#violet isn’t magical but she belongs there too

[whiteknightinblackarmor]

New bag! I was going for magical girl vibes.

Satan as the centerpiece, they’re a magical girl too right?

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Cinderella Doesn’t Believe in Fairytales (pt.6)

summary: Cinderella finds her friend...and his real identity.

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3). (Part 4) (part 5)

“You kept your promise,” Cinderella says. She leans her head back to look into the dark canopy of the oak tree. The moon shines through the gaps in the leaves. The magic her friend carries with him slides through the branch. “I’m here.”

“You’re here,” her friend says. A wash or warmth drifts over Cinderella’s face, coaxing her eyes shut. “Don’t look at the magic.”

“It doesn’t hurt me,” Cinderella says. She closes her eyes anyway and smiles. “The dresses are beautiful.”

“I knew you’d pick the green,” her friend says. There’s a long pause. Finally, he says, “Thank you. For coming.”

How odd the words sound! Cinderella is never thanked. It makes her feel full, somehow. Confident. She wants to share the feeling with her friend. “Thank you for keeping your promise.”

There’s no verbal reaction from her friend, but she can tell he’s happy. The moonlight is warmer and the leaves rustle though there’s no breeze. “My pleasure.”

“My stepfamily is here,” Cinderella says after a moment. She smiles and stretches her arms out in front of her. “They look beautiful.”

“No, they don’t,” her friend says. She imagines he’d be curling his lip if he had one. His aura slinks around the tree. “One of them is wearing purple. Doesn’t she know better?”

“It’s lilac.”

“She’ll soon find out if that saves her from the Queen.”

If Cinderella were kind, she’d be concerned by that ominous promise. But Cinderella is selfish because she says, “You saw her?”

“…yes,” her friend says. The courtyard warms another few degrees. “I, er, haven’t told you everything about me.”

Cinderella raises her eyebrows and bites her tongue. She wants to say, we haven’t even exchanged names. Instead she says, “Like how you’re a human?”

“What?” His energy lashes. “Who told you that?”

“Nobody,” Cinderella says. What she can see of the magic through her barely open eyes is darker, responding to his emotions. Cinderella isn’t afraid even when it weighs on her lungs. She huffs a laugh. “I don’t think a tree could pick out dresses.”

Something odd happens then. Cinderella’s eyes are barely open like when first waking up. She can see the glimmer of magic through her eyelashes and the gentle light of the moon on the castle walls. Something seems to step out of the light like smoke solidifying. Her friend’s presence disappears all at once and, startled, Cinderella opens her eyes.

Not a boy, Cinderella’s first thought is.

The man standing in front of her belongs in the sun. She doesn’t know why she thinks that. His hair is as dark as the night sky above and his green eyes shine like stars. He’s beautifully structured, face drawn in broad lines and shoulders squared against her scrutiny. The coat he’s wearing is almost completely black. There are dark swirls of velvet across the lapels that look violet in the moonlight and his dress pants match.

Cinderella watches the way his hands twitch and then still. Rainbows of magic curl out from his back like wings and then fade into thin air as if they never were.

“I,” her friend says, “am not a tree.”

Cinderella surprises herself by laughing. There’s something so him in his first words to her. A little offended, a little embarrassed, a little too commanding. She smiles at her friend. “No, you are not.”

“You…aren’t mad?” Like she’s studying him, he studies her. His eyes flash from her expression to the easy way she’s holding her hands in her lap and he frowns. “Why?”

“Because we’re friends,” Cinderella says simply. She’s always known that they haven’t told each other everything. The important thing is that they know each other. “Friends learn new things about each other all the time.”

He stares at her. He is less easy to read than he was as a tree. There’s no warm energy dancing around her to interpret, no suspiciously timed breeze. He steps forward and then collapses onto the bench next to her like a puppet without strings. The line of his body against her arm is strikingly hot and he is very careful not to jostle her on the narrow bench. He throws a hand over his eyes. “You’re too kind.”

He says the word kind like a curse. Cinderella who is so tired of being kind, of being patient, likes the way he says it. She doesn’t like being accused of it.

“I am not,” she says tartly. It’s hard to look at him seated next to each other like this, but she does her best. She twists, her knees pressing against his, and sits at her full height so she can scowl directly into his face. “Take that back.”

Her friend peeks through his fingers. His lips twitch at the indignation on her face. “I didn’t say anything untrue.”

The almost-smile soothes the sting of her offense. Cinderella has to work hard to keep scowling. “Yes, you did. If I was kind I would be trying to pay you back for bringing me to the Capital and putting me up for a week and giving me a dress. But I’m not, see? I’m only taking.”

“That’s okay,” he says. He drops his hand and grins at her, leaning forward so that their noses are only inches apart. There’s a mean edge in the corners of his mouth that reminds her of winter. “So am I.”

A thrill runs down Cinderella’s spine. They’re so close and there’s a warm darkness in his words that flusters her. What does he mean? She’s the one wearing a dress she could only dream of in a place she couldn’t have dreamt. He hasn’t taken a thing from her, has he? Rather than ask, Cinderella nods firmly. “Good. Then it’s settled. We’re both taking and not paying the other back.”

“Good,” her friend echoes. He’s still close but he’s her friend again, that mysterious quality absent from his voice. He asks, “Have you been enjoying the ball?”

“Oh, yes,” Cinderella says. She’s relieved to be back on familiar ground. “Let me tell you everything.”

And she does. She tells him about Helga and how kind she was (“I’ll be sure to reward her efforts.”) and the coachman who told her the names of the nobles (“There’s no one better to ask for information.”). Her friend’s smile seems a little tight when she describes the dances and her partners (“I know of them. You enjoyed the dancing? That’s all that matters.”), but he also asks her about her favorite song to dance to and if she’s tried any of the food yet.

“I haven’t,” she says. She eyes him. They’ve been talking for half an hour and, as usual, he hasn’t said a word about himself. Usually she’d let that pass, but didn’t she want to change? Didn’t that voice inside of her tell her to ask? “You were in the ballroom if you saw my stepsisters. Did you try anything?”

“Not yet,” he says. He clears his throat and stands, offering her his hand. “Maybe we can try some champagne together?”

Somehow taking his offered hand is daunting. They’ve been sitting shoulder to shoulder, but that wasn’t a deliberate touch. She can still feel his warmth as she wrestles with her sudden embarrassment. Cinderella tries to keep her fingers from trembling when she takes his hand. “…yes.”

If he notices her hesitation, he doesn’t mention it. He gently helps her stand and then tucks her hand into the crook of his arm. “We can come back here later if you’d like.”

Cinderella looks over her shoulder as he leads her back inside. The oak in the middle of the flowers is beautiful and comforting. “I would like that. Later.”

“Later,” he says.

They walk down the deserted hall, side by side. Cinderella’s spent a lifetime keeping her footsteps light so as not to wake her stepfamily. She listens to the sound of his confident stride, ducking her head to hide her flush. His arm is strong under her fingers. Even through his jacket she can feel his warmth chase the chill away. She rubs her fingertips against the velvet details on the fabric. She struggles with herself. Ask. Don’t ask. Finally she says, “This is violet.”

His footsteps don’t falter and he doesn’t tense, but she can feel his aura flutter under her touch. “It is.”

“Violet is purple.”

“Is it?”

The ballroom is coming up. Cinderella stops before the light seeping through the entry falls on her. “Maybe you should go in first.”

He stops with her and catches her hand before she can let go of his arm. He doesn’t look at her, staring straight ahead. He swallows and asks lightly, “You don’t want champagne?”

“I do.” Cinderella can’t ask.

“Then we have to go in. That’s where the champagne is.”

“I know, but…” She can’t ask, but she can say, “Everyone will be looking for the Prince. He’s very late.”

Her friend’s jaw works and slowly, so slowly, his head turns to meet her gaze. “He has reason to be late,” he says. “He had to meet someone very important.”

The way he looks at her tells her who he thinks is important.

There’s that thrill again, like there are butterflies in her stomach. Cinderella fights against a smile and loses. “I’m very important?”

The tension leaks from his aura little by little. “You are.” His eyes search hers. “You aren’t mad again.”

He’s the Prince. Cinderella doesn’t think she’s really processing the information. All she can see is her friend frowning at her, perplexed. She wants to smooth the wrinkle from between his eyes, but refrains. She’s not sure if it’s because the gesture would be too intimate for her or if it’s because it’d be improper to touch the Prince like that.

Oh, she thinks faintly. He’s the Prince.

“I don’t think I am,” she says. She looks back to the door to the ballroom. The music sounds sweet again, complimented by the clinking of glasses and silvery laughter. “I just…they’ll be looking for you. I don’t want to…” She trails off, embarrassed, and looks at the ground.

He takes it the wrong way. His mood darkens his eyes from a summer green to the deepest parts of the forest. “You don’t want to be seen with me.”

“No!” Cinderella jerks, eyes flying up to his. Her desperation to correct him makes her honest. “No, but Stepmother is here and she’ll—well, if she sees you, she’ll see me and I know she’ll see you.”

His aura brightens so quickly that Cinderella has to blink against the flare of magic. The Prince beams down at her. “I can take care of that. I did promise you, didn’t I? Your stepfamily won’t recognize you.”

She resists his lead when he goes to enter the ballroom. “Yes, but I don’t see how! You’re the Prince! The Prince! They’ll announce you and everyone will turn and I’ll be right there—”

The Prince snaps his fingers. The warmth from the meadow descends on Cinderella all at once, rolling over her like the sun does when it rises above the horizon. The Prince grins, rainbows swimming in his eyes. “There. Now only I will recognize you.” He laughs. “Why I didn’t have Helga do that from the beginning…well. I know better now.”

Cinderella blinks magic out of her eyes. “You can do magic?”

“I’ve been talking to you through a tree for years,” the Prince says. He’s not laughing at her. He sounds affectionate. “I get by.” He gestures to the entryway. “Are you ready?”

Cinderella takes a tentative step forward. The warmth follows her. “Are you sure they won’t recognize me?”

“Positive.”

“Then…yes,” Cinderella says. This time when he gently nudges her, she follows. “Alright.”

The Prince takes her through the doorway to the ballroom. At first nobody notices. The room is as she left it, grand and arching and filled with color. Then the volume of the voices and music seems to lower.

“Presenting,” the Master of Ceremonies calls. He’s all the way across the room near where Cinderella first entered, but his eyes are on them. His voice booms across the dancefloor with such clarity it sounds as if he’s right next to them. “Presenting the Prince and the Baron’s Daughter!”

As one, every noble stops dancing, turns, and bows.

----

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[aidanchaser]

Boulangérella: A Miraculous Fairy Tale AU - Chapter Twenty-One

Table of Contents Read on Ao3 Prologue

The moment that his eyes met Ladybug’s, she knew her quest had been in vain. Prince Adrien was already in love.

Kagami was no expert in love, had no personal experience in the matter, but she could see it on his face. Prince Adrien’s heart was spoken for, and she was never going to be good enough for him.

It was no wonder he had not kept his dance with her on the first evening. It was no wonder he had missed their breakfast that morning. It was no wonder he had tried to tactfully turn down a dance with her that evening. His heart belonged to Ladybug, and there was no way for Kagami to compete with that.

When Hawk Moth’s power called to her heartbreak, she accepted readily, though the envy and disappointment he pulled on were not over Adrien, not really. What affection did she truly have for a boy she had only just met and barely knew? This heartbreak ran deeper, far deeper.

Years of not measuring up to her mother’s expectations, years of mistakes being pointed at and corrected, years of self-loathing and loneliness all amplified in this single moment. She wasn’t just losing her chance to marry this prince; she was losing her last chance for her mother’s approval, and that fury erupted into Riposte.

Princess Kagami’s kosode vanished in a ripple of violet magic and was replaced by gleaming silver-white armor held in place by brilliant red cording. A snarling silver dragon with talons spread decorated her chest armor and she unsheathed a sword from her waist.

“You wanted a duel?” Riposte stepped forward and swung her sword in a flourish. “A duel, then. I’ll take your throne and Ladybug’s miraculous gift.”

And Riposte charged Ladybug and Prince Adrien.

Despite her hefty dress, Ladybug was able to quickly pull the prince out of the sword’s reach. She did not have the freedom of movement she was used to, but the magic of her garb was compliant as she sidestepped the swordsman’s charge.

“Princess Kagami?” Adrien asked and ducked as she swung her sword at him again.

It wasn’t just the comment about a duel that made him think it might be her, nor the armor that belonged to a soldier from another court. It was also the decoration on her helm that looked remarkably like his mother’s glass lilies.

“I am Riposte,” she shouted, “and I will have a duel to prove my worth as the better swordsman and the better leader, and I will have Ladybug’s miraculous!” She swung her sword at Ladybug this time, and Ladybug stepped backwards, painfully aware of just how close the blade came to the golden lace of her collar.

She unclipped her bandalore from her waist. “Your Highness—” She paused to pull the string of her bandalore taught and used it to parry another swing of Riposte’s sword, “—we need to get you to safety.”

Adrien agreed. He needed to slip away and become Chat Noir. He wasn’t about to let Ladybug face this alone.

“Prince Adrien isn’t going anywhere,” Riposte snarled.

“Not even to get a sword?” Adrien asked. “Seems like an unfair duel if I’m not armed.”

Riposte swung her sword at Ladybug in an attempt to get to him. This time when Ladybug caught it on her bandalore, she wrapped the cord around the blade and twisted, yanking the sword out of Riposte’s hand and tossing it aside. It clattered to the ballroom floor and the guests gasped and stepped out of its path as it skidded away from the fight.

Frequently, the curse was in the weapon, so Ladybug dove for the sword, expecting Riposte to follow. Her hand closed around the sword’s leather-wrapped hilt and she rolled back to her feet in a single fluid motion, an impressive feat in her current dress.

As she used her magical strength to snap the curved sword in two, however, the needling fear in the back of her mind that this had been too easy solidified. No purple butterfly escaped from the break in the steel. And as she looked at Riposte, the woman had already reached to her side, where a fresh hilt filled the scabbard, and drew a new sword.

Fearsome as this swordsman’s skill was, Ladybug had faced far more difficult curses than a sword that could be replicated at will.

Riposte swung at Prince Adrien again, and this time, two of the palace guards stepped forward and blocked Riposte’s attack.

“Your duel is with me, Riposte,” Ladybug shouted, and spun her bandalore in a quick circle to form a shield. “It’s my miraculous gift you want, isn’t it?”

As Riposte charged Ladybug, a heavy hand clamped down on Adrien’s shoulder and pulled him away from the fight.

While Adrien appreciated that the Gorilla was just doing his job, he had no interest in being hidden away under guard.

“Wait—”

But the Gorilla tugged Adrien back with one hand and swiftly grabbed Félix with his other.

“What about my father?” Adrien asked, searching for any excuse to get away. “Shouldn’t you find him?”

But the Gorilla, while he served the royal family, was primarily tasked with guarding the princes. He was not going to fail in his duty.

Adrien’s feet slipped on the smooth ballroom floor as he struggled to get free. “Félix, did you see where the curse landed?”

Félix’s face was grim, and his eyes set on the door the Gorilla was leading them towards. “Your mother’s hairpins.” His tone did not convey sympathy, but the way his steely gray eyes avoided Adrien suggested he knew how much that news would hurt.

And it did hurt, but more strongly than his grief, Adrien felt determined to deliver this important information to Ladybug. If he couldn’t get away to be Chat Noir, he still had to help. Ladybug had just told him how much she needed him. He couldn’t leave her in the lurch now.

But before the Gorilla could pull open the doors to the ballroom, they were thrust open from the other side and revealed a stunning young woman standing in the hall.

She wore a dress so brilliant that it looked woven with gold. Her skirts trailed to the floor but parted in the middle like Ladybug’s usually did to allow for freedom of movement. The tights beneath her skirts were solid black, like the chemise beneath her golden corset, which was embroidered with sharp black lines. Gauzy white ribbons trailed behind her, much like Ladybug’s red ones. They fluttered in the wind, creating the illusion of gossamer wings.

The woman’s blonde hair was pulled back from her face and a yellow mask rimmed with black covered a pair of violet eyes. A white silk ruff, edged in golden ribbon, rimmed the collar of her chemise.

She smiled confidently at the princes, then looked at the fight Ladybug was engaged in.

“I seem to have arrived just in time,” she said, and tossed her head so that her golden ringlets bounced. “I’ll handle this easily, Your Highnesses.”

As Riposte drew her sword back to strike, the young woman pulled a weapon from her waist and flung it at Riposte. The top that flew from her hand was attached to a string, not unlike Ladybug’s bandalore, but it was decorated yellow with black stripes rather than red with black spots. The cord looped around Riposte’s blade and yanked the sword from Riposte’s hands.

The blonde woman caught the top neatly in one hand and the sword in the other. She glanced at the sword disdainfully before tossing it aside.

“Give me an opening in her armor, Ladybug, and I’ll stun her,” she called across the ballroom.

Ladybug was not sure who this young woman was, but she was grateful for the help. She used the brief window of time as Riposte drew a new sword to throw her bandalore into the air and call on her Lucky Charm.

After a burst of light, a red shield, splashed in black spots, fell into her hands.

Ladybug would have preferred a sword.

Riposte charged, and Ladybug blocked with the shield that her magic had granted her. She was certain that this gift had not been given to her so that she could use it as shields were often used; her Lucky Charm always required something a bit more clever than that.

Her new friend threw her top, wrapping its line around Riposte’s waist and yanking her backwards. It offered Ladybug a brief reprieve to assess her Lucky Charm’s purpose.

“Ladybug!” Prince Adrien shouted. “Hawk Moth’s curse is in the hairpins!”

And as Riposte lifted her sword, Ladybug saw the solution.

Riposte threw her sword at Ladybug, and Ladybug deflected it with her shield. The sword swung to the left, thudding into the wall of the ballroom, and slicing through the rope that held the chandelier in place over the guests. It fell directly towards Riposte.

Riposte was unfazed. She drew a new sword and hefted it in an arc over her head, slicing through the chandelier with ease. But it was not the chandelier that Ladybug’s plan relied on. It was the opening in Riposte’s armor, made visible by the sweeping overhead arc of her sword.

The young woman in yellow saw it too and shouted, “Venom!” Her top whirled once more at Riposte, and this time, its tip dug itself into the underside of Riposte’s arm, in the gap between her chest armor and her shoulder plates.

Riposte froze in place as the magical venom flooded her body, and Ladybug threw her bandalore one more time, smashing through the lily-like decorations on Riposte’s helm.

She readily caught the purple butterfly that flitted from the helmet and, with a burst of her creative magic, purified Hawk Moth’s curse. Finally, to the wonder of the guests of the ball, she threw her Lucky Charm into the air, and the ballroom was filled with pink and white light. The chandelier returned to its place, Riposte’s armor vanished, and a set of broken glass hairpins in the shape of lilies fell to the floor of the ballroom.

The young woman in gold helped Princess Kagami to her feet. “It happens to the best of us,” she said, and tucked the broken glass hairpins into Princess Kagami’s hands. “You’ll be all right now.”

“Thank you for your help,” Ladybug said to the woman. “I wasn’t expecting another attack after what happened this afternoon.”

The young woman tossed her head haughtily. “Oh, please, I didn’t do all of this for you.”

The young woman’s gaze turned past Princess Kagami to Prince Adrien, still struggling to get free of his bodyguard. And as Ladybug’s earrings flickered their initial warning, she remembered that she had come here with a job to do.

Ladybug surveyed the ballroom one last time, but there was no sign of King Gabriel. She had gotten distracted by a dance with Prince Adrien, and Hawk Moth had taken advantage of her presence at this ball. She had been a fool to think she could make a difference here.

With a heavy heart, she left the ballroom.

Overhead, thunder boomed across the sky like a warning, but Adrien ignored it. He wrenched himself from the Gorilla’s grip and ran after Ladybug. He vaguely heard a gasp from the guests and felt the crowd surge behind him, drawn forward by their shock and curiosity, but he ignored them, too.

“Ladybug, wait!”

She was halfway down the stairs to the garden when he caught her arm.

Ladybug dipped her head in a hasty bow. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but I’m afraid I’ve run out of time. If you could ask your father to return the fay to the forest, please, I would appreciate it.”

“I will, of course, anything—” There was so much swelling in his chest, so much he wanted to tell her. He wanted to apologize for not being more helpful, he wanted to promise her that he would rescue Trixx for her, he wanted to tell her how much he loved her.

“Ladybug, if you would have me, I—”

“Prince Adrien!”

King Gabriel’s voice cut across the garden as loudly as the thunder overhead. Ladybug and Adrien both turned to see him standing at the top of the stairs with a hand tucked into his pocket. Amelie and Félix were just behind him and the guests of the ball crowded at the doors.

“Come inside, please,” King Gabriel said.

The skies opened up in another peal of thunder and rain fell on the palace in torrents.

Prince Adrien’s hand tightened on Ladybug’s even as he stepped back towards the palace. Her earrings flickered again and she, too, stepped away, though Prince Adrien still clung to her.

“Your Majesty,” she said, half-shouting to be heard over the rain, “The miraculous gift of illusion was taken unjustly and I—”

“How can it have been taken unjustly?” King Gabriel interrupted.

“P-pardon?”

“I am the king of this city. I make the law and my people see it carried out. To take a miraculous gift to protect my city is not unjust. If the fay do not wish to be held to my rule, then they should not enter my city. I will not allow chaos, trickery, and wildness to go unchecked.”

Indignation, fueled as much by righteousness as irritable exhaustion, burned in Ladybug’s chest. “Whose wildness do you speak of, Your Majesty? Mine? Or Hawk Moth’s?”

And though Gabriel kept his face impartial, his fingers twitched with anticipation. He had been a fool to try to use the heartbreak of Kagami Tsurugi. This was a far more powerful course of action. If he could make Ladybug angry, infuriate her, drive her to take on one of Hawk Moth’s curses, or even just stretch out her time limit…

“That you and Hawk Moth have chosen my city to wage your war in is the wildness I speak of. My people are victims of your battles each day. My family has been put in danger because of your fight. I have every right to protect my people in the way I see fit.”

Ladybug’s free hand tightened into a fist at her side, eager for a fight. What was treason to the Fay Queen of Creation? But either wisdom or luck stayed her hand. She did not have the time for this, and it would not get her what she wanted. Instead, she said, “Then return the magic to the forest where it belongs. If it is not done, the fay will see it done.” And as her earrings flickered a third insistent warning, she turned to go.

“Wait—”

But it was not the king.

Ladybug turned back, just for a moment, to Prince Adrien, who was still clinging to her. He took another step away, pulling her glove away with him, but it was not the sudden loss of the glove that stopped her heart. It was his face.

The storm had already soaked them both, and his powdered face was streaked in rivulets of rain water, revealing a deep purple bruise on his cheek.

“I’ll talk to him,” Adrien said in a rush, even as he took another step back towards his father. “I promise, Ladybug, I’ll help however I can.” Silently, he begged her to see him as he was, not just a charming prince but a valiant thief—her partner.

Then Félix was suddenly there, too, taking Adrien by the shoulder. “Get out of this rain,” he hissed, but the rain soaked him, too, and washed the powder from his face as it had his cousin’s. They were twins in their injuries as they were in everything else.

Ladybug’s eyes flicked between them both, trying to understand what the bruises meant. Could it be a coincidence that they’d each been injured in the same way and at the same time that Chat Noir had been hurt? But why would a prince be a thief?

For fun, he had said.

A dozen more questions were answered suddenly. His unexplained deadline, his cavalier attitude in the face of palace guards and the threat of arrest, his soft hands…

Ladybug’s breath caught in her throat, but she had no time to ask questions. Her earrings flickered their final warning, and she turned and fled from the palace.

Adrien, finally, gave up all hope and resistance and allowed Félix to lead him back up the stairs. He kept his head low as he stood before his father.

King Gabriel’s hand brushed Adrien’s chin in a gesture so tender that the only memory Adrien could find to compare it to was the gentle way his father had brushed aside his sleeping queen’s hair. Adrien allowed his father to lift his face up and found that all of the anger, pride, and arrogance that King Gabriel had displayed for Ladybug had softened.

“What happened here?” he asked, bare hand dancing over the bruise.

“I fell,” Adrien said.

And that tenderness vanished like it had never been there, like Adrien had only imagined it because he so desperately craved it. His father’s hands fell from Adrien’s face and returned to Gabriel’s pockets. Adrien blinked back tears, wishing he knew what he had said wrong.

His father’s voice was flat and cold like sharpened steel. “Don’t lie to me, Adrien.”

“I’m not.” He wouldn’t. In fact, if his father bothered to ask him out right if he were Chat Noir, Adrien was not sure he would hide it.

There was a gentle cough and the young woman in the brilliant yellow gown with gossamer wings trailing behind her pushed her way forward through the crowd. Her blonde hair was held in place with a pin shaped like a bee perched on topaz honeycomb. The gemstones flickered out one by one the way the emeralds in Chat Noir’s ring might have if he had been able to help in this fight.

But the young woman made no move to leave. She did not run as Ladybug had.

Adrien glanced down at the lacy glove in his hand just in time to see it vanish in a burst of warm light.

“I suppose you’ll be leaving, too,” he said.

The young woman tossed her hair. “I’ve no interest in leaving you, Your Highness. Buzz off.”

And in a golden flash, her gilt dress disappeared, revealing a butter-yellow gown embroidered with white honeysuckle. Her mask vanished and the magical glamor with it, and Chloé Bourgeois stood before him. “I believe you owe me a dance, Adrikins.”

[styx1an]

A Chat about Chat

A short fic about how Chat came to be a singular being, written by yours truly. By all means, this isn’t canon, it’s just my interpretation of things.

Word count: 1,863

Fandom: RTGame, Miitopia (NGL I’m a little displeased with how I wrote the ending, but oh well!)

You know, there is this odd sense of irony in knowing how terrified Chat was of Magical John when they aren’t even human nor a singular being in the first place. Wait, so you didn’t know? Of how they became such a being in the first place? (They chuckle.) Then I suppose that means I’ll have to tell you their story. Well then, shall we begin the tale of Chat? (You see the twinkle in their eyes. They must’ve been waiting a while to be able to do this.)

> You nod. You’ve been waiting a while to understand Chat’s origins. Tonight, like many others, belongs to the storyteller.

> You shake your head. No thanks, you think you’re too tired. Dawn shall rise anew soon, and you will not waste your time with tall tales.

(They nod, pleased with your decision.) Then I shall begin to relay their tale.

Our tale begins in the vast lands known as Twitch, a domain that belongs to another, a far crueler being whose tale is for another time. It is a place where one is free to express their opinions and whatnot (as long as it suits the many whims of its Amazonian overlords, of course), and many are versed in the easy to learn, but difficult to master art of gaming. Many such masters have gained a large following, and even if they do not possess such skill, more often than not their humor and charisma paves the way to fame.

One example of the latter would be RTGame, a man of sizable repute. Aside from the frankly ridiculous story of the origin of his moniker, he is also known for doing some… questionable things for the sake of entertainment. There are still tales of his quest in the bathtub along with Gilbert (yes, the very same Gilbert on the quest to defeat The Darker Lord Khadgar!), the night of the Painted Wall’s Communion, the birth of Mr. Compost- But my dear, we are here for one of his lesser-known exploits, one that would change the world as we know it.

> You lean closer to the campfire, watching the storyteller with a renewed interest. Where does the tale lead? Where does it end? You need to know.

> It’s getting even later. You think some rest will be needed before tomorrow’s travels begin. Perhaps the rest of the story can wait another time?

It was a dark and stormy night. The then-Dark Lord Von Karma had just been unleashed upon the land, and I Want Die set along the path of salvation with his fellow party members, Mr. Bean the Warrior, Goofy the Thief, and Mint the Horse. He was pleased with the ease with which they vanquished monsters and saved (literal) faces, but the lack of actual conversation within the party had begun to get to him. Mr. Bean had nothing to offer other than a simple “Bean!” every now and then, and Goofy terrified him with all the “hyuck!” and talks of absolving the world’s many sins. Mint is a horse and therefore cannot participate in a verbal conversation unless you happen to understand what her neighs meant. She also happens to be the most normal member of the party, strangely enough.

Either way, I Want Die longed for a proper conversation.

And God took notice.

It was inevitable. The fourth party member was always going to join, whether he wanted one or not. It shouldn’t be notable in any way whatsoever, yet here I am regaling this tale to you.

It is not how Chat had come to join the party that I wanted to explain, but rather how they came to be.

Do you remember the man I had called RTGame? I hope you had not thought of him as irrelevant to our tale, as he is the patron saint of I Want Die’s adventures. Surely you know of the vast armory that belongs to the party? The various delicacies fed to the team? All his work. Along with his followers’ contributions, of course.

Chat was what he called his followers, the ones who watched his various endeavors as he traveled across the land of Twitch. Oftentimes the crowd would conversate with him (hence their name), offering jokes and sardonic commentary whenever he did anything remotely comedic. Other times, RT would have to tell them off for being such a rowdy bunch- the usual group of thousands could never keep quiet for long.

It happened that Chat witnessed I Want Die’s pilgrimage along with RTGame. They all looked upon him with a jolly sense of humor (after all, their master is well-versed in the art of comedy), some wondering where his travels will bring him. The others who knew how it would all end kept silent at the behest of RTGame. Either way, every single one of them was enjoying the show he had put on for them. 

And came the time to summon the fourth member.

As per usual, RTGame withdrew into his workshop, closing the curtains around him so no curious onlooker could see inside. But that did not stop Chat from yelling their predictions and demands.

“EDGEWORTH” one cried.

Another begged for a certain “End Mii!”

“CHAT CALM DOWN!”

“!uptime”

“69420toesucker just subscribed for 5 months!”

“TURG”

RTGame smiled at them. He wasn’t surprised at all at their reactions, rather it was something he had hoped would happen.

“Alright then Chat,” he said, “here they are!”

His pale, thin hands reached out to open the curtains-

And unveiled a faceless, empty husk of a being. 

Under any other circumstances, Chat would’ve rioted, demanded justice against the irony of sending a faceless doll to retrieve the faces of others. But they had no time.

Almost in an instant, the skies darkened. Clouds swirled up above with vibrant shades of violet, cobalt, magenta. Bright blue lightning strikes a tree and dissolves it into dust. Somewhere distant, something roars. The air feels thick- something magical, something electric is positively buzzing. Magic truly is in the air.

And thunder strikes once again. 

The crowd is gone.

Silence fell. All that is left is the master and the doll, no longer an empty husk.

> You look up to the storyteller, their eyes reflecting the blazing flames. You have a feeling that you know how this ends, but you’d rather have them confirm it first.

> You’re sleepy. As tempting as it is to continue listening to their story, you must admit that the very idea of slumber is even more tantalizing.

RTGame had managed to do exactly what he wanted. Chat’s consciousness, placed inside of a single, physical being. A puppet controlled by a hivemind would not be very easy to control, yes. But the idea intrigued him. And wouldn’t it be better than having a large gaggle of people constantly behind him, watching his every move? It could help I Want Die on his journey too.

So it is settled. It happened that one of the members of his temple had just crafted a rather nice puppet, in case RT needed one. And he did come to use it. It does look a little plain, as both body and head are painted in the same shade of bright white. However, the face was not white like how it was in the beginning, but a disturbingly pitch-black space. No, that’s not the right word.

Rather, it was like a void had formed. That’s also not the right phrase to describe it either, as there were drops of ichor dripping down onto the ground, dissolving the once green grass. But I digress. 

Chat broke the silence that had fallen between them, wailing as a cacophony of noises and emotions spilled out. Despite what RT had done to them, they were still determined to voice their opinions. Quite in character, really. 

“RT WHAT”

“NO NO NO”

“!uptime”

“I'M ON TV!!!”

“bazingabanana just gifted 5 subs!”

“that’s kinda meta”

As their voices grew louder, ichor kept pouring out of the void. As expected, RT thought to himself. He still needs to act fast. So with a quick snap, he fastened a wooden mask the temple-goer made; the same shade of white, a pair of beady black eyes almost as dark and soulless as the void, bright purple ears. 

The yelling and complaining didn’t stop of course. Still, as their voices were muffled by the mask, it was an arguably better experience than the previous ear-splitting wails. And it was less deadly too. Ichor had stopped dripping down onto the grass, which meant that the constant sizzling would finally stop.

Now, one last thing.

RT stared into Chat’s eyes.

This in itself wouldn’t have been quite a remarkable action had it been anyone else, but it’s Chat that we are talking about. The very sensation of doing something as simple as gazing into a hivemind’s many souls wasn’t anything ordinary, either.

It felt like you had just plunged one of your hands into ice-cold water in the middle of winter and not only are you freezing, you’re scared and you don’t know whether you’d come out in one piece.

They all stared back. Thousands and thousands looked upon RT, all different yet whispering the same things, each claiming to be an individual yet virtually nothing distinctive belongs to them. A true hivemind. It’s exactly what he wanted, but he wondered if perhaps other troubles would arise.

He let himself go from their gazes. It asks too much of him.

“Alright then, Chat. Ready?”

A gaggle of voices reply, sounding their agreements.

“OK then!”

--

I Want Die finally opened the inn door, after convincing himself that he’d like this new friend. That this one would be neither an anime villain, a comedy star or a horse. Someone with actual rational thoughts and words to speak.

In front of the door stood a short figure, clad in a purple mage’s robes. Their pitch-black eyes looked at I Want Die, and a chorus of voices came from their permanent smile:

“Hi, I’m Chat!”

And I Want Die wondered if he had forgotten to cross off ‘hivemind’ off his list of potential party members.

Chat’s introduction ends here, of course. But not their tale. The journey was far from over in fact. The party had yet to meet the Royal Court, witnessed the court’s love affair, or get kidnapped by the Dark Lord Von Karma. Even the party wasn’t complete, as it was only the first party I Want Die would encounter in his tale of redemption.

And it’s not the only story either. You haven’t heard of Magical John’s past life, or how Cupcake isn’t as pure as she seems. Gilbert’s fear of the kitchen. How Jefferson came to be, and Obama’s past life with Mr. Bean.

But I’m afraid I must stop here, for it is late already, is it not? Our journey must continue tomorrow. Let us rest. Goodnight, may the stars shine for you. (They head off into their tent, leaving you alone with the flickering embers of a dying fire.)

> You bid the storyteller goodnight. Perhaps they’ll tell you another one of their stories, underneath the moonlight once more.

[sassycassie-s-writing]

Winter Court Wedding

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): A Court of Thorns and Roses Series/Rhysand

Rating: PG/K+

Original Idea: This has been in my head for a few days and I had to get it out of my head so I could write other stuff XD

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) 2,356 words... yup it ran away from me again. This one pretends Tamlin isn’t a terrible person so we get Rhys instead 😉 @itscheybaby

^^^^^

“Rhysand?” I called through the town house.

“Yes?” His voice was coming from the kitchen.

I went downstairs, holding the box I’d found in our room. “What’s this for?” I asked, indicating the heavy fur-lined black cloak with silver embroidery of the moon and stars up the sides.

“Can’t I give you a gift just because I want to?” His smirk was almost too casual for me to believe him.

“You know I prefer coats in Velaris,” I replied. “So there’s something going on.”

He sighed, wings drooping. “Alright. You caught me,” he muttered. “We’re going to the Winter Court.”

“What for?”

“Kallias and Vivane’s wedding.”

“Didn’t they get married like an hour after he got back from Under the Mountain?”

Rhysand folded his arms, tucking his wings against his back a little tighter. “Yes,” he said carefully, “but they’re hosting a formal reception for their court, as well as for the other High Lords. I’m sure Kallias doesn’t actually want to invite us, or any of the other High Lords for that matter, but Mor and Vivane are really good friends and I don’t think he wants to harm that relationship.”

“So Mor’s coming with us, then?”

“Unfortunately, no. She has to put out a fire in the Court of Nightmares.”

“Literal or figurative?”

“Figurative. Keir is pitching fits again.”

“Ah. Same old, same old, then.”

“Pretty much.”

I decided to change the subject.

“So, the cloak is to keep me warm in the Winter Court climate, I’m assuming.”

“Yes. Hopefully without damaging your dress. Sometimes your coats rumple the skirts. While we’re in Velaris—and anywhere in the Night Court that’s not the Court of Nightmares, really—I don’t mind. But you know what we look like to the other courts. The image we present.”

Wealthy, dangerous, ruthless, powerful Night Court High Fae. Immaculate and pristine. Never even a hair out of place. Always in control of every situation. The High Lord who always got what he wanted, his thunderstorm of a High Lady by his side. Nary a trace of the Illyrian half-breed with self-worth issues and the Autumn Court runaway who’d never belonged anywhere.

“I know,” I said.

Rhys approached me and pulled the cloak out of its small box. “Besides,” he said, slinging it around me, “it does look rather fetching on you.” He bent his head and pressed a kiss to my neck.

“Charmer,” I teased.

He laughed. “I could say the same about you.”

I wrapped my arms around him. “I missed you, while you were… gone.”

Even though he insisted he was fine, I still did my best not to mention Under the Mountain. The secrets he’d been forced to keep, the things he’d been forced to do to keep me and the rest of the Night Court safe. We talked about it when he needed to, and I would always be there for him, but I didn’t need to force the past forty-nine years on him.

Rhys put his arms around my waist under the cloak and buried his nose in my hair. “I missed you too.”

“So when do we leave for the Winter Court?”

He knew I was changing the subject away from what I didn’t want to bring up, but he let me. “Tomorrow. We may stay overnight, we may not.”

“Shame Mor’s not coming with.”

“Agreed. She’d love to see Viviane again.”

“We’ll find some way to reunite them. How about that?”

“I think it sounds delightful. We’ll put them in a sound-proof room so we don’t have to hear them squealing into the late hours of the night.” His sarcasm was not lost on me. I chuckled. We swayed in place for a bit. “Let’s go get prepared for tomorrow, darling,” he said.

“Okay,” I agreed.

—

I already miss the Northern mountains, I thought at Rhys, wrapping the beautiful new cloak tighter around me to suppress a shiver. Even they aren’t as cold as this.

He hid his amused smile with a lazy smirk, boredly surveying the Winter Court ice waste around us as the reindeer-pulled sleigh whisked over the snow. I agree, he thought back, but it’s not for very long.

The small tiara I’d chosen to accompany my gown was like I’d wrapped an icicle around my scalp. The metal of it practically frozen to my skin.

The sleigh turned a corner.

“By the Cauldron,” I breathed.

The palace was made of ice. It towered into the sky with sharp jags and icicle towers, hexagonal walls filtering sunlight from behind. White-furred bears patrolled the battlements alongside the soldiers. All of whom sported white hair and pale blue uniforms. Snow was falling, but there was only a scattering of clouds. The High Lord’s magic, then, probably.

It might be a good idea to close your jaw, Rhys advised, no sarcasm present. We have an image to maintain while we’re here.

Right, I thought.

The sleigh driver pulled us up to a half-circle drive of packed snow. At the apex of the half-circle were two massive doors to the palace, wide open to the deep blue gloom of indoors. After slowing to a stop, we gave the driver a curt but polite thank-you and swept out of the sleigh. I caught Rhys flicking a finger before offering me his arm. What magic did you just do? I thought at him.

Tipping the driver. It’s polite but I definitely don’t want to be seen doing it. Would ruin the monster reputation I’ve spent centuries building. An image accompanied his reply—of a cheeky wink. I sent him back nothing but laughter.

An attendant—a young “lesser” faerie female with skin the color, texture, and reflectiveness of powdered snow—guided us inside. It was a lot warmer within the ice-crafted walls than I would have expected. I almost wanted to remove my cloak. The attendant looked absolutely terrified of us. Rhys and I barely acknowledged she was there, both keeping impassive expressions on our faces. I wished I could reassure her that everything was alright—that we were friendly—but I knew why I couldn’t.

She led us up what technically counted as a spiral staircase—despite it being hexagonal and not perfectly circular—to a suite of rooms. “His Lordship hopes you will be comfortable here,” the attendant said.

“Thank you.” A curt dismissal from Rhys. She scampered away.

Once she was gone and the doors closed, both of us relaxed. “I hate acting like that,” I muttered.

“Me too. But every High Lord puts on a face,” Rhys said. “You remember Helion. He seems terribly prickly and temperamental in public but is quite amusing and kind in private.” Rhys sat on a white sofa embroidered with sky blue winter flora and a few snowflakes.

“I do remember Helion. I also remember wishing you’d given me a warning about it. I was ready to punch him for being so rude to you.”

Rhys winked at me. “That wouldn’t have been nearly as fun,” he replied. I rolled my eyes. “Well, love, there’s nothing to do but wait until the reception. We did arrive a little early.”

“Four hours is ‘a little’?” I joked.

All I got was a shrug. “I like making statements,” he replied casually. “I arrive when I wish and I don’t care about their scheduling. Usually I would prefer to show up late to make it seem like I really don’t care about whatever it is they’ve had the courage to invite me to, but sometimes it’s more fun to arrive much earlier than planned and make that everyone else’s problem.”

I laughed. “You do a good job of making your act seamless.”

“Centuries of practice, darling.” He lounged on the sofa but patted the seat next to him. I sat beside him. It was almost warm enough inside to remove my cloak, but not quite. Rhys’ body heat was helping make up the difference. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

I grinned. “Thanks. You’re quite stunning yourself.” Black jacket, immaculately embroidered in silver and gold, deep midnight blue shirt underneath buttoned all the way up to hide his tattoos, black slacks with a single ring of silver thread around the ankles. It had taken me an hour to convince him to wear a blue shirt instead of black. But it really brought out his eyes. Dimmed the blazing, powerful violet just enough to reveal that his irises were actually blue.

“I’m always stunning,” he replied.

I smacked him in the chest with the back of my hand. “Arrogant,” I accused.

He kissed me. “You like it though.”

I rolled my eyes.

—

The ballroom was enormous. Pillars of glimmering ice reflected faelight bobbing around the ceiling. It was lightly snowing inside. Winter Court High Fae and faeries milled around, talking, eating, drinking. A line extended away from the bride and groom. Well-wishers offering their congratulations.

Rhysand wasn’t going to bother waiting in the line. I knew that. We’d approach from behind or from the other side, offer our regards, and then leave.

But not immediately.

The ballroom was warm enough that I passed my cloak to a waiting attendant. My gown was so dark violet it was almost black. A bell-shaped skirt dotted with beads in the shape of stars swished over the ice floor, lightly dusted with snow. The gown’s sleeves barely capped my shoulders, but the long black satin gloves that ended two inches from the bottom of the sleeves helped keep my arms warm. The bandeau tiara had three dark amethysts glinting among the white diamonds.

The finery wasn’t terribly comfortable, but I knew the effect it had on others.

Rhys and I wandered the ballroom, mingling only occasionally—and only if the other party dared approach us first.

Including High Lord Tamlin of the Spring Court and his charming bride-to-be, Feyre Cursebreaker. Both of them looking happy and healthy and more in love than ever.

“Didn’t expect to see you here, Rhys,” Tamlin said begrudgingly. His eyes flicked over to me. I didn’t have to be daemati like Rhys to know what he was thinking. The whispers of the other faeries milling about followed me the moment we entered the room, and Tamlin was likely in agreement.

Freak. Unnatural. Witch. Lightning was not meant to be harnessed by magic like that. She doesn’t belong in any court.

I thought about snapping something at Tamlin, but Rhys cut in smoothly, “We could hardly miss an important function such as this, Tamlin.” He inclined his head at the female on Tamlin’s arm. “A pleasure to see you again, Feyre.”

“Wish I could say the same about you,” she replied dryly.

Rhys tsked, but didn’t say anything to her. “Enjoy the party,” he said to both of them instead before pulling me away. I waved at Feyre, letting an apology touch my expression. Her glare softened a moment and she lifted her fingers as though to wave back, but thought better of it.

I turned away. She’d saved Tamlin and freed the other High Lords and their courts from Amarantha. She gave Rhys back to me—and I couldn’t even give her the thanks she deserved. Electricity crackled in my veins. Rhys jolted slightly as I shocked him. No one else would have noticed.

Easy, he thought at me. What’s wrong?

I let him into an antechamber in my shields, to see what I thought and felt without having to explain. Thoughtful silence followed. We’ll find a way to let you thank her. For us both to thank her. She gave me back to you, too.

Thank you, I thought at him.

Of course. I felt a loving caress against my shields. I sent one in return.

Rhys took me through the crowd, occasionally offering greetings to the High Fae and faeries who didn’t cower as we passed. Rhys’s damper on his power had been loosened. Not released completely, but relaxed—allowing tendrils of darkness to drift from him like shafts of steam. It was an intimidation tactic. He did it a lot.

“Kallias. Viviane,” Rhys said as we approached the bride and groom. Both looked resplendent. Viviane in her simple but no doubt expensive gown that glittered like powdered snow under the moonlight. They turned to us. “Morrigan sends her regards and regrets that she couldn’t make it.” Those words were directed at Viviane. She smiled at the both of us. More warmly at me than at Rhys.

“Congratulations to you both,” I said with a genuine smile. “You deserve to be happy with one another.”

Kallias gave me a cold stare. Wondering where my calculating, ruthless High Lady mask was, no doubt. But I did want them to know that I was happy for them. That I was happy they’d found one another after Amarantha.

“Thank you,” Viviane said before Kallias could reply. She reached out and took my hand in both of hers. “And thank you for coming.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Rhys said smoothly, smirking slightly.

“We left our gift on the table with the others,” I said softly to Viviane.

She gave me a warm grin. “Thank you. Thank you, both.”

I returned the grin and Rhys bade a curt goodbye to Kallias before we retreated back into the crowd.

“Care to dance?” I asked.

“With you? Always.” He smiled at me. For a moment I forgot we were in another court. All I could think of was him. All I could see was those blazing eyes—that lazy smile. His warmth against me.

I didn’t realize I must have been showing that on my face because he leaned down and kissed me. “The rest of tonight is going to be so much fun,” he whispered suggestively, giving me that playful smirk he always had when he knew we were both going to get what we wanted from each other before the night was over.

A shiver that had nothing to do with the Winter Court chill travelled down my spine. Excitement. “Oh, I think it will be,” I replied.

[agent-cupcake]

yuri with yandere prompt number eight? i feel like thats the most accurate for him

This ask is old but I’m never gonna quit these yandere prompts. Try and stop me. (aka, here’s 5k of unhealthy pining and Yuri “I want to confess my love but I don’t feel like I deserve you” Leclerc)

//

A sharp, frightened gasp was what pulled you awake. Terror gripped your thoughts as a memory overrode all rational thought —the scent of tread packed filth and chalky, tangy, sharp stone filling your nose with each shallow, bloody, gasping breath. Cold, cutting gravel scraping against your cheek, your scalp, the sharp pebbles embedded into your skin with the force with which you had hit the ground. You couldn’t move, couldn’t fight your collapsed chest into expanding for air to fill your lungs. Escape, you had to escape, that was the only real, solid understanding in your dazed brain as you struggled against the blankets.

But then you blinked a few times, your eyes rolling as you focused them, and realized that was nothing more than a dream. You were safe. Sore, uncomfortable, in an unfamiliar bed and wearing unfamiliar clothes, but safe. And confused, still entangled in the cotton fog of unconsciousness.

You had been… Where had you been? Your head was foggy, your thoughts blurry, almost enough to convince you that you were dreaming. If only you weren’t so uncomfortable. Something was wrong, more than just being sick. There had been… Blood? Pain?

Agony. A blunt, overwhelming ache that had slammed against the entire right side of your body when you hit the ground. A whine had escaped your mouth alongside a glob of bloody saliva. The pain was all-consuming. You could remember that in the same second the pain registered so did the panic of knowing that you were going to be sick right there on the street. Nausea had seized your stomach and you had been helpless to its violent, urgent, undulating undertow. Rocks cut into your palms as you wrenched yourself up to avoid choking as you sputtered and heaved and coughed out the acidic bile. When you blinked, your sight clearing from a dozen fragmented frames into a single dizzy, tear-blurred picture, all you saw was blood. Blood in the watery puddle on the ground, scarlet staining your side, oozing up between your fingers as you pressed a panicked hand against the slash across your ribs as if that would force the blood back where it belonged.  

But there was no blood now. No wounds to validate that terrible living nightmare.

Everything came flooding back into your mind as your thoughts cleared up. You remembered accepting Lev’s offer to ignore Yuri’s orders and perform a secretive strike on an opposing gang. You remembered going along with the plan and taking the dangerous role of getting everyone into the Vanargand base despite the risk. You remembered nearly died in the escape.

You remembered thinking that you were dead. In that moment of laying on the street in a puddle of your own blood, you had clung to the pathetic thought that you didn’t want to die. Even though you already had, you didn’t want to betray Yuri in this way, too. He didn’t want you involved in any of this, he did everything he could to keep you out of it. He promised your brother, he made a vow. But even that tragic, horrible thought had become cloudy as cold disseminated ice throughout your body, piercing all the way into the marrow of your bones and numbing your limbs, pulling you closer into the creeping void. That was the last of what you could remember.

Now, the only remaining evidence of your brush with death was the bruised shades of puce plum and rotten currant covering the entire right side of your body. Someone had used white magic to heal the direst of your wounds. Presumably, the same someone who had saved you. You were pretty sure you knew exactly who that someone was, too.

Your hero.

Yuri Leclerc with his violet eyes and smiling mouth and sweeping, dramatic cape who came to you after your brother’s death and told you of the promise he’d made as his boss and friend. Yuri Leclerc, the nearly mythical Underground Lord, the unaging Savage Mockingbird. Your hero, your knight in armor of shadow and subterfuge. He promised that he would protect you. And he had saved you. Again.

With a soft groan, you turned from laying on your back to your mostly uninjured left side. The bed was comfortable enough, better than your own. The room was smaller than yours, however, easily lit up by just a single lamp. By all standards, it was far from lavish, but you were covered in a thick comforter with two pillows plumped beneath your head. The four-poster frame was made of an attractively dark solid wood that matched the bedside table, writing desk, and chair. It looked an awful lot like the impersonal room of an inn, although there were clear signs that someone lived in here. Books and paper and feather pens were stacked on the desk, a glass rainbow of bottles lined up on the shelf above, a colorful swath of clothes on the rack.

Most telling was the way that the room, the bedding, and the clothes you wore all smelled like Yuri. An intoxicating embrace of spring rose and lilac, plush amber musk, and heady sweet vanilla. Achingly familiar, desirable, wonderful. Now it just made you sick. While the previous day’s actions could make a case for your intellectual deficiencies, it didn’t take a genius to figure out where you were. You groaned softly, closing your eyes.

Yuri was going to be mad. You had justified following Lev before by telling yourself that if the job went off without a hitch, Yuri would be so impressed with your skills that he would have no choice but to recognize you as a member of his gang and stop coddling you. Now you realized that it was and always had been an act of petty rebellion. Yuri would never respect your reckless disregard for his orders and your own life, not even if it had gone well.

Which it hadn’t. You had no idea what had gone wrong, you had performed your task without any problems, getting the small group of men into the compound without alerting any guards. Your brother had done well in teaching you to sneak around. But then there was complete and utter chaos and they all came running back as the compound was eaten up by flames, your so-called friends leaving you stranded on the top of the wall with a group of Vanargand men. So you jumped.

Even your vague recall of that particular agony made you wince, your stomach churning unhappily.

The sound of someone outside the door made your heart jump, your eyes instinctually closing to feign sleep. Maybe if you seemed like you were sleeping you could spare yourself a lecture. Or worse, his disappointment. The doorknob turned, the wood creaking, the metal hinges making the faintest squeak as they were pushed. You held your breath.

But nobody came in, stopping in response to the approaching sound of another, heavier set of footsteps. “Glad to see you back in one piece,” Yuri greeted whoever it was. With the door cracked the way it was, you could hear him quite clearly. His voice was friendly, matching the smile he must have been wearing, but it was sharp, too. You knew that tone, recognized the danger it hid. “I figured it would be you who led this little rebellion.”

“Rebellion?” Lev asked. “I acted for all of us. The Vanargand boys won’t be an issue anymore.”

Yuri laughed. Although the sound was oddly genuine, nobody could miss the fact that he was making fun of Lev. “You really believe that?” he asked, his voice lilting with disbelief.

Lev grunted, you could imagine his scowl. He scowled a lot. “If you knew what we did to them, you wouldn’t laugh.”

“All you did was kick the hornet’s nest,” Yuri said, unimpressed, “while ignoring my orders to standby.”

“I came here to tell you that I think things should change around here, I think-”

“I don’t actually care what you think,” Yuri said, cutting him off calmly. His tone was deadly smooth, dripping with the unique threat of his friendly malice. “I expect you to be out of here by the time the sun rises. That gives you, what, four hours? Plenty of time.”

“What?” Lev asked, his bravado faltering.

“Leave my city,” Yuri told him. “And pray that I never see you again.”

“You can’t kick me out,” Lev said. “Not after all I’ve done for you, for the gang.”

“No?” Yuri asked. “You directly disobeyed my orders and put my men at risk for the sake of your own ego. I’d say that’s a pretty good reason to lose any and all trust I ever had in you.”

“The Vanargand Street Gang have been a pain in the ass for too long,” Lev told him, his tone growing combative. “I decided to do something about it.”

“I had them under control,” Yuri said. “without stooping to such boorish and dangerous methods.”

Lev responded with a mocking bark of a laugh. “Nah, this is about the girl, isn’t it? You should know that she all but begged me to take her along. If you wanna talk about trust, maybe consider why your precious little pet would disobey you.”

You froze, a cold, nervous sweat beading up at the nape of your neck, anxious nausea once again closing in your throat. Either unfortunately or fortunately, Yuri breezed right past that comment as if it didn’t affect him in the slightest. “This has nothing to do with her,” Yuri said without missing a beat. “If you don’t think I’m a fit leader, challenge my authority directly. But I’m warning you. Think carefully about what you do next. Right now, I’m relieved enough that nobody was seriously hurt by your incompetence that I’m willing to let you go with nothing more than a warning.” His voice lowered dangerously, forcing you to strain slightly to make it out. There was no playful teasing injected into these words, no way to interpret them as anything other than naked intimidation. “Don’t mistake my benevolence for weakness, you won’t live to regret it.”

A long moment of tense silence passed between the two men. You could imagine Lev’s storming rage, Yuri’s cool demeanor. You didn’t dare move, afraid that either would hear and unsure which was worse. The moment was broken only by another set of thumping, rhythmic footsteps cresting up the stairs. There was only one man who could possibly make that much noise.

“I heard shouting. I’m not missing the party, am I?” Balthus asked. While there was nothing directly antagonistic about the man’s voice, there was no mistaking the threat he posed. There was a reason he was Yuri’s right-hand man.

“No,” Yuri said. “Lev and I are simply having a… Disagreement.”

“Oh yeah?” Balthus asked. “Anything I should weigh in on?”

“That depends,” Yuri said. “What do you say, Lev?”

“Damn you, Leclerc.”

“Haven’t you heard?” Yuri asked, a hint of a smile in his voice. “I’m already damned.”

There was another moment of silence, almost long enough to make you wonder if the trio had somehow disappeared, before Lev swore under his breath and retreated past Yuri and Balthus, his feet pounding a cadenced thump, thump, thump as he stalked down the stairs.

“Balthus,” Yuri said when Lev’s footsteps were completely lost. “Would you mind making sure our friend makes it out of the city without doing anything reckless?”

“Think he might?” Balthus asked.

“Honestly, I’m not sure,” Yuri responded, his voice was more honest than with Lev. He sounded tired. “I sure as hell didn’t think he would make a move like this just yet.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him.” Balthus paused. “What, uh, should I do if he tries anything?”

“Take him to the Vanargand. I’m sure they’ll be hunting him down regardless.”

Balthus whistled. “That’s pretty cold, boss.”

“It’s far better than he deserves,” Yuri said, his voice dark. “If she died, I…”

“No need to explain. I get it, pal,” Balthus said, saving Yuri from having to continue. As badly as you didn’t want to know what Yuri was going to say, you very desperately did, too. “I’ll make sure he stays in line. You look like you could use some rest. Or a drink.”

Yuri laughed, the sound a bit lighter than before. “You might be right about that.”

“Of course I am,” Balthus said. “You don’t live as long as I have without catching wise to these things. I’ll be off, then.”

“Good luck,” Yuri said, “and don’t do anything stupid. There’s only so much I can handle in one night.”

“Hah!” Balthus called, trampling right back down the hallway. “That big brain of yours will burst into flames if you keep on worrying about everything, pal. Better call it quits before you ruin that cute face with wrinkles.” Yuri laughed.

Realizing that Balthus leaving would mean Yuri would finally enter the room, you threw the blankets off of yourself and sat up. It hurt like hell, it felt like every single inch of your body was bruised, right down to the bone, but it was doable after the sickening dizziness passed.

You didn’t particularly want to get up, but you didn’t want to stick around and have the conversion you knew Yuri would start, either.

The way Yuri worried made your chest clench. You didn’t dare name it discomfort, but the feeling was awfully close. It was Yuri’s growing intensity that you noticed first. The way he’d get when other men got too close to you, the pointed questions he’d ask about your interactions with other people. How he worried when you had to travel or interact with people he didn’t trust, insisting that you tell him every single detail about what you were doing. Worse, the times when he seemed to know things he shouldn’t, things you didn’t tell him.

It was because of the promise he had made to your brother, he said, to keep you safe. Yuri valued the men under his command, and your brother had been a close comrade of his. And you bought it at first because your brother had always been protective, but Yuri’s behavior was different. He wasn’t your brother, but neither did you get the impression you were friends. Friends weren’t suffocatingly overprotective. Not friends, but not anything more, either. He never flirted with you as he did with everybody else, as he had before. Not even in a playful, teasing way. The tighter hold he kept on you, the more and more he maintained a distance.

Lev called you Yuri’s precious pet, and that struck too close to home. You hated it. You weren’t a child —you weren’t even a teenager anymore— and yet Yuri acted like you were made of glass. Like you couldn’t be trusted to look after yourself, like you were… Like you were a pet.

That’s why you had agreed to Lev’s job in the first. You wanted to change the dynamic the two of you had. You figured that if he saw that you weren’t as weak as he feared, that you were just as capable as the men in his gang, that he’d stop being so intensely and oppressively protective. But if he was willing to give Lev up to the torture the Vanargand gang would inflict on him for the sin of endangering you, you didn’t think it had been at all effective. Actually, it made sense that your near-death and horrible failure would have the opposite effect.

Steading yourself, you searched the room for your shoes. Someone, and you didn’t dare to think of who, had changed you into what you were pretty sure were Yuri’s clothes. While it made sense considering your own were probably nothing more than blood soaked rags, you weren’t incredibly comfortable with wearing his things. The smell alone was nearly overwhelming, but the level of intimacy it implied was something you didn’t dare consider. Even worse that you should wake up in his bed. His bed that was obviously big enough for two people, a bed that he had probably had company in because he was attractive and desirable and… And you couldn’t find your shoes.

“What are you doing?” Yuri asked. The door shut behind him, the metal latch clicking.

It occurred to you that while you’d been having a micro-meltdown, Yuri had probably been standing there watching.

“Leaving,” you responded, trying to maintain a neutral expression despite the way your voice cracked. That brave attempt fell apart with the way you burst into a coughing fit a moment later, hacking up sharp bursts of air against your scratched up throat, each breath sending aching pulses of pain against your bruised side.

“Don’t strain yourself,” Yuri scolded, rushing to the bedside table to pour you some water. So considerate, always. Guilt rose up within you. After he saved you, how could you be so rude and ungrateful? You knew he cared. He was your hero.

You averted your streaming eyes and took a few slow, careful sips from the cup as Yuri took a seat on the desk chair, sitting the wrong way with his arms draped over the chair’s back.

“Drink this, too,” he said, handing you a vial. You uncapped it to take a sniff it, wincing at the astringent scent.

“What is it?” you asked.

“It’ll help with the pain,” he said. You nodded, grateful for the idea of that, and pinched your nose to down the vial. It was exactly as disgusting as it smelled. At the very least, it wiped the smell of Yuri from your head for a spell. “You should lay back down,” he recommended. “Magic can only do so much to heal your wounds. Not to mention that you’ve had a hell of a shock. Honestly, after what happened, I’m surprised you managed to get upright. You’re full of surprises tonight, aren’t you?”

The implication, the reminder of what you’d done in such a banal tone, made you wince. Guilt or shame or embarrassment, you didn’t know. “I’m fine,” you said, staring at the floor rather than meet his eyes.

“It’s cute that you can say that with a straight face,” Yuri said. “Seriously, you look terrible.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled sarcastically, an instinctually petulant reaction to the way he treated you, “But I really am capable of taking care of myself.”

He didn’t even grace that with a serious answer, rolling his eyes. “Obviously.”

“I can’t stay here,” you said.

“You can,” Yuri told you, “and you will. You’ve lost a lot of blood and I don’t need a dead body on my doorstep. It’s bad for business.”

“Where will you sleep?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Yuri said. You met his eyes, frowning as you tried to figure out what he was thinking, what he was feeling. He sighed, likely reading the further arguments you were going to make in the way you looked at him. “I’ve had a long night dealing with your mess. Stop being a fool and do what I say.” “Or what?” you muttered, looking away again as you fought against the guilt. He didn’t own you, you weren’t even one of his men. He couldn’t order you around.

“Or I’ll make you,” Yuri said bluntly. “I doubt that’ll pleasant for either of us.”

That answer sent a shiver down your spine, whatever complaints you had been trying to maintain drying up on your tongue because you kind of believed him. His cold, cruel tone of voice when dealing with Lev was still all too clear in your mind. Besides, he was right. He was usually right. That didn’t help the terrible sensation of being treated like a child, like an invalid.

Avoiding his eyes, you set aside your cup and did what he said, tucking your feet back under the covers, leaning down against the pillows. It was a lot easier on your aching side, better for the splitting headache gathered up behind your right temple.

“Did you save me?” you asked after a moment, staring at the quilted pattern.

“Yeah,” Yuri responded, his voice unreadable.

“And you healed me?”

“What do you think?”

It had been a dumb question. You couldn’t imagine Yuri letting anyone else see that much of your bare skin to heal those wounds. All the same. “You don’t have to be rude, I was just clarifying,” you told him with a frown.

“Right, right, sorry. I just about forgot myself,” Yuri said, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “What I meant was that I was the one who rushed to your rescue and healed your wounds, fair maiden. Is that better?”

You frowned, refusing to be amused by his antics. Despite the joking tone Yuri took, those words set you on edge. He hardly ever teased you like that anymore, now it just felt off. “Who changed my clothes?”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Yuri asked. Was there amusement in his tone? At your embarrassment? You could feel that your cheeks were hot and hoped desperately that he couldn’t tell. “Well,” he shrugged apologetically, “it’s not like I had much of a choice and I couldn’t put you to bed in dirty clothes…” Yuri looked up to meet your horrified eyes, smiling. “Kidding. I do have some honor. I asked the landlady to help me out. Your virtue is intact.”

Virtue. You swallowed hard on that word, drinking the last of the water. Your thoughts were beginning to fuzz, becoming less clear. It made it harder to refocus after being caught off guard by his teasing. The pain wasn’t as crisp, more of a background ache rather than an insistent thud. That was distracting, too. You knew that, for some reason, he wanted to fluster you. But you couldn’t let him distract you, nor could you let your embarrassment deter you. So, clenching your fists, you looked up and met his eyes.

“Thank you for saving me,” you said carefully. “I’m… I’m sorry for inconveniencing you.”

Yuri didn’t answer right away, staring you down in his unnervingly piercing way. The intensity of his eyes was uncomfortable, but it was undercut with the swirling storm of concern amidst the individual strands of purple pigment, the void-like pool of pupil. “I’m glad you’re alive,” he said carefully. And that was honest, genuine. He looked so tired. He sounded tired.

“I owe you. Twice, for saving me and healing me,” you said, forcing the words out in as business-like of a tone as you could manage. They were slurred, slightly. Had he given you a sedative? Or was this just normal exhaustion finally taking you out? “So tell me how you would like to be repaid, and I’ll see that it’s done.”

Yuri’s head fell to the side in confusion, like the question threw him off guard. Good. “Excuse me, what?”

“That’s how it is in your world,” you replied. “Our world. Right?”

“Our world?” Yuri asked, his expression retreating into a mask.

“The real world. Altruism doesn’t exist. When someone does something for you, there’s always a price. If I want to be taken seriously, I can’t keep being naïve about that.”

“That’s pretty cynical of you.” Was it just you or did he sound sad about that fact?

“You taught me well.”

“Not well enough,” he said, frowning as his eyes lingered on the bruises. He sighed. “So, I take it that that’s why you went? You want to be taken seriously?”

“Yes,” you said slowly, surprised that he’d be able to cut to the heart of it so quickly. Then again, it shouldn’t have been that surprising. Yuri was all too good at that.

“Word to the wise,” Yuri told you. “Never act unless success is guaranteed. If you want to be taken seriously, you have to have results to show for it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you said.

“And another thing,” Yuri added. “Never give out open ended favors. Not even to people you trust. You might not like it when they call to collect.”

“But I know you wouldn’t want anything bad from me,” you said, frowning and unsure if he was implying what you thought he was. He couldn’t be, not Yuri. Not to you.

“Is that a fact?” he asked. “I could be helping you simply to get one of those incredibly enticing open favors. Now I’ve got two of them, I wonder what I could ask for…”

“I’m being serious,” you said.

“You think I’m not?” Yuri smiled at you like he knew all the secrets in the world, like you’d never catch him without the trickster’s mask or even guess at what he had hidden beneath. But then your reply was eaten by a mostly stifled yawn that tugged hard at your sore jaw and all pretense fell away to the concerned expression you knew so well from him. “Alright, enough of that. You look like you’re about to pass out. Get some sleep. I’ll watch over you, yeah?” he offered, flipping the chair around so he could sit directly at the bedside.

You couldn’t argue with that, yawning again. It hit you all at once, it seemed. You were passing out, the need for sleep becoming more and more pressing with each breath. “Next time,” you told him, your words slurring like a drunk as you settled further down into the bed. Your body felt so heavy, the colors of the room smoothing out like butter, the smell that clung to the bedding and the clothes filling you with warmth. “Next time for sure, I’ll show you. Then I won’t owe you-” you yawned, again. This time you just gave up. He definitely had given you a sedative. Unfortunately, you were too far gone to be mad. Sleeping would be nice anyway. You were so tired.

“There won’t be a next time,” Yuri told you. There was something absolute in his tone, a hard edge that wasn’t to be questioned.

“Why?” you asked, trying to clench your fists to remain lucid for a moment longer. This question was important, important enough for you to fight against your heavy and scattered thoughts. “Why do you care... so much?”

“I don’t know,” Yuri said, his voice threadbare and exposed. He really looked so tired, so beautiful. He had more masks than anyone, but right then you didn’t think that it was a mask.

He didn’t know either.

Where did that leave you?

Floating, it seemed. Lavender and milk and shadow blurred in your vision, the colors of Yuri. Your eyes fluttered shut, filled with a kaleidoscope of him. The pain was gone, you couldn’t even find the passion to argue or to be mad or afraid or upset. It was enough to be safe, to be with him, to be warm.

Tomorrow, then. Tomorrow you would get answers.

“You remind me of something I lost a long time ago,” Yuri said after a moment. It would have been too much to open your eyes or respond, so you just listened, marveling at the way his voice created the words, the way it caressed them. Had you really never noticed how delicious his voice was? You could lose yourself in it, you thought. “Something even I can’t steal for myself,” Yuri continued, “something more precious than a Heroes Relic. As long as I can preserve that, I can live with the consequences.”

You didn’t fight when he grabbed your hand from where it had fallen on the comforter, pulling it up into both of his. Yuri’s hands were rough, his fingers narrow and long and nice. They were scarred and bloodstained. They held yours gently, tenderly.

“Heh, maybe I’m a coward to tell you now. I doubt you’ll remember this by tomorrow.”

“I’ll remember,” you mumbled mindlessly, your eyes remaining closed. How could you forget this warmth? The beauty of the colors in your head, the feeling of his touch.

Yuri pressed his cheek against your hand. The skin was soft, warm. “Maybe you will. You certainly deserve my honesty. But after tonight... Maybe it’s too late to anyway. I tried so hard to protect you, even from myself.” He laughed, a humorless puff of air against your knuckles. “Especially from myself. Sometimes I can’t help but think that it’s inevitable that everything and everyone who becomes close to me will be stained by the association. I didn’t want to see that shine in your eyes become dull. This cruel, cynical world destroys everything of value, but not you.” He paused, thinking. You drifted, the words rolling over you without sticking, without meaning. His voice was so lovely. “But you’re wrong, you know,” Yuri continued after a while, pulling you back. “Things done out of love don’t have a price. You don’t owe me anything, you never have.”

Yuri’s lips brushed over your knuckles, a kiss over each ridge, before one of his hands untangled itself. You leaned into the feeling of his calloused fingertips on your warm cheek, pushing your hair out of the way as they caressed your face. Even in your vague stupor, the touch was enough to make your eyes open. Half-lidded, your sight hazy. Yuri glowed in the candlelight.

A smile tugged at the corner of his pink lips, a melancholic expression. So sad. Did he always look so sad? So beautiful? It made your heart ache, a hollow, faraway feeling.

“Hey,” he said, meeting your eyes. You attempted a smile in return, a dozing, drunken, delirious smile. “If I told you tomorrow that I loved you, would you take me as I am?” You hummed. A yes, maybe, no. He was still stroking your face, holding your hand. You couldn’t recall the last time you’d been touched like this. Not since you were a child, you didn’t think. So nice, so soft. “That’s the problem, I don’t know. And I… I don’t act unless victory is assured. If I make a move and lose you for good…” He squeezed your hand, his eyes closing. “I don’t want to lose you. Not to the whims of the cruel world and not by corrupting you with my black heart.” Your eyes closed again, his words becoming lost in your fascination with his voice. Yuri’s fingers left your cheek, returning to wrap around your hand. “Even if can never have you,” he said, a soft resolution in his voice, “it’ll be okay as long as you’re safe. And I know that you’ll be safe as long as you stay with me.”

[kim-miri]

HALF(have a little fun) pt. ix

→ one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight

→ Sayomi Zoldyck is the eldest child and twin sister to Illumi, of the renowned Zoldyck family of assassins. At the age of ten she’s taken away to Meteor City by her mother, Kikyo Zoldyck, unbeknownst to the rest of the family, as well as newborn Killua, and left to fend for herself. This is the story of the long-lost Zoldyck and those she becomes acquainted with, all while she just wants to have a little fun.

» part nine / ?

» pairing: eventually - chrollo x oc x feat. hisoka

» warnings: swearing, blood/violence, minor angst

» a/n: short chapter D:! edit: i’ve tried and tried but it just doesn’t flow right when i try to make this into an x reader:// HALF will be an oc fic and i’ve decided to cut the backstory here;( thanks for the love and support!

» word count: 2,494

☾ix. pt. ix: youth

3 months later

Loud, bass-bumping music and too many flashing lights fueled the exhilaration and excitement of one of the biggest night clubs in Yorknew City.

Sayomi had defeated her second opponent on the 200th floor with the help of Hisoka’s training earlier today, making this little outing a sad excuse for a celebration.

In reality, Hisoka just wanted to see whether Sayomi could dance or not.

He had insisted they go out and experience the nightlife the city had to offer, and with Sayomi still upbeat from her match, they found themselves sneaking into Octagon- a hip club located in the heart of Yorknew City.

Though technically Hisoka was 21 and therefore could have gone about this in an easier way, he insisted they sneak in ‘just for the fun of it’. The truth was that he’d been kicked out of the club previously after using his ‘magic tricks’ to make people’s arms disappear, but it made his intrusion all the more fun.

As Hisoka watched the floor from his spot at the bar with a drink held loosely in one hand, Sayomi was currently lost in a crowd of passionate clubbers, her violet eyes gleaming with the thrill of the environment.

The black and silver dress she wore highlighted her figure as well as electrifying eyes and hair, the metallic material dazzling under the club lights as she lost herself in the music and people.

She was letting herself go for the night like she often did on her chaotic trips to the city with Hisoka. Free from repressive parents or a fight for her life, Sayomi was at peace with her new life, expressing herself however she wanted to.

Draining the rest of his Cosmopolitan, Hisoka’s eyes shifted to the young assassin, his face remaining expressionless as he watched her draw a crowd with her alluring glow. 

He’d been staring so intensely he didn’t even notice a man take the seat next to him. The sound of the man’s voice established his presence, yet Hisoka’s line of sight ceased to drift from the girl with the bright silver hair.

“A stunner isn’t she?”

Hisoka blinked slowly, hardly registering the man’s words. A stunner indeed, but what more? “A pretty face doesn’t mean a pretty soul.”

The man laughed, setting his drink down on the bar to face Hisoka. “I take it she isn’t yours then? That’s a relief.”

Hisoka rested his chin in the palm of one of his finely manicured hands, his other tapping on the smooth surface of the bar impatiently. He couldn’t seem to figure out why his bloodlust was seeping through as he followed Sayomi with his eyes.

His? She could never belong to any man, she was her own person.

“Careful with your words there, I’d hate for them to be your last.” His words were venomous, filled with the intent to kill.

Hisoka’s nails had cut through the skin of his own cheek, his other hand clenched into a fist on the bar’s surface.

The man had shifted away from him, quietly taking his leave as he watched crimson seep down Hisoka’s pale fingers.

Over the past 3 months, he’d been able to fight her more than enough times, and now he no longer felt the same intoxicating feeling when he was with her. Sayomi never fought Hisoka to hurt him, only with the intentions of improving her own skills, which in turn left Hisoka aching for more.

However, as the days progressed he was slowly coming to the conclusion that the Zoldyck girl had an undeniable flaw. She doesn’t put up a fight when I’m with her.

He was losing interest in the girl who’d once swayed his unshakable feelings, and it distressed him that he almost felt bad for wanting to leave her behind.

His sharpened fingernails dug farther into the pale skin of his cheek as he watched Sayomi throw her slender arms around a man she’d only just met. 

She was laughing and smiling, her silky voice seeming to reach his ears through the music and cheers from where he sat. Loud and clear, the sound of her laughter rang through Hisoka’s head in an almost painful way.

She was becoming a weakness to the man who believed himself to be the strongest, and that didn’t sit right with him at all.

☾ix.

Sayomi wasn’t too sure of what exactly it was that she felt towards Hisoka.

When he took her to dinner with an amazing view or complimented her progress with training, she couldn’t tell whether it was her lack of social contact or actual feelings that led her heart to race when she saw his face.

It didn’t help that on some days she could notice the way his voice softened when he spoke to her, only to leave her heart stinging with his harsh words on other days.

He was taking mixed signals to the next level, playing with her feelings while he was trying to figure out his own.

It was selfish and cruel, falsely gaining the trust of someone who’d been through so much betrayal, all for his own entertainment.

But that was just who Hisoka was, he didn’t care for distractions or hindrances. And as fast as he’d first fallen for the young assassin, he was already in the process of making himself forget her.

He was moving on.

☾ix.

3 months later

It was the day after Sayomi’s 7th match on the 200th floor of Heaven’s Arena. She’d been scheduling her fights randomly, with no regard for who her opponents would be.

With 7 wins under her name, she only needed 3 more to challenge a floor master. 

However, with her longtime goal fast approaching, she wasn’t as happy as she thought she’d be.

It’d been about half a year since Sayomi had first met Hisoka, and all the excitement and jitters about spending time alone with a guy had died down. 

It’d also helped that for some reason Hisoka was rather occupied recently. He rarely took her out to the city, claiming he had other business to attend to, and when they did go out, he’d always turn in first mumbling that he was tired.

Sayomi was no fool, she knew that Hisoka was either losing interest in her as well or felt his job was almost through. To herself, she hoped that it was the former, for it would hurt less than to find out he’d only been around her for business purposes.

Regardless, Sayomi’s current situation was puzzling. She stood waiting for what seemed like forever in front of Hisoka’s room, ready to go out and train.

However, after knocking more than enough times and even calling his cell, there was no sign of her trainer. 

That’s odd.

Sayomi trained on her own that day, taking it upon herself to get strength training in at the gym.

It was the first time she’d spent an entire day without Hisoka since they’d started training. Deciding that he was out on his so-called ‘business’, Sayomi shrugged away his absence, going to sleep early for the first time in a while.

Yet, another day passed with no sign of the magician, and Sayomi began to grow concerned for his well-being. What if he was picked off by someone? No, he’s too strong to lose to anyone here… Did he pass out in his room?

Sayomi walked briskly to Hisoka’s room with a worried mind.

Once again there was no response to her knocking, and she decided she’d break into the room.

Using one of her longer needles, she picked the lock in no time, stepping into the unfamiliar room. 

It was empty. Only the faint smell of bubble gum and something sweet lingered in the abandoned room, the closet and space empty.

There was a note left on the cleanly made bed, the red ink standing out from the otherwise white sheets surrounding the note.

That lazy ass, of course he’d leave a note in his own room. 

Picking up the sheet, she read:

Zoldyck-

It’s about time you sneak into my room, I know you’ve thought about doing it before;) 

But jokes aside… 

I’m sorry, darling. 

It’s not like me to apologize(you can ask Kite)and that alone scared me, because I feel like you’ve changed me. Your smile and intoxicating eyes make me weak in the knees…

And I despise myself for it. 

I’m not sure why I’ve chosen to expose my faults to you, for that just makes you all the more dangerous to me.

But perhaps I want you to hold my weaknesses, and perhaps I’d like to see you come tear me apart. Yes, that must be it. 

I’ve departed Yorknew City to meet up with your twin brother, as it seems as though he’s been searching for you. And perhaps I should have taken him to you instead, but I’m not, because when the time is right I’d like you all to myself.

So don’t forgive me, Sayomi. Resent me, grow stronger, and when the time comes I’ll bring your brother back to you.

Ah, and there is one thing I’d always wanted to tell you… 

I always thought that you were most beautiful when you showed your true colors-

A cold-blooded, cold-hearted Zoldyck assassin with no regard for the pain and suffering of your victims.

Stop holding yourself back, people like us can be forgiven for our sins because of the hell we’ve been put through. 

-Hisoka 

☾ix.

A single tear rolled down Sayomi’s cheek. 

And that was all.

The flurry of sudden information rendered Sayomi breathless as she tried to make sense of his words.

This idiot really just admitted his feelings for me after all this time right when he decides to leave me here. Selfish bastard.

And he knows Illumi… but how? Illumi was looking for me? 

I have to become a floor master and get that clown to bring my brother back.

☾ix.

6 months later

Sayomi gazed out her window with a blank stare, 241 floors above the ground.

Just a week ago she’d claimed her spot on the 241st floor as the newest and youngest Floor Master at age 19.

She knew Hisoka would find out about her achievement soon, and all she could do now was wait.

Up until defeating and killing her last opponent, time had flown by easily. She was fueled by the goal of finding her brother and confronting Hisoka, but now that she was here, the loneliness began to sink in.

Kite and his student had taken off to another country in search of wildlife to study, leaving Sayomi all alone in Yorknew City.

She couldn’t help but laugh at the irony of her situation. Here she was at the top of the tallest building in Yorknew City, a place that others died trying to get to, yet she was unsatisfied.

Her face and name were plastered on billboards and posters all throughout the city, and citizens stood envious of the young teen’s life. She had enough money that she’d never have to work another day in her life, but in exchange she no longer had a family to accept her nor friends to laugh with.

Don’t feel sorry for yourself, there’s plenty of others that have it worse.

Sayomi sighed as she turned away from the window, grabbing her mask she’d started using as a floor master to attempt to conceal her identity. 

I won’t have challengers for another month or so… might as well hit the city.

☾ix.

Sayomi walked through the dark streets of Yorknew City, her hands clasped behind her head and her eyes vacant.

She didn’t have a destination in mind, just mindlessly strolling through the city covered with news of her promotion to Floor Master. There were citizens recognizing her as well, pointing and jumping back as if she were some monster.

Though she couldn’t blame them, as her nen happened to be on the disturbing side. The replays of her fights were mostly censored, deemed too inhumane for the public eye as they played on repeat on the sides of buildings,

She wasn’t too sure how far she’d walked, spotting Heaven’s Arena rather far in the distance behind her. The shops and glamorous hotels began to fade as she approached the run down parts of Yorknew City.

It was an abandoned lot of buildings, the ground littered with oil cans and shattered glass. In a way it was tranquil, free from angry drivers and the revolted gaze of commoners.

Walking through an opening in the wired fences that surrounded the lot, Sayomi wandered through a certain building that’d caught her eye.

She felt a faint aura coming from the abandoned office building, but oddly enough it wasn’t hostile or repelling. It was rather comforting.

Sayomi’s curiosity grew as the aura increased, drawing her towards the room located at the far end of the first floor.

She saw the man before she sensed him, his large coat catching her attention. His back was turned to her crouched down on the dusty floor, the windows adjacent to him shattered, letting the pale moonlight reflect off of his coat.

St. Peter’s cross. Interesting taste in fashion…

Another careless step closer and the man’s head turned abruptly in her direction. Sayomi had ducked behind a wall, but not fast enough.

The man stood from his spot, revealing a vibrant patch of violets by his feet. Upon his loss in concentration, the flowers wilted, withering back into the cluttered floor as if they’d never been there in the first place.

Sayomi could see the man’s face from where she crouched, hidden by a barely intact wall. Her heart skipped a beat upon meeting his eyes, deep gray and captivating as he easily identified her from her hiding spot.

It felt as if time was frozen in place, the young man staring intensely into Sayomi’s eyes as if he could read her mind. 

Sayomi was unmoving as well, having been caught examining his figure from behind the wall. He was by far the most appealing man she’d ever seen, his dark, raven hair slicked back to reveal a tattoo decorating the middle of his forehead, contrasting with his gentle eyes and youthful facial features. 

Handsome, she thought. 

The man took a slight step forward, snapping Sayomi out of his hypnotizing gaze as she sped off jumping through an empty window and out of the building. 

Though she was eager to know what he’d been doing with the flowers, his aura had changed when he’d noticed her watching. It had been dangerous and intense, a total opposite of his warm and placid one when dealing with the violets.

Her quick steps transitioned into a run, feeling the need to distance herself from the lingering intensity of the mysterious young man’s aura.

She ran back towards the towering building of Heaven’s Arena, not stopping her pace a bit until she was met with the familiar neon signs and billboards that surrounded the heart of Yorknew City.

Her dreams were taken over by the man’s captivating eyes that night. His familiar aura had seemed to beckon her to him, as if she’d known him for 100 years prior. 

But no matter how hard she thought that night, she couldn’t come up with an answer as to what he’d been doing with the violets conjured by his feet. 

In her dreams she saw her own eyes within the vibrant flowers, it was an abstract thought, though for a second she wondered if he had meant for her to see them. 

She quickly dismissed this, however, scoffing at the absurdity of her own thoughts. 

What am I, a child? I must be beyond lonely if I think some random guy has something to do with me.

Though deep down inside her heart, she wished it were true. To be fated to somebody, needed by somebody who she could trust with her darkest secrets and love.

☾ix.

to be continued.

[lillotte17]

Storm Chasers

Oh lord, this was a prompt from...4-5 YEARS ago??? I have no idea where the ask is anymore, but I believe it was “The sound of thunder.”

~

Solas awoke to the rumbling of distant thunder and the discovery that the bedroll beside him had been vacated. After an instant of blind groggy panic, he sensed the familiar magic of the Inquisitor’s mark coming from somewhere nearby. A heavy sigh of relief mixed with mild exasperation slid from him as he sat up and began rummaging around for his clothes.

The air in the Frostback Basin was cool and cloying, with a weighty dampness that seemed to seep into his very bones. Between the layers of thick furs and the warmth of his lover’s arms, Solas had been perfectly comfortable sleeping in just his breeches, but he certainly was not about to stroll around the camp that way.

After a few moments of fruitless searching, he heaved a defeated groan. Aili must have walked off with his sweater. Again.

He pulled on a lighter linen tunic from is pack instead, wrapping one of the still-warm blankets from their bed about his shoulders before he exited the tent, completely barefoot and hoping she had not wandered too far.

Even in the dead of night, the forest was a marvel. Pockets of strange colors turned into something ghostly when illuminated by cool glow of the veilfire torches set around the camp and along the twisting pathways on the forest floor. A weak drizzle of rainfall fractured their light into an ethereal haze, deepening the long black shadows of the massive trees until they looked like holes in the skin of the world. It was all at once beautiful and haunting.

Solas pulled the blanket up over his head to serve as a makeshift hood as he searched their treetop campsite for any signs of Aili. He shivered slightly as the rain began to soak through his clothing, causing the cream-colored linen to stick to his skin. He vaguely hoped that Aili had at least had the good sense to pull on more than his sweater before wandering outside in this weather.

The sound of quiet humming came drifting to him through the gentle hiss of falling water like the memory of a dream.

Sure enough, Aili was sitting out on one of the larger tree limbs, the ones big enough to pass for pathways in their own right, clad in nothing but his sweater and a worn pair of leggings, her bare feet swinging back and forth in time with her song. Her damp hair hung about her shoulders in loose ringlets, the moonlight igniting it into a gleaming halo around her face, edging her features in silver. Her eyes burned with a fire of their own, two violet coals that found him in the darkness long before he had made a noise that a human could have heard.

“Ma sa’lath,” she greeted him quietly.

“Vhenan,” he replied in kind as he made his way out onto the branch. He sat down beside her in the unpleasantly wet moss that had grown over the wood, wrapping one arm around her shoulders to share the relative shelter of the blanket. “What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?”

“Humming,” she said evasively, her eyes flitting away from him to look back out into the trees. He regarded her silently, a sharply arched brow paired with a thin suspicious frown informing her that he was by no means satisfied with her answer.

“I was just thinking, Solas, honestly,” she amended with a tired-sounding sigh.

“And these thoughts could not be processed adequately someplace warm and dry?” He queried.

“It’s just rain,” she huffed at him, rolling her eyes. “It isn’t as though I’m going to melt if I get a bit wet. Besides, I needed the fresh air.”

There was another rumble of thunder, louder than the last, and the rain was decidedly heavier than when he had left their tent.

“It will be storming soon enough,” he said, getting to his feet and offering her a hand to do the same.

 “Do you think it might have been something like this?” She asked softly, still staring out at the forest, ignoring his outstretched hand. “The Dales? …Halamshiral?”

Solas blinked at her in mild astonishment before taking a moment to consider, gazing out into the woods once more. He saw the distant flickering lights of other Inquisition campsites in the trees as well as along the riverbank and fires from other smaller camps which likely belonged to groups of wandering Avaar. The crumbling ruins of elves and humans alike, molded into new purpose. The towering trees standing watch like gigantic sentinels. The tenuous state of the Veil and the lingering sense of older magics.

“Perhaps,” Solas said gently, sensing her melancholy, “I imagine that many of the Dalish settlements strongly resembled human villages from the areas of Thedas their inhabitants originated from. The more Elvhen elements likely did not appear until much later.”

“See that in the Fade, did you?” Aili asked with a wry smile, an unmistakable touch of bitterness coloring her tone.

“I apologize if my knowledge offends you, Inquisitor,” he replied with an unexpected edge of his own, and perhaps a not so subtle trace of hurt.

“I’m sorry,” Aili said hastily, reaching out for his hand and bringing it to her cheek, nuzzling it in apology. She heaved a defeated sigh. “You come by all this information so effortlessly, and me and my people just seem to be perpetually fumbling in the dark, grasping at straws and trying to weave them into a tapestry of where we came from. …but there are still so many holes. Ameridan was one of ours, and we didn’t even know. It wasn’t just the humans who erased him, we forgot. How could that happen?”

“Seeking knowledge in the Fade is hardly effortless,” Solas reminded her, trailing his fingers along her cheek. “And, considering the violent end the Orlesians wrought upon the Elvhen kingdom, it is not wholly surprising that they would spurn someone who had once been close with the Emperor whose son destroyed their homeland.”

“But he was a hero!” Aili protested ardently. “An elf and a mage! And before I joined the Inquisition, I’d never even heard his name. It isn’t right.”

“Such is the way of history, Vhenan,” he said heavily.

“And…the same thing will happen to me?”

Solas took a moment to study her face, her noticeably elven features, the exotic shade of her eyes, the vallaslin swirling across her brow and chin. He thought of Ameridan, and Shartan, their forgotten stories and hacked-off ears. And that wasn’t even that long ago, by his standards. He thought of Elvhenan, their words and stories and traditions. All gone. All lost. His people were little more than ghosts, the pale memories of a dream. If he wanted a reminder that the steady march of time changed people’s perceptions, he need only look into a mirror. It was unlikely that history would be any kinder to her than it had been to him.

“It is…a distinct possibility,” he admitted heavily.  

Aili's expression soured further.

"I don't care about renown," she muttered, "I don't care about getting invited to fancy parties, or offered expensive gifts as signs of friendship from people I've never even met. I don't care about nobles and games and political power. I don't care about any of that. I never did."

She pulled in a deep shaky breath.

"But…if this is something I have to do… If the 'Inquisitor' is who I have to be, then I want to be seen as what I am. I want people to remember where I came from. I know it would be naïve to think they'd get everything right, but to know my home and my race…" she gave him a worried glance, "Is that really too impossible to hope for?"

"It is rare enough for someone who knows us to see us as we truly are," Solas replied apologetically, "Facts become stories. Lines blur, words change with each retelling, shifting things into whatever the listeners need to hear. It is the way real people with flaws and failings are honed into heroes. And villains. Many people who have met you will speak of you as you are, but there are plenty of those who already do not approve of the idea that Andraste's chosen might be an elf. A Dalish elf, of all things. The Chantry has always told them that your people are despised by Maker, after all."

"He's not too crazy about mages either," Aili grumbled, "I have been reminded several times by numerous people that I am basically unpalatable on every possible front."

"Not to me," Solas told her with a faint smile, "I am sorry to be incapable of offering much in the way of comfort on this particular topic, however. I do not wish to lie to you."

"I wouldn't ask you to," Aili sighed, though her melancholy seemed to have abated somewhat. She shook her head slightly, as if to shake away the remnants of her solemnity, scattering raindrops in the process, and finally rose to her feet.

She took both of his hands in hers, smiling up at him with a distinct playfulness.

"So, if I am to be the new Ameridan, does that make you my Telana?" she wondered, "She was an elvhen Dreamer, just as you are. You must admit, there are an astounding amount of parallels. What strange fortunes the Creators weave for us all." 

 "A morbid thought indeed, considering their fates," Solas hummed. "I certainly hope we fare better than they did."

"It wouldn't take much," Aili noted dryly. "Although, I admit, I have a hard time picturing you allowing yourself to bleed out just so you could try and find me in the Fade. You are far too practical."

She gave his fingers a squeeze. Teasing.

"Oh?" Solas returned lightly, "I think you might be surprised. You are much harder to do without than you imagine."

“Sweet talker,” Aili grinned, stepping into his arms and shivering a little from the cool dampness of their clothing. “But regardless of how similar we might seem to the former Inquisitor and his paramour, we already have a decided advantage over them.”

“Is that so?” Solas asked softly, smiling down at her in turn.

“It is,” she insisted, going up on her tiptoes to plant a light kiss on his chin, “Because I have already decided that our story is going to have a happy ending.”

A few heartbeats of silence passed between them; with nothing to be heard but the hiss of rain and the sound of approaching thunder. It would be storming in earnest in a few minutes. The night painted strange shadows across her lover’s face, and Aili began to feel the faintest prickle of doubt low in her gut.

“Solas?”

“Forgive me,” he answered a moment later, shaking his head slightly as though to rid himself of his thoughts, “I fear my mind slips too easily toward melancholy. Thinking only on the ways something precious might be lost robs us of the pleasures of the present. It does no good to dwell on such things.”

“It’s alright,” Aili said, reaching up to softly touch his cheek, “With a hole in the sky and some crazy darkspawn Magister on the loose, I can see why you might be having problems being optimistic about the future.”

“I am afraid that I am not an overly optimistic person, even if the current factors were removed from the equation,” he admitted ruefully. He allowed himself to lean into her touch, closing his eyes briefly and letting out a long breath. “I suppose that is something else I should work on. I would like…to look towards the days ahead and see the same kinds of possibilities that you do.”

“Well, wanting those possibilities is the first step, don’t you think?” she asked, a smile returning to her face, “If this were the Fade, we could simply will such a future into existence.”

"Unfortunately, such blatant displays of power tend to attract the attention of demons," Solas replied with a faint smirk. 

 Aili heaved an exaggerated sigh, but her eyes were bright with amusement.

"You know, I am beginning to think that Bull might have a fair point about them," her smile twitched up into a smirk, "They always seem to ruin the best dreams."

"Not all of them," he answered in kind, his face dipping perilously close to her own, "Once, not so long ago, I dreamt of Haven as it had been before Corypheus and his army came. The sky was bright and clear, and the snow was crisp and cool against my skin. I met a spirit who was seeking knowledge, and the truth of their purpose and the earnestness of their resolve shone with such a fierce intensity that for one moment I thought it might have blinded me. I dared not look away, however, for such spirits are rare indeed, and I feared that if I averted my gaze, even for an instant, I might turn back and find that it had gone."

He kissed her then, deep and soft and warm. Not as desperate or hurried as he had during the dream of Haven, but still somehow just as hungry. Wrapping her up in his arms and pulling her close until even the raindrops had a hard time finding the space to fall between them.

 When he finally pulled back enough to let her breathe, Aili was rosy-cheeked and slightly rumpled. Her eyes shone up at him out of the darkness like a pair of gemstones, her smile wide and knowing. Any trace of worry momentarily banished by the sheer force of her affections.

"Am I really so much like a spirit?" she wondered jokingly, "Or have you just been getting romantic tips from Varric again? Should I see if Cole can teach me his trick of disappearing from people's minds? I can think of a few situations where that would be incredibly useful. Most of them involve dodging Orlesian nobles and their inane gossip."

Solas snorted.

"If I was in need of romantic guidance, I am afraid Master Tethras would not be anywhere near my first choice of solicitor," he informed her with a low chuckle, "As for the other questions, I do believe that you share more similarities with Cole than you might suspect. They are…not easy to explain in simple terms, however. But bright and shining as you are, your own concept of yourself is attached to your physical form, so I fear you would have a difficult time disappearing from view."

"That sounds an awful lot like a challenge to me," she laughed, leaning back into him, mischievous intent written clearly into her expression.

"Hardly," Solas huffed with a particular mix of exasperated fondness that Aili always seemed to inspire. His arms tightened on her after a moment, a touch of seriousness seeping back into his voice. "Besides which, I would greatly prefer that you did not disappear from view."

“Ah, well, if that’s really what you want,” she grinned, cupping his face to guide him down towards her mouth. She stopped just shy of kissing him, eyes as bright as lodestars cutting through the haze of night and rain. She nearly did look like a spirit.

“I supposed you’d better catch me, then.”

That was all the warning she afforded him before her form flashed with the blue-white glow of magic, and she fade-stepped a few dozen feet away onto another enormous tree limb. Rift magic was not Aili’s area of expertise, and her aim was…less than precise. She wobbled slightly on the branch, and Solas called out to her in wordless distress, hurriedly employing the same technique she had used to chase after her.

He had barely closed his hand around her forearm before she shifted away again, leaving a nothing but a hazy blue outline in her wake and laughing all the while.

“You’ll have to do better than that, Solas!” Aili called back to him.

“Vhenan, it is raining!” Solas complained.

A great boom of thunder and a blinding crackle of lightning chased after the sound of his voice.

“It’s not raining, it’s storming!” Aili corrected him blithely, still popping in and out of view across the canopy of trees surrounding the campsite. “But you can go back inside the tent if you’re not having any fun!”  

“Why are you always doing things like this?” he asked with a sharp exhale of breath, “We both know you are going to catch cold and spend the next three days sneezing on me.”

“You like it!” Aili giggled, fade-stepping close enough to make him lunge for her and slipping away again before he could grab hold. “It keeps you on your toes. It’s good for you.”

“And,” she continued from a far-off tree limb, “If you are really so concerned about me getting sick, maybe you should hurry up and take me someplace warm before the chill sets in.”

Solas sighed again, resigned to the fact that in order for either of them to get back to bed in the near future, he was going to have to play along with her. As usual.

“Then you should ready yourself, Inquisitor,” he said as the magic he deftly pulled from the Fade washed him in its pale blue light. Aili paused her own furtive dance just long enough to grin back at him, brighter than a flash of lightning. And then the game was on.

Her mastery of the spell was less than perfect, but what she lacked in aptitude, she made up for with unbridled enthusiasm. He had more experience, but she was unpredictable, doubling back and pushing the limits of how far the magic would carry her. What had begun with unrepentant teasing on her end, and a prickle of aggravation on his, soon became a buoyant chase rife with genuine merriment that not even Solas could hold himself back from. In this moment, they were light and free and fearless. Their mingled laughter bubbled over the sounds of the storm, bare toes slipping on wet moss and leaves as the two of them weaved through the darkness of the canopy like a pair of fireflies. Skin luminous with magic and the fierce joy of living. The wonder of loving. Dazzling as the lightning torn sky, and twice as fleeting.

It nearly felt like a dream of the days before. When there was no Veil. No Blight. And his name was not quite so synonymous with villainy.

He almost did not want it to end.   

It did, of course, as all things must. Aili’s foot slipped. Solas materialized behind her a half second later, pulling her to his chest before she began to fall in earnest. She spun in his embrace, flung her arms about his neck, and kissed him like she was drowning. She was freezing cold and sopping wet, and it was absolutely glorious.

He was less disappointed with this ending than anticipated.

“Vhenan,” he murmured against her lips as Aili seemed to do her level best to pull the very air from his lungs, “I am not opposed to continuing- Mmph! -continuing this, but perhaps we should return to our tent first?”

“Too far,” Aili informed him breathlessly, her thin icy fingers working their way up the back of his linen shirt, making him hiss at the cold, “Much too far.”

Solas chuckled despite himself, doing his best to guide her farther away from the edge of the branch they had landed on and back toward the relative safety of the tree’s trunk. Aili did not make it easy, clinging to him like a lamprey and doing everything in her power to wriggle her way beneath his clothing, even while continuing to kiss him senseless. Their footsteps were awkward and bumbling in the semidarkness, tripping and sliding along in a highly undignified manner, but it was hard to care when it was just the two of them. Both still riding high on the thrill of their pretend hunt, eager to be close and touching. Here, in the shelter of the trees and the cover of night, there was nothing but the sounds of the storm beyond the veil of leaves, the rain singing out like a lover’s sigh, and the thunder mimicking their racing heartbeats.

It felt almost like a shrine; ethereal and divine. It smelled crisp and fresh as water, and newly churned earth. A pair of lovers painted with the sapphire shades of midnight sifting through the leaves. A place of devotion and worship meant solely for them.

 Aili’s skin was still cold, but everything between them was almost unbearably warm. She fell back against the moss-covered wood of the tree’s trunk with a dull thud, tugging him after her. He cupped her face between his hands as he kissed her, soft and desperate. The dripping locks of her hair spilling over his fingers like liquid silver. She laughed into his mouth as he pressed himself flush against her, feeling the firmness of his apparent desire caught between them.

“I see you have finally run out of objections,” she noted, utterly delighted.

“I am certain I could locate a few more, if I tried,” Solas quipped, but his tone was deep and melting, his mouth blazing a warm trail of lingering nips and kisses along the column of her throat. His threat hardly seemed sincere. The sound he made when she unlaced his breeches and reached for him seemed honest enough, however.

“Probably,” she hummed, running her fingers over him with firm practiced movements, “But as the Inquisitor, my schedule is very busy, you know. I’m afraid I currently have my hands full dealing with one of my most trusted advisors, so, unfortunately, your objections will have to wait.”

“Would you prefer it if I submitted them to you in writing, instead?” he wondered, pausing just long enough to suck a dark bruise just below her ear, and tugging her leggings down over her hips.

“Absolutely not,” Aili hissed, scraping her teeth across the place where his collar bones peeked out from beneath the damp fabric of his shirt, “I enjoy the sound of your voice, even when you are complaining. Everything you have to tell me should be done face to face, when possible.”

Her skin was slick with rain, and when he slipped his fingers into her, Solas found that she was already slick there, too. Her grip tightened on him and she gasped, rocking her hips against his hand as he groaned into her hair. Struggling to stay upright.

“And you would have me, even here?” Solas asked softly, his voice thick with want and catching just a bit with an air of wonder.

“Geography hardly has anything to do with it,” Aili snorted, making a brave attempt to somehow keep touching him while also wriggling the rest of the way out of her pants. When she at last got them down to her claves, she raised a knee and Solas obligingly pulled them the rest of the way off over her leg, leaving her free to hitch it up over his hip. He leaned his full weight into her as he continued to thrust into her touch, moving to grip her thigh and hold her to him, keeping her close enough to count the damp lashes around her bright eyes. She hummed in approval, biting at his lower lip, egging him on. “You see me as I truly am, and I have it on good authority that that makes you a precious commodity.”

“Precious, am I?” he said it with a laugh, but there was a softness in his eyes.

“Unique in all the world,” she insisted confidently, “Which means you should be cherished at every available opportunity.”

He crooked his fingers as he moved them inside of her, and she moaned loud enough to echo through the trees, despite the storm around them.

“As should you, my heart,” he told her, his lips pulled up into a self-satisfied grin. 

“Then I suggest we talk less, and cherish more,” Aili rasped out, taking his face in both of her hands and kissing him savagely. Solas met her fervor with equal passion, but not so much that he surrendered his entire mind to it, though it was sorely tempting. One of them had to make sure they did not fall out of the tree, after all.

He grasped her other thigh, lifting her up as she hooked her legs around his waist, her pants still dangling from one ankle. His back was still chilled, exposed to scattered gusts of wind and sprays of rainfall from the leaves above them, but every place their bodies met was nearly burning. Even their breaths mingled together in little visible puffs of warmth that the storm could not subdue.

She moved her hands to his shoulders, digging her fingers into the wet linen with enough force to tear. He rolled his hips against her a few times, trying to find the proper angle to slide home. The sweater she had stolen from him had slipped back down when he had moved his hands away, blocking him from her. Solas nearly let out a curse.

“Ma ghilana,” he breathed against her ear instead, deep and hoarse and close to begging.

Aili seemed past the point of being capable of speech, her head bobbed once in understanding before she turned her face to kiss him again. Her left arm snaked its way about his neck, anchoring, while the other reach down between them, scrabbling at the sodden cloth still sticking to their skin, and doing her best to guide him to the place she wanted him most.

When he felt the silken heat of her against the tip of his cock, Solas paused. He knew Aili did not mind a bit of roughness, but he had his limits. Their position was precarious, and she was not as prepared for him as she could be. He could tell she wanted this, and he would not deny her, but he would not hurt her either, so he took a moment to breathe.

 He entered her in a single smooth slow stroke. Aili gasped into his mouth, gripping him fiercely and attempting to drag him impossibly closer. He kept his cool, though, holding them both as still and steady as possible until he was certain they were not about to slip, and he knew without a doubt that she was ready for more.

He could feel their hearts hammering in tandem, frantic and heady as the chase that had brought them here.

“Move,” Aili demanded after a few moments, rocking herself into him as best she could and biting at his lips again.

Solas moved.

His hips snapped, and his fingers gripped tight enough to bruise. His face dropped to the crook of her neck, and he filled his lungs with the heathery smell of her every time he drew breath. It was grounding, and marvelous, and real. More than any dream he could have conjured.

Aili fought to give as good as she got. Her range of movement was limited, but she pressed herself into him with everything she had. Meeting him at every thrust. She mapped him with her hands, raking her fingernails across his shoulder blades and digging into the muscles of his biceps. She sunk her teeth into the soft meat of his earlobe, and was treated to a low rumbling moan.

It felt as though she had poured liquid fire into his ear. It burned a path from his head straight down to the pit of hist stomach, setting him alight like a spark amidst tinder. He nearly came right then.

“Aili,” he panted, and this time he truly was pleading, although he couldn’t say for what. She clenched around him, and his rhythm stuttered, nearly sending him to his knees. But he would not let it end this way. He would not take his pleasure first.

Solas hefted her higher up the tree, slightly changing the angle of her hips, and the next time he drove into her, he was rewarded with a high breathless keen of ecstasy. Her back bowed, and her head tipped back, mouth moving in a silent litany as she crested the wave of her climax. She slumped into him afterwards, shuddering and boneless, and still trying to kiss him. He was so close to his own end that his magic felt like it was simmering beneath his skin, longing for the same release that he did.

Aili made a soft sound of not-quite discomfort, and he stilled.

“Just a little tender,” she whispered tiredly, guiding his lips back to hers, “Keep going.”

Solas did as he was bidden, keeping the angle she preferred, but slowing his tempo. The storm was finally beginning to recede, and his fervor seemed to ebb with it, turning more towards savoring. She was warm in his arms now, the little hitched breaths and contented sighs slipping past her lips blending perfectly with the gentle hiss of rainfall the surrounded them.  

He pressed another kiss into the curve of her neck. Admiring the strong steady beating of her heart beneath his lips. She called his name softly, and he came undone. It hit him unexpectedly hard, a bright burst of light behind his eyes as his whole body quaked with the force of it. Gasping for air and suddenly almost giddy. The dizzying delight of letting go.

He carefully set her down, and there were a few awkward moments of rearranging stiff and somewhat bruised limbs. She slipped her arms around his waist to keep him close, and he leaned back into her, his nose buried in her hair and his lips resting against her forehead. They stood together in silence for a while, simply enjoying the quite sounds of the nighttime forest and the comfort of a lover’s touch.

“At least…” Aili began quietly, but then paused, as if suddenly unsure. Solas brushed his fingers across her cheek. She leaned into him and sighed, finding her resolve. “I was thinking that… Even if no one else remembers me as I am, at least I would know that you do. You’ve never put me up on some pedestal. You know that I am Dalish, and an elf, and a mage. You know that I try with all my heart to make choices that are fair and benefit as many people as I can, but I make mistakes. Big ones, sometimes. You know that I hate oysters, and I’m always tripping on things, and stealing desserts from the kitchen. You know that I’m silly enough to play tag in the rain at night.”

She peered up at him with open sincerity, her eyes flecked with the stars just beginning to peek through the canopy above them.

“And you know that I love you,” she continued, her fingers reaching up to touch his chin with a soft air of devotion. “You will remember that, won’t you?”

Solas kissed her. Tender and aching, like a fist closing around his speeding heart. He squeezed her hands, pressing his eyes shut against a faint pinprick of tears.

“Forever,” he promised.    

Aili beamed at him.

“Come on, we should probably head back to camp before they send out a search party,” she said, moving past him just enough to begin the process of pulling her leggings back on. “I…think your sweater might be in need of a wash, though.”

Solas laughed.

“Then I supposed we are fortunate that it is raining.”

[bittybattybunny]

ohh plot yes pls✨!!!! do you also have one of the fae one? if not no biggie

I'll copy paste my google doc~!

Also you mean the one they ate fae food? (just to clarify)

The Beastly Prince and his Witchling Cinderella

Arulius Lukas Law is the heir to the throne and victim of a curse that has held his family for generations. If the heir hasn’t proven themself to be kind and generous before they turn 16 they are turned into a beast and only change back on full moons. 

The curse’s cause has been lost and the way to prevent it forgotten so it’s just common knowledge that once of age the royals never show their faces unless at the monthly ball.

These balls are two fold, to assure the folks the royal blood is alive, and seek an unsuspecting wife to keep the bloodline going even if cursed.

Amaris Nightingale, rather, Eclipse Wolf as she’s referred to by her step siblings is the daughter of a lord who passed away on a fishing venture and her mother died while she was young. Her step mother and step sisters aren’t fond of her and her only friend is the stray cat she befriended.

Unbeknownst to her family, Amaris is a witch, able to cast magic. She’s unable to go against her step mother and sister’s even with this gift for fear what they’ll do to her father’s home and reputation and let’s them beat her mercilessly (after all she’s just an idiot wolf as her elder sister Vanessa likes to say)

An invitation comes for the prince’s engagement ball, to seek a partner. Amaris wishes to go but her stepmother forbids it. Deciding she’ll go anyway since it’s a masquerade, she’s aided by her cat who’s secretly a fae changeling who gifts her gown of silver.

During new moons Amaris likes to sneak out to a local lake to practice her magic, there she endsup meeting a beast with violet fur and golden eyes. He’s shocked she isn’t afraid of him and the two form a bond. After almost 3 years of meeting one another he mentions he has to get married soon and would like to wed her if she was willing, however she tells him she cannot as her mother wouldn’t allow her to wed before he elder sister, and she refuses to wed her sister to anyone but the prince.

He’s a bit upset by this and has to think about a solution (as the prince he has no interest in other women) Meanwhile he has no idea  she’s even of a noble household based on her stories of her day to day life (she leaves out her family’s names since she works with fae she knows names have too much power)

During the next ball, Amaris ends up attending the masquerade but she runs before midnight and the prince arrives, she runs past him as he’s entering, unaware of his identity, however he’s almost sure that she has to be the witch he meets on the lake. This tells him she has to be noble. He spends the ball wondering which family she belongs to as people try to woo him but he’s disinterested.

During their next meetup on the lake he asks her if she was there, and if she ran out before it truly started. She ends up laughing she was and she left because Craft’s glamour magic would only last until midnight and even with a mask she worried her stepmother and sisters would know her and then she’d have been in trouble even if the invite said all the ladies of marriageable age. He asks if she wants to marry the prince and she says no she just wanted to see what it was like. He says he saw her and she’s shocked. He explains on full moons he’s able to take human form and he was the man she ran past in her escape. They end up laughing and he says if he can get them somewhere private he’d like to talk with her when he’s human.

She agrees and the next ball rolls around. Despite normally he waits until midnight to show he arrives a little early and finds her in a golden gown with a fox like mask. They sneak away and he takes her to a private room which confuses her and he just explains he has a bit of a pull on the powers that be which makes her confused more. He takes his mask off and she removes hers laughing that it’s no fair he’s a handsome beast and a handsome man. He laughs as he’s able to touch her not with claws but his own hands as she also caresses his face to his delight. He’s shocked when the door is thrown open and his mother the queen enters, and Amaris does know the queen since the queen makes many public appearances.

Ru has to calm her quickly and explains he’s the prince and the fact his family is cursed hence the whole beast thing. She sighs and laughs saying of course he is no wonder he’s so uptight which makes him laugh.

With the queen they set up to expose the abuse Amaris has at her step families hands. They decide the next day Ru will accompany her home to confront her family. 

When she arrives riding the great beast and her sisters freak out over her with a monster that’s so gross Amaris huffs and tells them this is why they’ll never marry the prince as he’s too sweet to be with someone like them. Ru snickers some and Amaris gives his cheek a kiss which turns him human to his and her shock. He blinks a few times and laughs before holding onto her to the shock of her sisters and step mother, enjoying when the guards arrest them for insults to the prince.

Amaris and Arulius wed and live happily ever after.

[nvvermore]

Songbird vs Rattlesnake

People get mean when the chips are down, and Amaryllis and Vesper were no exception to the rule.

words: 2115

cw: fighting, descriptions of burns/cuts/blood, manipulation, abuse, misgendering/deadnaming (for context, this is set in a period before anyone had ever come out)

—

“Hey Mal,” the greeting is snarled from behind directly behind Amaryllis. Whirling around reveals Veronique, leaning against the wall, nonchalant, positioned like she’d been just waiting for them to pass by. They wouldn’t be surprised to learn that was the case.

“What do you want?” they spit back. Really, they didn’t have the capacity for her antics today. Amaryllis hated being caught off-guard by their sister, anxiety now bubbling in the pit of their chest.

“Wow, I can’t simply seek out my baby sister for a little chat?”

Her arms are folded over her chest, and Amaryllis notes she’s in her riding clothes; her long, violet hair had been braided back, knee-high riding boots giving her short stature a boost, and well-tailored jodhpurs and dark riding jacket perfectly in place, not a wrinkle in sight. Clearly, she hadn’t come from the stables.

“No, you can’t.” 

Veronique couldn’t, because her days of sitting and chatting pleasantly with Amaryllis were far behind them. They couldn’t imagine a single reason why she’d have a sudden change of heart.

“Gods, you really are such a fucking diva,” she pushed herself away from the wall, “I get it, the precious little songbird has much more important things to do than entertain the likes of me.”

“All I do is entertain the likes of you. That’s the only reason anyone keeps me around.”

“And you don’t even appreciate it.”

“Why would I appreciate being treated no different from a circus animal?” Kept in a cage and only let out to play for a selfish crowd, then shoved back in until the next show.

“I don’t know what the hell they all see in you,” she began to close the distance between them. Despite Amaryllis being the one who towered over her, they were intimidated. It was hard not to be. Though they wouldn’t let it show, even if Veronique surely knew the unease they instilled. “You get the entire crowd's love and attention and yet you don’t even give a damn about it!”

“You’re right, I don’t. It’s all just smoke and mirrors; I couldn’t possibly care any less.”

“You’re insufferable!”

Veronique was right before them now, had to tilt her head all the way up to look at them properly, but it didn’t detract from her imposing aura. Amaryllis returned their ice-blue glare, refusing to falter before her.

Over the years they’d gotten better at standing up to her; or at least standing their ground when she taunted them. Amaryllis didn’t like fighting— with anyone— especially not someone so unpredictable. Someone who, despite how illogical the feeling was, they loved. Someone who was supposed to love them, and possibly did once, but had been ruthlessly turned against them.

Veronique was never hostile to them before Amaryllis had started to take the stage; she might have been the only person who was nice to them who didn’t have to be. As a child their concept of ‘nice’ had been skewed, sure, but they were certain no one was forcing Veronique’s hand when Amaryllis would stumble upon her stargazing in the estate‘s gardens.

 She’d invite them to sit and tell them all about the constellations. Or point out the bush nearby full of lilac-colored hydrangeas, and how they were her favorite. She’d explained how they symbolized heartlessness, and all flowers had a special meaning. Once, long before they ever saw themself as ‘Amaryllis’ or even a them, they’d asked her what the scarlett flowers in the garden meant, to which she replied ‘pride’.

The siblings were only six years apart in age, ten and sixteen around the time in question, but Amaryllis thought she was so much older and wiser. So gentle compared to the rest of the family, a trait they admired and constantly tried to emulate. 

Amaryllis wasn’t allowed at parties, but that didn’t stop them from eavesdropping, inspired by the way everyone in the room seemed to gravitate towards Veronique. Showering her with compliments on her excellent riding form or her perfect aim with a bow, and how every word made her smile shine as bright as the stars she’d pointed out to them. They had very little understanding of familial relationships— and most social situations— and how they were supposed to work, but they understood that she was their big sister, and it made them happy to see her happy.

And then Amaryllis’s talent was exploited, and everything shifted. So they knew very well why Veronique hated them so much. The spotlight that once illuminated her belonged to them now, involuntarily snatching it away from her. And unfortunately for the both of them, their parents had made sure it was not a beam large enough to share. 

Amaryllis was wracked with guilt at first, but it faded along with Veronique’s kindness towards them. After a while, they stopped feeling guilty. It wasn’t their fault, and like Amaryllis, her anger should have been directed at their parents who’d decided to pit them against each other. With every new act of disdain, the interactions they’d shared as children became irreparably tainted. It began to make sense why she favored hydrangeas, with their callous meaning.

“It must run in the family,” Amaryllis folded their arms in front of their chest. Clearly mimicking her posture, Veronique didn’t look pleased.

“Yea, on your mother’s side.”

The jab was misplaced, Amaryllis didn’t know their birth mother and never had; and when they gave no reaction Veronique scowled. Despite all her intimidation, she’d never been good at masking her expression. Before Amaryllis could retort at all, they were shoved backwards, just barely keeping their balance from the harsh action.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“You! That’s what’s wrong with me. You! You’ve ruined everything for me! Always have!”

“It’s not like I had much of a choice, take it up with my superiors.”

Another shove, and another, and then Amaryllis was thrown against the wall and Veronique’s hands were circling around their neck. Their hands shoot to seize her wrists, nails digging into her skin as they attempt to pull her away. She’s strong, strong enough to hold Amaryllis a good inch off of the ground.

Their toes point down, reaching, but brush uselessly against the marble flooring. Amaryllis doesn’t want to fight back but there’s little choice, she’s actually trying to cut off their air. With regret even now, they slam a knee up into her stomach and she lurches back. Veronique is a skilled fighter, a star athlete, but now she’s angry and distracted and has left herself open in the process.

Their other knee slams into the floor as they’re dropped, and Amaryllis thanks their perfect breath control for the fact they aren’t breathless in the slightest. Veronique isn’t hurt, just surprised and irate. It wasn’t as if they had any other option, but Amaryllis may as well have just jabbed an already riled up rattlesnake with a stick.

“What the fuck? Escalating from tormenting me, to what? Attempted murder?”

Unhearing, she bends down to unsheathe a dagger from her boot. Certainly, they’re royally screwed. Amaryllis could keep up with a frenzied and unarmed Veronique, but they’re no match for her armed.

Amaryllis rises and quickly backs down the corridor, not sure if it's better to keep their eyes on her or turn and make a run for it. They’re cursing themself for not spending more time learning combat magic. Maybe they could charm her, but they’re terrified and unfocused, and when they open their mouth to scream, nothing comes out. The only things that could be heard were the clicking of boots against the tiling and Amaryllis’s rapid heartbeat.

In the blink of an eye Veronique is caught up to them, and effortlessly lands a kick to their chest that sends them crashing to the floor. Then she’s on them, pinning them to the floor, eyes dark and dagger poised with intention. Their hands catch her wrists again, and there’s a power struggle over the blade’s proximity to Amaryllis’s neck. They flail and kick but it’s no use; Veronique knows how to keep someone down, and is dense with muscle that makes her heavy.

“If you’re so miserable, let me do you a favor and put you out of it.”

It wasn’t a joke, it never had been, but the revelation sunk further the closer Veronique’s blade came to its mark. Amaryllis let their head fall back to the flood as the struggle continued, desperate to conjure up something, anything, to get out of this impasse. But they were afraid to the point of tears, already so tired, and magic didn’t come easy in such a state.

If they so much as took too deep a breath or flinched, the tip of the dagger would graze their nose. They weren’t trained for this, their stamina was impressive but they didn’t use it for fighting, but Veronique was trained for this. Amaryllis’s eyes fluttered shut and they wondered if it would be so horrible to just give in; she wasn’t wrong, they were miserable.

Just when they were debating on letting go, a raucous scream rang out and Amaryllis recoiled. They had thought it might have been their voice, but then they felt the sharp sting of the dagger slicing their cheek open as Veronique was dropping the knife and jolting away from them.

“You witch,”

Distantly, Amaryllis noted how warm their hands felt, and when they opened their eyes to the view of their palms turned searing sanguine, like iron fresh from the forge. A gasp falls from their lips, but the motion tells their brain the pain wasn’t coming from their hands. Slowly, they pick up a faint, but repulsive scent, and as their shock fades, they start to put the pieces together. 

The screams were still sounding, and when they finally looked to Veronique, there were angry, bright red handprints burned into her wrists; enough to cause notable damage, but too little to have damaged the nerves. Somehow, at the last possible second, Amaryllis had mustered up magic capable of drastically heating up their palms. They weren’t even entirely sure if they had even known such a thing was possible.

It saved them, but it felt wrong. Never before had Amaryllis used their magic for something so destructive. The worst they’d ever done was place harmless charms on ‘noble’ guests. Despite Veronique’s full intention to gut them, they felt a conflict stirring, and for a moment wondered if they were capable of any healing.

Suddenly Veronique was approaching, and Amaryllis sat up and snatched up the dagger that had been abandoned nearby. As they held it, their touch began to rapidly heat the metal, and soon enough the weapon complemented their hands. There was a low hiss as their blood that had decorated the blade heated too, boiling away and leaving it congealed. Amaryllis was shaking and crying and bleeding, but they were unyielding as they turned the dagger on its owner.

Amaryllis watched her face carefully, telling themself they were prepared for her next move, so when something in her expression shifted, they saw. Like she had been in a trance, captivated by her rage and misplaced hatred, and it just hit her exactly what she’d done. Veronique gasped, the tears that had come from the burns now falling for completely different reasons. Frantically her eyes flitted between the red of Amaryllis’s eyes, the red of the wound marring their pale skin, the red of the blade leveled at her.

“Mal…” she choked out, and then she was dashing down the hall, gone as abruptly as she had seemed to appear.

Then, a scoff sounded from behind Amaryllis and they spun around, still on edge. Standing a few feet away, looking thoroughly disappointed, was the madame. She looked down upon her ward, bloodied and on the floor, and rolled her eyes.

“What a pity,” she said simply, and in that moment, Amaryllis reconsidered their stance on violence. “I had assumed she was more capable, but perhaps I had too much faith in her.”

It was the first true confirmation Amaryllis had of the woman’s crime; her carefully planned manipulation had fallen short, and she couldn’t even pretend to act like it was an accident.

“Get yourself cleaned up,” she ordered, and then left without another glance.

After that day, even long after the cut across Amaryllis’s freckled face had healed and faded into an unsightly scar, they never saw very much of Veronique again. Sometimes at night— however illogical it was— they’d find themself at the hydrangea bush in the garden, eyes trained on the stars, wishing they’d both been dealt a different hand in life.

—

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

the friends we made along the way [1]

“A renowned adventurer, a wounded knight, her protégé, a fiery healer, an exasperated mage, an infamous thief, a squirrel whisperer, a double agent, a mysterious witch, a soft-spoken artist, and a perfectionist chef all go on an adventure to save the princess.

“It sounds like the opening of a bad joke, but no, rats are invading, the kingdom is in distress, and if this group of misfits don’t save the princess from the rat king, Grengresh, before he drains her magic and uses it against them… then they’re all pretty screwed.”

Y'all ever wake up and just write something completely unprompted that is 100% self-indulgent and that literally no one asked for?

Well, I do and here's the first part.

Read on AO3

[i] a dark and stormy night a rat scurried across the floor

The parchment remained bare, with only the exception of a wet ink dribble slowly spreading along the lower-left corner. 

Even with all the magic flowing in her veins, ready to ignite with a mere flick of her wrist, Violet still couldn’t make words pen themselves to the page. Somehow, writing a letter had become the hardest thing she’d done all day. 

First, she thought perhaps it was too stuffy within the bedroom, so she opened a window. The warm night air carried the scent of early spring-- blooming lilacs and cold soil from the gardens swirling with the early indications of rain, something lovely enough to clear her head, she thought. 

When that hadn’t worked, Violet paced about the room. With arms stretched high above her head, she then bent down to touch her toes. When that did nothing, she even spun around with as much grace as a land-stranded fish would. She thought if she could get the tension out of her shoulders, her focus would center. Then, she could write this letter. 

But, spinning around with nothing-- rather, no one to hold onto only reminded her of those long-gone days of dreaded dance lessons. 

Violet’s mouth twisted at the thought. The king thought it best she learn, as it’s something most princesses in other kingdoms excel at. 

Ben quickly realized Violet did better in other physical activities, such as archery, rather than dance. Then, once her magic grew stronger, there was absolutely no more time for dancing. At least, not that kind of dancing. 

Violet stilled, gaze stuck on the floor absently. 

Did Brody think about those days, as well? The days where after hours of archery practice, Brody took her sore hands in hers and spun them around as they laughed and embraced? Or was she too preoccupied with secret treasures hidden within abandoned caverns, with fighting off dangerous, mythical beings with the most renowned hunters? 

“You could come with me.”

A long, miserable sigh escaped as Violet plopped back down in her chair, knees brought to her chest for her chin to rest up as she stared out at the night sky, or rather, the disconsolate clouds that night sky hid behind. Judging by the dark color and the faintest rumbles of thunder, Violet predicted rain would fall over the lands of Erisonia quickly, within the hour. 

At least Ben would be pleased, Violet thought. King Ben had a thing about the rain. He saw it as a gift for their crops and gardens. While that may ring true for him, for Violet it brought bittersweet memories of that night two years ago-- the night Brody asked her to leave with her. 

Violet twirled her pen between her fingers, hesitating to dip back into the dark ink. More thunder grumbled in the distance as faint rain began to fall. Even so, Violet didn’t move to close the window. She welcomed the rain tonight. 

“You could come with me. With your magic and my grand sense of direction, we could travel the world together-- see everythin’ it’s got to offer.”

A bird with striking blue feathers fluttered in gracefully, perching itself on the window sill. It didn’t shy away when Violet reached out, instead drawn to her. The bird kept its balance on her fingers as she admired it. 

Two years, she thought. Two years since Brody left Erisonia in search of excitement, adventure, and treasure. Brody left everything and everyone behind--including Violet. Her leaving was premeditated, of course. Brody always knew she would become an adventurer one day, having let Violet know years in advance that one day she’d walk out of this kingdom in search of something greater. 

What had been a shock was that Brody wanted Violet at her side. 

At first, Violet thought it to be a joke, that surely Brody knew she could abandon Ben, the kingdom, and her other companions. 

“Why not? It’s not like we’ll never come back, and if King Ben needs ya, which knowin’ him, he will... then he’ll call.” 

Violet wanted to agree. As they stood close together, seeking shelter from the rain under the garden’s gazebo, Violet wanted to look Brody in the eye and agree. 

She wanted to go back to the castle that night and pack all her essential belonging, inform Ben that she would be leaving with Brody and that nothing would stop her, say her goodbyes to Clementine, Louis, and the other knights and companions she’s grown to love over her years, then get on Brody’s horse and ride out of the kingdom just as the sun began to rise. 

That’s not what happened, though. 

Violet made it clear that she couldn’t go-- her brother needed her by his side to run this kingdom, and the most selfish parts of her hoped that would be enough to keep Brody there with her.

But, her love’s mind was already made long before they had ever met. 

Brody, while hurt and anxious at their impending departure, didn’t push further. Instead, she took Violet’s hand in hers and pressed a long, delicate kiss against the inside of her wrist. A silent promise, they both knew. 

A promise that Brody would return for her.

She left that very next morning. 

They exchanged letters, but as time went on, Brody wrote less and less. Sometimes, Violet’s letters would be brought back as Brody wasn’t anywhere in the area she addressed anymore, and she’d have to wait weeks for her to write with apologies and a new contact address. 

Many rumors and stories began to surface about the girl, stories of the things she’s conquered. If they’re all to be believed, then there isn’t a doubt in Violet’s mind that Brody’s time was hardly wasted on letters to her. 

The bird chirped at her, fluffing up its feathers in a huff before taking flight. It moves about the room in a panic before soaring out the window. Something heavy takes hold of her gut, squeezing as she watched the bird disappear in the distance. A bright flash momentarily blinds her, and only seconds later, a deafening clap of thunder growls. The rain had gone from light to a downpour, so Violet finally closed the window to prevent her parchment from getting soaked. 

“Be safe,” she murmurs, thinking of the little blue bird who paid her a visit, then once more of Brody. 

Her empty letter mocks her, so she starts with something simple-- Brody’s name. 

Brody

Easy enough, but if only the rest of her words flowed so nicely. 

Sure, she could describe the mundane weather the past few weeks brought them, or update her on how much her archery had improved, or even detail the story of Ben accidentally firing off all the fireworks gifted to him from the kingdom of Richmond during his birthday celebration, setting the food court aflame and angering chef Omar, who then proceeded to chase Erisonia’s king around the yard with a ladle.

Violet grew tired of paint-by-number letters, but every time she sat in her chair ready to pen her feelings, it’s as if she forgot the entire language altogether. And as Violet sat there, watching rain droplets trickle down her window and listening to the angry thunder, it occurred to her that if the feelings for Brody hadn’t run so deep-- if Violet didn’t still love Brody as much as she did even after all this time-- then she could find the words, could write an easy letter inquiring of Brody’s adventures the way old friends did. 

It was that thought that terrified her.

Violet crossed Brody’s name out, then crumpled the paper. 

An erratic banging startled her, forcing a curse to pass her lips as she jerked her leg right into the hardwood of the desk.

“Violet! Vi, get up!” a familiar, muffled voice calls from the other side. Violet, that sunken feeling returning to her gut, hurried from the desk to across the bedroom and unlocked all three locks. Before she could even pull the handle, Louis forced himself in, knocking into her. 

Luckily, she was able to catch herself. Before she could open her mouth to chastise him for bothering her so late, Louis slammed the door shut, relocking it. He panted heavily, unable to catch his breath as he wheezed out her name. 

“Vi, thank God, you’re okay!” Louis wheezed out, turning to press his back against the door. “We gotta go! Grab your bow, pack up- gotta get to the tunnels!”

“What?” Violet interrupted. “No, what’s going on? What-” 

She noticed the blood caked along his forehead. The gash wasn’t too deep from what she could tell, still oozing fresh blood. Upon further inspection of his overall appearance, Louis was a mess. Blood smeared across his armor and stained the sword at his hip, his face somehow both flushed and pale all at once, and his dark eyes wide with a million thoughts. 

“Louis, what the hell happened to you?”

Louis ignored her question and checked the door once more. After a moment, he moved in closer to rest his hands on her shoulders, and that regretful look in his eye uneased her.

“Vi, Grengresh is here- there have to be about thirty rats, I-” Louis took another deep breath as tension overtook Violet’s form. “King Ben sent me and Clem to get you but- but we got jumped and she stayed behind with the others to make sure they don’t get here- They’re back for you and we- we need to go! Get you somewhere safe!”

The blood ran cold within her, but the magic flared. With teeth sunk deep into her lip, Violet searched for any indication on Louis’ features that this wasn’t real. At another clap of thunder, he flinched and peered behind his shoulder with a fearful grunt. That was more than enough for Violet. 

Grengresh-- or rather, King Grengresh, as the rats knew him-- was back for her. After his last unsuccessful attempt to steal her away in the dead of night many years ago, he came back with reinforcements. There had been word that more and more rats were showing up in the mountains, that Grengresh was forming an army, but--

Memories of that night come flooding back, paralyzing her where she stood. 

Claws digging into her thin arms, the hot, rotting breath along her neck that woke her, lips curling over fangs, and those horrifying yellow eyes staring delightfully down at her-- Grengresh’s tail whipping around to knock her down as she cried for help--

“Vi, hey,” Louis spoke, lightly shaking her shoulders. “I know. I know, but we need to move. The rats know where we are but he’s not going to get you again, we just need to- we need to get through the underground tunnels. C’mon.”

He let go of her, moving over to the closet where she kept her bow and quiver with specially handcrafted arrows. 

“Ben-” Violet choked out. “What about Ben?”

“With Clementine,” Louis answered, and his voice trembled with obvious unease. “They’re buying us time, but there’s only so much--”

“We can’t just leave them,” Violet took the bow and quiver of arrows from him, gripping them tightly. Small sparks left her fingertips, running along the bow. “We- we should help. This isn’t like last time. I’m not a kid anymore and with my magic--”

“I know, trust me, I tried to stay behind. I said the same thing but we can’t let him get ahold of you, Vi. Clem made that perfectly clear,” Louis told her. “Look, I don’t doubt you, but you know what’ll happen and I- I can’t-” he wiped at the blood dribbling down his brow, unfocused, “-they’re strong. With Clementine leading them, the rats have no chance, but we will have no chance if they take you away.” 

Something deep swelled inside of her, some sort of toxic concoction of fear, rage, and bravery that fueled the magic to spark in her palms, illuminating up her arms as she secured the quiver on her back. This caught Louis’ attention. 

“Violet, please, we have to move. Open the passageway and we can-”

The hardwood floors beneath them rumbled as an explosion vibrated through the castle. Violet’s breath caught in her throat, unable to move at the sound of crumbling walls and faint cries. 

“Oh no,” Louis panicked, unsheathed his sword, and rushed back to the door. “No, no, no, Clem-”

He froze only when the voice that haunted Violet’s nightmares drawled close from behind the door. 

“Oh, sweet princess~” Grengresh chuckles in a scratchy, singsong voice. “I can smell you hiding in there.”

The sparks grew brighter, vibrating with her accelerated and angry pulse as Violet glared at the door. 

“Even now your sweat carries your fear, sweet princess… and the boy, your protector, he cannot hide the terror and anguish. How is your heart, boy?” 

Louis gripped the handle of his sword tight, dark eyes wide. 

“How is your heart? Heavy, no doubt!” Grengresh sneers. “To leave a lover to her doom with not even a kiss goodbye- Oh, how is your heart, boy?”

The other rats joined in, laughing as they continued to claw the door. 

From beside her, Louis cursed weakly, head hung low as tears threatened to spill over. With no time to crumble under the rat king’s cruel mockery, he grabbed Violet’s free hand and winced as her magic burned him. He tried desperately to pull her back towards the wall where the secret passage was to open through her magic. 

But Violet couldn’t think of such things-- all thoughts of escape were long gone. Now, all Violet could think of was getting her hands around Grengresh’s thick, furry throat. 

“You could make this so easy for us,” Grengresh continued. 

Enthusiastic scratching tore at the door, loud and frantic. They would be through soon, and the irrational, furious side of Violet longed for Grengrash to appear for when she got her hands on him-- 

“Come with me and no more of your people have to die tonight. Not that you have many left… your poor, poor brother is going to have such a mess to clean up, and so many new knights to hire… well, assuming he’s not already dead, of course.”

Violet rushed the door, but Louis’ arms wrapped around her, jerking her back towards the other side of the room despite the sparks of magic shocking him. 

“No,” he begged in her ear. “Violet, please, we have to-”

“It’s not all bad though,” Grengresh continued, a heavy bang-- possibly from the full force of another rat’s weight-- punctuating his words. “My fellow rats have many limbs to snack upon for the ride home now!”

The other rats cackled with delight, and Violet saw nothing but white. 

The door flew off the hooks, bouncing off the bed and into the wall with a deafening sound. 

The rats were quick, but Violet was quicker, drawing her bow and charging an arrow. It flew and hit the first rat inside, now on the floor jerking about with the arrow sticking from its neck and blood staining its brown fur. 

"Vi, go! I'll-"

More rats of various colors and sizes-- five, perhaps-- all with bared teeth and nasty grins, swarmed them. Louis leaped ahead, his sword piercing a speckled rat with a broken fang who cried out and attempted to lash at him. Violet shot her charged arrows swifter than ever before-- if Brody could see her now-- and she managed to take down two more before a smaller white one tackled her to the ground. 

Drool spattered over her face at the rat nipped at the air inches from her face, only being restrained by her arm against its neck and legs kicking into its belly. Violet focused the liquid hot magic into her palm, shoving her fingers into the rat’s blood-red eyes, sending pulse after pulse into the rat’s brain. It cried out in agony before the skull shattered, and the rat fell limp over her. 

“Shit!”

Louis’ sword got stuck in the belly of a rat that pinned him against the wall. Its tail whipped around, cracking against the cement walls. Louis pushed, shoving the rat away. However, the rat gripped the sword, and with its final bits of strength, thrust its claws into his shoulder, piercing the armor. 

Louis staggered back and pushed the rat off him. The body fell, the sword sticking up for Louis to grab, but Grengresh himself got there first. The rat king’s pointed nails threatened to break the skin as he wrapped a hand around Louis’ throat, forcing him back against the wall. Another rat leaped forward and pinned the rest of his body down.

His gagging caught Violet’s attention, and in seconds she was back on her feet and lunging at Grengresh with fiery white magic swirling around her.

“Violet, no-!” Louis choked out. 

Violet was so close, but the other reminding rat intercepted, tacking her to the ground. Though she shocked him, the magic frying its insides, she couldn’t get away fast enough. Grengresh’s tail cracked along the back of her head, and Violet’s vision went in and out of the darkness. 

Grengresh smirked down at her, his yellow eyes wide and merry as he sunk his teeth deep into Louis’ shoulder, getting a tight grip before ripping away, breaking away a chunk of armor and flesh.  

Grengresh dropped him to the ground and whipped his hard tail across the back of his head. 

Louis laid there, unmoving.

“Louis! Fuck, shit- Louis!”

More rats surrounded Violet, clutched onto each of her limbs, and held her down as she struggled. Her magic, though weaker, still managed to hurt them until Grengresh’s tail slapped down on her stomach, knocking all the breath from her lungs. 

Something cold and heavy locked around her wrists, and within moments, the magic sparks fizzled out. What felt like lead weighed down her bones-- the cuffs, Violet realized much too late. They're enchanted!

“Get off!” she demanded. “Get the fuck off me!” 

“Now, now,” Grengresh cooed, amused. “That is not the language used by a princess.” 

Violet spat at him, her spit landing on the dark fur of his chest. 

“Unladylike,” Grengresh shook his head, sending his tail down against her stomach once more. “That won’t do.”

Violet coughed, hacked up what tasted like blood. Grengresh’s nose twitched high in the air. He hummed, eyeing the door.

“Help comes for you, sweet princess. Too bad they’re too late for you and the poor boy,” Grengresh said. “Don’t worry, you won’t be killed. You’re far too valuable for that.” 

Grengresh moved down on all fours now, creeping closer to her. Despite herself, Violet felt as though she were a child again, and the monster beneath her bed had come to take her away. But this time… this time Violet knew the guards wouldn’t make it in time, and Louis--

She glanced at his body, still unmoving. Blood pooled around him.

Even if her head were clear, she couldn’t describe aloud the pain she felt both within her, and along her skin. The metal cuffs soaked up all the magic she had, and with the bodies of the rats holding her down, everything burned. 

“Shredard,” Grengresh addressed the rat on Violet’s left, with dark eyes and pure black fur. “Give that concoction of yours a whirl.”

“Yes, sir,” Shredard said. 

Only a moment later, a cold cloth was placed over Violet’s nose and mouth.

No matter how hard she struggled, darkness took her. 

[firespirited]

Ok so ya girl went back and pressed ‘buy’ on that aliexpress factory reject Violet Willow. Probably after seeing that shimmer video because I wasn’t sure just how flat-flat the heads were going to be. Anyway $14 seemed like a decent gamble even if only the gorgeous mix of metallic and matte kiwi hair goes to use. Lucky me, not too many paint defects but hair problems I can fix: she had a big split and the hair was unsealed. After removing lots of hair (that is so fine it goes ev-ery-where), heating and supergluing, there’s still enough hair that a side part looks nice.

Lily the dog was having an anxiety attack over the hairdryer again so I switch to a bowl of boiling hot water for the head, got a nail bufffer with the lowest grit to sand down the eyes in case the fit isn’t right and it isn’t, over and over... so I keep sanding until the eye goes in and ooooh it finally dawns on my -unfed, headached, needing to pee and panicking about my dog and tasks for the day- brain that duh the eyes weren’t round in the custom eyes video. By this time the water to heat the head was cold and I’m afraid I attacked this poor head with the rubber end of my pliers to get eye number 2 with the cut + sanded top in there. I pry out eye number 1 and of course I don’t have eye number 2 now to make an exact copy. *headslaps* In conclusion, my cyborg body will include a ‘Maslow hierarchy of needs’ freeze current program until levels are back to acceptable hack.

TL;DR: 18mm half round eyes are fine, don’t sand them down as the eyewells are plenty deep. DO cut off the top and sand that into a rounded shape. Make sure both eyes match. Heat the head until it’s really quite pliable or you’ll get mini tears in the eyeliner as seen above.

I would like to take a moment to express how frickin cute dark brown eyes are, even lashless, misaligned, slightly clashing, too shallow, cheapy, slightly frosted ones (removed from doris the recast before I threw her away).

Imagine what nice glass eyes with a pretty hazel could do for this doll!

I’ve got a bunch of cheapy 20mm eyes with the same size iris as these (12mm) that I can experiment with if they don’t fall apart. I turned all the nice blythe eye printouts I’d bought into 13mm glass eyechips which is RAGRET.

Notes:

-She’s on a Disney Descendants Jane body with a dremel thinned neck anchor so you can actually remove it again and elastic bands so her head doesn’t flop from the weight of the hair. Having some chest and thick thighs looks good on her.

-Acetone removes the shimmer so fixing paint errors leaves visible holes, you can attenuate this with a nail buffer at medium grit or magic eraser.

-There are four Kiwi by Donggang hair colours here: metallic silver, metallic cornflower blue, metallic fuchsia and matte mauve. The silver looks nasty when wet. Headsize for wigs is 7.5"

-The cupid’s bow is painted on silver over a normal lip which looks a little odd under normal light.

-Flat heads look creepy from the side when the eyes are too recessed.

-Highlighter/shimmer looks lovely but does not belong on the forehead and under the nose.

-I’d have gone with white metallic instead of silver. Silver is trendy on human hair but white on dolls gives a warmer, less muddy blend if you’re aiming for a violet.

- I need to dig out my heating pad from the winter storage who knows where because desensitization with Lily the dog is going nowhere and no wonder because I’m not exactly a calm stable beacon of strength right now.

I can’t really give you a conclusion or a proper review (will leave that to @keiths-dolls​ when he get’s his hands on one) as it’s a damaged eyeless bodyless head. I’ll probably get Sunny and maybe Poppy when they arrive on these shores AND will continue to yell at Issac Larian online. Probably won’t get more unless there’s a big price drop as I’d like a couple of FailFix and to finish the Star Darling rainbow. Will provide exact eye dimensions at a point that coincides with a dog walk and it being between 9-21h (noise regs) which probably won’t be until saturday.

I forgot links aliexpress.com/item/4001240310784.html and this one has an unrooted raine head aliexpress.com/item/4001246939241.html

[belettewrites]

Some mountains and a dog part 4

previous | next | masterpost | AO3

cw: animal death mentioned

It was just before midday; they had been on the road for three yours, Jaskier on Roach and Geralt leading him. He had started doing that more, after the mountain. To show Jaskier that he was cared for; that Geralt hadn’t meant it, but did mean what he had said about wanting to apologize. And it was nice to see Jaskier on Roach, next to his and Geralt’s bags, as if he belonged with him.

Geralt had no doubt about Jaskier belonging with anyone; the bard was a mage, after all, and his own person, and was as free as a bird. He felt blessed to have Jaskier by his side – that Jaskier had been by his side for twenty years, and had chosen to stay there even when things had become shitty. Well, shittier. He had stayed when Geralt ran to find Ciri, he had stayed when it turned out that Ciri had powers, he had stayed to wait for Yennefer when it became clear that he wouldn’t be able to help much.

He had stayed and was still there, by Geralt’s side, cheeks sun-kissed and hair ruffled by the wind, laughing a laugh that was only meant for Geralt.

“Geralt!,” Jaskier suddenly gasped, turning him away from his thoughts, “Look, a dog!”

He smiled. Jaskier did this every time they came across a dog. “Geralt! Look at its tiny paws!” he would say, and Geralt would hum; “Geralt! Look at how soft it looks!” he would cry out in delight, and Geralt would hum. “Jaskier, look over there, the dog,” Geralt had said once, and Jaskier had taken his hand and squeezed it briefly before letting it go, a smile brightening his face.

“Don't approach it,” Geralt warned, “it's a shepherd dog and its job is to protect the flock. Don't want it to think you're a threat.”

Though Jaskier, even smelling magic like he always had ever since he had revealed his true nature to Geralt, didn't seem like much of a threat. But Jaskier’s safety was not something Geralt wanted to play with, so he looked over at the dog to make sure he wasn’t being threatening.

The dog had seen them and was watching them distrustfully. Especially Geralt; he was used to it, cats always hissing at him, but dogs usually were nicer. Though this one had to protect something, and there was nothing more dangerous than a dog with instincts telling him to protect something.

Geralt had once seen a dog turning on his own owner because the man was yelling quite angrily at his child, who looked close to tears. The dog, a big dog with long black fur, had growled, stepping between them. The child, unaware of what was happening, had hugged it, but their father had turned pale and after glancing down, had gone away quickly. Seemingly satisfied, the dog had licked the child’s hands, and Geralt had turned away, not forgetting how far the dog was ready to go to protect what was under its care.

So he was more than relieved when a voice called out:

“Charcoal! What are you looking at, you doof- oh!”

Jaskier dismounted Roach and straightened up, ready to defend Geralt against any prejudices.

But there was no need; the woman, when she saw them, smiled and waved her hand to say hello, the dog staying close to her, almost making her trip over it. It was almost weird, seeing another person here, when it had only been him and Jaskier for the last few days; how easy it had been, to forget about the rest of the world.

Jaskier waved back, seemingly unbothered by the sight of another human here, and Geralt relaxed as the dog turned its attention away from them. It was a big dog. "Fluffy" Jaskier would say, fur white and gray and black, its head bigger than Geralt's hand. It looked young; still in training, then.

The woman walked closer to them. She wasn't tall, but wasn't small either; red hair falling on her shoulders, freckles on her cheeks and nose. She looked – pretty, the kind of person Jaskier would have spent the night with years ago. Though he had stopped doing that well before Ciri; after his performances he would always come back to Geralt, smiling softly at him and stealing his ale. It warmed Geralt more than he could say.

“Excuse him,” the woman said, still smiling, “he thinks anyone that isn't me or my wife is a threat, but he’s a sweetheart.”

“It's nothing,” Jaskier replied, “I had a dog a bit like him when I was younger. Great with children, though you should've seen how he reacted when someone that wasn't us walked by.”

The woman laughed.

“Well, let me say, it is nice to meet other souls up here. I'm Violet.” she added with a smile.

Then she hesitated, glancing at Jaskier then turning her attention back to Geralt, and to his swords.

“Say, I don't want to sound rude, but- what are you doing here? I mean, there's no one here but me and my wife, and the occasional traveler. We have a beast that steals the sheep, but apart from that, I don't think it's the kind of place you'd expect to find lots of contracts. Or a court to play in,” she added after glancing at Jaskier's lute case.

“Geralt needed some holidays,” Jaskier replied at the same time Geralt said “Jaskier wanted to see the mountains.”

“What?” Geralt blurted out, freezing.

Jaskier turned to him, a soft look in his eyes. Violet watched them without saying anything, an amused smile on her lips.

“Geralt, you spent the whole winter being a teacher to- Fiona, and before that you spent the whole year hunting monsters and saving humanity. You deserved a break. Though, frankly, I didn't expect you to agree so easily.”

Geralt hummed. Jaskier didn’t know that he would agree to anything he would ask, though he was sure the other man was already aware of that, to some extent. Jaskier laughed, gently took his arm, and faced the woman again.

“See? The things I have to do?”

“My wife’s the same. I swear, she wouldn’t rest if I wasn’t there to remind her,” she smiled before adding, “Lila – my wife – and I are taking care of a sort of refuge for travelers, like you; eat lunch with us, and we'll see if we can ready a room for you, so you won't have to worry about sleeping in the woods tonight.”

“It's fine,” Jaskier started, “we-”

“You shouldn't,” the woman insisted, “there's something lurking around at night – it has killed two sheep already, and our old dog too, it- it wasn't pretty to see. My wife had to put an end to his misery, it was – rough.”

The pain was evident in her eyes, reflecting the loss of a life companion. Geralt saw Jaskier put his hand on Roach’s muzzle.

“So when you said there was no contract here-” Geralt tried to ask.

“Ah, well. It's just that, I'm afraid we don't have much coin to offer you, sir witcher. A beast, but no contracts,” she shrugged, though he could see she was tired.

Jaskier took his hand and squeezed it; Geralt tried very hard not to feel too warm at that, and hummed. His bard smiled knowingly.

“I'll take care of the beast,” Geralt said, “in exchange for lunch, and ale for my bard, if you have some.”

Violet smiled at them, a bit unsure but grateful nonetheless.

“Follow me, it’s not that far.”

She then started walking and they followed, still staying close to each other.

“I think we may have some goat cheese left,” Violet said, still in front of them, expertly avoiding stepping on unsteady rocks. “My wife makes them and they’re delicious – and I swear I’m not biased!”

Jaskier replied something; what, Geralt didn’t know. He let him carry the conversation like he always did, smiling and winking and actually caring about what was being said to him. Geralt was just happy to be there, Jaskier next to him. Happy to be known, too – he did need to take a break, after spending the whole winter teaching Ciri, and the beginning of spring fighting monsters. He would take care of Violet and her wife’s problem, they’d spend the night here, and they would go on the day after, pleased to be in each other's company. Maybe the life of a witcher could be sunny, too, sometimes.

***

“Honey? I found travelers that haven’t tasted your fine goat cheese yet!” Violet called out, a grin on her face as she opened the door of her house, the bells that were hung on it happily tinkling.

They had walked for ten minutes on a dusty road after finding Violet, the dog Charcoal running back and forth around them, always going back to her but lingering around Geralt in hope that he would pet him.

Jaskier knew that Geralt had a sweet spot for animals even if they didn’t always return it; he could think of at least three different occurrences where Geralt had looked absolutely dumbstruck when a dog had made its way to him before standing on his hind legs to beg for pets. On one occasion, a cat had made its way to their table when they were sitting in a tavern, and Jaskier would never forget how Geralt’s face had softened when the cat had allowed him to pet it.

Jaskier hid a smile when Geralt removed one of his gloves to pet the dog, who wagged his tail in obvious joy. Fuck, but bringing Geralt here had been a wonderful idea.

They were now waiting outside an admittedly pretty good-looking house, made out of dark stones that once must have been part of the volcanoes around them. The wood shutters looked old, but it seemed like someone had been carefully treating the wood with oil that would make it last longer, and it was overall obvious that the house was very well cared for – that it was not only a house, but also a home. Small, little violet flowers that Jaskier recognized as crocuses were growing under the windows, and it was absurd how much it made the place look welcoming and happy, as if an artist had put their brush here, adding a soft touch of color to an almost dark painting.

Jaskier was putting weight on his right leg since his left knee was still hurting him a bit – the bruise had gone from deep blue to pale yellow, but he avoided using that leg as much as he could, hoping that Geralt wouldn’t notice – though he had obviously failed at that, as Geralt had forced him to ride Roach earlier. It was something they did, now, Jaskier pretending that he didn’t want to ride and Geralt sighing fondly before helping him climb on the saddle.

“I’m surprised you even agreed to share it, honey,” a woman replied, short brown hair tied back by a black bandanna. She was almost tackled by Charcoal who in his joy to see her again had jumped on her. “Hold on, you doof, we’ve seen each other this morning.”

Violet was laughing again, and Jaskier smiled; it was good, to see people happy. It was good to see them with Geralt by his side, to let Geralt see that you could work but still let yourself be happy.

“Lila, this is Jaskier the bard,” Violet said, “and Sir Geralt. They’re quite famous, did you know? Sir Geralt said he’d take care of the thing that’s taking our sheep if we let him and his bard have lunch with us.”

Lila looked at them, squinting her eyes to see them better. Jaskier smiled at her, and Geralt – well, Geralt did his best, Jaskier assumed.

“Come on in, then,” she finally replied, “we wouldn’t want the stew to grow cold.”

***

The inside of the house was quite simple, but still showed that this place was a safe haven for both Violet and her wife and the travelers that apparently sometimes passed by.

“We’re not officially a refuge,” Lila explained as Jaskier helped her dress the table, “we just welcome people and offer them a room for the night – especially in winter, when it gets particularly cold outside.”

Jaskier nodded without replying anything. Lila seemed surlier than her wife but she still was a kind soul, ready to help. She reminded him of Geralt, in a way.

The room was nice; it was large, the windows letting the sun pour its light inside, brightening the place and making the floating dust look like sparks. There were plants hanging from the ceiling, and Jaskier saw that Geralt took a moment to admire them. It was strange, to see a house where a special thought had been put into the decoration – the places they were staying at usually didn’t care much for that kind of thing, and Kaer Morhen was more about practicality before beauty.

At the center of the room was a wooden table surrounded by two benches, one on which Geralt was sitting, listening to Violet who was animatedly talking, a dish towel in her hands, the dog sitting at her feet. Jaskier let his mind wander as he set down the pitcher full of wine but was brought back by the mention of his name in Violet and Geralt’s conversation.

“Jaskier and you, do I need to prepare two rooms? We have enough of them, it wouldn’t bother us.”

He tensed, but still pretended that he wasn’t listening. It would be weird, not sleeping next to Geralt after all these years – even at Kaer Morhen they had shared a room, Geralt not quite ready to let him go after barely escaping Nilfgaard and Jaskier needing the proximity of his witcher to be able to fall asleep. And they shared all the time on the path, to share warmth and to save coin.

But there were no threats here, no need to save their coin, and so Jaskier prepared himself for a sleepless night. It would be fine, not reading to Geralt, not braiding his hair before going to bed – it would be fine.

“Just one room will be enough,” Geralt replied, and Jaskier almost dropped the glasses he was about to put on the table. Well, that – that was nice. Maybe Geralt needed him close to be able to sleep, too.

Jaskier glanced up and met Lila’s eyes; she raised an eyebrow at him, clearly aware of his inner turmoil.

“Lunch is ready,” she announced instead of saying whatever it was that she had been thinking about Jaskier and his… feelings… for his traveling companion.

They took place on the benches, Jaskier and Geralt facing each other. Lila served the stew, and Geralt took Jaskier’s plate wordlessly, taking the carrots out of it and then giving it back to him. Jaskier smiled at his friend, and Geralt shrugged as if it were normal. Which it was, had been ever since Jaskier had said twenty years ago that he didn’t like carrots.

“So this beast,” Jaskier started, munching on his stew, “what does it do, exactly?”

Violet and Lila exchanged a glance, and Lila put her fork down, drinking a bit of wine before answering. Geralt had not stopped eating, though Jaskier had seen him discreetly hand Charcoal a piece of bread.

“It- takes the sheep,” Lila started, “and nothing else. Happens only at night, though, and Violet wanted to stay up but I told her that I’d rather not lose her to that thing. What are a few sheep next to my wife?”

Violet had blushed a little, but was fondly looking at her wife.

“There were footprints,” Lila went on, “but not ones that I could identify. Like, they look like ones of a wolf, but – they weren’t, not really.”

They all fell into a contemplative silence only broken by Charcoal’s loud breathing. Geralt slipped him another piece of bread, and Jaskier bit his cheek to prevent himself from telling him that he was teaching that dog terrible manners by rewarding him like that.

“How often does it happen?” Geralt asked, acting as if the big dog wasn’t lovingly staring up at him, hoping for more food.

“We don’t know,” Violet replied, her voice soft, “some weeks nothing happens, and then the next we lose two sheep and our dog.”

She looked up at Geralt, and Jaskier was stricken by the acceptance on her face.

“You said you would go and take a look, Sir Geralt, but there’s no guarantee that you’ll find it. But that would be okay – it hasn’t attacked us, and we know better than to go out during the night. And – you being willing to go already is – well, it’s-”

“What my wife is trying to say,” Lila cut in when it became obvious that Violet didn’t know how to end her sentence, “is that we’re already grateful that you would try to take care of it, and that even if you didn’t find anything, we would be okay. We’ve survived so far.”

Geralt nodded, and Jaskier found himself thinking about a song about two lovers, facing what Destiny was making them face, getting hurt and injured but always having each other and always going on –

Then he realized that it sounded a bit too much like him and Geralt, if him and Geralt had been lovers, and his ears grew hot.

“I’ll still go and see what I can do,” Geralt replied. “I’ll go tomorrow night.”

Lila nodded, and Violet smiled again.

“Now,” Violet started, “I was wondering, Jaskier, if you would be okay with playing something tonight?”

It had been a while since he had played for other people- well, okay, maybe not that long, but still. Playing for himself was okay, playing for Geralt was more than nice, but playing for other people? That was what had made Jaskier start to play, first for his sister who loved music but couldn’t sneak out to listen to music she actually liked like he could, then for bigger crowds. It wasn’t about being loved by his public, it was about people loving what they were hearing and forgetting about life for a while.

“Of course,” he smiled, “I’d be more than happy to.”

“He sings well,” Geralt said, and Jaskier blinked at him before feeling his face warming up.

“Why thank you, darling,” he managed to reply before turning to Lila. “Need help with something this afternoon?”

Lila looked at him with the same knowing look in her brown eyes that she had had earlier, and shrugged.

“Not particularly. Tomorrow, though?”

He grinned at her.

“I look forward to it. Now, tell me, I was promised a very fine cheese, made by the most talented cheese maker of the continent – her words,” he added while gesturing towards Violet, “not mine.”

Violet laughed and Lila stood up.

“I’ll go fetch it, it’s good with bread. If you haven’t fed it to the dog,” she added while glancing at Geralt, who froze on the bench. Jaskier burst out laughing, but still took his own piece of bread and broke it in half.

“Here, dear heart, take half of mine,” he managed to say, shoulders still shaken by his laughter.

“Hmm,” Geralt replied, which only made Jaskier laugh harder, losing himself in the mirth of Geralt’s golden eyes.

[teenslib]

IT’S FINALLY DONE! Every year, the Rainbow Book List Committee has more books to review, because literature is slowing getting queerer, and children’s and YA lit are at the forefront of that change. This year, our committee of 13 people had to review nearly 500 eligible titles, and 130 (well, 129) were good enough and queer enough to make the list. There were so many terrific books that we got a special dispensation to create TWO Top Ten lists--the first time the committee has done so! The Top Tens are below, and please visit the link above for the full list.

I’m proud of our committee’s focus on diversity--along lines of race, ethnicity, queer identity, and even genre. At least half of the Top Ten Books for Young Readers and seven of the Top Ten for Teen Readers are about characters of color, and most of those were written by authors of color. We also tried to feature as many different letters of the alphabet soup as possible. I’ve noted the racial and LGBTQIA+ rep for the books that I’ve read.

Here are the Top Ten Books for Young Readers:

Ana on the Edge by Sass, A.J. Ages 8 to 12. Sports Fiction/Figure Skating. MC is nonbinary and Jewish-Chinese-American. Ana is a champion figure-skater. She hates her new princess-themed program, but how can she tell her mother that, when it cost so much money? And why does it bother her so much, anyway? When she finds the word ‘nonbinary,’ she realizes why the program doesn’t fit, but she still has a lot of work to do repairing relationships that have suffered in the meantime.

The Deep & Dark Blue by Smith, Niki. Ages 8 to 12. Fantasy. One of 2 MCs is a trans girl, all characters appear to be Southeast Asian. A pair of twins flee after a political coup that puts their lives at risk. They decide to disguise themselves as Hanna and Grayce, two girls living in the Communion of the Blue, an order of weaving women who spin magic like wool. What one twin doesn’t know is that, for the other, being Grayce isn’t a disguise. This is a beautiful story about self-discovery, acceptance, and affirmation.

Drawing on Walls: A Story of Keith Haring by Burgess, Matthew and Josh Cochran (Illustrator). Ages 6 to 14. Biography. MC is a white gay man. This colorful picture-book biography traces the life and art of Keith Haring.

The Every Body Book: LGBTQ+ Inclusive Guide for Kids about Sex, Gender, Bodies, and Families by Simon, Rachel E. and Noah Grigni (Illustrator). Ages 8 to 12. Nonfiction/Health. Various identities and races included. Filled with self-affirming information, The Every Body Book uses inclusive language, illustrations, and facts to cover a number of important topics for young people including consent, relationships, gender, sex, puberty, and hormones.

King and the Dragonflies by Callender, Kacen. Ages 8 to 12. Realistic Fiction. MC is a gay black boy, his best friend is a gay white boy. King’s family–especially his father–have strong opinions about what it means to be a Black man, and they don’t allow for being gay. But King admires his friend Sandy for escaping an abusive home and living his truth no matter what. If King comes out, too, can his father learn to change?

Magic Fish by Nguyen, Trung Le. Ages 12 and up. Realistic Fiction/Fantasy. MC is a gay Vietnamese-American boy. A young Vietnamese-American boy literally can’t find the words to tell his parents that he’s gay, but cross-cultural fairytales help bridge the language barrier in this beautifully-illustrated graphic novel. 

My Maddy by Pitman, Gayle E. and Violet Tobacco (Illustrator). Ages 4-8. Realistic Fiction. MC’s parent is nonbinary, MC and her parent are white. My Maddy is a heartwarming story about a young girl and her parent. Readers learn that not all parents are boys or girls; some parents are just themselves. In this young girl’s case, that parent is her Maddy, a loving, caring parent who lives outside the gender binary.

My Rainbow by Neal, DeShanna, Trinity Neal, and Art Twink (Illustrator). Ages 4-8. Realistic Fiction. MC is an autistic black trans girl. Autistic trans girl Trinity wants to have long hair, but growing it out is too itchy! None of the wigs in the store are quite right, so Mom makes Trinity a special rainbow wig.

Our Subway Baby by Mercurio, Peter and Leo Espinosa (Illustrator). Ages 4 to 8. Adoption Non-fiction. MCs are white gay men, the baby they adopt is Black. Loving illustrations help tell the story of how an infant abandoned in a NYC subway station was adopted by the man who found him and his partner.

Snapdragon by Leyh, Kat. Snapdragon. Ages 10 to 14. Fantasy. Haven’t read this one yet, so I can’t comment on its representation. Snap gets to know the town witch and discovers that she may in fact have real magic and a secret connection to Snap’s family’s past.

And here are the Top Ten Books for Teen Readers:

All Boys Aren’t Blue: A Memoir-Manifesto by Johnson, George M. Ages 14 to 18. Memoir. Author/MC is a gay Black man. “Memoir-manifesto” is a well-chosen label for this book, which relates stories from the author’s childhood and young adulthood and contextualizes them within a queer Black experience. Although the author’s family is loving and supportive, pervasive heteronormativity, queerphobia, and anti-Black racism threaten his mental, emotional, and physical safety.

Camp by Rosen, L.C. Ages 14 and up. Realistic Fiction. MC and his love interest are gay Jewish boys. For Randy, going away to Camp Outland is a breath of fresh air, a time to be exactly who Randy can’t always be at school. But this year will be different. This year, Randy won’t be the flamboyant theater kid, this year Randy will be exactly the type of bro Hudson would want to date. Changing a thing or too will be necessary for Randy to succeed, even if that means leaving some friends behind.

Cemetery Boys by Thomas, Aiden. Ages 13 and up. Paranormal/Romance. MC is a trans Latino, his love interest is a gay Latino. Yadriel accidentally summons the wrong ghost in an attempt to prove himself a real brujo to his family who struggle to accept his gender identity. Though he thinks he is summoning the ghost of his cousin, he actually summons the ghost of Julian Diaz, and finds himself with not one, but two, mysterious deaths to investigate.

Circus Rose by Cornwell, Betsy. Ages 12 and up. Fantasy. One MC is white and one is mixed-race, one is a lesbian and one is questioning. Ivory and Rosie are twins and half-sisters, born to a bearded woman who refused to choose between her lovers, and raised in their mother’s circus. After a long foreign tour, they come home to find themselves under attack by religious zealots. As tragedy follows tragedy, will Ivory be able to save her circus family?

Elatsoe by Little Badger, Darcie  and Rovina Cai (Illustrator). Ages 12 and up. Mystery. MC is an aro/ace Lipan Apache girl. In this OwnVoices novel, Elatsoe is on a mission to discover who killed her beloved cousin, and why. If not for her cousin, then she is doing this for her people, the Indigenous Lipan Apache tribe. Elatsoe has the ability to raise ghosts from the dead, a tradition that has been passed down through generations. On this journey it will take vulnerability, wit, and the legends of her people for Elatsoe to understand all that is hidden in the small town of Willowbee.

I’ll Be the One by Lee, Lyla. Ages 13 and up. Realistic Fiction. MC is a bi Korean-American girl, her love interest is a bi Korean boy. Skye Shin dreams of becoming the world’s first plus-sized K-pop star, and a reality TV competition may just be her chance. To win, she’ll have to deal with fatphobic beauty standards, fierce competition, and intense media scrutiny–as well as unexpected attraction to one of her competitors.

Miss Meteor by Mejia, Tehlor Kay and Anna-Marie McLemore. Ages 14 and up. Magical Realism. (I haven’t read this one, but I think both MCs are WLW Latinas.) Lita is a star – literally. After falling to earth several years ago, she’s now living life as a teenage girl. When the annual Miss Meteor pageant rolls around, Lita decides to enter – but will her ex-best friend Chicky be willing to help her? Will the pageant help her forget about the past and imagine a new future? Lita learns that winning isn’t about being perfect, it’s about showing your true self to the world – even the parts that no one else understands.

You Should See Me in a Crown by Johnson, Leah. Ages 12 and up. Realistic Fiction. MC is a black WLW (woman-loving-woman). In this affectionate rom-com, Liz Lighty finds herself an unlikely candidate for prom queen at her affluent suburban school. Shy, awkward, Black, and low-income, Liz has never felt like she belonged, and she can’t wait to leave for her dream college. But when her scholarship falls through, it seems her last resort is to win prom queen, and the scholarship money that comes with it. Liz’s plan is complicated when new girl Mack decides to run for prom queen also…and ends up running away with Liz’s heart.

War Girls by Onyebuchi, Tochi.  Ages 12 and up. Science Fiction/Afro-Futurism. Both MCs are Nigerian, one is a WLW. In a not-so-distant future, climate change and nuclear disasters have made much of the earth unlivable. In the midst of war in Nigeria, two sisters, Onyii and Ify, are torn apart and face two very different futures. As their lives progress through years of untold violence and political unrest, battles with deadly mechs and cyborg soldiers outfitted with artificial limbs and organs, they are brought together again and again and must come to terms with how the war has impacted their lives.

When We Were Magic by Gailey, Sarah. Ages 14 and up. Contemporary Fantasy. MC is a white bi/questioning girl with gay dads, her friends are racially, ethnically, and queerily diverse. This firecracker of a novel follows a group of friends who attempt to correct the accidental murder of a classmate. When We Were Magic combines magic, friendship, and awkward moments to create a captivating story. Each character brings their own uniqueness to the strong group of friends, but despite their differences, their loyalty remains. Author Sarah Gailey has written another page turning novel, with the quirky strange content to boot.

[viking-raider]

Silver and Magic - Chapter 12

Summary: You get back home with Geralt. But, it doesn’t last, when a Violet eyed Sorceress shows up.

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia/Reader

Word Count: 5,341

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

Rating: M - Cursing, Blood, Bickering, Sex

Inspiration: Me bleidd means My Wolf. What the dragon’s head necklace looks like (x) This is sorta what I picture reader’s sword to look like (x) and how I picture the reader’s eyes (x)

Author’s Note: I’m pulling shit out of my muse’s ass for this chapter, and probably future ones. Tell me what you think!

Tag List: @jennylovelyheart, @peakygroupie, @jessevans, @rosie-loves-things, @ohjules, @mary-ann84, @omgkatinka, @the-freak-cassie-131, @heelsamizayn, @agniavateira, @cap-barnes, @romyr4, @michelehansel, @katiebriggs004-blog, @badassbaker, @mrsaugustwalker, @authentic-bish-face, @rizeandvibe, @severuined, @supernaturalvikingwhore, @bellastellaluna, @wondersofdreaming, @thisisntmyrightera, @michelle-1185, @winchwm, @royallylazy, @sofiebstar, @worldicreate, @agniavateira, @fantasygirlsuniverse, @witches-of-discovery-a, @xuxszx, @ayamenimthiriel, @keiva1000, @fantasygirlsuniverse, @itsreigns, @constip8merm8, @scorpionchild81, @mylifefallingupthestairs, @onlyhenrys, @luclittlepond, @ellixthea, @lebguardians, @geralt-yennefer-jeskier, @cherrybloomn, @p3nny4urth0ught5, @iloveyouyen, @hollydaisy23, @mcuimagination, @psychosupernatural, @sweetlybigdragonn, @whitewolfandthefox​ 

It felt amazing to see Crasmere come into sight, you hugged your arms tighter around Geralt's waist as it did, the excitement of being home was strong.

“Y/n! Witcher!” Elias's voice called out as he appeared out of his door, on his way to the market. “You're home, and all in one piece I see!”

You and Geralt exchanged a knowing chuckled, as you smiled at the alderman. “We are, thankfully.” You replied. “I hope, Ifra hasn't had too many patients, while I was away?” You inquired.

“No more than the usual culprits.” He laughed, smiling up at you.

“That's good to know.” You answered, yawning. “She wouldn't mind tending to them for a few more days, would she? I'm rather exhausted from the journey.”

“Of course not!” Elias told you, looking at you like you were mad to think otherwise.

“Thank you.” You smiled at him, grateful. “Let's go home, Geralt.” You whispered to him.

“As you wish, en'ca minne.” He answered, patting your arm and moving Roach forward towards the cottage.

“Home, sweet Home.” You giggled, getting down from Roach and stepping up on your porch. “It's always an amazing feeling coming home.”

“I wouldn't know.” Geralt commented, pulling Roach's saddle off.

“Don't you spend most winters in Kaer Morhen?” You asked, turning around to face him. “That's home for you, isn't it?”

“Not really.” He explained, sighing. “It's a home. But, it's not home. I've never come back to any place and felt...”

“Like, you belong.” You said softly, looking at expression on his face. “Like, it was the one place you could be yourself and find peace.”

Geralt frowned, looking the cottage over and turned to look over the land it was on. “I do,” He turned back around to face you, a gentle smile on his face. “find peace here.” He admitted, feeling that peace filling his chest. “with you.”

“Then,” You smiled back, blushing. “that means you belong here, with me.”

He stepped up onto the porch, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “I don't want to belong anywhere else, with anyone else.” He whispered, bending his head and kissing you, lovingly, on the lips.

You laughed as he picked you up and carried you inside, taking you to your bed and laying you down, making short work of removing your and his clothing. He grabbed the back of your knees and pulled you to the edge of the bed, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“You're rather impatient.” You laughed, rolling your hips as he rubbed himself against you.

“I've wanted you for days.” Geralt rasped, his eyes a glow with lust.

“I'm all yours, Witcher.” You smirked, hugging your legs tighter around his hips

“Hm.” He grunted, lining his cock up and entered you, with one smooth and hard thrust, making you cry out as he hit both your sweet spot and your cervix.

“Fuck, Geralt!” You cried out again as he drove himself into you again, even harder.

The sharp and stinging slap of skin connecting filled the quaint cottage with the unashamed cries from your lips with every powerful and satisfying thrust, and every, almost, animal sound coming from between Geralt's clenched teeth. Geralt's hands had your hips in a bruising grasp, you grabbed at his thick wrists and pushed yourself down on his cock with every inward thrust, taking him even deeper into your core. You felt the frenzy of your bodies spiral up into their peaks, making you dizzy with the altitude.

“Geralt.” You called out, back arching and head thrown back as you fell from the peak of your orgasm and into an incredibly high and heavy place, all of your senses tingling.

“Y/n.” Geralt panted back, out of breath from the hard and quick pace.

He took a step back, pulling his flaccid cock free of your core, then dropped down on the bed beside you, eyes closing as it all caught up to him. You woke hours later, snuggled into Geralt's side, your head on his chest and feeling the soreness between your legs, but you didn't care, you still felt great from your orgasm. Shifting and sitting up, you brushed back the hair in your face, retying it, before getting up and padding down to the kitchen, parched. You giggled, taking a sip of water and feeling Geralt's arms wrap around your waist, hugging you flush against him.

“I'm right here, Geralt.” You whispered, setting the glass down and resting your head back against his chest. “I haven't left you, again.”

“Just making sure, me minne.” He replied, his sleepy voice close to your ear.

“I was just thirsty, is all.” You assured him, folding your hands over his and looking out the kitchen window to your garden.

“Are you happy?” Geralt asked, looking at the garden as well. “To be home, I mean.”

“I am.” You nodded, and turned in his arms to look up at him. “I'm happy to be with you, more.” You confessed, pushing up on your toes and kissing him.

“As am I.” He replied, cupping your face and deepening the kiss.

Breaking the kiss, Geralt took your hand and led you out of the kitchen, you figured he was taking you back to bed, but, he guided you out the front door instead, out into the garden, lit by the full moon. You smiled at him as he made you sit on the stone bench, beside the gurgling fountain. He touched the Wolf medallion that rested against your chest and the Dragon pendant that dangled between your breasts, the only things you were still wearing; before turning away from you. His fingertips grazed the silky petals of the flowers growing in your garden, stopping, he leaned forward sniffing one of them before carefully picking it and turned back towards you, twirling it between his thumb and forefinger.

“A red tulip.” You smiled, taking a deep breath as he held it out for you to smell.

“Do you know what a red tulip means?” He asked, gently touching it to your throat.

“Uh,” You bit your lip, the soft petals tickling your skin. “No, I don't. Do you know?” You asked, feeling the petals caress the skin of your breasts.

“I do know.” Geralt smirked, watching your nipples harden from the flower's light touch. “It means, 'I declare my love.' I learned it from Jaskier.” He said, seeing the amused sparkle in your silver eyes.

“Is that so?” You asked, even more amused and laid back on the bench, letting him trail the flower between your breasts and over your stomach. “And, how does the poetic Bard know about that?”

“He's Jaskier.” Geralt laughed, circling the flower around your navel. “He'll do anything to woo a woman. Rather, he'd do anything to woo the Countess de Stael back, for the millionth time.” He explained, tracing the curve of your hips and down your thigh.

“So, is that what you're doing?” You sighed, looking up at the full moon. “Declaring your love and trying to woo me.”

“While, I believe, I have already done both in various terms.” He smiled, gliding the tulip up your other thigh and over your side, making you giggle as it brushed over ticklish spots. “I am, indeed, declaring my love for you, y/n.” He said, touching it to your heart. “As for wooing you.” He chuckled, his mischievous smirk meeting his eyes as he looked at you.

Geralt carefully tucked the tulip in your hair, behind your ear, and knelt at the end of the stone bench, between your legs, licking his lips and nuzzled a cheek against the side of your knee, the light stubble tickling your skin. He kissed up the inside of your thigh, pausing to give your pussy a light lick, tasting the sticky remains of your previous love making, and kissed down your other thigh, before venturing back up. You smiled softly, feeling his mouth move back to your pussy, giving it slow and light licks, making you moan and brush your fingers through his silvery-white hair, pulling it free and feeling it caress the skin of your thighs as the gentle night breeze stirred its strands. Closing your eyes, you let your senses run free, the feel of Geralt between your legs, pleasuring you, the cool breeze on your naked skin, the sounds Geralt made, the flow of the river nearby and the chirp of some night bird, and the taste of Geralt's lips, still lingering on your own. It all felt so peaceful and right, something you had been craving for such a long time; something Geralt had been searching for as well. Your gasp, as you came, floated away on the wind, and left you limp on the stone bench, a smile on your face.

“You are incredibly good a wooing, Geralt.” You complimented him, creaking open your eyes.

“Thank you.” He smirked, kissing the top of your knee and stood. “I fully enjoy wooing you.” He admitted, pulling you up and sitting down, then pulled you into his lap.

“I rather enjoy it myself.” You answered, brushing your fingers through his hair and wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Good.” Geralt whispered into your neck, slipping a hand behind you, taking himself and letting your core slowly sheath his cock inside you.

You kissed him, rocking against him and rolling your hips, moving him inside of you enough to stimulate you both, breathy sounds coming from you as your sore and overstimulated core worked around him. You relaxed and tightened your walls around him, rhythmic in your motions. Geralt wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing you against him and kissed his way down your lips, over your chin, trailing wet kisses down your throat and over your shoulder and chest, burying his nose into your skin and taking deep breaths, letting your scent of Sunflowers and Cedarwood take over all of his senses, clouding his mind with a pleasant fog.

“Y/n.” Geralt sighed, filling you up all over again.

“Geralt.” You smirked, cupping his face in your hands and kissing him, passionately.

“I'm sure, you're going to want to bathe now.” He said, resting his forehead against your collarbone.

“Hmm,” You hummed, pressing your lips together. “No.” You shook your head and nosed his hair, the scent of Chamomile filling your nostrils. “I'm rather content on smelling like you, for a while.”

He chuckled against your skin, smiling softly. “Let's go back inside, then.” He whispered, feeling the goosebumps ripple over your skin, and picked you up, carrying you back inside and to bed.

Geralt jerked up right, a deep crease on his brow.

You moaned, feeling the bed shake and reached out for Geralt. “What's wrong?” You asked, stirring awake.

“That smell.” He panted, blinking and try to shake it free from his mind.

“What smell, Geralt?” You frowned, opening your eyes and turning on your side to look at him, then caught the scent yourself. “Lilacs and...”

“Gooseberries.” Geralt whispered and got out of bed, yanking his pants on.

Frowning, you got dressed and followed Geralt out onto the porch, finding a young woman standing in your yard, her brow raised and violet eyes looking you and Geralt over. “Yennefer.” You whispered, lifting a brow at her.

“You know her?” Geralt asked, turning his head towards you.

“We've met at Aretuza, once or twice.” You replied, eyes still on her.

“How did you find me?” Geralt asked, turning his attention back to Yennefer.

“The same way I always find you, Geralt.” Yennefer answered, lowering her brow. “I just follow the scent of blood, horse and death.”

You tilted your head at her, blinking once as you realized, Yennefer not only didn't know Geralt's true scent, but the pair of them were once lovers. “You two use to be a couple.” You stated, more than asked.

“Yes, but that ended in disappointment, didn't it, Geralt?” Yennefer replied, giving the Witcher a rude expression. “You might watch out for that, y/n. Just saying.” She added, glancing at you.

“What do you want, Yennefer?” Geralt growled, folding his arms over his bare chest.

Yennefer sighed, rolling her eyes at him. “I, unfortunately, need your help.” She admitted, begrudgingly.

“With?”

“Well, obviously, if I'm asking for your help, Witcher, then it must be with a monster.” She sassed him, folding her arms.

“Obviously.” You rolled your eyes at her.

Yennefer narrowed her eyes at you. “I've come from Ellander, in Temeria. They have some sort of creature tormenting them. King Foltest has asked Triss to find someone to help and she thought of you, but didn't know where to find you. So, she asked me to find you.”

“What kind of creature?” Geralt asked, rubbing the side of his face, he had been looking forward to a few days of rest with you.

“My guess was a werewolf, and Triss believes its a Bruxa.” She explained, impatient.

“You have some experience with Bruxas.” Geralt smirked, looking at you.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Hm, you're so funny.” You grinned back, shaking your head, amused.

“All right, we'll pack and meet you in Ellander.” He sighed at Yennefer.

“We?” Yennefer echoed.

“I'm not leaving without y/n.” He told her, motioning to you.

“What help is she going to be?”

Your body started to shake and a laughed bubbled up out of you. “You have no fucking idea.” You roared, throwing your head back and went inside.

“Do you love her?” Yennefer called as Geralt turned to follow you in.

He turned back towards her, seeing the look on her face. “Yes.” He nodded, and went in.

“Another monster.” You sighed, swinging up into Shadow's saddle and looking over at Geralt as he mounted Roach. “What are the chances.” You huffed, shaking your head.

“Well, Spring is coming,” He answered, moving Roach forward. “and that is the time monsters start to come back out.” He explained.

“Hibernation.” You nodded your head.

You paused long enough to inform Elias that, yet again, you would be away from home for an unknown amount of time, then you and Geralt continued on towards Ellander. It was a two day ride to the town, filled mostly with rain. Finding Yennefer at the alderman's house, you and Geralt got the rundown of what had been going on.

“There's always been monster attacks on Ellander.” The alderman, Rollo, explained to the three of you as he sat behind his desk. “But, that is only maybe once or twice a month. This thing has attacked that much in the last two weeks.”

“How is it attacking?” Geralt asked him, tilting his head.

“Some are slashed, like that of a werewolf, and others are drained dry, like a Vampire.” He elaborated, rubbing his face, clearly at his wits' end.

“Could a Bruxa and Werewolf be working together?” You asked, frowning at Geralt.

“Don't be silly.” Yennefer shook her head.

“It is possible.” Geralt answered, giving Yennefer a look. “There was a man, cursed, called Nivellen, who was in a relationship with a powerful Bruxa.”

“Seriously?” You chuckled, amused. “You think, they filed each other's claws?” You laughed, looking up at Geralt.

“Wouldn't surprise me.” He smirked back at you, making Yennefer roll her eyes at both of you. “Where have the attacks happened?”

“Just outside our town, in the forest.” Rollo answered, getting up from his desk. “Allow me to show you.”

Leading the way through town, Rollo showed you the area in the woods, where the attacks happened. You, Geralt and Yennefer examined the area, finding the dried spots of blood, scratches on the surrounding trees and bits of torn clothing.

“When was the first attack?” You asked, picking up a brown, threadbare square of shirt and sniffing it.

“Again,” Rollo answered, glancing around nervously. “It's common for attacks to happen, so it is hard to pinpoint the exact time these particular attacks happened. But, if I had to estimate, a month of two ago.”

You stood and moved over to Geralt. “What do you think?” You asked, holding up the patch of fabric to his nose.

“Hm.” He grunted, taking a sharp breath and narrowed his eyes. “Smell like a Werewolf and a...” He took another sniff. “Bruxa.” He frowned at you, confused.

“You think, perhaps there's a Bruxa or Werewolf, living in Ellander, and the other just nests nearby, and their attacks are overlapping?” You inquired, glancing around.

“Perhaps, but the likeliness of it.” Geralt replied, looking around as well. “But, with all the likelihoods we've been through of late, anything seems more than possible.”

You nodded in agreement with him, a lot of things were strange and out of place of late.

“What did happen to you two up in Kovir?” Yennefer asked, eyeing you.

“Normal Witcher and Witch things.” You answered, dropping the bit of fabric and following Rollo back into town.

“Geralt!” A light voice called as he pushed open the busy inn door, making a growl rumbling in Geralt's chest.

“Jaskier.” He huffed, as the Bard pushed through the crowd.

“Jaskier.” Yennefer rolled her eyes.

“Yennefer.” Jaskier rolled his eyes back, but he perked up a moment later. “Y/n!” He smiled, brightly, seeing you coming in behind Yennefer. “It is marvelous to see you again, how are you?”

“I am rather well, Jaskier.” You grinned back, returning his hug. “How are you?”

“Oh, you know, the life of a Bard and all that jazz.” He laughed, pulling back. “What are you all doing here?”

“There's a monster problem.” You replied, glancing around the packed bar. “Either, a Bruxa or a Werewolf, possibly both.” You filled him in, finding a table and sliding into the booth beside Geralt, who rested his hand on your thigh.

“So, the Ex.” He motioned to Yennefer. “and the current lover.” He looked at you, smiling. “How cheeky, Ger- OUCH!” Jaskier cried, rubbing at his kicked shin. “Which one of you did that!?” He demanded, looking between the three of you, like a kicked puppy.

“Jaskier, why don't you go find out if there's any more rooms available.” Geralt growled, kicking him in the shin again.

“What a fabulous idea, Geralt.” Jaskier squeaked, jumping up and scurrying over to the innkeeper.

“You think, it's both a Bruxa and a Werewolf?” Yennefer asked, settling her eyes on you and Geralt.

“Yes.” You replied, fixing her with a look that made Geralt squeeze your knee.

“I'm going to check out the area tonight.” Geralt spoke up, before either of you could go for the other's throat. “Alone.”

Both your and Yennefer's head snapped to look at him, giving him identical 'are you crazy' looks, that startled him for a moment. But, he lifted his brow at Yennefer and settled you with a reassuring expression. You heaved a sigh and relaxed, resting your hand on top of his.

“Fine.” You gave in. “But, if you're not back by morning, I'm coming to get you.”

“That's only fair.” Geralt nodded.

“You're in luck!” Jaskier grinned, hopping back over. “There's two rooms left.”

“Excellent.” Yennefer snapped, getting up and disappearing in the crowd.

“Why are you two so hostile?” Geralt asked, looking at you, sternly.

“Jealous ex-lover and possessive current lover.” Jaskier chimed in.

“Shut up, Jaskier.” Geralt snapped, growling at him.

“Yennefer and I, have never liked each other.” You explained, still staring after where she disappeared. “It goes back to when she was still at court with Aedirn.”

“What happened?” Jaskier asked, sliding into Yennefer's vacated seat across from you.

“She feels that I slighted her.” You answered, pouring a mug of ale that Jaskier brought back with him. “She, and the then king, were trying to arrange something between Aedirn and Kovir, when Eren and I were still together. My option was asked on the subject and was a leading factor to why it didn't happen. Yennefer has felt, if I hadn't put my nose in it or sided with a fellow Sorceress, then it would have happened. But, since I didn't, she's been notoriously salty towards me, and I'm not one to allow people to think they can treat me like that.”

“What was it she was trying to do?” Jaskier inquired, around the rim of his mug.

“Something better left in the past, Bard.” You answered, staring into your tankard.

“Why don't we go up to our room.” Geralt suggested, squeezing your hand. “Get settled in, then I'll go out tonight, and see what I can find.”

“All right.” You sighed, nodding your head and finishing off your ale, then got up. “It was nice seeing you again, Jaskier.” You said, patting him on the shoulder.

“You as well.” He smiled up at you.

“What was it, that you disagreed on?” Geralt asked, once in the privacy of the room.

“A war.” You said, simply, dropping Shadow's bags on the floor.

“With who?” He frowned, shaking his head.

“I don't know.” You sighed, dropping down on the bed. “All I knew was that they were looking for an alliance and aid from Kovir and Poviss to see it through.”

“Typical politics to be so slighted.” He commented, pulling his armor out of his bags.

“Doesn't take much to slight Mages.” You replied, lay back and rubbing your temples.

“So, it would seem.” Geralt answered, letting out a hard breath. “If I'm not back by first light, then come and find me.” He told you, standing at your feet.

“As you wish, Witcher.” You smirked, sitting up and letting him kiss you.

“And don't go fighting Yennefer, or you'll regret it.” He warned, going to the door.

“Oh, and how do you figure that?” You asked, lifting a brow at him.

“I'll figure it, by putting you over my knee.” He threw over his shoulder as he went out, your laugh following him down the hall.

You slept fitfully and gave up trying to find any, so you pulled out the book of Dragary history and spells that Aero had lent you, reading it to pass the time til first light. You started to grow uneasy as the sky outside the filthy window of the room grew brighter.

“Geralt?” You called, a knock sounded on the door, as you got dressed to go out and find him, answering it. “Yennefer.” You sighed, seeing it was just her.

“Has Geralt come back?” She asked, looking you over.

“No, I'm just going out to find him.” You told her, moving back into the room to grab your backpack.

“I'm coming with you.” She said, following you downstairs.

“Fine.” You called over your shoulder. “Not like I could stop you anyway.” You added, trudging through the early morning street.

You and Yennefer retraced your steps back into the forest, where Rollo showed you were the attacks happened. You saw a small charred spot, where he'd obviously made a fire to keep warm, but there were no other signs of him.

“Geralt!” Yennefer yelled out, turning in a circle. “Shit, what could have happened him?” She asked, quietly.

“Something bad, I'm sure.” You answered, bending over the remains of the fire and touching the burned sticks.

“He gave you his medallion?” Yennefer's voice sounded shocked, as she watched it slip out of the neck of your shirt.

“Yes, he did.” You replied, straightening up, finding the fire was long cold, and touched the wolf medallion. “He gave it to me in Midmaw, after he found me.” You explained, glancing around.

“Where do you think he could be?” She asked you, changing the subject. “He couldn't have headed back to town, we would have ran into each other.”

“I don't know.” You answered, the uneasiness growing stronger.

You slipped your hand into your shirt, gripping the Orzac pendant and closed your eyes, whispering something in Dragary, and opened your eyes again, your dragon eyes shining as you looked around. The land around you changed, no longer the colorfulness of nearing Spring, but silver. The only other color you could see was red, the pulsing hearts of life; a rabbit coming out of his burrow or a bird flying through the trees, your hearing had increased as well, the line of your Dragon Mark throbbed.

“What are you doing?” Yennefer asked, startled by your change.

“Ssshh.” You hushed her, tilting your head and trying to isolate out the sounds of the forest, the sounds of Yennefer's body as she stood beside you.

Your right ear twitched, catching the sound of a slow, but rhythmic, beat. Like, a heart that beat four times slower than a human's. You turned your eyes in that direction and caught the slow pulse of red in the distance, and let go of the pendant and took off in that direction. You found Geralt sitting up against a birch tree, his chin resting against his chest, and knelt in front of him, pushing his head up. He looked fine, like he was just knocked out.

“Geralt.” You called to him, patting his cheek. “Geralt!” You barked, slapping him across the face, making your hand sting.

“Mmm!” Geralt groaned, his head snapping up and looking at you angrily for a moment, before he realized it was you. “What are you doing out here?” He demanded.

“Geralt, it's well after first light.” Yennefer told him, as you looked him over.

“Fuck.” He grunted, pushing himself up and staggering.

“What happened?” She asked him.

“I don't know.” He hissed, pressing his fingertips to his throbbing temple. “I set up camp, felt something behind me, but before I could look, I blacked out.”

“I smell blood.” You said, frowning at the metallic tang in the air.

“It's not mine.” Geralt moaned, shaking his head and taking several steps forward.

“Let me look at you.” You told him, trying to pull him to a stop.

“It's not mine.” He huffed at you, moving forward again, but faltered. “Fuck.”

“What is it?” You frowned, moving beside him and wrapped an arm around his waist. “What's wrong?”

“I can't,” He blinked several times, looking confused. “I can't...feel my legs.” He looked down at his feet, before his body went limp against you.

“Fuck, Geralt.” You gasped, straining under his weight.

“Y/n?” He whined, looking at you, startled.

You were surprised to see how pale his face was all of a sudden. “Shit.” You looked back at Yennefer. “I'm portalling him back to the inn.” You told her, then did so.

Yennefer appeared a second later and helped you get Geralt into the bed. You struggled to get Geralt's shirt off and started checked very inch of his upper body, pushing him onto his side and doing the same with his back and found a bloody mark on the left side of his spine, the mark of a Bruxa claw.

“Fucking hell.” You gasped, touching it and making Geralt growl in protest. “You were attacked by a fucking Bruxa.” You told him, leaving him on his side and feeling around the wound, seeing small bluish veins around puncture mark. “I think, it's claw was poisoned, and the swelling from the wound and the poison as put pressure on your back, cutting off the feeling and use of your legs.” You explained, a ice cold knot in your stomach.

“If he's not healed, he'll end up paralyzed.” Yennefer blurted out. “Or the very least, die.”

“I am aware, thank you.” You snapped at her, picking up one of your bags.

Yennefer huffed at you and left the room, coming back a moment later with her herbs bag. “Then, do something.” She barked, digging through her bag.

“What do you think I'm doing?” You snapped back at her, mixing together a few herbs into a solution. “What are you doing?” You barked, grabbing Yennefer's wrist before she could press something to Geralt's wound. “Are you crazy?” You panted, seeing what it was. “That, will speed up the poison.”

“You don't know what you're talking about!” Yennefer hissed at you, trying to yank her wrist free of your grasp. “You're going to get him killed.”

“Stop!” Geralt yelled, wincing. “Both of you are going to get me killed, with your bickering.” He panted, a cold sweat breaking out over his body. “Y/n knows what she's doing, Yennefer. Leave her be.” He warned her.

“How are you sure?” She asked, jealous and hurt.

“Because, I come from a long line of healers.” You told her, going back to the herbs you were mixing.

“Your family were farmers.” Yennefer rolled her eyes.

“No, my family are Dragons.” You confessed, not caring at the moment.

“Dragons!” Yennefer laughed, shaking her head. “and you want her to heal you, Geralt.”

“My parents were Ronar and Izzi, of the Dragary.” You explained, mixing in another herb. “My mother was a White Dragon, a healer.”

“This is crazy.”

“Look!” You barked, pulling the Orzac necklace out of your shirt and showing it to her. “Okay? Great! Now, excuse me.” You huffed, sitting on the bed beside Geralt. “Drink this.” You held it up to his lips, helping him sip it down. “It'll help reduce any swelling and reverse the poison.” You told him, brushing his damp hair out of his face, your expression worried and afraid. “I knew, I should have gone with you.” You sighed, rubbing his arm.

“Well, I have to get hurt once in a while, so you have to take care of me.” He replied, trying to give you an encouraging smile.

“You silly Witcher.” You shook your head, smiling back. “You don't need to get hurt, for me to care for you.” You scolded him, playfully.

“Now, she tells me.” He laughed, then groaned.

“Here.” You moved back to your bag, pulling out a vial of some clear liquid and gave him a small swallow of it. “It'll help with the pain.” You looked up, just recalling Yennefer was still in the room, as she went out. “Do you remember anything else, from last night?” You asked, gently soothing your hand over his side.

“No.” He replied, resting his head on your leg. “Just that cold feeling of something behind me.”

“Might need to revoke your Witchering card for this, Geralt.” You chuckled, stroking his hair off his sweaty face.

“Very funny.” He mumbled against your thigh. “It's cold in here.” He added, his voice faint.

You looked around, you were melting as the day warmed up and the fireplace roared. “Here.” You gently moved his head back to a pillow and stood up, pulling off your clothing and laid down with him, laying his head on your bare chest and draped his arm over your waist, hugging yourself against him. “Is that better?” You asked, stroking his hair and arm.

“Mmhm.” He mewled, nodding his head.

“Rest, me bleidd.” You whispered to him, listening to his labored breathing. “Don't, you die on me.” You mumbled into his hair. “Please.” You begged him.

[secret-engima]

Nox verse. Nox's perspective of Nyx leading him away from the Hall of Arts during a Quiet Day and/or when she tries (and sometimes manages) to tug him away from the edge of a Quiet Day?

Hmmmm sure! Ficlet ramble time! Let’s say this takes place after they’re Galahdian Married but pre-Lucian fancy official wedding (and pre-Regis knowing about the whole oops-a-galahdian-just-married-your-son-without-telling-you).

...

“Oh, Nox.”

It’s the first thing to break through the haze, a soft voice he knows (has seen die has lived through the eyes of has known for years and loves-loves-loves), and he tilts his head toward it even though he can’t quiet get his eyes to focus (can’t look away from the tapestry before him and the lies-lies-lies-heartbreak-lies woven into the threads. A calloused hand gently takes his own, fingers twining with his own unresponsive ones, and he distantly thinks that he wants to grip her hand back, but he doesn’t have the energy and its already taking enough effort to remember which “her” this is (it’s not Somnus’s little Spitfire, it’s not Wanderer’s Twilight with her violet eyes and black and green tattoos winding up her cheek, it’s not Conquerer’s Flower or Wise’s patient Dawn or Mors light-love-heart Vita, it’s his, his love, his heart, and if he clings to that maybe he can finally wade out from the memories weighing down his bones).

She tugs on his hand, a practiced step and pull that finally forces him to turn away from the tapestry (not force, guide, because he wanted to stop, but stopping was too hard on his own, without someone to anchor him outside his head).

She’s beautiful, he thinks distantly. Not in the same ways Odessa-Vesper-Flora-Aurora-Vita-Aulea-so-many-others-names-faces were. She was beautiful in a rougher, wilder way. None of the past kings had ever wed a soldier, and it showed in her bearing. In the set of her shoulders and the callouses of the hand holding his.

It made her feel real. Somewhere past the fog.

“Come on,” she says, though he more reads her lips than makes out the individual sounds of her voice, “it’s late.”

Late.

Is it?

Oh. There’s moonlight on the floor. It is late.

Someone must have woken her up to come get him.

Sorry, he tries to say, but doesn’t manage more than an apologetic grunt. There are too many languages-phrases-pronunciations cluttered on his tongue to do more. If he says it, he isn’t sure which language it will come out in, or what era his accent will be from or-.

Better to just not try.

Her smile turns sad and he regrets. Today is ... bad. Very bad. But he can’t fix it.

It would be better if she just left him and went back to bed, but he isn’t sure how to tell her that, so she stays and moves to lean against his side, her arm looped between his and his side, her fingers still twined with his. The magic under her skin that is hers-but-not brushing against his without fear of drowning as she leads him slowly down the Hall. She talks as they go, little things. Meaningless things. Things that matter to Noctis-Nox-Noctis-Nox and not the unfeeling tide of ancient-kings-queens-lives trying to pull him down. He clings to the sound of her voice. To the little meaningless things she’s telling him (Libertus made banana bread today, Crowe almost set Captain’s eyebrows on fire with her new spell and had to scrub down his office as punishment, someone glued all of council room furniture to the ceiling and while no one has proof, Ardyn is looking awfully smug, tomorrow Sonitus is going to try talking to that girl he’s had his eye on for so long and we’re all going to come cheer him on- or tease him, depends on who it is).

A statue catches his gaze and he stops and stares. It’s Fierce, posing with that mace of his-mine-his that my-his-his Shield always teased him for because it was so big and fancy and silly, and Nox can feel it in his hands, feel the way it hummed and sang for the Tonitrus-him-Tonitrus like no other weapon in his training had-.

Fingers squeeze his hand, “Nox,” says the voice in his ear, soft and coaxing and familiar-loved-adored, “come on, babe. We’re almost out.”

Who is Nox? He’s Tonitrus.

No wait that isn’t right he’s Somnus-

No he’s-

He-

Noctis. He’s Noctis isn’t he? Or-

He used to be.

“Nox,” the voice (Nyx, his Nyx, his Night his Glaive his Love his Heart) says again, more firmly this time, and the combined tug-shove of her arm around his drags him past the statue of the man he isn’t-but-remembers-being. He manages to turn his head and drop his gaze to the floor, and some part of him is infinitely grateful that they never carried through on those renovations Mors wanted to make the floor one big mural of the history of Lucis because if they had done that he might actually drown-.

They clear the doors to the Hall of Arts, and it’s a bit like coming up for air after being underwater too long. He breathes and the air in his lungs trembles from relief. He’s still in water (still in a fog of memories that aren’t his and don’t belong) but he’s out, his head is above water. The world firms, reality becomes easier to touch, and he becomes aware of how late it is, aware that Nyx is wearing her Kingsglaive coat but underneath that her feet are in slip ons and her pajama pants have little malboros on them. He blinks a few times at her feet, then looks up slowly and meets her eyes.

She smiles at him, thin and sympathetic (she knows what it’s like to get lost in bad memories, even if hers aren’t nearly as deep as his, she knows what its like to drag other glaives out of the fog that weighs down their bones), “Hey,” she murmurs softly, “you back?”

He tests the words on his tongue before speaking them, and they taste like modern language, so he risks a hoarse, “Think ... think so.”

She tugs him closer and they start walking down the corridors back toward his suite together (genuinely together, not with her pulling and him shuffling along without conscious will of his own), “Good. Wanna talk about it?”

She asks that every time, just like she does for the other glaives, and every time he gives the same answer. “No.”

She lets it go, and the two glaives on duty outside his suite (there were two Crownsguard out there earlier he thinks, but they’ve been shooed away by a worried Libertus and a tired-eyed Tredd) let them through without comment. Nox blinks and isn’t sure when he went from the doorway of the suite to standing next to his bed, but he’s here now and Nyx has shrugged off her Kingsglaive coat and is gently tugging him down onto the mattress.

He lies down on his side and a moment later Nyx curls around his back, the big spoon to his little spoon, her arms anchored around his waist, ensuring he won’t get up and accidentally wander into the Hall of Arts again tonight.

She kisses the back of his neck as she whispers for him to sleep, and he carefully wraps his hands around hers, squeezing them in thanks. Tomorrow he’ll be better, more responsive. Tomorrow he’ll make up for the fact that she had to walk up from Little Galahd to the Citadel in her pajamas and coat to anchor him in place for the night. Tomorrow he’ll be ... Nox. Just Nox. And he’ll do something nice for her, like cook breakfast, or just take her out to the gardens and sing for her as they slow dance together. But for now... for now he’s tired, and the fog is dragging down his bones, and he’s not quite Nox enough to do any of those things.

So he relaxes into her hold and lets himself drift.

Nyx won’t let him drown in old memories tonight.