#the talk she had with violet about not having passion but just a steady and mutually beneficial partnership

[bookinit02]

why is everyone insisting that francesca loves john romantically when it is so clear that like. she loves him and appreciates him as a friend? and she was soooooo relieved to find one (1) man that she could stand being around and actually wanted to be partners with even though she didn’t feel anything for him romantically, so she latched on immediately and rushed the wedding so she wouldn’t have to worry about courting anymore.

i haven’t read the books and i have no idea what happens next (regardless of if they choose to follow the original plot or not), but as a lesbian who experienced severe comphet around francesca’s age, it was incredibly clear what she was going through. if they choose to make her bi, obviously that’s completely fine, but i’m just confused as to where it’s coming from?

[floswife]

August (Aegon ii Targaryen x Reader)

Warnings: Aegon? Idk

Authors notes: idk why I wrote this I just didn’t wanna revise

Summary: Y/n thought that the love she held for the Prince Aegon was one that would last forever while he was promised to another.

“ August slipped away

Like a bottle of wine

‘Cause you were never mine. ”

Y/n awoke in pure bliss. Sunlight streamed in through the curtains as dawn approached while she lay pressed against her lover’s bare chest.

She looked up at him to see that he was still fast asleep as his snow-white hair that was illuminated by the sun fell around his face like a halo.

She brushed a few rebellious strands out of his eyes and just admired his beauty as she basked in the warmth of his bare body against hers, their bodies tangled with the bedsheets.

And I can see us twisted in bedsheets

His violet eyes finally flitted open blearily as he let out a shaky yawn and looked down at her with a smile. He tightened his hold on her, “and how are you this morning, my princess?” His voice raspy from just waking up.

She laughed, “You know I am no princess, Aeg.”

“Not yet you aren’t.” He smiled before pressing his lips against hers passionately as her hands went upwards to tangle into his hair. He pulled away to flip them over so he was on top of her. She let out a laugh before he leaned down to press his lips against hers once more.

August slipped away into a moment in time

Aegon had flown with Y/n on the back of Sunfyre to a beach on a distant island and was now laying next to her in the sun with his back towards it listening as she rambled on about her plans to one day leave for Essos and live out the rest of her days in bliss.

Your back, Beneath the sun, Wishing I could write my name on it

Aegon just hummed absentmindedly and just watched how her brow furrowed in deep concentration at the topic.

She suddenly stopped talking and turned to look at him, “you’re not listening to a word I’m saying aren’t you?”

He grinned, “Not a damn word.”

He cupped her cheek before leaning in to kiss her but she pulled back with a grin.

“If you wish to kiss me, my prince, then I’m afraid you are going to have to catch me first.” She got up and ran to the ocean as he immediately shot up and ran after her.

She ran to the ocean like a madwoman and he ran after her looking equally as mad, once he caught up to her he just wrapped his arms around her waist and carried her deeper into the water while she screamed bloody murder in protest.

He finally pulled them both under the water much to her contempt.

Once they both finally emerged she splashed him with water, annoyed.

He stayed unaffected and just lazily smirked at the girl, “I believe you owe me a kiss?”

She laughed at the pure gall of the prince before pushing him into the water once more.

Back when we were still changing for the better

She awoke to her chamber door being thrown open carelessly as someone marched in unsteadily. She immediately relaxed once she recognised the drunken Prince’s all too familiar gait.

He flung himself onto her bed and just lay there motionlessly for a few moments, she would have questioned if he was alive or not if it wasn’t for the steady rising and falling of his body.

She rolled her eyes once she realised he had fallen asleep, “Aegon!” She let out a sharp shout that made him immediately shoot up.

He pouted almost childishly, “what?”

She looked up and prayed for his sake that she would resist the urge to strangle him, “What are you doing here smelling like you have drank all the wine the seven kingdoms could offer?”

He just lazily smirked at her and played with the hem of her nightgown, “I’ve missed you greatly, my love.”

She scowled, “from the streets of silk?”

He paused the words not quite registering, “yes..”

Her nose wrinkled in disgust, “I am not a common whore for you to use and discard so carelessly.” She kicked his hand away from her and he frowned.

“If it bothers you so much then I will stop visiting the streets of silk.” He announced, his words surprisingly not slurred.

Wanting was enough, for me it was enough

She visibly softened, “you would do that for me?”

He just nodded and held her close to him as he drifted off to sleep happily, not truly meaning the words he just meant. She was to gullible to notice it, naive enough to still believe in the silly notion that is love.

So much for summer love and saying "us"

Y/n felt the tears brim in her eyes as she watched the man she loved be bound to another woman for the rest of his life. She kept her composure, not wanting the court to whisper about how she was in tears at such a joyous occasion.

When Aegon had told her the news of his wedding to Helaena she begged him to call it off, to marry her like he had so wilfully promised to.

It was then that the truth of the man she loved was revealed when he told her how he and Helaena had been promised to each other for years and that there was no way to call it off, that she was just a mere distraction, that he never truly intended to marry her.

'Cause you weren't mine to lose

Aegon had avoided her gaze the whole ceremony but when he had finally said his vows and kissed his bride and the crowd erupted into cheers he allowed himself to look at her one last time and let himself think of a far away world where the woman he was married to was her, a world where he didn’t have to hurt her heart with hateful lies.

However this wasn’t that world, and we all have to return to reality at some point or another.

'Cause you were never mine, never mine

[andydrysdalerogers]

Yours Submissively ~ Intrigued

Steve Rogers X OFC Isabella Davis

Summary: Five Years after the events of Civil War, Steve Rogers has moved on from avenging and has started his own business, Grant Inc. He has a secret that would turn his world upside down. And he's good at keep that secret. Until he meets the woman with violet eyes that could bring him to his knees. Now his mission is to make her, his. But she is the key that could bring the world into balance... or chaos.

And she has no idea.

Series Warnings: slow burn at the beginning, smut, angst, sexual themes of BDSM, dom/sub dynamics, kidnapping, (and a bunch of others that will come up)

A/N Taglist is open!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Previous: Innocence

Series Masterlist ~ Main Masterlist

“Isabella?” 

Belle turned around to see Steve standing next to the table looking down at her.  She stood up quickly. “Mr. Rogers, hi.”  

“What are you doing here?” 

“Stark Industries asked me to be a liaison for someone at this table and I’m just waiting for them to arrive.”  

Steve chuckled at how flustered Belle was. She had no idea that her contact was him.  

He hadn’t stopped thinking about the violet blue eyes that had tumbled into his office.  She intrigued him but she didn’t give him much to go on.  So having her here delighted him.  He could see if she was up to the challenge of being his.  

“I think you are actually here to sit with me Miss Davis.” He pointed to the cards on the table.  All of the six others were partnered off.  Mr. Stark with Mrs. Potts-Stark, Mr. Wilson with a Mrs. Romanoff-Wilson and Miss Maximoff with Mr. Vision.  

“Oh.  I hadn’t realized.”  She looked down at her own card.  Miss Isabella Davis and next to it was Mr. Steven Rogers.  

“Well, if you would like to be seated again Miss Davis,” Steve pulled Belle’s chair again, allowing her to sit.  

“Thank you, Mr. Rogers.” Steve took the seat next to her. “I’m not sure what I am doing here.”  

“Well, usually at these events, I have someone to talk to and dance with.  I usually bring a friend but I had forgotten this event and Wanda, excuse me, Miss Maximoff was kind enough to assist me with a liaison.”  

Belle wasn’t sure what to say.  She was nervous to look at the gorgeous former super soldier.  She had grown up knowing his story but it felt inappropriate to bring up his history.  She scrambled to think of what else to say.  “So, you own a business now?” She mentally kicked herself.  

Steve chuckled. “Yes, I wasn’t sure what to do after I…” he hesitated.  

“You left your previous job?” Belle offered.  

Steve was grateful.  “Yes, after I left, I wanted to build something of my own.  I got a loan and here we are.”  

“You have great business sense,” Belle said.  “I mean, its hard to start your own business, let alone make it as successful as yours has become.”  

“Thank you, Isabella.  May I ask, how did you end up at Stark?” 

“Well, my best friend Lila said I should sign up for this internship, even though it wasn’t in my field of study.”  

“You’re not in the engineering program?” 

“No, I’m finishing my degree in education and history.” Belle chewed her lip.  

Steve tried to keep his breath steady, watching Belle bite her bottom lip.  He recalled her statement and it piqued his interest.  “Education?”  

“Yeah, it’s my dream to become a teacher.  Preferable for younger children.  Shape the future.” Steve watched as Belle’s eyes took the look of dreaminess as she talked about her passion.  Christ, how pretty would she look on her knees with that look, he thought to himself. He mentally shook himself.  

“That’s a wonderful dream Isabella.”  

“Thank you, Steve.”  Steve’s heart leaped at the use of his first name again. Its like they were old friends.  Just when he went to touch her, a throat cleared behind him.  

“Nice to see you here Rogers, thought you might bail.”  Tony Stark smirked at his former co-leader.  

“Tony, be nice,” Pepper Potts-Stark admonished her husband.  “Steve, hi, nice to see you,” as Steve stood to greet them.  

“It’s always a pleasure Pepper, especially watching you put him in his place.”  He kissed Pepper’s cheek and shook Tony’s hand.  “I was just getting to know your intern here.”  He gestured to Belle.  

“Ah, Belle, it’s nice to see that you could join us,” Tony said.  He made it a point to get to know all of his interns. Belle started to blush at the attention. 

“It’s nice to see you too Mr. Stark.”  

“Have you met my wife?” Tony moved to gesture to Pepper.  “Pepper this is Belle Davis, one of our interns.”  

“Nice to meet you, Miss Davis.”  

“Please call me Belle.”  Belle noticed more people joining the table.   

Steve took over making the introductions.  “Sam, Natasha, this is one of Tony’s interns, Isabella Davis.  Isabella, this is my CFO, Sam Wilson and his wife and my COO Natasha Romanoff-Wilson.”  Belle shook hands with everyone, trying not to show her nerves at being introduces to the former Avengers.  

Soon everyone was seated with the exception of Wanda and Vision, who were at the podium at the front welcoming everyone to the gala.  Dinner was served and Belle concentrated on her plate as the conversation swirled around her. Steve could sense that she was tense and assumed it was the fact that she felt out of place.  As soon as the plates were cleared, Steve stood up and offered his hand to Belle.  “May I have this dance, Miss Davis.”  

“Of course, Mr. Rogers.”  Belle allowed herself to be escorted to the dance floor where music from the 40s were played by the band.  Steve took her into his arms and started to dance.  

“Are you nervous Belle?” 

“A little.  People are kinda looking at us.”  Belle had glanced around the room.  

“Its only because you are so beautiful.”  Steve watched her expression change from concern to shock.  

“Mr. Rogers…” 

“Steve, please.”  

“Steve, I’m just an intern and you’re a former hero turned businessman.  I’m not sure what you want from me.”  

“Maybe I just want you.” Steve’s eyes darkened slightly.  

“You don’t know anything about me.” She rolled her eyes as his presumption.  

Steve bit his tongue.  He couldn’t reprimand her attitude.  At least not yet. “So let me get to know you.”  

“Why would I do that?” 

“Because you intrigue me.”  

“Not sure why.”  Isabella fidgeted slightly in his arms.  

“Isabella, you are captivating, alluring, gorgeous and a mystery.  One that I would like to solve.”  

Belle swallowed.  She knew she needed to get away from him.  He was pulling her in, his scent, his voice, his eyes, were swallowing her whole.  This wasn’t what she needed so close to the end.  The song mercifully ended.  “If you would excuse me, I just need to use the restroom.”  

“Of course,” Steve let go and Belle made her way through the crowd.  As soon as she hit the double doors she started to run to the exit. Hitting the final doors, she ran into a solid body.  “I’m sorry.”  She didn’t look at who she hit, she just kept going to her car.  The driver, Tim, saw her approached and open the door. “Tim, can you take me home?” 

“Course, miss.”  He got in and took off into the night.  

Steve gave it five minutes and when Belle didn’t return, he headed to the exit.  He saw Bucky outside.  “Did you see a young woman come out here? Dark hair, blush colored dress?” 

“Yeah, she bumped into me and barely said sorry before she climbed into a car.  Why?” 

“Bucky, I need you to do a background check on a Miss Isabella Davis. “ 

“Sure punk.  Of course.  Can I ask why?” 

“I’m intrigued. And I see potential.”  

NEXT

A/N: I'm not sure what is going on with the tallest but hopefully how I have done it today fixes the problem

Taglist:

@patzammit

@texmexdarling

@slutforchrisjamalevans

@jennmurawski13-writes

@firephotogrl74

@tinkerbelle67

@before-we-get-started

@bunnyforhim

@alexakeyloveloki

@amiquette

[cloudbattrolls]

Pitch It To Me

Characters being completely inaccurately depicted here belong to @raitrolling, @lashysdomain, and @contrastparadoxx.

Title: Pitch It To Me

Author: genuineAdversary

Rating: T (NOT for wrigglers, get out of heeeere)

Archive Warning: :3

Relationships: ContraxVelour, Meet Me on the Runway (Pitch), VelourxSharle, Fast Fashion (Pitch), Lowblood!Y/N x Multiple, SharlexArtinos, Collateral Damage (Pitch), ContraxSharle, Final Destination (Pitch)

Tags: Soulmates, Contra Aurela, Velour, Artinos Sharle Casini, Soulmates AU, Regency AU, Pitchrom, Love Triangle, Pining

Summary: What happens when some of Alternia’s most famous and beautiful people are all in a different time and place together? A world where anything is possible? Sparks fly and spade passions will be inflamed…….

(Uhmmm no actual flames plz :3 this is my first fic in a long time!! I’ve been out of the scene for a while so be nice 2 me :’3

HERE WE GOOOOOO)

Contra’s tail swished nervously as she stood at the opulent entrance of the ball. Ohhh, it was just like the anxiety of being on set, except a million times worse!!

She stepped in cautiously…and was IMMEDIATELY bumped into by someone tall and clearly also rude!!

A scowl swept over her usually sweet face but then it turned to rapturous surprise as she stared up and realized who this handsome stranger was.

“V…Velour…” she murmured, angry but also flustered, violet sweeping across her cheeks as she felt compelled to curtsy politely.

The cuspblood’s cool eyes shone like aquamarines as he acknowledged her with a nod and extended his hand to her. The violet had to take a breath and steady herself before she took it and shook it, determined to not let this lower caste show her up. And in public too!!

“Miss Aurela.” Said the YouTuber with a suave, sultry tone. The markings under his eyes glistened under gorgeous crystal chandeliers.

“Aren’t you going to apologize to me?” She said, voice more snappish than she intended. She put her hands over her mouth in horror. What if she ruined her sweet reputation by being heard talking this way?

But she just couldn’t help it. They’d met before, back when she’d been a model…and something about him drew out her more fiery side, encouraging her to misbehave.

“Maybe later, if you earn it.” He said, releasing her hand but brushing his fingers against hers as he did so, turning and sweeping away in his gorgeous white and teal suit.

“Don’t be such a bad girl, miss Aurela.” Came the whisper as she lost sight of him in the crowd.

Her hands balled into fists. How dare he…

Then she was shoved past by someone who she only saw in a blur as he roughly pushed her aside, his stunning features stormy with impatience.

Even though she was irritated once more, the violet couldn’t help being taken by his intensity…

Sharle Casini. Descendant of the great Eryton Casini, always raging at being unable to escape his ancestor’s shadow…

Of course, she knew what it was like to have a famous ancestor too. 

“Hey, did those two brush you off, girl?” 

Another voice - this one unknown - slipped into her ears, making her fins quiver. 

“Who - who are you?” She said to the masked troll, only able to see his beautiful yet strange gray eyes.

“Artinos.” He said breezily. “Also known as the guy who will treat you much better than those two ever could.”

He smirked and winked at her, and Contra huffed in irritation, hands on her hips.

“We’ll see about that.” She retorted, finally stepping into the ballroom proper. He walked in right alongside her with that cocky gait, his fake tail waving a little too close to hers.

It was a marvel of splendor. The whole place was full of Alternia’s finest in all their finery, murmuring and mingling, while waiters scurried back and forth.

She began to feel…overwhelmed.

Luckily, she had a friend here.

One of the ‘waiters’ - Y/N - came up to her and said in a low voice. “Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m fine.” She muttered. She didn’t want to look weak in front of you. You made her want to look stronger, to BE stronger. 

She was so much more than just a pretty face! She’d show all those boys that!

As grand music played, Contra waltzed and sashayed across the floor, and as you watched her longingly, and jealously - you would never be allowed among all these nobles and royalty - she suddenly reached out and dragged you into the fray!

“Contra!” You gasped. “I don’t even have anything good to wear!”

“Are you afraid?” She breathed, a challenge in her visible eye. The other was always hidden by hair, befitting of her mysterious yet soft nature.

“These highbloods will kill me!” You hissed.

“Not if I can help it.” Growled Sharle, pushing his way in between the two of you to grab your hands and spin you away. 

“What?! Sharle, stop!” You growled, hating yourself for flushing at how he moved you about, struggling to keep up and not trip.

“He’ll never stop.” Remarked Artinos, taking your hand more gently. “Just like he doesn’t on the track.”

“Wh - hey!!” You protest. 

You’re all drawing quite the scene and EVERYONE is looking at you now, sneering at this lowblood being handled by all these highbloods, and then Velour steps up.

“None of you are good enough for Y/N or Contra.” He says. “They’re my soulmates.”

The whole ballroom gasped so loud, and then they were silent.

“This is a disgrace to your hue! How do you ever expect highblood society to accept you, Velour?” Cried one crowd member.

He tossed his wavy hair disdainfully. “I don’t need your acceptance; only your money. There is no designer as good as I am.”

“Shut up, YouTube apologizer.” piped someone else, and Velour blushed a beautiful teal-blue.

You smirked at it, but you couldn’t let it stand, either.

“Making a YouTube apology just means he could make up for what he did wrong.” You purr, loosing the buttons on your collar. 

Several people look away from your exposed neck, appalled.

“Even if he does do so many things wrong.” You drawl lazily as Velour scowls at you adorably.

“Wow, that’s really interesting.” Cuts in Artinos, holding a champagne glass. “If I was like, a three sweep old. 

“You race like one.” Scoffed Sharle. 

“Y/N! Why are you even humoring these boys?” Cried Contra, shaking her fists. 

Then she snarled and pulled out an elegant rapier, pointing it at all three of the highblood men.

“Y/N is MY pitch soulmate!” The normally meek seadweller declared. 

Sharle aggressively put his fists in retaliation, falling into a fighting stance. “No, they’re mine!”

Artinos folded his arms. “You all need to chill. They know who’s really got their back.” He winked at you again.

Velour took out a halberd from his syalldex, looking determined to fight for you as well.

Your pulse was racing! This was all moving so fast! But you couldn’t help feeling flattered as well…

“I’ll duel you all.” You declared, taking out your own trident, because you were secretly a fuchsia who’d lost their fins and had their gills sewn shut, and started swinging! 

Trolls began running and screaming from your terrible power as you clashed with the three highbloods, who looked STUPEFIED by this reveal! 

You drew all their blood, purple, violet, dark blue and cuspy teal all shedding on the floor, but you knew you couldn’t hurt them too badly, because really they were ALL your pitch soulmates and your destined spades!

You just had to explain all that, now that you’d won.

—

TO BE CONTINUED!

I don’t know when the next chapter will go up sorry everyone :’3 I’m really busy hahaha. Thank you for readiiiiing.

- genuineAdversary :3

[gldnhvny]

{ renee rapp | 25 | cis woman ﹜ welcome to san francisco, lorelei rosenkrantz! just to make sure, you go by she/her, right? okay, great. i just have a few questions for you before i can let you go.. how long have you been here for? 25 years. where are you currently living? the castro. what’s your current occupation? librarian at sf public library but what’s your dream occupation? broadway actress wow! interesting. is there a secret that we can keep between you and i? she’s so afraid of failure they don’t take risks.. lastly, this is a bit of a random question but … what’s your favorite song? you’re on your own kid by taylor swift & that’s all they wrote, friend! we can’t wait to see you around the golden city!

                                           pinterest | | wanted connections

BASICS

FULL NAME: Lorelei Violet Rosenkrantz

NICKNAME(S): Lo, Lore, Lei. 

AGE: 25

DATE OF BIRTH:  February 15, 1997

PLACE OF BIRTH: San Francisco, California

CURRENT LOCATION: The Castro District, San Francisco, California

ETHNICITY: Caucasain

GENDER:  Cis Woman

PRONOUNS: she/her

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: bisexual

RELIGION: agnostic

OCCUPATION:  Librarian 

FACECLAIM:  Renee Rapp

MARITAL STATUS: single

FAMILY:  Eric Rosenkrantz (father)

 RELATIONSHIPS:  n/a

 PETS: an orange tabby cat named papaya

P H Y S I C A L T R A I T S

  HEIGHT:  5'8

·WEIGHT: 125 lbs

·EYE COLOR: Blue

·HAIR COLOR: Blonde

·SCARS|MARKS: n/a

SIGNATURE SCENT: Daisy Marc Jacobs Eau So Intense

TATTOOS:  a delicate flower on her ribcage

PIERCINGS: her ears are pierced twice on each side

P H O B I A S  A N D D I S E A S E S .

  PHOBIAS: N/A

· MENTAL DISEASES:  generalized anxiety

 PHYSICAL DISEASES: n/a

       P  E R S O N A L IT Y

  MORAL ALIGNMENT: Neutral Good

 SUN SIGN: Aquarius

MYERS BRIGGS:INFP

FAVORITE FOODS: sushi, ramen, salt and vinegar chips. 

FAVORITE COLOR: emerald green, pink

· MUSIC TASTE:  showtunes, pop, pop-punk  

·  HOBBIES: reading, karaoke. 

BIOGRAPHY

Lorelei Violet Rosenkrantz is the quintessential perfect daughter, or, at least, she is trying to be.  From the very beginning, when she could walk and talk and eventually began to read people’s emotions, she became a people pleaser.  After her mother left for good, stopped visiting all together, Lorelei really kicked it into overdrive.  She watched her father, her caring, loving father, raise two kids by himself and she knew she had to do everything to make him proud (and perhaps, make the mother who left her,  love her, too.) 

It started with gifted classes and turned into an all girls private school, turned into too many extra curricular activites to pad a resume she probably shouldn’t have been as concerned as she was about.  The school paper, student goverment, and drama club to name a few, the latter becoming a refuge she didn’t know she needed. Theater in general became something that would take her out of her head, took her out of the place where she needed to be perfect and put her in a place where she could just be. 

But that’s all it was, an outlet. Even after finding out she was quite suited to acting, and according to her teacher, she had a powerhouse voice, a job as an actress wasn’t realistic, not when it came to her plan. She needed stability.  Choosing to major in History, and then, Library Science was smart, it was stable and it would give her a good, steady life. It might not have been her passion. But it made her content. 

Moving to New York was probably the biggest risk Lorelei has ever taken to date, but nothing felt as good as the campus of Columbia to her.  The city was her campus, and being so close to live Broadway shows was an extra perk. If she couldn’t do it she could consume it, and that was enough, that had to be enough.

In New York, and in college, Lorelei blossomed, she allowed herself to break out of a very rough shell, and make friends, her roommate becoming the closest person to her until MUSE B came along. They dated on and off throughout college, but eventually, MUSE B couldn’t deal with Lorelei’s very set five year plan, needing something looser, a little more adventure, a little more risks.  Risks Lorelei just wasn’t willing to take with her life.

A bachelor’s degree in History and a master’s in Library science later, and partly because of a break up, and mostly because she missed home, Lorelei moved back to the West Coast, finding a little apartment in the castro district that got good light, adopting a kitten and naming it Papaya, and finding a quiet, steady job in the san francisco public library, she setteled into her life. Her steady, easy, if not a little bit basic, life. 

She made up for the quietness of her new life with Friday night sushi and karaoke, belting out showtunes and celine dion numbers after too many craft cocktails, singing became an outlet once again, in whatever way she could get it. 

PERSONALITY and HEADCANONS

Lorelei is introverted, studious, and a little grumpy by nature, but also fiercely loyal to the people she loves. 

She spends too much time in the coffee shop across the street from the library she works at, consuming more oat milk lattes than one person should consume. She likes them light and sweet. 

She loves a good romance or fantasy novel, but can give you recs on almost any genre if you ask.

She loves the color pink, which she thinks people are surprised to know about her.

hates cooking simply because she hates the clean up, but bakes a decent nutella banana bread.

her neighbors are probably tired of hearing her sing through the walls. 

[waveypedia]

The Family We Make

Companion piece to Leaving the Nest (can be read in any order)

Ao3

After Bradford is defeated, it takes hours for the adrenaline of the day to wear off.

Fenton calls his mother, who brings half of Duckburg’s police force over much sooner than should be humanly possible. Any questioning stares are met with amused shrugs and Gyro’s passionate declaration to never get between Officer M.A.M.A. Cabrera and her son. Spoken from experience, of course. Officer Cabrera’s officers and the superheroes present arrest FOWL’s goons. (Pepper gives May and June goodbye hugs.) 

The villains are gone, of course, having split with the help of Magica’s sorcery and a harmless raven on her shoulder. They’d left with winks and playful smiles tossed over their shoulders. Almost friendly, but not quite. Familiar. The promises of future tussles and battles left unsaid in the desert air. No one says anything outright, but the villains’ smooth departure puts a smile on everyone’s faces. It’s the promise of a next time. Of countless adventures to come. Bradford, for all his meticulous and careful planning, lost.

Goldie steals Manny away to ride into the nearest town and comes back with a cooler of snacks. Uncle Scrooge - Dad (Dad!) - and Granny level their fiercest glares at her and pointedly ask if she paid for them. Goldie giggles behind her hand and avoids the question, dropping a packaged ice cream cone in Dewey’s hands. He lights up, and Dad melts just like the ice cream under the hot desert sun.

Webby, sitting blissfully between Dad and Granny, has a perfect view of their conversation with Goldie. She keeps shooting Webby weird looks, like she isn’t quite sure what to make of her. Honestly, Webby doesn’t really blame her. Webby has always been Granny’s granddaughter through and through, and she inherited Granny’s disdain for Goldie and protectiveness of Dad. 

Webby leans against Dad, and he puts an arm around her. Steady and protective, although she can feel his heart fluttering in his chest. He’s exhausted too - he went through perhaps the most today, at least physically. They’re both too tired to speak, at least right now, but they’re content enough to be in each others’ presence. 

Dewey leads the other kids to the ice cream, and they wave her over. Gosalyn passes a cone to her, and Huey hands her a napkin. She sits sandwiched between Boyd and June, eating ice cream on the ramp of the plane. Violet is holding Lena’s cone because Lena is busy weaving friendship bracelets for May and June.

Webby glances back to where Dad and Granny have set up camp. Members of their family are filtering through, offering assistance and comfort. Donald’s leading a team to fix the plane, and Ludwig is bringing a group through FOWL’s headquarters like a tour guide, to pick up any evidence and missing mysteries. Gyro is off to the side, painstakingly fixing Boyd’s body and the Gizmosuit, with Della hovering over his shoulder and making snarky remarks he pretends to be bothered by.

Soon they’ll be in the air, and she still hasn’t talked to Dad. Really talked to him.

Fear starts to pool in Webby’s gut. He seemed to take it well enough, but that was in the middle of the fight. What if he doesn’t want to be her father? What if this changes her relationship with her other family members?

Webby squeezes her cone so hard it cracks and melted ice cream spills onto her hand.

Why should a piece of parchment, magic or not, decide her family, when she’s spent years cultivating and choosing the perfect family of her own? For better or for worse?

A familiar hand waves in front of her face, green sleeves flapping in the slight breeze, and Webby jumps, startled. Her family, no longer contentedly eating their ice cream, are all staring at her with varying degrees of worry.

“Hey, Webs?” Louie blinks at her and shoves his hands back in the pocket. “You were kinda spacing out there.”

Webby shakes herself back into the present and grins sheepishly at him. “Sorry. What’s up?”

Louie jerks a thumb inside the plane. “Mom just came by. We’re about ready to start heading back. Reinforcements just got here, and they’re going to take everyone else home.”

Webby blinks and casts a quick glance around the desert, cultivated by years of spy training and adventuring. Della is indeed a few paces away, talking to Launchpad, next to the broken plane wing looking as good as new. On the other side of the plane, Amunet and D’jinn are talking to Goldie and Storkules as they enter Gladstone’s blimp. The desert is clearing out, and those who haven’t already left are busy packing up any supplies. 

Dad and Granny amble over with the rest of the adults into the plane. Dad stops in front of them, placing his cane on the ground with a clink and folding his hands over it. He’s smiling, tired but fond. His eyes rest on Webby for a moment longer than everyone else before moving on. 

“All ready, kids?” Dad asks, his beak quirking up in a familiar cocky smirk, and something fond settles in Webby’s gut.

“Ready,” she replies firmly with the rest of them, smiling, and enters the plane, ignoring her growing nervousness. She’s with her family now. She’s safe.

--

When they’re all safe and settled in the belly of the Sunchaser once again,  after Launchpad’s little snafu with the emergency hatch release, Webby seeks Dad out.

He’s sitting in the seat closest to the cockpit, talking with Aunt Daisy. Webby’s full to bursting with nervous energy, but, as she knows, it’s all for naught. His face lights up when he sees Webby coming. Aunt Daisy, as savvy and clever as she is, gives Webby a fond, knowing smile and slips away with a pat on Dad’s knee and a ruffle of Webby’s hair.

Hesitantly, Webby jumps into Aunt Daisy’s chair and maneuvers herself to face Dad. She busies herself for a few moments by fidgeting with her friendship bracelet.

Dad rearranges himself to face Webby, too. “What can I do for you, lass?” he asks, but she can tell from his tone he already knows where this conversation is going.

“So. Um.” Webby tugs at the hem of her skirt, bunching it up in her fists and hurriedly smoothing it out again. “Dad.”

“Dad,” he repeats, his voice full of wonder and amazement. A small smile tugs at his grin, threatening to burst and split his face.

“Can we talk?” Webby asks nervously. Her voice breaks a little on the word talk, and Dad noticeably winces.

“Of course,” he replies, awkward and stilted. “Go ahead.”

“Well…” Webby stares down at her skirt, then back up at Dad with glassy eyes. “Do you love me?”

Dad jerks, shocked. It’s clear that of all her questions, he certainly wasn’t expecting that one.

“Like a daughter,” Webby clarifies. “Do you love me like a daughter?”

Dad’s face changes, softens. It’s unreadable, but not unkind. 

“Of course,” he replies softly.

Webby flinches and glances to the side, at the wall of the plane. Anywhere but Dad’s face. She tries to hide her discomfort, but it’s clear he notices.

“Do you… not want me to?” he tries.

Webby shakes her head. “Of course I do,” she replies softly.

“Then why…” he trails off. He has a million clauses he could finish the sentence with, but they all hang heavy in the air between them, unsaid.

Webby can’t look at him. “I… I don’t want you to only love me because I’m your daughter,” she replies. Her voice breaks on the word daughter. “I want you to love me because I’m me.”

“Webbigail Vanderquack.” Dad stares at her incredulously. “I paid full price for your birthday party. And it was only a front! How can you think I don’t love you?!”

A shocked giggle bursts out of Webby. After a moment, Dad joins her in his own giggling fit.

“I know you love me,” Webby replies quietly after their giggles have died down. Dad’s smile sags, and his expression turns serious and forlorn. “But it’s not the same. I- I know I’ve always been Granny’s granddaughter. It’s a little different. I love you, but I hate that we’re family because a missing mystery said so, and not because we love each other.”

Dad’s expression softens. “Oh, lassie.” He opens his arms, and Webby crawls into his embrace without a second thought.

Dad smooths her hair and tucks his chin onto her head. “Did you know,” he says, his voice muffled by the embrace, “that technically, May and June are my daughters too?”

Webby’s eyes burn. “Hmm?”

“Aye,” Dad continues. “If you were made from my DNA, and May and June were made from yours, then they’re a part of me too. Maybe they’re more like my granddaughters, but the point stands.”

Webby buries her face further into Dad’s coat and doesn’t respond. She’s not sure how too.

“Point being, May and June are my family, and I will treat them as such. I’m sure they’re marvelous young girls, and lovely sisters for you, my dear.”

Dad shifts his embrace so he can see her face. He holds her gaze with a steady and serious look.

“But they’re not my daughters. You, Webby darlin’, are. Do you know why?”

Webby shakes her head.

Dad hugs her tighter. “Because you always have been,” he replies, his voice thick, and oh. “Maybe not with that exact label, but, as Lena would say, labels are weird. You’re my family. You’re one of my kids. I know you, and I love you, Webby darlin’.”

“I… I know I didn’t make the effort to get to know you when you were young,” Dad continues. “I will be the first to admit I regret that. I’ve made a lot of mistakes when it comes to family. But I’ve had the honor of watching you grow these past years, and of being your family. And I wouldn’t trade that for the world.”

Webby nods. She knows they’re both thinking of earlier that day, when Scrooge’s declaration was put to the test, and won, but only narrowly. He doesn’t make that statement lightly.

Dad shifts, and his embrace loosens. His expression turns troubled and almost… nervous? It scares Webby by osmosis, but a part of her that she hasn’t processed yet thinks it’s comforting that he’s just as scared as she is. It’s new territory for both of them, but they’ll conquer it together.

“Webby, lass,” Dad begins, hesitantly. “Do you… not want me to be your father?”

Webby hums thoughtfully. Out of all the questions that had arisen in the wake of the Papyrus’ reveal, she hadn’t directly considered this one. It had been at the back of her mind, waiting, lingering.

Despite the lack of deliberation time, Webby knows the answer. She’s always known it, from the moment Bradford had confirmed her ancestry.

“Yes,” she says confidently, so firmly that it startles Dad. “It’s like you said. You’re my family, and that didn’t change.”

Dad’s face softens, and his shoulders slump with relief, and his grin threatens to split his face. Webby grins back, a mirror of his own.

“But,” she continues. “I… I like calling you Uncle Scrooge, too. It feels right to call myself your daughter, but it also feels right to call myself your niece. Does… is that okay? Does that make sense?”

“Of course,” Dad replies, shifting his arms. “I think I know how you feel. You are my daughter, and my niece. You’re one of my kids, and that will never change.”

He smiles wryly. “I do like having this special connection to you, though, lass. I have many heirs, but you’re the heir of Clan McDuck. That’s not something to take lightly. I’m proud of you.”

“I’ve never had a father,” she says after a minute. “Granny told me about a father, and a mother, too, but I never really knew them. But I’ve always had you.”

“Aye, Blaise,” Dad replies. “Your so-called ‘mother’ was your grandmother’s niece, if I remember correctly. Arianna. She and Blaise were sweet, if a bit airheaded, from what your grandmother’s told me. They were in a car crash shortly before you were bo- before your grandmother brought you home.”

Webby hums. “I didn’t know they were real.”

“Aye, they were very real,” Dad confirms. “As I’m sure Louie or Goldie will tell you, the best lies are closest to the truth. I’m sure they would love you, dear.”

“I don’t know them,” Webby counters softly. She tilts her head back to look Dad in the eyes. “I never will. But I know you.”

He beams at her. “Exactly, lassie.”

Webby shifts back into his embrace, and they sit together for a minute, the plane’s rumblings shaking them both slightly. 

“Does this mean Goldie is my mom now?” Webby asks suddenly, her beak quirking into a grin.

Dad startles and squawks. “Ack, no! I know Louie calls her Aunt Goldie, for all the blasted- but now. Er, I suppose, that’s up to you, lassie,” he finishes somewhat awkwardly.

Webby smiles contentedly and leans her cheek against the fabric of his coat. “That’s okay,” she replies. “It’s my family and I get to choose the members.”

Dad grins proudly, and they lapse back into silence for another few minutes. The adrenaline, both from the harrowing events of the day and the nerve-wracking yet highly anticipated conversation with dad, slips out of her veins, and the heaviness of sleep tugs at Webby’s eyes.

Dad eventually breaks the drowsy, comfortable silence. “I’m proud to call you my daughter.” he murmurs into her hair, and Webby beams. “I’m proud you’re my family, not because that blasted Papyrus says so, but because you chose me. That means more to me than all the money in my Money Bin.”

Webby snuggles deeper into his embrace, her eyelids drifting closed. “Likewise, Dad. I love you.”

He smooths her hair down. The last thing she hears before she falls asleep, blissful and safe, is: “I love you too, Webby darlin’.”

~

god i. finale came out today and anyone who’s talked to me can verify that i’ve been in constant Duck Mode all day. head full only ducks. i’ve been struggling with motivation lately (as always lmao) but it struck today in the form of my absolute favorite dynamic in the entire show.

if you were in my circles back in 2018, around when confidential casefiles aired, you might remember that i talked a lot about webby and scrooge. i remember requesting them in almost every writing prompt request i was offered. i don’t talk about them much nowaways, and i’m not sure why, because i still love them. regardless of how you feel about the twist in the finale, the pure, unconditional love that webby and scrooge show each other makes me so, so happy. I almost added a section with beakley, because she's an important part of webby's family as well and they need to have a conversation, but webby and scrooge needed their moment. i'll write it later.

this is a bit of trying to make sense of how the theme of found and chosen family fits in with webby’s new biological relation to scrooge and a bit closure. scrooge isn’t the best at having these important conversations, but webby’s pretty good at sticking up for herself when need be.

arianna and blaise are actually based on my OC versions of webby’s parents i made a long, long time ago! arianna was a shush-turned-fowl agent, and blaise was a fowl technician. my plan for them was that they were working for fowl (which was, at the time, based on darkwing duck’s fowl) and eventually, they both cut ties and became freelance villains in st. canard and duckburg. the duck family would fight them, they’d recognize webby and beakley, and the truth would come out. the arianna and blaise mentioned here aren’t my old versions of them, but i wanted to pay tribute to that little picture webby had on her board of her parents. i figured they had to be someone, especially since the woman looked a lot like beakley. my headcanon is that they really were a librarian and an artist, and that beakley raised webby in their images as a tribute to the family she’d lost. also, it didn’t come up in the fic, but blaise is nonbinary and uses they/them pronouns!

when watching and rewatching the finale and watching gifs of it, something that struck me was how awestruck and euphoric scrooge acted when he found out. i think most of us focused on webby’s reaction, and beakley’s, but man, scrooge gets so quietly emotional and it means everything to me. this is basically a love letter to that quiet joy, scrooge and webby’s relationship, webby’s beautiful relationship with family, the finale, and ducktales as a whole. i love this goddamn show, and i’m going to miss it so much. see you, space cowboy.

[winslctrg]

I Love You, With A Touch Of Tragedy And Quite Madly. (Mildred Ratched x Reader)

summary: a regular day at work turns out to be not so regular

a/n: this is for @sassicaismysupreme surpriseeee i was ur secret fic writer. Not important, but this is my first fic ever so i hope it is any good!

warnings: slapping, angst!

Your relationship with Mildred was a fairytale. You were all sunshine and blue skies. Though some clouds might be there with the occasional rainy day, there were rarely thunderstorms.

Mildred only added to your sunshine. She has been like some sort of rainbow hanging above your little heart island, making it a happier place. Rainbows are rare and special, and that’s also how you looked at Mildred.

It had always been happy. You were used to it like that, and you liked it that way. No complications, no anxiety, no fears, no anger. Mildred was some sort of safe haven where you just never had any problems. That's probably why the situation affected you so much.

It was one of those blue sky, happy sunny days. You opened your eyes, closed them again against the rays that fell right through your curtains. You couldn't be annoyed for long though, because your head immediately met your sleeping girlfriend's.

Your mouth fell into a soft smile upon seeing her. She always seemed to have that effect on you, no matter where you guys were. It once even happened at a funeral, and Mildred had to give u a soft warning glare. Not that that helped though, it only made you smile more. She made you smile. At home, at work, in the grocery store, on the street, at parties, anywhere at anytime. She was quite simply everything to you.

You pressed a soft kiss on her temple “Wake up darling, we’ll be late.” You whispered, before running your hand softly through her hair. The sun made her features even more gorgeous than they usually were, accentuating her sharp cheekbones and her beautiful big lips. Your hand left her hair and ran softly from the forming frown between her eyebrows all the way down to her nose before putting it on her now blushing cheeks.

“Goodmorning sunshine.” You giggled. A soft smile spread on Mildred’s face as she finally opened her eyes. Her brown eyes looked nearly gold because of the sun. You begged. Wished to stay like this forever, but the alarm went off, pulling you both out of your trances. You grinned at her before you sat up and grabbed her wrist. She positioned herself right in your arms. You let your nose slip into her beautiful reddish-brown hair, smelling her expensive shampoo.

You never got used to moments like these. They made your heart race, and you were sure it also grew 3 times bigger. “I love you” you whispered into her hair, as if making a promise to yourself that your heart would forever beat for her. “I love you too honey.” She said before yawning. “Aww are you sleepy baby?” you teased. “Did i wear you out last night?” your said, and you winked at her. Mildred glared at you, but you could see the pink tones covering her ears and cheeks. You kissed her softly, before pulling away again but resting your forehead against hers, noses touching. “We have to get ready.” You whispered. “I know.” She replied. She put her soft hands on your cheeks, as her long slender thumbs started stroking the area right beside your nose. “I love you.” You said again, just for the sake of reassuring your promise to her. She knew, because she smiled and when you looked deep into her warm brown eyes you saw that same promise. “I love you too, lets get dressed.”

You were in the car to work, both of you working at the hospital. Mildred drove, always. You did try once, but then nearly hit a car because you were too busy staring at her. You didn’t mind not driving, it meant you could stare at her without the posibillity of killing an entire family and their dog.

As you both arrived on the parking lot, you made sure your hat was on right and straightened Mildred’s too. You glanced around, saw nobody and kissed her. It always cleared your mind, kissing her. It seemed to draw out any negative feelings and fill your head with love, much like a love potion.

You both stepped out of the car and went to your respective entrances. You gave Mildred a small smile before parting.

Work went slowly, but good. You were good friends with Huck, and he made time speed up just a little faster, plus seeing Mildred at lunch really made you optimistic again.

After lunch, Mildred called you and Huck to a treatment room. There was a girl there, around your age, and she looked frightened.

“Nurse Finnigan, nurse y/l/n, this is miss Ruth Davis. She’s here because of unexplainable feelings towards women, which is simply unacceptable, don’t you guys think?” You pushed up an eyebrow and looked at Huck, who also had a confused expression on his face. “Well?” Mildred asked, a slight tinge to her tone now. Huck cleared his throat. “Yeah uh sure, unacceptable.”

You, however shook your head. “I don’t think she should be tortured simply for liking women. I don’t see a problem with it honestly.” You said as calmly as you could. You met Hucks gaze, saw his shocked eyes but also his slight grin. You averted your gaze to meet Mildreds eyes, saw a flash of panic. Panic? No, now it was definitely anger. “Nurse y/l/n thats incredibly inappropriate. I suggest you find another job if you think that way.” She said, her voice sounded a little too forced for your liking. “I’d gladly do, but um I know you don’t have a problem with it either.” You said and moved your head to look at the girl. “She doesn’t,” you told her. “I’d know-“

Before you had the time to finish your sentence, you felt a hard burning on your cheek and you stumbled tot he ground. She had hit you. Your mind was running 800 miles per second. You stared back up at her with tears threatening to come out of your eyes.

“I should’ve known it wasn’t real, right? That this was all a big game to you. That you didn’t actually care about me.” You whispered and you tried to lean on your shakey hands. “I’m sorry for believing you didn’t actually hate me, I’m sorry you had to keep your act up for so long. I just thought-“ your voice broke mid sentence. “I thought we were happy.” You blinked. Didn’t, couldn’t look at her. You opened your mouth to speak again, but instead a sob made it’s way out. You shook your head feverently and ran past her. “Don’t come after me.” You murmered as your shoulders touched. Away. Away. Away.

You didn’t know how long you had ran for, you wondered how you had even kept on going that far. Breathing was becoming, air scraping it’s way through your lungs, making them bleed. Doesn’t matter, you told yourself. It definitley wasn’t bleeding as badly as your heart

You only ever wanted to be hers. To watch the sunset with her ever night in the summer, and sit by the ocean just because you could. To give her hugs for warmth when she had underestimated the cool sting of the autumn air. To hold her hand on walks during the snow in the winter, and buy her the perfect christmas presents. To pick her some blooming daisies and lavender and violets in the spring and make a bouqet, just for her. You wanted to make her feel wanted.

You came to a halt as you realized where you had run to. Her house. Because that was home. She was. Your face crumpled and you started sobbing. You rand to the nearest wall to steady yourself, before giving up and letting yourself slide down the wall. You let your head fall in your hands and buried your shaking fingers in your hair.

“Yes, I’m scared of you! You hit me!” you screamed out, voice breaking halfway through out of frustration, anger and love. That one was hard to admit, but you knew you were mad because you loved her. Because you had spent months making a flower garden with all of your memories, and all that you knew of her, and all of your feelings, and she had just set it on fire.

“Look y/n I’m sorry, I don’t know what to do.” She said. Her voice was soft and you tried to listen for any sign of a lie. You couldn’t find any. You whipped your head up, glaring at her with such passion that even you were scared of what you were capable of. “You should’ve thought about that before you put you whole palm on my face, don’t you think?” you snarled. You saw her chin tremble, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. “You know, you always tell your patients not to be afraid, but i don’t think there’s anyone that’s more scared than you. I know you are, don’t even pretend you aren’t. I know you.” You paused for a second, took a shaky breath in, cursed at yourself internally. “You might not know it, but I do. 4 months don’t just go by, Mildred. Neither for you nor for me.”

You saw a tear slip out of her eye. “I’m so sorry y/n. I do know. I do care. I’m sorry.” She breathed, and you could practically hear your heart break. “I don’t know what to do, but I do care. I can’t-“ her sentence got broken up by a big intake of breath, before a loud sob escaped her mouth. “I was so scared.” She cried. Your eyebrow pushed up. You should've known she was afraid, should've known she never agreed to do the therapy, should’ve known you burnt your own flowers the minute you started talking. But you were confused, and you felt hurt and you reacted on that.

You didn't even think about her feelings, if you were going to be honest with yourself. You wanted to feel guilty, but deep down you knew you couldn’t blame yourself. She hurt you, she hit you and that wasn’t going to be forgotten in a heartbeat.

But you loved her. More than anything. And so you tried to pick up all of the broken pieces, yours and hers, and tried to glue all of it into one big love ball.

“I’m not gonna say that its okay, Mildred, because it’s not and you know that.” You started. You saw her eyes scarily looking up into yours. You took a deep breath in before continuing. “But this doesn’t mean I don’t love you anymore.” Her eyes watered again. “It doesn’t?” You shook your head. “No it doesn’t, but you try doing that again and I won’t give you another chance.” Mildred shook her head violently. “Alright, come on, we’ll go home.”

That night before you guys went to bed, you approached her.

“Mildred,” you said as she was going to the bathroom. She turned around, her beautiful curls falling just right over her shoulders. “Yeah?” she said. You smiled. “I love you.” She hid a small blush while turning back around. “I love you too darling.” She replied. You smiled to yourself. Though this was too big of an issue to just blow over, you knew you and Mildred would work through it. Because you loved her, even if it was tragedy sometimes.

[brunos-beloved]

I really like the bruno fic 💗💗 & was wondering if I could request fugo with a s/o who is patching up his injuries and she catches him looking at her with adoration 🥺💗thank you!!

thank you 💕 I’m glad you like it! 

quiet comfort : fugo pannacotta x reader

summary: Fugo needs patching up, and you generously help him out.

word count: 1k

—✧—

Your nose wrinkled at the stench of rubbing alcohol, and Fugo flinched at the sting. Well, not quite flinching, but you watched the small twitch of his brow and the pull at the edge of his lips. You figured that was the closest thing to a flinch you’d ever see of him. He was quite reserved and seemed used to concealing a lot of himself, perhaps that’s what made you initially so curious about the boy. It was either that or his apparent intellect. You didn’t see Fugo in action often, and when you did it doing quick math with Narancia, or the things that he’d say that you would’ve never thought of as fast. Though, this time it seemed he could’ve thought faster, the wounds on his body told you their enemy had indeed been a tough one. You weren’t too worried, but for some reason your heart tinged at the sight of him arriving earlier with so much blood soaked into his clothing, even if it wasn’t too rare an occurrence in Passione.

“Grazie... for helping me with this.“ Fugo sat down, opening his shirt and leaving it on the bed beside his chair. You replied with a positive hum.

Fugo didn’t fully trust Golden Experience, not because he didn’t trust Giorno but because he didn’t exactly understand it. So, after being stubborn yet diligent, no one but you volunteered to the task. You’d challenged him on it at first though, curious. He just expressed that his wounds weren’t serious enough to bother Giorno’s skills with anyways.

You dabbed and rinsed and dabbed and rinsed your cloth to rid his skin of the blood and grime left behind from the battle. You found the situation quite awkward actually, partially due to the pure silence and partially to the fact he was shirtless. You’d always found Fugo handsome, you were a little fond of him, even in his reserved and curious ways- though you did your best to stay concentrated, and avoided staring. This smothered any sparks that may have started conversation though, and the room fell silent as if the neither of you had spoken in the first place. Although, eventually somehow it was comforting. It wasn’t often you were alone with Fugo Pannacotta, the silence seemed fitting, the window beside him made the room lullingly warm, the sound of water dripping from the cloth and hitting the bucket at your feet. Not to mention you’d been running a lot of errands lately, the noisy traffic today had given you a headache, this might’ve been exactly what you needed. After some time though, you felt his violet eyes arise in your mind, snapping you from your daze. You were nearly positive he was staring at you. Said eyes met yours when you brought your head up to look at him. The look on Fugo’s face wasn’t one you’d seen from him before. There were hardly any creases in his angled face, no evidence of his usually stressed or frustrated nature. You swore his lips were just shy of a smile, and his eyes told you he was relaxed. You wondered what he was thinking,

“Do you need anything?” The sunlight of the window made his blonde hair look golden, it was hard to look away from, but before you got the chance yourself his face was turned away. The troubled boy slapped a palm onto his forehead under his bangs, desperate to look elsewhere. He shook his head rather than answering verbally.

Was he, Fugo Pannacotta of all people, just flustered by you? 

You couldn’t help but let a grin climb onto your face, you held in most of the chuckle spilling out behind your lips for his sake though. That hadn’t been enough, by the rosy tint of blood rushing to his ears you had a feeling he’d heard it anyway. After muttering about something along the lines of a window, Fugo uneasily got up from his seat. You followed suit, was he hoping to reopen all the wounds you’d just worked?!

“Aspetta, Fugo! You’ll do more damage, sit down!” Your plead landed on deaf ears, so you moved passed him, grabbing a bare shoulder and nearly shoving him back onto his seat, up to do the task of closing the window yourself.

“So bossy...” you rolled your eyes at the blonde’s response, all you were speaking was the truth. There was a wide gash just below his knee you wanted to stitch for him.

“Say that again when I have a needle in my hand.” Fugo’s expression made you laugh without restrain this time, his raised brows said that had truly surprised him. You placed a hand on his knee and sent him a smile, “I’m kidding! I’ll try my best.” you would, but that didn’t make you any less nervous. Fugo’s cheeks warmed at the touch, something he wasn’t at all used to. Though the occurrence happened a lot more around you, you were probably just touchy, at least in comparison to him. Not in an extreme way that might make him uncomfortable, but just enough contact to be either reassuring, or teasing even. You watched Fugo bow his head and let out a sigh, though you’d seen another soft smile. After being in Passione with him for a long time, you’d learned Fugo’s emotions were shown a lot more subtly than most, aside from his anger or frustration at times. But even so, you tried your best to notice what he was feeling, even though he wasn’t always the most readable. 

You steadied your hands after fastening thread into the needle, and prepared to stitch him up. About to ask for permission, the same feeling as last time washed over you, and you could tell his rich violet eyes were watching you again. You took it as permission enough, feeling a lot less nervous than before under his gaze. 

The silence that ensued was once again comfortable, a lot more easily this time. A smile graced your face, this time his stare made your heart calm, soothed rather than stressed about making a mistake.

—✧—

i finished part 5 an hour ago and- oh- i- actually, let’s not talk about it :’) But, second work on here!!! I hope you like it, I realize now that you might’ve wanted the two already together, but this is kinda just what came out. I’m down for a second part of this if anyone’s still craving more, though.

[whitherliliesbloom]

your voice will save me

[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #23 - soul ]

[ alphinaud/wol ] ★ [ 2,416 words ]  ★ [ post-5.3 ]

a sequel to a fill i did from last year’s ffxivwrite. i had the idea for this fic for a whole year but never got to write it. aka, it took one year for me to finally give alphinaud closure.

soul- the spiritual part of a person that some people believe continues to exist in some form after their body has died

it’s a long time coming, but alphinaud thinks he should finally tell the warrior of light the words his soul has been yearning to say for thousands of years

Revenant’s Toll feels particularly cold with the nightly breeze, and it sends chills down Alphinaud’s spine as he casts his glance outwards to look upon Silvertear falls, watching as the sky, now free from miasma, is glimmering with a sea of swaying stars that casts distant reflections of light upon the lake where the wings of a great wyrm once stood vigil.

He shivers, grasping at his gloved hand to steady himself, counting his own breaths as he looks upon the tower of crystals with a pang of hurt that leaves his throat dry. The sight of the tower alone reminds him of skyscrapers and the sound of distant rain, and memories that were not his own flash, albeit briefly, through his head like a bolt that strikes at his very heart. 

The boy barely manages to compose himself, steel himself with the resolve and cool that a distant, untarnished version of himself had once possessed. Even in the midst of falling stars, a rain of fire and rivers of blood that ran the streets, that man..... himself from an ancient time, Alphinaud acknowledges bitterly with bit lips, he would not allow his emotions to sway him so.

And yet when he hears a familiar voice call out to him from behind, call out to his very soul that has been aching since the beginning of time, he knew that the him of the present was incapable of being as cold and unfeeling as he had once been.

“Alphinaud?” his flower whispers a name into the night, his name. The name of his current form, one that he can barely hang on to as yet another brief flash of a blazing meteor shower tears through his focus. “You called for me?”

“Yes.” He holds his breath, turns around and gazes down at her with a muddied, dishonest smile upon his face. “I....I wanted to talk to you.” there’s hesitation as he speaks, pain laced in his tone, but Illya makes no remark on it as she moves to stand next to the man, crystal violet eyes cast skywards at the dead of the night. “I’m not bothering you am I?”

“You never bother me.” Illya responds swiftly, her fingers resting upon the stone railing and shivering a tad as she finds the surface cool to the touch.

He swallows the lump in his throat, eyes averting her own and body fidgety, restless as he attempts to find the words in him to even begin speaking - because heaven knows there are so many he wants to say to her.

Previous countless mental rehearsals are now forgotten, replaced with only the raw emotions of a flickering, barely visible light within him. 

“I.... I just wanted... To call you out here to... Well... clarify some things... and... and to apologize for others...”

His voice is sheepish, timid, completely unlike the assured confidence of her beloved scholar who had been so eager and ready, eyes blazing with confidence during his fight against the specters of light, his magicks woven from his passion like bursts of fire and gusts of summer wind.

But her smile is still patient and kind as she watches him carelessly stumble upon his words, a hand raising up to tuck a long fluttering strand of hair behind her ear as it blew effortlessly in the lake breeze.

“I never did apologize... Well, there are a lot of things I have to apologize for but-” Alphinaud frowns, “I-I.. I could not well carry on without first trying to apologize to you for all of my transgressions.” Inhaling sharply, the elezen clenches his fist and casts his gaze down upon the stone under his feet. “I’m sorry for worrying you so much all the time, especially when my soul had been pulled to the first. I’m sorry for not being there for you when you struggled with yourself... I’m sorry for putting you through such heinous betrayal because of my incompetence as a commander of the Crystal Braves. I’m sorry for all the times I used you, doubted you, hurt you...”

His voice shakes with the sorrow worth many years of regret, of the guilt he’s pent up and swore to himself he’d make amends for. His heart is aching, the agony of his own past sins coming back to haunt a more mature, wiser, older form of himself now. But he knows it is nothing compared to what he has put her through.

“When we first arrived in Ishgard, I promised you that I would do better - be better for the sake of the others and you who I have wronged. I don’t know if I’ve gotten far enough yet to say I’ve fulfilled that promise... And for that too, I am truly sorry.”

lllya parts her lips to speak, but her voice is hushed, watching as what little shred of dignity has drained from Alphinaud’s navy blue eyes with a sea of cyan sadness washing through her own. And when she takes a step towards him, he holds his hand up and she swallows back her protests reluctantly, intent to listen to his heart until the end even if it killed her to do so.

“And... and also... I’m sorry for pushing you away.” 

That statement applies to himself from six summers ago, but the distant glaze in his eyes as he attempts to recall memories of a long forgotten city tells the girl that he was referring to otherwise, and she casts him a confused tilt of her head before he finally speaks again.

“In a time long past... in a city of creation and innovation... That man, Apollo...” Alphinaud shakes his head. Saying another name that was not his own would be deflecting the blame, “the unsundered form of myself sought to reach distant heights that I believed not even the convocation could dream to match. And in my vain, egotistical pursuit for ideals that I wasn’t worthy of I...” He chokes back a sob, the thought of his sins against her too much for even himself to even recount. “I hurt you. I told you such blatant, awful lies. I let my jealousy and my own incompetence sweep me away. I-”

“Alphinaud.”

Her voice calls out his name. His name. The name of his current form - his present form. It is the only name Illya knows and will ever acknowledge. 

And though her expression is stern, eyebrows furrowed and peach pink lips pressed into a tight line, she still says his name like melted caramel, unbearably sweet and warm in its tone. 

“I can accept your apology for everything else. I forgive you. But you’re beginning to apologize for mistakes that aren’t your own.”

“But I am- I mean... it... is me.” 

In a way, he acknowledges... Not fully, of course... but the revelations of what had been his past life is proof enough that he, even if a fourteenth fraction of what had once been the man named Apollo, he still must bear part of the responsibility. 

He’s lucky enough as he is to have been granted a second chance, just as Apollo had begged and prayed to the heavens for. He cannot even fathom a world where he had not met Illya anymore.

His beloved smiles, hand raised up to press against her beating heart, as if to feel the essence of her twice rejoined soul. She searches for whispers of herself - of the perfection version of the woman she once was, feeling the bright amethyst constellation stone that bore the insignia of the blistering sun warm in her pocket. She hears no words, only a wave of emotions that cascade through her and almost sweeps her away - she has after all ever been the most sensitive with the voices of unseen beings. 

But even with the two shards of a whole soul shone brightly within her, and she can almost envision the visage of a dusty, quiet library in her mind, there is not a trace of anger or hurt in her heart. 

“I am Illya Skawi. And you are Alphinaud Leveilleur.” Her gentle tone belies the weak little tremble in her voice as her eyes swirl with an ocean of unfiltered emotions. “I am nowhere near as perfect as Chloris, I know I can never be.” Her hands clasp together tightly, held close to her chest as if to guard her heart. “I may inherit her will... but I will never be her.”

Where Chloris had bright, flawless sanguine pink eyes that morphed in hue to reflect her thoughts, Illya inherited a pair of more timid orbs of lavender twilight. Where Chloris had unmarred skin of a porcelain doll, Illya’s skin was covered with a map of the galaxy - the speckle of stars from bullet holes upon her thighs, the milky way that cut across her collar bone and the auroras taking the form of teeth marks all over her abdomen. 

And where Chloris had an unparalleled talent for optimism, charisma and hope, what remained in Illya was only the painful, unreciprocated love she had for the world that would be the very bane of her mental stability for as long as she can remember. 

Even with her soul reunited with Ardbert’s, she knows she is but a husk of what had once been the fourteenth member of the convocation - of azem... Emet-Selch at least wasn’t mistaken in spelling that fact out. 

“And the woman that Apollo loved is not me - not this ugly, fragmented, weak little shard as I am.”

That’s absolute nonsense, Alphinaud wants to retort. Illya is anything but. It may not who Chloris had once been - but it is who the woman he loves is. Whole, beautiful and divine, her hair is woven from moonlight and her eyes are pressed from a bouquet blossomed flowers. Her voice a melody of a songbird, her skin a distant and unexplored, yet welcoming cosmos. She is a ray of hope, not just for him, but practically everyone else he knows... and he could think of no better personification of perfection than her. 

The world may disagree, the ancients may cry in protest and the whole, unbroken version of him may think to question his judgement. 

But Alphinaud knows, even if he is wrong about everything else and will continue to be as imperfect and sinfully tainted as he is, that he isn’t wrong about her.

“You’re not- You are not....ugly...” the words die at his throat, he’s lacking in the strength to debate as fervently as he is usually capable of doing. “Or weak for that matter. You’re...” 

“I’m not Chloris. And you’re not Apollo, either. Perhaps we were once upon a time, but not now, not here.”

The breeze picks up and howls in his ears, carrying the chill of his doubts and guilt away into the night. And as the bearer of hopes and miracles flashes him a radiant smile, he feels his chest clenching with a warmth that he can barely contain.

Illya turns to look back over Silvertear falls, the light from the moon and the fields of crystals casting a halo over her hair as it fluttered like a veil in the wind. Her skin glows with color, warm against the backdrop of grey stone and dark blue sky. 

“I did ponder over the circumstances of our meeting... If it was pure coincidence or a mechanism of fate bringing their souls... our souls together again.” Illya hums, fiddling with her fingers as she contemplates out loud. “And I wonder... if the other shards of Chloris and Apollo are so tightly wound together that they’d meet again in other worlds too...” 

“They will.” He answers on impulse, as if his entire being already knew the answer. “I believe they will.” 

It’s a naive and an impossibly idealistic wish... one with a hint of selfishness and ego too, perhaps... but those are the core of who he is- who his soul is. And if Apollo loved Chloris even half as much as he loved Illya, then he knows, is certain with all his heart that the thread that keeps their fourteen souls tied together for eternity will not be so easily severed. 

There’s a quiet that looms over them, with only the sounds of the wind and the chirping of the crickets ringing in the air. Illya doesn’t turn to look back at him for a minute, lost in her own thought and drowning in a pool of her own emotions - thousands of years worth of them.

“That’s good. I’m glad...”

When the girl turns around, her violet eyes are wet with crystal clear tears, they catch the rays of moonlight and reflect off her face as they roll down her cheeks past upturned lips. 

“Because Chloris loved Apollo, you know? She loved him very very much.”

Alphinaud hadn’t noticed when he’d started crying either, quiet sobs breaking out of him as he lets out a choked laugh, raising a gloved hand to feebly wipe away his tears.

“He did too. He loved her so much that it killed him.” 

His heart is so full to the brim, spilling with unbearable adoration and devotion. When Illya spreads her arms out wordlessly, sniffling back her own trickling, glistening tears, he picks her up and wraps his arms tightly around her, feeling the beating of his heart match in tandem with her own. 

In their warm, tender embrace, he hears the echoes of a distant past - yet another vision of a splitting star flashes in his mind. But he doesn’t flinch this time as he holds his entire world in his arms, afraid and determined to never let go. 

“I love you. I love you.” Her declaration is all he hears, along with quiet whispers of his name. His real name. 

Alphinaud. Alphinaud. Alphinaud. Alphinaud.

This love was hers to bear, and no one else’s - not Chloris, not Ardbert, not the twelve other flickering star blossoms that are out there, undoubtedly fighting with their entire being to reunite with their own other half. And no cry of ancient beings, no fracturing of worlds or falling of the moon or stars will stop her from loving him. Even until the sun sets, even until the end of times. 

And though their souls may have been set adrift, he knew that his soul would always be destined to love hers in return.

“I love you too, Illya.” 

[pixieposts]

Dice Prompt 33: Ew that is so sappy I just might vomit

Want some self-indulgent fluff with a side of my secret addiction to poetry?  Cause that’s what you’re getting.  

AO3  

“You know you could just talk to him”

“I have no idea what you mean, I am reading”  

“No Cay, you’re holding a book up and occasionally glancing at it” Beauregard flicked his cheek, her voice rising as she continued to speak “in between staring at Fj—”  

“Shh!” Caleb glared, cutting her off “okay okay I was looking, I was not staring, please keep it down”  

She sighed, but the smirk on her face told him that it was sarcastic.  

“Some sister you are”  

“This is literally exactly what sisters are supposed to do, who even reads at a party?  Do you want me to talk to him for you?”  

“Absolutely not”

She bumped her shoulder into his suddenly, throwing him off balance and sending his book sliding across the old hardwood floors.  He cursed, shoving her back and standing up as she laughed, eyes locked on his errant book.  

As he caught up to it and stooped down, it was swiped from the floor by a large green hand.  Caleb swallowed and stood slowly, feeling his cheeks heat as he looked up into Fjords smiling face.  

“Beau messin’ with your books again?”  

“You could say that, ja”  

Fjord flipped the book open, and the heat in Caleb’s cheeks turned fierce, spreading to his ears and neck.  Fjord read with a curious look on his face, amber eyes trailing across the page.

“I never saw you as the poetry type” Darrows voice teased from as he walked up “Pablo Neruda?”  

Fjord smiled and shrugged “it’s not mine, but I like it” he turned back to Caleb “you highlighted this one, a favourite?”  

“I--well in a way, yes... I only read it this morn--”  

“Bitter love, a violet with its crown of thorns in a thicket of spiky passions, spear of sorrow, corolla of rage: how did you come to conquer my soul? What brought you?”

Caleb tried not to shiver as Fjord read, his low, smooth voice doing the words a service that Caleb felt his own never could.  He made the almost-anger that Caleb had associated with the sonnet soften into something so much more vulnerable, almost sweet.  Fjord smiled and held out the book, still open to the page he had been reading from.  Caleb took it slowly, a jolt like lighting going through him as their fingers brushed, and he could almost convince himself he saw a similar expression flash over Fjord's face.  He held the book to his chest, taking a steadying breath and mentally cursing Beauregard.  

“Th-thank y--” “Do you have any other favourites?”  

They blinked at each other for a moment, then Fjord chuckled and shrugged.

“Sorry, I just figured if you’ve been reading it, you might have some favourites?”  

“I... do not usually read them out loud, I likely would not do it justice”  

“Well” Fjord’s smiled softened “I won’t force you, of course...”  

Caleb felt the familiar flutter in his chest when Fjord’s eyes found his again, and he opened the book instinctively, flipping through the pages.  

“I loved you without knowing I did; I searched to remember you I broke into houses to steal your likeness, Though I already knew what you were like.  And, Suddenly, When you were there with me I touched you, and my life stopped.”  

He stopped reading, realizing with a sudden jolt that the room had gone quiet and the weight of many eyes was on him.  He looked around in horror, seeing that yes, in fact, this was his worse nightmare.  Everyone was staring, Beauregard’s expression dropped from good-natured teasing to guilty horror as she caught his eye.  He looked up and met Fjord’s amber eyes, a look of shock on his face.  

He dropped the book and ran.  

He ran all the way out the door of the old duplex, down the three blocks to the nearly identical one he shared with Beauregard and Jester, and up the stairs.  He fumbled with the key, collapsing against the inside of the door the second it was closed.  He panted, chest heaving and lungs on fire as he tried to calm himself enough to get up without falling.  His legs ached, his head ached, his chest ached.  He absolutely could not ever go back there, in fact, he should probably just start packing now.  He couldn’t face them again, not Beauregard or Jester, and definitely not Fjord.  

Eventually, he dragged himself up and into the shower, pulled on his most comfortable pajamas, locked his bedroom door and burrowed down into his bed.  

Maybe he could just hide out in here forever.  

---

He did hide, for a good three days in fact.  He managed to sneak food into his mini-fridge while the others were sleeping off the hangovers from the night before and knew his housemates well enough to know when he was safe to use the bathroom without running into them.  Beauregard knocked at one point, speaking in the tone closest to kindness, telling him that everyone got so drunk they wouldn’t even remember (“and it wasn’t even so bad anyway man, you’re good at reading out loud and stuff!”).  He elected to ignore her.  

Jester slid pictures under his door, a couple from her instant camera that showed the three of them at the beginning of the Cursed Evening, and one that she had drawn for him.  It was pretty, and abstract piece with almost floral patterns hidden in the colours.  He hung it up... but still did not speak.  

He checked his socials almost obsessively, looking for any mention of his social faux pas.    

Being one of the awkward quiet kids paid off sometimes, it looked like Beauregard was right about everyone forgetting.

By the end of the fourth day, he felt nearly ready to face the world again.  In an effort to test the waters he crept out of his cave that evening and threw together an easy dinner of pasta with meat sauce.  Half because he was sick of cold food, and half because it was something that both women would be distracted enough by to only tease him for a little while.  Just as he was setting the table he heard the tell-tale sound of keys in the lock.  He turned and pinned on a sheepish smile as the door opened.  

Jester walked in laughing, but her eyes went huge when she caught sight of him standing there.  

“Uhhmmm...”  

Before she could explain, Beauregard walked through the door... followed by Fjord.  

They all paused, staring at him as he stared back, feeling the colour drain from his face.  He cleared his throat, setting down the last plate.

“Hallo.”

“Hey Cay” “Hi Caleeeb”  

He looked at Fjord, whose cheeks had gone a ruddier shade of green, as he coughed.  

“I um... I have extra, if you want to stay”

“No, I—well actually that would be—that is...” Fjord stumbled over his words before setting down his bag and pulling out Caleb's book “I came to give you this, and maybe talk to you?  If you want I mean”  

“Oh” his instinct to be polite kicked in as he nodded towards the living room “ja sure, do you want to-?”  

“Yeah, yeah that works”  

He heard the shuffle of the girls tossing their jackets and shoes and making their way to the table, and his nerves ramped up.  They would definitely be eavesdropped, but there really wasn’t anywhere else to go in the house at the moment.  He stopped in the middle of the living room, wishing absently that he had tidied up more today.   There was a moment of mildly uncomfortable silence, before Fjord stepped closer to him, a sheepish look on his face.  

“So... I wanted to return your book” he reached and rubbed the back of his head with one hand, the nervous tick was endearing and Caleb felt his expression soften “I also... well, I wanted to—want to apologize, for what happened”  

“Apologize?”  

“Yeah, I kinda pushed you into reading, and I shouldn’t have, it was shitty of me when I knew you’d probably be uncomfortable” he looked down, face dark again “You just have a great voice, I wanted to—well, it doesn’t matter, it was shitty”  

“Oh” Caleb blinked in confusion “Well, thank you?  You did not need to apologize; I do not blame you for it.” he paused, the rest of Fjord’s statement settling in his brain “you... like my voice?”  

“Yeah” Fjord looked up, a tentative smile on his face “it’s nice, I like your accent.  Why do you think I started going to those books and wine things Jester set up?”  

“Oh” Caleb repeated, feeling like more of an idiot every time he said it “I-I never thought about it, well, no, I did think about it but I thought you were into Jest--” he bit his tongue, trying to stop the waterfall of stupidity that seemed intent on flowing from his mouth.  

“You thought I liked...Jester?”  

“Yes?”  

“No”

“Oh”  

They stood and stared at each other for a moment, Fjord's expression softening to a fond smile.  He stepped farther into Caleb’s space, holding up the book slightly.  

“You’re smart Cay, really smart, but I think you maybe missed a few points here”  

“Explain them to me?”  

“I started going to the wine nights because I liked listening to you talk, I asked you about your books, and your cat, and I wanted to hear you read the poem at the party because I like your voice.  I like you darlin’, not Jes”  

“You like... oh”  

“There you go” Fjord flipped the book open, revealing a scrap of paper being used as a bookmark “you missed part of the poem you know”  

Joy soared in Caleb's chest as the understanding that not only did Fjord like his voice, but he also liked him settled there.  It filled him with a new kind of warmth, and sent a bright smile across his face.  

“I know, tell me anyway?”  

“When you were there with me I touched you, and my life stopped: You stood before me, ruling me.  And you reign:   Like a wildfire in the forest, and the flame is your dominion”

He reached out as he spoke, capturing a lock of Caleb's hair between his fingers.  The red of his hair only looked more vibrate against the rich green of Fjords skin.  A wildfire among the trees.  

Caleb blushed, pulling his eyes from where Fjord held him to catch his gaze instead, and found him staring back.  As they stared, Beauregard's voice rang out from the adjoining kitchen:  

“Ew, that is so sappy I just might vomit.”

Caleb caught the mischievous glint in Fjord's eye only a moment too late.  

“If you didn’t like that, you’ll hate this”  

And then Fjord was kissing him, soft, almost chaste really, but with one hand in Caleb’s hair and one still trapped between them holding the book... it was perfect.  

[hearteyes-candyskies]

Odysseus

yandere shouto x reader, background shinsou x reader

summary; im a lil too obsessed with greek myth and purple prose and shouto’s too obsessed with u. peep the title if u still dont know what this is abt

tw; blood, death

word count; 2.6k

X

the cast

of course, we have our brave and guileful hero, Todoroki Shouto, as Odysseus himself, Nobody, King of Ithaca, and Son of Laertes. you play the role of sweet Penelope, Helen’s pretty mortal cousin. brash Antinous is portrayed by Yoarashi Inasa. and Shinsou Hitoshi is our silver-tongued Eurymachus

the first glance

Shouto first comes for the hand of your demi-god cousin, Helen, who is said to rival Aphrodite in beauty. you don’t like this farce your uncle puts on, summoning men from all over Greece to compete for Helen’s hand in marriage; she is still a child, only 16, and with no say in her future. still, you think, rather guiltily, better her than you. you do your best to avoid the suitors who come in hope of Helen’s hand, lest the see you and decide that they would like a consolation prize. downward gazes, veiled hair, and thick, draping robes all help to deflect attention, and you mange to pass unnoticed for the first couple weeks. all of this changes when he arrives. it’s said that nothing escapes his watchful gaze, and when his icy eyes sweep over you, you can feel yourself freeze as you pull your shawl just a little closer. he pauses for a fraction of a second, and yet you are unimaginably relieved when he moves on to inspect the crowd of nobles gathered in the corner

the pursuit

that night, you appear only as needed for the festivities before hurrying off to your rooms to weave. you’re rushing through one of the more abandoned hallways, preferring to walk a little extra rather than run into a drunk man, and when you turn the corner, room in view, Shouto stops you. maybe stop is too vague of a word; rather, he cages you in, not only with a casual hand against the wall, but also societal niceties. you desperately want to push him away, run for the refuge of your room, but to do so would be to slight all of Ithaca and bring his wrath down on your father. Shouto knows this, too. he tries to woo you first, honeyed words and a silver tongue, but you’re the daughter of a king. you’re used to gold. he tells you that the minute he saw you hiding away in the corners of shadows that his heart would beat for no other, and that he had to have you no matter what it took. 

‘such a delicate thing, whose humble beauty is overshadowed by your cousin’s,’ he says. it doesn’t escape your notice how docile he makes you out to be, and while you were raised to be demure and refined lady, if Shouto really thinks you’re going to sit back and let him take you away, he’s wrong. he seems to sense the little fire of rebellion deep within you, but rather than putting him off, it only stokes his desire. lust flares in his eyes, and from that moment onward you know that you’ve trapped yourself in an obsessive relationship

the snare

Shouto leaves Tyndareus’ house with an alliance of the Greek city states and your hand in marriage. his quick wit and silver tongue allows him to secure the visiting nobles into a united agreement; Tyndareus will choose a husband for Helen, and all other men must leave without quarrel, and come when called upon. in return, Tyndareus will support Shouto in his pursuit of you. you know who the man is before your uncle even speaks, for in your agreement to marry Shouto, you asked that he might provide a kind and worthy man as Helen’s spouse. once again Helen lords over your life, but you cannot find it within yourself to hate her for it. after all, she is but a mere child, still too young to understand that her beauty is not really hers, that her life will always be in the hands of other men. still, one could argue that you are but a child, too. the ceremony is beautiful; you wear a dress of the finest fabric, a material softer and finer and lighter than any sort of linen you have ever encountered but one that Shouto assures you is worth it’s weight in gold. if he thinks to buy your love with material goods, you’ll allow yourself to be spoiled but you will never part with your affection willingly. at least, that’s what you think. Shouto has other plans

the early years

even from the beginning Shouto’s love is overbearing and extreme, but he’s a powerful king who treats you well and kept your cousin safe so there’s not much you can complain about. you’re just barely out of childhood, children who have been burdened with great power and yet the love and devotion he looks at you with is unparalleled. you have a feeling that he would fight even the gods to keep you. he’s kind and considerate; for the first two years of marriage he neither beds you nor tries do, despite the pressure he must feel to produce an heir and the weight of your family’s expectations. these gifts, these personal liberties he allows you to have, the way he lets you roam the island at your own leisure, this is why you fall in love with him. it’s odd; you never thought you would love the stoic king of Ithaca, but it seems that Aphrodite has other plans for you. on your twentieth birthday, you welcome him into your bed for the first time, and less than a month later, you discover that you are with child. it’s the next turning point in your marriage

the worse years

after the birth of Telemachus, Shouto’s love changes once again. once forgiving and relaxed about your interactions with others, he seeks to hide you away for only himself to see. the worst is when men approach you. it does not matter what their intentions are, nor their age nor stature nor standing; Shouto claims that his heart beats only for you, and thus yours should beat only for him. his demands to know where you’ve been and who you’ve talked to become more and more intense, until the island loses it’s queen. you are a prisoner in your own home, with Shouto smothering you in love, spending the whole of his day just lounging with you while he addresses kingly matters. bitterly, you think how you have never had any power to your name, not the way that men do and not the way that Shouto does. your rooms are nothing but a gilded cage, and you are almost glad when he is summoned for war. almost. after all, you do love the soft, kind boy that he once was

the war

throughout the war, you hear of your husband’s exploits. his bravery, his cunning, his skill. whenever you do not hear about him, your heart aches in fear, though you do not know if you wish him alive or dead. a year after the way has ended, when Helen has been reunited with Menelaus again, when Agamemnon is dead and Cassandra gone, when Aeneas has set sail for New Iliium, not yet Rome, the suitors come trickling in. at first, you do not know what to do, for festivities and mean both ceased to exist within the palace walls after the birth of your son. two catch your eye, bold Antinous, known as Inasa, sweet beyond his brash exterior, and sly Eurymachus, whose wit you see in your husband and whose charm is only his own. by the end of the second year after the fall of Troy, it is obvious who your heart beats for. the sight of purple sets your heart alight, and his small smiles are as sweet as the finest honey. you wonder if this is how Odysseus felt when he first saw you. 

‘call me Hitoshi’, he says, and the way it rolls off your tongue is a sign that this love was meant to be. he asks for your hand in marriage three times. each time a flash of red and white causes your throat clog with fear, and though you know that you deny him out of protection, it makes the tears no less painful. even the loss of your husband cannot set you free

the reprieve 

after Hitoshi’s third proposal, you set about weaving a shroud for your vanished lover. each day you weave ten rows, and each night you unravel five more. the sun-drenched days you spend with your violet-haired lover only fuel a blazing passion within you, but when he is gone, when you are alone in a cold room meant for two, the icy gaze of your husband haunts you, and you cannot help but delay the inevitable once more. you will bury your love, one day. you just cannot find the courage now. in the end of the fifth year after the fall of Troy, you finish the shroud. 

Hitoshi is too respectful to rejoice, but you can see the relief in his eyes that you have finally put the memory of your husband to rest. plans are made, friends contacted, and suitors long vacated return to your halls in preparation of a beautiful wedding. the palace swells with life once more, the boisterous laughter of the men filling the halls and driving away the cold of the night. when night falls, you rest your head against Hitoshi’s chest, his arm slung carelessly across your shoulders, and you listen to the steady sound of his heartbeat, and rejoice in the constancy of his love. 

where Shouto is the sun, bright and brilliant and life giving, but prone to flares of temper and burning those his affections focus on, Hitoshi is the moon; silver-tongued and soft, reflecting the radiance of others and giving the world a gentle glow. yet, despite your happiness, despite the love and life that is promised, you cannot help but feel a pit of worry in your gut

the unraveling 

not more than a week after the former suitors’ arrival, your anxieties are confirmed in the form of a beggar. he is naught but an old man, merely claiming to know of the great king Odysseus, yet you cannot help but lean away from Hitoshi, your lover, and sit as if unhappy with the festivities. something about your mysterious visitor doesn’t sit right with you, and when he proclaims that Odysseus has escaped death, you know why. Inasa laughs, the scent of wine and honey heavy on his breath, and declares Odysseus dead. 

‘his wife has burned the shroud she wove, not more than a month ago. dead men do not return five years after their fall.’ you want nothing more than to silence him, fear brewing in your stomach, and you are too busy giving panicked glances to your dear friend to notice how the stranger’s eyes train on you alone. a curt nod affirms Inasa’s statement, and your voice is steady when you answer. 

‘less than a moon ago I laid the memory of my husband to rest. it has been ten long years, five years too long for a living man to return.’ you say this, and yet, you cannot wonder if this is a test . who is this man who claims to know of your husband, whose eyes burn like ice against your skin? you have to know, and perhaps it is your curiosity that causes your downfall

the slaughter 

when the guests wake the next day, you propose a challenge. it’s selfish of you, borne out of a need for reassurance, a need to know that your husband truly is dead and that your love lives and will remain living. the great bow of Odysseus, only to be strung and shot by the man himself, is brought out, and forty axes are planted in the great hall. 

‘this bow was my husbands, may his soul rest in Hades, and it was said that only he could wield it. who among you will try?’ man after man step up, failing good naturedly and patting Hitoshi on the back when he too does the same. you don’t mind his inability to wield the bow; in fact, it comforts you that your husband has been laid to rest, that his memory will not live on even in his weapons. then, the beggar from last night comes forward, and though you know that the decrepit body of his will be unable to sustain the force needed to even string the bow, fear runs thick in your blood. it is like you have been struck by Zeus, watching as the stranger strings the bow with ease, before launching an arrow straight through the great axes in the hall. your husband stands, and shakes off the illusion like a fur coat. 

‘my love’ is all he says, and before you can react there’s an arrow buried in Agelaus’ heart and an expression of horror burned into his face. he orders you to the bedroom, your shared bedroom, but you stand still in shock, unable to move as he slaughters the men you have called friends in the very place you once called a prison. soon, far too quickly, there is none left save for brave Inasa and your lover Hitoshi. the look of disgust on your husband’s face as he rounds on Inasa, sword drawn, is unimaginable. 

‘you come into my house, flaunt the rules of xenia, court my wife, and desire mercy? you will have no justice except for the bite of my blade.’ Inasa dies inelegantly, loud voice lost in a fountain of blood pouring from his throat. as Shouto stalks towards Hitoshi, it as all you can do to throw yourself around your lover, despite your please, Hitoshi steps out from behind you, hands placating and silver tongue spilling words of peace and goodwill. you want to tell him that silver tongues fail against tongues of gold, but it is too late and in the end all you can do is hold your love as the life bleeds from his eyes, forgiving and gentle to the very end

the ruins

the hem of your fine silk dress is soaked in blood when Shouto pulls you into his embrace, and you call brokenly for the servants to keep your son from seeing the carnage. he should never have to know the monster that his father is. as you look into his face, worn by the horrors of war and lined by time, you cannot help but hope that this is not your husband who has just perpetuated such a crime, that the soft red and white haired boy you once knew is dead, and a god holds you in their arms instead. 

it’s a desperate, last ditch attempt to save the face of a man who once brought the life of Ithaca to you, and when you ask him to prove that he is Odysseus, that he is Shouto, your husband, you hope that he cannot speak anything but lies and half truths. he asks what you would want to hear from him, and you tell him that you have tired of sleeping alone and would like him to move to the bed in your bridal chamber, as only Odysseus himself would be able to lift it. 

Shouto smiles, the years slipping off his face, and for a second you’re staring into the eyes of a man who helped your cousin, a man who waited two years to even touch you because he wanted to respect your decision to love him at your own pace, the man who gave you your greatest joy, Telemachus. he strokes your hair, love clouding his beautiful eyes, and tells you that it cannot be done, for he built the bed himself around a living olive tree. your heart sinks in disappointment, and you know that no divinity stands before you, only a god of a man. as you fall into his arms and sob, he holds you close, arms just a little too tight as he whispers soft comforts in your ear. 

‘I am home, my love, and you have been here, waiting faithfully for me’

[verryberriess]

In Our Reverie | Feysand Oneshot

 A RIVETING COLLABORATION with my bff @maastrash​!! :3 This was so SPICYYY to write! I hope you enjoy Feyre’s JOURNEY<<333  I love getting deeeeep into the mind of these characters :)

masterlist

Rating: T (adult themes)

Synopsis: Why does love feel the same as fear? When Rhys accidentally slips the ‘L’ word to Feyre during an argument, Feyre needs time to rethink whatever they may potentially have between them. (CANON AU)

When she thought of Rhys, she saw his piercing violet eyes flecked with starlight. She remembered the first time they had met: how she thought that he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. And when they were flying and were attacked from below, he had wrapped his wings around her to protect her. It reminded her of how she had always felt safe within his arms. But what feeling did that recall? Rhys had opened up to her about his vulnerabilities, but why couldn’t she do the same for him? 

What did she really feel? Her mind told her one thing and her heart, another. She didn’t know what to think anymore-- didn’t know what to feel. Feyre lay awake staring at the painted walls of the ceiling, her mind in mayhem as they whirled over the events every night of what had occurred four days before. She couldn’t stop replaying the events over and over in her head, messing up her emotions and her usual, cool self. 

They had been fighting. 

“Why do you even care? ” Feyre had yelled at him. The frustration she had felt in that moment was undeniable. “Cassian, Azriel, Amren, and even Mor, are on board. What? Do you think I’m incapable? Because I’m not. I am not weak, Rhys. ”

“What do you mean, why do I even care?” Rhys replied, angrily. He had never been this out of control with her. The words were out before he could stop them. “Damn it Feyre! It’s because I love you!” 

His eyes had widened as he realized what he confessed. The instant regret was clear on his face as he cleared his throat, watching Feyre’s reaction hesitantly. 

She immediately stiffened, jaw dropping in shock. The frustration that filled her moments before was gone in an instant. She was suddenly disoriented, unable to speak, to think; all of her movements rendered to a stop.

She must’ve heard him wrong. 

But…

Feyre took a step backwards, clenching and unclenching her fists. Repeating the movements kept her grounded, kept her from panicking. She continued, taking another step. And another. That is, until she ran into the wall behind her. The wall seemed to have broken Feyre out of her initial shock, because she looked up, surveying her surroundings. She could see Rhys, still standing there, trying to say something, but everything seemed to be muted. She turned, horrified to see the wide eyes of Mor, Cassian, Amren, and Azriel. 

She could only imagine what she looked like right now. 

Without another look back, she ran to her bedroom, slamming the door shut.                               

- - - - -

Feyre remained locked up in her room, refusing to face reality. She spent her time curled up in bed, accompanied by a few pillows, a blanket, and a book. She would occasionally get out of bed to paint-- her favorite pastime. Painting allowed her to visually manifest her frenzied thoughts. In her current state, her fingers had physically tingled for an outlet. Only, when she did let her fingers put her into practice, they seemed to take orders from her heart. She immediately regretted the hours that she had painted from her heart. But... that time had also allowed her to put some things into perspective. Her paintings showed her what she had deeply yearned for. What she had been convincing herself otherwise of. 

Once she broke out of her reverie that was her painting, she realized what she had painted on the past three canvases. All of the three paintings had one thing in common: they undoubtedly showcased her true feelings. 

However, Feyre’s third painting stunned her the most. She had painted into life one of her utmost private dreams. It was a close-up painting of her and Rhys entangled with the sheets and with each other. Her arms hung around his neck, as she lazily settled around his torso. Feyre studied the gaze of the girl in the painting, whose blue-grey eyes stared at Rhys with a passionate intensity. An expression full of so much emotion, one would be considered stupid to misidentify it. It was so plain and obvious. It was love. 

And the look on Rhys’ face mirrored the girl’s own. One hand held the side of her face, cupping her jaw, tilting her towards him for a kiss. 

How she wished the painting was actually reality. She was envious of her own painting.

But now one thing was for certain…. And it only took her to paint what she had truly desired, deep down, what she had always known. 

Feyre’s thoughts were shaken by a soft knock at the door. She persisted to lay in bed a minute longer after the knock sounded, weighing her options in whether or not to open it. She already knew who was behind the door, but she didn’t know if she would ever be ready to confront Rhys ever again. 

He loved her, and she had turned away.

She now recognized what she felt for him, but she had run away. Ran away like she had always done in her life. Ran away from the person she’s finally acknowledged her feelings for because she had originally feared to face them. And yet, now she craved his presence. She wanted his warmth, the safety of his wings. She wanted to smile back at his crooked smile and to reciprocate to him all of what he’s done for her. But she was scared. Feyre was so scared she had ruined that chance with him. All because she had run away. 

Ultimately, Feyre made up her mind to answer the door. She tugged herself out of the sheets and hopped off the bed, quickly making her way to the door. She leaned herself against the door, preparing herself to see him. Reaching up to the knob, her fingers closed around it, gently pulling open the door to reveal a tired-looking Rhys.

Sallow-eyed with dark circles rimmed underneath, Rhys stood before her looking much less like her usual, powerful high lord. There was no gleam to his eyes. The stars that usually flecked in them-- dead. His stubble had grown out, and his hair was so messed up, as if he had run his hands through it a thousand times in the last few days. He faced Feyre with his eyes downcast, his mouth pressed into a grim line. 

But slowly, he looked up, “Feyre, I…” Rhysand stopped himself, seeming to choose his words carefully. “You’ve been avoiding me,” Rhysand said softly. It wasn’t a question. 

“I’ve just been thinking.”

Once again, the immeasurable silence swallowed up the words of their unspoken conversation. Words had been stolen from the both of them. They didn’t know what to say to each other.

“Rhys,” Feyre felt her eyes well up, deep inside. She struggled to keep them from flowing, but she felt, too, too much. They spilt over, coursing down her cheeks, like a never ending flow. “I was thinking about when times were simpler, thinking… what if four days ago had never happened?” 

Rhys immediately winced from Feyre’s words. He looked pained.

Feyre wondered how anything could ever go back to normal between them. She wished to go back to those simpler times, where she laughed with everyone, smiled so easily, and the sole thing that united her and Rhys and everyone else was their determination to save Pyrthian. But she knew how naive that was now, especially now. Although those times were only a few days ago, before Rhysand had said anything, before she had really forced herself to put her own feelings into perspective, it seemed like an eternity had passed since then. 

Despite herself, Feyre realized that what she had wished for was selfish of her. There was simply no going back. Because going back to those simpler times would have meant she would be ignoring Rhys’ feelings again. It meant continuing to pretend that what she felt didn’t exist. And it meant that she would continue to hurt Rhys.

“Feyre, look at me.” Rhys called, his voice cracked. 

She refused. She was scared to look up at him, afraid to see the pain in his face. Because it hurt her. His pain was hers. 

Before she could comprehend what had happened, Feyre was pressed against the wall. Rhys’ arms caged her. His arms extended besides her head to lock her in place. His torso leaned onto hers, pressing Feyre into the wall further; her palms laid flat against the surface. Rhys leaned forward, his breath tickled the tips of her ears as he whispered, “I’m not leaving until we talk.”

Feyre could hear her heart raging. It pulsed in a uniform fire of rapid beats, so loudly she felt like its animated fervor would explode out of her chest. She could feel her cheeks redden, her insides getting increasingly hot. She focused on the suddenly interesting-looking ground, trying to steady herself against Rhys’ gaze. This was Rhysand’s effect on her, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

She felt one of Rhys’ hands cup her face gently. He tilted her face upwards, so she faced him directly.

“What do you want me to say Rhys? These past few days, I’ve had a lot of time to think.” Feyre started, “About how my heart beats ten million times faster whenever I’m around you. So fast that I feel like it might just beat right out of my chest.” She closed her eyes and took a breath, “That I can’t feel anything but fear whenever I look at you, whenever I’m with you.”

Rhysand narrowed his eyes at hers. He had the twinkle in them again. His violet eyes laced with stars flickered in amusement. He had the audacity to be amused now?

And now it was just them and the silence again. But… something in the atmosphere had changed. 

Rhys leaned in further against her and folded his arms around her form. Feyre tried to struggle against his grip, but he was too strong. He pulled her into him, against his own chest, so she wasn’t alongside the wall anymore, but with him, within his arms. The tension in the air had been replaced with a different kind.

The navy blue chemise barely shielded her body against the rough, hard surface that was Rhys. Enclosed within his arms, her heart picked up, as if it wasn’t already so fast only seconds ago. He allowed her room to look up at him, so she met his eyes, which burned with some all-consuming fire that it was too hard for her to look away towards anything else. 

He softly inquired, “Feyre darling, why must love feel the same as fear?”

And then it was out there.

Once upon a time, Feyre loved. And the person she thought she loved had loved her back twice as much, so much so that their love had mutated into something else. It had begun to poison her. At the time, she feared for her own person, afraid of what she was going to turn into. But she still slowly lost herself. Sometime in the process during those days, she didn’t recognize the girl who looked back at her in the mirror. Her loss bloomed its own ugly in her: emptiness, indifference, blindness. 

The person she was now, was in thanks to Rhys, who had saved her from that terrible, deep, dark hole. In Rhys, she had another chance-- for peace, and love, that is. So, that is why she would trust him. She would let down all of the walls in her mind for him, let her invade her heart, and would honor him with her own rendition of love for him. 

Feyre reached to trace the contours of Rhys’ face. Her thumb gently caressed his cheekbones, having her knuckles skim across the sharpness of his jaw. She let out a shuddered sigh, expressing, “Then I am scared of you, and in love with you at the same time.”

Rhys buried himself in her long, wavy locks, to breathe in her scent of lilac and pear. 

“We can’t ever go back-- back to four days ago. Because I want to move forward with you, Rhys. ” 

Feyre didn’t know who moved first, but suddenly her body was tugged against Rhys’ once more and her fingers were tangled into his ebony strands. His kiss came upon her like a storm. Their locked lips was one that evoked lust, a certain primal hunger for each other that couldn’t be sated by any ordinary means. No, she couldn’t get enough of him from this kiss alone, even when her tongue danced with his in an outrageous tango that left her unable to breathe. She silently wished she didn’t have to take these needless breaths of air-- wished she was born without the need for this suddenly useless ability that impeded her desire. They moved in a synchronized rhythm, their heads angled in a way to complement the other person, in tune with each other’s movements. 

Feyre hopped up, using the momentum to wrap her legs around his waist. She clung to him as he stumbled forward to set her on the dresser. There was not one moment where they weren’t connected. They continued their reverie of kisses, but Rhys had neglected her mouth only to keep the rest of her body accompanied. He started down her lips, trailing downwards to her chin, the edge of her jaw, down to the crook of her neck to sample the flesh of her shoulders. He was relentless in his attacks; every time she needed to take a breath, she had to skip to her next gasp of air. Nevertheless, she couldn’t deny the fire in her veins. It felt as if someone had extinguished all of the dread and ugly from inside of her and filled her up to the brim with happiness and love and everything sweet. She was so alive. Feyre was home.

“I love you, Rhys,” Feyre gasped, unable to contain herself any longer. She was so happy.

Rhy slowed his movements, leaving ghosts of his kisses haunt her being, “Say that again,” Rhys breathed.

Feyre tugged Rhys’ face towards hers, beaming at him, and repeated her words, “I love you, I love you.”

Rhys lifted Feyre’s chemise from her frame, ripping the offending fabric and casting it from his path, so she was fully naked, besides the lacy underthings that she had donned earlier that day. “Again.” Without delay, Feyre had slipped off Rhys’ loose, black shirt, tugging it off his bulk, over his head. No longer separated by the thin barrier the fabrics of their clothes had unknowingly established, they were free to roam the other’s bodies, touching and feeling as if the other was make-believe.

In a whirlwind frenzy of pleasure and sweat, the sound of wingbeats boomed. Feyre opened her eyes a fraction, realizing that Rhys had let out his wings, his magnificent, glorious wings. They flapped once, twice, leaving rushes of air around them. Undeterred, Rhys advanced to lick and kiss his way all around her, and Feyre obliged him. He continued his journey down towards the apex of her thighs, carefully laying upon kiss upon kiss as if in a silent prayer to her grace. She was his muse, after all. Feyre prompted, “I’ve loved you for so long and I’m sorry it took so long for me to realize it, but I love you Rhys, my mate.”

Rhys stopped all movement. Stunned, eyes wide, he descended upon her, in a ravenous, animalistic rage, and closed his wings around them both.

- - - - - - 

Tags: @maastrash​ @b00kworm​ @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln​

Let me know if you want to be tagged in future works! :)

[wordynerdygurl]

Echoes of You

Author’s Note:  This is from a request sent in to my 500 Followers Challenge.  I’ve included it below... I did have fun with it!  As always, please feel free to re-blog, share, and comment!  Also, I’m accepting tag list requests and story requests!  *The GIF is perfect and I want to thank the original creator/ poster!* Pairing:  Loki x Female Reader Summary/ Request: “Loki is badly hurt on a mission and the reader has to make some sort of deal with a dark magical entity to save him. The price she has to pay is that everyone she knows is going to forget she ever existed. She takes the deal and tries to build a new life away from the avengers, however she and Loki keep running into each other and he's very drawn to her.  After a lot of pestering, she agrees to go on a date with him on the condition that he is going to leave her alone after that. Their date goes great and they're almost about to have sex, but she stops him because she thinks he would've never wanted her if he actually had his memories. Obviously he knows though, they both confess their feelings and it ends on passionate, rough smut. Hope that's not too much and you have fun with it :)” Warnings:  Battle scenes of the MCU variety, talk of blood/ death, angst and SMUT

"LOKI!"  

Time freezes in that screamed second.  

You feel yourself running, feet sliding in the gritty sand beneath your boots, desperate.  He is impossibly far away but you can make it.  You have to.

Skidding into the gravel on your knees, you shout his name as you watch him crumple.  He's gone pale, limp, boneless in your arms.  There's blood, lots of it, too much to stop on your own.  It flows freely, drenching you down to your skin, warm and sticky.  There’s no way to stem the flood.  

In your dreams you always catch him in time.  Keeping him off the cold ground, hugging his lean body to yours, ignoring the others as they fight around you.  His twinkling eyes flutter but they stay open, struggling to focus on you.  You watch his soft lips part, they form words, sounds that never reach you in the vacuum of your panic.  

"Hush… it's ok… I'm here.  I got you."  Gurgling platitudes gush from you but there's no way to know if he hears them. A smile, young and sweet spreads across his unbearably handsome face.  Using his last measure of strength, Loki strokes your cheek as you press your hot lips to his too cool skin.  

You wake up wailing, the pillow beneath you wet.  Honestly, it's never dry, not anymore.  Because every night you try to save Loki.  Every night he speaks soundlessly to you.  And every morning you wake up to reality.

Dawn's dark hides you and your pain.  You let the loss of Loki roll over you.  Pulling you under in a rip tide of shuddering sobs, drowning you with memories of what you had before and what you have now.  Swallowing that hard knot of agony, bitter and jagged, your crying steadied then dried out after a few minutes.

This new existence, this new life, was lonely.  Awake now, well before the sun, you pushed out of bed and geared up for a run without much enthusiasm.  When you couldn't ease your mind you took it out on your body.  

Stepping onto the dim sidewalk you stretched just a little.  You wanted to punish your subconscious, your wayward brain, not tear a hamstring.  Setting off with a sigh, your feet slapping the pavement in an even staccato, you tried to turn your mind off.  

On the quiet streets of your new city, one you were struggling to make feel like home, you wanted to outrun the past.  Eager to put distance between you and all that had come before, forcing your legs to go further, faster, you ran by yourself in the shadows.  There was no one to disturb you, not at this ungodly hour.  Not that anyone would.  You used to be a SHIELD agent, one who looked mad at the world, which you were.  So you ran on, giving no thought to direction or neighborhood, welcoming any and all risk if it meant peace of mind. 

Most days the sweat and strain were enough to calm your demons.  By running your body down, your mind would let go too.  Not today.  Today, your dream, like a well directed film, played on a loop in your head.  Each scene was vivid, real, raw.  And not true.

---

"You come here freely?"

Hitching your chin defiantly, "Yes."

The ethereal being before you seemed to float on a crimson cloud, too beautiful to be benevolent, the aura around her dusky skin crackling violet.  Part sorceress, part dark queen, she was your last hope.  A final step you might take to keep Loki alive.

Slinking snake like, she sidled to your side, "I know what brings you here, mortal.  I know what you want."

"Then you know I need help.  Your help."  You weren't begging.  At least not yet, anyway.  But the smell of desperation curled around you, black and rotten, regardless.

"You are not the one in need.  Odin's adopted boy… the prince.  He is dying.  Is it not so?"

Her voice was everywhere and nowhere at the same time.  Strong, soft and sweet, the witch's words echoed in the close quarters of her stony temple.  Swirling around you in the rouge red ribbons of her eternal energy, she did not wait for your reply.  "What is it to you, child?  The death of a Jotun foundling can mean but little to a human.  And yet, you come to me willingly.  Why?"

Hot tears formed, threatening to splash, scalding your cheeks.  Your breath left your body as a gutted groan tore the words from your deepest soul, "I love him."

"Love.  Such a human emotion."  You felt her then, the physicality of her form, as she brushed an errant tear from your face.  The enchantress stilled, her beautiful dark skinned face emerging in front of you, scrutinizing your expression, reading your pain.

Questioning you quietly, "You say that you love the youngest of Odin's sons."

"I do."

"The magic you ask for, it carries a hefty price."

Hope at the thought of her assistance made you boisterous.   "Anything!  I will pay any price.  Twice over, if it keeps Loki alive."

Glowing plum colored, her gaze took you in, measuring you and your resolve.  "Your sacrifice will be great, make no mistake.  It will test the love you claim to feel for this demi-god."

What did you care of sacrifices if it kept Loki alive?  Was there a price too high for the life of your love?  Anger flashed through you, frustrated and flustered, "I heard you the first time.  Will you aid me or not?"

"So cross, so eager."  Silver laughter filled the cavernous space but was short lived.  "You do not know the full cost of your desires and yet... you are in a rush to see them come to fruition.  Child, I can do what you ask. I will do it, if you agree.  In return... no one will remember you.  Only this will purchase Loki's life."

"What?"

The Sorceress took your hand, testing its weight, turning your palm up.  "You heard me.  If this is truly what you want… to keep Loki alive, then your life… your history will be erased."

Gulping hard, understanding hitting you like a freight train, "My life for his?  Is that it?"

Violet eyes bore into yours, purple orbs that fill your vision, unblinking.  "No… you will not die, little mortal.  It is far worse than that.  You will live, but you will live in isolation.  You will be forgotten by Loki… by your family… by your friends.  You will meet them as strangers.  They will carry on without you."

"But Loki will live?"  He had to, you had come too far to fail your God now.

"Yes.  Will you be able to?"

"Me?  I don't understand what you're asking me."

"Will you be able to have a life without the man you say you love?"

Could you?  There had been no one like Loki in your life before.  Smart and strong, sarcastic and cutting, tender and kind.  Loki was all the things you needed in a partner and he made you better at the same time.  Taming you, just a little, being loved by Loki had softened some of your rough edges.  Would it be easy to know he was walking around, enjoying life, but not be a part of it?  No.  But how else could you honor the man who had given you so much?  

With a straining voice, "Loving him, having been loved by him, will have to be enough to satisfy my soul.  There is no other option for me."

Nodding solemnly, content at your knowledge of the bargain, the crimson conjurer drew a symbol on the pad of your hand.  Watching her with widening eyes, she pulled a gossamer green thread from the center of your palm.  A string of memories erasing you in order to allow Loki to survive.  

"It is longer than I would've thought, deeper too."  And you knew what she meant instinctively because your heart pinched as her hands gathered more and more of your time with Loki to her.  Dragging him out of your life with a sharp throb.  When it was over the witch had a skein of your history, emerald green and glossy, which she evaporated into a wisp of smoke.  

You had a small six pointed star shaped scar in the center of your hand.  It was your sole token of the life you and Loki had shared.  That and the memories that you alone carried.

"It is done."  There was finality in her words, a dismissive quality, and for the first time in her presence you were frightened.  Not of her, but of the new world you were facing.

Solemnly, you bowed your head, "Thank you." 

"We shall see, human.  We shall see."

---

By the time you return home, soaked with sweat, you're tired but feeling more like yourself.  It's a relief to feel the night's pain fade enough for you to shower and dress for work.  It's not a career.  But it is just enough to almost pay rent and buy food.

Working with people, although frustrating at times, really does keep the white light of your emptiness away.  Besides, the store offered a discount on clothes, which helped, and there was always something physical to be done.  Lifting boxes, moving racks, hauling trash.  Anything to keep you thoughtlessly busy.  Like you did everyday, you threw yourself into the job, mindlessly.  It was a life raft of sorts, a buoy keeping you afloat, a thing to cling to while trying not to let the weight of your past drag you down.

Listening to the consumer safe playlist, getting into a rhythm, you bobbed your head as your folded t-shirts.  Your co-workers hated restocking, rehanging, straightening the racks.  So, naturally that's what you were doing, lost in your own little world.

"I really don't see why we have to be here, brother."  Something about that voice made you pause.  Haughty and high handed, you could swear that it was…

"Jane has a birthday, brother.  I will not forget it."

"Then, for the love of Odin, bring her some lovely Asgardian silks.  Jewelry in gold or silver.  Or better yet, take her home, seduce her soundly.  Do anything but buy that hideous sweater."

"It's not hideous.  You know nothing of Midgardian fashion."

"Me?  I know nothing?  Dear brother, this suit is Armani.  That is designer.  That means something."

"It means you spent way too much coin, Loki."

Turning quickly you moved closer to the men, still listening, still in disbelief.  Peeking at the mismatched pair through a clothing rack, pushing two furry sweaters apart, your heart was racing.  Stunned, you recognized the strong back of the tall, broad blonde.  When he moved toward another display of shits your jaw fell open.  Loki was here!  Not five feet away!  

"Bah!  I don't see her size."  Thor sighed in frustration, the offending rack of clothes wobbling with the force of his displeasure.  

Loki, picking lint from his sleeve, "Find a clerk… ask for the awful thing in Jane's size so we can get out of this place."  Lifting his piercing blue eyes, he spied you, trying to slip away unnoticed, "You!  Hello?  Yes… can you help us?"

It takes you a second to register that Loki, your Loki, is addressing you.  Stiffly, you straighten up, your eyes rising to his inquisitive azure ones.  They snap with a vitality that was missing when you saw him last.

A cloud passes over his gaze.  Shadows of recognition, maybe?  Or is that just what you want to see?

"Um… sure.  What… uh, what do you need, sir?"  You sound like a robot.  Cringing at the put on voice you're using, awkward and uncomfortable, you smile at Thor.

Loki steps closer, brushing past his brother, not quite in your space but close enough for you to smell his skin.  A familiar combination of leather and vanilla, sugar and spice, reaches out to you.  Your breath hitches at the nearness of him.  Memories on the tip of your tongue.

He's holding a fuzzy sweater, one the color of spicy mustard, about to hand it to you when his head tilts.  "Do… do I know you?"

Heat climbs your face.  Yes.  Yes, Loki.  You know me.  You know me in a way no one else could ever know me.  You know the sound of my sobs and the sigh of my satisfaction.  Why I love the smell of the snow and hate lima beans.  You know me.

And I know you.  I know the strength of your character.   The depth of your love.  Which thoughts haunt you, songs your mother sang over your crib, poems written for no one else to read.  Oh yes, I know you.

But what you say is, "Me?  No… nope.  No.  We've… I mean, no.  You don't know me."  Kicking yourself mentally, the verbal diarrhea couldn't be stopped, and now Loki's surveying you even more closely.

"Are you certain?  It's just… I could swear that I know you."  For the first time since meeting Loki you hear uncertainty in his voice.  It's almost enough to weaken your resolve, tell him all of it, even if it's in the middle of The Loft.

"Have… have you been in the shop before?  I uh, I work a lot."  Looking anywhere but at the handsome man from your nightmares, you settle on the offending sweater, trying to seem like an eager employee not a stuttering mess.

"No."  His smile widened, the natural flirt in him coming out to play, "We have never set foot in this place."

Your thoughts jumbled.  Unprepared for facing Loki, unsure of how to handle seeing him again, you focused on the top Thor wanted to give Jane.  "Oh… well, maybe I just look like someone you used to know?  Um… what size did you say?"

Thor, watching the interaction between you and Loki, was just happy to get back into the conversation.  "Yes.  Size 2 please, my good woman."

Casting Loki a side eyed glance, chuckling at Thor, you made your way to the stockroom.  Stay calm, you willed yourself.  Keeping your back straight, your head level and your breathing even, you walked towards the back.  Your heart?  That jerk was pumping overtime. As soon as you are gone, Thor rounds on his younger brother, "She likes you, Loki!  And, she is rather cute."

Rolling his eyes with a groan, "Cute?  She is far more beautiful than that, brother."

Wagging his golden brows playfully, the God of Thunder teased, "You should take her on a date.  To dinner.  She might actually say yes!"

"It's creepy.  No woman wants to be courted while they're at work.  Although…"  Looking longingly at the “Employees Only” sign on the door you had disappeared into, Loki sighed.

"Yes, brother?"

"Although, she does remind me of someone."

"I have never seen her before.  And she is certainly Midgardian.  There's no other-worldly influence in her."  Thor was sliding through hangers, evaluating gift options for Jane, talking in what he thought was a whisper.

"Yes.  Yes… it's just so strange.  She is so familiar… too familiar."  Loki left his sentence hanging in the air.  You were striding his way, a soft, down turned expression on your face.  The urge to kiss the corners of your mouth overwhelmed him.

"Hi again."  Exhaling, you risked a full look at Loki.  He was scrutinizing you, closer than before, needing to solve the mystery of your connection.

"Hello."  

God, you missed his eyes.  The serious way they took in every detail.  How they lit up with Loki's laughing or glowed with mischief when he got up to no good.  

Swallowing dryly, you remembered his eyes darkening with passion.  Appraising you through dusky lashes, half closed in pleasure as you hugged his body snugly to your own.  His heavy heat inside of you, both finding release, breathing hard, holding onto each other while the world around you faded away.

"I'm… I'm sorry?"  

Loki, peering at you, smirked.  "I said, thank you for the hideous sweater.  My brother's fiancee will hate it but she will, inevitably, appreciate the oaf's effort."

Giggling, your body temperature rose a few degrees, unable to resist Loki.  It was so easy to be around him.  It always had been.

"My lady, thank you!  Brother, I am off to find the cashier.  I shall meet you outside…"  Thor nodded your way, encouraging Loki, failing at being discreet.  

Sharing a laugh with your former lover, Loki risked taking your hand.  You didn't shrug him off.  Instead, your breath caught, frozen in the familiar feeling of his fingers.

"Hmm… you say we are strangers but your body tells another story, little one.  Do you know who I am?"

You could answer that honestly.  Loki wasn't as popular as Thor or Captain America but his name was known publicly.  His reputation was a bit tarnished, surely, but that had always been part of your attraction to him.

Finding your voice, "Yea… I do."

"Uh huh.  Then you know I am not some mortal man, held to the rules and restrictions of this planet.  You understand that I am a God.  One who makes mischief."  Dropping his voice into that silky predatory tone had made your insides go liquid.  

He was too close now, his spearmint breath fanning your face, "Yes, I know where your… skills lie."

Watching your chest heave, your want apparent, Loki licked over his bottom lip, certain he could taste phantom strawberry bubblegum and grapefruit lip gloss.  An odd, yet enticing, combination.  One his mouth knew even if his memory couldn't recall why.

"Then you know I suss out falsehoods.  It's part of the deal, dove.  To lie you must spot lies.  And you…", pressed into a wall mirror, hidden by a rack of wool pea coats, "aren't being truthful."

What could you say to that?  “I… I am too.  Like I said, You don’t know me.” Leaning into you, not touching your begging skin, but still so near, “Little liar.  I think that there might be a way to solve our problem.  Over dinner, tonight.  My treat, assuming there’s a restaurant in this town that is not part of a chain.”

“A date?  With you?” A date was not a good idea.  Too much time to talk might lead to trouble.  Either you’d say too much or, and this was possibly worse, do too much with Loki.  Could you resist his charms?  You weren’t able to the first time around. Now, knowing just how much you missed him, how lonely your nights were without him, would you be able to stop things from going too far?  What if Loki learned the truth?  That you had sacrificed your past together so that he might have a future, would he still want you then?  Could he?

Loki, seeing all these thoughts pass over your face, “Yes.  With me.” “No.”  “No?” “Yes.” “So, yes then?” “No.  Yes to the no.” “I don’t think you know what you want little mortal.  Join me for dinner tonight and I won’t bother you ever again.” Always tricky, this could be another of Loki’s pranks, ready to backfire on you at the drop of a hat.  If he kept his word, walked away after your night out, then it would be worth it. You could do one evening and not lose your head or your heart. “You won’t bother me ever again?  You promise?” That sinister smile spread over Loki’s face, lifting his sharp cheekbones in triumph, “Oh, I promise.  One date.  Tonight.”

--- Years ago, when you and Loki enjoyed the first full flush of blossoming love, dating wasn’t always possible or convenient.  With missions to go on, HYDRA cells to investigate, and near constant alien invasions of one kind or another, dinners and movies weren’t a priority.  Staying alive was the rule of the day. In the moments when relaxation was possible, you and Loki found yourselves drawn to each other.  Bonding over take out containers and warm beers in the early morning hours, sleep elusive, sitting on the counter tops.  Sharing great music, digital from you, vinyl from Loki, led to dancing on the cool tile of the rooftop patio.  Cherished books, personal poetry and moving works of art passed between you at a rate that alarmed the rest of the team.  

You favorite times?  Watching films and must see TV from the comfort of Tony’s leather couches.  Snuggled under soft blankets, touching each other gently, testing and teasing.  Letting the connection you shared grow naturally was what made it so special. Tonight though, this was different.  Loki arrived at your door in full on romantic leading man mode.  His suit was jet with a shirt and tie to match, making him look long and lethal, but undeniably sexy.  There were flowers, an affectation that nonetheless made your heart swell.  Holding your door, pulling out your chair, effortlessly making all the right moves was just Loki’s style.  Why did it make your heart ache in equal measure? Because it was so different from your first time around.  The love that led you here, to a place where no one knew you, had been so organic.  Not forced or formulaic.

“I fear I’m boring you.”  Loki’s bright eyes glittered as he swirled his fork through the rich sauce skillfully. Dabbing your mouth, “No, not at all.  I just… I…”  You were lost in remembering.  Loki was telling a story that you had lived, but where you should have been was a hole.  A gap, created when you had made your deal with the purple eyed sorceress, brought reality crashing into the conversation.  It was a distracting detail.   “Lost in your thoughts.  You do that frequently, don’t you, dove.”  Dove.  Oh god, you hadn’t heard his endearments in ages.  It made your stomach tense from need.  Being Loki’s dove had meant something to you then.  It meant more now. “My past is never far.  It creeps up on me all the time.  But I’m sure you know nothing about that.”  Deliberately leading him to talk more about himself, you let the timbre of his voice take over, listening intently to the man who once was yours. The long night was over too soon.  You had been on eggshells, carefully choosing your words, the entire time.  As much as you wanted to keep him near, you knew that one night was already a calculated risk, and it couldn’t happen again.  If Loki kept his promise, tomorrow you would be back to your routine, the missing him would still be there but so would running and the store. “Uh… thank you for the lovely dinner.  I really enjoyed it.” “I believe you used to be a better liar.” Freezing, your key in the lock, you turned to face Loki.  “What was that?”  Panic rose in your throat tasting of bile and bucatini. Leaning his shoulder against your door frame, “You heard me perfectly well.  Like I said, you were better at this once.  At least, I think you were.”

“I don’t know what you think, but I’ve… we’ve…” “Never met?  Yes, that line is familiar.  But then again, so are you.” “Loki…”  Pleading with him to drop it, to let it go, would never work.  Besides, you hadn’t been able to.

And what would happen if you did come clean?  Would the spell be reversed?  You couldn’t risk that.  Not after all that you’d already gone through to keep Loki alive. At the sound of his name on your lips, Loki stepped into your personal space.  His long finger rested over your parted mouth, effectively silencing you, as he whispered in your ear,  “No more lies.  Not tonight.”  Reaching around you, Loki turned your key, opening the door to your place.   Clicking on your lamp, the circle of light small in the shadows of your apartment, you move towards the kitchen.  “I need a drink.  Do you want one?” Nodding, “I think I might need one.”  Barking out a hard laugh, you lifted two glasses down from the rarely opened cabinet.  Tossing in ice cubes, you quickly cover them with the amber liquid of bourbon, swirling the two ingredients together as you walk back to the man pacing in your living room. “Good stuff, right?”  Ruefully chuckling at the harsh burn of the booze, you looked at your date motioning for him to take a seat on your beat up sofa next to you.  Folding himself gracefully, Loki perched on the couch, his knee just barely grazing your own.  The contact was electric, shorting out your speech center for a second, and you moaned softly.  Moving your drink to the table, Loki’s digits circled your wrist, "Now tell me, why do I know these hands?  Soft but strong, with a scar across the middle knuckle…" 

 Turning your palm down, brushing over that exact imperfection, Loki searched your eyes for answers.  "Why am I drawn to you across space and time?  You are a ghost that haunts me.  The echo of a dream that is real and warm… and here."

"Loki…"  Chin quivering, "There are things you don't know.  Things about me… about us…"

Tilting his head, studying you, "Ah.  Us.  We, that is, you and I have history, do we not?  I… I know that is true.  Yet,"  Swallowing thickly, Loki struggled to control the swell of emotion bubbling through him, "Yet, I have no memory of you.  Tell me why that is."

A wild sob ripped through you making your shoulders heave.  "I don't think I can!"

Twining his arms around you, the smell of his skin surrounding you, comforting you, "Why is that?"

Eyes brimming with tears, you murmured, "Because… it might reverse everything.  I… I don't know what would happen if I told you the truth.  All of it."

"So, dark magic then.  Strong… but perhaps not strong enough.  Not nearly capable of keeping you and I apart."  Petting your knee, savoring the nearness of Loki, you parted your thighs in anticipation of his touch. Loki, unable to resist any longer, pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth.  One of his palms skated under the hem of your dress while his other hand cupped your cheek.  Tracing over your jawline with his thumb, Loki deepened the kiss, his tongue tasting you in tiny sips. Pulling away from you, “We… We were lovers.”  His voice rose at the revelation no longer concealed by magic. “Yes, Loki.”  Swallowing hard, the raw truth finally said out loud. “But you, you erased yourself from my mind… My life.  Why did you do it?  Why would you take our… happiness from me?”  It was enough to break your heart all over again.  Loki’s voice, trembling, unsure, and clearly hurting.  

Whispering more for yourself than him, "I couldn’t let you go, Loki.  I… I can't, even now.  I watched you almost die.  I won't do it again!" “And this?  This is life?  Dove.  You know better than this.” “I saved your life!”  Needing to defend yourself, you nearly bellowed in frustration, struggling to make Loki understand. Standing suddenly, Loki turned from you, “What kind of life have I had without you?” “I don’t know the answer to that…”  Rising yourself, a hand to Loki’s chest, “But my life without you… you have no idea how hard it’s been.  I dream of you every night, Loki.  And in those dreams, I don’t rescue you.  You die in my arms.  Every night, Loki.  I saved you once with the help of dark magic.  But I’ve lost you every single day since.”

Crying in earnest now, you felt Loki wrap his iron arms around you, “Hush now.  Hush, darling.  Somehow, some way, I found you again.  I’m not letting you go.” Sagging into his warmth, letting Loki comfort you, felt like home.  Without realizing, you were swaying in each other's arms, dancing to the music in your souls.  You curled your arms around Loki's waist, his solid figure reassuring, hugging him closer.

Loki's hands drifted down, cupping your bottom, squeezing your curves firmly.  "I missed you, little minx."

Giggling at his pet name for you, one you never expected to hear again, you smiled up at your dark hued God.  Standing on your toes you touched your lips to Loki's.  Anticipating your move, Loki opened his mouth, capturing yours in a kiss.

Loki's grip, tugging you tightly to his firm form, became needy.  His mouth plundered yours, taking your breath, absorbing your moan.  A hand tangled in your hair, pulling your hungry lips from his own, giving Loki unchecked access to the column of your throat.

Closing your eyes, lost in intimate sensations that were both routine and refreshing, you lost yourself in Loki.  Stepping out of his grasp, you pulled the hem of your dress up, shrugging it over your head and tossing it to the floor.  "Loki, I love you.  I never stopped loving you."

Watching your nearly nude form, Loki shared his sweet, secret smile with you.  "I love you.  And even wizardry could prevent us from finding each other."

"Please, help me remember.  Let me forget."  He knew what you were asking.  Remember what you had shared, what you could have again.  Forget this time apart, this lapse in love.

"With pleasure, little dove."

---

Your bed, usually so lonely, was suddenly too small.  Loki's long body stretched across the mattress, reaching for you, impatient to relearn the things that made you melt.  And you?  You couldn't stop touching his satin skin.

First your fingers fluttered over his thighs, up his torso, over his chest.  But that wasn't enough to satisfy.  So you followed the same trail with your mouth.  Licking lovingly over Loki's abdominals, nipping at his tiny nipples, sucking against his Adam's Apple.

Straddling Loki, his hands on your hips drag you against his rigid rod.  Feeling his driving desire made your core quiver.  When he caught your nipple in his mouth, sucking forcefully, you howled like a wild woman.

"Oh, Loki!  Ah!"  Your hands tangled in his hair, encouraging the exquisite agony of his teeth biting into your tender bud.  

With a growl, Loki flipped you to your back, settling himself between your spread thighs.  Removing your panties with a swift tug, Loki spread your lower lips, licking into your luscious folds.  His tongue thrust into you, lapping at your liquid, drinking you down.

Convulsing when Loki's tactile tongue circled your clit, your core clenched in pleasure, your release is close.  When you announce that to the man pleasuring you, Loki nips at your inner thigh, kissing his way over your mound.  "Not yet.  I'm not through with you or your bountiful body."

As his lips closed over your own, Loki shifted your hips higher, your cleft cuddling his steel length.  Teasing your entrance with his wide tower, drawing a shivery moan from you, Loki slowly sunk into your yielding sheath.  Inch by inch, Loki claimed more of you as you impatiently waited to be filled by his hard heat.

Stretched by his searing shaft, Loki bent your knees, bringing them closer to your chest.  Rocking into you, his hips pressing your legs apart, Loki enjoyed the feeling of your velvet vice gripping his with each push.  He was slow, methodically moving inside of you, taking his time.  

Your body responded with slick skin, soft sighs, melting into a mewling mess.  "Faster Loki!  Please!"

"No.  I never want to forget you again."  Loki's words sparked your internal fire.  Plunging into your pulsing pocket, picking up speed, Loki pursued your pleasure.  

You couldn't keep your hands off of him.  His neck, his shoulders, his firm bottom, the cut of his hip.  Scratching your nails over his arms, along his back, across his chest, Loki grunted in delight.  

"Cum with me, little dove."  It wasn't a command or a request.  It was a plea.

"Always, Loki!"  Locking your arms behind his neck, Loki dug his fingers into the back of your thighs, your tongues tangling together.  Panting through your pleasure together, clinging to each other, determined to hang onto the only other person who mattered, you pressed your forehead to Loki's.

That night you slept curled around Loki, deeply and uninterrupted.  Tomorrow would bring a new dawn, a new day.  And everything before today would be an echo, losing distinction over time, replaced by the new life you would build together. ---

@procrastinatinglikeabitch​ @iamverity​ @jamielea81​ @archy3001​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @just-random-obsessions​ @brokenthelovely​ @rorybutnotgilmore​ @thefallenbibliophilequote​ @lots-of-loki​ @mizfit2​ @vodka-and-some-sass​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @jessiejunebug​

[camillemontespan]

mood ring [mal x mc]

I was inspired after the latest Blades chapter!

Now I haven’t rewritten it because I thought it was perfect  as it was but I thought I could write this alternate version after listening to the song Mood Ring by Britney Spears (please don’t judge me). 

The relevant lyrics are the beginning of this fic. I chose this song because I feel that Mal is always trying to hide his true colours and he wears an armour to keep people away. But mood rings (which have a sort of magical element I guess) show your true colours and how you are feeling (I don’t believe in that but in the Blades universe, I can see mood rings being a thing!)

Warnings: NSFW

I have no idea who else likes Mal. 

@blazerina  @ibldw-main @moonlightgem7 @simplymissjulia @burnsoslow @pedudley​ 

**************************************************

Look in the mirror Who do I see? Who do I wanna be today? If you came for a show Which role should I take? True colours will show Baby, just put me on display

……

Think I've been here before I've turned some hearts into stone And I can't hide it no more

……..

My love is a mood ring Up and down emotions All these mood swings You know how to read the touch of my skin Nothing on my body, but this mood ring You change me

Mal was fully aware of Aurelia’s eyes on him as he moved to shed his shoulder pads. Her eyes were darkening and she was biting down gently on her lower lip, unable to take her gaze off him. 

Mal smirked but really, inside, his heart was hammering against his chest. His throat felt tight; he swallowed, trying to maintain his bravado. She shouldn’t see that he was nervous; what kind of man would she think he was? A weak one. No, he couldn’t have that. 

He took off his shoulder pads and started to narrate what he was doing. ‘Next step is weapons,’ he said, keeping his voice steady. ‘Can’t have nobles getting antsy about those so the dagger is next to go.’ 

His weapons belt fell to the floor with a clatter. 

Mal took a breath. Aurelia’s eyes remained fixed on him, a slow smile creeping up on her face as she watched him strip for her. If only she knew how he was feeling. His pounding heart, his sweaty palms, his dry throat. He felt vulnerable; exposed. He was literally and figuratively exposing himself to her and the thought made him terrified. 

But she couldn’t know that. 

He pulled his shirt off, showing off his muscled chest. Aurelia’s eyes widened as she took him in.

‘Impressed?’ he teased, trying to appear light hearted. 

‘Mal, you are indeed magnificent,’ she whispered, her voice cracking. Her eyes darted to his hands that were now unbuckling his belt.

Mal slowly pulled his trousers off, moving at a glacial pace. Partly to tease her but also because he needed to think this through. He needed to take a moment, relax, stop panicking. 

He had been with plenty of women. That wasn’t the issue here. 

The issue was that Mal Volari was in love with Aurelia and he was terrified of what that could mean. 

******************************

He stood before her, naked. 

‘Wow…’ she breathed. ‘Mal.. you are just..’

Mal clenched and unclenched his fists; a habit he had from childhood when he was uncertain. But Aurelia didn’t know that about him. Mal hoped that he just looked brooding and powerful; not feeling close to a nervous breakdown. 

‘Come here,’ she murmured. ‘Undress me.’

Mal moved towards her, reaching out to pull her against his chest. Aurelia purred as her fingers ran down the veins that pulsed fiery blood through his veins; his heart was still hammering against his chest. 

He pulled her shirt off and threw it across the room. His fingers worked quickly, eager to have her bare too. They could be stripped together; vulnerable. Mal wanted to level the playing field. 

She was beautiful. Mal exhaled, his brown eyes scanning her body. ‘You’re beautiful, kit..’

Aurelia blushed which only made Mal’s heart pound harder. 

‘I want you,’ she whispered. 

Mal’s finger grazed along her jawline; his lips followed, peppering light kisses along her skin, soft as feathers. Aurelia let out a low moan and braced her hands against his chest, making him walk backwards towards the bed. She pushed him down onto his back, making him laugh. 

Aurelia ran her hands along his chest where she felt the pounding of his heart. 

She stopped.

‘Mal,’ she said quietly. ‘Are you alright?’

‘More than alright, kit,’ Mal replied. ‘I’m right where I need to be-’

‘No,’ she interrupted, her eyes penetrating his. ‘Talk to me.’

He realised he had to be honest. She wouldn’t let it go otherwise. Mal’s breath came out hitched. ‘I.. I feel vulnerable when I’m around you,’ he whispered. ‘That’s all. My heart starts hammering, my hands feel sweaty and I have no control over my emotions. I feel my defences lowering and I.. I can’t get used to it.’

Aurelia frowned, confused. ‘But do you want me?’

‘More than anything,’ Mal said quickly. ‘Fuck, Aurelia.. Of course I do. You make me feel things I’ve never felt before. You make me happy-’

‘Then why can’t you let go?’ she asked. ‘It’s just me.’

Mal looked at her steadily now. She was so beautiful; he had always thought she was. She was brave, more brave than he was; hell, she was the bravest person he had ever met. She was strong and powerful and kind and genuine. She was everything Mal had been searching for. Forget treasure and gold; Aurelia was worth so much more than all the treasures of the world combined. 

‘I.. I guess I’m scared,’ he whispered, his voice cracking. ‘Scared to let go, to be vulnerable, to show my true colours. The few people who have seen the real me have always ended up hating me. Or they stab me in the back. I can’t let myself down by trusting.’

He saw the sadness fill her eyes. Pushing on, he continued to explain. ‘But I know you won’t do that,’ he assured her. ‘You’re not like the others. You’re different. You make me want to be different.’

Mal exhaled and swallowed hard, casting his eyes down. ‘I care about you, kit,’ he whispered. ‘More than anything else in the world.’

Aurelia stared at him for one long, excruciating moment. Before Mal could react, Aurelia’s mouth crashed against his, her tongue sliding between his lips. Mal let out a surprised groan before sinking into her embrace. 

She pulled away after a delicious moment. Mal watched her, breathing heavily, as Aurelia slid her ring off her finger and placed it on his own. 

‘Are you proposing to me?’ he joked, his voice thick. 

Aurelia rolled her eyes. ‘It’s my mood ring,’ she told him. ‘Nia gave it to me. The colour adjusts according to your mood.’

‘So why are you giving it to me?’

Aurelia smiled. ‘I want to see your true colours, Mal Volari,’ she said. 

**************************

As Aurelia’s lips travelled along his chest, kissing his skin delicately, the ring glowed green on Mal’s finger.  Mal closed his eyes, focusing on her touch, enjoying the feel of her lips on him. 

Her lips kissed his neck, turning the ring blue.

‘I’ve wanted this for so long,’ he whispered.

‘Me too,’ she breathed in his ear, making the hair on his arms stand up.

Mal travelled every colour of the rainbow. Aurelia would cast occasional glances at the ring, smiling to herself as she watched the colours change and show his mood. But soon, the ring stayed at one constant.

Violet.

‘What does the violet mean?’ Mal whispered.

‘Well, how do you feel?’ Aurelia asked, positioning herself on his lap, so achingly close. 

‘I feel.. Happy,’ he told her. 

Aurelia smiled, rolling her hips against his and letting out a gasp as she felt him fill her.  Mal groaned, digging his fingers into her hips.

‘Very happy,’ he muttered, increasing the speed. ‘On top of the world.’

‘Violet also means passion,’ Aurelia murmured in his ear. ‘Want to show me the passionate Mal Volari?’

Mal’s eyes met hers. A long silence stretched out between them. Mal could feel his heart hammering against his chest and his throat constricting. But he could also feel her body on his, her warm skin. He could see her brown eyes that were always so kind. He could see this beautiful woman and he wanted to show her that he loved her. 

‘You think you’re ready for that, kit?’ he asked, raising an eyebrow. Aurelia giggled, which made his heart flip. 

‘More than ready,’ she said. 

Mal smiled and brought his lips to meet hers again. They began to move as one and the ring on Mal’s finger stayed violet, pulsing and bright against his skin. 

[goodlookingforagirl]

Oc-tober Day 8: Festival

This cute, somewhat fluffy scene is focused on Esther, an oc that I’ve had and loved for years but who I never gave enough attention. Of course, this takes place at a fall festival because it’s autumn, and I want to go to something like this so badly right now! Thanks to @oc-growth-and-development for creating this prompt list! 

Day 8: Festival

Esther handed the boy his paper cup and held out her hand. “That’ll be fifty-cents, please.”

    “Fifty cents for a cup of cider?” he almost spat.

    “Well, this is a fundraiser for the high school band.”

    “That’s overpriced.”

    Esther sighed. “Well, do you still want it?”

    “I guess.” He carelessly dropped the coins into her hand and skulked off.

    Esther had barely stopping rolling her eyes when the next customer approached. When she saw who it was, her heart began to pound. “Hi, Rosalind!”

    “Hey, Esther,” Rosalind chirped. “How’s it going?”

    “Oh, it’s going great, just great. I mean, not too busy, but not too slow either.” Esther was usually well-spoken and concise, but she felt like a deer caught in headlights, blinded by Rosalind’s beauty.

    “How are you?” Esther finally asked

    “Good! I just got done at the face painting station. I’m trying to find someone to go on the hayride with me, but everyone else already rode it.”

    “I’ll go with you,” Esther blurted out. She wanted to kick herself — could she possibly sound more desperate?

    “But aren’t you working?”

    “I’ll be done in twenty minutes. But, I mean, you don’t have to wait on me if you don’t want to.”

    “I don’t mind. Can I meet you at the loading area?”

    “Of — of course,” Esther stammered. “I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

    “Don’t rush,” Rosalind smiled. She got a cup of cider and gently laid her two quarters in Esther’s trembling hand. “See you then.”

    “See you then,” Esther echoed. She watched Rosalind walk away, her mane of red hair glowing in the setting sunlight. She was iridescent, she was luminous, she was —

    “Hey,” an obnoxiously familiar voice barked, taking her out of the moment.

    “Hi, Violet,” Esther said, finally turning away from Rosalind.

    “You’re all spacey,” Violet remarked, a mischievous glint forming in her eyes. “What’s going on?”

    “Nothing’s going on,” Esther lied. “Do you want a drink?”

    “I want a hot chocolate.”

    “So do I,” Harper spoke up. Esther hadn’t even noticed her — she really was spaced out.

    “Are you guys having fun?” Esther asked as she poured the hot water.

    “Yeah, but we’re running out of stuff to do. We already picked our pumpkins, and played cornhole, and went through the corn maze.”

    “I made it through,” Harper piped up. “She didn’t.”

    “I got lost and you didn’t come back to get me!”

    Harper shrugged. “Not my fault.”

    Esther was stirring the hot chocolate mix with one hand and pointing with the other. “You can go bob for apples and tell Adelaide hi.” They all looked over at Adelaide, who was leaning against the large apple bucket, making sure people didn’t drown but otherwise not giving a damn about what they did — such was her way.

    “I don’t want to put my face in the water,” Violet balked. “It’s probably freezing.”

    “And all the germs,” Harper added, eyes wide.

    “Well, go on the hayride,” Esther suggested, then immediately regretted it. She didn’t want to end up on the same ride as them.

    “We already did,” Violet replied, and Esther sighed with relief.

    “Well, go do something; there’s a line behind you.” She waved her little sisters away and served a steady influx of customers, but she barely paid attention to them. Rosalind was the only thing on her mind. The two of them were friends, but not best friends, so they’d never spent time together outside of a group. Esther had been wanting to reach out for a long time, but every time she tried, she got tongue-tied and flustered and gave up. But fate had gone easy on her tonight, and Rosalind had been the one to reach out. It probably didn’t mean anything, but it still made her heart skip a beat.

    Esther left the booth the second her relief arrived and ran to the hayride loading area. She passed Adelaide, who had just finished her apple-bobbing shift and was shouting something at Esther, but she didn’t stop to listen. She wasn’t going to waste a second.

    Rosalind was waiting for her. “You didn’t bring any of your wares?”

    Esther gave a puzzled look. “My wares? I — oh, you mean the cider. No, I didn’t. Should I get some?”

    “I’m just teasing you,” Rosalind smirked. “It would spill over, anyways. It looks like a bumpy ride.”

    They loaded on with a few school acquaintances as well as a few strangers, and they soon found it was indeed a bumpy ride. Esther tried to keep from falling onto Rosalind, while also wishing that she could fall into her arms. But that wasn’t safe. Rosalind must know — almost everyone knew from one source or another — but that didn’t mean she felt the same.  

    “It’s freezing out here,” Rosalind said, zipping her coat up to her chin. “Last year, it was a lot nicer.”

    “We didn’t do a fundraiser here last year.”

    “But I came last year, with my boyfriend.” She rolled her eyes. “Now he’s my ex-boyfriend, and I say good riddance.”

    “I don’t remember you having a boyfriend,” Esther replied, her tongue feeling like sandpaper.

    “I haven’t since then. I’m done with men. They’re all the same.”

    Esther knew that you shouldn’t make such blanket statements before you’re even an adult, but she didn’t chide Rosalind. Instead, she smiled.

    “I don’t remember you having boyfriends, either,” Rosalind commented.

    Esther’s smile fell. “I haven’t.”

    “Are you tired of men, too?”

    I never liked them to begin with, she wanted to say. And maybe Rosalind could already tell. But she wanted to play it safe. “I’m just not interested. There are better things to focus on.”

    “I agree,” Rosalind said softly. After a moment of silence, she reached for Esther’s hand. “You feel frozen.”

    “I don’t know why,” Esther said, since the rest of her body felt like it was on fire.

     Rosalind rubbed Esther’s hand between hers. “You must run cold, huh? So do I.”

    We’d never have to argue about the thermostat, Esther thought, already dreaming of domesticity.

    “Are you doing anything for Halloween?”

    “No,” Esther replied. “I don’t have any set plans, at least.”

    “Want to come to my place? My dad’s got an old projector and a reel of Frankenstein. I was thinking me and a few friends could watch it together.”

    Esther hated horror movies but didn’t hesitate for a second. “Of course! I’d love to.”

    “Your sister can come too, if she wants.”

    “I’ll ask her.” Truthfully, Esther had no intention to invite Adelaide. Not when it was Rosalind’s house.

    The hayride returned to its starting point and everyone loaded off. The sun was below the horizon now, the sky more grey than pink, and Esther could hear her sisters before she could see them.

    “Esther!” Adelaide screeched. “I was trying to get your attention earlier!”

    “You were?” Esther feigned ignorance.

    “Yeah. I’m done with my shift and we all want to go home.”

    “We’ve been here for hours,” Violet groaned, and Harper nodded, her eyes glazing over with fatigue.

    “Okay, we can go.” Esther handed Adelaide the car keys. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

    “Why not now?” Violet groaned again. “We want to go now.”

    “Stop whining, I’ll be there in a minute!” Esther shot them all a look that made them obey without further questions. Fortunately, Rosalind was still beside her, not deterred by the noise.

    “That blonde one’s dramatic,” Rosalind giggled.

    “Tell me about it.” Esther made sure her sisters were far enough away before she kept talking. “So, what time should I be over on Halloween.”

    “Hm...is eight too late?”

    “Eight is perfect.”

    “And you’ll need my address, won’t you?”

    “No. I’ve already been there for study group.” And she’d never forgotten the exact house, just in case she got the chance to return.

    “Oh, wow. You have a good memory.”

    Esther smiled and tried to act nonchalant.

    “Well, I guess I’ll see you at school Monday.”

    “Yeah, I guess so.”

    “Drive safe” — Rosalind leaned in for a hug — “and keep warm.”

    Esther worried that Rosalind could sense her nerves, her passion, her wild ecstasy. She returned the hug as calmly as she could, but her feelings were so electric that it felt like they were shooting from her fingers. Rosalind smelled like cinnamon and her hair was soft like silk. Esther captured the moment in her mind as perfectly as possible, knowing she’d return to it many times in the future.

    “You too,” Esther shakily replied when Rosalind finally let go. They smiled at each other, and Rosalind turned away, quickly disappearing in the dark crowd of people.

    Esther stood alone for a few moments, letting herself soak it all in. The feeling of Rosalind’s hands, her hair, her breath, her everything. It was all too good to be true. She looked up at the starry sky and prayed, God, please don’t let there be too many other people there on Halloween. Please let me have a chance.

[whitherliliesbloom]

river flows in you

[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #20 - petrichor ]

[ kaye & eulalie ] ★ [ 1,412 words ]  ★ [ post-canon ]

takes place in one of the many alternate canon verses where illya is the warrior of light alongside 5 other ocs, all of whom belong to either me or ancientechos... and kaye is a scion. mentions e’lija and brief hints of illyanaud.

petrichor- a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather

mama wasn’t lying when she said that thanalan was often full of unexpected surprises. heavy downpour upon a place named drybone, and an unplanned run in with one of her parents’ long standing allies being two of them.

“It’s a good thing I found you when I did, kid.” 

Kaye hates how uncharacteristically gentle he sounds, even more so his not so subtle attempt at acting nonchalant as he feels the young girl sticking herself up against his side even tighter, her hands keeping an unflinchingly tight grip upon his shirt. 

Despite the half of an elezen’s blood that flowed through her veins, she was still tiny in comparison to his own stature. He has no doubt one day the girl would grow to exceed even him in height - kids these days always age so uncomfortably quickly. But that only made her small, helpless and trembling form seem all the more fragile by his side - and reminded him of the fact that a mere child shouldn’t be left soaking in the rain, let alone without a single adult supervision in sight.

He can feel the girl shaking like a leaf, her wispy moonlit hair stuck to the sides of her face and pigtails dripping with steady trickles of rainwater. Her comfy one-size-too-big coat is damp, and Kaye ignores the slowly but steady spreading of dampness against the sides of his shirt and trousers. 

“I-I... I didn’t think it would rain so heavily...” Eulalie’s voice is soft, embarrassed, but the cold from the rain has left her complexion too pale to be warmed even by a slight blush of red. “Mama says it rarely ever rains in Thanalan.”

Well, she isn’t wrong. A storm this heavy is rare in the dry, desolate dirt fields of Thanalan, where cacti the height of two grown hyuran men stand tall and proud - though not completely unheard of... and certainly not something that should catch anyone who has visited the area frequently enough off guard. The girl was either unfamiliar with the geography of the area, or she had an utterly incompetent and unprepared adult as a guardian. Kaye suspects both, but negligent and uncaring of the whereabouts of her own child isn’t something he associates with his long time younger sister figure - and especially not of eorzea’s savior. 

“Your mom... did she leave you here?” The man already knows the girl’s mother isn’t at fault, but it’d perhaps be a tad less jarring or scary than if he had asked directly who the asshole who left her to flee from a Myotragus horde in the rain was. 

The girl snaps her head upward so quickly it almost startles him enough to stop in his tracks. 

“N-no! Mama... mama would never! It’s...” With a pause, he watches as cerulean blue eyes narrow, self-doubt swirling evidently in its ocean hue. Even at such a tender young age, the girl’s already learned the virtue of humility - she’s wondering if she should snitch whoever had left her alone here out. It’s admirable - praiseworthy even... But he even he has little patience towards people who would place children in any sort of danger, intentionally or not.

“Papa said he had an emergency and had to leave home for a few days, so he called uncle E’lija to take care of us. G-ge ge said he w-wanted to come to Thanalan... so uncle E’lija took us both and-”

Had both of Kaye’s hands not been occupied, with one gripping the handle of the umbrella he held over the both of their heads, and the other hovering protectively behind her back - he’d have slammed his palms at mach five speed into his face. 

Idiots. The both of them. He has trouble deciding who was the bigger imbecile - Alphinaud for trusting a man like E’lija to take care of his own children... or the red haired miqo’te himself - who, though not malicious or intentionally irresponsible in any way... is most certainly careless enough to lose one. 

The man must be freaking in his boots now, if he has in fact already realized that the young child he had been entrusted with the safety of has gone missing - which Kaye has no doubt he has already. If the twelve so favored him as much as they did his fellow lalafellin warrior of light and mother of Eulalie, then perhaps he’d even be granted a vision of the girl with her arms wrapped around her jittery, soaked form for an added pinch of guilt. 

Kaye felt no obligation to quell the worries of the man, but he did feel a self-inflicted sense of responsibility towards Eulalie. Even if she wasn’t a close friend’s daughter, she was still just a kid - and no kid deserved to be left neglected and alone, he would know from experience. 

“And so, you got left behind?” the man takes a quick guess, though quickly shakes his head to retract his statement. “Or rather, knowing whose blood you inherited... You probably wandered off and then got lost didn’t you?”

If he were being completely honest, he was shocked that of the two twins who would find herself tempted by her own curiosity so much that she’d stray from her guardian, it’d be the calmer, quieter, more clearly intellectually gifted sibling. 

In hindsight, that perhaps was the reason why E’lija might have lost sight of the girl. Ipheion’s tendencies for blazing, passionate bursts of energy and unbridled enthusiasm has earned him the reputation of being the more difficult of the twins to get a reign on. Not many outside of Illya and Alphinaud themselves would know in fact that Eulalie was just as capable, if not more so than her older brother, of letting her own insatiable curiosity get the better of her own rationality.

Shame weighs heavy on the girl’s shoulders that causes her to shrink into herself, the tiny fingers he’d felt grabbing tightly onto the crinkles of his shirt loosening in their grip a tad. 

“W-we don’t get to come here very often! Ge ge and me...” The girl’s squeaks out defensively, though by the way she averts her eyes, it is clear she understands her own fault in the matter - a maturity that not many children her age would possess. “Mama and papa often told us stories about Thanalan.” There’s guilt and melancholy in her tone of voice, though both pale in comparison to the awe and reverence - to the way little bursts of starlight bubbled and swirled in her eyes as they brightened in their radiance, not unlike the celestial violet auroras of her mother’s own. “Papa said that the scions of the seventh dawn used to have a super secret hideout here and... this was where mama first fought a really powerful primal!”

Kaye allows the girl to recount stories he’s long left behind - tales of an adventure of the warrior of lights and their most loyal of allies, a tale he himself had been a part of himself. 

He doesn’t like to boast - far from it. The story is not his to tell, anyhow.. and there was something endearing about hearing a child talk about her parents as if they were the greatest heroes the realm has ever seen - which they were, of course... in every sense of the word. But he knows his form of respect for the warrior of light is different from Eulalie’s... knows that that respect and admiration she held for her mother was stronger fueled by an unconditional love and family bond.

And when Eulalie admits in a stutter how she wished to become a great adventurer as her mother had been, watched in contemplative silence the way her veil of hair gleamed with the added moisture and reflection of the rays of the moon and stars - that she was alike her mother than she’d probably ever give herself credit for.

That in itself was something they both had in common as well, Kaye muses in irony. It is as the famous saying goes - the river of blood flows deep. 

By the time he’s led her far enough to reach the front of the Gates of Nald, the rains have finally ceased.. and the stormclouds part to reveal an unobscured crescent moon that the young girl gazes up longingly towards, before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath in.

“It smells so nice. It smells... like the earth... like home.”

Kaye hums, folding the umbrella up and shaking it free of droplets from the rain, before lifting his left hand up to rest against her head. 

“I guess it does.”