#of those pinned wings left behind like a trophy

[flowerflamestars]

Effloresce snippet

“And her daughter,” Azriel went on, quiet, “Shahar, heir to the Kingdom of Illyria and the Court of Night.”   “They died,” Nesta’s voice rang, cold clarity, a knife through Cassian’s ribs, “On Illyrian soil. The father blamed the assassins and the son”- “Yes,” Azriel hissed, not a man, a shadowsinger born of mountain cold and absolute cave darkness, cruel in what he could not unknow.   Shahar, the hope and dream of two different worlds. Patient cleverness, wrathful magic- a half Illyrian child who could sing the wind to shape so easily as she could winnow darkness and call down dreams.   A high lady worth following, at just seventeen.   An awing, devastating, dangerous power- to no one more than Cassian’s brother, who’d followed the song of his soul all the way to servitude.   It was Vanserra- quick, bright Lucien- who fearlessly leaned closer, and put a hand on Azriels shoulder. Embers floated free in the air, beautiful, delicate temporary stars. “There’s somewhere we need to go, Shadowsinger.”   Horror rippled visibly over Nesta’s face, greying her pallor further.   She swallowed. Retraced her steps to reach, without a shred of hesitation, and fold her smaller hand over Azriel’s unmoving grip. “Tell us what you need, and you will have it.”   Gentle- gods and fucking stars- Lucien Vanserra tugged on Azriel’s shoulder, and unresponsive, pulled the fell wind of the north willing into a winnow.   The sudden magic didn’t startle Nesta, not like it would have Feyre. She went right back to pacing, quick and vicious. Cassian watched through three revolutions before Nesta’s steps stalled.   “She was his”-   Her furious shoulders framed before the window, steel. Starlit snow through the glass, Lucien ember’s flung around her still, like magic itself could not resist that draw any more than he himself wished to. She was beautiful and terrifying, a light herself in this world, and Cassian was not Azriel- he would not have survived without her, now that he’d found her.   “Yes.”

[gaeilgeoirgay]

Whumptober Day Two

Here's my fill for Day Two- choking

Hope you enjoy :)

Ao3 Link

he looks untouchable (but now he's gasping for air he can't breathe)

Kurt watches Warren as he spirals through the air above him, powerful wings propelling him through the air gracefully. He flies as if it’s easier than breathing and maybe to Warren it is. The acrobatic twirls and flips make Kurt smile because Warren only does them when he’s comfortable and safe.

He’s a show off sometimes, but he never lets himself go during battles and training like he does now. It’s incredible to see, like watching the best acrobats in the world combined. Kurt lived with a circus for years, he knows how much effort it takes to do the kind of tricks Warren does. Maybe those acrobats didn’t have wings, but he imagines it still takes the same amount of energy even in the air.

Warren tucks in his wings and Kurt has seen him do this move a thousand times, but it takes his breath away anyways. He’s falling, hundreds of metres in the air, seemingly to his doom. Warren has described what it feels like before, to trust himself so absolutely, and it sounds like heaven to Kurt.

He’s tried it before- Warren will carry him to the highest point he can and then let Kurt fall before catching him- but it’s not the same when Kurt is trusting Warren to catch him. He doesn’t know what it feels like to have that sort of confidence, that sort of faith, in his abilities that Warren has.

Warren is still falling, barely twenty metres from the ground. Then suddenly, abruptly, his wings snap out and Warren soars upwards, letting out a scream of pure exhilaration. He looks untouchable as if nothing could ever hurt him.

The image keeps replaying in Kurt’s head six hours later when Warren is choking on his own blood, gasping for air he can’t breathe.

It’s supposed to be an easy mission which is why Kurt knows it’s absolutely gonna go to shit. Professor Xavier was looking through Cerebro for a routine scan when he caught sight of a mutant in England who was carving her way through her fellow mutant population.

The professor had called the X-men together and had Logan select a team to go. Kurt and Warren had both ended up being picked and Kurt decides it’s kind is strange that while humans his age are getting picked for sports in P.E class, he’s getting picked for a mission class. He wonders if he would like P.E. They play games too don’t they? He thinks he would enjoy dodgeball.

It only takes a few hours to get to England because of the X-jet and they land at the deserted top of a valley Kurt struggles to pronounce. Quernmore? He supposes it must be pronounced something like Quorn because they seem similar enough. He is wrong.

The mutant apparently makes her kills in the city of Lancaster before heading back to the small town to hide. It’s the sixth English city she’s made a base in and according to Cerebro, she’s killed roughly twenty mutants. In each of them.

Professor Xavier had told them that she thinks she’s the strongest mutant in England and it’s therefore her duty to eliminate all of the weaker ones. It’s horrendous logic with an awful outcome but that’s what the X-Men are for, he supposes.

The mutant-Katie West, according to Professor Xavier-has the ability to generate endless amounts of red-energy waves. She can apparently shape them into whatever she wants but usually turns them into shuriken to slit her victims throats.

She’s sloppy about covering her tracks though and Logan easily picks up the distinctive scent of mutant blood. Kurt is tasked with reconnaissance because of his ability to teleport. He’s not too enthused about, but it’s night in England and his colouring will help conceal him from West.

Warren is accompanying him at least, which makes Kurt feel a little better about it.

Logan says she’s in the rented house at the end of Quernmore’s main street so Kurt chooses to teleport beyond it, where there’s a small copse of trees he can use for cover. The dense foliage masks the slight sound of his jump.

Warren has shifted his feathers to that of Archangel to blend in with the night sky so Kurt can’t see him circling West’s house but the knowledge of his presence keeps him steady. Archangel’s metal feathers will protect Warren from any projectiles and Kurt can jump before he gets hit.

Despite the fact that it’s well past midnight, Kurt can still see West moving around the bedroom upstairs. He scans the room as best he can for weapons, seeing as he’s twenty feet away, but his gaze catches on a display case.

It’s filled with trophies. There’s a dark-green tail so, so similar to his own curled around a metal hook and he nearly vomits at the sight of it. These are mutants, or what’s left of them after West is done.

He does vomit when he sees the trophy under the tail. It’s a little clawed hand, so small it could only belong to a child. It hardens Kurt’s resolve to take down this woman, this murderer. The Brotherhood say that humans are the villains but Katherine West is a mutant who hunts those of her own kind. Kurt reckons even Magneto would think her a monster.

He spots the gleam of Logan’s claws and makes the signal to move in, knowing the teacher’s night vision will pick it up. Warren descends, landing silently, as Logan and Jean move in from the front so Kurt jogs over to them.

Logan slices the lock in half, catching the metal before it hits the ground. Jean eases the door open with her telekinesis so it won’t creak and they all pad silently in, Warren at Kurt’s back with his wings spread wide to catch any projectiles that may come from behind them.

Kurt hates the circumstances of Warren gaining the metal feathers of Archangel but he can’t deny they’re useful. Nothing attacks them though as they head up the stairs, Jean levitating all three of them to avoid stepping on creaky steps.

Warren takes his place guarding the door while the rest of them get ready to breach it. His wings are too unwieldy for close combat but he’s the perfect guard in a place like this, his large wings covering the door completely to prevent escape.

Logan slices through the door and kicks it open, immediately heading for the startled woman on the opposite side. West reacts quickly and Wolverine is forced to dodge three deadly blades all spinning for his throat. Kurt breaks left as Jean goes right, aiming to surround West.

She sees them and realises what’s going on, so she releases a full circle of lethal red light. They all duck and she takes the breather to send a blade at Warren and break for the door. The window could be an option, but West would have to go through Logan and it’s a substantial drop to make it the pitch dark.

Warren’s feathers’ cover him completely and the red light simply bounces off them. West dissipates it with a wave of her hand and refocuses her efforts on those in the room. She’s not the only one with projectiles though and as Warren’s wings unfurl, several metal feathers are released towards her. West dodges and they lodge in the wall, but the momentary distraction costs her and Logan lunges forward to restrain her.

He gets her pinned to the floor and she shrieks, thrashing. Several blades form from her hands but she’s so low to the ground that Jean and Kurt simply jump over them. Logan hauls her up as she struggles, keeping her hands clasped together so she can’t attack them.

He hauls her down the stairs and the rest of them follow after Warren and Kurt both say a silent prayer for her victims and the remains kept in the case. It had barely taken them ten minutes to finish the fight and the X-Jet is thankfully pretty close so it doesn’t take them long before they get back to it.

That’s where it all goes wrong. As Logan drags West up the stairs, she kicks her legs out. Apparently, she doesn’t actually need her hands to form her weapons and it costs them dearly. Warren is standing behind her and his wings only barely start to move by the time the blade buries itself in his throat.

Kurt watches in horror as blood pours from Warren’s throat and he falls to the ground. Logan slams West’s head into the jet and she goes unconscious. He tosses her in and scrambles to Warren’s side, where Kurt has already gone to his knees, frantically pressing his hand to Warren’s neck.

Jean disappears to get medical supplies and Kurt keeps pressure on Warren’s neck. It's the only thing he can do. The other mutant is gasping for air but the blood pouring from his ruined throat prevents oxygen from getting to his lungs and Kurt can only watch uselessly as Warren chokes on the blood, teeth red-tinged.

Jean comes back and Logan slams down a bandage but it only soaks up the existing blood rather than stopping more. Warren is still choking, a harsh sound that Kurt wishes he had never had to hear.

“He can’t breathe, Logan! Wh-what can we do?” Kurt asks desperately. Logan searches through the medkit and comes up with a small tube. Kurt’s seen this go horribly wrong before but they don’t have another choice. Warren is pale from blood loss but his lips are going blue without oxygen.

Logan unceremoniously stabs the tube into Warren’s throat below the wound and blows air down through it. The feeling of Warren’s chest heaving beneath Kurt’s hand is the best thing he’s ever felt as he finally takes a full breath. There’s still blood gushing from the gash though so they pack on gauze and bandages, hoping to stem the blood flow.

They get Warren onto the jet and Jean breaks all known laws of aerodynamics with the way she pushes it back to the mansion. Logically, it should take nearly seventy minutes to get back to Westchester and Jean makes it in forty-five. Kurt suspects telekinetic help.

Logan had stitched up Warren’s throat as best he could to stop the bleeding but it needs to be constantly drained so there’s not a build up of blood beneath the skin and they only have a limited supply of Warren’s blood to replace the stuff he’s lost. Something about mutant blood means it’s near impossible to find a match for them.

Warren hasn’t woken up since he stopped gasping for air and Kurt is scared for him. He keeps running through all the consequences of going without oxygen and losing too much blood and wounds to the throat. What if Warren doesn’t wake up? What if he does but he has permanent brain damage? What if he can’t speak anymore?

They would adjust, of course, learning sign language would be the least they could do but if permanent damage meant that Warren could no longer control his wings? That would kill him. Warren’s only just gotten them back after Kurt destroyed them and he knows how badly it affected him the first time.

Hank works for hours on Warren when they get back and Kurt stays outside their operating room the whole time. He washes up in the bathroom beside it but that’s the only concession he makes. Warren means everything to him and Kurt isn’t leaving until he’s out of surgery.

It goes well and Warren is soon brought back to the medbay. Kurt is allowed in on the condition that he touches nothing. He’s fine with that if it means he gets to see the evidence of Warren’s breathing for himself.

He hopes he never has to see Katie West again and he hopes she rots in whatever prison the Professor puts her in. He hopes that Warren will make a full recovery and that he never has to hear him gasp for air again. He’s got a lot of hopes but those are the main ones, really.

Warren wakes up three days later and he doesn’t speak for three weeks. His first words to Kurt are “I love you” and Kurt isn’t ashamed to admit that he cries. He replies through his tears and Warren kisses him. They both get nightmares and life definitely doesn’t immediately get better now that Warren is healed physically. But they’re getting there and that’s all they can ask for. Anything else can wait.

[toongrrl-blog]

Fashion Analysis: Nancy’s Purple work dress and Others Part 2

We’re back! We examine how Nancy’s dress stands as a beacon of great (admittedly mostly white) feminist hope, Karen Wheeler passes the torch in a consciousness-raising session, and we explore how purple has been used in other period pieces.

Nancy has been no stranger to purple before, wearing it as a symbol of her passion, youthful innocence, and heightened emotion. She wore it in the library when she thought she saw Barb (despite the knowledge that her best friend died) and she wore it the day that Steve invited her for a get-together at his mansion (with a pool!) and it’s something that she promptly changes out of before getting in the deep v-necked, chevron striped sweater to look a little more sexier. 

Now the purple is no longer pastel, it’s a saturated lilac that is updated for the times and reflects how she is no longer the naive girl in a ballet slipper necklace. After she talks about her struggles in a misogynistic office with her mother, her mother begins to open up, in colors that look subdued but symbolic (except for the makeup).

First check the colors: lavender tones and yellow. Purple on her eyelids. Put a pin those colors (I want to note that a bold red lip remains timeless) and that necklace. We are going to explore the mystique of Karen Wheeler: Model 1980s Housewife and peel some layers with the help of some other ladies in period pieces and her exposition. 

We learn that it was likely Karen Wheeler had her own dreams aside from the conventional and traditional life she leads as a bored housewife (who got close to adultery) until casual misogyny led her to abandon those dreams presumably because she “wasn’t smart enough” or “good enough” and stopped trying. Some other ladies (also with incredible hair) would relate outside of the series.

A savvy bombshell who had to negotiate sexism to get what she wanted, until she left men behind for now. 

A young woman in her own bold shadow giving the news to her (unappreciative) boss that she is leaving for better things.

A conventional wife and mother who always relied on her own beauty to get the attention and praise she needed and made the radical choice to go back for a Master’s degree. 

A disappointed young girl in sensible (and feminine) cardigan and button up shirt listens to whatever a male relative is trying to tell her. 

Two secretaries are reminded vividly of how disposable they are in a white male patriarchy but cannot confront the men themselves.

A sheltered proud homemaker questions her life choices as she is surrounded by women who insist on making bolder moves for their lives and change society for all women. She also finds she is very naive to how life works.

A woman who is renowned for her beauty and glamour fights to be recognized for her skills and intellect, tries to bring different people together, and is willing to confront authority figures on their wrongdoing. She also questions why a woman can’t be considered both beautiful and intelligent. 

A hardworking wife and mother tries to use her influence to improve the status of women and manages to fight anti-feminists while enjoying tea time with her daughters and their friends. She is also challenged with expectations for how wives were “supposed” to behave.

A woman, with a impenetrable veneer of perfection, attempts to negotiate her way to patriarchy by exploiting the image of traditional feminine perfection and keeping women's’ status, well, static. She loses out when she sees that no matter how many bodies she shoves under the bus, the men above her do not appreciate her efforts on their behalf. 

A young and beautiful princess grapples with issues of being a trophy wife, mother, her own roving eye after a marriage to a much older (and unappreciative) patriarchy, and her yearning to be her own person. 

A princess goes bold with her makeup, hair, and clothes to gain the attention she has been socialized to expecting. Trying to be a bombshell and “with it” while dealing with a crumbling marriage, feeling overshadowed by others, and no positive outlet for her intelligence.

A vivacious and stylish housewife grappling with the painful realities that men can be fickle and that gender roles don’t offer women any outlet for their ambitions or a safety net for when things get really bad, she learns she will have to make bold choices to better her circumstances.

All these women, like Karen, have made choices to survive the patriarchy and live life on their own terms. Some succumbing to the patriarchy, others revolting against it, and one who would betray others to win her seat in the boardroom. Many of these women are/were noted for their beauty only to find that other people (men) didn’t expect them to be insightful or smart; some of these women were wives and mothers who loved those roles but chafed at the idea that they’d give up their autonomy and individuality to be excellent at those jobs; a few came into motherhood and marriage rather young, before getting to experiment and mature their way through girl’s trips, work, and messy experiences. And many of them chose a different path for themselves aside from being a domestic and maternal figure, probably swearing off it for their own reasons. That was (and still the reality) of many women in Karen’s generation especially. Those were the options open to her and she chose the option that seemed to reap the most benefits. 

Now about Karen’s sartorial choices? First the necklace.

As noted in Seventeen magazine, many fans on the internet noticed the shape her necklace took, looking similar to a vaginal opening with the pearl as a clitoris. Given how heavy the male gaze was in the 1980s, this was a impressive expression of female sexuality. Given the look and symbolism (given added weight from the feminist pep talk she gives Nancy), it’s quite impressive for the conventional PTA mom whose front lawn held a Reagan/Bush ‘84 sign (just look up their policies on reproductive health and sex education, I recommend Gloria Feldt’s The War on Choice: The Right-wing Attack on Women's Rights and how to Fight Back). Then we go from Second Wave Feminism of the prior decade all the way back to First Wave Feminism’s use of White, Purple, and Yellow. 

White dresses stood out against men in their dark suits and were cheaper to maintain (laundry practices at the time caused colors to run) and reflect how white mainstream figures of the movement really were, after all Nancy and Karen are upper-middle class, white, cishet, conventionally attractive preppy suburbanites in Indiana and their experiences wouldn’t 100% match those of transgender women, working-class women (Joyce), women in abusive households (Max), traumatized women (El), women of color (Erica), larger or “outlier” attractive (Barb), or lesbians (Robin). 

Gold/Yellow stood for “Hope”, Purple for “Loyalty”, and White for “purity” (given that name “Karen” means “Purity” from Nordic origins, it’s pitch perfect). 

Hope and Loyalty embody the Party of Stranger Things, as to why Purity isn’t mentioned here, we will go in the 3rd part (all the racial implications can be looked up) and see the group get intersectional. 

[scribbles-and-dribbles]

Somnium

This is my entry for @sherrybaby14 ‘s prompt challenge (requested via my @im-marie-poppins-yall​ account)  Thank you for letting me join. Your writing is amazing and I am so inspired by you. Also,so sorry I’m sending this so late!

  My prompt was: 

Geralt spending the night at an inn reader works at after killing a monster that had been terrorizing the town, and reader sneaks into his room at night to give him her own thanks but then gets frightened at how actually Violent and Strong he is and makes to leave, but he insists on following through

It’s been a long time since I’ve really sat down and written some good smut (It’s been a year!),so forgive me if I’m a bit rusty. But nonetheless I had so much fun! And this was what I needed to get back into writing again. (Also I apologize to the person who requested this, if this isn’t exactly what you had in mind!)

Warnings: 18+, Rough Sex, edging,No Archive Warnings

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The room was darkly lit, a single candle in the far left corner was barely a flicker behind the dusky glass. It cast shadows over your hips as they rolled against his. It washed a faint warm glow over the rise and fall of your chest as you tried to catch your moans before they woke the entire inn. 

He watched from below you, your eyes fluttering closed in pure bliss, and his nearly predatory gaze drinking in the sight of your shaking body. Your hips swayed to some unheard music as you lost yourself in the pleasure, his cock driving up into you, meeting your eager thrusts. He growled and his hand slid up your back, over your shoulder and into your hair, fisting it and pulling you down into a ravenous kiss. His other hand slid down to grip your hip, and before you knew it, in a whirl he had you flipped and pinned underneath you, pushing your leg up and picking up his pace, driving deep within you. 

Gods it felt amazing, his hips rolled into yours with expert ease, and his teeth grazed your soft neck, marking it giving not a single damn about how visible they were. You didn’t want him to stop. You could stay like this forever if you had your way. But the universe had other ideas.

-

You wake with a start, the sound of shattering glass and drunk squabbling shaking you out of your dream. You sit up, pressing a hand to your neck where those teeth had felt so real. Your skin is flushed and slick with sweat and you’re sure you look a sight. But you only have time to slip out of your nightgown and into far more suitable attire to deal with your awake and seemingly very drunk guests. 

A glance out the murky window and you’re disappointed, but not the least bit surprised to see that the sun has barely risen over the horizon. Smoke still hung low over the village, the last remnants of the winged beast that had terrorized your neighbors for the last four months. Never had you realized just how idiotic the people of your village were until they mistook a basilisk for a dragon, and attempted to lure it into the village square and kill it themselves. Suffice it to say that it didn’t end well. 

You’d finally been fed up with the pigheaded men refusing to ask for help. A half-melted town was terrible for business, and you weren’t having any of it. If they wouldn’t admit that they stood not a chance against the beast with their poorly thought out planning, then you were going to take matters into your own hands. 

You’d heard rumor of a Witcher roaming the surrounding area, slaying any beast- for a price. You were a small village, but you were one of the lasts villages before any weary travelers reached Cintra. Your inn was always bustling with new and strange characters. Stranger or not, they brought in enough coin to appease the Butcher, as your neighbors so...fondly referred to The Witcher. 

So when he stopped in your humble little town, on his way to Cintra no doubt, he was god-sent. He’d come into your inn, ready to pay for one night. You convinced him to stay for three, free of charge and with a hefty bag of coin if he made quick work of something your town’s strongest men had taken four months to fail at. He’d left last night and as you peered out the window, tying your apron around your waist, you caught sight of his unmistakable white mane trekking up the hill atop his gorgeous mare towards the inn, something large swinging from the saddle.

Your dreams were going to have to wait.

“I wager he doesn’t make it back before nightfall.” One of your patrons slurred, swirling his bandaged finger around the amber liquid you’d just poured into his stein. You swatted at his wrist and he reeled back with a yelp. 

“You keep stirring that bloody stump in your ale, you’ll not being getting another refill today Byron.” You quipped, tossing him a cloth to whip his hand. The dressing around his finger was already soaked through with blood and you could tell the alcohol was beginning to burn through. He’d been one of the ones to go out first and try to take the beast down. He’d lost his finger because he couldn’t shoot an arrow to save his life. Though that wasn’t the story he told anyone unfortunate enough to be in earshot. 

 He grumbled and took a long swig from the frothy liquid, grimacing at the acrid taste. You chuckled and swapped his drink. You leaned against the counter an inquiring eyebrow raised. 

“I’ll take a shot at that.”

 He frowned and took yet another large swig from his stein. “What? I don’t strike you as the betting type? You wound me, Byron, you should know me better than that.” You laugh, moving around the bar and intercepting Beth, and relieving her of two trays of piping hot gruel on her arms and another tray balancing precariously on her very pregnant stomach - she’d insisted upon working despite it being nearly the eve of her bairns birth. She wanted to catch a glimpse of The Witcher herself. 

“It’s not that. I just don’t want to have a sore loser on my hands.” Byron slurred after you, watching you whisk around the dining area, weaving expertly between patrons were beginning to rouse and make their way to help themselves to the seemingly bottomless kegs your father had installed years before he passed and left the inn to you.

“Alright then, since you’re so convinced that a man with far superior hunting skills is going to have worse luck than a drunk who can barely drink me under the table- you’re on.” You place the last bowl of gruel in front of Byron’s skeptical face and sidle back behind the counter. You lean towards him, resisting the urge to cringe at the stench wafting off of him. He’d been drinking longer than you’d originally thought. You were going to have to reconsider leaving the kegs out at all odd hours of the night.

“I wager he comes through that door in the next twenty minutes.” Byron scoffs. He thinks you’re ridiculous. “And what, pray tell girlie, will you be winning if he comes through that door on anything but a stretcher?” 

“Every round for the rest of the week is on you.” You chuckle at the scandalized look that crosses his face before he tosses his head back and has a good laugh before fixing you with an amused look.

“You’re on. And when I win, you’ll be clearing my tab and-”

Before he can finish the door to the inn swings open with a frame shattering thud and the Butcher of Blaviken stomps in reeking of acid and guts and covered in just that. Every head not hanging from a raging hangover turns to watch him stride over to the bar. His eyes catch yours, and you’re momentarily transported back to your dream this morning. You shake your head and raise an eyebrow at Byron who’s gone pale.

“Clearing your tab and...what?” He scoffs and glares at The Witcher as he stops at the bar. You cast a sidelong glance at him, trying to ignore the fact that you’d just been dreaming of him not even an hour earlier. You place a pint in front of him, he looks like he could use it. He offers a curt nod of thanks and knocks it back faster than you thought possible. 

“So, did you actually kill the beast?” Byron asks incredulously and you find yourself rolling your eyes. You wave a hand over the Witcher.

“What do you think? That he just rolled around in guts and called it a day?” Byron scowls at you and the sound of The Witcher chuckling underneath his breath catches you by surprise. You raise an eyebrow at him, smirking. “If he had,” you continue, directing it at your visitor. “He’d be sorry he ever stole money from me.” His eyes look almost amused as he stands. 

“If you’re so skeptical, you can ask your Lord of the Manor how he likes his new trophy.” Byron, looking thoroughly pissed, huffs and slips of the stool and wander over to the kegs, muttering something about being bested by a filthy mutant. 

You shake your head and wipe the counter down with one hand and refilling the Witcher’s stein. Guests have wondered out of their rooms to stare at him like he’s an amusing new animal, though they keep their distance. And you’re certain it has nothing to do with the state of his attire. You shake your head, ashamed of the people you’ve grown up calling friends and neighbors, listening to their barely concealed whispers about him. 

“I’m sure you’ve heard it all.” You say, casting a sidelong glance at him as you mark Byron’s tab down. “But I’m sorry the rest of my town isn’t as grateful as I know they should be.” 

He shrugs and takes another swig. He sets the cup down and even though you’re turned away refilling the glasses Beth had just brought to the bar, her eyes unabashedly drinking him in, you can feel his eyes on you. And when you shoo Beth away and turn back to him, he’s still watching you. Dried blood from the beast no doubt has darkened his hair a bit, and a small scar that he’s haphazardly treated is still bleeding a bit on his chin. Despite all of this, you still want him. And the way he’s staring at you, you’re certain he can tell.

“And are you?” He asks, his honey-colored eyes seem to darken a bit and although they’re incredibly intimidating, you refuse to look away. You stare him down, setting your rag down and leaning against the bar towards him. 

“Am I...what?” How does one man look so damn kissable covered in the blood of a slain beast? 

“Grateful.” He raises his eyebrows, looking genuinely curious, but you know why he’s asking. 

“What, the hefty bag of coin wasn’t enough to prove that?” You tease. He chuckles wryly. Twice you’ve amused him, and something tells you that that’s rare and you should relish it. He stands and places a coin on the bar for the pint. You wave it away.

“You single-handedly took the beast down in record time, consider it a thank you.” He raises an eyebrow at you. “Hmm...you know where to find me if you have anything else you’d like to say.”

You gape at him as he strides up the stairs. You laugh incredulously, heat flushing to your cheeks. 

“Not very subtle is he?” You nearly leap out of your skin at the sound of Beth’s voice right behind you.

“Good lord Beth-” You laugh, turning to her, watching her bustle about as if that large belly of hers is no hindrance to her. You shake your head, taking the Witcher’s stein off of the bar and wiping it down once more, trying not to think about the meaning behind his words. But Beth has other ideas.

“If you don’t take him up on his very generous offer- I will.” You swat at her with the rag laughing. 

“I’m sure he’d happily have you. But you’re near bursting at the seams, and I thought you were happily married.” She scoffs and casts a glance across the inn where her husband is beguiling the young boys with his tall tale of how he lost his finger. “Sometimes I wonder why I let that idiot convince me to be stuck with him until sweet death does us part.” Her words are teasing but you see the endearment in her eyes. 

You smile and pat her on her shoulder. “He’s just nervous about his first child. And sore that a Witcher bested him. He’ll be right as rain when he sobers up to see that beautiful baby of yours.” You reassure her. She nods and turns back to you, fixing you with a determined gaze.  

“Enough about me and mine. You haven’t been with someone in years girlie.” You flush and open your mouth to protest. “And I know, you’ve been too busy taking care of the inn after your father passed, bless his soul. But you need to take care of yourself, dear. And that includes your more primal needs.” She’s not that much older than you, but she reminds you of your mother the way she plants her hands on her hips and fixes you with that look. 

You sigh. “I appreciate the concern Beth, but I barely know the man. And he’s a Witcher, mind you. I don’t think sassy innkeeper girls are what he favors.” 

“Ha!” She snorts, shaking her head. “You’re as beautiful as you are blind. Did you not see the way he was looking at you? Not just today, but the day he arrived he couldn’t take his eyes off you. Now I’m not asking you to make the man fall in love with you,just...share something with him. He wants you and you most certainly want him.”

You flush. You can’t say she’s lying. It has been some time since you’ve been with anyone. Taking over the inn that had been in your father’s family for generations had made it a little hard to have flings. 

“Fine. But if he laughs in my face, don’t say I didn’t tell you so.”

~~

And now you were standing in front of the man’s door several hours later questioning once again how you let Beth convince you to do this. She’d sent you away hours ago but you’d stubbornly found some other thing that needed doing around the inn. Bedding for the other guests, refilling the kegs with your father’s special blend, cleaning god knows what because you kept the inn spick and span.

Finally, she’d practically swatted you up the stairs. You’d begun to look a bit worse for wear. The word that not only was the infamous Witcher was in town, but that he was fresh off of a hunt, had spread like wildfire. And you finally hadn’t needed an excuse for why you weren’t pursuing ‘your primal needs’ as Beth had so gracefully put it.

But by then your other barmaid had arrived looking like she was ready for a night on the town, and not to serve the hoard of weary travelers hoping to catch a glimpse of the man. 

“If you don’t get your ass upstairs and see that man, I have no doubt in my mind that Linda will do it for you.” 

--

Beth wasn’t exaggerating when she’d pointed out that you hadn’t done this in years. You’d felt like a silly school girl standing in front of the mirror trying to make yourself look less like an exhausted, albeit horny, innkeeper. But you did want him. She hadn’t been wrong about that. You could still feel the phantom touch of his hands on your hips, gripping them as he pulled you down onto him. It’d been a dream, and yet it had felt incredibly real. 

You sighed and reached up to knock on his door. You were unsure of what you were going to say. You didn’t want it to sound like a proposition. Though you supposed it was. You falter and realize that whatever you ask, it will never sound normal. What if Beth had mistaken a stare of indifference for a gaze of “unbridled lust in those golden eyes”? Maybe it was better to resign yourself to thinking of him as you soothe the ache that had started between your thighs the moment he walked back in this morning, on your own.

You drop your hand with a sigh and begin to turn away. The door swings open before you’ve even begun to walk back down the hall to your room. You give a start, steadying your hand on the door frame, and your instantly aware of just how...naked he is. He's clean of all the guts and blood that had previously clung to him like a second skin, and his hair gleams in the low lantern light that shines on his broad chest. The towel he has wrapped around his hips is barely hanging on. 

“Er, good evening.” You hear yourself say, and you internally cringe. God, you were off to a terrible start. You manage to glance away from his pectorals and meet his shining eyes, and you could have sworn that for a split second a smirk tugged at his delectable looking lips.

“Are you coming in, or are you going to stay out there for the rest of the night?” He chuckles, and you blush again scowling as you slip into the room. He barely moves and your arm brushes against his warm skin. It sends a spark of excitement through you. Had it been so long that the mere touch of a hot body was enough to set you off?

It doesn’t matter. You’re here now, and there’s no turning back. You want him, you just have to make sure he wants you too. You turn to him, your hands clasped before you as you open your mouth to speak. But before you can, his hands are on your waist and he’s tugged you against his chest and captured your lips in a hungry kiss. You let out a surprised squeak that slips into a soft moan. It feels so damn good to have someone’s lips against your own.

Your reach up to snake your arms around his neck and push yourself up to meet the kiss with as much vigor and desire as he does. His hands slide up your hips and over your bodice, his fingers make quick work of the laces and removing it and let it fall to the floor. Your breath catches in your throat when his hands run up over your chest, and dip into your dress. You pull away from the kiss to catch your breath and moan softly as his calloused fingers run over your nipples and tweak and tease them in the best way. 

You open your eyes a bit to look up at him and are a bit startled to see the color his eyes have taken. The bright golden has seemed to darken to almost deep amber, and they pierce your own with an almost predatory look. His hand's run-up to your shoulders and he pauses, casting a questioning look over you. You’re nervous, and this isn’t how you thought this would all transpire. But you were more than willing. You reach up yourself and watch him as you slip your dress down off of your shoulders and let it fall to pool around your ankles. 

He gives an appreciative growl and a smile quirks his lips. 

“I thought you’d be too scared to come.” He chuckled. The way he spoke, an underlying growl underneath every word, made you shiver. You watched his hands trail over your shoulders and down your back, his fingers pressing into your skin when he reaches your hips. He slips his arms behind your knees and to avoid falling against him, you hop into his arms, your own wrapping around his neck again.

“Fearful? What do you take me for? A scared little girl?” You laugh because honestly, you were a little fearful. You’d heard the other women tell tall tales about their night with a Witcher when they were young and childless. And how it was best to expect a broken bed by the end of the night. Even if they weren’t 100% truthful, you knew Witcher’s weren’t human, and they more than likely didn’t fuck like a human. “You asked me if I was grateful, and I’m here to prove that I am.” You whisper, your hand slipping into his hair and pulling him towards you for another kiss. Your lips slant against his and you run your tongue across his bottom lip, nipping at it playfully, and drawing a growl out of him.

He places you on his bed and crawls over you, one arm braced against the mattress and the other snaking down your body his fingers tracing over your breasts as they rise and fall with your labored breath. 

“Certainly not, if you’re so bold as to invite a Witcher you’ve only spoken to twice, to sleep with you.” You scoff, and then moan when he dips his head down to capture one of your sensitive buds into his mouth, rolling his tongue around it and nipping at it. 

“You’re..oh gods..you’re the one who kissed me, Witcher.” You retort, your fingers finding their way back into his pale locks, tugging at them as he alternates between tweaking and twisting one nipple with his fingers and sucking at the other with his expert tongue. He stops his generous teasing at your words and smirks at you.

“Are you saying you’d like me to stop, Innkeeper.” You laugh and fix him with a warning glare. He growls, amused at your determined look, and returns his left hand to your heaving chest while his other hand runs down your side. His fingers trail over your hip, sliding down the v of your body and trailing just above your cunt before stopping. 

“You’re certain you don’t want to run for the hills?” He asks, and at first, you think he’s joking, but he looks dead serious. And you open your mouth to answer but it’s cut off by a whine. His middle finger dips down to brush over you. It slides over your lower lips, collecting your juices on it and teasing the hell out of you. He just barely pushes it in, drawing a needy whine out of you. It’s been so long since anyone else has touched you in this way, and now that someone is, you remember just how sensitive you are. He continues teasing your opening, and it’s not nearly enough. The way he watches you, those enhanced eyes catching every flutter of your eyelids, reminds you of something beastly. 

And you remember that you’re in bed with a Witcher. Not a ‘normal’ human man. His stamina is far above your own, and your certain you’ll be a sore aching mess in the morning. And a small voice of reason in the back of your head mutters that you should probably leave, and let your dreams be dreams. But just when you’ve just about convinced yourself that you should take him up on his offer to leave, he slides that teasing finger inside you, curling upwards in just the right way. It’s almost too much and just enough to let you throw caution to the wind.

You pin him with a hungry gaze and buck your hips up against his hand moaning out when the movement pushes him deeper, and his palm brushes against your wanton clit. 

“If you stop, you’ll wish the Basilisk had eaten you.” You snip and growls amusedly. He sits up and removes his hand from you and you glare up at him incredulously. You push yourself up a bit and open your mouth to protest and demand that he finish what he started. But ever one to interrupt, he’s gripped your hips and flipped you over onto your belly before you can even get a single breath out.

You groan out and bury your face in the pillow when two of his fingers slip inside your now aching cunt from behind, diving into you at an absolutely delicious angle. He leans over you, his chest against your back as his fingers begin to piston in and out of you, the lewd sound mixing with your moans. You gasp softly when his hot breath hits your cheek.

“Be sure to remember that I gave you some warning.” He growls into your ear. 

His fingers don’t let up, and only pick up in pace, stroking your walls and stretching them to accommodate his fingers. He continues forcing them deeper inside you at a rapid pace. You groan out and you tighten around fingers, which only seems to make him want to drive into you harder.

You gasp when his tongue teases the shell of your ear, his breath hits your neck, and sends a shiver running up your spine. You feel like you’re being claimed by a beast, and you love it. He growls softly as his fingers start to grip your walls, scissoring at a rapid pace stretching you out. 

You open your mouth in a silent whine, and then you finally feel him. His cock brushes against your thigh. You lift your hips to meet his fingers, silently begging for him. He chuckles and only continues to drive his skilled fingers into you. He flexes them, pressing up against that sweet spot and then retreating before you can get too much pleasure out of it.

“Damn it, Witcher-” You snap, your words melting into a muddle of moans when he dips down to kiss your shoulder and lets his underhand slide between you and the bed and flutter his digits against your clit. “You know what I want.” You finish, gasping softly when he flips you onto your back. Your chest is flush and his eyes trailing over your heaving chest, and back up to your eyes only makes your entire body flush with heat as well.

“Then say it.” He murmurs, kissing down your neck and capturing a hardened nipple in his devilish mouth when you rise in response to his fingers thrusting into you at this angle. 

Looking back, you could only blush madly at the thought of your response. You weren’t one to be so brazen, even with other past lovers. But something about this man had you tossing bashfulness to the wind. You didn’t care that you didn’t know him, didn’t care that this was nothing more than two bodies fulfilling a need. 

Your hands slipped up to cup his chin, pulling his face up to look at you with those honey eyes. Your legs spread a bit more and you groaned softly when his thumb settled on circling your clit, just barely touching it.

“I want you to fuck me, Witcher.” You whispered, biting your lip and grinning at him. You were more than ready for him. He growled, satisfied with that answer. You watched him with bated breath. A needy moan escaped your lips when you caught sight of just how much larger than you he truly was.

His fingers retreated from your dripping sex, and you watched him drink your juices off of his fingers. He lifted one of your legs and ran his hand up your thigh positioning it over his shoulder, pinning your hands over your head and leaning over you. And before you could demand that he stop teasing you, he pushes into you, filling you up and stretching you out. 

“Gods yes.” You moan, grinning up at him and wrapping your legs around his waist. His hips roll against yours, just barely moving. Though he flexes his cock inside you, and it sends a delicious jolt running through you. He’s silent, save for his growls and somehow he’s still intimidating- in the best way.

His eyes never leave yours, and it only heightens the pleasure you’re feeling. He watches your mouth fall open into a small silent ‘o’ when he slides out of you slowly and slams back into you. You bite your lip and pin him with a challenging glare.

“I thought, fuck- I thought Witcher’s were known for being rough?” You teased. You’d blame it on being drunk with pleasure and need. It’d been so long since you’d lain with anyone, you might as well get the most out of it. He chuckled and you let out a quiet squeak when his arms wrapped around you and pulled you up to sit face to face with him. You moan and roll your hips in his lap. 

“You’ve been listening to too many bored wives.” He chided as his hands settled on your hips and began bouncing you on his cock. His hands run up to tangle in your hair, tilting your head back and biting at the most delicate parts of your neck. With each nip, his thrusts seem to pick up speed until the entire bed is shaking and you’ve given up all hope of silencing your moans.

“Ha, sure, but am I wrong? How many times am I going to get the chance to bed a Witcher? I want the full experience~” Your hands run up his back and your nails dig into his shoulders while your hips bounce against him. You grind against him, your clit rubbing against his skin and burning a hot pleasure through your core. 

He growls in our ear, nipping at your shoulder. He pushes you back down onto the bed, raising your hips and bracing his hand on the wall. He grunts and dips his hips down to push into you, the head of his cock reaching the deepest parts of you and driving you wild. You can only hang on for dear life, and enjoy the ride. 

He fucks into you for what seems like hours, and every time he feels your cunt tightening around him and your moans turn desperate, he flips you toying with your clit but backing off every time you're ready to let go. By the time he’s edged you for the umpteenth time, you’re a spluttering needy mess. And he’s barely broken a sweat.

“I- Gods-” You can’t muster up a coherent response. He lifts you into his arms and stands walking you towards the wall until your back is flush against it, your shaking limbs clinging to him. His arms enclose your body on either side of your head as he presses on, his hips snapping against yours, the lewd sounds of his cock fucking into your sopping sex filling the room. And just when it feels as if you can’t take it anymore, he slides you down onto the floor, flips you onto all fours, and slides back into you.

“You wanted the full experience.” He teased, his tongue running across your shoulder. Your body is practically buzzing from the over-stimulation. You growl in response and arch your back bucking back against him. You want, and desperately need to cum. His arms lock underneath your shoulders and pulls your back up against his chest. He captures your lips in a hungry, almost possessive kiss that leaves you breathless.  With one arm still locked tightly around your body, his other hand trails down your side and his fingers trace tight little figure eight’s around your clip as his cock slams into you. 

His golden eyes stare into your own as he draws you closer to the climax you’ve been hungry for since he first stepped into your inn. His roguish smirk is the last thing you see before a pillow comes colliding with your face and wakes you. You sit up spluttering and swatting at the air. You blink into the bright sunlight streaming through your window and glare at your assailant. 

“It’s about time. You were giving your guests quite an earful.” Beth chortles, dropping the pillow in your lap. “Now come on, I hear The Witcher is going to be riding through town come nightfall.”

[eidolon-zephyr]

Wonder

Fandom: FFVII Pairing: Sephiroth/Cloud (?) Rating: T (CW for some blood)

Summary: You don’t know what you have until it’s gone. Sephiroth is no exception, he just handles it differently. (WC: 822)

It isn’t until his sword was deep in Cloud’s heart that Sephiroth hesitated.

As he stood atop the ruins of the Shinra building, his prized Masamune piercing so deep that it was in the ground behind the other man and holding him up like some grisly trophy, Sephiroth wondered.

Was this what he had wanted? It seemed reasonable. Cloud was an obstacle, a nuisance keeping him and his mother from true happiness.

Why, then, was he now frowning to himself?

The blonde gripped the blade pinning him, attempting to push himself up as he had seven years ago, but the glorious strength Sephiroth had once been witness to was bleeding out of him at a rate too quick for him to keep up. With a quick gesture Sephiroth pulled the blade out, probably more roughly than he intended, and Cloud gasped, his eyes going wide.

This wasn’t right. No, Cloud should be angry, gritting his teeth and pitifully attempting to force the pain down. He was supposed to tap into some unknown well of strength and give Sephiroth a challenge again. Why did he simply sink to the ground and look at him like he was lost?

Sephiroth took a step forward, then another, until he was inches away, and then he knelt, taking Cloud’s chin in hand and looking him in the eyes. He felt as lost as the other looked.

“Where is your fight, Cloud?” he murmured.

Cloud opened his mouth to speak but instead choked on blood and coughed it onto Sephiroth’s cheek. He tried again.

“They…’ll…s-stop you.” His rasp was barely above a whisper, but Sephiroth heard easily. He tutted, silently thinking that red was a wonderful color on the blonde’s pale skin.

“Cloud, we both know that you are the only one who can face me. And now you can’t.”

A flicker of fear passed through Cloud’s eyes before it was drowned behind the exhaustion. He weakly reached up to grab at Sephiroth’s wrist, and Sephiroth allowed the motion, staring intensely at the contact.

“Please…”

That got Sephiroth’s attention.

“Please?”

Something that looked like frustration seemed to overtake Cloud’s features and to Sephiroth’s surprise, he saw tears welling up in the other man’s eyes. A thousand words and expressions flew through those faintly glowing blue orbs, but only one word escaped.

“Please…”

He gripped at Sephiroth’s wrist with the strength of a newborn kitten, but after a couple of seconds let his hand fall. He seemed unfocused.

“I…”

‘I don’t want to go.’ Sephiroth heard whispered through their connection.

“Cloud.”

There was no response. Sephiroth took in the sight of his adversary, dead on his knees with only Sephiroth’s grip on his chin keeping him up.

He didn’t know how to feel. This was…a triumph, wasn’t it? He paid no mind to the fact that his tempestuous summoning had dissipated, leaving storm clouds in its wake. Despite the calls of Mother, urging him to destroy, to conquer, he easily pushed it aside in favor of the man before him. Wordlessly, he maneuvered himself so that he was sitting, dismissing his sword to its pocket dimension, and carefully pulled Cloud up so that his head lay against his elevated right knee. Left to his own devices now, he took his time recommitting Cloud’s features to his memory. Not that he’d had any need to – Cloud had been the focus of his thoughts for so, so long. He’d been the reason Sephiroth continued to exist, his obsession fueled by defiant mako-bright eyes and a determined cry of his name. Yes, he’d thrived on the attention Cloud paid him, his interest caught long ago when a scrawny teen had summoned herculean strength despite injury to send him flying to his death. And now…

Now he was gone.

Faintly, he registered the sound of Highwind’s airship behind him, Cloud’s companions no doubt horrified at the turn of events. He didn’t care. None of them mattered; they never had. They never would. The body in his arms, though? This had mattered. He leaned down, touching his forehead to the rapidly cooling one of his nemesis, and the morbid side of him commented that it was the first time they’d ever touched skin to skin. It was pleasant. If only Cloud could respond, fight back.

A thought suddenly occurred to him, and his lips quirked upward in a contemplative smile. His fixation on Cloud had effectively made him immortal. Hooking his arms under Cloud’s body, he stood in one smooth motion, his wing exploding from his back with barely a thought.

“Think of me, Cloud. Think of only me and you will return. It’s inevitable.”

A low rumble of thunder answered him and his smile grew.

“I will keep you safe until then. Don’t make me wait long,” he purred, his wing snapping into motion and carrying him off into the distance with his prize, Avalanche unable to follow.

It began to rain.

[brvisedmorality]

[ TESSA THOMPSON, 37, CIS FEMALE, SHE/HER ] Have you seen BENTLEY BOURDEAUX down in St. Landry again? I heard they’re one of the BOSS, for the KELLEY’s now. They’ve been so CUT THROAT & GUARDED lately, it’s no wonder. I’ll sure miss when they were CREATIVE & SENTIMENTAL. I wonder if they’re going to stop listening to HEAVEN KNOWS by THE PRETTY RECKLESS. now, or if LILY TATTOOS WRAPPING AROIND HER HEART, A GAZE THAT DEFINES IF LOOKS COULD KILL & A RUSTED WEDDING RING BURIED IN THE SWAMPS will still announce ‘em.

Violet Maheaux was born in the backwoods of the bayou as a chilling side effect of what could only be called the hate fucking exchanged by her parents. She was the kind of woman that you admired for both her inherit, natural beauty and her dreams. The dreams were always the big ones, the ones that involved making a name for herself and leaving the sleepiness of this little town behind forever.  As pretty as she was, that was all that the ancestors saw fit to give her, nothing much more. They didn’t see it important to offer the woman the tools that she needed in order to make it out of her circumstances, there was no second chance at a life unless she learned to use the one thing that she did have – her body. Violet learned at her young age that for as many dreams as she had, her parents had that many less. They could barely spell the word dream let alone live it, so there was no other choice for her to start to get creative. She managed to learn that the world would open up to you just as soon as you opened your legs. Pussy, that was the one marketable talent that she was born with and she decided to use it as such. The phrase gold digger was one that had been coined especially for her, the girl with champagne taste and beer money. Through the years she had found men here and there but she never really managed to accomplish anything great from sloppy blowjobs and quick sex until she met Weston Bordeaux.

Weston was not only the most desirable man that she had ever seen, his bank account reflected just the right amount of zeroes to make him the prime candidate to run her right out of the woods and into the penthouse. There were two dates before she found herself pinned to the backseat of his Bentley, a chorus of convincing moans and slick sheen of sweat resulting in her golden ticket, the baby that he put inside her that night. In all her glory, she managed to rope on of New Orleans’s most eligible bachelors. Weston’s parents were not about to let a bastard child be born with the prestigious Bordeaux name so he had no choice other than to marry the downgrade that he had made the mistake of impregnating. Their marriage was one that sealed fates ticket to bring the poor house to the Hamptons, so to speak. In commemorative fashion of their fuck trophy, Violet elected to name their first born child Bentley. The keep sake that lived and breathed was born shortly after they were married and there were days where she regretted even that simple, silver spoon mistake.

Bentley’s childhood was one that was filled with attention from anyone other than her parents. The people that whispered through the halls of their house, the ones that dusted ancient heirlooms and tended to the children were the ones that she knew the best. Her mother was a ghost of a woman, a woman whose only goal had been to get somewhere where she didn’t need to worry about money. She accomplished that goal on her back but now there was nothing left for Violet to aspire to. Weston on the other hand was miserable in the begging of their marriage and subsequently, while Bentley was growing up. He drank too much, worried even more and then of course eventually succumbed to his fate of loving the backwoods Barbie doll that he had been forced into marrying. The hurricane that was Bentley Mason stormed her way through the house and the grounds, never a soul to settle for too long. The wild child that her mother had been in her youth was the only trait she was thankful that she was passed down. There was no way to calm her waters or cage her desire to learn, love, hate, anything. She was as unpredictable as they came, something that her father saw as an immediate danger and attempted to cut off at the neck just as soon as possible. Weston’s suggestion for calming down their daughter was to all but sell her off to the highest bidder. Arranged marriages were a thing of the past, everyone said but what high society wanted, high society got.

The attempt to clip wings that were made for flying made Bentley more than enraged when she started coming into her teens. It was delicate age, the age where rebellion could come running into the back of your head and make its home there. It did just that, as a matter of fact. She was a wild horse that bucked the saddle they were trying to fit her with in every sense that she possibly could, but eventually daddy won out. He managed to rope her into a relationship with a man who was ten years her senior, ignoring the obvious age gaps and general inappropriate nature of their pairing, he was just happy someone would continue the prestige that was promised by the life he knew. The one thing that daddy didn’t know was that he had just pushed his darling daughter into the arms of malice, abuse, and violence all rolled into one. That was her dance with the devil, her chance to lose the wide eyed innocence that she had been born with. Her only saving grace was her sister, Delilah.

Bentley only stayed around for as long as she did because of her little sister, someone needed to be there to hold the hand of the most precious thing that shared her bloodline. Delilah Lily Bordeaux was the one thing that brought her head back down from the clouds and centered her in a way that one other hand that had ever touched her managed too. The problem with that was that Bentley was only human (as far as she knew), she could only handle so much. The straw that had broken the camel’s back was the last time that her husband to be busted her lip wide open. The copper taste of her own blood in her mouth was enough to break down the last of her defenses, leaving her with one choice at the ripe age of sixteen and that was to leave. She abandoned the family, the money, and the manufactured sense of both safety and love, making the last strike the last time that someone would ever put their hands on her without regretting the decision.

Leaving the house on the hill that she had been born in and subsequently her sister, affectionately coined as Lily, was the one thing that will constantly be a soft, untouched mistake that she still didn’t speak about. It was the reason that some nights she woke up screaming, other mornings she contemplated just ending the suffering that radiated from that hole that was left in her chest by the happenings at that house. Shortly after Bentley left home, Lily then twelve would just so happen to go missing. They searched for her for days, spending minutes, hours, days trying to find any sign of what had happened to the small girl with the sincerest of smiles. Local law enforcement combined with neighbors and friends scoured the woods, the swamps, everything that they could to find any sign of the youngest Bordeaux sister. The overly eager attempts to find the child by one neighbor in particular would be the downfall of the whole scenario, eventually finding that he had raped, brutalized and then killed the light of Bentley’s life weeks earlier, not even bothering to bury the body but instead leaving her in the basement of his oversized home right next to the Bordeaux’s house. This is what heart break feels like, this is what heartbreak sounds like, hell – this is what heartbreak looks like.

Bentley’s lines were blurred forever after that small, simple incident that came to define her own personal views on morality. She didn’t mind becoming the judge, jury and the executioner because that final kick in the balls so to speak came when they acquitted this man on a technicality that she was sure that his lawyer bought with all that money that they had to offer him. It was the law, the government that allowed him to not only kill her flesh and blood, but turned the blind eye to it. It was then that fate decided to brand itself a killer at the ripe age of sixteen. It was the first body that ever disappeared under Bentley’s name, but it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last one. That was the thing about blood, once you got it on your hands, those stains never did come out.

True to the saying, the first cut was the deepest, but that didn’t mean it was going to be some kind of well learned lesson. Instead, it became a means to an end. Regardless, the one mistake she’d made was getting caught. The person who caught her had a badge that she assumed would somehow steal the loyalty from her to it, but she was pleasantly surprised. The pair eventually took off together, until he’d left her in a cheap, roadside motel, to deal with the reality of her hand written tragedy. Upon coming back to town, Marie Kelley took her in. After all, she’d always known the girl, and something told Bentley, that when she looked at her? Somehow, she didn’t see the same monster that B did when she looked in the mirror. 

The Kelley family became the only family she knew and loved, aside from her sister, that she carried with her every day. That was the only reason she was allowed to climb the ranks the way she did, and it was at Marie’s dying recommendation, that she took the throne. A gift, that she hadn’t intended to waste then, and surely wouldn’t now. 

[alchemist-shizun]

To tend thee is my care

ACT II

ACT I - Read on Ao3!

Word count: 14,297

Summary: Here

Characters: Virgil, (Non-binary!)Roman, some OCs for plot reasons

Pairing(s): Prinxiety

Warning(s): Angst, negative thinking, swearing, crying, repressed emotions, fighting, insecurity, mentioned toxic parenting (once), overthinking, mention of paranoia (twice), yelling, kissing (Please let me know if I missed anything)

A/n: Will I ever stop projecting on characters? The amount of references to Hadestown in this is embarrassing. There are just so many references in general. (I’ll also explain the classical ones if you would like to check the works out, I promise they’re very good!) The fact that I started writing this back in June and having it complete now and so appreciated warms my heart so much and I’ll never stop thanking you guys. If you still have any questions about the story I’ll be more than happy to answer any doubt you have! I’m very proud of how it turned out and I can’t wait to know what you think about it. I also hope I did justice to the non-binary portrayal, I’m a bit insecure despite being nb myself yeah, makes sense. I hope you liked this little journey, thank you so much for the positive feedback and, all of that being said, enjoy! (The first scene is directly linked to the last scene of Act I, the scenes take place during the same day)

✾✾✾✾

Roman had found his way through the day by preventing his mind from ending up in the same old crush zone place and just keeping on waiting for the moment his club started.

Waiting patiently was something that came natural, he always thought that life was a never-ending cycle of waiting for things to happen, for days to arrive: it was a mechanism he could keep track of and that, eventually, helped him to get through his toughest days.

It started with the simplest tasks, like waiting for that one dinner where you were sure you were going to eat your favorite dish, or waiting for night to come to be able to hang out with his friends.

He thought about how pleased and happy he’d feel once the bad moment was all over, he knew he could get through every villain he encountered because he never failed to reward himself with the simple knowledge of making it through. That alone was enough a trophy to assure himself that, as he had done in the past, the next dragon-witch wouldn’t be unbeatable and that, in any way he could possibly think of, success was always on its way. Patience yields focus, as they say.

And so he waited.

For his classes to end, for him to be able to check his phone, for his countdown until he saw that pretty face again, for when he’d be able to hear the letters roll so easily on his tongue when he pronounced his favorite nickname, because he made it his favorite, or his voice did. He couldn’t decide. That was another thing to wait for. For the moment he’d finally muster the courage to smother his face with kisses. And holy fuck he was back in the crush zone.

He slowed down in his tracks, sure that none was around, and leaned on the wall to his right, letting out a deep sigh in the process, as if he was trying to blow out all of his thoughts. Only that it had the opposite effect.

Every inch of his body could feel that he was thinking about him and wouldn’t let him live it down. His insides just exploded into and endless hot summer day in which you would only feel relief in air conditioning.

Before he knew it he was smiling like an idiot and daydreaming possibilities and illusions that would only make him end up in a dangerous place if he kept them up. He could have hated him, he was a good actor he could have pretended. But that would have done more harm than good to him, wouldn’t it?

Whether tis nobler in the mind to be hated and therefore unable to hurt yourself with delusions, or to damage yourself with your desires, never certain of what may ensue?

« Hey, Ro! »

Roman broke free of his train of thought and found one of the actors right next to him.

« Hi Dave. » he offered a smile, still light-headed from thinking too much after intense hours of Spanish lessons.

« Come on, » he tugged at his fellow actor, he was going to be Cadmus. « today’s the big day, we’re trying a couple of scenes with all the costumes and make-up! » Roman was able to sense the excitement in his eyes even behind those sunglasses that Dave had already on.

They were going to the local theater, where the play was going to be shown for the first time, so they had to leave school to reach it.

Little did Roman know, though, as he had finally made his entrance in the theater, that it would be an uneventful rehearsal for him that day: since Virgil was missing and they needed to focus more on other actors, he could have taken that meeting to rehearse alone or stay in the backstage and let the other group practice on him with the makeup or clothing they needed to get right.

He chose the latter, since he knew being alone with his thoughts would have led him to definitely think about something other than practicing his own lines.

He had been sitting for quite some time in one of the backstage chairs, a very focused girl  in front of him, when she seemed to snap back to reality. She took a step back, tilting the brush in her right hand.

« Oh my god, your face is perfect. »

Roman blinked a few times. « You’re too kind, friend. »

« No, I mean it! Your features are so good to work on and I haven’t even done much. » she beamed, then gave a thoughtful hum as an idea crossed her mind: her eyes started darting from her small bag to the boy’s face.

She suddenly bent her head, avoiding eye contact. « You wouldn’t mind if I … tried for a stronger look? » her voice, barely above a whisper, suggested insecurity.

Before he had even realized he was moving, he felt himself nod.

Excitement settled in his chest for some reason he couldn’t comprehend; true, most of the time he felt the same way when he was acting with Virgil, (or anywhere around him lately) or when trying something new, like the anticipation he felt when the costumes for the play were finally done.

But there was something different this time, like he had been waiting for that exact moment for ages but just now he had realized it.

« Oh thank god. » the girl sighed in relief, looking back up at him with a small smile crossing her lips. « Generally the boys I ask tend to … turn me down pretty dramatically. »

Something dawned onto  Roman, while she added a quick “thank you” and began working.

Was he supposed to be mad? After all, it was just another type of art and he was all for it, there was no way he would have rejected it. He had even tried to teach himself to use those products before, when he was younger, but one day they had disappeared out of the blue which discouraged him enough to never try again.

He never really mustered up the courage to confront his parents about it, even when he was sure it was their fault.

He tried to let himself relax under the soft touch of the bristles, eyes closed.

Why was he overthinking this when he had been completely comfortable with agreeing on it in the first place? Why did it have to be a problem? Did he care for his group’s judgment? But they got make-up on every year for the productions.

Why was there so much confusion in his mind, yet he didn’t feel any negative emotion towards that moment? Maybe the confusion was due to all the positive things a simple task like that sprouted into him. Maybe he couldn’t just enjoy helping a friend practice.

Or, he was supposed to feel neutral about it.

Or …

« All done! » the girl stepped back and, when Roman opened his eyes again, he was met with a bright smile and a satisfied expression which distracted him from his previous thoughts.

She was quick to hand him her phone, promptly set on the front camera, and waited behind his seat for a possible reaction.

Saying he was lost for words was definitely an understatement.

The first thing he noticed was the red on his lips, a kind of hue he found to look perfect on his skin tone. Then, the flawlessly winged eye-liner, under different shades of red and gold blended on his eye-lids with what could have looked like a professional touch. His hand ghosted on his cheek, where some golden glitter was sparkling on highlighter.

« Oh, I used the imperial red for your lipstick, the name inspired me since it fits your next role as king, but turns out it actually does fit you nicely! »

« Stunning. »

« Sorry, what? »

Roman didn’t realize he had been mumbling in disbelief at his own reflection, despite loving his own image, it had been a long while since he had last liked his looks so much.

« You did such an amazing job! » what once was a timid smile started growing into a more confident one on the girl’s lips as Roman trailed off in his own list of compliments.

« Roman can you- Oh! » Dave had stepped in the room in that exact moment. For a split second, in which only a surprised expression dominated the guy’s face, Roman felt genuine fright.

Then, Dave smirked and leaned on a table. « Oops, didn’t see you there, pretty one. Can I tempt you to dinner tonight? »

« You’re a flattering one, but I’ll have to turn your offer down. »

« Aw- »

« Roman, how dare you! » a feminine voice startled the three of them, revealing a smiling Bonnie. « You’re messing with my bisexuality on purpose, admit it. »

He was literally beaming at all the compliments and positive feedback he was receiving, he had never felt more appreciated in his life, though he couldn’t exactly pin point why.

The two actors brought him to another small room where he had to change into the play costumes, they ran into Lukas in the process who gave Roman a small smile. That was definitely something, as they interacted very rarely.

Bonnie and Dave showed him his two sets of clothes, Pentheus’ and the Maenad’s ones, and left him to try them on. Their first night was approaching, so they had to make sure everything fit perfectly.

Roman went through his lines in his mind while he changed, stopping only to admire the combination between the king’s outfit and the stupendous make-up.

« I should do this more often. » he observed, his eyes lingered on his reflection on a mirror.

What are you talking about, what would you parents say?

He grimaced at the thought, he had almost forgotten about public opinion.

Do you think all your friends would actually approve? Fat chance.

He turned around and inhaled deeply. Who cares, he was simply trying his play’s costumes. What was the pressure in doing that?

Why was he procrastinating on that? It wasn’t that big of a deal. Right?

« Right. »

Roman stared at the dress he had to put on, then his hand went through the fabric; he lifted it and placed it on a chair. Yeah, no, he could do that. It was just acting after all-

Oh, that was it! Acting! He could go through his lines again, thus distract himself.

“What is this costume I must wear?”

Roman had finally gotten out of Pentheus’ clothes.

“On your head I shall set a wig with long curls.”

He put a hand in his hair instinctively. Yeah, he had ended up learning some of Dionysus’ lines too, after all he had to know what to say and when exactly to say it.

“And then?”

He didn’t realize he had actually mouthed that.

“Next, robes to your feet and a net for your hair.”

The vest fell neatly on his legs.

“Yes? Go on.”

He reached for the headband and covered part of his hair with it.

“Then a thyrsus for your hand and a skin of dappled fawn.”

The props where still being perfected, so all he did was take the item with the fake fawn skin; the material felt like little plastic bristles had been attached to some kind of cotton. He placed it around his shoulders, as he should have been a couple of scenes after the one he was recalling.

“I could not bear it.”

« I cannot bring myself to dress in women’s clothes. » he concluded the line, transfixed on his full Maenad dress-up.

It felt so wrong, so absolutely and thoroughly amiss to say that.

Was it because he had said it in the wrong tone? Did he have to try again? Did he want to try again? Maybe if he did he’d say it more naturally, he’d be satisfied enough to shove down his paranoia and he could call it a day.

“I cannot bring myself to dress in women’s clothes.”

His chest felt tight. Yes, okay, that was an ancient play, of course there were going to be things he didn’t agree with. Still … he could think of so many men that would agree with the king.

Was he even a man? What was he thinking, of course he was.

Yet …

He thought of himself as a simple actor trying his best to succeed in his everyday life. He hadn’t really cared about the question until now, or maybe he hadn’t ever deeply posed himself the actual question.

He dared to look at the mirror again.

“I cannot bring myself to dress in women’s clothes.”

He never really cared about what he wore during Carnival or Halloween, though he loved being a prince (as well as zombie royalty!), or what was his role when he played make believe as a kid with his wonderful cousins.

He didn’t feel weird with make up on, he didn’t feel different with what would have been labeled as feminine clothes on.

There was a word for it, he was sure, but he hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself.

He put his hands on his hair and let out a sigh. The line kept on repeating in his mind like a broken record.

“I cannot bring myself to dress in women’s clothes.”

Well, true, he didn’t really feel like a girl that much, but he didn’t feel completely like a boy either. Shortly thereafter it would have teared apart his mind.

Was he neither? Was he both? Was he fluid? Could he say he didn’t care? What was even allowed anymore?

He? She? They? Roman was too confused to even think straight, let alone make an important choice.

What would Virgil think about it?

He lowered his hands slowly, as the realization struck him.

Virgil was going to reject him.

He will hate me.

Was this going to change everything? Roman could only see one way out of it: escaping the possibility of being rejected and completely burn the bridges out of the blue. Virgil was probably going to hate him in that case, too, but at least it wouldn’t hurt that he knew they couldn’t be together exactly because of him.

He’ll think I lied to him all this time, he’s not going to talk to me anymore, I’m going to ruin everything, the play will be a fiasco-

He brought his fingers to his cheeks and found them already wet with tears, while, as his hearing finally came back to him, instead of focusing on his inner thoughts, he noticed the uneven pattern of his breathing.

That was when someone decided to barge in.

« Sorry, I have to- what? » Lukas stood in the entrance for a second, then he closed the door behind himself with a soft click and made his way to the other actor. « Roman, what happened? Are you okay? »

He tried hard to compose himself, but he just couldn’t. He shook his head, trying to blink back the tears as he bit the inside of his mouth.

« Let’s talk about it, I won’t judge you. I promise. »

« It’s nothing, you can go back, they need you- »

« I don’t think so. » Lukas spoke so firmly he felt obligated to listen to him. « The meeting is over anyway, I came to tell you. And you seem more in need of comfort than anything else. »

« Maybe I do. » Roman admitted, wiping at his face several times.

« Come on then, let’s change and go get some ice cream from that famous place in front of the library. »

Roman was able to shut his thoughts again. Not for long, though.

✾✾✾✾

Something was wrong.

For a habitual worrier like Virgil, it wasn’t arduous to spot the danger zone, a circumstance in which the tiniest detail could have revealed itself to actually be the beginning of a catastrophe.

It had started during his school trip: he had sent tons of pictures to Roman, who had personally demanded him to do so ever since he had heard of the trip. Despite that, he hardly ever answered as excitedly as Virgil thought he would have been.

Roman had the power to sound just as dramatic via text messages, it was unusual for him to sound uninterested.

After that, there were times in which he didn’t answer at all. Virgil had complained to his classmate, who had the pleasant misfortune to share the room with him at the hotel. At first he tried to brush it off, he told himself that maybe he was just too stressed because of school, but the growing anxiety and discomfort had started to show on the outside as well.

His classmate had tried to calm him down, come up with all the positive outcomes he could find, though he couldn’t shake off the concern in his eyes. That, obviously, told Virgil’s paranoia that he probably believed they were going to stop talking forever.

He pretended his heart didn’t sink every time he checked his phone for notifications and tried to make the most of his last days in Athens.

The lovely illusion of potentially finding Roman waiting for him at the parking spot for their bus didn’t help his overthinking.

Why would he even think he would have showed up, anyway? Sure, he lived nearby, but it was pretty late at night on a Sunday. It was more of a wish. He hoped he could have seen him as soon as he had come back to their hometown.

He had thought waiting for the morning would have been worth the longing.

The first day he had been back to school, they had agreed to finally meet after a week of almost no interactions at all.

Eventually, Virgil ended up at his bus stop, a disappointment in his guts that he didn’t want to uncover and a text from Roman that explained he had been caught up with a test and a Spanish project and he couldn’t have made it.

Not even to say a quick hello and disappear again.

Something was wrong, and it dawned on Virgil the day after, during break, when he noticed Roman hanging out with Lukas and subtly getting out of his sight as fast as he could when he saw Virgil.

He was avoiding him on purpose.

Luckily for him, that wouldn’t have lasted much longer as the play rehearsals took place right after school.

His worries were confirmed when Roman refused to look in his direction or sit next to him, Virgil decided to endure everything for the sake of the rehearsal, even when the teachers gave them suspicious glances at how stiff their performance was.

Mrs. Eagan had even stopped him and pulled him aside to see if he knew anything, if Roman was okay or if it was just a bad day.

The funny thing was that Virgil had been wondering the same thing for about a week, trying to come up with different excuses every day while deep inside he blamed himself. He just didn’t know and it was eating him away.

Maybe it was actually his fault.

Lukas had approached him after the meeting ended.

« Hey. I guess, uh … Have you noticed something weird with Roman lately? »

God, why were they all asking him?

« Apparently, everyone is. »

Lukas’ intense stare bore into him.

« I know something. » Virgil’s head snapped up. So that was why they had been closer than usual; Lukas, much like Virgil himself, tended to stay in class most of the time.

« There is something that is bothering him very deeply, but it’s not my place to say. » he shifted in his feet. « I don’t think he’s going to bring it up anytime soon, so I suggest you talk to him. »

His natural nervous state morphed into a concerned one and, given a nod to the boy, he went to look for Roman.

For some reason, he was exiting the theater building from the back. Virgil saw him yelp in surprise when he grabbed his arm.

« Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or did you intend to ignore me a bit longer? »

Roman stiffed. He should’ve seen that coming. Panic rose to his chest as he searched his mind for an answer, a believable excuse.

You could always pretend.

« I fail to see the problem. »

« Are you actually serious right now? » he didn’t mean to raise his voice, but he just couldn’t buy that.

« I- »

« No, for real, are you being serious? » denial seemed to fuel him even more, to the point he brushed his hands on his face to shake off the disbelief. « ‘Cause last time I checked, you didn’t flee everytime you saw me like I was some kind of deathly virus to avoid! »

« Look, you’re blowing this out of proportion. » that was the first time Virgil despised the sound of his laughter and the way he acted. The first butterfly died in his stomach.

« So in your opinion this situation is totally normal and there is nothing to fix. »

« Precisely. » Roman’s words left his thoughts before he could process the kind of bomb he was dropping. He felt his heartbeat increase. « Have a good day. » he dead-panned, averting his stare.

When he made to turn around, he stumbled on his feet: Virgil had took a hold of his arm again, this time his nails almost pierced his skin. Roman noticed he was shaking.

« Don’t you fucking walk out on me again with no explana- »

Roman pulled his arm away. «  What do you want me to say? » he cut him off with a loud exasperated yelling.

All around, the place fell so dead silent that time seemed to freeze. Virgil stared at him wide eyed and instinctively took a step backward.

« What do you want me to say? » Roman repeated more intensely, extending his arms. « Do you want me to go on about how irritating you are right now? » he pretended he didn’t care when he noticed something break in Virgil’s eyes.

« Do you want me to make something up so that I can satisfy you? You know, not everyone is here tending to your needs at anytime. »

Roman tried hard not to let Virgil’s hurt expression get to him, especially when he caught on the fact he was blinking back tears when his gaze shifted to the side.

« Well, I don’t know. I thought we had something going on and I was worried about you. » he emphasized the last sentence, taking up all the courage to look him in the eyes, he failed to believe the conversation was real every time he looked away. « But it doesn’t look like you care at all. »

« You’re right. I don’t. » Roman crossed his arms. A beat, and Virgil intook some breath. « So this should end here. »

« “This”?  » Virgil tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowed and he made a face, as if he had just tasted something sour. « Our whole … » he widely gestured. « friendship is just a little nothing that can be discarded whenever you feel like? »

« If I say it should, then yes. » there was no emotion in Roman’s voice. The lack of regret started a bonfire in Virgil’s chest, where once a welcoming hearth used to warm his heart.

« At least look me in the eyes and dignify me of the reason why. » something in his cracked tone was desperate. Roman could feel the shards of his broken voice graze his skin.

Then he acquiesced.

« You. » he pointed his finger to Virgil’s chest, then slid both hands on his jacket and lifted him toward himself ever so slightly. He had imagined a scene like that once, only in that circumstance he wouldn’t have hesitated to lean in further.

« Because of you. Because I wanted to. Because I don’t want to be your friend anymore. » he talked rapidly. « Because I don’t like you. »

After a beat, Virgil talked with a strangled voice, keeping up the conversation had become unbearable. « Is it true? »

Roman fought himself not to break down, say no and tell him everything.

« If it is, I’ll be on my way. »

No, no, no, please I need you here. Don’t.

« It is. »

Please.

And that was all Virgil needed.

That was all he needed to hear before slowly getting out of Roman’s grip while he held his stare. All he needed to convince himself to shut his mind, confirm his worries, turn around and walk away with wide steps.

He didn’t last long.

He hid himself behind the side of his bus stop’s canopy and put his hands on his eyes, the lump in his throat was getting harder to shove back down. The pace of his breathing was uneven.

Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry.

Tears welled up in his eyes but he refused to let them escape, they wet his palms instead of doing their usual journey down his cheeks.

He didn’t want to breathe, because sobs were ready to leave his body shaking and that would have meant that he cared. He regretted caring for someone who didn’t even cherish him in the slightest.

He held his breath so much it felt like choking. His hands pressed further on his eyes.

But fucking damn him if he didn’t deeply care for him.

Yet he had been the one to drive him away without even realizing, he replayed the scene in his head and felt a genuine disgust towards himself and the way Roman despised him.

The way he spit his responses like acid on his tongue, which alimented the fire that burned down all the remaining butterflies in Virgil’s stomach.

Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry.

He tentatively lowered his hands, his sight slightly blurred, out of the crying danger. He let the numbness take over, the same one he felt during fights with his parents.

By the time he got home, he had gotten rid of his red eyes.

The void that weighted him down? Well, he had been mastering the art of bottling up emotions for a long time. That would have taken too much longer to let out.

As he got to his room, he buried his feeeling in his guts and threw himself in his bed, unable to bring back the tears.

Roman, on the other hand, realized with an unbearable aching in his chest he tried to ignore unsuccessfully, that had been the first time Virgil hadn’t called him “Princey”.

✾✾✾✾

April flew by in an instant, between Easter holidays that took up most of the month; and, with the arrival of the most feared and toughest period of school, things started getting serious for all the school clubs. Most of them had outings or presentations to do to a vast public.

And, of course, the play was only getting nearer.

Roman thanked his acting skills when the rehearsals took place most of the days, instead of once, the week before the designated day. Sharing the main roles with someone who would’ve rather slaughtered him to bits with a single glance wasn’t exactly his expertise.

On the other hand, when the night arrived, Virgil had definitely other things to take care of than plotting his former friend’s death.

His anxiety levels where hitting the ceiling and crashing right through it, who thought this was a good idea? Him? Acting? Having the main role? Being the one to open the play? Tragically ironic, he was barely able to speak as the clock counted down an hour before he had to appear on the stage and see the curtains open in front of him.

He was being shoved into the dressing rooms by Anastasia after spending most of the time checking if the backstage group had everything under control.

He couldn’t stay still and tried his best not to jump out of his seat when his teammates started doing his make-up and combing his hair in just the perfect position for the wig to be placed and look almost real.

After he had put on Dionysus’ clothes, the last agonizing minutes were ticking down. He couldn’t find comfort in anything or anyone.

He clutched at the fabric, almost believing that, somehow, he could have conveyed his nervousness into it.

His hearing felt muffled as his teachers encouraged him toward the stage. As he looked around while walking, he locked eyes with the other actors. When he met Roman’s, he didn’t feel any kind of reassurance, especially as he looked away before he could have seen the tiniest of smiles creep its way into his face, a way to help him even in the chaos he had created. Had he noticed, Virgil would have thought he was a hypocrite. Right after, a large part of him would have been the happiest and he would have hated it.

But right then, the majority of him felt uptight.

He placed himself in the back of the stage as he had been instructed weeks earlier, then the spell finally worked as he felt his shoulders relax, the tension in his muscles was released and the curtains opened.

In front of him, the theater was full, the lights  were all focused on him and he could hardly make out the facial traits of the audience seated in the front rows.

Virgil had his head held up, his eyes scanned the scene, slowly, he let the moment sink into him and gifted himself some more seconds of full and comfortable silence as the public, expectant, held its breath.

He moved ever so slightly forward. His mind, a few moments earlier, had been crowded with the worst fears of messing up. Now, it was cleared and he felt his steady breathing.

« I have returned! » his voice was earthshaking. « I am Dionysos, the son of Zeus, come back to Thebes, this land where I was born. »

As he transformed bit by bit into the god himself, he didn’t realize how the night was going to turn out wondrously.

✾✾✾✾

The scenes in which Roman and Virgil took part flowed wonderfully.

Because of their fight, the exchanging of lines between them was almost perfectly aligned with the climax of Pentheus and Dionysus’ conversations. They flooded all of their feelings into the characters, improving for the better how the teachers had told them to act. All the internalized emotions were let out, leaving their chests as light as feathers with every half-yelled remark.

The tension could be cut with a knife and the public was hanging at the edge of the seats.

Then, a line was spoken and, for an instant, Roman forgot they were acting in front of numerous people.

« My friend, you can still save the situation. » he couldn’t understand whether or not Virgil’s tone masked some kind of genuine sincerity in his words, or if he had really so much talent to make it seem real.

Roman stilled for a second, letting the words linger in his mind, he didn’t realize the two of them had automatically already shared a couple of lines before he came back to reality.

« This must be some trap. »

« A trap? How so, if I wish to save you by my own devices? » Virgil’s eyes narrowed as he moved closer. Roman’s attention faltered again, some more lines went by while he felt Virgil’s eyes bore into his soul.

« Bring my armor, someone. » Roman looked and gestured toward someone in the back. His expression shifted to an irritated one.  « And you, » he pointed his finger toward Virgil, allowing it to brush his chest for a moment while he paced forward. « stop talking. » he demanded. He had began to walk away, after sharing a long glance with him.

« Wait! » Virgil looked like he was having an idea. The magic of the god flowed into the scene and made the king stop in his tracks, the possession of Dionysus was only beginning. « Would you like to see their revels on the mountain? »

« I would pay a great sum to see that sight. »

« Why do you desire this so badly? » Virgil stepped closer again.

« Certainly I would be sorry to see them in their drunkenness. »

« But would you see gladly what is grievous to you? » that would have made anyone reconsider. And maybe it was the whole meaning of the play. To realize that we actually long for what we despise at times, so much that it can happen that we seek it.

« Yes, very much. Sitting quietly under the pines, out of sight. » the king looked like he was hooked on whatever idea the god was having, his expression hazy.

« But if you try to hide, they may track you down. »

« Your point is well taken. I will go openly. »

« Shall I guide you? Will you attempt the journey? » Virgil extended his arm, he felt like he was mimicking a particular scene from Aladdin.

« The sooner the better. The loss of even a moment would be disappointing now. »

The scene went on, the king grew softer as he fell victim of the god’s disorientating spell. And so did the audience. Captured by the characters on the stage, by the deity’s charm, just like in the tragedy.

With the gentle soft touches they sometimes shared, like the brush of one’s curls, with the wrath of the Maenads told by a terrified messenger and the despair of a mourning mother with a clouded mind, the audience was left wondering if they had all just dreamt the same thing as the curtains closed in front of their eyes.

The night had gone splendidly, they had earned a standing ovation and, thus, their ticket for the provincial Theater were now a certainty.

In a moment, the whole crew had found a spot to celebrate.

Refreshing drinks and simple food was placed on a table on which the teens were more than ready to pounce.

Between laughs, even some tears, small talk and relieved sighs, everybody slowly took time to congratulate Roman and Virgil for their spectacular performance, and everytime someone mentioned to Virgil how skilled Roman must have been to be able to spark such talent in him, he struggled to find the willingness to smile and agree. Not that it wasn’t true, but … he would have preferred to have his mind clear from the guy in a moment of happiness. Even when he actually couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that they were in the same room and it hurt already.

Lukas pulled Roman aside as they both finally stopped being lauded.

« Oh my god, not again- »

« Roman, please, you’ve got to listen to me. For real. »

Roman could hear his exasperated tone, an ashamed look crossed his own face.

« Go an try to talk to him. You owe him an explanation. »

« But what if- »

« Nuh-uh, I know what you’re going to say. Won’t happen. I’m sure of it. » Lukas had a particular way to sound concise and believable, one that often helped when a train of bad thoughts started a journey across your mind.

« I’m not entirely convinced. » Roman sighed, moving his hands on his face. He was also very nervous.

« Listen. » he forced him to look straight in his eyes. « I’ve seen his concern when I told him to look for you. » Roman’s expression grew soft, with a hint of guilt. « There’s no way he’s going to reject you, Roman. Nor make fun of you or disrespect you. »

Lukas glanced behind him at the topic of their conversation. « And you have to believe me when I tell you I know he cares a lot about you. »

Roman looked to the ground, he didn’t like the warm feeling in his chest. « Does he? »

« He does. » he took him by the arm and pulled him forward. « That’s why you will definitely fix this. »

Before he could stop him, they had already arrived at their destination and Lukas signed to someone on the other side of the room and said, loud enough for Virgil to turn and notice them, “Look, there’s Bonnie!”. With that, he left his friend to his destiny.

It was an awkward minute until Roman decided to speak up.

« Hey. » Virgil barely acknowledged him. He gained courage and tried again. « Great job today. » as if he hadn’t heard that thirty times already, that’s great Roman!

He watched him shift his glance to the side, catching Lukas and Bonnie’s smiles directed at them, Lukas looked at Roman, then back to him and nodded.

« So you decide it’s worth to talk to me now. » Virgil didn’t even turn to him. « How curious. » he said, a fake surprised tone accompanying that.

The actor sighed, the consequences of his action were showing, he probably hated him by then, but god forbid he’d lose hope or Lukas would have gone as far as setting up a blind date to fix things between them.

« Can you look at me? »

He didn’t know it would have been so easy to make him face him, but he regretted it as soon as he saw his sour expression, his arms crossed in a defensive manner on his chest.

Roman took a deep breath. « We’re both going to agree that I’m an idiot. » the genuine laugh that escaped Virgil’s lips left him in disbelief.

« Absolutely. »

« Great, uhm … Look, I recognize I fucked up. Like, an awful lot. And I want to apologize properly- I am deeply, truly sorry- »

« And an airhead. »

« -and that. » he conceded. « But I feel like any apology I make doesn’t convey how I actually feel. » he paused, Virgil looked neutral, then nodded slightly. He was still willing to listen.

« If you let me, I’d like to explain everything. All those horrible things I said … I was just scared for something bigger. I thought I was doing what was best for both of us and it was stupid of me to decide that in your place. And I, it’s just- »

« Slow down. » Roman didn’t realize he had his hands at the sides of his face and an heaving chest. Virgil held up his hands in front of him. « Listen. »

Roman did his best to calm his breathing as he waited for the other’s response.

« Let’s stop at that for today, okay? » he gained a nod from Roman. « I don’t think this is the time and place to discuss heavy topics. I have to think about it and you do too. Forgiving and trusting isn’t easy. »

« I understand. » Roman sounded already defeated.

« I’m not finished. » he looked up. « I’ll tell you when I am ready to listen. » Virgil had to admit something blossomed in his stomach when he looked at Roman beaming slightly. « Until then, wait for me? »

« I will. » Roman answered almost instantly, his eyes were smiling for him. He stepped back, believing the conversation was over.

« Princey? » he looked up again, seemingly incredulous. He had missed the nickname in a way he didn’t even know how to explain. He had been feeling like when you hold hands with someone but their hand is slowly slipping away, the grip isn’t as strong anymore and your fingers are barely touching. In fear of letting go or being left altogether. That name alone made it seem like his hold was somewhat stronger.

« Just … relax for tonight. We earned it. Mh? » Virgil raised his hand and placed it on Roman’s shoulder, and he felt it was the best comfort he had had in weeks.

He gave Virgil a smile and they parted again.

This time, though, they were both left with hopeful thoughts in their minds.

✾✾✾✾

Princey: Everything alright?

It had been three days.

Three painful days of waiting and there was no sign of Virgil.

Ever since the play, he hadn’t come back to school. One day was the usual, the group always finished pretty late in the night and none would be seen the day after in class. The teachers closed an eye on that.

Roman had begun overthinking; was he really that exhausted? Did he catch a cold? During May was unlikely, though. Was he sick? A fever, maybe? Or something could have happened, to his family for example. Or to him. His heart sank at that thought alone.

« Don’t do that, brain. » Roman quietly reprimanded himself.

He shot from his seat as soon as the last bell rang, succeeding in exiting his class before anyone else in the entire school had even left their desk. And, as he did the other days, he waited.

And waited.

And-

He had lost most of his hope when, almost fifteen minutes after, he was being pulled toward the stairs instead of still standing in the hallway.

Roman hadn’t even seen the figure discreetly exit his own classroom and grabbing his arm: he focused and recognized a hoodie. Black fabric, purple patchwork.

« You’re alive! » was the smartest thing he came up with, an idiotic smile twitching his lips.

Virgil glanced over his shoulder, shooting him a look that simply said “what are you high on?”

They kept descending toward the basement path for the gym. « There’s a class that is staying here for an extra hour. » he explains, releasing his arms afterwards, meaning the school would have been open for some more.

The walked down the second to last ramp of stairs, had a quick flat path, then climbed the last stairs.

« Are you sure they’re not having a P.E. Lesson? »

« Nah. Philosophy. »

Roman grimaced. « Poor unfortunate souls. » after five hours of intense lessons and only a ten minutes break that felt more like ten seconds, people who were up to do a sixth hour without even having lunch could consider themselves heroes and gained everybody’s respect instantly.

Virgil stopped in a spot between the wooden bleachers and a door that led to the outside.

« We have a little less than an hour- »

« Don’t you go home with a bus usually? »

Virgil blinked, taken aback he was concerned with that instead of already diving into his explanation. « I’m taking the, uh, the later one. »

« When is it? »

« In like … » he checked his phone for the time. « An hour, a little more than that. It’s always late anyway. » he shrugged.

« Okay, then I’ll be keeping you company. »

« You d- »

« As for the real reason we’re here. » Roman walked over to one of the first steps of the bleachers,where large dark brown stairs led the way up to the sitting spots. « Shall we sit down? »

Virgil complied. He turned slightly to him.

Roman breathed in. « I got distant because I was scared of your opinion on myself. » he stared into the nothingness in front of him.

A beat, and Virgil was already in disbelief. « Dude, what? My opinion- Roman, why would you believe I think lowly of you? » he pressed his hands on his chest for emphasis, looking slightly wounded but concerned at most. « You know I l- »

« I- Well, it’s … I’m not finished. » he added. « There’s more to that. I feared your opinion on me after I came to a realization. »

Virgil shifted, giving him his full attention, his chin resting on his palm. That was his cue for him to carry on.

But he couldn’t find the right words. And everything was so difficult, the wrong word and he’d lose Virgil. He didn’t even know where to start. He felt like he had forgotten every detail about himself and his mind had gone blank.

« There was once a king. » he felt himself blurt out.

Okay, you could work on that. Tell a story.

« He had some kind of development right before dying. He thought he hated something he actually enjoyed. Which means … it’s never late to learn something new about yourself. However a big thing it may be. » Roman finally looked over to Virgil, searching some kind of approval.

« Well, yeah. I think so too. »

Roman nodded. « Good, okay. Said king didn’t know that, thanks to him, a couple of thousands of years later, a random guy from around here would learn something about himself too. »

Virgil wasn’t sure he was following the correct train of thought. A part of his mind, deep in the back, suggested Roman was going to confess he wanted to take part of ancient rites and rip people’s limbs apart as a sacrifice for the gods. His logical sense told that part to shut the hell up, this was a serious moment.

Had he ever seen him open up so much to him? Sure, they both vented to each other in times of need, when they needed to complain about teachers or parents. Usual teenage stuff.

Sometimes he, himself, revealed some rather personal information when he really couldn’t take it anymore and his mental health decided to do a back-flip and sink down into the abyss of god knows what was going on in his mind.

As for Roman, well, Virgil hadn’t realized until now how much he had always kept to himself.

« Pentheus, in the end put a lot of care in his feminine look, dare I say he was kind of passionate about it, yes? » he attempted, looking over to Virgil again, he studied his reactions, his body language, trying to find out if he was a safe place before he was too late. How did people do this, was there a map or a guide he could follow?

« I’d say so, yes. He asked for Dionysus help, especially. »

Roman suddenly looked like he had just had an epiphany, his voice raising a little. « Yes, right! »

« Are you … asking for my help? »

He noticed Virgil was trying to read through the lines. « I don’t know, it’s just …I am too. Passionate. Uhm … that. »

« I know?  I can see that a lot of times- »

« No! No, not in- » Roman started gesturing widely. He dropped his arms in defeat, unable to track back his flow of thought. Stupid, stupid, stupid-

« Alright, we’re struggling a bit, aren’t we? » Roman grimaced and nodded. « You don’t have to tell me right now. » Virgil started.

« I want to! » and the sound in his voice was too desperate.

« Okay. » Virgil continued, maintaining a soft tone. « You can go straight to the point, if you want. I can ask questions in case I’m confused. There’s no need to tell everything at once. » upon finding so much comfort in him, Roman felt the urge to cup his cheeks and kiss the hell out of him for once and for all, forgetting about the mess they’d gone through.

« It isn’t easy. »

« I know. »

Virgil looked around, as if in search of a possible idea, then he simply stuck out his hands from his pockets and offered them to Roman. After sharing a stare to see if he was for real, Roman wasn’t late to take up said offer.

So, now he was holding hands with his crush, whose heart he had broken a month prior, now trying to come out to him. A piece of cake.

He brushed the back of  Virgil’s hands with his fingers, trying not to think about all that despite how impossible it was.

He took a deep breath, deciding it was either now or never.

His face shot up, expression determined like he knew exactly what he was talking about. His lips parted and Virgil leaned slightly in anticipation.

« I am non-binary. »

There.

Virgil blinked a few times, his expression didn’t change.

That was … it? Or maybe he was still processing. Or-

Roman couldn’t find it in himself anymore to look him in the eyes, he stared at their still joined hands, hunched over himself.

After a beat, he saw Virgil’s hands release his own from his grip and instead move on his arms and pull him in for the best and fiercest hug he could have ever fathomed to be real.

It wasn’t the first time they’d hugged, obviously, but it was truly the first time after an achingly long period of no contact at all, no talking, no being emotional together at 1 am over puppy pictures of Virgil’s Labrador.

It was the first real hug they’d both shared with someone for a while.

That was also the reason why all the adrenaline and nervousness of the moment decided to ease up under his touch, which caused the first tears to travel down his cheeks in irregular patterns.

As he heard the first sobs, Virgil tightened the hug.

« I have no problem with that, you absolute hard-head. » he gripped the back of his shoulders, pulling him as close as he could.

« I was … so scared. That you would’ve, I don’t know, rejected me. » Roman let out, struggling.

« I know. I’m sorry. » Virgil pulled away just enough for him to see his face. Roman noticed he was wearing a guilty look on his face. It took him a second to understand.

« Vi- »

« No, shut up. I have to. » he still had his hands on his shoulders and stared directly into his eyes. « I’m sorry you felt the need to do all of that because you were scared. And also I’m sorry for attacking you out of frustration. I was too confused to act right. »

« I forgive you. » Roman gifts him a smile after soothing him with the soft sound of his voice.

« I wish you hadn’t been scared. I hate the fact that you were and I didn’t help at all. »

« It’s not like you knew I was, I said pretty mean things instead of confronting you, too. »

« How about we say we’re both idiots and call it a day? »

« Agreed. »

After the hug, the first genuine shared laugh came, too.

« Seriously, though. You don’t have to worry about this, I’m the last person that will judge you. Nothing would change even if you had some overnight realization and you told me about it in the morning. And if you need to look more into it, you’re free to come to me. »

That was how Virgil earned another long lasting hug and a couple of hundreds of thank yous whispered into his ear. Which totally didn’t make him all flustered and shove Roman away. Only you imagined that.

« Oh, I have an idea. » Roman suddenly got up from the stairs and walked down.

« That’s a first. »

« Okay, wonderful, is it too late to go back to no talking? »

Virgil chuckled under his breath, then shrugged. « Enlighten me. »

« We could go shopping together. Like, clothes, make-up, or- »

« Food. »

« You’re the only one that truly gets me. » Roman’s dramatic tone was accompanied by an air kiss. « There’s also the end of the year’s dance coming around, oh! We could get matching clothes! »

Virgil quirked an eyebrow, still sitting down and looking up at him, a smirk crossed his face. « Is this your way of subtly asking me to go with you, Princey? »

As if on cue, Roman’s entire body decided to heat up at once and he very carefully wondered if someone had actually just set him on fire. Maybe that would’ve been an easier situation.

Roman stuttered, who allowed him to be so bold out of the blue? Illegal. That was definitely illegal, that smirk was illegal, and the effect his whole being had on him was definitely utterly mostly illegal.

« ImeanIguessifyoudlike- »

« If you think I caught all of that you’re very wrong. »

« I’m just saying. » he tried again. « If it’d fancy you, then we could arrange something. » he conceded.

Over-dramatic. Poised, like a seventeenth century aristocrat. And so, so deeply infuriating.

« Maybe, when His Royal Highness decides to come back to the present time. »

« So that’s a yes? »

The last bell of the day rang, at which Virgil retrieved his backpack and made his way to the door. « I said maybe. »

Roman followed right after, their next destination was his friend’s bus stop, where they would have waited for more than half an hour.

And he definitely knew that was a yes.

✾✾✾✾

It was like breaking out of a shell.

As much as the inside could have been comfortable, curled up in a silent but pleasant darkness, only once out you could be able to shine bright and experience the real freedom.

Virgil and Roman had spent the day at the most visited mall nearby their school’s town; being able to finally buy whatever you wished with no nervousness was such a cathartic experience. Confidence could only accompany them.

They were walking down the street to reach the train station, bubble teas in their hands.

« Hey, V. » of course, Virgil could only turn so much that his friend had already hit him with one of the bubbles in his drink. It was a simple and effective way of annoying someone, you got the bubble in the straw and then you blew it out toward someone. And, if it managed to crush and let out all the syrup, well, you had to run.

Thankfully that wasn’t the case.

« Something’s telling me you want my attention. »

« Firstly, I always want attention. » Roman counted on his fingers, correcting the other. « But, yes, I have a question. »

« Shoot. » Virgil took another sip of his drink. The nonchalance and general comfortableness of those situations always managed to let him relax.

« Have you cleared your thoughts about university? »

At least, until he wasn’t reminded of something else.

« I suppose. »

« Are you gonna stay in the province? » Virgil noticed his slightly shaky voice, was it trepidation or fear?

« Most likely, yes, I’ll commute. I’m probably going to take up that Cultural Heritage faculty, there’s a lot of history of art. » he looked at Roman. « And also some archaeology exams. »

Roman’s smile grew wider at the news, he remembered one of the first times they talked, he had suggested that himself.

« I’m going to a theater academy. » he finally conceded, eyes going down at the sidewalk he was pacing on while his smile faltered a bit. « It’s a two hours car ride from home. I’ll be staying in an room with some others I think. »

« Well, yeah, it’s the best option. »

« You’re, uh, okay with it? »

Virgil stopped and blinked with an indescribable look on his face. « I’d be mad if you didn’t go there, Roman. You’ve got the talent and the opportunity, too. »

« Alright. » the trademark smile was back again. « You can come whenever you want, anyway. »

« Sure. It’ll be a pleasure to blast angsty songs under your balcony in the middle of the night. »

« Don’t make me take it back, Emo in Black Clothing. »

« Let me be an individual. »

« Anyway, » Roman gestured widely. « I’ll come back during weekends. »

« Honestly, the fact that you think you might get rid of me so easily wounds me, Princey. » Virgil giggled quietly, something he allowed himself rarely.

It wasn’t long after he realized Roman hadn’t been following him anymore after having pronounced the nickname that sparked in him the same warm effect even after a hundred times of saying it out loud.

Virgil turned with a questioning look.

« I have another question. » Roman watched him instinctively shrink in himself. « How did you come up with that name? »

The other tilted his head and arched an eyebrow. « You literally wrote it down on my phone when you gave me your number. »

Roman smiled sadly, biting his lower lip, then shook his head slightly. « I can’t believe you don’t remember. »

« Remember what? »

« Our first year. » Roman stepped closer. « We were our first months into the theater club. I was going off at someone about a Disney play I did when I was a child. You were pissed at me because I was wasting my time and that’s when you called me that for the first time. »

Virgil went wide-eyed. « You remember all of that? »

« I liked it. » Roman shrugged. That was the first time he had really noticed him, the one time he had decided to try and be friends with him, actively failing every attempt. And there he was, years later, finally having accomplished the mission.

« That’s cute of you, Princey. » okay, well, something he couldn’t handle was definitely being called that twice in a day, especially after being described as “cute” by Virgil of all people.

This is illegal illegalillegalillegal.

Roman wasn’t even aware he was being basically dragged towards the train station with his arm linked to Virgil’s.

✾✾✾✾

The chorus had prepared itself behind the curtains.

« Virgil, look at me. » Roman had positioned himself in front of him, blocking his view from the stage. « It’s gonna be fine. You’re amazing, you’ve proved it before and I’m sure you’ll do it again. Just follow your emotions like last time. »

He did really want to believe him, he wanted to give his best performance for his fellow club members. Then why was it so hard to have faith in himself?

He was still keeping a grimace when Roman brought up all his courage and leaned his hands at the sides of Virgil’s face to place a kiss on his forehead.

« I believe in you. »

To assure yourself a good success, it can be required to change something up in order to gain an even larger public.

Cicero was a good example to make: he came up with his sermones for the trials, learnt them by heart, recited them during his prosecutions and had a trusted servant that he had freed afterwards, Tiro, take notes on what he said during the trial. Once it was over, and most likely won, he would go back home and confront his first draft with Tiro’s notes, he would combine them an create a greater sermo and publish it for all the Romans to see.

That was what Virgil was reminded of when the theater teachers told them they had an idea to improve even more Dionysus and Pentheus’ interactions.

Also, that was the reason why he was then standing in the middle of the stage at the provincial theatre at the end of May or early June, Roman in front of him who had just approached him. Or, more precisely, the reason why he lifted his arm to place a finger on Roman’s cheek and lightly push his head to the side, just the little bit he needed.

His eyes scanned Roman’s hair. « This lock of your hair has come out of place, not the way I arranged it under your headband. » he tilted his head to the side, returning his glance on his eyes.

« It must have worked loose, when I was dancing for joy. » Roman’s voice sounded dreamy, almost surreal, like he wasn’t even in that world.

« Well, I will rearrange it, » Virgil took both of his hands in a comforting manner. « Since to tend thee is my care; » he lifted his chin afterwards. « Hold up your head. » he commanded.

« Here, you arrange it; for I depend on you, indeed. »

He raised a hand to move Roman’s hair back under the headband. Both his fingers and the silence lingered, like the stare they kept up.

Build tension.

And they did, in an achingly slow pattern, give the audience little hints.

Like when Dionysus made the physical contact linger, on his hair, on his dress, on his hand when he gave him the thyrsos, when the angered expressions shifted into softer ones, or they stood closer than they should have.

Dionysus was almost as good as Hermes with lies, he was a god of disguises, after all. The god kept on filling the king of fake praises.

« You will spoil me. »

« I mean to spoil you. »

Make them expectant.

Before they realized, they were both in the back of the stage, still clearly visible to their public, while a group of students, the messengers, explained the tale of how Pentheus, once reached the Bacchantes, came to his fall.

Roman was standing in front of Virgil, behind him the crowd of Maenads was starting to get up, slowly, and approach. Virgil stepped closer, putting his hands on Roman’s shoulders.

« And there came a great voice out of heaven. Dionysos’, it must have been, crying: “Women, I bring you the man who has mocked at you and me and at our holy mysteries. Take vengeance upon him.” »

And turn your back on them at the last second.

Virgil shoved Roman to the group, and he fell behind, his back against the Maenads’ arms. The lights on them went off.

« Happy was the hunting. »

✾✾✾✾

« If you need help the reception at the front will be open until you guys aren’t finished. » and with that, the two fellow actors were dismissed by their teachers along with a couple of other group members.

Saying that it had been a wild night of success was an understatement, as Virgil and Roman found themselves at almost two a.m. still fully clothed with their play costumes and not a single bit of make up wiped away.

Way too many people from the audience stopped to greet them and compliment their talent, some had even full conversations with them and never seemed to want to let them go.

When they thought they had finally broken free of the people’s questions, they were met with a local journalist who demanded an interview with the main actors and the heads of the group. They both thought their success was insane, but they couldn’t help but feeling prideful about it.

Mrs. Eagan and Mrs. Michaelis had waited for most of the students to leave with their relatives before deciding they could go home themselves and accompany some of the remaining ones.

They had made sure Virgil and Roman were fine with being left alone in the biggest theater they had ever acted in, trusting them enough since, in the end, both of them had reached 18 already and they were adults in the teachers’ eyes.

So, as any adult would do, they politely told them they didn’t have to worry and they could go home right then and there. They kept their poised stances until the little group was gone.

Then, they grinned at each other and made the most of it.

There was no spot they couldn’t say they hadn’t checked out or touched, they admired props lying around for other productions. Or the costumes they probably weren’t supposed to know about in bigger dressing rooms.

It was hilarious: two actors running around the backstage of a theater, one dressed like an ancient Greek god, the other still in full Maenad look, the fake fawn skin now in his arms.

As they finally went back to the rooms reserved to their school, they started helping each other out, a good teamwork, with taking off bobby pins still stuck in their (very soft, Roman had to note) hair.

They took their precious time in cleaning their faces free of foundation, eyeliner and all the other products they didn’t even know had been used. By that, of course, we mean smearing mascara under their eyes and looking like absolute messes before wiping it off completely.

The oh-so-fun aura died down when it came to take off their costumes and slide back into their normal clothes.

It meant they were done, that they would’ve gone home after that and their experience was over. End of the games, just like that.

Roman didn’t think so.

Virgil had just gotten in his small dressing room, those same ones that you see in clothing shops, when he jumped at Roman storming in immediately after, tugging at the curtain to block out the rooms light.

« What the fuck, man? » Virgil had his body completely pressed to the wall, next to him a mirror and Roman on the other side.

He had a mischievous smile on his lips, one Virgil didn’t really trust.

« I had a thought. »

« That’s a first! »

« Stop doing that, » Roman whined before recomposing himself. « You should help me. »

Virgil wasn’t sure he had heard correctly, did he just say- « What? »

« You helped me with it on the stage, might as well help me out of them too, wine god. » he giggled in such an annoying way that Virgil felt the need to punch his face but also write a poem about how adorable he was at the same time. The duality of a poor tired guy who didn’t know what to do with his feelings anymore.

« You’re the laziest person I know. »

Virgil took the tiniest step forward, then moved his fingers on the front buttons of Roman’s shirt and started working on them.

Silence fell over and now he was painfully aware of his breathing, of the heat rushing to his face which he fought back. But how could he when Roman’s breath tickled his cheeks with every exhale?

He could practically feel his stare, it was that same one sensation of impatience and distraction that eventually forced you to look up in curiosity.

But when Virgil did, he found out he wasn’t looking at him.

Well, technically, he was, but their eyes didn’t meet; Roman’s stare was, rather, lingering on the line of his jaw, then trailing down his neck.

Virgil moved slowly.

Next thing he knew, Roman’s hands were untangling the strings on his clothes.

« What are you doing? » he didn’t mean to sound so quiet.

Roman didn’t take his eyes off of the laces. « I’m undressing you. »

And that was the last straw, because after that Virgil absolutely and very clearly lost it.

He took his wrists and pushed forward: Roman’s back touched the room’s wall with a small thud and his hands were brought above his head, pinned by Virgil’s own.

Virgil surged upward, stopping exactly as his lips ghosted over Roman’s, and everything was clear to him.

Pothos, the desire of something or someone that is far away, that achingly long time you’ve been waiting for the moment to present itself and give you the chance of satisfaction.

With that millimeter between them, Virgil just knew it was still too much to bear. Neither would have felt complete.

It was when Roman finally, finally closed the gap and transformed the longing into passion that he understood. He truly understood it all.

Himeros, the desire of something or someone that is right in front of you, and yet the one that makes you feel like something’s wrong.

It is the concept of love as missing, almost physically, yearning for the object of your dreams to reciprocate your feelings or simply be there.

Virgil pressed his lips desperately on Roman’s; to hell with it, he wanted to feel the wholeness Aristophanes liked to talk about in his myth. He wanted to know what the demon, son of Pòros and Penìa, was like when he possessed his senses. He wanted to understand the link between beauty and life that only the gods could fathom.

He wanted to experience the thousand, then hundred and a thousand more kisses Catullus wrote about, to the point of not being able to keep the count anymore. Or see the same beauty Sappho saw in the objects of her love as she remembered them while lying down with the moonlight brushing her skin.

He wanted to see the world slowly rebuild itself, just like Tityrus had seen thanks to his love for Amaryllis, the tale Virgil, the Latin poet, had narrated.  Orpheus’ willingness to go to the end of time, to the end of the earth for Eurydice.

And Roman was able to give all of that to him with a single, gentle touch. Roman was his mean to reach the deity’s realm, the muse that sang to him his epic poem.

For a moment, they believed they didn’t need to breathe at all.

Roman slid his hands into Virgil’s, bringing them down and leaving them at the sides of his face as his own searched for Virgil’s back to hold him closer and pressed their bodies flushed, he needed to understand the completeness.

Begrudgingly, he left the taste of Virgil’s chapstick to leave a trail of slow and gentle kisses down his neck, leaving red marks here and there as he made his way.

Roman shifted, stumbled around and Virgil couldn’t care less when he found himself with his back against the mirror, its coldness a contrast to the rising heat of his body.

They met again in a deeper, open mouthed kiss, tongues having a dance they would have never wanted to conclude.

A myriad of feelings were bursting in their chests, Roman was pretty sure that the butterflies had now become a greater beast, blissfully twisting his insides. He finally had a word for it: it was a catastrophe.

The way Virgil’s nails grazed his skin, how his hands held onto his shoulders, or his fingers just barely brushing the hair on his neck, occasionally tugging at it. Devastating. Their breaths mixed, their hearts pounding alongside, an unbearable cacophony echoing through the air between them.

Pulling apart and diving back in, terrific.

Roman moved away only to take a moment to appreciate the sight and fathom what a tremendous work of art they had done. And it was wonderful.

With every single aspect of themselves, they had created a breathtaking painting, the awe upon the sculpture of Laocoon.

Roman raised his hands to cup Virgil’s cheeks, brushing those beautifully red swollen lips with his thumbs. He allowed himself to smile and catch Virgil’s lower lip between his teeth one last time.

Dizzy, light-headed and catching his breath, he would have sworn he had just experienced the Stendhal syndrome.

Time slipped before they decided to change, give themselves a rest and find a place to sit down.

Virgil melted as Roman refused to let go of his hand, or his arm, shoulder, waist, anything that could possibly indicate that he was still there and it wasn’t all a dream.

« Hey. » Roman suddenly looked up and met Virgil’s searching eyes. « I’m not going anywhere. » his own eyes fell to the hand he had clasped in both of his, clutching it like a life-saver.

« Oh, I- » his giggle sounded a bit too loud. « Sorry, I just. » the right words, where were the right words when he needed them? « Are you sure? » his voice was barely above a whisper.

Wait. That wasn’t what he wanted to say. Where did that come from- what was that sad look on Virgil’s face?

Roman felt the other’s hand tighten around his. « I am utterly and perfectly sure, Roman. I’m exactly where I want to be. »

« In a deserted theater at three in the morning with a nerd from the languages course? »

Virgil chuckled. « Don’t do that, you know what I’m talking about. »

« I suppose. »

« Alright. » Virgil shifted so that he was completely facing him, he took both his hands and held them while looking right into his eyes. « You can tell me if something’s bothering you. »

Roman felt himself blush, he had been exposed, and something was pinching his stomach. He had to let it out.

« It’s kind of weird, but … I’m still kind of afraid you might reject me. And you could think it is because I don’t trust you, which is not true, but I wouldn’t blame you, then you could start hating me- anyone could start hating me at any given time and I’m just- I’m just trying to understand myself, I’ve only started to do so and I’m scared anyone could leave me exactly because of that and it would shatter me. »

Roman breathed in deeply, that was the most he had ever revealed of his dark thoughts, yet it was still so little and he knew he wouldn’t have been satisfied enough with a single conversation.

« I understand how you feel. » Oh. « I think like that, too, sometimes. Often times. And I can’t promise you all that will be gone in the blink of an eye. But we can work on it together, if you’re willing to. »

« We can? » he tentatively glanced up.

« We can. » Virgil reassured, gifting him a genuine smile.

Roman threw his arms around his neck, whispering a thank you in his ear as Virgil returned the hug just as tight.

« Come on now, or the receptionist will most likely fall asleep on us. »

Roman didn’t move as the other got up and felt himself stop in his tracks by Roman’s hand. He turned around, the sitting boy glued his eyes to the ground.

« Can you do me a favor? » his voice was barely above a whisper, like he was actually talking to himself.

« Of course. »

« I’m not even sure about it, but I’ll never be if I don’t try it first. » Roman began explaining. « Can you use neutral pronouns with me? Just you, I want to see if I’m comfortable with it. »

Virgil gifted them a smile. « Certainly. Also, you don’t need to justify yourself, just say the word. »

Roman tackled him in another hug. « You’re the best, holy shit. »

« Please, no, I have a reputation to maintain. »

« What reputation? »

« Excuse you? »

« No, wait I didn’t mean it like tha- Vir- Wait for me! I don’t know the way- »

« You’re going home alone. »

« No wait, I’m afraid of the dark! »

« Good luck with the monsters. »

« How could you say that?! »

Needless to say, in a minute their hands were linked again.

✾✾✾✾

Exams were in ten days.

That night, though, the students from the last year didn’t care. Along with the ones from the other years, they showed up to celebrate their well deserved end of the school year.

The party was something simple, there was music and drinks, but most importantly, there were too many people.

That was something Virgil had never liked; despite that, though, he had found quite a pleasant company. Yes, he had gone with Roman and yes, he had to stop himself before he ruined their makeup with kisses for how gorgeous they looked.

They had made their entrance and, in a second, they were joined by none other than their three favorite fellow actors.

« Imagine we actually did those King and Queen of the night, like they do in those movies. » Dave suggested. « If I were ever to win, I’d give you my crown, Ro-bro. »

« Why would that be? » Bonnie questioned, if she knew something, it was Dave’s love for his personal stuff.

« Because as Cadmus I’ve already done my duty as sovereign so I’m passing my throne to my child. »

« Hearing you say that while I’m older than you is kind of weird- »

« Also! » he interrupted again. « Because you’re the worst drama queen I’ve ever known. »

Roman snorted while Virgil nodded solemnly; that was the Dave they had learnt to know.

« I would say you’re not too far from it either. » Lukas barged in, handing one of the drinks he was carrying to Bonnie. He had left the group to get them a few moments earlier.

Snickers filled the air between them while Dave gave him a mischievous look. « Aw, here I thought you had gone off with your boyfriend. »

« Wait, what? Why do I not know of this? » Virgil protested, arching an eyebrow toward the boy in question.

Lukas rolled his eyes so hard they thought for a second that they couldn’t see his irises anymore. « He’s not. And, for the record, he’s annoying. »

« Huh. » Roman shifted his gaze and looked over Lukas’ shoulder. « I don’t think the feeling is mutual. »

Virgil turned to see a tall blonde and over excited guy waving wildly at them. Heh, he could understand his friend’s motives.

Dave waved back with an idea in mind, yelling a “hello” from a distance, then he grabbed Lukas’ shoulders and shoved him towards the other boy. « Go get him, tiger. »

« I hate you so much. »

The bunch cheered and laughed altogether, checking their friend from a distance.

« And Bonnie, » Cadmus’ actor really had something for everybody that night, didn’t he? « Don’t think I haven’t noticed your heart eyes at that Hiro dude from the Art course. »

As if on cue, the girl went wide eyed and red in the face: it took a couple of encouragements before she was off, too, on her love quest.

« As for you two. » the actor began, pointing his fingers toward Virgil and Roman. « Go have fun already. » he ordered with a genuine smile, then he decided to add on with a softer tone. « Maybe somewhere you won’t be afraid to at least hold hands. »

Oh. So he had noticed how they were subtly standing extra close.

« Are you trying to get rid of all of us so you can hook up with someone yourself? » Roman teased, arching their eyebrow.

Dave simply chuckled and showed them the way to a flight of stairs that led to an outer terrace.

« Don’t be arodiculus, Ro-bro. »

« Did you just- »

« Yes, I did. Now, have fun, lovebirds! » Dave pat each on their shoulders and disappeared into the crowd behind themselves.

Roman shook their head with a small smile, then they extended their arm for Virgil to take their hand, which he very much gladly did. They marched up the stairs and finally they were breathing pure air.

Virgil walked up to the railing of the terrace, letting go of Roman and leaning into the sight of the nightly town.

« I thought I was going to suffocate in there. »

« You should have told me if you wanted some quiet time, you know. »

« Shush, silence is in town. » he gestured to the tranquil city in front of them. « Keep her around. »

Roman laughed quietly. They approached Virgil and they rested their chin between his neck and shoulder, wrapping their arms around his chest.

« Will you ever stop making references to emo bands? »

« Honestly, the fact that you know of them really does say something about you. »

« I’m going to remind you that I could literally throw you off this building right now. »

Virgil set his hands around their wrists and hummed. « Normally I would’ve shoved you away, but I kind of like this, so. »

This time, Roman didn’t pretend they didn’t feel the welcome giddy feeling in their stomach and allowed themselves to look even more delighted than usual when they were around him.

« And I kind of like you. » they admitted, turning their head to place a quick kiss on his cheek.

« You’re a sap, Princey. »

« No, I mean it. »

That was definitely Virgil’s cue to melt right on the spot. No grand gestures needed, simple words of appreciation were enough to push his overload of positive emotions button. Roman had wondered more than once how much he had been neglected affection before they were there to tend to his well-being.

« Ro … you don’t have- »

« I want to, Virgil. » the way they directly spoke into his ear sent shivers down his spine.

« I believe in us together more than anyone else. » they mused, Roman was looking ahead of him, eyes occasionally shifting to the starry sky above them.

They tightened their embrace. « I believe that with each other, we are stronger than we know. »

You’re gonna make me cry. Virgil thought he had actually said it, instead his voice died in his throat as he tried to blink back the heartfelt joyful tears that threatened to make an appearance.

Roman stepped away and he already missed the warmth. They turned Virgil to face him and rested their hands on his cheeks, looking lovingly into his eyes. It was too dark to determine the color, but none would have been able to make them forget their glow.

« I- » Virgil felt in an helpless dire need of intelligent words.

« Sh, don’t say it. » Roman’s smile was far too soft to bear. « I know. »

He didn’t know what to do. He once believed he could recognize what that kind of feeling was, little did he know he was so wrong. It was nothing like he had experienced before and Roman taught him what it really meant.

« I just wanted to thank you. » Virgil admitted before they could stop him. « For opening up to me and trusting me with all the issues that have come to your mind recently. » he went through some of them silently in his memory. « And the ones that have been in the back of your head for far too long. » there was a reprimanding tone in his voice and Roman kind of felt like they deserved it.

« Sometimes it is nice to be reminded I’m not the only one to think about themselves as a bit broken. »

« Which you definitely aren’t. » Roman was quick to retort. « And I should be the one thanking you, so don’t even get me started on that. »

Virgil snorted and nodded slightly.

« In conclusion, » Roman started, pausing dramatically. Then, they leaned in just that essential amount to grant themselves the perfect special effect. Their voice was warm and emotional. « I’m so fucking glad I fell in love with you. »

Virgil didn’t fight his wish to surge up and kiss them senseless.

✾✾✾✾

The chorus of Bacchantes stood, covering the view of the back of the stage. Their gazes were fixated on the ground. They were still, making no sound. Bronze statues.

Dionysus and Pentheus appeared at each side of the stage, walking towards each other and meeting in the middle. The god placed his hand on the other’s shoulder and they both faced the audience.

They broke the fourth wall.

« So ends the play and Pentheus’ story » the king declared, searching for the public’s reaction.

Dionysus scanned them too, after taking a step forward, almost at the edge of the pavement.

The curtains started to close, leaving the god in between.

A cryptic smile danced on his lips as a provocation left his mind.

« Isn’t it the thing we hate or fear the most the one that remarkably fascinates and intrigues us? »

He stepped away. The god had vanished.

The audience breathed in and out, and the curtains met at last.

✾✾✾✾

Taglist: @lesbianturtle @len-art-trash @i-need-you-buddy @jeevashun @quietlypondering  @creativity-killed-thekitten @bookwyrminspiration @i-have-n0-idea-what-im-d0ing  @softanxiouspatton @be-more-chaotic @pheonix-inside-reblogs @www-dot-ohshit-dot-com @datfearlessfangirl @alltimevirgilant @royalnerd829 @just-fic-me-up @theblankest123 @theotherella @thesleepyraziel @gaylotusthatexists @sendingcookiesfromhell @mijako98 @logicalberry @maybe-i-like-the-misery @orderly-opaline @purpledemond @nafsbluebery @tefff696 @why-should-i-tell-youu2 @quietwords-loudthoughts @sam-the-human

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Mother dragon (9); WInchester brothers x reader

*Author’s note*

Hey guys well I’ve had this done for a couple of days but I wanted to fix some things up that caught my attention but to those fans who have been waiting long and hard for this next part, I hereby present to you the long awaited chapter 9 of Mother Dragon. So here we get some intense drama happening here so proceed with caution.

And I know I may get some comments (or not) about Warren’s character being an asshole after this chapter but ALL WILL BE EXPLAINED IN THE NEXT CHAP. I don’t wanna give to much away cause that would be spoiling it but I hope you all enjoy this chapter until I finish up chap.10. Now I’m not sure how many more parts there will be but I can tell you we are now at the halfway point of this story. I’m glad to see people still enjoying this and new people coming in to reading this book, I can’t tell you how much it means to me. Thank you all, don’t forget to reblog, like and comment.

Taglist:

@psychosupernatural

@ixchel-9275

@plethora-of-things

@onebigfangirlworld

@waddles03

@deanscroissant

________________________________________________________

The next morning I woke up to the sound of Stephen’s roar I groaned tiredly but that’s when I remembered.

“Shit dragon school whoa ahh!” I soon ended up falling out of Deacy’s bed and ended up tangled in his red satin bedsheets. “Hey! Hey let go of me get me out of here!” I struggled to get out of the sheets which took me like five minutes.

As fast as I could, I began putting on my armor and once I was sure I got everything on and buckled I was about to take off flying when I heard a knock at the door.

“Shit.” I muttered quietly. “Who is it?”

“Hey (n/n) can we talk?” Oh shit, it was Dean.

“Uhh…..can we talk about it later?”

“No kid actually this needs to be said now, come on open the door. Sammy, Cas and I are all out here and we need to head somewhere where there aren’t any dragons to spy on us. Can you please open the door?”

“I can’t because I’m in the tub right now.” I then opened my wings and immediately took off flying towards the exit.  “Whoa! Okay little turbulence, okay just slow and steady. That’s it (y/n) just let instincts take over and just fly.” I flew through the maze like entrance until I finally reached the exit.

“Seems our latest addition finally decided to arrive.” Deacy teased.  I landed and brought my wings back into the suit and lifted my helmet up.

“Haha very funny.” I mocked back.

“Right. Now that everyone is present and accounted for, I’d say it’s time we all fly out to our current location for our first lesson.” Everyone then phased into their dragon forms and Stephen led the class of about 20 little dragons onward while Deacy stayed behind and allowed me to get on his back.

“Sorry I was late, Dean, Sam and Cas were trying to talk to me before I left, couldn’t risk them finding the suit.” He nodded in understandment before he took off following Stephen.

We soon arrived at a clearing out into the woods, now phasing back to human form the dragons all landed.  When Deacy phased into human form, I immediately jumped off of him and opened my wings for a safe landing and he landed beside me.

“Alright young ones. Next to flying, hunting is the key to our survival. Back when I was a dragonling, the world was much different than it is today. Less technology and less suspicious, curious humans. We were once free to hunt but now with the rising numbers the human race, we risk our existence being exposed to predators such as trappers and hunters. Who can tell me the three laws of hunting?” There was silence until a young girl around 10 years old with long sandy blonde hair spoke up.

“No dragon shall ever hunt on human grounds. Stick to the forests or deep in the sea.”

“Well done Chrissie, who can tell me the second law?”

“No dragon shall hunt human animals. Above all the cattle which is sacred to them.”

“Nicely put Adam. Third law, and the most important one of all.”

“Never make man a meal. Especially the virgin women. For taking humans only brings up more humans.” All the children soon choired out in unison.

“Excellent. Now when it comes to hunting, the first thing you need to remember is that while it is our right to hunt for survival. We must never do it for sport. It is important to know that when you hunt with our Alpha, he always calls the shots. Whatever he says goes. If he says a dragon is to start the stalk on the ground, you go on the ground. If you are the eye in the sky, you fly high so that the prey doesn’t see you but you see the prey.”

“But why must we hunt from the ground when we have our wings?” asked a young Asian dragon.

“Well Shang that’s because in order to take prey from the ground, you must first tire it out. It never suspects a dragon to chase it from the ground. A good chase helps the seeker tell the other dragons where the prey is going. If all of us hunted from the air, we lose the prey much quicker in the trees and brush.”

“Today you kids will be learning just that. We’re going to set you off into small groups and your job is to assign a chaser, a seeker and finally the ambusher. The ambusher’s role in the hunt is when the prey is finally within reach, you must strike out and take it down. All members must work together as a single unit. No one must outshine the others.” Deacon said.

“Deacon and I have assigned the roles for each of you and have already decided on who is to be what in this team hunt. In total we shall have seven teams of three since there are now 21 in this class level, so here are your teammates.” After a few minutes everyone of us was assigned a team.

I was partnered with two female dragons Astrid and Rose.  I was to be the ambusher, Rose was the ground chaser and Astrid was the eye in the sky.

“Now it’s not about who catches the biggest prey or who comes first in the hunt. The object is to work together as a single unit. You all have your assigned roles and areas of your hunting ground, now hunt!” Rose, Astrid and I ran westward then went north until they finally caught wind of something.

It was a hare.

“Hare, 10 o’ clock.” I whispered.

“10 o clock?” questioned Astrid confused.

“It’s just an expression, just look that way.” The girls turned and they soon saw the hare feasting on some grass.

“Okay I’ll take to the skies, call out patterns and turns.” Astrid whispered as she turned into her silver dragon form and took off flying with probably the quietest flaps I had ever heard coming from a dragon’s wings.  

“I’ll head on ahead. Think you can handle the chase Rose?” I asked her.  But she looked a little scared, her hands were wringing themselves and it looked like she had tears in her eyes.  “Hey Rose, you okay?”

“I’ve never been able to pass this test. I always fail Master Stephen and Alpha. I—I can’t do this. Why can’t we hunt grass or berries?” I looked at her empathically and said.

“You want to be friends with that hare, don’t you?” she looked up at me and nodded.

“It’s sad the way we must kill animals. They’re real nice and they never did anything to us.” I sighed and said.

“I know. Believe me it was hard the first time I ever had to kill a live animal. But take it from me Rose. As hard as it is, hunting is the difference between living and dying. If I didn’t do what I had to, I wouldn’t be alive today. And neither would your Alpha. You’d all still be living in fear had he died at a young age from hunger. I know it’s cruel but it’s what’ll help the nest. For your future little ones you may have. And it’s like Stephen said, you all do it for survival and I wish it were like that for all living creatures that hunt. Including us humans but sadly some of us have forgotten that law.”

“My mama says that humans kill for sport. That some of you have animals as trophies, or clothes. Is that true?”

“Sadly it is. For many humans they do hunt for sport. But some of us aren’t like that. Like me for example. I never killed a bunny back home if I knew it wasn’t going to be for a good reason either for myself or for your Alpha. Yeah it was tough the first several times. Believe me my first time I cried for over a week and thought about never eating meat again. But fruits and berries can last you so long. In the end I needed more protein otherwise I wouldn’t last. And I didn’t want to die.”

I cupped the side of her face and said.

“I know it’s scary but I know you can do this. All you have to do is just lead it towards me. Let me take care of the rest, okay?” She nodded and said.

“Thank you mama dragon.”

“You got this sweetie. I believe in you Rose.” I ruffled her hair gently then kept my eyes on the hare as I stalked around it, making sure to hide in the thick bush downwind of its sense of smell.

Rose slowly stalked towards the hare in her dragon form and soon the hunt began.  The hare quickly took off running through bushes and logs but Rose was right on him, from the air I could see Astrid flying out and calling out to Rose in dragon tongue calling out patterns in order to lead the hare straight towards me.

I got into position and could hear twigs snapping and heavy footsteps.  I waited, and waited and waited until the hare jumped in my line of vision and I grabbed hold of it and pinned it down by it’s back so that I could quickly tie up it’s legs.  Rose slide up to me panting and Astrid came down to see if I had caught it.

“Well done girls, you did amazing.” I placed my hand on each of their heads giving them a proud stroke as they purred and nuzzled against my hand.  Rose especially was happy as she nuzzled further up my arm and she licked my face and just stared at me with those dragon amber eyes of hers. “You’re welcome Rose, alright c’mon let’s show your alpha and teacher what we managed to catch.” We then headed back to where Deacy and Stephen were waiting for all the young ones to come back with their game.

All the young dragons got a different variety of things from birds, to rabbits and foxes and some caught bigger game like small deer.

“Well done young ones, I see some potential future hunters for our nest. Keep this up and soon you’ll be joining your Alpha and I on the real hunts.” The young dragons all cheered and it was then Deacy said.

“Alright I think that’s enough for today, back to the den. No wondering off now.” It was then we watched as all the young dragons flew off.  “Mum, that includes you.”

“Got important Alpha things to talk about?” I asked. He nodded. “Very well I’ll leave you boys to talk. Besides I better make sure Sam, Dean and Cas aren’t too suspicious. I’ll see you guys later.” I then took off running off back towards the den.

*3rd Person POV*

As soon as (y/n) was out of range, Stephen said to Deacy.

“I got an update from Warren sometime last night.”

“And?”

“It’s here. He lost track of it at around dawn so it could be anywhere now.”

“Any what of Percy? Was he with it?”

“As far as he knew, no. Let’s up it’s just that monstrosity and nothing else.”

“We can’t take any risk. Even if it’s just one of them, I want it killed before it can report back to him. No one is to leave the den until this thing is caught and destroyed.”

“What of your mum? And the brothers?” Deacy hated to even think of doing this but he had to protect his mother.

“Even them. If they try to leave, stop them at all cost. I refuse to lose another mother.”

“Understood Alpha.” Stephen then took off flying in dragon form and Deacy turned to look up at the sky before spreading out his wings and flying high into the sky.

*My POV*

As I finally reached the den, I suddenly heard a voice I hoped that I wouldn’t hear say.

“What the hell is this!?” I was shocked to see Dean, Sam and Cas all standing outside all with their arms crossed over their chests and looking at me with disapproving looks.

“Hey guys well look who finally came out of the den. Seriously never did I think you guys would come out here for some air.”

“Don’t play dumb (l/n), what the hell’s all this? What are you wearing cause last I checked we’re miles from Comic Con.” Dean snarled.

“What oh this old thing? Latest fashion statement here in Britain didn’t you know?”

“You’re lying to us (y/n), now give us the truth.” Sam demanded.

“What do you guys care, so I made a suit so what? It never harmed anyone?” It was then Dean came up to me and forcefully pulled on my wing string which caused my wings to spring out. “Dean what the hell? I thought you were taught to never forcefully put your hands on someone!?”

“Not when someone is pretending to be something they’re not. So all this time, the sneaking out, the early morning patrols with your son? You were being one of them?”

“So what if I was?” I bluntly said as I took my wings back in. “Did it ever occur to you boys that when you found me I might’ve had a second agenda in mind?”

“So you were just using us?” asked Sam.

“I was being a mother! You guys will never understand the bond between a parent and their child!”

“We do know one thing. We know the bond between family. We took you in, we protected you, and this is how you repay us back?! Okay that’s it we’re out of here.” Dean forcefully grabbed my arm and dragged me towards Sam and Cas. “Cas get us home.”

“Dean stop it let me go! Let go of me!”

“No one is going anywhere!” Soon slamming down on the ground with green wings spread out was Deacon.  “You four are to stay here.”

“And look whose come? The beast who gave (y/n) Stockholm Syndrome.” Dean fake praised. “The all mighty Alpha dragon.”

“Let go of my mother Dean.” Deacy lowly growled.

“That a threat?”

“Not a threat, a promise.” Deacon’s eyes phased into dragon slits as I could hear the low thunder growls rise up in his throat.  

Dean forcefully let me go but before I could stop him, Sam stopped me holding me back and I watched as Dean walked straight up to Deacy and he said.

“You really are a mama’s boy aren’t you? Well news flash in my book humans don’t take in monsters. She’s done with you. And if you come back for her, I will end you.” Dean punched Deacy across the face sending him down to the ground.

“Stop it! Leave him alone!” I roared at Dean as I struggled to get out of Sam’s grip.  Deacy looked up Dean and said as he got up.

“Yeah, and how you gonna do that hunter?” Deacy then sent a hard right hook across Dean’s face and at that punch I heard thunder rumble and lightning flashed across the sky.  Dean looked back towards my son with blood dripping at the corner of his mouth.

He wiped it away as Deacon continued.

“I know all about Dean Winchester, I know exactly where you have been. The hunter to be pulled from hell, and now the one place that’s even worse than hell. Purgatory. The hell for all monsters. I’ve seen the bloodlust in your eyes, and that only comes from those whose had to fight for their survival. Well if you want a challenge then you’ve got one.”

The two of them charged at each other trying to outweigh the other like two titans battling it out.  But then Dean had to cheat as he kicked Deacy’s leg in sending him down to the ground and I heard the cocking sound of a gun.  In his hand Dean held his gun and my son looked up to see the barrel of it staring him right in the face. He chuckled icily and mocked.

“You know that thing won’t kill me right? You’d just be wasting bullets.”

“Yeah but I’ve had an itch to shoot you since I met you. Plus we’ll see how many bullets it takes to slow a dragon down. Maybe even bleed you out?”

“You could try that. But one shot of that gun and the entire nest will know who fired that gun. They know the sounds of a hunter’s weapon. And once they see the blood on me, they will reign hellfire down upon you. And dragon fire is worse than what you experienced in hell.”

Dean took aim, slowly his finger pulled on the trigger and soon a shot was heard.

Dean Winchester had been knocked to the ground and when he quickly grabbed his gun to fire once more at Deacy since he had missed the first shot, but standing in front of his target was none other than me.

Yeah.  I had knocked Sam out and tackled Dean before he could shoot my son and now here I was standing protectively in front of my boy and a hunter.

“Mum, stay out of this.” I heard my son say.

“No! Not this time. If he’s got the balls to shoot my son, then surely he’s got the balls to shoot his mother.” I glared right at Dean and continued, “I knew you changed the second you came back from Purgatory. You’re full of bloodlust, you never ask questions, and you’re always on edge. I’ve warned you multiple times what would happen should you harm my son. So come on, you’re a hunter. A Winchester no less. If you really think I’m a monster,” I walked right up to him, took the gun and positioned it right to my forehead and sneered, “Then treat me like one.”

Silence rang through the air and I saw a slight flicker in Dean’s soulless eyes, but he still didn’t drop the gun even as I held my arms out ready for him to shoot me.

“C’mon Winchester.” I mocked.

“Dean….put the gun down.” Sam tried to reason as I saw from the corner of my eyes he and Cas slowly walking towards us. After a moment of silence and Dean still keeping his dagger-like eyes locked right on me, Cas now spoke up.

“If you pull that trigger, you will unleash something far worse than anything you’ve seen. Deacon, Stephen, Apophis, every single dragon will kill you!”

“Not if I kill them first.” Dean argued arrogantly.

“No you won’t! Dean…..I know what you’ve been through back in Purgatory, trust me I was there with you. But if you cross this line, all that’s happened to you will seem like a walk in the park. Trust me. You can’t comprehend how deep a dragon’s loyalty goes. So don’t test him!” Cas argued back.

All was tense and quiet. I could just feel the fear from Cas and Sam, the anger from my son and the rage Dean was emitting.

“Dean! You’re better than this.” Sam reasoned one last time.  For a split second I thought Dean would shoot me right then and there but then something else happened.

A loud roar echoed throughout the forest.  If I had to put it into words, it almost sounded like the raptors from Jurassic Park.

“What the hell?” I muttered.

“Get inside.” Deacy demanded.  “Now all of you inside!”

“Deacon hold on what is that?” asked Sam.

“Just get inside!” Suddenly out of nowhere a dragon suddenly appeared, but it was completely different than any dragon I had ever seen.

It looked like a crossover of a dragon, scorpion and spider.  It’s tail was what got my attention as there was a large piercing stinger at the end of it, it had two tusks on it’s mouth like a warthog and had six legs, the front legs resembled pincers and the other four were more like dragon legs and feet.

“Run!” Deacon soon phased into his dragon form and grabbed hold of me and put me on his back as well as grabbed the boys and we flew towards the den with the dragon chasing after us.

“Uhh Deacon shouldn’t you be fighting back?” Sam cried out.

“Look out!” I ducked his head in as the dragon shot out something I never thought a dragon could breath out. Acid.  Green and yellow acid.  I watched in shock as it melted the rocks like it was nothing.

“Does that answer your question Sammy?” I cried out. We soon reached the main sanctuary but as soon as the rest of the Deacy’s nest saw the dragon enter, they all flew high up to their sleeping dens away from the dragon.

As Deacy flew towards his, the dragon was right on his tail ready to fire again but he suddenly stopped as he was now thrown backwards.  Standing between the dragon and Deacy was none other than Warren.  As we all got off of Deacy’s back, I looked over just to see what all was happening.

Warren stood before this dragon and roared menacingly at him and the two circled each other.  Even though Warren had a great size advantage over this dragon I was not expecting what was to come.

The dragon leapt itself at Warren, attaching itself to his face and horrifyingly managed to bring the giant colossal dragon down to the ground off of his feet.

I could hear all the other dragons whimpering and roaring in fear as Warren was taken down by this tiny bug-like dragon compared to him.  Using his whip like tail, he at least managed to pull the dragon off of him but before he could unleash a raging fireball at this dragon, I saw some sort of spit shot right at Warren’s eyes and he roared in pain as the dragon quickly got onto his back.

Using it’s barbed like tail like a scorpion, it pierced through Warren’s neck causing him to roar before finally collapsing on the ground forcing himself to transform back to his human form.  The dragon roared and circled Warren, all the while stomping on the ground with its pincher-like front legs sounding like it was gloating.

Why couldn’t he hear it? If his sight was blinded then his ears should be able to hear him? Why wasn’t he hearing it, it was clearly wanting him to fight him back.

Okay that’s it. I placed my helmet over my face and activated my wings and took off flying all the while hearing Deacy and the guys trying to stop me.

*3rd Person POV*

As Warren lied there helplessly, his vision now blurry thanks to the dragon’s special venom and from the paralysis poison coursing through his veins, the dragon then launched another attack ready to end Warren’s life with a single bite to tear him in half while he was still in this form.

But what the dragon didn’t expect was another roar to be hear, but it was unlike any roar it heard, especially as it felt itself being kicked in the forehead and tossed aside like trash away from its kill. As it got back on it’s legs and snarled, there stood (y/n).

Her wings spread and she now activated her special ‘dragon claws’ that she herself had forged while working at a case at an old steel mill.  She stood protectively in front of Warren, even though he had threatened her no one deserves to be taken down by a cheater.

From above all the dragon seeing the Mother Dragon down below about to go face to face with this dragon all roared and cried out for her to kill it.  All but Castiel, Sam, Dean and especially Deacy who was fearful that he’d lose yet another mother, and this time in the most gruesome way possible.

Then it began.  The dragon launched itself at (y/n) but she leapt over the dragon easily but it quickly came back at her a second time but she managed to jump over it and land perfectly on the tree and thanks to her claws, she got a pretty good height as she hung there for a bit.

However the dragon didn’t just fly up to her, no that was too easy.  This dragon was just a fast a flyer as it was a walker as it now crawled up towards (y/n) roaring and snarling at her, chasing her up further and further into the tree.

Clawing and spitting acid toward her, (y/n) somehow managed to dodge it’s perfect aim running across the branch until she was forced to open her wings once more and take flight towards another tree branch.

She waited as the entire sanctuary was silent. Looking at every corner she could to try and see if she could spot the red and black dragon anywhere but there was no sign of it.  That was until suddenly it somehow got above her and was ready to take her down, but then revealing a hidden knife underneath her wrist, she managed to stab the dragon’s wing which caused it to go off balance and roll down 10 feet to the ground.  The dragons above her roaring and cheering.

It wasn’t until the dragon opened it’s wing to not only reveal that she had actually managed to stab it, but she gave it a pretty good cut in it as well, at least 3-4 inches of an opening on it’s wing. And everyone knows that if a dragon’s wing is damaged, it can’t fly.

Angered by the fact that someone had actually managed to hurt it, it let out a hiss towards (y/n).  Showing the dragon her knife, she hissed back before jumping right to the ground as the dragon circled around her lowly growling and using its second pair of claws to tab the ground as a distraction.

Then quick as a whip, it used its tail to try and stab her with it’s piercing stinger filled with venom but that was only a distraction as the dragon suddenly now stood before her and used it’s pincer like front claw to push her aside which actually knocked her into a boulder.  She let out a cry and all the dragons above went silent with worry as they saw the Mother Dragon go down.

With her vision blurry she saw the dragon crawl up to her before finally pinning her down using its tusks, its hot breath dancing across her face and it’s tongue sneaking out to have a taste of her before ending her life.

That was until it felt a shot to its side and there stood Dean Winchester.

“Hey spider dragon! Back away from my sister!” The dragon hissed and charged after Dean and he kept firing shot after shot before reaching for his machete and managed the scar the dragon across its eye making it rear back and roar in pain before hissing down at Dean.  It knocked the machete out of his hand right and into the lake using its tail and pinned the eldest Winchester down.  

Just before Dean found himself to be melted into acid, (y/n) who now regained consciousness mounted the dragon and pulled it by its horns trying to redirect its attention to her now.

The dragon now pissed off that someone was now on it, tried to buck and shake her off of it but she kept a strong hold on his horns.  That was until she tried to lead it towards the thicket of trees where the young dragons would use as a type of ‘dragon jungle gym.’  Only this was much tighter and older dragons wouldn’t be able to fit in it.

Once she was close enough, she took a leap of faith and managed to grab onto one of the branches and pull herself inside and bury herself into the jungle gym.  But the dragon was right above her as it used it’s tail, pinchers and acid spit to try and reach her, roaring and snarling along the way.

She buried herself deeper and deeper into the thicket gym as the needle and acid just barely reached her.  It was then she saw an opening wide enough for her to get out to the lake and go and find Dean’s machete.  But the dragon roared at her giving her a jump scare forcing her to yelp and go backwards into the thicket.

Arms came down from above trying to reach in and pull her out, it was then she saw a stone just lying inside, probably left there by one of the younger dragons.  She quickly grabbed it and shoved it through the hole where the dragon’s second left arm was.  It let out a roar as it tried to pull itself out then tried to lash out with its pincers as she managed to escape out of the thicket and run towards the lake.

But with its leg still trapped, it couldn’t do anything so it did the only thing it could do.  Using its own acid on itself, it fired its own leg which easily disintegrated it instantly before finally taking off running towards (y/n).  

She quickly jumped in but before she could dive down, the dragon leapt over her and tackled her sending both her and it down the dark blue water.

All was quiet as the dragons watched with horror and shock as the water rippled before going still.  Deacy, Sam and Cas watched from their perch in shock and horror while Dean raced up towards the water.

“(Y/n)? (N/n)!” But there was no answer.  He was terrified to think that (y/n) was dead and the last thing she’ll ever remember him by would be pointing a gun at her. Even though he did try to save her, he never got the chance to apologize and he doubt he ever would.

The water soon turned red and everyone feared the worse that it was human blood but with the water so dark and murky they couldn’t tell whose blood it was.

That was until (y/n) broke surface like Ariel gasping and coughing out water.

*My POV*

Somehow I managed to find Dean’s machete at the bottom of the lagoon and then just as the dragon came at me, I swam up and stabbed it right through the eye.  I made sure to twist the knife in to be sure that it would stay dead and next thing I knew, I just collapsed to the sea floor.  

As I was running out of air, I quickly swam back to the surface of the water as well as the blood and let out a huge gasp and coughed harshly while panting for air.

I then swam back towards the edge and just before I pulled myself up, I saw Dean’s hand reach out in front of me.  I took it and he helped me up then immediately embraced me.  I could tell by the look in his eyes and just the strength of his embrace that he was trying to apologize but knew he couldn’t find the right words.

So I leaned against him and hugged him back as well as patted him telling him that I forgave him.  It was then I finally heard all around me the dragons roaring in victory.  Dean and I separated and looked up to see them all out of their dens, their wings extended and some breathing out fire.

I then stood up and walked outward looking down at the machete in my hand.  The blade dripping with both water and blood and just like a true warrior, I raised it in the air and I let out my best battle cry that could compare to a dragon’s roar.

They all soon came flying down and surrounded both Dean and I thanking us for killing that dragon.  But I especially was nudged on top of Apophis’ dragon head and raised up high into the air and the dragons continued to roar.

But it was then I noticed Warren who looked at me disappointingly before sulking away out of the den.

After the fight; Deacy refused to leave my side as he now had me between his front dragon legs and proceeded to lick me, healing me of any wounds.  But after a while he just wouldn’t let up.

“Alright Deacy. Deacy. Deacy stop! Okay, okay I think you’ve got all the wounds cleaned off now.” I tried to get out of his grip but he blocked my path before slowly scooting his hand over toward me forcing me to go back towards him. “Deacon seriously I’m fine now!” He huffed and grumbled at me. “Don’t take the tone with me mister man!”

He grumbled and nuzzled his nose against my stomach and lowly grumbled.  It was then I began to slowly understand what he was trying to say.

“Hey, I’m still alive aren’t I?” He looked at me and nudged closer to me before phasing into his human state and he said.

“Yeah, I just—” but he was interrupted as Stephen now came in and he said.

“Oh sorry, was I interrupting something?”

“Yes you were.” Deacy sneered.

“Deacy don’t go off on him. What is it Stephen? Is—is Warren alright?”

“Yes he’ll be fine. Kisara and I managed to help give him his sight back and drain the venom out of his system. But that’s not why I’m here. I need to ask you (y/n).” I looked at him confused.  He came up towards us and he asked me, “Tell me how long have you been exposed to dragon saliva?”

“What are you saying?” Deacy asked.

“Please I—I just need to know.”

“Well, I mean it was after that shapeshifter attack when I was 13. Then after that it was only on severe wounds.”

“Which happened at least four times a month.” Deacy piped in.

“No it was more like twice a month.”

“Mum get real.”

“Okay well that was for 3 years till we were separated, until last week when we reunited. And of course all the other times you’ve licked me since then.” He came up to me and held out his arm saying.

“May I?” I held out my hand but he gently grasped my forearm with his left while his right hand hovered over the underside of it. His fingers softly and gingerly stroking my skin as suddenly my veins began to glow and light up which freaked me out for a brief second but I calmed down when I didn’t feel anything.

His palm turned up and soon a spirit visual of my body came up and some sort of blue light was coursing throughout my body.

“Just as I thought. But—never did I imagine I’d actually get to see it with my own eyes.” He muttered as he looked directly at me before cupping my face.

“What are you getting at Stephen?”

“Deacon, your mother—is enhanced.”  The two of us looked at each other in shock.

“Wait so—you….you mean I’m basically a dragon?” I asked bewildered.

“To a degree. There is rumor that if one is exposed to dragon saliva for a certain amount of time, then the host can gain enhanced abilities. Answer this for me (y/n), on any of your hunts either with Deacy or the brothers, have you ever done things that not even they could do?” I began to think long and hard and turns out now it all made sense.

The time we were on a Vampire hunt in Omaha, I was able to jump from roof to roof in order to catch a vamp who tried to kill a young teenage girl.

Another case was when we were hunting a pack of werewolves and we were captured and I was tied to a chair, I was basically able to literally perform a Natasha and break free and take down the werewolves before killing them.  

And of course there’s all the training days when I was able to take down both brothers as well as Castiel.  And I could just go on and on about several other situations.

“Yeah on numerous occasions.” I replied.

“It would seem you’ve been enhanced with great strength, speed and agility that only us dragons are known to have. Because that fight was unlike anything I had ever seen humans do, even the best of them have stumbled but you….you were a different story.”  I let all this information sink in and just couldn’t believe my mind.

“So…..does this mean I’m immortal as well?”

“Unfortunately no. Dragon saliva can heal as well as enhance but it cannot grant you immortality. Dragons aren’t made, they’re born. That’s the way it’s always been and always will be I’m afraid.” Stephen answered.

“Well it was worth a shot.” I said as I stroked my son’s cheek and he leaned into my hand. “Where is Warren? I—I’d like to apologize to him. I mean I did kinda steal his thunder and he looked disappointed after I won that fight.”  The two of them looked at each other and Deacy said.

“Mum, I think it’s best you leave Warren to one of us.”

“Are you sure? I feel like I should be able to defend myself and let him know I didn’t mean to offend him in anyway.”

“Trust us mum, you wouldn’t want to see him when he’s in his moods. We’ll speak for you, just please don’t go anywhere near him, okay?” Deacy’s eyes were serious as he spoke this and he needed me to swear that I wouldn’t do what he think I’d do.

“Okay, I promise.”

“Thank you.” He spoke softly as he kissed my forehead and embraced me.

*3rd Person POV*

Later that night just outside of the den, Warren was lying up against a tree trying to come to terms with what had just happened to him earlier this afternoon. Stephen who agreed with Deacy went out to find the stubborn dragon and talk some sense into him and speak for the Mother Dragon.

Even through the light of the half moon, he could see that his friend and brother was still upset, humiliated and disappointed.

“Warren?” Stephen spoke up softly.  Warren with his arms crossed over his chest didn’t look down at the half breed and continued to mope. “I know it was hard for you today. Back with the acid spitter, but surely it’s not worth all this self-pitying about. Please Warren, she saved your life even after all that you’ve threatened her with.”  Having enough of hearing about this ‘Mother Dragon’ bullshit, Warren stood up and growled.

“You. Allowing her to get involved with our war.” Stephen smelling the air knew what was coming towards him.  Warren’s eyes turned from blue to dragon slit in a split second as he finished his statement, “traitorous half breed rat!”

From the den; Kisara was actually the first to hear the sound of a fight happening.  She lifted her head from her mate’s neck and took off flying towards the entrance and she was greeted with a horrifying sight.

She saw her two brothers fighting it out. Both in their dragon forms with Warren gripping onto Stephen’s tail trying to rip it off of him.  He slammed the four winged dragon down and continued with his attack and of course Stephen tried to fight back.

She roared out and flew towards the two dragons hoping to break up the fight. She finally landed in front of them and tried to bite Warren’s neck trying to pull him off, using her wings tapping him to stand down.  But due to her size compared to Warren it did absolutely nothing. Then something horrifying happened.

Warren turned on Kisara blindly and there ended up being a long, bloody scar that ran from her chest to her lower abdomen, right where the eggs still were.  When he finally calmed down to see it was Kisara that he had attacked, he knew that he had screwed up big time.

Along with harming the Alpha’s parents, it was taboo to do harm to a dragon’s pregnant mate.  

Stephen quickly came up to her and nuzzled her head as she whimpered. Warren phased back into his human form with a look of horror and guilt on his face. Next thing he knew, he was pinned against a tree by the throat by none other than Apophis who was seething with anger.

“THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!? YOU COULD’VE KILLED HER!! OUR FIRST LITTER OF CHILDREN YOU COWARD!!!”

“Apophis!” They turned around to soon see not only Deacon but (y/n), Castiel and the Winchester brothers as well as some of the other dragons who had heard the commotion.  As much as Apophis wanted to kill Warren for attacking his pregnant mate and threatening the life of his future little ones and he had the right to do that, but his Alpha refused to let him have it.

After what felt like forever, he finally released Warren and raced up to Kisara frantic with worry.

“Kisara? Kisara love I’m here. I’m right here darling.” He stroked her muzzle and she looked up at her mate with pained eyes as she lifted her head and placed it across Apophis’ lap whimpering in pain as he continued to stroke her, placing his head against hers.

Ashamed of himself, Warren took off flying trying to get away from everyone because this time he knew there was no coming back from this.  He knew he’d be exiled for this because he broke a sacred dragon law against a pregnant female.  

And one that had shown him nothing but kindness and love, he never meant to hurt her, he never would hurt Kisara.

But he did.  And he would forever be ashamed of what he did.

[mlpdestinyverse]

“Gallery of Infamy”

While figuring out a way to mend their relationship with their mother Rainbow Dash, the mare gives Monochrome a surprise visit that leads them through memory lane.

Feat: Monochrome

Story and Description Under The Cut

Tick...tick… The sound of a ticking wall clock was the only thing that bounced off the cloud-walls of Monochrome’s room. There they sat at their wooden desk in one corner, pencil in wing...staring. They blankly stared at the crisp sheet of paper laid out before them, with a measly two sentences written at the top. But no matter how long they sat there thinking, sifting through their brain for the right coherent thoughts and feelings, the words they sought out just refused to form. Soon enough the pegasus was shoving the paper away from them, towards a messy pile of other discarded attempts.  Firmly placing their pencil down, Monochrome sat back in their chair with a light creak and closed their eyes. A frustrated sigh escaped their muzzle. “This isn’t working…” they mumbled to themself, opening their green eyes half way to tiredly stare at the white ceiling. Monochrome knew themself. They knew they were horrendously incapable of putting their feelings into words. And now, they were learning that it wasn’t just the spoken word that they struggled with. So much for having a famous writer for a mom. ‘How am I going to do this…?’ Mo’s eyes opened fully when they felt something cold, smooth, and familiar nudge at their leg. Looking down, they were greeted by curious beady eyes and a lovable wrinkly green face. Tank slow-blinked at Monochrome and a crease in his forehead gave away his confusion and worry. As he tilted his head to express his question, a soft and adorable turtle-grunt left his throat. Monochrome’s stresses began to seep away at the sight. With a gentle smile, Mo shook their head. “I’m fine, Tank. I’m just trying to figure out how to...talk to mom. Rainbow Dash, I mean.” The turtle’s eyes widened in recognition, and ever so slowly a wide, delighted smile began to pull at his mouth. Very slowly. Yet Monochrome loved watching it nonetheless. “I know...a long time coming, I guess. “ Reaching out, Monochrome sifted their failed letter attempts into a pile, making a mental note to take them to a recycler later. “I need to...sort things out. And take that actual first step in moving past my problems with her. But I don’t know what I’m doing…” Monochrome frowned down at the pile, taking in the various erase marks and struck-out words. It really was so much easier, avoiding these feelings altogether and the ones who fueled them. The insecurity. The bitterness. Monochrome guarded themself from these feelings with indifference and detachment. That’s who they’d become. They knew it all too well. If only they knew how to convey that. They needed to let her know, right? That out of everyone in their life - between the harsh peers and long lost friends - she was the one who had contributed to their...problems the most. 'She certainly didn't help my case...' Before Monochrome could let themself indulge in these thoughts they had been so keen on burying, the sound of their doorbell reached their ears. The pegasus raised an eyebrow before pushing their chair out and climbing off. “I’ll be back, Tank.” After an affectionate pat on the turtle’s head, Monochrome set off for the front door. As they moved down their hallway to the foyer, they searched their brain for any ideas on who could be at their door. The mail had already been delivered earlier in the day. And they didn’t have to recheck deadlines to know that none of their commissions were due." ‘Skychaser’s been busy. Ven, maybe? I know he and mom came back last week-’ So as Monochrome opened their door, one could imagine their tension, and confusion, over seeing a surprised Rainbow Dash at their doorstep. “Chromey~!” Their mother exclaimed, a grin stretching across her face. “EYYY you’re actually home for once! Venny can never seem to find you here, you know?” “Hello….” Monochrome greeted slowly, still processing the mare’s presence. With a soft “oooh!” at seeing the foyer behind them, Rainbow Dash invited herself in and flew past their kid. Even as they closed their door, Monochrome eyed their mother, perplexed. Wary, even. ‘She always sends Ven to get me...since when did she visit me personally?’ “Did you need something…?” They asked hesitantly, interrupting their mother as she admired the room. The question caught her attention and she playfully rolled her eyes, drifting down to land on the floor and wave a hoof dismissively at them. “PSSSH, whaaaat?! I can’t visit my own kiddo from time to time?” Something about the slightly higher pitch to her voice gave the pegasus the impression that she was hiding something. But Monochrome didn’t have much time to voice any other questions as their mother gave the room another glance around. “Geez, this place is looking AWESOME, Chromey! haven’t been in here since you moved in last year!” She sighed wistfully. “Takes me back to when I had my own cloudominium...good times! How are you liking it here? I’m sure having your own place is pretty cool, huh~?” “It is,” Monochrome agreed, their gaze flicking off to one side. They shifted in discomfort, feeling oddly vulnerable. “It’s been nice.” This was weird...right? Their mother visiting was already throwing them off. But really, a random opportunity to ‘make up’ with her had literally just waltzed in unannounced.  Yet something this unplanned was not making the idea of it any easier. ‘I’m not ready for this...am I supposed to spend time with her? I don't even know what to talk about.’ It was then that Rainbow’s eyes caught sight of a certain wall in their hallway, and her magenta eyes lit up. “Now wait a damn second, you sneaky little- are those ribbons?!” She briskly trotted over and Monochrome followed close behind. The hallway wall presented an assortment of Monochrome’s art pieces, all lined up neatly in black picture frames. Some pieces were simply projects Monochrome had wanted on display, while others had ribbons of different shapes and sizes pinned at the corners. Rainbow Dash let out a long whistle at the sight. “Like mother like kiddo, if you ask me!” “Sure...” Monochrome took in her face, how her eyes gleamed with some form of excitement at the sight before her. No surprise, though. She used to collect ribbons and trophies herself. Their ribbons, regardless of how they won them, just showed her that her kid had managed to follow her hoofsteps in some way. The artwork that won them in the first place probably didn’t matter much to her. That’s what their mind reasoned, at least. “Pft, of course Tank is the very first picture here! You always did like drawing the little guy~” Rainbow snickered, taking in a faded sketch of the turtle. That was true. But Monochrome was familiar with this piece in particular. It was done in their last year of elementary, when they were ten years old and their art skills were still in their earlier stages. With their current experience, Monochrome could now see that the shading values in the sketch weren’t very prominent and some lines were messy. But the effort was clear. They had been given an opportunity to choose an animal to draw for an art project, and they had jumped on the chance to draw their best friend. Though they also remembered how their younger self had left out Tanks limbs, just so he’d be easier to draw (though what beginner artist hadn’t done something similar at least once?) This was probably the oldest one they had chosen to frame up, and Monochrome felt no shame looking at such old art. Catching flaws they hadn't noticed when they first had drawn the piece only proved how much they had grown as an artist since then. But as they stared at the sketch, aware of their mother’s presence beside them, they were reminded of the second half of the memory tied to it. Their teacher had thought that it’d be fun to hold a mini contest - to let the class vote on their favorite drawing on presentation day and even invite parents to attend the class for the viewing. Their mother Daring had caught a bad cold and couldn’t attend at the time, so naturally, Rainbow Dash had been the only one left. Despite having just returned from one of her missions, Rainbow had promised to go. Monochrome had looked forward to showing off a special drawing of their mother’s pet, not only to the class, but to her as well. ...though when she didn’t show, Monochrome only found out upon returning home that their mother - while she was out that morning - had gotten caught up in a run-in with the Wonderbolt’s captain, Spitfire. Whatever the two had managed to catch up on that day, Rainbow had...lost track of time. ‘She was never good at handling distractions…especially when tired. Guess that’s where Ven gets his clumsiness from.’ The thought was meant to be half-hearted. A distraction. It had been years since that time. And yet, remembering it now was making them even more aware of her presence, and the feelings she brought. ‘Well this isn’t helping.’ “WHOA-HOA, what’s this?” Rainbow Dash was now focused on the next framed image, one Monochrome knew they had done with graphite pencils, if the crisper shading and details didn’t give it away. Monochrome had been fourteen, and they remembered their early high school art project theme; heroes. There in the image, Daring Do stood alone at the top of a cliff, her dark hair billowing while she outstretched her wings. An image of strength, and one they were personally fond of for obvious reasons. Looking at the image again, Monochrome wouldn’t have minded having ‘Valor Wind’ standing alongside Equestria’s most underappreciated hero. But at the time, Venture Gale hadn’t even joined Rainbow Dash on her missions yet; not until two years later, in fact. “How come I’ve never seen this one before?” Rainbow Dash crossed her arms, jokingly shooting Monochrome a judging look despite the smirk on her muzzle. “Oh I see how it is! You know, if you wanted Spectrum Storm to pose for a drawing, all you had to do was ask!” “...I did.” Rainbow’s grin fell immediately, a look of surprise and puzzlement replacing it. Monochrome winced. They hadn’t meant for that to come out as harsh as it did. “Huh? Wait, when?” Monochrome paused, letting themself actually choose their words for once. Yet another memory association uncovered; how the Heroes Project was originally going to be a surprise tribute for both mothers’ adventure identities. “When I was planning this piece. You just...had trouble focusing.” Monochrome quietly thought back on their mother’s inability to simply stand still. Which, as annoying as it was, was understandable in hindsight. Not everyone could stand or pose for a set period of time. But it was Rainbow’s attitude at the time that they remembered; the way she whined about wanting Daring to take her place, and the moment Venture Gale came home with a new game, Rainbow had perked back up from her hunched over state. 'Inconspicuously' moving towards the door, she had reminded Monochrome that Daring would be a "waaaay" better suited model than her. Afterwards she rushed out of the room without even waiting for an answer. After that, they just couldn’t get the right look or feeling down for “Spectrum”, and in the end Monochrome had given up and had chosen to stick with a Daring Do tribute. Frustration and that newfound blooming seed of jealousy probably didn’t help with the change of heart. Recreations with Venture just always seemed to be more fun for her. Her preference. “Oh…” Rainbow became quiet, looking down and rubbing her foreleg. Not knowing what else to say, Monochrome chose to leave Rainbow in her awkward silence. They focused instead on their artwork, hoping they could maybe find something different to talk or at least think about. Taking in this piece, Monochrome was reminded of how they really did used to enjoy reading their mother Daring’s work. From her Daring Do series to her Spectrum Storm sequel, the books had always been full of empowerment and adventure with a captivating writing style Monochrome could always recognize. But ever since “Valor Wind” made his debut, and Mo’s not-so-pleasant feelings arose...well, the last three books their mother had published - first prints she had joyfully gifted to them - were still sitting on their shelf, untouched. Monochrome couldn’t bring themself to, and it wasn’t even out of spite at this point. They genuinely had made various efforts to read the volumes, for the sake of supporting their mother’s hobby, but...doing so stirred up those unpleasant emotions, feeding a fire that only pushed them deeper into their own pool of insecurities and bitterness. And it frustrated them - it really did - that these things had to make them feel this way. This was their mother’s passionate work about their own family. Yet for the sake of their own emotional and mental wellbeing - even if it meant being out of the loop when it came to their brother's experiences out there- Monochrome had no choice but to lie about keeping up with Daring’s work. They avoided retellings of the adventures altogether. Now the pegasus could barely look at the covers of their mother's unread books without feeling a knot of guilt. ‘Alright, this was a bad idea. I get it. Everything has a negative connection to her, apparently.’ Monochrome searched their brain, ready to change the subject or at least find something else for their mother to focus on. Just as they were opening their mouth, they noticed Rainbow’s eyebrows shoot up, something further into the hall gaining her full attention. “Wait isn’t that…?” She trotted over a few frames down to a different art piece. Monochrome couldn't help but silently follow, curious. They never imagined their mother recognizing any of these pieces, with how much she had missed over the years. So after tracing the mare’s gaze to the exact image that was captivating her, Monochrome came to an abrupt halt at the sight. ‘Oh.’ It was a striking piece, if they could say so themself. Their first attempt at mixed media. Using charcoal and chalk pastels, their twelve-year-old self had deviated from drawing from life and drew from their imagination instead. So staring back at the two of them was a Timberwolf, posed elegantly with dark, strong tones to highlight its ferocity. But unlike a normal Timberwolf, it was spring-inspired. The beast’s branches was adorned with various glowing flowers, giving it a hauntingly beautiful look. Monochrome remembered how excited they were of the concept, pouring their heart into the piece a little each day. At the time, it had been one of their best and proudest works. And it still was. The blue ribbon hanging from the pictures corner said enough. And yet, right now, remembering that day brought back a hollow feeling in their chest. For once, Rainbow Dash wasn’t grinning, or speaking with unbridled confidence. As she spoke, her voice was strangely soft and pensive. “I remember this one...middle school, right? This was the drawing you entered into your first art show. When you gained your cutie mark.” Rainbow became quiet again, staring at the artwork. It would take a moment longer before she would turn to Monochrome, a regretful look on her face. “I...wish I could’ve been there, kiddo. Really. What I would’ve given to see you earn your mark that day.” Monochrome averted their gaze, an ache they had worked years to will away beginning to rise back from the depths Things had taken an abrupt, dangerous turn in Southern Equestria. And the morning of the show, Rainbow had received the news. “You were busy.” Monochrome murmured. They tried, and failed, to think of more to say. What else was there to say? Even if they had their doubts on just how much their mother Daring exaggerated in her books, they were aware of their mothers’ serious line of work. That’s why they had looked up to their parents, especially Rainbow Dash, in the first place. Maybe back then it was harder to grasp, but as an adult, they had an understanding. But that hadn’t prevented the damage. For the longest time, Monochrome had thought it was feeling forgotten that had damaged them and their relationship with their mother. But as they stood there, they realized it wasn’t just that. It was feeling forgettable. It was being in the background, where none of the things they enjoyed seemed to matter. It was feeling like a fleeting experience, easy to replace with something more interesting than they were; an adventurous life. Ponies who were far more similar to her. And even if it wasn't entirely their mother's fault that they had this complex - growing up a quiet, introverted child had made socialization harder after all - she had without a doubt contributed greatly to it. Art had always been a part of them. It wasn’t just a fun hobby turned into a job. It was also self-expression, used to convey the things that they was passionate about and the things that were important to them. So if there was no one to receive and respond with equal fervor, if the one pony they wanted to convey these things to felt disinterested and absent - then...what kind of existence was that, keeping these things to themself? ‘A lonely one.’ Sure, Rainbow made short-lived attempts at asking about their work and would give her compliments. But after everything, how was Monochrome supposed to believe she had any ounce of genuine interest in what they loved? In them. Words bubbled up to Monochrome’s mouth before they could even stop them. “I always wanted to share this part of my life with you.” The words came out soft. And no matter how much they felt like more had to be said, they just couldn’t find the words. Unable to meet Rainbow’s gaze, Monochrome kept their eyes locked on their art. They could feel her eyes on them, and soon, Monochrome regretted even speaking. Then they felt something softly brush over their back, followed by the warmth of a body pressing into them. It tore Mo’s attention away, and there, they took in the sight of their mother, staring guiltily at them. “I really missed a lot, huh...I’m really sorry kiddo” She sighed, withdrawing her wing. “I know you’re a workaholic like me, and you love your alone time. I always try to give you your space and stuff, but...it’s been forever since we’ve actually done anything together. We barely get to see each other anymore.” A red hue came over Rainbow’s face, and she ducked her head while rubbing her neck. “Look, I’m not any good with words-” ‘... so that’s where I get it from-’ “-but I just hope we can...hang more? Like, maybe you can drop by more! When you can? I know Ven’s been missing you too.” “Is...that why you came by today?” Rainbow blinked. “Huh?” Monochrome shifted in place. “You said earlier that you just wanted to visit, but...you’re kind of a bad liar, mom. No offense.” “Oh.” Rainbow nervously laughed, awkwardly rubbing her hooves together. “Aaactually, um...your mom kind of told me that you and Skychaser aren’t a thing anymore. So I wanted to check up on you? You know, without making it weird! But I was hoping I could convince you to join us when you’re not working. Cause I mean...it could help. Maybe?” It was surprising, to say the least. Rainbow was very obviously embarrassed talking about any of this. Monochrome had never seen their mom this awkward before. But there was some sort of opening here. Monochrome just had to find it. “I’m fine. My friendship with Sky is going to be okay.” A pause. “...I’ll be busy for at least another week or two. I’m a little behind. But...if you guys are still around after I catch up on my commissions, I’ll see if I can come over.” Rainbow Dash perked up, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. With a joyous laugh she zoomed up into the air, doing an aerial spin. “WHOO! Sounds awesome to me!” Still loud as ever....but Monochrome was willing to start adapting. Their ear then twitched, catching a faint sound behind them. Something like slow scratching. The pegasus knew who they’d see before they even turned around. Rainbow, too, seemed to notice the extra presence and gasped dramatically. “TANK!!” At the sight of his old caretaker, Monochrome watched as Tank’s mouth widened into a radiant gummy grin, his eyes practically shining with glee. The very sight struck Mo, knowing just how much Tank loved their mom. Both Rainbow and Monochrome simultaneously moved to meet the slow turtle. While Monochrome picked Tank up and cradled him, Rainbow lowered her hooves back down to the floor. “It’s so great to see you, buddy!” the mare exclaimed, trotting closer to him. Tank was already stretching his neck forward in Monochrome’s arms, opening his mouth to let out a cheerful little turtle-grunt in return. With a grin as wide as her little friend’s, Rainbow lowered her head and met Tank’s snout with her own in an affectionate nose boop. It was one of many that they had shared in the past, even before Monochrome was born. Monochrome watched the scene with a small sense of wonder, letting the two have their moment. Rainbow was happily asking the tortoise a variety of questions, and Tank’s turtle-grunts and squeaks responded to her with a matching energy. The sight of Tank’s happiness with their mother had Monochrome’s gaze softening, a gentle smile forming on their muzzle. It was true that Monochrome and Rainbow were barely anything alike. In personality, in interests. But Monochrome now realized that there was one single thing that they did share. Their mutual love for Tank. There was a chance it was the only thing that connected them and made them alike in any way. But maybe...maybe that was a good enough place to start than anything. Not just for their own benefit, but Tank’s as well. “Hey mom. I may be busy...but how about letting Tank stay with you guys? You know, until he needs to hibernate next week.” Both Tank and Rainbow Dash looked up at the pale pegasus, both equally caught off guard. “Wait, really?” Mo nodded. “Yeah. You and I aren’t the only ones who haven’t seen each other much. Tank deserves some one-on-one time with you, don’t you think? It’s been a while.” Rainbow and Tank exchanged glances. It didn’t take long for a grin to break back out on their mother’s face. Tank’s smile was taking a tad bit longer to form. “You know what? That’s a great idea! It could be like old times, buddy! You and me and some racing and Spectrum Storm books! What d’you say?” Tank nodded as quickly and eagerly as he could. Monochrome couldn’t hold back their chuckle. Of course he’d be on board. “Awesome!” Rainbow looked back over at her kid, already brimming with excitement. “Where’s Tank’s stuff? I can totally pack everything in a heartbeat!” “Everything’s in my room.” Monochrome motioned their head further into the hallway. “Last door on the left. You can find a travel bag in my closet-” “GOT IT!” With a burst of wind and a rainbow trail, their mother was dashing down the hall and into the bedroom. The sound of rummaging could be heard even from down the hall, and Monochrome prayed she wouldn’t somehow make a mess of their room. Feeling a nudge at their chest, Monochrome returned their attention to the turtle in their arms. There was a glimmer to his green eyes, and Mo easily recognized it as a mix of pride and gratitude. “You’re welcome, buddy.” Monochrome murmured, smiling down at him. “I know I’ve been the one taking you to your hibernation spot for years...but just this once, I think it’s her turn to read you your bedtime story.” Guilt pinched at their stomach. “I guess I could be there too...but I don’t think I’m ready to be alone with her like that. Without you.” Monochrome frowned, their eyebrows drawing back. “Unless you need me there, that is. Then-” Tank slowly slid one of his arms out of his shell and gently laid his foot on Monochrome’s arm. He shone that crinkly smile up at them, and Mo knew he understood. The relief eased their worried mind. Mo deeply exhaled the rest of the worries out. “Thanks Tank...now then. Are you going to behave?” Tank paused, as if taking a moment to think about it, before smiling serenely and shaking his head. Monochrome’s own eyes crinkled in amusement and fondness. “Good.” With that, Monochrome placed a loving peck on top of his head, and it only took a few seconds longer before their mother was zipping back up to them, the travel bag tossed over her shoulder. “Alright, got Mr. Squeaks, you bed, your ‘copter and goggles...that should be everything!” Flying down to Monochrome’s level, Rainbow Dash gave her kid a curious look. “Hey, you sure you don’t want to come too, Chromey? You could stay in your old room for a while and do your work over at our place! We won’t bother you! I mean, it’ll be kinda lonely here by yourself, won’t it?”   Monochorme resisted a wince. They hadn’t really thought about the extra level of silence that’d exist without Tank being there. But it was like they had told Tank; they weren’t ready to move that fast. And they had other valid reasons. “I think I’d be able to concentrate better here. Besides, you know how my room gets cold and drafty now during the winter. It’s better to just keep my door closed.” “Well, if you say so!” With Tank in arm, Monochrome flapped their wings and joined Rainbow in moving towards the door. As their mother moved to open it, Monochrome took the chance to gently nuzzle Tank’s head. The realization that this was an early hibernation-send off was beginning to settle in, and that familiar ball of emotion was beginning to form within their chest. “I’ll see you in spring, Tank.” They whispered softly, only loud enough for him to hear. With a throaty noise in response, Tank affectionately rubbed his cheek against Monochrome’s. If it weren’t for Rainbow’s presence, Mo would have allowed their emotions to seep out. Thankfully, practice over the years had brought them enough control. ‘Yet somehow, this goodbye feels worse than every other one’ When their mother spun around and held out her forelegs with a smile, Monochrome carefully handed Tank over, moving their head every which way to make sure he was being held securely. With a sigh, Monochrome turned their attention back to their mother. “Don’t forget your copy of his favorite Daring Do book when he hibernates. You know he can’t-” “-fall asleep without it.” Rainbow finished in unison with Monochrome. The mare let out a snicker and Mo, surprisingly, felt the corner of their mouth pull up. “Right.” “Trust me, Chromey, I won’t!” Rainbow Dash smirked. “I’ll see you later then, pal! Don’t work yourself too hard!” “I’ll try not to.” With one last beam, Rainbow turned and began flying out the door. Monochrome followed her up to their doorway and hovered there as they saw the two off. It was then that the pegasus noticed a certain turtle head poke up over their mother’s shoulder, smiling at them. Mo practically felt their heart clench as Tank gave a little wave with his foot over Rainbow’s arm. Monochrome made sure to wave back, until neither of them were visible anymore. Monochrome retreated back into their house, letting out a heavy sigh as the stresses of that whole exchange finally caught up with them. They knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Hell, Monochrome had barely even scratched the surface of things. There was certainly still a long way to go before they could find the right words - and well...the courage - to convey all the things they had kept away. But hey...this was a start.

[naomi-owens]

the big reveal

who? Naomi Owens & Michael Otis where? Owens’s Residence when? February 16th, 2019

The neon color of red numbers blinked against the dashboard and served as a distraction for Naomi while attempting to work up the courage to speak, but alas, all of which proved to be difficult when she was taking up the passenger side seat of Michael’s vehicle. She was pregnant. Three positive pregnancy tests later, and each time showcased a link positive plus, two lines, or a yes on the little stick — she couldn’t be positive until she went to the doctor, but three out of three simply told her a best friend’s suspicion had managed to be right. For the remainder of the wedding, a night filled with magic and laughter while coming off the high romance of Valentine’s Day two days prior, it was hard to think of anything else. She was a thirty two year old single teacher living in her childhood home with her mother, pregnant with her ex-fiancé’s child. There was no doubt that the child belonged to Michael, with the flash memory of their night together in Raleigh connected the dots. It made sense. While it could have been means for a worry, she couldn’t help but feel an immediate inkling of joy — after all, a baby was what she always dreamed of, and she got that little tearful celebration out with Amy in the venue’s bathroom. A minute ticked by since the car pulled into park against the curb of her childhood home, a glow from a lamp left on in the living room being the only thing that kept the house alive, and with a quick swipe of her hair behind her shoulder that had lost it’s place in a pin at the base of her neck sometime throughout the night, Naomi finally spoke out. “Do you wanna come sit out back with me for awhile?” 

The first half of the wedding festivities went really well and it was a good time, especially considering that while Michael was an amiable man he wasn't necessarily the most social. He was someone that enjoyed the quiet a little more, and it was the woman beside him in his SUV that had changed the course of his social life. For when he was her man, it meant quite a few social engagements to attend to as the supporting other half. Something he did without any complaint, and something he eventually grew quite comfortable with. It helped that Calvin was in attendance at the wedding, giving him someone to spend time with when Naomi was having girl time or off mingling with the people in attendance. Weston had been too busy but Michael tried to hang with his neighbor and Jake when able. The second half of the festivities, it didn't go without notice to the man that was acutely aware of his surroundings at all times that something was different with his ex fiance. Michael chalked it up to being emotional for being at a wedding, and took her home without asking about it because it seemed logical. Though the amount of time she sat there, and quietly, in the passenger seat without moving to get out upon arrival at her home was cause for his brow to crease. Just as he was about to speak up, it was as though she sensed his action and beat him to it. "Yeah, of course. Everything alright?" He reached out and brushed his hand over her shoulder and let his thumb travel down the curve of her neck before getting out of the vehicle and rounding it to open her door for her and give her a hand in stepping out of it. "Did I mention how beautiful you looked today?"

"Everything is fine, yeah." Technically? Yes, it was fine. This was a big deal, but not that big of a deal. It was just a baby. A baby between two exes who hadn't even made it down the aisle... but a baby nonetheless. Leave it to Michael to always leave her blushing, without a doubt though. Even when her mind was in the clouds and she was overly distracted, he still managed to make her cheekbones swarm with a heated crimson. "I think you said that once or twice." The brunette teased him this time, long lashes fluttering when she winked at him, climbing down from the SUV so the thin heel of her shoe clicked against the concrete. Almost as if it was natural, Naomi's hand snaked around Michael's forearm and she instead pulled him around the side gate of the backyard that was still lit up from the porch and the solar twinkle lights they used to decorate over the summer, leading him toward the wooden swing on the off corner to the left. It was chilly, but not enough to shy you inside with no jacket on. "Did you have a good time tonight?" Naomi figured starting off slow was a good idea, as truthfully, she was working off winging it here. It was a little early — she found out a whopping six hours ago, but Naomi knew she couldn't continue seeing Michael so often without sharing the fact that it was a possibility. Sitting down, Naomi immediately crossed her leg, and tugged on his arm to sit close with her. "I'm glad you came with me. You know, as a date..." She smirked a bit. "Rather than arm candy.”

Walking with Naomi, arm in arm, and holding his ex close to his side as they made their way to her backyard made Michael even more nostalgic with the memories that flooded in his head of all the time they had done this specific action before. "I had a pretty great time, yeah. Did you?" He shifted out of his jacket before he sat down and wrapped it around the brunette beauty, then sat close with her on the wooden swing to make sure she stayed warm in the dress and the chilled night. "You know how I am with big gatherings but it's always a pleasure to watch you in your element, smiling and mingling with your friends and such. The food was goo, cake even better, and I think Wes was happy." Reaching for her hand, he took it in his and held onto her, smoothing his thumb back and forth over her knuckles. He smiled and chuckled at her tease, "well, we all know my goal has always been to be your trophy man..." The retired Marine sent a wink her way but the confirmation of the word 'date' resonated with him and he breathed it in, letting it settle around him. It felt as though they were starting again, which would make Michael happy but it made him wonder what she wanted to talk about. "You sure you're ok though? I couldn't help but notice your mood changed half way through the day..." It wasn't so much that Mike was hyper aware of Naomi, he was just more skilled in observation than everyone. He was highly trained to read even the smallest most minute details. "Kind of hard to attend a wedding with your former fiance, huh?"

“I did. And yeah, I think they’re over the moon. I know Amy was feeling romantic tonight because of it.” Naomi laughed, finding that it was much easier snuggling up within her ex’s jacket than it should have been. If she was really a stickler for putting the past in the past, she wouldn’t have even brought up the idea of going to this thing together. Ha, what a turn of events that was, especially with what she was working up the courage to reveal to him. Glancing down at the joined hands, Naomi twisted her wrist so her palm was exposed and Michael’s thumb brushed over the inside instead. “Trophy man?” Naomi laughed, though shook her head. “You always were more than a trophy, silly.” In reality, he was made up of the dream man her father told her to wait for. She was certain in her choice when she decided right then and there when she accepted that date back at her college campus. “Do you ever find it funny? You know, to think about? Who would’ve thought a marine handing out surveys a few years ago when I was in college would end up right beside me?” Naomi laughed. As he questioned her mood, knowing she had been caught practically red headed, Naomi had shifted in her spot and brought his hand to his lap. “If I were to tell you something, something I’m not one hundred percent sure of but something I can’t continue to keep from you... Would you be willing to listen? With open ears, and I suppose... an open heart?” She but into her bottom lip, finding those nerves in her stomach return. “It’s not that, it’s just...” Her head shook. “It’s different.”

The hand turned over in his, the pad of Michael's thumb took to tracing the lines on the inside of Naomi's palm. Her near slip up of saying husband brought forth a quiet chuckle, but he stayed mum on commenting on it for fear that her response could chase away the good feeling it gave him. "But still a trophy though, right?" Michael joked, grinning broadly for a moment. "Well, to be honest with you, since meeting you that day I've thought about it every day since then," the retired Marine confessed, though figured it wouldn't be news to Naomi. Michael was old school in the romance department and when his heart had set on the one it left room for no one else or any other possibilities. Which, he blamed now for his inability to let her move on with her life after trying to be with her twice and it failing on them. "I've learned though to stop looking ahead and making big plans on what I want in life. You do that and you can miss out on too much of the day to day livin'. I can't think of anywhere else I want to be though than right beside you." There was no way that wasn't going to come out on this day, at some point, given the ex fiancés had just attended a wedding together and Naomi was beyond a knockout in her gorgeous dress. He couldn't help while being in attendance with her what their wedding would've looked like. When she shifted, Michael did as well, he had the feeling whatever her answer was going to be that it was important. He picked up on that through body language alone, something was definitely weighing on her. "Always, Naomi... without question." Studying her face for a moment, he nodded when she admitted it had nothing to do with them attending a wedding together, and it was a bit of a sinking feeling. "What is it? You can tell me anything, talk to me about anything... you know that. Whatever it is... it's ok, just talk to me."

“Oh, totally.” Naomi laughed it off when Michael returned to narrow in on the idea of a trophy, and in some ways, he very much was. He was a man made up of positives that Naomi could only dream of. A handy man, a heart of gold, aspiring father and it wasn’t like he was lacking in the looks department. One look at the blonde head of hair, speckled define jawline and those dreamy blue eyes and Naomi was certain she had swallowed her heart completely. “The shiniest trophy there could be. My father even said so.” He was the second out of all her boyfriends to even met her father, and Eli in turn actually liked Michael. Smooshing her lips together, Naomi contained the smile that threatened her features, staring down at the way Michael took to tracing her palm. “That’s a long time.” She murmured, as Naomi had met Michael on a whim on the cusp of her college graduation. “You’re a little crazy.” She then laughed, shaking her head. “You amaze me sometimes, you know? The way you see things...” She was often called the ray of sunshine, but Naomi couldn’t disagree more. For her, that was Michael. “You’ve accomplished so much, you’ve dedicated your life to something many can’t even fathom and yet... you still manage to stun me.” Her head moved to rear from his grip to instead let her fingers ghost across his cheek, caressing the cheekbone then jaw then even moving down to his lips. A smile spread across her lips though wavered due to the fact that the gut wrenching nerves were still very much there, but backing out now wasn’t an option. She couldn’t have this little piece of knowledge and not clue him into it.“I, um. Amy actually pointed it out to me. I think I’ve been shying over the details but now, looking at it, it kind of makes sense...” Her lips parted and she actually sucked in a sharp breath. “Anyway, I haven’t been feeling all too much like myself, and she brought these tests with her after a mishap this morning before the wedding and...” Her nose scrunched, but as her hand dropped down to recapture his hand for a bit of support, she finally let it out. “There’s still that slim margin, but according to three very positive tests, I’m pretty certain I’m pregnant.”

It was bittersweet, the mention of her father and how he had approved of Michael. The loss of him was when things changed between them, or at least on Naomi's side, and his own side was the effects of his career. It was something though, to get that nod of approval and something he never took lightly. Michael was an older brother to a baby sister, unfortunately the youngest Otis child with four older brothers, and he had always been protective of her. He'd always imagined he'd be the same if he ever had children some day. "I've been out there. It really changes a lot going to war." The retired Marine always had a hard time taking a compliment. He leaned his head into Naomi's touch a little and offered her a bit of a smile. The  man was literally at war with himself over everything he had accomplished and it definitely wasn't the time for that kind of talk so he accepted her words, because at the end of the day it all meant something. He did save a lot of lives and he did lay his life on the line for country for sixteen some years. The smile she wore and the way it faded worried him, he was left hanging there on the hook and at her mercy with whatever she had to reveal to him or speak to him about. Michael wasn't a man really shaken by anything anymore, so he wasn't nervous but there was some mild concern resting on his shoulders. He squeezed her hand when her's dropped down to grab his and his brow stitched together with the build up of what was to come. As soon as he heard I'm pregnant almost all Michael could hear was his blood rushing through his ears and the man was completely stunned. He didn't sit there like a dummy though, he took her jaw gently into his grasp and his oceanic gaze bore into her chocolate stare."You're pregnant?" Suddenly it actually explained a few things between today and when he saw her on Valentine's Day. "Three positive tests?" The happiness and excitement was bubbling up inside of him. "What's the slim chance? You haven't been to the doctor yet  for a blood test huh? We can go tomorrow." Michael was trying his best to contain himself but his heart was about to beat right out of his chest. "You're pregnant," he said strongly that time and pulled her in to plant his lips onto hers.

It was a little difficult to focus on anything other than the fact that had just actually revealed to him that she was indeed pregnant — blood test or not, it was hard to ignore three positive tests and the feeling that this was very much real. Suddenly from that point, Naomi felt her throat begin to close and she had to swallow hard to get herself to calm down, attempting to remain neutral while she waited his reaction. Would be be furious? They weren't together. Oh God, what if he thought she trapped him? Her nose scrunched at that. Would he be happy? Over the moon? A little sad? Children had always been included in their plan, but a couple actually together and a marriage certificate framed on their hall of their home was supposed to come first. Not at least four years of constant back and forth, with other people in between and a little bit of heartache. "No, it was just kind of... random. To humor Amy, to answer questions, and yet..." Michael's face was a bit hard to read as she revealed the news — was that a smile, or was she just being hopeful? Then he repeated her words, and kissed her, and she swore up and down she wasn't entirely breathing at that point.  She sucked in a sharp breath of air through her nose when her chin jutted forward and returned the kiss, unable to help but mumble into his mouth. "You're not upset?"

Unable to help himself, the emotion hadn't hit him yet of the news, but Michael was in a state of some shock. It was an elated feeling so he pressed his lips a few more times in longer lingering kisses before mumbling out an answer. "Upset with whom?" One more kiss. "You?" With that he shook his head as he leaned back a bit, feeling the need to look Naomi in the eyes. "I couldn't be upset with you, especially not over a child." He licked his lips, and his gaze found her belly — or rather, where the bump would eventually be once this pregnancy was confirmed the next day and in a few months of growth. "I've always wanted kids," he mentioned, soon after lifting his eyes to meet her chocolate hues. "We have. We used to talk about it, remember?" Something in Michael told him this situation was much harder for Naomi than it was for him. He was afraid to ask the first question because of the fear of offending her over it, but the retired Marine needed to know with certainty that she former fiancé was keeping the baby.  They weren't together and he wasn't sure despite their recent connections if she still ever thought of them being together anymore. He was sure though, he wanted that baby and he wanted it's mother, there wasn't even a hesitation in the thought. "Can we schedule the appointment in the morning and I take you? I know you well enough that I don't believe I have to ask if you're keeping this baby once confirmed, so I feel confident in telling you that I'm going to be there for everything. I will take care of you," his head nodded down to her stomach, "and our baby."

A hum escaped her mouth in between the kisses, unable to help herself. There was a sense of comfort of just being with Michael again in whatever way he would allow. Now, with the world weighing down around the two with the worry of the child on the way, it was a bit of relief. A deep breath passed through her nose as he pulled back and fluttered her eyes to look down, collecting herself while she had a moment to breathe. “I didn’t think you would, but I never know.” Her hand reached up and slipped over his before her chin jutted forward to brush over his mouth with her lips, stealing another kiss. She actually couldn’t help the way her eyes teared with the emotions that bubbled up within her. “We talked about it when we had a ring on my finger. Not with people between us and when I’m not sure if I have the right to call you mine.” Naomi couldn’t help if, swallowing thickly before glancing down. Even after her birthday, even after the easy way she went and kissed him again, she still wasn’t sure where his heart could have been. Sucking in a deep breath, Naomi straightener her posture and slipped her finger over her cheek to swipe a tear, laughing. “Yeah. Yes. You can. I’d like that.” Her hand moved toward his cheek, then leaned forward to press her lips to her cheek again. “We’re really doing this, aren’t we?”

When Naomi returned her lips to his for another kiss, he welcomed the affection and the need and returned it in kind. Seeing that she was emotional no doubt had an effect on the retired Marine and there was a gentle kneading of his thumb on the inside of her palm. A small smile curled one side of his mouth just a little, "you always have the right to call me yours. Do you really think there's been anyone else?" Given it had only been a little more than a year since their last try at a relationship, he supposed it was enough time for her to start anew with someone, but Michael had been sent on an op and when he returned there had been a lot to personally work on. Then there was school. She couldn't have known but it still made him wonder nonetheless.  Once she wiped the tear from her cheek he took her hand and brought those small digits to his lips and pressed them to. Michael gently reached out and smoothed the pad of his thumb across her cheekbones. "I don't know what you've got going on in your life in that regard, Naomi. I figure you wouldn't have been with me on your birthday if you had someone else, but I don't want to be presumptuous on your life. All I know is that I'm here," he paused and kissed her fingers again, "and I'll always be here. This is us, this baby." He was actually feeling a bit emotional, a child was something he had longed for and suddenly it was a real thing with the woman he had made those plans with. "Good," Michael confirmed and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. He took her chin with his free hand and turned her head to show some tenderness to her lips once again. "We're doing it. How do you feel?"

The kisses were enough to lull her into a complete distraction and to calm the butterflies in her stomach, temporarily forgetting that she was dealing with a life changing event here. They were merely two people sitting on a swing in her backyard after a glow of a wedding, snuggling up together while they could. Yet again, this was a shining example of how natural it was to fall back in a routine with Michael. “I don’t know, Mike. There could have been. Was there?” Her chin ducked momentarily. She didn’t know, she wouldn’t have imagined he would have much time for others... but if he had taken a page out of her own book, he would have been jumping in feet first in whatever he could see fitting. Turning her head, Naomi exhaled a deep breath and leaned into his touch before her lips would turn and press against his palm, then turning to look back up at him. Her large eyes already shined wide with both the emotional tears that threatened to spill over, but this time sparkled with a bit of bliss at his response. “God, I’ve tried. Last summer, but it hasn’t...” She actually shook her head this time, as she then leaned back toward him to press her forehead down into his shoulder, exhaling a deep breath. “They’re never you.” She whispered into his shirt, though ended up rising her head again when his arm snakes around her. He was showering her with ample amounts of affection at that point, where Naomi couldn’t help but melt into. “I just don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything because of this... a baby.” She wanted him, but she wanted him in the right way. A third time wasn’t a charm when it was forced with a hiccup down the road. Him holding her chin had her leaning forward to kiss him again, unable to help but control the way her lips parted when she did so. “Terrified.” She mumbled there quietly, allowing the emotions to actually get to her at this point. She was definitely crying, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. “But amazing. It’s a baby.”

“I’ve been on a date,” he answered her. Yep, just one whole date since they had broken up last and each were maybe expected to move on. Michael never had been good with the letting go, especially when it came to the women in his life. In many ways the retired Marine wasn’t a hardened man, not even by his years at war, but it softened him to think of his mother and how happy a grandchild would make her. Sure, she already had a few by his older brothers, but his relationship with her was unique. They were closely bonded and so similar, and her death was the first time his heart truly broke. Michael still felt the pain of her loss, it gave him complete understanding to how Naomi losing her father was such a changing experience. Now they had a baby and a life on the way, now maybe it meant the future they had once planned on might come to fruition after all. “I haven’t really had time, nor desire to really get out there,” the blond man confessed. “Kind of hard to do when there’s only one Naomi Owens in the world.” It was some kind of echo to the words she herself spoke. Something that both warmed his heart but that also resonated deeply with him. Anyone woman he met, no matter how beautiful or tempting, they weren’t her. “I don’t blame you for trying but... and I feel a little bad for saying this,” he paused and his sapphire gaze met her vibrant hazelnut hues, “I’m glad nothing else worked out.” It truly felt like a shitty thing to say but despite that there was no guilt on his part for expressing that to Naomi. His head bobbed in a slow nod, accepting her words and sitting there in some silence while it seemed to be a show of him thinking it over. It was false. There was nothing to think over.“I think you know as well as I do that this baby of ours that’s now growing inside of you was made of love. I don’t know if having a baby means you wanting to try with me again, and I don’t want you making any rash decisions on that, but...” Michael accepted her kiss and held onto her lips. He kissed her back longer and deeper, he too was overwhelmed with emotion and a suddenly different future ahead of him than the one he had planned. Michael was happy and excited. “I’m here. You have me if you want me. I love you and no time or distance or obstacle is gonna change that.” His large hand brushed her brunette stands back and he nodded. It was scary with the sudden change, and Michael pulled her to him when she began to cry. “We’re gonna have a baby.” He then chuckled. “I hope to god it’s a boy and doesn’t look anything like you,” the man joked. The thought of having a mini me Naomi gave Michael heart palpitations.

She couldn’t help that twinge of jealousy in her stomach even if it wasn’t that warranted. It was one date. One stupid date, when she technically had gone further with someone he knew... but Naomi was Naomi, she had that dramatic flare. “One date means she wasn’t the one for the next.” Did she have much to worry about? She did have the baby on the way, anyway. Michael never had much of an issue in tending to her fears, however, as every single worry that could have filled her head was eased with his words. There’s  only one Naomi Owens. “You stole my line, you know.” She let out a shaky breath, attempting to keep her emotions in check, though the tears in her eyes had threatened to betray her. This was the life they planned from the beginning. From when they were a bit younger, meeting on a whim on her college campus... she had always yearned to be here with Michael, and now it all seemed to become more of a promise to become a reality. A magical man that made her world turn upside down, a job she adored and now a baby. Even when it was mere hours after coming to the realization after a total surprise it had never managed to leave. She didn’t want to jump right in without thinking, nor did she want to get ahead of herself, but with the way her heart pounded in her chest while he stole kisses and spoke about the love that created a baby.... well, it was hard not to. That love once was supposed to be past tense, but it never quite disappeared. She wasn’t sure it ever would.“We won’t make any rash decisions. We won’t. Because I know if you keep kissing me like that, I’m not going to be able to stop...” The brunette breathed into his mouth half way through the kiss that left her breathless — unsure if it was due to the fact that his affection knocked the wind out of her, or the fact that there was a little human now growing inside of her. Her chin slowly turned and her nose brushed against Michael’s in what was considered a Eskimo kiss. “You love me,” She trailed off happily with her eyes closed, though smiled as she did so. “And I love you, and I want to try.” She breathed out, hoping that covered every base she needed. She did want to try, in every sense of the word. As he pulled her back in, Naomi actually took a moment to let the tears fall. A happy cry more or less, but the damp tears stained her cheeks and she leaned her body into his chest momentarily. “We’re having a baby.” She repeated. “It’s kinda crazy, you know? Please... A little girl would be magical.” Her lips curled into a half smile, and she wiped the smudge that came with her mascara. “You know it’s the size of a blueberry right now? I looked it up.”

Michael knew mentioning having been on a date wasn't exactly the best thing for an ex to hear, much less a former fiancé whom he had tried very hard to have a complete life with. Naomi could be jealous, even if she had no reason to ever be, it was human nature, and it was a reaction and emotion that Michael understood. His distance from her since they called it quits again just over a year ago made the man jealous of everything that got a piece of her these days.... the sun, the wind, anyone who was gifted a smile, the kids who got to see her passion in her element of music and teaching, and the friends that got to hear the ins and outs of her life. All things he still wanted and missed, but he hoped the magic words of there's only one Naomi Owens let her know she had nothing to worry about. Only one woman had him and his heart and that was her, curled up in his side and growing their baby inside of her. He knew better to ask if she had seen or been with anyone since they had been broken up, Michael didn't want to do that to himself, and ultimately he knew it was unfair. "Yeah, there's no next, Nomes. I've been trying and not very well to let you move on with your life but... personally I'm still stuck on you. The one date I had, well, shamefully she looked very similar to you." He wanted it out in the open now, rather than Naomi finding these things out later and possibly being hurt by them. Michael was always the full disclosure type, and honest. "I didn't steal it," he smiled a bit, "I just borrowed it. I feel like I had to remind ya." The smile on his lips remained as it hit him that although they couldn't work things out on their own, the universe clearly wanted them together. Which was what Michael had always felt since the moment he had met Naomi at her college — they were supposed to be together. He kissed her again. "Maybe I don't want you to stop," he mumbled against her lips, then another kiss. The blond nodded and sighed inwardly, content and feeling the bliss of their affections. "I do love you, and you love me," he repeated selfishly for how the words lifted him, "so let's try. But it's gonna work... I'm not going to make the same mistakes I made before." Naomi was pulled into his side and he held his girl like he always had in the past, his fingers met her damp cheekbones and gently smoothed the tears away. He himself felt emotional, he was finally going to have a child and family, and it was with Naomi. Life suddenly felt right again, the world had turned back on it's axis and wondrously he wasn't so lost anymore. There was something to really live for. "A little crazy," he chuckled softly, " we're doing things a little out of order but that's alright." The thought of having a girl scared him, as he imagined many father's felt. "I'd love any child we have, but a daughter would just mean you and her teaming up against me. A blueberry huh? " Using his thumb and index he measured the approximate size and stared at it for a few moments. "My oatmeal is never gonna be the same..."

This was real. This was actually happening. Naomi had to keep her eyes fluttered closed for a moment to actually take it all in, as most of this would be something she would pinch herself over. Having a family with a man who was made of pure magic had always been something Naomi dreamed of... in fact, she started dreaming of it more often when she met Michael on a whim at UNC, and that didn’t exactly falter even when they had broken up twice. He was the person she got far enough to picture her life molding together with — while she had tried elsewhere, tried desperately to find the warm love she had found with Michael, it all seemed to fall at her feet. She tried too hard every single time, and that should have told her something. When it came so effortless, it was worth holding onto.  “Looked like me?” Naomi asked, her brow arching. She couldn’t help but let her mind race to picture every single woman she knew in Wilmington who could even remotely resemble her, but most of those were her friends. She didn’t think they would go that far. Her shoulders squared, looking up at him through thick lashes, and she shrugged. “Nothing beats the real deal.” That was a little cocky, but she couldn’t help herself this time around. A half smile spread across her lips though at the little comment he made. He could steal her lines if it meant her heart continuing to hammer that hard.Tilting her chin forward, Naomi couldn’t entirely help herself when she went in and kissed him again when he practically prompted her, though this time moving her hand up to curl around the side of his neck. “Because you missed me?” She murmured against his lips, while her kiss eventually moved to his jaw, and the hand that was on his neck had slipped beneath the collar of his white shirt and over the skin of his collarbone. A laugh escaped her mouth when she was pressed into his skin and her body was pulled in closer, nodding some. “This time is different. It’s not just the baby. It feels different. You feel different.” She said. “But that’s not a bad thing. You seem more yourself.” Her lips moved up his jaw to the sensitive space just below his ear, whispering. “I missed that.” With her brown hair that had fallen free from the clip hiding her face, Naomi pulled back and smiled at him. “Apparently. I can’t even wrap my head around something being that small.” Another laugh bubbled over into his neck, as her lips moved around to the front of his adam’s apple. “I think it’s kind of amazing...”

"You know... brunette, dark eyes, beautiful cheekbones..." He was supposed to be describing what he meant by saying that the woman looked like her, and instead was really just listing off Naomi's features. "Cute little nose," Michael bopped it lightly with his finger then. "And lips that hold my most favorite smile in the world," he paused then and smirked slightly, "well, at least until our little one is born. Then, I'm sorry, you're taking a backseat, Mama." The blond man winked at her and leaned in to soothe his joking, which probably came at the wrong time, with a few kisses to her ear and curve of her neck. "Nothing memorable though. I think she cared more about sex than anything else, and you know me." Mike had never been the one night stand kind of guy, he always craved connection and if he was going to share himself he didn't want it to be just once. "Nothing beats the real deal," the retired Marine confirmed, "not that there's ever been a chance for anyone else in my heart." It seemed that Michael had been so dedicated to the one that he never gave anything else a chance, which considering that he and Naomi were virtually back together for a third time now it wasn't a bad thing, but once he had set on her back when they started dating so many years ago there was no room in his heart for anyone else. It made him smile in that respect that he was just like his father — the man had married his college sweetheart and they ended up having five children together and Michael couldn't even remember a fight between the two of them. And to his father's credit, the man had never moved on even after his mother lost her battle with cancer so many years ago. Michael had always wanted that kind of love, it was his ideal and it was hitting him now that he had it all along, he carried it within him for Naomi Owens. You seem more yourself. It was true, given his departure from the Marine Corps he was finding his old self again, the man he was for Naomi before they both veered in different directions due to life's curve balls. There was still a lot for Michael to address, but he was feeling strong and more capable of managing it. "I missed it too," he confessed and and breathed in deep as her lips teased him. "I'm sorry I lost my way for so long. I should have been there for you," Michael murmured and cupped her jaw in his large hand, peering into those deep and expressive eyes. "Enjoy it while it's small, babe. It's the most amazing thing in the world, and I'm not really ashamed for going a little hard on your birthday then," he chuckled softly. The whole thing made him feel lighter, happier. He had Naomi and he had a baby with her on the way. When he couldn't take anymore of her teasing he pulled the petite woman onto his lap and cradled the side of her neck with his hand as he brought her in for another kiss. His other hand reached up and freed her tresses from the pins holding it up, letting it's length unwrap and cascade down past her shoulders. Michael liked to be able to run his fingers through it. "I'm half tempted to lift your skirt up right here in your mama's back yard...."

“Close, but seems like a drug store copy.” Naomi couldn’t help but let out a half hearted laugh, even if it was a little critical of her. He had done a good job at soothing her worries though. Her mind was racing a mile a minute over the possibility of another woman who even remotely resembled her filling in her role in his life, he still seemed to be dead set on her... that was much more than what she could say for plenty of others who had came and gone in her life, which had her feeling much better about the whole ordeal than anything. The only one she would be even remotely happy to share the spotlight with was their little one, the one he mentioned, and she wasn’t entirely surprised when he threw that one in there. “Yeah, yeah, I know. God forbid it’s a girl, and she reminds me everyday how she stole my man.” Her head shook and tilted to the side when his lips trailed over the side of her neck this time, the feeling alone letting goosebumps rise on her skin. As Naomi liked to pride herself on knowing Michael rather well, she wasn’t so surprised to learn that the date hadn’t worked out for many reasons. “You never were. I would like to think I would know, I mean, I did win you over in favor of my roommate back in the day... You know, the one who wanted to jump your bones?” Naturally, her two large hazel hues dropped down to the chest that was only peeking beneath a bulging button and a tie where his heart beat — that was hers, in every sense of the word, even if the two tried to let it beat elsewhere. It all seemed a little silly now, what was the point? It seemed like now it was all a bit of wasted time. She knew from the moment she met him he was placed on this planet for her, that little line straight out of her vows she had stored away years ago, but even now that hadn’t changed. Nothing changed, even when she tried to make it happen.

Her head shook into the kiss as he apologized. “We all get a little lost sometimes.” Before she was bitter, she was the first person to admit so, but Naomi knew that they wouldn’t have gotten to the point of where they were today if they hadn’t had to endure every hurdle life threw at them. That included his distance while he was stationed away from their home, their first break up, her grieving her father alone, him grieving his mother alone, and the foundation cracking when they jumped in a second time around a year prior. She fully believed that the world worked wonders if you let it work it’s magic, and now she was landed back in his arms with a baby. “You’re back now.” She breathed, one hand moving to stroke her thumb across his jaw. Lips perked up in a smile, she ducked her head when he stared back down at her. “A little hard? You mean the three rounds to guarantee a blueberry?” Her words caused he to laugh, though when he pulled her over, Naomi hadn’t wasted time in adjusting her weight so that either knee was snug against the side of his waist, hands moving down the side of his neck. Her chin had tilted forward and her lips meshed in well with Michael’s, deepening the kiss in the midst of the brown hair cascading down her back. The dress she wore was ironically perfect for the position they were in, as the wrapped cloth had rode up her thigh, and she playfully moved to let the slit that exposed her left leg be pulled back entirely. “Half tempted?” She asked, leaning forward again so the hair fell over her shoulder, while her hands moved down to his hips, curling around the button there. 

“Not even a copy,” he smiled a little, “just something similar but not remotely the same.” The jealousy and insecurity that seemed to gnaw at her a little, judging by her comments, were understandable. Michael wanted to ask how she had tried to move on but knew better of himself to actually get the question out. He wasn’t a jealous or insecure man in the slightest, it would simply wear at him though all the curiosities. Clearly they were both sitting there closely together with a baby between them now so neither had really made strides in the mission of moving on. Michael hadn’t truly wanted to though, but what of Naomi? Had she really wanted to? How hard did she try to replace him in her life? Questions he’d never ask and that would never even touch the trusted ears of a friend because Michael kept everything close to the chest. It was another burden he’d carry, and again in this case it was better for his shoulders bear it than hers. “You seriously wouldn’t compete with your own daughter over daddy’s love and attention would ya?” Michael winked at Naomi then smiled at his work, the way her skin displayed goosebumps under his lips and hot breath. “Oh, I remember, but I don’t really remember much about her.” It had been pretty obvious as soon as he and the brunette beside him caught each other’s eyes that it was all signed, sealed, and delivered. From then on there just seemed to be a gravitational pull between them. He pressed a kiss to her collarbone and breathed in her sweet scent, finally feeling a future and possibilities opening up. Lost seemed an understatement, but that was due to the fact that she didn’t know the current state of his emotional well being. No one did, it was what he was holding so tight to his chest, and not something he intended to keep buried forever but something he would find a way to move past. Michael was already feeling better about life and his new place in life would only push him to do better and take care of himself better. Now he was going to have a baby to watch grow up, and Naomi be the most beautiful mother. He felt so incredibly fortunate. “That I am,” he commented with a gentle nod of his head. “Well, the first round didn’t really do much of anything to secure a blueberry,” Mike chuckled, vividly remembering his head between her thighs. His strong hands settled on her hips, fingertips digging in just a little as he gripped her and held her atop his lap. His sapphire hues burned into her deep hazel, only shutting when she leaned in and crashed her lips against his. The kiss was deep, passionate, and his mouth opened up to slip his tongue into hers. “Half tempted,” he repeated, challenging, though his voice was suddenly a little more gravelly. His palm travel down the bare skin of her exposed thigh but captured that fabric at her hips and tugged it up further, and his gaze turned down to catch sight of the fabric covering her sex. His digits soon swept between her thighs and stroked over her covered folds, thumb pressing down the center, teasing at first then finding her clit and adding a little pressure. While he loved foreplay, it was hard for Michael to be patient in this moment and he soon brushed her underwear aside to stroke her nectar coated lips and ease two fingers into her core with a groan vibrating in his throat at the squeezing wet warmth around his fingers.

Not even a copy. Naomi couldn’t help but smile at that one. She never once battled much with self esteem issues — she knew what she had to offer, she knew she was a catch and she knew that she was bound to be the best partner she could be, but that hadn’t meant that Michael reassuring her that no one seemed to compare hadn’t meant something to her. She was jealous, a little bitter, even if it wasn’t her place to be. At least he was being honest with what happened in the past, which was something she also would do if he needed the details. She did, though, as always. Then again, it was yet another shining example of Michael knowing her better than most, and knowing what she needed to hear in order to be reassured with herself. “Maybe? I’ll deal, of course, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be a little jealous. You’re my guy.” Naomi’s fingertips grazed over the top of his shoulder as she remained close to him, her lips actually grazing over his mouth as she spoke. If anyone knew how territorial and a bit dramatic she could get, it was Michael, as the mention of her former roommate in college had done the trick — she stole his attention, and she intended to keep it that way. She couldn’t really bring herself to mouth a response when Michael’s lips had came down to her collarbone and his warm breath distracted her, bringing her hand to slide from his shoulder to his neck again, exhaling a deep breath.

He seemed a little deep in his thoughts for a brief moment, twisting her wrist around to slip her fingertips over the back of his neck, then slipped the digits up the back of his head to tickle scratch his scalp. “I’m glad you are.” She confirmed with a softer smile, her nose brushing against his and her mouth grazing his again with how close they were. They remained connected, and Naomi couldn’t exactly get enough of the man before her. She really did miss him while he was away, perhaps that was a big reason why their relationship had suffered through the rocks, but God she missed him. “It’s always better when you’re here.” The brunette confirmed again and her fingertips moved down to the front of his chest, where the loosened collar was readily available for her ( since his jacket was now slipping off her own shoulders ) and dipped down to feet his skin. Her cheeks flushed, shaking her head. “Oh my God,” She blushed once again. “You’re so bad.” Naomi giggled, this time tilting her chin forward to crash her lips back on into his. At that point in time, it didn’t even matter that they were still in the backyard of her childhood home way past dusk. Emotions were high, and she wanted nothing more than to reconnect with him in more ways than one. Shaky fingers had only gotten to unbutton the clasp of his slacks before Michael’s fingers were back inside her and the chiffon pale dress had been bundled at her hips, eliciting a low throaty moan to escape her mouth. “I’m fully tempted,” Naomi whimpered again into his mouth, her fingers moving to grasp onto the side of his neck, mouth parting to greet his tongue. As noisy as she was, Naomi couldn’t help but moan again, rocking her hips on forward to ride the two fingers. “I want you.” The brunette whispered as her mouth drug down his stubbled chin, feeling her hips flex and her walls flutter to the touch around him, before her right hand had hastily tugged on the buttons of his shirt. “Please, baby.”

“I’m your guy, yes,” Michael chuckled softly, an easy and content sound. “But I’ll be this one’s father,” he added with his hand smoothing over where the baby would soon be giving Naomi a bump. “You’ve never had anything to be jealous of.” It was understood though, the facts of the brunette teasing him with her lips and touches were well known. Territorial behavior was a natural thing where Michael was concerned, and something openly accepted because he too could be very much the same way. They differed though in how it was expressed. Naomi could be dramatic and Michael could feel a need to be assertive, and thankfully neither of them really pushed those boundaries and limits. It was his responsibility as her man to make sure she always felt secure, and likewise, that was his view on how this all worked. They each teased each other’s flesh with their lips, but when the retired Marine came up for air from her collarbones and the little dip between he kissed her then pulled back to make eye contact with her. He held Naomi’s jaw in his hand and peered into her hazel hues. “What do you think about making a third go of this? There’s nothing to pull us apart this time...” “Well... I’m never leaving again, I promise you that. And things are different now.” Which was true, they definitely were, given that he didn’t have active duty to drag him away at a moments notice if they deemed his particular services needed for whatever mission. They never again had to suffer through low quality Skype calls that often failed, or long absences empty with no contact, and for that along with the blueberry their future looked better and more possible than it ever had. Michael was tired of missing her. “Mmm,” he hummed at the feel of her fingers touching the top of his chest where his opened top button revealed a bit of warm flesh. Noticing his jacket sliding off her shoulders, Mike took it and placed it aside and worried for a brief moment of Naomi getting cold but then figured he’d keep her plenty warm. The blond smirked at her reaction. “Look at those rosy cheeks,” he teased, though was pleased he still had that effect on her. Michael hummed even deeper, the sound vibrating against her lips when she kissed him hard and he was unable to keep his hands off of her any longer. He almost didn’t need to move his fingers with the way her hips began rocking on his digits, but he diligently pumped them in and out of her core and twisted his wrist and curled his fingers inside of her a little. The more she rode him though the more jealous he became of his own fingers. His cock wasn’t just throbbing, it was aching with the need to fill her. It had been more than a month since he was home inside of her and he could hardly stand it. “Fuck,” Michael grunted, “hold onto me.” As soon as he felt her hands digging into his shoulders, he released his grip on her hip so that he could pull his tucked shirt free and let down his pants. Reluctantly he withdrew his fingers, smirking at the saturated feel of her arousal on them, and lifted her at the hips so he could align his cock with her entrance then groaned deeply as he slowly let her down on his thick length. “God, Naomi...” Michael muttered and returned his hands to her hips to guide her movements.

All coherent thoughts on responding to him went out the window when he made such a proposition to her. No, it didn’t matter if her heart skipped a beat over him labeling himself as a father to their growing child, because Naomi was back in his lap and kissing on him and listening to him wanting to try again and she wasn’t even sure it was real. Something got caught in her throat that stalled her response. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting when she told him — they had already been dancing around a dangerous line of blurring their history together, but a child didn’t have to mean they needed to get back together. A roll around in the sheets didn’t mean such, either. That didn’t mean that Naomi’s lips hadn’t naturally curled into a smile when he asked and she immediately felt the need to kiss him silly when he did. His hand was over her stomach, he was making promises of sticking around... so she leaned in and kissed him hard. She really kissed him, where she stalled all movements and gripped the collar of his shirt like she had nothing else to hold onto. “Third times a charm, isn’t it?” Naomi mumbled against his lips, nose nestled against Michael’s. “to hell with it.” Another whisper. “Baby, I want to.” She slipped her arms around his neck again, fingers curling into his blonde locks as her head tilted. “I love you, Michael.”

Her hands slipped from his chest to his neck and she kissed him again, almost like second hand nature at that point. There was very little she could do when all she wanted was to be close with him again, and her body was practically aching for it with nothing more than his fingers inside her, and his words causing her heart to hammer. At this rate she really needed to find a way to get him up to her bedroom with no interruptions, but now she just couldn’t help it. She needed him in more ways than one, and getting up from the bench in the yard was no longer an option — at least for now. “Shh,” Naomi moaned when he pointed out her cheekbone color, fluttering her lashes. She had heard that once or twice, knowing he got a kick out of making her blush. Now that the jacket was taken off, her shoulders were more exposed and her hair fell over them, though the dip in the cleavage of her dress flared a bit when her body moved to rock over his fingers. Little moans escaped her mouth at every twist and turn he made, causing his fingers to beckon inside her. He always was so good at that, he always knew what her body would beg for before she even did. Except this time she was impatient, and with how high emotions were, she wanted nothing more than to be close to Michael in every way she knew how. “G-God,” Naomi whined a bit as her hips staggered and her hand gripped his thigh for support, growing flush at the sensation. It felt like the heavens, but God, she wanted so much more.

Within seconds, the bliss of having her man back inside her after the month alone had brought a loud whimper and a fluttering of her lashes. It wasn’t new by any means, but each and every time the pair connected in such an intimate way, Naomi couldn’t help but squirm in delight. The feeling alone washed over her completely, her jaw slacking a bit in bliss while her fingers continued to grip onto his shoulder like she was instructed. How he managed to lift her where he wanted promoted another moan from her, incredibly turned on with every single thing he did. “You feel so good.” Naomi’s hips immediately rolled forward once she had settled down snug on top of him, her knees back to the sides of his hips, and she had gotten used to the pressure that came with him being back inside her. Head tilted, with tips of her loosened hair brushing his knees, her body rolled once more. “You always do...” she moaned out, dropping her hand down to grip his thigh. Her lips parted as her hazel orbs connected with his beautiful sapphires, unable to help but moan once more.

For Michael the news of Naomi possibly being pregnant only hit a bit of a fast forward button on where he saw them heading. There was no one else that had his interest, even slightly, even more so he hadn’t wanted to look elsewhere despite trying to do so for her sake. From her birthday to Valentines Day, then this wedding they’d just gone too, well the blond didn’t need much more of that to know things were coming to a head. Time apart showed that they could live without each other, but the thing was that Michael didn’t want to and he was tired of acting like he was nothing more than a friendly ex anytime he saw her about town or became remotely close to anyone that knew her and his history. The intentions had been pure, but as anyone knew, the road to hell was paved with good intentions. It was also the wedding that made Michael realize that he needed to stop lying to himself, and he needed to take that shot to find out once and for all if there was a possibility for them again. He leaned into the kiss and returned her energy and passion just as strong, kissing her hard and the grip on her hips moving up her sides. Soon he was holding her precious face in his hands as their mouths worked together. “I love you, baby,” he returned then kissed her lips a few times then planted many along her jaw and against her neck. His face nuzzled into her hair and his strong arms hugged her dearly to him. “Mine.” “Cum,” Michael instructed, wanting her to let loose on his fingers as she rocked and he simultaneously pumped into her core. His voice was low and almost hoarse with the amount of desire that flowed through his veins for this woman. Thumb pressed to her clit again, he added pressure and rubbed in circles only to abruptly stop and move in the other direction. His lips brushed hers with kisses and his teeth nibbled her when he had to let her pant and breathe. Michael sucked on her neck when he found that rough patch of skin and stroked her g-spot. The man was seeking out that initial release from her, as always they weren’t going the night without making her cum at least a few times. He brushed her hair back off her shoulders and felt emotion well in his chest, his heart pounding over not just trying again with Naomi but the determination to not fail this time and to be blessed with a baby growing inside of her. Hand moving down from her shoulder, he cupped and kneaded her breast, trying to be gentle unsure if she was tender. His head dipped and his face buried into her cleavage, kissing and sucking on her supple flesh and soft moans rumbling lowly in his throat. “You’re so beautiful,” he told her just as his head lifted to steal her lips in another kiss. Michael wanted her out of the dress and completely naked so that he could enjoy her body to the fullest, both visually and physically, but he wasn’t about to bare her in the backyard of her childhood home. “Come on, baby, cum for me,” the retired Marine murmured, fingers brushing her g-spot and thumb teasing her clit.

The groan her tight wet heat so snuggly clinging to his cock elicited was deep and guttural. He was speechless for a few moments as his length reached her depths, his girth stretching and pushing against her walls. “God damn, Naomi,” he finally groaned out, resisting the ache in his balls to just pound into her and unload. No, Michael wanted to take his time with her, as always, no matter how crazy the woman made him for her. His hands squeezed firmly at her hips, picking up pace in rocking her on his shaft and lifting her some, unable to keep his own hips still despite being beneath her. Michael was limited but it didn’t stop the man from flexing his hips and pushing deeper into her every time he’d lower her with each forward rock. She was moaning and he was beginning to join her in what was becoming a chorus of pleasure in her backyard. His hands moved under the hem of her dress and a thumb returned to toy with her clit and the other reached around her to grab a handful of her ass. “Do I need to be careful with this dress too?” A smirk was on his cocky lips.

It was all happening. It seemed as soon as she revealed one little thing, everything else fell into place right afterwards. Sure, they were going about this a bit backwards. Their history was messy and things would need to be formally addressed come another day where her head wasn’t in the clouds... but this was it, this was happening. The universe seemed to always have a way to making things up for her as she went, but for once, she couldn’t help but feel like she was finally on the path of being on the right direction. A baby was a blessing, but with a man who she knew was ready to make every single dream she had come true... well, that was the life every single young girl dreamed of. She couldn’t help the cheesy way she smiled and let her mouth part into the kiss, his declaration of love always causing her heart to swell in her chest. “I’ve always been yours.” She whispered. “Even when we were pretending, baby, it’s always been you.”

Emotions were really high, but the simple fact of the matter was that she now was pretty much speechless. Michael always has a knack for completely shutting her up when it came to being intimate, becoming nothing more than a moaning mess of flushed cheeks and stutters of need. Now, with those thick digits, it was enough for her hips to rock forward in an attempt to get herself off with every movement he made. She moved again, only finding the brief moment of neglect before he was right back where she needed him most. This. God. This was always so much better. Every word he spoke, every move he made... Michael literally was the guy she bragged about. He knew exactly what he was doing. Naomi took account that they still were in her backyard of her childhood home, but given the hour, she had known the ins and outs of her house and that her mother was well away tucked in her own bedroom. The lights were dim and they were very much alone. Arching her back, Naomi then adjusted the cleavage of her top again and slipped her hand around the back of his neck, her lips brushing over his forehead. “Touch me,” Naomi moaned as her head ducked to breathe into his ear. “Baby.”

There was a brief moment where she took to get used to the feeling of him being inside of her all over again before she could settle down on his lap, turning her focus on him completely. His moans were music to her ears, finding the way he could grow louder incredibly sexy despite their limited resources. “Mm?” Naomi reached up and pushed her hair back, finding a smirk on her lips, enjoying the taunting as she got into it. For once, she was back with having the upper hand, and the brunette moved forward to lean into him. “You missed me, didn’t you?” She whispered as she hovered over his mouth, the entire time letting her hips rock forward. Every single movement she made allowed her walls to flutter and adjust to the feeling of his large member filling her up completely, catching the air in her throat. By that time she had reached around and grabbed onto the back of the bench while her other moved around his neck, spreading her legs to grind down against him. She moaned loudly into his ear when he touched her again, this time forcing her to bounce once or twice on his cock. “God, no.” Naomi whined into his ear before reaching around to pull the buttons open on his shirt. She didn’t entirely care much of the temperature of the February air — but that point she was hot enough, and wanted to see more skin. “I don’t care about it.” She licked her lips and bounced her hips again, reaching behind her to grasp onto his knee, her body stretched as she leaned back, giving him ample visions of her half exposed body.

Sometimes that was what it took, something to knock everything else into place. It seemed they had been going in circles and trying to find answers and meanings to things rather than just saying fuck it and being together. The news of Naomi being with child, his child, Michael had that epiphany and wanted to get off the merry-go-round. He was exhausted of trying to give a woman he loved space so she could move on with her life without him. It was the last thing he wanted; for her to be without him, for her to move on and be with someone else. Michael had been in love with her for so long that there was no way there was room for anyone else in his heart, and beyond that the blond man was selfish, he didn’t want to give her the room to have someone else in her heart. He craved that future with her that they had once planned and got so close to starting. Now a baby was created from their inability to abstain from each other and while it wasn’t the plan, it was the gift that gave in more ways that one. They were exchanging those three magical words and he had her in his arms, Naomi was his again, and the world finally started to right on it’s axis. “You’ve have,” he confirmed, heart thudding at her confession. “I think it’s been clear for me too,” his voice was a couple octaves deeper, lust and emotion caught up in his throat, “I was never able to let you go and it feels better than I know how to express to have you back, baby.”

As it was with most men, Michael was very physical and thoroughly enjoyed sex. With Naomi though the act always elevated to a higher echelon. The way their bodies connected and worked together, their passions aligned and he knew every little thing that made her tic, and she of course knew him that well in return. He would hear stories of other men and how they’d get bored of sex with their partners, usually the wives or girlfriends they’d been with for significant amounts of time, and he felt sorry for them. The connectivity he shared with the petite brunette rocking her hips on his fingers was exalted and no other woman could compare to the way she made his heart pound and his blood rush. While he was aware of their location, Michael really didn’t care much if they got caught, they were two adults that now had a baby on the way. Not to mention she was his girl once again, finally. His digits curled and stroked, massaged her spongy walls as he pumped into while she rode. Sapphire hues kept glancing up from her heaving chest to catch all the reactions and pleasures play across her face while the warmth of her first release pooled down his finger and into his palms. The retired Marine was beyond turned on, cock aching and face buried back into the soft mounds of her chest. “Mmm,” he somewhat hummed and grunted in response to her plea. His chin turned up to snatch her lips in a heated kiss  and his hand reached into the top of her dress to cup and knead her breasts. His fingers rolled and pinched and tugged on her rosy peaks but it wasn’t too much longer before he had two free hands to tear the front of her dress open.

“Of course,” he groaned. The sensation of being buried to the hilt within her core was indescribable and his abdomen clenched with every little movement she made. She was soft, hot, and hugging his shaft so firmly that when she rocked her hips and began to ride him with a bounce Michael let out a loud groan. His large hand moved up her back and his fingers threaded into Naomi’s thick tresses and fisted a hold, taking more control of her movements. She had his two strong arms wrapped around her small body, hugging her and lifting her, working her harder and faster on his lap once he was sure that she was used to his mass inside of her. “How does this feel?”  Michael’s hips grinded and worked some kind of thrust upward, unable to fully match her movements given positioning but he pushed each stroke of his cock into her a little deeper each time. Her lips were practically kissed raw and swollen before his hands moved to her shoulders, releasing her hair but still moving her body at his will. It was his mouth, tongue, and teeth that found her exposed tits then. He sucked on her flesh and moaned against her skin feeling his balls tighten but willing it away. Michael wasn’t ready for this to be over, not yet, not when his teeth were grazing her nipples and pinching them. His lips soothed and tugged on the sensitive nubs. “Fuck you’re beautiful,” he groaned yet again as she leaned back and his mouth was redirected to her sternum and belly. His hands smoothed down her sides, holding her hips firmly once again, grinding her onto him before he snaked his right arm around her lower back so his left hand could dip to where the wet sounds of their lovemaking was coming from. He toyed with her clit at first, flicking the soaked exposed bud then pinching lightly and tugging on her wanting to make her scream.

Just like any other woman with a romantic heart, the knowledge of Michael’s love for her had been enough to completely feel the organ hammering hard within her chest. She was certain it was ready to soar right on out onto the ground, in between his little confession, the emotions over their growing child, and practically making love all over again in the brisk February air... it was a lot to take in all at once. She would have been overwhelmed if she hadn’t had something else to focus on. But in a sense, it was the perfect mixture of matter that she hadn’t realized she had been missing. No longer had she had to wander around aimlessly searching for something she already had — she didn’t have to force something that wasn’t meant for any longer. No, she had him. He was her’s, she was his. She could hardly describe how good that felt. Somewhere in between the lust of their actions, and the heat that swarmed her body, Naomi had brought her hand up to the side of his face so her thumb could carefully swipe over his stubbled jaw, taking in the man before her. Her man, ensuring that he was real. “I love you.” Naomi confessed once more, unsure how many times that evening she was bound to let the three letter sentence slip that evening. She couldn’t help it, either, not with the way he was completely swarming her every last nerve ending in her entire body. Both her physical touch, and her emotions.

Her words had been muffled since half way through, hanging on the you, she leaned back in and stole a kiss. Plump and bruised lips parted in order to deepen the affectionate kiss and slip the tongue along the bottom row of his teeth, practically begging for the entrance only he could grant. Once he had, there was a moan that bubbled from her throat and contrasted over inside his mouth, unable to help herself when she could feel her hips jittering out of pristine pace. That was it — that was the clear sign that it was all too much, and she was falling out of order. The single digits inside her twisted and massaged far enough that Naomi actually came after his command for the first time that evening, leaving behind flushed cheekbones and whimpering noises. Her head tipped back, fingertips moving to grip onto the back of his head, unable to help the low gasp that escaped her mouth. Between the initial shock of the first small orgasm from his hand to the overwhelming feeling of finally connecting their two bodies in the most intimate way one could ever ask for, well, it was safe to say that every single nerve in her entire body was elicited like fire. She was on fire, all because of him. 

A loud moan passed through her lips. “I bet you did. I can feel you did.” Her taunts were pretty obvious, he knew she missed him too, but her ego was fueled enough with knowing he missed her more than anyone. Her heart, as well, but her ego often took over this time around. “Did you think about me?” She breathed into his ear, lips ghosting over the shell. She was practically on full display at that point, both with her wrapped dress peeled from it’s tie around her torso and her body leaned back with a grip on his knees, giving Michael the utmost show with the position she had to deal with. “I missed you touching me.” She whispered and licked her lips, brushing her own hand down over her chest, then forward to pull open another button and touch his exposed stomach. Fuck, he still looked and felt so good. There was nothing covering her any longer, other than the remaining material bunched at her waist with no where else to go. She would have been cold from the evening crisp air, but there was something about the wet and hot kisses Michael’s mouth left against her chest and stomach that warmed her right up.

She didn’t know how he managed to completely overload her senses every single time they connected in this way, but even bouncing up and down on his lap in her backyard he had. It was a mix of both sexy lust fueled by a desire to rip one’s clothes off and an act of lovemaking with a partner she had fallen in love with years prior — how that managed to be was beyond her but made the experience that much more enjoyable. Just like that, Michael knew what he was doing when his mouth parted and left a wet trail from her breast to just above her belly button, while moving that grip from her dark hair to her clit. It tugged on her hair in the process, forcing goosebumps to rise on her skin. She whimpered at the move, her hips jerking forward immediately at the knee jerk reaction. “Jesus, baby—,” Naomi whined out, though her body couldn’t take the torture of her position any longer, immediately shooting forward to wrap her arms around his neck, fingertips biting into the fabric loose on the shoulder blades she had access to, before one moved back to his short hair. He questioned her, and she could only moan a bit in response. “It feels so good, baby. Right there, k-keep... oh my God.” There was a certain way his cock swelled inside her that had her gasping and moaning hotly, the shocking feeling being enough to straighten her back and press her chest forward against his face as it for level, becoming a bit taller in his lap. She bounced down hard on his length before bucking her hips again, whimpering into his ear as her body had jerked, unable to help her movements with the tug he gave to her clit. “Michael!"

She was such a stunningly sensual woman, and Michael’s sapphire gaze was glued to her moonlit features in the backyard of her childhood home. Her small frame swayed and her hips writhed while her swollen lips parted to release shaky moans, all signalling the man that had experienced Naomi in every way that she was close to tipping over the edge. He elongated the thrusts of his doubled digits within her pussy and his wrist strongly emphasized the twist to stroke her quivering walls. While his thumb toyed and manipulated her clit, he did his best to return the wet kiss his woman planted on him. He groaned and panted a little as the muscles in his arm displayed and his veins pressed up against the surface of his skin, signs of his continued ministrations all in the goal of giving this little goddess all the pleasure she desired in the world. Her movements rubbed against the pressure his rock hard cock had created under the zipper of his pants and his lids fluttered every time he got a spark of a reaction, something that sent jolts down the length of his shaft, through his balls, and down his inner thighs. His rigid girth was envious as she finally muttered her three little words that meant everything to him and came on his stroking fingers. “Fuck, baby, I love you too,” he muttered against her mouth, grabbing her chin and pulling her lips to his so he could practically plunge his tongue into her mouth and kiss her so wildly.

Finally buried balls deep within her, hips rolling upward and working to drive his cock deeper within the massaging spongy wet walls of her core, Naomi taunted and teased him. Michael loved it though, and smirked at her while she fueled and riled herself up, enjoying the show as she owned just how fucking sexy she was. He watched and practically salivated as her tits bounced with her movements and his rocking into her. The blond even lowly growled when her hands teased over her own body, the one that Michael had long ago claimed as his own, but again, thoroughly enjoyed the display she offered him. Visually he devoured the beauty, and physically he felt he couldn’t get enough. “How much?” He inquired at her missing his touch, one palm smoothing up from it’s firm grip on her hip over her flat stomach to cup and knead each supple breast. His fingers collected her nipples and gently rolled and squeezed them, his hand moving from each warm mountain of flesh to the other and then back. Michael’s grip on her hip snaked his arm around her lower back as he lowered his mouth to his flesh, unable to resist tasting her. “I missed every fuckin’ bit of you,” he finally gave into her taunts, telling the truth. He wanted them each other of their clothing, wanting his hands all over the body he claimed and vice versa, yet there was something so exhilarating about making love like this in her yard.

Times like this the man wasn’t sure how he existed without the constant access he once had to be inside of her as often as they wanted, but the way she rode him and bucked and bounced, Michael was sure he’d never go without again. One month prior they had spent a whole night making love over and over because it was a reunion of their bodies from well over a year, and that month had been excruciating, no matter how dramatic it sounded in the blond’s head at that moment. His cock spasmed the moment his tip touched her cervix and he let out the most guttural groan into the valley of her perky breasts . Michael’s fingers curled in and gripped her flesh a little tighter for a brief few seconds as he rode out the urge to just blow his load and fill her with his hot sticky seed right then and there. Her pussy hugged him like no other and her moans and panting breaths were like a song hitting his ears. Every movement she made rocked his world and when she pressed forward against him his mouth opened and sucked her tender flesh into his hot mouth once again. His face could live in her perfect tits for eternity for all he cared, and his hands yanked some of her dress material aside to grip handfuls of her ass to guide her ride as she bounced on his thick length. Michael moved her fast and hard, and began groaning louder into her chest, turning his mouth to suck on each nipple, biting and tugging on the tender peaks too.

When his hand slipped between them, all it took was one tug on her raw and exposed clit before she was hollering his name in that backyard and he growled, “yes!” in response. “Come on, baby. Look at me.” He was peering up at her. “I wanna see you face when you cum again.” This time she’d cum on his grinding shaft as his hips pistoned like a well oiled machine and worked himself in and out of her. Michael’s favorite thing was to watch her face when he’d make her come, especially when it was coupled with the sensation of feeling her walls spasm and grip him. His fingers teased her eight thousand nerve endings a little more before both hands wound back at her hips to guide her harder and faster up and down his length, ready to pick her up and carry her on inside once her body was quaking with her impending orgasm rolling like waves through her petite body. “Come on, mama. Let me feel you,” he coaxed, smirking at her new title. His sapphire stare was fixed on her, shifting between her face to her bouncing chest, and occasionally to the wet sounds their bodies were making.

There it was. Right there. Hell, she even moaned out loud a little plea of him not to stop and to keep on pressing forward to drive her up the wall. That sweet, hot sensation that Naomi hadn’t realized she had been craving until she had got the little tease of what it felt to be touched by Michael again. She knew by now there was no going back — she simply couldn’t taste the fruit and return it. Almost like an addict, Naomi was hungry for what Michael had been offering. Somewhere in between his fingers deep inside her, her hands moving over her own body, and his fingers grasping her hips to guide her all while he whispered those taunting words to her…well, she was practically breathless. There would only be so much she could take before she was left to be a little hot mess — from both moaning pathetically and quivering in his lap. At this rate, she was pretty damn close. There truly was nothing like Michael, not physically or emotionally. She couldn’t even say there was a single man in this world that made her feel an ounce of what he did, and shake from an orgasm that quickly. Tilting her head back, Naomi let out a brief hum that doubled as a moan and a whimper, finding the way the words left his mouth incredibly sexy. It turned her on, as if the thick member that had slipped inside her like a glove hadn’t done the trick. “Mm,” Naomi moved to slip her hand over the palm that traveled up over her chest, moving his hand toward her mouth, slipping a single digit of his into her mouth. Another moan, this time as she sucked the tip. “You’ve got no idea.” He truly didn’t. His touch, there was nothing like it. All he had to do was tease her and her body responded like she was being sent to heaven and back. Now, with her legs spread and rolling in his lap, ensuring she had felt every single inch of what her man had to offer, was no exception.

She couldn’t take it anymore. Not with the way he was taunting her. Quickly, Naomi found that her hips had rolled that much faster every time his mouth came in contact with her skin, sure enough leaving a promise of a little bruising from the sick. “Baby, that feels so good…” Naomi trailed of with a whine, sure enough certain that the world around them could hear he loud pleas. She just prayed to God her mother or brother didn’t wake up for it, or were even home. But alas, she couldn’t care, because within a split second a fueled desire took over her and her hands flew to grasp onto his chin, angling his face to kiss him hard. Her tongue swirled over the seam of his lips before she was allowed access, moaning inside. It was just a distraction though, just the move she needed before her body was bound to betray her. He wanted her to come with his demands, and who the hell was she to not oblige? Naomi never seemed to be able to deny herself the satisfaction when Michael’s hands roamed her body and he was buried entirely inside her, anyway. At the way he used a new title, it sparked Naomi’s attention away from her bliss, unable to help but smirking over it. “I’m gonna, baby, I’m—,” Goddamn. He was overloading her senses here. It was so sudden but sure enough, Naomi’s jaw slacked to allow her lips to part and a loud moan to escape, hand moving forward to grip onto the side of his neck. When that wave of sweet heat washed over her, her hips did nothing but buck out of time in an effort to ride out the wave, but elicit that satisfaction of clenching around his thicker cock. She grumbled softly and even tilted her head back, unable to help but thrash forward against him, so her chest was back in his face and her body was tense and straight. “Michael, Michael...” Naomi purred a mantra of his name, cheekbones hot with a flushed glazed. “Mm…”

[loudhaoleinatie]

delilah got some questions for ass-hat-o ~ ♔ :First kill ; ♘ :How you prefer to kill someone ; ♙ :Most malicious act tied to your name ; ♜ :Post-kill actions, thoughts, or emotions ; ♞ :Define a good kill

Well, Kitten, here's all you need to know:

♔ :First kill - At the tender age of 16, an act of vengeance and retribution, and it's what got him into the killing game.

Danny's older sister Stella was raped on a night out by some asshole in a bar, and when he found out Danny broke into the establishment and relieved them of their CCTV tapes. He tracked the guy down, got into a fight where punches were thrown and blood was spilled by both parties, but eventually Danny got the upper hand and managed to choke the guy out until he was unconscious. Danny threw him in the trunk of his sister's car and drove until he had become deaf to the man's screams from behind him and he couldn't see city lights anymore.

He pulled him out and tied him to a chair in an abandoned building he'd come across, the only weapon in his possession being a knife he'd taken from his parents' kitchen on his way out. Danny made him admit what he'd done to Stella before torturing the guy for hours simply because he wanted to hear him beg. His final act was to slice the man's throat and leaving him to bleed out, unaware he had been watched the whole time.

He was young and inexperienced and were it not for the member of the New Jersey mob who had witnessed the whole thing and followed him, cleaning up the mess and disposing of the body and the trail of evidence Danny had left, he would most certainly have been caught and tried for murder. But luck was on his side and about a week later Danny was surprised to see his murder weapon (which he'd left beside his victim's dying body) had magically reappeared in the knife block in the Williams' kitchen and a man was waiting in his living room with a 'job opportunity' on offer.

Soon after that Danny was recruited by the mob and hired as muscle, becoming a contract killer and knife for hire after refining his skills, able to begin taking on his choice of client and victim. While in the mob he showed a talent and preference for the blade in honour of his first kill, and he earned the nickname Ascarto - 'blade' in Italian - which never left him.

♘ :How you prefer to kill someone - always knives.

Whereas Danny respects those who use guns and their abilities he generally sees it as a little heavy-handed. He prefers knives as they are up close and personal, often requiring more skill and more precision, more finesse. They're perfect for interrogation, being both threatening and able to cause a lot of pain and suffering, and Danny knows just where to slice and dice to get the full spectrum of agony to encourage a target to answer his questions without the annoyance of premature expiration - it's kind of difficult to extract information from a corpse. So knives are always the way to go, in his opinion.

That said, Danny is extremely impressed by those who show precision with guns and other weapons, such as marksmen like Palladino who is a crack shot with the sniper rifle and a very effective torturer. Any moron can blow a hole in a target and kill them, but Palladino knows exactly how many holes she can put in a person - and where - before they're no longer able to give information. That girl can use a bullet to flick a flea off a man's shoulder from 200 yards. That's impressive.

♙ :Most malicious act tied to your name - The death of Don Roberto.

Yeah, it sounds like a 1980s crime novel, but it's how the New Jersey cops refer to it when they talk about the most prolific unsolved cases.

Don Roberto was the man who replaced Don Gino, the mob boss who took Danny under his wing and gave him his first job. Don Gino was like a second father to Danny, and not long after Ascarto had made a name for himself and left to go solo, Don Gino was ousted by someone who was meant to be his right hand man. (It's worth noting that there is no retirement home for old Dons, they're not laying on a beach somewhere sipping margaritas surrounded by bikini-clad babes... When a Don is replaced, it's dead man's shoes. It's straight up murder.)

Don Roberto betrayed his boss in a cowardly act, poisoning the old man's scotch and not even giving Gino the respect of being present for his death. Danny hates cowards, even more so when they kill the man who practically raised him after 16. Don Roberto had to go, a warning needed to be sent, and Danny wasn't about to be subtle about it.

He offered himself up to the new Don as a hitman, gained a closed-door meeting with the man himself, and two hours later when someone thought to check on their boss they found his three bodyguards dead and Roberto nowhere to be seen. A week later pieces of him began to show up in the mail to various high level members of the mob and certain benefactors as a warning - cowardice and betrayal don't belong in organised crime. Roberto's head was last to turn up, and that was on the Newark Police Captain's desk in a box with a note pinned to his forehead by a small silver knife. It simply stated "You're welcome. Ascarto."

Roberto's gold rings were never found, but they currently sit in a lockbox in a secure bank along with a few other trophies, account under the pseudonym of Oscar Tow.

♜ :Post-kill actions, thoughts, or emotions - Killing is always a rush for Danny, whether it's personal or otherwise, but it's also strangely calming for the seemingly ravenous darkness lurking in his soul. The more violent the death, the more sated he feels.

Danny always feels proud of a good job - he likes to do it well and be told as much - and in a way the act of extermination feels like it's filling a hole inside of him. Unfortunately that pit seems to be bottomless and it's not long before the need to kill again becomes strong, but Danny has learned to dampen those flames until they're required through various means. It's difficult to contain that hunger, though, and too long between kills may mean the next victim often meets a very... messy end.

Danny rarely drinks as he much prefers to be in full control and can't guarantee what his inner beast might get up to if unleashed by inebriation, so any post-kill actions aside from the usual body dump and evidence removal usually involve carefully cleaning his knives before finding someone to share a very intense and animalistic celebration with.

♞ :Define a good kill - Danny is a pretty pragmatic guy, so a good kill for him is one where he was able to get any and all information required, take out the target quickly and efficiently, and leave no trace of his true identity behind aside from the telltale signs of Ascarto. The best kind of kill, though? One he can take personally.

It's all well and good getting cashy money to take out some corporate asshole on behalf of another corporate asshole so they can take over a business, or being hired by the mob again to extract information from a snitch before wasting him and removing any identifying features, but when Danny is taking down someone he feels truly deserves it? It's a great feeling.

Despite being technically a criminal Danny has a refined sense of justice, right and wrong, so the jobs that give him extra pleasure are the ones where he is removing unwanted scum from existence. Anyone who has raped a person, hurt or killed a child, or preyed on the vulnerable members of society for their own gain, Danny would almost do for free... Almost. He's not that stupid.

But man, does he get an extra thrill from knowing someone who deserved it has breathed their last on the end of his blade.

[vicecityhq]

██████████████]99% LOADING...SUSPECT INTO THE APD DATABASE...

WITNESS(ES) SAY HE REMINDS THEM OF: white silk gleaming in pale daylight, the pitched discordant notes of an flute, the muted glow of the moon through thin gauzy curtains.With a slight resemblance to ZHOU ZHENNAN of/the SOLOIST,.

CLICK BELOW TO VIEW ENTIRE FILE.

FULL FILE:

last name, first name: fei yuyun alias: yun realm of birth: divine age: 20 date of birth: February 13th gender: demiboy pronouns: he/they/she species: cupid sexual orientation: asexual/graysexual-questioning

VISUAL FILE: 

skin: peach-tinted, slightly pale, rosy at the cheeks eye color: brown, golden underneath the sunlight scars: a collection of raised scars across his back, hidden underneath his wings at all times piercings: earlobes only tattoos: a sword on his ring finger hair color: black abnormalities: his body is much more lightweight than it looks wings: small-ish, with rounded tops. they do not span past three feet fully extended, but still enable him to fly quite swiftly. mostly snow-white, dappled with grey at the base and then fading to dark grey at the very edges of his wings - like the coloration of a common pigeon. when folded, they resemble a heart’s shape. in the summertime, the fluffy downy feathers in his wings are shed, and typically scatter with every wingbeat.

PERSONAL FILE: 

RELIGIOUS BELIEF:  unlabeled, though they'll believe nearly anything with just a little nudge here or there. SINS:  greed  /  (gluttony)  /  sloth  / lust  /  pride  /  envy  /  (wrath) VIRTUES: chastity  /  (charity)  /  diligence  /  humility /  kindness /  patience /  (justice) KNOWN LANGUAGES: CH, KOR SECRETS: basically their entire background - from abduction to abuse to murder - they keep it under wraps and act a lot ditzier and happier than one would expect from someone who has gone through those kinds of things, but they've always been good at putting up facades  SAVVIES: powers & abilities: flight ( cupid’s physiology ) — leading into him having wings and a much more lightweight body; enhanced beauty; love & desire manipulation (on a more mild scale, usually can only affect feelings directed towards him and not between others); very agile and acrobatic, with good balance (he can walk on telephone wires and balance on the edges of fences, and leap & tumble through the air without fear of injury) traits: positive: playful & humorous, negative: holds grudges for a long time 

BACKGROUND CHECK: 

Crime Record: second degree murder, theft, trespassing

Background/Biography: 

(tws: mentions of abduction, child abuse, murder) as a young one, he was abducted by fallen angels who had returned to the divine realm to steal back their wings. when they failed, they took him instead as a consolation prize of sorts - a trophy to show that they had gone there again and made it back, in place of the thing that they had really come for.

unsurprisingly, they did not treat him much like their child - instead as an object of sorts, something they dressed up in pretty clothes and put on display for the rest of that community of fallens and hellspawn. as he grew older, the abuse became more severe. they changed from loving to violent at the drop of a pin, a warm embrace becoming a kitchen knife held at his back as he stood stock-still and couldn’t breathe. it was how they showed love, apparently. that was what they told him. but he knew better - that they’d lost the ability to love - left it behind in heaven somewhere in favor of poisonous sin that had darkened their hearts as much as their feathers.

one day he snapped, wings beating furiously and sending loose papers flying, the openings at the back of his shirt tearing even wider from the fierce movement. the first thing that was within his grip became the murder weapon — a curtain rod he tore down with a yell, fabric fluttering wildly. the next few minutes went by in a brutal haze. he was never caught - authorities probably didn’t care enough to find him, an orphaned boy not exactly recorded on any earthly documents. he ran far away from that home, afterwards, the rain soaking into his shirt. homeless with nowhere to go and no idea what to do, a deep lethargy sinking into his bones — that was the state of him when a howler recruiter came across his prone body curled in an alleyway. ever since then, he’s been a part of their gang. with a baby-face like his and an aura of innocence he cranks up with a bit of love manipulation, he often escapes suspicion, and occasionally he is employed as an info-gatherer or to tail specific targets. he rarely uses his abilities sexually or romantically, preferring to tug at heartstrings through being the kind of cute that inspires a more parental love, something you would want to protect and not see any harm come to — the kind that blinds people to flaws.

INTERVIEW QUESTION:

“i know it’s not what you want to hear, but i really don’t know,” he mumbled, despondent. slumped on the edge of the metal table, he curled his arms underneath his chin and exhaled a deflating sigh. “how much longer will this take? it’s getting so late.” the sky had already turned bruise-dark, the earth aglitter with nighttime neons - at least, that was how it looked last time yun was able to sneak a glance outside. in this interrogation room, there were no windows to look out of. he felt stifled and trapped. the feathers on his wings ruffled up in a wave, a voice echoing in his head. birds don’t belong in cages. “long enough for us to hear what happened,” the officer said. “we have it on cctv. you were at the scene. two people almost died, kid.” it was a scuffle gone wrong, yun wanted to say. knives were brought to a fist fight, and that’s never good news for the other side. “it happened so fast,” he said hollowly instead. fingers clenched into his baggy sleeves. “i… i was too scared to look. the moment they started yelling, i…” “you what?” the officer asked. yun straightened up, sneaking a brief, wide-eyed glance to the other's face - gauging expressions, how far he should go. he was always careful about his cupid effect, as rough, un-hewn, and unpracticed as it was. do you have a son at home? a daughter? he wondered. let me evoke their image, and please, politely feel guilty when you look at me. “i hid,” he admitted after a pause. shoulders hunched. “that’s why i didn’t really see anything. i dunno what it was about… i just didn’t want them to... y’know… hurt me.” that wasn’t true. yun was in the thick of it - hovering above while the earth-bound duked it out, swooping down like a hawk. cheeks flushed. he was the one who had brought a knife to a fistfight, and because of it, those two who were in the hospital weren’t howlers. “i -- i wanna get home,” he said, a shadow flitting over his brow. “is that okay?”

[yangxiaolonging]

Iokheaira: Part 1

(Hark, a Vagrant! #328)

It was going to take the continuation of my favorite fic of all time to revitalize my love of STRQ. we in it now boiz

Go read Iokheaira!!! If you haven’t read the original fic Akrasaia go read that too! @romanimp​ and @theivorytowercrumbles (sorry, for some reason I can’t @ you, Ivory :C )

It’s got everything: bloodthirsty fairies, swords, gay rwbies, sharp teeth, claws, creative application of the seelie court, and courtly intrigue. I even recommend this fic to my friends who’ve never been in to RWBY just because this is just such solid writing and I would kill for an original universe series by the Bear Senate.

ANYWAYS PART 1 LETS GET NASTY

this is a wonderfully long chapter so I’m going to at least try to keep this vaguely succinct 

It starts with the trash bird twins and I’m in love. We never get to see Qrow and Raven as a team in the show, just them being the bitter husks left behind by bad decisions and tragedy. Raven and Qrow were a Team since they were children and seeing them fight together and banter is nice, even if it’s Branwen quality interactions.

Qrow held up the mask, his fingers hooked around the first cusp of bone. It had always looked like a pair of bird's wings to Raven's eye, each skeletal layer flaring outward, yet wholly joined to itself. The red paint marking it was in dire need of repair, but the helmet beneath had survived untold generations, passed through the Wild Hunt with each death of the wearer.

aaaahhhh

Through a veil of bone, everything looked like prey.

aaaaAAHHH

Raven used the edge of her sword to pry it from the snow, spying polished links of gold woven together with feathers of black glass looped between the chain. She carefully transferred the bracelet into her gloved hand, looking for any sign of decay, but it merely seemed to be part of a matched set absent its twin.

AAAAAHHHH

"A trophy." Raven remarked, although the gallows humor didn't lift the pressure now crushing its way through her chest. "Maybe I should give it to the girl she left behind."

AAAAAAAHHHH

And if I hadn’t thought I was fucked to begin with, I sure knew then. It’s always delicious piecing together bits and scraps of information given between two different sources in the same canon. The liberties Roman and Ivory take with existing lore is always so good.  (listen. read akrasaia if you haven’t. do it. do it now. i linked it at the top of the post.)

Poor Amber gets wanged in every universe she’s put in. RIP. 

I love how despite the Wild Hunt being sort of the gray area between the Courts, Raven has always been a very intense and black and white person. 

Pushing at her knees, Raven stood. When she spoke she raised her voice somewhat so that those other members of the Hunt could hear. “Corruption is the Hunt’s prerogative. The Courts are none of our concern.”

Qrow rolled his eyes in reply. “Oh, sure. And if you just so happen to do their dirty work along the way, all’s the better.”

Behind the mask, Raven’s eyes flashed, and she rounded on him. “If I had wanted to kill the King's daughter before his own Court in royal assembly, I would have had every right!”

With a laugh, Qrow shook his head, hands on hips, his enormous scythe slung across his back. “See -- that’s just your problem. With you, it’s always the word of the law, never the spirit.”

Raven scoffed. She rested her hand upon the pommel of her sword at her hip. “The spirit of the law is for humans and philosophers. It means nothing, and you know it.”

At that, Raven paused, holding the mask between her hands. The Hunt, the casteless, the nameless, forsaken of the Courts, those who walk between worlds, those who slay transgressors from the path of nature by removing themselves from the cycle, entire.

:’))))) I love her sfm.......

Shout out to Cythera “how much can I fuck with this terrifying dark haired woman” Adel. 

Dropping to her knees, the fae shrugged the stag to the ground in order to lay it at Raven’s feet. For a moment she remained there, gathering her strength before using the stag’s antlers to push herself upright once more. The two stood close enough that Raven could cleave a sword through her heart without a second thought. Releasing a long, suppressed breath, Raven finally uncurled her fist from her sword, but her stance remained tense, on edge. Defiance reigned in the fae’s eyes, and for a brief moment Raven felt unmasked before her.

Cinder is too gay and too powerful and that’s the theme of all seelie au writing. 

In a smooth motion, Raven stepped over the stag, moving close and lowering her voice. “It would seem I know you after all.”

...

Dipping her fingers into a pouch strung along the belt at her waist, Raven retrieved the chain’s twin and held it up for Cinder to see.

Amber eyes widened. Cinder’s hand darted up to snatch the trinket from Raven’s grasp, but she pulled her own hand back with a finger raised in warning. Lip curling in a snarl, Cinder hissed, “That belongs to me.”

“Is that so?” Raven cocked her head. “The way I see it, a prey’s trophy belongs to no one but the hunter.”

Cinder’s face went through a range of emotions, shifting from dawning horror, to sorrow, to flinty resolve, then settling on an ardent fury.

Raven hummed a contemplative note at the back of her throat. “Ah, yes. I can see the resemblance, now.”

I know for a Fact that Ivory is waging a shadow campaign to make everyone ship Cinder/Raven. (spoilers: they succeeded and I ship it)

Anyways, time to jump into the most wonderful time of the year: Beltane.

"Who says that it's my first?" The girl was riled now, and hastened her step so she could dart in front of Raven, walking backwards across the bridge like it was no trouble at all. "I won't run if you bare your teeth, stranger."

The hint of amusement Raven took from the exchange twisted into a darker hunger, and she shuddered with it. Swift as a shadow, she pinned the other faerie to the side of the bridge, nearly bowing her over the rail that guarded the edge. Her mask was a mere centimeter from the girl's face, close enough for the next shocked, ragged breath to warm the outline of painted bone.

"Tell me your name," Raven growled.

"V-Vernal," she choked back, fear outpacing the need in her veins as the strength pinning her in place became apparent.

"Vernal," Raven repeated, rolling the name over her tongue like a bite of fresh meat, "Go find some beautiful girl who looks at you like the sun and stars. Come near me again and I'll eat you to the marrow."

me: 

With the sun soon to fall, Summer had surrendered her regalia to the chest at the foot of her bed, crown and cloak locked away in a bed of red velvet. Without them, her black dress was a dark column in the center of the room, severed only by the pale, waxen lacing woven beneath Summer's ribs. If not for the centuries she had already ruled, Raven would scarcely be able to guess the Queen's age, for those who sat upon the rosewood throne were unburdened by time, immune to the withering whisper of the seasons that followed.

THERE SHE IS IT IS HER IT IS MY DARLING IT IS MY QUEEN SOUND THE TRUMPETS ITS MY GIRL ITS SUMMER

Summer Rose took One look at Raven and immediately decided she needed to fuck her/fuck with her in any way possible and if that doesn’t make her a national treasure and hero I don’t know what does.

I’m already copy-pasting huge chunks of text so I’ll spare everyone me just showing the entire Summer/Raven interaction save for this bc in this house we ship Nevermore and tasty tasty writing.

"May I offer a parting gift, then?" The distance they shared was closed with one careful step, and Summer's dress was a whisper of cloth away from making the two of them touch. "To ease your travel."

She hungered. It felt like such a primal, animal admission, that something as simple as touch could render her a beast. Raven nodded before she could stop herself, and bit back a sound when Summer's fingers slipped beneath the edge of her mask, drawing it up and away. Her eyes recoiled from the light, their red long lost to pulsing black, but then Summer's hands were cupping her jaw, drawing her down to a warm and yielding mouth.

The kiss stung like a brand, searing through Raven's body until she was forced to pull away, her restraint twisted taut to one singular, quivering thread. One more touch, even Summer's breath against her skin, and it would snap.

"Blessed Beltane, your majesty," Raven gasped, then pulled her mask back down as if it would strip her of temptation.

It was back in the dancing circle that she spied Glynda, locked in arms with Taiyang, a prince known more for who he bedded than his bloodline. Summerborn he was, but clearly not to the Grand Seneschal's taste, for Glynda suddenly shoved him back so hard that he had to break his fall on emerald-streaked marble.

It’s okay Taiyang, you’re a good good boy. 

...he welcomed her, he welcomed everything.

There’s something so sad about the closing scene. Raven is a wildfire, her story is always of her trying and eventually failing to keep her destruction minimal. She doesn’t need a semblance of bad luck to be a harbinger of misfortune. 

[kisuminight]

Corona curled upon his lap, winglets twitching as she dreamed. It was an exceedingly vulnerable position, trusting that Maiinomaia wouldn’t hurt her. There were so many ways that could be accomplished, beyond the most obvious vital points. A simple application of his claws to the base of the winglets would allow both a crippling blow to keep her pliant with shock and pain, and direct access to the spine, from which he could—

Maiinomaia pushed the Forsythe-borne thoughts of death and destruction from his head; they were unneeded and uselss. After all, the young chosen belonged to him as much as his Second. There was no reason to put out a fire just because he held little regard for the one who started it. Carefully, Maiinomaia flexed stiff fingers across those soft winglets.

Corona shifted lightly, relaxing deeper into Maiinomaia’s hold, nearly purring. Hmpf, such unfaltering trust. And yet, why should she not? It was a poor Lord indeed who needed to harm his subjects for their devotion. “Nepyrodhan, the situation.”

His ever-loyal Second stepped forward, kneeling at the base of his throne. “Taken care of. The paladin was particularly helpful.” Unspoken went the fact that this still didn’t make up for her initial failings, which had led to the kidnapping in the first place. “For your consideration.”

The trophy his Second presented was scorched from the heat of the blade used to flense the flesh from bone. They’d then been reassembled and bound in proper layout with gleaming gold wire and Maiinomaia grinned, pleased. Arrogantly, the Lord inclined his head, and Nepyrodhan placed the skeletal remains in their silken box in his hands. Maiinomaia gazed upon the tribute in admiration; the one who had dared to touch what wasn’t theirs would never touch anything again.

“Acceptable,” he deemed, “but be sure to remobe it before the Chosen wakes.” Better to avoid the fussing. Obviously Maiinomaia would never let a challenge stand uncontested, but Orono had crippled his most powerful weapon with far too much goodwill. Even knowing exactly what would happen didn’t mean it hurt Corona any less to witness such things. If Forsythe’s control had been stronger, it would have been so easy to break her.

But broken toys didn’t suit Lord Maiinomaia, and it suited him even less to have other people break them.

“Shall I remove them now, then?” Before the ensorcelled sleep faded away alongside the healing lash marks which striped across muscled shoulders. Soon the damage would be gone completely; already the pain and nerve damage had disappeared, by Corona’s pleased reaction to the stimuli.

“Return quickly,” Maiinomaia graciously allowed, “or you will miss the fun.” Lethal claws flexed, and his pretty Chosen melted deeper into his hold. After all, there was no reason for those-who-were-his not to belong together.

*

“Mm, thank you.” Nepyrhodan’s clever fingers felt good on Corona’s winglets. “Are you alright?”

“You have used far stronger abilities many other times, when we were not in the heart of Our Lord’s power,” Nepyrhodan commented absently, still preening Corona’s wings. Most of his attention focused on Maiinomaia as he prowled the edges of the throne room, fixing the holes Corona’s light had left in the boundaries of the Underdark.

There were a great many responses to that, but half of them were offensive to the Forsythenne and the other half obviously conciliatory, and Corona didn’t want to make someone she wasn’t even sure wished to be her friend angry.

Of corsse, that didn’t address the minor jealousy she always picked up, nor did any of them cover how to explain the sheer unneccessity of the emotion. For one, she had a huge collection of family and friends to divide her love amidst (not that she loved any less! Just, concentrating all that on one person wasn’t something she could do).

For another, Forsythenne energy was poisonous to literally all her systems, and if Auntie Starsong had to drag her back from severe anaphylactic shock again, Corona would be sent to live on the moon for the next century.

“Shall I do your wings as well?” Corona offered. The equipment was here; last time Corona had gotten dragged off by her counterparts, she’d brought along the proper polishing clothes and oil. Admittedly, it looked more like something you’d find in Citadel’s sword kit than one for wings, but the two Forsythenne always seemed more relaxed after a little pampering. Besides, there were several marks she’d left behind, speckled against the metal silk of their wings that needed to be buffed out.

“My Lord first,” Nepyrodhan bargained, and stood to fetch the box from the glass doored cabinet set against the side wall of the throne room. Corona recognized nearly all the items inside—the kit, but also one of her shed feathers from the fight with Forsythe, the cracked face of a Brass Dancer, glass from an Abyssal’s death, and the brace of throwing knives that Cia had used to pin the Forsythenne to the wall for a bout of familial threatening.

There was another box in there, one Corona didn’t recognize. It was made of a dark wood—about as long as Corona’s forearm, twice as wide, and fairly shallow. Reflecting back, there hadn’t been anything worth noting that Maiinomaia had gotten involved in. Well, there’d been the thing with the briarrose mice, but that would hardly be something to commemorate. The sheer embarrassment still survived even Nepyrhodan’s attempt to help him sweep the entire incident under the rug with extreme prejudice and excessive firepower. Neither wanted a trophy. Except….

Well, it seemed Corona hadn’t managed enough misdirection after all. Her winglets ached, despite the care being given, and a slight shiver built beneath her skin in a rolling wave, a memory of hours of lightning dancing across every nerve as she fought to keep it away from her heart. I shouldn’t be glad that somebody’s probably dead. Except they’d be dead anyway, if Elsu, Abayomi, or Tirian justice caught up with them. What was the difference?

The difference was justice and vengeance, and how it might impact two souls adrift, as they tried to understand how the world worked when not swamped with the rising tide of fury as Forsythe used them in an attempt to drown everything in his shadows.

Then again, Actaeon wouldn’t care either way, and he was the most similar to Maiinomaia. Mind, he’d had a very long time to learn and understand how to be comfortable in his own skin, and rule his emotions no matter where his actions took him.

Broad, sharp claws brushed against her cheek and Corona leant into the touch, eyes sliding shut. “You think too much,” Maiinomaia rumbled, wings extending to cocoon her.

“I can’t fix your wings like this,” Corona scolded, but leaned into Maiinomaia’s chest. The warmth suffused her body. Most people never thought or realized just how nice it was, to hold and be held by someone else. “What about Nepyrhodan?”

“I am here,” Huh. Corona had almost expected a lecture on being too weak, or too fragile. Not that it would have been anything other than unfailingly polite, but she wasn’t in the right headspace for another argument. Mm, now it was even warmer. The only thing that could make this better would be a nice patch of sunlight.

Now those claws gently combed through her hair, catching against small tangles and teasing them out; wind-touch, except caring. “You will not leave.”

Everything fuzzed in and out, like a drowsy day in midsummer. Corona barely heard him, but “Mom is expecting me back.” She’s nice, nicer than I am. You promised not to upset her.

“A blade belongs as much to the one who forged it as the wielder,” Nepyrodhan noted softly. No broken promises there, then. So what did Maiinomaia mean?

“I’m not a blade.” I’m not a weapon.

“A hearthfire, then,” Maiinomaia interjected. “I will no see you put out.”

Sweet. Unnecessary, but sweet, as far as the Forsythenne were concerned. “I’m okay. The dissonance between our auras encourages my healing.” We were designed to confront each other.

“And against normal people? Who hate you for your mortal heritage?” Nepyrodhan struck, logical words meant to flense away any and all objections. “Or those who survived the war through their brutality, who would kill you just to prove their strength?”

Dammit, that… “You know I hate fighting.” Corona had survived the war, if mostly on the edges. She’d seen the battlefields, and spoken to the pale-faced ghosts that had come off them—both living and dead. “Besides, I know who to stay away from.” Icedown didn’t appear problematic on paper, and he wasn’t on any watch lists. But her ghosts told a different tale, though not one acceptable for the courts.

“Does that include the person who tortured you?” Maiinomaia hissed. His claws dug in, but released with only the slightest pinpricks of pain.

“I suffer more damage in our quarterly fights than I did in half a day in that person’s care,” Corona shot back. “I’m in more danger letting our auras mingle than I am in a simple knife fight!”

“And in a knife fight, your blessing doesn’t speed your healing. The same blows you take have a much different impact on your health,” Nepyrodhan tried, cruel to be kind. Still, Maiinomaia spun out in a much different form of attack.

“You are my nemesis. No one else should be able to touch you!”

So that was the root of the problem. Not that Corona hadn’t expected to run into this sooner or later. What Maiinomaia conquered was his, his lieutenant and counterpart were his, and what was his was also his. And even if both Forsythenne had the mentality of adults, their emotional maturity still stood quite young in comparison to their outward appearance.

Hugs were nice, and Corona liked Maiinomaia and Nepyrodhan. When they figured out if they wanted anything else, then there’d be a talk as they all negotiated around limits. For now, “I understand. And I have tried to avoid those kinds of situations. But I can’t always, and you can’t always protect me. Would you appreciate it if I demanded that you never put yourself in danger?”

One impossible promise for another. Maiinomaia felt like a glower; sharp and tense, a gathering storm of power as frustration built—and collapsed, as Nepyrodhan deliberately pressed a hand between her winglets.

“Vengeance is still mine,” the Lord conceded, his mind turning away from the potential fight. “If you let the world break you, I will break it back.”

“Please don’t start another war in the process,” Corona joked weakly, absent-mindedly resettling her winglets into a more relaxed position—she’d responded with a threat display, oops. “I kind of like how the world had become more smoking crater free. It’d be a pity to undo the terraforming work.”

“I turned the perpetrator over to the Elsuii Justice System only a little worse for wear.” Which meant maimed as far as anyone else judged the matter. Corona thought back to the box; it—no, nevermind.

“I’m too tired to get upset right now,” Corona decided. “Just don’t rub it in my face, and I won’t lose my grip and start radiating holy energy.” Still, that either of them trusted the Elsuii government enough to rely on in, “Thank you. For allowing mortal justice to rule mortal matters.”

“It is not a mortal matter when the attacked is Orono’s own demigoddess Chosen,” Nepyrodhan corrected dryly. But his hands moved up to rub at the joints where her winglets met her back, so he couldn’t be too displeased.

“Of course.” Even though the initial hatred had arisen from rage against the Elsuii who helped raze Abayomi to the ground, for all that Starsong herself had seen each of them executed in turn. Forcing them to yield to Elsuii justice… a better revenge than Maiinomaia likely acknowledged, though Corona wouldn’t put it past Nepyrodhan to have engineered that way on purpose. “Now hand over that kit.”

“No,” Nepyrodhan replied succinctly. “You’ve been awake for too long. Go back to sleep, and let the healing finish.”

Maiinomaia delved into scowling again based on the way his blood roared beneath metal skin, a volcano about to erupt. Corona judged his displeasure as a result of reminding him or her apparent fragility. “If you break yourself through your own stupidity, I’ll break the world anyway for teaching you horrible habits.”

“…Stop trying to figure out ways to refocus all my attention; destroying everything is what Forsythe wants you to do.” And where are you going? Gotcha! Corona reached up to tangle her hand with Nepyrodhan’s in an iron grip. Sometimes, she was sure he didn’t like her, that he only put up with her for his devotion to Maiinomaia. “Stay?”

Well, clearly he didn’t hate her; Nepyrodhan leaned back into the cuddle pile with the slightest sigh. Mm, so warm.

Despite the briar prickles of pain as their auras carded past each other, like curling up to sleep alongside a stickerwolf, Corona relaxed. Outside this temple, only one place felt safe like this: the aerie. But even the aerie wasn’t impregnable. The temple was; nothing could attack her here (well, no unless Maiinomaia wished it, and when he did wish it, the spars tore apart the furnishings, smashed the stone floors, and collapsed columns. But she never felt unsafe).

In a tangle of wings and claws, Corona slipped into purring, and then sleep.

[khaleesi-in-the-north]

In the Crosshairs (36/?)

Forgot to post this here

@kryptits

******

It’s nearly impossible to walk, let alone run. Each step is a new jab of pain searing through her leg. She’s able to push herself on, though, until her she accidentally puts too much weight on her bad leg and crumples to the floor.

                    All she hears is gunshots. Faster, closer, louder. They come from every direction and there’s no escape.

                    Breathless and close to tears, Margaery drags herself to the wall. She’s not even sure if she took off in the right direction. She whimpers as she pulls her wounded leg toward her chest. Loras’s makeshift tourniquet is still holding its own, but Margaery’s leg is becoming more and more hampered by the burning pain as the bullet lodges deeper.

                     She can’t stop here, not in an open hallway where she vulnerable from every direction. She needs to find Sansa.

                    Margaery crawls along side of the wall, following it. Her injured leg lags behind and Margaery is barely able to drag it along. The shag rug scrapes along her calf, leaving a faint trail of nearly dried blood.

                    Toward the end of the hall, the sound of the gunshots ahead of her has become much louder than those she abandoned at the staircase. A wisp of deep red hair sticks out of the room in next to her. Relieved to have finally found Sansa, Margaery crawls forward at a reinvigorated pace.

                    A barrage of bullets whiz out of the room and plaster the hallway wall. That’s enough to stop Margaery in her tracks. A few rounds return fire back into the room, before the chamber barrel locks up, signaling that it’s empty. “Son of a bitch,” Sansa curses.

                    “Sansa!” Margaery whispers as loudly as she can without making it obvious to the enemy that she’s there.

                    “Margaery? Baby, what are you doing?” Sansa whispers back. More bullets whir between them.

                    “Come on Stark! We both know you’re out! If you surrender, we can play nice, I promise. Cersei always saw potential in you. I think she’d even be willing to take you under her wing if you give in before it gets too ugly,” Jaime Lannister calls out his offer.

                    Of course Jaime is involved. He never set off alarms quite like Cersei did, but he was no saint either. His presence is evidence enough that he has some level of involvement with the mob, even if it’s only as his sister’s protector.

                    Sansa scoffs. She locks the chamber of another gun and pulls the trigger, but that one’s empty as well.

                    Jaime tuts. “We have your sister. She’s not dead. Yet.”

                    Sensing a continuation in the lull, Margaery scoots closer to the edge of the door. She can see Sansa now, head leaned back against her barricade of a couch, legs sprawled out in front of her. After a moment of contemplation, Sansa’s gaze falls on Margaery.

                    “How many?” Margaery mouths.

                    Sansa holds up one finger. Margaery scoots a few inches from the edge and opens her vest. She gestures to the ammo, asking whether Sansa’s gun will work with what Margaery has left.

                    Sansa nods. She slides the gun to Margaery.

                    There’s a thud in the room, then a clap. “Good choice, Stark. It would have been such a pain to explain why there was brain matter all over Myrcella’s volleyball trophies.” Jaime’s steps get closer and closer.

                    As quickly as she can Margaery reloads the gun. Jaime’s steps pause the moment the chamber clicks shut.

                    Sansa mouths “Go!”. Limp leg and all, Margaery spins to the doorway and holds down the trigger without much of an idea of where she’s shooting.

                    Jaime’s eyes blow wide. He steps back in surprise, but there’s not time for escape. Bullet after bullet strikes him, splatters forward out of his abdomen and arm as he instinctively tries to block the bullets. Then his body crumples to the floor.

                    Margaery doesn’t know if he’s dead or alive, but there’s no time to let her mind linger on the ethical question of what she’s done.

                    Sansa scrambles out of the room, looping an arm around Margaery’s shoulder before Margaery can even get to her feet. She helps Margaery up and takes the gun. “Nice shot babe.”

                    Sansa leads her to the end of the hall, then right. “She shouldn’t be too far. There was no where else for her to run to.”

                    “The plan won’t work anymore,” Margaery hisses as her leg grazes the wall. She’s slowing Sansa down. Had Sansa left her, she might have already found Cersei’s hiding place. Sansa readjusts her hold on Margaery.

                    “Sure it will. I shoot her in the face, then we run like hell to get whomever is left and get out,” Sansa rebuts.

                    Margaery gives her a pointed look. Much as she tries to hide it, the strain of Margaery’s weight is visible in the lines on Sansa’s forehead. “If it comes to that, I want you to leave me. Don’t worry about me.”

                    Sansa halts without warning. “That’s not an option. We leave together or we stay together. I’m not abandoning you.” She starts pulling Margaery along with her again, as if that’s that and there’s no if ands or buts.

                    Except Margaery has several on her tongue. She settles for, “I can’t run. I can barely walk, or have you not noticed?”

                    Sansa stops outside of a large room. She unravels her arm from around Margaery. “We’ll figure it out.” She cocks the gun chamber. “Stay here.” Finger looped around the trigger, Sansa heads into the room.

                    Margaery leans against the wall to relieve the strain on her leg. She’s sure Sansa will be gone just a moment, but she takes the opportunity to shut her eyes and attempt to clear her thoughts.

                    That is her mistake. Her guard let down, she doesn’t have time to react when the footsteps ascend on her.

                    Before Margaery can spin around, the cool metal butt of a gun smashes into the side of her skull. “That’s for my son!” The blow sends Margaery into the wall, blinding her from the force of the blow. The warm trickle of blood begins immediately, but the next blow comes sooner, in the exact same spot, with grater force. “My brother!” Cersei Lannister screams, barely louder than Sansa’s own screams for Margaery.

                    Margaery crumples to the ground, but someone grabs Margaery’s hair and yanks her up. Margaery yelps as her neck is forced back. A pair of stronger hands pin her arms against her back.

                    “Let her go!” Sansa shouts, her shoes squeaking against the floor as she skids to a stop.

                    Cersei cackles behind Margaery. “You’re not in a position to make demands, little girl.” The cold metal barrel of a gun presses lightly against Margaery’s throat. It draws a path down the column of her throat, stopping right over her pulse point.

                    “Tell me, Ms. Tyrell, how is your grandmother? The last time I saw her, she was in quite the conundrum,” Cersei whispers in her ear, mocking her.

                    Margaery tries to jerk out of the stronghold, but only succeeds in tightening the grip Cersei’s lackey has on her. For good measure, Cersei kicks Margaery’s wounded leg. Margaery barely manages to stay upright.

                    Cersei lets go of Margaery’s hair, but keeps the gun in position. Sansa points her gun straight at her, trying to lock an aim on Cersei. But Cersei has Margaery as a human shield. Sansa’s eyes lock with Margaery’s and the first thing Margaery notices is the fear. Utter terror that there’s nothing she can do to save Margaery and the flash of desperation to do just that.

                    “I should have figured she was with you from the start. I’d heard the rumors: the Stark girls lived. I thought you and bloody sister would have been too stupid to pull it off. Fault me for underestimating a pathetic girl and her wild sister,” Cersei begins. “It’s no matter now. I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

                    “All I need is two shots to kill you and your henchman,” Sansa threatens.

                    “All I need is one to take everything you hold dear. Again.” Cersei presses the gun harder into Margaery’s neck. Margaery shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath. How would Loras suggest she get out of this? In her own element, Margaery could have talked her way out. At the very least, she could exploit Cersei’s disdain for her enough to distract her and give Sansa some sort of opening. Except the only person Cersei couldn’t stand more than Margaery was standing less than ten feet away with her own arsenal.

                    “It’s nice to see how much you’ve grown,” Cersei continues, stepping around Margaery to taunt Sansa, though the gun in her hand never leaves its mark on Margaery’s throat. For good measure, her lackey wrenches Margaery’s arms farther back. A loud popping sound causes Margaery jump, not realizing it was her own shoulder until the pain rockets through her socket. “This victory would be far less enjoyable if you were the same pathetic little bird you always were. Watching everything your father built crumble was delicious enough. Your father should have learned to keep a better eye on his family’s company. Do you know how good it felt to light your home in flames along with everyone in it?”

                    “I imagine it felt similar to how I felt when I murdered your son,” Sansa clenches her jaw. If Cersei’s aim was to enrage Sansa into an act of stupidity, it as backfiring.

                    On the other hand, Cersei has little control over her own anger issues. She releases a frustrated groan. Without warning, she whips around and smacks Margaery upside the head with her gun. Margaery stumbles, unable to hold herself up. Only the henchman’s hold keeps her upright, but at the cost of further separation of her shoulder. Her shoulder feels as though it will rip off, forcing a scream out of Margaery.

                    Sansa’s gun fires a single shot, but nothing comes of it. Meanwhile, Margaery can feel blood dripping from the new gash on her head. Once more Cersei presses the barrel of the gun against Margaery’s temple. She yanks Margaery’s head up by her hair.

                     “Ah, ah Ms. Stark. You almost hit your little puppet.”

                    Despite blood trickling over her eye, Margaery can tell that Sansa is terrified of what Cersei could do. Her face isn’t stone cold composed, but there are traces of worry, her eyes becoming puffy.

                    “I’m not a puppet,” Margaery grimaces.

                    Cersei keeps her focus on Sansa. “I don’t know what you intended to gain from your little smear campaign. To ruffle my feathers? Or perhaps it was a little present for your whore for sparing you a few fucks. I certainly hope it was worth it, Ms. Tyrell. Your sick arrangement with Ms. Stark is the end of you.”

                    “That was all me, you bitch,” Margaery snaps, partially invigorated by the insults to her work, partially in the hope that it might provide the needed distraction. “Hard as it may be for you to believe, more people than an undead mafia were eager to talk about how your family screwed them over. Sansa, shoot her! The North needs you and Westeros needs to be free from the Lannisters. End this all now!”

                    She wonders if her brave face is convincing or if Sansa can see straight through her façade. Her pulse races from fear that this is it and she can feel her hands shaking. Truth be told, even her voice sounds shaky to her own ears.

                    There’s so much she wants to experience, places to go, people to meet, to visit the catacombs beneath Dragonstone, to taste Braavosi hen in Braavos. She wants to tell Sansa she loves her and to kiss her again. Each second that passes, another of these hopes slips away. Because she won’t make it alive. One way or another, Cersei will be her undoing. But she can still be Cersei’s downfall.

                    Cersei struts back into position behind Margaery. Her henchman grunts and pulls her up higher, forcing her to stand upright. She stares back at Sansa, begging for her to fire again. There’s no doubt in her mind whomever is pinning her could snap her neck in a heartbeat.

                    “You’ve destroyed everything your father ever built. No wonder he pushed you away after Robert’s death,” Sansa says, slowly inching forward, her demeanor no longer fearful.

                    Out of nowhere as the statement is, it gives Cersei pause. Sansa smirks, “You had my family killed because your business was falling apart. Now you’re on your last breath as a mafia and you still can’t let go of those tactics. History won’t remember you as a mafia boss. When I leave here, it won’t remember you at all.” There’s a twinkle in Sansa’s eye. Confidence, that Margaery assumes must mean she has an out.

                    Cersei scoffs. “Say goodbye to your whore.” Cersei presses the gun against Margaery’s temple. Sansa nods, setting off a rapid chain of events. Margaery drops all of her body weight, surprising the henchman. He maintains a tight grip on Margaery’s arms, so her shoulders wrench back again, further damaging the already dislocated one. However, the guard stumbles forward a step, lowering his head in the process. Simultaneously, Cersei pulls her trigger. The bullet hits her henchman in the side of the head, killing him instantly. Sansa’s gun fires a microsecond later, tearing through Cersei’s abdomen.

                    It’s not enough to send her to the ground though. Cersei re-aims her gun downward and fires a series of bullets. Most miss, but one strikes Margaery in the collar bone. Before Cersei has the opportunity to revel in her almost victory, a single bullet rockets through her head, a perfect shot from behind, exiting between her eyes.

                    Margaery grabs at the new wound in her arm as the blood starts streaming out. Laying down, she hears footsteps in both directions. Sansa shrieking her name, the footsteps that race past her, Arya screaming that they have to go.

                    She tries to call out, but the words won’t come. It’s only screams of pain as her shoulder burns, spreading deeper. She wonders if this is what Renly felt like. If perhaps he will be waiting to greet her. Would he tell her job well done. Would he hold her as she mourned the life she could never share with Sansa, as she would do the same for him and Loras?

              The wound on its own likely wouldn’t have been too bad, had she not already lost so much blood. As it is, the room begins spinning. More footsteps race by her, but they sound like the distant thumping of a bass, nothing more. Then Sansa is gone. She takes everything with her.

[saxspielercaderface]

PW: First Encounters of the Valto Kind

Phantomwing shenanigans. Jokan leaves his young daughter, Torvi, in the care of her uncle, Malaanskar for a short while, but a certain visitor makes everything go a little sour.

AKA: Kid Torvi is a bundle of office-wrecking chaos and Valto is a huge asshole. Also lame title because I’m half-dead here trying to also write my prelim exam so I can actually be a PhD candidate.

“I’m busy.”

“Please. It’s exam week, and I can’t leave her alone. Not after what happened with the oven. It’ll only be for a couple hours.”

There was silence from the mass of muscle and feathers and stately stoicness on the other side of the office.

“Just a couple of hours, no longer,” Jokan repeated, almost pleading at this point.

Eventually, Malaanskar sighed, ruffling his feather crest and running a hand down his face. Claws framed the scar across his bow and nose bridge, and Jokan grit his teeth at the sight, remembering just how he’d gotten that particular trophy.

“Right. Fine,” the Stormwatch captain rumbled, shaking his head. “I’ll watch her for you.”

“Thank you-”

“You tell her to be on her best behavior, Torvalkaalos,” he continued, lips curling back slightly over an imposing set of fangs. “She’s not only your daughter, but my niece as well, and I won’t have her soiling what I’ve built, here, with her antics.”

“Understood, sir,” Jokan mumbled, nodding. “She won’t be a problem.”

“I hope so.”

***

She was a problem. A four-year-old problem shedding feathers everywhere as she climbed and hopped and flapped around Malaanskar’s office.

He checked his desk clock.

Visskhet…

It had only been half an hour.

“Mal! Uncle Mal, look at meeeee!”

The scraping of claws on wood brought his gaze up to the series of shelves to his left. Plaques and mounted medals and trinkets from all over decorated them and, in the center of one shelf, perched between an ornate trophy of crystal and a sculpture welded together from the scrapped metal of a hunting rifle, perched his niece, oversized wings and gangly limbs poised for flight.

“Don’t do it,” he warned, feathers flaring. Torvi grinned.

“Dad said I gotta practice!” He flinched as she snapped open her wings, nearly knocking over everything on the shelf with her. “Watch me! I’m gettin’ pretty good, I think!”

“No, don’t-”

“HERE I GO!”

“NO!”

She launched herself up, wings driving down into the shelf.

The force of her take-off ripped the shelf from the wall.

Objects fell.

Torvi’s upstroke crashed into another shelf, sending everything on them flying as well.

A cacophony of noise followed - screeching, shattering, clattering.

Malaanskar jumped from his perch, hissing.

As the proverbial dust cleared, he saw Torvi sprawled half on her back, legs and tail propped up on the wall, the remains of his work spoils scattered around her.

“Oops,” she said, rolling over and hopping to her feet. “Welp, gotta try again!”

She shook bits of crystal from her feathers before flapping over to the file cabinet and starting to climb up.

Malaanskar lung-snarled, the sound shaking the windows and sending Torvi back to the floor, hands over her ears.

“TORVIHARI!” he roared, slamming a hand on his desk hard enough to rattle his bones. “ENOUGH!”

She cowered, hissing back up at him.

“Shutupshutup! Too loud!”

He regarded her for a moment, quieting as he saw several scrapes and cuts on her arms and wing-shoulders.

Cleaning the floor and gluing his trophies back together would have to wait.

Nudging his head toward the perch in the far corner, he sighed.

“Wait over there. I’ll get the first aid kit.”

Nodding, she scuttled over to the perch, climbing up and curling her wings and tail around herself. Satisfied, Malaanskar made for the exit, looking back at her before letting the curtain fall behind him.

“No more flying indoors, alright? Once I get you patched up, we’ll go out onto the runway and you can flail around out there.”

She nodded again, ears perking back up slightly.

“Right. I’ll be back.”

And then he was airborne, making a beeline for the infirmary, head throbbing.

How Jokan even survived raising that bundle of chaos was far, far beyond him.

***

Torvi picked idly at her scrapes, starting to feel the sting of them. Looking at her handiwork on the opposite wall of the office, she stuck out her tongue and laughed.

It looked better that way, she thought. More natural, less…stuffy.

Yes, it had earned her an ear-stinging roar from Uncle Mal, but the promise of a more open place to practice flying made things better.

Maybe she’d actually get more than three feet off the ground this time.

Hearing claws impact the stoop outside, she perked up, hopping in place on her perch. Uncle Mal was back, no doubt.

However, the Tyrkovan that pushed past the curtain was not Uncle Mal.

He looked a bit like him, though.

Same markings, similar build.

His eyes, though, made her shiver, made her want to hide.

Uncle Mal had bright yellow eyes, like Dad. This guy had...gross grayish eyes. Like herself. And they weren’t stern and stony like Uncle Mal’s or smart like Dad’s.

They were slimy. Cold. Unnerving as they scanned the overturned office.

“Hmm,” the new guy hummed, nearly gliding over to the mess and kicking some of it with his feet. Torvi didn’t like his voice, either. It was just as slimy as his eyes were. “Maybe this’ll knock ‘ol’ Lightkin’s’ ego down a few notches. All his pretty little things, scattered, broken...it’s beautiful.”

Then, he turned around, and Torvi hissed, wrapping herself in her wings. He was looking right at her, face blank like...like...like one of those painted Human masks.

Blank, dead-looking masks attached to wigs of stringy stuff that didn’t move like feathers did, worn by reenactors at the history festivals Jokan had taken her to. She’d cried when she’d first saw them, to her embarrassment, and Jokan had held her and assured her that they were fake.

‘Resin and faux hair, Torvi. A dead facsimile - nothing to be scared of. Nothing like the real thing.’

This slimy Tyrkovan’s face was like those masks, though it was real. Alive.

And Jokan wasn’t here.

“Well, well. What do we have here?” He approached, staring down at her, and she bared her teeth. “Are you the troublemaker that caused all this commotion and destruction?” He smiled, and it barely even started to reach his eyes. “Well done. Wish I could’ve seen it.”

She said nothing, still baring her teeth.

“I have no manners,” the new guy chuckled, wings outstretched slightly, boxing her in. “My name is Valto. That’s Ariitaalos Valto.”

Ariitaalos - that was Uncle Mal’s flight-name.

“Seems my dear brother caught himself a fledgeling for a few hours-ah, wait. You’re Jokan’s little tail-dragger, aren’t you?”

A hand shot out, snatching her from her perch and hoisting her upright by her scraped wing-shoulder. Valto stood her in front of him, his eyes seeming to drill into her as she struggled out of his grip, hissing in pain.

“Let’s see. Strong shoulders, deep chest, sharp reflexes - yes, you’d make a passable Verkorant for sure, should that stunted, pontificating, past-worshipper realize that he has no rights to raise you-GAH!”

Valto hopped back, a scrape on his shin leaking blood.

“YOU SHUT UP ABOUT MY DAD!” Torvi screeched, scrambling back onto her perch, foot talons stinging from the kick. Using the perch for some extra height, she flared every last feather on her person and snapped her wings out to their full span. “YOU...YOU SHUT UP AND EAT DIRT YOU GROSS-EYED FREAK-!!!”

The next thing she knew, she was batted sidelong into the wall by a massive wing, talons pinning her to the floor.

Valto leaned over her, face still horribly blank.

“I didn’t say anything about your father, Torvi. Nothing but his name.”

Torvi scratched at his ankle, hissing and spitting.

“Yeah you did! You called him a stunted, pontiff...pontificat...WHATEVER! GET OFF OF ME!!!!”

Some kind of sour look crossed Valto’s face, his pupils pinning a moment before it all ironed out again into that expressionless mask.

“Figures you’d be as myopic as that superstitious short-wing. Ignorance like that is infectious.”

Whatever he was about to say next, however, was interrupted by more claws on the stoop and the rustle of the curtain.

“Torvi, I hope you haven’t knocked anything else over- YOU.”

Valto cast a glance over his shoulder, removing his foot from Torvi’s chest and taking a step back.

“Ah! Brother. So good to see you aga-”

“Get out.”

Uncle Mal’s voice was steelier than usual, cold and hard and sharp. Torvi could practically taste the raw dislike laced in it.

“But I was just having a pleasant conversation with my-”

“GET OUT.”

A hand seized Valto’s feather crest, and he was pulled back with a loud squawk. Torvi rolled over and sat up quickly enough to see Uncle Mal practically tossing Valto out the exit, wiping his hands on his uniform after doing so.

That done, he pulled down the metal curtain, locking it at the bottom and snarling through the message hole for good measure.

“Did he hurt you?” he asked, voice now urgent. When Torvi didn’t answer immediately, he hustled over to her and easily lifted her back onto her perch, face even with hers. “Tell me. What did he do? What did he say?”

“He just said some mean things about Dad, that’s all,” Torvi finally mumbled, shrugging. “I don’t like him.”

“Good,” Uncle Mal sighed, ruffled feathers smoothing out slightly. He took a moment to retrieve the first aid kit and began to clean Torvi’s scrapes and cuts. “Listen to me, Torvi. If Valto comes near you again, don’t be afraid to fight him off. Don’t be afraid to fly away. And for Avar’s sake, don’t listen to anything he spews from his maw, do you understand?”

Torvi nodded, puffing her chest out.

“Got it. Hey, I kicked ‘im in the shin!” She chirped proudly. “See?” Grinning, she held up her foot, claws still flecked with a bit of blood.

She’d never seen Uncle Mal smile before. And, as slight as it was, his eyes crinkled at the edges.

“That’s the spirit.”

He continued to clean her wounds, having to bandage a decently deep one on her shoulder. As he reorganized the first aid kit, she hopped down from the perch and flapped her wings expectantly. “Are we going to the runway now? Can I practice flying?!?”

Uncle Mal clicked his teeth together as he shut the kit.

“Hmm...no.” He held up a hand to stop the whine that almost made it out of her throat. “We’re going to the gym, and I’m going to teach you a bit about self-defense.”

Torvi’s jaw dropped.

“Wait, does that mean I get to kick and punch things?!?”

“In a sense...it’s more about not getting punched and kicked yourself, but in a sense…”

“YES!”

“NO, TORVI DON’T TRY TO FLY IN HERE AGAIN!!!”