#the sun grows dark but lo here comes the dawn

[danielnelsen]

every time i play this im reminded of how funny jowan is, underrated character of the year every year

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

kicking it off with the Seraphim girls by pulling from the hboww2rewatch prompts (only several weeks late, I know, I know). Here's a snippet from the Angels' training days - enjoy! <3

(for those who aren't yet familiar with these ladies, their introduction is here)

-> friends

"Marty, Marty, Marty!" Dawn Davis cried as she streaked across the bar, weaving her way through the crowd of patrons as she made her way to the table in the corner that her crew had laid claim to, the women looking up at her with identical raised brows. Marty had been halfway through taking a sip of whiskey when she approached, and Dawn had been forced to deliver a harsh smack between her shoulder blades to prevent her from choking as she coughed in surprise.

"Jesus Christ," Marty spluttered, wiping a few droplets away from her chin. "Can I help you?"

"I need you to come help me beat some guys at darts."

Her mouth gaped open slightly as she briefly scanned the faces of the other women at the table, who seemed evenly split between amusement and confusion. "... Me specifically?"

"Well, yeah, you're an athlete."

"I'm a rower."

"Potato, potahto," Dawn shrugged, squeezing her shoulder and turning back towards the game before Marty even had a chance to respond.

"... I guess I'm playing darts now," Downing the rest of her whiskey, she sucked in a breath to soothe the burning in her throat, and soon she too was gone, shouldering her way across the bar in the direction Dawn had disappeared.

"... Does Dawn know what that saying means?" Maisie asked tentatively once they were safely out of earshot.

"Does it make sense either way?" Nora frowned.

"Don't show us up - we've got a reputation to uphold!" Kit called after the pair, cupping a hand around her mouth to amplify the sound. It was a remark made in jest, but far from baseless. They did have a reputation - a fragile one at that - and as the only female crew currently training at the base in Boise, it was of paramount importance that they maintained it. Or at least, it was to some. To Kit, 'reputation' was simply another man's opinion - and she'd never much cared for those.

It was finally growing dark outside, the late September sun disappearing beneath the mountains that obscured the horizon from view. Those goddamn mountains. There wouldn't be any in England - or so she'd been told - and that was good enough reason to go. They'd encircled her back home, caging in the beasts, as if Los Angeles were sliding down the rim of a bowl to cluster at the bottom in a disorderly heap. She'd never been happier to leave a place.

Well... almost never.

"'Nother round," Sadie declared, shuffling along the booth bench beside Kit until she could stand. "Anyone?"

"Nuh-uh," Thea shook her head from her spot across the table, perched on one of the only actual chairs they had. "Can't be hungover for the flight tomorrow, sit down."

Sadie let out a huff, sliding back into her seat. Thea always had a way of talking them down - of whipping out her 'teacher voice' to just the degree that it didn't seem patronising. Be that as it may, it still put Kit's teeth on edge.

"I'm gonna step out for a smoke, real quick," She nodded, pushing herself up to stand as she fumbled for the half-empty box of cigarettes she knew she had on her somewhere. It was a flimsy excuse - at least half of the bar's patrons had a light burning away, smoke rising up to the ceiling and clouding the glare of the lights - and yet none of the other questioned it.

"I'll join you," Yara Katz spoke up, discarding her empty pint glass. She had hoped to go alone, but frankly, Yara spoke so sparsely it would've hardly made a difference. At least with her, there was no danger of someone trying to crack a joke.

The night air was cooler here, where the suffocating warmth of the inside actually managed to dissipate as one stepped outside, as opposed to the relentless, pressing humidity that seemed ever-present back home. Here she could take a breath, feel the air fill her lungs without feeling like she needed a glass of water once she was done. There was always a lingering chance that California hadn't been as bad as she remembered it. But she wasn't going back to find out.

Kit leant back against the bar's outer wall, staring up at the sunset-tinted clouds, puffs of red and orange, like the very sky was on fire. It wasn't even late, but her bones seemed to weigh her down towards the dirt, relaxing her knees slightly as if it would lighten the load. Through the propped-open door, she could still faintly hear the others - Nora's hearty laugh, Angel's voice strained above the din of chatter as she tried to finish whatever story she was telling.

Her head lolled to the side, glancing across to where Yara was standing. "I wasn't actually gonna smoke."

"I know. But I am."

She jumped somewhat as Yara came over, digging her hand into Kit's jacket and plucking out the crumpled box of cigarettes she'd been struggling to find, planting one between her lips as she rummaged in her own pocket for a light.

So that's where they were.

"How'd you-?"

"You put them in there this morning."

Ah, yes, classic Yara. Always watching. If it wasn't slightly offputting, it would have been endearing. But Kit supposed there was something comforting in having someone who noticed the little things.

"By the way, have you seen my dress shoes?"

"Under Sylvie's bed."

"... Ok. Thanks," Kit nodded appreciatively, folding her arms tightly across her chest as she leant back against the wall once more. A click sounded, and a brief ball of flame illuminated Katz's face, casting golden streaks of light across her jet-black curls. Exhaling a cloud of smoke, she kicked up dirt with her heel as she turned in place, letting the pair slip into comfortable silence.

They passed the next twenty minutes or so in pensive, passive quiet, Yara's cigarette long burnt out by the time the rest of the crew emerged from the bar, ready to make the trek back to their hut. Thea came first, arm-in-arm with Nora, sipping on a bottle of water, tailed closely by Sadie, who had her arms slung over Angel and Maisie's shoulders on either side of her - not drunk, just laughing, as they tried to recall the lyrics to a song they'd heard on the radio that morning. Dawn and Marty were cheering incoherently as they followed shortly after, clearly victorious in their game of darts, and Marty let out a burst of laughter as Sylvie ran at her, launching herself into a piggyback, arms wrapped around the blonde's muscled shoulders.

They made a merry troupe, and Kit couldn't help the grin that tugged at her cheeks as she watched them go by, merging with the group as they walked, hands tucked into her pockets. Yara quickly joined, bumping elbows with an exchange of faint smiles as they passed one another. Reaching out to steady her, Kit chuckled as Sylvie began to slip down Marty's back, slowly losing her grip before letting go altogether and landing on her feet with a huff.

"Heavier than she looks," Marty teased.

Kit gasped dramatically, clamping her hands over Sylvie's ears in a way that made the girl giggle. It was easy to slip back into things - to latch on to the others' spirit and make it her own. "How dare you, Jarlsson?! She's the daughter I never had, and I won't take these slanders."

"How old were you when she was born, again?"

"Five."

"Right. Makes sense."

They laughed as they continued to stomp back towards base, Sylvie wrestling against Kit's grip as she tugged her hands away from her face. Once free, they passed a beat in silence before Sylvie reached out again, wrapping her arms around Kit's shoulders in a sideways embrace, a pleased smile curling her lip.

She let out a warm chuckle, reaching up to give Sylvie's arm an affectionate squeeze.

"... Are we sure we're not drunk?"

Sylvie hummed. "I don't think so. Just happy."

[milesmentis]

top 5 things about Jowan that make you smile

"Send me an ask for my Top 5 anything"

His voice: Apparently I'm in the minority on this but I positively adore Desmond Askew's voice and find it very soothing to listen to. The number one reason I played ESO (aside from hanging out with Daisy) was the fact that he voiced like half the male dunmer

The way he makes fun of the Chantry: Jowan is easy to push around and traumatized as heck, but the biting sarcasm that he reserves for talking about the Chantry is delicious. He's so bitter about his lot in life, but does a good job of hiding it. It only comes out in little bits and pieces with someone he can confide in (like the player). Also his "The sun grows dark, but Lo! Here comes the Dawn" quip always makes me giggle

His potential for growth: even without the companion arc he was intended to have (yes, I will die bitter about this), the way he changes between the Circle and the Arl of Redcliffe is telling. He admits his faults, expresses his regrets about Lily and the player, and offers to make amends. If you send him into the Fade, he resists the demon - proving that he DID have the strength to pass the Harrowing all along. And in the end ... he accepts whatever fate you decide: Death or Tranquility ... his greatest fears and faces them with courage. Of course I would never choose either, so he is either recruited into my party (thank you mods!) or off protecting commoners as an apostate. "Master Levyn" my love

Being a Warden: because if the game won't give me Warden Jowan content, I'll just make it myself! Joining the wardens makes so much sense for him! Blood magic isn't outlawed there ... in fact it's respected and studied. I like to think from time to time about Jowan, a decade or two older, studying Avernus/the Architect (either in person or using their notes) and doing intense research into anatomy, surgery, blood magic, Blight, and the way they all interact to become an INCREDIBLY accomplished physician. Someone who has the respect of his colleagues ... a sense of purpose ... confidence ... yeah ...

His parallels with Morrigan: so I am down bad for Morrigan/Jowan, there is simply no denying it. I like the idea of Morrigan/Amell, and I can see a relationship with Jowan hitting a lot of the same beats. She mocks him, pressures him, scoffs and derides him ... but also takes time to teach him skills that the Circle never would. And although she would never admit it, she eventually opens up to his softness instead of having a knee-jerk reaction to his "weakness". Basically I could see them being really good for each other in the long run and doing a great job raising Keiran together

[nemo-of-house-hamartia]

Hey Nemo! To you little aesthetics meme game I'd like to see a bit of Mathias :)

As a bonus (if you feel like it) his mother:)

Hi My dear, and welcome welcome here! :)

thank you for participating and asking me about Mathias and Ximena, I am more than happy to give you something for both of them! :D

So here you have them!

MATHIAS SÉBASTIEN DE BEAUMONT

MOODBOARD

PLAYLIST:

"Broken Vow" - Josh Groban

"Lune" - Bruno Pelletier (Notre Dame De Paris)

"Somewhere" - Within Temptation

STEAL HIS LOOK:

QUOTES :

“Courage, dear heart.” - C.S. Lewis, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

“Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words and never stops at all.” -  Emily Dickinson

“I know. It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something.” - Samwise Gamgee

HIS AESTHETIC:

The rain that falls among the leaves of the trees, the brouillard in the early hours of the morning, when the sun has not yet dawned; the gentle caress of a moth's wing against the cheek; relaxed jazz music playing in the background while cooking; the shimmer of fresh ink on parchment; sitting alone, with Notre Dame's gargoyles as sole company; ghosts and memories waltzing together, merging until they are indiscernible from one another; smudges of carbon pencil on one's fingertips; sepia and black-and-white photography, sitting at the windowsill with the moon and stars as sole companion and confidant;

XIMENA REYES MORENO

MOODBOARD

PLAYLIST:

"Sun, Moon and Stars" - Loreena McKennitt

"Spanish Guitars and Night Plazas" - Loreena McKennitt

"Lora Lie Lo" - Patty Gurdy

STEAL HER LOOK:

QUOTES :

“Dance, when you're broken open. Dance, if you've torn the bandage off. Dance in the middle of the fighting. Dance in your blood. Dance when you're perfectly free.” - Rumi

“You must understand: they fear you. There is nothing scarier in their minds than a girl who knows the power of her flames.” - Nikita Gill

“There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends. I have no notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature.”- Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey

“The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.”- J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

HER AESTHETIC:

Summer Sunsets among the Andalusian hills; the light of a bonfire, its flames rising up toward the starlit sky; the crackling of the flames; the sound of the strings of an Oud being tickled, the notes enveloping the dancers in a multitude of feelings; voices singing along, celebrating life; orange trees and their entrancing, intoxicating perfume; colorful fabrics, the cotton fresh against the skin; wicker baskets filled with ripe fruit; a lunar eclipse during a full moon; the flutter of a butterfly's wing; a black horse running free across the desert's dunes, unbridled, untamable;

[death-rebirth-senshi]

"Ambiguous rubbish. I can do it too: The sun grows dark, but lo; here comes the dawn."

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Hii!! I'm new to your page. I'm wondering if you'd tyr to write a small Loki oneshot? It's basically Loki coming back from Ragnarok to Avengers tower with Thor, hoping to see his love of his life. The reader, but.. when he arrived he looked around for her but doesn't find her. Instead he finds the avengers looking gloomy and seemingly grieving? Then he asked where the reader is towards the avengers. In which they answered they died. Murdered, Possibly by Thanos or Hydra in a mission or somewhere.

Thanks -Vic'♡

I'm sorry if this isn't something you're used to write. I hope you'd like this idea. Probably angsty idea.

Hi Vic! Welcome, welcome 💝 I'm glad you found my page and sent me this ask because I really love angst with a fluffy ending so I hope you enjoy this!

Until We Meet Again || Loki

Warnings: Reader death, angst, grief, fluff. WC: 1k

“Why can’t he see me?” You asked Heimdall, the panic in your voice peaking as you reached for Loki only to find your hand pass through his cheek. “How did I get here?”

It was as if you were simply dreaming, unable to remember the moment before this as you looked around. Your vision was tunnelled and a black void surrounded you except where Loki stood, your one light in a very dark world.

“Heimdall, what is happening?” You trembled as the tunnel narrowed even further and you slowly lost sight of your love.

“I’m sorry Princess, I could hold on no longer.” Heimdall spoke from the darkness. “Valhalla calls us home.”

“Valhalla? This must be some sort of joke. That would mean that I am dead, that you are dead.” You shook your head in disbelief but flashes of memories assaulted you, a blast and gunshots then pain everywhere before it faded to nothing. You were meant to be at the Avengers Tower waiting for Loki’s return but something had called you home. Your people had needed help and you had tried to answer, forgetting the fight as you called Heimdall to open the Bifrost.

“There is nothing to fear in death, Princess, you will see him again.” Heimdall promised, his hand gently resting on yours as he guided you through the dark, towards a faint glow on the horizon. “The sun will shine on us.”

You remembered Loki’s promise that he recited every time you were apart, a small smile growing as the warming rays kissed your skin. “And a new day shall dawn.”

Loki sensed something amiss the moment the carrier touched down, a heaviness to the air that he couldn’t explain. They had won, Ragnorok was over and although their people had suffered a great loss, they had won.

“Where is my darling wife?” Loki asked, his eyes scanning the crowd a second time before he felt among them with his keener senses, all of them finding emptiness.

Tony was the first to speak up as the last of the surviving Asgardians were helped off the carrier and assisted to the medical wing. His voice broke as he looked away. “She’s gone.”

“What do you mean? Where?” Loki hissed as his knives appeared in his hands. “What did you do!”

“Brother, I’m sure we will find her.” Thor said calmly as he pushed Loki to lower his weapons. “She can’t have gone far. Did she go to the new compound?”

“No. She’s gone.” Tony swallowed sickly. “We were in a hard fight and suddenly she said she needed to go home. I don’t know what happened but it distracted her. We did everything we could to try to save her but…”

Loki surged forward and Thor barely caught him before he could attack him. “You lie!” 

“I wouldn’t lie about this.” Tony sniffled, Steve placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.  “We all loved her.”

Thor’s arms crushed Loki to his chest, taking his brother’s weight as the universe attempted to crush his spirit and pull him to the depths of Hel. “Listen to me, Lo. She’s a warrior, she will be feasting in the great halls with father as we speak.”

“I’m Jotun, Thor, do you not understand!” Loki hissed, pushing his way out of his brother’s arms. “There is no Valhalla for the likes of me. I will never see her again.”

Thor grabbed Loki by the scruff as he tried to turn away and pinned him with a stare that froze Loki. “You are a prince of Asgard, do not think that blood is what determines your fate.” 

723 Years Later “Welcome home, my prince.” You smiled as he stepped through the opaque wall beneath the arch woven from branches of Yggdrasil. “I have been waiting for you.”

Tears shimmered in his green eyes as he stumbled into your arms. Streaks of grey lightened his dark tresses and the lines on his face were etched a little deeper but he was still just as handsome as the day you met him all those centuries ago. His cool fingers traced your jawline, the disbelief clear on his face as he tried to figure out if this were a cruel trick.

“You told me the sun would shine on us again.” You whispered as you turned him to the light that glowed over Valhalla. “You were right.”

Loki's breath shuddered as he accepted the truth and he cupped your warm cheeks. “I have missed you terribly, my love.”  

“And I you.” 

You ached for a taste of his lips and rose to your tiptoes to claim them once again. Time had changed nothing, your body still melted in his embrace and his tongue still dominated yours as his arms encircled your waist. A hunger burned within you and he seemed to be consumed by the same fire as his hands reached for the pin on your armour. 

A giggle broke you from his kiss and you looked around the empty field. “We have eternity together.” 

“Believe me, I know, I have thought about this moment for centuries and exactly how I would spend it with you, and then every moment after that too.” Loki grinned, dropping his hold on you so that he could raise his arms up, his power building a home from nothing. 

Your jaw dropped at the sight of his power being used in a way you had never seen and the cottage was just like one you had spoken about. It had been a fantasy you had dreamt of, living with Loki in the cute little home, far from the fighting and the wars. “You remembered.” 

“No more fighting, no more wars.” Loki promised as he took your hand and led you to the house. “Just you and I.”

He swept your feet out from under you and kicked the door open so he could step across the threshold with you in his arms. 

“I love you, Loki.”

His green eyes captivated you as he placed your feet on the floor, needing his hands free to wipe the tears that were rapidly filling your lash line. “I love you too, for all time, always.”

[inkandpen22]

Shared Minds and Shared Souls (1/?)

Pairing: Spike x Female!Reader

Warnings: Angst, mentions of death, swearing

Word Count: 2.9k

Story Summary: Driven by the power she posses as a witch and psychic, Y/N returns to Sunnydale to pay a visit to her family after she has a vision about Dawn. She isn’t exactly like her duty first and justice before all else cousin Buffy as Y/N follows her own rules. She offers her aid to the Scoobies during their drama with Glory. Y/N doesn’t plan to stay long until she experiences an unparalleled connection with a certain vampire from North London.

Masterlist

I never imagined myself visiting a small town like Sunnydale. I’ve lived in many places, but never California. The west coast isn’t exactly my style. For one, it’s hot. Two, the hippy-dippy happy-go-lucky attitude makes my eyes roll. Finally, Los Angeles reminds me of Celia, my cousin. Buffy, Celia, and I were inseparable as children. Dawn tried to tag-along in our make-believe games, but Buffy grew annoyed with her quickly. I haven’t been back in California in a decade for this very reason. Everything about California reminds me of a time when we were just kids. Before everything went to Hell in a hand basket. 

Blasting Green Day in front of the hospital, I park my 1967 bright red Mustang. I take a minute to collect myself before barging in. Buffy and Dawn don’t exactly know I’m coming, but there’s something I have to warn them about, something so crucial that I drove here all the way from New York. The funny part will be explaining to Buffy that I know she’s the Slayer. To her knowledge, I’m just her ordinary cousin who she hasn’t seen since we were ten. In reality, I’m a psychic witch, have been since birth. Well, I’ve been psychic since the womb, the witchy part came later. Oh, and I can’t forget seeing the dead part, I always do. That little twist comes with the psychic part. Yeah, imagine a little ten-year-old me seeing my recently deceased cousin at her funeral… fun times. It explains the whole discomfort toward California. Low-key traumatized, but all good. Any who, I should probably stop the hesitation and just head inside. 

As I stroll down the bitter cold hospital hall, I grip the leather straps of my backpack nervously. 

“Hi Buffy,” I rehearse under my breath. “You probably don’t recognize me, I’m Y/N… your cousin. It’s great to see you- God I sound so stupid!” 

I follow the signs on the wall toward the Neurology unit. Hospitals, cemeteries, funeral homes, old buildings, all great places to bump into ghosts. The things I do for family, boy do these guys owe me. 

As I turn down yet another peach colored hall- geez this place is dated- my eyes land on a familiar blonde in the waiting room at the far end. Oh great, here we go. Buffy doesn’t notice me right away, being too occupied with doting on a sleeping Dawn resting her head on her lap. I take note of the blondie boy sat beside her. I’m guessing he’s with Buffy. Good for her, a strong seven out of ten. I would rate him higher, but he’s not my type, too All-American boy-next-door. 

“Looks like I’m right on time,” I determine once I’m closer, thus making my presence known. Buffy peers up at me and her eyes widen steadily. Blondie next her looks between me and Buffy. Her surprised reaction makes him tense, I nearly assure him I’m not a threat. 

“Y/N?” She gentle shakes Dawn to wake her as she rises from her seated position. “What are you doing here?” 

“I heard about your mom… ” I explain vaguely. In truth, I saw it in a vision and a lot more beyond that, but I’ll just say my mom told me for now. 

Buffy makes long strides and warmingly embraces me. I can sense the desperation in her touch. Her ora is all out of wack. I could see the mess her colors are from yards away. It seems like I did really arrive at the perfect time. Buffy needs me now more than ever. 

“Y/N!” Dawn gasps behind us. 

Buffy and I part, her eyes stare into mine pleadingly. Yeah, we really need to have a chat. Preferably somewhere we can be frank, truly frank, no bullshit like I’m spilling right now. 

“Oh my God!” Dawn squeals, rushing down to greet me.  She squeezes me like a stress ball as she rambles on about how much she’s missed me. Then, Dawn starts to ask the tough questions as usually does. The girl has never quite had a filter. “Where have you been?”

“New York mainly,” I laugh. 

“How come you’ve never come to see us before?” She rushes out as Buffy continues to stare at me in awe. It could be she thinks she’s dreaming this. 

“Dawn, I-” 

She cuts me off, “how’s aunt Lolly? Are you college? When did you get in?”

“Dawnie!” I laugh, “I will answer all your questions, promise. We’ll catch up! For now,” I look at Buffy. “I need to have a chat with your sister…” 

The girl scoffs, rolling her eyes dramatically as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Of course, you’re for Buffy… everyone is always here for her. No ever visit me,” she grumbles. 

“I’m here for you too,” I assure Dawn. “I just… it’s important I speak with Buffy right now. It’s about something-” 

“I’m sorry, but who are you?” Blondie interrupts, his face covered with confusion. 

“I’m Y/N,” I introduce myself. “I’m Buffy and Dawn’s cousin.” 

“I’m Riley, the boyfriend,” he offers me his hand. 

Wow, quite the introduction. I’m not much of a contact-person, but this seems like the perfect opportunity to gather information on G.I. Joe. As I shake his hand, I’m able to visualize memories and emotions from him. They come as flashes before my eyes. I hear his thoughts, see through his eyes, and feel what he’s felt. All I see Buffy, moments they’ve had. At first, pleasure and immense happiness consumes my head. Then, it’s replaced with doubt and self-deprecation. The obsession with Buffy is replaced with desperate longing. He feels her slipping. 

My visual is cut-off when Riley removes his hand. I’m brought back to current moment, surrounded by chaos of the hospital. 

Dawn frowns, curiosity etched across her features. “What’s so important that you had to come all the way? Does it have to do with Mom?”

“You came all the way from New York?” A male voice questions behind me. 

What is this an interrogation? The sooner someone tells me where Buffy is the sooner I can head back home. Believe me, I don’t want to be here longer than I have to be. I glance over my shoulder, Willow and Xander stare at me in confusion. We’ve never met, but I know of them, the visions. I’ve been keeping tabs on Buffy and the family since… well… since Buffy became the Slayer. 

“Yes,” I answer Xander directly. Turning back to Buffy, I not so discretely tell her it’s urgent. “Please, Buff, do you have minute? I know this isn’t exactly opportune but-” 

“Of course,” she swallows hard. “We can uh… we can talk outside. There’s a courtyard just over there,” she gestures down the hall. 

“I’m coming with,” Riley declares next to her. 

“I’m sorry, is your name Buffy?” I sass, much to his frustration. “What am I going to do her? She’s my cousin. I’m only borrowing her for a second, then you can toss the leash back on her.” 

“Y/N…” Buffy mutters for me to stop. 

Riley narrows his eyes at me- oof, I’m real scared now! While I giggle at her boyfriend’s expense as the two of us start down the hall. I’ve missed Buffy, we used to be like two peas in-a-pod. Once all this drama I’ve seen in her future is over, perhaps we can be close again. I refuse to settle in Sunnydale though. At least we have phones and email. 

Once outside, and we’re certain we’re alone, Buffy cuts to the chase. “Not that I’m not happy you’re here, Y/N, I am but, why are you here?” She hasn’t changed a bit.

I snicker, peering up at the sky as the sun it starting to set. Gosh, I hate the day. That sounds weird because what human hates daytime, but I do. I’m much more… in tune with myself when it’s night time. I thrive off the moonlight and stars. The sun and its rays are hot, too hot. I like the cold and darkness of night. 

“Fine, let’s get right to it,” I smirk at my cousin wickedly. Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out my pack of cigarettes, feeling a bit anxious. “You mind?” I ask her, not really caring but figure I should check. 

Timidly, she shakes her head. Her arms are securely crossed in front of her as she watches me take a smoke. “Those things will kill you,” she advices the cookie-cutter phrase. 

“So can a car accident, yet we still drive,” I remark with sass. “What’s life without a little risk?” I wink. 

Buffy shifts on her feet as her jaw clenches. Her aura is shifting again, Black to red, I’ve never seen someone change on a dime so fast. That’s change is funny, she’s either angry or afraid of me, maybe both. I can’t blame her, I’m not exactly a Care Bear. My black and red attire doesn’t scream comforting. 

“Then again, you would know all about death, right Cuz?” I suggest subtly. 

Her eyes lock with mine and I start to see the wheels turning her head. ‘Does she know? How could she?’ She’s likely thinking to herself. One touch and I could hear for certain what she’s thinking. 

“What are you talking about?” She mumbles, barely meeting my eye. 

I scoff, tossing my head back, why can’t this be easier? You know what, fine! Growing impatient, I hold my hand out, palm to the sky. “Light,” I verbalize and within seconds a bright orb floats above my palm. 

Buffy stares at my magic stunned. Yeah, I was sort of expecting that kind of reaction. 

“How… How…” She stutters. 

“If you’d like a mini bolt of lighting I can do that too,” I offer. “I kind of prefer them, far more powerful!” 

She doesn’t share in my excitement as she slowly steps closer still in awe. “You’re a witch?” 

“Yep!” I smile, rather proud. “Have been for a while now, gotten pretty good at it too, not to brag or anything…” 

“So…” Buffy continues to process everything. “You know about demons, vampires-” 

I hum, “all of it. Including that you’re the Slayer, congrats by the way! Fun shit,” I compliment with a snicker. 

“Not exactly how I’d describe it,” she mutters defeatedly, her eyes still on the orb. 

Closing my fist, the orb disappears and I place my hand on Buffy’s shoulder. Her eyes meet mine solemnly. 

“How long have you known?” She asks unfazed. 

“Since forever,” I answer truthfully. “Sorry I never called or have come to help. I’ve sort of been cheering for ya from the sidelines. In all honesty, I’ve been away perfecting my magic with a coven. I’ve met some pretty interesting people along the way, all dazzled when they find out I’m related to the Slayer,” I gush. 

She pays no mind to my compliments, still in a daze. “Does anyone know? Does your dad?” 

I shake my head and sternly tell her, “he can never know! He thinks I’ve been away at school in Boston. In truth, I’ve been in New York with a coven.” 

Buffy nods in understanding, though I know Joyce is aware of the supernatural world. My mom could never handle it. “Did you come all the way here to tell me that?” 

Okay, here’s the hard part, the real hard part! I finish my cigarette, pondering the last relaxing bit of it before tossing it to the ground. “Okay, so here’s the deal,” I begin. “There’s a this big nasty bitch I’ve seen in my visions- I see visions by the way-” I add in passing, having forgotten it. Then, I remember I can’t forget the ghosties bit. “Anyway, you’ve already bumped into her, Glory. Yeah, she’s a real charmer from what I can see. I’m here to help because based on my visions, she’s kicking your asses.” 

I leave out a crucial bit of information, a part of the visions I’m not sure I can share. One important thing about being a psychic is not changing fate. As much as I want to tell Buffy everything, I know I can’t, not if I don’t want to mess with the world. 

“So, you’re here to help us stop Glory?” She clarifies. 

“It gets real fucked at some points,” I tell her, hoping that doesn’t reveal too much. 

“And I take it you know about Dawn…” she insinuates. 

I nod my head slowly, “you mean that she’s The Key? Then yes, I do. She’s about as human as the Teletubbies, but of course I won’t mention that to her. Who all knows?” 

“As of right now, me and Giles. He’s my Watcher,” she explains. “Did you already know that?” She’s catches on quickly. 

“Kinda…” I answer hesitantly. “Sorry if that’s weird. I’ve tried not to pry with my visions. If it makes you feel better, I didn’t know who Riley was! He mustn’t have been around the last time I checked in!” 

“When was the last time you… ya know… checked in?” She asks, unsure of how to phrase it. 

“Well, I’ve been away with the coven. I joined them right after high school, so I suppose it was when you started at UC Sunnydale. I know all about Willow and Xander, they seem nice from what I’ve seen. Angel, his in-and-out appearance in my visions was confusing for a while until I realized he was doing that in real life too,” I laugh.

“So you saw all of the Spike drama and my mom finding out about me too?” She asks. 

I frown, I saw Joyce learning about Buffy and that whole conversion, but I’ve never heard of a Spike. Based on my expression, Buffy predicts the answer. 

“Spike is the biggest pain in my ass,” she groans. “He and Angel used to be all vampy together. Then, Angel gained a soul and Spike got worse from what I’ve gathered. He’s killed two Slayers, so we’re not exactly friends. We met when he tried to kill me. He’ll show up and leave again, kinda like Angel but less helpful. Except now, he’s acting all infatuated with me and sticking around.” 

I snicker, “oof, so you have a psychotic vampire lusting after you? How did I miss this?!” 

Buffy rolls her eyes, “believe me, it’s not fun.”  

“Is he hot?” I inquire, always interested in a troubled bad-boy type. 

She stares at me with narrowed eyes of disapproval and scoffs, “oh my God… never ask me that again.” 

 “He must’ve showed up and gone between visions,” I determine. “I wasn’t able to check in much after you started at UC. Which reminds me, your roommate Kathy- not a fan of her,” I confess with a bit of humor. 

“Turned out to be a demon,” Buffy explains, much to my surprise. 

I gasp, “no way! Ugh, I saw you move-in, some interactions here and there, but that’s about it. I knew there was something up with her!” 

Buffy laughs, actually smiling for the first time since our reunion. It feels great having someone know I’m a witch who isn’t a witch themselves. Being away in New York with the coven was great and utterly freeing. They were the first people who I showed my true self to. Now, finally, someone I care about knows the real me. I have so much more to share with her! 

Buffy takes my hand gently, “I’m really glad you’re here. Lately… lately things have been more difficult than I could’ve ever imagined,” she confesses, swallowing back her tears and looks at the ground. “With Mom and protecting Dawn, I’m not sure I can do it all on my own. I mean, I have my friends, Giles, and Riley but…” she meets my gaze, tears puddling in her eyes. “I needed you, I just didn’t quite know it. I needed my other sister,” she weeps. 

Immediately, I pull Buffy into my chest and hug her tightly. I should’ve come sooner. I should’ve felt Buffy’s pain. I guess I was so caught up with the coven and I forgot to check on her, so I missed the signs. I’m here now, that’s all that matters. Now, I can help. Seeing Buffy so upset makes my blood boil. Anyone who fucks with my family gets knocked off this planet, which means Glory has another coming at her in the form of a powerful witch. 

__________________________

Masterlist 

[warrioreowynofrohan]

March 15th - A Day of Miracles

This sis something that occurred to me when I was writing today’s instalment of “Today in Tolkien”, but I didn’t have space to discuss it there, so I’m making a separate post. The day of the Battle of the Pelennor Fields is characterized by muraculous events and sudden turns of good fortune, in a way that didn’t become fully clear to me until I looked at the day as a whole. In the style of The Lord of the Rings, many of these are not obviously supernatural, but are understood as miraculous by those who experience them.

Wind

One of the most prominent of the miracles of the day is the change in the wind at precisely the right time, driving back the darkness of Mordor, giving hope to the Rohirrim and to Frodo and Sam, and carrying Aragorn’s fleet up the river. Readers of The Silmarillion will inow that wind is most of all associated with Manwë, the king of the Valar.

The first mentions of the change in the wind are from Ghân-buri-Ghân and the Rohirrim:

But suddenly [Ghân-buri-Ghân] stood looking up like so e startled woodland animal snuffling a strange air. A light came into his eyes. “Wind is changing!” he cried, and with that, in a twinkling as it seemed, he and his fellows had vanished into the glooms, never to be seen by any Rider of Rohan again.

And later, as the Rohirrim draw near to the Pelennor Fields:

“Do you remember the Wild Man’s words, lord?” said another. “I live upon the open Wold in days of peace; Wídfara is my name, and to me also the air brings messages. Already the wind is turning. There comes a breath out of the South; there is a sea-tang in it, faint though it be. The morning will bring new things. Above the reek it will be dawn when you pass the wall.”

As the Rohirrim arrive at the battlefield:

Then suddenly Merry felt it at last, beyond doubt: a change. Wind was in his face! Light was glimmering. Far, far away, in the South the clouds could be dimly seen as remote grey shapes, rolling up, drifting; morning lay beyond them.

And in the charge of the Rohirrim:

For morning came, morning and a wind from the sea; and darkness was removed, and the hosts or Mordor wailed, and terrror took them...

The wind and the change it bring is also anticipated by Legolas aboard the ships of the Corsairs, as Gimli later tells:

“Heavy would my heart have been, for all our victory at the havens, if Legolas had not laughed suddenly. ‘Up with your beard, Durin’s son!’ he said. ‘For thus it is spoken: Oft hope is born, when all is forlorn.’ But what hope he saw from afar he would not tell...At midnight hope was indeed born anew, Sea-crafty men of the Ethir gazing southward spoke of a change coming with a fresh wind from the Sea. Long ere day the masted ships hoisted sail, and our speed grew, until dawn whitened the foam at our prows.

Frodo and Sam, too, see the change:

Light was growing behind them. Slowly it crept towards the North. There was battle far anove in the high spaces of the air. The billowing clouds of Mordor were being driven back, their edges tattering as a wind out of the living world came up and swept the fumes and smokes towards the dark land of their home. Under the lifting skirts of the dreary canopy dim light leaked into Mordor like pale morning through the grimed window of a prison. “Look at it, Mr Frodo!” said Sam. “Look at it! The wind’s changed. Something’s happening. He’s not having it all his own way. His darkness is breaking up in the world there.”

Victory

Eowyn and Merry’s defeat of the Witch-king, though accomplished by thmselves and a great feat, is also percieved as miraculous by many who hear its effects. These two things are not contradictory - the presence of two such unlikely people on the battlefield, in the right time and right place, with the right weapons, in answer to prophecy, does have the air if the miraculous, a miracle accomplished through the intersections of providence with the actions of ordinary people (even as with the later destruction of the Ring; or, earlier, Bilbo’s finding of the Ring, which would not have been posdible if he had not go e with the dwarves in the first place).

Then tottering, struggling up, with her last strength [Éowyn] drove her sword between criwn and mantle, as the great shoulder bowed before her. The sword broke sparkling into many shards. The crown rolled away with a clang. Éowyn fell forward upon her fallen foe.

But lo! the mantle and hauberk were empty. Shapeless they lay now on the ground, torn and tumbled; and a cry went up into the shuddering air, and faded to a shrill wailing, passing with the wind, a voice bodiless and thin that died, and was swallowed up, and was never heard again in that age of the world.

The death of the Nazgûl-lord is heard also in Minas Tirith, and brings hope:

But even as Gandalf and his companions came carrying the bier to the main door of the Houses [of Healing], they heard a great cry that went up from the field before the Gate and rusing shrill and piercing into the sky passed, and died away on the wind. So terrible was the cry that for a moment all stood still, and yet when it had passed, suddenly their hearts were lifted up in such a hope as they had not known since the darkness came out of the East; and it seemed to them that the light grew clear and the sun broke through the clouds.

And it is heard by Frodo and Sam as well, and gives heart and hope to Sam:

As Frodo and Sam stood and gazed, the rim of light spread all along the line of the Ephel Dúath, and then they saw a shape, moving at great speed out of the West, at first only a black speck against the glimmering strip above the mountain-tops, but growing, until it plunged like a bolt into the dark canopy and passed high above them. As it went it sent out a long shrill cry, the voice of a Nazgûl; but this cry no longer held any terror for them: it was a cry of woe and dismay, ill tidings for the Dark Tower. The Lord of the Ringwraiths had met his doom.

Light and Water

For Frodo and Sam, the breaking of the darkness is part of another miraculous sequence of events. In the early hours, when they have escaped from the Tower of Cirith Ungol but are entirely out of water, Sam says:

“If only the Lady could see or hear us, I’d say to her: ‘Your Ladyship, all we want is light and water: just clean water and plain daylight, better than any jewels, begging your pardon.’ But it’s a long way to Lórien.”

Not long after that the darkness breaks, as quoted above, and light comes into the sky, and they hear the death-cry of the Nazgûl-lord. And only an little later:

They had trudged for more than an hour when they heard a sound that grought them to a halt. Unbelievable, but unmistakeable. Water trickling. Out of a gully on the left, so sharp and narrow that it looked as if the black cliff had been cloven by some huge axe, water came dripping down: the last remains, maybe, of some sweet rain gathered from sunlit seas...Here it came out of the rock in a little falling streamlet, and flowed across the path...

Sam sprang towards it. “If I ever see the Lady again, I will tell her!” he cried. “Light and now water!”

I don’t think either of these things are within Galadriel’s abilities, but that is not the point. The hobbits think of her as the closest encounter they have had with great and high beings, and think of her in place of greater things that they are less aware of or less sensible of being able to seek help from; and someone is watching out for them.

Healing

The last miracle of the day comes with Aragorn’s first entry into Minas Tirith, as healer rather than ruler; and the final description of it is highly evocative of many of Jesus’ miracles of healing in the New Testament:

At the doors of the Houses [of Healing] many were already gathered to see Aragorn, and they followed after him; and when at last he had supped, men came and prayed that he would heal their kinsmen or their friends whose lives were in peril through hurt or wound, or who lay under the Black Shadow. And Aragorn arose and went out, and he sent for the sons of Elrond, and together they laboured far into the night. And word went through the city: ‘The King is come again indeed.’ ...And when he could labour no more, he cast his cloak about him, and slipped out of the City, and went to his tent just ere dawn and slept for a little.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Hey! For your monster prompts, maybe Fae indruck? Either nsfw or sfw is cool ✌🏻💕✨

Here you go! I went with NSFW

When the sun sets over the Monongahela, Lake Greenbriar becomes a sky burning with stars. The woven crowns, strung through ash leaves for men or rowan leaves for women, each bear four small candles which flicker in the twilight as they bob on the water. If they sink, their owners will return home alone. If they make it to another part of the shore, the one who picks them up and the one who set them afloat are meant to be together. 

By the time darkness cloaks the trees, all but one of the crowns is sunk or retrieved. Duck Newton sits on the shore, skipping stones across the black water. 

This happens every. Goddamn. Year.

He makes his crown, he sets it on the lake, and it floats aimlessly until the candles go out. It doesn’t sink, and no one ever picks it up. Two years ago, when he was allowed to weave ash leaves instead of rowan into it, he thought that might fix the issue. No such luck. 

It’s not that Duck is hoping to find his true love; every one knows that the Festival of Floating Light is an excuse to hook-up in the woods with no repercussions. Kepler is strange like that. Sex is private, unless there’s a an ancient ritual involving boning down in public, in which case it must be observed every year.

That’s not the only strange thing about his home, far from it, but as moans and cries of pleasure punctuate the darkness it’s the one on his mind. 

He’s contemplating whether to go home when his crown changes course, floating purposefully to a point diagonal from him. Lo and behold, a figure picks it up, and there’s a flash of silver as they lift it. But instead of moving towards him, they turn into the woods.

“Man, what the fuck?” He grumbles, getting to his feet and running towards the dimming candles, staying on the shore to avoid tripping over an amorous couple hidden in the trees. Duck catches up to the mysterious figure just as they pass into a clearing, moonlight spilling onto the grass around them.

“Y’know, real rude to turn your back on your true love.” He teases.

A rustle of fabric as the figure turns and Duck bites back a frustrated groan. Standing before him is a man with silver hair, faintly glowing red eyes and, god help him, short, feathery antennae. He smiles wide, showing teeth just sharp enough to be worrying. 

Six years of waiting, and the first person to get his crown is a fucking fae. 

“That seems rather forward.” The fae cocks his head, “I was of the understanding this night was for more, ah, casual activities.”

“I was, uh, just goofin around. Sorry.”

“There is no need to apologize for such a jest. Here” tan arms offer the crown back to him, “I came to observe, not participate. I was running late at that, and thus thought I would see the lake empty. Only this remained and when it came to me I assumed it’s owner had long since given up.”

“Uh, thanks.” He blows out the candles, not wanting to start a forest fire, “yeah. This same thing happens to me every year. Don’t stop me from waitin until the last moment, hopin it’ll be different.”

The fae looks at Duck’s feet, gaze slowly moving up his body with an unreadable smile. 

“I know many consider this festival a mere game, rather than true magic, and you are the proof” red eyes lock onto his face, “Such a handsome man is left floating year after year? No decent magic would allow that.”

Duck knows that fae flirt with humans all the time, that people come back with stories of being bewitched until the member of the Unseen Court had their fill. But this one seems too earnest for that.

No sooner does he think this then the fae steps back, “Oh, ah, apologies, I did not mean to alarm you with my compliment. You need not fear trickery from me, Duck Newton, I promise.”

“Uh, my, my name ain’t, uh, fuck, my names really Way-, no, no uh. Fuck.”

“Do not worry. I am a seer, and thus learned your name by following your futures. But magic has odd ways about it; because I can learn others' names with ease, I cannot use them for any sort of spell or binding.”

“Thank fuck.”

The fae snickers, then bows, “Indeed. You may call me Indrid,”

“Indrid. Right. Uh, well, been nice meetin you Indrid, but I’m gonna head back into town.”

“You wish to return to a lonely bed and a night of disgruntled dreams?” Indrid raises an eyebrow.

“N-ye-uh, fuck, I mean, what else am I gonna do?”

“You could stay with me awhile. I would offer a meal, but I foresee you being wary of it and, honestly, that speaks to prudence on your part. Fae are fae, after all. What else do you like doing at night?” He sounds excited, as if he wants nothing more than to indulge Duck’s most mundane fantasies. 

“I like stargazin.” Duck mumbles, certain the fae will leave rather than stay and listen to him babble. 

A wave of the hand and a thick, green blanket covers the ground. The fae sits down with less grace than expected, flopping onto his back with a sigh. Cautiously, Duck joins him. As he lays back, a pillow forms to cushion his head. 

Crickets call near their heads. Duck likes silence, but a growing part of him wants to talk more with Indrid. He points to a cluster of stars, “There’s the Great Ship. Always did like that one.”

“You know, we call that The Pine. But now that you say it, I can see the ship as well.” Indrid’s finger traces lines through the air.

“Huh, never occurred to me y’all would see different things. What about...that one. Cygnus.”

“It seems we both saw something avian. To me, that is The Crane.”

The trade constellations for a time, then move on to their experiences in the woods. Their conversation chases away Duck’s nerves, and soon they’re shoulder to shoulder, the human pointing out a particularly notable Spruce. When he lowers his arm, the backs of their hands bump together. Duck turns his hand, an offering to the stranger direction the night is taking. Cool fingers link with his, and he swears Indrid purrs at the contact. 

“Can’t wait to write a friend of mine about this. He’s jealous that I live somewhere so fuckin weird.”

“I take it ‘weird’ is not something you enjoy?”

“I mean, there’s nothin wrong with it. But things like spells and prophecies, magical destinies, leylines, Unseen Courts, they ain’t something I want to stick my finger into. But uh” he squeezes Indrid’s hand, afraid he’ll get the wrong idea, “there are some parts of it I don’t mind.”

The conversation turns towards fate and Indrid’s misadventures trying to get people to heed his visions. A lull hangs between them just as a moan curls towards them from far off in the woods. 

“Jesus, thought folks’d be done by now.”

“Perhaps they got a second wind. Or are making use of the darkness to do things they would not otherwise have the courage to ask for.”

Another moan and Duck shifts, uncomfortable with the fact the noises turn him on. He wants to focus on Indrid, not on his low-level, frustrated boner.

“It appeals to you, doesn’t it? These dalliances in the trees?”

“I mean yeah. Some of us like to touch as well as look, mister just-here-to-observe.”

Indrid lightly whacks Ducks’ thigh, “I told you, I came to see the lights on the lake. They sound captivating. That being said, I am not opposed to doing the, ah, traditional activity with you. But my visions suggest that would be too much.”

“It would, at least so soon after meetin you.” It’s the safest option, and he hates it. 

Indrid drums his fingers on the blanket, “Ah ha! What about kissing?”

“Hell yeah” Duck rolls onto his side, Indrid mirroring him. The fae strokes his cheek, but does nothing else, waiting for Duck to initiate. He’s glad to, leaning in to press an exploratory kiss to cool lips. Indrid chirps softly as he returns the gesture, and Duck moves his hand to caress his cheek and play with the starfall silver of his hair. Curves his fingers down Indrid’s neck, chuckling when the fae teases his lower lip with concentrated kisses.

“AHhnnnnrrrrrrr” It’s half chirp and half purr.

“Fuck, sorry, thought you just had a scarf on.” Duck starts pulling his hand away from the ruff of dark feathers around Indrid’s neck, only for the fae to grab his hand and press it deeper.

“NoOoo” he wiggles closer, hooking an ankle over Ducks calf, “that is divine, please, touch it as much as you like.”

“It’s so fuckin soft” He pets the down, gets that same chirp followed by a flurry of kisses on the cheek. 

“My k-kind come in many form. Mine is uncommon, some would even say offputting due to it’s commonalities with moths.”

“Bullshit. Wait, does this mean you have win--HOLY fuck, I thought that was a cloak!” He lays there, stunned, as Indrid sits up and extends two night skies from his back. The wings, pitch black, dusted with hundreds of small, pearlescent spots are the most beautiful sight Duck’s ever seen. 

“A common mistake. Do you like their coloration? It is very handy if I wish to go for a night flight to clear my mind.”

“It’s incredible Indrid. Can I touch them?”

A playful smile, “Why, Duck Newton, first you come to me professing to be my true love and then ask to touch my wings. You move far too fast for a shy fae like myself.”

“Ohhh, is it a sex thing?”

“To a degree. Perhaps in the future I will permit you to touch them. Speaking of which” he lays back on his side, waves a hand in the air above Duck’s bound chest, ‘am I correct that you want me to steer clear of this part of you.”

“Uh huh. Wish you could touch a little more of me, but the damn things are hard to get rid of.”

“Of course. In that case” his hand skates over Duck’s side, pushing on his lower back to bring them closer, “I shall explore all the other parts of you that you will allow.”

Duck stays on the blanket until dawn peers over the horizon. In that time they trade touches of gentle desire and kisses that grow more fiery with each hour. At times they stop to lay in each others’ arms, Duck explaining how, if he had his way, he’d be like the fae forest stewards, watching over the woods and helping them grow. It’s with reluctance and his fingers carding through Indrid’s ruff that he says it’s time for him to go unless he wants a search party from Kepler to come looking for him. 

Indrid stands, helping Duck up but not letting go of his hand, “I foresee my court duties requiring a great deal of time for the next few months but when I do have time, ah, if you are amenable, I would like to meet with you again.”

Duck brings his hand to his lips, kissing it, “I’ll see you then, ‘Drid.”

----------------------------------------------------------------

What nobody tells you about magic rituals is that there’s a fuck-ton of waiting. Duck’s been on his back on this fucking stone slab for at least a half hour and, depending on the whims of the Unseen Court, could be here even longer. 

At the exact midpoint between the spring equinox and the summer solstice sits the Green Marriage Ceremony. The belief is that the ceremony not only ensures bountiful fields, but ongoing peace between humans and fae. Any residents of Kepler who are of age and unmarried put their names into a bowl, and one is selected to fulfill the human side of consummating the “marriage.” In the old days it was mandatory to accept if selected, but the fae now insist that the participant be willing. This year, Duck was the chosen one.

He accepted for two reasons: one was that, once you’re selected, your name is taken out of the running in the future, and why not get the weirdness over with when he can. The other was that he hopes whoever the fae send will be willing to take a message back to Indrid to let him know Duck still wants to see him. 

So here he is, in a white shirt and loose, green shorts, at the center of a stone slab the size of a wealthy mans bed. White curtains form a tent around the slab, flowers strewn about and an unlit lantern hanging from the center of the ceiling.  Juno helped him get the required flowers into his hair, (“gotta help you out how I can because Duck, I love ya, but I ain’t gonna hang around and listen to you get fucked”).

He’s not nervous. It’s not an actual marriage, just a symbolic one. The fact that he’s supposed to spend from now until sunset enacting a wedding night with a fae sounds exhausting, but assuming the fae isn’t a dick it should at least be fun. He’s heard horror stories about the human participant disappearing at the end, but that hasn’t happened since his grandfather was young.

The whispers outside the tent change, more earnest than idle, which means the fae have arrived. He has no idea how many come along with their chosen participant; like Juno he’d rather not hang around while someone he knows gets fucked for eight hours, no matter how great the food and games at the festival are. 

A swoosh of fabric has him sitting up on his elbows to see who his partner will be.

“Oh” sighs a familiar voice, “I did so hope I was in this timeline.”

“Indrid” He sits up all the way. His fae is draped in flowing silver robes, which he doffs to reveal an outfit that matches Duck’s.There’s no hesitation as he joins him on the “bed,” waving his hand so the stone disappears beneath a thick, moss-colored blanket. 

“My, my, they left me the most handsome husband imaginable. Lucky me.” He purrs, straddling Duck and leaning down to kiss his cheeks. 

“H-how’d you end up with this gig?”

“The same way you did; pure chance. I saw you in most futures, though in some you decided to withdraw at the last moment. I am glad you did not.”

“No fuckin kiddin.” Duck grabs his head with both hands, pulling him into a kiss that spins sparks up and down his spine. When they part Indrid sits back, studying him. 

“That is still not how you wish it to be?” He tips his head, indicating Duck’s chest. Duck shakes his head. Then he bolts upright, ripping his shirt up and off to stare at the newly flat space. 

“‘Drid, you, did you just-”

“If that is not what you wanted I can fix-”

“No, no it’s fuckin great! I, I never asked a fae for that kind of help because, well, the whole bargains bein’ tricky thing.”

“Of course. Though I must warn you, I had selfish motives. I wanted to be able to touch all of you.” He pulls Duck into his lap, kisses him as he glides his hands over his chest. When he plays with his nipples the human gasps and the fae grins, “oh yes, I am going to have fun with you, sweet one.”

Duck tilts his head back with a groan, lets Indrid guide them down so he’s on his back once again “Fuck that’s good.”

“Very. But I suggest we start consummating the marriage in the traditional way soon; the futures show everyone getting antsy should we delay.”

“Way ahead of you.” Duck tosses his pants away, stares as Indrid does the same before undoing the tie that helps his shirt accommodate his wings. The feathers of his ruff continue down his shoulders, turning to a light dusting by the time they reach his elbows and collarbone. Duck runs his fingers through and over them as Indrid positions himself between his legs. 

“This does not need altering for you to be comfortable doing this with me?” His fingers rub Duck’s inner thighs. 

“N-not right now. I mean, if you wanna whip me up a bigger dick later I might be ready for that.”

“Noted. My, you are quite aroused already.”

“I around you, it ain’t hard.”

“On the contrary, it is very hard.” He rubs the head of his cock across his folds, grinning. 

Duck giggles, “Christ that was awfulAHHHhhnnnfuck’Drid.” The fae sinks into him with tender determination.

“Nonsense, I learned how to ‘goof’ from the best.” He kisses his nose, purrs, “mmmmm, you fit me perfectly, sweet one.”

“Did-didn’t know fae were on the uh, the bigger siIIiide.” He moans as something catches the tip of his cock.

“Ah yes, that ridged ring at the base is always popular with humans. It seems you are no exception.”

“Nuhuh.” Duck wraps his arms around feathered shoulders as Indrid rocks his hips, “fuck ‘Drid, want it more, want you.”

“Here I am.” Indrid kisses him and the world dissolves. As their lips trace over each other, he dips his tongue into Indrid’s mouth, the hints of sharp teeth making him shiver. In the warm, soft light of the tent, Indrid’s body moving in time with his own, it’s all too easy to see the marriage bed as it could be. A cozy house full of light, nestled in the trees, with a big, soft bed where his beloved fae could comfortably sprawl his wings open as they spent each night tangled together.

A short, high chirp brings him back to earth, Indrid raising up onto his palms and snapping his hips purposefully. 

“Oh, oh yes, Duck, sweet one, yesss.” He thrusts deep, wings abruptly opening halfway, and cums with a charming trill. 

When he pulls out Duck opens his mouth to protest, only for the fae to reverse their positions. Dizzy, Duck puts out his hands to steady himself. They land in Indrid’s wings, close to his body.

“AHfuck, goodness that’s wonderful keep them right there while you ride me.” He guides Duck down onto his cock; if every fae is this quick to recover, Duck’s pretty sure he knows who set the length of the ceremony all those years ago.

The feathers in these sections of the wings are a mixture, some long and satiny, others the downy tufts Duck is growing used to. He sets a slow pace to match the drag of his fingers through the inky heaven of Indrid’s wings. The fae purrs constantly, bucking his hips now and then but otherwise letting Duck lead. That is, until his orgasm starts to build and he grinds down harder.

“AHhhnnn, yes, good little human, so good, please, sweet one, my antenna are sensitive too please touch them.”

Duck gropes fistfuls of wing, “Thought you wanted me to pay attention to these. Make up your mind darlin.”

Indrid growls, yanks one hand up to his head, sending Duck down with an amused yelp. The instant he toys with the base of one, feathery antenna Indrid moans louder, gripping his ass with sharp nails and driving up into him. The ridge on his cock catches just right over and over, sending Duck over the crest of his climax as he pours a groan down Indrids throat.

The fae, still hard inside him, holds him tight and sits up, keeping Duck in his lap. Starry wings encircle them. It’s so intimate, a world that is theirs alone, and being surrounded by those sumptuous wings has Duck bouncing on his cock even as his own body grows sensitive.

“That’s it sweet one, goodness, the way your ass moves when you do that is delicious, I will have to find all the ways to make it bounce and, ahnn, and tremble laterrrr” he breaks off into another trill, gathering Duck even closer as he spills into him. The human rests his check on the feathered part of his chest, sighing happily as Indrid plays with his hair. 

“Since I see you asking, yes, we can try some different things if that part of you needs a rest.”

He makes sure Duck is laying comfortably on his back, then straddles him so his cock drips pre-cum at the center of his chest.

“Use your hand, sweet one, and I will use mine.”

“To do whaAAAfuck, ohfuckyeah.” He hurriedly strokes the cock before him as Indrid cups his chest, pinching and teasing his nipples. They’re sensitive, having gone untouched for years, and that combined with the fact that they’re exactly how he wants them to be makes Duck whimper and eagerly work his cock. 

“Mmmmm, you turn such lovely colors when I play with you like this. Would you--ahhhnn, yes, use your thumb like that--like me to get you some jewelry for them.”

Duck whines, nodding his head as the image of Indrid affixing a god chain to each one floods his mind. 

“I could even make ones that connect chains from here to your wrists or neck; that way I could play with them no matter what direction I took you fromOH, oh, oh, oh” he smirks as cum spatters up Duck’s neck and chin, “you do like that idea. Here I thought it was idle dirty talk.”

“Nope, fuck, darlin, I wanna do so many goddamn things with you, wanna do every filthy thing two folks can do.”

“Is that so? In that case” he crawls a few inches, sets the shiny head of his cock on Duck’s lips, “open.”

Duck obeys, loses himself in the sensation of Indrid ravishing his throat as he tells him how’d he leave him tied on a bed and fuck him every hour. He uses his foresight to keep from pushing to far. All the same, by the time cum drips down to his stomach his jaw is sore and his lips swollen. 

Over the next few hours Indrid fucks him a half-dozen ways, from kneeling on the ground to suck his dick to working his cock into his ass in increments as he coos praise into his ear. 

By late afternoon, Duck is exhausted and Indrid is close to joining him. The fae stays on top of him, fucking him so lazily that at times they barely move. In place of their earlier ardor are whispered confessions and languid kisses, even a few jokes. Duck takes advantage of the lull to groom Indrid’s feathers into order, the fae humming happily under his touch.

Twilight approaches and lamps flicker to life outside the tent. Indrid reaches up, turning on the lamp above them.

“We have about twenty minutes until they call the ceremony to an end. And the new arrangement of light means they can see our shadows.”

In spite of himself, Duck moans.

“Does my sweet husband like being watched?”

“Only with the tent up. Fuck, ‘Drid, the idea of them knowin’ I’m yours. Knowin’ what you do to me…”

A wicked smile flashes into view and then Indrid maneuvers him onto his hands and knees. This time, he thrusts in hard and sets a rough pace, Duck crying out in pleased surprise when he does. 

“I think they deserve a little show. Deserve to see how lucky I am, and how eager you are.” His fingers dig into Duck’s hips as fucks him harder. Duck tries to stifle his next moan, the sound broken and desperate, and Indrid tuts, “None of that. I want them all to hear you. I want them to know how, even after a day of spreading your legs for me, you are still pleading for your husband to fill you again.”

“Holy fuck, ‘Drid, yes.”

Cool fingers run down his right thigh, through the still-wet lines of cum, “Just look at this. This sinful body of yours is practically covered in my spend, and yet you want more.”

“Yeah, fuck, yes I want it ‘Drid, want you, want you forevermmmph!” Cum-streaked fingers shove into his mouth, don’t leave until he sucks them clean.”

“You do not mean that, that is just these needy holes of yours talking” he gives a sharper thrust for emphasis. 

“No it ain’t, ‘Drid, pleaseplease.” It comes out as a sob and the fae stops, leaning down to hiss in his ear. Outside sounds of townspeople taking themselves in hand or bending each other over just out of sight fill the air, but Indrid’s voice drowns them out. 

“Do you really mean it? Do you wish to be with me?”

“Yes, ‘Drid, for fucks sake, you know I can’t lie. I fuckin hated bein away from you, thought about you everyday. Please I, I think I’m in love with you and if I ain’t, pretty goddamn certain I’ll get there.”

Indrid pushes him down to his elbows, “I feel the same. Now, listen carefully…”

-----------------------------------------------

The last few minutes of Green Wedding are the most vigorous anyone has seen in years. As the sun sets and the tent goes dark the onlookers agree that the Newton boy won’t be able to walk for days. 

What they are not expecting is to open the tent and find it empty. The fact that the fae guards are equally surprised could suggest genuine spontaneity, some strange agreement between the “grooms.” Or maybe it is simply part of the act. After all, fae are fae. 

[dianasson]

Happy Cerealia!!!

Today is the Roman festival of Ceres. Above are couple photos from the ritual, and while I recover in my cozy bed I will share a story with you. This is from Ovid's Metamorphoses, Melville's translation. (TW: Abduction, Rape)

The Abduction of Proserpine

"The land of Sicily quakes as Typhoeus the Giant buried beneath the island heaves and even Rex Silentum (the king who rules the land of silence) shudders lest the ground in gaping seams should open and the day stream down and terrify the trembling Umpire. Tyrannus had left his dark domains to and fro, drawn in his chariot and sable steeds, inspected the foundations of the isle. His survey done, and no point found to fail, he put his fears aside; when, as he roamed, Erycina from her mountain throne, saw him and clasped her swift-winged son, and said: ‘Cupido, my child, my warrior, my power, take those sure shafts with which you conquer all, and shoot your speedy arrows to the heart of the great god to whom the last lot fell when the three realms were drawn. Your majesty subdues the gods of heaven and sea... Why should Tartara lag behind? Why not there too extend your mother's empire and your own? The third part of the world's at stake, while we in heaven (so long-suffering!) are despised - my power grows less, and less the power of Amor. Do you not see how Pallas and Diana, queen of the chase, have both deserted me? And Ceres' daughter, if we suffer it, will stay a virgin too - her hope's the same. So for the sake of our joint sovereignty, if that can touch your pride, unite in love that goddess and her uncle.’ 

So she spoke. Then Cupido guided by his mother, opened his quiver and of all his thousand arrows selected one, the sharpest and the surest, the arrow most obedient to the bow, and bent the pliant horn against his knee and shot the barbed shaft deep in Dis' heart. Not far from Henna's walls there is a lake, Pergus by name, its waters deep and still; it hears the music of the choiring swans as sweet as on Caystros' gliding stream. Woods crown the waters, ringing every side, their leaves like awnings barring the sun's beams. The boughs give cooling shade, the watered grass is gay with spangled flowers of every hue, and always it is spring. Here Proserpina was playing in a glade and picking flowers, pansies and lilies, with a child's delight, filling her basket and her lap to gather more than the other girls, when, in a trice, Dis saw her, loved her, carried her away - love leapt in such a hurry! Terrified, in tears, the goddess called her mother, called her comrades too, but oftenest her mother; and, as she'd torn the shoulder of her dress, the folds slipped down and out the flowers fell, and she, in innocent simplicity, grieved in her girlish heart for their loss too. Away the chariot sped; her captor urged each horse by name and shook the dark-dyed reins on mane and neck. On through deep lakes he drove, on through Palici's sulphurous pools that boil in reeking chasms, on past Bacchiadae, where settlers once from Corinthus' isthmus built between two harbours their great battlements. 

 A bay confined by narrow points of land lies between Arethusa Pisaea and Cyane. And there lived Cyane, the most renowned of all the Nymphae Sicelidae, who gave her pool its name. Out of her waters' midst she rose waist-high and recognised the goddess. ‘Stop, stop!’ she cried, ‘You cannot take this girl to wife against Queen Ceres' will! She ought to have been wooed, not whirled away. I too, if humble things may be compared with great, was loved; Anapus married me; but I was wooed and won, not, like this girl, frightened and forced.’ She held out her arms outstretched to bar his way. But Saturnius restrained his wrath no longer. Urging on his steeds, his terrible steeds, and brandishing aloft his royal sceptre in his strong right arm, he hurled it to the bottom of the pool. The smitten earth opened a way to Hell and down the deep abyss the chariot plunged. But Cyane, heartbroken at the rape of Proserpine and at her pool's outrage, in silence carried in her heart a wound beyond consoling, and in endless tears she wasted away. Into the pool - her pool and she but now its deity - she spread dissolved.

Ceres Searches for Proserpina

Ceres meanwhile in terror sought her child vainly in every land, o'er every sea. Never Aurora (the Dawn) rising with dewy hair, nor ever Hesperus (the Evening Star) saw her at rest. She lit pine-torches, one in either hand, at Aetna's fires, and through the frosty dark bore them unsleeping. When the friendly day had dimmed the stars, she sought her daughter still from sunrise until sunset hour by hour...

Through what far lands and seas the goddess roved were long to tell; the whole world failed her search. She turned again to Sicania and there, in wanderings that led her everywhere, she too reached Cyane; who would have told all, had she not been changed. She longed to tell but had no mouth, no tongue, nor any means of speaking. Even so she gave a clue, clear beyond doubt, and floating on her pool she showed the well-known sash which Persephone had chanced to drop there in the sacred spring.

How well the goddess knew it! Then at last she seemed to understand her child was stolen, and tore her ruffed hair and beat her breast. Where the girl was she knew not, but reproached the whole wide world - ungrateful, not deserving her gift of grain - and Trinacria in chief where she had found the traces of her loss. So there with angry hands she broke the ploughs that turned the soil and sent to death alike the farmer and his labouring ox, and bade the fields betray their trust, and spoilt the seeds...

Then that fair Nymphe Alpheias rose from her pool and brushed back from he brow her dripping hair, and said : ‘O thou, divine Mother, who through the world hast sought thy child... The land is innocent; against its will it opened for that rape. While beneath the earth I glided in my Stygian stream, I saw, myself with my own eyes, your Proserpina. Her looks were sad, and fear still in her eyes; and yet a queen, and yet of that dark land Empress, and yet with power and majesty the consort of the Tyrannus Infernus (Sovereign lord of Hell).’ The mother heard in horror, thunderstruck it seemed and turned to stone.

The Return of Proserpina

Then as her shock so great gave way to grief as great, she soared borne in her chariot, to the sky's bright realms and stood, with clouded face and hair let loose, indignant before Jove and said: ‘I come to plead for my own flesh and blood, yours too; and if the mother finds no favour, let at least the daughter move her father's heart; love her not less because I gave her birth. Behold the daughter I have sought so long is found, if found is surer loss, or if but to know where she is finding her. Her theft I'll bear if he'll but bring her back; a thief, a kidnapper's no proper husband for child of yours, even if she's mine no more.’

And Juppiter replied: ‘The child is yours and mine, our common care and love, If we allow things proper names, here is no harm, no crime, but love and passion. Such a son-in-law, if you, Ma'am, but consent, will not disgrace us. To be Jove's brother, what a splendid thing! - if that were all! What then, when that's not all, when he yields place to me only because the lots so fell? But if your heart's so set to part them, Proserpina shall reach the sky again on one condition, that in Hell her lips have touched no food; such is the rule forestablished by the three Parcae.’

So Jove replied; but Ceres was resolved to win her daughter back. Not so fate permitted, for the girl had broken her fast and wandering, childlike, through the orchard trees from a low branch had picked a pomegranate and peeled the yellow rind and found the seeds and nibbled seven. The only one who saw was Orphne's son, Ascalaphus, whom she, no the least famous of the Nymphae Avernales, bore once to Acheron in her dusky bower. He saw and told, in spite, and by his tale stole her return away. The Queen of Hell (Regina Erebi) groaned in distress and changed the tale-bearer into a bird. She threw into his face water from Phlegethon, and lo! a beak and feathers and enormous eyes! Reshaped, he wears great tawny wings, his head swells huge... a loathsome bird, ill omen for mankind, a skulking screech-owl, sorrow's harbinger.

That tell-tale tongue of his no doubt deserved the punishment. But the Acheloides, why should it be that they have feathers now and feet of birds, though still a girl's fair face, the sweet-voiced Sirenes? Was it not because, when Proserpine was picking those spring flowers, they were her comrades there, and, when in vain they'd sought for her through all the lands, they prayed for wings to carry them across the waves, so that the seas should know their search, and found the gods gracious, and then suddenly saw golden plumage clothing all their limbs? Yet to reserve that dower of glorious song, their melodies' enchantment, they retained their fair girls' features and their human voice. Then Juppiter, to hold the balance fair between his brother and his sister in her grief, portioned the rolling years in equal parts. Now Proserpine, of two empires alike great deity, spends with her mother half the year's twelve months and with her husband half. Straightway her heart and features are transformed; that face which even Dis must have found unhappy beams with joy, as when the sun, long lost and hidden in the clouds and rain, rides forth in triumph from the clouds again. So Ceres had regained her Proserpine."

[glorious-blackout]

Self-Indulgent Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino/Simulation Theory Crossover Part Two

@rock-n-roll-fantasy Aaaaaand here’s Part Two 🥰

Part One, Part Three

Click.

The world shimmers and fades instantaneously before reforming like an intricate puzzle before his eyes. The effect is mildly dizzying but Mark doesn’t mind, taking in his new environment with a nostalgic smile creeping across his face. With the mere press of a button, he has transformed the illusion of a lively seaside resort into one of a teeming London street. An elegant 1960s Aston Martin glides past him and passersby hustle and bustle on overflowing pavements, too caught up in the intricacies of their own lives to pay him any heed. That’s okay though. Being invisible is a rare luxury these days.

The skies above are a murky grey, but the heavens have yet to open. Mark’s eyes scan the numerous shop exteriors boasting dolled-up mannequins and ‘unmissable’ offers, before finally settling on a grotty club exterior at the far end of the street. Memories of queuing outside its doors to watch the likes of The Jam or The Sex Pistols flow through his mind like a film reel, to the point where he can almost feel his cheap leather jacket growing sticky with sweat amidst the heat of the crowd. He remembers being highly impressed by The Jam and deciding that getting utterly shitfaced was the best way to endure The Sex Pistols, but every gig he attended in those days had carried with it an undeniable thrill. His heart aches with longing as he relives the frantic push of bodies and the roar of the crowd once the lights went down; the deep groove of the bass reverberating through his chest; the way his shoes stuck to a floor which had acquired several layers of spilt beer over the course of the night. More than all of that, his heart sings with nostalgia for the drunken – and occasionally drugged – haze that washed over him as he closed his eyes and lost himself to the music pounding against his ears.

No doubt a similar experience would await him now if he so desired, but as he watches the crowds come and go on the rush-hour streets, the air of nostalgia slowly fades. Company is not what he seeks right now. Even if his heart was crying out for the opportunity to dance in a stranger’s arms, he doubts the concert experience awaiting him through those locked doors could ever align with the perfection of his memories.

Click.

The image dissolves again, and a pleased sigh escapes him as claustrophobic city streets morph into a landscape awash with deep green hues. Droning chatter and car horns make way for lilting birdsong, overlain by the faint rush of a breeze coursing through crisp summer leaves. He raises his head to watch as sun beams drift through a thick, protective barrier of gnarled branches, their golden rays dancing across the forest floor as the wind subtly shifts the world around him.  

A light mist implies a recent rainfall. Scattered dewdrops linger on low-hanging leaves and Mark can almost smell the damp earth as he lets himself be carried past the growing pines, the forests’ debris crunching underfoot as he walks. He cautiously steps over a skeletal root and takes care to avoid the sprouting bluebells scattered across the earth, following the deeply-trodden path until he reaches a small, circular clearing at the peak of a steep hill. Overhead branches make way for a direct beam of light and a clear blue sky, and Mark closes his eyes as the sun kisses his face and long grass sways around his ankles. He allows himself one moment to enjoy a nearby warbler’s morning song, before his finger reluctantly tightens on the remote and his surroundings are banished once again.

Click.

The cacophony of waves crashing towards shore and overhanging gulls squealing above the ocean forces his eyes open once more.  

For the second time in ten minutes, he is powerless to resist a contented smile as he gazes upon a perfect blue sky, unmarred by clouds or chemtrails. Calm, shimmering waves wash up against golden sands before politely receding, leaving streaks of foam in their wake, and on either side of him the coast curves endlessly with no other individual in sight. If he were to stroll along the sandy path, he would eventually reach the root of a grassy hill which offers direct passage to a rocky cliff-face, serving as the perfect spot to leap into the freezing waters below.  

Recognition tugs at his mind like an insistent child as he tries to pinpoint his exact location. Los Angeles? Cornwall? Perhaps he’s even wound up on the Mediterranean coast and his brain is merely trying to take him on a tour of past holidays. Either that or the beach is an amalgamation of many; a fiction created to resemble the closest approximation of heaven on Earth. As undisturbed peace washes over him, Mark finds that he doesn’t care where he is. He simply lets himself get lost in the view and the ocean’s song, and if he empties his mind, he can almost imagine the heat eliciting sweat from his skin and the specific tang of salt in the clean sea-air.

It’s impossible to tell how much time has passed when his reverie is broken by an insistent ringing. Too long no doubt, if the sharp ache in his heart is any indication. For a moment he considers letting the video-call go unanswered. As one shrill beep follows another, his treacherous mind cannot help but wonder if he should ignore his summons and spare himself the agonising scrutiny he’s about to endure. It’s certainly a tempting notion, albeit not one he can indulge in for too long. He has been waiting all day for this call, and these meetings have become too regular for him to convincingly claim he forgot it was happening.

Bidding a silent, mournful farewell to the earthen beach before him, he clicks the button on the remote with a sense of finality; peeling the virtual reality mask from his head the instant the screen goes black. The act of removing the mask takes more effort than it should. The cool straps feel like they’ve physically fused to his skull, and one glance in the mirror above his desk is enough to have him frantically smoothing down sweat-soaked hair. Fat lot of good it does too, not that he particularly cares. His caller will have to settle with dark, mussed locks to match the impressively dark bags under his eyes, though he imagines the latter has become a common sight of late.  

He takes a moment to pack the mask away in its case. The device had been a present from Matt on his thirtieth birthday, gifted with the intention of forcing him to join in on games of Fifa. The attempt had been successful for all of two weeks, but Mark has long since stopped using it for mindless video games or trawling through bleak news channels, having instead developed a liking for the mask’s Ambience settings. It’s unlikely Matt will ever forgive him for that, if the accusations of him being a “boring old git” are any indication.

As the ringing persists with no end in sight, Mark huffs a sigh before hurriedly brushing stray strands of hair away from his face, finally reaching across the desk to answer the call with a single swipe on his touchscreen. Relief floods through him as the high-pitched screech makes way for blessed silence, albeit the pleasant solace doesn’t last. The widescreen immediately plays host to a familiar image that makes his heart sink; that of a well-lit office with a pale-blue backdrop and, sitting centre-stage with as uneasy an expression as ever, the man who has made a habit of calling him every single week since the dawn of time, or near enough.

Officially the man’s name is Mister Murphy, which seems entirely too ordinary in Mark’s humble opinion. Of course, Mark is far too lowly to have earned the privilege of conversing with him on a first-name basis, not that he particularly minds. He has absolutely zero interest in become buddies with him, and has made a point in recent years to drop the polite title of ‘Mister’ altogether. Jamie had taken it one step further once by drunkenly referring to Murphy as ‘The Voice of God’, and while Mark would never dare confess it to the man himself, the sarcastic nickname has sunk its claws deeply in his mind.

Murphy looks vaguely troubled today, which isn’t necessarily a surprise. The air of being vaguely troubled seems to have permanently latched onto him, in much the same way as it clings to most disgustingly rich businessmen who hold themselves accountable for the profits of billion-dollar franchises. Tranquility Base is far from the only hotel under Murphy’s watchful eye, but it is certainly the most high-profile, and thus Mark has grown accustomed to his every action being thoroughly dissected through a computer screen. The novelty’s certainly worn off with time.

Of course, to a casual observer, Murphy’s troubled demeanor is far from the most noteworthy thing about his outward appearance. In most people’s eyes, his palpable discomfort probably wouldn’t even register. No, the detail which had deeply unsettled Mark upon receiving his first ever call had been the striking resemblance between Murphy and himself.

They’re not exact copies of each other, but it’s a close thing. Murphy looks marginally older, with deep permanent lines on his forehead and crow’s feet creeping towards his eyes, but the difference between them can only be a couple of years at most. Murphy’s hair is longer and boasts a lighter shade of brown under the office lights, though Mark guesses that’s due to him having the option of lazing beneath a scorching sun. Then there’s the goatee, which Mark has elected to avoid on the presumption that it would look faintly ridiculous on his own face, though Murphy seems to possess the natural gravitas required to pull it off.

Those minute details are where the differences end, however. The deep brown eyes which have a habit of piercing through Mark’s outer shell are strikingly similar to his own. The long nose and pointed chin are practically identical, and even the faint scar above one eye is the same. The resemblance had been so deeply unnerving during those initial introductory calls that Mark retains no recollection of any words exchanged over the course of them, but as the meetings have become more frequent, their shared likeness has simply become yet another bizarre detail in his ever-more ridiculous life.

“You look tired,” Murphy admonishes before Mark can utter so much as a polite greeting.

That’s another crucial difference between the two of them, Mark notes. While he has succeeded in maintaining his Yorkshire accent throughout his extensive travels, Murphy’s vaguely Transatlantic drawl resembles a bizarre amalgamation of what a child would presume a posh English speaker might sound like. It’s an impossible accent to pin down; even trying to guess which side of the pond he originates from is more effort than it’s worth. Rather than being unsettled by the mystery, Mark has clung to it like a lifeline over the years. He has come to acknowledge every notable difference between himself and his boss with a desperate sense of pride.

It ultimately takes him far too long to respond to Murphy’s assessment, which no doubt only proves the accusation to be wholly correct.

“Well, you know,” he starts lamely, though he doesn’t have the energy to admonish himself. “We’ve been busy lately. Probably haven’t been sleeping as much as I should.”

It isn’t a lie, though Mark would be hard-pressed to remember a time where he wasn’t busy to the point of exhaustion. Murphy’s accusation has probably been uttered more times during these video-calls than a polite ‘hello’, but the man has yet to offer any solutions that would help lighten Mark’s back-breaking load.

He keeps a trained eye on Murphy’s face, searching for any micro-expressions which could help guide the conversation forward, but he remains infuriatingly impassive as though silently willing Mark to keep talking.

“I, uh-” Mark huffs a weak laugh and finds his eyes drawn away from the screen, suddenly more preoccupied with picking at the skin of his fingers. “I’ve taken a few evenings off from the band, just to take the edge off. We’ve flown a chamber orchestra over, so they do alternate nights now. Just to add some variety, like. They’re a bit on the expensive side but they’re good at what they do. The best even. The guests seem to like ‘em.”

“I’m sure they do,” Murphy says dismissively, straightening in his high-backed hair and rubbing at his forehead with barely concealed impatience. The image reminds Mark of a long-suffering parent preparing to admonish an unruly child after they’ve splashed paint on the walls of their bedroom, forcing him to fight the urge to release a bitter laugh. “But I’d advise against taking frequent nights off. You and your little band are the main attraction. Our guests don’t pay the fees they do for some run-of-the-mill orchestra they could watch at their local hall.”

“Well, I don’t hear anyone complaining,” Mark responds with barely contained venom. He’s treading on extremely thin ice and he knows it, but he stopped being terrified of Murphy years ago, and the man’s superhuman expectations of him have grown more grating week by week. “If I recall correctly, our profits have been better than ever this year.”

There’s a pause at that which seems to stretch for hours, and Mark cringes at the way his breath shudders in his chest as the figure onscreen swallows down barely-concealed anger.

“That is true,” Murphy concedes, no doubt with a certain degree of reluctance, though to the man’s credit, his voice remains remarkably even. “And we’d like to keep things moving in that direction. Which is why we need you, Mark. Your work is important to us, even if you don’t seem to agree.”

It’s not intended as a compliment, and Mark isn’t naïve enough to take it as one. Maybe he would have been flattered by those words once. When the hotel was still a passion project of his – a cardboard model created at the dawn of a new space-age – but that was before the reality of the business had leeched him dry and left him cold. Murphy doesn’t care for him any more than he cares for the cello player in the backup band; the only reason he’s bothered to learn Mark’s name is because he knows he can profit off of draining him dry.

He lets the silence stretch on to the point where it must surely be uncomfortable. His fingers have stopped providing him with ample amusement and he moves on to fiddling with the hem of his cuffs, fastening and unfastening the cufflinks in a comforting routine. Perhaps if he continues to say nothing, Murphy will grow bored of him and move on to terrorising one of his many other underlings. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

No such luck, it would seem. Though Mark doubts he could ever have predicted the words that his doppelganger would utter next.

“Are you happy there, Mark?”

The cufflinks suddenly become far less interesting. Mark forces his eyes to meet Murphy’s own and tries not to shrink under a gaze which is simultaneously alien and all-too-familiar. Murphy hadn’t sounded particularly concerned for Mark’s emotional wellbeing, and he’s under no illusions that the man actually gives a shit about him. No doubt there’s a game afoot, but the rules feel too convoluted for him to bother trying to participate on an equal footing. He’s not a gambler, contrary to the impression he likely gives off considering the star feature of his establishment.

It occurs to him that he doesn’t know how to answer the question. In simple terms – yes, he should be happy. He’s secure in a job he’s worked towards for as long as he can remember. His friends are here with him, both onstage and off, and he doubts he’ll ever stop loving the experience of performing music to an adoring crowd. He’s still relatively young and free in the grand scheme of things, and he gets to gaze out at the finest view mankind could ever hope to envision on a daily basis.  

And yet, the moments of true happiness feel sparse and fleeting. Reserved to brief moments onstage, or the warm embrace of a friend, or an evening of heavy drinking and dancing in the arms of a stranger. Beyond that he mostly just feels... exhausted. Empty. Like there’s a chunk of his soul missing and he can’t figure out where it is or how to find it.

None of which he has any intention of admitting out loud, especially not to the man on the screen.

“Yeah, I’ve been doing good,” he lies with practiced ease, even summoning up a smile for good measure. It doesn’t linger, and he’s sure Murphy picks up on the way his face falls, but he doesn’t have the ability to care. “Just been a bit tired, like you said. That’s all.”

Murphy hums under his breath, but does not seem particularly concerned by Mark’s answer. Mark almost wishes he would say something else – start waffling on about hotel business or profits or even the bloody taqueria so he can zone out in peace – but there does not appear to be a particular agenda today. Now that the ‘Information Action-Ratio' is open for business, all topic of discussion seems to have dried up, and Mark is still awaiting the eureka moment which will precede his next bright idea.

As the continued silence becomes unbearable, a sudden madness takes hold and Mark begins to ruminate on the idea that has been forming in his mind for weeks now. The proposal is a ridiculous one, despite the fact that it shouldn’t be. Suggesting it to Murphy of all people feels even more so, but for some reason Mark has chosen today to be brave. Brave or stupid, it’s impossible to tell.

“I were actually thinking-” He stops, reassesses, and inwardly scolds himself for what he’s about to say, knowing full well the response he’s going to get. Against his better judgement however, he presses on, prompted by the slight twitch of his opponent’s brow. “I guess I were starting to think it was time for a break. Nothing too drastic, just a couple of weeks or so to get my head in order. Catch up on some rest. I’d stick around in case anyone needed me, but I reckon I could always hand the reins over to someone else in the meantime.”  

The more he speaks, the more ridiculous the notion seems, until there’s little else for him to do beyond bow his head and finish with a feeble, “I dunno, it were just a thought.”

Murphy considers his proposal wordlessly, brows furrowed in silent concentration and expression guarded. He doesn’t look angry, which is unexpected, but he doesn’t particularly look like he’s been moved to action either. Instead, Mark watches as a subtle smirk tugs at the edge of his lips, and when he does speak again it’s in a low, calm tone that manages to seep into his very bones.

“And yet you changed your mind.”

It isn’t phrased like a question.

Before Mark can protest, he feels a warm fog settling over him like a blanket’s embrace, making his vision blur for a split second as his eyes grow heavy. The moment passes almost as quickly as it arose, though even when his vision returns to him, he still feels trapped in a daze. Murphy’s words resound through his skull like an echo bouncing off the walls of a cave, long after he finds himself pulled from his trance back into the present.  

He suddenly recalls mulling over the possibility of a break, not long before losing himself to the charms of the VR mask, and ultimately deciding that it would be a pointless affair. That the tight schedule ahead of him wouldn’t allow a weekend off, let alone a two-week stretch of lazing by the pool or lounging in his hotel room or – god forbid – a lengthy trip back to Sheffield on a company rocket.

“Yeah,” he admits, though he frowns as his voice emerges as small and uncertain. “Yeah, I must have done.”

“Good,” Murphy says with a hint of what might be a smile. It’s hard to tell if he’s genuinely pleased with Mark’s answer or if he just seems less troubled than usual. “Well now that that’s settled, I won’t be keeping you much longer. I’ll catch up with you again next week.”

He doesn’t give Mark time to utter a dazed “yeah” before the call ends with a short beep. The screen is swallowed up by his homepage in a flash; an ancient image of him with the lads, off their faces and grinning stupidly in an old Sheffield pub which has long since closed its doors. He watches numbly as the image of his younger, carefree self morphs into a screensaver of hotel blueprints, before forcing himself to shut down the computer with an air of finality.

Murphy’s weekly calls tend to leave him feeling drained so his current fatigue is nothing new. Perhaps it all ties into his displeasure with business dealings and his particular hatred for the man and his smarmy manner, but more often than not the problem seems to run deeper than that. It always feels like Murphy is much closer to Mark than the thousands of miles between Earth and the moon would suggest, and his influence is inescapable no matter how valiantly Mark fights to resist it. Even the shorter conversations bring little relief. If anything, Murphy’s clear desire for the conversation to end only adds to the impression that he considers Mark to be little more than dirt on the sole of his shoe.  

He’d tried to explain his unease to Jamie once, but his struggle to find the right words likely undersold his discomfort. Jamie had only encountered the man once before, having stumbled in on one of their earlier meetings, though to his credit he’d gathered enough of an impression to deem the man an “insufferable twat”.  

That reminder is all it takes to break Mark out of his funk, and he indulges in a weak smile before lifting himself from the chair with a groan. At some point over the course of their conversation, the faint artificial lights lining his walls like tinsel have kicked in, signaling the arrival of evening. Well, as close an approximation of evening as one can have while living on a celestial body with barely any sunlight. Mark casts a glance over his suite and inwardly debates whether the king-sized bed or the fully-stocked fridge residing in his tiny kitchenette is tempting him more. Despite the creeping exhaustion which seems like an old friend at this point, the latter’s call is loudest, albeit it isn’t food he craves. Drinking himself into a vicious hangover has become the only appropriate response to a call from ‘God’, and many a night has been spent in pale-faced misery with his head resting against the toilet-lid in quiet anticipation. He doesn’t have a show to play tonight so he’s unlikely to be missed, and tomorrow’s guests aren’t due until well into the afternoon so there’s no need for him to put on a polished performance in the morning either.

He quashes that idea quickly enough. Not the part involving alcohol of course, but rather the notion of drowning his sorrows alone, even if there are certainly worse places to do it.  

When he first arrived, his suite had certainly been elegant, albeit in a detached, clinical way that rooms for the ultrarich often are. Cosy, perhaps, but sparsely decorated and lacking any sense of personality that made it feel welcoming. Over the years, however, he’s indulged in several ridiculous purchases and dedicated countless hours to transforming the suite into a homely space. The result is a rather garish mishmash of accessories and decorations which many of his guests would likely baulk at, but seeing as this is the one place where he isn’t required to put on a mask of professionalism, he honestly couldn’t give two shits what anyone else thinks.  

The four-poster bed, tidy kitchenette and oak-wood desk housing his computer and scattered notes are all fairly standard, but the seventies pop-art lining the walls and slender lava-lamps flanking his bed - bathing the room in a shifting aquamarine glow - are a tad more unconventional. Tucked into the corner beside his bed rests his beloved Steinway Vertegrand, draped in multicoloured lights which dance upon her ivory keys. Resting atop the wooden surface lies an opened notebook, the sight of which tugs at his heart insistently. If he were back home, those white pages would have so many notes scrawled into them that they’d have been rendered almost entirely black, but as it stands, he cannot remember the last time a song came into his head. Not that the guests or his bandmates seem to care, but his creatively stale mind bothers him more than it should. Though that certainly doesn’t stop him from playing well into the night, reciting the words to old Bowie or Cohen songs as his fingers glide effortlessly along the keys, gently so as not to earn a complaint from his slumbering neighbours.  

Much as it pains him to admit, the piano is not the suite’s main attraction. The well-stocked bookshelf filled to the brim with dog-eared novels doesn’t hold that title either, though on peaceful nights those well-worn contents certainly play a vital role.  

In the end, nothing can hold a candle to the large, circular window at the far end of the room; its shape and the stunning view beyond giving the impression of an observation deck on a drifting starship. There is no evidence of human interference on this side of the hotel, and the calm grey surface of the moon stretches endlessly beneath a pitch-black sky. Sometimes, if he squints, he can spot the dusty surface of Mars in the distance, and he has dedicated many long hours to resting on the curved, padded windowsill and simply gazing out at the stars. He could waste an evening doing the same now, if he so wished. He could cast aside any intentions of getting royally shitfaced and instead settle down with a good book in his little observation deck, letting the unspoiled view lull him into a sense of peace that not even Murphy can penetrate.

The notion is tempting, and a deep pang of longing grips his heart, but he quashes it down and tears his eyes from the window. Peace is not something that will come to him easily. Murphy had made that crystal-clear in his dismissal of Mark’s request for a break, though he can’t help but wish he’d fought harder. He’d intended to; had even considered the possibility of threatening to quit just to get a rise out of the man, but Murphy had ruined everything by sinking his claws into his brain with little more than a silky voice and the power of suggestion. It’s a remarkable skill of his which will no doubt drive Mark into an early grave one day, but at least then he’ll get some sleep. The urge to consume a large quantity of alcohol rears its ugly head once more, and he surrenders to it with little resistance.  

Not here though. This room is too much of a haven for him to risk decorating it with wine stains and vomit. Of course, without the familiar comforts of Jamie, Nick and Matt, the company of the guests is unlikely to be any better than solitude, but he imagines getting drunk in public with a group of like-minded individuals is slightly less pathetic than the alternative.

Decision made, he staggers to the bathroom to splash cool water over his pale face in the hopes that doing so will wake him up, and stares grimly at the tired figure depicted in the circular mirror. All of his earlier fussing over his hair has at least tamed it to the point where it looks somewhat presentable, though he doubts even a week-long coma could erase the dark shadows encircling his eyes. The beginnings of a five o’clock shadow resides on his cheeks, but after staring numbly at his own reflection for several minutes he finds he cannot gather the motivation to shave. Instead, he simply scrubs his damp face with a towel and forces his lips into a weak smile, as though to reassure himself that he can still appear outwardly human.  

Finally satisfied with the mirror’s image and once again grateful for all the tiny differences between himself and Murphy, he swans out of the bathroom with newfound eagerness and nabs his room key from its perch, before leaving Room 521 behind and exposing himself to the masses.  

[nommy-thoughts]

Danger Noodles Chapter 3 The Part With No Vore

Wordcount: 3.7 K

Summary: Shenanigans are had. Logan is a hardcore nerd and is given gifts. Patton is the most adorable creature in the room.

Note: This is the non-vore version of chapter 3. Instead of noms, there are Shenanigans. Because of that, the chapter is nearly entirely different in content from the vore version. After Patton wakes up, the two timelines start to merge again.

Cowritten with @that-prey-lounge!

[Danger Noodles Masterpost]

~~~~~

Morning dawned, and the sun rose, taking its singular opportunity of the day to cast light into the usually dark recesses of the cave. The two large nagas began to stir. The three humans did not, at first.

“Awww,” Remus said in a whisper. “Roman, look.”

Roman leaned in, looking at the three sleeping humans nestled in the center of their coils. They had snuggled up to each other during the night, similar to how the naga brothers coiled together.

Patton was snuggled up to Virgil’s back with an arm over Virgil’s side, holding onto his upper cloth covering. Logan lay sprawled out on a slightly higher loop of tail on the other side of Virgil, one arm flopped over the taller man, and one of his legs hooked around Virgil’s.

“They’re adorable,” Roman whispered back.

A beam of light fell across Logan’s face, and he began to stir. Remus shifted to put him back in shadow, but it was too late. Logan yawned an adorable bitty yawn and opened his eyes.

For a few moments, all was still. The twins looked down at Logan. Logan looked back up at them. He blinked for a few moments, then sat up. “Good morning.” He yawned again, stretching.

“Good morning,” Remus echoed, lowering himself a bit.

“Did you sleep well?”

Logan nodded. He still looked drowsy, to be honest, but didn’t seem interested in going back to sleep. Instead, he looked around. “There’s light.”

“Yeah, we get some of the first rays of sun.” Roman whispered, softly stroking Logan’s hair. “It’s still early, little one.”

Logan blinked. Turning to his friends, he dipped his hand into the cloth pouch Virgil wore, retrieving the small blue box Patton had put his ‘glasses’ in yesterday afternoon. Opening it, he withdrew his own pair, settling them back on his face. Then he returned the box and gently shook Virgil’s shoulder. “Virgil, wake up.”

He grunted softly and cracked an eye open. The young man glanced around and groaned. “Of course it wasn’t a nightmare.” Virgil rolled over a little, reaching for Patton to wake him up, but before he could, Remus tightly grabbed him by the arm.

“Don’t wake him,” he hissed lowly.

With wide eyes, Virgil nodded and settled back into his previous position. He caught Logan’s eyes, mouthing a plea for help.

Logan bit his lip, glancing between the twins and Virgil. “Can you remove your hoodie? That will leave Patton with something to hold onto.”

Virgil nodded before pulling his arms out of the sleeves and slowly ducking out of his hoodie. Once freed, Virgil sat up and moved away from Patton.

Logan glanced up at Roman, whose coil he was leaning on, and softly asked, “Can Virgil and I get out?”

Roman nodded, while Remus gently cooed at Patton, softly stroking his back.

Logan vaulted over the thick coil, then turned back to help Virgil scramble out of the living nest.

“Mark that off my ‘list of life-threatening events I never would’ve got into if I stayed home,’” Virgil grumbled. “Sleeping in the coils of two giant naga.”

Logan glanced up at the twins, brushing himself off and straightening his clothes. Roman was lounging across their tails, green eyes gently staring down at Patton. Remus was likewise ignoring the other two humans in favor of softly cooing over Patton. He was clearly both their favorite.

“It seems Dee-Dee isn’t the only naga that likes Patton best.” Logan adjusted his glasses before turning to Virgil. “I think we’re stuck until he wakes up on his own.”

“Well, if we’re not going anywhere for a while, I’m starting another fire.” Virgil strode across the cave floor to the wood pile. “It’s getting dark again.”

It was true that the cave was growing dimmer. As the sun rose further, the shadows crept forward again. Virgil crouched by the dead fire with more kindling and his matches.

“Virgil, before you do that.” Logan poked through the ashes and burnt sticks from yesterday’s fire. “May I take a rubbing of your scales?” he asked, turning back to the twins.

“A what?” Roman finally tore his eyes away from Patton, still sleeping soundly.

“A rubbing.” Logan held up his notebook and a blackened stick. “I would lay a page of paper against your scales, and then rub this against it to mark the page, so that it leaves an impression of the shape of your scales.”

“Will it hurt?” Remus asked, looking up.

“No.”

“Aw.”

“You may rub my scales,” Roman said. He didn’t move, so Logan recrossed the cave back to him. He opened his book, laying a page over the back of Roman’s tail.

“Hm. Virgil, would you give me a hand?”

“Just a sec.” Virgil finished lighting the fire, then came over. “What do you need?”

“Would you hold my notebook in place? In order to get the page to lie smoothly against the curved surface, the spine ought to go lengthwise along his tail, and although it is wide enough to hold the notebook without slipping, I would still be concerned about it sliding at some point while I make the rubbing, which would mar the details. I could tear the page out, but I would prefer for it to remain with the rest of my notes.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” Virgil rolled his eyes, putting his hands on the notebook. Logan smiled gratefully at him, beginning to coat the page with charcoal in long, sure strokes. Gradually, the shapes of the scales underneath began to show through.

“One of the benefits of this,” Logan commented as he worked, “is that in addition to having documentation of the shape of the scales, the drawing is to scale.”

Remus leaned over them, peering curiously at the rubbing. “Looks kinda like a shed skin,” he commented, “’cept black instead of white.”

“Well, it is similar to a shed,” Logan agreed. “Both are imprints of the shape of the scales underneath, though—” He cut himself off suddenly, looking up. “You wouldn’t happen to have… to have kept a shed skin, would you?”

“Oh, yeah, we keep everything,” Remus said.

“May I see one?” Logan asked, visibly restraining himself from vibrating with excitement.

Remus grinned, carefully extracting himself from the bundle of tails and slithering into the shadows. With his twin gone, Roman cradled Patton in his arms. The sleeping human merely rolled over, hugging Roman’s arm. The giant naga gasped softly, staring down at Patton with the same expression that Patton himself got when the neighbor’s fluffy puppy climbed into his lap: wide-eyed and adoring surprise.

Logan returned to his rubbing, eyes alight with excitement. Just as Logan finished it, Remus returned with the biggest shed skin either human had ever seen in his hands. Caught up in his excitement, Logan nearly fumbled his research notes over to Virgil to reach for it. A second later, he pulled his hands back in dismay, realizing that his palms were absolutely covered with black charcoal. He wiped it off on his jeans, leaving them filthy but his hands clean.

“Virgil, look!” Logan whisper-shouted. “It’s enormous!”

Virgil softly nodded, once again overwhelmed by the size of these creatures. He could hold Dee-Dee’s sheddings in one hand; this could be wrapped around a small car. Maybe even around their house. Probably not their house. The nagas weren’t that long. Were they?

Remus set the shed skin in front of Logan, who immediately started looking it over, grinning broadly. “It looks to be fully intact,” he said in his Excited Scientist voice. Virgil scrambled with the notebook to find a blank page and start taking notes again. “Judging by the color — it is faintly green, and I see a bit of pattern on the back, though the lighting in here isn’t the best — this is one of Remus’s shed skins.” He ran his hand down the skin. “By the dryness, I would guess it was shed some time ago. It’s fairly stiff. This is the inside, of course; that implies that giant nagas, as with snakes and micro nagas, turn their skins inside-out as they shed.” He bounced a little on his toes, unable to keep from bodily expressing some of his excitement. “This is incredible. Even in this poor light, it’s like looking at it under a microscope.” He looked up at the twins again. “Would you mind if I kept a sample?”

Roman softly scoffed. “You brought them that old thing? Remus, we have better ones, fresher ones.“

Logan had stars in his eyes as he gazed up at them, awestruck. “Really?”

Roman nodded and sat up. After a second he held Patton out to Remus like he was a baby being passed between parents. “Here, don’t wake him.”

Remus very carefully took Patton in his hands and then cradled the human to his chest, sighing happily, a big grin on his lips. “As if I would ever. He’s the cutest while he sleeps.”

Roman nodded in agreement, then vanished deeper into the cave. Virgil eyed Remus warily, but he just cooed and rocked Patton gently.

“Ah ha! I knew I stored that shedding from a few weeks ago across those rocks.” Roman slithered back after a minute, a different shedding in his arms. “Here you go, Logan, the best shedding we have.”

Logan’s eyes widened. “You said it was shed only a few weeks ago?” he repeated eagerly, stepping forward.

“Yep!” Roman placed it in front of Logan, sliding Remus’s old shed off to the side dismissively. “Felt real good coming off, too.”

“You brought one of yours?” Remus asked, frowning.

“Well, duh. Obviously he would prefer my gorgeous scales over your filthy ones.”

“My scales are the most natural between us. He wants the most natural scales.”

“You roll in the mud! How is that more natural than my beautiful scales?“

“All that time you spend cleaning your scales down at the river is not natural.”

“Roman’s scales do have the advantage of being easier to study, being clean,” Logan put in almost absently, head bent over the molt. “However, I must admit, Remus has the more interesting pattern.”

Both puffed up with pride, slightly glaring at the other.

Logan glanced up, seeming to just now realize how serious the argument was getting. “Honestly, I would absolutely love to take home a sample from each of you, if you’re willing to provide it.”

“Logan, what would you even do with two giant naga skins?” Virgil asked with a laugh. “You could probably carpet our entire house with just one!”

“It would be more like tile,” Logan said thoughtfully.

Virgil’s eyes widened in alarm. “Nope! No, Logan, you are not replacing our floors with naga hide!” he said firmly, hoping to dislodge the idea before it took root.

“It wouldn’t be the same as an attached skin, or like a pelt would be,” Logan conceded after a moment. “When it’s shed, all the wrinkles of skin between the scales for mobility stretch out. That’s why shed skins are always bigger than the snakes — or nagas — that shed them. It’s probably durable enough, though, especially if we applied a sealant.”

“No flooring,” Virgil repeated. “What would you do when we eventually move out?”

“Hm.” Logan rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

Virgil covered Logan’s mouth. “We’re not replacing our flooring, period.”

Logan finally backed down. “It’s okay if I take part of this home, right?” he asked.

Roman laughed. “You can have the whole thing if you want!”

“I’m not sure I could carry the entire thing,” Logan said, looking down the length of the tail. “I do believe it’s well over a hundred feet long, and the diameter is certainly more than fifteen at its thickest.”

“Then I guess just take some,” Roman conceded, looking amused.

“Virgil, may I borrow your knife?”

Virgil nodded, pulling it from his boot and handing it over. Logan considered the red molt some more, deciding where to cut. In the end, he settled on taking a section, about ten feet long, from the waist end, where it was the biggest around. He used Virgil’s knife to slice through the slightly thinner skin connecting the scales, murmuring to himself about how amazing the shedding was.

“If you think that’s cool, you should see our shed teeth.” Remus chuckled softly, nuzzling Patton gently.

Virgil saw Logan’s head pop up like a gopher, and that gleam in his eyes. “You’ve kept…”

Roman just grinned, his teeth flashing in the firelight.

Logan seemed to be at a loss for words, so Virgil translated his excited wiggles: “He’d love to see them.”

Roman started for the back of the cave again, and Remus called after him, “Ro, bring one of my newer sheds out too.”

When the red naga returned, he carried a handful of teeth and a green shedding draped over his shoulder. “I didn’t touch your teeth, Re, I know you’ve got your weird chaotic organization system over there.” Roman spread his teeth in front of Logan, setting Remus’s skin a bit off to the side. “You can keep as many of these as you want.”

Logan picked through the teeth, fascinated. “Virgil, are you seeing this?”

“Yes, Lo, got a pretty good close-up view of them yesterday, too,” Virgil reminded him.

“Oh, yes, but it pales in comparison to actually being able to hold one of them.” Logan carefully held one of the teeth, eyes wide behind his glasses. “They’re beautiful.”

Roman blushed slightly. Remus shifted Patton to one arm and vanished into the back of the cave once more.

“Did all of these shed naturally? Or were some knocked out?” Logan asked, inspecting the teeth for damage. “I notice that they’re primarily your smaller teeth, from the inner row on the roof of your mouth, and that they have dulled points.”

Roman rubbed his neck. “Most of mine are shed. I don’t fight with my teeth much.”

“I do!” Remus slithered back out, a choice three fangs in his free hand. “Only one of these was shed, but it’s from the most recent.”

Logan gently started to inspect Remus’s teeth while the naga settled down, still holding Patton. The shed one— at least he assumed it was the shed one— was mostly intact. However the tip was practically nonexistent, ground down from use.

“They’re wonderful.” Logan grinned and set it aside.

The next tooth had a large chip out of it. Logan let his fingertips explore the imperfection. Virgil looked up at Remus. “What’s the story for that one? Bite a phone pole?”

“A rock, actually.” Remus grinned. “Didn’t notice I’d accidentally picked one up with my prey.”

Logan glanced at the last one, tilting his head slightly. The tooth was nearly broken in two. “And what about this one?”

“Oh, that one.” Remus grinned. “There was this hu- er, huge deer, and it was a real struggler. Damn thing managed to kick me in the teeth before I managed to swallow it up.”

“I thought you killed all your prey.”

“Normally, yes.” Remus shrugged. “But we were in a rush, and besides, that was the last time I’ve eaten live prey.”

“Must’ve been a real strong deer,” Virgil said, impressed. He eyed the broken tooth. So the huge predators did meet their match a little bit. At least once. Though the deer had still gotten eaten, so he supposed being that strong didn’t really do it much good in the end.

“Yeah, sharp, uh… sharp hooves,” Remus agreed, picking that tooth back up and looking at it. “But, it wasn’t as embarrassing as Roman here faceplanting into a tree and getting a tooth stuck in the trunk!”

“You shoved me down the hill!”

“And you rolled directly into a tree and bit it,” Remus chortled.

Roman growled lowly, shoulders tensing. “Why I oughta—”

“Sh!” Remus hissed softly, cutting him off. “You’ll wake Patton.” He softly nuzzled the young man in his arms.

Patton started to squirm, and unlike the other times Patton had shifted, it seemed this time he was actually waking up. Roman softly whined, stroking Patton’s hair and trying to soothe him back to sleep. But Patton continued to wriggle, and his eyes opened slightly. He yawned and tried to sit up in Remus’s arms.

Remus very gently set Patton on his tail and let the little human stretch. “You’re so cute,” he cooed.

Virgil gave a half smile as he watched Patton continue to be cooed and fawned over by the two enormous nagas. Logan was too busy packing away his samples to really take note of it.

“Is it morning?” Patton stood and stretched his legs.

Virgil nodded. “You missed the sunrise. Shone right in here, if only for a minute.”

Patton shook himself out and softly hugged Virgil. “Well, good morning, then.”

Logan walked over, still beaming from all the samples he had: sheddings and teeth and pictures and his own multitude of notes. He squeezed Patton in a hug, slightly lifting the shorter human for a moment. “I apologize for ever doubting the power of your friendliness.”

“It’s alright.” Patton hugged him back.

Virgil stood, wiping his hands on his pants. “Hate to be That Guy, but… we should probably get going.”

“Aww,” Patton said, disappointed. “I just woke up.”

Virgil sighed. “Dee-Dee will be missing you,” he pointed out. “We were supposed to be home yesterday.”

Patton’s eyes widened. “Oh, you’re right!” he cried, dismayed.

“Who’s Dee-Dee?” Remus asked.

“Our mouser naga,” Virgil explained, sticking his hands in his hoodie pocket. They bumped against Patton’s glasses case, reminding him. He pulled it out and offered it to Patton, who gratefully took it, putting his glasses on.

“Mouser… naga?” Roman repeated.

Patton nodded. “I’m allergic to cats.” Ordinarily, this was enough to explain everything, but from the look on the twins’ faces, it did not.

“What is a mouser naga?” Roman asked.

“What’s allergic?” Remus added.

“They’re nagas, like you guys, but really little.” Patton estimated about two or so feet with his hands. “Dee-Dee is only about this big. He’s just a little fella, and he used to be even smaller, but he’s been growing. I bought him a while ago because we had a real bad mouse problem, but he’s part of the family now.”

The twins blinked owlishly at each other. “We didn’t know those things existed.”

“What did you think I was referring to when I mentioned smaller nagas earlier?” Logan asked.

Roman shrugged. “Juveniles?”

Remus estimated the size with his own hands and shook his head. “I don’t think we were ever that small before.”

Logan shrugged. “Humans have been basing assumptions of your species off the observation of the micro naga, since it’s dangerous to study you directly. Obviously that resulted in some errors. It’s a shame we have to go; this has been a very informative outing.”

Roman tsked loudly, shaking his head. “Looks like Remus and I might need to let you come back and poke at us more.”

Logan practically lit up. “Would you really?” he asked eagerly.

“Of course, if it’ll help your understanding.”

Virgil sighed quietly. “And the nerd is going to bounce off the walls.”

Logan nodded, grinning broadly. “This is splendid!” he said. “I can get my equipment, and conduct a proper study. I may be the first person to ever have this opportunity.”

Remus scooped Patton up, hugging him softly. “All because this little dumpling won us over.”

Logan paused. “That’s right. Patton, I owe you. Thank you.”

Patton grinned. “Can we eat something before we go? I’m hungry.”

Virgil considered. “All we have is our snacks and room temperature venison.” He glanced at the deer. “Which I’m thinking we probably shouldn’t eat.”

Logan nodded agreement. “It’s been sitting out too long.”

Remus perked up. “Dibs!” He set Patton back on his feet next to the other two humans and slithered over to what remained of the deer, sweeping the meat up into his hands. Roman hissed slightly as it vanished into Remus’s stomach.

“You glutton!”

“You snooze, you lose.” Remus shrugged, licking his lips.

“You didn’t even savor it!”

As the twins devolved once more into arguing, the three humans collected their gear, making sure everything was in place. They split Logan’s new treasures between them, though Logan carried the heaviest portion. Virgil passed out snacks.

After they’d eaten, Patton strode over to the twins, just finishing up their argument. “We need to go home now,” he said, lifting his arms for a hug. Roman immediately obliged, scooping him up.

Remus chewed his lip, resisting the urge to just coil around the three of them and never let go. “We’ll escort you to the edge of our territory.”

Logan nodded. “Sounds reasonable, considering someone got us lost.” He side-eyed Virgil, who at least had the grace to look a little embarrassed.

~~~

It didn’t take long before the nagas complained that humans walked too slowly. That was all the warning they got before they were scooped up into huge arms. Roman lifted Logan, while Remus, already carrying Patton — he’d refused to set him down again after their hug, and Patton hadn’t objected — scooped Virgil up with his other hand. With both hands full, Remus had trouble getting the humans settled, and inadvertently squished them together.

“Remus,” Roman scolded lightly. Holding Logan against his chest with one hand, he used the other to help his brother reposition. Remus ended up with a human in each arm, half leaning on his chest.

“Comfy?”

Virgil squirmed a bit, more uncomfortable with the situation than with his position. “It’s fine.”

Traveling like that, they covered ground much more quickly. Soon, they reached the edge of the twins’ territory. Although they stopped, the nagas looked very hesitant to set their new friends down. Patton patted Remus’s arm. “It’s okay,” he said. “We’ll come back to visit.”

“Promise me?”

Patton nodded. “I promise.”

Logan brushed himself off. “Of course we’ll return. I’ve been promised cooperation in clearing up biological misconceptions.”

Virgil tightly hugged himself while everyone said their goodbyes. When it came his turn, he gently patted Roman on the forearm. “Thanks… for not eating us.”

“You’re welcome.” Roman softly ruffled his hair. “Take care of yourselves.”

The three humans continued forward, with more than a few backwards glances at their large new friends.

~~~~~

Chapter 4: Home Again

If you wanna know what really happened to Remus's broken tooth, you can read that here, but please, heed the warnings on it. It is not a nice story.

[ragewerthers]

Beast

Summary: There is no greater joy, in Ignis' opinion, then waking up with Gladio by his side. But as of late there has been one troubling nuisance that seems hell bent on ensnaring him.Gladio's hair.Is there really any way to tame the hair beast?

A/n: This is another F3S for my good friend @bgn846​! 

I couldn't get this out of my head as soon as I read it and I had to write it right away! :D The prompt was:

'Gladio's hair is crazy especially after he wakes up.  He sorta has bangs, or a mohawk or who knows it's nuts.  So who gets this lovely view in the morning? Or maybe he's tired and he doesn't style it one day.  Or maybe they run out of hair gel while on the road trip.'

I hope that this has all the fluff you are looking for, my friend!

You can also read on AO3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23266075

Enjoy! :D

Word Count: 1833

-----------------------------

Mornings with Gladio were nothing short of wonderful.  The man was an insatiable cuddlebug and on the coldest of mornings he was a welcome haven of coziness, something that Ignis could burrow into and find safety in.  However… there was one part of the morning that, as of late, was starting to become a bit of a nuisance.

Gladio’s hair.

To be fair, Ignis adored his darling’s hair.  It was luxurious and thick.  Its color was a deep, dark brown that reminded Ignis of his beloved Ebony and the way it would get those soft waves in it when it got wet or when he styled it was something that always seemed to make him weak-kneed.

But right now, in this moment, as the sun was just beginning to make its way through the blinds of their bedroom… it was attempting with all its might to strangle the hell out of him.

Gladio’s hair, much like the man himself, was not something easily tamed.  In the morning it was at its most wicked.  It would hiss at the sight of a brush, recoil at the sight of a comb and lash out at any sort of hair product meant to beat it into submission.

Ignis was currently caught up in his partner's embrace, a place normally so welcoming, but his entire face was almost completely entangled in the man's mane which also meant that Gladio’s own face was all encompassed in it leaving nothing of his chiseled features to view.  Not that Ignis could see it with what was already falling over him and blurring his vision.

“Gladio?  Gladio, lo-...Pbthhthp!”  His attempt to gently rouse the man was abruptly ended as some of Gladio’s hair went for the attack.  Gladio had shifted causing another cascade to fall over Ignis’s face and inadvertently getting into his mouth.

“M’ff… don’... Igs sleepin’…,” Gladio mumbled as he pulled Ignis closer and nuzzled into the top of his head which was, more or less, 99.9% Gladio’s own hair.

Bringing a hand up, Ignis began to carefully make a bid for freedom.  First he brushed it away from his own face so as to be able to see and breath again which was a blessing.  Then, gently, he began to sweep it back over Gladio’s face as well, slowly revealing his sleeping features and making his heart flutter ridiculously in his chest.

Tucking a rampant wild curl behind Gladio’s ear, he let his fingers gently trace the outer shell, watching as Gladio’s nose crinkled slightly at the touch.

Ignis bit his lip and held back a little chuckle as he watched this.  He continued to gently trace his fingers down the side of Gladio’s neck and was rewarded with a little wiggle out of the man as his shoulders scrunched up and a rumbled little giggle bubbled up from his chest.

Ignis was just reaching back up to follow the same path again with his fingers when he found his wrist captured quickly in Gladio’s strong yet gentle hold.  Glancing over he noticed one sleepy amber eye watching him intently, the other still obscured by his hair.  Ignis chuckled softly and gave him his most innocent smile.

“Have I awoken the beast?” he murmured softly, not wanting to completely disrupt the quiet morning.

Gladio gave a little growl at that.  The sound rumbling through his chest as he brought Ignis’s hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to his palm.  “You have,” he purred back, his voice pitched deeper from sleep and making Ignis’s cheeks flush slightly at the timbre of it.  Gladio noticed the little flush and the corners of his lips quirked up in amusement.  “Why’re you feelin’ so brave this mornin’?”  He pressed another kiss against Ignis’ wrist, slowly lifting his arm higher and higher to kiss along the underside of his forearm and nipping gently at the crease of his elbow.

The flush of Ignis’s face began to travel along with Gladio’s gentle attentions.  His ears and neck slowly starting to feel warmer and warmer.  “I-I had to if I wanted to survive,” he stammered out, breath hitching a moment as he felt the little nip.

The comment caught Gladio off guard and for a moment a flicker of concern passed over his features.  Ignis noticed the change and offered him a gentle smile to quell his worries.

“I’m alright, love.  It was just… your hair was attempting to claim me in its clutches,” he murmured softly, watching as the worry slowly ebbed away as gentle amusement took over Gladio’s expression.  

Gladio relinquished his hold on Ignis’ arm, moving instead to wrap his  own arm back around the Adviser’s lithe waist and draw him closer.  Trying to make amends in some small way for what his hair had attempted to do so early this morning.  He could feel Ignis settling in his hold once more and ran a hand over his spine to keep him close and content.  “I don’t know why it fights so much in the morning.  It’s like it gets a life of its own,” he joked, feeling Ignis chuckle against him. 

“It’s like in your sleep you become some sort of… hair beast,” Ignis teased, getting Gladio to snort and lean back to look at him with his still partially hair covered face.

“Well… I’m awake now and I’ll make sure to keep you safe,” he murmured fondly, pressing a few gentle kisses over Ignis’s face.

Closing his eyes, Ignis felt his own smile growing at the peppered kisses, basking in the warmth of his lovers' embrace… at least until he felt a barrage of hair once again fall onto his face shrouding him in darkness.

“Gladio!  It’s doing it again!” Ignis cried out, lifting his hand to try and clear his sight only to be stopped by a sudden attack on his neck.  A flurry of kisses and nibbles instantly eliciting a squeak from him as he began to squirm and giggle unbecomingly in Gladio’s hold.  “N-no!  Gladio!  Y-You’re supposed to pro-tehehect meehehe!” he cried out, pushing at the man’s chest ineffectively and soon finding himself rolled over onto his back and gently pinned.

“Gladio?” the Shield growled playfully against Ignis’ neck, his fingers now moving to lightly scribble against the Adviser’s side and making him try to curl up and bat away the monster's hand as a new round of manic giggles and snorts began to escape him.  “There is no Gladio here.  Only the hair beast!”

“Stahahapit you m-monstehehe!” Ignis tried to chide, but sadly his laughter overtook him.  Especially when Gladio nuzzled his stubbly jaw right into the crook of his shoulder making him let out the most ridiculous squeal that had him flushing crimson.

It did, however, do the trick of getting Gladio to pause his attack as he started to laugh at the noise.  Leaning up on his one arm he looked down fondly on his blushing and panting partner.

“That was the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard, Ignis,” Gladio chuckled, bringing a hand up to soothe over Ignis’ chest to help calm his breathing and giggles.  It seemed to help slightly as the Adviser began to calm minutely and Gladio shook his head to the side a little, trying to move some of his hair from his sight to see his partner properly.

Ignis rolled his eyes both at the spectacle and the comment, still laying there panting and blushing with a smile lingering over his lips.  “Y-you… will speak of that to no one… understood?” he asked, only just seeing the crinkle of Gladio’s smile underneath the man;s wild curtain of hair that still managed to obscure him from view.

“You think I’d share that cuteness with anyone else?  Never,” Gladio promised, finally bringing his hand up to push his hair back from his face so he could look at Ignis properly.

As Ignis watched the unveiling of his partner from underneath his wild locks, his blush seemed to come back full force.  It always struck him just how beautiful Gladio was and after having been denied the sight of him the entire morning he was reminded instantly.  In the full light of dawn, with the sun playing over his lover's tan skin, his whiskey gold eyes and warm smile… his heart felt like it was going to beat right out of his chest..  Ignis loved every bit of this man, crazy hair and all, with every fiber of his being.

Bringing a hand up, Ignis gently cradled Gladio’s jaw, his thumb soothing over his stubbly cheek and watched as his gentle giant of a lover closed his eyes at the touch and nuzzled into his palm.  This only served to make the warmth in his chest grow and he knew the smile that blossomed over his lips was ridiculous, but he was just so happy.  So content.  He refused to try and hide it and especially from Gladio.

“Gods I love you,” he whispered softly, almost reverently, as he let the moment completely draw him in.

Gladio’s eyes opened once more, honey-gold meeting sparkling emerald.  “And I love you, Ignis.  More than I can ever say,” he whispered back, ducking down to capture the Adviser’s lips in a warm, lingering kiss.

Ignis was more than happy to return it, a soft hum escaping against Gladio’s lips as the hand that rested on his partner's jaw moved up to gently tangle in that wild mane Gladio called hair.

Carefully lowering himself, Gladio’s chest only just resting over Ignis’, the Shield let another happy little purr rumble in his chest at the touch.  He could feel Ignis starting to smile against his lips and soon the kiss couldn’t be maintained any longer.  Leaning back with a little chuckle he stared fondly down at his lover, pressing another little kiss to the tip of nose if only to get it to crinkle adorably.  “You have no right being this adorable, Iggy,” he chided lightly, getting the normally stoic Adviser to giggle.

“My apologies.  I shall endeavor to stop,” Ignis promised, getting another soft growl from Gladio as the Shield hid against his neck.

“Don’t you dare,” he mumbled, making Ignis smile more as he brought his other hand up to soothe against Gladio’s muscled back.

“Alright.  I won’t.  But only because my hair beast asked so nicely,” he teased gently, turning his head to press a little kiss to the aforementioned tangled mess of curls.  He felt a quiet little chuckle against his shoulder and could practically feel the way Gladio started to nod off against him again.  As he continued to soothe his darling’s back and lightly scratch over his scalp he smiled more, letting his own eyes close as he allowed himself to relax as well.

Morning’s with Gladio really were nothing short of wonderful.  Even if a certain hair beast managed to show up every now and again.

Ignis wouldn’t have it any other way.

[xlady-saya]

take what you want [fic]

Relationships: laila/alvarez 

Summary: Laila has come a long way from her freshman year, past all the worries and pressure to behave a certain way. She never thought she’d realize it here, lounging poolside with her girlfriend.

The urge to seduce Alvarez is just too good to let go.

Tags: fluff and smut, inappropriate use of tanning oil, written for the aftg summer event on twitter

Read on ao3!

"You're too polite."

The voice is smooth, and sends a shiver down Laila's spine. She's not sure why. Maybe it's because it sounds like it's right next to her ear, the clearest sound she's heard in the last forty-five minutes.

She forgot she was a person for a second there. No one has bothered to address her as one.

The registrar's office is a cramped, square room with one way in and out—and to make matters worse, the AC decided to take a day off on this excruciating Los Angeles summer afternoon.

The office is packed with students in the same boat as Laila, flowing in and out to retrieve their ID cards and USC lanyards. She'd been excited at first; she'd settled into the dorms, and her first Exy practice was later in the evening. It had only been a few days of walking around campus and finding her classes, but she already felt like a full fledged college student.

The excitement of getting her ID, a true symbol of this, had died upon entering the office. The line had been long, but it was also hardly a line.

It seemed more like giant clusters of students broken up by the occasional space, and over time, she no longer knew where it started and where it ended. Several people walked in and cut the line completely, and others who had waited less time than her would walk out with their IDs in hand. Laila's aggravation has been steadily growing, but she remembered her manners, her respect. She wasn't sure how any of that translated in a big city like LA, but it was how she'd been raised in the midwest.

Her parents would be disappointed if she caused a scene, and how embarrassing would that be, anyways? She told herself she could wait, that she had plenty of time.

Then, the voice jolts her out of the haze of squabbling students and staff members, and she jerks in the direction of it. She doesn't know it in that moment, but any hope of having manners in the future and preserving that polite attitude are dashed and spat on with the introduction of this girl.

The first thing Laila notices about her is how tall she is. Laila cranes her neck upwards, and is met with big, brown eyes. They go lidded in that moment, picking out something in Laila's green ones that Laila isn't aware of yet. She blushes anyways; she knows when she's being teased, made fun of. The girl's got a few inches on her, at least, with dark brown hair and skin that's already well acquainted with the strong California sun. Not pale like Laila, not ghostly. She doesn't seem like the type to wait here all day and let people cut her in line, judging from her ability to criticize complete strangers out of the blue.

Laila sputters indignantly, biting her tongue before any comments can come out. Not like they'd be well formed. Her mind is swimming, and she feels like a stereotypical jock then. Absolutely no brain cells.

The girl chuckles from the reaction, watching Laila's mouth open and close like a puppet. Laila can tell when she's being sized up and scanned, but she doesn't get the purpose. Normally, she'd never say no to attention from a hot girl (and yes, she begrudgingly can admit this rude ass is hot), but there's nothing impressive about her today. That's not what this is. All she has on her is a duffel bag with her Exy equipment haphazardly sticking out. She's wearing USC lounge pants that she already managed to stain with her ramen noodles earlier, and a ratty tank.

If it's the Exy the girl is fixated on, Laila wants to reassure her. It's a violent sport, but Laila's a goalie. She's not the one to start fights, so there's no reason for this girl to be looking her up and down like this.

Part of Laila feels like she has to return the scrutiny, like maybe it's some kind of local ritual, but she can't get past the girl's neck for one reason alone.

She already has her red and gold lanyard, with her photo ID hanging right off of it.

Gabriela Alvarez.

Goddammit.

Finally, she finds her voice.

"Excuse me?" she forces out, strained and a touch too bold for her tastes.

Alvarez doesn't respond right away. To add insult to injury, she instead looks over to where another freshman walks into the office, casually bypasses everyone waiting (including Laila), and is handed their ID and lanyard two minutes after giving the receptionist their name.

The. Fuck.

Sighing, Alvarez looks all too happy to have made a point.

"You've been standing here for ten minutes, and I've watched three people cut you in line like that," Alvarez says, inspecting her nails. They're cut short and neat, Laila's mind tells her, rather unhelpfully. How she didn't notice someone like Alvarez prior is beyond her.

Regardless of that, the truth of the statement irritates her further. She knows it's pathetic, she knows it's not fair, but—

"What would you have me do?" she asks, huffing. She jostles her duffel over her shoulder and hits the wall, making her jump. And all the while, more people walk out with their lanyards.

Alvarez's lips turn into a frown, like she can't figure out if Laila is serious or not. Laila hopes being new in town is an excuse, but she has a feeling it isn’t. Alvarez shrugs one shoulder, and to demonstrate, barrels through the throng and back again. She makes it seem effortless, and ignores all the perturbed stares she receives for it. Then, she's in Laila's space again, towering, tempting. "Shove them, tell them to piss off, I don't know," she says, a clear challenge. The insinuation is there: whatever it takes to not be pushed around.

Laila sputters, mostly to get her mind off the fact that her body quite likes this idea. She's always had a bit of a temper, but she’s managed to keep it under control whenever it chooses to flare up. She never once considered the possibility of not holding it back. "That's so—"

"Rude?" Alvarez interrupts, voice sickeningly sweet. Laila glares harshly, but it doesn't stop her from waving her lanyard in Laila's face. "But which one of us got what we wanted, huh?"

And what is Laila supposed to say to that? She wants to spit 'fuck you, bitch,' but even she knows when she's been had. Laila's anger and pettiness deflates, and unbeknownst to her, a piece of the old identity she'd been forced to cling to has already fallen away.

Alvarez taps the kneepads poking out of Laila's bag, and this time, her smile is a tad sympathetic.

"See you at practice, small town," she says, and promptly walks out. It's only then Laila realizes she's wearing an Exy team jacket, name printed in large gold on her back.

Laila looks down at the buttons on her bag to figure out how Alvarez knew about her home, but promptly realizes it's simply written all over her.

Whatever, she thinks petulantly. This interaction will mean nothing in the grand scheme of her years here.

But as she thinks about it for the rest of the day, that statement feels less and less secure.

--

Staring at the bare skin of Alvarez's back calls the memory to the forefront of her mind, for whatever reason. Maybe it's the weather.

The heat of the California summer doesn't go away, regardless of where they are. But here, inland, it's practically desert country. It's so much worse. That's why Laila had been adamant about waking up early to go lay by the water, dragging her girlfriend with her at the crack of dawn to go lounge while the rest of their teammates slept. The nights spent in motels for away games are some of her least favorite, but at least there's the pool access. It's significantly cooler and empty on top of that, but the humidity begins to tease the air. It'll be scorching in a matter of hours, but Laila loves to fantasize about the mild climate she was promised all those years ago.

She groans as she spreads out, and her bikini doesn't even feel like it's doing the job of making her less heated. She curses as she slouches, not a trace of manners left in her.

Nothing ever turns out as expected, she reasons. But it's not all bad. Climate aside, she managed to turn a beautiful, unruly rebel into her beautiful, unruly girlfriend.

And perhaps she's a bit of a rebel herself now—something she can pin on Alvarez only a little. As a result of too many rowdy friends and teammates, and the gradual erosion of her capacity to give a fuck, Laila has come quite a long way.

It's satisfying to know that these days, no one would dare call her a push over. It feels comforting, and much truer to herself. Alvarez usually doesn't allow it, but Laila wishes she could thank her more for that. For the last push.

Honestly, there's probably a lot of reasons she recalls their first meeting right then, apart from her genuine feelings for Alvarez and the threat of the sun above.

She certainly doesn't feel polite right now.

Alvarez is sitting on the end of Laila's lounge chair, hair pushed to the side. The haphazardly tied bikini string is something Laila often nags her about. One wrong move and it'll come undone completely, but right now it just seems to taunt her. It wouldn't take much, she thinks, to lean forward and grant herself more of a view.

She brings her foot up to rest on the middle of her girlfriend's back, and Alvarez doesn't even flinch. It's common for them to drape themselves over one another for lack of anything better to do, but this time Laila's mind has a less than innocent agenda.

She uses her heel to follow the path of the faded moles on Alvarez's back, dipping down until she reaches the beginning of silvery stretch marks. She always says they look like the branches of a tree, and Alvarez has thought more than once about getting a tattoo for the purpose of pronouncing them with clean, inky lines. Laila thinks of them dotting her hips, disappearing beneath the low riding sweats Alvarez likes to wear around the dorms.

There's a heat already coiling in Laila's abdomen, and the thought doesn't help to diminish it. Bringing her girlfriend with her wasn't the best idea for cooling off, but it's too late now.

She bites her lips and thinks back to her old urges to not rock the boat, to not put herself in situations that could cause a scene. Oh, she's come far indeed.

She’s drunk on the feeling, and she throws a look back at the row of motel rooms. All the blinds are closed, and it's certainly too early for anyone else to be awake...

Shivering, Laila scoots her butt to the edge of the chair and begins to feel the fabric of her swimsuit more than she should. She's hyper aware of the material, of the stretchiness as it rides up against her.

Alvarez is still staring out at the water, the morning exhaustion not quite shaken off yet, and Laila takes the opportunity to rub herself through her swimsuit. It's a brief, light touch, and it doesn't do much for her. But there's a thrill of excitement at her idea, at the stupidity of it. They're basically out in the open, but...

If she knows anything about her girlfriend, it’s that she has even less self-control.

"Gab," she says finally, and tries to keep her tone innocent. She must not be very good at it, because her girlfriend turns to her with suspicion written all over her face. Yes, the squint is not from lack of sleep anymore. Still, Laila bites her lip to keep her smile at bay. She taps her foot playfully against Alvarez's lower back, and adjusts herself just so in the seat. She knows it makes her suit ride up, and Alvarez's eyes track the stretch of the fabric deliberately. "Come here."

A sweet, normal request, but Alvarez's expression sharpens. Like that day in the office, her eyes find something in Laila's that tells her all she needs to know. She's always had a weird knack for reading people. It used to be unsettling.

Now it's the exact opposite, and Laila meets her gaze confidently. Alvarez's eyes flick over her, then back up once more, and she effectively comes to the correct conclusion based on something in Laila's body language.

"You're poking a dangerous animal, you know," she warns, but there's amusement drenching every word. She looks up at the rooms behind them, narrowing to follow any sign of life or indication they're being watched. Then: "You're aware that there's hotel rooms right behind us?"

Laila nearly rolls her eyes; after three years, Alvarez has to know her likelihood of feeling ashamed is dismal. She's more jealous than anything. She doesn't want anyone seeing Alvarez like that, but the idea that if someone did see, all they'd see is her ability to absolutely take Laila apart—

That's too appealing to pass up.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she answers, sighing as she leans back. She spreads her legs a little more for good measure, and Alvarez tries her best to avoid staring. It's too bad her alternative is Laila's chest. "Maybe I just want to hold your hand."

To emphasize, she reaches out, and Alvarez meets her instantly. Their hands lace together, and she feels the roughness so indicative of a backliner. Okay, so she wanted to hold her hand too.

"Sure," Alvarez huffs, but swings their hands a little anyways. "You're not that discreet anymore. What happened to my innocent small town girl?"

It's Laila's turn to laugh; she has a feeling she was never innocent deep down, but Alvarez brings the mischievous side of her out now more than ever.

"You're still just as infuriating," Laila throws back, but it's all smiles and maybe even a little dreamy. It's embarrassing, but she's never been ashamed of her feelings. They've been called disgustingly sappy by just about everyone on the team (minus Jean and Jeremy, who definitely have them beat and they're not even dating yet), and Laila's proud of it.

Sensing it, Alvarez crawls forward between Laila's legs. They both ignore the worrisome creak of the chair as their lips meet for a kiss, and allowing herself to be pulled into Laila’s scheme is Alvarez's fatal mistake.

Alvarez smells a little like chlorine from the jump she took when they first arrived, and her lips are salty when they stick to Laila's. She's not sure what it is about today, but the feeling of bare skin in front of her, radiating warmth, sends her back to messy dorm room kisses and tentative touches in the dark. She doesn't waste time opening Alvarez's mouth to hers, and Laila's tongue slides against the metal piercing in Alvarez's. She sighs from the coolness, and reaches up to hold Alvarez's chin in place while she plays with it. She loves how the piercing feels; it's like it glides along her tongue, and she's reminded of all the other places it's been. Alvarez, ever impatient, coaxes Laila closer until her nose is pressed into her cheek, kissing her deeply enough to evoke the whimpers the backliner adores.

The moan it manages to pull out of Laila is wispy and faded at the edges, like a stream traveling straight into Alvarez's body. Laila feels Alvarez's shiver flow from head to toe.

The heat between Laila's legs is getting impossible to ignore, and her abdomen tenses from the need to do something about it. It's at that point Alvarez tilts away, keeping Laila at a distance with her hand.

She really stands no chance now.

"I try," Alvarez pants, clearing her throat. The usual confidence is gone, replaced with blown pupils and a strip of red over the bridge of her nose. Laila enjoys the conflicted look on her face too much, the furrowed brow as she weighs all the variables. It's awfully considerate for someone who gets into fights every single game.

Alvarez throws her a playful glare and snaps the string of Laila's bottoms. "Someone really could see us..."

Laila leans back, arches a brow.

"Yeah, and couldn’t you just tell them to piss off?" Laila fires back, and Alvarez stares up at the sky as if asking the universe for guidance. She's the one who's always been brazen, yet she hesitates with things like this. It's cute, but Laila has enough experience to know it doesn't last long. Her girlfriend is easy to seduce, easy to rile up. After all, she's got the sex drive of an athlete, and Laila is all too happy to match the enthusiasm. Plus, it's fun to push when she knows Alvarez wants her just as much.

And that's when she notices the bottle of sun tan oil lying on top of her towel. She hadn't needed it yet, had brought it as a precaution, but now she's grateful for the foresight. She smirks slightly as she reaches for it. She and Alvarez had been dorm mates for a few months before dating, and Laila had the accidental pleasure of seeing the porn history on her computer more than a few times. Her girlfriend is not the most tech savvy.

She could poke fun at Alvarez for years, but in the moment her pervy tastes are a great advantage. Laila grabs the tanning oil and waves it in front of Alvarez's face, adoring the way her eyes widen. "Help me?"

Alvarez looks like she wants to whine in frustration; she can't win in this situation. Laila's smirk widens, knowing they're both about to get exactly what they want, and Alvarez snatches the oil out of her hand.

"Give me your towel," her girlfriend says roughly, and Laila's in no position not to comply. Alvarez's voice has already taken on that heavy, low tone she loves so much. It's like a scratched record, clearing and jumping ever so slightly, and every single one of Laila's nerve endings fire just from the sound. Laila wriggles as Alvarez stuffs the towel under her, dragging her hands along the underside of Laila’s thighs for good measure. Laila jumps from the touch. She wishes Alvarez had just pulled off her bottoms already, but per Alvarez's sharp, authority laced stare, she keeps her hands at her sides. Alvarez likes to start wherever she pleases.

Laila does tug at the towel though, tilting her head just so as her girlfriend smears her hands with the oil a little too quickly. The bottle slips out of her hands a few times.

"Feeling confident?" Laila asks, gesturing to the towel, and expects the usual glare.

The look she gets instead makes the warmth pool inside her even more, burning worse than the sun. Alvarez's stare is dark and mocking—like she's looking at freshman Laila again, all innocence and manners. Not the girl who is soaking her bathing suit without even being touched, not the one asking to be fucked poolside. This is the Laila with only high school hookups to call back on for experience. This is the Laila who spreads her legs wider in anticipation of feeling things she's never felt before.

"I can tell when you're going to be messy," Alvarez whispers, and with the need for her bravado gone, Laila scoots forward excitedly. "And you call me the dirty one..."

Laila snorts, but it dies as soon as Alvarez's hands are on her. The oil is slightly warm, and she shivers when Alvarez starts with her thighs. She disregards Laila's arms and shoulders in another act of predictability, which are arguably the more important places to shield from the sun.

"You are," Laila sighs, but her heavy breathing doesn't help her teasing. "Tanning oil? Really?"

Alvarez shushes her by digging her thumbs into the thick muscle of Laila's legs, rubbing slow circles and inching towards the edge of her bathing suit. Her pale skin, tanner now from years of sunlight, is already glistening.

Alvarez's fingers dip just under the edge of the swimsuit, following the curve of the string to Laila's hips. It makes Laila whimper, because she's sure Alvarez can feel it. The heat radiates off her, and she knew she was wet, but she wasn't sure just how wet until she feels Alvarez's fingers graze the slickness. Laila's abdomen jumps and she scoots forward, hands gripping her thighs to keep herself still.

She loves the wait, the anticipation, but it's a killer sometimes. Part of her just wants to push Alvarez's face against her, feel the flatness of her tongue as it strokes...

Alvarez licks her lips at the reaction, and Laila catches the glint of her purple tongue piercing. She's glad it's staying in; it's so good against her. When Alvarez takes her clit into her mouth and sucks, it's an extra jolt.

Alvarez, not content to end her teasing just yet, moves her oiled hands up Laila's body. She tugs at the front clasp of her bikini, narrowing her eyes in the delayed realization that Laila picked this one on purpose. Laila bites her lip to hide her smile, and grabs her girlfriend's wrists to guide her hands under the thin cloth. The top falls to her side, and it adds to Laila's overall excitement.

If anyone opens their window, if anyone comes out here, there's no way Laila would be able to put herself together fast enough.

Alvarez groans, probably thinking the same thing. It doesn't stop her from squeezing Laila's breasts in her hands until they're just short of shiny. Laila adores her girlfriend's hands; the palms are large enough to cup each breast, to take them into her hands whenever she feels like it. During movies when no one is paying attention, when Laila sits in her lap and reads, at night when they're spooning...

It's a good pastime.

Here though, Alvarez isn't trying to be cute or cheeky as she leans down to circle one of Laila's nipples with her tongue. She flicks at it a few times, and Laila shivers from the cool air, arching forward in a silent plea.

Her mind is just repeating itself over and over: I want your mouth, your mouth, your mouth.

And Alvarez obliges. She pulls Laila's nipple between her lips and sucks, drawing out every breathy sigh she can. Laila knows she has to be quiet; it echoes here, but it feels too good to be completely silent. She sits up more fully, pressing Alvarez's face forward. It's probably borderline suffocating for her to be pressed against Laila like this, but they both love it. Alvarez alternates between sucking and licking while she tugs on Laila's other nipple, kneading the sensitive skin between her fingers until Laila is moaning low and sweet. The soft, wet sounds are enough to drive Laila mad, and she hates that it's getting brighter.

They can't take their time with this, though she wishes they could. This is her favorite way to come—completely untouched, with Alvarez's attention solely on her pleasure.

Her girlfriend is predictable in that she can't keep her mouth shut, but in these moments, the words pull Laila apart.

"You're so cute," Alvarez whispers when she pops off of Laila's breast, feeling along her abdomen for the particularly big scar she has there. It’s from a rough accident on the court, but Laila can't say she's insecure about it when Alvarez always strokes it like that. It's almost like she burned it there herself.

And no, Laila has never been called cute. She's a brash goalkeeper, and not sheltered in the slightest. But Alvarez makes her feel small and desperate, and she loves falling into that feeling, that role.

"You're going to come hard, I can tell," Alvarez says, and despite the deepness of her voice, it's laced with excitement. Laila might roll her eyes at the arrogance any other time, but now she just nods, delirious with the feeling. She guesses with how well Alvarez knows her body, the arrogance isn't undeserved.

She scoots forward and Alvarez pushes her back down on the chair, undoing the strings of her bikini bottoms.

Well, if there’s already no hope of them saving face if someone sees them, there’s no point in being worried about shedding more clothing. Alvarez smirks as she tosses them on the concrete, leaning down to level her face with Laila's pussy.

It might almost make her laugh; here she is, completely bare by the pool, with her girlfriend's face between her legs. She far from hates it, but it's a lot different than Alvarez pulling down her ratty sweatpants at the dorm and having Laila sweat through her hoodie.

It feels the same, though—it feels just as fulfilling in every way.

Laila grabs Alvarez's hand where it rests against her abdomen, locking them together and tightening when Alvarez takes her into her mouth. The first swipe of Alvarez's tongue has her nearly biting her tongue to keep the moans at bay. Laila is panting harshly a few seconds later, all too exposed as Alvarez looks her fill. Always watching, always admiring.

Laila has never gotten over it, the attention is embarrassing in the best way.

Her girlfriend's other hand glides between her wet folds, smearing some of her slick onto her inner thighs. Alvarez hums, and Laila chances a glance down at her when she feels her girlfriend's palm rub against her.

"I have to indulge into the entire fantasy, you know," Alvarez says, and Laila watches as she rubs the last of the oil through Laila's sparse hair. Laila sighs as Alvarez rubs her thumb over her clit, thick and just as ready for Alvarez's tongue.

The comment is supposed to be teasing, funny. But Alvarez sounds way too fucked out to add any of that; her voice is lost at sea like Laila's mind is. Laila tries to say something witty back, or maybe just a demand for Alvarez to get a move on, but then Alvarez is sucking her back into her mouth, and Laila is gone.

She throws her head back as Alvarez continues enthusiastically, like she always does. Laila can feel each warm breath, the pressure of Alvarez's face pressing against her without care for how messy it'll leave her. Her fucking tongue piercing.

It slides over her clit, following the curves and folds enough to make Laila sigh. It's so familiar, but she's never sick of it. She grabs the back of Alvarez's head and bobs her up and down, moving her just so against her.

Her girlfriend's face is a mix of drool and Laila, and when those eyes dart up sharply to her own, there's nothing but heat there.

Laila whines long and hard, and then Alvarez's tongue is inside of her, massaging as deep as she can reach. She rolls her entire neck into it, making sure to pull every sound she can manage out of Laila.

Laila wishes she could spread her legs wider without hurting herself, but it's not an option. Instead, she whispers nonsensical encouragement over and over.

"You're so good. It's so good, babe," Laila stammers, tripping up over her words. To emphasize, she pushes Alvarez into her even more, and the groan she gets is not pretty, not delicate. But fuck, if she could replay that sounds over and over she would. "Oh, shit..."

Alvarez hums, and she must be able to tell how close Laila is from how she's tightening around her tongue, from how her hips are barely able to stay pinned to the chair. Laila's legs freeze up, and she darts a hand out to grab her thigh. She's not letting a cramp ruin this, but goddamn. Alvarez's stronger, less shaky hands grab Laila's legs and throw them over her shoulders, and Laila squeezes. Alvarez moans, nodding against her, and Laila watches as her girlfriend's tongue glides over her clit, not willing to stop. It must be straining at this point, but seeing Alvarez so determined to please her, to make her come...

It sends Laila over the edge, and in the next few minutes she's tensing, trembling as the orgasm rips through her. As her girlfriend predicted, she feels herself squirt a little against Alvarez's face, and it drips onto the towel. She can't be too concerned about it when she's like this; she's hardly aware of anything at all. Her surroundings, her name...

Her entire body quivers, and she's vaguely aware of Alvarez's forearm pinning her hips in place as she eats her out through it. Alvarez is never grossed out by the sloppiness—she takes everything Laila has to offer.

Laila wasn't used to her girlfriend's ways at first, but now she gets it. Alvarez is a pleaser; this is what does it for her, what gets her so satisfied deep down...

Knowing she made Laila come so hard, that she made Laila crave her in such a revealing setting.

Laila shivers when she thinks of how turned on Alvarez must be, how badly she wants to return the favor.

Laila's clit throbs through the aftershocks, and she reaches down to rub at it, catching the end of Alvarez's tongue as her girlfriend pulls away. It's raw, empty…She misses the feeling of her girlfriend, but the cooling wetness makes her sigh.

She doesn't want to know how blissed out she looks, but she's sure Alvarez regrets not being able to snap a photo.

Alvarez leans back, wiping her mouth as if it helps. Despite being outdoors, the smell of sweat and sex is thick, and Laila fumbles for her swimsuit. When they both glance at the blinds for the hotel rooms, they're all still closed.

"I win," Laila comments breathlessly, and grins big and bright when Alvarez smiles at her. It's lazy, drunk almost, and Laila's gaze sweeps over the way Alvarez squirms.

"Ah—later," Alvarez says, reading Laila's mind as she stands up to adjust her shorts. Figures; Alvarez will eat out Laila in public, but when it comes to herself she's shy. "In the room."

Laila smirks, and it's a promise. "You're too polite."

Alvarez processes the words slowly, her brain still in a haze. Her pupils are blown wide, and yeah… Laila can't say her mind has moved on either. She's eager to get back to the room now.

But she needed her revenge.

"Coming from you," Alvarez scoffs, helping Laila up to tie the sides of her swimsuit. When she's done, she pinches Laila's thigh. "But I guess you're far from it now, you rebel."

Laila lets herself be proud of that for the hundredth time.

She adjusts her suit and grimaces when her hands glide over her own skin. Ah, right.

"Gross, I'm all sticky," she says, which is yes, way worse than being covered in sweat and other unmentionables. The tanning oil isn't the nicest, and it feels like it's starting to dry in patches. She does not approve.

Alvarez throws up her hands. "When you let me act out a porn fantasy, you can't exactly blame me for my actions," she comments, and absolves herself of all blame. Right. Laila can understand that her girlfriend is a perv, but it's her fault for provoking that side of her.

It was fun, though, minus the need for a shower.

Laila sighs, lacing their hands together as they walk towards the motel elevators. The sun has already begun to reveal itself through the clouds, promising a hot, miserable day that Laila can't wait to avoid. Still…If it means more days by the pool, she can't complain.

"Was it everything you dreamed of?" she asks with a small grin, and laughs when Alvarez jumps at the sound of the first door opening.

Alvarez nudges her, but her scowl is fake as can be. She's smiling deviously in the next moment, leaning forward to kiss Laila by the ear.

"Better."

They speed walk the rest of the way to their room, and thankfully no one is around to see.

[secretsantasides]

Gift #13: A Crack In The Facade

Gift for @lilfellasblog​

Summary: Logan overworked himself to a breaking point. Then the others found out.

The faintest silver-blue lining of light shined from under Logan's door, just barely visible in the dark hallway. If one would listen closely, one would be able to hear two things. Slight snoring coming from Patton's room and the soft clicking of Logan's keyboard, barely audible through the thick wooden doors.

Inside his room, the logical side was indeed still working despite the early morning hours. He sat at his desk, hunched over his laptop with the screen as the only source of light due to the sun setting unnoticed plenty of hours ago. Opening a new document, Logan took a look at the clock and winced. He had promised himself that tonight he would actually try to enforce the sleep schedule he made for Thomas and go to bed before midnight. His cognitive functions really couldn't effort another all-nighter. But he needed to get this done too. Logan started typing again, rubbing his sore wrists every once and a while.

Two hours later his eyes were burning and Logan miserably stared at the two incoherent paragraphs that mocked him from the screen. The frustration that tried to grow in his chest was only barely held down by sheer exhaustion. With a heavy heart, he saved his- he didn't dare to call it progress- and shut the laptop off. Sudden darkness emerged him. His wrists were throbbing and sharp pinches of pain in his knuckles tried to pierce through the fog in his brain.

Logan collapsed face-first into his bed, not even bothering to remove his clothes or glasses. His eyes finally slipped shut with a soft relieved sigh. But sleep simply wouldn't come and if he would have enough liquid in his eyes, Logan was sure he would be crying right now. His mind bounced on the walls as he taught about all the time he was loosing while simply laying here, not even using the time to sleep while he needed it so urgently to catch up with his work. So Logan tossed and turned in his sheets and tried to get his thoughts to just shut up for a single second.

Morning came far too early. Logan laid on his back and watched as the night sky painted on his ceiling got lighter with the pale light of dawn. He watched as the little glow-in-the-dark stars went dull. Logan still watched the light on his ceiling as he heard Patton showering in the other room and a few hours later as the other sides passed down the hallway to join Patton in the kitchen for breakfast. His stomach rumbled at the thought of food, slight nausea rising inside him.

Logan turned to his side, now facing the door. By now it was bright enough that he was able to see the To-Do-List from this month. The nausea intensified as he stared at the three pages with only one merely point checked off. Today was the 24th.

Logan knew that he should get up, that he needed to strip off his old clothes, get into the shower to wash his hair, get out again and dry his hair as well as style it. Then he would need to find a clean shirt from the depths of the unloaded clean clothes laundry basket that he planned to put away three days ago. Then he needed to iron it, instead of just summoning it that way like usual since he was far too tired right now. And even after all that he would only complete half his outfit before he could down to breakfast and actually eat something before he could try to battle the evergrowing mountain of tasks. Logan could feel his exhaustion growing with an undertone of desperation at the sheer thought.

He was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Lo-Lo, are you awake? Breakfast is ready," Patton's voice sounded through the wood.

Logan pushed himself up into a sitting position. "I'll need a little longer. You can start without me, I'll eat something later."

He could hear him hesitate before his door before Patton seemed to give in, much to Logan's relief, although his door was always locked and wouldn't allow Patton to enter even if he would choose to try. He didn't want Patton to see him like this, looking like the physical embodiment of failure. He carefully listened to Patton's footsteps retreating and let out a heavy sigh when he heard him descending the stairs in his usual happy hopping pattern.

Somehow this encounter finally gave him the impulse to get out of bed. Instead of heading to the bathroom like he probably should, he decided to use this motivation while he still could to get some work done. He dragged himself across the room to his desk and powered up his laptop. He will shower and get a snack once he got something done, he promised himself as he opened the document of last night, already wincing at the countless red lines under the words placed in short jumbled sentences. His fingers started to hammer the laptop keys.

It was 3 am in the mindscape and Patton was just retreating to bed. Or rather he was creeping upstairs after having another Parks & Recs marathon in the living room.

The hallway was peacefully quiet in the low light that came from the unicorn-shaped flashlight in Patton's hand. He was about to go into his room, glad that his wandering didn't wake anyone up when a reflection caught his eye. Patton stepped closer and saw the plate with lunch leftovers still standing in front of Logan's door where he left it earlier this day. It was untouched.

Patton threw a worried glance at the logical side's door. He raised his hand to knock before he caught himself. It was three in the morning, Logan would be asleep by now and with how hard he had worked the last few weeks with all of Thomas' deadlines and the side' schedules for the video group meetings, he really needed his rest.

So instead Patton focused on teleporting the plate to the kitchen sink to be cleaned tomorrow. Then he went to bed. He would have to get up early again for breakfast and while he loved caring for his kiddos, he needed sleep too. Even a dad isn't invincible after all.

The sun rose late the next day, it almost being noon, and so did Patton. Given the time, he decided against making breakfast and instead cooked a quick soup, not cream-based of course, and cut up some fresh bread. Soon the smell of blended vegetables and curry washed through the kitchen.

When he went to clean up the kitchen, he found the plate from last night in the sink again and worry crept back into his mind.

However, he was distracted by Virgil sticking his bed head through the kitchen entry. "I smell food."

He turned and yelled over his shoulder. "Oi, royal pain in the ass, come down here, Patton made food!"

Patton smiled as he heard Roman scrambling down the stairs.

As soon as he reached the kitchen he started bickering with Virgil, but the sparkling eyes and hidden smiles didn't go unnoticed by Patton either, indicating that both sides had fun and weren't actually serious. They immediately went silent though when Patton placed a bowl on the table in front of each of them, their eyes immediately growing wide and stomach rumbling at the smell.

That they still loved his cooking so much, after all these years, always made Patton feel all warm and fuzzy inside, like a balloon of joy was swelling in his chest.

They sat down to eat. After the first few spoons, Roman stopped and frowned at the empty spot.

"Logan isn't coming?"

Patton sighed. "He's still working I think. He didn't eat lunch yesterday either. I'll bring him a bowl after." A determined look crossed his face. "And this time he'll damn well eat it."

Virgil snorted over his soup. "Well, then Logan doesn't stand a chance. Once our dear Patton goes into dad mode..."

Roman started to snicker and soon Patton joined in, his heart once more swelling with sheer love.

About an hour later Patton stood in front of Logan's still closed door. He was armed with soup, a spoon, and delicious self-made bread. This time he wouldn't let Logan make excuses. He knocked twice and waited to be allowed entry.

But it stayed silent on the other side of the door.

Patton frowned and knocked harder, the noise of his knuckles hitting the wood echoed around.

"Logan? May I come in, please?"

There still wasn't an answer and Patton grew even more worried. He tried the door only to find it locked. He strained his ears and could hear some soft sounds of something he couldn't quite place.

So Logan was definitely inside.

"Logan?!" Patton repeated louder, bordering on panic now. "If you don't answer me then I'm coming in!" When he once again was meet with deafening silence, he set aside the soup and rammed his shoulder against the door. It wouldn't budge but Patton's shoulder was aching.

He winced and rubbed it while he went to get Roman. He found him curled up with Virgil on the couch, doing each other's nails as some disney movie he didn't recognize played in the background.

"Roman?"

Two pairs of eyes snapped up at him. "Logan locked himself in his room and doesn't answer. I'm really worried something happened."

Roman's eyebrow furrowed. "Pattycake, I'm sure if anyone can get him out then it's you, so what-"

"I want you to break down his door."

Slowly a large grin grew on Roman's face and he jumped up. "Hell yeah!"

At Virgil's shocked judging face he quickly calmed himself. "Look, I know, we're all worried for Logan but do you know how long I waited for our wonderful little sunshine to ask me that!" He grabbed Patton by the hand and twirled him around a little before reluctantly setting him back down.

The little group promptly marched upstairs, lead by Roman. Once in front of the door, Roman pounded his fist against it and yelled: "Logan, step away from the door! We're coming in!"

He took a few steps back and then, with a battle cry, ran at the door at full speed, using his whole body as a battering ram. The door gave way with a dry crack, sending Roman tumbling to the floor along with the now splintered wood.

The room in front of them was pitch black. Virgil carefully stepped around the wood and helped Roman to his feet again. Patton in the meanwhile hit the light switch next to the door. The lightbulb over the door flickered to life and illuminated what once had been Logan's room. Now it looked like the inside of a trashcan that got caught in a tornado. Papers were strewn everywhere, most of them crumbled and stained.

Amid the chaos, Logan sat slumped over at his desk, clothes wrinkled and dirty. The laptop screen in front of him was black, the battery long run out. Regardless his fingers hovered over the keyboard, twitching and still trying to hit the keys. He didn't react when the light turned on.

"Logan?" Virgil carefully took a step forward and gently touched him at the shoulder, turning him around in his chair.

The three let out various noises of shook at the sight of the logical side. His eyes were bloodshot and stared blankly ahead. Just over his forehead, several patches of hair were missing were Logans must have pulled them out. His face was pale and sweaty and he was muttering under his breath.

His arms stayed in the exact same position as if he was still typing on a keyboard.

Virgil regained his composure the fastest and slowly crouched down in front of Logan. He reached out and cupped his face in his hands. "L, dear? What happened? Please tell me how we can help."

Virgil received no answer but Logan leaned almost unnoticeably into the touch. His mumbles stopped for a moment and his eyes slipped closed before his head suddenly snapped up again and he frantically searched for his laptop, hitting the keyboard like a man possessed even though it was obvious that he could barely move his arms.

Virgil helplessly looked back at the others.

Roman shared a look with Patton as well before Patton walked behind Logan and loosely wrapped his arm around him. Patton opened his mouth to speak but upon touching Logan's forehead, he frowned. "Guys, he's freezing cold."

Virgil startled in alarm. "We need to warm him up, who knows how long he's been like this! What if he's developing hypothermia or what if he already has! He needs fluids, a warm bath- wait is that ok if he's freezing, he won't go into shock right?!"

He only paused when Roman grabbed his hands. "Deep breaths, stormcloud. We're here now and we'll figure it out on the way, okay? I think a bath is a good idea, we can use my tub. I think it's been a while since he had one..."

Virgil nodded. "I'll get it ready." With a last glance, he basically fled out of the room.

Meanwhile, Patton tried to ease Logan away from his desk without upsetting him too much. "Why don't we leave this alone for a bit, sweetheart? Just a few seconds, okay? You already did so much, Lo-Lo, it's okay now, I promise."

He carefully lifted Logan out of his chair despite his weak protests, swooning under his weight.

"Roman, a little help?"

Roman spurred into action. "Yeah, sure, let me-" He lifted Logan in a princess carry and had to hold back the tears when he felt just how light the other side was.

As soon as Logan was pressed against his chest, Logan nuzzled his face into the crook of his neck and his voice, even though muffled by Roman's shirt, became a bit more clear and louder. Maybe it was only because his muscles relaxed at the warmth but Roman would like to think it was because he felt safe in Roman's arms.

Logan deeply inhaled Roman's scent and let out a sigh. "Smell nice... good...."

Even through his worry, Roman send a smile down to one of the most important people for him in his arms.

Logan buried his face deeper in Roman's shirt, distantly taking note of his heartbeat. "Perfect..."

Patton chuckled beside them. "I see you got that covered. I'll go and see how Virgil's doing." He hurried down the corridor, into Roman's room.

Roman nodded in acknowledgment, slowly starting to walk himself. "Mind repeating that, starlight?"

Logan grumbled a bit but still slurred out a few words: "Need to be perfect 'n work harder."

Roman gently hushed him. "No, deary, no. You're doing so good, the best. Why do you have to be perfect? That's impossible, even for you."

Logan whined against his chest and said something Roman would never forget, no matter how long he lived. "Want you to love me... Am not enough..."

Roman could feel his heartbreak, could feel it shattering in his chest and each little piece plunging into his flesh, sending sparks of pain through him. "No, Logan, my little scientist, no! We love you so much, all of us. And if I have to prove it to every single day, then I'll do so gladly."

Roman made his way to his own bathroom as quick as he could without jostling Logan. He had been hurt enough already and Roman vowed to himself that no matter what, no matter the cost, he'll never let Logan hurt himself like this again.

In the bathroom, they're greeted by Patton combing through Virgil's hair while hugging him close.

Both of them look up when Roman walked in. He glanced between the bubble bath Virgil prepared and Logan. "Uh, how do we do this?"

Virgil wiped the tear traces off his face and stepped closer, speaking softly to Logan to not startle him. "Hey, L. We're gonna get in the bath, okay? But we need to get your clothes off for that, is that alright?"

Logan weakly reached out for Virgil and Roman immediately complied, setting Logan carefully to his feet who clung to Virgil's hoodie instantly. Virgil quickly wrapped his arms around him to support his weight.

"Soft..." Logan mumbled while his fingers weakly twitched in the fabric folds.

"Well, I'm glad you like my hoodie," Virgil said as he carefully pulled away Logan's tie and got his shirt off.

"Noooo," Logan whined, looking up at him with half-lidded eyes, "not hoodie, you. Soft and good, always so good... too good for me."

Virgil's gaze softened and Patton let out a choked sob. Virgil ran his hand slowly through Logan's greasy hair, smothering it back, away from his clammy forehead. "Never, love. You're always there for us, what would we do without you?"

Logan's eyes slipped closed as he whispered something that sounded like a protest and his legs buckled under him. Virgil quickly tightened his grip to keep him upright.

Patton put a hand on his shoulder. He still held back his tears. "I think, it's best when we talk about it in the morning. Bath time, now, Logibear."

Together they got rid of the rest of Logan's clothes and carefully maneuvered him into the tub.

Logan let out little moans as the warm water relaxed his muscles and Patton rinsed out his hair. The rest of the bath passed in silence. Just before the water could grow cold, a bit of color had returned to his face. They got him out and wrapped him in a fluffy towel and Logan's favorite periodic table print pajamas.

Roman carried him to his big canopy bed that would be able to fit them all in. There was no way in hell any of them would let Logan sleep alone tonight.

Logan himself was barely conscious right now, eyes barely open, body relaxed and pliant in Roman's arms. Roman gently placed him in the pillows and Patton immediately wrapped him in extra fluffy blankets, fresh out of the dryer.

Roman got into bed as well, pulling Logan close, so that his chest was pressed against his own.

Virgil sat down on Logan's other side and took one of his wrists into his hands. He barely bent it and Logan let out a sharp, pained yelp. Roman immediately soothed him, rubbing circles into his back.

"He probably has carpal tunnel syndrome," Virgil whispered to Patton. He started to gently massage his wrists, forearm, and hand, earning little relieved sighs from the other as Logan's eyes slowly slipped completely shut. When he got to the other wrists, he let out slow, even breaths, soundly asleep.

Virgil reached out and took the casts Patton had conjured in the meantime and carefully attached them around both wrists, just tight enough that they wouldn't cut off the blood flow but would still let the injuries heal. He adjusted the blankets and laid down next to Logan. Patton followed shortly, hugging Virgil from behind. They all fell asleep to the soft thumbing of Logan's heartbeat.

Logan woke early in the morning two days after the incident. He stared up at the ceiling and tried to make sense of why he wasn't looking at fading glow stars but red silk curtains. His memory was fuzzy and lacked large bits. He remembered working until he suddenly was not and felt cold and stiff and alone. Until suddenly he was not. He remembered warmth, and kind voices even though he couldn't remember what they had said.

Now his throat felt sore and his wrists were burning as if he had dunked them into acid. He also didn't remember putting casts on. Slowly he started to suspect what happened. The others must have found him on one of his burnout sessions, that meant they sawLogan's heart started to race and he could feel his breath coming short. The room started spinning and he distantly heard the door opening as if standing in a tunnel. Then someone was counting a familiar breathing pattern for him and slowly but steadily the world came back into focus.

Virgil sat in front of him, concern was written on his features clear as day. "How are you feeling?"

Logan nodded and pressed his hands to his lap to hide the shaking. "I assure you, I'm fine."

Virgil raised a single eyebrow. "Yeah, I call bullshit." When Logan flinched back, his whole demeanor softened. "Look, I don't know what exactly happened or what you remember from last night, I mean you were pretty out of it. But, L, it's okay to feel shitty and we need to talk about this.

The others are waiting downstairs, we would have been here but you were asleep quite a bit- not that's that a bad thing, you clearly needed the rest, it's just-"

Virgil fell silent when Logan grabbed and squeezed his hands, as well as the casts, let him. "Vee, I know what you mean." He sighed and avoided his gaze as he continued speaking: "Can't we just forget this happened?"

Virgil squeezed back. "No, we really need to talk about it. Come on, L, time to face the music. No one will judge you, I promise."

Logan hesitantly let himself pulled out of bed. As soon as he stood, he pulled his hands back to himself. Although Virgil got a sad look on his face, he wordlessly let go.

Logan felt vulnerable in the open room and it only got worse when they walked down the hallway and down the stairs, into the common room. Upon hearing their footsteps Logan saw Roman quickly switching off the tv and sitting up ramrod straight on the couch.

Patton disappeared into the kitchen and emerged with a cup of tea. While Virgil got him seated next to Roman and squeezed himself on Logan's other side, Patton pressed the mug into his hands.

"It's good to see you up again, sweetie," he said while trying to smile convincingly.

Logan couldn't meet his eye. "Can we just get this conversation over? Virgil said you felt the need to talk about the latest events."

Patton nodded sadly. "Well, dear, can you blame us? We found you in a not so good state after you locked yourself in your room. You were freezing and not really responding to us. We're just worried for you, Lo-Lo."

Logan adjusted his glasses and self-consciously ran a hand through his, without a doubt, messy hair.

"I assure you I'm fine. Usually, I'm back to functioning properly after exactly 52 hours."

A tiny noise came from Roman and his hand twitched in his lap, aching to comfort Logan but suspecting that touch might be too much stimulation for him right now. "You mean this has happened before, moonbeam?"

Logans squirmed in his seat. "Indeed, it can happen during a particularly busy time. Usually, I catch the signs far earlier. I will be more careful next time and not inconvenience you again."

Simultaneously three different sounds of protest sounded from around him and Logan quickly found him squished in a group hug. And even though his skin was tingling from the contact, he felt strangely warm and safe.

After several minutes, Roman pulled back with wet eyes. "Darling, what in the world would make you think like this?"

Logan straightened. He had this argument with himself in his head many times after all. "I only meant to assure you that I'll be able to manage my workload again in the nearest future. So you don't have to worry about that."

"Logan, we're worried for you, not the spreadsheets and all this stuff. Because we love you."

Roman's voice choked a bit at the end.

"I don't understand. My role in Thomas' life is to take care of his schedule and the like. If I can't do that what else is left of me." Logan went quiet for a second. "What else is left there to love?"

"No!" Patton lifted his chin to look him in the eyes. Logan saw his determination burning with the intensity of a wildfire. "Logan, we love you for you. Not your role as Logic, that's only such a small part of you we adore."

Virgil nodded. "You're allowed to make mistakes, Logan. We don't want you to work yourself into the ground. We couldn't risk losing you. And if you tell us how to help-"

"No," Logan interrupted him. "I have to do this on my own."

"Why?! No seriously Logan, why?! Why do you have to this by yourself? To prove your worth or some bullshit?!" Virgil took a deep breath to calm himself. "Look, I'm sorry if this sounds harsh but it's the truth. You can accept help, it's not a weakness, believe me. We won't abandon you. I mean, what if Patton or Roman or I would come for you and ask for help? Would it bother you or make you think less of any of us? Would it make you love us less?"

Logan vehemently shook his head. "No, of course not."

"Then why is it different for you?"

Logan took a moment to think before he answered slowly, trying to wrap his head around the concept. "I suppose, it isn't?"

"Damn right, it isn't."

Roman chimed in. "You're enough, you always have been. And if we didn't make you feel like this from the very start then it's on us, not you." He pressed a light kiss onto Logan's hand. "Let us try to help, dearest?"

"It's okay to struggle, it's a learning process to get rid of old habits. Just give this a chance please?"

Patton grabbed his free hand and soothingly rubbed circles into his palm, careful to not touch the casts around his wrists.

And Logan finally decided to give it a chance, no matter how strange it seemed to him. How could he not when they all looked at him with so much hope in their puppy eyes.

They talked until late in the afternoon, Logan trusting them enough to spill everything. He told them about his troubles to complete his work, his insomnia, and his problems to get out of his bed. And they discussed possible ways to help him, strategies they could try to make life easier. But most importantly, they listened to him. For the first time in a long while, Logan truly felt heard without having to worry about hiding anything, without having to uphold his mask of perfection.

Still, Logan expected things to back to normal pretty quickly after their talk. Maybe Patton would check in on him more frequently, Virgil would spend his reading time in Logan's room and Roman would consider his schedule for group meetings with less drama, but he expected nothing too drastic. And even as a rare occurrence as it was, this time Logan was wrong.

He was skeptical when Patton insisted that Logan threw out his shrill alarm clock. He only complied because Patton promised that they would wake him up on time because once Patton promised something, it was set in stone.

He realized just how much effort they were putting in when he slowly rose from sleep instead of jumping out of his skin due to his alarm. Sleeping alone on itself was rare since he was not used to sleeping soundly but waking to Virgil massaging his wrists was heavenly. He let out a sleepish grunt and blindly buried his face in Virgil's hoodie who was still half-asleep himself.

Virgil leaned in to whisper into his ear: "Breakfast is ready, do you want some? Patton made them with Crofters. And Princey's currently torturing oranges to make juice."

Logan felt a smile grow on his face and warmth bloom in his chest. "That sounds lovely." Then he could feel the heaviness settling into his guts, pulling him down into the blankets, urging him to just stay in bed a little longer, just until he was ready which would probably be never.

Virgil rose again and pulled Logan with him, halfway into his arms.

Logan did definitely not let out a yelp because he was a very composed person who did not yelp. As he looked up into Virig's sleepy face, he found he could get used to this.

"Do you want to get ready?"

Logan shook his head. He was wearing his favorite pajamas and felt pretty comfortable and warm.

But then he thought about how his hair was probably messy and- "I mean if that's acceptable? I know I don't look-"

Strong hands cupped his face. "Hey, none of that. You look perfect. And even if you didn't, you could still come down."

Logan took deep breaths. "Then I want to go down."

He linked his with Virgil's fingers and lead him downstairs. Patton and Roman were still busy in the kitchen which emitted the sound of laughter and the absolutely delicious smell of fresh jelly and pancakes.

It became a routine after that day and even though Virgil hated the early morning hours with a passion, he would get up every day without fail to wake him with sleepy hugs, better than every clockwork could.

Logan realized just how much they actually cared when Patton first started reciting famous poets and historians to him on a bad day.

He was reassured of it every time Patton slid a note under his door when he said he wanted to work undisturbed or brought him a snack when he worked in the commons.

He knew they all did when Patton and Roman asked for his documents and proofread them, bringing them back corrected with color-coded notes.

Logan realized that they really meant what they said that day of the talk when Roman brought him a cd with ocean sounds and soothing music with a handpainted cover to help him sleep, on the same evening they had discussed his problems.

It was drilled into his consciousness every time Roman sang him a lullaby or made up a bedtime story that could have been written by Agatha Christie herself just to help him wind down after a stressful day. All Logan had to do, was lay there and relax while Patton massaged his wrists and Virgil laid on top of him, providing a soothing weight and warmth.

Logan never felt more loved as when they all had breakfast in bed on laundry day so that Logan wouldn't have to deal with the crumbs in his bed afterwards. Or when they were there for him on the really bad days, where he got nothing done and slipped into old habits, just as much as they always did.

Logan never felt more loved before and he couldn't wait for the years to come.

[aweebwrites]

Allies Ch2

Warning!!

Super brief mention of attempted murder of an unhatched child and murder. Mentions of blood and an organ but nothing too graphic.

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Lloyd made no sound as his sword clashed against Kozu's, quickly jumping back once he swung his sword at his stomach. He then charged in again, sword held back as he pinpointed a source of weakness in the Stone General's defense. His eyes darted left suddenly, seeing a concentrated shot of magic heading his way. He looked back to Kozu and found the General swinging right at him with all four sets of blades then smirked. He launched himself up, using his butterfly katanas as a boost to flip over the general, the shot of magic blasting his swords out of his hands. Lloyd used the momentum of his flip to plant his feet on Kozu's back then pushed himself off, the force making the Stone Warrior stumble forward as Lloyd fell into a roll then pushed himself back up on his feet again. He then jabbed the hilt of his sword backwards, smirking once a grunt sounded.

"Not bad kid." Cryptor says as he dropped his cloaking magic.

"Indeed." Kozu agrees, gathering his swords.

They've trained with Lloyd every day for various hours, never once bringing the same tactic twice. It was the Emperor's order to train him but their will to go this far. Having a weak Prince was not ideal, especially with the loss of sight in his right eye as a child. That wasn't quite what kept them motivated to their duties unlike one Pythor. They were the ones who saw that day what happens when anyone harms the Emperor's son. As beings who are often seen as soulless puppets by the Kingdom of Fulgor, they felt true fear that day. Kozu wiped his sword clean before placing them in their holders on his back then turned to where Cryptor was delivering their usual post training recommendations.

The Knights will be no match for Lloyd on their own, worse still with the three chief generals at his side. The sun sets on this day. The morrow will begin the journey to end this war spanning millennia upon millennia. Kozu looked towards the higher level of the castle, sensing that the Emperor was watching them. Lo and behold, there was his dark figure, red eyes piercing as he watched his son. Kozu’s cape fluttered as he contemplated this man he served. This… Oni. He fought along his side for over a thousand years before he fought under him. For the longest time after the first Lord, the Overlord and his creator took him under his wing, he had been suspicious and annoyed by the creature his father spent so much time on. Training him personally, helping him master his true potential. He was a great asset to the war as much as Kozu had hated to admit it. The First Spinjitzu Master, his father, had not once stepped foot on the battle ground but had attacked once, to poison their land and sky. Instead of facing the Overlord, he let his son and the elemental masters he created fight for him. A true coward. In that time, they were on the losing end of the battle, Serpentine and what few Umbrians they had at the time falling like the ashes of the land they called home the First Spinjitzu Master scorched at the start of the battle then poisoned their skies to get them to desist. But that only made them angrier, more determined. It was what made the Serpentine join their cause.

Garmadon was a breath of fresh air for the Serpentine and Umbrians alike, his powers stronger than those of the elemental masters and growing stronger still with the Overlord’s guidance. The longer he fought with Garmadon, the more he saw he had the makings of greatness. He saw why his father kept fanning the flame that was he. But the Overlord had no good intentions by growing Garmadon’s strength, by becoming his master. Not in the slightest. He planned to steal Garmadon’s powers once he broke through his nemesis, the First Spinjitzu Master’s defenses, and defeat him once and for all. But that never happened. The Overlord’s plans were completely derailed once the First Spinjitzu Master left for the Departed Realm, leaving his son and army to fight this war for him. The only thing that prevented the Overlord from finding him himself immediately at the news, was the prophecy of the Green Knight. He suspected that the First Spinjitzu Master had passed on his powers to another to fight him or simply reincarnated himself into a younger body able to keep up with battle for longer.

But he waited for years, the war still underway, with no news. Then, that woman came, serving the castle and Garmadon had foolishly opened his heart to her. She made herself appear to be an Umbrian when she was truly Fulgoric, had craftily and patiently worked her way to be trusted by all, listened in on plans to fight the Kingdom of Fulgor and fed it back to their enemies. It gave the Fulgaric army a great advantage over them. So great, the Overlord had to rise forward another army, the Nindroids, created from the modified blueprints of the Fulgoric’s grand inventor living in the Palace there. The Overlord was not happy to expend that energy to create the Nindroids and demanded to find the source of the information of their attacks. The woman must have realised that they would discover her soon and had used the softness in Garmadon’s heart he had grown for her to her advantage. They knew Garmadon would never utter a word of their operations to anyone, especially when he more than all of them longed for Fulgor’s demise. She was always by his side, almost always so she wasn’t looked at as closely as they should have. They never made that mistake again. Garmadon never made that mistake again.

Kozu looked away from the Emperor to where Cryptor was demonstrating to Prince Lloyd an easier means to swing his sword that would cause less distress in his wrists and arms.

Lloyd.

He was the result of their arrangement. An unexpected one in her case. Her horror, her disgust even was what caught his attention. While he hadn’t cared much for something as unnecessary and troublesome as mortal affairs, her reaction made him watch her closely. The longer he watched her, the more the illusion she casted began to wane. Of course he brought this to the Overlord’s attention but his father had only urged him to keep watching, to let her keep thinking her cover was safe and to report to him. He hadn’t understood why he hadn’t just slain the mortal, regardless of Garmadon’s feelings on the matter but he did as he was told. He discovered that she was not even an Umbrian, and that she seemed to have strong relations with the Emperor of Fulgor. A spy. Then, at last, she brought forth into this war wreaked world, a large, emerald green egg that faded into gold at the very top. She was horrified. Garmadon had been brought to tears holding the egg that held his child inside. That odd birth was her breaking point it seemed. Just before dawn, when the night was at its darkest, when activity in the castle was at its absolute minimum, she took the egg and attempted to flee. He had told the Overlord of this, who had in turn woke and told Garmadon.

He was there, watching from the higher tower as the woman, her name Misako, ripped Garmadon’s heart to careless shreds with the truth of her purpose here. He who had loved her with all his heart. She had even gone as far as to drop their unhatched child over the edge of the cliff, wanting to ensure his bloodline never carries further. She hadn’t expected Garmadon to jump after the egg, hadn’t expected him to catch it and survive the fall. She certainly hadn’t expected to be faced with the Overlord in all his draconic glory once she turned to run. More than anything, she had not expected her former lover to climb his way to the top, brimming with rage, his powers lashing around him like whips as he cradled his unhatched child as the treasure it was. That day found her lifeless body laying in a pool of her own blood with her own heart in her grasp for the few seconds of life she had. She had been trying to put it back to the hole in her chest where Garmadon had ripped it out from.

He was also there, watching as his father, at Garmadon’s pleading, had checked to see if the child was uninjured inside its egg. The child, Lloyd, was fine. Uninjured and very much alive still inside his egg. It was in that moment however, checking the child’s vital signs, that his father saw that this child was the Knight of prophecy. The Green Knight. The moment his father let Garmadon know that, did Kozu know what would come next. His father was a creature of pure darkness, not evil. He had his own standards, his own views on the world. The realm of Ninjago could burn and he wouldn’t have cared. He had one goal he was determined to fulfill, and that was to defeat the only one equal to him in power. As he reverted to a more humane form, he held a scowl of disgust on his face as Garmadon feared yet again for his son’s life, more than willing to fight to the death to keep him well. His father would do no such thing. He would not fight a child, especially realising all the utter coward that was the First Spinjitzu Master, the so called glorified creator of this realm did, was to push this fight on his kin, his grandson whom had nothing to do with the grudge, the natural need to defeat the Overlord felt towards the First Spinjitzu Master. The Overlord heard the tales from Garmadon and his spies in the Kingdom of Fulgor, of the First Spinjitzu Master’s time in a realm before this, how he left due to a war he could not end. He had expected the coward to flee but to pin his fight on another, a child of all persons. Kozu had never seen his father more enraged. So when the moon was at its highest that night, his father relinquished his armies, his people, his land… And most importantly, his powers to Garmadon.

He would leave this world to the Departed Realm to face the First Spinjitzu Master directly, once and for all to settle his score. Kozu, Cryptor, Pythor and Ultra Violet, all four generals of the Overlord’s grand army, representing the major 4 species that lived on his land swore their loyalty to their new Lord- no. He rathered to be called Emperor. They witnessed as the Overlord left this world, fading as black mist in the wind. That was a little over two decades ago. For half of which, Garmadon hadn’t left the castle. Not when he had an egg to keep incubated in his warmth, to urge the child to be hatched with his presence. It took 5 years but the egg finally hatched in Garmadon’s arms in the throne room. The green hatchling dragon had recognised its father, had understood that there was no mother for it to rely on, nor did it ask for or need one. For 4 years, the child grew and learned as a dragon before finally taking his human shape on his fifth. Then, the war had slowly began taking more and more of Garmadon’s time.

He had assigned them as his caretakers during his absence. While he and Cryptor were clueless what to do with a dragonling child, they discovered that he was an intelligent child and hardly needed their care. But they were directly assigned this task by their Emperor and they would not take it lightly as Pythor, the current Serpentine General had until he was unassigned- and punished. Kozu and Cryptor both had some… Choice words for the slimy snake for being as careless as he had been. Had he not been so full of himself-

“Kozu.” The Stone General shifted his glowing, slitted green eyes to Lloyd who was watching him curiously, sword seeming to be in its hilt for some time now.

“... Let us go.” He says as he turns away, red cape fluttering behind him. “Our journey begins before dawn. You must have an early supper and an early rest.” Kozu told Lloyd as he followed with Cryptor behind him.

“Understood.” Lloyd nods, expecting as much.

It won’t do him any good to be fatigued for tomorrow.

“The Knights are aware of your existence but you are the last person they would expect. We intend on keeping your identity unknown for as long as possible. I don’t need to tell you what would happen if they discover you, the Emperor’s son out in the open.” Cryptor says as they entered the castle.

“Of course not.” Lloyd says seriously, their heels clicking against the polished ground as they made their way through the castle. “I’m not foolish enough to think that despite my training, despite your presence with me, that the Knights won’t think of something clever to try should they know my identity.” He spoke, a small sneer tugging at his lips at the mention of their names.

“I’ll be careful.” He promised them.

“Good. Because once we’re out there, we won’t always have the time to look after you.” Cryptor warned as they stopped by the dining hall, Lloyd turning around to face them.

“That’s alright. You won’t need to.”

______________________ (Woo chapter 2!  I'm sorry. I don't vibe well with Misako and I know that which is why I don't write her at all because if I do, she turns out like this. Love me some Movie Misako though. She's only mentioned a hand full of times through the fic at least. (twice or three times).

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