#so much grace... so much beauty... so much power in each push and turn and--

[thawthebeez]

NEED to write a yuri on ice fic SO BAD but every time i go to write skating stories i always feel awkward DESPITE BEING A SKATER MYSELF. of all people to write about figure skating IT SHOULD BE ME. but alas. it feels awkward...

[monster-disaster]

A request for two exoskeleton aliens that are very addicted to feeling and fondling a cute squishy human they found

alien!Scad x human!Reader x alien!Talex Good to know: smut, threesome

A/N: Exoskeleton aliens were really specific and I hope my aliens are close to what you imagined. And if you wanted something more like Tarzan meets Jane type of thing, don't worry, I want to write something like that in the near future. :)

-

Your breathing is ragged and uneven as you hurry along the endless corridors that lead you outside to the ship that arrived not long ago. The sharp click of your sleek black heels against the gray tiles echoes through the empty hall in perfect rhythm with your rushing steps. Each knock bounces off the tall, blank walls, mixing with the soft, desperate huffs escaping your lips as you push forward. Your bag almost falls off your shoulder, but your fingers are tight and firm around the black straps. It wrinkles the white fabric of your shirt underneath it.

"They are here," Jim says, opening the door for you when he sees you approaching. "And you are late."

You can't help but scoff. "Thanks, Captain Obvious."

"Come on," he waves. "Hurry."

Keeping your thoughts about the man to yourself, you turn your focus to the grandiose spaceship that gleams under the bright sun at the top of the clear blue sky. The metal doors are already open, and at the base of the long stairs, you can see the guests among your other co-workers.

As a Cultural Ambassador, you meet beings from different planets all the time. It’s your job to understand their customs, their ways of life, and to bridge the gap between their worlds and yours. Yet, despite all your training and experience, you are still sometimes caught off guard by how different they can appear compared to what you are used to on Earth. That’s probably one of the reasons you love your job so much. There’s always something new to learn, something unfamiliar to explore.

From this distance, their skin appears to shift colors depending on the light; a shimmering green with hints of blue and purple that ripple across their form. As you walk closer, you realize their skin is more like an armor, a natural exoskeleton that covers them from head to toe. They stand tall and lean, with long arms and legs that bend in ways unfamiliar to human anatomy. The joints at their knees curve gracefully backward, resembling the powerful hind legs of a predator built for speed and agility.

"That’s new," Jim hums beside you, easily keeping pace with the rhythmic clicks of your high heels.

"Shut up," you hiss under your breath, eyes narrowing in annoyance as you keep your focus ahead. "They have a great hearing."

The closer you get, the more details you see. Their bodies are a blend of hard, angular bones and taut muscles. Though they may seem slim, there’s no doubt in you about the immense power lurking beneath their armor-like skin. They resemble the perfect fusion of the grace and agility of prey with the raw strength and precision of a predator. They carry all the best attributes of both types, presenting a striking balance of beauty and strength.

“Wow,” Jim mutters, but you only send him a brief, sidelong glance before turning your full attention back to the aliens.

You offer a calm and friendly smile, one you’ve practiced countless times for these occasions.

“Welcome to Earth,” you greet them in their own language. The unfamiliar words roll off your tongue with a heavy accent as you approach. Your posture is relaxed and open, with your back straight and your arms hanging comfortably by your sides.

"I hope your journey was comfortable,” you say, stopping a few feet away from them. “I’m Y/N. We’ve already communicated through messages.”

“Yes,” one of them replies, reaching out his hand for you. The gesture, while surprising, isn’t entirely unfamiliar. As diplomats of their home planet, they’re also learning your customs. You accept the hand and shake it briefly. “I’m Scad, and this is Talex.” The other male gives a wave, though the motion feels unusual coming from him.

“Are we ready to go?” you ask, directing the question mostly to your co-workers. They nod, stepping back to give you space to do your job.

“Yes,” Talex responds. His voice is smooth and gentle.

“Great,” you smile warmly. “Let’s make the best of your time here.”

_

The restaurant buzzes with life, rich with the soft music playing in the background and the low murmur of conversations weaving through the delicate clinking of cutlery and glasses.

You glance at Talex and Scad, who sit across from you. Their expressions are a blend of curiosity and cautious enthusiasm as they take their first bites of the steak you recommended. Their skin seems to shimmer under lights that cast a soft glow over the polished wood tables and vibrant artwork adorning the walls.

“So, what do you think?” you ask after a few quiet moments, letting them savor the flavors.

Talex hums thoughtfully, his large, all-black eyes reflecting the dim light above. “Much softer than what we are used to,” he replies. His voice is smooth and gentle, almost melodic.

Scad nods beside him, his slender fingers are still around the fork as he takes another bite. “But I miss more spice,” he adds honestly.

“More spice?” You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. When they nod in agreement, a smile spreads across your face. “Then we’ll have to try my favorite restaurant next time. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

“I still feel guilty we didn’t bring some of our favorite dishes with us,” Talex says, a note of regret lacing his words. “But we weren’t sure it would be good for human digestion.”

You suppress a laugh, trying to maintain your polite demeanor. “It’s fine, really,” you assure him. From what they shared about their home planet and their culinary customs, the dishes sounded raw and rather... challenging for your human system. You imagine vibrant colors and strange textures that would likely send your stomach into a confused spiral.

Scad takes a sip of his drink, his expression brightening as he savors the wine. The tangy notes dance on his tongue, and you can see the delight in his large, dark eyes as he nods appreciatively after every sip. “We are curious about your spices,” he says, his voice smooth and melodic, carrying a hint of excitement. “What kinds of flavors do humans use usually?” He tilts his head slightly, his long limbs moving gracefully as he continues to eat, a picture of both elegance and curiosity.

"It depends on the country, really," you reply. “Each region has its own unique flavors and combinations. If you enjoy spices, you might find a lot of countries’ dishes intriguing."

“And the dessert?” Talex chimes in, his eyes widening with eager anticipation as he looks up from his plate. There’s an almost childlike excitement in his strange, alien-like expression, as if he is already envisioning the chocolate cake you mentioned a few days ago, despite the fact that he still has half of his steak left.

You can’t help but laugh. “It will come soon,” you assure him with a playful smile spreading across your face. “I promise, it’s worth the wait!”

Scad glances between you and Talex, a curious tilt to his head. “Is it�� sweet?”

“Very sweet,” you reply, leaning in slightly as if sharing a delicious secret. “It’s rich and creamy, with layers of chocolate that just melt in your mouth. The texture is like velvet, and it’s often topped with a ganache that makes it even better.”

You already talked about it with Talex, and he found your human sweets and snacks really intriguing. While they enjoy tastes and meals are a significant part of their social life, the thought of eating just for fun and not for company or nutrients is strange. They don’t even have these kinds of sweet tastes where they come from, so you want to show them as much as you can while they are here.

Their stay on Earth has been without a hitch so far. The aliens are kind and polite, always eager to engage in whatever activities you suggest to show or teach them about your planet and its diverse creatures. In turn, they share fascinating stories about their home, too. They express their appreciation for the comfort and softness that Earth has to offer, especially considering that their own planet can be quite hostile. The harsh conditions there have shaped them, resulting in their armor-like skin you noticed immediately when you saw them the first time. You also discover that the differences between their males and females are strikingly minimal, limited mainly to their genitals and colors. Much like the diverse spices found on Earth, their males tend to be more colorful with vibrant hues and patterns. And while you might expect aliens from such a harsh planet to be rough themselves, they are surprisingly refined, especially in their appreciation of technology and art. They are advanced in both fields, which makes every visit to museums and galleries a delight for them. They seem genuinely fascinated by Earth’s creations, examining each piece with an almost childlike curiosity. The more you get to know them, the more ideas you gather about other places and experiences they might enjoy here.

_

"So," Scad says, breaking the monotone rumble of the car as he studies the brochure you gave him. "This is… music?"

"Yes," you reply, nodding as you turn your attention from the window and the passing city to look at him. "From what you've told me, our classical music is actually quite similar to what you play on your planet."

"Do they have chocolate cakes?" Talex asks, already guessing the answer when he glances at you and sees the smile spreading across your face.

"No," you tell him, chuckling. "But we can get some after the concert. There’s a popular café near my apartment that sells cakes too."

The younger of the two smiles and nods eagerly. "I can’t wait."

Ever since Talex first tried chocolate cake at the restaurant, he’s been a little obsessed with it, much to Scad’s surprise. Scad hadn’t taken to the cake himself, but you’re determined not to give up just yet. You are sure there’s a dessert out there that will suit his tastes, too, and you are ready to help him find it.

The city is alive and buzzing with nightlife. Vibrant lights and neon signs spill through the tinted car windows, casting colored reflections over the seats. The hum of traffic mingles with the steady rumble of the engine as you make your way through the crowded streets. It’s Friday night, and the sidewalks are filled with people. Some are heading home after a long day, while others are eager to unwind with friends, ready to keep the night going until sunrise.

When you arrive at the theater, long rows of people are already lined up, chatting and shuffling impatiently, eager to get inside. The chill in the air nips through your black dress and matching jacket, which do little to guard you against the cold.

Once inside, you are greeted by a rush of warmth. The tickets are still in your hands as you watch your companions take in the opulent interior. Talex’s gaze drifts upward, transfixed by the golden details that gleam under the grand chandelier hanging from the intricately painted ceiling. The bright light dances off polished surfaces, illuminating the marble pillars and casting soft reflections across the hall.

"Your architecture is amazing," he murmurs, still staring upward as you gently take his arm to guide him through the crowd. "Our buildings are more like what you call ‘modern.’"

Scad nods in agreement, his gaze lingering on the sweeping staircases and rich wood paneling. "Our buildings are efficient to build, but not nearly as satisfying to look at."

"Come then," you say with a smile, still holding onto Talex’s arm. "I think you’re going to enjoy tonight."

Guiding them through the bustling lobby, you lead them up to the gallery. Once there, they take in the grand view from above, where the entire stage and rows of seats below spread out. The soft murmur of the crowd blends with the faint tuning of instruments from behind the curtain, building an air of anticipation.

"Amazing," Talex sighs again, and you only smile.

The short wait, until the concert begins, passes with quiet conversation as they occasionally ask you questions, but mostly, they are captivated, taking everything in while you watch them with patience and some pride. Seeing their awe gives you a renewed appreciation for it all; each detail of the theater seems more delicate, more grandiose through their eyes.

When the thick, red curtain finally parts and the first notes resonate through the hall, a flutter of anticipation stirs in your stomach. You want them to enjoy this, to feel something new.

As the night unfolds and each melody follows the next, you notice them gradually relaxing against the plush red seats, becoming immersed in the experience. Their alien expressions are subtle and hard to read, but with each passing day, you’re getting better at interpreting the quiet, telling glances they exchange and the slight shifts in their posture.

By the time the concert ends, you can tell they enjoyed it without needing to ask. There’s a lightness in their steps and a glint of excitement in their eyes as you leave the bright hall of the theater and step into the vibrant, bustling street. The black car with your chauffeur for the night is already waiting, and it merges smoothly into the flow of traffic once you are all inside.

"So," you smile, glancing at them. "I take it you enjoyed the concert?"

"It was really fascinating," Scad replies thoughtfully. "Our instruments are quite similar, but more..." He trails off, searching for the right word that doesn’t seem to come.

"Modern," Talex offers, then makes a face, clearly dissatisfied. "Not quite the word, but…" he gives a small shrug as if words are too limited.

You nod with understanding. "I get it," you say warmly, appreciating their attempt to bridge the language gap.

"Can we come back again?" Scad asks, casting a last, lingering look over his shoulder at the theater as it fades from view with a left turn.

"Of course," you reply with a smile. "There are all kinds of concerts. We can look up the ones that might interest you the most."

"And now, can I get my cake?" Talex asks, a grin spreading across his face, his dark eyes bright with anticipation.

You chuckle and nod. "Yes, absolutely."

The café is still open and lively when you arrive, the warm air rich with the scent of freshly brewed coffee, mingling with the hum of conversations and the clinking of cups.

"What should I try?" Scad asks, eyeing the display, while Talex’s choice is clear from the eager look on his face.

"Well, since chocolate isn’t your favorite but you like our fruits, maybe something with berries?" you suggest, gesturing to the colorful pastries.

Then, turning to Talex, you grin. "And for you, we have something called hot chocolate."

"Oh?" Talex hums, intrigued. "It’s not like coffee, is it?"

You laugh, recalling his reactions to coffee’s bitterness. "No, nothing like coffee."

"And you might like green tea," you say, glancing back at Scad with a knowing smile. "I have a feeling you’ll enjoy it."

There’s so much you want them to try, so many flavors and experiences to share. You almost worry you will give both yourself and them a bit of a whirlwind.

"I trust your choices," Scad replies with a nod, and Talex quickly mirrors him.

When you get your order and scan the busy café, you can’t help but sigh. There’s no way you’ll find a free table anytime soon.

"Sorry," the cashier says with an apologetic smile. You give a friendly nod, reassuring her with a smile of your own, and bid her goodbye before rejoining Scad and Talex, who have stayed out of the crowd’s way.

“There’s no space here,” you tell them, handing over their boxes with drinks and cakes. “But we could go up to my apartment if you’re interested,” you offer, then quickly add, “But you’re also welcome to head home if you’re tired. I’d understand.”

"No," Talex responds immediately, only to let out a small groan as Scad nudges him with an elbow, a gesture he’s picked up since coming to Earth.

"We don’t want to be a burden, Y/N," Scad says, looking almost bashful.

"Oh, no, not at all," you insist, shaking your head. "I wouldn’t have offered otherwise. Come on, let’s go."

Your apartment is only a few minutes’ walk away, perched on the top floor with a lovely view over the city skyline. It’s nothing grand, but it’s cozy, and it’s home.

"I imagined something more... I’m not sure," Talex murmurs as he takes in the space with open curiosity. "You’re always so put together and professional, but your home is... soft and comfortable."

Scad nods in agreement. "And colorful."

Most of your furniture is secondhand, pieces you couldn’t resist picking up from flea markets or online listings. Colorful pictures and paintings fill the walls, lush plants soften the corners, and piles of blankets and pillows add texture to the couch and armchair.

“What is this?” Talex asks, pointing to a vintage birdcage hanging beside the TV.

You chuckle, feeling a bit sheepish. “It’s silly, I know. It’s an old birdcage, but I use it to hold my jewelry.”

“Birdcage?” Talex repeats, intrigued.

“People on Earth keep all kinds of animals as pets,” you explain with a smile. “But I don’t have a bird.”

“No?” Talex looks at you, flicking a necklace gently with his finger.

You shake your head. “I wouldn’t have time for a pet, and besides, I’d never keep a bird in that tiny cage.”

“It’s creative,” Talex nods thoughtfully, his face lighting up. “I like it.”

You laugh, pleased by his interest. “I’m glad you do.”

You spend the next hour gathered around your small dining table, chatting about everything from desserts to upcoming concerts as you browse tickets online.

“I think you’ll enjoy this one, too,” you murmur while confirming the order. “And how’s the chocolate?” you ask Talex, catching a glimpse of Scad as he rises from his seat to wander over to the window.

“It’s really good,” the younger alien replies with a hint of a smile. “But you already knew that.”

You laugh, barely hiding your satisfaction. “I had a feeling.”

Scad interrupts your banter, his voice thoughtful as he looks out at the city below. “Now I see why you chose this place.”

“Yeah,” you say, moving to stand beside him. The city is alive with people and traffic. Lights reflect off the glass buildings and stretch out into the night. “When I saw this view, I knew I’d want to see it every day.”

Scad turns his gaze back to you, his expression a mix of curiosity and admiration. “It’s beautiful. So much movement… so much life.”

“It’s easy to get lost in it. Sometimes, I find myself just watching the streets, the way people interact, how the city breathes.”

“It feels… different here. The energy is more vibrant than on our planet.”

Scad turns back to the window. "It’s lively… almost overwhelming.”

"It can be," you agree. "Is it so different where you come from?"

He nods slowly, his eyes still fixed on the scene outside. “It can be busy too, especially in our cities, but it’s not so vibrant. Now that we’ve started opening up to other planets, we’re seeing more species coming in, but nothing like this. All these creatures, and they can still coexist together.”

"I'm not even sure humans could survive on our planet," Talex speaks up from behind you, closer than you anticipated. "Your kind is so soft and vulnerable."

Before you can process the shift in the atmosphere, you feel the alien's hard chest pressing against your back. The sudden contact makes your breath hitch, yet it’s not enough to make you step away.

"We can be resilient too," you reply weakly, earning a chuckle from Scad.

"Hard to believe," he says, looking over you with an amused expression. There’s no malice in his words, so you don’t feel offended, even though an argument is ready to roll off your tongue. However, Talex’s long, slender fingers resting on your hips stop the train of your thoughts immediately.

"What are you doing?" you manage to ask, feeling your heart race.

"Humans are fascinating," Talex muses, his voice low and thoughtful, though it’s not the answer you wanted. "You are so fascinating."

Scad takes a step closer, his gaze locked onto you. "Soft."

You gulp, warmth flooding your chest and creeping up to your cheeks. "Yeah," you croak out. "You said that."

"And pliant," Talex adds, his breath warm against the crook of your neck, sending goosebumps rippling across your skin. "And I'm really curious."

You know you shouldn’t ask, but the question slips out before you can stop yourself. "About what?"

Scad grins, a mischievous glint flickering in his large, black eyes. "Call it human anatomy."

The room feels charged, your heartbeat echoing in your ears as you try to gauge their intentions. There’s an intensity in the air, a palpable curiosity that you can’t ignore. The way they regard you sends your thoughts spiraling.

"What exactly do you want to know?"

Talex leans in slightly, his expression earnest yet playful. "How does your kind express affection? How do you communicate intimacy?"

Scad watches you closely as if assessing your reaction. "We’ve seen some of your gestures, hugs, kisses. But we want to understand more. What does it feel like?"

You take a breath, caught off guard by their candidness. "It’s… it’s a way to connect, to show trust and care," you explain, your voice steadying. "Humans often use touch to convey emotions."

"Touch," Talex repeats, his fingers brushing lightly against your hip as he absorbs your words. "Like this?"

His touch sends a shiver through you, igniting a mixture of warmth and uncertainty. "Yes, but it can mean different things depending on the context," you clarify, your heart racing. "It can be comforting, passionate, or even just friendly."

Scad tilts his head, contemplating your response. "And how do you know what kind of touch is appropriate?"

You pause, considering how to articulate the nuances of human interactions. "It depends on the relationship and the situation. You learn to read the signs; the body language, tone of voice, and the setting. It’s all part of understanding each other."

Talex's eyes sparkle with curiosity. "And is it always clear?"

"Not always," you admit. "Sometimes it can be complicated. Misunderstandings happen."

"It seems much easier for us," Talex says, his fingers still exploring the fabric of your dress. His touch is light and curious. "There are rules and customs to follow."

"We have those too," you tell him, struggling to keep your thoughts organized. "But it can get... confusing."

"Is it confusing now?" Scad asks, stepping even closer until you find yourself effectively trapped between their hard, lean bodies.

"Yes," you reply, your voice steady despite the rapid flutter of your heart.

"And how should we make it more obvious?" he asks, his hand reaching out to gently smooth over your jaw, his touch both tender and electrifying.

"It depends," you reply. "What do you want to make more obvious?"

"Our desire to get to know you more... intimately," he states, his tone steady as he maintains eye contact. The admission hangs in the air between you, charged with anticipation.

You swallow, the weight of his words sinking in. "Intimacy is a delicate thing," you say softly, feeling your heart race.

Talex nods behind you. "We will be really careful then." He reaches for the zipper of your dress, and with one smooth motion, he pulls it down. The tight fabric loosens around your body, and soon, pooling at your feet.

A shiver of surprise runs through you as the cool air brushes against your skin. You can feel your blood burning in your veins as the aliens look over you, letting their gaze linger on the soft curves of your body and the detailed lace of your underwear.

"Everyone looks like you?" Scad asks, his fingers slipping down your neck and across your collarbone.

"No," you tell them. "Some are softer, some are harder. There are no rules about how we should look." You pause, searching for the right words. "Humans come in all shapes, sizes, and styles."

"Softer?" Talex asks, his brow quirking with curiosity. "You seem soft enough."

You huff a laugh, caught slightly off guard. "Thanks?"

"You are welcome," the alien grins, his expression a mix of playfulness and sincerity. "So? What is next?"

Scad groans, exasperated. "Talex!"

"What? You are slow," Talex retorts with a smirk, clearly enjoying the banter.

You clear your throat, trying to regain some focus amid their playful bickering. "Well, sometimes people kiss."

Scad's interest piques.

"We do that too," Talex adds, his tone serious. "Though, I bet it feels different for you."

"Let’s see," Scad says, and before you can fully comprehend his words, he cups your cheeks with a gentle yet firm grip and leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss.

It's not the slow, tentative approach you had anticipated; no, it’s fast and intense. Scad’s lips move against yours with urgency, his mouth parting yours before you can process anything, his tongue slipping in to explore. The texture of his tongue is surprisingly rough, and his movements are demanding, taking much more than you are ready to give.

A breathless moment passes before Talex interrupts with a hint of impatience in his tone. "Now, me," he grunts, pulling you away from Scad's grasp to press his lips to yours.

You barely have time to catch your breath before Talex steals it away again. His kiss is just as fervent, if not more so. He thrusts his tongue into your mouth, demanding your attention. You find yourself swept up in the intensity of the moment, feeling the heat radiating from both of them.

"Can I take these off?" Scad's voice breaks through the haze of your mind, and you have to force yourself to pull away from the kiss. Your lips feel warm and swollen, tingling from the intensity.

You know you should tell them no. You should stop this before it goes any further, but the heat of the moment is overwhelming. "Yes," you whisper, barely recognizing your own voice.

With surprising ease, the alien unclasp your bra. The delicate fabric falls away to the ground. A startled gasp escapes your lips as he pulls down your panties, too, the cool air rushing against your skin, followed immediately by the warmth of his hands gripping the softness of your ass.

"Wait," you squeak, instinctively turning to escape his touch, but instead, you inadvertently push yourself against Talex. The contact is electric, and you feel a rush of heat as your body presses against his.

"Fuck," Talex groans, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. His breath hitches as he feels your softness against his hard skin. "So soft."

The contrast between their bodies heightens your senses, and you can't help but feel a thrill at their reaction. The moment is charged with a mix of curiosity and longing, and you are caught in a whirlwind of sensations.

Talex's hands find their way to your waist, his fingers splaying out over your skin, grounding you in the overwhelming reality of the situation. You can feel the tension build as Scad watches intently, his gaze lingering on the two of you with a spark of excitement in his eyes.

"We should-" you stammer, struggling to find your words as Talex's hands glide over your bare skin without pause. Scad's gaze feels like a tangible weight on you, burning with intensity. "We should sit down," you finally manage to say, hoping the suggestion will give you a moment to clear your mind.

"That's a great idea," Talex agrees, his tone laced with eagerness as he gently guides you toward the couch.

They move like predators, each step quick and graceful, their limbs fluid and poised in a way that feels both alien and mesmerizing. Their legs, so different from yours, move with elegance. The warm glow of the city lights filters through the window, casting a soft illumination over the room and highlighting every hard line of their bodies. The yellow light dances across their armor-like skin, accentuating the sleek contours and the vibrant colors that shift subtly with their movements.

They sit down at your sides, caging you between them once again.

"I want more kisses," Talex demands, cupping your jaw to turn your head so he can capture your lips once again. His kiss is insistent, a mix of urgency and longing, and your moan is muffled against him, vibrating through his chest as he swallows the soft sounds leaving your lips.

Meanwhile, Scad makes himself busy, trailing his lips down your neck, leaving a tingling path of warmth that sends shivers down your spine until he reaches your breast. You can feel his curiosity as he gropes your soft flesh, exploring its weight with a gentle yet demanding touch. When he takes your nipple into his mouth, swirling his rough tongue over the sensitive bud, you squeak at the sudden sensation, the pleasure shocking you.

Talex pulls away briefly, peeking down at his friend with wide eyes of surprise, but it only takes a moment for him to follow suit. He pushes you back against the couch, claiming your other breast for himself. Your head falls back with a moan as they work roughly and impatiently on your sensitive flesh, their mouths moving in tandem, licking and sucking, igniting every nerve in your body.

The heat of their bodies pressed against you, combined with the dual sensations of their tongues on your nipples, sends waves of pleasure coursing through you. Each flick of their tongues and each gentle bite only heightens your desire, leaving you breathless and yearning for more. You can hardly process the rush of sensations as they alternate between teasing and devouring, their fervor making it clear how much they crave you.

“Is it good?” Scad asks, his lips brushing over your nipple as he speaks. Your skin glistens with his saliva, and you can barely form a coherent thought.

“Yeah,” you breathe out, your voice airy and light, caught in the haze of pleasure.

“What else do you do?” he presses.

You can’t believe you are getting flustered even now, but the intensity of their attention has your cheeks burning. You nibble on your lip, feeling the softness swell from their kisses. A mix of embarrassment and excitement floods your senses.

“Well,” you stammer, trying to gather your thoughts. “There are other ways to be intimate… kissing, touching… exploring each other…” Your voice trails off. The heat in the room makes it hard to concentrate on anything but the warmth of their bodies pressed against you.

Scad's gaze sharpens, and he leans in closer, his breath hot against your skin. “Show us,” he urges. “We want to learn.”

You swallow hard, heart pounding as you realize just how deep this exploration could go.

Slowly, you open your legs, feeling a rush of anticipation. The movement prompts Talex to tear himself away from your breast, and both aliens look down between your thighs with keen curiosity.

“Our females look different,” Scad remarks. His voice is laced with intrigue. “They are hard everywhere, protected by their skin.”

“Well,” you gulp, your heart racing as you watch Scad’s hand slip down your stomach, “we are not.”

Talex nods in understanding, his gaze locked on your exposed skin. Scad’s hand slides between your thighs, and a gasp escapes your lips when his fingers brush against your heat.

“Fuck,” Scad groans, his eyes widening as he feels your softness. “She is so soft.”

Without hesitation, Talex mirrors his friend’s movements, letting his rough fingertips glide across your wet folds. “Show us,” he says, his voice low and eager. “How do we make you feel good?”

“Okay,” you breathe out, your desire intensifying. You reach down to your pussy, your heart racing. “This is my clit,” you explain, circling the sensitive bud. “It’s really sensitive.”

Scad pushes your hand aside, eager to replicate your movements. “And this…” you continue, your voice growing shaky, “…is where a male puts his penis during… sex.”

Taking the lead, Talex lets his long, slender fingers slip inside you. “So warm,” he groans, astonished by your softness. “And you are so wet, too.”

“I’m curious,” Scad hums, his finger flicking your clit with gentle precision. “Can I taste you?”

“Yes,” you answer, the word bursting forth with urgency. “Please.”

Scad’s eyes light up with excitement as he positions himself between your thighs. You feel a shiver of anticipation course through you as he leans closer, his breath warm against your skin.

“Just relax,” Talex encourages, watching intently, his fingers still moving within you. The sensations are overwhelming, leaving you dizzy.

Scad gently parts your folds with his fingers, and you gasp at the feeling of his touch. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, almost to himself, as he brings his mouth closer to your core.

When his tongue finally makes contact, you arch your back. Scad’s movements are curious and eager, his tongue exploring your sensitive skin with a mix of caution and fervor. You can’t help but moan, the sound spilling from your lips as pleasure washes over you.

Talex watches intently, captivated by the sight before him. “Is it good?” he asks. There is a hint of concern in his voice.

“Yes,” you gasp, unable to contain your pleasure as Scad works expertly with his tongue, flicking and swirling in ways that leave you trembling. “It feels amazing.”

“Show us what else you like,” Talex urges, his fingers still moving inside your pussy.

With a nod, you guide Scad’s head, pressing him closer as you feel the tension building within you. “Right there,” you guide, your voice breathy and desperate.

The alien responds to your instructions, his tongue rubbing against your clit, teasing and licking with increasing pace. You feel the pressure in your core tighten, the pleasure becoming almost unbearable.

“Don’t stop,” you urge, your hands gripping the couch as you surrender to the sensations. “I’m so close.”

Talex watches you, mesmerized by the way your body reacts to Scad’s touch.

The combination of their attentions, Scad’s mouth, and Talex’s fingers, drives you to the edge. With a final, overwhelming wave of ecstasy, you cry out, your body trembling as you release. The world around you fades into bliss.

Scad pulls back, his mouth glistening and a satisfied grin spreading across his face. His black eyes glimmer with delight.

“How does she taste?” Talex asks, breaking the silence.

“Better than any cake,” Scad replies, licking his lips as if to savor the memory. A flutter of excitement dances in your stomach at their unabashed enthusiasm.

You scoff a breathy laugh. “Well, I’m glad I could provide some competition for dessert.”

“Competition? You’ve set a pretty high bar. I think I need a taste for myself.” Talex grins, his gaze intense as he shifts between your thighs, replacing Scad.

You can feel the tension re-borning in the air, electric and charged with anticipation. The aftershocks of your orgasm still ripple through your body, but they are already ready to continue.

Before you can catch your breath, Scad captures your mouth in a searing kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue, sweet and intoxicating, as he thrusts into your mouth with a delicious urgency. Meanwhile, Talex’s mouth is busy between your thighs, slurping up your wetness with hunger. The sensations blend and swirl around you, making it hard to think straight.

The dual stimulation is dizzying; you can barely comprehend the delicious heat pooling in your core. Talex’s hands grip your hips, holding you firmly in place as he feasts on you, his tongue dancing expertly over your sensitive folds. Each lick sends shivers up your spine, and you can’t help but moan against Scad’s mouth. Your body arches instinctively, craving more. Talex's warm breath against your skin mingles with the cool air of the room, heightening your awareness of every touch. His tongue flicks and swirls with a relentless need, driving you wild as he explores your softness and warmth.

"You're so responsive," Talex murmurs, glancing up at you with a wicked grin, his eyes dark with desire. "I could get used to this." The words send another thrill through you, igniting a deeper ache within.

"Me too," Scad hums, turning his attention to your breast once again. Your body arches instinctively toward Scad, craving the warmth of his mouth on your skin. His tongue flicks over your sensitive nipple, sending electric shivers coursing through you as he lavishes attention on your breasts. The combination of Talex’s relentless mouth between your thighs and Scad's eager lips has you on the brink of insanity. Your hands hold onto them desperately, tracing the hard lines of their bodies wherever you can reach them.

“Please,” you plead. “I need more.”

"I can give you more," Talex groans, his tone low and growly.

He shifts slightly between your legs, just enough for you to see the armor-like skin between his thick thighs stretching as his cock emerges from its sheath. Your eyes widen in surprise at the sight. The tip of his length is more pointed than you are accustomed to, and a hard plate runs along the underside, adorned with ridges. There’s an undeniable elegance in the way the plate curves along his length, the hard texture highlighting the contours of his cock. Veins bulge beneath the softer parts of his skin, pulsating with an intensity that mirrors your own desire. The sight is both mesmerizing and intimidating.

“So different?” Scad asks, his lips popping softly as he releases your sensitive, swollen nipple with a teasing smirk.

You struggle to articulate your thoughts, your mind clouded. “Well,” you breathe, “it’s certainly… different.”

Talex's chest swells with pride at your words, and he shuffles closer. His tip brushes along your folds, prodding at your clit before teasingly slipping down to your achingly empty hole.

“Please,” you whisper again, your voice thick with desperation, and then you muster your strength to look at Scad. “Stand up on the couch.”

His eyes widen in surprise. “What?”

“Just do it,” you urge, a mischievous smile spreading across your lips even as your breath hitches at the feeling of Talex pushing inside you. “Now it’s my turn to taste you.”

You can see the flicker of excitement in Scad’s eyes as he processes your words, his breath hitching at your offer. Without hesitation, he rises to his feet, the couch cushions sinking under his weight as he positions himself next to your head, his long, lean legs creating an enticing frame around you.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” you reply, your gaze locking onto his, filled with playful challenge and seductive confidence. “Just relax and enjoy.”

With a deep thrust, Talex fills you completely. You can feel your drenched pussy clenching around his rigid length, fluttering and stretching as he pushes in inch by inch until your lungs burn because you don't remember how to breathe. You need several seconds to adjust around him and make yourself focus on Scad. You lean closer, your heart racing with anticipation. His cock stands proudly before you, glistening with arousal and impatience. You reach out, wrapping your fingers around him, feeling the warmth and firmness of his skin under your touch. The excitement of tasting him sends a thrill coursing through your veins, and with a sultry smile, you lean forward, your mouth parting in eager anticipation.

As you wrap your lips around Scad, you savor the heat and weight of him on your tongue. He gasps softly, shocked and delighted. The taste of him is unique, a mix of salt and something distinctly alien, igniting your senses and intensifying your desire. You can feel his body respond to your touch. His hips instinctively thrust forward as you take him deeper, coaxing low groans and snarls from his lips.

Talex watches with hunger, his movements inside you becoming more deliberate and forceful. Each grind of his hips drives you closer to the edge. “You’re incredible,” he grunts.

You bob your head, swirling your tongue around the sensitive tip of Scad’s cock, teasing him as you pull back just enough to watch his reaction. His eyes are wide, filled with a mix of pleasure and disbelief. “You really are the most fascinating human,” he breathes, his fingers tangling in your hair, guiding you as he thrusts gently into your mouth. You can feel him growing bolder, responding to your encouragement, as he begins to take control, setting a rhythm that matches the urgency building between you and Talex.

With each press of Talex’s hips, you feel the delicious friction igniting your core, pushing you closer to that tantalizing high. You moan around Scad, and at the same time, your pussy tightens, sending shockwaves through both of them. You can see the pleasure etched on their faces.

“Just like that,” Scad encourages, his voice thick with lust. “You’re perfect.”

You can feel the heat pooling in your core, the pressure building in your stomach.

“Close,” Talex growls, his breaths heavy and labored as he quickens his pace, each thrust pushing you toward the brink. “I can feel you tightening around me.”

With a primal roar, Talex fills you deep one last time, hitting that sweet spot that sends you spiraling over the edge. You cry out around Scad, the sound vibrating through him, and the world explodes in a kaleidoscope of colors and sensations. Scad releases into your mouth, and Talex follows closely behind, leaving you gasping for breath. Your body trembles in the aftermath.

You collapse back onto the couch, panting, your body glowing with satisfaction and spent energy. Scad and Talex join you, their bodies warm and comforting beside yours, their breaths mingling with yours in the heavy air.

“That was… incredible,” you breathe, still reeling from the intensity of the experience.

"Definitely better than the chocolate cake," Talex grunts, followed by the groan of yours and Scad's.

[clarencethemouse]

Daydreams

requested from @hulkingharbor

note: I'm attaching this to the Bleeding Light lore because I love the character I made, and this scenario is eating me alive :))

this is a long one. Sorry not sorry

Summary: Kurt doubts his beauty and worth. Ready takes it upon themselves to prove how much he means to them. Angst and fluff (kinda spicy but also not). Gender-neutral reader.

The mansion roof was a lonely place, but good to relax one's mind. Good to let creativity flow without the judgment of coworkers and students. Good to drown out the never-ending plaguing thoughts with bird chirps and whistling wind.

But no better remedy to stress is a best friend.

You and Kurt stopped conversing on the roof a long time ago. All that was left was a stagnant, yet calm silence. You lay on the bare concrete, letting each spinal joint decompress and muscles settle. Kurt sat next to you, staring off into the horizon, which was turning into a marvelous spectacle of purples and oranges.

You turned on your side, facing him with your body and eyes. He didn't notice you, but this didn't phase you. All you needed was to see him.

"You're so beautiful."

The words barely escaped, the whisper sticking in your throat. Kurt's head whipped down to you. Those perfect golden eyes flashed with confusion. "Pardon?"

A soft smile graced your cheeks. Your eyes couldn't help but light. "I said you're beautiful."

Kurt's eyes fell from you. You watched his jaw clench and muscles agitate. Several moments passed before he spoke again, and the one-word response grated on your mind with his frustration.

"Why?"

"Why am I talking?" Your grin faltered.

"Why are you doing this?" His accent tainted his words thicker, his telltale sign of nerves. You pushed yourself up to level with his face. "Please stop lying."

"Love, I'm not lying-"

Kurt's nearest hand hit yours away as you tried to touch him. "I'm not in the mood. Stop."

"Kurt, I'm not lying!" You ducked around to peer under his insistently ducked head. "Why would I lie? Have I ever lied like that before?"

"Because... stop." He scooted away from your gaze. His tail flicked in agitation - he never used that with you. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

Your lips settled in a horrified frown. "Why do you think I'm lying? Please talk to me."

Kurt did not talk to you. He disappeared without another word in a cloud of purple and black smoke.

You threw your hands up, head whipping around the perimeter of the roof. "What the fuck?" You shouted to the sky. No response. No Kurt. You shuffled together your papers and pens, throwing everything into a haphazard pile in your arms before booking it down the stairs.

Nothing tugged at your heart more than to find Kurt immediately, but you couldn't function with your supplies so loose in your arms. Shouting for him all the way, you threw open your bedroom door and let the papers and pens fall to the floor just inside. Only mere feet back down the hall, Rogue chased you down.

"Y/N! Are ya okay?" Her powerful hands landed on your shoulder, concern painted across her lovely face.

"Have you seen Kurt? He just ran away from me after we had an argument. I'm worried for him."

"Oh, nah, I'm sorry, sugah. Do ya want me to find 'im for ya?"

You huffed a strong sigh from your mouth, propping your hands on your hips. A dull lump was forming deep in your throat. "No. This is my problem."

Your next stop was his bedroom. It had to be. His only other safe place was the roof, which he would never hide on if he thought you could still be there.

Your breath quickened with every nearing step to his door. With the number of times you'd made this walk in happiness, in giddy readiness for a late-night movie or jam session to grade papers, the growing pit of fear in your stomach should not be so frightening. Never before could you fathom dreading his bedroom.

Your knuckles made a quick rhythm against the door, calling his name one more time. You hated to risk invading his privacy, but you were desperate just to see him; a fulfilling conversation aside.

Slowly the door creaked open, revealing his empty bedroom. After a quick sweep of the visible areas, you backed away to retreat before a soft sniffle hit your ears. Barely, just beyond the edge of the couch, a dark spade lay pathetically on the wooden floor. As quietly as possible you closed the door, tip-toeing to the side of the couch. The side of Kurt's body revealed itself by the side coffee table.

"Please go away."

"Not until you talk to me, Love." You crept closer. The air between you fizzled. He was contemplating leaving again. Your body lurched to the floor, landing one hand on his bicep. "Please! Don't leave me!"

Kurt tossed your hand to the side. His curls hid most of his face, which you could sacrifice a finger to see fully. Anything to see him. You sighed, crossing your legs before him. "Why do you think I'm lying?" You prompted again, your voice softer with a newfound patience. "I'm here for you. What will it take for you to talk to me?"

A hand freed itself from the safety of his lap to wipe the running nose beneath the tear-soaked cheeks. "Ich weiß nicht was ich tun soll." His shoulders heaved.

"Babe, I still don't understand," you muttered pathetically.

Kurt's tongue swiped over his bottom lip. Your mind flashed to inappropriate places. "I am not beautiful," he stated, his flawless curls shaking with his head.

Okay. The nub of the problem.

This scenario had run through your head a hundred times before, all in different ways. Different places. You or him being the first to initiate. But no amount of practice in your imagination could prepare you for the looming threat of destroying the best relationship in your life.

Anything for a chance to cheer him up. To see his gorgeous smile, his perfect eyes light up for only a few more minutes.

"Okay. I'm going to tell you this once and you just... need to believe me," you swallowed the bile - the fear that everything could go wrong. That you had ruined everything so perfect about your relationship with three simple words in a moment of adoration. "I do love you. You are my best friend. I cherish our friendship so much-"

"Stop..." Kurt tossed his head back. Given the context, you despised the way his Adam's apple bobbed and the way you wanted to study its perfection under a microscope.

"Just- let me get through this all. I cherish our friendship so much. You understand me better than anyone. I feel the safest around you. And I love the endless nights bonding over the silly nerd shit on the balcony with endless ice cream." This was it. No going back now. "But the amount of times I've gone to bed at night daydreaming about something as simple as going on a date with you... I mean, a proper date. And I imagine so many kisses, so many other things that friends don't do. Sometimes, I even get so desperate that I go through scenarios from that day, but I imagine I'm treating you the way I truly want to."

You couldn't look at him anymore. If so, you may see him staring back at you with such horror and disgust, that you would never be able to look at yourself in the mirror again. "And I do this just in the hope that the daydream will turn into a real dream, and I can sleep through those lovely imaginings and wake up... and... yeah. That is that."

Nothing from him. No words, no shift in position. All you could offer now was the closing line you rehearsed in your mind a hundred times since opening his door.

"I do think you're beautiful. You're the most beautiful person in this entire damn mansion. I'm not daydreaming about anyone else."

When the suspense was ready to rip your heart open, you finally peeked. Kurt was staring. Not with disgust, but with wonder. Hope.

"How do you think these things?" was all he could muster out.

"Pardon?"

His six fingers fidgeted with themselves. You wanted nothing more than to reach out, take them, and kiss each of them until all doubts were ridden from his pretty little head.

"I don't understand. The last person I gave my heart to was disgusted. Horrified by me. I don't understand how you... don't."

Impossible. The thought of him with someone else, no matter how long before you, dried your mouth and made you want to hurl right there. But even more so, the thought of anyone convincing him such horrible narratives could be true... it made your blood boil. Your skin crawl. Nothing was comprehensible to you of how anyone could think of him in such a way. Not Kurt; not the handsome, skilled, kind, and brave man in front of you.

He was too kind for the world. No matter what became of him, how the world treated him, he never faced it with hate. Never pure, genuine hate for the world. Only for himself.

Slowly, knees cracking and heart aching, you reached for him as you willed yourself to stand. Kurt watched you silently beg him for a moment before accepting the offer. You led him to the edge of his bed and simply sat. Held his hands harder when he allowed himself to settle and relax.

Apprehensively, you sucked in a deep breath and steeled your eyes with his. "Please hear me, Love. You are not horrifying, Kurt. You're not disgusting. You are not. I love you, whether or not you choose to believe it, I love you. Both as a friend and as... anything else. However you'll take me."

Your hands snaked up to his neck, cupping the lean muscles beneath your palms. Warm, soft, and true. "It's okay if you don't reciprocate. I just need you to know that someone sees you as beautiful. I would never lie to you."

As if time stopped and you were left fighting through molasses space, your lips touched his cheek. Lower to his chin. Lower to his neck.

"I think your skin is so lovely. It's my second favorite color; second only to yellow."

His throat rumbled under your lips. A firework of giddiness exploded within your stomach.

While your lips traveled onto his collarbone with delicate kisses, daring to taste the rich blue skin only twice, your hands traveled with a mind of their own to play with his three-fingered hands.

"People have three fingers all the time. I see this as no issue." You brought one of his hands to your face, planting more kisses on his palm and down each individual finger.

"I quite like your ears," you confess, dragging one finger along the edge to mess with the pointy tip. "You know folks dig the elves from Lord of the Rings. So how could this be any different?" You smile.

For the first time since you dared call him what he was, Kurt smiled back. He grinned enough to flash the brilliantly pointed canines, which evoked vivid images you would dare never tell your mother.

You were about to start the journey down his chest, something you'd been all too excited to see for months, when the other hand laid a delicate grip to your chin. Masterfully, Kurt steered your face to his, and within milliseconds your daydreams came true.

His lips were still salty from the onslaught of tears, but nothing could have tasted sweeter. Together your lips worked as one, moving and sucking as though life itself lay beyond. Your back hit the mattress, hands scattering to touch every inch of his lean torso.

And then his shirt was off.

While you admired him, finally unburdened and accepting of your words, his mischievous tail snaked to your torso. Butterflies fluttered deep into your abdomen when the strong tail wrapped partially around your waist and lifted you closer to Kurt's body. He smirked down at you, amused by your desperate squirm.

"Is this what you dream of, schatz?"

A sly giggle escaped you as one finger ran down his back, so near to the spine to send gentle shivers through his entire nervous system. "You have fur," you smiled, tilting your head curiously.

"Ja?"

"It's cute." You pulled his face down to you again. You allowed this kiss to be slower. To taste him more. When Kurt pulled back with a wider smile than ever before, there was room in his eyes for nothing more than joy and relief.

"Ich liebe dich."

You ran your lovesick fingers through that beautiful head of hair. You knew what that phrase meant.

[readychilledwine]

Small World pt 3

Summary - After discovering you and Azriel share much more than a mating bond, your relationship grows stronger as tensions between you and your aunt seem to grow higher.

Warnings - sibling rivalry, mentions of blood, violence, attempted assassination, Azriel picking reader (always)

A/N - this will have maybe one more part, possibly two, depending on how happy I want the happy ending to do.

Series Masterlist

Nyx was annoyed, and that was an understatement. 

You were currently being picked up and spun around by your father, a smile gracing your beautiful perfect fucking face. He hated how he was treated since your birth. He was suddenly not the golden child. Ignored in favor of a so called bundle of joy who took his father and mother away from him. They both would drop everything for him before you came, but that changed the second Madja announced you weren't a spare. You were a daughter. 

You were, and still are, a lovely little thing, Nyx could admit that. You were the perfect carbon copy of Feyre until it came to your eyes. You had your father's eyes, shining so brightly he had called you his little star from the moment you took your first breath. You had stolen his father's heart and ran with it, and that suddenly made Nyx go from hearing how he was allowed to play and just be a kid to how it was his job to protect you. 

He had worked from his teen years to now to try turning you and father against each other. Planting small seeds of doubt and failures for both of you. A rumor of uprising to stop him from going to a dance recital, whispered words of how he'd overheard Rhys discussing how your only value was your powers, lies of how Rhys only loved you for your beauty and powers. Lies and manipulation that had hardly worked. Your father still chased you, loves you, adores you. Even when you two fought like waves crashing against rocks, even when you moved out and pushed him away, Rhys loved you. Fought for you. Would lay his life down for you. 

Nyx knew deep down that wasn't exclusive to you, that your father would do the same for him, but he couldn't help that tang of jealousy as Rhys jokingly bowed to you, ending his time as your dance partner and passing you to Keir. You had not been left alone all night. Dancing with Azriel, Cassian, a few of Keirs's sons, your father. You would be forced to dance through the night, and you'd do it with a smile, stopping only for a drink when your mate would cut in with one.

His mother pressed him again, asking him to take her to dance and he finally caved, a hand reaching for hers before taking her down next to where you held an impeccable mask while dancing with a male who made your skin crawl. 

Nyx had his eyes locked on where Elain stood in the room, watching her watch you. He could tell she was plotting as she spoke to the young male next to her, hands on his biceps as she batted her eyelashes at the precise moments. She either hoped to male Azriel jealous or something the young heir had not put together, but either way, it made his hair stand on edge. 

He and mother had moved further away from you and Keir, a look of concern now gracing the High Lady's immortal face as Nyx noted the position of each member of the Inner Circle. No one was close to you. Keir had traded you off with another male. Azriel was laughing and drinking with Rhys and Cassian. 

No one was protecting you. His eyes immediately went search for your hair, for the silver and diamond encrusted hair pins you were wearing. “Nyx, honey, what's wrong?” A scream broke through the hall before he could answer. His eyes went to where Elain and that male once stood. Nyx had never moved faster, dropping Feyre's hand, shoving her to a running Nesta, then finding where you were.  

A fist landed on the male's jaw just as he rose the dagger to stab you. Then he heard nothing other than music stopping and screams all around him. Lifting the male into the air before slamming him down, wings flared as he fought. His fist colliding with the male's face sent blood flying everywhere, soaking his hand, splattering his cheeks. 

He didn't hear Cassian fighting through the crowd, ripping you into his arms and over his shoulder. He didn't hear his father yelling his name as he beat the male. He didn't hear Azriel sneak up behind him. It didn't matter as he was ripped off, though, landing on last kick to the male's ribs as he got up, the damage had been done, and as Nyx stalked into the room they all went to when hell broke loose, his eyes landed on his aunt before a noise hit his ears after the door shut and clicked to lock. 

The noise of you panicking, of your screaming as your father and Cassian tried to comfort you. The noise of your cries and babbled speech. He quickly glanced your way, heart stopping as he took in you covered in blood. Too much blood. Nyx threw the male's dagger on the floor. The ornate illyrian steal carved with flowers and Jewels clanging loudly. 

It tore the attention away from you. Azriel walking towards that familiar weapon like a ghost. It was the last thing he had given Elain. “Why did he have that?” 

Elain turned to Nyx, doe eyes confused. A wonderful actress. She always had been. Always would be. “I do not know.”

Nyx rolled his eyes, going to you and looking you over. His hand went to the side of your dress where the blood was heaviest. “Dad-”

Rhys didn't turn, his focus still locked on the dagger, face paling as he realized What she had done. “Over a male? You would have your niece murdered for a male?” Azriel had moved to you and Nyx, eyes wide as the two lowered you to the ground. “You had a chance with you mate, Elain. Killing my daughter would not have given you Azriel. It would not change a thing.”

“Rhys-” Cassian had moved to you, holding your hand as Azriel applied pressure and Nyx worked to heal you. 

“I did not attempt to kill her-”

“No, you just somehow managed to get that male to do it for you.”

“Mor, go get a healer.” 

Rhys heard that, head finally snapping to where you were on the ground. 

-

The Inner Circle was silent as Rhysand paced in front of two Archeron sisters. They were the last to vote on something Azriel felt shouldn't have been discussed. Nyx had shown them all Elain flirting with the male. He had shown them the dagger the male had, Feyre had gone into her mind. It was cut and dry. Elain had conned a male into attempting your assassination.

There was no question or doubt about it as Rhysand gave Feyre another look, waiting, pleading with her to understand the severe situation Elain had put them all in. “Our daughter almost died at the orders of your sister, Feyre.” 

“She's not in her right mind,” Nesta even gave Feyre a look at that. “She hasn't been since the Cauldron.” 

“That happened too long ago to still be an excuse,” Cassian refused to look at Nesta as he spoke. “My niece is barely alive and stable. If it wasn't for Illyrian healing, she'd be gone."

Nesta moved her chip, hands shaking as she placed it under yes. “If we say Elain is innocent for attempting to kill y/n, what else do we continue to allow her to get away with? Banishment is kind compared to what should be happening.”

“Which brings my point back up,” Azriel glared towards the floor. “If we stay, Elain knows where we are. She can try again. Let me take her somewhere else-”

Nyx shook his head. Eyes still watering. “Please don't take her from me.”

Azriel glared hard. “So you care now? You care now that she's almost died?”

“I've always cared-” Azriel stood, leaving the room. He was tired of the lies and bullshit. Tired of the manipulation. 

Had the Inner Circle always been this way? Blind loyalty to Rhys but back stabbing anyone else they could left and right? Even if that someone was each other? He thought back hard as he opened and shut the door to the room you were laid in. 

It had always been this way. Mor against Amren. Feyre against her sisters. Cassian against Rhys until he would back down. Nesta against everyone but himself. 

He reached down and held your hand, stroking his thumb across your knuckles. You deserved safety, stability, and love. "Fuck it,” he murmured, and lifted you out of bed. His shadows swirled, cold air surrounding the two of you until he hit a cottage.

A cottage surrounded by nothing but tall trees and the woods. A cottage deep in the Illyrian Mountains. 

The cottage he built by hand during his time away. The cottage he had not intended to bring you to until you were official married. 

But what was the point in waiting? You were already his in body, mind, and soul. He did not need a High Priestess to confirm that. 

The woods would do it. The Mother watching through the eyes of her creations would do it.

He would marry you tomorrow in these woods, surrounded by light and nature. Surrounded in warmth and safety. No High Lords. No plotting family. No unknown fae invited for their status.

Only you and him. Him and you.

He carried your sleeping form over the threshold. “Welcome home, baby.” 

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanager @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage

Small World Taglist:

@amara-moonlight @iimichie @acourtofbatboydreams @justasillylittlegoofyguy @janesalvarerelochanarcheron @hungryforbatboys @sidthedollface2

@anuttellaa @prettylittlewrites @deeshag @mybestfriendmademe @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @deeshag @isa1b2h3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @juniperberriesaries @dr4g0ngirl @prongslena @prettylittlewrites

Azriel Taglist:

@elle4404

[deanssluvr]

Maybe a Joost Klein x Broadway reader

Where the reader is a Broadway star and for some reason Joost is in New York and he decides to see a show and when he sees the reader preform he’s smitten and maybe the next day or so they run into each other what he doesn’t know is that reader knows who he is and is also a fan

i have found her

pairing: joost klein x broadway actress

word count: 1.8k

warnings: none

a/n: as a theatre kid I was so happy to get this request. I hope I did it justice.

With his New York show now finished, Joost had a few days to enjoy the unfamiliar city. When exploring he found fun things to do like trying new foods, seeing a bunch of landmarks, doing a helicopter tour, and a bunch of other experiences the city had to offer. One night his friends offered to take him to see a musical. He had never been into theatre that much, but was open to the opportunity. His friend told him they were going to see Cinderella. He was very familiar with the story and had seen the movie many times, but was excited to see it nonetheless.

They went down Broadway to the theatre where the show was being performed. The street was so full of life that it was overwhelming. The sound of traffic, the blaring wails of sirens, and the chatter of people as they walk past. Blaring neon lights surround them as they decorate all, luminous buildings. All advertising the latest entertainment. The smell of street food mixed with the many perfumes and colognes of passersby engulfed his nose. They were stopped for a moment when they came across a street performer who was performing music. They stayed for a moment before dropping a few dollars into his case and continuing their way to the theatre.

Outside the theatre was a large crowd trying to push their way into the theatre. Everyone was eager to get in. Finally, it was Joost and his friends' turn to present their tickets to the ticket taker. Once inside, they were greeted by a beautiful lobby. It had white marbled walls and floors lined with velvet red carpet. They were handed playbills as they walked further into the building. His friend looked down at his ticket and led them up a set of stairs that led to where their seats were located. They had very good seats. They sat towards the house's middle and close to the front. As they waited for the show to begin, he flipped through the playbill. He landed on the pages that displayed the cast. His eyes scanned the page until they stopped on your picture. He thought you were absolutely beautiful, especially your smile. He read your name and then your role as “Cinderella”. He was more excited to see this show now. He was so captivated by your beauty that he lost interest in the playbill. He couldn't wait to catch a glimpse of you on stage.

Meanwhile, you were in your dressing room warming up one last time. Though you had performed this show 4 times in front of an audience already, you still were a bit nervous. Nut at the same time you were always excited to perform.

“Hey. Places were called a few minutes ago.” Your friend popped her head in.

“Oh shoot. Thanks.” You took one more sip of water before rushing off to places.

In the audience, Joost and his friends were discussing what else they planned to do with the time they had left in the city. There was a moment of silence as the house lights dimmed and the crowd grew quiet. During the opening of the curtains and the beginning of the orchestra's music, his anticipation grew. You took a deep breath and ran out on stage like you always do. Joost's eyes lit up when he saw you. The performance began and you felt a wave of energy wash over you. As the show went on he was mesmerized by you. He loved your voice. When you sang it sounded so powerful yet graceful. Then came the scene where you transform into the Cinderella gown. You proceeded to spin and pull off the peasant costume, revealing the gorgeous gown underneath. The transformation first took him aback, and a look of shock covered his face as he saw you in this new costume. The way you sparkled under the lights entranced him. You were the only thing he could focus on for the rest of the show.

Bows started and you were anxiously waiting in the wings for your turn. The energy was unmatched at this moment. The relief of finishing a show and going to take your bow. It was always your favorite part. You walked out on stage with your co-star and he took his bow first. Then it was your turn. The applause was wonderful. The house lights were brought up slightly, so you were able to see many of the faces in the crowd. Joost was standing and cheering like everyone around him, but for some reason, he caught your eye. He looked familiar to you, but you couldn't put your finger on it. You made eye contact with him in the audience for a moment, and you smiled sweetly. It was as if the world momentarily paused, and everything faded into the background. You continued looking through the crowd, smiling and waving.

After the show, Joost and his friends were back out on the streets walking back to their hotel. His friends were discussing the show and how they enjoyed it. But his mind was somewhere else. He couldn't stop thinking about you. He wanted to know more about you, and more importantly, he wanted to see you again. Once he made it back to his room, he showered and settled comfortably in bed. Though it was getting late, he wasn’t ready to go to sleep. So he grabbed his phone from the bedside stand and decided to do some harmless digging. He opened Instagram, and easily found your page since you used your name. He scrolled through some of your pictures.

The next morning the sun peeking through the curtains woke him up early. Rubbing his eyes, he turned over to the bedside table and picked up his phone. Squinting slightly, he opened his phone to search nearby cafes. There were a lot of options, but just picked one that was within walking distance. He got out of bed and went to the bathroom to freshen himself up. As he was brushing his teeth, his mind wandered back to you. Specifically, he thought about the very brief look you gave him last night. Of course, you could’ve been looking at anyone in the audience, but he was sure it was at him. He also swears that you smiled at him. And his mind races, replaying the moment over and over, each time finding new details to cherish; The way your eyes crinkle at the corners, the slight tilt of your head, the warmth radiating from your expression. That moment warms his heart whenever he thinks about it. He realized how long he was taking and quickly finished up. He stepped out of the bathroom and dug through his suitcase for something to wear. Once he put together an outfit he was happy with, he started to make his way to the cafe.

The walk to the cafe wasn’t bad. He enjoyed seeing the many sights of the city. The sun was out, warming everything up in contrast to the chill from last night. He put in his earbuds to avoid the overwhelming noises around him. On his way, he passed up many stores such as a bustling deli with a line going outside and a souvenir shop brimming with NYC memorabilia. He watched the signs carefully as he did not want to pass up his destination. It was a nice 10-minute walk before he finally made it. He almost missed it as it blended in with most of the other buildings surrounding it. When walking inside he was greeted by the smell of coffee and various baked goods. Looking around he saw that it wasn’t busy. Only a few people were in line and a handful of people sitting at various tables. Some are on their laptops, others just enjoying the atmosphere. It was rather quiet other than hushed conversations and orders being communicated. He stepped in line and read over the menu. While his mind was on the menu, he hadn’t noticed someone walking in. It was you. You wanted to grab a coffee before the matinee show. As you waited in line, you noticed who was in front of you. Although you were looking at the back of his head, you were almost sure it was Joost Klein. You started listening to his music recently and quickly became a fan. There was no way to know if it was him unless he turned around. You were too nervous to talk to him though, but you didn’t want to miss this opportunity. So you lightly tapped on his shoulder and he turned around, pulling his earphones out.

“Hi. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to bother you. I just wanted to want to say that I’m a fan of your music.” He stood there speechless, which made you more nervous. But what you didn’t know is that he hadn’t stopped thinking about you since last night, and now you were standing in front of him. Sure you were beautiful on stage, but he thought you were even prettier up close. There was a moment of silence between the both of you before he spoke.

“I saw you last night. In your show.” He smiled as he thought back to your performance. “You were amazing and you have a beautiful voice.”

You smiled sheepishly as you thanked him for the compliment. Then you think back to last night’s show. Specifically the bows and the man you made eye contact with. You looked at him, realizing that it was him.

“Wait. I think I remember seeing you in the audience.” At first, he was a bit shocked, but happy that you remembered the brief moment you both shared. “I couldn’t recognize you at first, I’ll admit. But now I’m happy to know it was you.” He chuckled.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you took it out, reading the message. Your director wanted to change something and needed you for rehearsal. You sighed before looking back up at him.

“I’m sorry but I have to go. Last minute rehearsal.” You were bummed that this interaction had to be cut short.

“Oh, that’s fine.” He didn’t want this to be the last time saw you. “Hey, can I get your number? I want to see you again.”

You nodded trying to contain your excitement. Him wanting to see you again made your heart flutter. You both exchanged numbers and said your goodbyes before you left the cafe. As you make your way through the bustling city, your phone vibrates again. You opened it, reading the message from an unknown number.

Good luck with your rehearsal today and the rest of your shows. I’d like to take you to dinner the next you're free.

You responded quickly.

I’d love that.

And that was all you could think for the rest of the day.

[hunnysnoops]

₊˚｡⋆❆ 𝔹𝕦𝕣𝕟 𝔸𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕖 ❆⋆｡˚₊

Chapter One: Wolves Without Teeth

Kenny McCormick x fem reader

You hover like a hummingbird, haunt me in my sleep. You're sailing from another world, sinking in my sea. You're feeding on my energy. I'm letting go of it, he wants it. 

Also available on Ao3 and Wattpad!

Premise: A collision at the ice rink leaves you with a gnarly bruise and a hockey player who is quick to be infatuated. Kenny McCormick takes it upon himself to be the first to break you out of your shell.

Warnings: brief mention of injury / crude language

MASTERLIST

Moving to the middle of the rink, you and Craig get ready to begin your routine. As the familiar song begins to play, you inhale deeply and pay attention to the beat. Craig looks up at you and nods reassuringly. Everything about this has been overdone to the point it doesn’t make you nervous: the rise and fall of your chest, cold air stinging your skin, the only warmth in the arena rests between you and Craig. With a series of elegant moves, you start off by cutting smooth lines into the ice with your blades. Every motion is intentional, a precise dexterity you attain from day after day trying to reach something close to perfection.

As you glide into the first lift, you feel Craig's hands firmly grasp your waist. With a practiced ease, he lifts you high, and you stretch your arms and legs, creating a perfect line. You savour the feeling of weightlessness so you might taste it later. He lowers you gently, and you land seamlessly, continuing into a series of synchronized spins.

"Nice," Katya calls from the side of the rink where she watched the two of you with her arms crossed, picking apart each and every movement. She was an ex-champion from Sweden, and now she coached figure skating in Colorado "Craig, get your knee deeper." 

Barely even thinking, Craig does as he's told and lunges further. You had been skating with Craig for the past nine years though you didn't talk much he was what you considered to be your only friend who was your age. He had been the sole human to show up to your barren birthday parties since fourth grade. All of your trust poured into him, with every leap and scratch of your blade slicing across the ice. 

Each step of the routine builds on the one before it with ease. You perform a sequence of deft footwork, your blades clicking quickly and rhythmically on the ice. Craig perfectly mimics your movements and stands by you, steadying you with his hands. You two loop around the rink, hitting every mark of the choreography with ease.

As the music swells, you prepare for the jump sequence. You've practiced this countless times far too many times to hold any nerves over it. "Don't rush it, hold your edge longer," Katya shouts, accent thick. You approach the takeoff point, feeling Craig's presence close beside you. With a powerful push, you launch into the air, twisting and turning with grace. The landing is smooth, and you immediately transition into a spin, feeling the centrifugal force pulling at you.

Craig moves into position for the final lift. You gather your strength and leap, offering your faith to him completely. His hands are strong and steady as he lifts you high above his head. The audience, though imaginary today, would be breathless. You extend your arms, holding the pose for a beat before he brings you back down.

The routine ends with a dramatic flourish. You and Craig strike the final pose where his hands are secured on the small of your back as you lull backwards until your head is inches away from the ice, breathing hard but exhilarated. The music fades, and the rink is silent again. You catch your breath, face red, Craig skates in a little circle, one hand gripping his black hair. 

"Good job," You smile holding your hand up for a high five. Craig eyes you for a second before caving and gliding over to land his hand over yours. 

"Beautiful work," Katya smiles brightly at the winded pair of you. She looks down at her watch biting her lip "I wanted to do some strength work but we went a little over time so just do your cooldowns and head out, we'll pick this up tomorrow."

"Craig's strong enough," You tease though Katya doesn't seem to take it that way.

She shakes her head "There is always work to be done. The day you stop pushing yourself is the day you fail." 

"Oh," You glance at Craig "Um, okay." You probably spoke more at practice than you did anywhere else which wasn't saying much as you preferred to keep your thoughts to yourself on most days. 

You move into a series of gentle stretches, reaching down to touch your toes, and feeling the pull along your hamstrings. The cool air of the rink mingles with the heat of your exertion. You extend one leg behind you, leaning forward to stretch your back and shoulders, thinking back to the routine you performed only minutes ago you think of all the things you could improve on and make a mental list that you will soon put onto paper. 

You had butchered your cool down, trying to leave as soon as possible. Right after your nightly sessions a group of rowdy hockey players would swarm the rink careless of whether you were still in there or not and it wasn't particularly something you were fond of. 

Craig, on the other side of the rink, begins his own routine. He skates slowly, his strides long and deliberate, a stark contrast to the intense moves from earlier. He stops and bends down, touching the ice with his fingers, and stretching his long legs and back. 

You notice Craig moving into some balance exercises, lifting one leg behind him and holding his arms out for stability. It's a simple move, but one that requires focus and control, skills he's perfected over years of practice. You can see the concentration on his face, and the way he fine-tunes his posture and alignment like the world would end if he stumbled.

You slink off the ice and slip guards on over your blades, not wanting to risk any damage from the rubber or accidentally set your blade on something one of the hockey players left behind. The walls are adorned with colourful banners celebrating local hockey teams, figure skaters, and upcoming events. Scuffed benches line the corridor, providing a spot for spectators and players to rest or lace up their skates. As you peer down the corridor, your fears are proven to be true. 

Sitting down long rows of benches or standing up and blocking the halls is the hockey team that you were so careful to avoid. Quickly you begin to unlace your skates, hurriedly grabbing your duffle bag from your locker and tucking the skates inside. 

Of course, they line themselves up perfectly to block the entrance. It wasn't the people themselves that you were irritated by but how loud they were when they were all together. Even when your headphones were in and the volume turned to the max you could still hear them yelling and cackling no matter where you were in the building. 

The best part of winter was how the snow acted like soundproofing for the whole world and made everything really quiet though the hockey team was quick to cancel that out with their crude jokes. Aside from Craig's boyfriend, you hadn't spoken to anyone on the team as far as you knew. 

Their bulky gear makes the narrow passage even tighter. You adjust your bag on your shoulder and take a deep breath, weaving your way through the crowd.

"Excuse me," you say politely, trying to slip past them. The boys are engrossed in their conversation, their roughhousing spilling over into your path. One of the boys pushes his friend onto you and has you stumbling away, trying to keep your balance. 

Just as you think you've made it through, one of them swings his hockey stick at the punchline of a joke, not noticing you. The butt end of the stick catches you squarely in the stomach, the impact knocking the wind out of you. The pain is immediate and intense. It's not just a surface-level ache but a deep, visceral throb that spreads outward from the point of impact. Your breath catches in your throat, and a gasp escapes your lips as you double over instinctively, clutching your stomach.

The laughter stops immediately, and the boy who hit you looks horrified. His blue eyes are filled with instant regret as they draw wide. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry,” he exclaims, rushing to your side. His friends gather around, awkwardly glancing around at each other. 

"It's fine," You say through laboured breaths. It definitely was not fine. 

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice laced with genuine worry. You nod, still trying to catch your breath. He gently helps you up, his hands finally finding a firm grip on your arm and shoulder. As you stand, you notice the way he's looking at you, his eyes studying the features of your face. 

For a moment, he's stunned, his gaze locked on your face. In the harsh fluorescent lighting of the hallway, he takes in the delicate curve of your jaw, the light glinting off your eyes, and the way your hair frames your face, slightly disheveled but pretty nonetheless. He seems momentarily lost, his apology stuck in his throat as he's struck by you up close.

He recognized you as Craig's partner and the girl he passed in the hallway who wouldn't spare him a glance, he tried to approach you on several occasions but your headphones were always in and you didn't even notice him trying to talk to you through the music blasting in your ears, leaving him humbled. He had his eyes on you for a while,  you were what his little sister referred to as a hallway crush- someone he thought was attractive when he saw you in passing but had never properly spoken to. 

The pain and shock have left you somewhat dazed, and his sudden proximity only intensifies that feeling. You pull your arm away from his grip "Please don't touch me." 

"Do you want-

"No," You dismiss him before he even starts "It's fine." Despite the pain gnawing at your stomach, you manage to shoulder your duffle bag and hurridly stagger out of the exit

Kenny blinks, snapping out of his daze and running a hand through his blonde shaggy hair. "I'm so sorry," he calls after you, his voice more earnest now though his eyes travel down your body and take in the way your leggings cling to your legs.

Stan abruptly smacks him on the arm, it is still felt through the padding "You are such a dick, Kenny."

"What?" He swerves his head to look at Stan "I didn't mean to."

"You didn't mean to stare at her ass?"

"Um, yes?" He had spent months trying to talk to you when you didn't have headphones in, and now that moment finally happened he had fumbled so badly that it was over before it even started. 

"Kenny, that is not what happened," Stan calls out his friend's incredibly incorrect account of the night before. The school hallways were far from barren, students rushed back and forth, slamming their lockers shut and hunting down their friends.

"So what actually happened?" Kyle asked, digging through his locker, back turned to his friends.

"Kenny hit her," Stan says.

"Why would you hit her?"

"I didn't mean to," Kenny retorts, "I was making a joke and I accidentally hit her with my stick."

"He was making a joke and fucking winded her," Stan corrects.

"She was not winded-

"She was keeling over, clutching her stomach, and coughing." He remembered getting sucker punched by Shelly right beneath his ribs and imagined that you were feeling something similar when you were hit. "Oh and then she asked him not to touch her."

"I wouldn't want this freak touching me either if I were her," Kyle shoves a textbook into his backpack and zips it up.

"What do you mean by that?" Kenny furrows his eyebrows though is question goes unanswered.

"Hey Slumlord, Jewrat, Stan," Cartman disrupts the conversation, joining their little circle in the hallway "What's going on?"

"Kenny hit a girl," Stan says.

"Nice man," Cartman gives Kenny a firm pat on the back, leaving Kyle to wrinkle his nose in distaste.

"Dude, stop, I actually feel bad about it," Kenny says, chewing the inside of his mouth, thoughts focused on the little glimpses he caught of you.

"No, you don't," Kyle slings his backpack on after grabbing his phone from a pocket "You just want to get laid."

"Why can't it be both?" He was almost wistful.

"Who's this chick you're in love with?" Cartman asked. Lately, he wasn't as up-to-date on his friend's matters as he'd like to be, being left out of an inside joke to him was a fate worse than death.

"This girl who skates with Craig," Kenny shoves his hands into the pockets of his old warn jeans. Part of him was regretting leaving his jacket in his locker, winter in Colorado was cold no matter if you were inside or not "And I'm not in love with her, I just like looking at her."

"Maybe talk about this with someone as gross as you," Kyle doesn't bother to look up from his game of Candy Crush, he had an addiction though he would never admit to it. He would act oblivious whenever someone asked him if he was playing it.

Something catches Kenny's eye, you brush past the group without even casting them a glance. Kenny excuses himself and trails behind you, trying to catch your attention.

As you stand at your locker, the music blaring in your ears serves as a shield from the outside world. The thrashing guitar drowns out the noise of the bustling hallway, wrapping you in your own private bubble of sound. You were preparing yourself to spend your lunch period studying and trying to ignore the ache in your stomach from the night prior. 

Unbeknownst to you, Kenny approaches, his footsteps barely registering over the music. He hesitates for a moment, watching you carefully as you focus on organizing your books and belongings. His lips move, forming words he hopes will reach you through the barrier of your headphones.

"Hey," he says, his voice gentle but unheard amidst the din in your ears.

You continue to rummage in your locker, oblivious to his presence. Kenny clears his throat softly, trying again to get your attention. He gestures towards you, a small smile on his face, but you don't notice.

He takes a step closer, his hand hovering near your shoulder as he tries to catch your eye though he retracts it after recalling the way you shook him off previously. "Hey," he repeats, a little louder this time.

Finally, you glance up, startled to see Kenny standing there, a grin playing on his face. You quickly pull out your headphones, and the music is abruptly silenced. You stare at him, silently waiting for him to continue.

It takes him a beat to realize and then he picks up where he left off, "Just wanted to say I'm sorry about last night."

"You already did." 

"Uh, yeah," he chuckles, rubbing the nape of his neck. You were now getting a good look at his face. He had a nice smile, dimples, most notably a faint little scar over the bridge of his nose and a silver piercing through his right eyebrow "I just felt really bad, let me make it up to you and buy you lunch?"

"I packed my own," You said flatly. 

"Do you like coffee?"

You didn't even think about entertaining this idea, you swiftly shook your head.  "I'm not good company," Before giving him another chance to speak, you put your headphones back in, moving past him.

Kenny had been rejected a handful of times, namely in middle school, but yours hit him the worst. 

You weren't one to recklessly date or recklessly do anything really. All that mattered was achieving a top ranking in your country and eventually making your way to the Olympics, everything else was an afterthought or a stepping stone to get there. 

There were some days when you would eat lunch with Craig, though with Tweak being so jumpy, you spent most days you did as you are doing now. Eating lunch alone in your English class. As you push the door open, you see Mrs. Miller typing on her laptop, she looks towards the door and gives you a little smile as you enter. 

She was a middle-aged Filipino woman with the most beautiful black hair you had ever seen. It fell down to the small of her back and shined like silk under the harsh lights in the school. You first had her as your teacher in the ninth grade, after writing a paper about skating she told you that she was once a skater. Mrs. Miller quickly became your favourite teacher. You were now in your senior year and still you spent lunch wallowing in her classroom. 

Pausing at her desk, you unzip your bag and pull out a little package wrapped in parchment and secured in a bow of twine. She looks up from her papers, her warm smile inviting you to continue. "It's a cream cheese pound cake. I made it last night."

Her eyes light up with genuine appreciation. "Thank you, this is my favourite part of the day." She takes the pound cake from you, her smile growing even wider. Being as avid of a baker as you were, there was far too much excess to leave to go bad, you didn't really have friends to give them to so you let your step-dad bring it to work though you always brought a little bit for Mrs. Miller as a little thanks for letting you stay in her classroom. 

You sit in the corner of the classroom, no one dares enter during lunch, you always thought that the students must have feared the written word. The usual hum of voices and clatter of footsteps is replaced by the soft rustle of pages as you study. Your lunch, a simple sandwich and an apple, rests on the desk beside your notebook, untouched for now. The sun filters through the windows, casting a warm glow on the bookshelves lined with classics and contemporary novels.

As you take a bite of your sandwich, somewhat disappointed in the combination you had chosen. Your eyes flittered to your phone rather than to your work, in mere moments you had abandoned studying in favour of looking at baking recipes on Pinterest, saving the ones that caught your eye and humming quietly to your music. 

Which recipe would you make that night to settle after skating? Your mom loved lemons but your step-dad was a die-hard chocolate guy though he would really eat whatever you baked and brag about it to his friends at work. 

"Mrs. Miller?" You take your headphones out and look at her.

"Yes?" She looks up from her papers, her warm smile inviting you to continue.

"Would you rather have lemon loaf or black forest brownies?" Some might think it sad that you only had two friends and one of them was your English teacher but you didn't find an ounce of loneliness in it. 

"Hm," She leans back in her chair, thinking long and hard over it before coming to her conclusion "Oh, both sound great, but I think I gotta say black forest brownies, never had them before."

You answer her with a little thumbs up and scribble it down in your notes. Sifting through the internet for a recipe, you find one and start tweaking it to your liking, After crossing out measurements and ingredients and then filling them back in, you snap a picture and send it to your step-dad.

New Message- FIFA man 

You: Thoughts? 

FIFA man: Looks awesome kiddo 😎❤️😘

FIFA man: I'll pick you up from skating ⛸ tonight 🌃

You: Is mom working tonight?

FIFA man: Yes 👍

FIFA man: Do you need a ride 🚗 there? 

You: No, Craig's driving me

FIFA man: Cool 😎 tell him I say hi 👋

FIFA man: Do you want takeout 🥡 or chicken 🐓 and veg 🌽🥕🥦🥬???

You: Chickens good

FIFA man: Awesome 😎🤠🥰😇

FIFA man: I need to grocery 🍎🥐🥩🥬🥑 shop 🛍 tomorrow

FIFA man: Send me a list pls 📝

You: Okay 

FIFA man: Love you 🤬

You: ?

You: Are you mad?

FIFA man: No 🥶

You: Why did you use the cursing emoji?

FIFA man: I thought it was kissing 🤔 LOL IJBOL 🤣🤣🤣🤣

Todd overused emojis to the point his texts were hard to read, but you always caught yourself giggling at them. You turn up the volume on your phone, letting your favourite music fill your ears as you take another bite of your sandwich. The melody shifts your thoughts back to the ice rink. You can almost feel the cold air and hear the sound of blades cutting through ice. Figure skating has always been your escape, a separate world where a blade stood between you and the ice. You remember the exhilaration of landing a perfect jump, and the applause from the audience, it was like a drug, little hits of dopamine each time you heard that familiar cheering from strangers in the crowd, it was the only loud sound you wanted to hear. 

As the song plays, you imagine yourself skating to it. Each note guides your movements, from the elegant arcs of your arms to the powerful sweeps of your legs. You visualize the choreography in your mind, picturing how you would translate the music into a captivating routine. The swells of the hymn dictate your jumps and spins, while the softer passages call for graceful glides and delicate footwork. 

You were really one to dream away your time. Every program you watched, you imagined what it was like to be them, to feel what they did, to see what they did. It consumed you entirely.

Mrs. Miller had always tried to get you out of your shell, pairing you with the loud kids in class, and assigning public speaking assignments, but you always wound up coming back into her classroom to soak in the quiet soft scribble of her red correction pen. 

Kenny was never keen on waking up early. Though he had recently been inclined to pick up more shifts at work, meaning he would be skipping several practices and had to make up the time elsewhere. He dragged his hockey bag behind him as he entered the rink. In the winter, it was dark almost all of the time, by the time he reached the arena, the sun wasn't even out yet. 

He checked the time sheet posted upfront to be sure no one had booked the ice time, luckily he was in the clear. Kenny didn't bother to put all of his gear on, he just shed his thick coat, leaving him in a hoodie and sweatpants while he laced up his skates and shook the now-melting snow from his hair. There was no need for all of the padding when he would be the only one in there, boring himself to death doing technique work.

"Kenny?" Coach Trevor pokes his head out of his office. His face splits into a smile when he spots Kenny on the bench "Good seeing you buddy, didn't expect you to be here bright and early."

"Me neither," He shakes his head slightly.

"We missed you last night at practice."

"Uh, yeah, sorry, I've been working more, I'm just trying to juggle everything right now." Kenny stood up and shifted his weight, fiddling with the worn tape on his hockey stick.

Trevor's brow furrowed in concern. "I understand the need to work, Kenny, but your performance on the ice is slipping. You're falling behind on your drills and your conditioning. It's not just about showing up; it's about being present and giving it your all."

"I'll, uh- ask if they can switch my schedule around," He lied through his teeth. Kenny couldn't quit his job to play hockey or cut down his hours, he wouldn't even be able to afford to play hockey if he didn't have a job. 

"Okay," Trevor gives him a thin-lipped smile and a firm pat on the shoulder "Let me know how it goes and we can work something out."

"You got it," He returns the smile, giving the coach a little thumbs up. Trevor retreated back into his office as Kenny entered the abnormally quiet rink. His brief conversation with Trevor was enough to make him want to lie down on the ice and wait until the cool air of the rink froze him whole.

That feeling of desolation melted away the second he saw you on the other side of the arena. Across the rink, you are engrossed in your own world, skating solo on a secluded patch of ice. Your headphones are in and you're buried deep in concentration. You execute each move with precision, lost in the rhythm and flow of your routine.

Like a shot of caffeine, he suddenly didn't feel tired, straightening up his posture as he stepped onto the ice. The first few glides were always the most exhilarating, a reminder of why he loved the sport like he was weightless. 

If you had noticed him enter, you gave no indication, not even a quick look in his direction. It was just you and your music, shifting gracefully along the sleet. Your arms swayed above your head, controlled and elegant like the wings of a swan. 

First was the axel. You skated backward, building up speed before launching into the air with a powerful push from your right leg. Your body rotated mid-air, arms tucked in tightly, and time seemed to slow for a moment. You landed smoothly on your left foot, the blade biting into the ice, a soft scrape marking your descent.

Next, you transitioned seamlessly into a toe loop. You approached the jump with a series of elegant crossovers, each movement precise and calculated. Planting the toe pick of your right skate into the ice, you used it as a pivot to leap into the air, your body spinning in a controlled rotation. The landing was crisp, your knees bending slightly to absorb the impact. With every movement, you thought of each correction Katya had given you. 

With barely a pause, you moved into a sequence of spins. Starting with a camel spin, you extend your right leg behind you, your body bending forward in a perfect horizontal line. The spin began slowly, the centrifugal force pulling at your outstretched limbs, then gradually sped up as you pulled your arms and leg in tighter. The world blurred around you, the only constant the center of your spin.

Kenny found himself in awe of your movement. He had never seen you skate and frankly hadn't expected you to be so good. He tightened his grip on his stick, pushing off with purpose and shaking the thoughts from his head. Kenny was here to practice, not to watch you run a routine. 

However, as he skated, his eyes kept drifting towards you. You were in your element, gliding effortlessly across the ice, your movements fluid and precise. The sight of you skating with such grace captivated him, drawing his attention away from his own drills.

Without realizing it, Kenny's focus wavered. His skates lost their cadence, and his mind wandered as he watched you execute another flawless turn. He failed to notice the approaching sideboard in that split second of distraction.

Suddenly, reality snapped back into focus as Kenny collided hard with the sideboard, the impact jolting through his body. He winced in pain, clutching his shoulder where it had taken the brunt of the crash. His collision echoed through the rink, drawing your attention at last. 

Maybe it had been karma for hitting you so hard the night but good lord, he was hurting. "Are you okay?" You take out one headphone, sliding into a stop to watch him

"She speaks," He says, somewhat winded but his voice carries a teasing lilt. You just stare at him, waiting for a proper answer, not feeling pressure to push further for one. Kenny uses the sideboard to yank himself up, wiping the shavings from the ice off him and then looking at you "Yes, I'm okay."

You nod in the slightest, moving to put your headphones back in but in the seconds before it connects to your ear, he seized the moment.

"I'm Kenny."

"Yeah, I know."

"You know?" He asks, a lopsided smile on his face "How?"

"You're-" You pause, you didn't exactly know how to phrase it but you had seen him in the halls with his friends, screaming in the locker room, and hitting up girls. If anything, you were an observer, a wallflower as opposed to a Venus fly trap. 

"A whore?" He asks. You open your mouth to speak but close it right away, letting the words die in your throat "Oh, jeez, you really think I am?"

"I was going to say, you talk a lot" You say, politely. 

"Well, compared to you, yeah." He waits another beat for you to respond but is met with nothing but a blank stare. Kenny let out a breath, a little cloud escaping from his mouth "Nah, I get it, you're shy."

"I'm not shy," You say, feeling yourself cringe at the word. You hated when people called you that, they tended to be the same who treated you like a pet since you couldn’t fit a word in between their constant back and forth "I just like my-" You rack your brain for the right word "Aloneness." 

"Then I will leave you to your aloneness," He says, reaching back for his stick and turning away from you. Kenny weaved through invisible cones with the puck like he was actually practising with his team, focusing on control and precision. He kept his eyes up, forcing himself to rely on his peripheral vision to navigate.

You really didn't care what he did, without another thought you unpause your music and go back into your movements. You changed into a sit spin and sank yourself into a low squat without slowing down. Your arms made a graceful arc above your head, and your left leg extended in front of you, toes pointing. The sensation was both thrilling and disorienting as the ice whirled beneath you during the quick and low spin.

You changed into a layback spin as soon as you got out of the sit spin. Your back arched flawlessly, head tipped back, eyes closed, the ceiling of the rink a faraway haze. Your free leg was raised slightly behind you as your arms softly curved around your head. 

Finishing your spins, you took a moment to catch your breath, the music in your headphones guiding your next movements. From the corner of your eye, you see Kenny doing the exact opposite of what he said. He's staring at you from the other side. 

His eyebrows furrow deep, the way you twist and turn your body replaying in his mind on repeat until he notices you watching him, crossing your arms "How do you do your crossovers like that?"

You stare him dead in the eyes and point at your figure skates, a different type of blade entirely.

"Yeah, figure skates, I know but my crossovers are so clunky and yours are just- clean." He knew how you did yours, probably hours, weeks, and years of practicing longer and relentlessly than he did. Also, the fact you were trained for grace and agility while he was trained for speed and strength. He just wanted to dig for ways to get you to talk to him. 

"Show me how you do yours," you say, tone flat. "Forwards and backwards." 

Kenny took a deep breath, positioning himself on the ice. He started his crossovers, his movements stiff and deliberate. His knees were slightly bent, but his weight seemed unevenly distributed, causing his skates to scrape awkwardly against the ice semi-purposefully. He plays it up in hopes that you'll correct him. 

"First, bend your knees slightly- not too much. Keep your core engaged and your weight centred over your skates." 

Kenny bent his knees a bit more and adjusted his posture, arms out at his sides. "Like this?"

You bite your lip, wanting to cringe at his positioning though you were raised too well to do so. "I- Can I show you?"

"Be my guest," There it is, just what he was looking for. You skated to his side, demonstrating the correct posture. Kenny studies your form, attempting to mimic it "Better?"

"No," you said bluntly. "Not like that." With a sigh, you skated closer and placed your hands on his shoulders, adjusting them to be more relaxed. "Relax your shoulders. You're too tense."

Kenny's breath caught slightly at your touch, but he quickly tried to hide it. "This good?"

"Yup," you replied, moving your hands to his hips, guiding his posture. "Now, shift your weight over your skates, keep your core engaged. Feel the balance." Skating felt like the only thing you could talk about. Usually, you just didn't speak when you had nothing to say but skating gave you purpose. 

Your proximity made the air between you feel charged, and for a moment, Kenny forgot he was supposed to be pretending. "Alright, I think I've got it."

You step back slightly but still close enough to correct him if needed. "Now, when you cross one foot over the other, push off with the edges of your skates. It's about finding a fluid motion."

You showed off a couple of crossovers, and you moved with ease and fluidity. With elegance, your left foot crossed over your right, and you leaned slightly into the turn while keeping perfect balance.

Kenny tried again, this time paying more attention to your instructions. His movements were still awkward, but there was a noticeable improvement. He looked at you for validation.

"Better," you said, your tone softening slightly. "But you're still too stiff. Relax your upper body more." You placed your hands on his shoulders again, gently pushing them down. "Let your legs guide you."

Kenny nodded, feeling the warmth of your hands through his hoodie. He took a deep breath and tried again, bending his knees, relaxing his shoulders, and tilting into the turn. This time, his movements felt smoother and more controlled. He could feel the fluidity you had described, he didn't come into this actually intending to learn something but he stood corrected.

"Listen to your skating, if it looks like this," You sweep your leg back, pushing off the ice to demonstrate "And it sounds like that, you're using one leg, it should be two. You should hear the rip on the ice, go again."

Kenny does as told and you see him implementing what you had said "Looks good," you nod, already skating away to continue your routine. Kenny watched you for a moment, admiring your skill, feeling the lingering warmth of your touch.

He skated closer, a playful glint in his eyes. "I think I need a bit more help. You know, hands-on guidance really works for me."

You look back at him, putting your headphones in as you do so "I think you're fine." 

Every minute you spent on the ice that morning, you savoured it like you would never have it again. It was easy for you to ignore Kenny's staring, it was just like a miniature audience. Having eyes on you never hindered your performance and maybe that was why you found it so easy to ignore people.

Unfortunately, you had to leave the rink eventually. While you didn't mind school, you weren't thrilled for it- particularly the awkwardness that came about when you had to pick partners. Your grades weren't by any means perfect but you managed to keep your above water just enough to skate as often as you did. 

You begin the ritual of unlacing your pristinely kept skates, Kenny sitting on the bench across from you doing the same. You slip your shoes on, tucking your skates away and look up at him "Have you had breakfast yet?"

His head shot up, face lighting up. His lips curved into an easy, charming smile and you could understand how he drew so much attention without trying "No, do you wanna get some?"

"No," you said, curtly. 

"Oh," his face dropped but he still kept a staggered smile, watching you reach into your bag.

"Do you want these?" You pulled a box from your tote bag, holding it out to Kenny. "They're brownies, I made too many," That was only half true. You made a lot, figuring your stepdad would take them to work for the staff to munch on but he insisted that you should bring them to school and hand them out like high school students initiated friendships by passing baked goods back and forth.

"Don't you wanna give them to your friends?" Kenny asks and you shake your head. You had already set Mrs. Miller's brownie apart, wrapping it in parchment like you always did and most days you didn't see Craig until you skated at night. "Sweet," He muttered reaching over to take the box from your grip.

 "You can share them with your friends," You say slinging your duffle over your shoulder and holding your tote bag in hand. Kenny wasted no time digging into the brownies, he had the box on his lap one brownie in hand as he sunk his teeth into it. 

"Hell no, they don't deserve this," he says between bites "I'm keeping this to myself." 

There was always that little sense of pride when someone was enjoying what you baked. Usually, you would eavesdrop on your parents while they ate your baking to be sure they genuinely liked it. Kenny's reaction almost had you smiling. Almost. 

"Are you leaving already?" Kenny asked as you walked away, headphones back on and deaf to whatever he was saying "Okay, bye.”

A/N: I rewrote this a bajillion times and I’m still not happy with it but I don’t have the strength in me for another rewrite so here she is ✊

[namfinessed]

i have died - p.jm.

genre: angst, mild fluff (7.1k) royal au! (mentions of blood, fighting and all information might not be accurate to history.)

summary: jimin knows his queen has a heart, he's known it since he set eyes on her, even if rumours whispered that she was cold, calculated, merciless, jimin held on, his queen had a heart.

masterlist

-

to be a queen, was to be powerful, they said.

it was to be graceful yet stern, commanding but caring, soft but strong, beautiful but not so much, that it took away from your strength.

to be a queen, was to be miserable, you said.

you sat on your throne, with the burden of the world on your shoulders and not a touch from someone else to cure it or take it away. your arms stayed firmly on your lap as you tried to concentrate on your advisor’s words.

“war is upon us, your majesty, everyone’s saying it.” he gestured to the court filled with old men, greedy old men who were waiting for you to slip up.

“on what basis, did you make this conclusion?” you tried to stay calm, even if a shiver went down your spine and your hands started sweating.

you knew war was going to descend on your kingdom any day now, your parents warned out about it when you were still a kid, you had been preparing for this your whole life, but it didn’t stop the nightmares, chills, or fear. war would devastate your kingdom, it would run your people and resources dry and as the queen, you were expected to stop this devastation.

“do you not see what is happening in your kingdom, your majesty?” one of the old men sneered at you as their hands tweaked their mustaches and your patience almost gave out.

beside you, your general, park jimin, tightened his hand on his sword, ready to slay the man on your command. you lift a hand in his direction, showing a sliver of your patience, and he brings his hand back down.

“i do know about the riots and the grains,” you started, leaning forward, “i also know about the affairs.” you stared pointedly at the old man, whose eyebrow started sweating as you stood up.

“be careful with how you speak to me, or i will not hesitate to tie you up and throw you in the middle of a bloody riot.” you stormed out of the room with park jimin hot on your tail, concealing his smile and an audible hush resounded around you as you walked out to the barren land.

you weren’t known as the heartless queen for no reason, you were merciless, with whomever you deemed deserved to be treated that way and you knew it wasn’t fair, but as a queen, you could care less about being fair.

“should i ready the swords, your majesty?” jimin spoke and you nodded, turning and disappearing into a room to change. you hastily undid the layers of clothing you wore, feeling more and more air enter your chest as you stood naked in front of the long mirror covering the wall.

scars from many wars ago littered your chest, thighs, and arms, you wanted to pile on all the layers of your clothing back on your beaten body.

you pushed the layers away instead, a queen shouldn’t worry about battle scars, she should celebrate them. you got your armor and boots on, feeling better when everything was covered, and stepped out.

but a sight made you stop in your tracks.

across the practice field, were two lovers, oblivious to the world, hiding away from the world under a sheer curtain, the women were holding back their smiles as they stroked each other’s cheeks, leaning into each other but leaning away, as if a magnetic pushed them close and far. one of them reached out and kissed the other’s cheek, your hand instinctively reached to your cheek, unconsciously patting the area.

never a kiss.

never has a kiss ever touched your skin.

never has a touch from someone you loved, left a ghost on your skin, like your scars did.

across the practice field, jimin’s worried eyes saw your hands stroking your cheeks, his gaze followed your line of sight to see the poorly concealed lovers, his heart twisted as he watched you push your hands away and a grimace fell on your face. jimin had never seen a smile on his queen’s face but with the role you had, he knew you didn’t have much to smile about.

“your majesty, they are ready!” he yelled, capturing your attention, away from the lovers who brought tears to your eyes. your eyes snapped to his and the vulnerability disappeared, a hardness settled in them again and jimin wished that he let you stay lost in your vulnerability for a little more.

you grabbed your sword and protective gear, struggling to put on the headpiece as you always did, jimin stepped up and snapped it into place, it was the only thing you let him do for you.

and jimin looked forward to it every day.

you fell into a rhythm, jimin was a formidable opponent, never letting you be distracted for too long, which was relieving. the sounds of swords clanging, boots kicking the sand up, and heavy breathing drowned out everything else for you.

your eyes stayed laser-focused on jimin’s movements, they were natural, clean, and sharp, and so were his father’s.

you had known jimin your whole life when he was still just a kid and learning from his father, who was your father’s general, when he followed his mom around, who followed your mum around.

his parents weren’t alive now, nor were yours.

someday, you were ten years old, your parents had left for another town and never returned, and you had to be a queen while still not understanding what death was and why it had taken your parents, jimin’s parents protected you until an unknown disease took the two of them as well.

jimin’s sword hit yours, bringing you back to the present, where you had no one to love nor protect but jimin did, jimin always knew he would protect you.

you swung back, twisting your leg to bend and hit the armor covering his stomach, he recoiled at the contact and you smirked underneath your headgear. this continued, you played the dance of defense and offense, and soon, you ripped the headpiece to force some air into your body.

“i’ll be going now.” you walked out, without looking back and jimin nodded, dropping his sword, wordlessly watching you leave.

somewhere, between being a queen while still being a child and losing everyone you loved, you had forgotten to care for another person, and between protecting you since he was a teenager and losing everyone he loved, jimin had only grown more determined to care with all the heart in him.

that was the difference between you and jimin, you lost your heart and he gained a second one. and naturally, you two never spoke anymore but jimin had always wanted to tell you about his second heart, that it beat for you, even if it meant that his head would be at the end of your sword.

-

the talk of war kept spreading throughout the kingdom and your palace became louder, so did your heartbeat in your ears, so did your sword hitting jimin’s, and so did your internal cries for help.

you marked the map as you circled it, checking entries, exits, and secret pathways that could leave you vulnerable to the enemies.

“seal the exits, don’t allow goods transport till the next week, we will put up announcements when it can be resumed, station two guards at every secret route and give them our best guns, station one guard at each entry and exit, make sure meals reach them from time-to-time and distribute palace supplies to the people, without good transport, they won’t be making money” commands flowed easily out of you, you took every advisor’s bullshit advice and decided to ignore it at all, you came up with the most efficient plan you could.

“should we seal them tonight, your majesty?” jimin stepped forward and you nodded, “tonight would be best, we have to protect ourselves before we regret it. and later, i need to discuss battle strategies with you, keep that in mind.” jimin bowed to you and stepped back as the advisors argued with you.

he watched with a smirk as you calmly explained how miserable their plans were, he watched as you put all of them in their places and left the room, leaving the air of your power lingering in the room.

“she’s just as arrogant as her father” the same old man who had questioned your knowledge of the kingdom in the court, turns his nose up with a nasty sneer on his face. jimin feels his skin start to burn in anger when he hears the noises of agreement from the others.

“she’s even worse, at least her father was a capable ruler, she’s just arrogant and nothing else,” another one adds with a smirk, and everyone laughs at the comment, jimin wonders how you hold onto your patience with these men.

“she’s not even beautiful enough to be arrogant, did you see the scars covering her arms? no wonder she isn’t married” they continued to add snide comments, sipping their drinks and doing everything but be the advisors they are.

a slam on the wooden table startles them all, liquid jumping out of their cups and onto the floors, they all turn to see jimin’s eyes burning holes into them as his hands twitch on the table.

“one more word about our queen and i will personally wield the sword that chops your necks off.” jimin says calmly, though his fury is poorly contained. the advisors quirked an eyebrow at him, “who do you think you are? you are a general, not the queen’s lapdog, behave.”

another one piped up to reprimand him, “you are no one to lay a hand on any of us, learn your place, or we will make you.”

a dark chuckle bubbled out of jimin as he quickly realized if given the chance, he would take the lives of everyone in this room in a heartbeat, “my place is to serve her, so if i ever lay a hand on you, it wouldn’t be for me, it would be for my queen.”

the advisors grew wide-eyed at the storm-like fury that brewed in jimin’s eyes as he stared at them, jimin was known to be kind, friendly, and sweet around the court, but seeing him this way, had them all clearing their throats and looking away as a sheen of fear covered their faces, their eyes flickered from jimin to the sword that rested on his hips.

it would only take him a minute to kill them all and that knowledge had all of them gulping for air.

outside the room, you held your hand to your chest as a long breath released out of you, you never left since you heard the first comment from your advisors and even if it wasn’t supposed to hurt you, it did.

and you knew jimin didn’t have to say anything, you knew he could’ve just left the room, this was the first time anyone had ever stood beside you and not against you.

jimin opened the doors to see you beside them, eyes gazing up at him with concealed fondness, your face stayed cold and distant but jimin noticed the tiniest curve of your lips.

he remembers how you used to smile as a kid, wide and with teeth, dimples curved in as you ran around the palace, having your maids chase you around, he remembers the first time you had talked to him.

“get the swords ready, general.” you rush out of the area, leaving jimin a little startled but without another word, he follows you.

-

the sounds of your swords clanging brought you peace, as your chest slowly started to loosen up, though you had to admit that your focus wasn’t great, your eyes kept flickering to catch glimpses of jimin, hidden under his protective gear and your mouth kept opening to say something.

“you didn’t have to stand up to them, park jimin” you muttered, just loud enough for jimin to hear and his movements paused.

so, you had heard.

he was wishing that you hadn’t.

“i know, your majesty.” his arms lifted his sword again, but dropped it as soon as your sword hit the ground.

“then, why would you do it?” you hated the tremor in your voice, it was so unlike you, so unlike a queen.

“i don’t know, but i can’t think of anything else i would’ve done at the moment,” he removed his headpiece to see you, to see what you felt about his words.

you nodded with uncertainty, you expected him to say that as your general, it was his duty to defend you, you hadn’t expected anything more than that.

“i appreciate it,” you said breathily and jimin nodded back, his cheeks attaining a flush from both the cold wind gushing around you and also from your words.

i would do it again, by the way, even if my life is on the line.

he felt the urge to tell you as you turned away but then his eyes caught the royal emblem etched on your armor and he swallowed his words.

“i wasn’t always like this, general, i think you know that.” tears, that you couldn’t stop, lined your eyes as you thought back to the child that you were and the world that you had to grow up in, and jimin felt his chest fill with sorrow because he knew so well, knew more than you thought he did. “i know, your majesty, i know.”

you straightened your shoulders, any trace of vulnerability escaping your body as your advisors passed the field, all of their eyes analyzing and judging you.

“we still have to discuss those strategies, come.”

-

the rest of the night, you went over your defenses again and again, eyes catching fleetingly, accidentally, and then returning to the table with flushed cheeks, jimin was delighted to be so close, yet so far, from you.

and each time, your eyes met, you felt your heart beating again, you felt yourself wanting to say things that had nothing to do with the maps spread out in front of you.

“we knew each other before all this, didn’t we, park jimin?” before you became a queen, before you owned a kingdom, jimin was present in your distant memory, “you gave me flowers.” he smiled at you, images of your younger self flashing brightly in his mind.

“no! that can’t be true, general” a smile of disbelief curved on your face, you never looked at flowers, you couldn’t imagine any part of you that would gift someone flowers.

“oh, but you did, your majesty” jimin cheekily replied, making you shake your head and look away from him, trying to remember a time when you weren’t a queen.

but jimin remembers too clearly, how you had met, how your hands touched him for the first time, when it was all innocence and warmth.

it had been a hot, summer day.

jimin’s mother was busier than usual. it was the princess’s birthday and the entire palace was geared up to celebrate it grandly.

but jimin wasn’t happy at all. his eyes were hurting from the tears he had cried, his cheeks were firing up with heat as his body burned.

he was sicker than he had ever been and his mother couldn’t take care of him, her own eyes were filled with tears that she couldn’t take care of her child but she had duties to fulfill.

jimin sat in the garden, sniffling and pulling grass, refusing to listen to his mother’s request to stay inside as his cheeks puffed up with defiance.

then, he heard soft giggles falling from the corridors into the lonely garden.

he turned to see the princess, her hand in the queen’s, her other hand gripping tightly onto freshly picked jasmines, as she walked merrily, it was her birthday after all. and even as a kid, jimin couldn’t look away from the princess.

she was a joy to see, a joy to hear.

when the princess turned to look at him, to look at sad, pouty jimin, sitting by himself, picking the grass with tear-stained cheeks, jimin wouldn’t have guessed that she would run over to him. he wouldn’t have guessed that she would take the jasmines in her hand and place them above his ears.

“flowers are happy, you should be happy.” you had told him, with a dimpled smile, staring at him for a few seconds before running back to your mother, but he watched as you looked back at him till you left the corridor.

jimin felt the traces of love bloom in his heart for the first time.

now, he sees you, so tough and powerful and as his queen, but he remembers too well how you used to be and jimin fell for you then, unfortunately for him, he hadn’t gotten back up.

at some point in the night, the sleeves on your dress ride up and your eyes widen as you push them back down, you hurriedly look up to see if jimin has seen anything, you wait to see if his face twisted in disgust, but jimin only smiles, “you are so strong, your majesty. i wish i was more like you.”

he doesn’t speak about your tears.

or your scars.

or the fear on your face.

you know that he notices it all, but he doesn’t say a word.

you didn’t know that even if you weren’t the queen of the kingdom, you would still be jimin’s queen, hot or cold, kind or ruthless, heart or heartless, nothing could change that.

and jimin might have felt it when he was still a kid, but this was the first time, that something bloomed in your heart, you weren’t sure it was love, you were just sure that it was because of him.

-

weeks later, your kingdom was sealed, business halted and time as it was, didn’t move as you and your people prepared for the war.

tensions were high, and the kingdom got quieter as everyone waited for any news about their fate, you spent every minute with jimin, formulating and discussing plans that could bring you even a sliver of hope, and every minute, your heart unwillingly grew sprouts and flowers.

“hand over the kingdom to us and there will be no blood staining your land or else, your entire kingdom will drown.” your minister read the last sentence of the letter that was sent over to you that morning and you tried to resist the chill crawling on your back.

but you knew who it was from, a much more prosperous kingdom, a much more powerful kingdom with a king, not a queen, not like your weak kingdom.

you were powerful and you have won many wars but your opponent has colonized several countries at a time so realistically, your chances of surviving his quest were slim to none.

jimin eyed your tightening fists with a glint of worry and concern as your minister hung his head, solemn from the words he just read, “what do we say, your majesty?”

you knew the gravity of your decision here, you could either abandon your land and people, hand them over to a stranger, and not look back, because you knew even if you fought back, you would be weaker, you would lose.

but you also couldn’t turn your back on your people, your father and mother wouldn’t have done that, they wouldn’t have handed your people over, and they would have fought with everything they had.

sometimes, you just wish they would be beside you, gently guiding and firmly telling you what to do. sometimes, you wanted to crawl on your mother’s lap and cry until you couldn’t, sometimes, you just wanted your father’s hand on your head, telling you to be brave.

but your wishes remained wishes, hard decisions had to be solely made by you, whether you liked it or not.

“tell them, they will be the ones drowning, not us.” you feigned the confidence you knew your court needed, and seeing everyone’s face light up as their loud cheers echoed in your court, made it easy for you to say it, even if you knew it wasn’t true.

you would drown.

and never float back up.

all because you couldn’t be the queen your people needed.

you told yourself, that it was justified to give false hope to people whose hope was weathering, it was justified to lie to your court while knowing it would be gone in flames later, it was justified to fake your power for the flicker of relief that passed over their faces.

but jimin’s eyes stayed on your knuckles that turned white, your eyes that seemed dazed and he knew you were lying, his hand rested on his sword as he realized that the cheering people, were all waiting for their deaths.

-

“your majesty, a moment of your time.” jimin stayed outside the door until he heard your voice, allowing him in. you were sitting at the edge of your cot, chest heavy and breathing caught in your body.

“forgive me, your majesty, but you and i both know that you were lying.” he spoke, with confusion lacing his voice, you were always honest, you never lied for the sake of making someone feel better. “about what, general?” he didn’t recognize the strange, lifeless tone your voice had taken.

“that we are going to survive the quest.” jimin knew as much as you did, that your kingdom would be run to the ground, even if he thought you were the strongest of them all, he knew your kingdom would fall.

“we are going to survive it,” you lied through your teeth.

“we’re all going to die” jimin didn’t know why he was arguing with you, but he couldn’t help it, this was the first time his queen had lied and he needed to know why.

“oh general, i have died a long time ago” you laughed bitterly, your stomach twisting at your words, you felt sick, trapped in yourself, trapped in this palace that gave you all of the power but none of the relief that came with love. his gaze softened as, for the first time, tears flowed down your face like a river, as sobs escaped your chest without restraint, as you sunk to the floor with your hands tightly wrung the bedding.

you had died the day your parents didn’t come back, you had died when they placed a heavy crown on your tiny head as a kid, you had died when the sprinkle of someone else’s blood fell on your face, you had died when the people you fought for called you heartless.

you had died more times than you could count, one more time, even if it was for real this time, didn’t shake you at all.

it was dying without a touch of love decorating your skin, that truly scared you. you wished for a touch that wouldn’t unravel you but would hold you together, the way even a riptide, as dangerous as it is, longs for a shore to embrace, you want just a touch.

jimin should leave, his duty wasn’t this, his duty wasn’t to console a broken queen but jimin never stayed by your side as a duty, he stayed because it was where he belonged.

jimin sunk to his knees, his hands trembling to touch you, to let you lay on him and let years of your tears run down his chest, but he doesn’t want to be at the end of your sword, he wants to be at the end of your bed, watching you while you sleep and protecting you from the nightmares that plague you.

and then you surprise him.

jimin’s breath halts as he watches you reach for him, one frail hand in the air that beckons him closer and he follows wordlessly, sitting beside you and watching as your head finds his lap. you melt into his lap, fingers falling away from your body to hug his legs, a soft hum leaves your lips and jimin’s urge to protect you increases exponentially.

it's been a while since he has seen his queen be herself, and he knows as you grasp onto him for affection, that this was you finally giving up on maintaining an image, at least in front of him.

he slowly places a hand on your back, unsure if he was allowed to touch you the way you touched him, but you only bury your tear-stained cheeks into his legs and jimin relaxes, letting his hands travel on your back, his hands burned with love as he rubbed circles on your skin that coaxed more cries out of you, but this time, they weren’t out of pain, they were out of the relief of finally being touched with love.

“jimin,” you called out, so softly even if your voice dried out from the tears, so intimately that jimin wanted to curl up to you and forget everything else, “yes?”

no general.

no park jimin.

just jimin.

“i didn’t lie because i wanted to, the kingdom will die long before the war gets here, if i don’t lie, they need to hold onto something as we go into the war, they need to believe that they can survive to even fight.” and jimin sees it, the heart that your people denied that you had, you had thought of them before anything else and he smiles to the ceiling.

“after everything goes, you will be remembered as the greatest ruler our kingdom has ever seen,” he speaks sincerely, as his hands caress the lengths of your hair, which lulls you, your heart warms but you know it wasn’t true, “no one would remember me.”

“i would, in death and life, i will.”

you hadn’t expected to be satisfied with his answer but somehow, that was more than enough of you.

you always wished for a touch to make you feel loved, to make you feel anything but jimin’s words alone held you together and for the first time, you bore a heart that was heavier than you were, a heart that dragged you down, pulled you down and forced you to accept its size.

and you loved the enormity of affection you felt, especially that it was for the man who held you so gently even if he had seen you at your strongest.

“your majesty, i have a confession.”

“i think i know what you are going to say,” you might not have cared for other people, but you did notice things, you noticed the lingering looks jimin would give you, the smile that would grow on his face whenever you put your advisors in their place, the way his tone changed to something softer only when he talked to you, you had noticed it all.

you felt the same, maybe not as long as he had, but melted against him, you knew you wouldn’t feel this way for anyone else, except the person who stood by and protected you for so long.

“but if you allow me, i still want to say it.” you peered up from his lap with an amused smile, your general was more romantic than you had thought him to be, and jimin hadn’t thought your smile could be any more beautiful than it was in his dreams, but it was.

“you are allowed,” you face him, cheeks flushing and hands trapping his, “i love you, i’ve loved you since i knew what love was.”

you were only just learning love, as your skin touched his, as you sunk further into him, as you felt cocooned by his presence, as you felt his unwavering love for you through his touch but even if it was just now, you knew you felt the same.

but you couldn’t bring yourself to say the words, as a queen, were you allowed to profess love for someone else? with a war approaching, did you deserve to love as your kingdom ran to devastation?

you couldn’t say it, you couldn’t allow yourself the luxury.

you just nudged further into jimin’s body, squeezing his hand as a silent way of professing, ‘i feel the same, in my heart that’s beating after a long time, i feel what you do and i will tell you, i will tell you soon.’

jimin sighs in relief, his skin growing warm as your hands desperately try to tell him what your mouth can’t and he allows his body to drape over you, hands caressing your dress and brushing your hair away from your cheeks.

“i understand, my queen, i will wait.”

-

that night, everything changed for you, you had felt so defeated before the war even started but here you were, days later, hitting swords with jimin once again, a new kind of determination drummed in your attacks, you had to win the war, you had to be with jimin.

“your majesty, i’m afraid you are getting distracted,” jimin teases you as his sword nears your throat, with an amused scoff, you pull back to drag your sword on the ground and drive it up to the back of his head, “apparently, not as much as you, general.”

you both spent every quiet night together, in each other’s arms, in each other’s words and he professed his love to you every single day, even if you didn’t say it back, and he reminded you that your heart hadn’t died, it had just hidden away, but he certainly had wedged himself into it and it seemed to you that he would never leave.

jimin raises his sword in surrender, a chuckle leaving his lips once he sees you grin widely at his defeat.

“you are enjoying this too much,” he tuts at you, “i’m still your queen, jimin” you playfully scold him and he rolls his eyes at you, “and i’m still your general, your majesty.” he tips his invisible hat with a shit-eating grin and leaves you, flustered in the middle of the ground as he walks away to greet some new members of the army.

what was this feeling that consumed you, as your eyes refused to look away from his retracting figure?

a fluttering sense of calm danced around you, your usually restless heart had taken a steady, loud rhythm and you loved the world right now.

you felt as if everything was alright, as if the skies were always blue, as if the flowers always bloomed, as if you could fight a war and win it, just to keep this moment alive.

“your majesty!” a shrill voice broke your dreamy thoughts, and your head snapped to see your minister rushing down the hallway to reach you. you hold your arms over his shoulders to steady him as he breathes heavily.

“careful, minister.” he shook his head at your words, eyes pinching shut as he panted.

“they’ve gotten in, your majesty.”

and just like that, the feeling of victory faded from you.

“what are you talking about?” you couldn’t recognize how tight your voice sounded, how your hands twitched involuntarily to your sword, and how the air in your chest knocked out of you.

not now.

not so soon.

“we sealed every exit, minister, that is not possible” you desperately tried to dissuade what he was trying to tell you, he solemnly shook his head, “one of our own turned on us, they gave them entry into our kingdom, and several civilians were beheaded just a few minutes.”

your blood boiled.

for a minute, your eyes saw complete red as your hands shook beside your body, “how many, minister?” your voice didn’t contain your fury, nor your heartbreak.

“hundred and twelve, as of now, your majesty.”

in that minute, you knew you could slay an entire kingdom if you wanted to, you knew that if you were let loose, not a single soldier would be able to keep up with you. your people were supposed to be the last ones to get hurt, you were supposed to be protecting them and you failed.

“i’m assuming, the traitor has been caught?”

“yes, your majesty.” your minister’s eyes widened in fear as you pulled your sword out, “show him to me.”

-

that night, you scrubbed someone else’s blood off your face, and frustrated tears lined your eyes but the red never seemed to disappear, as you kept washing, more and more took its place, and soon, you gave up on getting it off, you had to accept that a part of you will always be stained with their blood.

the blood served as a reminder of the people you couldn’t save.

you had spent the evening, preparing for the war that would start tomorrow, it was finally declared by your opponent in another mocking letter, and providing aid to the families who lost their loved ones, each of their cries rang loudly in your ears even if hours passed.

water droplets dripped down your face as you sat once again, defeated before the war began, at the edge of your bed, but this time, a knock at your door filled you with relief.

jimin came in, exhausted as well, but his eyes zeroed on the red covering your arms and face, without a word, he took a washcloth, dipped it in water, and sat beside you.

his fingers nudged your hair away from your face and slowly, patiently, patted the blood away, shushing you as you broke down in tears in the middle.

that night ended in jimin’s arms, with a clean face and a lighter heart.

both of you didn’t know what would happen the next day, you just knew that you had to survive for each other.

-

“line up!” jimin’s yell filled the courtyard and all the soldiers jogged across it to surround him, “you all are aware, going in today, of the severity of the situation and what it could lead to, but i trust that my soldiers will still give their best, we all have homes to return to, keep that in mind. let it serve as a motivation for you to win this, help your fellow soldiers, and keep your focus.”

all of them were nervous, all of them had left home saying their final goodbyes to their families in case they never returned, but all of them also believed in their general and his words, rapid nods came as a response from them and they started preparing themselves mentally.

jimin gestured for them to move along and they all started embracing each other, comforting words poured into the space and they soon moved away to disperse.

in your changing room, your hands slid down the scars that covered you, after today, you were sure there were going to be even more, but somehow, you didn’t mind it as much. your maids placed the armor on you, tightening it around your body and you bit back a groan.

you didn’t know how many more of these wars you could fight.

suddenly, they all shuffled away, leaving the room, causing you to turn around, confused at their actions, only to see jimin entering the room.

“i don’t know why they ran away,” he said with comically raised eyebrows and you bit back a grin, “i’m sure they must have seen you leave my quarters in the morning.” his head fell back with a laugh as he stepped closer to you.

“that can’t be, i’m so discreet, like a ninja, you know?” you rolled your eyes at him, “you broke three vases just two days ago, jimin.” he kissed your temple as another laugh bubbled out of him, “maybe i’ll learn along the way.”

“maybe you will.”

you sighed as both of your smiles slipped, there was no telling if there was a way anymore but believing that there was, it was all you could do.

“how are the soldiers?” your eyes bore into his similar, armor-clad body that came up behind you in the mirror.

“just right, your majesty, don’t worry.” his arms came up to wrap around your body and your hands rested on his arms, a shuddering breath left your mouth as the gravity of today settled in even more.

maybe there won’t be a way, maybe you will never get to hold jimin like this again.

“before we go jimin, i want to tell you, like all of them, you have me, a home and i need you to come back for me,” that was the closest you could get to professing your love, your words were pleading, begging, even if your face was passive. jimin shakes his head, his hair rubbed onto your neck as he exhaled, “we both need to come back, i’m not letting this end here.”

after minutes passed of just being enveloped in each other’s warmth, you wished you could just ignore the war and stay in this room forever, with jimin, you wished you could ignore the possibility of losing him but the loud roars of your soldiers marching to the battlefield reminded you of who you were doing all of this for.

you were the queen, jimin was the general, and both of you had duties that couldn’t keep you locked in this room.

so, with a pained heart and arms that longed for each other even if only seconds passed, you both parted to step away from each other.

jimin reached for your headgear, taking his time to brush your hair and slip it on your head, the one thing you always let him do for you and you held back your tears as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. you reached for his hands and kissed the back of them, your tears soon fell on them and jimin’s resolve started breaking.

but he sniffed, pushing himself away and wiping your tears, “are you ready, my strongest queen?” he held out his hand with a wide, albeit painful smile on his face.

you put your hand in his, trying to stay strong, “whenever you are, general.”

and as you two stepped out, the warmth of his skin spread on you, his head dipping down to give you one final smile that was filled with his ever-growing love.

you felt scared that you might never see it again.

“i love you, your majesty.”

i love you unbelievably more.

“there will be a royal wedding to get ready for after this, be prepared, general.”

-

jimin winced as sand clouded his vision, he swung his sword aimlessly, hoping to catch his opponent, his ears were ringing from all the screams of agony around him, and when the blood splattered on his face, another scream rang much louder in his ear, causing him to look away.

another soldier who wouldn’t go home.

he whipped his head around, trying to catch sight of you in the midst of all the chaos, and after ducking and running under everyone around him, while slaying whoever he could in the way, he finds you.

a soldier fell at your feet and you took a huge breath, while looking around, only to catch jimin’s impressed face, you both smiled at each other, with red dripping down on your faces.

there was a chance.

you could win this and go back home to each other.

but soon, jimin got pushed into the chaos, and another, darker cloud of sand dusted across his face, forcing him to stand straight and attack again. he couldn’t see you again but he knew you were giving it your all, so he busied himself.

only a few more.

and he would be back with you.

-

they told him that you killed the most.

that you had fought bravely, and led your kingdom to victory.

that you were the queen that they would love and celebrate, even if centuries pass.

but how could jimin love and celebrate you, when he couldn’t hold you in his arms?

when your body was carried into the palace, it had taken everything in jimin to not set the entire palace on fire. to him, a palace without you, alive and breathing life into the building, was not a palace at all.

people held him when he cried, when he wanted to drive his sword into himself, when he would try to shake your body back to life, when he wouldn’t move away from your body, people put their arms around him and tried to lift him up.

but none of them could console him, all the promises you both had dreamed about vanished in front of his eyes and he blamed every single one of them, if they weren’t so harsh on you, if they didn’t call you heartless, you wouldn’t fight till death to prove that you did indeed have a heart, that you indeed had the biggest one.

jimin didn’t have too long to mourn, soon, the heavy crown was positioned on his head, they told him that it was your last request for him to look after the kingdom you had left behind, and once it was on him, he realized the weight you carried around your whole life, since you were only a kid.

they pulled all kinds of royal clothes on him, the materials itched, they burnt his skin, and the gold threads dug into his neck, as if the clothes were his own prison.

as he was made king, the kingdom rejoiced, they were finally getting a king, a true ruler, in their words, and jimin laughed in all their faces, their history would only have one true ruler, and it was you. no one could do what you did.

the throne felt wrong to jimin, as if he didn’t belong, but he knew this was what you wanted for the kingdom you loved so dearly, and jimin would always serve your needs.

he wished, as you had, for you to come and hold him when he had hard decisions to make, he wished to melt into your lap one last time to feel the warmth that ran away from him, he wished that you were right beside him, gently guiding and caring for him.

but he was left with only the ghost of your touch, that would forever haunt him.

jimin still got up every day, he put on the heavy crown and the irritating clothes and listened to the same blubbering idiots, the way you had, and he tried his best to be the ruler you were.

but at night, he crumbled away, dreaming of your touch and your love as he hugged your headgear closer.

jimin’s dreams remained dreams.

[rollofleaf]

Gorgeous art of Arueshalae and Hilde by @darkergrey ! I adore both their designs and the emotion in the scene is sooo good! I also wrote a short little thing for the scene this inspired.

“Wait, Hilde. Before your decision becomes final… Look me in the eye. Please.” Arueshalae worked up the courage to stand, it felt like pushing a mountain off her back.

Nocticula hissed out, “Arueshalae, shut your whorish mouth…” Her claws came out, and the succubus brought all of her willpower to bear against the order for her to kneel.

Suddenly, light chased away the oppressive demand of the Abyss as Iomedae spoke. “Allow her to speak. Or do the words of one succubus frighten you so, Lady in Shadow?” The faintest hint of a smirk tugged at the goddess’s lips as Nocticula clicked her tongue and fell silent.

Arueshalae felt Nocticula’s threatening gaze on her, and Iomedae’s judgmental stare. She didn’t belong with either of them. But neither did Hilde. She finally realized. She and Hilde were the same. She had been where Hilde was going, they were both halfway on the precipice between the Abyss and Elysium. Only she was rising, slowly but surely, and Hilde was descending. No matter what the skald said, no matter what she believed, if she kept going she would become as horrible as Arueshalae used to be.

Hilde slowly turned to look at Arueshalae. Her eyes were sorrowful, her voice soft and timid. The succubus spoke, forcing each word out. “You’ve done so much for me, Hilde. You’ve helped me find my dreams and make peace with my nightmares… Desna showed me the path away from evil, but you are the one who showed me the path towards good. And after all you’ve done for me, I… I just can’t accept that you’re going to become a monster of the Abyss!”

“Arueshalae, I… I’m not. I’m using this for good. Why can’t you… Why can’t anyone see that? I’m fixing the Worldwound! I’m doing more than any holy-blooded crusader has in a century!” Anger and indignation crept into her voice, falling away as she saw the crestfallen look on Arueshalae’s face.

“You said that before these powers, your rage was like a graceful trance. Every battle was a delicate hymn woven with sword and magic, a terrifying yet beautiful prayer to Gorum. Can you truly say it’s the same now? I see how you are when the demon comes out. There’s no joy, no elegance, no awe, only rage and hate. Every time you indulge it, it grows stronger. And you manage to turn it towards good ends, because you’re so wonderful and so strong like that, but how long can that last? You yourself asked me to tell you if you started to lose yourself. Hilde, I am telling you that you are losing yourself.”

Her hand took Hilde’s gently, squeezing with delicate burning fingers. The demon snarled at the upstart succubus, did she truly believe her own delusions of good? Hilde forced it down, biting back any venom that might be directed at Arueshalae. But she still couldn’t… “I can’t just… Give it up. Maybe I am becoming a monster, but I’m too far-“

“No, you’re not. You can always turn back. You can always choose to be better. You showed me that. Back… Back then, you said that you loved me…” Her voice dimmed, terrified to let out the words before she gathered her courage and nearly shouted. “I need you to know that I love you too! Let everyone know, gods, mortals, and demons, I love you, Hilde! And it’s breaking my heart to see this happen to you. Please, free yourself of the Abyss, I’m begging you! I’ll help, I’ll be there for you! Like you helped me…”

The words hit Hilde like a thunderbolt, nearly staggering her back. Arueshalae… Loved her? Tears welled in the skald’s eyes, flowing down her bloodstained cheeks. She glanced down at her hand, clutched in Arueshalae’s. Arueshalae was right. She hadn’t even realized how far she’d gone. And she was hurting her friends, her crusade, and the woman she loved. If she kept going, there would be no turning back. She was trying so hard to help Arueshalae be better, she had forgotten to do the same herself. What a fool she was…

Hilde began to laugh softly, then broke into crying. Her voice was shaky as she calmed herself and spoke, squeezing Arueshalae’s hand back, “You… You’re right, Arueshalae. You’re right. I’m sorry. For everything. You deserved an azata or an angel. Not a demon…” She slowly let go of Arueshalae’s hand and turned back to Iomedae and Nocticula. “I’m sorry, I…” She let out a brief sob and wiped her eyes. “Iomedae… I’ll accept your help. Tell me how to strip myself of these powers and cleanse myself of the Abyss’s influence.”

[gayciate]

Cool Color Kids + Pokemon Parter HC's

Oughgghhh mashing more fixations together like dolls...

Isabela Madrigal

✨ Shiny Serperior | Nature: Adamant | Hidden Ability: Contrary

+ Graceful and sleek, Serperior is a classic 'mon with a regal air of beauty around it + Boasting a rare shiny variant I think would suit how propped up and admired Isabela is in the community + I see one possibly loaded down with a more passive, appealing set like Sweet Scent and Synthesis pre What Else Can I Do and branching into more offensive and experimental moves like Frenzy Plant and Leaf Storm after! + A little bit snooty, it tends to turn up its nose and glare at people who approach its trainer. I think it may intimidate away some unwanted attention, much to Isabela's relief + I can also see her with a Roserade or Petilil that eventually evolves into a Hisuian Lilligant! She seems like she may enjoy raising a variety of grass-types and I like to think she probably has a little nursery greenhouse area for them!!! + I think she'd also end up liking Cacturne (part dark) and Carnivine (not what would be considered "beautiful")

Luisa Madrigal

Mudsdale | Nature: Gentle | Ability: Stamina

+ A sturdy old gal, Mudsdale seemed almost too easy for Luisa - it's just so perfect for evolving from the donkey pokemon Mudbray and having the ability Stamina + I feel like Luisa would do very well to have such a strong and reliable buddy with her! It's both useful and calm-tempered, good to help her work and good to just relax with after a hard day's work

"It spits a mud that provides resistance to both wind and rain, so the walls of old houses were often coated with it." "Mudsdale has so much stamina that it could carry over 10 tons across the Galar region without rest or sleep." + I mean just look at those dex entries man...

+ Luisa feels like she'd connect with an overworked old horse and take it in, maybe even become softer on herself sometimes seeing that even this actual beast of burden needs rest and gentle care to thrive + I don't see her training a lot of pokemon, but I do see her devoting a ton of time to each one she does. She may specialize a bit with Ground, Rock, and Fighting but don't see her being all that picky with types! + I just want to draw a big giant Mudsdale sleeping soundly with Luisa leaning on its side taking a nap really

Mirabel Madrigal

Cosmog | Nature: Hardy | Ability: Unaware

+ Unusual and not fully understood, it's a pokemon with a lot of potential that may initially be clocked as having little power or use + I can definitely see Mirabel having a soft spot for pokemon that are deemed powerless or otherwise underestimated and taking in any weird ones cast aside + I don't see her having any hard type bias and raising pokemon as day-to-day companions more than anything else + Cosmog is also a naturally curious and explorative little fella who can teleport around and keep up with Mirabel's energy - I definitely see the two of them getting into all sorts of hijinks everywhere + The unaware ability actually just ignores the opponent's stat boosts and attacks directly through them - something that maybe parallels how Mirabel pushes through everything stacked against her? Maybe more of a stretch, I just think that Mirabel running around with a little cosmog in her bag is extremely cute + Can also absolutely 100% see Mirabel having an Eevee - absolute classic and certified perfect for anyone with an arc where they're trying to see/find themself

[lavender-romancer]

Crosses on my body

Part Two  Tommy Shelby x Reader 

You were a nun in Dublin but when you decided to take action against those in powerful positions in the church you had to escape. When you turn up in Birmingham and begin a relationship with Tommy Shelby will he be able to protect you from your past? 

”*°•.˜”*°•. ˜”*°•. ˜”*°••°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”˜

previous part

"Jesus, our Lord. If you're there…why do you hide from me?" You knelt beside your bed with your hands clasped together. "Grant that I never lose sight of the ugliness of sin, the glory of Christ, the beauty of holiness, or the wonder of grace. Help me to seek you every morning with heart, soul, mind, and strength. In Jesus' name. Amen." 

As you climbed into bed you thought over your evenings with Tommy. You had been to the church every evening together for 7 days now. Each time you either taught him how to pray or you would kiss him to see if you would be smited. The more Tommy told you about himself the more you became convinced he was consumed by evil. But evil you could save him from. Tommy said that you had been sent to save him, but you had to find salvation for yourself first. 

You were walking down to the crypt of a church, you assumed this was a dream but they often felt so real it was hard to know. The air was crisp against your skin, making your hair stick up. When you reached the bottom of the stairs you saw some of your sisters. 

"Sister Marianne! It's so good to see you," you exclaimed and she turned around with a horrified look. 

"What did you do!" She screamed. 

"I didn't do anything!" You took a step back and she moved towards you, eyes turning black as she threw you against the wall. Her face twisting into a horrifying amalgamation of darkness and blood. 

"What have you done!" Her voice boomed.

You were suddenly surrounded by a circle of your sisters from Dublin, they were chanting something with their heads bowed moving around you. As you stepped back trying to get away from them you tripped over and saw Father Thomas' bleeding body, his neck slashed. Lying in a pool of his own blood you started screaming and crawled backwards but the faceless nuns pushed you towards him. 

"You thought you could escape didn't you!" He screamed before getting on top of you and choking you. "You have sinned! Repent or you shall suffer in the bowels of hell!"

You could feel the life draining out of you, your eyes fluttering shut, his eyes were crying blood and he had this smile. This bone chilling coolness about this smile that made you terrified to keep your eyes open. No matter how much you struggled you were held down, he was too overpowering- you couldn't fight it. 

Waking up with a scream you began sobbing uncontrollably, holding and rocking yourself back and forth. 

"Lord God, I pray for your protection as I begin this day. You are my hiding place, and under Your wings I can always find refuge. Protect me from trouble wherever I go, and keep evil far from me. Amen." You recited the prayer that you had had to use so many times back in Dublin. So many times having asked the Lord for protection and so many times your prayers had not been fulfilled. How were you to trust in the Lord when he couldn't even protect you in your dreams? But it was all you had. Catholicism had been in your world since you could remember so even if it was all placebo or you were seeing things that weren't there, you needed faith. You had no one else who would care for you the same way, not anymore anyways. Anyone back in Dublin willing to help you was long gone by this time. 

"Do you feel it coming back yet?" Tommy asked as you knelt in front of Mother Mary praying your rosary. "The faith I mean. Or is your crisis over,? 

"I had a nightmare. Last night…about my old life. It looks like God won't even protect me from that regardless of all my confession work. I don't know what to think anymore, but I can't let go." You looked up at Thomas siting on the pew and sighed, still clutching your rosary you stood up and sat next to him. 

"What was the nightmare about?" 

"Things you won't understand, but mostly demon, devil based horror. I feel like something is following me around at all times. Some kind of being with a nefarious purpose." You started biting the skin around your thumbnail. 

"I'm sure I would understand." Tommy said quietly.

"There's things I can't quite trust you with yet. In time I'm sure I will. But revealing my deepest secrets to you would not be wise." You made the sign of the cross with your crucifix and ended your prayer with a few minutes of meditation. 

"You can trust me," Tommy said later when he was walking you back to your lodgings.

"How do I know that?" You asked with your arms crossed. 

"Because I can also reveal a secret to you, I've probably got the longest list in Birmingham. Mutually assured destruction is the best start to companionship." Tommy blew out a cloud of smoke that you watched rise up into the air, dissolved into the night sky. "My mother used to tell me smoke made the stars, possibly to explain why my father smoked the amount he did." 

"Is that your secret?" You asked. 

"Nah, just a story. My secrets are more sinister than that, I know you're hiding something but I can't imagine it's sinister in nature." Tommy seemed to underestimate you entirely which made it all the more entertaining that you held the cards in the conversation.

"I think you think too little of me and my past." You smiled at him.

"Perhaps. But I've known women like you, shrouded in secrecy that I can't quite seem to figure out until it's too late for me." He stopped and leant against a brick wall, looking you up and down with a gaze that penetrated into your mind. 

"Is that what your wife was like?" You weren't sure if the question was too personal for him to answer. 

"She was deception based from the start, but one way or another we fell for each other." Tommy looked glassy eyed, you couldn't picture this being the type of man who would cry but honesty would catch anyone off guard. 

"I'm sure I'll reveal my secrets to you, someday. But not now." You carried on walking past Tommy and he ran his tongue across his bottom lip before walking after you. 

"But truth will set you free, as you've probably said before to some lost soul" Tommy joked and you smiled. 

"That's true. But some secrets can put you in harm's way and…I don't trust anyone truly. Life's safer that way." Your expression was subtly sad but Tommy noticed. 

"I only trust my family and even then there's some exceptions. Having no allies isn't the way to go." Tommy stopped and he stood closer to you. 

"Are you proposing an allyship?" You whispered looking up into his eyes. 

"Perhaps. You light my cigarette, I'll light yours and so on."  Tommy held out a cigarette and placed it between your lips, a confusing look on his face before he used his hand to shield the air and lit it.  

"That's sounding horrendously suggestive, Mr Shelby." You breathed smoke up into the air, still uncertain on what the lack of distance between the two of you meant. 

"Does the suggestiveness scare you?' Tommy asked in a low raspy voice. 

"You don't know anything about my inclination for suggestiveness." You smiled and turned on your heel. "I'll see you tomorrow, Thomas." 

Tommy watched as you faded into the darkness, just as secretively as you had arrived. 

The following morning you woke to an insistent knocking at your front door, it woke you up with a start (memories flooding back of the early mornings at the convent). You approached the door cautiously, holding a knife out in front of you.

"Who's there?" you called out.

"It's your landlady," the slightly familiar voice called. "I'm sorry miss, there's a woman here insistent on seeing you." It felt like the blood had drained from your face at the possibility of it being someone from Dublin.

"W-what does she want? What does it entail?" your voice was panicked and stuttering.

"Have I done wrong, miss? She said you would know her, a Theresa O'Sullivan." The landlady's words echoed in your mind and your eyes began to water, you put down the knife and unlocked the door.

"I'm sorry," You told her. "I was anxious about who the visitor was but you can send her up." You smiled at her and she nodded.

The following knock at your door was timid, so as to not disturb but alert you of their presence. You almost jumped up as your eyes began to water before flinging open the door and enveloping her in a hug.

"Theresa!" you laughed as she held you close.

"It's been so long my dear friend," She said close to your ear.

"How have you been? How's life out of the community, whereabouts are you these days?" You asked as you sat down with her and a pot of tea.

"I'm in the south at the moment, I'm married now and we run a church community now," she paused. "I heard noises. The community is small but we have connections in Ireland so... there are little bubbles of noise every now and then." she paused in a seemingly uncomfortable way.

"I mean, I can assume what they said but what did you hear?" You asked timidly.

"That there was a murder," she paused and looked down at her hands which began to shake. "And... and that there were things that were stolen I'm not sure what. But then I heard whispers about you and I knew I had to find you."

"And you think it's me?" you asked.

"I know you had ideas, I haven't told anyone if you're worried about that I just needed to know you were safe." She reached out and touched your hands. "Y/n, are you safe."

"As safe as you can be after you've done what I have. Tell me about everything, please. Take my mind off it." you squeezed her hands with a smile.

"I have a husband, I met him about three years after leaving Ireland and we've been blessed with three children so far. It's a quiet village with a town hall and a church, not much else, I can see you've taken well to a busy city though." She smiled and you nodded.

"I needed a change, anyway I could so I found a job first and this was the easiest one with the least questions involved. I'm so glad you're safe, I never heard from you and I was so worried." You reached forward and touched her face "But you're here and you're alive."

"We both made it out, remember that. We're both safer now. Don't look back, don't look away just move forward and escape as far as you can." Her eyes began to water. "Because if they come for you, you're dead and no one can protect you or save you from them."

"What do you mean?" your heartbeat began picking up.

"They came for me when I was in Liverpool, I had no one and nothing. No one helped me because I didn't know who to trust but then I revealed too much at confession and they came for me." she paused, her breath faltering and hitching.

"Theresa, what happened?" You said sternly gripping her hand.

"They did this," She pulled up her dress and showed a deep scar on her right leg then pulled up her shirt and showed a long scar from the top of her ribcage diagonally down towards her navel. It was dark and twisted near the bottom.

"Who?" Your hands began to shake as Theresa pulled down her shirt.

"Father Thomas' messengers, they assumed I'd escaped revealing their secrets but I just wanted to escape so they tortured me before I escaped once more," She smiled. "I'm glad you killed the bastard when you had the chance."

"What they did to you... should I be running further?" you asked, feeling your throat tighten.

"There's nowhere you can run that's far enough to outrun them. We are some of the only survivors of their horrific system and I hope you tear it all down." She reached over and hugged you tighter than before.

"We are united, you and I. In sickness and in health like a fucking marriage alright. I will make sure everyone knows what we witnessed and they won't escape it. None of them." You held her by the shoulders and smiled through your tears.

"Say a prayer with me, for strength." Theresa smiled at you and you both began in silent prayer to save each other from your past and your enemies.

next part Peaky blinders taglist: @queenofkings1212 @severewobblerlightdragon @cl5369 @fairypitou @stressedandbandobessed7771 @shadow-of-wonder @hipsternoionlylikeunicorns @curled-hair-red-lips @lucystivinsky1315

[warabidakihime]

Heart's Refuge

Characters: Bakugou x Reader Synopsis: In your eyes, I found a refuge from the chaos of the world, a place where I could rest my weary heart and discover the beauty of love. Content warning: none A/N: was feeling kinda icky so i gave birth to this lol. hope it'll comfort some of you too. love u. <3

-

The night at U.A. High grew quiet, swallowing the usual teenage energy into an eerie hush. Even Bakugou's dorm room, usually a mess of activity, was eerily still. He sat under a single lamp, worry gnawing at him like a persistent itch.

You'd left for your parents' place earlier, promising to be back before lights out. But as the clock ticked, his unease grew into a restless monster. His mind, usually sharp as a tack, conjured nightmares, each worse than the last.

What if you were hurt?

Attacked by a villain?

Or worse, what if those creeps from the League of Villains got you?

Unable to sit still, Bakugou stomped around his room, glued to the clock. Each tick felt like an eternity. He wanted to call and yell at you about your whereabouts, but something held him back.

You were strong; he knew that.

But with each passing minute, his tough-guy act crumbled.

Keeping you safe mattered more than pride.

With a frustrated groan, he dialed your number. His heart hammered as he waited. The phone rang, echoing in the silent room. But there was only silence on the other end.

Worry turned to anger and frustration.

Where were you?

Why hadn't you called?

The questions spun in his head, making him even more restless. He wanted to charge out and search, but he knew it was pointless.

Time crawled. Each minute felt like an hour. Bakugou's worry started to mix with a low growl of annoyance.

Where in the world could you be?

Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. He marched towards Aizawa's office, determined to report your disappearance. Every creak of the floorboard echoed in the empty hallway as his mind raced with possibilities.

Just as he reached the door, a flash of movement caught his eye. He whipped around and saw you. There you were, slipping out of the dorm with a frown that could curdle milk. Bakugou's heart lurched.

What happened to you?

He ditched his plan to talk to Aizawa. He had to follow you, see where you were going, and see what was bothering you so much. He stalked behind you, a silent shadow, careful to keep a safe distance.

The way you walked, with heavy steps dragging behind you, told him something was seriously off. Bakugou gritted his teeth, watching you disappear into the darkness.

You headed straight for the training grounds. Bakugou's worry spiked. Every step you took seemed to carry a weight that he couldn't understand. He found a hiding spot and watched you.

Upon reaching the center of the training grounds, you suddenly unleashed your gravity quirk and started training all by yourself.

Bakugou watched, captivated, as you trained. Each move was a blend of power and grace. Your determination crackled in the air as you manipulated gravity, the ground trembling with your strikes.

The raw emotion you poured into your training both worried and impressed him.

Right there and then, he understood your need for an outlet.

As you prepared another attack, Bakugou surprised you by expertly joining your practice and catched and evaded your punch. Shock turned to intrigue as your eyes met. Without words, Bakugou offered himself as a training partner, ready to absorb your emotional blows.

The sparring session became fierce.

You unleashed your frustration with every strike, pushing your limits, while Bakugou matched your intensity with finesse and expertly blocked and countered all your attacks. 

Time blurred as you trained, the tension slowly releasing with each blow. A connection bloomed between you, a silent conversation spoken through combat.

Bakugou pushed you, his support evident and unrelenting despite being clueless as to why you're acting like this. To be completely honest, the minute you saw your boyfriend, you felt instantly better and even greater when he played along with you.

Suddenly, the sparring escalated.

With a silent agreement, you unleashed your quirks. The air crackled as your gravity manipulation met Bakugou's explosions. You dodged and countered, a raw exhilaration coursing through both of you.

The training ground became your stage, a display of combined power and cleverness as the two of you tried to outsmart one another.

After a few more rounds, the both of you were rendered absolutely exhausted; you both collapsed on the floor, the air thick with exertion. 

"You worry the hell out of me," Bakugou finally said, his voice gruff but strangely gentle.

"I'm sorry, Katsuki," you whispered, your tears welling up. "I just... needed an escape."

Bakugou's gaze softened. "Tell me," he said, concern lacing his voice.

You poured out your pain, and the disappointment from your parents was a heavy burden. Bakugou listened intently, anger simmering in his eyes.

"They're the worthless ones, not you," he growled, his words offering a balm to your wounded spirit.

"I just wanted to release it all," you continued, voice trembling. "So I trained until I felt nothing but exhaustion."

His hand reached yours, and his touch was surprisingly gentle. "Don't go through this alone," he said, his voice surprisingly vulnerable. "I'm here for you, Y/N. Always have been, always will be."

Relief washed over you. Tears streamed down your face as you whispered, "Thank you, Katsuki. I don't know what I'd do without you."

He squeezed your hand with a flicker of something deeper in his eyes. "I won't let anyone hurt you again," he vowed.

Silence settled between you, a comfortable quiet punctuated by your shared breaths. You realized how lucky you were to have Bakugou by your side.

A brief moment of tenderness flickered as Bakugou leaned down and kissed your forehead. He pulled you close, but you playfully swatted him away, earning a playful scowl.

"Whoa there, Sparky," you teased. "Maybe a shower first?"

An irritated scowl crossed Bakugou's face, his temper flaring up. "Oh, like you smell like roses, huh?" he retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "That's rich coming from you, Y/N."

You couldn't help but laugh at his fiery response, knowing he was incapable of holding back his trademark arrogance. His outbursts were as familiar to you as the back of your hand.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Katsuki," you replied, rolling your eyes but still grinning.

Feeling the heat of his temper rising, you swiftly extinguished the flames before they consumed him. "I'm sorry for teasing you. I know you were just worried about me."

He huffed, his pride slightly wounded, but a faint smile played on his lips. "Damn right, you should be sorry. I can't believe this is what I get for worrying about you."

The remorse over teasing him was clear in your eyes, so you leaned in and kissed him fully. It was playful yet sweet, a way to show you cared about his feelings.

Pulling away, a gentle warmth settled between you. Bakugou cupped your face, his gaze intense. "Glad you're okay," he mumbled, sincerity lacing his rough voice. "Maybe I nag, but..." he trailed off. "Just know I worry 'cause I care. You need saving; I'm here."

Reassured, you smiled. Just as your sweet moment blossomed, a booming voice shattered the night's quiet.

"Do you have any idea what time it is? What are you doing here training so late at night?"

Startled, you both saw Aizawa, his sharp gaze and annoyed tone leaving no room for arguments. The weight of breaking curfew crashed down on you.

Guilt flickered as you quickly disentangled from Bakugou. "Sensei, we..." you began, but a raised hand stopped you.

"No excuses," he cut in sternly. "Curfew's a rule. Dorms. Now."

Regret filled your voice. "Sorry, Aizawa sensei. It won't happen again."

Bakugou stood silent beside you, his apology unspoken but acknowledged with a nod to their teacher.

Aizawa's sternness softened as he sighed. "Just go back and get some sleep. Rules exist for a reason."

With silent nods, you both turned and walked back to the dorms. Reaching your door, Bakugou stopped.

"Sorry. Didn't see Aizawa coming," he muttered.

You smiled softly. "It's okay, Katsuki. Maybe I owe you an apology too, getting you in trouble."

He nodded, his eyes softening as he moved closer. "Night, Y/N."

"Night, Katsuki," you replied warmly.

He leaned in and gave you a tender kiss on the lips in hopes of vanishing any sadness or heaviness you might still be feeling at the moment. Pulling away, he brushed your cheek, his eyes holding yours.

"Rest," he said softly. "Need anything, you know where to find me."

Comfort washed over you. "Thank you, Katsuki. You too."

With a final, lingering look, Bakugou left. Your heart fluttered, a smile gracing your lips. Upon entering your room, gratitude filled you again for having Bakugou by your side, someone who cared deeply and always had your back.

As you settled into bed, peace and contentment washed over you. 

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 19: In the Bleak Midwinter

Summary: In light of their recent loss, Lucy and Tommy cling to each other tighter than ever.

Word Count: 5,207

Warnings: Grief.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 5: Never Coming Back

The fire burned furiously; a powerful, raging ball of orange heat as it devoured the logs it had been fed with. Lucy watched it with lowered, vacant eyes, not really focused on it as she sat on the cold, hard ground. Beside her, Tommy sat hunched over, seated on a small wooden stool, hands clasped in front of him and head bowed as he watched the flames dance. Her head had come to rest against his knee at some point, and every so often he would untangle his palms from one another, bringing one down to stroke over her hair. 

He hadn’t spoken much at all, not even to her. That was alright, though. She wasn’t particularly in the mood for conversation either; too preoccupied with the heavy, melancholic weight that had settled within her chest, feeling as though it was moments away from crushing her to death. And it was clear, from the way that he grasped tightly at her hand every chance he got, that his silence was not with the intention to shut her out or push her away. 

The grief was immeasurable and unending. Their days spent wallowing through the halls of Arrow House with dead eyes. It didn’t help that reminders of Grace lurked everywhere: in the portraits on the wall, in every piece of décor or furniture that she had picked, in the bedroom that housed her closet full of beautiful, colorful fabrics. Her perfume and jewelry on the dresser. Often their time spent in the house was brief, only staying long enough to see Charlie, visit quickly with Ada, and feed the horses. Nights were spent outside on the grounds, huddled together beside a fire. And in the dark night, where no one could see, they’d wrap their arms around each other, and finally give themselves permission to weep.   

Lucy’s fingers fiddled with the embroidery on her black blouse. She couldn’t bring herself to wear anything with color in it. It felt wrong. Grace had always loved clothing in bright colors. Lucy could remember watching her rifle through her closet while she and Tommy lounged on the bed, Tommy’s chin hooked over her shoulder as he held her from behind while they watched their lover in quiet awe. The way that Grace’s cheek would dimple with a smile when she found the particular dress that she was looking for. 

Now any and all joy that those colorful clothes brought had been sapped out. She could barely even look at Grace’s closest without weeping. 

Tommy stood suddenly from his seat on the stool, hand out to help Lucy to her feet. She put out the fire quickly, turning to find that Tommy had already pulled himself up onto the back of the horse they’d brought out with them. His hand held out to her silently, grasping onto her tightly as he helped her climb up to sit behind him on the creature’s back. She looped her arms around his waist, head coming to rest between his shoulder blades as they started to gallop back towards the house.

While they rode, Tommy pulled a cigarette from his coat, passing one back to her. Keeping a hand around his waist for balance, she used the other to press the cigarette to her lips for a much needed drag.  

A deep breath rattled in her lungs as the house grew closer, nerves piquing in a way that they hadn’t in years. They’d barely seen any of the family since the funeral except for Ada. Sweet Ada, who’d been an utter godsend during this whole ordeal, having come to stay at the house to help keep things in order while its two masters slowly lost their minds to grief. 

Tommy held her hand as she dismounted, not letting it go as they walked to the house. He opened the door with an audible clang, keeping her hand clasped tight in his as they walked through the front room, past where Ada was standing with Polly and Michael, and into the office. He closed the door with a massive slam that no doubt echoed throughout the entire house.  

Letting go of her hand to pull off his coat, Tommy cleared his throat roughly. “You don’t have to stay for the meetings, if you don’t want to.”

Lucy looked at him, hand coming up to cradle his cheek. His head leaned heavily against her palm, the lashes of his blue eyes fluttering at her touch. She managed a tiny smile. “As if I’d send you into the jaws of your family all on your own.”

A muscle jumped in his cheek that could have been the very beginnings of a smile, face turning to press a kiss into her palm. His other hand brushed at her head. “Leaves in your hair,” he explained.

She nodded, fingers undoing the buttons on her coat, smoothing her clothes down as Tommy got the office ready. Theoretically, the meetings should be smooth and easy. In and out. He’d made a list for Ada yesterday of how he wanted things to go, and individual lists for Polly and his brothers.

But that was assuming no one said or did anything stupid. In the mood he was in, she wouldn’t rule out the possibility of Tommy ripping someone’s head off if they pissed him off enough. 

Coat off and seated in his chair behind his desk, Tommy rubbed at his eyes. Lucy rolled up her sleeves.

“Ready?”

“Ugh.”

In any other situation she might’ve teased him for being so grumpy. “I’ll go get Polly and Michael.”

Opening the door to the office, she stepped gingerly out. Polly, Michael, and Ada were talking in hushed tones to one another by one of the windows. Ada was the one who saw her first, offering her a small smile that Lucy did her best to try to return. Polly was staring at her with eyes that were surprisingly empathetic and sad. Poor Michael looked like he didn’t know how he was supposed to behave. 

“He’ll see you now,” Lucy said, inclining her head towards the office. Michael shuffled past her with an awkward nod in greeting, Polly behind him. She glanced back at Ada as Polly swept past her.

“How’s Charlie?”

Ada shrugged. “He’s alright. He asked for her again last night.”

Lucy swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat. “Yeah. Don’t let John and Arthur in until we’re done with Polly and Michael.”

Ada nodded. “Right.”

“And thanks.”

Ada’s smile was sad but genuine. “Of course.”

She slipped back into the office and closed the door. Polly and Michael had just sat down in the two chairs set up in front of Tommy’s desk. Plopping down onto the couch shoved against the wall, Lucy ran a hand through her hair, sighing and staring up at the ornate ceiling. Tommy didn’t look up at his aunt or his cousin, scribbling away at something on his desk, the wooden surface almost entirely covered with papers. 

She didn’t listen all that closely as Michael and Polly made their reports regarding the books. She was too tired. And what they had to say wasn’t of that much consequence anyway. 

“There’s also been a threefold increase in donations to the Shelby Foundation charity,” Michael added, eyes nervous as he fiddled with his fingers. “The council have suggested naming the new school the Grace Shelby Institute.”  

There was a soft thud as Tommy dropped his pen down onto the mess of papers in front of him. Lucy’s shoulders tensed. They hadn’t said her name, not since the funeral. Even now, just hearing it from someone else’s lips was like being pierced by a thousand daggers all at once. Tommy reached over to the ashtray on his desk, desperately pressing the still smoking stub of a cigarette onto it, over and over, the soft taps the only sound in the room. His hand brushed over his nose, then readjusted the pen’s placement on the desk, moving to fiddle with the papers. Lucy sat up from her place on the couch, prepared to rise and usher Polly and Michael from the room; recognizing Tommy’s sudden fiddling as a desperate attempt to regain control over the storm raging in his mind. To try to keep himself from unraveling as he barely held himself together. 

“Tell the council that the name Grace Shelby Institute is acceptable to us,” he still wouldn’t look up, shifting as he again adjusted the pen on the desk and folded the paper he had been writing on, tucking it away into an envelope that he handed to Polly. “This is a list of the other things I want doing. That’s all.”

Done. Dismissed. Michael stood, clearing his throat as he headed to the door, but Polly hesitated, still looking at Tommy with sad, worried eyes. 

“Tommy…” she stood and approached his desk carefully. 

“That’s all, Pol,” Tommy was opening and closing the drawers of his desk, each one slamming with enough force to rattle the lamp and glasses set on its surface. Polly’s expression, though still worried, shifted to contain a trace of frustration, back straightening as she turned and walked away. Lucy stretched her arms, grateful for a small reprieve before John and Arthur came in. Tommy was continuing to search for something, hands sorting through the endless stacks of papers piled on the desk. A sudden frustrated slam of his hand sent papers flying as he lost patience, Michael and Polly looking up in alarm from their place by the door. Tommy leaned back, eyes still refusing to focus on either of them.

“And well done, both of you,” it was the most praise he was able to offer at the moment. The pair nodded, and vanished together back out the door they had entered through. In a few quick steps Lucy was in front of his desk, stooping to pick up the papers that had fallen in his mini temper tantrum. She set them down in a straightened stack, lifting her eyes to find Tommy leaning back in his chair, hand pressed to his eyes. Her legs carried her around to stand in front of him, hands moving to caress his cheeks. Tommy’s eyes opened to blink up at her, exhausted and haggard. She doubted that hers looked much better. Her thumb rubbed the little scar on his cheek.

“One down, one to go,” she offered. He closed his eyes, clearly drawing up whatever strength he had left in preparation to deal with Arthur and John.

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” she moved to pull away but a hand came to rest on her hip, holding her in place. Tommy’s eyes were downcast, focused on a place on the floor. He coughed awkwardly.

“Thank you,” he mumbled finally. Lucy leaned forward, pulling him close as he let his head drop to rest on her chest, her lips kissing at his hair. When she pulled away she offered him the best smile she could manage.

“Always.” 

He let her go and she found her spot situated back on the couch, while he made a sad attempt to straighten his papers.

“John’s going to have a fit over you seeing Michael and Polly first.”

Tommy sighed. “Yep.”    

“We should come up with some kind of safe word, in case you need me to kick them out.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“I don’t know…like ‘banana.’”

“How the fuck am I supposed to work ‘banana’ naturally into a sentence?” ah, there was the Tommy that she knew and loved. Much better.  

“I dunno.”

“I can handle John.”

“Mmhm.”

“I can!” 

She checked her watch. They’d be there any minute. “I will remind you that you said that.”  

The door opened just as Tommy was rubbing at his eyes. “Here we fucking go,” he mumbled, sitting up in his chair.

Lucy watched Arthur and John enter the room, nodding in response to Arthur’s timid greeting towards her. John didn’t acknowledge her at all, remaining silent as he stared Tommy down. Lucy forced herself to tear her gaze away from the younger Shelby. Just looking at him had rage pulsing through her veins, and if she allowed it to continue for too long, she was sure that it would lead to her doing or saying something rash.  

She was only half listening as Arthur and John made their report: Angel Changretta was dead, the Italians were being cleared out, but that wasn’t of much interest to her. She wanted Vicente, the Changretta whose order had led to all this pain.

“What about the old man?” clearly Tommy shared her sentiment, cutting off Arthur’s report, blue eyes steely as he spoke. Her small hands curled into savage fists as John and Arthur began to tell Tommy about how Changretta was waiting for a ship to New York in Liverpool. Like hell were they going to just let him get away like that. 

“Alright,” she could see the gears whirling in her lover’s mind. “I have contacts, people in Cunard and Liverpool. They’ll have passenger lists. They can get you into the point of departure. You pick him up, and you bring him to me. Who’s he got traveling with him?”

Arthur mumbled something that she couldn’t quite make out. Tommy’s brow furrowed, leaning forward.

“What?”

“His wife,” this time Arthur’s voice was much clearer.

“So shoot her, and bring him to me,” Tommy spoke without hesitation, without emotion. Lucy couldn’t find it in her to feel all that bad; harsh as it may be, they couldn’t have any loose ends. And there was some sort of poetic justice in it. Grace had been shot right in front of them; now they would return the favor. 

Arthur and John were very quiet, shooting each other a look. 

“Uh, Tommy,” John mumbled. “Mrs. Changretta was a teacher at our school.”

“She’s a good woman, Tom. A good woman,” Arthur affirmed. Lucy rolled her eyes. 

“So was Grace,” her voice was a bit raspy, but still carried across the room. Tommy’s eyes met hers, his blue orbs carrying the same bitter sorrow that she felt in her chest with each beat of her heart. She was hit with a sudden flash of memory: Grace heavy where she laid in Tommy’s arms, skin cold, and blood. So much blood, blooming from her chest like a crimson flower to stain her pale pink dress, flecks of it smearing along the glowing blue of the sapphire locked around her throat. 

“Well, if she’s a good woman, then she’ll go to heaven, eh, Arthur?” the words fell from Tommy’s lips like ice, cold and harsh as they cut through the room. Lucy smirked, and a tiny part of her, deep, deep down inside, wondered when they had both become so cruel. But the rest of her, twisted and still screaming with anguish and grief, silenced it. 

Rising from her seat on the couch, she walked to Tommy’s desk, opening a drawer and pulling a cigarette and lighter from it. Her hands trembled, ever so slightly, as she held the flame to the cigarette, lighting it and tossing the lighter back into the drawer before closing it. She didn’t go back to her spot on the couch, instead choosing to lean against the wall behind Tommy’s desk by the windows.

He snatched up the list he had written for his brothers ahead of time, holding it out to John. “Just do what’s on the list, nothing else. Then burn it. Don’t speak on the phones. The fucking secret service is listening. I want the old man alive. I wanna do it myself,” he ordered.

Neither Arthur or John moved. For a moment the room was completely silent. Tommy’s eyes flickered from John to Arthur, eyebrow raised. Lucy wanted to shake them both. All this reluctance for what? Some teacher? Of all the innocent blood on their hands, this was where they suddenly decided to draw the line? Grace was fucking dead. Murdered right in front of them. And now that the time had come to strike back against her killers, they grew a fucking conscious?

“For fuck’s sake, I’ll do it,” Lucy said, straightening from her place leaning against the wall. “She wasn’t my fucking teacher.”

“No!” Tommy’s voice wasn’t quite a shout, but it carried the weight of one, freezing her in place, startled. He sucked in a breath that only she would be able to recognize as a bit unsteady. “I need you here.”  

She had half a mind to fight him about it. John and Arthur clearly weren’t up to the task; she wasn’t even sure if she trusted them to do it properly. But the flash of something that was close to panic in Tommy’s eyes at her suggestion gave her pause. And the last thing she wanted to do was fight with him in front of his brothers. 

Arthur finally stood, plucking the list from Tommy’s hand.   

“That’s it,” Tommy cleared his throat. “You can go,” he sat down heavily in his chair, immediately reaching for the whiskey shoved to the corner of his desk. He poured two hefty glasses of the amber liquid, nudging one towards Lucy before downing his in one gulp. She took her glass and sipped appreciatively, thankful for the burn as it went down.

“Come, John,” Arthur said, heading for the door. But John wasn’t done, expression furious as he began to make demands for more information. Lucy rolled her eyes as they went back and forth, the tension in the room steadily escalating. 

“You saw Michael before us!” John was nearly shouting.

“Fuck’s sake, John,” Arthur muttered, but his admonishments did little to reduce his younger brother’s anger. Tommy’s eyes snapped between them. Lucy flexed her fingers, trying to keep her temper reined in as she stared at John from her place behind Tommy.

“Because legitimate business, John, is the priority,” Tommy leaned forward again. Lucy tensed. Tommy was speaking a bit slower, which meant that he was quickly running out of patience. Which meant that any more pushing from John, especially now could lead to quite the spectacular explosion. “Legitimate business–”

“Since when?”

BOOM!

“Since my fucking wife took a bullet meant for me!” Tommy’s hand slammed on the desk as he flew out of his chair, voice thundering throughout the room. 

There it was.

To his credit, John didn’t even flinch, just sniffed and straightened, speaking as he took calculated steps towards Tommy. It was a good thing that the desk was between them, or else she would have been seriously concerned about them starting to exchange blows.

“Oh, yeah. Okay. Yeah, so secret service. Secret fucking service. Blah, blah, blah. But you don’t tell us shit. We’re a couple of fucking toy soldiers. ‘Do this, John. Do that, John. Kill your fucking teacher, John!” John’s hand slammed on the desk, entire body nearly shaking with how angry he was. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Lucy growled out, patience running out like sand in an hourglass. “What the fuck is wrong with you, you entitled piece of shit?”

“Lucy–” Tommy began.

“Grace is dead because of you!” her voice rose higher than she intended it to, finger pointing ragefully, accusingly, at John. “If you hadn’t pulled that shit with Angel Changretta, none of this would have happened! And for what, hm? Because you were jealous over a woman who you were engaged to for a handful of days!?” she shot him a look of unbridled hatred. “You don’t get to complain about shit. Oh, boo-hoo, your former teacher’s gonna die. It’s your own fucking fault for starting this war in the first place.”

“You don’t get to talk to me like that, you bitch–” John’s face contorted, hands curling into fists.

“Oi!” Tommy barked, “Don’t fucking call her that!” 

John’s attention returned to Tommy, expression wrathful. John had always been a hothead. But this was perhaps the worst that Lucy had ever seen him.

“You need to get your woman under fucking control, Tommy,” he said. Lucy scoffed. As if he was in any position to be making demands right now.

Tommy stared at John levelly. “Lucy can say what she likes,” he said, simply. Because she’s right, the unspoken words seemed to hang heavily in the air. John’s eyes tracked back over Tommy’s shoulder to look at her, and his face twitched. For a moment, Lucy was secretly grateful that she had both Tommy and the desk between them.

But John didn’t try anything else, probably well aware that any physical movement made against her in that moment could quite possibly get him killed. Instead he looked back to Tommy, the brothers staring each other down. Arthur looked like he wanted to be anywhere else in the world. Finally, Tommy looked down, but not in defeat.

“This is how it’s gonna be,” he murmured under his breath. When he looked up, the furious, grieving widower was gone. It was just the gangster now. “Alright, listen to me,” he pointed at both of his brothers. “There’s gonna be a little war in a little place that no one gives a fuck about. And the side that is gonna lose needs a little bit of help. And they’re willing to pay. When that business is done,” he pounded on the desk to make his point, “legitimate business is the priority. Now, do what’s on the list and fuck off,” he sunk back into his chair.

John sniffed, rubbing at his eyes as he turned away.

“And John?” Tommy called, waiting until his brother had turned back around to look at him. “You don’t ever speak to Lucy like that again, you understand me?”

John’s upper lip curled into a snarl, spinning on his heel without a word and storming out of the room.  

“No loose ends!” Lucy called after him. Arthur looked at Tommy.

“And when are you coming back?” he asked. “Hm?”

“I’m back, Arthur,” Tommy whispered. Arthur glanced around the room, looking unconvinced, but said nothing more as he headed for the door. As soon as it had shut behind him, Lucy gulped down the remainder of her glass of whiskey, setting it down and running both hands furiously through her hair. Tommy was leaning back in his chair, eyes closed like he had a headache.

“I’m sorry that I yelled at John. I couldn’t help it,” she apologized. The last thing she wanted was to cause more problems for him. They had enough to deal with as it was.

“It’s alright,” he sighed, sitting up. “He deserved it.”

 “Are you sure that it’s a good idea to send them to get Changretta?” she asked, worrying at her bottom lip, her trust in Arthur and John’s ability to do their jobs properly shaken.

“They’ll do what they’ve been told.”

“I could do it,” she offered again.

“No,” Tommy growled. Since his brothers had left the room, he’d allowed the mask to slip a bit, the exhaustion reemerging in his eyes.

“Why? John and Arthur don’t want to do it. I’m happy to give the old man a taste of his own medicine.”

“I’m not fighting you about this, Luce,” Tommy rubbed a hand over his eyes, standing to pull back the curtain shielding one of the windows to take a glance outside.

“We both know that I could do it, so I don’t understand why–”

“Because I need you here!” Tommy spun on his heel, stalking over to stand in front of her. “I need you here, with me. So that I can make sure that you’re–” his voice broke, head dropping down to stare at the floor. He pressed his hand back up to his face, no doubt nursing a headache. But she also suspected that it was to hide the sudden glassiness in his eyes. She took a tentative step forward, already reaching out for him, settling her palms on his chest. Tommy covered the back of one of her hands with his, cradling it softly and rubbing his thumb along her knuckles. He cleared his throat awkwardly, pulling his eyes from the floorboards to look into hers. “I need you,” he whispered. 

She nodded, swallowing around the lump in her throat while her fingers curled in the front of his waistcoat, pulling him closer. Taking the hand he had covering hers, she guided his palm to rest over her chest so that he could feel her heartbeat. A shuddery breath, almost of relief, left him at the thump of her pulse, head nestling against her shoulder as she wrapped her arms around him in a hug. “I’m here,” she promised.       

Her thoughts raced back to the days following the charity dinner. Tommy’s hand, gripping tightly to hers any chance he got. How one day she had left his office to go down to the kitchens without him realizing, only to return upstairs to find him searching for her, shouting at the staff, his eyes panic-stricken until they landed on her standing in the doorway. Anywhere he went, he wanted her to be with him, even more than usual. When she was out of his sight, he grew anxious and irritable, like he was afraid that if she wasn’t by his side that she would be snatched away from him.  

Lucy had always held a quiet appreciativeness for his protectiveness of her, and she couldn’t say that she minded the increase in clinginess. It wasn’t like she was all that keen to have him out of her sight either, these days.  

Tommy shifted, wrapping the arm not pressed against her chest around her waist to hold her tighter to him. Her head rested on his chest, feeling the thump of his heart as she allowed the protective warmth that Tommy had always exuded to cocoon her. She rubbed his back soothingly, knowing that there wasn’t much else that she could do to make things better.  

Grace wasn’t coming back. She was gone, and she wasn’t coming back. It hurt too much that Lucy hadn’t really let herself think about it: the cavernous absence that Grace had left them with. When she clung to Tommy at night now it was even tighter than before, needing now more than ever the reminder that at least he was still with her. 

Tommy had always been her safe place, her refuge from everything that could possibly harm her. Sometimes she forgot that there were things that not even he could control.

There was the telltale clomp of hooves outside and Tommy sighed, loosening his grip on her.  

“Johnny’s here,” he said, head raising from her shoulder. “You go get the bags from the room, I’ll grab Charlie.”

She nodded, moving to pull away, but he still held onto her. A deep frown was set on his face.

“I’m sorry. I’m not much good at…any of this,” he said. “I just…” he sighed, clearly frustrated at being unable to find the words to tell her what he wanted to.  

Lucy squeezed his shoulder encouragingly, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips that he returned warmly. “I know,” she reassured as gently as she could. “It’s okay,” she sucked in a trembling breath. “I miss her too.”

Tommy shuddered against her, the muscles in his face twitching in what she recognized was a concerted effort not to cry. “God,” he croaked out. “She’s never coming back.”  

Tears spilled out from her eyes, a quiet sob spasming its way out of her chest.

And neither are we.

A part of them had died with Grace, and they were never going to be able to fully recover from that. 

Tommy wiped at her cheeks, lips trembling as he continued to fight back his own tears. She tugged him closer, until his head was pressed against her neck and it was there that he finally let go, allowing the salty evidence of his sorrow to spill out onto the skin of her neck and the fabric of her blouse. It was the most they could offer one another: a safe place to openly grieve and express the pain of their broken hearts. 

Quick as he had begun to cry Tommy stopped, straightening to wipe at his eyes and clear his throat.

“I’ll stay,” she reassured him. “I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

“Forever’s a long time, love.”

She surprised herself with a small laugh, still a little tearful. Both of them drew in long, shaky breaths as they recomposed themselves, the rawness of their grief being tucked back down and away.

“I love you,” Tommy croaked out hoarsely, both arms winding around her waist as their foreheads bumped against each other. A few stray strands of his fringe fell to tickle her skin.

“I love you too,” she could hear the sound of Johnny’s voice outside. She managed a tiny smile. “Let’s get outta here, eh?”

Tommy’s lips quirked upwards a bit. “Yeah.”

Hands intertwined, they whisked quickly upstairs, grabbing their two small bags and Charlie, Tommy leaving a letter with Mary to give to Ada with some brief instructions and when they’d be back. Then they were outside, settled in Johnny’s wagon with the horse pulling them away from Arrow House. Lucy’s shoulder pressed against Tommy’s comfortingly as little Charlie squawked and Johnny chattered. 

From behind them, she could hear Arthur and John shouting as they burst through the front door, racing after the wagon before stopping to watch helplessly from the driveway as they started to pull away. Tommy urged the horse to continue its trek, reins clasped in one hand as he stroked the back of his other hand across Charlie’s cheek. Lucy adjusted the little boy in her lap, kissing the top of his head.

Johnny came to sit down beside her, still talking to Tommy, asking him questions only to get near one-word answers in response.

“At some point are you gonna tell me why we’re going to Wales?”

“Yeah, when we get there.”

“Should have brought at least one woman, Tommy.”

“Hey! I’m a woman!” Lucy protested. Johnny glanced her up and down, then made a noncommittal noise like he didn’t fully agree. Okay, ouch. Also, rude. She pouted, squeezing Charlie a little closer to her.  

“Johnny, it’s a woman we’re going to see,” Tommy’s leg nudged Lucy in comfort at Johnny’s comment, and she forced herself to let it go. Johnny probably didn’t mean anything by it, anyway. The horse’s hooves clomped steadily as it continued its light trot, and when she looked over her shoulder Arrow House was fading steadily away into the distance.    

She let her head fall to rest on Tommy’s shoulder, feeling the way that his muscles relaxed slightly at having her close. Things would not be better for a very long time, and she doubted that the holes Grace had left in either of their hearts would ever fully be mended. 

But they would survive. She and Tommy would take care of each other, as they always had. Hell, they might even be able to find precious, fleeting moments of peace and happiness to hold onto. They would be alright.  

As long as they stayed together.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

[dexterity8]

Worthmore

3 - Confound

The rest of Charms class was spent practicing basic wand movements, as Professor Ronen guided the students through each flick and swish with infectious enthusiasm. April followed along half-heartedly, watching her classmates with detached curiosity as they tried their best to mimic his graceful gestures. By the end of the lesson, her hand was aching, but Professor Ronen's constant encouragement—even when the students fumbled—had helped the time pass a little more easily.

When the bell tolled and the first classes of the day finally wrapped up, Professor Ronen gave the students a bright, cheerful farewell as they packed up. April was the last one to leave, lingering behind as she gathered her things. Just as she reached the door, Professor Ronen caught her attention once more, a subtle but understanding look on his face. "Miss Worthmore," he said kindly, though not too insistently, aware of the steely look of frustration still clouding her features, "remember, it's only the first day. Give yourself time to find your place. I did."

April forced a nod, still not in the mood to be cheered up. "Right. Thanks," she replied, her tone still flat as she quickly slipped out of the classroom. She just wanted to get through the day without any more awkward moments or reminders of her Sorting frustration.

As she headed down the corridor, another large notice board caught her eye, listing the day's schedule. She scanned it quickly and spotted her next class: Defense Against the Dark Arts. Her heart lifted for the first time all morning. Finally, something that felt familiar, like a small piece of home. Her mother had always spoken about how much she loved that subject, and April was eager to see if it would live up to the stories. The prospect of learning something practical, something powerful, pushed away her earlier embarrassment, at least for now.

The classroom wasn't far, only a few floors down, and finding it was surprisingly easy this time. The Defense Against the Dark Arts room was even larger than the Charms classroom, with tall, arched windows that let in the crisp, autumn light, and with rows of desks arranged in neat lines facing the blackboard at the front. On it, the professor's name was scrawled in neat handwriting: Dinah Hecat.

But the real star of the classroom was a massive dragon skeleton suspended from the ceiling. April's eyes widened in awe, and she craned her neck to take in the intricate curves of bone and sinew preserved in time. Around her, other first years stared as well, whispering excitedly about the impressive relic.

As if on queue, a sudden, commanding voice swept through the room. "A beauty, isn't it? A Hebridean Black," came the voice of Professor Hecat as she descended from her office. The elderly woman's sharp eyes and stately blue attire demanded attention, and her presence was a blend of formidable wisdom and subtle benevolence. "It was a token from the great poacher raid of 1878—I'm sure you've heard of it."

All students quickly scrambled to find their seats, and April picked a spot in the middle row of desks, a little more eager to engage this time. She starts jotting down notes before the lesson even begins.

Just as the professor began her introduction, a nudge in April's side pulled her from her reverie. She turned, brows furrowing as she faced a boy sitting next to her. He had short, messy brown hair, brown eyes, and a light smattering of freckles across his face. His Slytherin tie hung a little loose around his neck, adding to his slightly unkempt appearance. He whispered, "So, Ravenclaw, huh? Gutsy, that."

April's eyes narrowed, caught between confusion and irritation. "What?" she whispered back, trying not to draw attention. The boy's expression was sincere enough, a lopsided smile playing on his lips.

"Back in Charms. About not wanting to be in Ravenclaw," he added. "Pretty bold."

April blinked, caught off guard and mildly peeved. "Yeah, I guess," she mumbled dismissively before turning her attention back to the professor, hoping he'd take the hint, but the boy just chuckled at her dry response.

"Sorry— I'm Sebastian. Sebastian Sallow," he said, extending his hand in a surprisingly formal manner for a first year. The gesture was friendly enough, but it felt like an interruption.

April's gaze quickly darted to the front where Professor Hecat was continuing her preamble. Hesitantly, she reached out and shook Sebastian's hand. "April Worthmore," she replied, though the gesture felt awkwardly timed.

Just as their hands dropped, Professor Hecat's voice cut through the room, sharp but not unkind. "I'm delighted to see young scholars forming friendships, but kindly save the pleasantries for after class."

Heat rose to April's cheeks. "Sorry, Professor," she stammered, her gaze dropping as she bit the inside of her cheek, frustration simmering beneath her embarrassment. She shot Sebastian a quick, aggravated glare, which he met with an apologetic chuckle and a sheepish shrug before they both turned their attention back to the front.

Professor Hecat's eyes softened just a touch as she moved to the front of the room. "Defense Against the Dark Arts," she began, "is not merely a subject—it is a foundation for protecting oneself and others from situations that may wish to do us harm." She paused momentarily, ensuring her students understood thus far. "In this class, we embody what we learn not only by a means of note-taking and very thorough lectures, but by embracing the thrill and practicality of a good duel. You will come to find that dueling amongst your peers will be your best teacher, and that excellence in such an important branch of magic is not optional—it is essential. You are capable of achieving it, and you must achieve it."

April listened with growing interest, her earlier discomfort slowly replaced by a budding desire to excel. After all, this was the one class her mother had always spoken about with a kind of passionate admiration, the one that carried weight and respect. She felt that same determination bloom tentatively within her, fragile yet insistent. It felt like a connection, however tenuous, to someone who seemed so far away now. April wasn't about to let herself drift aimlessly through it.

Professor Hecat strode to the center of the room, her presence commanding every gaze as she raised her wand with the elegance of a practiced duelist. "The knockback jinx, flipendo, is simple but invaluable. It will push away any potential threat that may come your way. Watch closely." With a graceful flick of her wrist, the incantation leaped from her lips. A training dummy at the far end of the room lurched backward with a solid thud, its wooden joints creaking in protest. The class erupted into a wave of awe-struck murmurs, but Professor Hecat's raised hand cut through the noise.

"Now, form a line. You'll each have your chance to practice." Her tone was encouraging, but the stern glint in her eyes reminded them this was no mere game, that they were here to learn spells that would likely save their lives.

Students quickly scrambled to their feet, excitement seeping into the room like a current. April ended up somewhere in the middle, clutching the smooth handle of her wand—a slender, graceful willow wood with a unicorn hair core, chosen for her just weeks before in Diagon Alley. Each student took their turn, some managing only a spark or a weak push on the dummy, while others, emboldened by the professor's encouragement, performed with moderate success.

Sebastian had found his place right in front of April, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, looking more confident than any first-year had a right to be. When it was his turn, he squared his stance, holding his wand confidently. He cast flipendo with an easy charm that mirrored his casual, mischievous demeanor. The dummy staggered back a few steps, tilting on its stand before resettling—respectable for a first try. After casting, he returned to stand beside April, nudging her with an encouraging grin. "Just pretend the dummy's someone you don't like," he whispered, hoping to ease April's nerves, if only just a little. "Works wonders for the power."

April swallowed, stepping forward when Professor Hecat gestured for her turn. Her wand felt heavier in her grip now, the wood cool against her palm. She took a steadying breath, eyes narrowing at the dummy before her. It was strange, how easily the frustration welled up, how quickly it darkened her vision and pressed itself into her thoughts. Before she could temper it, an image—fuzzy, undefined, but undeniably him—flared in her mind's eye: her father, a strange unknown carved into her memory by resentment and absence. To her, it was no longer a simple training dummy; it was an embodiment of every unanswered question, every hollow, lonely night spent wondering why she hadn't been good enough for him to stay. The frustration in her chest churned, rose, found its way through her arm and into her wand.

"Flipendo!" The word ripped from her throat with more force than she intended, and her wand channeled it like a lightning rod. The blast was not a simple knockback; it was a surge that struck the training dummy with a force that startled her, sending it catapulting across the room until it crashed into the far wall with a splintering thud.

The entire room froze, the echo of the impact ringing like a challenge through the stunned silence. April's eyes widened in horror as she realized what she'd done, the adrenaline turning cold in her veins. Around her, heads turned, eyes wide with shock, mouths agape as if they'd witnessed an explosion.

"I—I'm sorry!" she stammered in a panic, the rush of her pulse deafening in her ears. The color drained from her face and she turned to Professor Hecat, expecting reprimand, rebuke, anything that would match the churning of shame in her chest. But the professor's eyes, though widened slightly, held no anger. Instead, there was an undeniable gleam of curiosity, perhaps even approval.

"A superb cast, Miss Worthmore," Professor Hecat said, her voice calm but touched with awe. "Unexpectedly potent, but truly impressive for a first attempt. That level of power... it seems you have a natural inclination. Harness it, and you'll find yourself an adept duelist."

A flush crept up April's neck, not entirely from embarrassment but something else—a strange blend of  panic and confusion. She hadn't meant to channel that much force into the jinx; it had been instinctive, uncontrollable, almost as if she hadn't been the one that cast it, but something much more primal inside of her. Amidst her inner turmoil, however, a soft pat on her back startled her, and she glanced sideways to see Sebastian grinning.

"That was bloody wicked! You sent that thing flying like it owed you galleons!" he said, laughing softly as if he hadn't just drawn half the class's attention back to her.

April swallowed, the adrenaline still buzzing beneath her skin. "Thanks, I think," she mumbled, more out of reflex than sincerity, still shaken by what she had unleashed. She couldn't tell if the weight in her chest was pride or fear—or both.

Professor Hecat moved on, eyes lingering on April for a moment longer before addressing the next student. The rest of the class passed uneventfully for Worthmore, though her nerves remained frayed. She sat silently as the other students took their turns, trying to fade into the background. But she couldn't help but notice how much quieter the room seemed after her display, as if the air itself had grown heavy with an uncomfortable tension. A few of her classmates shot her glances—some curious, others wary—but she kept her gaze fixed on her notes, pretending not to notice.

"Miss Worthmore," Professor Hecat's voice cut through April's thoughts, startling her. The older woman stood at the front of the class, her eyes calm yet piercing. "A word before you go, if you don't mind."

April's stomach dropped. She nodded stiffly, casting a quick glance at Sebastian, who mouthed good luck with a playful smirk before slinging his bag over his shoulder and heading out with the rest of the students.

Once the bell tolled and the classroom had emptied, April approached the professor's desk, clutching her bag strap tightly. The room felt quieter, the creak of the dragon skeleton above them almost deafening. Professor Hecat folded her hands on the desk and regarded April with a level stare.

"You're a talented witch, Miss Worthmore," she began, her tone measured. "But raw talent, especially when it manifests as forcefully as yours, must be tempered with discipline. Magic born from strong emotions can be unpredictable, even dangerous, if left unchecked."

April swallowed hard, unsure how to respond. The professor's words struck too close to home, and the truth she'd been avoiding all morning surfaced again: her emotions—her anger, her frustration, her sense of not belonging—weren't just affecting her mood. They were shaping her magic.

"I didn't mean to—" she started, but the professor held up a hand to stop her.

"I'm not chastising you, Miss Worthmore," Hecat assured her, though there was a thread of caution in her voice. "You showed remarkable instinct for someone your age. Emotions are powerful catalysts, especially in young witches and wizards like yourself. But magic fueled by emotion can be unpredictable. You must learn to control it, or it will control you. I suggest you take some time to reflect on what drives your magic and learn to channel it properly."

April nodded stiffly, unsure of what to say. She wanted to ask more—how the professor had noticed, what she had seen—but she didn't trust herself to speak without letting something slip. Instead, she murmured a quiet, "I understand," before excusing herself and hurrying out of the room.

The hallway was bustling with students heading to lunch, their laughter and lively conversations a stark contrast to the turmoil in April's head. She kept her head down as she weaved through the crowd, her mind racing. What if her magic wasn't entirely her own? That it was tied to something darker, something she didn't understand? The idea gnawed at her, making her far more anxious than it had any right to.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice Sebastian falling into step beside her until he spoke. "You've got to stop being so dramatic, Worthmore. People are going to start thinking you're brooding on purpose."

April glanced at him, startled. "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice sharper than she intended.

Sebastian didn't seem fazed. "Walking to lunch, like a normal person. Thought you might need the company, considering you just obliterated a training dummy in front of half the year."

April shot him a glare but didn't respond, hoping her silence would deter him. It didn't.

"You've got Herbology after lunch, right?" he asked, grinning as if they were old friends. "Figured we could walk there together. Unless you're planning on blowing something else up before then."

April rolled her eyes, her annoyance a welcome distraction from the weight in her chest. "You're not funny."

"No, but I'm persistent," Sebastian replied, his grin widening. "Come on, you've got to admit—today's been interesting so far. At least for me."

April huffed but didn't argue. She wasn't in the mood to push him away, even if his cheerful attitude grated on her nerves. Besides, a small part of her—one she refused to acknowledge—was grateful for the company.

Although her thoughts were still swirling restlessly, April resolved to push the Flipendo incident to the back of her mind for the time being. It was only her first day, after all. Whatever had happened in that classroom—whatever it meant—she'd deal with it later. For now, she had a Herbology lesson to attend and a very persistent Slytherin to tolerate.

[paperandsong]

Le Follet d’Ep-Nell

From Légendes rustiques, illustrated by Maurice Sand, written by George Sand, 1858

Original French at Project Gutenberg

English translation:

Beneath the stone of Ep-Nell, a bad kind of follet is curled up. A follet with a tail: the worst of all. Instead of tending to the horses and walking them, they frighten the horses, mistreat them and wear them out.

Maurice SAND

Georgeon was the devil of the part of Berry called the Black Valley. I say was, because he is very much forgotten today and one would have to go back to the memory of old men, thirty years dead, to fish out from that river of oblivion - which passes so quickly today - the mysterious name that was never to be written, “not on paper, nor on wood, nor on slate, nor on any stone, nor on cloth, nor on earth, nor on dust or sand, nor even on snow fallen from the sky.” This terrible name, which presided over the most effective and most secret formulas, was only to be entrusted to the ears of the practitioners of sorcery, and telling them more than three times was not allowed. If they forgot, too bad for them. One had to pay to hear it again. 

This name was, under no circumstances, to be revealed to non-believers and must never be spoken aloud, except in the darkness of night and in complete solitude. The one who confided it to me had surprised himself and did not believe it. However, he regretted telling me and came back to beg me not to repeat it. “I had bad dreams last night,” he said. “Three times my window opened wide without anyone but myself having entered my room.”

What was Georgeon's rank and title in the hierarchy of evil spirits? That's what I could never find out. It was he who had to be called out to at crossroads, or under certain old trees of ill repute, to make the mysterious spirit appear. Did he have his own power over certain things in nature, or was he only an intermediary messenger between hell and its followers? I would believe it: a man named Georgeon had once been taken to Montgivray by the devil. It is perhaps the work of this evil soul to lead other souls to perdition.

Georgeon was semi-invisible, in the sense that he only appeared on moonless nights or through thick fog. One saw a human form larger than life; but the dress, the features, the details of this form always remained elusive, or so vague that it was impossible to remember him or to recognize him, even by voice, even after various encounters with him. Each time he had to be called by name, it had to be said: “Is it you with whom I spoke on this or that night and in such and such a place?” And if he didn't answer “It's me,” you had to be on guard and tell him nothing about what had happened during any previous encounters with the devil, either because Georgeon hid his identity to test the discretion and prudence of his followers, or that the peasant pushes prudence to the point of distrusting the devil, even after having turned himself over to him.

It is certain, at the very least, that the peasant claims to be as cunning as Satan and that in every country there are marvellous legends full of malice attributed to good guys who know how to fool the demon and catch him in his own traps. Among the best, we must cite that of the fairy-lover reported by the author of La Normandie merveilleuse, which has all the grace of rural language. The fairy fell in love with a beautiful country woman. Every evening, while she was spinning thread by the fire, he would come and sit on a stool at the other corner of the fireplace. The woman, having noticed his presence and his covetous looks, informed her husband, who put on her clothes, took her place and her distaff, and pretending to spin, waited for the pixie. The fairy arrives, looks askance at the strange spinner and says to her: “Where is that beauty, that beautiful woman from yesterday evening, who spins, spins, and is spinning still, because you, you turn, turn, and yet you don’t spin?” The husband makes no reply and waits until the fairy sits down on the stool from which he used to devour the housewife with his eyes, and where a red hot cake pan[10]  had been treacherously placed. So the fairy sits down and, indeed, outrageously burns its tail, and utters a loud cry, saying: 

“Who has committed this wicked wickedness against me? Is it that beauty, that beautiful woman who is always around?” 

“No,” replies the husband. “It is I, myself, who never spins!” 

The exasperated fairy flies up the chimney to call his companions who were cavorting about on the roof. 

“What are you shouting, shouting about?” they say.

“I am burning, burning!”

 “And who burned you, burned you?” 

“It is me, myself, the one who never spins.”[11] 

This answer seemed so stupid to the other fairies, rude spirits that they were,  that the beautiful spinner's husband heard them laugh like mad, booing, fooling around and driving away the poor lover, which made the husband very happy, for he had been afraid of drawing the whole band of pixies against him, and never again did his wife's lover dare to come to his house again.

This Norman legend has a kind of counterpart in Berry, or rather, it is the same legend with variations that capture the local spirit.

Here the follet or fadet, the story does not say precisely what type of cunning spirit, did not have love on his mind. Just like a Berrichon Devil, he thought only of enraging the spinner, who did not spin linen on her spindle but rather spun wool on her wheel, and, instead of gazing upon her with tender eyes, he maliciously tangled and broke her strands, so that while she was mending them, he was able to slip into the arche (the bread box) and steal the cakes that the housewife had saved for her children. 

Having noticed this trick, the good woman pretended to know nothing and, bending down, she subtly picked up the fine end of this character's long tail, tied it to a strand of her wool and began to twirl it, twirl it on her spinning wheel, as if it were a skein.

The fadet didn't notice it right away, busy wallowing in the cheesecake. But when the spinning wheel had rolled five or six lengths of tail, he very much felt it and began to shout: “My tail, my tail!” The spinner ignored him, and, still spinning, began to sing: “Pelotte, pelotte, ma roulotte!” with such a good voice and making so much noise with her wheel, that the other devils, trapped on the roof, did not hear the moaning and cursing of their comrade, who was forced to surrender, and to swear by the name of the Big Devil from Hell that he would never set foot in her house again.

According to some versions, the pixie who enjoys tangling up a spinner’s threads is a female spirit, a bad fairy. In my childhood, I heard an old woman say on such an occasion, “The jouillarde got into it!” and she made a cross in her hand to ward off and chase away the diablesse.

What elsewhere is called the goblin, the fairy, the pixie, the farfadet, the kobbold, the orco, the elf, the troll, etc., etc., in Berry, is most often called the follet (wisps). There are good ones and bad ones. There are those who groom the horses in the stable - all farmhands hear their whips and the call of their tongues; and there are those who gallop the horses in the pasture at night, and who braid horses’ manes to make themselves stirrups (since they are too small to stand on the animal's rump and always ride on the neck); they are are quite good little children and run away when approached by men. Their malice consists of causing death or miscarriage to the mares who allow them to cut their mane whenever they please, to braid and knot for their own use. The favourite mounts of the follet are called chevaux bouclés (shaggy horses), and in the old days they were esteemed as the best and most fierce. The groomed follet mares were sought after at fairs as good broodmares.

This follet of the stables still exists among us in the belief of many people. All peasants forty years of age, who have devoted themselves to raising horses, have seen them and swear to it with a candour impossible to doubt. They have never been afraid of them, knowing that they are not mean. They all describe it the same way. He is as big as a small rooster and he has a bright red crest. His eyes are of fire, his body is that of a fairly well-made little man, except that he has claws instead of nails. The tail varies; according to some it is made of feathers, according to others it is an inordinately long rat's tail, which he uses, like a whip, to make his horse run.

In the north of France, some of these nains (dwarfs) are very wicked and take pleasure in leading travellers astray. In La Marche, around the dolmens, all spirits are dangerous and hostile to man because they are in charge of guarding the treasures hidden under the large stones. Woe to the curious and especially to the ambitious who prowl around these monuments at night, where the eternal mystery of tradition reigns. They jump on horses’ necks, knock the rider to the ground and beat him up. However, we can protect ourselves from them in several ways, when we have been bold enough to study - at all risks - their habits and fancies. In general, they are not intelligent and speak the human language with difficulty. Like those of Normandy and like the korrigans of Brittany, they have the mania or rather, the infirmity, of repeating the same word twice, without being able to reach three, or if they exceed this number by doubling it, they can't say it a seventh time.

A treasure hunter, who saw a dwarf jump in front of him, dragging him into a magnetic circle and repeatedly saying to him in a sharp little voice: “Turn, turn,” stopped him short by answering him: “I turn, I return and I turn away.” The dwarf did not understand, and, thinking that this was a formula beyond his knowledge, let go of the man, jumped on the stone and made it dance so hard and turn so quickly that fire came out of it. The man dared not approach it, but he was able to draw back without being followed. Only the dwarf had given him such a spinning motion, making him waltz with him around the devilish stone, that he returned home, still spinning on himself like a spinning top, and went to collapse from fatigue at the door of his house.

George SAND

[dolly-macabre]

𝓓𝓮𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓮'𝓼 𝓓𝓪𝔂 𝟔

𝑶𝑻𝟑 𝒐𝒓 𝑶𝑪𝒔

𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾 𖤐 𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑶𝑹𝑺 𝑫𝑵𝑰

𝑺𝒕. 𝑪𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒂 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒕𝒐: @gointothevvater

𝑮𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏' 𝑫𝒐𝒘𝒏 & 𝑫𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒆 🖤🤍✨

Tonight was supposed to be a simple movie night. Victims are screaming in the background as St. Cecilia crawls closer to Dolly.

"You've been a bit lonely haven't you, love? Is that why you invited me over?"

"I dunno…" Dolly inches back, her face flushing red. "I just thought you'd like this movie, I guess."

"You know I'm not a big movie fan. Admit it."

"I--" Dolly stutters as she gets closer still. "I mean--" 

"Admit it," St. Cecilia says again. 

Dolly can hardly stand how good she looks but, hell, she's always gorgeous. She wonders why on earth St. Cecilia is even attracted to her. And her smell! Her fragrance is breathtaking. Warm cherry and earthy woods radiated from her. If she hadn't been pounding whiskey like crazy before she came over, she could've sworn it was St. Cecilia that was intoxicating her. 

"Okay, okay. Yeah. You got me, all right? I've been thinking about you a lot lately, actually…"

"How cute." St. Cecilia playfully touches the tip of Dolly's nose with her own. "What exactly have you been thinking about me?"

"Lots of things, y'know… I always have so much fun when you're around and--" 

St. Cecilia presses her lips to Dolly's, cutting off her less-than-eloquent rambling. 

Dolly melts right into her luscious lips, reclining back against her pillow with St. Cecilia following close. Neither of them can be bothered to turn off the blood-curdling screams from the TV as the kiss grows deeper. 

"It's not just the physical stuff, either… I just really like it when you're around," Dolly clarifies as St. Cecilia presses her knee between her thighs. "Hah... Oh... That feels so good!" She begins to grind against her knee. 

"I'm well aware, love. You're just so cute like this. I can hardly help myself."

Dolly bit her lip, running her hands up St. Cecilia's sides, grabbing a tiny tit in each hand. 

"You want me, don't you?" St. Cecilia's voice lilts in her ears, sweet as honey. 

"God, yes…"

St. Cecilia chuckles, lifting her top off with ease. As she moves her knee, Dolly is quick to strip her clothes, ever eager for what is to come next. Once St. Cecilia is completely naked, Dolly stares up at her in awe. She's a goddess. She was sure of that and she's more than vulnerable to her power. 

St. Cecilia descends on her again like an angel from heaven, pushing the misplaced hair from her friend's face. A beautiful smile graces her lips as she looks down on Dolly. She closes the distance between them with a steamy, passionate kiss, her tongue prodding and sliding against hers. Her hand wanders down Dolly's torso, tickling her hips on the way. 

"Careful, I'm ticklish there!" Dolly blushes, giggling as St. Cecilia's fingertips dance across her pale skin. 

"Good to know." She winks, teasing her with this new knowledge. Finally, her fingers find their mark, circling her clit softly. 

Dolly's breathing hitches, as she grinds down on her fingers, moaning her name. She begs for more, and St. Cecilia is more than happy to oblige, her touch hastening against her wet warmth. Before Dolly can bat an eye she's pulled her fingers from her. She lets out a needy groan, her eyes opening to find the blonde between her legs. 

"Shh," she hushes her softly, "I'll give you what you need, love." She lowers her head, beginning to lap tenderly at her clit. 

"Oh… Oh, fuck! Yes! Yes!" Dolly trembles under St. Cecilia's flicking tongue, only getting more and more needy. All at once, her tongue slips inside of her, pushing up into that certain spot. Dolly is helpless, lying there moaning and groaning as she rides her face. Her fingers tangled up in her gorgeous blonde hair as she rolls her hips over and over again while St. Cecilia continues her ministrations. Her labret adds an exciting element, cold against her warm, wet vulva. 

"Ceeeeelie…  Oh, fuck! I'm gonna--"

St. Cecilia hums against her, her fingers taking over inside her as her tongue finds her clit once more. Dolly shakes below her, falling apart like the weak earth during a quake. Finally her core snaps, and she spills all down St. Cecilia's chin. 

"Hoo, my God… Mmmm..." Dolly steadies below her, breathing heavily as St. Cecilia lays down next to her. 

"Good, I take it?"

"Jesus fuck… Yes! Terrific!" She tilts her head so her eyes meet hers once more. St. Cecilia has this look about her that Dolly can tell means she's far from finished with their encounter. 

Dolly smirks, taking her chin in between her thumb and forefinger. "You wanna sit on my face, gorgeous?" she asks unceremoniously. 

"Well, aren't you a smooth talker?" St. Cecilia snickers, "How could I refuse such an elegant invitation?"

Dolly gives her exposed ass a quick smack. "Then get over here, sweetheart! Let me rock your world!"

St. Cecilia isn't usually the kind to take orders but she humors her friend, getting on her knees, each one at either side of her head. She gracefully lowers herself against Dolly's fervent lips, not wasting a moment. 

"Mm!" Dolly immediately hums, going to work at her nub, vigorously lapping at her. 

"Oh!" St. Cecilia gasps, not expecting her to start so quickly. "My, you're enthusiastic!"

Dolly smiles devilishly against her, a look of mischief in her eyes while sucks at her clit. St. Cecilia shivers as she rocks her hips back and forth while Dolly grabs ahold of her ass, pressing her even harder against her mouth. Her tongue slips inside of her easily, rubbing against her G-spot as her thumb seeks out her clit. She wasn't about to leave it lonely. 

St. Cecilia's knees draw together in bliss, moaning as she squeezes at her partner's head. 

Dolly doesn't mind. If this is how she went, so be it. 

St. Cecilia rolls her hips faster now, delicious moans spilling from her lips as Dolly quickly flicks her tongue. She skillfully circles her clit with her thumb, faster and faster, indulging in the pretty little noises St. Cecilia makes. 

"Oh, fuck… Dolly! That feels amazing…" Her breath is hitching as she speaks. "I don't think I can… Ah! Ah!" Her legs were so tight around her head, that she felt as if her eyes might pop out of her skull. St. Cecilia's hands grip tightly to the headboard of Dolly's bed. 

Dolly is gifted with her cum dripping into her mouth and down her chin. St. Cecilia's shaking legs loosen around Dolly's head as she collapses next to her once more. 

"How do you do that so quickly?" Her breathing is haggard and her face is glowing with sweat. She couldn't be more beautiful. 

"A magician never reveals her secrets!" Dolly huffs, trying to steady her breathing. She proudly crosses her arms behind her head with a playful smirk. 

Suddenly a pillow smacks her face. "You're so full of it!" St. Cecilia laughs, pulling the pillow away to grace Dolly's lips with a tender kiss. 

"You know it, baby! Don't forget it!" Dolly chuckles, grabbing the remote to restart the movie. They had missed most of the beginning after all. 

[cryptidcalling]

Vesper thoughts; Late Night Swim (Please read the tags for CW before opening)

Sometimes, when it's late at night and he can't sleep, Vesper will go for a swim in the Citadel's private pool. Technically it's Pansa's, but Vesper uses it far more often. He keeps the overhead lights off, just turning on the ambient lights beneath the water, setting them to a soft pink. The water is cold at night, since he never bothers to turn on the heaters. He lowers himself in slowly and launches off the side with his feet, dipping below the water and silently swimming across the length of the pool. He touches his fingertips to the opposite wall, comes up for a breath, and then launches off again. He lets himself get lost in the rhythm of it, almost meditative as each gasp for breath and soft splash fills the otherwise silent room. He'd struggled with swimming when he was young. He'd never seen so much water in one place before, and he certainly couldn't imagine being able to move your body through it. He hadn't been the only cadet who couldn't swim, but he still wasn't willing to be left behind, learning this basic skill as others got to start the real training. He took up every second of pool time he was allowed to. The number of times he'd almost drowned was over half a dozen. It never stopped him. Tonight he swims with grace, barely perceptible in the dark, pink water. On one wall of the pool room is a massive window overlooking the city of Starport. Lights glimmer from below, but up above the jagged silhouette of skyscrapers is a clear view of the night sky. Three moons shine brightly, surrounded by the pinprick light of stars. Vesper lets it interrupt his focus, gliding to the edge of the pool and staring out. The city is always alight, never sleeping, alive with the constant flow of power thanks to Stardust, the lifeblood of the Empire. He's not unlike the city, in that way. As his gaze turns up towards the sky, he gets a familiar feeling in his chest. It feels like someone is pulling him, like there are two strong hands wrapped around his ribs tugging him out toward the sky. The tightness spreads up into his neck, feeling as if there's something lodged there, words he does not know trapped in his throat, desperately needing to be called out. He tries to follow the feeling, let the words free, but there's nothing. He remains silent. Finally, he pushes away from the wall and treads water in the center of the pool. If he looks closely at the water he can almost convince himself that it's reflecting the sky. Vesper takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He lets himself sink. He can feel it when his back makes contact with the floor. He looks behind him, but nothing is there. Stretching infinitely in all directions is the cold, eternal void of space. His hair flows up above him with no gravity to hold it down. Beyond him is a field of stars, trillions all clustered together, sisters lighting up the otherwise desolate stage in a glittering crescendo of flame and color. For a moment their magnificence is all he can comprehend, and he releases the knot in his throat in a silent, awestruck breath. Bubbles emerge from his mouth and float up and away.

Their beauty reaches his soul, but their warmth is inaccessible at this distance. The void's cold prickles against his skin. His fingers buzz like static, and when he finally brings them up to his face they're a bright pink. With a twitch, his fingertips break away into shimmering Stardust. There's an odd feeling in his chest again. It's different now, not being pulled away but rather crushing in on itself. It feels tight and uncomfortable, constricting his lungs and pressing hard against his bones. He watches as more of his hand disintegrates and floats away from him. It doesn't hurt much. It's prickly and uncomfortable, but then it's just numb. Maybe it will spread across his whole body. That wouldn't be so bad really. He could stay here forever that way. The pressure has turned into pain. It's crushing his lungs, traveling up his esophagus and winding around his throat. It hurts. He wants the light to spread faster, to reach his chest and turn it to dust so the ache will stop. He'll be at rest, his body turned to Stardust, the lifeblood of the Empire. The Empire. Vesper opens his eyes. He breaks the surface of the water with a crash and is able to make his way to a ledge, resting his weight against it as he violently coughs and gasps for air. It takes him several minutes to finally catch his breath. He's tired, and he's freezing, but he feels more at ease than he had before. He gets out and dries himself off, changing into some very comfortable pajamas, a gift from Pansa. He returns to his quarters and crawls back into bed. The covers are soft and warm. Feeling cozy and exhausted, he finds it easy to drift off to sleep. He dreams of stars.