#you have to realise i wear glasses and my view of the parade was very blurry at times because raindrops were accumilating on my lenses

[ratatatastic]

was it very homophobic that when the swede bus passed by me they were so obscured and stenny had his back to me that i didnt realise he was shirtless until after the fact? yes.

but as with everything there are silver linings and thats wet back and also having a great view of his ass

Panthers Championship Parade | 6.30.24

[besanii]

Paper thin verse is playing to all my guilty pleasures! Since WWX is LXC’s consort, have they had sex or did LXC refrain out of respect? Has LXC visited WWX for platonic mourning time when he wants to get away from the pressures of court? How do the other consorts feel about WWX and the favor he gets from LXC?

[ part one (LWJ) | two (LXC) | three (WWX) | four (LWJ) ]

--

Nie Qiongyue finds him standing beneath the cherry blossom tree in the corner of the garden, staring up into the branches, lost in thought. The closest servants are hovering several metres away, just out of earshot but still within view, ready to respond to their master's every need.

Wei Wuxian, however, remains as still as a statue. If it were not for the breeze rustling through his long hair and the ends of his pale purple robes, he could very well have been a painting. Her fingers itch with the sudden urge to commit this scene to paper: Longing beneath the cherry blossoms. She wonders if she can fully capture the longing and wistfulness that shrouds Wei Wuxian’s silhouette with her mediocre skills.

The servants startle and drop to their knees when they see her approach.

"Huanghou-niangniang," they chorus.

Wei Wuxian turns around slowly, not a hint of surprise on his face bends his knees to greet her.

“This concubine greets Huanghou-niangniang,” he says.

“You may rise,” she responds.

As he straightens again, with all the grace and poise befitting a consort of the Imperial harem, she catches the twinkle of blue jewels from the zanzi in his hair and freezes. Her hands flex; she has to stop herself from reaching for the matching jewel adorning her own hair—cut differently, more elaborately, but undeniably the same. She swallows past the lump that has formed in her throat.

“Wei-xuanyi,” she says, keeping her voice level and tone pleasant. “I hope you have settled in well. If there is anything lacking in Chenghuan Hall, do not hesitate to inform Eunuch Zhao—it will be provided to you.”

Wei Wuxian inclines his head. “This concubine thanks Huanghou-niangniang for her generosity. Chenghuan Hall is already very well provisioned, there is truly nothing that can be found lacking.”

“Then I am glad to hear it.” She turns a half-step and looks at him. “I admit the renovations were done on such short notice, I have not had the chance to view the gardens in person. Why don’t you join me on a turn about it together?”

He lowers his eyes and dips his knee briefly.

“This concubine would be honoured.”

Nie Qiongyue has been married to Lan Xichen for almost ten years, six of which she has been Empress and governed over his inner palace. She has seen dozens of young women and men paraded before him in hopes of capturing his attention in those years—all beautiful, intelligent and well-bred, with impeccable manners and grace honed by years of training for that one specific purpose.

Wei Wuxian is different. And as such, she can see that Lan Xichen regards him differently too. She knows they have not been...intimate, not in the carnal sense, although they kept up the pretense of it with Lan Xichen’s frequent visits. Her husband claims he is only trying to protect Wei Wuxian, to offer him comfort in the wake of Lan Wangji’s death. But Nie Qiongyue is not blind.

She would be lying if she says she is not a little envious of the way her husband looks at Wei Wuxian, even if he himself does not realise it.

But she is an Empress, Lan Xichen’s Empress, first and foremost. She knows her duty.

She instructs her own servants to fall back, and they join Wei Wuxian’s servants trailing behind them as they walk down the gravel path, out of earshot and gazes respectfully lowered, but always attentive. She is accustomed to their constant, watchful presence, and knows the subtle ways to navigate privacy when she needs it. Wei Wuxian, however, is carefully deliberate in the way he walks half a step behind her, his shoulders stiff and head lowered.

"How are you settling into life in the inner palace?" she asks as they make their way to the large man-made pond in the centre of the garden. "I imagine it must have been quite a big change from what you are accustomed to in Yunmeng."

Wei Wuxian manages a half-smile.

"Huanghou-niangniang is kind to ask," he says. "It is indeed very different, but I am learning. I beg your patience and forgiveness for any transgressions while I do."

"Certainly." She returns his smile with one of her own and sees some of the tension bleed from his shoulders, though his eyes remain wary. "The Emperor seems to be very fond of you.”

He stiffens again and shakes his head quickly with a bitten-off laugh.

“The Emperor is generous and kind to this undeserving concubine,” he says. “But Niangniang is the one the Emperor truly values. Compared to you, what affection the Emperor bestows upon this lowly concubine is insignificant.”

She reaches out to place a hand on his arm and feels him suppress a flinch. He masks it almost immediately with another smile, so she lets it slide.

“You have not been with us long, so you are not yet aware of the Emperor’s habits,” she tells him, keeping her tone light and friendly. “But he rarely spends more than two consecutive nights with any consort or concubine. And yet he has spent seven days of the last month here, four of which were on consecutive nights. It has surprised many of us indeed.”

She slides her hand around his arm, looping it around his elbow in a sisterly fashion as they continue to walk. He allows the movement, which brings them closer and shields them from prying eyes.

“Wei Wuxian.” He inhales at the sudden change in her tone, but doesn’t make any other outward acknowledgment. A quick learner. Good. “The Emperor has told me the truth of your situation. I want you to know that while you are here, your wellbeing is my responsibility, and I will do what is within my power in order to protect you.

“But,” she continues before he can interrupt, pulling back slightly and raising her voice. “You will still be held to the standards of an Imperial Consort, and expected to comply with the rules. You will serve the Emperor when he calls upon you. There will be no concessions, no matter how much favour the Emperor bestows upon you. Is that understood?”

Wei Wuxian studies her for a moment, an inscrutable expression on his face, before he steps out of her grip and bends his knee to her.

“This concubine is grateful for your teachings, Huanghou-niangniang,” he replies dutifully. 

She nods.

“Very good.” She motions for him to stand. “You’ll do very well yet, Wei-xuanyi.”

--

“Huanghou-niangniang, Eunuch Wang from Chenghuan Hall.”

She glances up from her needlework as Eunuch Wang enters and prostrates himself on the ground before her.

“This servant pays respects to Huanghou-niangniang,” he says. She nods and turns her attention back to her embroidery, so he raises his head to continue. “The Emperor visited Chenghuan Hall again last night.”

She passes the needle through the silk, pulling the dark blue thread through the fabric in one smooth motion. She makes no acknowledgment of his words. It is hardly newsworthy, especially not these days, for Lan Xichen to visit the master of Chenghuan Hall. Eunuch Wang clears his throat awkwardly.

“Huanghou-niangniang—“

“Is it done?” she asks, still not looking up from her work.

Eunuch Wang bows.

“Yes, Niangniang,” he says. “It’s done.”

“Good.” She waves a hand in dismissal. “You may return to your post and continue your surveillance.”

It was bound to happen. She’d known it would only be a matter of time. And as Lan Xichen’s Empress, it is her duty to ensure his consorts and concubines are performing theirs.

She barely flinches when the needle pricks her finger and a dark red spot appears on the white silk. She watches it spread slowly, blossoming like the cherry blossoms in Chenghuan Hall.

--

Translations

Huanghou-niangniang (皇后娘娘) - Her/Your Majesty the Empress

Chenghuan Hall (承歡殿) - 承歡 (chenghuan) means to cater to somebody in order to make them happy (usually about parents). I couldn’t think of a nice, succinct translation for it at 2am in the morning so you guys get the pinyin haha

--

buy me a ko-fi!

more paper-thin fic | verse

--

I should wear my glasses when writing fic...forgive any typos please!

[foodieforthoughts]

Hi, my darling! I love your writing and I have a special ask for you: my birthday is in July 14th, a big and important holiday in France. So, how could it be if Henry brings me to Paris to celebrate my day (this is one of my biggest dreams)? (in case to describe the reader's physical characteristics I'd like it to be a plus size one, please ❤️) P.S.: Forgive my writing. English is not my mother language.

Honey! I know it has been ages since you sent this but now seems the perfect time. Happy birthday to you in advance sweetheart. 🤗❤️

Also, I only know about 14th of July celebrations from what's available on the internet, if I have made any mistakes I'm sorry about it. 🙈 Also, also, I haven't described the physical attributes of the reader. I hope that is okay. 😇

Title: Mon amour

You were pretty sure Henry was going to miss your birthday this year, what with him being away for filming and only a couple more hours until your birthday. But you were completely taken by surprise when he called, asking you to head out to the airport and pack whatever you deemed necessary.

"You are crazy, Henry!" You exclaimed on the phone, standing outside the airport in the night with a hurriedly packed bag. "What is happening?!"

"Hurry up, love." You nearly shrieked when out of nowhere Henry came up to you and grabbed your hand. Tugging you along to follow him, instructing you to take out your passport, Henry led you through the gate inside the airport.

It was only when you saw the boarding pass, your happiness knew no bounds as you realised he was taking you to Paris for your birthday.

Being in Paris for July 14th celebration, an important day called la fête nationale, was at the top of your bucket list. Henry explained how he had meant to come home one day prior but bad weather and some delays with filming had pushed his plans to the last minute. He had apologized for it but you assured him there wasn't any need for them. There was nothing to forgive, on the contrary, he got a big kiss and a tight hug when the plane took off. You were pretty sure your were floating to cloud nine even before the Eiffel Tower came into view.

Henry had left no stone unturned to make your stay special. A room in Shangri-la with an amazing view of the Seine river, complimented by the giant, wrought iron symbol of love for romantics, was already booked for next four days and decorated with balloons for your birthday. You felt your heart could burst with the surprises he had planned, unfolding one after another and making you teary eyed, only for Henry to take you in his arms and kiss the tears away.

"Good morning, love." He greeted you the next day, naked and still in bed with his arms around you. Running his hand through your hair and kissing your lips, Henry wished you a 'happy birthday' again.

Despite sleeping only for a few hours, both of you were eager to spend the day out and about it in the city. Henry had to try to blend in with the crowd, wearing a cap and casual clothes yet still managing to look like an adonis, making you laugh when he hung the DSLR from his shoulder. Luckily for him with the moustache he had going on for his upcoming movie, he looked almost, if not entirely, unrecognizable.

After watching the military parade in Champs-Elysées, he took you for a dessert splurge around the avenue. From all the crêpes, éclairs, madeleines and macarons, you were getting a sugar rush, joking and laughing with a constantly soaring high. Since Henry was on a strict diet, he only had taken a small bite from your crêpe, sitting and listening to you, amused at the sheer level of your excitement.

Lucky for you, before you could go on a downward spiral from the drop in blood sugar, Henry got you hydrated and tucked in the bed for a nap. You had protested initially, but all your complains vanished when he started kissing you and whispering in your ear in his low, gruff voice, how much he had missed you.

It wasn't until late afternoon that you finally woke up to find Henry in the balcony, sipping on tea and basking in the evening sunlight. You sneaked up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and taking in a deep breath of his scent while resting your face against his taut back.

"How did I ever become so lucky to have you in my life?" You mumbled against his shirt, smiling to yourself as you said it.

"I am the lucky one to find you." He placed the cup on the railing, twisting to pull you to stand in front of him. Trapping you in between his arms, he kissed your nose causing his moustache to tickle your skin and make you giggle.

You sighed happily, throwing your arms around his neck and running your hand through his hair. Gazing at him with a smile, you were mesmerized by his captivating blue eyes like it had been the very first time.

"We better start getting ready to head out again." He caressed your cheek with his thumb as he spoke.

"Yeah? We could stay in though. Maybe continue from when you stopped in the afternoon?" You winked at him, making him chuckle.

"Later tonight, baby. I have one more thing planned for you."

When you stepped inside the Bateaux Parisiens, you knew why Henry had asked you to pack 'something fancy'. Donning a sleek blazer suit himself, Henry looked dashing as always. Live music playing in the background, an elegant menu of scrumptious food, glasses of Champagne Jacquart Brut Mosaïque, accompanied by the love of your life while cruising down the river with magnificent view of the city on both sides, you knew dinner couldn't have been any more lavish than this. Henry was recognised by few, approached for photos which Henry would have generally declined but you insisted he should go for it. Their smiling faces and elated shrieks only somehow lifted up your spirits even more.

When the boat stopped near the Eiffel Tower with only a few minutes until the fireworks display, Henry grabbed your hand and took you up to the deck. It was already crowded but he managed to find a spot at the far end of the boat. He draped an arm around your shoulder, yours enveloping his waist as you waited for the fireworks to start.

Everything about your birthday was perfect. You were brought to tears as the vibrant colours of the fireworks glowed in the night sky. Henry hugged you closer, kissing the top of your head and watched the beautiful display with you.

Through the crackle of the fireworks, glimmer of the colours sparkling in his eyes, you stood on your tiptoes to kiss his soft lips.

"Thank you for making this day special, Henry." You whispered in his ears, placing another kiss on his cheek.

"Special day for a special lady." He winked at you, before leaning down to kiss you deeply.

[aces-of-the-center-court]

hello dear anon! thank you for the request and for loving out first date headcanons! I’m really glad you enjoyed it, it’s one of my favourites. :) we apologise that this took so long, it was quite difficult to write because I had to do my research for the date spots but I hope this turned out alright. I hope you enjoy :)

- mod sunny.

first date with iwaizumi & sugawara

Sakusa Kiyoomi: Home Date

He would ask you out for a date at his house, thinking it would be the best possible spot – no outside germs or crowds

To his house?? On the first date?! You would be flustered at first but later realise the reason behind the date location and mentally punch yourself for having such impure thoughts

When you go over to his house, you would make sure to bring a small gift (after making sure to sanitise the surface of it ofc)

Once inside, you would ask for directions to the washroom to wash your hands where you would realise that he keeps his things very tidy

You both would then settle down at the living room and decide to play board games, where the two of you would just chill and have fun together instead of making it more competitive

A few games later, you two would then cook up something to go with the movie you rented

You would make sure to tell Sakusa that you had already sanitised the cover and disc before bringing it over, and he would mutter softly about how he trusts you about this since you two have an understanding for hygiene

You would both move to his room for the movie, seated closely next to each other, but not yet touching; it would be slightly unnerving – both your hearts would be beating loudly against your chests despite it not being the least bit intimate

By the time the movie came to an end, you two would have only remembered half the movie as you were both too conscious of the proximity between the two of you and the fact you were in his room

Before leaving, the two of you would clean up the spot you were both seating and he would offer to send you home but would take detours in order to spend more time together

To be honest, he wouldn’t want to separate from you, but he would not say it out loud since he wouldn’t want to be seen as selfish

Strolling in the park, the two of you would exchange some conversations and share comfortable silence, just enjoying both of your presences

He would probably be okay with your touches as he’s comfortable with you since your habits of staying clean helps too, but still not very likely to extend to kisses or hugs during the first date

“Be careful on your way back.” He would say quietly when you two arrive in front of the station and wave you goodbye before you leave.

Oikawa Tooru: Disneyland Date

He would pick you up early from your home, so he gets to spend more time with you during the travel from Miyagi to Tokyo

“You know, there’s a myth about going to Disneyland for the first date…” You would bring up nonchalantly on the train ride to the amusement park, referring to the legend that couples who go to Tokyo Disneyland for the first date would be destined to break up

Ah… Of course, Y/N-chan would have heard of such myths too… Bearing a troubled smile, he would respond, “Mm. I know of that too. Y/N-chan, do believe in it? I don’t.”

“Apparently, if the couple share a kiss within the park, their relationship will last longer… that’s what they say too. What contradictions, I wouldn’t believe such things.”

“Y/N-chan…” He would look at you with tears in his eyes, touched. Did you want to kiss- He would then knock himself out of it, “That’s right! I can’t believe people actually believed in that. Let’s have a great time, the both of us.” He would flash a charming smile at you

During the long ride – from Miyagi to Tokyo and to Disneyland – the two of you would nap on the train with your head lying on his shoulder and his on yours

Upon arrival, Oikawa would be making loud excitable enthusiastic noises while you would be equally excited despite not reacting as openly as he would

After purchasing tickets, Oikawa would pull you along to the gift shop by the entrance to procure adorable matching headbands and trinkets and would snap a selfie of the two of you wearing it – it’s something he had always wanted to do

Checking the lines at the attractions, you two would go to the popular attractions with lines that would never seem to die down first – according to both your intensive research

During the rides, the two of you would be seated close while enjoying the rides or grabbing on to each other for dear life

Afterwards, you two would grab some snacks, where Oikawa would be taking a lot of selfies and pictures of the food, before heading for the afternoon shows and parade

Throughout the date, there would be a lot of natural physical touches, sitting close together on the rides, hitting him on his arms when he does stupid things that made you laugh, and holding hands to make sure the both of you do not get lost in the crowd

While waiting for the rides, there would always be something to talk about – the pictures and videos that the both of you took, discussing about the rides etc.

Right around sunset, the both of you would try canoes for a cruise ride. The view would be stunning, but Oikawa would be staring at you the entire time and trying to sneak a picture

For dinner, you two would have it at the banquet hall while discussing the long day and how you guys would be so tired you can sleep immediately after reaching home

Although he doesn’t believe in myths, he would still be quite wary of it, so during the night fireworks, he would call you softly and lean in for a kiss in front of the Cinderella’s castle

Perhaps sleeping immediately from the fatigue of the long day is no longer an option now as the you would probably be too red in the face from thinking about the kiss to sleep.

Kageyama Tobio: Aquarium Date

After his thorough research and advices that he received from his upperclassmen (mainly Sugawara), he would decide to invite you to the aquarium at Sendai

He would be rather nervous in the beginning, wondering if he prepared everything necessary but would also be excited about seeing the aquatic creatures

At the aquarium, the two of you would be fascinated by the school of fishes swimming in groups, the stingrays, rockfishes and others, which would mean many photographs and videos taken by the both of you

He would not be able to hide his enthusiasm – in an animated way, with lots of ‘wow’ and ‘woah’ from him, he would be openly captivated by the fishes that did not seem to dislike him despite how close his face was to the tank

Kageyama would slowly start to loosen up and relax throughout the date, except when you would unexpectedly grab on his hand of course

Physical contact would be rather natural with you leading it e.g. grabbing his arm to bring him to the next exhibit – his heart would beat unnaturally fast when you do and he’d lose focus of the sea creatures

He would realise that he seemed to be having the most fun and would find it embarrassing that he lost control of his enthusiasm; but when he sees you having fun observing the fishes, he would be relieved and forget about the fishes for a moment while watching you – he’d then snap out of it and tell himself to stay cool in your presence

You two would make small conversations when walking to the other tanks and discussing about the animals – how some fishes look dramatic and scary, cute and small – comparing the fishes to some of his teammates

“This fish looks like Tsukishima, looks like it has a scowl on its face.” Kageyama would compare, watching it closely with his face almost touching the glass, eyes squinting. You would try to suppress your laughter at his antics but would agree with him

A machine that can project your colouring of sea creature on a screen next to it would pique the interest of both of you, hence would try it out without a second thought

The two of you would be so amazed after watching your very own sea creature creations swimming in the screen and would proudly take pictures of each of your masterpieces

Up next would be the dolphin show, where the two of you would be so engrossed in the show that you both forget to take videos and you would later mention about how you regret not capturing the moment

After the aquarium, you two would stop by a small family restaurant to have your meal, looking over pictures and videos together while talking about the sea creatures and the date

On another note, Kageyama would now have a selfie of the both of you which would become his phone screensaver from now on.

Miya Atsumu: Laser Tag Date

The both of you would have agreed on meeting in the late afternoon at the laser tag location

Would then decide to play against one another for the first round, then team up for the next round

He would entice you with a bet where the loser would have to listen to the winner for the rest of the date; your competitive self would not let this opportunity slip

In the first round, you would play lone wolf – while assessing the situation and protecting yourself from the rest of the players, you would try to look for him to shoot him down

He would also play lone wolf instead of forming alliance with others because he knows that’s how you would play and wants it to be a fair fight

He would enjoy seeing you play seriously while having fun but would also want to take you down so you would be at his beck and call for the rest of the date

The two of you would be too focused on taking down each other that when you finally spot him and was about to shoot, someone else eliminated you first

Looking at board, you would see your name being the one who was out, but the next instant, Atsumu’s name would appear just below yours

The two of you would be annoyed, not be able to settle the scores would set the fire in your hearts even hotter

The next round, you and Atsumu would team up as planned and discuss attack and defense strategies. With great chemistry, the two of you would brutally take down the other players smoothly and emerge as the winner at the end

Feeling refreshed, the both of you would go for dinner at somewhere simple. It would be a casual yet refreshing meal, he has quite an appetite so he would order a lot to eat

During the meal, the two of you would enthusiastically discuss moments during the laser tag round where you both won and put off the bet until the next time

“It’s thanks to me that we won, I helped defend your back!” You would claim, but he’d retort, “Nah, it’s my aiming that helped take down our opponents.”

“Okay, end of argument. We make the perfect team – and the perfect couple.” He would conclude smugly, knowing your heart would skip a beat at the last part of his statement

Before the date ends, he would make sure to leave a peck on your cheek. He would then grin smugly as he flirts, “Make sure your lips are ready for mine on our next date.”

[blarrghe]

“My robes suit you.” FOR DORIANDERS I AM WEAK!!!

OH HELLO Thank you for bringing us to the next instalment of Giant Messy Idiot Mysteries Here it is on AO3

Pairing: Dorian x Anders Summary: Anders is a resident at a hospital in Minrathous, struggling with his medical school debts, the grueling hours of his job, a haunting whisper in his soul that never rests, and a debilitating crush on his new friend, Dorian.

Dorian is a newly appointed Magister in the Tevinter Magisterium, struggling with the expectations of his station, the recent death of his father, the weight of guilt and grief which came with it, and an absolute need of a hug. Chapter notes: cw for some alcohol and drug use (mostly mentions). 

This is an ongoing series I’m writing with the help of writing prompts people have sent me, feel free to send me one! You can read the prompt fill under the cut or the whole thing in order on AO3

Dorian was staying in the city. He'd rented one of those week-to-week, ready-furnished condos in some highrise downtown, the kind usually booked by vacationing tourists or affluent college students in need of a place to throw a party. He'd rented the place out the day after his father's funeral, and as far as Anders could tell, he hadn't been home to his family's sprawling estate in the country since. He said it made his commute easier; since his father's death, Dorian's political status had changed. A complicated combination of votes coupled with birthright determined a mage's place in the Magisterium, and Dorian's new position could only fall properly into place after several rounds of committee votes and the completion of an apparently endless amount of paperwork, which he'd been dutifully submitting and then complaining about ad nauseam. With all these meetings and events, it just made sense for him to have a place in town, or so he said. Anders suspected that he had another reason as well, and that she tended to shout at innocent nurses and “not like situations she couldn’t control”. Both his keeping of a sparsely furnished and impeccably clean temporary apartment, and the parade of (never-repeated) men Anders knew he had a habit of bringing back to it indicated as much. Anders, however, he had never had over. Anders had seen the inside of Dorian’s weekly rental (now going on its ninth week) only twice, and both times only from the doorway.

So even though he really wanted to be stubbornly irritated at Dorian for crashing into his valuable sleep time by almost dying on him again, when he finally arrived at the end of the long, carpeted hall and lifted his hand to knock sharply against the smooth and glossy paint of the condo’s door, it shook a little with his nerves.

Dorian, of course, came to the door in a robe.

It was a long, black, silken robe. Tied with a gold rope of more satiny fabric, and dipping in a deep V to reveal far, far too much golden skin. Anders painstakingly kept his eyes fixed right about his eyebrows, and tried to keep his own in a position that would denote stern. He was stern.

“You had better have an explanation,” Anders huffed as he deposited his bag in a heap of muddy-coloured canvas and broken zippers on the slippery tile floor of the entryway.

The ceiling above him stretched up for eons, decorated at the top with hanging lights glittering through wire fixtures that looked like they belonged in a museum of modern art. Ahead, the slick tile stepped down into a wide, white carpeted living room decorated in black and white and silver and nothing that looked like it had ever been touched by human hands, except for the bar at one end, which was cluttered with half-drunk bottles. Tall windows with long, white blinds walled off the far edge of the room, blinds drawn up to offer a view of city lights that gave way, between the shadows of other tall, glass-sided buildings competing for the view, to the sea. The view made him feel prickly; too high up, and annoyed that it likely cost more than the one he had of brick walls and smog from his own windows by the day, and that these vacuous places were what crowded the coastlines without end, while below the streets were crowded. But mostly, he didn't like the height. Dorian strode on into the apartment, and deposited himself comfortably onto the stiff white couch in the centre of the room, next to a glass coffee table that had on it a stout, gold-rimmed glass of something amber-coloured that Anders really hoped wasn’t alcoholic.

“A bachelor party gone wrong, I believe there’s a whole television series devoted to the concept, now.” he said, nonchalant. As though he hadn’t promised Anders a good reason for what had happened, twice. Something in Anders stirred unhappily. Did he think this was a game?

“Dorian, you could have died,” he still didn’t know what that had been, in Dorian’s body, blocking up his magic and turning him defenceless and silly. Or how much of it he’d done on purpose.

Dorian waived him off with a flutter of his hand, and Anders crossed his arms. “Don’t be dramatic,” he said. When Anders still didn’t uncross his arms, he sighed. “I simply had one too many drinks,” he continued, and Anders continued not to budge.

“Try eight too many,” he said. “And that doesn’t explain the visions or loss of magic or —”

“Visions?” Dorian frowned, “well, that does sound fun.”

“How can you not be taking this seriously? Do you even remember what you took? Who gave it to you?” was he a complete imbecile, after all?

Dorian sighed again. “Does it matter? I got drunk, I let down my guard, and someone got the better of me. It was bound to happen, now that I’ve got a position to keep.”

“What?” Anders stopped, suddenly struck by the uncomfortable realisation that Dorian did, in fact, think that this was a game. More than that, he’d more or less expected to play it. “You think this was political?”

“I think I was bloody stupid, and lucky to know you.” Dorian replied, shrugging away Anders’ new irritation, “and that I’ll have to be much more careful with where I place my drinks in the future.”

Anders shook his head, miffed out of speech. Dorian frowned again, apparently disappointed that his reveal of having been poisoned for political gain didn’t alleviate Anders’ concerns.

“Anyway, I have a thank you gift for you, I know it hardly serves to make amends for your having to put up with such hassles, but —” an inconvenience? That was Dorian’s takeaway from last night? He was faltering through his apology, now — “well, that’s twice you’ve kept me from a gutter when I really ought to have fallen in one,” he smiled, a heartbreakingly sad smile; even the aggravated parts of him wanted to offer comfort to that smile. They wanted something else too though, for the person responsible. “So, you can wear it to the wedding, if you’ll still go with me, that is.” He was still talking. Talking about a gift? A gift he was now taking down from a shelf mounted next to the vast stretch of television screen that spanned one towering white wall of the living room, and presenting to Anders.

The box was square and deep, twilight blue. It slid open, lined on the inside with soft black fabric, to reveal a shining silver watch. Anders could see his reflection in the glass cover, under which four consecutively smaller little gears and wheels of clock hands spun out at him. He blinked at it.

“You’re still going to that? After someone tried to poison you?” Anders very carefully closed the lid of the box over the watch, and put it slowly down on the glass coffee table next to Dorian’s glass of...brandy. He was drinking blighted brandy.

Dorian said something frustratingly nondescript and wishy, and picked up his glass. “No one tried to poison me,” he took a sip, “more likely they were just hoping to have me caught in a compromising position, or entice me out of some political secret. Visions, you said? Sounds like probitasexus; like a truth serum, but more fun. It’s par for the course, really.”

Anders stuttered after him, “par for the —”

“Of course, done with anything lyrium-laced, it interacts badly. But that bit’s my own fault. Reckless, as I said.”

So he’d taken magic-enhancing party drugs and twelve shots of vodka and then been secretly dosed with something to make him sexually honest? Anders swallowed. He’d liked not knowing where one symptom ended and another began better. Also, how was he managing to stand upright after all that?

“Do you have any ideas who did it, at least?” Anders asked, the spirit in him growing unhappier by the second.

Dorian, once again, simply shrugged. “It could have been any number of people,” he said, “plenty are none too happy about my new appointments.”

Then, with a voice that was quite forcefully more Not Anders than Anders, Anders heard himself say “but you have a plan to find out?” while the world went slightly blue.

Dorian squinted. “So,” he said slowly, “that part was real, then. You’re not alone in there.”

Anders squeezed his own hands together and blinked himself back. “It’s...Justice. And it’s complicated. But we both want to know,” he said. Of course; that, he remembered.

“Justice,” Dorian hummed, “how fitting.” He finished the brandy in his glass and walked around the crystal clear coffee table to the bar that stood by one of those tall, ocean-facing windows, “I don’t expect to find out who it was — the contract’s certainly been swept away by now — only to not let it happen again.” Then he opened a bottle and splashed four fingers of deep brown liquid too quickly into his glass, getting some on the bartop. Not only was he drinking brandy, he’d been drinking brandy for a while, it seemed.

Anders rushed to the counter, snagged the glass out from under him, and pushed it far down the bar. “Andraste’s mercy,” he scolded, “do I have to stage a one-man intervention? Do you have a death wish?”

“Funny,” Dorian leaned back, arms crossed, unfairly offended, “I could ask you the same thing.” A scrutinizing eye ran Anders over from top to bottom, “we all have our demons, don’t we?”

Evidently, he found this bit of wordplay to be clever enough to merit his snatching the drink back, and Anders was too busy keeping a lid on a sudden urge to punch him that came from the back corners of his thought (and maybe the front ones, too), to stop him.

“Justice is a spirit, and you could at least take a day off.”

“So could you.” Dorian took an indignant sip of brandy, “or do you spend every waking moment you have trying to help people out of an uncontrollable inclination towards justice?”

“You're going to criticize me for overwork?”

Dorian took one more, less indignant sip of the stuff, and sighed. “How about neither one of us criticizes the other for a moment? I need to… steady my nerves, that's all.”

“This isn't ok, Dorian.” Anders said, no less blunt than he meant to be. “You can’t just carry on with a target on your back.”

Dorian looked at him for a long, silent moment, the drink still in his hand, eyes searching.

“And what do you suggest I do about it? Run away? I have responsibilities.” he muttered finally. He couldn't have known the words would sting, but they did. “You're right though, no more foolish partying.” he said, putting the glass down again without drinking more. “Not for a while, anyway,” he smirked. “Satisfied?”

“No.”

Anders glared down at the glass between them until Dorian sighed, picked it up, and walked away through an open passage in the white walls. Anders followed him into a kitchen that was easily as big as Anders’ whole apartment, and watched him pour the drink into the sink, rinse it, go to the fridge, and fill the same glass again with water. He raised it in a salute and drank it.

“Then where does this leave us?” he said, just as bold as Anders, if not more.

“Maker, I don't know.” He wanted to be mad at him, because that would be simple, but he wasn’t; no part of him was. Heart beating too fast in his chest, frustration and concern pulling in opposing directions; afraid, but of him or for him he didn’t know — probably both. “I really can't stop you going to that wedding, can I?”

Dorian smiled, and shook his head.

“Then I'll go with you, if only to keep you out of more trouble.”

“Excellent. In that case, I have some things I want you to try on.”

And just like that, he was done with it all. Life-threatening drama shoved aside so that he could beckon Anders excitedly into his bedroom (his bedroom) to show off the offerings of a vast wardrobe.

He piled clothes onto the bed, hovered over them, pulling fabrics around and holding items over one another with scholarly concentration, and then finally gathered up a small mountain of things and piled them into Anders’ arms. He shoved Anders into an ensuite that held a bath three times bigger than his own blighted bed, and told him to try the green one first.

“It will suit your eyes,” he was calling through the door as he pushed Anders inside faster than Anders could protest, “if you really want justice, you’ll help me look good.” he went on, from the other side of the door.

“I could help you look for a new job,” Anders shot back through the door, grateful that Dorian couldn’t see him blushing.

“You said you liked politics.” Anders could practically hear the smirk across his reply.

Anders huffed and dropped the clothes Dorian had burdened him with in a pile on the floor, and looked for ‘The Green One’.

It was a long coat of deep, forest green with gold stitching and clasps, embroidered in an old-fashioned tradition with complicated paisley ornamentation in gold thread and shining beads. The patterns ran delicately along the collar, and into a wide neckline that ran down to the centre of his chest, where they clasped up the front with hooks of more gold. It came wrapped with matching leggings, which were loose and silky to the touch. Everything slipped on comfortably, the shoulders a little broad, maybe, but the length was perfect; a rare fit, for him. He stood for a minute turning in the mirror — a fact he would be sure never, ever to admit — just admiring it as it shone. Then Dorian knocked on the door expectantly, and Anders jumped, shaking his head at himself in the mirror until his expression settled back down.

He opened the door, and stepped out, making a point to do so quickly and to only turn for Dorian after he requested it, and with the most irritated roll of his eyes that he could muster.

“See, I was right.” Dorian mused, leaning back to admire his selections with a hand thoughtfully stroking at the hair on his chin, “my robes suit you.”

That time, Dorian could definitely see him blushing. Anders felt his blood rush hot to his cheeks, and narrowed his eyes as Dorian’s smirk intensified and his eyebrows waggled over it all. Anders’ mind was flooded with the echoes of “I see how you look at me”, and other things his massively irresponsible and only friend had said to him, while on drugs. Anders crossed his arms and grit his teeth, willing his cheeks to cool — definitely making it worse.

Dorian frowned. “Anders, I…” Dorian, then, dropped the mask of constant charm, and glanced down at his feet. “I didn’t do anything, last night, that was… untoward, did I? Because if I did I —”

On drugs, Anders reminded himself. (Honesty drugs — shush, honesty drugs with unpredictable drug interactions and lyrium-laced uppers, and alcohol — he continued to remind himself), whatever he’d done, he’d done it because he’d been a drooling puddle of poorly mixed chemicals. “— you mostly just muttered a lot of gibberish.” Anders stopped him, and a very large part of him was disappointed in him for his dishonesty, but Dorian breathed out with relief.

“I really can’t thank you enough.” Dorian snapped himself back into something with far more poise than should have been humanly possible, “you’re a good friend.”

[hedwigstalons]

High Expectations - Ch9

This was meant to be just a quick bit of practice at freehand drawing so I could work on doing neat straight lines and circles.  Then I found my old glass paints that have been in a box for...8 years (?) and suddenly I now have a WASP suncatcher.  I’m a bit wobbly with the relief edging, probably not helped in that the tubes had gone a bit firm and funky, but I’m predicting more sun catchers and maybe a few candle holders will appear soon.

Many thanks are due to @willow-salix​ who has provided much hand holding and head pats.

Earlier parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight

AO3 chapter link

Chapter Nine

Gordon fell into line amongst the other hopefuls.  For the next few days he wasn’t Gordon Tracy, Olympian and heir to one of the largest fortunes in America, he was Number 14 and the anonymity suited him just fine.  The elastic armband around his bicep was the sole identifier to distinguish him from the other candidates as the assessors marked down their observations.  Only the course leader had the information that linked names to numbers; each stage of selection was kept separate to avoid bias.  

“Atten...shun!”

The command was barked out by the officer placed in charge of his group and Gordon found himself jumping to the alert and snapping his feet together automatically.  Evidently something had remained buried deep in his memory from all the times watching Scott being taught drill by their father or practicing out in the yard in Kansas all those years ago.  The rest of the group also snapped to attention with varying degrees of success.

“Group C, your first test is pool fitness.  You have two minutes to fetch your swimming kit and fall back into line.  Go!”

There was a mad scramble towards the door of their temporary accommodation as Gordon and the other potential recruits allocated to group C raced to retrieve their kit from their bunks.  They had barely been on base for an hour but had already learnt that failure to meet a time limit or just being last to complete a task would result in being given punishment press ups.  By the time they had reassembled groups A and B were nowhere to be seen, evidently separated off to undertake one of the other selection tests.

As they marched across the base to the pool Gordon couldn’t help but feel slightly pleased that his group was getting to swim first.  This was his natural environment and he justifiably had every confidence in his own abilities.  It would also give him a good chance to stretch out his muscles after sitting around in the airport and then being cramped in an airline seat; domestic flights were always taken in coach class for a Tracy son travelling solo.

Once within the pool building more orders were barked giving a time limit to get changed.  Gordon quickly found a space on the bench and started stripping.  Some of the other recruits seemed a little uncomfortable about changing in the communal space but Gordon figured that privacy would often be hard to come by within the submarine service and now was not the time to be worried about modesty.  After years of completing the action several times a week he could be in his kit almost as quickly as he could swim 200m and he was one of the first ready.  

He snapped on his sunshine yellow swimming cap drawing a few strange looks but Gordon shrugged them off; so what if only a couple of candidates in his group were wearing them?  To Gordon the cap was just a standard part of his kit, however he was glad he had decided to leave his Team USA branded items at home and opt for his plain training set; there was no need to draw more attention to himself than was strictly necessary.

Out on the poolside the elastic armbands were replaced by numbered stickers slapped on shoulder and thigh.  From the way the sticker pulled tightly at the skin Gordon just knew that ripping it off later would be a painful experience.  Once numbers had been applied everyone lined up expectantly, awaiting further orders.

“Right, I want two circuits of the pool as warm up.  No cutting the corners.  No touching the wall.  Do you understand?”

“Yes Sir!”  the chorus of voices responded in unison.  

“Into the water, in number order.  Go!”

One by one the men allocated to group C were counted into the water to complete their circuits around the perimeter of the pool.  The pace was frustratingly slow for the Olympian whose number placed him towards the rear of the pack and it took a lot of self control not to stretch out and overtake those ahead of him.  

The slow pace allowed Gordon plenty of opportunity to look around the facility.  WASP evidently invested in its sporting areas for the pool itself was up to Olympic standards even if the viewing and changing areas were a little more basic than Gordon had encountered at some of his competitions.  If he was given the opportunity to continue his swimming training, and it wasn’t unheard of to encounter military participants released for competitions, he would have no complaints about the standard of the Marineville pool.  Unfortunately his appraisal of the facilities nearly earned him a kick in the face, he hadn’t realised how close he had got to the swimmer in front and had to drop his pace yet again to maintain some distance.  For him the actual tests and the chance to stretch out his limbs couldn’t come soon enough.  

With warm-up over the first eight swimmers were allocated their lanes.  Gordon watched the action even more closely than the assessors, critiquing the style of others was all part of his ingrained training and he winced at some of the sloppy dives and mangled turns.  Still, the tests were about meeting a minimum standard rather than being competition ready.

Soon enough it was time for swimmers 9 through to 16 to claim a lane.  It didn’t escape Gordon’s notice that his number placed him in lane six and the coincidence struck him as lucky.  If you had asked him just a few months ago what his favourite lane was he would have promptly answered four but after his Olympic success he has developed a soft spot for his current position, after all it had been good enough to earn him gold and a world record.  He adjusted his goggles and wiggled his toes on the edge of the pool, he would have preferred to use a starting block but he could adapt.

The sound of the whistle had him launching into the water in a clean dive.  There had been no stipulations on the stroke to be used and Gordon automatically found himself using his preferred butterfly, unaware of the raised eyebrows this was causing among the onlookers; his rejection of freestyle making him stick out almost as much as the yellow hat.  That and the fact that he left the other candidates in his wake.  He shot through the water, powerful muscles propelling him towards the finish at a rate that far exceeded expectations.

Less than 2 minutes later and Gordon had completed his fourth lap and finished the test.  He had taken it easy, or at least he thought he had until he turned and realised the next nearest swimmer was almost a full lap behind him.  He returned bemused stares with a shrug and a smile before placing his hands on the poolside and launching himself out to sit on the edge and wait for the others to finish.

The remainder of the pool tests passed in much the same fashion with Gordon easily outstripping his cohort.  He could swim faster, dive further and hold his breath for longer than any of the others.  His techniques were sharp and in the water he moved with a strength and grace that were enviable.  Even skills like casualty towing, which wasn’t part of his usual repertoire, came naturally to him and he aced the tests with ease.  The assessors scribbled some hurried notes on their pads; when it came to the water based activities at least candidate 14 was marking himself out as someone to watch.

xoxoxox

The first day drew to a close and Gordon was thankful when his group were released to the freedom of their dormitory.  The pool session had been swiftly followed by a run then a drill lesson in one of the large parade squares dotted around the base.  His muscles were weary and clearly grumbling at the lack of deep stretching after his swim but he was in a better shape than many in the room.  WASP only accepted the very best to join its ranks and the selection tests were designed to weed out those not up to standard.  Already three beds in his room were empty after their allocated occupants had withdrawn, either having had a change of heart or to avoid the shame of being rejected at the end of the course having already failed too many of the test elements. 

Tempting as it was to just flop down onto his bunk Gordon knew from painful experience that he would regret it the following day.  He settled himself on an empty patch of floor and started running through some yoga poses to try and work out the tension in his back and legs.  Just because the instructors hadn’t given them much opportunity to stretch didn’t give him the excuse to neglect his body.  It also gave him something productive to do while waiting for his turn in the showers.

His activities drew some curious looks and half-sniggered comments from the others in the room but he zoned out and ignored them, instead focussing on his form until the showers came free.  He didn’t have long to wait, two showers came free at the same time and both he and Number 13 grabbed their towels and headed through to the wash rooms.

He stripped down to his shorts and picked experimentally at the stickers left in place after the pool session, the glue was strong and part of him was tempted to leave them except the edges were just beginning to lift and annoy him.  He gritted his teeth, pinched the loosest corner and ripped back sharply.  He swiftly repeated the action on the second sticker then rubbed briskly at the angry red patches left on his skin.

“That looked painful.  Not too sure I want to do that to myself”

He looked up, met the eyes of Number 13 and grinned.

“It’s just like pulling off a band-aid.  Nothing to it.” 

“Rather you than me.  I think I'll try and get mine in the shower.”

They went their separate ways into the empty cubicles and Gordon turned the shower up high.  The accommodation might be spartan but he was glad the water was hot and plentiful.  The powerful drops blasted away the sweat and chlorine that had built up on his skin and he turned his face into the stinging stream.  Much as he would have liked to stand there for longer he knew others were waiting their turn and it wouldn't be fair to hang around.  The temptation was strong but he hadn’t been impressed by the amount of time some candidates had taken and it wasn’t fair to keep the last few waiting longer than they had to.  

All too soon he was back in the chilly dorm room, hauling himself onto the bunk that had been marked out as his.  Eight sets of bunk beds lined the room, with thirteen of the individual beds now filled.  He wondered how many more gaps would appear as the selection course progressed.  Murmurs of conversation broke out around the room as the participants made use of the first real chance they had to get to know each other since arriving.  The instructors had kept them busy all afternoon and unnecessary chatter during the tasks had been swiftly quelled by punishment press ups,  but now, with no instructors around, the candidates could speak more freely.

Gordon lay back and listened.  It was the usual first-night whispers he remembered from some of his swim camps; name, city but unsurprisingly not their favourite distance and stroke.  The introductions travelled around the room; it seemed Marineville saw applicants from the west coast right through to the central states.  Gordon knew it would soon be his turn and he resolved to say as little as possible, he was enjoying being just another person in the crowd.

“So what about you 14?”

“Gordon, I'm from LA.” 

If he thought he was going to be able to get away with the bare minimum he was sorely mistaken.

“So what were you doing before you decided to try out for WASP?  You're built like a tank and you swim like a fish.  You some personal trainer or something?”

“Me? Uh, I've just high finished school.  I do swim competitively though.”

Thankfully the candidate doing the questioning latched on more to the school part than the swimming.

“Only just left school?  You don't act like some kid, I thought you were at least 20, maybe 22.”

“Nope, only 17.”

“Jeez, that makes you the baby of the group.  So what do your family think of you heading off to sea first chance you get?”

Thankfully Gordon was spared answering by a bellow from the doorway.

“This is a military base, not a holiday camp.  If you lot have enough energy to gossip you obviously aren't working hard enough.  Now if I hear another sound from this room I will have you outside running laps until you drop.  Do you understand me?”

A chorus of “Yes, Sir!” rang out before the room descended into total silence.

Gordon rolled over, wondering what challenges tomorrow would bring.

xoxoxox

The second day of selection started with the sound of drums at daybreak.  Sleepy heads were raised in confusion.  Others who were quicker on the uptake, Gordon included, leapt from their beds and started throwing on clothes.  He was glad he hadn’t skimped on the stretches the night before, some of his contemporaries were looking decidedly stiff after the exertions of the previous day.

The now familiar sound of shouting filled the room.

“Up!  Up!  Sports kit on and outside for PT before breakfast.  Move!”

Gordon was no stranger to early morning training.  As the first beats had sounded from the speakers in the corners of the room he had been on his feet, all shreds of sleep disappearing in an instant.  It was an enviable skill and obviously not one possessed by all in the room.  To the observing instructor in the doorway  Number 14 shone through yet again as one of the stronger candidates.

   There was no denying that WASP selection was a taxing experience. The group was whisked from one set of tests to another.  If it wasn’t their bodies being tested it was their minds as they sat exam papers or explored leadership scenarios.  By lunch time another member of his group had dropped out, and judging by the numbers sitting down to eat groups A and B were now similarly depleted.  Even those that lasted the distance had no guarantee they would be accepted to wear the prestigious grey uniform; the standards might have an absolute minimum but it had been made clear that if more met the standard than was needed then only the very best would be made an offer.

While many were struggling Gordon was relishing the challenge.  It was as though he had found his niche.  Even the written tests, which he had approached with some trepidation, had been well within his comfort zone which helped his confidence soar.  Theories and concepts which had seemed so abstract at school seemed to make more sense when applied to a real life scenario and for once in his life Gordon walked away from a classroom without feeling a failure.

After lunch group C were to take their turn on the obstacle course, a gruelling array of beams, walls and aerial wires that would require both strength and agility to navigate.  To Gordon the course looked like a massive playground and he couldn’t help but grin at the prospect.

The instructors divided the group into smaller teams of four and Gordon’s team set off onto the course first at the sound of the whistle.  

The group raced along, leaping over pits using rope swings and stepping along narrow beams as quickly as their balance allowed, each candidate aiming to be the first to reach and therefore clear each piece of equipment.  It was every man for himself.  That was until they were brought up short by a 10 foot wall.  Number 6, who was keen to keep his early lead, took a running jump at the obstacle.  His fingers caught the top edge but he was unable to keep a good enough grip to climb over and he soon fell back down again.

To Gordon the solution was obvious; it was quickly becoming apparent to him that this test was different to those that had gone before and if they were to have any hope of making it through successfully then teamwork would have to be the order of the day.  

“Look, if any of us are to stand a chance of getting through this course we are going to have to work together.”

Number 6, after a second failed leap, was quick to agree.  Numbers 3 and 10, arriving a moment later, could also see sense in the plan.  

“Sure.  So how are we going to tackle this one.”

Three sets of eyes turned to Gordon expectantly.  Having been the one to voice the idea the others were evidently expecting him to come up with the solution.  He thought for a moment then turned and planted his back against the wall, bending his knees to make a step.

“6, you’re tallest, you go first.  Use me as a ladder to get up but stay on top of the wall, don’t drop down the other side.  You can then help up 3 and 10.  Once you’re all on top you can reach back down and haul me over.  Got it?”

There were three nods of agreement. 

Gordon braced himself as first his legs then his shoulders were used as steps.  Once.  Twice.  A third time.  His clothes became marked with muddy footprints but he didn’t care, the plan was working and he was soon being bodily lifted up and over the obstacle by the team he had helped up first.

Having made the decision to work together the group soon found themselves speeding through the course.  Many obstacles, while able to be attempted solo, could be cleared much quicker with careful cooperation and support; Gordon had evidently read the situation correctly.  

Despite being the youngest the others seemed happy to defer to him as their leader and Gordon found himself naturally assuming command of the team.  He directed the group to make the best use of their combined talents.  Before long the band of four found themselves at the far end of the course, just one final obstacle to navigate their way over then the run for home.

Using their now tried and tested method the team were soon atop the final wall despite it being the biggest yet.  From here they could look back over the whole course, the other candidates and their assessors were indistinct figures in the distance.

“Wonder who that is come to visit?  Probably from the World Navy.  Best make sure we put on a good show, they might be important.”

From his lofty vantage point Gordon looked back towards the start point.  Number 6 was right, someone new had joined the cluster of watching assessors, the dark blue of their uniform a stark contrast to WASP grey.

“No idea.  Come on, let's finish this as a team.”

The group jumped down from the final obstacle and began the mad sprint back to the beginning of the course and their waiting assessors.  As they closed the gap between themselves and the waiting officers, making sure no one was left behind, the mystery figure resolved itself into a familiar form for Gordon 

Recognition led first to confusion and then to anger.

Scott.

[isitgintimeyet]

Road To The Aisles

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Thank you for reading. Hope you enjoy this chapter and...

Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge @happytoobserve @wickedgoodbooks for their continuing support

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Chapter 13: A Covetous Situation

“As I must therefore conclude that you are not serious in your rejection of me, I shall chuse to attribute it to your wish of increasing my love by suspense, according to the usual practice of elegant females.”

Jane Austen - Pride & Prejudice

Jamie sat in the living room and waited expectantly.

Claire had returned home from work, her arms fully laden with an abundance of chiffon, lace, velvet and glitter in a wild assortment of colours. She had greeted him with a peck on the lips, swiftly pulling away as he moved closer to prolong it.

Having informed him that the bountiful selection of evening gowns was on loan from Geillis for the black tie fundraiser at Kelvingrove Art Gallery, she instructed him to sit down and get comfortable as she paraded the dresses for his opinions. Before he could reply, she emphasised that  although his views were appreciated, the final choice of gown was entirely hers.

Surveying the assortment of dresses now spread over the bed like some sort of high-end jumble sale, Claire could see that there was one clear winner in her mind and a couple that she would never have the courage to wear in public. She wondered when Geillis had the opportunity to wear them, as she didn’t talk about attending many formal events.

Realisation dawned and Claire smiled to herself. With Geillis’ and Dougal’s propensity for role play and other ‘related activities’, she supposed that some of these ‘costumes’ may have been included in said activities. Fortunately, as Claire noticed the dry cleaning tags still on the dresses, Geillis’ passion for sexual role play was only matched by her obsession with cleanliness and hygiene.

And now Jamie was downstairs waiting for the fashion show. Claire picked up the first dress and slipped it off the hanger.

Claire stood in the doorway. The black velvet dress clung to her curves as she walked into the room, her stride restricted by the tightness of the fabric around her legs. Only the diamanté trim on the high collar relieved the severity of the dress.

“What do you think?” Claire asked.

“Weel, ‘tis very plain. It’s no’ bad, but… Christ, Sassenach...” Jamie exclaimed as Claire turned her back on him to reveal the dress was backless, from collar all the way to the cleft of her buttocks.

She wiggled her bottom as he carried on talking.

“I can see yer bum cheeks in that. And ye canna be wearing any knickers, can ye?”

Claire turned her head to look at Jamie, his eyes still firmly fixed on her arse.

“I must admit, my bum is a bit bigger that Geillis’s, so there may be a bit of… er… cheek cleavage, shall we say? And you’re right, I can’t wear knickers with it, or bra either.”

Jamie swallowed hard.

“Aye, yer arse looks mighty fine in that dress. But, I’m no’ sure…”

Claire laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m not planning on wearing this to the fundraiser. Just wanted to see your reaction. Wait there, there’s more.”

And with that she tottered out of the room.

Jamie obeyed her instructions to wait there. In fact, he didn't want to move anyway. Claire seemed intent on putting on a show for him, and who was he to deny her that?

A flurry of red chiffon floated into the living room. Jamie stared at the vision in front of him.

“Wow,” he finally uttered.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s… er…”

Claire gave a quick twirl.

“Christ, Sassenach, I can see half yer boob at the side, and the other half from the front.  And jes’ those wee straps holding it up. If one of them should snap…”

“I’ve thought of that. I can carry some safety pins with me, in case,” she teased as she moved closer to him, bending over and placing her hands on his thighs.

The thin shoulder straps slipped down her arms as Jamie lightly stroked her breast. He reached into the bodice, easily pushing the flimsy fabric aside, exposing her breasts fully.

Claire closed her eyes as he cupped both breasts, rhythmically rubbing the nipples with his thumbs.

“‘It’s a fine dress,” he whispered. “But I dinna think…”

“Don’t worry, this isn’t the one. I have already chosen something more suitable. This was just for you.”

She pulled away, ignoring his moan of protest. Gathering up the voluminous fabric of the skirt, she climbed onto the sofa, straddling him.

“Didn’t bother putting any knickers on for this dress either,” she whispered in his ear.

His hands slid under the dress to firmly grab her arse, drawing her closer to him. His cock was hard, almost painful, trapped inside his jogging bottoms. He wanted this to last, but could already feel his climax begin to build.

Claire’s nipples stiffened as he drew first one, then the other into his mouth, his tongue circling each in turn before his teeth lightly nipped the hard peak as he transferred attention to the other. Her low moan drove straight to his cock.

“I canna wait.” His voice quivered with desire. “Are ye ready?”

One hand travelled from her backside, along her hip before dipping between her parted legs, into the moist heat of her very core.

“God, ye are… so wet… so ready fer me.”

Claire wound her arms around his neck, her fingers raking through his curls. “Yes… ready…”

She knelt up to allow Jamie to shimmy his jogging bottoms and underpants down his thighs. Released from its restrictions, his cock sprang free, to be enveloped by the warmth of Claire’s hand. Teasing, she rubbed the tip along her moistness, shivering as it circled around her sensitive nub.

“I need tae be inside ye.” Jamie could wait no longer as Claire positioned herself and drove down against his cock before raising her hips and grinding down again and again, the motion drawing Jamie closer and closer to his release. His hand slipped under her dress once more, his fingers touching their joined flesh and stroking in time with each thrust, every movement building to their shattering climax.

They remained still joined as, panting, they came back to reality.

“Amazing…” Claire breathed.

“Thank ye, Sassenach.” Jamie chuckled. “Ye werena sae bad yerself.”

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

Claire watched as Jamie sauntered across the room towards her, snagging a couple of glasses of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter. ‘Sauntering’ was a good description, Claire thought to herself, a certain careless elegance in his walk with long lean strides, unaware (apparently) of the admiring glances being cast in his direction.

Well, not totally unaware, as he smiled at her and lifted the champagne glasses to show her his acquisitions. This was the first time she had seen him in his dinner suit and, much as she found his kilt a total turn on, this outfit was proving to be a bit of welcome variety.

To Jamie, Claire stood out like a candle amid a sea of monochrome. The copper-toned dress that she had chosen fitted like a glove. Grecian, Claire had informed him. He didn’t know about that, he just knew that the colours accentuated her hair’s natural highlights, the off-the-shoulder draping displayed  her creamy white skin, and the tight bodice held her breasts securely… with just enough cleavage to torment him. He had never seen her in such a formal gown before, and wouldn’t again until... he inhaled sharply at the thought. Until the day she would wear her wedding dress.

“Thank God,” she greeted him, accepting one of the champagne glasses. “I’m parched. Have you spotted Ian and Jenny yet?”

“Nah, Sorry, I was jes’ chatting tae the features editor of Whisky Magazine. He’s at our table fer dinner. I’m hoping they’ll do a feature on the Japanese launch.”

“So, you’re not here to support the hospice then, it’s a business opportunity,” Claire teased.

“Can I no’ do both, Sassenach? Ah, look, see Jenny’s over there, heading tae our table. Shall we?”

She took his arm as they made their way through the maze of white tablecloths and black crepe chair bows to their table.

Jenny and Ian were already seated, along with four guests Claire didn’t recognise. Jamie took his seat with Jenny on his left and Claire on his right. An unfamiliar face was next to Claire. Jamie leant across the table and spoke to the stranger.

“Claire, this is Tom Christie. Tom, this is ma fiancée, Claire Beauchamp.”

Claire smiled politely at the older man. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Allow me to introduce you to my colleagues… Morag, Giles and Mary.” Tom gestured to the remaining occupants of the table.

With the introductions over, the table settled down to the first course of Cullen Skink. The conversation to and fro across the table was polite, entertaining, superficial.

As the waiters collected the empty soup bowls, Tom spoke directly to Jamie. “I believe ye’ve offered up an auction prize… five bottles of yer thirty-year-old Broch Tuarach special reserve. Verra generous of ye. And how much would that cost?”

“It retails fer three hundred pounds a bottle.”

“Aye.” Jenny joined the conversation. “And if the bid is over a thousand pounds, the winner gets a tour and whisky tasting at the distillery, too.”

“What say ye, Miss Beauchamp, should I bid on this lot? Would ye be ma tour guide?” Tom turned to Claire. “Mebbe we should run a feature on the distillery in the magazine.”

“We’d be more than happy to arrange a visit fer ye and yer colleagues at the magazine.” Jenny offered. “And a whisky tasting too. Any time.”

Tom nodded briefly in acknowledgement of Jenny’s suggestion.

As the main course of Scottish reared beef was served, the conversation became sparse, everyone savouring the succulent meat and the smooth red wine accompanying it.

Claire drained her wine. Jamie reached for the bottle but Tom beat him to it and replenished her glass before setting the bottle back on the table with a sly grin. Jenny gave a theatrical cough and held her empty glass aloft. Tom turned his attention back to Claire.

“I trust ye enjoy a dram or two of Broch Tuarach then, Claire? One of the perks of joining the family, eh?”

“Yes, I do like a good whisky,” Claire responded and took a large sip of wine. “And Broch Tuarach is certainly special. Has Jamie or Jenny told you about the launch in Japan? That’s really big news for the distillery.”

Tom moved closer to Claire, his voice now a conspiratorial whisper in her ear.

“I must say, yer eyes are amazing. Jamie is a lucky man.”

On Claire’s left she could hear the scrape of Jamie’s chair as he inched closer to her. His arm moved across to rest along the back of her chair.

“Sae, Tom,” Claire recognised the fake bonhomie in Jamie’s voice. “Who do ye favour fer the World Whisky Awards, then?”

“Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me for a moment.” Claire stood and looked around for a bathroom sign.

“Aye, that’s a good idea. I’ll join ye.” Jenny followed Claire.

“True tae form. They canna go tae the bathroom on their own,” Ian joked.

*********

Claire shifted uncomfortably in her seat. The large dinner was proving to be a mistake, as the bones in her bodice were digging into her skin and Tom was demonstrating a bit too much interest in her cleavage. She felt obliged to be pleasant and polite to him, hopeful of a Broch Tuarach feature in his magazine. Only one thing to do… she took another sip from her brandy, rested her free hand lightly on Jamie’s thigh and tried to ignore the now slightly inebriated and sweaty middle aged man next to her and focus on the auction up on the stage.

The bids for the whisky climbed higher and higher, quickly reaching four figures before finally settling at two and a half thousand pounds.

“It’d be cheaper for them to buy it off the shelf,” Jenny commented. “But I ken it’s all fer the hospice and they get a whisky tasting… and mebbe we could put them up fer the night too, dinner and breakfast?”

Jamie and Ian readily agreed as the three of them were ushered towards the photographer, ready for the obligatory snap with the lucky bidder.

“Dinner and breakfast, eh?” Tom spoke slowly, carefully trying not to slur his words. “Mebbe I should have bid tae see yer fine eyes over the dinner table… and the breakfast table… and in between…”

His gaze was clearly focused several inches below her eyes.

“If you’ll excuse me, I think Jenny wants me.” Claire walked over to join the others.

With the auction all concluded, the lights dimmed and the disco began. Ian and Jamie were engrossed in an important conversation about rugby as Claire and Jenny headed to the dance floor where they stayed, with only the occasional break for refreshments as the DJ ran through the standard reception repertoire.

Claire loved dancing, it felt exhilarating as the heavy bass beat ran through her body. Any discomfort from her dress was rapidly forgotten. And Jenny was always a willing partner. With two children under five, she was keen for any chance to enjoy grown-up time.

Claire was aware of Jamie, sitting at the table, now with his jacket off, watching her. He didn’t really enjoy dancing but was happy enough to let her go wild to her heart’s content on the dance floor. She was also aware of Tom watching her intently, but tried to ignore him and focus on the music.

Gradually, Claire’s hair, which had been tamed and coiffed for this event, began to break free of its restraints and as she danced, the curls floated around her face and shoulders. Laughing, she pushed them out of her eyes. Jamie loved this wild abundance of curls. He longed to gather them up in his hands and then let them cascade down her neck and back. And, he admitted to himself, he wanted to show Tom that Claire belonged to him. He wasn’t particularly proud of this feeling so he remained seated and tried to ignore it.

Tom, however, had no desire to remain seated and began to boogie his way to the dance floor, joining Claire and Jenny. It was obvious where his intentions lay as he gyrated around Claire, turning his back to Jenny. Claire kept on moving away, getting closer to Jenny.

Jamie watched, growing angrier by the minute. Unable to stand this display, he walked up behind Claire and put his arms around her waist. She turned slightly to smile at him.

He whispered in her ear. “Are ye ready tae go now?”

Claire pouted. “I can’t remember when I last had a boogie. Do we have to go now?”

“Ten minutes?”

“Ok, ten minutes.”

With a kiss on her neck, Jamie strode back to his seat while Claire turned to Jenny and carried on dancing.

[gofancyninjaworld]

The World of Heroes. Part 2: What is a Hero, Anyway?

Part 1 here

I realise that one of the things we think everyone agrees on is what a hero is.  We also tend to think we know what ‘hero’ means in One-Punch Man.  But let’s walk this thinking back a bit. 

A Chimera of a Beast

To start with, there are many definitions of hero. Originally, a hero was a man (or woman) who opposed great adversity with strength, courage and ingenuity. Critically, they did this for the sake of personal glory. If it helped anyone, that was nice, but it wasn’t the point.  We have the one many are familiar with from the Bible (and from Maccabees, if you’re Catholic), where the idea of sacrificing oneself for the sake of others was held up as both a heroic and loving thing to do. The hero is an altruist.  More modern readings (Middle Ages onwards), have conflated 'hero' with 'champion' (a defender of a cause or person) and have the hero doing these acts for the sake of others, sacrifice optional. 

Tying these definitions together would be Philip Zimbardo (yes *that* Zimbardo), who sees heroism in terms of the willingness to act for what one perceives to be right. Crucially, he sees the choice to act when one might otherwise have stood by as the key definition of a hero: the opposite of heroism is not villainy, but indifference. The bystander, the person who could have acted but chose not to, is the one complicit in evil.

So which one is right for One-Punch Man?

All of them. 

We get all these strands in OPM, in all their uneasy contradictions. It’s rare to find any hero who doesn’t have more than one of these ideas motivating them at the self-same time. The heroes whose strongest motivation is to act to show their power and gain recognition rub shoulders with those 'just doing what is right'. The strong desire to experience triumph butts heads with the satisfaction of knowing one has helped someone. Often, they're the same damn person. 

Does it make sense to talk about acting with moral courage when one gets a paycheck at the end of the month? After all, we don't go lauding the police or doctors as heroes -- unless they do something that is truly over and above the call of duty. If we say that a hero is one who is not just willing to act to oppose evil, but do so to the point that they would put their lives on the line, what if they're so strong that this resolve is not tested?   It’s no wonder that within the story, we have so many differing views on heroes from near-worship to regarding them as self-indulgent fools.  And it’s no wonder that outside, fans find plenty to argue about which hero is better. 

How do we unpick all this?  So this isn’t too long, I’ll just pick on Saitama, not just because he’s strong, but also because he wrestles with many of these aspects within himself.  

Even He Contains Multitudes

Philosophically, is Saitama a hero? I'm with Zimbardo on this one: a hero is the one who sees a clear moral line that once crossed, compels them to act.

The important part is choice. So heroism is not being a trauma surgeon saving a patient's life -- that's just her job. On the other hand, if a group of armed men burst into the theatre, hold a gun to the surgeon's head and demand that she stop operating right away to focus on saving their bandit chief, heroism would be keeping calm, persuading the men to quit menacing the surgical team and work out a way to save both original patient and bandit.

Even if the choice is far less drastic, the fact that a person has a) noticed the problem, b) decided that it is a problem and c) decided that it's one they should do something about is what makes a hero a hero. Heroes are busybodies. They're pests. They're the ones who harsh the vibe in the room by telling people about Steve -- you know Steve, the one who's a bit of a laugh (but you don't want to be alone with him when he's been drinking). They hound, they ferret, they badger, they wear out their friends in their pursuit of what they think is right. Until such a point as their efforts are noticed, many a hero is a pest who keeps harping on about the same old shit.

This willingness to personally step up despite the potential for embarrassment or worse is something that ONE refers to when he's thinking about heroes. As ONE puts it, when you see a child being abused, you want to step in and stop it. However, if the abuser is bigger than you, what do you do? Whether or not he has the means to change things, Saitama is one of those people who simply couldn't walk away when he saw a child in danger. Saitama is a hero. A hero might be about taking a stand, but a hero who can WIN, now that is a mighty one indeed.

Coming to Saitama specifically, he's an old style hero with more modern motivations. Sometimes. He really wants the joy of a hard-fought battle, for his own glory and self-satisfaction.  This is a real and valid part of Saitama: 

AND Saitama is also someone who will literally give the clothes off his back to get a child shivering with cold and humiliation safely home. Clothes he really needed himself at that time to not make a fool of himself at a competition.

AND Saitama is someone who consistently defends the very idea of heroes, even to the point of sacrificing what would have been a very easy ride, not just out of Class C, but all the way to Class S. He did so that the greater sacrifices other heroes had made to keep the crowd alive long enough for him to come  save them would not be disparaged.  

All of these are part and parcel of Saitama. With so many different motivations, it’s little wonder that Saitama struggles with what and why he decided to become a hero in the first place.

He Who Raises Himself Up Is Watched

The ancient world has one crucial aspect right about heroes: they are watched.  Because they take a stand, heroes stand out.  And thus, they are noticed, whether with disdain or admiration.  Better make sure the figure you cast is worth watching.

Whatever Saitama’s still-evolving thoughts on why he became a hero and what heroism means to him, by his actions, his heroism has had some profound impacts on others.  Which is worth examining as different characters draw very different things from Saitama. 

Suiryu would say that Saitama's heroism lies in his power to restore hope to people. No matter how black things are, don't give up; someone might yet save you.  From chapter 74, page 34. 

  "Only now do I understand... that when people find themselves in darkness, they seek light. And it doesn't matter how faint or small it is, as long as it's there." (emphasis in text)

There is an important psychological truth to this -- in disasters, the ability to hang onto hope influences one's ability to survive. Knowing that help is coming or might yet be coming can have a huge impact on people's willingness to do more for themselves and so survive. A hero is the one who gives you reason to avoid despair.

To Genos, Saitama's heroism is something different: he is the symbol of strength, the strength to end evil. From chapter 84, page 131.

 "Master Saitama's battles are showing me the way forward. The symbol of strength. That is the goal towards which I should strive.. That is where I’m headed." (emphasis in text). 

A hero is the one who has the power to end an oppressive situation. Justice may be the heart of a hero, but justice without power is empty. Without that power, courage, good intentions, a strong sense of right and wrong, fighting technique, intelligence, self-sacrifice, all of them are for nothing -- the situation doesn't change. Those on whose behalf you act are betrayed.

Glasses sees Saitama's heroism in yet another way -- it's the courage to follow your own path, despite what others might say. From chapter 20.6, pages 26- 27.

Glasses: "Normal people have limits! Talented people are fundamentally different from us!" 

Saitama: "Who said so?"... "Who decides limits? And based on what?"

 And from then on, Glasses quit the Blizzard Group and started running. Why? A hero sticks out -- standing up for something when you might otherwise have walked by means going your own way and not being constrained by what others might think of you. That is the aspect that Glasses wants. As he says much later in volume 16's bonus chapter, 

"Knowledge, experience, decision making... I am lacking in all of those things. The only thing that has changed for me is determination. I have decided not to be bound by my limits."  (emphasis mine)

Whose version is right? Which one would Saitama agree most with? Who knows? It depends on which day of the week you ask Saitama! And in a way, it doesn't really matter. What matters is first, that Saitama is taking a stand against the evil that monsters wreak on society: he did it before he was strong and he's not stopped doing it now that he's overwhelmingly powerful. Second, what matters is that Saitama inspires others. He might not be getting the parade he hoped for, but he's sensitive to the fact that a hero is as much a symbol as an action. We sing songs of praise to heroes because they inspire us to do better in our daily lives, they challenge us not to ignore what we might by our action end.

From the start, the point has been made that there is too much evil in this world for any one hero, no matter how powerful, to stop. The argument has been made that in a sense, heroes act out of self-satisfaction. Nevertheless, heroes matter. Someone has to stand up for what's right. 

But man, heroes can't win. If they work for extrinsic reward, like recognition and money (ha!) they're shallow and hypocritical. If work for intrinsic motivation, like justice, they're deluded. If they find intrinsic reward in helping, they're self-indulgent.

Part 3, I plan to look at the world of pro-heroes. 

[foggyinjapan-blog]

5th Nov. Osaka

I heard a quote yesterday on the movie I was watching,

"People can try and sit you in the right direction,

but they can't show you the way,

you have to try and find that by yourself."

Very powerful. I feel like this can relate to myself because I am trying to find my way in life. This whole journey that I have chosen to do by myself is about getting to know the real me and learning about myself. I've learnt a lot so far.

I'm going into Osaka today for a change of scenery. I jump on my bike and ride to Kyoto station. It takes 45 fucking minutes... The ride home is going to be exhausting. The train ride to Osaka is only 30 minutes. Easy as! I wish I knew that before I took the hour and a half bus ride at the start of my Kyoto adventures.

Osaka castle is going to be my first stop. The train seems easy enough, there's a loop that goes around the whole city. I get 2 stops away from where I want to be and the train all of a sudden is out of service haha classic! I decide to walk. I end up finding a short cut and the back of the castle. Stop for a Starbucks coffee and continue on. I hear music and cheering in the distance so I obviously have to follow the sound. Sounds like everyone is having a merry old time! It looks like I’ve found my way to festival of some sort. There's people playing music from these traditional looking carts, people dancing on top and around them and then there's a bunch of people pulling the carts! It's so cool! One by one they take off down the road singing and dancing, like a parade! I watch until all the carts are gone and get some footage on my go pro! I think my favourite cart was the purple guys because they did not take a break whole they were at a stand still. They were troopers until the very end. Everyone is so happy.

The festival was called Shitennoji Wasso and is a modern reenactment of early cultural exchange and trade between Japan and it’s Asian neighbours.

The surrounding moat and gardens of Osaka castle were beautiful! There were golden boats cruising around and the colour of the autumn leaves were magnificent. The castle itself was so busy. I decided to go in because I didn't come all the way here to not go to the top! You could either wait in a huge line for the elevator or walk up 8 flights of stairs. I walked, bit steamy but hey I'm getting better! I had a look at the view all the way around the main tower which was beautiful. It was kind of like a viewing deck. I took some pictures and left. Didn't feel the need to look in the museum because the people are so overwhelming. I had my pamphlet to read too.

For lunch I end up in a Hawaiian inspired food court. Absolutely no idea how haha! A choice of burgers or Japanese/Hawaiian dishes, I went with the second one. And a big old Kirin Beer! 500 yen and it's a pint, I love it! After lunch I take the next train to central Osaka. I am absolutely killing this subway business! I do miss my bike though... my feet are getting sore. I'm also discovering that I can't read signs as clear as I used to... o-oh!!! I think I need fucking glasses! I always thought I was invincible being the only one in my family not needing them to read haha. Shit.

I come out at Namba station and start walking in the way I think Dotonbori is. Dotonbori is a series of shops and is popular for it’s nightlife and entertainment. My direction is off again and I come across these markets called Kuromon Ichiba Market. There is fresh fish, fruit, veggies everywhere. There were clams, sea urchins, octopus on a stick, sashimi sushi, tempura and so many other things that I didn't know what they were. I bought myself an octopus on a stick to try. The legs were delicious, octopus is one of my favourite foods! The head tasted like cooked egg yolk??? Either this man took the time to separate an egg yolk and somehow funnel it in, or, the head of this octopus is exactly like an egg yolk! Haha I have no idea but the second option sounds more plausible. I wonder through some more and grab some pineapple on a stick. It's so sweet and delicious. Right, time to go to Dotonbori now.

After finding a 7/11 and stealing their Wi-Fi I realise that I've made a wrong turn hahaha. I wish I had my bike! I make it to Dotonbori Street and have a look at some of the shops. There's lots of food shops here and I've just eaten so I feel no need to get more food. A beer would be nice. It's so hard to find a bar in Japan though! Well for Me, if you know, tell me your secrets!!! I see a sign saying 60 minute massage 2,800 yen ($30). Fuck yeah this is my calling!! I head in and she can fit me in right away. I change into my XXL clothing that is provided (hahaha) and then the massage commences. Wow I really need this! What a treat, I have been feeling so tense lately and she is really good and finding those knots. In Japanese massages the masseuse does not touch your skin. You wear the clothes that they provide and then they put many sheets over you. A bit of a difference to massages in Thailand where they 'accidentally' knock you down there hahaha. The massage was perfect and I continue looking through the shops. I really wanted to go to the universal studios today but I think I have left it too late and it's also a weekend. Maybe during the week!

I head home at around 4. By the time I get to Kyoto it will be dark and I have the brilliant idea to visit Ni-jo Castle while it's lit up at night. It's going to be so beautiful! I arrive at the station and grab my bike, only 200 yen to park for the day great! I ride about 20 minutes to Ni-jo Castle and well let me tell you this! Apparently everyone comes here on Sunday the 5th of November because the line was literally out the door, around the corner and basically wrapped around the whole castle! Ok there is no way I'm waiting in this line haha! Home it is, I've got some left over spaghetti and some resting to do.

Oh funny funny - as I was riding home there were some birds in a tree making the same sound as the street crossing noise BAHAHA! Golden!

[dontenchantme]

country roads take me home - part one

Rated E, Solomon x MC

never trust a beautiful man. all they know how to do is to lie.

inspired by this fic, will make more sense if you read it first!

fics masterlist

She stared out of the window as the roads passed by, unfamiliar in the daytime. Now that she thought about it, wasn’t it strange how she ended up here, smack in the middle of nowhere?

The cab driver adjusted the rear-view mirror, and she managed to catch a glimpse of his eyes in the glass. They were an almost unsettling shade of blue, but she couldn’t figure out why it made her so uneasy. Then he pulled down his cap, hiding his eyes from view once more.

“How far away are we from the nearest town?” she asked, drumming her fingers against her knee. With her phone battery flat, there was nothing to distract her from her boredom, and the scenery had long lost its appeal. She desperately wanted to get to civilisation.

“It’s quite a ride. I don’t know how you managed to trek all the way here, but it’s going to take an hour at least.” He sounded as tired as he looked. But not the voice of an older man, like she initially assumed. “Do you want to change your destination?”

“It’s fine.” She didn’t know anywhere else she could go. And she had to get to her meeting point by the end of the day – the last thing she wanted was for people to think something had happened to her. She’d dealt with the police once, and she’d prefer not to do it again.

He fell silent, and for a while, she weighed the pros and cons of trying to start a conversation. Generally, she favoured quiet drivers who didn’t distract her with meaningless chatter, but it was just too quiet, and the mind-numbing boredom was getting to her head.

“Do you know Asmodeus?” she asked, finally deciding to break the ice. She was pretty sure he wouldn’t – part of her was already beginning to wonder if the previous night was nothing more than a dream. But he let out a laugh at the mention of Asmodeus, a harsh bark that grated on her ears, and glanced over his shoulder at her.

She still couldn’t quite see his face, but she could see a hint of a smile curving his lips, almost a smirk. Something about him made her uncomfortable, but she couldn’t place a finger on what. “Why? Do you have a sweet, lovesick message for him? He’s not going to respond.”

“Huh?” She couldn’t hide her confusion even if she wanted to. He turned back to the road ahead, vast and open, emptiness stretching on for miles.

“I’ve seen too many people lose themselves within him. Searching for a master who refuses to beckon them home.” He heaved a sigh. “But you. You’re not quite like them, are you?”

“I…don’t think so?” She was starting to think he might just be a little bit mad. Living out here in all this wilderness probably didn’t do him any favours. She contemplated her situation; if he was crazy, then maybe it’d be a good idea to get out of the cab now.

But then, she hadn’t seen any other cars drive down this road the entire time she was in the cab, and she didn’t want to risk being stranded once again. It was unlikely that she’d find yet another old castle to take refuge in. And even if she did, she wasn’t sure that she wanted to.

He hummed, sounding pleased for some reason. “Indeed, you’re most definitely not.”

She waited for him to continue, to elaborate on what he meant by those cryptic words, but of course, he clammed up entirely after that, refusing to add on to the topic. Silence reigned in the cab, and she looked out of the window again, watching the cloudless blue sky.

Time passed. She didn’t know how long, but she must have fallen asleep at some point; the first thing she realised as her eyelids fluttered open was that the cab was no longer moving. She tried to turn her head to view her surroundings, and immediately her neck protested, the stiff muscles sending sharp bolts of pain down her back.

The driver’s seat was empty. She forced herself to ignore the dull ache in her neck, looking around to get a sense of where she was – the first thing she saw was a gas station, and she figured that was where the cab driver had disappeared to.

Her stomach rumbled, and she winced – she hadn’t realised just how hungry she was. The air outside shimmered, heatwaves rising from black tar, and she guessed that it was probably around noon by now. How was it that she still had yet to reach her destination?

Or…was there a reason for the delay? Was her cab driver a kidnapper? A sex trafficker? Her stomach let out another growl, but she felt sick – the possibilities swirled around her mind, a never-ending parade of terrible outcomes. She shouldn’t have fallen asleep so readily.

She reached for the door, deciding that maybe she should take her chances with the great outdoors. She did it once, she could probably do it again – and if not, there was always the gas station. Maybe she could borrow a phone, try to get a friend to rescue her or something.

But the door refused to open. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, willing herself to think. So, her cab driver had locked the door. There was no need to panic – he probably just wanted to prevent people from driving off with his cab. That was understandable.

She glanced out of the window and saw the gas station doors sliding open. Out came the cab driver, and she noticed that he wasn’t wearing his cap – instead, he was fanning himself with it, holding on to a bottle of water with his other hand. She squinted, trying to make out his features from afar, and she realised that her suspicions were right. He was young.

He approached the cab, and she quickly fell back against the seat, pretending that she was still asleep. He was whistling, and she listened for the sound of the door unlocking, deciding she would bolt once she was able to – but then she heard a loud click alarmingly close to her face and she opened her eyes to see a bottle of water thrust in front of her.

“Have some water. It’s stupidly hot right now.” She looked up, meeting the gaze of the driver – his yellow-blue eyes watched her, his expression unreadable. She hesitated, still suspicious of his intentions, but her gaze was drawn to the drops of condensation rolling slowly down the plastic and, seized by an overwhelming thirst, she reached for the drink.

“Thanks,” she muttered, twisting the cap and taking large, greedy gulps – the cool liquid ran down her throat, soothing the sudden fire that had sprung up from nowhere. He nodded, shutting the door and going back to the driver’s side. Neither of them said a word as he pulled out of the gas station, resuming the long drive through the centre of nothingness.

Time passed again, and even with the aircon on full blast it was starting to feel like an oven in the cab – she plucked listlessly at her shirt, attempting to cool herself to no avail. She idly considered dumping the water on her head but decided that she’d rather not have the driver shouting at her, so she leant against the seat and tried to find ways to distract herself.

“What’s your name?” she finally asked. It was weird to hear her voice after such a long period of silence. He didn’t respond at first, simply reaching up to adjust the rear-view mirror.

She was beginning to wonder if she’d ever get a response when he finally cleared his throat. “Solomon,” he said. He offered nothing more than that, and she frowned, trying to figure out what to ask next – he was her only conversation partner, and she was desperate.

If she went another minute in this empty, silent hellhole, she might go mad. “And how long have you been a cab driver?” It couldn’t have been that long, given how young he looked.

“Hm. I don’t know. I’m not a real cab driver,” he answered, sounding distracted. “It’s just something I do for extra cash. We're all about the gig economy, you know?”

Well, that didn’t sound reassuring. “Could you tell me more about where we’re headed?” The nearest town wasn't very near if they were still on the road after all this time.

“It’s just some town. I can’t remember the name.” Another offhand comment. She stared at the back of his head, wondering if he was serious. “Think we’ll be there in…an hour or so?”

“Another hour?” Unbelievable. She wondered how her car was doing, stuck on the side of the road. She liked that pile of junk, even if it broke down with alarming regularity. It was a car she had bought with her own money, but it was starting to seem like she might not see it again.

“Uh-huh.” He glanced back at her then, one eyebrow raised. “Is there a problem? I figured you’d want to know more about your current condition, so that’s the best place to go.”

Her irritation dissipated. “My current condition?” she echoed, wondering what he was talking about. She was sure she was fine. Better than fine, even – she recalled her reflection from this morning, how all the scars and marks and blemishes had disappeared from her skin.

Was that what he meant by a condition? Sure, it was weird, but it didn’t seem to be hurting her. “Yeah. Didn’t you notice anything unusual after you encountered Asmodeus?”

“Um. All the marks on my skin are gone. Bruises, blemishes, surgical scars, everything.” Which she didn’t think was a bad thing but was certainly strange. “And…” She hesitated, then took a deep breath and decided to continue. “I’m sure that when I first visited the castle, it was still in good condition. Pretty well-maintained. But in the morning…that was no longer the case.”

“Okay. And Asmodeus was gone, yes?” There was no surprise in his voice, and that made her feel slightly better. It sounded like he believed her. Like she wasn’t going crazy or anything.

“That’s right.” She fiddled with the hem of her shirt, twirling soft linen around her finger. She could still smell the warmth of cedar lingering on the fabric. “Do you know where he went?”

“Mm, not exactly. He only shows up when he wants to. I don’t keep track of his location, and I don’t intend to either.” Solomon sounded faintly annoyed. “I’m curious. Do you recall seeing any punctures on your body? Like your neck, your thighs, your shoulders? Anywhere at all?”

Abruptly she remembered the twin marks on both sides of her neck. Like two sets of double-pronged needles had stabbed her in her sleep. “Yes…” She was starting to get a bad feeling about this entire situation. “You’re not going to tell me he’s a vampire, are you?”

She laughed as she spoke, trying to pretend there wasn’t a growing pit of dread threatening to swallow her whole. Vampires couldn’t exist. There was no evidence, nothing to prove that such beings were more than myth and legend – but he was being strangely quiet, and some part of her withdrew into herself, desperately trying to avoid her newfound awareness.

“What if I said he was?” His answer was light, conversational. She swallowed, a hand reaching up to touch the markings – she could feel the indentations in her skin, tiny holes that certainly weren’t there the day before. Too big to be an insect bite. Too small to be anything else.

“If he…if he truly is a vampire,” she began, her voice shaky, “then what will happen to me?”

He met her gaze again, and she stared back at him, afraid. There was something almost like pity in his eyes. “That’s where I’m bringing you. Somewhere you’ll get your answers.”

She nodded, unable to find the words to speak, and they continued to drive in silence, her thoughts whirling around her head. A vampire. What did that make her?

She dozed off again during the trip and was roused by someone shaking her. They were not gentle. “Oi. Get out. I need to park the car.”

It was a vaguely familiar voice. Blearily, she forced her eyes open, trying to rub the drowsiness away – when she looked out of the window, she blinked, startled by the change in the landscape.

Previously, they had been driving through open roads, the surroundings alternating between grassy plains and desert sand. But now the light was soft, dappled, filtering through the thick canopy of trees to illuminate the lush grass below. It looked like they were somewhere in the woods, though how he’d managed to drive his cab through all these trees eluded her.

“Where are we?” she asked, trying to shake off the remnants of her tiredness. It was inhumane to make anyone sit in a car for this long. Solomon didn’t answer, simply taking a step back so she could clamber out of the cab. The surrounding air was cool, and it made a nice change.

“Don’t leave your trash behind,” he complained, diving into the cab and taking out her empty bottle. She took it from him with a guilty murmur of thanks, trying to look for a trashcan. Given how there was nothing but trees and greenery around her, she didn’t manage to find one.

Solomon locked his car, leaving it in the middle of the grassy clearing, and started to walk off. She scrambled after him, not wanting to be stranded alone in the middle of the woods. “You should let me know where we’re headed!” she yelled, trying to keep up with him as he picked his way through the undergrowth. He was surprisingly quick for someone so tall, and on quite a few occasions she almost walked right into some obstacle that he had managed to avoid.

Trekking through the woods was tiring, but at the same time, it was peaceful. She enjoyed the silence, though she also realised that it was too quiet – there was no birdsong, no movement in the undergrowth, not even any bugs coming to attack her.

“Where are we going?” she called, hoping to get a response this time. Solomon glanced over his shoulder at her, a shadow of a smile on his face, and beckoned to her. She narrowed her eyes, wondering what he had up his sleeve, but she approached him nevertheless.

“We’re almost there. Just a tiny bit further,” he said when she was closer, close enough to see the traces of gold that flecked his blue eyes. She frowned. Funny, she was sure that his eyes were a murky shade of yellow-blue, but before she could question any further, he ducked through a gap between two trees and she had to go after him, careful not to lose her guide.

They broke into another grassy clearing, and the first thing she noticed within it was a perfect circle of mushrooms. A fairy ring. She suddenly recalled the old stories about the fae, how they gathered in fairy circles and spirited away any mortals unfortunate enough to come across them, and a shiver ran down her spine. After what Solomon suggested about her bite marks, she wasn’t taking any chances. “What are we doing here?” she demanded.

“Hm? Visiting the town, of course. You want answers, don’t you?” He stepped forward, but she didn’t follow him, still suspicious. He chuckled. “You aren’t going to learn anything if you just stay outside the boundary. This gate leads to the town I mentioned.”

She blinked. “This…gate?” she echoed, squinting at the mushrooms. They looked like they might be poisonous, but there was nothing else special about them, and she wondered if Solomon was trying to pull a fast one.

He looked at her as though she had said something stupid. “What did you think it was?”

“A ring of mushrooms?” He drew a breath, looking like he wanted to say something, but then he paused and shook his head, seemingly disappointed. She frowned. Did he think this was common sense or something? It wasn’t like she was an expert on supernatural beings.

“Come here and close your eyes,” he instructed, and deciding to listen to the words of the strange man, she stepped over the mushrooms, joining him in the middle of the circle. He murmured something in a language she didn’t understand, but there was something very familiar about it, like the shadow of a dream fleeing from the morning sun – she felt a strong, compelling urge to shut her eyes, and she followed her instinct, her world turning dark.

The ground beneath her feet shifted and she almost stumbled, but then a hand gripped her shoulder – his touch sent a sudden tingle through her skin, like static without the pain – and she managed to find her footing. It felt like the ground was sinking, and moments later a cool, almost liquid sensation enveloped her. She was tempted to peek, but there was a mysterious force freezing her in place and she couldn’t move any part of her body.

She tried to say something, but her mouth refused to open and she couldn’t make a single sound. It was terrifying, but before she could really start to panic, he cleared his throat. “You can open your eyes now.” And open them she did – the first thing she noticed was the wavy lavender grass surrounding her, nothing like the silent woods they had stepped into.

It was beautiful. Now that she could see, it felt like her other senses were slowly returning to her, and when she inhaled she could smell something floral. She didn’t recognise what flower it was, but it was intoxicating all the same – she took another deep breath, allowing the scent to settle in her lungs. The air itself seemed to shimmer, almost like a mirage. She swore she could see traces of…something around her, some kind of mystic, unidentifiable power.

“Don’t get distracted. We still have some way to go.” She glanced at her companion when he spoke and she blinked, taking in the sight of him. Solomon frowned back at her. “What?”

“You look…different.” That was putting it mildly. He still had the same white hair, still had the same blue eyes, but within them she could see the flecks of gold she’d noticed earlier, shimmering as they caught the watery sunlight. He had always been attractive, but in an unassuming way, almost blending into the background – now, she couldn’t figure out what had changed, but he had become impossibly beautiful, all sharp eyes and pouty lips and alabaster skin.

Just like Asmodeus, there was something almost inhuman about him, and unease nestled in her gut. Her gaze landed on his ears – were they always that pointy? She didn’t recall; he had been wearing a cap for most of the trip, and it was hard to make out his features sometimes.

“Do I?” A smile tugged at his lips, knowing, almost seductive. Her heart thudded. “Maybe you were tired from the journey, so you didn’t notice. I’ve always looked this way.”

She scowled. He most certainly had not – she remembered her first glimpse of his face when he left the gas station, and while he was handsome, he still looked decidedly normal. Not the kind of person who could take her breath away with just a smile or a lingering look.

“Where are we headed?” She decided to change the subject; it didn’t seem like he would tell her the truth anytime soon, and she didn’t want to waste time pressing the issue.

“Mm, to my hometown. Follow me, and don’t wander.” He turned towards a narrow path she was quite sure hadn’t been there earlier, and she followed him, looking around to take in the scenery. It was so…different. Petals fell gently around them, caressing her skin – they were silky soft and came in all shapes and sizes. But she saw no flowers on the trees nearby.

The leaves came in a brilliant array of colours that reminded her of gemstones, sparkling and gorgeous and completely senseless – amethyst, topaz, sapphire, obsidian. They fluttered in a breeze she could not feel, leaves that shouldn’t exist in such beauty but did all the same.

She could hear murmurs in the undergrowth, mysterious sounds that didn’t seem to belong to any animal she recognised. She peered into the trees, hoping to spot something, but the woods were eerily still and she wondered if she was imagining the faint chirrups she’d heard. “We aren’t, um…” She thought about how to phrase her question. “We aren’t in the human world anymore, are we?” It sounded weird, but she didn’t know how else to say it.

“Nope.” He held aside a branch for her, and she gaped at the tree as she walked past – it was a soft, delicate shade of gold, and it shimmered hypnotically, drawing her gaze. She yearned to reach out and touch the bark, curious about how it would feel, but Solomon called for her and she jolted out of her trance, hurrying back to the path. She glanced over her shoulder as she trekked through the woods, wondering what kind of tree that was. Where were they?

Solomon was whistling, his hands shoved in his pockets as he went along. He made hiking through the woods look easy, and she swore that sometimes, his feet barely even skimmed the ground. She picked a few stray leaves out of her hair, envious of how graceful he was.

Almost as though he could read her mind, he looked around and grinned at her; his smile made her breath catch. “What would you do if I told you Asmodeus might be there?”

“Asmodeus?” A memory of the beautiful man flashed through her mind, and she shivered. “What do you mean, he might be there? He said…he said…” What did he say? Everything was kind of fuzzy. “He said he would be leaving today,” she mumbled.

“Mm. And he left, didn’t he?” Was he levitating, or were her eyes playing tricks on her? She swore his feet were floating just an inch or two above the ground, but she couldn’t be sure. “He left, and this morning you woke up alone in the castle. But where did he go?”

“I don’t know. I just assumed he was going to catch up with his colleagues or something.” She noticed his raised eyebrow. “His brothers-in-arms, that’s what he called them.”

“Oh.” Solomon’s smile widened. “Maybe you’ll bump into his colleagues someday. They’re quite the eccentric lot.” With that, he continued down the path, and she puzzled over the point of the conversation, wondering if he had been trying to hint at something.

He brushed through a gap between some bushes, disappearing into the foliage, and she had to pick her way through the greenery, careful not to catch her hair or clothes on any thorns. It took a while, but she finally emerged from the bushes and found herself standing outside a dreamlike town, the kind of place that looked like it sprung right out of some fantasy tale.

She gaped, startled by how pretty it was. There were doors leading into tall, sprawling trees, the branches spreading protectively over the town below. Other buildings were carved into giant red toadstools, their impressive stalks alone easily dwarfing her. She could see people flitting between the buildings, some tall and elegant like Solomon, others stout and swift on their feet. She rubbed her eyes. Surely her mind was playing tricks on her.

“What are you?” It was impossible not to ask at this point.

“You haven’t guessed by now?” He cocked his head, and she was reminded of a prowling cat moments before it pounced on its prey. “You can keep thinking about it, then. I don’t have to answer to someone who refuses to use their head.”

She was about to retort, not liking the implication behind his words, but he held out a hand, his palm upturned, and she stared at him, surprise making her forget what she wanted to say. He sighed. “Your bottle. I’m going to throw it away unless you want to carry it around.”

Oh. She’d forgotten she was still holding on to it. She gave it to him, and he crushed it like it was made of paper, flattening it between his palms. When he pulled his hands apart, the bottle was gone, and she blinked, wondering if she was going mad. “Where did it go?”

“Magicked away.” He said that like it was the most matter-of-fact thing in the world, and she slowly shook her head, unsure what to make of all this. Maybe this was all just a dream, and if she pinched herself hard enough she’d wake up and find that she hadn’t even left her house yet. Solomon must have noticed the disbelief on her face. “Why, is it that surprising?”

“Magic doesn’t exist. Not real magic. It’s all just tricks, illusions.” She’d seen enough exposé videos to know she shouldn’t trust everything she saw. The human brain was easily duped.

“Then explain where the bottle went?” he asked, and she looked around them – maybe he had, through some sleight of hand, tossed the remnants of the bottle into the woods. “No, don’t even think about suggesting what’s on your mind. I would never pollute our home with your man-made plastic. Haven’t you seen the news about trash and global warming?”

Could he truly read her mind? She was flabbergasted. “How did you know…?”

“People are so predictable. It’s almost sad.” He turned back to face the town, his expression unreadable. “If you had discarded that bottle anywhere while we were walking in the woods, you wouldn’t have been allowed past the gate. We have strict rules about littering here.”

“You didn’t warn me!” He was so unreasonable. It was sheer luck that she didn’t drop the bottle sometime during the trek – there were a few moments where she could have let go, and now she knew that doing so would have rendered her entire journey useless.

“Why would I say anything when it was a test?” He glanced at her, and she fell silent, her gaze transfixed by the hints of gold in his eyes – they shimmered, mesmerisingly soft, just like the tree they had walked by earlier. “You passed it, and that’s all that matters, isn’t it? Now follow me.”

He took off, gliding across the ground, and the moment he turned away she remembered how to breathe, her lungs drawing in greedy gulps of air. It felt like she had just surfaced from a deep pool of water, and she had to take a moment to recover before she could follow him.

As they approached the town, she began to hear faint strains of music, lovely and beautiful, and she saw Solomon pause, tilting his head as though he was listening to the melody. He glanced over his shoulder at her and smiled before he continued on his way, and she had to wonder what she had gotten herself into this time.

[windndy]

Origin story

When the tyrant still ruled what would become the republic of Atlansia, and his daughter was to be wed, great celebrations were organized, a grand carnival that would last an entire month. Every street of the capital was festooned with banners and ribbons of royal colors, every mage was put to work to bring glory and beauty, and every family of noble birth was invited to attend the festivities.

The opening ball was a truly magnificient affair. Lords and ladies, masked and costumed, danced across the great halls to music that had been composed especially for the occasion. While the population outside starved, tables here were laden with food and luxuries.

She was a high elf maiden, not yet a century old, still living under her parents' roof. Quite shy, as this was her first attendace at the tyrant's court, she hid her delicate features under a white hare mask, her long silver hair braided with pearls and white-blossoming button-roses. While her cousins and friends were making merry and dancing the night away, she kept to herself near the garden's entrance.

A shadow emerged at her side to offer her a glass of bubble-wine. She gasped in surprise as he came into view, a slender figure dressed in shades of smoke and velvet-red, bearing the mask of a grinning black fox. “A drink for the lovely lady,” he purred, sliding his arm under hers. “Are you not enjoying yourself?”

“I do not know how to dance to this music,” she admitted.

“Then I will show you, should you want me to.”

The maiden did not want to cause trouble, but the black fox was nothing but the most charming of gentlemen. He wore black gloves and his costume hid every inch of his skin, but she could see his eyes through the holes of his mask, one as red as rubies, the other a deep sunset orange. They spent the night dancing without care, and as the first lights of morning were showing on the horizon, he vanished back into the shadows.

The next celebrations she attended were in the form of a parade. Wizards had woven spells that brought every tree along the road to blossom, shading the streets with twinkling white and pink petals. She watched from a balcony, her mind still lingering on the night she had spent dancing with the stranger. As though this simple act of daydreaming had summoned him, he appeared by her side, still in his black fox mask though wearing a coat the color of stormy skies. “I've found you again, little white hare,” he murmured into her ear. Though she should have chased him off, the maiden decided not to.

So it was for the rest of the month. Every celebration, every occasion, he would find her and spend the night by her side, and though she would ask every time to see his face, he would slip away with a chuckle, and tell her that perhaps he would show her another time. When she told her friends about this, they always dismissed her, exclaiming that they had not seen a trace of her mysterious shadow, that they must have been having too much fun to notice him. She came to believe that the black fox would cloak himself in a very peculiar magic to stay hidden from their eyes.

The month would end with the rise of the new moon, and with a final ball at the tyrant's palace. This time, the maiden brought a special eyeglass with her that belonged to a grandfather of hers, a reknowned magus who had explored the world and brought fortune to her family. Placing it over her eye, she found that she could pierce through the veil of his magic, and found him before he could surprise her. Impressed, he followed her to the gardens where she wished to talk to him. “Please,” she begged, “take your mask off that I can finally see your face.”

The fox hesitated. “My sweet white hare, I fear that you might not like what you see.”

“Unless you are a ghost, I do not care.” Indeed, a fire had been growing within her heart during all this time, a need that she had never felt before.

“Very well,” he murmured, “if only because this will be my last night here. I have conducted the business that was required of me, and I will be expected back home.”

The maiden reached up and carefully pulled his mask off. She was not afraid when she saw what he looked like underneath, as though she'd known all along.

-----

Months passed, and the young elf felt like the emptiness in her heart would never fill. She took ill – out of despair, she believed at first, until it became obvious that her mysterious black fox had left her a gift before disappearing. For as long as she could, she tried to hide this, but there came a point when her belly was growing too big. Her parents were horrified when they realised what had happened. Who could have touched their precious unmarried daughter? What could they do to hide this shameful act?

“We will send you to your uncle in Port Ellesmere,” her father said, “where you will have the child away from the public eye.”

They suspected a young gardener who had, since his employment, been keeping an eye on the beautiful maiden. The youth was sent to prison on false charges, so he would not reveal the secret of her indiscretion. She felt terribly guilty for this, as she knew fully well that he had done nothing wrong, but could not bring herself to reveal the truth to her parents.

Her uncle was a quiet, strict man, who was just as proud of the family name as her father. When she arrived, he consented to hiding her state, but made his disapproval clear. He knew of a doctor who would be discrete in the matters, who would be the only one outside the family to know what was happening. When his niece lost her waters, he fetched the man himself while his wife gave the mother-to-be an infusion that would help matters along.

Her mind felt clouded, not just by the pains of childbirth, but by the sedatives her aunt had slipped her, so that she would drift in and out of consciousness as the doctor guided her through the process. When she awoke, her uncle would not look at her. “Your baby was born dead,” he said. “You were fortunate in your misfortune after all.”

For the second time, her heart was broken. It couldn't be true... she had felt the child move, she'd felt his heart beat, she had heard his first cry, he couldn't be dead!

Yet the doctor had left with the body of her infant, and she was ordered to stay in bed and recover, never getting to hold him in her arms, to give him a name, to become a mother.

Her aunt smoothed down her long silver hair. “It's better this way,” she repeated to reassure her.

Yet it couldn't be true.

-----

“Get rid of it,” his friend had said.

The doctor shook his head and carefully tucked the white blankets back in place over the newborn, praying that he would stay asleep. There was no mistaking the dark tone of the child's skin for a high elf's, or the color of his eyes. This was a half-breed – an elf, not simply a high-elf but also one of Lloth's ilk. Even so, the doctor could not kill a helpless infant, and so he brought the baby to Ghenna's garden, the city's biggest orphanage. He knew as he handed the baby over that this would not be an easy life, but he'd done his part, and hoped it'd account for something in the end.