#King be tripping over all the green flags he's covered in

[amethyst-fiend]

Bed Friend so far is really just

King: We’re in a friends with benefits relationship, that means I’m going to call you every night you’re not with me because I’m lonely, cuddle you every chance I get, lay my head in your lap as we talk about the problems in our lives, and gaze lovingly at you as much as possible

Uea:

[nthngtoseehere-blog]

Dramas/movies I've finished (or 'finished')

I've watched enough east Asian dramas/movies that I've tripped my brain’s "must make a list" switch. Updated 3/28

Blue = favorites

Also:

Dramas I'm watching / want to watch

Dramas I dropped

Dramas:

2gether the Series (Thai)

I guess a lot of people hate this and don't think the leads have any chemistry at all? But I actually loved them. It's not a hot-and-heavy kind of chemistry; it's very sweet and kind of innocent, but not facile. On the other hand, they were all I liked about the drama.

Ai Long Nhai (Thai)

This is the most ridiculous drama, and it brings me so much joy. Nothing hurts, everything is beautiful. Nhai is a precious scatterbrained bean, and Ai falls in love at first sight. All of the things about Nhai that drive other people crazy just make Ai go all fond and soft. I smiled so much watching this that my face hurt.

A League of Nobleman (Chinese)

Good but definitely felt like it was missing scenes. OT3 Lan Jue/Zhang Ping/Wang Yan!

Bad Buddy (Thai)

Wow this is good! It's Romeo and Juliet with some West Side Story thrown in. The actors are fantastic, and watching how they progress from sort-of-enemies to committed boyfriends is wonderful.

Bed Friend (Thai)

OMG Uea the sharp-edged traumatized bean, and King green-flagging all over except for that one moment where he needed to have his head flushed in a toilet for reacting in the absolute worst way. I love this show A LOT. It's not a perfect rendition of a young man who has suffered a lot of abuse in his life, but it handles that element really well (therapy and medication FTW), and the romance is sweet and sexy.

Between Us (Thai)

I liked the first half a lot, but didn't like Team very much after they got together. His personality/behavior changed; he was, IDK, tougher? earlier, which I liked a lot more. However, I LOVE Win so much I can't even.

Bad Guys (Korean)

There were several moments when certain things almost made me nope out (Oh Gu Tak’s entire self; my overwhelming desire to cut Jung Moon’s hair so that his one eye wouldn’t be perpetually covered up; the detective lady whose name I never bothered to catch), but I was so glad I finished it. Park Hae Jin in eps 9 – 11 blew me away; and the ending was kinda dark but in a way that was so satisfying.

Be Loved In House: I Do (Taiwanese)

Not my favorite Taiwanese bl, but not bad.

Beyond Evil (Korean)

Wow, so much going on. The characters developed beautifully, even though Juwon went through a bit of a bratty phase. I loved the mystery.

The Blood of Youth (Chinese)

I loved this so much. THE FOUR WAY BROMANCE omg. And the way the ML slowly but surely dismantled the villains' plans! He met every set-back with a “well, that’s unfortunate, but I can fix it.” It was great, even though the romance they shoe-horned in for the ML was annoying.

Dangerous Drugs of Sex (Japanese)

I watched this because I was curious. It was... Hmm. Well, all I can say is, if you too become curious, make sure you pay attention to the reasons it's 18+, and then assume it's going to be even more f*cked up than it sounds.

Dr. Romantic 2 (Korean)

Honestly I watched this for the Seo Woo Jin whump (Ahn Hyo Seop does suffering so attractively), but since doctor shows otherwise make me nauseous I didn’t watch the last couple of episodes. But I really liked the various relationships among the different characters.

Duoluo Continent (Chinese)

Watched this for Xiao Zhan. I’ve never watched anything like this outside of having caught a glimpse of the Pokemon and Yu Gi Oh cartoons my kid watched, and it was...different. The FL was so irritating, but I wasn’t burned out on this kind of FL yet when I watched this so it was fine.

En of Love: Love Mechanics (Thai)

Too short! The fact that is was remade with most of the same cast and an expanded story makes this one feel almost like a pilot. It was definitely good enough to make me track down the longer version (which I'm currently watching). YinWar are really engaging actors.

Fish Upon the Sky (Thai)

Same actors as in Never Let Me Go, but this one is a comedy. The main character is a high maintenance nerd who goes through a glow-up that almost no one really notices (because he's STILL a high maintenance nerd) except the guy who has had a crush on him forever. Of course it's a guy he thinks is terrible. I loved it. Which is weird because I generally hate comedies.

Handsome Siblings (Chinese)

I enjoyed it mainly because it’s ridiculous.

He is Psychometric (Korean)

Super cute, comfort show. The twists and turns were great. I loved the characters. Side note: the actor who played young Kang Sung Mo did an amazing job. I actually had to stop at one point and Google the cast to make sure the show hadn’t somehow managed to make the older actor look like a teenager because the younger actor absolutely nailed the older actor’s take on the character. (Turns out the younger actor is the ML in The Uncanny Counter! In which I also love him.)

Healer (Korean)

OMG I love this show. So much. I even loved the romance. I wrote a post about it. (Did I go looking for Ji Chang Wook’s filmography after watching this? Yes, yes I did.)

HIStory 4: Trapped (Taiwanese)

Getting into bl drama is a lot like getting into bl manga/manhwa: requires accepting that dramas with action/mystery/SFF are few and far between. (I would also add "dramas with adults" but there seem to be more and more of those these days.) This was one of the first bl dramas I found that wasn't just a romance, and I was SO EXCITED. It's a little cheesy, but I loved it. The cop/mafioso romance (which is also a grumpy cat/sunshine puppy romance) between the leads is a lot of fun. And it has what might be my absolute favorite side pairing: the always-smiling assassin and his adorable tiny cop boyfriend (a sunshine velociraptor/sunshine puppy pairing, if you will).

Hotel Del Luna (Korean)

This show is amazing! Jang Man Wol stewing in rage and ennui for a thousand years only to have everything turned upside down by a stubborn, good-hearted puppy-man who she ironically stuck herself with. The slow, heartbreaking, breath-catching reveal of Man Wol’s past. The range of creepy, sad, funny, heart-warming ghost stories. The characters. The production quality! Ah, so good.

If You Wish Upon Me (Korean)

Another OMG I LOVE THIS. Ji Chang Wook is so good at “sweet, tough, vulnerable, and a good guy despite being raised by wolves” characters. I did cry semi-regularly due to the nature of the setting, but while I usually avoid things that make me cry, this was good crying. And so worth it. Also, the FL is a hoot, and a BAMF when she takes on the ML's abusive ex.

The Imperial Coroner (Chinese)

Adorable nerds falling in love over corpses in ancient China WHAT’S NOT TO LOVE.

Jade Dynasty (Chinese)

I get why people don’t like this, but I did. It was a silly, sweet, fun story and it only required a time commitment of an hour and some.

Joseon Attorney: A Morality (Korean)

I wanted to like this more than I did, because Woo Do Hwan. Loved him. Favorite part was when he was imprisoned and being tortured and someone came to visit him in his cell and he was fidgeting and fussing with the filthy straw while he talked with them. Like. Oh honey. WTF are you doing, just have a good cry and take a nap before your next torture session my babie. But I got kind of bored? As soon as we found out what happened to his sister I gave up and fast-forwarded through the rest so I could at least see what happened.

Jun & Jun (Korean)

I had to be in the right mood to watch this (open to a silly office romance with ALL the tropes), but when I did finally watch it I loved it. There is second (and third) lead syndrome, but all three of the men in love with Lee Jun are likeable, and I honestly would have been happy with Lee Jun choosing any of them. Also, Lee Jun is the most precious bean.

Lawless Lawyer (Korean)

I struggled through the middle of this. I’m not a huge fan of how in Korean shows everything always goes to absolute shit for the main character(s) mid-way through. I mean, I don’t mind that element of storytelling in general; it’s the way it’s so devastating in so many of these shows. This one hit me when I was in the wrong frame of mind, I think. But I’m glad I stuck it out because the way the villain was ultimately taken down was fantastic.

Love and Redemption (Chinese)

OMG LOVE. Serious, serious love. I wrote a post about this.

Love by Chance (Thai)

Ehhh. I ended up fast-forwarding through all of it except the Ai/Pete stuff. That is a great relationship, though. Pete has internalized politeness to an adorable degree, and is sweet despite having been badly burned; Ai went from "uninterested in dating anyone at all but assumed straight" to "oh I'm in love with this guy? I must be gay. Cool."

Love for Love’s Sake (Korean)

This was a sweet show. The concept was clever, and the way it held onto its secrets until almost the end worked really well.

Love in the Air (Thai)

I tried watching this about a year ago - first Thai drama, first bl drama - and I got through the first arc and quit, and didn't go back to bl or Thai dramas for literal months. It was mostly due to the production quality, the cheesiness, and all of the pouting Rain does. But I went back to it recently, after watching A LOT of Thai bl, and I actually love it? Still cheesy, still wishing they could have invested in a boom mic, but I can handwave that now I guess. I really, really love the second story arc, about PaiSky. Sky is a great character, and Prapai goes through character growth! Starts out a pushy, cocky playboy who thinks it's cute to stalk the guy he likes, ends up being a compassionate, responsible boyfriend.

Mad Dog (Korean)

MORE LOVE. This was the kdrama that caused me to fall down the rabbit hole of kdramas in general. I’ve watched this three times. The found family element, the character journey that especially Kim Min Joon but also Choi Kang Woo go through – help, so good. And what a great introduction to Woo Do Hwan. I wrote a post.

Maiden Holmes (Chinese)

This is like...if your favorite, heart-warming, Jane Austen-inspired romance drama was a mystery set in ancient China and had cool fight scenes. Comfort food.

Manner of Death (Thai)

This is barely a bl (very few bl tropes); it's more of a mystery with romance between the two leads who are both guys. Very good, if a little cheesy in places. And let's not talk about Tan's marriage proposal because wtf dude.

Memorist (Korean)

I watched this early in my exploration of kdramas and didn’t like it for some reason; I fast-forwarded through a lot of it. But I think I might have just not been in the right mood before, because I tried it again and it was excellent! The twists and turns of the mystery, the way things that seemed unrelated turned out to be all connected, was awesome.

Mr. Unlucky Has No Choice But To Kiss! (Japanese)

This was adorable! The main character had a lot more layers than I expected, and his love interest was so sweet.

My Beautiful Man (Japanese)

Two high school boys with problematic behavioral issues whose issues complement each other. It's unexpectedly charming and touching, and I'm really glad there's a sequel!

My Roommate is a Detective (Chinese)

If you want a bromance where you can easily ship the male leads, and has some whump, and you don’t mind cheesiness: here you go!

My Lascivious Boss (Vietnamese)

There's not a lot of Vietnamese bl out there, and I wanted to try one. This one is good; not the greatest acting, but still good. Also, the episodes are so short, so it's a quick watch.

My Tooth Your Love (Taiwanese)

One of the main characters is a dentist, hence the absurd English title. I'm not good with any dentistry situation so I admit I watched a couple of seconds here and there through my fingers, but it's really just a lovely romance. I can't remember where I read it, but this is a good description (paraphrased): the leads woo each other with plushies and naps.

Never Let Me Go (Thai)

Rich high school student's dad is murdered in front of him, and has another high school student, who has never bodyguarded before ever but his dad makes him do it because his dad is kind of a jerk, assigned as his bodyguard. Weird premise, EXCELLENT delivery. The actors who play the boys have great chemistry, and make the characters feel very real.

The Novelist (Japanese)

I don't even know what to say about this drama? It's a bit like those weird little Indie films from the 90s. Like, it's pretty good, but it's also...something.

Numbers (Korean)

I really liked this until the last episode. It fizzled out. Is there supposed to be a second season or something, maybe? IDK.

Oh No Here Comes Trouble (Taiwanese)

Oh this was GOOD. The title and ML's hair cut (yes I judge) made me think it was going to be silly, and there was silliness but there was also a lot of depth and emotion. ML's family situation is a traumatic running thread. The mysteries are clever and fun but heartfelt and sad too. It was just so good.

Old-Fashioned Cupcake (Japanese)

Oh this is so sweet! It's based on a bl manga I haven't read yet, but definitely will because this is just the sweetest, warmest story.

Our Dating Sim (Korean)

Very good, very sweet. I really felt for Gi Tae, waiting so many years, and then hiding so much anxiety.

Sell Your Haunted House (Korean)

Oh this is so good! A great supernatural show, with a great FL, and the FL and ML become besties rather than romantic yay.

Semantic Error [TV show] (Korean)

I watched this because I’d heard of the manga, though I absolutely wasn’t expecting to actually get sucked in like I did. Excellent show. Another one I wrote about.

The Sign (Thai)

I loved this so much!! Action, crime, reincarnation, mythology, romance, humor - there’s so much going on and I enjoyed all of it. The last two episodes used some hand-waving instead of explaining things, but I’m not mad. Billy and Babe had amazing chemistry, too.

Together with Me (Thai)

I couldn't get Manner of Death at the time, but everyone keeps talking about MaxTul, so I watched this. It's not bad.

The Uncanny Counter 1 (Korean)

The first kdrama I watched! The only reason it didn't cause an instant obsession with kdramas is because i started watching Love and Redemption after and that was 59 episodes of blissful hyperfixation. But I love the supernatural/superhero/semi-religious? aspect, I love the different families that the ML has/finds, I love the whump.

Under the Skin (Chinese)

So far this is the only modern Chinese drama I’ve been able to finish. The mysteries were good, the relationship growth between the two male leads was compelling! Good stuff.

Unforgotten Night (Thai)

This show is really pretty terrible. I'm incapable of not laughing when the soundtrack cuts to a track of ~Italian mafioso music every. single. time that Kamol comes on screen. But it's gone so far past terrible that it's come out the other side, and I kinda like it.

The Untamed (Chinese)

First east Asian drama for me! I watched and rewatched this show multiple times in 2021, and without it I don’t think I would have explored [read: become obsessed with] east Asian dramas. I’m still in the fandom and reading the fic and watching the FMVs and etc. I cannot quit WangXian.

Until We Meet Again (Thai)

This is an amazing drama. Romeo and Juliet, but make it a modern bl college story with reincarnation, and the reincarnated Juliet has PTSD from his past life memories. Excellent storytelling, acting, everything.

Watcher (Korean)

Ooooooh this is so good. All of the characters are so compelling, and the overall story kept me engaged. Also, Seo Kang Joon: yes.

Why R U? (Thai)

This is kind of terrible, except that ZeeSaint as Fighter/Tutor absolutely sizzle. I also loved watching Fighter figure out his sexuality via 50% dialogue and actions and 50% Zee's incredibly expressive face.

Word of Honor (Chinese)

I watched this after watching The Untamed, and was kind of meh about it. But then after I’d poked around cdramas a bit, I watched it again and loved it. IDK what happened, but now it’s a fave.

You’re All Surrounded (Korean)

Ok, the FL in this is terrible. So annoying. Despite that and some of the other things that didn’t quite click with me, I was unable to drop it because I NEEDED to find out how Eun Dae Gu’s story would end (very satisfyingly actually!).

Movies:

Long Time No See (Korean)

I love this so much! Assassins; cool fight scenes; traumatized lead; murder boyfriends! UGH it's so good.

The New Employee (Korean)

Not bad. Not great, but not bad.

Pipeline (Korean)

NGL, I watched this because I wanted some Seo In Guk whump. It definitely delivered! It was a fun, fast-paced story, with very little character development and a very underused villain, and really good action. I turned my brain off and enjoyed it. The only thing I couldn't help mentally griping about was the complete lack of ear protection in most (all?) of the drilling scenes. They should have all been partially deaf, good grief.

The Yin Yang Master (Chinese)

Wacky and good!

The Yin Yang Master: Dream of Eternity (Chinese)

Less wacky than the other one, but also good, and the bromance!!!

[phantomrose96]

Old Wounds

Danny’s secret is not a secret anymore.

The lines between Fenton and Phantom have long since blurred. And it’s a common occurrence for news reporters to trip over their tongue when flagging him down, mid-transformation, for a post-fight interview. “Phanton.” “Fentom.” So often that, to most now, he is just Danny.

When Danny wants upgrades to his gear, he comes to his mother. When Danny learns a quirky new element of Ghost Zone lore, he brings it to his father. When the Amity Park Ghost Alarm is raised, he’s first on the scene with the Fenton RV right on his non-corporeal heels.

When he’s injured, Danny comes only to his friends and sister.

Jazz notices the pattern. How it is only her, or only Sam, or only Tucker who receives the late-night knock at the window glass, with her brother on the other side, corny sheepish smile on display and arm or leg or shoulder held up in explanation.

Jazz notices how hushed Danny remains, day or night, when he comes to her for first aid. How he speaks in that same hesitant muted tone as he did when all of this was still a secret. How he quiets himself in the way injured prey animals do.

Jazz doesn’t feel it’s her place to ask. Not yet, at least. Eventually. But not yet.

The window is open. Honeysuckle-sweet gusts of late-spring air swirl through Jazz’s room and tease away the sheen of sweat that has collected on her brow. She cannot wipe it away herself, not with both hands meticulously occupied in tweezering out the singed fabric from her brother’s arm.

Danny winces, and hisses, and Jazz frees another thread from its embedded hold in Danny’s burn wound.

“It’s kind of like… summer vacation when we were kids and we’d get splinters visiting Aunt Alicia’s lake house,” Jazz remarks with another careful tug. “…If we can call it a lake house.”

“Lake shed,” Danny replies, grinning through the sweat shining on his pale face. “And I think every part of that dock was an OSHA violation.” He laughs through another wince.

“Dad was the king of tweezers. I think he got out every splinter that dock ever gave me.” Jazz pauses. “I wonder why that was. Think it’s the needlepoint?”

“It’s definitely the needlepoint,” Danny agrees.

Jazz hesitates on the question lingering behind her tongue. Just a little too long. Just a little too obviously.

“What?” Danny asks.

Jazz’s hand falters. She puts the tweezers down. “Danny, I will always always be happy to help you like this. Same goes for Sam, same goes for Tucker, I know. I’m positive. But I wonder why… not Mom or Dad?” Jazz eyes the tweezers, glinting in the moonlight. “I’m just… I’m thinking how much cleaner this might be if you got Dad to do it. And Mom’s got like, wilderness survival level first aid expertise. I can’t help thinking I’m hurting you more by it being… me, you know?”

Danny looks at her, and looks past her a moment. His grin slips a fraction into discomfort as his eyes leave hers. “Maybe I just like the excuse to invade your room.”

“Danny…” Jazz waits until he looks at her again. “Are you afraid they’ll make you stop if they realize you’re getting injured?”

Danny lets out a puff of air from behind his lips. “No, never. I mean, maybe if I got really really injured they’d say something. But just getting a little roughed up? I think it’s about on par with a kid coming home from football practice with a few scrapes, at least, in their eyes. They get more banged up than me these days. I’m not worried.”

Jazz reaches for the bottle of disinfectant. She unscrews the cap to a biting alcohol smell. “…So will you tell me why?”

“Why what?”

“Why you won’t ever go to them with injuries? Ever?”

Cotton swab, pure silver under the moonlight. Jazz douses it gently, a muted glug-glug from the bottle.

“…I’m that obvious about it, huh?”

“You’re obvious about most things. This’ll be cold.” Jazz applies the swab to the open wound, and Danny hisses in turn.

“Yeah. Cold. And stingy. Cold and stingy.” After a few seconds, the tension eases out of Danny’s body. He droops a little, shoulders slumped, and Jazz pulls the cotton swab away.

“Are you ashamed of your injuries?”

“No.”

“Are you worried Mom and Dad’ll make them worse?”

“Nah. You said it yourself, those two are weird, unconventional medical experts.”

“Then why not?”

A beat of silence follows. A moment of trepidation. Awash in moonlight, Danny looks up at her, and the glow in his green eyes has a life of its own. “I don’t want them to see the injuries that have already healed.”

“Why would that be a problem?” Jazz looks again. Danny’s suit covers most everything, save now for the one sleeve that’s been rolled back. She sees what she already knew was there – what isn’t obvious to the eye not searching – threads of white ridges, puckers of skin, a faded rashy texture of what had once been an ectoblast burn. Old injuries. Long healed. Faded and fading further. “Those are all healed now. Just some scars, right…?”

Danny hesitates.

“I don’t want them to figure out how many of those scars they caused.”

A gust of wind steals the antiseptic smell from the room. Jazz sits with the silence. She thinks, and she processes.

“Oh…”

Danny straightens. “They kind of… live in this world where hunting ghosts is all fun and games, you know? Like it’s a sport, like they can just get into go-mode and jump into the fun. I don’t think they’ve figured out yet that they can—could—did …cause damage.”

Danny adjusts himself on Jazz’s bed, one leg pulled up, body angled to face her directly. He doesn’t let his eye contact wander now. “They both apologized. Definitely. Like that definitely happened, back at the start of this. But it was kind of like ‘We must’ve given you so much trouble Danny! How’d you come home every day and not bite our heads off over that?’ Like. Again. Like it’s a game. Like they’d been knocking my chess pieces over for a year and not—”

Danny falters. He raises his uninjured arm and tucks the hair away from his face. “And I don’t… want it to click for them. What I have right now with Mom and Dad is so nice… It’s so much better than I even imagined. I want it to stay like this. Forever, if possible.”

“Danny…”

“And even that actually—maybe I’m actually wrong about that. Completely wrong. About their reaction, I mean. It’s possible maybe they’d see everything and just go,” Danny deepens his voice, “‘Wow! We did a number on you, huh? Man Danny I don’t know how you didn’t just smack us over the breakfast table every morning.’ you know? Like that. Like this was all just always a game. And they—and I-- …I like how relaxed ghost hunting is with them. I actually like that it feels like a game. I don’t ever want to go back to feeling how scared and afraid and unsafe and hurt I was that first year. ...But I’m afraid of how it would feel to know that maybe they’d see that, look at it all, everything they did and the scars like the actual proof and it—if it wouldn't ever be real to them. If they'd never get that it was like that. If they still wouldn’t realize—you know? That they—if they—I don’t uh…��� Danny drops his eyes, and he shrinks in on himself. “I don’t know how to explain it…”

“No I—Danny I know what you’re saying. Don’t worry. Danny, I—”

“Either answer. Any answer. I don’t want to know… I don’t actually want to know.” Danny angles himself away again, feet dropped over the side of Jazz’s bed, staring down at the hands in his lap. “If it would horrify them, then I’d be ruining all the good things I have with them right now. And if it wouldn’t horrify them—” Danny falls quiet. The breeze has stilled. The room is colder now. “…then I think I just don’t ever want to know.”

Jazz nods, and nods harder.

“I get it. I get it. That’s a good enough answer for me, Danny, I promise. I’m your first aid person, okay? I won’t ask again. Thanks for… thanks for telling me, Danny.”

"Can always trust you to bring up the difficult conversations huh? Of course that's always been your thing. Talking to you is--well I'd say it's like pulling teeth, but maybe it's more like pulling ecto-demolished hazmat suit fabric out of a burn wound."

Danny offers a sheepish grin - it's an olive branch, a request to lighten the mood. Jazz meets it with her own small grin that does not touch her eyes.

"Yeah yeah, I'm your older sister. It's my job to be a pain. Now sit still, I need to be more of a pain if we're gonna de-hazmat suit your injury."

She picks the tweezers back up. The silence rings with an echo in her head now. Jazz focuses her attention back on her task, and she finds something she was wrong about before:

There is nothing faded about the scars that web up and down her little brother’s arm. They are stark streaks of lightning, glowing silver under the moonlight. And Jazz wonders how many others—how many that flaked away and melded back with healthy skin—how many of those might still be living, lingering, a permanent part of her little brother, buried well beneath the surface…

[innytoes]

Peterpatterlina + Everyone Is Enamored By The Mysterious Lady Knight At The Renaissance Fair

"Okay, so maybe you were right and we would have stood out if we came in our normal clothes," Alex admitted to Reggie and Willie, before immediately being dragged away by his boyfriend to go see the blacksmith making cool stuff.

"At least Alex wore his costume that we painstakingly put together," Reggie sulked. "You're just wearing the leather vest that's supposed to go over your blouse."

"Baby, I love you, but you know I cannot do sleeves," Luke said, pressing a kiss to his cheek. The sleeves had been so frilly and heavy, he’s hated it. Besides, these pants Reggie picked made his ass look amazing, he wasn’t about to cover that up with a frilly blouse. Reggie pouted for all of two seconds before perking right back up again as he spotted one of the stalls.

“Oh, there’s Liz and TJ’s stall! They always have the best gossip about this year’s faire.” He pulled Luke over, before making a deep bow, the lute on his back shifting. “Well met, fair maiden!” Reggie said. “My friend and I have travelled from afar to come enjoy your amazing festival, and wish to hear all about who may be participating in this year’s tournament.”

“Oh, I get it, you love coming to the renaissance faire to flirt with all the ladies,” Luke said. Reggie shot him a pout.

“Well met, noble bard,” the lady, Liz, said. “This year has quite the crop of candidates. It is said that the White Knight, Sir Nicholas, is trying to win to curry the favour of King Wilson, to win the hand of the princess.” She went through the backstory of a few more characters, each with their own colour. She leaned over the table conspiringly. “However, it is said there is a new knight on the scene, who bears the flag of the Purple Dahlia who also fights for the fair princess’ hand, and for her freedom to marry whomever she pleases.”

“Ooooh,” Reggie said, gasping. “Do they stand a chance against Sir Nicholas?”

“The Lady Julie is one of the fiercest fighters on the field,” Liz said. “And my personal favourite.” She winked, showing off the little dahlia pin on her dress.

“Girls can be knights?” Luke asked.

“Of course, dude,” Reggie said. “Hashtag feminism, hashtag ladyknights. Thanks, Liz!”

They went over to what was essentially a merch tent, and Reggie picked out a little Purple Dahlia pin to put on his vest to show his support. Luke rolled his eyes but followed Reggie to the tournament field, buying them both some snacks while Reggie vibrated in his seat on the bleachers in excitement. Up on the podium on the other side of the field, there was a dude in a beard with a crown and a girl in a pink princess dress who was doing her best to look Dramatically Bored while also waving secretly at all the excited little girls who screeched her name.

Luke had to admit the tournament was pretty cool. Reggie leaned over and whispered into his ear about how some parts were scripted, but the ending usually depended on the mood of the crowd. Luke shivered at the feeling of Reggie’s lips against his ear, and promised to cheer very loudly for Reggie’s favourites. He was pretty sure he’d have said yes to pretty much anything Reggie asked at that moment.

So they cheered for the Green Archer and the Brown Knight. The emcee, or town crier, or whatever they called the person who talked in between the joust-y bits, Flynn, was really funny and good. And then it was time for the main event. Sir Nicholas versus Lady Julie. Reggie sat up straight in his seat, clutching Luke’s arm and cheering for Lady Julie as loudly as he could.

The fight was amazing, and well-choreographed, like a dance, but a lot more violent. Sir Nicholas tripped over his own feet, and the crowd gasped. His helmet fell off. Luke wondered if that was for dramatic effect or if it really just fell off. That trip hadn’t seemed very planned either. Still, it made things exciting.

And then, the Purple Dahlia ripped her helmet off as well, a cascade of curls falling out. She held the sword under Sir Nicholas’ chin, tipping his head up dramatically until he admitted defeat. Luke could hear Reggie gulp beside him and yeah, yeah that definitely awoke something in both of them.

In the end, Princess Carrie swooned in Lady Julie’s arms, and she made an unsubtle but don’t-piss-off-the-parents speech about the Princess being free to marry or not marry whoever she wanted. Reggie and Luke cheered as loud as they could, and they could see both knight and princess trying to keep a straight face when someone from the audience (quite possibly Willie) cheered ‘let’s go lesbians, let’s go!’

They walked across the fairgrounds after the tournament. Luke let himself enjoy it, especially when a gaggle of small children surrounded Reggie and begged for him to play a song on his lute. Turned out his boyfriend not only wrote country songs, he also wrote silly little improv songs about dragons and princesses and brave lady-knights. When the kids finally dispersed back to their parents, Reggie’s eyes were sparkling and he looked so happy, Luke just wanted to kiss him.

“What a lovely song, noble bard,” someone behind him said. Reggie looked up and gasped.

“Lady Julie!” He took off his ridiculous pouf-y hat with the feather, bowing dramatically. Luke whirled around. She was even more beautiful up close. She was out of her armour now, but still wearing chain mail, and Luke nearly swallowed his tongue. “Of course your amazing feats on today’s battlefield deserve a thousand more songs and a hundred more sonnets.” 

Lady Julie smiled, and Luke could see the way Reggie’s cheeks flushed even as they made semi-flirty, old-timey conversation. For a moment, the knight’s eyes flicked over Luke’s person, but when she didn’t see a Dahlia pin, she focused back on Reggie, who looked both gleeful at being indulged and absolutely smitten.

When Lady Julie finally moved on, complimenting a little girl on her plastic sword, Reggie watched her go, heart eyes evident until he saw Luke pouting.

“C’mon,” Luke said, grabbing his hand.

“Luke?” Reggie asked, letting himself be dragged. “Look, I’m sorry if the flirting was too much, it was just for fun, you know I...”

“What? No!” Luke stopped, pressing a kiss to his lips to make him stop doubting himself. He liked that Reggie is a flirt. He liked being the one that got to take him home at the end of the night. And also... he really, really couldn’t blame him for shooting his shot with the hot knight. “I’m not mad! We need to go back to the tent so I can buy a dahlia pin as well so the pretty lady knight notices me, too, you dork.”

[riddlecrux]

Historical AU

Day 7 of Elriel Month!

Summary: Blue and violet material rustled as she stared at three stars and three mountain peaks which sparkled in the daylight. The place that called her home. Velaris knights galloped through the forest with grace and dignity. At the front of the formation, she spotted him. Note: This is a snippet of my upcoming multi chapter Medieval AU Elriel fanfic!

There was talk in the town.

A gossip about one particular knight was spreading among ladies like a wildfire, fast and unforgiving. Whenever she went out, for a trip to the market or tailor, the words were often hushed and clipped. As if saying them outright and loud would bring the said person stumbling through the door - unannounced and feared. It was as if a shadow of a knight lived among the elites, constantly watching their lips, ready to strike from the darkest parts of the room. She had thought that gossiping was a rather boring thing to do, especially during the daytime - she much preferred spending her free time gardening and walking through the nearby forest.

The solitude she yearned for was always waiting for her, embracing her in silence and wisps of spring wind. A book under her arm, the hem of her skirt tucked between her fingers as she moved through the green maze with a blush covering her pale skin. It was something completely different from the small, claustrophobic ballrooms filled with perfumed guests and men trying to catch themselves a woman, a wife, a person that they were going to tame. A woman, later barely a doll. Empty shell filled with her husband's desires, placid and neat. Never free, never wild - an object that men love to present as a trophy.

Elain huffed, long steps halting as golden brown tresses slipped from her modest braid - her blue dress wrinkled and dirty, the mud sprinkled even her undergarments as she maneuvered through the forest road. She glanced behind her, a nervous tick, and with a soft frown on her forehead, she leaned against the rough tree. Few flowers slipped from her hand as she closed her eyes, breathing the scent of nature which coaxed her troubled mind.

She knew that the day would come, sooner or later - she prayed that her resolve and kindness would prevent her from marriage without love but naive as she was she knew that it was only a matter of time before her mother chose her a fiancé. Preferably rich one, from a distinguished family with a house close to the city market and church. Those arguments were vain and so ill-matched in Elain's opinion. She didn't care for money; she wanted to be loved. More than anything else she wanted to be chosen because of her personality - not too extravagant, timid, and simple as her father once said. Nesta always had a spark in her, steel that made men tremble before her, a woman made for a king or a duke. Her older sister was always the example of everything Elain wasn't, yet the day before Nesta's arranged marriage it was her older, wiser, dutiful sister that ran away - leaving a letter in which she chose love over duty.

I do not wish to be shackled by a man that does not deserve me. Women are much more than cattle you breed to sell. I part with a heavy heart, not because of my decision but because of the future of my sisters.

Elain had read the letter thousands of times, tracing letters with her fingers - remembering Nesta's coldness and silent form of love. She envied her older sister. If she was more courageous, less soft she would, perhaps, repeat her sister's steps.

Sighing through her parted lips her head hit the tree behind her. I do not wish to be shackled by a man that does not deserve me. She murmured under her breath like a prayer staring at the empty road that led to her little town. Gripping the old book by its edges Elain willed herself to pray. Pray that the man her mother had chosen would not like her. Pray that her resolve would show her the correct way, an answer to her broken promise. Pray that…

Her eyes opened at the sound of horses coming down the road. Glancing behind her cover she saw four riders, all dressed in black robes - all of them being knights. Her grip on the branch tightened as her mouth parted once again at the sight of a very well-known flag that was flowing in the air behind them. Blue and violet material rustled as she stared at three stars and three mountain peaks which sparkled in the daylight. The place that called her home. Velaris knights galloped through the forest with grace and dignity. At the front of the formation, she spotted him.

A knight dressed in black armor, iron spikes coming from his shoulder pads, and even sharper ones adorning his helmet. His gauntlets tightly clenched around his horse’s harness, dark and utterly beautiful. The breastplate was wide and devoid of any ornaments safe for three stars on each side of his armor. On his left side an extraordinary sword. Its majestic hilt covered in small, blue gems which were reflecting sunshine as he moved on the massive, gorgeous stallion. It was her gasp that made him snap his neck in her direction - she quickly scrambled and hid behind the tree wishing that he hadn't seen her. As the sounds of hooves started to ease with their every step, Elain slowly crept from her hiding position. Her heart beating so loud that the bird sitting on one of the branches fled from its resting spot.

The talk of the town - The Scarred Knight, came just in time for the tournament.

*

3 YEARS EARLIER

The summer was hot and stuffy.

Elain shot a quick glance behind her shoulder as she ran through the crowded streets of the town. She could hear Lucien's screams and his brothers’ laughter, however, she didn't stop. Her feet adorned with leather booties moved even faster, as long as she lost the gingers she would be safe. She turned right, stumbled because of the moving wagon, and sprinted towards cathedral alley - people were staggering when she turned in another street, her hair falling from her up-do in waves of molten gold. The freedom in her lungs was addictive. She felt like a bird, freed from its beautiful cage that it was trapped in for its whole life.

Her feet hit the muddy ground as she scanned moving peasants and with a resolution on her delicate features, she whirled around and ran straight towards the training grounds. One step, two steps...

She gasped when she collided with a solid body, her feet getting caught in the lace of her dress, making her fall on her backside with a loud thud. Her forehead was hurting and she could swear that the world around her wavered as she finally decided to glance at the reason for her fall. It was a knight, a tall and very deadly one. His violet eyes scanned her for injuries and with a slow sigh, he presented her a gloved hand.

"My lady," his sensual voice rang in her ears as she gracefully - at least she hoped so, gripped his fingers and stood up. Her beige dress was dirty and ruffled at its edges. Her mother would have scolded her till her calves were raw from the beating. The sight of her so utterly ungracious and dishonorable would shake her so much that Elain would have had to beg her on her knees to stop. Nevertheless, as she looked at her skirt she saw few droplets of blood and with a frown, she deduced that she, in fact, sliced her palm when she tried not to stumble.

Snapping her attention back to the knight in front of her, she slowly bowed and smiled. Her curls created a halo around her heart-shaped face when she finally looked him straight in his eyes. He was tall, well built and had brown skin. It was a beautiful color, she mused trying not to think how handsome he was.

"Sir Knight, pardon my intrusion," she cocked her head as another knight appeared in her peripheral vision. He was even taller and bigger than the one from before. His long hair flew on wisps of wind as he chuckled seeing her state and dirt on her dress. One dark brow rose with a flicker of amusement in his bright eyes.

"It's a rather peculiar sight to behold," he murmured as another wave of deep laughter erupted from his throat. She could feel redness coming up on her cheeks and with a swift movement, she ducked her chin down. Her mother would have simply perished if she saw her right now. What a disgrace for her perfect family.

"Cassian, the lady is hurt," she still didn't dare to look up, and when the newcomer left as quickly as he appeared she stole a small glance in the direction of soft sounds.

On her right, the training grounds were almost empty safe for a knight in black armor, kneeling on the ground. His hands were bare and visible to her eyes - scars, horrible and painful ones adoring his long fingers and gentle palms were a stark contrast to his dark attire. However, what caught her initial attention was the way he was slowly but surely trying to feed a stray kitten that aimlessly wandered here. His kneeling person, sharp against the tiny creature barely visible to the human eye. Two oddities coexisting in that nanosecond of time seemed to stop for her as she devoured the sight of this blindingly pure kindness.

"My lady," she heard the other man from somewhere far away. Her tunnel vision focused on that one person, his act of gentleness amidst the blazing sunlight, and… the way his scarred fingers were trembling while he placed all of his weight on his knees. As if he was scared and ashamed of their appearance, even before that small animal hissing in his direction. "My lady?" Her doe eyes found violet ones and with a soft gasp, she came to her senses.

"Please do forgive me for my ignorance," her voice shook and she hated herself for that. For that slight hint of distress slipping through the cracks of her perfectly molded mask of courtesy. The knight rose a dark brow and with frivolous joy watched her behavior as if he had solved a mysterious puzzle. Deep down in her chest, her heart sang an unknown song that made her spiral even further into herself.

"Azriel!" A sharp command slashed the air as she whipped her head at the source of that loud noise. The violet-eyed knight bowed elegantly as the kneeling man slowly stood up, even taller than previously acquainted knights, and slowly made a way towards them. His armor was loud, yet mesmerizing - she felt her bloodstream tickle, surge as the earth shattered under her legs with the force of warmth and longing she suddenly felt. An intake of breath caught in her lungs made her frozen as foreign yet so well-known hazel eyes stopped on her person. As if she had dreamt about them, as if they were forever imprinted inside her like a burst of thousands of stars. The slits in his helmet allowed her to see his long eyelashes, dark and dangerous, as he inclined his greetings.

"Sir Knight," she breathed out, like a bird singing for its designed mate. The knight's burning gaze left her shaking - as if her soul suddenly came down on earth and wished for a moment of utmost closure.

"The lady is hurt," the shorter one supplied glancing between both of them with a smirk. "Please attend her while I gather supplies," and with a swift nod, he left both of them alone. She supposed that time became only a fraction of surrounding her world when Azriel only stared at her, his scarred hands tucked behind him as if the sight of them might have somehow offended her.

"Sir Knight," her lips parted with a silent echo of yearning. "You have truly beautiful hands," his eyes widened, a golden hue covering his irises as his armor rumpled with the stretch of his muscles.

"It's a far-fetched compliment, my lady, yet I'm declaring my thanks," he blinked as she fought with an overwhelming feeling dancing in her chest. He was so close to her and yet she felt as if he was a whole ocean away. Maybe her soul, the one who often whispered in her ear about soulmates, tricked her and made her a fool. Maybe because of that she wanted to say something, anything that could last - to make him remember her, a wild girl with flowers in her hair.

"It's not," she urged and let herself smile. "For what I have seen, Sir, you are gentle-natured," a gust of wind ruffled her tresses and when she tried to fight with them, scarred digits arrived next to her ear.

"And you, my lady, are indisputably a spring ready to conquer the already fading winter," he whispered urgently. Her heart trembled at his words, it was as if he had spoken to her spirit, to the gaping wound of her hidden longings and dreams. As if he had known her, right now and all these centuries before. The time was crashing into her like waves of that unknown feeling that overcame her, however before she could answer the loud yell of her name startled her like a deer.

"I must," her ragged breathing stopped when she saw red-haired men stumbling onto training grounds. Wide-eyed and breathless she stole the last glance at her starry-eyed soulmate and turned around. Even if all laws of this world told her to stay, screamed at her to turn around to see the universe crashing inside those hazel eyes, she didn't.

She left him there, a tray of sunlight and starlight glittering behind her as he watched her till she became only a speck of dust in the blazing heat.

[lo-55]

Lightning In A Bottle Ch. 1

Luffy manages to make friends in the strangest of places. Even time travellers trapped in giant rocks. 

Nao, in turn, finds herself dragged into one of the weirdest crews she's ever even heard of.

With the sun beating down on them, the Going Merry pulled to a stop beside the rough stone shores of Alabasta’s coast. The crew was a-flutter with activity, anchors dropping and plans being made. Vivi looked like if she leaned to far forward she was going to tip right off the edge and into the sea. 

Luffy had his sights set on the city that rose out of the sand ahead of them. The buildings were the same dull brown of the surrounding dunes, and dark pockets marked windows and doorways. The city buzzed with activity, and the docks nearby were colorful with sales and goods being shipped in. 

They’d docked themselves around the cove to avoid being seen, so he could only catch a glimpse of their sails from here, but they’d seen more on the way in.

It was the first city in Alabasta they’d seen, and he just knew there was gonna some kind of awesome restaurant in there! Nothing would be as good as Sanji’s cooking, but Vivi had told them that in Alabasta there were all sorts of spices that didn’t exist anywhere else, and the food was just as hot as the sand was. Luffy was drooling just thinking about it. 

He listened with one ear while Vivi and Nami talked about provisions, and something about wandering sand dunes? That was a thing? 

Luffy would ask later. Right now, food! 

With a quick jump he was on the ground, springing towards the city and all the restaurants inside it. He was gonna eat lots of meat, and try yummy new kinds of roasts and-

Land face first in the sand? 

Luffy peeled his face off the ground and spat out a mouthful of sand. That wasn’t what he wanted to eat today. 

“Gross.” 

Once he was done wiping all the sand off his tongue he looked back to see what he’d even tripped over. A big, shiny red rock lay embedded in the sand. He must had tripped over it. It glittered pale green in the light. 

Luffy cocked his head and knelt beside it. He tried to lift it up, but it kept going down and to the right, into the sand dune next to him. It must have been huge. He bet Nami would love a rock that was that big. But, Luffy still wanted food. If he went to get the food now he would probably lose the rock when the sand dune moved. So he needed to get it out before he ate. Which sucked, because he was really hungry. 

Of course, if he left the giant gemtone in the sand and Nami found out she’d be pissed. 

Luffy made a face. Nope. He wasn’t dealing with that. 

He just had to go quick. The sooner he got the rock out the sooner he could go find a restaurant in town. 

So he started digging. And digging. And digging. 

The rock, he found, wasn’t actually the deep under the sand dune. More like that sand had just settled on top of the stone like snow, and he just had to brushed it off when he got higher up. 

When he finally got the whole thing unburied all Luffy could do was gape at what he saw. 

Inside the shining green gemstone was a ship maybe half the size of Merry, and in another gem that was connected by a thin cord of stone was a girl. 

She was in the middle of screaming, frozen in the green crystal, with one sword drawn in hand. 

Luffy knocked on the gemstone. “Hey!” he shouted. “What are you doing in there?!” 

He knocked harder when there was no response. “I’m talking to you!” 

Maybe she was sleeping with her eyes open? But then why did she look like she was fighting? Luffy paused when he realized a crack had formed when he’d hit the stone. Hopefully this wasn’t some kind of bizarro modern art. Did Alabastan’s do that? It seemed weird, but you never knew. 

The cracks spread across the surface of the crystal like spiderwebs until they covered the entire thing. All at once they burst apart and the woman in the gem dropped to her knees with a shout. Wind swept outwards and the chunks of gems fell to the ground. A flag snapped out from the mast of the ship. 

A black flag.

The skull on the top had two rubies for eyes and two horns that sprouted on either side. 

A pirate! 

Luffy grinned and ran across the broken fragments of gemstone until he was drawn up short by a sword point aimed at his throat. 

The girl was on her knees, and this close up Luffy could see she was covered in bruises and cuts. That didn’t take away from the vicious determination in her eyes. They were red, like the jolly rogers’. 

Luffy shot her a cheerful grin. “Hi-ya.” 

Her brows pinched together. Her hair was dark and wild around her head, like a lion's mane. 

“Who the hell are you? And where are the others?” 

“Huh? Other’s?” Luffy looked around. Were there more rock people around here? That would be so cool! 

“My crew. And the navy. We were-” she grimaced. “We were fighting. Where is everyone else?” 

Luffy could only lift his hands up and shrug. “Dunno. You’re the only one here I see. Hey, you’re a pirate right? Is that your ship? What were you doing in that rock? How did you get in there? Are you a rock person? Can you poop?” 

Slowly, the sword lowered from his throat. 

“Yes I am, yes it is, I was trapped by a Devil Fruit power. I guess I am a rock person. And, also yes? Fuck, how long was I in there?” 

“How should I know?” 

“Good point… You’re not a Marine, are you?” 

“What? Hell no! I’m a Monkey D. Luffy, and I’m gonna be King of the Pirates!” 

She gaped at him, and kept looking at his hat, too. 

“You- what? Huh? How?!” 

“I just am,” he said firmly, and nodded to himself. 

“Oh. Well, I’m Roche Nao. I am- or, I guess I was the captain of the Gem Pirates. That’s our ship, the Blood Stone,” she gestured behind her. A shadow fell across her face. “If I’m the only one here, that means we really did lose.” 

Luffy frowned. He couldn't imagine losing even one member of his crew, let alone all of them. The mere thought of it made him sick to his stomach, and all he could think of was fire on the water, fire eating a jolly roger, and the reek of burning garbage. 

“If that’s the case, then come with me,” he demanded abruptly. 

She startled. 

“Huh?” 

“Come with me! My crew and me are here to fight some jerk with one of our friends, so come with us for a while. Maybe we can help find your crew.” 

“You literally just met me. Why would you help me with anything? Let alone something like that?” 

Luffy grinned at her. “That’s easy. Because I want to!” 

She eyed his hat again, to the point he was starting to wonder if she was gonna try to steal it, before slowly she sheathed her sword and got to her feet. 

“Okay. Monkey D. Luffy, I might take you up on that offer. Just give me a minute, okay?” 

“Fine, but hurry up! I was gonna go get something to eat in the city, and now I’m getting really hungry.”

“Okay, okay!” 

Nao scrambled up onto her ship and lowered the flag and pulled the masts with practiced ease. When she came back a short black cape was around her shoulders. 

“Okay,” she clapped her hands together. “Lead the way, Luffy.” 

Luffy punched the air. “Alright! Meat here we come!” 

He turned the direction of the city and set off at a brisk run, with Nao at his heels.

[deceptive-jo]

Merry Christmas

(The final ficlet for this...year probably! And Merry Christmas to all my celebrating followers!)

Even the numerous inhabitants of Egotropolis celebrate Christmas in their very own way, with their families and friends. Let’s take a look around the houses, shall we?

Words: 1922

Ships: The Author x Actor Marc; Darkstache; Marvin x JBM

“Merry Christmas!” Mad Mike slid into the living room, clearly exited to already be getting presents. “What in the heavens are you wearing?” Author’s shocked expression was exactly what he had tried to achieve and Mike looked down on himself. His sweatpants were a simple light blue but his sweater could be a bit...much with its blues and pinks. “You look like you slapped the Trans pride flag in there and then dumped a gallon of glitter on it.” Admittedly that was pretty much what had happened after he asked Bim for help… Marc threw his arm around him, in his own nightmare of a red Christmas sweater, “I for one like it. Good job on that, kid.” He ruffled his already unruly hair before falling down next to his fiance. Mike preferred a place on the floor, with direct view over the presents. Author’s were already in his room, having gotten them on the end of his holiday celebrations (an USB-stick from Anti which’s content still no one knew, though it was certainly not due lack of trying on Marc’s side, and a Death Note from Mike- a hilarious joke they were sure but considering their connections Author couldn’t be too sure). The lights on the tree flickered for a moment before Anti glitched into the room, red and green lights flickering in his hair. Well, you took what you got and at least he was enjoying himself. “When’s that brother of yours supposed to arrive?” “Any moment now, surely”, a voice came from the entrance where the Host entered. The room seemed to light up as Author jumped over backrest of the couch and pulled his brother in a hug. “Glad you could make it”, Actor smiled as he passed him a glass of eggnog. “Merry Christmas everyone.”

~~~

Darkiplier and Wilford Warfstache were awoken by the sound of rapid knocking on their bedroom door. “It’s Christmas morning, get up!” Dark could only burrow his head deeper in the pillows, “Just wait, we’ll be out in a moment.” They could almost see Bim dramatically draped against the door when he answered, “I’ve waited one whole year. If you’re not down in ten minutes we start without you!” Slowly Dark lifted his head, hairs askew, “This boy, I swear-”

Exactly ten minutes later the couple entered the sitting room, with its enormous tree and the pile of presents underneath. Bim looked like he should be held back and as soon as he saw the two Egos enter he bolted forward, only to get tripped by Yancy. “Youse need to chill!” Wilford watched the scene fondly, Bim somehow managed to pull half the Egos into his enthusiasm and now the Jims and Illinois ere figuratively vibrating with excitement (Bing was literally vibrating next to Google which was disturbing to say the least). “Okay, go on-”, he hadn’t even finished before Bim surged forward and began handing presents out in light-speed. The whirlwind only stopped when the Host, so far clearly light-asleep next to Dr Iplier, got hit into the chest with what was probably another note book (they could be glad Bim decided against throwing the box that turned out to be a new typewriter). Egos began opening presents, either tearing into them like small kids (the Jims and King, mainly) or slowly unwrapping and folding the paper together again (the Googles and Yancy). Dark nearly got strangled when Bim thanked him for the new set of ties while Wilford next to him was too busy examining the dagger that had been sent from the Cabin. Google was fiddling with some new gadget, judging by the accompanied message in clean letters on gold-white paper it came from the Mind Palace. Bing looked over his shoulder while trying to pay attention to Chase’s present at the same time. The Host turned towards the demon, pulling his attention away from the gold-black journal- no, scrapbook- he was holding. “A merry Christmas.” “It is indeed.”

~~~

"Holy shit, now that's a tree!" Jackie stared in amazement at the giant Christmas tree that filled up half of the open living room. Marvin turned around from where he was letting the last ornaments float into position, "Good Morning, darling." "Morning", the hero pressed a kiss on his boyfriend's cheek, "you did an amazing job. How long have you been working on this?" "Pretty much all night", the magician wiped off the sweat and slipped his mask back on. "You must be tired. Tea?" "Coffee..." He chuckled dryly when the cup was pressed in his hands. "Oh wow, this looks so cool! Uncle Marvin did you do this?", Connor came running into the room, his sister close behind. "Sure did, glad you like it, kid." "This is great for celebrating- can we open our presents now?" Chase came down the stairs and began leading them towards the dining table, "Nah, first breakfast, then presents." Ashley pouted but sat down and waited patiently until everyone had finished their christmas pnacakes before she jumped out of her chair and rushed towards the heap of presents. The others followed in a calmer pace (if only to annoy her a bit) and to her credit she waited until everyone was seated before reaching for the first present.

Surprisingly enough Ashley didn't open it but instead got up and handed the small box over to Jameson. Four more packages followed and once every adult had a wrapped box in their hands she looked at them excited. "Go on, open them!" The wrapping wasn't very neat but you could see the effort put into it and a moment later Marvin held a small item in his hand. A strangled noise escaped him as he stared down on the handmade bracelet. It wasn't anywhere near as high-quality as his usual accessories but he could see its aura, could feel the love radiating off of it. Looking over he recognised similiar bracelets in his brothers' hands. Jackie and Jameson were looking utterly delighted and over-joyed, while Chase and Henrik smiled, there were clearly tears shining in their eyes. "I made us family bracelets! Connor and I have our own already-" Chase didn't wait to pull his kids into a tight hug, his brothers joining right after. "I love you, sunshine, so much." "I love you too, daddy. Merry Christmas."

~~~

The Crankgameplays Mansion was bustling with energy, if a  bit different than the manor’s. All the Egos were seated in the living room, enjoying a movie marathon when a chime echoed from the kitchen. “Oh Blank, the cookies!”, Mrs Thomson looked up from her brochure at the dark ego who was already slipping out of the room. A mere minute later he returned with a plate piled with cookies. “Oh damn, those smell awesome!” Bernice snatched a cookie away, painted red and green nails matching with the green designer sweater she was wearing. “And they taste delicious. Good job, boy”, Father Ethan patted Blank’s shoulder as he fell back into his chair, but now with a small smile grazing his lips. The next hour or so passed in peaceful silence as the family followed the movie and enjoyed their cookies and hot chocolate. But of course it was interrupted when Mc Gee cam tumbling down the stairs from where he must have been decorating the roof, as he usually did. “They’re coming!”

Mrs Thomson rose with a shriek and rushed to the nearby mirror, nearly pushing Bernice out of the way. “Oh god already? They’re early for once- How does my hair look?” “Nice, my dear. Don’t stress yourself on this peaceful day”, Father Ethan once again made no indication to get up when the doorbell rang but luckily the Postman was already in place. “Well hello there, Gentlemen. Looking fine today!” “How dare you, I always look fine!” Mrs Thomson had to smile at the teasing, oh how she adored her grandchildren. Speaking of- the entrance hall was filled with people, taking off their jackets and shoes and shaking out the snow-filled hair. One of the black-haired men was standing in the middle, still in his coat and clearly struggling with the package in his arms. “Oh, let me help you!” With a surprising swiftness the old lady took the box from his hands. The young man’s eyes lit up, “Mrs Thomson, how wonderful to see you. You look lovely as always”, he bowed down for a light kiss on the knuckles. “You’re impossible, Author!” She hit him playfully on his shoulder but couldn’t hide the blush at his attitude. “You know me, I’m an old man after all- Marc were are the presents?” A hand reached out of the mass of people and a pile of wrapped gifts floated into the living room. “You brought presents?” “Yeah, you got some as well, we planned ahead this time”, Mike tumbled out of a group hug with his brothers and came over to greet her, “Merry Christmas, grandma!” With a smile she send him in the living room to follow Author into the kitchen. The writer was rummaging through the cabins, “Where are the plates in this house?” “What’s in the box?” “Uh...a cake, the Gingerbread house Mike failed to deliver...Sufganiyot from me and Rugelach because Host made too many- Aha!”, when Author finally re-emerged with enough plates the female Ego looked like she was about to faint. So many baked goods!

Once they entered the living room with their for plates everyone else had settled down around the  TV. Blank was trapped between Mike (chatting with the postman) and McGee, looking peaceful and happy for once. Marc was already in an animated conversation with Bernice and Father Ethan (he was about to snap his neck, should probably stop that) while Anti was hanging around Yandere. Mrs Thomson teared up at the rare sight of her whole family together and joyful, untroubled by their problems for once. A large warm hand came to rest on her frail shoulders. “Merry Christmas, Oma.”

~~~

The view from the Mind Palace was always magnificent but now that the sun was setting and reflecting the snow covering the hills one last time it nearly looked magical. So Roman was sitting at one of the large windows and painted. He’d gotten new brushes after all, those should be tested! The whole atmosphere was soothing. The Christmas tree and few candles were the only source of light while the full room offered enough light for Roman to draw, while Virgil played some slow song on the piano. Logan relaxed on one of the couches enjoying his newest book and the rare quietness. Janus was over by the tree crafting something that was either a simple wooden statue or a doomsday device (depending on which of his acquaintances sent it). He was completely emerged in the gift- where those tears shining in his face? Roman shook his head and decided not to stare too much. He did however exchange the canvas for a new one to turn the easel around and instead began to draw the group in front of him. Where the first four Sides were keeping to themselves and savouring the last hours of Christmas, Patton and Remus were huddled together on a love seat, with the dad Side nearly slipping off, while Remus had draped himself over the back rest. They were giggling over something on his phone while Patton’s lighted up constantly with all the Christmas wishes he must be receiving. Roman allowed himself a short sincere smile. Merry Christmas.

[kaleidescope-writes]

Heart of Audrilluria -Chapter II; Royal Welcome

Modern Fairytale AU

Prince!Tom Hiddleston x Theif!Reader

“Should we go over it once more, or are we good,” Y/N asked. After hours of going over the plan multiple times over, their flight was coming to an end. “I think we’re good,” Amelie snarked, “I mean, it’s only been an eternity of scheming, but at this point, we may as well have a written manuscript.” Y/N rolled her eyes. They’ve been discussing the plan since their plane took off, but no amount of preparation seemed like enough. They had to be a thousand percent ready to make this happen. 

“I just want to make sure we didn’t miss anything, we have a hell of a lot to lose, and if things go wrong--” “If things go wrong we have safety measures and plan A through Z, including the Greek alphabet,” Amelie interrupted, “We’ll be fine! All we have to do is not get attached.” Amelie turns in her seat to look at her anxious sister, a warm, comforting smile greeting Y/N’s troubled gaze.

“We never get attached,” Y/N replied with a sigh. Amelie put a hand over hers, “And that’s why we never get caught.” Y/N looked away for a moment, her mind racing with thoughts of endless ways a slip up could occur. She’s never gotten this nervous before a job. Then again, she’s never had a job this big. So much relied on them succeeding. If one microscopic thing were to go wrong, the whole operation would come crashing down. This was going to be a hell of a trip.

A small gasp from her sister brought her attention back to their current situation. “Turn around,” Amelie instructed. Y/N did so, having to suppress her amazement. The window to the right of Y/N revealed an aerial view of the Audrillore Castle, the home of their target. Both sisters leaned in to get a closer view of the castle in front of them. Its large structure barely fit in the frame of the window. The water surrounding the building reflected its massive presence in the middle of a green field and forest. From their view in the air, they were able to see the guards standing outside the guard quarters and horses just outside their stalls. 

“It really is something out of a fairytale,” Amelie said in awe. Y/N silently agreed. Seeing the castle in person only added to her anxiety. Great.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please take this moment to look to your right at the heart and soul of Audrilluria. For those in the first class, this is where you will spend the vast majority of your visit. Please be mindful that we will be landing in a few minutes. Welcome to Audrilluria.” The pilot addressed the one thing that was extremely hard to miss. There was no turning back now. They were in the sheep fields and had to hope that the disguise covering their fangs and claws was convincing enough to hold up for two weeks straight.

An uneasy breath escaped Y/N’s lips for the millionth time. This was going to be a lot harder than her previous jobs. She braced on to the few minutes she had left before the job commenced. The last few minutes could help her ease the slightest bit of tension before the hunt began. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Finally,” Charles exclaimed, “After hours of interviews, pictures, and completely unnecessary arrangements and practice for your big day, we are done.” Thomas chuckled at his cousin’s childishness, a trait acquired by him apparently since birth. “Don’t wave the flag of victory just yet,” Thomas smirked, “We still have to greet the foreign nobility. And we have the first ball tomorrow evening. We are far from done.” Charles looked up at his cousin from his seat in one of the common room chairs, a fatigued look gracing his mature features. “You mean you have to greet the foreign nobility and you have a ball with them tomorrow evening.” Charles sat up and faced Thomas, “I, as your humble Duke and beloved cousin, have done my duty for this week. The rest is up to the king-to-be.”

Thomas laughed, approaching his cousin and putting his hand over the tired man’s shoulder. “Don’t be so sour, Charlie. If Augustus has to participate in today’s activities, being a Baron, you have to as well. As you said, you are the Duke.” Charles groaned, head dropping to his shoulders. “And my beloved cousin with whom I have had many adventures and never once questioned my alliance to.”

Charles looked up at him, “Stop. Don’t do that.” Thomas stepped away, giving him a look of feigned innocence, “Do what, my beloved cousin?” Charles stood from his chair, “Don’t try to guilt me into it. You always try to do it in times like these.” Thomas laughed turning to him once more, “And you always give in. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice--” “I’m an idiot for thinking you’d change,” Charles interrupted. “Exactly,” Thomas gave him a triumphant grin. He knew damn well how to work with his cousin. It was simple, really.

“Prince Thomas, Duke Charles,” a royal attendant interrupted them, “It is almost time. The plane is landing soon.” Thomas turned to the attendant, acknowledging his sudden presence, “Thank you, we will be there shortly.” With that, the attendant left. Thomas looked at Charles once more. “Perhaps we should get ready to greet them.”

Charles pouted, “Very well. But just know that I’m doing this out of my own free will, not because of your insistence.” He turned on his heels and walked out of the room, heading towards the castle’s main entrance to greet the nobility. “Of course,” Thomas said, rolling his eyes and following close behind him. “Your will is stronger than mine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N and Amelie entered one of the royal limousines according to their designation. The driver closed the door behind them, leaving them alone with the man waiting inside. “You must be Edmundo,” Amelie spoke up. “Yes, and you must be Amelia de Santiago, daughter of  Marquess Antonio Bulevia de Santiago of Puerto Esmeralda.” Y/N shook herself out of the brief surprise trance. “Yes, that is she, and I am--” “Y/N de Santiago. I have been expecting you both for some time now.”

Edmundo silently instructed the driver to lift the divider to give them privacy while the sisters shared a bewildered look. Once it was closed, he addressed them again, less formally. “Sorry about that, we just have to keep up appearances from the very beginning to not raise suspicion.” Amelie shook her head knowingly, “It’s ok, we just weren’t expecting to hear those names so soon.” Edmundo laughed, relaxing into the seat.

“I suppose you are prepared for this?” He asked, taking a glass from the miniature bar and pouring himself some champagne. “As prepared as we can be,” Y/N responded. “As the inside man, is there anything else you can tell us so nothing will catch us by surprise?” Edmundo took a sip of his drink, letting out a sigh of relief as the liquid settled in his stomach. “Everything there is to know was in the briefing folder you both read. I have faith that nothing will catch you off guard. You two are the best in the business. Oh, and your luggage was sent directly to the guest house you will reside in by my men. No need to worry about anyone inspecting your bags.”  

“So what’s the deal with the Spanish nobility backstory?” Amelie asked. The question was burning in the back of her head since they were briefed about the job. “The Spanish nobility of Puerto Esmeralda has kept a conservative alliance with the royalty of Audrilluria since its establishment. The Marquess does exist and has two daughters, but the public has no idea what they look like or what their names are. My connections have shared rumors with me that they are both married, but it’s nothing official, so it isn’t crucial to the job. The Marquess did send out a refusal to King James’s invitation, but we were able to intercept it before it arrived and replaced it with a response of our own. That was where you two came in. Given the scarce information shared about Marquess Antonio, we were able to fill in the missing details to accommodate to the two of you.”

“I guess that explains the high profile items we received to go with the job,” Y/N commented. To this, Edmundo only nodded. “Now, are you ready for the show to begin?” Amelie smiled, “Yes, but why do you ask?” Edmundo downed the rest of his drink and set the glass aside. He motioned to the window on their right. “Because we have arrived.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The limousines unloaded the members of the nobility one by one. As the passengers exited the vehicles, they were announced by a member of the royal attendance. They were greeted by Audrillurian nobility and made their way to the foot of the stairs, where King James, Queen Diana, Charles, Thomas, and his best friend Agustus stood to welcome them. One by one, the guests were led to the side and waited for the last of the guests.

“I suppose this will be a while, then,” Charles whispered to Thomas. He shifted in his place, subtly leaning toward his cousin. “Not now, Charles. Pay attention,” Thomas responded. “Oh come on, we will be reintroduced to them before the ball, I doubt--” Thomas shushed his impatient cousin. Charles sighed, shifting once more.

“If the two of you are done bickering, it would please you to know that this next vehicle is the last one,” came a remark from the left of Thomas. Agustus was always one to stop the constant bickering that occurred between the two. “Thank you, Gus,” Thomas smiled.

The last limousine approached the area where they were gathered. Y/N and Amelie stepped out. “So that’s what they look like,” Charles inquired. They walked toward the group and curtsied. 

“Y/N and Amelia de Santiago, daughters of  Marquess Antonio Bulevia de Santiago of Puerto Esmeralda.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Second chapter done!! Mild disclaimer, I added a few more characters in there that are fictional. The Castle in the picture is a real place. It’s the Borrekens Castle in Belgium. It’s a beautiful castle if you wanna check it out. Anyway, thank you so much for reading, feel free to give me feedback and ask me questions!! Let me know if I missed anyone in the taglist. Have a Wonderful Day!! Also, Please excuse my less than professional photoshopping job on the airplane window picture.

Taglist is OPEN 

@ladyblablabla @tvdplusriverdale​ @pipolaki​ @myraiswack​ @shockwavee​ @harringtonb-blog​ @cynic-spirit​ @little-moonbeam-666  @ochizokulevy​ 

[worldcakecakecake]

Feliciano and the King of Hearts

Chosen by the gods as the Queen of Hearts from the moment of birth, we follow Feliciano’s story as he grows into royal life, learns to rule, go against age old customs, and his relationship with his husband to be, the King of Hearts.

Chapter 1 I  Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4 I Chapter 5 I Chapter 6I Chapter 7 I Chapter 8 IChapter 9I Chapter 10I Chapter 11I Chapter 12 I Chapter 13 I Chapter 14 I Chapter 15 I Chapter 16 I Chapter 17 I Chapter 18 I Chapter 19I Chapter 20 I Chapter 21 I Chapter 22 I Chapter 23 I Chapter 24 I Chapter 25 I Chapter 26 I Chapter 27 I Chapter 28I Chapter 29 I Chapter 30 I Chapter 31 I Chapter 32 I Chapter 33 I Chapter 34 I Chapter 35 I Chapter 36 I Chapter 37I chapter 38 I Chapter 39 I Chapter 40 I Chapter 41 I Chapter 42 I Chapter 43 I Chapter 44 I Chapter 45 I Chapter 46I Chapter 47 I Chapter 48 I Chapter 49 I Chapter 50 I Chapter 51 I Chapter 52 I Chapter 53 I Chapter 54 I Chapter 55 I Chapter 56 I Chapter 57 I Chapter 58 I Chapter 59 I Chapter 60I Chapter 61 I Chapter 62 I Chapter 63 I Chapter 64  I Chapter 65 I Chapter 66 I Chapter 67 I Chapter 68  I Chapter 69 I Chapter 70

I am personally glad that I updated this sooner than I expected.

 Anyways, with all this quarantining and lockdowns, somehow you will expect that I would have infinite of time to write…but welp, I live with children and it actually means I have less time since they’re not in the kindergarten. So pretty much my writing pace is either the same or less.

 I apologize. If this was not the situation, then you could easily expect an update weekly. Ah, how I wish! But patience as always! Enjoy!

                                                   Chapter 71

Many weeks passed, with each passing day a new stroke of grey. A storm seemed ready to brew, stationed in the Hearts capital, only adding to an ever-present gloom that was evident through all these vacant streets. Louis had counted twenty-six people exact from what she could see in the heights of this balcony that morning. Surely they had gone picking for groceries or heading to scheduled appointments, trying hard to live their normal day to day lives in the wake of this new war. So many had gone to fight…and only a few days before had a messenger arrived, worn and desperate, dirty and ruined, calling for more soldiers to come, in his hurry not saying more, Louis only able to notice how he wouldn’t stop shaking, how he was terrified to speak other words than the ones he was meant to say. No one else came after him, no letter showed, no difference was made. The alignment had long passed, whatever power, was granted. If they had been successful…everyone…everyone would have been here by now. Flowers, sparks and celebrations would have decorated the streets…the sky would be blue and Ludwig and Feliciano would give each other the tightest embrace they had ever shared. Yet the past Queen was here, gazing to the entrance gates, lost well between the mountains, expecting that fanfare…but only the occasional carriage came, as melancholy as the city. She sighed, turning back to the halls of the castle…darker than she had ever remembered them, colder, no rushing of life and no sound. She hurriedly paced wanting to find some sort of presence, and gratefully it came with a loud laugh, a clap of hands…and even little stomps.

 “I still can’t believe it,” one maid graciously laughed, bringing light once again.

 “Oh, Antonio and Lovino would be so happy to see this,” another said.

 Louis followed that heat of life and met a wonderful corner.

 Augustino had turned one recently, a very lonely birthday made for him, only Aldrich, Louis and a handful of servants in charge of his care. Not even Feliciano had asked for his presence…he had been silent for days. A maid had mentioned that the shield was gone, but even as so, Feliciano remained in bed, not a turn, not a breath… many servants wondered if he was even alive. Many times they came to find the plates of food as full as they had brought them, items untouched and not a word uttered, no call, not even a reaction for his nephew’s birthday. He missed his first steps, testing yet brave on these castle hall floors, wondered by the glows of the few lights on, suddenly rushed at the entrance of the old Queen. Louis couldn’t help taking him in her arms, raising him and giving the brightest smile she could give him. It was unfair to leave him in the glooms of these dark days, they had to show him that there were still things to smile about. She didn’t want to think about why the shield was down, why Feliciano couldn’t stand up, how her city seemed empty, how she heard nothing of how her loved ones were doing and what it could mean for them later. The servants there were just as unsettled and so she gave them reassurance with whatever timid smile she could give them, enough for them to breathe again, to instead focus on this bountiful child that kept laughing, reaching and playing no matter.

 Echoed steps interrupted, one of the front guards tripping at his reach to them, breathless and stalling his words.

 “Quick, what is the matter?” Louis demanded still with her own command, coming forward to help the man to even stand properly.

 “They’re coming, many, a great amount of many!”

 “Who’s coming?”

 “Some Heartians that were fighting with Khaos, I couldn’t see who exactly, but they’re bringing with them thousands of Clubians. They told me they are refugees seeking to stay in the city.”

 “Refugees?” One maid perked.

 “Thousands?”

 “What on Earth has happened?”

 “I only saw and I am relying a message. I do not understand what’s going on either.”

 Louis didn’t wait, she hurried off, to the very front of the castle to welcome the crowds that were coming, slow and easy, not at all the energy she herself had, begging for any to be there already. For Augustino’s sake, she hoped for either Antonio or Lovino, but she also wanted her daughter, or her husband, Gilbert or…Ludwig…she desperately wished Ludwig would be the first to enter those gates.

 They came like a mist, undistinguished, it wasn’t until they were walking down the main castle road, now greyed, empty, without its usual gold and life, Louis noticed the colors. Spadian blue, Diamond yellow, Heartian red and many, many, many Clubian green. The first, the current lead to the castle, was Antonio, a flag in his hands as a lead to all who came behind him. He limped, his clothing was poor, he had bandages on his face and surely more under the layers, for he came with constant cringes upon his face. No matter, Augustino was unbeknown to all, he smiled, a shout to showcase it, hands open and dancing at his father’s welcome. It brought Antonio a much-needed grin, forcing a quicker pace if even the pain. He let the flag fall without a care at now the frontal castle courtyard, instead wanting to hold his son, completely enveloping him in his chest, nuzzling, kissing, taking in the scents he missed from him and his laughter.

 “I have missed you so much,” he told him, with every word a stronger grip.

 Renata then came, with her own flag leading the people that began to come in and continue to the entrance. Kandake then flew by at Pookie’s back, specifying where in the castle they could go. Emil walked by and Renata passed over her flag to him, so she could better focus on offering a hand and kiss to her grandson. Louis joined the hurdled, clearly shocked and questioning, only utters, trying to ask some sort of question they could give her.

 It seemed like whatever they would say, it would crumble them. Her breaths were already creating cracks ready to burst.

 “Whe-where-where…where’s everybody else?” They were too many to worry about.

 Where were her three kids? Where were her five grandkids? Where was anybody from her family? All through the crowds she could see but battered soldiers, some even being carried in beds, some covered completely as a form of respect. There were Clubians, citizens like any other as defeated, carrying carriages of items, some with crying children and elders who coughed on.

 “Roderich, Elizabeta and Lili are back in the city helping refugees locate. Alfred is still at the gates making sure everyone comes in,” Antonio at least told, turning with no other mentions, surely wanting the shade of the castle.

 “But, but-but…where’s my sons, my daughter? Where’s Gilbert, and where’s Vash? Whe-where’s, where’s Ludwig?”

 It was the only name that caused a startlement that stopped Renata and Antonio’s movements, shadowed more in this misery, not daring to look at the past Queen.

 “Your sons and Vash are stationed in Spades ready to act. Monika and Gilbert are still at the front lines fighting.”

 “Fighting? They’re still fighting?” Louis was desperate, standing in their way, not daring to let them pass until she knew everything. “I thought Ludwig was going to take care of everything, I thought he would have Khaos defeated by now, I thought-”

 “Ludwig is dead!” Antonio couldn’t take more…he just wanted to rest, he just wanted to be with his son…he didn’t want her to find out this way…but he wanted his sanity…he couldn’t continue to stand being in this sorrow. “…he’s gone…” Antonio was shivering now, keeping to Augustino as some sort of fire to keep him warm. “…he left us the very day of the alignment…he tried so hard…we saw him with unbelievable power face a monster…” he trembled more at the memories, his eyes reddening and watering. “…but nothing worked…nothing is still working…” sobs…and now not even Augustino was laughing, trying to understand what his father was showing, puzzled by these tears. “Cities are crumbling…people only continue to die…and no matter what we do…it’s not enough…nothing is enough…not against those two, not-”

 “…two? What do you mean two?” Louis raised her head, despite the sorrow, the tears that shed from her own eyes, she was determined to know exactly what was going on.

 Antonio was not going to tell her…he moved passed her without a word…it left Renata and Kandake with the straining tale to tell.

  Louis rushed the halls, leaving behind those that were meant to come with her. She took the shaft down, the circling hall, into the room, long free of magical shields. She huffed, her dress was in taters, her face marred in tears, breakage ready to combust. “Feliciano, Ludwig is-”

 “Dead…yes, I know…” Feliciano uttered in a quiet murmur, in his heap, yet refusing to face.

 “You knew…you knew…” she was too breathless to show if she was angered or saddened.

 “From the very moment…” Feliciano opened and closed his hands, perhaps their first movements in days, as if trying to come back to the room from whatever memories he placed himself in. “I felt it…I felt him leave as if he was dying right before me…as if I shared in his final pains…and it is awful…it’s awful to feel like this…he was ripped apart from my very being…and now all I feel is empty…I don’t feel him…I can’t really feel anything…I just…Aces, I can’t deal with this, I feel like nothing.” He released sobs yet again, the same of these weeks, daily, rocking his body in a compulsion. Louis ran forward, worried he was losing his breathing, far worse than whatever current fatigue she held.

 “He was everything…and he has been taken away… and I can’t-I can’t…I can’t even stand…I don’t want to face the world any longer without him.” Louis knew that there were no words, no comforting touch that could ail this crack fit to break the earth. How could she even comfort if she felt the same? She lost a dear grandson, cruelly and leaving behind so much disarray that was tearing apart their world. For once, she said nothing, she only stood and shared with him tears and shedding. They didn’t care for the new steps, for the new joins, to Feliciano nothing meant, he said what this inner void wanted, spreading to his speak and energy.

 “I want to die! I want to die if it means I can join him wherever he is. I can’t deal with this…I can’t with this pain!”

 The words shocked all the new who came, whatever news, plans or perseverance, washed away in the flood of tears that hanged. They knew then that now was not the time for their begs and insistence. There could only be but mourning, a powerful one, unbreakable. And so the group was defeated once again, bowing to this sorrow and letting it reign.

  Still, they could not leave him.

 The group took to refuge in the furthest they could get in this circular room. They prepared their own mats for rest if they felt like it, servants brought them all the meals of the day, they light up their area, dim to Feliciano and they circled themselves in their own conversations.

 “What cities have fallen?” Alfred asked, keeping a map with notes.

 “All of Yakutia is practically gone,” Lili announced, grave that she had to say it.

 “Khaos has made do with Noril’sk and Igarka.”

 “The other one has taken Ust’-Nera and Yagodnoye. Lukas and his men have offered to stay at Magadar and Sokol in order to keep that area. If the second one goes any further from there, it will start to enter Hungary,” Elizabeta trembled, her words yet managing a survive to tell.

 “They’ve only remained in the Club Kingdom?” Louis asked to be sure, the only one wrapped in a blanket, trying to hold down these continuous shivers, hoping desperately it was from the cold of being this bottom in the castle.

 “For now, yes,” Roderich answered.

 “How much longer?” She asked with such brokenness, ready to face a sure death only fated to come to them.

 They all hesitated. Some were confident in their armies, others thought the future bleak, and then they turned to Feliciano…still cradled, sleeping, no expectance.

 “Weeks, months?” Emil estimated.

 “We can’t really be sure.” Kandake kept statured gazes on Feliciano.

 “No matter, we must prepare Berlin for if either approach,” Renata had to insist, already concocting, ready to take from the papers and pens placed on the table.

 So much to do, so much catastrophe to expect, to continue to fight, to make last a barrier that they didn’t know could work fully.

 “How long are we permitted to stay?” Antonio asked with not a bit of his usual life, the only thing moving being the cradle he kept on Augustino’s back, sound asleep.

 “A messenger will come to tell us,” Alfred still kept his attention on the map, trying to figure something out.

 “And what do we do until then?” Emil asked, slightly frustrated and how he wasn’t doing his own aid, mostly not permitted because of his young age.

 “I believe calm and relax…this might be one of the only chances we get,” Elizabeta dreaded to think.

 “How can we do so with our people dying out there?” Antonio was indignant.

 “We still need it…we need to recuperate energy, think of new strategies and magic,” Roderich stood and began a pace.

 “…and talk to Feliciano,” Renata reminded, nothing of her usual charm on her.

 Chatter was dropped, the reminder a menace, a bomb ticking, sitting right behind them, comfortable at rest despite surely all the hidden turmoil.

 “…he is not well…and he won’t be for a while,” Lili wanted to make them realize, worried for the Queen’s wellbeing as the rest. “We can’t keep him in mind for whatever plans we have next.”

 “He’s exactly what we need to kill these things,” Emil pointed, trying to contain the anger, not wanting to awaken him.

 “He won’t this way,” Lili continued the discussion.

 “So we are to leave our world slowly get destroyed while he just lays in bed and does nothing.”

 “Emil, even if he were to awaken and decide to go fight, it won’t be enough,” Antonio came in.

 “He lost the alignment,” Lili managed her speech still.

 “Not just the power he was supposed to be granted, but he lost Ludwig, his husband and king. They were united in a tight bond with magic and spirit that is far from what you can understand,” Elizabeta spoke, from knowledge as Queen herself. She spared a glance to Roderich, dreading if something was to happen to either…and they had to suffer that abyss as well. “His current mental state is a sickness that is debilitating everything in his body, including his magic, no matter how powerful.”

 They all gazed together to the sleeping figure, only moving in breaths.

 “…it could be deadly to himself if we are not to watch,” Roderich reminded, trembling, fearful for Feliciano.

 Those words made all kept a heavier eye on the sleeping Queen, afraid that any miss would get him to slip away from their grasp.

 “As Lili said…we cannot depend on him for whatever happens next,” Elizabeta had to decree no matter how harsh.

 “But the prophecy,” Renata tried to defend, begging.

 “It’s useless,” Alfred joined.

 “We do everything ourselves then…” Emil dreaded.

 Silence settled, hoping for a new idea, hoping for a new chance to alight to them, but the room continued to be dark, continued to haunt. As a distraction…anything but to not look at her son’s sure crippling, even if he was asleep, Renata gazed about all the items in the room. The old candelabras, the weathered curtains, broken pillars, dented walls, the old paintings of past Queens who had birthed in this room. Her gaze settled the longest on one that was claimed to be Augusta with her own two sons, her own great grandparents. She looked so different here from what Feliciano had described when he saw her mural, nothing like a Valenti, nothing like family. She had to remind herself that this was but one of many depictions...long after the last war.

 “Augusta…when she lost Romulus was in the same misery…” Elizabeta told once again, seeing where Renata’s eyes lay.

 Alfred scoffed, “and it took her decades to get over it, all the while the war worsening around them.”

 They shivered if that were to be the repeat.

 “…but she did eventually go to fight,” Roderich reminded, “she did eventually defeat Khaos.”

 “I prefer we didn’t have to wait decades though,” Antonio said.

 “What was it that even pushed Augusta to fight in the end?” Alfred asked.

 “One of her sons decided to go and join the war himself. She wouldn’t stand losing another loved one,” Elizabeta said.

 The jewels of bearing were clearly visible from their sitting, a few vines growing more into his arms, but not a covering yet, the frontal jewel that was supposed to be on his forehead not present.

 They all sighed, it was fruitless.

  The days went on as this, the same pace, frustrations, topics, planning…and they could only come out with more defensive strategies and attacks that would be small and useless, they knew. Reports came in of the battle… Russia was crumbling, a specific message from Tulio mentioned that they had to send dispatches to the Amazonian region of Clubs as Khaos was making fast approach. They panicked to know that if the Amazon fell…it meant it could start going into the Spades Kingdom. They did not want to look at the death numbers, they trembled and cried at the insistence for new supplies, new weapons, new ideas. Abasi called for more Whiteans to come from hiding and join the battle, Tino wrote on the dwindling amount of flight boats they had, how he was losing men and plans to return to Hearts Kingdom to defend it…in the very likely case that Khaos or the other reached. Lovino was the only one who wrote still at the very front, his letters hurried and almost unintelligible at the sure speed or shake he kept. He begged for Feliciano. there was blood and tears on this parchment. He wrote on how they were sending back Vincenzo, as he had suffered an awful incineration that needed instant attention and away from the burnings of war.

 ‘He has marks that disfigure him all throughout, and I know no magic will never heal it’

 These words broke Renata, she succumbed to screams and kneeling, hitting the ground, cursing loud and deep for surely the whole castle to hear. She called for vengeance, that no matter her stature, they will find a way to make Khaos and the other pay.

 Destro, some wrote they were beginning to call him, and to have a name they took it, a mention in those rooms that brought darkness, desperation and acceptive defeat.

 Those in the Heartian castle went to-and-fro trying to find all kinds of answers for all these messages, yet no clear answer ever came, it was only a continuous block that kept them stuck in this repetition of actions that were already useless. Another message came calling most of them back to battle, others to come in their place. Only Kandake, Renata, Elizabeta and Lili were told to stay. They heavily disagreed, but they thought it best for Feliciano to be surrounded by people close to him, perhaps other Queens, to fight this very curse he found himself in. They held still to that piece of hope, one they thought could burn more brightly if they kindled it.

 That morning, while the others packed and did what they could to prepare, Kandake stayed with Feliciano, the both of them alone, of the rare moments Feliciano had gotten to be in silence. No other voices, no steps, no new stresses and turmoil of the world above. He could be numb, he could think of nothing and feel blank…only but the strokes Kandake gave on his arm, calming, soothing…but checking. She traced the new vines that grew, now some edge with a pure gold, never seen to her as bearing marks. She stayed longer on them admiring their beautiful shine. The jewels on his hands were perfectly formed, more protruding this time, but there was nothing else, a slow process, enough to say that perhaps these twins could be born much later than the expected. She suddenly moved his bangs to stare into his forehead. No jewel yet, only some hazed red vines at the very edges of the crown of his hair.

 “Your children are fine,” she told him, now beginning a caress between his soft curls. “It’s slow compared to most. You’ll probably be bearing for twelve months, but it’s nothing to worry about. Still can’t get a gender if you’re curious.”

 Feliciano responded in the nothing she had been used to the last days, only a late nod, slow, quickly back to the stillness of a painting.

 “You probably already heard, but, Antonio, Emil, Roderich and Alfred are heading back to battle…Aldrich is thinking of joining…Louis might follow right behind him.”

 Feliciano only showed a grip and a loosening of his hands. Kandake continued…trying…something…

 “They might go and join Gilbert and Monika. I know Antonio will replace Lovino at the front in the Amazon, Roderich will go with him. Emil will join my people…he figured if we combined our flight tactics, things could become sufficient. Alfred will go back to his own kingdom and prepare a defense…as well as for plans if they must evacuate…”

 Feliciano blinked, each flicker more saddened.

 “…Arthur will come here to Berlin…your brother, Kiku and Herakles too.” Kandake let the silence elongate, knowing no other words would bring a spell of life to him.

 “Why?” He suddenly pierced, his first word in days.

 “To be with you…”

 “…it won’t do anyone good…”

 “They are still coming…”

 Silence continued once again, Feliciano slowly accepting and responding more to her caresses, settling in her hands, a color slowly enveloping him.

 “…I know they’re coming to try and get me out of this…”

 “Feliciano, we understand that what you’re going through is hard, unimaginable and we have no right to demand anything from you right now. The rest of us are in our own mourning, weakened ourselves, but we want to believe in being together, in being there for one another.”

 He eased, there was a far echo of excitement, not strong enough to shine in its place on Feliciano, but Kandake felt like she could see it on a distance.

 “…we should all be out there…including myself.”

 “Then why not? Why not go out there?” Kandake was threading thin ice, but she was determined to test it.

 “…my power is not what it could be anymore…and I still feel so…empty and weak…it hurts to even breathe right now…” Internally he tried that constant reach again, nothing yet, Ludwig was gone, as he had been accustomed to discovering each time. “Even with all of you in the castle…even with all of you right here in this very room, I still feel so alone, so distant, unreachable to any of you…even right now you seem so far away…”

 Kandake halted, like coming to a realization that she had been caressing a ghost, transparent and disappearing. Yet, as she reached again, her fingers for sure met those curls, they scratched on his skull, she noticed every blink, every breath, every rise…he was there.

 “But I am here…I can assure you that, and I will be for as long as I can remain by your side…we all are.” She gazed up, as if with it she could call them all here to prove it. “Feliciano…we would never dare leave you alone, especially now. I would like for you to at least fight with that part of you that dare suggests such a thing. If you can’t see it, if you can’t feel it, we will do what we can to show it. That’s what were here for, to assure you of our loyalties, hopes and chances.” She almost wept at that desperation in the fragility of all. “Feliciano, we still wat to believe in the future, we want to believe in you, and no matter what it takes or how long, we will be here to help when it’s time to stand.”

 There were constant grips in his hands, reaching the ever closer to her, to truly feeling her there.

 “We have all grown vengeful…I also wish to be out there and do what I can in the honor of Pisa…and so many now want to on Ludwig’s name.”

 More breaths, more color came to him.

 “I want to be out there to regain the Kingdoms once again, to stop this time from an entire kingdom falling as mine had done…but my loyalty to you, my dreams of seeing a Valenti finish the menace as another had done, weights before all else. I want my own vengeance fulfill in your glory as it was promised…and I’m sure I’m not the only one.”

 The duty, the expectation… the fears of it all that had haunted, that had plagued…

 In the last instants before the battles started, he grew that courage to be in his place, to face and fight. He was giddy, confident, there was a time he was already celebrating…but now it was like meeting the challenge all over again, trembling and falling at its door. Once again, he doubted, he denied…he was never to be what any of the kingdoms ever expected from him.

 There was a time he would do it all for Ludwig, and only for him, but as his eyes caught the glimmer of red from his hand...

 “You have your children now,” Kandake reminded. “You still have the chance to give them a life without war. I know it’s what you want now above all…and it’s what Ludwig would have wanted as well.”

 And for once…it was almost like he could see him clearly, leaning beside him on the bed, joining Kandake’s caresses, smiling and telling him to be brave, that they could do this. Feliciano’s lips trembled in a slight grin, reaching and hoping he could touch him…but after all, it was just a memory, an image from his mind that could never come alive.

 “There has to be an answer…there has to be something…and I’m sure we can find it together. Despite everything, you are still the prophesied one that has to end it all.”

 Feliciano reverted back to his silence, like Kandake had not uttered such words…back to the beginning.

 “Miss…” a young servant came, bowing before both. Kandake answered with her own, but Feliciano continued ignoring any new presence. “They are about to leave and would like your presence for their farewell.”

 She nodded, “right away.”

 He hurriedly left, while Kandake sighed and prepared words to tell them.

 “I’ll be back,” she stood and although Feliciano shivered at her miss, he did nothing else, only Pookie, who had been nuzzling on his back, raised and gave a curious flight as to where she was going. He still returned, he still knew he had to stay with his master at this time. He cuddled back to the usual it had become.

 Prophecies, prophecies, prophecies…if they could have written everything…every step, every direction the outcomes will pave. A clear way that any chosen could follow, and everything could be fulfilled as it was wished by the heavens. Feliciano didn’t have this booklet, this book, this divine mapping in the sky…only but a little St. Mark currently cuddling into his back and whatever will he held. He sighed, wishing to know what to do, how to start…how to even stand from this bed. And when he did…what then? What strategy? What plan? What magic? They had used every new thing they learned from the books they brought, their most powerful weapons, spells…the other that could have done something to stop this…was killed.

 The harsh reminder that always had Feliciano turning back to the pillow or the blankets to shed his tears, grip and shake in the thunder of this pain again. But the thunder this time, refused to engulf the jewels, for they called louder, they made a proclamation that alighted Feliciano in a new sense.

 His children…the little ones…they would be all, they would be this world, this kingdom, Feliciano… and Ludwig.…Ludwig…he suddenly sat…as if he alighted that moment for him to run and embrace.

 The room was as empty as always, Pookie startled and looking about, wondering what could have caused Feliciano’s first raise in weeks.

 No…he was not there…but as he soothed his fingers on the jewels…he could finally feel…almost even see, these specks of magic…of life, of creation. Some were of his…with the potent of gods and a power that was Queen in the universe, and then the others…Ludwig. A line showed powerful even if not at the wealth of gods. It was of Kings, of ruling and leadership to bring forward all the kingdoms in one. Ludwig was there…Ludwig was involved in that growing magic that would one day bring their children. He will live through them, he would be alive in their magic, forever then in a new line that would be their own together.

 “Ludwig…” he whispered, as if meeting him again that instant.

 “Your children will be their own life, their own paths and power…” something rung, deep within him, yet releasing and surrounding him. “…but Ludwig is there…” She seemed to whisper. “He will always be with you…as will I.” Feliciano hummed in delight at his great grandmother’s embrace and kiss. “They will all be here…you are here. You have the ability to stand and act.” With whatever magic or even wind, she caressed his face. “Do not as I did, where I waited decades before I knew I could defeat Khaos. It is still the beginning, you still have a great chance to save many and be the hero I knew my lineage would bring. Avenge your beloved. For him, your family and your kingdom, bring glory…” her breaths were slowly dispersing, she was disintegrating, leaving away to his inner depths, but he reached out, refusing her farewell yet.

 “But how…how can I do this now?” He begged, yet so fragile and small.

 Augusta smiled, knowing that beneath it, there was a winged lion with a menacing roar. His very own, Pookie, seemed to stare right at her, curious, wondering, reaching ever closer to see if he could earn friendship from this vision.

 “I believe Pookie can help you.” Like a playful child, she chuckled, gone in that last grin.

 Silence reigned in the room again…nothing at all coming back as Feliciano desperately hoped, looking at every corner as if she could materialize through these places again.

 No…he was alone…with Pookie…who according to her word…could help.

 He stared with great suspicion at him, as if expecting him to speak and defend himself from his crime.

 “Have we…shared absolutely everything to one another?” He asked the little creature, with big question and innocence in his big eyes.

 Feliciano sighed, finding himself in hopelessness yet again.

 Something about that exchange brought a sudden reminder to the lion, a jump, a spin, a casting of magic that alighted his frontal jewel. Feliciano had payed no mind to it…until a sudden weight befell on his lap. He was surprised to see a book, adorned in the shine and silvers that were known from those of Khaos’s library.

 “Wha-what…what?” He kept repeating, taking it and rounding it in his hands, exploring every new crevice, every new corner, mend and art…new…and not of the first pile that they had introduced to the castle from when they had returned from the spheres of validity journey.

 “Pookie, did you…have you kept this ever since we were in Khaos’s castle?” He was incredulous, lost in what reaction he should show.

 There was a shake of his head, bashful and blamed, but Feliciano knew it was his admittance to what he asked.

 “Did you…forget to give this to us?"

 Another shake that meant that it was in fact.

 Feliciano groaned, angered with strong menace, but yet…he was merciful, for he knew Pookie, despite a gift from the Aces, was still an animal, with faults as…forgetting that he had one extra book that he had kept in the storage of his magic. He would have been angrier if the book’s tittle was clearly: ‘How to defeat Khaos, a step by step guide.’, but it wasn’t the case. In fact, the book’s title was: ‘The Soul and Spirit Interludes.’ What good will a book about the afterlife and the core of their spirits have? It was the kind of book that Feliciano knew, even if they had it in the first pile, they would have ignored and considered useless, but now, he could recall Augusta’s words… and perhaps…

 He stood, cringing at the sudden force he gave his legs. He had been in bed for weeks and so they cracked and threatened to tumble him to the ground again. He took his time to whale and grimace, forcing them to take their usual rhythm of steps, practiced as he kept a desperate hold to the bed. Once he saw the door, it looked distant, making him dread that he had to push forward, had to take his usual lineage of breaths, run, command, be Queen and face the war.

 He rolled his eyes, cursing whatever new desires for naps, pushing himself past the thresholds, free, controlling. His life was his again.

 He smiled, grandiose and beautiful, Pookie spinning and cuddling in flight with his elation.

 “Come…we have to find everybody.” And for what seemed for the first time in decades, he walked those halls once again, raising his arms and eyes to point at hope and chances.

[alloveroliver]

Evil!Harr, Part 2

harr anon bringing part deux to the table :D again, i LIVE for cradle gothic so there are some elements ahead!

apologies for the lateness too, i actually had an extra 3000 words on this for an epilogue (with some harr/loki/alice content :3c) but i shaved it off to save time/stop rambling. even though this still came out to 5000 words *shrug* for the harr lovers out there, we are so starved for content, its a case of go big or go home!

warning ahead: NS-FW (rated content, yandere vibes from our new overlord silver, sad loki)

please enjoy!

…

By the time Alice wakes, she finds herself beneath a curtain of stars.

Incense sticks burning out around her head, she pushes the heavy bed sheets down the length of her body amidst soft plumes of fragranced smoke. Trailing small wisps of blue and purple in the faint moonlight, she watches as they dissipate overhead, until they fade from sight. Their fumes sting her eyes a little, but perhaps it was getting used to them that bothers her so much.

Harr had suggested they would require a moment to adjust to.

Speaking of…

While her mind had been foggy, there was no doubt she had not gone to bed alone. The duvet is crumpled at her side, stray dark hairs against the pillow…but they are ice cold when her fingers play over the fabric. The tattered robe is no longer on the floor, neither are his shoes, his shirt, his trousers…

Alice shivers as the wind howls through the pillars above her head. It seems so much scarier when she is alone.

Quietly stepping out from beneath the covers, Alice places her bare feet upon the frigid marble floor. It stings to the touch - how long have I been asleep? - and her legs wobble uncomfortably, until she manages to plant her hands over the vanity table beside her and regain some balance. The movements feel slow, almost dream-like in their fluidity, but that only serves to leave Alice trembling even harder.

The ornate pillars are oppressive in their structure, more akin to the bars of a prison cell, with the view of Cradle beneath as a reality too far to reach. The wind clatters new black flags against their poles, etchings of a new order now ruling where Amon once stood, and yet…the unease remains the same.

Personally, she couldn’t quite remember the sequence of events that had led to her coming here. Above all others, held in the Magic Tower’s highest room, as though she were the Cradle equivalent of a very bewildered Rapunzel. No matter how hard she tries, hands balling into fists so tight she almost cuts her palms with her nails, she struggles to make heads or tails of how she found herself slumbering here, without Harr by her side.

 Indeed…where was he?

“Alice? What are you doing out of bed?”

As if summoned by her mere thoughts, he arrives on heavy footsteps, draped in a cloak as dark as a crow’s wing. His crimson eye is wide and glassy, as if shocked by the sight of Alice up and out of her bed. Their bed, she wants to say. But when he never seems to be beside her when she wakes…can she even say that at all?

“I just woke up now,” she replies, though judging by the look of shock Harr gives her, it seems that was enough to have him on edge. “I couldn’t find you when I woke up so I just-”

“Well, I’m here now, dear,” comes the soothing reply, as the sorcerer gently places the tray upon the stand and takes Alice’s hands in his own. The touch is familiar…the scene is familiar…but she finds herself struggling to remember just how. “And there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Afraid? Afraid…of what, exactly? She can’t be sure, but given how Harr is suddenly so skittish, it doesn’t bode well. “Oh…well, I’m glad about that. Then how about we go outside tonight? We could go for a walk, like we used to do.”

“No…no, no, no…Alice, you can’t go out there.” Urgency tinges every word from Harr’s lips, and he almost trips over himself in his haste to gently press his hand against Alice’s lower back.

But she doesn’t budge. Instead, a veil of frost settles in her words. “Harr, talk to me. Please tell me what’s happening.”

“It’s not safe for you right now. I want you to stay here, where I can protect you.”

“From what? What’s out there?”

“The last dregs of Amon’s miserable campaign…I fear they may come to take you from me.”

At those simple words, Alice feels her blood freeze in her veins. Her pale gaze goes wide, waiting for Harr to simply say it was a joke, a joke in such poor taste that it wouldn’t even have been funny.

“My dear, it’s complicated…,” But Harr only sits at the foot of her bed, gently patting the spot beside him for Alice to copy the motion. She smoothes her nightdress and cocks her head as he sighs, as though he is struggling to place his words in a satisfactory manner. “At least let me give you a drink before I start. You must be parched.”

But as Alice reaches out to take the teacup from the tray, Harr takes hold and raises the rim to his lips. He takes a mouthful, a glint of mischief in his eye, and crooks two fingers to beckon her closer.

A small sigh breaks the silence. The bed squeaks as she crawls closer to almost rest on his lap. “Even in these moments, you find the time to tease me.”

When his lips touch hers, the taste is unbelievable. A saccharine sensation, as though his lips had been coated in sugar, floods her taste buds and spills down her throat. The tea is warm and soothing as she drinks from his lips, even as her hands come to gently hold his cheeks, lapping at his lips for more.

Parting for a moment, a light flush tinges his cheeks as he feeds her again. Each kiss lasts longer between mouthfuls of warm tea, until Alice no longer minds the sweetness numbing her tongue, not when it’s chased with such dizzying pleasure.

As the cup runs empty, Harr holds her face with tender hands. “You look so beautiful right now,” he murmurs, tongue running against his lips. The blood beneath her skin, pounding and flushing, tints her face a gorgeous shade of pink. “I don’t want to lose you to the outside. Not when I see you like this.”

“But I know you could protect me,” she counters.

Despite that, Harr only laughs softly and shakes his head. “When Amon fell and I overthrew the Tower, some of his lackeys managed to flee into the forest and into Cradle itself,” he begins, gently taking Alice’s hand in his own. The touch is warm, comforting after so long. “They may be small and they may be few, but the fact that they worked for the Tower is already an issue I cannot let slide. They know you’re here, and I wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving loose ends.”

“And the Red and Black Armies? Would they not be able to help?”

“I have friends in both sides now, but I don’t imagine it would be enough.”

“What would be enough for us, Harr?”

“I don’t know…not yet, at least. I’m afraid I haven’t quite finished making Cradle safe enough for you just yet.” Making Cradle safe? What did he mean by that? “But you only need to wait for me a little longer, when I can finally show you what I’ve been working on.”

Something wants to protest inside her. But…every time the thought was just in grasp…just underneath her claws…it scrambles away into the recesses of her mind. Instead, the sugary tang of Harr’s sweet tea takes its place. A replacement of thoughts, a candied distraction that lured her into silence, perhaps?

Her tongue doesn’t allow her to object to the suspicious words that spill from her lover’s lips. And the conversation moves on.

Harr speaks of the weather and of the world, but doesn’t permit her to see it yet. He weaves light tales of how the Black Army is doing in an era of newly-founded freedom, how the Red Army is coping after the exposure of Amon Jabberwock’s nest of lies. Lancelot Kingsley has a ‘change of heart’, he says, and wishes to abdicate the throne, longing for a better life without the pressures associated with being the King of Hearts. Ray Blackwell remains silent for now, but Harr suspects there are similar motions being made under the cloak of ravens’ wings.

And Alice believes it. She swallows these words as easily as each mouthful of tea.

…

“If the world outside is so dangerous, Harr…am I truly any safer being kept in here?”

Setting down the empty teacup upon the stand, Harr holds his love with a questioning glance. Of course she would be curious - such seems to be the in the blood of every resident from the Land of Reason - but he is already prepared.

He shakes his head at her question. “I can guarantee your safety here, darling. I can’t guarantee it outside these walls. Not until I am sure Amon’s servants are caught.”

“But what if they find me here? All of Cradle knows who I am.”

“And all of Cradle knows who I am. They would be fools to try and take you from my side. As I say, I guarantee your safety.”

“You can…how?”

Alice watches as Harr wraps his cloak around himself, rising from the bed with quiet elegance. “I am the most powerful wizard that has ever existed in Cradle. My life has been devoted to honing my talent into the purest form of sorcery, and my knowledge of the magical arts surpasses all those in the Magic Tower and the armies combined,” He turns to face his love with a knowing grin, as though flaunting his expertise. “When it comes to magic, I believe I can offer my solid word.”

“But does it not drain you? To constantly protect me?”

“Charms and concoctions imbued with magic are not hard to create, especially when I need to defend the one I love. These incense sticks are one such thing,” he murmurs, summoning a small flame on his fingertip to reignite fresh sticks that hang from an owl-shaped dish, and fill the air with perfume. “An ancient herbal formula to hide your presence from those who would hunt you, from those who would hurt you.”

Alice watches with cloudy eyes as he lights more sticks, until the scent has her eyelids growing heavier and her heartbeat slowing. But above her headboard, her fingers find purchase over the woven fabric nailed to the wood, images of animals and figures running over a green field. Crimson dogs and midnight wolves, accompanied by purple-cloaked masters, seem to give chase to a small yellow bird, but never quite in reach.

As hard as she tries, she can’t remember this tapestry. Even the material feels foreign under her palm, no matter how hard she tries to recall. “And this?”

Harr’s smile is gentle, sweeter than before. “Woven with love and magic. No matter what monsters try to chase you, they will never catch you as you sleep with that charm above your bed.”

Of course he would say something so charming. He always had a way of soothing Alice’s worries, and now is no exception. She snuggles under the duvet once more as Harr’s broad chest looms overhead, gently stoking fresh fires in the oil lanterns.

Not enough so she could see the deep red of his eye, however. That was something she didn’t need to notice…not before the incantations took effect.

She didn’t need to know their real purpose. How those incense stocks were to lower her resistance to persuasion, the woven charms to dampen her repelling energies, the elixir she consumed from his lips to stimulate pleasure from her nerves.

In time, of course.

Ignorance is bliss, and it makes Alice’s essence all the more sweeter for consumption.

 …

As the night grows longer, Alice finds her belly growing warm.

Perhaps the tea had helped to raise her temperature, she muses, but it doesn’t feel quite the same. Her chest doesn’t feel as tight as it usually would when she drinks something too hot, and the energy seems to gather in the pit of her stomach, instead of the top. It reminds her of other forms of heat, but she can only flush and shake her head in dismay. As inappropriate she finds it to be, there is little she can do to avoid Harr’s sudden roving eye and piqued interest.

“You’re feeling rather warm, dear,” He places his hand upon Alice’s forehead, soon followed by his own. The vivid scarlet of his eye is mesmerizing, and Alice finds herself subtly shifting her position to accommodate how sticky she is suddenly feeling. He breathes in, deep and even, eye fluttering closed. “And your heart…it’s racing in your chest.”

“I don’t…I don’t know what’s come over me,” Alice finds herself panting at every little touch that the wizard casts upon her, and she scolds herself for how lustful she has become in his presence. “I feel so…hot, I…,” But the sensations aren’t unwelcome, and as Harr gently rests his palm over her left breast, inhibition flees her as her breath gives way to a plaintive mewl. “Oh, Harr…”

Harr’s eye widens for a heartbeat, but the flush on his face matches the hunger in his gaze. “Perhaps it has been too long. I’ve been neglecting you, haven’t I?”

“Harr, I…oh, my dear, I need-”

The air seems to fill with the scent of flowers, sweet and fragrant, and Alice begins to wonder why her head feels like its spinning. Similar to her first tumble into Cradle, the crystal lights and burning candles glitter and fragment before her eyes and a single glint of scarlet draws her in like a moth to the flame. Harr’s breath quickens - she almost swears blind that she can hear him purring - and it is with a sigh that she tumbles into his warm embrace. Into his arms she lands, where he waits with a deceptively rough kiss.

“My dear Alice…do you want me?”

Breathless and heavy-lidded, she croons. “…Yes.”

This is rather unlike how he used to be. Harr was a gentle lover at first, sweet and soft as could be. But oh, it would have been a lie to say that a little spice wasn’t welcome right now. Because every time Alice rubs her thighs together, runs her fingers over Harr’s broad shoulders, the heat in the pit of her belly grows warmer, roars louder through her veins until her heart feels ready to burst out of her ribcage.

Unbeknownst to her, Harr almost salivates at that very thought.

“Feeling good?” he asks between kisses, one hand trailing down to rest upon the folds of her nightdress, crumpled up and barely obscuring her underwear. Alice nods and chews her lip, if only to suppress her whimpers. “And how about…here?” Another nod, and the rush of validation to his ego is purely delightful.

Harr presses his fingers down against the soft material and rubs small circles through it. Given how Alice squeaks and whines under his ministrations, even as he only stimulates her folds through her undergarments, he preens himself knowing how easily she surrenders to him. Even now, she soaks through the white fabric, dampening his fingers and matching her breathy moans with faint wet noises.

The scent is intoxicating. He knows the taste will be even more so.

“Let me make you feel even better.”

His path down the length of her torso makes a brief stop at her heaving chest, where her breasts perk even through the material of her gown. Harr gently laps at the first with his tongue, rubbing the second between two fingers until both stiffen and Alice keens against him. The fabric grows cold as he lifts his mouth away, and the sensation against bare flesh makes his lover squirm.

Kisses to the exposed skin work even better, and he lavishes both with licks and sucks, all while skilled fingers continue to press and curl at her lower lips. Alice finds her body rocking harder into the actions of its own accord, following the motions as though this were a dance she was well-versed in already, and Harr greedily welcomes the movement. She was so close to her peak already, and with barely any effort? He takes great pride in knowing her body like the back of his hand.

And so he permits himself a satisfied grin as he moves to the apex of her thighs, knowing that as the wet material slides down her legs to bunch at her ankles, he can play her like a fiddle, her pleasure entirely at his bidding.

“Hold still for me, darling. Let me taste you.”

When the first lap of his tongue reaches her core, Alice chokes on her own breath. He is ravenous in his actions, tongue and lips licking, sucking, reaching every inch of her that he possibly could.

As predicted, her essence is heavenly. Harr can’t contain each little grunt and moan as he kisses here, bites there, lets himself get absolutely lost in the heady stimulation of his every sense. Alice’s cries are the sweetest music to his ears, her nails scraping his scalp a delicious kick that makes him groan louder against her flesh. Harder, faster, he sucks at her nub and plunges his tongue and fingers, all while she can barely string together a coherent sentence above him.

With surprising speed, Alice finds herself shuddering under the force of her orgasm, teeth clenched to hold back the shriek of surprised ecstasy. The constant coaxing of her chest and neck had left her pliant and ready, until the heat in her lower stomach could no longer handle the sorcerer’s wicked mouth and hands. Her own palms raised to muffle her cries, Alice rides out the waves with drunken satisfaction.

But Harr feels her muscles contract around his fingers, thighs squeezing the sides of his head as Alice rolls her hips into his mouth to prolong her climax, and he knows that he is doing well. It’s a small victory, knowing he had total domination over her pleasure, but it greatly strokes his ego to know that as she moans and begs for only him. And that no other man will ever know such sweetness.

Harr raises his head from between Alice’s legs, tongue swiping hungrily at every trace of her that may have remained. Such a sinful tongue, she muses, but gives no protest as he crawls up the length of her body, tangling it with her own in a bruising kiss. She tastes herself in his mouth, along with hints of magic and blood. A bitter tang, her clouded brain remarks, but remains unable to voice how her palate judges it.

The thin fabric of the nightdress is ripped easily between frantic hands, baring her torso beneath him. In her muddled thoughts, she doesn’t protest, other than to stare into that hungry scarlet eye, watching how he almost growls at the prospect of devouring her. His voice is deep and beautiful, an edge of danger that clenches the muscles of her belly with ardent want. Bare beneath him, a beast chained only by a thread, her breath catches between something akin to a cry and a moan.

Outlined by the presence of the moon, his silver form looms overhead. Bare as the day he was born, hot and heavy between his legs; he takes himself in hand and presses his head between her slick folds. Alice’s muddied thoughts only amplify the pleasure, and she simply falls back into the sheets, lips parted as her lover moves to embrace her ever closer.

“Let me have you, my dear. Every inch of you. Show you how much I love you.”

As he sheathes himself within her, the tightness of her stomach unravels in seconds.

“H-Harr, wait, I–!”

Already over stimulated, Alice jerks and jolts beneath him at the brusque intrusion, torn apart by the strength of yet another climax. But Harr pays it little heed, only smiling with clear satisfaction that he was the one to bring his lover to her peak in such a fashion. Saliva dripping down her chin, eyes unfocused and bleary, chest heaving amid shreds of her negligee…she is a picture of decadence and debauchery, and it drives him forward with a fanged grin and a snap of his hips.

“Already, my dear?” he croons, taking a handful of her beautiful golden locks and bringing her face closer. The kiss he gives is burning to the touch; searing every inch of passion he can muster into the promise that this was only the beginning. “Then you’ll definitely enjoy this.”

The coupling is frenzied, a pair of wild animals caught in the depths of unbearable heat. Alice finds herself dragged and draped like a doll all across the length of her bed, and even beyond that. A shameful look crosses her beautiful face as she glances back at Harr over the shoulder, hips raised high as he takes her from behind with powerful thrusts. But such innocent expressions of guilt, knowing what they do is wrong, only serves to stir the beast in his belly; he bites down hard into her nape, pushing her forward and snapping his hips faster into her warmth.

The nausea is briefly chased away by the sheer pleasure building, as Harr seems to push himself deeper into her guts.

On all fours like an animal, Alice cries out as her thighs begin to quiver once again, the telltale knotting of her stomach indicating she is not far from another orgasm. And yet behind her, the sorcerer continues to pound into her like a man possessed. His dark hair fans over his face, his one red eye feral as sweat drips from his brow and runs his rivulets down the column of his throat. The power he must be exerting is dizzying to imagine; Alice doesn’t have to imagine hard as Harr suddenly slams his length deeper, her core pulsing and dripping around him.

When had he accrued such stamina? Where had he found such power? Alice wants to entertain the thoughts, but finds her legs rend wide as he flips her over, teeth latched in her throat.

His hands knead her breasts, grasp her hips, pull her hair…his savagery knows no bounds as he fucks her. There is no other word for it. And despite the brutality with which he claims her, Alice cannot find herself complaining at all.

“Mine…you’re mine, aren’t you…my dear,” he groans, a brief moment of lucidity as he rolls his hips into her tight warmth. “Waiting here for me, my little darling…”

The bite aches as he pulls his teeth away, and Alice swears she can feel something hot dripping from the wound. But her mind is reduced to primitive thoughts by their aggressive style of play, more akin to wild mating than the tender love-making they once had.

Yet she still pushes herself into his thrusts, screams his name, coaxes him onward. “Yes, Harr, yes! Yours!”

“Only me…only for me,” he huffs between each powerful roll of his hips, almost jerking Alice up the bed in his urgency. His stomach is tightening, the muscles taut and outlined as she runs her hands over his sides, his back, his arms, everywhere she can reach. “Mine, mine, mine.”

They fall together over the edge in a cacophony. Alice caterwauls at the top of her lungs when Harr’s slender fingers jolt and rub her nerves as he pistons into her, never letting up as she crumbles beneath him into a disordered, screaming mess. She rakes her nails down his shoulder as the floorboards threaten to splinter, his guttural roar filling her ears when each thrust suddenly warms her insides with hot stickiness. He twitches, pulses, thick and wet, all kinds of words of worship spilling from his mouth as he proceeds to fill her.

The stimulation is too much…the heat is too much for her body to take, and Alice sinks into sweet oblivion. Guided by the warm hands of her lover, lain against sweat-coated pillows as willowy fingers card through her hair and over her scalp. The gentle touch burns so sweetly, a numbing fire that tingles with an edge of magic; just enough to make her eyelids grow heavy and the strength leave her muscles.

But before sleep claims her, a lullaby of ragged panting guides her there. Hot breaths fan her neck as that sinful tongue licks over her marks, with only his husky words breaking the silence.

“My sweetheart…my dear…mine.”

 …

As Alice slides into blissful numbness once more, Harr slithers up the length of her torso, only to gently card his fingers through her golden hair. The sweat begins to dry from the tips, but around her face remains a halo of strands, a stark contrast to the fading rouge of her glowing cheeks.

The time was right, her magical energy at its purest form.

He harvests what he can, the lock of hair and fresh blood safely stowed in vials for later refinement. Her sweat, her tears, her saliva, all was ripe for the taking, still seeming to crackle with traces of magic. In his heightened state of magical being, the very flow of Cradle’s universe lays itself before him, and Alice was no exception. A very different energy, yes, but one that no doubt piques the attention of the green-eyed monster that now wore his skin.

Because if he could see her potential…someone else could.

Harr knows this girl is more precious than Amon could ever have imagined. A breed from another world entirely, she was the key to his domination over Cradle.

And in her veins, the power to repel the very force that dictated his every move. She whimpers and bends to his every whim now, but to imagine how she would be sitting beside him…regal, perfect, the purest incarnation of azoth and his beloved queen.

And even better…she loves him.

A throaty purr rumbles deep within Harr’s core. “How about we dance again, my dear?” he asks, a voice as sweet and thick as molasses. His hand slides down to rest just below her navel, only to press into the soft flesh and elicit the smallest of twitches. “It’s been a long while since we indulged, and I wish to get my fill of you.”

At the most subtle of persuasions, Alice parts her thighs, still sticky, and gently flexes her spine to expose her chest. Littered with bites that the elixir refused her to feel, she looks ravished beyond compare, yet still willing and waiting for even more.

He dips his fingers into her heat with tenderness, eye trained upon the delicate expressions that run over Alice’s face. Calloused fingertips rub and curl in all the right places, lubricated by his own seed, pushing it deeper inside and swirling it around. She sighs and bucks into his touch, before an inviting smile carves over her sweet lips.

There would be plenty of time for more when they ruled Cradle side by side, when Harr could allow her to step from the birdcage in the safe knowledge he had her still in his grasp.

So as he kisses a trail down between her thighs, he allows himself another small taste of her heaven, just for now.

 …

Loki jerks his head up as he hears footsteps trailing from the entrance to the staircase. They’re light and tentative - only one person had such a gait - and the young man can’t help but gasp.

If she was awake, if she was aware…what would she say of the madness Cradle had become?

But a stronger stride soon matches those steps, and he knows that Harr will have intercepted Alice before she could have even made it past the doorframe. They had this tango many a time, some of which he had been privy to through the crack in the doorway, but it was always the same.

Ever so charming, Harr would coax his lover back to their bed with a pretty little set of lies, wrapped up neatly with Amon’s dead servants as a phantom to scare her into staying, before sating his desires with Alice’s body until she was ready to slumber once again.

The cycle never ends. The snake never stops eating its own tail.

…It’s too much.

He lies down upon the marble, the wind fanning his wild locks and filling his ears with ghostly howls. It’s a cruel and unusual punishment he inflicts upon himself, to subject himself to the sounds of the distant storm, but it seems only fair. A reminder of where he came from, the sheer despair that had once yawned painfully in the depths of his soul, now acting as his comforter for the long and lonely nights.

The humorous side might have been subjective, but the ironic side was downright cruel.

Cold marble robs him of feeling as he hears Alice’s voice from the mouth of the staircase, breathless and pleading, crying out for her lovesick captor. She simpers, she howls, she croons…a voice like the wind which carries it.

Harr responds in kind to Alice’s beautiful voice, though he cannot make out the words. If she is the wind, he is the thunder; a dangerous growl that makes the younger’s skin crawl.

…And alongside their duet, the rhythmic creaking of wooden posts against a tiled floor.

It almost seems like forever before Alice’s caterwauls finally settle down into sleepy murmurs and airy laughter. But thankfully, the silence passes much faster, and Loki distracts himself with thoughts of yesterday, of when he didn’t need to fear his only true friend snapping and tearing his organs from his chest, or constantly have the gnawing loneliness left behind by one of the few good people left in this world being completely and utterly ravaged, torn apart by the fantasies of a twisted lovesick monster.

Was it a bad thing to cry now?

Knowing he had been complicit in this awful descent into insanity?

Loki instead squeezes his throat tight, fighting the urge to throw up.

[alydiarackham]

(Cover by me)

Scales: A Fresh Telling of Beauty and the Beast by Alydia Rackham

Chapter One

“Once Upon A Time”

“Snakes!”

The shriek ripped down a wide stone corridor near the kitchens of Tirincashel, followed by the battering of fleeing footsteps. Eleanora threw herself back against the wall as Hattie, a plump kitchen maid, barreled past her, skirts hiked up in her thick hands.

“Run, Princess Ele!” Hattie puffed, her face red, her eyes wide, her bonnet askew. “There are snakes in the larder!”

“What?” Eleanora called after her. “What kind of snakes?”

“Blue asps!” Hattie shouted back, her voice pitching to a screech. “Dozens and dozens of them!” Her words dissolved into a trailing howl as she rounded the corner to sound the castle-wide alarm. Eleanora frowned, watching her, then gathered up her long green skirt and trotted down the hall in the exact direction Hattie had come from.

A winsome, slender fourteen, Princess Ele made little sound as she darted across the worn gray stones, through the alternate light and shadow

created by the line of tall windows to her left. The scent of lavender washed past her face. Her long black hair flagged out behind her as she hurried faster, listening. She swung around the corner to her right and hopped down a short staircase, then darted onward, past the rustling torches.

Up ahead, light shone from a doorway—and clanging, crashing and shouting rang out to meet her.

“Get back, get back, Ailse! You’re in the way!” a rough voice ordered—Ele recognized it as Pather’s, one of her father’s huntsmen.

“Sorry!” Ailse stammered, and stumbled backward into the hallway, almost tripping on her long skirt. The young, thin woman wore the plain white-and-tan cotton clothes and cap of a kitchen maid, and her eyes had widened with panic.

Ele’s feet pounded now, and Ailse jerked around and caught sight of her.

“Princess, you mustn’t come any closer!” she cried, throwing out her hands to stop her.

“I want to see!” Ele insisted, grabbing the doorframe of the larder and swinging around it—

Pather, a short, thick, dark-bearded man in softened leather, stood with his back to her, facing the hung baskets of onions, apples and herbs, his attention bent toward the feet of the wine casks that neatly lined the dirt floor. In his left hand he held a short club, and in the other, a gleaming hatchet.

Hssssssss…!

Ele’s blood ran cold as the sound shivered through the air. And at last, her attention caught on the writhing tangle near Pather’s feet.

Four asps, flowing like ink, wound and wended around each other, their scales twinkling in the lamplight, seeming to change hue even as they moved—from deepest midnight, to the ripple of the ocean at noon, to a shimmering silver.

But their eyes glowed red, like low embers, and their flickering tongues looked like needles of obsidian.

“You women need to get back,” Pather warned, adjusting his grip on his hatchet. “I don’t want—”

One of the snakes reared up.

It suddenly lifted half its body to waist height, and its neck flared with

silver spines. Its eyes blazed like fire, and its jaw spat open, revealing long, black fangs.

Pather swung his hatchet.

He struck the snake down and his blade connected with the ground—the snake’s head lopped off.

Ele slapped her hands over her mouth as her heart gave a painful pang—

“Don’t kill them!”

The other snakes exploded with snapping, hissing with the fury of bees. Pather ignored her—

And cut them all to pieces.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Their blood splattered across the casks.

The room fell silent. Pather, panting, righted himself, and hefted his weapon. He turned around, and glanced at Ele, then at Ailse. Sweat ran down his pale face.

“Are the two of you all right?”

Ele didn’t answer. She stared at the shreds of dead animal lying strewn behind him.

“I’m…I’m all right,” Ailse replied faintly. “Thank you, Pather…”

Pather’s heavy brow frowned, and his attention sharpened.

“Ailse, you look white.”

Ele turned to look at her…

Just as the young woman’s skin turned ash-gray, and she collapsed.

“No, no, no!” Pather cried, throwing down his club and hatchet and leaping forward. He clumsily caught her, and the two of them fell to the ground. Ele leaped back and hit the doorframe.

“She’s been stung!” Pather cursed as he hastily laid Ailse down and frantically began feeling all over her arms. Finding nothing, he then tossed the hem of her skirt aside…

To reveal a silver spine stuck through the skin of her ankle. A spine that oozed dark purple liquid.

Pather went still, staring at it.

Then, slowly, he covered his face with his hand.

  A day later, Ailse died. She never regained consciousness after she collapsed in the hall. And as her family, friends, and the royal household watched, her skin turned from ash to gray, to the tone of stone, and at last her heart stopped. She was given a kindly burial by the king, for she had been a cheerful and helpful maid for five years.

Ele’s heart ached. And in the span of that day, she had ceased to feel any sympathy at all for those wicked blue asps, or any other creatures of like kind.

 Chapter Two

“There Lived A Minstrel”

Seven Years Later

 “No, you can’t wear that dress,” Oralia snapped, tossing her long, golden curls as she snatched the scarlet-and-silver gown out of Ele’s hands. She lifted her chin and her sky-blue eyes flashed before she spun around and marched back to her four-poster bed, which was covered in fluffy white pillows and comforters. “You have black eyes and black hair and not a pinch of color in your face,” Oralia went on in her swift, bird-like tone. “You would look like death. Even worse than you look right now, in that sack.”

Ele glanced down at her long-sleeved, loose-fitted beige dress and cream apron.

“Do you expect me to garden in a ball gown?” she asked as she folded her arms, sure to use her low, smooth voice to make her sound even older than her sister—though she only exceeded her by one year.

“You shouldn’t be gardening at all,” Oralia declared. “You’ll be dirty and smelly and brown and your hands will get rough—no one will want to marry you.”

“You really oughtn’t order me around,” Ele answered, a hint of warning in her tone. “It’s my dress and my birthday—I should to be able to wear what I want.”  

“No,” Oralia shot back, ignoring the warning. “I’ve told you—I am planning everything. Including what you’re wearing.”

Ele considered an answer, then bit her tongue and sank down in a short chair near Oralia’s wardrobe, watching the shorter, blonde girl rush and fuss through her lavishly-decorated chambers, tossing dresses, undergarments and jewelry onto her bed.

Oralia was beautiful. She had a charming, glowing face, a lovely figure, and cascading golden hair that was the envy of every woman in the realm. And her eyes constantly sparkled, she had long, black lashes, dark eyebrows, and an elegant, effortless way of moving that almost looked like dancing. She also used a bright, endearing tone of speech with the servants, subjects, and their parents—a tone that Ele never heard when the two of them were alone together.

“I think the tapestries are a bit much,” Ele remarked, resting her elbow on the armrest and her chin on her hand. “I can’t see the walls.”

“The tapestries are gorgeous,” Oralia answered.

“Yes, but you have all of them, now,” Ele said. “Did you leave any in Mother’s room?”

“Mother doesn’t need them,” Oralia retorted. “She said so herself.”

“You have six lamps in here, too,” Ele observed. “And the gold mantel lions from Papa’s old chambers…”

“Listen,” Oralia huffed, straightening and facing her. “I like pretty things. I like pretty things all around me. And I especially like pretty things that other people aren’t properly appreciating!”

Ele watched her for a moment, a low pain traveling down through her chest.

“Is that what you thought of Roderick?” she asked quietly. “That I wasn’t properly appreciating him?”

“Tosh,” Oralia waved her off and straightened a bright pink frock. “He and I are not even close to betrothed. You can certainly have him back if you like.”

“Perhaps I would,” Ele murmured, not taking her eyes from her sister. “If he would even look at me.”

“Ha! Well, perhaps he will tonight,” Oralia said lightly. “I’m going to be paying my attentions to the new bard we hired—you remember, the one I heard at the fair and made Papa call to court?”

Ele’s brow furrowed.

“No…”

“Amberian, Master of Lute and Song!” Oralia sang the name, scooped up a dress and pressed it to her heart. “Though—everyone calls him Amber. Not sure why. They say he looks like it, but I have no idea what that means.” She sighed and gave Ele a dreamy look. “Wait until you hear him sing, Ele. You’ve never heard anything like it in your life. And people say he can compose songs right upon the instant, if you give him a line and a subject.” She twirled around, and the frilly skirt flared out around her. “I fell quite in love with him at the fair. Tonight, I’m going to have him write a song about me.”

“Oh, good,” Ele sat back in her chair. “Just what I wanted for my birthday.”

Oralia giggled and stopped spinning.

“Your birthday present is your new dress!” she said.

“My new dress?” Ele asked, surprised. “It’s finished?”

Oralia gave her a sly look.

“It’s just been delivered to your room.”

Ele sat up straight, then looked at Oralia sideways. But Oralia just grinned and twirled again. Ele hesitated, then got to her feet and hurried out of the room, hearing her sister laugh behind her.

  “Oralia hates me.”

“What?! What makes you think that?”

“Look at what she’s given me to wear to the feast.” Ele held up the dress she had found waiting for her on her own bed: a bright orange gown with large ruffles all down the front of the skirt. It had not been wrapped, hung or folded.

“It…doesn’t have sleeves,” Ele’s mother—a tall, chestnut-haired, beautiful

woman with striking green eyes—raised an eyebrow and put her hands on her hips. “She said she was finished making it...”

“She did not make it,” Ele countered, tossing the dress down on her emerald bedclothes. “She got it from the trolls.”

“I might believe that,” her mother replied, sighing and fingering the skirt of the orange dress. “If trolls wore clothes.”

Ele sighed as well and ran her hand absently down through her own long hair, studying her mother’s winsome, brown-clad figure. Ele frowned.

“How do you braid your hair like that?”

“Four strands,” her mother answered absently, pushing her own long, thick plait out of the way—the end of it brushed the rug.

“Can you do that with mine? For this evening?”

“Mhm,” her mother nodded. Then, she glanced up at her daughter. “What are you going to wear?”

“I will not wear this,” Ele pointed at the hideous orange dress. Mother paused, and watched her, a weight seeming to settle around her.  

“Today is your birthday, Eleanora. Today, you’re of age, and have as much authority as I do.”

Ele’s head came up, her attention caught by her mother’s tone. She watched Mother’s eyes as she solemnly gazed back at her.

“Your commands to those beneath you cannot be overruled,” Mother went on. “And your father and I will uphold all of your decisions. The kingdom now expects you to behave with the mind of a queen.” Mother reached out and took Ele by the shoulders, speaking low and warm. “You know the law. Papa and I will now step back from you, so that you may be ruled by your own heart and mind. And we are eager to see what you will do.”

“So…what does that mean?” Ele asked. “Regarding the dress?”

Mother winked at her.

“You may wear whatever you like.”

Ele smiled back, relieved deep down within her as she watched Mother leave. She listened to her footsteps fade away down the corridor. Then, she sighed, sank down and laid on her back on her wide, canopied bed. Her headboard rested against the stone wall, and just to the left of it stood a wide window, through which the afternoon sun poured. The light washed over Ele as she lay there, gazing at her empty ceiling, breathing in the scent of the cinnamon and cloves that she always enjoyed keeping in a small bowl on her vanity. She diddled her fingers, her gut slowly tightening, until an aching knot formed.

Roderick would be at the feast tonight. As Father’s bravest and finest knight, it was out of the question to exclude him from royal festivities. And he would be following Oralia around all evening, even if she was chasing the minstrel…

“Hmhmm…Hmmm…Hmhm”

Ele’s brow furrowed, her attention sharpening.

A low, melodic tone drifted through the slight crack in her window.

A voice.

Slowly, she sat up.

She climbed off the bed and circled it, then approached her window. Carefully, she pressed her fingertips against the lowest pane, and the window swung open. She rested her arms on the cool stone sill, and glanced down into the bright courtyard just one story below.

Other than the guards at the gate, the broad courtyard was deserted—except for a single person. He sat on the steps of the well, in the shade of its little canopy, with a butter-colored lute resting across his lap. He carelessly plucked the strings—they jingled pleasantly within the stone enclosure. Ele’s gaze fixed on him, and she couldn’t look away.

He wore fine, tanned leather, much of which had been dyed playful colors. He also had on walking shoes, but no hat. She noticed this peripherally, though, to the rest of his soft and unusual aspect.

His skin was a warm, southern tone—black eyebrows and lashes. He had a handsome face, tilted to the side as he attended to his lute. His short, curly hair bore a mix of colors: some strands of deep russet, others charcoal, others like the embers of a low fire, others like burnished gold. He struck a chord, then took a deep breath…

And began to sing, all for himself.

And Ele’s heart rose to the clouds.

 “If a gold coin lies down

In the shaft of a well

And deep water hides it

Its worth can you tell?

If the shadows conceal it and moss makes its bed

Is this gold valued less

Than upon a king’s head?”

 Even dressed in childish lyrics and a lilting tune, she had never heard a voice like it. Like the sunshine on a summer’s day after a wash of delightful rain. Like a river laughing downhill through shimmering stones. Like a lit hearth in the evening after a long day of hiking through the snow. Like cider and honey, like candles at twilight, like wind off the ocean, like bells resounding through a valley…

Like nothing in the world. The more she searched her heart for comparisons, the fewer she found that even came close. She held her breath as she listened, chastising even her heartbeat for distracting from the song.

His fingers moved deftly across the strings, and he lifted that voice once more, with an ease that made Ele beam with delight.

 “So mark well my words now

Remember this tune

Lest the world tries a falsehood

To lead you untrue

No matter the depths of the black water cold

The coin is still worth all its true weight in gold.”

 His fingers lifted off the strings. The last notes echoed and settled into the courtyard, as if coming home to roost within the walls. The young man sighed, and moved to stand up.

“Will you be playing that tonight?” Ele’s voice startled the echoes—but she smiled even more broadly as the surprised young man hopped to his feet, and his eyes found hers. Eyes of the brightest brown—almost coppery.

She knew who he was. This had to be Amberian of the Lute. But Ele suddenly realized why the name “Amber” was the only one that suited him.

“Hullo!” he answered her, a reflexive smile lighting his features. Then he laughed. “I didn’t know anyone was up there.”

“I was hiding,” Ele confessed. “I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

“Oh, I was just practicing.” He swung his lute strap over his shoulder.

“It was beautiful,” Ele told him, a sudden lump in her throat. His smile brightened, and he briefly ducked his head.

“Thank you.”

Ele blinked. Modesty? With that voice?

“Has…Has someone come to invite you in?” she asked.

He looked up at her again, and shook his head.

“Not yet. I think they’ve forgotten me.”

“No, no, no,” Ele chuckled. “I have it on good authority that Princess Oralia is dying to see you.” She straightened and held up a finger. “Stay put—I’ll go see to it that someone opens the doors for you.”

“What should I do then?”

Ele stopped.

“Hm?”

His coppery eyes searched hers—earnest and open.

“Once I come in,” he clarified. “I’ve never sung for a king before. And…I’ve always found it’s a good idea to ask other servants what to expect before I enter a new house.”

Ele’s face flushed, and she opened her mouth—

Then stopped herself. Smiled slowly.

“That’s probably wise,” she answered. She lifted her chin. “Well…If I were you, I’d get settled into my quarters first, and be careful to memorize the way, since all the passages twist in that corner of the castle. And, at dinner tonight, I would stay in sight of the king and queen—I know they’ll want to hear you. After that, when the dancing begins, get clear of the knights. They don’t have any patience for minstrels, especially if they’ve been enjoying the mead.”

Amber’s brow furrowed—worry crossed his gaze.

“Or,” Ele suddenly added. “If….you need to escape entirely, there is a library just off the dining hall. I’ve hidden there myself.” She gazed at him again, unable to keep the warmth from her tone. “But I’m sure it won’t come to that. You’ll do very well.”

Amber drew himself up, and the tension eased from his shoulders.

“Best of luck,” Ele said, straightening to withdraw into her room—though her heart gave an odd pang. “I need to be going.”

“Will you be there this evening?” Amber called. Ele stopped.

“Yes,” she said. “I will.”

“I’ll see you soon, then!” he waved at her. Her grin widened, she waved back, pulled in and shut the window. After standing for just a moment, staring across her room, she drew her head up in decision, and made for the door.

  Chapter Three

“Who Danced With A Princess”

 Ele walked quietly down the cool, torch-lit corridors, her floor-length, homespun green gown rustling with her steps. It had long, fitted sleeves, simple gold embroidery around the scooped collar, a slender waist and a flared skirt. It was comfortable, and nothing more formal than a day dress. She also wore no jewelry at all, and her mother had braided her hair without ornament.

Ele’s cold fingers closed as she heard the sounds of the party—voices, clanging dishes, shuffling feet—roll toward her down the stone hall. Rich scents drifted around her, too: breads, pheasant, boar, venison, ciders, wines, and roasted nuts. Her stomach clenched even harder. She slowed and bit her cheek. Halted. Slid her right foot backward.

“Eleanora!”

She jerked, her hand flying to her heart. It hammered against her ribs as a tall figure blundered out of the shadows to her right and came to a panting halt. She could halfway see him in the torchlight—slender and handsome, with dark hair and vibrant blue eyes. Eyes she had often compared to the spring sky. He wore the leather and dress jerkin of the knighthood of the royal house. And the sight of him sent pain shooting from her chest out to her fingers and all the way down her back.

“Roderick,” she gasped, lowering her hand and giving him a look. “Are you trying to frighten me?”

“No,” he quickly gave a half smile. “No, I was looking for you.”

She watched him.

“Why?”

“Well, your father is looking for you, for one,” he said, finally catching his breath. “And I also hoped I’d have the honor of sitting next to you this evening, and dancing with you at least twice.”

Ele stared at him, but he only gazed back at her, and smiled.

“The seating is arranged,” Ele carefully reminded him. “You’ve been assigned to Oralia’s right hand—she did that herself—”

“Never mind her,” he waved it off. “You and I are still good friends, are we not? And I’ve neglected you lately. Besides, Oralia is otherwise occupied. With party business.”

Ele frowned—

 “A prince of realms did hold a ball,

Forced to marry, against his will

But to the ball, a lady came

All else forgot but this lady fair

 And he must dance with her, oh—

And he must dance with her

Throw over all the kingdom’s worth,

But he must dance with her.”

 A voice—as pure as refined gold and as rich as aged wine resounded through the feasting hall ahead of her, silencing the chatter and hushing all the guests to listening. She glanced at Roderick. His smile faltered. Ele drew in a deep breath. It hurt badly.

“You don’t want to spend time with me,” she realized. “And you wouldn’t. Except that Oralia is sitting with the minstrel. Isn’t she?”

Roderick blinked.

“No,” he shook his head. “I mean—She is? I hadn’t noticed. I…How did you…?”

Ele’s gut twisted and her fists clenched.

“You want to make her jealous,” she said. “Pretending to pay court to me so she’ll come to you.”

“No, Ele—” Roderick held up his hand.

“I am a princess of this kingdom,” Ele snapped, her eyes stinging. “You will address me as ‘your royal highness,’ ‘princess’ or ‘my lady.’” Suddenly, her whole body broke out in shivers, and she had to fight to form her next words. “But not now,” she managed. “I do not wish to see you or anyone for the rest of the evening.” And she charged past him, away from the feasting hall and down a dark, narrow corridor where no one but the servants ever walked.

   “She was so fair, she was so sweet

He was stricken with true love

But when he asked, she would not tell

The name her mother gave.

 He fell in love with her, oh—

He fell in love with her

Throw over all the kingdom’s worth

But he fell in love with her.”

 Amber delicately pressed the thin strings of his lute with his fingertips, watching their progress as he plucked with the other hand. The notes reverberated through the wooden chest of the instrument, shimmering through the large, towering banquet hall. He sat on a low, comfortable stool with the wide granite fireplace to his back. The crackling flames behind him warmed his jerkin, almost humming along with the tune. He smiled to himself, took a deep breath, and kept singing.

 “At midnight’s strike, she fled from him

And left behind her shoe,

The prince despairs of finding her

But he vows that’s what he’ll do.”

 As he sang, he lifted his head, and glanced around the room. Torches lit it, as did tall, white-wax candles atop gold and silver sticks. The three long food-and-wine-laden tables had been arranged in a U, with its open end toward him. The king and queen sat directly across from him in tall, wooden chairs. Queen Lilian was beautiful and stately, with dark hair and emerald eyes that sparkled as she watched him, her fingers lightly entwined. King Herrard sat back, a small, pleasant smile on his bearded face. He reminded Amber every inch of a lionesque monarch—with a blond mane of hair, weather-beaten features and warm brown eyes. Both royals wore splendid comfort—scarlets and golds unrivaled anywhere else, with glimmering jewelry on their hands and throats. At the other tables sat courtiers and knights also dressed in glittering garb—many of the women wore elaborate hats and headdresses. They all listened to Amber, eating quietly if their appetites demanded it, as the flamelight played across their finery, the cutlery, and their attentive gazes. Amber’s attention once more caught on the royal table. The chair to the right of the queen stood empty. As did the two chairs to the king’s left. He could only account for one of those vacancies.

For on a fur rug right next to his feet sat princess Oralia, dressed in scarlet embroidered with white, and diamonds dancing at her ears and upon her fair throat. Her gold hair, in endless ringlets, spilled down her shoulders all the way to the floor. She watched him fixedly with radiant blue eyes, her perfect, blushing face tilted toward him. Amber kept singing.

 “And he must find her soon, oh—

Yes, he must find her soon

Throw over all the kingdom’s worth

But he must find her soon.”

 With a gentle flourish, he finished the song and lifted his right hand off the strings, smiling down at the gleaming face of his lute.

“Ah!” the courtiers exclaimed—a half-sigh of pleasure—and burst into applause. Amber raised his head and met several of their happy glances as cheering rang through the rafters. The king and queen rose to their feet, and the king struck his hands together mightily, grinning from ear to ear. Amber got up, and bowed to them at the waist. When he straightened, he found the king still beaming, and shaking his head.

“Though I spent my boyhood and youth in the north with my father, living amongst the fellowship of Caldic Curse-Breakers,” he boomed. “And night after night, around their enchanted fires, I listened to their music—music spun from the weavings of the wind, and the tones of the very morning light itself…” He held out a hand to Amber. “I have never heard such a song as that. How proud I am that I, of all fortunate men, am blessed to have the finest voice in all the land grace my humble halls.”

The court burst into another round of clapping, nodding firmly to Amber and to each other. Amber inclined his head to him, his heart swelling.

“And how proud I am,” the king shouted over the noise. “To have a daughter with such impeccable taste—and cheerful stubbornness—that she insisted I bring him here, to delight us this evening and forevermore!” He gestured broadly to Oralia, fondness glowing in his features. She hopped to her feet, and gave them all cute curtsey, at which the courtiers laughed.

“And now,” the king went on. “As we have all eaten our fill, I pray that the other musicians come forth to play for the dancing!”

A wilder cheer went up as the four-piece ensemble shuffled out with their pipes and drums, and began arranging their chairs and stools. The roar of the hall billowed over Amber, as well as the thousand delicious scents from the feast, and warmth bloomed through his chest. Maybe now he could go to the kitchen and get some food—he hadn’t eaten all day—and come back out to watch some of the dancing—

Fingers grabbed his wrist. He swung around.

Oralia had hold of him with both her hands, and she tilted her head coyly at him.

“Come, Amber!” she cried, pulling close to his face. Lavender perfume washed over him.

“Come dance,” she enticed, smiling beautifully. She slid her hand down and interlaced their fingers. “I’ve been waiting all evening to dance! Please?”

“With me?” he cried.

“Of course! Why not?” she insisted.

“Ha,” Amber laughed. “All right—if you say so.”

“I do,” she answered resolutely. “Come!”

Amber managed to set his lute down on his chair before she pulled him toward the group of courtiers who had lined up in the center of the room. Amber filed in next to the men and faced the iridescent princess, who gave him a saucy look as she took her place. The musicians tuned, paused—then burst into song.

With a grin, Amber sprang into the dance—Oralia followed immediately. They swung and swirled together, weaving expertly between the other colorful dancers as the music soared to the ceiling. They met in the middle, he wrapped his arm around her waist and they spun wildly—both let out ringing laughs. Oralia’s golden hair flung out behind her like a glorious flag, her skirt flaring like flower petals. The dance blurred around them, and they easily kept pace with the quick rhythm, out-dancing everyone else on the floor.

The music built to a frenzied beat—Amber’s heart pounded in his ears—and finally, the players finished with a sweep of gusto. The seated courtiers began to clap first, then the panting dancers. Amber applauded, nodding at the fevered musicians, then sent a happy look to Oralia—

Who promptly stepped to him and pressed her lips to his cheek in a quick kiss. His face went hot.

“I’m off to get a drink,” she told him as she skipped back. “I will find you for the next dance!”

Amber could only get out a laugh before she darted off through the crowd. Shaking his head, Amber made his way to a long side table where sat a large bowl of cold, red punch, along with several empty silver goblets. He picked up a goblet, hefting its weight in his hand, and reached for the ladle—

A hand slapped down on his left shoulder. An arm draped across his back. Amber instantly went still. His head came around to the right—

A knight. Back-haired, lean and wolf-like, with piercing blue eyes. Right next to him. With his arm around him.

And he stared straight back at Amber, his gaze like ice.

Amber’s heart thudded once.

The knight’s mouth twisted into a semblance of a smile, but it didn’t look real.

“What are you doing over here, bard?” the knight asked, his voice deep and calm.

“I’m…getting a drink,” Amber answered, his brow slowly furrowing as he watched those wintry eyes.

“Oh, you are,” the knight’s eyebrows raised. “Why?”

“I’m thirsty,” Amber replied. The knight’s hand tightened on Amber’s shoulder.

“And why is that?” the knight pressed.

“I have been dancing.”

“Ah. I see. That’s interesting,” the knight said casually. “Because I thought I was hallucinating earlier, when I saw the princess dancing with a servant.”

Amber’s jaw clenched. The knight’s crooked smile grew.

“And I was convinced my vision was continuing to blind me when I saw a servant approach a table meant for courtiers and royalty. I’m so glad you’ve confirmed the truth. I thought I was going quite mad.”

Amber said nothing. But his free hand closed into a tight fist. The knight’s grip tensed further.

“I’m not exactly certain what corner of the woods you’re from, lad—but in civilized places, there are such things as codes of conduct, and expectations for folk of various stations. And in this kingdom,” He leaned close, and hissed in Amber’s face. “Servants do not touch princesses. Neither do they pollute the food or drink of their betters. Now, I know you are a newcomer, so I will release you this one time.” The knight withdrew just slightly. “Just remember this, Fiddler: keep your station, and you’ll get to keep your fingers. Understood?”

A needle-like chill traveled down through Amber’s gut. He didn’t pull his eyes from the knight. Neither did he nod.

He stepped back. The knight let him go—and any semblance of smile vanished. Amber turned, strode across the room, picked up his lute from off his chair, and hurried around the standing mantel toward a short corridor, praying there would be a door at the end of it that led to something besides a broom cupboard.

   Ele sat on the rug in the corner of the library to one side of a desk, knees hugged to her chest, staring absently at the flames in the broad fireplace across the room. All around her, the tall shadows of the tome-packed library stretched to a darkened ceiling. The crackle of the embers filled the silence. She counted her breaths, drawing in the scent of burning cedar and book-dust, absently running her thumb back and forth against her opposite forearm. She sighed. Her whole ribcage ached.

The door latch off to her left clacked. She sat up.

A quick, heavy sigh rushed through the quiet—hard footsteps intruded, the door squeaked and then clanked shut. Low panting followed, and then…

The person stepped in so that Ele could glimpse him around the desk. He entered the soft light from the hearth…

Tall, dark and warm—hair of twilight and autumn, clothes of a traveler, a lute in his hand. His brow twisted, and his gaze seemed faraway. He heaved another sigh, and raked his hand through his curls.

“So you did have to escape,” she noted.

He jumped, whirling around, his hand slipping on the lute so it gave a disconcerted “twang.” Ele felt herself smiling—though it hurt—and climbed tiredly to her feet.  

“I’m sorry,” she laughed. “It’s just me.”

His startled eyes found her, and he blew out his breath as his frame relaxed.

“You keep scaring me,” he said, recovering a faint grin. “It’s starting to get embarrassing.”

Ele ducked her head and chuckled, slipping around the desk and wrapping her arms around herself.

“I’m not trying to,” she promised. “I suppose I’m just too quiet.”

“I’m probably too loud,” he said. “Or…not paying attention.”

“Maybe,” Ele shrugged amiably. She canted her head. “What are you running from?”

“Oh,” he gestured toward the door, and that furrow returned to his forehead. “There’s a knight out there who wants to kill me.”

Ele’s eyebrows went up.

“Kill you? Why?”

“I danced with the princess. And then I tried to get a drink of punch.” He sighed, setting his lute gently on the floor and leaning it against the mantel. “Apparently, I’m not allowed.”

Ele pulled her arms in tighter, then took a quick breath.

“That’s Sir Roderick.”

“Hm. Nice fellow,” Amber muttered.

“You’re afraid of him?” Ele wondered.

“Ha. Well,” Amber shot her a glance and sat down on the rug. “I can’t really count someone who threatens to cut off my fingers as a friend, can I?”

“What?” Ele yelped. “Roderick…Roderick said that?”

“I don’t know if it was Roderick,” Amber said. “I only just got here. I

barely remember the way to my rooms, I don’t know anyone—and I would rather not make any mortal enemies just yet.”

“You know me,” Ele corrected quietly. He looked up at her.

“Just a little,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“I’m…I’m Ele,” she said.

“Oh, well—” Amber sat up and held out his right hand to her. “My name’s Amberian, son of Caspell of Nerrinton. I’m called Amber.”

Ele hesitated, then stepped fully into the firelight and stretched out her right hand. He caught her fingers. His were warm, and soft. Again, he gave her that smile—a smile that had faded in the wake of his mood, but now shone back bright as day.

He held onto her a moment, gazing up at her. She watched the firelight play across all the colors in his eyes.

He let go.

“Nerrinton?” Ele repeated. “That’s very far south, isn’t it? Close to the ocean?”

“Mhm,” he nodded, settling back against the stone of the mantel. “It’s always hot there—it’s wonderful. Big city, busy all the time. My parents are merchants. Well…My father started the business, but then he died and his brother married my mother.”

“Oh,” Ele nodded, cautiously settling down onto her knees a few feet from him. “Have you moved in here all right? To your rooms? How are they?”

“They’re fine,” he assured her, folding his arms and stretching his legs out in front of him. “Much better than any I’ve had before. Someone named…Roger showed me the way. I tried to take your advice and memorize the halls,” he shot her a twinkling glance. “But I know I’ll get lost at least once, especially in the dark.” He shifted toward her. “So, what do you do here? You’re too well-dressed to be a kitchen maid or anything like that. Are you a lady’s maid? You help the queen?”

“When she needs me,” Ele hid a smile.

“No wonder you know everything,” he remarked.

Just outside, a sprightly whistle-and-pipe tune began to play, and the whole hall thudded with a hundred sets of footsteps, in time with the music. Amber groaned.

“I wanted to at least watch the dancing,” he complained. “But now if I show my face that knight will pound it in.”

Ele giggled, and covered her mouth with her hand.

“It isn’t funny at all,” he muttered. She choked on her laughter.

“You’re missing the party too,” Amber noted. “Why?”

“I just…” Ele lowered her hand and swallowed hard. “I wasn’t in the mood. To be around a lot of people.”

“But you like dancing,” he lifted his eyebrows.

“Yes—”

“Then let’s dance.”

Ele mentally staggered.

“What—?”

“Yes, come on,” he said, hopping to his feet. He clapped his hands once, then held them out to her. She stared at him.

“Come on,” he beckoned with his fingers.

“I only know line dances—” Ele protested.

“I’ll show you a dance we did all the time in Nerrinton,” he cut in. “You’ll pick it up right away—promise.”

“I’m…” Ele started, her heart hammering. He just waited, then looked slyly at her sideways and wiggled his fingers. She heaved a sigh, rolled her eyes, and tried not to smile as she got up and grasped his hands.

“All right, this is a quick tune, but we can do it,” he said, setting his stance. “First, it’s three fast steps this way…” He led her thus. “And then three fast steps back. Then we do that again.”

Ele battled to keep up, biting the side of her cheek.

“Then we twirl under,” he went on, and whirled her into a bridge-like spin, and they faced each other again. “Then this way three steps, that way three steps—”

Ele stumbled.

“I’m actually rubbish at dancing.” She caught her balance and blushed. “I can never pick it up—”

“Nonsense, you’re fine,” he said. “All right, the three steps is the pattern, remember that. We do that one way, then the other way, and then something in the middle, repeating. First the under twirl, then the spin, and then we come in and do the three steps a different way.”

“What different way—?”

“Three steps first. Go.” They hopped three steps one way, then three

steps back, and then he spun her around by her hands so the whole room

whirled. She accidentally giggled. He beamed.

“All right, three steps—go!”

They danced one way, then the other—

And he stepped in, slid his right arm around her waist and pulled her

against his chest. Their faces were suddenly inches apart. She looked up at him—she saw flecks of gold in his eyes. Her heart caught—

The next moment, he tugged her into a dizzying spin, and then they danced their six steps that way. Ele couldn’t breathe.

“All right, and then we start over!” Amber said, leaping back and gripping her hands again. “Three steps this way!”

They did this again and again, faster each time, it seemed—and yet, before Ele knew it, here feet were flying. And she was laughing. Laughing so hard she thought she might break a rib. Around and around they spun, across that library rug, rushing by the mantel fire, sending mad shadows flashing upon the faces of the book-covered walls.

Finally, the music burst to its end, like a firecracker, and Ele and Amber collapsed to the floor, panting through their laughter.

“Well…” Amber managed. “I might need a while to recover from that one.”

“A year at least,” Ele answered. Amber fell backward, laughing full-out, pressing both hands to his heart. Ele managed to stay sitting up, her skirt thrown haphazardly across her legs.

“Yes. At least,” Amber said, swiping at his eyes. “Especially with no food in me.”

“What?” Ele asked, brushing her own tears away. “You haven’t eaten?”

“No,” he said. “Not all day.”

“Oh, no,” Ele clambered to her feet, clearing her throat. “That isn’t good—you’ll be ill.”

“Ha, don’t worry about me. This would not be the first time I went a whole day without food.”

“Well, you shouldn’t!” Ele insisted, smoothing her hair. “Not while you live here.” She started toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Amber wondered, propping himself up on his arms.

“I haven’t eaten, either,” she told him. “We’ll have a picnic.”

“Inside?”

“Why not?” she grinned at him. He grinned back. She found the door

in the far corner—far opposite the one Amber had entered—pulled it open

and stuck her head out into the cool, dark corridor.

“Hattie,” she called in a sharp whisper. “Hattie!”

Clattering issued from the end of the hall, a door opened—light spilled out. Then, the plump maid came bustling down the hall toward her, her face pinched with alarm.

“Your Highness?” she hissed back. “What are you doing in the library?”

“Is there any food left?” Ele asked. Hattie came to a stop, and squeezed her fingers together.

“Erm—there is one little roast hen, erm…some little potatoes, some carrots, bread sauce, sweet onions—”

“Oh, good!” Ele cried. “Bring all of that, prepared for two. Along with some water. And some tea as well.”

“Two, miss?” Hattie jumped.

“Yes, the minstrel and I will be eating together in the library.”

Hattie’s mouth pursed so tightly it almost vanished.

“He hasn’t eaten the entirety of the day, and he is near collapse. I thought I would keep him company, seeing that he is a complete stranger here, and lonely for his home. Would you like to join us, Hattie?” Elle invited. “I’m certain you’d like to sit down for a while—you’ve been working so hard. Betsy too, she can come—”

The tension vanished from Hattie’s face.

“No, thank you, ma’am—maybe in a little while…But yes, I’ll get that for you, straightaway!”

“Thank you, Hattie,” Ele said sincerely, and the maid turned and bustled away. Ele shut the door again, swung around and strode back to the fireplace where Amber sat cross-legged. He watched her with narrowed eyes, and a small smile.

“What?” she asked lightly, coming to sit just in front of him, parallel to the fireplace, in the same fashion.    

“You’re more important than I thought,” Amber noted, studying her. “Giving orders to other servants? What are you, the…Mistress of the Robes?”

Ele sighed, smiled a little, then rolled her eyes at the ceiling.

“No,” she admitted. “I’m Oralia’s sister.”

She pulled her gaze down to meet his. The mirth faded from Amber’s features. He stared at her.

“Her…elder sister,” Ele added.

“Oh…” Amber’s eyebrows came together. “I…”

Ele waited, not moving.

“I’ve really put my foot in it, haven’t I?” he said.

“What?” Ele said. “What do you mean?”

“I’m…” he shook his head, baffled.

A knock came at the door. He twitched.

“Stay there,” Ele told him. She got up, hurried to the door, and opened it.

“Here you are, miss,” Hattie entered, smiling, carrying a wide tray of steaming food. Betsy, a much younger kitchen maid with frayed blonde hair, entered after her, bearing a tray with the tea and the water.

“Where would you like them?” Hattie asked.

“Just on the floor, there,” Ele pointed. “Like mother and I do when it’s cold out.”

“Yes, miss,” Hattie said, lowering the platter down to the rug with a clatter. Betsy bent and carefully did the same.

“Hattie, Betsy, may I present Amberian, the new court musician,” Ele said, gesturing to him. “Amber, this is Hattie and Betsy. They work in the kitchens. And Hattie is the greatest cook in the realm.”

“Oh, tut, tut,” Hattie waved her off, clearly pleased. “We certainly already know who this young man is.”

“Yes, we heard him singing,” Betsy murmured, her face going red.

“And a lovely voice it is, too,” Hattie declared, tipping toward him. “We are so happy to have you with us, Amberian.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Amber answered brightly. “The pleasure is mine, truly. And thank you for the food.”

“My princess’ command is my delight,” Hattie declared. “Eat quickly! Don’t let it get cold!”

“Thank you, Hattie; Betsy,” Ele dipped her head to them as they scurried out. As soon as the door had shut, Ele sat down with a huff, facing Amber, and took a deep breath of the delicious, rich, steaming scent of the roasted hen and vegetables.

“So, you were saying,” she prompted Amber, snatching up a long fork and a carving knife.

“I was saying,” Amber said. “That…I’ve only been here a day and I’ve danced with two princesses.”

“You’re liked by the royal family,” Ele said, stabbing into the hen and

deftly sawing it in half. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

“That knight will kill me,” Amber muttered. “Sir Rodback.”

“Roderick,” Ele shot him a glance.

“Yes, him.”

“Ha,” Ele snorted. “Roderick doesn’t care what I do.”

“He doesn’t? Why not?” Amber asked. She lifted her eyes to his for a moment—he gazed at her softly.

“Here,” she said, pushing half of the hen toward him. “Eat.”

“Is there…another fork?”

“No,” she set the utensils down. “No need.” And she took hold of a greasy piece of meat with her fingers, tore it off, and put it in her mouth.

“Ha. All right,” Amber chuckled, and followed suit.

Together, they ate with their fingers, not bothering to divide the food into separate portions. The hen, as usual with Hattie’s cooking, melted in Ele’s mouth, and the potatoes, carrots and onions had been glazed in honey, and roasted to utter perfection. In between ravenous bites, Ele and Amber talked about dancing, and about his mother’s cooking, which he said nearly rivaled this.

After they had cleaned the plate, Ele poured some water into a bowl and they washed their fingers, and dried them on a towel Hattie had put on the tray. Then, they drank their tea while leaning back against the warm mantel, each of them on one side of it. At last, in a moment of silence, Ele glanced up, and sighed.

“The hall has gone quiet,” she observed.

“Mm,” Amber acknowledged drowsily.

“Are you tired?”

“Mm,” he said again, stretching his legs.

“Come, then,” Ele said, setting her tea down. “I’ll walk you back to your quarters.”

Amber glanced over at her.

“Are you supposed to do that?”

She looked at him.

“Would you rather get lost?”

“No.”

“Thought not,” she said, and got to her feet, her skirts rustling. “Come on. I’ll clean this later.”

Amber groaned and stood up, then gestured to the door.

“Lead the way.”

Together they left the library and wound through the dark, hushed stone hallways, flickering in and out of the moonlight that sneaked in through the occasional window. They turned a corner—

“Watch out for the—”

“Oof!” Amber tripped down the single stair. He lashed out and grabbed her—she grabbed him back.

“—stair,” she finished, gripping his jerkin as he regained his balance.

“Why in the—” he started loudly.

“Ssh!” she giggled. “People are trying to sleep.”

“You need to tell me sooner about the stairs,” he hissed, dusting himself off.

“I tried!” she insisted. “Shh! Come on.” She reached down and grasped his hand. In spite of his loss of footing, his fingers wrapped around hers in instant trust. Her heart warmed. She tugged on him, and together they pattered down the final stretch of corridor.

“All right—this is your room, isn’t it?” Ele gestured to a low door.

“Yes,” he answered breathlessly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Get some sleep!”

Amber passed around her and opened the door.

“Thank you for the evening,” he said. “I enjoyed myself.”

“Yes,” she answered. “I’m…I’m glad you’ve come to Tirincashel.”

“So am I!” he agreed. He reached out, his hand blundered into her arm, and he squeezed her fingers. “Goodnight!”

“Goodnight!” she replied. And with that, he ducked inside, and shut the door behind him.   

Read this book: https://www.amazon.com/Scales-Fresh-Telling-Beauty-Beast-ebook/dp/B072JTPP3C/ref=pd_sim_351_2/146-6363556-3395043?_encoding=UTF8&pd_rd_i=B072JTPP3C&pd_rd_r=ab0c3f28-93dd-409c-b443-b38d0d56a0f0&pd_rd_w=VQqvj&pd_rd_wg=BOYjn&pf_rd_p=5abf8658-0b5f-405c-b880-a6d1b558d4ea&pf_rd_r=BW8S2ZGZQ4AV8K2H1GGE&psc=1&refRID=BW8S2ZGZQ4AV8K2H1GGE

[chopper-witch]

AWOMOD: A Touch of the Past (CH 9)

Characters: Loki x Ashira; TV GoT version characters of Dorne but it’s my version of that version.

Warnings: angst, nightmares, 

Locations: her ship, TV GoT version of Dorne but it’s my version of that version; a place that is basically my version of Jakku. 

Word count: 8,000+

Summary:Memories Ashira forced herself to forget (though she remembers everyday) are dragged from the depths when she realizes just how much Loki means to her. 

A/N: I am so sorry for taking so long,,, It’s been a long few months. This feels longer to me than it is. Also, the dress she wears is basically Daenerys’ Qarth dress (this). Sorry for any mistakes,,, its been a thing. 

AWOMOD Masterlist

Previous 

The sun on Dorne never seems to fail cheering her up. Something about the way it shines, she supposes, always makes it feel nicer than it is. Maybe it’s because it’s where Ares isn’t. It is an adversarial planet to her home after all, and, despite that, she can roam freely around. They will never turn her over; Dorne doesn’t want Ares to have the satisfaction of anything. The ex-princess of Ares was essentially granted amnesty as soon as she escaped Hala. They even contacted her. 

And she had gladly accepted. She needed somewhere to go and to be honest, if they were intending to kill her or use her in an attempt to create a fake peace of some form, she was so close to death that she didn’t care. Anything would be better than what she just escaped. 

They hadn’t tried to use her for anything. In fact, they genuinely wanted to help her. So for a few years after she escaped she spent most of her time in Dorne, adjusting their technology to match Ares or beat Ares’ detection. 

But it just wasn’t home. 

“So where are we?” Loki asks. 

While he almost always wears the same thing with only mild moderation, she is yet again in another outfit. But this one is a bit of a shock: she’s wearing a dress. With her normal boots on, but a dress nonetheless. Made of a pale blue, shimmering, flowing fabric, and gold stripes periodically dusting the the fibers, it fits perfectly. The curls of her hair flows over her shoulders and down her back to cover where there is a v in the dress. The silver of the locks braided contrast the gold metal work that is covering her shoulders, also found in the large gold metal work belt cinching her waist. Little baubles hang off each side of her waist; they even jangle a little as the wind blows past them. The neckline matches the back, plunging between her chest and easily exposing more cleavage than anything else he has ever seen her in. 

Something slightly peeking out from the top of the low neckline, discoloration of her skin. A pure white patch just barely hidden…

Her hair also seems different. Braids, like always, but this time there are a few pins in it, all with smalls gems in them of the same shade of blue. 

“Dorne. Come on.”

He’s never heard of it before. Then again, there is a lot he hasn’t heard of before that Ashira has guided him to. Asgardian education really let him down. 

Loki shoves his hands in his pockets. “Should I change? You look much nicer than I thought I’d ever see you.”

Ashira scowls. “I can look nice, asshole. I just don’t normally wear dresses.”

“Sorry…” Loki trails off. His intent wasn’t to insult, but rather compliment. “I just meant, it looks nice on you…”

A glint of dark blue catches his eye. Around her neck is a simple pendant necklace. The blue in the center, which rests perfectly in the center of her sternum, seems anything but ordinary. There is a glow that yanks his mind towards it. It’s beautiful… alluring… mesmerizing…

“Loki, hey, Loki!” Ashira snaps her fingers in front of him. 

He snaps his eyes up. “Yes?”

“Brain is up here.” She points towards her head. “That’s definitely my best feature so if you want to stare at anything let it be that.” 

Loki laughs at that, forcing his eyes back to her grinning face. “But if your face is your worst….?” 

“Still look there.” She chuckles, pulling at his left arm. “Come on, Loki. I’m not going to sit here the whole time when we are in one of the nicest places in the universe.”

When they exit the ship Loki hops back in. They are not in an open field or a secluded forest. Instead the first thing he sees as he walks out is several pathways followed by several other landed ships followed by the realization that they are landed in an area very clearly in an area designated for the government of this… Dorne.

Banners and flags are set up all around the area with a red sun proud in the center of the dusty orange fabric, a single golden spear running straight through it. Even from the glance of the landing area he got, he can tell there is one painted beneath them. 

Ashira is already thirty steps ahead of him, however. 

Unsure of whether she is being foolishly stupid or not, he opts catches up with her. Better to be with her and help her get out than leave her alone and end up both detained or killed.

“So why are we just walking around so casually?” Loki asks once beside her. 

“Major enemy of Ares. They don’t want Ares to get me back and Ares has no access to this planet so they can’t tell if I am here or not.” Ashira slows her steps as they approach the arched entrance of the Water Gardens. “Plus I fixed a lot of their tech so Ares can’t touch them for the most part. I come here only occasionally though. It’s pretty.” 

Loki continues to walk forward and even passes  her when they finally reach the entrance of the Water Gardens. “I’ll agree with you on that.”

A quiet snort is released as she watches Loki look around in awe. 

Every color Loki could ever imagine (and then some) in every plant; shimmers and glimmers like he never thought possible on a plant of all things; birds that appear to be hummingbirds but vibrant pinks and blues and purples instead of a more toned down blue or brown or shimmering green (though that does make sense, evolutionarily); and row upon row of infinity pools filled with the most fantastic water features, plants and fish.  

And he thought Asgard has the most amazing gardens. 

“Enjoying yourself?” Ashira teases. 

Loki happily scoffs. “This is amazing... I’ve never seen any place prettier.” 

“It only gets more beautiful.” 

It remains a silent walk. Loki is far too distracted by everything to make conversation. Ashira opts to just silently move beside him and continually playfully tapping some of the more active plants, hands gliding through every little pond and basin of water. 

Then, about ten minutes into the walk, a set of 9 guards marching come around the corner. Clad from head to toe in something eerily similar to what she wore when they landed on, but with more loose and colorful fabrics. The guards are large as well, larger than him in every respect. 

Loki expects Ashira to either tense up or even try to find an alternate route. Instead of tensing, she simply pauses her steps and smiles. 

She even stands a little straighter. Not in challenge though… respect. 

“Ashira, the King awaits,” the singular unmasked guard at the head of the group announces. 

Ashira nods. “Thank you.” 

Her steps pull her forward, then immediately back again. At least half have weapons pointed at Loki that she hadn’t originally noticed. Those that don’t are gripping the hilt of their swords anxiously. 

The guard peers past Ashira. “Who is your friend?” 

Ashira glances over to Loki. There is a soft smile on her face, no malice or suspicion for once. “He can be trusted. He was outcasted from Asgard.” 

“Asgard?” The guard looks him over. Loki feels exposed. Sure he was singled out on Asgard for various reasons but never treated like a hostile threat being brought on trial. “Then he is welcome as well.” All the guards immediately return to a neutral position resulting in Loki letting go of the breathe trapped in his lungs. “Come.” 

All guards turn a perfect 180 in sync to begin their walk towards the palace. 

Loki leans down to whisper to Ashira. “So... what is happening?” 

“The King meets with me once a year to thank me.” It’s at a normal tone instead of the whisper he desired. 

“Oh.” 

Ashira chuckles. “That’s why I am dressed like this.” Her hands gesture down her body. “For respect of their traditions.” 

Loki hums. Respecting traditions doesn’t really seem her style. “And the necklace? A gift from him?” 

“No!” She rushes to reply. Loki immediately whips his head to more closely examine her. No one replies that quickly about a necklace. “It was.” She swallows hard. Loki notices. “It was a gift from someone else. A...” she exhales slowly. “... a friend.” 

Loki leaves it at that. 

The palace is entirely open from what he can tell, built of a red clay with no real doors or windows, just open arches on every level. In fact, Loki hadn’t even noticed they were entering a building until the sun grew dim as they turned right down a hall. 

At the end of said hall sits a man who appears to be at least half way through his life, as Loki does not know how these people age. 

And the chair… has wheels?

Loki recalls reading about some form of chair with wheels that helps those who cannot walk, but Asgard never even had them as far as he is aware. It’s a bizarre sight to see and even more bizarre to see a monarch in one.

“Ashira!” The King shouts, extending his arms out to her. She leans into them, awkwardly balanced on her toes as they embrace. It’s not very long but the man is definitely happy with it. “And who is this?” He gestures behind Ashira.

Ashira simply places her right hand on his left forearm as reassurance that Loki is not an enemy. She pauses though, taking a moment to look back at Loki. 

His face is entirely neutral and mostly focused on her (not on the king like he was trained). The pair shares a brief smile before Ashira turns her head slowly towards the king again. 

“A friend.” 

Doran raises his right brow skeptically. Ashira has never brought anyone with her on her trips back to Dorne. Not even Selene. “A… friend. Alright. Well, everyone is here today.”

Ashira yanks her head back in shock. “Your brother is here?” 

“He is.” Doran nods. “As are all his children.” 

“Is there a special occasion?” 

“I wish. He is never here when those occur. Let’s go before he decides to leave again.” 

A guard aids in wheeling the king around. While they wait Ashira realizes her left hand is still rested on Loki’s forearm. The prince seems not to even mind her instinctively protective touch that has turned into a comically long lingering hold. 

Embarrassed, Ashira tugs her hand away hastily before slowing her movements once a few inches away to reduce the visibility of her movement. Loki notices regardless. 

As the group starts to walk, Loki leans towards Ashira, again. 

“So who is all here?” 

“The king, his daughter and two sons, the king’s younger brother and his eight daughters are all here today, as well as the prince’s lover.” 

Loki furrows his brows. A lover invited to a formal gathering? “His lover?”

“Yeah, she is the mother of four of his children.” 

Oh. “So they are not legitimate?”

“Every child is legitimate, but they aren’t in line for the throne. Any of them, technically. Four have the same mother, but the other four all have different mothers.” 

“What?” 

Ashira looks up at him confused. “What?” 

Loki hums. “That would never be allowed on Asgard. Unmarried is one thing but five mothers for eight children?” 

“Marriage is immensely rare on Ares.” So are unplanned kids. Or, kids at all. “So it happens. Think of Dorne like an in-between.”

And then they enter the room. 

Well, it’s more like a courtyard, Loki figures, seeing as each side as covered pathways but the inner part is entirely roofless, giving way for the bright, searing sun to light the semi-bricked yard. A large wooden table is set in the center, with trees and bushes surrounding it and a water fountain proudly on the other side from them. 

The people - hel the people - are dressed everywhere from close to what Ashira is donning to sandy toned clothing that is barely covering anything. Then there is the sheer chaos of the situation. Even the older of the people seem to be running around and play fighting, one girl using a whip to pull who appears to be her older sister back to her. 

This is a royal gathering? It feels informal. He would be chastised for not sitting properly, forget wrestling his brother to the ground. 

“Come on,” Ashira whispers at Loki’s stoic and shocked form. 

There are three seats towards the end of the table near the side they are on where there are no indicators of being pre-occupied. Well, four, if you count the empty spot where a Queen would presumably sit, as well as two on one side and one on the other. 

Loki goes opposite Ashira as she chooses to sit where there are two spaces. He almost followed to sit beside her. His upbringing kicked in and overruled him, reminding him that he ought to sit opposite her. 

So he reluctantly sits across, sliding into the chair at the very end of the right side from the King’s view. Ashira offers an almost sympathetic smile.

Barely a minute after Loki and Ashira sit down, the rest begin to follow. The once empty seat beside Ashira is soon filled by a woman who makes a show of staring another guest down before tossing her spear to stick perfectly in the center of the planter behind said guest. 

“Still don’t see why you should get to go first,” the other guest, another woman in similar clothes practically whines. 

“Because I am both older and better.” She raises her brow before sitting very uncordially down. 

Someone slides in besides Loki, as he expected, so he does not pay much attention. His mind is more focused on trying to generally identify most of the people as everyone begins to seat themselves not wanting to insult anyone. He has learned that it does not matter whether or not you’ve been introduced or told the title of someone, it’s better not to disrespect them. 

“Nym, no weapons at the table, you know that,” an older woman a few spots down and across from who Loki has identified as the younger brother of the king, whispers angrily. 

The way the girl reluctantly slides the whip beneath the table to her feet reminds him much the many, many times his brother had to be reminded Mjolnir was not allowed at the table and opted to just slide the weapon out of sight. 

Loki cannot help but zone out. He’s been through too many events like this in his lifetime. The king will make an announcement thanking everyone, the food will be brought out, people will eat. Conversation will commence. 

And that’s exactly what happens. The only factor throwing Loki off is Ashira. She is just sitting there across from them in clothes that just don’t seem to fit her quite right. She doesn’t seem like a roam around in a flow dress type. Yet she is conversing as if this is niche, this is where she really flourishes. From what he knows these sorts of meals were not common on Ares. Somehow she makes it look like she’s been through it for centuries like he has.

As he continues to eat mindlessly (the food is amazingly flavored but immensely repetitive, though he can't really blame them for being in a desert planet), his eyes can’t help but switching between the necklace and the plastic like spot on her chest, even if his mind is elsewhere. Something about both just seem unnatural in ways he can’t quite describe and now that he is sat directly across from her he has the opportunity to just look. 

The pendant seems to be alive. The blue pulses not randomly, but controlled and consistently, like a heart beat almost. But it also seems to react to Ashira as she laughs and talks as if it is trying to respond as well. The shades even swirl around like it is thinking a couple of times. 

The spot is less and more odd. It is not like her other scars that seem to have naturally stitched back together with the surrounding skin; it also doesn’t look like something just pasted on either. Add the strangeness that the patch appears to be most of her left chest, meaning her heart was somehow impacted as well. 

At least that is what he assumes. 

“What do you think, Loki?” 

He is shaken out of his mindless staring. “Pardon me?”

“I was wondering what you think of the trade disputes due to the new found mine of gravitonium?” it’s the king’s brother.

Loki shifts slightly. “I don’t think I have enough knowledge to be qualified to answer that.” 

Oberon nods satisfied. “A reasonable answer. I wish that’s how the rest of the Westeros system would respond instead of interrupting our intervention. That reminds me…”

He looks back to Ashira for assurance he responded correctly to her to see her smiling over at Loki widely, hiding her face partially behind the glass of wine in her hand. A smile pulls at his lips as well. 

The King watches the entire table carefully, including his guest and her friend. He notes the lingering smiles between the two causing himself to get slightly distracted when his brother asks him a question. 

One of the others, Loki assumes the lover of the king’s younger brother, soon says something that pulls Ashira’s attention to way. But her head pulls away slowly, her lips answering before actually looking back to the others. 

“You are very lucky,” the woman to the left of him whispers. 

Nam? Nym? Something like that.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Ashira. She is an amazing warrior and very pretty. Anyone would be lucky to have her.”

“Oh, we’re not —”

The girl cuts him off.

“That’s a shame. I know the older of the two princes has been interested in her since they first met. She isn’t interested but you never know.” 

Loki’s brows furrow and he looks down the table again. The prince on his side on the table is indeed staring at Ashira. It isn’t a subtle stare either. It’s a doe-eyed, intense, ceaseless stare that Ashira is either blissfully ignorant of or insanely amazing at ignoring. 

“Don’t worry, it would never work out.” 

The girl’s words draw him out of the staring he begun at the prince. The difference? Loki’s utensils now were slightly altered in shape; the handles of them now bent back to follow the curve of his hand. He opts to set them down and pick up his glass. Just needs to relax. 

“Pardon me?” Loki asks. 

“It would never work. We only live for a hundred years at most, she’s almost 5,000 years.” 

Loki chokes on his drink at that. She’s as old as his entire lifespan? He really hadn’t thought how old she must be if she is in the Greek Myths. She looks maybe a tad bit older than him, by maybe a few years in terms of relative age. So if he is a fifth through his life, there is a chance she is as well. 

Live for 25,000 years? Hel, that’s a long time. 

Too long, even. 

“You okay Loki?” Ashira asks. Her attention has returned to him at the sound of his coughing. Outwardly she appears generally concerned like any friend would; internally she is genuinely concerned.

He looks down at the red wine refusing to drip off his leather then to her. “Yeah, just drank it wrong.” 

“Well, be careful. It’d be a shame for you to die because of some wine of all things.” 

-

The rest of the meal continues similarly - Loki unsure of when he should and shouldn’t talk, Ashira being unusually social and talkative, several of the daughters of the prince (and the prince himself) suggesting things that seem obscene to be discussed at such a supposedly formal setting. Sure, Asgardians talked often about battles and such, but never anything like the poison the girl beside him figured out how to imbue her whip with.

That was currently sat at their feet. 

Something he appreciated, but a few others did not. 

When it does finally end, some of the people go off in various directions, others remaining in the court-yard to go back to fighting each other. 

His attention is removed from the clamor around him when Ashira says his name. 

“Loki, we’re going to leave soon. If you want to fight them, do it now.” 

“I-I what?” Loki narrows his eyes. “I was observing them.”

She shrugs as she stands. Loki stands as well. “All I’m saying is if you want to rumble before we leave, might as well.”

The king is wheeled down towards their end while Loki walks around the end of the table to meet Ashira. 

“I’m assuming you will want some wine again?” Doran asks Ashira.

“I can’t say no. Best alcohol in the entire universe.” 

“Well, I’m not sure about that.” The King waves his right hand and two guards move quickly out of the room. “We wish you good fortune and that you will visit again.” 

“I will. Don’t worry.” Once again she bends down awkwardly, carefully tipping to hug the ruler. Loki nearly grimaces at her disastrous posture as she does so. “I’ll always come back to visit.”

“Very good. Goodbye until next time.”

“Until next time.”

Ashira then turns to walk back to her ship, skirt billowing out around her. Loki is quick to follow. While this place isn’t threatening (confusing, rather), he doesn’t wish to linger without Ashira. The prince was taught better than to intrude. 

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get more than a few paces before his name is called once again.

“And Loki?” 

Loki pauses, watching as Ashira continues on as if she didn’t even hear his name being called. Hesitant to completely lose sight of her, Loki opts to look over his shoulder at the older king.

“Yes, your grace?” 

“Stay a moment.”

Loki sighs and turns. His royal upbringing is fighting the past few months of adventures. On the one hand, he knows he needs to remain courteous in front of a member of the royal family of this planet (more importantly, the king) and stay as long as the king wants; on the other Ashira’s impatience and specific type of chaos has seeped into him and he has become wary of anyone who is not himself or her.

“What is it that you need?” Loki speaks up.

“Just some advice from an old, dying man.” Loki nods. Seems as though every old, dying man he has met in his life has advice to offer. “Don’t hurt her. She’s been through a lot... she’s hurting a lot, still. We don’t invite her just to thank her, we invite her to make sure she is doing okay. We took her in for a time after she escaped, a time when she was too shaken up to make sense of anything. This is the first time she has seemed happy. Don’t ruin that.” 

Loki takes a moment so he can process what was just told him. It’s a lot packed into only a few words. 

First, the old, dying man is advising him not to hurt Ashira because she seems happy. Between the king’s insinuation and the girl’s implication, what Loki had begun to consider since the quiet conversation the other night seems more real… or maybe realistic? Two people don’t just say things like that unless the feelings are two-sided. 

He also just admitted that it isn’t a yearly thank you, rather a yearly check-up on her. Loki’s been a witness to some of her worst moments of relived panic but for it to be of enough concern that an entire other race checks on her regularly? 

That is a little stunning, to say the least. 

“I have no plans to,” Loki decides to respond. 

“Good. Cause if you do, she has more people behind her than she makes it seem. She could change the universe if she wanted.” 

Loki smiles at that. “Trust me, I know.” 

-

Loki finds Ashira spinning around like a child in the pilot’s seat, outfit changed to plain black leggings and a matching tank top. His eyes inadvertently go immediately to the scars along her neck and arms that she is no longer covering. The day she explained them was the same day she gave him something that healed him when his magic wouldn’t. So he stares almost blankly as he realizes she has scars when she shouldn’t. 

“So what did the King want to talk to you about?” She does not stop spinning as she asks.

“Just offering me some advice.” Loki sits in the co-pilot seat.

Ashira nods slowly as she final stops her spinning. Her brain is still off somewhere else as she continues to speak. “So despite being stocked up on alcohol, we are kinda low on everything else. We’ll stop at J’henga tomorrow.” 

“Alright.”

Silence blankets the ship for a few minutes, save the sounds of switches being flipped and the engine whispering to life. Ashira has nothing more to say for now; Loki is not sure what to say to her. Yet right before she can finally take them off the ground he speaks again.

“Were you ever going to tell me you live for 25,000 years?” 

She pauses. Shit. “Why would it matter?” 

Loki shrugs. “Would have been nice to know.”

“Why?” She scoffs and her head turns to face him. “One day you are going to go home…” she shakes her head. “…and if not, realize that I’m not a good person to be around. You’ve seen me and what I do. I bring chaos and even death everywhere I go. One day you will leave me and it will be long before my age actually comes into question.” 

Her words end with a sad, nearly in tears tone. She didn’t intend for those words to tumble from her lips. As the anniversary of the day grows near, despite her attempts to ignore it, her mind and body automatically begin to act on their own, forcing her into more unstable and erratic moods.

“Well, I am the God of Mischief,” Loki replies as he works to make sense of what she just said, “sometimes known as of Chaos. I’m not worried.” 

“You should be.” She shakes her head and turns away. “You should be.” 

With that she pulls them off the ground, leaving Loki to sit quietly in their ascent. 

—

The following morning Ashira awakens before him, as always. She pushes herself to a sitting position with ease, her left hand mindlessly reaches to where the pendant of the necklace ought to be. Her hand, however, just touches the strands of hair that decided to stick to her chest as she slept. 

The necklace is gone. 

Her heart practically skyrockets past the walls of the ship. 

She knows she didn’t take it off last night when they both finally made it to bed; it was definitely still secure around her, the metal clasp going absolutely nowhere. It had to be, she remembers seeing the reflection of its glow as she fell asleep. 

In her panic Ashira nearly falls off of the window seat. 

Thankfully she stops herself before she can full tumble off. 

First, her eyes search where she was sleeping while her hands fervently shake out her hair and shirt. 

No necklace. 

Then a quick search of the floor around her is done. 

No necklace. 

There is no way it could have gone far. 

Right as she turns to go downstairs to see if it could have possibly fallen off down there, she catches sight of the blue. 

It is hovering along the wall, a little note beside it. 

‘Didn’t want it to get tangled with your hair, I hope you don’t mind.’

Ashira snatches it away from the hook. The blue swirls around inside as she grabs it into her hands once again as if to greet her like an excited dog. Similarly relieved, she quickly puts it back on. 

The weight is exactly what her anxious self needs. Her fingers on both hands nervously curl and uncurl around it several times. 

“Are you alright?” 

Loki has barely woken up at the sound of her scrambling.

“Y-Yeah,” Ashira mutters back, turning to face him. “J’Henga is uh, not far out. Maybe 45 minutes? We can land now if you’d like.”

“I mean, we’re up.”

Ashira nods. “Yeah, already up. I’ll be downstairs.”

-

And her timing is still scarily accurate. 45 minutes after she descends to the cockpit they land and another fifteen later she is standing at the entrance of the ship in white leggings and a loose tan blouse, Loki coming to stand beside her a moment after in a looser, less leather version of his normal clothing. Another desert planet.

“You ready?” He asks.

Loki watches as Ashira nervously grip the necklace. 

Ashira turns to him and smiles. “Of course. Always am.”

The trek to the trading post - Ashira made a point of ensuring Loki knew it was not a city or village of any kind - is unusually quick. It is not a one mile or more hike to get close to civilization. Instead, it appears there are tons of ships around them and everyone seems to generally be moving towards the same trading post - some with wagons and actual boats worth of goods, others with nothing. The walk itself is also not long, a half mile at most. 

Loki isn’t sure what he expected when he finally gets a clear view of the area. It really is just a bunch of make-shift stands and people randomly scattered once they pass the entrance point. More species than he has ever seen before are selling and trading in one spot to their left, to their right a singular woman with ten animals he has never seen before. The closest thing Loki can compare them to is some form of mangled horse. 

“We really just need food, to be honest,” Ashira finally relays to Loki. “Once we are out of this system with the track I’m on we won’t be getting great food any time soon after, so we need to get a lot, actually.”

“Any suggestions then?”

“Not really. Trust your gut, but most of the stuff here is good. To be honest,” Ashira careful side steps a bucket of who knows what, “the food that doesn’t follow any regulations tends to be the best I’ve learned. So don’t be afraid of the gross stuff, your highness.”

“I - I am offended you would think I would be afraid of ‘gross’ stuff,” Loki huffs.

“You are a pretty rules and regulations guy from what I can tell so… yeah. Anyway, c’mon.” 

Of course, she’s right. Loki nearly slaps a bag of out of Ashira’s hands as it is passed to her because he swear he saw something moving inside of it that shouldn’t have been. He claimed he is just concerned for her health. She has to remind him that it will be just fine and that she has been here before whereas he has not. 

He reluctantly yielded. 

-

Three hours into their market wandering and multiple instances of Ashira casually handing Loki yet another bag and him pretending not to notice that she still is carrying nothing, Ashira notices them nearly done. 

“So we’ve got almost everything,” Ashira hums, handing yet another bag to Loki. 

“So what’s left, miss ‘I cannot carry my own bags’.”

Ashira tries to stop the absolutely ridiculous grin pulling on her lips at Loki’s remark. “Hey, every king needs to learn to be humbled every so often.” She glances up to him. “Sugar, is what we need. Like candy. Specifically something that is like 100% sugar is preferable.”

“Do you have a sweet tooth I never noticed?” 

“Hm, maybe. It’s also good to chase some of the drinks I got from Dorne with candy or mix them. Trust me, it makes the experience much, much better.” 

“You would know. A true connoisseur of drinks, I’ve learned.” 

With the next step her gut feels like it’s been punched. 

It’s the day again. 

To be honest, Ashira tries not to keep track. 

But she feels it in her gut. The dread, the complete and utter dread fills her system as they walk through market. Her heart is palpitating so painfully; her vision blurring dramatically. Things are spinning in circles, the crowd rolling almost comedically around as she struggles to stay balanced. 

Loki immediately notices the change. The runaway has a very distinct pattern of walking through bustling crowds and any change is immediately obvious to him. 

So he calls out to her as she stumbles out of arms reach. 

Only one grabs Ashira’s attention, however. A person. Someone a bit shorter than Loki pushing through the crowd a few feet in front of her with white hair to his shoulder and a perfectly clean dark silver streak against his left side. 

At least it looks that way to her spinning head. 

Ashira rushes forward. The crowd is thick but means nothing to her panic mixed with her natural strength. She isn’t paying attention to the narrowed eyes, growls, and Loki’s increasingly concerned shouts to her. 

Once she reaches the man, her hands wrap around his wrist. His head whips to look at the sudden intrusion. 

“Eros?” Ashira asks hopefully. 

Who she grabbed onto, however, is a disgruntled mixed Elf, part light, part lunar with narrowed, angry plain hazel eyes and hair that is actually more of a very light blond with brown streak through it. The man yanks his arm away from Ashira violently. She involuntarily stumbles forward.

Then someone else comes to stand in front of her. Fingers curl around her upper arms and squeezes. She’s too disoriented to even flinch or pull away. Her eyes just stare directly forward for a moment or two. So the person squeezes her arms again. Her brows slowly pull inward; she’s confused as to what is happening. The person squeezes again. 

She finally looks up, mind completely dissociating from her surroundings. The face seems familiar, she thinks. 

“Are you alright?” Loki wonders. 

Ashira furrows her brows. “Loki?” It’s a statement laced with confusion. 

“Uh, yeah, it’s me.” Loki puts on a smile to assure her it will be okay. “Let’s get you back to your ship, you don’t look well.”

“Alright...” Ashira looks back to his chest. “Sure.” 

-

Loki practically drags her back to the ship. She is stumbling and struggling to even see as her body falls into a numb panic. 

When he finally practically hurls her onto the ship, she instantly dashes up the stairs. 

It’s not a smooth run, it’s messy. Loki is staring agape as she falls on her face twice in her scurry. 

She’s tearing open her pathetic little chest of clothes in her little window seat. Buried beneath all her clothes, deep within her makeshift bed, are two physical pictures she has kept. The first is her and Selene, centuries ago, laughing on top of their ship after their first successful stealth mission. 

But the second? 

Her and Eros in front of the new engine they built so ships can be converted mid-flight instead of needing fighter ships attached and risk the main ship getting damaged. Her lips are pressed against his cheek as he grins sappily, the engine acting as a seat. He’s flushed in both excitement and embarrassment: she had just kisses him (albeit only on the cheek) in front of hundreds of people. He was never particularly public. 

She hasn’t touched it in ten years. 

But to see it doesn’t help. That’s why she stopped looking at - instead of helping her cope it only made her sadder and more angry at herself. 

This time she doesn’t burn. There is a numbness inside of her that directs the pain inwards, her organs ripping and shredding instead of her surroundings. It somehow hurts less this way as well. She isn’t sure why. 

To her, it’s unclear how long she has been sobbing on the floor, clutching the photo to her chest. It’s been about fifteen minutes. 

Loki, having chalked up the incident on her just needing to eat combined with the heat, decided to make her something legitimately edible. Well, as edible as he can make something, especially given the limitations of the ship.

Satisfied, Loki calls out to her. “Hey, Ash, I made you food.” 

Ash. 

Ash. 

Only one person ever called her that. 

And she falls into harder sobs. 

“Ashira?” He calls out. 

He listens for a response only to hear her crying. It’s a painful, wet, deeply quiet sob. 

With a sigh, he walks up stairs. 

Ashira rushes to put the photo away; the seat closes right as Loki gets up the stairs. 

“Seriously, what’s going on with you?” Loki demands. 

“I’m fine.” It’s through a damaged throat still damp with tears.

Loki crosses his arms. “You are literally sobbing while collapsed on the ground."

Ashira hiccups. The hiccup shutters her entire body but she shakes it off, looking up at Loki with a crooked smile. “Like I said, perfectly fine.” 

Loki rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say.” 

—

When night falls, Loki is no less worried. 

She opted to leave as soon as dusk hit (without giving him a reason) and he didn’t push for one. Something is wrong and she is too stubborn to explain. 

Due to the overwhelming amount of energy she spent crying (and her body attempting to heal itself), Ashira falls into a calm slumber quickly. 

Loki is not so lucky. 

He lies awake worried. 

What the hell happened today and what the hell happened to mess her up this much?

He spends a few hours mulling it over but knows he will get no answers by just making assumptions in the dead of night. 

Eventually he, too, begins to drift off. 

—

“Are you excited, ‘Shira?” Selene asks, finishing off the braid she’s spent the past hour on. 

Ashira snorts. “Of course. I mean, I’m getting married.”

“And it is going to be a wonderful spectacle.” 

“I would hope so.”

Loki, in his half-asleep state, barely registers the sound of Ashira suddenly gasping like she is choking.

Kneeling in the water bed of the waterfall, Ashira chuckles as splashes continuously hit her and Eros in the face. He keeps flinching his silver eyes closed to stop the water from hitting them but he keeps reopening them to look at her. Her grin causes Eros chuckles back, his fingers gripping hers a little harder. 

“Now, to make the bond official, you both shall share a kiss to seal your fates together.”

Ashira pushes forward to press her lips against his. She’s crying into it. So is he. It’s a messy kiss, filled with wet tears on their wet faces, a happy giggle leaving both of their lips. 

As her lips pull away from him, it’s no longer Eros in front of her, smiling back. 

It’s Loki. 

“Wh-what?” She gasps. 

“What’s wrong, Ash? Did I get something caught in my hair again?” 

“Y-you’re not…”

“You’ve got something, on your…”

But then he begins to vanish. First his hands crumble in hers, nothing more than ashes. It quickly spreads up his arms; bit by bit he slowly fades into nothing more than shattered particles, body falling into the water and washing away. 

His face is last, still smiling as it does, like nothing is wrong.

A sob passes her lips in both real life and her dream. 

Loki practically jumps out of bed. 

She turns her head back to look at Selene, tears already blurring her eyes with sorrow and panic. Selene looks just as shocked as Ashira feels. Her face is darkened by sadness combined with fear - fear of repercussions, not fear of her best friend. 

“What did you do?” Eros’ father shrieks. “What did you do to my son?”

Ashira, terrified and breathing sporadically looks back to the group of people watching. All eyes are either wide with terror or narrowed with anger. 

“I-I… I don’t know,” she sputters out. 

Some of the higher officials run up behind Ashira and grab her arms and throw cuffs around them. She’s immobilized as the paralysis injection begins to push through her veins. But it increases the panic in her system, the complete opposite its intention, whatever flowing through her veins fighting off the substance, the poison, attempting to hurt her. She’s too panicked to notice the burning glow on her body, too terrified to feel the heat radiating off of her. 

The blanket around her body is practically strangling her. 

Loki begins to shake her quickly with his left hand and his right is tugging the blanket from around her. It’s choking her. 

“Ashira, Ashira you need to wake up.” 

“No! No please, I don’t know what happened, please let me go!” Ashira screeches as multiple officials begin dragging her away. “No!”

Before she is dragged more than a foot, the ones holding her slowly begin to disintegrate too. 

There is a burn of purple erupting along Ashira’s skin. She’s heating up and yelling out nonsense. Not only is the purple whatever tearing at her, but she is physically burning up, a sweat beginning to cover her skin. 

“Ashira, come on you gotta wake up.” His hand goes to touch her head to see just how hot she is.

He pulls his hand away with a hiss. He remembers that one visit he, his brother and the other four fools his brother calls friends took to Muspelheim and how Volstagg so graciously tripped him so he fell face first into a pile of very, very hot rocks. The whole ship begins rumbling and tearing apart slowly at the seams. The metal begins to glow a heated red around the edges. 

She’s going to blow the ship. 

In the middle of flying.

“Hey, Ash, wake up!” 

It’s only a sense of distraught in him. His heart is skipping beats as he keeps shaking her by touching the extra fabric of her shirt. Her skin is far to warm for her to even be living at this point. 

“What the hel is going on?” Loki whispers desperately. 

Loki looks around again to see the ceiling ready to fall on them both. So he does what he can to calm and cool her. It’s dangerous, it’s risky and also the only solution he can think of. He hopes he won’t regret what he is about to do. 

His skin begins to shift blue. 

It’s chaos. People are screaming, shouting, scrambling. Except Selene, who is running towards the girl she was raised with. Selene just wants to pull her friend away before any more drastic action is taken, like being killed on the spot.

Where he touches her he begins to literally sizzle. Despite it hurting like hel and then some, Loki continues to try and cool her down at least marginally. 

It seems to a work just a hair; enough that Ashira doesn’t feel like she ought to be a molten puddle on the ground, at least.

Before Selene can dive to Ashira, though, Ashira is blasted nearly unconscious. Her friend turns to see the Queen standing there, Scepter in her hand with at least three mindless Chitauri behind her. 

As a taller, terrifyingly imposing person, even one side glance can instill fear. This murderous glare could cause immediate death. 

“Have something you need to tell me?”

Selene gulps nervously. 

Ashira hears this as she rolls over to look at her mother. Her hands reach out towards her mother, begging for her to help. 

She barely spars at glance at her only child as Ashira loses consciousness. 

But now she is re-heating up. 

“Ashira!” Loki shouts. 

The ship stops rattling. 

She gasps for air as she sits up suddenly. Her eyes are wide and startled, whole body heaving with each inhale and exhale. She isn’t even looking towards him, just straight ahead. Her heart will not slow at all; there is purple radiating off of her palms and chest still. There is an odd cold touch on her left arm. It feels nice compared to the obscenely warm sweat covering her. 

“Ashira?” Loki shifts back to his ivory color and touches her left arm again. It hurts from the scotching heat yet he refuses to let go. He decides to just change his hands and slowly rubs them up and down her forearm. “Normally you say something right after I wake you. Is everything alright?” 

She’s grinding her teeth to calm her breath and mind. She doesn’t really know so she doesn’t really want to answer. 

On one end, everything is fine. He is there in front of her. And alive.

On the other, this is the first time someone else has appeared in her nightmares. 

“This is...” she pauses to slow her breath. It works only to slow her breath a smidge; it is better than nothing. So she turns slowly to look at Loki directly. His eyes are wide with sheer worry and he is desperately attempting to help her relax with his soft touch against her arm. “This is real, right?” 

Loki’s brows softly gather together. He’s confused and concerned by her question. It even causes him to drop his hands. She isn’t paying enough attention to the physical sensations around her to notice. 

“Why are you asking?” 

Ashira wildly shakes her head, hoping her brain will reset. “I’m just being an idiot. I’m sorry.” 

Her hands yearn to reach out and touch to confirm he is still there but she is too afraid that if she does they will move right through, or worse, he will vanish entirely. 

Or even worse: he will crumble. 

“You don’t ask dumb questions for no reason. What’s going on?” 

Not even Selene, the girl she was raised with, the girl who has been her best friend for longer than Loki has been alive, has been the victim in her dreams. 

She is terrified to admit what is the reason. 

I’m scared, she wants to admit. I’m terrified. You were in my dream, I killed you in my dream and I’ve never had a dream like that. I think... I think I might love you. 

And that might be more petrifying, horrifying, terrifying than anything else. 

Because loving you means killing you. 

“IOx-10. Let’s land tomorrow, maybe do some hiking or something?” 

Loki smiles. “Whatever you need.”

“Thank you.” 

There is no joke. No ‘my liege’, no ‘your highness’. 

Simply a thank you.

___

Next

------

Taglist 

@tarynkauai @illogicalfangirl

[bakudekuficlibrary]

BakuDeku Ultimate Starter Pack

New to the BakuDeku community? Want to start reading fics, but not quite sure where to begin? Here are the Classics! 

To give you a variety so that you may explore options and see what tropes you like best, we will list the top three of all different kinds of categories—such as angst, fluff, smut, fics set in alternative universes, fics set in canonverse, etc—based on kudos (because “kudos are a quick and easy way to let a creator know that you like their work” and both readers with an AO3 account and those without can leave them) and completion status!

Because some categories overlap, there are repeats.

Please keep in mind that these picks are all based on the statistics of the works, which are subject to change. 

We recommend using the “CTRL/CMD + F” function to search for keywords.

13 Categories. 57 Works.

Jump to:

Most Kudos

Fluff

Angst

Smut

Fluff & Smut

Smut & Angst

Angst & Fluff

Fluff, Angst, and Smut

Hurt/Comfort

Canonverse

Alternate Universe

Slow Build

Domestic

1a.) Completed Works:

Blood Moon by lalazee ( E | 94,860 | 27/27 )

The Thank-Fuck-We-Aren’t-Dead Sex had started then, and had never really stopped. Then came the feelings and the fights. The ego, the pride, the jealousy. And then there was Us.

(The one-shot smut fic that turned into an entire world for you.)

[Homophobic Language]

May I take your order, dipshit? by supercrunch  ( T | 6,373 | 1/1 )

So, like, maybe Bakugou wasn’t really the best choice for this whole pizza delivery shindig.

(Midoriya in love, Bakugou in denial, and way, way too much cheese.

A BakuDeku romance in thirty minutes or less. )

Sugar Stardust by milkcandie ( T | 52,353 | 14/14 )

Between baking pretty macarons and sculpting wedding cakes, Katsuki slowly falls in love with a certain green-haired coworker who has effervescent stars in his eyes. Maybe working as a pastry chef in Nowhere, Japan isn't so bad after all, especially when he’s in such close proximity to a boy who manages to beautify every little thing in his presence.

☆ A pâtisserie AU where Katsuki and Izuku are really the perfect ingredient for each other.

1b.) Incomplete Works:

For Want of Izuku's Toe Joint by Talavin ( G | 103,109+ | 20/? )

When he was four years old, the doctor showed Izuku and his mother the x-ray of the boy's foot. Since he only had one joint in his pinky toe, the doctor explained, there was a very high chance his quirk would manifest eventually. Year after year passed without any sign of it though, leaving Izuku to wonder if he could become a hero even without a quirk. Nevertheless, Izuku does possess a subtle, but extremely powerful ability - the kind that could make him the greatest hero of all time.

[Major Character Death]

The Devil Ships ZeKu by xairylle  ( E | 174,694+ | 29/? )

Midoriya Izuku knew what fanfiction was. He just didn't think there was something like THIS out there. About him and Kacchan no less.

Quiet Rapture by lalazee  ( E | 29,113+ | 8/? )

That ABO fic where cocky Alpha Bakugou falls in mate-love at first scent, while Midoriya is just a poor bookstore-owning Omega who got his nose punched in is a kid and can't smell a damn thing. Also known as: That time an Alpha had to use his actual personalityto woo his mate instead of relying on his scent.

[Graphic Depictions of Violence | Implied/Reference Past Sexual Assault]

2a.) Completed Fluff Works:

Child's Play by stardustacademia (cosmiclarents)  ( G | 3,286 | 1/1 )

Izuku comes back to the dorm as a child. Katsuki is his impromptu caretaker.

Series Part 1 of Quirks and Consequences

Yes, They're All Safe by teaandtumblr  ( T | 4,653 | 3/3 )

Villains have entered UA grounds and are disposed of just as quickly, but that doesn't mean a headcount of the students doesn't need to be done. Toshinori would admit, he wasn't quite prepared for what he found in Bakugou Katsuki's room.

How IKEA Sells All Their Beds by thankyouforexisting  ( T | 5,100 | 1/1 )

The next day, Kacchan turns on the cold water while Izuku is showering, resulting in a screaming match that the whole floor gets involved in, and soap bars starts flying everywhere, while Mineta throws his purple balls so that people can grab onto them and not slip on the wet floor, earning a “You’re not that bad, dude,” from Kirishima (It's a lie. Literally everybody hates him). Aizawa punishes them all by making them run laps for an hour the next morning.

Two days later, Izuku retaliates by lowering the thermostat until Kacchan can’t summon fire to burn his clothes, and Iida appears in the doorway holding a flag and shouting, “JUSTICE FOR CLOTHES! NO MORE DESTRUCTION OF FABRIC! WE MUST FIGHT THIS STRIKE AGAINST THE TEXTILE INDUSTRY, COMRADES!”

Kacchan rips the thermostat from the wall with his fire cannons and burns the flag, half of Izuku’s wardrobe, and his bed.//Deku and Kacchan are roommates, and everyone fears for their safety.

2b.) Incomplete Fluff Works:

He's Mine by Dracien  ( T | 47,318+ | 32/? )

Katsuki staked his claim a long time ago and fuckers need to back the hell up!

not with those shoulders, darling by Disney_Princess_Izuku  ( T | 30,133+ | 15/? )

Whoever asshole that said “Midoriya Izuku is a quirkless loser” was a liar, and Bakugou Katsuki would love to introduce them to his fist. Repeatedly.

the baking prodigy in the all-might pajamas by lucyheartfilia  ( T | 55,046+ | 17/25 )

College AU in where angry art major Bakugou Katsuki kind of, sort of falls in love with a cute, green-haired nerd that likes to bake in his all-might pjs at questionable hours of the night.

3a.) Completed Angst Works:

there are listed buildings by semiautomatichearts  ( M | 3,309 | 1/1 )

Katsuki first sees colors bloom when he is only three years old. It is timid Izuku, hiding behind the cover of his mother's leg who looks upon him with wide eyes, and Katsuki's world explodes in shades of greens and pinks and blues, and he is so startled, he begins to cry.

His life is then on defined in color, in shades his peers can't see, by the forlorn, timid stare in Izuku's eyes that always lets off more than he is willing to tell. There is a schism driven between himself and his fated other, and Katsuki strives to be better than fate, better than what is defined for him. He is more than the written pages of a book, to be cracked open and read by the gods.

He wonders if it is possible for colors to bloom for someone who will never love you back.

Sleeping With Ghosts by lalazee  ( M | 1,003 | 1/1 )

“I guess even heroes have to do their grocery shopping.” “Villains, too,” Katsuki said tightly. “Villains?” Deku blinked, gasping softly as he went to his tip toes and looked over the aisle divider. “Where? Shit, Kacchan, you’d better get on that!”

Written for KatsuDeku Week 2017, Day 2: Heroes/Villains.

Tempo by ichikonohakko  ( G | 2,081 | 1/1 )

He promised Katsuki the world.

But Deku was a villain. And no villain should be trusted.

--- Or in which Deku let himself slip up in a moment of weakness.

Series Part 7 of Villain!Deku AU

3b.) Incomplete Angst Works:

Once Again from Better Days by limesicle  ( T | 45,569+ | 52/? )

Katsuki wakes to find himself reset. It's a time when quirks are just starting, and he only remembers a bit about happened the first time. He remembers enough to know Deku is someone he hurt a lot. He remembers enough to know he had to watch Deku fall. He remembers enough to try to make things better this time.

Changeling by littleberd  ( E | 26,500+ | 14/? )

Deku, for that is the only name he can remember as his own, is working for his master, Sensei. The man who wishes to kill All Might, along with every other member in the League of Villains. Deku is a doll made to follow his owner's bidding, whether it be entertaining Tomura or helping Kurogiri with bar duties and chores... or killing someone his master no longer needs.

Deku is a changeling. A Noumu from birth... but is he really? If he is, as his master says, then why does he feel pin pricks in his eyes when he kills? Why does he grin with happiness when he sees All Might beating up his master's minions? Why does the Hero Academy boy with spiky blond hair and dangerous but comfortably warm hands seem so familiar... why does his mind whisper 'help me' every time he glimpses those red eyes?

Series Part 1 of Nomu Izuku

[Graphic Depictions of Violence | Major Character Death | Rape/Non-Con | Underage]

Limerance by Serie11  ( M | 80,788+ | 14/? )

Izuku stares at the TV. “Mum, what’s a Hero Duo?”

She ruffles his hair. “It means that the two of them are soulmates. They’re stronger together, so they fight together. They support each other.”

Izuku sighs dreamily at the screen. “I wish I could be part of a Hero Duo one day.” Someone who would always be there for him? It sounded like a dream come true.

Then of course, Izuku finds out who his soulmate is: and his dream suddenly feels a lot more like a nightmare.

[Graphic Depictions of Violence]

4a.) Completed Smut Works:

Gravity by warschach  ( E | 71,477 | 10/10 )

Izuku is back in his hometown and plenty hasn't changed much from the 8 years he was gone. Except, Katsuki Bakugou, the alpha king of their small town. He's hotter- because that's fair, right, God? -, stronger, a now-famous pro fighter, and noticeably nicer this round.

Not that he cares, pfft.

Ha, Izuku Midoriya caring about Katsuki Bakugou, thinking he's pretty cute and not half bad once you get past the asshole persona; though that gargantuan ego of his could take a dive off a very tall cliff.

(Fine, he cares.)

A Trip Up No-Memory Lane by acernor  ( E | 30,875 | 16/16 )

Midoriya loses his memory to a villain's quirk in senior year and re-meets his classmates for the first time. With 20x the confidence, he takes absolutely 0% of Bakugo's shit, and pushes back when Bakugo tries to push him around.

Bakugo likes it.

Uraraka/Asui is the side pairing.

Series Part 1 of MidoBaku

Caught Looking by EAter  ( E | 6,537 | 1/1 )

He hadn’t meant to look, but once he did, he couldn’t stop. Izuku always knew Katsuki was attractive, in a sort of removed, passive way. He’s obnoxiously fit- with good posture and clear skin and those sharp, dangerous eyes.

Really, it’s a wonder Izuku hadn’t stopped to stare sooner.

[Underage]

4b.) Incomplete Smut Works:

The Devil Ships ZeKu by xairylle ( E | 174,694+ | 29/? )

Midoriya Izuku knew what fanfiction was. He just didn't think there was something like THIS out there. About him and Kacchan no less.

Crybaby by lalazee  ( E | 33,920+ | 11/? )

That awkward moment when you have phone sex with your childhood best friend and neither of you realize who is on the other end. A love story.

In the Eye of the Storm by CheshireButton  ( M | 90,807+ | 11/? )

Izuku Midoriya is a scientific prodigy seeking a cure for a rapidly spreading neurodegenerative disease. A potential clue in his research points to a fabled island, guarded by an eternal storm from which no travelers have ever returned. He navigates through the hurricane and discovers an island that is anything but uninhabited. He must adapt to survive against the natives who place intruders in three categories: warriors, mates, or meat.

[Graphic Depictions of Violence]

5a.) Completed Fluff & Smut Works:

Bluebird by EtherealBeing  ( E | 40,870 | 6/6 )

Dialing a wrong number was no unusual occurrence. Everyone did it once in a while, and Katuski was well aware of that fact.

However, possessing this knowledge made it no less aggravating for him to discover — a full two minutes into his rant about his day — that he’d been venting his frustrations to a complete stranger. As if that wasn't enough, said stranger was also inexplicably determined to hear his story to its end.

drag me to the deeps of your heart by halcyonwhispers  ( E | 5,945 | 1/1 )

Everyone presents on their 17th birthday, and while Katsuki has already (alpha, big fuckin’ shocker), he awaits his boyfriend’s presentation to finally get over the nonexistent (slight) curiosity over Izuku’s new rank.

He can’t be an alpha, not crybaby, overthinking Deku. Anyways, both his parents are betas, and all that genetic and biology shit says Deku’s bound for that road.

(he thinks)

Series Part 1 of The (Im)Proper Way to an Alpha-Omega Courtship

[Underage]

Let's Be Alone Together by lalazee ( E | 2,623 | 1/1 )

Prompt: Deku being aggressively forward in his pursuit of Bakugou, and how that big oaf would react to someone else actually making the first move.

“Are you going to spend your entire life wishing you’d kissed me or are you gonna grow some balls and fucking do it?”

5b.) Incomplete Fluff & Smut Works:

BNHA Grindr AU No One Asked For by HatakeJory ( M | 39,858 | 29/45 )

Izuku is a second-year at U.A. and ready for his first relationship so he downloads the gay dating app known as Grindr. He meets pro hero and U.A. graduate Bakugou Katsuki who is looking for a cute boy to spoil, and eventually someone who's awesome enough to run his Hero Agency with.

Who knows what they'll find in each other?

[Underage]

[Abandoned] Cherry Time by JunNoAce  ( E | 14,492 | 3/? )

Starting just before the provisional license exam, Midoriya Izuku gets an unexpected late night visitor at his dorm room. Bakugou Katsuki has conflicting feelings and doesn't know how to express them at the same time. DISCONTINUED | Unless I think of a way to end it in just a few chapters but I'm more focused on my other fic rn.

[Underage | Graphic Depictions of Violence]

A Hero Must Be Bold by BRICKKCIRB  ( T | 134,055+ | 17/? )

Forced to board together after a stint of recent villain attacks, the students of the academy find themselves pressed together a little too close for comfort, especially when it's two to a room and Bakugou gets stuck with Todoroki for a roommate.

To make matters worse with only one thin wall between Izuku and him, tensions grow and sparks fly as both sides rush to craft master plans to win the other’s heart. Bakugou’s plans get bolder and bolder, and Izuku slowly starts to realise that while Bakugou can dish it out, he sure as hell can’t take in when Izuku gives it right back.

Meanwhile Todoroki figures that it's about time he has his teenage rebellious phase, and decides to take a break from his powers to focus on finding who he is as a person, and finding out a little more about what his classmates really mean to him along the way.

6a.) Completed Smut & Angst Works: 

Make Every Moment Last by osakakitty  ( E | 6,885 | 1/1 )

There are days where Izuku Midoriya wakes in a different world. It is usually a world very similar to his own, but with noticeable changes. The thing that changes the most is Katsuki Bakugo. Sometimes he's a friend, sometimes he's not, and sometimes he's something else entirely.

Canon-Divergent story where Midoriya has the uncontrollable ability to travel to parallel universes. He sleeps in one, and may wake up in another. By seeing through the eyes of many different 'Izuku Midoriya,' he learns things about himself and Bakugo.

Like the Moon by osakakitty  ( E | 14,781 | 2/2 )

Katsuki Bakugo is having constant, erotic dreams about Izuku Midoriya. He isn’t sure why, but they won’t go away. In order to make them stop, he needs to figure out what Izuku Midoriya means to him.

Canon-verse story in which Bakugo is confused about his feelings for Midoriya, and doesn’t know what he wants. Besides a good night’s sleep.

Update: added an epilogue

I know you picture yourself under me, baby by sanry  ( E | 7,991 | 2/2 )

Midoriya lets off steam and takes it out on Bakugou, inside the bedroom

Series Part 1 of DekuBaku

6b.) Incomplete Smut & Angst Works:

2,645 Miles by mynameis152  ( M | 65,292+ | 19/? )

Izuku wants so badly to get to the other side of the country without his parents realizing he's missing. He just wants to find out who he is.

Katsuki is desperate to make it to Los Angeles without being caught by the police, desperate to fix his mistakes.

Neither know what to expect, but on a roadtrip across the U.S. involving four fugitives, two oblivious runaways, a high risk crime ring, and a police taskforce, the two will discover that there's more in store for them than what they originally thought.

[Graphic Depictions of Violence]

Radiating Heat by FynningAround  ( M | 30,406+ | 6/? )

Twenty-two and working at a coffee shop, Katsuki's feigned experience with therapists had been for naught for years straight until he meets the only therapist who is able to control him indisputably.

Ghost by BluKrown  ( E | 12,425+ | 4/? )

Midoriya moves into an apartment, excited for the new prospect of independence. He, however, does not realise he has peaked the interest of one of the older residence of the apartment.

7a.) Completed Angst & Fluff Works:

Sugar Stardust by milkcandie ( T | 52,353 | 14/14 )

Between baking pretty macarons and sculpting wedding cakes, Katsuki slowly falls in love with a certain green-haired coworker who has effervescent stars in his eyes. Maybe working as a pastry chef in Nowhere, Japan isn't so bad after all, especially when he’s in such close proximity to a boy who manages to beautify every little thing in his presence.

☆ A pâtisserie AU where Katsuki and Izuku are really the perfect ingredient for each other.

Honeymoon High by Butterfree  ( T | 115,021 | 18/18 )

“OI, FUCKFACE! If you think you’re just going to waltz into this fancy-ass church with your fake as shit smile and your miserable bitch of a wife while my friend is sitting on the street carrying YOUR BABY, then YOU need to step right down here SO I CAN DETONATE YOUR ASS UNTIL NO ONE CAN RECOGNIZE YOUR LYING FACE, YOU DIPSHIT EXCUSE FOR A HUMAN BEING!”

A beat of silence.

And then all hell broke loose.

It started with a ‘SLAP’ resonating from the bride who activated some quirk to maximize the pain that her ex-fiancé felt. A lady near the front fainted, knocking over the table with the wedding cake and a glass swan sculpture. The scattered remains caused the ring bearer to jump up. Her quirk accidentally activated and sent the brides’ maids into the air. A man with half white and half red hair rushed to save the statue, but ended up tripping over a power line which engulfed the room in darkness. It didn’t take long for everyone else in the building to follow.

In the midst of the glory Katsuki felt at the complete chaos, a calloused hand grabbed his sleeve. He was met with wide and curious green eyes. “Excuse me, I’m the groom. Do I know you?”

.

Fuck. He crashed the wrong wedding.

[Graphic Depictions of Violence]

Black Light by warschach  ( M | 11,578 | 1/1 )

Katsuki grabbed him, which freaked Izuku out. An understandable response, because the few times he and Katsuki had some type of physical contact it ended with him being thrown either into something hard, like cement, or into the air where he eventually rocketed into cement.

So while it was nice…of Katsuki to hug him? Izuku really wanted distance for his physical and mental well being, oh, and his big fat, gross monster crush. That too.

(or Izuku panics alot while Katsuki hugs him)

7b.) Incomplete Angst & Fluff Works:

The Space Between by Kanae_vR  ( M | 77,012+ | 13/23 )

Holding his expensive camera tightly between his hands, Midoriya Izuku looked up at the once-white letters displayed on the black storefront banner. “The Hard Luck Bar,” he murmured to himself, unsure if he was getting ready to enter or flee.

Amateur photographer Midoriya Izuku is stuck in a rut and desperate for a change of pace. Deep in his city's grimy underbelly, he finds exactly what he's looking for in the form of an underground punk sensation on the verge of their big break, fronted by a foul-mouthed firework of a human being.

Loud, brash and passionate, Izuku may have just found the creative spark he needed, as well as something new to set his soul ablaze.

Flower Bouquet by MaiaMizuhara  ( M | 90,620+ | 15/? )

The flowers sprout from night to morning like moles, although they looked more like faint tattoos. Each flower, as well as their color, tells us about the personality of their bearer. Their location identifies the type of person—chest, upper back and shoulders for an alpha (strength, fierceness and protection); hands, legs and face for a beta (hard work, safety and confidence); and finally, abdomen, stomach and lower back for the omega (motherhood, sweetness and sensuality). Every year, the tattoos are enhanced, they bloom and spread throughout the body of their bearer.

With sixteen years, Izuku does not have a flower, but in his memories flashes the red of the gladiolus flower against the skin of Katsuki. It is the memory he has and with it his desire to return home is revived; but things are never easy.

(AU. Three kingdoms, and a war about to explode.)

[Graphic Depictions of Violence]

how he should’ve known (and how it turned out) by vannral  ( M | 33,620+ | 10/12 )

Izuku should’ve listened and known and watched out for this so he wouldn’t be here, in this position. But he is, and everything is awful.

In which Katsuki and Izuku pretend to be a couple to avoid journalists, the plan backfires magnificently because of course it does, and the act goes on. Includes feelings, pining, domestic fluff and jealousy.

8a.) Completed Fluff, Smut, and Angst Works:

the last dragon-blood king by claimedbydaryl  ( E | 107,014 | 13/13 )

Katsuki Bakugou was the alpha heir to a forgotten throne, reigning lord and warden of the Fyre Isles, a famed warrior of vicious repute in the Western Seas, and he would be wed to Izuku Midoriya by the day’s end.

coherency by Ramabear (RyMagnatar)  ( E | 43,298 | 8/8 )

It's impulsive. It's wrong. It's going to haunt Katsuki's dreams for weeks, months, years. It's going to hang like a guillotine blade above his neck, one fraying thread away from cutting him off from the future he'd envisioned living his whole life.

But Izuku was desperate, hurting, and there was no one else to save him. Nothing else that could have been done. So Katsuki gives what help he can, the only way he can, for as long as he can stand to. He'll hold onto this moment tightly, knowing that it will break apart in the end.

The things between them aren't meant to last.

Series Part 1 of in the sunlight; ever changing

[Underage | Rape/Non-Con Elements]

i’ll burn your name into my throat by halcyonwhispers  ( M | 8,688 | 1/1 )

Rules to a Proper (traditional) Alpha-Omega Courtship as explained by Mom and (mostly) Google search:

“While formal protocol must be followed to lead to a happy and healthy mateship for an alpha and omega pair, one rule must be followed at all cost…

Supervision is KEY. The alpha and omega must NOT be left alone for a moment, and while supervised visits are allowed, a responsible chaperone MUST be present to guard the omega’s reputation. Physical contact is NOT allowed. However, the baring of the omega’s neck is REQUIRED at every meeting to show their submission to their alpha in a gesture of respect and acknowledgement that they return any soft emotions.”

(izuku saw how this was going to be a problem)

Series Part 2 of The (Im)Proper Way to an Alpha-Omega Courtship

[Underage]

8b.) Incomplete Fluff, Smut, and Angst Works:

How to Train Your Shitty Omega by deanvspanties  ( E | 122,910+ | 16/? )

Izuku will have Bakugou's knot. He's Izuku's alpha after all.

I'm sorry for this, but I just had an image in my head of omega!Izuku destroying the school, hunting down Bakugou, and demanding his knot.

How to Mend a Broken Soul by youwishyouwerethiscool  ( M | 57,112+ | 14/? )

Bakugou Katsuki has known he has a destined soulmate since practically birth. He hasn't ever wanted one though. But things change. Things always change if there is a good enough reason. But can Katsuki mend what he has broken? Or has he denied his soul for too long and now the bond is broken beyond repair?

—————————————

Another katsudeku Soulmate AU. Probably because they are soulmates.

And He Was Magnificent by Skaii, SugarbabyIzuku  ( E | 4,134+ | 1/? )

Midoriya Izuku is an omega slave, born into a life of subservience. He's trapped, never to reach his dreams of something more; until he's thrust headfirst into the world of Bakugou Katsuki, the crown prince of Incendium Kingdom. Now, Izuku must adjust to a new life as Katsuki's slave—while a war that threatens to shake the land looms on the horizon.

[Graphic Depictions of Violence]

9a.) Completed Hurt/Comfort Works:

Blood Moon by lalazee ( E | 94,860 | 27/27 )

The Thank-Fuck-We-Aren’t-Dead Sex had started then, and had never really stopped. Then came the feelings and the fights. The ego, the pride, the jealousy. And then there was Us.

(The one-shot smut fic that turned into an entire world for you.)

[Homophobic Language]

Before Midnight by DriftingGlass  ( E | 211,528 | 28/28 )

Izuku Midoriya takes the same train to and from school Monday through Friday, morning and night. His only company during these lonesome hours comes in the form of another boy his age—a teen with scarred hands and blood gem eyes, a stranger with ash-blond hair who walks in a shroud of danger and mystery.

"Would you stop with that fucking muttering, idiot?"

And before Izuku can find his footing, his life becomes a full-blown collision course thanks to walking cannonball Katsuki Bakugou.

(And along the way he may have found the missing fuel to his fire).

[Graphic Depictions of Violence | Underage | Implied/Referenced Child Abuse | Attempted Sexual Assault | Emotional/Psychological Abuse]

the last dragon-blood king by claimedbydaryl ( E | 107,014 | 13/13 )

Katsuki Bakugou was the alpha heir to a forgotten throne, reigning lord and warden of the Fyre Isles, a famed warrior of vicious repute in the Western Seas, and he would be wed to Izuku Midoriya by the day’s end.

9b.) Incomplete Hurt/Comfort Works:

Quiet Rapture by lalazee  ( E | 29,113+ | 8/? )

That ABO fic where cocky Alpha Bakugou falls in mate-love at first scent, while Midoriya is just a poor bookstore-owning Omega who got his nose punched in is a kid and can't smell a damn thing. Also known as: That time an Alpha had to use his actual personalityto woo his mate instead of relying on his scent.

[Graphic Depictions of Violence]

[Abanonded] Alexithymia by DriftingGlass  ( M | 61,246 | 10/11 )

It’s as if he’s inhaling a breath of snow and ashes—a shock and choke in his throat, strangely reminiscent of the day he realized that the birthmark blooming on his shoulder was identical to the drawings on his childhood friend’s desk.

Now, twelve years later, it only confirms Izuku’s impending doubts that, yes, he is now legally claimed by Katsuki Bakugou.

[ THIS FIC HAS BEEN DISCONTINUED. ]

[Underage]

[On Hiatus] Oddly Beautiful by totalweebshit (Darkshadow)  ( Not Rated | 26,738+ | 7/? )

Izuku was the outcast omega of the Hetjan tribe. With his father having left him and his mother years ago the two of them lived alone in relative peace. However, everything changed when the rival tribe, Irae, attacked and one hot tempered alpha, Katsuki Bakugo, decided to take Izuku as his own.

[Graphic Depictions of Violence | Major Character Death | Rape/Non-Con]

10a.) Complete Canonverse Works:

Blood Moon by lalazee ( E | 94,860 | 27/27 )

The Thank-Fuck-We-Aren’t-Dead Sex had started then, and had never really stopped. Then came the feelings and the fights. The ego, the pride, the jealousy. And then there was Us.

(The one-shot smut fic that turned into an entire world for you.)

[Homophobic Language]

In Which Bakugou Finds His One Tru Luv by Erina  ( T | 5,862 | 1/1 )

Welcome to the Explodo-kill agency! We can destroy your buildings, crash your cars, and help you solve one of the seven mysteries in life: who is Bakugou Katsuki's mysterious boyfriend?!

Series Part 1 of The Misadventures of Explodo-kill Agency

Child's Play by stardustacademia (cosmiclarents) ( G | 3,286 | 1/1 )

Izuku comes back to the dorm as a child. Katsuki is his impromptu caretaker.

Series Part 1 of Quirks and Consequences

10b.) Incomplete Canonverse Works:

For Want of Izuku's Toe Joint by Talavin ( G | 103,109+ | 20/? )

When he was four years old, the doctor showed Izuku and his mother the x-ray of the boy's foot. Since he only had one joint in his pinky toe, the doctor explained, there was a very high chance his quirk would manifest eventually. Year after year passed without any sign of it though, leaving Izuku to wonder if he could become a hero even without a quirk. Nevertheless, Izuku does possess a subtle, but extremely powerful ability - the kind that could make him the greatest hero of all time.

[Major Character Death]

The Devil Ships ZeKu by xairylle ( E | 174,694+ | 29/? )

Midoriya Izuku knew what fanfiction was. He just didn't think there was something like THIS out there. About him and Kacchan no less.

Crybaby by lalazee ( E | 33,920+ | 11/? )

That awkward moment when you have phone sex with your childhood best friend and neither of you realize who is on the other end. A love story.

11a.) Completed Alternate Universe Works:

May I take your order, dipshit? by supercrunch ( T | 6,373 | 1/1 )

So, like, maybe Bakugou wasn’t really the best choice for this whole pizza delivery shindig.

(Midoriya in love, Bakugou in denial, and way, way too much cheese.

A BakuDeku romance in thirty minutes or less. )

Sugar Stardust by milkcandie ( T | 52,353 | 14/14 )

Between baking pretty macarons and sculpting wedding cakes, Katsuki slowly falls in love with a certain green-haired coworker who has effervescent stars in his eyes. Maybe working as a pastry chef in Nowhere, Japan isn't so bad after all, especially when he’s in such close proximity to a boy who manages to beautify every little thing in his presence.

☆ A pâtisserie AU where Katsuki and Izuku are really the perfect ingredient for each other.

Before Midnight by DriftingGlass ( E | 211,528 | 28/28 )

Izuku Midoriya takes the same train to and from school Monday through Friday, morning and night. His only company during these lonesome hours comes in the form of another boy his age—a teen with scarred hands and blood gem eyes, a stranger with ash-blond hair who walks in a shroud of danger and mystery.

"Would you stop with that fucking muttering, idiot?"

And before Izuku can find his footing, his life becomes a full-blown collision course thanks to walking cannonball Katsuki Bakugou.

(And along the way he may have found the missing fuel to his fire).

[Graphic Depictions of Violence | Underage | Implied/Referenced Child Abuse | Attempted Sexual Assault | Emotional/Psychological Abuse]

11b.) Incomplete Alternate Universe Works:

Quiet Rapture by lalazee ( E | 29,113+ | 8/? )

That ABO fic where cocky Alpha Bakugou falls in mate-love at first scent, while Midoriya is just a poor bookstore-owning Omega who got his nose punched in is a kid and can't smell a damn thing. Also known as: That time an Alpha had to use his actual personalityto woo his mate instead of relying on his scent.

[Graphic Depictions of Violence]

[Abanonded] Alexithymia by DriftingGlass ( M | 61,246 | 10/11 )

It’s as if he’s inhaling a breath of snow and ashes—a shock and choke in his throat, strangely reminiscent of the day he realized that the birthmark blooming on his shoulder was identical to the drawings on his childhood friend’s desk.

Now, twelve years later, it only confirms Izuku’s impending doubts that, yes, he is now legally claimed by Katsuki Bakugou.

[ THIS FIC HAS BEEN DISCONTINUED. ]

[Underage]

[On Hiatus] Oddly Beautiful by totalweebshit (Darkshadow) ( Not Rated | 26,738+ | 7/? )

Izuku was the outcast omega of the Hetjan tribe. With his father having left him and his mother years ago the two of them lived alone in relative peace. However, everything changed when the rival tribe, Irae, attacked and one hot tempered alpha, Katsuki Bakugo, decided to take Izuku as his own.

[Graphic Depictions of Violence | Major Character Death | Rape/Non-Con]

12a.) Complete Slow Build Works:

Before Midnight by DriftingGlass ( E | 211,528 | 28/28 )

Izuku Midoriya takes the same train to and from school Monday through Friday, morning and night. His only company during these lonesome hours comes in the form of another boy his age—a teen with scarred hands and blood gem eyes, a stranger with ash-blond hair who walks in a shroud of danger and mystery.

"Would you stop with that fucking muttering, idiot?"

And before Izuku can find his footing, his life becomes a full-blown collision course thanks to walking cannonball Katsuki Bakugou.

(And along the way he may have found the missing fuel to his fire).

[Graphic Depictions of Violence | Underage | Implied/Referenced Child Abuse | Attempted Sexual Assault | Emotional/Psychological Abuse]

the last dragon-blood king by claimedbydaryl ( E | 107,014 | 13/13 )

Katsuki Bakugou was the alpha heir to a forgotten throne, reigning lord and warden of the Fyre Isles, a famed warrior of vicious repute in the Western Seas, and he would be wed to Izuku Midoriya by the day’s end.

How To Fall In Love With Your Enemy by Insomnia_Productions  ( G | 22,857 | 15/15 )

When you find the soul that is perfectly matched to your own, any mark that appears on their skin will appear on yours, as well. Everyone knows that.

Midoriya knows it... but, somehow, he's never imagined it happening to him.

Bakugou knows it, too... but he doesn't have time for stupid things like that.

And, although both of them know that Fate is never wrong... there have got to be exceptions. After all, this match cannot possibly be anything but a mistake. Right?

12b.) Incomplete Slow Build Works:

The Devil Ships ZeKu by xairylle ( E | 174,694+ | 29/? )

Midoriya Izuku knew what fanfiction was. He just didn't think there was something like THIS out there. About him and Kacchan no less.

Quiet Rapture by lalazee ( E | 29,113+ | 8/? )

That ABO fic where cocky Alpha Bakugou falls in mate-love at first scent, while Midoriya is just a poor bookstore-owning Omega who got his nose punched in is a kid and can't smell a damn thing. Also known as: That time an Alpha had to use his actual personalityto woo his mate instead of relying on his scent.

[Graphic Depictions of Violence]

Once Again from Better Days by limesicle ( T | 45,569+ | 52/? )

Katsuki wakes to find himself reset. It's a time when quirks are just starting, and he only remembers a bit about happened the first time. He remembers enough to know Deku is someone he hurt a lot. He remembers enough to know he had to watch Deku fall. He remembers enough to try to make things better this time.

13a.) Completed Domestic Works:

i see you around (in all these empty faces) by dandelion_weed  ( T | 9,663 | 1/1 )

It's been three days and four hours since he's last seen Izuku. Two days and twelve hours since Izuku sent him a text message that said nothing except that he boarded a private plane in Beijing.

---

Izuku leaves, inevitably. Katsuki tries to keep his head above water.

Series Part 2 of until you come back home

how much do i love you? by writedeku  ( G | 1,994 | 1/1 )

“Get up, sleepyhead,” Izuku tries to roll out of bed to brush his teeth, but is suddenly stopped by the tightening of Katsuki’s arms. “Hey, you. We gotta go.”

Katsuki’s reply is a press of his face into his back and a kiss on the bare skin. It makes Izuku shiver. “No,” he pulls him back into the bed and wraps even his legs around him. “Stay.”

Utopia by Kanae_vR  ( T | 2,079 | 1/1 )

In which Izuku worries that his and Katsuki’s relationship has become too domestic, and Katsuki proves him right. Not that either of them are complaining.

13b.) Incomplete Domestic Works:

Don't Set Your Drink Down by Crandberrycrush  ( E | 79,363+ | 20/21 )

With sudden clarity Izuku realized he had broken the first rule of going out. Never leave your drink unattended.

100 Ways to Say by yabakuboi  ( T | 45,355+ | 37/100 )

I Love You; or, alternatively, Katsuki and Izuku say what they feel in entirely different words as the years go by.

Remember Me by Blue_Writer  ( M | 55,462+ | 21/? )

It had been years since Bakugou was exiled from his home and became the savage dragon king, but one good thing finally came to his life when he met Izuku again. The only issue, is that he doesn't remember him.

[Graphic Depictions of Violence]

Back to Top

[honestsycrets]

Irreplaceable IV: Not Anymore

A/N: Le eyeroll. Gif to goodatgoodbyes.

The boys, on either side of their father, have nerves on edge. Their ships land coast side when the round moon barely kisses its light across the land. They are met by another landing party’s campground but those there were not entirely unfamiliar. Their tongue have a familiar twang, slackening the boy’s shoulders from their strain instantaneously.

“Is it Sverri?” Hvitserk asks breaching the measly gates of the anomalous site. Sverri’s normal campsite raised the forest green flags of Yggradsil while these flags were darker in shade. The grey raised flags bore three interlocked triangles– the Valknut. It could not have been Sverri’s camp for those reasons. Besides, he is sure that Sverri made himself well in his home with you and your body. The seer told him so.

“No doubt it is Faksi who has come.” Ivar scoffs.

“Grandfather?” Veifnr chirps and skips ahead, darting within despite Ivar’s bellow out to him to come back.

Uxi shouts, “Brother WAIT!” as he darts after his younger brother. The two swerve ahead stopping as their grandfather and a man they somewhat recognize chat idly over a pitcher of mead and a conversation of battle stratagem. They look out in the dark of the night toward a dark catapult. Ivar’s walls guarding Kattegat have fallen at long last.

“HAHA! Those are my boys! Veifnr! Uxi!” The boom of their grandfather’s voice spills out of the tent where the men spoke. Faksi was a broad built man, sporting a beard as white as spun thread and hair that had turned just the same. His hair waves in tightly knit braids on his head. The boys ran forward, clustering about his legs like ashy pups.

“Hello boys, I am King Sverri.” The man lowers to their eye level, looking between the two. His voice caramelizes with deep admiration. The boys give jarred smiles glancing between one another to him. They had met many kings. It was not the first time they met Sverri either, what with the mess he made between Kitta and you. But individually they had not talked much to him. Often they would play on their own or be sent off by any of their parents.

“I remember you.” Says Uxi folding his arms with a flat lipped expression.

Veifnr moves closer. “Hi.”

The King gives a wide shark like grin. Uxi’s words bear the threat of an impending cruel statement lurking behind them. Rather than engage Uxi he decides to speak to Veifnr, the quiet one.

“You must be Veifnr, because your mother said Uxi would be the more critical one.” He shakes his ringed finger at Uxi, his armband jiggling on his arm.

“You’ve seen mother? Is she alive?” Uxi turns with a wet gleam in his eyes. Tears that Veifnr doesn’t pay any mind to. Instead he is eager with excitement to find his mother and bring her back to their family. Somehow, he misses the fact that Sverri is the one who took their home.

As the flaps waver again, Ivar came in. The King however hardly spared him a glance. His eyes are stolen by stars in young Veifnr’s eyes. He could tell how much the young man adored his mother.

“Yes.” He assures the young boys. “I’ve kept her safe. Would you like to come see her for a late dinner?” The King invites and while Faksi grins in agreement, Ivar lurches forward. His hand sets on Veifnr’s shoulder, pushing him behind Hvitserk. Veifnr flops onto the ground with a thud and a pained grunt.

“Why would I let my sons go with you? Bring her here.” Ivar spits out in a voice lacking amusement. It could have been strategic. Whom knew what was lying in wait for them in Kattegat? If it were here, he could control whom came in and whom came out.

“I knew you would say that. Very well, let us call her. Avarr! ” He shakes his head. A messenger peeps in past Uxi who moved not to Ivar but to stand by his grandfather.

“Yes, my king?” The messenger stands upright.

Without wavering his eyes from Ivar, he addresses the messenger. “Have my Queen and her thralls set for dinner. Her husband is home.” He says. The young messenger sputters something akin to a yes, though it was strained when Ivar’s snaps his face towards him.

“Your Queen?” Ivar asks the messenger, finding that all the man could do was to nod. The messenger quickly makes himself scarce.

The King stood with no small amount of pleasure filling his heart, taking a step forward into Ivar’s personal space. His beard prickled Ivar’s clean cut face. The young king didn’t just enjoy the way that Ivar looked at him. He enjoyed the way Ivar squirms with every notion of affection given to you by his lips.

“Yes.” He gives a ragged but pleased breath in the words he says. “My Queen.”

Ivar’s glare promises not only heat but retribution. He stalks closer, scrunching his nose in distaste for this man– this king, calling his wife his own queen. After killing his Kitta whose remains were probably deep in the ocean by now if he gave her a proper funeral.

Rather than engage the fallen king, Sverri pivots on his heel past Ivar when he stops. A sharp exhale flits from his lips, audibly so. “Did I miss something?” Your voice refreshes the tone of a room full of men. When Ivar turned on his crutch to glance at what he is looking at, his eyes are stricken by sight of you.

A finely knit gown, tailored tight to your curves with the aid of a sole cincher. The furs that bundled around your neck, tickling your ears that were clipped by dangling jewels. It reminded him so strongly of his mother, his eyes could not tear away from your bodice. Not to look at the finely tuned braids that bundled into a sole larger one– or meet your soul striking kohl lined eyes.

“Mother!” Uxi barrels through first followed by Veifner who rams himself into the delicate sides of your dress. You laugh, winding your arms around both boys tightly. You lift them off the ground although be it so slightly and twist around in circles.

“My precious boys!” You whirl around, laughing almost too excitedly for a woman that has seen her sister-wife burned by the very man standing in front of him. When you finally stop, you glance between the younger kings in the room. Both boys are set on the floor and remain nestled against your skirts. You move to unclip your furs and hand them off to a thrall beside Sverri.

“Husband.” You address Ivar without regard for how he sailed in a hurry back for Kattegat. He knows what you are thinking. That this trip was intended only for Kattegat. Perhaps a large part of it was. You look at him as if he is nothing. As if he was amber in comparison to garnet.

“Father!” You push past Ivar to wind your arm through the tight one of your father’s firm biceps. Faksi wears a sheepish smile.

“How have you been, has this man treated you well?” Your father sets his hand atop of yours, moving out of the room with the boys locked on your skirts like worms on a leaf.

“Oh perfectly fine. Ivar has always been good to me. And Sverri behaved. ” You lie.

“He better have.” Faksi says. The conversation becomes more and more distant with the tail of your skirts draping across the ground. Then you were gone. You ran him over and left and of course you would. Perhaps he deserves as much for neglecting you so many of the days that Kitta claimed to be in need of him.

At dinner, you finally relinquish hold of your father to join Ivar’s side. He notices your affection slowly returning to him. Your hand finds its place on his thigh. Shyly though– as if you were cautious of something. King Sverri is talking, glorifying you for being such a good wife.

“I wanted to take her myself, but she is stubborn.” Sverri says. You spare him a slight mused smile, pulling your hands back to your lap in slight thought of the kiss you shared with him. Ivar didn’t know about that. If he had– he would have blown his shit then and there.

“She knows who her real husband is.” He says. “Tell me the real reason you invaded my land. It was not just to take my beautiful wives. You burned my Kitta.” Ivar’s words prick your ear disdainfully. His Kitta, his poor, poor Kitta. Your drank to the thought bitterly, almost sure that he came for his revenge. Yes, you were remourseful for what happened. But… after so many years of being second to her, you grow sick of hearing his affection for his burned queen.

“But it is. You blocked me from her. I want more of her kisses and so much more. Kitta was a disturbance to her. It is why she had to go.” Sverri says. You drop your utensil from your fingers when Ivar’s head snaps to look at you.

Ivar turns in his chair to you. “More?”

“He means the kiss I gave him before you banished him.” You cover, lying directly to his face. Lucky for you, he seems to buy such words this time. He turns back to Sverri, squeezing his nose tight.

“If you wanted my woman, the fight was with me.” Ivar hisses.

Sverri loses his smile. “Now that I’ve taken care of the source of her anguish it is.”

Kitta could be pleasant. She truly loved your boys, even if she was jealous of their genetic make up, and would watch them. The issue in fact lied when you were about to give birth.

“Why can’t you stay with me? She always has you. It is my night.” She complained with a high pitch as Ivar set the blanket around the swell of your stomach. His eyes were almost caught in his eyelids with the amount of rolling he was doing today, while you lowered your eyes down to the threads of your bedding waiting the birth of your second son.

“(Y/N) is going to give birth soon. I would drop anything for my family. Even you, if you must push the choice on me.” He replied coldly. He dropped on his ass beside you. Your heart raced a million miles at a time, stricken by the claims that your husband made. Kitta stomped out of the door.

“Please don’t pin this on me.” You address Sverri, glancing off to the side.

“My apologies, my queen. On top of your wife, I also want an increase in land. If this is an alliance, we should share equally. Otherwise, no agreements may be met.” The King Sverri says. Your eyes drift across the table of goods across to your father. He raises his eyebrows, jerking the corner of his lips down as if to say ‘too late for that.’ If King Sverri wanted peace– it was too late for that. You plead your father to hush with your eyes.

“First my wife, now my lands. What else? Do you want my sons too?” Ivar says, stretching his arm behind your head. Ivar’s fingers tickle your earrings as if to mock Sverri, drawing his fingers down your jaw as if presenting a rare gift.

“Surely you understand that we, as a people, should advocate for peace.” He insists.

“You have a peculiar way of showing advocacy by burning my wife. You’re not taking her. I know how long you’ve been after her.” Ivar sneers at the man, flicking his fingers in disregard for his words. The subsequent words are a bit distant to him, eyes caught up with the angle of your jaw. You flinch when Ivar’s thick fingers slide down over your jaw, stroking across your throat.

“Why did you think I would not come for you?” Ivar pulls you in, hand tight on your throat. Despite the stare of Sverri, Ivar’s dry lips tease your dangling earrings. “You belong to me.”

At a flinch of head back, you brave the words that had been on your tongue for years. “No, I belong to no one anymore.”

@igetcarriedawaywithyou, @kylobien, @titty-teetee, @breathlessouls, @nejijjeoroo, @bcat1291, @readsalot73, @MsLothbrok (no mix), @romanchronicles, @ateliefloresdaprimavera, @ailucascen, @michaeliskindahot, @ilovemyangelforever, @directionlessbuthappy, @hizz-hizz-mothertruckerz, @some-blondes-unicorn, @cbouvier23, @l-e-a-t-h-e-r--n--l-a-c-e, @atequila, @rekdreams247, @ivarswonderlust, @writingeverynowand-then, @hp-hogwartsexpress, @minarawr, @haliannej, @strangunddurm, @cbouvier23, @peachesnpisces, @elenawrit, @Equalstrashflavoredtrash, @roxxck, @ilvebeenabad, @vikingsmania, @the-geeky-engineer, @Huntingbears, @my-little-wolfe, @mitchiri-nek0, @dakotacheyennee, @seize-the-droid, @Certifiedpoison, @hotshotstar, @a-writers-dreams, @quaint-and-curious-being @mitchiri-nek0, @dakotacheyennee, @salimahbicharara-comun, @ilovemyangelforever, @kickbacksnextdoor

[180abroad]

Days 101-104: York

The next few days were dedicated to slowing down and enjoying ourselves. The first half of the trip had been one sprint after another, with days off few and far between. It was fantastic, but now it was time to change gear.

Having decided to make York our vacation-from-our-vacation, we allowed ourselves to indulge the luxury of not pressuring ourselves to squeeze the most out of every day. We slept in, had warm breakfasts, caught up on Netflix--Jessica finally got me hooked on The Expanse--and watched all the World Cup football we wanted.

And we made some time to keep exploring York, too.

On one day, we visited two very different museums about the history of York.

First was the Yorkshire Museum, the city’s main archeology museum. Built amidst the gardened ruins of the local abbey, it is a beautiful place for an atmospheric stroll regardless of whether or not you actually pay to go inside the museum itself.

Outside the museum, there was a man hawking photo ops with his collection of birds of prey.

The museum itself focuses on an impressive catalogue of artifacts uncovered in and around York that date from prehistoric times into the late Medieval period. I was particularly impressed by the Roman section, but that may have just been because we saw it first. Visiting serious museums like this is a skill, and Jessica and I had gotten a bit rusty in the past few weeks. After just a few displays of prehistoric beads and combs, I knew it was going to take a sustained act of will to keep my eyes from glazing over.

The Roman section gave us both an enlightening view into the lives of the soldiers, townsfolk, and traders who lived there. I had always pictured Roman York as being on fringe of the Empire, but it would be more apt to call it the cutting edge. Artifacts and human remains indicate that the city was astoundingly cosmopolitan. As a frontier city with a major inland port, it was populated by a diverse mix of native Britons, ethnic Romans, and traders from as far across the Empire as Syria and North Africa.

Moving into the Medieval period, the museum covers York’s shifting roles as the capital city of an invading Viking empire, the second city of Britain under the Plantagenet and York dynasties, and it’s gradual decline after the Wars of the Roses.

The museum has an impressive collection of Viking jewelry. The Vikings were big fans of wearable wealth, and the most popular way for a Viking lord to reward a valuable lieutenant was with a heavy golden ring or a fancy jeweled amulet. The love of bling transcends the bounds of time and culture.

Next, we saw a smaller collection of artifacts from the Plantagenet era, when York was the second-city of England and home of its royal family. The prize of this collection is a gilt-silver pin in the shape of a well-endowed boar. The boar was a symbol of the newly-crowned Yorkist king Richard III, and this pin would have been worn by one of his supporters during the Wars of the Roses--much like someone might wear a campaign button or flag pin on their lapel today.

But all the pins in the world couldn’t have saved Richard at the Battle of Bosworth, where he lost his life, the war, and the kingdom to the decidedly un-Yorkist house of Tudor. York lost its prestige as the nation’s second capital and began a slow decline in importance as newer cities like Hull and Leeds began to grow and compete with it in the emerging industrial world.

And as we’d already learned, the second Tudor king, Henry VIII, is the reason that the abbey surrounding the museum is in ruins--along with almost all the other great abbeys of England. In one large room, the abbey’s chapter house has been partially reconstructed using a mix of original stone pieces and plaster facsimiles.

The museum also had a temporary exhibit on the Jurassic period, including fossils of two enormous plesiosaurs and the single vertebra of Alan, England’s oldest long-necked dinosaur. They call it Alan because a single vertebra isn’t enough to identify exactly what species it was.

Of course, no pictures were allowed anywhere in the museum. But i did sneak a pic of a tiny toy ammonite chilling out on the floor of the dino exhibit.

Our next visit was for a much different look at York in the Jorvik Viking Centre. The Centre has a mixed reputation in the travel guides for being a Disneyland-style attraction rather than a serious history museum. But, much like the Chocolate story a couple days earlier, we actually enjoyed it a lot.

The Centre is the result of an archaeological excavation of a residential street in Viking-era York, when the city was called Jorvik.

The Centre is divided into three sections. The first is an introductory room where a repeating video on the wall talks about the excavation project. Touch-screen terminals give an interactive demonstration of how to repair and preserve various types of artifacts for display.

The second section is a theme park style ride through a recreation of the Viking-era street, complete with animatronic townsfolk speaking period languages. As we rode through, speakers in our headrests narrated what we were seeing.

I also learned here just how much Jessica hates mannequins and animatronics. (Though it didn’t help that they hid one live actor among the fakes and had her turn around and start talking to us in Old Norse.)

It was interesting to see how similar the Viking town was to any other medieval village we’ve seen. The Vikings are mostly known for their warrior culture, but the average Viking was a peasant pretty much like any other. And because this was the site of a residential street, the artifacts found found here--on display in the third section--reflected everyday life of commoners: shoes, bowls, jewelry, musical instruments, and the like.

We also learned that Vikings were more hygiene-conscious than we normally think of them as--at least with regard to their hair. Archaeological evidence shows that the Vikings were prodigious makers and users of combs.

Another display dealt with the Viking peasants’ diets and digestive health. Particularly, through the examination of coprolite. In other words, fossilized Viking poop. Apparently, they had very well-balanced diets, but worms and other digestive parasites were nearly ubiquitous.

As we left the Centre, we overheard a conversation between another visitor and one of the curators. The visitor was disappointed by the lack of swords and helmets among the displays. The curator replied simply by asking whether she kept any military-grade weapons or body armor at her own home.

On another day, we took advantage of a free walking tour of the walled city. Just like the one we took in Bath, it was a extremely fun and educational experience--more than worth the money.

Our tour started just outside the city walls, near the abbey. The abbey--which was once the richest institution in all of northern England--has its own set of walls. I’m pretty sure that we had been mistaking parts of the abbey walls for the city walls as we walked past them every day before now. But at least we weren’t the only ones to make that mistake.

Our guide showed us one corner of the abbey walls that had to be patched up after the English Civil War, when Cromwell’s army blew it up thinking that they were breaching the city walls. It was only after they had gotten in that they realized they had only managed to invade an already-ruined medieval abbey.

We saw a corner of the medieval city wall that was built on top of the original Roman walls. The larger, more rough-hewn medieval stones are easily distinguishable from the smaller stones and bricks of the Roman foundation. Our guide explained that the stripe of red bricks was a common feature of Roman walls across the empire. One theory is that the alternating layers of stone and brick made the walls more resistant to earthquakes.

We walked along a stretch of the medieval wall, getting some great views and learning a bit about the history of the Minster. ”Minster” is an Anglo-Saxon word for high-ranking churches associated with evangelical teaching. Nowadays it’s just a traditional honorific, also held by Westminster in London. 

The current building dates back to the 14th century and is built on the foundations of early churches, which in turn were built on the foundations of the old Roman military headquarters.

All this Jenga work has caused some problems. The cathedral was supposed to have a spire on top of its massive central tower, but the foundations couldn’t support one. And in the 1960s it was discovered that the foundations were starting to cave in, necessitating an emergency retrofitting that lasted into the 1970s. A silver lining to the crisis: archeologists were able to uncover a wealth of information on the Roman foundations beneath the Minster, including the ancient column we saw earlier next to the statue of Constantine.

We also learned that the ring of green space surrounding the old walls was filled with yellow flowers as a goodwill gesture by McDonald’s, who in exchange were allowed to open a restaurant inside the city.

Descending the walls, we saw one of the main gates (or “bars”) that led into the old city. Note the small door and platform halfway up. This was where town criers would come out to deliver official proclamations to the townsfolk. The news was rarely to the townsfolk’s benefit, so the door allowed the crier a quick retreat to safety when the rocks began to fly.

As we passed closer by the Minster, we got to see a group of traditional craftsmen carving new blocks for the facade to replace ones that have been worn down by time.

The walk ended with a trip through the Shambles. Our guide pointed out the home of Margaret Clitherow, a 16th-century Catholic woman who was executed for harboring Catholic priests and holding mass in her home at a time when Catholicism was strictly outlawed. As punishment for refusing to plea either guilty or innocent, Margaret was crushed to death under a door, with a fist-sized rock placed beneath her back to break her spine and make the ordeal all the more excruciating. She was also pregnant. The horrific details shocked the rest of England, and Queen Elizabeth personally condemned the execution.

Also in the Shambles, we took a side-trip down one of the city’s “snickelways”--a local term for the various narrow winding alleyways that cut through the town. We ended up at a small neighborhood church, inside which we found some interesting seating arrangements.

In the early days of the Anglican church, attendance was compulsory for all English citizens. But even then, most people didn’t actually want to go to church. So those who could afford to do so bought “box pews” in their church. Inside their walled box pews, people could fulfill their church attendance quota while taking a nap or doing other work in private.

After the walking tour ended, we visited inside the Minster itself. We got there just in time to join another free tour put on by Minster volunteers. Our guide was a very kindly, soft-spoken older lady--whom Jessica noticed was carrying a Playboy bunny handbag.

The tour was fun, even if we sometimes had trouble hearing our guide over the restoration workers. The Minster has by far the largest collection of medieval stained glass in England (largely due to the destruction of WWII bombings farther south), and all that glass takes a lot of work and money to maintain. Just one window along the nave took one year and 100,000 pounds to restore.

But the difference is staggering. Check out the difference between these two windows. They are right next to each other on the same side of the Minster, but the one on the right has been recently restored while the one on the left hasn’t.

The restoration process apparently involves sandwiching the restored medieval glass between layers of protective modern glass. This should protect the windows from further degradation and make them much easier to clean in the future.

After the tour, we checked out the chapter house, where an early version of Parliament met while Edward I oversaw his war against the Scots from York. We finished our visit by seeing the undercroft. We saw some of the Roman foundations as well as a thousand-year-old Anglo-Saxon bible.

We learned about a 20th-century fire that destroyed the Minster’s roof. Firemen had to pump so much water into the building that everyone was certain the interior would be flooded and all the interior irreparably damaged. But the interior wasn’t flooded at all. It turned out that ancient Roman drainage systems that no one even knew about were still intact and funneled all the water safely back out to the river.

York offered us a much-needed and well-earned lull in our frenetic schedule, but it also left us feeling a little adrift. We had planned everything up through Stratford-upon-Avon so carefully, yet now we had few if any plans beyond where we’d be staying.

Now, having booked tours and planned trips for the next few weeks, our excitement and anticipation were peaked again. There’s some really good stuff on the horizon--not the least of which was meeting my Dad in Edinburgh--and we could hardly wait for it to arrive.

And if I finally get good wifi and a bed soft enough to let me sleep through the night, I just might cry from happiness.

Next Post: Snowdonia

Last Post: Welcome to York

[afellowslytherindemigod]

i just wanna see the stars with you

a solangelo soulmate fic. read here or on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9936233

No way. No way in Hades.

Frankly, if you asked Nico, he would deny that it happened entirely. Will, on the other hand, would blush crimson and nod shyly if asked. But, you don't have a clue as to what is going on.

So, let's go back to the moment it happened. The moment Nico and Will learned that they were soulmates.  

Nico was exhausted. He clutched Thalia’s tree for support and breathed hard. He sunk to his knees. ‘This shouldn't happen to me. What's the point of having powers if it makes you weaker?’ Nico thought savagely. Suddenly, his eye caught onto something oddly shiny. It was an onager. “Evil. This is evil,” Nico said. The gears in his head turned. His plotting only skid to a stop when someone voiced his name.

Will stared at the boy before him. He spoke before he had the chance to stop himself, “Nico?” The boy whipped around, sword ready, and almost decapitated the son of Apollo. “Put that down! What are you doing here,” Will hissed. “Me? What are you doing? Getting yourselves killed,” was Nico's response. Cecil and Lou Ellen shuffled uncomfortably. “Hey, we're scouting the enemy,” Will spoke. “We took precautions.” Nico laughed, supposedly amused. “You dressed in black. With the sun coming up. You painted your face but didn't cover that mop of blonde hair. You might as well be waving a yellow flag.” Will blushed, ears red.

“Lou Ellen wrapped some Mist around us too,” Will spoke defiantly. “Hi,” Lou piped up. “You're Nico, right? I've heard a lot about you. And this is Cecil from Hermes cabin.” “Did Coach Hedge make it to camp?” Nico asked, now crouching down with them. “Did he ever,” Lou Ellen giggled. Will glared at her and jabbed her abdomen.  “Yeah. Hedge is fine. He made it just in time for the baby's birth,” Will said. “The baby!” Nico grinned, which hurt his face muscles. He didn't smile much. “Mellie and the kid all right?” “Fine. A very cute satyr boy. But I delivered it. Have you ever delivered a baby?” Will asked rhetorically,  shuddering. “Um, no,” was Nico's predictable response. “I had to get some fresh air. That's why I volunteered for this mission. Gods of Olympus,  my hands are still shaking. See?” Will spoke. And with that, the blonde took Nico's hand. Needless to say, the shock that came after was expected.

Will grabbed Nico's hand and a jolt passed through his body. He pulled away. Nico's eye shown with disbelief. Will, puzzled, looked down to Nico's hand. It was cobalt blue and seafoam green, melting into one another. He gaped and looked at his own hand. Ruby red and honey yellow; searingly bright. It was Nico who spoke first, “We'll talk later, okay?” Will nodded, knowing that it wasn't really a question, more like a order. Still, Will was perplexed. It couldn't be. Nico and Will were truly polar opposites. It can't be. How could they be friends, let alone soulmates? Still, Will was determined to take a chance. After all, Nico was definitely intriguing and surely, there was more to the son of Hades than what meets the eye.

It was the third morning after Gaea was gone. Nico woke to knocking. He padded to the door and opened it to find Jason on the other side. He felt slightly disappointed that it wasn't Will. Then, he felt embarrassed about feeling disappointed. Then, he felt angry that he was embarrassed about feeling disappointed. Yeah, he was all over the place. Jason was eager. He proceeded to talk about how Nico needed to stay at camp, because it would be oh so fun to sit at a campfire and sing sappy songs about a grandma putting on armour. However, Nico knew his decision. His family was here, and he was tired of running. Except, that's all he wanted to do when he saw Will Solace glaring at him from his cabin. Well, Nico wanted to shadow travel but he couldn't.  Last night, Will put a jinx on Nico which made it impossible to use any of his powers for a week. “Stupid Apollo curses,” the son of Hades muttered under his breath. ‘Here goes nothing,” the boy said before bidding farewell to one blonde just to meet another.

“So where were you?” Will demanded. “What do you mean?” Nico asked. “I've been stuck in the infirmary for like, two days. You didn't come by. You didn't offer your help.” “I . . . what? Why would you want a son of Hades in the same room with people you're trying to heal. Why would anyone want that?” At this moment, Will threw his hands up and grunted in annoyance. “Seriously, I get it if don't want to be my soulmate,  even if it is true,” he mumbled the last part, “ But you can at least be my friend. You could cut some bandages or bring me a soda or snack. Or a simple How's it going, Will? You don't think I could stand to see a friendly face?” Nico's reaction was simply priceless.

You could call that moment a turning point. Right after Will spewed his speech, he demanded that Nico spend three days in the infirmary since ‘his body reeks of death’. Oddly enough, Nico obliged. From then, Will took things slow. They simply didn't talk about soulmates and how Will was desperately in love with the Ghost King. The feelings were mutual. But, nothing lasts forever, and so, one day, they knew it was time to address the wall between them.

“Okay, Death Boy, it's time,” Will spoke. Nico's eyes shone with amusement, annoyance and confusion. “Time for what, Sunshine?” “It's time that we talk about us. About how we're soulmates.” Nico sighed. He knew it was coming, he just didn't know when. Since Will didn't press about the topic as they started becoming friends, Nico was on edge; it was too good to be true. And, he was right. “Well, what about it?” Will simply blinked at Nico's straightforward approach. “Look, I don't think we should fall in love with each other just because our skin explodes in colour every time we come in contact. I want us to be in love because we fell in love.” Nico visibly brightened at these words. “So, all I'm saying is, we can continue being around each other just as before, only, we can use it to our advantage. Instead of keeping any harsh boundaries, we'll be platonic with each other.” The two boys simply looked each other, a silent agreement passing between them, got up, and headed for their cabins. Though it seems like nothing has changed,  there is much more than what meets the eye.

Honestly,  Nico didn't expect this to happen. Surely know one would want to be around Nico for this long. But, Will was the exception. So, Nico let himself be. He didn't pull away, he opened up. It wasn't easy. But, he did. And Will made it easier. They went slow. It wasn't much different from before. But now, neither of them would pull away. In fact, they would lean in. As the months went by, invitations to sit with the other at the campfire or during lunch had increased. So did promises of meeting the next day, broad smiles, ungraceful chortles and infatuation. Needless to say, both boys would return to their cabins with a rainbow of fighting tactics and unnecessary prescriptions on their arms and every visible inch of skin. Not that they were complaining.

Will knew it was time. It was time to make a move. Frankly,  he had known that he and Nico were in a good place for for a long time but last night had confirmed it.

The two demigods were gazing up at the stars. They laid on a picnic blanket, sharing a sheet of checkered cloth. Nico would point out all of the constellations, being the geek that he is. Will hoped that his rosy blush was practically invisible under the dim light of the stars. Nico felt the same. Finally, when the harpies were five minutes from obliterating the soulmates, the two boys got up. Being the klutz that he is, Will tripped on a protruding tree root. Nico chuckled and pulled Will up, smiling slightly at the splatter of colour on his hand. Gods, he would never get tired of that. When pulling Will up, Nico didn't count on himself to be that strong. When he pulled the son of Apollo up, Will happened to be closer than usual to the son of Hades. They shared the same air. Will's eyes widened. His breathing was shallow. You could definitely see the tint on his cheeks. Not that Nico didn't look the same. Just as Will leaned in, placing a timid hand on Nico's cheek and feeling Nico lean in as well, a noise pulled them apart. ‘Harpies,’ Will thought. ‘Ruining my chance of kissing my freaking soulmate!’ The moment was over though. Nico cleared his throat. “I'll see you tomorrow.” And with that, Nico walked off, seemingly normal, towards Cabin Thirteen. Only, Will could've sworn that his voice was higher than usual.

As per usual, Nico exited his hermitage simply because Will was  rapping on the door. Only, this time, Nico replayed last night's events and was more apprehensive about opening the door separating his soulmate and him. ‘Oh, stop. This is one of your best friends,’ the thought jolted Nico out of his stupor. Will stood in front of Nico, his smile as radiant as ever. In fact, it looked better than ever, which should be impossible. Nico's breath hitched as he drunk in the sight of Will. His hair was glowing, woven with rays of the sun. His blue eyes glittered, sapphires in the light. It finally hit Nico; it was high time that he made a move. And so, Nico tried not to think about his next actions.

He bunched Will's shirt into his hands and pulled the blonde so that he was flush against Nico's body. The action pushed the two into Cabin Thirteen and Nico gently kicked kicked the door close. The son of Hades wrapped his arms around Will's neck and stood on his toes to make it easier for Will to reciprocate the actions. Then, he pressed his lips against Will's. Will smiled and wrapped his arms around the shorter boy's waist. When Nico pulled back, it was because of lack of air. Otherwise, Nico wouldn't have let go; the sensation of kissing your soulmate was truly . . . something else, to say the least. Nico, knowing what was coming next, mumbled, “Don't even dare mock me for your doing. I know my face looks worse than Dakota.” Will simply laughed and gently lifted Nico's chin so that the shorter boy's eyes met his own. “You look beautiful. And, I like it,” Will smiled as the son of Hades blushed. “Although, it would look much better if the colour was spread out and brighter. Hmmmm,  I wonder how we could do that,” Will said suggestively,  leaning down again. Needless to say, Nico gladly obliged. However, though the deep red tint on their cheeks was definitely the cause of their soulmate,  it wasn't for the reason you'd think.