#writing her dialogue must be a delight

[trishyeves]

Not exactly a New Gods/Mister Miracle scholar, but it's so nice with Birds of Prey (2023) to see Big Barda drawn so consistently as just, not anything like the standard body type we see in superhero ladies. She's not just tall, she's fucking wide. She's massive! Even her face, which, that's one area where no matter how beafy, soooo many buff women are drawn with just another supermodel look.

Also did they casually mention that she's bisexual in an early issue? Because if so holy shit yes please

[mischievousmoony]

hi, ok i have another idea for a fic which again totally up to you to write!! but i had an idea with dad!james and r where their kid is like equally obsessed with their mum as james is with r and one day james decides to prank their kid by saying something bad about the r while their kid is present and the baby just goes off. i feel like you would do an amazing job with this! feel free to ignore too. have a perfectly splendid day!!

-🪷

"the baby just goes off" painted a hilarious picture of an infant yelling at his dad in my mind lmao. ty for the request this warmed my heart to write + special thanks to @moonpascal for chatting a little about kids, gave me the reassurance & inspiration i needed

𝚋𝚞𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚜

⟢ dad!james potter x fem!reader ⊹ 1.1k ⟢ warnings/tags: fluff, dad/husband!james, mom/wife!reader, no use of y/n, no name for the son, idk how to write a child's dialogue tbh son's supposed to sound 4 years old

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

James gladly goes out of his way to mention to anyone who will listen that his little one is unmistakably a Mummy's boy. From family to friends to the poor souls who bag his groceries, James will talk the ear off of anyone he can.

He finds it to be the most endearing thing in the world— the way that your son is as obsessed with you as James is. Always staying close and clinging to you, touching affection radiating from every hug and smile.

Today, as he watches his son run back and forth across the carpet, handing his mother block after block just to see her face light up after each gift, his awe and admiration are insurmountable.

Last night, James surprised you with a pair of earrings that you have been wishing for. When your face lit up upon receiving the little leatherette box, so did your son's. He didn't quite understand why you were so excited about some cube, but since then he's been trying to replicate your excitement with presents of his own.

"Oh my! Another one! Thank you, buddy," you beam, you're gratefulness and delight unwavering as he hands you the sixth block.

Your son giggles, bouncing in his spot as you inspect each side of the little wooden toy, telling him how much you adore the blue penguin painted on one of its faces.

That's another thing that touches James' heart: the tender nurture and care that you bestow upon your son with such unwavering devotion and warmth. It has James convinced that you must be the best mum in the entire world.

He might just melt at the sight of you now, kneeling happily in front of a growing pile of blocks as your son scurries back and forth, adding to your collection. James sits cross-legged to your right, resting his elbow on his knee and laying his head in his hand, watching the two he loves most in the world with hearts in his eyes.

You gasp, as if surprised when handed block number seven. "Oh, this is my favorite one yet. How did you know I love zebras?" you ask, your thumb tracing over the red acrylic paint on the side of the block.

By the time you have twelve, nearly half of his collection, you say, "I have a lot of blocks here, buddy, do you want to give some to Daddy?"

"No!" your son protests immediately, running off to his toy box for the thirteenth time.

You and James both chuckle, exchanging amused glances. Finding your son's reaction hilarious, James’s mischievous side has him dreaming up new ways to push his buttons. Your son thinks the world of you, and James is curious to see what the little guy will do if he claims otherwise.

"Well, what am I gonna do with all of this? Should I..."

You leave your son in suspense for a moment, and his hands hover over his toy box as looks at you, hanging onto your every word in anticipation.

"...build a castle!?"

“Yeah!” your son cheers, scooping three more blocks into his arms, thrilled to supply the bricks for your castle.

James nudges you, a sign of his upcoming playfulness. “You sure about that, bud? Mummy is absolutely rotten at building castles.”

Halfway across the carpet, your son stops in his tracks, glaring at his father as he tries to keep his blocks from falling out of his arms.

Stifling a laugh, you press your fingertips to your lips. By now, you’re used to James’ bursts of mischief, and you’re more than happy to sit back and let them play out. Unless you’re an active participant, of course.

You muster up a scandalized gasp as he reaches for your mountain of presents, claiming three blocks in one hand.

“No!” your little one complains, rushing to drop his three in your lap to replace the ones that James stole, “those are Mummy’s!”

“You sure Mummy deserves all these blocks?” James asks, starting to stack them into a tower, “You watch, I’ll build a castle that’ll make her’s look like rubbish.”

Your son hastily makes his way over to his dad, both arms extended as he collides with the tower and sends the blocks flying. "Stop it," he says as he scoops up the nearest block and runs it back over to you, shouting, "Mummy's castles are the best!"

He climbs into your lap, clutching onto the toy tightly as one of your arms wraps around him, and you feel your heart start to melt as you rub soothing circles into his back. You look over your son's head, your eyes sparkling with affection as you meet your husband's tender gaze.

Not having the heart to mess with him for very long, James concedes, "You're right, I'm not being very nice, am I?"

"Nuh-uh!" your son replies, shaking his head with exaggeratedly vigor, the curls he gets from his dad bouncing about.

"What can I do to make it up to her?" James asks, turning the ordeal into a subtle lesson as he dramatically feigns sorrow and despair over his actions.

"'Pologize," your son commands, his head swiveling to look at James expectantly over his shoulder.

James puts on his most sheepish, apologetic smile, looking from his son to you. "I'm very sorry. He's right, your castles are the best. Can you forgive me, love?"

"Aw, of course I forgive you," you say warmly, your amusement manifesting as a wide smile. You lean back so you can get a good view of your son's face when you tell him, "You know, I bet what Daddy really wants is to build a castle with us. I love your presents, bud, but we don't want to leave Daddy out do we?"

He looks down at the block in his little hand. "No," he replies shyly.

"So why don't you ask him to build a castle with us?" You give him a pat on the back before releasing him from your arms. "Go on," you coax.

He steps closer to James, holding the block close to his chest. "We can all build a castle," he offers.

"Yeah?" James' face lights up, and it's not for show. Genuine joy takes over his features as he ruffles your son's hair, responding, "I'd love nothing more, little man."

"But you have to be nice to Mummy!" he demands, his little voice firm and earnest as he looks up at James with wide, serious eyes.

"I promise, I will be on my best behavior," James assures him, his voice sincere as he gives a playful salute. That's enough for your son, because he finally awards James with his very first block, which he accepts with pride.

"Good!" your son cheers, already moving on to the pile of blocks to start stacking them as he proclaims, "Mummy is the best, and we have to show it!"

Your lips part as you suck in a breath, a quiet gasp. Receiving your son's affection never fails to make your heart swell.

You don't feel James' eyes on you, but he's watching— admiring, more like, as he takes in the way that you soften at your son's sweet words. A smitten smile plays at his lips as he agrees, "She is the best, isn't she?"

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[chahnniesroom]

to have and to hold

pairing: bang chan x female reader

summary: you don't think there's anything chan can do to make you love him more. chan continues to prove you wrong.

word count: 1.4k

warnings: mentions of pregnancy, lots of fluff!!

a/n: sorry it has been so long since i posted! i have been wanting to write this since that ep of return of superman where chan and felix took care of rowoon, it was so so sweet. also i'm so sorry but i did not edit this at all

till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

“Do you think you’d ever want to have kids?” 

Your question breaks through the quiet dialogue of the show that you and Chan are watching. Behind you, you feel Chan freeze before he forces himself to relax and continue fiddling with your fingers.

Chan hesitates for a moment longer before answering.

“I don’t know,” he says, slowly and carefully. “I think that I’d want to eventually, but right now? Being an idol- It would be difficult. I mean, for anyone it’s hard, but especially with this career…”

“Do you like children?” you ask, curious even though you can anticipate his answer.

“Yes.” This time he replies immediately, although his voice is still cautious. He releases your hands from his hold and gently nudges your shoulders so that you twist to look at him. “Y/n- Do- Are you-”

“What?” you stare at him, not sure why he suddenly seems so worried.

“Are you pregnant?” he asks gently. “It’s fine if you are! We can totally work things out and I will 100% support you the whole time-”

“Oh!” You smack yourself in the forehead. “No! Definitely not! I was just thinking.” 

“Ah.” Chan slumps against the back of the couch, this time he’s actually relaxed. “Just thinking or- what brought this on?”

“I’m sorry,” you say hurriedly. “That must have been out of nowhere for you. No, it’s because my older sister’s wedding anniversary is coming up, the first one since she’s had a kid, so I wanted to let her go out without having to worry. I was wondering if you wanted to help me babysit?”

“I see,” Chan says, sounding relieved. “Your sister. Yes, I haven’t met Doyun yet, right? I’d love to help you take care of him.”

—

Your sister is delighted that you’ve offered to take Doyun for an evening and you quickly coordinate with Chan what day would work best. It’s not possible to babysit on your sister’s actual anniversary due to Chan’s schedules, but your availabilities line up on a Friday night the weekend after.

Chan is nervous leading up to it, which you find absolutely adorable. When you look over his shoulder one night, curious what he’s focusing so intently on, you find him scrolling through articles on interacting with babies as well as tips on baby-proofing an apartment.

Before your sister arrives, you work with Chan for a few hours transforming the open area of your apartment, placing pillows and draping blankets over sharp corners and making sure to keep any small objects out of reach. 

When the doorbell rings, Chan panics, popping his head out of the kitchen from where he’s been trying to figure out a way to prevent Doyun from being able to open the cabinets.

“We're not ready!” he says, eyes wide.

“What do you want to do, keep them waiting outside until you finish?” you joke, then pause when it looks like Chan is actually considering it. “Don't worry, I'll go let my sister in and you keep working on that. We'll be watching Doyunnie the whole time, so even if you can't work that out, it's fine.”

Your sister doesn't stay for very long. She hands Doyun off to you and assures both you and Chan that your place looks safe for a baby. After going through everything that is packed in the massive diaper bag that she’s leaving with you, she heads back home to get ready for her dinner.

Doyun has a short attention span and cycles between playing with a stuffed animal, a ball, some plastic fruits and vegetables, and toy trains within the first hour. He is so adorable that you and Chan don't mind how much energy is required to keep him occupied. Luckily he's a fairly easygoing baby and hasn't fussed at all, although it did take a while for him to warm up to the two of you.

He's comfortable now, especially since Chan has started to spin the two of them around, hands firmly gripping Doyun’s torso. Doyun absolutely loves it, shrieking in excitement with his eyes crinkling. Even after a few minutes of the same thing, he never grows bored, just as thrilled everytime that Chan lifts him above his head. Although Doyun isn’t very heavy yet, after 15 minutes there’s sweat visible on Chan’s forehead and he’s starting to get out of breath.

“How about we take a bit of a break? Do you want to read?” Chan sits Doyun down against some pillows and rummages through the bag that your sister packed, finding some of the books that she included.

Chan hands the books over and although Doyun accepts both of them, he throws them aside and instead clumsily reaches up towards Chan, clearly asking to be picked up again. Chan pretends to groan and complain as he lifts Doyun back up.

“Aww,” you coo. “He really likes you.”

“And I really like him,” Chan says, spinning Doyun around. “I just wish I hadn’t gone to the gym earlier today, I didn’t realise what a workout this would be!”

Eventually Doyun grows tired, no longer begging Chan to continue. This time when Chan settles him on the ground, he just looks around curiously before crawling up to Chan and grabbing at his curls.

“He’s so small,” Chan marvels. “Look at his little fingers!”

He reaches out towards Doyun, who immediately wraps his hand around Chan’s index finger and pulls it towards his mouth.

It's comical to see the difference in size between their hands and Chan visibly melts, allowing Doyun to gum at his fingers, quickly covering them in a sheen of saliva.

“Are you hungry Doyunnie?” Chan asks. “It’s almost time for dinner, let’s see what your auntie prepared for us.”

By the time Doyun is set up in a high chair with a bib on, you’ve finished cooking. Dinner for Doyun is simple, consisting of steamed vegetables, tofu, rolled omelette, rice, and a bit of fruit. You’ve also used the same ingredients plus a few additions to make kimchi stew for you and Chan.

Chan is distracted the whole meal, prioritising feeding Doyun and wiping his face clean in between bites over eating his own food. It's a futile effort since Doyun seems more interested in smearing the food around rather than getting it into his mouth.

When you're finished with your food, you switch spots with Chan and coax Doyun into eating the last few bites he has left while Chan scarfs down his own meal. 

After dinner, you carry Doyun into the bathroom and start filling the bathtub with a shallow layer of warm water. He watches with wide eyes as you add bubble bath that changes the colour of the water to a deep blue and creates a thick cover of bubbles. After washing the dishes and wiping down the kitchen, Chan joins the both of you just as you’re rinsing suds out of Doyun’s hair.

Cleaned and dressed in a fuzzy onesie with tiny bear ears poking out from the hood, Doyun struggles to stay awake for the rest of the evening. It’s obvious that he’s tired, he’s starting to get cranky and his blinks get longer and longer, but he stubbornly continues to play. After his third time nodding off while slotting plastic shapes into a cube, Chan picks him up and walks him around the room, rocking him slightly while humming a melody that you can’t recognize.

When your sister comes to pick up Doyun, he's sprawled out on Chan’s chest, deeply asleep. A line of drool drops from his open mouth to form a wet spot on Chan’s shirt, but Chan doesn’t seem to mind, staring at Doyun with stars in his eyes.

That night, right when you're about to fall asleep, Chan speaks up. His arms are wrapped around you and you can feel his breath against the back of your neck. 

“I think,” he says quietly. “I think I want kids. Not now, I still have the same concerns as before, but in the future? I want it.”

“You did so well with Doyunnie, it looked so natural,” you agree. “I think you would be a great dad.”

“Only if you’re there by my side,” he corrects.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

[edgeray]

hi, ray 💟

remember that siren!arle and pirate!reader idea? consider:

siren!arlecchino who preys on pirates lost at sea (not by coincidence, i fear). she doesn't enjoy them much, especially the men. then, she spots you. she's never seen such a pretty little pirate before! she must have you.

of course, she's fortunate enough that you're one of the ones who sits alone on the deck at night, foolishly stargazing while everyone else is tucked away in their beds.

she sings to you, calling you to her, trying to reel you in, only to find it isn't working. you seem to hear her, looking for the singer of the melody, but you're not quite entranced.

she keeps trying, only to eventually be spotted by you. she's... a little embarrassed, to say the least.

whatever else happens is up to you, or feel free to totally change the plot! ♡

The Sea's Calling

(Arlecchino x Fem! Reader)

A/N - Hi aris!!! Ty for the ask, and for being my first! <333 love you. I hope you like this one. Since it's my first ask, I'm a bit nervous. Is this semi-One Piece-inspired? Perchance. Wasn't sure if you wanted fem! or gn! reader, but considering your writing I chose fem! reader, though I tried to not reference reader as female as much as possible. I kind of didn't know what to do after they met, so I threw in some not so good dialogue :(. It is also 02:00 as I am writing this, and I'm supposed to wake up at 06:00. Quality dropped at the end because I am tired. This was not a good idea doing this tonight but whatever. Content warnings / info - implied fem! reader, monster x human, arle is ooc because she's a siren, 1.7k words 

You had always thought that the sea was calling out for you; it's been your dream since you were young–to explore the vast ocean that this world had to offer, to be surrounded by nothing but the comforting waves, to be free. Being a pirate allowed you to fulfill your dreams. You went on all the adventures you wanted, stole whatever the hell you wanted, and all while doing that with your crew, who cherished each other, you included, like no other. Yes, you've longed for the ocean, and you'd like to think that the ocean was always trying to draw you in. 

Still, when you meant that the sea was calling out for you, you meant in a figurative sense. Not in a literal sense. Though if this was the kind of sign the ocean was giving you, you might as well jump the ship. 

—

Pretty gems came far and few in Arlecchino's eyes. Humans, lost at sea and lured in by her voice, were easy meals. She was rarely picky with her meals, sustenance was sustenance, she supposes, but still she finds it disappointing the lack of humans that were easy on her eyes. The seas were infested with brutish and crude-looking humans, particularly among the males. It is a shame that it's been a good while since she's seen a human female, with their fair bodies and their soft features– a suitable mate for her. 

She wanders the sea again, not especially hungry, but if she finds a meal or two, she wouldn't have to find another for a few more days. Traveling through the waters, sniffing for the faint and familiar scent of human musk, she finds a ship soon, to her mild delight. She approaches the ship, it being smaller than most ships that wander this part of the ocean, but no matter. She is sure that she'd be able to snag at least one human tonight–there is bound to be one that is awake? 

Peeking her head above the water, she observes the deck of the ship for any humans yet to have slumbered. Humans in slumber were always hard to lure in, but possible. Her eyes gleam when she spots a lone figure on the surface of the deck. It seems like tonight's hunt would prove to be easy. Nearing closer, however, the smell that comes from this figure is distinct to the usual humans she encounters. Though still reeking of the musk that all humans contain, the human contains a refreshing fauna smell and lacks the liquor aroma that most males contain. Curious, she nears the ship more until she can observe the distinct features of the human that sits so carelessly on the edge of their ship.

Her cold heart thumps like never before when she finally spots you, and oh, how she pauses in utter awe. A human whose beauty far surpasses that of any ivory pearl or glittering gold. Has there ever been a human more majestic than you? She would dismiss any notion of a human achieving flawlessness, but yet here you are, shredding her previous foolish thoughts. How do you attain such, so effortlessly? Oh, how fortunate for her to have decided to roam the sea tonight, for the ocean to have given her the most perfect mate in waiting. She must have you, no human male could ever treasure you like she can. She would give you the sea, if it made you hers. 

And so she sings, her sweet song carrying into your ears like a gracious invite. She hopes for you to accept.  

— 

The stars are beautiful, you often think to yourself. It is another reason why you love being out in the sea. Directly underneath the stars, sometimes you feel that you're close enough to reach out and touch them. Little dancing specks of lights were all they were to you, and yet you were entranced each time. The stars and constellations have become one of your closest companions, always twinkling down on you regardless if you were facing soothing waves or warring riptides. Like so many nights before, you find yourself perched on one of the railings of the ship, simply gazing up, observing the midnight canvas that spans above you. 

Is there something more beautiful than stars? 

You find your answer that night when you hear a voice, melodic and sweet sounding, sugarier than any honey-coated treat. It piques you, as you know from the sound's direction it does not come from inside your ship, but beyond–somewhere in the waters. You'd imagine it's what people would describe as a voice from the heavens, because a light song fills the air, nearly entrancing you, however you're too busy searching the source of the sound for the intended effect to be inflicted on you. Instead of impelling your body to go overboard, you whip your head around, still seeking for the singer. 

You've heard of instances like these. You've heard of the warnings: if you hear a beautiful song coming from the waters, you cover your ears and ignore it as much as possible. Though, many say that once you hear them, it is much too late for you. The fates of those who had fell for those voices, you know of them too well, and you intend not to share the same fate. You've heard that among those that were able to escape a siren's call, they're easily dissuaded after one song. All you had to do was to ignore the voice until the song's end. 

The song ends soon after. You pay no mind as silence fills the void, just the sound of waves and the whistles of the wind as your company. But then, another song, the same one. After the second repeat, it starts again, and after that, another.

Were sirens this persistent? You've never heard of one this stubborn. But it is thanks to these songs that you're finally able to pinpoint the origins, and your eyes catch the slight glint of scales in the moonlight, and then the head of ivory hair. A pale face peaks from the water's currents, along with the tip of something–a tail, you discern. You gasp slightly once crimson-pupils land on yours, but then the head sinks down, like a shy animal having been caught. 

Adorable. Was this an unfitting description of what was most likely a siren? You disregarded that very thought, instead, opting to wondering why this siren wanted your attention so much. After all, you should give her the respect of your acknowledgement of her existence after four songs. 

Perhaps you were an idiot. Perhaps you were just heading straight to a gruesome death. But had those things stopped you previously, you would have never been out here, never would have been a pirate. Foolish curiosity may be the death of you, but not tonight. And so, like a pirate in search of their treasure, you take to the seas; in this case, literally into the sea. You let yourself lean backwards on the railing, arms outstretched by your side as you freefall into the sea. 

Surely, if the siren wanted you so badly, then she would save you, wouldn't she? 

The icy waters greet your form, and you shiver. Your breath is stolen away, and it is only you start sinking that you start to question your choice. You stare up, with only the moonlight reflecting off the water, your source of life and you instinctively reach out towards it. Your eyes burn from the brine, so you close your eyes, trying to combat the swallowing waves as you futilely flail your arms. 

Something moves in the water, and before you know it, a weight presses against your chest, something distinctly cold and what you imagine scales to feel like, and something else slides underneath your arms, the texture much like human skin. You feel your body begin to rise, until the sudden rush of oxygen barrages at you, and you greedily inhale the air with heaving breaths, while coughing out the sea water from your throat. Once you're done hacking up your lungs, you crack open an eye, greeted with the same gorgeous face you saw earlier. 

“You're beautiful…” The both of you say at the same time, and you feel your ears burn from the compliment. Her voice, deep and resounding, rings through your ears. Meanwhile, her expression visibly brightens, akin to the stars you adore so much. 

“Y-you won't eat me, right?” You ask hesitantly, and to your relief, she shakes her head no. She pulls you closer, before nuzzling her face into the crook of your neck. The arms wrapped around your figure tightens, and so does the tail around your legs. 

“No. Want to be my mate.” She says bluntly, and you feel sharp fangs prick your skin. You gasp, and she pulls her mouth away, deciding to lick your neck as a quick apology. 

“Why me?” 

“Pretty human. But stupid.” 

“Hey!” You exclaim out of feigned annoyance, but then she purrs into your neck, the noise vibrating through your body. Sirens purr? That is adorable. “What does being a mate mean?”

“You are with me, forever. I feed you, protect you, love you, always. Mine, forever.”

A tempting offer, truly, especially with the way her clawed hands grip your sides so tenderly and the way she looks at you like you are her sun.

“But what about my companions?”

“You do not need them.” 

“I do,” you assert, and her face falls. It's like being stabbed in the heart, seeing her expression like that. You raise both of your hands and cup her face. 

“I want you,” she says, with as much of a whine as a siren can possibly make. It is cute, a mix between a cry and a groan. 

“I need them too.” 

“I am not enough?” 

“I want to be free. I don't want to stay in one place.” 

“Then I will follow,” the siren asserts, her red pupils ablaze with determination. It is as simple as that, apparently. “Can I?” 

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” you affirm with a nod. “Don't eat them either. Then I'll be yours.” 

The siren nods, purring again. “My pretty human. Mine?”

You smile. “Yours.” 

Salty lips are brought against yours and you've never been more elated–here is the freest you've ever felt. 

[pit-and-the-pen]

I’ll Crawl Home to Her- Prologue

A/N: Prologue for a reader x Azriel fic I've started writing. The events from under the mountain are told from the readers' perspective. There is some dialogue from the actual book so all of that, and the characters of course, belong to Sarah J. Maas.

Quick Flip to Azriel's POV somewhere in the middle because I wanted to.

Warnings: Cannon Typical Violence.

Word Count: ~4k

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for this series! I'm already working on the next part and have the rest of the series planned out!

Forty nine years. Forty nine years away from my court, from my friends. The only thing that has let me keep a semblance of my sanity was that I was here with my brother. Rhys. As selfish as it was, knowing he was here helped me from going out of my gods damned mind. 

I laid in the room I had been assigned, bandages wrapped around my chest covering the latest punishment from Amarantha for my backtalk. She had made some vile comment about Rhys and when apparently threatening to rip her tongue out and nail it to the wall had not been the right thing to say to her. Wincing as I rolled over onto my side, I would do it over again just to know that I got under her skin. There were very few ways to have any semblance of fun here and antagonizing that bitch, much to Rhys horror, was worth every cut and bruise I had received. 

A knock on my door interrupted my thoughts. All I could do was weakly call out for them to come in, anyone that bothered to knock was most likely safe. I pushed myself up into a sitting position and was met with Rhys’ violet eyes staring at me. 

“I thought we talked about this.” He all but growled at me. I shrugged, biting down the pain that flashed through me. 

“You should see the other guy.” Trying and failing at keeping the shake out of my voice. That earned me his signature glare. 

“Try that again when you can sit up on your own.” He sighed, walking over to the edge of my bed. He put his head in his hands. “You can’t keep doing this. She’s going to kill you one day over some stupid comment.” I had never heard him this scared before. Guilt sunk like a stone in my heart.

“I’ll try to be better. It’s just so hard when I hear her talk about you like that,” I sighed heavily, regretting it at the ache in my lungs. “She can do whatever she wants to me. But you. At least I can pretend I can protect you from her.” We both know that was the furthest from the truth. If she didn’t have the tendency to call for Rhys longer when I spoke back, I would fight back more. But I refuse to allow my brother to suffer more because I can’t control my temper.

We both just sat in silence. I could feel my back desperately fighting to heal itself. It would still be a few days until it healed fully with the bits of my powers Amarantha had stolen. But anything felt better at this point and it was enough for me to finally let my shoulders sag. 

Rhys stayed until I started to doze off. The adrenaline had finally worn off and I felt the tiredness in my bones. He pressed a small kiss to the top of my head as I curled up in the middle of the bed. I let my eyes flutter closed and drifted off to dreams of anywhere but where I was. 

✦✦✦

A gasp left my lips as the attor dumped the poor girl onto the floor before the dais. Still wearing a thin nightgown she must have fallen asleep in. 

“Bring him in.” Amarantha called wicked delight practically dancing around in the throne room. I felt the faint pressure of Rhys’ hand against my arm as they dragged Tamlin into the room kicking and screaming. As soon as I felt it the touch was gone. 

When he was situated beside the red head, she asked, “Is this her?” Tamlin froze as he surveyed the shaking figure in front of him. His shouts died in his throat and he didn’t respond to her question. At the lack of an answer she repeated the question to my brother. 

“Yes.” 

That was all it took for Amarantha to lash out her powers. My ears rang as the girl in front of us started to scream. Rhys’ whole body went tense besides me. The all too familiar feeling of his power pulsed around us and I didn’t even what to think about the torture she was being put through. Rhys’ powers in his own hands could be deadly but in hers they became something far worse. 

I tried to hold back the bile that raised in my throat. Tamlin didn’t so much as flinch, keeping that firm mask but there was something. Just a small tick in his right eye that hit me like a ton of bricks. Whoever this female was, this wasn’t the girl Rhys had seen in the spring court. Anger surged through me. Of course, a random human life wouldn’t be enough to get a reaction out of the High Lord. I wasn’t entirely sure how he would have reacted if it even was her. Maybe I was expecting just a glint of those claws, itching to sink them into the soft flesh of Amarantha, but he stood fae still. The rise and fall of his chest was the only indication he was anything more than a statue. 

The hours dragged on. If this went on any longer I knew I was going to puke, I already knew the moment I moved again it would happen. Slowly, the screams started to ebb and I knew Amarantha was reaching the end of whatever fun she was pulling from this. With the lack of reaction from Tamlin, I knew she was growing bored. I released a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding the moment the girl, Clare, had finally stopped screaming. My head was pounding at the tension in my shoulders. And I could feel the slow healing wounds in my back roaring in pain. 

“You’re all dismissed.” Amarantha called plainly. I didn’t need to be told twice. It took all my restraint to not run from the throne room. I felt Rhys walk behind me, stopping ahead of me as I paused behind a pillar. He didn’t look at me as I rose, just handing me a handkerchief as I went to wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. I muttered my small thanks as I took it from him. 

“Are you…” 

“Don’t even finish that sentence.” I groaned at him. I closed my eyes but quickly opened them when I realized that I could still see her sitting there on that dais, still smelling the coppery tang of her blood in the room. My stomach curled again but I swallowed the feeling down. 

“It’s over. Our one chance is gone.” Rhys said plainly. My eyes darted around at his bold words. It’s one thing to talk about this in private, in our minds where no one else could hear us. But in the halls, with everyone vying for the chance to earn Amarnatha’s favor. It was as good as a declaration of treason. He said nothing else as he started walking again and I was never so thankful to not hear my brother's voice 

✦✦✦

I had never felt horror like this in all my years under the mountain. My eyes grew to the size of saucers as I heard her speak those daming words, “I’ve come to claim Tamlin, High Lord of the Spring  Court.” 

My head snapped to Rhys, the horror frozen on his own face told me everything I needed to know. Panic surged through me. Selfishly not for the human in front of me but for my brother. She would not allow the action of lying to him to go unpunished. I reached out for his mind but he pushed me out so violently I almost gasped. 

My mind was racing so much that I missed most of the exchange that was happening in front of me. I caught bits and pieces but I couldn’t string together a coherent thought let alone try to follow along with Amarantha’s scheming. 

My heart was beating out of its chest as I caught up with the turn this conversation had taken. A riddle. You solve the riddle, and his curse will be broken. Instantaneously. I won’t even need to lift my finger and he’ll be free. 

I flinched when I heard her voice ring loud and clear in the room. “Give her a greeting worthy of my hall.” My hand went to hold back Rhys as we both heard the sickening crunch of bones echo in the silent room. 

✦✦✦

If I could have kissed Feyre on the mouth, I would have. As it was, I had to hold back the laughs that threatened to rack through my body as Amarantha stood stock- still in front of her. The bone Feyre had thrown at her feet sticking straight out of the ground. Pride racked through my chest because I knew if I was in her shoes I would have done the same thing. Except I wouldn’t have missed. Maybe if we managed to survive all of this, I would offer her training. I shook my head at the ridiculous thought. I knew that if she survived this, I would never see her again. I spoke into my brother's mind but he seemed far away when I risked a glance over to him. In perfect form, Feyre held Amarantha’s stare before she turned on her heel and walked out of the throne room. For the first time in a long time, I felt a kernel of hope. 

✦✦✦

Rhys had officially lost his damn mind. He must have. That was the only explanation for the sight currently in front of me. Feyre dressed in black glossimer, a dress that would have made me blush to wear. But it wasn’t the dress that held my attention, it was the swirling blue-black mark that now rested on her hand. A bargain. What had Rhys promised her in exchange for the position she was in currently. I started to walk over to my brother, having half a mind to pull him from the room by his ear and cursing him out for bringing her into this viper den before I saw her freeze in front of Tamlin. Much to credit, she didn’t let her chin dip once during Rhys’ and Amarantha’s exchange. I truly questioned both of their sanity before I heard Amarantha dismissing the two. I didn’t want to think how much this little stunt would cost Rhys in the long run. The pair slinked to the back of the room, everyone's eyes trailing over them. Watching to see what Rhys was up to. He handed her a goblet and after a few moments of what looked like a very heated discussion, Feyre downed the cup of faerie wine. 

Shit really hit the fan after her third glass. I watched the pink flood her cheeks and her eyes glass over. Rhys pulled her onto the dance floor and I decided I had enough. I walked out of the room. Refusing to watch her body move against my brothers. Realistically, I knew what state she had been in when she walked out of that last challenge. I knew what my brother had offered in return for her actions right now. And I knew from the way that the smirk didn’t reach his eyes that he was not enjoying himself at this moment. For whatever reason, he was protecting her from the consequences of healing her. 

Eventually, I heard the music from the night fading away and I knew that the party must be over. It would be another few hours before Rhys would slink into my room to lick his wounds. When he did show up, the berating words I had planned died in my throat. It could wait for later I decided as he sat down in the center of my bed. I never spoke first. I let him decompress as he needed to. Sometimes we would never say a single word and I was perfectly content to just let him sit in the room with me. I had long given up on reading books here. But he was sitting in my room, the sound of the crackling fire filling the quiet space. If  I closed my eyes hard enough, I could pretend we were both back in Velaris. The rest of our family loudly argued over some trivial joke. My mind wandered to what they were doing at this moment. 

✦✦✦ Azriel POV

Azriel still doesn’t know how he has lasted this long. Mor and Cassian sit with him, the silence that has lingered around the townhouse for the last 48 years sits even heavier today. Heavier because Mor had said Rhys’ name, had said your name. And he felt the hole in his chest stretch just a little further, ripping itself open again. He had long stopped trying to listen for the all too familiar voice in his head, a power you and your brother both shared. But he couldn’t help it as the pair next to him were talking once again about a plan to get the two of you back home. 

If he let himself think about it too much it was going to tear him apart. The terrified part of him that would spiral if he thought about how he might never get to hear your voice again. How he would never get to see Rhys smile. He longed for those stupid fights they would get into more than anything in the world right now. 

Azriel will never forgive himself for telling her where her brother was heading that day. What use was the spymaster when he couldn’t see that stoney determination on her face as she turned and walked away from the too?. He should have known from that one look what she was planning to do but he and Cas had both been called away later that day on separate missions. He didn’t even get to say goodbye to either of them. What hurt the most was the simple message he received later that day from Rhys. Don’t come after us, stay in Velaris. The reminder that if all of the inner circle left Velaris’ centuries-old protections would be lost was the only thing that kept any of them put. It didn’t stop the hope that there was a way out of this but as the years dragged on it was hard to think of new ways. 

As Azriel started to tune the now fighting pair around him out, he felt his shadows swirling around him. Letting the turmoil that was his mind show to his family. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Cassian placed a firm hand on his shoulder but knew better than to try to say any words of comfort, they had all been long spoken and neither of them believed them anymore. 

✦✦✦

Days passed, and every night Rhys would parade Feyre around the throne room for everyone to gawk at. And every night I would tuck away in the corner until I could sneak out early. 

The second challenge came and went. Feyre getting one step closer to breaking this curse. I kept the kernel of hope tight to my chest, refusing to truly accept it until it happened. Maybe not even then. I found myself dreaming more and more about life in Velaris once we got out from under the mountain. Hope wasn’t supposed to survive down here but in spite of myself, I trusted this human girl to be the thing to save all of us. It was an unfair burden to place on her shoulders. 

The night of the final task snuck up on all of us. Everyone was called to the throne room as usual but something was different. This was it. Feyre would either survive and it would all be over, or she would fail and it would be over anyways. Rhys and I had spent the night in silence, the only sound was me sobbing. I didn’t know whether it was out of fear or relief. 

Feyre was marched out, flanked on either side by attors. As if she would try to run now. 

“Two trials lie behind you,” Amarantha let her voice ring around the room. The room was so silent you could hear a pin drop. “And only one more awaits. I wonder if it will be worse to fail now- when you were so close.” I tried to steady my ragged breaths. I caught eyes with Rhys and saw my own horror reflected in those violet eyes. 

“I love you. No matter what she says about it, no matter if it’s only with my insignificant human heart. Even when they burn my body. I’ll love you.” And from her words, I knew she meant it. Somehow this brave, selfless girl managed to fall in love with Tamlin. The cruel words I once screamed at him flickered into my mind. The person who ever truly loves you will be the most miserable person to ever exist. I meant it but looking at Feyre, I know that could never extend to her. Not after all of this, not if she managed to pull this off. 

Tamlin didn’t respond to her declaration of love and I realized how angry I was for this girl. He couldn’t break that mask enough to say it back to her. She was looking death square in the face for him and he didn’t have the decency to say a word back. 

Movement in the corner of the room caught my eye and my eyes went wide as three faeries with bags covering their heads were marched in. My stomach lurched when I saw that ash dagger brought in behind them. She was going to have to kill them. A life for a life. When I looked back at Feyre, she looked truly horrified. Horrified at Amarantha’s reminder that they were all innocent. 

Slow as a fae, Feyre took a step on shaking legs in front of the first figure. I saw the tremor in her hand as she reached for the dagger. Her skin turned a ghostly white as the hood was ripped off of the male in front of her. I closed my eyes, turning my head away. I couldn’t watch, couldn’t listen to the pleas of the male in front of Feyre nor the members of his court as they now recognized him. I heard a loud sob from Feyre and the sickening crunch of something cracking through bone and I knew she had done it. Tears ran down my face. I had killed people before but doing it in this setting, for this reason. I could only imagine how much this would cost her. 

I couldn’t turn to look for the second death. I only muttered along with the desperate prayer I heard her whisper. Let me fear no evil. Let me feel no pain. Let me enter eternity. The most sacred prayer to our people. I fought the urge to reach out with what little of my power was left in my body to turn her pain off. To take her mind away from the death that was looming right in front of her but I couldn’t reach out. It was like my power was stuck in my body. Coward. It screamed at me when I reached for it again. When I heard the splatter of blood, I knew it was too late. One more. 

The words that were spoken by Feyre were enough for me to snap my eyes open. “Not…Not fair.” She choked out. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rhys blanche. I felt like my own air had been ripped from my lungs as she just stared at Tamlin. She paused over the ash dagger. Freezing. I could see the gears turning in her head as she tried to find any way out of this. The whole room seemed to be holding their breath as she stood silent and still. 

I heard Tamlin suck in a breath as Feyre went to reach for that last dagger. Her whispering “I love you” was enough to bring more tears to my eyes and I couldn’t find it in myself to look away as she plunged the ash weapon into the center of his chest. 

Tamlin cried out in pain and I heard the clatter of metal against the floor of the room. It was as if an earthquake cracked through the room. When I looked at the dagger, I saw the bent tip. A heart of stone. The words pulled themselves from some deep part of my mind. The final part of the curse that Amarantha wouldn’t have known about. Something even I had forgotten about until it was staring me in the face. Feyre must have figured it out.

“She won. Free them” I couldn’t stop the words as they tumbled out of my mouth. And my heart threatened to completely stop as she turned to face me.

“I’ll free them whenever I see fit.” 

Feyre seemed frozen to her spot when Amarantha turned back to her. You. I’m going to kill you. I didn’t stop the scream as I heard her bones crack. Time seemed to freeze around us as I was stuck, unable to look away and unable to move. I vaguely heard Rhys scream Feyre’s name over and over. Couldn’t process his movements as he went to collect the ash dagger and lunged at Amarantha himself. He went flying against the wall was what broke me from whatever had paralyzed me. I was over by his side before I even knew I was moving. I tensed my whole body, ready to protect Rhys with my life as she screeched at him, at Feyre. 

Feyre was dying. I could sense it in the air. Could feel her fading away. The world seemed to completely freeze as she whispered. Love. The answer to your riddle is love. Her final words before the sickening sound of her spine snapping filled the room. 

All hel broke loose in the throne room. The masks of spring court citizens fell to the ground and I felt my long- missing power flow back into my body. I stared down at my hands in disbelief. I could barely hear the cries of Amarantha as she pleaded for her life. I didn’t spare her another glance. She would be someone else's problem. I rushed over to the girls' side. Ignoring Lucien and the other High Lords that started to surround her. Each opened their palm to drop a small glittering substance onto Feyre. One by one, the high lords all repeated the action. Rhys placed a hand on my shoulder as he did the same. Tamlin was last. And we all held perfectly still as we stared down at the broken girl in front of us. When I looked up at Rhys the pain in his face was enough to make me start crying again. 

Feyre gasped as she sat up, blinking heavily. She looked down at her arms and I saw the realization crash over her face. High Fae. The points of her ears and slight shimmer of her skin would make it impossible to deny. That was all I needed to see. I pulled my brother into my arms and rushed us out of the room. I hugged my brother for the first time in as long as I could remember. I crushed him as tight as my arms would allow me. I sobbed as I realized what this meant for us. I reached out my powers. They practically purred as I was finally able to use them again. I reached into the minds of my family for the first time in almost fifty years. 

We’re coming home.

[lamoobsessions]

Ideal Date

Celebrity AU: Hazel Callahan x (fem)Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: no use of y/n, very breif mentions of sex, unwanted touch (just wrist grabbing), Hazel is kind of a loser.

A/N: Very loosely inspired by the song 'boyfrined,' by Dove Cameron. I say loosely because the song's essence isn't really there, you know what I mean? It's more of a idiots in love vibe, than anything. Anyway, this is my first Hazel fic, so I hoped I captured her character well 🙏

· ─────────── ·

The idea of a gala is a lot more exciting than the execution, or at least, that’s what Hazel was beginning to think. There isn’t much to do, aside form eat food, down a few drinks, and participate in some auction; which, come to think of it, she has no idea what this gala is fundraising. Whatever organziation sponsored the event, Hazel didn’t know it. She probably should, but she simply didn’t check the invite. The moment she heard you’d be here, there was no second thought about it, she was going. And at first she was excited. 

It’s an indoor event, held in some big extravagant ballroom with shiny marble floors and dazzling chandeliers. The food is terrific, the drinks are delicious, and the DJ must have rent to pay because they were playing all the right songs. It was all going so well.

 But then you showed up with him, James Watsky, your annoyingly handsom co-star in some new upcoming action movie -She didn’t know the details of it, once there were rumors of a scandalous sex scene in the film, she never botherd looking into it too much. All she knew was that you looked great in the trailers. Your hair pinned up high, your shorts cut low, your tank top dirty with grime, and your plush lips bloodied and busted, how could someone pull off a look like that so well? As many other celebrities have experienced, there was a rumor you sold your soul for the fame, and as much as Hazel believed those rumors were only made to take away the credit from a woman’s success, she was beginning to think maybe you did. But not for the fame, but for beauty. In her eyes, it was unreal, a celestial-like beauty. 

Not only were you beautiful, but you were a joy to be around. 

The first time Hazel had the privilege of working with you was when she helped co-write for an episode of a sitcom series you had a part in. It was during the first uptick of your career, so the producers finally let you direct an episode yourself. Having no experience in screenwriting, you were sent to Hazel for help. Together, the two of you made one of the most beloved episodes of the whole series. 

The second time Hazel had the privilege of working with you was just after the series finale, and the contract tying you down to the series was terminated. To her delight, you called her up that same day and asked if she wanted to produce a movie with you -On the one condition that she starred in it with you. She agreed, though hesitantly at first. Hazel didn’t know if she’d like the spotlight. Sitting behind the scenes, re-writing dialogue, and tweaking a few storylines was more her pace. At least, that’s what she thought at first, til you came along and showed her her full potential. You were one of the few people in Hazel’s life to actually believe in her work. 

And that movie changed everything. 

She started booking more writing gigs, more acting gigs, more interviews. At first it was overwhelming, but it grew on her, and with that grew your friendship. The public loved it, the press loved it, casting crews loved it. It was a win-win all around, but Hazel wanted more. And just as she began to realize that, this whole action movie came up and took away most of your time. 

The two of you have rarely talked since, only on rare occasions like these -immense, pretentious, and excessive events that drained her social battery the second she walked through the door. 

But you were here, and it’s been three years since you’ve started that movie (production was a bitch). Now, it felt as if you were out of reach, like she was back at square one, watching the celebrity she admired most as a mere fan.

Hazel didn’t think it would hurt so much seeing you here. She missed you more than she thought she did. You in your long, satin dress that hugged your waist so well. You wearing that annoyingly infectious smile that never seemed to die down. You with your graciously pinned up hair that she was sure would be the softest thing she could ever touch.  

And still, even with your classic beauty and genial personality, you showed up with him. The douches of all douches. It hurt her to see you with him. It ached her to see you sat with your arm linked with his, as you sipped your cocktail with a smile.

Actually, it was beginning to annoy her. Why him? You could do so much better than him. Why did it have to him, of all people? What did he offer? What did he have that she didn’t? She could be a better gentleman than him, Hazel was sure of that. 

No, she wasn’t sad anymore, she was angry. Whether it be at herself for not making a move sooner, or at him from stealing you from her, or at you for being with someone like him. It didn’t matter who exactly she was mad at, all that mattered was that she was pissed. Even more pissed when she noticed your date grabbing your wrist. 

You and him were at one of the formal tables, your chairs faceing the dance floor, as he desperately tried to pull you off your seat, presumably for a dance. You seemed steadfast in your decision to stay put. But still, he didn’t relent, he tugged and pulled, as his face grew warmer with frustration. You were just as stubborn, shaking your head and trying to keep your cool with an unsteadily calm expression. Finally, the man gave in, throwing his hands up in frustration, he stormed off. 

At first, Hazel thought he was running off to get a drink, but no, he was leaving. Full-on exiting the gala. In a matter of seconds he brushed past Hazel’s shoulder, and walked out the door. All of it because you wouldn’t dance with him.

Averting her attention back to you, you seemed almost unfazed. Your eyes glued to your phone as you pressed rapidly against the screen. Okay, maybe you weren’t unfazed, you looked just as pissed as Hazel felt moments ago. 

She wasn’t sure what to do. Should she approach you? Is it even her place to try to comfort you? The two of you weren’t even that kind of close anymore, would you find it too up-front? 

You were upset, that much was obvious, and Hazel wanted to fix that, fix your friendship. It didn’t matter if it would escalates into more, she just wanted her best friend back. 

It took two shots of tequila to do it, but she finally stepped in your direction and made her way toward your table. You were still typing away at your phone, too much in a world of your own to notice Hazel right in front of you. 

“Rough night?” she asked, immdeianlty pulling in your attention.

“Oh my god, Hazel,” your expression switched, a smile now beaming from your lips. It made her want to melt on the spot. “It’s so good to see you. I was hoping you’d be here.”

“Yeah?”

You hum, nodding happily, as you pat the seat next to you, to which Hazel obliged. “I’m sorry we haven’t talked much. I’ve been meaning to reach out, but you know… work stuff.”

“It’s okay. I mean, I haven’t been reaching out much either, so…”

“Well, let’s not let it happen again, yeah? You’re like… one of the very few people in this industry I actually like.”

Hazel bites back a smile, hoping to prevent it from growing any bigger. It was becoming more and more evident as each moment passed, none of the feelings she felt for you before have diminished. Even after all this time, everything still felt so fresh. She still loved you.

She just had no idea where she wanted this to go. It’s been three years since your friendship changed, yet she still felt the same way. She still felt those same flutters in her stomach. 

“I’m… really glad you’re here.” Your words sound much more soft, much more fervent than your previously chipper tone. “Honeslty, you’re the only reason I came.”

Hazel felt stunned for a moment. She didn’t want to read too much into your implications, it’s been a while since you two have gotten to talk one-on-one. But to hear your soft, sincere tone again was a lost treasure Hazel hadn’t known she lost. 

“I thought your date would be the reason you came.” she teases.

You huff a laugh, leaning into your seat. “No, he’s- uh… definitely not my ideal date.”

“Who’s your ideal date then?” Hazel didn’t know what she wanted in an answer. She didn’t know what to expect either. 

You turn to her with a shy grin plastered on your lips, one that Hazel couldn’t quite read. “It’s a secret.” 

“Really?”

“Mhm,” you hum smugly. 

“If I guess right, will you tell me?”

“You’re not going to guess.”

“What if I do?”

“You’re not going to,”

“But what if?”

You narrow your eyes, brushing them over her expression, as if trying to determine something. You were so close, if Hazel just leaned in just a little, she could close the space between you two. It was tempting, very tempting. 

“Fine,” You resort, leaning back into your chair. “If you guess right, I’ll tell you.”

Hazel’s smile grows steadily, though she couldn’t be more nervous. Truthfully, she didn’t want to know your ideal date, because she knew it wouldn’t be her. But if this little game you two were playing would re-kindle your lost friendship, she’d do it. She’d do it all night if that’s what it took. 

Her eyes dart around the room, glancing over all the potential competitors. With her distraction, she hadn’t noticed your eyes glued to her, watching as she inspects the party.  

“Christopher,” She guesses.

“Which one? There are like fifty of them here.”

“Christopher Chapesky,”

“Nope,”

“Christopher Paulmer,”

“Nope,” 

“Christopher Liam.”

“Nope.”

“Is it any of the Chris's?”

“That’s cheating, you’ll elimanate half the party suggesting that name.”

“So, it isn’t any of them?”

You roll your eyes playfully, “No, you’re way off base.”

“So, you’re not into Chris’s. Got it.”

“I’m just not into egomaniacs.”

Hazel falls into the seat with a flail of her arms. “What? But that’s like, the whole party.”

You shrug, “There are a few gems.”

Finally, Hazel looks to you. Her deadpan expression immediately flips upon finding your gaze already on her. That same gentle, hazy expression, staring back at her, you felt so easy to subdue to. If she stared at you too long, she’d surely get lost. Time would become irrelevant, the world would stop spinning, nothing around her would be able to pull her back out. It’s a dangerous game she has herself in. Afraid to get too drawn in, she seeks refuge looking back to the crowd. 

“Do I at least know them?” She questions. 

A silence fills your end, there is no response.

Hazel, calls your name, to find you staring down at your hands, twisting and turning your rings nervously. Til, you snap out of your daze, meeting her questioning stare. “Sorry?”

“Do I know them?”

“Oh… yeah.” you nod. “You know them, pretty well actually.”

Hazel didn’t know many people at this gala. The people she did know, she only knew in passing. So, who else was here that she knew ‘pretty well’? 

“Okay…” Hazel sighs, wanting to give up. The game was turning into torment, no person she named would make her feel better. She wanted it to be her. 

“I told you, you’re not going to guess.”

“Yeah,” Hazel huffs, crossing her arms. “I’m beginning to think you’re right.”

“Always am,” You joke, nudging her side. 

She puts her tongue to her cheek, shaking her head disapprovingly. 

She didn’t know, but that look on her drove you crazy. Hazel never caught your longing glances, you were strategic with them -well, ususally. There were rare occasion where you were caught, but she never questioned them. 

Though, there’s something about her tonight. Her pristine fitting suit, her perfectly shaped hair, her sly, chasing tone. Mentally, you’ve mapped all her features. You admired them all the way from the moles on the back of her neck, to the small curvature in her nose. She was impossible not to stare at.

Your phone vibrated on the table, pulling you out of your prolonged glance. It was your manager. You exhale your disappointment. Nodding to Hazel to excuse you, as you accept the call. 

“Hey,” You greet with an even tone. 

Hazel saw the contact name, but she didn’t need to know it was your manager to sense your immediate discomfort. 

“He was being an ass and I wouldn’t take it, so he left.” You remark, as your leg began to tap up and down nervously by your chair. “I wasn’t going to tolerate it. He can’t just… I know, I’m sorry… well he shouldn’t have… no, I know… I know…”

She tried to listen to what your manager could be saying, but over all the music and the chattering commotion, it was near impossible. Whatever it was, she knew it had something to do with that James Watsky guy you were seeing. Why your manager cared, she didn’t know. 

“Look, i’m still at the gala, so I can’t really talk about it right now… well, he’s the one that left, I didn’t tell him to leave…I couldn’t have made him stay if I tried. It would’ve only made things worse…fine, that’s fine. Just…call me later, then… Okay, bye.”

You end the call, leaning your head back over the seat with a groan. 

“Everything okay?” Hazel asked. 

“Yeah, sorry about that.” You apologizde, grabbing your drink off the table to take a few swigs. “I hired a new manager recently, and he’s… kind of the worst honestly.”

“Why don’t you drop him?”

“I can’t. Signed a contract, I’m stuck with him til the end of the year.” 

“Damn, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” You say, a smile retuning to your lips. “He’ll probably drop me anyways, which isn’t a bad thing, cause that’s the only way I’ll probably get out this mess soon.”

Hazel could didn’t want to pry, knowing you probably didn’t want to talk about it. Not here, not now. You were at a gala after all, weren’t these things supposed to be fun? 

An idea popped into her head, one that could get your manager to drop you in an instant. She told herself it was solely for you, that there were no selfish intentions behind it. Though, she wasn’t fooling herself one bit. 

“Do you wanna dance?”

“What?” you asked with a smile. You heard her perfectly clear, but, admittedly, you wanted to hear her say it again. 

“Do you wanna dance?”

Suppressing an embarrassingly wide grin, you bit down your lips and nod. 

Hazel stands and holds out a hand, her sliver rings gleaming under the chandelier lights. In that moment, you really do wonder if looks can kill. 

Her hand is cold to the touch, as she guides you through the main floor. In your eyes, she couldn’t seem less nonchalant about it, but in reality, Hazel’s heart pounded in her ears. She never danced with anyone before, not in the way everyone else was dancing with their partners. The last time she checked the dance floor, the moves were loose, uncoordinated. No one danced with any sort of plan, they just moved. But now, step after step, they swayed with elegance in their every move. Slow, suave music carrying their motions. 

Hazel placed her hands on your waist, simultaneously steadying her tremble. Your hands met her shoulders, and finally, you could see through her calm facade.  

“You never slow dance before?” You ask with a subtle simper.

“No,” she laughs breathily. 

“that’s okay, I’ll lead.” You gently place your hand on hers, lifting it from your waist and interlocking your fingers. Hazel watches you intently, her eyes trailing from your hands, to your waist, to your lips, til finally, she meets your careful gaze. 

You begin to sway your hips, hoping to initiate some movement. Though, Hazel was enamored, nervous and stiff beyond repair. Her feet felt rooted to the floor, she hesitated before even thinking to move. Yet, with the gentle music and your attentive touch, she began to settle her stiff form, and follow your lead. With each slow step, left to right, front to back, you fall into form. 

Hazel and you have always walked a thin line between intimacy and amity. At times, it felt restraining, like you were stepping on egg shells around each other. But now, it felt like balancing on a tight rope, teetering with hitched breathes, as you sway side to side. 

There were moments you wanted to push her away, as if simply being around her felt like too much. But, in that same sense, you wanted to pull her closer. You wanted to pull her close and never let go. 

And Hazel couldn’t keep her eyes off you. You were intoxicating, especially in that dress. It made her want to inhale your very essence, like it was her oxygen. Bewitched, enthralled, fascinated, charmed, you name it. Hazel was all of the above. 

Moments pass, and not a single word has been uttered. There was a silent understanding that if anything was spoken, it would break the threshold. If this was intimate or platonic, that very concept would be revealed the moment either of you decided to speak. So, neither of you did. Instead, the both of you reveled in this small bubble of time, wishing it would never burst. 

Slowly, as the dance progressed, the two of you drifted closer. You found Hazel’s chest pressed to yours, and your chin tucked under her shoulder. In the back of your mind, you can see the nosey rumors, the catchy headlines, the snarky articles. Surely, your manager would drop you after this. But, in a freeing sort of way, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. None of that mattered, not when Hazel was finally back in your life. 

The past three years have been hell, though nothing in those recent years could top being with her. To be in her arms again felt liberating. Even now, you felt the same giddiness you felt the day you met her. It’s like you jumped right back to where you were before with eachother. Nothing had changed, not even the intense surge of adrenaline you got around her. That never left. 

“You know it was only a PR thing, right?” you say, feeling the sudden urge to inform her.

Hazel pulls back, her eyes looking down at you. “What?”

“James, he wasn’t a real date.”

“Oh,” the weight that had been sitting on Hazel’s shoulders since she saw you with him,  finally lifted.”Right, yeah, I knew that.”

She did not in fact know that.  

“I would never go out with someone like him,” you admit, hopelessly attempting to drop all the hints you could. “I mean, I would prefer not going out with men in the first place, so…”

Very briefly, her eys dart to your lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” You breath. Whenever she said stuff like that it made you feel like a giddy schoolgirl with a stupid crush. It was much more than that of course, but she made your stomach flip all the same. 

“So, your ideal date is a woman?”

“Precisely.”

“How long were you going to let me list off half the men in this room?” she laughs. 

“Well, I was pretty amused by it, so… forever maybe?”

She playfully rolls her eyes, “You’re the worst.”

“Aw, you love me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” She dismisses. 

You don’t know when it happened, but Hazel had taken the lead, and suddenly, you were following her steps on the dance floor. 

“You really want to know who my Ideal date is?”

“I don’t know,” Hazel sighs, her demeanor suddenly switching. The idea of you wanting someone else devastated her. She felt nervous all over again. “Do I?”

“I think you do,” your voice is barely over a whisper, but Hazel still heard your words clearly, and that lifted her confidence just a little. “She’s sweet…charming…funny,” You list each factor, hoping your voice didn’t tremble as much as your hands did. “She has short, brown hair, soft blue eyes, a nice smile. She’s an okay dancer, I guess. But you know, she didn’t have the best teacher…”

The rest of the words get caught in the back of your throat, as Hazel’s hand untangles from yours, and meets your jaw instead. She had heard enough by then, and with her enraptured stare boring into yours, the gap between you two closed and your lips locked. A fit of sparks burst in your chest, as Hazel’s one hand on your waist tightens its grip, further deepening the kiss. It’s slow, soft, and gentle with each tug of her lips. 

You’re positive no durg or substance could ever achieve a high equivalent this one. Her mere touch made you feel impossibly lighter. 

“You’re my ideal date too, by the way.” She utters against your lips. 

“Good,” A light laughter escapes you, before you pulled her in once more. 

Her lips curved upward, as both her hands travel from your neck to you hair, tangling her fingers in the loose strands. She wasn’t sure where her body started and where yours ended. It felt as if you had consumed her whole, that the two of you are now of one being. She had been waiting for this moment for so long, never had she thought you would feel so good. 

She couldn’t believe she had at one point regretted coming here. She almost went home. But, god was she glad she didn’t, cause you were here, in her arms, kissing her. Hazel had changed her mind, maybe these gala things weren’t so bad. 

[thedrarrylibrarian]

When I first started Happy Hour, @crazybutgood made me the cutest origami mug that resembles the foamy butterbeer in my Happy Hour image. I had been so nervous to try something new and write recs instead of just do lists and seeing that someone had enjoyed my rec enough to sit and fold paper into art was really touching to me. Since then, our whole fandom has been privileged to enjoy this unique and creative art that @crazybutgood has contributed. It's a joy to invite her to Happy Hour to give her own rec.

Thank you to @thedrarrylibrarian for this opportunity and for thinking of me!

The fic I’d like to rec is A Christmas Miracle by @sleepstxtic (E, 39k)

Draco is a world-renowned Magi-Diagnostician and Harry is a Cursebreaking Healer, both working in St. Mungo's. They're not- quite-friends, not-quite-lovers, who argue at work and have sex on the weekends. And they're both fine with it, thank you very much. But when a mysterious attack in the hospital leaves Draco trapped in a coma, Harry must do all he can to save him. All the while, an inexplicable, deadly, children's illness is spreading through wizarding London. Oh, and there's some Time Magic thrown into the mix.

Or

A Christmas Carol with a Drarry twist.

Though this 25 Days of Drarry fic is set during Christmas, it’s a perfect read for any season. @sleepstxtic (Kat) uses her own wonderful take on A Christmas Carol to weave together a gripping medical thriller with Draco racing against time to save Teddy, after himself going on a journey of self-reflection as he travels through time with his Ghosts of Christmas. The scenes Kat writes for the time-travel are as emotional and gripping as the suspenseful case in the present, as Draco, moved by his eye-opening experience, navigates his duty – and expressing his feelings for Harry. The characters’ (including great OCs) dynamics, personalities – especially Draco’s growth – and dialogues are deliberate, on point, and a delight to read. Plus, Kat gives an especially wonderful snark and demeanour to Draco that are not only reminiscent of her inspiration of House M.D., but is also uniquely him. Of course, Harry too has his own sassy moments thrown in with his softness towards Draco.

Why I especially rec this fic (apart from Kat's brilliant writing that I always love) is that by December 2023, I had been on-and-off and down about a lot of things, including fandom. Though I wasn't sure where I stood then, one thing I knew was that I could always count on Kat’s amazing stories cheering me up. This one came at a time when I appreciated anything to rely on as an escape and a treat, and adding it to my list of subscriptions to daily updating fics last winter was a joy. The anticipation and thrill of following a daily WIP is something else; I eagerly read as the story unfolded each day, especially mulling over what might happen next after each cliffhanger, which Kat is infuriatingly good at. Her story is a wonderful unique blend of concepts and feelings of despair, fear, hope, and love, gelling into a plot that'll definitely have you hooked. Whether you choose to savour a chapter a day in your free time, or treat yourself to a late-night binge, I hope you enjoy unravelling the mysteries of the puzzling illness, what happened to Draco, and his and Harry’s future.

❤️ As always, if you find a fic you enjoy, please leave the author a kudos or a comment! ❤️

[outlanderanatomy]

2024 SiWC Panel with Diana Gabaldon

Greetings Outlander fans! My, I have missed you all… 🤗

This weekend I find myself in beautiful Surrey, British Columbia,  Canada, attending the Surrey International Writers’ Conference, more commonly known as SiWC!

I drove from Oregon to Canada lastThursday. It was a beautiful day but the  normally 5.5 hr drive turned into nearly 7 hours due to two collisions in Washington state.  Yes, it was an inconvenience for those on the freeway, but I was grateful to arrive safely and I hope those involved in the crashes are OK.

Thus far, I have attended several events featuring Diana – she is one busy lass! All were delightful and I will share them with you, but not in chronological order mostly due to the technical issues of posting via  iPad. 😉

Today’s event was titled “Compelling Expositions,” a panel featuring Diana Gabaldon, Michael Slade, Robyn Harding, and Darren Groth (not shown).  K. C. Dyer moderated (also not shown).

Diana looked stunning, layered with in a deep red shawl because the room was freezing! 🥶

Many fruitful topics were covered by the panel. Here are some highlights including Diana’s responses:

Question:  Which is your fav scene from your writings? Diana chose the scene from “Outlander” book wherein Jamie rescues Claire from Black Jack Randall’s clutches. They shelter at a tavern –  Jamie tells Claire he is not ready for bed and proceeds to whip her with his sword belt. This set up a major clash between the two characters because each POV was justified from their perspective. Claire was trying to find a way back to Frank but Jamie knew her actions put all of their lives  in danger. I must confess, this choice surprised me. I suppose because Diana has written so many splendid scenes. How would one even choose? 🤔

This is wee bit of the excerpt from the scene (pp. 249-250 “Outlander” Kindle version) that is Diana’s fav!

“Come to bed, Jamie. What are you waiting for?”

He came to stand by the bed, swinging the belt gently back and forth.

“Well, lass, I’m afraid we’ve a matter still to settle between us before we sleep tonight.” I felt a sudden stab of apprehension.

“What is it?” He didn’t answer at once. Deliberately not sitting down on the bed by me, he pulled up a stool and sat facing me instead.… 😯

Question: How do you deal with pacing? Diana responded that pacing depends on context. For example, if there is an emergency then the writer wants to keep sentences short and terse. Pacing allows the author to create tension between two elements. A question is raised and then answered to move the story forward. (Psst…. She didn’t mention that sometimes the answers to questions she raises don’t get resolved until two books and ten years later!) 😂

Question: How do you deal with slang or dialect? Diana feels dialogue is the most important way to define a character.  An author using another language (e.g. Gaelic) needs to educate themself in the language. She watched films with Scottish characters to hear their spoken English. At conferences, if she heard anyone speaking with a Scottish accent, she invited them for coffee and listened to them speak. Diana also recommended reading books written by someone who speaks the language. She read several Scottish authors to help her get a feel for syntax, cadence, etc. Frankly, her devotion to her craft is a splendid example to all aspiring authors. 🥰

Question: Do you plan out a chapter or scene ahead of time? Diana does not. We already know she doesn’t write in a straight line. She also does not tell her characters what to say or do. She waits patiently for them to speak to her.  This being my fourth SiWC, I can tell you hers is a unique approach. Most writers I encounter plan out scenes, many even work from  a classic outline. She also doesn’t know ahead of time how a book will end. I guess the one exception here is that she seems to know how the “Outlander” books will end. Sob! 😢

Question: Who is your favorite author. James Clavell, she answered without a moment’s hesitation.  Clavell authored the marvelous, “Shogun,” for those who might not know. Although it has been some time since I read it, it is well worth doing so. 👍🏻

These were highlights of the panel for me.

The full panel discussion can be accessed on the blog.

I hope you enjoyed the panel. Need I say, my fav author for “Compelling Exposition” is none other than Diana Gabaldon? 🤩 🥇 🏆

The deeply grateful,

Outlander Anatomist

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Photo and audio credits: Outlander Anatomy

[ragnarlothcat]

Too big to fail? :)

I first started writing this fic like 3 years ago, I think because of a tumblr ask (although the terrible title is all me). The discussion was that there are many delightful Big Dick Obi-Wan fics but comparatively few Big Dick Anakin fics. This is largely because Ewan keeps taking his pants off so we all know what he looks like and Hayden is comparatively modest (to my eternal chagrin), but I still thought it'd be fun to mix things up a little.

So it's immediately post AOTC and Anakin is on his way back from Naboo where we all know he and Padmé were getting secret married. But Anakin returns in a foul mood and Obi-Wan eventually learns that the relationship fell apart, at least partially because Anakin and Padmé were in some way sexually incompatible. Obi-Wan becomes fixated on this and eventually shows Anakin a) that there are many different ways to have sex and b) that he doesn't need anyone other than his master to take care of him.

This bit is from the pre-smut beginning because everything else is still in the unattributed dialogue phase, so:

Obi-Wan saw the way his Padawan fell all over himself in Senator Amidala’s apartment and felt a frisson of unease, and not only because Anakin’s seduction tactics could best be described as the conversational equivalent of vomiting all over her shoes.

No, Obi-Wan recognized the interest in the senator’s gaze despite Anakin’s foolishness, and saw it magnified tenfold in the aftermath of Geonosis. In the tender way she soothed him, touched Anakin’s bicep right above the cauterized stump of his arm as though she had any right—

Obi-Wan reproached Yoda harshly for sending Anakin off with Padmé again so soon when the brewing attachment between the pair was plain for anyone to see. Yes, Anakin should be strong enough in his morals and his commitment to the Jedi to keep things with Senator Amidala strictly professional but his Padawan is just a boy and it’s no weakness that he still needs his master’s guidance.

Master Yoda, the unhelpful old gremlin, had only hummed and assured Obi-Wan that the Force would handle the situation.

Obi-Wan respects Yoda (gremlin comments notwithstanding) but in this instance he must disagree. Obi-Wan has spent the past ten years trying to teach, guide and temper his Padawan and knows that the infinite wisdom of the Force won’t be enough to keep Anakin’s recklessness under control. Anakin is simply too much for anyone to handle.

Anyone except Obi-Wan.

[antigonick]

just stumbled into one of your snippets and i'm OBSESSED with your writing style. it is so fluid and punchy and such a delight to read. if you ever feel like answering, how does your writing process works? what are your inspirations, style and tone-wise? and what themes do you enjoy exploring the most?

have a lovely day! 💌

Oh, that's... WELL. That's! The best compliment you could have sent me, thank you so much, I don't know what to say.. I'm actually trying to write a... I'm gonna call it a novel when it's just a mess of fragments right now, but—yeah. Fluid and punchy is exactly what I strive to achieve with the character's voice so this is so nice to hear. WHATEVER. THANK YOU.

Anyway! My writing process is really... steeped in rhythm, I guess? It starts with character writing, which leads me to character voice, which leads me to finding the right "mind" tempo, and from it cascades the headspace I need to write. In that, in the idea of perspective and voice influencing the story first, I'm indebted to Faulkner, to Marlon James, to Woolf's The Waves, to Shirley Jackson—to the perspectivism twists of horror and gothic writing as a general rule. Rereading her, I think Emily Brontë has shaped my metaphorical network very early on, and my handling of violence, especially in dialogue—though more recently, Tamsyn Muir made me tick about dialogue too. Malin Rydén is one of my utmost inspirations, not a little because the main character of my story was first created for his story, but also because he was my gateway into harder, grittier speculative fiction and digital literature, which both inspire me now for the story I'm trying to shape—horror out of the gothic castle and into the terrible anticipation of what comes next, with more politics, with ghosts and body horror twisted to technology. In terms of pure form, I'm extremely impacted by poetry—E. E. Cummings, Alice Oswald, Emily Dickinson—those who deconstruct syntax to wrangle it into breath. He didn't influence me because I discovered him too late, but I feel a kinship to some of the early stylistic experimentations of Frank Bidart too. Hanif Abdurraqib, whose first name I gave to one of my main characters too because his voice is incredible: it moves. Charles Olson's Projective Verse gestures at what I feel when I write, you know? "ONE PERCEPTION MUST IMMEDIATELY AND DIRECTLY LEAD TO A FURTHER PERCEPTION (…). Always one perception must must must MOVE, INSTANTER, ON ANOTHER! (…)" and then "Breath allows all the speech-force of language back in." Even silence can be your story-weapon.

I'm interested in... blowing apart labels, dichotomies, I think, making them harder to grapple with—right and wrong, love and hate, personal and universal; transgressions, fluidity; how language fails, how language betrays; the way human connection can both fuck you and raise you up, in its constant failure and constant trying, in the violence of intimacy, in the tension between hardness and vulnerability—more than anything, I'm interested in the way individual desires clash with collective needs or personal ideals, in the lies and justifications you can find for yourself, in what it means for you when you come to dismantle them (or refuse to). I love palimpsest, stories retold again and again, and/or I love difficult, ugly settings, speculative and dystopia topics, I want the story to be political in itself, even when it's not politicking; and I LOVE mindfucks: using our terribly faulty, terribly subjective perception / perspective / memory / dreams / FEARS / intellect to tell a story that is both fascinating because it's unique, and trapped by it. Can't escape yourself. What are you gonna do with yourself (against yourself, for yourself) now?

Formally, I try to use that in writing: trapping the reader in one voice that swallows them really, ideally that jostles them a little, that blurs the boundary between them and the character: extreme immersion. I like to try and convey emotion / impression and even action as it is experienced, rather than explaining it clearly. In that phenomenology has influenced me, I guess? Deleuze, Guattari, Merleau-Ponty, and poetry again, I guess. Archibald McLeish says "a poem should not mean / but be...", and that's what I try to do with the character I choose, and then I let them be, and they drive both the story and the writing that should echo it—form and content cycling each other like mirrors.

Goddamnit, that got so long. Anyway. THANK YOU for being interested, I'm really touched.

[hotpinkboots]

i was asking for salad fingers with an obsession of making the reader his bride :3c

~~~~~~~~~~

~𝕊𝕒𝕝𝕒𝕕 𝔽𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕣𝕤 x Reader Headcanons (Having An Obsession w/Making Reader His Bride)~

~~~~~~~~~~

This was an absolute DELIGHT to write, darling, I really loved picking apart his thought process in this one!

Summary: Salad Fingers is madly in love with you. You'll be his blushing bride. Any thoughts of doubt he has about it are casted aside by his own imagination- he'll even BECOME you to make it happen, if he must.

Warnings: Yandere behavior, delusional mindsets, bride fetishes, very brief mention of pregnancy, the overall creep factor is high.

~Enjoy~

★★★★

𝕊𝕒𝕝𝕒𝕕 𝔽𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕣𝕤

★★★★

~Completely delusional.

~Sees you as a pretty doll.

~Because of that, he sometimes thinks up his own dialogue for you in his head rather than letting you speak for yourself.

~Then when you say something it's like he didn't hear it, and he just responds with a strange little nod or an absentminded "ah" in reply.

~One morning you wake up and he's staring in the mirror while wearing a wedding dress, speaking in a voice that sounds as though he's mimicking yours.

~Talking of how excited he is for his wedding day.

~In his head, he's you in that moment. Not pretending to be you, he IS you. Putting words into your mouth. Words that are like affirmations to him, proving to himself that you're his future bride.

~He keeps this up for awhile, sometimes coming in and announcing "Sweetheart...I'm home." as though he just came home from a long day at work.

~Acting as though you're his lovely pregnant wife who needs to be pampered, muttering things like "The baby's coming soon..."

~These storylines he creates in his head can go for days to even weeks, or he'll eventually forget about it as though it never happened.

~Makes little "jokes" about the honeymoon.

~He certainly seems to fancy France, and tries to convince you that it's the most romantic place for the honeymoon.

~Insists on you wearing the dress, if you come out and you're not in it on the "wedding day" he'll scold you.

~"Wh-what's this? The bride isn't in her dress? Go now, go try it on. I'm sure it'll look just...just beautiful on your...your pretty f-figure..."

~~~~~~~~~~

Request Guidelines!

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Join my Discord server! We have movie nights, art prompts, a lot of places to ramble about your hyperfixations, and a ton of cool people to meet and roleplay with!:

~~~~~~~~~~

~Love, PinkBoots

[brujahinaskirt]

30 kcd2 trailer reveal little things / reactions:

Loving the increased Istvan / Henry parallelism

Loving the return of the red PTSD nightmares and so pleased WH isn't watering the game down, keeping up the trauma narrative realism, etc. I expected no less but still delighted by it. I love games that allow characters (esp male characters) to feel things, genuinely, and writing that treats the emotional invitation of its own storytelling with respect.

Good lord, the symbolism returns--as it must in a proper medieval game--but I shan't look too deep yet.

SKALITZ FLASHBACKS. HENRY'S PARENTS' WEDDING PREQUEL CONTENT? W H A T. I never thought we would get to go back; I am so thrilled to learn more about that time. I would have gladly gobbled up a Martin prequel. TELL ME HER FUCKING NAME, WARHORSE, YOU BASTARDS.

where is radzig

Mystery possible new love interest option? Or did Lady Stephanie visit the face sculptor?

And Theresa... where?

Mother of god, the forests and animals look incredible. I'm going insane. Let me pet things please.

How many times can Hans eat royal shit and live in one livestream? Let's find out. One, two, three...

The crime and punishment mechanics are definitely more complex at a glance. This is a good thing but I wonder how much was cutscene flavor and how much will really have an affect on the gameplay/reputation/etc.

I'm extremely afraid for Hans's survival. Not because of his constant trailer beefing (and he really took every opportunity to wipe out) but because of that shot with him doing the big dramatic eagle wing spread on horseback. You can't just do that and not expect to be punished by the narrative, bro.

MUTT IS BACK MUTT IS BACK MUTT IS BACK

is that pebbles? MUTT IS BACK please be pebbles

Henry's new hair is awful and I will be changing it two seconds in.

In general, Henry looks way more mature/stressed. Hard to say if there was a timeskip and Henry is now actually more mature or if the increased graphics allow him to look more like his voice actor, who is older than Henry. Either way I will be content. Will not catch me changing my son's precious face!!!

CROSSBOWS, HAND CANNONS

Istvan is pure fire, holy shit, cannot wait for this performance. Erik looks like a soggy newspaper. What happened king?

radzig? hello? anyone hear from this guy? typical for him to ghost

FIVE HOURS OF CUTSCENES???? YOU KNOW YOUR TARGET AUDIENCE. IT IS ME. I LOVE TO WATCH THINGS

Theresa's gonna be in it though, right? They wouldn't do us like that right?

Really excited to see them taking a page from RDR2 and incorporating a temperament-based reply system for non-dialogue initiating NPCs. I really look forward to all the added sandbox immersion enhancements from the first game, and I hope women are incorporated in a broader work spectrum for better historical accuracy.

WAS THAT GODWIN?

Is Hans going to teach Henry how to swim for real, as in a gameplay-altering swim mechanic, or is the topless on the riverbank scene just throwing a meaty bone to the hansry shippers (i am gnawing, i am growling when you try to take it away before i choke myself with it)

I love hearing devs and actors talk intelligently about the writing and character development arcs. Obviously they thought about it deeply in KCD1, but it's nice to see devs of an "action" game treating its narrative seriously, as artwork. Regardless of how the fandom idiots interact with it.

Hans singing a facetious little ballad for Henry (presuming it makes it into the game and isn't just trailer fodder) regenerated my cells. He DID promise in KCD1 (if you lose the tourney after agreeing to be his champion) that one day people would sing ballads in Henry's honor. Probably he did not intend for them to include the word "fuck" at the time.

This is going to be the grown up bromance we deserved in kcd1. Honestly it's so validating to see the second game recentering on that relationship and deliberately using it as the primary storytelling vehicle. KCD1 was pretty imbalanced in favor of Hans content, but it would have been better served by the game storyline fully leaning into the importance of that relationship, rather than trying to juggle it as a side-arc with several other arcs (and thereby creating an imbalance). KCD2 looks like it's built around the backbone of Henry and Hans's friendship and how it has profoundly changed them both/propelled their arcs in somewhat different directions.

On that point, Henry seems to have completely adopted Rattay colors now, but it's possible that's due to him operating as Hans's page (squire?) where we left them in KCD1. WHERE IS RADZIG

Calling Henry an orphan is a LITTLE generous given he was a whole ass adult man when his parents were killed, don't you think.

Calling Henry a lover is VERY VERY GENEROUS

I'm hyped.

[whattheskyknows]

same person who sent a big long ask thanking you again. I realize I also really wanted to compliment your Kokichi!!

genuinely, his voice is perfect, his dialogue, his mannerisms (every time you wrote that he looked at his nails, I got so delighted, honestly; I've really never seen another author point out this detail about him even though it's arguably one of his most iconic sprite poses)— you hit the nail on the head, so hard it went through the goddamn board. his internal dialogue, especially— so many chapters being from his perspective truly was a treat, and it's a delight to see that media literacy still thrives. I'm so glad you've taken apart his character but by bit, dissected it, truly dedicated effort into not only understanding him, but WRITING him.

and not just making him a trope, either. he's a conniving little bitch but he's also a self-sacrificial but also occasionally selfish genius. he's a shitty comedian with a heart. it's just lovely to see someone write him with such depth, is what I'm trying to say. I'm biased; he's my favorite. I'm a sucker for morally gray characters— I fucking love a good antihero. you've done him justice tenfold.

for what must be the fourth? time now? thank you. I may occasionally be popping up with more things to compliment (tenko's neo-akido, her outright hatred of men that slowly softens as she warms up to male characters of the story— kokichi feeling RELIEF when he sees the hydraulic press, korekiyo's realistic instinct as an anthropologist to want to analyze the headaches everyone's been getting), but for now, I'll actually leave it here.

Oh I LOVED writing Kokichi. It was a little difficult to begin with, but I ended up finding him easier to write after time. He's such a fun character; I love writing someone who is a funny asshole lol. I also liked to keep him as realistic as possible, hence using his characters sprites as reference. Him looking at his nails is such an iconic pose so of course I had to include it ahaha.

I'm glad you liked Tenko and Korekiyo too!!! I wanted to give Tenko the chance to be more than a character who hated men. There's so much more to her, and I wanted to show that. Korekiyo, too!!! He's an anthropologist, he loves to study. The game did him so dirty, he deserved so much better. I wanted to show him as himself first.

Again, thank you!!!

[astarionfixation]

Chapter 4 - *Fu*k Eternity if Immortality Looks Like Me*

Part of "Am I Fu**ing Insane !?!" A multi chapter adventure in Astarion’s mind

Rating: Mature for Sex and CW Blood & Mentions of Death

Word count count: 3.6k

Pairings: Astarion X OFC Tav

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54356776/chapters/138056932

I have a quite serious praise kink. Which also means compliments in the forms of tags and/or comments might very well spur me to write and post more

** Thoughts "" Dialogue - - Remarks ++ Quotes / Memories

*I will never learn to take the sun for granted, ever*

The warmth on his skin makes almost anything tolerable, even the fact that she looks like an overexcited child on a sugar rush, skipping from one hedge to another, enthusiastic about the simple presence of plants, some of which she seems to have only seen in books. It would be charming really if he also had a chance to break his own -fast -. Not that she had much to eat: he had to force that cookie in her pocket for later though of course, when asked why he wouldn't touch food he only had to turn on the charm, with a delightful series of excuses as to why 

"Breakfast? Oh, my dear, I find the company far more enticing than the food here. Why waste such precious moments with a plate when I can feast my eyes on you?”

And he knows that is way too melodramatic for her to still take on his empty flattery, but she still can’t help a smile and that makes him feel in charge of this… whatever this is… the fact that, for all she knows, they haven’t parted more than minutes since the previous night, and only when he had to keep the pretence that of course! She deserved her privacy whilst sinful droplets of water encompassed her body *and nothing else*.

“Let this finally be it darling, you’ve been dragging me through this greenery for hours now, whilst I can assure you I could have made both our afternoons so much more interesting”

She is too intent on examining the hundreth plant to even consider replying to his suggestive invitation *Pity*, but after a moment she speaks, still with a hint of the eagerness he has seen her show only when it comes to herb gathering so far. 

*And the thought of me when she thinks no one’s watching*

“It’s not Mugwort, it’s Life Everlasting”

The last two words shake that part of his mind which was peeking at the surface, ready to get lost in sinful thoughts about her again

*What the !?!?!?*

Surely he heard wrong, or is she testing him? His puzzled look must give that away because she continues unprompted:

“Helichrysum is also known as Life Everlasting. It will be more than enough to prepare a tonic, there is little it won’t cure”

He swallows to gain composure even if he knows how still he has kept any and every part of his body to avoid giving anything away

“True to its name then…”

“Not quite… believe me I’ve tried.”

She continues to talk about the plant as if this truly is something she cannot help

“Decoctions, Tinctures… I would replace every single drop of blood in my body with it if it served the purpose, but the promise of its name has been greatly exaggerated”

The mention of blood reminds him painfully about his own dry throat at the same moment she sighs, her fingers keep tracing the woody stem of what seems like a pretty insignificant weed to him. Yet this is a conversation he feels concerningly drawn to, much like a moth to the flame, utterly conscious of the risk it poses and yet not remotely able to keep from prodding about it.

“Eternity then, is that what your heart truly desires?”

She nods absentmindedly, still tracing the plant with the tip of her fingers

“There are so many things that I'm set to miss”

A sigh leaves her lips and her tapered fingers halt their work on the stems of the plant.

“So many people, so many connections”

She continues, and he knows he could prod now, it would be easy to poke at her thinning barrier. In a half hearted tone he will testify in courts was meant as a joke he replies

“Is that why you asked me to stay with you last night, darling?”

And she should scoff, she should laugh, she should be led astray by where he meant to drive the conversation now, because this heavy air they have come to is not safe for discussing genuine thoughts and feelings.

When her dark eyes rise from the ground to find him she's almost… smiling? But it's resigned, and it doesn't reach her eyes, which are now fixed on him

“Believe it or not Astarion, I think I see something I know in you, and considering how slowly I'm decaying daily, I can't find it in me to be haughty and spare time I could instead spend with you for a time that neither of us might have in the future”

That is unexpectedly honest coming from the girl that stood in the light of the morning sun rays, clutching a shirt to her naked bosom as if it was the most innocent thing in the world, as if she didn’t mean all of that to be just a game to make both their resolve crumble.

“I would chance everyone shares in your predicament my darling, but you seem decidedly set on this, don't you?”

He is doing his best not to linger on the fact she’s perilously dancing on the edge of confessions way more complex than the desire she harbours for him, especially considering he should know nothing about it.

“I know what it feels like… to be just about to die”

And at that, he has to pull control from every fibre of his being not to flinch. Yet she inexorably continues, as if this had become a bloody confession.

“And ever since, time has been folding over and over in my mind, taking every joy away along with a ticking out I can't unhear. It’s all I’ve been searching, studying, looking for…”

He should be worrying, he should be aware that she might very well be tracing his thoughts just like her fingers traced the nape of his neck last night

*Surely to find a weak spot to plant a dagger!*

But he can sense the trembling in her voice, a mix of anger and fear that, despite coming from a different place than his, resembles his own feelings of complete and utter impotency at the fate imposed on him.

She shakes her head slightly and her eyes close while she inhales for a long moment, and he knows she’s trying to steady herself, confirming once again how crucial to her person this is. His mind scrambles back to the fragments of writings he found in her book that would speak of this, but he already knows his silly vanity let him scan only to find his own name committed to paper once he found the first instance, intoxicatingly tempted by discovering signs of her addiction to himself.  

“But there isn’t anything… I looked” as the words leave her mouth, her gaze rises inquisitively to meet his, just as her tone ends to a slightly higher pitch.

*Is she… asking?*

Her eyes are steadily on his and he doesn’t have the time to let the silence linger on that unasked question, besides, it’s much more interesting to see what else he can persuade her to concede.

“Surely an eternal life would be valuable depending on its quality, don’t you think my darling? Otherwise you might just find yourself waking up to a nightmare that keeps repeating itself”

The moment the words leave his mouth he feels a tinge of anger directed at her because even to try and propel words from her he finds himself giving away much more than he ever planned to.

But she just smiles and shrugs, her eyes back to the little immortal plant

"Maybe I've had a comfortable and sheltered life so far, I wouldn't mind continuing it"

But he knows! He knows that’s far from true, even the little he gathered from her notes revealed unlikely similarities in the ways their choices, their bodies had become the belonging of others to play with, when praise after the beating became the only consolation she focused on, just as -many a night- he had to try and forget himself to keep going.

*Why lie now?*

“But truth is, the only immortality that awaits me is here” 

Her fingers now touch the dirt at the base of the shrub, almost digging into it and a brief flash of his own fingernails bloody and covered in dirt comes to him from the night of his own first death.

“When I die, if I’m lucky, my body will be put at rest in the ground and all that awaits me is for it to decompose, feeding the next generation of plants and trees. I just wish I could accept that…”

“How morbid of you sweetling, even I have heard more legends and myths about longevity than that, surely even potential immortality, you didn’t strike me as the kind of person who would simply accept anything imposed on them”

“That’s the thing Astarion, as an elf you have dozens of my lifetimes awaiting in front of you, and whilst even that would eventually feel scarce to me, you are afforded that time. But I can’t… I can’t change what I am”

"Don't we all want to change? Be something other than ourselves for a time, to explore who we could really be?" 

He will never get a chance as good as this one to poke and prod at the very real possibility that she might not recoil the moment she finds out about his true nature. And that's assuming she doesn't already know.

“What would you give for the chance to become an everlasting creature then?”

And he knows a vampire spawn like himself cannot turn her, but he suddenly sees how far their arrangement could go. Jumping ahead he can see how their interests could align and 

*maybe this isn’t just the last in a series of curses laid upon me*. 

Maybe she’s still so very proficient in controlling the way her emotions reflect on her face, but the traits remain placid as her fingers still absentmindedly roll the stem of the herb back and forth to the same rhythm that gives nothing away. Yet the pause was not long enough to suggest she had just come up with her answer there and then

“It would be shortsighted to give anything that I would still require to keep being the person who first needed eternity, but other than that, there’s little I wouldn’t give”

His head tilts slightly so that their eyes can meet again, because he needs to see every minuscule micro expression his next words will bring on her face

“What if all you could ever drink again was the life essence of creatures, their blood, and nothing else, but for eternity of course…”

He has barely a chance to see her eyes widen just ever so slightly, the rhythm of her breath suggesting that she’s about to answer and the fact that words would come so promptly should be a source of concern because *when would she have had time to think about that?!*...

A rustling coming from the opposite side of the glade reaches his attuned, pointed ears.

*Shit! There’s something coming!*

and before she has fully inhaled he closes the distance between them, as his lips release only one clear command whispered in her ear:

“Hide!”

With that his hand presses the centre of her chest compelling her to retreat. He knows he hasn’t been careful with his movements when in a mere few seconds he’s already at the opposite edge of the clearing and the source of the noise is now evident in the massive wild bear growling at him. There’s a vague possibility the animal might have been deprived of a few cubs when he last fed and it seems evident from the ire of it, but conversely, the delight of a meal coming to him when he usually has to scout and hunt for it almost makes him lunge. 

*how appropriate to kill two birds with just one stone*

Because he will be the hero keeping her safe whilst being the monster sated in his hunger. She’s surely hiding behind a tree by now, there’s absolutely no reason to restrain and with his bite the bear will be down in mere moments. And if need be, his dagger is on him, he can even pretend that’s what dealt the final blow should she want to verify. 

*Yes, those are all very good and valid reasons*

And possibly the saliva now reaching his fangs is the last thing he notices before his entire body dives and the bear does not even have time to react to him sinking his canines unceremoniously, pulling flesh and sinew without a care in the world. When the fountain of blood rhythmically rises from the jugular of the beast, it's already over and the bear has already fallen to the ground. He latches onto the open gash and when it hits his tongue It’s metallic and almost acidic but once down his throat it fills his stomach all the same.  He really should not have gone hungry for days. The satisfaction and exhilaration should suggest he was really at risk of attacking someone and destroying his cover, but the thick dark fluid flows down his throat and that's all that matters now. But alas, he can tell this feast is already close to the end, no matter the pull his mouth exercises on the carcass. 

With a final drag he has drained the animal and his entire upper body arches back, his eyes closing now, savouring the feeling of fullness, if only just short of satisfaction. His head thrown back as his neck extends, exposed, and he begins to feel a slight ticklishness as rivulets of blood are now making their way from his lips to his chin and jaw, past the ridge of his trachea and it’s a moment of peace if not exactly bliss, until some part of him screams preservation and he realises the dishevelment he caused.

He brings his hands to the fabric on his thighs and that’s when he realises the absolute mess he made of himself. His fingers run to his face and he can tell the blood it’s painting his features in a way that will be unequivocal to her. He would be frantically pulling at every pocket on him if the warmth of his full stomach wasn’t so naturally soothing to him, and all he can do now is just bring his fingers to his lips, sucking them and licking them clean so that no drop goes to waste. Eventually he even finds a kerchief, though…

*What a waste of silk!*

He slowly cleans the blood from his mouth with the fabric, and whilst his senses are all coming back more acutely than he could ever be gifted upon an empty stomach, there’s a languor that’s been sedated. He knows the problematics of explaining the red stains displayed on a much larger area than a blow dealt with a dagger would justify

*But I can’t give a bloody fuck right now*

His movements are dawdling and after wiping what certainly must be all the bloodshed upon him, his head lolls back, his eyes slowly open again looking upon the bear’s remains. With a measured movement he’s back on his feet and he might be feeling just a little bit more elegant, a tad bit more regal and self assured in his graceful form, standing tall.

He turns around with a delicate gracefulness to find she did follow his order: her figure almost perfectly sheltered behind a tree. The thought makes something twitch inside him

*what an obedient little thing*

A long, dark strand of hair almost covers her eyes, just not enough to conceal, and this time, for a moment, he can tell. 

He can tell that she hasn’t been able to look away, though nothing on her face delivers anything like disgust or recoil at what she’s just witnessed. No, if anything he can tell by the almost imperceptible way the tip of her pink tongue peeps through her plump, red lips. It takes less than a moment, and he might have his elvish eye to thank for it, but something in her expression now feels familiar, akin to enticement

*Eager little minx, If she had ever looked at me that way before, I would have known*

The little book would have been completely redundant because, even from a distance, it's obvious how something in her yearns for him.

And right now, he can’t blame her. Right now, as his body glides with feline gracefulness, he knows she can feast her eyes all she wants because he feels magnificent himself. The life essence is bringing back each and every sense to its apex form and the sunlight feel glorious against the smooth skin of his cheeks, and her heartbeat coupled with her slightly laboured breath is a compelling evidence to sustain every word and thought she has spent over him

+Something must have happened to Astarion, something bad enough to take away his voice, his actual voice, and left him outside looking in. And I don't know how to tell him he's not alone+

And right now the memory of her words coming back to him doesn't even bother him. In fact it's almost sweet how set upon finding his saving graces she is, so much so that she might deserve a treat.

He's just a few feet away from the tree she's still hiding behind, though her one beautiful dark eye peeking has not left him since he began stalking towards her. He gets closer, his long legs lithely gliding towards her and *she can have a show in fact*.

As he reaches the tree he extends his hand towards her so he can coax her out, his voice just like honey

“You're safe now darling, but you can show me your gratitude as you see best fit, though I might have a few suggestions I wouldn't mind indulging in”

At that she moves closer and now that she's not playing hide and seek anymore he has the visual of her increased heartbeat and laboured breath depicted on the rosiness of her cheeks that somehow spread the aroma of mulled wine and flowers even more than usual. The tug at his stomach that's usually elicited by her scent is now happening quite a few inches lower and 

*Fuck!*

Her dark eyes seem fixed on a spot just next to his mouth, and as she is now getting closer to him a new layer seems to be hidden in her bouquet, like the sweet tanginess of pomegranate? When she stops for an instant just in front of him, in that moment a flash of terror seeps through his boastful, post prandial confidence

*Shit do I still have blood on my face?? She knows! She must know and I'm fucked! She'll get the others to drive a stake through my heart and fuck waxing lyrical about eternity if immortality looks like… me*

And if that's the end, he concedes to himself to inhale deeply, to hold and commit her exquisite scent to his memory, and when her face gets closer to him 

*she must certainly be on her tiptoes now*

Her lips are pressing on his cheek, really so close to the corner of his mouth that at any point it will become debatable whether this would account for a real, proper *first* kiss.

“Thank you, Astarion”

She breathes the words on his skin and she's so up close that it now hits him, that sweet, tangy addition to her scent that reminds him of the tart, juicy seeds of a pomegranate is there for one reason.

*Because she's aroused*

At this point it seems worth considering celebrating this feast by grabbing her waist and pushing her back against the tree, fingers immersed in the softness of her thighs until her legs wrap around his hips and he can finally pin her to the tree trunk while his long fingers move deftly under her garments and

*Fuck! Why do I keep going back there!*

He swallows to keep her scent within his insides and a long, delicate finger finds one of her dark curls to wrap around and place just behind her ear so that his fingertip can brush even just for one moment against that spot that he can finally feel beating rhythmically against his digit. His eyes move to her lips, which seem just a tad bit redder after the kiss she planted on his face, as his entire hand now delves in her hair, caressing her scalp whilst his thumb is on her check and his entire hand is full of her softness, her hair *her mind underneath* and because she hasn't even put up a pretence of annoyance he pushes his luck

“Speaking of which, you were about to open up to me, weren’t you, sweet thing? Before we were so rudely interrupted”

He lets the words linger so he can measure her response and when the hand holding her head ever so slightly pulls her closer, guiding her dark eyes to meet his crimson ones again, she just lets him, so he lowers his tone and continues…

“Can you find your words for me now darling?”

And it seems like all the emotions he can read on her face pool around curiosity, enticement. Her lips tremble for a moment and she has to swallow before her sweet breath is once again hitting his senses.

“Hypothetically… if it was to be blood…”

She reaches up on her tiptoes now, her deftly hands found a way to sneak upon him again and they are now pulling at the fabric on his shoulders as she pulls herself closer so that her cheek is now brushing against his until her next words hit directly against the sensitive outer part of his pointy ear, even though it’s barely a whisper

“You just made it look extremely inviting”.

[brineffxiv]

Aw hell.

Back up a bit.

So there we were, Venat and I, trying to enter Ktisis Hyperborea in order to track down Hermes, when who should we re-encounter...

Haha! It turns out that despite claiming to not believe my story, Emet-Selch has been (with Hythlodaeus' assistance) investigating the same things Venat and I have been. I am so happy about this. I was literally chanting "Yes yes yes!" When Hythlodaeus explained what they had been up to.

*Ahem*

We have uncovered similar facts and reached the same conclusion: since it seems unlikely that Hermes himself wants to bring about the Final Days, he may yet be recruited to help prevent them.

(ha... ha... in retrospect....)

And then Hythlodaeus laughs at him. I adore these two.

It's too late Emet! You've been contaminated with my friendship (highly contagious) now you'll never be rid of me! 12000+ years in the future you will care about me so much you'll plan for me to succeed after I kill you.

...oh no now I'm crying again...

Keep it together, you've got two whole posts to write to catch up with the plot. No way you're fitting this all in one.

Right. Right.

I find Hermes (and Meteion) in the depths of the Hungering Gardens and convince him to meet with our little group outside.

I tell him what I've told them.

Though reluctant to believe my tale, Hermes agrees to theorize based on his knowledge of dynamis. He concludes much as I have already suspected: that it is likely the varying densities of the people which produced the different effects in each Final Days - the warping of creation magics and the transformations of the people themselves.

But Hermes also points out something new: dynamis is itself only an energy, set in motion by emotion, which must have a source.

It would follow then, that this source... it must be a thinking being, in order to have emotions? Mustn't it? It's not a what. It's a who.

And as Hermes points out, the celestial currents form the outermost layers of the star. If the phenomena appeared first where those were weakest, then...

Someone out in the great expanse is trying to kill us.

Ah. But we have only a moment to reflect on this new horrific revelation, when...

Fuck. Oh, fuck. Hermes, you goddamn idiot.

But no, it's not a new "friend", it's Meteion's sisters reporting in. Meteion proceeds to "suspend" her individual consciousness and connect with the shared one.

Ah.

Oh. No.

Something has gone very very wrong.

Aaaaa!

Meteion is screaming inside my head, and only I can hear her. The rest can tell that something has happened, but they cannot see the truth of it.

And then, quite suddenly, she has disappeared.

Hermes explains that this is an ability Meteion has to avoid confrontation; she alters her aetheric density to blend in with her surroundings.

It's likely that I could hear Meteion's voice just then when the others couldn't because Meteion utilizes dynamis to speak in her mind and my comparatively thin aether left me susceptible to it. This means I'm the best chance we've got to track her down. We split up and search.

Danger music is playing! Danger music is playing! This is not a drill!

Several times I encounter Meteion or her voice and several times she runs away. Disappearing again. I glean from the brief snatches of dialogue that she is fighting her programming to compile and make her report. Something about the data her sisters have transmitted has frightened and upset her, and she does not want to present it to Hermes.

Our search party regroups to find a new plan; I will continue tracking Meteion via her voice, and Emet-Selch will follow, prepared to rain aether upon her to disrupt her vanishing trick. The rest of our party will work to blockade any avenues of escape, a task made easier in that it appears Meteion has fled towards Lethe.

Um. Lethe? The river of forgetting in the underworld? Can we uh... Can we not go into there? I have a bad feeling is all.

I am at once delighted and extremely distressed. The danger music is still playing loud and clear.

The plan works perfectly, for good or ill, and Meteion is cornered. Her voice in my mind begs me to protect everyone. She can no longer flee, and commences her report.

Everywhere Meteion has gone she has found the dead and the dying. Her dispassionate voice continues behind our mounting horror.

Emet-Selch points out the obvious problem in the mission Hermes tasked Meteion with: he did not account for a negative result. The premise of Hermes' question - what others live for, what gives their lives meaning - is flawed, if Meteion encounters only those who are dead or do not wish to live.

Venat orders Meteion to cease her report, suspend her mission, and return home. But Meteion is not listening. Emet-Selch determines to take Meteion back to Amaurot, as she will be needed in order to retrieve all of her sisters.

Hermes is still stunned from the revelation of both the answers to his questions and the astounding oversight in his instructions to Meteion. He kneels in front of her and seems about to acquiesce to Emet-Selch's demand, but...

Memories of Meteion and his promises to her fill Hermes' mind, and he resolves to accept the answers in her report, whatever they are.

Suddenly he transforms. Declaring that he will not allow Meteion to be taken from him until she has delivered her full report, he takes her in his arms and flies off towards Ktisis Hyperboreia.

We chase after them as quick as we can, but arriving at Ktisis we find a crowd of confused researchers outside. An alarum is sounding and the facility has been evacuated and put into a state of alert - a field of dampening magics is now in place effecting any who aren't Ktisis researchers.

Nonetheless, we must enter the facility.

OMG OMG OMG

(Of course Emet is a Dark Knight. He fights with love! In this essay I will...)

This dungeon is a downright delight. All the little bits of commentary and characterization!! HHHhhh!!!

Also I somehow managed to get Venat killed by double stacking a mechanic on her during Hermes' fight and Hythlodaeus res'd her. Hythlodaeus, my man, you are a Bard with a resurrection spell: you have got to stop saying how bad at everything you are because you are clearly not.

Yes, Hermes, you are indeed a mad, desperate fool, but you are a mad, desperate fool in serious need of therapy and someone to talk to. Your problems, to me, seem to stem from the fact that you feel so alone. Your compassion is hampered by the fact that you're entirely too caught up in your own head, and unfortunately, you do not seem to be much of an intellectual. You need friends, people you can share your thoughts and feelings with, and who you can bounce ideas off of so you don't send your emotionally fueled, vulnerable bird-daughter out into space with no means to shield herself from negative feelings. Bad idea, that. Also you need to calm the fuck down.

Together, we defeat Hermes, who returns to his humanoid form.

Emet-Selch declares he is taking both Meteion and Hermes into custody on behalf of the Convocation. As Emet moves to do so, Hermes turns to Meteion and apologizes to her, for being unable to hear out her full report. Hermes has just time enough to ask one final question of Meteion: was there happiness to be found in those stars?

Meteion's answer is long and features examples of failed civilizations that appear to hit close to home for each of our ancients. Those probably deserve closer examination, but that tangent got three paragraphs long before I realized there really wasn't time for it, because as she's giving us this answer Meteion is beginning to leak the black smoke that signals dynamis corruption.

A- Ah. AH. Oh. It's not. It's.

It's Meteion.

The thing out there that's trying to kill us.

It's Meteion. The Meteia. Her sisters.

They are the source of the emotions behind the Final Days.

And Hermes...

You. YOU. You...selfish monster. You bloody hypocrite!

"If man can learn to value all life and retain his will to live he will surely find a way to avert his demise"

It's not enough that you throw your precious creations at us to slow our advance through Ktisis, no, in making your judgement on man you in turn curse every life upon this star to share our fate. Or, have you not considered the method by which you sentence us!? Perhaps you are too distracted by your own despair to truly hear what she is saying: Meteion is bringing death to the star itself, not selectively killing off Man. You know this from my own account of what the Final Days will bring.

You're just like the rest of us; how cheap other lives become in the presence of Man, whether you seek to better us or to destroy us. I couldn't see, couldn't fathom, how you could be the Fandaniel I met in the future. But you've been him all along, haven't you? When push comes to shove you crumple under despair and it's not enough to take your own life, no, you'll make everyone suffer with you. Everyone must feel your pain.

Hermes causes the Final Days. In full knowledge of what he will bring, the pain and the suffering. He knows, and he chooses this. Unlike Meteion, who has become corrupted, unlike the Convocation, who will never know against what they struggle, Hermes stares evil in the face and embraces it. A mental breakdown will not absolve you Hermes, in this moment you damn yourself.

No. NO.

I forgot about that thing!

Hermes orders Kairos to rewrite the memories of all within Ktisis Hyperborea, beginning at the point of Emet-Selch's arrival in Elpis. Our memories are to be replaced with a vague recollection of Meteion and her sisters' shared consciousness becoming unstable and exploding, triggering Kairos.

Kairos begins counting down.

A lot of things happen, very quickly, all at once.

With his back to us, Hermes bids Meteion fly to the far edge of the universe where none can reach her.

Venat breaks her bonds and launches herself at Meteion, intent on stopping her, but Hermes blocks the blow and Meteion leaps into the air.

The break in Hermes' concentration appears to have freed the rest of us from our chains, and as Emet-Selch summons his weapon to challenge Hermes, Venat leaps aboard Argos in pursuit of Meteion. As the two shoot skyward, Hythlodaeus leads me to the edge of the platform. He tells me that here, this is their fight to wage, but that I must take the knowledge I have gained here back to my time, to my own battle.

Meteion is rapidly approaching the bounds of the star, with Venat in close pursuit. Just before Venat can catch her, Meteion shapeshifts into an actual bird (Hey! My friend has that minion! What!?) and speeds away into space, but not before Venat manages to tag her with a spell.

Emet-Selch and Hythlodaeus sacrifice themselves to allow Venat and I to escape with our memories intact. Kairos completes its final process as we soar above their heads.

In the final few seconds left to us, Emet-Selch proclaims that he still doesn't believe my story, but, if it must be said, to not squander the legacy he leaves to me. In futility I reach for him, feeling the weight of our history falling into place.

Honestly, I could barely manage to take screencaps of this part I was crying so hard.

But I caught his smile.

...

Outside again, Venat collapses on the grass, exhausted both physically and mentally by what we've just been through.

The spell Venat tagged Meteion with is a tracking spell, one with which we can track her. Though she is already unimaginably distant and beyond our current reach.

Venat uses Argos to check on our friends, now exiting Ktisis Hyperborea, with Hermes in tow.

As expected, they have no memories of the events that Hermes contrived to have us forget, and Hermes himself appears devastated at the loss of Meteion.

Wait, what? No. No no no no! You've just seen, literally just seen, that even when Emet-Selch believes something to be completely ludicrous he will do his due diligence to investigate it. Tell him. Tell them, the Convocation. Even if they don't believe you at least let them know about dynamis, so they can recognize it when the Final Days begins! We cannot reach Meteion where she is now, but you have time. Time to work to stabilize the aether currents. Time to find an alternative solution so that when the Final Days arrive it's not necessary to summon Zodiark. Don't you start this again. This information control.

Leaving aside her asinine view that public knowledge of the contents of Meteion's report would lead to some sort of further catastrophe... Venat is against telling the Convocation the truth because of her fears of what Hermes would do if he learned the truth?? Venat, have you lost your mind? Hermes is one man. The only reason he was able to do what he already did was because we had the deck stacked against us, we confronted him in his seat of power with our own abilities severely limited. It was a very specific set of circumstances!! Outside of these exact conditions what he did would not have worked! Hermes' greatest weapon is our ignorance, that's why he contrived to have us forget in the first place. You are wasting the opportunity our friends sacrificed all to provide us with!

You already know the key thing that Hermes will contribute to resolving the coming crisis! The knowledge of celestial currents! Share this knowledge and you will have no need of him!!

It needn't be senseless and seemingly inevitable at all if you would bloody well tell people! Hope is so much stronger when built on a foundation of knowledge. We cannot stop the Final Days from coming, but you can yet mitigate it. All needn't be lost. You can yet choose to do something different. I beg you, use this time to find a different path.

Please Venat, please do not let your future become my past.

[auroragreenvale]

Peter Pevensie Story - Untitled Pt1

Okay.... another one... another story I've been writing for who knows how long but just don't feel like finishing. Its chapters and notes and rambles and brain dumps. Just stuff lol. Peter Pevensie was my first crush fr and I love this story. Its based on The Selection series and Narnia of course. It started as a story I would play in my head before falling asleep and one night the dialogue and plot was so vivid that I sat up in bed and started writing it on my phone. I actually loved writing this but I honestly didn't fully know where the story was going. There are some plot point in my head that may not even be written down but I didn't really have a full plot. I also started writing with it formatted like a script. Some of it is not correctly formatted and may not even say who is speaking (yikes!). But I am proud of what I did write and we shouldnt be so scared to share something unfinished. Maybe it can inspire someone else! Hope you enjoy.

*and if anyone can think of a good title let me know LOL

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Fluff, mild angst, he falls first and harder, arranged?? sorta to lovers

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Angelina sighed. “You will have to choose a gown to wear eventually. Mother is a talented seamstress but she cannot work magic. The ball is in three days.” 

“I am trying but none of these gowns feels like the right one to wear to my first ball.” Her older sister laughed.

“ My dear sister, we are not nearly wealthy enough for you to wear ‘the right gown’. You must make due.” 

“Maybe not the right gown but there must be something better than these. You couldn’t truly picture me wearing any of these. I’d look like… I was pretending to be you! And I know you have at least a few more…” she said letting her words hang in the air hopefully.  Angelina sighed. “Would you please go and get them for me? After all, a girl only attends her first ball once”. 

She could not help but smile at her younger sister's excitement. She loved attending balls and she loved her sister. Angelina was positively beaming every time she thought of sharing such a special night with her closest sibling and being able to bring her just a little more joy. She returned with three more gowns, the three she had deemed not suitable for this particular ball. It was currently very common in Narnia at the moment to wear darker colors and often velvet if one could afford it. Particularly this ball would be a sea of reds, purples, and greens because although the ball was being held for the High King to find a wife, it was truly Queen Susan’s ball. She was known for throwing the most spectacular parties in all of Narnia. While she knew how to host sophisticated parties for diplomats and visiting royals, she most loved celebrating lavishly with her subjects. A deep turquoise was said to be her color, which adorned her coronation cape so many years ago, along with the deep red that often kissed her lips. If she was putting on a ball, the people honored her with the colors in which she felt the most beautiful. While y/n admired her queen and all she had heard about her, she felt somewhat of an impostor in these royal hues. But she knew exactly which gown she would ask her mother to alter to her correct size as soon as her sister placed it down. She remembered watching her sister depart for the ball, wearing this gown. Y/n had believed it to be the most beautiful thing she had ever laid her eyes on and she realized not much had changed when she looked at it. She could not remember the specific stories she had been told about this particular party, just that her sister seemed to glow even more than usual when she had returned home from her night of dancing. The fabric was light and plenty. It flowed in waves of white, gold, and pink hues and she looked at it, almost afraid to touch it. While she knew her sister was right, that her mother could not perform any magic, she had the strangest and most delightful feeling that the dress itself might be able grant her a wish. She just knew this night would be special. After all, Narnia was full of magic. 

~~~~~~

“Why have I not seen you before,” the mystery man asked as they danced.

“Would there have been a reason for you to lay eyes upon my face prior to this moment?” He laughed in response. 

“I just mean– I have attended quite a number of balls here at Cair Paravel and I am usually somewhat familiar with everyone in attendance.” She furrowed her brows mischievously which made him smile. 

“Well I do so apologize for ruining your sense of ease and comfort but I do assure you I am here on no account of ill will but simply to enjoy this splendid party.” He laughs again at her words, just barely.

“No, do not apologize for you have so far added much excitement to a night I expected to be like any other.” At that moment the music picked up and they focused on the intricate footwork of the quick and jovial dance until the music changed again. She expected him to end their dance and find another partner as the musicians slowed their pace, but his hold on her stayed firm and his feet never paused. He spoke again after a while. 

“You did not answer my question.”

“Do remind me what it is that you inquire.” She smiled as she remembered quite well actually.

“Why is this the first ball at which I have seen you in attendance? Are you visiting from a neighboring kingdom? Hoping to win the King’s affections and he yours?” He asked this casually, almost playfully but he was very interested in her answer. Of all the women there whose intentions were precisely that, she had so far been the most successful. Unwittingly winning the attention and intrigue of the King. But he was still unsure. 

“Well, if I am to be completely honest,” she didn’t know why she felt any need to be, “my family does not have much money. At least not enough for us to eat and have shelter and also attend a ball. I have many siblings but… it is my eldest sister that has the privilege of attending the balls. It is somewhat of an investment you see. My mother and father hope that she may win the hand of a wealthy suitor. It’s sort of ridiculous I know because she would just be whisked off with him, no thought of our family crossing his mind… I’m sorry, what was I…? Oh well, she’d always tell me stories of the lovely balls she attended and I dreamed of seeing if only one. And since this very ball seemed to be such a special occasion, my mother fixed up an old gown of my sisters and allowed me to attend. I know that it's dreadfully out of season but truthfully I’ve never felt more regal. I know it's funny to think myself regal, I’ve heard our queens to be more radiant than the sun but… I feel very lucky to be here and in such a beautiful frock.” She spun out of his arms at that moment as was part of the dance. While every other pair in the ballroom turned, he stayed put, staring at her in awe. She turned back to face him and continue their dance she realized he had been studying her. This made her self conscious and she moved to look away from his intense gaze but he placed a hand on the side of her face before she could.  

“I think you look the very picture of a queen.” He spoke with such seriousness that she was stunned and unsure how to react. They stayed like that for some time until she noticed people staring.

“Shall we continue with our dance? People are beginning to stare. We must be blocking the dance floor.”

“Let them stare.” He continues taking in her features for a few more moments. “But if you insist, let us return to our dance.” She smiles softly at this, taking his hand again. The music, having changed again in their pause, is much slower. He pulls her in closer and moves them smoothly across the floor as a pair. 

“Might I learn the name of whom such a beautiful visage belongs to?” Then it was her turn to laugh.

“Why, you flatter me so. I truly did not expect such attention from my first ball,” she said sincerely. There is a pause and he looks at her expectantly. She concedes. 

“It is y/n.”

“It is beautiful. A name as such I would be bold to think, would sound so lovely falling from my lips forever.” She is taken aback, but only for a moment before she responds.

“And might I inquire as to the name of the gentleman before me?”

“Peter, I need to speak with you. It is urgent.” Peter stops, his look of adoration turning quickly to one of annoyance. While the fondness in his gaze made you slightly nervous, you decided you much preferred his tenderness to the frustration you currently saw, although it was not aimed at you. A beautiful woman clothed in deep blue had appeared behind him, causing him to pause your dance.

“Su, can’t you see I’m in the middle of something,” he asks, shortly. 

“You know I hate to be torn away from a ball more than anyone but you’ll have plenty of time for this later. The present matter must be attended to immediately. I trust you will see to the affairs of your kingdom above the affections of a maiden.” He winces at her words but steadies himself. You look between the two of them and notice for the first time that the woman wears a delicate crown of gold, placed atop her dark brown hair. Peter… Su… Susan. Queen Susan. In an instant, it dawns on you and you are grateful you had not yet indulged in any of the refreshments as you feel your stomach churn. The woman, the Queen, must have noticed the look on your face and mistaken you feeling unwell for something else. She spoke and you had to concentrate very hard to hear what she said. The music was suddenly very loud. 

“Do forgive me. I do seem to have forgotten my manners. I hope you are enjoying a pleasant evening and that you have not mistaken my frustrations with my brother as any reflection on my feelings toward you. But I do have to ask for a moment of his attention as it truly is urgent.” She gives him one final, stern look and walks away, trusting he will follow. Peter turns to you quickly but as his hand reaches up to graze your cheek, you feel as though he was moving in slow motion. He held you ever so lightly, as if afraid you might blow away and become lost in the wind. He speaks. almost urgently.

“I will return shortly. Wait here?” You do not know how to answer him but even if you did, you think you would presently be unable to call upon your own voice. 

“Please?” You nod, sensing his urgency, knowing you must give him an answer. You notice how gently he once again speaks, now that you are his only audience. With a small smile and a quick nod of his head, he hastily exits the ballroom. For a moment, all you can do is stand there, as couples dance swiftly around you, until you realize you are unsure if you are able to uphold the promise you just made. The promise to the High King. You could not possibly break it and risk his offense at your disrespect. But you cannot possibly wait for his return for one more second. Your feet move you before you know where it is you're going. Searching for you sister, you paced the perimeter of the ballroom now very aware 

So next she will be leaving and literally run into peter as he is returning and they lock eyes and he can tell she looks freaked tf out and then he notices Oreius standing outside the ballroom and looks at him as if to ask him to watch out for her because he is afraid she’ll leave. So he asks whats shes doing and she says she just needed some air and hes like would you mind if I escorted you to the gardens they are lovely at night so they go outside and are talking ab the kings and queens and hes like lol what ab that one thats likes u loll and shes like what and then yeah idk from there

they need to exchange names at some point lol (tn and orieus)

orieus: Good evening miss where are you off to?

She whipped around, slightly frightened at hearing a voice but comforted upon seeing its source.

yn: Oh I just needed to step out for a moment. Thought I might benefit from a bit of fresh air.

orieus: Well in that case might I escort you to the gardens. They are lovely at night.

yn: Oh I couldn’t remove you from your post, I shall be alright inside.

orieus: Nonsense I am entitled to a few moments of respite and I personally like to spend them in the gardens.

yn: You’re sure you wouldn’t mind too terribly having me interrupt your break?

orieus: I’d love the company. 

Time skip they are walking around in the gardens

yn: You were right about the gardens. They’re exquisite. She grows excited at her next thought. And you get to visit them whenever you please? He laughs slightly at her amusement

orieus: Yes. It is a wonderful perk of my job

yn: And what might that job be?

orieus: I am the general of the royal army and presently I also serve as the head of palace security.

yn: That does sound to be a rather large responsibility on your shoulders.

orieus: Well I couldn’t have anyone else protecting the home of my kings and queens. I could not trust the ability of another when it came to their precious lives.

yn: It sounds like you care for them very much.

orieus: Indeed. I helped welcome them to Narnia when they first arrived. I watched them grow into brave warriors and just rulers. They have been more than kind to me. They are friends and I have given my service to them. 

yn: They sound wonderful.

orieus: I should be glad you think so. And what of the High King himself?

She cannot see but Orieus is grinning. 

yn: Well I have yet to form much of an opinion and I do inquire as to what has caused your curiosity in the matter.

orieus: He did wear quite the look of concern upon seeing your exit from the ballroom. And I know the High King well enough to understand that it was not the general concern of a good host. Were you introduced to him at the ball?

yn: Not exactly. Might I confide in you something that I am somewhat ashamed to admit?

orieus: Of course.

He looked down in worry and realized she was smiling.

yn: Well I was dancing with him and we were making conversation and for the duration of our time together I did not know him to be the High King. They both laughed jovially. This is my first visit to Cair Paravel and I have never seen a picture of his majesty. And to concern matters further he was not wearing his crown. It's as if he meant to trick me!

orieus: I can assure you King Peter’s intentions were not of something so malicious. They laughed still. He likes to enjoy these events as anyone might. Forget the duties of the High King. If only for a little while as you saw. The Queen Susan, she is not one to forget her duties.

yn: I gathered… I ought to be returning now I presume… The High King did request quite some time ago that I wait for him to return. Why do you think he would want me to wait? Perhaps I disrespected him or--

orieus: It seems as if he is quite taken with you. 

yn: Oh… you don’t-- you don’t really think so do you? He looks at her knowingly and she is suddenly uncomfortable. Might we discuss something else for the remainder of our journey back to the palace? Tell me more about yourself. I’m sure you have great stories of your battles. 

They talk and he brings her back to the ballroom. Upon reentering the room, she notices the High King atop his throne, his own gold crown now sat upon his head. He is different now, she can tell from across the room. No longer the charming young man she danced with who loves so quickly, but a man hardened by war and the weight of a kingdom. His handsome youth was replaced by a stoic beauty and maturity. She could not deny that he looked magnificent against the gold of his crown but she also knew that she grew intimidated within his regal presence. She tried to move from the doorway in which she stood to across the room from where the king’s gaze wandered but she knew it was of no use. She had insisted on wearing this gown, colored lightly of champagne instead of one of darker jewel tones as was in style. She knew he would find her the second his eyes landed on the billowing (light in color) fabrics between the velvety layers of crimson and violet. She looked for her sister hoping to engage in conversation as to appear occupied but as she looked back toward the singularly occupied throne, her eyes met with the High King’s. He shot up from his royal chair, his reason for sitting there quickly forgotten. She almost ran before realizing how unbecoming of a lady it would be and remembering who she would be running from. How ridiculous to run from a king at his own ball? So she stood still and he reached her side quickly. Before he could speak, she dropped into a low curtsey like her mother had always taught her when she and her siblings would imagine visiting the palace. She did not stand back up quickly, instead enjoying how this stance allowed her gaze to remain at the floor instead of the man before her. He sighed. 

peter: You… you do not have to do that. She stayed there, perhaps even bowing a little lower. Please will you look at me? He reached out, placing his fingers under her chin, startling her. She quickly stood upright and took two steps back. She always believed she would attend a ball and dance the night away. It sounded so easy, so effortless. But now she was overthinking her every gesture, every word. She was here in front of the High King and while his erratic actions seemed careful and sincere, she could not help but be frightened. Her small Narnian village held no expectations for her but now she was in Cair Paravel with its most important resident and she hadn’t a clue as to how she should behave or what she should do. 

yn: I’d like to apologize, your majesty, if I any of my actions have upset you--

peter: The only thing that upset me was when you left after I asked you to stay. He spoke in a gentle voice but she flinched at his words of authority. Although Orieus expressed his belief at the King’s feelings, she was worried still. All that she had been taught by her parents was taking over and she could only think of herself a subject to her King. Never could she imagine being the object of his affection. Not-- I mean, I was concerned that I had done something to upset you. And I was worried you didn’t want to continue our dance. I was having a lovely time with you this evening. She spoke before realizing

yn: Why did you not tell me you were king? He looked as if he might chuckle. She however, thought this was no laughing matter. 

peter: Well it hadn’t crossed my mind really. I usually do not have to introduce myself, especially not in my own palace. 

yn: You didn’t think it odd when I did not curtsey or fall at your feet? There was a bite in her tone and he noticed. She was horribly embarrassed and he was laughing that arrogant laugh. She felt as if she were talking to a different person. Damn that crown.

peter: No I found it refreshing. While people do not usually fall at my feet… he bit back, but he smiled nonetheless it has been a while since I was able to meet someone as just Peter. And I do hope you will continue to think of me as nothing more… and that we may continue our dance. He held out his hand for her to take. She reluctantly placed her hand atop his, and quickly her face was shining again. And for that Peter could not help but grin at the sight of her radiant smile as they began to dance once more. 

yn: It is very hard to think of you as anything less than my king when you wear that crown. 

peter: It is no different than any piece of jewelry you might adorn.

yn: My necklaces do not come with such responsibility. And... people do not usually stare whenever I wear them. She found the thought amusing.

peter: Considering your beauty it would seem as though people could not help but to stare always. She did not know how to respond. He truly knew how to leave her speechless. But if it shall make you feel any better… he stopped their dancing and unclasped their hands. The other he left on her waist she noticed as he removed his crown and looked quickly around him. Ed! He called out to someone and a tall young man wearing a matching silver crown turned to face the High King. Peter smirked at the younger king’s questioning look  as he held out his own crown. Would you mind holding this for me Edmund? It is getting in the way of our dancing. She almost laughed in amazement. He restored their previous position, ready to continue guiding her across the floor, when Edmund spoke.

edmund: I’m glad to see you’ve resumed your dancing, I would’ve hated to hear Susan yell at you about your responsibilities again. She thought little of this, not connecting this ball with any sort of responsibility besides greeting his subjects and enjoying a night with them. Edmund laughed as he spoke then turned to the girl his brother held. I’m Edmund. I hope you haven’t found my older brother too insufferable. If so I do apologize, I’ve tried to tell him about being such a bossy git all the time. Peter rolled his eyes at his little brother. Not knowing quite why, she felt an intensely comforting presence in Edmund that reminded her of her own brother.

yn: No, only a little bossy but I think I will be able to manage for the remainder of the evening. 

edmund: Well then I presume that for your own sake I should hope you are not invited back to the palace. But for my own I shall wish for your return so that we might team up against my brother some more. She gasped suddenly, one hand leaving Peter’s shoulder to cover her mouth in shock. She had remembered something. You’re supposed to be dancing with the eligible women here! That’s what this ball is being held for! You need to find eligible girls to court and here you are dancing with me. Oh I feel so stupid! How much of your time have I wasted? I do apologize-- as she babbled on she began to walk away. Peter grabbed her hand ever so softly and turned her back to him. Edmund has already turned back to the group he had been speaking with before.

peter: And are you not eligible?

yn: Well I-- I am the second born and my sister is here to meet you not I. But even if I was I am not fit for… this! She gestured almost wildly around the room. I’m sorry your majesty but I must go and allow you to spend some time with the other maidens. I do thank you for the dance, and for chasing me around the ballroom, as it has made my first party here most eventful. And I wish you the best of luck in finding your bride. She curtsied one last time and turned away, promptly leaving his side. 

Omg so they get a letter from the palace (bc all of the girls in attendance do) saying whether or not they are invited to come stay at the palace to court the high king and the letter arrives and her sister is so excited and they open it and its for her not the sister. Shes thinking its got to be a mistake and she hasn't told anyone about them dancing so they all go (the families are allowed to live there for the time as well) and they realize its not a mistake and the sister just has to deal with it and shes so mad (she’ll find love eventually) and homegirl is like in a lowkey selection and we will have lots of cute moments :) and they will of course fall and love and end up together happily ever after the end

mother: Darling! Oh sweetheart. The girls’ mother entered into their shared room calling out for her eldest daughter. She seemed almost frantic. Angelina! Darling! You’ve received a letter from the palace.

sister: Mother are you sure? She was afraid to believe it lest it be ripped away from her when she was so close. But her mother retrieved from behind her back an ornately enclosed letter. The two girls looked at the small envelope in awe. It truly was of royalty. The paper shimmered and was lined with gold filigree. A deep red seal held the precious contents in safely and the front held only their family name written in large black letters. Oh mother do open it quickly! Read it out to us! I think myself much too nervous to hold such delicate paper in my quivering hands.

yn: I cannot believe MY sister getting invited to the palace by the High King himself. She had truly almost forgotten about her encounter with the monarch. It had been just another moment at the ball, one she would cherish along with every other. But she was truly thrilled to see her sister so appreciated by the royals. Her older sister was truly the most wonderful person in her eyes and she wished all of her wildest dreams come true. 

sister: Well don’t forget you’ll be right there by my side in Cair Paravel. Oh mother can you just imagine?

mother: Yes, our family running amok in the palace! I can hardly wait. The two girls laughed, knowing how truly magical it would be to share the wonders of the palace with their loving and chaotic family. Now girls, do we still want me to read this?. She was growing impatient with anticipation and excitement. The girls immediately sat up a little straighter, suddenly very attentive, grasping each other's hands tightly. “(last name), We are honored to extend a cordial invitation to your family for an extended stay at the Palace at Cair Paravel. You are welcome to bring any members of your immediate family to the palace and any important items. Upon arrival you will be provided with everything you will need for the duration of your visit. As the guests of honor, Angelina and Y/n… will be attending a special dinner on the night of your arrival followed by a ball to which you are all invited. The proper attire for the event will be provided for all guests . In three days time a carriage will arrive to retrieve all those who will be traveling to the palace and a special wing will be prepared to house you. We are delighted to have you and are eagerly awaiting your presence. Signed: His Majesty the High King Peter the Magnificent, Emperor of the Lone Islands, Lord of Cair Paravel, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion…” The three women were stunned by the unexpected name written in the letter. The girl whose name it was, was the most shocked of them all. She was confused and worried. She felt a similar sickness as she just remembered she had felt after the realization that she had been dancing with the High King. 

sister: I saw you dance with the High King! I didn’t think however that you were trying to take this opportunity away from me!

yn: I did not know I was dancing with the High King!

sister: he did not introduce himself to you?

yn: Well he did eventually…

sister: And you continued to dance with him?

yn: Was I to decline his majesty?This calmed her sister down just barely as she truly thought of the implications of rejecting the High King. In truth, had she said no, King Peter would have respectfully stepped away, finding another dancing partner but his subjects were always worrying themselves with how their actions could in any way disrespect their magnificent King. And truthfully all we did was dance. It was no more exciting than any other dance I had that night. This was a lie that she herself was trying so hard to believe. I even explained to the High King that it was my sister who had come to meet him, not me.

sister: Oh so I have been invited to the palace out of pity! Or is it just to ensure that you do not decline his invitation. “As long as my dear sissy may accompany me as well it sounds splendid!” You are absolutely full of it!

y/n: Angelina I promise I meant no harm–

sister: Well either way you have caused it haven’t you. She stormed out of the room leaving her mother and younger sister standing shocked.

y/n: Mother I am telling the truth. She had tears in her eyes as she looked to her mother for help.

mother: Darling. I believe you. But that does not change things…

y/n: I will just explain to the king when we arrive that I do not wish to participate and–

mother: It is too late. His decision is made and now you must participate regardless of you or your sister's feelings. 

y/n: But… mother

mother: Have we taught you nothing? Royalty is to be revered and obeyed. Lest what happened to your father and I happen to you. Do you understand? She could only silently nod at her mother, suddenly feeling guilty and remarkably sad. She had heard the stories often, from her parents and other Narnians, about the years gone by. A time she could not remember, before the current Kings and Queens took their seat on the throne. It was a dark and difficult time for the kingdom and left a sense of fear instilled in some, even during times of peace. Her parents had passed down their intense caution to each of their children in hopes to protect them should peace ever be disrupted. So being an obedient daughter, she went to begin packing her things. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~first night ball?? idk i love the ide of this happening while dancing but i feel like there’s too many parties especially balls… but i also feel like this needs to be the first night~~~~~~~~~~~

“y/n” she heard in a soft voice from behind her. she turned around to see Peter admiring her as quests danced around him. He wore a fine red shirt with 

 gold detailing that matched the brilliant crown atop his head. y/n unfortunately could not seem to take her eyes away from it. better than have to meet his eyes she thought. “i am very pleased to see you again.” he stepped toward her. she dipped quickly into a curtesy, though smaller than the ones she had performed previously in his presence. 

“Hello… King Peter,” she said not knowing why she decided to test out the slightly less formal title. 

“You look… lovely,” he said, “Would you care to dance.” She nodded and hesitantly connected hands with him. Peter was quite surprised by her appearance tonight. While he remembered the girl in the soft champagne gown, she stood before him now in a dark burgundy. Layers of fine silk fell down like spilled wine and he couldn’t help but think how elegant she looked, how powerful. He was amazed how in only two meetings she could look so differently beautiful. He wondered about all the other ways she had been beautiful before and the many way she’s would no doubt be beautiful again. he wondered if he  would be lucky enough to see them. In truth she did feel beautiful in this gown. It was gifted by the palace as every maiden was instructed to wear red so as to be easily found throughout the ball by the high king. A smaller ballroom than the one currently holding the festivities had been filled with red dresses earlier that day. Her sister had chosen a bright crimson and others had chosen lighter reds or more orange tones. Red had never been a color y/n reached for but this shade had a cozy quality to it; it reminded her of christmas. so it had been the one she had chosen. weirdly she was happy that peter liked it. although she wouldn’t rather not know his feelings about it at all as she would rather not be dancing with him at the moment. he made her nervous and besides that the only other thing she could focus on was how angry her sister would be if she saw them. 

“I hope your journey to Cair Paravel went smoothly,” he said, breaking her from her thoughts. She looked at him a moment.

“Oh… yes.”

“And I hope your accommodations are to your liking?”

“Yes.” She added a small, uncomfortable smile with that response. 

“I do wish you would talk to me.”

“We are talking.” He sighed and stopped their dance. He did not however separate from her. 

“Please… what is it?”

“I should not be here,” she pleaded. 

“But you are. I implore you to at least try and enjoy it if you must.” She closed her eyes briefly and let her hands drop from his form. She could not help but notice how his hand stayed on her waist. Peter however was completely oblivious to his own behavior which bordered on inappropriate.

“It is presumptuous to think that I could enjoy myself doing anything other than sampling each and every thing tour chefs have prepared for tonight’s ball.” He chuckled lightly at this. It was half hearted but it was her, fear beginning to leave her. 

“Yes how silly of me. I would offer to escort you but I must request we complete at least one full dance before I do that. Does that sound okay?” She reconnected their hands and smiled up at him, tiredly. 

“I suppose that sounds alright,” she said causing him to grin widely as he stepped back into the large formation of dancing couples. 

“Truthfully,” he began, “how has everything been? Is your family settled in?”

“Truthfully,” she repeated, “everything has been lovely. I’ve never seen a more beautiful place in all my life.”

“Well I am glad,” he said. 

“I must say… I really am grateful to be here. Please do not mistake my personal matters as an indication of any less. Simply spending one day here could last me a lifetime,” she said. And she said it with such conviction that for a moment all Peter could do was stare at her in awe. He thought back to his first time in the palace and how he thought he could stay there forever and never take in every detail. He honestly still thought so sometimes. But here was this incredible woman who would be content for the rest of her life having only spent a day in this place he was lucky enough to call his home. He was glad she would get to spend more than one day here, for both their sakes. 

“I—- I am very glad you like it here.”

“I have had trouble finding my way around.” They laughed. 

“It is quite difficult isn’t it. I do remember it took me longer than I’d like to admit.”

“When did you first arrive here? At… the palace I mean?” He stopped to think for a moment. 

“It has been almost ten years I think. I cannot believe it has been that long.” 

“Wow.” She contemplated this. 

“And what about you? Have you always live where you live now?”

“Yes!— Well no but—- My family has lived elsewhere, as did I. But I was very young, but a baby and I do not remember. Our current home is the only place I’ve ever known.”

“And do remind me where home is for you?”

“(town)… um how are you feeling about escorting me to retrieve some refreshments?” He paused slightly at her rather abrupt shift. 

“I would be delighted to escort you.” he smiled, grabbing her hand to lead her over to the table.