#Silver and Bronze walk around and help teach

[ricegod56]

Deacon's job

Episode 33 propose a question: What would be Deacon's job if he wasn't going to be a doctor? My proposal to that question is that he becomes a English teacher. Just think for a moment, he takes notes on the places and people of the books... Okay, fine I tell you the real reason why I want his job to be a teacher. I kinda wanted Chase to rant about how princes are weird to a group of people. So yeah during character analyzes, Chase along with Buddy show up and rambles. The students know that he doesn't have a teaching degree but Chase warms up to them.

[mayrose713]

Beautifully Cruel World-Chapter 16

Series Masterlist | Previous | Next

ABO Non-Idol Stray Kids Universe Poly OT8 x Reader 18+ MDNI

Warnings in the Series Masterlist as well as any other information needed

Chapter 16

“Are you excited?” Felix bounces in the passenger seat as Jeongin drives, Y/n in the back.

“You won’t even tell me where you’re taking me.” The omega laughs. “All I can be excited about is spending time with you two.”

“Well, are you excited to spend time with us?” Jeongin looks back at her in the rearview mirror.

“Of course I am.” She smiles. “I love doing anything with you guys.”

“Well we’re here.” Felix points to the building that they pull up to.

Y/n leans forward to look between the front two seats for a better look. “A video game cafe.”

“Do you play video games?”

“Hyuk and I would play a lot before I presented.” She smiles. “And one of my friends and I would play in college too. Can’t tell you how many all nighters we did.”

They all step out of the car, Felix waiting for her before shutting the door behind her and grabs her hand as Jeongin comes around the car.

“Another reason we chose to do this is because Lix is too sunburned to be out in the sun today.” The alpha rubs the other male's cheek that is tinted red from their beach day.

“You and Hyunjin really should have listened to Chan yesterday about sunscreen.” Y/n squeezes his hand as they walk towards the door of the cafe.

“I know I know.” Felix sighs. “I will next time. I’m learning from the consequences as my skin hurts.”

Jeongin laughs. “Your skin hurts?” 

“What? It does.”

“That’s just a weird way of saying it.” Felix pouts at Jeongin’s teasing.

Once inside, Jeongin talks to the person at the desk as Y/n looks around seeing all the computers set up with comfy chairs. There's even a few VR set ups around the place. And of course a snack bar.

“Alright, we’ve got one of the VR stations and the three computers next to it reserved for a few hours.” Jeongin looks at the paper he was given to see which station and computers are theirs.

“And this is why you are my favorite alpha.” Felix hugs him. “The other three would never have splurged on one of the VR stations.”

“Just don’t tell them that I did.”

“Won’t they know after they see how much you spent with their card?” Y/n asks as Jeongin leads them to the stations that is on their reservation.

“I’m just hoping they don’t question it.” Jeongin sighs and they all take a seat at the computers first.

“What games did you like to play?” Felix asks as he’s already loading up League of Legends.

“Umm, my friend and I spent a lot of time playing Stardew Valley as well as a lot of horror games.”

“Felix is obsessed with playing LOL.” Jeongin points out. “Plays it all the time at home.”

Y/n looks over at the other omega’s screen. “If you play it so much then why are you still bronze?”

Jeongin bursts out laughing as Felix pouts. “Yeah Lixie, why are you still bronze?”

“Shut up.” He mumbles.

“What do you want to play, Jagiya?” 

“Well I’ve never played LOL.” She says as she watches Felix play. “So I wouldn’t mind learning that.”

“I’ll teach you then.” The alpha smiles and they load the game up. “Maybe you’ll be better than Lix and can help him get to silver.”

“Yah!” Felix gaps at Jeongin before pouting again. 

After Jeongin teaches Y/n the basics of League of Legends they play for a while and sure enough, the female omega is better and actually carries their team.

“I’ve had enough.” Felix rage quits and pulls up the ordering menu on his computer for the snackbar. “Let’s order food then do some VR. What do you want, sunshine?”

She looks over the menu as he scrolls before pointing at the screen. “Some tteokbokki please. Ji had let me try some of his the other day and I had liked it.”

Felix adds three things of tteokbokki for all of them as well as gets some fried chicken, cheese ramen, and Korean corn dogs for him and Jeongin telling Y/n she can have some of theirs too if she wants.

“Have you ever done VR before, Y/n?” Jeongin asks as he sets it up.

“No, I haven't.”

“Why don’t you look through the list of games and see which one you wanna play and we’ll have you go first.”

She scrolls through the games before her eyes light up. “I’ve heard of beat saber before, it sounded fun.”

Jeongin gets her set up with the game and she has fun for a while playing different songs, failing at a few fast ones before Felix tells her to play Job Simulator. She has fun working the convenience store, throws a few things at some of the robot customers and the boys just watch her as she laughs and smiles, acting so carefree.

She takes a break when the food comes and eats her tteokbokki and some of Felix’s fried chicken and Jeongin’s ramen. She wasn’t a huge fan of the corn dogs though. Jeongin then gets up and continues with Job Simulator playing the mechanic job, confused as he tries to figure out the different car parts. 

“This is why when we have car trouble I let the hyungs deal with it.”

“You are definitely no mechanic, Innie.” Felix laughs. 

During Felix’s turn he plays at the restaurant. At first he was actually doing really well, until he left the food on the stove too long. 

“Uh, Lixie, the steak is on fire.” Y/n laughs as she watches what he’s seeing on the computer screen. 

“Oh shit.” 

“And this is why Minho hyung doesn’t let you be unsupervised in the kitchen.” Jeongin laughs. 

“Minnie and I burned pancakes one time.” Felix huffs. 

“Just be happy they still let you bake and help Min.” Jeongin reminds him. “Seungmin isn’t even allowed in the kitchen anymore.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆

“Hey pups.” Changbin smiles when Jeongin, Felix and Y/n walk back into the vacation house. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah.” Felix purrs as he hugs the alpha, seeming to be in a really good mood.

“Y/n’s better than Felix at League.” Jeongin smirks. “And she had never played before today.”

“Binnie, Innie’s being mean.” Felix pouts into his chest.

“Why does he seem to be so spaced out?” Changbin eyes the omega in his arms before looking at Jeongin. 

“I may have heavily scented them both when we left the cafe and they cuddled in the back seat the whole way here.” Jeongin watches the female as she curls up on the couch having not said anything yet. “Y/n’s a bit spacey too.”

“Aww, is my angel all spacey.” Jisung, who was eating a snack in the kitchen, overheard and went to the omega on the couch. “Come here my baby.”

“Hi Jisungie.” She purrs as he wraps his arms around her and pulls her to his chest.

“Why don’t you go join them?” Changbin nudges Felix over to the couch and he cuddles up on the betas other side who is loving every moment of this. 

Changbin and Jeongin watch over the three of them as they cuddle until Chan comes back with Hyunjin and sees the cuddle pile on the couch. 

“Who allowed a cuddle party without me?” Hyunjin pouts. 

“Innie scented the omegas into sub space after their date.” Changbin explains and Hyunjin moves over to lay against Y/n’s back.

“Are they okay?” Chan leans over the back of the couch to check on them and Jisung tilts his head up to look at him. 

“They’re good. They’re napping now.” 

The alpha pushes a strand of hair out of Felix’s face before looking at Jeongin. “We need to work on how you scent them. Y/n’s still new to all of this and is more sensitive to being scented, especially when you do it so hard like this.”

“She asked me to heavily scent her.” 

“Really?” Hyunjin leans up to look at the youngest. 

“Felix and I both warned her that she’d slip into sub space if she allowed me to do that and be vulnerable but she persisted.” Jeongin looks down at her. “Felix told me to scent him first so she could see how it is. I didn’t even have to do a lot for her. Like you said, she’s still sensitive to it so she slipped pretty quickly.” 

“I’m glad she trusts us enough to be vulnerable like this in front of us.” Chan looks over her closely. “But I can’t help but wonder what is going through her head that made her feel like she needed to slip for a bit to get away from it.”

“What do you mean?” Hyunjin looks worried now. 

“Oh yeah, I guess you wouldn’t know.” Jisung looks at his fellow beta. “You and Minnie never feel the need to slip like Felix and I do. Normally we’ll ask one of the alphas to heavily scent us when we’re wanting to mentally get away from everything. Me normally when my anxiety is high. Lix when he’s having a rough day.”

“It’s kind of a safe space for them mentally.” Changbin continues. “And they know they’re safe with us there so they don’t need to be mentally aware.” 

“But then why would Y/n ask Jeongin to help her slip?” Hyunjin frowns. 

“Did she seem anxious to you at all while you were at the cafe?” Chan turns to the young alpha. 

“No.” He shakes his head as he thinks back to their date. “She actually seemed to be so carefree for most of it. The only time she seemed off was when we got into the car and she asked me to heavily scent her into sub space.” 

“Let’s not think too much about this.” Chan shakes his head. “She might have not been wanting to mentally get away from something but just wanted to feel what it was like. Lixie might’ve told her about it at one point and she just wanted to try it so she asked Jeongin to do it while having him there.”

“That’s a good point.” Changbin agrees. “But everyone still keep an eye on her just in case. I’ll tell Minho and Seungmin the same thing.”

Everyone nods in agreement and Hyunjin looks at Chan. 

“Hey hyung?”

“Yes Jinnie.” Chan moves over leaning on the back of the couch where the beta lays. 

“Could you… scent me into sub space too?” Hyunjin looks up at him deep in thought. “I don’t really need it but I want to know what it feels like.” 

“I can do that for you sometime yeah.” Chan nods. “But if you’re not needing it right now then it’s best to keep you here. It’ll already be hard enough having two omegas in sub space to deal with.”

“That’s okay.” Hyunjin smiles. “I was thinking more of doing it when we go back home so I’m somewhere I know and am more comfortable in.” 

“Sounds perfect baby.”

______________________________________________________________

Taglist is closed for a bit as I am unable to tag anymore right now

Tag list: @pixie0627 @sinfulfic @estella-novella @mbioooo0000 @ms-flowergirl @blindspot143 @ihrtlix @arishoriasims @fic-for-readers @motheraiya55 @hwangrfrnd @lxvxchxrlxttxbxrsx22-blog @juskz @borahae-reads @dreamerwasfound @galaxy4489 @kayleefriedchicken @lostgirlinthewoodss @catkight @royal-shinigami @notevenheretbh1 @passionandsuga @m00njinnie @sukss @n1nme4r @blueberrydish @xxeiraxx @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @aalexyuuuhm @kaleigh-2002 @btskzfav @hyunmikim @ot8girlfie @sillygoosegoose @tr0p1cal @eastjonowhere @hime-honne @furfoxsake22 @luvlino23 @iknow-uknow-leeknow @im-sinking-in-mud @fiest4plum @forevermoremagcon @comicnerd557 @nchhuhi @alyxcatspost @danceonmyheyday @maisyyyyyy @shycreationdreamland @chanshugsaretherapy

@violet-hatake @idkwhoisthis1971 @mo0n13 @yumuramma @nuggiesnuggetdog04

@pineapplekitty3-16

[stxrshxpxd]

autumn

pairing: 90s professor hugh grant x reader

word count: 3k

warnings: student x teacher

prompt: reader falls for her university professor and she thinks it just might be a mutual feeling…

requested by anonymous <3

September.

I had seen Mr. Grant twice in passing on my walks across campus and through the seemingly endless hallways of marble flooring and dark stain wooden arches, on my little quests to navigate my way through my new university. The first time I had turned my head rather indiscreetly and nearly walked into a massive pillar as I studied his locks of brown hair bouncing away from me along with his rushing steps. The second time I had felt a stab deep in my stomach at the sight of him across the library, pulling his hand through said locks of brown hair, before ending his short conversation with the headmaster and quickly disappearing again.

My third encounter with him came on a September morning with ambiguous weather. I sat watching the strong sun begin to beam through the patchy coat of clouds and chase the morning mist away. As the doors opened to the lecture room I expected a large pregnant belly to enter first, but instead that pain in my stomach returned at the sight of Mr Grant marching inside. There were scattered whispers and mumbles around the room. I had no one to whisper to, and so I took a deep breath and secured my gaze on the bronze buckle of his belt and bit the inside of my cheek.

“I take it Mrs. Sherman hadn’t told you who would be filling in for her,” he chuckled at the palpable surprise in the room. “Well. It’s lovely to meet you all. I’m Professor Grant. I do recognise a few faces around the room.” His gaze hopped between students and he gave a handful of them soft smiles, skipping over me. “Well… Mrs. Sherman went into labour on Sunday and now has a little baby girl at home.” I noticed he spoke with his whole face and half his body, smiling, raising his brows and opening his arms in celebration at the happy news. “So, I will be teaching the rest of your Literary Analysis course this year.”

The sun had come to lay across half his body and was making the silver ring on his pinky glow brightly.

“I heard you’re reading Sense and Sensibility,” he said and a few of the students nodded in silence, backs straight and ears eagerly open. Mr. Grant swiftly pulled out a small, weathered copy of the book in question from the back pocket of his black suit trousers. For some reason that act made the stabbing in my abdomen worse. I held in a sigh at the fear that everything he did would make my stomach wrench in agony.

October.

The rain was beating aggressively against the large windows to my right and added to the soundtrack of Mr. Grant humming between his nods as well as tapping his index finger softly against the desk he was half sitting back on. I had lost track of what the student behind me was saying about Children of the Corn but forced myself to hurriedly tune back into the monologue once I felt Professor Grant’s eyes resting on me occasionally. I anticipated his question and I searched my mind quickly.

“That’s a very nice analysis, Thomas, thank you. Y/N, what thoughts did this story provoke for you?”

I couldn’t recall a time when I had properly shared my analysis directly with him before. My written words about Sense and Sensibility had been met with a seeming intrigue on his behalf though.

I greatly appreciate the depth of your character analysis. It shows you have a strong sense of morality and can view a person from a number of perspectives without favouring one. That is a very helpful tool. I am eager to hear more of your thoughts this year!

I had read the scribbled comment at the bottom of my short essay over and over, and right now they were the only words in my brain.

“Um, well, I think King has an incredible way of creating an atmosphere with just a few words. It’s quite remarkable.”

Mr. Grant nodded and smiled in agreement. Finally my thoughts caught up with me and I stammered on, all the while staring at the previously hidden forearms now sticking out of Grant’s rolled up sleeves.

“And, um… the thought that followed me all the way through the story is the exploration of religion in the modern world. Oftentimes I feel that religion is this untouchable and completely unstoppable thing that is, sort of, ironically out of our hands. You know, do we create it or does it create us?” Professor Grant’s smile grew slightly and I looked away, desperately trying to not lose my train of thought to the beauty of his pale, soft face.

“And also what is the difference between religion and cult, what defines them? …And why is one seemingly the pinnacle of good and the other inherently evil, if the line between them is so blurred, or indeed can’t be drawn at all? …Is ruthlessly shunning and marginalising people not just as bad as brutally killing them in a corn field? It’s just a choice of mental or physical death really. Except there isn’t a choice.”

I looked back at my professor once I had gotten my sentences out. He nodded slowly and pondered calmly with that satisfied smile on his lips, as I sat half panicking in the silence. All I could hear were my words echoing in the air between us.

“And do you think it should be stopped? Religion.”

He tilted his head and I took a deep breath in, in the midst of my light panic. He chuckled sympathetically with me, realising the magnitude of the question he had just asked.

“Yes and no, of course… I just think that it’s been a hell of a long time since society existed without religion, it might well be very healthy for us to step back and consider the world without it.”

“So, yes?” Mr. Grant suggested for me with a charming grin and an eye with a big twinkle in the centre. I laughed shortly and looked down at my nervous hands toying with my pencil.

“So, maybe,” I responded, looking up again. He chuckled and nodded once more and combed his fingers through the left side of his hair, only for it to bounce right back to its previous position.

November.

My eyes ached as I sat with my head hanging over my borrowed copy of E.M. Forster’s Maurice, reading the same line over and over again. I had read the book a few years earlier and adored it, but re-reading it now as the time was nearing 11 pm on a Friday night the words carried little meaning. Even my own words in my neat notes appeared increasingly alien.

The library was lit up softly and was about as silent as it could possibly get. It felt wrong to move and make sound as I stared out at the vastness of the room and the hallway outside of the library walls. Suddenly, just as my gaze had fixed sleepily on a framed painting hanging in line with my eyes, a person startled me as he came walking down the hallway. It was Professor Grant.

I shortly pondered the concept of fate as he turned his head casually and locked eyes with me. A smile came upon his face and he steered his steps inside the library without hesitating. He was in his usual black suit trousers and tight belt, a button-up without a tie, and a long coat and knitted scarf draped over his forearm. Under his other arm sat a thick stack of stapled papers caged in firmly against the side of his ribs. Shortly again I pondered the concept of jealousy now, before he spoke and washed my mind clean of everything else.

“Why aren’t you at that big dormitory party?”

Mr. Grant sat on the edge of my table and glanced down at me. He tossed his stack next to my stuff, at which my eyes scanned it and noticed several little notes and markings in red ink scattered throughout the text. I concluded that he had stayed late in his office to mark essays.

“How do you know about the party?”

He laughed quietly and looked around the room momentarily, allowing me a few seconds of shamelessly staring at his strong jaw as he looked away from me.

“Kids always think they’re very secretive. My hearing and deductive skills are excellent in fact.”

I smiled when he looked back at me, but the sentiment of the smile faded quickly from inside me.

“Do you think of us as kids?” I asked in the most neutral tone I could manage. He was only fifteen years older at the absolute most. He couldn’t be a day over thirty-five.

Mr. Grant’s soft stare dropped down my body in stages, seeming to halt at my collarbone and ribs and then my hinged hips where his gaze settled a short while.

“No,” he decided after a moment’s silence.

I didn’t know how the rest of that conversation was meant to go or indeed how to deal with the apparent tension that had built in the quiet room. Instead I backtracked to his initial question of why I was in the library on a Friday night.

“Well… You set an essay due Wednesday, didn’t you,” I chuckled breathily and impulsively looked down as I closed the book in my hands. We both gazed down at the cover and it felt like a strange form of eye contact. When I looked back up I saw a soft smile on his lips.

“That’s one of my favourite books.”

I exhaled and responded quickly.

“I will choose my words carefully.”

My professor’s smile grew and he met my eyes with his visibly tired ones, shaking his head.

“I trust you.”

Something in the air made me feel as though our conversation was coming to an end and it made me sad, which was why I grabbed onto a bit of substantial conversation I could find in our repertoire.

“I’m not big on parties anyway.”

Mr. Grant had crossed his arms now and nodded with the remnants of a smile.

“I understand.” He thought for a second and licked the corner of his mouth. “The parties in your future will be much more up your alley, when you’re an esteemed author. Trust me.”

He spoke of me being a revered published writer, yet all I felt like was a silly teenage girl as I tried to control my blushing cheeks at his sweet words. And then a soft groan escaped him as he reached to grab his essays again and stood on his long legs, clearly on his way to exit again.

“Just don't forget your old Literary Analysis professor when you’re famous,” he demanded sweetly and I simply kept smiling and blushing as he headed out, leaving me with my own company again. I had to fight to stop grinning and I found I was on the verge of breaking a sweat under my knitted jumper.

December.

For a few weeks now I had noticed an increase in stares between me and Professor Grant. I had found him resting his eyes on me several times across the room and once I thought I had made him blush, simply by looking up and meeting his eyes. He had looked down quickly and stuck his one hand into his hair, tensed his brows and stared down at his books again. I had mirrored his actions but hadn’t been able to make a single note for the next few minutes, completely consumed by the idea of letting my lips gently kiss his brow bone and feel him soften at my touch.

I was currently wrapped up in another one of those thoughts as I stared out the window, where light snowflakes were falling and slowly but surely forming a thin white coat over the lawn. I could hear his voice loud and clear as he was in the middle of a lecture - something about anti-heros apparently - but I wasn’t listening to the words. In my mind my lips were attached to his jaw and my fingers rushing to unbutton his shirt. Just as my mouth had reached his collarbone, his real life self changed his tone of voice and I tuned back in.

“Right, we’ll continue this tomorrow for a bit. And we will also have a chat about the exam in two weeks. So, bring all your anxieties and questions tomorrow and we’ll talk it through. Does that sound alright?”

I scanned the room quickly to find all the nodding and smiling students begin to toss their books into their bags and I scrambled to do the same, but once my eyes turned back to the front of the lecture room I found Mr. Grant on his way over to me.

“Hi,” he uttered quietly with a kind smile and I returned it. His hands were in his trouser pockets and his head tilted slightly as he looked down at me.

“I heard,” he began, glancing away at the last few students leaving the room. “from Mr. Holland.. that you’re doing quite well in your Creative Writing class.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I shrugged and laughed shyly as I fidgeted with the pages of my notebook.

“Now, I would hate to find out you have a favourite class that’s not mine, but,” Grant sighed jokingly and then gave me another soft curl of the lips. “I would love to read some of your writing if you wouldn’t mind. I promise to give you nothing but praise, of course.”

I chuckled and had to force my mind out of the gutter of imagining what type of praise he might give me.

“No, I want your critique,” I nodded, still anxiously toying with the notebook that conveniently enough held a lot of my creative writing drafts and half-ideas. Mr. Grant nodded back and swivelled around to my side of the table as I began flicking through my notebook to the sound of my umming and ahhing nervously.

He had planted his large palms on the table and his head hung between his broad shoulders as I finally decided on a page that felt somewhat representative of my work. His thin-rimmed glasses had been pushed up into his hair for the majority of the lecture, and he pulled them down now as he focused his eyes and mind fully on my text.

He was so close to me I could feel his scent begin to fill my nose, and his tricep was nearly brushing against my shoulder. I studied the few veins on his hands as his fingertips instinctively held the paper down against my table.

“It’s really good, Y/N,” Professor Grant finally concluded with his voice just a step above a whisper. “Really good.”

I looked up to make shy eye contact again and found his expression had changed from his sweet, composed smiles he would usually give me. There was something behind his spectacled eyes that suggested conflict. I realised there were just a few inches separating us and the urge to stand up and press my lips to his grew quickly, until I simply couldn’t fight it.

Pushing my chair back and half standing up, I planted a desperate kiss on his already slightly parted lips. For a second everything stood still and I wasn’t sure if he was kissing me back, but at least he wasn’t pulling away. Then I felt those gorgeous hands coat my sides, if only to help stabilise me as I staggered to my feet. It felt like everything happened within the space of a nervous heartbeat. Soon he backed away a step, his warm palms being the last to leave my body. Grant anxiously threw a glance behind him at the half open door as he wiped his bottom lip with his thumb. The sounds from the hallway came back to me again and regret washed over me with such power it nearly made me lightheaded.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” I breathed.

“No,” he simply said and shook his head. The empty space in the air made me feel like he was supposed to or wanted to say something else, but he didn’t for a while. His eyes hopped from one corner of my face to the other and his chest rose and fell with his stressed breathing. At last his gaze settled on my lips.

“Y/N, you’re…” He rubbed his forehead and took a few more steps further away from me. “You’re very special and I really admire you… There’s just no way this can happen. You understand that, don’t you?”

He turned around to find me standing in the spot he left me, horrified by my own actions.

“And you have no idea how common it is to fall for a professor. It’s a very peculiar relationship; a student and a teacher… It happens. It’s absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about, okay?”

Fully knowing I was going to be excruciatingly embarrassed by this incident maybe for the rest of my life, I nodded.

“Really, it’s alright,” Professor Grant spoke in a warm voice with a definite sadness behind it. My whole body was vibrating with nerves and heartache and I managed to move my stiff limbs enough to pick up my books and bag.

“Okay,” I exhaled, wanting so badly to believe him. I left his concerned expression behind as I passed him and stepped out into the hallway, managing to catch the heavy sigh he let out behind me. Even still, with embarrassment weighing down my steps, the only thing I could think of was the incredible feeling of his lips against mine and his hands holding my waist. My insides ached as I realised I would never be allowed to kiss him again. Hell, I wasn’t even allowed to kiss him this time. My lower lashes held heavy tears as I stomped outside and kicked my boots through the fresh snow, heading towards my dorm.

[thornedrose44]

Supercorp prompt-

Lena takes an art class to de-stress and Kara is the nude model. Awkward semi- naked flirting ensues.

(A/N: So, I put my own twist on this (hope that’s okay), I made Lena a teacher just because I liked the idea of Lena having to keep her lack of chill under control and be professional in front of a class funny - though this fic went down just a really light, fluffy route which I hadn’t expected when I started it.)

Read on AO3

It had been going well, the first term had passed with only a few missteps and one trip to the emergency room - though, the Dean had told her that Zach had yet to make it through a single class without some sort of accident and had been preemptively banned from taking Chemistry classes for fear of taking out an entire graduation class. 

Lena had never expected to return to her alma mater as a lecturer but the stars had aligned at just the right time. The youngest Luthor had reached a stage in her career where she had finally proven her adoptive mother wrong about not finding success as an artist and had made enough money that she need never paint another picture in her life again. The lack of necessity and the return to a more Luthor-esque lifestyle - galas, fancy balls and paid talks - had subsequently impacted her inspiration. She needed a change. A return to her roots and some sort of stability without losing her ability to make a personal impact with her work. 

Her mentor - J’onn - was stepping down from the art department and had recommended her as his replacement; National City University had jumped at the chance of the world renowned Lena Luthor taking up a teaching position there. 

She was now a third of the way through the school year, settled comfortably into her new role, and absolutely loving it. Her spark was back, and she was enjoying being in one place surrounded by her old friends. She was reconnecting with skills and techniques she hadn’t touched in years whilst simultaneously giving advice and encouragement to students that reminded her of herself when Lillian had cut her off to force her into attending business school and abandoning her dreams. She was finally able to return the kindness J’onn had given her all those years ago to the next generation of artists. 

It was the second term that Lena experienced her first set of real nerves. 

Lena had an artistic weak spot, an achilles heel that she had been able to keep out of her signature artistic style but she would now be forced to confront. 

Life drawing.

It had been her lowest scoring class by a mile and she had avoided the advanced elective classes like the plague. Lena knew practice made perfect but she’d never had enough interest to develop her skills. Her interest had always lied more in natural landscape beauty - J’onn had said her true inspiration lied with trying to recreate her childhood memories of Ireland: emerald rolling hills, rocky cliffs, dense forests ensconced by a mystical fog that lended her artwork a fantastical element that she was now known for.

The problem lied in Lena’s lack of interest in people. 

She had never really seen the ‘art’ in them.

Kelly, Sam and Andrea had spent hours over evening drinks psycho-analysing just why that might be, their two favourite theories were Lena’s family (the loss of her mother and the general unpleasantness of the Luthors) or Lena’s truly terrible dating history (their favourite topic of conversation due to the sheer number of embarrassing stories it elicited).

Lena refused to acknowledge the accuracy of both theories. 

It was therefore with a sense of dread that Lena prepared for the first Life Model Drawing class that Tuesday afternoon. The one small silver lining was that she didn’t need to arrange a model - she had vague memories of J’onn trying to entice volunteers and grumbling under his breath about some of the less than pleasant eager volunteers. J’onn had a list of regular volunteers that he had accrued over the years that were reliable and just liked to help out - most of them older with an appreciation for the arts and more time on their hands than they knew what to do with. The University admin team had organised everything and simply told her to expect a Kara Danvers at the studio some time before the class.

Lena had finished prepping the studio well in advance, reviewed the relevant techniques for most of the morning and even phoned J’onn for a much needed pep talk over lunch. She had just convinced herself that everything might be okay, that she just might be able to do this, when the most beautiful woman Lena had ever laid eyes on burst into the studio.

A toned body that glinted with a light sheen of sweat barely covered by a white v-neck tucked in at the front of a pair of dark jeans that merely brought all of Lena’s attention to the bronze belt buckle that locked away a thousand dirty thoughts. Glorious golden ringlet curls bounced up and down as the woman stumbled to a sudden stop as the most piercing blue eyes imaginable behind thick glasses locked with Lena’s green ones.

“Hi, I’m Kara!” The goddess announced, swallowing thickly and stumbling forward in her hefty black boots as she extended out a hand for Lena to take.

Lena only reached out due to years of Luthor training that had ingrained politeness into her muscle memory - her brain still not firing on all cylinders at the sight of the woman in front of her. Kara’s warm palm connected with Lena’s, long fingers curling gently yet firmly around the edge of her hand and sending arcs of lightning through Lena’s body and causing her breath to stutter. 

“I hope you haven’t been waiting for me for too long.” Kara continued, a bright apologetic smile lighting up her entire face and grinding whatever gears were still turning Lena’s mind to a dead - permanent - halt. “I try to always get here early to help set-up but the interview I was conducting overran - I’m a journalist, by the way - and then my bike - motorbike that is -” Lena’s mind caught on the motorbike and turned it round over and over and over again, “didn’t start and… I’m rambling. Oh, golly! I mean heck, I mean sorry.” Kara huffed, cheeks filling with air before releasing into an adorable pout. “Sorry.”

It was then that Lena realised two things.

One, it was her turn to say something and there had now been at least ten  prolonged seconds of silence as they stared into each other’s eyes.

And two, they were still holding hands because that’s what it was now, it most definitely could not be considered a handshake.

“Umm… hi…” Lena choked out whilst simultaneously jerking her hand back to her side, hoping the somewhat stifling heat of the studio would hide the red blush perfusing her cheeks.  “Lena. I’m Lena, that is…”

“Hi.” Kara murmured, smiling soft and sweet at her causing Lena’s heart to flip and melt and dance and do a million impossible things all at once.

“Hi.” Lena repeated dumbly - so dumbly.

“I should…” Kara chuckled, hands miming grabbing the edge of her t-shirt and lifting it up, “You know?”

Oh, god the goddess is going to undress, Lena’s brain screamed in gay at herself.

“Yeah, definitely do that.” Lena encouraged with a flap of her hand towards the centre of the studio where a solitary illuminated stool awaited. “Do you need anything? Is the lighting okay? Stool… umm… sturdy?”

Kara grinned at her, blue eyes barely sparing a glance at the studio’s set-up, “Looks perfect.”

“Great.” Lena cheered, jerking her thumb over at her desk in the corner where she had prepped her teaching materials, “I’ll… uh… be over there.”

“And I’ll be right here.” Kara shot back with a cheeky wink as she walked over to the stool, a towel awaiting her to provide suitable covering until the class had settled, shucking her white shirt over her head and revealing back muscles that would star in Lena’s fantasies for the foreseeable future.

“Yep.” Lena popped, taking a deep breath and trying to work out if she should be murmuring a thank you to God or screaming a desperate why me.

***

The class had gone well - except for the long periods where her brain shutdown whenever she studied the play of shadows across Kara’s defined musculature. She managed to cover it quite well by making it seem like she was just assessing her students’ work closely, analysing their line work and shading rather than going through an extended gay crisis that eclipsed seeing boobs for the first time in college.

Kara, on the other hand, was a consummate professional, holding a steady pose throughout and utterly unfazed by the concentrated gazes on her - though, Lena could have sworn that she caught deep blue eyes tracking her movements round the half-circle every now and again. 

“So, you’re experienced doing this?” Lena asked, once the last student had departed and Kara was finishing re-tying her sturdy boots back up.

“Taking my clothes off?” Kara chuckled, shooting the teacher an amused smirk, getting to her feet and strolling easily over to where Lena was examining the product of her class’ efforts. 

Lena faltered, “I meant-”

“I’m just teasing.” Kara reassured, reaching out to squeeze Lena’s forearm in a half-apology that Lena could have sworn burnt Kara’s hand print into her skin, “I’ve done this for a while now. I did an interview with J’onn a few years ago and his model bailed at the last minute and I was here already and…” Kara shrugged casually like stepping in was the obvious thing to do, like kindness was the only option - which Lena didn’t doubt for a second was something Kara genuinely believed. “I like helping out where I can. And I just kept coming back…” Kara explained, clasping her hands behind her back as she took a tentative step closer to Lena, “I was never really sure why until-”

“Hey, babe, you ready to go?” 

Lena’s head snapped round to see Andrea strolling through the doorway, eyes fixed on her phone utterly oblivious to the moment she had just trampled all over. Lena wasn’t sure whether Andrea was naturally such a good cockblock or if she practiced at it - regardless of either option Lena’s sexlife had vanished into thin air since she’d returned to living in the same city as Andrea. (Not that Lena thought that her and Kara were heading that way but Lena had been enjoying the hope of it at least).

“Andrea, you’re early for the first time in.... well, ever…” Lena snarked, rolling her eyes before glancing over to Kara, only to find the blonde had taken a large step away from her and her expression was far more neutral and guarded than it had been only moments before.

“Wait, we weren’t meeting at 4?” Andrea frowned, still not bothering to look up.

“Ah, so you’re not early, you’re over an hour late.” Lena remarked.

“God, you’re such a drama queen…” Andrea sighed, finally lifting her gaze from her phone, her eyes immediately alighting on Kara with undisguised interest. “And who is this?”

“Andrea, this is Kara the model for our life drawing classes.” Lena introduced taking a protective step in front of the blonde, an action that did not go unnoticed by the other two occupants in the room. “Kara, this is my supposed best friend who is regularly trying to lose that title.”

“Oh, best friend?” Kara repeated; the familiar brightness from before returning to her expression as she looked excitedly between the two friends.

“Yes.” Lena answered, smiling shyly at Kara and immediately forgetting Andrea’s existence, let alone presence in the room.

“That’s great.” Kara grinned, blushing a light pink a second later as her hands fidgeted with her keys, “I mean… ummm…. That you have a best friend. My sister is my best friend, though I have other friends. I just mean that… friends are cool.” 

Lena laughed lightly at Kara’s ramble, leaning closer towards the blonde without realising until Andrea appeared at her shoulder looking far too pleased with herself.

“Kara,” Andrea greeted, holding out a hand for the blonde to shake (Lena was comforted to see their handshake was quick, almost professional in comparison to the lingering touch Kara and Lena had shared earlier). “The pleasure is all mine.” Andrea declared, winking surreptitiously at the teacher - Lena instantly dreaded the upcoming girl’s night.

“Nice to meet you.” Kara replied friendly and sincere, before smiling softly at Lena and muttering a hopeful, “I’ll see you next week?” 

“I’ll be here.” Lena reassured, watching as Kara nodded farewell to Andrea and departed, waving on her way out.

“Well…” Andrea murmured mischievously.

“Don’t.” Lena said sharply, holding up a finger to deter whatever torment Andrea had brewing. “Not a word. Not a single word.”

“Ooookay.” Andrea lied.

***

“You okay?” Lena asked tentatively, watching as Kara sluggishly slung her bag over her shoulder the pep to her step nowhere near as present as it had been last week. 

They hadn’t had a chance to talk before the class even though Kara arrived much earlier to help set-up - Lena had been helping a student struggling with deadlines and a sudden crisis of confidence which prevented them from interacting. Despite being occupied, Lena had seen the fatigue weighing heavily on the reporter, saw how her impeccable posture dropped and how her students added weary lines to her expression in their artwork. 

“I think you fell asleep on that stool for ten minutes at some point.” Lena murmured, brow creasing in concern.

“Pfft… what?” Kara reassured with a light-hearted wave of her hand. “Impossible.”

Lena arched an unimpressed eyebrow, “You snore. Quite loudly.”

“Oh…” Kara pouted guiltily, rubbing at the back of her neck, “My sister is going through a rough patch and I stayed up late with her last night.”

Lena’s amusement drained away to be replaced with soft, supportive care, “Is she okay?”

“Yeah, she’s doing better.” Kara replied, blue eyes twinkling at Lena’s inquiry that had them both ducking their heads coyly and sharing furtive glances. “I should get going.” Kara coughed out, though she made no move to leave.

“Or…” Lena began hesitantly, heart fluttering in her chest, “we could go for coffee? You should probably have a coffee before driving,” Lena rationalised, nervously stepping back from the blatant romantic line she was toeing, “you know for safety…”

“For safety.” Kara repeated carefully, blue eyes glowing with warmth, “That sounds wonderful.”

***

It didn’t take them long at all to settle into a comfortable routine.

Kara came early to the life model classes, helping set-up the room as they talked about the students' progress and what Lena was going to make the focus of the class. During the class itself, Lena no longer needed to flit as regularly between her students, they had learned the basic techniques enough to practise for themselves, now only requiring light guidance which allowed Lena time to either do some marking or her own art. Kara posed perfectly throughout, though Lena was becoming more and more aware of Kara’s still gaze on her as the weeks passed by. 

After class, it was now custom for them to grab a coffee and go for a long walk around the university campus as they talked about everything and nothing. They would have been building towards a strong friendship if it wasn’t for the lingering touches, blatant flirts, blushes and wandering gazes. 

Lena wasn’t overly sure why they hadn’t crossed that line, made that final move, but she found she didn’t particularly mind the wait. She was convinced that they had both decided that the journey was making the destination all the more desirable.

It became abundantly apparent, though, that Kara thought differently if their conversation after the class midway through the term was anything to go by.

“So do you not like my body?” Kara asked, quick and fearful, eyes looking down at the sketch Lena had done during class of a vase of flowers in the corner rather than of the readily available model.

“What?” Lena muttered in disbelief looking up sharply from her desk to see Kara paling considerably having clearly not intended to ask the question that she had blurted out.

“I… uh…” Kara squeaked, mouth opening and closing rapidly, before lifting her bare wrist up with a jerky motion and whistling in exaggerated surprise, “Wow, look at the time. I’m late for… uh… this thing. Work thing. Interview! That’s a work thing.”

And just like that she was gone - Lena wouldn’t have been surprised if there was a Kara shaped hole in the studio wall with how fast she disappeared - leaving Lena with a sinking, twisty feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her she might have lost more than her regular coffee with Kara over that one interaction.

***

Lena had Kara’s phone number and they had taken to texting throughout the day; however, since Kara’s panicked question - which probably revealed some deep vulnerability in the blonde - there had been complete and total radio silence. No memes, no cute animal pics, no sweet check ins… Lena’s phone remained silent when it once vibrated with life. 

Lena wanted to text or call Kara the second she had left the studio but Lena didn’t feel like this was a conversation they could have over text, so she waited impatiently for them to be face to face again, counting down the days until the next class. 

Lena even took to repeatedly checking in with the admin office to confirm that Kara hadn’t pulled out of modelling; reaching the stage where Jess, the most senior admin in the team, had taken to emailing her every couple of hours to reassure her that Kara still hadn’t cancelled. 

When Kara appeared, nervously stepping into the art room, fingers playing with the hem of her shirt, it was like Lena could finally breathe easy again. The fear and loss eeking away in an instant, giving Lena the necessary courage to stride forward and bare herself in a way that Kara had been doing every week without Lena fully realising.  

“I don’t like drawing people.” Lena announced, shoving her hands into her pockets to resist the temptation to reach out to the other woman as the blonde blinked at her in surprise, listening intently. “It’s kind of a thing with me.” Lena winced, pushing down all the reasons for why that is. “When I draw something I… kind of let whatever it is into me, let it consume me and it… stays with me for a long time after that. It’s why I draw what I draw. I draw my home because it's a part of me already. Drawing someone means carrying them with me and… that’s scary for me.” Lena breathed, glancing at the blonde to see soft understanding in blue eyes. “I just wanted you to know it’s not you.”

Kara nodded, shuffling closer and dipping her head so that she could whisper into the still space between them, “Thank you.” 

“Right,” Lena murmured, swallowing thickly before jerking a thumb over her shoulder, “I should-”

“Do you want to get dinner?” Kara inquired earnestly causing Lena to freeze in hopeful surprise. “After class, that is?”

“Um… Yes.” Lena replied, nodding her head eagerly.

“Awesome.” Kara grinned brightly.

***

Kara took her to a tucked away italian restaurant that was one of National City’s hidden gems. The food was outstanding and the company was even better.

It wasn’t a date, but it wasn’t just friends going out for dinner either. 

Lena would call it a test-run but that would imply that Lena wasn't already one hundred percent certain that she wanted an actual date with Kara. It was more of a date-appetiser if Lena was going to call it anything, a taste to build interest before the real thing. 

Once they had finished their food, Kara didn’t hesitate to interlace their fingers as they went for an evening stroll around a nearby park, both wishing to prolong their time together.

“Can I see your art?” Kara requested; they had been sitting on a bench in front of a lit-up fountain for the last twenty minutes or so in comfortable silence. Lena had expressed an interest in sketching the fountain and Kara hadn’t hesitated to find them a seat and encourage Lena’s desire without complaint, occupying herself with people-watching in the meantime. 

“I’m pretty sure the images are all over the internet.” Lena replied drolly.

“Yeah, I know it’s just…” Lena’s pencil froze in it’s movements finally noticing how hard Kara was trying to act casual, “what you said about it being a part of you, I thought-”

“You want me to show it to you…” Lena inferred, setting her pencil down and closing her handy sketchbook in an instant. 

“It’s stupid, I’ll-” Kara laughed awkwardly, shaking her head in an attempt to brush over the request like it wasn’t a big deal

“I don’t have many pieces here in National City,” Lena said thoughtfully, getting to her feet and holding out a hand for Kara, “but I have some works in progress that I can show you… if you want that is?”  

“I would love that.” Kara beamed, jumping to her feet as Lena tugged her back towards her campus studio, already picking out her favourite pieces in her mind that she wanted to share with the blonde.

***

Lena and Kara’s ‘friendship’ continued to blossom into something neither could have anticipated that day Kara sprinted into the studio all those weeks ago. The weekly class they shared was now always followed by dinner, taking it in turns to share their favourite cuisines and restaurants. They had also grown beyond only seeing each other on their allotted class day, sharing lunches and movie nights and spontaneous coffees as they learned each other's schedule and needs. 

Lena read all of Kara’s articles and spent many an evening asking countless questions about the background to each of them. Likewise, Kara would appear for coffee with one of Lena’s artworks saved in her phone, burning with curiosity about what had inspired it.

Time spent with Kara flew by and, before Lena knew it, it was the final class prior to spring break. Her last class with Kara until the next school year and Lena was finally ready.

She had finally figured it out.

Why she had waited.

Why she had yet to seize the numerous opportunities to transition her relationship with Kara into a romantic one.

It was because she knew. 

She knew from the second that she had taken Kara’s hand in hers when they first met that this was it. That Kara was it.

And that was, and still is, terrifying. 

When they had first met, Lena hadn’t been ready for Kara. Hadn’t been ready for everything that Kara represented and would come to mean. She had needed the time, the time to lower her guard, to trust and hope. 

And now, she was ready and she knew exactly how to let Kara know.

The class came to an end with Lena giving her students a quick speech on how proud of their progress she was and wishing them a good spring break. Kara lingered behind as was now custom, helping Lena tidy up the area before they headed out together.  

“Kara?” Lena called out nervously, sweaty palms rubbing against her black denim covered thighs as her heart beat thunderously in her chest. “I was wondering…” Lena began, clearing her throat as Kara stopped what she was doing to give Lena her undivided attention. “Can I… can I draw you?”

Kara’s brow instantly furrowed in confusion, “I thought-”

“Yeah…” Lena laughed shyly, staring into deep blue eyes, practically begging for Kara to understand what she was really saying. “Can I?” Lena repeated.

Kara pursed her lips thoughtfully as she studied Lena’s expression - it was then Lena realised that Kara understood exactly why they had been waiting. Kara wasn’t replying because she wanted to check that Lena was sure, was giving Lena a chance to delay, was saying - without really saying it - that she could wait longer.

Lena didn’t take the escape Kara offered, instead she lifted her head higher and arched an eyebrow at the blonde.

A thousand-watt smile of excitement took up residence on Kara’s face as she nodded eagerly, “Of course.” 

“Clothes on.” Lena clarified - she had promised herself that the first time she truly studied Kara’s body it would be in a setting where touching would not break any professional standards. 

***

Lena had Kara sit opposite her in her private studio, their knees pressed tightly against one another providing a warm point of contact to keep them grounded. Lena’s gaze flickered from her sketchpad to Kara’s features; occasionally, she would reach out to adjust a lock of golden hair so it caught the light. Kara, meanwhile, had an ever constant soft smile that didn’t diminish for the entirety of the session even as she was forced to rein in her boundless curiosity to stop herself from sneaking a peek at Lena’s sketch until it was ready to be revealed.

Lena only drew Kara’s head because, though, she had spent countless hours in the presence of Kara’s naked body over the course of the last few weeks - when Lena thought of Kara (really thought about her in the way that made her heart skip), it wasn’t her abs or her biceps that Lena pictured (though she did think about them regularly when she was in her bed alone at night). 

It was Kara’s eyes that Lena thought about most. 

How they were so bright and hopeful whilst simultaneously melancholic and lost.

There were whole galaxies in those blue eyes and Lena knew that she could spend the rest of her life drawing them and never get bored, nor get them exactly right.

“What do you think?” Lena asked, slowly turning her sketchbook round for Kara to see.

It wasn’t finished. It was mere line work that would require further detailing but it was a good start and she hoped Kara could see its potential like she did with everything else in the world - like she did with Lena.

“It’s…” Kara began, licking her lips as she pulled the sketchbook closer to her chest like it was something treasured and infinitely rare. “It's incredible.” Kara breathed, the sincerity of her words undeniable due to how they were accompanied by a watery film to her blue eyes.

“I like your body.” Lena whispered, shattering the companionable silence they had drifted into as Kara admired Lena’s artistry.

“W-w-what?” Kara stammered, head jerking up at the out-of-the-blue declaration.

Lena reached out for the sketchbook, lifting it out of Kara’s hand and placing it on the nearby table so that she could take Kara’s hands in hers. 

“You asked if I liked your body a while ago,” Lena reminded the blonde, “and I just thought you should know that I do. I really, really do. I mean really.” Lena emphasised, glancing appreciatively down at Kara’s body prompting the blonde to blush a pleased pink. “But it's more than just that. It’s become more than that. Talking after class, getting coffee, going for dinner… it's the best part of my week. You’re the best part of my week.”

“Lena-” Kara began, her mouth suddenly snapping shut as her jaw clenched and her chin lifted in determination. Blue eyes studied Lena for a long moment and all Lena could do was hold her breath and wait. 

Lena made Kara wait weeks, she could therefore wait the stretched seconds that Kara needed in return without complaint

Kara got confidently to her feet, tugging Lena up with her, squeezing their hands once before releasing her so that she could reach up to tenderly cup Lena’s face. “I’m going to kiss you now.” Kara declared, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Thank fu-” Lena sighed gratefully, cut off from offering up her thanks by Kara’s perfect lips sliding over hers.

[loveoaths]

kny ocs:  konpeito & mpenda.

konpeito ( after the candy )

age: twenty.

history: descendant of yasuke the african samurai. 

appearance: dark brown skin, mixed black and japanese. 6′0. shaved sides of head with white dreadlocks decorated with silver and bronze clips on top. is it bleach or is he born that way. only one way to find out.

personality: distant, yet genuine. only surrounds himself with people with vibes he enjoys. very pensive and brooding and in his own feelings, so there’s a 500% chance he is not listening when you talk to him, so prepare to repeat yourself a lot. loves candy and all cute things, even though it’s sort of embarrassing. for some reason small animals and children really like him, so he can often be found walking around with a parade of baby creatures toddling after him. mpenda included.

weapon(s):  a zanbato ( horse-slaying sword ) and a yoroi-dōshi, a short dagger samurai used specifically for piercing armor. his height, arm length, and zanbato combine to give him an insane field of motion and reach. if you break past that reach, he switches to the much shorter yoroi-dōshi.

breath style: soul.  a combinant derivative of wind breathing + love breathing.

other skills: inventor, weapon specialist. joined up with the demon corps with the hopes of helping them diversify their weapon cache to better fight demons with unusual abilities.

mpenda ( means “lover” )

age: nineteen. allegedly.

history: how did he wind up here ? who’s to say. he always tells a different far-fetched story when asked.

appearance:  black and russian. probably tall. thick black dreadlocks.

personality:  incredibly friendly in that “just passing through” way. you know, the guy who talks to you while you’re in line at the grocery store or stuck in an elevator. effusive and co-operative so long as it’s convenient for him; otherwise, he will complain and lay down until you let him off the hook. big goof. flirty and means nothing of it.thinks demons are a huge bummer so the world would be better off without them; other than that he will not elaborate on why he’s decided to be a slayer. enjoys the fancier side of life and often indulges even when he really shouldn’t. he’s thrilled by danger and loves being scared, and believes people’s real selves come out only when they’re afraid. will definitely try to scare you and often. “allegedly” may or may not be at the heart of several scandals, but shhhhh.

weapon(s): a naginata with a button on the side that, when pressed, releases small spikes from the side of the pole-arm, turning the naginata into a bladed sasumata ( restraining pole arm ).  also carries tinbe rochin, a small shield and blade combination hailing from okinawa.

breath style: wind. . . unless i come up with something else, or tengen wants to teach him sound. honestly sound would suit him.  

other skills:  writing a guide on demons to help the corps educate civilians. also, really good at [REDACTED]ing your mom.

[hermits-that-craft]

In My Dreams (Will You Remember Me?)

Flower Husbands Fic - Chapter Four - The hues in our hair compliment one another

Ao3 in the comments

Jimmy watches as the guests walk in, gawking at the decorations that he, Katherine and Gem put so much effort into. Pride fills his chest - a week of hard work paying off in happy citizens and rulers alike. Jimmy nods politely to Iris as they walk in, he knows that being one of Pix’s advisors means that the dryad doesn’t get much time off, so he hopes that they enjoy themself.

A group of dryads bow to him before they disappear into the crowd, which makes him happy - he’s still recognisable with the mask that Katherine gave him. It’s a standard masquerade mask, though it has small cod painted on it in bronze paint, though it has a white veil attached the the lower half to cover his face. It was nice of Katherine, to remember that he prefers to hide his face.

He feels safe with his face hidden.

Jimmy watches as a young woman in a black cloak comes in, and an axolotl hybrid from his empire chats with a man from Mezalea. He’s glad that they opened to ball not only to the leaders of the empires but their citizens as well, and a fae man in a forest green vest dances with a spirit in a ribbon skirt.

The doors open, distracting Jimmy from people watching for a moment.

Lizzie walks in, the necklace around her neck shimmering in the glow from the purple lanterns. Jimmy watches as everyone gawks at the wedding gift that he gave her - it’s rare to see her wear it out of battle. The necklace has two axolotls, one made of rose quartz and the other of red jasper, curled around a pearl and inset in silver. It was handcrafted by the finest artisans of the Cod Empire, and Jimmy himself carefully enchanted it with healing and protection.

The best wedding gift she received, if Jimmy does say so himself.

“You clean up nicely, did Katherine give you that suit?” Lizzie teases, pointedly ignoring the stares she receives as she walks across the room to him.

“You’ll find that your husband did, for your wedding.” Jimmy smiles. “Though I did get it altered slightly for the party.”

“You didn’t put slime in it, did you?”

“Lizzie!” Jimmy gasps, pushing his sisters arm in rage. She laughs, ignoring his fake rage.

“I’m very glad you ditched the cod head.” She says. “I think Katherine would have killed you.”

“She actually gave me this mask.” Jimmy admits. 

“Ohh, look at Scott’s outfit.” Lizzie says, and Jimmy turns back to the crowd. 

Scott stands next to Joey, looking mildly uncomfortable. The king of the lost empire wears a red suit with a black crown, rubies and jaspers adorning it. But Joey’s outfit pales in comparison to the one that Scott wears.

Scott’s wearing an intricate white top, with long sleeves that bell out at the end. He has a high waisted skirt, fading from a sky blue into a deep, ocean blue. He looks like he’s stepped out of a high fantasy story, a golden crown shimmering in his blue hair. He looks stunning, making Jimmy feel almost as though he’s underdressed.

Scott makes eye contact with Joey, an emotion Jimmy doesn’t understand flashes in Scott’s eyes as he walks over to Jimmy.

“Lizzie, I think I’ve made him angry.” Jimmy mumbles, breaking eye contact with Scott. 

“He’s your land boy, you work it out.” Lizzie says. “I need to go find my land boy.”

“Scott isn’t mine, Lizzie - Don’t leave me!” Jimmy protests, but it’s already too late, the queen of the ocean has left Jimmy to whatever fate Scott has planned for him.

Hopefully Lizzie will hold a nice funeral for him.

“You look nice.” Scott says softly, barely audible over the music.

“Oh, thank you.” Jimmy says, the back of his neck reddening. “You clearly outclass everyone here.”

“You really think so?” Scott asks, his face red. Poor Scott, he mustn’t get complimented often. 

“I know so.” Jimmy smiles, though the man can’t see it.

“Could I ask you to dance?” Scott asks, offering Jimmy his hand. Jimmy blinks in surprise, looking into Scott’s eyes in shock. The elven man’s eyes glitter in the lantern light, light and full of something Jimmy can’t quite place.

Even so, Jimmy puts his hand into Scott’s, and lets the man pull him into a dance.

Scott’s hand rests on Jimmy’s waist, and Jimmy puts his hand on Scott’s shoulder, letting him lead. Scott, thankfully, doesn’t mention when Jimmy steps on his feet, the king just mumbling instructions to Jimmy as he leads them.

“You teach dances like this often?” Jimmy asks breathlessly, trying to concentrate on not stepping on Scott’s feet.

“No, I don’t. I don’t think I’m even teaching you this correctly.” Scott admits. “I’m not even sure this is a real dance.”

“This feels pretty real to me.” Jimmy says, his heart picking up. “Kind of familiar, like I’ve done it in a dream, but real?”

“This is dreamlike?” Scott asks, cocking an eyebrow.

“Yeah.” Jimmy admits. “Do you think we could spin with this dance.”

“If you want to, then of course.” Scott says, spinning Jimmy around.

Jimmy giggles slightly, breathless as his hand falls onto Scott’s shoulder again. Scott leads them again, and Jimmy lets his feet go without thinking. It’s like the dance he had in his nightmare, with his shadow husband. Scott’s hand on his waist is comforting, a promise of safety, in a party of peace.

The music slows and they stop, breathless and hearts hammering. Jimmy takes his hand off of Scott’s shoulder, pulling away from his dance partner.

“I’m going to get a drink, you coming?” Jimmy offers. Maybe this could end with a new ally, a new friend.

“I need some air.” Scott admits, rubbing the back of his neck as though he’s nervous. “I’ll see you later?”

“See you soon.” Jimmy promises, smiling brightly at the elf.

The other man just nods, walking out of the room and up the stairs. Jimmy moves off of the dancefloor, avoiding bumping into people as he makes his way to the table, picking a prawn off of the table to eat while he looks for something to drink.

“Enjoying the food?” Pearl asks, startling Jimmy.

“It’s nice.” Jimmy says. “I love the prawns.”

“Thank you! I was hoping to get something from every empire.” Pearl says. “I’m glad I got something for you and Lizzie. Your empires were the hardest.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! I could have helped.” Jimmy apologises.

“Don’t be. Be more sorry that you didn’t tell Katherine about you and Scott. She’s rather excited that the prospect of you two being together.”

“What?” Jimmy asks, blinking.

“Oh, if it’s supposed to be a secret I’ll tell her to leave you two alone.” Pearl says, laughing. “Next time, though, don’t dance in a public ball like that. Rumours will spread!”

Jimmy stands confused, staring at the space that Pearl used to be in. He must be tired, why would anyone start a rumour about him and Scott? There’s nothing to talk about. They’re potentially friends, barely aquantinces. 

“I should find Scott.” Jimmy mumbles, walking in a daze towards the stairs. Scott must be on the balcony, right?

“Jimmy!” Pixl says, relief on his face. “You need to come with me. We’re leaving.”

“What?” Jimmy asks incredulously. “Why are we leaving?”

“Emergency at Lizzie’s empire, she’s asked that we both attend.” Pixl says, grabbing Jimmy’s hand and dragging him out. 

“What’s the emergency?” Jimmy asks, waving goodbye to Pearl and Gem at the door. The two of them share relieved looks as Pixl drags Jimmy further away.

Lizzie and Joel stand in the middle of the courtyard, holding a spare pair of elytra that they put of Jimmy’s shoulders as Pixl straps himself into his own elytra. Jimmy straps the elytra on, wriggling uncomfortably.

“What’s going on?”

“Gem told us to go home.” Lizzie says. “Sausage and Fwip are up to no good, apparently.” 

“Pixl said that there was an emergency at your empire?”

“I lied.” Pixl says. “Don’t look at me like that, you wouldn’t have come otherwise!”

“Look as funny as this is we have to go.” Joel says, pushing Jimmy and Pixl slightly.

The group takes off, flying into the sky. Guilt eats at Jimmy the further they fly away, and he turns back to look at the hall. Did anyone warn Scott that Sausage and Fwip were up to something?

He broke his promise to Scott.

----

“You look cute in the bunker.” The shadow says, sitting on the roof. Jimmy can just barely see out of it, and he knows that his husband wouldn’t be able to see at all.

“Shouldn’t you be preparing for battle?” Jimmy asks. “You don’t want to die.”

“I’m on my green life. I’m fine.” His husband says. “You’re the one we’ve got to worry about. Burning Dogwarts banner, really poppy?”

“I don’t want to see you sacrificed on any altar, petal.” Jimmy responds easily. “I’ll be fine, the bunker is safe and there’s an emergency exit.”

“Promise me you’ll come home.” His husband asks, standing up. 

“For you? Of course.” Jimmy responds. “In sickness and health. You’ll always have me by your side.”

Jimmy watches as the shadow people fight. It’s dreamlike, unreal to him. Swords clash and fires spread across a desert stained in blood. The dogwarts banner flies and burns and his allies are so outnumber it won’t ever be fair.

And a scream tears from his throat as his husband is shot.

His body dissipates, he’s not dead. Not permanently, but something is wrong. This world mustn’t have respawn, not the infinite respawn that it’s supposed to. Green life. First life. 

The love of his life is dead. He will come back, but he’s dead now.

“We want that banner!” A man yells, an enemy. There isn’t any winning this. He needs to get to him, to his husband, to his petal.

He’s shot through the throat on the ladder to the escape route.

Jimmy's screams echo through his empire. Not for the first time does he long for the embrace of someone who isn't even real

[illyrian-lover-flower]

Day 3:  Spies at work

Thank you so much @elrielmonth​ for planning this wonderful event and all the lovely prompts😊😘

The secrets shadows share

word count: ~4 k

It was the quietest as it had been in months. No laughter or agitated chatting breezed through the air or through the river estate, as merely the wind sang today. Bringing the sweet seer a lullaby of pure peace as her lithe hands kneaded the weed out of the earth in front of her, as if it were a loath of delicious bread, about to unfold its true flavour in the hot depths of a spacious oven, which graced the kitchen. 

Though, of course, would she never bake the earth -she was no little child of the age of six anymore- but this earth she tended to would be the oven for hundreds and hundreds of flower seeds. Nurturing them among the mushy grounds until their heads peaked through the layer of mud, eager to feel the shining light of the sun on their petals.

And the flowers were not the only ones craving the touch of sunlight, as the caressing warmth was her only distraction at the moment, of the things which reeled through her head and loved to remember her of what this day might bring.

The twins had asked her to gather some information’s regarding the clipping of Illyrian females at an Illyrian camp, which rested at the feet of the first mountain in the Illyrian Mountains, their latest observations had stated that the number of clippings had increased rapidly -the High Lords law, a mere bump in the road as they overstepped it almost on a daily base. But even if the twins knew of that, they did yet have not gathered much information’s to prove their research and spying. And as all the preparations for Nesta’s Birthday were keeping them busy, Elain was their last card as Azriel himself was away on a mission – this was at least the thought everyone harboured, as there was nothing heard of him for the past two weeks.

The three spies, well two and one in training, had considered the option of telling Rhysand, but as they saw how busy he seemed, building up the structure from his court at the very pit of the beginning while he also tried to be there for is son and wife, who herself had much on her plate to do, made them believe it was better to keep those two out of option. And even if they would have considered it further to tell Rhys and Feyre of their findings, all it would have done would have been, to invoke a duel of blood and war as the Illyrians did not see any further reason to trust their High Lord, when he in return did not offer the same.

And so, sweet Elain would be the one to go, scurrying around the camps as if she were a slave of one of the higher rated Illyrians, while her pointed ears would gather information’s she would whisper and her hands circumstantial evidence she would slip over to the twins once she was done.

It was all just that. Tried Elain to calm her straining nervous as her hands roamed the earth farther and farther, no crumb, as little as it was, untouched by her naked fingers as the coldness caressed her fingertips. She would only gather some information, stay till tomorrow at the camp and then go home again, with, hopefully, some useful information – that was it, so she hoped as dread had long settled into her guts heavy as a rock and screamed for her attention as it placed the scary thought, of what might happen if a clipping were to take place within these days, in her head.

Elain breathed in and out through her nose, as she tried to calm herself further with the musty scent of the wet earth and as she felt, with the slip of time, the sweet kiss of sunlight caressing her skin for a final goodbye, she knew it was time. A final deep breath, that was all she took as she let the chilled air of night fill her lungs, and smeared the earth, that clung to her fingertips, all over her face.

The mushy soil on her face, the first element of her costume she would wear, as she winnowed, with a slight tremble of her body, away into the slowly darker painted room she inhabited at the river estate.

It had taken her a long time to learn this, but the twins had never given up on her, always helping -and motivating- her in their own way, as they hid some ancient recipes, she wanted to try out, from Elain at the place she should winnow to. And it helped, motivated her in a way she had not thought as possible, as she had learned to walk through the folds of this world, like a needle through fabric, at the beginning of the second month they trained with each other. Dark nights and a veil of stars their only witnesses of this training for the past five months, as the moon illuminated Elain’s room with noisy, ghostly hues of silver, which slipped past the billowing sheet of her curtains as the twins were most often there to teach her the ways of the shadow world.

And today, tonight, would be the day she would prove to the two wraiths, with a heart of pure gold, that she did take each and every of their lessons serious as she slipped out of the green gown, of flowing chiffon and let it pool to her feet. A hill, small and delicate forming to her bottom, as the lower seems were stained in the brown of the earth and softly weaved itself higher to the fabric until only the clean green was left. It was a picture of life, one her sisters would have not understood, as they would have merely seen a gown, stained in streaks of dirt, but compared to the rags which she slipped on now, it looked like a piece of pure gold. Even the dress she had worn, back in the little hut , which she could still hear crying after its inhabitants, in her little village, came closer to a gown than the rag she wore now.

Brown, grey and even greenish tatters of fabric were scantily sewn together as they formed the dress, which hang loosely down her body and barely reached those creamy calves of hers as not even a belt hung around her middle. The twins had told her, that if she were to play a slave, she could not have such extravagances, as the long sleeves of her dress were already something most slaves did not have the luxury to wear. So, this sag had to do, along with the head rag she placed carefully over the bronze mass of her hair.

Though it had not taken five minutes for one of the twins, Nuala, to arrive, in a stiffer stance than usual, and decide to do any further adjustments on the seers costume, which mostly related to a small dark dagger which the wraith hid away in the hem of her underwear. “Just in case.” Murmured the twin at her, as she gave the hiding spot of the dagger a little pat to make sure the blade was properly adjusted.

Elain merely offered her beloved friend a fragile smile with a hug as sweet and warm as the sunrise, trying to ease the tension in her, in shadow befogged, shoulders; “I’ll be fine Nuala, don’t worry.” Was all the seer could say in order to prevent the nerves of her friend from snapping, as those cold hands of hers settled around her delicate hips “My sister and I wish you a lot of luck, little fawn, yet luck alone won’t bring you home safely, so please take care of yourself. Avoid any danger you can.”

“I will.” Guaranteed Elain her companion with silent words as they got carried away by the veil of shadows. And before the seer knew it, did she stand at the dark rim of a forest, close to the entrance of the camp, all by herself as the howling wind already tried to pinch her flesh in cold gusts, making her move towards the width of the camp in the hopes of some warmth.

It was mere steps she had to take in order to move inside, yet it were painfully awkward strides as the mushy earth beneath her already seeped through the thin shoe sole of the boots, which were chosen for her. But she couldn’t care, couldn’t complain as all she had in mind was to help the females which needed it most, as her heart was well aware of the bewildering song the wind sung already dozens of times into her ear, whenever she flew with Azriel, which had sadly stopped after the fateful solstice, mere ten months ago. But again, she could not complain about this heart wrenchingly deep pain she felt, could not even think about this, as her ears were to pick up some useful information.

Though as for right now, all she heard was the billowing laugh of males gathered around a giant, cackling, bone fire. Clanking their overfilled mugs together over a good old warriors’ tale one of the males told with great passion, as he showed and demonstrated on the chilly evening air how he had, already hundreds of times, broken the neck of his opponents, in a twisting motion, as if he merely opened a bottle of wine. Elain’s guts twisted at the mere thought of ever witnessing such violence, while the males gathered around the bulky warrior cheered and clapped in adoration of the great tasks he had fulfilled with this single motion, while others eagerly added their own tales and bathed in the adoration and attention their own tasks of violence granted them.

It was a sickening topic to discuss and showed just how much heart these people had here, thought Elain as she scurried between the warriors silently around the bone fire, carrying a mug of heavy ceramic in her own freezing hands as she bowed her head to each warrior and filled the beakers of those which wished for a refill. A mere lift of their massive arm, in which they held their beer, all they had to do to set the steps of the dirty slave, which Elain played, hurrying over the muddy grounds.

“Hey! You have a face?” lulled one of the warriors at her long after the delicate scythe of the moon had taken its residence in the cloak of black velvet. Elain merely ducked her head as the warrior stumbled over his own feet towards her and pressed his filthy fingers below her delicate chin, to make her look at him; “Oh you have. And what a pretty one even.” It was in that moment that she knew how those warriors could commit such acts of bloodshed, as she saw the filthy lust and pure desire burn, as high as the bone fire, behind the males’ green eyes as he merely saw a piece of meat he would devour tonight. The seer had to bite back her scowl, while her gaze, innocent and submissively, lowered itself to the ground again, pleasing the male in front of her as he merely swung and arm around her shoulder and moved her forward to mother knows where.

Her nerves were at edge as he stumbled one drunken step and another one forward, weighing her delicate shoulder with his massive form as he seemed to use the seer more than a walking stick instead of a sweet companion he wanted to coax into his bed and be a lovely toy of great service to him. But who was she to complain? Elain herself merely wondered how many steps the Illyrian could continue taking, until the alcohol, which she had poured him, slowly started to completely take over his and let him forget everything.

However, it had not taken long before those questioned thoughts became reality, a small root – seemingly delicate, yet osseus- peaked out of the ground and let those booted feet trip over the little bow it formed. A yelp of surprise was all that left the males mouth as he fell – and stayed there. Resting, snoring like an infant, on his stomach on the earth.

Elain could do nothing to hide that smirk on her thin lips. Looks like as if fourteen beakers of wine, mixed with beer, were enough to send an overgrown bat, like Nesta loved to mock Cassian, high into the clouds and rest for a good old nap. Which gave Elain time and freedom to scry for what she needed.

It hadn’t taken no more than five minutes for the clever seer to find the tent she was searching for. Glooming, covered in a blanket of beige, did it stand under the moonlight and practically beckoned her to come closer as those heavy curtains billowed in the freezing wind.

There was no hesitance in Elains silent steps as she slipped into the waiting gorge of the specious tent. All sorts of hidden gems -papers, maps, lists which harboured the names of the next females who would lose their wings-  ready to be discovered by the gentle flower grower, who had merely watched out this evening to find a male stupid enough to not know his limits while he would hopefully lead her deeper into the camp.

A thing of secret, loving beauty at his arm as no one would suspect a thing while she silently noted and judged every step which was taken on these grounds. Something the twins had been drilling into her as they claimed that Azriel himself had punctured this into their very skulls.

Azriel, her heart jumped and leaped in joy as she finally allowed the name of this lovely male back in her mind, as she had not let that happen ever since this fateful solstice. This sweet name, those lovely memories, all tainted by a mere string of whispered words which brawled their way into the very core of her body It was a mistake.

Her lithe hands flinched away from the stack of papers she scurried through, as her heart was stabbed with the force of a daggers blade, bleeding silently out inside her chest while she read through paper after paper. A distraction which carried her too far under as those pointed ears of hers did not here the steps of heavy boots trotting through the mud closer and closer to the tent; “Is she captured?” “No not yet sir.”

Elain’s heartbeat ran a hundred miles as she heard those voices louder and louder, their shadows already stretching below the little slit which led to the outside, while the seer could merely panic. Looking around and onto each and every surface she could hid behind or under, but all that she could chose were the desks on which her noisy fingers just rummaged through pile and pile of paper. The only problem was that, even if they were of a size even Rhys and Feyre would envy but was the chosen space for the chair all open. No piece of wood would hide her away and as she already braced herself to winnow did the shadow at the tents entrance rise and rise.

A solid form of night stepping out of the pool of flitting shadows with graceful steps, while those piercing eyes of his skimmed over the room ever the briefest, landing once and for all on her.

There was a taut string between them as both stared into each other’s faces for the longest of time, which they could allow themselves, before Azriel turned his head away to look behind his massive shoulders. A flicker of a question, as bright as all seven of his siphons, danced for a second in his eyes, just like the shadows around those wonderous wings of his, but the moment was broken as soon as she heard those booming voices again.

Elain had known something like that would happen, had felt it creep up to her in her dreams just before she woke, but she did not stray from her path. Did not let anything bad happen if she could prevent it and if her own fate was on the line – she could handle it. Hundreds of fae and human alike had put their life in danger, it was time to repay them.

But before she could steel her spine and look with the greatest of disgust into the face of he two males which would bring her death, did Azriel take two long strides, swept her up in his strong arms and whisked them away into the realm of shadows only to hide in the darkness behind the massive desk.

And apparently did they work just on time as those two males entered the specious room filled of cards and secrets.

It was weird seeing them, a veil of black dust seemingly hiding those two males as if they were a bride who just anticipated the touch of their beloved groom to lift that layer of fabric between them. Elain wondered if it would feel just the same, touching the shadows as if they were a layer of chiffon, but Azriel held her back as she stretched out those pale fingers. His marred flesh caressing hers as his hand clutched tightly around her wrist; “Don’t.” whispered his ravenous voice against the shell of her ear. This strong body of his still pressed against her, fitting this delicate frame of Elains body as if he was a missing puzzle piece finally locking into the right spot, while those two males kept on talking. Exchanging names of the females which were soon to be clipped and the date on which this crippling would take place, all information Elain had already copied onto a piece of paper.

Both fae stiffened, ready to strike, as the two Illyrians kept on talking and talking about the pleasure the humiliation of the females would bring to them, while Elain and Azriel held onto each other for dear life, as the other one with them in the shadows was their lifeline, preventing each other from committing something neither could really clarify, as this was merely an undercover mission neither the High Lord nor the High Lady knew about.

It were these strained moments between her and the shadowsinger, which made her throat log and her heart pound as loud as a war drum against her chest, but apparently was Elain not the only one with strained nerves; “What are you doing here?” pressed the shadowsinger out, the intense stare of his hazel eyes never leaving the wavering form of the males.

The seer knew that no matter if day or night, tired or woken, Azriel would always know to part a lie from the truth and so she had no use to do something as cruel as lying “Spying.” “Who thought you this?”

“A friend.” Exclaimed Elain after a pause in which she wrecked her brain on how to not call her two teachers by name, but as a little shadow had wrapped around her index finger, as soft as a cattail, did she know what her answer was. And apparently was this not a lie, as she was friends with Nuala and Cerridwen, the shadows and even Azriel, so she hoped as he did not seem to want anything else from her. Yet did his arms close further around her middle as his mighty voice growled lowly through the darkness “I figured that.”

The seer had to giggle at the unease edge in his voice, the all knowing shadowsinger for once unaware of a secret as lovely as a rose. Sweet and delicate far above of the surface, whilst her body was spiked in thorns, pricking the fingers of those who were rough and harsh on her, ripping and tearing at her roots, while her leaves and blooms caressed the ones who were gentle with her, sweet and caring.  Everything the shadowsinger had once been to her.

She hadn’t even known how much she craved his presence as she was cradled into his arms once again – united with a piece of herself she hadn’t even known she was missing. But sadly, did this missing piece see her as a mistake.

Elain flinched once again at the memory of those cruel words ringing through her mind, the shadows around her rising as if they were a fountain invoked by her emotions, but Azriel’s grip on her was unfaltering, a presence of a rock in the tides as Elain whispered at him: “How long do you want to keep starring at those two?”

“Until I can see that they are leaving.” “They won’t.” “Then so do we.” The seer sighed at her stubborn friend, as the warmth of his body seeping into hers was all which held her back from going for his neck right now. “Azriel. They will discuss, for the next two hours, who of them had clipped a pair of wings the best.” The shadowsinger shuddered in her arms, if it were due to the use of his name on her tongue or the fact that these males would pride themselves with bloodshed for so long was beyond her. “You have seen it?” Elain could merely nod now, her voice clogged and caged in her throat as a scent, of sweet night chilled mist and cedar, caressed her nose with the motion.

“I need those information’s.” Was all he answered stubbornly with his jaw set as a stone, while his sweet friend shook with her head “I have them already.”

Surprise lined those godly crafted features of his as he gazed down on her. The seer offered him a charming smile, before she handed him the notes, covered in her scribbled letters, with everything she deemed as important, which was in her case everything because despite her training she was still not entirely sure of how to filter the right information from unnecessary gibberish and so she copied everything, which offered her the opportunity to see the shadowsinger bowing his head every the slightest in respect for her. “For whom are you here, Elain?”

Bracing herself with a smile as sweet as honey, as those piercing orbs of brown with swirling green and grey streaks glanced at her. “A friend and you?” This sweet smile, as little and innocent as a daisy, he offered her was a picture of pure delight while he did not let his fingers stray from her hips. Almost searing a hole through her heart and clothes as his raven voice echoed through the whispering storms of shadows “For myself.”

Elain smiled then, “Well then, Spymaster, had I helped you out well?” And as if her smile were a virus did it spread on to the sweetest pair of lips, the one pair of lips she had always wondered how they would taste on hers. Both having forgotten since a long time where they were. “Very. I might consider handing some of my work over to you.”  

Both of them giggled then, as they stood safely and secure amidst the dark sea of shadows, like two rays of sunshine, competing for who shone brighter, as Azriel let the shadows whisk them away. An inferno spreading as those calm waves of darkness washed over them, whisking them far away to a secure place, while Azriels lips lingered on the seer’s sweet forehead.

A thing of secret,lovely beauty blooming already between them, as not even the lurking clouds of hundreds and hundreds of unspoken words could make the thriving blooms between the seer and the shadowsinger welk, as there was furthermore no more missions which either one acted on alone. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist (If I forgot someone or anyone wants to be added, just message me):

@gracie-rosee

@heirofthrnightcourt004

@galenamineralsbismuth

[slutsofren]

Danger Days Chapter 8: Save Yourself, I’ll Hold Them Back

summary: finding shelter in an abandoned home, you try to keep your wits about you and care for the still unconscious Joel until some trouble comes knocking

word count: 3,792

content warnings: mention of gore and impromptu medical care, more canon-typical violence, death, murder, arrival of.... cannibals, y'know the deal hurt/comfort

notes: i didn't mention it last time but yeah, your shit really can kill you if you get your lower intestines punctured lol it's a real thing and gnarly af

read on ao3 / masterlist

You woke up in a start. Heavy breaths taking hold in your lungs. The small, barely considerable amounts of sleep were getting to you as they had been for the last month as more and more night terrors racked your brain. Rubbing at your eyes, you pushed yourself up to begin your usual routine.

It had been a couple weeks since your little group found yet another abandoned home and it took some hell of maneuvering to get Joel into the basement but it worked. The winter snow was coming in full force and it was peritive you all kept Joel as warm as possible, there were too many odds stacked against him.

Walking over to his prone body, you checked on his wounds once more as you did practically every couple of hours. He was looking worse for wear, even changing out the gauze could only do so much. Whatever small amounts of clean water the three of you had went to cleaning it out, hoping to stave off the infection.

Joel was, by all means, not doing well.

To top it off, even with your meager amount of medic training from your days with FEDRA could never prepare you for the long-term haul you were in with Joel, he was dying. The bastard was dying and you couldn’t help but feel it was your fault.

Night after night you were haunted by the image of him falling off that balcony, the sounds of his groans of pain still lingered in your head even when you were awake. It fucking sucked.

He was asleep now, he barely woke up since everything went to shit at the university then at the mall. That in and of itself felt like a lifetime ago. You put a hand against his forehead, feeling how his fever still hadn’t broken. With the chill in the air as winter was fully settling in making your fingers cold as ice, he didn’t even flinch away. You closed your eyes and sighed, still not wanting to give up. Not for Ellie, not for Tommy, not even for the grumpy man himself.

A quick glance out the small basement window told you it was nearing dusk which startled you. Ellie had left when the sun was at its peak, sometime around noon, surely. She had been gone much much longer than she normally would have.

Usually it was you who left to go hunting for food once your supplies dwindled but Ellie wanted to help relieve the burden from your shoulders and you reluctantly agreed. Yo hated to admit you needed a break. She had argued she wanted to get better with her bow and arrow and she certainly did, often bringing back animals of various sizes. It was her way of coping with potentially losing Joel, something she confided in you that was one of her biggest fears.

Thoughts of Ellie swirled your mind and you paced back and forth, chewing at your fingernails. A nasty habit you suppressed most days. A part of you wanted to go find the girl, follow Callus’ tracks in the snow. Another part of you didn’t want to leave Joel by himself.

Fuck, you thought.

Compartmentalizing you figured if she didn’t return within an hour, you’d go looking for her. If you couldn’t locate her within a mile radius, a strict rule you enforced her limited hunting zone to, you’d hunker down with Joel and wait until morning to find her and scold her for being irresponsible.

You stopped your pacing to look at Joel’s face, seeing how his face was still warped in the painful scowl he hadn’t let go of. His features were beginning to slowly become gaunt as the small amounts of food you’d been able to get him to eat the rare times a day he’d wake were coming far and few in between. Even his usual tan skin was slowly softening to a cooler shade of bronze. He looked like death.

Joel, by all means, was a handsome cowboy. Even with his patchy beard that was littered with grey hair in a few spots. Now he just looked like a ghost of himself.

Okay, fine, you admit to yourself. With Joel down, you’ve kind of missed the fool. You missed the banter and arguing with him about stupid shit. He irritated the daylights out of you because he always wanted to jump headfirst into things without a care for his safety clearly but dammit, the lack of his presence was palpable. You hated it.

You sat beside Joel, removing one of his hands from under the blanket to hold. His hands still rough and calloused, mirrors of yours if you weren’t missing a finger. Once upon a time, you remembered hearing that coma patients could sometimes hear what people said to them, that it helped. Maybe talking to him now would help not just him but you as well, to keep your mind occupied. Maybe pass the time a little. Maybe.

“Hey, it’s me, you grumpy bastard,” you started off lightly. “I don’t know if you can tell but you’ve been puttin’ that girl and I through hell and back trying to keep your ass alive.”

A hollow laugh escapes you, feeling a little more choked up than you’d ever dare to admit. Composing yourself you tried to use playful banter. “How do you do it, cowboy? Ellie is a goddamned handful. Shit, I thought I was bad when I was a teenager,” you sniff, feeling your voice waver.

“When I first laid eyes on you two, I think it would have saved me a whole lotta trouble and pain if Maria let me shoot you,” you sigh dramatically. Even though there was a smile on your lips, it didn’t reach your eyes. What did were the tears that were slowly forming. The added stress of Ellie being missing was really wearing you thin.

Amongst other things.

“Y’know,” you sniffled, “you really hurt my feelings back at the university. When you thought I led the two of you into a trap.” You took a sharp inhale. “As much shit as you and I put each other through, that was the one thing that stung. More than anything.”

You squeezed his hand and sighed, closing your eyes. Admitting that was hard, stars know you’d never say that to Joel while he was conscious nor in front of Ellie.

“Don’t die, you asshole,” you begged softly, wiping away the light tears that coated your lashes, reluctantly letting go of Joel’s hand as you tucked the blanket around him tightly.

After you said your piece, your mind became overrun with the little turd you grew fond of. The more you began to worry about Ellie, the more your thoughts swirled rapidly into worst case scenarios.

Before you worked yourself into a much deeper frenzy, a loud metallic bang echoed from upstairs. You ran up the steps and came face to face with Ellie, looking just as frantic. She raised her hand and in it, a tied white rabbit, so white it was nearly silver in the dim lighting. “I got food,” she said breathlessly.

“And,” she shoved you aside and took off to the basement, “I got this. Can it help?”

Ellie reached into her pocket and pulled out a syringe and orange bottle, she handed it to you while kneeling next to Joel as he shifted in his sleep. You were still rather shocked to see Ellie who looked faintly bloodied and tired, before you could comment on the new rifle on her shoulder, you took the bottle and were damn near milliseconds from riding into her until you read the faded label of the glass container.

Penicillin.

“Where the fuck did you get this, Ellie?”

Without waiting for her to answer, you dug in your pack and pulled out some disinfectant alcohol and a gauze pad to clean the syringe and a spot on Joel’s arm. Ellie refused to look up from where she kept her gaze focused on Joel’s face, “‘s not important.”

“If I wasn’t so mad at you right now, I’d kiss you.”

Throwing away all the questions you had for her, you administered the antibiotic as quickly as you could, he sighed as the medicine entered his body. Although, it was likely you were giving him too much, truthfully, you didn’t think it would hurt him worse than he already was.

As he relaxed underneath your hands, you looked down at his wound one last time for the evening. The haphazard stitches were taut on his stomach where the swelling was, hopefully by morning, he’d be better.

You didn’t look up from Joel as you laid into Ellie, “I don’t want excuses about where you were, only that you promise me to be more careful in the future, please.”

“Ye- yeah, I promise.”

“Good,” you covered Joel back up, “Now go get some rest. I’ll take care of the rabbit and wake you when it’s done.”

You turned your back to Ellie, it wasn’t that you wanted her to feel bad for her little disappearing act. You just needed some space to gather your thoughts. Between being Joel’s caretaker, Ellie’s temporary guardian, and keeping yourself sane, you were a wreck. You needed a moment.

Before you took a step on the stairs you paused. “Good work on getting the medicine, kiddo. Joel would be proud of you too.”

She didn’t respond as you walked away, the implication that although you were upset with her, you were still proud lingered in the air. Mindlessly, you focused on the rabbit, doing what needs to be done to cook it for dinner, pushing away those lingering worries. Ellie was safe, you reminded yourself, she came back.

It didn’t take you long to finish with your meager dinner, still pretty damn proud of Ellie’s evolving hunting skills. Maybe you’d offer to teach her a couple snares in the morning to leave out overnight. Although they tended not to gain anything bigger than a rabbit or a squirrel, something was better than nothing and you’d figure it would help Ellie focus on something other than Joel’s condition.

You bounded down the stairs, bringing the freshly cooked meat with you. A small shake to her shoulder and she was awake, “Dinner’s ready.”

Ellie didn’t bring her gaze up to look you in the eye, likely still ashamed. The two of you still sat in silence eating, occasionally looking to Joel for any changes or whenever he shifted in his sleep.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice sounding small.

“I know, Ellie. I’m sorry too, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I was just worried.”

Once again, the silence encompassed you both like a blanket, warmer now than it was before. You broke it first, “I was thinking about teaching you a couple snares in the morning. How does that sound?”

Ellie wiped the grease from her fingers on her jeans and looked up, “I think I’d like that.”

Just like that, the two of you were on even footing. It didn’t feel right to be mad at each other, not when Joel wasn’t there to diffuse. Either way, it was much like when you were the one in between their own fight that day you’d met them, it wasn’t healthy when you all had to rely on each other for survival. At least with Ellie, she was quick to forgive and forget in the face of the larger picture. A quality you kind of admired in the young woman.

Both of you finished with your portions of the meat, saving the rest for the morning or for Joel if he wakes in the night. Simultaneously you shuffled through the remaining ammo together, doling out some spare bullets to Ellie for her shiny new rifle, still not going to ask how she acquired it. Let her have her space.

She took the bullets graciously, reloading her sidearm and long range weapons and placing them in her backpack before getting ready for sleep. You stayed fiddling with your own weapons for a few moments longer before calling it quits too.

You laid down on the opposite side of Joel, biting your lip and hoping for the best. You tossed and turned, not knowing if you could take facing Joel’s sickly frame but you also couldn’t turn your back on him and Ellie who laid on her backpack on his other side.

Please, you wished, let the medicine take.

These kinds of wishes filled your mind until you slowly drifted to a fitful night’s sleep.

By morning, you happened to find yourself shaken awake with Ellie’s face close to yours, “Wake up, I need you awake!”

You jumped up, onto your knees. “What is it,” you ask startled, afraid Joel was worse than he was when you fell asleep. Looking at Joel, he didn’t look like he deteriorated in the night, but he also didn’t look like he improved any.

“I was tracked,” she says as if that explains anything. Both of you have your hands on each other's arms in a failed attempt at communicating the other’s panic.

“What do you mean ‘tracked’, Ellie?”

“Those people I got the medicine from, David and-and James, they fucking tracked me!”

“Ellie, what the fu-.”

“Look, listen, I’m gonna draw them away. Keep an eye on Joel,” she tells you in a rush, letting go of you and bolting up the stairs, grabbing her backpack on the way out.

“Fuck,” you practically shout while getting up and looking out the window. Outside you see silhouettes of a few men, searching the nearby area. Frustrated, you kick the washing machine.

Shit, shit, shit.

You don’t know what to do, you feel tied down once again because of Joel’s condition and Ellie’s neverending saviour complex. You mumble out a few more expletives at this situation just as you see the girl bound down the street on Callus shouting for the intruder’s attention. As she rides away, you hear bullets being shot at her, getting further and further away from you.

You carelessly threw your denim coat on and opted to grab your knives instead of guns, hoping to kill anybody who came close without alerting the others. Out the basement window, you could see a few of the men still lurking about, choosing not to follow Ellie.

Just before you followed Ellie out of the house, you doubled back to Joel, kneeling forward and giving him a kiss on the forehead. “We’ll come back, I promise you Joel. Just please, don’t die on me now.” Another kiss on his warm skin and you left without stopping, barricading the basement door as if it was left unoccupied.

Everything in you wanted to panic, your muscles were screaming to fold in on yourself and heave what little food remained in your stomach but you couldn’t give in. Not when Ellie was in danger. She may have been a pain in the ass, but she was your pain in the ass.

After your conversation last night, you’d be damned if anybody hurts your girl.

Taking a deep breath, you shook your worries free and cleared your mind. Although you were a field medic by title with FEDRA back in the day, working with them turned you into a killer. It was a toxic mindset for you, even when you had joined the Fireflies, they took advantage of your ability to focus on one thing and one thing only, turning it into their own game - death.

It took years to shake off that blank emotionless part of you, even Tommy was afraid of it when he saw the horrendous things you were capable of, what the Fireflies exploited from you, but Tommy wasn’t here and the people you loved were hanging on by a thread.

It was easy to see the outlines of the few straggling men who searched the nearby homes, whatever Ellie did really pissed them off. Now, these people only pissed you off.

You stayed lurking within the shadows of the homes, even with the sun just getting ready to set, it wasn’t too difficult to stay hidden. Especially to those who weren’t familiar with the layout. It was easy to spot how the few men tended to remain within a handful of yards together, opting not to venture out into the buildings alone. Alert and yet unorganized as you could see how they would often turn their backs on each other, giving you such a delicious opportunity to sneak in and out, weaving through them and taking them down one by one.

Was it absolutely horrible this was your instinct? Maybe. But you had two people you wanted to protect, two absolutely annoying yet selfless humans who gave you hope. You did love Joel and Ellie, even if you hadn’t admitted to it yet. Besides, you had a whole lot of stress burdening your shoulders and you wanna hit something.

You watched as the small group approached one of the homes off to the left, allowing you ample room to get close without having to cross the street in the open. You took off running, not bothering to try and conceal your footprints in the snow as you got to the house besides the targets. You entered through a broken window - a common for every single house on this block. Taking lighter footsteps, you ducked by the windows and reached the second floor landing.

The homes in this area were built within close proximity to the others, making it easy for, say, somebody needing to jump between windows without being seen. Perfect.

You listened hard and close as the men shuffled and tossed things around the first floor, looking for any sign of Ellie and ‘those two people she was with’. You growled lowly, really hating the implication that these people knew about the three of you.

Taking another assessment, you noticed there were two men standing guard out the front of the house, idly walking to-and-fro, their conversation remaining on wishing they were chasing Ellie instead.

A deep breath in and you jumped with an ‘oof’, trying to make as little as noise as possible, aiming for a wide open window with a snow covered bed on the other side. Between the snow and the mattress, the noise was cushioned to only a small thud, thankfully concealed by the thuds of the men downstairs shuffling through rooms. You quickly got up and went to the doorframe and saw there was only a hallway and stairs leading down.

You took deeper breaths again, trying to center yourself for what you were about to do as you heard one person come up the stairs - alone.

Placing your body flush against the wall, you waited in stark concentration, drawing your knife from its sheath. The footsteps came close, nearing the room you were hiding in and just as an armed gunman came in, you rushed him. Putting one hand against their forehead, you pulled the other hand and dragged the knife into their throat, essentially cutting off the person from making a noise and ending their life. You pulled and lowered their body as they began to choke out, laying them on the floor gently against the wall, carelessly hiding the body.

Downstairs you could still hear shuffling of the other invader and you made your way to them, silently assessing.

From what you could tell, the other person was banging around in the basement. So you rounded a nearby corner to where the open basement door was until finally, finally, somebody came through. You took him down just the same as his buddy.

So unorganized, you thought. If they were really looking for you and Joel, they were doing a piss poor job of it.

You swiped a bottle from the kitchen as you strolled past, taking aim out a broken window. Giving it a nice little toss, it shattered against the other house and without fail, you heard the tell-tale signs of one of the other men asking ‘what was that’. You ducked behind the faded curtain until one of the targets came into view, watching how he was pensive and alert, fortunately he was by himself which made the next part just as easy.

As soon as the man walked by the window, you jumped out from your hiding spot and jabbed your hunting knife straight into the soft squishy part of his eye, surprisingly facing little to no resistance.

You pulled it back and repeated the motion again once the man made an audible noise, probably alerting his friend. In only a slight rush now, you jumped out the window and removed your blade, now stalking towards the front when you could hear the other man yell the other’s names.

Wrapping around the corner of a house in a whirlwind, you surprised the last one when you stood face-to-face with him. He looked at you, astounded, mouth agape and dropped his weapon - a handgun. Looking down at his body, he whimpered as he took in the sight of your knife now buried deep in his stomach as you yanked them up into his chest piercing his heart.

Copper scent filled the air as the hunter’s body gave out. His blood spilling down your front. Under normal circumstances you would’ve likely vomited all over yourself but considering the innate need to protect Ellie and Joel, all that shit is blown out the window.

All in all, maybe thirty minutes have passed, you wanted to check on Joel but the distant gunshots were making you worried. At the very least, the longer they went off, the longer you knew your little fighter was alive.

Okay, think, you tried to get yourself to focus. You came up with a rapid-fire plan and before you could second guess yourself, you ran. Refusing to stop. Each step in the plush snow found you closer and closer to your hideout.

Entering the home through the garage, you gave Whiskey a pat as you walked on by and headed straight for the basement. You pushed the undisturbed barricade from the door, grateful it signaled that Joel was safe. Entering the downtrodden room you grabbed your holsters, strapping them maybe a little more tightly than you should’ve and throwing your backpack over your shoulders. You double-checked your weapons, making sure they were fully loaded.

Once again, you kneeled next to Joel as he laid on the dirty mattress, huffing from the rising pain from the stitch in your side. “Joel? I’m gonna go back out and find Ellie. I’m gonna go get our girl,” you said.

You hoped you were telling the truth.

[summonerscenarios]

Ello! I can't get this out of my head but I like to imagine the protag loving to draw and doodle, and when they run out paper they draw using marker on their arms or legs and wanted to know how the rest of the summoners would react to seeing the protag show up to class one day with their arms covered up with random doodles they drew on themselves the night before out of boredom dksbsksns

Shiro knows about your doodling habits - during meetings he’s watched you doodle patterns on your fingers and hands as you listen to the latest news and updates, and just as often has watched you after said meetings having to viciously scrub it off over the safehouse sink because of the stains using markers and pens have left behind on the tables. It’s never been too much of an issue though, since you only resort to doodling on yourself when you’ve got no paper on hand, so Shiro’s been mindful of having a notebook or two stowed away at the safehouse for you to doodle on while you’re there. With that being said, that only accounts for the safehouse and not whenever you’re not there, so keeping up your paper supply in your room has always been your responsibility. So when you run out, on top of being bored in the late hours of the night, you end up drawing patterns on your fingers, then your palms, then the back of your hands, then your forearms...With class being on the next morning you’d had to rush out of your room before you’d had the chance to clean up your arms, so when the Summoners see you there’s a mixed bag or responses. Shiro just about topples out of his chair when he turns around as sees you enter the classroom, grinning as you offer the Summoners a wave and move to toss your bag onto your seat. Your arms are covered in drawings, all the way up from your hands to your elbows and disappearing under your shirt - he’s never seen you get so far up your arms with your doodlings before, and many of them are so neatly packed together you could almost say they looked like tattoo stencils. Most of the marks stick to one color, but there’s a couple that differ and those are the ones with more detail - clearly, you’d gotten carried away on them, but not in a bad way. Even though they’re only temporary, Shiro has a feeling that if one of the stricter teachers catches you, you’re going to end up getting an earful about the drawings and tells you that it might be a good idea to roll your sleeves down just in case one of them’s teaching this class. Sure enough, Mr.Triton comes in not a moment later and you drop your arms from your desk, tugging your sleeves back down to your wrists as you cast Shiro a sheepish grin at the close call.

Kengo has absolutely let you draw on him whenever you’ve run out of paper at the guild house - his arms are thick and broad giving you more than enough space to doodle just about anything you want. It’s gotten the two of you scolded more than once because he wouldn’t tell you to stop and you could quite easily doodle up to his elbows if left unsupervised, but of course this is mostly outside of school hours since you’ve got plenty of paper to doodle on when you’re in school or at your dorm. So that’s why Kengo does a double take when you come strolling into class covered right up to your elbows (and probably above if he’d have to guess) in just about every color marker that you possess. Kengo doesn’t even need to ask you why your arms are covered in scribbles, instead when you sit down Kengo shuffles his desk as close to yours as he can, asking if you’d brought any of those pens with you. In response you smirk, fish around in your pockets, and retrieve some metallic markers as you gesture for him to budge closer and uncap the gold stationary. It’s a miracle the two of you don’t get caught, considering you’re exchanging harsh whispers, with you biting back snickers as you chide him to keep still, and him trying to flex his arm because you’ve kept it pinned in one place for so long. You have to admit, the metallic markers look damn good on him, a mix of bronze, gold and silver making for some cool looking patterns against his skin by the time that you’re satisfied enough with your work to stop. You’re just thankful that the two of you don’t get called out on your arms, but you don’t stick around long enough to get stopped anyways, the two of you booking it the second that the bell rings and down the hall as Kengo brags about the new penwork you’ve given him.

Ryota loves to doodle with you! Whenever you’re drawing at guild meetings you’re quick to offer him one of your pens or markers and shuffle next to him so that the two of you can draw things together. He thinks you’re way more talented at it than he is, but he likes seeing how happy you get whenever you’re doodling, and he enjoys hearing you praising the drawings he makes by the time that the two of you have filled in just about every spot of the page. Sometimes he’ll see you drawing on your hands, but you never draw any higher than your wrist and he honestly thinks that your drawings look so pretty on your skin, especially the ones where you use bright colored ink! He just thinks it's sad you have to wash away all that hard work by the time you’re done, so you end up taking a picture of them whenever you make a new pattern on your hands. However, for what it’s worth he’s never seen you doodle on your hands in class, maybe because you could probably end up getting told off if you got caught doing it in lesson. That soon changes when you end up having to rush into class after staying up late doodling, not having the chance to clean up your arms by the time you have to leave to get in on time. You hadn’t even thought about rolling down your sleeves until you enter the room, and you can see Ryota’s expression light up at the sight of your arms when you drop down into the seat next to him, sleeves up to your elbows revealing a fraction of the doodles that now decorate your skin. He leans over to look at them, wondering how long it took you to finish drawing on your arms - everything looks so detailed! You must have been up for ages last night to get them all done! You nudge one of your arms against Ryota’s comparing your doodled arm to Ryota’s significantly less doodled one and hum in thought; then, you reach into your pocket and dig around for one of your pastel markers, pulling it out and showing it to him as you ask if he wants some. By the time the class is over Ryota’s got some pretty yet subtle new doodles thanks to you, fanning out across his palm, back and fingers ending just shy of his wrist; he’s happy as he admires them, and you can’t help but find yourself smiling at how good the patterns look on him as you fish out your phone, reaching out for his marker covered hand with your own and interlocking your hands as you snap a few pics to commemorate your newest doodles.

Toji nearly chokes when he sees your arms, not realizing that they’re drawings until you sit down and rest your arms on your desk, doodle covered fingers tapping on your desk as you wait for the class to start. Similar to Shiro, he’d say that it would probably be a good idea to cover up your drawings lest you want to get scolded by the teacher, only to watch you shrug and grin in response. Toji does allow his eyes to wander over some of your drawings, and for what it’s worth they are rather visually appealing; some of the markings are flowers, detailed lines to make up specific patterns, and others are scribbled words hidden between blocks of art close to the inside of your elbow. It’s clear you let your creativity run away with you when you were drawing, though he’s sure drawing them on paper would avoid the future hassle of trying to scrub them all off when the time came. You catch him staring and tug your sleeves up a little further, saying that if he thinks those are cool he should see the ones on your legs - you had a way bigger canvas to work on the little details on the images you drew. Toji gives you an incredulous look, searching for your bluff, but he realizes it’s not when you reach down you tug up your pant legs. He doesn’t get the chance to see the doodles in question when the teacher walks into the classroom, and at the sight of Mr. Triton you just about yank your sleeves down, flashing a convincing innocent smile as you greet the teacher like nothing’s out of place, catching Toji shaking his head out of the corner of your eye.

Moritaka has seen you draw on both your own skin as well as others whenever you’re bored and have no paper to use; however, he’s never seen you doodle anywhere past the wrist, sticking to just the palm of your hand or your fingers since you don’t always have time to sit down and focus when you’re not at school or at the dorm rooms. Which is precisely why he doesn’t expect you to come into class with pen markings up your arms, past your elbows, and even disappearing into your shit. When you take a seat next to him, Moritaka turns to greet you briefly, only just catching sight of your arms on your desk when he turns back to face the front. He looks again, then again, and by the third time his eyes are comically wide as he tears his gaze away to look at your face, brows raised as he looks into your face for some kind of explanation. Your only explanation is that you were almost late and didn’t have the time to scrub it all off before you had to get into lesson, though you take advantage of the opportunity to show him some of your favorite doodles. Leaning over to his desk you show him some of the things that you were able to draw the night before, still as vibrant as when you’d first drawn them; on one section there’s even a collection of flowers close to the center of your hand, with one of them being a peony that you can’t help but quip that it looks pretty close to Moritaka’s mark. You remark that you guys can match now and Moritaka finds himself chuckling a little at how proudly you show them off; though you unfortunately don’t have the time to show him much more than that, as being close to the front when the teacher walks in you drop your hands into your lap to hide the majority of marks, whispering to the therian that you can show him all the rest once class is over.

[sxvxrxssnape]

minerva mcgonagall’s personal mission to make severus love christmas part 5

aka snolidays/snapemas day 11 and 12 (hot chocolate, baking) // pre-PS/the years between. minerva and severus friendship // content warning: panic attack and mentions of lily potter. i feel like this should be considered a snapetober entry oops. word count: 4287  @blog4snape

The night ended with more hot chocolate as the five stood together and watched a choreography of lights move above the pond, creating elves loading a sack full of gifts onto the outline of a waiting sleigh, watched it become glowing reindeer pulling it off the ground, rising in height and getting smaller and smaller until it disappeared and the light show began again. 

It felt like magic and he refused to believe none was involved. 

He fell asleep fully clothed that night, contentment and milk chocolate running through his veins as he begrudgingly made another mark on the imaginary scorecard. 

Minerva was definitely winning.

Saturday was spent finishing the potions for the infirmary, bottling and stoppering the dozens of phials, and methodically scrubbing the cauldrons clean as he read from a book hovering above the wash basin, the pages turning with a flick of his head. 

He dropped the potions off at the hospital wing, secretly pleased that Poppy was far too busy with a floo call to a student’s parents to bother giving him more than a thankful nod and a wave of her hand. He didn’t mind their conversations, but when three students were laid up sick on starched cots, Severus preferred to be as far away from the infestation as possible. 

He spent the night reading, a cup of tea in hand, the soft glow of candlelight nearby to illuminate the words of one of the books he had picked up from Diagon Alley. 

Sunday morning found him sprawled out on the couch in his living quarters, fully dressed once again, with the candles snuffed and the book astray, the teacup still nestled between a cushion and his thigh. 

He spent the day holed up in his office with a correcting quill, the stack of essays he kept putting off, and no less than four packets of crisps. It was dinnertime by the time he finished reading all the scrolls of parchment, his fingers cramping and eyes bleary. He had the beginning of a headache forming, but the grading was nearly caught up on. 

The remainder were short-answer questions, at least.

He wasn’t sure he could sit through another stack of eighteen inch essays for at least another month.

Perhaps two. 

The crisps had made him nauseous, so rather than attending dinner in the Great Hall, he flooed into the staff lounge and helped himself to his precious french press that had been left behind. As the coffee grounds soaked, he glanced around the room and took in the stockings.

There were some new additions.

There were his and Minerva’s - white, cable-knitted with fur trim, bearing their names embroidered in black thread - but also a bright blue with Filius’ initials, a pastel-pink made from crushed velvet with Pomona’s name spelled out in tiny yellow flowers, a black with silver snowflakes bearing Aurora’s family crest, and a neon orange war crime that could only belong to the headmaster. 

All of them had candy canes peeking out. 

There was a tree in the corner now - a tall, proud-looking noble fir - looking like an oversized houseplant when it was devoid of lights and decorations. He finished making his coffee and sat down at the round table, eyeing it carefully.

The rest of the castle was still surprisingly devoid of holiday decorations, but if this tree had already arrived, it was only a matter of time before the rest of it started creeping in. Soon enough, the place would look like a tinsel factory had exploded inside of it and the number of trees within the castle walls would put the Forbidden Forest to shame. 

He scowled at the thought. 

Later, he realized he had spoken too soon. 

Monday morning brought a fresh shower of snowflakes, a drop in temperature, and about thirty-six douglas firs into the Great Hall. These were already decked out with lights, ribbon, and colorful baubles. Some of the trees had clearly chosen sides, cheerily standing tall with the weight of red and gold ornaments, while others were laden with green and silver, blue and bronze, or gold and black. 

Garland clung to the old brick, neatly tied with red ribbon and perfect pinecones, spaced out above the portraits and high, arched windows. 

He didn’t want to think about the rest of the castle. 

There was white chocolate peppermint tea waiting for him at the staff table, so he conceded that not everything that morning was absolutely terrible. 

Tuesday was a bad potions day.

Not for him as a brewer, of course, but as a professor. 

By the time both his classes ended, eight different cauldrons had either melted, exploded, or absolutely disintegrated without a trace. He lost a full jar of moonstones because one student had decided to bring the entire fucking container to her table rather than count them out beforehand like he had advised, and it had taken all his self-control to stop himself from breaking down right in front of the class of sixth years. 

He had collected those moonstones himself, wandering the Forbidden Forest all fucking night, with only a lantern to light the way. They were supposed to last him at least another two months before he would need to venture out again - and the last time he had gone out, he’d nearly sprained his ankle on an upturned root and gotten a tree branch to the fucking face. 

Tuesday evening found him four drinks in, asking the house elves to please bring him some hot, salty chips from a local shop, and when the darling little elf returned with the newspaper cone, he babbled stupidly for two solid minutes from gratitude alone. 

Wednesday was a headache, a blur of back-to-back classes, a lot of frustrated yelling at completely inept students, a full pot of that wonderful white chocolate peppermint tea, and a sudden decision to not assign any more homework for the rest of the year.

Not because the awful little slimeballs deserved a break, but because he did. 

The elves made mushroom and wild rice soup for dinner, alongside everything else they always made, and Severus took more comfort than usual in the hot meal. 

Wednesday night was his turn to patrol the castle, so he stayed up half the night wandering the empty corridors. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself as he entered the Astronomy Tower, groaning as he realized Aurora was still there, carefully packing away her supplies post-lesson. 

“Oh, don’t act like you aren’t glad to see me.”

“Believe me when I say I’m not.” Severus returned, stepping to the edge and looking over the grounds. Most of it was cloaked by shadows, but the silver light from the moon was still enough to softly make out the silhouettes of the greenhouses and Hagrid’s little hut. “What, no comment on how I’m out past my bedtime?”

Aurora laughed, putting a bronze telescope back into its case and fiddling with the straps. “Not this time, no.” She glanced up at him and warned: “But don’t you ever make me miss out on family dinner again or you will regret it.” 

Thursday morning he slept in. 

He barely had enough time to pull on his teaching robes and run fingers through his hair before he had to hightail it to his classroom, frazzled and out of breath. He hadn’t had time to prepare the chalkboard the day before, and was quickly writing out the recipe in his messy scrawl, when the seventh years started filtering in.

“Alright, you’re going to need number three pewter cauldrons today,” he called out over his shoulder, finishing the last line of script. “Fill them with two liters of room temperature water and put your burners on low. Today we’re going to be brewing a more complex -”

“Professor?” 

He scowled at the interruption. “What is it, Mr. Greenwood.” 

“I think your robe might be inside out.”

He blinked and tried not to let his face flush with embarrassment. “Thank you, now as I was saying -” he continued awkwardly, shrugging out of his robe and flipping the sleeves inside out. 

“Your shirt buttons are fucked up too.” 

“Language!” he scolded, swallowing down the sharp coil of emotion building at the back of his throat. “And do not speak to me like that.”

“Hey, you’re the one walking in here, unprepared, with your clothes all fucked.” Greenwood muttered. “Just what were you up to before class, sir?” he grinned, his comment eliciting a few chuckles.

“Detention, Greenwood.”

“Now, wait a second!” the boy faltered.

“Do you wish to make it two?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave as he raised an eyebrow in questioning contempt. “Because we can surely arrange that.”

“No, sir.”

“Good.”

He finished the lesson on autopilot, quickly fixing the buttons on his shirt in the supply closet, fingers shaking nervously as he muttered angrily to himself. He shrugged back into his robes, double-checking they weren’t inside out again, and downed a calming draught on a whim - the shiny light blue bottle catching his eye from its place on the shelf - before returning to his desk. 

He made sure to scowl at each of them in turn and surprisingly enough, not another student made an unwarranted comment about his appearance, his teaching, or even each other. It kept him from reaching for another calming draught when he felt its effects lifting. 

Friday found him having a panic attack.

Then again, if no one opened the door to the broom closet he had squandered in, if no one came face-to-face with his crouched down, fingers tangled in his hair, not-quite-yet-out-of-breath, full body trembling self, could anyone really prove he was having an anxiety attack?

He’d barely made it through his second class and had dismissed the second years twenty minutes early, sans homework - and oh, Merlin, they were going to think he'd gone soft - before attempting to return to his personal quarters.

It didn’t quite work out as planned. 

His knees had felt shaky and he’d felt as if something were gripping at his throat, pressing down on his lungs, and he had to sit down and ground himself before he had a full-on breakdown in the middle of the corridor. He’d found himself stumbling, as he hid behind the closest doorway, the tidal wave of unchecked emotions too much.

His resolve was breaking.

He tried to focus on his Occlumency shields, tried to push back the unfiltered pain and fear he refused to think about - could not think about - because if he did, he was afraid he would never be able to function again. He was afraid he would break.

The dam was already broken though and now, now the rest of it felt inevitable. 

Now he was simply gasping for breath, tears welling in his eyes that he refused to let fall, sitting on the floor of a dusty broom closet, bathed in the dull yellow light that flared whenever it sensed movement, like some sort of spotlight - a beacon honing in on him, existing solely to put his downfall on display. 

Far too many thoughts were flitting around his head, crashing into each other and making it difficult to tell them apart, to pinpoint just what had been the trigger, the reason behind his weakness - because surely, that’s what this was right now: weakness.

Footsteps sounded in the corridor and he tried his best to muffle his ragged gasps, hand curled into a fist and pressed into his mouth, teeth sinking into the pale flesh, threatening to break through from the force he was using, so desperate he was to not make a sound. 

It didn’t work.

The footsteps paused, their owner faltering. 

Voices were speaking from the other side, hushed and mumbled, and with another stroke of panic, Severus realized they belonged to more than one. Students, most likely, and he curled tighter into himself, vehemently wishing for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. 

“Are you okay?” a hesitant voice traveled through the aged wood. 

He didn’t answer, but he figured his breaths were answer enough.

“Are you having a panic attack?” a different voice called out, sounding just as unsure as the first. “It sounds like you’re really struggling.”

“Do you need help?”

“They probably can’t answer, dummy.” a third voice spoke up, but this one wasn’t addressing him. They were all familiar, but his brain wasn’t letting him process anything to fruition. “Hey, if you can hear us knock on the door.”

He considered ignoring them, but in the end he knocked.

“Good!” the first voice praised. “Alright, knock if we were right about the panic attack.”

Again, he knocked. 

“Do you want help?” the second student asked. “I’ve helped my share of students through these.” He suddenly recognized Casper Jenkin’s voice, one of his seventh year Slytherin prefects. 

He groaned; as if this situation could get any worse. 

“I’m gonna take that as a no.” Oliver Greenwood’s voice muttered, so apparently yes, it could get worse. He was stumbled upon by his own snakes - and his disrespecting seventh years, at that. 

“Do you want us to get someone?” Allison Bone, the original speaker, questioned. “Madam Pomfrey or your Head of House? If you’re all the way down here, you’re probably a Slytherin, huh?”

He choked out a laugh at that. 

“Laughing!” Bone approved. “Laughing is good! That means you’re getting control of your breathing. The worst part of it is over now.” 

“I’m going to open the door, okay?” Jenkin told him, and the doorknob started turning. “It’s probably pretty cramped in there - definitely won’t help.”

“Don’t!” he let out, just as the door opened and he found himself blinking up at his snakes, the three of them blinking down at him, equally dumbfounded, and he wanted to scream at whatever joke of a higher being had shifted the cards enough to lead him here. 

“Oh!”

“Professor Snape?!”

He lifted a shaky hand to his face, brushing back disheveled locks of hair. “Get out.” he whispered, low and angry, not caring about the semantics that it technically didn’t apply. 

“Are you sure you don’t need -” Bone started, then faltered at the growing expression on his face. “Right, we’re leaving.” 

Greenwood eyed him a second longer than his companions, but rather than the teasing glint he usually held whenever addressing him in class, he wore something softer. “Sorry.” he mouthed, genuine concern flickering for a brief moment before he also left. 

He put his head in his hands and started laughing, softly at first, but when it became an ugly sob, he fought to regain his composure, nails digging into his scalp. 

He managed a deep breath, wiped his face on the sleeve of his robe, and hurried to his personal quarters. He was moving on autopilot now, slipping out of his teaching robes and into a jumper, grabbing a bit of floo powder and calling out a quiet, “may I come through?” when the flames turned a brilliant green. 

He stepped into Minerva’s quarters, bypassing her concerned look and collapsed onto the old couch, pointedly ignoring her as he stared at the vaulted ceiling. 

“Severus?”

“Panic attack.” he mumbled.

He remained silent after that, listening to the rustling of parchment and paper, the soft scribbling of a quill nib making its way across the page. For a few minutes, that was the only sound, until suddenly Minerva stood up and opened up the floo. Hushed voices followed, then silence, and he finally sat up when he heard the distinct pop of a house elf apparating into the room. 

Dorset, one of the school elves most identifiable by his height, was balancing a tray on one hand and a heavy-looking box on the other. He placed both on the kitchen table, nodded at the two, and apparated away.

“What’s this?” Severus asked, his voice gravelly and tired, as he stood up and approached the table. 

The box was filled with an assortment of items - butter, eggs, icing sugar, flour, and the like. He could see a bag full of dirigible plums sitting right on top and he smiled despite himself. The tray was holding two ceramic mugs, their contents hidden by the mountain of whipped cream and cinnamon they were topped with. 

“Sit down with me.” Minerva said simply, picking up the tray and bringing it to the couch. She sat down at one end, placing the cups on the coffee table, and waited. When he sat down, facing her, she handed him a warm mug. “I asked for hot chocolate.” she told him, eyeing him carefully. “Specifically the gingerbread one we had last week.”

“I liked that one.” Severus mumbled, staring down at his cup.

“I know.”

They were quiet for a few minutes, sipping on their hot chocolate, and Severus could feel his anxiety slowly ebb away as it was replaced by warm comfort. 

“You look awful.” she finally spoke up.

He smiled ruefully, but it felt more like a grimace. “I appreciate the honesty.”

“Have you noticed, how every time you experience feelings of distress, someone always tends to interrupt before we can talk?” she asked, watching him. “I think we’ve been putting it off long enough, don’t you think?”

“No.”

“We never got to talk about Yaxley.”

“We didn’t need to.”

“We also never finished our conversation about how you ask for my company whenever you venture out of the castle.”

Severus gripped his mug tightly. “You said enough.”

“You still flinch when people touch you.”

“Can you blame me?”

Minerva paused, studying him in a way that left him feeling exposed. “They’re all connected.”

He kept silent.

Her next words were unexpected. “What about Lily?”

“What about her?” he growled out, anger taking hold and manifesting into shaking hands. He swallowed down the bile he could feel rising, the taste of milk and chocolate suddenly acrid on his tongue.

“You never talk about her.”

“That’s because I don’t have anything to say about her!” Severus finally yelled, nearly dropping his mug. He set it on the coffee table and balled his hands into fists, refusing to break eye contact with the professor before him. “Lily died four years ago, but she stopped being my friend long before that! Do you want to talk about the guilt I carry, knowing it was my fault she died? Because no amount of talking, nothing I do will ever be enough to make up for the fact that I killed my best friend! And I hate myself for that, but Merlin, do I hate her too.”

“Do you?”

“Yes!” he burst out, the words he could never dare himself to say aloud now slipping off his tongue without trouble. “She was my best friend and then she sided with them, with him, after what he did to me! And that’s when I knew she was never really my friend! She saw what he - what he did,” he was starting to gasp for air again, “and she still, she - he -” 

He focused on steadying his breathing, arms wrapped around his torso. 

“I don’t.” Severus finally amended, in such a soft voice he wasn’t sure it even carried. “I want to hate her so much - and I am so angry at her, angrier than I’ve ever been at anyone - but I don’t hate her. I can’t. Maybe I wasn’t her friend, in the end, but I know she was mine. I lost so many people in the war, but she’s the one who hurts the most, so no, I don’t want to talk about Lily.”

Minerva hummed. “You sort of already did.”

He scowled.

“Drink your hot chocolate before it gets cold.”

Some of his anger fizzled out as he finished the drink. When they were done, Minerva stood up and started pulling out the contents of the box, lining them up on the counter. He joined her, watching as she leafed through a cookbook he hadn’t noticed. 

“We’re going to do some holiday baking now.”

“Are we?”

“If you’re not going to talk to me about what led to all this,” she gestured in his general direction, “then we’re going to bake some things for the staff party tomorrow.”

He nodded, sighing. “Where do you want me?”

They spent a few minutes in stilted silence, as he washed the bag of dirigible plums and cooked them down into a sauce, stirring in ground cardamom and honey. Meanwhile, Minerva whisked double cream and cornstarch with vanilla sugar and salt, the pot resting over low flames. He added the plum sauce and smiled as it came together and turned into the warm orange color he remembered. 

“What next?” he inquired, after the thickened mix had been poured into a mold and tucked away in the cold cupboard. 

“Biscuits?”

The sugar dough came together easily enough, pale yellow and perfectly smooth, and as they sprinkled flour over the table to roll it out, Severus started fiddling with the holiday cutters. 

“I can hear you thinking.” Minerva spoke up a few minutes later, dusting her hands off on a clean towel. She reached for a tree-shaped cutter and started pressing it into the dough. “Are you ready to talk now?”

“I have nothing to say.”

“Sure you don’t.”

They finished cutting out all their shapes, moved their biscuits into the oven, and cleaned off the kitchen table. Minerva was opening small jars of sprinkles while Severus whisked together icing sugar and egg whites. He focused on dividing the royal icing into small bowls, adding droplets of colored dye and stirring carefully as if they were a temperamental potion, when he finally broached the earlier subject: “They are all connected.”

“Pardon?”

He didn’t look up, merely repeated himself. “They’re all connected.”

Minerva pulled the baking tray out of the oven and cast a cooling charm before bringing the perfectly baked biscuits to the table. Severus picked one up and absentmindedly broke it into pieces. He shared it with Min and picked up another biscuit, carefully dipping this one into the bowl of red icing and shaking off the excess. 

He reached for the star sprinkles. “I try not to think about any of it.”

“You’ll have to, eventually.”

He thought about the broom closet. “I know.”

Minerva dipped a star biscuit into the bowl of yellow icing and handed it over to Severus, who immediately covered it with three different colors of sprinkles. They worked in tandem for a few minutes, dipping and sprinkling all their biscuits, and eventually a spoon was introduced to their project and Severus found himself drizzling thin stripes across some of them.

“I’m giving this one a Dreadful.” Minerva decided, picking up what was supposed to be an ornament, originally dipped in white icing, but then covered with uneven globs of blue. 

“Fair enough.” Severus shrugged, levitating the dirty dishes and moving them to the wash basin, spelling the water on. He picked up a candy cane-shape that had been rolled in yellow and violet sprinkles and then drizzled with green. “This one, however, is deserving of a Troll.”

Minerva spelled the dishes to wash themselves and then raised an eyebrow at him. “Severus, you decorated that one.”

“I’m aware.”

The yule log cake was a little more time consuming to make. He sat down at the table and watched Minerva separate eggs and whisk the whites with sugar until it foamed.

“It would be faster if you spelled the whisk.” Severus offered.

“We tried that once.” Minerva laughed, not slowing down. “It worked great at first, but all of a sudden, the whisk was flinging meringue all over the room.”

“How delightful.”

Meringue was light and shiny and the brightest white he could imagine. Min filled a piping bag with the foam and showed him how to pipe little mushroom tops on the baking paper. When he took the bag from her, he was surprised to find it bore no weight.

“Do you not know how to hold a piping bag?”

“Evidently not.” he grumbled, looking at his hand and the fluff of meringue that had spilled out of the bag and over his hand. 

“You’re supposed to hold the end closed, you numpty.”

“Numpty?” Severus muttered under his breath.

“Elphinstone always did the same thing.” Minerva shook her head, fixing the bag and finishing the job. “No matter how many times I corrected him, that man couldn’t hold it right. Always went off about how he’s the ministry liaison for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Min, I don’t need piping meringue mushrooms in my skill set.” She took in a shaky breath and set down the bag. “See? Perfect.”

“Min-”

“Don’t just stand there, Severus.” she scolded, thrusting the cookbook in his hands. “Get to work measuring the dry ingredients. You can make the cake while I make the frostings.” 

He started sifting flour and cocoa powder. “It’s okay to miss him, you know.”

“Of course I know that.” she humphed, putting the tray in the oven and spelling the dishes clean. She unwrapped a stick of butter and stared at him. “Do you know that?”

“Minerva, I only met your husband twice.” he deadpanned.

She flicked a bit of icing sugar at him. “Don’t be smart with me. I’m not the one repressing all my emotions and pretending they don’t exist until I can’t stave off the impending panic attack and end up crashing in my colleague's quarters because of it.” 

“Fine, you win this one.” he muttered. “You are the pinnacle of mental health, professor.” 

“Excellent.” Minerva grinned, but her smile seemed a little bitter. “Does this mean you’re going to talk to me now?”

“No.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Numpty.” she repeated. 

---- a/n: i was in the mood for angst tm also the ending feels a little rushed but it is 3am rip. im not gonna finish this series by christmas but my goal is new years. time exists in a vacuum anyway and is not real. ps. let me know what you think pls!! it gives me all the seratonin

[wafflesrock16]

Deaf turian/Deaf human romance?

So, a thought came to me last night. Do deaf turians have something similar to human sign language? Perhaps using subvocals and mandible positions? Would a human who’s deaf be able to pick up on the vibrations used to communicate? I couldn’t shake the idea, so now take this WIP:

Coronis was born deaf. Fortunately, she was also born in an age of technology and text message communication. She worked for a large tech company on Palaven and enjoyed the job. She could type faster than anyone she knew and veiled by the invisible shield of the extranet, people only learned about her disability if she chose to tell them. Though, sometimes, she did want to talk in person.

Lingua vocular, the subvocal language of the deaf, was straight forward enough. Most turians understood the reverberating, subharmonic speech. After all, the Hierarchy employed a form of it for stealth operations. 

When it came to romance, her non-deaf dates didn’t catch all the nuisances contained in the different vocalizations, but usually the emotion and gist got through. She was spared having to rely too heavily on typing into her omni-tool and having the VI mechanically spit back what she’d written. That was a real mood killer. 

Despite her occasional struggles with communication, Coronis enjoyed an easy life in Cipritine. But she felt stagnant. Still living in her hometown, seeing the same faces, same places, day, after day, after day. When the opportunity came to transfer to the Citadel, she lunged at it with greedy talons.

Her employer was aware she was handicapable, and her direct supervisor wore a vocal amplifier on the inside of his cowl to better pick up on her subharmonics and the wavering, lyrical way she spoke. She still preferred to message him information or questions, but his efforts to help her fit in meant more than she could ever express. 

She settled in quickly to life and work on the Citadel, and sooner than she’d anticipated, felt ready to explore what romantic options the station offered. Not via a website, but in chat rooms and message boards. Places where she could meet people who shared her interests without her inability to hear being the focus of conversation. She had a great many interests; Galaxy of Fantasy, designer plate shimmer, and the newest craze sweeping the Citadel, Ultimate Frisbee.

Frisbee was a human game that had become popular among the other Citadel species. Coronis had watched a few games before looking up the rules. She’d decided to join a team—nothing serious, just for fun—and had messaged the captain of a group located in her ward.

He was a human, which wasn’t surprising given that it was a human game. What she hadn’t anticipated was having so much in common with him. In addition to Ultimate Frisbee, Armon was an avid Galaxy of Fantasy player who also enjoyed comics and art. In fact, they were both avid admirers of a renowned hanar artist and they each owned the same print from his seminal Beneath the Waves series. 

They began chatting outside the forums, and Coronis was always eager to hear about Armon’s day. But, when he suggested meeting up for coffee and kava, she hesitated. She wanted to, but it was already tricky with other turians who at least had a basic grasp of lingua vocular. A human wouldn’t understand her at all—she wasn’t even sure they were capable of picking up on the distinct rumbles, chirps, and vibrations without a cowl.

“At least give him a chance,” her coworker said after Coronis had explained her predicament. “I’m friends with a couple humans, they’re more capable than you’d think. If it’s too much, you can just be friends.”

Deciding that with a new city and job she could take another step outside her comfort zone, Coronis agreed to meet Armon for kava.

“Just so you know,” she typed to him after considering how to phrase things. “I’m deaf. I speak in a turian subvocal language I’m not sure you can understand. We’ll probably need to rely on omni-tools.” She sighed, hoping he wouldn’t think that sounded too burdensome.

“Seriously, you’re deaf? So am I!”

Coronis stared dumbly at the glowing orange interface of her omni-screen.

“You are?” 

“Yeah! I have an auditory implant which helps, but I predominantly speak using sign language. It’s a type of language composed of hand and finger gestures.”

Coronis tried to settle on an emotion. She was delighted to meet someone who intimately understood her world and its challenges, but at the same time, if Armon was deaf and spoke with a hand language... Well, this date was looking to be even more complicated than she’d thought.

The following morning, Coronis arrived early to the fusion cafe where they’d agreed to meet. She’d buffed her plates until they gleamed bronze under the lights. The stark white of her colony markings shone radiantly against the ivory and lilac tunic she’d selected. She’d even used some shimmer power on the plates around her eyes; a pale gold to make the silver in her irises stand out.

Armon had told her he’d be coming from morning Frisbee practice and would be dressed in a red and white jersey with black shorts. He’d also mentioned he had black, wavy hair which Coronis felt was a better descriptor since she always noticed human hair. Most turians did, given how unique it looked. She’d heard it had different textures. Is it rude in human culture to ask to touch someone’s hair?

As she pondered this, a lean human male clad in a red and white shirt walked into the cafe. He scanned the large seating area before his eyes landed on her. His face split into a toothy grin. Coronis waved to him, mandibles fluttering nervously. 

Armon sat across from her, wavy hair covering the tops of his ears and falling just over his eyebrows. That’s what the arcs of hair above human eyes are called, right?

He gave her a small wave before signing something to her. Coronis’ mandibles pulled down in frustration as she shook her head. “I can’t understand you,” she vocalized, laying her palms flat on the tabletop so the vibrations would carry.

Armon’s eyes went wide as he stared down at the tabletop before lifting them to meet hers. His eyes were a deep, luminous brown that reminded her of barrel aged brandy.

He motioned his hand in a beckoning wave, before laying it flat on the table surface and giving her a hopeful look.

“Again?” she asked. 

 Armon’s smile brought to mind dawn breaking over the inland ocean that boarded Cipritine; bright, warm and all consuming. Reaching across the table he took her larger hand in his, smiling encouragingly. 

Coronis felt her mandibles dip and flare in agreement. “I can’t believe you can feel it. I hope… I wonder if you could learn lingua vocular?”

 Armon squeezed her hand excitedly—at least he seemed excited—before pulling away and opening his omni-tool.

“I’ve never felt language before.” She read his text as it appeared on her own tool. “Your words are like a literal massage. Can you teach me? I’ll teach you Alliance sign language.” 

Coronis took Armon’s hands in her own. Their fingers interlaced in an awkward, but decidedly nice way. “I’ll teach you and you teach me,” she vocalized. “We’ll learn to speak together.”

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Yamata-No-Orochi (Part 2) Princess Tutu

Princess Tutu is a must watch if you haven’t seen it. It’s a bit after the MCs time though so she wouldn’t have been able to see it.

The throbbing bass from the speakers sync with the flashing lights of the dance club at Takamagahara. The crowd is thriving today. You can see glimpses of the masses of people in the pulsing of light. They appear like brief colorful snapshots on the floor below your center platform table.

The Romanceable MC contest continued despite the tragic death of Chance. The official narrative was that Chance died bravely defending you from street hooligans, which is horribly ironic, because that was something that you specifically told him not to do. Now Club Takamagahara was holding another Princess Night with the theme of Knights in Shining Armor. Men walked around like living walls of muscle wearing silver helmets, silver studded leather straps and bronze colored leather subligacula.

It was the exact opposite of what Chance’s life was. He was no knight. He would have been the first to admit that. He was on the underbelly of the world as a gang member, the lowest of his kind as an unstable hybrid and even then he lowered himself further, running sex dungeons for money to maintain the balance between his humanity and his raging dragonblood. And he still smiled and he still dreamed of a Hokkaido winter wedding.

Your chest constricts involuntarily.

“Are you going to be alright? You don’t have to be here.” A voice murmurs in your ear. Diamond is the only contender next to you. As a cowboy style performer, he has no need to dress up like a knight. Cowboys, like handsome knights, are just another font of masculine charm and marital fidelity. They work hard out on the lonely trails, wrangling sheep and cattle but they are true and come home to you, their sweet prairie wife. As sheriffs, they run out the outlaws in the town. “

You look up at him, his eyes are a welcome distraction. “You don’t have to be here either.”

He huffs. “Well, you can’t hurt too bad, if you come up with a sweet comeback like that.”

“Why are you here? Armani and Calypso have backed out.” Rumor had gone around that Chance's killing was related to an out of control fan who had fallen in love with you and had used his yakuza ties to put out a hit job and kidnap you. The other suitors didn’t mind losing a little dignity if it meant living another day.

“I used to work at Bliss Hall, also known as the Paradisio. I knew shady stuff went down. And when the gang war came there, I looked down the barrel of five guns while they interrogated me and patted me down. They determined I wasn't involved and let me go. So… if I was going to die of gang violence I probably would have already.”

“So why are you here?” You reach for the glass of champagne in front of you. Even though you were underage, you were already accustomed to the taste of drink and the smell of tobacco. Your high level of dragonblood didn’t let you get drunk easily as the men found out on your first day as the Main Character on this show. Chu Zihang checked the records on that night, and you had drunk two full bottles of vodka before you even felt the slightest bit tipsy.

He reached for his own glass. “I'm still a competitor. And I'm curious how Chance won three star-hearts in a single night. Is giving up your life the way to your heart? It’s a high price to pay and a lonely existence for you.”

Your mind flashes back to Renata and Chance. “I can see why you're second in the ranking. You dress much flashier than Kazama. But you’re no less of a sharpshooter.”

He presses his hand to his chest and bows.

“I don't need riches or beauty. So if you offer me those things, I'm not attracted. When I first came to Japan,  I didn't care about anything.  I felt my life was over. I was just trying to wait until the end and I wanted my life to end. But every time I reached for the end, there was a man who kept telling me no. I should not try to end my life and, even if it looked like my life was over, I shouldn't just take that conclusion at face value. His final lesson was I shouldn't just accept the inevitable death of others. It took a few times to accept those three lessons, but it was what I needed.”

“What happened to that guy? He sounds like a real keeper.”

You huff. “He was very happily engaged when we met.”

Chances eyebrows lifted. “I bet.”

“But I never forgot what he taught me. Chance helped me to speak those words from my own heart and my own experience. It's one thing to learn a lesson. When you teach that lesson to others, then you know it's part of your life. To see him listen to me and put what I learned into action because he loved me? How could my heart not overflow? Chance didn’t just accept his fate. He didn't just give up his life for me. He fought for us to be together. He… he wanted to live. I needed that in a person.” You run your hands over the empty glass in your hands imagining his smooth childlike face, so peaceful in the rain. “How many people are there out there who can look fate in the eye and say… ‘How about no?’”

Diamond reaches over with a champagne bottle and refills. “Oh You need someone who can rewrite the script! Like in Princess Tutu.”

You blink. “I’m sorry, did you just say ‘Princess Tutu’?”

“Oh come on, don't tell me you've never heard of Princess Tutu. It's just the best anime ever!”

You’re speechless. It was like this suave handsome Ikemen had suddenly turned into Lu Mingfei. “No, please fill me in.”

“Okay, hear me out. Once there was a writer named Drosselmeyer, who had the power to make his stories come to life. He especially loved to write stories with tragic endings! But he died before he could finish his final tale, called The Prince and the Raven, leaving the two title characters locked in an eternal battle.”

“After many years, the Raven managed to break free into the real world, and the Prince pursued him. To seal away the Raven's evil, the Prince shattered his own heart with his sword, causing him to lose all his memories and emotions. Without his emotions, he is reborn as Mytho.”

“Drosselmeyer, now a ghost, decides the story must have an ending. He finds it in the form of a little duck, who has fallen in love with Mytho. He gives her a magic pendant that can transform her, first into an ordinary human girl, then into the graceful ballerina Princess Tutu, another character in the story. As Tutu, it's Duck's job to find all the scattered shards of Mytho's heart and return them to him.”

“What's more, Duck learns that part of Princess Tutu's story is that she can never confess her love to Mytho, or else she'll turn into a speck of light and vanish. However, it becomes clear that Mytho wants his heart restored, so despite interference, she persists. She finds a friend in Fakir, a man who is the son of Drosselmeyer who also has the ability to bring his stories to life.”

“After most of Mytho's heart is returned to him, the seal trapping the Raven begins to break. Finally able to feel love again, Mytho realizes he loves Rue, another character – not Duck. Duck also discovers her pendant is the final shard, meaning she must give up her life as a human to return it. She eventually finds the courage to do so, and becomes a humble duck again.”

“Mytho and the Raven battle once more. When the fight turns bleak, Mytho considers shattering his heart to seal the monster away again. Duck begins dancing to show him he must not give up. As she does, this guy named Fakir writes a story about how she never stops, no matter how many times the Raven's minions attack her. They make that story a reality! This gives Mytho hope, which gives Mytho the strength he needs to rescue Rue and defeat the Raven. Mytho asks Rue to be his princess and they return to his kingdom inside the story. Duck and Fakir continue their relationship, even though she's stuck in her duck form. With nothing left to do, Drosselmeyer departs in search of another story.”

“The point is, you're Duck and you need someone like Fakir who can defeat Drosselmeyer by rewriting the script!”

When thinking about a ghost behind the scenes writing a script, it was clear who the Drosselmeyer in your life was. Z had rescued you and taught you to fight so your life could continue even though you didn’t really understand why. You were just like a duck receiving the pendant. But Z also had plans for you. He'd also forbidden you from confessing her love to Ruri Kazama before you even had feelings for him, only for you to meet him and suddenly he’s a potential contender for your heart with a clear connection with your past?

Z had a script.  And falling in love with Ruri Kazama didn't fit. Why was your love interest so important? Who are you supposed to fall in love with? Caesar asked that in a roundabout way. Why did the person you fell in love with matter to him, if he wasn't your boyfriend?

Chance said that Izanami loved Izanagi on a whim, as a hobby, while she used him to help her live forever.  She loved him and turned him into a monster. She needed him, and consumed him.

Z appeared and kissed you after you entered the MC contest. “I want to get to you before those idiots.” He’d said.

He entered the competition only after you nearly gave a star heart to Ruri Kazama. “I know how the story ends.” He’d said. 

Pursuing Ruri Kazama or anyone else would defeat his script! Whatever script Z wrote required that you love no one but him. 

Your hands tighten on the wine glass and Diamond massages your back. It's not that you had no feelings for Z at all, but Z was acting like Izanami, hiding his true intentions while making overtures of affection.  There's only one way to be sure you weren't going to end up a duck or a monster at the end. Force a confession out of Z!

You look up at Diamond. “Thank you.” Your eyes are sparking with something like anger. You felt fierce and wild inside realizing that you’d been led along by this stranger, assuming that ‘keeping you alive’ was good enough of a good ending to your story. But Izanagi was ‘kept’ alive… as a sacrifice to the White King. Until you understood Z’s intention, there was no telling where he was leading you.

You stand up and lightly tap your glass. The host of the Takamagahara lowered the music and all faces turned to your center platform. “I would like to thank you for coming out tonight. I’ll let you get back to your dancing in a moment, but first I would like to award 3 star hearts to Diamond, for opening my eyes to the truth tonight.”

You spoke looking down on your audience like royalty. Standing in your sparkling silver cheongsam, you looked like royalty. Diamond’s eyes opened wide and he hastily swallowed his Champagne before he could choke on it. He had been kicking himself for speaking so foolishly to this woman. She’d fallen into a deep silence and he figured he’d just killed all his chances of a win. But she liked it!

“And I would like to announce the winner of the MC Romance contest. He knows who he is. He has a deep connection to my past, and I would like to explore that connection further. If you’re listening.”

You raise your eyes to the cameras that broadcast your face to hundreds of screens around Takamagahara. Spectators pushed each other to get a good view and the loud hall descended into a deep silence.

You didn’t remember the tune, but you would always remember the words and you speak them, closing your eyes and placing your hands on your heart. “All happiness may be a fleeting blossom in the shadow of the moon, but I am in that shadow waiting for you in a field of those flowers. Won’t you join me? Together we will dance in the depths of Yomi!”

The hairs rise on the necks of every patron of the Takamagahara. Eyebrows knitted in confusion, hushed puzzled whispers were uttered involuntarily. Your words sounded nothing like a love confession, more like a forbidden incantation written in secret by a practitioner of black magic!

The flashing lights suddenly go dark, every large display screen clicks off in a successive wave. You turn around in horror as those screens replace your face with the words “GAME OVER” in bright burning red text!

The words were on every screen in the room. Your eyes scan the room and immediately spot Caesar moving towards you on the left. You quickly descend from the platform and hurry to him. He covers you, sweeping over you with one arm. “Get downstairs. Now!” 

His eyes meet with someone else's, likely Chu Zihang’s. “Don’t take the elevators, he can probably control those. We’ll take the stairwell.” He said.

You enter the beige corridor of the stairwell. It’s also pitch black. Not even the emergency lights are on. The basement is only one flight down and you can see to the bottom. A lone shadowy figure staring up at you with furious red gold eyes. You leap back and try to pull Caesar out, back to the crowd. “No! Caesar! Run!”

Caesar’s eyes blaze gold and he levels the Desert Eagles in the direction where you’re fearfully looking, but then he lowers them. He didn't hear anything, or see anything.

“Don’t! Don’t hurt him!” You beg.

“Z’s here?”

You gasp. “Yes. He’s mad.”

“Then we can talk?”

Your eyes swivel to and fro from Caesar’s eyes to Z’s eyes which apparently only you can see. Caesar still held his Desert Eagles but there was no fear there. “Yes.”

“Alright… Z. You’re running Takamagahara. The MC love contest was your idea right? What are your plans for MC?” Caesar asks. “I get the feeling you don’t have her best interests at heart.”

Z chuckles from the bottom of the well. “This conversation will have to wait. I’m a bit busy with another client.”

You’re shaking so much you hold on to Caesar’s arm to just keep yourself upright. “He’s gone.”

“What did he say?”

“He said he’s busy with another client.”

The door opens, scaring you both. Chu blinks at both of you in the dark stairwell but then he looks at Caesar and holds his questions. “We’ve got a problem. The Uesugi girl and Lu Mingfei have run into trouble. The whole area around the Robuchon restaurant is blocked off and it’s complete chaos. We’ve got to find Lu Mingfei and make sure he’s alright.”

Caesar gathers his arm around you and together you leave the stairwell. “MC, come with us. I don't want you and that Uesugi girl to meet, but until I figure out what Z is… I don’t think you should be alone.”

[l0vege0rgie]

HATE ME [CH. 2]

GEORGE WEASLEY X RAVENCLAW!OC fanfiction

warnings/tags: not a lightweight story. setting is ootp onwards. slow burn. angst with happy ending. major and minor character deaths. mutual pining. future warnings in future chapters.

posted in wattpad as well!

MONTHS HAVE passed since then. Adhara spent most of her time with her professor, Snape, in the dungeons, when she wasn't at the D.A. meeting. Not because she likes the long-haired professor romantically, but because she wants to learn more about potions.

It was her last year, and she didn't want to waste time moping around because a pink-addict hag was infiltrating the school. That would mean she will take her N.E.W.T.s this year.

Unlike some, she was an outstanding student in Hogwarts. Not as bright as Hermione Granger, but she topped her classes for most of her years. It was a relief she weren't in the same year as the brightest witch of their age. She enjoyed Potions and Charms and that was what she wanted to focus on for her N.E.W.T.s.

She wanted to become a Curse-Breaker in the future.

So she took up Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense Against The Dark Arts for her N.E.W.T.s. She didn't bother taking Arithmancy again because she already got an Outstanding for it during her O.W.L.s. 

Being a Curse-Breaker wasn't easy. She knew of that already. At first, her father, a co-owner of the shop "Burgin and Burkes", didn't accept her choice of profession. He told her that she would inherit the shop as soon as she graduate, and that she didn't need to go pick a job that would basically be her death sentence. All Adhara could say to her father was, "I don't want the shop, father. Besides, you and sir Burkin is still well enough to make the shop functioning very well. My job could help remove future curses that might be put in your shop. I could put protection spells."

Her father had sighed and just accepted it.

"Miss Burke," She heard a low voice called her. Adhara turned around and saw professor Snape with vials in hand. "Time for your tutoring," He said and walked dramatically, his cape flourishing over like the end of a wedding dress. 

For the past months, they agreed to learn potions alphabetically. Whether it was of N.E.W.T.-level or not. It was harder, but Adhara managed. They already passed the letters A, B, and C. Now Snape will be teaching her how to perfect the Draught of Peace. It was taught already during her fifth year since it was an O.W.L.-level potion, but she still insisted to learn it again.

Snape placed the cauldron neatly, "The Draught of Peace, as you know already, is a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation. Don't be too heavy-handed with the ingredients. You will put the drinker into a heavy and sometimes irreversible sleep, so pay close attention to what you are doing," He paused. "I'm not expecting you to fail a very simple potion, Burke." 

Adhara nodded and went to the shelves of the classroom. She didn't need to ask what ingredients were needed, it was like muscle memory already. Carefully opening the cabinet, she took a hold of moonstones, porcupine quills,  unicorn horn, and hellebore. Opening the next cabinet, she took vials, a mortar, and a pestle. Snape silently watched her movement.

There is no need in denying that the girl was fluid with her actions, as if brewing potions were something she was meant to do, or was born to do. 

"Are you sure you want to become a Curse-Breaker, instead of being a healer or potioneer?"

Adhara shrugged as she made everything except the hellebore into powder. Vigorously using the pestle, she answered without looking at the professor, "I could still do those while being a curse-breaker, except it isn't in a professional way. I could have side jobs in an apothecary. Or maybe help madam Pomfrey here when my schedule is free in the future. Being a curse-breaker isn't an everyday job, anyway." She put all the powders in different cups before extracting the hellebore plant. "Well, then I won't push you further. Answer this last question for me, though. Why do you want to be one so bad?"

She finally looked at him, raising a brow. "I didn't see you as someone who is nosy,  professor."

Snape scoffed, his lips twitching upward with a thin smile. "I suppose I'm not. You haven't answered my question."

"You know why, Snape. There is no need for me to repeat my answer." Adhara answered, now pouring the powdered moonstone inside the boiling cauldron. Snape didn't talk for the rest of the time. She waited until the concoction turned green. She proceeded doing the other procedures.

An hour and a half passed by, and the potion was finally emitting vapours of silver. She made a batch, giving half to Snape. It had been part of their agreement. Adhara will always give half of the successful batches of every potion she will brew. It was to keep Snape's inventory to last atleast two more years. Then Snape would give a quarter of it to madam Pomfrey whenever Adhara would brew potions that are needed for healing and in the clinic. "Spectacular as always, miss Burke. Now run along,"

Adhara almost memorized that phrase, it was always what Snape would say whenever the tutoring would end. She'd nod and exit the dungeon, casting a Disillusionment Charm on herself so Umbridge or the Inquisitorial Squad wouldn't catch her. 

It always worked.

Except now.

She was nearing the top of the spiral staircase leading to her House tower, when she heard a familiar voice. "Freddie, come on. Help me answer the riddle here," she immediately thought it was that pestering Weasley. George.

In panic, Adhara stepped on the stairs a bit louder than she planned. She saw the twins looking around hysterically, muttering curses to each other. "Stupid, stupid, you stupid ginger–"

"Shut up, you'll get us caught,"

"Why are we even here in the Ravenclaw Tower? Last time I checked we were Gryffindors. And our tower is opposite of this wing!"

"Fred–just shut up, okay? Let's just go here tomorrow."

Adhara was breathing heavily, putting a  hand on her mouth to prevent noise. She looked down and carefully went a few more steps.

When she was one step away from her tower, the eagle knocker beside the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw suddenly spoke, as if sensing Adhara. She quickly glued herself to a nearby wall. "Which came first, the phoenix, or the flame?"

"I don't know! Ask Dumbledore!" Fred, who Adhara assumed who he was, said angrily to the eagle knocker. "And why is it a different riddle this time?" Adhara rolled her eyes. She knew the answer, and if only the two fools would go away, she could enter her tower safe and sound. 

But they didn't budge. They were still there. George Weasley was thinking so deep it almost made Adhara think he would know the answer. She waited.

Except minutes later, Fred was still whisper-ranting, and George was still staring at the eagle knocker. So Adhara did the stupidest thing, "A circle has no beginning," she whispered, but it was enough for the eagle knocker to open its bronze knocker. "Who the fu–"

Before she could enter, she felt someone grab her by the arm. "Burke?"

[angelwars11]

Title: Transparent, Translucent, and Opaque

Prompt: Opaque

Pairing: Waxer/Boil

Rating: G

Word count: 3k

“Heh heh. Hi daddy!!” She and hurries onto her feet, which causes her balance to become a bit unstable. “We are doing a science project!! Umm, papa, tell him! Tell him!” Waxer waves his hand over to the freshly carved wood table that Boil made for them a couple months ago. So beautiful still. Waxer thinks internally.

“Soooo~ As you can see here, we have a couple items. Today I wanted to teach our daughter the understanding of Opaque, translucence, and transparency!”

— 

It’s a nice day on the farm to spend some quality family time together. With lessons that need to be taught and learned, new things to be discovered, and a little fun game of Scavenger hunt is at play. What will little Numa learn today?

This story was written for a challenge presented by @thatkanragirl which is for all Clonecest shippers, where we will write drabbles in July. I was given a different set of prompts and pairings to go with them! If you would like to read other contributors’ work then you can press the tag below #clonecest in July. 

This is my first day’s contribution! (I am posting it on the second day because I didn’t get to edit it till this morning with the help of my amazing Beta-reader @blazesurrender​, love yah!) So, get some popcorn, grab a seat, press ‘keep reading’, and enjoy some wholesome fluffiness! 

P.S. you can press the tags ‘betawrites’ or ‘angelwrites’ at the bottom, and you can find my other prompts easily that way!!

Boil stares at the screen of his holo-pad, as he has been doing for the past several minutes. He just can’t figure out what to do next. He is, or was, trying to order family photos but ended up getting distracted by work and now he can’t seem to find his focus again. He sighs and leans back into his soft-cushioned chair. A gift from Waxer a year ago. 

Wow, I can’t believe this chair is actually that old already. Crazy. And that means that little Numa is going to turn…..nine?! Wow, she’s getting so— 

A loud metallic crash sounds from the kitchen. Boil jerks in startlement and shoots up in his seat. 

“Waxer?!” He starts to run towards the kitchen where his husband is. Boil comes thundering around the corner, blaster in his hands, and stops in the doorway at the surprising sight before him. Waxer is eagle-spread across the tiled floor. Pots, pans, and dishes surround him; the pots still twirl round and round till they come teetering to a stop. 

“Waxer?” Boil deadpans. Waxer blinks at him in shock. 

“Woah! Boil? What’s the blaster for?” He sits up and points at the blaster that’s loosening in Boil’s two hands. 

“Um, what do you think? I thought something was wrong!” Boil retorts.

Waxer stands up and makes his way over with a soft smile on his face as Boil continues, “I…I had to…to make sure you were okay. Am I not allowed to do that now?” Boil turns his head away in embarrassment and leans the blaster down on the floor against the spam on the pink door-frame. 

“Babe, of course you can. I appreciate your concern over me but I just dropped the pots and pans silly.” Waxer giggles. Boil rolls his eyes. “Yeah, obviously, ” He gestures to the mess on the floor. “And what are you up to? Making dinner or something?”

Waxer pecks him on the cheek. “Actually, no.“ 

The brown cabinets start to shift. The doors open and Boil glares at it. Numa tumbles out and into the mess of silver pots and bronze pans. She smiles up at them and sneezes at the dust she brought out with her. 

"Heh heh. Hi daddy!!” She squeals and hurries onto her feet, which causes her balance to become a bit unstable. “We are doing a science project!! Umm, papa, tell him! Tell him!" 

Waxer waves his hand over to the freshly carved wood table that Boil made for them a couple months ago. So beautiful still. Waxer thinks internally. "Sooo~ As you can see here, we have a couple items. Today I wanted to teach our daughter the understanding of Opaque, translucence, and transparency!" 

Boil hums. "Huh, I’m impressed. So explain to me what you guys are planning to do with all of these items.” He sits in one of the wooden booth seats. 

“Okay! Numa, explain to daddy what our plan of ‘fun fun’ is,” Waxer rests his hands on his hips. Boil notices that they are twitching ever so slightly. Heh, he’s so excited about this, isn’t he? “So when we look around the house all the time we see items made of different materials. Umm, items that can be organized by the way they work with light.”

Waxer giggles oh so cutely. “Yep! So materials that allow almost all light to pass through are called,” He gives Numa a cheeky look. Finish that sentence for me. 

“Transparent!!” She cheers. 

Waxer smiles brightly “Yes!”

Boil chuckles. Numa is truly his daughter. They get along so well. Numa is practically Waxer’s partner-in-crime. Whenever Waxer is up to something, Numa is by his side every step of the way; and the noblest thing she’s done is when Waxer and her are caught, she blames everything on herself and makes sure her papa did not get in trouble. 

Boil hates punishing Numa. He really does! Because she’s a good girl. Boil believes that he and Waxer are raiding her quite well, especially after she lost her father during the 2nd year of the war and Boil and Waxer stopped at nothing to find Numa; and when they did, it was a dream come true. 

I remember she was so frail still. Barely any muscle on her body. Poor thing. Almost starved to death from another camp she was forced into. Separated from her father, like last time, but this time she was placed on a completely different planet on the other side of the galaxy. Good thing we found her in time or she wouldn’t be here right now. 

“So, examples of transplant items are glass, water, and air. Those materials that allow some light to pass through them are called what Numa?” Again, Waxer looks straight at their daughter. Numa smirks slyly. “Trans…uhhh…trans-lunctent?" 

Waxer blinks at her silently. Numa chuckles nervously and her lips bend inwards to look silly. 

"Okay, close enough, ” Waxer waves dismissively. Boil grins at that. “But yeah. So that includes things like frosted glass and wax flimsi. And if any object does not allow any light to pass through it then it’s, ” — “Opaque!!!” Numa cheers. Boil blinks in confusion. 

Waxer gawks and squinted at her. “Wait! Hold on hold on, so you remember THAT but not TRANSLUCENT?!” He raises his hands straight up into the air. 

Numa laughs at her papa’s loud antics. “Yessss~" 

"But that’s a new word?” Waxer scratches his head. “They all are, papa.” Numa reminds him. “Yes yes. Well, anyways. Most objects are opaque and include things made of wood, stone, and metal…Boil, what’s wrong?” Waxer finally notices his expression full of confusion. 

“I’ve never heard of the word Opaque before is all." 

Waxer screeches. "Oh force! I am surrounded by a pair of uncultured swine!!" 

Numa and Boil both start to laugh. "Come on, babe. Keep going.” Boil tries to move this along a bit. 

“Right, anyways,” Waxer starts to say but Numa interrupts him one again, waving her hands about, a giant grin spread from ear to ear. 

“So first before we even sit down and actually do the science-y part of the objects, we have to look around the house for objects made out of wood (opaque), objects made out of clear glass (transparent), and frosted glass (translucent).”

Waxer placed a warm hand on her left shoulder. “In other words…” He smirks mischievously. Oh no. I know that look.

Numa climbs up Waxer’s body like the little athletic, bendy, flexible monkey she is, and sits on his right shoulder.

“SCAVENGER HUNT!!!” They both yell in unison. Like they planned this from the getgo. Boil sighs heavily. I should’ve seen this coming from a mile away. How did I miss this mischief? I should’ve smelled it on em. They reek of it!

Boil facepalms himself. His right-hand wipes down the front of his face and then he’s yanked out of the chair and a list is slapped onto his chest. “Huh?” He stares at it and hovers it in front of him. 

“That’s your list! It’s blank, obviously, but you find things and put it under the category of transparent, trans-luctent, ” — “Translucent!!” Waxer screams from the living room. Numa rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out. “Whateverrrr~” She mumbles. 

Boil raises his hand and pats her head right in between her teal-colored lekku. Bright pink eyes gleam up at him. 

“And then Opaque, right?” Boil asks.

 "Yep!“ She smiles. 

Boil holds the piece of flimsi close to his side and starts to walk away. A lot of items are already on the table like wax flimsi, plastic wrap, Styrofoam plates, clear plastic lids, and colored plastic lids. That’s evidence enough of what Waxer was up to earlier in the kitchen, making all that racket. Kitchen items. So we have to do the hard work and find other things. Well, it wouldn’t be a scavenger hunt if we made it easy for ourselves. 

"Well, let’s get to work!” Boil shouts to Numa and disappears down the hallway to the bedroom first. 

… 

It’s been about 15 minutes and so far every room checks out. Boil found a couple transparent things like water; which he poured into a cup for him to use as a holder, and the glass table in the living room between the sofa and the holo-vid screen. Translucent things are hard to find and it seems they may already have all of those. 

But opaque items will be the easiest to find. It’s literally everything in their house! The furniture, Cardboard pieces, old books, etc. That’ll be easy peasy. No problem. Boil walks towards the closet and opens the door to see Waxer already inside of the small space. The light creeps across the carpeted floor till he snags at the heels of Waxer’s feet. He turns around and raises an eyebrow at his husband. 

“Hey. Whatcha doing?” He smiles. Wagging his finger back and forth at Boil’s suspicious body language. 

“Just looking at a handsome man before me who managed to snag my attention. Transfix me with his beauty.” Boil walks in a little further, his feet leave imprints in the soft padding of the carpet, and then he stands directly in front of Waxer’s face. 

“You always seem to know how to make Numa happy. I appreciate it. Really. I am always so busy, trying to get used to the war being over and everything. It just…I still haven’t gotten there yet like you have. My husband, who is always able to acclimate to any situation or any change.” Boil smiles at him. Waxer makes an ‘awww’ sound. 

“Darling, you are getting used to it. One day you’ll see that things are going to get much easier for you. And I hope it does. But don’t be fooled by my overly gleeful attitude. Heh. I am struggling a bit with settling in too.” Waxer admits. “I am not perfect. Nobody is.”

Boil nods. “Sure. Sure. But in my eyes, you’ll always be perfect to me,” His soft hand taps the side of Waxer’s warm skin, and Waxer leans into it. “Vor entye.” He thanks Boil. 

“Gar’re olarom.” Boil boops his nose. Waxer giggles before he dives down to the floor and bounces back up with two leather-backed books each. 

A red one, just for Boil. “Here you go.” Waxer hands it to him. And a Navy blue one for Waxer. “Now I think this Scavenger Hunt has gone on long enough. Let’s start this, in Numa’s words, 'science-y’ part finally." 

Boil chuckles and leaves the closet with Waxer close behind. 

… 

"You guys take forever! What were you doing in there?” Numa quirks one eyebrow up and rests her hands on her slender hips. Waxer makes a 'tut-tut’ sound and tosses, underhand, the blue book to her. Numa catches it with good reflexes. 

“Ah, books.” She smirks, disbelieving. “Okay, come on! I’ve been waiting for almost 4 minutes.”

They all settle down in the booth seats. 

“Alright you two, here’s the deal. Use your lists and the flashlights, say what happens to the light and write a diagram of what you observe. Got it?” Waxer grabs his pencil and smiles excitedly. 

“Got it, babe.” Boil smiles back lovingly. Waxer and he stare at each other for a couple seconds, reading each other, sending a clear message that their daughter wouldn’t understand until she’s older. But then—"I better not get any siblings from this.“ She whispers vehemently. 

Waxer and Boil snort. "Psh! You wish! Now be quiet and blind these babies with the power of…” Waxer pauses, for effect, “Light.” He turns on the flashlight. 

“Ewwww~ Stawwwppp~” Numa cringes and ignores her goofy papa. “I am ignoring you now. Ew." 

"You know you love me, baby girl.” Waxer smiles so hard that his eyes become little squints and two lines. Boil shakes his head in good-hearted humor. 

The three of them point their lights at different objects. For some items, the light just wouldn’t go through. Numa would shake her head every time that happens for her and she would write it down on the flimsi as opaque. Then on to the next item. 

The weirdest thing happened. Boil ran through every item like it was a ball game. He did not take his time. And Waxer studied every item liked he just completely fixated by the details on each individual thing. Boil scoffs. 

“Why are you doing all of that? We are just shining the light through them and taking notes, are we not?" 

"Yes yes! But this kind of procedure takes precision. If done wrong, the whole experiment could go up in flames!” Waxer turns the block of wood in his hands constantly. 

Boil lets out a hoot! “Ha! Yeahh, the way you are staring so intensely at it, it might as well go up in flames." 

Waxer glares at him. "Not funny!”

Numa’s eyes widen in wonder. They glow impossibly brighter at the new discovery and understanding of it all. She has three items lined up. One is transparent, the second is translucent, and the third is opaque. She is pointing the light’s warm ray at each item to make sense of it! 

“Wowww. I get it, papa!! Why didn’t I see it before?” She turns to smiles. 

“Because darling, you are just learning this now! Kids get to learn about this stuff and remember around the age of nine, so you are right on time.” Waxer looks so proud. Pride and happiness swim in his golden orbs. Boil stares, subtly, at the glow it reflects in them. 

“Thanks, papa. I loved this! I learned so much!” She gets up from her chair, runs around, and squeezes Waxer in a big tight hug. Waxer feels so loved right now. “You’re welcome, baby girl.” He breaths into her shoulder and closes his honeydew eyes for two seconds before gazing over at Boil. 

They share a smile with one another. 

“Now I think it’s time to put all this stuff away, review, pop quiz, ” — “Awwww.” Numa let’s go of him and stomps away. “Ah! Don’t 'awww’ me! You knew this was coming!” Waxer jabs his index finger at her. 

Boil snickers. “Yeah, you had to have known that was coming. Right?”

"Psh. No.” Numa scoffs.

“Then you suck.” Boil wiggles his eyebrows. Waxer cracks up laughing up a storm. He slaps his own thigh in amusement. 

“Uhhh, dad! Seriously!” Numa piles all the stuff she gathered and walks away. 

Waxer and Boil both chuckle and gather their things as well. 

… 

“Alright! First things first, what did you both learn?” Waxer crosses his arms over his chest teasingly when Boil stammers. “E-Excuse me, what?" 

"I didn’t stutter babe. What did you both learn?” Waxer repeats himself.

Numa snickers at Boil and places her two index fingers in both of her ears and turns them this way and that while sticking her tongue out. 

“Well, I learned that opaque means anything that can’t be seen through.” Boil twists his head around and grins with all teeth at their daughter. 

“Take that, ad'ika." 

Numa waves at him dismissively.

"Well, I learned something valuable today! Something that I think will make papa veryyy happy.” Numa teeters and tots back and forth on her heels. Her arms are behind her back. 

“And what’s that Numa?” Waxer questions. 

“Those items are made of different materials and every material reacts differently to light. Transparent objects allow most of all light to pass through them. Trans-lucent objects allow some light to pass through them. And opaque, like dad said, are objects that do not let light pass them at all!” Numa is on point. 

She’s a quick learner. She learns better when she does things a bit more hands-on. Just like Waxer. Boil inhales and exhales. He stares at Waxer and his spitting image. 

Waxer snaps his fingers and winks at her. “Spot on Numa!” He hugs her. “I am proud of you." 

"Thanks, Papa, ” She hugs him back. On cue, their Tooka cat, Melon, decides to poke its orange and white head around the corner to say hello. “Meow.” The three of them turn their heads and smile happily. 

“Hello, Melon!” Numa waves. 

“Should we go watch a movie? I can make dinner and then we can eat it on the sofa. Who’s down?” Waxer asks. 

Numa stomps one foot into the floor, yanks her right arm down, elbow pointing towards the floor, and then shoots it back up, pointing. “Yeahhhh!”

Boil forms a peace sign with his two hands. 

“You two are goofy! Come on, go ahead, and get showered and dressed while I make something simple; soup. Then we’ll find a holo-vid to watch!" 

Numa squeals and runs away. Teal lekku waving in the wind behind her. Boil runs after her. "Race you to the couch Numa!” He shouts. But before he left completely, he leans over and presses a wet kiss onto Waxer’s cheek before disappearing around the bend. 

Waxer smiles to himself, a light blush appears in the bridge of his nose. 

…

“Alright, you guys! Here’s the soup!” Waxer saunters back into the homey living room where the holo-vid is already set up with a nice movie Numa fell in love with a year ago. “Oooh! This one again! I love this one.” Waxer hands the small scarlet red bowl. Nice and ceramic. 

“Yep! Ooh, this looks delicious!” Numa sticks the wooden spoon into the red chili soup and starts to savor the spicy taste. Boil and Waxer curl up beside one another. 

Next to Numa is her purple Tooka doll. Dirty from all the many years left on it. Her beautiful rosé colored eyes stare in wonder and excitement, the light blue reflects in them. Boil watches in awe. 

“We did so well with her so far haven’t we? After the war, it’s been so hard for all three of us; I am just surprised that it’s just…look at how she turned up." 

Waxer smiled at him. "Yeah. She’s special alright. Our ad'ika. It’s crazy how fast she’s growing. It feels like only a month ago we found her again after the war ended." 

Distracted by the holo-film, Numa doesn’t notice her dads’ talking to one another softly and out of earshot.

 Boil leans against his strong shoulder. "And it’s only because I have my cyare here with me.” Boil glanced up at him. Waxer looked back. “Mm. Yes, you do. And I have you, cyar'ika.” They stare into each other’s twin golden eyes before they kiss one another on the lips. Soft. Affectionate and sweet. 

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” Boil whispers against his lips. Waxer’s eyes flick from left to right, searching his, reading him. “Bal Ni gar.” Waxer returns the endearing vow of love and then they lean their heads against one another once again. 

Sounds of speeders echo from the holo-film. All staticky and in the foreground. Waxer chuckles and closes his eyes for a moment. 

“We should adopt another kid though,” Boil suggests. He closes his eyes as well. 

More silence. 

After a long pause, Waxer blinks, “What did you just say?" 

[changingourdestiny]

Guardian Games Finale: Victory!

Summary:

A two-part special.

The Guardian Games have ended and it's time to announce the victors! With the rivalry that has blossomed this year between the Warlocks and Hunters, this year's winners are hard to guess. Will it be the arcane-wielding Warlocks or the stealth-mastering Hunters? Or will the Titans sneak up from behind and once again claim victory?

Previous Part: Here

“Blaze, quit pacin’. You’re almost makin’ me nervous. Almost.”

The Tower courtyard was crowded with Guardians of all classes, waiting in front of the Guardian Games podium which had all flags lowered. Among them was Fireteam Cayde’s Chaos Crew: Cayde, Rae, Blaze, Crow, and Marcia. Cayde and Rae were on the podium with Zavala, Ikora and Eva while the rest of the Fireteam were in the crowd with Adam. “Sorry but I can’t help it!” Blaze replied, ceasing her pacing, “I wanna see the results already!”

“You can’t blame her.” Crow chimed in, “From what I’ve gathered, the Warlocks and Hunters were neck and neck most of the time.”

“You’re not wrong.” Marcia folded her arms behind her head, “Drifter said most of the bets he got in were for Hunters and Warlocks. I guess Cayde and Rae’s lil’ stunt worked.”

“I think they’re about to start.” Adam whispered as the crowd quieted down and Eva took to the mic. “Hello everyone, and welcome to the closing ceremony of the Guardian Games!” Eva began with a smile, “From what I’ve heard from Drifter, Shaxx, Saint, Saladin, and your Vanguards, all of you have been working hard to represent your classes and we are all very proud of you. No matter what the flags may determine, you are all winners in your Vanguards’ eyes.” A round of applause erupted amongst the crowd, some of the Guardians high-fiving and patting each other on the back. “With that all said,” Eva continued, “It is time to announce the winners of this year’s games. Release the flags!” The Vanguard stood on the platforms in front of each of their flags, a faint glow emitting from the platforms, Rae joining Cayde on the Hunter platform. An anxious hush fell over the crowd as the flags began to rise.

The Titans’ flag was the first to stop. A bronze laurel hologram appeared over Zavala and the other Titans’ heads, earning a few sad groans from some of the Titans in the crowd.

There was a brief air of tension as the last two flags continued to rise. The moment felt like eternity as the Warlocks and Hunters waited to see which flag would stop first.

The Warlock flag was the second to stop.

A thunderous cheer so loud, it could be heard in the Last City as the Hunter flag continued to rise before stopping at the top. A silver laurel appeared over Ikora and the Warlocks’ heads while a gold one appeared over Cayde, Rae and the Hunters’. Cayde and Rae wrapped an arm around each other’s shoulders while cheering as Zavala and Ikora applauded their victory, an amused smile on their faces. Marcia grabbed Blaze and Crow’s arms as she stormed the podium with them, tackling Cayde and Rae into a dogpile. Eva couldn’t help but laugh at the display as Zavala took to the mic, amusement in his voice, “Congratulations on your victory, Hunters. As you can see, your Vanguard is very proud.”

A thumbs up from Cayde emerged from the dogpile, earning laughter from the crowd. “As for the rest of you, Titans, Warlocks, Ikora and I are proud of your hard work. The past year has not been easy on anyone and this moment of rest is well deserved. I’d hand the mic over to the victors’ Vanguard but…it looks like he has his hands full over there…”

Cayde managed to wiggle his way out of the pile as he got to his feet and jogged over to Zavala taking the mic, “Sorry about that! Hunters, what can I say except congratulations? You all came in clutch this year and took the games by storm! Warlocks, sorry for taking Sunrae away from you but you still managed to give us a run for our money and that silver is well deserved! Titans, sorry to dethrone you…okay, I’m not really that sorry but ‘ey, you did great. Hunters were just that little bit better this year and we look forward to next years’ games Enjoy your victory, Hunters! And to all Guardians, party ‘til the sun rises!”

Everyone cheered as the crowd began to disperse, talking about their plans to celebrate their positions. “A little more warning next time you do that, Marcia?” Crow chuckled as everyone got up from the dogpile.

“Sorry. Got excited.” Marcia beamed.

“You’re not really sorry, are you?” Blaze folded her arms with a smirk.

“Nope!”

Rae rolled her eyes with a smile at the three Hunters’ banter as Ikora approached from behind, “Congratulations on your victory.”

“Thanks, Teach.” Rae smiled, “But I was secretly cheering for the Warlocks while I was out there.”

“Well, next year we’ll have you back on our side. Victory will be inevitable then.”

“You think I could get Cayde to be a Warlock for next year’s games?”

“I can hear you over there and I am not wearing a dress!” Cayde called over from his side of the podium. “They’re not dresses, they’re robes!!” Rae yelled back, earning a light chuckle from Ikora, “Don’t worry. We’ll find a way to trick him.”

“Who would lead the Hunters though?” Rae asked. The two Warlocks slowly looked at the three Hunters.

“I feel like any of them would result in eternal chaos.” Rae muttered.

“I don’t know. Crow might be a reliable choice.” Ikora replied, “But Blaze and Marcia would definitely be…unwise.”

“Understatement of the century.”

“True.”

“Yo, Rae!” Marcia called over, “We’re getting Spicy Ramen to celebrate your last night of being a Hunter. You comin’?”

“I’m coming!” Rae yelled back before turning back to Ikora, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ikora.”

“Enjoy your victory, Rae. You’ve earned it.”

“Rae! Cayde and Crow are arguing about ramen noodles looking like worms again!” Blaze yelled from behind.

“They do!”

“Crow, you’re a good guy. But there is no way something as delicious as ramen can be compared to worms!”

“I’m not saying that it’s not delicious! I’m saying that it looks like worms!”

“It doesn’t!”

“Rae, heeeelp!!”

Rae sighed, “I feel like my babysitting duties have tripled since I became a Hunter.”

“And that is why you will never catch me wearing a cloak. I don’t have the same amount of patience you do.” Ikora chuckled before walking away as Rae caught up with the rest of the Hunters who were ready to celebrate until the night ended.

Little did they know that the night would not end…

To Be Continued in Nightlight…

[honourablejester]

Ideas for Dragons (D&D)

Or rather, thoughts on characters-who-are-dragons-in-(sort of)-disguise. Assuming that all ancient dragons have the ‘change shape’ option, metallic or otherwise, because it’s more fun that way. Sprinkle secret dragons everywhere! Why not? Also, bit lenient on the alignment here.

White

Keywords:  feral, primal, vengeful, with long memories

Thoughts:  Whites in disguise will be independent forces in the world. The wilderness dragons. They’ll have personal goals and points of pride. They’ll be your lone ranger seeking vengeance against a hated enemy. Your fearsome druid seeking to drive out invaders from their pristine wildernesses. Or, perhaps, your barbarians, warrior kings and queens, carving out their own territories. Quite likely to only nominally be ‘in disguise’, unless they’re really trying not to draw attention to their weakness/enemy. The pirate/whaler queen based in an iceberg shanty town, the proud spear-fisher challenging strangers to beat her, the capable outlander in a western. Heh.

Gold

Keywords:  aloof, grim, reserved, dedicated foes of evil

Thoughts:  Weirdly, I’m kind of liking gold dragons for rogues? Spies and spymasters. ‘Rarely does a gold dragon in disguise reveal its true form’. What I’m getting here is that golds in disguise are professional about it. They go undercover to hunt out evil. I know golds are usually seen as paladin material, and they definitely work as weary knights, but I’m liking the lawful rogue here. Add in aloof, grim, and you’ve a lovely set up for the stoic spymaster sending people to live and die in tyrannical empires and evil cults, or the grim spy going in themselves. Golds are the dragons you meet when you’re chained in a dungeon, or the one you’re taken to meet when you escape.

Green

Keywords:  cunning, manipulative, ambitious, intelligent

Thoughts: I’m guessing it’s the association with envy that makes green always the cunning ambitious colour, but hey, we’ll work with it. Greens in disguise are your wizards, your courtiers, your merchant princes, your ‘legitimate businessmen’. Your Petyr Baelishes. Anyone in a position to pull strings and topple dominos and thrive on chaos. La Voisin. The courtesan, the poisoner, the palace physician. Also, greens feel like they’d have multiple disguises on the go at once. What people think are four separate NPCs are actually one, and she’s gently wheeling five or six factions into her grasp, for good or for ill. Honestly, greens are great.

Copper

Keywords: cautious, tricksy, miserly, hospitable

Thoughts:  Couple of directions coppers can go, depending on whether this is a whim or if they have an enemy. They’ll either be the once-off, amusing-to-aggravating encounter, enough to tweak some noses and teach some lessons, in which case they’ll be much louder and more cheerful about things, OR they’ll be in much deeper cover and likely covering a long game with humour and a more subtle disguise. Bards and rogues. They can play spies as well as greens and golds. But I like the hospitality as a defining feature. A copper undercover as the most dangerous gang lord you ever saw will still have impeccable manners. (Coppers are basically fey)

Blue

Keywords:  dramatic, patient, methodical, vain

Thoughts:  Aristocrats to the core. Blues strike me as basically vampires? Lestat de Lioncourt. Patient, fond of the high life, dramatic as a thunderstorm when riled. When you look at a blue, you know there’s something off, something predatory, but not exactly what. Blues will be regal, noble, well-connected. Smart about alliances. Like whites, they’ll have a list of people who’ve ticked them off, and they’ll take their time returning the favour, but unlike whites blues will be indirect about it. Ambush predators, and dramatic ones. They’ll set up something truly notable. Patient and dramatic. The worst sort of enemies. But excellent friends if pointed at mutual foes.

Silver

Keywords: friendly, benign, fond of history, prone to attachment

Thoughts:  Innkeepers. Back alley healers (the ‘helping the poor for free’ kind, not the ‘shady as hell’ kind, though you never know). The uncle or auntie in the village that everyone knows and no one is entirely sure of the age of. The lovely, nice, friendly old lady who would never hurt a fly but wicked people who come to the village tend to walk away rather thoughtful after sitting down to tea. Or, you know, don’t walk away at all. The librarians, teachers, bakers, healers. The most normal-seeming, right in the thick of it, but often slightly forgetful when it comes to how long their ‘disguises’ are supposed to be able to stay alive. Ah. Oops?

Black

Keywords: paranoid, brutal, survivalist, ‘do unto others before they do unto you’

Thoughts:  Guerrilla warlords. We’re back out in the wilderness. Run and hide and strike where your enemies are weakest. Disguise yourself to find out where they’re weakest, who is your enemy now and who will be your enemy later. Rebels and outlaws. I like the link to crumbled civilisations. If you want a more ambiguous black, you can have them championing a dead kingdom against a foreign invader (for given values of ‘foreign’ depending on how many centuries on this is). Blacks are your outlanders, unwilling to accept any dominion but their own, hardened and vicious when maintaining their independence, paranoid about where the strike will come. Blacks are hard-edged, the allies you really need to work to keep good, the enemies you need to hit hard and hit now.

Bronze

Keywords: daring, warlike, nautical, rebels in search of a cause

Thoughts:  Well. Rebels, to start with. Again. Consulting heroes. Les Amis from Les Miserables. Odysseus. Though bronzes can be patient and like to be fully sure who’s done what and when and why before they start swinging, they really don’t hesitate from that point. So, like whites, often they’ll only nominally be ‘disguised’. They’ll be bold and daring and in-your-face, unless they’re actively on a mission that needs secrecy. I feel like they tend to use whatever form is most useful for the moment, and don’t tend as much towards long-term covers. They’re good students of history, though, and effective at what they do. If a bronze is well-established, they’ll be a respected leader.

Red

Keywords:  proud, territorial, explosive, obsessive

Thoughts:  Reds are very … wizardy. Classic tower wizards, I mean. Isolated, explosive, unhappy about conversing with inferiors. Etc. But they’re also curious. They don’t want to be left behind, or become obsolete. So they’ll disguise themselves as something well-respected, important, unlikely to be challenged. Nobles, yes, but also academics, emissaries, foreign dignitaries. Historians. Treaty-makers. Archmages. Reds want to be the linch-pins, the fulcrums around which the world turns. They can be very valuable if you manoeuvre them into the right places, but don’t put them anywhere you wouldn’t be comfortable putting sweaty nitroglycerine. They will go boom eventually.

Brass

Keywords: curious, gregarious, conversationalist, craving stimulation

Thoughts: Merchants. Straight away. Peddlers, merchants, coffee house proprietors. Innkeepers, too. Anywhere that’s gossip central. Anywhere that sees objects and curiosities from around the world. Certain stripes of academics as well. Brasses won’t be spies like greens or golds, even coppers or blacks, they won’t be collecting things for a cause, but they might sell information afterwards for their own amusement. Collecting whatever’s shiny, passing it on to whoever’s interested. Might play cheerful games of one-upmanship with other information brokers. Assets to everyone, but beholden to no one. Reactive if tricked or feel like they’ve been used badly, though. Brasses make good neutral, independent, ambiguous contractors.

Just … throw in lots of dragons. Dragons are always a fun surprise! Ancient, wily serpents steering the world or local events in varying directions. Have a world where anyone you meet could be a dragon! Dignified nobles, fearsome rebels, motherly innkeepers, travelling merchants, tired functionaries, annoying children, proud survivalists, touchy emissaries, old soldiers, cunning brothel keepers, the gossipy old biddy on the corner …

What is life without the idea that just about any of them could suddenly sprout wings and breath weapons and a lot of teeth very suddenly in your face? Heh.