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miarobotnik · 2 years ago

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Finally, my own character from Sonic the Hedgehog, so what do you think about it? I hope you like it.

Name: Mia Robotnik / Joong

Age: Teenager

Gender: Female

Species: Half Human and Demon

Alignment: Evil, Neural

Style: Tomboy, Goth, Princess, Sassy, Tough

Hair color: Dark Brown

Skin Color: Peach

Eye Color: Brown (Golden Mask under red)

Fighting Style: TaeKwonDo and Regular Karate

Outfit: Black and Pink uniform like Eggman, Black Skirt, Black Boots, and yellow necklace with red diamond

Outfit Princess: Princess Kimono, Black Sandal, Pin Cherry Blossom, Fan

Outfit Ninja Warrior: Black uniform, Black Sandal

Outfit Doctor: White Long Coat, Black Leggings, Black Boots, Black Gloves, Yellow necklace with red diamond,

Outfit Age Shifting: Pink wears clothes for all ages; newborns, babies, toddlers, and teenagers. Bib with symbol Eggman or Cherry Blossom

Outfit Robe Jester Master: Black with Galaxy Long Robe, Hat Jester, Black Gloves, Golden Persona Mask with Black Feather under red diamond, Galaxy Diamond, Scepter Sun and Moon

Outfit Sun & Moon Jester Transformation Mode: Yellow and Blue uniform jester Sun & Moon, Black boots, yellow necklace with a red diamond, Golden Persona mask with red diamond with white feathers

Outfit Cherry Blossom Jester Transformation: Pink uniform jester Cherry Blossom, Black boots, a yellow necklace with a red diamond, and a golden persona mask with Pink Patel

Outfit Princess Jester: Princess, Specter Crown, Black Boots, Black Gloves, Golden necklace with red diamond, Golden Persona Mask, Crown

Accessories: necklace with red diamond, golden mask, glasses ( sometimes), charm sun & moon and cherry blossom, pin, belt with bag, smartwatch, scepter moon and sun, later upgrade, keychain

Powers: Magic, Snake, Wolf, Transfer, Sight Night, Healing, Ray Guns, Ray Heart, Transformation into Doll, Puppets

Weakness: Pulling my hand, Can't Control Magic, Can't Hang The Bar, Electric (sometimes) with paralyzed, Easily Shattered broken collapsed body use (golden mask or red diamond)

Personality traits: Genius, Friendly, Kindness, Motherly, and Strict, Highly Intelligent

Abilities: Flexibility, Levitate, Fly, Transformation, Combat Hands, Connect, Snake, Wolf, Order in his Robot, Red Diamond with Laser Blade, smell anything, Magic, Rebirth, Age Shifting, Mecca, Summons Animal or Creatures

Skills: Fix his robot or creator in fields of mechanics and electronics, Advanced Doctor, Mathematics, Drafting Board, Computer, Hacking computer or system, Trick Magic, Strategic Games, Sword, Bow, Double Blade

Likes: Sometimes evil, a loving/ support father, caring for his little robots, Siblings, Read, Storytelling Research,Drawing, Playing, Babysitter, Friendly with the Sonic Team, Villages, and Villains, Playing Violin and Flute, Piano and Guitar, Chess, Cards, Dolls, Dollhouse, Hangout

Dislikes: Anyone who hurts a person's feelings, mistreated, gossip of girl or boy, Rattle, Trouble, Timeout, Punishment, Behavior

Enemies:

Sonic (sometimes)

Favorite Food: Pizza, Chicken, Meat, Strawberry, Cherry

Fears: Fell down, Nightmare, Failure

Friends:

Shadow the Hedgehog

Sonic the Hedgehog

Amy Rose

Sticks the badger

Dr.Eggman

Cubot

Orbot

Belle

Metal Sonic

Sage

Nack the weasel

Chip

Bean the dynamite

Dr.Starline

Rough the Shrunk

Rouge the bat

Jet the Hawk

Reala

Nights

Espio the Chameleon

Relative:

Dr.Eggman: Surrogate Father/ Figure Father

Metal Sonic: Surrogate the youngest brother/ support sidekick

Orbot: Babysitter/Surrogate the youngest brother/ support sidekick

Cubot: Babysitter/Surrogate the youngest brother/ support sidekick

Belle: Surrogate the youngest sister/ support sidekick

Sage: Surrogate the youngest sister/ support sidekick

Shadow: Step cousin/support sidekick

Maira: Step cousin

Reala: Connect to her/ Friend/Babysitter/Mentor

Espio the Chameleon: Students Ninja

All robotic with connect to the family

Friends: Team Sonic/Villains

Mia’s Relationship :

Sonic the Hedgehog:

When she first met Sonic, she sometimes helped him, so she is thinking about him. Sonic is always pleasant to her. She is a little mad at him because he beat her. She always respects him.

Shadow the Hedgehog:

When she first met, she knew that his father had explained herself. She will back him up because she has flashbacks of Maria's death. Mia and Shadow have always been her best friends and have respected her. She just called her step-cousin.

Metal Sonic:

When they first met, Mia and Metal Sonic were neutral. Mia and Eggman meet Metal Sonic. She feels treated by her oldest little brother. Eggman claims he couldn't speak because he was attempting to communicate. She will always assist him and strive for the best communication with him.

Tails the Fox:

When they first met, Mia and Tails were close friends. She had noticed him being curious in the workshop after she had been assisting him. He had a problem with his robot or whatever; he became frustrated; she provided feedback. She always respects him.

Knuckles the Echidna:

When they first met, Mia and Knuckles were close friends. He is funny, good at telling jokes, and clumsy, so she always laughs. She sometimes disagrees with him and is irritated by him. She will trust him.

Amy Rose:

Mia and Amy were close friends when she first met because she always talked about girls' nights out, shopping, and tea parties. Amy is always there to help her when Sonic is upset. She could be figured out. She always respects her.

Sticks the Badger:

Mia and Sticks were close friends when they first met, and she was always planning to take the girls out, shopping, or to Amy's house for a tea party. She is a little understand. Sticks loves busters and robots.

Rouge the bat:

When she met Rouge, Mia and Rouge were meeting her friend, but she was too tired to talk or plan for her mission.

Espio the Chameleon:

When she sees enter he gets a new student and starts advanced ninja. He is trying to practice karate,dodge, and etc. He admired her master ninja and was respectful.

Dr.Starline:

Before Dr.Eggman and his daughter when she seems so possible to him, Dr. Starline meets a babysitter with Mia toddler until she gets to know often. She admired him, so she will help him. Dr. Starline and Mia were close friends.

Dr. Eggman:

Mia and Eggman were close friends when she was baby and she first met. Because Eggman supports her adoption, he is her adoptive father. Eggman is always concerned about his family. Eggman will accompany her. Mia has a flashback to when she was a baby and expected to grow up. Eggman must be strict and discipline her. She will trust and respect him.

Reala:

When he met during the night, he teach to train magic or discipline her though young kid. She will know the connection to Reala has been given a golden mask like reference to its different mask original. She has been in contact with her friend, Reala.

Rough the Skunk:

Mia and Rough were good friends when she first met because she tried to help and someone captured Sonic. She seems to be very attractive and childish, but also know his oldest brother, Tumble.

Orbot :

Mia and Orbot were close friends when she first met because he always cared for her but replaced her. She feels treated by her little brother. Mia is always caring and helping him. Mia should take responsibility for only Orbot because he is too young and because he is the smarter, more serious, and firmer of the two, while Cubot is just as prone to bumbling around as he is. Orbot speaks calmly, formally, and without a filter. He is honest to a fault and offers unsolicited, withering assessments of his master. She will trust and respect him.

Cubot :

Mia and Cubot were close friends when they first met because he always cared for her but replaced her. She was also treated by her little brother. Mia used to make fun of him because he was both funny and clumsy. Mia is always caring and helping him. Mia feels responsible for only Cubot because he is too young, very dimwitted, slow on the uptake, having trouble solving a puzzle meant for babies, and getting even the simplest of instructions wrong. She will respect him.

Belle the Tinkerer:

Mia and Belle were good friends, but she first met her when she was just asking her about that after she gets shocked that her father mentioned, but she feels treated by her sister, but she awkwardly once met her.

Sage:

She met Mia and Sage after being surprised; they are close friends since she is always cheering and talking about girls. She feels treated by her little sister. She is a very nice, sweet, and cheerful person, and she is always a pleasure to be around. Due to Sage's age and ability to use cyberspace, Mia has trouble teaching her cyberspace because she is too young.

Mia’s parents :

When her first baby was born, the parents lost Mia's baby. Mia’s parents are alive and live in the same village. Mia frequently visits her royal and wealthy parents at their castle. Mia knows how to respect her parents. Mia had thirteen siblings because they were warriors and brave.

Mia:

When Mia was born an inner snake and half witch because her mother was a witch during, her parents were royal and warrior after the parents left on her daughter, but Dr. Eggman was shocked and left abandoned when she was raised orphaned. She considered her adoptive father literally and just supported and served her father. She is just caring for the youngest siblings, so sometimes problems are solved that way. She was a young kid who dreamed of meeting Reala, he is very curious after teaching for technical references jester. She had been successful in capturing Sonic, but she had failed to respect him.

Lives:

Mia is still running on his father's empire, but she has her own room, so she likes the celestial room.

Mia often visits another village, but she has her own room in the castle.

#mia robotnik #sonic the hedgehog #my ocs #oc fanart #oc artwork #oc sonic #character sheets #character concept

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lilicohirukoma · 2 years ago

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NENINGLAM

fanmade dorm for fan school Twilight Forest Institute

Based on The Pseudo King, this dorm stands for choosing for what you want and keeping your best interests in mind even it if were to hurt others.

Students in the dorm value their independence and their intuition above all else.

The dormhead is Princess Josephine Goldendefense. A 3rd year who has both her dorm and her home country relying on her. She has an older sister Rhiannon who’s the current reigning queen, her active role on the battlefield has made it so Josephine has to take over the kingdom matters. Having to balance both dormhead responsibilities and ruling over a country left her with a fragile mental state which causes her to lash out at people and refuse to take accountability for any of her actions. As a child her mother always preferred her sister over her and to this day she still tries hard to get her approval, just for once she'd like to be the favorite child. Mentioning her mother or sister around her does not bode well for you, you're probably gonna have to run for your life. Josephine has long light blonde hair and blue eyes. She has messy short nails due to nail biting, if her nails are not long enough to bite on she moves on to biting parts on her hand which leaves visible marks. She wears her crown almost always (except during physical activities like P.E), it's a bit too big for her and she has to constantly adjust it to her head. She is a lion beastwoman and has golden blonde ears and tail.

Birthday: December 24th Age: 18 Height: 174 cm Dominant Hand: Right Homeland: The Anglians Club: Badminton Best Subject: History Hobby: Astrology Pet Peeve: Not being taken serious when she’s stressed/upset Talent: Calligraphy

The vice-dormhead is Mitra Melusine. A 3rd year who is highly intelligent but never listened to. Mitra is kind of a know-it-all, she enjoys having the last laugh and saying 'I told you so,' the only person she doesn't dare do this to is Josephine. Even though it's very obvious how smart she is no one ever bothers to listen to her advice and this infuriates her. She has a younger sister named Kali Melusine, a 1st year in Seonittor. They don't get along well and are constantly at each other's throat, under the surface they are suprisingly similar people and that is likely the core of all their conflict. She clashed with her family when she was put in Neninglam, all the women in her family who have attended TFI were in Seonittor, making Mitra the black sheep. Mitra has medium length dark brown hair, dark blue eyes and tan skin. She is always seen with a wine red beret, she needs glasses and wears golden framed ones. She is a reptilewoman, specifically snake; she has fang like teeth and a forked tongue. While she does have eyelids they actually have no function and don't move at all; just like snakes, giving her a stare that makes people uncomfortable.

Birthday: October 7th Age: 18 Height: 164 cm Dominant Hand: Right Homeland: The Wildfire Jungle Club: Gymnastics Best Subject: Flying Hobby: Origami Pet Peeve: Her sister Talent: Flexibility

Lavish Blakesley, a 1st year student Josephine and Mitra trust with the treasury. She has used this trust to intimidate students into handing over their money and jewelry, keeping them all in messy piles cluttering her room. She has a southern accent and speaks in a calm, soothing manner. She is a skilled liar and charismatic, nothing ever seems to bother or hinder her. While she isn't as smart as Mitra she is quick to notice things and put them together, she has a great mind for investigation and has considered law enforcement as a career. She's loyal towards Josephine and Mitra, respecting them which suprised everyone; a girl like her would easily stomp them out of their positions but she truly enjoys their company and her current status. Lavish has 2 older brothers; Temple and Rocky and 1 older sister Unique. She doesn't have a bad word for her family, specifically her siblings. They love to spoil her with things, wanting the very best for her. Their parents worked hard because they were poor and thus weren’t around a lot, forcing the siblings to basically raise each other. Lavish is a very tall girl with purple and red colored hair. She is very intimidating and tries her best to be that way, sharp nails and dark eye make-up to make her glare even more penetrating. She tends to wear stolen jewelry and practically parades it around, she has so much it almost seems like she's wearing something new every day. The only consistent accessory she wears is a pair of golden earrings which are star shaped, they were a gift from her sister who 'borrowed' them from a movie set she worked on. Lavish is a wolf beastwoman and has dark grey ears and tail.

Birthday: August 1st Age: 16 Height: 191 cm Dominant Hand: Right Homeland: The Anglians Club: Spelldrive Best Subject: P.E Hobby: Archery Pet Peeve: People with loud voices Talent: Mathematics

Thank you for reading!! Let me know what you think :)) Also sorry if the characters remind you of canon TWST characters, Disney villains have a lot in common with each other which makes it difficult to do new things. Example: most Disney villains have a horrible temper so while you might think ‘Hey Josephine’s bad temper is a Riddle rip off’ it’s kinda out of my control, it’s either this or make her extremely divergent from Prince John from the movie which wouldn’t make sense w the whole TWST concept.

Oh and for the people who might not know Robin Hood well/have difficultly putting things together:

Josephine = Prince John. Mitra = Sir Hiss. Lavish = the Sheriff of Nottingham

#twisted wonderland #twst #neninglam #twilight forest institute #will always be a jamil shouldve had snake features opinion haver #lemme tell yall its tough asf for a bitch to be original here #disney villains are so copy and pasted im sorry

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soniccrazygal · 1 year ago

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And here's Terrence's!

Character Chart

Character’s full name: Terrence Afton

Character’s nickname: Terry, Mr Grumpy (by Michael, teasing), Shadow Michael (his former name)

Birth date: June 21st (he was a part of Michael, but they decided to share their birth date)

Nationality: British-Mexican

Weapons: gun.

Powers: shadow manipulation, teleportation, can float, invisibility when in a dark environment

Physical appearance

Age: ???

How old does he appear: 22

Weight: 77.6 Kg

Height: 6’3’’

Body build: tall but well built

Eye color: pale red with dark gray speckles

Glasses or contacts: none

Skin tone: almond

Distinguishing marks: black patches that look like vitiligo, faint freckles, scars on his left eye and lip

Hair color: brown fading to dark gray

Type of hair: curly

Hairstyle: short half-ponytail

Usual fashion of dress: punk

Favorite outfit: dark red tank top, ripped jeans, sneakers or tall boots

Jewelry or accessories: belt, long golden earrings, necklace, bandages on the hands

Personality

Alignment: chaotic good

Good personality traits: brave, calm, kind

Bad personality traits: untidy, has a bit of anger issues, solitary, too headstrong

Mood character is most often in: either very calm or angry

Sense of humor: dark humor, very sarcastic and ironic

What single event would most throw this character’s life into complete turmoil: being useless, his twin being in danger

Character is most at ease when: when he's with Michael

Most ill at ease when: around William

Enraged when: somebody he loves is in danger

Depressed or sad when: when he compares himself to Michael

Priorities: help Michael

Character’s soft spot: kids

Is this soft spot obvious to others: no

Greatest strength: sewing

Greatest vulnerability or weakness: Michael

Biggest regret: none for now

Minor regret: none for now

Biggest accomplishment: helping Michael

Minor accomplishment: none

Character’s darkest secret: his collection of romance books

Does anyone else know: only Michael

Past

Hometown: none

Type of childhood: none

Pets: none

Childhood hero: none

Dream job: none

Education: none

Religion: none

Finances: none

Present

Current location: Spirit Limbo

Currently living with: all the Souls that had became William's victims

Pets: white snake named Urobos

Religion: none

Occupation: none

Finances: none

Family

Adoptive mother: Daniela

Relationship with her: very good

Adoptive mother: Claire

Relationship with her: neutral

Father: none

Relationship with him: none

Adoptive father: Henry

Relationship with him: normal

Sister: Elizabeth

Relationship with her: normal

Brother: Evan

Relationship with them: normal

Adoptive sister: Charlie

Relationship with them: normal

“Twin”: Michael

Relationship with them: extremely good

Spouse: none

Relationship with him: none

Children: none

Relationship with them: none

Other important family members: Cassie and Gregory (nephews), but has friends (the former Tormentors)

Favorites

Color: red, black, gray

Least favorite color: pink and green

Music: classical

Food: japanese cuisine

Literature: romance and historical

Form of entertainment: watching soap operas

Mode of transportation: teleportation

Most prized possession: a necklace gifted to him by Michael, his gun

Habits

Hobbies: sewing

Plays a musical instrument: no

Plays a sport: no

How he would spend a rainy day: watching soap operas or designing and sewing clothes

Smokes: a bit

Drinks: no

Other drugs: none

What does he do too much of: argue

What does he do too little of: none

Extremely skilled at: sewing and programming

Extremely unskilled at: drawing

Nervous tics: smoking

Usual body posture: good

Traits

Optimist or pessimist: realist

Introvert or extrovert: Introvert

Daredevil or cautious: cautious

Logical or emotional: logical

Disorderly and messy or methodical and neat: messy

Prefers working or relaxing: work

Confident or unsure of himself: a bit unsure and self-conscious

Animal lover: yes

Self-perception

How he feels about himself: sees himself as just another version of Michael

One word the character would use to describe self: a glorified copy

What would the character most like to change about himself: doesn’t know

Relationships with others

Opinion of other people in general: neutral

Does the character hide his true opinions and emotions from others: no

Person character most hates: William

Best friend(s): Mark, Simon, Fredrick

Love interest(s): none

Person character goes to for advice: OMC

Person character feels responsible for or takes care of: Michael

Person character feels shy or awkward around: Michael’s family and friends

Person character openly admires: none

Person character secretly admires: Michael, Charlie and OMC

♪Lullaby_⁜_Anon♪

Interesting.

#soniccrazygal answers #ucn au

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drades-lair · 2 years ago

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Never trust a snake

Fandom: HelluvaBoss

Pairing: Striker/Reader

Rating: T for mild suggestions of sex and swearing

Notes: This was an idea I got from https://twitter.com/redthespian1 post https://twitter.com/redthespian1/status/1644684023829082116

Another day another smoke filled, piss stained saloon with cheap watered-down booze. You stride through the saloon style doors immediately catching the attention of what riff raff called this place home, not that you really gave two shits. You knew you were attractive after all a six-foot tall, succubus/imp hybrid wasn’t a common sight in Wrath, add in that you had a deep crimson complexion that almost appeared black in some light with a pair of bright pink eyes, and you were quite the catch. You walked straight up to the bar top, waving down the bar tender who looked two hell steeds short of a full barn but if he served you a drink you didn’t care.

“What can I gettchya?” The bar tender asked in a low sleepy drawl.

“Get me a (Favorite drink),” You answered.

The bar tender gave a small nod then pulled a glass from the counter and filled your order, sliding it to you once finished. You snatched the glass with one hand instantly taking a swig, it tasted just as shitty as you knew it would, yet it was better then nothing after a long hard week working on your struggling little farm. Setting your drink on the bar top you absently played with the leather laces of your chestnut brown leather corset top. You weren’t dressed up or anything you always wore this top with a dark wash jean jacket and a pair of matching dark wash jeans all topped off with a pair of cowgirl boots the same color as your top with golden accents. Your long tail wrapped around the stool you sat on; the tip was the shape of an elongated heart with a large chip out of the edge from an accident long ago. You stared at your drink allowing thoughts to drown out the drunken chatter of the five patrons currently in attendance of this bar, your hair falling loosely around your face when a box of cigarettes with one sticking from it appeared in your peripheral, drawing your gaze up to the face of a pale imp wearing a cowboy hat and a wide smirk.

“Smoke?” The imp offered. You took a moment to look over the pale imp, he was tall like yourself, wearing a fringed jacket, vest and pale colored jeans all topped off with cowboy boots and a red bandana. You noted his long swooping tail with spikes near the base, he was handsome there was no doubt about that however you weren’t stupid it was clear this imp was a charmer.

“Sure,” You accepted pulling the smoke from the pack he offered. You popped the smoke into your mouth then pulled out a lighter from your pocket to light it.

“Names Striker, what’s yers?” The pale imp introduced taking a seat on the stool next to you.

“(Y/N),” You simply responded, eyeing the imp cautiously. Taking a drag of the cigarette you released a puff of smoke moments later; this guy was full of BS charm to the point it was flowing out his ears luckily you could spot a snake from twenty paces with a blind fold on.

“What’s a pretty thang like Ya doin’ in a place like this?” Striker asked, making you roll your eyes.

“Not lookin’ for some pompous slitherin’ snake that’s for damn sure,” You retorted coldly.

“Humph, Ooh, ouch, feisty lil thang arentchya,” Striker huffed a laugh.

“Oh, you have no idea,” You retorted swigging your drink.

“I like that, look I’ll shootchya straight, I ain’t lookin’ for anythin’ except perhaps a lil fun,” Striker explained.

“Hmm, a little fun Ya say…” You didn’t just hope into bed with anyone however on the odd occasion as a succubus/imp hybrid you did get cravings and it had been a while…Striker was hot and apparently offering.

“Yeah, we don’t even have ta go anywhere. How’s about we just slip off to the bathrooms,” Striker suggested laying on that charm so thick it was like blood dripping from his maw. After a few more moments of contemplation, you downed the last of your drink then took a long drag of the cigarette in your hand.

“Fuck it, why not,” You declared crushing out the cigarette on the bar top then standing up.

Striker’s smirk grew wider as he too stood with you, following your lead to the bathroom. Once inside you were instantly spun around and shoved up against the grime covered tile between two of the four urinals, Striker’s mouth immediately latching onto yours. You pressed back while yanking off his jacket, tossing it to the floor as his hands found their way to your ass, massaging liberally. You were lost in the moment completely focused on getting Striker’s pants open as quickly as possible when he snatched one of your hands from his belt and promptly cuffed you to the urinal on the right. Confusion overwhelmed your horny brain causing you to crash back into reality, looking from your cuffed hand to Striker who’d taken a couple steps back and was now chuckling.

“Lose somethin’ darlin’?” Striker chortled, holding up your wallet!

“What the…!? You fucker!” You exclaimed in rage, yanking on the cuff holding you to the urinal.

“Sorry Darlin’ but yer not my type,” Striker crooned, reaching down to grab his jacket off the disgusting floor. Striker closed his pants back up then did up his belt before slinging his jacket over his shoulder continuing to smugly chuckle the entire time.

“You son of a bitch! If I ever fuckin’ find you, I’ll fuckin’ kill Ya!” You screamed in anger, trying to get free of the cuffs the entire time.

“Fair enough, see Ya around,” Striker commented over his shoulder with a tip of his hat then exited the bathroom leaving you there.

You narrowed your eyes at the closed bathroom door with a vow you’d find the imp one day and make him pay for this insult.

#HelluvaBoss #helluvaboss fanfiction #fanfiction #HelluvaBoss Striker #Striker #reader insert #humor #twitter #fanfic

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lumosinlove · 4 years ago

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Relic Keel

(Warnings in tags)

part i

Sirius woke up with the sun for one reason only. He wanted to see the far off, white sails of Lupin’s boat.

Some people came to Hogwarts Island for the yearly trade show in Helga. Some people came for the resorts. Some came for the waves, perfect for surfing. Some came for the history.

If Sirius hadn’t already lived there his entire life, he would have come for those white sails. But he’d always been here. This island didn’t let many go. Not even Lupin’s boat truly went. It always stayed in view, never even close to a dot on the horizon. Sirius only ever saw the tourists really leave. And they didn’t count. They were strangers.

Sirius pushed himself up from the mattress he’d dumped on the floor one day and never bothered with again, and glanced at Saint, who had fallen asleep on the porch hammock. A book was clutched to his chest. James got them for him, from the island bookstore or his father’s library. Anything he wanted. He even told Saint to keep them sometimes, but Saint never would.

“If I’ve read it, I’ve got it up here,” Saint would say. “I don’t need people asking questions about how I got them anyway.”

“Tell them the truth,” James would say. “I got them for you.”

Saint would just laugh. Everything about Saint was sunny, all the way down to his honey brown skin and bright smile, his golden hair and his amber eyes. Sometimes his laughs weren’t though. Sometimes things about Saint promised storms.

“Or one of the Gods,”—a Hollow word for Godric’s inhabitants— “could say I stole them,” Saint would always reply. “And it’d be all over from there for this St. Clair.”

St. Clair was the name given to all the kids of the island who didn’t have one. It was the name of Godric’s church and orphanage, and Saint Clair was the saint of the island. They thought they were doing a nice thing, giving orphans a name.

The Hallow called him Saint because he wasn’t one, though, and that was why Saint liked it. He wasn’t a St. Clair. He was no saint. No one was.

“Pretty fun,” Saint would laugh. “To be known for what you’re not.”

“Not to mention,” was another one of his sayings, “I get to go around telling all the people of the island that they can worship me in bed.”

Only Sirius knew his real name.

Hogwarts Island had four neighborhoods. Hot all year round, and just off the coast of Guadeloupe in the French territory of the West Indies Islands.

Your island paradise! said the sign on the main port dock in Rowena.

Sirius had spray painted that sign. More than once. Saint liked to replace the dice with site, just to freak people out a little. The tourists took pictures of it anyway, and then of each other. Zinc covered faces, or barely covered girls on spring break. It didn’t matter. They would all be gone in, at most, two weeks. Hogwarts was small, and the neighborhoods kept to themselves. Tourists were both a part of and outside the dynamic.

First, and northward, there was Godric. Money, money, money. Great manors lined the streets, built in the days of French occupation. They were still mostly filled with the old families—Potter, Lupin, McKinnon, Evans, Deveaux. Sirius always swore that more money went to these peoples’ golf courses and gardens and swimming pools than to food and water. It was also where the main hotels were. Griffin Beach was lined with villas and hotels and resorts, all either pointing outwards towards the endless ocean, or inwards, towards the pools and bars and Gryffindor Golf course.

In the western part of the island was Rowena. Rowena was where the island’s port was. It was where the tourists came in, only to get swindled into paying too much for crappy hotels, for their drinks, and for surfboard rentals.

To the East lay Helga. Anything anyone needed, they found it in Helga. Rows and rows of the finest craftsmen. Helga held the other part of Hogwarts’ main income. What the tourists didn’t cover, Helga’s treasures and their yearly trade show did.

Finally, there was Salazar. The snake of the South, people called it, because it wound all the way out to the skinniest, most pointed part of the island. Salazar was equal part money and dirt. Salazar held more old families, more old money. The Montagues and Capulates, Saint liked to say, the Jets and Sharks. Lestrange, Carrow, Meadowes. Black. The houses, Gothic and looming and built within inches of each other, were the maze of the drug dealers. One quarter of it, at least. Normally, Sirius Black would have nothing but hatred for his home arrondissement, the one he hadn’t re-entered in almost seven years now, for fear of never escaping again, but Salazar had produced Dorcas, after all. And Dorcas was one of Sirius’ closest friends. Doras gave Salazar, if not a redeemable image, proof that it wasn’t a complete hell-hole. There were rarely any cross-over. Godrics stuck to Godric, Salazars to Salazar, and so on. Unless there was trouble.

But then there was The Hollow. It was a sliver of a place, right on the northern-most shoreline. Ironically placed beside Griffin Beach, just outside of Godric. A small slice of land dedicated to…no one really knew who. Runaways, like Sirius? Do-what-you-wants, like Dorcas? Godric-rich-boy-looking-for-a-thrill, like James? Or had you been born there, like Saint?

To the island, they were like the poor of Ancient Rome, slanting wood against the outside of the city’s walls for shelter. But it didn’t feel that way. Not to the people inside.

Some knew what they had done to end up there. Some didn’t. Everyone knew that was it though. You didn’t make it out of The Hallow. Saint liked to say that you had to make it in. Like some A-lister Godric club. A tangle of too low wires, stollen cable, junk yards and thatched, patched houses. More surfboards outside of houses than cars.

They called their little piece of wood leant against the Roman wall Grimmauld Place. Grim old place, in French. Sirius didn’t know why. It wasn’t grim to him. It had always been called that, forever, named by just another somebody that no one knew. A shelter, gorgeous and haphazard, built by different inhabitants over the years, that was half on the ground and half in the trees. Rope ladders, rope bridges. Spirals and spirals of it. Warm, hanging lanterns all the way up into the branches of the biggest oak tree Sirius had ever seen. Like fireflies. None of Godric’s window screen mania. You wanted the sun on your face, you wanted the ocean breeze, you’d deal with a few mosquitoes. Sirius knew that the sun, the sand between his toes, his friends, just a level below…it was worth it. He’d never forget the first time he’d seen it, Saint looking over the railing, much younger, and telling him to fuck off. He’d take it over the dark halls he had grown up in any day.

Sirius planted his feet on the floor and pushed himself up, going to the sink for a glass of water and so he could stare out the window some more. There it was. Sirius loved that boat. The sailor sailed it like they were trying to escape, too. Only, Sirius couldn’t think of a reason a Lupin would want or need to escape. He’d seen their house plenty of times, almost everyday when he went to work at the Potter’s. But that boat…it didn’t fit anything else about the Gods, except perhaps that they could afford it. Sirius loved that boat, he loved its billowing sails, and the looping script reading, Wolfsbane, its name, across the side.

The sky was just beginning to give up dawn, and Sirius wanted to be closer.

He put his glass down and shoved his feet into his flip-flops. Saint was closer to falling out of his hammock now, and dappled in the pale light between palm trees. Sirius gave the hooked fabric a kick, and Saint flailed awake.

“Fucker,” Saint said, one eye open and voice groggy.

“I can’t sleep,” Sirius said. “Let’s go do something.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost dawn.”

It was all Sirius needed to say. Saint threw a hand over his eyes before rolling to his feet and stretching his back. Sirius stared out over one of the railings of Grimmauld and all he could see was ocean. He looked for his boat, his white-sailed perfect thing, and then turned away. He’d have time to watch again at the beach.

The Hollow was grand to Sirius, mostly because it was the farthest away from Salazar that one could get. At this point, Godric, as much as Sirius hated it, felt like a point of protection. If Salazars hated the Godrics, they’d hate having to go through them to get to the Hollow even more. But the Hollow was great for other reasons.

Shack Beach was theirs. No tourists. No villas or hotels that shooed you away from the private bars and lounge chairs. It was empty, and so it was full. And the waves. Oceanic rollers that pushed you up, that let you get your feet under you, or forced you down beneath the surface in a tumble of salt and sand. Not so great during a hurricane, but glorious for this.

Sirius hefted his board under his arm before throwing it into the sand and stretching his arms back, then up above his head. Saint was doing the same beside him, his wooden, sea-soaked cross hanging around his neck.

“D’accord, Black,” Saint said. “Wagers?”

“Whoever gets the most air has to play lookout for Dorcas,” Sirius said. “And dinner.”

“High stakes,” Saint whistled lowly. “Fine.” Saint’s smile was sharp. “Go.”

They took off at a run.

The water, although warm, was the shock Sirius needed. Saint beside him, as always, and the unknown weight of creatures and water below them. It was terrifying and thrilling. The ocean floor was dark this early, but Sirius stared down at it anyway as they sat on their boards, waiting. They didn’t need light for this part anyway. Sirius could recognize the telltale pull of the tides in his sleep.

“Oh,” Saint drew out the sound, tilting his head back. “I feel it, baby.”

Sirius turned wordlessly back towards the shore, Saint following with a flash of a smile, as they began to paddle. Sirius felt the lift, the curl, heard the water begin to rush and rush, faster and faster. The water kissed his feet and hands. Sirius jumped himself up and let out a long whoop, laughing as he gained his footing with a few twirls before pushing himself up towards the crest. He curled around the top of the wave and there was the Wolfsbane again, just for a moment, before it disappeared to the sea again. Sirius, for a moment, had felt like he was sailing beside it, with it.

They could stay out there for hours, always had been able to, but Sirius had work soon. They went until Sirius felt thoroughly salt-drenched, lips parched. Dragging their boards, they collapsed together in a small thicket of palm trees, up the beach a little. It was like a small cave of bark and wind-rustled leaves. There were still a few stars visible, and Sirius closed one eye and connected them with his finger.

“Dipper?” Saint said.

“Just Orion,” Sirius sighed and dropped his hand. “We learned that in school.”

Saint snorted. “When’s the last time we went to school?”

“True,” Sirius laughed, then, “You should steal the Wolfsbane for me."

Saint looked over at him. “What is it with you and the Lupins’ boat?”

Sirius just shrugged. He didn’t know. “I miss sailing, maybe.”

“You know Kris will let you take one of his out at the marina,” Saint replied.

“I don’t want to get him in trouble. He already lends us the motorboat, anyway.”

“You’re all trouble,” Saint said, and then he knocked their ankles together when they had been quiet for a few moments.

“Well?” he asked quietly as the sun began to warm them.

Sirius turned to look at Saint, sand in his hair. He laughed. They both knew what that meant.

“That sort of day, huh?” Sirius said.

“I’m asking for you,” Saint said. “I can go wherever I please, Dorcas has Marlene, but you…” Saint made a tisking sound. “Oh, Sirius Black. You lonely creature of the sea.”

Sirius scoffed. “You’re always so romantic.”

“Come on,” Saint propped himself up on an elbow and pressed a warm palm to Sirius’ bare chest. “It’s nice. It’s nice because we know each other.”

“Why do you always do this to me in public places?”

Saint raised an eyebrow and looked around the empty sands.

Sirius knew Saint could feel his chest rising and falling beneath his hand, knew that if he dragged it down some he would feel Sirius stirring in his swim trunks. Saint was his best friend. It was easy with Saint. There was no risk of losing Saint. Except maybe to Saint Clair, but they never went to Salazar, and Salazar had yet to come to them.

“Come here,” Sirius sighed, as if he was entirely put upon, and Saint made a pleased noise and leaned down for a kiss. He tasted like the sea, salty and smooth. Sirius pressed a hand to his back, coated with sand.

“Sandy hand jobs,” Sirius grumbled into his mouth. “My favorite.”

“There’s no sand in my mouth,” Saint breathed out and threw a leg over Sirius’ hips, mouth moving down to suck at Sirius’ neck. Sirius let his eyes close, hand squeezing around one of Saint’s strong shoulders.

“That’s true,” he said.

The barely there light in the sky cast Saint’s skin in blue, his light curls taking on the color, too as he kissed down Sirius’ chest, whose breathing was coming faster. He bit playfully at Sirius’ hip when he reached the band of his swim shorts and Sirius laughed, hitting his head lightly.

“We gotta go soon.”

“So?” Saint looked up with one of his sharp smiles, his freckles sprinkling his brown skin and honey eyes.

Sirius did love Saint. They loved each other, in their own way. For a long time now, they had been all each other had. Some type of love had to grow out of that. It just had to.

He was warm and felt safe as Saint’s mouth slipped over him, nursing him slowly. Sirius threaded his fingers into Saint’s salt-tangled hair and let his head loll back in the sand.

Sirius didn’t relax often. Saint knew that because he was the same, even if he pretended he wasn’t. The closest Sirius got, besides this, was in the ocean. Something to focus on. Something to look for and be careful about. Something to love.

He breathed out slowly, trying to quiet his mind and pass all his attention to Saint. He was stiffening quickly to full hardness from the wet heat, and his hands in Saint’s hair moved with his movements, sounds soft.

Sirius let himself stare out at the ocean again. The Wolfsbane was filled with wind, the double pontoons tilted so that one was a little ways out of the water. He could only barely make out the sailor’s silhouette. He didn’t know which Lupin it was. They was skilled though, very skilled. Sirius would do anything to have a sailboat of his own that he could take out every single day. He envied the sailor.

It didn’t take him long to come, not with Saint knowing his body so well. Soon, he was open mouthed, back arching as Saint pulled his orgasm from him.

Saint smiled when he leaned back, sitting on his heels and tucking Sirius back inside his shorts. “Worship me yet?”

“Always,” Sirius panted. “What do you want?”

“Have you seen your mouth?”

Sirius hummed and surged up to kiss him before knocking him back into the sand. They wrestled, rolling and laughing together in the dune, before settling with Sirius on top, hands pinning Saint’s wrists.

“Go on,” Saint grinned, then parroted, “we gotta go soon.”

“So romantic.”

Sirius reached into Saint’s suit and took his cock, hot and throbbing into his hands, biting his lip at the way Saint’s mouth dropped open. Saint really was beautiful. Sirius thought there must be something wrong with him to not want him in the way that he should.

“Life’s not too bad,” Saint sighed after, as Sirius rolled to lay next to him again. “Island. Surfing. Sex. We’re basically The Beach Boys.”

Sirius laughed. “Basically.”

Saint made a disgruntled noise. “Is it weird that we aren’t in love?”

“Yeah,” Sirius replied. “It sort of is.”

“Do you wish we were?” Saint looked at his profile.

Sirius returned his gaze, their noses close. He nodded, sand shifting in his ear. “Sometimes.”

“Gosh, we suck.”

“We really do,” Sirius patted near where Saint’s swimsuit was still askew. “Literally.”

Saint let out a loud laugh, pulling his trunks up, and Sirius a long groan.

“Gotta go to work.”

“Poor baby,” Saint said.

“You also have to go to work.”

“Poor me.”

“You also owe me dinner. And your Dorcas’ look out. I won.”

Saint sat up. “Then I gotta go to work.”

Sirius smiled and looked back out over the waves. The white sails were pushing back West, towards Lupin House to dock. He’d have to wait until tomorrow to see them filled and tilting again.

Dorcas slung her backpack on while Saint all but forced the Jeep into park. She hopped out of the door-less side and turned to grin at him, elbows resting against the hot metal of the rusty blue sides.

“One hour,” Saint said, already kicking his seat backwards and pulling out his earbuds. “Then I have work. Don’t think I won’t leave you here.”

“You’re a saint, baby, really.”

Saint flicked his sunglasses down over his eyes. “Don’t I know it.”

Dorcas waved him off before jogging lowly around the back of the McKinnon’s gardens, skirting the gate until she found the bent out posts. She threw her backpack through first, before sliding through herself on her stomach. The manicured grass stained her tank top green in places, but Marlene wouldn’t care. Marlene was an angel. Dorcas was positive.

Marlene’s father, not so much.

Dorcas kept away from the vast windows until she could pull herself up one of the drain pipes that led straight to Marlene’s bedroom window. She crouched, sneakers wedged against roof tiles, and tapped on the glass.

At first, all Dorcas could see through the window was Marlene’s familiar bedroom, the sunlight partially reflecting herself back at her, her chin length dark hair, backwards hat and tank top. In the rest, Marlene’s bright walls, once white but now covered with posters and Marlene’s paintings. Concert posters, random letters from the Hollow’s old abandoned movie theater marque that Dorcas had brought her, and the oil paint in swirling shapes or stroked to form friends’ faces. Dorcas saw her own face many times, and the sight was warmer than the hot sun.

Then, Marlene was there, blonde hair falling over her shoulders. She pressed her forehead to the warm glass briefly before pushing the window, sticking with the heat, open.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Dorcas said.

“D,” Marlene sighed, and pulled her in.

Marlene was an angel. Dorcas was sure.

Saint felt uneasy in Godric. He probably always would. He kept his earbuds in, but tapped off beat and nervously, glancing back at the McKinnon house every once in a while. All these houses looked the same. The lawns were so green that they rivaled the sea, aqua and glimmering in the sunlight. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like the women, seemingly ever out for a morning speed-walk with each other, died blonde hair piled high on their heads, who stopped to ask, Do you do lawns? What about pools?

Saint merely slid his sunglasses off, smiled at them, and they were lost. Their eyes went bright, their mouths giggly. Boy from The Hollow, they would whisper to their friends later, so sad to waste such a face—

Saint had always been beautiful. He knew that. But it didn’t matter so much when you were from where he was. In Godric, beauty was key. Anywhere else, it was a waste.

And then they’d see his neck. The cross with the 7 singed there, hanging around his neck.

Oh, they’d gasp, oh, sweetheart, you’re one of those St. Clair Church orphans aren’t you?

A waste. A waste.

The nuns—waste of space, wasteofspacewasteof—

Saint hated the Godric men, with their linen pants and green juices. Walking their property lines and greeting each other each morning, like Roman elite on their salutatio.

Saint was here for Dorcas, who for some reason had decided to love one of those men and women’s daughters. He could never.

That was the surest way to be a waste. Why love them? Why love anyone who was raised like this? By these people?

There was an excitement that came with The Hollow for the Godrics. A strange fascination, animal and exotic. Marlene, to her credit, didn’t have it. She loved Dorcas, too. James Potter…Saint liked James well enough. But both he and Marlene could still go home every night. They didn’t live it. Not like Dorcas, not like Sirius, not like himself.

Yes, Saint would say. I do lawns. I clean pools.

Saint grinned sweetly. Sultry.

He’d also steal their favorite gold necklace.

“So, Remus, what do you plan to do with yourself this summer, sweetheart?”

Remus looked across the dining room table at his parents. His mother was looking at him expectantly, knife and fork poised, and his mind had still been with the wind and the sea.

“I know the history museum is always looking for volunteers, which looks wonderful on a college application,” his mother continued when Remus had paused for too long.

Remus nodded, hoping to keep his expression pleasant, and cut his pork chop. “Maybe. I was hoping to lean in a little bit of a different direction.”

“Oh?”

“Just sailing, I mean. Racing. There are prizes, some of them with money attached. Good for scholarships, or…”

Remus’ father chewed slowly. “Oh. Well, yes. But you have the mornings to do that. Something more productive with your day, maybe. What are the other boys on the team doing, for example. Maybe ask James or Luke or Thomas. Well, maybe not Luke, given everything that happened this year.”

Remus only nodded again, biting down everything else. But he wanted to race sailboats, run with them, he wouldn’t say. What could be more productive?

“Yeah,” he said instead. “I’ll look into some options around town.”

That, made his mother and father smile.

Julian sat to Remus’ left swinging his legs and looking between them all.

“Can I go out on Wolfsbane?” Julian asked hopefully. Julian, through Remus, had developed an incredible love for Remus’ sailboat and wanted nothing more than a ride.

“Absolutely not,” Remus’ mother said. “Not until you’ve finished your lessons at the Club.”

The Club. Dreaded words. Gryffindor Club, what Remus and Marlene secretly called The Yacht, was the most prestigious private club on the island. You needed a two-member invite. It was beautiful, but it was all walls. Closed off from the rest of the island. People came here, stayed at the club, and didn’t even see. The pools were not the ocean, and the cuisine was not Hogwarts cuisine. Remus wasn’t even sure his parents knew anymore, although he knew they had once. Early on. He didn’t know what had changed. You fall into a crowd, maybe.

He would get Julian out and about one day, when he was old enough. Remus himself spent his time on all parts of the island, in all neighborhoods—almost. He loved Helga more than anything, with its nicknacks and beautiful, dream-like creations.

Except The Hollow.

He’d never gone. Almost, once, on a dare from James when they were thirteen. There were nasty rumors. He’d only seen it from the sea, the deserted sands of Shack Beach and clusters of houses. And the rumors looked true enough. He knew James went sometimes, knew who he was friends with. The only reason he didn’t get shit for it at school was because everyone liked him too much. Remus thought they liked the fact that James could get away with it, too. James could get away with anything. He was a Potter.

Everything except me, Lily always said, and Remus smiled at the thought.

They’d all be out of here in a year anyway. At least for a while. College was like a promise-land. Remus was so sick of this island, but not the ocean. He’d miss the ocean.

The Lupins had been on Hogwarts for nearly one hundred years—a short time, compared to the Evans and McKinnon families. An even shorter time compared to the Potters and Deveaux. One hundred year old new money? Remus thought it was a ridiculous statement but, compared to the other Godric families, they were new. It was relative. Relative money. The Salazar families had been there even longer, Remus couldn’t quite remember their stories.

Remus couldn’t imagine how no one had wanted to go out and see the world. This island was his home. He loved its every shore and nook. But he…wanted. He wanted with the sea and the wind and his Wolfsbane with its twinning pontoons and white sails. It’s tiny below deck cabin that snugged in a bed for nights lulled by the waves. Nothing outside but water and the stars.

After dinner, Remus climbed up the tall, winding stairs to Bane Tower. It had been named by his great, great, great, grandfather, also named Lyall, like his father. A play on words. Lupin, wolf. Wolfsbane. Bane Tower. Sometimes Remus felt like he was just another word game. Remus and Julian. Raised by the wolves.

“It kept him sane, the stars,” Remus’ grandfather had always said. “Quite literally, I mean. Madness runs in our family, Remus. Who knows when it might pop up again. And they kept him almost sane, I should say.”

The stars kept Remus sane, too. They were a map on the ocean, and an escape on land. He didn’t have to think when he looked at them. Maybe that was what was dangerous about them. Hypnotic. Mirrored by the haphazard lights of The Hollow, right along Godric’s shore.

Remus’ grandfather had died of madness. That’s what they said. Remus had watched him go. He missed him.

It didn’t stop Bane Tower from being the perfect place to see the stars.

For Gods, the Potters were good people. Really, for anyone the Potters were good people. They were kind to Sirius, and payed him well. Mostly he looked after their boat, but he would also do chores around the house, run errands for this and that for Mrs. Potter.

It was how he had met James. Really met him. School didn’t count, Sirius had disappeared when he was eleven from his old life and that meant, what friends he might have had at Hogwarts Academy were no more. No one liked a run-away. No one really liked a Black.

The Potters weren’t prejudice. Did they have more money than Sirius could picture? Yes. But they were good. It was the only reason Sirius had even considered liking James again. And still, that didn’t mean he understood why James still hung out with him—them. James was the only one from Sirius’ old life who had decided to reconnect. It was strange. Sirius had nothing to offer him.

It had only gotten stranger when, about two years ago now, he’d brought Lily Evans, who had in turn brought Marlene McKinnon. The boys and the girls had been taught separately when Sirius had still be there, and so Lily and Marlene were vague memories for Sirius. Dorcas—homeschooled—and Marlene were gone for each other almost immediately, and Sirius had theories about Lily and James. None of them had ever brought anyone else, so, Sirius assumed, the rest of his old schoolmates had turned out to be the assholes he expected. Gods in their own territory, up on Olympus, reaping their spoils on the backs of others. Lacrosse playing, secret addicts to something, who drank too much, lived for the summer, and liked boobs more than themselves. Then again, James hung out with those people, too. It was hard to figure out.

But weren’t they all.

“Black!”

James, in all his leather boat shoes and pink swimsuit galore, was jogging up the dock to meet him. Sirius gave a nod, but kept sweeping last night’s rain from the decks, the morning sunshine hot on his neck.

“What’s up?” Sirius said.

“Throwing a party,” James said. “Thought maybe you and your crew would want to come.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “You’re inviting us to a party?” They were famous, Godric’s boisterous parties. Drugs, alcohol, swimming pools, and the ocean. The best mix.

James nodded. “That I am.”

Sirius laughed. “Pots, that place will be crawling with Gods.”

“I thought you liked that sort of thing.”

“Yeah,” Sirius said. “On our turf, where we aren’t so outnumbered that, when the police show up—because they always do—we’re the ones who get blamed just for existing. And for the Crucio that’ll be there—and don’t try to tell me someone won’t bring some.”

Crucio. Hogwart’s powdery nightmare.

“Fine,” James said. “We’ll make it one of yours, then. Your turf, you name the place.”

“Why?”

James grinned. “Maybe I like transcending boundaries.”

“Maybe Marlene wants to see Dorcas.”

“Maybe.”

Sirius straightened and leaned on his broom, looking at James squint at him in the bright sunlight reflecting off his glasses. He was wearing a navy Castle Lacrosse t-shirt that decidedly did not go with his shorts.

“Maybe,” Sirius said. “But it’s gotta be at Shack Beach.”

James whistled. “That’s pretty deep territory. You know Felix will make its rounds.”

Crucio was the island’s greatest gift, and its greatest curse. Some people called it Crucio, some called it Felix. The drug wasn’t very addictive chemically, but its effects were powerful. Sirius had heard that it allowed the user to hallucinate memories. Past, distant or near. It could keep people coming back for more, time and again, hoping to relive things—or desperate to see something different. Crucio wasn’t addicting, but memories definitely could be. Good thing Sirius didn’t value his past.

Sirius stuck to the name Crucio. It was torture to live like that, not luck.

Crucio meant a good and steady cash flow for the suppliers. Like Dorcas. Sirius and Saint basically lived off of her income—not that she could do much without answering for how she accumulated it. It was a strange gift, a tedious life, but Dorcas seemed to like it.

Sirius stared James down. “And if it does, no cops will show up to tell about it.”

“Deal,” James sighed. “You’re fucking hardcore, Black.”

“Sure,” Sirius said.

“Potter,” came a voice from the end of the dock.

They both looked and Sirius stiffened as soon as he did, feeling self-conscious clutching his broom. Remus Lupin and Luke Deveaux were standing there, aviators on and Castle Lacrosse tank tops. Luke’s flashy Jeep was waiting in the circle driveway of James’ house. It was Luke who had spoken. Remus stood a few steps back. With their sunglasses, Sirius couldn’t tell where they were looking.

“Let’s go,” Luke said simply.

Sirius turned away before they could, pushing rain water harshly into the sea.

“Yeah,” James said, voice softer this time. “Coming.”

Pity. Sirius could practically feel it.

“Ten tonight?” James said to Sirius. “Sound okay?”

“Okay,” Sirius said without turning around.

He felt the vibrations of James jogging back down the dock, but didn’t turn to watch the three Gods go.

326 notes · View notes

sophie-jen · 3 years ago

Text

water lilies and tadpoles

read on ao3

James rolled onto his back. He looked up at the sun, shining joyfully in the cloudless sky, then immediately groaned, and rolled back onto his stomach.

"You look like a beached whale, honey."

James groaned again. "S'hot," he mumbled.

"Why don't you go down to the lake and take a swim?"

James did not dignify this question with a response. His mother had been trying to kick him out all morning. She clearly didn’t want him in her way as she pranced around in her sunhat, gardening tools in hand. James was too miserable to care. He just groaned louder and rolled over again. But this was the wrong move, he realized belatedly, as he felt the crunch of his mother's favorite lilies being crushed under his weight.

Five minutes later and a shovel shaped dent in his skull found James making his way toward the stupid lake. As he pushed his way valiantly through swarms of mosquitoes, he considered the very real possibility that he would drown in his own sweat before he ever reached water.

The suffocating heat made everything hazy. Overhead, branches swayed. Leaves rustled. Underfoot, twigs crunched. Moss whispered. Streams of light danced around him. Birds croaked. Frogs chirped. A mushroom tipped its cap to him.

Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, it occurred to James that he might be lost. Just as the beginnings of panic started brewing in his stomach, his foot caught in a root and he went toppling down a hill. He rolled to a stop next to a small glittering lake, and groaned. This was definitely not the lake his mother had been referring to. He hadn’t known there even was another lake in this area. It really was quite small, resembling more of an oversized pond.

There was something emphatically off about the happy twinkle of the water and the ethereal glow that bathed everything in a golden light. He also couldn’t help but notice that the water lilies were eyeing him suspiciously. To their left, a large, judgmental looking trout poked its face out of the water, took a good look at him, and with a disappointed shake of its head, went back down to report what it had seen. And sat on an outcrop not three feet away, looking straight at him while her fingers combed through her long tendrils of red hair, was a mermaid. This was a little much for poor James to take, and mercifully, after one last groan for good measure, consciousness fled and everything faded to black.

James gasped awake. He lay in the dark for a few seconds, contemplating the strange dream he had been having, before sitting up. As he did, something cold and slimy slid off his eyes and down his face, taking his glasses with it. He felt around for the glasses, slid them back onto his nose, looked at the lily pad that had dropped into his lap, and felt his stomach drop with it.

"I thought it might help cool you off."

He looked over at the girl who sat not far away. She was looking at him with an expression of mingled apprehension and curiosity. And sure enough, when James looked down, he saw curled under her a long gray tail, scales shimmering in the sunlight. He had to make a considerable effort not to faint again.

"I’ve found lily pads are really refreshing. I was afraid you had heat exhaustion or something,” the girl said.

“Oh. Thank you.” James didn’t know how to explain to her that it most likely wasn’t the heat exhaustion that had caused him to swoon.

“I'm Lily, by the way."

James considered her for a moment. Considered at what point between rolling onto his mother’s lilies and meeting a mermaid named Lily he had lost his mind. Considered the lily pad laying limply in his lap. Made a decision.

"I'm James."

“So, uh…” James kept his eyes on the small blue fish eating out of the mermaid’s hand. He was trying not to stare at her webbed fingers. “You live here? In the lake?”

“No, I actually prefer to perch on tree branches.” She gave James such a deadpan look as she spoke that he was inclined to believe her. At this point, he was inclined to believe just about anything.

“Yes, of course I live in the lake,” she continued after a moment. She turned back to the fish, which was stretching as far as it could out of the water, vying for her attention.

“Ah. Right.” James mulled this over for a moment. “But where do you-” he paused, trying to think of the best way to ask the question. “Well, where do you, you know, live?” Well said. “I mean, have you got a bed at the bottom of the lake or something?”

“Yep. I even splurged on a water mattress recently.”

To James’ surprise, a snort of amusement escaped him. Lily smiled as she stroked the fish, which flapped its tiny fins happily.

“Honestly, I mostly sleep on land. I like looking at the stars.” She gave the fish a final pat, before leaning back onto her arms, her tail stretched out in front of her, and tilting her face towards the sun. “I couldn’t really do that much back home.”

“Back home?”

“I live in the ocean.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I got caught in a storm and washed up in a river somewhere, so I swam up here.” She leaned over and lifted a clump of moss off the end of her tail, where a large translucent fin lay. The left portion of the fin was in tatters, and an angry looking rip spanned almost the entirety of it. "I can't swim properly with my tail in that state."

"So, what, you're just stuck here?"

"Until it heals and I can try finding my way home. But I honestly don't mind. I grew up surrounded by angelfish and dolphins, so lake trout and tadpoles have been a nice change of pace.“

Despite her lighthearted tone, she didn’t look particularly thrilled as she said it. James immediately felt compelled to do something, though what that something was, or why he even felt compelled to do it, were beyond him. Instead, his mouth moved of its own accord. "Oh, so you're usually surrounded by a much more so-fish-ticated crowd, then," he said, placing emphasis on the “fish”. He regretted it immediately.

“Did you just-” She looked at him incredulously, but James was thrilled to hear the laughter in her voice. “That doesn’t even make sense!”

“Yeah, my bad, won’t happen again.”

“Unbelievable,” she said through a giggle.

Not wanting to push his luck, he stayed quiet, and they sat in silence together. The fish, realizing it wouldn’t be getting anything more from Lily, swam up to James and gave a hopeful wiggle. He stroked it distractedly as the mermaid next to him sighed and readjusted the moss covering her fin. James only hoped she couldn't hear the frantic whirring of cogs as he tried to make sense of the pretty redhead and her tail, quietly soaking up the sun beside him.

"Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop looking at my tail."

"It looked at me first."

"It's impolite to stare."

"Social norms don't apply when your cousin is a guppy."

A lily pad thwacked James across the face.

The sun was beating down mercilessly. James sat at the edge of the water with his feet dipped in up to his ankles. He watched as Lily resurfaced, yet another trinket in her hands, and swam closer to add it to the row of eclectic objects she had set out on the sand. She called them her treasures, although they looked more like what a demented three-year-old might drag home from the playground.

While she fiddled with what looked like a vaguely heart-shaped ball of algae, he examined one of the rocks. She had said it reminded her of the hammerhead shark that would dig up her garden in search of crabs. It was oblong and one of the ends was slightly flat. To James, the resemblances ended there, but Lily had been thrilled at the discovery, so he had smiled and praised how hammerheaded the rock looked.

He set the rock back down and checked to see what Lily was doing. She was still poking at the green blob. Her hair looked darker now that it was wet, pooling like blood in her collarbones and trickling down her back in rivulets. He looked away as soon as she turned toward him, and stared intently at a chipped snail shell.

“I know, it’s not very impressive.”

“What? No...”

She raised her eyebrows in skeptical amusement. “I wish you could see the collection I have at home. I’ve got this gorgeous pocket watch I found with all these flowers carved on the back. It doesn’t tell the time anymore though.”

“Where’d you find it?” asked James. He slid into the water and made his way towards a water lily he had spotted.

Lily hadn’t seemed to notice, focused on smoothing out the wrinkles of the snake skin she had laid out. “We collect them from shipwrecks,” she explained.

“That’s morbid.” He snapped the flower off the stem and waded back over to Lily and her treasures.

“Is it? I remember when I was little, my sister and I used to go looking for sunken ships and scare the octopuses living in them.”

“Here, add this to your collection.” Lily turned toward him, and he handed her the water lily he had picked.

“I can’t add that. It’ll start wilting soon.” She took the flower from him, her fingers brushing his as she delicately held the white petals. He dipped his fingers in the water to quell the tingles.

“Oh. I just thought it was pretty.”

She studied the flower for a moment, before placing it in her hair and securing the stem behind her ear. He watched as she fussed with it, trying to get it wedged properly. “There. That way we can enjoy it while it lasts.”

“I can get you another when it turns brown,” James offered.

“No, I like this one,” she said. “I don’t want to replace it. Some things are meant to be temporary anyway.”

"GAAAHHhhbrrggllslg..."

"Pipe down, you'll scare the fish."

James came back to the surface, spluttering and coughing. “This clearly isn’t working,” he wheezed.

“Really? I thought we were making great progress.”

“Funny, ‘cause I thought that’s the third time you’ve nearly drowned me.” James rubbed his eyes a final time and opened them. Lily floated next to him, her hair like a pool of blood around her. He pulled a piece of it out of his mouth.

She rolled her eyes and ran her fingers through her hair, picking out a snail that had gotten tangled in the strands. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Well excuse me for having a sense of self-preservation.”

“You’re acting like I’m trying to kill you!”

“Lily, I don’t have gills! You can’t just push me underwater without warning!”

She looked surprised at his outburst, her green eyes were wide with worry, and James immediately felt bad.

“Listen, it’s fine. I just got freaked out for a moment,” he backpedaled.

Lily wasn’t listening. “Maybe we should stop.”

“No, really, it’s fine! I’ll just make sure to plug my nose next time!”

But she was already swimming away, and with a flick of her tail, she had disappeared to a place where he couldn’t reach her.

The bite was oozing. Oozing what, he didn’t know. Didn’t really want to know. He had never thought he would be having to deal with fish bites. Hadn’t realized such small fish even had teeth. Evil little bastards. Always sweet and cuddly when Lily was around. But this was apparently a summer of firsts.

He poked at the angry looking marks, and hissed. Lily would know how to take care of this. Fix it. He had no idea where she was. She hadn’t yet resurfaced.

Not knowing what to do, he climbed onto the outcrop where he had seen her for the first time, and stretched out. Warmth enveloped him on all sides, immediately making him drowsy. As he drifted off, he thought about how unbothered he was. Everything was fine. He let himself be pulled under, into the depths of sleep, not worried in the slightest. She would turn up. She always did.

He’s sinking deeper into dark blue depths. His legs keep up a frantic pace as he kicks, trying to propel himself forward. All he can see is her: her long, slender fingers, her wrists, her collarbones, glowing in the murky water as she hovers, ethereal. All he wants is to go to her, but with a laugh she turns and swims further down, engulfed by the darkness.

He can just make out her tail undulating as she moves inexorably on, never slowing down. As he follows her, going ever lower, several jellyfish zoom by, their tentacles tangling together to form a billowing cloud of exhaust. Somewhere to the side, a school of clownfish float in a large reef together, studying. A preoccupied looking manatee comes out of a dense wall of seaweed and almost bumps into James, muttering an apology as it hurries away.

James is undeterred, his focus only on the mermaid in front of him. She turns to face him, curls one finger in a beckoning motion, and her smile is a hook that snags him, reeling him in, pulling him closer to her. Her lips are moving. He can tell she’s saying something, something important, but he can’t understand her. The water is filling his ears, muting everything, and he strains to hear her, to make out something, anything. Panic rises in his throat as her face grows troubled, panic so thick it’s suffocating. He can’t breathe, and she’s floating further into the murky shadows, and he hates the greedy gloom taking her away from him with every fiber of his being. As she grows ever more distant, his panic grows, and he’s never felt so lost, so helpless. He has to reach her, to stop her, and she’s screaming, screaming his name, over and over and-

“James!” He opened his eyes, gasping for air. After several steadying breaths, the darkness began receding. He blinked while the world came back into focus. The panic he had felt so acutely was already fading, dripping through his fingers, leaking out of his ears. It was replaced by the feeling of solid rock under his back, the sun wrapping him in warmth, and Lily’s hands cupping his cheeks. Her face was right over his, her hair forming a curtain around them.

“Here.” He felt his glasses being placed gingerly over his eyes. “You alright?”

Lily’s voice was laced with concern, her eyebrows knitted so close together they were almost touching. Her face was so close to his that he could see every individual hair in her eyebrows. He focused on one hair that lay slightly askew, pointing towards a freckle on her eyelid, as he finished catching his breath.

“Yeah. I’m fine. Just had a weird dream.”

“Oh. Sure. I have those all the time.”

“Really?”

“Oh, definitely. The other day, I dreamed that I had climbed up a tree, and I couldn’t get down. And you were in the water, and I kept calling you, and asking you to help. But you insisted that you couldn’t, because you had to practice your underwater somersaults. And I was so angry that I started picking crabs off the tree and pelting them at you. But you kept catching them in your mouth and eating them. And you were laughing the whole time. And then you said, ‘Look, Tulip!’ and did a backwards somersault with so much force that you created a huge wave that knocked me off the tree. And then I woke up.”

“Sorry about that.” James was trying very hard to keep a straight face.

“I can’t believe you called me ‘Tulip’,” Lily said with a frown.

She looked so genuinely offended that James immediately felt compelled to comfort her. “Like I would ever forget your name!”

“What was your dream?” she said quickly.

“Oh, I was just drowning.”

“Well that’s not bad. Why do you get to have normal dreams?”

“Probably because I know how to do backward somersaults.”

James stared at the water intently, looking for any disturbances in the smooth surface. In his hand, he held a freshwater mussel the size of a large baseball. Lily had dug it up from the bed of the lake for the game she had devised. She had informed him that the mussels' name was Petunia, mentioning something about the mussel reminding her of someone.

He tightened his hold on Petunia, causing her to give an indignant shake in response. James had discovered that a firm grip was necessary when handling the mussel. She had a tendency to clamp down on his fingers when he wasn’t paying enough attention, and getting her to let go required threats of feeding her to the snapping turtle that lived nearby.

A sudden ripple drew James’ attention to a spot on his left. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the flash of a tail flicking above the water. As he scanned the green surface, he spotted a smudge of red. Raising Petunia above his head, his eyes following the billowing of crimson under the water, he took a steadying breath, and aimed. He exhaled. Petunia went flying.

“Fucking ow!”

The cry told him he had hit his mark. The proud victor had only a moment to celebrate his success before a wave of water was flung in his direction, drenching him entirely.

“Bit of a sore loser, aren’t you?” James smiled as the top of Lily’s head surfaced. Her eyes narrowed and the green flashed somewhat dangerously, but he took no heed. He was on a roll. “Seems I’ve o-fish-ially won!”

His laugh was followed closely by a scream as Lily pulled him into the water, and he felt his nose being pinched shut as he went under, smothered by a wave of red tendrils.

"You know I can't stay here."

"Can't you? What's so great about the ocean, anyway? So it’s got dolphins. Did you know dolphins are actually vicious? I read that they kill porpoises just for fun."

“James-”

“And they’ve been known to attack people.”

“Are you honestly trying to slander dolphins?”

“I’m just saying, it’s a cruel world out there. But it’s safe here. I can guarantee you’ll never be attacked by a toad.”

“The other day, I woke up with a tadpole up my nose."

“Small price to pay.”

“Small price to pay for not being viciously attacked by a dolphin? Do you hear yourself?”

“I just don’t get why you have to leave right now. How could it possibly be safe? Your tail isn’t even fully healed yet!”

“It will be soon.”

Quiet settled over the little lake again. She broke the silence first.

"Mermaids can live for up to 300 years."

"My dad is turning sixty next month."

“I want to go home, James. You can go home any time you want. You can be sure that you’ll be able to celebrate your dad's birthday with him. What about me? All I've got here are the tadpoles.”

"You've got me."

"What?"

"You've got me, haven't you? Or do I not count?"

"Of course you count, you idiot. You count so much, you have no idea."

James' heart must have swollen so big it cut off the oxygen going to his brain because all he could come up with was, "I'm actually terrible at maths."

She sighed. “I will miss you. But I can’t stay here forever, hoping you’ll visit me occasionally.”

“That’s not-”

“It is.”

The heat had somehow worsened. The pair floated in the cool lake water together, incapable of anything requiring any more energy. He could sense her presence, sensed it constantly, incessantly, tugging on his consciousness whenever he was around her.

They floated in silence, the only sound coming from two particularly loud swallows. The birds were having it out over a spider they each felt entitled to. The angry chirping hadn’t ceased for at least the last ten minutes.

James felt a ripple and saw Lily shift over and look up at the birds. She rolled her eyes and smiled at him. He felt the sudden urge to bottle up her smile and keep it stashed away, to take out and enjoy on special occasions. Instead, he dunked his head in the water and pretended with all his might that his heart wasn’t being constricted so tight it would shrink to the size of a marble and roll out of his mouth when he was sleeping.

And then she was gone. Just like that, the lake was empty. James sat on the outcrop, and watched as a wilting water lily floated by serenely. A small blue fish poked its head out of the water. The fish looked around and then stared at James for a few moments, as though wanting to ask something, before diving back under with a small splash.

Here’s a painting that I think looks just like Lily

#this was supposed to be done so long ago #my bad #i guess i'll go burrow back into my hole now #mermaid!lily #mermaid au #jily #james x lily #james potter #lily evans #fic #oneshot #jily fanfiction

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writeblrfantasy · 4 years ago

Text

here it is!

my pride and joy, the piece that has completely hijacked my brain and my life for the past 24 hours. this is the prologue, some might say, to TDOSA, featuring the vibes of an endless, sunny summer, the sense of floating through time and space, and a lot of lesbian yearning and projection, i present: the summer of seret ashling.

cw implied sex, blood

word count around 6300

one time tags of interest @ashen-crest @ettawritesnstudies

tdosa taglist (lmk to be added/removed) magic-is-something-we-create @hysteriwah @imjustalonesomewriteblr @a-forgotten-dusk @bronwennjames @metanoiamorii

Lysandra Fleming’s summer begins like this: a lonely night in Briar Bar, sipping a warm mug of cherry syrup. Not because she is cold—the heat in Vashiri Valley does not begin with summer, nor does it end there. Cherry syrup is vile and bitter and sweet at the same time, made worse warm, but the smooth way it goes down reminds her of childhood, the strange days when she actually liked this stuff.

Not home. She has not had a home since she was a child, when the supposed charm of the palace still worked on her. What were once silky ribbons in her hair became the invisible chains and rules of her parents, tying her down.

Lysandra, you can’t do this, it will reflect badly on us, or Lysandra, you can’t speak to that person, can’t smile at them, can’t see them, don’t you know what they did ten years ago? Don’t you know who their parents are? Vashiri Valley is struggling for power enough without you mucking it up.

Lysandra stopped smiling altogether.

Now, she comes to Briar Bar to be left alone with her cherry syrup, to melt into the crowd, to be normal, for once. Instead, others smile at her the way her parents always encouraged she smile, fake, polite enough, with an ulterior gleam in their eye. So many eyes watch her in want, but she does not feel seen at all by any of them.

The room’s quiet conversation dims and dissolves into whispers, prompting Lysandra to glance over at the reason. The reason is facing away from Lysandra, wearing a tall black hat and a black suit that nearly blends into the darkness of the walls, if not for the white shirt the woman is wearing underneath.

Lysandra didn’t see her come in, and all eyes turn to the tall, dark stranger, wondering the same thing. Her companions across the room point her in Lysandra’s direction, who braces for another meaningless smile, another delighted to meet you, Highness.

The woman turns, and Lysandra sees brown skin, black hair falling in long, loose curls, a subtle, close mouthed smile that draws her attention instantly. Brown eyes meet Lysandra’s green.

“Seret Ashling, my princess.” Seret Ashling leans down, never breaking eye contact, and kisses the top of Lysandra’s hand, holding her fingers delicately, but not like she’s glass. She treats Lysandra like she knows, instantly, her boundaries, how far she can safely push, what Lysandra can take—which is a lot more than most people guess.

Already, Lysandra likes her.

Lysandra is not her princess. She knows the name of every person in this valley, and she knows she’s never even seen Seret before. Even the name is foreign to her. Seh-reht.

That makes it all the better.

She moves her stool a little farther from the empty one beside her, raising an eyebrow in an invitation Seret accepts, removing her hat and tucking it under her arm to smoothly mount the stool. Seret sits with a straight back but ankles curled around the legs of the stool, adding enough humanity to her presence to make Lysandra smile.

She does not prop her elbow on the table, she does not order anything, but she does stare at Lysandra like she’s the most interesting person in the room. Lysandra can tell, somehow, that this gaze is genuine, not hastily crafted and practiced to impress her.

She offers to buy Lysandra another mug of cherry syrup, and Lysandra lets her.

***

Everywhere Lysandra goes, Seret seems to find her. She’s the talk of the valley, enrapturing them with her tall, dark, handsome aura, her small smile, the way the sun shines off her hair.

Finally Seret takes the leap and asks her out to places in Vashiri City Lysandra has been a thousand times, but somehow Seret’s presence paints color to her world again instead of the dull greens and golds the valley has become.

Their connection is instant, from Briar Bar to the lane of potion shops to the muffled awe in Seret’s face when she sees the Academy. At some point, Seret takes Lysandra’s hand, and they stroll through the town like they are not a princess and the new obsession of Vashiri Valley.

Everyone has been asking Seret about herself, where she’s from, what family she has, but she slips out of answering like a snake from a trap. Her smile is quite persuasive. Lysandra doesn’t even try to pry the answer out of her, though she might be the one person to succeed. Seret still looks at her every time like she’s the sun and the moon and the stars.

Lysandra’s heart thrums with nerves every hour before their dates, afraid of messing things up and driving Seret away, but the moment Seret enters the room, her heart calms. Seret gives her a warm hug that envelopes her whole soul, tells her she missed her dearly, and Lysandra wonders why she was ever worried. Seret seems impossible to offend.

“I am going to buy you a gift,” Seret announces on one of their dates in town, in a tone which makes it clear this is non-negotiable. Lysandra only nods. Seret pauses between two shops, one being the most popular jewelry store in the city with a line out the door, the one across the street being an adorable but little known competitor.

Lysandra waits for Seret to get in line for the popular jewelry store, but instead the woman lingers in front of the door of the other shop before opening it. “Don’t peek,” she says with a little smile, shutting the door and triggering the little bell. Lysandra stands there gawking like a fool until Seret emerges ten minutes later holding a little square box.

When Lysandra opens it with trembling hands, she finds a little heart shaped necklace, gold with a silver center on a golden chain. The gold probably isn’t real, probably just paint, but the pink paper wrapping the necklace and the little thank you card inside the box make her smile when the shop across the street wouldn’t.

The plain red and blue shelves in the windows of the other shop, where her family’s jeweler gets his jewels, have nothing on the soft pinks, greens, and browns of the cheap shop owned by twins. They keep flowers in their windows, pink carnations, and prices written in loopy court script.

“Do you like it?” Seret asks nervously, and Lysandra realizes she hasn’t said a word.

“I love it. Thank you.” She offers it up to Seret to clasp around her neck. Seret’s warm fingertips brush the back of her neck, and shivers run down Lysandra’s spine. This is special, her heart keeps telling her, like she doesn’t already know. This is different.

“How did you know?” Lysandra asks.

“Know what?”

“That I’d like this better than the shop across the street.”

“You’re a princess, you’re used to expensive jewelry, and you’ve publicly and loudly denounced royal life. Also, I’d rather give my money to them, seems like they actually need it. Don’t you agree?”

Lysandra has to take a deep breath to keep from blurting out something stupid. “Yes. I agree.”

Their first kiss a day later is a ray of light and a shadow of darkness, colliding and exploding in a glorious show of white and black, settling as ashes and debris into serene, calm gray. They are not the sun and moon. Lysandra is too sharp to be the sun, Seret too dim to be the moon.

It is the death of something. The birth. Lysandra can’t define what.

***

When Lysandra asks, Seret says she came to Vashiri Valley to visit and experience its delights, after which she meets Lysandra’s eyes and kisses her hands.

Lysandra hangs around the city apartment Seret rents. It’s close to Wynn’s cabin where she sleeps. She hasn’t slept in the palace in months. The layers of security and scrutiny she has to pass to enter are not worth the temporary comfort of a soft bed and her favorite meals.

She’s sleeping beside Seret before long, unable to bear being apart from her for that long, wondering how she behaves during such a precious time. Seret’s arms are even warmer around her under cool sheets, and in the morning, Seret brings her coffee before disappearing behind a white door.

She reappears in a cloud of steam, smelling like sweet flowers and honeysuckle. Lysandra gets to kiss her good morning and wonder how she got so lucky.

They’re invited to plays, the nights at the bars for amateur bards, the travelling witches who perform at the amphitheater. Lysandra has been to every event in this valley at least once, usually at the request of her family, but Seret loves going. Like the city and the shops and the Academy, experiencing Seret’s joy secondhand is intoxicating.

Everywhere they go, every table they sit at, whether it’s the theater or the bar or a café for a simple breakfast, people are fawning over Seret. The entire valley is enamored with Lysandra’s new lover.

Seret seems to find it amusing, the way they pat her arm and show a comical amount of interest in everything she has to say, just waiting for an opportunity to ask questions that they must know will go unanswered.

Lysandra sits quietly, burning from the way Seret entertains them, smiles at them in her private way. She wants Seret all to herself. She’s used to sharing things with the public, she’s had to share herself her whole life, but Seret is different. Lysandra doesn’t care if it’s selfish, Seret is hers.

When everyone finally seems like they’ve gotten their fill of Vashiri’s new inhabitant, Lysandra takes her to the edge of the forest and the dead tall grass fields beside it. She gets to watch the exact moment Seret falls in love.

Seret has never grinned, never raised her voice louder than a murmur, but her hitch of breath and the way she reaches for Lysandra’s hand is all she needs. Pride blooms in Lysandra’s chest at the realization she’s learned Seret’s little tells like that.

“It’s just a field,” she laughs. She’s laughing more, now, thanks to Seret. Stoic, cynical, unpleasant Princess Lysandra, laughing. This is why she hasn’t let Arlin near Seret yet, she’d never hear the end of it.

“No, it’s not,” Seret breathes, radiating darkness and mystery in a way that is curious, enticing, instead of harmful. Lysandra just wants to follow her into the shadows where no others can see them, hurt them, touch them. “Can’t you see?”

Lysandra strains her neck, but it’s not the fact that Seret is taller than her that’s the problem. “No.”

Seret pulls her along and begins running instead of answering. Lysandra yelps in surprise and stumbles along, staring enviously at Seret’s long legs—long legs, long arms, long face, long fingers, everything about Seret is long. She sweeps Lysandra up in her arms and spins her around, feet in the air, Seret’s strong arms keeping her up.

Seret is grinning for the first time, showing perfect white teeth, her joy the only reason Lysandra doesn’t scream in shock. She trusts Seret utterly, she realizes in a paralyzing moment of clarity, the sun warming her back, the wind blowing through her hair. Seret has never given her a reason not to.

“What’s the matter with you?” Lysandra asks, though she can’t keep the joy out of her own voice. Seret is infectious. Anything she feels reflects on Lysandra.

“We had fields exactly like this in the city where I grew up. I can’t believe I haven’t seen these yet.” She finally sets Lysandra down and immediately kisses her, as has become a habit the last week. Lysandra gives in, gives over entirely.

She has twisted and forced a key into the lock of her heart, but now, she hands the broken key to Seret and wishes her lucky trying to fit it in the rusty, damaged old lock. Lysandra knows she’ll unlock it fast, her eyebrows pinched and frowning in concentration, long fingers working quickly.

She doesn’t tell her that, of course.

Even then, Lysandra knew.

***

They find a cabin at the edge of the fields and the forest which they quickly move into, abandoning Arlin and the boys and Lysandra's family and Vashiri Valley for themselves. Lysandra has no remorse.

Seret shows her how to live in darkness, in quiet, in peace. They prepare coffee in the mornings before the sun floods the fields with light, arms brushing and using only using their sleepy voices when they need to, not wanting to disturb the holy peace of the morning.

They bathe in the evenings indoors where the fading sun doesn’t reach, sitting close in a tub of river water that Lysandra heats.

They spend all day laying on their backs in the fields, one of them lying on the other while someone’s hair is stroked and someone speaks over the wind.

When the afternoon heat turns the sunlight from pleasantly warm to scorching, they move to the shade of the big oak tree near their cabin to eat.

The shadows are their friends in this haven, where no one and nothing else exists but them. Seret trusts them like they trust each other, content to close her eyes and lay her head back against the trunk when she’s done eating.

Lysandra loves the warmth of the sun, but she hates the harsh white spotlight of her family, the prickly rules tying her down, the sense that she can’t ever escape their restraining eyes. She can hide in the darkness from Seret. They’ll never catch her.

Lysandra has never been so invincible, light enough to be picked up on a cloud every time the wind blows. Seret is the only magical thing she’s met that doesn’t have a drop of magic within her.

Seret is ineffable. Unknowable. Larger than life. Lysandra can never hope to understand her fully, but she can try, she can watch and observe, attempt to learn the inner workings of Seret’s mind.

“Seret?” Lysandra asks one afternoon just like every other, where the peace and warmth of their retreat cannot be broken. “Where are you from?”

It is the first time she has asked. She holds her breath, waiting for Seret’s answer, which takes a long time to come. Seret chews on her lip, her expression as guarded as always, until she finally smiles. “Wherever you want me to be from. North, south, east, west, I’ve visited them all. Pick one and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Lysandra’s chest opens to swallow an ache of emptiness. “Maybe later.” It’s not what she wanted, and they both know it. Lysandra inches mere breaths away from Seret’s side, but it won’t go unnoticed. She thought Seret might actually tell her. She rubs the small gold heart between her fingers and sighs.

“Hey,” Seret says, turning Lysandra’s chin towards her. “It’s not because I don’t trust you, because I do. I trust you more than I’ve trusted anyone, more than you know.”

“Then why won’t you tell me?” Need, embarrassing and whiny, sneaks into Lysandra’s voice, but she ignores it. She’s entitled to this answer, at least.

“I don’t want to shatter your world.” Seret sighs and shifts to take Lysandra’s hands in both of hers. “I am from the south. I ran away from home at a young age to travel because my upbringing was hell, and I’ve never stopped since.”

Lysandra breathes out.

“None of that changes how I feel about you,” Seret continues, pleading, the most passionate Lysandra has ever heard her. “I have never met anyone like you, even with everywhere I’ve been. I do not want anyone but you.”

No one has ever said anything like that to Lysandra, and hearing it now gives her pause. The way Seret’s eyes burn on her skin with their dark intensity is exquisite. Lysandra will never get used to it. She does not want to.

“I would not want this with anyone else.” It does not mean the same thing, but Seret smiles, close mouthed, anyway. At times like this, Seret’s secretive nature makes Lysandra’s blood boil, unvoiced screams rise in her throat. She has given so much of herself already, why can Lysandra not know of her past, her family, her ugliest emotions?

She never wants Seret to treat her like glass. The first day they met, Seret got it right. Lysandra can’t bear the thought that Seret is any less perfect than she thinks, that would shatter her, not knowledge of the world beyond the valley.

Lysandra has gotten all she will today. She is content to sigh deeply and lay her head on Seret’s arm. Seret will stroke Lysandra’s hair, and the wind will ruffle her own, and Lysandra’s urge to push it back will fight the warmth settling into her bones. They are fine. They will be fine. Nothing more.

***

On lucky occasions, Seret shares stories of her travels from who knows when, who knows where. She has been everywhere, she said, and Lysandra believes her. She asks about the north, the far east, the west, and Seret’s homeland, the south.

The south could mean any number of things. Lysandra has never been out of Vashiri Valley, and her family have always been vague about what lies beyond their mountains, but Seret describes an actual ocean, the cold water wrapping around her ankles, the hot sand burning her feet.

She takes Lysandra to a desert in her mind, great, sprawling cities, icy lakes and snowy mountains to the north. To the east, she says, more ocean with great brown ships. Lysandra doesn’t care if she’s lying.

She lays in the grass on her side and lets the wind blow her skirts while she travels the world in her mind. Seret closes her eyes and traces mountains, rivers, canyons on her spine, unconsciously pointing in those directions. Lysandra’s breath catches in her throat.

Seret opens her eyes briefly to ask, “Am I boring you?”

Never. You couldn’t if you tried.

Lysandra shakes her head. Seret’s slow, easy smile returns, and the warm fingers on the skin revealed by her backless dress whisk her away to a thousand new worlds so big she can’t even imagine them.

***

“Does it ever bother you that I’m a princess?”

Seret smiles. “That isn’t something that would bother most people in my position.”

“I’d disagree. As the lover of a princess, you have no privacy, there’s expectations, rules you have to follow, harassment…I suppose a better word would be faze. You met and introduced yourself and spoke to me as if I were normal.”

“I called you my princess. the day we met.”

At Lysandra’s withering look, Seret chuckles. “Who said you aren’t normal? You didn’t have any control over what family you were born into. I would still feel the same if you hadn’t rejected your family and your role, if you were princess first and person second. It would be a bit harder to get to you, though, in that stronghold. To me, in that bar, you were just the prettiest girl in the nicest dress with the most captivating eyes. They told me you were a princess—so what? I love you anyway.”

Lysandra’s cheeks burn hot, and she chokes on saliva. The wind picks up, and she feels like she’s falling. How can Seret just say things like that and expect Lysandra not to explode and melt into the sun? “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

Seret smiles again. “I’m not looking to get anywhere. I’m not like those people at the bar when we met. I’m not trying to be like anyone. I’m not not trying to be like anyone. I’m not looking to impress you, honestly. I’m just being honest.”

Lysandra’s breath catches in her throat like a branch stuck in a river, unfazed by the powerful oncoming waves.

Seret is clearly not looking to hear it back, but Lysandra gathers all her courage and quietly says, “I love you, too. I--”

She shies away from Seret’s intense gaze, burning on the back of her neck. “I’m not good at, uh. Saying things like this. Like you. But I want you to know that you’ve changed my life. I don’t know how to thank you for all that you’ve done for me, given me. This place is nothing short of perfect. Every minute we’ve spent together has been nothing short of perfect. I’m sorry I haven’t given you anything back.”

“My dear, you are quite mistaken. You’ve given me the ultimate gift: yourself. The opportunity to know your heart, your mind. You’ve let me in when I can tell you have trouble doing so.”

She kisses the back of Lysandra’s hand, looking up at her through her eyelashes, as she often does. It still makes Lysandra’s entire being heat like the sun itself came down to lay its rays gently onto her, powerful but careful with her.

“You are my entire world,” says Seret, the sun. “The most precious creature in all the places I’ve visited, all the creatures in this valley alone.”

Lysandra smiles. “You haven’t met Wynn Scylla’s dragonlings.”

Deflect. Defend. Dismiss. Seret sees through it.

Lysandra lays their lips together, hoping to convey without the painful process of words said aloud just how much Seret makes her hurt. Seret makes her burn and ache in the best of ways, like a satisfying stretch after waking up from a stiff nap.

Seret challenges her to face things she loves shying away from, things like the swelling of her heart which she hasn’t felt in years. Seret is terrifying, all consuming, but Lysandra can’t imagine a world without her. Much of her allure comes from her mystery, however infuriating her secrecy is.

Hours later, when they’re full and sated from dinner, after they wash the dishes side by side at the river and after they’ve bathed in the tub in the house, Lysandra hears a faint hum, high and low, continuous, lulling and soft. She turns her head and discovers it’s Seret, humming to herself as she drapes the wet towels out to dry. “What’s that you’re humming?”

Seret pauses her sweet melody. “Hm? Oh, just some music from the east. If I had the proper instruments, I would play the tune.”

Lysandra chokes on air. “You can play music, too?”

Seret smiles. “I can do many things.”

“Oh?” Lysandra doesn’t know where her sudden burst of courage comes from. Perhaps she’s the one looking to get somewhere. She raises an eyebrow and crooks a finger, hoping a low tone will convey her point. “Come here and show me.”

Seret is quiet, face blank. Lysandra wonders, belatedly, if she does in fact have unknown boundaries.

When Seret desperately searches her eyes for consent, Lysandra realizes it was shock and not disgust that rendered her speechless. “You mean—” Seret asks, hoarse, never breaking eye contact. Lysandra shivers. She had that effect on her?

“Yes.”

They stare at each other for a long, silent moment, Seret’s hungry gaze fixed on Lysandra’s pale shoulders, the towel wrapped around her middle. Then they’re both moving at once, mouths moving in the same pattern of Seret’s melody, a symphony of hearts beating in time.

If Lysandra is Seret’s world, Seret is the center of Lysandra’s.

***

At long last, Lysandra’s family gets wind of Seret. Lysandra doesn’t want to know how. Maybe Wynn and Petrus spread it around by accident—she loves those boys, but they couldn’t keep a secret if they tried. Maybe it was Arlin, who Lysandra finally let meet Seret.

All she does know is that her family is demanding to meet their middle princess’s lover, which means they’ll clarify if they’re allowed to be together or not.

“I’m sorry,” Lysandra whimpers, on the edge of tears in Seret’s arms. “I don’t want them to touch us with a ten foot stick, but if we don’t go, they’ll send someone out here to find us and disrupt our world. I’m so sorry.” Something about her family interfering in her and Seret’s affairs makes Lysandra boil like nothing else.

“It’s okay, my princess,” Seret murmurs into her hair, cupping the back of her head, rocking them back and forth. “We’ll go, I’ll tell them what they want to know, we’ll come right back here. It will only be a few hours. Their opinion won’t change how I feel about you, but I’ll do whatever you feel is best.” The sorrow in Seret’s tone implies too much.

Lysandra pulls back. “Don’t you ever think I’d leave you for my family. Right now, I’m thinking much the opposite.”

Seret purses her lips. “What objection would they have to me? The whole valley seems to like me, why wouldn’t they?”

“You’re not a noble, you don’t have a title, you have nothing to offer them, you won’t even tell anyone where you’re from, and you’re the lover of their middle child.”

Her voice is bitter, matching her heart. Seret’s arms tighten protectively around her. Lysandra switches from bitterness to anger to guilt in a second. How dare her family do this to them? What makes them think they have this right?

They control Vashiri Valley, but Lysandra can’t remember the last time they appeared in public, and their power is distant at best.

They control Vashiri Valley, but they can’t control her.

“No matter what they say,” Lysandra says into Seret’s chest, “I am never leaving you. You’ll have to pry me away. Whatever polite, diplomatic accusations or insults they throw at you, ignore them. You don’t have to tell anyone, especially them, about yourself. You’re with me because I love you, and that’s all we care about. Okay?”

“I’m not sure I’m the one who needs reassuring, Lysandra.”

“Shut up. I’ll be fine.” She pulls back from warmth to wipe her eyes, hot shame from crying coating her face, but Seret pulls her back in.

“There’s no shame here,” she whispers, kissing Lysandra’s temple. “Comforting you is my pleasure, though I wish you didn’t have a reason to cry. Everything’s going to be okay, my princess.”

Lysandra breathes.

She wears the gown she wore when she and Seret met, soft pink with a low neckline, tiered ruffles reaching down to her ankles, frilly short sleeves. Maybe familiarity will give her some comfort, whether that’s Seret’s hand on her thigh or this dress pinching her arm.

Seret wears the same black slacks, white shirt, and black jacket she always wears, thoroughly combs her hair, but leaves the hat at home.

At the dinner, she is perfect. she speaks only when spoken to, sits with that straight, enviable posture, praises the food like it’s the substance of heaven itself, the best she’s ever had.

She’s gracious, thankful, answers every question they ask. If she had a title, Lysandra knows her family would be simply begging them to marry.

Things start out pleasant, her family treating Seret with the polite, arm’s length attitude Lysandra expected. Finally, the dreaded question comes.

“So, Seret,” Lysandra’s mother asks, folding her hands, “where are you from?”

Lysandra clutches her necklace, the one Seret gave her, and prays. Please don’t let them be the first ones you tell. They don’t deserve that.

Seret smiles. “This soup is delicious, Your Majesty.”

“Yes, thank you, you’ve said so already.” Her mother is reaching the end of her patience—Lysandra has been on the other end of that short patience dozens of times. Her blue feathered hat and perfect red lips cover up a much nastier woman. “Please tell us about where you live.”

“Well, Lysandra and I have been living next to the forest all summer. The fields there are positively peaceful, you should visit them sometime.” She pauses to let horror sink into the hearts of luxury groomed royals. Lysandra bites down on a smile. “But I am technically still renting an apartment in the city.”

“Where you came from,” Lysandra’s father adds, sharp, on the end of his patience as well. Lysandra wonders how much Seret prepared for this. Seret is smart, she must’ve known she couldn’t wiggle her way out of the question with her usual tricks. “Maybe who your parents are.”

Seret appears to consider the question. “I’d rather not say,” she says, stirring her drink with her spoon. Silence falls onto the room. Lysandra holds her breath.

Her mother nods her head tightly. “Very well. In that case, we’re going to have to insist you stop seeing our daughter.”

Seret bows her head in humble acceptance, but Lysandra stands up, every fiber of her being filling with inexplicable rage. She told herself she wouldn’t display a reaction, she would just accept the denial and then ignore it, like Seret will, but hearing it so frankly from her mother’s lips is different from imagining it.

“You don’t have the right to tell me who I can and can’t see just because you feel like it,” she spits. “I’m an adult. I haven’t lived here full time or done the duties you ask of me for years. You should disown me. Save yourselves the trouble of dealing with me any longer.”

Seret’s hand lands firmly on her knee as if to say no, don’t. Lysandra captures her hand and holds it above the table for the whole family to see.

“You’re the one who chose to come here,” Lysandra’s mother says.

“Yes, because I knew you’d hound us if we didn’t.” Lysandra can feel her chest being ripped open from the top down. Seret’s fingers squeezing hers is the only thing tethering her to herself. She pulls tightly on Seret’s fingers, who takes the hint and stands. They walk out without another word, without a glance back.

When they get back to the cabin, Lysandra sinks onto the couch in their living room face first, and immediately begins to cry. The seconds it takes for the door to click and Seret’s boots to march across the wood are far too long, until warm arms wrap around Lysandra’s back and Seret buries her nose in the back of her hair. “I’m so sorry,” she murmurs, which only makes Lysandra sob harder.

“I don’t know why it still matters. I knew this was exactly what they’d say. I didn’t want it to affect me. I want to move on from them.”

Seret stays quiet, just letting Lysandra exist and holding her through it. They don’t speak about it again.

Things are different after that. The fields and the cabin have been tainted with mere mention of the royal family’s presence. The spell has been broken.

The wind comes less, the sun seems to burn in a way it didn’t before. Lysandra doesn’t treasure dawn and dusk the way she used to, and baths are just baths. The only thing that hasn’t lost its magic is Seret, as kind and loving as always.

A week later, Seret begins taking trips into the city to gather everything from her apartment and bring it to the cabin, everything of Lysandra’s from Wynn’s cottage.

No matter how many times Lysandra offers to help, Seret insists she’s fine, she doesn’t want Lysandra to come into the city and get hounded and harassed by the usual people dying to meet the princess.

Arlin and the others come to visit a few times to keep her company while Seret’s gone, to speak about the upcoming Academy year, their last year, to learn the place Lysandra disappeared to the entire summer.

She’s happy to see them, happy for the company, but her heart never stops aching for Seret, wondering what she’s doing. Arlin and the boys stay for dinner well after Seret’s back, so she’s never given a moment alone to think.

This continues for a month.

Arlin and the boys become as intimately familiar with the cabin, the fields, the river, and the forest as Lysandra was with Wynn’s cottage on the forest’s other side.

Lysandra flies toward the end of summer in a haze, perpetually afraid to break the peace, shatter the dream, feel the cold seep into her bones once more. She has grown so used to the wind in her hair, the sun on her skin, the safety of Seret’s arms and her soothing voice.

Seret is never too loud, never jarring. Seret seems to float on the wind; sometimes her mind is lost to Lysandra as she stares into the sky at nothing.

Seret is—

Seret is many things. Nothing at all. Everything all at once.

Ineffable.

On what Seret says will be her last day of moving, she kisses Lysandra’s cheek and says, “I’ll be back,” like always. Lysandra thinks that’s rather silly—of course she’ll be back, that’s a given—but it’s sweet.

Arlin and the boys won’t be over since they have to collect their books for school in two weeks and otherwise prepare. Lysandra spends the day in the river, letting the water suck all the thoughts from her head.

By the evening, as Lysandra waits on the porch with dinner ready, Seret is still not back.

She probably got held up with the loading carts she’s been using, Lysandra tells herself as she gathers her shawl, puts on a dress fit for the town’s eyes, and begins the long walk there. She stopped to have dinner, or something. Maybe she met Wynn’s dragonlings at last.

Seret would’ve run back here herself to tell Lysandra she wouldn’t be back until later because of the dragonlings, or she would’ve sent a magical letter, or something. Seret has told her over and over how much she hates to see Lysandra in pain, and how she’ll never, ever be the cause of even the slightest worry.

Dread sits heavily in Lysandra’s chest.

The area near the school is in chaos, looking for her. No one she meets will tell her what’s going on, why they refuse to meet her eyes, why they offer faint smiles in place of explanations.

When Lysandra is shown the rooms in the Academy Seret broke into, the bizarre circles drawn on the floor in chalk, the thick books lying open, the blood splattered all over the floor, and finally, Seret’s body lying on the floor with her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes closed, Lysandra falls to her knees and doesn’t get up.

Her entire being is shattered with a force she didn’t know existed, with waves of invisible pain too strong for this realm. Everything feels empty and quiet, but not quiet in the serene way of Seret’s.

She screams, and it rips her open. It rips every part of good out of her and replaces her with numb, muffled, faint feeling. Later the waves of pain will come back, the longing for Seret’s warm arms to wrap around her and make everything all better, but now, she’s able to look at the body with only thin trails of tears streaming down her face.

Seret’s white shirt is soaked through with a circle of bright red blood. The whole scene is almost unreal. If not for the blood and the cold feel of her hand, Lysandra’s Seret Ashling looks the same. Her hair is neatly arranged, her face free of the splattered blood.

Death is too simple a word for what happens to Seret.

She is gone, says a voice, Seret’s voice, her smiling face haunting Lysandra behind her closed eyes. The ghost of Seret’s fingers cup her jaw, stroke her cheekbones, brush soft lips over her forehead, push her spectacles up.

I love you, my princess, Lysandra hears when she touches her ear to the floor, soaking the front of her dress with her blood, such a cruel reminder of Seret’s humanity. She was brutally, unfortunately, unbelievably human. She may have reached beyond this realm to grab a fist of love for Lysandra, a greater capacity than any human could hold, but that couldn’t save her from her own humanity.

I’ll be back. Seret’s last words to her.

She wasn’t just going into town to move.

Lysandra clutches the necklace Seret gave her and squeezes until it hurts. It fits easily in her palm, hangs right over her heart. The death of Seret Ashling is going to hit Vashiri Valley like the rare storms, unforgiving and violent, bringing destruction that takes years to recover from.

Lysandra squeezes the necklace, closes her eyes, and breathes slowly, steadily. The storm will wipe her out faster and harder than anyone else, but she’s the one who has to control it singlehandedly, and that will be about as easy as trying to capture an actual storm from the ground.

She won’t survive this, but she’s known for months that if anything ever happened to Seret, she never would. She can only submit to the darkness—the bad kind, this time—awaiting her, return to reality behind this door.

#writing #writeblr #my wip #my writing #fantasy writing #fantasy writeblr #fantasy #lila's wips: dosa #bean's excerpts #lila's short stories

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theficplug · 4 years ago

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Can I Come Home {Atticus (lovecraft country) Fic}

Atticus Freeman x Black Reader

Warnings: smut (21+)

(Ayida-Weddo is a loa of fertility, rainbows, wind, water, fire, and snakes)

(Atticus wants to come home after his little adventures. Reader isn’t having it.)

The incessant knocking at your door pulled you out of your concentration on rolling the last bit of your hair. It had been a week of perms and presses. You were more than ready to listen to your vinyls and relax by yourself away from the troubles of whatever was going on in this hell of a country.

The person at the other end of this door had other plans for you apparently and as an adventurous woman living alone you weren’t about to take any chances.

You grab the small pistol out of your brown fur coat on the rack and closed your eyes as your fingertips begin to spark little flames.

As you slowly creak the door open, Tic lowers his glasses and his face comes into view.

You let out a deep sigh of relief as you lower the pistol to the ground and the fire simmered down.

“BOY! You play too much knocking on my damn door at this hour of the night! I almost blew your ass clean to Mississippi, Atti ! I figured you’d drag yourself here after you finished parading around God knows where else with Miss Letitia Fucking Lewis.” you say reluctantly unlatching your screen door to look at your ex boyfriend face to face.

Even in the moonlight you could still see the bronze glow cascading from his sculpted cheeks, to his beautiful broad nose, and down to his cupids bow. He was standing there biting at his plump bottom lip nervously while awaiting you.

“Whoa . HEY. HEY . HEY!” He yelled with his hands up as he ducked down.

“Now, baby look, i-” Tic stammers across his words trying to plead his case as you press the cold bottle of Cola to your reddened lips as you give him the cold shoulder.

You shook your head and closed your eyes to summon snakes around his ankles as he hopped side to side kicking off the illusions.

“Town is small, Atti. Everybody talks. A postcard to know that your knucklehead ass is still alive would’ve been nice. But to hear from Betty with the uneven bob at the salon that you’re back in town running around with Leti of all people. You know good and well we haven’t seen eye to eye since junior high. I know we broke up but that don’t mean you had to disappear on me like that. Your triflin behind ain't no good Atti-. Why are you even here?” You ask him pointedly instead of going off on your tangent.

The audacity of him to show up after months of barely 3 postcards from him and a few dodgy and quick calls in the middle of night spewing all types of things about monsters and shapeshifters and both kinds of wizards.

He grabs you gently around the arms and presses a soft kiss to your lips while holding your chin between his fingers.

“Just wanted to see you, that’s all.” He says simply in that tone he uses when he wants you to let him inside. Granted, you knew you were gonna let him inside and come inside but you wanted to watch him sweat.

“I should summon rain over your head...You hungry?”

After huffing and puffing you decide to ease the screen door open fully so that he could embrace you properly.

You turn your head and his kiss lands on your cheek instead. His gaze fell upon you intensely as he caressed over your cheek where his lips had been moments before. Atticus’s gaze falls from your warm oak coloured eyes to your neck, to your collarbones, and down further where your robe was slightly open and the neckline of your silk red gown had fallen lower.

You lean in to breathe into his long black coat. The Chanel Pour Monsieur that you gifted to him before he left for the war evaded your senses. You hiss softly before smiling against him, feeling his large calloused and frigid hands run up the back of your thighs to cup under your butt and lift you onto him.

“What, you run around all summer and come back here in the winter when you're cold and lonely and realize that she wasn’t gon’ stick around? Is that it? Your summer fling is back on the road?” you question with a huff and a roll of your eyes.

He chuckles deeply and shakes his head as he walks with you still wrapped around him into your small quiet little cozy candlelit home with Ella Fitzgerald , These Foolish Things playing softly in the background.

“Town talk goes both ways, baby. I heard you were playing backseat bingo with Martin Thompson, the preacher? Really?” he questions as he licks over your neck and jawline pressing kisses along the way.

“And what is there for a lonely young woman to do when her man writes her a letter trying to rationalize falling in love with a goddamn ninetail fox. I saw Letitia coming. Seen that a mile away. I knew there would be women and men along the way for us. But, a fox, well baby you had me beat on that one. A descendant of Ayida-Weddo herself wasn’t enough? Bible Boy was good to me. He would make sure I made it home safe and sound every night from the shop. Bought me that fur coat and everything.” you say and he drops his head with a chagrined expression.

Atticus sits you down on your own two feet and looks at you for a moment. Both of his hands on your hips.

“And what did you do for him, hmm?” He asks tracing his hands over the ties of your robe letting it fall open in one swoop.

“You really wanna know?” You scoff and swat at his hands for asking such a witless and invasive question.

“I’m sorry, baby.” he whispers before lowering to his knees. He places one of your shea butter lathered feet in his hand kissing it softly before moving to the other.

Atticus wraps his strong arms around your waist and kisses your belly button.

You push his mouth from suckling open mouth kisses onto your clothed mound and saunter away from him and over to the record player.

You search through the collection until you reach Big Mama Thornton. You laugh to yourself as “Hound Dog” starts to echo throughout the room.

“You’re ever the jokester ain’t you?” Atticus says with a laugh of his own as you sway your hips to the music and dance over to him.

“Dance with me” you call out to him as he comes up behind you and you gasp at the feeling of how hard he is just from caressing you moments before.

He meets your movements grinding with a shimmy of his own as he matches your movements of doing the twist and you sway your hips flush against him. His hands ghost against your thighs again and up your body. He takes note that you’re not wearing anything under your silk nightgown.

Atticus caresses over your breasts carefully massaging over the almond coloured buds as you let out a soft moan and place your hands over his.

You turn your head to kiss him again this time less innocently than before as you guide his hands in yours and slide them down your body while never losing the beat of the song.

Goosebumps begin to pepper your skin and your breath hitches as his hands settle between your thighs. He brings his fingers to his mouth before moving between your legs again.

Atticus’s nails drag softly up your left thigh as he grips it and brings you closer to feel how he’s already hardening for you. You ride his hand for a moment trying to control your temperature that’s already too high for the average human body.

The flames of the candles dance as your excitement and wetness heightens and you tap against his thigh to warn him.

He laughs deeply as he works over your clit skillfully and methodically. “I remember” he says simply and your eyes roll back as you utter the word “out” assertively.

All of the candles burn out instantly and you revel in the feeling of his fingers treating your body and your flower like a Shenzhen Nongke Orchid.

“You’re two seconds away from making me nut in my trousers like we’re back in your dorm all over again.” he mumbles while nipping at your neck and your deep dark chestnut eyes slowly fade to a golden hue to a soft glow of scarlett red.

You nod giving him your consent as you lay over the couch. You wiggle your ass in the air , knowing that he’s watching while working his boxers down too.

He slowly works his way into you before slowly pulling out and watching his member glisten fully saturated by your nectar as he works his length up and down you before entering you again.

The little gasp you let out echoed through the room and the candles were lit again momentarily with the flames dancing around as you bury your face into the couch pillow.

He gripped your hips firmly bringing you back and down onto him as his other hand gripped your silk gown.

“Mhmmm, hmmph.” was all that left Atticus’s mouth as he sinks into your warmth the second time.

“Careful. Slowly, I don’t want to hurt you.” you rasp as he circles his hips finding the right rhythm for both of you as the little pants and shrieks fall from your lips when he pushes deeper into the right spot.

“All the times I’ve made love to you and you haven’t hurt me once. I won’t mention the time you singed off one of my eyebrows though. That was my fault, I shouldn’t have tried to wake you up like that.” he soothes as he moves your silk gown up further to massage over your back and cheeks.

His large hands soothing over and kneading the knots and kinks from standing on your feet most days doing countless amounts of roller sets and bang cuts.

“I know.” you whisper to him with a small laugh of your own. You drop your head slightly and arch your back when his hips finally rests flushed against your cheeks.

Your mouth goes slack as he picks up his pace but then pulls out.

“What the hell was that?” you question as you turn to face him.

“Just wanted to see that’s all. Wanna look at this pretty face all glossy eyed and reciting my name like a poem.” he teases as he leans in to connect his lips to yours again, this time letting his tongue glide over your bottom lip until you’re suckling it softly.

He’s massaging his dick against you slowly as you pout and huff against his lips. Your legs begin to shake slightly and you can feel yourself heating up more.

“Shh shh shh, what do you want? Use your words.” he asks as his fingertips ghost over your breasts up to the sides of your face. The chill of his hands feeling like bursts of fresh air against you.

Atticus lifts you once more to set you on the edge of the couch, his fingers tracing over your inner thighs.

“You’re really going to tease me after I’ve already waited months to feel you. I really don’t want to get Martin to finish the job especially when you have the best d-” you let out a muffled moan as he places his fingers into your mouth and thrust into you again.

You suckle his fingers, envisioning something else much bigger as he leans you on the edge of the couch and gives you what you’ve been missing for months.

Resting your forehead on his shoulder you close your eyes enjoying the feeling of being full of him.

You can feel him twitching inside of you as you begin to work down onto him, bouncing and coating his dick with you.

You caress your own body letting your hand wander to your clit , skillfully massaging as Atticus watches on.

Both of your moans and sounds of him pounding into you flows with the music as you both cry out into each other’s mouths as your orgasm rocks through you both.

Your fireplace goes out abruptly as you throw your head back and let out little uh uh mhhmmms.

Atticus leans down to place tender kisses between your breasts as he cums inside.

You slowly continue your rhythm riding out the little waves of aftershock as his hips stutter and he lets his own praises of you fall from his lips this time.

He slowly pulls out and swipes his thumb over next to your lips trying to fix your lipstick.

“Leave it, I was getting ready for a shower and the bed anyways. . . I’m sorry Atti.” you say to him softly as your fingertips trace his soft skin now donning a purple deep burgundy colour after being pressed against you for so long.

“You’ve made me feel the best I've felt all damn year. You ain't got a thing to be sorry for. I’m the one that came to apologize. I was just too bullheaded to realise that everything isn’t about just me. I regretted it the moment I got there. . The war. Ji-Ha. You finding out about Leti the way you did. It wasn’t like that in the beginning. I was supposed to go off and figure all out on my own. Somewhere down the line after you see enough crazy shit together. Things get all mixed up.. I’m sorry for all of that too. I just wanna come home. Tired of all these things that don’t make no sense when everything that makes perfect sense has been here the whole time.” he explains and you nod along listening to his words, mulling them over.

“Well you definitely scared the shit outta me… I checked that mailbox everyday for months waiting for a letter from you. And I think whatever you were searching for out there scared the shit outta you too. I think all of this made us both realise that we don’t really wanna be without each other..But next time if you’re gonna go off, play detective, and uncover some great family mystery,the smartest decision would be to take the walking fireball with you. Yeah? And who’s Christina? ” you ask him as he carries you off with him towards your bathroom.

“The dreams. I was wondering why I kept seeing snakes every day for a week. I ain't going nowhere. It’s gon’ take me all weekend just to explain all the shit I’ve seen in the last 6 months as it is-”

(not my best but i still hope yall enjoy! i’m knocking the writing rust off after a few weeks of not writing new stuff. seasonal depressive be hitting different. alright my boos x )

#lovecraft country #atticus freeman #jonathan majors #fanfic for black girls #lovecraft country fic

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mmvalentine · 4 years ago

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What Lives Beneath Our Skin | Feysand x everyone

Customarily, I will post a oneshot when I am between multi-chapter fics, like a sort of palette cleaner and to give them space to breathe a little. My last fic was a soft and fluffy teenage thing, and so I felt the need to write something dark and twisty and utterly the opposite for this spacer. Apologies to those who joined my tag list during the last fic and came here for the cutes😅 CW: trauma, drug use, abusive relationships, orgy, smut oh lord the smut.

Feyre thought that once she left Tamlin she'd feel free, and in many ways of course she did. In other ways, she felt completely, desolately alone.

It was not all as simple as people made it out to be. In an abusive and traumatic relationship, she had also left behind a life, a lovely house, more comfort and stability that she had ever had in her life. And the only friend she had in the world. Yes it was the right thing to do, but Feyre had loved Tamlin, and the way he had plucked her out of her grey and meagre existence beforehand.

So now that she was in her own apartment, with its clean white walls and soft white sheets, she knew it was the right decision. But the future stretched out before her like an empty desert. Gone was the fear, the anxiety, the walking on eggshells, the anger, the screaming into her pillow until her throat felt like glass. Gone was the make-up sex, the apologies under his tongue, the extravagant gifts, the promises of a paradise-life, the addictive intensity of when he said he couldn't live without her, and she believed him. The silence rang in her ears and she had not one soul she could call to fill it. Tamlin had made sure of that.

Over the weeks after her departure, Feyre wandered the grocery aisles, took walks in the park, and packed her few belongings away. By the end of the month, Feyre was so numb she wondered whether she would ever feel anything again. Wondered whether maybe this was the price she paid for falling for Tamlin, and for leaving him. And then a guy on the street handed her a flyer for an underground nightclub, and she thought, fuck it. Sure the whole scene was obnoxious and depraved, but maybe the volume might drown out the white noise in her head.

And that's how Feyre found herself standing outside Ramiel, a club she had not known existed twenty four hours ago. She thought she might be nervous, standing out here in the cold, the bass already lapping at her from inside. But instead, she just felt nothing. Had felt nothing all day, even as she pulled on a short black dress with long sleeves and cut outs over the torso, that Tamlin would have forbade her to wear because he hated it when men looked at her, and that Feyre previously had come to feel shame for. But she'd never thrown it away, and now she was wearing it into a thick crowd of people in the hopes that she might feel something, anything at all. Feyre pushed open the door, and the sound swept over her like a tidal wave.

Inside, everything was not so much a sensory overload as a sensory avalanche. Coloured lights pulsed with the throb of the music, and the smell of smoke machines and a hundred sweaty dancers reached toward Feyre with clawing fingers. She made a beeline to the bar, and swallowed a shot before ordering another.

"Rough night?"

The voice filtered through the chaos. Feyre turned and found a young man leaning against the bar, his head cocked and his smile bright. Feyre tried to smile back, and couldn't quite remember how.

"Rough year," she said, settling for a grimace. The man stepped closer, wearing a singlet and tight jeans, and gold bands on his arms that glittered against his dark skin. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said. "Are you here with anyone?" "No," Feyre said. "I don't know anyone." "Well, you can know me if you like. My name is Helion." "Feyre," she replied. Helion picked up his drink and they clinked their glasses together. Helion watched as Feyre downed hers without flinching. His eyes were gentle. "You're not doing so well, are you?" he asked. Feyre shrugged. "Is anyone?" "Fair enough. What did you come here for?" Feyre barked a hard laugh. "To feel. Anything." Helion didn't answer for a while. Then he said, "Okay. You need to meet Rhysand."

Helion took her hand and led her to the dancefloor. Feyre didn't protest, just trailed after him and wondered if the press of other human bodies might spark anything back to life in her.

"There," Helion shouted near her ear. "Go dance with him," he said, and pointed her to a black-haired man in the middle of the crowd.

"Aren't I dancing with you?" Feyre shouted back. Helion grinned. "Dance with all of us, honey!" And then he pushed her toward Rhys.

Rhys, at least who Feyre assumed was Rhys, was dressed in black and dancing with his eyes closed. With his golden-brown skin, thick raven hair, and sharp cheekbones, he might well have been the most beautiful man Feyre had ever seen. He had his hands on the hips of another handsome man with white hair and dark skin, who at this moment had his mouth on Rhys' neck. Then Rhys opened his eyes, and without taking his hands from the man he was dancing with, locked his gaze with Feyre's.

Feyre didn't quite know what to do. She stood there awkwardly in the throng of dancers, and then Helion reappeared next to her.

"Oh," he said. "And, take this." He pressed a round, white pill to Feyre's lips, and she opened for him and swallowed. Helion disappeared again, and now Rhys was extending one hand to her. She walked toward him, and the other man looked up at her too. When she touched Rhys' hand, he pulled her between him and the other man, and settled her hands around his neck.

"Hello," he said. It didn't sound like he was shouting, but Feyre could somehow hear him perfectly. "Friend of Helion's are you?" "Sort of," Feyre replied. Rhys hadn't stopped dancing, and she began to move with him now. The man behind her glided his hands down her arms, and began to move up behind her.

"I'm Rhys," Rhys said, "And this is Tarquin." "I'm Feyre," she said, glancing back at Tarquin. "Hello Feyre," Tarquin said in her ear. "Would you like to make out with us?" Feyre looked nervously back at Rhys, and then said, "Sure." So Rhys kissed her with his mouth open, and his tongue tasted like citrus and the sea.

It took a second, it was not an immediate thing like so much thunder and lightning. But rather, her body woke slow like molten rock as Rhys kissed her, the heat pooling in her stomach and snaking lazily down her limbs until she was full of it, and then she opened her eyes and found Rhys staring at her, pupils blown wide and something like stars in the liquid black of them. And in hindsight, that was the moment Feyre would remember that she felt everything, and the numbness that had surrounded her for the past few weeks fell away at her feet.

It wasn't that she felt okay again, it wasn't that she felt whole or happy or healed. But she felt: felt Rhys' hands at her back and the solidity of his chest beneath her fingers, and now there was Tarquin gripping her hips and breathing against her neck, and then Helion found them and he had one hand beneath Feyre's hair and the other in Rhys' back pocket. So she leaned in, wanted everything, and her skin came alive and at least in this moment, she was in her body and not floating twenty feet above it all. And then the little pill Helion had given her kicked in and the night began to speed past in flashes like the strobe lights of the club dictated time itself. It could have been ten seconds or ten hours, Feyre didn't know and really, truly did not care.

One: Tarquin was grinding into her backside, and the movement was pushing her up against Rhys, who had his thigh planted between her legs. She could feel them everywhere- one behind her and one in front, covering every inch of her skin and making her so over-sensitised she was shivering between them.

Two: Rhys had pulled away from her to kiss Tarquin over her shoulder, but now Helion was pulling her chin toward him. His teeth were very white against his dark skin, and sharp against her bottom lip. The pain of it was delicious.

Three: Tarquin's hands had found the cutouts in her dress, and his fingers were skating over the patches of bare skin there, while Rhys was cupping her ass and pulling her against the hardness that was now pressing below her navel. Helion was massaging the back of Rhys' neck, and his mouth had not left Feyre's. The spiral tension inside her wound tighter.

Four: Three new people appeared, Feyre did not remember when or where they came from, but someone told her their names were Morrigan, Cassian and Azriel. At first, they stood in their own group and Feyre stayed with hers. But then Feyre was being handed to them and she had Cassian on her left and Azriel on her right, Cassian's lips on her shoulder and Azriel's hands on her hips. Mor stood in front of her, and cupped her face with so much gentleness before she kissed her.

Five: Rhys had yanked her back to him, but now Azriel stood behind him and Rhys had one of his arms curled up around Azriel's neck as he licked his way up toward Rhys' ear. Cassian came up behind Feyre so she and Rhys were sandwiched behind the two newcomers. He scraped his teeth in the join of her neck and shoulder.The crush of the dancers surrounding them all pushed them even closer together, and Feyre's thoughts swirled in her head.

Six: They were in a car now, although Feyre didn't remember leaving the club. Suddenly it was quieter, and darker. There seemed to be a lot of room- were they in a limo?- which allowed for all six of them to be seated together, hands and mouths wandering, Mor's giggle floating above them and Rhys' hand firmly on her leg the whole time, bumping up a little higher every time the car jostled them. Helion's white smile stayed behind her eyelids like spots after a bright light.

Seven: They were back at someone's house, Helion's maybe. They were piling into his room, shoes were being dropped on the floor, shirts were being pulled over heads. His bed was the most enormous thing Feyre had ever seen. Helion pushed Rhys toward it first, and as Rhys slid up toward the pillows he grabbed Feyre and took her with him. Cassian followed, and as Feyre turned the glow in his eyes as he stalked toward her set her heart racing.

Eight: Feyre was now on top of Rhys, and wasn't sure where everyone else was but knew they were all naked by this point. Rhys was moving her over his cock, Cassian was licking her out from behind. Pleasure bloomed in her chest, for the first time in a very long time. Azriel has his lips on Feyre's nipple while Mor sucked him off. Helion had his fingers inside Mor, and his dick in Tarquin's mouth. Tarquin's hand squeezed over her ass.

Nine: Everyone had moved enough times that Feyre had lost all track of who was where, except that Rhys was with her. Was currently fucking her from behind, while she kissed someone she was pretty sure was Mor. Then someone else had their fingers over her clit, Mor was beginning to breathe eratically into her mouth like someone else was getting her off. She thought she could pick out Cassian's groan but she didn't know where he might be or who might be causing it. She did know that someone was now lightly rubbing her asshole, and she was about to climax.

Ten: Rhys came on her back, and then someone else was pushing into her, Tarquin maybe, pounding her while Rhys slid under her and the fingers that had been on her clit were replaced by his tongue. She came in shudders, for what felt like ages, and then collapsed, Tarquin sliding out of her and fucking Helion instead. Feyre lost track of them, then Rhys was there wiping her off with a towel and pulling her into his arms. Feyre started to fade in and out of consciousness, but could hear others find their release too and start slowing down as well.

When Feyre next opened her eyes, time was moving normally again. Rhys was slowly stroking up and down her arm, and around her, the others slept. There was someone lying behind her, someone lying across the bed at her feet, someone behind Rhys. Helion's bed fit them all.

"So what are you running from?" Rhys asked her, very quietly. "How do you know I'm running?" Feyre asked. "Helion has a way of finding lost souls and trying to help them get some human connection." Feyre was quiet for a moment.

"I have... nightmares. Bad dreams when I'm asleep, and absolutely nothing when I'm awake. Just horrible silence." "And do your nightmares have a name?" Rhys asked. "Yes," Feyre said. "His name is Tamlin. I know the worst is over, but it's like he's still getting to me." "I have nightmares too," Rhys said. "Sometimes, I come here and when I'm surrounded by all these people I don't dream." "What are your nightmares called?" Rhys breathed in deeply, and then back out. "Aramantha," was all he said.

****

Well, I hate to not give you a happy ending but I'm sure you can extrapolate from there. Feyre will call Rhys sometime in the daytime, and being with him alone will be crazy intense but also so grounding for her. And they will both get better.

Anyway this was a super different type of thing for me, from the content to the style so... I hope you still got something out of it.

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-babies @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @asteria-of-mars

MASTERLIST

#feysand #feysand fic #acotar #acomaf #dark #smut #mine

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lucefrs · 3 years ago

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tl;dr: luce thinks about how she should have never ended up at georgetown in the first place, and the domino effect it had on her life. after flunking out of gallagher, she savours the summer. her and scott break up sometime after new years. a quick onslaught of success makes her feel wary, unsure how to not take up space she doesn’t deserve after doing it so many times before. she performs her own song in the lower east side.

insp for the song she plays at the end.

BEFORE.

luce is a bright child but lacks in the area of self discipline and application. she would benefit from paying closer attention during class discussion.

she knew from a very young age that she was not smart. at least not by the metric that institutions measure by. the unlucky curse that has kept her in the stream of academia is this: luce frear is smart enough. to graduate secondary school because it’s a key that unlocks america’s golden arches. to pursue higher education when she gets the encroaching feeling that she’s going to be found out that she doesn’t actually have any family friend's as guarantors. at the time, she doesn’t know how impossible georgetown is. but finding herself in the company of a man who will pay for her to do well, with a tutor that makes the s.a.t’s boil down to a formula of memorization and deduction is a genius move. those three hours are brutal, she struggles but she struggles through it, proud that only a handful of questions were left unanswered. it’s only after she's sat for it that she realizes how impossible georgetown is with it’s fourteen percent acceptance rate.

she uses his mailing address to apply, so it’s him that greets her with a sealed envelope that makes her stomach turn as soon as she opens the door. out of the corner of her eye she sees a bottle of champagne sitting in a bucket of ice. she knows what the letter will say: her sat score’s a valiant effort, enough to get her into any state school, but by no means exceptional. bracing herself for his disappointment she pushes the folded paper towards him so she can pretend his disappointment’s directed at the words on the page and not at her. but the skin at the corner of his eyes pinches and there’s no crease between his brows and she knows something is very wrong. or very right. she’s not sure, at the time it’s all very muddled, thinking about how much she likes that there's no place for his smile to hide, and how that's going to be one of her favourite parts of getting old. his smile that runs right to the tip of his nose, bumps against her cheek when he kisses her. he’s kissing her. he’s happy. because of her. she’s made him happy. that's good. she's happy too. then he’s by the kitchen counter, shaking off the champagne from his hand that’s flows over the lip of the bottle and she’s saying things like, ‘ my sat scores were no where near the average, ’ and he counters that she shouldn’t disregard the importance of supplemental essays and she makes fun of how he talks because she always does. a girl’s got nothing but a gut to trust, and every glass of champagne’s a fuck you to it. luce never pukes from having too much to drink. she pukes in his shower. luce is not smart, but she’s smart enough not to question how she got into georgetown university.

‘ god, you’re so smart luce. we could call it the boyfriend guesses my lip gloss challenge. ’ she only hears the first part, boasting a smile that makes the apples of her cheeks swell, all rosy like. at the time gallagher had felt like a enticing romp, bound by infatuation, the glint of the dew that hung at the end of the school’s weeping willows sparkling so bright that her heart-shaped sunglasses couldn’t subdue it. luce has never waited for anything, but her first few months at gallagher felt like a gift the universe had hand-picked, oblivious of her christmas list doodled with music notes and brand names of dresses that cost seven hundred dollars, it felt like finding treasure. smart’s an understatement, genius is more apt. she lets this sentiment lead, when the offer to stay comes soaring towards at her like paper plane that falls right into the palm of her hands. it makes logical sense to stay. scott’s here.

she’ll adapt. but gallagher starts to feel worlds away, and as much as she digs her heels into the gravel, gravity starts to slip from her grasp. but how could she can complain? in outer space, anywhere she looks there’s an endless landscape of stars, bright and twinkling, beckoning her towards the nearly planet. but it makes her want to cry when she sees the blue-green dot recede into the distance.

PRESENT-ISH.

luce has her final exam tomorrow and she’s going to crush it. she’s so excited she can’t sleep. there’s no way she could fail it, unless she slept through it but that won’t happen because she has five alarms set and a scott for safe measure. she’s so excited her heart’s sprinting from her sternum to her stomach and it would be classified as nausea if she didn’t know it was just plain excitement. she winces at the brightness from her phone as she checks the time. 3:36. if she falls asleep in the next four minutes she’ll have a solid four hours, but as soon as she closes her eyes her heart runs like it’s just heard the start of the piston, and the percentage she needs to get in order to pass the class rings aloud and reverberates against her brain. forty six percent. she doesn’t even need to pass the exam in order to pass the class — she’s going to be a gallagher girl. whether she likes it or not. in the dark, her hand finds the nob of his bedside drawer, carefully sliding it open, her fingers tinkering inside to feel for whatever weed scott has, gifted joints or a prized gram for winning a dumb luck game. he always has something, even after he passes some of it on to seb. she doesn’t go far, slips out of his grasp and onto the lantern lit cobbled pavements, follows it strictly like she’s on a board in a game of snakes and ladders, stopping every time she takes a drag. she eventually falls against a bench like an abandoned rag-doll, limbs splayed every which way and falls asleep until she's woken up by the rev of a motorcycle engine set as her alarm. luce goes through the pre-test motions with due diligence, takes a shower and eats a proper meal, as though there's someone waiting to accuse her of self-sabotage. she picks up her tote that's packed from the night before and gives the test her all. it's not her fault that her focus wavered in five minute blocks, or that nerves make her feel as though there's an ongoing tussle in her tummy. she treats the residual high as something she couldn't possibly have controlled, it should've left her system by now. and she’s a hero for persevering through it. she tried her best. and in spite of it all, she still fails. thank god.

SUMMER.

she doesn’t want the summer to end. it does anyways.

INTERLUDE

she's not the type to tuck herself into the booth, but harper’s gone to the bathroom and luce has a gnarly blister on the back of her heel, and her head’s been swimming in cheap liquor all night with no reprieve. she can’t get her head above water for more than a minute before falling back under. her gaze catches a couple in the corner, slow dancing to david guetta and her lips curl into a wry smile, his lips cushioned against his neck, murmuring something she’ll never know, and then they’re laughing — maybe about the fact that they’re slow dancing to memories, or because they’re in love, everything’s funnier when you’re in love. a tiny giggle, lost to the boom of the speakers escapes her, because she’s so in love too.

i miss you. missing ur 🍆 spare nudes? 🙏🏼 ft? x

she holds down the backspace key and puts her phone away.

***

‘ i don't know how to miss you in the right way, ’ she says after a bout of silence, it makes her stomach lurch, like stepping off a ledge and finding the ground lower than expected. there’s no chance to blink back the tears, and she’s so in shock from what she’s just said that she makes no motion to cover her face from him, staring down the barrel of the webcam, like she’s on the brink of death. she’d give up the forty years of her life to get to the part where she can look back on this fondly, of a great love that once was. her child-like whimpers have her grappling for breath. ‘ it hurts. ’ she manages to sputter out, and she knows it’s hurting him too. eventually, luce will blink away the last of her tears, because she needs this picture to really believe it.

SOMETIME, SOME DAY.

she's not so much herself as she is everyone else. there are pieces of her in the crescendo of what billboard deems the song of the summer. she’s etched in the familiarity of the bass in the last song played before last call — the resonant thrum of waking up blacked out on the front lawn of an ex best friend. the producer that the lead singer can't function without. the origin story of a grammy nominated album which started on the fire escape, exiled by roaches, a guitar slung like a rifle entering the wild wild west of cicadas and greeted by an empty ashtray save for a half abandoned spliff. a story deified for late night talk shows with parrot hosts and their fake squawks. it’s all made up names in CD booklets that no one looks at anyways. it doesn’t make her an enigma, she has a wikipedia page. record labels take her out for lunch, and she goes because she likes people, even the kind who gawk at her pretty face, drooling at the dollar signs in her doe brown eyes and blonde hair. of course, they love her, a girl who orders salad but doesn’t skip dessert — a reluctance toward fame but endlessly optimistic about the future of the music industry, splits the bill and turns a handshake into a hug when they express their keen interest in working with her. there’s a twinkling note of laughter when she pulls away and says, ‘ you’ve never even heard me sing. i’m not good enough. ’ and she realizes with a twitch of bitterness that she doesn’t have to be, and things working out feels more like a curse when it isn’t deserved.

she talks but can't write unless it's in time signatures and treble clefs and if she does manage to write in a language comprised of letters ( which has only ever happened once ) she can't sing - unless it’s for boys she likes. so she poaches a voice, scrolling through the repertoire of people who have held her heart in their hands. her song is the last song of his set and it sounds like this. they smile through every note, she laughs at his falsetto in the last chorus. she plays her heart out with a vigour that leaves her palms moist, expecting that when the song ends there’ll be a silence broached by the slow clap of j.k simmons. luce lives in a movie and can feel the montage scene catch up to her. she can feel the lingering memory that never existed : a swollen belly and walls painted pink, a toddler that makes their white picket fenced garden a stomping ground, a cinematic pan across a fairy-lit paris, and night walks. when she looks over, she’ll see him, but she’s going to change the ending. her pinky hovers above the last key she played, letting the sound ring out into silence, before they’re met with fervent applause and whistles. this is the moment. luce looks into the crowd. she looks into the crowd and none of the faces are him because why would they be ? she hadn’t told anyone. the only person who knew was herself. it was hers. this moment is hers and she cradles it close, because she’s never had something of her own before. not really. but she likes the way it feels. the man who once held her heart in his hand kisses the top of her head and praises her with a plunging bow. she looks into the sea of strangers who watch her and she watches them back. this is the moment. hers alone. and she’s never felt less lonely.

#mb i will fill in the summer section one day but :3 Bt jst had 2 get this para out here twas growing mold :sob:#dunno if anybodys home bt jst want to reiterate what a pleasure its been 2 write w u all n tysm :')

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henbased · 3 years ago

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“Logan Eden Gates. Like the cult? Stole their name when I transitioned, thought it were real funny. It was, but then they started kidnappin’ and killin’ a bunch’a folk. Whose laughin’ now, eh?”

Name: Logan Eden Gates

Alias/nicknames: Gates, Miss Gates, Marcus’ kid

Gender: Female

Age: 20/21

Abilities/Talents: Hunting, quiet footsteps, taking leadership when needed. Always “knowing a guy” for any situation. Being able to stay calm in any situation. Breaking and entering, robbery, arson (also her rapsheet). Knowing way too much about astrology but also mortuary and decay. Somehow always escaping Jacob’s kidnappers eventhough she is not trying very hard.

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Religion: None

Sins: envy / greed / gluttony / lust / pride / sloth / wrath

Virtues: charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience

Languages: English, some French

Family: Lives with her twin brother Tristan and their father Marcus in Whitetail Mountains. Her sister Sarah lives outside Hope County with their mother. Her brother and father go missing during the Reaping.

Friends: Aaron “Tweak” Kirby, Skylar Kohrs and her boyfriend Dylan. Spent a few nights in jail with Sharky Boshaw, became buddies. Befriends Hurk Drubman Jr., Adelaide Drubman, and Tracey Lader after the Reapings. Nick Rye let her band play in his garage a few times before everything went tits up. Her best friend is Lucky Ambrose, and she’s also friends with Leon Ambrose, Evie Lee, and Crystal Jones. They’re all OC’s who belong to @8bitpizzacoupons

Sexuality: heterosexual / bisexual / pansexual / homosexual / demisexual / asexual / unsure / other

Relationship status: single / partnered / married / widowed / open relationship / divorced / not ready for dating / it’s complicated

Libido: sex god / very high / high / average / low / very low / non-existent

Build: slender / average / athletic / muscular / curvy

hair: white / blonde / brunette / red / black / other

Eyes: brown / blue / gray / green / black / other

Skin: pale / fair / olive / tan / brown / dark / other

Height: 5′8″ (162.56cm)

Scars: Some scars around her knuckles from punching glass more than once. More than twice actually. Other small scars around her legs and arms from hunting, nothing notable.

Features: Light dusting of freckles. Brown hair that's usually pulled into sloppy space buns or pigtails, with hair just long enough to do so. Perfumed by moth balls, old books, freshly brewed tea, and pot. Easily spotted because she’s always wearing clashing patterns.

dogs or cats || birds or bugs || snakes or spiders || coffee or tea (microdoses on psychadelics) || ice cream or cake || fruits or vegetables || sandwich or soup || magic or melee || sword or bow || summer or winter || spring or autumn || past or future

Five songs that remind you of them: (trying really hard to use some I haven’t before but I don’t think I succeeded.)

1. “Sister Golden Hair” - America

2. “Pink Pony Club” - Chappell Roan

3. “Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene” - Hozier

4. “I’ve Always Been Crazy” - Waylon Jennings

5. “Second Hand News” - Fleetwood Mac

#📌#oc: logan gates #far cry 5 oc #far cry 5 #fc5 #saw some people did this and wanted to too!#shes just a civilian trying to vibe as the cult ruins everyones lives #shes Not About It #NO the collage doesnt match very well im not good at colors

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nejitenforlife · 4 years ago

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Mutual Attraction

A NejiTen One-Shot AU

Rating: T

Words: 6,145

Summary: When Tenten is being harassed by someone at a bar, she is rescued by a very attractive - and very familiar looking - man.

I posted this a while ago to FFN and AO3, but I don’t think I’ve posted it on Tumblr, so here you go. Please enjoy.

There were specific reasons Tenten hated parties. Whether they be in bars, clubs, or in someone's house, they were always the same—excessively loud with an almost constant stench of sweat and cigarette smoke permeating the air.

But that wasn't the worst part.

Oh no.

The worst part was in the form of the man standing right in front of her, desperately trying to flirt his way into her pants.

Tenten fought the desire to roll her eyes, her hand gripping her glass of liquor a little tighter as the man—Deidara, he had said his name was—grinned at her, his arms gesturing animatedly as he spoke. He was telling her a joke, having to shout over the loud music, but she wasn't listening. She hated when men hit on her—not that it happened often, but still—as though they were God’s gift to women.

She realized he had stopped speaking, giving her an expectant look that suggested he was waiting for her reaction, and she let out a polite chuckle in response. She didn't want to be here, but she wasn't a bitch. She would be as polite as she could be until she could extract herself from the situation.

Then she would find Temari and strangle the life out of her blonde friend for dragging her to this damn bar.

Usually, Tenten didn't mind having a drink in a bar with a nice atmosphere, but not tonight. Her friends, Ino and Sai, had finally decided to tie the knot, and this was supposed to be their engagement party. Not the kind of place Tenten would have chosen for a party herself, and she hadn’t wanted to come, despite having been friends with the blonde since college, but Temari had made her.

Everyone was here. Tenten had caught glimpses of Naruto and Kiba playing a loud game of pool in the corner, Naruto's girlfriend, Hinata, sitting quietly as she watched them, a shy but happy smile on her lips. Sakura was sitting in a booth with her boyfriend, Sasuke, the woman talking enthusiastically while her counterpart remained stoically silent. Tenten still didn't understand what the pinkette saw in the moody raven-haired man, but he made her happy, so Tenten couldn't complain. Shikamaru and Shino were sharing another booth in the corner, the pair looking almost as uncomfortable as Tenten felt, and she decided to make her way over and hang out with them for a while, away from the loudness of the bar.

She had barely even arrived and had only gone up to the bar to get a drink, where she was rudely intercepted by this man who still had not stopped talking.

Did he ever shut up?

Unable to hold back the sigh, Tenten took a long sip of her whiskey and enjoyed the way the golden liquid warmed her throat on its way down to her stomach.

Maybe if she drank enough, she wouldn't feel so annoyed.

“You wanna dance?” The man—Deidara, she reminded herself again—tried to lean closer to her ear as he spoke, but Tenten stepped away from him, making him repeat the question a little louder.

She shook her head, wondering if her face was still impassive or if he could see her impatience creeping onto her features. “No, thank you. I want to go sit down.”

He looked around, his lips turning down in a frown as he noted the full tables. “I don't think there's any spare tables, but we could find a more secluded corner and talk, yeah.” He ended the sentence with a suggestive eyebrow raise, and Tenten had to fight the desire to roll her eyes again.

“Actually,” she started, taking another small step away from the overly friendly blond. “I'm here with friends and would like to sit with them.”

“Oh?” His eyes widened before what she imagined was supposed to be a flirtatious smile graced his lips. “I wouldn't mind meeting your friends. Where are they sitting?”

She had tried to be nice. Hell, she had spent the last ten minutes listening to his attempts of flirtation. But he was getting on her last nerves.

“Look, I'm sure you're a nice guy,” she said, trying to keep her voice even without letting her irritation seep through. “But I'm not interested.”

“Don't be shy, yeah,” he replied, unfazed at being turned down. “I'm sure you'll change your mind once we get to know each other.”

Tenten opened her mouth to say that no, she would not be changing her mind and could he please leave her before her patience snaps and she punches him in the face, when she felt an arm snake around her waist, causing her to squeak in surprise. A large hand pressed against her hip, pulling her close to a warm, hard body. She barely even had time to register what was happening before the person spoke.

“I am sorry for being late, my love,” the smooth voice rumbled from beside her. “Is this a friend of yours?”

Tenten knew what the stranger was doing immediately, and although she didn't appreciate that he had assumed she needed help, she was secretly grateful for it.

Moving her arm to rest along his back, she looked up with a wide grin, a grin which threatened to falter when she saw the face of the man who had deemed to rescue her.

To say he was handsome would be an understatement. He was breathtakingly beautiful—and yes, Tenten didn't mind calling a man beautiful. He had black hair that rested just above his shoulders, and although Tenten didn't usually like men with long hair, it seemed to work for him. No, she corrected herself. It definitely worked for him.

His pale, lavender eyes met her brown ones and Tenten had to stop herself from gasping. His eyes were mesmerizing, and although they seemed familiar, she couldn’t figure out why.

Deidara took a step back at the appearance of the newcomer, his hands out in a placating manner in front of his body. “I, uh, didn't realize you were taken. Sorry man, I didn't mean anything by it, yeah.”

“No harm done,” the newcomer replied. “But if I catch you talking to my girlfriend again, I will not be so polite.”

Tenten watched Deidara go, relieved to have finally gotten rid of him—though, she supposed the newcomer was responsible for that, not her.

Their arms were still around each other and Tenten suddenly felt very nervous. It wasn't that she wasn't used to guys—she had plenty of male friends—but he was a stranger. A beautiful stranger. She extracted her arm from around his waist and stepped back, feeling every movement of his arm as it fell away from her body.

Was it wrong that she felt bare without it?

No, that was stupid. She didn't even know the man and he had barely been holding her for a couple of minutes. Maybe she was just missing the feeling of physical contact. She may have a lot of male friends, but she hadn't dated anyone in a very long time.

“Thank you for that,” Tenten said, forcing her head up to look him in the eye with a smile. “He would have left eventually, but he was being stubborn.”

His lavender eyes were intense as they bore into hers, and Tenten could feel herself flushing at his attention. “You are welcome.” .

. Neji didn't know what possessed him to help the dark-haired beauty. He had only just arrived at the bar and was looking for his cousin when he spotted the woman, looking uncomfortable as a man with long blond hair tied back in a high ponytail chatted her up. Her fingers were tapping her glass impatiently and her eyes continued to sweep the room, as if looking for a way to escape the man's attentions.

It wasn't in Neji's nature to help others, not really. He had grown up in a wealthy family, spoiled from the day he was born by his parents, and from a young age, he tended to only do things that would benefit him. But as soon as his eyes had locked onto the woman, noting appreciatively the way her jeans hugged the curves of her ass, he was lost. His feet had made their way to her without his brain directing them and before he knew it, he was pulling her close to his body, relishing the feel of her softness pressed against him.

She was staring at him now, head tilted back slightly so her eyes—the colour of warm chocolate—could peer into his, a smile on her pretty pink lips. She was thanking him, he knew that, but he couldn't hear her words, too caught up as he was in staring at her features. Would she mind if he leaned down to kiss her? Probably, given the fact that she had just gotten rid of the last man that intruded into her space. Still, it didn't stop Neji from staring at her lips, imagining what they would feel like pressed against his own.

Absentmindedly, he realized that she looked vaguely familiar. But surely, he would remember a woman as attractive as this one. A frown tugged his lips downwards as he wondered where they may know each other.

He was staring.

Tenten wasn't sure whether she should say something or not. It wasn't like she disapproved of his staring—not like she had disapproved of Deidara’s attentions. But he hadn't replied to her and she was beginning to feel a little embarrassed. Especially when his lavender eyes kept flicking to her lips.

Did he want to kiss her? Tenten was tempted to ask him to do just that, but she didn't think it would be appropriate. He had helped her, yes, but that did not mean he was interested in her.

Besides, she reminded herself, he's a stranger!

Someone jostled her as they walked past, knocking her to the side. The man's arm sprung out like lightning, keeping her from toppling over, and breaking whatever moment they were having.

“Thank you,” she said again, stepping back from him.

“You are welcome,” he replied in that same, smooth tone. Tenten shivered despite the warmth of the bar, unable to turn away from his intense gaze.

“A-anyway, I should go. My friends are over there,” she pointed in the general direction of where Shikamaru and Shino were sitting while silently cursing herself for stuttering. She had never stuttered before in her life!

The man turned to the direction she was pointing, his gaze lingering before turning back to meet hers. “I have some friends that way as well. Shall I walk you to your destination?”

Tenten nodded her head dumbly. He placed a hand gently at the small of her back and followed her as she weaved her way through the crowd towards where her friends were sitting, all the while wondering if she could convince him to stay with her a little longer. Maybe get to know each other?

Unless he already had a girlfriend. Tenten stumbled as the thought crashed into her, barely registering as he held her elbow to steady her. She sent him a quick, strained smile before picking up her pace. Why hadn't she thought of that straight away? Of course he would have a girlfriend—how could he not?

Tenten suddenly felt silly for being attracted to him, especially after only just meeting him. She wasn’t the type of woman who could attract a man like this. It wasn't that she was unattractive, but she had enough experience to know that once a man found out how into sports she was—and how much of a tomboy she was—they would be turned off. And this man—this beautiful stranger—looked very much like he hadn’t played a game of sports in his life.

Of course, she had had a few dalliances during her college years—Kiba being one of them—but that was purely out of a bored curiosity on both their parts. They had only ever gotten to second base and had quickly realized how weird—and gross—it was for them to be a couple when they only saw each other as friends.

So yeah, Tenten didn't have a lot of experience with men of this sort of... calibre.

“Are you all right?”

Tenten jumped at hearing his voice so close to her ear. He had leaned down to whisper instead of shouting above the din, and the combination of his breath against her skin and the rumble of his voice had her suppressing another shiver.

“Y-yeah, thanks,” she replied, turning her head towards him only to bite back a gasp at how close they were. His face was mere inches from her own and she could feel each exhale he made caress her cheeks and lips.

Speaking of lips… Tenten licked hers subconsciously and the man’s eyes immediately locked onto the wet appendage. The lavender darkened to an almost violet colour and Tenten stopped breathing altogether as she watched him in stunned fascination.

Another jostle—she really did hate crowded places—this time against her back, had her careening into the stranger in front of her. She was half relieved that her lips didn’t smack his while she fell into his arms, like in one of those silly Korean dramas Sakura made her sit through. But a part of her was also disappointed as well. Why couldn’t she be the heroine of a romance drama, where she is saved by a handsome stranger who falls quickly, deeply, and madly in love with her? Would that be too much to ask?

Of course, if this was a romantic drama, she would no doubt have to fend off a jealous ex-girlfriend and have water thrown at her face by his mother (or grandmother, maybe even both). That was something Tenten wasn’t keen on, and she was glad that real life wasn’t so dramatic.

For the second time in one evening, Tenten extracted herself from the kind stranger, throwing him a brief smile while mumbling a ‘thank you’ that she knew wouldn’t be heard over the noise of the bar. And then, she turned and walked away from him, almost powerwalking the rest of the way to the table.

By the time Tenten made it to Shikamaru’s table, Kiba, Naruto, and Hinata had joined them. Naruto was mumbling something about a ‘cheater’ while Kiba grinned and punched him in the shoulder, looking very chuffed with himself.

“Hi, guys!” Tenten beamed at her friends. Her heart, which had been pounding vigorously since she first laid eyes on the handsome stranger, was finally calming down. She slipped in beside Kiba and he immediately threw his arm around her shoulder, ruffling the hair she had spent all of five minutes brushing and putting into a bun. She sent him a mock glare and shoved her elbow into his ribs.

“We’ve been waiting forever,” he whined. “Where were you?”

Tenten rolled her eyes. “Don’t get me started. Temari wanted to get here ‘fashionably late’ for some reason and when we finally arrived, I went to get a drink at the bar only to be stopped by an overly friendly guy who wouldn’t stop talking. It was almost impossible to get away from him.”

“Damn, I would love to have seen that!” Kiba laughed at what Tenten could only assume was an image of her trying to fend off a male admirer and she couldn’t help but feel irritated by it. Why would it be so funny?

“Neji! You’re here!” Hinata jumped out of her seat, rushing over to greet the person whose name sounded vaguely familiar to Tenten, though she couldn’t remember why. She turned in her seat to see who her friend was greeting, curious, and her mouth dropped at the sight before her.

The dark-haired beauty had stopped at the table he was heading to. Not only had she stopped, but she sat down and chatted with them as though they were old friends.

That was unexpected. But finally, her face came to his mind—a photo Hinata had sent to him when she first started college five years ago and met her new roommate. She had told him the roommate was very nice, though a little louder than she was used to, but they got along well. He recognized the face now. She was a little older, of course, and her hair longer, but it was definitely her.

What had Hinata said her name was?

“Neji!” His cousin moved around the booth to fling herself into his arms. It was uncharacteristic behaviour, but he supposed she had been living out in the world for a few years now, so it was only right that she would grow as a person and not be that shy, quiet little girl anymore. The realization hit him hard—she was a woman now. A woman who had a boyfriend, going by her last email to him before his flight back to Japan a week ago.

He smiled as he briefly returned her hug before setting her back down. He noticed the booth full of people watching him, though the blond didn’t seem jealous of their interaction. No doubt Hinata had told her boyfriend that her cousin would be coming tonight.

What did surprise Neji, though, was the flare of jealousy he felt as he watched his dark-haired beauty cuddled up against another man. Her eyes were wide with surprise—no doubt she hadn’t realized he was heading to the same table as she—and the man beside her prodded her shoulder with his free hand, leaning close to her ear to whisper something.

She blushed, a pretty pink that spread over her cheeks, and bit her bottom lip at whatever he had said to her before turning to jab her elbow into his side again.

They seemed very close, but he wasn’t certain whether they were together or just friends. Surely, if he were her boyfriend, she would have told the jerk at the bar and he would have left her alone a lot sooner. Maybe, despite her appearance, she liked the attention of other men on her?

But… no. That didn’t seem right either. She had genuinely looked frustrated when the blond at the bar was flirting with her.

Neji lightened, thinking that perhaps they weren’t a couple after all, though he still sent the guy a glare when he tucked Neji’s dark-haired beauty closer to his side.

“Come and sit down, Neji,” Hinata said, pulling on his hand. “I want to introduce you to my friends. Some of them, anyway. The others are somewhere here, but I’ll introduce you to them later.”

Neji followed her, a little too eagerly if he were to admit it to himself. Not because he cared to know these people. He had enough friends—one friend really, but it was plenty enough for him—but he was curious to learn about one person in particular. And he was more than delighted to find himself sitting directly across from her, her cheeks still flushing prettily as she tried to disentangle her friend’s arm from her shoulder.

Tenten couldn’t keep the blush from her face. Especially not after what Kiba had whispered to her. Now she was desperately trying to move away from him so that Neji—Hinata’s cousin, she finally realized, remembering some photos she had seen of him over the years—didn’t think they were a couple. Was that too late already? They looked pretty friendly together, but that was just because she had known the canine breeder since they were in high school.

She stole a glance at the lavender eyed man across from her as she took a sip of her whiskey while Hinata introduced him to everyone at the table, but he wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he was glaring very pointedly at Kiba, who seemed to think it was quite amusing, and he squeezed her shoulder in response to the newcomer’s stare.

“Stop it,” she hissed, turning to send him a glare of her own. She thrilled to think that Neji could be jealous of the attention Kiba was giving her, but she also hated the thought that he might believe they were dating.

Kiba grinned at her attempts to push him away, leaning closer to her ear again. “This is so much fun, Tenten,” he chuckled. “He barely knows you and he’s already this jealous. Should we see if we can make him hit me?”

“He won’t need to. I want to hit you already.” She stood abruptly, pulling him up by his collar as she went. “Go dance or something.”

The pout he sent her way usually had her caving in seconds, giving in to any of the crazy schemes that he cooked up in that brain of his, but she wouldn’t be swayed this time. She really liked this guy—despite having only just met him—and she didn’t want her idiot of a best friend ruining any slim chance she might have.

His pout turned into a grin, as if he could read her thoughts, and he sent her a wink, causing her blush to reignite as his words rushed back to her head. Damn, Tenten, he had whispered. He looks like he’s undressing you with his eyes. You gonna go home with him?

She most certainly would not be going home with him, but she couldn’t deny that Kiba’s words—and the idea that this extremely handsome man found her attractive enough to imagine her naked—had heat curling through her belly that had nothing to do with the whiskey.

Tenten was glad to see the back of her infuriating friend, and she sat back down with a sigh, forgetting to even try and look graceful. She inwardly winced, but then decided that it shouldn’t matter. If he wasn’t going to like her for who she was, then he wasn’t worth it.

Deciding it would be best to distract herself, she turned to face Shikamaru, who hadn’t said a word since she had taken a seat at the booth. “You aren’t with Temari tonight?”

Shikamaru replied with a roll of his eyes, but she could see the hurt in their depth when he looked at her. “I’m surprised she didn’t tell you. I’m in the doghouse.”

Oh. Tenten thought back to when they were getting ready for the evening. Temari had seemed a little more subdued than usual, but Tenten hadn’t thought anything of it. Now she felt like a cow. “What happened?”

“She said I forgot our anniversary.”

“What?” Tenten stared at him in shock. “You forgot your anniversary? Don’t you realize how special anniversaries are for women? Especially your first!”

“I know,” Shikamaru replied, practically growling as he glared at her. “And I didn’t forget. She’s the one who got the dates wrong.”

Tenten almost spat out the whiskey she was sipping, partly due to her friend’s words and partly because of a foot that had started to make its way up her leg, caressing it. She sent a wide-eyed glance at Neji, who remained impassive at the conversation going on around him as he stared back at her. She felt her face heating again and determined to concentrate on Shikamaru and his tale of forgotten anniversaries. That was much easier to deal with than a very handsome man playing footsies with her under the table.

“Why do you think she got the dates wrong?”

This time a sigh accompanied his eye roll, and Tenten could read his lips as he muttered a quiet ‘so troublesome’ under his breath. “One year ago today, we went on our first date, but I didn’t officially ask her out until a week later. So technically, our anniversary isn’t until next Saturday. But she is being too stubborn to even listen to me.”

That made sense. Tenten wasn’t sure what she would think in that situation. She could understand both sides of the story, and despite feeling sorry for Shikamaru, it was also amusing.

“If Temari is refusing to listen to you, why don’t you send her a message saying what you just told me. But leave out the ‘being too stubborn’ part. I’ll talk to her tomorrow as well and let her know about the misunderstanding just in case she refuses to read your message.” Tenten reached over to pat her friend on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, Shikamaru. She’ll forgive you in no time. Just… make sure you make the anniversary day extra special for her, okay?” She glanced to the other side of Shikamaru. “When did Shino leave?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. When we were talking, maybe. Anyway,” he stood up from his seat, taking a moment to stretch his arms over his head. “I’m going to go. I’ve already said congratulations to the happy couple, and it’s way past when I usually go to bed.”

“Drive safely. And don’t forget to message Temari.” Tenten called to his retreating back.

She had forgotten about the foot sliding up and down her leg during her conversation, but now, as she realized it was only the two of them left at the booth, it was the only thing on her mind. Despite her jeans and Neji’s shoes, Tenten still managed to shiver from the contact, and it took her far too long to build up the courage to meet his enchanting gaze.

“Hi,” she said, loud enough for him to hear but not so loud that she was yelling.

He smirked in response, and she wasn’t sure if it was because of her sudden shyness or the fact that they were finally alone together. “Hi,” he replied easily, his smooth voice warming her body far better than any glass of whiskey could.

Tenten hadn’t realized she had a weakness for voices until she met Neji. Or maybe it was just his voice she had a weakness for. “So, you went to a college overseas?” She knew it was an asinine question to ask, but she had to say something.

Neji stood slowly and Tenten felt a pang of hurt that he was leaving after she had asked him a question. But no, he wasn’t leaving at all. Instead, he made his way to her side of the booth and slid in beside her, his arm resting casually against the back of the bench behind her head.

He leaned in until he could speak without having to raise his voice. “It is a little frustrating having to talk over the noise. You do not mind this, do you?”

Mind it? Tenten was afraid she was about to swoon by being so close to him, while a part of her—a wild, reckless part that she hadn’t even known she possessed—wanted to crawl into his lap and sift her fingers through his hair. Would it be as soft to touch as it looked?

She managed to nod a response and watched as that smirk touched his lips again. And damn if she didn’t find that extremely hot.

“To answer your question,” he continued, settling back against the bench as though he owned it. “Yes. I went to college in Sydney, Australia.”

“Wow, that’s cool! Did Hinata ever think of going overseas to study?” Tenten couldn’t even imagine how expensive an overseas college life would be, but she was also jealous that he had already travelled so far despite being so young.

“Her father tried to pressure her into going, but she was too shy. She would not have handled another country very well.”

No, she wouldn’t have. Tenten remembered her first meeting with the woman. Hinata had barely spoken two sentences to her, and Tenten had to pry even those out of her. She had truly come a long way in five years.

“What about you?” he asked. She felt a lock of her hair being twined around a finger and blushed but didn’t comment on it. Unlike the man from earlier, Neji didn’t make her feel uncomfortable at all. “What was your major?”

Of course, he had to go and ask that. The one question she was embarrassed to answer. Not usually, of course, but for once, she had wished she had chosen a major that was a little more attractive. “I majored in Physical Education.” She couldn’t look at him as she said it, her eyes finding a pile of crumbs on the table and staring at that instead. “I like sports and I want to teach kids to enjoy it as well.”

“That is commendable,” he replied, shocking her. What shocked her more was when he tucked a finger under her chin and lifted her head to look at him. “But why do you look like this is something to be ashamed of?”

“I-I’m not ashamed of it. I just,” she bit her lip, working it with her teeth until his finger pried it out of her mouth. His finger lingered on her lip, smoothing soft lines against it as if to erase the damage her teeth may have done before letting his hand drop. “Guys don’t seem to like the fact that I’m athletic. I think they’re intimidated or something.” She shrugged, eyes once again breaking contact with his. “I’m not one of those girls who just does Yoga or Pilates to maintain a healthy body. Ever since high school, I’ve competed in a variety of different sports, and I join a lot of marathons each year.”

He was silent for some time, long enough that Tenten began to regret saying so much. Her eyes found his again, unable to take the silence any longer, only to find him staring at her in serious contemplation.

“And men find this… unappealing?” he asked. She would have thought he was mocking her, except he had voiced the question with such seriousness, his eyebrows drawn low over his eyes as though he couldn’t quite understand.

“Yes. They say they’re fine with it, up until they see me actually participating in some form of sports.” Tenten snorted, unable to help herself. “They especially don’t like it when I beat them at something. Apparently, it hurts their manly pride.”

“Ah.” He leaned back slightly, his eyebrows lifting as he took in her words. Part of her wondered if he was just like every other man she had known, but he was still twirling a lock of hair around his finger, and he seemed to have moved his arm so it was resting over her shoulders instead of the back of the bench. Surely, that was a good sign, right?

He was still staring at her as well, and Tenten was beginning to squirm under his scrutiny. “Anyway, that’s me. Tell me about yourself.”

Instead of replying to her question, he asked one of his own. “You are not dating that… Kiba, was it?”

Tenten couldn’t help laughing. They had tried a few years ago, but it had felt wrong to both of them, and they realized they were better off as friends. “God, no. Kiba is a good friend of mine. We’ve known each other for years, but that’s it.”

“Good.”

Tenten’s eyes widened in shock at his admission. Neji sent her a smile, looking uncertain for the first time that evening until she smiled at him in return.

He untangled his fingers from her hair and pressed his hand against her neck, drawing her closer to him. Tenten’s breath caught at his boldness, unused to men being so forward with her. Well, there had been that guy at the bar, but she hadn’t been interested in him at all. This man, however, made her feel weak at the knees and she didn’t mind one bit when his intense gaze never strayed from her face.

Was it possible to melt into a puddle by just a look?

Neji’s gaze flicked to her lips briefly before meeting her eyes again. “I find a strong woman very attractive,” he admitted, no trace of embarrassment on his features at the confession.

“You do?” Her voice was barely a whisper, but they were so close now that she knew he would hear her. Her heart pounded in her chest at his words, both elated and suspicious at the same time. How did she know he would stay true to them?

Fingers caressed a path along her cheek, and her entire vision was filled up by him. It was as though the loudness of the bar faded into the background and it was just the two of them alone, and Tenten decided she very much liked that idea.

Neji couldn’t get over how beautiful Tenten was, and for the first time, he regretted not visiting more often over the years. If he had—and if he had taken an interest in learning his cousin’s friends—he could have met Tenten a lot sooner. The knowledge that she had been here this whole time without his knowledge caused a blinding need within him. Not just a sexual need—though he couldn’t deny that was part of it—but a need to make up for all the time they had lost by being separated. Now that he was living here permanently again, he would make that happen. If she was willing, of course.

“Most definitely,” Neji replied, his voice dropping to a seductive purr as his eyes once again found her lips. He was dying to kiss her, but not until she was convinced that he was telling the truth. Would she mind if he told her that her physical prowess turned him on? “Besides,” he continued. “There is only one particular physical activity that I care to excel in.”

His smile widened a notch at seeing that pretty pink flush cover her cheeks as his words sunk in. He could see her mind working as she pictured just what sort of physical activity he was referring to. He couldn’t stop his own mind from wandering there, and he felt blood rush to his loins at the images that ran through his mind.

He couldn’t possibly have been referring to sex, could he? But even as Tenten tried to dissuade herself of the thought, she knew that had been exactly what he meant. “Do you?” The question was out of her mouth before she even had time to ponder it, and her face flushed anew as the desire to bury herself under the table consumed her.

“Do I?” he repeated, an eyebrow cocked as he tried to piece together her meaning. She knew exactly when he had, a slow smirk forming on his lips as his eyes turned violet once more. “I assure you, my chocolate-eyed beauty, that I am very adept at that form of activity.”

Tenten feared that he would be able to hear the pounding of her heart as he moved closer, until their faces were inches apart. Was he finally going to kiss her? Her eyes locked onto his lips and her tongue reached out to wet hers in preparation.

A low noise rumbled from the back of Neji’s throat. “You are teasing me, Tenten.”

“S-sorry, I’m not meaning to.” She darted her gaze away from his lips to rest on his shoulder.

“We just have one last item left to discuss,” he rumbled, and Tenten’s eyes flew back to his face, confused. What was left to talk about? He seemed tense, as though it was taking all his effort to stay completely still and not close the small gap between them. “Are you looking for a temporary companion, or a long-term one?”

“If you’re meaning whether I want a one-night stand,” she replied, finding the strength to maintain eye contact. “The answer is no. I don’t do one-night stands. But I also don’t have sex on the first date, either.”

Neji’s eyes sparkled at her words. “Then it’s a good thing this isn’t our first date. Or are you imagining that it is? Should I ask you to be my girlfriend now, so that there is no confusion when the anniversary comes around?”

Tenten laughed at his reference to Shikamaru and Temari’s dilemma. She didn’t think he had been paying attention, and her heart warmed at the thought that they could be together long enough to have an anniversary. Tenten’s eyes closed to half-mast and she could hear the sultry tone to her voice as she answered, “I don’t think it would hurt leaving it until tomorrow.”

“Good,” came Neji’s whispered reply a moment before he finally closed the gap and kissed her.

It looks like I might just be going home with him tonight, after all.

#Nejiten #Nejiten Fanfiction #Fanfiction #Why is Deidara always the bad guy in my stories?#I wanted to write a bit of sauciness without full on smut #Also Tenten isn't compromising her morals at the end of the story #She just found a loophole so she could enjoy the best of both worlds #Just in case you didn't get that

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stokingthemidnightflame · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 2: Incendiary Ember

Hello friends! I have finally finished Chapter 2 of Xanthorrhoeas. I hope you like it :) Sorry for the delay!

AO3 Link

Cassian was staring at her.

To be fair to him, so was Azriel. But she could feel the intense gaze of Cassian as he looked over her, checking if she was okay. Of course I’m not okay. How could I be? She wanted to scream.

Instead, she bit her mouth together so hard that she felt the metallic tang of blood on her lips. She made a show of pulling out her phone, intent on responding to emails or reading the news or anything that would make her stop feeling like she was burning up from rage and terror and misery.

But she couldn’t.

Try as she might, opening her emails, all she did was mindlessly scroll through them, her eyes glazed and unable to focus. There was this pounding in her head, and her ears were ringing and she just wanted it to stop.

They finally reached Azriel’s apartment, and he offered a hand for her to step down from the van, his eyes flat and serious.

The momentary relief Nesta felt as she sat down on Azriel’s grey couch shattered as she saw Cassian bring in the box.

“Let me see that,” she said. The need is itching up again. She can’t help herself.

Cassian ignored her, and dumped the box unceremoniously in the corner of the living room, before turning his golden brown eyes to her, scanning her over.

“Are you hurt?” He asked. How predictable.

Nesta doesn’t answer.

It’s fucking petty, but after the day she’s had? She deserves to be petty.

The ensuing silence is finally broken when the silver haired man introduced himself to her, his voice clipped and emotionless. “Rowan Whitehorn. I served alongside Ramirez and Hernandez in Afghanistan. USAF.”

Nesta nodded, reaching out a hand to shake his perfunctorily, despite her hands being numb and clammy. She had to see that box again. She needs to know. But Cassian stood in front of it, his stance heavy and unmoving. Instead, she looked over at Azriel, questioning.

Azriel blushed as he considered. “Nesta - Cassian’s already taken the spare room. I can take the couch if you-”

“You can take the spare room,” Cassian said to Nesta, cutting in. His eyes were on her again, burning with a fiery intensity. Had they ever left her?

Azriel had turned silent, his eyes helpfully drifting away to the slate wall behind them for a moment of privacy. Rowan followed suit, his cool eyes gazing ahead blankly. Why bother?

She just wanted this day to be over. “Fine.” She knew her tone was brusque, but she was done. Done with Hybern. Done with Cassian. With herself. “Goodnight,” She offered to the room, avoiding Cassian’s gaze.

The guest room is just as she remembered it. Cassian had made the bed carefully, the navy sheets folded into hospital corners in a way she had never learnt to grasp. His clothes were folded over the chair, black suitcase tucked into the corner of the room.

Nothing personal...except for a book on the nightstand. The burgundy hardback is scratched, with creases across the spine, but the instant she picked it up she recognised it for what it was. A first-edition copy of Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey.

That she had gifted him, six Christmases ago. He had kept it.

She had bought the novel to remind him that she would love him forever, even when he was deployed and in some foreign country. That she was with him, no matter where he went.

In the end it didn’t matter. He was the one who had broken up with her after all. But it didn’t stop her eyes from pricking with tears as she stared at the novel she never thought she would see again.

“You-uh-you weren’t meant to see that.” Cassian’s voice appeared from behind her, and as she turned around she noticed that not for the first time tonight, his cheeks were flushed.

With her back still turned to him, she breathed out silently, willing herself not to do something stupid like cry or laugh. As she turned around, she asked “Why not? It’s yours. I gifted it to you, remember?” Remember, remember how much I loved you? How much...I love you?

All six foot three of Cassian stiffened, his face becoming unreadable. Once, reading Cassian had been as natural as breathing.

Without saying a word, he left, closing the door softly as he did, leaving the book in her hands.

She wished he had slammed it.

Watching her hold that book had been heart-wrenching. Cassian wasn’t sure he could take much more of it.

It had been so long since he had seen her in the flesh. Her silky, raven hair. Her baby hairs sticking up, despite her relentless scraping and gelling. Her sinful form in that crimson red she had always favoured. Red is luck, she had told him. In Chinese culture, it represents vitality and strength. Fire. Good fortune. Her dark brown eyes...almost black. The way they could analyse and comprehend at a second’s glance. But most of all, her scent. That warm, intoxicating scent of lavender that dissolved into a delicate wood Nesta had once told him was silver birch.

He knew what perfume it was. Jo Malone. Silver Birch and Lavender. He had bought it for her, once upon a time. It was almost comical that the name was so simple. But when she wore it, it couldn’t be replicated. It just wasn’t right.

And the book...the fucking book. The one he had treasured every night and read on repeat for months during his deployment, until he could recite whole passages from memory, every word and sentence ingrained into his mind, a permanent burn of what he had done to her.

It killed him inside.

Azriel gave him a half-sympathetic, half contemptuous look, his eyes narrowed slightly as he considered Cassian. As if coming to some kind of conclusion, he sat down next to him on the couch.

“You still haven’t told her the truth?”

Cassian closed his eyes sinking into the couch as he tried to focus on anything but Nesta. “What clued you in?”

Azriel cracked a smile then, and replied, “I think there would have been a lot more crying and shrieking from a certain party.”

Cassian snorted. The idea of Nesta shrieking seemed so improbable but he still wanted to see it. He wanted to see and learn everything about her, all over again.

But that was never going to happen.

Certainly not now, when the death threats against Nesta were escalating.

Azriel groaned as he tried to stretch out the kinks in his back, sighing as he looked at the box in the corner, pointedly looking at Cassian.

He sighed heavily in response, tapping two quick fingers over his heart. I know.

Rowan had cleared out quietly and it was just Azriel and Cassian left. Are you going to be okay? Azriel asked silently to his older brother.

He settled back into the couch, squeezing his eyes shut. It was no good. Every time he closed his eyes all he could see was the snake, its beady eyes lifeless and its head decapitated. Deja vu.

Azriel sighed and punched Cassian lightly, making the corner of his lips tilt up before he left.

God. The foul smell and the roses. Fucking roses. There must have been dozens of them, crammed into the box, each dipped in some kind of animal blood. (He hoped it was animal blood. The idea that it wasn’t was something he couldn’t even consider at this moment).

This wasn’t deja vu. He would never forget the first time.

He didn’t think it could have been worse, but he was clearly wrong. This was worse.

Suddenly, he heard a door creak open and footsteps on the wood floors. “Azriel?” He whispered into the dark.

There was no reply. His body instinctively tightened, brushing away the blanket haphazardly as he struggled to make out who it was.

“Just me.”

A rush of air left him feeling stupid. Nesta walked carefully past him, expertly avoiding that creaky floorboard before she entered the kitchen. She was clad in heart-printed fluffy socks and soft red strawberry pyjamas, but she walked as if she was clad in metal armour.

“Are you - uh - getting water?” His words felt foolish to him as soon as he said them. He can’t help himself, not around her. His hand tensed again, clenching and unclenching as he tried to slow his racing heartbeat. In the middle of the night, with everyone asleep, it was too easy to want her again.

As if he had ever stopped.

She paused, and he could feel her weighing her choices. As if wondering whether to deign to speak to him. He supposed, bitterly, that he deserved that after the forced conversations they had already had.

After all, the last words he had thrown in her face six years ago had been, “I don’t love you anymore Nesta. In fact, I don’t see how anyone could.”

It had left a fuzzy taste in his mouth that wouldn’t wash away and red blisters along his knuckles when he couldn’t stop hitting his punching bag. For months on end, when he closed his eyes at night all he could see was the unmistakeable glimmer of tears and her chin wobbling in a way that he knew meant she had cried after he left. After all that he had promised, that he would never hurt her. And then he had gone and fucked it all up.

It had taken every ounce of willpower to not go running back to her and beg for forgiveness.

Nesta walked back to the guest room, her left hand pressed to the straight seams of her pyjamas until her nails where white, carrying the glass of water in the other. She didn’t look back and the door swung shut without a single word.

How does one tell another...I’m sorry I killed you inside but all I ever wanted to do was protect you? How does one tell another...I would give you up a thousand times so you could be alive and find happiness with another? How does one tell another...I have loved you for every moment since I last saw you and I could never forget you?

Nesta woke up to Azriel’s living room covered in blue plastic sheets, lined from wall to wall.

The box was carefully deconstructed by Rowan and Dorian, yet another member of Cassian’s team. The police were infested with Hybern scum, as Cassian put it, and there was very little they couldn’t do with his own team. As Dorian started studying the roses and bagging parts of the box, Azriel touched the nape of his neck casually, eyes sliding over to Nesta.

She closed the door behind them, and asked, “What do you want?” Her eyes drifted to look behind him, avoiding eye contact.

Azriel was quiet. It wasn’t unusual - Nesta and Azriel had forged their friendship over introversion, sitting silently for hours often in the corners of parties they had been forced to attend by their respective friends. They discussed the economics of renewable energy and the burgeoning failure of democracy the way other people would discuss what they would consider lacklustre and mundane subjects.

Azriel’s grey eyes bore into Nesta’s, his forehead creased into a frown. “I’m sorry I didn’t consult you about Cassian,” he said bluntly. “I knew you would disapprove,” he continued. “But we both know that as stupid as my brother is, he’s the best choice to protect you. The police are absolutely fucked.” And wasn’t that the truth. Tomas’ dad had been a police captain.

Still was one.

It was why...it was why she could never report what he had done to her.

Nesta pursed her lips and stayed silent.

He stepped closer to her, and she felt her eyes prick with tears. Azriel was the guy who would have pummeled Tomas to a bloody pulp if she hadn’t stopped him. The guy who had stayed for three weeks on her couch after Tomas had assaulted her so she could sleep at night.

“Get over here,” he whispered, tugging her into his warm chest. Nesta latched onto his soft grey sweater and he strung his arms around her waist, hugging her close.

“You’re not forgiven.” She whispered into his sweater. Azriel’s chest vibrated slightly with laughter as he said, “Don’t I know it.”

By the time they had returned, the rest of Cassian’s team had bagged and marked most of the flowers, the snake and the box was nowhere to be seen. Rowan, Dorian and Mor were poring over documents with practiced eyes.

“We could get Aelin to prosecute the shit out of them,” Dorian said as he finally took off his glasses with a sigh. His gloves were smeared with blood. It was beginning to smell “It might be considered intimidation, especially since everyone knows Nesta’s spearheading this patents debacle.” He stared meaningfully at Azriel and Cassian, as if blaming them for Rhy’s predicament that had quickly spiralled into a mess. Cassian glared back, resolute.

But Nesta was already shaking her head. “It will never fly. Hybern wants this. They want us to divert resources from the main battle. I can handle a snake or two.” Cassian was considering her words, his lips in a half smile as he looked over her.

It was awe, she realised.

It warmed her deep inside to know that Cassian still admired her, his gaze flowing over her like soft honey on a summer’s day.

“And besides, I have a plan.”

She always had a plan. In the time that he had known her, Cassian could count on one hand the number of times he had seen her flustered in front of others. With him...it had been different. In the early months of their friendship she had gotten flustered regularly. He had only realised that she liked him when she began periodically unsending messages, as if she was hesitant to say the wrong thing.

Fortunately, having been glued to his phone waiting for her texts, he had seen her messages before she unsent them. That was how he realised she had asked him out.

Hey, did you want to hang out on Saturday?

And then, the last message he had sent her.

I’m sorry. There was no other way.

Nesta hadn’t even bothered to reply.

#nessian #nesta archeron #dorian #rowan whitehorn #rowan #cassian #nesta x cassian #acotar #acowar #xanthorrhoeas #acofas #acomaf #throne of glass #tog

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kelyon · 4 years ago

Text

Her Angel Chapter Four

THE THRILLING CONCLUSION!

The prompt was this giftset

Read on AO3

Her Grace, the Duchess de Trousdale, looked over the crowd of her wedding feast in a dreamy haze. Everything was beautiful. Her husband’s estate was grander than any castle in the realm but the King’s palace. A dozen chandeliers made the marble ballroom gleam like noonday, long after the sun had set. The table before her was set with gold and silver and crystal. All the guests were dressed in their finest, but no one sparkled more brightly than she did.

Her gown was blinding white, with a thousand diamonds sewn into the fabric. The Duchess had distant memories of a wedding at her home chapel, where she had worn a golden gown. But that must have been a fantasy. She had no golden gown. And she had married Gaston at the grand cathedral here in the capitol, leagues away from the manor house she used to call home.

She’d had so many fancies lately--strange, nonsensical thoughts that flew away at the first reminder of reality. She had memories of running away from her wedding, of plunging into a river and being rescued.

The man who had rescued her, she had seen him as an angel. When she dreamed of him, she woke up with tear stains streaking her face.

She remembered seeking refuge with this man and his son. She remembered being stolen, being brought back to her husband screaming and bound by magic, being forced--

But that was absurd, of course. She loved her husband! She had been happy to marry him. She was happy now, seated by his side. And later tonight, when the time came for him to make her his own, then she would be happiest of all.

And everyone was happy for her. All the guests who spoke to her wished her more happiness. But how could she have more when she was already so happy she could weep?

Her papa was not happy. He sat, sullen, at an empty table by the dance floor, his glass of wine untouched. Papa’s head was bowed, and he was looking at his hands.

She turned to Gaston. He was still holding her hand. The sweet man had barely let go of her since Papa had placed her hand in his. Managing a fork at the feast had been difficult, but she didn’t mind. She barely needed to eat, she was so full of happiness.

“My love?” the Duchess asked the Duke. “Can you bear to be parted from me for a moment while I go speak to Papa?”

“We’ll go together.” He stretched his long legs and stood up. “I can’t allow you to wander off, little wife.”

She laughed at that. How marvelous! Her husband was such a wit. And so right too! They should never be separated. She should never do anything without his approval. She was so happy to have him by her side, to do everything he wanted her to do.

Hand in hand, the bride and groom descended from the high table to mingle with their guests. When she got to Papa, she took her hand from Gaston to tilt up her father’s chin.

“You must be happy, Papa,” she chided him. “I am!”

Lord Maurice looked at his daughter. Belle’s eyes were very bright, and her face was flushed--too flushed. The girl looked like she had a fever, or some terrible madness.

“Are you, bluebell?” he asked her. “Are you happy? Did you truly want to go through with this marriage?”

For just a moment, Belle looked as though the fever had broken. Without speaking, she opened her mouth. She looked as though she didn’t understand the question, but she wanted to.

Then Gaston returned to her side. “There’s my blushing bride!” He took her hand in his own and brought her fingers to his lips.

Belle looked up at him, and her smile was of the purest joy Maurice had ever seen. Everything seemed to melt away from her then--all doubts, all questions, all thoughts.

She was happy.

“Shall we dance?” The bride looked up at her groom. He was so handsome, so strong, so wonderful. As long as they were together, she would be the happiest woman in the world.

Sweetly obliging, the Duke led her in a romantic waltz. He stepped on her feet, but she laughed every time. He squeezed her hand more tightly.

“You don’t mind if I hurt you, do you, little wife?”

She shook her head, felt the jewels in her ears swing back and forth. “Not at all, darling. You are my husband, and I am happy to be yours.”

He gave her a tight grin and pulled her close to whisper in her ear. “You just stay happy then, and I’ll never have a reason to hurt you.”

She smiled and laughed, but felt something strange in the pit of her stomach. It was almost like fear. How silly that was! She was happy! It was her wedding day! She would spend the rest of her life with this man and she couldn’t imagine anything more wonderful!

“Would you like a cake, miss?”

The dance had ended, and a little pageboy with a tray of pastries stood in front of her. She blinked at him. He was dressed in the Duke’s livery, but she didn’t recognize him. Or did she? Somehow, he looked familiar to her. He was a lively-looking child, with tousled brown hair and worried dark eyes. Why was he worried? Why was he sad? He should be happy!

Before she could accept a cake from this sweet boy, her husband pulled her back by grabbing her hand.

“Who is this ill-mannered whelp?” he bellowed. “Boy, this is the Duchess de Trousdale and you will call her ‘Your Grace’!”

“Oh darling!” She smiled so Gaston would smile with her. There was no need for this unhappiness. “He’s just a boy!”

“A boy who needs to learn respect.” He snarled at the child, who barely came up to the man’s waist.

Eyes wide, lips trembling, the boy looked at the Duchess. “Belle?” he whispered.

How did he know her name?

She opened her mouth to speak, but Gaston dismissed the boy. “Begone from here!” he ordered. “And be grateful this is my wedding day, else I would knock out your teeth for your impertinence!”

The little boy scampered off into the crowd. She had the oddest urge to follow him, to go with him wherever he was going. She wanted to be with this boy and his father.

His father?

But then her husband took her hand again and led her into another dance. And of course they should dance! Nothing made her happier than dancing! And she was with her husband, and she was so happy!

She would always be happy with him.

Dance after dance she shared with her husband, and she never wanted it to end. No one interrupted them, no one dared ask to cut in and dance with the bride. Everyone knew that they belonged together, and should never be apart. The musicians played waltz after waltz, until even Gaston was ready for something different. He called for a quadrille, a lively dance with much switching of partners. Though it pained her to leave her bridegroom, the Duchess contented herself with the knowledge that every separation would end in a reunion.

And she was only happy when her husband was holding her hand.

Still, she made her steps around the ballroom, frolicking with all the men who wished her well, who wished her every happiness in the world. She touched their hands only briefly, and did not let any of them hold her.

Not until she started the next round of dancing with a stranger.

She noticed the hand first. It was extended out, as a part of the dance. The hand did not grasp for her, but it was offered freely. She could take it, if she wanted to.

But the hand was not a human hand. The outer skin was rough and scaly and brown as a forest floor. The ends of the fingers terminated in sharp, black points, like the claws of some terrible beast. The Duchess looked past the hand to see the whole of this person.

He didn’t look like a man. At least, not like any man she had ever seen before. He had the shape of a man--he was wearing a suit of gold cloth with a white cravat at his throat. Perhaps he was a foreigner. The dark olive-green of his skin could almost be mistaken for the coloring of some far-off prince. Perhaps from the river kingdoms.

But she had never heard of a person whose skin sparkled like gold, like the iridescent scales of a snake.

His eyes were unnatural as well--gold and dark and too large, like some kind of animal. They watched her. They saw that she was staring at him, but he did not want her to look away. The man grinned at her, and his teeth were black and broken.

The Duchess recovered herself from her moment of shock. She curtsied to her guest and they began their dance.

“Do I know you?” she asked politely as they circled each other, not touching.

“An excellent question.” His tone was as strange as his appearance. His first words to her were a high-pitched chirp, but then his voice lowered. “Do you know me? Dearie?”

Dearie. That word meant something. She stepped back, breaking the dance. The music faded into silence, and all the other dancers became no more substantial than ghosts.

Her wedding. Her husband. Her happiness. None of them felt real anymore. Only the man in front of her was clear. The man and, in the corner of her vision, the young boy who had offered her a cake. The boy had known her name, when even she didn’t seem to want it. What did the man know?

“Who are you?” she whispered.

“I am changed since you last saw me.” He took her in his arms, leading her in a dance though the music had stopped.

Or perhaps she had only stopped hearing it.

“Do you remember the Dark One?” he asked her.

A vision flashed in her mind--an evil man cloaked in darkness, his face hidden except for a malevolent grin. He had taken her away from a place where she had wanted to stay. He had brought her to her husband, he had forced her to--

“No,” she whispered. But it wasn’t to answer the man’s question. “No, that’s not real.”

He leaned in to her. He whispered into her ear, soft and deep. “Do you remember the Dark One’s magic?”

An iron kettle that hung in the air despite her desperate attempts to bring it down. A twitch of the finger and a man with a staff was brought down to the ground in writhing agony. Magic that bound her, magic that invaded her, magic that crept into her mind and twisted everything. It made her forget, made her remember, made her happy.

“No!”

Everything was falling apart. She broke away from this stranger, this monster who was destroying her happiness. She looked around the ballroom. Where was her husband? But all the people looked like nothing but swirls of color--dabs of paint on a canvas and she was the only thing that was real.

“No!” she screamed again, a deep, ragged cry. In the middle of the ballroom, in her diamond wedding dress, she sank to the ground and wept.

The boy came up to her and wrapped his arms around her neck. “It’s okay, Belle,” he said softly. “Papa’s going to rescue you.”

“Bae,” she whispered through her tears. “Baelfire.” He was real. She didn’t know how she knew his name, but she did.

The boy nodded and hugged her tighter. She clung to him like a life raft. Like she was flowing down a river, and this boy and his father were the only things that could bring her back to dry land.

Belle blinked. His father…

The stranger knelt beside Baelfire and looked into her eyes. Now that he wasn’t grinning, she could see through the layers of magic. His hair was different, as were his eyes and his hands and his skin, but Belle knew him. The monster who looked like a demon had once been her angel.

“Rumpelstiltskin,” she breathed. She wanted to smile at him. He was her friend, her savior. But everything still felt so wrong, so topsy-turvy in her mind, she could only stare at him blankly.

“The Dark One’s magic binds you,” he explained. “And only the Dark One’s magic can free you.”

“I remember,” she whispered. “He said that, at your cottage.”

“The one who said those words is dead now,” Rumpelstiltskin said. “I killed him. I am the Dark One. And I can free you. For a price.”

Baelfire sat up, though Belle kept her hands on him. He was such a small boy, but his nearness grounded her when everything felt so uncertain.

“Don’t be scared,” Bae said. “Papa’s going to help you. It’s just that all magic comes at a price. You have to give him something.”

Belle looked up at Rumpelstiltskin, the Dark One, her angel. “What do you want from me?”

He didn’t answer at first, just looked at her in silence. The last time she had seen this poor spinner, he had already looked weighed down by the toils of a lifetime. Now that he had been transformed by magic, his burden seemed to have increased a thousandfold. And still he had come to rescue her. Had he taken on this mantle just so he could save her life a second time? Surely anything she had would be worth giving up for his sake.

“What is the price, Rumple?”

He held out his hand to her. “Come with us.”

The joining of hands was a sacred gesture. To signal her marriage, Papa had taken her hand and placed it into Gaston’s. And Gaston had refused to let go of her all night. All the happiness she had felt since the moment of her wedding had been because of a spell the Dark One had cast on her. Magic that Gaston had reinforced every time he took her hand.

And now Rumpelstiltskin would free her, if she would just place her hand in his own. If she would come with them.

Belle had taken his hand before, when he had helped her out of the river. His hand had been warm and soft. Immediately, she had felt like she was home, like she never wanted to let go of him. And it was not the ‘happiness’ that she had felt with Gaston, crystal-bright and fragile. Her contentment with Rumpelstiltskin had been deeper than that, more substantial. The very first time she had put her hand in his, it had felt natural and right.

Only good would come of her doing it again.

Slowly, Belle rose to her feet. Baelfire stood beside her. Rumpelstiltskin was in front of her, his hand still extended.

“I can leave Gaston,” she said. “But in exchange, I must marry you?”

“Not must,” he said gently. “I will not save you from one marriage just to force you into another. But if you will have me, I will be yours.”

“And me too,” Bae looked up at her, his brown eyes full of hope.

Belle took the boy’s hand first, and then placed her other hand in Rumpelstiltskin’s. His hands had changed since she had first met him, but he was still the same man underneath. He had helped her, protected her, and now he had saved her.

“Yes,” she answered, looking from Rumple to Bae. “I don’t know where we’re going or what will happen next. But I know I want to be with you.” She squeezed their hands. “With both of you.”

#her angel #rumbelle showdown #rumbelle #rumbelle fic

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