#mysterious pink mare

[askdaisydandfriemly]

daisy have you ever wanted to control time before because i have a device that can do just that if you want it?

Splunge: And in a blink, the mysterious pink mare disappears, and the Sheriff slows begins to move...

@ask-the-doctor15 Thanks for the ask!

I know you directed this question at Daisy, but she isn't a fan of time travel stuff right now. ^^;

[hopelessromantic5]

Last one for the night.

Sorry for the content dump. 🫶

Regency AU clip. Arthur and Merlin inspired by Anthony Bridgerton and Kate Sharma.

Arthur’s father, The Viscount, decided he had let Arthur ‘pursue fanciful whims’ long enough.

He wanted Arthur to find a wife this season.

Oh, joy.

It was for this reason, Arthur went for an early morning ride, to let out his overwhelming frustration and to get out of that blasted house with his siblings, more specifically, his elder sister and her eyes full of pity.

Morgana knew that Arthur wanted to hold out for love, the kind of love their own parents shared. Arthur felt it his duty to find someone who would one day become Viscountess, have his children and help him continue his family’s long-standing reputation.

The only problem, which isn’t really a problem, more of an inconvenience, was that Arthur didn’t like women, in the slightest. Romantically speaking, that is.

He found this out the hard way when his college mates tried to throw him into a room full of naked women.

Arthur was…curious. But nothing beyond that, women were a complete mystery to him so he was really just in awe of their natural bodies and how objectively beautiful they were.

But it did nothing. No part of him stirred or got excited. That’s when he started to become uncomfortable, because he’d always known, deep down, in a place no one ever sees.

He left rather quickly.

Thankfully, his friends had disappeared by then.

The ride led him farther into the woods than he usually went, but he knew his way around them.

He slowed his horse to a trot as he went lost in his thoughts.

That was quickly interrupted when he heard galloping approaching. Very fast.

Before he could think twice, the horse and the person riding it, raced just past Arthur, causing his own mare to stumble a bit.

Well, I’ve got to see what this is about.

That was the only thought to cross his mind before turning the other direction, taking off as fast as he could.

He spotted the horse and rider immediately. Arthur rode harder and urged the animal below him to follow.

He had almost caught up, when a branch that seemed to come from nowhere caught Arthur’s jacket and caused him to pull back on the reigns, involuntarily.

He slowed to a stop, laughing hysterically.

That was fun.

“You’re laughing a lot for someone who lost.” The voice was deep.

Arthur hadn’t realized the horse in front of him also slowed and stopped, unwilling to turn the opposite direction and face him.

Arthur took the stranger in, finally. All he could see was a blue cloak with the hood pulled up, hiding all identity.

The skilled hands gripping the reigns wore gloves.

“To be fair, we never agreed on a stopping point and that limb was interference, divinely guided as it may have been.”

“Oh, divinely guided, was it?” The man snickered, but it was closer to a giggle.

Arthur couldn’t read the stranger very well when he could not see him.

He took matters into his own hands and rode past the other man, then spun to see the horse-whisperer directly, face to face.

“Oh.”

He didn’t know what he’d been expecting.

But it was not to have his breath stolen.

He could not even see all of the man’s face, but what peaked out from under the hood was pale flawless skin and perfect pink lips.

Hooded eyes pointed to the ground between their two steeds.

“You’re awfully quiet for someone who won.” Arthur quipped.

The man finally raised him eyes in a glare that didn’t hold much heat behind it.

God, those eyes.

Blue like the ice that forms from dripping water on the window sills. The lightest clearest parts of the ocean. Pure and endless.

Wow.

Arthur had never been struck by a person’s beauty before.

“You’re a complete stranger, what if you have ill intentions, or try to rob me blind?”

Arthur threw his head back in a laugh at this.

“You aren’t that inattentive. My intentions are pure, you have my word. I am a gentleman.” Arthur smirked at the blue eyed wonder. He got a small smile in return.

“Well, I have to be getting back.”

No.

Arthur’s whole body practically howled the word. He’s not unable to control himself.

“Will I see you again?”

The man was already turning around to return from the way they came.

“Perhaps you will, my lord.”

Arthur sputters.

“How did you know I was-“

“I’m not that inattentive.” The man called over his shoulder before tapping the side of his boot on the horses flank and taking off into the trees.

Well, that was truly something.

[ladyathenawisdom]

Don't Let Me Down ♔♕ pt. 4

Warnings: Past Trauma, Eventual Smut, Mature Themes, Violence, Language, Dark Themes Kinda, betrayal, cheating.

@talkingsperm @urmyhopeeee

..........

Supervillain stared at her.

She looked so peaceful, so innocent and kind. But he knew it was a lie, he had heard of her extraordinary powers. It was why his father had picked her.

This marriage was being forced on her as much as it was being forced on him. He didn't want to marry anyone, he was better off alone without someone to stop him. Much less a hero.

Plus, he didn't need some type of weakness.

He was in the comfort of his limo, the young hero laid on the other side of the seat. She was out of it, being injected with something that will knock someone out for 72 hours. The heroes were smart to create something like that.

They were heading to the airport so they can leave for Venezuela. His stepmother and people had probably all heard the news, along with the rest of the world. Amazing, he thought sarcastically.

He picked up his tablet where Hero's information was set up, he read through all of it.

It was impressive. She was impressive.

She was brought to the Organization when she was 3 by Superhero mysteriously. Her powers were like no other, on top of that, she could control people if she trained hard enough.

She had the potential to become the most powerful women in the world. And yet, the industry were probably holding her back.

He glanced towards her, noting her chestnut colored hair and pink lips. He narrows his eyes at her, he could tell she was also an innocent in this, seeing as she was forced to marry him. He wouldn't blame her.

But he wanted too, even though it wasn't her fault.

His father was an idiot. What good would this do? Nothing. The hero industry was stupid, really stupid and idiotic. The level of selfishness they had was beyond any villains selfishness. Atleast Villains actually did what they wanted too, the heroes only wanted fame, glory and money.

He looks up when he sees them approaching the airport. He puts the iPad down, looking at Hero.

.....

Hero blinks, feeling a headache coming on. A groan escapes, her hand going to her head. She slowly sits up, ignoring the stiffness of her back and neck.

"About time you woke up,"

Hero jumps, squealing. She turns towards the side to see......

Supervillain staring at her, his face emotionless.

She swallows hard, trembling slightly. This couldn't be possible, she couldn't be in front of history's most ruthless killer. The last thing she remembers is...being tranquilized by Superhero.

Supervillain tilts his head, watching as many emotions pass through the little hero's face. Confusion, pain, sadness, betrayal and fear.

Hero hesitatinly look at Supervillain, her hands shaking. "Where am I?" She asks, surprised that her voice didn't waver.

Supervillain walks away from the her. "You are on my private jet and we are on our way to Venezuela, in case your wondering, Superhero darted you." He tells her with a shrug.

Hero only stares at him.

Reality of everything set in. Superhero had really just given her away, like a mare. Like she was something to be bought over. Like an object or thing. He had given her to the villains.

All because she was the best, but she didn't think so. The only good thing about her was her powers, that's probably why he picked her. Why give her away? Because of her powers.

All because of her damn powers.

She should have run away.

Supervillain leans back against the side bar, his eyes still on her. "If your gonna run or try to stop this marriage, don't. I've already tried," he grumbles.

"Mastermind..." Hero trails off.

"He's still with Superhero and the others. He needs to clear a few things, maybe get another hero." Supervillain shrugs.

"Than why pick me?" Hero frowns.

"Why not pick you?" Supervillain raised an eyebrow. "I didn't pick you, my father and Superhero did."

Hero looks away, crossing her arms. She trembles, shivering. "Is there no way out of this?" She asks quietly.

"I'm afraid not," Supervillain rolls his eyes. "I tried to stop it, but they are hellbent on this marriage. Consent or not." He scowls, glaring out the window.

"Why would you agree?"

Supervillain scoffs. "You think I agreed to this? I didn't. Mastermind is making me do this, little Hero. I don't have a fucking choice in this," he scowls, glancing at her with his cold eyes.

Hero flinches.

"I've accepted this as a business proposal, nothing else. It's about time you probably do too." Supervillain says. "It there was a way to stop this, I would. However, the hard drive is really...valuable." He trails off.

"Your not gonna give them the real one." Hero realizes, "Your gonna give them a copy."

Supervillain turns to her, a smirk growing on his lips. "Superhero was right, you are intelligent. You must be the first hero I have met who isn't dumb and only out for glory."

Hero narrows her eyes at him, clenching her fists.

Supervillain eyes her, looking a bit impressed. "And your not scared unlike some people..." he hums. "Superhero also said you could think like a villain to catch the villains and criminals, I'm wondering if it's true or not."

Hero clenches her jaw.

"Because to be honest. I don't see it," He moves closer towards her. "I wonder, how did you figure it out?"

"I'm not stupid." Hero says, almost quietly. "When Mastermind first proposed the idea I had an inkling of what might happen. Your villains, your not loyal to anyone but yourselves. Plus, trading a hard drive that may just help you win this stupid war?" She raised an eyebrow. "You guys aren't stupid to give it away for one measly hero."

Supervillain stares at her.

Hero gets up, standing in front of him. Her eyes were like a raging fire as she glared at him. "I'm not marrying you, it's not gonna happen." She hissed.

Supervillain continues staring at her.

"Did you hear me?" Her angry eyes were lit like a forest fire, delving deeper in the woods to destroy everything. "This is not gonna happen."

Supervillain smirks.

"What? What are you so smug about?" Hero crosses her arms over her chest, glaring at him.

Supervillain moves closer towards her, causing her to falter slightly. "You must be the first person in the world, other then my father..." he hums, looking her up and down. "...to threaten me and look at me like that."

Hero pauses, breathing heavily.

He walks around her in a circle, humming and eyeing her like a predator does to his prey. "I kinda like it. You have fire," he states, stopping behind her.

He leans in to whisper in her ear. "I love fire." He states.

Hero swallows hard, digging her nails into her palms. She hates this, she hates this so much. "It's not happening," She grits out.

Supervillain snorts, walking away from her. "Yeah. Of course not." He rolls his eyes. "Sweetheart, we don't have a choice."

"But your Supervillain, can't you stoo this?" Hero frowns.

Supervillain shoots her a look, a ironic smile on his face. "I appreciate the fact that you think I'm powerful. But refusing my Father? Yeah, no thank you."

Hero frowns, hugging herself. She's never felt so alone then she has now.

"Besides. It's not we like each other, and it's not like we'll fall in love or something." Supervillain snorts. "We'll just stay out of each other's business. You'll be moving in my Villa for about 3 months and then we have to go back to the Hero Industry for the engagement and the wedding."

Hero lisens keenly, feeling numb. This wasn't supposed to happen. She was supposed to be with...with...Other Hero.

No.

He had cheated on her. With Vigilante of all people, she wasn't even that special! Sure, she had been competing with Hero for best heroic skills and beauty (Which Hero won, both of them) but that doesn't explain why he cheated on her.

She pauses. She remembers his earlier statements. Did he really mean all those hurtful words? Did he really just give her up so he cane number one? What would Sidekick? What would he do without her?

"Then you'll move in with me in my villa," Supervillain starts explaining. "We'll live there with the rest of my family. But don't worry, we won't have to see each other at all." He sighs. "You'll meet my stepmother seeing as you already met Mastermind. You'll meet my half siblings and my little sister."

Hero stays silent.

"Now, let me make one thing clear." Supervillain starts in a low tone. "This is only a marriage of inconvenience, and I'm sure you agree." He looks at her.

Hero nods once.

"Good. Because just like the deal, this marriage is not important." Supervillain scoffs. "And despite what Mastermind wants, it's not happening." He was choosing to not directly say something about the...grandchildren.

Hero agreed. No way, no how. It's not happening. It's never happening. She wanted to ask why he called Masterminds by his name but she wasn't that stupid.

This was still Supervillain. The most dangerous criminal in the world. She wasn't gonna take her chance.

"Now." Supervillain sighs, going to take a seat near the window. "Do you need anything?"

Hero shakes her head, opting to not use her voice.

"Alright. You might wanna sleep for a while." He tell her. "The flight will take a few more hours."

Hero nods silently.

Well, it seems as if her life was beginning to take form. And not in a good way.

[ikeromantic]

CinderAlice pt 4

The winner of the IkeRev 1K AU story poll was Cinderella! Featuring the Black Army guys and Alice as Cinderella. These are the endings for each suitor. Pt. 4/4

Part 1 Part2 Part 3

The days turned to weeks and the season from summer to autumn. Lady Tremaine kept Alice so busy that she had no time for anything but work and sleep. She woke early every morning to begin, and fell into bed late into the night, so tired she barely managed to pry her shoes off before tucking herself in. 

Even with her demanding schedule and all the extra chores, Alice still heard rumors and gossip. The vegetable sellers at the market said Prince Ray was looking for a thief, and the dairy deliveryman said no, it was Sir Oswald hunting for a spy. The butcher told her actually, it was Sir Godspeed and he was seeking his lady love - a mysterious woman he spotted riding through town on a milk-white mare. 

Alice wondered if any of it had to do with her, but she dismissed the thought as silly. She wasn’t a thief or a spy and she hadn’t ridden any kind of horse through town. Maybe something had happened at the ball after she left, or in the days following. She didn’t know, and probably never would. 

That didn’t stop her from thinking about it as she moved around the dining room, preparing for dinner. Alice was lost in thought when . . .

Ray

A familiar dark gray cat darted through the open window. The kitty bounded over the table settings and flung itself under the hem of Alice’s apron. She bent down, a curious smile on her face. “Is that you, Ms. Belle?” 

Alice lifted her apron hem and took a peek at the pink satin ribbon around the cat’s neck. A small, gold tag dangled from it, with the name Belle written in lovely script. “It is you! Oh you silly little thing. This is a long way from the palace.” She scratched the kitty’s head.

“Hey.” 

She jumped, and Belle leapt up onto the chair at the sound of the voice. Her eyes went to the window, where Ray stood, a grin on his face. 

“Didn’t mean to surprise you.” He gestured to the room. “Is it alright if I come in?”

“Yes, of course.” Alice started to move toward the door, but Ray pulled himself in through the window. “Oh! Ok. W-welcome. Are you here for your cat?”

Ray laughed. “Well, she did run off. But actually . . .” He paused, his expression turning serious, “I was looking for you.”

“Me?” Alice startled all over again.

“Yeah. And you’re not exactly easy to find. You didn’t even give me your name, the night of the royal ball. So Belle and I have been looking around town for you for weeks. Trying to find the beautiful girl with a sweet smile.”

She felt her cheeks heat and her pulse began to race. “I’m . . . sorry?”

Ray took a step closer and reached for her hand. He lifted it to his lips and pressed a light kiss to the back of it. “I didn’t come to hear you apologize.” His lips grazed her skin as he spoke, his warm breath dancing over her knuckles. The touch sent a shiver through her that she did her best to hide. 

“I . . . then . . . what?” She stumbled over the words, too distracted by his touch to collect her thoughts. 

“I wanted to see you again.” His green eyes pierced her, his gaze felt as if he studied her soul. “Did you -” he paused and took a deep breath as if to steady himself. “Did you want to see me too?”

Alice nodded, a smile breaking across her face. “I do! I . . . I’ve been thinking about you every day since the ball! But you - you’re a prince and -” She gestured to the ragged clothes she wore, encompassing the whole of her position.

Ray pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her waist. “That doesn’t matter. I’m just glad I found you.” He grinned. “So . . . what is your name? Because I can’t call my girlfriend ‘the mystery woman’.”

She laughed and hid her blushing cheeks against his shoulder. “I’m Alice.”

“Alice.” He said her name with relish, as if tasting it. Ray’s voice was soft, husky. “May I kiss you, Alice?”

“Y-yes. Yes. I’d like that.” Alice tilted her face to him, her eyes fluttering shut as his warm lips gently pressed against hers in a tender kiss. 

When they parted, he still kept his arms around her waist. “Would you come to live in the palace?”

Her eyes went wide with surprise. She wasn’t sure what to say. “But then . . . Druzilla and Anastasia . . . who would cook and clean for them? And Lady Tremaine would be so angry with me.” Alice swallowed, suddenly nervous. The fact was, Lady Tremaine would be furious about all of this.

Ray shrugged, nonchalant. “I bet they can hire someone. And actually pay them.” He frowned at her rags. “Because from here, it looks like you do the work of four and get the pay of none.”

It was true, but Alice didn’t want to speak ill of her stepmother, and so she said nothing.

“I thought so.” Ray poked her forehead. “Don’t put their happiness in front of your own. If you don’t want to live in the palace, say so. But if you do . . .”

“I do.” She took a trembling breath. “It’s just so hard to believe.”

“You better start believing it.” He grinned and lifted her into his arms. “Let’s go. Come on Belle!”

The cat trotted after them as Ray went back out the window with her cradled against his chest. Alice hardly believed it was real. Rescued by a real prince. He was so dashing and romantic that she felt like she was in a fairy tale. 

***

Sirius

A well appointed carriage rolled up the Tremaine estate and stopped by the entry. The royal crest was emblazoned on the side, and the driver wore palace livery. Alice saw it from the kitchen window and hurried to untie her apron and dry her hands. But Anastasia must have spotted it too, and got to the door before Alice could. Druzilla and the Lady herself were only a step behind, all excited as the estate rarely had visitors of note. 

Anastasia opened the door, a polite smile on her lips and a calculating look in her eyes. “May I ask who’s calling?” She batted her eyelashes at the tall figure on the stair.

Alice felt a start of surprise as she saw the visitor from over her step-sister’s shoulder. It was Sirius Oswald, dressed in his official uniform and wearing a solemn expression. 

“Sir Oswald, senior advisor to the king. I’m here on a matter of import to the court, regarding the late Lord Tremaine.”

Anastasia took a step back and welcomed him inside. Druzilla and Lady Tremaine curtsied. Alice tried to, but felt entirely unsteady as Sirius’ gaze fell on her. She couldn’t help but remember what it had felt like to be held by him, her hand in his, as they danced. His warmth and easy affection, and the kindness he’d shown her. 

She ducked her head as he passed, hoping he wouldn’t recognize her in her filthy rags - and half hoping he would because . . . Alice refused to finish that thought. Girlish silliness. No, he was here on business and that was all. 

Lady Tremaine escorted him to the parlor, inquiring politely on his health and family. She bid Druzilla and Anastasia to accompany them and sent Alice for refreshments. 

Sirius did not seem interested in conversation, though he gave polite enough replies. When Alice came back with tea and pastries, he was fending off a too-friendly Druzilla.

She poured the tea and set out the milk and sugar. Just as she turned to go, Sirius’ hand shot out and took hold of her arm.

“You need to be here for this too. After all, you’re the Lord Tremaine’s only child.” He met her trembling gaze with gentle warmth, the violet of his eyes as soft as flower petals. 

“Umm. Alright.” Alice spared a look at Lady Tremaine. Her step-mother was near to quivering with rage. But she couldn’t defy the royal advisor, so she sat as far from the little group as she could, on a stool by the window. 

Sirius gave her a small smile before turning to look at Lady Tremaine. “The Tremaine estate came up in a review of property and inheritance tax. It appears nothing was paid after the Lord’s death and his accounts are being spent out at a high rate. This is concerning to the crown.”

“I - well, I am only a poor widow. I didn’t know there was something we needed to pay to the crown. After my beloved husband passed and left all he owned to me and his daughters -” Lady Tremaine tried to put a mournful expression on her face but it sat awkwardly there.

“He had only one beneficiary, Lady Tremaine.” Sirius interrupted, his voice firm and unyielding as stone. “And it was not you nor your daughters. He left everything to his only natural child, but each time the bank sent a trust letter to her, nothing was ever returned.”

Alice stared, not quite understanding. The Lady told her that her father left nothing for any of them. That the estate and all expenses were being paid from her own pocket, the money left from her family before she married. 

Lady Tremaine frowned, the false sorrow falling from her face like a discarded veil. “I do not know what nonsense you think you have discovered, but I can tell you my husband wouldn’t have dared -”

Sirius interrupted her again, pulling a letter from his pocket. It also bore the royal seal. “Per the dictum of the court and his majesty the prince, you are hereby evicted from this property. Your access to the accounts and incomes of the Tremaine estate are void. You will leave within the hour, or face arrest and imprisonment for theft.” He frowned. “The guards are here to see this royal decree is obeyed in full.”

As he finished, several uniformed men entered the room. 

Druzilla and Anastasia looked as shocked as Alice felt. They turned pleading eyes to her. Lady Tremaine, on the other hand, merely looked furious. She stood, gripping her skirt. “This will not stand! I have friends - family! With influence. You cannot come into my home and -”

“It is not your home.” Sirius gestured, and the uniformed men escorted them out.

Alice watched, still caught in a sense of complete disbelief. 

Sirius stood and crossed the space between them, crouching in front of her stool. “Are you alright, little lady? This must be quite a shock.”

“I - yes. I don’t know. Is all of that true?” She blinked at him, feeling suddenly overwhelmed.

“It is. Your step-mother tried to steal your inheritance.” He took her hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb. “When you ran from the ball, I tried to find you. I had to know who you were. And when I did learn your name, who you are . . .” Sirius sighed. “I found out all the rest too. I couldn’t let this happen to anyone, but especially not you.”

“Especially?” Alice felt a heat creep into her cheeks at the way he said that part. 

Sirius held her gaze, his eyes full of an unexpected affection. “Especially. I know we only just met, but I felt a connection to you. I can tell you have a kind soul. And . . . I wanted to see you again. Ever since I ran into you at the market, actually.”

Alice grinned. “I guess that was a lucky accident for me.”

“More so for me, I think. And then I got to dance with you at the ball.” He kissed her fingertip, his lips only barely brushing her skin. It was enough to send a wave of warmth rushing through her. “When things are settled,” Sirius paused as if unsure whether to say more.

“Yes?”

“I would like to see more of you. A date, if you are willing?”

Alice felt her heart fill to bursting. “I would love to.”

Sirius chuckled, a genuine smile lifting the corners of his lips. “You sound so sure. I’m glad.” He pressed another barely-there kiss to her fingertips.

Alice leaned forward, intending to kiss him on the cheek, but he turned at just the wrong - or perhaps right - moment. Her lips met his for just a breath. A pulse-racing, electric heartbeat, when the satin touch of his mouth touched hers and she felt every nerve in her body light up like fireworks under her skin so that when he pulled back in surprise, it left her aching for more. “I-I’m sure,” she breathed.

***

Luka

There was a knock at the servant’s entrance. Alice quickly dried her hands on her apron and hurried over to open the door. Luka stood there on the step. He was dressed in a suit like the one he’d worn to the ball, and held a bouquet of wildflowers in his hand. His ears peeked redly from beneath his hair and his cheeks were stained as well.

“Luka!” Alice felt so glad to see him that she wanted to hug him. But hugs always made him shy around her, so she restrained herself and just took his hand. She pulled him inside and shut the door. “I haven’t seen you since the ball!”

She couldn’t help but remember how different he’d been that night. The way he’d touched her when they danced, the look in his eyes. Alice glanced away, suddenly feeling awkward herself. 

He nodded. “I tried to come by. But you weren’t home. Or your step-sisters said you were busy.” His voice was very soft, almost hard to hear, and he was gripping the bouquet like it might try to run away.

“Lady Tremaine gave me more chores. I didn’t tell her I went to the ball, but I think she suspects. So . . . I really haven’t been around.” She gestured to the mess on the counter. “I’m supposed to be cooking now.”

Luka took a breath and thrust the flowers toward her. “These are for you.”

Alice took them, her fingers briefly touching his as he passed the bouquet to her. He snatched his hand back as if singed. “Th-thanks.” She wasn’t sure how to react or what she should do. Her feelings were a tangle in her chest, of friendship and something more, and so she just stood there holding them and looking at him.

“Do you . . .” Luka started to ask a question, but his voice trailed into silence. He fixed his stare on the flowers in her hand and tried again. “Do you like me?”

“I - of course?” Alice wanted to put into words the way she’d felt for years as his neighbor, her respect for how hard he worked. Her appreciation for the little moments of kindness he’d showed her. And now the magic they’d shared at the royal ball. Seeing him as something more than a friend. It made her nervous and excited, her heartbeat was racing and her tummy was doing flips. 

He frowned, searching her expression. Whatever he saw there must have encouraged him, because he continued. “You - you looked really . . . pretty. At the ball. But - you, you always look pretty.”

Alice felt her face get hot. “You did too. I mean, you looked really nice. You look nice now.”

“I . . .” Luka trailed off again, staring down now at his empty hands.

Alice turned and set the flowers down, intending to find a vase for them. She thought it would give him some privacy to collect himself. And her as well. Her chest felt tight and hot and tense, waiting to hear what he would say. She nearly jumped in surprise as she felt his arms wrap around her from behind, his chin resting gently on her shoulder. 

“I thought you would meet a noble and fall in love. And I would lose you.” He murmured, barely audible even at this close distance. “That’s why I followed you to the royal ball.” Luka took a trembling breath. “I love you, Alice. I was afraid to tell you.”

Alice felt her heart stutter in her chest. It thudded against her ribcage in a wild, galloping beat that matched the chaos of her emotions. “You . . . love me?” She turned in his arms, her back pressed to the counter. 

Luka nodded, too emotional to say more. 

The words warmed through her like the sun on a chill morning. She wrapped her arms around him to hug him back. “I - I love you too.”

He squeezed her tightly, his face buried in her shoulder. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship . . . but I couldn’t keep it in any longer.”

“It’s ok,” Alice laughed warmly. “I just - I didn’t know. I thought you just saw me as a friend. I liked you so much . . . I didn’t want to mess it up.”

Luka laughed too, looking up at her. His eyes were full of sweet adoration. “Will you come stay with me, then, Alice?”

She felt her eyes sting with happy tears. “Yes.” 

He smiled, then shyly leaned forward and brushed the most chaste kiss to her lips, petal soft and warm and as sweet as honey. Then he pulled back, as if embarrassed. But Alice pulled him close for a second kiss and he didn’t seem to mind that at all. 

***

Fenrir 

The front door burst open. Alice hurried toward it, wondering what could be happening. When she got there, Fenrir stood with his hands on his hips while a few of his knights led her step-mother and step-sisters out. 

“What - Sir Godspeed - what are you doing?” Alice came to a stumbling halt right in front of him, a question on her lips.

He laughed and ruffled her hair. “Prince Ray and me found out Lady Tremaine and her daughters stole your inheritance. So she’s under arrest.”

She blinked, trying to process this piece of information. “My . . . inheritance? But . . . I don’t understand.”

Fenrir wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gently guided her outside to one of the garden benches. “After the ball, I went looking for you. You don’t make it easy on a guy!” He grinned at her blush. “But when I found you, all sorts of questions started poppin’ up.”

“Oh.”  Alice looked around the garden, at the profusion of flowers and the tiny butterflies that flitted from one end to the other. He’d looked for her, she thought, and it made something in her chest tighten. “But . . . why did you come looking for me?”

At this, Fenrir laughed. “I thought I told you when we were dancing! You’re a great partner. And I want to dance with you again.”  

His laugh tickled the hairs at the nape of her neck, and his joy was infectious. Still, something tugged at Alice’s heart. Just to dance with, she thought. Someone fun to see at parties. Surely there was more. She turned her head to study him, unsure how to voice this or if she even should say anything more. Afterall, they barely knew each other and yet . . . she felt a connection to him.

It was Fenrir she’d dreamed of these past few weeks. His eyes that held her own with such warmth. His playfulness. His strength. But she couldn’t assume he felt the same. 

“Hey! What’s that look for?” He tapped her nose gently. 

“N-nothing!” Alice felt her face go even hotter. “I’m fine being just your dance partner. When there’s a party. Or, you know, if you just want to go dance.”

Fenrir chuckled, and this time his laugh was low and a little breathy. “Who said I only want to dance with you, Alice?” His face was close to hers and those petal-pink eyes held a heat in them both tender and fierce. 

“Y-you . . .” Alice cleared her throat, but that did nothing to ease the tightness. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, the sound of her pulse loud in her ears. Fenrir’s arm was still draped over her shoulder and every place his skin touched hers was electric. 

“I like you.” He was blushing now too, but he didn’t look away. His gaze was mesmerizing to Alice, and she felt pulled toward him. Fenrir leaned closer to her, his lips almost touching hers. “May I kiss you?”

She tried to say yes but the word tangled on her tongue and all that came out was a short, sharp breath. 

Fenrir understood though, a slow, heated smile turning his lips up at the edges just before he touched them to hers. His kiss was ferocious, full of a passion like a bonfire, devouring her with warmth and light. He pulled back after a moment, his breath trembling in the air between them. “I wanted to do that for weeks.” His look told her he wanted even more. 

Alice kissed him again, savoring the feel of his body pressed close to hers. There was nothing in the world as sweet as this, she thought. 

When he pulled back the second time, there was something desperate in his expression. A hunger at odds with his gentlemanly dress and manners. “I . . . gotta stand up now. Come on, partner.” He stood and held his hand out to her. 

“W-where are we going?”

“Anywhere. Everywhere. I want to have adventures with you, Alice. Will you stay by my side?”

There was only one answer to that. Alice took his hand. “Everywhere sounds good, as long as I’m with you.”

***

Seth

She let out a sigh. “I wish -”

“To see me again? Wish granted.” The now-familiar voice came from just behind her. 

Alice turned to see her fairy godfather standing there, an insouciant smile on his face. “Seth! You startled me. Again!”

“You look cute when you’re surprised.” 

She blushed at the compliment and looked away, trying to hide it. He had this way of looking at her that made her feel terribly self conscious. Alice cleared her throat. “Ok, but that doesn’t explain why you’re here. There’s no ball today. Just chores.”

Seth laughed, closing the distance between them without taking a step. “You were about to make a wish. And wishes summon fairies.” He tilted her chin up with a fingertip, forcing her to meet his playful, heated gaze. “So tell me, lovely Alice, what is it you wish for?”

“I . . .” Her throat closed tight around the words, unable to speak them because they would admit so much. And her dream felt impossible. 

He gently brushed a lock of hair from her forehead, fingers trailing along the side of her face. His touch was gentle and full of an unspoken affection as he waited for her to get up the courage to speak.

“I wish I was somewhere else, anywhere but here. I want to be happy. I want to feel loved, like I matter . . .” Alice trailed off after the brief outburst, feeling she’d said too much already. 

Seth’s smile was gentle. “Done.” And just like that, they were somewhere else. Alice saw a bustling street below, with market stalls and shops. Her eyes were wide with surprise as she looked around the room. It was a well appointed parlor, nothing as fancy as the Tremaine manor but very nice. There were flowers on the table in impossible colors, and the lamps were glittering magic crystals. 

“I’m afraid happiness is up to you. But I can promise you are loved. And you do matter.” His brown-eyed gaze was warm and intimate, his voice a breathy sigh. He took her hand and clasped it tightly.

Alice leaned into his comforting touch, his words soothing a hurt in her that she hadn’t realized was there. “Seth . . .”

He giggled and spun her around, breaking the moment before Alice could process what he’d said. “So, as your fairy godfather, I am giving you this lovely flat in Central. There’s a teahouse and a pâtissière downstairs, and across the street you’ll find a market with everything else a girl could want.” 

“That sounds nice?”

“Enough to bring a smile to your beautiful face?” Seth’s grin widened and he pulled her into an unexpected embrace. “And if there is something you want, you can just wish for it. Anything.” His words were playful, tickling against her neck. 

Alice slipped her arms around him, and Seth went very still. “What if what I want is . . . you?”

“Then you are a very silly girl.” His voice shook as he said it, and she could not see what expression he made as he hid his face in her hair. “Fairy Godfathers aren’t allowed to fall in love with mortals.”

Alice turned her face to kiss his cheek, putting all the affection she held for him into this one, gentle touch. “I want to know you, Seth. The man holding me right now, not the fairy godfather.”

He shivered, a sigh escaping his lips at her touch. “You might not like him . . .”

“I think I already do,” she countered. “He is kind and funny. And he makes me smile. Seeing him . . . makes me happy.” Alice laid her head against his shoulder, where she could hear the fierce pounding of his heart. “I’d rather have just Seth, than a fairy godfather.”

“Even if just Seth can’t magic you up a fancy gown and carriage?”

Alice laughed softly. “A friend is way more important than those things.”

Seth let out a breath, the tension leaking from him. “I hope I’m more than just a friend.” His hand brushed the nape of her neck, a teasing gentle touch that sent little waves of warmth through her. 

“We’ll just have to find out, won’t we?” Alice pulled back from him so that she could see his face.

“We will.” He grinned.

[your-local-uwu-artist]

mysterion design >:D

notes under the cut

-i'm imagining for this au everyone's middle school aged, so still like, kids, just a bit older

-ignore the fact that i fucked up the colors on all the text i SHOULD have had the colors shift between lines it helps legibility but i didn't fsr??? i'll figure that out in later art dw

-GOD THESE COLORS TOOK FOREVER the og colors are SUPER desaturated and also more on the pink side of purple but I prefer to use saturated colors and wanted to go more towards the blue side of purple (than the colors are closer to complimentary colors between mysterion and kenny)

-ended up going with a very soft look (rounded edges and ovals and softer lines) i was thinkng off of the batman inspo actually and thinking about that scene in the lego batman movie where the brick notes batmans design isn't very hero looking, i mean it is by western standards but like when i think of a good hero and symbol of justice and hope i think of twintaild magical girls with ultra frilly skirts and cute mascots and sparkles and stars everywhere but like.. i'm biased.... anyway I chose the softer lines to make him feel softer and instead relied any edgy vibes on the colors and body language rather than the shapes (i mean i still used triangles but yeah)

-I ended up not going with brown boots cause i didn't want to have to tie in another color, and i had the epic idea of the little question mark symbols on the soles of the shoes and the m logo on the ... toungue i think it's called?

-so I originally wasn't gonna show his hair but I thought it would help to balance the colors more as the white shorts felt too bright

-i didn't plan to post this or else i would've tried to better phrase all the writing lmao

-i went with rounded feet to make him feel like, floaty?

-one smaller challenge was keeping a short stature for kenny while still making him look like, menancing and powerful, another reason why i went with the graceful floaty feet, I also had the shorts flair out with that triangle shape like they do to emphasize and blend together the general shape of the body

-miiight have accidentally made him more androgynous~ my ass spent years studying and learning how to make characters appear masculine than said 'yeah no thankyou everyone is going to be at least a LITTLE bit pretty <3'

-ah look how nice and not over crowded the doodles are... yeah say goodbye to empty space cause Cartman/theCoon's completely lacks it. I like drawing fluffy animal ears and found the need to label all the drawings "furry" or "menance" so yeah

-i'm that one bitch that says fuck canon even canon doesn't give a shit bout canon so why should i? and never draws kenny with blue eyes, always either light brown or preferrable purple. mostly cause i feel blue + blonde is too basic and I find that the purple makes for a nicer contrast and overall pallete. Cause brown kinda just blends in, cause then his entire color scheme is all within the same hue range, but purple sticks out better + leaning into the magenta side of it looks great with orange

-petition for the southpark fan wiki to acknowledge how fuckign similar Mysterion and the mysterious mare do well are

-funfacts!! considered having the buckles be silver instead of gold (changed to balance with the blonde hair and tie back in the orange/yellow hues) considered having the inside of the cape be a lighter shade of purple either pulling in more pink or blue tinted shades, changed cause it made the overall color scheme to bright

-in case you were wondering 90% of my art has the same stupid level of thought put into it as posts i do add notes onto, I just figured most people don't want a ramble about shape launguage and colors on their silly blorbo fanart posts lmao. but if you find any of this interesting or heck if you ever have a ramble about your own art my inbox is always open~ i love getting to discuss drawing :D

[temporalreverie]

ponysona ref sheet :3

[text transcript: Carrie Go-Round, or Carrie for short It/She, Trans Mare, Lesbian Can prance through air with its saddle on. Gives carousel sky-rides to help others. It likes going around again, solving puzzles, helping with problems, music, good fortune, and going around again. Beholden to the whims of its fate & cycles, it tries its best to be carefree but secretly feels aimless at times.]

Extended character bio & art process thoughts below the cut v

Carrie Go-Round is a unicorn with carousel themed magic. Carousel magic works in mysterious ways. It can direct the magic somewhat and hone certain patterns through repetition, but it’s ultimately at the whims of the fate chosen for it. Usually everything works out just fine though.

While actively using its carousel magic and wearing its saddle, it can prance on top of air. It takes others on rides through the sky using this, giving them time and space to think through a problem they’ve been having. These rides can involve a conversation, a magical spectacle of lights and music, or simply peace and quiet, whatever will help the other pony best. Flying, putting on light shows, and making music are all come naturally when the magic is in service of another.

Carrie has adapted an outwardly carefree and playful nature. It’s partially its true self, and partially a defense mechanism in response to the lack of control that the carousel makes it feel. When you’re stuck going around in one big circle, it’s easy to feel aimless and confused. Helping someone else with a problem of theirs always makes it feel better though. It's also fond of rhymes, puzzles, and riddles.

It’s somewhat taller than average. Not very strong, but when its magic is active any passengers feel light as a feather. Both the color and shape of its hair is all natural.

—

Art process thoughts:

An idea for a ponysona design popped into my head the other day and I'm really happy with how it turned out! Multiple times I've played with designing a ponysona by taking more grounded and literal elements of myself but none of those struck me as exciting or fun. Being freely indulgent and overdesigning a pastel magic horse is way better.

In terms of the drawing itself, this is probably the closest you'll ever see me mimic the G4 artstyle! I referenced a couple screenshots of pinkie to get an idea for scale, and then I cut apart my rough sketch into chunks so I could stretch out the neck & back because I like when the bodies are longer than proportions on the show. This also doubles as making its tallness present in the art but really I would've done that regardless.

The carousel concept is a fun way to tie in the colorful aesthetics with themes of cycles and fate. Girls love to be stuck in a loop of mayyyybe their own choosing. And it also means I get to bring back the saddle & bridle fashion concept Lauren Faust considered for the show's pitch bible. It's definitely kind of weird but in a fun way.

Carrie Go-Round like Merry-go-round but also like Carrie short for Carousel but also like Carry because she physically carries other ponies & helps lift them emotionally. Do you get it.

This is my first time adding ALT text to my images; I did my best to be thorough but not too verbose.

Miscellaneous design thoughts: I love pink and green together! IRL horse coat patterns are so so cute I wish more MLP characters had them. Plus the bubbly shapes on the hooves match her cloud prancing. Duality is everything to me: two different shapes and colors of hair, two symbols on its cutie mark, two little eyelashes. Although I tried less to make it look like me, its hair still has the same general shape (however mine will only rarely form curls like that all on its own). Also the cutie mark arrows being green is a slightly inspired by a real dream I had about getting my cutie mark:

I've been meaning to make a ponysona for a long time now. All in all this was very fun to do and now I'm excited to draw more of my own OCs and their interactions.

[ask-whiteblade]

[Vantas] It was like a blur... One moment Whiteblade was experiencing her everyday life, and the next? She was walking into a private gambling booth of a Casino. Black curtains closing behind her as lights flickered against purple wallpaper.

Smoke was in the air, a dealer table laid front and center as a grey stallion tapped his hoof against it's velvet surface.

"Well if this isn't a surprise!" He'd say, a smile wide on his lips as his pink eyes shined. Instinct screamed at her, that he was dangerous. "An infamous challenger, that's what you are Whiteblade..."

He chuckles, before pushing aside chips and cards-- to slide a black piece of parchment and a dice on top.

"Would you like to take a risk with me?"

The sun had been so bright before the mare slowly entered a dark space that she had not seen coming. Perhaps after blinking, or simply because she was in her thoughts for a short time. But the next moment, the place lit by an autumnal sun gave way to a dark room that inspires only mourning and death.

Her ears perked up in surprise before dropping violently as the curtain suddenly closed behind her like a pair of wings barring her exit. But as if her magic had gone out or her movements were not inviting her to try to get out, she just watched the closed curtain for the next few seconds, totally unsure of what had just happened, before the room at her back took shape.

The stallion at the table laughed and smiled ominously. His harmless appearance did not inspire her confidence and her mind was screaming at her to leave, now, because danger was imminent. So why was she standing there, watching him as if he were a fascinating phenomenon, yet one that inspired her distrust?

Besides… why did he look so familiar?

As he spoke her name, White Blade was suddenly lit up by a spotlight above her head as if she were on a stage. She felt the wave of magic suddenly envelop her and clothe her with a strange sensation. By the time she looked at herself, her mane had been manipulated, a red scarf encircled her neck, and a black dress was now what she was wearing.

But a strange feeling also accompanied her mind. As if everything suddenly became appropriate, or rather… that she couldn't escape it. The place was suddenly transformed into a chic casino and that she was quite fit to participate in what the stallion in front of her was proposing.

He pushed with his hoof a dark parchment and a strange die.

A risk, eh?

Her emerald magic took hold of the parchment to read the contents and already it seemed like something that made no sense, but that only added to this dangerous mystery… What did she gain by participating in this?

And what did she gain by not participating?

She and the stallion exchanged a long look. Words were not necessary in a situation like this… She simply dropped the dice disdainfully on the velvet table… two bounces were enough for the dice to roll on one or two sides… and for the number of destiny to present itself to them as a sentence… the blade of the guillotine coming down on them in a way as sharp as it was cutting.

"Love?" Said White Blade suddenly, as if it made no sense.

-

HERE - Next

Mod : nice little challenge and it's been a long time since I drew so much in such a short time. So here is my participation to this activity and WhiteBlade fell on Love? Chance has chosen.

Thank you @mymind-theirvisions your character was very nice to draw ^^

-

Twitter, Tumblr, Instagram, Facebook - @basykail 

Autres blogs - @fate-inspiration @ask-whiteblade 

[ask-the-cosmic-duo]

A Visit to the Doctor, Part 2

True to form as Stella said, the pink nobody's presence is sensed, vaguely, as if she's masking it… She watched until needed, though looking closely, it may be possible to spot her transparent form lurking atop a nearby tree…

In this weird state, Stella was more aware than normal. After a few moments, she spotted Purple, pointing at her like a dork. "Pink mare!"

The half-transparent mare kneeling on a branch merely faces Stella, tilting her head, but doesn't say anything, merely continuing to watch. As to why she's half transparent? Magic, likely, an enchanted ring or band, probably.

"Oh," says Time Turner, following Stella's gaze to the mystery pony's location, "hello there Purple. What is the reason you are cloaked in shadow?”

"Watching and waiting to see how this plays out," The Nobody responds. "Though it seems you both have a sharp eye to spot me, despite my enchantments... A shame, really. I'd have preferred to stay hidden." She hopped out of the tree, landing deftly on the ground.

Stella seemed to not have noticed the state she was in right now, as she shrugged in response to Purple's apparent disappointment. "Well, I'm kinda stuck, and I need help. Doc is saying I can't control the void without merging Nighty back into me, but I don't wanna do that." She looked to the side, clearly not very happy about that. "She deserves to live just as much as anypony else."

Stardust raised an eyebrow beneath her hood. While it wasn't quite visible due to said hood, one could still feel it in the air, so to speak. "And you didn't think to ask one of the two Nobodies you're friends with?" She asks in a monotone voice. "The ponies made out of something very similar to void... stuff?"

"I- ..." Stella sighed. "Just call it void magic or something, I dunno. I wasn't sure if you'd be familiar with actually using that power, I guess..." She shook her head, trying to focus herself. "Are you? I really hope you are. I have no idea if Nighty knows anything, and... I'm hesitant to tell her about the alternative."

"... I'm made of something similar, if not the exact same thing. Nobodies are born from nothing, after all... In a sense, at least."

"Oh. Right." She was pretty sure the two energies were at least similar. "Then... do you think you can help?"

"I can at least attempt to, that much I can do." Stardust was pretty casual about the whole thing, not really caring one way or the other. Well, aside from Stella being her friend for a long time.

"Mmm." She turned back to the Doctor. "Think this'll work, Doc?"

"I don’t see why not," the Doctor said with a nod. "Go ahead, Purple."

The white-maned mare nodded back, taking the enchanted band off of her forehoof. She was now properly visible instead of being almost see-through, facing Stella to ask, "So what do you... exactly know of nothingness, if that makes sense?"

"Uhh..." The cosmic unicorn thought about that for a moment. She knew a bit about the void, perhaps without realizing at the time, because she apparently utilized its power to create much of her dimensional tech. But nothingness? She wasn't sure she knew much of anything about that.

"I'm not sure... All I know as fact is what you said, that nothingness and the void are at the very least similar, so any knowledge I have of it is based on that."

Stardust listened, and nodded. "Well, if you've ever been near death, and felt... something, you've probably felt, for lack of a term, nothingness."

"Weird... So that's what that was?" She continued thinking. Nothingness... The closer you are to death, the closer you are to nothingness? Perhaps she was more familiar with it than she realized. Especially when, several times before, she's...

"Interesting." She finally looked down at her hooves, only to realize something was... different.

//Yep, the thing finally finished a day or two ago, and this is getting released an entire day before the end of the poll, almost exactly. Weird how things work out, huh?

//Yeah, there's gonna be a third part. Depending on how long it ends up being, there might also be a fourth. Then, uh... probably another pause, as I need to play out what happens next. Sorry!

//Image of the Doctor is cropped. Full picture is by @arcanethunder.

//Yes, I found it, and I edited the last part to have the credit as well.

//Image of Stardust/G1 Twilight is cropped. Full image is by (at)mulepaws on Twitter.

//I'd link their Tumblr, but it doesn't seem like the blog belongs to them anymore? Either that, or they just don't post art there, but I'm confused either way.

[goldshadowsarchive]

◈   TAG NINE PEOPLE YOU’D LIKE TO KNOW BETTER!

favourite colour(s): pink but i love all the colours.

favourite flavour(s): strawberry. lemon. chocolate. 

favourite genre(s): (murder) mystery. action. thriller.

favourite music: all over the place, don't ask. mostly pop, i guess?

favourite movie(s):  the nice guys. truman show. catch me if you can. lilo & stitch.

favourite series: LOST. bob's burgers. bojack horseman. 

last song: poplar street by glass animals.

last series: rewatching bob's burgers again. last new series: mare of easttown.

last movie: promising young woman, i think.

currently reading: one by one by ruth ware. this is how you lose the time war by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone. a good girl's guide to murder by holly jackson.

currently watching: bob's burgers lmao.

currently working on: drafts / ask, prioritizing where my energy goes.

tagged by: @dereiserne <3 tagging: @couldfight / @pcraspcra / @fyrewalks / @leschanceux / @doctordonovan / @yoakkemae / @rottweilerrr / @kurjaks / @patternsrhyme / @stitchfastened / @whcwashe / @wtrss / @holyfailed + whoever wants to steal this from me! ( i definitely didn't see that the title said nine people oop my bad )

[artsygummlpart]

I'm Datin' a Demon - Chapter 1 - Summonin'

This fanfic is written by myself and my GF @sigmath-bits

Trigger warnings - Blood, ritualistic self-harm, and swearing 

Outside, the sun is lowering toward the horizon, causing a warm orange glow to cast across the scattered pink clouds of the sky.

Inside of the Golden Oak Library, Twilight sits alone in the dim light that pours in. She is reading a mysterious green-spined book. The cover is a deep charcoal black adored with a blood-red demonic symbol. A polished grey mechanical hoof is flicking through the pages. Her right hoof is keeping her balance. Each page consists of arcane text and symbols.

“Hmmm, surely it will work this time without incident,” she thinks aloud to herself.

She stops at a page, reading over it. She narrows her one good eye as she reads a passage, a gauze bandage wrapped around the left side of her face.

“Spiiiiiike!”

Spike walks clumsily up the stairs from the basement, watching his feet over a bunch of black-coloured candles he holds in his arms. “I’m coming! I’m coming!”

“Good.”

Her eyes scroll across the page, furrowing her brow with an exhale. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

She rolls up the right sleeve of her dark grey jacket with a hoof. A red glow forms around her horn as she magically levitates the book to her nearby book stand in the centre of the room. From the same table she levitates a silver razor-sharp ornate knife with runic carvings etched into it.

With a swift motion she slashes the knife across her right forearm.

“FUCK!”

The blade clatters to the oak floor, along with a few trailing drops of blood. Her teeth clench as she wets the hard metallic surface of her robotic hoof with the blood from the wound. Walking around the room, her hoof draws a large precise circle with an inscribed six-pointed star resembling her cutiemark inked in her blood. The blood dries out from her metal hoof just as she finishes the inscription.

She tends to her wound. “Spike, quickly! Place the candles already, dammit!”

He nods. Quickly yet carefully he places each candle in their proper place.

“Phew … Twi, we should really take a long break from all this demon summoning stuff…” He gives an exasperate sigh. “Remember what happened to you last time? I mean, look at you! Have you told Princess Celestia yet?” Spike tilts his head towards Twilight with with a concerned frown.

Twilight rolls her one eye, issuing an annoyed grunt. “They don’t need to know!” She shakes her head. “Besides, I have everything under control, Spike. Now, please, just light the candles!”

“Fine…”

One by one, he breaths his green flame on each candle, lighting them. The blood-enscribed circle glows a soft red and fills the air with a low quiet hum.

“Yes, perfect!” She grins manically, rubbing her hooves together.

The black and green-spined book levitates back over to her within a red glow. She begins to recite an incantation from the page.

“Kcab gnir binome dash, tpe deht htae neb morfk. Calb foseld nacd, erfog nir!”

The final word leaves her lips and the candle flames grow to an unnatural height, towering tall above the two figures. Green and yellow swirls dance in Twilight’s wide eager eyes, her lips pursed in a joyful smirk.

The library door is swung open violently, crashing loudly into the wall. Twilight turns her head sharply toward the door.

“Hey, Twi!” Obliviously barreling in is a bright cyan mare adorned with a black leather jacket and a shaven rainbow mow-hawk dyed black at the root. “Ya’ busy?”

Looking up to the tall green flames, her hooves touch the ground. “W-What the—?”

Twilight grits her teeth in anger. “Dash! Now’s not the time! I’m in the middle of something!”

Suddenly, the swirling green flames erupt into a volcanic tower of glowing light at the exact moment the sun sets below the horizon outside. The sky is painted a blood red as the clouds swirl around the Golden Oak Library in a vortex of fury, air screaming in through the open door.

The flames finally dissipate and the sky suddenly clears. Left amidst the aftermath is the dark silhouette of a unrecognisable pony-like figure with spired tall horns, sharp pointed ears, and a thin rattling tail that trails behind her across the floor.

Rainbow Dash sits in silence with her mouth agape.

“Woah.”

DA ver https://www.deviantart.com/artsygum/art/I-m-Datin-a-Demon-fanfic-Chapter-1-Summonin-951223364

Twitter ver https://twitter.com/ArtsyGum/status/1629760582340468736

[unhinged-transmasc]

FLAG: MARINSEXUAL/-ROMANTIC/-AMORIC

The attraction to femininity, regardless of actual gender identity. One is primarily attracted to femininity, and may or may not be attracted to other gender presentations. Also known as aquorsexual/-romantic/-amoric. From Latin “mare/aequor,” meaning “ocean.”

Original post for marinsexual and similar terms. Free to use, create derivations of, so on and so forth!

Flag meanings (top to bottom):

Purple: mystery, diverse love and attractions

Pink: attraction to femininity; love and affection

Cyan: light, authenticity, truth

Blue: healing, community, solidarity

Deep blue: depth, identity, individuality

[marvellovegalore]

Breaking You

Chris Evans

Parte Deux - Hurting You

Synopsis: You begin to feel the true consequences of you hurting Chris and it's beginning to overwhelm you - and him.

Word Count: 2,483

Author's Note: I listened to quite a few songs to truly get into the vibe of this but The Cinematic Orchestra - To build a home (slowed) really got me into the energy I want to be delivered from this write-up. Happy Reading! Feel free to let me know how you feel!

Warning: Explicit Language, Mention of Mental Illness, Sexual Content

You’ve rarely had to consider yourself as someone who runs from her problems. You’d probably proudly tell anyone that asked that you quite confidently tackle your problems head-on.

However, you’ve created quite a serious problem for yourself. A broken heart.

What you have periled numerous men with, is now afflicting you. The odd thing is, is that you are exulting in it. It’s an oddly familiar sensation; it drowns your body in an intangible sickness that paralyses and asphyxiates you.

You sit at your piano, watching the silent and unmoving countryside. The fields of Portofino showered with golden sunlight, the brio reflecting into your room.

You haven’t pushed aside the sheer curtains since you arrived four days ago. You’ve taken your first shower this morning, the water sinking you into its comforting, warm embrace. You don’t really want to tell yourself aloud why you chose to come back to your grandparents’ old house, when stuff is going wrong. You’ve decided that playing the piano and smoking your days away is better than confronting yourself in the mirror - good thing all the furniture is covered with sheets. The sorry state of your face would make you plunder even deeper into your melancholy.

You will yourself to forget him and try to forget his existence.

But it’s virtually impossible, with him promoting a new film three towns over.

Good thing is you feel physically incapable of stepping outside of the confines of the house. The ladies that tend to the house scurry around the town buying food for the house and maintain its upkeep, they attempt to feed you three meals a day or four. You refuse most of the time, and they regard you with concerned gazes.

How could you begin to explain that with breaking a man’s heart, you subsequently had broken your own? His words blistered with bitterness bit you and dragged you down to the same pits of sadness that you plunged him into. You can probably say that you loved him, but you’ll probably truly never grasp why you can’t stay in something that requires such cemented commitment.

“Signora?” Your house governess interrupts your train of thought, you pull your cigarette away from your lips. “Sí?” She presents you with a letter addressed to you. The handwriting vaguely familiar to you. You thank her and dismiss her, the cigarette back in between your lips.

The letter doesn’t inform you of who it is from, but you hope, in the depths of your ribs that it’s from him, but you couldn’t possibly understand why he would ask to meet with you. He left you wordlessly two months ago and hasn’t been in contact since, not even through subliminal messages on social media. You can wager that you’re probably dead to him. It was made clear to you when you stood at the beach outside of your friend’s Malibu compound. He would rather die than get back with you; you don’t blame him.

You turn back to your piano, the keys feeling like lead beneath your shaky fingers. You play out a melancholic tune, your fingers feeling like they’re losing blood, you play clumsily, your eyes welling with tears.

You do have to admit, you feel extremely guilty for leaving him.

Life was beautiful with him.

He would have served you the sun on a platter if it meant making you smile - but you’re meant to destroy beautiful things.

It was what your father told you. You ruined his marriage to your mother; your sheer existence drove her to the brink of insanity. Since you were conceived you were a parasite that took the love your mother had for your father and you guzzled it out of her, taking all of her focus and affection. When you were born your parents refused the diagnosis of postpartum psychosis. Your mother believed you were an angel sent from heaven and doctors were trying to take you from her; so, she slowly succumbed to the madness and your father eventually was forced to send her away. The resentment he felt towards you all but scented the house, you were a poisonous leech, and you were treated as such.

You take the last drag of your cigarette and drag yourself to your walk-in closet, you decide on taking another shower - scrubbing away the odour of tar and smoke. You ready yourself for your strange and mysterious encounter. You dress yourself and half an hour later rush out to your car. The sun is low in the sky by the time you start driving away from the house, the countryside hugging you from all sides.

The drive is long into the town centre. The sky is blushed with pink and tinges of orange. You park your car and take a slow walk to the Splendido Mare; you enter the hotel’s restaurant and are led to a table. Your order a glass of wine and wait. After ten minutes you take out the letter, you read it from start to finish and confirm that the invitation was not a figment of your imagination; you were indeed summoned here by a mystery writer. Whom you hope is him.

You sit for half an hour at your table, you sip your anxiety away through two glasses of wine, you step outside and smoke two cigarettes and yet you’re still waiting. You flit through your phone notifications; you decide against your better judgement to type his name into the Goggle search bar. You fleetingly glance around the sparsely attended restaurant. You lock your phone without looking at the updates about him.

The thought of him makes your chest ache, harshly. The pain is tangible, you place your hands over your chest and wince. Something is not right.

You’re not aware of his slow approach, his hands wringing around each other, his cheeks red with nervous energy. He wishes he had had a shot of something - anything before getting here. He doesn’t recall what filled him the mad inspiration to send you a stamped letter to meet him at his hotel restaurant. He doesn’t know whether he wishes he had just called the brunette and spoken to her tonight; but he misses you. Madly.

He pulls out the chair in front of you. You can both tell that you’re holding in your breath.

Every time you see him it feels like the first time, all over again.

And he feels the same, but for either of you to admit it would be succumbing to defeat. You’re engaged in a silent and unspoken battle of wills.

“You sent me a letter?” You show him the letter. He nods, you sigh. “What is it you want to talk about?” You’re afraid to look into his eyes, they’re huge lakes filled with your dreams and deepest desires.

He hesitates, a ghostly sentence is formed on his tongue – he decides against materialising it. “I heard you were nearby; thought we could catch up.” He motions for the waiter. You narrow your eyes in - almost offence. What does he think, that you’re old pals?

He wants to catch up, but you want to do everything. Mostly profess your adoration for him and make love to him.

You despise the feeling; you’ve never felt like this for anyone. The alien feeling makes you heat up, your chest rises and falls quickly; agony filling your body as if you were a vessel to claim. “Right,” is all you can utter.

“What have you been up to?” He’s ordered two martinis, his eyes connecting to yours. You wince as the pain in your chest returns. How can he be so close yet so far?

“I was filming a fragrance campaign recently.” You speak quickly, an itch to smoke tickling your fingers. He nods, his eyebrows raised high.

“Nice.” He sighs and extends his clasped hands further onto the table. You look even more beautiful than in his thoughts, which he can’t expel you from. It seems your haunting presence is with him to stay, and his imagination can’t do any justice to your face and your intoxicating smell.

The conversation you have over your first drinks is dry, emotionless and full of hidden desires.

After each of you have three cocktails you let out the first laugh. He’s released himself a bit from the shackles of wanting to one-up you, his joke about his dog’s stubbornness reminding you of the good days of domesticity with Christopher and his dog. You move out to the terrace, candles flickering in the wind; you share more laughs. Memories being shared between you about life together.

There’s a clear shared emotion - longing. You crave the late summer nights sharing the dance floor with his friends or yours; him undressing you slowly in your pool; the nights watching the fire pit in your Santa Barbara home; the dinners enclosed in brick walled Italian restaurants with candles illuminating your elated faces.

“Come up with me.” His suggestion is quiet, his lips edging closer to yours. You nod, overcome with emotion. He grips on to your hand, the grip of a man thanking his lucky stars. He leads you to his room, on the top floor. A paradisiacal view of the sea and hills greeting you. The sun has set completely, and the moon casts a pale light over the buildings across the water.

Chris closes the door, and no sooner is he clutching at your lips with his. His hands smother you onto him and you meet him with the same desperation. Your hands slip under his shirt and moan into his mouth, your lipstick smearing over his lips. You feel him inhale your smell; he sighs desperately as he pulls you closer to him. You fall onto the chaise lounge in front of the open doors leading onto his balcony. The wind whispers sweet nothings onto your skins as you meld together, your bodies wanting desperately to be combined. He removes your clothes with familiar precision and your fingers touch him where you know he likes it.

The grooves of his skin are familiar, his dick entering you slowly as your fingers caress his tanned skin. He looks spectacular underneath you, his skin illuminated by the moonlight. You ride him slowly, you lips adventuring each other, like your bodies are each other’s long lost home territory. Your lips touch again, but it feels like the first time all over again. You feel yourself melting, your brain feels high, your limbs terribly relaxed. You guess this is what true love feels like. There’s nowhere else you’d want to be.

You love him. Only him.

He turns you over, on all fours, one hand gripping your throat and the other around your hair. He thrusts into you - with passion, his lips ghost over your shoulder. You feel your eyes close, the strength to fight the sedation unable to be found. It goes on for a while, and he flattens you onto your stomach. He lays on top of you, his hips gyrating against your skin, his arms encircling your torso. You feel safe, his head laying to rest in between you shoulder and jawline. He inhales your scent and kisses your shoulder, his lips printing their mark on your skin.

He turns you over and takes a deep breath, his eyes hold your entire world. They’ve trapped you into his universe and you have no desire to leave. He’s your whole world and you gave him away on a silver platter - but he’s here. He accommodates himself in between your legs and gives you a hug, his lips find yours in the darkness. The moonlight bathes you generously and he nestles himself inside you again. His lips refuse to leave yours; his thrusts grow in fervour; he wants to bury himself inside you and never leave.

He’s so deeply, and madly in love with you.

He can’t believe you hurt him. He hates you for it.

He pulls away from your kiss, his breathing heavy and slightly laboured.

His hides his face in the nook under your head. You feel like crumpling when you feel tears run over your shoulder, you hug him tighter. You want to stitch his wounds closed, tightly with your bare fingers and your lips. You want to mould your bodies together and live forever in this moment. His fingers reach for your clitoris and he makes love to you in two different ways. Your head lolls back and you feel ecstatic, currents washing over you slowly and you orgasm.

Chris kisses you desperately, swallowing your moans. He thrusts into you, complementing your orgasm. He releases himself into you, slowly moaning into your mouth.

After a few moments he stands up from the lounge chair and heads to the shower, as he walks through the door, he turns to you. He smiles in a way that you understand is an invitation to join him in the shower. You stand slowly, your legs feeling like jelly. You join him for a warm shower, peppered with tender kisses and saccharine touches.

Your bodies unconsciously refuse to part until you’re lying in his bed. He turns off the lamp and lays facing you.

A sweet look embalms his irises. His hand lifts itself to nestle under your cheekbone. He regards you softly.

“I love you,” he whispers, his voice shaky.

You smile sleepily, “I love you too.”

You’re hypnotised to sleep by his soft breaths.

—

The sunlight reflected on the lake wakes you out of you slumber, the first dreamless one you’ve had in months. You turn to the side where Chris is and find nothing but empty air. You sit up quickly; the room is deadly silent. Nothing but your movements on the bed make noise. You scramble out of the bed and look for him.

There’s no trace of him in the room. You let out small wail of desperation. What if it was all a dream?

You pace the room, an uneasy feeling setting itself in your chest. You feel the space between your ribs tighten and your head feel faint. Your legs feel weak and unsteady, you crumple into a heap near the chaise lounge. Your breath feels constricted, massively so. The world begins to spin, and you fall onto your back.

It feels like a heart attack.

You can barely feel your heart.

You drag yourself to the counsel table, desperate to reach the phone. Your hand misses it massively, instead a hotel branded paper flickers down next to you. You pick it up, the tightness in your chest limiting your movement.

I guess this is goodbye, I can’t get over the fact that I’ll never be able to trust you. No matter how much I want to.

I hate you for ruining us

I’ll miss you, forever.

With all my love,

C

--

Parte Quatre -

Tags -

@chvntelle-99, @krispy-toes, @hampass, @calimoi, @saltyflowermakertaco

[write-ur-wrongs]

Of Monsters and Men (pt. 1)

Summary: Geralt and Jaskier travel to a small seaside village after being hired to take care of a monster that has been terrorizing the villagers for months. However when they arrive, Geralt finds that the monster in question isn’t so easy to kill. 

A/N: This was getting to be quite lengthy, so I decided to split it into parts. This is the story I wanted to write when I first started watching the Witcher on Netflix and I am nervous and excited to finally be sharing it here!! Like with all my fics, I try to keep my Y/N has physically non-descript as possible, she/her and vibe are the only descriptors. I’ve also not proof-read but will edit errors as I see them post post lol. I hope y’all enjoy this!! Your feedback is always welcome :’)

this is approx. 2200 words and is largely setting the scene. I expect this to story to be told in no more than 3 parts. 

                              _________________________

When Geralt and Jaskier rode up to the quiet coastal village, they were struck by how calm and peaceful it was. The sound of waves lapping against the rocky shoreline, the rhythmic bumping of boats against the docks, and the soft clatter of driftwood windchimes melted together to create an atmosphere that soothed Jaskier to his core. He found himself gaping at the sights that surrounded him in wonder; truly taken by the way setting sun cast a golden glow on everything and painted the cloud-laced sky in rich hues of pink and orange.

“This place…” he sighed theatrically, waving his arms around, “is wonderful! Geralt are you not moved by the sight of it all? Does your soul not sing out! Oh, Geralt! Wow!”  

The witcher only rolled his eyes at his friend’s dramatics. Jaskier was always so blown away by the simplest things and it both amused and annoyed Geralt. Yes, the sky and the sea were beautiful sights, but more importantly, they were merciless vehicles of danger, death, and destruction; and Geralt knew better than to romanticize things that were, at their core, dangerous.

Sensing the bard’s eyes on him, Geralt gave him a hum of acknowledgement hoping it would be enough to satisfy Jaskier’s need for collective appreciation. It was, as he dreaded, insufficient.

“Come now, Geralt!” he enthused, “take that stick out your arse for a moment and appreciate the sights and sounds of this charming inlet! Listen to the sea! The chimes, Geralt! Listen to how the wind tickles the –”

“For fucks sake, Jaskier! It’s a fucking port city just like any other. This place is one bad storm away from being wiped out by that scenic sea of yours!”

“Yeesh,” Jaskier said letting out a low whistle. “Was it the stick in the arse bit? Too far?”

“Jask-”

“- because look, you are very stoic but – and I mean this as a compliment Geralt, so don’t get your leather in a –”

“Jaskier!” Geralt interrupted gruffly as he dismounted Roach with a huff. “Will you please shut up! Let’s just find the stables and the inn and get this over with.” Without waiting for Jaskier to catch up to him, he led his mare deeper into town.

Jaskier, refusing to let Geralt’s gruff exterior get him down, dismounted gracefully and lightly jogged to meet up with him, his lute clacking loudly against his back as he ran.

“Remind me again what dreadful little creature brings us out to this enchanting harbor?” he asked, still jogging a little to keep up with the witcher’s long strides.

“Don’t know yet.”

“Oh, ho-ho! A mystery? Always makes for a good song. What do we know so far?”

Geralt stopped and turned slightly towards the bard before speaking.

“Apparently a creature has been killing and dismembering men in town. They are being killed at all hours, bodies found in town, at sea, or out in the surrounding forests. Seems nowhere is safe.” Geralt let his cat-like eyes linger on the bard’s horrified expression for a moment before turning back and keeping on the path into town, shaking his head at Jaskier’s queasiness.

“Yeesh – Geralt! You’re not serious! Why would you bring me with you!?” Jaskier picked up the pace, suddenly wanting to be closer to his friend.

“You invited yourself,” Geralt said, trying to contain his smile, “as always.”

“Of course, I invited myself! You’re far to proud to admit you’d miss me.” Jaskier retorted. “Let’s get these horses to the stables, get rooms, and find food so that you can sort this out as quickly as inhumanly possible,” he said, speaking quickly and with a light waver, trying to pretend the quaint seaside village around him didn’t now leave him chilled to the bone.

“Hmm,” Geralt chuckled, happy to have managed to scare the bard into silence, at least for the time being.

The local pub was busier than Jaskier had expected when they rode into town. Seems the reason the village was so peaceful upon arrival was because everyone had already made their way to the bar. Fortunately, he’d managed to nab them a table by the stone fireplace; after a day of riding alongside the sea, Jaskier was desperate for a cold ale and a warm fire.

“Alrighty then, Geralt,” Jaskier said, holding his hands up to the hearth, “what have we got so far?”

“Not much,” he replied, tearing apart the loaf of bread a barmaid had brought over moments prior, “a couple people stopped me at the inn to ask me if I was here to kill the beast, but they didn’t have any information to offer besides the fact that it was a constant threat.”

“Well, maybe you’ll have more luck here – I mean look around, you’d think the whole town’s come to drink!”

“Port cities, Jask,” Geralt said, letting his gaze scan the room slowly, “the people here either spend their days at the mercy of the sea or waiting for their loved ones to come home. You drink for sorrow and for hope of a bright tomorrow.”

“That was poetic as fuck, Geralt! My influence?” he teased, shooting the witcher a cheeky grin, who merely grunted distractedly in reply.

Now ignoring his still-talking friend, Geralt’s eyes had landed on the two women working behind the bar. One was talking excitedly and kept casting quick glances toward the bard, blushing brightly when she caught his eye, while the other was watching Geralt with inquisitive eyes.

“… I tell you Geralt the more you allow yourself to – oh! Speaking of which, here come a few now!” Jaskier flourished, winking enthusiastically at the blushing barmaid who was making her way towards them sheepishly.

Geralt sat back in his chair and rolled his eyes, already tired of the flirting he was about to witness. To his surprise and great pleasure, Jaskier got up and met her halfway, leaving him in peace with his thoughts.

Having brought his attention back down to the bread before him, Geralt didn’t notice that he had company until she was right in front of him. Sensing her presence, he shot his gaze up quickly, and found her staring at his wolf medallion with a quirked brow.

“Forgive me,” she started, her deep, velvet-like voice washing over Geralt like morning sun after a cold night, “but you’re… a witcher?”

“I am,” he replied, giving her a crooked smile, his own voice, low and gravely and smooth, not going unnoticed by the woman before him. “Geralt, of Rivia.”

“Oh fuck,” she said, with a breathy sort of laugh, “so you’re not a witcher, you’re the Witcher then, aren’t you?”

Geralt let out a low and modest grunt, shaking his head at the comment. He thought himself immune to the scrutiny and awe that came with being the White Wolf, having carried the title for so long, but there was something about the way she was looking at him that left him shy.

“I’m,” he faltered needing to stop to clear his throat, having made the mistake to look her in the eyes, “just a witcher. Really.”

“Well, they don’t send you out for just anything, do they? For you to be out here in our little hamlet…” she squinted at him with a small tilt of her head, “we must be under some kind of threat. Should I be worried?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me, –” he stopped, waiting for her to introduce herself.

“Y/N,” she replied quickly, offering Geralt a warm smile despite the fact that she’d just crossed her arms, “and I mean we do get the odd ruffian coming through town. They always make a mess of things, don’t they? Beyond that, well, I suppose alcohol does breed violence in some,” she gave a light, one shouldered shrug, “but that’s not the kind of crime that would reach your ears.”

Geralt hummed thoughtfully, taking his time to consider Y/N’s words. She seemed almost too friendly, and there was something about her that both drew him in and had him putting up his guard.

“A monster has been picking the men of the village off one by one.” Leaning back into his chair to put some distance between them. “I’m surprised you wouldn’t be aware, considering,” he nodded towards the bar, “your job here.”

“Meaning what?” she retorted, wearing a playful smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Only that you must hear a lot,” he gestured vaguely to the crowd surrounding them, “and see a lot, doing what you do. I would have expected that the disappearance and dismemberment of men in town would be something of note.”

“Well,” Y’N tsked, “I’m sorry to say that you’ve been brought out here on something of a fool’s errand. There’s no monster here; the tale of disappearing men has been told here for months. It started with a woman, too embarrassed to admit that the man who impregnated her left her overnight, telling everyone that a creature from the forest killed him. From there the story grew wilder with every retelling.”

“Hm,” Geralt hummed, watching Y/N carefully with narrow eyes, “I was told dismembered body parts were turning up, consistently, after each disappearance, and that they were being identified as belonging to the latest victim. Besides, I was hired to come here. Why would someone pay me coin to rid a town of ghost?”

“People struck by tragedy will claim to see many things, Sir Geralt,” she replied softly, “not all of them will be true. A dead fish floating at sea, a creature mauled by wolves by the roads, rotten meats abandoned by vendors…” she shrugged, “the mind will twist the truth in order to bring comfort. Who hired you?” 

She added that last question quickly, and Geralt could tell it was calculated. Sensing this, he only replied with a quirked brow and a tilt of his head. 

Y/N betrayed no sense of frustration when she realized the Witcher wasn’t going to elaborate. Instead, her eyes softened, and she smiled at Geralt with what he perceived as pity. 

“Look, the truth is that there is no monster here. Isn’t that right Thalia?”

“Sorry, what?” Thalia, who had just walked back over the Geralt’s table with a tray of ales in her hands, was breathlessly giggling at something Jaskier had whispered in her ear. As she and Jaskier placed four ales on the table, Y/N took a seat across from the Witcher and quickly explained got the two up to speed.

“Oh goodness, that! I can not believe our town’s little lore made it to your ears, Sir Geralt!” She said with wide eyes as she snuggled up next to Jaskier, clinking her tankard with his before taking a generous sip.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jaskier coughed on his ale, “you’re telling me there’s no monster here? That we might actually be able to enjoy a little rest and relaxation here without any horrible monster-killing business? Geralt this is good news!” he exclaimed, smacking his free hand on the table for emphasis.

Geralt only growled out a hum in response, never taking his eyes off Y/N.

“I’ll admit,” Thalia continued, seemingly unaware of the tension between the Witcher and her friend, “it’s scary to think about – you know, murder – but when you actually think about who disappears, it’s not difficult to see the truth.”

At this, Geralt turned his fierce gaze away from Y/N. “What do you mean, ‘who disappears’?”

“O-only that the men who leave aren’t really the type that anyone would miss.” She replied, stuttering a little against her best efforts to not recoil at Geralt’s inhuman eye-contact. “They were mean, violent types. The kind of man that would get crueler the more he drank. Just, awful, evil men, right Y/N?”

Y/N nodded quickly in agreement, taking a slow sip of her ale. “Good riddance.”

“Exactly!” Thalia agreed, clinking her glass to Y/N’s.

“Hell, I’ll drink to that,” Jaskier laughed, before picking his lute up off the floor. “What do you say ladies, a song?”

Thalia cheered loudly and encouraged the rest of the patrons to listen to the bard, letting them all know that he was in fact, the one who traveled with the great White Wolf. Jaskier was positively floating from the adoration as he danced around the pub, pulling cheers and applause after every song.

All the while, Geralt never took his eyes off of Y/N, who had retreated back to the bar after finishing her drink.

Geralt wasn’t sure what to believe. He had a strange feeling about this place from the moment he and the bard arrived, and it frustrated him to no end that even after hours in town, he was no closer to understanding the source of his discomfort. One thing was for certain, something about the story he heard here tonight did not add up, and he definitely didn’t trust its source.

Y/N was standing behind the bar washing glasses, but she wasn’t focused on the task at hand. Instead, her eyes were trained on the crowd before her. Geralt watched her as she scanned the pub with calm, slow-moving eyes that jumped from patron to patron.

The witcher was distracted for a moment when Jaskier sauntered into his sightline, singing a loud chorus of Toss a Coin to Your Witcher. Despite himself, Geralt couldn’t help but smile at the bard, whose face was flushed from the ales and the exertion.

However, as Geralt watched Jaskier twirl across the crowded pub, something in his peripheral vision made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Y/N had turned he head and was staring right at him with a pair of pitch-black eyes.  

Like a shot, Geralt turned his gaze to the woman behind the bar – his heart beating loudly in his ears – only to find her smiling warmly at him, her eyes their normal shade.

Instinctively, Geralt brought his hand up to his wolf-head medallion, hoping it would signal the presence of some supernatural evil. But he felt nothing.

He didn’t know what she was, but she was not human.

[jackyjango]

AU-gust Day 19: Dæmons

Warnings: Implied CSA

-

Laurent rejoices when his dæmon manifests when he’s five. It’s a wee little kitten with white fur, blue eyes and a pink nose. Étoile, Auguste’s dæmon, names it. When he’s eleven, Étoile shifts into a deer.

‘Why a deer?’ Laurent whines. He’d expected his dæmon to settle into a mighty serpent, like his uncle’s had, even a fox, or a jungle cat. A deer, in comparison is frail.

‘Because they’re beautiful, just like you,’ Auguste says, stroking Laurent’s hair. ‘Beautiful, elegant, quick and kind.’

Étoile is not a doe, as it is with everyone else. But despite his misgivings, Laurent admires Étoile. He’s astute and graceful. More than anything, he runs on par with Laurent’s mare when they go riding in the meadows.

Laurent’s twelve when his uncle strokes Étoile behind the ear, and whispers, ‘You’re a beauty, aren’t you?’

Laurent’s not the same after that. He locks himself in his chambers and refuses to read, ride or speak to Auguste. Étoile stops speaking entirely.

When he’s eighteen, Laurent’s uncle dies a mysterious death. With him, dies his serpent.

The Akielon delegation arrives at the Veretian court when Laurent’s twenty. The delegation is headed by the Akielon prince, Damianos- a towering brute dwarfing everyone as he walks up to Auguste’s throne. The courtier’s dæmons cower behind their humans at the sight of the Prince’s dæmon- a large lioness that walks regally beside her human.

‘I’m Damianos, and this is my dæmon, Nemeana,’ the Prince says.

Laurent expects Étoile to shy away from the beast like he does with others’ dæmons, like a prey would on spotting a predator. But he doesn’t. Étoile runs from Laurent’s side to the lioness, and for the first time in eight years, says, ‘Welcome. I’ve been waiting for you all my life.’

-

>>AU-gust Fills

[wanderer-among-undead]

Blood on the Water

Liurnia’s chill hardly bothered Sue as the mare trotted through the mysteriously shallow waters of the lake. August had given him a tip that a member of the Lord of Blood’s dynasty had been spotted around the Laskyar Ruins. A small town that had become partially sunken under the thick layer of sediment of the lake.

“Y’ stay here girl,” Jarrod whispered into Sue’s ear, patting the Sue’s mane. “If it gets bad, run. Y’ain’t gonna die here.” Not that he intended on dying--even if he could. His steps sloshed in the water around him, drawing his blades. The one spotted was not a woman, he had heard. A man in dark robes with a red shawl. A noble, August had explained--a high ranked part of their dynasty. But what would someone like that be doing out here?

“Hello?” A voice called out. “Is somebody there?”  

The sudden voice startled the wanderer, and Jarrod turned around, finding himself face to face with a simple commoner. Garbed in a loose, white linen top, exposing a pallid chest, tucked into black breeches. Barefoot in the water with a black shawl around his shoulders and aged white hair acting as curtains around clean wrappings over his eyes. When did he get there? He was almost certain he was not being followed. But those blindfolds… a blind man all the way out here?

“Aye,” Jarrod replied. “Y’lost’re somethin’?”

“Oh no, not lost. I just could hear the extra steps in the water and… are you a Tarnished?”

“I am, how can y’ tell?” Jarrod squinted at the apparent blind man, wondering what his game was.

“Oh, it is just… more Tarnished pass through here these days,” the commoner spoke. He folded his hands, covered by leather gloves. “Oh, please, it has been so long since I last had company. Would you mind guiding me to my house? My eyes are not what they used to be I believe the house was marked. Hematite chalk--you cannot miss it.”

“Y’sure y’ wanna be livin’ ‘round here? Heard some dang’rous people started makin’ this their haunt.”

“I make sure to not be out, when they are. But, your worry is very touching. Tarnished? What is your name?” The commoner extended a hand to Jarrod, his hand limply waiting for his to grab it.

“Jarrod.”  He sheathed one of his swords, taking the hand, grasping it in his.

“Such a strong grip, Jarrod. I am well protected this walk home. Thank you. You may call me Gwyar… a perfumer.”

“Y’ make… perfumes,” Jarrod asked, keeping his eyes peeled.

“Among other commodities and medicines,” Gwyar replied. “When I lived in Leyndell, I was once a doctor.”

“Who makes perfume.”

“Who makes perfume.” They walked a few more feet, before he continued. “I was quite a doctor back then. Could cure a bad case of poison from a Miranda Plant, and could even prevent a man from losing their leg without needing an incantation.”

“Impressive,” Jarrod humored him, taking this rambling as just the utterings of a lonely old man. “So, what brought y’ out this way? Pretty far from th’ capital.”

“It was my daughter in fact,” he explained, but before he could continue the tale, Jarrod stopped. Before them stood a small, half sunken house where upon the door was engraved in red, the symbol of a trident. “Are we here? Already? You work fast, my friend. Come, I must repay you.”

“Y’ sure?” Jarrod watched the man open the door, and he was hit with a wave of fragrances, both familiar and unfamiliar. Incenses, perfumes, and flowers gave the small, makeshift shelter a very unique and alluring fragrance.

“Positive, my boy. A lad such as yourself must be rewarded, and I know just the concoction…”  Gwyar motioned for Jarrod to follow him. Inside, tables were lined with all sorts of strange concoctions. Perfume bottles filled with pink and purple liquids. One filled with suspiciously sanguine colored tablets. In the far corner of the room, a bucket glowed with a chilly mist billowing from it. “Have a seat… I know I have salvaged at least three chairs.”

Jarrod silently nodded, finding a nearby stool, pulling it out from under the workbench. An alembic with a golden flask dripping a clear liquid into it sat atop it. A curious thing.  

“So, y’ were sayin?”

“Where was I?” he asked, standing by that very workbench. “Ah yes, I was talking about my daughter… I lived in Leyndell, and I was married to a beautiful woman--did you have a woman before coming here?”

Jarrod shifted uncomfortably in his stool, between the fragrances and the question, he could not find it easy to just sit still. And by the gods, was it humid inside this home. How many sticks were burning incense in here?  Gwyar reached for a few more sticks, and Jarrod watched as he barely fumbled around.

“Ah, well,” he said, placing a single stick on an incense holder. “She was a beautiful thing--hair of gold, just like Marika. And our daughter was sure to be a beauty as well.” He took a nearby candle and lit it letting the stick begin to let off its peculiar scent as its smoke mingled with the haze near the roof of the home. “Only, when she was born, she was cursed. Do you know of Omens, Jarrod?”

“Y’mean bad signs?” He waved his hand in front of his face, his nose twitching. This incense was strong.

“In a way, you could call it that.” Gwyar slid his arms across the table, “I… could not help my Lenore, but our daughter…. She was my beautiful daughter, but others did not see her that way. No, they would have excised her horns and killed her. But I hid her away, making sure no one would touch her, you see. I was quite good at it. Stay in the house, do not open the door. Hide under the floorboards when the Omenkillers pay a visit. And I was so close, so very close. Ten years,  my boy, ten years I protected my sweet Loucah from their wretched hands. All the while, I searched for a cure. A way to undo the affliction my daughter had been afflicted with…”

Jarrod’s eyes felt heavy, his thoughts sluggish. The story was dragging on, now, it seemed. He wanted to speak, but found himself simply staring ahead. What was an Omen? A curse? How did this man see, when he was blind? The answer was obvious, and yet it felt so muddled and foggy.

“That was when I found myself under the employ of another Lord. It was because of him, Loucah lives. And I see that it is not a curse that was placed upon her. Omens and men, we can coexist.” Jarrod watched Gwyar reach across the table. “The problem is that there is not enough… love.”

The way he spoke such a word brought Jarrod to his senses for just a split second as the man turned around, his bandages loosened enough to reveal his crimson eyes. His body was sluggish as he pushed the man away, hissing in pain as the blade jabbed into his right shoulder. The pain was dull at first, but then turned sweet. Blood soaked into the fabric and then out from it.

“Such a rich color, Jarrod.” Gwyar slowly pulled the blade out, watching the wanderer stumble back. “Pure and sweet. Naïve.”  

One sword hissed from Jarrod’s scabbard, but Gwyar was upon him again, this time placing his gentle hand upon Jarrod’s.  But this time, Jarrod reacted with a prompt headbutt, using the sharp pain inflicted to himself as well to refocus himself. The knife remained in his shoulder, for now.

“Who’re y’ really?” Jarrod asked, panting, his glinstone blade fully drawn and held in front of him as Gwyar rubbed his forehead. “Cessblood.”

“Such unkind words,” Gwyar replied. “And after how well  we were getting along.” Gwyar was relaxed. Too relaxed. With a flourish of his shawl, the black fabric fluttered towards him, obscuring his vision long enough for Gwyar to cross the room and pick up something from another table.

Jarrod gritted his teeth, struggling against the incense and the numbingly pleasant pain in his shoulder. He could see Gwyar rushing towards him, now, with a speed unexpected for a man his age, and an inhuman roar as he brandished a pair of daggers, dripping with blood. Gwyar flung himself at Jarrod, the twin blades a blur of red, slashing and cutting away at him as he desperately blocked what he could. Glass and clutter broke around them as Jarrod’s whirling blade moved. He rolled over one table, using it to create some distance between them. Flipping his blade, Jarrod lifted up the glintstone pommel, channeling its power into a barrage of crystal bolts, which Gwyar swiftly stepped to the side to avoid, a smile on his face for but a moment, before he realized Jarrod’s intended target with the sound of shattering glass.

The cool air of Liurnia entered the house, and the thick haze within it began to dissipate, floating out the window. Shakily, he reached up and pulled the knife from his shoulder, gasping as the blood began to flow freely. With little time, he broke into a run, then slid under another table as Gwyar leaped across to attack him. His shoulder hurt like a thousand needles as he rolled over onto it, more blood coming out--the scent sweet to the cessblood hunting him. Patting his belt, he found the pouch where he kept the small crimson flask Alina had given him and downed a swig, feeling its healing powers invigorate him and close the wounds across his flesh. Pocketing it once more, he rose up, drawing his second sword.

“What’re y’ after, Gwyar? What’s this Dynasty want?” He felt sluggish still, even as he adjusted his stance, dragging his glintstone sword across his other blade, which began to emit an azure glow.  “S’this what Loucah wanted?”

“My daughter,” he laughed. “My Lord Mohg is the only one who accepts her, even in her madness. And I am forever grateful… Everything I have made was in his name--with his name. And I will continue to do so, until his Dynasty is--”

It was Jarrod’s turn to leap across the table, hopping up onto it and then jumping down upon Gwyar with his swords cutting in an X, before the old man could react. Blood spilled across the floor and splattered onto Jarrod’s torso as he fell on top of Gwyar, stabbing one sword down into his wrist, forcing him to drop one dagger, and then the second in his shoulder. Jarrod loomed over him, his emerald eyes meeting the total sanguine of Gwyar.

“Who is Mohg?” he asked. “That th’ Lord o’ Blood?”

“Ah…” Gwyar wheezed. “You know of my Lord… then you know of our--”

“Love?” Jarrod twisted the sword in his wrist, causing the man to cry out.  “I know what yer sense o’ love is. How y’ twisted it. Where is he?”

“Far from your reach, lambkin.”

“Does he love y’?” he asked.

“Yes…” he smiled. “My Lord Mohg… valued my wisdom and…”

“Good,” Jarrod muttered darkly, bringing his sword up out of Gwyar’s wrist, before plunging it down upon his chest. The old man’s body seized up, his eyes widened at Jarrod’s gaze. If this Lord of Blood loved so much, this was the least he could do. It felt oddly cathartic. This one was not who had tainted Rosalind. Not the one who pained her so much. Twisted her. Yet, it felt so good to see someone so devoted to a mad man breathe their last under him.

After he caught his breath, Jarrod scoured the remnants of the lab, searching for clues that would be more useful to him. The first thing he took was that golden flask, which seemed so misplaced in this home of blood. Its cork bore the symbol of the Erdtree. After stowing it away, Jarrod found a second, more important clue. A black and gold medal, bearing the same trident symbol Gwyar had placed upon his home. Perhaps, Gideon would know more.

[carelessannie]

here’s the second part of my winteriron mermay au! enjoy!

while we’re devoting full time to floating chapter two: boy you better do it soon

Rating: M (for now) Word Count: 6.8K Relationships: Tony x Bucky Warnings: Smut adjacent (unintentional sex toys), sexual tension, profanity, kinda drug/alcohol use Read on AO3 Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

- - -

His eyes blink open slowly. It’s strange to wake up without a blinding headache. Actually, it’s strange to wake up without any pain. And with the sun shining in his face.

To his left, he sees a small form on the water’s surface. In his mind’s eye he knows the form is familiar, knows that there should be someone inside— but it slips quickly, evading his memory as the dark form fades over the horizon.

Tony shakes his head. He smacks his lips.

Where is he?

First of all, he’s definitely not in the ocean. It seems like he’s resting on some type of rock formation, with just his tail hydrated in the water. Interesting. He seems to be inside a cove, the shelter working wonders to hide him from the mid-afternoon sun.

Secondly, he’s alone. He never travels alone, especially not to the shore. It hurts to try and remember, but reality slams into him like an orca whale. Rhodey and Pepper. The exploration to colonize. The fucking Tiger Sharks, dammit! Tony’s tail slaps the surface of the water in frustration, and he lets his body slip into the shallow pool.

He hopes the sharks didn’t get his friends. The memory of the fight is hazy at best, but he knows he shouldn’t be feeling this good afterwards— he’s pretty sure he got hit at least once. There are no scratches or bruises anywhere on his body, and it’s confusing that he doesn’t even have a headache.

That’s a problem for later, though. Now, Tony needs to find his friends— or, what remains of his friends. He swims out of the cove and down, through the reefs. Fish seem to be tentatively peeking out of their hiding spots, and he follows the empty spaces to trace the path a shark might have taken. He whistles, sharp and quick, to try and map out the figures in the surrounding area, and is satisfied when his call is returned with a low chirp. Thank the sea.

“Rhodey!” he hollers, pushing through the crowded reef, searching wildly for his closest friend, his faithful number two. As Tony breaks into the clearing, he freezes at the sight in front of him.

Rhodey and Pepper are swimming territorial circles around all three Tiger Sharks— and, from the looks of it, all three are dead.

“Tony!” Pepper notices him first and beckons him closer. When he swims up, she throws her arms around his neck, sobbing briefly into his shoulder, before reeling back and lightly slapping his arm, “How dare you worry me like that! I was sure all we’d find were scales— how did you get away?”

“I…” Tony tries to remember, he really does, but the only things coming to mind are brilliant blue eyes, an ethereal glow, and a deep, alluring voice, “I think someone saved me. But, by the time I woke up, they were gone.”

“You didn’t recognize them?” Rhodey swims closer, looking him up and down, inspecting for injuries.

“No, I don’t… I don’t think they’re part of the Kingdom,” Tony murmurs, reaching up to subconsciously play with his signet ring. His memory is usually so sharp, it’s strange that—

“Holy shit, Tony— look!” Pepper interrupts, pointing at his chest. He looks down, but all he can see is a slight illumination around his sternum.

“What—”

“Stay still,” Rhodey snaps, gently lifting the ring off of his skin. Pepper reaches in to trace a delicate circle on his chest, and both of his friends look awestruck. And afraid. He tries to crane his neck and see, but all he notices is that the glow fades the longer the ring is kept from touching his body. Rhodey hums, thoughtfully, “Seems like the ring is enchanted. I haven’t encountered a witch in ages— but I guess one came out of hiding to save you.”

“I guess. Pep, do you have a mirror?” The longer Rhodey holds the ring, the tighter Tony’s chest feels. He plucks it out of Rhodey’s hand as Pepper pulls a mirror out of her satchel, turning it around so Tony can take a look.

His signet ring lays in the center of his chest, a steady weight, and radiates a faint glow. It’s more concerning that, surrounding the ring, there’s a few inches of light emanating from under his skin. Tony reaches up to trace it— the gold ring and blue haze, so similar to the eyes he remembers saving him. Still, nothing hurts, and Tony pushes the mirror away.

He ignores their concerned looks and starts to tie up the sharks, concentrating on getting them back to the Kingdom before any larger predators arrive to investigate. After a moment, both of them swim down to help him, shouldering the bodies and heading back towards the Kingdom’s butcher.

It’s a few more minutes before Tony breaks the silence, giving his friends a break, “So, uh… do you think I’ll be a lanternfish forever?” He throws them a smirk and laughs at Pepper’s exasperated sigh.

Rhodey bumps into his shoulder, “You have trouble blending in as it is— at least now we’ll be able to keep track of you… in night clubs.”

Tony gwuafs, offended, and shoves at Rhodey’s shoulder. With everyone happy and laughing, it’s easy to forget about his mysterious savior and the inevitable conversation he’s going to have with his father later on. They head straight for the butcher when they enter the city, several citizens cheering and praising their kill. Tony knows he’ll get the credit for it, even though it was Rhodey and Pepper who slew the sharks, so he takes off as soon as they drop the bodies, heading to the castle to see the King.

---

Hours later, Tony sits at the far perimeter between two sentinels, staring out into the open ocean. The nocturnal fish have emerged, sending an eerie glow onto the city as the lights dim, throwing the Kingdom into gentle darkness. It does nothing to soothe Tony’s anger.

He takes Pepper’s satchel, full of rocks and shells and other samples from their journey, and dumps it over the side of the wall. Useless. It’s almost as if his dad doesn’t even want to explore anymore, just sending Tony out to keep him distracted. And he knows that’s probably the case, he’s not stupid, but he can tell there’s something deeper his dad isn’t telling him.

Well, fuck ‘im. Tony’s more than capable of figuring it out on his own.

For now, he stares out into the distance, throwing a silent Tony pity party.

There’s movement in the distance. At first, Tony thinks it’s debris. It’s not uncommon for items to fall from the surface— but this object suddenly twists, and he sees… shit, he sees arms. Fuck. It’s a person.

“Stay alert,” he instructs the guard on his right, “I’m gonna check it out.”

Tony takes off into the dark, distantly aware that one of the guards is hot on his tail, and heads straight for the figure still drifting towards the ocean floor. He slows down as he approaches, thankful for the light in his chest that illuminates his surroundings. When he gets to the spot, sand is settling in a cloud around where the figure landed. It takes a moment for everything to clear, and Tony waits patiently, the guard at his side prepared with a weapon.

It’s a man. “Holy shit,” Tony breathes out, swimming closer to the limp body stretched across the sand and rock.

“Be careful, your Highness,” his guard warns, and Tony waves his hand in dismissal.

The man landed facing away from him, giving Tony a good view of strong, muscular shoulders and wavy, shoulder-length hair, half tied back behind his ears in a small knot. His back rises and falls, expanding with slow breaths that reassure the man’s gentle sleep. He leans over and pulls on his shoulder, carefully turning him onto his back.

He’s absolutely gorgeous. Lips slightly parted and turned down in sleep, his face is utterly serene. His lashes are dark and cast a delicate shadow over sharp cheekbones, sprinkled with a tasteful amount of scruff, not quite enough to hide his full jawline and smooth, tanned skin. Tony can’t help himself— he reaches down and cups the man’s jaw, brushing his thumb over full lips and wishing he could look into this man’s eyes.

With a gasp, the man jerks awake, and Tony gets his wish. Deep, electric gray eyes bore into his own, the handsome face overtaken with shock and confusion as he bolts upright, pushing Tony away and looking around frantically.

“Hey, hey— it’s alright. You’re okay, please don’t panic,” Tony tries to calm him down, sighing in relief when the man turns his focus back on Tony, still looking desperate and confused, “My name’s Tony, you’re outside Howard’s Northern Kingdom— can you… can you tell me your name? Where you came from?”

The man shakes his head. He’s shaking slightly, and Tony watches as he runs his hands over his chest, his hips, and his silver and crimson tail— as if grounding himself in the present. Tony understands and gives the guy some space.

He hates the devastated look in the man’s stunning eyes, but is grateful when he croaks out, “The… the Northern Kingdom? Under water?”

Tony snickers, motioning around, “For now, yeah— that’s where sea life generally lives.”

The man nods, a little too quickly, “Right, I… of course, right. My name…” he grimaces, as though it’s painful to remember, “I’m James, but… but people call me Bucky.”

“Bucky,” Tony repeats, liking the sound of this stranger’s voice, somehow familiar, “I’m Tony, and King Howard is my father. Unfortunately, before I can help you out, I’m gonna need to know why you’re here, or where you’re from,” he gestures to the guard behind him, “otherwise this guy’s not gonna let you come home with me.”

Bucky’s smile is a revelation as it breaks over his face. Tony feels something twist in his chest as he ducks his head, looking up at Bucky through his lashes and watching the other man’s cheeks flush pink in delight. Oh, Tony likes this a lot.

“Well, I’m… I’m from…” the smile falls from Bucky’s face as he concentrates, a painful grimace maring his features again, “The Kingdom of Brooklyn, and my brother is the King. His name is Steve. And I… I don’t know why I’m here,” his brow furrows and a small whimper leaves his throat as he concentrates harder, and Tony has to stop it.

“Hey, Bucky? Please don’t— don't’ hurt yourself, okay?” He grins in approval as Bucky relaxes, “We can work on it, sweetheart, for now, what you’ve given me should be sufficient. I’ve never heard of Brooklyn, but if you’re a Prince and not one of our enemies, our King shouldn’t have a problem with offering you temporary residence.”

“I… okay,” Bucky agrees, looking down at his hands, “I don’t want to impose.”

Tony holds out a hand and pulls Bucky along with him.  They swim back through the gate and into the city— most families are already tucked into their homes for the night, so no one sees them on their way back to the castle. Bucky looks absolutely stunned, barely talking during their journey, and it amuses Tony to no end. Obviously whatever Kingdom he’s from is small and underdeveloped in technology and population.

They travel shoulder to shoulder, and Tony can’t help but feel a familiar warmth when their arms brush against each other, the ring around his neck pulsing brighter. It seems like Bucky notices it too, but the expression on his face is difficult to read.

“So this is a weird question,” Tony starts, fiddling with the ring as he studies Bucky’s face. The other man smiles encouragingly, so Tony continues, “have we… met before? Like, specifically earlier today?”

Bucky stops suddenly, looking at Tony as if he’s actively growing another tail. For a moment his face looks surprised, filled with recognition, but it quickly disappears as Bucky hunches over and lets out a pained gasp, clutching desperately at his head. Tony has no idea what to do— and in panic, he pulls Bucky closer, wrapping the larger man in his arms.

“Shh, I’m so sorry,” Tony whispers, trying to soothe away the pain. Bucky is trembling like a leaf in his arms, and he’s helpless to do anything about it. He’s also aware that they’re drifting in between several dwellings, and Tony needs to get them inside, soon.

Soft, red-rimmed eyes blink up at him, and Tony brings up his hand to push a few wayward strands of hair out of Bucky’s face. Even upset and in pain, this man is flawless. He sniffles and blinks a few times, struggling to turn a reassuring smile up at Tony.

“T-thank you,” he murmurs, face flushing pink again in embarrassment, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Everything is… familiar. But I can’t remember you, I’m sorry.”

Tony clicks his tongue, following the blush with his fingers and enjoying the close press of their bodies, “It’s okay, Bucky— we’ll figure it out.”

---

They make it back to the castle in one piece, and Tony knows it’s going to be best to present his guest to the King immediately. He knows his presence isn’t welcome due to the argument earlier in the evening, but the consequences will be worse if Tony tries to hide what he’s found.

The two of them wait outside of the King’s rooms as a steward leaves to announce them to his father. Tony tries to fill Bucky in on procedures, but it seems his guest is already familiar with a number of expectations and etiquette.

“Oh, and remember to tuck your tail as well. And if he tells you to be informal, he really means you can call him ‘Your Grace,’ not to call him Howard. He’ll hate that.” Tony rambles, listing off everything he can think of.

“Wait,” Bucky stops him, “tuck my… tail? Why?”

Tony chuckles, backing up slightly to face Bucky. He looks around to make sure no others are watching— it would be improper for the Prince to bow, even in jest— and when he’s satisfied that the coast is clear, tucks himself into a formal bow.

“Oh,” Bucky breathes, and Tony unfolds himself, his smile erased completely by the intensity in Bucky’s eyes. Fuck. “That’s… that was…”

And then smoothly, gracefully, Bucky mirrors his bow, curling his tail forward, dipping his head, and crossing one arm over his chest respectfully. Tony is speechless. The show of respect— even casually— from this breathtaking man, has him breathing deep to keep his desire at bay.

It seems as though Bucky’s having a similar problem. As he unfolds from his bow, Tony can see his pupils blown wide, the scales around his groin flushed pink in arousal. Tony can bet his own scales look the same, and tries to laugh, tries to calm them down as he backs away slightly. It won’t help either of them to see the King looking like this.

Of course that’s the moment the King’s steward chooses to return, giving both of them a disapproving once over before opening the door wide, “His Majesty will see you in his library.”

Okay, not the worst then. If Tony was in deep shit, Howard would just see them in the drawing room. At least Tony likes the library.

He leads Bucky down the hall and into the library, hiding a smile at the awe clearly written on Bucky’s face. He takes a second look, trying to view his father’s library with fresh eyes, but has trouble when his gaze keeps landing on the handsome man swimming next to him.

Howard is reclining near a window, absently eating a few fermented algae— his usual method of winding down from a difficult day. As the King looks their way, a piece of algae still in his fingers, Bucky dips into a formal bow. Triton, he looks good like that. Tony dips his head, informally, and both of them straighten up a moment later.

“What is it, Anthony?” his dad sighs, putting the piece of algae on his tongue to dissolve. Tony suddenly feels parched, but holds his arm out to present Bucky regardless.

“An hour ago, as I was watching the border of our Kingdom, a figure fell from the surface. I went to investigate with a guard, and we found James, here, unconscious and unarmed. James claims to be a prince from a Kingdom called Brooklyn, with a King named Steve, and is seeking asylum until he can resume his travels. His mind is damaged, and I wish to extend my care and hospitality towards him for the duration of his stay.”

The King looks at both of them, his face refusing to give anything away, but Tony knows from experience that he’s much more perceptive than Tony gives him credit for. He crosses his arms and addresses Bucky, “Prince James, then,” he says, testing out the title, “if not hostile, what are your intentions towards my Kingdom and my son?”

Bucky ducks his head and nods, “My intentions are to know your Kingdom and know your son, if he so desires, Your Majesty. I am healing and recovering my memories, and once I’ve reclaimed my original destination, I shall depart immediately.”

Howard nods, satisfied with this answer. He points to the small pail on his side table, “Anthony, would you bring your… friend a refreshment?”

Tony spares Bucky a shrug and swims over to the chilled container, lifting it slightly to scoop out a small bundle of algae into a glass, trapping them quickly with a lid. He grabs a few for himself and makes his way over to where Bucky floats, his eyes wide and curious as Tony hands over the refreshment.

Bucky looks down at the cup in his hands, obviously and adorably lost. Tony glances over at Howard— his dad looking between them in amusement— and touches Bucky’s shoulder, catching his gaze and motioning for him to follow Tony’s example.

Reaching into his glass, Tony fishes out a piece of algae, showing Bucky how it sticks slightly to his finger. Bucky copies him, and grabs a smaller piece in between his forefinger and thumb. Tony wishes he could feed the bit to Bucky himself, place it on his tongue and feel his pretty pink lips suck it from his hand.

Instead, he quickly places it on his own tongue, humming happily as the sweet and sour algae dissolves, sending a warm shiver down into his belly, clearing his head and heating him up from the inside out. Damn, his dad always has the best shit.

He turns his attention back to Bucky, watching intently as he follows suit and places the morsel in his mouth. His eyebrows shoot up, he looks down at the cup in shock— as if the remaining algae could provide some explanation— and then, to Tony’s dismay, Bucky lets out a guttural groan, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure as his cheeks hollow out, lips curling tight around his fingers while he sucks them clean.

Tony is having something close to a stroke, and his dad is laughing loudly in front of them, obviously finding Tony’s distress amusing. He’s going to commit regicide, and it’s going to be slow and painful and bloody.

He overcompensates by taking the lid off his glass and throwing the rest of the algae back, breathing deep as the sensation hits him all at once. As he sways a bit in place, he catches Bucky staring at him in amusement.

“Anthony,” his father sighs, shaking his head in annoyance, “do whatever you must. He can stay… in your rooms, primarily. Or in the guest lodging— as long as you have security on him at all times. Get Jarvis to set up residence wherever you’d like, Anthony. Just don’t let me hear it, and don’t let me see it.”

Bucky is frozen with another algae halfway to his mouth, flushed red and eyes wide. Tony is convinced that flustered is his natural state. Before his dad can embarrass them further, Tony takes Bucky’s hand and excuses them, swimming quickly back down the hallway.

He doesn’t stop until they reach his rooms and slam the door. They’re already cackling before they hit the nest, and Tony can’t catch his breath. He rolls over and tucks close into Bucky’s side, enjoying how his chest shakes as they laugh together.

“What the fuck did I just eat, Tony,” Bucky wheezes, and Tony loses it again, ducking his face into Bucky’s neck and sobbing into his skin.

“Fer… fermented algae, baby.”

“I— I can’t believe… it tasted like…” and Bucky’s voice cuts off, his body stilling. Tony looks up to see what happened, and Bucky is staring straight forward, unmoving. Frozen.

“Bucky? What did… what did it taste like?”

“It. I can’t…” And again, Bucky’s face contorts, breath stuttering as his hands come up to cradle his face, sighing in pain. Tony immediately pulls his hands away and replaces them with his own, massaging his temples until he’s met with deep, gray pools of sweet relief.

“Don’t push it, honey,” Tony purrs, resting his body gently on top of Bucky’s, rubbing their noses together and blowing a few bubbles, making Bucky giggle and relax. He lays his head down on Bucky’s chest, before realizing how close they are together— and how little they’ve actually gotten to know each other.

“Dammit,” he curses, pushing off of Bucky’s chest and floating away, “we don’t— shit. I don’t even know you. You have no idea who you even are. I am so sorry, I just fed you an unknown substance, oh seas,”

“Tony, it’s okay—”

“I’ll get you your own room, I promise. You don’t have to put up with—”

“Tony! Hey,” Bucky swims off the nest and presses him up against the ceiling, pinning his shoulders and staring into his eyes, “I remember who I am, I just can’t recall where my home is. I know the name of my brother, and my best friends. I have a…” small grimace, “pet named Alpine. I’m a scientist and a Prince, and I’m almost completely convinced that I’m—”

He pauses, a familiar blush traveling down his chest and filling his cheeks. Tony blinks down at him, “That you’re what?”

“That I’m already, irreversibly infatuated with you.”

Tony feels the ring around his neck pulse, bright and hot on his skin, as if agreeing with the sentiment. He wants to respond, really does, but everything is too new, too important. Bucky is too important.

They’re close, though. Tails brushing together, bubbles of air mixing and joining in front of their faces. Tony can hear his own heartbeat, frantic and longing for the man in front of him. Bucky reaches up, acting as if he wants to touch the ring, but he hesitates. His fingers flex, his eyes blink rapidly, and then he’s reaching into Tony’s hair, pulling on strands tenderly and cradling his face in strong, sure hands.

And Tony just melts in his palms, an absolute jellyfish for this mysterious stranger. The tension between them is heavy, thick and magnetic. He drifts into Bucky’s space and tries to watch for a sign, any sign, but his eyes are closed— when did his eyes close? And then their scales rub together, catching and pulling, tearing a desperate moan from Tony’s lips. There’s a hand in his hair and eyelashes on his cheek, and their lips— their breath—

“I can’t,” Tony whispers, forcing his eyes open to watch Bucky frown in confusion. “I’m sorry, I’m crazy about you, but you deserve…” and he can’t remember, right now, everything that Bucky deserves, but he knows it’s a lot.

“Oh, I… Okay. I get it,” Bucky nods, devastating resignation taking over his handsome features, “I’m not… I can’t…”

“Can we just sleep? Talk and spend the day together in the morning?” Tony suggests, like an adult. Bucky nods, suddenly yawning and glancing up at Tony sheepishly.

“Sounds perfect, Anthony,” he smirks, chuckling again as Tony swats at him playfully.

It only takes a few minutes to set up a guest room for Bucky, fit already with a flawlessly woven nesting kit and other amenities. Tony even makes sure to include a pail of chilled algae, ugly laughing when Bucky discovers it by the dressing mirror.

The next day comes soon enough, and Tony has enough sense to cancel his engagements, asking his steward to clear his schedule and plan a tour of the kingdom for the two of them.

Before Bucky wakes— Tony assumes he’s still asleep in the guest suite— he has the royal gardeners collect fragments of coral and deep sea sponges to present to his new… friend. He asks for crimson and gold, colors not only of Tony’s scales, but also of Bucky’s as well.

When the arrangements arrive, he spends a few minutes weaving them together with a few ties from his nest and small strands of his hair, intimate details that he’s sure Bucky will love.

He waits in his living space for Bucky to join him. The windows are thrown open, letting a gentle morning current sweep through, and Tony sits with the coral and sponges draped over his arms. And he waits.

After a few minutes, he’s done waiting. He calls his steward to check on Bucky, and watches as the boy disappears down the hallway. There’s a knock, the faint sound of the door being opened, and then low, urgent voices. The steward swims back to him, looking guilty.

“He sends his apologies. He says that he’s not used to rising without direct light, and missed the wake up call completely. He should be around in a few moments, sir.”

“Oh, yes— that’s fine,” Tony places the arrangement in front of him and dismisses the steward, choosing to pick on the assorted breakfast foods instead.

It’s only a few moments before Bucky joins him, looking absolutely delicious and well rested. He sits next to Tony— very close, actually— and takes a suspicious look at the meal prepared for them.

“It’s… fish? For breakfast?”

Tony’s surprised again by his confusion, “Yes, honey, we generally eat fish for breakfast. If you’d like, I can have the cook crack you open a few clams instead? Oh, he makes the best sweet clam mix— it’s to die for,”

“No, no that’s fine,” Bucky waves his hands, reaching for an assortment of fresh eel instead, “these should be… these should be good.”

Tony watches in glee as Bucky slurps down the eel, grimacing and gagging slightly when it hits his tongue. He hides a smile when Bucky sits up straighter, obviously testing the flavor on his palette, before turning to Tony and putting his hands on his hips.

“Okay, but… why was that so good?”

Tony splutters, “You ass! You had me fooled— thinking you didn’t like fish for breakfast, like a fucking lunatic.”

Bucky chuckles, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. For a moment, he looks so lost and confused that all Tony can do is urge him to eat more fish, shoving three or four more plates in his face.

After they finish eating, Tony picks up his arrangement, feeling like a guppy as he hands it to Bucky, waiting for his reaction. Bucky— seas bless him— gives him a lopsided smile, holding the coral and sponges like they’re about to bite him. It’s confusing.

“Thank you, Tony. I’m not… I’m not supposed to eat it, right?”

“What?” Tony chokes, throwing his head back in laughter, “no, honey. It’s a gift. To admire. From my gardens.”

Bucky’s eyebrows draw close as he concentrates, something from his memory probably slipping away again, so Tony takes the arrangement from him. He sets it on the table, perfect decoration for the room, and grabs Bucky’s hand, leading him out of their rooms.

“Let’s go,” Tony urges, giving Bucky a reassuring wink as they head into the city.

Their day is incredible. Tony had no doubts before that the two of them would get along, would laugh and talk and joke as naturally as breathing. He’s proud of his Kingdom, too. Welcoming Bucky and treating him like a Prince— draping chains of flowering wildlife around his neck and offering them both assortments of salted meats— shark and squid and flounder— and dozens of fine jewels and beads.

If Tony purchases a number of those jewels for Bucky, it’s no one’s business but his.

He’s enraptured by the way Bucky experiences things. He’s always gasping and blushing as if each moment is special, new and unique, instead of normal and mundane. Tony feels drunk on it. He wants to spoil Bucky rotten, hoard all of his reactions to himself and make sure Bucky is always smiling like this— happy and soft and warm.

So Tony might be a little infatuated as well. He’s not supposed to fall in love this quickly, especially not with a stranger, but he feels inexplicably drawn to Bucky, as if by fate.

The days after pass similarly. Even when Tony has to resume his responsibilities, they still spend most of the day together— Bucky helping him delegate and problem solve issues in the Kingdom.

There are some bad days for Bucky— when he tries to remember too much and ends up with headaches that won’t go away. It’s especially bad when Tony leaves with Pepper and Rhodey to explore near the surface. Bucky refuses to go with them and spends those days in his room, clutching his head and sleeping restlessly. Tony thinks he may have repressed trauma that’s related to the surface, to the day Tony found him, but without access to his memories, it’s hard to know for sure.

Even with a few bad days in the mix, most of the time they spend together is indescribable, and, after only two weeks, Tony already has the crown jeweler fashioning traditional courting gifts for Bucky.

He whistles on the way to pick them up, swimming faster than usual, and even doing a few twirls when the excitement is just too much. As he inspects each piece, he knows the smile on his face is ridiculously wide. They’re perfect. He can’t help but imagine Bucky wearing each item, draped and adorned with metal and jewels and his family crest.

Bucky’s lounging in the garden when Tony finally finds him, admiring the array of coral on the south side of the palace. His hair is tied back— half up half down, framing his face beautifully— and he looks up when Tony swims into view.

“Hey, honey,” Tony greets, silently hating himself for being so soft around this man, “do you have a minute?”

“For you, I have all the time in the world.”

Tony ducks his head, the warm twist in his chest pulling him towards Bucky, and he watches the other man swim over from under his eyelashes. Once Bucky is in front of him, Tony hands him the box, looking at his face patiently for a reaction.

He turns it over, and looks at Tony, confused. “What’s this?”

“Oh, sorry,” Tony touches the lid, trailing his fingers over the crest engraved there, “it’s um… they’re traditional jewels I had crafted… for you.”

Bucky still looks unsure, “Okay,” he says, toying with the clasp on the box, “is there a special occasion, Tony?”

Tony just shakes his head, giving Bucky a reassuring smile, “Just open it— you’ll see.”

He gets a small smile in return, and Bucky lifts the lid, revealing the intricate set of jewels— chains and cuffs and clamps, all symbolizing Tony’s intent to court Bucky.

Unfortunately, Bucky looks absolutely horrified. He extends his arms, pushing the box away, and looks up into Tony’s eyes, “I… what the fuck, Tony?”

“... what?”

Bucky puts the gifts back into Tony’s hands and crosses his arms, “I’m sorry if you misunderstood our relationship, but I’m not… interested in this. I don’t want this. At least not yet.”

“Oh,” Tony is shocked still, gripping the box tightly in his arms, “I just… I thought we were…”

But Bucky is shaking his head, “I like you, Tony. I’m probably even falling in love with you. But I’m just not into that. I have a few friends who are, but we’d have to be… I don’t know, married or something, before I’d want to talk about that.”

Tony looks down into the box, suddenly confused, “Bucky, what do you think I’m trying to do?”

“Those are… aren’t those—” Bucky flushes, all the way down his chest and bites into his lip, “— like… for sex?”

What?

“No?” he is so confused, and a little offended. Why would anyone use these things for sex? Sure, they can be sexy, but—

“Tony, in what other context would I wear these?” Bucky pulls out a strand of jewels connected together with a chain, two fasteners at the ends to hold them in place.

“You’d wear them when we go out.”

“Tony! These are nipple clamps!” Bucky shakes them a little bit, trying to emphasize his point. Tony, for his part, doesn’t see the issue.

“Yes? But they’re traditional, not sexy.”

And then it looks like something dawns on Bucky— his face lights up and he chuckles, dropping the jewels back in the box and reaching forward to touch Tony’s face, tenderly scratching behind his ears.

“Tony— I need you to tell me, as if I’m a child and have no idea what’s going on, exactly what these gifts mean.”

And then Tony gets it. Wherever Bucky’s from, he’s never seen courting gifts like these. Damn, he’s such an idiot.

“They’re family jewels, forged with precious stone and metal, to create the traditional set of courting gifts presented by a royal family member to their potential spouse. Or consort, I guess. But yeah, it’s… I’m basically asking if I can court you, officially. And if you accept them and wear them in public, it’s a symbol of our relationship and eventual engagement.”

“Fuck,” Bucky curses, still playing with Tony’s hair, “yeah, yes— I’ll wear them for you. I’d love nothing more than to be yours, Tony. I just… do I need to give you something in return? For you to wear?”

“Actually, half of those pieces are for me,” Tony replies, pressing his cheek into Bucky’s hand. “If you’d like, we can try them on?”

“Sure, darling, let’s go try them.”

---

Tony can definitely see now why Bucky would think these jewels were made for sex. They lay each item out on Tony’s dressing table, organizing them neatly, and Tony has Bucky float in front of him, keeping his arms outstretched in front of the mirror so he can adorn Bucky with each jewel.

“So, first is the necklace— set with gold and twenty-five rubies,” he explains, draping the necklace around Bucky’s neck and clasping it underneath his hairline. He can’t resist, and places a delicate kiss on top of the clasp.

“Next is the belt,” he says, bringing his arms around Bucky’s waist to set the belt just above his scale-line, “usually these are more feminine in design, but I’ve had a larger crest engraved to rest over… well— let’s just say it implies masculinity.”

Tony busies himself with fastening the belt around Bucky’s waist and ignores the laugh he gets. He straightens up and hooks his chin over Bucky’s shoulder—

“Shit, you look beautiful.”

Bucky gives him a shy smile and turns his head to look into Tony’s eyes. He could get lost in those eyes, drowning daily in pools of ocean blue and gray.

Tony clears his throat and pulls back, “Okay, next we have, uh—” Triton, “the chest piece.”

He doesn’t even bother explaining this one, focusing on attaching it and quickly moving on before he can embarrass himself. Tony brings the chain around, holding it in place in front of Bucky’s chest. Unfortunately, his nipples are soft and there’s no visible place for a hold. Tony huffs and uses his left hand to reach out, lining up steadily, before quickly pinching Bucky’s nipple.

“Shit!” Bucky curses, looking down in surprise, but Tony is fast— attaching the first clip before Bucky can react. He keeps up a string of curses, gingerly touching the left clamp, and Tony uses his distraction to attach the second clip to Bucky’s now straining and hard right nipple. He backs up a bit to give Bucky space, waiting for the other man to calm down until he stops cursing and curiously touches the chest piece.

Bucky looks divine. Each chain floats lightly, reflecting light and casting shadow onto his pink skin, darker than usual due to residual embarrassment. Regardless, seeing Bucky in his jewels and colors is doing something to him.

“Only a few more,” he murmurs, picking up the wrist cuffs and motioning for Bucky to extend his arms. Bucky still looks overwhelmed— a mix of anger and confusion and arousal, probably— but Tony slips the cuffs on, fastening them snugly, and hooks a few rings around Bucky’s fingers, attached with delicate chains.

“Tony—” Bucky breathes, twisting his wrists to admire the jewelry. Tony’s determined to finish this, so he ignores his impulse— to touch and touch and touch and touch.

The last items are a set of jewels for his ears and a head piece. “Can you move your hair, Bucky?”

When Bucky obliges, Tony goes to thread the jewels, only to notice that Bucky’s ears are perfectly smooth. He feels around just to be positive, and Bucky giggles a bit at the sensation.

“So, we have a bit of a problem,” Tony backs up, showing Bucky the ear jewelry.

“Oh.”

“— if you don’t want to wear them, I won’t ask—”

“No, I…” Bucky feels around his own ears, pinching and tugging the lobes, “is there a way to fashion them with clips, like…” he motions to his chest, refusing to meet Tony’s eyes.

“Yes! Here, it shouldn’t be a difficult change, either,” Tony swims to his main doors, handing the jewels to his steward with a quick word of instruction for the craftsman. He swims back to see Bucky admiring the headpiece.

Tony takes it from his hands, giving him a reassuring smile, and Bucky dips his head forward. With perfect access, Tony lays the headpiece over Bucky’s dark waves, securing it behind his ears with two pins, and adjusting the chains and jewels to lay perfectly across his forehead.

It’s too much. Tony lets out a shuddering breath, finally finished with the gifts, and leans his head against Bucky’s, closing his eyes and holding on to Bucky’s shoulders.

“You look gorgeous, Bucky. I can’t believe you’re wearing my colors… that you’d agree to this.”

He feels a light touch on the back of his neck, and holds on tighter. Bucky pulls away— causing Tony to open his eyes, following his movement— and he draws Tony closer, dotting a kiss to his temple. They stay like that for a few more moments, enjoy the closeness and warmth, before Bucky chuckles and drifts away fully, turning back to the box.

“Alright— now how do I put these on you?”

Bucky holds up two cuffs, identical to the ones he put on earlier, and tilts his head. Tony grins and extends his arms, guiding Bucky gently in how to slip on the cuffs, tighten them, and attach the rings. When they’re fastened, Tony is captivated by the sight of both pairs of jewels shimmering in the light, practically shouting their attachment to each other.

The final pieces for Tony to wear are a necklace— similar to Bucky’s, but with a space for the signet ring around his neck— and a matching sash and belt. Bucky helps him put them on, and soon they’re floating and facing the mirror, mouths agape.

“Absolutely perfect,” Bucky murmurs, eyes never leaving Tony’s in their reflection.

Tony inhales slightly, “I know, the jewels are stunning.”

“No, darling,” Bucky turns him and looks down into his eyes, “it’s us. We’re a perfect match.”

He can’t help but smile, his stomach twisting with affection as he loops his arms around Bucky’s neck, pulling them close enough that their bodies are touching, tail to shoulder. Bucky gasps, the motion pulling on the chain across his chest, and suddenly all Tony can think about is getting his mouth on this man, wringing every drop of pleasure from him, watching him come apart with Tony’s name on his lips like a prayer—

“Your Highness, my apologies, but the King would see you in his drawing room.”

Tony laughs— unbelievable, “Tell the King I’ll see him within the hour,” he answers, never taking his gaze off Bucky, his dark, deep eyes, shining like the sea—

“I’m sorry, Your Highness, but the King insists on your immediate attention.”

“Shit,” Tony curses, letting Bucky go and turning to follow the steward from the room. He looks back, giving one last promise, “I’ll be back in a moment, I swear,” before disappearing out the door, heading down the hall to meet his father.