#The little girl even has a little ribbon on her blouse close to the neck

[maryelizabethwritings]

A French woman in Saint Denis: Chapter 1

(A continuation of one of Mary-Beth’s stories in RDR2)

By: Marie La Croisette

The city was shrouded in mist. It was dark and frightening and anybody could have long since hidden themselves away in their houses. Saint Denis had been French and Spanish and now it was American and yet it was always the same. A place of beautiful decay where the proud hopes of people get lost and delayed in the pleasures and warmth of the city that would never let you leave.

They came here from all over the world. Adventurers, traders, fur dealers from the north, slaves and their masters, everyone who had something to sell or something to buy. Deep in the shadows a figure lurked. The figure was beautiful. Yet if anyone got too close she moved away nervously. Happy to hide herself in the mists that rolled in of the nearby seas. Those same terrible seas brought her here from France. She was running away from her husband. A fearsome French Duke who had married her and then punished her brutally. Even here, she was afraid of his temper. She was a brave woman, and not afraid to meet her fate, yet her husband seemed possessed by evil. Shortly after they were married she had learnt that his family was cursed. It was a terrible curse that possessed the men of the family and turned their hearts black. And she, had run away from it in order to survive.

She sat on the edge of the empty dock, stirring the milky mist with her loose ankles. Her pretty shoes had filled with seawater long before she’d even reached shore. The soles of her feet were swollen and peeling from the constant flow of salt water, and her braided hair was matted to her neck. Long red strands started to fall away in her hands, gentle as they were, the damage to her hair was too severe.

Her body looked more like a corpse than the elegant, womanly form she used to know. Her loving husband had taken more than the flower from her body. As a young woman, she filled her blouses to the brim. Her old friends used to warn not to lead her strides with her chest, lest the boys around Paris mistake her for a painted lady. Being from a lesser family, the girl’s parents often struggled to feed the three of them. However, when there was food on the table, she always ate first. Her shape was soft and feminine in every way, the shape of an hourglass with baby-soft skin.

She was constantly praised for her exceptional beauty by her parents and girlfriends. ‘Oh, Dearie! I’d kill to look like you!’ Her friend Mary would say. Though the more scandalous remarks always came from Matilda: ‘You know, I’ve heard that old Miss. Grant has been sticking a doll full of pins and it looks just like you!’ The girls would giggle and trade nasty words about the ole Miss. Grant, who just so happened to have taught them all reading and writing. The only girl around who seemed to have a problem with her, was Carey Jordan.

No one knew why, but the two were friends nonetheless. Carey was Matilda’s step-sister, though they looked nothing alike. Matilda had rich, black skin and soft, gentle features. She always wore her coily hair in a tuck and adorned it with small yellow or white ribbons. Carey scraped her golden blonde hair into a tight bun and wore a scandalous amount of paint for a young lady. Her body was plump, but shapely. Though she had always struggled with finding a good suitor.

Mean as she was, even Carey Jordan could admit the other girls’ beauty. Little Mary DuPont would say: ‘you make me want to color my hair like yours! Maybe then boys would look at me! I’ve never seen such bright red hair in my life, you know?’

In response she’d either get: ‘oh, don’t say that Mary! You’re one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever met’ or ‘don’t be silly, Mary! I wish you knew how pretty your eyes are in the sun’ or something to that effect. In truth, Mary DuPont was an incredibly average looking girl. With mousy brown hair and gently tanned, smooth skin. Even so, she appreciated the compliments from her friend.

She went out of her way to make the other girls feel good, for she was aware of the abundant attention she was paid by men, young and old. In summertime, she liked to show off the pretty freckles all over her chest and arms. Mary rubbed at them once, testing the durability of what she assumed must be brown paint. Alas, the beautiful spatter remained, making her foresty eyes grow wide in awe. Mary called her father to try and rub away the freckles, but of course he was unsuccessful as well. He chuckled and patted Mary on the crown of her head, where her pinned up hair was less in the way. ‘There’s no changing a beauty like her, my sweet. But don’t worry, someday you’ll grow into your own good looks. Just like your mother’ he left the girls once more, but not before reminding his daughter’s friends of the time.

Carey and Matilda had to be home by 4:00 pm that day and Mary had a singing lesson at 5:00 pm. It was now nearing 3:30 pm and the sisters thanked Mr. DuPont before returning home. ‘Shall I call your father and have him collect you? Or would you ladies like to play some more?’ Mr. DuPont asked. ‘Papa, can she stay until after my lesson today? Pleeeeease!’ Mary begged. The two little girls exchanged a glance and stared up at Mary’s father with big, watery, puppy dog stares. ‘Oh alright’ he conceded quickly ‘but only if it’s okay with Mr. Van Hopper’

The girls squealed in delight and Mary threw her arms around her father’s waist, squeezing tightly and burying her face into his hard shoulder. ‘Yes, yes, well you’d better behave today, alright Mary?’

‘Yes, Papa!’ Mary had a bit of a reputation amongst the group, of making indecent advances toward her music teacher. She always denied the accusations of course, claiming he was to blame as much as she. To pass time, the girls drew pictures in Mary’s notebooks. Horses and ballerinas mostly, with the occasional self portrait with mousy curls or freckled breasts. Before they knew it, there was a loud knock at the door and Mary’s father was ushering in a tall-ish, wide man with black facial hair. He entered Mary’s bedroom as Mr. DuPont left him be, and greeted her with a chaste kiss to her warm cheek. She smiled and introduced the other girl, to which he responded by taking her hand and kissing the back of it. slowly. With a little too much tongue. ‘Is it alright if she sits in today? Just for today!’ Mary pleaded. ‘Of course, my dear! The more the merrier’

With that, Mr. Van Hopper gestured for Mary to lead the way toward the music room. He followed closely behind the girls and closed the heavy door once they were all inside. Mary stood diligently by the black, grand piano as Mr. Van Hopper sat at it. Mary gestured for her friend to sit on the chaise across from it for the time being. ‘Alright Little Miss Mary, have we been practicing hard?’ He asked. ‘Oh yes, sir! I’ve done all the breathing exercises you told me about and I’ve written down which vowels go where!’ Mary was beaming, clearly taking pleasure in being so good. ‘Good girl, then let us begin’ Mr. Van Hopper plunked out a familiar tune and the red-headed girl began to hum along while Mary sang.:

‘L'amour est un oiseau rebelle

Que nul ne peut apprivoiser

Et c'est bien en vain qu'on l'appelle

S'il lui convient de refuser

Rien n'y fait, menaces ou prières

L'un parle bien, l'autre se tait

Et c'est l'autre que je préfère

Il n'a rien dit mais il me plaît’

‘Stop’ said the teacher. ‘Do you know what the words mean?’

‘N-no sir. I’m sorry’ Mary hung her head but he swiftly lifted her chin with his own meaty hand. ‘Don’t be sorry’ he then turned to the girl on the chaise ‘what about you? Do you know?’

‘I do, I love that song’ she replied.

‘Well then, let’s have it!’

She cleared her throat subtly;

‘Love is a rebellious bird

that no one can tame,

and if you call for it, it'll be quite in vain’

He nodded.

‘for it's in it’s nature to say no.

Nothing helps, neither a threat nor a prayer

one talks well, the other rests silent’

She paused…

‘And the next line?’ He probed.

‘Sorry, I’ve forgotten’

‘and it's the other one that I prefer,

doesn't say a thing, but pleases me.’ Mr. Van Hopper finished.

‘Yes’

‘Mercy, how did you know that?’ Mary asked, albeit a little jealous of her friend's skill. Mercy shrugged, ‘I’ve always loved opera, Carmen is one of my favorites’

‘Well, you’ll have to help me learn it later then’ Mary huffed and turned her attention back to the sheet music at the piano.

~

For the next forty-five minutes, Mercy sat silently. Mary sang and Mr. Van Hopper turned toward the two of them to correct her mistakes in a gentle but firm voice. Mercy noticed the way his stocky fingers pressed the keys in an unsettlingly delicate way. It was like her eyes were playing tricks on her, making things look softer than they were.

Finally, Mr. Van Hopper took those fingers off the piano and kissed Mary’s tiny hand before letting her know their lesson for the day had come to an end. He nodded at Mercy as he left the room like a big dark shade. She hadn’t even heard the front door shut, but felt her shoulders release a great deal of tension. ‘Isn’t he amazing?’ Mary asked, her eyes dreamy and wide. ‘Does he always kiss you?’ Mercy asked, only curiously. ‘Mercy O'Clery! Are you accusing me of something?’ Mary wasn’t angry in the slightest, in fact, the smirk on her face was more incriminating than anything Mercy could have already said. ‘No! I mean, just, is he always that… charming?’

‘Oh, yes Mercy!’ Mary sank down onto the piano bench like she was mimicking a fainting person. ‘He always kisses my hand after lessons and calls me things like “pet” or “Miss DuPont”’ she stretched her neck and brushed her dainty fingertips over the sensitive skin. Mercy’s eyes bugged at her friend's display, ‘Isn’t he an old man?’

‘Oh, YES Mercy! He’s forty-four! My own father isn’t even so old! Papa’s only forty-one, can you believe it? And you know, Mercy, they say older men give the best teachings’ Mary sat up, looking Mercy straight in the eye. ‘Really? Who says that?’ Mercy asked. ‘I don’t know! Just… people! Matilda even said she got to go to the islands with her old violin teacher’ Mary got up and readjusted her skirts and collar. She took Mercy’s hand and all but dragged her to the writing desk in the corner of the room. She shoved her into the soft, high-backed chair and scrambled her hands around the desk until parchment lay in front of her and a pen got slapped into Mercy’s hand. ‘Here! Write! Write a letter to Mr. Van Hopper and ask him for singing lessons. Clearly he already likes you, so it shouldn’t be hard’

~

[jyushimatsu-falls-in-love]

It’s almost 6AM and I haven’t slept yet but I just had a thought re: Jyushi flinging Eitaro and his girlfriend into the sun at the end of the skit

So, Eitaro was able to make friends by using the gags and antics that Matser Jyushi taught him - and that means, he used those same gags and antics to win the heart of the little girl who’s now his girlfriend.

What if Jyushi didn’t fling Eitaro into the sun just because he got a girlfriend

Because remember, Jyushi used his gags and antics to win the heart of a girl before too

But instead of getting a girlfriend, she just got away

[noctis-noctua]

I, Kaeya Alberich, Take Thee

Pairing: Kaeya x Fem. Reader

Count: 1976

Description: Kaeya knows that be does not deserve anything he desires. There is nothing he can do to make you his, but so badly does he wish there was.

Content: Unrequited love, angst, bittersweet ending, marriage.

Warnings: Slight spoiler for Kaeya's backstory but an addition of (non-canon!) Prince Kaeya.

In another universe, maybe I am not cursed so by the Gods. Kaeya resists the urge to nibble on the tail-end of his quill. It was unbecoming for a man of his stature to succumb to unsanitary habits. Plus, this particular pen hailed from a crow’s feather, hunted by the hands of a childhood friend. The intricate quill had not been put to use for a substantial amount of time, but it fits into Kaeya’s hand as if it came to shape its spine based on the curvature of his own grasp. He could get used to signing off documents and organizing civil affairs if it meant succumbing to such mundane sensations. The morning sun dripping onto his mahogany desks and floors, a faint scratch of keratin against ivory paper filling the empty space… It has been a long time since he’s made the decision to take over petty bureau duties. Today is a special day. Kaeya needs to focus on the satisfying echoes of paper and pen, on the sunlight heating his back, or he might just go insane.

    The clamor of bells tugs Kaeya from his mechanical performance. Each ring is a song of desperation, a performance begging for his attention. Come out and celebrate! Indulge in the pain. He is not a man that falls prey to anger, but he cannot help that frustrated itch in his stomach as he hears the iron reverberating. Please just be quiet, Kaeya thinks. Let me forget. The hesitant croak of his door alerts Kaeya to the presence of the Acting Grand Master. She dons an outfit unique from her usual uniform - a cream-colored dress, embroidered by floral lace, a single azure ribbon tying at the waist. So even the straight-edged Jean has taken time off today? 

    “Kaeya, you can’t make these excuses forever.” He knows from how Jean closes the door with unperturbed silence that this is not a conversation regarding hilichurl nests or Fatui diplomats. He can tell from the way Jean drops the mature title of ‘Sir’ in favor of his childhood nickname, that it is a conversation Jean feels must be approached with gentleness as if Kaeya is a stray cat that claws at feeding hands. The Grand Master releases a heaved exhale because both of them dread this discussion as much as the other. There is an inherent wrong in seeing Kaeya distressed. He may not be shedding tears in solitude or resigning himself to the dormitories, but he is hiding, and that is enough for Jean to observe that he is not functioning as normal.

    “Please, come for a little while. I know it’s not… something you want to see, but he’s your brother. Offer a small congratulations at the least.” Her heels tap on the polished hardwood.

    “I was planning on coming by later this evening.  Tell them I’m sorry for not being able to attend the main event. How could I? Just look at all this paperwork.” Kaeya’s signature chuckle follows, putting up a front of careless flirtation. It is not uncommon for Jean to rope the Cavalry Captain into his desk chair. Lord knows he’d never do it otherwise… yet now he claims servitude to the dulling labor. How ironic. 

    “I’ll tell them of your apologies… but both of us know that paperwork isn’t the reason you can’t make it.” Jean turns around, blonde hair trailing in the breeze left behind before Kaeya can quip up a rebuttal. She’s right. Jean is always right. The papers piling on his desk are from the drawers of his subordinates, filed away to be completed in another five months' time. There is no reason they had to be done today. He is hiding. He is a coward and a pathetic one at that. The thought alone provokes Kaeya to tug on his studded gloves and push out his chair. His sights are set on leaving because to be seen as a frail child is to fail at the sole thing he succeeds at. Being the chivalrous Cavalry Captain renowned for his beauty and failsafe charm is the one thing he cannot lose because he cannot let Mondstadt see how fragile he is behind the visage. 

    Mondstadt’s avenues are bustling. Oak tables identical to the ones across local taverns have been dressed in linen tablecloths and topped with miniature feasts. Children run between tables, tugging at each other’s shirts in a feisty game of tag as festive music tempts the adults to a dance. The tell-tale strums of Mondstadt’s No. 1 Bard’s lyre lead the crowds to the statue of Barbatos. Behind it, trails of petals line the paths leading to the limestone Cathedral. Couples, singles, and families alike make haste to enter through the carved doors. No one wants to miss this. Kaeya tugs on the collar of his fur coat, gazing at the entry before him. He can hear the music of an organ, romantic and rich, ricocheting from inside. 

    He steps into the Cathedral. The ceremony has yet to start and the pews continue to fill. Citizens scoot as close as possible to allow for more onlookers to take a seat. He finds a spot next to Huffman and a few other Knights, squished on the outer edge. It is three benches from the front. Too close for Kaeya to be comfortable. The croaking benches have long since met their capacity by now. Not a soul is missing, Kaeya reckons. Diluc Ragnvindr, the wine Tycoon, Mondstadt’s famous magnate, is marrying after all. It is no small occasion. Diluc’s brazen hair is a torch amidst fog, its perk hue garnering the eyes of all in the Cathedral. He is dressed in a suave black suit. It boasts minuscule gold embellishments followed by a hefty crimson cape draped on his shoulders. Even dressed in the furs and fabrics of royalty, one could sense a distinct awkwardness from him. If you’re going to marry her, at least look confident, brother. 

    It hurts. He cannot lie to himself - not that Kaeya was trying to in the first place. There is a pain associated with seeing the woman he loves marrying the brother that no longer desires to even speak to him. Now, Kaeya regrets standing up from his busy work. These thoughts won’t stop their festering, and it punches a hole through his stomach. Kaeya is all-too-aware that tonight, you will climb into Diluc’s sheets. He’d treat you kindly, of course. He grew up with Diluc and has seen his rigorous nobility tutors shape him into the gentleman he is today. There is no doubt that you will live a lavish life of luxury. A life Kaeya could never afford to give you. 

    In Khaenri’ah, Kaeya’s title of ‘Prince’ holds as much merit as it does in Teyvat. His people are dead or suffering. His city has crumbled into dust and shards of a forgotten legacy. Kaeya himself serves one purpose, and that is to bring glory back to the Eclipse Dynasty. It is in these times that Kaeya regrets being born royalty to a lost nation. In the solace of his chambers, Kaeya would stare at the painted ceiling and ponder. If I were born someone else entirely, would you give me a chance? But who is he kidding? Kaeya knows he’s handsome. It’s stupid and unreasonable to be so self-deprecating. He isn’t the one marrying you because he wasn’t Diluc Ragnvindr. He wasn’t from a line of Mondstadtian heroes; he was from the ashes of sinners and embers of civilization. He was Kaeya Alberich, Cavalry Captain of the Knights of Favonius, caught between familial loyalty and a stinging betrayal. Of course he wasn’t marrying you. 

    The Cathedral doors groan as the nuns heave them open. Light floods in and frames the feminine body of the lady of Mondstadt. In your hands, a bouquet of calla lilies. On your body, a silken robe of pearls and diamonds. It flows at your back, fluttering in the blessed gales of Barbatos’. Kaeya swore that as a Khaenri’ahn, he would never see the Gates of Celestia. But this… this, he thinks, might be the closest glimpse he gets. No one dares to speak. She is beautiful. She has always been beautiful. Time slows as Kaeya lets himself take in the sight of you pledging your livelihood to his brother, and his brother’s livelihood to you. 

     Then, as if he is an innocent child once again, Kaeya closes his eyes as you two kiss. Clapping and cheers fill the atmosphere. 

    “To the Ragnvindr’s! Oley!”

    “Say, Kaeya, do you ever wanna get married?” The girl questions from Kaeya’s backside. 

    “Maybe. Then I can show off in front of my lovely wife! That would be cool, wouldn’t it, Diluc?” Kaeya jests, elbowing his step-brother’s chest. Diluc rolls his eyes, ever the prodigy. 

    “We’re still young. There’s no use thinking about such things. Shouldn’t you focus on training?” He grumbles. Kaeya knows that he will never have a lucky wife. He will never have a healthy family, or a thriving home, or a genuine relationship. Those are nothing more than dreams to Kaeya.

    The girl grabs Kaeya’s arm and begins running into the fields of grapes and firs. There is a childlike giggle dispersing for all in the neighborhood to hear, fading out as they lose sight of the manor. Reaching the edge of the cliffside, they halt. It overlooks a sapphire river below, fit for one of Master Crepus’ paintings. Diluc had been abandoned long ago. 

    “Hey, Kaeya, the water kind of looks like your hair.” The girl remarks, nuzzling closer to him. He feels his heart thrashing in its cage, begging him not to react, begging him not to ruin the fate of his country. To the girl, he smells of linen, lampgrass, and sweat, much as a kid his age should. Silence settles onto their shoulders, both of them catching breaths that had been stolen in the wind. “I didn’t ask before because I thought Diluc would get mad, but… Kaeya, how about we get married when we grow up?” How silly, Kaeya thinks. I couldn’t marry you if I wanted to. 

    “Hmm, okay. So you’ll be my lucky wife then?” Kaeya plummets down onto the grass and grins. It tickles the back of his neck and stains his blouse a verdant green. He dreams of dreaming, because that is all Khaenri’ahns like him can do. He dreams of coming home to your embrace or trudging back from battle hand-in-hand. Either one is okay. Anything with you is okay. 

    “Of course, stupid. That’s what marriage is. So you’ll be my lucky husband!” Lucky husband. It fills his heart with an immature pride too chaste for a traitor of his caliber. 

    “Deal!” 

    “Deal.” 

    They are naive children making impossible promises, but a part of Kaeya has never unlatched from those delicate whispers. Khaenri’ahns dream of dreaming, but just this once, Kaeya wished he could dream of you.

    “So, Sir Kaeya, are you going to marry soon? Youth is fleeting! Get a wife while you’re young.” One of the Knights suggests, sliding him a suggestive beam. Kaeya let’s himself open his eyes. He processes the blinding light from colored panes of glass spilling over him, the jovial expressions of the citizens he has sworn to protect, and you grasping onto Diluc’s arm, a longing of adoration phasing across your features. Happy. You are happy. He turns towards the knight, cracking a smile.

    “Don’t be silly - I’m already married, Huffman.” He lets the novice soldier ogle at him for a few seconds. “I’m joking. Lighten up.” Huffman releases a hearty chortle, commenting on his Captain’s sense of humor and putting a hand to his chest. He laughs along, but Kaeya knows there is no joke. 

Don’t be silly. I’m already married. It was a deal, after all.

[mommymooze]

Big Girls Have More Fun

You were always a very big girl. Your mother had complained when giving birth to your brothers that their shoulders were so wide it was a miracle that they ever made it out. When the midwife had problems getting you to leave the warm comfy space known as your mother’s womb, Mommah cried because it was going to be another boy. She and Father were so happily surprised that after all these years they finally had a girl. Weighing in at almost 10 pounds, you were also the biggest of her children. Everyone who saw you when you were little thought you were a big boy. It didn’t help that you had plenty of hand-me-downs from your brothers so your clothes were always masculine. You were bald headed until you were two, until your (h/c) hair finally started to grow in. Mother always styled your hair so cutely with lots of ribbons and bows. Being the girl and the baby of the family, you did have a few beautiful dresses that you wore on special occasions, but you preferred the tough pants that were from your older brothers. Girls clothes never fit very well in the shoulders, so your dresses were custom made. Having 6 children’s feet under the table did not call for a lot of extra money for clothing, and you preferred your older brothers castoffs anyway.

Always chasing after your brothers and their friends, you were as much of a boy as they were. Instead of dolls and dress up, you preferred wrestling and play fighting. If someone said you couldn’t do something because you were a girl, you had to push yourself until you could climb higher, run faster or swim farther than any of those silly boys. Mother tried to get you to wear makeup when you turned 13, hoping that some feminine influence would stick. They found out all to quickly that most of the powders and eyeshadows made your face break out until you looked like a chipmunk. Since you would not wear dresses, when you were older your mother convinced you to wear loose-fitting long-sleeved blouses that had a bit of frill around the neck or cuffs. This was to make you look more feminine because…well because you had muscles. No tea parties for you. It was much more fun to hang out with one of your brothers. Your oldest brother was a carpenter so helping lift stacks of wood, hammering nails and learning to build things was fascinating. Your next brother was a bricklayer. Helping him move pallets of bricks, stir the bonding material to go between the stones and hand him bricks as quickly as he could lay them was always fascinating. It was so satisfying seeing a line of bricks suddenly become an entire wall by the end of the day. The middle brother was apprenticed to the blacksmith. This was your favorite brother to work with. He would let you pump the bellows and work on basic metal pieces and he would finish them. Your fingers were a bit smaller and more nimble than his, so he had you assembling pieces together he would hammer in the rivets to join them into the finished work. He taught you how to make shoes for horses, some in different lengths and widths. You really loved hammering on a piece of metal, molding it into something new and useful.

Shortly before you turned 18 your parents were killed in a tragic fire. Having nothing left to keep you home you had heard of the Academy at Garreg Mach. With the blessings of your brothers you headed out to become enrolled and most importantly, to see what you could make of yourself. The atmosphere at the school was exciting. You had been homeschooled by your parents. Taught the basics reading and writing, a bit of etiquette (though your brothers still attacked every dinner like a pack of ravenous wolverines.) You were invited to join the Golden Deer, a mostly wild and boisterous bunch except for Marianne and Ignatz. It was a perfect fit for you. Raphael was just like one of your big brothers and loved to spar and wrestle with you. You found Leonie to be a great friend, easy to hang out with because neither of you were extremely ‘girly’.  That word was more for Hilda and Marianne, who would dress up and fix their hair for hours, complain about getting dirty. Still, they were still sweet and became good friends. Even Lorenz could behave himself and tolerated in small doses.

Claude was the ‘leader-man’ for the deer. He certainly was mischievous, playing pranks or generally annoying at times. Much of the time he follows their Professor, Byleth, always asking questions and trying to get more information than Byleth probably wants to supply. You arm wrestled him once. He’s an archer, great upper body strength, you thought he would be a challenge. But he lost pretty quickly, telling you that you should stick to someone more of Raphael’s or Caspar’s build.  It was really strange when one day Claude and Byleth are called away on a special mission. A few of the other students, the heads of the other two houses and Hilda are not seen for a couple weeks. Some of the knights filled in for teaching when they are available. Otherwise the Deer are thrown in with Professors Manuela and Hanneman for most of the classes.

You are thrilled to get extra training on brawling from Catherine and Alois. Alois is okay, great at brawling, but his jokes are something hard to stomach. Being a brawler meant you were always well armed. Ugh. Catherine is a ton of fun, she is built a lot like you. Broad shouldered and incredible upper body strength. She is a plethora of knowledge. She’s constantly giving tips on the best holds, the best way to take someone down. Knowing that you would come across a lot of male opponents as there were few female brawlers such as you two, she gives tips on distractions, specific grabs and holds that were very effective against men. Some of it feels like cheating, especially the sudden fake flirts and the like, but any weapon in a battle for your life. The other students may not have enjoyed the few weeks without Professor Byleth, Claude, and Hilda, however you are having a blast.

Byleth and all of the missing students return without a word as to what happened while they are gone. You decide to trail Claude today because he’s acting extra suspicious. He stops at an area close to the sauna, not far from where Byleth’s room is located. He is talking to that shifty merchant guy that hangs out over there at times. Your curiosity gets the best of you and you approach greeting Claude loudly.

“Hey (y/n) talk about timing! I can use a strong pair of arms if you have a few minutes.”

Instinctively you point to yourself. “Me? Sure, I’ve got a few.”

Claude grabs your arm and pulls you behind the merchant showing that there is a hidden entrance to somewhere underground. The air is cooler down here, but a bit stuffy. After a couple turns down the corridors you are met by a tall guy with a deep voice and purple hair. The two are speaking in low voices, you can’t make out what they are talking about. The new guy looks as you so you give a little wave of your fingers. The two men lead you down several more corridors, you feel like you are going in circles now. Finally, they stop and the new guy pulls out a key and opens the door, ushering everyone inside.

“Glad you brought Muscles here, Balty is a bit busy at the moment.” Says new guy.

“I want a look see before I hand over the payment. I’m sure you understand.” Claude says with a grin.

Yuri grabs a dagger and works on a board, loosening it to reveal the contents of the box is a large cache of lances.

Claude pulls one out and invites you to take one in hand.

“Dagdan construction.” You spin it, twirl it and look it over carefully. “Decently made.”

“Who made you the judge, friend?” Purple hair snips.

“Apologies. Worked as a blacksmith for a time. Repaired lots of stuff from lots of places.” You place the weapon back in the box. “I’m (y/n)” you give a bit of a smile introducing yourself. You really get a good look at purple hair. Is he…wearing makeup? It looks good on him. Your face grows into a bigger smile.

“Yuri.” He says. At least he grips your hand firmly.

Claude puts the weapon back in the box, so you grab the board that was pulled off, put it back on and hammer it into place with the butt of your dagger from your belt. You pick up the box (use your legs not your back) and hoist it onto your shoulder. Yuri silently escorts you and Claude back to where you first met him.

“Glad to do business, friend.” Claude gives Yuri a tap on the shoulder.

“Always.” Yuri turns to you, “Come visit sometime. I’ve got a friend who would probably be interested in a spar or two.”

“No prob!” You wave with your free hand and follow Claude back to the surface.

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

A few weeks later, after the Golden Deer have returned from a successful mission, Claude pulls you aside.

“Can you spare some time, friend? I have a special sparring match you might be interested in.” Claude’s eyebrows waggle a bit, a half smile on his face.

“Spar? I’m always up for a challenge. So what’s up?” You answer, it’s been a while since you’ve been in a good match, and the Professor has been teaching you some cool moves and holds that you want to try out.

“Remember Yuri? He’s got a friend that just loves to fight and grapple. Thought you two should be introduced. Maybe teach each other a thing or two?” Claude informs you as he leads you down into Abyss. He leads you to their tavern and you see Yuri seated there with a big dark haired guy wearing chains across his chest. His chest is very muscular and well developed, certainly a brawler like yourself. Claude introduces you to Balthus. The both of you reach out for a handshake, you grasp each others hands and it immediately turns into an arm wrestling type of match to see who can squeeze the others hand the hardest. After a minute you both stop and laugh at each other.

“Way to go, Pal!” Balthus laughs, slamming his large hand down on the table making everything on it rock and wobble.

“Good to meet you too.” You say back to the big guy, a shy smile coming across your face.

Yuri is the next to speak. “So friend, we thought it was time to introduce the two of you. Are you interested in a friendly competition to perhaps determine who is the better brawler?” The half smile on his face lets you know there is some sort of mischief behind this invitation, making it all more enticing to accept the invitation.

You agree to the match. Yuri slaps you on the back. “You won’t regret this, come on.” He says as he leads you off to who knows where in Abyss. You’ve turned left and right and gone through enough doors you do your best to simply keep up and stay with him until he’s led you to a small room. Hanging on a hook is a soft gold tunic and short pants.

“You weren’t exactly dressed for this, hope you don’t mind we’ve provided clothing for you. I’ll leave you to get yourself ready. Be back in a minute.” He says as he closes the door behind him.

Just what kind of a setup have you gotten yourself into?  You wonder as you put on the clothes. You do a few squats, throw a few punches and hooks. They are easy enough to move around in you suppose.  Just before your mind starts to spiral wondering what the heck is going on, Yuri appears again, grabbing you by the hand. He’s leading you to a door that he pulls you through then slams the door shut behind you.

You find yourself in a well lit but small auditorium. There are rows of benches filled with people of the Abyss. On the opposite side of the dirt floor area you are in is Balthus, wearing pants like yours, but in a shimmery gray color. He looks like someone spread oil all over him, his muscles are shining in the light. He’s waving and blowing kisses to the audience.

A voice booms loudly into the room and the crowd quiets, “And now for the main event, our own Balthus vs. (y/n)!”

WTF? This was going to just be a wrestling match. What is this horse and pony show?

“Brawlers, meet in the center and shake hands. Start at the ring of the bell.“ the voice booms in the room, bouncing off the walls with a slight echo. Balthus wiggles his fingers in a “come here” sort of gesture.

As soon as your hands touch, the bells go off and he’s grabbing you trying to throw you to the ground. You grab his wrist, twisting it behind him, kicking at his knee to get him off balance. He tries to use his free elbow to jab you in the side as you pull him back towards you shoving your knee in his ribs. The crowd surrounding you is yelling and jeering, throwing garbage at you for trying to hurt their champion. For good measure you grab the back of his head with both hands, smashing his face to your knee.

The grappling goes back and forth for a while. You’re able to grab him and throw him against the ground, then he grabs your foot, pulling you off balance and you land face first in the dirt.  Next he’s got an arm pinned behind you, so you pull him quickly over your back to flip him down into the dirt. Most of it is arms flailing, smashing into the other to get a good grip and really pull the other into a good position for a finishing move. You’re still confused as to how all of this is happening. Claude and Yuri have some explaining to do.

Balthus is smiling. Smiling! As he grabs you around your waist and flips you upside down dropping to a seated position forcing you into receiving one hell of a piledriver to your skull. You were able to brace a bit on his thighs, so your neck wasn’t broken, but you were going to have a hell of a headache after this match.

The crowd is now screaming “Bal-tie! Bal-tie!” and stomping their feet so hard the ground feels like it is shaking.

He flings your legs to the ground and leaps up to give you a hard elbow drop, but your instincts kick in and you’ve rolled out of range. Once he hits the ground you’re behind him, knees in his back, your right arm grabbing him under the chin pulling it straight back. Balthus’ neck is straining against the pull. He’s stuck in your powerful chinlock.

“Tap out or I break it!” You scream.

You feel the slaps on your calf as you let him go and fall back on the ground. The crowd is booing and screaming and throwing rotten food at you. You struggle to your feet, raising your fists in the air. Your head is screaming at you, bruises in places you haven’t had in a while as you limp back to the door that let you into this goddessforsaken place. You bang on the door once, “Let me in before I bash it down.”

The door opens a little as you smash it open into the wall behind it.

“Great going there kid! I knew you could do it!” Claude is beaming at you until you grab his shirt and pull it tight around his throat and shove him against the wall and as far off the ground as you can get him. “Gah!” he screams as he’s holding on to your hand, trying to take some of the pressure off of his throat.

“What. The. Hell. Was. THAT!” You are seething with rage. Your teeth are grinding so hard he can hear the crunching as your eyes are fixed on his, burning with hellfire.

“Calm. Calm d-down (y/n).” He stutters, patting your fist still holding him up on the wall. “Let’s talk. C’mon. You had a great fight, just like I promised.”

You let go and he drops to the ground sitting against the wall. You move to a nearby bench, taking a seat you close your eyes and shake your head. The Claudster had manipulated you into this. You should have known.

Claude gathers himself back together. Standing he brushes himself off, straightening his collar as best he can considering most of it around his throat is now shredded material.

Yuri pokes his head in the door. He looks at Claude. “You’re still alive? I’m surprised.” The violet haired man takes a small step into the room. “Catch, Tiny!” he laughs as he throws a bag at you, coins jingle inside as you catch it. Before you can look back he’s closed the door.

“Tiny?” you ask.

“That’s what everyone said when you walked into the arena. She’s so tiny compared to Balthus. Your head doesn’t even come close to his shoulder. Now they’re calling you the Tiny Terror.

[missingartist]

The Witcher's Mate Chapter 7

Geralt’s cat eyes followed the two walkers with predator-like focus. A deep growl pushed itself from his chest as he watched Jaskier knock his shoulder against the women gently as he told her another tale from his repertoire. The Witcher’s eyes narrowed as the Adva chuckled weakly and attempted to push him back. For the past three days, they had been travelling through miles of muddy roads and dense woodland; it was beginning to take its toll on the young women’s body. Despite Geralt’s best efforts Adva refused to join him on his horse even though he could see the slouch in her figure and the exhaustion in her features as they travelled. It took all of Geralt’s free will to stop himself from yanking her up, throwing her across his saddle. The smell of apples and the ocean was teasing him; he needed it closer; he wanted to bury his face in her neck and drinking in the heady scent. It was craving, a need, a yearning, burning him from the inside out.

In the darkening sky, there was a dim glow in the near distance, a small town. The Witcher surveyed the town for a moment before returning his gaze to his new travel companion. She had been subdued since her eruption the days previous, choosing to ignore his presence and focusing on the babbling bard.

‘Geralt…Geralt there is a town...wine…meat and beds. Think about it…real-life beds. Soft, fluffy warm beds. Come on Geralt lets stay the night. We might even find a new tale...or at the very least, a warm bath and a change of clothing.’ Jaskier prodded, shinnying his best puppy dog eyes at him.

Adva look up silent at the two men, there was almost a playful banter of faux hated from the older man. In truth she didn’t care where she slept, a bed, a muddy hole on top of a bed of nettle as long as she got some rest, her body ached, literal ached, she was used to being tired especially in the last weeks in Brightwater after the attacks, but this was on a whole other level. The sort of tiredness that seeped into your bones and made you eyelids feel like lead. Adva wrinkled her nose, the clothes she wore were stained, bile rose in her throat as she runs her hand over a sticky rust colour stain on her dress, a mix of hers and Tradi’s blood. It was only then she realised she hadn’t had a change of clothes since Brightwater. The same dress that has a massive slit in the side where Griffin’s talons caught her, an overshirt had been pulled over the bodice, and her old cloak flung round her. It covered her modestly, but she dreaded to think what a state she looked. She hadn’t bathed in a week, no hairbrush or fresh clothes, she had nothing, every possess she had ever own was gone, everything she owns was currently wrapped tightly around her body. Tears welled up in her eyes.

Staring up at the Witcher, she could feel his heavy gaze on her but refused to look away; instead, she shifted uncomfortably on her feet. It didn’t take a Witcher to see the line of water collect against her lashes. Casting his golden orbs back the town he sent his jaw in a tight clench as he urged Roach onwards.

‘Hmmm’

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Heavy spices filled the air, sage and rosemary, cinnamon and nutmeg. Merchants voiced echoed through the street as people rushed from one place to the other, in a rush to get the last of their supplies before darkness fell. Upon reaching the town gates, Geralt dismounted his horse and led him through the dwindling crowd. People parted allowing the trio to slip through, edger eyes cast upon them, intrigued at the white-haired hulk of a man.

Jaskier pranced across the ground, strumming his lute softly, making the pretty young girls laugh behind their hands as he blew them kisses. Adva fell as little way behind the pair, eyes scanning the town stalls as she went. People chatted and bartered with the tradesmen; carts served the busy people with spiced ginger cake and pies as they rushed off home, the hearty smell of soup lingered in the air. A low rumble bubbled in the girl's stomach cause a pale blush to spread across her cheeks as the Witcher turned slightly, watching her out of the corner of his eye as a seller pushed his wares. Jaskier was on the other side of the street purchasing spare lute strings and bathing salts from an overly busty young woman.

Flashes of vibrant colour caught her eye. Rich pinks and orange against the vivid blues and reds. Rolls of cotton, silks and velvets in every colour imaginable. They were hanging against the wooden frame where a full range of garments,  headdress, bands, girdles, overcoats, cloaks, tunics, gowns and dresses.  The blue eyes searched the overladen walls that hung various outfits. Fingering the soft cotton of a deep red dress, she traced the simple gold embroidery design that framed the lace corset of the bodice. The next thing that caught her eyes was a dark leather underbust corset, with a cross-hatched design. Never in her life has she seen such a garment; women in the brothels often wore such a thing but made of flimsy silk or whalebone to tuck and frame their waist and push their bust-up. This, however, was a work of art, probably made for lady judging from the quality. Next was a basic blouse one in royal red and the next in aqua blue, in the softest cotton.

‘Ahhh madam, you have excellent taste…those colours would complement your skin…madams’ figure is exceptional… perhaps a tighter corset, it would empathise your hips and waist.’ A chirpy deep voice cut in.

Out of nowhere, a large jolly man bounded in her eye line. The merchant was dressed in an elegant doublet, in a brilliant shade of emerald green. Fine white whiskers framed his plump red cheeks; a large belly jiggled when he laughed. The violent greeting almost made Adva flinch back in shock, but his large friendly smile relaxed her tense shoulders. The old man waddled over and lifted up the dark leather corset and inspected it with glee.

‘I pick up this little thing in Nilfgaard year ago…it belonged to a master craftsman…see this leather work he almost went blind making it. I could not part with it to a lesser specimen of womanhood.’ He gushed as he held it up firmly against the curly-haired woman.

Adva shrieked back as the man touch, bumping into the broad chest of the brooding Witcher, who glared down at the pudgy old man.

‘Ahhhh this must be your husband… such a handsome couple…perhaps I could persuade you with some undergarments for the lady…’ the man winked up at Geralt as he pulled out several nightgowns. A simple thing, of plain sheer cotton cut in a princess style. Followed by a short lacey thing with a silk ribbon belt. A deep red blush moved across her face as Geralt peered down at the man with an unwavering gaze.

‘Geralt…Adva…where are you? I found a tavern!’ Jaskier bellowed.

With a sigh of relief, Adva darted off toward the tavern, leaving the orange eyed man behind.

‘By gum, you gotta good one there…a homely figure, a good hand full there’ The man crowed as he hung the garments back on the rack.’

Geralt’s eyes burnt into the merchant as he moved around the stall, minutes past before the silver-haired spoke. The man busied himself with plucking various garments from the walls of the stalls and folding them neatly into a bundle.

‘I need some clothes for my…wife. We left our last town in a rush.’ Geralt grunted out

The man smiled up as she continues to fold what looked like a dress into the bundle. ‘I thought so… a husband like your self can’t have a woman like that dress in rags. These should do…’ the man smiled pushing the buddle across her.

Geralt glanced across as the bundle before his eyes danced across the stall. Never in his life had he taken an interest in women’s clothes, yes he appreciated the women who wore them, but as most of them end up on the floor or ripped apart, the wasn’t much point it taken an interest. However, in this instant, he took his time to access each item, ignoring the man grinning like an idiot behind him. He had seen her finger some of the items before and picked up the garment and throw them over his arm. Glancing around he examines the remaining items, there were several lovely dresses but nonpractical for travelling long and hard across the country. The golden-skinned Adonis picked some oiled skinned brown trousers and riding boots.

Geralt tossed 30 coins into the man’s hand as he picked up the role of clothes. Grunted at how light her purse now felt.

‘ere take this.’ The older man grinned at Geralt as he tossed the underbust corset. ‘I’ve had this thing for five years, and I couldn’t let it go to a less worthy filly. You’re a lucky man, and she is a lucky woman don’t know many men that would toss down 30 coins for their woman. You must be quite enamoured.’

‘Fuck’ Geralt grunted as he turned and left in the direction of the pub.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Adva sat in the snug of the pub nursing a small cup of mead from the pitcher Jaskier had brought before fluttering off after some barmaid with gorgeous Auburn hair and a pale, freckled face. The tavern was nice, large and open but most importantly, clean. Taking another sip of mead, she cringed as the yeasty drink run down her throat. It was sickly sweet and crisp in flavour but most importantly strong, the fumes for the drink along where enough to make her lightheaded.

Sighing, she forced down another gulp and rested her back against the oak seat and closed her eyes as her mind wandered over past few days. It took all her will power not to let the overwhelming emotion to pour from her. The shock was beginning to wear off, and she flight between hatred and gratefulness, she still couldn’t get her mind around what happened or why.

‘Well hello, little girl…looking for some fun?’ a voice roared drunkenly as his clumsy plopped himself down on the bench beside her.

‘Hullo love… fancy coming outside for a bit?’ the man slurred as he sloshed his flagon around.

‘No, thank you. I am waiting for my friends.’ Adva wrinkled her nose as the overpowering stench of ale the attack her, attempting to push herself to the other end of the bench.

‘That doesn’t make matta… they can join, well as long as they got nice tits.’ The man leered at her as he snatched his arm around her pulling her to him.

‘What do you think you are doing?’

Adva had never been so relieved to see anyone in his life. The hulking frame filled up the archway, his eyes were full of rage, burning away.

‘Nothing mate…Didn’t know she was your whore. Though mate I would have thought you’d have better taste…this one looks like she been dragged through a bush…though she properly has.’ A creepy laugh pushed itself through his teeth, making him hiss like a snake.

The brunette cringed as he laughed; it made her feel unclean. There had been those sorts back in Brightwater, lecherous louts who often tried to pitch her bottom as she walked past.

Geralt cleared to the other side of the room in two long strides. The supplies cast across the table as his gloved hands crumpled as he lifted the letch off the seat by his collar. The man's feet dangled off the floor, kicking weakly as the skilled arms of the Witcher lifted him higher. Adva tensed, the look in his eyes was murderous, raw and untamed, a look that she had never seen before.

‘You even look in her direction again, and I’ll gut you like the yellow-bellied fish you are.’ Geralt roared chucking the man across the floor where the landlord slammed down the pewter flagon he had been polishing to drag the man up.

‘Cumm ere Rodrol’ The older man grunted and pulled the young man by the scruff of his shirt and ejected him the muffled scream from the front of the door with a dull thump.

The landlord hurried over with some ale and a board of cold meats and cheeses, placing the offering in front of the pair with a grovelling apology before escaping promptly back to the bar.

Automatically, Adva began pouring a dishing out the mean onto the Witcher’s plate; cheese was soft and crumbly with a sharp smell. The meats moist and juicy, beef, chicken and pork, serves with chutney and mustards and thick slices of brown bread.

‘You know you don’t have to serve, you’re not a tavern wench anymore’ Geralt purred from deep in his chest.

Adva cast her eyes down and retracted her hand from the jug and placed them by her sides. It was right; she wasn’t anymore; she wasn’t sure what she was anymore. Plucked up and removed from everything she knew, stuck in an unfamiliar town with the man who had uprooted her not a penny to her name. A pained groan fell from The Witcher’s lips, so soft she was sure she imagined it. His face was pitched and concerned as he gazed at her

‘Where is Jaskier? The bard should have stayed with you.’

‘He went to sort out the rooms. A young maid was helping him.’

‘Typical’ Geralt quipped, taking a gulp of a cup in front of him and wolfing down a thick slick of tender beef, a trail of juices travelling down his chin. Adva’s eyes transfixed as tongue darted out and collected the delicious droplet.

‘Look..’ Geralt swallowed a mouthful. ‘I got you some clothing… and a few other things you might need..’

The Witcher voice was impassively soft now, almost inaudible, the deep rough sounds that made her feel safe. In front of her, he pushed a large bundle of clothing. Adva recognised them instantly from the market stall, the lush red and blues in the softest cotton she had ever touched, brown shammy trousers and a pair of boots. Digging deep a brush and soap lay on top of the red dress and undergarments. At the bottom of the bundle was the beautiful leather corset. Never in her entire life had she had new clothes given to her, instead of living on hand-me-down and cast of given to her from the working girls, that she had to stitch together into something respectable. These were her clothes.

‘These are for me, and I don’t need to do anything to keep the? No strings attached?’ Adva asked slowly, unsure and cautious.

Geralt looked up and held her gaze as he ripped a crust of bread with his teeth and washed it down with the last of his ale and refilling his cup. ‘What do you take me for? They are your clothes.’

Deep blue eye flickered across the expressionless face, her pupils darted to the deflated purse, no longer brimming with the coin from Brightwater. The Witcher had spent hard-earned coin to purchase clothes for her when he could have just thrown a pile of rags at her. No longer could contain the question that burnt at the back of the throat.

‘Why did you take me?’ the question sounded small, but it has the power to stiffen in his seat.

‘Because you weren’t safe there.’

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, Adva’s mind reeling as her mind process the series of event that lead her to where she was today.

Carefully she asked her next question. ‘What Tradi did…the experiments… the things he did…Am I really in danger? Did he really do all those awful things to get to me? Did they all die because of me?’

‘They all died because Tradi of Brownstone was a cunt. People like Tradi want power, don’t care how they get it. That is why I took you, your safe with me. Most mages are so concerned with their self they don’t care who they step on to get it…or at what cost especially if it other people.’

‘Do you know many Mages?’

‘For my sins…and there are a lot of those.’ Geralt dryly joked as he shoved a chunk of cheese into his mouth.

Adva smiled warmly across at him as she brought the clothing onto her lap to sort out. ‘Thank you… I have never had clothes like this. Thank you.’

Air rushed from her lungs as the man gave her a warm smile. It lite up his entire face, it was inviting, and a tingling sensation sparked across her body. It caused her to wonder why she had never seen him smile, most of the time he strutted around with a permeant scowl, the disdain that kept everyone at a distance.

‘Aww fuck, don’t cry.’ Geralt growled, he sat straighter in his chair, looking alarmed.

Reaching up, Adva was shocked when her fingertips met the dampness on her cheeks. Geralt was quick, so quick that she didn’t even see him move till she felt him thick arm awkwardly curl around her shoulders, pulling her body to his. A strong pulse on energy ran through her, and her heart slowed, and the nervous anxiousness that she had been carrying round in the pit of her stomach for the past three days disappeared.

They sat like that for a few moments while Adva dried her eyes, he scent was comforting, spice, ginger and cinnamon and cedarwood, she could get drunk of the smell, and subconsciously she felt herself melt into his arms and his arms tighten around her nestling her into his chest.

‘Ahhhh Geralt that is where you are. A tiny problem with the rooms. The tavern only had one room available. The delightful Griselda has selflessly allowed me access to her bed chambers, but you two have got to make some arrangement… should be too difficult seeing how you to cosy up as soon as I let you out of my sight.’ The bard sang playfully as he slid into Geralt old seat.

Jaskier settled himself down and picked at the tray of food I fronted of him and poured his cup of ale. Adva moved away out of Geralt arms and instantly became fascinated in her cup, taking small sips as Geralt glowered at the man in front of her.

‘Oh Geralt there was a man asking about you’ Jaskier mumbled his mouth full of cheese and meat.

‘Who?’ Geralt bite out.

‘Him’ the bard pointed as he stuffed another slice of pork into his already stuffed mouth.

Adva cast her eyes across the sparsely populated tavern to a group of three men, cautiously glancing at them. The trio stared suspiciously at the men as they whispered to one another. They were men of quality, at least for this small town, clothes of good quality, fur-lined cloak and full leather boots. Geralt’s hand inched towards his sword as they made their way across the small room.

‘Ahhhh Geralt of Rivia it is an honour to have you and your wife into our unworthy town.’ A middle-aged man greeted bowing lightly. ‘We hope you and your wife has been well looked after…we have something of a problem that we need help with.’

‘How much?’

‘Wife?’

[londonfog-chan]

The Trans!Reader x Jonathan Joestar That No One Asked For But is Getting Anyway Because Fuck Convention: Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy

This one goes out to all my people who requested a Trans!Reader insert on my other blogs, I’m trying to test the waters with this one to make sure I’m doing it justice. No one should ever have to feel bad about themselves and I want this to be my love letter to all of my trans folks out there.

...

[[MORE]]

At first, she didn’t recognize the young man standing alone on the hill. Maybe you’d been chased off by him, and she worried when she saw your box in his hand. Heartbroken, thinking that your treasure had been commandeered by a brute. But the wind betrayed the boy, billowing locks of hair and instantly she broke out into a run, the turquoise fabric of her dress flaring out behind her as she hitched up her skirts, her blonde hair trailing behind her like a cape.

“I am here!” she called your name, and when the young man turned she saw the friend she’d known since infancy.

“Oh my!” the lightest dusting of pink tinges her cheeks as she skids to a halt directly in front of you. “You look… Dashing! Such fanciful clothes.”

“I had to make an impression darling.” You reply, smiling shyly and holding a hat box closely to your chest. “My brother won’t miss the trousers nor the blouse, but the shoes… They’re far too big for me. And… And I’m unsure how to tie the cravat...”

“Don’t fret, I can fix it for you! Look, I’ve even brought some things for you to pin up your hair. We’ll have you all primped in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

Like a mother, Erina Pendleton takes you between her knees on the grassy knoll. Armed with a brush and a coil of ribbon, she pulled and twisted your snarled tangles up and away from your face. You obediently pulled a man’s cap out of the hatbox and over your head as Erina finished with your hair and took your shoes off, pulling stockings from her basket and stuffing your shoes until they fit snugly when she tied the laces.

“Oh…” she smiles when she’s done, and for some reason it makes your heart tingle the slightest bit.

“What do you think?” you ask.

“I think… I think you’re positively handsome, and you seem to be less tightly wound. Especially around the eyes.”

You’re unsure of how you look, so you can’t say for certain that you feel the clothes have done anything to make you less of a wreck emotionally. Raising your arms over your head, you look at your shoes, the cravat Erina showed you how to tie around your neck, the tweed trousers. Everything is in muted colors, not a stitch of brightness to be seen save for the handkerchief peeping from your breast pocket. When you stole the clothes from the discarded trunk your brother left behind before he went to India, you felt exhilarated, frightened at the prospect of getting caught and possibly taking a switch for your boldness. Yet when your mother caught you taking them, she merely laughed and told you they wouldn't fit your brother even if you decided to fix them up, but if you wanted some play clothes they were more than adequate to serve that purpose. You decidedly felt deflated, a bit hurt she didn't really do anything and dismissed you as though you were an eccentric child playing at a game instead of a young man trying to come into his own. But you do feel something now that Erina has fixed you up… almost airy. And she is right, you don’t feel the strain around your eyes anymore. After a while however, you begin to squirm, indeed feeling something but not the freedom nor the personal acceptance you've been trying to achieve.

“My trousers chafe me so!” you complained. “Have they not managed to figure out a finer weave of fabric for the warmer months?!”

“Stop scratching! You’re being so vulgar!" Erina whines, but it does nothing to deter you from reaching into the band of your pants and scratching violently everywhere.

"Damn and blast!"

"Sophisticated gentlemen don't reach into their drawers and scratch in front of a lady!" she scolds, "You said you want to unleash the gentleman inside you, what would he say to this display?”

“Well right now the gentleman inside me wants me to tend to the war raging on my buttocks!”

Erina cries your name, begging you to stop scratching your rear end with a ferocity that nearly makes you roar in frustration. It does take quite a long time for you to relent, damning the conventions of polite society all the way and using rough language that the poor girl has unfortunately become accustomed to. For a while you complain some more about the clothes, the societal expectation to be covered at all times, the fact that neither gender is truly free of their own volition, and the revolution you wish to start for a society that is nothing short of anarchy.

"Everyone will be allowed to run stark naked if they wish to, or to be draped in silks and I'll make all these pompous aristocrats provide every necessity. I grow weary of hearing the necessities of decorum every five minutes when I simply wish to fulfill a human need!"

“Now, now…” Erina coos gently, brushing blades of grass from your trousers. “Look here, you’ve unsightly grass stains.

"If I must return to my flouncing hell I'll take care of it later." you told her. "Grass stains speak to a boy that craves adventure. An Odysseus!"

"I'm sure it does." she giggles. "But all this talk of treasure, we still haven’t taken care of the most important part.”

“… I’d nearly forgotten about that. Let me get her for you…”

You finally relinquish the tight hold you’ve been keeping on your hat box, slowly opening the lid and reaching in with both hands. Cradling your treasure as though it’s a child, you rock your precious doll back and forth, smoothing the cascading brown curls down and fixing her skirts. It takes a while for you to let go. You don’t want to let the poor thing go. She is far beyond a play thing, she was your bearer of the most heartfelt confessions and tears, the first to know of your beginning metamorphosis back when you feared Erina would call you horrific names if you told her your most guarded secret.

Now, when you look up at Erina, you know you’ve made the right decision to trust her. She scoots closer to you as you tremble, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and not once making a move to steal the doll from your grasp. In fact, she doesn’t presume to take it until you offer it to her, and then she treats it as though she is receiving a holy relic.

“Please…” you beseech your best friend, “Give her a good home, with plenty of love and affection. She likes to sleep beside your pillow in her box, and her favorite holiday is Easter, her favorite food is spice cake…”

“You can trust me, my dearest friend. I promise to take very good care of Aphrodite for you.”

Slender fingers reached forward to stroke your cheek, clearing away the tears that have fallen for the poor doll you relinquished. As she cleans your face, she tells you the doll will never leave her sight, fully prepared to cater to her every whim as though she's a princess and not made of wax. Yet Erina is right. You mustn’t cry. It’s only for a little while that Erina will have her, until you’re grown up and have a house of your own to keep your possessions. Unsure of your parent's reaction when you finally decide that they need to know they've lost a daughter and obtained a son, you told Erina it's better to keep Aphrodite away lest she is destroyed. You promised your dolly she'd be safer with Erina those nights you cuddled her, seeking reassurance from the persecution you knew you’d face from the rest of the world.

“When I’m a grown man, I’ll be a renowned physician.” You asserted aloud. “I’ll have a big house, millions of books, my piano, and I’ll play Aphrodite’s favorite songs for her every single day. If I am not accepted, then that will be fine. No family will be permitted to enter my abode except for you, my dearest Erina. We will have twenty dogs apiece, and I shall give them only the strongest names from Greco Roman literature.”

“Twenty apiece?!” Erina exclaimed. “Don’t you think that’s a mite excessive?”

“Not at all, in fact I think that’s hardly a proper minimum requirement for a house.”

All this talk of dogs and estates with room for a man and his doll makes you excited, and you cannot help but take your borrowed handkerchief from your pocket to wipe your face. The wind evidently shared your sentiments, as the minute you loosened your grip the scrap of fabric floated away on a gust that made you clutch your hat for fear of losing it.

“Oh no!” Erina whimpered. “I hand embroidered that handkerchief!”

“A thousand pardons darling! I’ll fetch it back!” you cried, and you’re up and running before she can stop you.

As you chased the scrap of fabric, you couldn’t help but feel elated. There was no tug at your waist that made your insides hurt and your breathing shallow, no skirts to trip you and confine you to a chair where you practiced the same stitch over and over until your fingers felt they would break. None of the insecurity and strangeness at inhabiting a body that did not feel like it belonged to you. You only felt the wind at your face, the hard earth below your brother’s shoes as you ran… No longer did you feel trapped, like a lion pacing a tiny cage in the circus.

You felt elated at last. As though finally, after all this time, you were living your truth.

It was Erina’s screams that finally snapped you from your euphoria. Pocketing the runaway handkerchief, you began your course back to the grassy knoll where you left her, fearing the worst when you heard her crying out “please! Please put her down!” Your heart sank. Not only was your dearest friend being assaulted, but her tormentor evidently had commandeered Aphrodite because there was only one other “her” that Erina could be referring to. She never referred to you in the old way anymore, not since your confession.

You made it just in time to see a young man being beaten to the ground, two other snot nosed brats, had commandeered Aphrodite and you heard talk of them going to lift up her skirts to see if she'd been made with all the right parts…

And the last thing you remembered was seeing red, absolutely seething with rage as you put a shoe up the ass of one of the boys and nearly launched Aphrodite into Erina’s arms. All the frustration, all the anger you felt your entire life of living a life that wasn’t yours, it came out in the form of an unchecked feral response that made the boys cry out for mercy as they left you, Erina, and the downtrodden young man alone. By the time you'd let them go, they could only hobble off pathetically. In your rage you vaguely recalled screaming to them that perhaps you'd check if they'd been given all the right parts, one of the boys had taken your brother's shoe to the groin and was being dragged along by his companion. Your face was dripping with sweat and tears, and your hands were sore and bloody. The blonde didn’t know who to comfort first, but when your eyes befell on the strapping young lad she too went to his aid.

“Don’t touch me!” he whined. “I didn’t do it for you, you know! A gentleman should always stand for a damsel in distress!”

“… then I suppose a thank you is in order for me?”

The words are out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. Even you're shocked at the personality you've assumed in your new clothes. With little effort your voice has become commanding, a general's voice that is full of conviction. Your stance is confident, centered, alone in your room you often perused illustrations in books of the matadores from Spain and admired the way they carried themselves in the charcoal drawings. Compared to the uptight men of this era, you swore to yourself you'd reject the stiffness of aristocracy and instead would carry yourself as unyielding as a man facing a bull. The young man looks up at you, crimson with rage, shaking and nose streaming carmine down his face. He and Erina have the same bewildered and intimidated expression, and he flinches but does not lash out when you heave him to his feet. He finally bolts from the clearing, insulting you as though you’re the one that beat him to a pulp, and for quite some time you and Erina stare after his retreating form.

"You brute!" he whimpers as he runs away.

“Who in the blue hell…” you begin, and you see Erina approaching with an unfamiliar handkerchief in hand to wrap your bloody knuckles.

Through the blood, the two of you manage to read the words “Jonathan Joestar”, looking back at the expanse of land where the boy had run off to even more confused and left with far more questions than answers.

But one thing is certain and you loathe it to be the first thought you have in your emergence into boyhood: this Jonathan Joestar fellow is the most handsome man you've ever seen in your life.

[valhallanrose]

I’m not sure I’ll get all the days, but here’s day one of the @lovelikeyoursfest prompts: first meetings!

Alt title: How Zelda met Asra. 

Zelda had fallen in love not once, but twice. 

And she didn’t fall so much as she did stumble and slam her face into the nearest surface on the way down the first time.

The first time, long before the days of devils and deals, Zelda had slipped out onto the streets of Vesuvia to join the Masquerade festivities. She was nervous and excited all at once - she hadn’t been in Vesuvia a year yet - but the air was heavy with music and laughter, thick with exotic scents that drove her curiosity to exploration. 

She’d spent hours circling the stalls, following her nose and stomach to try things she’d never tasted before. Only when her belly was full and exhaustion pulled at her shoulders did she make her way home, waving to the other merchants on her street and giggling when one in particular caught her attention. 

Greta, the aging seamstress who had embroidered the orchids on the neckline of her blouse, had beckoned her over with a withered hand. 

“Zelda, are you going home?” She pulled out a linen wrapped bundle and offered it to the girl with a smile, the crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes deep from many years of such an expression. “I just finished an order for your aunt, if you don’t mind bringing it to her. Though I was sorry to see there wasn’t a dress in all these clothes! Why won’t you let me fit you for something? A young girl like you would love the Masquerade!”

Snorting, Zelda accepted the bundle and held it close to her chest. “I’m not going to that dance, Greta. It’d be like a mouse among vipers - I’d be so out of place. And what would I do with a dress I can only wear once?”

Greta placed a hand over her heart with a dramatic gasp. “Oh, you wound me! It’s not about the dress, darling, it’s about the experience while wearing it. “Just a dress’ - your aunt would disagree, too. She even had a plan for getting you in one…”

Zelda raised a brow and laughed, starting to step backwards away from the booth. “Yeah, I know, she wasn’t at all stealthy about having me try on some of her old ones. And I overheard you and her plotting when you came by for tea.” She waved, grinning at the disgruntled look the older woman wore, and was halfway through turning to walk up the steps to the door of the Honeypot when she slammed into someone’s side. 

Her hand flew up to her nose, where it had hit something hard, grumbling as she rubbed the tip of it before she fully processed she had hit a person, not an object. She quickly looked up, mortified as her hand still held her nose and her wide eyes watered. 

“I’m so sorry.” She rushed out, blinking past the tears that had welled up to try and meet the person’s eyes. “I wasn’t paying attention, it’s my fault -”

Zelda felt hands on her face and heard quiet laughter, sweet on her ears before the person spoke. 

“Hey, you just busted your nose on my shoulder. I think I should be apologizing to you.” The hands on her face gently nudged her own away, then gently pressed against the sides of her nose. “Thankfully you didn’t break it. I think that would make me feel somehow worse.”

She managed a slight snort of laughter, blinking away the tears that blurred her vision as she adjusted the bundle in her arms. “If I managed to break my nose on your arm, I’d be both frightened and impressed by your bone structure.”

And then her vision cleared, and she got a real good look at him.

Soft looking white curls swept across high cheekbones, framing glittering amethyst eyes that held just a little too much amusement at her predicament. His clothes, though patched, were vibrant and colorful, with a fox-faced mask pushed down to hang around his neck. His palms were warm against her cheeks, touch gentle as his gaze held hers. This close, she could smell something warm and spicy on his skin, like a tea blend she couldn’t name but would absolutely be hunting down on the shelves as soon as she was inside. 

Gods, he was lovely. So much so it made her heart ache. 

Before she could tamp it down, magic fizzed around her ears, gardenias blooming vibrantly against the dark of her hair as they sparked into existence. 

Her face burned as his eyes widened with clear delight, the brunette quickly stepping back to try and pull the blossoms free and shove them out of sight. His hand came up and took one of them for himself, bringing it carefully to his nose and breathing in the scent.

“Well, thank you.” He murmured, a smile playing on his lips as he tucked the flower behind his ear. “I happen to find you quite lovely myself.”

Well, if she wasn’t blushing before, she was on fire now. 

This was mortifying. 

Her arms wrapped around the bundle as if it was a shield that could protect her from her own embarrassment. Her gaze lowered to the ground, toe of her shoe scraping the cobblestones for a moment before she nodded to the shop door. 

“I should go.” She whispered, lip caught between her teeth. “Sorry again about bumping into you.”

She turned, ready to flee up the stairs inside, but the gentle hand on her arm made her pause and turn back to look at him. 

“Hey...why don’t you come pick something out?” He gestured to the display of masks and trinkets laid out on the worn rug beneath his feet, which she’d missed in her efforts to flee before she made a bigger fool of herself. “I’m sure you’ll find something you like.”

Zelda hesitated, looking between him and the door before she gave in to those beautiful eyes of his. 

Gods, she was already so fucking weak. 

“Okay.” She breathed, her lips turning up at the broad smile that graced his face. His hand stayed on her arm until she came down from the steps, circling to look over the items laid out before her.

Zelda’s fingertips trailed over the surface of hand painted masks, a variety of animal faces peering back up at her as she looked over each one. She could feel his eyes watching her as she looked but kept her own down, still feeling somewhat nervous under his rapt attention. She picked up a mask, intending to look at the painted doe’s face a little more closely - only to jump and laugh when it revealed a coiled up snake hidden beneath. 

“Oh, hello!” Zelda smiled as it lifted its head, vibrant red eyes gleaming and its tongue flicking into the air at the loss of its hiding place. “Aren’t you a pretty little thing. How’d you get under there?”

“I was wondering where you went!” He slipped in a golden hand to scoop the snake up, letting it coil around his wrist and fingers before lifting her to Zelda’s eye level. “This is Faust. You can pet her, if you like.”

She eagerly reached forward, stroking the tips of her fingers over the snake’s head and smiling when her nose pressed back into her fingers. Her hand slipped under Faust’s jaw, gently scratching underneath her chin and watching as her tongue darted faster into the open air. 

“She’s beautiful.” Zelda said after a moment, relaxed enough to meet his gaze and offer him a bright smile. “You’re very lucky to have her.”

He smiled and moved his hand, letting Faust coil around his shoulders. “Oh, I am. She’s a very good friend.” Her head peeked out over his shoulder, and he kissed the side of her head before he looked back to Zelda. “Find something you like?”

Zelda looked down to the mask in her hand and quickly nodded, smoothing her thumbs over the spots on the fawn-shaped mask. In moments, it was gently plucked from her hands, and he was leaning in to carefully tie the sage ribbon behind her head. Once it was affixed, he smiled, tweaking the carefully carved nose to adjust it on her face. 

“Perfect.” He murmured, and she blushed, letting him carefully untuck bits of her hair to better frame the mask. 

“Thank you.” Zelda whispered, then started to reach for her bag. “How much do I owe you?”

Before she could pull out her coin purse, he had taken her hand in his, wrapping carefully around her fingers. “I’ll trade you for it.” He said softly, a slight smile on his face as his eyes flickered over the mask. “I’d like your name. You got Faust’s, and I still don’t know yours.”

She managed a smile as he brought her hand to his lips, the touch featherlight as he met her eyes over her knuckles. 

“Zelda.” She whispered, watching the smile spread wider over his lips. “But it’s quite rude that you gave me your friend’s name and not your own.”

He laughed, and the sound was music to her ears as he released her hand and ran his fingers through his curls. “I’m Asra. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s mine.” Zelda smiled before she nodded to the door, hefting the bundle up carefully. “I should go bring this in…”

Hesitating for a moment, she balled up her courage, following the fluttering in her chest that begged her not to let him go just yet. This person...something about him felt right, something in her heart ached at the idea of missing out on the chance to know him and see where this went. 

“Would you like to maybe join me? For tea?” She blurted out, feeling her face flame under the cover of the mask. “My aunt has some lovely blends, and...I wouldn’t mind the company.”

Asra seemed startled for a moment before his face broke into a smile, one that made even his eyes shine with visible delight. “I suppose I can.” He drawled, shoving a hand into his pocket. “After all...the festivities don’t pick up until evening.”

Relief settled on Zelda’s shoulders, and she smiled at him, stepping backwards again to reach the steps. “I’m glad. I’ll...I’ll meet you here? I live upstairs, so...I’ll be around.”

She didn’t wait for an answer before she fled, heart pounding in her ears as she slipped inside the Honeypot Herbalist and pressed her back flat against the door. Slowly, she sank to the floor, a dopey smile on her face and her face warm as she settled a palm over her heart. 

She was so, so done for.

Note: Gardenias, among other things, mean ‘you are lovely’ in the language of flowers.

[tunnelscreamer]

#19 Excuse for Tavra and Onica!! (of course)

Thanks for the prompt! Excuse can be a noun or a verb so I tried to sneak both in, I hope you like it!

The Love Charm

“I’ve heard you can help me,” said the visitor, as she followed Elder Cadia into the tent.

It was springtime and the Elder’s ship was moored by the cliffs of Ha’rar. His tent sat in their shadow, nestled along the coast. He walked ahead and peered through a beaded curtain into the parlor at Onica. He gave her a look that said it was time to get to work, then he returned to his guest.

She listened to them talk on the other side of the curtain as she prepared the room. She set a bundle of herbs on a shelf and lit them, filling the little space with fragrant smoke. The lanterns were all lit, the table was cleared, and the charms and potions sat ready in a rack above the burning herbs.

“This is a matter of the heart,” the guest continued, “I am highly eligible, and have my eye set on a match. I need to be seen as approachable, but also unattainable. Flirtatious and aloof, vulnerable but in a confident way, do you understand?”

“Say no more, I am an expert in such things,” Cadia said, parting the curtain and entering the room. He seemed more cheerful than usual, Onica thought, as she took her place standing by his chair.

He led a well-dressed Vapran maiden to a seat at the table. She looked like a cloud, her sleeves puffed out extravagantly. They were billowy and delicate, lace bouncing with each step. A little round hat sat in her hair, brushing the ceiling with its long airy feathers. A satiny blouse, trimmed in gold, spilled out of an iridescent bodice that at times looked sky blue and blush pink. Onica saw now why Cadia was happy. He did not see pretty clothes but wealth.

The guest’s hair fell in ringlets, framing her face in pale gold with hints of pink. Onica was surprised to see that curls were in style in Ha’rar. She would have to ask Tavra about it. They were a short walk from the village, but she rarely went there. They preferred to spend time together away from the Vapran capitol.  

The maiden settled into her seat. She looked so out of place in the rustic tent. Its weathered walls were crusted with half dried salt water. The lashed bone supports were yellowed by age and smoke. The fragrant herbs weren’t for ceremony so much as to cover the smell of the wet tent and the Elder. 

Onica smiled kindly at her. The maiden looked back briefly and decided to ignore the Sifan serving girl. She turned her attention to Elder Cadia.

“I want to be at my best, with shining hair like the moons glow and a voice like a song.”

“You are lucky, I have potions that will add music to your every word and a shimmer to your hair,” he said attentively.

“Yes, I want those,” she pulled out a pouch and opened it part way revealing the gems inside, “she doesn’t use them, does she?” the maiden asked looking at Onica, seeing her hair’s lack of shine. 

“Ha, no, Onica’s charm is all her own,” Cadia said with an eyebrow raised, teasingly.

“Good,” the Vapra replied through a giggle, “will this be enough?” she handed him the pouch.

Cadia nodded to his apprentice and Onica turned to get the potions. Her hands moving over the shelf crowded with bottles, clay jars, and pouches of powder. 

It was true, she didn’t use those potions. She knew they didn’t work, or they worked in unexpected ways. The hair potion certainly would make hair shine, but it also made both hair and skin slick as nebie butter. Returning, she placed two little bottles on the table.  

“Why stop there?” Cadia said, examining the gems.

“What more can you do?” the Vapra replied excitedly, “I want everything you’ve got, I need to be absolutely irresistible. My darling and I will be the talk of Ha’rar.”

“Well, there is more, but what I have is so powerful, the items are forbidden in decent society. You may drive your intended mad with desire,” he looked at the maiden as he held back a grin, “also they are quite costly.”

“The cost is nothing,” she said pulling loose a delicate silver cord around her neck. There were more gems beaded along the its length. Cadia sat back and sighed, as she handed them to him. 

“All right, but you must be very careful with what I’m about to give you,” he explained as Onica returned to the shelf. This time grabbing a love charm and a little vial of perfume. She placed them on the table.

“Put a drop of this on the nape of your neck, and your love will be drawn to you like the setting sun to the horizon,” he mused, looking at the bottle as if it were potent as poison. The perfume did have a sweet smell but it did not bring out love or lust in others, only occasional compliments. 

“And this is the most powerful of all,” the Elder picked up the charm, a simple pod root wrapped in blue ribbon.

“It’s so plain!” the maiden blurted out as she looked at it curiously.

“Looks can be deceiving, you say the name of your love three times then place it beneath your pillow and, by next full Pearl moon, their heart will be yours,” he handed it to her.

She took the charm, so excited to use it she could barely wait. With two hands she held it up to her chest and closed her pretty eyes. “Tavra, Tavra, Tavra” she said with desire, ready to begin its matchmaking magic. She could practically see them together, her hanging on the royal paladin’s arm. 

The sound of Tavra’s name hit Onica like a blow. There was a thud and a clatter. Knees suddenly buckling beneath her, Onica fell backwards catching herself on the shelf. The bottles rattled along with her nerves. A puff of smoke followed as the smoldering bundle of herbs fell to the ground. In a panic, she stomped it out in a cloud of soot and embers. She reached up to steady the shelf as her foot continued to strike the ground.

Cadia looked up with a scowl.

“What’s wrong with her?!” the Vapran maiden shouted in distress.  

“Oh! I just,” Onica gasped, “I, if you’d please, um, excuse me,” she went on, trying to stay calm.

The Elder shook his head and narrowed his eyes in a look of searing anger. He was red with rage, but he had to remain civil to finish his dealings.

“Go! You are excused for the night!” he barked, clutching tight the gems.  

Onica stumbled outside and took deep breath. Fresh sea air replaced the smell of smoke as the panic slowly passed. She wanted to go back, to tell that fancy Vapra she was wasting her time and gems. But she didn’t. It was a relief to know none of the Elder’s love charms worked.

Sometimes she forgot that Tavra was, in almost every one’s mind, unattached. Onica trusted her endlessly but it still hurt knowing that’s what they had was secret, and it might always be. It made her stomach turn.

Leaning against a rock, she tried to calm herself. She could hardly blame this pretty gelfling for trying to win Tavra over. This and other thoughts floated through her mind. 

While looking out to sea, she remembered something Cadia had said, long ago, in this same place. Being near Ha’rar made him pensive and one evening he remarked “when someone cares for you they will endure hardship and overlook your shortcomings. And when they don’t they will find any excuse to leave. It’s not something that can’t be controlled.”  He had looked into the distance, glossy eyed and thoughtful. At the time, it made her wonder who had left him. Perhaps he had tried a potion to keep them. 

Love was not a trick and not something to be won with fine clothes and charms. It came from somewhere else. It was comforting to know, that no amount of gems could buy it. It’s magic was mysterious, pulling her and Tavra together when everything else kept them apart. 

She looked beyond the sea to the evening sky. The stars were just beginning to shine, no longer concealed by the light of the suns. Other lights too became clearer, like the lanterns on the cliffside path that led to the village. The seafarer’s lantern shone in the evening twilight. Onica saw a shadow pass by it, then it passed again. Someone was up there. She rushed away knowing who it might be.

Each evening they would meet on the path by the glow of the lantern. Their nights were filled with long walks and stories, and quiet moments hidden away. Some nights they would fall asleep beneath the stars and wake up together with morning dew clinging to their clothes. 

Tavra was here early, waiting. Onica heard her before she saw her. She was singing quietly to pass the time.

“And her hair did shine like the moons own glow, her voice was a song she was singing to my soul…”

Onica followed the sound, hoping to surprise her, but Tavra turned quickly and caught her. Their eyes met and Tavra smiled. 

The gravel path crackled beneath Onica’s feet as she ran into her arms nearly knocking Tavra over. Onica kissed her like she was claiming a prize. Tavra liked the sudden rush of affection, it was sweet and unexpected. 

“I missed you,” she whispered, burying her face in Tavra’s neck. It had been less than a day since they were last together. A moment later their lips met again.  Then Onica leaned back to look into the Vapra’s green eyes. They shone in the low evening light.

“Do you sing that song when you’re in town, about the hair like the moon?” 

Onica asked the strangest questions sometimes, Tavra thought.

“I sing it when I’m thinking of you,” she smiled and kissed her again, “so I sing it everywhere.”

She ran her hand through the Sifa’s lovely hair. She tried to guess what Onica was thinking. She looked upset, though she tried to hide it.

“Would ... would we be the talk of Ha’rar, if we were,” Onica was hesitant to speak, “never mind.” 

“Where are these questions coming from?” Tavra was confused, but she tried to answer, “when we are bound, I’m sure we will be the talk of the Seven Clans,” she said thoughtfully with a slight smirk.

“When we are bound?” Onica asked putting special emphasis on the when, surprised that Tavra was so certain, surprised and happy.

“Yes when,” Tavra replied. This was serious talk and she wasn’t sure what Onica might think. But she meant it wholeheartedly and, if things were different, they would already be bound.

“That seems so impossible,” Onica said resting on her shoulder.

“No, this is impossible, that will be a breeze.”

 ~Notes~

The advice Cadia gives Onica was based on something a friend said to me after a breakup and it was the inspiration for the story. It’s simple but really hit at the time. 

And the Vapran maiden was a background character from AoR, I don’t think she has a name but she is very fancy and knows what she wants.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Witness : 24

The Limit

moodboard created by @chuuulip

Character(s): dark!Bucky, dark!Steve, too

Masterlist

Warnings: this is a dark!fic, it contains non/dubious-consent elements. Some violence as well at the beginning. It goes without (and with) that this is 18+.

In this chapter: mentions of anal plug, blow job, rough sex, like rurl rough, choking, a bit of voyeurism.

Summary: Our reader finds herself hitting a wall.

Notes:  Okay, so I would classify this as a juicy chapter. I'm loving this you guys and I have about one or two chapters left in writing, so we're about ten away from finished for posting. But were aren't at the endgame just yet (you see what I did there.) Anyhow, thank you guys for making this series so amazing! I love you so much.

Please, reblog and or reply with your thoughts!! I’ll see you in the next one.

Needless to say, your night met with little rest. Your body slowly attuned to the plug but you just couldn’t get comfortable, the sensation of fullness was strange. When it was time to get out of bed, you showered, trying to perfect a casual walk before you were set to show yourself in public. All the skirts Bucky had bought you were unbearably tight and allowed no relief as you slowly descended the stairs and grew used to the pressure. Driving was worse. You felt as if you were sitting directly on the plug and you were glad you had bought your new car. You texted Steve the news so that there was no mix up and you were thankful you didn’t have to sit next to him that day. You were even more thankful for the elevator at Stark tower but your office chair wasn’t cushy enough to make you forget your burden. It was most off-putting that it was growing to be arousing. Sitting in a certain position, it put pressure on all the right spots.

The day couldn’t go fast enough but the clock moved like a snail on pavement. You kept glancing over between trips to the washroom to try to alleviate your situation. On your way back to your desk, you found Bucky waiting at your desk. He smirked as he watched you approach him and you tried not to let him see you flinch. You glanced around and walked straight up to him. “You gotta take this thing out.”

“Woah, since when do you make the rules?” He chided, “But it’s good to know you kept it in.”

You rolled your eyes and spun around, going to sit behind the desk and lowered yourself tenderly to the seat. A set of footsteps neared and Steve appeared from the hallway, his face brightening as he saw you. He strolled over, stepping up next to Bucky as he kept his voice low. “So,” He looked to his fellow super soldier, “When do I get my next go at her?”

Bucky sighed and looked to you; for a moment, you actually commiserated with the man as he shared the same exasperation as you. Steve lacked any sense of subtlety. “Well, I don’t know,” His metal hand was on the desk, “I don’t think Y/N has any plans for tonight...do you?”  Your nostrils flared and you shook your head. His fingers tapped on the metal, “Be a good girl and use your words.” He warned.

“No, I don’t have any plans,” You muttered. You could have lied and said you did but to be honest, you would do anything to have the damn plug taken out. If it meant letting Steve use you, so be it. What was another night of debasement?

“I’ll come back for her and we’ll meet you at the hideout,” Bucky said, “It’s all clean and ready to go.”

“Great,” Steve leered at you, “Can’t wait.”

The two super soldiers headed for the door and changed the topic swiftly to business and you tuned out. Despite yourself, you could feel the wetness cooling between your legs, the warmth collecting during their conversation. While you were inherently annoyed by the way they talked about you, you couldn’t help your physiological reaction. Hell, your drunken memories of the night with both men sparked a fire you didn’t know was hidden within you. A flame you very much regretted letting them light.

Bucky was ever punctual. He waited just by the elevator as you finished up for the night, pacing slowly around the lobby. You shut down your computer and grabbed your purse, approaching him warily as he pressed the elevator button. When the doors had closed and boxed you up with the silent super soldier, you found your nerve. “Tell me you’re going to take this fucking thing out of me.”

“In due time,” He smirked, “Only good girl’s get treats.”

You sighed and shook your head. The plug had become less noticeable but it didn’t make it any less humiliating. You rode the rest of the way without saying a word, realizing you would get nowhere by arguing. Your only hope was to go along with whatever he and Steve had planned. You cleared your throat guiltily as you pondered what it was; drunken memories of your previous encounter filled your head. Bucky glanced over at you as the elevator doors opened, his eyes lingering on you as if he could see your thoughts.

“Don’t worry, it’s not very far,” He teased and you rolled your eyes as you followed him across the foyer. You were happy it was mostly empty as it would have been quite peculiar for you to be walking around with Bucky Barnes so openly. You were growing impatient with him as he kept his pace casual, in no hurry to be out of sight.

Finally at his car, you were eager to hide. You climbed inside, only to moan as you sat almost directly on the plug. Bucky gave a low chuckle and watched as you adjusted yourself in the seat. He looked you over, his blue eyes drinking you in as thoughts swirled behind them. “What?” You hissed.

“Just thinking if we had time for a quickie,” He raised a brow, “I wouldn’t mind a go before meeting Steve. I like having you to myself,” He reached across the console and undid your top button, “Mmm,” He licked his lips as he admired your cleavage, “Well, I don’t see why we can’t have some fun on the way.”

You chewed your lip, glancing out the window to make sure no one else was hanging out in the parking garage. Bucky shifted is seat back, the sound drawing your attention, and he unzipped his jeans, pulling his hard cock out and stroking his length. “Go on,” He reached over and grabbed the back of your head, pulling you over the console. You resisted, bracing your neck against him as you glared into his eyes. “Do you want the plug out or not?” He challenged.

You swallowed the threat and your dignity, positioning yourself over the console as you parted your lips over the head of his cock. As you made your way down his length, he turned the engine and you pulled back in surprise. His hand caught the back of your head before you could free your mouth and he pushed you back down his length until he was in your throat. The motion of the car was almost sickening as you began, bobbing your head up and down carefully until he released your head. You didn’t dare stop, quickening your pace as you heard other vehicles passing you. You were eager to be done with it, paranoid that anyone could walk by and see.

“Ah,” He breathed, his hand rubbing the back of your neck as your drool dripped down his shaft and onto his jeans. “God, that’s a good girl. Mmmm,” He groaned, “I’m gonna cum, oh fuck.” His hand was on your head again and he forced you down to his base, ribbons shooting down your throat as you struggled to breathe. “Swallow it.” He ordered, lifting your head by your hair as he came to a stop. You urged yourself to obey, licking the saliva from your lips to ease your throat.  “Let me see,” He said as he tucked his cock back in his pants. You opened your mouth, showing him that there was nothing left. You looked up to the building just outside the car; it was the same one he had taken you to after your night at the bar. Steve’s car was parked just beside you and you got with a sense of foreboding mingled with excitement. The car ride was just the beginning.

As you walked down the stairs ahead of Bucky, you felt a sudden wave of deja vu. This time you were sober and the prospect of both men was intimidating. You could hardly handle Bucky on his own and something about Steve bespoke of a darker core. He hadn’t shown you the extent of his depravity yet. As you came to the bottom and entered through the beacon-like doorway, you shivered.

Steve was already undressed, left with only his briefs and the bed loomed behind him. Bucky closed the door as he entered and he tugged at the collar of your jacket. You unbuttoned it as he helped you out of it without a word. What more was there to say? Steve turned to watch, sitting on the end of the bed as he tilted his head. You stepped out of your heels and Bucky unzipped your skirt, that and your blouse were quickly disposed of in a wrinkled pile. You shimmied out of your tights and your bra was unclasped as you stood straight. It all felt so ritualistic.

Bucky gave little heed to your panties, tearing through the lace easily and tossing them at Steve who caught them and brought them to his nose with an exaggerated whiff. It was oddly arousing. “Go on and bend over,” Bucky whispered in your ear as he massaged your ass. You exhaled in relief and eagerly touched your toes. He gripped the end of the plug and slowly pulled it out, your body quaking at the peculiar ripple it sent through you. You stood and he caught you around your waist. “Keep him happy,” He rasped, pushing himself against your back, “And the night won’t be so long.”

With that he let you go, smacking your ass so hard that you stumbled forward. You turned the misstep into a smooth pace, approaching Steve as your nerves began to buzz. His hands were on your hips in a moment and he drew you close. Your placed your own on his shoulders as he buried his head between your breasts. You sensed movement and looked over as Bucky sat in a chair at the edge of the room, his eyes fixed on you.

You didn’t ponder his observation for long as you were suddenly swept off your feet and tossed onto the mattress. You cried out in surprise, your body bouncing on the springy padding. Steve tore off his briefs as you propped yourself up on your elbows, watching him cautiously. In an instant he had gone from tender to abrupt. It was telling and somewhat frightening. You remembered that drunken night and how rough he had been. If you were to compare them, he was harsher than Bucky, easily lost in his rapture.

He climbed up on the bed, nearing you on his knees as he grabbed your ankles and brought them up so that your legs were bent close to your chest. You were on full display as your body was folded in half. “Not her ass,” Bucky warned, “She’s not ready yet.” Steve growled and you saw his eyes flash from behind your legs. He smacked your ass and grabbed the flesh roughly, causing you to flinch.

He made no pretense of foreplay. He didn’t really need to as you were sure he could see how slick your pussy already was. He pressed his tip to your opening, using your juices to lubricate himself before pushing inside. He let your legs fall around him, reaching back to hook your feet around each other. He had your pelvis tilted so that he was at your limit, your walls snug around him. He thrust slowly but decisively at first, your back arching in response.

His hands held you in place by your hips and he carefully stood up on the mattress, your upper half hanging upside down as your legs held on tighter, scared of falling on your head. Suspended at such an awkward angle, you held yourself up with your arms as he began to hammer into you, his hips snapping violently against yours. He was grunting with each relentless thrust, your own cries betraying the pain-laced vibrations he sent through you.

When you thought you could take no more, he lowered you back to the bed, your chest heaving as you shakily bunched the sheet in your fingers. You were suddenly empty as he pulled out and you were thankful for a moment to catch your breath. But it wasn’t really a break. He dragged you from the bed, your legs trembling beneath you as he turned you to face Bucky. He scooped you up, his hands on the back of your thighs, bending your legs once more to your chest as he held you flush against him. His member slipped easily inside without guidance and your back arched as his cock rammed against your cervix. He was just as brusque as before but it felt just as good. Your orgasm was thrilling as it caught you off-guard, your head pushed back against his shoulder as he continued to fuck you.

When your eyes lolled back into place, you caught sight of Bucky. You were shocked and even more aroused as you saw his cock standing outside his jeans, his hand stroking it as he bit his lip. It was an odd feeling. The thought of him being so excited over watching you was different. It was in itself a form of admiration and you couldn’t help but relish in it. Throughout all this, you had barely felt more than an object, hardly admired but rather used.

Steve abruptly dropped your legs, shifting so that you were bent over the bed. He didn’t stop, only thrusting harder and harder. “Fuck, such a tight girl,” He snarled, his voice deadly.  His hand snaked around your neck and forced your back to curve uncomfortably. His other hand was at your throat in an instant, your body twisted as his fingers tightened more and more. “I knew it from the moment I saw you,” He was speaking low in your ear as he bent over you, choking you so that you wheezed with every jerk of his hips. Your pussy tightened with the grip around your neck. “That innocent little secretary look is just a lie, isn’t it?” Your head was throbbing at the lack of oxygen, you began to bat at his hands helplessly. “You’re all just the same, aren’t you?” You tried to nod but couldn’t. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” You forced out a coarse whisper, your hands grasping at his clumsily.

“Yes, Captain,” He corrected you, the sound of his flesh slapping against yours was deafening as he continued to pound your without mercy. “Say it.”

He thrust so hard that your feet began to slip from beneath you. You were caught between ecstasy and oblivion, your head swirling dangerously. “Yes…” Silver spots were floating at the corner of your vision. “...Captain.” Your arms were heavy, so weak that they fell limp. You hadn't any strength left in you as the steady rhythm of his cock impaling had you convulsing. Your eyes closed against your will and the pounding in your pussy dulled as the black overtook your senses; your body floating in the void.

tags: @they-call-me-le @holylulusworld  @petit-funsize @alexakeyloveloki @ladyofmystery @kellyn1604 @thelostallycat @grayxswan @collette04 @butteryoptimisticpeanut @buckycaptspideypool @blackpantherimagines @lilithhellfire @captainfreecandyvan @spaghettyrogers @phoenix21love @sathlens @iheartsebastianstan

[prettieparker86]

There’s A Woman || Part 5

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 4b

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warning:  implied questionable consent

Gif Credit: ridget-regans,  necromancersatan,  drinkthevodka   Thank you so much!

Tag:   @theskinofmyemotions @3eyeddame@vikifirman@reyloshipper-starwars @londoncharlotte88 @megnificent07   @mafaldaz   @deactivated-veen @justmehanav @i-shouldbepainting  @dermittts @stylesbooze   @neversleeping4am, @icebluegriffin  @johhnshelby, @ subhamamu@unicorn-glitter-princess @thatsamegirl, @mafaldaz, @cafe-sabor-a-chocolate,  @collegecatlady,  @20th-centu-fairy-girl, @xlightning-disasterx  @niiight-dreamerrrr  @i-shouldbepainting  @dermittts @stylesbooze  @badwolf-in-the-impala  @mafaldaz @athewindsofsummer  @peaky50  @weeo   @thelightsideoflife@s0tc  @i-shouldbepainting  @dermittts @stylesbooze @stupiddarkkside @feverxxdream @eiliab @solidly-indulgent @eightyninesqueen @hollabackhollagram

Note: It’s been a Really Long Time since I posted anything. I’m terribly sorry. Not even sure most of you will remember me or my stories. I’ve had alot of challenges over the past few months as many of your know. But I’m trying really hard to get back into writing. So please go easy on me. This is the first thing I’ve completed in a long time.

As always, but especially now after such a long hiatus, likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

This one goes out to @twistedrunes It was suppose to be for her bday, which was ages ago, so big fail, but atleast it’s here now and I know if anyone would understand, it’s her. This ones for you friend! For always having my back and supporting me. and having the privileged of being there for your as well.

Tommy’s barely spoken to you since that night and you’ve hardly had a word to share in return. He filled your world up before that, like time and space, only to suddenly disappear with the blink of an eye. And what he left behind was an empty gaping hole that hollows and aches within you in your quietest of moments, to remind you of what’s gone. 

What you did together was the sort of dirty deed that swims around in murky waters. The kind of thing that fills the heart with regret, but still leaves a quiet hunger in your veins when you get too close. But you still can’t decide if you wish you never knew what it was like to have a piece of him, to know him and the magic he encompasses, or wish you would have taken any road that didn’t lead to him and spared yourself the pain.

Instead of facing each other, avoiding one another became the unspoken rule. A game you thought you were both playing and perhaps even winning, until Tommy catches alone; leaving the room you still share with Arthur, though you’re not sure for how much longer. Your eyes meet briefly as he exits his room. You move to leave as if he hadn’t been there at all when he steps in front of you path. 

Those heavy iridescent blues like a net pulling you into his trap with a glance. You step back on instinct, trying to break free of the hypnotizing hold of his eyes, but he follows, and you find yourself walking right into a trap, wedged between the wall and a man you don’t want to trust. You don’t want to feel anything for. Not that the pace of your heart is listening.

You break from his stare, turning your gaze stubbornly to the peeling wallpaper off to the side and hold steadfast. But you can still feel him. You can feel the tailored ends of his jacket brush against your blouse. The heat of his body as he stands impossibly close. The distinct smell that emanates off him, whiskey and smoke like the factories that bloom overhead. The sound the steady rhythm of his breath makes. Calm – almost too calm. You can practically feel him on your skin, like the thick heavy dew that covers everything in the early morning hours. He clings to you, sinks into you… as if you could ever forget how that felt. But still you persist, avoiding his gaze you feel so heavy upon you.

He grabs at your jaw, tugging it toward him, forcing your hand. Insisting the way Tommy does so well. Reluctantly you turn to him, but your gaze holds steady on the lapels of his jacket in defiance. Until he says it. Until your name rolls off his tongue, smooth like velvet with a touch of grit at the end to bristle the hairs on the back of your neck.

You meet his gaze as if it isn’t a choice and instantly he has you. The power this man wields over you, the way he makes you feel, you don’t understand it, and that terrifies you. No one’s ever made you feel the way Tommy can and you’re undecided over whether you like that or not.

His lips are sealed as he stares down at you, but you feel his thumb drag up from your jaw and brush across your cheek. You fight the urge to lean into his touch as your heart begins to hammer in your chest. He swallows you in his gaze. Devours you, eating you alive, and you can’t break free. You can’t read his thoughts in those sea of blues. His intentions unknown, but the way he looks at you… you could almost swear he’s as dumbfounded and mesmerized by the pull between you two as you are.

You can’t feel the wall at your back anymore, the whole house seems to almost fall away as his blunt thumb drags across your skin. All that remains is his eyes, his touch, and you.

A creak on the stairs snaps you out of it. Your gaze shoots to the sound and you spot Polly standing at the top of the steps. Her gaze heavy upon you with scrutiny, sending the whole world crashing back at you with force.

“There’s work to be done, Thomas.” You tell him, pulling his hand from your face as you brush past him without a second glance. Your eyes glued on Polly’s disapproving stare as you move to her, slipping past her sheepishly on the stairs as you quickly descend.

Tommy doesn’t even need to turn around to know who awaits him. He’d know the presence of his aunt from a mile away in a pitch-black cave. A powerful woman, who fills space as readily as she commands it. And when he turns to face her, he finds the pointed gaze he knew would be waiting. She doesn’t speak as he moves for the stairs. She doesn’t need to. He can hear her. 

Telling him to stay away. Telling him to leave you alone. He knows. He already knows. And that’s why he can’t meet her gaze as he moves past, trotting quickly down the stairs without a second glance. He had no intention of cornering you, of touching you… But like so many other ill thought-out moments with you, he doesn’t know what came over him.

  There was a time you and Ada had been close. As girls and throughout the war. You had been thick as thieves, joined at the hip, latched at the ankle. The fire inside her drawing you in like a moth to a flame, to revel and soak in her light. Steal a spark of it to keep in a locket or ribbon close to your heart where she could always be near. But after the war things changed as they so often do with the passing of time. 

Sometimes slowly, like a cool breeze settling in around you, sinking into your skin until the chill is so thick it reaches in deep to your bones and then all you can feel is the unrelenting cold. Other times it’s swift, like the slip of a blade moving too quick and suddenly the tip of your finger is gone. You’re not sure which it is with Ada, slow and undetectable or fast and unstoppable. All you’re certain of is the absence of her in your heart and a trusted friend who once shared secrets by candlelight.

No one can let the idea of Kimber and race day rest until more pressing matters arise. When Ada’s secret comes to light, you finally realize why your dear friend has been so distant. And that perhaps you’ve finally lost her for good this time. Lost her to a man who stole her heart and bound her to him with his child.  All word of Kimber and his intentions for you fade to the back at the Shelby home. 

Ada’s pregnancy became just the distraction you didn’t know you needed, and while it pains you to see such an ill fate befall her, it only strengths your determination to go through with your plan. When Arthur leaves and you know he will leave, you’re determined, now more than ever, to make your own way in these cruel streets, without a ring on your finger and little ones biting at your ankle. A life that would only leave you at the mercy of a man who could philander, leave, or die at any moment; leaving you destitute and helpless. No, you would not become your mother. You will make your own way. You will do this. There is no stopping you.

You slip into your finest dress. The one Arthur bought you, because you said you needed it. Because with the guilt he feels over Linda you could have asked for anything. You slip the soft fabric over your body. Let it glide down your figure like rain drops slipping over bare skin. Pull the straps carefully in place with the tips of your fingers as you relish the feel of such delicate fabric against your skin. You’ve never worn a dress this beautiful, never had the occasion, but staring at your reflection in the mirror, touches of color on your face, fine fabrics draped over your body, you look quite convincing… you feel convincing. Not a broken young woman from the filth of Small Health. Something beautiful, something to be coveting and desired.

“Tommy know what you’re up to?”  A low quiet voice sounds from your back. You catch sight of John’s reflection in the mirror just before you turn to face him. Blue eyes ensnaring you as he leans against the door frame, drinking in your image.

Your face drops, unable to meet his gaze as you nod. It’s the sound of his scoff radiating through the room that sends your gaze back up on him. Watching silently as John plucks a pick and pinches it between his teeth in frustration, slowly shaking his head. You can hear the words he doesn’t says, but you know he’d never go against Tommy.

You watch him silently, watching the tension in his shoulders, the clench of his jaw, as he slowly shakes his head. A whirlwind of thoughts storming around him, none of them you can hear, and yet you can still feel them filling the space between you in the room.

He pushes off the wall with a start, tossing his pick to the floor with unnecessary force as he moves to you.

“Fuck it, let’s get outta ‘ere.” He tells you pointedly, blind determination bursting from his gaze as it holds you in its grips.

Your taken aback by the insinuation alone. It takes your mind a moment to realize he’s actually suggesting you abandon Tommy’s plan for the races. All of it. Take off together instead.  You’re not sure you’ve ever heard John go against Tommy and you’re not sure what to make of it until you watch a sad softness wash over his baby blues. 

He’s no fool. He knows what will happen if you go to races with Tommy. Why Kimber wanted you there. It’s that truth, the weight of it on your heart, the way it makes it beat faster, makes your veins suddenly hum with anxiousness, makes you nearly question everything, that has you pulling away from his gaze. Pulling your eyes away, trying to smother the fear building rapidly inside you.

You go to move past him, in pursuit of the door and the distance it brings, but John blocks your way, stepping in front of you, and your eyes meet before you can stop yourself.

“You look beautiful.” He tells you, the words so earnest, so genuine, they melt your defenses. As the crooked grin curled on his mouth and boyish charm dancing in his eyes disarms you.

You can’t resist the smile that forms on your face in return. You lean into him, to place a kiss upon his cheek, but John surprises you, turning to you, he captures your mouth instead. The breath strips from the lung as he kisses you painfully hard. His hand gripping tightly at your face in desperation. You’re shocked and stunned, but only for a moment before you welcome his assault, meeting him with an urgency of your own. A jolt races through your spine as your senses fill with him. Heart pounding so hard you swear he must hear it as John devours you with his kiss.

It’s only when John breaks away, shaky breath fanning against your lips as he rests his forehead against yours, that you realize how different this kiss was from any you’ve shared before. Your eyes slowly blink open to his find his gaze heavy upon you, his thumb stroking steadily at your cheek.

“He doesn’t deserve you.” He whispers, so close you swear you can feel the ghost of his lips against yours with every syllable.

You’re not sure you’ve ever wanted to stay in a moment the way you suddenly want to stay in this one. John’s never shown himself to you like this. Fear and pain, and something undefinably desperate in his eyes as he pierces through you just a heartbeat away.

“Let me get you outta ‘ere.” He tells you, but you have enough sense to realize his words spring from a ball of coiled emotion. Pulled too tight with the knowledge of what’s to happen today. What your arranged to do. What you must do. Because you can’t be saved. You won’t be. You refuse it. You can’t let John rescue you from this.

Pulling from his embrace, your mind is made up. This is something you need to do, even if it is the hardest thing you’ve ever done. Even if it costs you everything.

Unable to see what awaits you in his eyes, you look only to open door and move for it without apologies or second guesses.

   Tommy pulls you close then spins you on the dance floor. You’ve never been to a place like this, where bright lights and big music surround you. This place, these people they’re unlike anything you’ve ever known and everything you seek to gain. You follow Tommy’s lead, your steps feel light, his hands strong, and for a moment your back home on Watery Lane. 

Dancing to the faint flicker of candle light, when your thoughts were naïve and your ambitions twice as strong, before you decided the only path to your dreams was through a man’s heart like the pierce of a dagger. Dancing in the arms of the man who has the power to bewitch even your sharpest instincts, you could almost swear you were back there, in the safety of your home. But as you move to the center of the dance floor you can feel Kimber’s eyes on you. Sharp like the prick of a needle as it slips to quickly as you finish a stich. You feel your muscles tense as you’re sent jarringly back into reality and the weight of what your about to do envelopes you like a blanket intended to suffocate.

Your heart begins to race as everything falls into place and your fate is sealed, and every second that passes only brings you one second closer, but then you feel it, the grip of his hands as he squeezes you. Subtle and steady, so indiscernible you could almost swear it didn’t happen, but you know better. It’s Tommy reassuring you the best way he knows how, without words. 

You turn to face him, taking in the sharp lines of his cheekbones, the depth of his blue eyes and the way they suck you in until you can’t look away. The intensity of his attention, you thrive under it, bask in it, feel yourself blossom under its rays. And for a moment, you’re untouchable. Nothing can hurt you. Lost in his eyes, you’re fearless, and capable of anything. Lost in his eyes you remember every moment in that cold musky room, the creak of the bed, the heat of his skin, the look of his gaze when he saw only you.

But then you remember how swiftly the winds can change. How easily he can discard you – can and will. That truth, that scar - It’s sharp and cold, and you nearly flinch when you feel it. You trusted him – the words vibrate and echo through you. Trusted him after everyone warned you. Believing he’d never intentionally hurt you. That somehow you were different, immune. Until he did. Till cut you like a knife whose blade chipped in the battle and now lies embedded in pieces in your heart. The wound festering and rotted, so you’ll never forget. Never forget what it’s like to be everything and then absolutely nothing. You can’t trust his kindness anymore then Kimber should trust his word. And in a room full of liar, you know you only have yourself to trust.

You told yourself you convinced Tommy to let you come. You’re that clever, that smart, but that isn’t what really happened. Tommy only does what he wants. Only truly out for himself. You know that now and can never forget. But staring into his eyes, you suddenly realize he needs you too. You may have lost your naivety, but with it you’ve gained insight… Tommy’s weak to you and if he has a chance of stealing everything away from Kimber without a fight, he’s needs you just as much as you need him. And with that truth, you know you’ll never be a silly little girl again.

You watch something register in those piercing blue eyes that have the power to make a fool out of you if you let them. You find yourself wondering if he can read every thought in your heart as you swiftly turn your gaze away and back over his shoulder as the trumpet fades out.

“Let’s get this business done.” You tell him through a tight jaw and forced smile, now more determined than ever to see the plan through and show Tommy just how formidable you can be

   You play along, pretending as if you don’t know Tommy’s made you a part of the deal. You smile and act coy as Kimber joins you at the bar. Pretend you’re delighted at the offer to see his giant mansion tucked away in the countryside just beyond the city. Pretend you’re impressed by all he’s amassed and can introduce you to, because it’s your charm and innocence he’s after, and as long as you spoon feed it to him, he’s good as yours. He’d never imagine you’re clever and cunning, and you use it against him at every chance.

But what surprises you more than even how easily Kimber falls into your hand with every stroke at his ego, is the way Tommy keeps watching you with an air of disinterest you’re not convinced by at all. You distantly wonder what he’s up to, before he breaks from the plan completely.

Taking you and Kimber by surprise when he asks for a moment alone, pulling you away from Kimber’s side just as everything was going to plan. But there’s something piercing and undefinable in the hollows of Tommy’s cavern eyes. Pulling you below, down into their pits as you stare back at him trying to decipher the secrets of a man so locked away he swallowed the key when he buried his heart. But you can’t say no to his request, your lips seem incapable of it. 

You let him lead you away as if it were a choice, as if you can control the pull between you. It’s a quiet corridor Tommy leads you to as your eyes scan briefly around the empty space, looking for anyone who might overhear, but it’s the grip of his hand upon the side of your face that draws your gaze back to his determined pair. Pulling you into his vortex.

“You don’t have to do this.” Tommy tells you suddenly, hollow blue eyes pinning you where you stand. His voice lower and more full of grit than usual. Sending the hairs on your skin standing on edge.

“It isn’t necessary. I’ll sneak you out the back to Arthur an’ I’ll tell Kimber you weren’t feeling well.” Tommy says in haste, undercurrents of panic sweeping through his veins as he stares at you. 

Rattling his bones though he’d never show it. Looking at you, his heart begins to thump the way it did that day on the train station platform. The power of it pulling him to you in a way he can’t stop anymore then he can understand. He had let himself believe he could live with you going through with this. The part of him that can do what has to be done regardless of the cost. But staring into the light that shines from your eyes, the clench of his gut tells him – he can’t let you sell your soul to that devil.

The raw urgency in Tommy’s eyes, it makes your knees tremble as if you suddenly stand on unsteady ground. It’s akin to the urgency you saw in his eyes that night. It makes you weak, weak to him. You hate that almost as much as you’re drawn to it. How anyone could break your heart, make you want to lash out against them in spite, but at the first sight of their softness, the first gentle touch, everything inside you wants to give in all over again. Somedays it makes you weak to him, right now it just makes you mad that he can have such power over you when you feel you so little in return.

Smacking his hand from your face, your mouth pulls tight. “You always underestimate me. I can do this, Tommy.” You lash out at him.

 You shove at his shoulder as you try to push past, but Tommy’s swift and easily drags you back against the wall. Pushing his way into your space, the heat of his breath fanning at the hair that dances around your face as he lingers just a breath away.

“Fuck him, fuck the plan. Fuck all of it. It doesn’t matter, ya understand?” Tommy whispers on a harsh determined breath, intensity blazing in his eyes. His fingers digging into your shoulders as he tries desperately to convince you.

“What I need is for you to be ok.” He says on a softer breath, his heart giving way. Revealing itself in a way it so rarely does, because staring at you as he imagines Kimber’s hands pawing at your gentle flesh, it feels like the shovels digging against the wall of his mind all over again, like a pick axe to his heart. You shouldn’t matter, he shouldn’t care about you in this way, but he does. He undeniably does.

Your heart races as you stare at Tommy, all sharp edges and dangerously handsome. Your heart melts and surrenders from the confines of your chest. Because you’re weak to him. Drawn to him inexplicably. Even at the determent of your own heart. Dancing around something intimate and real like two teenagers fumbling and groping about in the dark. You’re the same, you tell yourself, but you’re not entirely convinced it’s just that. 

The way your heart races under the glow of his affection tells you it’s something far more incendiary then that. Something that could and has caused you so much more grief and heartache. It would be easy to give into him now, but even under the warmth of his affections you know you can’t trust this. You know it could change on a dime. He’ll change his mind. He always does.

“Don’t be ridiculous. This is the plan.” You whisper back to him full of resolve. The ice on your breath enough to freeze any man’s heart, even one as cold as Tommy’s.

Slipping from his grasp, you put your back to him as you move away. “Two hours, Thomas.” You remind him. Your bones trembling with an anxiousness you blindly ignore. Refusing to stare into the face of fear. As long as you don’t acknowledge it, don’t think about what your about to do, you can go through with it. Only when the moment looks you dead in the eye will you face its ugly truth. Doing what has to be done… A woman’s work. Because that’s what you do sometimes - you race toward the flames with reckless regard for your own life while everyone else runs for safety.

Kimber eyes you on approach, gaze sweeping the length of your body with lascivious pride. He’s cocky and entitled, and that’s what makes him weak, you remind yourself as you swallow the last of your champagne, letting the bubbles go to your head.

“Shall we?” You smile with your best girlish charm. The charm that makes Arthur fold and John smirk. The kind of charm that makes Tommy’s guard slip. The kind he told you was a weapon and if used probably could bring the best of men to their knees. The space between your body and heart feels so vast one could nearly swear they were separate entities entirely. 

And if you prayed anymore, you’d pray for the strength to be like Tommy. The strength to do what has to be done no matter the cost, or how much it frightens you. Here in this place you won’t feel. In this space you will deny the racing of your heart, the tremble in your veins. There’s no room for feelings here, only what must be done, what will be done and everything you stand to gain from it.

   The drive back from Kimber’s is bumpy. The road no different from the drive-up Tommy took to retrieve you, but every bump, and every rattle somehow feels harder, more jolting as he glances over at you from across the seat. You sit silently beside him, staring out, without a sound. No familiar light, no bursting spark… unmoving. 

And while you’ve been distant and quiet with him for days now, this silence feels deafening as Tommy wraps his lips another yet another cigarette, pulling and tugging away at it with tight unease. He tries to focus on the road, but his gaze just keeps wandering over to you. The seconds tick like a clock winding up, each tick tightening the muscles in his shoulders a little more, until he can’t bare the pressure a moment longer and he has to break you out of your trance or he’ll surely combust.

Subtle as not to startle you, Tommy runs the back of his hand down the length of your arm. You don’t move and suddenly the thought races through his mind, what if you never move again, but as he reaches your wrist and his eyes glance back over from the road he finds you staring at him. Silently staring at him, lips sealed, eyes blinking, suspended. And the momentary relief that washes over Tommy to seeing you move, is quickly dashed as he stares into your eyes. 

Dry and tearless, though he almost wishes they weren’t, because the emptiness in your gaze is startling. It sends Tommy’s eyes shooting back to the road. His mind racing, recalculating – what has he done? How could he let you do this? How could he agree to it? Glancing back, he finds you’re still there, there and yet miles away, somewhere he can’t see anymore then he can reach.

His heart heavy with guilt, Tommy reaches for your cheek, running his knuckles gently against the apple of it. Willing some spark to ignite back inside you. A reaction. Something. Show him a glimmer of the girl who bewitched him so effortlessly, but you only turn away – from him and his touch. 

A feeling akind to war rekindles inside Tommy’s chest. The same sickening heaviness he used to feel when he’d send men out on orders he knew they’d never return from. The look in their eyes as they realized they weren’t coming back, the way they’d look at him – Sergeant Major – before charging out of the trenches to their inevitable demise.  Something in your eyes harkens back to those pits of hell. Tommy’s pulled so many triggers he’s lost track, but there’s something about sending a man that trusts him to slaughter that snuffs out another piece of his soul.

You echo through him like the blast from a shell as Tommy pulls his hand back and coughs dryly, trying to loosen the tightness in this throat and chest. Trying not to be pulled under with the realization he’s betrayed you now twice, in the worst of ways.

Pulling the flask from his jacket pocket, he extends it toward you, nudging your arm faintly. He watches you from his periphery as you glance down at it without response.

“Take it,” He orders, nudging you again, before you finally move. Taking it into your hands, you unscrew the cap and draw it to your lips.

Tommy knows he can’t fix the damage he’s done, can’t mend the kind of wounds gaping in your eyes, but he can ease your suffering, like a shot of morphine to an ailing soldier on the battlefield.

    What kind of person are you? What kind of person does the things you’ve done? The words float in and settle like a storm moving in from the sea, to linger unbudgingly against the raw strip of earth that makes up your current state of mind. You listen to the water shift around you as you move, listen as the fire cracks and cackles at you tauntingly from the fireplace.  You stare down at your body, taking in the shape of it. The softness of your belly, the width of your hips, skimming steadily down the length of your legs, to where your toes peak out and breach the water. When did this become your body, you wonder, as if you haven’t seen it a million times before. And more importantly, why does it feel so foreign to you now?

You’ve stripped yourself of your dress, and scrubbed your flesh clean, but still the feeling persists, and you find yourself wondering if it’ll always feel this way… Like a stranger draped in your skin.

You lied to Pol about the races. You could see in her eyes, she wanted to press, but she didn’t, instead she drew you a bath. John didn’t say a word when you and Tommy returned. He took one look at you, just one, and headed straight for the door, as if the truth was blinding upon you.

The thought of John and Pol makes you sink back down in the water. Drenching your shoulders, pulling your head beneath the warm soap water. You listen to your heart beat in the ears, let it drown out the noise in your head. You focus on the sound and the distraction it brings until your lungs burn and demand for air, only then do you surface once again.

You linger low in the tub, water encircling and swaying against your lips, every exhale from your nose creating tiny ripples in the water. You’re safe here, from your family, from the world… from yourself. You almost convince yourself.

It’s the creak on the step that catches your ear. Second to the top, old and slowly rotting. You slide slowly up in the tub and spot a figure in the low light moving down the hall. Tall and lanky, there’s no need to see his face, but the sight of him alone creates a deep unwavering ache from the hollows inside you. You think he may be the only thing left in this world that could draw you out of this bath tonight.

You dry and dress quickly, your damp hair soaking into the fabric of your nightdress as it hangs down your back. The pads of your feet step light footed and swift down the hall until you reach the room you share. You slip inside, careful to close the door softly behind you. You find him already tucked in bed, eyes closed, chest even. The sight both peaceful and disheartening, because you need him, because he’s the only thing that feels safe.

Moving to the edge of the bed, you lean in to blow out the candle on the nightstand. It’s only then does he stir. His tired blue eyes flutter open, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth with the sight of you.

He pulls back the blanket as your pull off your nightdress. Heart racing, you swear you see his hand waiver in his invite, the blanket tremble in his hand before your climbing atop him. Bringing your bare fresh down upon his, wrapping yourself around his body. Still dressed in most of his cloths from the day, you feel Arthur stiffen beneath you, but his arms find their way around you just the same. A cautious tension gripping his muscles, but still he reaches for you, comforts you.

“Vera,” He whispers your name, concern tightening at his throat.

You want to tell him everything, but you can’t as you burrow against him, slipping your hands beneath his undershirt to let the heat of his skin warm you as you bury your nose in his neck.

“Let me grab your nightdress.” Arthur persists when you don’t respond, arm extending out against the floorboards. But you cling to him, unsure why you need him to touch your flesh, this flesh that feels so foreign to you now. You breathe him in deeply, old familiar musky scent filling your senses with the kind of relief nothing else has been able to give you tonight. The sense your completely safe.

“Don’t go.” You gasp out sharply, arms squeezing tighter. Arthur stops searching for your nightdress immediately, his hand slipping back beneath the blanket to hold you close with your plea.

Clutching you tightly as he rolls you both onto your side. Holding you firmly in his arms as your breath wavers against his neck.

“I can’t lose you.” You confess, the first set of tears you’ve let surface now burn at your eyes. Desperation clutching at your heart like a squeezed fist. You never once considered stopping him. Never once considered stealing the joy he finds with Linda. You wouldn’t dream of taking that away. But in this moment, as you’re riddled with so much confusion and self-doubt, you know he’s the only place that feels safe. Your first hero, your home.

His fingertips message at your scalp as he leans in close, placing a gentle kiss upon your forehead. His breath and lips lingering for a moment longer. “I’m here Little Lady.” Arthur promises. “I’m here.”

[kaitoujokerscans]

Showdown in the Dark Night! Joker vs Shadow CH2

<2>The Girl with Mysterious Powers

Let's wind time back a little...

Sometime before Shadow fought against the police, another disturbance occurred outside the manor.

"Ice Shot!" shouted a boy, and a bluish-white beam shot from his gun. The beam instantly froze the surrounding grass and stopped the pursuing police in their tracks. The boy watched the scene with satisfaction, letting a carefree smile form on his face. His long and straight blue hair fluttered in the night wind. A long white coat and violet scarf caught the breeze in a similar fashion. The bristled yellow crest of hair above his handsome face completed the look. It was Phantom Thief Spade...!

"Well, how's it going on your end?" Turning around, there was a white shadow fighting the police at a short distance away.

The sharp sound of clanging metal rang out, followed by thuds of men clubbed with the hilt of a sword falling to the ground. In the thick of it was a white, feminine silhouette swinging a sword as if she were dancing. Eventually, once there were no officers left standing around her, the girl lowered her weapon and turned to Spade. "No problem. They were a letdown."

Her long blonde hair was tied into high twintails, and she was cloaked in a white and pink coat. Her gleaming eyes held a diamond-shaped light. Despite her winsome appearance, she effortlessly wielded a large sword in her right hand, soon sheathing it at her hip. It was Phantom Thief Queen...!

"Anyway, you took more time than me. Is it just me, or is your Shot not as accurate as usual?"

"You think so? I didn't think I had any problem... Let's check the map." Spade changed the subject and took out his phone. "Let's see..." A map of the manor showed on the handheld screen.

Fields of all sizes, large and small, were arranged around the Gardens, and each was connected by an intricately schemed path. It was difficult to grasp the entire layout without a map. There was a red blinking dot on it. Spade and Queen were currently in the furthest region of the garden. They were still far from the manor.

"That's pretty distant. This looks like it'll be a harder job than anticipated..."

"Geez, requests from Grandpa are really demanding." As Queen complained, Spade took a breath and looked up into the dark sky. Yes, it was three days ago that Spade had been called by Queen.

§§§

Spade, Queen, and Joker all had the same master in phantom thievery. Once called "The Silver Magician", he trekked from one city to another and stole treasures from around the world: the legendary great thief, Silver Heart. Each of them had their own circumstances for being taken in by Silver Heart, and they trained under him to learn the fundamentals of phantom thievery. He was like a parent to the three of them, and not only had he taught them techniques for thievery, he also taught them life skills. Even after they had learned enough of the trade from him, Queen still lived with Silver Heart, and Joker and Spade visited on occasion to check up on their master. None of them could very well refuse a request from the master.

When Spade arrived at the hideout at the top of the hill, the first thing out of Queen's mouth was "It's actually quite a problem..."

"It really is," continued Queen's partner, the phantom thief dog Roko. Roko was a super dog bred through genetic research and could both speak and understand human language. He also lived in Silver Heart's hideout along with Queen.

"You know how Joker and Shadow sent out notices?"

"Yeah, for the Komachi's Gilded Chrysanthemum housed at the Cape Gardens, correct? I didn't think Joker would be interested in it, but if Shadow's going after the same thing, that would explain it. The two are probably fighting like kids over it." Spade smiled wearily.

Spade usually had his own juvenile conflicts with Joker too, but Queen avoided mentioning it. "Well, about that... apparently Grandpa has his eye on Komachi's Gilded Chrysanthemum too."

"What?" Spade asked.

A door banged open from further inside. "Spaaaaade...... pleaaaaaaase..." came a miserable moan from their master, Silver Heart, who had just entered the room.

He wore a snowy white double-breasted suit, completed with a white silk hat and white cape. Well-polished gold buttons and pink cuffs poking out from under the sleeves accented the look. He sported an impressive silvery beard, and an antique monocle shone over his left eye. It was the fabulous, elegant figure of phantom thief Silver Heart!

...That was the intent, at least, but the reality was a little different.

While his attire was flawless, the Silver Magician was lying down with his stomach pressed against a swiveling stool, using his hands and knees to slowly propel the wobbly wheels.

Spade sighed at the sight. "Master, your back...?"

Silver Heart had a chronic trick back. "Ughh... that's it. I picked up something while cleaning and it was lighter than I thought. That's when I cracked it terribly."

"Argh, this is because you tried cleaning on your own. If you had just asked, I'd have had Roko help."

"What, just me again?" whined Roko. Queen was no good at any household chores.

"Master, why do you want Komachi's Gilded Chrysanthemum?"

"Well, you see..." Silver Heart hesitated and glanced at Queen.

Queen sighed and spoke for him. "He promised the queen he'd give her Komachi's Gilded Chrysanthemum."

"You mean the queen of that country on the cliffs? Master's girlfriend, that one?"

"That's right. He wanted to show off and told her 'I'll bring you a flower hairpin beautiful enough for you.'"

"That makes sense."

"So he wants me to go steal it in his place. Grandpa's in this state, after all."

"Sorry..." Silver Heart let out a pitiful groan, nodding his head.

"Hm, a treasure that both Joker and Shadow are after, huh..." Spade folded his arms and thought. "Sounds fun, let's go."

"Kyo kyo." Spade's assistant Dark Eye, who had been listening off to the side, cackled in surprise. Tall and slim, Dark Eye leaned their bandage-wrapped face into Spade's ear. "But Spade-sama, you just finished a major job. If you don't rest your body for the next three days, your temperature will..."

"It's all right, Dark Eye. I'll be working with Queen this time. Besides, it's a chance to show up Joker and Shadow." Spade grinned. It was a smile just as childish as Joker and Shadow were.

§§§

However...

Spade rubbed his eyes as he ran through the garden. To tell the truth, his condition had gotten worse since last night. He had lied about it up to this point, but the exhaustion was building up. Queen had seen through him just earlier. I hope I can hold out to the end...

The pair was now past the gardens and approaching the manor. Just then, a call came through on his phone. "You've managed to avoid security so far, but that'll be difficult further along." It was Roko's voice. Roko and Dark Eye were on standby in Spade's airship and handling logistical support.

"Looks like it. How about the security cameras, Dark Eye?"

"Kyo kyo, I've successfully hacked into them."

"Thank you. Keep directing us, please."

"Kyokyo, please wait. Your body..." Dark Eye's worried voice came from the phone.

"It's fine."

"Kyokyo, but Spade-sama, your breath was erratic before you went out. Please do not stress..."

"Enough already, keep watching the cameras."

"Kyokyo... very well."

"I'm counting on you." Spade said brusquely and took a breath. Really, what a worrywart. Of course, he knew Dark Eye was looking out for him. Even so, Spade didn't want to be handled with kid gloves. I'm all right... "Okay Queen, let's go." But when he looked up, Queen was concealing herself against a hedge and peering into the garden. "What's up?" He approached and asked, only to be shushed and told to crouch down by Queen with her finger against her mouth. "Take a look at that."

Spade stooped down besides Queen and looked to where she was watching. There was an agitated silhouette at the edge of a large pond with fountain. "Isn't that..."

A pretty young girl's face bobbed out of a thicket. Her pink hair was tied into two buns, and she wore a red-violet jumper skirt over a purple blouse, a white petticoat sticking out from underneath. A yellow ribbon hung at the neck of her blouse, and the expression on her face as she glanced around the area suggested she was still unworldly. The girl's name was Rose. She was Shadow's younger twin sister. She always worked with Shadow, but she seemed to be alone today. Rose bit her lip slightly and focused her sights on the manor.

"What's up with Rose...?" mused Queen. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, the deafening sound of an explosion followed by the sound of something crumbling apart came from the manor.

"...!" Rose jumped out of the thicket in surprise. She apparently tripped a security sensor when she did. The wee-oo of sirens filled the area, and searchlights zeroed in on Rose at once. The nearby officers on patrol ran to the scene. Leading them were Ginko and Momo.

"Hold it right there, Shadow! Wait, Joker... it's not him either!?"

"A girl...!?"

The pair was perplexed by Rose's appearance. While Shadow had made a name for himself as a phantom thief, Rose was apparently still a no-name.

Then Oniyama's voice came over the radio. "Ginko-chan, Momo-chan, so arrest all suspicious persons around the manor!"

"Roger, Inspector!" Ginko responded and looked towards Rose again.

Meanwhile, still hidden against the hedge, Spade asked. "What shall we do? Do we help?" But Queen wordlessly shook her head. It was as if she was saying "no need". The reason was quickly gleaned.

"You're under arrest!"

"Get her!"

At their order, the police immediately charged toward Rose. Beside Ginko, Momo leapt high into the air. Momo was a former SAT (special assault team) member and an expert in combat martial arts. The average police officer was nothing compared to her. Powerful Momo brandished a tonfa-like weapon and closed in on Rose! But just as Rose seemed to be shaking her head to and fro with an expression of futility, she calmly raised her right hand towards the officers and abruptly opened her eyes. Grrrrip...! The air trembled with a heavy shockwave, reaching all the way to Spade and Queen some distance away. The next moment, Momo and the other officers around Rose were stopped in their tracks.

This was Rose's ability. By concentrating and channeling the power from her body into her hand, she could stop a target from moving. Spade and Queen had both experienced it before. It was like being trapped in a hunk of iron, unable to move a finger. Though the mind was clear, the body was paralyzed stiff. Momo and Ginko had no idea of what happened, and despite being frozen, their confusion was obvious. Rose kept focusing her power and was about to leave the scene, but then-- "Who's that out there!"

Glancing up at the veranda of the third floor, there was Hayami gazing down towards them. "Is that... Hayami Kyoutarou?" Spade asked.

He heard Rose, who had looked up at the same time, whisper his name as well. "Hayami-san..." Right after, the energy active on Momo and the rest wore off. Rose had lost concentration.

"Hrm? Aren't ya...?" Hayami seemed to have noticed her as well, but the area was too dark to see any faces.

The police took the opportunity and charged at Rose. "Catch her!" Momo bounded into the air and plunged toward Rose, who was standing absentmindedly. Her tonfa swung down. But before the tonfa could connect, it was halted with a clang. "Wha!?"

"Ghh...!" Queen had cut in between the two of them. She grit her teeth with effort and pushed back Momo's tonfa.

Though Momo pressed forward, the tonfa wouldn't go any further. "Kghhgh... you're here, Phantom Thief Queen!"

"You're not bad if my sword can't cut through." Queen and Momo put their weight into their weapons and were locked sword-to-tonfa. Their strength was equal, and Queen was unable to step away. "Spade!"

"Yes, I know!" Spade made a fabulous jump and landed on the fountain spout. The water sprinkled out around the area. "Ice Shot!" Spade shot his cooling beam at the shower, freezing the spray and making icy precipitation rain down on Ginko, Momo, and the other officers.

"Eeyah!"

"Owowow!"

While the officers flailed, Spade blew up a large bubble of gum above him and grabbed hold of Rose. The gum is called "Balloon Gum", and is one of the phantom thief tools employed by Joker, Spade, and Queen. By chewing the gum and blowing into it, the gum’s ingredients chemically react to form a gas lighter than air. If held above one's head, it can lift up a certain amount of weight off the ground, much like an ad balloon.

"Eek!" Rose let out a low squeak as Spade continued to rise. Queen followed suit and took into the air.

"Hold it! Spade, Queen!"

"Another time, my fellows! Adios!" Once he finished speaking, he disappeared from sight.

"W- he's gone...!?" The officers searched around in confusion, but the only thing left was the darkness of night.

[frekydeki]

Cupid Can’t Fall in Love

Part 1

Summary: (AU) Eternal and true love is a business transaction for you. Soulmates are simply two file folders tied together with a golden bow. But when eight folders come across your desk, your job gets a little bit stickier with each passing day. Being a Cupid isn’t so easy as it sounds...

Pairing: (Jihyun x Reader) 

| Part 1 | Part 2: Upcoming 

It’d be beautiful. The golden grass, the falling sun, the gentle and warm wind, the serene silence… It would all be so beautiful if he wasn’t staring into your eyes so tearfully. You trace your eyes over his blue hair and follow the line of his jaw, then his neck, over his collar bone and to his heart. Your e/c eyes widen to the size of the moon; a glowing arrow burns frantically in his chest. You harshly draw in a breath and smack your hand over your own arrow, hammering in your heart.

         You can’t process the tear trailing down your cheek as you turn your eyes away and up to the scattered clouds in the sky. Why? How did this happen? It’s got to be a mistake…

         It’d all be so beautiful… If only you could fall in love.

         How… Did it come to this?

Working for Aphrodite isn’t the most exciting employment option. When you were first born, you took a little bit more to your father’s side, preferring to kick ass here and there. But after a run-in with a seething Achille’s, – you told Zeus to just kill the guy but he insisted you talk it out – you got your butt kicked so bad that even Ares himself worried over you. Your mom said your warrior days were over that day. Nobody defies the word of Aphrodite, after all, and that’s why you’re holed up in this stupid office. Battle armor feels much more natural than the pencil skirt and blouse you’re wearing, but this is what you have now; platform heels, scrunchies, paper cuts, and the sound of typing like chinese water torture to your ears. Lucky you, though! You’ve put in your two millennia to get a personal office, away from all the typing and scratching on parchment; its maybe one of your greatest achievements in the past two thousand years since Aphrodite and Ares put you on the bench.

         This tiny little office is your hell a little bit away from hell, you like to say. You still have mental break downs and panic attack under your desk, and you’ve forgotten what wood your desk is made out of; but at least you get some damn silence. Except for the obnoxious banging on your door that’s happening right now. Is it eight already? The dread of a thousand punished souls in the underworld escapes from your lips in a groan; you barely even filed the cases you finished yesterday. Nevertheless, you roll in your rock hard chair – Hera was kind enough to make you a small cushion, even if it looks like a grandma’s afgan turned cushion, you and your butt love it – to swing your door open at a dangerous speed.

         The young blonde before you smiles and points towards the soft close door.

         “Isn’t it great Ares installed those personally for you?” Her raspy voice sputters to you quickly. Her scrawny finger then points to the coffee mug in your hand, “Hey, is that coffee.”

         “Yeah, what el-“ Your hand becomes lighter as she snatches it from you and takes a long swig.

         “I haven’t slept in like three days,” She babbles to you as she puts the coffee back into your hand and turns to the cart littered with folders, “Finals are next week and I haven’t studied all semester.” You’ve grown used to the incessant mumbling that Angelia lets loose every morning while handing in your cases… She’s like this every week, even without finals. “Becoming a god sure isn’t easy work!” She loudly laughs before continuing on about offerings and the rules of appearing to humans.

         “You know, Angelia, if you didn’t spend all of your time programming social media sites for humans, you’d be able to get your work done.”

         “How else is a messenger god supposed to stay relevant? Dad already does all the messaging between gods, so there’s no work for a dumb college god like me.”

         “You’re in college… That’s your job right now.” Your lidded eyes meet hers as she blows a loose strand of curly hair from her face and drops two folders onto your lap.

         “Yeah but I’ll disappear if I loose followers.”

         “No. You won’t. You’re a god born of two gods, not a god born of need. There’s a clear difference. We survive whether or not humans worship us individually. Plus there’s other jobs for gods to do other than meddling and fucking around.”

         “Yeah but I wanna be a messenger god!” She whines as she drops four more folders onto your lap. “Only eight new assignments today. Lucky you.”

         “L… Lucky me?” You screech at her. “I already have two hundred and eighty- eight active cases!” She surrenders her hands and pursues her lips at you.

         “I don’t decide who gets what cases.”

         “Yeah but you could also maybe throw in a word to Aphrodite and be like, ‘Yeah, boss, don’t you think MC already has enough assignments right now?’ You know, maybe stick your neck out for a friend once in a while?” Angelia continues to stack cases on your lap, unphased by the explosive temper you let loose every morning, and you keep on crying up to her, “Are you listening to me Angelia? I’m drowning in stress right now! If I were a nymph I would’ve shriveled up and died three hundred years ago.” With your pouting expression and whiney voice, you can be compared to a kid whose mom put her favorite cereal back on the shelf.

         “But you’re not a nymph. Yay! You won’t shrivel up and die.”

         “But if I were a nymph I would have. Doesn’t that concern you? I could die!”

         “Gods don’t die.”

         “Yes we do!” You snap up to her grinning face, “And the leading cause is stress!” The over caffeinated girl isn’t moved by your whining, so you switch to a bargaining strategy quickly.

          “Okay, hear me out,” You begin with a lowered voice, “Maybe if you just slip these onto someone else’s desk, and then pretend that you didn’t notice when Aphrodite asks you “What the hell?” By then that Cupid would have already started the assignment so there’d be no point in bothering me to do it.” Angelia drops the last heavy file folder on your lap and shakes her head. You blink as the weight of your coffee is lifted from your hand again.

         “No can do, my friend.” She begins as she sips loudly from your coffee mug, before her face scrunches, “Too much creamer.” Angelia puts the mug back in your hand, all the while you watch her with eyes the size of the moon; is she serious right now? Of course you know there’s too much creamer in there; you just had a late morning so for all you care she can take her scrutiny and shove it. “Anyways, Aphrodite and Eros both said - very strictly, I might add - that these files are meant for your hands only. Anyways, I’m only part time, here. That all is way above my pay grade.”

         “Angelia,” You suck in a heavy breath through your nose to try and curb your frustrations with the shrugging girl before you say, “You suck.” At that, she laughs heartily. She giggles her good-bye to you over the sound of her clicking heels as she moves to give the next guy his shackles for the day. “Hey!” She turns over her shoulder to acknowledge your head poking out of your office, “You tell Aphrodite that if I get any more cases this week I’m going to go ahead and fall in love, ya hear?”

“Yeah, right. Someone like you, fall in love?” She snorts, “Not even Eros would take that assignment.” You lift your lip, eyebrows pinching together, and shout back to her:

“Go bother someone else… I’m gonna be here all night because of you.” She waves and smiles pleasantly, which you return half-heartedly. The door shuts gently, and you groan back over to your desk.

         Eight files don’t sound like much to the human ear, but these files hold every single aspect of the subject’s life, so it looks like the holy bible. It’s not that you mind the read all that much – it’s like a nice little short story – but it’s the paperwork and scheming that you hate with every fiber of your explosive being. You look to the mirror hanging on your wall after glancing through one of the files – these were all a little bit bigger than the normal case – and decide to put your work order in for their vial’s early; it’s going to take a while to gather their life essence. You grab a drachma and turn it about in your hand as you scribble the eight names onto separate blue ribbons.

         “Ánoixe.” You cough, watching the solid mirrors surface begin rippling like water after a stone is thrown into it. “Eudorus.” The rippling increases before orange begins to reflect in the mirror; it slowly stops to reveal the freckled and smiling face of your good buddy. “How are you this fine morning?”

         “Don’t play coy with me, MC. I know you’re only here to give me more work.” Your lips snap shut before you laugh lightly.

         “I’m sorry. I usually wouldn’t bother you about it until tomorrow but… I just got eight new assignments and they’re really big files. I thought I’d give you a head start on getting their essence for me.”

         “Eight!” He cries at you, his freckled cheeks becoming red and eyes watering. “You’re already drowning in work already!” He purses his lips and puffs his cheeks as he mumbles under his breath, “Mom really has to stop giving you so much work. You’ll keel over soon because of lack of sleep.”

         “Can you do this for me? I’ll buy you dinner tonight?” He smiles at you.

         “I’d do it even if you didn’t offer food, but since you did you can’t take it back now. Give me the ribbons and I’ll give ‘em to you at dinner.” You push your hand through the mirror, flinching as the humid air of his workplace gathers to your hand.

         “How do you even breathe in there Eudorus? It’s so humid.”

         “You get used to it after a little.” He stops as he eyes you, his lips parted and brows slack in what you can only dreadfully identify as one thing; concern. “Are you getting enough sleep, MC?”

         “With all these cases on my desk, I can’t afford sleep.”

         “We might be gods and all, but we need our sleep just like the humans.” You grin as you roll your eyes playfully.

         “You’re starting to sound like Apollo.”

         “If he sees you like this MC he’s going to tear you a new one about taking care of yourself, and you know he’s going to crack down on your eating habits! You’re worse than Hades sometimes…”

         “I know, I know… I’ll just avoid him at all costs.” Your half-brother grins at you before he waves the ribbons held lightly in his smooth hands.

         “I better get to work on theses. And you better to, if you want to cut down on those piles on your desk.”

         “You’re right. Have a good one, Eudorus.”

         “Yeah, you too.” You watch as your red-headed brother disappears, and the mirror hardens again. Staring at your reflection, you realize you really do look like you’re on your deathbed. Your skin is a shade or two lighter from its usual hue, hair messily tossed into a bun, your bags much more prominent, and lips pulled down in a frown much more than usual. You look away quickly, recalling Angelia’s words from earlier…

         “Yeah, right! Someone like you, fall in love?” You stare critically at the stack of finished reports you need to put in their rightful files; you will never have one of these for yourself… It’s strictly off limits for you as a Cupid. If you fall in love, you lose your job. Sometimes it makes you mad, other times sad, and some rare times, you’re glad.

         Filing cases is the easy part of your job; all the hard work’s done, now all that’s left is topping off the paired folders with golden ribbons and filing them into your large bookshelf for review and approval by Eros. Eros, that sleaze. It’s been at least a millennium since you went through the trouble of pairing him with Psyche and he still has the nerve to waltz into your office and flirt with you shamelessly. Plus, he gets to keep his job despite being head over heels for his wife; who cares if he’s a primordial? He should be held to the same standards as everyone else!

         That’s not what matters at the moment though, you guess. Getting these cases off of your desk is the priority! You managed to close thirty cases last night, so you just need to focus on getting them all patched up nicely. You glance to the new files on your desk; once this is done you can stick your nose into the new assignments. 

         “Is this a joke, mom?” Saying you sounded as loud as Zeus when he and Hades butted heads would almost do a disservice to your anger. You are livid, fuming, downright insane with rage. Her beautiful violet eyes snap up to your own as she gracefully pushes her blonde hair from her face and folds her hands in front of her.

         “Is what a joke, MC?” Most of the time, her voice would’ve calmed you down to the point of rational thought, but not today. You’re ready to body slam her into Tartarus. You wave the files frantically in front of you and drop them onto her desk, eyes on fire and steam running out of your ears. You’re an Ares level threat right now.

         “What the hell are these assignments?” You screech. Opening the top folder you drop the picture of the blonde on her neat, tidy desk. “Yoosung Kim, 21, college student. He’s fucked up right now, mom. He recently lost his cousin, who, might I add, is also one of these files. How the fuck am I supposed to make a dead woman fall in love? And how the hell am I supposed to make someone like Yoosung fall in love while he is like this?” She opens her mouth to respond but you slap another picture in front of her. “Jumin Han, 26, an executive who doesn’t know the half of relationships and trusting another person. I can’t work with this yet! And don’t you even get me started on Saeran and Saeyong, have you even looked through these files? And Jihyun? What the fuck is going on with this guy?” You feel a large hand plop down on your shoulder. A growl nearly comes from you as you look up to your father, his yellow eyes telling you to try and calm down. “Well when the hell did you get here?”

         “I was here the whole time MC. You just marched in, ready for the kill.”

         “Well if she wouldn’t hand me such bullshit cases on top of all my other cases I wouldn’t feel like murdering everyone on this damn mountain!” Ares chuckles as he shakes his head in amusement.

         “You sure are my daughter, but you’re almost worse than me. What have I always told you, little soldier?” Your mouth draws into a thin line, before you mumble your response so lowly that no one could understand you. “No matter how hard it gets, it is your duty, and so you shall finish it.”

         “It could also be Eros’ duty. Or Agata! She only has like, ten assignments right now.”

         “Yes, my dear. But Agata is also very new to working as a Cupid.”

         “She’s been in the department for two hundred years!”

         “These cases require experience and power greater than that of a two hundred-year-old nymph.” You draw your lips into a thin line and eye your mother critically. What the hell does she expect you to do with this? You’re originally a war goddess. You were meant to fight, not shoot people with metaphorical arrows and make sure they fall head over heels with each other!

         “This is the life you have now, MC.” Ares begins, for like, the millionth time this month. You grind your teeth and step away from him. You know that you have to content yourself with working in a quiet office, watching others fall in love, constantly typing on a computer, wearing these stupid pencil skirts and bows…

         “But I hate wearing these damn heels!” Is all you can screech, childishly. Aphrodite giggles as she stands and walks to you.

         “But they make you look so beautiful.” You send a harsh glare up to her; of course, she doesn’t even flinch cause your glares are as harmless to her as a feather is to a rock. “I trust you to handle these assignments better than anyone working here… Even myself. I wouldn’t have given them to you otherwise.”

         “How do you suggest I start these, then?”

         “Drink their essence and see what they need.”

         “I’m not a damned therapist.”

         “Hear, hear!” Ares uselessly calls as he resumes his seat on the couch. He shrinks a little when Aphrodite sends him a harsh, menacing glare; if there’s one thing all the gods have learned, it’s that Aphrodite – and possibly Persephone – are the scariest when they get mad.

         “Yes, but you will know where to go. I can assure you.” You puff out your cheeks and cross your arms.

         “Fine, but you owe me three weeks of vacation since I can’t go next week anymore!” You hiss as you take the files she’d gathered in her hands before you even simmered down – it’s like she knew she’d win you over – and stomp to the door. “I had tickets to the premier of the new marvel movie! Do you know how expensive those are?” You cry, ready to slam the door shut, but giving your mom one more, half-hearted stare.

         “You’re a goddess, sweetheart. You have an endless supply of money.”

         “That doesn’t mean I want to waste it!” And you move to slam the door shut, but it slows just at the end. You swear your eyeballs set on fire as you realize that your father installed yet another soft close door because of you.

         What’s your plan? Dive in head-first and get blind-sided at every corner like Zeus? No way, just thinking about that has you ready to start another war. You need a plan, a good plan, and as much information as you can get. Meaning you’re going to have to work with their guardians. Pompous, inconsiderate, above the law shit heads is what guardians are. In your millenniums, you’ve avoided most, if not all, contact with them. You don’t work well with big heads; they always mess things up because they’re always right, narrow-sighted, and rash. Add to that the state that these wards are in, you can’t imagine these guardians will be the best help… But you’ve got to take whatever you can get.

         And that’s why you’re sitting at a large table of seven guardians, enjoying a measly meal of chicken tenders and fries; ambrosia is too damn expensive these days. But you suppose that as the times have changed, your offerings and followers have fallen to a measly, absolute zero. No worshippers? No ambrosia. It’s a good way to stir up some envy here on Olympus.

         “So, what do you need, Cupid?”

         “I need to know about your wards.” You sigh as you plant a folder in front of each guardian. You point to the empty chair and raise your brow, “Where’s Mina’s guardian?”

         “Uh, she’s out on sick leave.”

         “I thought you guys were invincible?”

         “Well, after all the times she’s worked, I’m sure she needs a break for a little.” Aeneas snaps at you. You roll your eyes; guardians were specifically designed to do everything but need a break. You’d have to check in with Zeus later to see what the hell is going on with her.

         “Okay, whatever.” Continuing, you decide to get straight to the point, “Tell me everything you know about your wards. Why are they in the state they’re in?”

         “Some wards are harder to guide than others.” Jac gently speaks. You look to the soft-featured man, nodding your head. You know that… You’ve always treasured Jac as a guardian, he’s one of the few to look at you on equal grounds.

         “I know. I’m sorry if it felt like I jabbed at you. Could you all maybe explain to me what you’ve learned does or doesn’t work with these wards?”

         “Of course… We’ll do as much as we can to help…”

[lucinami]

My Kitten. (Obey Me! Satan x Reader)

This was a little request from someone in the Obey Me! Discord server. I wanted to indulge a bit more, but maybe a part two will come later~

Requests are open! I do NSFW and SFW. 

Your name: submit What is this?

It started with the occasional graze of the hand on his right arm. Soon it devolved into her finger running against his chest. All because there was something on it. Sometimes she would surprise him with a book. Not like he minded the gift, but.. He would have to be a fool to not notice what Y/N was up to. After all, she had that pleased look on her face whenever he blushed and stormed away when the task was complete. 

He was not born yesterday- it seemed like he had to remind the girl that. 

Satan sat on Y/N’s bed as he awaited for her to return. The plan was simple and she should have known that every action has a consequence. He tried his best to contain himself when she showed up after helping Beelzebub amd Belphegor in the kitchen. Her hair was a bit messy, chocolate batter dried up on her cheek. Her white apron even had splotches of batter on it. It seemed like the baking sweets went to be a disaster. 

“My, my.” He simply tsked as she made eye contact with him. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

Y/N jolted backwards with a scowl upon her face. “Satan, you shouldn’t be here,” she told him as she began to take off the apron. She set it aside in her laundry bin. His eyes never leaving her figure as he watched her every move. It sent shivers down her spine when she made eye contact once more with him. 

“What do you need? I need to clean up before dinner.” 

Satan seemed pleased at her annoyance. “You should know what I need, kitten.” 

That one word froze her entirely. Her cheeks were rosy pink as she saw the smug look on his face. She gulped and knew exactly what this was for. “Satan-”

“What was that, kitten?” 

“I-I mean… Master,” Y/N said meekly. “Mammon, Asmodeus, or even Lucifer could-”

“On your knees.” Satan ordered as he stood up immediately from her bed. He didn’t wait as he made his way to the girl. “I said… On. Your. Knees.” 

Y/N didn’t utter any other words of protest as she got on her knees in front of him. She knew the error she made. That was their one rule. Never mention the others when they are in this headspace. Especially Lucifer. It seemed like she’s been messing up lately and had to pay the price.

Satan reached down while rubbing the top of Y/N’s head. “Good kitten,” he praised in a low voice. “It seems like I need to train you more properly. Let’s get you ready for today’s session, shall we?” He mused out loud. 

“Yes, Master,” she responded, keeping her head down. 

The Avatar of Wrath walked back to her bed as he reached underneath to pull out a small container. It was a wooden box that was locked up with a key Satan always carried on him. He dug it out of his pocket and used to unlock it. He set the box down to the side as he pulled out a black leather color. It had a metal heart shaped ring on the front. There was even a little bell attached to it that jingled in the air. 

“Do you hear that, kitten?” He asked her. “Your collar is lonely. Come over here.” 

Y/N hesitated for a moment. She almost got up to walk over, but he cleared his throat. He didn’t have to do anything else as she began to slowly crawl over to him. Her face was heating up from shame as he continued to stare at her. Y/N stopped right at his legs, peering up at him as she bared her neck to him. 

He didn’t waste any time before placing it around her neck. His index finger flicking the bell in mockery of her position. “Good girl.”

“Master-”

Satan shushed the girl as he shook his head. “Not yet, kitten. You’re still dressed in your clothes. Strip for Master. Put on a show.” 

Y/N nodded her head as she figured that this was the time she was allowed to stand up. She started with her stockings. Her hands sliding off her legs one by one . He always loved her legs and thighs. He let out a noise of approval as she turned around. The collar jingled as she bent over to pull down her skirt. She slowly came back up and unbuttoned her blouse for him. The human woman took her time until he tapped his foot impatiently. 

She hurried up a bit as she revealed that she was wearing the lingerie he picked out for her that morning. Her breasts squeezed together in a black bra that had a kitten head shape cut out in the middle. She wore match black panties with ribbons on each side that could easily be unraveled. 

“Beautiful,” Satan breathed out, his finger hooking around the heart shaped ring as he pulled her back down to be at her knees. “Absolutely beautiful. They had no clue what you looked like underneath... What a pity they do not get to see this. My lovely kitten.” 

Y/N noticed the growing member that was confined back by his slacks. She took this opportunity to try and get close to it. Thought his right hand quickly grabbed her by the hair and pulled her away. 

“Who said you were getting spoiled today with treats?” Satan questioned. 

“You’re being punished for teasing me all this time. It’s only fair, right, my kitten?”

Y/N froze at the realization that him visiting her after the task and where she teased him… He was going to punish her for that? Y/N looked up at him.“Not fair at all, Master!” She pouted while shaking her head. 

Satan laughed at her pouting. She was adorable, but it wasn’t going to work on him. He pulled out a familiar remote that caused her to shudder. He pressed the ‘on’ button as the woman gasped. The vibrator he had her wear always finally came to life and she couldn’t help but clutch onto his slacks.

“Good, kitten,” he cooed, petting the top of (Y/N)’s head. “Let’s play now until it’s time for dinner.” 

“Y-Yes, Master.”

[cherrytart-ffxiv]

taji’s tales.

Before anything else, I fell in love with her hands.

They were always cold, no matter how hot it was outside. And they were tiny. I often wondered how such small hands could accomplish so much. I remember the summer of the cycle she had turned sixteen, sitting on the porch of Wells’ family great big farm house and being spellbound by Audrey and her guitar. She played it with love. She could play anything, too. Name a song and she could play it for you, smiling the entire time. If she didn’t know it, all you had to do was tell her the chords. It would only take a minute for her to piece together and turn entirely into her own; elegant, and beautiful, meaningful.

I was enchanted by her hands, the way that her fingers moved over the strings with ease, without so much as a second thought as to placement, the way they made the instrument sing even when the strings were worn and needed replacing. She had a gift. Musically, Audrey had always been brilliant. I was just a humble fan, someone she’d play for on long summer nights when lightning bugs sparked and the waves lapped against the shore and the moon shone bright on the fields. I’d close my eyes and go somewhere else, for a little while, her sweet voice flowing out from between her lips as she swayed on the porch, one leg up close to her, the other on a lower step.

I fell in love with her voice second. It was perfect. She needed no formal training; Audrey sang like an angel without even trying. There was emotion behind every syllable, and she could drop a note and leave it there. She was decisive, and she was skilled, knowing just how to draw out or cut her words to leave you hanging on to every one. And we’d watch, her little audience, as her slender fingers moved rapidly to strum out chords and notes, as that beautiful voice wove us stories about great loves and sad passings and of places far away from where we sat, by the seaside.

Sometimes the songs were sad, sometimes they were happy and bright, sometimes they made you want to get up and dance - and we did, laughing as we spun around the front yard of that big farmhouse, and she’d smile, bobbing her head to the boys playing barrels and buckets as drums to her guitar. She’d smack against the wood to provide the beat, tap her foot, as ribbons of black hair fluttered in the breeze. Those were blissful days. Those were the days I never wanted to end. Everything in the world be damned but Audrey and her instruments, because who were we to have other business when a divine being sat before us? And I think that was the summer I knew - I knew, and learned, that I loved more than just her hands and her voice. I loved the girl.

I don’t think she ever loved me beyond a best friend, a big brother where Connor had failed her. That was okay. I didn’t need to make her mine. I just needed to be around her. I needed to hear her eternally loud laugh, adorable and infectious. Even if nothing was funny, if she was laughing, she had everyone around her in stitches. Audrey glowed. She was the life of every party and the apple of every eye. White cotton dresses and a sheet of shining black hair, with big eyes that were alight with intelligence and gentleness both, with a fair complexion that looked like glass with natural pink hues staining her cheeks and lips. Yes, she was beautiful; she was ethereally, otherworldly beautiful, with a body that left us all weak in the knees when she danced - and kami preserve, when she danced. If her voice was an instrument, her body was an orchestra. I could have watched the way she moved, effortlessly, joy in every motion, elegant or seductive or both or somewhere in between.

I could sing praises about Audrey’s beauty and talents for years. She was strong, and whip smart. She observed the world quietly and knew a hundred times more than she ever let on. Her convictions, her sense of right and wrong, her deep compassion and sense of justice in an unjust world - what was a puppy dog eyed boy to do? I had seen the horrors inflicted by the yakuza my father worked at the head of. I had held a gun, by that age, to the head of a weeping man. My hands didn’t deserve the summertime warmth of Audrey. That did not stop them from craving it, from me wanting to be wrapped in her golden glow and to sink it, disappear in it. Sure, she could kick my ass, but she never did. Audrey, then, was gentle. She was soft. I was blind to the anger growing in her. I was blind to the injustices she was experiencing. I don’t know if I can ever repent enough for being so blinded by her brilliance that I didn’t see it was an act so that no one would see the cracks in her armor.

Three cycles later, when I came back from Kugane and she didn’t recognize me, I couldn’t blame her. If it hadn’t been for her eyes, for the beauty mark at the bottom of the left one, I might not have recognized her, either. That golden piece of summertime had changed. Her hip length hair had been cut short, up to her chin, bleached of its natural raven hue and dyed a bright pink that screeched for her to be noticed. A girl that had lived her life naturally and comfortably was done up in glittery makeup and tight fitting mini skirts, blouses with plunging necklines and bared midriffs. It would have been fine if I thought it was her choice. But I knew about “Cherry.” My father has warned me before I went back to Eorzea, about what had become of Audrey. They had eyes everywhere.

Trafficked. Controlled by an obsessive pimp. Audrey was skin and bones when I saw her again. Her collarbones were so pronounced that one could collect water in each of them. She was frail, thin, her big eyes exhausted and marked by dark circles beneath them. A bruise - dark and angry - marked her jaw as she moved slowly into my mother’s shop. She looked right at me and didn’t recognize me. But she smiled at me. I saw the dimples in her cheeks. I was weak. I took the bait she offered. I took her into my bed and I didn’t tell her who I was. Covered in tattoos and scars, I suppose I looked worlds different, too.

There is no atoning for my weakness. There is no redemption for making love to Audrey when I knew who she was and she didn’t know me. I am disgusting. I am no better than any other man who has touched her because they just wanted to. Teenage fantasies ran away with me. I held her hands. They were still cold. Tiny. Soft. The callouses from her guitar were gone. I almost burst into tears when I felt how smooth they were. She hadn’t been playing. She hadn’t been playing for a very long time. What had Ul’dah done to her? What had her pimp done to her? Why hadn’t Connor been protecting her?

I remember her running to the apothecary shop, sandles in one hand while the scarf she made out of her mother’s cardigan hung around her neck. She stopped short when she saw me, eyes wide. She spoke my name. My name. It sounded like a breathless song on her tongue. All at once, it seemed, she remembered me. She remembered me, just as I was about to set sail for Kugane again. I brought her inside. We split an order of curry while her leg bounced nervously, eyes flickering nonstop towards the door I had locked behind us. How many pairs of eyes were watching her at any given moment? Including those from Kugane, from Doma... The bruise on her jaw was still there. I figured she was right to be worried. Anger roared on me, that anyone would put hands on her. That they would succeed. The Audrey I knew...

The Audrey I knew was stuck. She was trapped. She still flared in that little body, but she was muted. A summertime glow, spinning cherry blossom petals, fresh cherries on her tongue as she laughed - I could tell these were all distant memories for her. More distant for her than for me. And it was with desperation that I asked her to come with me to Kugane. We would protect her. She looked at me with such a sad smile, with a shake of her head that shifted her neon pink hair, as her fork shifted rice around on her plate. She had done a lot of that; shifting her food, but not eating it.

“I can’t. There’s too much debt here. Someone will get hurt if I leave, and I can’t even tell you who. But someone would pay for me disobeying. And I can’t live with that... Taji.”

The next day, I had to get on a ship and leave the first - the only - person I had ever loved behind, in one of the worst situations you could place a person in. It felt wrong. It all felt wrong, and foul, and vile. No one should look like that at nineteen, I thought. No girl her age should have eyes so ancient and exhausted. I cursed myself for leaving. I cursed myself for listening to my own orders. And I curse myself every day that I didn’t insist that she come. But what would it have fixed? Another man, telling her what to do, where to go...

Reports come in about her. Mori knows about her. Our people are watching, but to what end? She doesn’t even know her full heritage. Of course, clever girl has her suspicions, but that’s all. She’s got nothing to work off of other than some hunches. Still... Still, if there’s anything that I believe in, it’s Audrey’s brain. Audrey’s determination. Audrey’s stubbornness. Her unwavering resolve and the way she grits her teeth in the face of adversity, only to bloom from it. She grows through mud. She always has. And she has always come out more beautiful and more brilliant at the end of it.

I’m on a boat back to Eorzea as I write this. Back to Ul’dah. Back to... her. Mom needs my help in the shop. I need to see if any of the life has come back to Audrey’s eyes. I missed her twentieth nameday. She never liked celebrating them. I wonder if she celebrated this one. I wonder if she has people who love her, care for her. I want to know. I want to see her. I want make sure... I don’t know. I won’t know for sure what I’m looking for until I get there. Maybe it’s just her face. Maybe it’s her laugh. Maybe I’m hoping she’s dusted off her guitar and started to play again, that she’s found a reason to. No, she may not be mine. But whether I am a lover or a friend or a brother, I love Audrey Wells. That much will never change. No matter what.

[lil-creatorwritings]

day 24: school uniform

A/N: First, I suggest you listen to this song, because it seems to have been an unintentional inspiration for this prompt. I was like, omg I wanna listen to this song cause I like it and then my fingers suddenly... 😅 Also, think of Japanese style school uniform. Yeah, the one with the short skirts... 😏

---

The sun was setting in the horizon when Ray and Fenrir had finished their rounds of Cradle. The small skirmishes and troubles of the townspeople had kept them busy throughout the whole day. Talking with each other, they made a deal to go out for drinks later this evening.

“Let’s go to that new pub! Oliver says the food’s great there.” Fenrir grinned at him as they made their way through the quarters.

Ray smiled and nodded in agreement. Before they reached the next shop, he spotted Seth down the road. Was he with someone? Fenrir waved at the two, raising his arm high.

“Hey, Seth! Anastacia!”

He watched the two approach them from a crowd, carrying some shopping bags. Ray could only stare at her as they came closer.

Anastacia wasn’t wearing her usual London clothes. She wore a white short sleeves blouse with a rounded collar, buttoned down to the end as a thin red ribbon completed the top. The pleated skirt was dyed a dark blue shade with patterned white lines, cutting off just a few fingerbreaths above her knees that swished and swayed with every step. Her black shoes complemented the thigh highs that ran up her legs, almost meeting the hem of the skirt.

He felt something in him throb.

It wasn’t long before she stood in front of him with Seth beside her.

“Oh, nice timing~ We were just about to head back as well. Did patrols go well?” Seth sounded extra cheerful--he wondered why.

The two officers’ chatter was at the back of his mind. He took a step closer to her. Anastacia looked back up at him with a questioning expression. “Ray? What’s wrong?”

“Your outfit…”

She smiled, looking down at herself. “Seth saw it at a shop and insisted that I buy it. He also managed to convince the shop keeper that I wear it right away..”

Seth beamed a smile. “Doesn’t she just look adorable~? A lot of guys had eyes on her and helped us out with the rest of the shopping when we left the shop..”

“Seth!” She smacked his arm playfully.

“Sorry! But that one blond guy kept flirting with you at the last stall, even when we were already leaving.”

Ray looked behind her--he was noticing some male passerbys looking their way. Mostly at him.

She spun around, giving him a full view of her clothes. He did think it was cute the moment he recognized her. It did fit her well, oddly enough. Almost like it was tailored exactly for her.

Wait--at her?

“Hey, what’s wro--ackkk, they’re staring again..” Anastacia looked behind her, noticing the blond that Seth was talking about. Ray followed her gaze and spotted him from where they were. A pang of jealousy flared up in his chest as he observed the gawking man.

He took the bag that she was holding and held it out to Fenrir. “Carry this back to headquarters. I'll take a rain check on those drinks."

“Boss?”

Ray didn’t wait--as soon as the Ace took the items, he pulled her close to his body, wrapping his long coat around her. She gave a surprised squeal as her hands pressed on his strong chest, resting his arm on her waist to push her even closer. He watched as the shopkeeper made eye contact with him, the look of recognition forming in the blond’s eyes made him chuckle under his breath.

Feeling her so close to him didn’t help to dampen the intense emotions. He started to walk back to base with Anastacia still covered up in his coat.

“H-Hey, Ray!” She stuttered, shifting to move beside him to walk better. He made sure she was still under his clothes. “I can’t walk properly like this.”

“Yeah well, I’m not going to let anyone else see you in that outfit until we get home.”

“I don’t understa--”

Ray stopped to look at her--in the shuffle of things, her ribbon caught on one of his buttons and loosened, revealing her neck. He wanted to lean down and nibble on that patch of skin to leave a hickey.

“I don’t think you realize what sort of effect your little outfit had on other men.” He said, his voice a little gruff. Or on him, for that matter.

She tilted her head, her lips slowly curving up in a sultry smile. “Oh? Just on other men?”

Pause. “This was on purpose, wasn’t it?”

“Hmm, I have no idea what you’re talking about...” Pretending to stretch, she angled her head back to expose more of her neck.

He felt himself twitch over the innocent act. With a new found spark, Ray nearly wanted to haul her up and run the remaining distance with her on his shoulder. Instead, he started to move again; this time, she kept up with his pace. Oh, he would definitely let her know when they got back. He’ll make sure she won’t forget.

---

"Seth."

"Yes, Fenrir~?"

"Did you guys plan this?"

"Ohhhh, I wouldn't say I planned it... Let's just say I helped steer her in the right direction. Poor girl needed some more attention. And besides, Ray has tomorrow off, right?"

"Sounds like it's gonna be a long night for them."

"I agree~ Now we should really head back. Luka should be about to start cooking dinner now."

[illapa-greybane]

The Greybane/Fairlight Wedding: Ceremony Transcript

The pavilion is open on four sides, one entrance to each cardinal direction. Gold embellishments and carved scrollwork gleam against the alabaster stone, familiar elements of Sin’dorei aesthetic design. The pavilion has been decorated in the betrothed couple’s own signature colors: ivory and violet, black and gold. Lengths of colored silk support garlands of flowers: from familiar roses (albeit in a unique deep indigo hue) to sprigs of fragrant Twilight Jasmine pale as the moon. The seaward breeze keeps the air light and fresh, stirring petals and wafting lengths of silk.

The officiant enters from the west and takes his place in the open center of the round, smiling politely at the assembled guests on the space’s perimeter. The ambient music fades to a mere murmur, bringing with it a hush of anticipation at what comes next: the entrance of the bride and groom.

Illapa enters from the south, distinct in his usual dark colors and austere manner; but today, everything is embellished with gold. Gold embroidery is thick on the sleeves and lapels of his finery; gold buttons glitter from his cuffs and collar, gold thread weighs down the heavy cloak draped over the crook of one arm. The black and gold is only broken by a fall of silver hair, not a strand out of place, brushed to a silk finish and adorned with braids that converge in a chain behind his head.

Solarine seems almost to glide into the pavilion, lengths of gauzy violet fabric fluttering in the light sea breeze wafting through the open archways behind her. She too carries a length of cloth draped over the crook of an arm, but hers is translucent, veil-like, as it covers her otherwise-bared shoulders and midriff. A floor-length skirt is paired with a choli blouse, and the whole ensemble of deep blue-violet is spangled and embroidered with gold thread along seams and edges. Her raven-black hair is pulled back into a long, elegantly-messy plait and adorned with fresh, fragrant Twilight Jasmine blossoms.

Illapa enters in his finery, wearing the fortune of a minor prince but the dignity of a king. His posture is exacting, back straight, shoulders level, chin high. His stride is graceful and betrays nothing of the years the lines of his face suggest. But as he and Solarine finally come face-to-face across the pavilion, there is a single falter in his stride; his chest swells with anticipation and pride beneath the layers of his garb.

Another man might have smiled at the first sight of his bride on their wedding day, but not Lord Greybane. Instead, the lines of age and care and scorn that gather at the corners of his eyes deepen, literal cracks in his legendary composure. And those eyes: those eyes are only for her.

Solarine can’t help but smile, despite a hint of nervousness to her countenance, as she approaches Illapa and the officiant Priest at the center of the pavilion. The faint, crystalline jingle of a strand of tiny ankle bells is just audible as she walks. The attempted-solemnity of her presentation is somewhat less effective as she comes to a halt, gazes at Illapa in all his finery, and blushes strawberry-red.

The officiant speaks:

“Priestess Solarine Fairlight, daughter of Farstrider Captain Alassien and Sanctum Warden Liya Fairlight, mother of Varali. A beacon of hope to the Sin’dorei in their darkest hour, she never faltered in the Light as she has tirelessly worked to heal the sick and wounded, bolster the spirits of the demoralized and disheartened, and offer her very own blood and tears in service to her people.

“Lord Illapa Greybane, scion of the ancient and noble line of Duskwarden. Exemplary in his discipline and dedication, a man of noble history and personal integrity. Respected as both a healer and scholar, a respected and familiar figure of Sin’dorei politics, but ever a leader to his people and a bastion of tradition in trying times.

“It should come as little surprise, then, that Priestess Fairlight and Lord Greybane’s shared dedication to their people and their homeland eventually bloomed into friendship, which in turn gave fruit to a dedication to one another.

“In times of darkness and tribulation, they found a light and strength in one another, and not even the threat of the Legion could break their commitment or tear them asunder.

“And so we gather here to witness the joining of their hands, and to celebrate the consummation of the love and devotion which has brought them before us today.”

The officiant turns to Solarine and Illapa, raising an ornately-decorated book as he gathers their attention. “Lord Greybane. Priestess Fairlight. Turn to one another, and place your rings upon each other’s hands.”

Illapa’s two children bear Solarine’s wedding ring: one a slender blonde girl on the cusp of adolescence, already so poised and ladylike in a modest yellow silk slip-dress; the other a robust flame-haired boy spattered with freckles from the sun.

It’s the boy, Rowan, who offers the ring box up to his father, his sister Liesel demurring to keep the peace between the siblings. The boy is young enough to cling to his father’s neck when he bends to accept the ring, but old enough to have enough pride to do it quickly.

Illapa places a fond hand on each of his children’s hair, both the golden and the fiery red, before ushering them back to their places.

The ring Illapa slides onto Solarine’s finger is delicate truegold set with a magically-hardened opal. A pair of gold crescent moons flank the perfectly round opal, and a dozen tiny diamonds surround the stone and dot the band like the stars in a constellation. The rainbow facets in the gem glimmer with both light and enchantment. The ring’s delicate construction is perfectly suited to Solarine’s dainty hand, but its celestial themes speak to the bright and shadowed divinity of her soul.

A chunky, raven-haired toddler with Solarine’s colouring and dimples, but with hints of a strong, angular bone structure developing beneath her baby fat, shuffles shyly in between Illapa and Solarine. Wearing a white petal skirt and a pale pastel-yellow blouse, she looks like a perfect spring Peacebloom as she offers her mother a velvet ring box, then stuffs a thumb into her mouth and hides behind Solarine’s legs.

Solarine opens the box, then pulls out a ring that might as well have Illapa’s name engraved on it. It is thick and heavy, with smooth rounded edges connecting the inner surface to the hard edges of the exterior surface. The exterior surface is black--so dark a black that no form would be obvious were it not for the brilliant gold rimming both edges, and the inner surface of the ring is a mysterious, deep, iridescent violet. All three metals making up the ring are obviously magical to the touch, most surely piquing the curiosity of a recipient who cannot yet examine it more closely as Solarine slips it onto Illapa’s finger.

Solarine then follows the officiant’s instruction, holding out her small, delicate hands and allowing Illapa to envelop them in his long, graceful fingers. Her short nails, usually plain, are painted in violet and each is tipped in a tiny crescent of gold.

The officiant lightly wraps an ornately-woven silk ribbon, embroidered with tiny rosebuds, around Solarine and Illapa’s clasped hands.

“With the exchange of these rings I place the first of three bindings about your hands, to symbolize the first commitment you made to each other.”

The officiant speaks again as he wraps a second ribbon around their hands. This one is embroidered not with rose buds, but with fully-bloomed flowers.

“I place the second of three bindings about your hands, to symbolize the love and devotion that has bloomed and bound you together.”

The officiant speaks a final time as he binds the last ribbon around their hands: one embroidered with pomegranates, split-open ripe and spilling with seeds.

“I place the third of three bindings about your hands, to symbolize the fruits of love and family that your union will bear.”

The officiant pauses to allow Illapa and Solarine a moment to look at each other and contemplate their exchange of words.

“Thus bound, in the eyes of friends and family, of vassal and peers, and under the blessing of the eternal Sun, speak now your vows.”

Illapa begins: “I take Solarine Fairlight to be my lady wife.”

Solarine answers. “I take Illapa Greybane to be my lord and husband.”

“My name is her name.”

“His name is my name.”

“My blood is her blood.”

“And my blood is his blood.”

“My deeds honor her.”

“My deeds honour him.”

“My thoughts ennoble her.”

“And mine ennoble him.”

“My heart cherishes her.”

“My heart cherishes him.” Solarine blushes again.

“On this day and for all our days upon the earth.”

“On this day and for all the days we share.”

The officiant ties all three ribbons together around the couple’s clasped hands. The knot is literally tied. “So as these bindings are intertwined, so are your lives from this day forward. If you may, seal this ancient pact with a kiss.”

Illapa smiles, and the formality of the ceremony melts away with the ease with which he and Solarine embrace. The new bride steps into his arms and despite the disparity of years between them (and the foot of inches between their heights) they fit together like storybook lovers.

Solarine leans in, pressing her cheek and chest to Illapa’s chest, then leans back expectantly and smiles cheekily, beckoning him to lean in and kiss her.

Illapa lifts their bound hands below Solarine's chin, tipping up her chin to receive their first wedded kiss. And if there was any lingering doubt about their union -- a woman as bright as May and a man as wintry as December -- it is banished by the ardent devotion of that kiss.