#they did say more content of him will come out along with the nymph skin of his dropping ... (the one i cried abt a week ago)

[jils-things]

while im still here. i just heard from a random user that.... there was a leaked photo of norto.n's baby picture im like ????!?!??;????!??!?!!!????!?????!? spare????????sapre????spare??????whehrem??????????????????????🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

[cursed-domain]

curiosity

Mahito x female reader (kind of)

WC: ~1.3k

Mahito’s first sexual fantasy is about a sorcerer who is - not fond of him, to say the least

{ Written for the Firsts Collab hosted by @anime-nymph - thank you for giving me an excuse to go a lil outside my comfort zone and get some of my many Mahito thoughts into words :)) }

Content: NSFW, DC - description of a dubcon/non-con fantasy, descriptions of oral sex and unprotected sex, masturbation, cum-eating

{xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx}

Mahito is lying on his back, thinking about you in a way he doesn’t quite understand.

The main thing he has realized so far is that doesn’t want you dead, which surprises him. Usually he wants to get rid of people who have recently tried to kill him. They’re inconvenient, and too task-oriented to be any fun at all.

Instead, he wishes he’d been smart enough to capture you. But he’d been clumsy, the last time he saw you. You’d both escaped with no victory, and no clue of where the other might go next.

If he had managed it…

He smiles as he pictures it. If he’d only fought a little better, he could have had the pleasure of watching you run towards the light at the end of the gutter, already knowing that you’d never make it. Sprinting past you and blocking your path, snaring the neckline of your shirt and dragging you back into the recesses of his home, cackling over the sounds of your protests and your feet screeching along the uneven ground. In his head, your eyes widen when he laughs, your mouth already falling open, and he turns your face so he can see it.

There have been few faces and few bodies that have made him feel how he does now. The first time it happened, he thought that it was a sort of jealousy, annoyance that someone had lucked into a form more perfect than what he’d painstakingly created for himself.

But he is starting to understand. Because he has realized, also, that he does not want to look like you, or anyone else. He wants to look at you, not in the midst of a fight, but after you’ve already lost. He wants to see you when you are vulnerable, when you have no more anger and no more tricks of defiance up your sleeve. He wants to see you surrender.

He is not sure, but he thinks it is because you make him angry. Angry at the amount of influence you have over the body he used to think was his alone. How dare you drag the heat from his fingertips into his face and his core - how dare you make him writhe, how dare you make him remember the part of his creation he’d nearly forgotten, so mundane and useless had it seemed at the time it formed.

It is rigid and swollen, now, so different from how it usually appears. And it frustrates him to realize that he cannot escape this, that every thought of your face bowed beneath him only increases the power you have, spreading it to his hands and making them restless.

He lies naked when he is alone, because he likes watching his own chest rise and fall. He has all but forgotten that the breaths he takes are unnecessary. He watches now, watches the hand in front of his face - his hand - wrap around his cock, curious and unpracticed.

I would want her to deal with it, he decides, if she were here. His cock twitches as he rubs it in his fist, and your strange type of sorcery spreads to his mouth, forcing out an involuntary sigh.

It does feel better now, somehow more intense but at the very least under his control. I’d make her do this instead. His eyes flutter shut as he imagines it. He thinks you’d probably glare up at as you did it, your cheeks burning red, and he feels no shame about enjoying the sight. I’d let her go after. After…

After what? There is an end to this, he senses. An end that builds up slowly and then comes all at once. But it is too slow, and he wants it soon, wants to grasp at it before it has a chance to disappear.

How dare you make him so desperate? You’ll have to make up for it, and you’ll do it naked, just like he is. You’re no better than him, and you’ll realize it then, and you will try to avoid his gaze because you used to think you were. He lingers on this thought, imagining every detail of your body as it would appear, knelt on the ground before him, underneath him. All his to explore.

He’s thought about touching other bodies before. The thoughts had popped into his head, unbidden, and he’d called it curiosity. But it is more than that, he realizes. Another feeling entirely. Your body is different than his, and those differences are compelling. He wants to feel you, wants you to try to turn your head away as he does it, wants you flushed and shivering all at once. His cock twitches in his palm as he imagines making you sigh despite yourself, taking back the power you’ve stolen from him, squeezing your breasts and your hips and the softest parts of your thighs until you are panting just like him, not from the need for air but from another need entirely, chasing after a release that is far too slow in coming. Until you are even more helpless than he is right now.

Helpless. He cannot stop his hand from moving. Ripping it away now would be foolish, disastrous. He is barely thinking now, just enough to decide that he’ll punish you just as you try to apologize. He’ll stop you mid-sentence, push this thing into your stupid gaping mouth and make you taste what you’ve done to him. He can see it so wonderfully clearly, now. Slamming you down so far it hurts, make you choke until your hands are scrabbling against his thighs, silently begging for a relief that won’t come until he’s satisfied, drooling and gagging and crying -

Even that is not enough. You have something else, he knows, something made to fit him. Your mouth is a poor substitute, not enough to really make it feel better. So he’ll pin you to the floor. He’ll bare his teeth, grinning down at you, finally wrapping his hand not around himself but around your delicate throat, squeezing as you squirm helplessly underneath him. Will he have to force your legs open, he wonders, or are you as excited as he is, desperate enough to spread them yourself?

He can’t decide which one he’d prefer. Either way, in his head, you are warm and slick and tight, your stomach all folded up while your tits bounce, your hair spread wildly on the ground around you. And you can’t help but clench around him, you can’t help but let your mouth fall open and your eyes go fuzzy, your expression and the movement of your thighs and the wetness of your cunt coaxing him, pulling at him until he finally gets to feel what you’ve been teasing him with all this time. A trickle of drool spills from your lips, chased by the most perfect noise he’s ever heard -

He feels the end coming a second before it does. A strange tightening, a sudden swelling that gives way to a burst of warmth, uncoiling in his abdomen before spreading out across his body, surging underneath his skin and then forcing its way to the surface in viscous streaks, leaving only a pool on his stomach and faint glow behind his eyes. He lets his head fall back to the floor, clearing his hair from his face and letting it splay out behind him. He closes his eyes, folding his hands behind his head, staying perfectly still, a smile lingering on his face as even the afterglow fades away.

Only then does he look down at himself, cocking his head as he looks closer at the mess clinging to his stomach. He drags the tip of his index finger through the unfamiliar substance, sweeping some of it up. He raises up his hand, holding it not an inch from his face, grinning curiously as he watches it drip slowly from his nail. Without hesitating, he catches the droplet with his tongue, narrowing his eyes at the taste but swallowing it anyways, wondering if, had you been there, you might have used your tongue instead.

[skzsauce01]

Hymn to Myself

Anniversary Request Special

Synopsis: The Goddess of Spring tells a mortal the story of her abduction by the King of the Underworld. Follows the Homeric Hymn to Demeter.

Warning: kidnapping

Word Count: 2.6k

Pairing: fem Persephone!reader x Hades!Hyunjin

Dear mortal, listen closely, for I have deemed you worthy to hear my tale. You have danced in my name, burned offerings to me. You shall be rewarded for your worship. Lend me your ear now, and perhaps I will lend a hand in the future.

You know me by many names — The Maiden, The Younger, the Goddess of Spring — but today I will be the Queen of the Dead. There is no need to be so frightened. Your time has not come yet, nor will I be the one to ferry you to the Underworld, as you well know. Trembling and bowing your head for mercy will serve you no purpose but do as you like.

You have heard the tale, I am sure. The Dark-Haired One seizes a maiden and makes her his bride, as her mother, holy Night-Mare of the golden double-axe, ceases the earth’s harvest in her despair. The story you may have heard prior is my mother’s version, without the details of me in the Underworld.

Like most stories, it begins with the Cloud Collector, my father. Seeing that the King of the Underworld had no queen and that no goddess or nymph desired him, he offered him a bride, the flowerfaced daughter of the Corn-Mother. The King of the Dead accepted.

As you may have guessed, I did not know about this arrangement. The nymphs I surrounded myself with then, daughters of the Titan God of Rivers, did not either, yet they braided my hair and wove flowers in. Roses, crocuses, and hyacinths entangled with violets and irises to make a crown of spring. I still remember the way they fussed over me, singing songs and pulling at my scalp. I hated it. I only wanted to pick my blossoms. Once they had finished, I walked through the meadow, leaving them behind, gathering as many of the flowers I could into my arms.

Then I spotted a narcissus, its center as radiant as the sun and its petals the color of fresh milk. Its honey-sweet fragrance filled the sky and enchanted me. I approached it with both hands, ready to hold the bud to my nose, when the earth beneath me broke open.

A golden chariot drawn by sable-black horses leapt out, and I was snatched by the gloomy Lord. I cried out for my father, he of the thunderbolt, but he was the one who promised me, and I did not know that then. The King of the Dead had me in his grasp. He refused to let go. But still I cried a piercing scream, begging the pantheon of gods seated at Olympus to help, pleading Lord Helios in his own golden chariot to come down and save me. No one heard a thing when the chariot descended back into the earth.

And when we finally entered the Underworld, my voice had gone hoarse, my body limp. The flowers I clutched to my chest were the only remnants of the sunlit earth I had, but their petals had scattered into the wind and their stems wilted in the dark. The Dark-Haired One kept his arm on me, making sure I would not be able to flee. The shades wandered in the fields below us, their moans a constant hum.

Soon we stopped in front of his palace, a cold and imposing labyrinth with a locked gate reaching to the sky. A three-headed dog stood guard, saliva dripping from its maw. The King stepped off first and offered his hand to me, but I remained frozen on the chariot. It was still warm from the sun, and I wanted to soak in every last piece I could. The hound growled and lowered its center head to sniff me when I latched onto the side, even as the Lord of the house tried to drag me off.

“Leave me be,” I cried, pushing at his chest. “My father will punish you for this. He is the king of the heavens, and you will be struck with his bolt.”

“At the behest of the Thunderer, you are now my wife. Come, my queen, into your new home.”

I had no tears left, and I mutely followed him, keeping my eyes on the back of his wine-dark cloak. He led me through the gates, the corridors of his palace, all the way to the throne room. Two chairs stood next to each other, both as black as the horses and the sky. His was obsidian, etched with bone-white carvings and lined with onyx gems. The other, the ebony one intertwined with asphodel and pomegranates, belonged to me now.

“Are you pleased?” he asked.

I said nothing, for the fight in me had died along with the flowers I left between the paws of the hound.

“Are you frightened?”

Again, no sound left me. He made me sit on my throne, and I did with my head hung low. He cradled my face, and I shut my eyes. If he desired a kiss, then he could take it. I was a wife now, to the king of the Underworld too, and I would let my husband put his mouth on mine.

“Tired,” he declared after some time. “I will bring you ambrosia and nectar, so that you may recover.”

He brought the divine foods to me, but I did not eat. He tried to make conversation, but I did not speak. The scent of the asphodels and pomegranates were suffocating, and the musk of death coated the air untainted by natural fragrance. The thick slabs of wood underneath me were unyielding, and so was I. The Dark-Haired One was dismayed.

“What is it that you require?”

“I require that I be returned to my mother and to the earth.”

He smiled. “I have all of the riches of the earth. See what I have made for you.”

Humans called him the Wealthy One on occasion, and I understood that it was not merely a euphemism when he presented my crown to me: a golden-leaved garland with apple-red rubies the size of hen’s eggs and emeralds as vivid as moss, not a hint of death clouding its elegance. It was magnificent and befitting for a queen of spring. He undid the nymphs’ braids that still remained in my hair and placed the crown on my head.

“Are you happy now?” he asked.

“I will never be happy until I see the sun again.”

He frowned and left me alone on my throne, hoping I would change my mind. The ambrosia and nectar laid on the moonlight-silver tray. They glistened and glowed, their dangerously sweet scent enveloping the room, doing their best to entice me. Instead, I sat as rigid as a tree for days, languishing in my misery. Color faded from my features, and I looked like the very image of the Queen of the Dead, with my soulless eyes and ashen skin.

Day and night, I remained there. The Lord of the House was patient, as his realm was eternal and as I was immortal. He brought gifts to try to sway me: diamond birds perching on bronze branches, amethyst crocus bouquets with delicate sprigs of roses the colors of ripe peaches. I left them on the ground. They reminded me too much of what I no longer had. The treasures around me grew, but he persisted with his prizes and his attempts at conversation.

“There are many souls arriving today,” he would say. “How lovely,” I would reply.

“What do you think of the sky here?” he would ask, and I would tell him, “It is like you.”

“Would you like to see Cereberus again? I think he liked you,” to which I would answer, “I am content here.”

It was his offer to visit the Asphodel Meadows that drew me out of my fog.

We took his chariot, golden and gleaming as before. This time, he held out a hand for me, and I accepted. The three-headed dog at the entrance of the palace whined when I did not pat his heads like his master. The flowers I left as a peace offering earlier were gone, not even a broken stem lingering. I could only imagine that they were played with and eaten.

“He does like you,” the King whispered. He placed one arm around my shoulders as he held the reins with the other. I shrunk as much as I could, burying my nose in my hair so not to smell the death radiating off of him.

“Yes, I suppose he does.”

We stopped in one of the many fields, the asphodel ghostly white and fluttering in the breeze. The shades kept their distance when I stepped off the chariot and into the flowers. My bare feet touched the Underworld dirt, my ankles brushed the stalks as I roamed the meadow like I did that fateful day, plucking the prettiest blooms from their roots. The Dark-Haired One followed closely behind, and I did my best to keep my eyes on the iron sky as I wandered through more of the fields. Lone petals circled in the wind, adorning the false flowers of my crown with themselves. I thought about the nymphs — their songs, their chatter, their life — and nearly wept. Then I thought about my poor mother, with the beautiful garlands in her hair, finding no trace of me among the meadow, and I dropped to the ground.

“There is no need to cry,” said the Dark-Haired One softly. “The shades will not hurt you.”

“I want to go home,” I replied in-between my gasps. I thought that picking flowers would somehow soothe me, but they only pained my heart. “Please, let me return home.”

He held me up, and I saw up close the famed black locks that framed his face. “Home,” he smiled.

My spirits soared, and I clamored onto his chariot, eager to see the wispy clouds and splendid sun again. But I had deceived myself. For the Queen of the Underworld, the palace was home.

The throne was too far for my limp body to retire to, so he set me down upon a funeral couch. There, I laid and stared out the window at the vast number of souls inhabiting the fields. He brought me ambrosia and nectar once more, a feeble attempt that even he knew was wasted.

He ordered entertainers to sing and dance for me, but I stared at them like one of the many skulls carved on his throne.

However, my prayers were soon answered months later. The mighty Messenger of the Gods, with his golden wand, came and relayed my father’s message: I was to be returned to my mother, for she was wrathful against the gods. The Lord smiled and did not disobey the Thunderer’s orders.

“Go to your mother,” he said to me, “for I am not an unseemly husband. But you are my queen, and all those who do not perform your rituals with reverence, all those who do not perfectly burn offerings for you, will be punished.”

I did not care about those things. Still, I rejoiced and leapt from the couch with liveliness, my crown falling to the ground in my eagerness. To feel the warmth of the sun on my skin, to see the vibrant earth, to be with my mother — those were what mattered to me.

“Before you leave, I ask that you try the Underworld’s fruit,” he said, holding out a pomegranate. “As a blessing to us from the Queen of the Dead.”

“You have been nothing but kind to me, so I will,” I told him. I ate four of the seeds, red as the rubies on my Underworld crown and sweet as honey, before I could tolerate my impatience no longer.

The King’s chariot was already drawn with his sable-black horses. The dog eyed me curiously as I got onto the chariot with the Immortal Guide rather than his master. The messenger took the reins, and we ascended to the upper world. The taste of the pomegranate still coated my tongue when the earth cracked open.

We burst forth like a new sprout. The nymphs came out from the sea and flocked around, fussing like they did before. This time, I did not mind. I let them pull at my clothing and let them weave fragrant flowers in my hair.

My mother, with a dark robe, soon arrived. She saw me, stretched her arms out, and I ran into them, breathing in her familiar scent. She stroked my hair, all while murmuring in my ear about how I was safe now, how happy she was. I was happy too. I recounted my tale to her in a frenzy, words crashing into one another like the churning tides. We stayed together, roaming the fields, soaking in the sun and earth I had missed. I danced in the streams, playing with my nymphs in celebration, for I was home.

It was later that I learned that I was bound to the Underworld, having eaten the pomegranate seeds. I left with a heavy heart and arrived to the expectant Lord, smiling with his brows.

“You tricked me,” I said. I would not weep; I could endure my time here.

“It was a request you accepted,” he said as he strode to me with my crown. He adorned me with it, and I let him brush the loose tendrils from my face. “Welcome home, my queen.”

In the beginning, it was a partial home.

I left the palace as often as I could to roam among the asphodels and the shades. The shades grew acquainted with my presence and bowed to me, moaning cries of worship in that strange tongue of theirs. I learned to feed the horses with sweet pomegranate seeds to entice them into being obedient, and the golden chariot of the King became one of my possessions. I stayed away from him, for I still felt betrayed.

Despite my frigidness, he adored me like no other. The entertainers seemed to be a constant at his court now that I present. He offered to dance with me, to which I rejected every time. He played knucklebones with me on the rare occasion I was receptive. I suspected he let me win on several occasions in an attempt to open me up like a blooming flower. And whenever I returned from a walk through the fields, he would have a lavish bouquet of false flowers waiting on my throne.

However, over time I grew to recognize my stature. After all, not many goddesses could say that they had power like mine. I began to wear my royal title like a mantle, draping it around my shoulders and letting it trail behind me in my wake. I was not always merciful, as you may well know yourself, mortal, but it is nigh impossible to say that I was not fair. The Lord took this fervor of mine as a sign that I had forgiven him. I still do not know if I have.

I sit beside him, as his equal, commanding the dead just like he does. I let him kiss my cheek and sometimes return the favor if I am feeling kind that day. I dance with him, resting my head over his heart and breathing in his musk.

But he is the one who made me his bride and thrust the Underworld upon me.

It is difficult to say that I resent him. It is much easier to say that I cannot, and will never be able to, love him in the same way he loves me.

Thus, for four months of the year, I live as the Queen of the Dead, never as his wife.

Now, dear mortal, you have heard it all. Tell it to the world.

~ ad.gray

Extra: Sorry for the unholy amount of name euphemisms and epithets. The TL;DR is that I didn’t want the associations of the Greek gods’ relationships, and by extension their names, in this story because they’re a mess by modern standards, so I opted for euphemisms and epithets instead. I decided to not use names at all because consistency, I guess? This kind of works though since “Persephone” is telling the story to a mortal and mortals avoided saying certain god’s names, Persephone and Hades among them, out of fear or respect (source). Saying a god’s name gets their attention, and getting the god’s of death attention was considered unlucky (source). This story’s version of Persephone is pretty understanding, I guess. Also, I tried to mimic the style of the Homeric Hymn to Demeter (this was the translation I used), and the amount of descriptors is insane. Thanks for coming to my TedTalk.

Hope you enjoyed this! <3

[bakedcrispers]

Show Me How To Love You

seasons 6-7

warnings: implied smut, slight angst, big crossbow man hormones 😔✌

[ gif's not mine! ]

--

Gray smoke danced around the porch of the house as Daryl sat idle on its oak stairs, his eyes snaking aimlessly around the streets as he spiraled deep in his thoughts. He remembers every bit of detail that happened, and he couldn't seem to keep his mind out of it.

It just kept coming back.

His hands travel feverishly along warming glistening flesh, tender skin sliding smoothly among his palms and lips as he took his time in exploring a pulchritudinous figure. His head was fogged and hazed, completely under the spell of the melodic sounds bouncing through the thin walls of the room. He felt full. The buzzing of his chest drummed and pounded throughout his torso the more he bit, leaving purple marks along those lips he adored so damn much.

His mouth dragged and dragged, exhaling through the unforgiving breeze as he tried desperately hard not to shift around his spot. He could feel his body slacking the more he stared, the tiredness gradually getting to him as he sat. God, he was so worn out; yet at the same time, he didn't have the courage to go back in there, lay down, and dream about it again.

He'd go crazy.

Nails scratched his back roughly, piercing up and down at a constant painful pace. He scrutinized every move and bounce, traveling down the deliciously pinned body underneath his figure as he treated you as gently as he could. Hair sprawled, face wet, lips apart and heaving; your euphoria was greatly highlighted under the hues of the moon, and all he could do was gawk at it. Daryl couldn't help but admire it.

"Goddamnit." He could feel his cheeks heating up at the thought, and he couldn't seem to rid it of his brain. It had been preserved exclusively to torment him out his mind later on, and he fucking hates it. "Stupid attractive nurse and her stupid fuckin' smile." Daryl grumbles in vexation, but a part of him knew he didn't exactly mind it - he didn't mind the thought of you being implanted permanently inside his restless brain, residing in his mind rent-free.

Feelings have never been so hard to control.

"Can't sleep?" The tender timbre of your voice abruptly wakes him up from the intrusive images in his head, and almost instantly he sat up straight, his drowsiness disappearing altogether; though, your presence provided not an ounce of aid to his ever-lingering issues.

"I'm a'ight." Daryl grunts his usual reply, avoiding any type of eye-contact towards you. It took everything of his strength not to twist his body to face you fully, nor even look at your face right now. He just couldn't bring himself to talk to you when all he could think of was.. those nights.

And much to his fucking luck, you shuffled your way to him, making yourself comfy on the empty space beside him. "You always say that when you aren't." You snarked, a knowing grin illuminated on your face, staring at him for a little longer than he anticipated as you talked. You already had him read.

"A penny for your thoughts?"

Daryl found himself snorting quietly at your little quip, his dark tresses swaying along as he shook his head in disbelief. He wouldn't trade his thoughts even for a goddamn gold bar. He'd rather die than to expose the explicitness of his head out to you, of all people.

"You can keep yer goddamn penny, I ain't thinkin' o' nothin', sunshine." He didn't mean to snap, but the way his head felt a sudden haziness definitely contributed something to his sudden outburst.

Nonetheless, you didn't budge; instead, you pressed on with much vigor, a light expression on your face as you did so. "Are you thinking of a person?" Your eyes soften, and Daryl didn’t know whether to relax his shoulder at the sight of your face or tense them at your question. 

You wistfully continued, "Like.. you think of them so much that it just starts to be a real problem?"

Exactly his fucking problem.

"Nah. I ain't' ever think of people like tha'." He answers almost too quickly, the lie slipping down a little too smoothly to his absolute horror. Daryl, however, was completely aware of what he was experiencing — completely present on his stupid issues, and he hated that you somehow wriggled your way to be the main root of all his dilemmas. Even so, Daryl was curious.

"Who're ya thinkin' about?" He diverts the topic towards you, trying not to let his discomfort fly into view, even though it’s probably already so obvious.

You chuckle, eyes crinkling at him. "I didn't say I was thinking about someone, Daryl." You lightheartedly taunted, and he fought back the heat that rushed up to his face, caught up with words as he struggled to gather a reply. You got him tongue-tied: again. Before he could retort his defense, you were quick to cut him off, placing a hand on his thigh with a playful shake of your head.

"I was just kidding, Daryl. I was thinking about someone." The soft grin on your lips encourages Daryl to relax beside you, but his heart continues to hammer in harsh beats, surely causing a tinge of pain throughout his chest.

It sure did.

All he could do was vocalize a grunt, wanting you to continue without explicitly voicing his words out of his throat. He felt embarrassed to ask, feeling like he was being pushy about the topic — intruding, even; but fortunately for him, you follow right after, as casual as you were.

"Been thinking about this amazing guy recently."

Daryl's brows unknowingly furrowed, a swirl of discomfort residing inside his stomach. "A guy?"

"Yeah? What? I can't dream of love?" You joke with a face full of blithe, shining almost as bright as the goddamn stars in his perspective.

He snorts a reply, "Nah, ain't sayin' that." The archer then sheepishly shrugged. "Just - just didn't think you'd get worried 'bout som'n like that, 'is'all." He finishes gently, catching your eye for a second before looking back down on the ground, lips pursed and his fingers laced together.

"Really?" You raised your brow at him in an amused manner, another chuckle bubbling out of you as you playfully jabbed his side with your elbow. "Would've never thought you'd take me as a responsible and sensible type, Dixon."

He could only roll his eyes, but his lips quirked up to a tiny grin, his baby blues shining in mirth as your energy radiated even under the cold of the night. "Never said that either."

"But you hinted at it." You sang with a grin, childishly wiggling your brows at him as you swing your legs back and forth. “Ya’ big softie.“

How could he even resist the urge to fucking smile?

You were just so infectious to Daryl, and everything about you was amazing to him — a huge enigma that he wants to explore all over and over again. He’d never get tired of you; he could never.

Sure, there was a part of Daryl that screamed, cursed, and tore apart whoever this guy was that you were dazed over in the jealous corners of his mind, but he refrained himself from doing any physical reaction; for the sake of his dignity and sanity, especially when he’s in front of you.

"Wanna talk about it?" Daryl broke his silence with a quiet exhale, releasing more of the smoke to color the air around him, without much of a care in the world.

You didn't spare him a glance and continued to stare straight ahead, your lips twisting up to a content smile. The archer rose a brow, trying to figure you out, but nothing in his mind was deemed helpful to scan your thoughts; all of them ending up to be a loud meaningless static, one that he couldn't quite figure out yet.

"Ya' deaf or som'n?" He grumbles, impatient, and nervous. It took Daryl some self-control not to practically bite his nails off his hands while you just beamed at him like some damn gorgeous nymph. He felt vulnerable, and he didn't know how to feel about it. He certainly felt attacked though. 

"Not deaf, silly. I’m just surprised you don't know him yet." You finally say, your eyes glowing in mischief as you laughed. "I thought it was pretty obvious. I mean all those nights, those talks, those.." You trailed off, and Daryl almost regretted catching sight of the look that you just gave him, breath stuck in his throat as he watched your tongue swipe across your bottom lip. 

Daryl shivered as he could feel your eyes dangle from his lips down to his exposed neck, drinking every change of pigment along his skin, where all your points were made and proudly done. He could tell by the look on your face that you were seething with pride; but at the same time, you were looking at him so lovingly. Daryl didn’t know what to do, sweating and freezing under your deep scrutiny. “Those… wha’?“ He gulps the courage to return your gaze, almost immediately feeling his throat grow even drier with each second he stared at your adoring hues that maintained strong contact with his.

You huff at him, brows furrowed but your lips were quirked up. “Playing dumb, huh?“ You whistled, gently bumping your shoulders against his, electricity coursing through him as your bare skin clashed with his cold ones. “From how frozen you are right now, I’m guessing you don’t really want me to dive deep into it?“

"It’s a mistake, Y/N.“ Daryl finally takes the courage to speak up, face beet red as he looks at anything but your face. “We didn’t know the hell we’re doin’.” He grumbled, his voice drenched with every ounce of regret and shame he could ever carry from that night alone. He just didn’t think it felt right to him. Those nights were only used to pour those unwanted feelings and emotions out, Daryl thought, It didn’t mean shit.

It shouldn’t.

With shoulders slacked, the archer completely isolates himself away from you in an attempt of just shutting down from the conversation altogether. He never even thought of talking about it with you, thinking you’d just pass over him and forget about it over time; that you’d just drown out his existence after you were done using him as some fucking stress outlet.

Not that he had complaints in the first place.

“It wasn’t a mistake, Daryl.“ You murmured sincerely, your eyes maintaining that soft, adoring look that you’ve reserved for him since the beginning. “At least for me it wasn’t.“ You follow with a wholehearted grin that immediately sent his heart beating and hammering against his searing chest. “You were the best thing that ever happened to me.“

“Ya’ don’ know what yer talkin’ ‘bout, sunshine.“ Daryl scoffed, perilous eyes snapping at you with a mix of disbelief and distrust. “Yer delirious.“ He didn’t want to believe it; he refused to. You deserved more than just some filthy, asshole of a feral redneck in your life. You deserved men like Rick;

A part of him wanted to believe you — to tell you what he really felt, but as always:

He doesn’t know how.

Slightly shaking the hair out of his face, he continues in defeat, "Look, ya’ deserve someone better, Y/N.“ His words were filled with nothing but bitterness, but he knew it was true. “I ain’ tha’ someone, an’—“ He pauses, taking a long drag of his cigarette before fixating his eyes down the ground under him. “I ain’ any better.“

Daryl took a long drag of his smoke before standing up, not entirely wanting to be in this conversation anymore. He didn't want to hear you spew out any more words that would just draw him back in; make him believe that he'd ever had that honor to just call you his for the rest of his life. "You should get some rest, Y/N." He spoke softly, hating to have to shut you down so quickly, but it was for the best. Daryl couldn't bring himself to be with you after all he's been through.

"What's stopping you?"

He doesn't deserve you.

Your words were left hanging around an air of tension, the archer completely still on his track as your soft tone struck him like a rain of bricks. He nervously chewed on his lips, fighting the urge to just blurt everything out to you in one go — to tell you everything racing in his damn head.

"Stopping.. what..?" His voice was quiet and unsure, almost as if he was scared to hear what you were about to say next.

More silence came from your part, and Daryl could hear his heart moving wilder and wilder the more you remained unresponsive to his reply. Nothing but your quiet shuffles rustling through the crisp air of the night was to be heard while Daryl tries to distract himself by fiddling with the tips of his gnawed out fingers. He knew he wanted to settle back with you — be close to you even, but his brain was holding him back from even trying to; afraid that he'd end up as nothing more but a piece of meat.

You were better than that, and he knows, but a tiny part of him was doubtful of your future, and he had every right to be. With winter coming along and scarcity of resources following painfully behind, there were many more things to be worried about than his stupid high school feelings.

"What's stopping you from loving me?"

Daryl pursed his lips into a thin line. This was something that you've also asked him the night before, your bare body pressed against his chest while you snuggled under the late sky. He could barely get any word out to give you a proper answer. But even during times like those, Daryl could never tear his eyes off of you. You were drowsy, tired from the night’s activities, but you never seem to get restless of his scattered thoughts and feelings; you always tried your best to understand and communicate with him, but as always, Daryl remained nonchalant — almost as if he couldn't hear you amongst everything.

He was being unfair.

Eyes squeezed shut, knuckles white, jaws clenched — He's gotta drop and let you know.

"I.. I don' know how to love ya', Y/N." He confessed softly; ashamed that he couldn't give you the love that he wanted you to have — love that only people who weren't broken can give. "I.. I don' know how to love ya' like.. like how Glenn or Rick does." He croaks weakly. "They do it so easy, but I just fuckin'.. can't."

His frustration was evident, yet his head was facing the ground, not wanting to have you catch the longing and bitter look that he had on his stormy blue eyes.

"Daryl." His eyes slowly snaps towards the direction of your voice, lips trembling slightly as your cold palms brushed and settled on his reddened cheeks.

"I didn't follow you everywhere with the hopes of finding the same love that men like Rick or Glenn can give in you. I didn't go out of my way to be your run partner just to seduce you and jump on your lap. I'm with you because you make me happy, and you make me feel loved in the warmest way possible."

He watched your lips effortlessly mouth the words out to him as if you were reciting a ballad specially made only for his ears to reach.

"You don't have to show me or the others that you love me, Dixon, because I already know that you do." Your hold on his face tightens, and so did Daryl's heart as he watched you send a loving smile up at him. "You don't have to hide from me, Daryl. You don't have to be scared about not being able to compete with others because no matter what, you're the only damn thing I see."

It may take some time, but your words truly have impacted him more than he anticipated. There were moments where he'd thoroughly savor and indulge himself on your touch and with your words, letting himself loose within the security of your arms; this was one of those times.

"Damn it, sunshine." He curses quietly, breathless over how something as enchanting as you could ever be real — how even did he manage to capture you in his life?

He builds the courage to meet you in the eye, his heart singing at the sight of your eyes holding adoration only for him. "Hitting me with the cheesy shit again, huh."

Your grin widens, prompting his own smile to stretch along with yours. "Want to know how to love, Dixon?"

Even when his surroundings dim, you continue being a light above all things cynical in his life. You were his guide; an angel sent to him by whatever fate exist in the world. You were surreal, and if he could wish for more of you, he would do so in a heartbeat.

"Show me."

You're the only thing he sees.

--

a/n: OMG?? HI?? ITS BEEN A WHILE?MNDJEJE IM SORRY FOR THE INACTIVITY! schoolwork has been catching up and i have also been sick for the past few days! have this lil oneshot friends 💞💖 all you'll ever see in this blog is longing and yearning so kekeke prepare urself >:D

taglist: @pulplorrd @impala-1979 @twdeadlysins @greginaries @pastanest @thanossexual @taikawho

[ if you want to be added in the taglist, just send an ask baybees 💞! ]

[thehopeofitalll]

“How do you destroy a monster without becoming one?”

just a really angsty fic written by me and my friend (but she isn't here on tumblr)

Prompts: •“I-I can’t stop it, I'm sorry.” •“It's okay, It's okay, Just breathe. You don't have to be sorry for anything, I've got you.” •“I thought if I acted like it didn't matter, it wouldn't” •“How do you destroy a monster without becoming one”

read it on ao3.

-🦉-

Annabeth woke up, rays of sunlight streaming into Percy’s cabin. She reached out for Percy but her hand just ended up swatting the air. She turned to see that Percy was not there, her eyebrows raised in confusion.

She figured she’d probably find Percy at breakfast, so she got up and put on an extra set of clothes she kept in his cabin.

Walking out of the cabin, she saw Will and Nico heading out for breakfast too and picked up her pace in order to catch up to them. When she finally caught up to them she asked them if either of them had seen Percy recently.

Nico shrugged, while Will muttered a faint huh. “He came into the clinic for some bandages at an ungodly hour in the morning,” Will replied. “I think I remember that his hand was kinda bruised.”

“That’s...weird,” Annabeth mumbled.

Ever since they'd been in the pit, Annabeth had made Percy promise to tell her everything, no matter how dangerous the situation was. It had partly been the reason why they convinced Chiron, with the promise to buy lots of Frank Sinatra vinyls for him, to let them sleep in the same cabin. They had to explain that they needed each other to be there when they had nightmares. No one else could console them.

Annabeth was numbly thinking of this, worried why Percy hadn’t told her as she walked into the dining pavilion. But as she sat besides Malcom and looked towards the Big 3 table, Percy was nowhere to be found. She scarfed down her breakfast and headed out in search of him.

She started out by searching for him in the strawberry fields, but no one in the Demeter cabin had seen him there. She searched by the lake, and the satyrs and nymphs told her that he had not come by in more than a week.

That hit Annabeth as strange because he had told her he was going to the lake multiple times that week. She was now extremely confused.

When she finally found him in the sword fighting arena, he was punching a dummy with his bare fists, which had bloodied bandages wrapped around them.

She called out to him. “Percy! Seaweed Brain?”

But it was as if he couldn't hear her. He went on punching, his fists slamming against the poor dummy until it fell back with one last punch.

“Percy!” She exclaimed, pulling his hand, making him turn around. He almost punched her, but then stilled when he saw her.

“Oh, hi. What are you doing here?”

“Oh hi? And what am I doing here?” She repeated. “I’ve been searching for you since this morning, Perce!”

He just shrugged. “Oh I didn't realize what time it was, I’m sorry,” he mumbled, disinterested. He turned, beginning to walk away from her.

She grabs his hand and says “Percy, we’ve talked about this, you aren't saving me from anything by keeping secrets,” Annabeth said, forcing him to look at her. “We’ve promised to share everything with each other. Remember?”

“I do, it’s just…” He trailed off, refusing to meet her eyes. “I’m okay, Annabeth. It’s nothing, really.”

“And you've been here since when?” She asked, her eyes scanning his bloodied hands.

“Like, since 5 in the morning maybe?” He said, shrugging.

It pained Annabeth to see him so indifferent, so humorless, dull and monotone.

“Come, let’s get you some food, I’m sure you have something to eat in your cabin,” Annabeth said,

But as they were heading back to the cabin, Rachel came up to them and said “I don't feel so good,” and her eyes fogged up, green smoke spouting out of her mouth.

As soon as Annabeth heard the raspy voice of the Oracle say “The son of poseidon shall…” she knew this day was only going to get worse.

-🌊-

“Percy?” Annabeth’s voice rang in his ears. “Did you hear the prophecy?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, sounding disinterested. “I did.”

If he was being honest, the only thing he heard was owl and he was firm in the decision of not letting Annabeth come with him on a quest. Not now, when he’d been having dreams of her death. And partly, because he didn’t want her to see who, or what he’d become...

Annabeth said something he didn’t hear. Then he felt her shake his shoulders. “Percy? Percy!”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Do you wanna come with me to the Big House and tell Chiron?”

“Yeah...no, I’m kind of hungry,” Percy said

-🌊-

Chiron rose up at his table in his dining pavilion. “Rachel, our Oracle, has given a prophecy today,” he announced in his booming voice. “And it seems that Percy Jackson, along with an owl and skull have to go. Nico is the obvious choice, being the son of Hades. As for the owl…”

Annabeth stood up. “I’ll go.”

“I was thinking Malcolm could come along with us,” Percy said.

Annabeth glanced at Percy, raising an eyebrow. “Are you being serious?”

“What?” He asked, raising his hands. “Malcolm’s a son of Athena too?”

“But Malcolm just came back fr0m a quest!”

“I mean I don’t mind going,” Malcolm said

Annabeth gave Malcolm a glare, one that Percy had only seen a few times but dreaded. Malcolm gulped. “On second thought, maybe I should take some rest,” he said.

“And besides, I’m cabin counselor, and this seems like a pretty big quest!”

“Well, the cabin counselor needs to be here! To...defend the camp?” Percy tried to counter.

“Percy that’s bullshit and you know it,” Annabeth said, glaring at him.

“Okay, hold on. Percy, Annabeth has a point here, she’s the person best fit for the job,” Chiron

“Chiron, really?! ” He said, standing up. Anger built up inside him, ready to burst. He clenched his fists. The goblets on the camper’s tables started to shake, some falling on to the floor, their content spilling onto the floor. He didn’t care how many goblets he spilled, but when his eyes fell on Annabeth, and he saw her eyes wide, as if she was afraid of him, he snapped out of it.

“I wasn’t hungry anyways,” he mumbled and stormed out of the dining pavilion.

-🦉-

Annabeth followed him out the pavilion. “Percy!” she yelled, running to catch up with him. “Percy, you don’t get to storm away from me with no explanation like that!”

“Yes I do,” she heard him mutter.

She grabbed his arm, firmly stopping him, and standing in front of him. “Percy, what’s going on? First, everything that happened in the morning and now this? You promised you wouldn't keep anything from me!”

“It’s nothing really, Annabeth,” he said, refusing to meet her eyes.

“It certainly doesn’t seem like nothing,” she said. “Percy, just tell me what’s bothering you. I know I can help you out.”

“It’s just..I’ve been having these dreams...about…”

Annabeth hesitated. She’d had her own fair share of dreams recently, none of them exactly pleasant. “About?” she asked.

“About...you dying,” he said.

Her eyes softened, as she sighed, lacing her fingers through his. “Percy, you wanted to stop me from coming with you on a quest because you had a dream of me dying?”

“Well, yes but still-”

“Percy, it was just a dream. Nothing’s going to happen to me, okay?” she reassured him.

“Yeah,” he said. “I guess you’re right.”

She smiled at him, then leaned forwards, kissing him on the cheek. “I’ll be alright. We’ll be alright.”

-🌊-

Percy went through the routine of getting ready for a quest with only one thing on his mind: He would keep Annabeth safe, no matter what he had to do.

-🦉-

Annabeth packed for the quest: considering strategies, storing some nectar and ambrosia along with her drakon bone sword, but her mind kept drifting to one thing: Finding out what was bothering Percy. She didn’t like him being so distant, and Annabeth had a hunch that it might be about her.

-🦉-

It had been a week since they’d left camp for their quest. A week of Annabeth trying to get through to Percy and him repeatedly pushing her away. She just wished he understood that she wanted to help him and didn’t want him to hide things from her.

They were currently making their way back to camp on foot. Nico insisted that he could shadow-travel, but Annabeth took one look at his pale skin before deciding that it was safer to not shadow-travel.

(And she knew Will wouldn’t appreciate it if they came back with a fainted boyfriend.)

Nico trudged a little behind Annabeth, who was leading the trio, and Percy was beside her.

She shot her boyfriend another worried look.

He must have noticed because he stiffened a bit, and turned to see her. “What?” he asked, sounding slightly defensive.

“Nothing, Percy, it’s just…” Annabeth sighed. “I’m worried. About you. It feels like something’s changed between us.”

“Everything’s the same, Annabeth,” he muttered.

“No, Perce, it’s not,” she said, wringing her hands helplessly. “Something’s bothering you, I know that.”

“You don’t know everything about me,” Percy said.

She stopped, reaching for his arm. “Percy, please,” she said, trying not to think about how their relationship was falling apart.

“I’m fine,” he said, sounding half-hearted. “Everything’s fine.”

“Percy-”

“Uh, guys?” Nico said, from behind them. Annabeth had almost forgotten that he was there too. “This place feels a little weird.”

She frowned, and placed her hand on a nearby tree. There were slight tremors, as the tree faintly shook.

“Something’s coming,” she said. “Gather up and take a flank.” She reached for her drakon bone sword.

Percy’s hand settled on Riptide’s hilt, as Nico pulled out his Stygian blade.

She frowned, her grey eyes scanning their surroundings for even the subtlest movement.

A figure flew overhead, and she looked up to see a creature with wings. Stymphalian birds, she had time to think before three more swooped in.

“What-?” Nico began, when they noticed vaguely humanoid shapes with brazen legs shuffling towards them.

“Stymphalian birds and empousai?” Annabeth asked, groaning. “It must be our lucky day.”

She turned, stabbing an empousa in the gut, then slashed her sword in a wide arc, driving back the other monsters. She and Percy stood shoulder to shoulder, and Annabeth allowed the thought to comfort her even in the midst of a battle: At least one thing hadn’t changed.

Nico slammed the butt of his sword against another empousa, as Percy brought Riptide down on a bird, slicing it in two.

Just as Annabeth killed an empousa, another lunged towards her, and she swung her sword. She gripped the hilt of her sword and drove it through another monster. Her eyes did a quick three-sixty, and widened in alarm as she saw a bird flying towards Percy, whose back was turned.

She ran, meeting the bird before it could harm Percy. She raised her sword, fighting off its’ razor-sharp teeth. Before she could stab it, the bird charged towards her, running its deadly metal feathers against her arm.

Annabeth let out a shriek of pain, staggering back as the bird quickly sunk its teeth into her injured arm.

Percy turned, shock clear on his face, fending off the bird. He clutched his sword tighter. Through her hazy vision, she could see him concentrating, gritting his teeth.

It first started with an empousa letting out a scream, another one following its lead. The Stymphalian birds slowed down, some falling to the ground. The monsters began crumpling, dropping dead.

She realized with a start that Percy was controlling them. She forcefully stopped herself from thinking about their time with Akhlys.

She’d been scared then, and she was scared now.

Though Percy rarely showed it, the son of Poseidon had absolute power. He could remove the water from someone’s body, and even the thought of that was terrifying.

“Percy!” She yelled. Annabeth saw the monsters slowly wither away, but some still writhed in pain. “Percy, stop!”

Nico stared at Percy with sheer terror on his face, as Annabeth struggled to move towards him.

“Percy!” Her voice broke into a sob. “Percy, please!”

She miraculously managed to reach him, tugging on his arm that was curled into a fist. “Percy, stop please!”

Her voice must have gotten through to him because he opened up his palms, stumbling backwards.

She glanced at Nico, and a silent understanding seemed to pass through them.

“Maybe we should to rest for a while,” Annabeth said, not letting go of Percy’s arm.

-🦉-

“You promised me,” Annabeth said, her voice barely a whisper but she knew Percy heard her. “That you wouldn’t do that again.”

Nico was curled up on the ground, sleeping soundly, as Annabeth pulled up her knees, resting her chin on them. Percy hadn’t spoken a word to her.

She heard him take in a deep breath. “How’s your arm?” He whispered.

“I told you that some things aren’t meant to be controlled the last time this happened,” she continued, ignoring his concern.

He shakily exhaled, maintaining his distance. “You shouldn’t have taken that hit for me.”

Annabeth wasn’t sure what hurt more: his reluctance to be open with her, or the fact that he stayed away.

“Why, Percy?” she asked, turning to see him looking at everything but her. She placed her hand over his. The way he flinched at the contact made her heart ache. “Why did you do it again?”

He looked at her for the first time since the incident. His eyes were filled with remorse. He looked broken. “I-I can’t stop it,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Percy, this kind of power...it isn’t safe,” she said, swallowing the lump in her throat.

“You’re scared of me, aren’t you?” He asked, a searching gaze on his face.

“I could never be scared of you, Percy,” she replied, squeezing his hand. “But...never mind, we need to get back to camp.”

She pulled her hand away, missing his warmth almost immediately. “Hey, Nico? We need to get moving.”

-🌊-

Annabeth might’ve said that she wasn’t scared of him, but Percy knew. He just knew that what he did terrified her.

He was exactly like the empousai, and Stymphalian birds. Even if he didn’t want to admit, he’d experienced some sort of satisfaction when he controlled the monsters.

He felt disgusted with himself. With what he did. But he wasn’t thinking when he took control. He just knew that he needed to get them away from Annabeth. He felt powerful with adrenaline coursing through his veins. But just like before, Annabeth’s anguish broke through to him again.

Back at camp, he did everything he could to delay the moment he’d meet Annabeth again. The way she looked at him, horrified, replayed in his mind all the time.

Percy sat down at the beach, his hands pressed against the sand. He heard soft footsteps, and Annabeth sat down next to him.

“Hey,” he muttered, knowing that he couldn’t ignore the problem anymore.

“Hey, yourself,” she said, softly, taking his hand in hers.

He glanced at her to see her bandaged arm. That didn’t make him feel any better. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk to you,” she replied. When he opened his mouth to protest, she cut him off. “Look, Percy, I’m not dumb. I know you. You’ve been trying to avoid me and trying to postpone this conversation. But I can’t be like this anymore. We can’t be like this anymore. We need to sort everything out.”

Percy sighed. “I’m sorry.” It seemed like that was all he said these days. “I’m really sorry.” His eyes stung, and before he knew it, tears were falling down his cheeks.

He remembered his fear of drowning from his time on Argo II. Now, he felt like his throat was closing up, like he was suffocating in poisonous waves.

“Percy, it’s okay,” she said, her hands on the small of his back, and he gripped her hand tighter, like he was afraid she’d disappear if he blinked.

“No, no it’s not.”

“Listen, Percy,” she continued. “It's okay, It's okay, Just breathe. You don't have to be sorry for anything, I've got you.”

The thought that had been bothering Percy came back, a voice buzzing in his ear, asking a horrible question.

Percy turned to look at her, his mouth set in a firm line. “How do you destroy a monster without becoming one?” he asked her.

“A mons-Percy, what?” She said, confused.

“It’s just…” His head was pounding and he felt like he might break down any moment.

“Percy, please, just tell me what’s going on. You’ve been acting weird for weeks now,” she said. “I just want you to let me in. Don’t shut me out like this, Percy. Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

“This urge,” he slowly began. “To bloodbend. I’ve been controlling and suppressing it for a while now,” he muttered.

“What?” she asked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was scared, Annabeth,” he admitted. “I’ve been having these nightmares, and they’re not just Tartarus. I see myself losing you, and it’s all my fault.”

“Percy-”

“And in a way, it almost happened, didn’t it?” He continued. “You harmed yourself trying to stop that stupid bird from attacking me.”

“I decided to do that,” she interrupted. “It was my choice, not yours, Percy.”

“But what good am I if I can't protect you?”

“Percy, that’s not true.”

“But it is!” He insisted. “I had to bloodbend back there. What if my usual power wasn’t strong enough? What if you…” died? He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“Percy, nothing of that sort would’ve happened,” she said. “We would’ve taken down those monsters just fine. Besides, we’ve gotta have each other’s backs, right?”

“I just...I thought if I acted like it didn't matter, it wouldn't,” he mumbled.

“Look, Seaweed Brain,” Annabeth said, lacing her fingers with his. “We promised to be open with each other. You shouldn’t hesitate to tell me about things like this, okay?”

“But-”

“I’m here for you, Percy,” she said. “There’s no need to carry this burden by yourself.”

Percy stared at her. When he tried to speak, she leant forwards, pressing her lips to his and effectively shutting him up. He tried to put everything he couldn’t bring himself to say in that kiss:

I’m sorry, I should’ve told you. I’ll tell you everything from now. I was just terrified of you dying. I love you.

They didn’t know how, but they fell asleep there on the beach, their legs tangled together as the sea lapped against their feet.

And for the first time in what seemed like forever, Percy didn’t have nightmares.

[wallgirl]

The Little Nereid Part two

2200 words, part two of a five six part fanfiction

Poseidon x OC

Dynamene, youngest of the 50 Nereids, has lived most of her adolescence as a servant alongside her sisters at Poseidon’s palace. But with her coming-of-age birthday and other developments, what she initially thought was just admiration of her master blossoms into something stronger and more passionate… and painful.

Categories: Romance, angst, unrequited love, coming-of-age, earn-your-happy-ending; no NSFW content

---

               Once she had collected herself and spent enough time admiring the bracelet on her own, Dynamene rose from the bed with a sigh and went to her door. No doubt her family would be wondering what her running was about.

               Upon opening it, several of her sisters nearly fell into the room.

               “Why-! What are you all doing here?” Dynamene gasped, quickly stepping out of the way.

               “We heard you received your gift, and we didn’t want to disturb you, but we were just so curious…” One of the nymphs tweedled her fingers.

               “Ah, yes! My birthday present from Lord Poseidon!” Dynamene beamed and held her bracelet-clad hand up to the light, allowing her sisters a good look at it. They crowded around in awe, cooing with admiration.

               “Dynamene! Are you alright? Ianeira said you came running like a madwoman from Lord Poseidon’s quarters…” Actaea halted with relief at the sight of Dynamene showing off her new bracelet. “Oh, I get it now. So he did give you your gift himself, did he?” She gave Dynamene a rather knowing grin.

               Dynamene blushed. “I mean… Yes, he did. I was very surprised.” She began to turn the beads of the bracelet over in thought. “I’m very happy with it. It’s even mother-of-pearl.”

               “So it is!” Actaea stepped closer to get a better look. “It goes so well with the pins I gave you. You look absolutely spoiled now.”

               Dynamene giggled. “I do have to say that I’m very happy with the presents I’ve received thus far.”

               “Then you’re going to be even more delighted here in a moment,” another sister called from the far end of the hall. Slender Callianassa stood holding her treasured lyre in both hands. “Why don’t you all come down to the sitting room here? I’ll play you anything you’d like, Dynamene.”

               The sisters crowded together down to the large sitting area, one of over a dozen spread out throughout the palace. Dynamene took a place of honor, draped on the side of the couch closest to where Callianassa perched on a gilded chair. “What would you like to hear, Dyna?” Callianassa asked, lightly strumming the instruments strings.

               “Play me something by Erik Satie,” Dynamene said thoughtfully. Her thoughts continued to drift back to that moment in Poseidon’s quarters, where she had stood face-to-face with him.

               “Oh, Erik Satie! That’s furniture music,” Thoe scoffed from where she had begun brushing Actaea’s hair.

               “You’re so old-fashioned, Thoe,” murmured Callianassa. “Let’s see… I’ll start with the Gymnopedies, Dyna.” She began to softly pluck at the lyre.

               Dynamene gave a sigh of contentment and allowed herself to close her eyes. It really had been such a wonderful day thus far. She felt so lucky and at peace to be here, surrounded by her loving sisters, enjoying a calm afternoon on her birthday. The golden sunlight washing in through the open windows caressed her skin with warmth. The gentle, bittersweet melody began to envelop her, and she found herself picturing Poseidon’s unwavering grey gaze. The tender somberness of the song brought to mind the emptiness in his eyes. How was it that someone so beautiful, so mesmerizing, felt so completely cold and void?

               And yet a powerful aura emitted from him wherever he went. He was heartless, but he was also smart and strong. What he lacked in sentiment he made up for ten-fold as a god with his vast knowledge of the ocean and his subjects.

               The ocean, his domain… How fitting for a man as unfathomable as he.

               The sound of familiar footsteps echoing along a distant hall brought a stop to Callianassa’s playing, and Dynamene looked up. The rest of the Nereids halted whatever they were doing and stood; those footsteps could only belong to one person. Dynamene quickly got to her feet as well, straightening her peplos with quick hands. She felt that strange tingle returning to her veins, creeping from her wrists up her spine.

               Lord Poseidon entered the room, and the fifty sisters immediately dropped to a quick curtsy. As the eldest, Ianeira stood at the head of the group, ready to engage their master.

               He said nothing, as he was typically wont to do, for a moment, taking in the room. “We will be receiving Lady Hera here tomorrow afternoon.”

               Several of the sisters tilted their heads or tapped their chins in reaction to the news. Lady Hera didn’t visit that often, but she was one of the few Olympians to make it a point to see her brother from time to time. Unfortunately, Lord Poseidon and Lady Hera didn’t often see eye-to-eye, and her visits often ended with him annoyed and her in a rage.

               “I will be meeting with her in my quarters. There is no need to prepare the guest suite,” he finished.

               That part wasn’t unusual. Poseidon did his best to keep his interactions with his family private affairs, usually entertaining them in his sitting room in his private quarters. The sisters exhaled silently in relief. Hera was always polite to them when she visited, but she had incredibly high standards of cleanliness, not unlike her brother. Preparing a suite for her was always nerve-wracking.

               “Of course, my lord,” Ianeira replied. “We will see to it that the palace is fit to receive her.”

               His instructions finished, Poseidon turned and left as abruptly as he had arrived. Dynamene stared after his vanishing figure, her hand lingering on the bracelet.

               “We have our instructions,” Ianeira said, turning to the others. “We’ll start the preparations after lunch.”

               With that, most of the sisters returned to their leisurely activities, some breaking off to have lunch early. Callianassa took her lyre up once more, and Dynamene returned to her perch on the couch. But her mind was now racing with the news of Hera’s visit. Hera usually came to Poseidon’s palace with one goal in mind…

               Convincing him to marry.

               It was just in her nature. As the goddess of matrimony, she worked hard to pair up her relatives and see them happily settled. A loner like Poseidon who refused to take a partner irked her to no end. Dynamene wasn’t entirely sure what her end goal was in seeing Poseidon married, but that mystery was best left to the Olympians who knew her well. Perhaps she considered Poseidon’s refusal to marry a personal affront to her own nature as the goddess of marriage. No matter her persistence, however, Poseidon would never bend. That was why their visits always ended in both parties with a sour mood. Dynamene often wondered why he bothered to entertain her coming in the first place, but then again, Poseidon was a pragmatist in these matters. He probably allowed her to make her arguments simply to keep the peace between him and her – and by extension, her husband Zeus.

               Not that Hera herself was someone to trifle with on any accounts. One disastrous visit 700 years ago had ended with Hera punching a column that upheld Poseidon’s personal balcony, completely levelling it in the process. It had taken forty skilled workmen seven days, working day and night, to restore it to its prior condition. Hera was the most feared goddess of the Greek pantheon, sheerly on account of her wrath. Not to say that Poseidon could not take her in a fight; he mostly certainly could, and he would win. But Hera’s destructive fury wouldn’t leave him unscathed, if things came to blows.

               Dynamene swallowed and forced herself to come back to her senses. There was no point in letting her fears run away from her. Since that incident so long ago, Hera had been largely successful in reining in her violence around her brother and his palace. Nowadays, when she visited, only harsh words were exchanged.

               And yet, Dynamene found herself dreading Hera’s arrival. Was it because of Hera herself?

               Or was it because of the topic that would no doubt be broached yet again?

               “Alright, sisters,” Ianeira called, clapping her hands. “Lunch is ready for all. We’ll begin work after.”

               With a sigh, Dynamene pulled herself from the couch. There was no use worrying now.

               Several hours later, with the great entrance hall freshly scrubbed and polished, and the special velvet carpets laid out, the Nereids’ work was done for the day. Dynamene slipped out onto one of the smaller balconies overlooking the ocean for a breath of fresh air. She inhaled the scent of the seawater with relish; as a sea nymph, it would always be her favorite scent. The door softly opened and closed behind her, and Actaea stepped forward in the moonlight to join her.

               “Finally, everything pristine and in its place,” her older sister sighed, gazing out at the ocean. “I’m sorry the latter half of your birthday was so dull.”

               “No, it’s fine,” Dynamene smiled. “I got to spend plenty of time with all of you, and several nice presents to boot. I’d say it was a pretty fine birthday.”

               “Always the optimist,” Actaea tousled her hair fondly. “Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it. You won’t have another for the next century!” She sighed, voice full of reminiscence. “I cannot believe you are a woman now. It seems not long ago, when we first arrived here, you were hiding behind our skirts and shrinking behind furniture. And now look at you; a smart, well-read, considerate young lady.”

               “I still don’t feel that… grown up,” Dynamene confessed, looking down at her hands. “I still look so childish. And I’m still so clumsy.”

               “Coming-of-age is just the line drawn by the world, the official cut-off point between child and adult. The task of growing up is a giant blur; not one you can compartmentalize. Give it time, and you’ll feel grown-up soon enough.” Actaea smiled kindly.

               Dynamene took a deep breath, deciding to share what was weighing on her mind. “Truth be told, I am… worried about Hera’s visit tomorrow.”

               “Oh, everyone is worried about that,” Actaea laughed. “But she’s been well-behaved these past several centuries, no? I don’t think we have much to fret about.”

               “Well, yes, but… It’s not just Hera’s temper. I mean… She always comes to talk to Lord Poseidon about one thing,” Dynamene continued lowly, twisting her hands.

               Actaea looked mystified for a moment, then her eyes widened lightly as it dawned on her what Dynamene was referring to.

               “If Poseidon marries, we’ll have a lady-of-the-house,” Dynamene ventured. “And I suppose I’m just worried about what that would mean for us.” She turned her bracelet over on her wrist. Its iridescent surface caught the moonlight in haunting cool hues.

               Actaea was quiet for several moments. “Dynamene, you know as well as I do that Poseidon will never take a bride,” she said softly.

               Dynamene looked up at her older sister’s face. There was something she couldn’t place in her sister’s eyes. She slowly turned her face back to the ocean, gripping the balustrade tightly. “You’re right,” she replied. “It’s not something we should worry about.” A tight pricking sensation came to her chest.

               Actaea squeezed her shoulder comfortingly. “We should head to bed now, little sister. We’ll want our energy for whatever Hera brings our way tomorrow.” She grinned dryly before going back inside, leaving Dynamene alone again with her thoughts.

               Dynamene gave the dark ocean with its frothy foam one last longing glance. Her thoughts had been in a dizzy whirlwind all day long, it seemed. She desperately wished that she could go down for a swim, just to clear her head…

               The more she considered it, the better it sounded. The idea was tantalizingly delicious in the face of the strange weight in her heart. With quick, quiet footsteps, she rushed through the dark palace and down those 150 steps to the shore. She took a moment to take in the vast ocean again, with its white foam crests and the soothing rush of its waves. Stripping off her peplos and chiton, she folded them and placed them atop a nearby rock, making sure the pins gifted to her by Actaea were wrapped well within. Dynamene looked down at her wrist, momentarily debating taking off the bracelet as well, but couldn’t bring herself to remove it. Surely, as mother-of-pearl, it would be just fine in the seawater, wouldn’t it?

               With eager steps, she waded into the cold ocean water, allowing the spray of the waves to pelt her skin in its soothing rhythm. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to concentrate. Her older sisters were much more skilled in joining themselves to the water, but she still needed more time to focus her energy. Before long, her body began to slip away in the ocean, melting into foam. She gave a sigh of contentment. Although they might spend the majority of their lives in humanoid form on land, the Nereids were really most at home in the sea, their source of life and spirit. The dark, powerful waters cradled her fluid form, not unlike the weight of that presence she cherished back on land.

             With her body now joined to the water, her essence little more than a current, she slipped deep into the darkness and allowed her thoughts to melt away.

---

Author’s notes: A new sister added to the bunch. The Nereids asides from Dynamene are:

Actaea – caring sister

Callianassa – musically inclined sister

Eione – tomboy sister

Thoe – rude sister

Ianeira – oldest sister

I did my best to pick names for them that are each unique, to help differentiate them. These are all names of Nereids mentioned in real Greek mythology, but the resemblance largely stops there.

Now we’re starting to bite into the meat of the story; the main conflict. You know, Poseidon is a really static character to have as a love interest, but I have plans to flesh him out a little bit more in the next parts, so it doesn’t seem like Dynamene’s in love with a freaking statue (though with the way he acts most of the time, she might as well be)

What is the time period this fic takes place in, you ask? no one asked that

Well, it’s kind of an anachronism-stew situation. If we try to put a time on when Poseidon rose to power as king of the oceans, we might be able to slap the date on that as 1000 BC, roughly around when the Greek Pantheon as we know them started to be widely worshipped. Assuming that the Nereids came to serve Poseidon around the same time period, and that it’s been 1000 years since, that puts us around the year 0. However, Erik Satie composed the Gymnopedies in the late 1800s. So who knows? I’ve given up on making it make sense

[hansols-yoda-boxers]

In Bloom - Part 3

Plant Monster!Yunho x Female Reader x Water Nymph!Yeosang

Word Count: 4991

Contents: accidentally suggesting a threesome, threesome, vines and vine bondage, aphrodisiac pollen, powers that manipulate sensation what even is this, breast play, hand job, clit stimulation with fingers, oral (male and female giving and receiving), unprotected sex

Notes: @lustjoong ahhhh it’s f i n a l l y done lmao. I hope everyone likes it and I hope you really enjoy the wrap up tho I could write more who knows hehe

Prequel | Introduction | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

What Yunho’s Flowers Look Like

Getting to know Yeosang was a slow process. The rain of the monsoon season gave way to the heat of late summer and then the crisp days of early fall as you spent more and more time with the two. Yeosang spent more and more time with you when you visited, talking to you and telling you small things about himself.

Yunho seemed happy that the two of you got along. More and more you realized he had been nervous, having you around but not knowing about Yeosang. They were close and the fact that the two of you got along as well as you did helped ease his mind.

It did mean, of course, that Yunho and you had a bit less sex. Neither of you wanted to kick Yeosang out, you enjoyed his company. But you also both got a little antsy, particularly when one of you was already needy and Yeosang peeked in on you before anything could actually happen.

And so, maybe it was unsurprising that some days the second you found your way to Yunho’s little home he’d grab you and kiss you hard, leaving no time for talking. Other days as you sat and talked with him and Yeosang, he’d pull you into his lap and start kissing your shoulders or nuzzling against you and wrapping you in vines until Yeosang made some sort of excuse and jumped back into the water, leaving the two of you alone.

Today, you had a feeling, might be one of the latter. As you made it to the pond Yeosang peeked out at you, eyes glinting and voice calling your name softly. You felt bad that it made your heart sink just a little to see him. It wasn’t that you didn’t like him, but that you were hoping to make it to Yunho first. You could of course just tell him to leave but you didn’t want to, despite his quiet nature he seemed eager to get to know you and happy to have someone else to talk to and it warmed your heart.

“There are ways for… you, to come underwater?” Yeosang asked as he swam along beside you and you followed the water towards Yunho’s home.

“I mean I could just swim,” you chuckled.

“Ah no. Can you… how do you breathe?”

“Oh,” you hummed. “Yeah no I can’t breath underwater.” You listened to Yeosang’s quiet chuckle. “I mean, if I could get my hands on some scuba gear,” you mused.

You caught Yeosang’s eye. He had a smile on his face and a hopeful expression and you couldn’t help the way it made your heart swell.

“I- I don’t know if I can though,” his smile faltered. “But i-if I figure it out I will. I promise.”

“Ah,” he thought for a moment before speaking again. “I want to show you underwater.”

“You do?” you should have guessed that was what he was getting at, but some part of it still surprised you.

“Yes,” he hummed. “I think you would like it.”

A smile tugged at your lips as you gazed at him, though the foliage grew up around you and grew darker. You knew now that you were close to Yunho’s home as it always got the thickest before where he lived. You wondered how many of the workers had been in this deep.

“What are you thinking?” Yeosang seemed to know you were contemplating something.

“I- do people know about Yunho’s home? Do people know about yours?”

“Not many know me,” he said simply. “I can… hide well. I think… only a few know of here.”

“I’m glad you two have each other,” you said quietly. “Otherwise it would be too lonely.”

Yeosang let out a laugh, though one too sad in tone. “It is still lonely. Less lonely, but it is lonely.” He said. “I miss…”

You glanced at him in the darkness, knowing that soon enough it would lift as you found the clearing, but he seemed almost lost in memory. You bit on your lip, unsure if you should say anything but as the silence stretched out, deciding it would be best to.

“What do you miss?”

Yeosang blinked a few times before gazing up at you, mumbling something too quietly for you to hear before shaking his head as you pushed past the last few large leaves.

“It does not matter,” he smiled at you. “We are here. I will meet you inside?”

“Okay…” your word trailed off as he dove down into the water. You did yearn to know more about him, but now seemed not to be the time. Both Yunho and Yeosang could be quiet and secretive about their pasts and you were sure there would be a lot you didn’t understand. You just worried, sometimes they seemed so somber and you wished you could help somehow.

“Oh thank gosh!” As soon as you pushed through the door Yunho wrapped you in vines and pulled you closer quickly. You didn’t manage to get a word out before he was kissing you and you couldn’t help the smile it brought to your lips. Your fingers found a vine and you dragged your nails over it lightly, drawing a small whine from Yunho’s lips but managing to get his attention.

“Is tha-”

“Yeosang is coming.”

“Agh!” Yunho plopped down into the soft moss, bringing you down into his lap. “Okay but if I just start making out with you-”

“Yunho, he’s always so excited to hang out with us,” you chided.

Yunho buried his face in your neck. “Is it bad that I just really wanna have sex with my girlfriend?”

Even in your surprise you couldn’t help the way you smiled and your cheeks warmed at his somewhat sudden confession.

“Not that- I mean I know it’s not- this isn’t really- I haven’t-”

You quieted his nervous babbles with a kiss. “I know it’s complicated, but I’ve already been thinking of you as my boyfriend anyway.” You hummed.

Yunho kissed you again, pulling you to face him. “Can I kick him out now so we can celebrate?”

“We can celebrate later,” you hummed. “And I know you’ll want to tell him.”

As if on cue Yeosang made his way through the door, wrapped in a large, soft sweater. You always wondered how he dried off so fast but you had yet to question it and you had a feeling it was another answer you might not understand.

“I have a girlfriend!” As you expected, Yunho couldn’t keep the news in as he squeezed you in his arms. Yeosang’s face broke into a smile, though there was something nervous behind it as he sat in the moss with the two of you.

“I am glad you finally asked.” He said.

“How long have you been thinking about that?” you questioned, watching the colour rise in Yunho’s cheeks.

“J-Just a while.”

“Over a month,” Yeosang corrected him. “I just…” he broke off into his own language.

Yunho’s face fell a little as he replied, resting his head on your shoulder as you listened to them, wondering if it was possible for you to learn it. You thought so, since they seemed to both make sounds like humans did. Maybe they would teach you.

“It’ll be fine,” Yunho finally said, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“I hope…” Yeosang sounded sincere as he watched Yunho’s actions. “Should I…?”

“You don’t have to leave yet,” you said, though Yunho let out a small whine. “You just got here.”

“I think,” Yeosang looked between the two of you with a bemused smile. “Yunho would like you alone.”

You felt heat rush to your face. You hadn’t thought too much about it and he’d never mentioned anything about it before but it made sense that he knew you had sex. He usually just excused himself and the way he called it out a little more clearly had a flood of embarrassment rushing through you. Still you felt bad about the idea of kicking him out.

“You can stay.” You said. Yeosang chuckled and Yunho let out a muffled sound against your skin as you processed your words fully.

“I- I didn’t mean-” Yunho started to laugh and you smacked his arm as his laughter spread to Yeosang. “Shut up! You know that’s not what I meant!”

“I didn’t know you wanted Yeosang to watch, sweetheart,” Yunho teased. Yeosang added something and the two of them cracked up, tears in their eyes as they laughed.

You shoved Yunho despite not being able to move from his lap. “What did he say?”

“Something along the lines of ‘kinky.’” Yunho laughed, wiping tears from his eyes.

“You two are so mean,” you grumbled.

“You were the one who said it,” Yeosang teased.

“If that’s what you want you can say it,” Yunho laughed.

“I wouldn’t ask for that!” You cried. “That wouldn’t even be fair anyway, not unless he joined in.”

You should have known you were digging the hole deeper and yet somehow that slipped past you until Yunho cracked up even more and Yeosang looked at you with wide eyes.

“Would you really… suggest that?” he asked slowly.

“Has this been on your mind, sweetheart?” Yunho was still teasing you but you could feel the immense heat on your face as your mind started to wrap around the idea, unwilling to let it go.

“I-I- n-no.”

Surprise finally overtook Yunho’s expression as his giggles subsided. “Wait, are you actually serious?”

You wanted to hide in the wake of their surprised gazes and you curled in on yourself. “That wasn’t- You guys just- I-I mean it would be the only fair option, th-that’s all.”

Yunho was much gentler as he cupped your face and turned you to look at him. “Is that all you’re saying?”

Your head started to spin as you gazed back at Yeosang, taking in his curious stare and the way he leaned towards the two of you. Then back to Yunho, feeling somehow helpless and nervous at the prospect of it and yet, with shivers rushing down your spine from the idea of it.

“I-I- Couldn’t it be fun?” You finally said, feeling small.

Yunho looked up at Yeosang, colour rising in his cheeks as he spoke to him quickly, a nervous grin tugging at his lips. You hid your face in Yunho’s chest as they talked but you heard Yeosang shifting closer and your heart was pounding in your ears as different ideas, different images all started to rush into your mind. 

You felt Yunho’s hand slip under your chin, finally lifting your face to look up. You followed their gaze upwards to the flowers along the ceiling. They bloomed slowly and what looked like fine, yellow pollen started to fall from his flowers. Your eyelids fluttered as the scent hit your nose and you breathed it in.

“What is that?” you hummed, relaxing against Yunho.

“It will… help us to not be awkward,” he replied before pressing a kiss to your jaw. Yeosang murmured something as he shifted a little closer, looking between the two of you with more intensity now.

“I’ve found it can,” Yunho’s voice was low as he murmured against your jaw and a rush of arousal ran through you. “Help turn people on.”

You let your hand fall into the moss as you finally met Yunho’s lips. Yeosang’s fingers found yours and you sighed against Yunho’s lips at the calm feeling that washed over you at his touch, a cool, refreshing feeling rolling through your body. Yeosang pressed his lips to the base of your neck, kissing you slowly and drawing his fingers in shapes over your skin that left a cool feeling in their wake.

Yeosang whined against your shoulder, murmuring something to Yunho who broke your kiss to answer. You gazed at Yeosang and a grin tugged at your lips when you saw the way his body was wrapped in Yunho’s vines just as you were, pulling him closer.

Yunho caught your lips again, his tongue pressing past them and the kisses growing deeper and sloppier. You let your free hand slip up and tangle into his hair. Yeosang’s fingers started to trail up your arm as his lips kissed slowly along your collarbone. His fingers moved until they met the strap of your shirt, next to his lips. He seemed to hesitate for a moment before pulling the strap down slowly, pulling your bra strap with it.

Yunho’s lips moved down to kiss along your jaw and you felt him smile as a vine curled around your other shirt strap, pulling it off your shoulder as well. His lips trailed down your neck slowly, stopping to suck at your skin and leave marks in their wake. You let your eyes flutter shut as you breathed deeply, though your heart was starting to race and butterflies tickled your stomach as they kissed lower, closer and closer to revealing your chest.

Not like Yunho hadn’t seen you naked dozens of times. That itself didn’t make you nervous. Maybe Yeosang did a little but if anything, it was suddenly having both of them focusing on you making you shy as they kissed down your body. Your breathing seemed to pick up on it’s own and you gripped Yunho’s hair just a little tighter.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, as if on cue. You peeked down to find him giving you a sweet smile before kissing along the top of your breast gently. You felt Yeosang’s hand slip into yours, fingers entwining and the feeling of calm washed over you again as he murmured “So beautiful” against your skin.

You let out a deep sigh, relaxing more as they pushed the cups of your bra down gently, Yunho letting out a quiet hum while Yeosang let out a low groan. You bit down on your lower lip as Yeosang ran his tongue over your nipple gently. Yunho kissed back up your neck and jaw as a thin vine curled around your body and then around your breast.

A whimper slipped past your lips as the vine wrapped around your nipple and tugged gently. Yunho’s lips found yours and he grinned into the kisses as you let out small whimpers and moans.

You let your hand fall from his hair and slip down his chest as you shifted a little in his lap. You let your hand purposely slow as you moved down his lower stomach, listening to his breath hitch and feeling him shift his hips. Your hand finally made it into his lap and you slowly started to palm him through his pants.

Yeosang let out a small whimper around your nipple and you pulled your hand away from his, feeling along his thighs and feeling the way heat rushed to your face and between your legs as you felt how hard he was. Some amount of confidence started to seep into you as both of them moaned and pressed into your hands.

You dragged Yunho’s bottom lip between yours as you pulled back from the kiss, smirking at the lust filled look in his eyes. You both gazed at Yeosang, his expression hazy and desperate and his lips still wrapped around your nipple. Yunho brought his lips to your neck as you moved your hands to the waist of his pants, moving out of his lap gently and slipping his pants down past his hips. His moans grew whiner as you turned to Yeosang, slipping him out of his pants as well before wrapping a hand around each of their cocks.

Both of them let out beautiful moans as you started to pump them and tease the tips of their cocks, their sounds muffled against your skin. Yunho’s fingers slid along your thighs and you parted them for him, feeling his vine wrap just a little tighter around your nipple as he groaned against your neck, his fingers easily pushing into your pants and between your legs.

You let out a moan as his fingers dragged through your folds, gathering your arousal before teasing your clit slowly. Sparks of pleasure ignited within you and you started to slip into desperation, pumping each of them a little faster and letting your head fall back as you rocked your hips down, following the movements of Yunho’s fingers. 

Moans fell from all of your lips as you each moved your hips, desperate for more contact, more sensation. Yunho’s and Yeosang’s moans were muffled against your skin but each of yours had them bucking into your hands and groaning against you. You heard Yeosang’s moans grow whiny as his lips started to move up your chest until he could nip at your ear.

“Please,” he hummed. “More.”

Heat rushed through you and you let out a low moan at his words and all of Yunho’s vines wrapped you both a little tighter as he raised his gaze, heated and lust filled as he regarded Yeosang before pressing a kiss under your ear.

“I agree,” Yunho murmured smoothly. “Let’s move on.”

You bit down on your lip and nodded, feeling his vines shift on you before he was gripping at your shirt to pull it off and Yeosang’s hand was sliding up your back to undo your bra. You sighed at the feeling of their fingertips on your skin, moving lightly but you were already sensitive enough for it to add to your arousal.

Yunho’s hands travelled down to your hips, properly pulling off your pants as Yeosang pressed kisses along your shoulders and his fingertips came up to play with your nipples, sending a cool feeling rushing through you as pleasure sparked within your body. Your heavily lidded gaze slipped down to Yunho, fingers pushing your thighs apart and smirking up at you. You leaned back into Yeosang and spread your legs a little wider for him, letting out small gasps as his tongue licked at your folds and over your clit.

A few whimpers fell from your lips but they were short lived as Yunho pulled away, his gaze meeting Yeosang’s over your shoulder. He spoke quickly to him as you squirmed, feeling impatient for more and he soothed you, rubbing his hand comfortingly over your thigh until he started to chuckle.

You looked back at Yeosang to see him blushing, seeming to stumble a little over his words but a nervous grin tugging at his lips. You looked between the two of them until Yeosang was nodding and moving away from you whined at the loss of contact, a pout jutting out your lower lip. Yeosang and Yunho slipped off their pants fully and Yeosang his sweater as Yunho grinned at you.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Yunho hummed. “Lay down for me.”

You laid back in the soft moss and a squeal fell from your lips as Yuhno flipped you onto your side quickly. You caught the smirk on his face as he rolled onto his side and shifted between your legs, wrapping you in vines to keep you steady. Your eyes met Yeosang’s catching the desperate, heated look he wore as he laid down too and you finally caught onto Yunho’s idea.

As Yeosang moved his hips towards you, you reached out and wrapped your hand around his cock, urging him closer to you. He let out a low moan as you took the tip of his cock into your mouth, vines wrapping around him as well and Yunho sucking your clit between his lips to draw a moan from you.

You peeked at Yeosang, savouring his pants and moans as he moved a little closer to Yunho, colour tinting his cheeks and gaze hazy as he took Yunho’s cock into his mouth and Yunho groaned against your core, sending vibrations of pleasure shooting through you.

You moaned and let your eyes fall closed, trying to focus your mind on teasing the underside of Yeosang’s cock with your tongue, the way he rocked his hips into your mouth and moaned around Yunho. Your hand moved slowly on the base of his cock, twisting slightly and finally taking more of him into your mouth.

Yunho’s tongue dragged through your folds, growing more feverish as Yeosang sucked him off. He focused his attention on your sensitive clit, running his tongue over it just the way you liked and gripping your hips tightly as they tried the buck and roll against his face, desire burning bright inside you.

Pleasure sparked through you, the flame burning hotter and hotter by the second. Yunho’s tongue knew you too well by now and he had you coming undone for him far too fast, thighs trembling slightly as your hips moved against his face in a plea for more, moans muffled by the cock between your lips.

You let out soft curses and moans around Yeosang as you took him as deeply as you could into your mouth, sucking him off quickly. His and Yunho’s moans only served to turn you on more, mind spinning and body burning as you started to climb towards your edge, your free hand gripping Yeosang’s hip tightly.

Yunho let his tongue dip into your heat, unable to stop himself from groaning at your taste and hips bucking into Yeosang’s mouth, drawing a whimper from the nymph, his hips bucking gently towards you as you hollowed your cheeks around him.

You heard Yunho curse between your legs before running his tongue over your clit and sucking it between his lips. Each of you bucked and rolled your hips into the others mouths, letting out muffled moans, Yunho’s hands and vines holding your tightly as a nearby flower burst open.

Yunho let out a beautiful moan against you and Yeosang a muffled whine as Yunho released into his mouth, bucking and thrusting as he came. He let out a few pants against you before sucking your clit between his lips harshly.

You cried out around Yeosang’s cock as you came. Your release crashed over you and your thighs squeezed in around his head as you rolled your hips and rode out your high on his tongue. The sensations sucked you under into bliss, panting and whimpering as sensitivity took over your body.

Yunho sat up slowly, pulling you up along with him and kissing you deeply. Arousal rushed through you at your own taste on his lips and as you heard Yeosang’s whine, you reached out behind yourself, finding his hand and pulling him a little closer. He sat up shakily, kissing up your neck and moving up your check until you shifted to kiss him, moaning quietly at the taste of Yunho’s cum on his lips, fingers tugging at Yunho’s hair.

“Yunho, lay down for me,” you hummed, a thought forming in your hazy head. Yunho regarded you curiously before doing what you asked. You pulled Yeosang with you as you moved around until you were between Yunho’s legs. You gave him a smirk as you wrapped your hand around his cock and kissed the tip, then lifted your hips at the air, gazing back over your shoulder at Yeosang and wiggling your hips.

“You haven’t cum get, Yeosang.”

Yeosang said something, and despite you not knowing the word you were sure it was a curse as he moved behind you, groaning as he ground his cock against your ass and his hands found your hips. You pressed back against him as your eyes met Yunho’s and he groaned, taking in the sight and already sensitive as you started to tease his cock with your tongue.

Yeosang guided his cock into you slowly, letting a beautiful deep moan fall from his lips as he sunk his cock into you. You let out a moan and Yunho’s fingers threaded into your hair, vines curled up your arms and small flowers blooming on them as he guided your mouth onto his cock, heat burning in his intense gaze.

Yeosang pulled his hips back before thrusting into you and your thighs trembled as you moaned around Yunho’s cock, eyes fluttering shut as pleasure rushing through your body. Yunho let out a breathy chuckle.

“You look so fucked out already, sweetheart,” he teased. “You need to make sure you moan loud enough to let him know.”

Yunho spoke to Yeosang and the way they spoke, the deep tones of their voices made your head spin and had you clenching around Yeosang as you hollowed your cheeks around Yunho and his hand pushed your head down just a little more on his cock.

Yeosang’s pace picked up, thrusts becoming rougher. The pleasure in your core mixed with a cool, intense feeling rushing through you from his touch. The sensation had you trembling as Yunho started to rock up into your mouth. A sweet smell surrounded you again as more pollen fell around all of you and each of you moaned, arousal rushing through you.

Yeosang began to snap his hips into you, chasing the high that had already been close at hand. His movements pushed you forward onto Yunho’s cock and you relaxed your jaw as much as you could, taking him deeper into your mouth as you did your best to suck him off. You heard Yeosang’s voice, breathy and low as your name fell off his lips over and over like a mantra. Your movements on Yunho’s cock grew more messy but he didn’t seem to mind, guiding your head and letting out groans. Drool started to slip from the corners of your mouth and your body shook.

Pleasure rushed through you and you felt Yunho’s vines curl around you tightly. Each thrust into your heat was like a wave of pleasure taking over you and had you pressing your hips back messily for more. The coil inside you curled tighter and tighter as Yunho bucked up into your mouth. You felt vines curl around your nipples and tug them, far more harshly than earlier and nearly overwhelming you with sensations.

You clenched around Yeosang, shaking and moaning so incredibly close to your edge again. Yeosang’s hips snapped into you roughly, beautiful sounds falling off of his lips and grip on your hips tight. Each deep, quick movement building until your eyes rolled back and fluttered shut from the pleasure as you moaned out around Yunho’s cock. 

Yeosang pulled out fully, pumping his cock over your back as he let out gorgeous low moans. His cum landed on your ass, dripping down and slipping down to the small of your back, a calming feeling soaking into you from his release. He collapsed into the soft moss beside you, panting.

Yunho was quick to flip you onto your back, drawing a gasp from your lips as your needy gaze caught his. His lips crashed against yours as he wedged himself between your legs and sunk his cock into your heat, both of you on the edge of cumming again.

His hips snapped against yours as he moaned against your lips, and your fingers dug into the soft moss beneath you as pleasure rushed through you from each of his rough thrusts. The coil in your core curled impossibly tight as you built closer and closer to your peek, thighs shaking and squeezing around Yunho’s waist.

You felt Yeosang’s fingers touch yours. His lips pressed lazily against your shoulder as his panting slowly calmed. He pulled your hand from the moss and laced his fingers with yours again. A small whine left his lips as he sent a rush of sensation through your body, refreshing and cool and at the same time extremely arousing.

Your back arched off the ground below as you cried out. You clenched hard around Yunho as you came. Your eyes squeezed shut and stars burst in your vision and you felt dizzy as you body shook hard. Pleasure crashed over you in a wave as your orgasm reached every inch of your body, sensations rushing through you to your fingertips and toes and the feeling dragging out, your body continuing to cum as Yunho snapped his hips into you and your cries turned to screams.

 Yunho let out low moans and his hips grew sloppy as he fucked you through your orgasm, his own thighs trembling from the effort but his hips not letting up as his lips fell against your neck, your name falling off his lips over and over.

As you started to come down your entire body trembled. Yunho’s hips stuttered to a stop as he released inside you and let out a loud moan, holding you as tight as he could. His breaths came out shaky as he ground against you shallowly until he’s finished riding out his high.

Yunho’s body was trembling as he pulled out of you before collapsing into the moss on your other side, panting heavily and reaching out for your hand. You laced your fingers with his and squeezed both of their hands.

“That was so good,” you breathed.

“I see now why you both… often kick me out,” Yeosang hummed. You felt heat rush to your face but Yeosang let out a chuckle and squeezed your hand. “Do not worry, I will not join in every time.”

“I don’t think she’d mind if you did,” Yunho laughed, though it was cut short, morphing into a groan as you kneed him in the thigh.

“I’m not the only one,” you let your head fall to the side and took in the pink on his cheeks and the sheepish grin on his lips. “I wasn’t the only one enjoying myself.”

“Then,” You turned your head and your heart melted a little at the deep blush on his cheeks. “May I join you… sometimes?”

Yunho rolled onto his side, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “I think so,” he hummed.

“Absolutely,” you smiled, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips.

[florafey]

Malogranatum - 6

To Whom the Desperate Call

Persephone awoke with the sun but remained in bed for much longer, content to keep her eyes closed and bask in the memories of the previous night. The sun was warm against her curled body and if she dozed deep enough, it almost felt like the feeling Hades had given her low in her belly. It was strange and new but not unwelcome. 

She had been granted the attention of the god of the Underworld for the remaining hours of her stay at the party. As far as she was aware, the party was still going strong but Demeter’s ignorance of her daughter’s disobedience demanded Persephone wake up in her own bed and relatively on time. Fear of her mother’s wrath was the only thing strong enough to force Persephone to bid Hades an early good night so she could descend back to the mortal realm. Hades had understood, had laughed even, at Persephone’s excuse. Apparently he was quite familiar with Demeter’s overbearance. 

The feeling of his hands still lingered on Persephone’s skin. He hadn’t touched her more than what was necessary or polite, but each time his fingers had brushed her skin was seared into her memory and would never be forgotten. Kissing her hand in greeting and farewell. Tilting her chin up to look her in the eye. Brushing her fingers when handing her a drink. Persephone curled her hands into her bedsheets, her pulse starting to race. What did this mean? Why was she responding this way to him? Was he responding the same way to her?

~~~~~

Far below the realm in which Persephone lay in the sun, the god of Underworld sat at his expansive oak desk. Neat by habit, the desk’s contents were currently strewn about in an uncharacteristically chaotic pattern. Hades’ attention was not on the business he needed to be attending to. It hadn’t been for quite some time. He sat languidly in his chair, long legs stretched out, an arm over the back. An uncharacteristically relaxed stance to go along with an uncharacteristic desk. 

He knew he shouldn’t have gone to his brother’s foolish party. But how was he supposed to know she was going to be there? Demeter’s daughter was the last goddess he expected to see striding confidently across Zeus’ lawn, her mother nowhere to be seen. She was also the last person he expected to march right up to him and lie to his face with her almond eyes crinkled in the most compelling smile he’d ever had the pleasure of having directed at him. And he had been on the receiving end of many a pleasing expression. 

Damn if that girl didn’t distract him. He had work to do, and lots of it, but everytime he tried to focus on something his mind would stubbornly pull towards Persephone, like a puppy trying to reach his toy. It was not pleasing. If he didn’t like Persephone so much he would be angry with her for distracting him like this. And to what end? Every footstep in his kingdom belonged to someone else. Every voice that dared raise itself to his ears had a different pitch than hers. Every lock of curled hair was far from resembling Persephone’s so what did it matter?

Hades pushed back from his desk in a sudden burst of movement, rising to his full height. Cerberus rose one of his heads from his lounged position by the door. His eyes told Hades that he knew what his master was feeling. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” Hades’ voice was rough with disuse; he had allowed himself to sit in distracted silence for a few hours too long. Cerberus blinked and did little else. When he finally laid his large head back on his paws, Hades caught a glimpse of the daisy still stuck through his collar. It had been there for over a day now but it remained perfectly intact. Of course a flower gifted by the goddess of spring would fail to wilt. Something about the sight of it struck Hades in a certain, unfamiliar way. As much as he wanted to pluck the flower from Cerberus’ collar and crumple it in his hand to get rid of the memory of her, his fingers were gentle as he pulled it out and placed it on his desk. The god of the Underworld allowed himself to reminisce on the softness of Persephone’s skin before shaking himself and leaving to find a cold bath. 

~~~~~

It was only when Persephone heard Demeter’s voice outside her window that she finally pushed her sheets back and rose for the day. Demeter was in one of the back fields, close enough that her voice drifted into the room but far enough away that Persephone couldn’t make out what she was saying. An unfamiliar voice had begun speaking in turn; Persephone hurried to get dressed. She pushed the door open and stepped outside as she finished tying her curls back, but she only got a few steps into the grass before her eyes found her mother and froze. 

Persephone recognized the woman her mother was speaking to. The goddess, rather. Nike had been rather adamant about her dislike for this certain goddess; it was impossible for Persephone not to recognize her. 

Nemesis’ hair glinted obsidian in the sunlight as she gave Persephone a curling smile. Persephone’s skin broke out in goosebumps despite the warm sunlight. What could Nemesis possibly want from Demeter? She had never come here before. She wouldn’t have come with the intention of informing Demeter where Persephone had been last night, would she? Nemesis was still dressed in her party clothes; there was every possibility that she had come straight from the revel and even intended on returning. For a brief moment Persephone wondered if Hades was still there too, but then Demeter turned, Persephone caught sight of her mother’s face, and her mind went blank. 

With a malicious wink, Nemesis disappeared, and Persephone knew exactly why she had come. Demeter was striding towards her now and there was nothing Persephone could do except hold her chin up and keep her breaths even. 

“How dare you!” The screaming started well before Demeter was within reach. “After everything I do for you, after all I go through to make sure you’re safe, this is how you repay me? You sneak out with one of your whoring goddess friends and spend the night on Olympus? You insufferable, spoiled, ungrateful child! I never should have let you out of my sight!”

“Mother, please-”

“You’ll do well to keep your mouth shut! You’ve disgraced me, you’ve humiliated yourself, and you will consider yourself lucky if you ever see any of those wretches ever again!”

“Mother, be reasonable! Nothing happened.”

“Nothing happened?” Demeter’s voice had risen into a shriek. The nymphs would be listening but they would be wise enough to stay well out of sight. “Nothing happened? My daughter intentionally scorns the hard work of her mother only to defile herself in front of all of Olympus, and she dares tell me that nothing happened?”

Persephone backed away from the hand that grasped for her. “Defiled myself? What do you mean? Whatever Nemesis told you isn’t true, ask Nike or Aphrodite-”

Demeter’s next swipe at her daughter was successful and she caught Persephone’s jaw in a vice-like grip. She pulled Persephone so close that she could smell the sweet scent of blossoms on her mother’s skin. 

“What about Hades?” Demeter hissed the name like it burned her tongue. “What about him? Should I ask him what happened last night?”

So Nemesis’ lie was far more treacherous than Persephone had expected. Humiliation blushed across her face and down her neck. Demeter was so close it was impossible for her to miss it, and in the blindness of rage she mistook her daughter’s embarrassment for an admission of guilt. Her fingers tightened into Persephone’s skin but she ignored her daughter’s pain. 

“You disgust me, you filthy whore! So this is my punishment for allowing you a night’s fun? You fall on your back for the first god to look twice at you? You should be ashamed of yourself! I cannot believe-”

“Then ask him!” Persephone closed her hand around her mother’s wrist and pried her face out of her grasp. “You listen to the words of a goddess you barely know without first asking your own daughter! You speak of trust yet fail to show any. You preach safety yet raise a hand against your own flesh and blood. You can’t believe what Nemesis told you? So ask Hades. You know where he lives.”

Shock registered in Demeter’s eyes. Persephone had never spoken to her in this manner before. But Persephone’s jaw throbbed, her pride and trust were both wounded, and so she refused to be apologetic. There was fire in her mother’s eyes, however, and Persephone was wise enough to steady herself for the fight.

~~~~~

Hades leaned back against the marble edge of the pool and tipped his head back to rest against the floor. He was fucked. Deeply screwed. In hot water. Literally, he was in cold water rather than hot, but despite his best efforts, his mind was no more in order than it had been an hour ago. 

The nymph that had just disappeared through the passage had helped take the edge off, but this was an affliction of the mind, not just of the body. And the nymph hadn’t been...like her. She had been too thin, too pale, her hair too straight and her smile too wide. Persephone was none of those things. Fuck. 

He stayed in the pool until he started shivering, and then stayed in a few minutes longer. The harder he tried to think of something else, anything else, the more he thought of Persephone. Just the sound of her name was enough to send him spiraling. He dried himself and dressed, determined to get through the day’s work. If he could not get Persephone off his mind then so be it. She would have to come along with him. His immaculate black suit cut a striking figure in the mirror, the very edges of his tattoos whispering at the edge of his sleeves and neckline, his dark hair curling loosely as it dried. 

He was stunned with how smoothly Persephone had floated up to him, seemingly undeterred by his presence. Hades knew the effect he often had on mortals and deities alike, so when the young goddess of spring had waltzed up to him and extended her hand in introduction, it was enough to almost make him laugh. He couldn’t get enough of her. He told himself to stop before he derailed himself for another few hours, and he pulled the doors open, calling for Cerberus as he made his way through his kingdom. 

~~~~~

Persephone told herself she wouldn’t cry. Not like this, not in front of her mother, not while she had the last scraps of dignity to cling to. But the warm tears poured down her cheeks no matter how hard she wished them away. This only fueled Demeter’s anger, and soon her open palms were striking Persephone as well as her words. This was not the first time Demeter had hit her daughter but it was the first time Persephone had felt so trapped by her mother’s anger. Usually she was able to sweet-talk or apologize or, in some of the worst cases, disappear for an afternoon, but with Demeter’s fist in her hair, she had nowhere to go. 

She struggled against her mother, crying, demanding to be let go and remaining unheard over the torrent of curses. Persephone shut her eyes and tried to block out her mother’s screams. They were almost indistinguishable at this point but the sheer volume alone was making Persephone’s ears ring. With a final tug, Persephone ripped free from her mother, stumbling back and desperately trying to blink the tears out of her vision. Demeter was quick to snatch for her again but Persephone ducked nimbly and was running past her mother with the quickness of someone who was well-practiced in the art. 

She didn’t look to see if her mother bothered to chase after her. Her bare feet flew across the warm, sun-drenched fields, with no destination in mind except away. Anywhere but here. But as Persephone ran, a feeling settled over her, a feeling she had found to be growing more familiar. She knew what she was going to do. There was one place she could go and not be trapped.

Persephone dropped her to knees, stumbling as she went. Fresh tears ran down her face as she realized her mother was not behind her; tears of relief or hurt that Demeter didn’t care enough to see if she was alright, Persephone did not know. She fisted her hands into the warm soil, feeling the dirt slide into her palms and under her fingers. She bent over her hands, smelling the earth and feeling it’s heartbeat. She reached down, down, down into the earth. Down past the dirt and stone and precious gems that belonged to someone else. She felt his kingdom underneath her and that was enough to bring her to speak. 

“Hades,” she whispered, “Hades, please.” 

She had no idea what was the proper way to summon the god of the Underworld. Some deities were choosy about how they were to be called upon and would not appear if the ritual was not done in a certain way. Persephone prayed Hades was not one of those deities. She dug deeper into the earth.

“Hades, I call you to come. I ask forgiveness if this is not the way, but I need your help.”

She glanced up. Demeter was striding towards her, fury written boldly across her face. Persephone did not know if her mother could hear to whom she was appealing her case, but she did not care. Let her hear. Let her know. 

“Persephone! Come here at once! I’m not finished with you!” She was drawing closer. Persephone’s hands curled into fists in the soil. Her tears melted into the earth.

“Hades!” She cried. “Hades!” 

~~~~~

Below the earth, past the caves and stone and glittering jewels, Hades, the god of the Underworld, heard his name echoing off the walls of his kingdom and rose from his throne. 

[passivenovember]

The Skull on the Shelf that Bares My Name

This is my first time posting a fic on tumblr, so. Here goes nothing

__

Billy was like an oil painting that had been around for a thousand years. Pretty in the right lighting, hideous in the swell of nightfall. All rough edges and smeared color, full of broken things inside that cut through the air and rattled around like shattered glass whenever anyone got too close, bristling and blowing with the 75mph wind that tumbled through his soul.

Billy thought it was breathtaking.

Thought he was breathtaking with split knuckles and broken ribs. Matted hair tangled with dried blood. Busted lips painted red, color spilling down his chin when he smiled too wide at his reflection.

He liked it messy and hideous.

Did everything he could to destroy the precious image, the golden boy.

He had always been pretty. Like a girl; sparkly eyes and curly hair. Neil had always old him someone would come along and color outside the lines, scribble over the image his mother had left behind and Billy had always been so breakable in the face of adversity.

Flinching against hurt and agony until it became commonplace. Until he grew tired of gluing himself back together every night under the light of the moon.

His face was beautiful like a sculpture carved from stone, or a window into the face of his mother and her mother, but.

Billy himself was like a cardboard box full of glass.

The Billy on the inside was sharp.

And crude.

And violent, when the mood struck him. Ask anyone and they'd tell you; guy's like a train barreling through an apartment building.

And he was.

A glorious, terrible, beautiful, ravenous storm brewing in the open sea.

Billy hadn't known girls could be hazardous.

He knew they were soft. Pretty, delicate and sometimes tough when they had to be. His mother had been like that--brazen. Flighty and aggressive in a different way, like when the sun emerges from the clouds and shines too brightly.

She was warm and loving.

Perfect in her femininity. Billy looked nothing like his mother because she dressed like a wood nymph, all sheer fabric and dresses that defied gravity. Her hair was blonde and curly, always pinned back with clips and beautiful scarves and Billy wanted desperately to look like her.

Film star beauty.

Painted lips, soft hands. When she threw herself off the bridge he brushed his fingertips over the fabric in her closet and tried to imagine what it would feel like to have the world at your feet.

She was so beautiful it felt like swallowing tar.

Hot and boiling on a summer's day.

Billy pulled something from the rack, ran his fingers around the liquid soft fabric of his mother's favorite dress; the white one with the pearl neckline that felt like water settling around his shoulders. They said she was going to be buried in this one and Billy hated it.

Hated that something so beautiful, so delicate would rot away in the cool, damp earth.

He sat in front of her vanity and watched the light twinkle against the jewels that littered the countertop; rubies, emeralds, opal stone cut into neat shapes. When he was a child Billy's mother would let him play with her rings because they made good skipping stones in the pond out back.

We'll always find more, his mother would say, and it was true. Neil spared no expense in making her shine like a million stars as if she didn't already steal the air from every room.

Pocket it in her velvet handbags for safekeeping.

Billy put a ring on each finger and studied his reflection in the pristine vintage mirror.

He looked like a rat.

A rat in a pretty dress, playing pretend for a day.

The front door slammed open and Billy put the dress back on the hanger.

The girl on the T.V. wasn't like his mother at all.

Not soft or feminine, but smoldering. Alight with power and freedom as she strutted around the stage. She looked like her eyes were swimming in water; thick black makeup smudged around green orbs, hair messy and tangled, legs littered bruises that peaked through the holes in her stockings as the lights threw her into disarray.

Slut kiss girls won't you promise her smack

is she ugly on the inside

is she ugly from the back...

The woman was a disaster packaged in something almost pretty but not quite. Like a beauty queen moments after winning the crown fair and square, tear stained makeup and fleeting promises of eternal beauty. She flung herself around the stage, dress ripped to shreds as the hands of the audience tried to tear away pieces of her flesh.

Her fingers were bruised and bloody as she wailed away on the guitar. Nails cracked and worn with the weight of her vengeance. With each press of her lips against the microphone the color oozed outside the lines of her mouth until she looked like a living dead girl and Billy.

He had never seen someone so beautiful.

The first time he put on a dress for real it had been an homage to his silver screen queen.

Black shift dress. Baby doll sleeves. Torn stockings and barrettes in his hair.

Kinderwhore they called it.

Billy stood awkwardly in front of the mirror in the bathroom and tried to make sense of the princess seam that came to an unsteady rest just above the line of his ribs. The clinging fabric felt nothing like the one his mother had been buried in it felt.

Dirty.

Sinful. Instantly cloaked in assumptions; he does heroin. He's a a bum and a loser in search of something the music can't give him so he searches for it in the sting of a needle. Billy bit down on his lips until they bled.

The color ran thick like maple syrup over the skin of his face, bringing out the blue in his eyes as it ran down his chin. As it caught in the stubble-rough landing of his jawline.

Billy looked like a mess.

Instantly, he was addicted. The first time Billy saw her he knew; that was his own image reflected back at him from the fifteen inch screen.

He began looking for inspiration wherever he could find it.

Debbie Harry, Freddie Mercury, Joan Jett, David Bowie. Women and men. Gods. His heroes. Feminine and masculine and dirty.

Courtney Love was always his favorite.

Filthy. Absolutely gut wrenching. Every time he saw her perform it was like his spleen was being ripped out and Billy couldn't escape the way he saw so much of himself reflected in her. All his rage and discomfort, his fury amplified by a million.

So he tried to emulate it.

Billy shopped around local thrift stores to find leopard print jackets and peasant tops. Dresses that hung wide or snuggled against the swell of his hips, kitten heels that brought much needed length to his hamburger legs and when he brought them home, always through the backdoor and stuffed carefully into a trash bag, Neil would raise an eyebrow.

Playing dress up?

Billy would grimace. Max is lookin' to be a Debbie Harry for Halloween. 'M helpin' her find the prefect dress.

And Neil drank like the answers sawm in a bottle of gin, so.

He would raise a fist at that. Never fully convinced but satiated, content with Billy playing the perfect older brother. His nose would bleed on the nights when Neil couldn't shake the impression that his son was a faggot but that was as far as it went.

Max never asked questions and Billy never told her the truth; that he felt more like himself when Courtney Love stared back at him in the mirror.

She sat with him sometimes.

Watched him apply his mother's lipstick, carefully at first and then all at once when the music carried him down.

Black lung coat and your little crown That's the crown that you get for falling down Hey baby, let me look in your eyes I see you standing in a weird red light...

"Why do you listen to this shit?" Max wrinkled her nose. Like a freckled bunny rabbit, it was kind of ridiculous. "She screams so fuckin' loud, you can't even understand what she's--"

"Mascara."

"Why? I know girls who would kill for your eyelashes."

Billy snapped his fingers. Max handed over the little black tube with a trademark eye roll, resting her chin in her hands as Billy repeated the process of careful application and then careless destruction of his hard work.

"Look prettier when you keep it nice," She snapped.

And Billy just chuckled. "I don't wanna look nice."

Max stared at him, popping a jaw breaker into her mouth. "Why not? Isn't that the whole point of makeup, to look pretty?"

Billy scrubbed at his eyes, warmth flooding his stomach again at the way the blue stood out against the black ring around his eyes. Like carefully crafted bruises, nothing like the ones Neil gave him. He shrugged his shoulders.

"That's so fuckin' predictable." He sat on the bed, pushing the hem of his skirt to roll the nylon against his legs.

"Using makeup and clothes to look worse, fuckin' idiotic." Max grumbled, but she watched with glowing eyes as Billy began scraping his nails down the length, creating runs in the delicate fabric.

"You gonna sit there yapping or are you gonna help?" He bitched.

Max slid to her knees in front of him, getting to work tearing holes into the stockings the way she knew Billy liked.

It was therapeutic, almost, having the help.

"I like when you do Blondie." She said after a while. "Fuck ton less work and Courtney makes you aggressive. She's got the energy of a horny dude, it's fucked up."

Billy smirked.

It was always more fun to play pretend with Max and her bitchy voice tethering him to the ground. He feared that, without it, he'd get lost in the feeling of freedom. Fly too close to the sun or something, catch on fire when he inevitably missed the tell-tale creek of the floorboards that meant Neil was listening in.

Max annoyed the hell out of him, but.

She kept him safe. Why, he didn't know.

Maybe she really was interested in the whole thing, electing to believe that every boy wanted to be a girl because the alternative meant her brother was sick in a way that couldn't be cured.

Billy stood, slipping on the kitten heels while Max held his hand.

He admired his handiwork.

"Gotta hand it you," Max whistled, low like a wolf. "Gets shittier every time we do it."

"Shut up, brat." But Billy was grinning.

For Max, that was a compliment.

Don't blush when I rip you open Hey baby, let me look in your eyes As you go off into your weird red light...

He ran his hands down the soft fabric, relishing the way the hem tickled the sensitive skin of his thighs.

He was pretty.

Not like his mother, not like Courtney Love, but.

Uniquely himself.

Max cocked her head to the side. "Don't you get tired of getting all dressed up with nowhere to go?"

Billy bristled. "Oh yeah? And where could I go in San Fran that wouldn't skin me on the spot for dressing like a bitch?"

"Castro." The gay area.

Billy felt his cheeks darken. He thought about it for a second; the lights, the thralls of people just letting the light in. Being themselves.

He shook his head, turning back to the mirror with a glare. "Yeah, okay. I'll get right on that."

"Cool, I'll just fetch my coat." Max turned to leave, chucking when Billy trapped her with an iron grip. "Relax, spaz. Neil would kill us both if he saw you looking like that."

And.

She was right. Billy had thought about it countless times before, what would happen if he threw a jacket over his baby doll dress and slipped out the back door one night. How the cool air would feel on the bare skin of his thighs, but. That's all it ever was. Just speculation.

Only dreams.

Knowing his luck he'd catch Neil in the hallway after his midnight piss and that'd be it. They'd never get the blood out of the wallpaper.

"Looks like we're stuck playing pretend." Billy patted absently at his spring of messy curls, refusing to let the sadness seep through but Max noticed immediately. Perceptive little shit.

She held up a finger, disappearing through the crack in the door. A second later she was back with her polaroid camera.

"Smile."

"No fuckin' way," Billy snarled. He could already imagine it; Neil digging through his sock drawer to find the pot he was always accusing Billy of smoking, only to stumble across something else.

Something worse.

Billy's ribs began to ache with the phantom memory of those fists planting like flower bulbs in fresh soil. He bruised easily, like an overripe peach.

Not everyone knew that about him, but. He did.

Max frowned. "Come on, we could send them to Courtney's P.O. box, I'm sure she'd be flattered."

Billy shook his head, tears swamping his vision as Max lifted the camera. The flash was blinding. Billy lunged for it, swearing as Max slipped past his grip. She took another picture.

And another.

And then another, until polaroid's littered the floor like fallen leaves on the dirty ground. Billy had tears rolling down his cheeks, ruining his makeup by the time she finally stopped. He held out his hand. "Max, just. Give that fuckin' thing to me. Now, we gotta burn this shit, alright? We gotta--"

But she wasn't listening, she was staring at the first image she had taken, when Billy was caught off guard. Max was absorbed in it, eyes glittering with something Billy had never seen before.

He snatched the picture from her hands and lifted it up to his face, brow wrinkled in disgust until--

This wasn't anything like staring in the mirror.

It felt more immediate, more real as Billy examined the image of a flawless stranger. Of a woman.

Of Courtney Love.

"Pretty," Max said.

And.

Yeah. He was.

They started taking pictures every time Billy got dressed up.

Max would help him get ready and then they'd do little photoshoots in his bedroom. He was a reluctant subject at first, awkward in his own skin until she suggested they smoke a joint before each session.

"To loosen you up a little, dick wad."

"What kinda brother would I be if I let my kid sister smoke pot?" Billy shook his head. "Absolutely not, Max."

She shrugged. "Then you do it."

So, he did.

And it helped. They switched up the music, finding it easiest to shoot to The Smashing Pumpkins, played with lighting and mood until she was satisfied with the "vibe," made immortal on film.

The images Max captured were like moments in time, archived in the shoebox under his bed. Billy looked like a rock star in every one--Debbie Harry on some days, Courtney on others; hair messy, cigarette trapped between his fingers, stockings ripped to shreds.

Max admitted that Courtney was her favorite, after a while, so that's the one that stuck.

And Billy loved every picture she took. Loved her artistic eye, obvious in the way she moved his lamp around the room to capture his features just so. Every session was serious like she was the photographer at Rolling Stone and he was her subject for the week.

It was addictive.

They had been taking pictures every night for a month when Neil caught them in the act.

The first punch felt like a bomb had gone off in his head, and Billy hit the floor without so much as a fight.

He remembers blood on the carpet.

Blood in his hair. On the walls. A splitting pain in his ribs and between his legs.

Keep digging your own grave, William.

Max patched him up after Neil's car tore out of the driveway.

"I'm sorry Billy." He hadn't realised she was crying. He ran his fingers over her cheek. "It's all my fault, I didn't mean--"

"I felt pretty." He said.

They stopped taking pictures after that.

Moving to Hawkins, Indiana was like stepping off the Earth and floating through space.

Billy felt weightless.

Every mistake, every hidden secret cloaked in baby doll dresses and leopard print coats had been left in San Francisco where they belonged. Stuffed in the back of his closet with the polaroid's they were able to tape back together.

He tried to forget the way it made him feel.

"You're the prettiest boy I've ever seen."

It wasn't meant to be a compliment. Billy could tell that from the way Steve's lips curled into a snarl.

He pushed his way into Billy's space, clearly drunk and high off something that made his pupils swallow the milky brown of his eyes.

Steve looked like he was swimming.

There were track marks in his arm. "You're like a vision," He reached out to touch, to feel, flinching back when Billy slapped his hand away.

"I don't know what the fuck you think you're doing, Harrington--"

"I think I'm in love with you."

And Billy had thought the same thing, the first time they ran into each other at the gay bar in Indianapolis, but. People talked.

Hawkins talked, like the city itself was an entity with a pulse and conscience that had been shot to shit in the eighties. Billy did his best to glare. "You don't love me, pretty boy."

"No, I." Steve grinned. He was high as a fucking kite. "I do. You're my guardian angel." He laughed hysterically, in a way that made Billy's skin crawl.

"What, your dealer tell you that?" He huffed.

And it was mean.

So fucking mean. If Steve was a junkie his skin wouldn't be so clear, so smooth. Like black cherries in milk, goddammit. Billy wanted to lap at the skin on his neck, taste the salt of his skin.

He wondered distantly if he'd be able to get high from it.

Probably. Steve smiled anyway. "Let me take you home."

"Such a fuckin' line," Billy said.

But he was already tugging pretty boy through the crowd.

Billy kept his dresses in the back of his closet where he kept his mother's suicide letters.

She had written more than one, consumed by her sadness in a way Billy had never understood until he had taken the fairy light inside him and smothered it.

Every once in a while, when Neil was out of the house and Max was at school or something, He'd take one out just to feel the weightlessness of the fabric settle against his skin.

Like little paper angels.

Like the whisper of something like hope but not quite, just out of reach.

He never did the full look anymore. Never put his heart and soul into it the way he had before, when Max was there to keep him from floating away, but.

Gradually he felt himself catch fire.

They had been together for three months when Steve peeled back the layers.

Neil was away on business, so Steve was sleeping over. Needed a shirt or sweats or to sleep in, catching sight of something bright red and shiny as he shifted the leather jackets at Greatful Dead t-shirts to the side to expose a stash of beautiful gowns that shone like an open sore against the soft light in Billy's bedroom.

Billy came through the open door, words dying on his lips as the bong in his hand shattered on the floor.

Steve held the dress up against the light, tongue poking out of his mouth in consideration.

"Max wants to be Debbie Harry for Halloween," Billy fished for his old excuse, eyes welling up with tears when Steve's jaw set in a firm line. "I'm helping her find the perfect dress, I--"

"Bill's--"

"That's not mine, Steve, I swear." Billy dropped to the floor.

Got on his fucking knees, hands level with his face in a silent prayer as he tripped over himself to rebuild the walls that had kept him safe. He was talking, spewing bullshit as Steve stood motionless against the closet door. Billy flung his arms around Steve's legs. Buried his face in his thighs, because.

He couldn't go through it again.

Wouldn't survive it.

"I never even seen that before, Stevie, please."

"Get up." Pretty boy commanded.

And.

Billy blinked teary, soulful eyes at him. "Huh?"

Steve shook his head. "I said stand up, baby. Get off the fucking floor."

Billy did. Steve watched him for a moment, expression unreadable. Billy prepared himself for the gut punch, the harsh word, the look of disgust in those eyes that had never shown anything but reverence for Billy, but it never came. In a single, syrupy slow motion Steve held the dress to Billy's throat, scanning him up and down in a way that left Bill naked and squirming.

He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think, as Steve smiled softly.

"Wanna see you." He said.

And. "What?"

"Can you put it on for me?" Steve asked. "Bet you look gorgeous. Like an angel, or a model or something--"

Billy let out a thick, wet sound. "I look like a beast, I'm--"

"No." Billy jumped when Steve nuzzled against his neck, the dress trapped like a gossamer curtain between them. "Bet you look like a deity. A goddess of rock n' roll. Like Courtney Love, right?"

And Billy had done a lot of things in his life. He was a builder of fortresses, a hider, an adventurer when the mood struck him. Billy protected himself and Max and his mother for as long as he could remember, carrying things that were too heavy for those with weaker shoulders, but.

He had never shown himself to someone he loved. No sugar, no cream, just.

Completely himself.

Billy took the dress and opened the safe in the corner. Pulled out his mother's makeup and painted himself into a masterpiece as Steve watched, motionless on the bed.

When he was done Billy was afraid to look in the mirror.

Terrified of what he'd see but Steve took him in his arms, peppering gentle kisses all along his face until Billy had built up enough courage.

"Ready? Steve whispered.

Billy let himself be turned around. Situated under the heavy sling of Steve's arm, until--

"Pretty."

Steve nodded. "Beautiful."

[wanda-peitro-lorna-maximoff]

Chapter 4

Part one here:

_____________________________________

Morgana was 16 now. Itd been a year since her father Uther announced she would be of marrying age. At the very least of age to be promised to someone, and it was easy to say that Morgana was not pleased at all. Arthur had tried to sway their father, as gently as he could without angering him, but Uther wasnt having it. The old man was already confined to his room, sick beyond repair, and he 'had to make sure his children were taken care of.' It didnt matter how. It didnt matter if Arthur would be miserable as a young king, or Morgana miserable as a house wife; as long as they were taken care of. And that's when Morganas teen rebellion really kicked in. Everyone knew about it, Morgana would sneak out late, making it incredibly easy for anyone to find her going to see her latest 'crush' of the week. She didnt mind the gossip-- she even welcomed it. The one suitor who had been at the castle when he heard about her 'cheating' - which, for the record, the prince had only asked Uther to court her; never morgana herself- was absolutely mortified. And Morgana couldnt have been prouder. Gwen and Arthur were... reasonably a bit embarrassed, but they had about as much of a chance of stopping her as Uther did. And if Gwen was really being honest, she found it hilarious. All Morgana had to do was ask for a kiss from a fair lady and the busybodies in the castle would get to work.... unfortunately the more it happened the more Gwen and Arthur were less amused. Gueinivier couldnt quite put her finger on it but it made her stomach turn whenever she saw Morgana kissing some other lady... Arthur was more annoyed in general, in a brotherly way.

But today seemed different. A lot more relaxed... no one was giving her letters from princes' or kings, and no need to ask for more favors from the ladies in the town or working in the castle. The perfect day to get up to something with Morganas favorite people in the world... Gwen and Arthur. ... well, Gwen was definitely a favorite, arthur really got on her nerves a lot, but he was still her brother. So that's what brings us to the now. Gwen and Morgana walking through the forest in comfortable silence... Arthur had unfortunately been roped into another meeting with the king and the round table, so the two thought to make it a girls day. As they walked, Gwen couldnt help but let her mind wander, glancing over to Morgana... it was true, the Pendragon siblings were both very good looking. Anyone anywhere would love to be their king or queen... but gwen loved them beyond their looks. Morgana was mischievous, mysterious and bold. Arthur was strong, dependable and kind... the two put her head in a tizzy. But with Morganas.... escapades lately... she couldnt help but give the witch the cold shoulder. The secrets and kisses from other girls were funny and cute at first but now they had gotten a bit more frequent... a little more bold. And unfortunately, Gwen was far too good at hiding her true intentions because Morgana hadn't even noticed anything was wrong. Sure she had acted a little off at times but, times were strange now... with her fathers declining health and tensions on making sure Arthur was ready to be king...

... and then Gwen nearly jumped out of her skin. Her thoughts were so abruptly interrupted by a sudden presence that she let out a squeak in suprise. the suprise guest in question laughed at her reaction, along with Morgana.

Mab had been watching the two for a few minutes, waiting for a good moment to suprise them and drop from her place in the trees. "Hello you two." Mab put her arms around the girls. Admittedly it had taken her a while to accept Gwen even as an acquaintance. But what really sealed the deal for Mab was Gwen's pure, genuine fascination. Whenever she looked at magic and its byproducts her expression held nothing but amazement, wonder and fondness. And if anything, Mab wanted to keep amazing her, just to see that look on her face. It never failed to make her laugh. "I'm suprised you're both out today..." the princess trailed off, and Morgana groaned. "Its been absolute hell back at the castle." She rolled her eyes and slumped her shoulders for emphasis, to which Gwen chuckled and shook her head. "They... that is, Arthur and Morgana... have had their hands full to say the least." Gwen further explained to Mab, who got a thoughtful look on her face before replying. "Sounds like you've come to the right place to decompress then." She winked at the girls before wordlessly leading the way further into the woods...

"Ahhhh...." Morgana sighed in relief as she sunk down in the fairy made hot spring. She didnt realize how much tension she was holding in her neck and shoulders until now, but the hot water was absolutely amazing on her muscles. All that running away from terrible princes, knights and responsibilities does a number on ones self she supposed... "Are you two done yet?? The waters going to get cold." Morgana called through the thick veil of greenery to Mab and Gwen, who were currently whisper fighting with eachother. Since neither girl was exactly ready for a suprise swim, Mab had let them borrow some of the stollen goods she... acquired as offerings in her woods. People who dont want to be kidnapped, killed, cursed or worse always left her a little something at the threshold of her home. And the few cloaks she'd acquired she allowed Morgana and Gwen to use... they were her least favorite anyway. But honestly, Mab didn't see *why* you needed to cover up around others while you swam, showered, bathed, etc. It was a completely foreign concept to her, but she got a kick out of the red faces from Morgana and Gwen she just told them both to hop in. "I cant just go in! What if its... not secure enough." Gwen gestured to the 'swim-suit' Mab fashioned for her. "Well, then itll fall off. What do you *think* would happen?" Mab hissed back at her sarcastically. "You'll be fine. Its not like she'd bite you.... well..." Mab had to reconsider that. Gwen shoved her arm and the faerie princess grinned. "Follow my lead." She said confidently, Gwen watching as Mab strutted out. She had her usual attire on. Not uncommon, since it looked like the plants that made up her base clothing were just a part of her; but the few nice touches of clothing or signs of humanization were gone.

She stopped at the far end of the spring before jumping in and swimming over to Morgana with ease. "Come on Gwen." Mab said impatiently, and Morgana shouted after her. "Sooner you get here the sooner we can play water games!"

Gwen took a deep breath. Be brave. Just like them. She rolled her shoulders and closed her eyes, calming herself down before opening them again, now with new determination. Her nerves wouldnt get in the way of this rare day off. So, she took off running... and dove into the water. She could hear Mab and Morgana clapping and laughing above, swimming over to them now as she breached the surface. "That was amazing!" Morgana said with a big grin. "One things for sure we've got to do that together-- just... neyoooommm... " she put her fist in the water suddenly, making a splash. "See how big a splash we can make..."

"Well. One things for sure, the fun is only just beginning." Mab gave them a mischievous smile.

The fun was officially in full swing. Mab had invited a few fresh water sirens to come play a guessing game with them, and it only escalated from there.

Some of the river nymphs were playing as a referee for the games going on; some of the kelpies at the bottom of the hot-water would sing while a few of the fae would try and guess what they were singing. Some of the sirens were playing a competitive diving game with their treasures; bits of bone, a pearl or two. Whoever got to it first kept it. Which, without supervision quickly devolved into a bloody fight. A few of the not-so-water-resistant creatures were having loads of fun just on the shore, making flower crowns for any winners and not so subtly trying to help the contestants who they thought were the cutest. Morgana had joined Gwen in the kelpy game, since the creatures had a tendency to drag any losers down underwater and drown them... but Gwen was doing suprisingly well. Morgana was only a little bit jealous. Mab had split from the girls briefly to compete with the sirens, winning a few games and rejoining her friends once she had enough trophies of victory. They came to sit with eachother at the edge, all three of them smiling to themselves and basking in the fun. "So. How's your day off been?" Mab asked them with a grin. "Well considering Gwen's won more games than I... I'd say not so well." Morgana joked, making Gwen laugh. "Well, I can give you some pointers next time." She winked and nudged Morgana with her elbow; making Morgana blush just a little. "Well. Either way you both look just about ready to join the sirens with the way you're pruning up there. Let's get you two dry." Mab hopped out of the 'pool' and shook herself dry a bit. "Okay *mom* " Morgana teased as Gwen and her followed. "No you pronounced it wrong. Its MAB." Mab corrected her. Morgana wasnt super sure if she was being serious or not, but it didnt matter. Mab lead them to a closed off area where she stashed the twos clothing. "Once you're dressed we can do some land-games." Mab winked at them, squeezing out her hair. Gwen and Morgana went over and grabbed their clothes as Mab got some cloth to help dry them. The fae girl allowed them both a screen of ivy and vines to get dressed in a bit of privacy...

Today was... something else. Gwen couldnt remember the last time shes had this much fun. The amazing wonders around her filled her head with dreams and her heart with hope and longing for adventure... discovering more and finding things no ones ever seen before... but only if it was with her friends. As cliche as it was... she wanted Morgana... Arthur, even Mab there with her. Wherever the road took her. They completed her in a way she could never have imagined. She wanted to be there for them. Just as they would for her... Gwen had many friends as a child. But when her family moved to Camelot, all of it was ripped away from her. She wondered sometimes... if they thought of her. But the Pendragons and this magical world... took the heartache away.... but... recently? With Morgana..? The heartache returned... no it wasnt the same as before. No force on earth could take Morgana away from her. No, the heartache wasnt one of sadness... it was longing. So similar but so different. The heartache that belonged to Morgana was one that was bitter-sweet. Whenever she looked at her it was the feeling of coming home to a warm fire and sweet fruit.

So then... why did the thought of being with Morgana... hurt at the same time?

..she knew the answer. Arthur. She loved arthur just as she loved Morgana. And yet... not. They were so different but she loved them all the same. The kind of love she'd want to come home to and kiss before bed every night.... Arthur and Morgana... were her love.

Meanwhile, Morgana got dressed. Nothing in particular was on HER mind. No... but something was on Mabs...

The faerie peaked her head through to Morganas side. Seeing she was infact decent. Mab had been infatuated with Morgana for a long time. She'd known it in her gut. Shes told so many of her friends and they all dismissed it as wanting a pet. And shes seen fae have human pets... the feeling wasnt the same. For them It was control... dominance and cruelty. But Mab wanted Morgana for the very reason just to love her. When she thought about kissing Morgana her heart raced, when she thought about curling up with her, going to bed and waking up to see her face everyday... it made her heart hurt with how much she wanted that. Real love...

"Morgana." Mab began... there was a pause. "... Mab?" Morgana questioned her. She looked incredibly suspicious... was this the start of some prank? "I..." Mab stepped further in. "Wanted to tell you something." She crossed her arms loosely. Mab had never actually planned this part out. She always figured that somehow, someway, she'd just sweep Morgana off her feet and Morgana would have no choice but to practically marry her on the spot!.... but this was definitely not how things were going to go. Morgana was... difficult to really wow, or 'sweep feet'. "... okay." Morgana narrowed her eyes at the faerie, getting ready for some sort of prank or attack of some kind... Mab walked closer... and awkwardly put her hand on Morganas shoulder... and came in closer... until the side of her face touched the side of Morganas... okay so maybe it wasnt 'telling' her anything... Mab didnt even know if she could say the right words... but she hoped and metaphorically prayed that Morgana understood.

She did. It was an intimate gesture. Mab trusted her... to turn her face to her and keep her close; faces touching just slightly. This was big... and Morgana couldnt help the huge suprised grin that spread across her face. Off and on throughout their friendship she's thought about it-- being with Mab. Theres no doubt that they got along and shared so many things in common, but she never even dreamed that Mab would come to her first. And like this.

Mab slowly pulled away. Looking reserved and guarded, waiting for Morganas reaction... still hopeful she understood, and accepted. "So... you like me?" Morgana asked with her grin. Mab looked just a little insulted at that. "Of course I like you! What do you think I am? An idiot? It would be stupid of us not to court! We love the same things, we're already so close and we-" Mab was cut off by Morgana kissing her on the cheek. "Ah yes. How could I argue with such air tight logic?" She asked sarcastically. Mab was completely frozen for a moment. "Is that a yes?"

Morgana smiled. "Does this answer your question?" She pulled Mab back in and kissed her. The faerie could feel her heart hammering in her chest. She pulled Morgana as close as she could, and kissed her back... unbeknownst to them, the screen Mab created was falling apart into beautiful wild flowers to reveal the scene to Gwen...

When Gwen saw the two... she felt like she was going to vomit. Not out of disgust. Never. But she never thought that seeing her secret love and good friend kissing could break her heart so much... she just stood there. Frozen.... until Morgana noticed. And she laughed.

"Wow. Look at miss queen of the fae... cant control her plants when shes kissing." Morgana teased Mab, who was now red in the face, looking around to see Gwen and of course... no screen of greenery. "A-um- i- I can control them! I can do... anything!" Mab argued. Morgana laughed. "Does that include making your face go as red as my hair?" She asked. And honestly... in the moment... gwen couldnt help but laugh along..... it was better than being heart broken.

[vulturhythm]

1/2 I have an angsty idea (BTW, this is Tristan and Iseult anon - I'm so flattered you wanted to give me a nickname! If you still want to, Skyleen is good since that's what I've been using on AO3). Anyway, my idea isn't too unique from what you've already posted because what you do you do so well and I like it so much). It revolves around Jaskier being horribly sick/poisoned and Geralt desperately trying to find a cure - maybe it's something specific, like a near-extinct herb or the heart of

... heart of the beast that originally poisoned him, but in any case it's really hard to get and Geralt has to go on a lot of dangerous journeys in search of it. Meaning he has leave Jaskier behind (it's a conveniently prolonged illness). And he keeps failing. He keeps going out on any tips, even the most unlikely, brutalizing himself for a few days/weeks trying to kill monsters/please mages/bribe kings/capture demons or whatever he thinks he needs to do, but he always comes home empty handed...

... and Jaskier's always sicker, weaker, worse when he comes back. He'll spend a few days with him, caring for him, loving him, pleading with him to stay strong, before preparing to head out again. And eventually Jaskier realizes nothing is going to work. Even if Geralt did find something, the illness has progressed so far it wouldn't do any good. So he asks Geralt to stop. Stop hunting, stop risking his own life, stop leaving and just stay with him until the end. And Geralt can't.

Can't give up, can't face losing Jaskier, can't accept (what he sees as) Jaskier losing faith in him. So he goes out again, and again. Eventually, the disease and despair break at Jaskier until he clings, begs Geralt not to leave him, and Geralt does anyway, using his greater strength to remove Jaskier's hands from his arms, clothes, hair, Jaskier's cries echoing worse than any curses from Blaviken. On the last trip, he finds the cure. Having lost his horse to some calamity, he *runs* back...

... to Jaskier, full tilt, past even a witcher's stamina and returns to wherever they've been holed up incoherent with exhaustion and fear. Is he too late? What do you think? (Also, thank you for writing such lovely angst! I think it's the best way to get the love out).

thank you so, so much for sending me this beautifully tragic idea! i do hope this is up to your standards.

- - - - -

i won’t let you die

sorceresses are wretched things.

this is an opinion geralt has formed over a fucking century of enduring their treachery and their torment and their taunting, all the times he’s fallen into bed with one be damned. those times were fucking meaningless when compared to the love he found in jaskier.

meaningless, worthless, pointless - and now, looking back, he fucking hates himself for them.

he hates himself, for it was a sorceress whose rage when denied geralt’s aid in the coup of a crumbling kingdom was unmatched - whose rage led her to curse the bard at geralt’s side, merely fucking standing there, not even doing a damn thing.

he wasn’t doing a goddamn thing.

geralt is snarling, spitting, cursing, demanding an explanation, a cure -

the sorceress drops dead, an arrow through her skull, shot from the ramparts of the castle ahead, and, well.

geralt knows when he isn’t welcome.

he pulls jaskier away, runs from the city square, pulls his bard along through the seething, screaming, rioting crowd.

-

at first, geralt thinks the curse was maybe just as simple as the little rash that pops up on jaskier’s skin within they hour, as they walk away and leave the kingdom behind.

(it will be decimated by week’s end.)

he learns quickly he is wrong when jaskier doubles over and vomits on the trail.

there’s blood amongst the bile.

geralt’s heart seizes.

-

he pushes roach hard, hard, hard to the next town over, one where the healer and the mage are one and the same.

“it’s a disease,” the man tells them, and there’s sympathy in his eyes and something sort of like relief in jaskier’s, but - “and it’s one that can’t be cured.”

geralt knows he can never forget the fear that crossed jaskier’s face.

worse, later, is the resignation.

“geralt - “

“i know. i won’t let you die.”

-

he goes to yennefer next, even though to see her face is to grimace inside.

it’s been a week, and the rash has spread, and jaskier complains of stomach pains daily, even when he hasn’t eaten, even hours before he vomits blood.

yennefer takes one look at geralt before her gaze slides to the bard at his side, and she sighs, and motions them inside.

they learn nothing more.

“incurable,” she says, and if geralt didn’t know full well her loathing of jaskier, he would think she sounded... apologetic. “he’s got two years at best, likely less.”

“there has to be something -“

“geralt. i can’t do a thing.”

-

“geralt, surely someone will know... a - a different sorceress, a mage...”

“i won’t let you die.”

-

they go to another mage next, one tucked away in the depths of a town from which geralt has long since been banned.

it’s here that, finally, they get something - a name, a cause.

“it’s eating away at him,” says the old mage, “from the inside out. it’s an ancient thing - dark magic, as dark as i’ve seen. they say... well.”

“what?” geralt snarls, his grip on jaskier’s arm only tightening when his bard sways closer against his side.

“dragon heart, they say. little more than theory, but - “

and just like that, geralt is out the door, jaskier close behind.

-

“you can’t go after a dragon alone - “

“i won’t let you die.”

-

jaskier is weaker.

the rash has become boils here and there, on the backs of his hands and arms and shoulders, and he can no longer play the lute without pain.

as much as it tears geralt apart to leave him behind, he does.

he leaves jaskier at home in corvo bianco, begs their nearest neighbors to drop in, keep him well...

swears to come back alive.

-

“promise me you’ll come back if it’s a false lead - “

“i won’t let you die.”

-

he slays the dragon, a fierce red thing far up north, slices out its heart and carries it back to blaviken tied to roach’s haunches.

the old mage is waiting, ancient tomes and tablets and scrolls open on every surface, herbs and plants and monster pieces on top of and among it all.

“if this is right,” says the mage, “it’ll be violet at the end, but, well,” he amends, as he checks a scroll, “translating these have been next to impossible,” he admits, as he slices off a section of the heart, “and it might not - “

the broiling mixture in the cauldron turns a horrid, bloody red when the heart is dropped inside.

geralt feels nothing but dread.

-

“geralt, you can’t possibly kill enough dryads in time -“

“i won’t let you die.”

-

the second time he leaves from corvo bianco, he leaves jaskier in pain.

the boils are becoming lesions, and the bloody bile is a daily occurrence, and his singing voice is all but gone.

geralt sets off for the forests, and, well...

he slays fifteen of the forest nymphs, and he feels guilt biting at the back of his throat each time he shaves bark from the dead dryads’ trees, but jaskier’s red and bleeding skin is at the forefront of his mind.

the potion goes gray this time, deep and dull and dreadful, and geralt wants to scream.

-

jaskier is coughing now.

geralt stays home for a week, mourns the loss of jaskier’s warmth in his arms, for his bard cannot bear the touch of another’s on his sore and blistering and bleeding skin.

it pains him to see, and yet...

he cannot rest.

he leaves at week’s end, the edges of the world on his mind.

-

“geralt, please, just stay - “

“i won’t let you die.”

-

twenty tongues of elven warriors.

geralt sees the hatred, the betrayal, the disgust in filavandrel’s eyes as he slaughters those that remain.

he sees it tenfold when he slays the elven king where he stands.

he sees it in the surface of the river when he crouches down to wash his skin free of blood, reflected in his own eyes when he does his best to clean his own wounds.

he sees it in the washed-out green the cauldron’s contents turn.

he sees it in jaskier’s eyes when he returns home, tells him of the fall of the elves... tells him of the new scars upon his back.

-

“please, my wolf, stay behind this time...”

“i won’t let you die.”

-

fang of demon.

five new claw marks across his jaw.

jaskier cannot stand without doubling over in the worst fit of blood-splattering coughing geralt has ever witnessed.

the potion is black.

-

“geralt, it’s okay - “

“i won’t let you die.”

-

flesh of the one cursed before first breath.

a night in a crypt, a broken wrist, a gash on the flank.

jaskier’s eyes are bloodshot and his voice is frail. he cannot walk alone.

the potion is teal.

-

“geralt, please, if you love me - “

“i won’t let you die.”

-

eye of the beast upon the highest throne.

a king slain, a kingdom out for his blood, an arrowhead through the shoulder and a ribcage of splintered bone.

jaskier is bedridden.

the potion is gold.

-

“geralt, my love, *please,* i beg of you - “

“i won’t let you die.”

fang of the lycanthrope.

scar across the chest.

white.

-

“the cure doesn’t exist, geralt, stay home - “

“i won’t let you die.”

sting of the manticore.

wounded in the side.

bronze.

-

“it won’t ever work, my love, please let me die in your arms - “

“i won’t let you die.”

vessel of the djinn.

broken, battered, bruised.

charcoal.

-

at the end of the fifteenth month, geralt leaves his beloved behind for the last time.

he leaves jaskier coughing, choking, begging, grabbing for his arms, his hands, anything to keep him close -

grabbing for him despite the wounds geralt and the healers have done their best to keep bound -

begging for him despite the way his voice is all but gone -

sobbing for him despite the way he can barely even breathe -

but geralt draws away, shakes his head, whispers one last time, “i won’t let you die.”

he can hear his bard’s sobs well beyond the walls of their home.

-

twenty nine days.

wyvern, harpy, dwarf, virgin, cockatrice, gryphon, chimera, basilisk, leshen...

vampire, succubus, drowner, kikimora, barghest...

the monsters blur together after so long - after so much of his blood spilled.

geralt is growing weak, growing tired -

growing slow.

and then, one day -

one day, he stumbles as he walks back into the mage’s tower, stumbles and catches himself on the edge of the cauldron, and -

and his blood, the blood that’s fucking covering from melitele only knows how many fucking cuts and gashes and scrapes and gouges -

his blood drips from his palm, from his wrist, from his fingertips, and it falls into the cauldron -

and the concoction of herbs and roots and flowers and bones and brains and heartstrings and feathers and stones and blood, it -

it turns deep, vibrant violet, and -

and geralt goes still.

-

he’s never pushed roach as hard as he does that day, the next day, the next...

it’s the third day when a group of highwaymen cross his path, when they fire at him from the hillside, when a crossbow bolt strikes roach through the sockets of her eyes, and -

and geralt tears them all down without an instant of hesitation, and he pauses to mourn the loss of his cherished companion, but -

but jaskier is waiting, and -

and geralt runs.

his legs ache and his lungs burn and his ribs feel as though they may shatter again from the strain, and he is bleeding, and he is dying, but -

but jaskier is waiting, and -

and he loses track of the days and of how many times he trips and falls and of how many times he drops to his knees and then to the ground -

and still he runs.

-

i can’t let him die.

-

geralt feels as though he may collapse by the time he stumbles against the doors of corvo bianco, but still he moves,

still he pushes on,

pushes the door open and almost falls inside, and -

and he cannot breathe, and his vision is hazy, and he knows that he’s gone too far, but -

but jaskier is waiting, and -

and he steps through the doors of the room they’ve shared for so many long and perfect years, and -

and he reaches into his pocket for the vial of antidote, and -

and he looks up, and he goes still.

the vial falls to the floor.

geralt lurches the few steps to the edge of the bed, drops to his knees, reaches out to touch the back of a cold, cold hand, closed tight about a scrap of parchment he can’t bring himself to acknowledge.

he lowers his edge to the mattress, and he breathes in, and he breathes out, and...

and at last, the witcher is still.

-

geralt,

my beloved, i have kept alive as long as i can. i have spent my life at your side, and there isn’t a day of it that i would have changed.

my only regret is that i did not die in your arms.

i love you.

live well.

[nelllraiser]

(sh)room for growth | jared & nell

TIMING: before nell was excommunicated from the coven. LOCATION: jared’s farm. PARTIES: @themidnightfarmer​​ and @nelllraiser​. SUMMARY: nell visits jared and finds him a little different than she remembers. CONTENTS: mind alteration via mushrooms

Things in town were hard at the moment, but when weren’t they. It was hard to remember a time when there was simply nothing bad happening. And Jared had lived in white crest his whole life, that said a lot. That being said when he’d stumbled upon a ring for the first time that season he decided not to think about the consequences. He was allowed to have some fun right? That’s how the nymph found himself dancing around a big bonfire he’d built in the clearing between the first barn and the house. The flames were big and Jared delighted in prodding the copper pipe he’d put in the middle of the flames to watch them change colour. Drink in hand, a few bouncing bonedoggles around him, and Jared was having a grand time by himself. He swayed to himself in the music coming from the boom box just inside the cab of his tractor. Who knew mushroom season could be so great?

Nell could see the flames of the bonfire from across the field when she pulled up to the farm, leaving her motorcycle far from the kids as always so as not to startle them. Automatically, a grin spread over her lips, thinking of all the times her and Jared had stayed out here by the warmth of the fire to relax and simply enjoy each other’s company. She couldn’t quite make her friend out yet, but she didn’t hesitate to announce her arrival. “Jared! How dare you decide to start the party withou-” Her words cut off in the next instant, surprise flooding her system as she took in the actual full picture. The rosiness in her cheeks seemed to react instantly, and it seemed that old habits died hard as a small blush colored her. “Jared!” she began again in her surprise. “Are you- I mean- where are your clothes? Why are you naked?”

Hearing Nell’s voice Jared joyfully turned around to greet her. A massive grin plastered on his face he waved her over towards the fire. “I had to start without you!! I needed the fire to LIVE.” he told her, dramatically gesturing with both arms grandly at the huge burning mass. He wandered forward to her and threw an arm around her shoulders. “Clothes were only holding me back.” he waved away her concern idly, leading them over to the fire, his face not for a second shifting out of it’s dazed happiness. “I didn’t know how much better life was without anything holding you back.” He enthused loudly, throwing an arm out to the farmland as a whole. “My kids are so much freer than I am. I want a piece of that you know? Why can’t I be like them? Why can’t you be like them? You belong here!”

“Jared!” Nell called out again in pure surprise as he turned, her blush only darkening further. What would highschool Nell have done to be in this exact situation? No, on second thought— she’d probably be even more surprised. The arm around her shoulders was warm, and Nell tried her best not to look at- well- anywhere southwards, even if she was….curious. Instead she focused on Jared’s other horns. The ones on his head that apparently had come out to play. They really were lovely, with the way they gracefully curled, and their fascinating texture. She still wished he’d let himself out of his glamour more often when it was just the two of them and the farm. It seemed like it’d be uncomfortable to keep it up as often as he did. “It’s great with nothing to hold you back,” she tried to recover. “Are you drunk or something? Did you start drinking without me? That’s not fair! Do you want some pants?” Please, want some pants.

“Drunk? No way. Well I mean I wanted some whiskey for the bonfire but I couldn’t find it in the house, can’t remember where I last had it. Maybe the barn?” He squinted behind them still walking Nell forward and then shrugged. He squeezed her shoulders and stooped to whisper as if they were amongst people who couldn’t know, and not just some rowdy bonedoggle pups. “It’s mushroom season, a ring popped up behind the first barn.” he told her impishly. “Took my chances and I feel great.” he says louder than before. The nymph let her go and turned to walk backwards, taking her hand to hold to pull her closer to the bonfire. “Pants are for humans. Coffins for the legs. Life isn’t supposed to be that way, nothing is far more natural don’t you think. Come on Nell don’t tell me being naked isn’t FREEING.” He yelled out the last word, as if challenging the air to argue with him.

Nell still didn’t know where to look. But as Jared mentions mushrooms, things suddenly became clearer. “Ohhhh,” she let out a breath of air as a few things became clearer. “Like...a fairy ring?” She knew the bare minimum about them after her travels, but didn’t entirely understand them. All Nell knew was that she was not supposed to get into one as a human, though Deridre had shed perhaps a little more light on them. “So they’re like...a celebration, right?” That’s what the banshee had said, wasn’t it? Nell gave a small wince as Jared tugged on her hand, the movement jostling her bad wrist that was still tender and in its brace. “Damn, what I’d give to be as high as you are right now,” she laughed a little through the fading pain. “I mean it is, but— isn’t it a little...I just mean- well- with you...I don’t know? Are you saying I should be naked?” 

“Yeah! Like a fairy ring, the mushroom kind and not those weird british cookies...or are those called party rings…” His focus shifted, his brain working overtime trying to work around the effects of the mushrooms. But alas he couldn’t quite grasp the information and instead waved it off. “IT’S GONNA BE A PARTY!” Jared came back with a response, arguably far too loud for the tone she’d asked the question in. “High on LIFE Nells.” he corrected her and grinned. In a very rare rational moment Jared sobered and looked at her as if he was back to normal. “You think I should wear pants…” but the moment broke mere seconds later when his started to giggle and wiggled his shoulders this way and that. “But pants are for humans Nells, Horns on pants off, those are the new house rules. You don’t HAVE to follow the rules too, but you COULD.”

Nell shook her head ever so slightly, still unable to make sense of exactly what it was Jared was getting it. Instead, she tried her best to roll with it. “A party? Am I invited?” she asked with feigned indignance, as if any answer other that yes would result her in being deeply and personally offended. “I don’t...I mean…” She didn’t want to make Jared wear pants, not if this was the way fae were meant to naturally exist in the revelry of the mushrooms, but she also simply didn’t know what to do with all the...skin. Not when it was Jared. “Okay, well if it’s horns on— I’m gonna need to borrow some,” she tried her best to tease, once again avoiding looking directly at Jared. As she spoke, she rubbed her bad wrist absently, trying to soothe away the ache.

“Of course you’re invited, you’re always invited!” Jared told her earnestly. He bustled over to her and put both hands flat on her head, as he drew them away small little baby versions of two of his horns were there, he giggled and snorted and grinned looking at them before being intensely distracted by her movement to rub her wrist. She’d hurt it, he remembered that, and he’d just pulled it oh this would not do. This wasn’t okay. She needed to be seen to. And like he would do with any of his vicious angels his eyes changed to their natural colour and he started to slowly walk her backwards with a single hand on her shoulder. “Your wrist is sore.” he points out innocently, quietly herding her closer to the barn. Not even really registering what he was doing. 

Nell laughed along with Jared as he mimed the horns, half tempted to glamour some onto herself as part of the game. But she was also distracted as her wrist caught his attention. IT wasn’t unlike Jared to be concerned about her and her injuries, but he seemed...much more intensely focused on it than he usually was. “Oh, it’s not that bad. It’s getting better, anyway. And that’s what the brace is for,” she said as she held up the wrist with a gentle shake, nothing that would hurt it. For a moment, Nell walked mindlessly with Jared, further misled by his eyes changing color. They really were lovely, and he didn’t often let him show. It took her for a second to remember what they’d been doing in her admiration, but then she was reflexively turning back towards the truck and the fire he’d been tending. “Wait, I thought we were gonna have a party or whatever.”

Jared took a small side step in front of her when she turned around, still trying to walk her the other way. “The party will be there later.” he cooed, a big smile finding itself back on his face but his eyes intently watched her wrist moments. Seems even the most vicious of creatures needed a little coaxing to be cared for, so he persisted. Jared wrapped his arm around her shoulder and tried to gently persuade her towards the barn again. What he planned to do when they got there wasn’t yet clear even to himself but his instinct was to move them out of the open air and into somewhere safer. Being injured like that she needed protecting. That was what he was best at! “How’d you hurt it? What actually happened?” He was intensely focused on her wrist now his free hand lifting it so he could see. As if she hadn’t already clearly gotten it seen to.

As Jared stepped in front of her, confusion and indignance flickered over Nell’s face, her neck craning back in a gut reaction. Sure, they often played games of chase fairly often, but this felt different. “Why are you talking like that?” she asked. His tone had changed, hadn’t it? And it wasn’t like the usual tone he used when he was concerned about her. Before she knew it, he was leading her away from the fire yet again. What the hell? What was he doing? “It was at the Ring, like I told you. Remember? I landed on it wrong.” Her frown only went deeper as he continued to fawn, thrown by this change in demeanor. “What are you doing?” she asked, trying to take her wrist back. “You’re acting like I’m one of-” And then it dawned on her. The way he kept redirecting her to the barn, the cooing voice he was using. “Holy shit, you think I’m one of your creatures, don’t you?” The absurdity of the situation morphed the trail end of her words into the beginnings of a chuckle. Sure, she could be viscous, but for him to think she was one of his wards?

“Talking like what?” Jared said softly in return not really listening to her. It wasn’t like he ever had to actively listen to any of his charges and process their language before after all. He wasn’t able to do that so he didn’t manage to make the stretch to really process what Nell said in this situation. He frowned very lightly when she pulled her arm out of his reach and he tutted gently. So stubborn. “You’re not a creature.” he once again responds without really thinking about what she was accusing him. He gave up holding onto her and instead decided to try coaxing. He walked backwards and held his hand out to her. “Come on good things in the barn!”

Was he even listening? Nell was just as lost as she’d been in the beginning, having no idea how to combat the mushroom addled brain of Jared. This was a Jared she didn’t know. It was a thought that somewhat unsettled her. Wasn’t she supposed to be one of the people that knew him best? But now she didn’t have any bearings to go off of. “Jared, listen. I’m fine, alright. I don’t need to go to the barn.” What good things was he even talking about in the barn? Hay? Human parts? She wasn’t squeamish, but she had no desire to digest anything that his kids would normally be eating. “No! You think I’m one of them!” she said as she took a step away from the nymph, pointing towards the pasture of bies that were grazing nearby.

Jared squinted at her and then glanced over to the bies and seemed to get lost. The mushroom circle high had yet to fully settle into his mind, so he was knocked off course and his hyperfocus on her wrist injury was diverted to his actual kids. With eyes on his herd of bies he melted when one of them yawned. “Did you see that, so sweet. Why does no one know you’re so cute.” he asked the bies, who looked up at him and then turned its third eye on Nell and then it meandered away. His eyes caught the bonfire again and his direction was shifted once more. The copper pipe he’d placed in it catching and changing the flame colour. He took Nells non-wrapped wrist and pointed bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Look at that holy shit!” He was lost to the mushrooms. He wasn’t likely to make any sort of sense any time soon.

Well, at least the bies had done one thing for Nell today, effectively drawing Jared away from his plans of holing her up in the barn to do who knew what. At least he hadn’t tried to cattle prod her or anything. “They can be very cute,” she affirmed to Jared, hoping it would further placate him. Why did she feel like she was talking to a five year old? As Jared was quickly drawn back to the fire within the span of thirty seconds, Nell’s brow raised. Maybe she was dealing with a five-year-old. “That’s great, Jared.” Normally, she would have loved to go along with any shenanigans including Jared, even if it was just a pretty copper pipe in a fire. But something about this simply set her on edge. If Jared could barely function properly, how was he going to get through the coming days? “Hey, what if we just sit by the fire for a bit? That sounds nice.” Maybe he’d stand still and they could figure this out. “I could even have the hounds sit with us.” Maybe that would be enough to get him to focus.

Her words were starting to sink in finally, the mushroom circle effects starting to settle into something more stable, if still very unusual for Jared’s normal. He beamed at her agreement about his bies and nodded vigorously about sitting by the bonfire. He wanted that, he definitely wanted that. It was all muddled in his brain, but he was at least still aware of wants and needs. It was just the start of the party for Jared. They couldn’t know that yet, but soon enough things would really swing to life as Nell tentatively left him to his own devices.

[flappypineapples]

Escapism Ch. 2

The carriage ride was bumpy as all carriage rides seem to be in London. Cordelia pushed the curtain back to glance outside at the passing street. The sky was grey with clouds, much like Cordelia's own thoughts.

She shivered.

She knows she has no real right to be upset with James, their emgamemt is a sham and he doesn't truly love her, not in the way he loves Grace but it still hurts. She did truly believe him when he had promised to be faithful. A bitter chuckle catches in her throat. But she supposed that to was another thinly veiled sham.

She was startled out of her thoughts by the feeling of heavy wool settling on her shoulders. She turned to see Matthew fiddiling with the fabric on the upholstery. He looked straight ahead, his expression hidden by the shadows of the evening sun.

"You seemed cold, you don't have a wrap or anything and it's getting late".

Anna watched them thoughtfully from her seat. She leaned forward resting her elbows on her spread knees and bringing her hands up to below her chin.

"Oh I just can't wait to see how this delightful night enfolds".

---

Matthew would be boldface lying if he said he wasn't deeply worried. Cordelia was meant to be the grounded, level headed girl of his secret desires, close enough to admire but never venturing too far into his own world. It was easier to bear that way. But here she was, thoughtful and determined not on battle strategy or word play but leisure and temptation. She wanted to see the world he loved and resided in with no alternative motive of mockery or investigation.

He expected this behavior from James or Lucie, Herondales were always known to throw themselves headlong into riské situations. From Christopher who perhaps had absentmindedly wandered into a world of magic like Alice in Wonderland. Even sooner from Thomas who had a silent appreciation for the mundane art of the world. But yet again Matthew had underestimated Cordelia and her range of emotion and action. Her heart seemed to flutter like a moth near an oil lamp, refusing to be pinned down by the wings.

But most of all Matthew wanted to help her. He could never help himself and it occured to him that he may be in the unique position to help someone else. Not only help them but guide them into a world he so loved. The thought excited him, walking Cordelia into the Hell Ruelle and introducing her to all his favorite corners and mates. Perhaps maybe she would want more of the world after tonight. He could show her all his favorite haunts of London, a satue garden or even take her to a Mundane theatre to see a production of The Importance of Being Earnest. Matthew cut his thoughts off there. It was not his place to be courting his parabatai's soon to be wife no matter the circumstance of their emgamemt. He was simply here to protect Cordelia from any harm that may come to her tonight as any good upstanding Parabatai would do for their blood brothers partner. This was soley a mission of protection and honor. But even as Matthew absentmindedly reached for his flask and took a glance at Cordelia's face from the corner of his eyes he knew that was a lie. He let his eyes trail breifly over her sharp nose and beautiful dark eyes.

An interesting night indeed.

---

The carriage rolled to a stop as the sun was fully dipped into the pool of the night sky. The moon was just starting to emerge from the horizon as they stepped out of the carriage. Matthew went second after Anna and stiffly helped Cordelia down to the stones. The night air was still damp with the whisper of recently shed rain but now a sharp breeze had cut through that musky air freezing it. Cordelia pulled Matthew's jacket around herself tighter.

They walked inside together. The inside air was thick with sweet and smoke and Cordelia smelled the air greatfully. It was a relaxing break from the stiff smell London air. Anna passed some quick words with the door guard and they sauntered inside gracefully.

Cordelia was yet again struck with the beauty of such a place. A young fairie man with gold eyelashes and dark skin winked at her and Matthew as he passed by. A young werewolf girl sat perched on the arm of a lush green couch with a flute resting below her red staining lips. As she played the warm air of her breath created disappearing clouds that seeped through the keys. Lily the vampire server saw them come in and swayed over hastily.

"Reginald has been learning how to juggle all week and we've all made bets on how many different items he can keep in the air." She blew a lock of loose hair out of her face. "I lost a bet to a ifrit with one arm and the largest mustache I've ever seen, I bet you half his gambling salary goes towards beard wax, drinks?"

She breathlessly holds forward her serving tray of champagne and Cordelia hastily plucks a flute. Matthew expertly fingers two in one hand, handing the second to Anna and going back for a second for himself.

Anna surveys the room and lands her gaze on a circle of guests standing alterly around a man. Over there heads every couple of seconds seems to fly another blue and white china saucer. The crowd claps and cheers with every plate joining the air.

"If you'll excuse me Cordelia I must go see what this commotion is all about. Matthew I do trust you'll take complete care of Cordelia while I am away with miss Chen?"

"I can take perfectly good care of myself", Cordelia cut in quickly, plucking Matthew's jacket from her shoulders. Lily smiled admiringly.

Anna smiled as well, "Yes of course but Matthew isn't the one who came to my flat drenched in rain demanding debauchery".

Matthew's eyes glittered over the rim of his champagne flute, "for once".

With that Anna had turned; sweeping Lily up in her sway and leaving Matthew and Cordelia alone in a room full of motion.

Matthew deposited his now empty glasses on the nearest side table and took his coat from Cordelia, shrugging it on. Cordelia turned to deposit her empty flute next to Matthew's. When she turned back around Matthew brandished a small tin of white hard candies to her. She hesitantly took one looking at him quizzically.

"They're french", he answered to her unasked question. "Anise of Flavigny, these are rose flavored. Don't bite down on them though, they'll break your teeth". Matthew brandished his signature smile as if to show off his perfectly unbroken teeth as an example.

Cordelia couldn't help but smile warmly back as she popped the small candy in her mouth. The taste of roses brought her back to being a child and having her cook mix sweet rose syrup and water to make her and her brother rose water to drink in the summer. She thought it strange to find such warm childhood memories in a place she would consider so far from the inocents of childhood.

"Matthew?"

"Hmm?", Matthew looked back down at her, he had seemed distracted and distant but it seemed her words snapped him back to reality.

"What do er do we do?", The thought occured to Cordelia that she didn't know much of what really went on in a salon and she wasn't to keen on flailing about trying to figure it out and making a fool of herself.

Matthew threw his head back lazily and giggled, it wasn't a mocking laugh but instead it seemed to be a laugh of pure delight.

"Oh Cordelia this is the question isn't it?", He extended his arm to her to take and she took it hesitantly. He was warm and humming with energy. "Come along now, there's loads to see and do".

Matthew led them over to a large seated vampire who seemed to be talking to a small group of people who were nodding and commented with eachother. On the way he has snagged two dark glasses of wine and handed one to Cordelia. She took a long drink of it, grimacing slightly at the bitter taste but welcoming the warm feeling it spread throughout her. Matthew skillfully wedged their bodies into the fray of the conversation and began listening contently.

"If the mundanes keep palling around the Middle East and digging up all those tombs they're going to end up releasing some angry old spirit of curse on all those poor locals."

A silver haired nymph cut in quickly "did you know they're eating bits of mumified person now? They think it'll give them good health, I would never eat such an old human, it seems rotten and distasteful."

"Some even think they'll be able to find the fountain of youth off the White Nile, I think they're fools the lot of them." The werewolf man added.

Cordelia was constantly ammused by the da gerous and expensive lengths mundane women would go to look young and thought back to her comment on how It'd be so much easier to just become a vampire.

The group of guests began to laugh mirthfully and look at her.

"Amusing observation, especially amusing coming from one so young and pretty" said the Nymph woman examining Cordelia head to toe. Cordelia flushed in embarrassment, she hadn't meant to say her comment out loud for everyone to hear. She looked up to Matthew in alarm and found him smiling warmly down at her; apparently just as ammused as the rest of the crowd. The group of guests had moved onto another discussion and Matthew guided her away clearly finding their new topic too boring for their adventurous night. He led her into a side hallway slightly quieter than the fray of the main room but with a wide view still of it's goings.

He took her arm and brought her to sit beside him on a plush loveseat against the wall. The couch was a dark nightly ocean blue with nude carved women making up the wood accents of the back. Cordelia finished off her glass and reached for another drink from a passing servers tray. She hiccuped as she took a drink from her new glass.

She watched the juggling man now hold or rather toss 4 live lobsters around while a warlock woman standing by him collected bet money. She scanned the room for Anna but she was no where to be found. She let her eyes settle on a large looming painting on her left side. It depicted a young man made of gold surrounded by a golden castle scene. His frozen arms were held up like a ballerina as if to hug the air. At his feet fell and older man dressed in fine clothes apparently sobbing in anguish over the scene of metal. She took another sip of her drink and looked over at Matthew and found him with a far off look in his eyes. He too was looking at the painting but it seemed to touch him in a way it did not touch her.

---

Matthew had always been intrigued the story of king Midas. A man who was surrounded by beauty but was punished anytime he tried to touch the lives of the people around him. Matthew himself often felt he ruined anything he touched but instead of gold he just offered fire. He burned away good things if he got to close to them. So few people could get close to him without catching fire but no one could truly touch him. Not even James. If James knew his truths he ran the risk of losing him. His sweet Jamie was the best thing he had in his life and he would never risk losing him.

Matthew breathed deeply. In. And out.

And opened his eyes again. When his vision focused he found a fairie man looking at them from across the room.

No, not them. Her

His golden eyes were fixed on her pointadly. He had dark waist length black hair to match his dark freckles covered skin. He was wearing a black suit with golden trim to match his bright golden eyes. Matthew looked over at Cordelia but she seem singlemindably fixated on staring at the oil painting to their left. Matthew felt a warm possessiveness rise up in his heart. He knew it was nonsensical but watching this man give Cordelia such a hungry look made him bubble up with a strange sort of anger he wasn't used to.

Matthew leaned over and wrapped an arm around Cordelia's shoulders to get the message across that she was not available. Whether the action was in Jamse's name or his one he dared not ask. It seemed to have worked cause the man slipped out of Matthew's sight and into the crowd.

---

Cordelia was startled out of her dazed state by Matthew curling his arm around her shoulders and pulling her toward him. She looked up at him in alarm.

"Matthew is everything alright?". He was looking forward narrow eyed but Cordelia saw nothing there when she looked.

As soon as the look had appeared on his face it passed, like clouds in the sky the sun was out again and he was babbling light heartedly.

"Yeah everything is dandy I was just wondering if you'd want to hear a poem I was working on." He gracefully lifted his arm from her shoulder and started waving his hands around wildly as if he had intended this from the start.

"Yes but didn't you tell me you're rubish at writing?" Cordelia deposited her empty glass on the floor beside her and sat back.

"Yes but that never stops me from trying; maybe this time will be the one!" He jumped up and on to the foot stole infront of her looking down devilishly.

"My sweet maiden left me dry

She torn my savings which made me cry

She took the child and left a log

But worst of all she took the dog" Matthew smiled confidently as if his verses were likely to win him a writing award.

Cordelia burst out laughing, "good god! You are awful". In her fit of giggles she tipped over sideways landing on the cushion beside her. She kicked her booted feet up and onto the arm of the ornate couch. She knew if her mother could see her now she'd probably drop dead on the sight.

Matthew leaned over and laughed down at her. Cordelia couldn't stop laughing back in his face, he looked so funny upside down, like his eyebrows made a tiny mustache for his tiny face. Cordelia reached up and covered his mouth with her hand to complete the illusion and fell into another fit of giggles. She drew her hand back and sat up dazedly.

Matthew knelt down beside her one hand on her lower back steadying her as she sat up. He cheerful but slightly concered looked concerned.

"Cordelia how are you feel-" but Matthew was cut off by a loud round of applause coming from the stage in the middle of the room. The flutist from earlier took to the stage along with kellington and a woman with a cello. Upon further inspection the cello seemed to be made of an ivory material with a bone neck. It was beautiful in a sickly sweet way, much like the player. Her hair was a waterfall of pale cobwebs adorned with small red spiders. The sight made Matthew's stomach churn.

As Kellington raised his violin to his chin he let his eyes grazed over the crowd.

"Tonight we have a special musical act. The talented miss Nightwae and Miliana are joining me in playing some dancing music." People began to desert their drinks behind and search for dancing partners at the catalyst of his words.

"They raised their bows as the dark lipped woman brought the flute to her lips. The music swelled up in a haunting melody. Not one native to a ballroom but perhaps a far away land or fairytale.

Cordelia stood up quickly wishing to get a closer look and found her vision quickly being eaten over by black ink. She reached out as Matthew caught her around the waist steadinging her. She wasn't surprised by her slight faintness she hadn't eaten anything since breakfast and had had a hard day of training.

She had been planning on teaching James to make stuffed grape leaves for dinner. He had expressed great interest in learning how to help her prepare meals and-

"Let's dance", Cordelia caught at Matthew's shoulders and pulled him towards the main room. Taken be surprise Matthew stumbled at first but regained his footing and soon found himself swept up in a sea of fine fabrics and finer guests all swaying dangerously to a far away melody.

Matthew took Cordelia's hand in his own and lightly placed his hand on her hip careful not to cross any boundaries he couldn't later take back. They twirled with the crowd. Matthew was an excellent dancer and led her expertly. He bent his head in to talk to her in a low ammused voice.

"You know for such a beautiful solo dancer you sure are poor at couples dances."

Cordelia looked up at him challengingly, "you know for such a charming boy you sure do insult ladies alot." Her words were harsh but the curl of her lips and the glint in her eyes conveyed the true joking matter of her phrase.

The song paused and changed quickly to a more dissonant and deep melody. Matthew twirled Cordelia and the room swam around her she lost her footing and ended up righting herself using his arms to keep her up. She looked up to thank him and was shocked still to find James smiling back down at her. He slid his hands down to her waist and began to away them further towards the center stage.

"James? What are you doing here?"

James leaned in closer, his lips brushing the edge of her ear as he spoke. "Is that what you see? Fascinating".

He spun her sideways a couple feet and joined her moving deftly across the dance floor, further and further from her original spot. As they floated deeper into the fray she felt the hot air settle around her, making her hair frizz on the nape of her neck with sweat.

"What are you talking about? James, what is happening?" Cordelia felt some sort of sense trying to leak into her brain but found herself unable to grasp at it, like fog blocking out the sun.

"You are an incredibly alluring girl. From the moment you walked in I've had my eye on you. I was right". He moved with her again, further.

"Right about what?" She asked breathless and confused.

His golden eyes danced like the embers of a bonfire.

"You're trapped. You love and cannot love. You live a lie fabricated around this face."

He stopped dancing and reached down gripping her face. His fingers dug into her cheek and he pressed down so hard she could taste sparks of metal.

"Tragic. Such a beautiful face wasted away on unrequited love." He let his hand fall again and his arms came possesivly snaking around her waist. "No wonder the lucky guy is so beautiful, pretty faces were never known to show much mercy huh?"

With that Cordelia fell. Fell into the warm darkness surrounding her. It was like falling backwards into the ocean on a warm day. The coldness took her over and the last thing she saw was the glint of golden eyes.

---

Matthew was now frantically pushed and weaving his way through the dance floor after Cordelia and the golden eyed man. It was him, the dark haired man from earlier.

He had finally caught up to them just in time to see Cordelia fall backwards into the man's tight grip. Her head lulled backwards her eyes shut and lips slightly parted. Matthew cried out, forgetting himself and the setting he was in.

As he rushed towards them the man opened his arms in a grand sweeping gesture and let her fall. Matthew reached out and caught her, sinking to the floor to cushion her fall.

"What did you you?!" Matthew was furious but holding a knife to this man's throat would hardly accomplish anything but getting Matthew kicked out.

The air stilled around them and the room seemed to slow like bodies running through water.

"I didn't do anything she didn't secretly want. She saw what she desired". The man gazed down at them with his chin raised.

"Who do you see fair one?" With those words the man's skin seems to ripple and shudder away revealing a tall pale blonde boy staring down at Matthew.

It was him. When he was 13. Wide eyed and childlike, carrying a small bottle of poison in his pocket.

Matthew was at a loss for words. His mind was going a thousand miles a minute even though it seemed whatever enchantment was at work was pausing the sway of bodies around them.

"Interesting, you and her both long for such heart aching things. What a pair", and with that the man stepped back into the crowd as it swelled back to normal time and swalled him whole. He loooked around frantically but he was no where to be seen

Notes: I was going to make this chapter longer but my notes app I'm writing in has a word count limit 😂. This is very fun to write I hope you guys are having fun reading it. Sorry I was a little late to getting this out. Have a wonderful whenever you're reading this :-).

[lady-snavely]

Sands of Time: Part One

Chance Encounters

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsuro x Fem!OC

Warnings: mentions of death, swearing, mutual pining, all the fluff

A/N: reblogs are super appreciated and, if anyone’s interested, I’ll start a tag list

In the innocent years of childhood, Jade first met him. It wasn't a long meeting, only an hour or two, in fact. She had been playing on her own in a nearby forest when she felt the desire to wander. Her wings glittered as she hopped from sun pocket to sun pocket. Her laughter, loud and jovial, filled her ears until the sounds of a boy crying had caught her attention and she quieted. It was the curiosity of a child that sent her straying that much further from her family home.

Not too far from where she'd been playing, Jade found the boy. From what she could tell he had tripped and skinned his knee. She watched him curiously from behind a tree for a few heartbeats before that curiosity pulled her further. Her father's warning of Humans was the farthest thing from her mind as she approached the boy.

The boy had dried his tears quickly when he first saw her before staring, mouth agape. "Are you real?" He'd managed to whisper, awestruck.

A smile danced on her lips and her nose crinkled when she giggled. "Are you?" Jade had countered easily.

The boy frowned and stood, his injured knee forgotten as his own curiosity blossomed. "But you have wings and your ears are pointy and you're flying!"

It was then that her father's warning of Humans rushed back to her. But he was little and, according to Jade's oldest sister, Human children made up all sorts of stories that their parents brushed off as make believe. "Wanna see a magick trick?" Jade asked in reply, settling her bare feet gently in the grass. The boy nodded his head eagerly. "Close your eyes and count to ten," she instructed.

When he did she concentrated. It wasn't a painful transformation, only slightly uncomfortable as her Faerie wings shrank back into her shoulder blades and she grew an inch or two in height. Her ears rounded out and became more proportional. Jade's transformation to her Humanoid form completed just as a resounding "TEN!" echoed around her.

"How did you do that!" The boy hurried around Jade in wonder. He poked at her back and picked at her hair trying and failing to find where everything was hidden. "Where did they go?"

"I'm not allowed to tell you." Human's most commonly greet with a handshake, her mother had told her once so she stuck her hand out. "Call me Jade. Like the stone."

The boy took Jade's hand with only slight hesitation. "Kuroo Tetsuro but my friends just call me Tetsu-chan."

"Tetsu-chan." Jade smiled. She wasn't sure what to think, what with his name sounding like honey in her ears and her heart leaping like wildfire in her chest.

For being children they were surprisingly content with sitting in the woods and talking. Sure they played some too but they mostly talked. Jade told Tetsu-chan all sorts of stuff about her people that he believed were just stories but were real. She told him about the time her oldest sister, Nyra, tried to run away with a wood nymph only to be brought back after a couple of days by the nymph's mother. She told him about the time when she was littler when her parents first found out she possessed the ability to wield weather magick like her mother. Tetsu-chan had clung to every word, mesmerized by the idea of Fae and what they could do.

When Tetsuro's father burst through the trees Jade had been so frightened that her concentration faltered and she shifted back to her Fae form. Instinct alone had her fleeing.

"Tetsuro, you were supposed to be fetching water." The voice boomed through the trees, anger and disappointment evident by the man's stance alone.

"I made a new friend, Papa! She's – " Tetsuro's smile disappeared when he didn't see her "-Jade?"

Almost half a mile away Jade was alighting on solid ground again. Her ears, once again pointy, twitched at the sound of her name, still heard clearly despite the distance. How badly she wanted to go back to him; to at least say goodbye to Tetsu-chan; to see his smile once more. Her chest ached in unfamiliar longing.

Jade's father had not taken her meeting with the Human boy well. The Human always pays the price he had explained when he had come back home with blood on his hands.

It would be the first time Jade cried over the loss of Human life.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Half a century passed before they crossed paths again. Still considered a preteen by Faerie folk, Jade had yet to leave her family. She was doing the washing in the stream not too far from their new home when she heard a brother and sister approaching on the opposite bank. Her transformation from Fae to Humanoid form took but a few seconds.

Though they were loud as they jumped into the stream she thought little of them as she hung the washing to dry. It wasn't the first time someone had come along to swim in the stream, it wasn't horribly deep and it was partially shaded to boot. The pair ignored her as she planted herself under a tree to read and wait for the sun to work its magick.

"Tetsuro, leave her alone!" A scolding voice disrupted Jade's reading some time later.

Tetsuro. Now, that was a name she hadn't heard in quite a long time. Curiously, she peered around the trunk of the tree. Though he was trying to hide in the brambles nearby Jade spotted him quickly. "Hello, Tetsu-chan," she greeted with a wave.

He stood to his full height, approaching Jade with a frown. "Do we know each other?" He wondered.

"Oh, forgive me, I overheard your sister, I presume-" Jade gestured to the girl still in the stream "-call for you just a moment ago. I'm Jade."

"Like the gem." Tetsuro smiled.

Jade masked her shock with a laugh. "Like the gem," she repeated. The smile and remark were just the same as they had been then too.

"Your washing is going to take a while to dry, why don't you join us?" Tetsuro suggested.

"Thank you but I just started a new book." She held her book up for emphasis, grimacing in apology.

Tetsuro sat against the tree just out of eyesight. "I don't know how to read," he admitted quietly, embarrassed.

"Maybe I could teach you." The suggestion was out of her mouth before intuition told her to stay quiet.

"Is it a good story?"

Jade grinned down at the pages she'd reread a handful of times now. "I think it is," she decided to say.

Tetsuro inched closer, his shoulder brushing Jade's as he peered at the book in her lap. "Just looks like a bunch of scribbles."

Jade ran an affectionate hand over the open page before nodding. "In a way they are but they have meaning and put together the way they are they make up the story." She glanced sidelong at him. "Would you like me to read it to you?"

After some time Jade stopped reading to check on the washing. Tetsuro was disappointed when she told him she would be heading home now that it was done. However he had gone back to swim with the promise to come back in a few days. Though his presence had shook her, somewhere in Jade's heart she was thrilled at seeing him again. Unfortunately she didn't see him again while they lived in that cottage and so said nothing to her parents of her run in with the strangely familiar boy.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When she heard the name again, it was from a weeping mother cradling a small bundle in her arms. The plague that had swept through the country had taken him as an infant.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Centuries passed, yet with the passing of time she never forgot about the boy with the scraped knee, the boy by the stream and the baby taken too soon. How could she when that longing she first felt when she ran from his father all those years ago was ever present when he wasn't.

In the new life she created for herself, she was a healer in the castle of the king. He was a tyrannical man, feared by his people and family alike. The queen stood in stark contrast to her husband. Loved by anyone she came in contact with and Jade was no exception. Queen Hana was polite and remembered names; remembered the little things. She often visited Jade, turning to her for comfort both as healer and friend.

On one such occasion, she had entered Jade's chambers in tears. She was with child. At first Jade had been elated by the news until the queen was pleading for something, anything that would take care of the baby.

Normally Jade didn't bat an eye when someone came to her requesting the simple solution. Yet for some reason there was a desperation, not unlike the queen's, that drove her to argue the logic. They deliberated for the better part of an hour before the queen had used her status to demand what she desired.

Jade had stood and gone to her supply shelves in silent reluctance. In the back corner of one of the shelves, hidden among healing plants and medicines, was the concoction she took in her hands.

"Remember, just two drops in your goblet each night for a week should you decide it's truly what you want." Jade passed the queen the jar with a pained smile. "If not, you saw where the jar goes. I won't say a word either way."

In the end the queen had given birth to a boy. Her fear of how her husband would have the child raised had brought her back to Jade's chambers just a few weeks after the birth.

"I've made a terrible mistake," the queen hunched over her sleeping child. Tears spilled from her eyes. "I should've used the medicine you gave me."

As much as it pained her, Jade moved silently to her shelves just as she had all those months ago. "It should only take a drop or two on your finger and letting him suckle it to help put him to sleep." When the queen frowned Jade nodded and placed the jar in her friends hand, squeezing just enough to let Hana know she was with her before whispering, "It will be painless, like falling into a deep sleep."

The queen was quiet for a few heartbeats before nodding. "You never asked about his name, you know."

It was Jade's turn to frown. The hair on the back of her neck rose with the sudden slice of worry that coursed in her veins. "Why would I ask about the prince's name? Is he not named after his father?"

"He doesn't have my husband's name." The queen smiled triumphantly though tears still glistened in her eyes. "Not officially anyway. He carries my family name and we named him after my grandfather."

Head swimming with questions Jade had fled the castle that night. She knew the queen's lineage but needed answers all the same. How and why was this Human coming into her life for moments and days at a time? Why did the death of a Human make her chest ache so?

The news swept the kingdom, reaching her two days later. Prince Tetsuro was dead.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A millennia of research yielded no definitive answers for Jade but there was no denying Kuroo Tetsuro was in a reincarnation cycle. In most instances it was a quarter century or so before he was brought back to the world. Sometimes it was longer than that before he and Jade crossed paths again. Even fewer instances allowed them more than a day or two of interaction.

In every case he was Human. In every case but the first Jade hid the truest parts of herself. She beat around the bush about her family and where she was from. She was sure that, one of these times, he would remember something, anything, from his past lives. There was no telling what would happen if he did or what he would remember.

Nyra didn't understand the infatuation surrounding the Human boy or the sudden interest in reincarnation. She'd made herself clear on that after Jade had reluctantly come to the family home after one of the longer stretches she'd had with Kuroo.

She was glad when they ran into each other again that she still passed for being in her early twenties. He'd courted her and after some time asked for her hand. The ceremony had been small and intimate. Then, after spending his early twenties with her by his side he had gone to war only to come back in a box. As much as the loss had hurt, Jade hadn't been surprised. It was the only reason she'd insisted she hadn't wanted kids.

Still she had spent the better part of three days holed up in the local library, a building standing four stories tall and spanning almost half a city block, waist deep in books. Nyra had been tasked with dragging her sleep deprived sister back to the family home where she laid into her about how reckless she was being over some stupid Human.

They didn't speak to each other for the better part of a century.

M.List | Next

[themuffinbee]

Lore Olympus Novelized, Chapter 2

First Chapter

I decided to combine chapters 2 and 3 since they basically flow into each other anyway. Plus, we get to the action faster :)

For the most part, I will be sticking pretty heavily to the source material in this little writing exercise. However, I may change a few minor things to better suit a prose retelling of the story, like maybe adding small actions/gestures or tweaking a bit of dialogue here and there. Hope you enjoy!

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“I don’t think I should have come to this party…” Persephone said through the stall door, tugging down the hem of the dress yet again. No matter how she adjusted her clothing, she couldn't find a way to make the darn thing stop riding up her butt.

Loaning Persephone an outfit had been a great idea on Artemis’ part since the two of them were pretty close to the same size. Well, close to the same size, with one important exception: Artemis was curvy, to be sure, but Persephone was curvy. She could breathe all right, that part was fine. However, it was obvious that the dress didn't fit the way it should. It was just one more thing to add to the teetering stack of worries she had built up on the drive over to the Panathenaea, her earlier optimism now shriveled up and gone.

She was going to make an embarrassment of herself, she just knew it. 

“Come ooon." Artemis' voice echoed off of the sleek bathroom walls. "You look fantastic!”

Persephone attempted to smooth out the bunched-up fabric at her hips, wincing at the contrast of her calloused hands against the shimmering material. Even her fingernails looked unsophisticated, cut short and stubby so it would be easier to clean the dirt out from under them after working in the fields.

With a sigh, Persephone leaned forward and peered through the gap under the hinge. "I feel out of my depth...everyone’s going to think I’m some stupid village girl.”

“Nobody’s going to think that," Artemis said, unconcerned as she reached down to adjust the strap on her heels. "Come on, I don't want to talk to a bathroom stall all night." 

Persephone cracked the door open and peeked at her cousin around the edge. "Artemis, I'm really nervous…" 

"Awww, Persephone. You'll do fine. We'll stay under the radar." Her cousin sounded sincere enough, and Artemis didn't tend to attract too much attention to herself anyway. 

Persephone poked her head out a little farther. "One drink and then we can go, right?" 

"Promise." Artemis nodded.

One drink. That shouldn't take too long, she could handle that.

With a final steadying breath, Persephone smoothed out her borrowed dress, attempted something close to a smile, and ever so confidently said, "...Okay."

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

"One drink and then I can go, right?" Hades cast a sidelong glance at his youngest brother.

Zeus looked at him as if he had sprouted three other heads. “What? No, no, no, no! The festivities have just begun!”

The festivities had been underway for a good hour and a half, but Hades knew there would be no point in arguing with Zeus. He’d spared no expense this time around and was obviously proud of his work. The floor under their glassed-in suite was awash in all matter of nymphs, gods, and demi-gods, a sea of celebration roiling in time to swelling music. Aerialists drenched in technicolored light swung on swathes of silk above, while a vast variety of libations flowed without end among the cheering crowd below. Hell, it looked like people were even starting to crowd surf over in the far corner. It was, by all accounts, a damn good party.

Too bad Hades couldn’t find it in himself to enjoy it.

“What’s the problem?” Poseidon asked, handing Hades a glass of scotch. “Normally you would be drinking us under the table.”

“Oh, he’s got blue balls because some nymph dumped his sorry ass,” Zeus answered.

You little shit.

Hades rolled his eyes and set his drink on a side table without tasting its contents. “Can you please not talk about my balls? Or my ass, for that matter?”

“‘Can you please not talk about my balls? Or my ass for that matter?’” Zeus mimicked in his most morose tone, furrowing his eyebrows and pressing a dramatic hand to his chest. Then he shot Hades a shit-eating grin and pointed at him. “That’s what you sound like.”

Before Hades could decide if he wanted to bestow a response to his brother’s terrible impersonation, Poseidon twitched and stiffened as he looked down into the crowd.

“Zeus…” the Sea God said through gritted teeth, the faint outline of shimmering scales beginning to show through his skin, “...did you invite Odysseus?!”

“Of course!" The shit-eating grin on Zeus’ face took on a fiendish glint. "You know, Poseidon, you’re just too entertaining when you get mad.”

Not for the first time that night, Hades found himself wondering why they put up with His Royal Pain in the Ass. As the father of the blinded Polyphemus, Poseidon was still more than a little sore about Odysseus stabbing out the Cyclops’ only eye. Granted, the Cyclops had been trying to eat the King of Ithaca at the time, so Hades sided more with his great-great-grandnephew’s point of view over that of his nephew’s...point of view.

Poseidon probably wouldn’t have appreciated that pun. Perhaps it was a good thing Hades wasn’t in the mood to annoy his brothers with bad wordplay tonight.

The Sea King thumped a fist against the glass and pointed at the wide-eyed sailor. “Yeah, Odysseus! MOVE ALONG!”

And move he did, with a start and a jolt, right into…

It took a moment for Hades to comprehend what, or rather who, had just encompassed the entirety of his vision. At first, his brain could only process parts of what he had seen before assembling them into a whole. Pink hair and skin as bright and rosy as the sky just before the break of dawn. A falling drink dissolving into a spray of petals in midair. Next, a pale gold dress that, wow, left nothing to the imagination, and—

It was then, as she sank to her knees among the tumult of revelry, picking up the scattered petals, that he saw her eyes. Sadness, one reaching far beyond that of a simple spilled drink, resided there. Judging by the look of inexplicable hopelessness on her face, it had probably been there for some time.

After a couple of unsuccessful attempts at forming a sentence with his stuttering tongue, he managed to ask, “W-who...who is she? She’s...”

The word merely echoed around in his head as his vocal cords failed him.

...Beautiful.

His pulse began to pound through his veins with a beat loud enough to rival the music blaring through the speakers over the dance floor. His fingers seemed to move on their own accord and pressed into his chest, as if they could somehow reach through his rib cage to calm his racing heart and ease the sudden ache constricting his lungs.

“Who, Pinky?” Poseidon asked.

Hades’ vision expanded to once again include the rest of the party around the mystery girl, now accepting a helping hand from Artemis as Odysseus turned back around to offer his apologies.

"P-Pinky?" He glanced back towards his brother, translating his words from sound to meaning at a snail's pace. 

“Persephone, she’s Demeter's daughter,” Poseidon continued. “She’s the Goddess of Spring."

Hades rested his forehead against the window, the coolness of glass grounding him to reality as he began to collect his scattered thoughts. This reaction wasn't…normal. No, not normal at all. He squinted out into the crowd, now doubting what his own eyes had seen. Surely this Persephone couldn't be so beautiful to warrant his earlier moon-eyed staring. It had to be a trick of the light, paired with some kind of romantic desperation after the disaster with Minthe.

Only one way to know for sure.

Reaching into his jacket, Hades pulled out his glasses, cleaned the lenses with his gloved fingers for good measure, then practically shoved the spectacles onto his face. All too aware of his brothers’ sudden silence and intense stares, he grabbed his scotch off of the table, attempting to recover at least the appearance of composure. Taking a nonchalant sip, he searched the lower level for a splash of bright pink.

She wasn't hard to find. Even in the multicolored mob, she stood out like a rose in a snarling mess of brambles. His improved clarity of vision only confirmed his first assessment: she was still gorgeous, perhaps even more so than before. It had been foolish to think that his mild nearsightedness could be to blame for what he had seen. He could feel himself getting sucked in again, unable to look away as she waved a stilted yet gracious goodbye to the unnerved Odysseus. 

“Demeter’s daughter, you say?” he asked, absently spilling some of his drink out of his forgotten glass. Any pretense at composure had flown out the window as soon as his eyes found her again. “I didn’t even know she had a daughter.”

Hearing his own voice made at least part of Hades’ brain wake from its stupor, though he still stared after her. None of this made sense. “Hold on. How come I’ve never seen her before?”

“It’s...complicated.” Zeus took a swig of his fizzing wine and thought for a moment. “But, basically, Demeter doesn’t like the way I run things. So, she opted to do her duties in the Mortal Realm. Apparently, I’m 'morally corrupt.' Whatever that means.”

Hades nearly rolled his eyes at the air quotes discernible in his brother’s voice, but that would mean losing sight of the Goddess of Spring for half of a second. It wasn't worth it. 

“So, for the most part,” Zeus continued, “she raised Persephone in the Mortal Realm. I’m surprised Demeter let her move to the city, to be honest. She’s always been super protective of Persephone.”

I can’t imagine why.

Expressive features…sleek, short-cropped hair…big doe eyes…curves for days wrapped up in that incredible dress…there shouldn’t be a way for someone to be such a mix of beautiful, sexy, and adorable. Looking around, he was surprised she didn’t have a string of would-be suitors following her around. Did no one else have eyes?

“Honestly,” Hades said as he folded his glasses to stuff them back in his jacket, “I think she puts Aphrodite to shame.”

His brothers grinned, elbowing one another in the side at this unexpected development, and for the first time that night, Hades smiled.

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

“Honestly, I think she puts Aphrodite to shame.”

… Honestly, I think she puts Aphrodite to shame… 

… Honestly, I think she puts APHRODITE to shame… 

The words went round and round in Aphrodite's head, seething just fifteen feet behind the oblivious jerk that spoke them into existence. 

Why? Why did they always do this? Some lovelorn dope sees a pretty girl, and obviously she must be compared to the Goddess of Beauty herself. Every. Single. Damn. Time.

And this time it wasn’t even some stupid mortal who had never seen her in her full glory. It was Hades of all people! One of the three Kings!

Ugh! The nerve.

This could not stand. Aphrodite needed to make an example out of him. Now. No, better yet, a certain someone needed to make an example out of him. Finish what he had never started months ago.

Yes. Perfect.

Aphrodite’s fingers flew across her cell phone’s screen, dropping her favorite disgruntled cat gif into the chat. She was going to give him five seconds before she called.

Five...Four...Three...Two—

‘What’s wrong, Mommy-kins?’ came Eros’ response. ‘Party no fun?’

What a good boy. 

Aphrodite tapped out her reply, ‘Get over here.’

‘No can do, this orgy isn’t going to coordinate itself.’ Followed by a string of sunglasses smiley emojis. ‘I wore a really cute polo shirt…’

‘The salmon pink one?’ She bet it was. That one went so well with his complexion.

‘YUUUUUS! I’M THE CUTEST!’

‘I love that one!’ Aphrodite added a heart-eyes emoji at the end, to show she was supportive. ‘Polo shirts aside, I still need you to get your butt here.’ Snorty face emoji, to show she was serious.

Then she closed the app and sighed. She loved her son, more than almost anything in any of the realms, but he needed to learn a few things about priorities. And a lesson. He needed to learn a lesson too.

As did Hades.

Next Chapter

[johaerys-writes]

Fandom: The Song of Achilles, The Iliad- Homer 

Pairing: Achilles/Patroclus

Chapter 2: Thorn & Chapter 3: Watching you

Read here or on AO3!

Vietnamese translation available here, done by the amazing @tenmeooo-thefangirltrash​!

The day was warm and humid, the air sliding down my throat like honey from the comb. The water in the stream by Chiron’s cave was cool, though, and I did not mind much that the sweat on my brow seemed to mingle with the drops of dew that lingered on my skin only minutes after I’d finished bathing. I knew I could jump right back if the heat became stifling.

Achilles was lying beside me, one arm curled under his head, the morning sun playing along the fluid lines of his body, tiny beads reflecting the light where water still pooled; in the corners of his eyes, the dip in his collarbone, the line at the center of his chest, the pink swirl of his bellybutton. Smooth slopes, perfect planes and angles, shadows gathering in the small hollows where the muscles and bones came together or parted under his skin. The water on my body looked like water. On Achilles it looked like pearls, like rough cut diamonds, like stars. It was the shade of his skin, I told myself; rich and vibrant and golden, whereas mine was tan and quite plain. It wasn’t so much a comparison as an observation, as it was always difficult for me to compare myself to him. I was Patroclus, and he was Achilles, and that was that. Who compares themselves to the son of a goddess, after all? If it was a game, I would have lost before it had even begun.

Achilles didn’t seem to have noticed me watching. I was always mindful not to look too long, not to give myself away. There was a fear in me, that if I looked too long my vision would perhaps darken and grow dull, as if I’d stared wide eyed at the bright midsummer sun. Yet I knew that my fear of Achilles noticing that lingering gaze of mine and fleeing, like he had that day at the beach so long ago, was greater, far greater, and it kept my fierce inclination under a tight rein. I could not risk giving myself away and losing him.

It was thoughts such as these that swivelled in my mind when Achilles cracked an eyelid open and looked at me.

The breath that had been slowly gliding down my throat caught, and I hastily looked away. I heard Achilles shifting, sitting up, the grass under his body giving way.

“Think I can reach that in ten?” he asked.

I gazed at him curiously. Only then did I realise he was looking at a low hanging branch over the river, several paces away from us. “Perhaps,” I said.

He gave me his wolfish smile, eyes bright with mischief and the thrill of a challenge, before pushing himself up on his feet. “Keep time.” The slow running waters rippled when they embraced his body.

Sleek and agile and quick, his arms knifed through the silver surface of the water soundlessly, like a fish. It was a marvel, watching him move; the way his body seemed to morph and melt and change. When he swam, he was a dolphin, smooth edges and polished skin that shone in the light. When he ran, he was a wild horse, nimble and swift, his slender limbs carrying him forward like the wind would blow through a ship’s sails. When he played the lyre, his fingers were hummingbirds, plucking at the strings like they were collecting nectar from blossoms heavy with dew. The sounds that came from it were even sweeter.

I watched in quiet fascination, as I always did, tapping my foot on the grassy ground beneath me to keep time. One, two, three. Seven, eight, nine. Before I’d tapped for the last time, his blonde locks, darkened by the water, emerged from beneath the water’s edge. His arm sprung up, his fingers wrapped around the tree’s branch, pulling himself up. “How much?”

“Nine,” I called back to him, and rested back on my elbows. He had won, and he was jubilant, triumph and wild satisfaction shimmering in the golden flecks in his eyes. I fancied I could see them from where I was, but it was my mind that supplied the rest of the image. I knew that look on him. It was the one I loved seeing on him the most. This, and when he closed his eyes, basking in the sun, his features calm and tensionless. This, and when he played the lyre, and his chin lifted as if on its own to expose his face to the sky, and it was like he could touch the heavens with his voice alone. This, and when he teased me, and the edges of his lips curled in his cat’s smile. This, and this and this.

With the contentment of his win giving his body an energetic buoyancy, he swam back to me, sliding on his belly along the wet sand of the river bank. “I’ll race you.”

I smiled. “There’s no need.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll win,” I said. “You always do.”

“So?” There was curiosity in his gaze now. “Just because you might lose doesn’t mean you can’t try.”

I settled back on the grass with a small sigh. “Perhaps another day.” I didn’t want to admit that, in the act of competing with him, I lost the advantage of being the spectator. I couldn’t notice his every movement, the way his muscles rose and fell under his skin, the way his feet or hands moved, the concentration in his expression, this and that of him. I didn’t want to say it, so I said nothing.

I yelped instead when Achilles’ fingers closed about my ankle and drew me to the water. It was cool and fresh when it touched my skin, making it prickle. I laughed, because his hands tickled when they moved up my leg, pulling me deeper still, like he was a river nymph come to claim me and draw me into the dark depths.

“Let me go-” I tried to say, reaching for the shore to draw myself away from him, but he was quicker. He pinned me down, his arms closing around me like vices. His chest pressed up against my own felt odd, close, too close. It was as if I had suddenly forgotten to breathe and my skin was growing tight. I slithered from out of his grasp, kicking at the water as I dived in my effort to escape. He caught me again, and we grappled and twisted and writhed in the water, one moment half-submerged, the next shooting towards the surface like jumping fish. We laughed until we were breathless, wrestled until a rosy flush crept up Achilles’ cheeks. I knew then that my face would be as red as a ripe pomegranate. I shoved him playfully away and swam towards the banks, and that was when he pounced on me.

My back was pressed to the soft sand. My wrists were pinned above my head. Achilles was on me, hovering over me, keeping my legs in place with his knees at either side of me. His chest rose and fell with his breaths, and the muscles in his arms stood out where he was holding me. He was grinning, his green eyes flashing, water streaming down his soaked strands, molten gold raining down my cheeks. Wild and beautiful, effervescent, with the sun crowning him in gold. He leaned down and pressed his nose to mine.

First, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Then, a slow roll of warmth, like a thousand tiny prickles, ran up my legs, pooling in my belly. Last, came the pressure. That tightening in my core that had been coming more and more often of late, and that I could do nothing to stop.

Panic gripped me. I turned my head away, struggled to free myself from his hold. “Enough,” I croaked, “that is enough.” Achilles released me immediately and I jumped into the stream, anxious to get away from him, to hide any evidence of my desire for him, the thorn in my side that ached and troubled me. I swam and swam, past the low hanging branch. When I turned back, Achilles was gone.

I carried myself on heavy limbs to the small clearing where I usually went to play the flute, sat under a tree to dry. My heart was still beating frantically in my chest, my head was light, too light. I leaned back on the tree trunk and took a deep breath, gazing up at the shifting canopy of leaves above me, the pockets of sunshine that slithered through the cracks. Could his mother see us there? I wondered. Could she see how his presence made my heart race and my blood warm and fizzle in my veins? I prayed that she did not, though I had little faith in the gods. But I had faith in him. Him.

My hand drifted down, between my legs, escaping my notice. I thought of long limbs and fluid lines, of slender fingers gripping my ankles and my wrists, of a triumphant grin, of drops of water that looked like stars. My hand moved ceaselessly to remove that ache, that thorn, to banish it, as it had done so many times before. “Last time,” I always told myself, “this is the last time. Tomorrow will be different.” Yet, each time, after it was done, I always found the thorn lodged a little deeper.

Chapter 3

Achilles liked watching me.

I hadn't thought much of it at first. To me, he was an extension of myself, the way we were always within breathing distance of each other. I told myself, it is to be expected. Sometimes, during those long, quiet summer afternoons, when boredom would get the better of me, I would bring my hand before my eyes, hold it up against the sun, study the muscles and the bones and the veins that shone through my skin like gossamer wings. That was how he looked at me, I told myself.

But it wasn't.

One day, we climbed up to the mountain to gather herbs for a poultice Chiron needed to make. Wild clover and mallow, nettle and chamomile blossoms. It was a bright day, and warm, and soon I grew weary of our trek. I sat underneath the cool shade of a tree, rested my head against its trunk and closed my eyes. When I opened them again, I saw Achilles watching me. Our gazes met, and he glanced away, bending down to pluck a chamomile flower. Right at that moment, a butterfly flew past me, its white wings fluttering before me. I followed the path of its trembling flight for a few breaths, absently noting that it chose to land on the yellow and not the pink blossom nearby, before pushing myself up. It was a simple observation, one that one’s mind makes automatically, without giving it much thought. That was how he looked at me, I told myself.

But it wasn't.

Spring was almost over. The white berry trees were heavy with fruit, and the cries of the wild cat cubs kept us awake at night. It wasn't quite summer though, yet, and the warm and humid heat of Homoloios had just subsided to the chill winds of Theilouthios, and the water flowing from the peaks of Mount Pelion was as cold as only fresh melted ice could be. Still, it had been months since I'd bathed in the stream near our cave, and I wasn't about to let the chill stop me. Achilles was of the same opinion.

"If we get too cold," he told me, "we can just lie under the sun beside the willow tree and we'll get warm again."

Every hair on my body stood on end when I dipped my toe in the water. Achilles, ever the bolder of the two, took a sharp breath and dove in headfirst. I stood by the water’s edge for a long while, watching as Achilles’s arms swept under the water in lazy arcs, creating ripples on its surface. He flipped on his back, the taut flesh of his stomach shimmering in the morning light. I took a hesitant step forward, and he lifted his head to look at me.

His eyes, rough emeralds wrought in gold, took in my form. They did so slowly, trailing from my eyes, to my neck, to my collarbone. They paused for a moment before resuming their downward journey, gliding past my chest, my stomach, my navel. And there, they stayed. And stayed. And stayed.

Time was caught in a strange, diaphanous bubble. I was instantly within and without it, watching as Achilles watched me, as his gaze focused and darkened. I shivered.

“The water’s too cold,” I said, although I barely heard myself say it. I stepped back, out of the water, and the bubble popped, and time started flowing again. Achilles’s eyes snapped to mine, and then I knew.

Achilles liked watching me, too.