#she’d be praising how beautifully she killed him

[rottengurlz]

I’m struggling deciding on Audra’s backstory because all I can think about is Audra being eaten out by Leona while they’re both sprawled over and covered in blood of the ripped apart corpse of Leona’s husband that she had convinced Audra to kill so they could be together

[the-ellia-west]

Writemas

Day 5

Thank you to the lovely @agirlandherquill for hosting this challenge! Anyone can join at any time!

Prompts:

|A cage| The sting of heartbreak|The smile on his face was cruel. Beautifully wicked.|"You warned me of betrayals, but never from you.”|

-

Fye blinked, movement difficult and sluggish as she pushed her hair out of her face, as if her arms were weighed in iron. An afteraffect of the narcotic pollen. Her eyes darted around the room, immediately defensive. She lay in a small wrought-Iron cage, which took the center of a warm sitting room dressed in suits of various reds and golds. The dying embers of a fire crackled in a low fireplace barred with a silver grate, giving off a dim orange glow. And a cup of tea sat primly on a rich coffee table just out of reach of the silver bars, steam wafting into the hot air.

To anyone else, the situation might have been alarming and a bit confusing. To Fye, this was her worst nightmare. This room, the deep crimson carpets, the ever so heavy smothering heat, the dimly crackling embers, the far-off tick of a grandfather clock, and the thick combination of the scent of smoke and old, rotten blood.

Memories. Horrid, painful memories. Her father holding her on his lap on that very same armchair only yards from her current position, telling her warning fairytales about how kindness was a weakness. Ordering her to go to the prisoner inside the bars, where the desperation would drive them to try to use her as a hostage. She would beg and plead for help, but he only told her that if she was strong, she would escape all on her own.

No one was coming to save her.

The only times she'd ever been inside the bars, were when he'd sold her body and her flowers to his men for their morale, many of whom he’d made her kill for their betrayal. The fae scrambled to find the lock, every movement a punishment for her tired muscles. Dead, brown petals littered the floor of the cage as her fingers fumbled to control the magic burning at their ends.

“Fye! My Darling sweet daughter!” She froze as the eerily soothing voice rang through the room, numbing every other sound to dull murmurs. She gripped the bars, shaking on her feet, every minute standing another wasted.

“Are you not even going to give me the dignity of seeing those beautiful eyes of yours? Didn't I teach you better than this, love?”

Fye's words froze on her tongue, and she could only choke back a terrified sob as the petals drifting from her hair changed from pale blue to white. She had to make him believe they hadn’t completely fixed her. That would be the only way she’d get out of this cage without him calling Jatár or grabbing a knife. She straightened her shoulders and forced the flowers in her to bloom a deep, welcoming blue the color of the ocean as she spun to face him. “Father.”

But as she did, the smile on his face was cruel. Beautifully wicked in an awful way. The same smile that greeted her when she’d paralyzed prisoners, or when he’d told her about the taste of blood, praised her for a heart going cold. And he smiled that same smile now, cold and approving. And despite her better judgement, it felt good. She was doing the right thing.

“You warned me of betrayals, daughter, but never from you.” He sauntered over to the cage, trailing a finger along her jaw. Movement was too taxing to pull away, and now she wasn’t sure she wanted to. Hadn’t everything been easier with him? She didn’t have to wonder whether what she was doing was right or wrong. Only if it pleased her father.

But those words stung where it really hurt. Because they were true. She had warned him of betrayals, so if not for her, he may have been dead years ago, but now she’d joined their ranks. At only a few words from people who made her feel loved.

She gently slipped her hands behind her back. “I apologize, sir. I never… meant anything against you.”

Her voice dripped with a sickly sweetness, so deceiving even though she knew her own lie, she couldn’t help but debate over the truth in it for a split second. Was this the right choice? Was it better to choose the traitors and criminals who’d forgiven her relentlessly over the father who’d made sure she stayed diciplined, instead of lazy and complacent like any other child? Was it right to prey on his trust?

She hated the struggle within herself. But as the thorns pressed into the lock, she knew she hated him far more. If not for the lives he’d told her she was right to take, but for all the times he’d sold her like a slave. She hadn’t questioned it then, accepting cruelty as a principle of survival, pain as a necessary ingredient of negotiation. But every time hurt worse now that she knew kindness was a kind of strength in itself. Because she understood that if he had cared then, she wouldn’t have been the only one making sacrifices.

Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment! I love to read them!

@yolbert @seastarblue @darkandstormydolls @sunflowerrosy @urnumber1star

@i-do-anything-but-write

[drewlover]

the legacies of zeus pt. 1 ─── the making

i. athena; goddess of wisdom ── when you are young they assume you know nothing

ㅤㅤㅤrippling blonde hair that glows in the sunlight. eyes that hold too much to be considered young, cheeks that hold an innocence that strikes you, leaving you defenceless. they calculate your every move, every strike, every touch. wisdom brews underneath their skin. unnerving gazes and perfect lips that never smile. hands that craft perfection and minds that observe greedily. porcelain dolls crafted by the hands of a goddess, perfected by man’s knowledge. pray that your thoughts do not become to loud next to them, for those can be stolen from you, too.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤannabeth looks at arachne and steels her nerves. the cogs in her brain begin to turn, sifting through every piece of knowledge carefully. the red light glows eerily, turning her hair a sickly shade of honey. chinese handcuffs. she looks at arachne and she nearly laughs at her stupidity. this was easy, far too easy. she smirks. somewhere, her mother nods in her approval

ii. apollo; god of the sun ── i like to believe icarus didn’t lose his life- not exactly. he just lived it all at once in a single, blazing moment with the sun

ㅤㅤㅤuncaring smiles that blind you. blue eyes that are warm, far too warm, too hot to look at. egoism, because if the world revolves around you, what is the reason to be humble? hands that are strong and sure, pulling at the strings of a guitar, the string of a bow, the needle that sews your skin back together. warm skin that burn you, melting you against them, claiming you as theirs. the power of a thousand domains running through their veins. the impending sense of doom of old stories, of prophecies untold. stand close to them and you feel death. they know how to kill you, know how to make you beg to be saved.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤlee sings and everyone falls in love. even when their blood streaks out of their ears, praises so sweet leave their lips like honey, soaking him in it’s warmness. micheal pulls at his bow and the arrow hits it’s mark with an accuracy unmatched by all. he kisses the boy he loves and blood drips into his hand, a single white petal in the middle of it all. will bandages people and his eyes burn gold, gold with the knowledge of which bones are weak and which muscles to pull. control. that is what they have.

iii. ares; god of war ── you do this, you do. you take things you love and tear them apart

ㅤㅤㅤbared teeth. the first blood of war, dripping on the streets. yelling, always yelling, never really talking. love, always love, because what is war if not because of love? hands wrapped in bandages, blue, yellow, green bruises painting skin so beautifully, fingers pressing on them, relishing the pain. brown eyes that tint red in the sunlight, like the blood in your veins and the blood in theirs. they hold a thousand year old glint in their eyes, the same glint of war veterans, of battles of old. violent voices, violent hands, violent urges. lips bitten red. red nail polish bitten through and chipped. kiss them and your lips bruise, kill them and you’ll die too.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤclarisse yells as she tries to make the sea yield, yells as her brothers fight her, as blood drips down her side and out of her nose. she yells as silena falls to the ground, as her fingers dig into her hair, sticky with the blood and love she’d never shared. there’s an anger in her, a bloodlust that never seems to be satisfied, clamoring for pain, for blood, for violence. she’d followed it, once. she’d never felt more alive.

[jjmaybanksbaby]

Where It Leads (Rafe Cameron)

Summer III

Part 06: Round And Round

series masterlist | previous part

summary: It seems like the stars have finally aligned to give Rafe Cameron and you a summer of blissful happiness.

a/n: This got a little longer than I expected but I'm not mad at it. I had to give them at least one summer of being cute together before the other shoe drops. The final part to this series will be out Thursday!

word count: 3.2k words (warning this gets decently smutty 18+)

The Island Club had a special glow to it as the sun sunk below the horizon and the thousands of fairy lights strung up around the yard flickered on. A breeze rippled through the warm summer air, making the perfect kind of weather. You took in the sight. The people mingling on the lawn, all dressed in their best clothing. Waiters dashing around, keeping everyone's drinks filled. Bits and pieces of conversations floated up into the night.

You'd finally settled on a long, black satin gown with a deep v-neck that’d you'd found hidden away on the sale rack. Your mother had fussed over how plain it was and how much skin it showed but you were sure it was the right dress from the moment you slipped it on. You'd agreed to let your mom twist your hair into a single braid that fell down your back and she’d stuck bobby-pins with tiny rhinestones in at random intervals. You had painted your lips a deep crimson red to pull it all together.

You were starting to understand the appeal of the whole thing. There was a certain feeling of glamour to the night. Your eyes roamed the lawn noticing Cleo and Milo snuggled close together on the dance floor, swaying to the soft music playing. That was new. Good for them. They looked happy together.

Most people were already here since your Nonna had insisted on being fashionably late.

The hair on the back of your neck stood up as you heard Rafe's voice from behind you. You turned around and the sight of him made your mind go blank. You'd let yourself picture how Rafe Cameron might look in a suit but the real deal was so much better.

Rafe cleared his throat snapping you back to reality. "You look nice," he said, the compliment bringing a smile to your face.

"You too, Cameron."

"Hey, come with me. I wanna talk to you." He reached down, taking your hand and you slipped your fingers between his, letting him lead you back inside. Almost every person you passed seem to know Rafe and smiled at him or stopped for a quick "hello."

He pulled open a heavy door and ushered you inside. It was the same bathroom where you'd meet Sarah for the first time while trying to escape boring lunch small talk. What were you doing here? Rafe leaned down, checking that all the stalls were in fact empty before turning the hatch on the door to lock it.

Rafe smiled at you widely. "Hi," he muttered as he brought his hand up to cup your face, running his thumb over your cheek.

The butterflies sprung up in your stomach almost immediately.

"Hi," you said back quietly, afraid of breaking the moment.

He walked you backward gently until you felt the cool wall against the exposed skin of your back.

His mouth was dangerously close to yours. His other hand landed on your thigh and he slowly slide it upwards. You weren't sure if you cursed buying a dress with such a high slit or were grateful for the easy access.

“Rafe, we can't do this again. Not here,” you warned but you were sure he could see right through your words. “We were both drunk last time.”

“And I’m completely sober now.” His hand inched closer to your core.

“Do you even remember it?”

“Do you really think I would have dragged you in here and have you pressed up against this wall if I didn’t? Yes, I remember it y/n. I remember the whole very clearly.”

Rafe dropped his voice to just above a whisper. He smoothed his thumb over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “Tell me to stop. Tell me you don’t want this.” But you did want. You wanted it so badly it was killing you. Every bit of you turned to jelly under his touch and you wanted Rafe’s hands all over your body. You had zero interest in telling him to stop. His fingers ghosted over your underwear and you let out a whine without realizing it. “See, I’m barely even touching you and you’re already whining for me.”

Your forehead dropped to his shoulder as he moved your underwear aside, dipping his fingers into your folds.

“Ah, ah, ah. Look at me, baby.” Rafe said, pushing your head back upright before he moved his hand down to wrap his fingers around your throat. His eyes meet yours. This was a different side of Rafe. Rougher and wild but incredibly sexy.

Another moan caught in your throat as he pushed two fingers inside of you. “Fuck, Rafe.”

Your back arched off the wall and a loud moan tumbled off your lips as he hit the sweet spot inside of you. “Good girl,” Rafe praised. His words turning you on even more.

Rafe could tell you were nearing your climax and slide his fingers out suddenly.

“Fuck you, Cameron,” you spit.

He laughed. “Please, it couldn’t be more evident that you want to,” he replied, hiking your dress all the way up to your waist, pulling your lacy underwear down to the floor before undoing his belt and kicking his own pants off. Your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his dress shirt, desperately pulling it open to run your hands over his beautifully chiseled abdomen. 

His clothed dick, bulging out of his boxers, rubbed against your clit and your hips bucked up automatically, craving the friction.

Rafe ran his thumb over your bottom lip, slipping it into your mouth as it naturally fell open. “God, you look so fucking hot right now y/n. So so pretty.” He pushed your hips back against the wall, harshly. “But let’s remember, I’m in charge here.”

“Please, Rafe,” you begged. You knew he was going to keep teasing you, loving the way you squirmed under his words.

Rafe pushed his boxer down this knees freeing his hard cock before pulling a condom out of the jacket, unrolling it over his dick. He lined it up with your entrance, pushing into your slowly. The pace almost making you cry out.

“Jesus, Cameron. Fuck me already if you’re going to,” you hissed, annoyed with the ends he was pushing you to.

Rafe chuckled, his eyes locked with yours as he slammed his whole length into you. You bit down on your bottom lip trying to stay quiet.

Rafe reached down, hooking your leg around his waist so he could enter you at a new angle. Your arms wrapped around his shoulder, holding onto him for support. Your breath hitched as his thumb began to rub small circles on your clit.

"Fuck, you feel amazing," Rafe said, his own breathing uneven. "I needed to do this again."

His mouth attached to your neck, kissing and sucking and you were sure you would find a hickey there tomorrow morning. He rested his forehead on yours, your mouths an inch apart.

You could feel your release growing closer and closer. Rafe's own movements were getting sloppy and desperate. He closed the distance, landing his lips on yours, catching your moans as you came undone. He continued to kiss you, slipping his tongue into your mouth, finishing just seconds later.

Neither of you moved for a few moments, savoring the feeling of just holding each other. Your lips met again, the kiss was sweet and slower but still full of passion.

“That was a super productive conversation, Cameron,” you joked.

“I didn’t come here to have one.” He smirked, moving away from you to slip back on his pants. You walked over to the mirror to evaluate how disheveled Rafe’s impromptu due need to fuck had left you. Some piece of hair had sipped out of your braid but they framed your face nicely making it look almost intentional so you could definitely get away with it. Your red lipstick was noticeably gone. If your mom got suspicious, you’d have to blame it on not being able to find a straw. Though the stain on Rafe’s own lips might give you away.

Rafe came up from behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. You watched his movements in the mirror.

With a face like pretty it really was no surprise you found yourself in situations like this. Not that you were complaining. But Rafe had this pull on you that was truly indescribable but impossible to resist.

“Should we get back out there?” You asked. “People might start wondering where you went.”

“Let them,” Rafe replied, placing another kiss on your neck, just below the edge of your jaw. It was your favorite place to feel his lips on you. That spot in particular sent a shiver through your body whenever he kissed it.

“I’ll go first and you follow in five minutes.”

“We can just leave together,” he countered.

“Phoebe might see.”

Rafe hesitated, picking up on the double meaning of your words but wanting to avoid a fight over it. “Okay. You go first.”

☼☼☼

You let yourself get pulled into Rafe Cameron’s orbit for the remainder of the summer. You became a regular figure at the group’s parties, becoming especially fast friends with Riley as you spent more time together and bonded over the world that was high school theater. Milo had claimed you as his beer pong partner from the beginning and the two of you had managed to remain undefeated. The evenings usually ended in you and Rafe sneaking away to his house or yours, the culmination of sly glances and flirtatious winks you’d been teasing each other with the entire time. You left your window perpetually unlocked and learned how to dart across the Cameron’s front lawn without making the motion-sensor lights go off.

One summer night, near the middle of July, you were standing on Rafe's front porch having slipped out quietly when the light clicked on illuminated the yard, You froze, fearing you'd been caught by Rose or worse by Ward but instead, Sarah stepped out of the shadows, her eyes equally wide with fear of being caught.

"Shit, she cursed, half giggling. "I usually don't make that go off."

"Where have you been?" You asked her playfully.

"I meet a boy," she confessed.

Your features contorted into a smile seeing the happiness radiating off Sarah.

"Aw Sarah. I'm so happy for you. Just be safe, okay?" It was hard to believe but Sarah was now the same age you'd been when you and Rafe had first meet.

"Don't worry, y/n. Nothing's even happened. We just sit in his room, talking for hours," she paused, finally realizing the strangeness of you standing on her front porch in the early hours of the morning. "Oh my God. Wait? Are you and Rafe...? It’s about time."

You held out your hand to shush her. The look on your face giving away all your secrets.

"You're good for him," Sarah added. "You're good for each other."

The light clicked off again, the darkness of the night enveloping the two of you.

"That's my cue." You reached out, pulling Sarah in for a quick hug, placing a loving kiss in her blonde hair.

"Bye." She squeezed her arms tighter around your waist before letting go.

☼☼☼

You knocked on the door of Sawyer's pool house, the location the group had decided on for the night after a rather fierce argument in the group chat, one you had pointedly stayed our off. Rafe opened the door, smiling at your presence before stepping outside, pulling the door closed behind him.

He leaned down for a kiss. "Hi," he said.

"Hi," you replied, your lips meeting his.

His hand automatically reached for yours. "C'mon. I wanna do something fun tonight."

"But isn't everyone in there?" You pointed behind him.

"Yeah, but it's just gonna be the same boring thing. Sawyer's drunk already because he can't hold his alcohol for shit. Phoebe thinks we should hit up some touran's party. And Cleo and Milo are no-shows. So let’s go do something else."

You shrugged. You'd much rather have Rafe all to yourself anyway. "Okay, where are we going?"

“It’s a surprise.”

Ten minutes later and Rafe was pulling into the desert parking lot of his high school. “Welcome to the Kook Academy. That’s not it’s actual name but everyone on the island just calls it that since none of the pogues can afford to go here.”

The lofty walls of the private school loomed above you. It looked like a fucking castle that belonged in the rolling heels of Europe, definitely not in the middle of North Carolina.

“C’mon. You can see practically the entire island from the roof.”

“How the hell are we gonna get up there?” You asked.

“The lacrosse team pulled this sweet prank last season and I still have the keys to the roof. Plus, it’s summer. No one’s even here.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Rafe Cameron.”

He leaned across the middle console, sliding a hand being your neck and pulling your face close into his. “I promise it’ll be worth it,” he said before landing his lips on yours.

Soon you were climbing into his lips, straddling his hips. The roof-top adventure temporarily put on hold. You gripped his blonde locks as his hands worked their way under your shirt.

"I thought we were breaking into your high school?" You tesed.

"We are. Right now, I'm just trying to break into your bra," Rafe answered.

"Okay." You shoved his hand away. "On account of the fact that that was the worst comeback I've ever heard, let's go."

"I can't help it. Your tits were distracting me," he answered, trying to reach for them again.

You swatted his hand away "Rafe."

"Party pooper," he replied with a frown.

"You're such a drama queen." You leaned down for a quick kiss, tearing your lips away before he had the chance to pull you in deep.

Rafe hadn't lied. The view from the roof was breathtaking. You could see all the way to the end of the island from the top of the fourth-story building. The cars moving below were tiny dots, the people even smaller. You stood at the edge, your eyes fixed on the churning ocean stretching beyond the horizon. The whole thing felt eternal.

Rafe's eyes watched your own, the glint in them growing as you took in the sight.

"Holy shit, Rafe. This is amazing," you said, wrapping your arms tight around his neck, not looking away from the skyline.

"I thought you might think so."

The two of you stayed like that and watched the sun disappear below the horizon in a blaze of orange and pink glory before the dark night sky littered with brights stars replaced it.

The wind nipped at your skin, fiercer up here than on the ground. It made you snuggle into Rafe's side, stealing his body heat to stay warm.

"Ready to go back down?" Rafe asked.

"Not yet." You weren't prepared for this moment to end. You longed to stay in it, here, with him, for as long as you could.

"Okay," Rafe answered, pulling your back closer into his chest and wrapping his arms tighter around you to fight off the cold. "Okay," he repeated. He let a few more minutes pass before breaking the silence again.

“I bought you something.”

You turned to face him, eyebrows raised in surprise. Rafe had money, obvious, but you never knew him to be much of a gift-giver. Mostly, because he was hyperaware that the money belonged to Ward, not him. Rafe reached into his back pocket, producing a small black velvet box. You took it from his outstretched hands and opened it. Inside, lay a beautiful gold necklace with a single dainty star.

You look up at Rafe tears welling in your eyes from the romantic gesture. Your heart swelled. “Oh my God. I love it, Rafe.” I love you. You stopped yourself before those three little words, three words more explosive than dynamite, had the chance to slip out as well.

“Don’t cry, baby. It’s only a necklace. Want me to put it on you?”

You nodded, handing Rafe back the box. You lifted up your hair up with one hand and he carefully draped the necklace around your neck, fastening the clasp in the back.

Rafe smiled at the look of it hanging around your neck like a reminder that you always had him, that you would always have him.

“Thank you, babe. I seriously love it.” You took the necklace between your fingers peering down at it.

“Anything for my girl.” 

☼☼☼

Hours later, you were back in Rafe’s room, laying on top of him, your naked stomachs pressed together, your head resting on his chest, your legs intertwined beneath the comforter. Rafe ran his index finger lazily up and down your arm, goosebumps springing up in its wake. You lifted your head off his chest to look at him.

“I think we should maybe talk about what happened last summer," you started.

“Why?” He asked back.

“Uh, cause you told me to pick and I didn’t pick you. But then I get back to the Outer Banks and we sleep together within the first week.”

“But you’re not dating Evan anymore.”

“Right.”

“So what’s there to talk about. You’re free to fuck anybody you want. Preferably me, right now, again.” He eagerly moved you so that your already sensitive core, from the night's earlier activities, was straddling his thigh. You groaned at the contact, quickly shifting away as not to let him distract you from the conversation.

“What about Phoebe?” You asked.

“What about Phoebe?”

“Well, you took her to Midsummers.”

“Cause we’re friends and I knew it would make Ward happy.”

You paused. “But we’re friends.”

“Baby, trust me. Phoebe and I are not the same kind of friends me and you are.” His palm landed on your back, rubbing small comforting circles.

"Meaning you're not sleeping with her?" The words came as a question, though you’d meant it as a statement.

"Definitely not." Rafe paused. "It's just you."

This was the closest you'd come to having the 'What are we?' conversation. You had suspected the two of you had been exclusive for some time but it was refreshing to hear Rafe say it aloud.

"Yeah, it's just you for me too," you replied.

You started to move off Rafe's warm body. “Where are you going?” he asked.

“I gotta get home. My mom’s started going on these crazy 6 a.m morning runs and I’m afraid she’s gonna catch me sneaking it.” You leaned down to kiss him again. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Ward and I are leaving for those college visits tomorrow.”

Oh shit, you had forgotten about that. “And my flight back’s the week after that.” The implication of your words hung in the air. The summer was coming to a close and you couldn’t stop it.

“It’s okay y/n. We’ll call and text during the school year and next summer you’ll be back.”

“Right,” you agreed, trying to ignore the sinking feeling growing in your stomach. You had the summer-fling of your dreams with Rafe and here he was promising to stay in touch so why didn’t it feel good? Why didn't it feel right?

“I gotta go. Have a good trip.” You took Rafe's face in your hands hoping to kiss away the uneasy feeling. Rafe's hands wandered down to cup your butt, pulling you back on top of him.

“Rafe...” you trailed off as his tongue slipped into your mouth.

“Shhh,” he mumbled back.

You knew you should probably pull yourself away from him, staying would cut it too close with your mom but the way his hands roamed your body was making it hard to think about anything rationally. He rolled your hips against his already hard-again dick. Fuck, the things this boy did to you were dangerous. Besides, maybe this would distract you from that achy feeling you had about the future so you let yourself kiss Rafe back desirously.

But two weeks later, as the tires of your plane lifted off the runway, en route back to Oregan, that feeling hadn’t gone away in the slightest.

taglist! @oreoenthusiast13 [drop a ☀️ in my inbox or messages if you want to be added]

[systlinsideblog]

Part 5

Systlin slept. 

She always dreamed in vivid detail; scents, sounds, touch. Often, the dream felt quite real, until of course she woke. 

This dream was warm. The warmth of the feather bed, of the blankets. The pleasant warmth from the summer breeze blowing through the open window. The warmth, most of all, of Foicatch. 

She rested her cheek against the solid warmth of his chest, eyes closed. The beat of his heart, the tickle of the hairs on his chest against her nose, the smell of his skin, were all as vivid as reality. 

He smelled faintly of smoke; he'd been in the forge, then. He didn't need to, of course. Hadn't, for a long time. A Bloodguard earned quite enough to  hire a smith for whatever they might need, and a King Consort had the royal smith at his disposal.

But Foicatch, before any of that, had been the son of a master carpenter, and a smith's apprentice. He wore the tattoo on his arm that proclaimed his journeyman status proudly, even after two years spent in a city guard, a decade and more in the Bloodguard, and another twenty years as King Consort. 

He rather liked rubbing it in the faces of some of the high lords and high ladies, to be quite honest. A smith was an honored craftsman. And he liked the forge. He liked watching the colors of the flames, the smell of hot metal and smoke, the steam from the quench tank. He liked the sound of the hammer and the feel of it in his hand. And so, quite often, the King Consort of the Northern Lands, the father of the heir to the Throne of the North, would go down to the royal smithy and serve as assistant to the master smith of Stellas Keep. 

He joked sometimes that he was still working for his master-craft tattoo. It was, Systlin knew, not entirely a joke. 

She pressed her cheek against the solid warmth of him. His hand was moving, fingertips stroking her spine from nape of neck to small of back and back up.

His fingers were rough, both from a sword and from the forge hammer. Systlin liked that about them, and how strong they were. 

The sensation of his heartbeat under her cheek, the lingering glow of pleasure shared, and the fingers stroking her back were glorious. She hummed in pleasure, and felt him chuckle softly. 

"Little cat." He said, teasingly. "You're purring."

"Mmm." She kept her eyes closed. She was the Queen Regnant of the North, had fought two wars, held the high lords in check mainly through fear of her and had earned the love of the common folk by shedding blood and sweat for them. She was a Breaker, the first in centuries, and rumored to be the most powerful yet to live. She held that power, and herself, on a tight leash.

 But here, in the bedroom she shared with her husband, it all melted away for a little while. 

She wondered, yet again, if he knew just how much he was the center of sanity that kept her moored and grounded. She had told him, of course, but still. 

Foicatch shifted. She made a sound of protest, and he tweaked the gold ring in her ear playfully. She sat up reluctantly, eyeing the matching bond-ring in his ear and contemplating tugging back. 

"I have something for you." His voice was soft. 

She raised an eyebrow. He rolled to the side; she appreciated the shift of his muscles under his skin as he did so. He was a wonderfully built man. 

"Here." He took something from the bed-table, and turned back to her. "I made this today." 

'This' was a small round piece of iron. It was beautifully made, twisted threads of wire in a complicated interlinked pattern of knots. In the center was engraved the eight-pointed star of her family. It was strung on a chain, and clearly meant to be worn as a pendant. 

"You made it?" She put it on happily. 

"I purified the steel from ore myself. And quenched it in water mixed with a drop of my own blood. I burned three of my hairs, three of yours, and three of Serra's on it, for the forge spirits." He ducked his head a little, as if embarrassed. "They'll protect you, if you wear it." 

It was an old ritual, Systlin knew. Hairs from her head, his, and their child, offered to the forge-spirits for protection. His own blood in the quench-tank, to keep away rust and wear. 

"I know you don't need it." He was saying, still seeming embarrassed. "But..."

She kissed him. Hard and at length. 

"Thank you." She told him, when they finally came up for air. He smiled, his face lighting up like the sun, and kissed her again....

Systlin woke. 

The furs next to her were empty, of course. On her breast, the iron of the pendant Foicatch had made her long ago was as cold as ice. 

The loneliness hit her like a brick, but there wasn't time to dwell on it. 

From outside the wagon there was a cry of alarm. 

She was on her feet and had her weapons in hand before it faded. There were sounds of a struggle from outside, and she was moving, barefoot and wearing her sleeping tunic, reactions honed by decades of experience engaged instantly. 

It was coming from the rear of the wagon. The wood that made the wagon was sturdy, but it was roofed in canvas. Even as she leapt towards the sound of the commotion, a knife blade was stabbed through the canvas to slice a way into her wagon. 

The wood of the wagon was sturdy. 

That did not matter, to a Breaker, in the slightest. 

The rear wall of the wagon fractured violently into a million splinters as she Broke it; she closed her eyes and raised an arm to protect them as she dove through the cloud of them. 

She went low out of sheer instinct. Dove through the splinters, hit the ground outside in a shoulder roll and was back on her feet in an instant. Spun, taking in the scene before her. 

A woman was on the ground, her throat slit. Another was crying the alarm, pointing to the wagon. A man was struggling to regain his feet as splinters rained down around him; he must, she surmised, have been climbing the back wall of her wagon. A knife lay beside him. 

A second man was stumbling backwards, caught off guard by the explosion of splinters. He was armed with a quiva and a lance. 

He saw her, and his eyes widened. 

The cold light clarity of battle was setting in already. Systlin bared her teeth in a horrible parody of a smile, and lunged. 

She was faster than him. She was better trained than him. She had the element of surprise. 

It was a credit to his own skills that he managed to regain his footing and twist out of the way of the sword strike that would have gutted him. It was even more to his credit that he managed to parry the dagger strike that would have torn his throat open. 

He did not dodge the knee kick. Systlin slammed her heel into his kneecap, and felt the crunch as bone gave way. He fell as the leg gave out, and lashed out savagely at her with his lance. 

He was very fast. She was faster. Ice  snapped down to parry the lance, and she sank her dagger to the hilt in his neck, just above the collarbone. 

Then she was past him, and advancing on the stunned man struggling to find his breath again. He'd fallen a good eight feet from the top of her wagon, and the wind had been knocked out of him. He was bleeding in a dozen places, from where splinters had driven into flesh. 

He saw her coming, and reached for the knife. She smiled at him, baring her teeth in the sheer bloody delight of battle, and stepped on the weapon, kicking it away. 

"I was wondering," she told him, even as her guards finally arrived with weapons drawn. "how long it would take you bastards." 

 An hour later, the bound prisoner had been carted away. The corpse had been disposed of, and Systlin was back to bed. 

They'd both been men granted freedom for apparent good behavior. To be honest, she'd known that some of them were acting, and had expected this. 

It had been some time since she'd had assassins try to kill her in the night. It was rather refreshing, actually. Her aunt had always maintained that regular practice was needed to keep skills sharp. 

The chill had faded from her pendant. She held it, for a long moment, imagining for a moment that she could still smell him, could still feel his touch. 

She reached up and touched the rings in her ear...two of them, one a gold ring set with a ruby, the second silver, and set with sapphire. Foicatch wore a matching sapphire bond-ring. Sura wore a matching ring of ruby. 

How long had she been here? Four weeks now? 

Systlin Stellas, Queen of the Northern Lands, was not given to tears. But even so, as she lay in her bed alone, she felt wetness on her cheeks. 

 Come morning, when she had the prisoner dragged before her as she held court in the open space before her wagon, she had composed herself again. 

The man who'd tried to kill her was not the only prisoner present. She'd had the men who'd not yet been freed dragged before her too, and set where they could watch. They were silent, and stoic. Systlin had come to expect that of them. 

Despite this, of course, she noted with some pleasure that the presence of the severed head of her would-be assassin spiked on a lance set in the ground did seem to draw their eyes. 

She smiled pleasantly at them. She'd learned years ago that it unnerved people when she did this. 

"I am honestly surprised," she said. "That it took you this long."

The bound prisoner spat at her feet. She ignored this. 

"I would like to publicly recognize," she continued, "Dina of Turia, who was clever enough both to recognize that an attempt would likely be made, and to think of setting guards at the rear of my wagon as well as the front."

Dina smiled brilliantly at the praise, and brought her lance to her forehead in salute. Her smile faltered, though; Systlin knew that she'd insisted on arranging for the death-rites of the slain guardswoman personally. 

"I am sorry, Ubara." She said. "That your guards failed to stop them." 

Systlin shook her head. "You cannot expect to best trained warriors after a month of practice. I have said as much. But they saw the men, and warned me, and it was clever of you to deduce where such an attack might be made."

That got another smile. "I have lived among Tuchuks." She said. "I've learned how they think."

"Now, of course, we deal with you." Systlin stood, and drew her sword. The prisoner met her eyes, defiant. 

"Go on, sleen." He said. "You are no Ubara." 

"Ah. Of course. Because I have not killed your former Ubar." She smiled at his shock, and in the gathered prisoners there were many suddenly wide eyes. "What? You think that I've not spoken to people? You think that the other women didn't tell me? What kind of fool do you take me for?"

Shock, from many of the men. But from the women, mocking laughter. 

"It is a situation easily remedied." She smiled at him, and then planted her feet and cut, swift and hard, pivoting from the hips. 

Ice cut through muscle and bone quite easily. The head hit the ground with a thump and rolled. Systlin ignored the body as it fell, and pointed towards the prisoners with the bloodied blade of Ice. 

"You," she said, still smiling. "Kamchak, is it? Ubar of the Tuchuks?"

The man met her eyes steadily. She saw anger there, but no fear. He was, if nothing else, brave. 

"A lesson I learned long ago." She told him. "Is that a queen with no people who follow her is no queen at all. And you, former Ubar, have barely a handful of men loyal to you. I have six thousand loyal to me. So who, here, is Ubara?" 

He spat. 

"But I am willing," she continued, "to do this properly. It will be a pleasure, even." She nodded to her guards. "Remove his chains, and give him weapons. If he wants his position back, he can fight me for it." 

There was a roar from the gathered women, and Systlin smiled as Kamchak's eyes narrowed, and he bared his teeth right back at her. 

 We had known, of course. It had been whispered about camp, and the men who had managed to convince the women to free them had consulted Kamchak many times in the previous days. It had been done quietly, of course; Tuchuks are clever.

On the night that the attack was to occur, we of course heard the commotion, as the wagon we were chained to was not far distant from that claimed by Systlin. Adjacent to it, in fact, as I seemed to be of special interest to her and she apparently wished to keep me under close scrutiny. 

I had asked for Kamchak to at least be chained near me. The request had been granted. We sat practically on, indeed, the flat space of grass before the great wagon that she used as her court. 

We heard, quite quickly, that it had failed. Systlin sent out messengers immediately, and spent an hour before her wagon in plain view of any and all who wished to  see that she lived. 

She was wearing a brief silk tunic, as she had no doubt been startled from sleep. Her legs were strong; far too strong for Gorean tastes, but still shapely. The image was somewhat marred by the blood that had dripped down her thigh as she carried the head of her slain enemy to the lance fixed in the turf for this purpose. 

The second man who'd attempted the attack was dragged to the grass before her, chained hand and foot and hand to foot, and tied down to lances sunk deeply into the turf. 

The women, I noted, did not cringe so any longer when shouted at by an angry warrior. His cries of rage were ignored. 

I noticed, for the first time, how well formed were the muscles of the women. I supposed that the hard work at camp and the running after the kaiila of their masters had always left the girls in excellent physical form. Had the last month of their play at weapons truely wrought such a change, though?

Or had the girls always been so fit, and I had simply not seen them drag a grown warrior by his hair before?

Systlin sat there holding court, clad in red silk and the blood of a slain warrior, a man who'd been sent to kill her bound before her, the firelight casting flickering shadow and light over the scene, seated on the furs and pillows as if they were a throne of gold and rubies. 

She met my eyes once, in the shadows, and her smile was a terrible thing to behold.  

For the first time since the she-demon had arrived, I understood how such a creature could be called a queen. 

It's said on Gor that a woman who enjoys the touch of silk is a slave at heart. I wondered if the man who had first said it had ever seen a woman wearing silk and the blood of a slain enemy. I found myself, for the first time in a great while, doubting the phrase. 

Come morning, of course, we were dragged to court. And there, of course, Systlin killed the warrior who'd attempted to kill her before all the Tuchuk. I had supposed as much would happen, once I had heard of the failure of the attack. 

I had not supposed that she would call out Kamchak, or agree to fight him. 

Kamchak, of course, accepted. 

As the corpse of the executed warrior was removed from the circle, I realized that I had never yet seen the she-sleen truly fight. 

"Be careful," I said to Kamchak. 

He nodded, once. She was only a woman, of course, and he was proud...but I saw him narrow his eyes at her, thoughtful, as his chains were removed. 

He was sly, the Ubar of the Tuchuks. I knew this. 

"It is unfair." He said, as his ankle chains were unlocked. "You wear armor, and I am nearly naked." 

Systlin smiled, just a twitch of her lips, and removed the red larl-hide cloak, and her leather vest. The glittering shirt of strange scales was brilliant in the sun. I could see no two scales of precisely the same shade. 

She bent at the waist and wriggled out of the armor, leaving her in just the padded shirt that went under the armor. She unsheathed her dagger and spun it around the back of her hand, quicker than the eye could follow, the hilt sliding neatly back into her hand as the spin finished. 

"There." She said. "Choose whatever weapons you please." 

Kamchak observed her, eyes narrow, for some time. Then at last, he spoke. "Lance," he said, "And quiva." 

Systlin nodded, and weapons were brought. 

"You have the sun at your back," Kamchak observed. "So that it will shine in my eyes." 

"Yes." She answered him calmly, matter of fact. She made no offer to change the situation. 

"That is wise. I would do the same."

She inclined her head perhaps an inch in acknowledgement. 

"If I defeat you, I will simply kill you." He informed her. "You are too dangerous to make a slave, witch." 

She smiled at that, showing teeth. 

"I suppose if I seized one of these women as hostage, you would simply overpower me with sorcery." He stretched, and weighed quiva and lance in his hands. 

"Of course." 

Kamchak approached her, cautious. Systlin waited, and I saw her shift her weight slightly. She was balanced on the balls of her feet, I saw, her legs spread slightly in a way that would give her stable footing and allow her to move any direction at the slightest notice. 

"Tarl Cabot," Kamchak said, and I started. "It would be a terrible thing, should this witch slay me, and no one else know that which you seek is currently within my own wagon, and has often served me as throne." 

I started; the gray, leathery thing that I had supposed was a bundle of old leather, and which Kamchak often sat upon? 

Of course, it was like a Tuchuk, to hide such a treasure in the most clever of ways...

There was a ring of metal on metal, and I was torn from such thoughts. Kamchak had hurled a quiva, as he had at me once upon a time. And as I had, Systlin had apparently seen the throw coming, though it was so quick as to be missed upon blinking. She had moved, just as quickly, and the ringing had been her sword meeting the quiva in mid-air, and parrying it to the side. 

I had seen her before in bits and flashes in the battle that terrible night, and later executing bound prisoners. Her form with a blade, I had thought, was good. 

I had been wrong before. Her form with a blade was excellent, and beyond excellent. 

It struck me, as she nimbly dodged a striking lance and the slashing blow of a second quiva, Kamchak bringing it up and around in a hidden strike close on the heels of his lunge with the lance, that she would have compared favorably with the best of the warriors of Ko-ro-ba. 

As she danced in, light and nimble, and drove him back on his heels with a vicious, lightning quick series of strikes, it occurred to me that she was likely quicker on her feet than even I. 

The sword and dagger at once was not a common combination on Gor, but the she-sleen used them to devastating effect. One may parry while the other attacks, and attack may follow attack without the slightest moment of respite. Equally, both may be used to turn aside blows given in return, though this relies upon the warrior being quick and nimble and possessed of excellent timing.

Systlin was all three. She was quick, marvelously quick. She was nimble, her footing flawless. Her timing was precise and deadly.

Within the first exchange, she had opened a deep bleeding slash into Kamchak's arm with that dagger, and as he fought to hold those biting blades off the sword slipped around and opened a cut into his thigh. 

Kamchak's lance gave him reach, and he was quick on his feet as well. As she pivoted neatly around his lance and cut for his neck with a vicious flat slice of her sword, he threw himself to the side unexpectedly and hurled his quiva, at nearly point blank range. 

She saw, and with a degree of control over her body and momentum that I had thought nearly impossible checked her momentum and changed direction, but still the quiva opened a cut across the front of her thigh. 

Both warriors fell back, eyeing one another. Kamchak was serious, deadly so. Systlin was grinning, and I have seen that grin before on the battlefield. 

Only warriors who truly delight in the fight smile so. 

As we watched, the she-sleen lowered her hand, dipped two fingers into the blood flowing from her wound, and drew them across her cheek, smearing scarlet like war-paint across her skin. 

"U-BAR-A!" There was chanting from the massed Tuchuk. A few, though, including the other still-imprisoned warriors, were crying "U-BAR!"

"You are good." Kamchak admitted. 

Systlin simply grinned, and began circling. If the pain of her wound was troubling her, she did not reveal it. 

Twice more they clashed, and twice more the she-sleen opened up wounds on Kamchak and then retreated to resume her circling. Kamchak did not manage to wound her a second time in these clashes. 

I realized to my horror, as she closed the third time and hooked a blow of the lance out of the air as neatly as one could please, simply to rotate around and drive her elbow viciously into the back of Kamchak's skull, that she was toying with him. 

Kamchak knew as well, as she retreated to resume that relentless circling again. The blow had dazed him for a moment, and she could have slain him on the spot, but she only pricked him yet again with that dagger, opening a slash across the back of his shoulder to join the half-dozen others he was bleeding from. 

"Sleen." He panted. 

"I prefer" she said, still smiling that cold and vicious smile, "to be called 'Queen'."

And with that, she moved in again. 

Kamchak was a great warrior, and a canny one. Kamchak fought well. Kamchak fought with a skill that would have been credit to any warrior of Ko-ro-ba. Kamchak fought with skill and speed and guile. But no man can stand forever when bleeding from a dozen wounds.

Kamchak fought well. Kamchak fought bravely. And Kamchak died, a warrior of the Tuchuk, without begging or crying out in pain, when the she-sleen tired of the game. 

She did not quite behead him. When his guard dropped, dragged down by exhaustion and blood loss, she cut again with that strange sword and opened his throat clear back to the bones of his spine. 

Kamchak, Ubar of the Tuchuk, fell. I did not look away as his life bled out across the grass; I owed him that much. 

Systlin turned to us as Kamchak fell, fierce and furious. 

"There lies your Ubar." She cried this out, and I knew at once that she was used to speaking so that her voice would carry over battlefields. "Now we will have done with this! Is there anyone else among you who would challenge me? Because now is the time! If you wish to avenge your men, if you wish to claim the Ubar title...now is the fucking time! Because the next time I have to get out of bed to an assassination attempt, I am going to slow roast the balls of anyone involved and feed them to you." 

Silence. 

"Then." She hissed. "Who is the fucking Ubara here?"

I could say nothing, and I was not the only one to look away.

“That’s what I fucking thought.”

 Three days later

“Fuck.” Systlin dug her fingertips into her temples. She could feel a headache coming on, and it was only midmorning. “Fuck. What is wrong with this place?”

Dina gave an apologetic sort of shrug. “I cannot answer that for you, Ubara. But the Tuchuk had been preparing for the Love Games for some time, and it is considered the event of events on the plains. We could simply move the bosk on and skip it, though it will be noted.”

Systlin gritted her teeth. Her new warriors were not well trained enough to put up against those who had been trained, as she had, since they were old enough to hold swords. They were eager, she knew, but simply not yet ready for such a fight. It would be a slaughter, and she would not have it.

“Abominable fucking tradition.” She muttered. “What will happen to the Turian women placed at the stakes if we simply do not show?”

Her advisors glanced at each other and shrugged. “I do not know, Ubara.” Said Shayla, a fiercely intelligent woman. She had a keen mind for numbers and a genius for organization, and Systlin had promptly snapped her up to assist with logistics. Her former and very deceased master had kept her in a length of nearly transparent silk that barely counted as a scarf; now she wore a long bosk-wool skirt and a conservatively cut tunic, and her hair was braided and pinned up in a coil. “But I am not Turian.”

“It would be counted as a win for the Turian champions.” Dina said. “And they will be free to go. But the Tuchuk will be marked as cowards, and runners will be sent to investigate.”

“Ah.” Systlin relaxed a bit. “Well. That’s no problem. I don’t care what they think of us for now, and a few runners are easily disposed of. We simply do not go, then, and we will come back and deal with Turia when the warriors are ready.”

“The Turians,” interjected Mettna, a Tuchuk Free Woman. She also had a keen mind for logistics, and was the matriarch of a large extended family with many ties throughout the Tuchuk. Gorean laws or not, she ruled her family uncontested, and her word was law among them. Even her teenaged sons and nephews bowed their heads when she fixed them with a flinty stare. “Will consider the women the Tuchuk would have placed at the stakes theirs by default, and they will come looking for them.” A dark look; her youngest daughter Hireena had been among those intended for the stakes. “They take pleasure in breaking us to the collar and chain.”

Systlin’s hand tightened reflexively on her dagger. “If they come looking,” She said. “I’ll make drinking bowls of their skulls, and send the rest of them back to Turia.”

“Good.” A nod. “I simply wanted you to know, Ubara.”

“And it is appreciated.” Systlin tilted her head at Dina. “It would be good practice for the warriors. Fighting for real with your life on the line is much different than doing it in practice. I know that you are impatient, Dina, but I didn’t learn in a month either.”

Dina nodded. “When DO you think…” she trailed off.

“A year, perhaps.” Systlin shrugged. “It depends on how hard you train, and how many chances there are to raid and test yourself in small skirmishes. You’ve all thrown yourselves in heart and soul, and are progressing remarkably. Keep training, and you’ll be flaying slave masters sooner than you think.”

Dina looked mollified at that.

“So it is decided then. We continue to move over the grazing grounds, bide our time, gather our strength, train, and ignore this abomination called “Love Games.” Systlin nodded to each of them. “Ah, Shayla. I had meant to ask…you had located the stocks of that stuff you call the ‘releaser?’ And the stuff you call ‘sip-root?’”

“We have, Ubara. One or two of the women have requested the releaser. I gave it to them. I hope that was not…”

“Not at all. Such things are entirely up to the individual. Continue to distribute it to any who ask, and notify me if stocks run low. I am not adverse to raiding for more supplies of any sort, should they be needed. How many men remain living?”

“Thirty two of adult years. Many more nearing adulthood, though many of them have been…difficult. There will be problems there, Ubara.”

“I know. But those will be dealt with as they come. Children have not owned slaves or raped women yet, and I’ll not punish them for their upbringing. There’s hope of teaching them better yet.” She tapped her fingers against her thigh thoughtfully. “Your siproot, quite honestly, rather reminds me of stoneseed, from my own world.”

“And Silphium.” The woman named Elizabeth put in abruptly. “From mine. The Romans…an empire, some two thousand years ago…used it so much that it was harvested to extinction, but it was apparently quite effective.” She worried at her lower lip with her teeth. “I wonder…if this siproot was grown on Earth…there’s so many who don’t have access to birth control yet. It’s a hardy plant. It could change so many lives for the better.”

Systlin raised an eyebrow. “Indeed. Stoneseed is considered a basic stock necessity for any civilized place on Ellinon, as siproot seems to be here. What is done then on Earth, to prevent unwanted children?”

“Well.” A helpless sort of shrug. “We’ve pills that work well, and barrier devices, but…well, in some places there’s not much, and while we’ve plants too many are toxic or don’t work well. So, in those places there’s just…nothing.”

Systlin hissed through her teeth in disapproval. “It’s a worthy thought, then. But before we can figure out how to return you to your own world, we must set this one to rights.” She rose, as did the other women in the wagon. “Thank you all. We will speak again later.”

Outside the wagon, she found her kailla, mounted, and went for a ride around the perimeter of the camp. She’d taken to doing so regularly; an early and hard lesson had been that people need to see their leaders.

Her father had ignored this fact. He’d died for it, with her brother, and the northern lands had dissolved into war for a decade.

After her circuit of the camp, she went to the field where the fighters were training. A few of the freed men had offered to help teach, and were so far proving helpful. Systlin had been dubious; the women of this place were so conditioned to expect nothing but brutality at a man’s hands that she’d wondered if it wouldn’t cause more harm than good. However, it seemed, after some tentative starts, to be helping both sides. The women were faster losing their ingrained flinching cringe when a man moved towards them, and the men, she knew, had been stunned by how quickly the women took to training. She’d heard them speaking to the still chained men about it, and arguing. She’d seen them as well cuff and get into yelling matches with a few of the sullenly furious teenaged boys who were nearing manhood, and had found their expected power ripped away in a moment.

The man named Carl Tabot was there too. He was still chained, foot to foot, and was simply allowed to correct errors when he saw them. She’d contemplated killing him; she was certain, in her bones, that he was guilty of the same atrocities of most of the other men. But she’d no proof, and the man was a skilled warrior; she’d only broken his leg rather than killed him for that, and because she’d noted the first time he spoke that he was not of these wagon people.

He spotted her, and glowered. She was more than certain that he’d happily stick a knife through her throat in her sleep if he thought he could get by with it. She smiled at him in return, the sharp, worrying flash of teeth that was famed and feared across the sands and the northern lands. He flinched, and glowered at her.

Fuck, but she would have given anything to have Foicatch there. The ingrained misogyny of this world ran deep, and she knew that words from a man would be more seriously taken than her words, however thoroughly she demonstrated that she was, in fact, the new superior power on this planet.

Actually, the idea was quite amusing. The men of this place had made it quite obvious what they thought of being ‘true men’, and that men not like them were ‘weak’ and ‘unmanned’. Foicatch, all six feet three inches and two hundred fifty granite-hewn, deadly warrior-trained pounds of him, could hardly ever be called either. But, like most real men, Foicatch was quite secure in himself and felt little need to loudly proclaim it for everyone to hear. He was, really, far more even-tempered and easygoing than she. He’d be mostly bemused by the arrogant, angry posturing and bellowing and rage of the men of this shithole.

Until he was not. It took a great deal to rouse Foicatch’s ire, but once roused it was terrible.

Systlin entertained the thought of one of the sullen, angry Tuchuk boys being dangled from one of ‘Catch’s hands, her beloved bellowing at the little shit, and smiled again in private amusement.

[savagenutella46]

Who I’d Be - 2 of 2

Part 1 <- did I do that right? Sorry in advance.

Inspired by m3owww’s statue of ice

"She can't know, Timmy." Marinette whispers, wincing at the tight grip Tim has on her elegant green-silk dress, clutching it so hard wrinkles begin to form. Janet will have her head for those later.

They're standing in the corner, shouldered off from the rest of the Gala by a lone velvet curtain covering the long window sitting beside them, while Tim grasps onto her dress and pleads.

"Why not? She'd love to come! She'd be so proud of you." Marinette winced again, the wholly untruth of those words invisible to her twelve-year old brother, who's eyes are so innocent and excited. She looks down at him with a brief smile, and gently extracts her dress from his hold.

"Timothy." A pointed look, to show she is done with arguing with him about the conversation. "I assure you, Janet will not know of the exhibit prior to your mouth, so you will do your best to shut it." Formal language with Tim will always turn the sparkle off in his eye, the excited glint disappearing, and as much as it brings a hammering wallow to her heart, she swallows the regret harshly down her throat.

"Look, Tim. She's never been a fan of my photography. She would rather go to your parent-teacher conference." She plasters on a fake smile as she says the words, and they practically grind against her teeth as they fall out of her mouth.

He's been begging her to tell their mother about the photography exhibit for days on end now, and she can't give in now. He doesn't know about what happened to her old camera, and he never will. It was in pieces by the end of dinner, that day.

Tim sags his shoulders and sighs, putting on an unimpressed look at the mention of parent-teacher conferences. "Whatever." He turns around and reenters the ongoing Gala without another word.

Marinette swallows her plea for him to come back, please, and sighs. She looks down at the wrinkles in her—

—satin dress, and Janet, an almost unnoticeable twitch of her jaw, displays her disdain for the tiny creases at her hip. Marinette breathes a sigh of relief and feels a drop of sweat roll down the side of her neck when Janet turns back to the fellow business partner she had been conversing with before Marinette caught her attention by walking back into the room.

"Are you okay?" She flinches at the unexpected hand on her shoulder—jumps a little too noticeably to just be nerves, settling once she notes the hand is smaller than Jack's.

Marinette turns around, and suddenly, her vision is spilled over with a bright worried blue peering into her own eyes, searching for anything and everything, leaving her bare, almost as if they were stripping the secrets from her very own soul.

She must've looked surprised, because the voice quickly started to speak again, soothing her downtrodden nerves with a surprisingly gentle voice. "Sorry, you looked backed up for a moment there." Marinette clears her throat and spares a quick—panicked—glance back at Janet's back before settling back on the boy, who's followed her gaze with an almost imperceptible furrow in his eyebrow.

"It's fine, did you need something?" The boy's lips quirk up for a second before flickering his gaze down to her midsection and up again.

"Your hands are bleeding." Marinette's eyebrows shoot up, tearing away her eyes from the boy to take a glance at her clenched hands, where her nails have penetrated the skin and blood was oozing out.

"Oh," She breathes, and unclenches the fingers from their grip to reveal crescent-shaped welts in the heel of her palms. The boy takes a warm and surprisingly gentle hand to each of hers and begins to tug her along the floor, almost bumping into several ladies with long, expensive dresses who each took a turn to glare at her once they saw who was dragging her.

Huh, they must not be a fan of this guy.

"So, what's your name?" She turns her gaze back to him, and he's already peering at her with a slight turn of his head and a tiny grin. She never knew such a small upturn of lips could convey so much emotion, so much gentleness, but she finds herself not wanting to tear her eyes away from it.

"Oh, Uh—Marinette, Marinette Drake."

"Jason Todd." She swallows harshly as she realizes just who he is.

"You—"

"Yeah. Not really a big deal." He turns his head back to watch where he's going, and she finds herself going cold under the loss of Jason's gaze. Marinette mentally scolds herself and lets him pull her into a secluded room away from the Gala, momentarily breaking away to grab a first-aid kit from a fancy wooden cabinet.

Jason rummages through the white kit, "That woman, she's your mom?" She can almost decipher an undertone of scorn from his voice. Marinette coughs and looks away, a prickly feeling rattling its way up her arms and fingers at the slightly mention of her mother.

"Yes." The painting on the beige walls looks very interesting right now as she feels the weight of his piercing stare on her shoulders.

"Figured. She was lookin' at you real weird. Like she wanted to shoot an arrow in between your eyeballs." Marinette's head snaps back to Jason, and he has a skeptical look on his face, like he thinks...

No. He's wrong.

Whatever he's thinking, it's wrong.

—But, still, it hurts to wonder.

"You know, I've heard about Jack and Janet Drake, but I've never heard of you. Just Tim, that's his name, right?" She nods, turning her gaze back to the small wrinkles in her once magnificent green dress.

"I tend to keep out of the limelight. Less people to judge me." She hears a huff of laughter from right in front of her, and looks back up to see Jason kneeling before her hands, gently taking both of them in his warm hands, wiping away the blood with a cotton ball.

"I understand that. Still weird though, never would've guessed you even existed if I hadn't seen you right in front of me." The atmosphere around them was slowly starting to get uncomfortable, and Marinette feels as if a frog jumped in her throat and planted itself at the base of her lungs, scratching and strangling her.

"W-weird." She'd never been one for receiving public praise or glory. Never had her parents talk about her with a twinkle in their eye and a found sense of pride in their voice and posture, as if she were the best thing in their lives. No, instead they confined Marinette to her bedroom to waste away.

(What they didn't know, there was a rope she would swing down from her vast window, escaping through the abundant gardens to escape to the library.)

Jason hums in agreement, but not without a disbelieving glance in her direction. Not like she was looking anyway, feeling a nervous sweat start to form on the back of her neck as she stated hard at his hands, who are making their way back down to his own lap.

"All good." She wishes it could be that easy. To slap a bandaid on all the things that made her worthless, and finish the whole ordeal off with an “all good”.

But, no. This is not an “ordeal”. This is her livelihood, her existence. She is—

Who is she?

She’s putting up her photography on her appointed wall space. Snapshots of Gotham at her finest, smog floating through the air, the dim glow of lights as they spill onto the leaf-littered streets. The assault of dirty rain, like cold, hard truth spilling onto the leaves of sweet lies she almost surrounds herself with.

Because she defines herself with photography. She defines herself into computers, hacking the Pentagon at least twice a week.

But, photography without her, it stays the same. Marinette without a passion, she dies and wilts away under the scornful glare of her mother. She is hated, worthless, disgusting, mortifying to mention, as if the utter of her name will bring disgrace upon the Drakes.

Marinette is wearing her finest dress. Leaf-like structures sewn into the bodice, streaking their way down her waist and puffing out to follow the soft ivory dress.

“Woah.” Marinette could’ve sworn, even as someone stands very obviously behind her, looking over her shoulder, that she did not tell a soul about this exhibit.

—Except Barbara Gordon. Marinette turns around, and Barbara appears to be ethereal before her own eyes, ginger hair curled and spilling like a waterfall down her back. A deep mahogany dress fits around her, as if it’s made solely  for the capable woman.

“Babs, you made it.” (Because, Barbara would kill her if she called her anything different.)

Barbara smiles beautifully at Marinette and slaps the boy next to her on the back—the one her uttered such a defining, yet normal word under her work. (Woah—she never thought her work was capable of such a word.)

It’s Jason Todd standing next to Barbara, looking quite fancy himself and staring at her with an awe she’s never seen on anyone before. Marinette smiles at him with familiarity, eyebrows slightly furrowing when he tears his gaze away, suddenly, and a red tint blooms across his cheekbones.

“I couldn’t live with myself if I hadn’t, besides, this is worth it.” Barbara pulls her gaze back with a warm voice. She continues, “Where’s your parents?” She turns her head and scans over the crowd, before returning back to Marinette with a questioning look. Suddenly, Jason’s eyes are back on her as well.

She fiddles with her thumbs, taken aback by such a question. “Um, uh, they’re—“ Sitting at home, arguing with each other. (They’d decided to skip Tim’s parent teacher conference, for the boy was top of his class, what more did they need to know?) “They’re—they couldn’t make it.”  She coughs, ignoring the apologetic eyes before her.

“So! What do you think?” She smiles, quickly changing the subject, and even though their gazes remain the same for a second, they quickly agree with her non-verbal plea to change the subject.

“It’s great—“

“Wonderful. How do you get your shots so high up? You’d need to be awfully skilled to do that. The amount of dark to light shots of Gotham contrasts perfectly with each other, really shows the side we don’t see.” Jason listed, keeping his eyes on the photos the entire time.

Marinette opens her mouth, gaping at Jason. She’s sure Barbara is doing the same without looking at the older, judging on the cricket-inducing silence coming from Marinette’s left.

Jason seemingly snaps back to reality, shutting his mouth audibly and clearing his throat. “Sorry, you just...” And Marinette finds it in herself to talk once again.

“Thank you, that...really means a lot to me.” Jason looks back at her, and she smiles widely at him, a real, genuine smile she’s sure she’s never produced in her fifteen years.

Jason smiles back with the same intensity and continues to rattle off compliments, ones she knows is coming from his heart, because there’s a heavy blush on his face the entire time.

Maybe she’s found her passion. Maybe this is who she is, because, standing under the bright museum lights, standing next to two unexpected—but welcome— friends who acknowledge her worth, she’s found herself.

She’s Marinette. Just Marinette.

This is who she is. She is something. She is everything she’s ever wanted to be.

Taglist: @jjmjjktth @moonlightstar64 @laurcad123

[binniedeactivated]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲. || c.bg

─▸🖤 ❝ @[@𝐛𝐮𝐠𝐬𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠.. ]

✎𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐛𝐞𝐨𝐦𝐠𝐲𝐮 𝐱 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤!𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥

✎ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞:  𝐫𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐲, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭

✎ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭; 3k

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐝𝐨𝐦. 𝐬𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐨𝐦𝐠𝐲𝐮 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒; 𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐞

a/n; everything is fictional! 

the night was young but more often than not it was filled with bustling chatter and soft violins stringing through the ballroom. alas, it was the celebration of Queen Choi’s 65th birthday and the parliament was gathering tonight on the sparkling marble floors of the choi residence. in their normal herd, the choi brothers were dappered up their white ruffle collared dress shirts and suit jackets in the midst of the crowd alongside their cousins, prince taehyun and prince kai. no matter what the occasion was, they were always dressed gorgeously.  each of their hair was parted and curled beautifully over top of their eyebrows. their suits were made of the highest quality and tailored to their body shapes. they wore the finest of jewelry plated with pure gold. being born into a royal family full of riches had it’s perks and they always shone brightly on the five. 

“good evening your highness. might I compliment you on how handsome you look tonight?”. she bowed graciously in front of choi beomgyu who was currently taking a sip of his white wine. he swallowed just before staring her in her hopeful eyes. “no you may not. what you can do though is give me and my blood some space to talk. carry on”. he says before waving her off. she frowns shortly and walks away, leaving the rest of the four chuckling in her trail. 

“damn. so much for being courted”. taehyun mumbles taking a sip of his wine as well. yeonjun playfully pushes his youngest brother’s shoulder. “you know you’re up next to get married. it’s only a matter of time before mother arranges it”. 

beomgyu shrugs, “I don’t want anyone mother has for me. nor do I want any of these women who court me either. all they’re looking for is get rich quick schemes anyways”. 

“then what are you going to do? if you don’t get married soon you will never hold a higher spot in parliament”. kai adds. 

“literally. while all of us, yeonjun hyung, taehyun, kai and me, are being crowned you’re still going to be prince beomgyu”. soobin laughs holding his glass up to the air, sipping the last of his beverage in the sea of the group’s laughter.

“with no type of power or authority”. taehyun adds making the four of them laugh even harder. beomgyu rolls his eyes. he could admit, maybe it was embarrassing that even the youngers Taehyun and Kai were getting married before him. but that was only because the boys knew who they wanted and courted them accordingly. and also because the boys married safely within royalty. 

but beomgyu knew who he wanted as well. only, he wasn’t allowed to marry her. for she was of royalty of course but she was of different blood. she was apart of the choi family’s biggest rival, King and Queen Hendrix. 

and of course right at the very thought of her, she arrived. see, even if the choi’s and hendrix’s were rivals no matter what-- all royal families were invited to all events and celebrations and were required to attend, almost being forced to make peace each time both families saw each other. 

“here they go with their bullshit. if they start anything this time it’s going to be a problem”. yeonjun grumbles watching the King and Queen walk in with cheshire cat smiles and folks bowing to them accordingly. it was only a matter of time before the both of them approached the boys and of course they were all required to bow. 

“nice to see that you all are aging well. perhaps when you’re crowned you’ll assist our Princes with any decision making in the kingdom”. Queen hendrix spoke holding her head high and her lips tight. She always had this sweet tone in her voice laced with demise. heuning kai nods. “of course your highness. we’ll all make a wonderful royal family”. she gave them another smug glance and made a hmph noise just before walking off. as soon as she was out of sight yeonjun sucks his teeth. 

“i swear you’re such a kiss up heuning”. 

“what am I supposed to do? wave her off like beomgyu hyung does his courts? no thank you I don’t want to get killed”. 

they were arguing but choi beomgyu was eyeing her. yes, princess aaliyah. she happened to be wearing a brown sparkly mermaid tale gown. her hair was done up in a high curly ponytail with some curly strands hanging down in front of her face and diamond earrings dangling at her neck. her almond shaped eyes immediately met beomgyu’s and a smirk flickered at the corner of her thick umber glossed lips. he smirks back and let’s his eyes wander her body. 

pft. it wouldn’t be the first time they’ve done it before. 

she adjusts her jewelry before strutting her way over. 

“and here comes bitchy princess”. tyun says, chewing on the leftover ice in his glass. soobin rolls his eyes. “why is she coming over here?”. 

“to talk about how her brothers are going to make better kings than us. what the hell else is new”. yeonjun adds. 

“good evening”. she bows. “I see you gentlemen aren’t socializing much. it’s hard to be crowned when you barely know anything about your people”. 

“you just arrived your highness. may I ask, how would you know what we’ve been doing?”. beomgyu snarls. 

“i assume it isn’t anything different from what you all do at any other occasion”.  

“and why is it any of your concern?”. beomgyu sneers again. the boys were silently laughing on the inside. beomgyu was the only one who was never afraid of talking to princess aaliyah the way she deserved without consequences. it was mainly why they always let him do the talking whenever she came around. 

she licks her upper set of teeth and smirked at his attitude. it was sexy. “you’re soon to be crowned with my brothers it’s always of my concern”. 

“well I think there’s some time until then isn’t there? run along your highness”. 

she sucks her teeth and he steals short glances at her boobs almost spilling out her dress. “you’re right. I have better things to do other than approach a bunch of undeserving halfwits. if you’ll excuse me”. she replies arrogantly before strutting away, beomgyu’s eyes following her petite frame until she was almost out of sight. 

“did you see how defeated she looked? ah! that shit was priceless”. yeonjun laughs amongst the boys once she was finally away. “i swear hyung I don’t know how you aren’t dead already. if that was any of us we’d be gone by the time we take our next breath”. taehyun mentions. beomgyu laughs with them. “I don’t know either. I have to use the bathroom though. I’ll be right back”. he assures. 

“fuckk mmh”. she whimpers trying to keep her volume at a minimum. they knew that if anyone were to find out about their affairs they’d be getting exiled. but that didn’t keep choi beomgyu’s head from under aaliyah’s dress. as soon as they bustled into the wash room he sat her on top of the washing machine and proceeded to eat her shamelessly. 

he wraps his tongue around her clit and sucks her wet folds generously, holding her legs open with his hands. he glares up at her with the most innocent eyes while he was doing so ripping her heart into shreds. he wrangles his tongue along each and every part of her making her back arch in absolute bliss. she felt herself. pound at the feeling of his slimy tongue sucking on her sensitive nub. 

“fuck! gyu you’re such a good boy for me”. she moans in a whisper running her hands through his hair. she tongue kisses her clit attentively. “you taste so fucking good”. he praised just before sticking his tongue inside of her. he presses his thumb against her swollen nub while tongue fucking her sensitive core. she pants with beads of sweat glissading down her chest. her hips stuttered against his lips. 

and beomgyu liked it. he loved when he was the one pleasuring her. he loved seeing her pretty face contorted in pleasure. he loved how erotic she sounded when she moaned. he loved how sometimes she’d get so wet for him he could see it through her pantties. he loved having her much needed bliss at his disposal. and he didn’t care what he had to do to get his fix. 

he always ate her slow and steady, taking his time but spending quality time in the places she loved, licking and sucking like his life depended on it. he dug into her thighs with his hands and dragged his tongue up and down her folds. he’d bob his head obediently sucking on her and moaning at her taste. she clutches his hair shaking at his speed. he ate painfully slow but it felt better that way. she loved when he took his precious time eating her as if it was his art. 

 but most importantly she enjoyed the risk of it all. him eating her when she knew it was forbidden. but she couldn’t get enough of beomgyu’s tongue and his lips. the way he fucked her hard and rough and looked at her like she was the best thing to ever happen to him. 

“oh god I’m going to c-cum”. she whines and beomgyu did nothing but ignore her cries and continue to let his tongue ruin her in every possible way. each time he slips his tongue out it was left with more precum than it went in with and he loved it all too much. he cradles her hips to his face to deepen the thrusts and she shakes at the overbearing feeling. “fuckk you’re so good with your mouth”. she breathes with her eyes rolling to the back of her head. she steadily grinds her hips down on his tongue. 

“yes fuck my mouth please”. he begs. 

“promise me you’ll only eat me like this choi beomgyu”. she pants desperately trying to chase the orgasm she needed. 

he squeezes her thighs feeling himself get hard at the sound of her needy noises and squirming.

“I promise i’ll always eat your pussy like this”

[thegryffindorprincess]

Twin Size Mattress//Draco Malfoy x Reader

She hopes I'm cursed forever to Sleep on a twin-sized mattress In somebody's attic or basement my whole life Never graduating up in size to add another And my nightmares will have nightmares every night Oh, every night, every night

A/N: Based off of ‘Twin Size Mattress’ by The Front Bottoms. So this song is one of my absolute favourites and I think it’s so sad dude. However I thought this would make such a beautifully sad draco x reader. Just to let you know: requests are open, I have a new Draco series coming & a Lucius imagine out super soon! Anyway enjoy!

Set: Golden Trio era into Post War

Word Count:1,989

Warnings: honestly so much sadness bro 

This is for the lions living in the wiry broke down frames Of my friends bodies When the flood water comes, it ain't gonna be clear It's gonna look like mud

But I will help you swim I will help you swim I'm gonna help you swim

To Draco, she was a roaring lion with a mane of perfect hair and a will stronger than anybody else’s. He’d noticed her long before she’d noticed him. He watched her as she got weaker throughout the years, the darker the wizarding world got. She was a muggle born, so he guessed this was a hell worse than she’d ever expected to experience. Y/N’s body became weaker over time and the lion like prowess stopped as Draco looked after her from afar. She stayed too close to Hermione for him to ever speak to her. But he wanted to. He got to one night, when he was taking a late night stroll around the grounds to clear his mind in his fifth year. Dumbledores army had just arrived back to the castle, Harry had met Voldermort again, this time at the Ministry and everyone was scared. That’s when he saw her standing on the edge of the Black Lake, swaying on her heels. He’d approached quietly, playing with his hair as he came closer. When she saw him she flashed him a gentle smile. Draco finally plucked up the courage to stand next to her. He flicked his wand so that a gentle, silver glow lit the river bank. Y/N looked up at him through her thick eyelashes.

“Are you scared Draco?” She asked gently. They’d never spoken, but she laid her head on his shoulder then as if they’d been friends for years. He raised his hand to her head and gently played with Y/N’s hair, thinking of an answer.

“I’ll protect you.” Was all he said as they stood there together in peace. “I will protect you with everything I have.” She shuffled closer to him then.

“The floodwaters coming Draco...” She huffed as she looked at the water in front of them. He took her further into his arms and kissed her forehead.

“I will help you swim.” 

This is for the snakes and the people they bite For the friends I've made, for the sleepless nights For the warning signs I've completely ignored There's an amount to take, reasons to take more

They’d decided to be together after that night, in a secretive way, but still devoted. He’d snuck out of the manor at least three times a week so she could show him muggle London in the summer holidays. Draco adored the time he spent with her, but in the back of his mind he knew it was coming to an end. You see, unlike Y/N, a beautiful lioness, Draco was a snake. In the recent months, things were becoming darker. Instead of running away though, he was losing any shred of bravery he had left. He was friends with all the wrong people. Back at Hogwarts, he sat at the Slytherin house table, the dark mark he’d acquired burning under neath his robes, he looked over to her. Drowning out the conversations of his friends about mud bloods, he watched Y/N laugh with Harry, Ron and Hermione as they sat huddled together and it stung. Why couldn’t he be like them? 

Draco cuddled her to him as they lay in bed, thoughts of what he had to do swirling through his head. Y/N was peacefully asleep, while he lay wide awake. He was wearing long sleeved pyjamas even in the heat as he couldn’t let her see what he’d done. As he lay looking down at the girl, he thought about all the warning signs at home he’d ignored, he should’ve prepared for this war, got away, joined the order, moved as far away as possible. That was all just dreams now. His mistakes were piling up on top of each other and he couldn’t take anymore. Draco kissed her head as he jumped out of bed, sliding out of the room silently, praising merlin that his girl was a heavy sleeper. He made his way out into the corridor towards the room of requirement. 

It's no big surprise you turned out this way When they close their eyes and prayed you would change And they cut your hair, and sent you away You stopped by my house the night you escaped With tears in my eyes, I begged you to stay You said, "Hey man, I love you, but no fucking way!"

Y/N awoke to screaming in the halls. She slipped unnoticeably out of the Slytherin common room, getting lost in the crowds. Hermione appeared then next to her, concern spread across her features. She pulled Y/N with her as they jogged out into the courtyard. Hermione and her pushed to the front. There lay Dumbledore, dead. Harry was bent over his body sobbing, his shoulders heaving as he held his hand. The school raised their wands to the sky, Draco was no where to be seen. People began to leave then, one by one going back to their common rooms, until the four of them were left.

“This was Draco.” Harry spat. Y/N looked at him in slight shock, struggling to regain composure. “He let them in. He’s one of them. He has the mark. Snape had to kill Dumbledore to save Draco. This is his fault.” Rage began to sore through Y/N’s body. She briefly dropped to the ground to give Harry a hug, before getting up and leaving the three be. She ran, as fast as her legs would carry her, up to the Owlery tower. She stood on the edge for ages, bent over in agony. She never thought she could hate him, but he’d proved her wrong. Y/N was knocked out of her thoughts by a familiar hand on her shoulder. Draco smiled down at her, tears brimming in his eyes. She simply shrugged him off.

“Show me it.” She demanded, crossing her arms and standing opposite. He looked at her wide eyed. “Show me it, now.” Draco took a deep breathe and began to roll up his sleeve, showing her the mark that adorned his pale flesh. She scowled at it. “It’s no big surprise you turned out this way, really.” She whispered at nobody in particular. Draco stayed silent, pulling down his sleeve again, hiding the mark once more. “I just prayed you would change sides.” Y/N looked at him now. He guiltily stared at his feet. “Did you escape?” She asked gently, watching how he nodded so slowly it felt like it might of not happened. “Are you going to fight against the school?” She asked, her tone emotionless. He nodded again, looking up at her with big, sensitive eyes. Y/N glared at him, and turned on her heal to walk away. Draco, with tears in his eyes went to chase her. 

“Stay?” He begged, droplets of water rolling down his cheeks. Y/N turned to him, placed a gentle kiss on his cheek and shook her head.

“Hey man, I love you.” Draco looked up a little eagerly, but was met with her pained face walking away from him once more. “But no fucking way.” She spat. 

This is for the lake that me and my friends swim in Naked and dumb on a drunken night But it should've felt good, but I can hear the Jaws theme song On repeat in the back of my mind

The war was over. The right side had won. Draco’s family had all charges against them dropped. He should be happy, he thought to himself as he stood by the side of the large river in front of him, Blaise and Pansy splashing eachother already swimming. Draco stripped from his clothes and dived into the cold water. He felt alive for the first time in a few years. The group swam together, laughing, all of them naked. The water felt so relaxing over his skin as he sunk deeper into the river. But still, in the back of his mind he knew something was still wrong. It was on repeat, the sense of loneliness, which he tried to push away. That was the moment he decided to start to drink. Everyday. To feel alive again. 

Make sure you kiss your knuckles before you punch me in the face There are lessons to be learned Consequences for all the stupid things I say And it is no big surprise you turned out this way The spark in your eyes, The look on your face I will not be late

He’d passed out again. It was only three pm, but he was laid on his sofa in his flat, eyes closed. They fluttered open at the sound of ringing. Draco flung his arm to reach for his phone. The number was unknown. He groaned, before swiping and answering.

“Who is this?” He snapped down the line.

“Jesus Draco,” A familiar voice spoke, “kiss your knuckles before you punch me in the face.” The sentenced ended with a slight tone of amusement. Draco’s heart began to flutter as he realised it was Y/N. 

“Lesson learnt.” He groaned. “I’ll take the consequences for all the stupid things I say.” She laughed gently.

“Are you drunk?” She asked quietly. Draco nervously paused. 

“Yeah...” Draco whispered. Y/N sighed.

“It’s no big surprise you turned out this way.” The words stung as Draco remembered the last time she’d used them. “Anyway, do you want to see me? It would be nice to see you. I’ve missed the sparks in your eyes and the look on your face when you see me.” Draco swallowed loudly. 

“Please,” He sighed, “I will not be late.” 

I wanna contribute to the chaos I don't wanna watch and then complain 'Cause I am through finding blame That is the decision that I have made

Draco staggered into the bar. He knew he’d fucked up before he’d seen the disappointment painted on her face. His breath stank of fire whiskey, his clothes were dirty and he could barely walk. He sat down opposite her, and she simply blankly stared back. He’d gotten nervous. He’d contributed to the chaos in his brain by poisoning himself. He didn’t want to watch himself be lonely just to complain. 

“Am I to blame for this then?” Y/N spat at him as he swayed in his seat. She looked beautiful Draco thought, absolutely radiant. Draco simply shrugged as she asked. They sat in silence for a while, taking eachother in. 

“I’m about to be made homeless.” Draco said, with a slight laugh to his tone. He decided to laugh so he didn’t cry. She just stared back at him.

“I’m going.” She announced breaking the silence. “I’m not letting you ruin my life again, i’ve decided.” And Y/N left Draco sitting alone. 

She hopes I'm cursed forever to Sleep on a twin-sized mattress In somebody's attic or basement my whole life Never graduating up in size to add another And my nightmares will have nightmares every night Oh, every night, every night

Draco laid on the mattress on Blaise’s floor. He stared at the ceiling as his girlfriend Astoria laid next to him asleep. He wondered what Y/N was thinking about. Probably the fact he deserved this. To not have a permanent home. He clung to himself. He didn’t want to sleep. Draco knew when he did his nightmares would get worse. His nightmares had become so violent, he thought his own nightmares were having nightmares. And that’s where he’d stay. On his twin sized mattress he used to share with her, just now without her warmth. And that was how it would be. Every night of his life. 

[wienerbarnes]

Left for Dead (1/2)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Cheek to Cheek)

Word Count: 1,803

Warnings: mentions to bombs and mission stuff, mentions to past torture

A/N: a lil two parter! I'm def a shorter writer so I split up reader’s first mission as opposed to posting like a 5k one shot (unless y'all dig that better for the future???) I’m gonna queue the second part to post on Friday idk what time but otherwise we all know id forget... so. enjoy!

MAIN MASTERLIST | CHEEK TO CHEEK MASTERLIST

It was finally time for your first mission. The night before, F.R.I.D.A.Y. prompted you with the fact that there would be a briefing this morning at 8 A.M. You’d figured the superheroes weren’t the type to sleep in.

As much as you’d been enjoying the return of your clothes, you figured it’d be safest to keep the black-on-black outfit for these briefings and anything else you’d be involved in. Attention is not necessarily something you’d want to draw on yourself right now.

You finally find the room you’re supposed to be in and find about eighty other agents. A wave of anxiety rushes through you and you feel your stomach churn. You want to look around and find someone you recognize but Sam is the only one you see; you don’t know anybody. You’re scared to talk to new people, to have small talk, you’re scared of what they’ll say to you, if they’ll remember your face from the news.

You see near the front a blonde head of hair - Sharon. You haven’t spoken to her, but she’d be the safest bet, except there’s no empty seat on either side of her. She’s conversing with a woman with ginger hair to her left and a large body with short brown hair occupies the seat to her right - Bucky!

You notice there’s an empty seat next to him and quickly make your way over before your luck diminishes and someone takes it.

Bucky registers somebody take a seat next to him, which surprises him because most of the agents are still a little scared of him after spending seven weeks training with him. He certainly doesn’t treat them like shit, but he doesn’t baby them, either. He almost doesn’t notice it’s you when he glances up; he forgot you’ve changed your look a bit.

The tattoo on your next is covered with makeup, the angry face too much of an identifying feature. He knows you hate it and were planning on getting it covered anyway. You’ve removed all of your piercings and all of the tiny holes remain empty along your ears. You’ve managed to keep the tiny stud in your nose, though. Your hair is a jet black color now and it shines in the light. How has your hair survived that many dye jobs? Stupid rules for this job; no brightly colored hair or large body modifications, excluding tattoos. Draws too much attention.

He can sense your anxiety next to him; your heart is beating a mile a minute and you’re super tense. He wants to say something, do something to make you feel a bit better, put you at ease, but he can’t think of anything before Sam calls the attention of the room.

“Morning, everyone. NCIS has requested our help with finding a bomb on a Navy ship and figuring out the identity of the woman who told them about said bomb,”

Images flash up behind him projecting pictures of said woman, looking scared with a bloodied bandage on her forehead. She has a fluffy pixie-cut style dark hair and pale skin, or perhaps her skin is pale in comparison to the caked blood matted on her head. Her eyes are a bright green with minimal wrinkles adorning the outer corners. She couldn’t be older than thirty-five.

“A citizen driving by saw her wandering about the street next to a forest and when he approached her she claimed she was buried alive and couldn’t provide any information about herself; not her name, age, where she came from, or who buried her. All she kept repeating was something about a bomb on a Navy ship that was going to kill a lot of people.” Sam continues.

“I’ll be sending some of you out to Rock Creek Park to scope out the scene and some of you to Georgetown University Hospital to talk to Jane Doe. You’re dismissed but await further instruction and be prepared to ship out.” Sam finishes and everyone begins to stand, engaging in small conversations as they exit the room.

You begin to stand and follow suit but a metal hand reaches out in front of you to encourage you to take your seat once more. You throw a confused look over at Bucky, but he’s not looking at you. You glance over to Sharon, who’s staring down at her phone, and to Sam who is flicking through the file in his hands. The four of you, you notice, are the only ones still in their seats, and you quickly make the connection that you’re supposed to wait until the rest of the agents leave after a briefing.

Maybe they’re gonna haze you, newbie. You roll your eyes at that little voice as the door shut and hear it lock audibly.

The three of them glance up and stare at you expectantly. You glance between all three of them before you give up on figuring out what exactly they’re waiting for.

“Are you guys gonna haze me?”

Sharon smirks and Bucky full on chuckles at your question as Sam clarifies, “Do you see anything?”

“Oh! Oh, right, right. Uhm… It kind of doesn't work like - um, I’ll try. I’ll try and concentrate.” You excuse, and close your eyes to force yourself into that mindset.

Most of your visions happen unexpectedly and randomly, otherwise you need to put yourself in a kind of entranced state of concentration in order to, essentially, force a vision. Forcing it is usually what causes you to get the most emotional and frazzled, but nothing you can’t handle.

You feel your face heat up at the shyness your abilities are presenting right now; “Um, can we turn the lights off?” You ask quietly.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” Sam speaks up.

The lights dim and you try to slow your breathing.

She’s covered in leaves and wet from humidity, the stickiness feeling unbearable on her skin. Her skin? Whose skin is that?

“It-It’s a shallow grave, and - and there’s leaves, um -” All you see and feel is pure confusion. You don’t know anything. “Why is it so shallow? They bury people six feet because - because that’s the depth where animals can’t smell dead, rotting flesh - except - except polar bears because they -” Your rambling is cut short at the sound of Bucky’s soft voice and his warm hand engulfing your shaking, clammy one.

“Sweetheart, try and focus on the Navy ship she was talking about, the bomb on the Navy ship.” He tries to get you back on track.

“Right, right, sorry,” You take a deep, shaky breath in and let out with force to calm yourself a bit.

It’s all quick white flashes, so fast and so bright that can’t see the images in between. All you get are feelings of fear and guilt -

“Do you know if she set the bomb?” A deep voice interrupts.

“Sam,” A feminine one scolds.

“What? There’s only one person that seems to know about this bomb and we’re not going to consider her a suspect?”

“She doesn’t even know who she is,”

“But -”

“She didn’t set the bomb!” You exclaim, everything becoming incredibly overwhelming all at once.

“How do you know?” Bucky asks, his calm demeanor influencing your own as you rub your face to somewhat pull yourself together.

“I - I - I just do! I don’t know! I - I keep seeing bomben hersteller, what - what is that?” You ask.

“That’s bomb fabricator in German.” Bucky translates.

“Okay, let’s stop for a second.” Sharon says, “This is a lot of new information, we should wait and see what evidence and samples come back from the crime scene and see what we can get out of her when the agents interview her at the hospital, maybe her condition’s changed and she remembers something, yeah?” You quickly realize that Sharon is the piece of mind between the dynamic of her and Sam while he strategizes the plans. They work extremely well together.

“Okay, okay. Agent, you did very well. Good job.” Sam praises before leaving to exit the conference room, you assume to go give the agents their orders. Sharon sends you a sweet smile before following Sam out.

You look back at Bucky and he’s already looking at you, smile on his face. “You did really good.” He tells you.

“Thanks.” You respond, feeling a lot calmer.

The two of you are sitting awfully close to each other, you notice, bodies turned to face each other in the rolling chairs you sit in. Bucky’s leaning closer towards you than you are him, his forearm pushing on the armrest and you find yourself pulling your eyes away from his and they travel around his face.

Bucky has beautifully long eyelashes and tiny sunspots and freckles that decorate his skin; skin that’s had over a hundred years of wear. He’s kept his hair short but has been growing out his beard, not to an uncomfortable burly length, but enough to leave quite the dark shadow. His tongue pokes out to wet his lips and your eyes flash down there.

You don’t even remember the last time you kissed someone, let alone someone you actually wanted to kiss, not a kiss that was forced upon you. Is he actually about to fucking kiss me right now?

Panic quickly rises through your body and you clear your throat and look away, “Uh, now what?”

“Huh?”

“Well, I can’t go out on missions or anything, so do I, uh, just wait to be summoned, I guess?” Summoned? Why are you so awkward?

“Pretty much, yeah. I’ll, uh, be sticking around, too. Sometimes for ongoing missions I stick around in one of the spare rooms until the case is over.” He softly tells you, unmoving from how close he’s sitting next to you and voice still low and smooth, not looking away from you. Can he tell how nervous and awkwardly attracted to him you feel right now?

“What about Alpine?” You whisper back.

“What?” His eyes are the ones drifting down to your lips, now. Soft looking lips that look like they could kiss him silly and unconscious.

“Alpine?”

“Oh, uh, she stays with my, uh, my neighbor. This little old lady next door to me.” Great, now I’m thinking about my old lady neighbor. You’re biting that lip now and he thinks he might start drooling when you stand suddenly.

“I, uh, just remembered. I have to… clean! I have to clean up, so. I’ll see you.” You push out before finally exiting the room and making your way down the hallway.

You release a frustrated, “Fuck…” as the elevator doors close in front of you.

Meanwhile, Bucky lets out his own groan of frustration in the conference room, hands pushed against his eyes rubbing harshly, “Fuck…”

[beyondconfessor]

The Infernal Contract [16/16]

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Lilith/Zelda Spellman

Summary: Zelda wished she could say something. There were so many things she needed to tell Lilith. She wished she could look at her and tell it was okay. If she did die, she didn’t regret making that contract. She didn’t regret spending all that time together, not a single moment of it.

N.B.: Also posted on AO3

Zelda tugged at the lace of her gloves, eyeing Agatha and Dorcas both. Prudence trusted them implicitly, and yet hesitation gnawed at her. If she was honest, they had both settled in Zelda’s classes, becoming less disruptive. But quiet students didn’t necessarily make for good babysitters.

She watched as they stood on either side of the bassinets. Agatha played with the ends of one of her plaits, while Dorcas looked down at the ground, admiring her shoes. “Hey,” Prudence said, snapping her fingers at the two of them. “This is serious. If we don’t come back, you will take them to Dezemelda for her to protect. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Prudence,” the sisters said in unison, rolling their eyes. But Zelda caught the way Dorcas averted her eyes again, and how Agatha toyed with her hair. Perhaps they were just as scared of losing their sister.

Zelda stepped away from the lounge room, into the foyer. Sabrina stood in the centre of the room, dressed in the gaudy golden dress. Despite its rather obvious design choice, Zelda thought she looked radiant. Under different circumstances, she would have been proud to chaperone Sabrina to a witching masquerade. Now, however, she could barely alleviate the growing nausea in her belly.

In the next hour, they were going to complete a coup against one of the most powerful beings in this realm. If any of them make it out alive, it would be a miracle.

Hilda reached out and took her hand, squeezing it once before she let go. Zelda turned and faced, offering a small smile. Hilda was trying to remind her that they were all in this together; she wasn’t alone. Sabrina wasn’t alone.

Zelda nodded, steeling her expression. She looked from Ambrose to the mortals, to Mr Scratch. They had gathered around Sabrina, flushing her with compliments and false bravado with manic energy. She could see her niece drinking it in, a mixture of fear and excitement for the coming events.

If there was one thing Zelda missed, it was the feeling of invincibility that came from youth. She’d had her share (and then some) with death to remind her that even she was mortal, but Sabrina was young yet, and if all went well, would have the rest of her life to become jaded towards mortality.

From the corner of her eye, she watched as Prudence stepped away from her sisters and came to stand beside Ambrose, their fingers brushing subtly enough that Zelda moved her eyes away, pretending not to notice.

At least they had reconciled. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be too late.

“Are we ready?” Zelda asked, looking amongst the group of them. Anxiety held firm, but as the masks were pulled onto their face, Zelda felt a calmness seal within her. It was going to work. It had to.

She closed her eyes, sending a prayer to Lilith and felt a shiver run down her back in response. She fiddled with the ring on her left hand, finding strange comfort in the way her wedding ring felt.

It wasn’t the ring Lilith had provided her, but it would do for now.

They discussed the plan twice again before Zelda summoned her magic and cast the glamour over them. All at once, the room filled with dozens of more infernal looking creatures who all shuffled around them, turning and looking about the group.

“Praise Aunt Zelda,” Ambrose whispered. “This is by far a glamour to end all glamours.”

Sabrina’s eyes dancers around the creatures, her brow pinching as she looked for faults, but whatever she searched for she seemed satisfied with, giving a small nod as she turned and smiled at Zelda. “Shall well?”

Hilda and Ambrose stepped forward, standing opposite to one another as they had them all take hands. Then the teleportation spell was cast, the magic pulled and expanded, and they were standing outside on grass, from the Hall, where Lilith had advised them to attend.

“Praise be,” one of them whispered, and the prayer fell from Zelda’s mouth as fast as it did from the others.

They disappeared into the night to where Lucifer awaited them, standing outside of the Grand Hall, dressed in their grandest clothes, with the highest glamour any of them could have concocted and waited. Lilith had warned them to wait for her signal, that she would placate Him with enough truth to provide them with the upper hand.

In the moments they waited, Zelda felt the fear grow inside of her, unspooling like a thread had been tugged, but before it had time to grow monstrous, the signal sounded, Lilith’s voice resonating through the doors.

Sabrina entered first as the distraction, the gold glittering in the candlelight as she sang sweetly. Then they entered slowly, in formation as if it were all apart of some grande performance with masks and glamoured crowds and an extravagant dance worthy of any stage.

And then they were still, watching as the crowning occurred, cheering as if it was the very thing they desired. “Hail Sabrina! Hail Satan!” Zelda spoke with the others, feeling the words burn in her throat as she kept her eyes away from Lilith, feeling guilt worm its way into her heart as she reminded herself this was all a performance.

When the Mephisto Waltz began, she felt her voice tremble with the start of the curse, watching as her niece danced with the Dark Lord. A part of her was relieved to know that Sabrina’s dance education had not been wasted, and every tantrum she’d witnessed since the age of five was all worth this moment of trickery. And yet, another part of her seethed at what she was witness to.

The father/daughter dance belonged to Edward, and herself in his stead. To see Lucifer take it caused an unbridled wave of jealousy and pain.

Beneath her breath, Zelda poured her anger into the spell, whispering the Latin incantation with every inch of the rage that filled her, feeling the power build between them as Lucifer smiled at His daughter in a way that no father should look at their child.

Their voices rose as Sabrina was spun away from Lucifer. With that moment, Zelda watched as realisation dawned of His face as He realised what trickery was occurring, His eyes moving from the crowd, before it dispersed at Lilith’s hand, to Sabrina, a scowl tugging over His mouth.

“I told you what would happen if you defied Me again.”

“Remember my name,” Sabrina interjected, uncaring towards His threat and beautifully prideful with her words. “Remember it was me, Sabrina Spellman, who beat you Lucifer Morningstar.”

Ambrose threw the Acheron, and Zelda felt her heart clench as magic flashed and Lucifer’s essence was drawn into the Acheron.

There was a pause, a moment as they all stared at each other, as Zelda looked to Lilith, feeling her lungs tighten in anticipation. Was that it? How long did they wait to know if it worked, if the Dark Lord was truly captured?

Lilith looked back at her, a mirrored expression of fear and wonderment on her face. A glimmer of hope.

Zelda turned, watching as Sabrina stepped forward, picking up the Acheron and Zelda felt herself exhale, another breath drawing in, slower this time as her niece held it steady in her hands as if it were nothing more than a lifeless object.

“Well played, Spellman,” Nicholas said.

“Edward would have been proud,” she agreed, stepping towards her niece. Sabrina’s eyes lifted to hers, and Zelda watched as great smile drew across her niece’s face, awash with joy from the words, before it froze and her eyes dropped to the Acheron.

It fell from her hands, bouncing to the ground, and then Zelda watched as the Acheron rolled to her feet, before it split open, releasing the Dark Lord.

Everyone was running backwards, but before Zelda could manage a step back, He’d spun around, grasping her throat. Zelda blinked, hissing in the barest breath.

“I should have known this was Lilith’s doing,” He said, staring at her as if she was nothing more than a rat He’d caught. “I should have killed you when I had the chance.” He began to squeeze, and Zelda felt her hands claw at His, scratching at the fingers and His wrist as she tried to grab a breath as she felt the last of her oxygen tighten in her chest. “But I was soft for my daughter pleading for your life. Once this was over, I was going to use you to teach dear Lilith a lesson, but I think it’s best we expedite that to now. Don’t you?”

“No!” Sabrina yelped, and Zelda could fear her pulse-pounding. Her lungs were burning. She knew it was a performance more than anything else. If He so wanted it, He could break her neck, and yet the struggle, the helplessness of clawing at his hand was so much worse knowing that He was dragging it out just to torture Sabrina and Lilith both. “You promised!” Sabrina cried out.

“Then let this be your first lesson along with Lilith’s,” He said before lifting Zelda off her feet as if she were a rag doll. “Betrayal will never go unpunished.” He looked over Zelda’s shoulder, to where Lilith must be standing, and whatever expression she wore must have pleased Him, as Zelda watched as a grande, sickening grin pulled over His lips.

Zelda wished she could say something. There were so many things she needed to tell Lilith. She wished she could look at her and tell it was okay. If she did die, she didn’t regret making that contract. She didn’t regret spending all that time together, not a single moment of it.

And at least this way they would be bound together in Hell.

She could hear her heartbeat in her ears, pounding suddenly. She looked down at the Dark Lord, watching the fury twist His features into something ugly as his lips peeled back, exposing his teeth.

Zelda’s vision darkened, her heartbeat slowing. She felt tired suddenly, her muscles weakening. She could hear Sabrina screaming, but it sounded so distant as she looked down in the Dark Lord’s eyes, watching the iris seem to bleed red with His power.

He was so angry at her for taking Lilith from Him, she realised. He wasn’t a god; he wasn’t a deity. He was just some celestial being throwing a temper tantrum.

Pathetic, she thought, feeling the last of her life drain away as darkness overtook her vision.

There was darkness, and then a shock struck through her very being as if the dam around her magic had crumbled, and it was all rushing out.

Lucifer cried out, letting go of her as recoiled backwards, burned by whatever had caused the sudden surge.

Zelda’s feet dropped to the ground hard enough that her knees buckled, but as her feet hit the ground, an arm slid around her waist, steading her from falling backwards.

She turned her head towards the warmth, her vision returning with a swathe of red until she realised it was Lilith’s dress, brushing against her face. There was a blur of movement, and then she watched as Lilith outstretched her other arm, holding Lucifer in place.

“Summon Faustus,” Lilith said to her. “Now. I can’t hold Him for long.”

Zelda steadied herself on her feet, she wasn’t sure what had occurred, but Lilith was already straining as she held onto a magically bound Lucifer, as everyone seemed to hold their breath.

Closing her eyes, Zelda spoke the summoning spell, and with a great tug of her magic, she felt Faustus appear before her. Opening her eyes, she watched as his body fell to the ground, his legs and arms both tied and with a gag placed into his mouth.

Zelda blinked, glancing from the rope binding to Lilith, confident the woman had something to do with it.

“There isn’t time,” Lilith spat. “Mr Scratch, I believe you know how to bind a demon to a vessel.”

“I––”

“Quickly then. To His Eminence,” she said, venomously spitting the title.

Zelda watched as the bead of sweat began to draw on Lilith’s face as she held Lucifer in place, long enough for Nicholas to speak the necessary words, using the Latin and ancient greek to summon and then bind the Dark Lord into the provided vessel.

Zelda watched as Faustus’ eyes went wide, his body convulsing in the restraints, words hissing through the muffled gag as the Dark Lord was entrapped within him as He had been caught in the Acheron. And then Lilith’s arm was tightening around her, as she expelled the last of her magic.

Faustus’s mouth foamed as he fought the restraints, his dark eyes flashing red, but as the ropes began to snap, Ambrose stepped forward, clicking his fingers with a heavy sleep charm.

And then Faustus’ expression slackened, his body going limp.

Everyone paused, staring at his sleeping form, waiting for it to convulse as the Acheron had, before Lilith’s arm loosened from Zelda’s waist.

Lilith stepped forward and nudged his body with the toe of her shoe. “A sleep spell, well done,” she said, looking up at Ambrose with an admiration that warmed Zelda.

Zelda watched as a proud smile tugged at Ambrose’s lips, before he looked around the crowd awkwardly to the fallen form, remembering how quickly it had changed at the moment before. “Is that it?” he asked. It was a good question.

But before Zelda could voice her agreement, a violent headache threatened to split her skull apart as she dropped to her knees with a sudden wave of exhaustion. The world dimmed once again, and for an awful moment, she wondered if she was dying.

“Aunt Zee?” Sabrina asked as Hilda called out her name as well. And then the both of them, with Prudence and Ambrose were fluttering around her as if she had passed out. She nearly might with the headache. It was worse than when Faustus had tried the Caligari Spell.

“I’m fine,” she murmured, batting her sister’s hands away as she drew in a deep breath. Her throat was sore, and as she lifted a hand to rub at where the Dark Lord had grabbed at her, she felt the prints of his fingers. It was swollen already, and would likely be bruised by tomorrow. But she was alive. “Reside effects of a spell backfiring,” she explained, drawing in deep breaths to alleviate the headache.

“The summoning spell?” Ambrose asked, looking to Faustus’ fallen figure. From the corner of Zelda’s eye, she could see Lilith crouching on the ground, picking something off the floor.

“No, you did something to the Dark Lord, didn’t you Zelds?” Hilda asked, “We all saw it. He recoiled as if you’d stung him.”

“That wasn’t me,” Zelda said, looking up at her sister. “I thought He’d killed me.”

“You’d forgive our scepticism, but it must have been you,” Prudence said. “None of us did anything.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Lilith said as walked over to, and holding out the item for her to admire.

Zelda looked at the outstretched hand, to the familiar piece of jewellery. A laugh bubbled up inside of her as she looked at the yellow stone. “Didn’t He destroy it?” she asked, reaching up to take it with her left hand. As she did, she noticed the lack of a wedding ring on her finger.

“A necessary deception,” Lilith said, though her words were tight. Zelda looked up at her, wondering when Lilith had changed the rings before she recalled the strange comfort she had when she played with the ring earlier, and the moment their fingers had entwined as Lilith had promised her that she wouldn’t become the Acheron.

Her hand laid over Lilith’s as she touched over the ring, feeling the quiet magic within it.

Lilith had fought for her survival. If Lucifer were to escape, her death would not be swift for such flagrant disobedience. She must have known that.

“Why would you risk yourself like this? You could have escaped, survived if this hadn’t worked.”

Lilith flushed, rolling her eyes, “I told you, I don’t like people playing with what’s mine. Not even the Dark Lord.”

“And yet I’m still not yours,” she teased. “How many times do I need to tell you that?”

“You don’t need to,” Lilith said, her fingers clasping around hers. Her expression had shifted, however, and an earnest look had come over her face as whispered, “You’re entirely your own person. Zelda I…I admire that about you.”

Admire. Zelda felt the word rise and fall inside of her. It was certainly something to be admired, and yet her heart wished for something more.

She blinked, pulling her eyes away and realised that they were standing alone. Sabrina had run off into Nicholas’ arms. Prudence stood off to the side with Ambrose and Hilda, and the mortals stood huddled together, a strange look of fear and bafflement on their faces.

It seemed everyone was giving them as much privacy as was reasonable, allowing Zelda to rise to her feet as she looked to the bound body of Faustus. His body was twisted awkwardly, and although the ropes still held him, they would not hold for much longer were He to awake. “How long will the sleep spell last?”

“Long enough,” Lilith said. “Though the sooner I have Him bound in Hell, the safer we’ll all feel.”

Zelda nodded, casting her eyes around the room. “There’s no need for all of us to go. I’ll take you to the Gates of Hell.”

Lilith gave a wicked smile, likely recalling their tryst in the mines. “And what would a send-off at the Gates of Hell look like, I wonder?”

Zelda laughed, turning away as she advised, “I’ll tell my family to expect me home late.”

She walked away to the sound of Lilith’s soft laughter, over to where Hilda, Prudence and Ambrose stood.

Prudence leant against Ambrose, familiar exhaustion weighing on the two of them as she rested her head on Ambrose's shoulder for support, unabashed at Zelda’s approach.

It was as Zelda looked to Prudence’s face, to the tears swimming in her eyes, that Zelda remembered that not everyone here felt pure loathing towards Faustus, some of them had more complicated feelings.

“Prudence––“ she began, preparing an apology on her lips.

“It’s fitting,” she said, cutting her off with a too-tight smile. “I’m sure they’ll get along famously.”

Zelda bit her tongue and gave a short nod, feeling an odd feeling wave in her stomach. The idea of Faustus and Lucifer together for all eternity didn’t bring pleasure to Zelda, but she couldn’t say she felt guilty about it either. Her feelings for Faustus and the Dark Lord had both withered until nothing remained, and yet she wondered if anyone truly deserved to be the Dark Lord’s jailer.

“Auntie,” Ambrose said, rocking on his feet. “We might return home. We’re anxious to ensure the twins are alright. Agatha and Dorcas are not…the preferred carers for them.”

“Understood,” Zelda said. “I was going to suggest the same for you all. Hilda, could you take the mortals back home with us as well?” she said, enquiring it as a question to her sister despite the implied command. “I’m sure that leaving them alone right now would be ill-advised.”

“Quite,” Hilda agreed. “We’ll have a little sleepover with some hot chocolates and a little sweet dreams cake. But…are you sure you don’t want us to come with you? To the gates?”

“No, sister. I’ll be fine.”

“Well,” Hilda said, before turning her eyes to Ambrose and Prudence both before looking back at Zelda. “Be safe then.”

“And Zelda,” Prudence said. “I think we can all agree that you’re well due to being selfish if something were to occur.”

“Oh yes,” Hilda agreed as Ambrose gave a mischievous smile her way.

“Bye, Auntie. Travel safe.”

Zelda blinked. “I will…” she said, drawing her eyes across her family at the odd looks they gave her. There was a suspiciously smug smirk on Prudence as she laced her fingers with Ambrose and began tugging him away, out of the room as Hilda walked over to where the mortals were and began rounding them up.

There was only one final thing to do. She turned on her heel, over to where Sabrina stood. Her niece was wrapped in Nicholas Scratch’s arms, still wearing the crown. Zelda felt herself stand taller as she stepped before the both of them, eyebrows raised as they slowly peeled apart from each other, looking sheepish. As if she cared if they were fighting or not.

“Now what?” Sabrina asked.

“Now I’ll take Lilith to the Gates and ensure they close behind her. I’m sure we’ll all feel more comfortable once the Dark Lord has been returned to Hell.”

Sabrina nodded, blinking tiredly. “So, then Lilith will be Queen of Hell?”

“Unless you have a better idea?” Zelda inquired with a raised brow, already knowing where her niece’s thoughts were drifting towards.

She watched as Sabrina’s lips pressed tightly, her back straightening in a familiar stance of disobedience before her shoulders sagged, seeming to realise that whatever fanciful ideas Lucifer had spoken of, the truth of the matter was likely to be a stark contrast.

Sabrina lifted the crown from her head, and then placed into Zelda’s outstretched hands, staring at it with a soft regretful expression, as if she was considering asking for it back.

“I’ll see you soon,” Zelda said.

Sabrina’s eyes snapped to hers before she looked towards Nicholas. “Did you…want us to come with?” she asked, reluctant to follow. Zelda could see that all her niece wanted to do, was finish reconciling with Mr Scratch, and who was she to stand in the way of whatever that turned out to be.

“Go home. All of you. Have some of Hilda’s hot chocolate and sweet dreams cake, and we’ll…review everything tomorrow.”

Sabrina nodded, turning to look over to the mortals. “With Father Blackwood gone, what happens to the coven?”

Zelda didn’t even want to think about that. Likely it would be handed over to the next available warlock, or a nearby coven would amalgamate into their own, binding them together in the new paths forward. The real concern would be trying to explain this to the council. “I’m not sure,” she said, “But I think we’ve all earned an evening of rest.”

“I could definitely do with a nap.”

“As could I,” Nicholas agreed. Zelda felt herself roll her eyes as the two began making heart eyes at each other.

She returned to Lilith, who remained watching over Faustus’ body, looking for any signs of life. As Zelda approached, she raised her head and smiled before noticing the crown. “Shall I be so presumptuous as ask if that’s mine now?”

“Perhaps it should be mine,” Zelda teased. “After all, I was the distraction.”

Lilith nodded once before she shared a smirk. “Perhaps there’s a way we could settle this,” she teased, stepping closer, one hand coming to rest on Zelda’s waist. “I’m sure we could come to some kind of compromise.”

“Oh, I’m sure we could,” she agreed, before stepping closer and raising the crown. “But I think we both know who the truth Queen is.” She set the crown carefully upon Lilith’s head and then stepped back to admire her form. The woman stood tall and poised, her eyes bright with the weight of the crown. “All Hail Queen Lilith. Long may she reign.”

Lilith flushed at the words before a strange look passed over her face as her expression seemed to seal away into something passive.

Zelda thought of asking what the expression meant and then decided against it, fearful of Lilith leaving her. Instead, she chose to joke, “Now, all we need is a proper introduction to Hell’s courts.”

“In time,” Lilith said, “But before we go I have a final gift to depart.” She stepped over to Sabrina and Zelda watched as she murmured something softly to her niece before pressing a kiss to her forehead. For a moment, Zelda watched as Sabrina softened into it as if Lilith was the maternal figure she so craved, but then Lilith was stepping back and walked towards Zelda’s.

She reached down, grabbed at the bound body of Faustus and hoisted him into a sitting position by the scruff of his shirt, and then took Zelda’s hand with other. “If you’re ready?” She asked.

“I am.”

And with that, Zelda felt them teleport from the Great Hall to the mines.

It was like stepping into a boiler room as she was flushed with the heat coming from the door with a powerful magnetism, drawing her closer. Magic flooded the room, and Zelda felt herself take a step closer.

She drew her breath and looked through the Gates of Hell. There were pencilled drawings littered around the ground, marking strange symbols. A hot, humid heat drew from where the gates had separated, barely half a foot apart. Through the parting between the two doors, Zelda could see the gold and red lights of Hell. Pandemonium.

She used to dream of what it would be like, of dancing in a grande ball, of being favoured by the Dark Lord. It was within sights, and a large part her was curious as to what laid beyond the gold and red skies that she could see. There were stories of creeping forests and extensive wastelands, as well as portals to other worlds.

And yet…this was the end.

Zelda swallowed and looked to Lilith, watching as the woman smoothed down her dress before clasping her hands before her, as if waiting for Zelda to say something first.

“We won.”

“We did,” Lilith agreed.

Zelda drew in a breath, stepping forward. Her skirts were heavy and wide. It was an old favoured dress from her earlier years. She’d worn this dress through many debaucherous nights, from opium and absinthe rooms to bacchanal nights, and many, many trysts with sex demons. And yet all those moments paled to the brief time she’d spent with Lilith. Nothing else had been more addictive, more orgasmic nor more freeing than the very first woman.

There were so many things she wanted to tell her, so many questions she had.

Lilith’s eyes were trailing over her shoulder as if she couldn’t quite bear to hold eye-contact with her, and Zelda felt her heart clench with trepidation. She wanted to tell Lilith to ask her again, ask her to go to Hell with her, because a part of her very much did want to go.

And yet, there was Sabrina to look after. Prudence, the twins, Ambrose and Hilda still needed her. The coven would be in tatters, and the council would be in turmoil. She needed to fix it all because no one else would.

Zelda stepped forward and kissed Lilith’s cheek, her hand squeezing the woman’s shoulder to confirm that she was still there.

And then Lilith’s lips were on hers, and Zelda was sinking away, feeling words swell in her throat as she kissed her with every growing passion building inside of her. Ask me again, she wanted to say. Ask me, ask me. Lilith, please ask me again.

They separated, and Zelda felt her fingers shake as she stepped backwards. An uncharacteristic shyness building between them.

Zelda looked from Faustus’ sleeping form and then to Lilith, knowing they couldn’t delay this any further. They had had their lasts, and if she were fortunate, Lilith would continue to visit her as stipulated in their contract.

“Zelda…” Lilith said, and Zelda looked up.

Ask me again.

“I unbind you from your contract.” Zelda felt her heart drop at the words, but Lilith continued speaking, a strange smile on her face. “Your soul is your own. You no longer serve me, and my magic is my own.”

Zelda drew in a sharp breath, stepping backwards as she felt the power dissipate from herself as if Lilith had turned on a faucet, allowing the reserves to empty until only hers remained.

This was final. Lilith was saying goodbye, for good this time. They would not see each other again.

Zelda looked away, pulling her arms closer to herself. “So that’s it, then?”

“That’s it,” Lilith agreed. “You’re free to your own life, and your soul is no longer bound to me should you die.”

“Why now?”

“Because I will not bind you as Lucifer bound me. You’re free to your own life. However, you so choose it.”

Zelda looked away, feeling a wave of anger grow inside of her. She wanted to snap that it wasn’t her decision to make, but it was. Lilith began the contract; it fitted that she would be the one to end it. To no longer desire their meetings together.

She watched as Lilith picked up Faustus by the back of his collar, a distant look in her face. “Until we meet again,” she said, and then with a wave of her hand, the papers flew away and the gates parted open. And she was walking towards them. And she was leaving, stepping across the threshold.

She was watching Lilith leave, and all she could think about was Prudence telling her that she was allowed to be selfish. And wasn’t she? After all of those years of raising Sabrina, after caring for Hilda and Ambrose both, after everything she went through in her marriage to Faustus to save her family.

Wasn’t she owed a selfish act?

“Ask me again,” Zelda said, stepping behind her.

Lilith turned, looking over her shoulder. “What?”

“Ask me again,” Zelda said. “Ask me again. If that’s what you still want.”

Lilith’s face furrowed in confusion, before understanding washed over it. She turned, facing Zelda entirely, her lips parting, but Zelda couldn’t read her expression. She looked from her eyes to her mouth to hands to her face again, searching for what the next words would be—hoping that she felt the same way.

What if she didn’t want her?

“Are you asking me to ask you to come to Hell with me and serve as my consort?”

“Not your consort,” Zelda stated. “I will be your High Priestess.”

Lilith’s eyes narrowed sceptically. A question seemed to rise between them before she paused. “Are you sure this what you want? Hell is not everything the stories say. There will be war.”

“Then you’ll need an advisor.”

“There will be bloodshed.”

“I’ve done my share of it.”

Lilith tilted her head, her face soft and sad. “And your ties here? Your coven, your family?”

Zelda felt the anger growing inside of her again as humiliation burned at her cheeks. “If you do not wish for this, then just say so plainly so I can move on.”

“This isn’t a light decision,” Lilith pointed out. “This isn’t a trip across to Australia. If you follow me, there will be death and destruction and war. You will be cut off from everyone you care about until such a time as that is settled, which could take decades if not centuries. I love you too much to ask you to walk into that blindly!”

Zelda stared at her, watching as Lilith seemed to recoil with embarrassment at the spilt words. And yet, Zelda felt her heart slow with anticipation, uncertain if she’d heard correctly. “Love?”

Lilith looked away, crossing her arms against her chest in a display of petulance. “Yes, well, embarrassing confessions aside, this is not a light decision.”

Zelda stepped forward, reaching out to take Lilith’s hand. Their fingers entwined and it seemed to ground them both as she stepped closer. “I have spent so much of my life devoted to the responsibility of others, as have you. For just one decision, don’t we deserve to be selfish?”

Lilith’s face softened. “It will not be easy.”

“No, it won’t.”

“There are days you will hate me.”

“I’m certain of it. You can be rather aggravating when you choose to be. But I love you more than I ever expected I could love another, and I want to spend the rest of my life at your side. Not serving some form of duty for the sake of moral posterity.”

“And your family?”

“Hilda will be there, and I’m sure we can find a way to answer any prayers they may have.”

Lilith stared at her, her eyes flicking between Zelda’s, looking for any sign of hesitation before she stepped back, taking the collar of Faustus’ body once more.

“As you wish,” she said, bowing her head briefly. “Well, then. Zelda Spellman, will you serve me as my High Priestess in Hell, as I will serve you as your Queen?”

“I will.”

Lilith’s empty hand reached out to her own and Zelda bound her fingers in hers. She felt the electricity of their magic shoot through her nerves as she stepped across the threshold. Her heart eased. She’d been sure about so many things in life, but this time, she felt excitement bubbling inside of her.

Lilith was right; it wouldn’t be easy. But she was a Spellman. They thrived in the face of adversity.

“So…you love me?” Lilith asked, her voice teasing as she glanced at Zelda. “You know I’m going to hold that over you.”

“As I will hold the fact that you said it first.”

Lilith’s eyes flashed, a grimace on her face. “I have ways of punishing you for such insolence.”

“Mm, I know. I look forward to it.”

There had once been a time where Zelda felt that her only addiction in life was cigarettes, but as the Gates of Hell closed behind them, and they descended into Pandemonium, she felt the need for nicotine disperse. The air was heavy with smoke, and Lilith looked magnificent beside her.

The Queen and her High Priestess, together at last. May their reign be long.

A/N: I just want to thank each and every reader, and everyone who's commented or gave kudos or bookmarked it, and to those who reached out on tumblr and twitter to me. Thank you for sharing this with me.

When I first began this, I never dreamed it would get as popular as to get past 200 kudos, so thank you all, from the bottom of my heart.I have a final one-shot planned for them (that's from Lilith's POV so we get a nice bookend in the beginning and end) so I hope you will stick around to read it :)

And if you have any questions, please let me know. I'm happy to answer any lingering questions you might have, whether it's about why I did a scene a certain way, or what was going on in the background.

[emberbent]

Book 3: Water | Chapter 1: Tenok

Shinza uttered a moan as she slurped the seaweed noodles from her soup.

Amrit arched his brow. “Should I leave you two alone?”

“I can’t help it!” she defended with her mouth full. “I haven’t had Water Tribe food since I left Republic City.”

She wafted the fragrant steam from the broth up to her nose and inhaled deeply. The little restaurant on the outskirts of the Northern Water Tribe’s capital city was quiet - that period between the lunch and dinner crowds - and they had the place nearly to themselves. Amrit watched her from his side of the table, picking at his fermented turtle-whale meat. He’d never really jived with the nuanced flavors of Water Tribe cuisine, but watching Shinza enjoy her food with such gusto, and just being with her again, was more satisfying to him than food.

Shinza finished off her noodles with admirable speed, drank the remaining broth, and found Amrit leaning forward in earnest when she finally set her bowl down. 

“So fill me in! How was the temple?”

A highlight reel flashed across her mind of the events that had occurred during her training, and suddenly, she felt cold and exposed as the rapture of their reunion slipped away. “A lot happened up there.” 

Sensing a story coming, Amrit poured them each a cup of tea from the cast iron pot that sat between them. “Like what?”

Spirits, where was she even supposed to start? She warmed her fingers around the little metal cup. Then she said, “You know how my chi was blocked when I came to you, and we couldn’t figure out why?”

Amrit nodded, wincing a little. “Of course.”

“It turns out my parents knew I was the Avatar,” she said. “They found out when I was little, when the accident happened. They had my memories repressed and my bending blocked so I’d grow up thinking I was a non-bender.”

“Why?” he inquired, looking as disturbed as Shinza felt. He couldn’t help but glance at her scarred hands. “How did you find out?”

She scoffed at herself. “When I miscalculated an airbending move and threw myself into a rock face.” Rolling her eyes and sipping at her tea, she continued, “I have no idea why they did it. I want to believe it was to protect me.”

“I guess that’s why it took so long for the Fire Sages to find you,” he surmised. 

“I found out something else, too,” she continued. “Avatar Yeong didn’t die of an illness - he was assassinated by the Org.”

Amrit blanched. “They killed a baby?”

“Yeah,” she grunted. Her expression darkened. “They did. Which means we can’t put anything past them.”

He searched her face, looking for the worry she liked to hide. She chewed on her upper lip and stared hard at the table.

“Can I see your tattoo?” He changed the subject. She pushed up the sleeve of her thick fur coat to reveal the tattoo of Xia that wound and curled up her arm as if it were alive. 

“When my parents found out I was the Avatar, they hired a former Dai Li agent to block my bending,” she explained. “I got a letter from her while I was at the temple. She said she wanted to apologize to me in person for her role in suppressing my abilities. And I went, like a fucking idiot.”

“Trap?” Amrit inquired, tracing the crisp black lines on her forearm.

“Yeah. I barely managed to get out.”

She still felt the heat of the embers as she bent them into Nobu’s eyes. Smelled the charred flesh. Heard the crack of Yanyu’s arms as she snapped them with her bare hands. “Actually, I’d be dead or worse if Xia hadn’t rescued me. Oh, by the way, I’m probably wanted for murder in Gaoling.”

“Let’s get some sake,” he offered. “You deserve it.”

He put the order in with a passing waiter, and when the little jar arrived, he poured them each a cup. 

“It wasn’t all bad, though.” She managed a smile. “Korra and Jinora helped me restore the link to my past lives, and I invented my own airbending technique.”

His face lit up. “Really? That’s badass! Let’s see it.”

She squinted, trying to figure out how to scale down the move so she could politely do it inside the restaurant. “Okay,” she said. Then she made a faint gesture with her hands. “Reach for my cup.”

When he did, his fingertips met an invisible wall of solidified air. His brows rose in appreciation. “I gotta say, this suits you.”

“How so?”

“It’s a defensive move. Stealthy, inconspicuous. It uses your opponent’s own strength against them.”

Shinza beamed and accepted the praise. 

“Did you miss firebending?” he teased.

She snorted. “Do you mean, did I miss you making me run drills until I puked? No, I didn’t.”

Amrit grinned mirthfully. After a beat, he sobered and said, “I wish I could have been there for you. I didn’t realize you’d gone through so much.” 

Shinza swelled with affection and reached for his hand. The truth was that she wouldn’t be here with him if he hadn’t sent her off with Xia when she’d left the island. And if he hadn’t shown up at the temple when he did, she likely would have ended up wasting valuable time looking for a waterbending teacher.

“You were there for me,” she insisted. “Even if not in person. You always have been.”

The scene played again in her mind: Amrit dismounting Xia, gathering Shinza up in his arms. The flood of warmth she felt. “When you showed up at the temple this morning, I was so relieved I could have kissed you.”

“Why didn’t you?” he smirked.

Shinza felt hot blood rush to her cheeks. She ignored him, finishing the rest of her sake. “So who’s this guy we’re meeting with?”

Amrit pulled a business card out of his coat pocket and passed it to her. 

“Doctor Tenok Amaruk.” She read the name aloud, smoothing her thumb over the beautifully designed card, and then frowned. “Professor of… Water Tribe Cultural History? I thought he was a waterbending teacher.”

“Mmm, no, I didn’t say that exactly,” Amrit hedged. Pinned under Shinza’s severe gaze, he buckled. “Okay, full disclosure: I don’t actually know if he’ll agree to teach you.”

Shinza tutted. “You said you’d found me a teacher!”

“I said I may have found you a teacher,” he corrected, putting his hands up in defense. “Look, don’t worry about it, okay? I’m pretty sure I can convince him.”

__

The outer fortress of the Northern Water Tribe’s capital city had been impressive, but it was nothing compared to the interior of the city itself. As they strode through the gates, gleaming structures made of pure ice dominated their view. Residential terraces surrounded the city center, their tenants overlooking the lively streets below. Crystal-clear water, sourced from innumerable waterfalls, flowed through the street canals. For a moment, Shinza forgot to warm herself with her breathing as she took in the splendor of the Water Tribe Chief’s palace ahead of them, glinting like an enormous diamond in the sunlight.

They stepped into a gondola, which ferried them to the university, where they were to meet Dr. Amaruk. Amrit looked uncharacteristically nervous. 

“What’s your deal?” Shinza whispered.

“Nothing,” he returned. “I’m good.”

The University of the Northern Water Tribe boasted a sprawling campus, all sparkling blue buildings made of ice and smooth, snowy courtyards. The semester was coming to a close, and students milled about, rushing to their final exams. Amrit and Shinza made their way to the main building that housed the faculty’s offices and checked in with a secretary, who offered them a seat while they waited for their meeting time. After a few moments, the secretary motioned for them to go into the office. 

Tenok Amaruk was a middle-aged man, willowy, and much taller than both Amrit and Shinza. He wore a smart set of tailored garments - an artful combination of current and centuries-old Water Tribe fashion, trimmed with fur and handmade beads. They all settled into their chairs. The professor pinned Amrit like a fly across the desk with his sharp silver eyes.

“It’s been a long time, Mr. Han.” He inclined his head with stiff politeness, ignoring Shinza completely. “How can I help you?”

“Thank you for meeting with us,” Amrit returned the gesture. “I’d like to introduce you to the Avatar, Shinza Kwon.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Shinza greeted, mustering as warm a smile as she could despite the look of pure disgust Dr. Amaruk wore as he gave her a cold once-over.

He grunted. “And what exactly is it that you want from me, Miss Kwon?”

“I’ve just finished my airbending training,” she replied, getting down to business. She wasn’t afraid of this asshole, but she didn’t want to be here any longer than she had to be. “We came in from the Eastern Air Temple this morning. As you know, the next element in line is water, so… I’d like you to teach me waterbending.”

She looked askance at Amrit, who had clearly passed off leading the meeting to her and looked to be sweating bullets. He was usually so self-assured and confident - what was his deal?

Dr. Amaruk glanced at her expressionlessly from behind his little circular frames. “Absolutely not.” Then he took to the stack of ungraded papers on the corner of his desk with a red pen. “You may see yourselves out.”

Quiet fury rose up in Shinza. With her fists clenched, she rose from her seat and started for the door. She saw no sense in wasting time on someone who clearly had no interest in teaching her, or treating her like a human.

“Ten,” Amrit beseeched. The old nickname caught the professor’s attention and made Shinza pause. “Please.” 

Tenok put down his pen, daring Amrit to go on. 

“The Organization is out in full force in Republic City. They have cells operating in the Earth Kingdom and spirits know where else. She’s already over ten years behind, and the semester is almost over anyway.”

“I need your help,” she admitted through her clenched teeth. “The Org murdered Avatar Yeong, and now they’re out for me. I need to learn waterbending as soon as possible.”

Tenok took a deep breath and let it out very slowly. Then he said, “Fine.”

Shinza’s jaw relaxed and she came back to her seat.

Amrit looked like he wanted to fold up into his chair and disappear. “So what’s next?”

“You tell me, Mr. Han,” Tenok replied with a thin smile.

“I guess we’ll get accommodations in the city. And then --”

“You’ll both stay with me,” Tenok sighed, waving his hand as if Amrit were speaking nonsense. “If the Organization is rallying as you say, we can’t be certain there aren’t also cells here in the North. It’s safest to stay out of plain sight.”

__

Shinza and Amrit trudged back across campus and headed to the part of town where Tenok lived. The air between them was fraught.

“Do you want to explain to me what the hell that was all about?” Shinza laid into him as they stepped into the gondola. She still trembled with carefully-bridled rage remembering the way the professor had treated both of them. “That was the weirdest fucking meeting I’ve ever been to in my life!”

Amrit opened his mouth but then closed it, defeated. He leaned forward and let his head fall into his hands in shame. “I didn’t think it would go that way. I’m sorry.”

Shinza wasn’t satisfied. “But why him? Why not someone else? Anyone else?”

“Do you know any other waterbending masters?” Amrit lashed out. All of his emotions glimmered in his dark eyes as he met her gaze. “I thought maybe the past could stay in the past, okay? The embarrassment is bad enough. I don’t need to be grilled.”

She crossed the boat and settled next to him. She said softly, “I don’t understand why you didn’t just tell me you had history with this guy.”

He shook his head. “It’s complicated, I guess.”

A moment passed, and she leaned her head on his shoulder. “That was hard for you, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I really am sorry.”

“I know.” 

__

Something else Amrit had left out was the fact that Tenok lived in a mansion. It was modest compared to the ones occupied by important government officials and the like; but it was large enough that Shinza could wander off by herself, free to choose her bedroom from the numerous ones available. 

Amrit was careful about the one he selected. In the end, he chose one down the hall from Shinza - not too far away from the main bedroom, but not too close. He and Shinza may have worked things out, but he had no idea where he stood with Tenok.

He unpacked his things and then took a walk around the house. Some things had changed - repairs had been made, more Water Tribe artifacts had been hung up on the walls. But by and large, the house was exactly the same as he remembered it from over a decade ago. The sight of it brought back memories he hadn’t let himself think about for a long time.

He found himself out on a terrace that faced the city center. It was midday, and the polar sun was setting. Amrit let out an exhausted sigh and settled into a chair, grimacing as he worked to pry off The Leg, whose metal had contracted painfully due to the frigid temperature. He winced and rubbed at the sore, blistered skin just below his knee, where his shin ended.

“I can’t decide if I should feel sorry for you, or if you deserve it,” Tenok sounded behind him.

Amrit tensed. Tenok came around to settle in the chair next to him, sizing up the younger man with his leonine gaze. With surprising tenderness, he asked, “Why did you come back?”

“Shinza needed a waterbending teacher,” Amrit replied half-heartedly.

“Is that so?” Tenok replied. Amrit had changed since he’d last seen him. He was a man with a purpose now, with mirth in his eyes. Tenok continued, “You made a fool of me today.”

“I didn’t mean--”

“Was it foolish to think you had come back to me? After all this time?”

Amrit chanced a glance at Tenok. His heart ached for seeing him again, and for all the memories that overtook him. Tenok was older, thinner. He still wore his hair the same - long, tidy dreadlocks that rested nobly on his shoulders and fell down his back, some tied up into a dignified cascade at the back of his head. But at his temples, the once salt-and-pepper hair had turned white. There were frown lines around his mouth; it pained Amrit to think he might have given him those.

Amrit stood carefully, making his way on his good leg to lean on the balcony. “I’m sorry I left.”

“I’m not angry that you left!” Tenok replied, incredulous that Amrit could be so thick. He joined him at the balcony. “You had a life to return to. I understood that. But you didn’t even say goodbye.”

That wasn’t true; he’d had no life to return to. Gao and his unborn children had been taken from him. He hadn’t yet assumed his father’s position teaching the fledgling firebenders. His identity as a husband and father had been shattered. Tenok’s comforting warmth had been sutures for the gaping wound in his soul, and he simply couldn’t have withstood losing him, too. So he’d ripped the sutures out himself. After he’d left, he hadn’t gone back to the island; instead, he’d wandered the Earth Kingdom, lost as he’d ever been.

Amrit locked eyes with him. Tenok melted at the feel of his calloused fingers brushing his sharp jawline. “You’re right,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Tenok gathered him up in his arms, holding him tightly. Amrit let go of the railing and leaned against him for balance. He snaked his arms around the older man’s waist, comforted by his familiar peppery tobacco scent.

“I accept your apology,” Tenok whispered in return. “Would you sit down, please?”

Amrit hobbled back to his seat. Tenok glanced at his leg. “I can help, if you’ll allow me.”

Amrit hesitated, but then conceded. “I’d be grateful.”

Tenok lifted his leg onto his lap and melted some of the ice nearby, warming the water and letting it coat his hand. It glowed blue with potent healing energy, and Amrit immediately relaxed under Tenok’s hand. The professor worked carefully at the end of his leg, gently softening the tensed muscles and repairing the blistered skin. 

Amrit closed his eyes and whispered, “Thank you.”

@chromecutie @hetapeep41 @jaymzbush @my-remedy-is-euphoria

[twiceinadream]

Twice HC- How They Would Kiss You

Requested: Yup

Request: How they kiss their s/o headcanons please 😳

a/u: Hey, guys! So I really want to dedicate this post to Twice’s 4th anniversary, and Mina’s comeback at the Halloween Fanmeet. Thank you for everything! (This also has a lot of puns. My bad)

Category: Fluff

Nayeon

Nayeon would be the type to make it a big scene

The two of you could be walking in the park, and she’d just grab you

You looked at her confused, till she gave you a signature “bunny smile” and pulled you in

Her lips were warm against the cold air, and when she pulled away you felt drunk on her

Blushing when you noticed the number of people passing by, as you shoved her away

Quickly bringing her into a hug

Jeongyeon

PDA did not exist in Jeongyeon’s mind, it’s not that she was ashamed; she just didn’t like people staring

So after a particularly long day, she came home to you cooking dinner, and something about it just made her tear up

You turned to face her, when you felt arms wrap around your waist

Your eyes met, as she quickly cupped your cheek; bringing you into a soft kiss

You could feel her tears against your cheeks as she pulled away slightly, panting out a soft, “Thank you, I love you so much.”

Momo

You had been watching Momo dance for the past three hours and you couldn’t believe how beautiful your girlfriend was

After seeing you stare at her for awhile Momo abruptly stopped her movements to face you, smiling, “Care to dance, Y/N?”

You shook your head, “I have two left feet, Momoring.” But she just shrugged as she pulled you up, a slow along starting

You shrugged as you took Momo in your arms, swaying across the practice room floor, as the song ended you spun her slowly into your arms

Momo gave you a small smile as she kissed your cheek, “You may not be a dancer. But you’re one hell of a romantic, Y/N-Chan.”

Sana

You smiled as you breathed in the salty air of the beach, Sana and you had vacationed to

It was fairly early and fairly empty, which was perfect; since Sana wanted some alone time for just the two of you

The two of you set out your towels, as you walked hand and hand into the water, wading deep enough into the water that the two of you could still stand

But before you could warn her, a wave had come up and knocked Sana over, making you laugh as your girlfriend spit out the salty water

You smiled as you helped her up, pulling her into chaste kiss, licking your lips as you pulled away, “Salty. Reminds me of you.” Sana looked at you in disbelief, before she pushed you into the water.

Jihyo

You threw your phone onto the empty space next to you on the couch as you growled, “Dispatch, needs to keep their nose out of people's business.” You frowned as you looked at the new reports of your girlfriend’s weight that had resurfaced.

That night when Jihyo came home, you immediately wrapped her in a hug, as you began to kiss your way down her body, “How can one person be so perfect?” You looked up to see the tears fall from your girlfriend’s eyes

You came back up as you held her closer, kissing away her tears, “How can you say that, Y/N? I’m so far from perfect, but you still tell me I am.”

You smiled as you cupped her cheek, and used your thumbs to brush away her tears; lifting her chin so you could connect your lips together

As you pulled away, you smiled as you looked into her eyes, “Because you read so many fake reports that are only there to hurt you. I figured you need to hear the truth. So you can understand what’s, Fake and True.” Jihyo rolled her eyes at you pun, “You’re lucky you’re cute and that I love you.” You smiled, “Well lucky me then; I have the most perfect girl in the world in love with me.

Mina (Our precious penguin)

It had been a long time since you had seen Mina, and not having your girlfriend around was slowly starting to kill you

You sighed as you looked at the ending text from your girlfriend a few minutes ago, ‘Goodnight, Jagi. I love you, Happy Anniversary.’ You frowned as you got into bed, her spot colder than usual

When you woke up that morning something about your bed felt different, it was warmer than usual

You couldn’t believe your eyes, as you opened them to see Mina staring back at you, you saw her luggage against the wall; as your eyes filled with tears, “You’re back?”

Mina smiled as she pulled you into a kiss, you doubt you’ve ever felt something this good, “I’m back, Y/N. And I’m here to stay.”

Dahyun (Dubu as Genie)

It wasn’t a secret your girlfriend loved Halloween, so every year she would always surprise you at the fanmeet with her costume; since she would always keep it a secret

But as you waited for her, you were not prepared for her to come out as, Genie from Aladdin. You couldn’t hold back your laugh as you brought her into a hug, praising how good she looked

Dahyun looked down shyly as her cheeks warmed at the attention, “Wow, Dubu. You made all my wishes come true.” She smiled as she pushed you away slightly, “Jagi, that was bad.”

You just shrugged as you kissed her head, “Maybe. But this costume certainly isn’t. Who knew you would look good with a beard?”

Chaeyoung

Chaeyoung has been out the whole day, and she hasn’t her phone once and you were getting genuinely worried for your girlfriend

That was until the front door of your guy’s shared apartment opened and Chae calmly walked in; you rushed to her, pulling Chaeng into a hug, “Where have you been?”

She smiled as she carefully removed her jacket, plastic covering her arm, “Getting a surprise for you.” You looked at her in confusion, till she showed you her forearm

Behind the plastic were beautifully written Roman numerals of your guy’s anniversary, you held in a small gasp as you looked at your girlfriend in disbelief

“Chae, you know those are permanent, right?” Chaeyoung smiled as she pulled you into a kiss, her slightly chapped lips brushing yours as she pulled away, “Yes. But so are we.”

Tzuyu

Tzuyu had brought you home for the holidays, and ever since you two have been home; all she has done is coo over Gucci. Not that you minded, you were just jealous...of a dog

Your girlfriend had left you home alone as she went out with her mom, so you decided to spend some time in the living room on your phone. Until Gucci decided to join in, and sit on your lap

You looked at him as you placed your phone down, looking him in the eye, “Look. I get you’ve been in Chewy’s life a lot longer than I have, but I really love her, okay. And ever since we’ve been here, you keep stealing her from me; and you’re cute and all, and I get you just want the best for her. But cut me some slack, please. I promise you can chew out my throat if I ever hurt her.”

You suddenly felt a soft kiss against your cheek as you turn to see Tzuyu, you flushed, “Uh...hi. How long have you been here?” Tzuyu smiled as you pet Gucci’s head, “Long enough to know what’s going on.” You groaned.

Your girlfriend just smiled as she kissed your cheek again, “Don’t worry, Y/N-ah. It was cute. And I love you too. The both of you.”

[paladin-lynx]

“Can you forgive me?”

Well, since it’s just the prompt and no specific context, I’ll take it as a freebie! I’ve been wanting to write about this game since I finished it – I recommend checking it out if you can! It’s short but beautifully done.

Send me a character/ship/fandom and a prompt and I’ll write something!

Fandom: The Liar Princess and the Blind Prince

Ships: The Wolf x The Prince

Setting: Canon, post-game

SPOILERS FOR “THE LIAR PRINCESS AND THE BLIND PRINCE”!

The forest was still, as it always was when night fell. Silence fell amongst the trees, save for the occasional scurry of a critter hiding from a potential predator or the whisper of the wind through the foliage.

But as the moon – full, bright, and almost looking like it took up the entire night sky – rose to its highest point, a voice sounded. It sang what would have been a gentle melody, if the singing had actually been good. The notes were twisted – some falling flat and others almost painfully off key – and the rhythm was constantly fluctuating. But the song continued on nonetheless, weaving through the trees, reaching out to every corner of the forest and to the sleepy kingdom laying beyond it.

The wolf knew that she was no good at singing – she was hardly good at holding a conversation – but she still felt the need to carry on. Singing made her feel more at home, but she couldn’t remember why. Her memories were hazy, like someone had messily scrawled them out of her mind, but as time went on, she began to make out more and more of the more decipherable pieces.

Having the prince with her definitely helped. Of course, she hadn’t known he was a prince at first. She had thought he was just some idiotic human, daring to approach a monster such as her. But when he’d presented her with a colorful bouquet of flowers and called her ‘princess’, she’d been overwhelmed with more emotion than she thought possible. Instantly, she’d known that he knew her, but she couldn’t recall why or how in the world a human – especially one as delicate-looking as this one – would gaze at her and speak of her so fondly. But despite her doubts, she’d sat down and let him sit with her, leaning his tiny frame against her side. She’d continued singing, despite how awful it sounded, and felt warmth fill her heart when he’d applauded her as she finished.

As the nights went on, and the prince ventured out to listen to her sing, she began to remember more, bit by bit. She could tell she’d never get the full picture. Not unless the prince told her what had happened between them, because animal as she might be, she could figure out that much. But she never dared to ask, unsure of if he’d even tell her. She had a feeling, deep down, that even if they had become friends at the end, the road there had been rocky. They had fought at times. He hadn’t trusted her. She’d betrayed him and left him behind.

Had he wanted her to forget? She still didn’t know why he referred to her as ‘princess’, because even if she was highly respected – feared, more like – in this forest, she was no royal. A beast like her could never be something so important, so valued.

But the wolf had never really been a patient creature. Eventually, the frustration with not being able to remember started to make her restless. She’d done something to him, and he still sat with her as if they had been close for years. She’d say it was because he couldn’t remember whatever had happened, either, but she just knew that that wasn’t the truth. He wouldn’t have come looking for her, risking his life by venturing into the dark forest, if he had been only working off botched memories like she was.

So as they sat together tonight and the wolf finished her song, and the prince giggled and applauded as he always did despite how bad it sounded, she paused. All four of her eyes swiveled down to look at him, her jaw clenched, ears lowered nervously. He blinked up at her with those big, innocent eyes of his. He always looked at her as if she’d hung the moon and put the stars in the sky.

“What’s wrong, princess?” he asked softly. Normally, the wolf felt a pleasant shivery feeling when he called her that. Tonight, though, she felt a bit pained.

“…I’m not going to ask you to tell me everything that happened before you found me that first night,” she stated, picking her words carefully. Although she already knew there was no easy way to say what she wanted to say. “But…I’ve been remembering more and more every time you’ve come here. I remember leading you through parts of the forest. I remember collecting flowers for the moles in the caves. I remember you telling me that you didn’t have anyone to play games with before me. But…” She looked away. “…I also remember that I…did something terrible to you. I don’t remember what it was. I’m pretty convinced it may have been many things. But even with that, you continue to come all the way out here to see me every night. You praise my singing even though it’s not good. I…just don’t understand why.”

In the world of monsters, if someone crossed you, then their life was on the line. It was the rule of nature to take out weaker creatures, to kill anything that got in your way. The wolf wasn’t completely sure how things worked out in the human world, but she knew that humans definitely killed monsters, and monsters definitely killed humans. If the wolf had hurt the prince, even if he couldn’t kill her himself, why was he acting as if nothing had happened?

To her surprise, the prince smiled. “Maybe we had our troubles, but you’ve more than made up for them. You showed me that you weren’t truly a monster. You wanted to help me. You put everything on the line for me. And…you gave up more than you could ever realize for me.”

The wolf suddenly felt so small, despite towering over the tiny prince. She knew that he wouldn’t tell her what had happened unless she explicitly asked him to, and she was still afraid to know the full truth. But having an instinct that it had been bad was enough to put her on edge. And even if she couldn’t remember the details, even with his endlessly kind words, she still felt the need to raise a question:

“Can you forgive me? For everything I did to hurt you?”

His expression softened. “I forgave you long before I even came to find you again, princess.”

The title this time brought about that familiar warmth, the feeling that something that was missing was suddenly there, that she was whole instead of fractured. Her eyes welled up with tears and she carefully wrapped her long arms around the prince and embraced him, nuzzling into his fluffy hair. His little arms wrapped as best they could around her neck, holding her in return.

They stayed there like that, under the light of the moon, and the wolf began to hum as she kept the prince in her arms. And for once, she thought that maybe it didn’t sound so bad.

[fluidityandgiggles]

Dalton Big Bang day 11 - The Natural Next Step (coffee shop AU)

Writing Masterpost, AO3 Link

Notes: Sperril will not let me go, and so I shall write for them.

(Who cares? They're adorable)

Meeting one

"Logan, back me up here?" Charlie called into the break room, to his fellow barista, who was currently on break. "Your boyfriend is here!"

"Good!" Logan called back, pushing his glasses up without even looking at Charlie. "I'm having lunch."

"Okay!" Julian laughed as he saw Charlie come back and immediately turn to Dwight, letting out a loud "yeehaw!".

"Yeehaw?" Dwight replied, getting away from the cash register to join Charlie. "Yeehaw, yeehaw!"

"Yeehaw, yeehaw yeehaw—"

"You made your fucking point!" Logan almost screamed by then, getting out of the break room as the two Texans started laughing. "Yee fucking haw. Yeah, yeah. Fuck you too."

As Logan went to greet (read: kiss) Julian and get his order, and the others could not help but make fun of the two, Merril silently thanked them for keeping her out of it. They were her friends and she loved them all very dearly, but they could be a wild bunch when they wanted to be… and it could honestly sometimes be a lot. So these times when they all got this chaotic, Merril counted her blessings and smiled to herself.

She was in the middle of piping the meringue on top of a lemon pie when she heard another commotion outside, looking as Dwight ran into the kitchen to grab a cup of water.

"Are you okay, darling?"

"He's here."

----

Spencer Willis didn't think, not in a million years, that he would ever become a set designer for an off-Broadway show. He didn't even think he'd enjoy set designing at all, until getting discharged on medical grounds from West Point.

It took him a year to recover, spent while living with Justin in New York and not doing much more than physical therapy and just being dorks together, and then he applied to Syracuse. It was an easy choice to make - it's still in New York, so he could still see Sydney from time to time; he could afford it, between his parents and some scholarships and grants he could apply to; and best of all, it had a great art department, at least according to his research (and Justin's sister's friend Lucy who also applied).

Lucy Westwood was, for a lack of a better word, quite chaotic. The eighteen-year old costume design major quickly took to the twenty-year old art major, which didn't go unnoticed, and before Spencer knew it he was asked by his professors if he thinks theatre design would be a better major for him. Well, less asked and more told to try a couple courses and see how he likes it, and… in stage design he ended up staying. It was still art, and amazing art at that, but it was also a lot of physical, tactical work, and he fell in love with all of that.

It's been four years since graduating Syracuse. Four wild, wild years, where he got to meet and befriend Reed Van Kamp, get roped into the theatre world harder than ever before, and as of a few months ago and thanks to Reed's insistent pleas, also start working off-Broadway on a revival of Assassins.

He still couldn't quite wrap his head around how this happened, but somehow it just did.

"I saw Shane again last night," Reed told him and Lucy as they joined them for lunch, in the middle of a long day none of them could guess just how long it'll end up being. "He's so good! Lucy, he's so good!"

"Now you're going to tell us we need to come see Once On This Island," Lucy laughed, bouncing as they waited at the queue at the cafe they ended up going to. "You've told us that several times already."

"Mercedes Jones is a goddess, okay? And a literal one in this production! And Shane is really good as Daniel, and Jane, the girl who plays Ti Moune, is just… I can't praise them enough! I think I'm in love with a whole cast. Can you be in love with a whole cast?"

"I think you definitely can," Spencer answered them, watching as the cashier ran away into the kitchen. He started doing that after the third time Spencer and Justin came here, to meet with Justin's boyfriend Charlie, and they had a conversation about Cats that got the whole cafe involved in it. He always felt bad for the poor guy, but to each their own, he supposed. "Hey, Chaz."

"Oh, hi," Charlie chuckled as he came to the register for now. "I swear, Dwight needs to get over that Cats debate…"

"No he doesn't, he's fine."

As Reed and Lucy left the queue to sit down and Spencer stayed to order - "two caprese sandwiches, an omelet sandwich, two chocolate cake slices and three iced coffees, everything to-go so Reed won't hurt themself" - Dwight showed up again, being pushed out of the kitchen by possibly the prettiest girl Spencer's ever seen.

"...Spence? Dude, you're gonna pay?" Charlie even waved a hand in front of his eyes, and it's only after the girl runs back to the kitchen that Spencer shook back up, realizing he's been staring.

"Uhh… yeah, sorry. Yeah."

----

Meeting three

The depression hit Merril pretty hard about two weeks ago, and this was the first time in ten days that she left the house. She showered, changed clothes, cleaned her apartment somewhat, all in attempt to make herself feel better, but nothing really worked.

But… that nice guy from the c-- Spencer! Spencer asked her out on a date last time they met, and she'd never back out on this… not to mention she might seem like a flake if she does, and it's so unfair to him, he's so nice and sweet and, and…

"Merril, go home," Charlie told her the second she stepped into the cafe. "Honey, you don't have to work today, remember?"

"I'm here for a date," she reminded him, sighing tiredly and going to hug him. She could smell his detergent as she did so, calming down almost instantly. Charlie… smelled like home to her.

Then again, isn't that what he was for her…?

"You look beautiful," he reassured her, patting her head gently. "You bought this dress with Casey, right?"

"Mmhm."

"It looks very good on you. I'm so happy for you."

"Thank you…" She smiled into his chest. It's the first smile she managed in over a week.

"Get away from the counter now," he told her after a few moments of hugging. "Go sit down. You have a date."

"Who has a date?" Came the question from Logan, who came back from the break room, wiping his hands with a paper towel.

"Merril does."

"Oh, hello!" He smirked at her, in that uniquely Logan way of his, and she just had to smile back. "Who's the lucky fella, mom?"

"Don't you have band rehearsal today?" She teased back.

"Drew canceled in favor of meeting Alex's parents."

"Oh, poor guy… sucks to work an extra shift, doesn't it?"

Just as Logan stuck his tongue out at her, Spencer stepped inside the cafe, barely looking for her before just heading over and sitting down next to her.

"Hi."

She smiled at him, swatting at Logan to go away. "Hi."

----

Seeing Merril in that blue floral dress, with her hair curled around her face and her eyes sparkling so beautifully, Spencer didn't want this date to end.

But alas, he was needed back at work soon.

"So…" Merril twirled a lock of hair around her finger, sipping her iced tea. "You really don't mind dating me…?"

"No!" He called almost immediately, startling her. "Merril, you're… so out of my league. You're so beautiful and smart and nice, and-- and you're the baker here, so obviously you're talented, and--"

"No, no no no, Spencer…" She took her hand, her face falling. "Spencer, I'm transgender."

"Okay, so what?"

It took a second, but then she just looked at him so weirdly, like she can't believe his words.

"What… what do you mean, so what?"

"You… absolutely ruined my expectations in women. I don't care what your body is like, you're perfect in my opinion, I enjoy being around you, I would love to keep dating you, and I very much hope you would the same. So, so what? You're a girl that I like. I like you very much even."

Merril just laughed.

"What… what's happening--"

"I like you very much too," she told him, through sad laughter. "And I would love to keep dating you too."

"Oh, that's-- that's good! Can I kiss you?"

She laughed again, and nodded, and Spencer could swear he heard Charlie and the other barista cheer as he leaned in to kiss her.

He did too, in his own way.

----

Meeting twelve

It was Julian's birthday, and Merril could see Logan avoiding work and just hanging with him and their best friend Derek near a window. She was almost finished with his cake, just piping a small happy birthday on top of it, when Dwight ran into the kitchen.

"You need to stop doing that, darling. Spencer isn't going to kill you."

"He's a cursed man," Dwight told her, making her chuckle. "You're dating a cursed man, Merril."

"Oh dear… did you not know I like Macavity?"

It took him exactly three seconds to put his cup of water down and march right out of the kitchen, hollering "I HATE THIS FUCKING FAMILY".

"But I do!" She called after him, going back to finish the cake right afterward. Poor guy… She never meant to upset him, but…

Huh. Maybe it was just a touchy musical.

"I want to try something new," she heard faintly from the front, smiling a little to herself. On their third date, Spencer told her that he decided to try new types of coffee every day - he's an artiste, after all, so what's a little experimenting going to do - and that she should be prepared for some bizarre drinks. Of course, she reminded him she's not the barista, but…

"And what would it be today, Spence?"

"A cortado with lemon."

Of course.

She stifled a laugh when she heard that, almost dropping the cake before she even picked it up. She steadied herself, picked the cake back up and left the kitchen, watching Charlie hold back from beating himself up over Spencer's order.

----

"A cortado with lemon?" Spencer nodded as Charlie just stared at him. "Do you know what you're ordering?"

"Nope."

"...I'm fucking glad you're not ordering an iced pumpkin spice latte at least," Charlie sighed as he slid Spencer's card for him. "It's the middle of August."

"Glad to not disappoint for once."

As Spencer waited for his coffee, he watched Merril hug Logan after serving his cake, then come over to hug Spencer himself.

"Hey there, Gilear Faeth."

"Stop calling me that," he laughed. "But hi."

"You know a cortado is just an espresso with a bit of milk foam, right?"

"...what the fuck did I just order?"

Merril just giggled. "I can't tell you, I've never tried it."

"I'm going to die…"

"Spencer?" Charlie called after a bit, and he let go of Merril to go get his coffee. "Here's your poison, man."

"Gee, thanks."

"You're here late," Charlie pointed out as Merril ran to the bathroom, kissing Spencer's kiss as she goes. "What's the occasion?"

"I got two tickets to see Once On This Island. Reed finally convinced me…"

"That's their boyfriend's show, right?"

"Yeah. They finally broke me, and Merril's interested, so I got two tickets." He took a sip from his drink. "Oh god, this is disgusting."

"I'll replace it for you with hot chocolate for free if you stop ordering stupid drinks," Charlie laughed.

"I would like that very much, please and thank you."

Merril came back from the bathroom after a few minutes, dressed in a clean red dress instead of her black shirt and jeans, her makeup retouched, to see Spencer drinking a cup of hot chocolate instead of his absolutely random abomination.

"I'm ready. Are you?"

----

Meeting seventy-seven

Merril and Charlie were closing the cafe that day - well, more like Merril was closing and Charlie spent most of his time talking with his boyfriend (who just so happened to stay there after closing so he could "pick Charlie up") - when Merril found an envelope under the counter.

An envelope addressed to her.

"Charlie, darling, it's not payroll day, only tomorrow…" her eyes got dark as the boy turned to look at her. "What… what's going on…?"

"Mom, it's not what you're thinking," he was quick to say, but she was quicker to cry.

"I… I don't understand, what…"

"That… was supposed to be for tomorrow. Spencer asked me to help him surprise you…" She just looked at him confused. "It's nothing bad. Let's finish here, go home, you'll get to cuddle with your boyfriend and watch whatever cheesy show you two watch nowadays. Tomorrow it'll all make sense."

"Spencer adores you," Justin tried to add, looking quite worried. "This is a good one, we promise."

"I…" she took a second to stop shaking before putting the envelope back in place, feeling something hard inside of it. "Okay… you're his best friends, I'm going to trust you."

"Go home, Merril," Charlie sighed, watching her fumble. "I'll finish here. Please."

"...fine."

----

Spencer showed up for lunch the next day, ordering his omelet sandwich and iced coffee, and a slice of lemon meringue pie. It was a quick order, one made fully knowing that Merril would join him for lunch today.

"...and a chocolate cupcake, please."

"Sure thing."

Merril joined him after thirty minutes, looking grateful to be off the clock for the day as Dwight brought over a cup of green tea and an envelope, looking rather suspicious to be near the table.

"God save your soul, Spencer," he told the man before putting Merril's things down and leaving.

"...is he still about that?"

"I don't know, honey. We're working with him on it."

They ate lunch, talked about their day, but Spencer couldn't help looking at the envelope like it was about to kill him.

"...and then Dwight just-- Spencer…?" Merril kissed his cheek, making him look at her. "Honey, what's happening?"

"Can you open the envelope please…?" He looked off to Charlie, who gave him two thumbs up. "The anticipation is killing me."

"Oh! Oh… sure." She frowned as she opened it, too focused on making it neat to ignore Spencer getting down on one knee as a ring fell out of the envelope.

A delicate gold ring with a lovely blue stone in the middle of it, and three tiny diamonds on either side of it.

"Spencer…?"

"You're perfect for me," Spencer managed to say as he grabbed the ring, holding it up to her. "Merril Portman, you are perfect. I love you more than words can describe, and if I started listing the reasons why we'd be here until Sunday in fifty years."

"Spencer, I love you too, I…"

"You complete me, Merril. God, I can't tell you how much I've gone through that just seemed to… go away when I'm with you. So… this is just the natural next thing to do."

She started crying. Merril won't lie, she started crying. Prompting Spencer to give her a hand, squeeze it a bit, watch her smile through her tears.

"Merril Portman… will you do me the honor of--"

"Yes!" She laughed, still sobbing. "Yes, absolutely, I will marry you."

They kissed and hugged and kissed some more, to the cheers of everyone around them, and it didn't really matter how much Merril cried or how odd Spencer felt the rest of the day afterwards. This was just the natural next step for them.

[douxreviews]

The Handmaid's Tale - ‘Night' Review

The first three episodes of season three went up on Hulu today. I'm going to review them one at a time, so here's number one. The second will go up tomorrow and the third on Friday.

Now that the housekeeping is out of the way, let's dive in. A lot happened in the space of one episode, didn't it?

June has made her choice – to stay in Gilead until she can get Hannah out, even if it kills her. When the police arrived at the MacKenzie house, June decided to stay and look at her daughter, to kiss her one more time, instead of trying to get away. Which resulted in a strange conversation with Hannah's... I'm not sure what word to use here. "Foster mother" sounds too conventional. "Kidnapper" is too spot on.

At least Mrs. MacKenzie is something of a human being, although I think any wife in Gilead is complicit. She does appear to love Hannah Agnes. Enough to give June tidbits about her daughter. Enough to beg June not to come back. If Mrs. MacKenzie loves Hannah at all, though, how could she possibly expect June to stay away?

It feels like June has long ago transcended the level of tolerable disobedience, even for a handmaid of an important Commander. But then again, the Waterfords have continued to cover for her, mostly to protect themselves. And maybe, the longer we spend in this dystopia, the less sense it makes. That's the case with most dystopian fiction, though. It's not supposed to be like real life. It's supposed to twist reality into something extreme in order to make us think. The Handmaid's Tale certainly makes me think.

Out with the old

Then we were back at the Waterford household, but things have finally changed, big time. While Fred was ready to take June back simply to keep himself and Serena off the Wall, Serena was done with pretense.

During the first two seasons, Serena was always well groomed, usually calm and stoic, the perfect Gilead wife. Now she's a mess, and it wasn't just the wreckage of her flawless coiffure. When she lost her finger, she was forced to face everything that was wrong with Gilead in general, and her marriage in particular. I thought the most touching moment in this episode was when June took Serena into her arms and held her while she cried, cementing their bond of love for Nichole. I also thought it was lovely that June took Serena's unmaimed hand and led her out of that burning bedroom.

The fire that destroyed the Waterford house was beautifully set up with the antiseptic Serena used obsessively to treat what was left of her finger. I thought at first that she was going to commit suicide by drinking the antiseptic, but instead, she burned her marital bed – the bed where she and Fred teamed up to rape June. No symbolism at all on this show, huh?

Even though Serena set the fire, it was all of June's actions that ultimately brought down the Waterford house. As she left, June took one last look around and smiled as she touched the shaking walls. I loved the shot of the Scrabble board burning, and the one of June sitting in front of the house in the aftermath. That house represented Gilead, seemingly solid on the outside but on the inside, rotten to the core.

I'm a bit sad that Nick seemed to be an afterthought for June. After holding back Fred at gunpoint so that June could get away with his daughter, Nick was understandably angry when she returned. I thought Nick's best moment in the episode was when he lit a cigarette and handed it to Serena, saying "Praise be." And at least he told June to take care as the van was taking her away.

In with the new

After a brief spell back at the Red Center, just long enough to get whipped again and scrub some floors, June and her bloody feet landed at Commander Lawrence's household. Is this a good thing or a bad thing?

I love Bradley Whitford (because of The West Wing as well as his Twitter feed) but his character is subtly creepy. What's going on with him? Yes, he helped Emily escape and all, but last season, he was jamming away to Annie Lennox when Emily thought he was taking her to her death. He took June to the MacKenzie house and then took her as his handmaid to save her from yet more rape (we assume), but then he said to June, "You're not going to be any trouble, are you?" Is he expecting her to live quietly in his bizarre household and not continue to Resist? Really?

Last season, Lawrence was called "the architect of Gilead's economy," and his wife said he had established the workforce in the Colonies, the very thing that nearly killed Emily and Janine. If that's so, then he's no ally. I want to know more, please.

Meanwhile in Canada…

Whenever this show seems to be too dark, there's hope in Little America. While Emily and Nichole dying in that river would have made perfect sense, I swear I would have stopped watching if they had. I particularly liked that it was a male cop that asked the exhausted, bedraggled Emily to affirm that she was seeking asylum in Canada, and I loved that people in the hospital clapped to acknowledge the hero that Emily is, even though that emphasized that no one was clapping for June.

I was wondering how Emily could possibly know who Luke was, but the photo tucked into Nichole's blanket had writing in the margins. Poor Luke was overwhelmed by that photo of Hannah; he kept saying "She's so big." He's missing his daughter's childhood. Those are years he'll never get back.

Will Luke and Moira take baby Nichole now?

Photography

While I watch this series for the women and their stories, the photography continues to wow me. This episode began with wavering red car lights that foreshadowed the shots of the Waterford house burning down.

Then there was Serena bathed in light reflected in her vanity mirror, with Fred in darkness beside her. June reaching out to touch the smoke hanging in the air. June in the car being returned to the Waterfords, watching the inaccessible scenery passing by. Emily struggling across the river in the dark, with the baby in her arms. Exceptional.

Bits:

— Title musings: Why was the title of this episode, "Night," the same as the season one finale? That's confusing. It also doesn't seem to fit the episode.

— Emily's stabbing Aunt Lydia and successful escape made her the perfect scapegoat for pretty much everything. Nevertheless, it just seems unbelievable that June got away with just a beating. You'd think she'd have lost several body parts by now.

— The resistance seems to be active again. A handmaid at the Red Center told June that Emily and Nichole made it to Canada.

— Mrs. MacKenzie didn't look like the blond woman with Hannah in the photos at the summer home.

— This episode's discordant music was "I Don't Like Mondays" by the Boomtown Rats. I don't have a lot to say about that one. Maybe the point was that this craziness is like unwanted routine. Or maybe it went with the first quote, below.

Quotes:

June: "I'm sorry, baby girl. Mom's got work."

June: "You helped Emily." Commander Lawrence: "I liked Emily." June: "They could put you on the Wall. Even a Commander." Commander Lawrence: "Spunky."

Mrs. MacKenzie: "Please, stop. You know all of this ends, with you dying on the ground in front of her." She's not wrong.

Nick: "You're never getting out. You're gonna fucking die here." June: "I know that. Don't you think I fucking know that?"

There was a lot going on in this episode. Was it too much? Three out of four bottles of flammable antiseptic,

---

Billie Doux loves good television and spends way too much time writing about it.

[caroline-min-max]

A Place like Home

Not since they were children have Min and Max ever felt like they had a place where they belonged, where they were meant to be. Perhaps they may have just found it with a rabbit eared woman who usually doesn’t like anyone.

Caroline and Min were distraught. Never had they expected to run into that many security guards at their latest heist. The trio had been forced to split up and hide, unable to take on the mob that had drawn their guns.

The White Rabbit and Min and reunited with one another while Max had been cornered, had no choice by to give himself up, and taken into custody. The tracker that was in his bow tie had indicated as much when he didn’t join the duo and the White Rabbit had a look on her tracking device.

He’d been moving much too fast and be on foot. He wasn’t anywhere near where they’d left the car so Max could have only been forced into a police car... A police car that was currently en route to Arkham Asylum, by the looks of things.

It would be impossible to help him now.

At home, Caroline and Min started right away on making a plan to bust Max out. The White Rabbit had a handy map of the interior and exterior of Arkham that they consulted often. She unfurled it across the dining room table.

The problem was, it was late and both of them were tired out from what had transpired. Min’s eyes began to droop as the White Rabbit slurred her words and started to lose track of what she was saying.

Min let out a snore, startling both of them. He’d fallen asleep for a moment. 

“We should get some rest first...” Min said drowsily as he rubbed his eyes. Max wasn’t in any danger and they knew where to find him.

“I suppose so...” the White Rabbit had to agree, her ears drooping. It felt wrong to go to bed while Max was in peril but she and Min absolutely weren’t at their best right now.

Leaving the map on the table, the two bid each other goodnight and walked towards their bedrooms. Caroline took off her White Rabbit outfit and donned a soft pink long sleeved nightgown. Usually when she changed outfits her entire self changed. She went from the guarded, ready to kill notorious Gotham villain, to her much more mild mannered civilian self. 

With Max stuck in Arkham on her mind it was hard switch gears. She still felt the impulse to want to do something. She wasn’t awake, and she wasn’t tired, but rather restless now. Her body was fatigued while her mind wanted to keep going over her plan.

Caroline sighed as she turned over in her bed, wondering how Min was fairing. It had to be worse for him. Depending on what side he was comfortable sleeping on he might be facing an empty bed. Never before had one twin escaped while the other had been caught. 

Was he lonely? Caroline’s heart ached at the thought of Min being in such a big room all by himself. She got out of bed. She knew she had to check on him but wondered if what else she had in mind might be a bit strange. 

She slipped on robe before exiting the room. She made her way down the hallway and knocked on the door to the twins’ bedroom. 

“Come in,” Min answered right away, not sounding liked she’d woken him up. She seemed to be right in thinking that he was having trouble sleeping too.

Caroline entered the room to see that Min had switched on the lamp that was sitting on the nightstand. 

“Everything OK, Miss White?” Min asked, worried. He and Max had investigated strange sounds she’s heard in the past that scared her. He was ready and willing to get up if it had happened again.

“Yes and no,” Caroline answered with a sigh. “I thought if I was awake you’d be too.”

“Yeah...” Min looked sadly over at the empty bed. “It’s too quiet to sleep. I’m used to hearing Max breathing and mumbling.” 

Caroline smiled sadly. That was sweet. “Min... Would it be alright if I slept in Max’s bed tonight? Would he mind? I thought we could keep each other company.”

Min blinked at Caroline, suddenly at a loss for words as his jaw went slack. It certainly wasn’t as if she were asking to sleep in the same bed as him but she was alright with sharing a room with him tonight? She trusted him that much? 

“No...?” Caroline felt bad for placing Min in such an awkward position, biting her lip for a moment. “I’m sorry, I’ll-” she began turning to leave.

“You can stay!” Min blurted out, halting her. “Max wouldn’t mind!” In fact, he could just see Max’s red face right now when he’d tell him that Caroline spent an entire night in his bed.

“You’re sure?” Caroline asked uncertainly. 

“Yes!” Min answered quickly.

“Thank you.”

Caroline crossed over to Max’s bed and looked down on it. Still freshly made from that morning... Even she would sometimes leave her bedroom without fixing the covers, feeling a little embarrassed that Min and Max were a bit more neat and tidy than her. 

It really was sad to see this bed vacant, she thought as she slipped off her robe. She pulled back the cover and go into it. She laid down and turned to her side so she could face Min, seeing him reach over to turn off the lamp before doing the same. While Min could make out Caroline’s outline in the darkness she could see him clear as day with her vision.

“This is already nice,” Caroline said with a smile. “It must be soothing being able to fall asleep looking at someone you’re fond of.”

“Unless I’m mad at him,” Min joked. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you two really, truly angry at each other,” Caroline said with a chuckle. She thought of the time she walked into the kitchen one morning to see the twins squabbling over who ate all the waffles. She almost snickered at that memory, recalling how Min had smacked Max’s belly and insisted the fact he was two pound heavier than him was all the evidence he needed.

Min had to think about it too. “It hasn’t happened yet since we started livin’ with you. We’re real happy here, Miss White. Thanks for letting us stay!”

“I’m happy to have you two here. When I finally had the money I wanted to buy the most lavish house I could get my hands on...” Caroline had been in shock the day she realized she could afford living in the ritziest neighborhood in Gotham. “I just didn’t think about how empty it would be. It’s not just all the extra space but being here all by myself. It never felt like a ‘home’ until you two moved in.”

After living with her alcoholic father that would shout and break things late at night when he came out of his stupor, and then living in an apartment with paper thin walls, Caroline had thought she’d love the peace and quiet.

Instead, some days her home had felt almost like a large warehouse she was wandering through. Once the twins moved in she’d allowed them to furnish some empty rooms as they pleased and she’d filled up more space with gifts they’d bought her or from new interests they’d gotten her into.

Now living here was much more exciting. Often Caroline eagerly sought out the twins to see what they were up to or to chat with them. 

“Me and Max we thinkin’ that too!” Min agreed. “We had a OK apartment but nothin’ that felt like a place we belonged. We thought we’d never have that feeling we did again when Mom was still alive.” Min smiled sadly. “I still remember how she’d give us a kiss goodnight and say ‘See you in the morning’. She did that at the hospital too... Before me and Max left for the night... But the next time we saw her was at her wake.” 

That had been terrible... The twins had never experienced death before. Sometimes the thought of Max begging his mother to open her eyes and get up still haunted Min’s memory. His father had firmly grabbed Max’s arm and scolded him for causing a scene, Min needing to step in and calm his twin. 

Silence filled the room. Caroline knew they’d likely be a couple of Chatty Cathies but never expected such a heart-to-heart talk. It explain so much, though... Caroline closed her eyes for a moment as she collected her thoughts.

Initially Caroline had been positive that Min and Max were only so nice to her because she had favor with Two Face. She’d grown so distrusting of everyone around her she couldn’t believe anyone would extend kindness like that without ulterior motives. 

Only... They kept doing it. Long after Caroline had made it clear it wouldn’t score them any points with Two Face; they didn’t care about that. They hadn’t worked with a single woman yet and, being such a new criminal herself, were worried about how Caroline would fair.

It only got worse once she started reluctantly liking them. They’d picked up on that. 

Now she finally understood the root cause to how they treated her: Their mother. Caroline was a woman they weren’t powerless to protect. Unlike Two Face, she showed them that warmth they were craving and praised them for jobs well done. She didn’t deny that she needed them but it seemed they needed someone like her too.

Caroline opened her eyes again to see that now Min was staring up at the ceiling. Her heart was aching for him, but what could she say after that? Likely nothing, but there was something she could do...

“Huh?!” Min was startled when he suddenly felt a smooth, gentle hand on his cheek. “Miss White...” he whispered her name when she planted small, chaste kiss on his forehead. 

“Goodnight, Min,” Caroline said as she straightened back up. “I’ll see you in the morning and every one after that.” Her voice radiated sincerity. She meant it. 

Min felt tears sting his eyes; he never thought he’d ever hear those words again. He suddenly sat up and embraced Caroline, she not hesitating to hold him back. Here she was in a man’s bedroom, in just her nightwear, and in his arms. But she wasn’t afraid.

Through the thinness of Caroline’s nightgown it was more obvious than ever how tiny her frame was. Caroline was an extremely petite woman who somehow managed to have a presence more than twice her size. It almost made a person forget how frail she was. 

Min had an idea of what this woman had gone through. He wasn’t going to let anyone hurt her ever again.

For the most part Caroline had felt platonic fondness for the twins. Here and there, however, she’d felt something more. The first time had been when she blushed upon them revealing their talent for singing to her. Those voices beautifully singing one of her favorite love songs had sent her heart racing.

Initially she’d deemed it a fluke. She wasn’t used to men doing such kind things for her and was certain it was a momentary feeling. But now it had been happening more and more. This was becoming one of those times.

If Min actually dared to try and kiss her Caroline couldn’t be certain she’d be opposed to it. Her actions had meant to comfort him but now she was starting to want to stay close like this all night.

No... She wasn’t ready for a relationship like that. Especially when she’d had moments like this with Max as well. She had yet to favor one over the other.

Although mind reading unfortunately wasn’t an ability she’d gained Caroline noticed a change in Min’s demeanor as they continued to stay in such close contact. His breathing had quickened, and there was a slight trembling in his hands... Was she looking too much into it or...?

“Whether we succeed or fail tomorrow we’ll still be with Max,” Caroline said, unable to stand the tension anymore. Although she’d much prefer the first outcome it was still a comfort. “I think we really do need to try and sleep now.” She had to end this before Min did start getting any ideas.

“Yeah...” Min agreed before reluctantly letting her go.

Indeed Min’s mind couldn’t help but thinking about taking things further. Just when he thought Caroline couldn’t get any sweeter she kept surprising him with how caring she could be. She’d insisted she always acted out of selfishness but that just made it seem all the more special that treating he and Max so well brought her that much joy.

A woman like Caroline could never fall in love with him; she was too special. Min was certain of that. Romance likely wasn’t something she was searching for anyway, he not wanting to ruin what they did have together.

Caroline returned to Max’s bed. She made herself comfortable again under the covers, looking over at Min again to see he was facing her direction. Although she knew he couldn’t see it, she smiled and closed her eyes.

Max’s pillow smelled like him. Caroline inhaled his scent deeply, hoping that tomorrow she and Min could devise a foolproof plan.

Usually, as quite the troubled woman, Caroline would wake up repeatedly during the night. Either from bad dreams, strange sounds, or her mind insisting that she needed to get up.

It came as a surprise when sunshine pouring into the room was what roused Caroline. She’d slept for six straight hours, a true rarity for her. Min was still out cold. He was laying the same way as when she last saw him only with his mouth hanging open.

She was right to trust him. There was never a doubt in her mind. She’d let the dear man sleep and go back to her own room to change. After making a pot of coffee she’d wake him up. 

Her legs slightly stiff from all the running she did last night, Caroline gave them a good stretch before getting out of bed. As she was throwing her robe back on Min’s drowsy voice calling her name made her jump slightly.

“Sorry!” she apologized as she turned to face him. “I didn’t think I made any noise!”

“You din’t...” Min murmured as he wiped the sleep out of his eyes, Caroline thinking the bedhead he had was rather cute. “It’s morning already?”

“It is.”

It was more than obvious Min would need that coffee. Caroline set to work on brewing on it as soon as she could, the two then having a simple breakfast of toast and cereal before starting fresh with Caroline’s idea. 

“So we’ll count on that security clearance card still working,” Caroline decided. “If not, we’ll fall back on plan B.” She’d really rather not take such a risk but she’d do anything for Min or Max. “What do you think?”

Min opened his mouth to answer but it was an identical voice behind him and Caroline that spoke up.

“Those would have been great!” Max praised, sending a jolt of surprise through Min. 

“Yeeek!” the fur on Caroline’s head stood on end as she leaped up into the air and into Min’s arms. She clung to him around his neck as she look back at the intruder. “Max!” she gasped. “Why didn’t you say something earlier!”

Completely focused on her course of action with Min, Caroline wasn’t paying attention to any noises at all. She’d completely missed the sound of Max using his key to open the door and it wasn’t loud enough for regular human ears like Min’s to hear.

“I thought maybe you and Min would still be sleeping and then I didn’t want to interrupt!” Max explained. “I’m sorry I scared you!”

Caroline sighed into Min’s shoulder, it suddenly dawning on her where she was. He was supporting her delicately, being careful about where his hands were. In fact, he was stiff as a statue from his shock at suddenly having Caroline in his arms.

“I apologize, Min,” Caroline said, both their cheeks slightly pink. “You can put me down now.” Min obliged, Caroline then surprising Max when she hugged him, pressing her forehead against his torso. “I’m so glad to see you. How did you get out of Arkham?” she asked as she looked up at him. Even she had never escape this fast.

Max grinned. “Without you there they decided to take me to the regular jail! You taught me and Min so many ways to escape they probably still don’t that I’m gone!”

Caroline laughed lightly. The fools! She did think she’d spotted some new faces on the scene; they likely hadn’t realized that Max was special. Back when the twins first started out a plain old jail for the typical Gotham scum was more than suitable in containing them. As the White Rabbit’s henchmen they’d learned more than a thing or two from her.

“Well that was certainly lucky!” Caroline couldn’t help squeezing Max tightly. He and Min really had paid attention when she taught them escape tricks. 

Max hugged Caroline back, glad to receive such a warm reception upon returning home. He’d truly been touched to see her and Min planning out the details of how to get him back. 

Min looked on with a sad smile on his face. So this is what it looked like on the outside to see Caroline hugging one of them. She seemed so happy in Max’s arms; maybe even happier than when she was in his? Min couldn’t be sure. He tried not to dwell on it.

“You have to be hungry!” Caroline suddenly realized as she abruptly let Max go, taking a step back. “Go ahead and sit down! I’ll make you an omelet!” She looked over at Min. “Could you put this map away for me please?”

“Sure, Miss White!” Min answered before he started rolling it up. 

“Thank you.”

“Welcome home, Max,” Min said with a happy smile. He was elated to see his brother no worse for wear.

“Thanks, Min!” Max replied as he took his seat. 

Max looked around the kitchen he’d become completely familiar with. He smiled at the rabbit magnets that were stuck to the fridge where they sometimes left notes for one another. He eyed the higher up cabinets that Caroline would need a step stool to reach if she was being stubborn and didn’t want to ask for help. He smoothed a wrinkle out of the pink tablecloth in front of him.

His gaze lingered on the rabbit eared woman who was busily gathering the ingredients she needed to make his breakfast. He turned his head when Min returned and took his place, leaving an empty chair in-between the two of them where Caroline would sit.

Home... Indeed this was. It wasn’t so much the house itself but the people that resided in it with him that made it feel that way. This was where they should be. Max was glad he and Min had finally found it.