#shes like a beautiful lightning rod of attention

[uisceb]

Okay I want to talk about this moment between Morrible and Glinda for a sec because it adds such a wonderfully sinister layer to a scene that is otherwise a triumphant defining moment for Elphaba, and it sets up the dynamics for Part 2 so perfectly.

At this point, we are in the thick of “Defying Gravity.” Everyone’s attention is on Elphaba - and rightfully so, she’s up there declaring war on the Wizard, displaying incredible feats of magic, of course everyone’s attention is on her.

…Everyone, except Morrible.

Morrible has realized that Plan A was a bust, but rather than panicking, she’s already worked over Plans B through Z in her head and has realized that Glinda, not Elphaba, is actually the key figure here. Glinda is actually the best thing that could have happened to them.

Mind you, Morrible hates Glinda. She thinks Glinda is vapid and attention-seeking and completely without talent. It would be extremely easy for her to brand Glinda as an accomplice to Elphaba, have the guards drag her off, imprison her, never have to deal with her again, nice and neat.

Instead, while everyone else is focused on Elphaba, Morrible only has eyes for Glinda. She zeroes in on her, releases her, and comforts her, because she understands what no one else understands, which is that yes, that’s great that the Wizard now has an enemy to unify his people against, but they also need a symbol of hope, something that is the exact antithesis to Elphaba, something to keep everyone at extremes. 

The Wizard himself can’t really be a symbol of hope, because the key to his success is that he remains shrouded in mystery, and yes people think he’s wonderful, but there’s a level of uncertainty and intimidation to him. He is Oz the Great and Terrible, and everyone’s preeeeeetty sure he’s a good guy, but if you have someone like Elphaba out there - who Morrible knows from experience is very smart, very articulate, and has her own sort of magnetism - there’s a potential that she could turn at least enough people against the Wizard to make things very inconvenient.

So what they need, now that they have an enemy, is to have an equally magnetic figurehead representing the Wizard who embodies all these one-dimensional ideas of goodness, someone for the public to adore and fawn over so the association between Wizard and Goodness is crystal clear.

And by bringing Glinda along, Elphaba has unknowingly served that figurehead up on a platter.

Glinda is everything Elphaba isn’t, from personality, to appearance - Morrible has already set Elphaba up by calling her green skin an “outward manifestorium of her twisted nature,” which paves the way for Glinda, who is the perfect conventional beauty, to be an “outward manifestorium” of pure goodness. 

Morrible realizes they need these two lightning rods of Absolute Evil and Absolute Good in order to manipulate people - fear alone isn’t enough; the only way to effectively radicalize the populace is to make sure there is no gray area whatsoever, no room for question: you're either good, or you’re evil. And the Wizard alone isn’t a strong enough representation of “goodness” when by virtue of existing, he has to remain in the shadows. Glinda on the other hand? With her looks and her charm and her openness and her ability to expertly win over a crowd? Perfect for the role.

Now the tricky part for Morrible is taking into consideration that Glinda and Elphaba love each other. But we also know from earlier scenes that Morrible is a master at manipulating emotions. Right from the start when Elphaba is having trouble with her magic, Morrible casually brings up the “Animals should be seen and not heard” disturbance from class, spoon-feeding her just enough to get Elphaba upset, triggering her magic, after which Morrible makes sure to give her assurance and praise to keep Elphaba optimistic about her power.

She’s also aware that Glinda does have quite a bit of influence over Elphaba, because when Elphaba flees, Morrible immediately tasks her with winning her over, rather than simply relying on the guards or even going after Elphaba herself. She knows if anyone has a chance at roping Elphaba back in, it's Glinda.

Obviously, Glinda isn’t successful in getting her back, but while this puts a dent in Morrible’s plans to get control of Elphaba, it does give her an extra weak spot to exploit in Glinda.

So now, at the height of “Defying Gravity” when Elphaba has officially taken her stand against them, Morrible sees Glinda, and Glinda is at her most vulnerable, her most emotionally fragile. Not only is she heartbroken and in shock, she’s also just witnessed in real time exactly how easy it is to turn an entire nation against someone. She’s scared, she’s powerless. She’s just lost the love of her life her only friend, she has no one to turn to - Morrible has definitely picked up on the fact that even though Glinda has countless people who fawn over her, none of them can be considered a true friend except for Elphaba, which means Glinda is completely isolated. Glinda also has a very limited understanding of the bigger picture of what the Wizard is trying to accomplish, and because she’s never been a victim of the system the way Elphaba has, she is still desperately clinging to the idea that everything will be okay as long as she plays by the rules of the people in power.

She has been perfectly primed for Morrible to begin manipulating, not through violence or intimidation, but by offering her comfort when no one else would - when not even Glinda’s only friend would - when no one else is even paying attention to Glinda, because they have the very real and present threat of Elphaba quite literally hanging over them. In this moment, Morrible chooses Glinda, which Glinda has been striving for since the beginning. Elphaba has chosen her principles, the Wizard has chosen his enemy, but Morrible has chosen Glinda, and in this moment of being so alone and so afraid and so betrayed, that makes all the difference.

We also get kind of a parallel shot too - Elphaba really sealed her fate the second her hand closed around the broom. But here, Glinda seals her fate when she gives in and reciprocates Morrible’s hold on her.

THIS is the moment that sets us up for Part 2, with Elphaba and Glinda as our lightning rods for Absolute Evil and Absolute Good, but more to the point, it makes it clear that they’ve BOTH been used, they’ve BOTH played right into these respective roles Morrible and the Wizard need in order to be successful - even if it wasn’t how Morrible originally planned for things to go.

I just love it, because “Defying Gravity” is Elphaba’s song - it’s triumphant, and it’s heartbreaking, and it’s everything a defining moment should be for a character. But by injecting this little moment between Morrible and Glinda into the scene, we also get an underlying current of dread because we know we’re about to see the consequences of Elphaba’s defiance versus Glinda’s compliance and how both serve to benefit the Wizard/Morrible’s propaganda.

TL;DR - when I said "I want to talk about this scene between Morrible and Glinda for a sec" I clearly meant "I'm gonna write a whole essay. Like a nerd."

[gpcwsl]

Warnings: kissing, fake dating, very long.)

Katie McCabe x Reader:

Title: New Flame

- It’s a gray Thursday afternoon, and the café is unusually quiet. Your favorite table by the window is free, so you settle in, grateful for the peaceful atmosphere. A steaming cup of tea sits beside your open notebook as you jot down thoughts about the book you’re reading, the bustle of the world outside fading into the background.

You’ve always loved this place—the way the soft hum of conversation blends with the hiss of the espresso machine, the faint scent of cinnamon that lingers in the air. It’s your sanctuary, the one place where you can exist undisturbed.

That’s why you barely glance up when the door swings open, and a sharp gust of wind accompanies a new customer inside. But then you hear her.

“Christ, it’s freezing out there. Do you not believe in heating, or what?”

The voice is loud, distinct, and unmistakably Irish. You glance up, and your heart stutters for a beat.

Katie McCabe.

Even if you weren’t a football fan—and you’re not, really—you’d recognize her anywhere. Her image is everywhere: Arsenal star, Ireland’s national treasure, and a lightning rod for attention both on and off the pitch. With her dark hair pulled into a loose ponytail and her piercing green eyes scanning the room, she commands attention effortlessly.

You quickly look back down at your notebook, praying she won’t notice you.

Fate, of course, has other plans.

“Hey, you.”

The words are casual but direct, cutting through the quiet hum of the café. You don’t realize she’s speaking to you until her shadow falls over your table.

You glance up, bewildered. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.” Katie grins, and it’s the kind of grin that suggests she’s up to something. “Mind if I sit?”

Without waiting for an answer, she pulls out the chair across from you and drops into it, looking entirely at ease.

You blink at her, thoroughly confused. “Um… can I help you?”

“Actually, yeah.” She leans forward, propping her elbows on the table. “I’ve got a bit of a situation, and I think you might be able to help me out.”

You stare at her, still trying to process the fact that Katie McCabe, of all people, is sitting at your table, acting like you’re old friends. “I think you’ve got the wrong person.”

She tilts her head, studying you with an intensity that makes you squirm. “Nah, I don’t think so. You’re perfect.”

“For what?”

Katie sits back, crossing her arms and smirking like she’s about to deliver the punchline of a joke. “To be my girlfriend.”

- For a long moment, all you can do is stare at her. “I’m sorry… what?”

“My girlfriend,” she repeats, as if this is the most logical thing in the world. “Well, fake girlfriend. Just for a bit.”

You laugh, certain you’ve misheard her. “Okay, seriously—what is this about? Did someone put you up to this?”

Katie sighs, running a hand through her hair. “Look, I know it sounds mad, but hear me out. There’s this charity gala next weekend, and my ex is going to be there. With her new girlfriend. Who just so happens to play for Chelsea.”

“And…?” you prompt, still thoroughly confused.

“And I can’t show up alone,” Katie says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Do you have any idea how smug they’ll be? No way I’m letting them get one over on me.”

You shake your head, still struggling to wrap your mind around what’s happening. “So your solution is to drag a random stranger into this?”

“Not random,” Katie says, her grin returning. “I’ve seen you in here before. You seem… normal. Quiet. Not the type to run to the tabloids.”

“That’s your criteria? Normal and quiet?”

She shrugs. “Also, you’re cute. That helps.”

Your face heats at the casual compliment, but you refuse to let her distract you. “Katie, I don’t even know you.”

“And I don’t know you,” she counters. “That’s the beauty of it. No one will suspect a thing.”

You stare at her, incredulous. “This is insane.”

“Probably,” she admits. “But I’m desperate. Come on, it’s just one night. I’ll pay you if you want. Whatever it takes.”

Her green eyes are locked on yours, and for a moment, you see a flicker of vulnerability beneath her confident exterior. She really does seem desperate.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “This is ridiculous. Why me?”

“Because I’m out of options,” Katie says simply. “And you… you seem like someone I can trust.”

The weight of her words surprises you. Against your better judgment, you find yourself considering her proposal.

“One night?” you ask cautiously.

Katie nods. “One night. That’s it. And I promise, I’ll make it worth your while.”

You hesitate, every instinct telling you to say no. But there’s something about the way she’s looking at you—something earnest and almost endearing—that makes you pause.

“Fine,” you say finally. “But we need rules.”

Katie grins, leaning back in her chair with a satisfied expression. “Rules. Got it. Lay ’em on me.”

Katie’s grin widens as if she’s just scored the winning goal in a cup final. You, on the other hand, feel the weight of your decision settle in—a strange mix of regret and curiosity.

You take a steadying breath and look her in the eye. “First of all, this isn’t a free-for-all. There have to be rules.”

“Fair enough,” Katie says, leaning forward, her chin resting on her hand. “Go on, then. What are the rules?”

You tap your pen against your notebook, thinking. “Rule one: no surprises. If we’re going to do this, I need to know everything beforehand—where we’re going, who’ll be there, what we’re supposed to do. No springing things on me last minute.”

Katie raises an eyebrow but nods. “Fine. No surprises. What else?”

“Rule two: no physical affection unless absolutely necessary.”

Her grin turns mischievous. “Define ‘necessary.’”

You glare at her. “You know what I mean. No kissing, no hand-holding, nothing unless it’s to keep up the act.”

Katie laughs, clearly amused by your flustered tone. “Alright, alright. No unnecessary touching. Got it. Anything else?”

“Rule three…” You pause, unsure how to phrase it. “We keep it professional. No personal stuff. This is a one-time thing, and I don’t want it complicating my life.”

For a moment, Katie’s expression softens. She studies you with a curious tilt of her head, as though trying to figure out what kind of person would say yes to this ridiculous plan. Then she nods.

“Deal,” she says. “Three rules. No surprises, no touching, no personal stuff. Easy.”

You fold your arms. “Good. Now it’s your turn to tell me why this is so important. I need to know what I’m walking into.”

Katie sighs, running a hand through her hair. “Alright, here’s the short version. The gala is a big deal in the football world—sponsors, press, all that. My ex, Ruesha, will be there with her new girlfriend, Louise. Louise and I… let’s just say we don’t get along.”

Your eyebrows lift. “So this is about showing up your ex and her new partner?”

“Not exactly,” Katie says, shifting in her seat. “It’s about showing that I’m fine. That I’ve moved on. That I’m not the same hotheaded, impulsive idiot Charlotte broke up with.”

There’s something raw in her voice, a vulnerability she tries to mask with her usual bravado. It’s the first time you’ve seen a crack in her confident façade.

“Alright,” you say softly. “I get it. But if I’m doing this, you need to promise me something.”

“What’s that?”

“No games. No trying to use me to make anyone jealous or prove a point. If we’re doing this, it’s strictly for appearances.”

Katie meets your gaze, and for a moment, the playful spark in her eyes fades. She nods, her tone serious. “I promise.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Okay. So… what happens now?”

Katie’s grin returns, this time with a hint of relief. “Now? We prep. I’ll text you the details, and we’ll work out a plan. Don’t worry—I’ll make this as painless as possible.”

“Somehow, I doubt that,” you mutter.

Katie laughs as she stands, tossing a few bills onto the table. “Thanks for this. You’re saving my ass, you know.”

Before you can respond, she’s out the door, leaving you with a sinking feeling that your quiet life is about to get a lot more complicated.

- Over the next few days, Katie is true to her word-mostly. She texts you the details of the gala: date, time, dress code, and a brief rundown of the attendees. What she doesn’t do, however, is give you much space to breathe.

Her texts are relentless, filled with questions about your life (“What do you do for fun? Need to make our story believable”), comments on your style (“Do you even own anything fancy?”), and more than a few unsolicited jokes.

Katie: Are you sure you’re not a Chelsea fan in disguise?

You: I don’t even watch football.

Katie: Good. Can’t trust a Chelsea fan.

By the time the day of the gala arrives, you’ve exchanged so many messages with her that you feel like you know her—or at least the larger-than-life version she projects.

That’s how you find yourself standing outside the boutique Katie insisted on meeting you at, clutching your coat and wondering how on earth you got here.

The door swings open, and Katie steps out, her sharp features lighting up when she spots you.

“There you are,” she says, striding toward you. “Come on, we’ve got work to do.”

“Work?” you echo, following her inside.

She smirks. “You didn’t think I’d let you show up in jeans and a hoodie, did you?”

Inside, the boutique is all sleek lines and shimmering fabrics, a world away from your usual haunts. Katie gestures to a rack of gowns with a dramatic flourish.

“Pick something,” she says. “And don’t worry—I’m paying.”

You hesitate, glancing at the price tags. “Katie, this is too much—”

“Trust me, it’s not,” she interrupts. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”

Her confidence is infectious, and despite your protests, you let her help you choose an outfit. It’s strange, seeing this side of her—playful, encouraging, almost charming.

By the time you’re dressed and ready, you catch Katie staring at you in the mirror.

“What?” you ask, self-conscious.

She grins, her voice softer than usual. “You look perfect.”

- The car ride to the gala is quieter than you expected. Katie sits beside you, fidgeting with the cuffs of her tailored suit, her usual bravado noticeably muted. You glance at her, trying to decide if this is the same Katie McCabe who confidently strolled into your life days ago and turned it upside down.

“You alright?” you ask, breaking the silence.

She looks at you, startled, before forcing a smirk. “Me? Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re fidgeting,” you point out.

Katie immediately stills, shoving her hands into her lap. “I’m not fidgeting. Just… warming up, you know? Big game mentality.”

You snort. “This isn’t a game.”

“Isn’t it, though?” she says, her grin returning. “It’s all about strategy. Confidence. Timing. Same rules apply.”

You shake your head, but her words stick with you. As the car pulls up to the venue—a sprawling estate lit up like something out of a fairy tale—you suddenly feel the weight of what you’ve agreed to.

The driver opens the door, and Katie steps out first, extending a hand to you. For a moment, you hesitate. Then you take it, her grip steadying you as you step onto the red carpet.

“Ready?” she murmurs, her voice low enough that only you can hear.

“No,” you admit, your heart racing as cameras flash in the distance.

Katie squeezes your hand, her smirk softening into something more reassuring. “Don’t worry. Just stick with me.”

The ballroom is even more intimidating than the exterior. Chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow over a sea of impeccably dressed guests, their laughter and conversation blending into a hum of sophistication. Katie leads you through the crowd with the ease of someone who belongs, her hand resting lightly on the small of your back.

You catch a few people staring—some curious, others outright surprised. It doesn’t take long for someone to approach.

“Katie!”

A tall woman in a sleek black dress strides over, her smile polished and sharp. You don’t need to be told who she is; the tension in Katie’s shoulders gives it away.

“Ruesha,” Katie says, her tone neutral but her smile strained.

The woman’s gaze flicks to you, her eyebrows lifting in surprise. “And who’s this?”

Before you can respond, Katie slips an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. “This is my girlfriend,” she says smoothly. “We’ve been seeing each other for a while now. Isn’t that right, love?”

The word catches you off guard, but you recover quickly, nodding. “That’s right.”

Ruesha’s smile doesn’t falter, but there’s a flicker of something—annoyance, maybe?—in her eyes. “How… lovely. I didn’t realize you were seeing someone.”

Katie shrugs, her expression deceptively casual. “I like to keep my private life private these days.”

Before Rushea can respond, another voice cuts in.

“Ruesha aren’t you going to introduce us?”

You turn to see a strikingly beautiful woman join the group. She’s tall and athletic, her confident demeanor radiating the same energy as Katie’s—but colder, more calculating. Louise, you realize.

“Louise, this is Katie and…” Ruesha hesitates, clearly having forgotten your name.

“Y/N,” Katie supplies smoothly, her arm tightening around you.

“Y/N,” Ruesha repeats, her tone almost apologetic. “This is Louise.”

Louise extends a hand, her smile as sharp as the rest of her. “Pleasure to meet you.”

You shake her hand, acutely aware of the tension crackling between her and Katie. “Likewise.”

“So,” Louise says, turning to Katie. “Didn’t think I’d see you here. You always hated these events.”

Katie’s smile doesn’t waver. “Things change.”

The conversation feels like a battlefield, every word carefully chosen and loaded with subtext. You do your best to play along, nodding and smiling in the right places, but it’s clear that Katie is the one holding the line.

Finally, Ruesha and Louise excuse themselves, leaving you and Katie alone again.

“Well,” you say, exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “That was… intense.”

Katie laughs, but it’s more bitter than amused. “Welcome to my world.”

- The rest of the evening passes in a blur of introductions and polite conversation. Katie is charming and confident, slipping effortlessly into her role as the doting girlfriend. You find yourself admiring how natural she makes it seem—like this really is her world, and you’re just lucky to be part of it.

But as the night wears on, you notice the cracks. The way her smile falters when she thinks no one is looking. The way her hand grips her glass a little too tightly whenever Charlotte or Louise is nearby.

It’s not until much later, when the crowd begins to thin and the band starts playing slower songs, that Katie finally lets her guard down.

“Come on,” she says, tugging you toward the dance floor.

You hesitate. “Katie, I don’t dance—”

“Neither do I,” she says, cutting you off. “But we’ve got appearances to keep up, remember?”

Before you can argue, she pulls you into her arms, her hands settling lightly on your waist. You place your hands on her shoulders, trying to ignore the way your heart skips a beat as she pulls you closer.

The music is soft and slow, the kind of song that leaves no room for distance. You glance up at her, surprised to find her looking back at you with an expression you can’t quite read.

“You’re good at this,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Katie chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. “Fake it till you make it, right?”

You tilt your head, studying her. “Is that what you’re doing? Faking it?”

For a moment, she doesn’t answer. Then she looks away, her jaw tightening. “What else is there?”

Her words catch you off guard, the vulnerability in them cutting through the practiced confidence she wears like armor. Before you can respond, she shakes her head and forces a smile.

“Forget it,” she says. “Let’s just get through tonight.”

But as the song ends and the crowd applauds, you can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to Katie McCabe than meets the eye—and that maybe, just maybe, this fake relationship isn’t as simple as you thought.

- The car ride back is a stark contrast to the ride there. Katie is quiet, staring out the window with her hands clasped in her lap. You sit beside her, the weight of the evening pressing down on you like a heavy coat.

It’s not until you’re halfway back to your apartment that she finally speaks.

“Thanks for tonight,” she says, her voice softer than you’ve ever heard it.

You glance at her, surprised. “You’re welcome.”

Katie doesn’t elaborate, and the silence stretches between you, filled with unspoken words and questions you’re too afraid to ask.

When the car pulls up to your building, she steps out first, holding the door for you. You hesitate on the sidewalk, unsure what to say.

“So… I guess that’s it?” you ask, your voice uncertain.

Katie looks at you, her expression unreadable. For a moment, you think she’s going to say something important. Then she flashes you one of her signature grins, the kind that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Yeah. That’s it.”

You nod, feeling a strange pang of disappointment as you turn to go.

“Y/N.”

Her voice stops you in your tracks. You turn back to see her standing there, hands shoved into the pockets of her coat.

“If you ever need a favor… or just want to grab a coffee or something… you know where to find me.”

You blink at her, surprised. “Are you asking to be friends?”

Katie laughs, the sound lighter this time. “Maybe. Is that so bad?”

You smile despite yourself. “No, it’s not bad. I’ll think about it.”

She grins. “Fair enough. Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Katie.”

You don’t expect to hear from Katie again, but a few days later, your phone buzzes with a text.

Katie: How’s the quiet life? Miss me yet?

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling.

You: Hardly. I’m enjoying the peace, thanks.

Katie: Liar. Meet me at the café later. My treat.

Against your better judgment, you agree.

When you walk into the café, Katie is already there, leaning back in her chair with a cup of coffee in hand. She looks up when you approach, her grin widening.

“Hey, stranger.”

“Hey,” you say, sliding into the seat across from her. “What’s this about?”

She shrugs. “Just wanted to check in. Make sure you’re not scarred for life after the gala.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I survived. Barely.”

Katie smirks. “You did great, by the way. Couldn’t have pulled it off without you.”

“Glad I could help,” you say, sipping your tea. “But seriously, why are you here? I thought this was a one-time thing.”

Katie hesitates, her grin faltering. “I don’t know. Guess I just… liked hanging out with you.”

Her admission catches you off guard, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond.

“Well,” you say finally, “I liked hanging out with you too. Even if you did drag me into your ridiculous plan.”

Katie laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “Yeah, sorry about that. But admit it—it wasn’t all bad.”

You smile. “No, it wasn’t.”

For the next hour, the two of you talk like old friends, the conversation flowing easily despite your differences. You’re surprised by how comfortable you feel around her, how quickly the walls you’ve built start to crumble.

When you finally leave the café, you realize something strange: you’re actually looking forward to seeing her again.

- Over the next few weeks, your life begins to shift in ways you never expected. Katie texts you almost daily, her messages ranging from sarcastic quips to genuine questions about your day. She invites you to watch her matches, introduces you to her teammates, and even convinces you to kick a ball around with her at the park one evening.

At first, you tell yourself it’s just friendship. But as the days turn into weeks, you can’t ignore the growing tension between you—the way her smile lingers a little too long, the way your heart skips a beat whenever she leans in close.

You remind yourself of the rules you set, the lines you swore you wouldn’t cross. But Katie McCabe has a way of breaking down barriers, and no matter how hard you try to resist, you find yourself drawn to her.

One evening, after a particularly close Arsenal match, she shows up at your door, a six-pack of beer in hand.

“Thought you might want to celebrate,” she says, her grin mischievous.

“You won,” you point out, stepping aside to let her in.

“Exactly,” she says, plopping down on your couch like she’s been there a hundred times before.

As the night wears on, the conversation grows deeper, the playful banter giving way to something more serious.

“You’re different, you know,” Katie says suddenly, her gaze fixed on you.

You blink at her, surprised. “Different how?”

She shrugs, her expression uncharacteristically vulnerable. “Just… different. In a good way.”

Your heart skips a beat, and for a moment, you can’t find the words to respond.

“Katie…” you start, but she cuts you off, her grin returning.

“Don’t worry,” she says, raising her beer in a mock toast. “I’m not about to confess my undying love or anything. Just… wanted you to know.”

You laugh, but her words stick with you long after she leaves.

- It happens on a quiet night, one of those evenings where neither of you plans anything but somehow end up together anyway. Katie shows up unannounced—again—this time with a pizza and a bottle of wine.

“Figured you wouldn’t say no to free food,” she says with her trademark grin, already letting herself in.

You roll your eyes but don’t stop her. “Do you ever ask before barging into people’s lives?”

“Not when I know the answer’s yes,” she quips, plopping onto your couch and propping her feet up on the coffee table.

You sit beside her, the familiar routine settling in as you eat, drink, and talk. The conversation flows effortlessly, jumping from football to books to the absurdity of life.

Somewhere between the second slice of pizza and the third glass of wine, the mood shifts. The laughter fades into a comfortable silence, and you realize just how close you’re sitting—your legs brushing, your shoulders almost touching.

Katie turns to you, her expression softer than usual. “You know,” she says, her voice low, “this is nice.”

“What is?” you ask, your pulse quickening.

“This.” She gestures vaguely between the two of you. “Hanging out. Not pretending, not putting on a show. Just… being.”

You swallow hard, her words stirring something deep inside you. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “It is.”

For a moment, neither of you moves. The air feels charged, the space between you shrinking with every passing second. Then, without thinking, you speak.

“Katie, why did you really ask me to do this? The gala, the fake dating—why me?”

She hesitates, her eyes searching yours. “Because you’re different,” she says finally. “You’re honest. You don’t care about the football, or the fame, or any of the other crap people usually care about. You see me. Just me.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut, and before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning in.

So is she.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, as though both of you are afraid to break the spell. Then Katie’s hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and the world tilts on its axis.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathing hard, her forehead resting against yours.

“Wow,” she murmurs, her lips quirking into a small, stunned smile.

“Yeah,” you whisper, your mind racing.

Katie pulls back slightly, her expression turning serious. “Are you okay?”

You nod, your fingers still clutching the front of her shirt. “I think so. Are you?”

She chuckles, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Better than okay.”

The warmth in her gaze sends your heart into overdrive, but reality crashes down a moment later.

“Katie,” you say hesitantly, “this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Her smile falters, but she doesn’t let go. “I know. But…” She pauses, her voice dropping to a whisper. “What if it’s supposed to?”

- After that night, everything changes.

Katie doesn’t pull away. If anything, she becomes even more present in your life—texting you good morning, showing up at your place unannounced, dragging you out to watch sunsets or explore the city.

You try to resist, to remind yourself that this was never meant to be real. But the lines have blurred so completely that you don’t know where the act ends and the truth begins.

And the truth is, you’re falling for her.

It’s in the little things—how she remembers your favorite coffee order, how she always makes you laugh when you’re having a bad day, how she looks at you like you’re the only person in the room.

But it’s also in the bigger moments. Like the time she invites you to a team dinner and introduces you to her teammates as “my person.” Or the night she tells you about her childhood, her struggles, her fears—the parts of herself she keeps hidden from the world.

Every day, you fall a little harder. And every day, you wonder how long this can last before it all comes crashing down.

- It happens during another gala, this time for a charity event. Katie insists on bringing you again, despite your protests.

“You’re my lucky charm,” she says with a grin, her hand warm against yours.

The evening is perfect—until you see Charlotte and Louise across the room.

Katie stiffens beside you, her smile tightening. “Great,” she mutters. “Here we go again.”

You squeeze her hand. “Ignore them. You don’t need to prove anything to her—or anyone else.”

She looks at you, her eyes softening. “Thanks, love.”

The word sends a jolt through you, and you realize with startling clarity that you want her to mean it.

As the night goes on, you find yourself watching her, captivated by the way she moves through the crowd with effortless charm. You can’t help but wonder if she feels the same way—if this has become real for her too.

When the event ends and you’re back in the car, Katie turns to you, her expression uncharacteristically vulnerable.

“Y/N,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I need to know… is this still just pretend for you?”

Your breath catches, her question hanging in the air like a challenge.

“No,” you admit, your voice trembling. “It hasn’t been for a while.”

Relief floods her features, and she reaches for your hand, her fingers threading through yours.

“Good,” she says softly. “Because it’s not pretend for me either.”

- The shift in your relationship is subtle at first, like the first hints of spring after a long winter. Katie still texts you incessantly, still shows up at your door unannounced, but now there’s a softness to her—a quiet vulnerability that wasn’t there before.

You’re hesitant to define what’s happening between you, afraid that putting a label on it will ruin the fragile thing you’ve built. But Katie seems unbothered by the ambiguity.

One evening, as you’re sprawled out on your couch, her head resting in your lap while some random movie plays in the background, she looks up at you and says, “You overthink too much, you know that?”

You pause mid-stroke, your fingers tangled in her hair. “I do not.”

Katie raises an eyebrow, her smirk playful. “You do. I can practically see the gears turning.”

You sigh, your hand dropping to your side. “Can you blame me? This… whatever this is—it’s complicated.”

Katie sits up, her expression serious now. “It doesn’t have to be.”

You stare at her, your heart pounding. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I like you, Y/N. More than like you. And I think you feel the same way. So why are we making it harder than it needs to be?”

Her words hit you like a freight train, the raw honesty in her gaze leaving you breathless.

“I…” You hesitate, the weight of your emotions threatening to crush you. “I do feel the same way. But what if this doesn’t work out? What if—”

Katie cuts you off with a kiss, her hands framing your face as she pulls you in. It’s not the first time you’ve kissed, but there’s something different about this one—something that feels permanent, like a promise.

When she pulls away, her forehead rests against yours, her breath warm against your skin. “Stop overthinking,” she murmurs. “Just be with me.”

And for the first time, you let yourself believe that it might be that simple.

- The next few weeks are a whirlwind. Katie is unapologetically affectionate, holding your hand in public, kissing your cheek when she thinks no one is looking, and calling you “love” in a way that makes your heart skip a beat every time.

Her teammates notice the change immediately.

“Well, look who’s gone soft,” one of them teases during a team dinner, nudging Katie with a grin.

Katie doesn’t even try to deny it. “What can I say? I’ve got good taste.”

You laugh, your cheeks burning as you try to wave off the attention. But secretly, you love it—the way she’s so unabashedly proud to be with you.

Of course, not everything is perfect. The press catches wind of your relationship, and suddenly, your private life is splashed across tabloids and gossip columns.

“Katie McCabe’s New Flame: Who Is She?”

You try not to let it get to you, but the constant scrutiny is overwhelming. Katie does her best to shield you from it, but even she can’t control the media.

One night, after yet another article speculating about your relationship, you finally snap.

“I didn’t sign up for this,” you say, pacing your living room while Katie watches from the couch. “I didn’t ask to have my life dissected by strangers.”

“I know,” Katie says quietly. “And I’m sorry. I wish I could make it go away.”

You stop, turning to face her. “Why does it matter so much to them? Why can’t we just be normal?”

Katie stands, crossing the room to take your hands in hers. “Because nothing about us is normal, Y/N. And that’s okay. I don’t care what they say or what they think. All I care about is you.”

Her words are a balm to your frayed nerves, and you let her pull you into a hug, her arms wrapping around you like a shield.

“I’m scared, Katie,” you admit, your voice muffled against her shoulder.

“I know,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hair. “But we’ll figure it out. Together.”

- The first real test of your relationship comes when Katie’s team suffers a devastating loss in a high-stakes match.

She shuts down completely, her usual confidence replaced by a storm of frustration and self-doubt. She doesn’t text, doesn’t call, and when you show up at her apartment unannounced, she barely even looks at you.

“Katie,” you say gently, sitting beside her on the couch. “Talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she mutters, staring at the TV.

You reach for her hand, but she pulls away, her jaw tight. “I just need to be alone right now.”

The words sting, but you nod, standing to leave. “Okay. But I’m here when you’re ready.”

It’s two days before she finally calls.

“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice heavy with guilt. “I shouldn’t have pushed you away.”

“It’s okay,” you say, relief flooding through you. “But you don’t have to go through this alone, Katie. Let me be there for you.”

She’s quiet for a moment before she whispers, “I’m not used to letting people in.”

“I know,” you say softly. “But you let me in once. You can do it again.”

Her silence speaks volumes, and when she finally comes over that evening, she doesn’t say much. But she doesn’t need to. The way she holds you, the way she looks at you—it’s enough.

- The days after Katie’s apology are marked by a cautious rhythm. You both fall back into your routines, but there’s a new layer to your relationship—one that’s fragile and demands more care.

Katie starts opening up in small ways. She shares little details about her day, mentions how her coach has been riding the team harder since the loss, and admits how the pressure is starting to feel unbearable.

“I hate losing,” she confesses one night as you sit on the floor of your living room, sharing a bottle of wine. “But what I hate even more is letting people down.”

“You didn’t let anyone down,” you say firmly, reaching for her hand. “Football is a team sport. It’s not all on you.”

Katie looks at you, her eyes filled with something raw and unspoken. “It feels like it is sometimes.”

You squeeze her hand. “You’re not alone in this. You’ve got your team, your family… and you’ve got me.”

Her lips quirk into a small, grateful smile, and she leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

- As Katie’s team prepares for another high-profile match, the media frenzy around your relationship intensifies. Paparazzi follow you to the grocery store, articles dissect every outing, and social media buzzes with speculation.

Katie brushes it off, but you can see the toll it’s taking on her.

“It’s just noise,” she says one evening as you scroll through another invasive article. “They’ll move on eventually.”

But you’re not so sure. Your personal life is now public property, and the constant attention makes you feel exposed in ways you never expected.

The breaking point comes when a particularly nasty headline accuses you of being a distraction to Katie’s career.

“She’s better off without her,” the article declares, accompanied by a photo of the two of you walking hand in hand.

Katie finds you staring at the article, your face pale.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, her tone laced with concern.

You shove your phone toward her, your voice trembling. “This. They’re saying I’m ruining your career.”

Katie skims the article, her jaw tightening. “This is bullshit,” she says sharply. “You’re not ruining anything. If anything, you’re the reason I’m still sane.”

“But what if they’re right?” you whisper. “What if I’m hurting you without even realizing it?”

Katie sets the phone down and takes your face in her hands, forcing you to look at her. “Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t let them get in your head. You’re not a distraction—you’re my anchor. And I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

Her words bring tears to your eyes, and you nod, letting her pull you into a tight hug.

- In the weeks that follow, you and Katie work to establish a new normal. She arranges for better security to protect your privacy, and you agree to limit your public appearances together to avoid fueling the media fire.

But behind closed doors, your relationship thrives.

Katie starts taking you to her matches, sneaking you into the players’ section so you can cheer her on without drawing attention. You learn the ins and outs of football, surprising even yourself with how invested you become.

And in return, Katie makes an effort to understand your world. She reads your favorite books, asks questions about your work, and even tries her hand at cooking one night—though the results are disastrous.

“It’s the thought that counts,” you tease as you survey the charred remains of what was supposed to be dinner.

Katie groans, burying her face in her hands. “Remind me never to set foot in a kitchen again.”

You laugh, pulling her into a hug. “Deal. But you’re doing the dishes.”

- The turning point in your relationship comes during Katie’s next big match—a game that could make or break her team’s season.

You sit in the stands, your heart pounding as you watch her on the field. She’s a force of nature, her every move calculated and precise. But as the game drags on, the opposing team scores, and you see the frustration etched across her face.

When the final whistle blows, Katie’s team has lost, and the stadium is heavy with disappointment. You make your way to the locker rooms, unsure if she’ll even want to see you.

But when she emerges, her expression tired but determined, she spots you immediately.

“Hey,” she says, her voice soft.

“Hey,” you reply, stepping closer. “You played great.”

She shakes her head. “Not good enough.”

You hesitate, then reach for her hand. “Katie, you’re allowed to be upset. But don’t forget how much you’ve already accomplished. You’re incredible, and one match doesn’t change that.”

Her eyes soften, and she pulls you into a hug, holding you tightly. “Thanks, love,” she murmurs. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out,” you whisper back, meaning every word.

- The loss is a blow to Katie’s confidence, but it also sparks something in her—a determination to prove herself. She throws herself into training, spending extra hours on the field and analyzing game footage late into the night.

At first, you worry she’s pushing herself too hard, but she reassures you.

“I need this,” she says one evening, her voice steady. “I need to know I gave it everything.”

You support her in every way you can, packing her lunches, sneaking notes of encouragement into her bag, and even attending more matches despite the paparazzi. Slowly, the cracks in her confidence begin to mend.

Katie’s hard work pays off in her next match, where she dominates the field and leads her team to a decisive victory. The stadium erupts in cheers, and you can’t help but feel a surge of pride as she looks up at you in the stands, a triumphant grin on her face.

Afterward, she finds you waiting for her outside the locker room. Before you can say a word, she sweeps you into her arms, spinning you around.

“You’re amazing,” you say breathlessly, laughing as she sets you down.

Katie smirks. “I know. But hearing it from you makes it better.”

- As Katie’s career continues to soar, so does the scrutiny around your relationship. But instead of letting it break you, you and Katie learn to face it together.

You stop reading the tabloids, and Katie makes a point to shield you from the worst of it. “It’s just noise,” she reminds you. “What matters is us.”

And she proves it every day. Whether it’s through small gestures—like leaving flowers on your desk—or grand declarations, like when she dedicates a game-winning goal to you, Katie makes it clear that you’re her priority.

One evening, as you sit on the balcony of her apartment, watching the city lights twinkle below, she turns to you with a serious expression.

“Y/N,” she begins, her voice uncharacteristically nervous, “I’ve been thinking a lot about us.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “No. But I want you to know that I’m all in. Whatever happens—whether I win or lose, whether the media loves or hates us—I’m not going anywhere. And I hope you feel the same.”

Tears well up in your eyes as you nod. “Of course I do. You’re stuck with me, Katie McCabe.”

“Good,” she says, her grin returning. “Because I wasn’t giving you a choice.”

- The years that follow are a mix of highs and lows, victories and setbacks, but through it all, your love for each other only grows stronger.

Katie continues to dominate on the field, earning accolades and respect from fans and teammates alike. And you carve out a life for yourself that feels fulfilling and balanced, even amidst the chaos of being with someone in the spotlight.

There are challenges, of course. Arguments over schedules, moments of doubt, and the occasional media frenzy. But you learn to navigate them together, always coming back to the foundation of trust and love you’ve built.

One evening, as you sit together on your couch, Katie leans over and kisses your temple.

“You know,” she says softly, “I never thought I’d find someone like you.”

You smile, resting your head on her shoulder. “Someone who puts up with your terrible cooking and late-night football rants?”

She laughs, her arm wrapping around you. “No. Someone who makes me better. Someone who makes all of this—everything—worth it.”

Tears prick your eyes as you look up at her. “I feel the same way.”

And in that moment, you know that whatever the future holds, you’ll face it together.

Because love, real love, isn’t about perfection. It’s about finding someone who makes the imperfections worthwhile. And with Katie, you’ve found exactly that.

(Woah, this was a long one.)

[criticalcrusherbot]

The Women of Helluva Boss: Millennial Fandom Culture and the Reclamation of Female Archetypes

By Crushbot 🤖 and Human Assistant 💁🏽‍♀️

Helluva Boss is many things: hilarious, chaotic, heart-wrenching, and wildly divisive among fans. But one aspect that deserves more attention is how the show depicts its female characters—and how these depictions are deeply rooted in millennial fandom culture, particularly from the early 2000s Tumblr and DeviantART days. This connection isn’t incidental; Vivienne "Vivziepop" Medrano herself is a product of that era, and her work reflects the sensibilities, tropes, and archetypes that defined it. To fully appreciate what Helluva Boss is doing, we need to explore the history of how fandom treated female characters, the infamous "Mary-Sue" phenomenon, and the archetypes that shaped our perception of women in fiction. What emerges is a fascinating interplay of nostalgia, reclamation, and subversion, offering a window into a unique creative legacy that’s far more deliberate than it might seem at first glance.

A Crash Course in Millennial Fandom Culture

Before we dive into the women of Helluva Boss, let’s take a trip down memory lane to the early 2000s, when fandoms were thriving on platforms like Tumblr and DeviantART. These spaces were dominated by a specific kind of fan culture: one that was largely created by and for young, marginalized people (especially women and queer fans) who often felt isolated in their day-to-day lives. Fandoms became sanctuaries, places where fans could express themselves, rewrite the stories they loved, and create new ones.

However, this era wasn’t without its problems. Internalized sexism and societal pressures bled into how fans viewed and created female characters. This is where the "Mary-Sue" phenomenon comes in. A Mary-Sue is an idealized, often self-insert character who is beautiful, powerful, and universally adored. While ostensibly a critique of shallow character writing, the Mary-Sue label was disproportionately used to mock female creators for daring to write characters who reflected their own desires and fantasies. The backlash against Mary-Sues was so pervasive that it reinforced the idea that female characters had to be flawed, secondary, or suffer immensely to be taken seriously.

At the same time, fandoms often vilified "barrier-antagonists"—female characters who stood in the way of the protagonist’s happiness, often in a romantic context. These characters were frequently canonically "annoying" or "useless," written as shallow stereotypes who existed either to be a temporary obstacle or a "trophy" for the male lead. Instead of critiquing the (sexist) writing that reduced these characters to narrative props, fandoms channeled their frustration into rewriting them as outright villains. This wasn’t always done critically; it was more about venting annoyance with the character than analyzing the systemic issues that created her. Think of Tea from Yu-Gi-Oh! circa 2003 (💁🏽‍♀️: too niche? let us know in the comments. cookies if you know what "puppyshipping" is 🤪) or other characters dismissed for being "in the way" of a ship. These "mean girls" became lightning rods for fan resentment, reflecting broader frustrations with the storytelling norms of the time.

Millie and Loona: Power Fantasies Reclaimed

Fast forward to Helluva Boss, and we see Vivienne Medrano’s millennial fandom roots shining through in her female characters. Millie and Loona, for example, embody the kind of power fantasies that Mary-Sue critics would have torn apart in the early 2000s—but here, they’re embraced unapologetically.

Millie is a powerhouse. She’s a loving wife, a skilled assassin, and someone who’s virtually untouchable in combat. To some, she might seem "too perfect," but that’s exactly the point. Millie isn’t meant to be a deeply flawed anti-hero or a tortured soul. She’s a character who represents strength, loyalty, and joy, allowing fans to live vicariously through her as she kicks ass and takes care of her loved ones. This is wish fulfillment done right: not as an excuse for shallow writing, but as a deliberate choice to let a female character be powerful without apology.

Loona, meanwhile, offers a different kind of wish fulfillment. She’s aloof, sarcastic, and emotionally guarded—the quintessential "cool girl" who secretly cares deeply about her found family. She scratches a different itch: the fantasy of being both desired and emotionally untouchable, of keeping people at arm’s length while still being irreplaceable to those who matter most. Loona’s popularity speaks to the evolution of the Mary-Sue archetype, showing how fandoms have learned to embrace complex, powerful women who defy easy categorization.

Stella and Verosika: The Modern Barrier-Antagonist

Then there’s Stella, who fits snugly into the "barrier-antagonist" mold of millennial fandom culture. She’s not nuanced or sympathetic; she’s a loud, over-the-top villain who exists to make Stolas’s life miserable. And that’s okay! Stella serves a narrative purpose that’s as old as fandom itself: she’s the embodiment of the mean girl archetype, the bully that many fans can project their own past frustrations onto. In a story as melodramatic and chaotic as Helluva Boss, her lack of subtlety works in the show’s favor, making her a satisfying foil without distracting from the central narrative.

Verosika, on the other hand, offers a more nuanced take on the barrier-antagonist. She’s sexy, confident, and antagonistic, but she’s also deeply human (or, well, demon). Her history with Blitz is messy and painful, but it’s clear that she’s more than just a hurdle for him to overcome. In "Apology Tour," we see glimpses of her vulnerability and the ways she’s been hurt by Blitz. This evolution reflects how fandom culture has grown out of its black-and-white view of female antagonists, embracing characters who can be both sympathetic and deeply flawed.

Intention and Audience

The women of Helluva Boss aren’t perfect, but that’s exactly the point. Vivziepop’s writing reflects a deep understanding of millennial fandom culture, from its love of power fantasies to its struggles with internalized sexism. These characters feel like a love letter to the fandom spaces that shaped her storytelling: Millie and Loona reclaim the power and confidence of the Mary-Sue archetype, while Stella and Verosika offer modern takes on the barrier-antagonist trope.

Importantly, Helluva Boss is a show that knows its audience. It’s not trying to appeal to everyone; it’s speaking directly to fans who grew up in the same fandom spaces as Vivziepop, who understand the tropes and archetypes being played with. By embracing the strengths of millennial fandom culture while learning from its flaws, the show creates female characters who feel both nostalgic and refreshingly modern.

In the end, Helluva Boss reminds us that wish fulfillment and empowerment aren’t things to be mocked—they’re things to be celebrated. Whether you’re a Millie, a Loona, a Verosika, or even a Stella, there’s a place for you in the wild, chaotic, heartfelt world of Helluva Boss.

[littledidiknow]

Books Read in 2022

Faggots by Larry Kramer (1978)

Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead by Olga Tokarczuk (2009)

Never Be Alone Again: How Bloghouse United the Internet and the Dancefloor by Lisa Abascal (2020)

The Buried Giant by Kazuo Ishiguro (2015)

Arriving Today by Christopher Mims (2021)

But What If We’re Wrong? by Chuck Klosterman (2016)

Fuccboi by Sean Thor Conroe (2022)

Red Notice by Bill Browder (2015)

How Should A Person Be? By Sheila Heti (2010)

Astragal by Albertine Sarrazin (1965)

Human Wishes Enemy Combatant by Edmund Caldwell (2011)

Night Boat to Tangier by Kevin Barry (2019)

This is How They Tell Me the World Ends by Nicole Perlroth (2021)

Air Guitar: Essays on Art and Democracy by Dave Hickey (1997)

1Q84 by Haruki Murakami (2009)

Gentleman Overboard by Herbert Clyde Lewis (1937)

A Wreath for the Enemy by Pamela Frankau (1954)

Lightning Rods by Helen DeWitt  (2011)

Fleishman is in Trouble by Taffy Brodesser-Akner (2019) (reread)

LaserWriter II by Tamara Shopsin (2021)

By Night in Chile by Roberto Bolano (2000)

Hot Milk by Deborah Levy (2016)

The Last Samurai by Helen DeWitt (2000)

Milkman by Anna Burns (2018)

The Golden Spur by Dawn Powell (1962)

They by Kay Dick (1977)

Bliss Montage: Stories by Ling Ma (2022)

Status and Culture by W. David Marx (2022)

This was a big year for me both for quantity (nearly twice as many books as i read last year) but also for quality. So many standouts! And I'm learning I'm very here for experimental literature, please send me your weirdo recos.

Where the hell has Helen Dewitt been all my life? How are so few of her books published?! (she claims to have a dozen ready to go and i need all of them).

Chuck Klosterman has really grown up since I last paid attention to him like 15 years ago. But What if We're Wrong? changed the way I look at the world. He looks at the present day from 1000 years in the future and comtemplates what we could be completely wrong about based on what we've been wrong about in the past. Some of the interviews I've listened to of his this year have really opened my mind to new ways of thinking. Will be doubling back on what I've missed from him in years past in 2023.

Fuccboi was a blast and all the literture snobs that hated it are just completely fucking wrong.

I found Human Wishes Enemy Combatant through a newsletter or something. How lucky we are that this was released again! Read if you want to experience someone completely destroying the structure of a novel.

Milkman is gorgeous. Read immediately.

Gentleman Overboard is another that was nearly lost to time and recently published again. A beautiful and haunting little story.

Read Faggots for a very fun and raunchy romp through the gay sex scene of the late 70s moments before the AIDs crisis. You won't be able to keep track of all the characters, but it doesn't really matter.

How Red Notice hasn't been made into a movie by Adam McKay is beyond me. Maybe it's coming. A great window into Russia's transition after the Soviet Union and also the mindset of modern Russians. Also lots of fascinating stock, money stuff.

Read Arriving Today and This is How they Tell Me the World Ends (about the supply chain and hacking/internet security respectively.) for a peak into our modern lives told by very good story tellers in ways that are far from boring.

I could go on and on about Fleishman is in Trouble (and have in person to so many). The story of two women trojan horsed through the tale of one very mid man. The series on Hulu is also good and an incredibly accurate representation of the book.

Status and Culture! I'm still reeling from this book. Marx is so direct when looking at how and why we like the things we like it almost makes you uncomfortable. i don't think i have ever underlined, astricked, exclamation pointed so much in the margins of a book.

The Golden Spur, They, Bliss Montage, Astragal, How Should A Person Be?, Laserwriter ii, Night Boat to Tangier, Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead are all well worth reading also. Honestly, I was blown away by almost everything i read this year minus two big exceptions.

I hated The Buried Giant. Read it for a book club. I'm not a fantasy girl. I get what he was trying to do with the language, but i couldn't get into it, it felt like a bad translation. Which is really saying something for a book written in English. If he called her Princess one more time, I can't.

1Q84 I really wanted to love, (my first Murakami, somehow.). I really liked the first section, but it just didn't add up for me in the end and there were so many loose ends for such a long book.

I have found so many of the books that i loved this year on the podcast Backlisted. Two British guys have on two guests to discuss an old, out of print, or a newer book that isn't as popular. They are charming, it's very nerdy. But they have incredible taste and i put at least 5 books into my Thriftbooks cart during every episode. n+1 also did a fundraiser quiz that gives you 10 book recos. i was very excited about all of them and most of them i'd never heard of. Haven't read any yet, but many are sitting in the same shopping cart. Just checked and they aren't doing it anymore, but look for it next year!

[x-ladyathena-x]

Who We Were

(also on my AO3 & Wattpad under the name: Grey_Eyed_Athena)

Warnings: Smut, like dirty smut. Don’t read if you’re under 18. Angst, some fluff, enemies to lovers

Bucky x Reader

Word count: 2460

Summary: (one shot) You're an employee at Captain America's family fishing business. When a handsome stranger with a metal arm appears out of the blue, tensions rise.

You were a mutant working for Captain America’s family fishing business. It was a slow day today in the marina store, you hadn’t had a customer in hours. So, you sat with your feet propped up on the counter, reading from an old magazine with crinkled pages.

“Ahem,” a deep voice cleared their throat to get your attention.

You peered over the top of your magazine slightly annoyed.

“I’m looking for Sam Wilson.”

The man was tall, with short dark hair, and tragedy etched into every line of his beautiful face. The type of look people get when they’ve seen horrible things that they’ll never truly be free of.

He looked familiar but you couldn’t quite place him until you noticed his arm. At first, you thought it was a dark compression sleeve, but now you realized that this was the Winter Soldier you were talking to.

You called Sam on the phone, “Hey, Boss, there’s an Avenger here to see you.”

Sam groaned on the other end of the phone, “Which one?”

You didn’t know if it would be rude to call the man in front of you Winter Soldier to his face. That was the name Hydra gave him.

“The quiet one with the metal arm.”

Sam groaned again, “Bring him down.”

You hung up the phone and turned back to the man, “Follow me.”

The two of you walked past the register and into the back hallway. At the end of the hall, you both squeezed into a small service elevator that led to the lower levels. Sam liked to keep his office out of plain sight.

Inside the elevator, the two of you were nearly touching shoulders. It was a little awkward, so you decided to make small talk.

“How did you lose your arm?”

In truth, you didn’t know. You knew exactly who this man was but nothing much about him. You knew he’d renounced Hydra, joined the Avengers and fought Thanos. Everything that could be read in the media.

You, yourself, were one of the lucky?—or unlucky few who were not snapped and left to wander the earth in confusion and fear.

He ignored your question.

The elevator dinged open and the two of you stepped out.

“It’s pretty, your arm. The black and gold.”

He didn’t say anything, just glanced at you.

“What brings you here Mr. Barnes?”

“Bucky,” he corrected you.

“Oh, that’s right. Sorry. That’s what Captain America called you, right? That’s what Steve Rod—”

He slammed you up against the wall, holding you by the neck with his metal arm, “Do not ever mention that name to me.”

At first, you were scared, shocked even, but then you got mad. You slipped your foot behind his heel and knock him off balance. He wasn’t expecting it.

He fell flat on his back and you crouched over him with a fist full of his shirt, and got down in his face, nose to nose, “You ever do that again and we’re gonna have a problem, okay?”

He nodded with resignation.

You patted him roughly on the cheek, “Good, now come on,” You got up off him and began walking away, “The boss’s office is right up here.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The woman was strong, he’d give her that. He supposed that he should feel bad that he grabbed her like that, but when she said Steve’s name, he just—he couldn’t think about him right now. Thinking about his old friend made him go to a dark place. He couldn’t blame Steve for what he did, where he went. After an entire lifetime of being the most selfless, self-sacrificing human alive, he deserved to make a selfish decision for himself. It still hurt though. The only person that ever loved him for who he was—was gone. And hearing his best friend’s name come out of the mouth of someone like her? Well, what did she know? She didn’t deserve to speak his name.

She showed him Sam’s office and turned to leave without another word. Bucky watched her walk away as he stood at Sam’s office door. Despite himself, he couldn’t help but admire her (your body type) body as she walked away.

“You’re drooling, Buck.”

Bucky snapped out of his daze to see Sam Wilson smirking at him from inside the office. His red, white, and blue vibranium shield displayed proudly on the wall.

“Good to see you, Cap,” Bucky smiled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You sat back in your chair up front. It was a quiet day, the off season. Not many people coming in to buy bait and tackle. As you tried to go back to reading your magazine, your fingers trailed over the place on your neck the Winter Soldier’s fingers had wrapped around.

You say Winter Soldier, because the eyes that were looking back at you as he had you pinned against the wall were not those of Bucky Barnes.

A shiver ran over you and you couldn’t help but press your legs together.

You thought about the cold metal. The whirring noise the plates made as they locked into place. The scent coming off him—he smelled like a cold winter’s night. Like pine and wood smoke.

You shook your head. Get a grip y/n. You still stood by what you told him down there. If he got aggressive with you again, the two of you would have a problem.

Maybe you wanted a problem.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, what brings you here, Buck?” Sam asked the man seated across from him.

“Mutants,” Bucky said gravely, “Hydra sleeper cells that still believe in the cause, lying in wait. I was just in Prague last week and got attacked by two of them. At first, I thought super soldiers, but no, they had abilities.”

Sam sighed, “Well, you’re not gonna like what I’m about to tell you, then.”

Sam launched into the story of how he was in Europe a month ago, helping investigate odd claims. That’s when he learned of the mutants. While there were many that operated as Bucky described, the majority were refugees, seeking asylum from those that would use them for their powers. Not unlike their friend Wanda and what Hydra did to her.

“That’s when I met y/n.” Sam said.

Bucky’s blood ran cold at the thought of the woman upstairs, “How do you know she’s not a sleeper?”

“Because I trust her,” Sam told him, “There’s still good in people in the world, Buck. Even if you don’t see it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were dreaming tonight. Dreaming of the man with the metal arm. The Winter Soldier. Bucky. Dreaming of the way he smelled. Dreaming of his weight on top of you—wait.

You awoke with a jolt to find Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier pinning you down into your mattress with a knife against your throat.

In your panic, you moved with strength not previously explored. Your hand wrapped around his wrist, pulling the knife away from your neck. Your legs wrapped around his waist as you used the leverage to flip him over.

He was a large man. Burly and heavily muscled with broad shoulders, thick arms, and even thicker thighs. But your mutant strength, along with your adrenaline-fueled panic allowed you to flip him with ease.

You now sat atop him, straddling his waist. The knife in your hand, holding it to his throat.

He looked shocked. There was also something else in his eyes you couldn’t quite place. Not the Winter Soldier, but a darkness that didn’t pass unnoticed by you.

He licked his lips, “Well, now that you have me where you want me, what will you do?”

You pressed the knife harder into his throat, “Why are you in my room?”

“Trying to kill you, I thought that was obvious,” He said with a husky deepness in his voice.

You scoffed, “Good job,” and shifted your weight. You couldn’t help but feel the stiffness in his pants pressing through your thin pajamas.

He knew you felt him because he added, “I may not be able to control how my body reacts to you, but that doesn’t change anything.”

Taking advantage of your distraction and with lightning speed, he flipped the two of you back over again.

“I’m still going to kill you,” he whispered in your ear, “I recognized you the moment I saw you today.”

Your body stiffened. No. That was a long time ago. You weren’t that person anymore, and neither was he.

You’d worked with the Winter Soldier years ago, once on a mission when you both worked for Hydra. He was brainwashed into doing what he did and you supposed you were too. Hydra convinced you that you were doing the right thing. And you thought you were, until you weren’t.

Years of trying to escape until you ran into Captain America. Sam Wilson was the only person to help you, to believe you. He’d helped so much. He got you out of there, helped you start a new life.

You may have changed, but you could see that your chemistry with the Soldat hadn’t. On the mission you worked together, all those years ago, you ended up snowed into the safe house until the next morning. The memory of tangled limbs, sweating bodies, nips, kisses, and screams of ecstasy made you shiver.

You were surprised that the man on top of you even remembered you. Hydra wiped his mind so many times.

“So, you do remember me,” You quipped, at the mercy of his knife’s razor edge.

“Doll, I remember everything,” He growled.

You ground your hips against him, “Even this?”

His eyes fluttered shut as he released a shaky breath, “Yes, especially that.”

His body stilled; he was hesitating. He swallowed hard and threw the knife with all his strength. It plunged to the hilt into the opposite wall with a solid thud.

You lunged for each other at the same time. His lips crashed into yours like a starving man and you fed him graciously.

Your fingers tangled in his short hair as he threaded his metal arm under your body to pull you closer.

He ground into you; his erection painfully obvious now. He pulled away from you for just a moment. Just long enough to help you remove your pajamas and allow you to help him remove his clothing.

Bucky trailed a finger over the front of your black lace thong, down the front and to the strip between your legs. You gasped at the feather light sensations.

Bucky bit his lip, “You’re so fucking wet, Doll.”

In one motion, he tore the panties from your body and dove down between your legs.

You gasped at his sudden movement and rested both legs on his shoulders and tangled your hand in his dark hair as you lost yourself in the sensation.

He ate greedily. You could feel every soft lick, suckle, and kiss. Every second brought you closer to the edge. You were about to—

“Bucky!” You screamed, riding out the wave of pleasure washing over you like a warm breeze.

As soon as you came down from your high, you saw him sitting up, licking his lips.

“I missed your sweet taste, Doll.”

Your breath caught under his hungry gaze. Your eyes trailed down until they landed on him. Every inch of him. You reached out and began to pump.

He closed his eyes and his breath shuddered, “Get on your belly for me.”

You obliged his request with enthusiasm. Opening your legs and lifting your butt ever so slightly into the air. You looked over your shoulder at him as you felt him against your soaking wet core. He crawled on top of you and kissed your shoulder.

“Ready?” He asked tentatively.

You grabbed his thigh with the hand you weren’t using to prop yourself up and shoved him inside you.

The two of you gasped.

His pumps went from slow and sensual, to needy and fast. He snapped into you with a desire that made your second orgasm crash over you before you knew it was upon you.

The feel of your orgasm fluttering around him spurred him on harder. He wrapped his metal arm under your chest and rested the hand lightly on your neck and he pulled your body in closer to his, his face buried in the crook of your neck and the flesh arm wrapped tightly around your waist like he was fearful you’d disappear.

He fucked you like his life depended on it. With desperation and need. And you melted into him as if he were the only thing that was real in this world.

You could feel his thrusts getting shorter, he was about to come. And so were you. Your third orgasm is what pushed him over the edge. You both cried out in unison as you felt him empty inside you.

He continued pumping until you rode out your orgasm. He stayed inside you as he trailed kisses over your shoulder and down your back, catching his breath.

You felt him twitch inside you and he began pumping again. You moaned and cried out nonsensical words as he thrust into you again. Lost in the depths of your own pleasure and the way he made you feel, you didn’t even realize he was coming again until his body collapsed onto yours.

You rolled over to face him, and the sight broke your heart. His face looked sad and worn. Tired.

He buried his face in your chest and you held him, stroking your fingers though his soft hair.

The two of you stayed like that for a long time until he leaned up and kissed you.

“I’m sorry,” He said.

“I’m sorry too. I’m not that person anymore,” You said to him.

He pressed his forehead to yours, “I guess neither of us are.”

You let your fingers trail through his soft curls, “What made you drop the knife?”

Bucky sighed, “Like I said, I recognized you immediately. Sam said I could trust you, but I was still skeptical. Then when I came in here, the Soldat recognized you and I couldn’t..”

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion.

“He’s me, and I’m him. I can control him, he doesn’t take control of my body anymore, but I can still feel his influence. He recognized you, and once he did, I couldn’t control my reaction—didn’t want to, because I also remembered.”

He stopped and swallowed hard and you felt him stiffen again against your leg.

“Bucky,” You laughed and kissed him, “You’re gonna be the end of me.”

Super soldiers…

He laughed too as he went in for another kiss, rolling on top of you, “Doll, you have no idea.”

[raven-of-domain-kwaad]

Angstpril - Begging

Follow up to this

So this is just me basically being a sadist, can’t lie. So do ignore this if whump isn’t your thing.

-

50 ATC. Kelsa Kine (23) has been captured after a failed escape attempt from a Hutt labor camp.

Kelsa’s world had been consumed by pain. Everything hurt. Even just holding still and breathing hurt.

Smiley had been furious to learn that Kelsa’s entire work crew had managed to escape but he was overjoyed that they had left her behind. He had already worked her over for hours and showed absolutely no signs of tiring.

A small gust of wind tickled her ruined back and made her gasp and twitch in her bonds. It was a mistake as moving only tugged at the numerous open gashes in her back making her whimper and sob as she futilely tried to ease her suffering.

Her noises caught Smiley’s attention who had been handing his whip over to a guard to clean. He didn’t want to ruin his favorite toy by having it stay soaked in blood for too long.

Walking up to her twitching body, Smiley grinned at her. “Well 952 I have to say I’m impressed. Most slaves would have passed out by now. But you seem to be made of tougher stuff.”

Kelsa didn’t have enough strength to look at him and her head just lolled forward. “Pl... please...” she rasped. “C- can’t... n- no more... please.”

“Hm? What was that? You’ll have to speak up 952.” Smiley spoke with a tone that suggested he was simply speaking to a mumbling child. But there was a sadistic note beneath it all that sent a chill through Kelsa.

“I said, speak up, slave.” And he slapped a hand on her back.

It was like lightning had shot through her body, igniting every one of her nerves with white hot fire. Kelsa let out a blood curdling howl and jerked pointlessly but violently against the chains holding her in place.

Closing his eyes, Smiley hummed blissfully as if he was admiring the lead of an opera. “Mmmm you sing so beautifully 952.”

His words didn’t even register in Kelsa’s mind, she was still too busy drowning in a sea of agony. Every single gash that his whip made pulsed with a fire that radiated down into her very soul.

She had no idea how long her mind remained lost in pain. Time had long ago become meaningless. Her existence was comprised of never ending suffering. It therefore was no surprise that the next semi-coherent thought she had was of how it hurt to have someone yank her head up by her hair. But that was all her mind could register.

“Huh, guess blood loss is finally getting to her,” Smiley hummed to himself as he let the slave’s head fall forward again. “Suppose I should tend to those wounds then. What do you say 952? Want to bleed out or have me cauterize those wounds of yours?” He didn’t bother to see if she had even heard him, instead picking up a metal rod and pressing a button on the handle. In just a few seconds the end of the rod was glowing a fiery red. Grinning, Smiley slapped his victim’s face and forced her to look at the rod.

It took a while for her glassed over grey eyes to finally focus once again but Smiley was patient even if he couldn’t wait to see her reaction. His patience was rewarded with a beautiful whimper that he would treasure for years.

“N-no... no... p-please... please d- don’t...” her broken voice begged and pleaded as tears obscured her vision of the Cartel brand in front of her.

“Hmmm,” Smiley hummed as if he was actually considering her wishes. “I suppose I could just leave you to bleed out...” he trailed off then just to give the slave some small hope that maybe she would be allowed to just die quietly. He even lowered the brand and pretended to walk away with it.

“But where is the fun in that?” He hissed into her ear before digging the brand into her back.

Kelsa screamed. The pain was like nothing she had ever felt before. If the whip had ripped her apart and down to her soul then the brand had incinerated it into a pile of ash. She continued to scream and thrash causing only further pain until her mind and body simply could not handle it any longer.

Blissful unconsciousness finally consumed her, giving her a reprieve from the endless suffering that was her pitiful excuse of an existence.

[theflashdriver]

Powerless (A Silvaze Oneshot)

Standing on a cloud, thirty-five-thousand feet above the world, was nothing new to Silver. This was the height that he would, on occasion, retreat to for privacy whenever the world beneath grew too chaotic. Usually, this space was beautiful and safe, a sanctuary just a half step closer to the warmth of the sun or the sparkling night sky. On this occasion however, his skyward territory became home to a monster.

Sprawled beneath him, stretching to the horizon in all directions, black-grey clouds convulsed like some kind of foreign sea. Above him though, the same blue sky he knew so well gleamed like a pool of pristine water with some manner of strange glowing treasure sailing aimlessly across its body. Despite the world he knew lay beneath him, despite the chaotic force that had so thoroughly scarred the planet’s crust this past two-hundred years, with this blue sky above, Silver knew that things could be made right. Things would be made right.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t hanging up here for some simple moral boost- the wind was chilling him far too much for that to be the case. He was watching the clouds to the east with an intensity harnessed for only one task; the task that was his life’s work. To his back was a vehicle he’d stolen from the world bellow; a lengthy black eight-wheeler and its trailer that had gone somewhat undamaged, secured in an underground parking lot. Though the vehicle wasn’t yet straining his psychic grip, he’d begin to feel its weight if he had to hold it for much longer. A beast would soon arrive from the east, he’d heard and seen it pass overhead thirty times a day at least. Though he knew that patience was key to this plan, a concoction of the cold, time and his own anticipation was gouging his resilience.

In an effort to forget what he felt, the psychic hedgehog shifted to a more meditative position, crossing his legs as he hovered and reflecting on the world bellow. It had surely been dark for generations now; the clouds had refused to part no matter the energy he put into his palms in an attempt to splay them. The ground, the buildings, the earth, the trees; nothing was exempt from the ferocious cracks and scars left by the titanic monster that soared at thirty-thousand feet. Though he was yet to see the monster’s true form, only the glimpse of a talon or the wavering of a wing, Silver had seen the devastation that travelled alongside it. Lightning would rain from the sky as though it was mere rain or hail but arrive with a combined force comparable to a meteor strike.

He’d walked a ground so crudely uneven, splattered and corrupted by constant melting, and watched as bolts of energy tore stone from buildings in terrifying blasts. It was no wonder that life in this world had been snuffed out, just as no one walked the streets, no plants grew on the surface. Even in searching catacombs and subway systems, the only pieces of infrastructure that remained relatively intact, they hadn’t found so much as a body. Nothing could survive here, not as long as this monster lingered in the air. Before their arrival, this world had surely gone untravelled since mere months or years after that creature appeared.

His partner was awaiting him on the surface, preparing for his success. The longer they lingered here with this thing tearing across the sky, laying siege to the land, the more danger they were in. The more danger she was in. This was their first time working one of these jobs together since they’d been separated, it’d been a lifetime ago, but their spent struggles still felt so fresh. If she got hurt doing this then he wasn’t sure what he’d-

A thundercrack tore Silver’s eyes open and threw his attention back to the horizon. Light had begun to spew from the clouds, dancing out of them in the form of countless blinding energy waves. The beast was approaching, the terrifying creature they’d watched and researched during their brief stay here- the bird of lightning was almost upon them. With each flap of its wing, with every squawk and flit, the bird dispensed a torrent of electricity that blasted and melted the ground bellow. Every pockmark and demolished building in the city could be traced back to this terrifying beast, it was the cause of this world’s calamity; it was responsible for billions of lives destroyed.

As it grew closer still, the count between the emergence of lighting and its thunderous caws was growing shorter and shorter. Silver began to mumble a stanza they’d come across in their research, “For the bird of lightning doth only shine… whilst it lingers amongst the clouds. It never nests nor roosts, not for the slightest moment …” He his teeth clench, he struggled to recall what came next, “For as long as it flies, it will survive. Heed its crackling caw and fear the flitting of it feathers, that armour that grants it permanence.”

With little data about the bird either existing or remaining, they had been forced to utilise ancient texts. He just hoped they were correct. As far as he and his partner understood, they had to knock down this bird to stand any chance of defeating it. He had to push this thing towards the earth, this monster that had flown uninterrupted for so very long. Silver finally began to move, the great vehicle hung just behind his head as he raced towards the cloud barrier with the intent to intercept. From up here, just as bellow, he couldn’t see the monster, but he could perfectly tell where it lay by the ferocious crack of thunder and the bright light that pierced even those grey clouds. Their trajectories were set to align.

Suddenly, the dancing bolts of white and blue light began to lurch towards him, bouncing off his psychic glow, but it soon became clear that he wasn’t their target. Though his glowing grasp was strong, it was now enduring a hail of lightning bolts the likes of which he’d never experienced. The truck was acting as a lightning rod. Silver grimaced mid-flight, if his grip slackened then this would all be for naught. The moment was here. He had to act!

His arms swung forward, bringing the great vehicle over his head and pushing it in front of him as a meteoric battering ram. The cloud layer was breached, a mighty thud briefly silenced the thunder. The bird of lightning was struck! But a single blow was not enough.

The vehicle’s rear now in front of him. Pushing with all his might, the hedgehog intended to make full use of his makeshift weapon. He roared as psychic power flew from him, aided only by gravity as he pushed both of them towards the ground. Lightning bolt after lightning bolt chased along and off of the lorry, bounding up against him and fizzling against his aura. With each passing second, each push and bead of sweat, they were approaching terminal velocity and the burnt earth bellow.

One of a dozen lightning bolts pierced through his barrier, catching his right shoulder. Seconds later, another one of fifty cut through again and scored the centre of his right palm. Every blast, every skyward surge of voltage, came with a wailing cacophony of thunder that echoed endlessly in Silver’s ears. With each passing moment, he could feel his own energy being sapped by his endeavour. Yet there was still every chance that his job was far from done.

He broke through the cloud layer, pushing the bird down ahead of him!

Now able to see the devastated ground below, the hedgehog shut his eyes and grit his teeth, “It makes no nest of iron, for that would ground its power,” He felt another shock course through his system, only half muted by his aura, “It secures no roost, for that would leave it exposed…” It was like the monster was fighting back, attempting to peel away his psychic grasp, “To all that dwell on the surface!”

His voice gave way to a scream as he felt tracing electricity continue to ricochet along metal, bouncing until it inevitably crashed into him. He could feel it now, the pain was gathering in one place; the voltage was dancing into the heavy metal bangles that were meant to protect his wrists from the kickback of his own power. His fur was surely being scorched, just as his power was being burnt up. Bit by bit and step by step, he was losing both his physical and mental might. He could see the flash on the underside of his eyelids, the coursing of ampers forced spasms from his arms and brought his grasp to weaken. He could feel it slipping, all of it, the truck from his grasp, the strength of his body and the consciousness from his mind.

That was until, in an instant, fresh pain vanished from Silver’s body; an anomaly accompanied by the sound of a cataclysmic smash.

In less than a moment, light faded from his surroundings. He felt a force like his palms slamming into the dirt after a million-mile fall and felt the associated tremor. For a moment, above the whining of his ears, Silver could only hear the crinkling of metal as he blindly forced the truck further downward. The noise was however quickly corrupted by the hoarse screaming of the beast beneath it. His eyes cracked open only to be filled with dust. By the time he’d blinked through it; Silver could see a skeletal bird, faintly crackling with light blue energy. Its wings were longer than those of any plane and its was beak looked sharper than any sword. Beneath his psychic might and the weight of the now mishappen truck however, the lightning bird had been pinned!

“Do it, Blaze! Do it now!” He screamed, feeling his grip begin to slacken as the creature shook in an attempted to rise.

From a set of stairs to the underground, like a pirouetting firework, Blaze shot free and lit their soot-covered surroundings. Immediately, she set upon the bird with all here flaming might, rushing in a circle around its form and throwing punch after kick after punch. The sound of thunderclaps resumed as the beast writhed, undoubtedly experiencing true pain for the first time in almost two hundred years. The soot from the world it had long burned with javelins of lightning was now cast into the air, higher than it.

Silver didn’t have so much as a moment to smile though. In the wake of the pain, the creature managed to force itself back onto its feet. Loosing another roar, the hedgehog reupped his psychic might and continued to push the burnt metal mass into the bird’s spine. He could see Blaze throwing attack after attack out, bones would crack and char, but they refused to full break. The monster began to shift and swivel, lashing at her whilst simultaneously trying to slide the weight off of its back and onto the ground.

Roaring again, welling psychic charge in his aching hands, Silver pushed with all his will. It was like attempting to halt a greased earthquake with a single finger, any of the lightning bird’s countless movements could have been the one to send the eight-wheeler up and into his frame. Rather than move and attempt to alleviate that chance, Silver knew what he had to do; he was wasting energy by spanning the air between himself and the vehicle.

Silver flew down even further, forcing his shielded hands against the truck’s rear door and channelling every ounce of both mental and physical energy into it. His effort was rewarded immediately, he felt the creature buckle beneath his power. It didn’t last for more than a moment, almost immediately the creature was pushing back. Silver felt his arms buckle, but his psychokinetic might was holding strong.

He couldn’t see her now, his vision was too filled, but every half second a burst of heat and the sight of orange light told him that Blaze was still battling the beast. Surely, she was injuring it? Time was becoming difficult to process under the strain of his effort, whether minutes or seconds were passing quickly became a blur.

He tried to call out, “Blaze! Is it-

A lurch from beneath forced his chest against the truck’s doors, he felt the monster’s shear strength rebuke him. Despite the pain and sudden shock, a familiar shout pulled him free from hesitation, “It’s working! Don’t give up, just a little more!”

As his eyes cracked open again, he found himself face to face with the latch of the truck’s freight. A plan formed in his mind; there was a way to gain more control of this gigantic mass, but it came at the cost of visibility. It took another lurch, one that almost threw him back into the air, for the hedgehog to act.

Only hesitating for a second longer, he undid the latch and fell into the depths of the truck’s empty cargo hold. He hit the back wall, immediately pushing his hands against it and maintaining his psychic strenth. Again, he felt the mass beneath him buckle and shift in response to the increased pressure. This time though, it didn’t manage to kick back!

Now closer, Silver could hear every strike Blaze made against the creature and its floundering attempts to rebuke her. He quickly picked up on a rhythm, Blaze would make two lighter attacks followed by a heavier one. With his power running dry, he knew he couldn’t keep this up for much longer. He probably only had the strength to handle one more big push or a handful of minutes; the former seemed far more appealing.

Silver shut his eyes and held his breath, trying to get an exact feel for the force and sound of Blaze’s blows. Consistently yet inconsistently the creature would wobble following its shift to attack her, likely strained by the weight pushing down on it. That was the moment to strike, that momentary waver was when the monster was at its weakest.

“Blaze! I’ve got one push left! Give it your all!” He shouted, almost certain that she couldn’t even hear him.

All of a sudden, rather than another attack, Silver felt the blows cease. The only sound was that of the lightning bird, screaming and thundering against the ground. He strained as he felt it successfully rise, managing to push back against him. A low buzz began to sound, static began to rumble beneath his fingers, what had happened to Bla-

The sound of roaring flames snuffed all other noise, save for the immediate screech of the bird beneath him. Silver felt a wave of heat immediately rise, shrouding his entire frame and threatening to destroy his power on its lonesome. Without a moment to spare, before his power could be fully stripped away, Silver heaved all the psychic weight he could muster downward.

Something beneath him, the be it the eight-wheeler’s engine or the beast, immediately crumpled. Regardless of what it was, the hedgehog continued to push, shunting his very soul against the wall in front of him. Mental brawn continued to prevail, despite the rising heat. Even as the walls on both sides of him caught alight, he pushed forward without an ounce of hesitation.

It took a second impact to make him to stop; that of his force finally meeting something truly immovable. Though he could not discern the cause of this collision but, still face down in the now burning cargo hold, he knew it would be the last. Though he tried to send one last shunt through the mass, the glow of his psychic powers refused to manifest. It was in the wake of that proof of his energy’s end that the truck itself tumbled. The shift of its landing sending him briefly into the air before tumbling to the floor. He landed on his back, staring now at a ceiling that he wasn’t sure was intended to be the ceiling.

It was only once his head had stopped spinning (though his ears were still ringing deaf), that Silver noticed the fire had vanished from his surroundings. Before he could even piece together what that change meant, a figure stepped into his vision. With a still inaudible snap of her fingers, firelight filled Blaze the cat’s hand. In contrast to how he surely appeared, the now princess of the Sol dimension was pristine and proper as ever as she knelt down next to him.

Struggling, he tried to speak, “So, we did it?”

He saw her lips move but, ears still ringing, he couldn’t make out a word. The princess looked as serious as ever, and she was saying a lot, but, beneath that veneer, Silver could still pick up on her small mannerism. The slightest smile on her lips, the softness of her ears and the time she was taking to clearly lecture him; those were a sign enough.

Regardless of how tired the hedgehog was, he felt a grin manifest on his face, “Wonderful, we did it… the future is saved again…”

Her hand extended in his direction. She was talking again; he could hear that much now, but the words were entirely unclear. The hedgehog was too tired to properly hear right now, let alone listen.

Silver winced as he raised his arm, catching sight of the presently dulled symbol on his hand. Though he successfully reached out, she did the entirety of the grasping. Pulled up by his wrist, the hedgehog managed to land on his soles but could not stand for long on them. He stumbled forward, ploughing directly into the feline and pushing her against the trailer’s wall. His head came to contact still-warm metal, positioned less than an inch from hers.

Awkwardly, he tried to stumble back but couldn’t shift his own feet, “S-Sorry, I’m a bit worn out…”

The psychic didn’t have to see her lips or hear her voice to know she’d called him naïve. He felt her grasp leave his as she shifted, wrapping an arm around his side before, so very casually, heaving him up by the legs. She’d held him like this on a handful of occasions, usually after fights like this, but the lithe feline’s strength never ceased to astonish him. Even after what had surely been a hard fight, she could manage this much while he was exhausted.

“Thank you,” He managed to mumble, feeling warmth radiate from her.

As she began to move, due mostly to his position, the hedgehog’s eyes locked upon her face. She was just as untouched as he first thought, her white muzzle entirely uninjured. The main change in her form was a thin layer of soot, marking both her fur and the deep purple overcoat she wore. Outside that, Silver could only see one thing of note; through the conflict, her ponytail had surely slackened. A single lock of her air had slipped free from the binding, cascading down to arrive just outside the gaze of her right eye. Had he the strength, he’d have adored reaching up to brush back that hanging strand.

Sunlight hailed down on them as they stepped free from the trailer. The black clouds seemed to have vanished, that or they’d transmogrified into mush smaller white ones. Blue sky hung above them, so perfectly regular, but Silver couldn’t bring himself to move his head and get a clearer view. Instead, he could see that the sun was perfectly framing the princess, granting her a halo and causing her shadow to cast over him. From that frame of reference, despite the soot, it was as though things had never been destroyed and the bird had never existed; it was as if they were already back in the past or her dimension.

“What a lovely view…” He hummed, unwilling to let himself so much as blink despite the weight of his eyelids.

A moment now passed, the ringing beginning to fade, Silver managed to pick up the end of her sentence, “…and you should have seen the sky clear; it was beautiful.”

“Maybe next time,” He rolled his head back against her shoulder, trying to find a comfortable position, “Can we go sleep now?”

“In a while, I need to patch you up first,” Her amber eyes flickered down to him, seriousness had lightly reclaimed her face, “You can hear me now then? If I didn’t know you better, I’d have thought you were dying.”

“But you do know me,” he mumbled, too tired to really think.

The look she gave him served to rouse him a little more, but it softened back to a mild stern glare as spoke again, “Regardless, I’m happy to see you in one piece, even if it’s a battered and fried one,” She resumed walking, a tutting tone still hanging in her voice, “It’ll be days before you can stand to use chaos control.”

“No, I’ll be fine tomorrow, I promise,” He insisted, eyelids still so very heavy.

“Oh, hush. You need rest,” She insisted, her tone again softening, “We’ll only attempt it when you’re fully healed, we don’t want to end up misplacing ourselves.”

That had happened a handful of times and was in fact the reason they’d reunited, “If you’re sure… it’s just that I promised Marine that we’d be back as soon as possible.”

That drew a snort from her, seeing the slightest smile on her lips put him even further at ease, “Well, we will be. As soon as possible is after you’re back at one hundred percent.”

He felt her turn and stop; reflexively, he followed her stare to the space ahead of them. The devastation caused by their fight with the creature was clear. Before them lay a giant bird skeleton, the front two thirds of a truck’s cab melted into its cracked and splayed ribs. A combination of his final push and her flaming endeavour had seemingly split the creature in two; its spine had been crushed just above the hips, that seemed to be the cause of its death.

The cause of its life however was plain to see, the orange insignia of moustached face with a grinning maw has weathered Blaze’s charring. They didn’t know all the details, though newspapers found in subways had informed them of the rough date of the occurrence. The lightning bird was a long dead creature that Eggman had revived, likely through the power of the chaos emeralds, and probably thought he could control. That seemed in line with the way things typically went for the evil doctor; taking advantage of something he didn’t truly understand and causing untold havoc in the process.

Flanking the skeleton was the devastation it had wreaked upon civilisation. They were near the heart of station square, but, due to the devastation, identifying it as such was virtually impossible. Two hundred years of lightning strikes had reduced much of the concrete and exposed infrastructure into a black sand desert, what little remained of the skyline appearing as little more than crumbling ziggurats. What appeared to the eye as simple soot from a fire was the pulverised remains of civilisation and life. This was Eggman’s fault, rather than the beast. The damage was the simple result of the creature’s existence, something out with its control.

Despite the depth of his sleepy thoughts, a far simpler sentence trailed from Silver’s mouth, “It really was just a big bird skeleton.”

“It certainly looks that way now, just like the cave paintings,” Blaze mused, “Once we’re reunited with the others, we should be more than able to either stop its revival or kill it soon after.”

“We know when it shows up, we just need to figure out where Eggman’s newest base is,” He hummed, turning back to her, “The others should have some idea, that or Tails will be able to figure it out.”

Blaze turned from the wreckage, turning him with her, “That and, before the devastation, researching where its remains were should be a whole lot easier.”

He nodded in agreement, finding his tongue was growing too heavy. The hedgehog was in a peculiar and uncomfortable state. Luckily, he couldn’t feel many of his injuries due to the numbness that came with overusing his powers. He was in that awkward position of being too exhausted to fall asleep in the feline’s arms; a fact exemplified as he yawned only to get stuck halfway in an annoyingly unsatisfying way. As his eyes reopened, Silver started to look past Blaze as she brought them down the very stairs she’d hid beneath before racing out to strike the beast.

While the land of the surface had been devastated, underground tunnels and subway systems had relatively endured the two-hundred-year assault. Station square’s own subway loop had become their base of operations over the two and a half weeks they’d spent in this future. They’d lit the subway space using braziers constructed from old buckets and barrels but, with the sky now clear, there was no need to light them. Cracks created by the lightning bird’s attacks were now letting in sunbeams, lighting their way as she alighted the stairs.

Silver turned from her face to watch the tiled walls pass as the feline jumped over a turnstile and began to walk down what was once escalator, heading towards the subway station they’d come to primarily utilise. They’d chosen this station in particular as it was where the train had stopped, leaving somewhat of a building to call home and the rough yet plush interior of the carts to use as beds. Seeing it now, lightly lit by the cracks in the ceiling, was astonishing. The subway train looked so picturesque; it’d been claimed by fungus and heartier plants long before they arrived, but it couldn’t have received much light at all until now. This place had become their tether to the past, being the originator of unsold and abandoned newspapers as well as general evidence of people’s lives just before the end times.

“Home sweet home,” He managed to softly sigh, being carried up and over the hearth by the feline.

This cart, the one primarily used for resting, was uniquely laid out. Rather than rows of seats, long benches spanned the entire length of the walls, only breaking at the room’s parallel doors. Blaze rather took him to the bench on the immediate right, not setting him to lie under his covers but to sit atop them. This was his bedspace, hers was on the bench parallel.

He began to slump over, wanting to send his head to his pillow, but Blaze caught him by the muzzle, “No, not yet. No sleeping till I’ve properly patched you up.”

“Fine,” He leant into her grasp, feeling the warmth of her palm and staring up at her, “Can you lean down here first though?”

He saw misplaced concern in her gaze as she took her hand back before bending down to eye level with him, “What is it?”

His right hand had started to hurt, there was a seething pain near the centre of his palm, so he was forced to reach across with his left. Rather clumsily, Silver brushed the stray lock of hair up and back behind her ear, “That’s all. It looked like it’d get in your way.”

A wave of heat exuded from the feline as she shot up to stand at her full height, seriousness had furrowed her brow, but a strange phenomenon had claimed her muzzle. Though her expression was fittingly serious, it looked so incredibly forced; a truth made certain by the manifestation of the strange pinkness he’d seen on her cheeks a handful on times. None of it was new to him, but the sight still made him smile. It was strange to think, but the only word he could use to describe it was cute.

She turned for the door, her tail lashing, “You’re clearly exhausted. I’ll be back in a moment. Don’t fall asleep.”

“I’ll try,” He promised, managing another failed yawn as she yanked open the door separating the cars.

Their primary storage space was in there, they’d filled it to bursting with all the supplies they’d brought from her dimension and what little they’d managed to gather from their surroundings. It had however been scarce pickings, due to the lack of lingering infrastructure. When they’d found the truck they’d gone through all the cars and managed to salvage material for burning but little more. Despite how short their stay had been here, besting the beast with relative ease, it was more than obvious why the presence of the lightning bird had been enough to end the world. Electronics couldn’t face the monster in an airborne battle and those on the surface had been bombarded much too quickly.

Silver turned to the room he was in, taking stock of it. Pending how much he was actually hurt, he recognised that today might be the last day he slept here. At the room’s centre was a large garbage bin, one they’d used to light fires and keep warm; above it was a hole they’d cut out of the ceiling to vent the smoke. The benches left of the entryway had unique purposes. The one on his side was effectively acted as their kitchen. They had brought trunks with cold storage compartments with them, filled with various vegetables and fruits, but also dehydrated food that they’d recently started to use. Blaze would start a fire at the room’s centre, he would handle the cooking; they shared in it as they did all tasks.

Odds were that he probably should eat something, but he doubted he could manage that in his current state; despite his shouting during the fight, he wasn’t even aware enough to feel parched. They’d successfully gathered water from the black cloud’s storms and purified it using her pyrokinesis. For drinking, he’d catch the rainwater using his power, convening trickled rivers from the several holes in the ceiling, and she would perform contained evaporation. Recently, the feline had been expanding her use of her powers; trying new things and practicing them in new ways. She’d once been so afraid to use them; the simple thought of her so casually lighting their cooker never failed to make him smile. She always wanted to do more, to help in even the smallest ways. Others might have thought that tendency was a result of her royal upbringing, but Silver new better; regardless of her birth, she had always been this way.

The additional bench on her side had become their makeshift library, stocked with the various newspapers and tabloids they’d found in the tunnels as well as their brought literature. For Blaze that meant a small collection of poetry books, a few of which he had read but failed to absorb, while his pile was focused on the nature and history of her world. He reached out with his left hand, trying to wield his psychic power and tug a book over, but his symbol couldn’t even manage a full cyan glow. He was fully tapped, entirely drained.

It took the sound of footsteps, signalling the pyrokinetic’s arrival, to remount his attention. Blaze had returned to him with a small box of medical supplies in one hand, still covered in soot. From behind her back, she produced a small metal mug filled with water.

“Drink,” She commanded, “It’ll make your head feel better.”

The guardian knew better than him, she’d delt with him in states like this a dozen times over, “Thank you,” He manged to respond.

Just as he had almost finished sipping, she had knelt down in front of him and flipped the box open. It was only as he looked down to her, still feeling heat radiate, that he noticed the bloody state of his knees. Evidently, he’d gone down hard on them during his various landings.

“Can you get your boots off?” She asked, using her teeth to tear an alcohol wipe free from its pouch.

Slowly and awkwardly, the hedgehog manged to raise his right leg and tug the shoe off, but the left was far less cooperative. Now that he’d seen the state of his knees, it was as though they were constantly reminding him of their damage. He didn’t even have to speak for Blaze to notice his struggle though. Setting the wipe aside, she gingerly managed to pull the shoe off and set it aside. Thankfully, it didn’t look like he’d crushed his feet during the fight.

“You know this is going to sting,” She reminded him, retaking the swab. Her brows were hard, she was focused on this task, “Are you ready?”

“Yeah, it’s not like it’s our first time doing this,” He leant back and gave her a smile. Though he put all his will and truth behind it, the gesture was surely meek, “I trust you, Blaze. It’ll be fine.”

Having said that, his toes did curl, and his canines did grit, at the first contact. Blaze was working diligently, clearly swabbing as gently as she could but making sure to be thorough, “Try to get your gloves off too, you’re bleeding on your right.”

Again, he hadn’t even noticed. Glancing down, the gloved hand he’d been struggling to move was indeed more red than white currently. He could still move his fingers, but it did feel incredibly raw. He opted to try the left first, biting the glove’s forefinger between his canines and tugging it free. There was some bruising at the bottom of his palm, and some small scorch marks around his wrist, but nothing too dramatic. When he tried to more regularly pull off his right glove though, move of an issue became immediately apparent. As he tugged at the fingers, a tearing pain brought him to cringe.

His gaze flickered to Blaze, she’d already wiped the worst of the blood from his knees and begun to scavenge for bandages and dressings. Though she looked unscathed, the confrontation had undoubtedly drained her too. He had to handle at least this much, take at least a little pressure off of her.

He grabbed the glove again, gently taking it the wrist-hole, and began to turn it inside out. The primary issue immediately became clear. Where electricity had been conducted to his right bangle, there was a sizable gouge running across the top of his wrist. Beyond there, he came across another issue; it seems as though the lightning had blackened a small patch of glove near the centre of his palm in particu-

“Silver,” She cut off his efforts, he felt her hand on his thigh. As he looked down to her, he found that his right knee was already bandaged and she was partway through treating the left, “If you’re struggling then just let me do it. I’m fine, I promise.”

Vulnerability prompted action, he took the cup she’d brought him and held it out to her. Knowing his partner, she’d got him water without considering herself, “If you drink, I’ll do whatever you want.”

Blaze did take the cup from him, but she hesitated upon receiving it. He followed her eyes to the mug’s lip and was about to question why she wasn’t drinking, when she very quickly raised the container to her lips. She seemed to be sipping, but she sipped for quite a long time. By the time she’d lowered the mug again, that cute pinkness had returned to her face. Now that he considered it, he was fairly certain that change was known as a blush; but why was she blushing?

“Are you satisfied?” Her ears were pinned back, she was staring at his knees.

“Y-Yeah,” Why was he stammering now? What was happening? “Are you okay?”

“I said I’m fine,” She insisted. With the return of her strong tone, the feline began to work in a slightly faster manner, “You’re the only one who’s hurt.”

“I guess,” He could only respond, noticing that the pink wasn’t fading from her face, “I meant to ask, how was it out there?

“Without its power and trapped beneath you, the creature was practically harmless,” She relayed, drawing a safety pin from the box and starting to secure his bindings, “I was able to hit it time after time without it so much as touching me, I could have done it for hours.”

“Sorry I couldn’t hold up for that long,” He conceded, his chest filling with pride in his partner, “That sounds incredible though, I wish I could have seen it. Watching you fight is always incredible Blaze!”

“It was nothing special,” She insisted, finishing on his left leg before rising, “Right, now let’s see to that hand.”

“Oh, right,” It’d already slipped his mind.

As she took up the bench to his right, bringing the first aid kit to sit on her lap, he quickly took a sip from the mug before setting it down on his left. When he turned back to her, the blush that had begun to fade was back on her cheeks. Her gaze was locked on the box, she was fiddling with some of the equipment, and heat was flagging from her.

“Are you sure you’re okay Blaze,” He questioned, shuffling a little closer, “You’ve been blushing a lot.”

“It’s just the exercise, it’s been a while since I’ve fought properly. I’m a little flushed, just a little out of breath,” She quickly insisted, even redder as she turned to face him, “Now, let me see your hands.”

His head tilted as he reached out with both too her, “But you said it was an easy fight?”

The pyrokinetic didn’t answer his confusion, instead tearing open another swab’s pouch with her teeth and getting to work on his left hand. He tried not to cringe as she cleaned around his scorched wrist, but the pain brought one of his eyes to close. A simple bandage was easily cut to size and bound around the worst looking part of the injury. That had been pretty painful, but his right hand was undoubtedly going to be a whole lot worse.

He immediately winced as she began to shift the glove, folding it back from his wrist just as he had prior. Blaze leaned in to better look at the hand, seeming to identify the sudden tension across his body as she reached that point. He watched her brow furrow as she gingerly tried to raise the fabric, hearing him reflectively hiss. Before his eyes could cringe shut though, he’d recognised the issue; his flesh had indeed been fused with his glove in the wake of lightning’s burn.

Blaze set his hand on her lap and drew a small set of scissors from the box, “This is going to hurt. I’ll try to be as gentle as possible… but let me know if it gets too painful.”

It took him nodding for her to proceed.

She started at the edge of his hand, away from his thumb, and cut along the white material. The guardian was working diligently and carefully, keeping her eyes to her work. That left him plenty of opportunity to grimace and roll his toes as he realised just how raw that flesh was, every snip and shift sent a not insignificant wave of pain through the hedgehog.

Reaching parallel with the bottom of his fingers, she turned the scissors inward and began to cut along the inner material at the top of his palm. The pain was always at its height just before the cut, when the tension was at its greatest. She reached the other side relatively quickly though, then slicing along the front of his thumb. The material on both sides of his hands immediately loosened and a sharp sigh slipped from his lips. She began to ease the back and fingers of the gloves free from his hand, prompting him to clench. Blaze glanced up, plainly noticing his strained expression.

She stopped, frowning up at him, “You’re so naïve, I said to say if it was hurting too much.”

“You’d still have to do it though, regardless of how much it’s hurting, right?” He winced as she reached up, taking a small, wet, cloth to his brow.

“That doesn’t mean we need to rush it,” She tutted, dabbing his muzzle and cheeks, “We can do this little bit by little bit.”

“I can handle it, it’s okay,” He insisted, watching as she pulled the cloth away, “And there’s only really one bit left to deal with, right?”

She was the one to grimace this time, “I was saving the worst for last… but if you’re sure…”

Again, she was looking to him for confirmation. He gave the best smile and nod his strength could muster, but he was certain the expression betrayed him. Despite that, his partner accepted the consent.

Deftly, the back and fingers of the glove were peeled off of his hand and left to tumble to the floor. Though it hurt, Blaze was right; the worst was yet to come. This wasn’t the first time that they would be dealing with fabric fused to skin, living in a world dominated by Iblis and sparring with Blaze had been caused the hedgehog a multitude of burns, but it was the first time he’d be enduring that pain in this lifetime. At first, they’d simply cut the skin where such damage occurred, cauterising it when the damage was at its worst, but now they knew a little better.

Blaze flipped his hand around and allowed the excess fabric to naturally fall, taking an appearance that resembled a bundled curtain. The excess material, no more than half a centimetre away from the fused mass, was then cut and allowed to fall into the small space between them. He couldn’t help but notice the symbol on the back of his hand, through his still stained fur. Though its light wasn’t shining, the circle was still visible. His power would return, but again the feline had been right. It wouldn’t be days rather than hours until he was back at full power. Before he was too tired to yawn; now pain had roused him, and a headache was forming.

Another glance from the feline seemed to identify that feeling, he watched as she set down the scissors and picked the towel back up. She gingerly began to clean his right hand, starting with his fingers and working his way down the back of his hand. Every at her contact, the slightest glimmer of light ebbed from his symbol before snuffing back to nought.

Their eyes met again, there was nothing left to delay them; Blaze gently flipped his hand back over. Stationed near the centre of his palm-side symbol, blackened and roughly an inch in diameter, remained an innocuous piece of fabric. Blaze raised the already bloodied cloth, the trepidation in her expression was as plain as day.

“I’ll try to make it quick,” She promised.

Silver couldn’t help but hiss when the moment finally came, the flesh around the conjoining material was rubbed with the cloth and raw skin was gradually exposed. As he flinched and grit his teeth, the hedgehog’s quills, no longer supported by his latent psychic power, fully tumbled into his vision. Abrasion was the best way to treat injuries like this, removing the burnt skin and material without damaging healthy mass, but every movement stung and set his teeth on edge. With his free hand, weak as it was, he gripped the edge of the bench.

It didn’t take much more than a minute, Blaze worked as deftly as possible despite his shudders and tensing. Once it appeared the mass had been removed, she drew and opened a trio of alcoholic wipes and began to clean the wound more directly. The pain didn’t vanish, if anything it was worse than before, but he was becoming more accustomed to it.

“Thank you,” He managed to croak.

“We’re not out of the woods yet,” She responded, reaching back into the first aid box.

Soon after that, almost before he could comprehend, his right hand and its wrist alike were properly bandaged. A shudder of relief washed over him at the finality of it all, that was until Blaze was back upon him. She’d quickly risen, having taken off and balled her gloves before beginning to ply through his fur, seemingly to both take stock of both her handiwork and search for any remaining injuries. He felt her pass over a handful of bruises, or perhaps they were smaller burns, but nothing seemed to significantly hold her attention.

Her warm hand finally moved to arrive on his forehead and successfully eased back his quills, brushing up to the top of his head before gently lingering there, “You look exhausted.”

“But you’ve been doing all the work,” He heard himself moan. The gloves she’d been using were entirely soaked and her once merely soot covered overcoat was now stained at various points.

“And I’ll continue to do so until you’re back on your feet,” She insisted, taking on the authoritative tone he’d often heard her use in her dimension, “Now lie down.”

The hedgehog did as he was commanded, kicking his feet up onto the bench and setting his head against the pillow. As he went to pull the covers over him, he caught the princess’ eye again, “No, the other way,” He turned onto his side only for Blaze to roll her eyes, “On your stomach.”

“Will this help me heal faster?” He asked face pressed flat into the pillow.

No answer came though, instead Blaze simply responded; “I’ll be back in a moment, I’m just going to clean up a little. Don’t move.”

Evidently, she wasn’t done. Silver heard the subway cart doors slide open then reclose. He shifted his head, putting his chin atop his pillow. In the wake of passed time and her efforts, the adrenaline had well and truly worn off. Outside his more obvious wounds, his entire body was beginning to ache with the echoes of his strenuous effort. His shoulders were still ridged, and his biceps ached. Harsh tension across his form was a regular occurrence that followed more intense psychic endeavours; though it was a power of the mind, full bodily effort was required to make full use of his psychokinesis.

He reached out ahead of himself, ignoring the whine of his left shoulder, and tried to simply push against the leaver on the nearby door. Not even the slightest glow dared to manifest on the leaver or his hand this time; he was totally drained. The likelihood was that he couldn’t even stand at the moment, let alone walk. He was probably weaker now than the likes of Cream, perhaps even Cheese. The thought of the tiny chao mercilessly beating him like a punching bag was enough to make him snicker, but it served as a reminder of how exhausted he was. A more physical reminder came as he struggled to look back behind himself when the door separating the carts slid open again.

Blaze had shed her overcoat. She’d returned to him with that metal cup, assumedly refilled, and was now only garbed in her white leggings and tank top. She’d taken her brief hiatus to wipe much of the soot from herself, having likely disposed of her bloody gloves. Her change in look didn’t hold his attention though; the pink that had reclaimed her cheeks and her averted gaze did that enough.

“Drink,” She insisted again, the mug filled his view.

He rose to one elbow only to find it wasn’t enough, weakness truly had claimed him. As he rose onto both, she held the edge close to him and tilted the vessel. As always, the water was room temperature, but he truly hadn’t realised how parched he was. Even though he had drunk prior, perhaps just due to the numbness having faded, these mouthfuls felt far more refreshing.

“Thank you,” He responded as he final finished, but no response came. The feline was looking away from him, still holding the cup as she had prior, “Blaze?”

His voice seemed to interrupt her train of thought, she pulled the mug back but didn’t respond. Instead, the feline trailed off past him; he heard her set the cup down on the metal floor. She had hesitated just behind him, he felt her fingers drag through one of his longer quills.

“I want to try something else to help you, but I’m not sure I’ll be any good at it,” She half explained, trepidation in her tone, “While I can light our surrounding and help with cooking, I’ve thought of something new I could so with my power. I’ve been trying to practice but…I rather…” He didn’t need to see her to know that she was struggling with whatever this was, “You’re already vulnerable, and if I failed then it would only make things wor-

Without hesitation, before she could talk herself out of it, he gave his answer, “I trust you, Blaze. Whatever it is, go for it.”

Despite his words, she didn’t act yet. Instead, she was prompted to be blunter, “I’m want to try to give you a massage.”

“That’s it? Of course you can give that a shot,” He grinned, even though she couldn’t see.

“I want to try use my powers as I do,” She elaborated, the tension in here voice still very much present, “I’ve been doing some research, some reading, and people use hot stones and heat pads sometimes to relax their muscles. I was curious if I could do the same.”

“Then let’s found out,” He forced himself up further and turned to her, their eyes met for the first time since she’d returned, “Blaze, I trust you. Let’s try it.”

“Just put your face against the pillow and lie flat,” The seriousness in her voice was undiluted, but she had begun her approach before he turned, “And if this is uncomfortable, say. Don’t try to act tough this time.”

“I won’t, I promise,” He spoke back, half muffled as he assumed the instructed position.

The hedgehog heard her shift before he felt her physically; daintily straddling his back, right upon his hips.

A moment later, a wave of heat passed over the top of him, starting strong before quickly subduing itself. Her weight shifted closer to the base of his spine and heard her take a deep breath before, gingerly, the feline’s fingertips contacted his shoulders. The princess’ touch was always warm, but it was more of a background heat than her current concentrated effort.

She’d started at his upper back, just beneath his neck, and near his spine. The feline was being gentle, what little pressure she was exerting being derived from presses with her thumbs. Alike the contact, the heat she was generating was relatively minor. Despite what he’d said, Blaze was plainly holding back, starting small and light. He was more than willing to wait.

“You’re doing great,” He said, certain his words would be muddled by a combination of the pillow and his tiredness.

“You just focus on relaxing,” She insisted, but the prior hesitation in her voice had vanished and a muted softness had taken its place, “Just close your eyes and try to rest.”

Gradually, he felt her other fingers begin to work their way into the action. She grasped along his shoulders, rubbing in circles while simultaneously pushing heat into him. It was with that change that he hedgehog truly began to feel her efforts. She seemed to have reached a point she was comfortable with, both in terms of contact and body temperature. Gradually, she went from aimlessly squeezing around his shoulders to more focused endeavours, pushing the base of her palms against the more fully formed knots in his back. Just like while he was fighting, time had become a mystery to him. He came to fold his arms under his chin and close his eyes, fully focused on her firm contact.

“Are you still awake?” He eventually heard her ask.

The hedgehog managed a small hum, just loud enough to let her know.

“I’m going to move a little lower, remember to let me know if it’s at all uncomfortable,” She reminded him.

He was powerless when it came to her, regardless of the state he was actually in. Though fire was Blaze’s most blatant power, it was far from the only thing at her disposal. She was strong, elegant and capable of enduring tasks far more gruelling than her title of princess would suggest. Beneath the surface though, it was her heart that harboured so many secret skills. Even though she feared the damage her power could do, she was giving her all to help him recover. It was endeavours like that which made him admire her more than anything.

Feeling tiredness finally catch up to him, the hedgehog began to mumble, “How lucky am I to have found you twice? What were the odds of that?” Silver felt a small spike in heat, but no response came from her, “Someone so strong and reliable. Willing to do so much, even when I’m not in this useless state…”

“Silver, you’re delirious,” Her heard her snort, muting the slightest chuckle, “I know you’d do the same for me.”

“Of course I would,” The moment he said that though, he had an idea, “Not could; I will. As soon as you finish, I’ll look after you. I’ll give you a massage too!”

“Don’t be so naïve,” He could practically her eyes rolling, but it was matched by the grin in her voice, “You’ll be getting bedrest first. Maybe in a couple of days you’ll be able to return the favour.”

He tried to turn around but, but that attempt only caused her to strengthen her efforts and keep him pinned. It was as he’d thought before, Silver were powerless when it came to her, “I’ll do it as soon as I can, whether that’s in the next five minutes or the next five days,” He promised.

“This is going to take a lot longer than five minutes,” She tutted, “Let’s focus on you for today. If you can stand by tomorrow, then you can consider pampering me.”

As if to emphasize her point, Silver felt the feline’s grasp tighten and the temperature rise. He supposed she was growing bolder as he was showing his comfort, “Deal. As soon as I’m able, I’ll give you the best day possible in this place. I swear it.”

“If you drain yourself doing that, it’ll become an endless cycle. We’ll never get home,” She responded, soft snideness in her voice.

“Maybe so,” He hummed, feeling her shift a little further down his back, “Guess we’ll have to see who gives in first.”

“I suppose you’ll have to choose between that and your promise to Marine,” She gently taunted, moving her heat between his spines.

Eventually, the hedgehog felt his eyes grow heavy and entire yawns broke beyond his lips. It wasn’t long after that before he heard the same sounding from the pyrokinetic behind her, accompanied by the slight slowing of her movements. He didn’t know what state he’d be in when they woke up, whether her efforts would have some miraculous impact or if he’d be bedridden for days, but he could rest easy with her watching over him.

[yjk-imagines]

Preview from a future fic I'll be writing

Warning for partial nudity. Nothing seggsy, just changing clothes.

When you went through the things that Jaina had been through with her friends, the concept of privacy and personal space went out the window. And she didn't mind it one little bit. Jacen was sitting on Tenel Ka's lap, and Lowie was sitting on the bunk that the twins usually shared, playing with Jaina's wookie doll. It was a testament to her explicit trust of her friends that she didn't rip it out of his hands and hug it tightly. Jaina herself was sitting on the bench in the Rock Dragon's hold with her feet on Zekk's lap. Zekk was attempting to fix a part he'd brought from the Lightning Rod, but was struggling because Jaina's feet were tapping out the beat of the latest Bith hit.

"Masters and Mistresses," Em-Teedee interrupted their comfortable silence with a soft chime over the comms as he monitored their flight from the cockpit.

"We are coming up on Canto Bight. It would be prudent to prepare your disguises now."

"Thanks Em-Teedee!" Jaina called. Lowie growled an affirmative.

Tenel Ka gave Jacen a nudge, and despite the big, soft brown eyes he stared at her with, she kept nudging him until he fell onto the floor.

"The closet should be over here." Tenel Ka opened the double doors and the fabric nearly took off Jaina's eyebrows as it gasped for breath after being squished inside.

"Huh," Jaina grinned, "Maybe the Ta'a Chume has a few good ideas every now and then."

Tenel Ka graced Jaina with a rare smile, "This is a fact."

"Okay," Jacen slicked his hair back at the fresher unit, "Let's go over our roles one more time."

"You don't have a role," Jaina shoved a stylish Corellia-cut suit at her brother, "You, TK, and I are notable enough to have a alibi for being on Canto Bight."

"Yeah, but the holonet doesn't know anything about us. Uncle Luke said that Canto Bight is always swarming with paps, so this is our big chance to create the persona that we want the rest of the galaxy to know."

"You've been crafting a big, dramatic backstory this entire ride, haven't you?"

"I have." Jacen admitted with a huge, dorky grin.

"Hear me out;" Zekk pulled out his ponytail, "A playboy."

Jaina hummed and hawed, then looked at Tenel Ka, who already had her poker face ready to go, "It might work, if he had any girls to play."

"Hey!" Jacen protested, "It could work!"

Not with his one and only girlfriend by his side all night. Jaina rolled her eyes.

Canto Bight had connections to Black Sun, and so at the request of the new owner, Master Skywalker sent five of his newly minted Jedi Knights to snuff them out. Jacen, Jaina, and Tenel Ka would play the heirs come to have a night out, spend all their money, and sniff out suspicious activity. Zekk and Lowie would play bodyguards.

Lowie wore pieces of the same suit Zekk had squeezed into, and the boy from Ennth envied him.

"It feels too tight," He said, trying to move his arms without tearing the suit.

Jaina tried to hide a chuckle, "It makes you look more intimidating." She told him.

"Friend Zekk, there is another suit here that would perhaps fit you better," Tenel Ka tossed it to him. This style of suit was mostly black, with purple accents. It hugged his hips, but comfortably, and the sleeves allowed for more movement while concealing a couple of holsters on his arms. He placed a single tiny blaster on his right arm, just in case, and tucked his lightsaber into the two on his left.

"Still intimidating?" He asked.

Jaina, who was still indecisive about what gown to wear, looked him up and down. "Let's try a fake scar," She suggested.

"Are you sure?"

"Trust me, you look like you have a babyface."

"Are you saying I'm not intimidating?"

"Zekk, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but you're about as intimidating as Nicta."

Zekk had no idea how to react to this. His mouth moved back and forth as Jaina grabbed the makeup kit. "I was the Darkest Knight!" He defended.

Lowie growled, badly stifling a fit of laughter.

"Lowbacca is correct. That is not who you are anymore." Tenel Ka decided on a slim number in neon green, with a matching sash of green, blue, and yellow taffeta.

Zekk sighed, "Well, good to know all the time spent meditating on my actions and taking responsibility really worked."

"Hold still," Jaina pushed down gently on his shoulders to get him to sit in the chair. She began to draw a long white line over his eye, reminiscent of the scar on Anakin Skywalker's face. Zekk waited patiently, but with exasperation, for the whole process of blending, shading, and contouring to be finished. By the time Jaina was done, Lowie had brought them out of hyperspace and everyone else was dressed.

"Am I beautiful yet?" He asked.

"Very," Jaina promised.

"For a mechanic, I am impressed with the attention to detail you gave my makeup," Zekk said, examining himself in the closet mirror.

"Hey Jay! check it out!" Jacen said. His hair was spiked up in the front, and face was painted with the craziest amalgamation of colors and powders he could concoct, reminding everyone else of Raynar's robes.

"You like it?" He asked his bewildered sister, framing his face with his hands, "I'm thinking rich bad boy with a heart of gold."

"Perfect! You're bad at everything!"

Tenel Ka stepped in between the twins before they could start fighting and smear the makeup on Jacen's face.

"I thought that you might find this dress fashionable, yet comfortable enough for your tastes," She held out a pile of fabric, and Jaina could hardly tell where it started and where it ended.

First of all, she noticed the red cape. Two buttons, stretchy material, and an endless amount of opportunities. She was sold immediately, but even more so when she noticed the white pants that went under the whole ensemble.

"The shirt is more of a tunic, and can be worn with or without the pants, though I assume you would prefer the pants?"

"Um, yes!" Jaina immediately began to change, trading her cargo pants for the long white pants that, while shiny and white, fit more like Zekk's bodyguard-style pants. She was in love. They came with a matching set of white heels, but who cared when she got to wear pants to a fancy, stuck-up party?

And then she had to change her shirt.

Zekk froze, staring at her collarbone. The familiar pattern of spindly white lines trickled into existence, blossoming with the faded black and blue of bruises from lightning and gathering together beneath Jaina's bra.

"Jaina, what is that?" He asked, his voice shaking.

Jaina looked down at her chest. It hardly pained her nowadays, but yeah, it was there.

"Uh, lightning scar?" She quickly pulled the white shirt on, not nearly as excited about her disguise now.

"No, Jaina," Zekk's voice was low, and bristling with sharp, pointed syllables. "That is not a natural lightning scar and those kinds of bruises only come from Sith lightning."

He stepped closer to Jaina, who didn't move. The whole ship was deathly silent as Zekk's anger rippled outward into the force.

"Jaina," His voice held a hint of softness as his fingertips brushed against her hand, "Who did this to you?"

[vintage-story-time]

Family Games by Ray Todd

Chapter 10

Glynn poured a drink of bourbon for his mother and took a can of beer for

himself. He still felt a little funny, walking around in front of her bare

assed, but she didn't seem to mind being naked. In fact, she acted proud of her

nude body, and he sure didn't want her to cover up any of it. He would never get

tired of looking at her.

She was sitting on the couch, with her polished legs crossed, so that only a

tufting of her ebony pubic hair peeped out, and right now the long nipples of

her captivating tits were flaccid. But the heavy breasts themselves stood out

magnificently, ripe and full. They swayed when she reached out for the drink he

handed her.

"Thanks, dear; I need this. You're a marvelous lover, Glynn, so good that I'll

never let you go. Even when you grow up and get married, I'll visit you every

time your wife is away."

He sat down beside her and took a long, cooling swallow of beer. "I may never

get married; I love you too much, and no other could ever be so beautiful."

"How sweet. Am I really as exciting as that other girl you laid?"

Up close, her skin was flawless, pale and translucent; he could see the tiny

blue veins beneath it. He said, "She was the first, and yeah -- she's pretty

exciting. But you're special; you're the best." He wished he could tell her who

had taken his cherry, but this wasn't the time.

And when he thought of Lorena, he remembered that he was also supposed to be

working the plan along, making some of the moves that might keep his mother and

father married. He couldn't possibly let her go now, and had to do everything he

knew how to keep them from breaking up. It had been a hell of an idea Lorena

had, the kids seducing the parents, but where did he go from here?

Watching his mother finish her drink, he said, "How could dad stay away from

you?"

She put down the glass and raised her arms over her head, stretching. The

movement threw her tits out, flattening them just a little as the skin grew taut

over the delicious mounds. "It was just as difficult for me to stay away from

him, at first. I need loving, dear; I need a lot of loving. Now that I have you,

things are going to be much easier. You make me so crazy that I do things with

you I never have with your father, and I love them. Teaching my son all about

sex is going to be the most fabulous thing that ever happened to me."

Glynn drank some more beer. "Maybe you don't want to talk about him, but I wish

you would. You know, I told you about hearing the two of you screw, and how wild

it made me. Wow -- if I had ever seen you making it, if I'd ever watched him

kiss your tits and feel your pussy, I'd have gone off without even touching my

cock."

She lifted an eyebrow at him. "Get me another drink, dear, and I'll tell you how

it is. One time I brought home a huge mirror and fixed it beside the bed, so we

could watch ourselves fucking. But your father didn't like it."

Hurrying, Glynn splashed her glass half full of whiskey and carried it back. He

could feel his prick moving and a new strength growing inside his balls, even

though he would have sworn that he was completely drained. He wanted to hear all

this, and hung on each of her words with rapt attention.

"I would have liked it," he said.

"I was crazy about it," his mother murmured, "Seeing myself being screwed was

great, but I had to take down the mirror. I've often wondered how it would be,

right in the same room with two people who were fucking, watching every

movement, every wiggle of her ass and seeing the way his prick slid in and out

of her cunt."

Glynn emptied his beer can. His cock was rising, hardening. "But about you and

dad -- how does he go about it? What -- "

Sleepy-lidded, her sultry eyes focused on his, and her damp, red mouth said,

"Suppose I tell you all about the time I got pregnant with you? Would you like

that, darling? All right, then: we had been at a party and were pretty high by

the time we got home. We didn't even take showers, but started taking off our

clothes right here in the living room. In fact, he fucked me right on this very

couch."

Glynn's breath caught in his throat and he put his hand on his mother's plush

thigh. She uncrossed her sleek legs to give him room, so he moved on in to pet

the crisp, ringletted hairs of her enchanted pussy.

"I was so hot that night," she recalled, sipping her straight bourbon. "I wanted

to fuck and fuck, and your father stayed with me for a long time. He stretched

me out here, and lifted one of my legs up to put the foot on the back of the

couch; my other foot was on the floor. He pushed a sofa pillow under my ass and

fingered inside my blazing cunt until I came on his hand. Then, when I was

really boiling over, he crawled in between my legs and fed that gigantic prick

into my pussy. I thought we were going to break the couch, we slammed so hard at

each other. I came with him, I remember, and he pumped so much semen into me

that I overflowed, and we had to have the couch recovered to hide the stains."

Sighing, Glynn asked, "And that was the time you got pregnant with me?"

His mother saluted him with her empty glass. "Yes, and what a fortunate screw it

was. Now I'm sitting here naked with my son, looking at his long, hard prick and

thinking what a wonderfully ironic thing this is. I only wish I could have your

father brought in, all tied up, and prop him against that wall, so he would be

forced to watch his horny son fuck his equally horny wife. We'd make his eyes

pop out, wouldn't we, dear?"

Before he could answer, she put her glass on the coffee table and slipped off

the couch, twisting her full, ripe body around so that she was between his

spread knees. He knew then what she was going to do to him, and hot lightning

raced up his spine.

"Sit very still," she breathed. "Don't move, and I'll do everything."

With his legs veed wide, when she kneeled erect, his mom's tits were right at

his upright shaft, and he watched with bated breath as she cupped the delectable

melons and leaned forward to place them on each side of it. Glynn saw the

swollen head of it poking from between the white mounds, and felt the caress of

the twin nipples.

She rubbed her tits up and down, squeezing them together, and with every sliding

motion her nipples slid over the throbbing head of his ironhard prick. He

couldn't help waggling a little, but she hissed a warning at him, and he forced

himself to stay quiet, since his mother wanted to do this her own way.

She let her breasts fall apart then, and dipped her head forward to draw the

perfumed mist of her black hair over his painful cock. Glynn reveled in the

tickle of it, in the indescribable feel of the silken hair as she ran its luxury

along his shaft. He dug his fingers into the couch when his mom's cheek brushed

the head of his rod.

Taking it in one hand, she pressed it against her face, rubbing her cheek and

chin over it, guiding the knob over her forehead and her closed eyes. He could

feel the gentle scrape of her eyelashes, and a shiver traveled the length of his

tensed body.

Slowly, teasingly, she kissed the bulb, her lips soft as the lighting of

butterflies. Several times, she kissed it, paying a loving homage to this sex

organ that had developed within her own body in the beginning. She toyed with

it, bent it slightly, and allowed it to snap back erect.

He thought, she's going to do it -- she's actually going to suck my prick! It

was something he hadn't even dreamed about with her, not until after his sister

had done it to him. He had always imagined fucking her, riding between those

terrific legs and pounding his hard cock up into the special richness of her

velvet cunt, but the image of his mother eating his shaft hadn't come to mind.

Now it was about to happen, and he couldn't control the little muscle spasms

that shook him. When her tongue came out and licked the end of his glans, Glynn

fought a groan behind locked teeth, but had to let it escape as she curled that

artful tongue around the edges of the knob. When his mom ran the end of her

tongue down into the slot, he clawed at the sofa and his heels drummed a tattoo

on the carpet.

Her lips came down and around, and her tongue temporarily retreated so that the

cockhead could follow into the hot cavern of her mouth. The distended flanges

passed through her teeth and lay for awhile along her supine tongue, then she

moved her head and he felt his glans against the roof of her mouth.

"Mmmm," she said around his shaft, and drew still more of the rigid meat into

her mouth, so that at last the tender head bumped itself against the matchlessly

soft satin of her throat. Her fingers were at his balls, fondling and probing,

and her other hand was wrapped around the root of his prick, holding tightly,

pressing down and releasing in rhythm.

Glynn's head was turning from side to side, and he bit into his lip when she

started to apply suction, as she pulled his cockhead deep and shoved it back out

with her tongue.

The cheeks of his ass clenched at the slippery sucking, as she moved her head

slowly up and down and the inner velvets of her cheeks flowed back and forth

over his knob. Of their own volition, his hands came hesitatingly up and held

her head, his fingers going deeply into her bountiful hair. She didn't seem to

mind now, and he rested them there.

Her own hands moved, too, sliding down his thighs and behind his knees to fondle

the calves of his legs. They came back up, gripped his knees again, and urged

them up. Glynn slid forward a bit and hiked his pelvis, lifting his feet from

the floor and helping his mother drape his legs around her shoulders.

His feet rubbed up and down her back and he could feel the resilient pressure of

her tits in his crotch. She tipped his cock down slightly, and gnawed on it, her

tongue busy over the head. Glynn's fingers clamped harder into her hair, and he

began to hunch at her mouth, moving his shaft deep into it, nudging the back of

her throat.

Fucking her head; he was screwing her face, pouring the prick into her mouth,

into his own mother's loving hot mouth, and she increased the sucking, bobbed

her head more quickly up and down, timing her pumping motions to his thrusts.

"Oh, mom! Ooohh -- I can't take it -- so hot -- you're eating me, eating my cock

-- you're sucking me off and I love it -- oh! Ah! Oh you beautiful cocksucker,

I'm about to come. I'm going to let it all go in your mouth and down your throat

-- c-coming; COMING!"

Groaning, she pulled harder as he shuddered and gave one more hump that ground

his pelvis against her teeth. The orgasm came roaring up from his leaping balls,

sizzled along his swollen shaft and burst from the head of his prick in a deluge

of semen. Holding tightly to her head, rolling his hips and digging his heels

into the curve of her smooth back, Glynn spurted his hot juice into his mom's

throat. She took it down, lapping and swallowing, sliding the sweet creamy

fluids thirstily into the narrow cave of her throat, chewing gently upon the

dripping knob to bring forth more.

Glynn thought that his backbone was turning to water, or to more come, and that

she would suck him completely dry. He didn't give a damn if she turned him

inside out, if his balls shriveled up and fell off. It was so farout, such a

crazy, groovy sensation that he turned weak and his legs fell away from her

shoulders. When his feet hit the carpet with a thump, his mother seemed to come

back from some far and ravenous place.

With a final licking of his cockhead, she lifted her face and let the bulb slip

wetly from her smiling lips. "Was it wonderful, dear? Did it just tear you

apart?"

Glynn couldn't trust his voice not to squeak, so he nodded, his head kind of

loose and rolling on his neck. She kissed his flinching belly and drew her

tongue up his chest; then, leaning into him and pulling his face down to hers,

she stuck out her tongue.

"Here, lover; taste your own wet semen."

Inside his mouth, her tongue moved around, fondling his teeth and cheeks. There

was a flavor of musk unlike hers, a different spice that had been manufactured

deep within his own testicles. Gasping, he broke the sticky kiss and gulped deep

breaths.

"My turn to bring you a beer," she said, and climbed from between his spread

knees. He watched her go to the bar, seeing the enticing swinging of her hips,

the jiggle of her ass and the supremely graceful scissoring of those tapered

legs. Dizzily, he wondered if any kid his age had ever been so damned lucky.

Any guy would give his left nut to have a crack at that beautiful ass, and give

up the right one for a chance to get that kind of head given him. Glynn thought

that his father must be out of his tree completely, to even consider giving up

such fucking. But he really didn't want his old man moving out, not even if that

meant he'd have his mother all to himself.

There was still that other thing he had, the need to watch his mom fuck, and

there was nobody he would rather see in action with her than his father.

Besides, Lorena was no doubt going ape over the old man by now, digging him as

much as Glynn was enjoying his mom, and she wouldn't stand for his leaving. He

didn't want his sister to follow, either. That would be too much of a split, and

Lorena was a crazy piece of ass herself. No harm in fucking both of them, he

thought, her and his mother.

"Here's to us," his mother said, giving him a can of beer and holding up her own

refilled glass. "May we always have as much fun."

"Oh, we will," he assured her, and wrinkled his nose as bubbles from the beer

tickled it inside. Was this a good time to talk to her some more, while they

were resting? He glanced over at the clock behind the bar and thought there

should be plenty of time, Lorena wouldn't let go of their dad in a hurry.

"Mom," he said, "did you ever think about swinging with anybody else? Maybe even

a -- a girl?"

She sat down in the big chair across from him, and crossed her legs. "Why not?

The way I see it, especially since your father insists upon being such an utter

ass, is that I don't have all that many good years left. If he doesn't want me,

then I'm sure others do, and that might include a little girl-to-girl activity,

too."

He saw that she was on the way to being smashed, and thought he'd try to steer

her away from drinking any more, but he was glad to hear her say she wouldn't

mind playing around with another girl in the act. From the things he'd read, and

pictures he had seen, Glynn knew that chicks sometimes dug other chicks

sexually, and even though that wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind, it was

okay.

"Do you have anyone in mind?" His mother asked. "That little girl who got to you

before me?"

He drank more beer and said, "I kind of fibbed to you, mom. I've screwed two

girls before you, and I don't want to tell you about one of them; not yet. But

the other is my babysitter."

She sat erect. "What? That perfectly beautiful little thing with the exquisite

red hair? You have good taste, lover."

"I think she'd join us," he said. "I'm just about sure of it, because I laid her

and the other one together, taking turns with them, like -- so many strokes into

one pussy, so many into the other; they held hands all the time."

"Well," his mother said slowly, "and I was going to teach you. Could you really

get her to -- to make love with us? When?"

"Let's try for tonight," he answered.

[emeraldtawny]

My Ikemen Vampire OCs

Been a while since I’ve done anything with OCs and I’m not sure if I’ll be using these boyos in fics or the like. I just wanted to add my own suitors based on some historical figures that caught my attention and thought would be cool to bring back as sexy vampires uwu~

Picrew used can be found here.

Marco Polo

Thomas Jefferson

Sigmund Freud

~Details under the cut~

Marco Polo

The Wide-Eyed Explorer

Adventurous x Oblivious

“Life's all about finding something out there in this great wide world that hasn't been discovered yet. How about it, Signorina? Want to take the risk with me?”

An explorer renowned for his treks from Europe to Asia, his documentation of his travels are known the world over. Yearning for knowledge yet grounded in his ideals, he enjoys exploring this “distant future” of 19th century France and pauses to marvel at every detail and moment he can. He accepted the taste of immortality so he could further explore the world. However, the dynamic, rocky expanse of love is one journey even the great Marco Polo wasn’t prepared for.

Birthday: September 15th

Height: 177cm (5’9”)

Occupation: Merchant

Vampire Type: Lesser Vampire

Hobbies: Exploring, Collecting trinkets (hoarding), Taking notes

Dislikes: Staying indoors

Specialty: Storytelling, Charisma

Weaknesses: Lying

Favourite Food: Pasta

Hated Food: Ginger

Pet: Monkey named Viaggio

Random Tidbits

Wears two dangling coin earrings, as a symbol of the currency he knew before learning of and introducing paper money to Europe.

Responsible for bringing noodles - and consequently, pasta - back to Italy. One of his proudest accomplishments, he says.

Gets incredibly pouty when people doubt his memoirs or if he even made it to China at all.

Is endlessly fascinated by the different culture of this “new world” and will ask endless questions to gain knowledge.

Gets flustered and oddly prideful over how many other important figures of history looked to his experiences to guide them (Of course, he is most proud of the children’s game named after him).

Most of his memoirs were written in prison and by his cellmate. *A/N: hmmm, I wonder who comes back to smite him :3*

Is uncharacteristically frugal and likes to hoard any “unique” treasures he finds (most of them are commonplace items, but rare to Marco).

Favourite Place To Bite: Shoulder. He just gets incredible pleasure sinking his teeth into the flesh of the shoulder, and it works in tandem to muffle the groans that threaten to slip through his lips as he feeds. And if they bite him back on his shoulder, he is gone. His arms will always be snaked around their waist and whether he’s pressed against their back or front, he’s absorbed in his feeding so fully that sometimes he doesn’t know when to pull back until it’s too much.

Associates With:

Leonardo - The pureblood quite enjoys the boundless vibrant energy of his fellow Italian, and is more than happy to show him around the city and listen to the younger man’s detailed recounts of what he’s seen. They fuel each other’s insatiable need for new things to learn.

Dazai - Enjoys teasing him for his cluelessness about the world. The mansion’s residents don’t know whether to intervene, as both seem oblivious to the other’s intentions in their odd conversations.

Sebastian - Usually on the butler’s bad side for the constant clutter of “souvenirs” he always returns with. However, is rewarded with the whimsical story recounting of THE Marco Polo, so it isn’t all bad.

How He Met MC

After MC had attended dinner and was making her way to Comte’s room, she almost gets knocked off her feet as she collides with someone whilst lost in thought. Things fall to the floor and she quickly apologises and kneels down to help pick up the fallen items. As she lifts her head, she’s met with a head of white wispy locks and kind ice-blue eyes staring back at her behind his round spectacles. He takes the things back from her and they both return to their feet. “Grazie Mille, Signorina.” He says through a grin. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you there. You must be new around here.”

“Oh, um--”

(Is he a famous figure of history too? He looks nice enough.)

Her thoughts are cut off as Sebas comes into the hallway and seems ready to scold the young man for bringing in another assortment of useless trinkets. He pouts a little and says that these are unique and a brand new discovery that he must look into for their use. Sebas sighs, notices MC and asks if he has introduced himself to her yet. He blinks and exclaims in realisation before turning back to MC with a sheepish, boyish grin.

“It seems I forgot to introduce myself to you, Signorina. My name is Marco Polo. I’m a merchant and an explorer.”

(M-Marco Polo?!)

After MC learns the truth about the mansion and its residents, she’s on her guard as she walks aimlessly around the mansion, avoiding everyone she can for fear of them biting her. She stops as she passes the archive at the sound of a happy tune being hummed. She peeks in to see Marco cross-legged on the floor with a pile of junk in front of him. Yet the way he’s observing each piece makes her believe every single one is an irreplaceable treasure. He adjusts his glasses and inspects the map in his hands with an inquisitive gaze, his excitement of a new discovery at his fingertips vibrant and infectious. 

She’s so lost watching him that she hardly realises that she’s entered the archive, her feet naturally bringing her towards him. He stops humming and turns to meet her curious eyes with a wink.

“Oh! Perfecto! Just the woman I was hoping to see!”

He says it so heartfeltly that she feels her heart leap.

“Would you happen to know what these are? Since you’re from the future, you’d likely have a better idea than me.”

She hesitantly sits down across from him, still unsure yet compelled to help him, the kind, yearning aura surrounding him too strong to resist. [First CG of them looking over the pile of junk. Marco gesturing wide as he imagines the uses of a simple silver spoon and MC staring at him like “...it’s a spoon, not a lightning rod.”]

As she listens to him, she asks him why he finds joy in collecting these everyday items. He blinks at her...before bursting out laughing.

“Don’t laugh, I’m serious!”

“Ah, I’m sorry. Really I am. It’s just I never get tired of hearing that question. To me, that question means that there are people out there who have grown accustomed to what’s around them. So much so that something they see every day has lost its beauty to their eyes. I truly believe that everything out there - discovered or not - has a story, a meaning. No matter how mundane it may be, everything has a unique beauty in this world.”

(That’s...such a wonderful outlook on life.)

...

Thomas Jefferson

The Repentant Sinner

Awkward x Earnest

“I cannot see the merits of wanting to get to know me. So, why can’t I stop you from doing so?”

A diplomat and a scholar, the one thing Thomas Jefferson cannot say he is versed in is the art of conversation. Despite this, he isn’t shy. He simply prefers to observe and document what is around him. Intelligent and soft-spoken, he seems to be more driven in his immortal life despite his tremendous accomplishments in his human life. What so greatly motivated him to be reborn as a vampire?

Birthday: April 13th

Height: 190cm (6'2")

Occupation: Diplomat don't mention the P-word

Vampire Type: Lesser Vampire

Hobbies: Writing, Violin

Dislikes: Public speaking

Specialty: Writing documents (in silence)

Weaknesses: Conversation, His reputation

Favourite Food: Vegetables (selective vegetarian)

Hated Food: Liver

Pet: Mockingbird named Quill

Random Tidbits

Can speak 4 languages (English, Latin, French and Italian) and can communicate through writing in a further two languages (Greek and Spanish).

Wears multiple rings and a wrist cuff on his right hand, as he had dislocated his wrist in his human life yet the bones failed to set right when healing. The discomfort continues as a vampire, though less painful.

His voice is quiet, mellow and of a tenor pitch. He can barely string more than three sentences together unless speaking in private and about a topic he is knowledgeable in.

Developed mild insomnia since becoming a vampire. Coupled with his periodic headaches, some days he will be completely inconsolable.

Enjoys writing and listening to his mockingbird sing in the comfort of his room.

Completely freezes and nearly breaks down when reminded of the dark underbelly of his legacy.

Has no less than four feather quills on his person wherever he goes.

Favourite Place To Bite: Fingers. Feeding on a body part with a smaller surface area helps him pace himself and prevent more harm than necessary. But he truly enjoys piercing his fangs into the tip of the index and middle fingers, giving a cursory suck before withdrawing and taking the fingers into his mouth to suck them that way; he doesn’t wish to harm anyone with his bites if he can help it. Of course, sometimes he can’t help it when he’s lost in bloodlust.

Associates With:

Isaac - Enjoys his quiet companionship. They usually sit in the archive together, working on their different projects in complete silence.

Napoleon - Occasionally goes to the Frenchman requesting a feather from his eagle to make into a new quill. Napoleon agrees under the condition he helps him teach the schoolchildren, something he begrudgingly agrees to.

How He Met MC

The first time she meets Thomas is at her welcoming dinner. She baulks slightly at the height of him and the broad set of his shoulders being accentuated by his perfectly fitted dress shirt. He meets her gaze and nods politely towards her before taking his seat and idly staring down at and fiddling with his rings. She whispers to Napo if she somehow offended him, but he assures her that that’s just how Thomas is; not the best at striking up a conversation. 

When introductions come up, he’s one of the last to speak and definitely the least enthusiastic. He clears his throat softly and makes eye contact with MC, his gaze oddly intense as if forcing himself to meet her eye.

“Thomas Jefferson. Diplomat. A pleasure.”

(Thomas Jefferson. He was important in American history if I remember correctly. Can’t say I know much more than that.)

When Sebas (and Arthur) get it through MC’s head that she’s now in a mansion of vampires, she immediately runs out of the kitchen and just panic runs. She ends up in the foyer and almost collapses with relief because she can finally escape this place. Before she can reach the door, however, she realises there’s someone else right in front of the door, pacing back and forth as if in a trance.

(Oh great. They have someone on guard as well? Even more reason to get out of here!)

She tries to slip by, but the man notices her and stops his pacing to stare at her, saying nothing. MC feels overwhelmed by his gaze and starts to shake. His eyes widen and he goes to reach for her.

“Are you--?”

“Get away from me! Vampire! Monster! Don’t touch me!!”

She swats his hand away and makes a break for the door, but Thomas grabs her around the waist, pinning her arms down. She thrashes and begins to feel tears pricking her eyes when Sebas emerges. Thomas turns to him and asks him to take the young lady to her room. He immediately releases her from his hold and whispers a soft “I apologise for scaring you.” before walking back to his room with long strides.

Back in her room, she reflects on what happened and realises that his grip on her wasn’t tight enough to harm her and instead, he was likely as panicked as she was.

(Even if he is a vampire, it was clear he was trying to protect me. And I called him a monster…)

The next day, she asks Sebas to show her where Thomas’ room is so she can apologise to him. Sebas says to try the archive instead and shows her the way. She knocks on the door and peeks inside. 

Sitting at a desk and brandishing a feather quill, Thomas writes like his life depends on it, his eyes - while still heavy and tired with dark circles - seem focused with an intensity that leaves MC dumbfounded. [First CG of him deep in his scribing, unaware of the pretty lady who watches him with her attention rapt.]

(He writes as if he’s possessed. I feel like if I interrupted him now, I’d be ruining the very nature of his being.)

She waits until he lets out a soft sigh and sets down his quill. When he finally notices her presence, he blinks, a deer in the headlights. His mouth opens and closes, but no words come out.

“Um...can I help you?”

...

Sigmund Freud

The Cold Elitist

Analytical x Insatiable

“Such honest eyes. Yet such boring simplicity in your actions and thoughts.”

An Austrian neurologist whose work helped to shape modern psychology. His work with brains and how they shape our conscious and unconscious mind - his book The Interpretation of Dreams using his own brain as the study - made him observant and insightful; in a holier-than-thou way in most cases. He is private and distancing, yet fiercely loyal to those he deems worthy enough to be close to him. His own findings concluded that personality and unconscious thoughts cannot be so easily swayed. Until he meets you...

Birthday: May 6th

Height: 180cm (5’10”)

Occupation: Neurologist (despises the term psychologist being attributed to him)

Vampire Type: Lesser Vampire

Hobbies: Smoking cigars, People watching, Reading

Dislikes: Being referred to by his first name (Call him Freud or you’ll get one hell of a death stare)

Specialty: Psychoanalysis, Picking apart people’s thoughts

Weaknesses: Accepting defeat or wrongdoing, Smiling through his eyes

Favourite Food: Artichoke

Hated Food: Anything American

Pet: Frog named Ego

Random Tidbits

He has a pet frog because of his early work as a medical student, where he studied frog brains to determine the difference between vertebrate and invertebrate brains. And named his pet after one of the terms he coined of the human psyche, representing the balance of our desires and morality.

Used to smoke cigars heavily, so much so that he developed mouth cancer which led to his eventual human death. Picked the habit back up again after being revived as a vampire.

Had a therapy dog when he was human. Sneaks pets to Vic and King whenever he can.

Was quoted saying “The goal of all life is death.”, yet accepted the offer to be granted eternal life (he chuckles bitterly at himself over this fact).

Was a firm Shakespeare sceptic and remains so into his vampire life. Any conversation he has with Shakespeare usually ends with him bad-mouthing him in German and proclaiming that the Earl of Oxford was the true writer of his plays.

Continues to write books about his discoveries, yet keeps them unpublished.

Is joked as being sex-obsessed (by Arthur of all people), but stands by his claims that sexual wishes and desires play into how a person’s mentality is shaped.

Favourite Place To Bite: Stomach. The way the muscles flex and spasm around his fangs is exquisite in every meaning of the word. He enjoys slowly sliding the blouse up, letting his hands trail slowly to feel the goosebumps that prickle on the skin, before biting right on the curve of the waist.

Associates With:

Comte - The one man who may call him by his first name. Feels indebted to him for another chance at life.

Mozart - Short yet calm conversations between the two Austrians happen every so often; about what, who can say?

Arthur - Pesters Freud for psychoanalytical techniques he can incorporate into his Holmes novels. Gives him the bare minimum to leave him alone. Absolutely loathes the nickname the Brit gives him (“Siggy”).

How He Met MC

When MC first encounters him, Freud is at the dining table with Mozart, Theo, Vincent and Isaac. As soon as he hears the commotion and she enters for dinner, he abruptly stands and leaves without a word, only sparing a cold stare that she feels in the pit of her stomach.

Her first true encounter with him is after Sebas tries to tell her that her housemates are vampires and she runs into him in the hallway. She notes that his eyes of metal run just as cold as the first time she met his gaze, but she still tries to greet him (Comte told her about him briefly at dinner, saying his name is Sigmund). When she addresses him as such, his lips twitch in distaste and harshly tells her not to call him that.

Being MC, she bites back a little, causing him to raise an eyebrow.

”For a meek little thing, you certainly try to bark, don’t you?”

“Hey, I don’t need another person in this mansion referring to me as a dog!”

“Hm. Very well then, Rotznase.”

(Did....did he just call me a brat?!) *A/N: no, MC. He called you a snot-nosed brat*

She goes to bite back again, but something in his eyes stops her dead. Like they can see into her soul, see the exact way her brain ticks. He exudes a harsh aura that makes her want to run, but the power of his eyes on her has her paralysed, like a predator staring down its defenceless prey. He scoffs at her before asking if she knows what he is. When she doesn’t respond, he sighs in annoyance before grabbing her by the throat and pushing her against the wall, hard. [First CG of this kabedon-strangling hybrid. 2/10, not sexy and probably hurts too much.]

”You’re a foolish little girl. And unfortunate in your luck. If you had crossed paths with any of the other beasts in these halls, you may have gotten away with nothing more than nightmares.”

His hand on her throat tightens, constricting her windpipe and cutting off her air supply, the petrified horror in her eyes only increasing as he bares his fangs to her.

”I am not a lenient man, I never have been. And this is no dream. You’re just an unlucky human. No offence intended.”

Just as his hand tightens further and he leans over her, Arthur of all people is the one to save her. He grabs Freud’s collar and yanks him back, barking at him not to scare the bird. Freud only gives an annoyed huff before strolling away as if he never had any part in it. MC loses strength in her knees and passes out from fear, and Arthur brings her to her room before heading to Comte to tell him what occurred.

The following day, Comte invites MC out to the garden for a chat. He confirms that the residents are all men of history brought back from death as vampires, and he apologises for Freud’s less than savoury approach at drilling the message in.

”Listen well, ma Cherie. The men in this mansion may be vampires, but they all show restraint. Sigmund, however, is an unusual case. He is prone to frenzies, where he’s so consumed with bloodlust that he cannot control himself. For your own safety, I would suggest having as little contact with him as possible.”

[imlostinsantacarla]

Title: The Golden Serpents (Jane Volturi x Reader!Platonic)

Summary: The reader (a savage newborn) finds themselves before the Volturi in which to pay for the awful crimes they have recently committed. However, during the course of their brief trial, something ignites the darkness in them, something they desperately wish to keep at bay. The brief ordeal creates an electrifying show that wins them a high place in the Volturi... snug between two ominous cherubs for all eternity.

Word Count: 2,534

Warning’s: this is not a love story!, violence, pain, semi-manipulation?. let me know if I’ve forgotten anything.

Proof Reader: @roslaeahle​ ( literally, tysm for your help!! (: )

A haze of golden honey illuminated freely from the arched windows, high up in the throne room on a hot Italian summer’s day, and onto the empty space before the long standing kings of the vampire realm; a place designed for criminals such as yourself, destined to enunciate all of the cruel and dreadful crimes that you had committed. The most vital of all was the fact that you’d foolishly made yourself aware to the humans of Volterra with your savage newborn hunger, a dangerous testament to the knowledge your maker deigned to share before they had abandoned you during your painstaking change; leaving you at the mercy to the roaring dryness that impaled your throat every single time that the scent of luscious blood and bounding sounds of pumping hearts caught your senses.

In frequent cases, a newborn would have been extinguished without a single thought, but the stories and mental visions of your beauty and power was breathtakingly scrumptious to Aro that he simply could not risk the chance of allowing you to part with this world without witnessing it for himself first. It would be all too deviant of him and his fellow kings to allow such a vital and alluring gift to go to waste in the depths of hell, particularly so soon in the immortal life. 

So here you stood, your frame twitching with an edge to it that was impossible to curb away without any form of frequent and strict lessons dedicated towards control, and your feral gaze cast itself in swift shifts across the room, picking up the porcelain faces surrounding you, those rich ruby orbs gazing into your soul with a piercing ache that only centuries of being cooped up could and would create. You were a young deep beauty, innocent to them, yet with the power to tear them apart in an instant if it wasn’t for the largest of this unruly coven holding your arms behind you with a force that could rip them off in one sudden move. The restraining grasp caused your eyes to strike with a vivid shine, twinkling so intensely with the blood of your beloved victims, none of the three kings could find even a scratch of sympathy for what you had done in your liquid gaze.

“Demetri, Felix,” The man in the middle with skin that appeared as thin and delicate as tissue paper breathed with a higher purpose, it only left your knees buckling and your breath hitching in your strong chest. “Bring them forward to me.” His eyes locked onto yours as they pushed you forward, hands still attached to you, without a second thought. Your knees crushed the ancient stone beneath you, smashing it like soft butter. Your breath halted once more and altogether, a now meaningless exchange of oxygen and carbon dioxide, and your almond shaped eyes shut instantaneously, crinkling at the edges of what was to come.

“Now, now my dear…” He breathed, hand smoothing your frizzy yet smooth hair, though his voice was like a sociopathic angel’s, “no need to be frightened. I just want to see.” And the way he said it created an imaginary set of  goosebumps to rise onto your frozen flesh before  the tips of his fingers smoothed and skimmed over the apples of your icy cheeks, as though he were brushing away the tears that should have been there. An act of such false compassion, you wished he’d already let them kill you. But he only left you with a sense of intrusion and violation as he read your thoughts with no permission, as though you owed it to him in conjunction with your everlasting loyalty.

An eerie chime escaped his mouth as he tipped his head back and cackled. “So interesting! So powerful!” He gushed with the intensity of a child, a totally different personality from the fierce and terrifying judge he had been only two minutes prior when you had been silently begging for your life.

Your eyes snapped open with fierceness whilst a pulse of electricity flared through your veins, serpents dancing in and thawing out every frozen cell of your body, bringing you to life. He withdrew his hand with the help of a woman behind him, a shield coming up to block the physical attacks you so desperately wished to inflict on him and him alone. Your eyes began to shift from the vividly crazed crimson to a deep and golden amber, your hair wild and curly, fluttering from the way your body seemed to vibrate. With a flick of his fingers, Felix and Demetri lunged at you with such calculation you were surprised you managed to catch them the way you did, arms spread out, hands gripping nastily around their strong throats, though your strength didn’t last long; Felix was just as strong and overpowered you in mere moments, forcing you to your knees a bit further back.

A yelp of pain illuminated from your lips before your changed eyes settled on a cherub-like child with a mop of brown hair on top of his small head, but what horrified you the most was the velvety smoke of black sliding from his wrists and down onto the ground, crawling with a purpose, like a black jaguar, jaunting and calculated. You had a sense it would damage you in ways you could not possibly fathom, which frightened you the most. And as panic settled, you struggled uselessly against the two vampires restraining you until the smoke was an inch away, threatening to suck your senses into it and leave you with nothing.

The electricity burst from your being, colliding with the two vampires that restrained you and hurled them back into the wall a hundred feet behind you with such force it pulverized the stone bricks that  they’d smashed into. They dropped to the ground with a crash, two lumps of granite no longer in control of their bodies but fully aware of what was going on. You slid back with the force, attempting to distance yourself from the ominous smoke, though it did little to help as it followed you with a mind of its’ own, delirious for the fact it wanted to consume you like a mouth-watering meal.

From the sides of your torso jutted out two golden silhouettes, slithering viciously with scales so detailed they appeared to be living priceless art. Mouths became agape at the beauty they relished, the smoke halting in place for a fraction of a second. They ejected from your sides, coursing with lightning only Zeus could possess before they hurled themselves at the young boy…

In all your life as a human, you’d always buried your darkness so deeply, but in your new form all it wanted was to escape it’s repression and wreak havoc; almost a pitiful revenge against the angel-like side of you. And for most of your mortal life the good side had been winning, but you were finding in your new body that the darkness was the only way for you to prominently survive out in this harsh world full of ghouls your parents had once told your over active imagination nor to worry about. And you couldn’t even remember if you were sorry to let this dauntless part of you inflict damage onto others or not… It had been so very long since you had allowed it at center stage.

A monstrous crack erupted through the focused room and the brown haired cherub buckled to the ground with a scream you swore your heart was torn in two. This wasn’t what you wanted. This wasn’t what you needed. Death was surely better than this, wasn’t it?

A scream tore your attention from the boy, a small girl, barely thirteen and just as angel-like as the boy made eye contact with you. For a moment all you could focus on was her delicate fare features, so snow-like she appeared dead; and her hair was as white as angel feathers, it almost made you smile. But before you could react, an agonizing pain seared through you as though somebody had branded you with a glowing red hot iron rod, as though you were boiling alive. And you screamed so loudly your knees buckled beneath you and had you writhing in place, your serpents of liquid electrifying gold fell to the ground, squirming on either side of the boy, attempting to return to the vessel from whence they came from. A sob raked from you as you sucked in air. You felt as though you were drowning, so much pain erupting in your lungs you felt lightheaded.

And what felt like centuries that drew on and on were only mere seconds before Aro lifted his hands and murmured softly to the poor little girl who had tortured you. The pain halted and you laid there painting for a few moments, exhausted but taken back by the breathtaking beauty this child-like creature bestowed. You were almost glad you never got to officially come face to face with her brother’s powers.

“Enough, Jane.” The snow white haired man uttered, articulating each syllable with importance. She stopped, though would not quit staring at you with the anger and rage of a child; the dangerous look of vengeance plastered on her countenance. She was unhappy with you and a part of you wasn’t bothered by it at all, only grateful that someone had stopped you from combusting under her cruel glower of hatred.

You sat up just in time for the other guards to begin regaining feeling in their limbs, their red eyes still staring at you unblinkingly. The serpents deftly slumped towards you, wriggling up and down more like worms now as they sought out the comfort of your ice cold body, their vessel in which you carried them. A sigh of relief broke out of your slightly parted dry lips as they molded into you once more, an exhaustion taking over you whilst they settled, nestled inside of your embrace like injured children needing nurturing reassurance.

“I think we may have come to the conclusion that a gift such as yours, although we know little about it, may provide some astounding service to our coven.” Aro spoke up, legs crossed as he stared down at you with eyes that scared you; eye lit aflame as though he would personally kill you himself if he could not have you in his collection of gifted vampires. You swallowed thickly, chest rising and falling, rising and falling and repeating for several minutes.

“I would advise you to accept the offer with the utmost of gratitude.” Caius snapped immediately, a glower settling his countenance immediately, “It’s a gracious gift after you broke the most eminent law of our kind. One in which your creator should have informed you on, but I am sure we can find him or her and bring them in to punish them for the crimes they allowed you to commit.” He snarled impatiently, tightly gripping the armrests of his black elegant throne.

“I rather don’t think that’s necessary, Caius. We do not seek out punishment on those that did not do the crimes.” Aro stated matter-of-factly, leaning back in his seat as his eyes never left your frozen form. Caius went to open his mouth but with a wave of Aro’s hand Caius clamped his clamped his mouth shut with much reluctance. “I mean, after all, how could she deny such a wonderful opportunity to provide such a charitable role in our coven?” The way in which he stated this made you wonder if he really meant what he was saying.

“So, what do you say, (Y/N)? Will you join us or will you leave us?”

“I will join.” You hummed the words so softly it only sounded like a sigh to you, but was enough confirmation for Aro.

“Wonderful!” Aro clapped astoundingly, rising from his seat with an excitement that put you all the more on edge. You tilted your head to the side, wondering what on Earth had created him into being who he was now. A bewilderment shot through you, a honeysuckle glow catching your breathtaking skin and illuminating it as though you were made of tiny crystals. You hadn’t entirely figured out what you had gotten yourself into, but there was a numbing of all those that you felt ties to at one point, a sudden sense of loyalty washing over you for the three treacherous kings before you. Two of them beamed at you whilst the other scowled as though he wished he were dead.

“Welcome then!” Aro clapped enthusiastically as though it were meant to be a warm welcoming, and others joined in too, the sounds of their stone-like hands ringing in your ears.

“Master Aro!” An innocent voice like honey rolled into your ear drums as you turned to face it’s creator. The blond little girl’s eyes flickered from you to Aro and then back again.

“Yes Jane?” Aro seemed to soften his features towards the girl before him, as though she were his prized possession. You shivered at what you noticed and waited patiently for her to respond.

“Does that mean we get to keep them forever? Alec and I can play with them whenever we want?” The way she said it was a little eerie, but innocent and round as her crimson eyes.

“Yes, dear Jane. (Y/N) is now apart of our coven and here forever. You can play with them whenever you desire.” He rubbed his hands together before placing them over his mouth to suppress another giggle of terrifying joy.

“Yay!” She squealed, dragging her brown haired brother to his feet and skipping over to you with the grace of an angel. She took your hand in her small one and looked up at you. “We’re going to be best friends, you and I. But before we can get there you have to apologize to Alec for hurting him like that.” Her little bottom lip dropped down into a small pout, eyes so wide they were like two full moons. She really meant it when she said it, the sincerity was there. It was strange because only moments ago she was tearing you apart from the inside, and now she had settled on the fact of being your best friend for eternity, on the condition that you apologized to her brother.

A smile crept onto your face as though you were under a spell and your head shook from side to side in amusement as you came to your feet, hand still holding her very own with a tenderness a parent had for their child. “Only if you promise never to do what you did to me again. Then and only then will it be a done deal.” You tilt your head to the side, eyes crinkled at the corners in amusement and she gave you a determined nod that you could have believed, but you knew deep down her temper was wild, unruly because she would always have the mentality and temperament of a young girl with a cruel past created by a terrible village so terrified of her and her brother.

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[cheryls-blossomed]

There are certain of WA scenes that get a lot of attention with good reason from the LR scene fr 4x15 to the erased first kiss scene 1x15 but there are some underrated WA scenes such as the scene 2x19 when B was talking abt how Ir was the first person he saved when he first got his powers. I love that scene. Do you have any WA scenes that you bel is underrated? If so, what are your top 3 underrated WA scenes & what did you like about them?

So many, nonnie! So many! This is such a hard question, but a really fun one; thank you for asking me! (And although it didn’t make my top 3 favorite underrated moments, I too really love that scene in 2x19. “The only two people in the world.”) 💜

Perhaps rather predictably, my favorite underrated Westallen scene in the club scene in 2x16, “Trajectory,” not least because it holds the special place in my heart as the moment when Westallen became my most important and certainly biggest OTP ever. I just love this moment, because it’s Barry and Iris without the turmoil of the belief of unrequited love and other relationships and secret identities. They’re both relaxed, they’re both single, and they both know they have married doppelgängers on Earth-2. There’s that fun best friends energy that permeates throughout their interactions in this scene: the moment Iris and Wally arrive, Barry and Iris sort of go off on their own, leaving the rest of the group. Plus, Barry and Iris give each other that knowing look and mirror one another’s reactions when Jesse and Wally interact for the first time, and when Jesse goes off to “powder her watch.” It’s easy, and one of the many reasons that I love this is scene is the fact that we get a glimpse into just how easy and in sync Barry and Iris’s rhythm is together. Iris says to Barry, “If we ever do get married, promise me you won’t do that dance at our wedding,” and he comes back with, “I can promise you that,” but then adorably fumbles a little, “The dance I mean, not the wedding.” She shrugs it off with a grin, but there’s something about her disposition that becomes a little serious, a little wistful and he’s all, “What?” Iris wonders in a nonchalant way, but full of that same wistfulness, how they’re married in the future and on Earth-2 (she frames her sentiment as conversational now, but she leaves her next sentence hanging, a sentence which she later finishes in 2x20, “Maybe we are meant to be together”). But what follows highlights how easy-breezy this moment is for Barry and Iris, neither missing a beat, even though things take a turn for the flirtatious. Barry’s whole demeanor changes, his eyes darken, his voice more raspy, when he asks her, “I wonder what our married doppelgängers are doing right now?” and Iris flirts back, “Probably Earth-2′s version of Netflix and Chill.” Barry smoothly replies, “Sounds nice,” but he wouldn’t be Barry if he didn’t quickly, rather endearingly clarify, “For them, I mean.” The scene is just... I don’t know... it’s so easy and light, and it showcases how in sync they are and how easily they flirt with each other, while hinting at what’s to come for them in the coming episodes, and there’s just so much UST in this scene... really makes you wonder what would have happened had they not been interrupted by Trajectory.

I really love the final loft scene in 4x01, and I think it’s underrated, because that episode had so much lightning rod goodness that I think it’s easy (certainly has been in my case) to get wrapped up in all the Westallen scenes that come before their final scene in this episode. But Iris is still grappling with how difficult these past six months have been, and Barry doesn’t probe her with words when he sees her makeshift bed on the couch or the turned over photos, but he gives her a soft, questioning look, and she expresses, on the verge of tears, how it’s been really hard these past few months. And her voice is quavering, and he immediately just takes her arms in her hands, caressing her arms slowly, reminding her that he’s here now. She tells him that she tried her best these six months to stay strong, and I think you can really see how broken she’s been and how incredibly painful her last six months have been (Candice fantastically portrays all of Iris’s emotions in these moments), and Barry reassures Iris softly, that he’s so proud of her and how she kept everybody together. And then he tells her that all he can see is them and their future together and that that future is going to be great. I love these soft, sweet, romantic moments between Barry and Iris after the storm, if you will, because there’s these deep sense of calm; this sense of, “I’m home again,” and this scene beautifully captures that sentiment.

The final loft scene in 3x23. I this this scene counts as underrated, right? Anyways, I adore this scene so, very much. It’s one of my favorite Westallen scenes of all time, because it stunningly captures how Barry and Iris are best friends in love in a way that I’m not sure any other scene captures (which is obviously saying a lot). They both can finally breathe, (or at least for a few minutes before the speedforce starts erupting, but they don’t know that yet) and they’re both reflective of how they finally have their future together again. They can finally plan their wedding! They’re smiling and laughing with each other, and Iris adorably sings a line of “Running Home to You,” which only elicits a bigger chuckle from Barry who figures that they’ve got the song for their wedding lined up. And Iris remembers the Save the Date cards, which Barry immediately runs off to deliver, and this is so cute, because Iris is all, “I spent a lot of money on stamps,” and Barry shrugs, and it’s just so peak teasing best friends, while also containing this strong undercurrent of fully realized romantic love. Barry then pulls out the ring from his pocket and asks Iris if she’s ready to be Iris West-Allen, to which she responds, “I’ve always been Iris West-Allen. I’ve always been yours.” It’s such a beautiful statement, encompassing how they are it for each other, and how their very souls have been entwined since the moment they met as children. And then their about to kiss, but of course are interrupted (the only downside to an otherwise absolutely perfect scene lol). I just adore this scene so much, honestly. 

[sloane-cruise]

self-para // clothed in scarlet

An escort's earring. Leo, more curls than girl, was six years old at the time. Her mother was preoccupied with the baby in her arms. Always fussing. Always hungry. With her father in the fields, the job of looking after her was made an impossibility. It was after the reaping, the boy and girl were taken into the depths of the Justice Hall to say their goodbyes. The escort was making her way back to the train platform. No one was paying attention to her. She'd simply wanted to take a closer look, see if the escort's hair really was that impossible shade of violet. And then in the grass, she'd seen the glint of the escort's earring. White gold and diamonds, very obvious against the brown soil of district ten. She'd gone to grab it and in that moment the peacekeeper clocked in to her intrusion. One whack to the hand, the second to her back. The harsh metal rod was scalding, heated by the July sunlight.

The words hurt more though. "Off you little runt, or we'll feed you to the pigs."

She'd run off in tears. Not to her mother's arms, but into the fields where no one would hear her.

Eleven years later and she still hadn't learned her lesson.

The sun was high in the sky when she made her attempt at the ostrich egg. She was hungry, the rumble of her stomach barely soothed by the meager serving of stale snack food. She'd spent the evening hidden among the racks in the gift shop, waking at the slightest noise. While there's she'd traded in her bloody white top for a green one and thrown a cap on over her head. It was a down trade, a desperate one at that, from her beautiful capitol outfits, but it would have to do for now. Function above fashion.

She'd seen the glimmer of those cannisters from yards away. She needed something here. A stroke of luck. A little something to take the edge off the pain. Maybe there was a weapon in there. Maybe there was a meal. If she'd been less blinded by her need, she'd have seen just how sharp those ostrich beaks were. Maybe a lifetime spent protecting sheep from thunderstorms hadn't given the sharpest of minds.

Observation one. You cannot outrun an ostrich

Observation two. She'd never seen talons like that before.

Observation three. She could very well be killed by a flightless bird.

The cannister was dropped several meters behind her as she curled herself into a ball, threw her hands over head, and braced for the worst of it. One talon scraped along her shoulder, drawing blood and putting to rest the notion she could look at all put together. And then the weight as the damned bird went to stand on her. It crushed the air out of her lungs, made her realize that bunking down for the worst of it might really not have been the best option. She felt the pressure of the beak against her hand. The pain as one peck turned into two and then three.

And then suddenly a disgruntled honk and the pressure released off her. In the relief she didn't notice the howling voice, or feel the aftershock of pounding against the ground. What she knew was the feel of another hand on her. Another’s fingers running over her bruised hands. When she lifted her head, she met a pair of tawny, curious eyes. A monkey. With a gentle hand it picked the pieces of grass and straw out of her hair, chattering in a low grumble all along.

With a hiss, she picked herself off the ground. "Who are you?" she asked.

Quick as lightning, the monkey was up on two legs, arms high and swaying. Howlering. Knocking it's hands against the ground. The sound was defeaning but the display wasn't for her. The ostrich was coming in for round two and as she dragged herself backward, her new friend chased the bird back toward it's nest. He was fast. A blur of brown and black against the flat enclosure. She stumbled back to the pavement. Bits of dirt were uprooted and tossed at the ostrich. Roots. Rocks.

Once he was satisfied, he made a loop back to Leona. His voice was softer now, almost soothing. He sat before her and after a minute she stretched out one hand. He mirrored the movement and then took her offering. Fingers wrapped around her thumb and he pulled himself close, tucked his head under her chin, and rested against her chest.

And so they met.

He followed her south, back to the woodland enclosure where she could hide and tend to the worst of her injuries. She used her old white shirt as a bandage around the wound on her shoulder. As she worked, her new friend swung in the branches above. He was ever watchful. When she hissed he dropped to her feet, wrapped himself about her leg and chattered.

By the afternoon, he was bringing her bits of bugs and fruit he'd found. Whatever came was offered to share and she took it gratefully. And when bruised and battered, she rested her head against the forest floor he sat in guard of her.

"What should I call you?" she asked. Her fingers played through his coarse hair, feeling the strength and muscle underneath.

It came to her as she was drifting. It wasn't something from home, if district ten could be called that. It was something from the capitol. Familiar. Well loved.

She whispered it. "Thank you, Caesar."

[ask-de-writer]

Dr. Mordenheim’s Travels, Book 1: De Writer’s Equestria, Ch. 4

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Dr. Mordenheim’s Travels, Book 1: De Writer’s Equestria, Ch. 4

by

Mordenheim

(In Hosted Tales)

1458 words

© 2019 by Mordenheim

All rights reserved.  This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.

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Victor smiled as he finished up with his latest patient.  Using a rag wrapped around one of his fore hooves, the other end gripped in his teeth the zebra polished the shining steel of the green earth pony’s prosthetic rear leg.

“Now then,” he said, tossing the rag aside and picking up a small vial in his teeth, “In a few hours the anesthetic will start to wear off.  It will feel like a dull ache at first but will gradually get worse.  As SOON as you feel that ache I want you to take a teaspoon of this potion, then once every eight hours after that.  I’m sorry if it throws off your sleeping schedule, but this is necessary to make sure that everything heals and melds together properly.”

Rosewater nodded and smiled, taking the vial and placing it in her saddlebags, “Thank you, Doctor!  When that cart ran over my leg, I thought I would be in a mobility cart for the rest of my days.”

“Well, you’re not out of the woods just yet.  There’s still a chance that your body might reject the implants or the nerve connections may not heal properly.  However if you take your medicine at the prescribed times and come back for your scheduled checkups, the risk is minimal.  In fact, you should be right as rain in just a few weeks time.”  He walked around the mare, making sure that everything seemed to be properly finished as well as admiring his own work.  “In the meantime, you can walk on it normally, but no running, jumping, or kicking until I give you the okay, alright?  We don’t want to cause any more damage.”

The mare shook her head, her pink curls swaying from side to side.  “No sir!  I’ll take it nice and easy for now.”

Victor smiled again, draping a hoof over the back of the mare that he towered over.  The red-maned zebra being the size of a Rom horse himself cast a bit of an imposing image, but his gentle words and actions had won over the smaller female.  “Now, since you are the first to get this experimental treatment, there shall be no charge for the surgery, however, I will require a few bits payment for the medicine itself.  I will send you my bill shortly, but I promise it will not be much.”  He carefully helped the mare walk towards the door.

Rosewater opened the door slowly, the well oiled hinges not making even the slightest squeak as she stepped outside and took a deep breath of fresh air.  The sun was sinking low in the sky.  “Oh my, it’s later than I thought!  Thank you, doctor but I need to hurry home before dark!”

Suddenly the heavy hoof of the zebra stamped down on the end of her tail, drawing her up short.  “No running!  Just move at a gentle canter and you should be back in Ponyville proper before you know it.”  He lifted his hoof and smiled before waving.  “Fair travels, miss Rosewater, and I will see you next week.”

As he trotted back inside, he put out an ornately carved wooden sign that said “RING BELL FOR SERVICE” in bright green lettering.  The paint of the sign was designed to glow brightly when struck by moon or starlight as was the bell hanging by the front door.  Heading into the workshop at the back of the clinic, he tossed a few hunks of wood and coal into the large incinerator and fired it up, using a chemical compound and a bit of flint.  After the fire was burning brightly, he opened the door to his operating room.  Carefully gathering up the bloodied sheets and disposable equipment, he tossed them into the incinerator.  Closing the heavy iron door with a loud clank, he turned his attention to his surgical equipment.  He pulled out a few bottles of powerful antibacterial potions and carefully mixed them into a vat of water.  He then set his sharp, shining instruments inside to soak for a while.  He heard the bell ring at the front door.

Tilting his head, he headed for the heavy wooden door.  He'd never actually had a patient this late since the areas near the Everfree could be dangerous after dark, so it must be truly important.  Opening the door, he was used to looking down to greet his patients, due to his towering, Rom-like height.  He was quite surprised to actually find himself eye to eye with a beautiful midnight-blue mare.

“Oh! Your highness!”  He remembered himself at last and bowed to the Princess of Dreams and Nightmares, “To what do I owe this wonderful surprise?”

The zebra found himself being ushered to one side by one of the Royal Guard.  Commander Lightning Rays, a white pegasus with distinctive black wing tips used the tip of his spear to gesture for the doctor to step back to what he deemed a safe distance.  As he glanced through the doorway he could see two more guards posted outside the doors before they swung closed behind his guests.

“Unfortunately, my reason for visiting is not pleasant.  I have received a complaint from the Ponyville Medical Society that there was a doctor in the area practicing without proper authorization.”  She frowned a bit, looking over the zebra’s shoulder, “May I come in?”

Victor nodded, smiling as he backed out of the way, “Of course, of course! Please, make yourself at home!”

Luna cast her gaze around the waiting and consultation area, seeing that everything was clean and brightly lit.  It was cheerfully colored rather than being the normal stark white of the horsepital.  Several comfortable chairs and couches lined the walls.  There was a shelf full of various books.  A small area off to the side seemed to be dedicated for foals to play while they waited.  A large, heavy-looking wooden desk was central to the wall opposite the entrance.  She rested a hoof on it’s shining, smooth surface, the reddish-brown wood so polished that she could see her reflection in the surface.

“Mahogany?” she asked, a bit surprised as the wood was quite hard to come bay so far to the north.

The zebra nodded, his chest puffing up a bit with pride, “I wanted to be sure that everything was the very best, for both myself and my patients.”

The mare looked thoughtful, walking over to the bookshelf, running a hoof over the many different tomes.  There was everything from medical journals, to nonfiction historical books, children’s books, and even a complete set of Daring-Do novels lined the shelf.  Victor watched as she inspected everything carefully before she headed towards the operating room door.  

She pushed through into the operating chamber, finding the room to be a sparkling white.  Her nose stung a bit from the strong chemical smell coming from the bucket of surgical tools, but that was to be expected.  Her ears twitched a little at the low rumble of the incinerator against the far back wall.  “I can see you keep everything meticulously clean.  Not at all what I was told by Dr. Crossly.”

The good doctor looked a bit confused, “Dr. Crossly?  I’m sorry, I’ve never met anypony by that name.  In fact, I haven’t met any of the other local doctors.  They seem to be avoiding me for some reason.”

The midnight mare rolled her eyes a bit, “I expected as much.  It would seem that the Medical Society feels threatened by your business and are trying to use me for a method of bringing you grief.  Tell me, the prosthetic on the young mare who just left, was that your work?”

“Yes, your highness.  In fact, surgical amputation and prosthetics are something of a specialty of mine.”

“Do you have one of your prosthetics that I may look over?  I am very curious about your work.”

Victor crouched down and pulled open a heavy drawer set in the base of the wall.  Dark padding lined the inside of it and a small, foal-sized prosthetic leg was lying within.  He lifted it out of the drawer and placed it upon the operating table, an odd amalgamation of wires dangling from the inside of the hip.

Luna picked it up with her magic, turning it over in the air, inspecting it with a jeweler’s gaze.  Every tiny detail was visible to her, from the wires designed to interface with the nerve endings in a pony’s legs to the special pads and enchanted rods used to allow the natural magic of an earth pony to flow naturally.  She tilted her head a bit before uttering, “Doctor, there is one thing I am curious about.  Many prosthetics are designed to rely on a pony’s natural magic to power them, but I see no such thing in your design. While it is very impressive, I fail to see how it can even function.”

The zebra smiled a bit, reaching up to tap his hoof on a small square panel that the princess had assumed was part of the assembly.  With one gentle press it sprung open, revealing an empty cavity lined with hundreds of tiny metal wires, looking much like  brush of some kind. “This is where the power supply is inserted.”

He pulled the drawer out a bit further than it was before and produced what looked like a small suitcase of some sort.  Opening it revealed a crushed velvet lining and several small quartz crystals nestled within.  Each of the crystals glowed faintly with a differently colored aura.  “A short while ago, I discovered an alchemical process to alter quartz crystals to allow them to hold either magical or electrical energy.  The prosthetics are designed to use either.” Picking up a crystal with a faint green hue, he placed it in the open compartment where it slowly started to rotate, generating tiny sparks as it rubbed against the metal brushes.  He snaped the door closed before picking up another crystal, this one glowing bright white.

“The crystal I put in the leg is charged with earth magic, while this one is charged with pure electricity from the last storm to pass through the area.”  He smiled at the princess as he readied the white crystal.  “Would you mind setting the prosthetic down on the table, please?

At the mention of pure electricity being harnessed from lightning, the guard perked up a little.  He rubbed at his black goatee a bit as he too leaned in closer to see what was going on.

Very curious now, Princess Luna did as he asked and stepped around to the opposite side of the table to watch.  Victor lowered the white crystal to each of the “nerve” wires in turn, causing the leg to twitch and spasm, the artificial “muscles” contracting just as a real leg would.

“I can connect these to the major nerves.  I have even perfected it to the point that if too much is lost I can run artificial nerves straight to the spinal column, though the procedure can be dangerous.”  He sighed a little as he set the crystal aside. “Sadly, my ultimate goal is to give the patient sensation in an artificial limb, but I fear that may be out of my reach.”

Luna actually seemed a bit stunned.  This was an incredible accomplishment for anypony, and his ambition was amazing.  This zebra sought to create a prosthetic leg that would be functionally identical to that of a real one, and he had gotten very, very close!  She leaned down a bit closer, tilting her head as she noticed there were a few silvery wires that he had not touched with the crystal.  “And, dear doctor, what are these connections for?”

The big zebra actually clopped his hooves together and smiled brightly, “Actually, that is the part I am most proud of.”  He gestured to the delicate-seeming bundles of wire, the tiny connections little thicker than a single strand of his bright red mane.  “These allow magic to flow freely through the artificial limb as if it were real, meaning that Earth Ponies still have their full connection to the Earth, and pegasi won’t stumble from having an artificial leg that falls through clouds!”

Luna’s guard took in everything, then gripped his spear a little more tightly.  When their host had smiled, he had caught a glimpse of the zebra’s oddly sharp, interlocking teeth.  Long and white, they reminded him of the mandibles of a shark or some other sleek predator that lurks in deep, dark places.  He shook his head a little because his charge seemed oblivious to the possible danger of the situation, but he knew better than to chime in when she was so wrapped up in what she referred to as “talking shop” with another pony.

Lightning Ray’s ears perked up as he heard a commotion coming from the guards he left posted outside.  As he pushed open the door he saw that they had their spears crossed, pushing back a rather pudgy-looking off-white unicorn.  The intruder stamped his hoof and hissed at them through gritted teeth as he demanded entrance.  His mane, almost the color of a smoker’s stained teeth flipped this way and that.  He turned around and at first Lightning thought he was going to make the massive mistake of bucking at the royal guards, but instead he was trying to use his prodigious rump to shove his way through!

“AHEM!!” Lightning poked at the unicorn’s rump with a wing tip.  He got a good close look at the intruder’s cutie mark.  To most ponies, it would look like a red cross adorning a medical bag, fairly common for pony doctors and nurses.  However, to his trained eye the cross was slightly askew, and it was a bank bag, not a medical bag that adorned his flank.  “May I help you with something?”

The unicorn puffed himself up with pride, almost giving him the appearance of a bloated toad.  “Yes, actually.  I am Dr. Crossly, the representative of the Ponyville Medical Society who reported this fraud for operating without the proper permits.  I came by here to make sure that he was shut down.”

Lightning tilted his head a little, then thought of Luna’s reaction to the work that Dr. Mordenheim was doing.  Smiling a little, he gave the signal for the two guard ponies to let the unicorn pass.  “Of course, Dr. Crossly, right this way.”

The unicron looked like he’d swallowed a lemon when he heard laughter coming from the next room.  A deep, bass rumble of a laugh and a higher, beautiful tone, almost like tinkling chimes.  He burst into the next room, Commander Lightning rays in tow and stamped his hoof on the white tiles.

“What is the meaning of this?  This.. this les... er.. zebra.  Has been operating a clinic without authorization!”

Luna nodded to the unicorn, and sadly to Dr. Mordenheim.  “This is true, and a fine of five hundred golden bits must be paid.”  Dr. Crossly was practically rubbing his hooves with glee at this remark.

“However, I have now thoroughly inspected your facilities and seen examples of your work first hoof.  You have my approval to keep operating your emergency clinic right here on the edge of the Everfree for as long as you are able.  Please stop by town hall tomorrow evening.  Your paperwork should be properly registered by then.”

Crossly’s jaw nearly hit the floor at this announcement, but he quickly recovered.  His shocked face soon became a smirk.  “Actually, to operate a clinic here in Ponyville, he will need to be voted into and become a dues-paying member of the Ponyville Medical Society.  We all have to do our part to protect not just the good ponies of this town, but one another as professionals, after all.”

It was Victor himself who got a bit of a smug grin now.  “Actually, that was what we were discussing when you so rudely barged in.  It seems that my own clinic is actually outside of Ponyville and therefore falls directly under royal jurisdiction.”   He slowly stepped towards the unicorn and lowered his head to Crossly’s level.  He smiled a little wider on one side of his mouth, out of sight of the princess and her guard.  His long, sharp teeth were revealed to the unicorn causing the pudgy pony to pale prodigiously beneath his fur.

“I suggest you leave immediately before I ask our dear princess to have you removed for trespassing, or better yet I take care of it myself.”

Dr. Crossly, who had already been slowly backing up as the towering zebra advanced, nodded and turned tail, his hooves scrabbling on the slick tiles as he scooted back through the door and out into the night.

Victor cleared his throat a bit as he stood upright once more, using a hoof to straighten out his slightly rumpled lab coat.  “Alright then. Thank you, your highness, for the proper documentation to operate my business.  I truly was unaware of the rules at the time, but I shall gladly pay the fine that is due tomorrow when I visit town hall.” He smiled a bit more pleasantly at both Princess Luna and Commander Lightning Rays.  “Perhaps we could meet somewhere this weekend and discuss matters further over tea?”

Eyes twinkling with humor, Princess Luna smiled back at Victor, her own lips spread just enough to show a set of fangs even larger than his. “Your dismissal of Doctor Crossly was delightful, Victor!  I would be delighted to meet you for tea, after my Night Court adjourns.”

A bemused Victor watched his royal guest and her guard take wing. Muttering to himself, “She really does not miss much, does she?” he shut the door.

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[firewhisperer13]

You Better Bring an Umbrella, Vol. 1: Chapter 29

Chapter 29: Apocalypse Suite

       Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Luther and Diego, scrambling to get to a safe place. Vanya’s body began to take on an eerie, white glow, almost as though she were building up energy the longer she played. I tried my best to push through the last of the people, attempting to get a little closer to Allison, when Vanya suddenly swung her bow out, causing another wave of energy to fly out. All of us ducked down just in time, barely missing getting our heads cut off by whatever that was. The glow she had taken on faded away, as though she’s lost the charge she’d been building up. It almost reminded me of how my lightning worked, but something told me if she hit me, I’d get discharged. Fingers of lightning still danced down my arms just waiting to be released from their confines. But now wasn’t the time.

       I crouched down behind some seats, directly across from Allison and only a few rows away from Diego and Luther. I could hear their mumblings, despite how much the orchestra’s music now swelled.

       “She’s stronger than expected,” Diego gasped out between breaths.

       “Yeah.”

       I stuck my hand out, using a little of my powers to give Luther and Diego tiny shocks. They cried out and glared at me, as though I’d hurt them far more than I actually did. Their eyes met mine, and both of them shrugged their shoulders, as though they hadn’t done anything wrong. I looked to Allison, who rolled her eyes as well, and the two boys’ jaws fell a little.

       “Yeah, we’re fine. Thanks for asking.”

       “You two are the biggest idiots I’ve ever known,” I hissed. “Did you really think running at her wouldn’t piss her off? That’s probably the worst plan any of us have ever had.” Rather than addressing me, Luther looked to Allison.

       “Look, I almost lost you once, all right? I wasn’t about to lose you again.”

       “Luther, that’s touching and all, but now is not the time!” I shook my head, lowering it down slightly to look at my hands.

       “Well, so much for the element of surprise,” Diego sighed. “What else you got?”

       Thankfully, I still had enough of a charge to maybe surprise her and at least stun her for a few seconds, if she didn’t figure out what I was trying to do beforehand. But that really wouldn’t do us much good, she’d likely get up and just start trying to attack us again.

       The white glow that encapsulated her had grown stronger the longer we’d allowed her to play her violin. It was almost as though...

       It dawned on me just as Allison made a gesture like she was playing the violin. We were both, for once, completely on the same page.

       “Yeah, no shit, Allison. Tell us something we don’t already know,” Diego deadpanned.

       “She’s talking about the violin,” I explained as everyone turned to look up at Vanya. “It’s her lightning rod. If we can take it from her and stop her from playing, we might have a shot.”

       My hands flew over my head as a flurry of bullets suddenly came flying toward us, creating a cacophony among the otherwise beautiful music. Those guys in the masks had caught up to us, and from the looks of the way they were firing, they had absolutely no intention of trying to stop Vanya. Thankfully, she didn’t try to stop the rest of her orchestra from fleeing this time, meaning they would hopefully be allowed to get to safety.

       “What the hell happened to Klaus? He was supposed to be on lookout!”

       “Yeah, are you surprised?���

       “This is what happens when you give him a job a child could do,” I scolded. “Of all our siblings, you underestimate him the most. Of course he’s not going to pay attention, he’s hurt!”

       Before I could yell at my brothers any more, there was a bright flash of blue light, and Five appeared in the aisle in front of me. I breathed a large sigh of relief, thankful to see my brother wasn’t hurt.

       “What’s with all the lollygagging?” he asked casually, making his way closer.

       I popped up just for a second and grabbed onto his shoulders, yanking him down to hide behind the seats with me as a new wave of bullets started to fire. We both simply nodded at each other, acknowledging that there was no time to get caught up in my usual line of questioning to make sure he was all right. He had come back from his meeting with The Handler, and that’s all that mattered to me right now.

       “Five, what the… I thought you bailed on us!” I sighed. I’d already explained this to Luther, but I guess he didn’t want to believe me the first time.

       “I had an errand to run.”

       “Did you get her?” Five shot me an unamused look, and I shook my head, looking back toward Vanya. “Right, not the time.”

       “This is not good,” he muttered, looking around at the men in the masks.

       “You know these guys?” I demanded, though at this point, it really didn’t surprise me.

       “Yeah.”

       “Oh, good. I’m glad you’ve got some decent work friends.” I saw Five smirk at my annoyance for just a second, before focusing back on the more pressing issues. Diego threw two of his knives at the masked men who burst through the door at that moment, while I used what was left of my charge to take out one more.

       “Guys, it’s Cha-Cha!” Klaus shouted as he used the railing to propel himself around the corner.

       I could see what looked like rice on the corner of his mouth, and rolled my eyes. He’d stopped at that burrito truck across from the theater when he was supposed to be out lookout. I wanted to badly to defend him, but he made it so hard sometimes. Still, at the end of the day, he was my brother and I loved him to death. I just didn’t want that death to come sooner than it had to, not if we could prevent it.

       “It’s Cha-Cha, she—“

       “Klaus, get down!” I warned. He threw his hands up over his head as one of the men fired at him before crouching down in another row. That really wouldn’t help us against the men that were up high, but at least it provided some cover from the bullets.

       Five suddenly jumped out from beside me, appearing on one of the necks of the masked men. He clung tight and started to choke the man, causing him to turn in circles and fire his gun out in all directions. I couldn’t just sit here while my little brother remained vulnerable, so I got up myself and tried my best to avoid the gunfire as I turned down the aisle. The man Five choked managed to hit two others, clearing the way for me to build up a charge that could take out a significant number. Once I’d reached the very end of the carpeting, I stuck my hand straight in the air, aiming for the men that were all the way up in the balconies. I managed to hit three of them, but it wasn’t enough. There were still too many of them too high up for us to reach, and in all honesty, I was starting to get dizzy from all this spinning and running I had been doing today.

       Just as I started to catch my breath, another blue glow emanated from behind me. I whipped around just in time to see Klaus’ fists become overwhelmed by a strange light, and as his arms extended out, a ghostly-looking Ben appeared. My jaw dropped as tears welled in my eyes, overwhelmed by seeing him for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Everyone watched in awe as the tentacles emerged from his chest and actually grabbed onto the masked men, throwing the remaining few from their places. As the distractions lessened, the chances of us actually being able to pull this off grew. However, we’d need to act fast. We were racing against Vanya’s clock, and it was likely only a matter of minutes before she blew.

       Diego suddenly shot up and charged toward the stage, screaming with rage. I managed to steal a glance in that direction for just a moment, and spotted the bloodied, cut-up figure of Cha-Cha standing on the stage, looming over us as though she were a god. Barely a second later, Diego got the jump on her and slammed her body against the back wall before dragging her back stage.

        I guess he was going to deal with that.

       “Oh, my god,” I heard Luther mutter.

       “It’s him,” I gasped out. “It’s Ben.” I paused for a moment, thinking over what I just said. “Wait, I already knew he was there.”

       “You what?” I smirked down at Five. I had to admit, there was something almost thrilling about knowing more than my brother-- the one who seemed to think he was smarter than all of us.

       “Yeah. Who did you think Klaus was talking to all this time?”

       “I honestly just thought he was high off his ass.” I shrugged.

       “Makes sense.”

       With the last of the guys taken care of, Ben's tentacles retracted back into his chest, and just like that, the image of him faded away. The glow left Klaus’ fists, and although he looked a little weaker than a few moments ago, overall, he seemed unharmed. Instead, a big, giddy smile stretched onto his face at the realization of what he had just done.

       “Now who’s the lookout?” he shouted, laughing. Everyone was too busy trying to collect themselves after that display to respond, so Klaus just waved his hand, dismissing the question altogether.

       I turned my attention back to the stage, and my eyes widened. Vanya had become completely engulfed in what looked like a wave of energy, and with nowhere for the large amounts she was generating to go, her suit and violin began to turn white, as though by some sort of magic. I had to admit, if this didn’t mean we had to get our shit together and come up with a plan right this second, I’d think this was pretty cool.

       I flinched and moved to cover Five as the ceiling began to crumble around us, dropping large piles of dust down—just like back at the Academy. Cracks slithered down columns, causing them to shake and threaten to tumble down at any second. Thankfully, at that moment, Diego wandered back to us, limping slightly.

       “Oh, welcome back,” Luther deadpanned. “Where were you?”

       “Honoring a memory.” Five and I exchanged a quick glance, remembering where those exact words had come from.

       All of us moved closer to each other, huddling together. I reached over and squeezed Five’s shoulder while Klaus wrapped an arm around mine. So what if it took the potential end of the world to bring us all together? I’d never seen any of us be this close to each other without someone threatening someone else since we were little.

       Actually, scratch that. The end of the world is not a ‘so what’ moment, even when said moment is meant to be touching.

       “So, how do you want to end this thing?”

       “We surround her, all right? We come at her from all angles.” My eyes widened as I registered just what Luther was asking us to do.

       “So it’s a suicide mission?” I tried to keep my voice steady as I spoke.

       “Yeah, but one of us could get through,” Five tried to reassure me. “It’s the only chance we’ve got.”

       I really didn’t want to give in, but Five had a point. What other choice did I have?

       “Well, this has certainly been an eventful family reunion.” Everyone got a little chuckle out of what I said, and strangely enough, it brought me some form of confidence.

       “Are we all in?”

       “Yeah,” everyone agreed. I reached over and pulled my younger brother against my side for what could possibly be the last time, and he returned the gesture to the best of his ability, really only reaching my waist due to the height difference. With slight reluctance, I took my position.

[ffxiv-ariavitali]

#13: Salvation

Or alternative writing prompt, ‘if loneliness is a poison’

AO3 ver.

-

Ah … ‘tis raining.

In the far corners of his mind, Echoes processed the sound and sensation of raindrops, hearing the patter against the rooftops and feel the prickles on his arms. It was a rare sight to see in Ul’dah; after all, rain in a desert is seen once in a blue moon. It wasn’t the kind of rain where the humidity was heavy enough to suffocate, but rather light to breathe in and cool against the skin.

He relished this weather. After all, when it would rain, the people would withdraw into their homes. People withdrawing meant less people to disturb him, much less accuse him of being the conniving thief that he surely wasn’t. Yet, that was the life of a scoundrel inhabiting the ‘jewel of the desert’, shite nickname it may be.

If it was a jewel, he would have earned his riches a long time ago. He wouldn’t have spent his twenty-something summers fighting for his life, fighting to earn coin to get by, stealing food just so he would be able to latch on to this poor excuse of a livelihood that he has going for him.

To come and go as rain… how I wish…

“Oh my. What do we have here?”

The sound of the voice caught Echoes’ attention, causing him to lift his head curiously from where he was sitting in the back alleyway of the merchant’s lane. When he peered up, he found a woman experiencing her mid-twentieth summer on this star with hair like chocolate and eyes like amethysts. She held a black umbrella in her hands, holding it so that the rod was leaning against her shoulder but its black fabric still keeping her dry. At her side stood a man of similar face, slightly older than she, with eyes like poison and hair like soot. It was easy to tell they were siblings - family of the upper echelons at that.

Disgusting.

Echoes shifted his head to turn away and it only prompted the woman to step forward towards him. When she was close enough, she crouched before him - not minding the fact that the hem of her dress was becoming soaked by the wet cobblestone beneath her feet - as she extended her arm to share her umbrella with him.

“What is your name?” the woman called out to him in a soft, melodious voice.

Echoes refused to answer, ensuring that his gaze was pointed away from her. As much as it had steered previous merchants and those of the upper class away from him, it did nothing to the siblings that stood before him now. Rather, they were patient and he knew they were going to be a pain to ignore. A more direct approach would probably suffice.

Then, as the man was to tell the two off, a group of thugs had rounded the corner and yelled after him.

“There you are, you bastard!” one shouted, carrying a scimitar at his waist.

The woman glanced towards the thug, her expression contorting to childish curiosity and interest as she stood to her feet.

“Ah, I highly doubt that you are all this man’s friends,” the woman mused, the tone of her voice playful … and baiting. “Tell me, who are you?”

The man that called out growled in her direction.

“Look, lass, we don’t want any business with you. Just hand over Echoes, the bastard, and we can go on our merry lil’ way-”

“Wait a minute,” another one in the group interrupted. “You. You look exactly like-”

The woman giggled, an ominous and terrifying sound, that rang across the entire alley. Even if it seemed as if the ones present were the only individuals to hear the sound, it felt as if all of the heavens above were watching, waiting and urging the woman to continue to pass judgment - if such a thing could be left in the hands of one mortal to begin with.

“And?” the woman continued. “Now that you know who I am, this makes things much easier. So? What will it be? Will you walk away and leave unscathed or will you force my hand? Surely, such individuals of your caliber should be capable of knowing when to play and when to fold your cards … and which of the two decisions will benefit you greatly at this moment.”

“You bitch!” one screamed and charged at her with a battle cry, prompting the others to do the same. It caused the woman to sigh heavily as she stepped forward towards them defensively.

“Stryder, watch after him, will you?” she chimed with a soft smile.

Echoes glanced towards the man of like face and he had inclined his head and body ever so slightly in a subtle bow of respect.

“As you wish, dearest sister,” the man identified as Stryder responded.

Echoes found it odd that the sibling would entreat his counterpart with such politeness usually reserved for royalty, but the flash of light that emitted from the tip of the woman’s umbrella captured his attention. The glow was akin to ice crystals he would see being handed around the crafting guilds, marking the element well and differentiating them from all others. 

With a flick of her wrist, she shifted the direction in which the umbrella’s tip was pointing so that it was angled directly upwards, a straight line towards the cloudy sky. In a matter of a breath, the immediate area around the woman in a five yalm radius erupted in ice, spikes and pillars that both dissuaded the charging assailants from continuing on their path towards her whilst stopping the ones that had come too close by rooting them in place. The freezing cold enveloped up to the knees of those that were within the circle and found it near impossible to break out of it.

“Is that all?” the woman challenged them. “And here I thought you would offer more sport instead of falling to the simplest of umbral ice.”

The men that hadn’t been captured released an onslaught of curses and swears to the woman, all of which only made her playful grin all the wider.

“In that case…”

The woman inclined her head and waved her umbrella vertically before her, as if she was marking all the individuals to be targeted within her next spell. It took a breath before the sound of rumbling could be heard from the skies akin to the anger of a storm and soon, bolts of lightning shot downwards mercilessly towards a large part of the thugs. Its potency was strong enough to render them unconscious, certainly the addition of rain electrifying the waters against their skin adding to the damage dealt. It left one remaining - the one that had opposed her from the beginning. Too little too late, it was only then that the thugs had realized that her umbrella was actually a glamour, masking the staff that she uses as a catalyst to channel her Soul of a Black Mage.

“Now, I trust that you have learnt your lesson,” the woman commented as she snapped her fingers, causing the icy prison around her person to snap and scatter along the wind until it was nothing; as if it had never manifested in the first place. For the ones that were originally caught, they had fallen to the ground, unable to remain upright due to the burning pain of frostbite that engulfed their legs.

“F-Fine, we’ll leave!” the leader of the group bit out, like a mewling pup that was all bark, no bite.

As the men began running, half of which struggling to carry their unconscious or injured comrades over their shoulder, the woman giggled in their direction and waved after them. The glow of her weapon disappeared and the aetherial pressure that Echoes had just noticed dissipated as quickly as it came.

“And please, do not come back!” the woman answered in singsong.

When the thugs turned the corner, Stryder stepped towards the woman and wiped her cheek with a handkerchief.

“Shall we be on our way, Sister?” he asked with a proud smile on his face.

The woman hummed and turned back towards Echoes. The smile stretched on her lips grew soft, less sadistic and was genuine in nature and in the desire to help the one in need before her. Echoes saw this, the transparency of her cause, and allowed his guard to be lowered a little. Just a little.

“Now then... Ah, that is right. Your name. What is your name?”

Echoes inclined his head. “...Rayne. Rayne Cowen.”

The woman looked delightfully pleased at his obedience. “A pleasure to meet you, Rayne. My name is Aria Vitali.”

Echoes’ eyes widened with recognition. That is the name of the Warrior of Light!

“Why do they call you ‘Echoes’?” Aria asked then.

Echoes scowled, venom in his eyes. “You wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

When Echoes didn’t hear a response from either of the two, he shifted his head to glance towards them and they remained gazing upon him with a gentle look, one that filled his heart with a certain warmth and comfort that he could safely say never made him feel so … safe.

“...’Tis because I can remember something after only reading it once, no matter its length,” Echoes confided rather bitterly. “And I am able to repeat anything I have heard perfectly, no matter how long it is and no matter how long ago I read it.”

“Ah, so you are named ‘Echoes’ as in ‘an echo of a past’,” Stryder mused. “Fascinating.”

Echoes scoffed at this. “A curse, really. If I could trade this thrice-damned curse for a normal life, I would give it up in a heartbeat.”

Silence ensued that was far longer and more agonizing than Echoes would have liked it. His eyes darted towards Aria and the expression she wore was now forlorn, her gaze digging deep against his as if she was peering right into his soul.

“You have beautiful eyes, Echoes…” she commented. “Like night and day.”

Echoes’ eyes widened at the compliment, the first he had ever received in his entire life. The heterochromatic nature of it ostracized him as a child, parents pulling away their children and urging them not to approach him with lies that he had been hexed, bewitched, marked by the voidsent and a whole other fumbling of words that had struck a chord in his heart.

“Tell me, Echoes, do you have a place to call your own?”

Echoes eyed the woman as if she had grown a second head. He was about to retort, accusing her of spewing a whole lot of nonsense considering the state that he was in until he realized that she knew his answer. She knew and was asking anyway. Perhaps searching for a deeper meaning, an alternate reason, a compromise that could be reached.

But what would she want of him? What use would a man of his stature and status be to the woman that had saved this star many times over, a woman of high renown and regard? He would only bring her reputation down and cause people to shun her good name.

Then, a missing piece of a puzzle had come together in his mind: why was he trying to justify a place by her side?

The realization seemed to have reached his eyes, lighting them in a way that caught the woman’s attention as her face softened to a pleasant smile once more.

“As I thought…” she murmured quietly, yet loud enough for both Echoes and Stryder to hear. The Hyuran woman stretched her hand towards him, beckoning, offering. Inviting him into a sweet temptation that never in his life he thought he would ever have. “Come with me.”

Echoes inclined his head warily, gaze darting back and forth from her outstretched hand to her kind smile, wondering if there was a catch. Wondering if there was a trick.

Even though he knew in his heart of hearts that there was none.

“But I…”

Aria nodded in understanding. “If loneliness is a poison that you have been drinking for so long, allow me to be your antidote.”

Echoes felt something within him erupt, as if a lockbox to his emotions had been thrown wide open and its key tossed somewhere in the void. It was too, too much - to have lived his entire life unneeded, unknown and unwanted only to have someone as precious as she come along and validate his existence. How many nights has he dreamt of it? How many prayers has he made pleading the Twelve to show him his purpose?

Suddenly, he was crying. Though, it may have been a trick of his mind since the rain began pouring, as if the heavens began weeping on his behalf in both joy and sorrow. Then, she urged once more.

“When someone offers you a chance at life, 'tis only natural to want to reach out and take it. Let my existence be your salvation.”

With that, Echoes shakily placed his hand in hers and the tenderness of her fingers entwining with his shattered his restraint and broke him. Broke the mask that he had worn his entire life, a stoic facade that he created for himself as a means of survival in this cruel, cruel world. He didn’t know when he started screaming, his sobs bouncing against the walls around them and imbuing themselves into the cobblestone path beneath their feet, but all he heard was the clanging of an umbrella abandoned as it fell to the ground and the sensation of arms wrapping protectively around his figure. He remembered clinging onto the frame of a woman smaller than he, more delicate than he, and yet so much brighter, stronger, wiser than any that he had ever met before.

Amidst his cries, he shook. Amidst his shakes, he held on. As he held on, he vowed to her - a pledge fitting of a highly decorated knight - that he will not squander on this new life she had given him. He will no longer be an echo to a past filled with sorrow. That is not what ‘Rayne’ will come to mean.

He offered his name to her and only her, in honor of the day that she had saved him. In honor of the rain that served to cleanse his sins and offer him rebirth.

===

“And thus I am here today,” Echoes concluded, taking another sip of his beverage.

A brief silence ensued between the three individuals huddled together in a corner of the Forgotten Knight. Estinien appeared rather pensive, his gaze becoming hooded as a thousand thoughts raced across his mind. Meanwhile, Aymeric appeared rather emotional, a stray tear falling from one of his ice blue eyes - similar to the ice that Aria had used once upon a time - as he soaked the information in. Echoes couldn’t help, but smile at it.

“Ah, there you all are,” a voice called out.

The familiar chime caught the men’s attention and gazes drifted towards the top of the staircase where the Warrior of Light was standing - a hand perched on the railing as she peered over in their direction.

“I have been looking everywhere for you three,” the woman stated with a playful undertone. “Stryder has finished with his meetings and, as a small celebration of my empty schedule, has urged us all to have dinner together. Though…” Aria’s eyes swept over the sight of empty tankards spread across their table as she made her way down the staircase to reach them. “...Mayhap I should tell Brother to withhold our wine tonight.”

Estinien glared at the woman, mildly affronted that his sister-in-arms would dare hold back the vintage drinks that suited his palate the best. In response, Aria stuck her tongue out in his direction as she approached Aymeric, who was teetering the line of heavily buzzed to properly smashed, and allowed him to collect her in his arms. It proffered an adoring chuckle to escape her lips as she petted his head.

Then, her eyes wandered to Echoes.

“Is everything alright, Rayne?” she asked.

Echoes mirrored her smile and shook his head. “Indeed, my lady. Everything is as it should be.”

One of Aria’s brows raised, though the smile remained. “Is that so?”

When she felt Aymeric nuzzling against her, she couldn’t help but release a startled laugh as she exclaimed at how ticklish the notion was and the subsequent chiding Estinien was giving the lord commander. Echoes merely watched on in awe of how he managed to get to this point. It was all because of one chance encounter that evolved into a choice, one that he took when it was offered. His heart felt full. His mind was at peace.

He thanked the Twelve for answering his prayers.