noon came along proved to be more difficult than Eloise had imagined. Time seemed to be moving slower than the molasses that had come with the breakfast sent up to her, the steady patter of the rain becoming a sort of metronome keeping time as she paced back and forth. Wasn’t there anything that could distract her, even for a bit? She glanced at the clock. Only five minutes had passed since the last time. 10.35.

The second hand ticking away in tandem with the sound of rain splashing against her window.

What if this was all a trick? What if she arrived at Hogwarts, and they turned her away because they realized they had made a mistake? After all, why would they admit a sixteen-year-old? Surely she was too old; every other student had started Hogwarts at the age of twelve and had shown signs of magic much earlier than that. She still hadn’t shown any signs of magical capability whatsoever, and didn’t feel any different than she had before receiving the letter. It had to be a fluke.

As her thoughts started veering into the melancholy she was prone to, she shook her head. No. Today was a happy, exciting day. She wasn’t going to squash the optimism down today, not when she needed it most. All of these thoughts she was having were simply that: thoughts. Not reality. Hogwarts never made a mistake, and in all of the history books she had read, she couldn’t recall an instance of someone being turned away at the door. Granted, she had also never heard of someone being admitted so late. But, better to focus on what she did know, which was that she had gotten the letter. It must be right in its assumption that she had magic.

Trying to pass the time was easier said than done. She ended up quizzing herself on all of the charms she had memorized in the books sent by Professor Fig, moving an imaginary wand in the precise movements needed to successfully cast and focusing on her pronunciation. She had studied all of these forms late into both nights she had had the books, and when she would eventually close her eyes to sleep, the wand movements were all she saw.

Eloise was determined that she would receive pity from nobody. Nobody was going to look at her like she was lacking. She had gotten enough of that to last a lifetime, and now that she was given this opportunity she wasn’t about to waste it.

When noon finally struck, Eloise was ready and waiting. She eagerly grabbed the gobstone that was sitting on her desk and felt the familiar tugging sensation in her navel as she was whisked away to London and the beginning of her new life.

next chapter

[normshortfornormal]

Steb x OC

"Firefish"

Steb x fem!OC (Vastaya) 

Summary: Steb and Eiden, childhood friends turned lovers, serendipitously run into each other in Piltover after many years of having not seen each other. They decide to commemorate their reunion with a night of pleasure. 

Word Count: 5594 

Tags and Warnings: Explicit, Smut, Oral Sex, Aftercare, Alcohol, slight animal biology, they are in love, steb is such a romantic during sex, established relationship, established relationship and OC lore that isn’t all revealed in this one piece, NOT EDITED, Steb was born in Ionia and is not native to Piltover or Zaun, Steb and OC travelled around Runeterra before Piltover (but not always travelling together)

This is my first time writing smut! Please be kind. This is meant to be the first chapter of a series, so there’s a lot of information and lore that has yet to be revealed. I plan to post this on Ao3 once I have more written for it and once it’s more revised! Please enjoy, and thank you so much for reading!

(yes this is a repost bc tumblr hates whimsy and love)

Read below the cut!

Eiden decided to go to a different bar today. One where the wine was cheap and the music was quieter. Here, in this modest bar where everyone seemed to be friends and knew each other on a first name basis, the bass wasn’t so heavy that it made her feathers feel like they were going to fall off. 

Sitting further in the bar was a stage hosting karaoke night. There was a pretty pair who were singing quite a horrible rendition of a popular love song. The girl was really carrying the whole song, she could actually sing and had a nice voice. The boy accompanied with harmonies that were somehow too sharp and too flat at the same time. Eiden watched from the bar that sat near the entrance, legs crossed and swirling a glass of red wine the same color as her dress. When the pair finished, everyone clapped and whistled, and the woman in charge of the music congratulated them for a sparkling performance. Eiden clapped along, too, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically, but she could blame the wine for that. 

She downed her glass and beckoned for another one. 

“Must’ve been a pretty tough week, huh?” The bartender grinned as he poured her another one. 

“Quite the opposite, in fact. Thank you.” Eiden took the glass and sipped it. “Tonight calls for celebration.”

“Oh? And what’s the occasion?” 

“Celebration, of course. Celebrating for celebration’s sake—makes life a little livelier.” 

The bartender chuckled. “Here’s to life, then.” He went off to help another customer, leaving Eiden to bounce her foot to the beat and watch the flow of people. Standing on the stage now was a man doing mumble rap. Despite the poor choice of music, people were dancing anyway. Eiden was tempted to join them, but she was quite comfortable where she was. She had a perfect view of the bar and all its activities. 

There was a group of people who were playing foosball. There was only one woman amongst them. Every time someone scored a point, the loser had to take a shot and shuffle off for the next person. The reigning champion was a very pretty boy whom she’d been trying to catch the attention of since she laid eyes on him. Perhaps if he wasn’t so focused on the game, he would have spotted her by now, but alas, Eiden was left to sit at the bar, sipping wine and lamenting the lack of attention.

Others had noticed her—she was a new face in a bar that seemed intimately acquainted with their regulars—but they were not him, so she didn’t care. 

She was on her fifth glass when he finally noticed her. He had lost to the woman—a young girl with short orange hair—and was forced to take a shot. He wiped his mouth and crossed his arms over his chest, grinning as the woman decimated her opponent, when one of the drunker men elbowed him and pointed her out. His eyes flicked over the bar and did a double-take when he saw her.

Eiden couldn’t help it. Her lips curved into a coy smile. She winked at him before turning away and sipping her wine. From where she sat and where he stood, he had a perfect view of her back, generously revealed by the backless dress she wore. He could see her feathers peeking from just above her tailbone, she knew. 

She could hear his friends egging him on, encouraging to go say hello to her. She did not look in his direction, not even when his shadow graced the wooden countertop. 

“Eiden.” 

She loved the way he said her name. It made her wings ruffle and the tiny feathers on her cheeks twitch. More than that, it was refreshing to hear the familiar Vastayan dialect she had grown up with. She turned her head to face him. She did a very slow once-over of him, paying extra attention to his legs and chest and the blush on his face. 

“How do you know my name, stranger?” she asked with round eyes and fluttering lashes. 

“Just a feeling,” he said, looking equal parts exasperated and amused. “May I sit?”

“You may.”

He took his seat and Eiden eyed his friends in the back, all watching with unabashed eagerness. He leaned to the side, obstructing her view with his pretty face. 

“Don’t be jealous, Steb,” Eiden teased. She swiveled in her seat so her body was towards him. “No one catches my eye like you do.”

He smiled and rolled his eyes. His gaze lingered on her lips, colored deep red with lipstick, and her plunging neckline that teased her stomach. Then he looked at her fingers, and that was what made his frills flicker across his cheeks. 

“You’re adorable,” she said. Her fingers teased his knuckles, and he cleared his throat. 

“I wasn’t aware you were in Piltover.”

“What a coincidence then, hm? Guess we’re fated to meet again and again.” Eiden smiled when Steb intertwined his fingers with her own. “So? What brings you here? To this bar, I mean.”

“A celebration. I passed my Enforcer exam.”

“Oho, congratulations. And I suppose those are…?”

“Colleagues that passed with me.”

Eiden hummed. “Have you had anything to drink? Apart from the one shot you had. Shame your winning streak had to come to an end.” Steb’s friends were playing without him, but they were watching the interaction at the bar, so they weren’t very focused. 

“Not much.” Steb raised an eyebrow when Eiden pushed her half-full glass towards him with her finger. Clearly, he was not impressed by the cheap wine. 

“Don’t act so high and mighty,” Eiden said. “Don’t you remember Bilgewater?”

Steb may have shaken his head and sighed, but he was wearing a smile and his eyes were soft under the low light of the bar. He finished Eiden’s glass. 

Eiden called for two more drinks so they could celebrate Steb’s new place on the Enforcer team. She asked for gin, flashing Steb a knowing wink. They have known each other for too long for her to forget what his choice drink is. 

They clinked their glasses together and downed the drink in celebration. Then Steb asked the bartender for water and nudged the glass to Eiden. She humored him, only because it was Steb and it had been so long since they’d seen each other. 

They caught up on old times. Eiden traced his fingers and nudged his leg with her heels, while Steb admired her wine-red dress and the way it rode up her thigh. When the music turned soft and jazzy, Steb invited her for a dance, offering his hand and bowing because he’s a gentleman. 

Eiden obliged him. Together, they headed to the dance floor. Steb twirled and spun her slowly, let her step on his feet and rested his hand on the small of her back in a way that was all too comfortable and familiar. He smiled as she laughed, and went willingly when she pulled him towards her. She spun twice and ended with her back against his chest, his arms wrapped around her midsection. Eiden let her eyes drift shut as she lost herself in the music and the comfortable embrace. Like this, they swayed together. 

Eiden didn’t realize they had danced for three songs until Steb’s friends rudely interrupted them. Some were more sober than others, but they were all at least a little tipsy. They crowded Steb’s space, oblivious to how his shoulders grew rigid and he shuffled away.

“He’s a gentleman,” they said, “a real nice guy. A little quiet, but he’ll treat you right.”

The only one who was respectful was the woman, who smiled at Eiden. She did not crowd their space and actually asked for Eiden’s name. She complimented her dress, so Eiden complimented her foosball skills. 

The men were both human and men and didn’t notice how her wings and feathered ears kept twitching. Eiden suspected that even if they did notice, they wouldn’t care. It took both Steb wrapping an arm around Eiden’s waist and fixing them with a look, and the woman telling the men they should leave for everyone to finally clear off. They winked at them and flashed them knowing looks as they left the bar.

“Have a good time, you two!”

Eiden huffed, the feathers on her ears flaring a bit. “I see why you call them colleagues now,” she said. 

Steb smiled apologetically and rubbed her arm. “Maddie’s nice.”

“Is that her name? She was the most pleasant of all of them. Are you two actually friends?”

He nodded. Then he held out his hand with a small smile, inviting her for one more dance. 

“How can I say no to you?” she smiled.

The dance was too short for Eiden’s liking, but her heels were pinching her feet and her soles were sore. Steb offered to walk her home, so Eiden accepted his arm and they made the slow journey back to Eiden’s apartment. Part way through the walk, Eiden took off her heels so she could walk freely. Her feet were that of a bird’s. Had she been more sober, she would have perched on Steb’s shoulder or arm, just like they had in the past, but she liked holding onto his arm and leaning on his bicep. He offered to hold her shoes, and let them dangle from his fingers as they walked down the cobbled streets, dimly lit by the lanterns on the street. 

Steb walked Eiden all the way to the door of her apartment. They stopped in front of her door and turned to each other. The way he looked at her actually made her shy. Her feathered ears ruffled and came down over her cheeks. 

“Will you stay?” Eiden murmured, hiding behind her feathers. Steb shrugged. He lowered his head and moved her feathers out of her face. His touch was so tender as he traced her cheek, brushing just below the tiny feathers on her cheeks. He had the gentlest smile on his face. “I’m glad to see you again, too,” she said. 

He entered Eiden’s apartment with her. The door clicked shut behind them and Eiden flicked on the lights. Steb placed Eiden’s shoes in the mess of shoes by the door, shooting her a chastising look as he did. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Eiden said. She sighed and stretched her arms into the air. She grinned at the way his eyes lingered on her back and wings before quickly darting away. “It’s not messy, it’s just organized my way.”

It was a nice apartment. Not nearly as nice as the more expensive apartments in the upper crust of the city, but still nice nonetheless. She had a nice kitchen that still had dirty dishes in the sink and a living room with a couch so plush it welcomed her body with a sigh. The apartment had two bedrooms and two bathrooms. It was just her in the apartment, but she liked the extra space. 

Steb brought her a glass of water while Eiden laid on the couch. Then, to Eiden’s amusement and endearment, he headed to the sink and started washing her dishes. Eiden watched him as she sipped her water.

How many years had it been since they’d seen each other? Twenty? Fifty? The years all blurred together after a while, but seeing him filled a hole in her she hadn’t even realized was there. No matter how many times it happened, she was always surprised by the way he completed her. 

She finished her water and went to the bathroom. Then she came up behind him and wrapped her arms around him. She sighed and toyed with the buttons of his shirt. 

“How long will you be in Piltover for?” Eiden asked.

Steb shrugged. “What about you?”

Eiden hummed. “However long feels right. If you’re here, I might stay a little longer.” She was untucking his shirt now, but Steb was focused on the dishes. Eiden pouted. “If I wanted you to do my dishes, I would’ve asked you over during the day.”

Steb put the dishes down, wiped his hands with a towel tossed haphazardly on the countertop, and turned around. His smile was amused and exasperated. 

“I have a morning shift tomorrow,” he murmured, tucking her hair behind her ear.  

“We’ll make it quick, I promise.”

He shook his head and cupped her jaw. The tips of his fingers brushed the hair at the back of her head. He leaned in, his smile growing when Eiden stood on her tiptoes to catch his lips. He pulled away, smiling at Eiden’s pout. He ran his thumb across her cheek and rested his forehead against hers.

“Don’t lie.” 

Eiden smiled into the kiss. Still on her tiptoes, she draped her arms over his shoulders, carding her fingers through his hair while she traced the ridge on his neck. He shuddered at her touch, his breath hitching as she drew her finger up and down the ridge. Steb cradled her face as he kissed her slow and deep. His lips curved into a smile as Eiden tucked his shirt and popped the buttons. 

Eiden chased his lips when Steb pulled away again. He shushed and soothed her, pressing featherlight kisses to her cheeks. His hands trailed to her thighs.

“May I?” he murmured. 

“Please.”

His grip was firm on the back of her thighs. Eiden gasped when he hoisted her up with ease, and placed her on the island behind her. Whatever Eiden wanted to say was swallowed up by Steb when he kissed her again.

His kisses were always so deep and intense, like he was worshipping her mouth with his soft lips and tongue. He swallowed every whimper Eiden made and dug his fingers into her thigh when she sucked on his tongue. He slid her dress further up her thigh and groaned against her lips when she pulled at his hair. He hardly gave her a moment to breathe, kissing her until she was trembling and had to tilt her head away to catch her breath. 

Steb dragged his lips to her jaw and down her throat, mouthing at her shoulder and back up to her throat. Eiden slid his shirt off his body until it hit the floor. She pressed down on the ridge that trailed from his tailbone to the top of his neck, and Steb moaned into her skin. His hands roamed to her back, climbing up her skin until he traced the sensitive part of where her wings sprouted from her back. He rubbed underneath her wing and Eiden jolted, gasping and gripping his biceps. 

“Mean,” she breathed. She felt Steb smile against her throat. He kissed back up to her mouth, pressing a sweet, chaste kiss to her lips before pulling back to stare at her.

His pupils were blown and his lips were wet and swollen. Her lipstick was smeared all over him, coloring his lips with a dark red tint. One of his teeth was stained too. Steb raised an eyebrow, ran his tongue across his teeth and cleaned the lipstick away. He dragged his thumb below his lip, slow and tantalizing as he stared at Eiden, and sucked away the lipstick he had smudged on his thumb.

“Open,” he whispered, and Eiden obeyed without a second thought. She opened her mouth and Steb slid his thumb in, watching with rapt attention as Eiden sucked on him, swirled her tongue around him while looking up at him through her long eyelashes. He pressed down on her tongue and his breath hitched when her eyes fluttered. He drew his thumb out and Eiden pressed a kiss to the tip, smiling when he smeared her own saliva across her bottom lip.

Eiden cradled his face, resting her forehead against his. He held her waist, and when they kissed again, he pulled her forward until she was sitting at the very edge of the counter, pressed flush against his torso. He nudged her fingers up to the frills below his eyes. She dragged her thumb across them, and delighted in the way he moaned into her mouth. His lips drifted to her jaw and down to her throat. He mouthed at her pulsepoint and teased under her wing until Eiden was trembling beneath him. She breathed his name and ran her fingers across the frills on his chest and sides, delighting in the way he hissed her name.

“Can I mark you?” Steb murmured against her throat, voice thick and wrought with arousal. He pressed light butterfly kisses to her skin, looking up at her with big eyes. 

“Please…” 

Eiden’s lashes fluttered against her cheeks as Steb sucked a pretty mark onto her neck. He ran his tongue over it and dragged his lips back to hers. His hand had trailed so far up her thigh that he was holding her ass now. He squeezed, digging his fingers into her flesh before touching her tail feathers. She jolted against him, the sensation heading straight to her core. It was difficult to breathe as he played with her. She buried her face into the crook of his neck as her body twisted and twitched, unsure if it wanted more or to get away from his touch. 

“Where’s your bedroom?” he whispered into her ear. 

“That one.” Eiden pointed to the door across the room. In a smooth motion, Steb swept her into his arms, holding her like a bride as he headed towards her room. Eiden laughed, her hands falling naturally onto his shoulders. “Such a prince.” 

Steb smiled and kissed her cheek. He placed her on her bed so gently, making sure her head rested comfortably on the pillows, like she really was his princess. 

The bed creaked with his weight as he crawled up her body. He pressed a sweet kiss to her lips, then her cheek and to her jaw, down her neck and to her shoulder. 

“I like this dress,” he murmured, slipping the thin strap off her shoulder. 

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” His hands roamed her body, searching for the zipper. Eiden helped guide him to the back of her dress. 

“Then I’ll wear it more for you,” Eiden whispered, arching her back so Steb could unzip her dress. 

“Just for me?”

Eiden’s breathy laugh melted into a sigh once Steb started planting kisses all over her exposed skin. “Don’t want anyone else seeing me in that dress, huh?”

Steb shook his head and slid the fabric off her body. “Tonight was enough.” He kissed her shoulder and then trailed his lips down to her chest. They locked eyes as Steb took her nipple into his mouth and swirled his tongue around the bud. Eiden’s sigh was blissful. Her eyes fluttered shut and she carded her fingers through his hair. 

He flicked her nipple with his tongue and pulled at the other one with his hand. Eiden’s breathing grew more ragged, her body hotter beneath him as she arched her back, pressing her chest further into his mouth. She whispered his name like it was a secret just for the two of them. 

Steb kissed down her body, taking his time to mark her skin while Eiden whined for him to hurry up. Steb looked up at her when she said his name, and smiled at the look on her face. He took her hand into his own and pressed gentle kisses all across her knuckles. Then he kissed her stomach, slow and sweet, and caressed her hip while staring at her with his pretty eyes. 

Eiden’s lip quivered. She turned her head to the side, burying her face into the pillow. “You make me feel like it’s the first time.”

Steb chuckled against her skin and held her hand in his own as he drifted down, down until she could feel his breath against her clothed cunt. Her legs were trembling as she spread them. He pressed a soft kiss to her panties and looked up at her. She nodded, gripping his hand like a lifeline even though this was far from their first time ever having sex, but the way he looked at her, the way he kissed her body so reverently, brought back old shyness. 

He kissed the inside of her thighs, licking and leaving his own private marks that only he would see. The way he kissed her, sucked marks into her skin while running his thumb across her fingers made her thighs tremble. 

When he finally started to kiss her panties, Eiden breathed out a blissful thank you. He made out with her cunt through her panties, ignoring her pleas to take them off because he liked to hear how needy she got. When she was all but choking please and Steb and I want more, he generously pulled her panties to the side. He held them to the side with his thumb. He blew a light puff of air against her clit and the sensation made her flinch. 

“Don’t tease,” Eiden whispered. 

Steb breathed a laugh against her core. He pulled his hand from hers, leaving Eiden to grip the sheets as he used his hand to spread Eiden’s lips apart and lick a fat stripe from her ass to her clit. Eiden gasped, hips rocking against his face. He held her open, his long tongue diving into her entrance and pressing against her walls. Her slick coated his tongue and when he moaned, mouth pressed flush against her, the vibrations went straight to her pussy. Her body twitched each time his lips brushed against her clit as his tongue squirmed inside of her. When the hand holding her open moved up to her clit, fingers circling around it, Eiden’s hips lifted off the bed. 

His thumb flicked her clit in quick motions. Eiden whined, high and needy as her head fell back onto the pillows, chest heaving as Steb ate her out like it was his last meal. He circled her clit, wringing out all sorts of noises from Eiden until all she could do was stammer his name and grip his hair, rocking her hips against his face. He moaned against her pussy, tongue deep inside of her as he circled her clit, and the combined pressure and pleasure had tears building at the edges of Eiden’s eyes. 

She rode his face, rolling her hips until she came with a gasp and a shudder, choking on Steb’s name as he continued to flick and roll her clit beneath his thumb. She gripped his hair, back arched and toes curled as he worked her through her orgasm. When it became too much, her thighs squeezed over his head and she tried to push him away. She whined when Steb finally slid his tongue out of her, leaving her pussy to pulse and squeeze on nothing. Her back was still arched when he pressed a soft, tender kiss to her clit and slid her panties back over her pussy. 

Her eyes fluttered shut, just starting to come down from her high when she felt Steb pull back her panties and release it with a loud snap. Eiden yelped, her clit stinging. She finally looked up at Steb, and he was looking at her with such ravenous lust that her stomach swooped. 

Steb removed her panties in a quick motion, tossing them onto the floor before lowering his head between her legs again. 

“Wh-what are you— oh!” Eiden’s head fell back, legs closing over Steb’s head as he licked her cunt again, swallowing up the slick and cum straight from her pussy. With one hand, he held a firm grip on her waist to keep her on the bed as his lips latched onto her clit. He sucked and flicked his tongue over her clit in rapid motions, drinking her shrieks and moans like he did the slick gushing from her pussy. With his other hand, he slipped two fingers easily into her entrance, giving her something to squeeze on while he sucked and licked at her clit. 

He fingered her as his lips stayed latched onto her clit. She barely felt it when he added another finger, all pressed in to the knuckle. Steb never let up even for a second, his tongue rapidly flicking her clit as he fucked her on his fingers. His grip on her hip was too firm for her to squirm away, even as she writhed in place. 

“S-Steb, Steb, it’s too much, please— please, I—!” Eiden gasped, keening between her teeth as Steb curled his fingers. The heat coiling in her gut was coming to a head. Tears were leaking out of her eyes now, overwhelmed as Steb continued to abuse her clit with his tongue and curl his long fingers inside her.

“C’mon, give me one more,” he muttered against her clit. “One more, you can do it.”

“I-I can’t, it–it’s too much, I can’t— I— Steb! Oh, fuck!” She squeezed her thighs tight over his head, words cutting off in a shriek as she came again. Her vision whited out, back arching as her legs and hips spasmed. Steb moaned against her cunt, drinking the cum straight from her pussy as she rode his face and tongue. From above the mound of her pussy, Eiden saw Steb’s eyes roll back into his head as she came all over his face.

He worked her through it until Eiden begged him to stop. He finally pushed himself up and crawled over Eiden’s body until his face was hovering above hers. His face was debauched. The lower half of his face was soaked, dripping with slick and cum. He had a pretty blue blush on his cheeks and he was panting, pupils blown and frills flaring.

He cupped her face, cradling her cheek with such tenderness that Eiden couldn’t help but melt into his hand. Steb leaned down and pressed a sweet, slow kiss to her lips. He slipped his tongue into her mouth, sliding it all the way to the back of her throat. Steb shuddered when Eiden choked and gagged on his tongue. 

Steb leaned back. He rolled her nipples between his fingers as he asked, “do you still want more?”

“Yes, please,” Eiden whispered. “I want all of you.”

Steb smiled and unbuckled his belt. “So greedy,” he whispered, and Eiden swallowed. “You’re insatiable.”

He tossed his pants aside. There was a dark spot on his boxers, where the tip had spilled precum and stained the fabric. He stripped off his boxers and dropped them on the floor. The gills on his pelvis, fluttering with arousal, had opened to reveal his pretty dick. It was a pretty blue color, the tip purple and leaking with arousal, with frills and ridges on it. 

Steb traced her legs, looking at her with a questioning look. Eiden nodded. It had been so long since they’d seen each other, since they basked in each other’s warmth and love, that Eiden didn’t want to do anything but missionary.

Steb grabbed her legs and spread them apart, resting her ankles on his shoulders. He stroked his dick a few times to spread the precum, and then he was lining up at her entrance. Her pussy throbbed when he brushed against her. He rubbed his dick up and down her dripping folds, and then he was pushing in.

Eiden was so wet and loose from her previous orgasms that Steb was able to push in with ease. He groaned, leaning over her body and burying his face into her neck. Instinctively, she threw one arm over his shoulder and tangled her other hand into his hair. They moaned in tandem when Steb bottomed out, her pussy throbbing and squeezing around him. He was panting heavy against her neck, mouthing at her skin and rolling his hips like he was trying to get even deeper. 

“So good,” Eiden whispered, pressing featherlight kisses to his ears. He shuddered and whimpered against her skin. “Always so good for me.”

“Eiden,” he whispered. Steb rolled his hips, eyes and frills fluttering as he savored the feeling of her pussy. He rested his forehead against hers, a pretty divot between his eyebrows, and kissed her as he made love to her. Every rock of his hips was slow and reverent, like the way he kissed her. He smoothed the feathers on her ears and peppered her feathered cheeks with butterfly kisses. 

They made out as they slowly fucked. Steb whimpered with each movement of his hips, his movements growing stronger and faster. It didn’t take long for Steb to lean his forehead against Eiden’s, moaning and whimpering as he snapped his hips hard and fast, hitting the deepest parts of Eiden’s pussy and carving it open with the ridges of his dick. Eiden felt like her pussy was on fire. Each snap of his hips left her clit throbbing and walls squeezing around him.

“So beautiful,” Steb whispered, his breathing heavy and thrusts growing erratic. “So gorgeous.”

He fucked her until her legs were trembling, toes curling as they slotted their lips together in a sloppy rendition of a kiss. Their kiss was more shared moans and sliding tongues than a real kiss, but it had Eiden clawing marks into Steb’s back anyway. He held her face with one hand, cradling her so tenderly, so gently, as his hand slid down to her swollen clit. Eiden shrieked when he started flicking and rolling it beneath his finger. She writhed in place, but Steb kept her body down with his shoulders pressed into her knees. 

“Feels so good,” he murmured against her lips, drinking in her moans and sobs. The combined pleasure of Steb fucking her while he circled her swollen clit had Eiden crying, gripping Steb like he was her last lifeline. “You’re perfect.”

Eiden’s orgasm rushed through her, sudden and electric, lighting her entire body on fire as her back arched, eyes rolling back in her head and mouth open in a silent scream. Her nails dug into Steb’s skin, her body trembling beneath his as he fucked her through her third orgasm. It was too much. Her entire body felt oversensitive, tingling with the sensation and pleasure of her third release. 

Steb moaned against her skin, whispering about how beautiful she was and how good she felt. He rolled his hips deep into her throbbing pussy, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own orgasm. When he finally came, it was so deep that Eiden swore she could feel it in her stomach. He moaned, frills fluttering euphorically against his cheek as he filled her with so much cum that she could feel it leak out of her and onto the sheets. 

Steb cooed at her, kissing her tears away as he worked himself through his orgasm. Then captured Eiden’s lips in a deep kiss that carried the high for just a little longer. Steb sighed blissfully against her lips. When they pulled away, Steb sprinkled light kisses all over her face; on her forehead, her temples, her cheeks and the corner of her mouth. His hands rubbed her body, soothing her skin. They both groaned when he finally pulled out, and all the cum he pumped into her came spilling out onto the sheets. 

Her body felt like jello. Tingling and weak, her nerves were spent. She didn’t have the energy to speak, so when Steb looked at her with a worried expression, she smiled and signed to him, don’t be sorry. I’m alright.

He stood up, and Eiden watched as he headed to the bathroom connected to the room. He returned with a towel, and he wiped up the pool of cum that had spilled out of Eiden. He set that towel aside, and then went back into the bathroom. This time, he returned with a cloth soaked with warm water. Gently, he ran the cloth across Eiden’s legs, cleaning the mess and warming her body. 

She giggled when he pressed a soft kiss to her temple. 

I’ll get you some water, he signed. Eiden nodded, and he disappeared into the main room. He was quick to return with two glasses of water. He placed them both on the nightstand, and helped Eiden sit up. He rearranged the pillows to make sure she was comfortable, and then sat beside her. He handed her the glass of water, and Eiden downed it. 

She sighed and leaned on his shoulder. Steb sipped at his water, entwining his fingers with hers. Eiden’s energy was slowly coming back to her. 

“I’ve missed you,” she murmured, her voice a little hoarse.

Steb smiled and brought her hand up to his mouth. He placed a soft kiss on her palm, his gaze so tender and adoring. He kissed down her arm and then back up to her palm, smiling at the way Eiden giggled. 

He finished his water and placed both their glasses back on the nightstand. 

Let me massage you, he signed. You’ll be sore in the morning. Eiden smiled, amused and endeared. 

“After cuddles.”

Steb’s smile was just as amused. You never change. Still, he obliged her and settled next to her, pulling Eiden close to his chest. He pressed kisses to her hair, trailing his fingers up and down her back and smoothing the feathers on her wings. Eiden sighed in his embrace, letting herself relax in his arms. 

How she had missed his warmth.

[hiyogdh]

some svsss oc scribbles to start a new sketchbook

[kris-mage-fics]

Wintersun

A short Shepherds of Haven fic that takes place on Wintersun. Some vague spoilers for Chapter 4 and Blade's 5th day off in the Alpha build. Also there's a reference to this bit of a fic I haven't finished, but it's not necessary to understand what's going on.

| Ao3 | rated G | 628 words | Blade/Kyrahlise | under the cut for very light spoilers mentioned above |

"Happy Wintersun," Kyrahlise said as she handed Blade a slim package not much larger than her hand. Neither of them acknowledged the momentary brush of their fingertips.

The gift was neatly wrapped in paper she'd painted with winter berries and small swirls of gold. All tied off with a thin green ribbon salvaged from one of her old dresses. The design was overly flashy for his taste, but she had been too focused on making it pretty and was short on time to repaint something more austere.

Blade raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. "You didn't need to," he said, yet she could've sworn his face softened as his eyes traced the designs on the paper.

Kyrah smiled having anticipated he'd say something along those lines. "I'm aware. But I wanted to and thought you might enjoy it."

He looked up from the gift to meet her eyes. "Did you paint this?" Of course he remembered she painted. While in The Reach he'd fussed at her plenty to not paint outside. He trusted her judgment enough to promote her to Captain after a month, yet the cold was somehow too much. He made absolutely no sense.

"Yes," she said in a light tone.

"It's nice." Did Blade's compliment make her feel happy in a way it probably shouldn't? Yes. But she'd take that to her grave before admitting it to anyone.

"Thank you, though I hope you like what's inside more."

Blade's eyes went back to the present he held delicately. She ignored the strange little feeling in her chest when he untied the ribbon and slipped it into a pocket before carefully unfolding the paper. Underneath was a small book of poetry. "You remembered, thank you."

An unusual wave of nerves washed over Kyrahlise. What if he'd read this collection before and hated it? Well, there was no use worrying about it now that the book was in his hands. "Yes, by one of my favorite contemporary poets. Are you familiar with her work?"

"I'm not."

Her smile was tinted with relief. "I hope you find her poetry to your taste."

There was a upward tilt to his lips as he nodded. Kyrah gathered he was thanking her again, but reading his subtle expressions was like cracking a code.

Not that she needed to decipher anything to understand Blade's kindness. He'd always been considerate and respectful towards her. A sharp contrast to how many Norms treated her after she left the Circle. Like when he'd been livid because of what happened in that damned cave, it had filled her with so much warmth. She'd almost forgotten what it was like to have anyone care about her well-being. It was the catalyst for certain feelings towards him being stirred up. Feelings she accepted existed then politely ignored.

Though a recent incident in his room made her question if Blade was really as indifferent to her as he so often appeared.

When Kyrahlise glanced back up at Blade, his eyes were so gentle as they met hers it brought an instinctive smile to her lips. The first time he looked at her like that was when she learned black was the warmest color of all. The way his gaze slowly traced over her face almost felt like a sweet caress that seemed to stop briefly at her lips. But she was likely imagining things again.

A slight frown passed over his face as his free hand twitched, then clenched against his side. He looked at her another moment, gave a hint of a nod and another quick 'thank you' before turning and walking away. When he was out of earshot she sighed. Maybe one day she'd figure out what was really going on inside that inscrutable head of his.

[nyxorra]

RIRRILL "ROOK" THORNE (they/them) their sacrifices are mourned by those beyond

[clerichs-xi]

nothing to see here, just the party rogue reporting to the party tactician after a scouting mission... being that close and shirtless is mandatory. for party morale of course.

[thegreatyin]

And thus, with the passing of 24 hours, Caeru's ambition truly comes to an end. Major Nemesis spoilers below the cut- we're talking endgame ambition business here. Mostly on a character RP front.

The Doomed Scientist made quite a few... choice decisions, in the end. Killing Cups once and for all, recording his story as one of grief-

And sparing what little remained of Mr Mirrors, leaving it free to roam Parabola as it sees fit.

Some of them, he can explain. Others, he's still left to feel... discontent.

Cups needed to die. That much was certain from the start. It was a tyrant, as all Masters are, and complicit in the bargaining and eventual destruction of four (potentially five) cities, as all Masters are. It was an obstacle. A murderer. A petty monster that felt no remorse even on its deathbed, and it went out of its way to ruin multiple lives just because it felt owed its own sick and twisted idea of revenge.

It killed his first love. It looked him in the eyes and he knew what it had done and he knew from the start it was going to die.

Perhaps, in the end, it knew too. And yet it still pleaded, and wanted to live, and-

It made a bargain.

A bargain Caeru didn't take.

Not because he didn't want to. Gods, he wanted to. He wanted it. He wanted it more than anything else in the world. To have Greylu back, to give him the gift of life, of love, to show him the wonders of the Neath and the beauty of the correspondence and all of the people Caeru has met and loved and found home with along the way-

But. He couldn't.

Because Cups was a monster. And no matter what, it deserved to die. And he could not, in good conscience, allow it to live.

Even if sparing it meant everything he's ever wanted.

So he's left here, now. With a bloodied traveling coat, and a bloodsoaked knife, and a favor finally fulfilled.

And nothing to live for. No resurrected lover, no charming visits to Helicon, no slow dances in the living room, no memories to rebuild and lives to live and he won't live again-

Nothing. All he has is a coat born of obligation, not to his love, but to people he's never even met. To lives he's never even touched. To a paramour, still alive, with hair of rose-pink, who doesn't even remember her own brother's existence.

Cups didn't die for Caeru's sake. Cups died for the sake of all who wanted it dead. For the revenger's court, and the ghost screaming in his ear, and the reckoning that will not be postponed indefinitely.

And Caeru, who acted as a tool to carry out their wills? Who all but betrayed his own lover, just to satisfy a cause he never knew existed?

All Caeru is left with, is regret. Regret-

-And grief.

[tarnishedbloodhound]

"In their youth, it was rumoured that the Princess Rellana's sorcery mentor and her arms instructor were close, but few knew just how close exactly the two truly were."

Featuring a younger Count Ymir and the soon-to-be Carian knight Dominic, sometime prior to the Land of Shadows.

[dustmint]

Helloooooo. I wanted to post this art fight attack I made for @leonenjoyer69 of Mind Jekyll and Elias dancing because I'm really proud of it :3

Below the cut is also a little thing I wrote to go along with the drawing!!

The music was everything but harmonious. It sounded like pure cacophony, harsh and echoing in Elias ears as this fake Jekyll spun him around once again. The music combined with the ticking of the clocks strewn around in the ballroom, all lying, they all showed different times, advanced at different speed, how could he tell which one was real? His own pocket watch that he had been given by this hellscape was saved in the pocket of his trousers. He knew that it was lying too, time was meaningless in this place. Yet, he tried to reach it, trying to find a small comfort in something familiar, but Jekyll grabbed his wrist, holding it tightly with a smug smirk on his face.

"Now, there's no need for that, darling. We have all the time in the world here! Besides, it's not as if everyone out there misses you, it would be best to take our time with this, yes? Everyone here is counting on us to give them a good show." There was a light above them, it hid the vague shadows that resembled people, blinded him. But he could still feel their gaze upon him. They were all whispering. They did not care for him, why would they? They had never cared once. And the face of Not-Jekyll could almost be mistaken as something tender, something warm, but his eyes betrayed him, dead, cold and uncaring, he did not care for him either. The hand on his shoulder was cruel, and Elias could feel tears starting to well up in his eyes.

"Pl– please...Let me go." Fake-Jekyll laughed, the corners of his mouth far too wide for himself, an expression more fitting of Hyde, and the sound joined all the others. It worsened the ache inside of his head, the buzzing of his skin, as he desperately tried to pull away. He needed to get out, he needed to get away from him. He needed to leave. This was too much, everything was too much. Faint laughs joined the whispers, and Elias whimpered, ashamed the moment that the sound left his mouth.

Mind Jekyll spun them around once again, colours blurring in front of him, until the only thing he could clearly see was the face of the brown haired man. He cooed pitifully, mocking him.

"Awwwww." His voice was soft and melodic. Elias hated how much he loved it, hated how it cut through the mess of sounds and comforted him for a small moment, hated how it reminded him of better times, back when he was still just a small part of Hastie Robert Lanyon that was repressed and hidden away. "Of course not, Hastie! The dance has only just begun."

Mind Jekyll spun him around again, one more time, and then dipped him to the floor. He almost wished he would let him fall just to be free of his hands. It didn't. Elias felt tears finally escaping him, and he sobbed.

[kemendin]

How We See In The Dark

“What good is a drow who can’t see through the dark? Who cringes from the shadows instead of becoming them?” Unsettled by the atmosphere of the Shadow-Cursed Lands, Dhamari tentatively accepts Gale's invitation to spend the night in the comfort of the wizard’s tent. But the drow feels uncertain, wary of the affections growing within him, and Gale is weighed down with darkness of his own. Seeking solace in each other's company is all well and good, but Dhamari is about to discover that becoming truly close with someone is an even more convoluted experience than he has imagined.

Gale x Ace!Tav Words: 13,700 A/N: Hurt/comfort with both angst and fluff. Spoilers through Act II. Content warnings for canon-typical violence, discussions of death, suicidal imagery, and implied abuse. I promise there's also lots of cuddling and hand holding to balance it out.

Read on AO3 (excerpt below cut)

Lost in trying to make sense of the indistinct shapes formed by the shroud of gloom overhead, Dhamari’s normally keen senses fail him. His ears give a belated twitch at the pad of nearby footsteps. He rolls quickly to one side, and sees a pair of elegantly embroidered slippers shuffling past. A curious contrast with such bleak and broken surroundings, but then, their wearer has never been one to stint on the comforts of home, even out here in the wilderness.

Gale pauses in his path, his attention caught by Dhamari’s movement. He turns, glancing down, and offers a small, tired smile to the drow - an expression that only accentuates the lines wrought on his face.

“I see I’m not the only one finding it difficult to sleep.” His voice is low, and sounds faintly distorted, as though the very air refuses to let his words pass easily through its thickened veil. “I thought I might wear myself out with a walk around camp, but instead my nerves feel more tightly wound than ever.”

Looking up at him, Dhamari experiences a quick flurry somewhere inside that has nothing to do with his readiness to jump at shadows. It’s hardly hidden anymore, how he feels about Gale - and certainly Gale has made no secret of his own attraction to the drow - but a kind of awkwardness still lingers between them, keeping them at arm’s length from each other. An uncertainty of when, and how, and what does this even mean, when they are both, in a very real sense, dead men walking; because if the parasites curled inside their heads don’t take them, then the black magic lodged within Gale’s chest surely will.

“There’s an almost tangible discomfort in the air, isn’t there?” Gale goes on. “A weight.” He glances towards the glow of the campfire, then out past the shrivelled trees, where shadows and spectres reign. “It makes you wonder if, when you close your eyes, you’ll ever manage to open them again.”

Dhamari slowly pushes himself into a sitting position. “They might as well stay closed, for all the help they’ve been,” he replies. The sullen tone of his words is mirrored on his angular face - a shallow scrunch of his aquiline nose and a slight baring of sharp teeth. “What good is a drow who can’t see through the dark? Who cringes from the shadows instead of becoming them?” 

He gives a rough shake of his head, his long ears lowering moodily. He feels uneasy here, out of place - floundering where he should be formidable. Even years spent on the surface hadn’t eradicated his instincts for navigating the Underdark, instincts that had proved vital during the party’s recent venture below-ground. But here, those same instincts feel weak, nearly ineffectual. And he does not care for it.

“Ah, but what you’re used to is the absence of light,” says Gale. He lifts a finger and then leans forward slightly, in the way he often does when he’s explaining something. “What surrounds us now is an actual presence of darkness - and a magical presence, at that. Not an obvious distinction, in many cases, but when one considers the curse that plagues this land, the difference becomes quite blatant.”

Dhamari casts a look out at the nigh-impenetrable fog, and his lips thin. “I’m not sure that makes me feel any better,” he mutters.

“Perhaps not.” Gale tilts his head as he considers the drow for another moment, then straightens up. “But as they say - and I can attest to this, emphatically - knowledge is power. Even simply knowing what it is that’s causing you such disquiet can give your mind the chance to lessen its hold, if you’ll let it.”

Dhamari pushes a sceptical tch out between his teeth, a sound remarkably reminiscent of Lae’zel. “Knowing what the problem is doesn’t make it magically disappear, Gale.”

“Alas, no,” Gale concedes, with a wry huff. “At least, not entirely.” Perhaps sensing the drow’s still-simmering discontent, he spreads a placating hand and adds, “I merely offer what wisdom I’ve gleaned from enduring many a sleepless night of my own.”

But this wisdom feels like only the feeblest of lights when compared to the shadows around them, and Dhamari does not reply. He hunches forward, tugging the single roughspun blanket higher upon his legs as another shiver passes through him. He can feel Gale’s eyes upon him still, and somehow that makes it worse - that the focus of his unversed affections should be standing there, watching him come unravelled in the darkness.

An awkward silence descends between them, thick as clinging cobwebs, until at last Gale clears his throat and speaks again.

“Of course… it can also help to have someone with you,” he ventures. “Someone to tug your mind away from your troubles.” 

He hesitates, then proceeds more carefully:

“Perhaps you and I would both find ourselves resting easier… in company?”

At this, Dhamari goes quite still. His suddenly quickened heartbeat sounds very loud to him, drowning out the eerie echoes that are filtering through the campsite. And louder still, a memory of Gale’s voice from only a day or two ago, pushing to the forefront of his mind:

“But standing at your side through such darkness and disrepair… it only makes me want you more.”

Another flurry of emotion twists through the drow; but this time, the affection that wells within him is sullied by something distinctly nervous.

He wets his lips. “In… company?” he repeats, questioning, maybe even stalling, and feeling more than ever that he is stumbling blindly through the dark. He considers his simple, narrow bedroll, then flicks a dubious look up at Gale. “You mean - here? With me?”

“That is… certainly an option,” Gale replies, with a thoughtful back-and-forth wobble of his head. But he seems to share something of the other’s doubt, because he is quick to add, “Or, if you so desire - you may also consider this an informal invitation to stroll across our camp and join me for the night. No slight intended, but I daresay that what I laughingly call my living space these days is still a tad more comfortable than a skin spread out across a rock.” His lips quirk with a rueful little smile. 

Dhamari dips his head in acknowledgement of this, even as he swallows against the mass of growing confusion that’s taking hold inside him. He and Gale have hardly shared more than fond words, bright yet bashful looks, the occasional deliberate squeeze of a hand. Once, admittedly, a bone-crushing hug on Dhamari’s part, when he’d welcomed Gale back from the dead following a disastrous encounter with an Underdark bulette, and several heartstopping minutes spent scrambling to revive the wizard in the aftermath. The ferocity of the drow’s sudden embrace had taken both of them by surprise; Dhamari can still recall Gale’s eyes going wide with startled gratitude, and then warming with a flicker of something more, as the still-cold breath of his thanks brushed past his saviour’s cheek. But Dhamari - still unsteady in his own heart, and deeply flustered - had quickly disengaged, and before he could think again Gale had drawn back, turned away, and the moment had passed.

And now - quite suddenly, it seems to Dhamari - Gale is offering the drow a place in his bed.

Dhamari’s twilight fingers grip at his blanket in trepidation. He wants to be closer to Gale - very much, in fact. So much that he’s caught himself physically drifting nearer the man as they traverse these desolate roads, until he feels the finely woven fabric of the wizard’s robes brushing against his shoulder. 

The issue is - he is not at all convinced that his definition of ‘closer’ aligns with Gale’s own. 

But when he looks up again, it is to find Gale’s hand extended out towards him, and a more earnest smile - oh, that smile - broadening the other man’s bearded lips.

“Come on,” Gale invites him, and then, softer: “Please.”