#nothing in this world is as familiar to me as the curve of the banister

[starryshakespeare]

local woman really doesn’t know if she can do this

[arvandus]

New Beginnings - Toshinori x GN!Reader

So, this is my contribution to the BNHA Harem server collab for New Year’s Eve.  It was supposed to be a drabble.  It is not. It has turned into a short oneshot.  I regret nothing.

Warnings: Angst, fluff... my usual MO. That’s about it.

Word Count: 2655

Recommended Song: Can’t Help Falling In Love - LIGHT by Tommee Proffitt, ft. Brooke

Art done by me

The ballroom was loud. Too loud, filled with the raucous laughter and chattering of drunken adults finally letting loose after a particularly difficult year.  Between the multiple villain attacks, kidnapping, All Might losing his powers… A night filled with celebration was desperately needed to say farewell to the painful past and look optimistically toward the future.  Glittery decorations adorned the tables, the walls, the banisters.  Nearly every staff member was present, no one willing to miss out on a chance to unwind with friends at the employer’s expense. It was a formal affair, with teachers hanging up their hero uniforms in favor of suits and ties, dresses and heels.

And of course, among the throngs of people, Toshinori was there, his blonde, wild hair sticking out like a sore thumb.  He was handsome tonight, donning a navy blue suit that was specially tailored for him, accentuating his leanness from the shape of his shoulders to the small of his waist. A white dress shirt with a black tie was paired with it, finished with shining black leather shoes. You were grateful he opted for a sleeker look instead of his yellow pinstripe suit; no doubt Midnight might have had a say in his wardrobe choices for this evening.  Overall, he cleaned up impressively well compared to his usual baggy attire, despite the ever-present slouch in his posture. You tried not to stare at him, but it was impossible.

He had caught you staring, of course, hesitating for a moment before flashing you a smile and a wave. You offered an awkward wave of your own, your smile barely reaching your eyes before you turned away from him, your heart pounding painfully.  The smile he’d given you was friendly, genuine… but it cloaked more complex feelings beneath it, feelings you didn’t want to decipher after your last conversation with him.  A part of you didn’t want his kindness, not after his rejection. If anything, you wished he’d ignore you, pretend you didn’t exist.  It would make the letting go easier, give the pain some place to go so you didn’t feel like you were drowning.  After all, it was his kindness and his smiles, the private conversations, the lunch dates… all those little things that had you thinking that there was something there, a foundation to build upon.

How wrong you were.

Now, all of his smiles and kind words only made the ache worse, filling your heart up with confusion and making it heavy in a way that weighed on your spirit.  You were tired.  Tired of carrying that weight around.  Tired of replaying the conversation over and over in your head, in a vain attempt at figuring out how you could have been so incredibly mistaken.

As the night wore on, you tried to ignore him, to enjoy the evening and not let your heartache get the better of you.  You had told yourself that you would come, that you would set aside your feelings and celebrate with those who felt like family, instead of wallowing alone at home by yourself.

It was impossible.  No matter how hard you tried, your eyes kept searching for him, kept finding his messy mop of blonde hair poking out in the crowd, kept hearing his deep voice resonating throughout the room as he laughed. You could feel your emotions roiling like a geyser behind your lips, and you were afraid that it’d explode, words falling out of your mouth to land at his feet where everyone could see.  Even worse, it was New Year’s Eve. You knew that once the countdown hit zero, kisses would be shared and none of them would be for you.  And if for some reason Toshinori had affections for a different teacher, you certainly didn’t want to be there to see it.

It wasn’t long before you were sneaking up the stairs, following the stairwell up to the rooftop in an attempt to escape the sight of him, hoping the distance would quell your fractured heart.  What were you thinking?  Why did you even bother to come?

Cold winter air met you as you opened the door to the roof.  Stars twinkled through the light pollution in the absence of winter clouds as the crosshatched glimmer of the city could be seen below.  Thankfully, the roof wasn’t covered in snow, the weather unusually forgiving this year.  You sat down on the rooftop with your knees drawn up to you as an icy breeze washed over you. It stung your eyes, tickled your nose, wicking the moisture from your lips. But it was nice.  You inhaled the cold air deep into your lungs, letting it numb you. You needed this, to feel the outside world around you and let the cold snap you out of your mind a little bit.

You weren’t sure how long you sat out there… perhaps minutes, or maybe an hour. Time seemed to lose its meaning while the sound of merriment could be heard from below, drifting up from the windows.   You knew you should head back down at some point… you had friends that would be looking for you the closer it got to midnight.  But each time you began to will yourself to stand up, your body refused, stubbornly rooting you to your spot.  Your fingers, nose, and ears began to feel numb, your body beginning to shiver… but still you sat, staring out at the city lights.

You really didn’t want to face him again.  God, you were such a coward.  You frowned as you wrapped your arms around yourself, the action just as much for comfort as it was for warmth.

“So, this is where you’re hiding…”

You jumped at the intrusion, your heart pounding in your chest as you twisted around to see Toshinori approaching you, his hands in the pockets of his slacks.  A gust of wind whirled the jacket of his suit around, making the fabric pull against him as if it were trying to make its escape.  It only accentuated his leanness, and you felt your heart constrict painfully.  You looked away, your eyes once again staring out at the city lights below.  A second gust whipped through and you wrapped your arms tighter around yourself as goosebumps covered your skin.  You clenched your jaw to try to keep your teeth from chattering.

“I’m not hiding.” You replied.  “I just needed a break, that’s all.”

You could hear his footsteps approach you, and your mind screamed no even as your heart pounded in excitement.  A moment later, the soft, silky interior of a blazer fell over your shoulders. The warmth of it soaked into you instantly, and the clean smell of Toshinori’s cologne kissed your nose.

“You didn’t have to do that…” you said quietly, even as your hands clasped at it, pulling it against you.

“I wanted to.” He replied.

You could see him sit down next to you out of the corner of your eye.  His proximity was close enough to make your heart race, but far away enough to feel the emptiness between you two.  Another winter gust pushed his hair back and whirled his black tie around him.

“What about you? Won’t you be cold?” you asked.

He gave a soft smile as he stared out at the city.  “I’ll be fine.  I’m not as fragile as I look, you know…”

Your eyes took in his profile.  The sunken cheeks, the hollowed eyes framed in dark circles… he looked perpetually exhausted.  And yet, everything about his was so familiar, so… comfortable.  The shape of his mouth and the way it curved when he smiled, the cut of his sharp jaw, the blue of his eyes, still young in spirit yet framed in years of experience.  You wanted to run your fingers through his hair, to put your head on his shoulder and interlock your fingers with his.

Instead, you pulled his coat tighter around yourself, wishing it were his arms instead. This was torture. It was everything you wanted to avoid and then some.  The geyser you’d managed to quell earlier bubbled again, angry and hot.  You stared back out at the city in an attempt to cool it.

“Why are you here?” you asked.

“I… feel like we should talk.” He replied, his arms propped up on his knees.

“There’s nothing to talk about.  I told you how I felt and you turned me down.  Seems pretty cut and dry to me.” You commented.

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

His words stung you, driving the nail deeper into the coffin.  You could feel the lump forming in your throat and you swallowed against it. You didn’t want to be here, to hear his apologies, to see the guilt in his eyes as he tried to explain why.  You didn’t want to know why. What mattered was that he didn’t want you.  You stood up and began removing his jacket from your shoulders.

“It’s fine.” You replied, as you dropped the fabric into his lap.  He stared up at you bewildered, but you refused to look at him.  “I’ll be fine.  You don’t have to feel guilty.  I just need some time is all.”  You began to walk away from him.

The sound of a chorus of voices from below could be heard faintly, carried by the wind.

‘Ten! Nine! Eight!’

Did the time really pass that quickly? What a way to start the new year, you thought bitterly.

Toshinori was up in an instant, his coat falling to the ground.  Long fingers wrapped around your wrist halting your escape, his grip surprisingly strong. “That’s not what I meant.” Toshinori countered.

‘Seven! Six! Five!’

“Then what do you mean?” you snapped finally, as you spun to face him.  The hurt was written across your face now, the emotions no longer kept under lock and key as your eyes brimmed with tears.

His eyes stared back at you, pleading, begging you to stay, to listen.  “I didn’t turn you down because I didn’t want you.”

‘Four! Three! Two!’

“W-what?”

‘One!’

A rumbling cheer erupted from down below as fireworks began to light up the night sky all across Musutafu. The flash of colors painted Toshinori’s lean face in blues and greens and reds. The occasional bright flash of white lit up his sunken eyes, and in those moments, you could see the emotions in them more clearly.  Regret, longing… You stared at him, dumbfounded.

“What does that mean?” you asked.

He took a step toward you, the gap between you closing as your heart pounded in your chest.  He still had your wrist in his hand, and the warmth of his touch sent electric shocks to your heart.

His eyes were downcast as his low voice washed over you.  “When you told me how you felt about me, I didn’t know how to respond.  I’d never expected…” he cleared his throat.  “It took me by surprise.”

Your body felt hot with embarrassment.  “I-I’m sorry…” you apologized.

“No! That’s not….” He sighed.  “I’m terrible at this.”

You stared at him like a deer in headlights, waiting. He adjusted his hold on you until your hand was in his palm, and his thumb rubbed small circles over the back of your hand.  You watched the action intently as fireworks continued to light up around you, your breath stuck in your throat.

This wasn’t happening…

He tried again.  “I don’t want you to be sorry.  You didn’t do anything wrong.”  He paused for a moment, taking a breath, then continued. “I… I’m not the man I used to be.”

You furrowed your brow at him.  “Are you talking about your All Might form?  Because I don’t care about that.”

Toshinori released your hand and shoved his own hands deep into his pockets.  “Yes… and no.  It’s more than that.” He paused again as he struggled to put his thoughts into words.  

“I’m… weak now…” he explained.  “My quirk is gone, my career is over.  And to be honest, I don’t know how much time I have left.  There’s nothing I can offer you.”

Your heart broke at his confession.  “That’s not true.” You replied.  “Just being around you makes me happy.”

“You don’t understand.” He frowned.  You could tell by the tension in his arms that his fists were clenched in his pockets. “Just because I’m retired doesn’t mean I don’t still have enemies.  Anyone who’s close to me will always be a target. I can’t even protect myself anymore, let alone those I care about… so how could I protect you?  Why would I let you put yourself in danger for me? For someone who might not even be able to grow old with you? You deserve better than that.”

You stared wide-eyed and open mouthed as his words washed over you.  Everything fell into place then.  No wonder he had pushed you away.  And all the kindness he had shown you before… all the closeness you had thought were signs of something more… they were real.  The hurt was washed away with understanding, only to be replaced by a warmth that made you feel invincible to the cold night air.

He cared.  Deeply.

Your free hand went up to cup his cheek, and his eyes finally looked up from the floor to stare at you.  You smiled softly at him. “I don’t need protecting, Toshi.  What I need is my friend.  You think I don’t know that there’s risk?  You think I don’t know that your days on this earth are numbered? All the more reason to take advantage of the time we’ve got.”

A moment of silence cloaked both of you as he stared at you. His cheeks flushed in the light of another white firework and he looked away, ashamed, as your hand fell from his face. He walked to the edge of the rooftop and sat down on it, his legs dangling over the side.

You sat next to him, your arms touching. “There’s more, isn’t there?” you asked.  You placed a hand on his forearm.  “Tell me.”

“You make it sound so easy...” He said, as he stared at his hands.  “But I don’t know how.”

“You don’t know how to what?” You asked, confused.

Toshinori stared out across the city, a frown on his face.  “I don’t know how to let it go.  I was the Symbol of Peace for so long.  It was where I got all of my strength, all of my confidence.  Now I’m just… quirkless Toshinori Yagi. I feel like I don’t even know who I am.”

“You miss it, don’t you?” you asked.

The question was rhetorical of course, but Toshinori answered it anyway.  “Every day.”

“You’ll always be All Might. That will always be a part of you.” You replied.  “But maybe… maybe All Might had to ‘die’ so Toshinori could live.  Think of it as a second chance at life.  You get to figure out all over again what makes you happy.”

Toshinori’s arm went around your shoulder and you leaned into his warmth.  “You make me happy.” He said.

You looked at him, your words escaping you as your heart flew away with your words, but it didn’t matter. Toshinori brushed his lips against yours in a soft kiss, and you leaned into it instinctually, drinking it in until it filled your belly with heat and your chest felt like it would burst.

It was over too soon; Toshi pulled away and smiled.  “We should probably go back down there.”

Your hand went to cup his jaw before he could stand up.  “Wait,” you said with a small grin.  “One more. To new beginnings.  It’s New Year’s, after all…”

He gave a laugh and kissed you again, this time his own hand caressing your jaw.  “To new beginnings.”

…….

“I still have to train that kid, though…”

“Yeah, good luck with that…”

[impala-dreamer]

Two Weeks Notice - Day Three

~With the world practicing self-isolation, Y/N and Dean break all the rules of social distancing and common decency as they explore an empty bunker and use the time alone to their playful advantage...~

Dean x Reader

1,645 Words

Warnings: NSFW! Role Play. Bondage. Rough. "Monster Fucking". Slight Pregnancy!Kink, Consensual Non-Con. It's all fantasy! Fluff

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Dean woke with a start. He felt cold, like a spirit had moved through his body, but that was impossible- wasn’t it? He blinked, clearing the dizziness from his mind and looked around the dark room.

It was hard to see anything much, the table below him giving off such a glow that it nearly burned his eyes. The table.

He was laying flat atop the War Room table, arms and legs spread out as far as the edges of the table would allow. In a moment of panic, he tried to move, twisting his arms, then his legs, but he was strapped down, solidly locked with fabric cuffs laiden with velcro on all sides.

He swallowed hard and took a deep breath to calm himself, trying in vain to remember the last thing that had happened to him.

He’d been coming home with some groceries- ice cream and chips for Y/N, when suddenly…

Nothing. It all went black after that.

He looked down and realized the cold was not a ghost, but a lack of clothing. He was fully naked and on display for anyone to see and there was nothing he could do about it. He felt embarrassed at first, but then a twitch of excitement flooded his system; he knew it was wrong, knew he was in some sort of danger, but he couldn’t help the heat that rushed down to his cock.

A clink of metal from above drew his eyes to the iron balcony.

“Mr. Winchester, good morning.”

His eyes rose to a shadowed figure looking down upon him. Light from the table washed upwards, highlighting a beautiful face with dark lashes and deep red lips.

He sneered, tugging at his cuffs once more for good measure. “You.”

She smiled like a wolf. “Me. Nice to see that I am remembered. A hero such as yourself has too many things on his mind to be remembering lowly creatures; even ones that he tortured.”

Realizing that he had no way to defend himself other than his mouth, Dean smirked and licked his lips smugly. “Lady, I can’t remember every two-bit witch or flea-ridden wolf or whatever the hell you are that I’ve taken down. I just remember a pretty face when I see one.”

A scowl turned her lips downwards and she turned, high heeled leather boots clicking loudly on the metal as she slowly descended the stairs. She wrapped a hand around the banister and Dean’s eyes were glued to the dark red painted claws afixed to her fingertips.

“Baltimore...2003,” she told him plainly, every word corresponding with a step down, a clank of metal. “You murdered my family one night...took their heads clean off.”

Dean kept his cocky attitude and shrugged. “It happens.”

“Does it?” She rounded the bottom of the staircase and turned to him.

“Sometimes.” He sucked in a heavy breath as she came at him, a vision in a tight, shining leather dress. Her tits were pushed high and bubbling over the deep neckline, her waist cinched painfully into the perfect hourglass shape. She was stunning. She was sexy. She was…

“Wait…” Dean narrowed his eyes as her face came into full view. “Y/N.”

Emerald went dark with realization as she bared her vampiric fangs and dove down, wrapping her claws around his face to hold him still. He gasped as she bit into his throat, his pulse racing to flood her mouth with precious blood.

His eyes rolled as she kissed the spot and stood back up, her nails tracing the defined lines of his collarbone and left shoulder.

“So you do remember me.” She grinned and collected a drop of blood from the corner of her lips with her middle finger. She stared at it for a moment, letting it sparkle in the light before sucking the blood and digit into her mouth.

Panting and dizzy, Dean watched her carefully, calculating his next move. “Yeah, I remember you now. You got away, ran out the back door like a coward while I decimated your entire nest.”

Y/N sneered, baring her fangs as her hand rose to grip his throat, squeezing hard. “My family,” she corrected. “You murdered them. I barely escaped.”

“Thin line between escape and fleeing,” he choked.

Seething, Y/N bent down again and tore at his neck, tongue flickering at his pulse as she pulled on his essence.

Dean’s world began to spin and he tugged at his restraints, hopefully when he heard a bit of velcro give. “Vampires are all cowards,” he went on, using her rage to buy himself some time. “I’ve killed thousands. All the same.”

The more he mocked, the harder she sucked, moving around his throat with her deadly kisses. Her hand left his throat as his breathing quickened, fingers sliding down the deep cuts and curves of his firm torso, lower and lower until Dean hissed in protest.

“What do you want from me?”

Y/N lifted her lips from his throat and smiled down into his beautiful eyes. She wrapped a soft hand around his cock and slowly began to stroke him to life.

“I want what you took from me,” she said simply. “I want a new family.”

Dean scoffed but inside he cringed, fearful to become that thing again. He flashed back to years ago when he’d received the magical blood. He could feel it flowing through him again; the power, the connection, the lust of it all. “No.” He tried his best to push it from his mind, but her hand kept his attention elsewhere.

“Tell me, Mr. Winchester, are you familiar with the idea of a True Pure Blood?” Her fingers pulsed around his cock, thumb gently stroking the swollen head.

His head rolled along with his eyes, unable to focus on an escape any longer. “What? No.”

Y/N set her tongue against the sharpest of her fangs and smiled. “It’s the theory that two virial vampires can produce an offspring of immeasurable power, creating a new, True Pure Blood child that cannot be killed.”

“Anything...can be killed.” Dean’s voice caught in his throat as Y/N massaged his balls. “If you take its head off…”

“But what if it were true? What if it could be done?”

“It can’t.” He was panting, stomach muscles tightening, arms straining. “You can’t. It’s a myth. Just lore.”

“Funny,” she teased, lifting her tight skirt and climbing up onto the table beside him. “I thought your brother was the one with the library in his head.”

“I know stuff,” he spat, turning his face from her kiss as she leaned close.

“I bet you do.” It was sweet, almost romantic, the way her lips grazed his ear. Her breath was hot and shiver-inducing as it blew across his flesh. “You’re smart Dean,” she told him in a sultry whisper as she tossed one leg over his thick waist. He closed his eyes, lost to the feeling. “Handsome, clever…” Her pussy was hot and wet as she rubbed herself against his pelvic bone. “Brave, funny…” His cock twitched against her ass, warm and throbbing. “That’s why I chose you.”

His heart nearly stopped as he realized his error. When he looked up, she was barely an inch away, her lips puckered, her eyes hungry.

He shook his head defiantly. “No.”

Y/N smiled kindly. “You have no choice, Dean. It’s already begun.”

Before he could turn his face, Y/N stuck her tongue against her canine and bit down, drawing a river of fresh vampiric blood into her mouth. She kissed him hard, forcing his lips to part with her tongue and pushing the blood into him. He swallowed without a thought and felt the surge of power overtake him.

As they kissed, exchanging the Blood, Y/N scooted back and sank down onto his cock, filling her pussy as she filled his mouth. Her nails dug into his pecs when she pulled back, sitting up to ride him fast and hard.

Dean gasped, shaking against the hard, glowing table as the Blood worked on his system. Y/N kept him distracted while fangs ripped through his gums, his eyes changing, filling with the power. He writhed below her, limbs tensing, pulling at the straps, his chest heaving as he neared the end.

“Hush now,” she soothed, running a cold hand down his sweaty cheek. “You’re gonna be a great dad.”

He roared as he came, pain and pleasure mixing into one giant explosion that nearly knocked him out.

Y/N rode on, letting go of him for her own pleasure as she felt him spill into her throbbing cunt. She came soon after, using him like a toy, cackling into the empty War Room as she shuddered with pleasure.

“Rest now,” she said, climbing off of him and adjusting her dress. “You’ll need your strength to go again in a bit.”

Dean reeled. “Again? I…”

“Oh, you will,” she assured him, planting a sweet kiss on his forehead. “We’re gonna keep going until you’ve knocked me up for sure. The True Pure Blood must be born.”

Dean lifted his head as she backed away, face contorting with sudden worry. “Uh… ok, but you’re still on the pill though, right?”

Y/N laughed, nearly doubling over as the facade was broken. “Of course! What the fuck, dude!”

He sighed gratefully and lay back down, laughing at himself. “OK, good. I’m not- that’s not- I mean… yeah… no.”

“Agreed.”

He twisted at the cuffs again and turned back to find her walking from the room. “Hey! You gonna let me go?”

Y/N shrugged and eyed him over her shoulder. “Eh… maybe later. You look sexy like that.”

He watched in arousing horror as she actually walked away, heels clicking down the hallway into the shadows.

“Ah, nuts.”

2020 Forever Tags:

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TWN: 

@rebelemilu​ @pastathighs​ @deans-baby-momma @bobbie3939 @peachyafshawn @spencer-reids-babygirl @akrasiaev @shadowkat-83​ @deangirl7695 @foxyjwls007 @bxbyizzy @chenshemesh1 @pandaxo79 

[crystalgirl259]

The Flame and the Dragon Chapter 30

Chapter 30: The Greenhouse

Kai gazed at the card in his hands, before shifting his neutral eyes back towards his opponents. His four competitors all held their cards close to their faces, leaving only their deceiving eyes visible. Though there was no pot between them, they played with the skill and secrecy as if they were competing for a fortune. Finally, in turns starting with the one to the left of the dealer. Echo, who had never played the game until Kai started teaching him earlier that week.

They threw down their hands.

Jay slammed the cards down, revealing three jacks. Ronin smirked and revealed three queens. Tox threw down five low, mismatched cards, all in diamonds. Kai flashed a bright smirk and elegantly laid out three Kings and two fives. His grin doubled in size as his competitors growled, and he crossed his hands proudly over his chest.

"What have you got, Echo?" Kai asked, triumphantly. The boy fidgeted a bit, nervously looking at his own hand, then everyone else's.

"Well, I think I got two pairs," He said uncertainly and began placing down cards. "One pair and another pair." He told them and just like that, it was like someone flipped a switch. Tox and the three boys gasped, screamed, and dropped their jaws when Echo color-coordinated his cards. He placed the ace of spades next to the ace of clubs in one pile and the aces of hearts and diamonds in a second.

"Awe man!" Ronin threw down his cards and leaned back on his hands. "Echo always wins!"

"Are you sure you've never played poker before?" Kai asked with suspicious eyes and Echo blushed. "Beginner's luck? Or maybe I just had a good teacher?" He guessed as he flashed a guilty smile. Kai melted under the boy's eyes, flashing the same pleading look Lloyd used to get out of trouble. At first glance, it looked purely innocent. However, he had grown up with Lloyd and he knew full well Echo was far more mature than he let others believe.

"Don't try and butter me up, I'm immune to that," Kai smirked as he ruffled Echo's hair.

"Honestly though, I really think it's just luck." Echo laughed

"Let's try a different game," Ronin suggested as he gathered up the cards and started shuffling the cards, performing an impressive bridge.

"No thanks, we've been playing cards all morning." Kai sighed, leaned back against his pillows, and unfurled his crossed legs from their uncomfortable position. As much as Kai loved spending time with his friends, his confinement to this room, even for the sake of his health was driving him to madness. At least when Cole locked him in this room a few months back he could actually walk around and go out on the balcony.

"We could do something else?" Jay suggested sympathetically and Kai gave him a small smile. He knew Jay took his job as the castle entertainer seriously, but at this point, there was little he could do.

"Honestly, Jay, I just can't wait to get the hell out of this bedroom, I feel like I've been stuck in here forever," Kai complained, loudly. As if on cue, the door to Kai's room opened followed by the sound of large, leathery wings.

"Perhaps I can change that?" Cole said as he swaggered inside, slightly irritated Kai wasn't alone but ignored it when he saw the surprise on Kai's face. The young man was propped broadly against his backrest donning only a pair of red pajamas and a thick, fuzzy robe and it was mid-afternoon.

"Are you here to make sure I stay in bed like a good little boy?" Kai teased, sarcastically. Cole snorted and called his bluff.

"Actually, I was going to say that you've been given a clean bill of health and if you wanted to get dressed, but if you insist." He smirked as he turned to leave but Kai was faster and jumped off the bed and grabbed the clothes out of Cole's arms in less than a second, not even acknowledging the flowers.

"Thank you!" Kai said sweetly before disappearing into the bathroom to change.

"He's happy," Ronin laughed and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"I'll bet, he's been stuck in here for almost two weeks and Winter's almost over." Tox hummed as she slithered off the bed and opened the curtains letting sunlight spill into the room.

"Speaking of that, I want your attention," Cole announced earning all of his servant's attention. "Echo, I've already given Zane an outline, but I'm planning a ball in a few weeks, and I need someone in charge of cleaning up the ballroom and making it spectacular, you up for it?" He smirked with a wink as he put the roses in a nearby vase. Echo looked flabbergasted then ecstatic.

"I'd love to!" He exclaimed, practically bursting from his seat, and grabbed Jay and Tox's hands. "I'll start right away! I make it look prettier than it did on your coronation!" He cheered and jumped with glee, dragging his two helpless captives behind him, his cheers echoing around the hallway. Ronin turned to his master with bewildered eyes.

"Aren't you going to join them? The ball is for the whole castle and it's going to take a lot of preparations." Cole chuckled. Ronin's eyes doubled in size before a wide grin of delight split his face and he bolted off after his friends, laughing giddily.

"Where did everyone go?" A familiar brunette suddenly asked. Cole turned around at the sound of Kai's voice and lost his breath. Griffin's latest outfit for Kai consisted of a long-sleeved shirt and matching pants made of dark crimson satin. Smooth, shiny cloth tightly hugged his arms, legs, and torso but flared at his wrists and ankles. Black lace adored the collar like black wings. The red of his sleeves stuck out at his wrists giving his outfit a flame-like appearance.

"You look ravishing," Cole purred as he licked his lips making Kai blush and grunt in annoyance.

"What's with all the lace?" He asked a bit put off by the feminine decoration. Cole shrugged, though his own clothing consisted of a simple green shirt and pants that bunched at the knees where his scales formed spikes and a simple black frock coat. Cole quickly leaned over, placed an arm behind Kai's shoulders and hooked his other arm under Kai's knees, and yanked him into a bridal carry.

"Cole! What are you doing?" Kai yelped and threw his arms around Cole's neck for support.

"What?" Cole asked in mock innocence. Kai growled and fidgeted fiercely in Cole's grip.

"I hate being carried, you know that! Besides, Echo and Neuro said I was fine, so let me walk on my own!"

"Correction, they said you were allowed to leave so long as you did not over-exert yourself, and you remained indoors."

"But I can still walk!" He complained, punching Cole's chest but became annoyed when Cole didn't even flinch.

"Now, come on, I have something very special I want to share with you." He grinned. Kai said nothing, preferring to crossing his arms and pout, but ceased his fighting.

"Alright, I suppose I can forgive you then, as long as I'm out of my room for the rest of the day."

"I guarantee it," Cole smirked. He held onto Kai when they came to the hallway and leaped onto the banister. Kai clung to him when they suddenly took to the air and screeched when Cole dropped. Cole glided on his wings until he landed on the main level, falling to one knee. Cole's breath suddenly caught in his chest and a pounding pain erupted right where Kai's elbow collided with his ribs. Cole growled at him then smirked wickedly. Before Kai could counter he was suddenly flung into the air and found his chest and chin whacking against Cole's hard, scaled spine, the tail of his coat flopped over his head.

A shiver raked his spine when he felt sharp, cold claws stroke his hips where the hems of his shirt exposed his skin.

"You never learn do you, Kai?" He said and Kai could just picture the smirk on Cole's face. Immediately realizing his position, Kai turned as red as his clothing, and his defenses erupted in a fit of anger and embarrassment.

"COLE!" Kai screamed and thrashed, flailing his limbs and pounding his fists as hard as he could against Cole's back, and pushed himself up so his body was somewhat straight. "Let go! I can tolerate your bridal carry obsession but I'll be damned if I'm carried like this!" He shouted and shrieked as Cole grabbed one of his ankles to keep the thrashing limb from striking him. He couldn't contain himself and burst out laughing at Kai's temper tantrum.

Finally, Cole took pity on him and wrapped his tail around Kai's waist then released his hold.

Kai released a combination of a yelp of surprise and a screech of fear when he was suddenly flipped over and found himself on his feet, Cole's tail securely wrapped around his waist. Cole hadn't stopped laughing.

"Don't get sick again, Kai, you're too amusing," Cole said as he choked out words between laughs. Kai growled like a caged animal. His balled fists, furious eyes, and twisted jaw were marred by his strawberry red face. He wanted to speak but his words turned to embarrassing snarls.

"Now don't be like that, I'm only teasing." Cole smiled and wrapped a wing about Kai's back in apology.

"At least I'm walking now." Kai snorted as he gave a small smile and let Cole led him down a familiar corridor. For a second Kai thought Cole was taking him back to the library. They stopped by the recognizable curved doors, however, he found Cole's attention on another part of the hallway. It was adjacent to the library entrance and opposite the enormous windows lining the hallway. At first glance, it looked like the rest of the wall. Kai could see the faint outline of ivory vines and stone flowers growing from the ground into a curved arch shape.

Cole shoved the doors open with a hard shove.

Light burst from inside and Kai could see that the ceiling was curved like a half-cylinder. It was made entirely of glass, flooding the room with sunlight. He covered his eyes with his arm and let Cole guide him inside. When he looked up, he found himself in the center of another world. His breath caught in this throat when he realized the world was actually a giant greenhouse. He quickly realized that the greenhouse was more than just an inside garden.

A field of grass was contoured by a sundry of hedges and bushes.

A fountain stood in the back right of the greenhouse, always tinkling with the sound of water. The flowers and plants were forming a miniature world of their own, full of mysteries and wonder. They were a delight for butterflies. There were some bird feeders scattered around and the sounds of many different birds echoed around. The hedges and bushes had recently been trimmed. A path of stepping stones curves around each bend in the garden, beckoning people to explore the garden and showing them the best sights at the same time.

Roots slightly disrupted the pristine look as they hungrily search for even more pieces of land to expand to.

The fountain eternally beckoned all visitors, drawing all attention toward it. The flowers and plants were surely a sight to behold, and the hedges and bushes looked fantastic. The focus was just simply on the fountain.

"This is the Queen's Greenhouse, a sacred place only those allowed by the Queen or someone invited by one whom she has personally granted permission may enter; even the staff isn't allowed inside," Cole explained and that hasn't surprised Kai. He could tell the room has been well cared for. None of the plants had lost their brilliance, the flowers hadn't lost their reality, and the little birds hadn't lost their beauty.

"I'm honored that you'd share this with me," Kai spoke graciously. Though the room was only the size of a tall living room, the walls and plants made it seem much smaller and worldly bigger all at once. Its oval shape blended everything without the disruption of corners. Kai was lost in the world the queen created until he felt firm hands grip his shoulders to steady him. In the corner of the room, he found a small stool in front of a shed and a stack of gardening supplies, jars of paint, and bowls of tools.

Next to the shed was a large statue of the couple he recognized from the portrait in Cole's room, lavished in beautiful wedding garbs.

The man held his bride in his arms. The bride held a beautiful bouquet of roses. Kai flinched when he felt Cole's wing wrap around his form. Kai turned to stare at him but Cole's gaze was in an unknown universe, a worldly smile set upon his face.

"I was a child when she first brought me here, I asked her if Dad ever saw it, and she laughed and said the first time she brought him here was to show him the statue she had made, the one of their wedding day." He smiled and Kai's eyes returned to the portrait. Just imagining the sheer joy the king must have felt when his wife showed him the statue their love inspired. "Then she finally told him the real reason why she'd brought him there, she'd wanted to tell him she was pregnant."

Kai's eyes widened, but Cole just smiled in an almost childlike way.

Cole wrapped his arms around the boy's shoulder, and met Kai's eyes with his own, glowing with something that made Kai's heart skip a beat. Kai tried to find his voice but found he could barely breathe. So much had happened, so much had yet to happen but somehow it all seemed less complex when he looked into Cole's eyes. Rationality and emotion warred against one another in a way that made Kai want to scream. For a brief moment, he despaired as to how such a glorious creature could find one such as him so special.

But just as quickly, he crushed those thoughts and relaxed his mind.

The hammering of his heart suddenly sounded quiet and the sudden wash of emotion made his eyes droop and his lips part. It took all of Cole's willpower not to simply kiss his captive senselessly and pin him against the floor. He knew Kai wouldn't stop him if he did, but the last nagging sliver of control had ruthlessly crushed those desires. It was getting harder and harder to control himself around him, but Cole promised himself he would wait.

He wouldn't take that step until they were both certain, but it didn't stop him from wanting to pull the smaller man into his arms.

Kai's half-lidded eyes and the slight parting of his lips made Cole lick his fangs. Fire and desire burned in his veins, sending his every nerve ending ablaze. His claws carefully danced up Kai's clothed arms before firmly taking hold of his tanned shoulders. The young man didn't flinch. Without warning, Cole broke his control and crashed their lips together in a rich, passionate kiss. Kai immediately parted his lips and gripped the collar of Cole's coat and shirt tightly.

He pulled the Dragon Lord closer against him, deepening the desire between them.

A fire burst between them, their limbs and lips moved and explored new territories, claiming whatever they could touch. The scorching touch between them made them both burn for more and more. They mutually broke away, their eyes never leaving the others. Cole's grip on Kai's shoulders tightened and he roughly pulled the teen forward until their foreheads touched.

"You make it so difficult to keep control, my flame." Cole panted each word.

"Then why not break your control?" Kai smirked as his eyes lit up at the challenge. Uncertainty flashed in Cole's eyes.

"You have no idea what you're asking." He warned as one of his hands reached for one of the objects near the gardening supplies. He held a thick metal container clearly in line with Kai's vision. With a simple clench of his wrists, his claws sliced it to ribbons of metal, his muscles crushing them together before Cole dropped to the ground. Kai rolled his eyes.

"That isn't what I meant, and you know it."

"Perhaps not, but the fact remains, I'm still a dragon, Kai." Cole frowned. "I have teeth and claws, scales and a tail and brute strength, if I'm not careful, I could kill you with my brutality."

"No, you wouldn't," Kai said confidently.

"How do you know?" Cole challenged, unconvinced.

"Because I know you," He said firmly, his gentle hands moving to cradle the dragon's face in his hands. "I know for a fact you would never hurt me, you might roar at me, but you've had to dodge a few of my punches too so I guess that makes us even." He winked playfully. Despite himself, Cole couldn't help but laugh.

"Are you sure? I'm not blind, Kai, I see the fear in your eyes." He smiled with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, you're right, I am scared, but not of you; I have taken your true form into consideration, and you can't fault me for finding the idea of losing my virginity to a dragon a bit intimidating, that and I'm not rushing into anything," Kai sighed as he flicked Cole's nose, but his stance assured him he was serious, despite the playful banter. "I mean it, I mean, technically, we haven't even been on a proper date yet." He winked.

"Then perhaps you'd like to?" Cole smirked. Kai blinked, making Cole grin wider. "I was thinking of hosting a ball soon since that ballroom hasn't been used in years and the staff has been dying to use it, so perhaps, having an event where the whole castle may enjoy the evening is the best idea."

"Really?" Kai blinked in surprise. He didn't think Cole was the party type and his only experience was the boring affairs Morro hosted. Then again, if Echo was designing the evening and Jay and Ronin were in charge under Zane's supervision, he had no doubt it would be an enjoyable night. Cole nodded with a smile as he leaned forward, wrapping his free arm possessively around Kai's waist.

"You would do me a grand honor by being my date for the evening?"

"I'd love to!" Kai burst, enthusiastically. Cole was taken aback by the suddenness but laughed at Kai's spryness.

"Are you sure, Kai?" Cole teased, releasing him slightly. "You wouldn't mind attending a romantic affair with someone old enough to be your ancestor? I am, after all, 121 years?"

"Nope, not unless you mind going out in public with an immature teenager who's not yet twenty, would you?" Kai countered, his eyes lighting up at the game.

"Not in the slightest," Cole responded. Neither of them broke eye contact until finally they couldn't contain themselves any longer and they broke into a fit of amusement. Their pearls of laughter could be heard all the way from the ballroom...

[unlockthelore]

in other words

Part 3 of Know-It-All a.k.a the modern AU snippet series that no one asked for. To find other parts of the series, follow the know-it-all tag.

Exam time was a critical point in the lives of many students their age but also a terribly stressful one. From time to achieve goals set by parents and educators who believed they saw the “best in you” to competing with friends or the chance to avoid supplementary lessons, it was an endless haze of pouring over textbooks and mock tests. Nene often tried to escape the confines of her room and her parents’ worried glances by flitting off to the Tsuchigomori-Yugi household or the Akane household.

Aoi’s mom was always happy to take her and would be up for her habit of baking when she was trying to distract. Although, it wouldn’t be long before Aoi was there to drag her off to hit the books. Everything made sense when Aoi was explaining it but she was studying intently and Nene didn’t want to disrupt that. Tempting though it was, she didn’t want to trouble her with her nonsense and there was someone who needed her presence a little more.

Where Aoi was capable of balancing studying and breaks, one such Yugi Amane was incapable of even understanding the concept of downtime. Tsuchigomori welcomed her when he opened the door, a curl of smoke exhaled out the side window in the entry hall.

“Oh right, and I brought you…” She rifled around in her bag after toeing off her shoes, pulling out a see-through pouch filled with chocolates and patterned with spiders.

Tsuchigomori plucked it from her hand, holding it up in the air and inspecting it with a cursory hum. Clasping her hands in front of her, she smiled nervously as he peered closer. Daring to breathe once he gave a curt nod and started back inside.

“I’m hoping that there isn’t only sweets in that bag of yours,” he said offhandedly, making her tense up as she gripped the strap of her messenger bag tighter.

There were a few more treats but they weren’t for him and certainly outnumbered the amount of study materials she brought. He glanced over his shoulder, eyeing her quietly then cracking a grin, tipping his head toward the stairs.

“Amane is up there, try to get him out of his head,” he looked toward the stairs and his wry smile dipped into a frown for a split second before his hand covered his mouth from view. Another inhale of smoke from his pipe as he went toward the sitting room, tossing the bag up in the air and catching it while he walked.

“You can count on me,” Nene blurted out, her cheeks burning when he gave her a thumbs up before disappearing from sight.

Her gaze shifting to the stairs. With the low lighting, the shadows seemed thicker than ever and daunting. Her lips pressed together stubbornly and she shook her head, tightening her fist as she started to climb, one hand holding onto the banister. The number of pictures on the walls had increased since the last time she’d been there, only about a week ago. Perhaps Yako had come by with her camera and hung the developed photos up despite Tsuchigomori’s protests at redecorating his home.

A familiar argument that she often found herself caught in the middle of when questioned of what was drab and what was pragmatic. Quite frankly, she didn’t know and wasn’t sure which to agree with when trapped between Tsuchigomori’s pensive and Yako’s sharp stares.

Times like those, she deferred to Amane who was quite adept at reading the room and the pair. His smile mischievous as he thinks about whether or not to help her before dragging her along by the hand with some half-assed excuse, laughing while they escape to the safety of the rooftop and he ropes her into watching the stars.

The folding ladder is up as she passes beneath it, reaching up to try and tap the string. Her fingers brushing shy of it and she huffs, hopping from one foot to the other then straining to try and catch it.

“What’re you doing, Yashiro?”

Amane’s voice cuts through and she freezes in mid reach, knowing that she must have looked a sight and cursing quietly that she didn’t look to see if his room door was open. Sure enough, when she looked to her right, his door was open and he was looking at her from his desk.

His cheek resting against the palm of his hand, sunset-colored eyes narrowed with barely kept amusement and his lips curved into a grin. While she wanted to be a little miffed, she couldn’t help but notice the weariness beneath his eyes. The slight twitch in his hand resting by the open textbook and the slight drawl to his words.

Pulling her hand behind her back, she wrapped her fingers around her wrist and squeezed. “Nothing,” she manages to say in what she hopes is a convincing tone. The arch of his brow tells her otherwise but she dismisses it with a hum, stepping into his room and closing his door with a backward knock of her heel against it. Once it dawned on him that she was staying, he sat up straighter but sagged in his chair, casting a weary glare toward his study materials. HIs eyes warmer as they met hers.

He was pushing himself too hard again and was getting closer to his breaking point. Likely worn out from trying to be the best of the best. Her heart aching for him as he rubbed at the bridge of his nose, dragging his hand down the side of his face.

Amane might not have been considered as being one of the top of their class but he certainly was. On par with Akane, to the other boy’s dismay, and Aoi. The Three Aces of Kamome, they were called, and Nene was still unsure of how she was even got to be friends with all of them. Her own scores weren’t all that bad but she wasn’t the most studious. School simply didn’t appeal to her and thankfully, all three of them got that.

But she hated what it did to Amane. He seemed tired and so close to snapping that not even his favorite spot on the rooftop would unwind the knot he twisted himself into. Setting her bag down on his bed, she flopped back onto the star-printed quilt and smoothed her fingers over the cool fabric. It was nicely made, likely hadn’t been laid on even for a moment since he got up.

“… I brought you something,” she said, bolting upright and rifling in her bag. His eyebrows raising and the weary look shifted into one of confusion and interest as a bag of doughnut-shaped treats were lobbed at him.

While she didn’t have any express interests in doughnuts, it meant the world to see his eyes light up and his wide smile as he tugged at the string. Practically ripping the bag open to take out one of the treats and pop it in his mouth.

His hum was loud and the pleased noise made her heart flutter, her bag clutched to her chest so that she wouldn’t yell or cheer. They dissolved into talking about plans for the weekend, mishaps with Amane’s pet rabbit, Mokke and how it matched up to Black Canyon’s escape habits. Though with a sideways glance at the clock, Amane’s eyebrows furrowed and the easygoing expression he wore shifted into one of deep contemplation.

“I’m guessing you didn’t bring your books,” he points out with an amused smile, his eyes practically glowing as she sputtered.

“Some,” she countered, pouting as he laughed. “You know there’s more to studying than just hunching over a book like an old man.”

“Hey —“ Amane snapped, though it lacked its heat and he was clearly trying to fight back a smile. “Don’t talk about Tsuchigomori like that.”

They stared at one another for a moment before breaking into giggles and full-blown laughter. A sneeze heard from downstairs making them laugh even louder until tears were brimming at the corner of Nene’s eyes and Amane was clutching his stomach.

“But really, there is more to studying than being over a book…”

“Really?” Amane wiggled his pencil between his fingers then pointed it at her. “Alright, like what?”

Whether he was willingly giving her an opening or it was one of her own creation, Nene didn’t care. She patted down the pockets of here shorts, pulling out her phone and flicking through the selection of songs. Holding it further away as he got up and walked closer, trying to peer at the screen. There was now ay that he needed to know about her music choices or the playlist that she had labeled ‘Amane’. It was already bad enough that he heard the poem that she wrote about him when they were kids, this would stay a secret she took to her grave.

Finding the song, she set her phone face down on his bed and turned the volume up to where the sound filled the room. Amane stepping back and looking at her confusedly as the sound of the guitar and the faint patter of rain filled the room.

She wasn’t very sure about this plan as she stood up and held her hand out to him. But the tiredness in his features spurred her on and she wiggled her fingers, prompting him to lay his hand in her own. Lacing their fingers together, she dragged him in a bit closer, swaying lightly to the beat.

“Fly me to the moon, let me sing among the stars,” she sang, watching as his eyes widened and he drifted closer to her as if pulled in by gravity. Keeping his gaze, Nene reached for his free hand and the pencil that he’d been grasping clattered to the floor as his hand found purchase at her waist.

“Let me sing what spring is like,” she continued, taking a step back with him and guiding him across the carpet, avoiding his desk and his chair pointedly. Though Amane looked nowhere else but at her, and the attention made it difficult to look at him. “On Jupiter and Mars…”

Amane squeezed her hand and she lifted her chin, meeting his eyes, his gaze so warm and bright that she nearly had to look away. “In other words, hold my hand…” He continued, his voice deep and thrumming in time with her heartbeat as he leant closer to her, his breath warming her ear. “In other words, baby kiss me..”

Of course he knew this song. She wanted to roll her eyes and tease him but as he pulled away, she noticed the scarlet staining his cheeks and the slight squeeze to her hip. His arm winding around her waist as he shifted, guiding her around the room. The light slanting from the windows haloing him and her heart skipped a beat as he stepped closer, nearly coming chest to chest wit her.

“Fill my heart with song, let me sing forever more…” his gaze searched hers and his voice trembled, though not enough to crack. The carefully playful smile that he wore was all but gone, a shyer one in place. Her heart pounded against her chest, mesmerized eyes staring up ash I’m as her vision tunneled. “You are all I long for… all I worship… and adore.”

He leans forward and Nene’s eyes waver, and she can practically feel the blood rushing to her face. His eyes half-lidded as his forehead rests against her own and the words are on her tongue. The music continuing and the small reprieve they have makes her wonder. Can he hear her heart beating fast?

Is his own?

Was she helping him or not?

Squeezing his shoulder, she swayed with him to the beat and hesitated. Tasting the words on her lips, sweet as though they were, the bitterness of what could come if they were taken in jest or dismissed was heavy.

“In other words,” she whispered, averting her gaze, her stomach twisting and turning as her heart fluttered. The giddiness and anxiousness making her sick.

“Please be true,” he finished, and her eyes widened, flicking toward him to meet his own. Scarlet darkening his cheeks and the tips of his ears, his choppy black hair making his eyes seem brighter in comparison. Her own reflection in them along with a myriad of emotions that almost made her stumble. Her foot catching on the ball of his chair and his arm supported her back, bringing her closer before she could fall.

“In other words…”

Amane’s eyes crinkled at the corners and he tipped his head back, the warmth of his forehead against hers leaving and she missed the contact. Though the press of his lips against her forehead made up for it and her heart leapt into her throat as she squeaked.

“I love you.”

She could feel him press a smile against her skin. Her grip on his hand and shoulder loosening immediately as she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly around his middle. His body trembled as he laughed, wrapping his arms around her in return, his cheek resting against the top of her head as they swayed to the beat.

“Thanks, Yashiro…”

[narintheitarael]

Being True

Narin woke in the saddle with a start to the sound of Acinovath chuckling beside him. It was a strange feeling, not knowing where he was. Llamrei had kept true though, with no need for guidance from Vath as they rode. With a soft groan, Narin reached up, wiping the sleep from his eyes as he cleared his throat.

“How far are we?”

“Just an hour or so more. I’m afraid you missed the more scenic parts of the ride.” 

A derisive snort from Narin was the only reply Vath got. Stretching, Narin looked around him. Acinovath had been right. They were in the Plaguelands now, nearing the border of Quel’thalas. 

Nearing home.

Acinovath shifted in his saddle, finally breaking the silence between them as he was wont to do. Ever charismatic, the other Ren’dorei was like a brother to Narin, the closest thing to family he had left any longer. 

“Tell me of her. The girl you mentioned before you fell asleep.”

Narin took a soft breath. He’d been expecting this, and felt the words came easily to him.

“She is clever. Beautiful. She has a strong will, like you and I, though perhaps could use a bit of tempering where that is concerned. Something that you and I are both familiar with.” His voice came softly as he spoke, thoughts and memories passing behind his eyes, never ending, but a continuous stream of one happy thought to the next. “She will do great things, and I consider myself lucky to be at her side and to have her at mine. I have trepidation's but they are mine to resolve.” 

Acinovath smiled softly as his friend spoke, nodding along in understanding. “She sounds lovely, truly Narinthei. Have you told her of your doubts?”

Narinthei straightened in the saddle, shifting a quick glance in Vath’s direction. “Of course I have. Some of them at least.”

“And why not all of them?”

“I enjoy what we have, and I would not sully it chasing shadows.”

“And what do you have then, Narinthei? A lie, and nothing more. You speak so highly of her, yet you will not trust her with all of you. You are not protecting her, you are safeguarding yourself.” Acinovath closed his eyes with a nod, lifting a hand to cut off Narin’s retort before it could even begin. “A feeling that I understand all too well, but you must let it go. Be honest, and most of all, be faithful to who I know you to be. Who you know you to be. This though? This is not you. You have not been the same since you met Aredhele. I know she got her hooks into you, how you twisted and broke yourself to try to please her. Let those wounds heal.”

A heavy sigh was all that was given in response. The rest of the ride was in relative silence, broken here and there by occasional small talk, observations and recollections of the land they passed through, remembered in happier times.

After a short time, they’d reached the edge of what had once been Nairn’s ancestral home. From beneath his shirt, Narin pulled a small pendant. Chatter and the sounds of servants going about their tasks could be heard beyond the gates, the sounds of a House going about its day. As he lifted the pendant, the gates shifted, unlocking and slowly swinging open to allow him entrance. In that same moment, the sounds of life from within died. Once their horses were through, Narin lifted the pendant once more, causing the gates to close and secure behind them. While there was silence within, from the outside, the sounds of life and a House about its business could once again be heard.

Stabling the horses, the two Ren’dorei made their way to Narin’s fathers gardens. A few weeds had started to take root, but the two worked together and in a short time had the garden in order once more. Acinovath left Narin to finish, going to find food for the two of them, giving Narin time to his own thoughts. Tending the roses was always his favorite task when he returned home. It brought him closer to his mother and father he felt. He’d had to scale back the size of the gardens considerably, to something he could manage on his own, otherwise he’d have time for nothing else. Still, the idea that his own gardens had sprung forth from these pleased him. Not only in that he had managed to coax the life forward elsewhere, but that should something happen to the estate here, his fathers labor of love would not cease to exist. 

That idea brought forth another, as Narin looked towards the direction of the gates. So far they’d been left alone, but he did not doubt that one day someone would come, seeking something. He was no enchanter, but his father had spent a lifetime pouring his magics into the gems he cut. It had been no small feat for him to protect their home with the enchantments on the gates, but he had managed it all the same. Narin knew they would not last forever though. One day they would fail, and his private escape would be exposed to the world.

Finished with his task, he sought Acinovath out, finding him with two cups of tea, one for each, and a fresh loaf of warm bread to split. “I will never understand how this works. How long has this bread been here? I know it’s been since, at the very least, the last time we were here.”

“My father was an enchanter. Keeping food fresh is among the smallest of feats he accomplished within these walls.”

A small meal consumed, they made their way to the entrance hall. A grand staircase swept through the center, leading to the upper floors where the bedrooms and his father’s office sat. Their task called them here though. Moving to the bottom of the staircase, Narin gave Acinovath his fathers signet and they each took up a post at the ends of the banisters. Small glowing runes ran the length of the railing, wrapping about the end posts, though on each post there was one, inset into the stonework. Taking his mothers signet ring, Narin and Acinovath pressed their respective rings into the small divots. The runes running the length of the railings flared red, before settling to a soft yellow, and the very center of the staircase dropped inwards, revealing a set of steps down.

 The steps wound down, deep beneath the surface, finally opening into a small walkway set into the wall, a stone railing keeping those who entered from falling to their death to the floor deep below. As they entered, torches sprang to life, illuminating the dark vault. 

Bookcases holding the tomes his father had learned his crafts from stood in rows. Shelves holding all manner of trinkets and gems, some enchanted, some simply art, lined the walls, with little room between them for more. At the back of the vault, a small staircase down led to what had once been a small pool, now emptied to hold raw gems that his father never got to work on. Chests filled with gold and jewelry sat stacked orderly along the walls here. None of this mattered to Narin though. Not in this moment at least. He had come for a single reason.

Acinovath let out a small gasp as the lights illuminated the riches, his eyes moving from shelf to shelf as they descended into the larger of the two vaults. “This is where your wealth comes from? You never told me...”

“No. Well, some of it. Most of what I have now is the result of my work with the Caravan, though I did take some gold from the lower vault to help supply them. I did not like taking anything from here. It didn’t feel right. This is the result of my mother and father’s work. This is not mine.”

Along the wall, beneath the walkway and staircase down, sat a series of empty shelves. The only ones in the entire room, they stood out in a very obvious way. Moving to them, Narin pressed his hand down upon the fourth one up, and his foot to the one second from the floor. In unison the shelves shifted down at an angle, and the wall, shelves and all, swung inwards, revealing a hidden room.

No torches came to life as they entered. Narin knew this place though. He didn’t need a light to tell him where to go, or what he would see. A short walk through a dark hallway later, the room opened up before them. Pausing, Narin removed the matchbox Mary had given him, running his thumb over the relief of the rabbit burned into it. Striking a match, he crouched, dropping it into a small basin to the right of the archway they’d come through. The oil in the basin caught, spreading fire in a circle around the room, shining light on what treasure it held. 

These were what Narin had come for. At the center of the room, well away from the river of oil that ran the circumference of the room, sat two stands. On the first sat a set of golden armor, bearing all the trappings of a crusader. This armor had seen Narin through many of his worst fights. It had protected him through Icecrown and the Broken Shore. His hands gently brushed over the plates in an almost intimate manner, knowing each score and mark and where they’d come from. He rested his hand on the breastplate, nodding gently to himself. “Take this, Acinovath. It’s what we came for.” 

As Acinovath began to gather the armor, Narin moved to the other stand. Here was hung a bow and quiver. His mothers bow and quiver. His fingers danced gently along the graceful curve of the wood, remembering his lessons with her as a child. He remembered the day she left, carrying this weapon with her. He remembered the day it was returned to himself and his father without her. He moved his hand to the quiver, brushing his thumb over the feathered fletching she used. Swallowing hard over the lump in his throat, Narin lifted the bow and quiver from the stand, slipping the bow over his back and buckling the quiver to his waist. “Come. Let’s be done with this place.” 

Returning to the surface, Narin closed all passages behind them, making sure each was sealed before moving on. Securing the armor to Llamrei, the two mounted and made their way back out the gates of the estate. As they closed behind them, the sounds of life from within sprang forth once more, giving the illusion of a House full of life instead of shadows.

[sockablock]

Once upon a time, @inkedinserendipity tagged me in a post by @superssonica asking what would happen if Caleb got a bit too used to the Polymorph spell. 

Seren, you monster, this one goes out to you: 

- - -

Beau disappears into the clouds below the branches, trailed—then outpaced—by a second crack of thunder.

After a moment, the massive boughs sway. A few leaves tremble, then fall still.

Caduceus takes a seat in the newly-sprung grass. Yasha joins, sheepish at his side.

“My wings were not made for flying,” she mumbles. “I think I will just stay on the ground.”

Nott tugs on Caleb’s sleeve. “I kind of want to go,” she says. “Do you have a way to get us up?”

He follows her gaze. He considers the tree. He mulls over a mental list of spells, then rummages around in his pouch for silken string.

The tiny cocoon gleams silver in the light.

He gives Nott a smile.

“Ja, sure. Hop on.”

—

Caleb is flying. 

He’s never flown before, only seen and heard through Frumpkin’s eyes, back on the safety and security of the ground. But for a person, for a human, for the child of a farmer and a soldier, long ago, he’d like to think that he’s not doing a bad job.

The skies seem to tug at something deep within his soul, something feral and instinctive, something finally freed, something soaring, something lifting, something wild—alive.

In this euphoria, he tucks his wings close, driven on by a craving he’d never felt before. 

He spins into a barrel-roll, diving through the clouds, Nott on his back, screaming—maybe it’s a cheer—all he really knows is the rush of the wind, the thrill of the ether, the endless expanse.

It is beautiful, so high in the clouds.

His mind lets go. There’s no need for control.

It is empty. It is peaceful. 

Serene.

—

Later on, he turns back into the same bird to ferry Beauregard up to the nest. He lingers in the form a bit longer than needed.

It’s to save spell slots. You never know.

—

They arrive in Bazzoxan well after dusk and fall into the first and only bunks they can find. Jester and Caduceus look well enough tapped, and Fjord still occasionally plucks gravel from his chest. Yasha and Beau are as unfazed as ever, but this is as much of a habit as an act. Nott is fretting somewhere in the background, still searching desperately for her flask.

As far as evenings go, this one is fairly standard. It has been nearly a year since the Mighty Nein assembled, and all of these bustling midnight sounds are just a part of the familiar nightly song.

But when the lamplight fades, Caleb cannot sleep. He lies there, unmoving, eyes open in the dark.

He cannot stop thinking about what he’d done that morning. He cannot forget the way that it had felt.

Of course, he cannot forget anything. He’s never been able to, never known how.

But for that a minute, for that hour, for that daydream in the breeze, it had been so wonderfully easy.

—

He changes a few more times during the trip. Once towards the tomb, once within, once to dive past narrow, winding stairs. He mostly sticks to eagles—he knows them, they’re safe, and a part of him fears the uncertainty of other shapes.

He remembers the story that Jester had told about becoming a moth. She hadn’t been able to control her mind. She hadn’t been able to focus her thoughts. He remembers being a giant ape, and knowing nothing but the adrenaline and the bloody haze.

To a wizard, to a scholar, to a son of the fields who’d crawled his way up through sheer brains alone, this is something that rips at his core. It is horrifying. He must avoid it at all costs.

Still, though, he wonders, at dusk, by the campfire, as he stares alone into the flames:

What would it feel like? How far could he go?

His fingers brush a tiny cocoon. It glimmers faint and gold in the light.

—

They go home. To a home, anyways. They report to the Queen and her stance does not change, but Caleb’s convinced that there’s a new nod of care, maybe fondness, for their motley crew. They have continued to serve the Dynasty well. They have continued to help the Krynn win the war.

And gods, if the reports can be believed, the Krynn are winning this war. 

She allows him to see the Vollstrecker. 

Caleb’s soul is still rattled when finally, he leaves.

—

He goes to bed alone that night, alone in his room on the first floor of their house. 

His mind is a well of isolation and regret, of a churning desire for a wish he’ll never have, of plans and ruminations, more distant by the hour, of dreams, calculations, memories long and past, all flooding, all filling, overflowing, overmuch, much, much too much—

He drags his fingers down the sides of his head, sweat dripping from the tangle of his hair.

He needs air. Breathe. He needs air.

Below the silence of the ever-present moon, his footsteps creak against a polished floor. His palm brushes the smooth wooden banister, and then he reaches the stairs to the roof.

He opens the door.

He inhales, below the tree.

The little globes of daylight are dormant at this hour, still and cold beneath the stars.

Caleb looks up into the branches across the sky. Their tree is not nearly as large, as enormous, but still, it is familiar all the same. It makes him think...it makes him remember...

"But not a bird if it’s night,” he murmurs. “Something else, something...”

Ah, yes.

He reaches into his little leather pouch. He pulls out another silk cocoon.

He’ll have to pick up more, soon. But that is a problem for another time.

Polymorph trips off the curve of his tongue like a dream he’s dreamt a thousand times before.

And then he is nothing but a tiny, squeaking bat, a single lone heartbeat aflutter in the night.

—

The spell lasts an hour. 

—

If you cast it once.

—

That next morning, Caduceus makes breakfast. Caleb trudges down the stairs.

“Hey, what’s up with you?” Beau asks, as he pulls up a chair and collapses against the table. “Did you sleep bad? You look like shit.”

“Thank you, Beauregard,” he mutters, and pulls a mug of...of something, to his face. “Your razor-like honesty is always appreciated.”

“Alright, fuck me for asking,” she scowls, and turns around to harass Fjord instead. 

Nott, seated across the table, is feeding something to Yeza. It is amazing, the change he brings to her.

Caleb’s gaze drifts away. He focuses on a faint spiral in the wood, a little point of difference in a world of smooth grain.

After a while, he is aware of someone calling his name. He jerks up, just in time to see a fried egg slide onto his plate.

“Didn’t sleep well?” Caduceus asks kindly. “You, ah, I hope you don’t mind my saying, but you seem a bit tired, today.”

Caleb gives him a weak smile. “Ja, I stayed up last night. Working on...working on magic,” he adds.

Technically, it is not a lie.

However, Caduceus is hard to talk around. His eyes give a flicker, and though he doesn’t argue, it certainly doesn’t seem like he is fully convinced.

Still, he gives a nod. He moves on to feed the others.

Caleb feels guilty, and he isn’t sure why.

Then again, he muses, stabbing at his plate, there’s a lot for him to be guilty for.

He sinks just a bit lower in his chair.

— 

They decide, unanimously, that despite the uncertainty, they desperately need a break before heading to the north. Another week wouldn’t be too bad, adds Jester, so one more week of downtime is had. Almost immediately afterwards, Beau grabs Fjord to train in the cellar, saying something about—I can’t let Dairon down. Nott and Yeza disappear to the lab, to steal every moment they can before they part ways. Jester and Caduceus opt for some therapeutic shopping, leaving Caleb by himself, alone with his own devices.

Three months ago, that wouldn’t have been so bad.

He drifts around for a bit, idly doing tasks, re-sorting the library and polishing the windows, making his bed and then stopping to make the others’. He even takes a whole hour to scrub their tub, draining out the water and rolling up his sleeves, getting down on both knees and working the basin with a towel.

It is noon by the time he is finished. There are still seven more hours until sundown. 

There are still one hundred and fifty-one until their week-long vacation ends.

Caleb sits down at the edge of the pool. His fingers run aimless across the soapy rag as he tries desperately to think of more to do.

He even briefly debates seeing Essek. 

After a little while, he stands up. 

It is pointless. Nothing is as good.

—

“—and we’ve got a deal on clay, too. Great for Earthquakes, Feeble Mind, Shaping Stone, if that’s something you’re interested in. Only 10 silver for a—no?”

“No, no,” Caleb says quickly, carefully pouring the silk threads into his pouch. “Thank you, but I am well-stocked in that...regard. Er...thank you, madam.”

“Well, if you change your mind,” says the goblin, waving her hand and watching him go. “Come back soon, you know where to find me!”

Caleb does. 

And he is sure that he will.

—

He deliberates only a few minutes more as he stands atop the stone wall along their tower. It is dark in Rhosana, that is the problem, otherwise a bird would be the obvious choice. Then he thinks harder, and laughs at his own foolishness, and smashes the silver cocoon in his hands.

His wings spread wide, don’t make a sound.

His eyes, large, yellow, seeing all, drink in the energy and movement of a city that he—for now—does not entirely understand.

—

He comes home that night feeling mildly rumpled, somewhat wind-swept, all his spells spent. Still he agrees, as he collapses at the dinner table, that was a long afternoon well-spent. Caduceus is cooking again, of course he is, though Nott is assisting and Jester offers advice. 

The food is amazing, once it is complete. Though he eats much, much much more than he usually would, a fact that a number of his friends pick up on.

“Did you and Essek bone or something?” Beau asks. “Dude, chill out, there’s plenty more where that came from.”

Jester snickers as Fjord thumps him on the back, giving him a sympathetic hand.

“I did not,” Caleb says, affronted, and coughs one more time just for good measure. “I can assure you, we did nothing of the sort.”

“So what did you do?” Caduceus asks. His eyes, usually so dazed and relaxed, have focused onto Caleb with an uncomfortable accuracy. Damn the priest, Caleb thinks. What is this? A confession?

“We just reviewed dunamantic basics,” he murmurs, well aware of how it sounds to Jester. “I do not have any spell slots left, but I can certainly show you at a later time.”

“Firing blanks now?” Beau asks with false sympathy. “He must have really worked you hard.”

Caleb groans, and deliberately turns so that he cannot see her. Even Nott is grinning at him widely, seemingly pleased at the idea of...well, of whatever they think that he is doing. 

He wonders, idly, as the conversation shifts to other inane topics, if this is because she is gently, in her own way, trying to let him go. 

After all, she has Yeza now. She has a son she needs to go home to. She has a mission she needs to accomplish.

Caleb is supposed to have one too. But at some point during the months that have passed, he is trying less and less to think about it.

He has a feeling he knows why, but that does not make it any better.

—

That evening, his mind churns again. But he is exhausted, and depleted of his spells. He has to force himself to rest, even a short nap will do. He lies there in bed, undreaming, for hours, until he is finally dormant long enough to tap into his old training and conjure up a burst of magic.

It is just enough for one final spell. Time to make it count.

He closes his eyes.

He curls up against the mattress, and imagines what it would like to be Frumpkin.

—

There is no sunlight in this city, which means no morning gleam through the windows, but the distant hum of activity in the house, the far-off clamor of voices and life, signals to Caleb that the day has now begun.

And Frumpkin is there. Asleep against the covers, but stirs when Caleb starts to shift.

Very quickly, he is up and locking eyes with his wizard, draping across his lap and purring up a storm.

The sleep-muddled curve of Caleb’s mouth forms a smile. He runs his fingers across Frumpkin’s scalp, gently strokes his thumb against his cat’s fur.

“Dir auch einen guten morgen,” he murmurs. “I thought you were out enjoying yourself in the city.”

Frumpkin mrows in response and rolls over onto his back.

There is a moment, and then suddenly, Caleb frowns.

“Was? What are you talking about? Do not be silly, everything is fine.”

He absently scritches the fur on Frumpkin’s chest. But now his rhythm is a little unsteady.

“I am not sure what you mean,” he adds, after another pause for silence. 

Frumpkin purrs. He opens one eye and peers at Caleb.

“I am not,” Caleb says. 

Frumpkin turns over. Caleb scowls.

“I do not see why this is any of your business. And even if I was doing for that reason, it is not a harmful habit. I am just taking advantage of the skills I have learned. There is nothing wrong with that.”

Frumpkin stares until Caleb can no longer stand it. Brow furrowed, he plucks his cat from his lap and drops him onto the bed.

He says:

“I need some time alone. Do not bother me.”

—

Frumpkin is a familiar, bound by an eldritch pact. He cannot allow his master to come to harm, and he cannot disobey Caleb’s commands.

He cannot disobey Caleb’s commands. He cannot allow his master to come to harm.

Frumpkin is a familiar, and they had made a pact.

Then again, Frumpkin is also fey. 

And fey do not take “no” for an answer.

—

“Gods above,” Beau grumbles, leaping to the side, “hey, jeez, calm down, already. What’s gotten into you?”

Frumpkin sits back on his haunches and yowls purposely at her knees. His tail lashes through the air impatiently.

Beau scratches the top of her head.

“Are you trying to tell me something? What’s wrong?”

She can swear that the feline is rolling his eyes. She crouches down and frowns at him.

“Is...oh, shit, is it Caleb? Where is he? Is he alright?”

—

The spell that Jester and Caduceus had woven into the ribbons of daylight on their tree illuminates the top of the tower for a few hours every day. 

It is the closest thing that Rhosana has to sun, to a good and honest warmth. Caleb had decided, just minutes ago, to utilize this to its fullest potential.

He is content, here. He is basking, and at peace.

And then, just at the edge of his hearing, there is a faint disturbance.

“—what, that? Are you sure?”

The voice is familiar. Right now, Caleb can’t seem to remember whose it is, but he is vaguely irritated. It had been so quiet before, it had been so calm—

“You have to be really sure. I’m not gonna kill a random lizard.”

His little reptilian heartbeat leaps. He can sense a shadow looming over him now, all his instincts scream to run—

“Alright, alright, calm down, I’m doin’ it—”

—his muscles bunch, he gets ready to jump—

And a hand descends from the heavens above, the edge colliding with Caleb’s spine, there’s one second of awful, horrible pain, of a bright-yellow smudge staining the rocks, and then he is growing, aching, stretching, tumbling onto two legs, not four, glaring up in a light too bright and snarling at the unmoving face of Beau.

Now the physical is secondary. His mind is back, and it is angry.

“Arschgesicht! I had forty-two minutes on that spell!”

Beau doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t even respond. Instead, in true Cobalt Soul fashion, she stares him down with such a gaze that for but a second, Caleb almost feels sheepish.

Then the furry bubbles right back to the surface.

“Why did you do that?” he demands. “Beauregard, why would you interrupt me?”

“Uh, what exactly did I interrupt?” Her eyebrows are raised, her chin turned up. “Caleb, what the fuck were you doing?”

“I was—I—magic!” he shouts. He gestures wildly to the smooth stones. “I was just practicing my spells! You know you are not supposed to interfere!”

He feels something dull at the back of his skull. It is like a pressure, though rapidly fading, and as he whirls around towards the source, he just sees the tip of a ginger tail vanishing down the tower stairs.

He almost shouts. He does not, but almost. He begins to storm off towards the door, his foot falls once, hard, into the grass, but then comes a grip like iron against his wrist.

Beauregard always says that her hands are her weapons. Even Caleb, in this state, remembers this well.

“Good gods,” she says, eyebrows rising further. “Dude, seriously, what’s up with you? Why’re you pissed? You can cast it again, can’t you?”

“Yes, Beauregard,” he manages, “yes, of course, of course I can. But that is not the point, here. The point is that Frumpkin disobeyed what I said, and, and coerced you to come here. I know you are innocent here, but he—”

“Wow.”

Caleb pauses.

“‘Wow’ what?”

Beau lets go of his wrist. She takes a step back, crosses her arms, looks him over with the sudden terrible stare of understanding. “Damn, dude, I came up here because I thought you were in trouble. That something was attacking you, or something’. But I guess trouble comes in different forms, huh?”

Caleb frowns. “What do you mean?”

She points at the rocks, where he had been resting. “Sometimes it’s a lizard. I’m guessing sometimes it’s a bird? A giant one, with eagle-wings?”

His eyes narrow. “I do not know what you are talking about.”

“Yeah, well, I barely do either, but Frumpkin seems to think there’s something wrong. With you, I mean. And I guess with your spells.”

“There is nothing wrong with me. And there is no reason for you to think that.”

She leans in.

“You and your cat are telepathically linked.”

“And? What of it?”

“If there was something goin’ on in your head, don’t you think he would have noticed?”

“He is overreacting,” Caleb huffs, “there is nothing—”

“Come on, man, this is Frumpkin. He cares about you, he’s just worried. And honestly, based on the way you’re acting, I’m starting to worry too.”

Caleb stops.

He goes still.

His gaze falls to the ground.

“Ja, well,” he murmurs. “Perhaps you should not bother.”

To his amazement, Beau rolls her eyes.

“Aw, come on,” she says, stepping forward. “Don’t play that face with me, alright?” She prods him in the chest. “Alright, spill. What’s up? Are you still pissed about that Scourger that got caught?”

Caleb sighs. “No, no, that is not it. It is…” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “It is just...other things. You know.”

“I don’t.”

He inhales. Then he sags, finally defeated.

“Ja. Ja, I suppose that is true.”

He watches her cross her arms.

“I won’t know unless you tell me,” she says. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

He feels the last of the rage drain away. His stares intently at the dirt.

“It is...I believe it is everything. Everything that has been happening. Everything that has happened.”

He falls quiet.

“I think it may be too much.”

Beau gives him a very level stare.

Eventually, she gestures to the stones. Warm under the glow of light made by a friend.

“Alright,” she says. “Fine. Let’s talk.”

They both sit. It is quiet, for a moment. And then, Caleb sighs one last time, and speaks:

“We are in a very strange place. And we are trying to...we are trying to do some very big things. Things that...as every day goes by, seem more and more impossible to accomplish.”

Beau leans against the bark of the tree.

“Yeah, I…feel you there.”

Caleb raises an eyebrow.

“What did your mentor say, by the way? How much does she know about...about the things we have done?”

Beau meets his gaze, eyes blank and cool.

“Oh, no. We’re doing your problems now. We can talk about all that later.”

Despite everything, this makes Caleb laugh. It’s nothing more than a faint chuckle, but Beau smiles back, gives him a nod.

“C’mon,” she says. “Go on. Keep going.”

Caleb tilts his head up to the boughs of the gnarled tree.

“I am...well, I am not sure. Not really. I do not think I have been, for a long time. And…seeing that V—that Scourger, it made me realize that…that for all of my memory, all my knowledge, for all the things I had swimming in my head, I realize now that I did not really have to think. I just...really, I just had to believe. I had to obey what my Lehrer—teacher, said. Really, I was not expected to think. And everything, for all its complications, everything was so, so simple.”

He glances down at the ground. Tufts of grass lay silent below his feet.

“Today, my friend, today they are not. We are...we are trying to do very big things. And we are trying to help many people. And I think that is good. Really, I do. And I think it has given me...in some ways, a...a goal. Something that seems a bit more feasible, anyway.”

“More realistic then bending reality.”

He gives a faint smile.

“Ja, you could put it that way. But, ah...but as you can likely see, that goal has gotten slightly more...complicated. And trying to stay on the right path...even finding that path itself, is not a straightforward process. It requires thought. It requires so much thought. And now, after everything, after all we have seen and tried to do, I believe...I am sure...that I am just tired of thinking.”

Beau nods sagely as his voice trails away.

“Okay,” she shrugs. “Then you should just stop.”

Caleb blinks.

“Jus—what?”

Beau sighs. “I…I dunno, man. I think, honestly, I think that’s all you need. To stop thinking about all that shit. Not—” she adds hastily, “—not in the way that you’re doing with the lizards. Not like that. But just...I dunno. When you’re being you.”

“But when I am me, I cannot do that,” Caleb says. “I have a perfect memory, Beauregard. There is nothing I can forget.”

“Oh, wow, look at you. Wow. I’m so impressed.”

“Beauregard—”

She grins and raises her hands. “Sorry, sorry, I couldn’t resist. But, uh...yeah. I guess that makes sense. That...that sounds pretty rough, dude. If I had a record of my greatest failures playing all the time in my head, I think I’d go pretty crazy too.”

Caleb raises an eyebrow.

“Now I am confused,” he says. “Is this conversation supposed to help me?”

Beau throws her arms into the air.

“Hell, I dunno,” she says. “I’m not the feelings expert, or whatever. I’ve just seen people do this kind of shit before. You’re supposed to talk things out, right? That’s supposed to...I dunno, fix things, or something?”

“Is it?” Caleb asks, incredulous. “Who told you that?”

She scratches the back of her neck. “Uh...I dunno. Probably Caduceus.”

“That seems like something that he would say.”

They fall silent for a few moments after that, drinking in the sunlight and the distant city sounds.

Then Beau says:

“I wasn’t lying, though. I don’t really know what it’s like to feel like you. I can’t imagine having a brain like yours. But...but I do kind of know what you’re going through.” He glances over, and she nods. “Yeah. I do. I think...I think it’s a pretty common thing. Maybe not in such perfect detail, but...it can be hard to stop thinking about all the times you’ve fucked up. And it can be even harder when you know that, uh...when it feels like the fate of a hundred thousand souls rests on every stupid decision that you make.”

“We have made many stupid decisions, eh?”

“God, you’re telling me?” Beau groans. The back of her head rests against the tree. “I’m amazed Dairon didn’t kill me. And honestly, I’m amazed all of us are still alive. But...I mean...I guess that’s just it, right? We’re still alive. We’re still here. And, most important, we’re still truckin’.”

She tilts one eye towards Caleb.

“We’re still here, and we’re still trying to figure it out. As shitty as it is, sometimes. As much as...as much as it hurts. And as tired as we get. We haven’t given up, and we’re still alive. Seriously, think about it in math. The odds are definitely that we should’ve died by now.”

He can’t help but snort. “Ja, absolut.”

“But we aren’t,” Beau shrugs. “And as shitty as that is, as much as it hurts, as fuckin’ terrible as it can sometimes be...that means we still have a chance. To do...whatever it is that we’re supposed to do. Or not supposed to do. And I always get pissed when people tell that I’m lucky for it, or whatever, but...I dunno. Maybe we are. And maybe it’s rotten luck for the world that it’s us, but...here we are. All of us, here we are. And...and we’ve got each other. And I won’t pretend to know what I’m doing, and I definitely don’t know...not really, how to help, but, uh. I’m here for you. Okay? Whatever...whatever you need. As long as it’s not bullshit—" she raises an eyebrow, Caleb chuckles. 

“—but yeah. Seriously. I’m here. And I’ll always listen, whenever I can.”

She leans back against the bark. She closes her eyes and gives a nod.

“I mean that,” she says. “I really do.”

Caleb feels the sunlight glow against his skin, feels the warmth of its whisper brushing across his face. And there’s another light too, maybe brighter, maybe warmer, coming from either side of his form—it’s the gentle sigh of a shoulder pressed against his own, and the curling, purring softness, of a cat beneath his hands.

He glances down at Frumpkin. Then he turns to look at Beau.

Here we are. All of us, here we are.

Very, very slowly, he closes his eyes.

And it isn’t the cure. Not by a long shot.

But certainly, it’s a start.

[sidon-reader-support]

Sidon with an S/O who has also lost a close family member, and one night they hold each other and cry together over the loss of their loved ones and it's comforting for both of them and a bonding experience because they show their more vulnerable sides to each other.

(I hope nobody minds me combining asks, I’d like to give you each your own individual story but when they line up so nicely like this how can I refuse?~ Sorry it’s not quite a young hylian, hope you like it anyways! Enjoy!~)

Mutual Mourning (In The Morning)

Word Count: 1241Warnings: Angst, Death mention, Loss of a loved one

It was too late to go to sleep, but too early for anyone to be awake. Yet, here you were wandering the palace halls pondering all of life’s greatest mysteries. Why couldn’t you sleep? What would you have for breakfast tomorrow morning? The one currently on your mind however was the most befuddling. Why had you woken up to an empty bed?

You knew you had gone to sleep enveloped in the arms of your lover, listening to the gentle thump of the heart in his chest. When you awoke seeking comfort after a rather unpleasant dream, you only found empty sheets. They still felt warm but the heat was starting to fade, so you figure he hasn’t been gone for too long. But where could he have disappeared to so late at night?

Rising from the bed, you wipe the sleep from your eyes and wander over to the balcony. Opening the glass pane doors, you meet the humid breeze of the domain. From here you can see the entire kingdom, the metal architecture gleaming from the luminous stones skillfully carved into the immaculate framework. Scanning the shimmering domain below, you focus on the curved pathways and staircases hoping for a glimpse of familiar scarlet scales.

They were mostly barren as everyone in their right mind had already turned in for the night. The only poor souls still awake, were the guards always on alert for the sake of their kingdom, yourself, and your beloved who you can just barely see in the center of town. There was only one reason he would be there so late.

You spare a moment to grab a jacket and shoes before rushing out the bedroom, making your way down the halls of the palace and winding steps to get to the town square. When you reach the banister that overlooks the center you lean over to get a closer view of Sidon, still standing before the statue of his late sister. His head is held high to meet eyes with the lifeless work of art, and though his shoulders are up he’s not standing as tall and proud as usual. Something is wrong.

Slowly you make your way down the final staircase, hand gliding along the smooth railing until it reaches the glowing podium at the bottom. It falls your fingers clenching as you approach Sidon, stopping short of the pool surrounding the statue that just barely laps at the edges of his feet. He remains cemented to his spot, the night completely silent aside from the sound of ever-flowing water that cascades down the borders of the domain.

“Sidon.” You muse, carefully slipping out of your shoes so you can sink your bare foot into the shallow pool. “What’re you doing out here?”

A heavy sigh as his shoulders go slack. “I… was having difficulty sleeping. So I decided to go on a walk and think over some things.”

“I couldn’t sleep either.” Sidon straightens up a little at this news, looking back at you with concern. It’s almost amusing how quickly he is able to discard his own feelings in favor of comforting someone else. You carefully close the distance between you two and he tenderly cups your cheek with his hand. “I had a bad dream, and then I woke up to an empty bed.”

“My apologies, love, I didn’t mean to worry you. I also had a rather troubling dream.” He confesses cold air kissing your cheek when he pulls his hand back, returning to his stiff posture gazing upwards. The practically luminous face dutifully overlooking the heart of the domain staring right back at the prince. When you look at his eyes you notice the gold of his eyes has lost its luster, dulled by the shadows of the past bearing down on him through the lifeless eyes of the princess.

Your heart sinks and you take hold of his hand giving it a gentle squeeze that he returns after a moment, sending a small smile your way before looking up again.

“Sometimes I have nightmares where I can hear her crying out from the belly of Vah Ruta. I never see her demise, how she fell to the blight, but that doesn’t stop the despair from crafting the most wicked torment. Not only do I have to live with losing my only sister, I have to spend my nights in agony knowing there was nothing I could do.” Sidon laments, his hand shaking as his grip tightens.

You lean against his arm, the images of your dream popping back into your head. “I know what you mean. I lost someone too, someone really close to me. I thought they’d always be beside me, watching over me as I grew up, teaching me how to live, and making me laugh. Then suddenly they were gone.” A soft laughs falls from your lips as tears brim in your eyes. “And everytime you have a good dream about them you almost feel worse, because it’s a reminder of the light in your life that you’ll never get back again.”

Sidon tears his hand away in such an abrupt manner that you step back. He hides his face in the palms of his hands, his body shaking as he falls to his knees with a splash. You crouch down as well, completely disregarding the water that seeps into the fabric of your pants because your boyfriend is much more important. Tentatively, you place a hand on his back while the other gently massages his arm. You can’t seem to find the words, so you simply let the silence fill in the space once again.”

“I miss her.” Sidon finally manages, his voice sounding so strained that your heart almost instantly shatters into little pieces. “Every day… Every night… I miss her. I miss her so much it hurts.”

Your hand carefully moves to his wrist, pushing down his hands with little resistance from the prince. They slowly break away, revealing the puffy, red eyes as tears pour down his cheeks in an endless cascade of liquid sorrow. This is the first time you’ve ever seen him cry like this, it’s almost beautiful how torn apart he looks.

“That’s okay Sidon, you’re allowed to miss her. You’re allowed to be upset that someone you love was taken from you.”  You say gently guiding his head down to rest on your shoulder, blinking through your own tears to console the man who always puts others before himself. “You’re allowed to be sad, you’re allowed to mourn even if it was decades ago. The wound is still there, and sometimes it never fully heals. That’s okay.”

Sidon quietly sobs into your shoulder, his hands clasping your clothing and pressing you closer to him as the currents of the world continue to flow around us. This downpour that fell upon us was merely a small ripple in the stream of life just as the droplets of despair that leak from Sidon’s eyes fall into the tide pool. When we leave these waters will return to calm once again, we will return to our bedroom and fall asleep together wrapped in each other’s arms trying to forget the tragedies in our lives.

I will kiss away Sidon’s tears, he will wipe away mine with the pad of his thumb, and we will ride out this ripple together.

“I love you Sidon.”

“I love you, my treasure.”

[wolfofansbach]

A Nightmare at Thornhill

I think this was actually the first Riverdale fanfic idea I ever had, way back when I did my first watching of season 1, and more specifically the episode Cheryl has that nightmare about Jason coming out of his coffin.

I never wrote it out because I found out someone had beat me to the crossover concept (it’s been like two years but I think I read the fic and I think it was pretty good). But hey, there are only so many original ideas in the world. Maybe I’ll expand on it. The fun Freddy Krueger (and by extension, me) would have with this fucked up town. 

Cheryl traipsed down Thornhill’s grand staircase, as she’d done a thousand times before. Her bare feet slapped against the old, worn oak. The windows rattled and creaked under a tempestuous midnight rain. Lightning flashed from the east and to the west.

She ran a shaking hand along the banister. The pristine white train of her dress fanned out behind her, like a bridal procession. A cold breeze seeded with dew ripped through the old house. The candelabras in her left hand flickered and guttered and threatened to die. Her whole body shuddered.

The staircase seemed to lengthen. Creeping further down into the inscrutable murk.

Cheryl felt strange and airy, as if she was slinking through a dream. Like she might dissolve into mist, drift away with the wind. There was a deep apprehension in her stomach. Her feet cleared the last two steps of the eternal staircase.

Then she knew why—the coffin sat there, in a pool of moonlight. Silver and shimmering black. Cheryl’s breath hitched in her throat. It was strange and alien and impossible. But it belonged there nevertheless.

The woodwork was so pretty. The black, shining pine. So was the silver banding around the box. It was a beautiful coffin.

Cheryl felt the terror squeeze her throat. She stepped forward. The candelabras tumbled from her hand. It made no sound, even as the heavy iron struck the floor. It melted into nothing, and the lights went out.

She ran her hand over the wood of the coffin. Took a deep breath. She did not know why she had to do this, but she did.

She threw it open—and her brother was not there.

Jason wasn’t there.

The coffin was empty. The fear in Cheryl’s breast flexed its claws and stood and howled. She was possessed by it. She couldn’t move her tongue or her lips. The lid of the coffin was torn, as if by ragged nails. Streaked red.

The silhouette of tumbling raindrops passed over her face, as shafts of moonlight spilled in through the great window.

The wood creaked behind her. She spun around.

And he was there—Jason.

Not as she remembered him. Not healthy and smiling and whole. His eyes were cloudy. Milky. He smelled like water. Like weeds. Like scales and mud and stone. Like a river. Water, murky and dark, dribbled out over his colorless lips. He smiled.

Cheryl wavered on her feet, on the verge of swooning.

“Cheryl…” it was his voice, but then it wasn’t. “Don’t you miss me?” It became gravelly and black, harsh. Like rusting pipes. Simmering coal.

He reached out a pale, rotting hand. It touched her cheek. Only then it wasn’t a hand. It was a glove. It was a claw. Four gleaming knives sprouted from each fingertip. She felt the steel press into her tender cheek. Sharp bite of pain. The claws dragged down, to the curve of her jaw. Warm blood dribbled out over her chin, down her lip.

She screamed so loud it overcame the blast of the thunder and the pounding storm.

And then she shot upright in bed. Awake. Her heart was throwing itself against the walls of her chest, like a wild beast aching to be free. Her eyes were wide and wild. Her red hair was a mess, stuck to her forehead with sweat. Clinging to the shoulder of her night shirt.

She gasped.

Only a dream.

Only a dream.

A horrible, horrible dream.

Cheryl adjusted to the darkness of her bedroom. The familiar trappings—the mirror, her bureau, the canopy of her bed.

Only a dream.

And then she felt it. The sharp, cruel pain in her cheek. The warmth dripping down her neck. The terror returned. She lifted a hand, horrified of what she would find. And there she felt it—along her cheek. Four shallow slashes. Shallow but bloody. Right from the lobe of her ear to her lip. Four slashes.

Where the claw had dug into her flesh.

It wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare.

Or even more than that?

Cheryl did not sleep again that night. Except—just before the sun rose, about an hour before dawn. She slipped back into her dreams again. For only a moment.

In that moment, she was wandering the grounds of Thornhill. But they were empty. Grown over. Weeds ate at the old walls and wound through shattered windows. Fog dripped along the ground.

She called out for someone. Jason. Mother. Father. Anyone.

Her only answer was a song.

It came from nowhere in particular. It was just in the mist and in the weeds. Children’s voices. Distant, right against her ear. Like a nursery rhyme or a schoolyard chant.

One, two, Freddy’s coming for you…

[resetmypatientviolence]

Silk & Whiskey (Drake x MC) [NSFW]

Welcome to Choices Thirsty Thursday, y’all! And to TRR Appreciation week!

Pairing: Drake x Jaela

Rating: NSFW

Word Count: 4,103 (oops, sorry there)

Warnings: Language, pure smut, Jealous/Dominant! Drake

Summary: Jaela never forgot the words, “You don’t want to know what’ll happen the next time you make me jealous...” on that UN rooftop. So, she finds the answer she was always looking for.

Suggested Song Accompaniment: Unfold-- Alina Baraz & Galimatias 

Notes: This is a follow up to my other fic, “Make Your Mine”, set a few years later in happy Drake x Jaela world. Supposed To Be, Part 15, will drop Saturday morning. MASTERLIST

Tagging: @theroyalweisme, @drakelover78, @meladoridarcy, @decisso, @boneandfur

Drake looked her up and down as she took his empty glass, fingers touching, in the dizzying colorful and crowded bar. Jaela smirked, a pleasant chill sending quiet shockwaves through her body. How dark his eyes were—even in the wild light—and how they settled on her curves in the tight, short dress, flicking his tongue across his lips. Oh, she knew he wanted to take her home the moment they entered the too crowded bar, a new spot, but she wanted to get out of the house with just him.

No meetings, no balls, to trips to the palace—just her, a tight dress that accentuated every curve, and Drake looking like he’d devour her then and there. She’d let him, too, but a drunken kid bumped into their booth and Drake removed his fingers that were about to slip between her folds, and he seemed nervous since then to touch her in such a pulsing, vibrant place. He hated new—crowded—places, always… but they needed to do something different after nearly three years of marriage.

She leaned against the bar counter, squeezing between the people, lights from the dance floor flashing across the faces and her glittering body. Jaela turned to see Drake staring at her ass. She leaned back and his hand curled into a fist on the table, locking eyes with her. Ooh, he’d down the drink and they’d be out of her in a few minutes—and he could continue what he, indeed, he was the instigator this time—started. Now, where was that bartender?

 She frowned, leaning forward on the bar, the bartenders on either end. One making making something frilly and then handed it to somebody in the throng of people. She glanced down at her chest, as stupid as it was, usually that worked. But… her eyes slid to the people around her. They were all quite young. Not like she was that much older… but the last thing on their mind was the fact that they were startling close to pushing thirty.

“You look like you could use something to drink,” said a voice, a new body squeezing next to her. Jaela, curious, turned her head—and almost gasped. It was Drake—well, Drake ten or twelve or more years ago. A young kid with a slightly crooked nose, strong jaw, long brown hair, and a familiar smirk. The illusion was broken, however, when he held up a…

Jaela stifled a giggle, but took the purple drink garnished with an umbrella. “I could, yes,” she replied, glancing towards Drake, staring with a dropped jaw. Well, the real Drake Walker would never hand her… this. Jaela took a tiny sip, the sugar thick and heavy, but she swallowed, bearing a smile. What the fuck is this shit? How long could she pretend to drink this without him noticing the never changing liquid?

The kid leaned on the bar counter, smirking, amber liquid in his one hand. “I prefer whiskey myself, but this drink just seems like…” He extended a hand, leaning forward, eyes flicking away from hers. Jaela took it, shaking it, pretending to sip more of the purple concoction.

“Riley,” she said, eyebrow raised. “Pleasure to meet you…?”

“Daniel,” he said, eyes back on hers, but Jaela glanced at Drake again. Gone is the jaw drop and now… oh, fuck.  Heat pooled in her abdomen faster than ever before, his stare cutting straight her—only looking like that one other time before. The UN Ball. Jealousy. At the thought of that, she accidentally took a real sip and coughed, Daniel’s eyebrows high in surprise.

“Err, too strong, Riley?”

“No, no, nothing.” Just thinking of my husband pushing apart my thighs on a UN rooftop, you know, things like normal twenty-something things to think about. Also about you don’t notice my ring. “This is excellent—you really picked up on me by just a look, huh?”

“Mm… believe me, Riley, it wasn’t just one look.” Jaela arched an eyebrow, amused at the kid’s confidence. He inched closer to her and ran a hand through his hair. Oh, little did he know of who Jaela was thinking of, nearly cracking—already—under his pressure. Drake moved, now leaning on an empty high table littered with glasses, eyes flashing. “Abdi,” he mouthed, but she turned her attention back to this Drake look-alike.

 Maybe if Drake didn’t stop when that kid bumped against their table. Or… she bit her lip. Maybe if he wasn’t so goddamn hot that night, all those years ago, taking control like that… leaving her begging for more and always wondering about what would happen next if she made him jealous. His words tempting as all hell: You don’t want to know what’ll happen the next time you make me jealous…

Screw the bar to spice things up. Let’s see what happens when I play.

“So you’ve been watching me tonight?”

Daniel smirked, sipping his whiskey. “Now Riley, I’m a gentlemen. Just long enough to see you at this bar and know you’re sweet… but with a bit of a bite.” His fingertips grazed her hip. Jaela bit her lip again, Drake’s gaze burning a hole in her neck. She was on fire, but not from the young, sorely unobservant Drake in front of her, leaning closer. Jaela licked her lips, feeling a new body behind her—a familiar one. Yet, he didn’t touch. “You’re fucking sexy as hell, Riley.”

“You’re bold for being so young, you know,” Jaela moved forward too, but Drake followed, hand on the small of her back, small shocks sporadically pulsing through her as he gripped her ass, young Drake not noticing how she squirmed and was so fucking wet from Drake, even without skin-to-skin contact.

“Heh,” he chuckled—then touched her arm. Drake sharply inhaled, but Jaela ignored it, holding back the pant that nearly came out as a second hand tugged on her hair, gently, but enough to remind her who she belonged to. And who would be the one fucking her tonight. “I always know when I’m the luckiest man in the bar, Riley.”

“No, you don’t,” growled Drake, breath hot on her ear. In one motion, Drake set her drink on the bar and pulled her hips to his. Jaela set her hands over his, rings glinting. Daniel frowned.

“And who do you think you are? Let a lady drink her—”

Drake snorted. “If you knew anything about J—Riley—then you’d know that’s the last thing she’d ever drink.” Drake turns her around, hold tight, mouth next to her ear, hand on the back of her neck, guiding her towards the door. “You’re in trouble,” he whispered, teeth grazing the outer edge of her ear—right where he knew she’d shudder.

They exited the loud bar, a couple of odd looks being sent their way. Jaela mewled when he tugged on her hair once they stopped at a corner, away from the kids walking and stumbling around. “Heh,” he breathed, kissing her neck, left hand holding her in place. “Get a Dryve. Now,” he commanded, turning her around.

Her breath caught as she looked at him, pupils fully dilated. Yes, one of those nights. It had been a while since this side of him came out. “Okay,” she whispered, pulling out her phone and tapping for the Dryve, Drake never breaking gaze from her face, eyes clouded with lust. Once she put away the phone, Dryve two minutes away, Drake pulled her hips to his, leg separating hers, hand sliding down her body, touching her over her dress, applying infuriating pressure with ease. Jaela gasped, gripping his shirt.

“Abdi… what kind of game was that in there? Were you… trying to make me jealous?” he gulped, a smirk flickering on his lips. She knew he wanted that, feeling his heart beat so fast.

“And… if I was?”

Drake smirked fully, touching his nose to hers, lips brushing against hers. “Then… Riley… are you prepared to see what happens when you do?”

It took but a second, “Yes,” she breathed and Drake’s fingers traced the swell of her breasts, eyes glinting.

“You wanted some trouble tonight, didn’t you Abdi?” He turns her around again, the car pulled up. “You should be more careful of what you ask for.”

They don’t bother to turn on the lights, Drake’s lips on hers the moment they enter their home, purse clattering to the hardwood as Drake picks her up and kicks the door shut, tongues circling, lips hard and needy against each other, her hands in his hair. When she tugs—something he fucking loves—Drake stops and sets her down at the base of the stairway leading to their room. Jaela groans, but he silences her with a finger to her lips.

“Drake—”

“My rules tonight, Walker,” he growled, hands on her back, slowly pulling down the zipper to her dress, the metal loud in the foyer. Jaela’s teeth gnashed together, keeping her focus on his dark, deliciously wicked expression as he took control. As much as she liked taking control of his pleasure— her already soaked thong proved that there was just something about when he took complete control, her more than willing to indulge in his whims.

“Which would be?”

Drake chuckled when she bit his fingertip, gently, holding it between her teeth. The strapless dress pooled at her feet like liquid. Drake’s breath caught at her near naked body, dark gaze losing focus as he hungrily looks her up and down, unashamed. Then, he leaned forward, other hand ghosting over her tits, the lightest of touches sending pure fucking shivers down her spine. “Upstairs. Our room. Lay on the bed and close your eyes. Don’t touch yourself.”

She turned, hand on the banister, slowly walking up, lips upturned. “How did you know I’d even think about doing that while I wait for you?”

“Because,” he whispered and the wood beneath her bare feet is suddenly flush as her. “I’m the only one going to make you come tonight…” At the top she turns, Drake halfway up, grinning. “If you earn it.”

“Fuck.” His look, jeans straining against his dick, are enough to make her want to have him take her right then and there on the staircase—and not like they haven’t—but she knew it would be worth the wait. So, Jaela obeyed, wiggling her hips before she entered the bedroom, only the moonlight spilling through the windows, fireplace cold in the master bedroom.

Before he can enter the bedroom, Jaela laid on the bed, splaying her hair, hands running along her thighs, trying to keep her breathing even—and to calm down as he shuffled around their bedroom, her eyes shut. She wanted tonight to last. As he moved around, the distinct sound of the fireplace being brought to life, he touched her legs and ran finger over her thong and said, “Wet for me or for that kid?” and before she can answer, Of course you, the sound of the drawer silenced her.  

The drawer. Not just any.

The.

 “Drake,” she breaths, peeking under her lids, chest heaving—already. “Drake… what are you—”

And he leaned over her, the black fabric stretched tight between his fists. “I thought I said for you to close your eyes, hmm?” And he pressed the blindfold—oh they had fun times with that—over her eyes. Jaela sighed contently as he carefully tied it around her head, letting his hands dance over her body when he pulled away, tugging on the sides of her thong—but not pulling them all the way down—just an inch or two, fingers like fire wherever they touched, even if for the briefest of seconds.

Then he was away from her again, ruffling through the drawer until he clicked his tongue and returned, Jaela running a finger along the string of the thong, resting low on her hips. She slides it close to her core, already pulsing from the mere act of Drake putting on the blindfold, but it’s ripped away, Drake pinning her wrists down above her head, legs on either side of her.

She moaned low in her throat and he tightened his grip. They never needed too many words to communicate how they felt and what they wanted. And lord, she wanted him. Now. But yet… it wasn’t coming, not yet, at least. “I also thought I said you couldn’t touch yourself, that I’m the only one to make you come,” he whispered in her ear, his tongue running across the lobe. “You like testing me, don’t you, Walker?”

“Mmm. Alw—oh!” She gasped, legs wrapping around his waist—pleased to find only skin—for he began to tie her wrists with a silk tie to the headboard, taking care to secure the knot, thumbs running along her wrists, under the ties, feeling for the space there.

“Is this good?” And his voice is soft, tender again, losing the gruff, commanding tone previously held—but she knew it’d be gone and soon. He always paused to make sure she was safe and more than willing. The answer is always a yes, but his careful gesture just makes her more turned on in the midst of power and control, completely under his spell.

“Y-yes,” she replied, tugging on the silk tie. Secure, but loose enough for her to free herself, if she wanted… like she’d do that. Drake kissed her lips again, one rough hand tweaking her nipple and the other on her cheek, pulling her head closer as he deepened the kiss, hand roving down to her other breast, length pressed against her thigh.

She raised her hips—and then he pulled away from her, lips and teeth fluttering along her body, grazing lower and lower… before settling over her heat. Unlike the last time, his touches are gentle, but enough to keep her wanting for more, small, breathy sounds escaping her lips. But just like the last time his jealously boiled over, he parted her thighs, nails pressing into her dark skin, already slick with sweat from the warm air, fireplace crackling, and his touches.

The bed creaked as he lowered himself, his breath hot over her. “Mm… so are you going to answer my question, Riley?” he growls, lips along where her thigh meets her pelvis, tongue flicking to the thong’s edge, slipping under—but only a second. One damn second.

“Mm…” Jaela raised her hips, core touching his nose, but he set hand firmly on her abdomen, pushing her hips to the bed. Drake doesn’t chuckle, as she expected, but instead loops a finger under the string of the thong and slowly—oh so slowly—drags it down her legs and pulls it off.

Not seeing his actions—only feeling, no anticipation of his next move—made everything come more alive and hot under his spell. Every touch, no matter how light, bursting with energy and pure thrill; his breath, hot and warm, tingling everywhere it fell; the anticipation of him… more than she could handle, wanting this moment to last forever and to be over all at once. She could barely take it, and she tugged on the restraints, whimpering.

“That’s won’t get you what you want… at all. If you deserve, this—” He plunged a finger into her dripping pussy—but only for a moment, the sounds of him licking his finger happening just as quick as his finger was in her, curling in just the right way. “Mm. It’d be a shame if I didn’t get to taste that pussy fully, Walker.  

“Please…”

With lips ghosting over her slit, tongue merely brushing over her clit, one hand still holding her hips down and the other looped around her thigh, holding tight, Jaela swore she could feel him smirk. The kisses so opposite from his roughness at the UN Ball—but so fucking needed, the teasing, only making her wetter than before. “Hmm… begging, yet you’re the one who hasn’t told me if you’re wet for me or for that kid yet. Maybe you don’t want—”

“You!” she yelped, Drake’s hand sliding down from her pelvis to her heat, finger slowly drawing circles on her clit, Jaela envisioning the smile on his face, watching her write under his touch. “Always you, Drake.”

“Good girl,” he whispered, biting her inner thigh. “I think you deserve something for that.”

“Mmhm.” Two fingers, grazing at her entrance, slowly entering her. Oh fuck.

“But nothing too big; you still haven’t earned that yet. I want to see you shudder,” Lips, brushing her clit, fingers all the way in and curling. “…and say my name until I’ve ruined all other men for you, that I’m the only one—”

“You already have,” she groaned, hands tightening around the tie, hips rising as he pumped, smirk on his lips again.

“Oh, but you’re the one who decided to play. Fucking show me, Abdi.” And he pressed his mouth to her fully, tongue swirling around her sensitive nub as he pumped, his breathing becoming uneven the more she squirmed under his fire touch, tongue lapping at her juices, low groans from him vibrating against her, the room only filled with sounds from the crackling fire and her, so fucking wet from him.

As her pleasure built, Jaela grew louder, hips bucking under his touch, saying his name, knowing exactly what his head looked between her thighs, or how he’d look at her, eyes nearly black as he watched her moan, holding the ties so tight. A third finger entered, stretching her to a deliciously full point, nearly topping her over the edge, his motions steady as he pumped, grunting himself.

“I’m so fucking close.” And she was, the sensation building higher and higher, to the point of no return.

“Where do you want to come?” he whispered, lips only parting from her for a second before diving back in, fingers moving faster as she adjusted.

“On your f—fuck!” She shuddered—only once—because Drake pulled away, hands on her thighs. Jaela’s hip lowered and she threw her head back, growling low, as her body pulsed for want, ached for need. For him to finish. “Drake! I was—”

“You never did get me that drink, you know. I think I’m thirsty.”

And he’s off the bed.

Jaela’s jaw dropped—no he didn’t—and yet, he walked out the door, hand tapping the doorframe before he disappeared down the stairs, leaving her alone in the room to the fire and her panting.

In the darkness from the blindfold—Drake making sure she couldn’t peek out of it—Jaela waited. First with frustration—god she needed to come—but then… shivers ran up and down her and she moved her legs in anticipation, toes curling. There was something hot about not knowing when he’d come back, leaving her to only think about how he felt moments… then minutes... before, making her shudder under his touch, his control, his… everything. His.

Minutes—maybe as much as ten—later, the clinking of ice alerted her to his presence, Jaela greeting him with a quiet noise from the back of her throat, urging him closer. He chuckled, getting on the bed. It dipped next to her, and she knew he was laying on his side, appraising her. “Mm… good girl,” he whispered. “You didn’t try to get out?”

“I want to see what you’ll do to me,” she whispered, turning her head to his direction.

Drake sipped the whiskey, one hand trailing down over her stomach, fingers cold and wet from the ice. She shuddered, legs falling open as he ran a finger over her slit, hissing. “You’re wetter than before. You like being completely under my control, huh?”

“Jealous Drake is sexy as fuck,” she admitted, Drake sipping more of his whiskey.

 “You’ve always been a tease, Abdi.” He adjusts, removing a hand from her. “But damn if I don’t love beating you at your own game.”

She gasped when suddenly, a cool liquid trickled on her—first pooling at her bellybutton, then working its way up to her chest. The whiskey. Goddamn he was pouring the whiskey, in a careful line, on her. She remained still, even though she wanted to throw her head back and break free, the liquid too much to bear—because she knew exactly what came next. God. “Please fuck me, Drake,” she whimpered, the sound of him setting down the glass like a firework. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “You know I’m yours. You made me yours that night.”

“I know,” he said, arms on either side of her. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll never get jealous again, or draw out fucking you like you want.”

She wanted to reply, but his tongue on her skin, lapping on the whiskey in a line up to her chest—so fucking slowly—sent a fire throughout her, words and thoughts crumbling to his tongue, whiskey cold but mouth hot, Drake groaning when he reached between her breast, licking the last of the drink up. He hovered, then, took a nipple in his mouth, teeth grazing before he sucked, hand kneading the other, the tip of his dick brushing against her entrance.

She strained against the ties, wanting to touch him—to see him—to give him as much pleasure as he gave her in return. This was it, her limit of how much she could take, feeling the familiar pressure of orgasm building, again. And she wanted him. All of him. “I want you baby, please. I can’t wait anymore,” she whined and Drake stopped, lips over hers.

“Have you learned your lesson?”

“Yes,” she whispered and he slipped the blindfold off her head, his face flush, lips wet with salvia and whiskey and probably still her. They locked eyes, both lost to the moment of each other. Drake licked his lips, thumb running over her cheek. “I won’t make you jealous again.”

He raised an eyebrow—and like a flash—positioned himself at her entrance, holding up her hips, hair falling over his eyes. “Au contraire,” he said, smirking, and her eyes widened. “I think it’s quite fun.” And he entered her, not holding back his pace, never breaking eye contact with her as he thrust, their hips meeting each other at the same time, both groaning as he filled her to the brim. “Fuck, you feel good Jaela,” he uttered, head thrown back.

Jaela tugged on the ties wanting, no needing, to touch him. Enough was enough. “Let me touch you,” she panted, legs on his shoulders. There’s no resistance to her request, only a brief pause for him to untie her—and then—they meet, her arms around him as he pulled her close, thrusting faster, legs wrapped around him, their lips crashing together, Drake tasting like the whiskey he licked from her willing body.

They come together in moans and groans and soft declarations of love—and it doesn’t take long for Jaela to come—pushed so close to the edge by him—holding him tighter, nails leaving pink marks all across his back, orgasm coursing pleasure through out her. And Drake followed shortly after, thrusting hard and sloppy until he did, spilling his seed in her, collapsing on the bed next to her, lips against her cheek.

“Fuck, Abdi,” Drake said, breaking the quiet of the room, both coming down from their highs. A smile touches her lips when they open their eyes, looking into them, pupils slowly returning to normal. “That was… yeah.” She nods, hand resting over her flat stomach, Drake’s hand met hers there. A spark of recognition flashes through his expression, and he kisses her cheek, lifting his head, looking at their joined hands. “You were bored with… with what we’re trying to do, huh?”

She sighed and buried her head into his shoulder. “No, no… not exactly. Just…”

 “Kinda sucks having to fuck you at just the right time and not bending you over my desk whenever I want, right?”

“Yeah,” she chuckled, licking the salt off his skin. “And... we’re doing everything right but we still aren’t—”

He locked fingers with her and kissed her forehead. “It’ll happen, Jaela. Just be patient. Maybe it’s tonight.”

Jaela couldn’t help but chuckle, pulling her head out to look at him, a smile on his face. “Better practice keeping a straight face when our future kid asks where they came from then.”

Disclaimer: All characters and rights belong to Pixelberry Studios.

[sabraeal]

The Grave Soul Keeps Its Own Secrets

A sequel to Virtue Has a Veil, and Vice a Mask, written for @youseimanami’s birthday request for three confessions...just two months late...

Zen had never thought he would see his brother married.

It’s not that he hadn’t understood -- a king’s most sacred duty, after ruling wisely, is to secure succession; to provide the royal line with strong, clever sons who would rule and have their own, and so on and so forth until the very walls of Wistal came down around them. It just had seemed as Zen hurtled towards adulthood, ushered into the glittering world of courts and intrigue that his brother had shielded him from in his childhood, that Izana was quite content to leave him his heir. He didn’t have time to worry about women and weddings when Clarines needed a firm hand to guide it, and, of the two of them, Zen was the one eager to love and be loved in return.

He’s not sure when things changed.

A king was to have an advantageous marriage and suitable heirs. It just hadn’t occurred to Zen that it meant a wife, that it meant sons, until he watches his brother sweep his bride across the floor, the closest thing to a smile curving his mouth.

It never occurred to him that one day, Izana might have family that was not just him.

And he’ll be expected to do this next.

It’s not a new thought; Zen has always known he’d be expected to marry, to have sons too, raised to be loyal to their cousins, but he’d never thought about -- about this. About weddings, about wives. It had seemed beyond him; a decision that, despite his complaints, would be made behind closed doors. He might talk about love, about mutual attraction made over a ballroom or a garden, not a table, but he knew what form it would take -- they might allow him the luxury of believing in a chance meeting with a suitable girl behind the roses in the west courtyard, but it would all be engineered, right down to her demure smile and the way her dress was in his favorite shade of blue.

Until he met a girl in a garden with hair the color of apples. Then it had all seemed so real, so within his grasp he might as well reach out and pluck his future from the branch.

-- the ribbon slides against his fingers, parting so that porcelain falls away to reveal bronze, to reveal blue, blue, blue –

Funny, he had always thought it would be his brother who yanked it out of his reach.

The ballroom is stifling; the dancing is at its height, and up on the dais, seated beside his brother, there is no way for a breeze to reach him, to brush him with its cooling touch. The formal regalia is better than his costume a few nights ago, but only just; his hair still is damp by his scalp, not helped by his brother’s insistence that he dance with every appropriate girl without a partner.

He hadn’t fooled himself into thinking he’d get a dance with Shirayuki, but –

“You’re avoiding her.”

He startles, nearly pitching off the seat they’ve set for him beside the throne. He looks up, up, into the all-too satisfied eyes of his brother.

His gaze cuts to where the Yuris delegation lingers, the ambassador bowed close to listen to hear Kihal over the music, mouths spread wide in smiles --

“Who?”

It’s the exact wrong thing to say; Izana’s gaze traces his, and his mouth curls at a corner. “My, my. I meant to say Lady Shirayuki, but I see I may have been hasty.” His eyebrows raise, intrigued. “Countess Yuris, mm?”

“I --” He could choke on his own tongue, the way Izana corners him. “I’m not avoiding Shirayuki.”

That, at least, is true; he’d considered, that first night, that he should go to her, that he should admit his sin in full but –

But he hadn’t meant to. The kiss had been for her, and even though it had been embarrassing to know he wasn’t as…familiar with her as he’d thought, it wasn’t damning. It was a mistake, easily made. That it had been an enjoyable one was...beside the point.

But Kihal…

“You’ll have to dance with her, of course,” Izana tells him, so simply. “I don’t know what the nature of your disagreement is --” his tone says quite clearly, but I can guess – “but Councilor Toghrul is known as one of your staunchest allies. One of the crown’s staunchest allies. It will be noted if there’s…strife between you.”

“It’s not like I’m the limiting factor, here,” Zen snaps, “she would have to --”

“Zen.”

He almost startles right off his chair.

“Kihal!” he gasps, righting himself. Izana’s face is turned away, but oh, he knows what those shaking shoulders mean. “I didn’t think – you were just talking with Rangi --”

“He told me you were taking too long.” There’s nothing different about the way she speaks to him; she still sounds half-annoyed, impatient that he never moves quite as quickly as she likes. “And that I should show the initiative of my mothers and come get you myself.”

“Oh, of course,” he mutters, “it’s a proud Yuris tradition to make me look like an idiot, after all.”

“As far as I can tell, it’s a proud Wisteria tradition that you’re an idiot.” She holds out a hand. “Well? Are you going to come or not?”

He darts a glance at his brother, waiting for him to – to say it would be an embarrassment, that to preserve the sanctity of the crown she must wait for him to come to her –

Izana smiles mildly back. “Are you going to leave a lady waiting, brother?”

“N-no!” He bolts up from his chair, hard enough that it wobbles threateningly behind him. “Of course not. It would be an honor to dance with you, Councilor Toghrul.”

“I think,” his brother hums, mouth twitching as Kihal’s strong fingers thread tightly through his, “that tonight she is Countess Yuris.”

“Oh--”

“Never mind him,” she deadpans, leading him away, “for you, I’m Kihal. Every night.”

That shouldn’t make his skin feel so warm, shouldn’t make his cheeks flush so guiltily. He’s too aware of her as they take the floor, of the way her gown clings to her shape, of the way it sways just above the floor, offering glimpses of slipper and ankle beneath. He hopes for a polka, for a mazurka, anything that would not require him --

The reeds warble the start of a steady measure, slow and strong. A Waltz. Damn.

Kihal turns to him, eyebrows raised.

“Do I have to lead too?” she asks as he stands dumbly on the floor.

“N-no! Of course not!” He reaches out, pulls her close, and – and this is not anything they haven’t done before, it’s no different than any other party, any other ball where they’re forced to dance to show solidarity between the crown and the islands.

Save for the one thing, of course.

“I should…” He coughs, clearing his throat. “I should apologize.”

Her eyes fix on his, and oh, how he remembers her being so close differently now, that blue –

“Why is that?” She lifts a narrow brow, entirely incredulous. “Have you done something annoying that I don’t remember?”

“No!” He nearly scowls -- she always thinks he’s done something, even when he’s innocent -- but then he remembers: he has. “For – for the other night. At the masquerade.”

Both eyebrows raise now. “Whatever for?”

“For – for causing you embarrassment.” He can feel the heat in his cheeks, flirting along the edge of his collar; he hopes she assumes it’s from exertion. “In the – the alcove.”

Her back tenses under his hand. “Why would you apologize for that?”

“I just –“ His mouth works, but words refuse to come, not unless he forces them out. “I didn’t mean to. And we were – we were both clearly expecting – someone else.”

“Someone…else.” The waltz is a close dance, but Kihal is suddenly a thousand miles away. “Right. Of course.”

“I won’t pry,” he tries with a laugh, swallowing down his nausea. This shouldn’t be so hard. “But do let him know I’m sorry for – ah, intercepting you.”

“Right.” The song ends, and she steps away sharply, as if his touch burns. “But for you, who…?”

“Oh.” He’s never told her, all these years. Not in words. “Shirayuki. You remember her, right?”

“Shirayuki.” Her smile twists, bittersweet. “Of course it was. You…she was the one that asked you to test the birds. To save Yuris. So of course…it was like that all along.”

“Kihal?” He doesn’t understand. “Is something --?”

“No, just.” She waves a hand to ward him off, twists away. “I just…put things together. It’s…fine. Enjoy the wedding.”

“The lord’s kiss!” a man calls out as the woman beside him laughs, both of them deep in their cups. “Give her the lord’s kiss and that’ll keep her in bed.”

A lady, bedecked in jewels worth more than a year’s rent in the city, offers, “A stallion like that is meant to be ridden often and well!”

Laughter presses around Obi, thick as a curtain, and he swerves from the Clarines’ glittering press. Their voices are raised, hurling suggestions at their king and consort as they climb the stairs, heading toward their marriage chamber. He’d known the tradition -- he’d seen more than a few of his men married at Lyrias -- but...

There’s not much he considers vulgar, but of course Clarines finds a way.

The balconies may not staunch the noise, but the stone certainly muffles it. With a sigh, he perches on the banister, one leg bent on the rail and the other hanging off, his back to the wall.

It’s a nice night; warm in his uniform but not stifling, the stars out in full force. His Majesty can’t control things like that, but Obi’s found the universe seems more apt to obey him anyway. Maybe one day he can get him to teach him the trick --

“Here you are.”

Obi doesn’t need to look; he’d know that voice anywhere.

But he does anyway; he’s always been a glutton for punishment.

Miss looks beautiful tonight. Her gown shimmers in the moonlight, green washed as pale as her skin with only silver to limn it. Mistress Haki -- Her Majesty picked it herself, it’s rumored -- a gift for Miss’s years of service to Wilant.

A woman should look touchable, she’d said with her secretive smile, fingers running down the beading, and unapproachable. Miss had laughed, had reminded her that she might like to dance at least once --

Mistress Haki’s sharp eyes had cut to him before darting away. The right man knows when he’s invited.

And the wrong one knows when he is not. Obi holds the sigh in his chest. She looks every inch a lady that has no business idling on a balcony with him. Miss meant for princes, for kings, not for mongrels who have sniffed their way up to respectability.

“Here I am,” he agrees. Her mouth curls at one edge as she rests her hands on the banister, right next to his boot. A twitch and she’d touch him. An inch and he’d –

He’d better forget what it was like to kiss her. He can’t afford to keep being...distracted. Not with her so close

“I thought you’d be inside,” she says, chin tilted up to the stars, “ the first in line to tell the King of Clarines how to impress his wife.”

“Maybe if it were, M—” Master hangs on his lips, but he closes teeth around it, swallows down such a dangerous thought— “more private. It’s one thing to talk about how to please when you’re soaking in a bath, but with strangers? Your family?”

There’s things he can do, and talking about how to swing a cock in front of the Queen Dowager is not one of them.

“I thought I’d see you out here,” he admits. “I thought you might be afraid of setting the curtains off with that blush of yours.”

Miss laughs, bright and lovely. He needs to stop thinking about how he’d like to swallow that down, how he’d drink it in a single drought like silvered bourbon down his throat.

“Oh, you should see how it is in Tanbarun,” she scoffs. “The whole wedding helps the couple undress too!”

He grimaces. “Remind me to never get married there.”

“I don’t think it would be that bad,” Miss says thoughtfully, turning toward him so her chin nearly brushes his knee, so that her arm winds over the shin of his bent leg. “It’d be funny, if you weren’t…”

She flushes, obvious in the moonlight. “Well, if it wasn’t the first time someone had seen you. In just your small clothes.”

Obi can’t help himself; he sees pale skin and bright eyes, hands skimming up over his bare stomach, pink lips parted –

He shuts his eyes, leaning back against the stone. He really needs to just – just stop. She kissed him once, and hasn’t – hasn’t done anything --

“I always thought that would be how it would happen for me anyway,” she admits haltingly, peeping at his from the corner of her eyes. “Anyone that I’d be with wouldn’t care whether…whether things were done before or after.”

There’s not enough air on this balcony. He crooks a grin at her. “Not what I would have expected from you, Miss.”

She bridles, just slightly. “I’m curious. Aren’t you and Garrack always complaining about that?”

He opens his eyes to half-mast, watching her squirm under the directness of his stare. “Even about that?”

Her shoulders round, her cheeks flush. “M-maybe.”

“Mm.” That -- that makes sense. Curiosity. That’s why she kissed him. Not -- not because --

He shakes himself. It’s a royal wedding with all the trappings, just like the one she might have in a not-too-distant future. She’s used to Master, used to sweet kissing with the barest heat. It’s only natural that she’d wonder if there was more, if there was something that bridged hidden moments behind the roses with what happens between a husband and wife in the privacy of their own bedroom.

And who would know better than him?

“I can tell.” There’s something in him that twists, some perverse urge that makes him say, “After all, you kissed me.”

Her mouth pulls flat. “That’s not why.”

He lifts a brow. “Isn’t it?”

“No!” Her chest is flushed now, the tips of her ears too. “I only – it was --”

“It’s all right, Miss,” he assures her, forcing the grin on his face, the playfulness as he presses a hand to his chest. “I know my effect on women. Must be hard to be around me, when I light girls up like a --”

“Stop. Please. It’s not --” her breath rasps out of her chest, painful – “I kissed you because I wanted to.”

It’s so silent, without his heart beating. “Well, Miss, I’m sure everything seems like a good idea in the moment --”

“No.” She’s firm now, close. Her hand brushes over his on the rail. “I’ve…wanted to kiss you for a while.”

“O-oh.”

“It’s just easier to be brave behind a mask.” Her gaze slips off him, and his heart picks up it steady beat. He can see the shape of things now; the curiosity, followed by regret, followed by guilt.

“I guess you’ve sated your curiosity now,” he remarks, light. “Since you haven’t tried again.”

“I was…I was confused.”

He nods, letting his gaze slip over the balcony, trying to settle somewhere safer for his heart. “I’m sure.”

“Obi --”

“I’m glad that we’re past it now,” he says, each word stabbing into him. “Now you know exactly who you want to --”

Her hands cradle his face, dragging it back to her, and –

And it’s very hard to think about anything with her mouth on him like this.

She pulls back, just the barest moment to rub her nose against his, to take a steeling breath as her forehead rests against his --

And then she is on him again, tongue dragging over his bottom lip, pleading with him to open to her. He twists, burying his hands in the silk of her hair, lips parting so that she can lick at the roof of his mouth, so she can take him apart slowly with the slow slide of their mouths and tongues.

“No,” she breathes when he pulls back, needing air. “I…I wasn’t sure you’d want to kiss me again. After all, you light girls up like a --”

He groans against her lips. “Don’t.”

Her mouth curls against his, and he expects her to tease, to make him regret every word he’s ever said about other girls --

“I wanted to kiss you again, so badly. I just didn’t know if you’d even thought of me like that before, or if...” She hesitates, pulling back, staring at where her hands clutch his coat. “Of if you were just...seizing a moment.”

His heart beats frantically against her knuckles, but he doesn’t try to slow it, not this time.

“Maybe” he sighs, guiding her back to him. “Maybe you haven’t been the only one wondering about that.”

It’s the silence that unsettles her.

Even in the halls, the din of the party had chased their heels, had echoed off the walls around them. Haki had laughed, almost tripping over the hem of her skirts, and His Majesty had righted her, had given her a smile so soft she thought back to a sea of masks, to the quiet darkness they had one stood.

Now the doors are closed, only their own breaths to keep them company, and –

And Haki doesn’t know what to do, not with a man standing in his small clothes, looking the way His –

Her husband. The way her husband does.

He’s all lean muscle, the candlelight clinging closer to him than a lover, casting the planes of him in scintillating chiaroscuro. His skin is gilded in this light, makes him look darker than the linen at his waist. She knows that to be a lie, that even with her Lyrias-pale skin, he is paler still; if he would come close enough, she would be able to trace the lacework of his veins, be able to see the blue blood of House Wisteria run just beneath the surface.

The mattress dips beside her, and she realizes – he is coming to bed. Her husband is coming to lay with her.

Her heart races, as if it’s trying to escape her ribs, as if it’s trying to fly from the room. There’s a part of her that wants to follow it, that wants to find a quiet place to hide until this is all over, until she doesn’t have to pretend to be this woman anymore. Until she isn’t expected to be a wife.

But there is another part whose fingers itch, whose mouth tingles in anticipation, and –

And she stays.

Her husband does not join her beneath the covers, but he does slip closer to her, her side aligning along his front.

“Perhaps you have not been informed, Your Majesty,” she drawls, breathless, “but it isn’t possible to take my maidenhead through a sheet.”

A grin curls at the edges of his mouth, soft and sly, and she thinks of other nights, of getting pulled into alcoves and hot mouths, of wandering hands and fervent promises.

“I think you might be surprised, my lady,” he murmurs, his long fingers trailing down her cheek, brushing through the loose stands of her hair. “And we have all night. You’re trembling like a leaf.”

She flushes. She’d hoped he wouldn’t notice. “From anticipation, Your Majesty.”

“Ah,” he laughs, breath huffing across her lips. “No. Not yet.”

This is not like their other kisses, hot and heavy and breathless, stolen moments in the shadows; no, this is slow, exploratory, in the full light of his bedchamber. He is taking his time, savoring her, and it leaves her squirming beside him, unable to quell the ache between her thighs. She braces a hand against his chest and nearly moans at the strength she finds there, at the power coiled in his body, at how much she wants him to use that on her.

He pulls away, every line of his face smug, self-satisfied. She nearly snips at him for it, except that she feels his hardness knock against her hip, and –

And she is not the only one affected. She is not the only one who is looking forward to him joining her beneath these sheets.

“I am glad to see you’re making the best of a choice you didn’t get to make, husband,” she tells him, trying to slow her heart as he bends back in, placing a delicate kiss behind her ear.

His body jerks, stilling next to her. She’s afraid she’s said something wrong, but then he pulls back, staring down at her with a fire in his eyes that leaves her breathless.

“Is that what you think?” he murmurs, cupping her cheek, thumb brushing her bottom lip. “That I am making the best of a girl chosen for me?”

“Kings do not marry for love.” Her father had reminded her of that often enough. “They don’t have the luxury.”

His mouth crooks, amused. “My mother and father had a marriage like that. Arranged. The best for Clarines.”

“For Wilant, too.”

“Yes.” He’s distracted now, fires banked. “And it did not end well. For anyone.”

His gaze slides back to her, tracing the curve of her lips, the column of her throat, and she rubs her legs together to try to quell the ache. He needs to touch her, more than just a hand along her cheek.

He agrees, hand trailing down, alongside her breast and over her hip, until it hooks under the apex of her thigh, turning her toward him.

“I chose you,” he admits, breathless against her lips.

“Liar,” she moans when he moves his mouth to her neck, leaving hot kisses along her pulse. “The council --”

“Gave me a list.” His teeth nip mercilessly at her skin. “And you were on it.”

“We met once,” she reminds him. “And it was a disaster.”

“I wanted you.” He stills against her, just for a moment; his body writhes, but less in ecstasy and more in -- embarrassment. “More, after all that.”

Haki twists, just enough to see where he’s buried himself in her shoulder. “I did all but scold you.”

“You told a boy pretending to be a man that he was a child still,” he says, so softly, almost reverent. “And you looked glorious.”

There is not enough air in the room, not when he sounds like that. “And then I ended up on a list?”

“You did.” He abandons her neck, licking and nipping down over her clavicle, bringing his mouth to the slope of her breast -- “And I am not so selfless a man to not take what I want when it’s offered.”

His lips close hotly around her breast, sucking through the sheet --

“Then get under these covers and take it,” she moans, kicking them off. “I’m burning.”

He grins against her skin. “As my lady wishes.”

The straggling revelers stumble towards the halls, dresses falling off shoulders and cravats given up as lost. The servants are quick to fill the empty ballroom, sweeping in to move chairs and abandoned glasses from the edges of the room. The night is nearly over, and Zen lets himself take a full breath. Finally, time to himself.

It’s Shirayuki who fills his mind now, red playing behind his eyelids as he lets his heart calm. He hasn’t seen her all night –

He hasn’t seen her all week, really. He’d been at the gate when she arrived – the only nice part of being on greeter duty for their esteemed guests – but the parties and plans for the wedding had occupied him otherwise. He’d tried to invite her to dinner, or lunch, until he’d have to cancel each time, drafted into yet another politically important meal over five courses.

She’s been on his mind all week, but he’d hardly noticed that he hasn’t seen her. And that’s…that’s…

It’s fine. Good even. Four years of separation had done them good, had made the urgency of their love into something gentler, more abiding. He doesn’t need to see her to love her.

…But he should, at some point, now that she’s here. He wants to see her, after all, and he’d like to know she wants to see him –

A loud sniff echoes in the arcade. It’s unmissable in the silence of the night, and Zen’s steps halt, trying to locate the noise.

It’s a sob now, desperately muffled. He whirls, stalking toward a pillar.

“Kihal,” he yelps, suddenly wishing his heart was not so soft, his ideals not so chivalrous. The thought dries up when he sees the puffiness around her eyes, the red tracks down her cheeks. “You’re crying!”

“I’m not!” she snaps, lip quivering as she spins away from him. “I’m – I’m taking in the night. It’s lovely!”

Another woman he might believe overcome with the beauty of nature, but not Kihal.

“Was someone rude to you?” he demands, mind running through the list of guests, trying to divine who would possibly say something so terrible as to send the councilor of Yuris crying behind a pillar. She shies away, and he grips her wrist, makes her looks at him. “Did someone – did someone do something rude--?”

“I’m fine!” she yelps, jerking her wrist out of his grasp. “I can handle myself, thank you very much. Just…leave it alone.”

“If someone’s upset you --”

“You can’t fix it!” Her hands are bent into a stiff claws, like she’d rake him if he got closer. “You can’t just – prince everything away!”

“I’m not trying to – to do that!” he protests, feeling his face flush. “There’s no reason for anyone to be allowed to disrespect a friend of mine in my --”

“It’s your brother’s castle,” she reminds him, pedantically.

He scowls at her. “In my home. I know you can handle yourself, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t want to let them know how I felt about it, too.”

Kihal sighs, half the fight seeping out of her. “Why do you have to be like this?”

“Like what?” There’s a list of things she expounds on, on the regular. Idealistic. Privileged. Oblivious.

“Good.” She shakes her head. “You can’t fix this because it’s you.”

“Me?” He blinks. “But I –”

“I wasn’t expecting anyone else,” she blurts out, “I knew it was you. When we kissed.”

“Me?” He stares. “But – why? How?”

“We just – we work closely together, and you’re…you.” Her hands twist anxiously above her skirts. “It’s not – it’s not something big. I just – you kissed me, and I thought – it was nice, and I --”

She waves her hands, trying to ward him off, even though he hasn’t moved from the spot. “Just, never mind. Good night!”

“Kihal --”

“No!” She shakes her head, stepping further from him. “It’s not – you’re not at fault here, Zen. I should have known it wasn’t for me.”

There’s something in how she says it, so sad, so hopeless, and it – it’s only that Kihal is not that, she’s fighting spirit and grit, she gets knocked down seven times and gets up eight, and – and –

He’s done that to her, made her think that she – that he couldn’t –

He moves without thinking, three steps to catch her and a tug to bring her back. She stares up with wide, wary eyes,  one hand braced on his chest, their height nearly even, her mouth so close to his –

And it’s nothing to close the gap, to take one hand and bury it in the weave of her chignon, to turn his head and deepen the kiss when she gasps. Her hand clutch at his tunic, then at his hair, and when his back hits the pillar his knees go weak.

Air becomes a necessity, and they pull back, eyes searching and –

And he does not feel nothing. He feels – quite a lot.

This is…complicated.

He pulls her back.

[kagetsukai]

Baby, It’s Cold Outside [Dorian x Adaar]

Hello and welcome to a fluffy Satinalia story as written by the biggest Grinch in the world who hates holidays and stuff! I know, shocking, please don’t die :D That being said, I had signed up for @santa-age and I was chosen to provide a gift for @cherrymilkshake. She is a wonderful writer and I’ve spent some sleepless nights getting familiar with her stuff. I must say, her OC Bern Adaar inspired some seriously fluffy feelings so if you can, go check out her stuff. IT’S WORTH THE READ. But, without further ado, here is your gift! I hope you enjoy it :D

Pairing: Bernart Adaar x Dorian Pavus

Rating: PG

Summary: It’s cold outside and Dorian doesn’t want to go out in that horrendous weather. Thankfully, Bern has a warm blanket and an idea of how to keep things warm.

Read on AO3

The Inquisitor’s rooms had already been decorated for the upcoming Satinalia celebrations and as he climbed the last of the stairs, Dorian observed the unholy number of garlands that hung around the windows, the banisters, any available ledges, and even lining the curtains of the four-poster bed. Either Bernart Adaar really enjoyed the holidays or their resident Ambassador went a little overboard with her enthusiasm. Again.

The man himself stood at the opposite side of the room, wrapped in a blanket that was just large enough to cover his torso, and watching whatever was happening on the other side of closed glass doors. Dorian took a moment to study his lover, the solid, muscular body, the twist of his horns, and the twist of white hair that looked somewhat messy and stubborn at this particular angle. He took a few steps forward, hoping to go unnoticed, but nothing could escape the ears of a rogue.

“Dorian. You’re here!” Bern said enthusiastically as he half-turned in his spot; there was a steaming mug in his large, grey hands.

“Of course I’m here,” Dorian replied, as he continued walking closer. “How could I say no to being cold while watching people outside be even colder! It is a thrill of a lifetime.”

Bern chuckled to himself and the sound settled softly around Dorian’s heart.

“Perhaps if you invested in a sweater, you wouldn’t be so cold all the time, you know?”

Dorian made a face. “Like from wool or some such?” he asked. “Absolutely not. Do you have any idea how much those things itch? I’d scratch myself to death and where would we be? A total catastrophe. No, I think I’m good where I’m at.”

The Quanri’s smile did not lessen even an inch as he turned back to the window and took a sip out of the cup. Dorian stopped next to Bern and did his best not to shiver at the cold permeating through the glass as he tried to discern what had mesmerized his companion so much. One quick glance down at the courtyard answered all of his questions.

Not surprisingly, a group of Skyhold occupants had found a spot away from all major pathways, had grabbed a couple buckets of water, and sloshed it on the ground. Since the temperatures had been sitting in the negative one thousand for the past week, the ice had formed right away and a group of kids and adults alike were currently entertaining themselves by sliding along on their shoes. While the game seemed extremely basic to Dorian, they all looked beyond happy to be doing it. What matter the most, though, was that their joyous smiles had transferred onto Bern’s face.

“Would you like to go down to them?” Dorian asked quietly.

Bern huffed in amusement.

“Would you go with me?” he asked.

It was Dorian’s turn to huff.

“Over my dead, cold body,” he thought for a second. “Most likely, literally.”

Several things happened then: a very large Qunari Inquisitor reached around Dorian and tugged him closer, while pulling a warm blanket closer around both of them. He didn’t fight the intimacy and rather welcomed the way their bodies seemed to comfortably mold together. He settled his head against Bern’s shoulder and sighed.

“Are you trying to bribe me with warmth? Because it won’t work, I assure you,” he announced with just a hint of fake petulance in his voice.

A low grumble resonated through Bern’s chest and Dorian leaned in closer to enjoy it.

“I’m just trying to share a cozy blanket. No need to be suspicious, I promise I have no ulterior motives.”

Dorian pulled away just enough to get a clearer view of Bern’s face; his vividly green eyes were soft while his mouth had curved into a smile that was both tender and inviting. Looking past the twisting horns, he noticed that the garland that hung above the doorway was actually made out of a familiar plant. Where had he seen it? It was…

“Wait, are all of your garlands made out of mistletoe?” he asked.

Bern’s grin was both mischievous and guilty.

“What can I say? I really wanted to make sure I would get my Satinalia kiss.”

Dorian shook his head in exasperation.

“Does that mean I have to kiss you under every single one of them?”

If a Qunari could ever look bashful, Bernart would have been the one to come up with it. Dorian stared for a moment as his lover bit his lip and looked everywhere but him.

“Only if you want to?...”

How was he to say no to that face? How was he to deny this Qunari-sized teddy bear such a simple thing? It was Satinalia after all and Dorian was feeling charitable. He tugged at Bern’s tunic, hoping the man would get the hint, and smiled as their lips touched for a brief kiss.

“Well, there’s a lot of mistletoe in here, so let’s get to it,” he announced and shoved Bern to a different corner of the room.

By the time they got to the mistletoe around Bern's bed, gentle kisses had turned to something much more intense and Dorian no longer felt the chill of the room.

[liketolaugh-writes]

Faithless

Author: liketolaugh Summary: Only a demon would be able to find handcuffs capable of holding an angel; Link isn’t sure what to make of Allen’s friends at all, and even less what to make of Allen himself.

“Of course demons invented preternatural handcuffs,” murmured Link, a tic of irritation in his forehead as he turned his wrist this way and that, searching for a point in the cuffs so he could get out of them without, preferably, breaking anything. “I suppose they see use quite often, though why I haven’t heard of them before-”

“They’re pretty damn rare, actually,” Allen threw out. Unlike Link, he didn’t look bothered at all, fiddling absentmindedly with his end of the handcuffs. “Kanda’s just an asshole, so he keeps this sort of shit around.”

Link grimaced and sat back slightly, reexamining everything.

The cuffs were glowing with runes, but they made the metal so resistant that it would take an awful lot of effort to damage them. The chain of the cuffs looped under the banister of the stairwell, forcing Allen and Link to either both sit or both stand close to it, and therefore, each other.

Link huffed quietly and returned his gaze to Allen, who was leaning back against the wall, still fiddling. As usual, he looked like everything Leverrier had ever told Link about demons – careless, confident, and – Link trailed his gaze up the curve of Allen’s throat before he could stop himself – languid, like temptation incarnate.

Link sighed quietly, and without thinking, commented, “It’s almost like Kanda is your friend.”

He wanted to bite the words back almost as soon as he’d said them. Allen was temptation, and Link ought to be avoiding him in every way possible. (Not many, admittedly, in the current situation.)

But Allen had proven himself kind, before – kinder than most demons. Link wanted to save him.

Though, he didn’t think Allen wanted to be saved.

Allen cast him a brief smirk, as if he could read Link’s mind. “He is,” he said offhandedly, returning his gaze to the handcuff at his wrist. “Why wouldn’t he be? He’s a goddamned jerk, literally, but we’ve known each other a long time.”

“I didn’t know demons had friends,” Link admitted, eying Allen curiously. Allen stared at him for a long moment, and Link nearly grimaced with embarrassment, but finally, Allen chuckled.

“I have plenty of friends,” Allen told him, tugging lightly at the handcuff. He looked more amused than offended, which relieved Link more than he cared to admit. “Kanda, he’s an ass but I’ve never met anyone with more honor, including angels. Lenalee’s so protective of her friends it’s fucking scary sometimes, and Lavi- shit, if I asked him to he’d find a way into Heaven.”

“How did any of you get damned?” Link asked, a deep frown spreading across his face, with a touch of suspicion at the back. He knew he wasn’t getting the full story, and he still didn’t know what Allen’s angle was. If he had one.

For the first time, Allen went still, glancing over at him with a deep, but quick frown, brow furrowed slightly. Link shifted and raised one eyebrow expectantly, and Allen shrugged, looking away again.

“Lavi’s never told me,” he started, still frowning, this time thoughtfully. “But Kanda, he killed his best friend.” Link grimaced, and Allen just shrugged. “Lenalee killed someone else to save her best friend – God’s a hell of a hypocrite, you know?”

Link disagreed. But he couldn’t help but notice that Allen had left someone out.

“What did you do?” Link asked, narrowing his gaze slightly with intense curiosity. He doubted any of those were the full stories, and he wanted to know.

Curiosity was a dangerous thing, here. He didn’t need Leverrier to tell him that.

Allen laughed. It was the first laugh Link had heard from him that truly sounded like it belonged to a demon.

“I don’t know,” Allen said, dismissive, with a smirk on his lips as he lifted his gaze to Link’s. “I died young. It might’ve been something like not getting baptized, for all I know, or all the stealing I did.”

It rang familiar to Link, but he couldn’t remember nearly enough of his human life to guess the source.

The admission did, just a little, solidify Link’s determination to save Allen. Someday.

Abruptly, Allen tore his gaze away again. “What are your friends like?” he asked.

Link started slightly, but Allen didn’t make any indication that he’d noticed. After a few moments, Link relaxed, and watched Allen, and then said, “Tokusa is a good friend of mine. He’s rather cynical for an angel, but he never gives up. Tewaku likes to tease; I think she pays the most attention to us, rather than the human world. Madarao is the oldest; he’s very responsible.”

Allen gave him a small smile,  honest and almost gentle, and Link smiled back, hesitantly.

“None of them would do this, though,” Link added, dry.

Allen laughed, and then Link heard a click. Allen’s hand fell out of the handcuff, holding a pin, and Link stared.

“Kanda knew I could get out of it myself,” Allen said casually, as if nothing of importance had occurred. Link stared at him in open surprise, and Allen smirked.

Then, quick as a flash, Allen’s hand darted back up and grabbed the end of the chain, just above the cuff, preventing Link from drawing it out from under the railing.

Link tensed, alarmed, and Allen grinned, much less kindly than before, with only an edge of mischief to soften it. Then he slid forward, very close to Link, holding the cuff so Link couldn’t move away. The other hand, a deformed thing like it was burned in Hellfire, went to Link’s waist, and Link stared at him wide-eyed and startled.

Generally speaking, angels were stronger than demons, but not by much. And Link was currently very vulnerable.

At the same time, Link didn’t think injury was what Allen had in mind. If Link had to put a sin to Allen- It would not be wrath.

“You’re damned curious, Link,” Allen commented, as if remarking on the weather. “Why so many questions?”

His hand moved up, a little. Link wasn’t sure if it helped or harmed his concentration.

“I want to save you,” Link said honestly.

Allen’s eyes widened a little as well, but he recovered quickly, smirked again, and leaned a little closer. Link, over his surprise, met his gaze evenly, despite Allen practically looming over him.

“You’re cute,” Allen said at last, and Link’s traitorous breath caught, just for a second. Allen’s hand moved up a little more, brushing over his chest, and then went to brush a thumb across Link’s cheek. “I bet it’s been a while since you’ve relaxed, hm, angel? I could help with that. If you like.”

Link opened his mouth to respond, but with Allen so close, looking at him with heat like sin incarnate, he had no words.

Allen laughed. Then, unexpectedly, he leaned back and let go of the handcuff. Hastily, Link pulled the chain through the bars, freeing himself, and at the same time, took a quick, deep breath.

“I’ll see you around, Link,” Allen said offhandedly, silver eyes warm, and then disappeared.

Link lingered, just for a moment, and to the empty room, murmured, “I’ll make sure of it.”

Then he, too, vanished.

[deucalionsdarcymoved]

it’s her own fault for feeling like this  ---  like the world is going to fall down around her not because of atlas’ doing but because of her own.   that tends to happen when you haven’t got a full night’s sleep in seventy hours;   the dull mood she expected.   the loneliness?   the loss of self and the inability to tell right from wrong anymore?   that wasn’t expected,   but darcy knows it’s been a long time coming.

it’s with a deep breath that darcy’s fingers run through her hair,   elbows resting on her thighs as her eyes close.   she’s beyond the point of falling asleep now;   she’s just been occupying herself with planning,   planning,   planning.   blueprints for a hideout are all she’s been working on lately;   her frost gauntlet pushed aside,   it’s become her mission to create somewhere to escape to.   despite living with siblings for years,   she lived as an only child for longer;   she’s used to her own space,   to privacy,   to her own things.   she should be used to it by now,   and in part she is,   but sometimes she just needs a break.

now would be one of those times.   sat on cabin number six’s porch,  surrounded by papers and a single torch lighting up the space around her,  the only company she has are the crickets sounding in the distance along with the occasional buzz of a mosquito and the harpies eyeing her from across the field.   it’s past lights out,   but technically it’s not their duty to put kids to bed;   loopholes,   darcy thinks,   as she tries to think of a way out the back door of the cabin and to rachel’s.

she almost jumps out of her skin when she hears a voice behind her.   she leaps from the stairs and off of them onto the lawn,   a warning screech from one of the feathered creatures sounding in the distance.   

when she turns around,   it’s not one of her siblings;   in fact,   it’s not somebody she’s ever even seen before,   but somehow she already knows who the woman standing in front of her is.   from her matching dirt-covered khaki shorts and shirt,   the worn leather boots and the fair hair tied up in a messy bun,   anybody might assume some random archaeologist had walked into camp;   darcy,   however,   recognises the woman as her mother.

when she finally manages to swallow down the lump that swiftly appears in her throat,   her heart beating hard and fast in her chest,   darcy stammers before she finally manages to speak a single word.   

‘   mum?   ’   

the corners of athena’s lips curve upwards,   and darcy watches as her mother’s eyes take her in.

‘   darcy.   ’   

as soon as darcy registers her voice,   there’s no doubt that it’s her mother;   it’s the same soft voice she recognises from her head in times of need,   the voice that always makes her see sense and make her feel completely inferior at the same time.   she almost always should’ve known better.   kudos to mom for managing to calm me down in the first place,   darcy had once thought.   it takes extra skill to calm a kid down when they’re too proud and angry at you to be calmed down in the first place.

‘   what are you doing here?   ’   darcy manages to ask,   fingers tentatively finding the front porch’s banister as she near enough pulls herself up the stairs,   forcing herself to come closer.   she tries to take in as much detail as possible;   she knows her siblings will want to know everything.    blue eyes,   wide cheeks,   a narrow jaw,   thin brows;   she manages to pull off looking regal even though she’s covered in dirt.   figures.

‘   you know why i’m here.   ’   athena’s eyebrows rise ever so slightly,   as if to prove a point.   

given that she gives no further clarification,   darcy figures it’s something to do with something she’s done.

silence falls between them suddenly,   and it’s as if all other sounds around them stop;   as if the crickets and the crackling of the campfire in the distance have all been swallowed by a black hole.  darcy’s lips part as a confused frown creases her brows,   and all she can think of is typical.   quiz her on algebra?   sure!   she’ll ace it.   ask her to solve a riddle?   done in a minute or so,   give or take a few more questions for clarification.   translate shakespeare into ancient greek just for fun?   already done  ---  the summer the apollo and athena cabin combined to bring the past son of apollo’s plays to life was celebrated in a bead for the campers’ necklaces.

but ask her to try to decipher her feelings,   or even worse understand why in hades her mom would even bother with a girl that doesn’t even feel worthy of the title of daughter of athena?   yeah,   that’s quite possibly the worst thing athena could ask her to do.

‘   honestly,   mum,   considering that absolutely nothing in my life feels certain anymore,   i’m inclined to say that i have no idea.   i didn’t call you here.   why would you come here the one time i didn’t call for you?   ’

athena’s brows furrow,   and that’s when she sees a resemblance to zeus.   darcy wouldn’t be surprised if it were to suddenly start storming at any moment now.

all of a sudden,   athena takes a step forwards.   her hands reach out to cup darcy’s jaw,   and if darcy wasn’t curious as to how it would feel to have her mom touch her for the first time in living memory,   she would have moved away.

‘   when did you become so short sighted?   ’

darcy’s frown deepens,   the demigod almost flinching,   and her head tilts backwards somewhat at the question.   there it is:   literal confirmation that she’s the family disappointment.   before she gets the chance to talk again,   athena speaks once more.

‘   you are my daughter,   but that doesn’t mean you have to spend every minute of the day proving it.   when was the last time that you slept?   ’   athena’s brows rise defiantly,   and when darcy’s lips part to object,   the goddess frowns.   ‘   yes,   i pay attention.   there is so much of you that you have yet to discover,   darcy.   don’t waste away trying to prove a point to a crowd that doesn’t care to listen.   ’

darcy’s nostrils flare and her jaw clenches as her head tilts downwards,   gaze finding the floor.   this is way too much for a sleep deprived demigod to take in,   and she might not be entirely convinced that she isn’t imagining this entire conversation,   but the anger she feels towards herself is as real as anything.

when she finally takes in a deep breath,   it feels like her lungs have cobwebs;   as if they haven’t had the luxury of air for millennia.   her hands find her mother’s own,   wrapping around them only to slowly pull them away from her now relaxed jaw.   she exhales,   her gaze glued to thin digits still wrapped around her mother’s own.

‘   you’re really not helping with the whole self hatred thing,  ’   darcy mutters.

athena hums in what might be thought,   or what could also be disapproval.   darcy doesn’t glance up at her mother.   instead,   she only keeps her gaze on her hands,   so she can’t tell;   she memorizes the lines,   the way her hands are immaculately clean compared to the rest of her body.   silence lingers once more before athena pulls her hands away,   and darcy’s gaze only moves from the space where her hands had been when she sees a flash of bronze materialize from the corner of her eye and into her mother’s hand.

‘   take this,   ’   athena commands,   her free hand finding darcy’s own.   with the hand that holds the bronze,   athena curls her daughter’s hands around it;   upon closer inspection,   it looks like a stencil;   as if she’s meant to use it in her arts and crafts free periods.   somehow,   darcy has a feeling that isn’t what this is for.   ‘   if you don’t believe in yourself,   believe in what this promises you.   this is what i have always known you could be.   ’

darcy’s brows furrow in bemusement as athena’s hands move away from hers once more,   and once darcy’s free hand clasps the stencil firmly in place,   darcy looks up at the goddess with amazement.   on any other day,   darcy would’ve been thrilled by the prospect of solving a mystery like this;   right now,   she doesn’t know what she wants,   but she’s not sure that she has the energy for this.   quiet lingers between them,   the blonde struggling,   for once,   to find the right words.

‘   this is a slab of bronze,   mother.   ’   

her tone is as far from impressed as it possibly could be.

athena takes a step back,   her shoulders straightening as she glowers at darcy.   darcy knows that look;   that’s the look her dad gave her when she used the dog to mop up her split cereal.   yet somehow,   despite the severity of the look,   the familiarity of it fills her with warmth.   the frown on her own features relaxes.   darcy’s lips press together,   though athena still frowns.

‘   that is your first lesson.   you’ll know what to do when the time comes.   ’

sighing in defeat,   darcy looks down at the gift,   turning it over in her hands.   there are no runes or words,   but on the other side,   the image of the athena parthenos slowly fades into view,   engraving itself into it.  while it’s impossible to make out the ivory and gold amongst the dull bronze,   darcy knows it’s there from memory;   on the middle of her helmet is the sphinx,   accompanied on either side by griffins,   and on her breast the head of medusa is engraved.    darcy recognises the goddess nike in her right hand,   and in the left a spear,   and a serpent curls at the bottom of it as a shield lies at her feet.

‘   thank you,   ’   darcy whispers,   swallowing thickly before she takes another deep breath to steady herself.   she feels her mother’s hand on her shoulder as her eyes clench shut.   stepping forwards,   she prepares to wrap her arms around her,   but when she stumbles into thin air she realises the goddess has already left.

she ends up staring across the porch in the direction of the demeter cabin for the longest time,   hoping that perhaps her mother would reappear even though darcy knows that she won’t.   this is a lesson:   that much was clear.   it’s only once she hears the harpies shriek in the distance that she turns in the direction of the noise,   scanning her surroundings before her head lowers to the stencil in her hands.

from the engraving,   darcy can clearly make out her mother’s face for the first time.   and while she doesn’t mean to be ungrateful...   her mother merely appearing for the first time is the best gift of the night.

[welastrollstesting]

It doesn’t matter what time it is, not here, underground.

Galene lifts a small lantern and sneezes at the dust. Who knew that last tremor from the mountains would open up a crack under his hive, and who knew that crack would lead directly to a carved out tunnel system?

He brushes his hand along the wall until the end of the tunnel looms before him. But it’s not rock, it’s metal. Intricately carved, made of scaled pieces each fitting interlocking together into one smooth surface. He lifts the lantern higher, and brushes his hand along the barely perceptible seams. Where his fingers leave tracks in the dust, gold shines through.

Galene sneezes again and then steps back, twisting the knob on his lantern until the light the flame gives off is almost too much for his eyes, and the golden wall blazes into view. Squinting, Galene steps back again, fixing the entire wall in his mind.

No. It’s not a wall, is it?

He closes his eyes, letting the mental image play over and over again in his mind, letting his brain work out the puzzle he’s sure is there, even if he’s not sure what it is yet.

His eyes snap open again. Of course. It’s so simple. It’s a door.

The greenblood sets down the lantern and stands on tiptoes, pressing fingers along the seams again. But this time it’s not idle thought that guides his motions. A twist here, slide there, press in, and pull.

There is a slight click as the gears behind the facade begin moving, showering dust down on Galene as the entire mechanism groans into motion, a hole through the center emerging as metal leaves pull away from his hands.

He sneezes again, wiping his eyes and pulling his scarf up over his nose. When the dust settles, his hand drops, watery eyes wide.

It’s a library.

The light of the lantern spreads it’s little pool of light past the doorway, and over piles of books. Dozens that he can see, dozens more as Galene picks up the lantern and takes a tentative step inside, eyes wide.

The shelves are not tall- or at least they do not appear tall until Galene steps forward again and the light of the lantern falls over the edge of the balcony the greenblood stands on.

The railing seems sturdy enough after a few solid shakes, and so Galene leans over, holding his lantern out over the fall.

“Holy fuck…” he whispers to himself. A curving staircase of wrought iron begins not far from where he stands, curving down three stories around a circular room. All along the walls are balconies and walkways not dissimilar to the one Galene stands on now, and set into the walls and standing in the center are shelves upon shelves of books, with more piled haphazardly about the bases.

There’s more here than in the three nearest libraries. It’s not a guess; as Galene’s eyes pass over the shelves, his mind takes in every spine, every binding, and the total count steadily rises in his mind, tallied against the small libraries in the local towns.

His eyes pass over the shelves again, falling finally on the center of the floor below. There is a pedestal of carved metal, and on it, what looks like a small, worn book. Or at least a dusty one.

Galene steps back from the railing and towards the stairs. They are stable, for which he gives thanks to whatever damn deity is listening until his sandals slap on the ground floor again, and he makes his way over towards the book.

It’s dusty, yes, but also worn and old. There is a dark stain on the cover Galene chooses not to question, and the pages are warped with water and worried fingers.

Carefully, slowly, the greenblood peels back the cover, gently turning the page until the first one with writing appears.

Property of Messer Aismov, Blueblood

Galene snorts, grinning slightly. Messer Aismov? Blueblood? He sounds like a prick.

He turns another page, and then another.

12 Perigee, third dark season, year of our condescension 120

I have done as I was tolled, though I do not yet know for what purpose you had me return to this date and time. But I shall yet obey, and never return to hour time, my dearest, dearest spade.  

I shall keep this book close and leave it for you, as you asked. I shall assume you find it, earlier in life, else you should not have asked me to. But ever have you understood the nature of temporal paradox and causality better than I.

You should think me weak, that my heart twists such for you, after so many sweeps wishing to be free from your foolishness, and yet it does. How could you do this to me? Did you know that you should die before your twentieth sweep? Is that why you invited me to commiserate with you, that I should be forced to watch your final breaths?

That I could do nothing to save you?

Please… Forgive me, Galene.

For a minute the entire world stops. Dust motes float in the air around Galene’s face, his slow exhale sending them on slow curving spirals that catch in the lantern light and sparkle over top the page, the words.

Did you know that you should die?

He does not realize he’s dropped the lantern until it smashes to the ground, the light winking out immediately, leaving only the sound of quick breaths and a muffled sob.

Forgive me, Galene.

He gropes for the edge of the pedestal, the words burned into his memory. He presses his eyes shut against the darkness, but it does nothing to stop his recall from dredging up his damnation.

Forgive me, Galene.

He shakes his head, the scarf sliding from his shoulders, but he does not care. He pulls up the memory of walking towards the pedestal, and like a map his memory lies before him, every pile of books and every dusty footstep clear to him.

He bolts for the stairs, his footsteps slapping with a hollow echo as the dark presses in against him. He slaps a hand to the banister, swearing loudly. Anything to distract from the malicious void that surrounds him.

He almost misses the top step in his haste, and then there is the faint light through the metal doors, the literal light at the end of the tunnel, filtering in through the crumbling crack in the floor of his respite block.

Galene sobs again, a shuddering gasp of breath as he runs and leaps for it, hauling himself up into familiarity again.

How long he remains on hands and knees is anyone’s guess, but he does stand eventually, wiping dust from his shirt and staggering out into his hive again.

Forgive me, Galene.

Never, Aismov.