#a certain circle. this is just my view but personally i would have enjoyed this way more if there WASN'T a streamed judging.

[traitorsinsalem]

goodness gracious mama mia

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

gevivys (beauty) │ Chapter 3: Delight

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Daemon returns to King's Landing after ten years in exile, intent on rekindling his affair with Rhaenyra. He wasn't expecting you - the revelation changes everything.

Welcome to the third chapter of my rework - this one is completely new! Never-seen-before content! Smut galore! YAYYYYY! I do hope you’ll enjoy. Daemon-centric thought POVs are always fun as hell to write, and it’s super interesting going back to this stage of the story. Thank you to @ewanmitchellcrumbs, my slap daddy Ange, for reading through this chapter for me and making sure I’m not uploading total shite!

TRIGGERS: objectification of women, derogatory discussion of poverty, derogatory views of sex work. (Daemon is a yuck man!)

“Three cheers for the Prince!”

“Hear, hear!”

“Cheers!”

“And let his return bring coppers and silvers aplenty to the streets of Flea Bottom!”

“Aye!”

Daemon smirks obligingly at the congregated carousers as they lift their tankards in honour of him, ale-soused faces grinning haplessly throughout the dilapidated tavern. The Maiden’s Teats had once been a favourite of his in his youth, ramshackle and poorly lit and smelling always of piss as it did. And still does, he thinks distastefully. Looking around, he finds it peculiar that he’d had such an affinity for the place. There’s no accounting for the tastes of a young man. But no longer could he abide remaining in such close quarters with the source of his turmoil. What—or who—that is, he cannot say.

“Let us begin right now!” he yells over the din, standing on the wooden frame affixing the stool’s legs together. It bows ominously under his weight, but he supposes the fall would be a trifling matter if it should break. “Ale for every man here! A gift from your Prince to mark the occasion.”

Loud shouts and praises ring through the space as he passes a pouch of coin across to the alewife. He notes from the corner of his eye that she tugs her tunic down to expose her tits just a little more—any further and they’ll pop free of the neckline entirely—though he has no interest in fucking the innkeeper’s wife. Too much trouble.

A hand claps against his back, jolting him into the present. “My Prince! Welcome back!”

Daemon laughs. “Arric Dargood! Still infesting this city with your filth, are you?”

“You know me!” Dargood says, dragging him to a quieter corner as he speaks. “When there’s cheap ale and cheaper whores, you can’t get rid of me!”

Ah, good old Dargood. The third son of an already insignificant House, the man hadn’t much by way of prospects. In some ways, Daemon could commiserate—they had both turned to the sword to distinguish themselves from the rabble, becoming formidable in combat irrespective of their noble names. What luck it was to have been appointed to the City Watch at the same time! As one of the captains under his control, Dargood had rather quickly become one of his most esteemed companions. A rare sight it was to see Daemon Targaryen roaming the slums of King’s Landing without Dargood in his circle of cronies. And yet, while he might profess himself to have matured somewhat over the years, it seems the same cannot be said of Dargood.

Settling down upon the seat to which he is ushered, he partakes in the gaiety of his fellow libertines, an assemblage of persons known and unknown. Some faces are familiar, like the gold cloaks still in uniform that he recalls from his own days as their Commander; and some are fresh, from youths newly raised to notoriety to older men with a certain savagery to their disposition no doubt its own invitation to the table. Conversation flows as easily as the drink does, the men gathered sharing tales of just how little has changed in his absence.

“We even use the same route on patrols!” Steffon Hollard giggles madly. It is clear the ale has overtaken his faculties more than most present. “Ten bloody years, an’ nuffin’s changed thereabouts!”

“Why tamper with excellence?” Daemon smiles smugly as the words set off a new round of boisterous approval.

In truth, he is disheartened. For so little to be different, he’d expect to feel as though he’d never left. And yet, nothing is the same. How can that be? he wonders. He thinks of you. You least of all have remained untampered by time—he’d be hard-pressed to connect his recollections of his tiny little doll-girl with the temptress you’ve become.

“Uncle Daemon,” you say, hands twisting and eyes welling as you realise what he’s doing, that he’s about to leave—

“Uncle Daemon?” you ask, lips parted and just begging to be pried further apart by a thumb or something more, something larger—

He swallows, the motion almost painful. When he tries to focus back on the discussion at hand, he finds that talk has turned to his exploits across the Narrow Sea.

“I heard he flew to the ruins of Old Valyria!” one insists.

“Don’t be stupid!” another derides. “I heard he fucked the Prince of Pentos’s daughter!”

Lessella is a fucking shrew of a woman, Daemon thinks to himself drolly. Gods save the man she takes to her bed. He does not voice this, though—instead, he merely smiles enigmatically, allowing all to make their own assumptions.

“Either way,” Dargood says with a leer, “our Prince was surely knee-deep in Eastern cunt. Oh, what a fortune! Tell me”—at this, he turns to Daemon—“why the fuck would you come back to this shithole if you had all that at your disposal?”

Daemon grunts. “Perhaps I missed the comforts of home.” He takes a healthy swig of his ale. He grimaces; he’d forgotten how disgusting it was.

Hollard sniggers. “It’s obvious, innit? ’E’s hopin’ for another run at the Realm’s Delight!”

He tries to hide his scowl as his company share sly looks, sniggering amongst themselves at the mention of his woeful attempt to swipe Rhaenyra from his brother’s hands. Fucking idiot, he rails at himself, for not bothering to craft a version of events that would make me seem less pitiful. The gossipmongers must have had their choice in tall tales to tell of that evening—never mind the scope ten summers might bring them.

“Cheers”—Oswald Kettleblack, another lowly son from a lowly House, raises his tankard—“to the Realm’s Delight!”

The men thump the table, hooting and cackling.

“Cheers!”

“Aye, cheers!”

Dargood guffaws. “And what a delight she is,” he says, once again slapping Daemon between the shoulder blades, “to just about every man with a highborn cock. Ol’ Rodrik here says she even let him have a go!”

The man to whom his long-time ally gestures to waggles his brows with lecherous intent. It triggers a fresh wave of mocking hilarity around the group, the sound unpleasant in the ear.

“Careful now.” Daemon’s teeth show in a grin that is far less friendly than it is threatening. “That is my niece and your future Queen you’re slandering. I’m duty-bound to defend her honour, even from you lot.”

This sobers the congregation; the mirth dies down to an awkward chuckle, each of them shifting uncomfortably at the censure. Fucking children, all of them.

He may have had his fair share of paroxysms over his brother’s decision to name Rhaenyra as heir over him, but it was never lack of love that drove such a response. To hear this small collection of folk disparage his niece so casually is unsettling; nay, insulting. If such a crowd is arrogant enough to voice these slurs in front of him—the woman’s own uncle—what the fuck might they be saying about her behind closed doors? It is concerning, and for more reasons than mere personal distaste.

“Is that your plan, then?” Dargood asks, curiosity plain to see in his countenance. “To ‘defend her honour’?”

The end of the query is spoken suggestively, leaving no confusion as to the intent behind it.

Needs must. “Ah, lads,” Daemon says, “not at all. How to put it? That ship has… sailed, if you will. It’s as you said; it seems she’s been a delight to many in my absence.”

It is a thoroughly tasteless remark to make, and one that leaves bitterness flooding over his tongue. Truthfully, even when he’d still thought there was a chance of reclaiming Rhaenyra, he’d not cared overmuch for the hearsay that had filtered across the sea—he’d fucked who he liked as a lad, and as far as he was concerned, she was free to do the same. All that had mattered was that, in the end, she remembered she belonged to him. Now, there is nothing tying him to the matter at all beyond the faint pangs of resentment and an indifferent sort of intrigue as to whether or not he might have a second (third) opportunity to bed her.

But still—better to conform than oppose when in amongst the scum of the city.

Hollard frowns. “Then why? Why come back at all?”

He shrugs noncommittally. “Viserys got bored without me, I suppose. And I got bored of seeding all those foreign cunts. Such a shame for it to go to waste.”

He doesn’t quite realise the significance of his remark until he hears the response.

Dargood raises a sceptical brow. “A wife, then? Why not just take your pick over East?”

Fuck. But also—‘tis true. He’d had the option; Viserys would enquire as to his efforts in securing a new bride every few moons, each raven bringing with it the same indelicate attempt at subtlety. His reply would be the same. No, brother. I’ve not found anyone sufficient to breed more Targaryens into.

What is the point in asking over and over again? he’d wonder. There’s little to be found in Essos beyond the lineage of slaves or savages.

“And sully my line with spicemonger’s ilk? Hardly,” Daemon rebuffs with a derisive snort. “No—I’ll be wanting someone worthy of my name.”

“Sounds like you’ve already an idea of whom.” It is an invitation to continue, and an obvious one at that. Still, Daemon indulges Kettleblack’s provocation.

“Perhaps,” he says, punctuating the declaration with a long draught of ale. “I’m waiting to see if it’s worth pursuing.”

He is not being serious, but they don’t need to know that. After all, who is the Rogue Prince if a scheme’s not afoot? A delinquent to hunt down, a highborn lady to seduce, a whore (or several) to fuck… His pleasures are simple—predictable, even. Time has not changed him so greatly that his old pastimes lack a charm of their own.

“Well?” Dargood motions impatiently, nostrils flaring with lascivious glee. He always did enjoy the more lurid of Daemon’s many exploits. “Don’t leave it at that! Go on!”

Daemon shrugs evasively. “What can I say? Good breeding, well-mannered… a pretty thing, too. Excellent assets. Certainly wouldn’t be any trouble to bed her.”

As the men surrounding him crow and jeer, awash with lusty praise for their Prince’s conquest-to-be, Daemon cannot help but be reminded of you. At some point during his oration, the words had ceased being a collection of personal partialities and instead become an inventory of your own characteristics—polite in the innocent, trusting way a maiden is like to view him, a delicate beauty reminiscent of the finest illustrated manuscripts, an impeccable figure below all that ridiculous finery. The Targaryen name, too. The fact that you are his little niece might just be a credit to your appeal rather than a hindrance.

Pure Valyrian ancestry, of marriageable age, likely fertile and able to give me robust sons and daughters… And her memories of her Uncle Daemon, her kepa, would have her bending quite easily to my will.

“Well, what’s stopping you?” Dargood asks. “You’re a fucking Prince! No one’s saying ‘no’ to you!”

Except his conscience, perhaps. He still has one. True, there are lords even older than he is marrying noblewomen (girls, really) your age—but eighteen summers is indeed a great disparity. When you are his age, he’d be in his dotage, surely! It would be a hard fate to subject you to, never mind the battle he’d face at Viserys’s hands. His prospects had been rather spoiled by his decision to take Rhaenyra to a fucking brothel. Idiot. He should have known the threat of her ruination would incite the man to find her a husband that was not him. Never would the King have given him the satisfaction of winning.

Daemon puts these musings aside. Better to heed my instincts. No good can come of stirring Viserys’s wrath a second (third? fourth? thousandth?) time. Besides, it is no more than titillation. He doesn’t truly wish to take you, let alone make you his wife.

“I don’t answer to you, Dargood.”  Slapping the table, Daemon rises, suddenly restless. “I’ve had enough of tedious conversation. You heard me! I’ve spent too long in distant shores—”

More hooting. “Bet they were wet, eh!”

“—and what better way relearn Westerosi customs than to fuck some Westerosi cunt? I’ll need the practise if I’m to have myself a bride from these parts!”

It is between rowdy titters from his companions that Daemon departs the tavern, spilling out through the open doors and into the muck of Pisswater Bend, an aptly named street in among the foulest locales in King’s Landing. Staggering under the weight of Hollard—a pathetic drunkard if ever he saw one—he ambles along narrow roads that stink of shit, rank and roiling, his mind set on partaking in the finest of Sirille’s current offerings.

That is, he reflects, whichever doesn’t also possess the look of disease.

It is very nearly an unreasonable feat to procure a whore from any brothel in Flea Bottom that lacks the ability to shrivel a man’s cock from whatever putrid humours have long festered in her cunt. But the whores of Flea Bottom possess a very particular advantage. They cater to a larger range of tastes than most, discretion being vital to their work in a way the higher-scale establishments do not offer, and one of the reasons Daemon had come to frequent the slums of the city in the first place.

Right now, he’d prefer tongues did not speak of the urges he must satiate to cool his cravings to a more manageable simmer.

To think—barely a sennight ago, he had believed himself uninterested in pursuing his basest impulses! How quickly things change. He is not so dull-witted as to lack awareness of what has incited the shift. Even as his mind wrests with the contrition of thinking of you so licentiously, his body—his cock, specifically—welcomes the flash of your skin that sweeps upon the insides of his eyelids like a phantasm, the shape of your body and the contours of your pretty, pretty face, the sound of your voice caught between girlish charm and womanly rhythm, the hallmarks of the only bloodline he’d ever sought to pursue in a bride.

 No. But you are his niece. Moreover, you are his little niece. It is different with you, not like it had been with Rhaenyra. He won’t. He can’t.

Incense is strong upon the air in the brothel, stinging his nostrils and making his eyes water. Truthfully, it is a site not quite built for the purpose it conducts, being more of a ramshackle dwelling than a business front, but it serves well enough. Besides, the curtains do an ample job of concealing those customers who wish for relative anonymity, even if the sounds cannot be escaped.

In the middle of the room sit those who wish only for the sight of whores free of their meagre attire, tits and cunts and arses all on display, or for the thrill of watching love-play between prospective clients and the girls in their laps, or perhaps for the hedonistic delight of fucking out in the open, privacy be damned. Daemon notes the sunken pallor of customers and whores alike, the lines of poverty and starvation etched in plain faces. They’d looked better back when he was a regular. Likely all the coin I spent, he muses.

“Milord!”

A voice sounds from behind him, rasping with the grit of Flea Bottom’s lowliest brogue. He turns to spot the madam herself, her jowl wobbling as she limps toward him, grinning. One by one, his companions sidle past her, approaching their intended conquests with an easy familiarity that belies a long-standing routine. 

“I ‘eard you were back! Welcome! ‘Tis an honour to have the Prince in my place before the rest get ya!”

He smiles. She’d procured all manner of needy little maidens from the bowels of the city in past romps through the establishment, skinny shy things quivering and fearful, wide-eyed and reluctant. Not to his most exact tastes, no, but their timidity and frailty had been oh-so-precious—and even more fun had it been to break them of their reticence as thoroughly as he’d break them of their maidenhoods. Peasant cunt is truly a delicacy.

“Sirille.” He dips his head, inciting a round of abashed giggling. It carries not the girlish enchantment she must think it does, but she’d served him longer and more loyally than some of his own men in the City Watch. He takes no issue in humouring her. “A pleasure.”

“Oh, you! I don’ suppose you’re ‘ere to see—”

It is convenient enough for him then that one of the plainer girls approaches her employer with haste, an artless squawk of complaint filtering thready to his ears and yet, mercifully, stealing Sirille’s attention from him. He is able to move away from the entry and further into the brothel. Daemon settles on the chaise beneath the window, slouching lazily across the threadbare surface and surveying what little there is to see.

Hollard and Kettleblack have their girls stripped to the waist now, tits freed and lurching with the short, frantic motion of hips colliding. Dramatic yelps fill the room with each crude slap, the whores panting and wiggling atop their patrons with efficiency, their rhythmic release creating an almost-song in tandem with the men’s grunting and groaning. Dargood has his own on the ground in front of him, gagging enthusiastically on his prick with little swallowing moans punctuating each drag of her head forward and back. Her skirt is pulled up to bare her arsecheeks and the bruise-red flex of her cunt, wet and glistening with more than just the oil that prepares her. The other men are in similar states of disarray, open-mouthed and starry-eyed and lust-drunk in their various positions around the room.

Several of the waiting whores eye him, fluttering their lashes and flashing their tits and cunts at him. He casts a critical look over them. Too thin, too shapely, too pale, too dark, too pockmarked, too young, too old, too—too—

None of them are interesting. At least, not interesting enough to bother sticking his cock in. Shame. The itch that had driven him to fuck any whore worthy of the name in his youth has died down to a faint pulse, still frustratingly there but difficult to satiate, choosier, more selective. No longer can he spend himself in just any cunt. Rhaenyra had ruined desire for him—well, he’d thought it was Rhaenyra who had done so. He’s not so sure now. Nevertheless, there is a very particular breed of whore that fulfils his needs, one he presumes will require visiting a higher-end establishment to—

Wait. There.

A smallish, white-haired waif of a girl saunters in, adorned most curiously in a thin gown of lavender—not a cut nor colour usually available to the lower echelons, he thinks—done up to the neck, not a sliver of flesh to be seen beyond the pale of her hands and the arch of her throat and the softness of her face. He’d nearly mistaken her for a higher class of commoner, one who’d regrettably stumbled into the wrong place in the wrong district, but the ease with which she holds herself disproves the notion. She is among the less attractive in the brothel, but her features—Valyrian silver locks, Valyrian purple eyes, no doubt the baseborn daughter of a Targaryen bastard some generations back—are unmistakeable.

Are unmistakeably, exactly what he is after.

He lets his eyes linger on her, waiting; she’ll come to him, of that he is certain. None in this line of work are unfamiliar with the predilections of a man of his stature—and from the cautious, near-bashful manner in which she picks her way across the room, careful to avert her gaze from the filthier displays present, she knows precisely what he enjoys. To find a rarity like her in such a downtrodden environment is unusual. She must be quite the unlucky one, he presumes. No doubt a victim of downtrodden parents desperate to make a quick coin or several. It's not uncommon for the poorest of the city to sell their daughters to the brothels in the hope of lasting through the winter season.

Then, the whispers from the other patrons reach his ears—not abnormal, no, but it is the name they speak as the whore passes that sends a jolt through him.

“The People’s Delight,” they call her, their voices dripping with mockery even as their eyes gleam with longing, absorbing the way the fire in the hearth plays upon her silver-spun tresses so like his own. “Look at ‘er—the People’s Delight!”

The realisation strikes him like a bolt of lightning. Curse his abominable fortune! For how can ‘the People’s Delight’ be anything but a crude play on his nieces’ epithets, yet another reminder plaguing him with the thoughts he cannot escape? Rhaenyra, ‘the Realm’s Delight’, bold and brash and beautiful from infancy, his dragonrider girl since the age of seven; and you, ‘the People’s Princess’, always with a polite word and a shy smile to give the commoners from your seat in Aemma’s lap on alms days in girlhood. This cobbled-together moniker is very clearly an allusion to these titles.

“My Prince.”

The girl stands before him, bobbing in a clumsy curtsey, peering down at him through pale lashes. Her hands clasp together in a show of modesty, her spine held straight and proud in a manner so rarely to be seen on this side of Flea Bottom. Pride is indeed in short supply in so destitute a locality.

Daemon is torn. He could—he should—castigate her thoroughly for daring to disrespect the blood of the dragon. He ought to make an example of her in front of all present, to drag her into the streets and through the city by her hair so that everyone may see what happens when you ridicule the Princesses of the Realm, when you besmirch their honour by adopting their royal styles and honours for cheap whore’s tricks…

But he wants very badly to discover how deep the similarities run.

“A bold choice—‘the People’s Delight’.” Daemon does his best to maintain relative impassivity. “One might say treasonous, even.”

Rather than quail, the little slut laughs. “If you were going to ‘ave me thrown in the Black Cells”—she moves to sit beside him, not too close and not too far, calculated and infuriating—“you would’ve already.”

“Brave thing, aren’t you?”

Up close, her gown is rather less demure than he’d assumed—the fabric is diaphanous, gauzy, revealing blush-tipped tits that have yet to slacken from age or famine. Perfect.

She grins teasingly when she spies him watching, obligingly arching her back to raise her chest to his view.

“Clever, too,” she adds, slowly bringing a knee up and out so that he may catch a glimpse of what lay between her thighs. The hair matches her head. Good. “At least, cleverer than you’d think, bein’ from these parts and all.”

“Hm.” He’s not really listening, truth be told—if he wanted conversation, there are at least a hundred people he’d choose to engage with before he ever bothered with a whore.

Emboldened by boredom, he reaches out, allows his hand to fall to the hollow spaces between her ribs just beneath her upraised arm, to cup the meagre weight of one of those tits with a thumb and drag up, up, up to feel the nipple stiffen under his touch. She sighs, pushing into him barely, a tacit encouragement that doesn’t overstate her eagerness but invites more. A consummate professional.

“B’sides,” she says, breathier now, lower in tone, “the rich people’ve got plenty of Realm’s Delights and People’s Princesses over in them pretty whorehouses on Silk Street. What about Flea Bottom, eh? Lotsa poor folk want to fuck a royal just as bad. Can make a lot’ve coin that way, too.”

“I imagine you can,” he replies dryly.

‘Tis no surprise that men want to pretend their cocks are buried in Rhaenyra for but a moment—he’s long been one of them, after all—though the idea that you are in the minds of such scum when release pools fast and heavy in their stones sends frissons of vexation throbbing through his bloodstream. That anger, so quick to mingle with desire, fuels his cock to full mast.

“Well, pet”—he delivers the address with a sharp twist to the teat he’d been fondling—“care to earn a few coin more?”

“Thought you’d never ask, Your ‘Ighness.”

With a saucy wink, she pushes herself off the chaise, holding a hand out to him. He accepts the implicit offer, allowing her to lead him through the open area and onward.

At first, he presumes they are headed toward one of the cordoned-off spaces—but then, she continues, pulling him gently but unerringly to the narrow staircase. A boon indeed, to be a Prince. It seems he’ll be receiving the royal treatment, after all.

The chambers in question are not at all pleasant—with creaking floorboards, the pervasive scent of mildew and a faint squeaking that indicates a rather significant rodent problem, it is a far cry from the luxurious standards he is accustomed to in higher-end establishments. But the bedframe seems solid; the mattress unsoiled; the pillows serviceable enough. He does not intend to linger.

He seats himself in the chair by the hearth, angled toward the bed, and readies himself for a show.

The whore stops before him. “You’ve a liking for the elder one, don’t you, my Prince? I don’t act for the littlest yet, but the middle one’s getting quite popu—”

Daemon interrupts, trying not to shift uncomfortably at the mention of Rhaenyra—of you. “That’s fine.”

With a wave of the hand, he commands her to do away with her attire. She makes speedy work of the buttons affixing the front closed, beginning to shrug off the sheer fabric so that her thin shoulders reveal themselves more and more. The smug half-smile and the cock of her hip lends the performance a breadth of flirtation, furthered by her impish little shimmy as the cloth catches on the twin swells upon her chest.

He stops her with a sigh.

“No,” he corrects, gut heating at the crestfallen look that overtakes her visage. “Again, but more…” He casts about for the right descriptor.

“Nervous?” she offers, immediately adopting a pose of diffidence, arms curling inward to tuck her gown back over her exposed skin.

“Hm.” He nods once.

Nervous. A shy, soft little mouse-girl, ready to be snatched up by a predator…

The whore hunches slightly, eyes shifting flightily about the room, never once settling on him as she slowly, slowly tugs down the dress, hands folding over her tits to conceal them from view. Shades of lavender puddle around her hips, sliding effortlessly over protruding bone and onto the ground with a whisper, exposing a neat thatch of silver curls below her belly. Her knees clench tight, twisting urgently to prevent his gaze from reaching the prize that lays between them.

“There we are. Very pretty.”

A muted, bashful curve of the lips. “You—you think so?”

“Turn around.” She spins on her heel, hair spilling molten down her back to kiss the roundness where her torso meets her legs. Lovely. For a chit as lean as she is, she most certainly has a nice arse. “On your hands and knees.” The girl pads over to the bed, making brief play at tentativeness before crawling into his desired posture. “Bend—ah, that’s it,” he says, ogling greedily as she bows her spine to raise her cunt up higher, fluttering in greeting as the cooler air hits. “Look at you.”

She moans softly when his hands fall to her arsecheeks, thumbs sliding down to spread and lift where she is most protected. The petals shielding her hungry little core peel apart slowly, hastened by his thumbs digging into the meat of her. Mm. Valyrian cunt, that is. Regardless of bastardy, Daemon knows what the blood of old looks like, feels like.

He is dizzy with it—the sight of it, the smell of it, heady and ripe for the taking. “Call me ‘Uncle’, won’t you, pet?”

“Mm.” She whines, hitching back before she remembers the game afoot, aborts her impatient little overture. But that cunt—flexing, wet, spitshine little doll cunt, peasant whore or no—doesn’t lie. “Yes, Uncle!”

Grunting, he fumbles one-handed with his laces, near to bursting already. Yes, Uncle, high-pitched, breathy-sweet, precious and fearful and wanting and—and he must remember what he is here for. What she is here for. She cries out when he delivers a speedy strike to her rump that flushes the flesh a pleasing pink, the colour of dewy cheeks and new-bloomed blossoms and childlike innocence.

“Did that hurt?” he taunts, landing another blow to the same spot and delighting in the garbled whimper it forces from the girl.

“No”—she squeals at the next slap, corrective this time—“I mean, yes, Uncle. It hurts.”

Though she cannot see his face, he bares his teeth, a smile that is more menacing than enticing. “This cunt tells me a different story. You’ve soaked the sheets—look at this mess.”

She’s barely wet her thighs, but the exaggeration heats his blood almost to boiling. “I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as you will be.” He is forced to unbutton his surcoat and discard it on the floor to dispel the mist of perspiration clinging to his skin and undershirt, suddenly ravenous. He’s toyed with her long enough. “I could just slide right in, couldn’t I?”

He tests the statement with little ceremony, prodding one then two fingers straight to the knuckle. Save for the quiet yelp she emits, the entry is smooth, unresisting, nearly proving to undo the illusion he has stirred up. Soft, warm, drenched cunt—too easy, but it’s better than nothing at all. He curls the digits, hooking firmly down toward her navel and drawing forth a louder noise, startled, less controlled. It spurs her to speak.

“Yes, a slut”—she nods her head vociferously before catching herself at the warning dig of nails into her sensitised flesh, abruptly changing course—“I mean, no! I’m not a slut!”

So many errors from this one. For a commoner, it’d do.

“No.” He lets the blunder be. Removing himself from her passage, he allows his hand to fall carelessly upon her rear again, the moisture clinging to his skin harshening the arc into a blow. “You’re a good little maiden, aren’t you?”

“Yes!” she pants, raising her hips higher.

Her arse is a shade of bright now, the subtle glow of pomegranates, of red little tongues, of dusky hot innards spilled forth by the blade under the searing sun. His handprints mark all over the flesh, a symbol of proprietorship that will last longer than this night.

“Dripping more than a used whore.” He scoffs, spurred by the sight of her, shuffling up on his knees to seat himself behind her. The slight lands perfectly; she flinches at his words, and it is oh­­-so-easy to pretend it is the hasty advancement of his cock notching at her entry that incites such reaction. “If there’s one thing Uncle’s very good at, it’s turning maidens into whores. Would you like to find out how?”

He is already rocking his way inside in increments, taking just one moment to savour the feel of her grasping cunt-lips mouthing along the heft of him, greedy, eager to start work and perform the duty they’ve been tasked to. Hissing, he clutches roughly at her hips, pulling her backward.

She pants, breath stuttering. “Oh, I—”

“Sh, just take it, take it.”

He presses down between her shoulders, leaning his weight into it and pinning her to the bed as he comes flush with her form, lodged deep within pulsing walls. The groan he lets out is involuntary, an exhalation of utmost relief at finding himself once more in the depths of familiar territory.

“Easier than I thought,” he croons, holding her firm despite her attempts to wiggle up, out, away from his hold. “Perhaps you’ve been dishonest. Only sluts have such loose cunts.”

A shaky gasp. “I’m a maiden, I promise!”

And the sound of it is enough to make him forget where he is, when, who he is with and why.

Yes, a maiden, a perfect little maiden whore just for me, made for me—

He chokes on the rising wave of pleasure, lowering himself onto your back and covering you in him, shielding you with his body, protecting you with himself as he takes and takes and takes what he wants from your body, willing and wanton and his. Your hair ripples like moonlight over water with his every thrust, harsh and frantic, desperate to reach his end.

“And now you’re mine.” Daemon’s muscles strain and he can barely hear himself above the pitch of his heart galloping faster and faster. He tucks his chin to your shoulder, ear against lips that cannot stop mewling shrill and besieged, using your juddering frame as traction to force himself deeper, further, more. “Say it!”

“I’m yours, Uncle!” you bleat, lost kitten dewy-eyed and damp-cheeked, fingers grappling with the covers above your head. “I’m—Uncle—”

For some strange, unknown reason, it rings hollow, the fantasy blurring at the edges and allowing the cold touch of reality to slowly trickle in. Not quite right.

“No.” He redirects her in coarse tones, unwilling to forsake the illusion. “Call me ‘kepus’, call me—”

“Kepus,” you—she—you cry, cunt suctioning tight around him. It’s hot within you, unbearably slick, your walls knotting vigorously to the contours of his shaft with each hard snap forward and rough glide back. The scent of it, raw and heady and humid, fills his nose and lungs and clouds his mind. “You’re going too deep—ah!”

“That’s just your tiny baby cunt making room,” he thinks he coos, but really, he’s snarling through clenched teeth down at you, precious girl, sweetest niece, cock cleaving straight through the hollow spaces inside you and gut tightening with a rising, rising—“pretty little cunt just for Kepa’s cock, all for me—”

His release is swift, sudden, arriving too soon and ending too abruptly, prying your name from his lips when the ecstasy reaches its fleeting summit. Still, he lets his mass collapse upon you, hips pistoning to the beat of his climax as he groans his relief. And then, it’s over. The ember fizzles, and he is left with sticky, cooling skin and the feeling of a sweating form below him. Without thought, he sighs into the crook of your neck, nostrils searching for the rose oil that lingers on your skin even now—

Only to find naught but the trace of cheap lye soap. Only to remember that the girl quivering beneath him is not you, but some nameless whore. Only to realise that he’d been fantasising of you this entire time, of fucking you fast and forceful until you knew nothing but the sensation of him on you, in you, your kepa taking you and claiming you and keeping you.

—‘polite in the innocent, trusting way a maiden is like to view him, a delicate beauty reminiscent of the finest illustrated manuscripts, an impeccable figure below all that ridiculous finery’—

Fuck. Fuck. He had called out your name.

—‘you are his little niece. It is different with you, he won’t, he can’t’—

More than that. He had all but declared you for himself. In a fucking brothel. He’d never dare allow his true inclinations to be known in the past. Not even with Mysaria, with Rhaenyra had he shown such base need. Such weakness. But you…

—‘no more than titillation. He doesn’t truly wish to take you, let alone make you his wife’—

How lack-witted he is. Barely an hour ago, he had disavowed attributing any sort of significance to his lusts, denoting them as little more than the reflexive whims of a man accustomed to sampling anything or anyone he wishes. Already he has proven himself incorrect!

No. This is far, far more than mere titillation. The precise degree to which his desires afflict him—well, this he doesn’t know. He can only hope the girl will uphold the custom of her line of work and keep quiet, hope that rumours will not abound of the Rogue Prince’s latest fascination.

Hope that word will not make way to you. Such tales reaching your ears is the very last thing he wants.

Questions he cannot answer churn through his mind as he extracts himself from the whore, deposits coin on the mattress, ignores her overtures and stumbles out of the room, wondering what the fuck has just happened.

Read the story on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42100623/chapters/120367177

Taglist (😭 thank you!):

Now in the comments!

[typingfool]

𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀 / 𝐏𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐌𝐀 ;; wednesday addams

Pairing ;; Wednesday Addams x gn!winged!Reader

outline —; Confessing to Wednesday Addams is... something else.

word count —: 2.3k

WARNINGS —: cursing, SUGGESTIVE, LIKE VERY.

themes / tags —: reader is gender-neutral. divina is non-binary.

A/N: reblogs and comments are appreciated. there are some other fics i wanted to write for wednesday. have some gender-neutral divina and reader as dorm mates! and some wings too, may i add. enjoy :)

There is no number or word that can describe love. The only way to describe it is to feel it. To be in it. Similarly, love isn’t a never ending circle, going around and saying the same thing. For centuries, science has explained it too – the love for friends, the love for lovers, the love for parents, the love for certain objects. 

In history, the Greeks have words for love. Sitting in history lessons in one of the many rooms in Nevermore, your wings folded, your eyes staring directly at the board, as the teacher spoke. A school mate, similar to you with wings of down feathers, smiled in your direction, staring intently. 

Some didn’t seem to care about the knowledge they’re learning, some were confused (one of them being you, though, you were just ecstatic that all these people were learning that love isn’t just love). Some were guilty – you knew because you felt them, you felt that they never ‘love’ the way it is expected. 

“Ludus is the playful form of love. This may describe your type of romance; teasing, flirting, and teenage love.” The teacher explained, dragging her tone through the room, the class is quiet, accepting the new form of knowledge into their minds. 

The first period class really had you smiling. A swelled understandment filled your stomach as if it was thirsty for affection and attention. Who knew the Greeks could understand you? In ways more than one. Besides its occasional tales of myths and legends (that you personally indulge in, though too embarrassed to say anything about it), you were surprised that this knowledge is never passed down unto society. 

Only ‘friendship’ and ‘love’ were understood. If the normies altogether had a voice they would probably say; What else is there to it? 

The thought made you snicker. Hours passed; preoccupied students were busy shuffling the hallways, getting ready for the falling night. You watched through the infirmary window as the courtyard emptied out. “You bird!” The nurse called, looking at you with wide eyes. This did not surprise you but it did make you jump in your chair, your feathers in alert mode as you felt ants seeping through your skin. “I told you, this girl, here,” She pointed to Yoko, who snickered in response, hiding her laughter. “She is okay! No need to crowd this place! Look at your wings- Giant!” She reached her hand out, pinching a feather, making you hiss in staggerment. 

“Okay! Okay! I’m just worried about my friend.” You said, cowering out of the door, waving Yoko a goodbye before she could touch the ends of your feathers too. You huffed, wings fluttering in a shiver. The thumping of your own boots thundered in your ears, silencing any form of thoughts that raced through your mind. Silencing the outside world for a while, walking to your dorm subconsciously. 

For a moment, you ceased in a quiet hallway, contemplating whether to comfort Enid in her time of distress. Pending for a second that your wings enclosed in a relaxed position, folding itself. I don’t need to think about this situation, you mentally facepalmed. 

You headed to your dorm, waving a slight hello to Divina. They didn’t let you pass the window though, blocking your view of the outside world before you could fly out. Worry flooded their eyes as they frantically blurted out a word. “The nurse wouldn’t let me-”

You intercepted, putting a hand on their shoulder. “Let you see her? Me too but I’ve seen, Tanaka is fine, it’s just an allergic reaction.” You calmly stated, your wings subconsciously wrapping around them into a hug. They wrapped their arms around your shoulders too, unable to decide whether to hold your waist or back. “She’ll be out before you know it.” You pulled away, smiling. 

Divina nodded, stepping out of the window. “Tell me how your confession goes.” They teased, opening their closet and picking out a jacket. They headed to the bathroom. 

You opened the window, searching for Ophelia Hall in the many buildings until your eyes landed on the half-rainbow cobwebbed window. “Not yours to know,” You yelled in a responsive tone, hands on the railing, keeping your body balanced, poking your head out of the cold air. Making sure that no one is watching, you search left to right as if you were checking a road before crossing. “Nightshades again?” You asked, pushing your head in, grabbing a jacket of your own. 

Divina fixed their hair, responding with a nod. “At least look decent, who are you meeting? Enid or Addams?” They blindly asked. 

Disbelief left your mouth as a laugh. You loudly shut your closet, running up to the window, shutting it down as if anyone could hear from your own dorm. “Do you think Wednesday would care what I wear?” You emphasized clearly on her name, grabbing a hair brush. You rubbed the back of your neck before remembering the reason for your arrival at their dorm. “And anyway, I wanted to see Enid, she’s upset because of…” Your voice trailed, realizing that Divina is the person you’re talking to. You didn’t want to upset her any further, though luckily, she was busy adjusting her necklace to even listen to you. 

Divina smiled playfully. “Well, people say she’s allergic to color. But honestly, she’s pulling off the black and white outfits.” They replied, shrugging. The sneakers they wore dragged a rushed sound. Though it stopped when they turned on their heel to face you again. “Yet, here you are, putting no effort into your fits.” 

You huffed, rolling your eyes, as you leaned into the mirror. “I’m pretty decent, if you ask me. Or Wednesday.” You happily affirmed. 

Divina shrugged in defeat, waving you off. “Just make sure to be there, Bianca hates you.” 

Shaking your head, you opened the window again, jumping up the railing, spreading your wings. “Tell her the feeling is mutual.” With that, you leaped out, snickering at the response ‘that’s jackshit, Xavier hates you too’, spreading your wings to bring yourself up to the window once more, satisfied that Divina took in the words you most definitely meant. You carefully pulled down the window, leaving a big enough gap for your hands to fit in. 

You flew higher, the cold air reaching your whole body. Jacket or not, the cold bothered you. Though, post-autumn has finally worn out. The start of cold winds were scaring you for the snow. And god, were you thankful that you didn’t have to shovel it all? Yes, of course, you were. 

Your feet landed on the cold ground, as wind slightly pushed you back. You flap your wings in the process, creating a whirlwind that nearly knocked out the musical note stand. Thankfully, you weren’t too far to not catch it and disrupt a loud bang. Cold seeped through your footwarmers, each step you took warmed up your body eventually. Since, you couldn’t fit through the window (credits to the wings you carried), instead, you knocked, poking your head in. 

“Enid!” You called on excitedly, only to find her bed empty, neatly arranged. Your head turned to her roommate’s bed. Next to it is a dissatisfied Wednesday, her hands briefly above the typewriter. “Where is she?” You asked, emphasizing your question even more as you raised a brow. 

Wednesday sighed, standing up from her chair. “Sulking and complaining to Ajax or Divina,” She explained, leading you out of the window by giving your forehead a gentle flick. You mouthed an ‘oh’ shape, knowing where that would lead to. Your mind wandered if Ajax could comfort Enid in such a way, because, knowing him — it would be an easy yet ineffective display, mostly because of his tiny, little serpents. 

The scent of Wednesday Addams attained your senses, though, the spinning of the glass window in front of you distracted it. You can see a new addition to the dorm; a giant detective board, with pictures of disgusting pieces of body parts, it almost made you drop and vomit. Almost, not until Wednesday inquired with a furrowed brow (you could tell); “Why is it your concern?” 

You turned, glancing to the back of her head. Walking up to her was easy, taking mental note not to stand too far nor too close, figuring that Wednesday didn’t like close and intimate proximities. “She was upset that Yoko got an allergic reaction again.” You answered truthfully. You saw her shake gently. A swift chance of courage shook your presence. “I also came here to talk to you actually.” 

Wednesday’s mouth dropped into a firm line, almost frowning. Her solemn face returned, however, when she looked at you. “Make it quick.” She commanded. 

You beamed, wings fluttering in excitement, and Wednesday knew it was going to be a long talk, or night, if you made your move. You propped yourself up at the balcony, sitting comfortably, your eyes straightforward. “Don’t you admire your parent’s love for each other?” 

Wednesday is right, she mentally prepared herself for her own upcoming answer, a tiny voice in her throat buried itself until she gave it full thought. “I do, why?” 

You bit your inner cheeks, nodding to your side, as you cleared your throat. “Their love is called Pragma; long standing love.” Shifting your sentences to something less obvious isn’t something you had me mind. “They might’ve had a friendship too, which is Philia.” 

Wednesday raised her brows, an inquiry isn’t something she’ll speak out in these conversations. But then again, she is an Addams, her opinions most likely matter because of the pressure that she instills on them. “Friendship? Before marriage, there’s… friendship?” She tried not to show the hesitant tone that concluded her sentence, a rushed tone dragged the tension. 

You shook your head in a ‘no’, pushing your hair behind your ear. “Not just before marriage, no. It’s something you have before any type of romance.” Without the knowledge of whose dropping these words but you, yourself, obliged you to speak more. Wednesday seemed confounded in your knowledge, conflict reached blood, as it ran cold. 

The thought of you having experienced a friendship that turned into… whatever her parents had, or, as you called it; Philia and Pragma. She had to admit, bearing that sight is a nightmare. 

Grabbing your wrists, Wednesday stood in front of you, holding your waist as you involuntarily yelped without the support of your hand on the cold marble. Her fingers dug into your side, into your jacket, as her eyes trailed in confusion. The girl in front of you blinked, a stricken flick of anger visible in her expressions. “Have you ever loved someone like that?” Wednesday inquired, glancing up at you, she held your gaze, before averting her own. 

The pacing of your heart quickened, lup-dup, lup-dub, lup-dub, lup-dub, lup-dub. Without the huffed breaths, you would’ve fallen in peace. You were certain Wednesday couldn’t catch you, so you managed to stay alive. Taking a breath and moving closer, inch to inch with Wednesday Addams; nose nuzzled, minty breath of yours, mixed with the scent of… coffee? Something of the sort, you couldn’t tell due to your proximity. “You.” 

Surprisingly, Wednesday didn’t back away when you stepped in closer, she only closed the gap that accompanied the two of you. Catching your lips into hers, moving in sync with your own. Her other hand accompanied your lower back, rubbing it in circles. Your hands found freedom in her jaw, cold fingers against it, underlining the perfect structure. 

Wednesday pulled away, catching her breath, forehead against yours. She gave your lips another peck, which you reciprocated. Your eyes gently shut, recalling the last of what you could see was Wednesday’s half-shut eyes. A flooding warm of heat pulled your stomach down as she deepened the kiss. 

Ecstasy engulfed you and (hopefully) Wednesday. 

Forgetting that breathing existed is something you would’ve never forgotten, afterall, not after this. You needed air although worry didn’t cross your mind, not once, when this is happening. Nothing could be processed actually. The only thoughts that occupy your mind is Wednesday, Wednesday, Wednesday, Wednesday. 

You pulled away, chest heaving up and down for breaths, a still laugh erupting from your throat. “Who taught you how to kiss like that?” You asked, cockiness reached your lips, quirking upwards into a smile. You were pulled up with a jerk of her shoulders, diminishing the cruelty that settled on your lips, which were puffy and pink now. 

Wednesday settled in a firm hug, burying her face into your jacket. A quiet sniffle of laughter carefully rolled out of your tongue. She wrinkled her nose, bringing her chin to your shoulders. She responded, bringing her head up. “My parents, they always kiss in front me and my brother.” 

You nodded in understanding, a hum vibrating your chest in response. You closed your eyes in the warmth of her body near you, feeling a tug of your jacket with her fingers. The exposure of your warm, clothed skin to the wind did not make you please. Not until Wednesday’s mouth found closure in your skin, her warm tongue and soft lips sucking on it carefully. 

This made your eyes open in shock, a kept groan couldn’t contain itself, leaving your mouth with no permission. “Addams,” You meekly called, averting your eyes to the side, though, your head jerked up; giving her more skin to attack. “Someone- someone will notice.” You warned, fingers circling her back as an attempt to call after her. 

Wednesday obliged. Though, she smirked at it, noticing the bruise, pulling your jacket back to its place in your neck. A glimpse of visible purple marks accompanied it. An audible groan left your mouth, hiding your face to the side, as your wings wrapped the two of you. “What?” She asked, closely inspecting the wrapped wings that shook slightly. “Be thankful it’s not your lips, it would’ve been far worse.” She concluded. 

Goosebumps overtook your body. Jumping down from your spot, cautious as to not step on Wednesday. You hugged her closely. “What are we now?” 

Wednesday raised a brow, you were sure a tender smile attended her features. “Pragma and Philia, as you said.” 

♡ PLEASE LIKE AND REBLOG TO SUPPORT ME.

[cupids-chamber]

— "HOW THEY MEET THEIR TARA/HOW THEY KNOW IT'S YOU" (DORM LEADERS) & TARA AU

What are the conditions in where they know it's you, how they feel.. What are their next moves?..

A/N: I haven't seen any other creator make this particular au, so I made it, it's basically the au of an manwha I read! (Though I have changed multiple details, and will continue adding my own twist) If you have questions/requests about this au, feel free to ask me!

GENDER NEUTRAL READER WARNINGS: Slight yandere themes (Implied in some parts)

Astarol, a God's perfect creation.. a demigod of sorts, they were blessed with everything a human being could desire, and lived among mortals.. yet they had one fatal flaw..

Astarol's were cursed to fall for a Tara, otherwise known as human's, it all started when the very first Astarol fell for a demon, causing them to be kicked out of heaven, as they had been tainted in God's eyes..

They say when an Astarol first locks eyes with their Tara they'd know immediately, as if their entire world is standing in front of them... However, this was heavily one-sided.. as a Tara would never truly feel the same way.

Vil's biggest pride was his elegance, and sheer perfection, it didn't take much for him to get what he desired, being an Astarol he was blessed at birth, with riches and power beyond one's wildest imagination.

He had met his Tara in his mid 20's, the moment he locked eyes with you', he was aware that you were his.. the gesture didn't last long as you looked away without much care.. it irked him on the contrary, most would glance his way for prolonged periods of time, hoping he'd notice them.. yet you seemed not to care in the slightest!

The way his gaze lingered on you, as you walked away without much care, exiting the gardens... he almost forgot he was in public! He was attending Marchioness Elodie's tea party.. he hoped no one noticed him losing his composure.

On that note, he should find out who you were.. he wanted to see you again- No.. he needed to see you again.. it felt odd, something had changed..

Riddle grew up quite humbler then the average Astarol, sure he had everything within arms reach.. Yet his mother prevented him from doing so.. he wasn't particularly attached to anything, in the slightest.

He had come to enjoy sweets and whatnot, once he of course gained freedom, after his mothers.. rather miserable end.

Riddle's mind was quite elsewhere, he never imagined the thought of finding his Tara, something many questioned him for.. he had someone predestined just for him. And yet he didn't care for it.

Being closed off it was rare to see Riddle going out and meeting others, staying within his closed circle of friends he had made during his childhood, and a handful of others he had met along the way in his journey's, and business endeavors.

During a Business party, Riddle found himself out in the balcony, catching a breather, something he'd often do in crowded events such as this. He took a deep breath, taking another sip of the alcohol free beverage he had picked up.. God knew how bad he was with alcohol.. That's when he looked down, and saw you...

Your eyes locked for but a moment, yet he couldn't comprehend how he felt.. his world felt full.. and colorful.. so sweet.. like a tart, on a summer day.. He couldn't look away.. watching you till you disappeared from view. That's when he knew.. that you were his.. and he didn't plan on letting you go.

Malleus was a prince of a highly respected family and a Astarol, he was praised from left to right, yet was viewed unapproachable. It came as no surprise as he was a standoff-ish person, and preferred staying in a close knit group of friends.

However, he did make an effort in attending certain events and socializing, after all he had an image to maintain.. And he planned to keep it intact..

That's when he saw you!... dancing with someone else.. the ball was crowded yet by accident the two of locked eyes, and his gaze continued lingering on your form, he felt as if he had just seen his entire world, right in front of him.. stolen from him..

His gaze turned towards your partner.. his stern yet soft gaze turned into a glare, as he dug holes to the person's back.. He had hoped his concerns were for nothing..

Calling his aide to do a background check on you.. even if that thing was of any value to you... who would refuse the words of the future king..

Leona was the second child of a wealthy kingdom.. however, unlike his brother.. he was an Astarol.. A fact, he'd prefer keeping hidden, yet his pride refuted such an idea.

He watched the crowds from a distance, staying cooped up within his palace.. he preferred to rest in and never entertained the idea of attending every single social gathering he was invited too. His days were quite peaceful for an Astarol.. except for the day's his nephew would barge into his home as if it was his own.. Clinging onto him, as if he was a magnet.

Unluckily, as Leona had gotten older and received his own title, land, and wealth.. he was required to attend more and more events.. be it for conventional reasons, or to maintain a certain relationship between families..

It was at one of these many events that Leona had first laid eyes on you, it was the national founding day and the nobles were as lively as ever. Approaching the prince ever so often.. to be brutally honest, he couldn't care in the slightest.. wishing that he could go home..

He prayed that some sort of interesting event would happen today, something that could have kept him entertained.. and it did.. He locked eyes with you for but a brief moment, as you entered the palace, late as ever..

He grinned, were you stunned by his beauty? Taking aback by his looks by any chance.. 'Hey!?!?! Why were you looking away?'

Azul prided his title as a Astarol, he had wealth beyond anyone's imagination, and connections with many outside his continent. He had lived quite luxuriously, and it would seem as if he could care less about his Tara, but that was a very wrong assumption.. Azul wanted nothing more but to meet his Tara.

Someone who was meant for him, predestined to be with him. The thought filled him up with joy, he spent many sleepless nights wondering of the day he'd come to meet you face to face.. He wondered how it felt like, meeting your Tara..

Azul, was a closed off and hard to reach person.. It was difficult to book and appointment with him, and you'd have to be lucky, powerful, wealthy, or even have extremely good connections, to even dream of attending one of his events.. Except for the yearly charity event that the Ashengrotto family holds every year, which was open to everyone, all other events held by the family were private, grand yet held for only the most prestigious and elite in society.

Azul often hoped that at one of these events, or even the charity event, will be where he first meets you.. Yet his hopes were in vain.. Floyd had forced the poor Astarol to attend the opening of the new opera house with him, and at then he locked eyes with you, you were in the crowd with who he assumed was your immediate family or friends.

The moment was brief and you quickly turned another way, breaking contact.. but it was enough time for the lovesick Astarol to know who you were....

Idia was born into a highly prestigious family.. and he was an Astarol no less! Surely, he'd be a prideful and full of confidence- Well it's not like Idia wasn't confident.. He just preferred the idea of not-mixing with humans.

He viewed himself as a worthy being, quite above others.. he didn't even think of his Tara to be quite honest.. For a Tara is known to be the biggest curse to an Astarol.. or so he's overheard from the staff.

He grew up with high intelligence, and was viewed with respect.. He had access to all the luxuries one would crave for, and continued making a name for himself, with his many inventions that he had created over the past years. Publicly, he was loved, as all Astarol's are, yet he rarely made contact with the outside world, he preferred locking himself away in his study, creating various new devices to help with everyone's day to day life. Truly a genius of the time..

Yet like all noble's, Idia had to make an appearance in Royal banquets.. and some other events too, where he tried his best avoiding full crowds and staying out of the limelight... but.. while Idia planned his not-so graceful escape from the crowds, he met face to face with you.. locking eyes..

Something in him changed at that very moment.. He watched as you.. a human quickly excused yourself and left him without much care, his gaze lingered onto your form... He expected to be acknowledged.. rarely if not never was he NOT acknowledged.. He was an Astarol.. And a famous figure.. Why weren't you acknowledging him? Don't you realize what you are??

At that very moment Idia failed to remember an important fact.. how only Astarol's knew who their Tara was.. not the other way around..

Kalim was born with wealth beyond one's wildest dreams, and his parents had taught him all about his duties as an heir.. and an Astarol... He grew up witnessing how in love his parents truly were, and how he hoped his relationship would be similar if not exact to the one his parent's had.. Their love was so indefinitely perfect and sweet.. Kalim couldn't have preferred anything else..

Kalim grew up with everything.. he wanted or needed.. if he so much as looked at a item with interest, he'd receive it. And he carried that mindset well into adulthood... even when it game to friendships. No one ever brought up his behavior and wrongs.. Making him all the more oblivious to the wrongs he might've done.. And no one would tell him about his wrongs, his power was overwhelming to the normal human beings who craved nothing more but peace.

Kalim threw luxurious parties, often... his spending of course came with a limit, he had set up personally.. making sure he spent within the limits he had set.. After all, though he had flaws.. he was still taught and grew up learning to be a responsible heir.. despite his imperfections when carrying out tasks.

At one of these over the top parties, he had met you.. locking eyes almost instantly.. he couldn't help but get lost in your gaze, even when you had walked away.. paying no mind to the figure who fell hopelessly for you.. at that very moment...

© cupids-chamber, do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.

[bestworstcase]

Sooo, I've been going through some of your posts, reading up on your personal opinions on certain characters I like. I'm trying to understand why you think certain things, so sorry if I come off as rude at any point. There's likely some posts I've missed lol

Uhhh, I'll be the first to admit that I don't agree with most, if not all of your takes, but regardless I find your train of thought pretty interesting cause you do make a few points I agree with.

One thing I wanna ask is- why do you see Ozpin as someone who's a needlessly paranoid religious zealot that doesn't understand Salems point of view and is demonizing her for basically no reason?

I've probably bastardized your opinion somewhere in my attempt to paraphrase it, but I'm really curious since your opinion is pretty much the exact opposite of mine lol.

Feel free to ignore the tangent I'm gonna go on, I just want to share my opinions and debate a little (I need a little mental stimulation lol).

Personally, I honestly don't see Oz as a religious zealot, or as someone who follows the GoL unquestionably. His first reaction to the GoL offering him his task is to say- "No." Oz, thinking Salem is dead, does not care about what the GoL wants or needs from him. And when Oz takes his task (which imo he was manipulated into by the GoL) and reincarnates, he immediately ignores the GoL's incredibly vague warning and goes looking for Salem. Not only that, but when he's asked by Ruby if he has a plan to defeat Salem/unite humanity, he says he doesn't. Plus, he actively refers to his immortality as a curse, despite the GoL not framing it that way. Oz deems his task impossible, and has thus given up on it. Imho, none of this says that he unquestionably follows the Gods. Maybe he had more faith in the beginning, but by referring to his immortality a curse, he's basically insulting the GoL's task. Oz isn't as vindictive or as hateful towards them as Salem is (at least not yet, with v9 and all), but imo he's definitely not fond of them, or at least doesn't hold them in such high regard anymore. The only reason why he continued with his task in the first place is because he was already there with Salem. He doesn't exactly have a choice now, and now he's given up with it, just trying to keep the peace. And, if Jinn is as unreliable as a narrator as you say and the lost fable is from Oz's perspective, it paints the Brothers as petty and manipulative and changing their mind at the drop of a hat. The same is true in the fairytales (which I need to read in full, I currently only know a wiki summary so my knowledge is limited, I won't lie), which Ozpin helps create. I really don't think these things would exist if Oz worshipped them so thoroughly and unquestionably. It's very likely he sees them as petty and manipulative brothers whose fights result in needless death.

I'd talk more, but I don't want to make this ask too long 😅 I think your perspective is interesting, even though I don't agree with it. If/when you answer this, is it okay if I reblog so I can share my own perspective more? It's fine if not, I just like debating (in a friendly, respectful way ofc) different points like this. I really enjoy Oz as a character. He's far from perfect but I think he gets a bad rep, some of it just being different perspectives and others being completely unfair. No one can agree on him so I have fun reading lol

you’re fine—& if you want to rb with your own thoughts feel free.

to start with ozpin’s paranoia, aside from the obvious factor that he explicitly does not trust anyone in his own inner circle and justifies keeping secrets on the grounds that every ally is a betrayal waiting to happen: there is zero evidence that salem has been waging a sustained campaign against him ever since the collapse of the ozlem kingdom. 

in the lost fable, ozma sees two beowolves attacking his settlement and assumes that salem must have sent them: jinn implies that he sees her hand behind every grimm, hence “her presence was always felt.” 

but… not every grimm in the world is under salem’s control. we know this. the grimm that attack the argus express are not hers—they’re wild grimm drawn to the relic. salem had no knowledge of where the relic was or that oz had reincarnated until hazel told her. similarly, the leviathan that attacks argus later is attracted by cordovin (the WOR episode on grimm implies that grimm are drawn to violence and violent emotion specifically). she didn’t send the grimm of mountain glenn to vale; she sent cinder to kill a child on international television to incite mass hysteria that attracted grimm in huge numbers. and during her siege of atlas, it’s noted repeatedly that salem’s forces have not advanced, but wild stragglers are trickling into mantle, drawn by the fear in the crater.

so ozma, in assuming that salem is the mastermind orchestrating every grimm attack in the world, wildly overestimates her actual influence and blames her for the natural behavior of the grimm. 

at the same time, over this period of time between their kingdom collapsing and the beginning of the story, ozma has been phenomenally successful in hiding salem’s existence from the world and erasing her from history. there used to be legends about her everywhere—the witch in the woods who commanded dark powers among the beasts and monsters—and those are gone. before ruby revealed her existence to the world, no one had the slightest idea that she existed. 

the only way for ozma to bury her like that is if salem herself did not do anything to draw attention to herself and stayed very far away from civilization. ozma is just one person, and there are significant gaps in his presence and influence whenever he dies and reincarnates. there is no way he could have kept salem a secret if she periodically razed his cities to the ground or made overtures to groups like the white fang on a regular basis. what she’s done in the story isn’t a pattern of behavior: salem calls the fall of beacon her first move.

and then in v9? this happens:

SUMMER: You know how Ozpin gets. Mystery after mystery… TAIYANG: And when it turns out to be yet another run-of-the-mill patrol, it’ll be— BOTH: “I always preferred discretion!”

during summer’s time as a huntress, ozpin regularly sent her and her teammates on Urgent Top Secret Missions on short notice in the dead of night only for them to turn out to be… nothing. yet another run-of-the-mill patrol. ozpin was fighting a war that salem didn’t start to dignify with her participation until she met summer rose.

<- paranoid behavior.

but the real uh, meat of this is the zealotry.

to be clear, i think that before all the tragedy, both salem and ozma were religious and had faith in the brothers—i’ve written plenty about salem’s religiosity in the lost fable so i won’t belabor that point, but she believed in the gods until they shattered her faith by, you know, condemning her to eternal suffering because she worshipped both of them. and i see no reason to think that ozma didn’t have the same faith. the same flowers that salem brings as an offering to the god of light are hung up on the walls of their home; this was a religious household. 

so. when the god of light wakes him up, ozma believes what light tells him without question—by which i mean, he literally does not ask questions. light says that humankind will rise again, a mere fraction of what their predecessors were, and that they if they are not changed when the brothers return, they will be judged irredeemable and obliterated. ozma does not question the truth or rightness of this premise. he’s frightened and sorrowful, but he doesn’t question the god of light’s implication that humankind, as it is now, does not deserve to exist and needs redemption. 

his refusal is not predicated on a rejection of the mandate itself, and he’s very polite and respectful about it: “i’m sorry, but that world just isn’t as dear to me without her. if i may, i’d like to return to the afterlife to see salem.” ozma does not want to be the one to do this—but he accepts without question the idea that someone must, and he deliberately leaves the door open for the god of light to command him to do it (“if i may”). he’s a religious man; he’s prepared to do what his god asks of him, even as he hopes he that he won’t have to.

(the god of light absolutely manipulated him—and he used ozma’s faith, ozma’s belief in light’s benevolence and just nature, to do it.)

and once ozma reincarnates, he actually does heed the warning the god of light gave him: jinn notes that he travels for years, hearing rumors about “the witch” wherever he goes, before he gives in and decides that “he needed to see what she had become.” the god of light told him that the woman he loved was gone, and what was left of her would only bring him pain, and he believed that because, again, he had no reason not to…

…until he reunited with salem. that is when ozma began to experience doubts, because while salem had physically transformed, she was still herself. still the woman he loved. she still loved him. she hadn’t changed; they rebuilt her cottage together and lived happily. and that made him uncomfortable, because it cast doubt onto everything else the god of light had said to him. if light was wrong (or lying) about salem, what else did he lie about?

“though time passed and all seemed well, ozma’s conversation with the god of light still lingered in his mind. he had found happiness, but humanity seemed more divided than ever…”

the stakes could not be higher; the fate of the entire world is on ozma’s shoulders. in his heart of hearts, he knows salem, he wants to believe salem, but… if he trusts her and he’s wrong, the world will be condemned to annihilation. so he’s torn. he can’t stop worrying about it. how could the god of light be wrong? why would his god lie to him? but he’s happy with salem. but the world seems more divided than ever and it’s his responsibility to fix it. what’s the truth?

ozma is an intensely anxious person. he thinks fear is the one truly universal experience because he himself is afraid all the time. in the lost fable, he’s scared of the happiness he finds with salem because he cannot. stop. thinking. about the god of light saying “man will be found irredeemable and your world will be wiped from existence.” but he’s also too scared to tell salem the truth, or ask her for help, because the god of light also implicitly warned him that she was damned. he can’t bring himself to leave her, but he also can’t bring himself to believe her, and if she is damned then he wants to save her, too, not just the world.

so he carefully raises “humanity is divided” as a problem he would like to solve, without giving her any context, and when she answers “we can do that!” he decides to just… go along with her first suggestion in the hope that he can eventually ease her into accepting the rest of the divine mandate. because he loves her. because he’s terrified of losing her, and his faith in the god of light is in conflict with his love, and he tries desperately to square that circle by redeeming her.

which fails, because salem’s faith in the brothers shattered long ago and she sees them clearly as the monstrous tyrants they truly were—so she rejects the mandate entirely and asks ozma to reject it with her.

here is the part where my interpretation of ozma depends heavily on my interpretation of salem, because:

i do not think salem was proposing genocide; i think by “replace them” she meant “replace the gods who demand redemption,” in accordance with her longstanding ambition of overthrowing the brothers, and

i think ozma knew that.

frankly, in my opinion, this is the most charitable possible interpretation of what ozma does when salem holds out her hand because HE HESITATES. he looks at her hand, frowning, and then his eyes flick downward and to the side as his expression crumbles into indecision. ozma wants to take her hand. he wants to stay with her. so either salem said “let’s kill everyone!” and ozma a) seriously considered it for a moment and b) did not challenge that idea or demand an explanation from her, or… salem made her point clumsily but both she and ozma understood what she meant, and what she meant was “nothing the god of light told you matters anymore, the brothers aren’t here, why should we spend our lives trying to redeem these humans when we could make a paradise without the gods, like we planned?”

(since you’ve not read the fairytale anthology, i’ll note that “what they could never be” is a paraphrase of the closing lines of the shallow sea: “And the descendants of the Humans who turned away from our god’s great gift have always carried envy in their hearts. To this day, they resent us for reminding them of what they are not and what they never can be.” just as ozpin uses fairytales to make sense of his life and ease people into his conspiracy, i think salem quoted from this old oral tradition to express her opinion of the brothers; like the faunus in the story, she chose to leap into magical waters and was transformed into something new, and she believes that remnant has the potential to be the paradise the “old gods” failed to achieve. she’s implying that the brothers are envious of remnant and resent these humans—and her—for reminding them of their failures.) 

then… you know, they murder each other and kill their children and raze their own kingdom to the ground. and ozma wakes up behind somebody else’s eyes, again. he sacrificed everything and it shattered him and now he has nothing left except the mandate.

was it worth it?

the answer is no. the answer is that this world isn’t as dear to him without salem, and if the only way to save the world is to lose her, he can’t do it. he doesn’t want to. until the end is his song. “to live free or die, it’s all the same/the enemy was right, there’s no reclaiming/in waves of shame/we’re desperate to make amends/but through a simple soul we lie complacent”—like. he knows salem is a person. he knows she’s right about the brothers. he wants to make amends, but he doesn’t believe he can, because the man fucking despises himself. 

in his commentary on ‘the infinite man,’ ozpin describes the man—himself—as both a hero and a fool who made such grievous mistakes that to some he is a villain, and suggests that he may not be worthy of forgiveness. in ‘the girl in the tower,’ the character of ozma is simply called “the hero,” and in ozpin’s commentary he says that “if you look far enough ahead […] heroes may turn out to be villains.” he isn’t talking about salem. he’s talking about himself. he sees himself as the villain in her story, and taken as a whole ‘fairytales of remnant’ reads like a tortured apology to her more than anything; he closes with a story about humans breaking the sun and creating the moon, and in his commentary: “[people] not only replaced the sun, a celestial gift from the all-powerful god of light, but also improved upon it through their own ingenuity.”

he thinks it’s too late. if he could go back and do it again, he would take her hand, but the truth is that he didn’t, and he doesn’t believe she will ever forgive him. no second chances. nothing he can do to make amends. ozma’s mindset is that he made his choice and now he has to live with that forever.

and it’s unbearable. it’s torture. 

after everything that happened, ozma clings to zealotry as a coping mechanism. in his heart of hearts, he has no real commitment to the mandate: he’s distorted it to be about salem. ozma sought the relics so he could use them to “destroy salem.” jinn told him he couldn’t; he proceeded to devote countless lifetimes to fighting an (imaginary) war against salem. he has No Plan. beacon academy is modeled after her father’s castle and ozma put his office in her tower! in her prison!!

his inner circle is a cult dedicated to the god of light and he built the academies as fortresses to safeguard his reliquaries forever and ever while he fights to protect the people of remnant from enemies like “panic” and “division” whom he represents with her face, her name, and the way he truly feels about All Of This is trapped. it’s been so long that he’s convinced himself that his lies are true—that she’s an inhuman monster who craves only death and revels in destruction—but he built her tower and locked himself inside.

ozpin lies to everyone. even himself. especially himself. the intensity of his guilt and regret drove him to weave an elaborate fantasy casting salem as the villain and himself as the fool destined to be her enemy, and he clings to it desperately because he has to believe that. he has to believe that she lied to him, too. he has to believe she’s the one who manipulated him. if it isn’t all her fault, if she isn’t the Great Evil, then his own choices have no justification.

the lying becomes so habitual, so ingrained that he lies without even thinking. why didn’t he tell the kids that the lamp might attract grimm? when they demand an answer on the train, ozpin freezes. he doesn’t have a real answer. he just… withheld vital information because that’s what he always does. a reflex.

the zealotry is of a piece with the lying. he had faith in the god of light—and he still believes that the gods will condemn and destroy the world if they’re summoned, and i think he believes it’s futile to fight them and that if salem tries they’ll crush her again, so he truly does not want her to try and he’s not lying when he claims she’ll bring about the end, because he believes that’s the only possible outcome of rebellion—and he believes himself to be beyond forgiveness. this is all he has, and the only way he can cope with that is… the fairytales. palliative fantasy. a story about a monster and the man destined to fight her. lifetime after lifetime until the lies seemed almost true.

ozma’s trauma is religious in nature. he’s a religious man who lost his faith a long time ago because his god is using him to punish salem and he hates himself because he fell for it, and now he thinks it’s too late. she’ll never forgive him. he can’t see a way out, so he clings ever harder to the mandate because it’s all he has and it gives him a shred of purpose in being her fated enemy. all he wants, all he’s everwanted, is to be with her, and if he hadn’t believed in his god when all of this began, they would have lived happily in her cottage forever.

all of which is to say, yeah, ozma does not hold the gods in high regard. his obedience does not come from reverence or love—he’s fucking terrified of them. the main difference between him and salem in their view of the gods is that she believes they can be resisted and beaten, and he does not. zealotry doesn’t require that he think the god of light is good or just, only that he obey. he’s still under light’s thumb even as it kills him inside, and he can’t escape until he stops lying to himself about what salem is.

bc she’s… not a monster. she didn’t lie to him, and she certainly didn’t manipulate by not… being able to read his mind when he hid things from her. she made it clear from the start that she wanted to replace the brothers and create a new, better world without them, and in the present all of her rage is directed at his deception and his cowardice in obeying the gods. what he did is not unforgivable. he can make amends, if he finds the courage to try. there is a door he can open to leave the tower. the first step is letting himself believe it’s possible. 

(this is why it matters that he asks the kids to forgive him and give him a second chance in V8. ozma has never forgiven himself for anything and for lifetimes he’s believed himself to be irredeemable; not just recognizing the possibility but actively choosing to ASK for forgiveness was so important, and so necessary.)

[eerna]

Out of curiousity, what was it about genshin that you hated? I'm not very far through it and now I'm curious what to expect from the story and you have good takes usually (Like aside from the gatcha system, which I stay safe from the clutches of by only engaging with genshin through my friend streaming it sometimes)

Sorry if this is kicking a hornet's nest, in which case no pressure to answer, but I would genuinely like to hear your thoughts on it

Thanks! That's ok, I am always up for some hornet's nest kicking :3 (note: this user never posts any of her opinions in main tags because she wants to avoid kicking hornet's nests as much as possible)

OK I will be a bit short and vague on it bc there's a Lot to cover and idk which parts exactly interest you. In any case it needs a keep reading

Yeah, I never paid a single coin for Genshin, all of my investment was done through time and braincells. The story is the same in every region you go to. You arrive, you wanna talk to the Archon, there is a problem caused by the baddies, you solve the problem, you talk to the Archon, the baddies take the Archon's thingie, you meet your sibling, the sibling goes away. This wouldn't be a bad formula, there's lots of wiggle room for fun yearly adventures, but the dialogue and the characters make it unbearably boring. The dialogue is just everyone talking in circles, repeating the same thing over and over again, broken up by meaningless conversation choices. You can't skip it, which is stupid because the MOMENT the conversation ends PAIMON JUST SUMMARIZES WHAT WAS SAID AND HOW YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO FEEL ABOUT IT. After a while your sanity starts slipping. You can't even hang onto interesting personalities, because everyone in that game is an anime stereotype meant for fanservice depending on your type. My fav is the magical pirate woman with a big sword who has a lawful ruler gf!!! OF COURSE my fav is THE MAGICAL PIRATE WOMAN WITH A BIG SWORD WHO HAS A LAWFUL RULER GF because that's the type of shit I enjoy in better media so I am automatically more willing to like these cardboard cutouts. It's like the game is allergic to stopping and digging deeper into its themes or messages, everything is to be taken at face value, it honestly feels like a preschool TV show with jiggle physics. I know a lot of people say the game lore is super cool, but honestly it just reads like typical anime fantasy without any rhyme or reason behind it to me. What I DO like about the lore is the certain ideas behind the regions and the way nature (and the elements) are interwoven through the map. Exploration is 1000000% the best part of the game, the music accompanying the areas is beautiful and the views are very pretty. Honestly, the best time I've had with the game is when my friends and I would run around the map, talking aimlessly about whatever was happening in our lives, the one veteran showing us newbies cool spots or farming grounds.

All in all, hope you do have fun with it, but I honestly can't say it is a good game.

[hollyhomburg]

Seeing your responses to asks about the new chapter and just general questions it brings up- I’ve been intending to ask, and feel free to not answer this ask at all if it spoils anything and stuff, but like,

why are moonbyul and her pack so intent on ‘getting’ the mc? I remember you said once upon a time that if she joined their pack she would probably of ended up being used for moonbyul to have kids or something? So I don’t get why she’s so intent on pursuing her. I thought for a moment it might’ve been because she actually went ahead of plan and killed the don and beta- like it made moonbyul interested in her in a sense of ‘I wonder if I could make you do this stuff for me, rather then yourself’ or something- she seems a little like the type to want her omegas all obsessed and stuff which like,, creepy but you’re kinda hot so whatever

Along that line, I also don’t get what her endgame is with how you said Hyein contemplated killing Jimin. Sure Mc would leave the pack for their safety but she would just end up hating moonbyul and her pack from something like that. So if the end goal is a sort of ‘ownership’ that’s honestly not how to go about it

If that spoils then don’t worry about answering obvi lol but it’s just a question that plays on my mind from the new chapter that I kinda wanted to get out- even if you can’t answer this for spoiler reasons I hope you can enjoy knowing that one of your readers are set into deep thinking from your really intricate writing lol <3 love ya and your writing li, thank you so much for all you do for us fans - you’re such a dedicated and thoughtful writer and seemingly person from what you put through on here with your fanfic and other random posts, I hope you know we appreciate you!!!

oh okay so, maybe this is not as obvious as i thought it was but ;-; it's mostly because of three reasons,

1. because of the m/c's addictive slick, moonbyul's alpha and other alphas in general can kind of 'sense' that the m/c has this, it's mostly phermonal.

2. Because moonbyul and hyejin collect omega's, hyejin was moonbyuls first addition to her collection in a way but after she came along they very quickly got the other too. it's a power thing, the m/c is both veulnerable and beautiful. most alphas, moonbyul included- view the aquisition of omegas and many omega's as a status symbol. for the same reason why hoseok's coeworkers tease him for having so many alphas in his pack- it's kind of a societal norm that an alpha in possession of a good fortune will have several omega's, especially in certain circles.

3. They want to posess her as of right now in the story in part because it was kind of an understood position of them helping her escape geumjae/kill the don and beta that they would get her in their pack as a result. they wheren't just helping her and usuing her, they where manipulating her towards their own ends. after she killed the don and beta this got even more kind of validated- because moonbyul is the one who kept the m/c from being killed. in her mind- she owns the mc, regardless of yoongi's mating mark.

(this next section is vaugely spoilery) you're right in saying that "Sure Mc would leave the pack for their safety but she would just end up hating moonbyul and her pack from something like that. So if the end goal is a sort of ‘ownership’ that’s honestly not how to go about it" thats exactly why moonbyul DIDN'T order hyejin to kill jimin. she knows that if they do want to get the m/c, they'll likely need some collateral or something more to convince the m/c to be theirs willingly, the endgame with them is not physical captivity, it's emotional captivity. hyejin and moonbyul contrasted with geumjae- are much more interested in mentally fucking up the m/c than actually physically harming her through physical abuse. it's a delicate situation.

aghhh thank you for apreciating it in all its intricacies! i know sometimes it might feel like it's too intricate, at least we're not just frustrated right? i'll answer your questions for as long as i can.

[olderthannetfic]

I’m probably more forgiving than I should be, but I would say most people understand there are perfectly reasonable and compassionate people who have their personal reasons for continuing to enjoy mainstream or other media with massive issues. We all have our own opinions and baggage and that doesn’t make us enemies. But “its just too hard to find indie stuff!” isn’t that. If someone has enough internet access to send a defensive anon ask they can use Google or just ask for recs.

--

It's more than that.

Fandom is a subculture, or a set of subcultures, even with how mainstream fic is now. Supernatural was on for years, so yes, it clearly had a lot of people viewing compared to some novel. However, SPN had garbage viewership compared to lots of hit shows, and most randos at one's job likely did not watch it. It was an inescapable pillar of fandom culture for a while.

Film Bros have such distinct taste someone made that hilarious fanvid to Pretty Fly for a White Guy that used all of those movies they love. Sure, everyone's heard of most of them, but have we seen them?

Film noir nerds have festivals where they go watch increasingly obscure films noir, and there are "classics" all of them have seen that other people haven't.

I know no one who cares about The Secret History... aside from literally every dark academia social media account ever.

Everyone is the protagonist of their own story if they'd just act like it.

People come to my tumblr as a sort of central location, so when I'm melting down about Beyond Evil or even some indie novel, a certain number of people will go consume it too. I'm always picking up tastes from costubers or whatever internet micro-celebrity I like this month.

If you are excited about the stuff you like, other people will consume it so they can talk to you about it. You do not have to passively jump on every bandwagon. Even the supposed normies don't all watch the same shows. (And the idea of normies is a mirage anyway.)

There are whole facebook groups and social circles around indie original m/m novels these days. There are tastemaker super fans who seem to mostly engage in that sphere, and people who hang out in those spaces have all read the big names... big names absolutely nobody outside of the m/m world has heard of.

Go look up the website for GRL, the industry conference, and see how many of the attending authors you've heard of. Probably five of sixty or something unless you follow m/m very closely.

Last time I bothered with After Ellen, they were breathlessly following that Spanish historical soap's f/f subplot. Who else outside of Spain even heard of that show?

I get not wanting to be 100% alone forever, but there is no such thing as universally popular media. We make little pods of taste, some of which amount to full on subcultures.

Those taste groups form when we take a stand for our particular Thing, whatever it is. It requires a tiny bit of proactiveness, but honestly, not that much. People who are already un-normie enough to spend their time on AO3 and Tumblr instead of Instagram or whatever are already making choices about what kinds of tastes to prioritize and what circles to join.

We could make a minimal effort for our favorite types of content and build indie versions into small but viable industries.

Or we could be lazy, spineless cowards.

[butch-reidentified]

I'm sorry if it came off as rude, I was agreeing with your reblog 😔 I'm aware that butch doesn't really mean masculine, as I said it's just a personal preference, and the butch/femme dichotomy always read as a bit weird to me because femme literally just means "woman".

To be fair, I only have the french context for this and those terms aren't nearly as popular here. But if you have good resources about the history of those terms I'd genuinely love to educate myself on it, it's quite fascinating.

Love your blog btw !

you did not come off rude don't worry!! just felt it was important to be said!!

i used to speak french very well but not so good anymore, but i do understand feeling weird about the term femme bc of it forsure. I would appreciate if we had a different term specifically for lesbians who are - and please interpret this abstractly bc the language for what I'm attempting to describe here simply does not exist in any language I speak - "feminine" in a way that (intentionally or otherwise) subverts conventional femininity and is not appealing to the traditional male gaze/behavioral preference. sort of like... unapologetic outspoken opinionated women, casual dresses and leg hair, floral prints and bushy eyebrows vibes, but not exactly? aspects of femininity but not total feminine performance, and most importantly with gnc behaviors like importantly including unlearning femsoc etc? women who have done the work to unlearn the femininity forced on us growing up and afterward found they genuinely like select "feminine" things in a nonperformative way? language has always felt wildly limiting to me but I'm hoping at least some will understand me on this. and really hoping nobody takes it too literally lol

the reason I (playfully) call my wife femme is she has done that work, has intensively introspected on her female socialization and spent significant time intentionally defying it to give herself perspective and a shot at engaging with traits typically seen as "feminine" from as much of a truly voluntary place as possible, and found she enjoys certain things that fall into that category. most of those things are invisible to people outside our relationship and closest friend circles, whereas if we're downtown she's not going to be viewed as feminine by strangers at all. I think that's a way more meaningful lesbian archetype than using "femme" (or any alternative term) to mean "gender conforming/totally feminine" or even, if we're honest, often used to refer to "straight-passing" lesbians, which my wife is not even close to being.

I personally feel that butch has a highly specific and unique crucial lesbian cultural context & history that would & should persist in a postgender world, that is much more about a specific lesbian "archetype" than relationship to gender & can exist without relationship to gender just fine. to me, butchness requires gender nonconformity in a patriarchal, gendered world, but that's only a prerequisite, not a defining characteristic of butchness itself. does that make sense? sometimes my communication style only makes sense to me n my wife lmfao (same w hers even tho its very diff from mine)

I agree about butch/femme. it's not - or at least shouldn't be seen as - a dichotomy. I don't prefer feminine women, I prefer gnc women for SURE, but I don't consider myself butch4butch bc my preference is for gnc women in general not just butches (like what I said ab my wife being gnc but not butch).

I used to have resources on this, but unfortunately I have a terrible memory and can't remember them at the moment to save my life. hoping someone who follows me will!!

this was much longer than I anticipated lmao & idk if it will actually make any real sense to anyone else 😅

[secrethazbinaccountwoah]

Yea hi I made this account for myself, nice to meet you.

So basically, I'm like afraid of being hated on in certain circles I'm in for liking Hazbin just as a show (while I do not support Vivzy in the slightest). So yea. This kinda just.. formed.

...

I wanna reblog radioapple and stuff without being judged. Yahoo.

Occasionally I might make a post, maybe not, who knows.

SHIPS:

Appleradio/Radioapple - I think their dynamic is silly, and could work really well once they learn to get along. Plus Lucifer is very gentle from what we've seen, so I feel like he'd respect Alastor's boundaries, and the two would overall keep the ship queerplatonic (good rep for people like me!!) Also they remind me of Gordon and Benrey from HLVRAI.

Huskerdust - The two are SOSOSOSOSOSOSOSOOOOOO sweet with each other, I'm loving their slow growth so far, and you can just SEE them pining for each other OUGH. I also love when people point out that Husk fell in love with Anthony, not Angel Dust. He fell in love with who Ange truly is, and I LOVE that like OUGH it makes my heart ACHE. :'3

Chaggie - They're just a healthy couple, even having some flaws and differences, but they still get along well and resolve conflicts well. Love them, 10/10; also it was practically love at first sight LMFAO.

Cherrisnake - We all know it's canon, it's very very canon, good job Sir Pentious we salute you my boy. I really hope the hotel people can visit him, so that he can see Cherri again GWAH!!!

BOUNDARIES:

Keep the blog SFW if you're going to interact, if you support Vivzy then obviously gtfo and find some other weird shitty blog to follow idk, general DNIs that should just be obvious to the normal person, etc. (Oh yea, take this fucking long ass post, THIS is just a FRACTION of why Viv is horrible.)

I really don't want to interact with creeps or anything like that, and if you don't have anything nice to say then don't say it.

As much as I don't support Vivzy I will not openly promote any kind of hatred of any sort. I want my blog to be a happy safe little space for people to view silly ships and headcanons about the show. I completely separate the show from anything else, and treat it as a seperate thing from Vivzy and things related to her.

This account may also promote some Helluva fanart, while I'm becoming more disinterested in the show with how poorly it's being written, I still love the characters and wish they could be more developed. :)

Besides ALLLLLLL of that, I hope you enjoy your time here.

Feel free to use the ask box in a friendly manner, or if you have any questions to ask about me or the show, etc!

Thas all folks!

[bas-writes]

Excuse me! Hello there! I really hope this doesn't come across as rude but it's something I've been wondering about a long time, espically since I don't know too much about asexuals and I haven't found many posts about this particular question,

but since asexuals have no too little interest in sexual feelings, how do you find the motivation to write it? To each their own, of course I voice no judgment, not at all saying asexuals don't understand sex or what is involved in it.

I am gerenally curious, is it a thing where it isn't just simply not being interested in sex and more of an exploration of a part of themselves they can't express in real life? But doesn't that make you not an asexual and just repressed? Is it that you enjoy writing and talking about sex but you don't want to gerenally have it?

I don't think it's that simple, or is it?

I'm so so sorry if this is rude or degrading and please ignore it if so, but if it isn't- I don't have much insight on it, as I am not asexual or aroace myself. I want to understand asexuality and aromance better so I can adapt my views accordingly and have a better understanding of it.

*scratches head* aaaaalright, there's a lot to unpack here. Because yeah, it is NOT that simple.

Asexuality is a spectrum type of sexuality which has one thing in common for individuals from said spectrum: lack of sexual attraction, very little of it, or developing it only under certain circumstances. Sexual attraction is not the same as libido or mood & willingness for having sex.

Some asexual people indeed do not experience libido in works. Some on top of that don't want to have anything to do with sex at all, going as far as avoiding fictional depictions of it.

But next to them there are asexual people who experience sexual attraction after first developing close bonds with an object of their attraction (you might have heard term demisexuality here). Or people who experience it very rarely (you might have heard term gray asexuality/gray ace).

Or people for whom the lack of sexual attraction is not a thing that would stop them from having sex, for various reasons. Some are just horny without the factor of being attracted to someone. Some just like the act, so they go for it, if they find an interested partner(s). Some are completely indifferent, so if their partner/friend is down for it, they're in. Some like the emotional connection that comes with sex. Some want to have biological kids. Some are sex workers. Some are all of it at once lol

And some don't want to have sex irl but find it interesting or arousing to engage with fictional depictions of it or with pornography. Some aren't attracted to irl people but experience sexual attraction to fictional characters (if you are active in selfship circles, you might sooner or later run into people who say they are fictosexual).

In other words, it's a highly individual case. What we have in common is the lack of those famous butterflies and heatwaves at the sight of a human being. What we do later with it, that depends from individual to individual 🤭

So, why as an asexual person, I write about sex? Because I like to. And I like sex, masturbation, and watching allos (aka people who experience sexual attraction) getting horny because it's a different kind of horny than mine and it always amuses me. I work with erotica for my little daily bread. I had a moment in life when I touched the sphere of sex work 'cause the market for people looking for sexual rps is quite huge and money was really tempting - but tight schedule for uni won.

It has nothing to do with repression 🤭 Been there, done that, it's been a complete opposite, and I got rid of this catholic guilt by molding it into religion kink. Beat your inner demons with a spanking paddle.

I hope it makes things a little bit more clear!

[letstalkwhump]

Let's Talk Whump

Welcome to Let’s Talk Whump, a series of interviews that spotlight the amazing people in our whump community! I’m Malice and I’ll be your host today. 

Here today to talk all things whumpy is the fabulous @not-a-space-alien!

Thank you for joining us today! Do you mind sharing a fact or two about yourself to start us off?

I love pet rats.  I don’t know if I can have them anymore, though, because it’s really hard when they start getting sick and they get old so fast.

Rats make the most adorable pets! And how would you describe what whump means to you? 

To me whump is about lingering on the effects of trauma and pain that mainstream media usually minimizes or ignores because it’s “too messy” or apparently not interesting I guess?  Humans are messy and I want to revel in that sometimes.  It feels wrong to ignore it.  Sometimes I feel messy and in pain and overwhelmed and I want to read about people who also feel that way.  I also like the hurt/comfort aspect because…..well, my fantasy is that someone will comfort me when I’m hurting and that someone will rescue me when I’m in pain (or on the flip side that I can save someone who’s in pain)

How did you find the whump community? What made you want to join? 

I’ve written these sorts of things for a while even before engaging with anything on tumblr that was primarily made as whump.  I started posting my writing on tumblr and engaging in online circles originally in the Good Omens fandom, years before the TV show came out, and gradually my writing on that front started getting darker and darker as I realized there are other people who like reading that sort of thing and it wasn’t just me.  I think it did make people a little uncomfortable sometimes and they weren’t really sure how to handle it, so that’s why these days I try extra hard to make sure it’s clear what’s in the writing and how it should be viewed and handled.

If I remember correctly I found myself in this corner after a period of years where I didn’t write anything at all, then while watching some random movies I re-watched Night at the Museum and of course looked at tumblr posts about it, which led to me starting to browse g/t more often (thanks Jedtavius), and after being into g/t stuff for a while I stumbled across some people who wrote g/t whump, and from there I found some “regular” whump.  The first person I remember actually talking to was @oddsconvert, who told me to read Kane and Jim, and I have been mildly obsessed with Milly’s writing since then, which gave me a framework to pull together pieces of ideas I’d always had to write MMSS, which is really my only current contribution to “whump tumblr.” (I’d always had an idea about a scientist vampire getting caught while trying to make artificial blood, I combined this with Valen, a DnD character I’d previously played as a drow, because I knew the setting in Milly’s story would be the perfect thing to tie it all together.)

Do you think your view on whump changed since you discovered the whump community?

I’m not sure if I would really consider myself part of the “whump community” because so much of what’s out there doesn’t appeal to me.  At first I gave everything a try but as time went on I started getting more and more picky.  I’ve grown to really dislike “pet whump”/BBU as well as nameless snippets/prompts that use cardboard cutout characters or flatten characters into two-dimensional archetypes like “Caretaker” or “Whumper.”  This sounds really negative but it’s entirely a matter of personal taste and I wish people who write that stuff the best. I wish I could enjoy it because there’s so many talented people out there writing it but it just does nothing for me.

No, that’s entirely valid. There’s a lot of tropes out there and certain ones like BBU can feel inescapable sometimes!  It really can be hard to find ones that tick all of your boxes. Do you have any particular favourites?

I love when a character is scared for their life, not knowing that in reality they’re completely safe/being helped.  

Shocked when receiving mercy and gentleness when none is expected or deserved.

Character unused to receiving love being loved.

Monster characters hiding their monster nature, being exposed, but being loved anyway despite being treated badly for it in the past.

The power of FriendshipTM

Love being a powerful force that can pull people through the worst ordeals

Complicated relationships between vulnerable characters 

Fearplay 

Excellent trope choices! Unexpected mercy or kindness is so good! Would you like to share a favourite piece that you’ve written? 

Honestly this isn’t even whump but I think my favorite thing I’ve ever written is still Falling Hazard.  I put SO much work into that story.  It had so many moving pieces and I wanted to make sure it was all polished and got the attention it deserved so it went through 3 or 4 drafts, I had the whole thing written before I even started posting it.  It was the culmination of an OC-heavy, plot-intense Good Omens second-apocalypse fic that turned into more of a thriller than anything.  

https://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/657822746613514240/your-own-side-masterpost  

Haven’t really been interested in Good Omens fandom stuff for a hot minute but I’m honestly still really proud of it.  I don’t think it’s really possible to try the “sand the barcode off and sell as an original fiction” thing because it’s so interwoven with the themes of the novel but I think even people with only a passing knowledge of good omens could enjoy it.  (the first few entries in this series are kind of whumpy but the later ones are less like that)

Good Omens?! I’m going to binge this so much, I swear! What does your writing routine look like?

I only write when inspiration strikes, I generally don’t do my best work if I’m forcing myself to write.  I do my best work when I’m seized by some mad ideas and feel like I’ll explode if I don’t write RIGHT NOW.  I think the worst case I ever had it was this one time I wrote an entire ficlet on my phone at work.  RIP my thumbs. 

Ah yes. And the urge to write always comes at the most inconvenient time, doesn’t it? Do you find that somethings are easier to write than others?

I struggle to write in any universe where I can’t keep a firm hold on the worldbuilding in my head.  My brain will take implications of things we see and run off with it and it’s like I run up against a wall if I can’t take everything to its logical conclusion.  So I tend to write easiest in settings where the worldbuilding is simple, or based on a few things that are flexible.  I tend to get really picky and a bit ridiculous about taking things too seriously when it comes to worldbuilding.

Is there anything you're working on at the moment? 

My two big current writing projects are Watch Your Step and MMSS and I can’t really see that changing anytime soon.  I do have a google doc with some ideas for shorter pieces and snippets that I might write when inspiration strikes. 

Do you have a joke or pun you would like to share to spread some smiles today?

I'm bad at this.  Please can people comment with a joke or pun.  I’m the one who needs smiles.  I'm so tired.

A joke for you then: What's a fanfic writer's weapon of choice? His headcanon! 

Do you have any writing advice you’d like to share?

Pay attention to people in real life. Listen to the way they talk and act, the lies they tell themselves, the way they juggle things, the way they behave when they care vs when they don't care. Listen to what they say with their words and without. Dissect why strangers, acquaintances, friends, lovers interact the way they do. Notice patterns. Appreciate the complexity of human existence. Pay attention to context and background and how circumstances affect behavior. Understand that there is no true "you" at the core of every human, just a million fragments of personality seen by a million different people. Once you understand all this, you can mix and match to build a person in your head. Every character feels real when they get pieces of you, or pieces of people you know.  That’s my philosophy anyway!

I’m writing that advice down, that’s really good. Are there any blogs you’d like to mention?

@whumpsday and @oddsconvert  <3  I also love @demondamage’s stuff even though I havent been following for too long :)

Anything you'd like to add? 

Stay frosty coolios 

It was a pleasure to have you here today, @not-a-space-alien! 

And to all you fab folks at home, have a whump-derful day!

[starfall-spirit]

Read on Ao3

Summary: Hoping to score a dinner date, Sawyer approaches Jesinia after weeks of practicing sign language with his squadmates.

AN: Obviously we haven’t been given any details on handshape, orientation, or NMMs in Navarrian Sign Language, so for the purposes of the fic the signing error Sawyer makes is realistic to ASL. I don’t know any sign languages for other countries, so if this mistake is totally unrealistic in BSL, FSL, etc, I’m unfamiliar with the language.

In this work I mention Sawyer has a name sign. For readers who don't know much about ASL, a name sign is a sign created by a Deaf individual and given to a friend, coworker, aquaintance, etc. and a shorthand to avoid fingerspelling someone's full name. It is usually based around a trait in one's physical appearance or personality and can only be given by a member of the Deaf community. To make things simple, I designed Sawyer's name sign around the flicking movement for the word metal (signet), replacing the X handshape with an S handshape to tie in his first initial.

Anywhoville, enjoy!

He was just asking her out to dinner, nothing more. And if she said no... He would probably never show his face among the Aretian scribes again.

"Don't you think that's a bit dramatic, Sawyer?"  Sliseag grumbled. "The girl is passive, her companions more so. A failed romantic pursuit would not be the end of your welcome, I'm certain."

"I would not call a woman willing to commit treason on the vague word of a friend passive, Sliseag," he snipped back.

"Then this exile from scribe territory would be a self-inflicted act of cowardice? That is not a trait I chose you for, boy."

He rolled his eyes at the exaggerated remark. Exile was a rather heavy term for his potential predicament, but he wasn't about to argue semantics with a dragon. "This must be the arrogant shit Violet grumbles about when it comes to Tairn."

Hearing a scuffing sound against the stone floor, he threw his shield in place, cutting off his dragon's next quip as Jesinia stepped into view. "Good afternoon, Sawyer," she greeted him, utilizing the sign name she'd given him a few weeks after meeting. It was blunt, as most of the language was prone to be, playing off of the sign for metal thanks to his signet, though the X handshape was replaced by an S to link in his name. Her hand lingered below her chin, fingers slowly uncurling from the loose fist the sign created. Her brow furrowed slightly as she looked over his shoulder, likely noting he was unaccompanied for once. Ridoc of all people had been the one to point out that for all Sawyer's visits here and his interest in learning to sign, he'd yet to drop by without a wingman. "Are you stopping in for Violet? I sent her a missive about a translation aid I stumbled upon." 

"No. Not today. Though I'm happy to take something back, if need be. I wanted to talk to you about something outside of rider business. If you have a moment."

Brushing her dark hair back, she dipped her chin in a short nod, gesturing for him to join her at the nearest table. "Is everything alright. You seem a bit nervous."

"Nervous? No. It's just that my signing is..." He paused, trying to recall the sign for rudimentary—a word that didn't necessarily exist in NSL. "...basic," he finished, his dominant hand circling a few inches below his left. "One of my squadmates is normally here to help." Jesinia cocked her head slightly, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "So, I'm a little nervous. Not only about signing something wrong. Let me be more direct. I was hoping to take you to dinner."

Her eyes flared wide at that, and not just due to surprise at the request. Something went wrong in his request. "To eat," he tried to repair the miscommunication, whatever it had been.

Understanding seemed to dawn and it was clear she was trying to hide her amusement. "Dinner?" she asked, first fingerspelling, then double-tapping a D hand against her mouth, palm turned inward. He nodded in confirmation. Pausing a moment, she kept the D shape, bouncing it from her chin to the back of her jaw. "That sign is dorm."

He winced. "Now I look like an ass."

"You look like a man trying to learn a new means of communication. I have great appreciation for that effort. Learning languages beyond childhood can be difficult." She smiled again. "And I would love to go to dinner with you, Sawyer."

He grinned right back. "Are you free tonight?"

~~~~~

End Note: If I have any d/Deaf, hard of hearing, or CODA readers who think I could better structure this fic regarding signing elements and word choice, please know that you are more than welcome to reach out. I always appreciate polite feedback on my work and want to do everything I can to encourage representation in my writing. I am not fluent, so I know this might not be perfect. All I ask is that comments remain respectful in their correction.

[givemearmstopraywith]

(cw for domestic abuse for this ask) i havent watched promising young woman either, but i watched princess weekes video about it (in the background as i was doing dishes or something) who also didn’t like the ending — but what stuck with me was a comment under that video of someone saying they were nearly strangled to death by their boyfriend a week or so before seeing the movie, and because of that, at the time they wouldn’t have resonated with an ending where cassie lives. i think your views still hold value, of course a lot of art is subjectively dependent upon our experiences. but in the case of saltburn, its hard to imagine what kind audience would resonate with it in the same way?? as an aside though, what do you think of parasite?

see that's the thing- even if i don't like a piece of art, i still think it has value. for that reason even if i disagree theoretically with promising young woman i can acknowledge it has practical value, like in the case of that comment: maybe even theoretical value, even if i disagree with the method. and we don't talk enough about rape victims dying, by their own hand or at the hands of their abusers: its not part of the conversation about #metoo or survival in general. those conversations need to be had and "bad" art is often the way in which those conversations begin, leading to better conversations, opening a previously uncut path that allows disempowered people who have more direct experience with oppression speak for themselves. (not that im implying that certain things need to be spoken about by privileged people first- not at all, but historically, and i do mean historically, this has begun to change now, it is only attention of the privileged that platforms the experiences of the oppressed.)

i should probably rewatch parasite more closely now that the hype around it is gone- this might be predicable but i didn't like parasite either. and it's funny because say that circles this conversation around to where it began: my subjectively experience of art. growing up i was poor, had no father, and on the dole. there are certain prejudices against people whose experiences triangulate with mine that lead to us being treated as parasites on the system. so even the subversion of that idea didn't resonate with me because it struck too close to my subjective experience of classism and my internalized feelings about myself as a poor person. critically though, i also think that parasite is a commentary on a different kind of cultural classism than exists in north america, which makes both my subjective dislike of it and its appropriation by upper class north americans (remember when, like, chrissy teigen was tweeting about how good it was?) as a fun social commentary- the same thing happened with squid game, which really just extends this conversation into the problem of whiteness' ability to strip the human element of social commentary from cultural contexts that aren't their own. so i think parasite is good art, and it's mythos once it entered the north american market really just sort of advances its story in this very meta way: i just didn't like it personally. which is sort of antithetical to saltburn, which i think is bad art and i don't like, but which i enjoy for its frothy, lurid confectionary feeling.

[thisnameisnotspokenfor]

The Kingdom of the Stars Chapter 7: The Star

Previous: Chapter 6

Next: Chapter 8

That night in Rosas, many were entertaining guests, family, or friends at their estate, with a select few even having the luxury of standing on their balconies to witness the event firsthand. 'A bright light suddenly appeared,' they said, and 'completely illuminated the sky.' 

Everyone you’d ever have the fortune to ask would be able to tell you just where or what they’d been doing the night they’d seen the mysterious light in the sky. 

They’d all be able to tell you the happiness and warmth they’d felt as well. 

Well, all except for one person that is.

Asha. 

Unlike most, she was not enjoying the comforts of her home and friends at the time of the light.

No, Asha was deep in the forest, screaming .

She scrambled to her side, trying to make sure that she was still alive and in one piece from the strange ordeal. 

‘What was that?! ’ Her mind screamed at her.

She knew she shouldn’t have been that shocked, weird things fell out of the sky all the time. A millennial ago she was certain she’d read of a sentient crystal comet that had landed near the Atlantic Ocean. Then a few decades ago, she’d heard of a drop that had fallen from the moon, and then from the sun. 

So what had descended from the sky this time?

It had been hard to see when the strange light had engulfed the sky, nearly blinding her as somewhere in her panic she’d heard the sound of Sebastian fussing before galloping away. “No! Wait!” she called, helplessly running after him. “Come back! I can’t outrun you in times of danger!”

True to her words, Asha had been unable to keep up with the horse as it had disappeared into the forests out of view. “No!” she cried in between pants as she leaned against a nearby tree. “My…my transportation! Great…Valentino?” she cried, as she’d immediately noticed his absence. “Valentino where are you?!”

The goat carefully sauntered into view from behind a bush as she let out a sigh of relief, “at least I can count on you to not leave me,” she remarked as she joined him. Gently petting him, she carefully glanced around looking for anything strange and unusual in the quietly glowing forest around them. 

Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, she thought as she felt her body tremble. 

Nothing seemed different, Save for the newly founded quietness that had invaded the forest. 

“What…what was that?” she’d asked as she hesitantly scanned the sky above. 

There’d been no sign or trace of the bright light. 

Had she made it up? No, she couldn’t have. Sebastian, a palace horse that had usually been trained for nearly every and any situation had fled. But any doubt that she’d merely imagined the light had quickly died when her eyes found it. 

A large hole in the ever-consuming dark clouds that had normally plagued Rosas's skies.

It had looked as if whatever had fallen to earth had torn through those clouds with ease.

Something had happened. 

She’d seen it with her own two eyes that something had descended from the skies but the question was…what?

She’d heard of things like comets and asteroids, but whatever had fallen to Earth hadn’t been that destructive, so she’d quickly ruled out those two. 

Whatever it was, was probably long gone from here- “Ah!” she screamed as she felt something zip by her and then back into the forest. 

She stumbled back, her heart racing as the forest around her seemed to flicker before dimming. Now it was nearly pitch black, leaving her and Valentino alone in the dark with the strange entity. 

“What was that?!” she cried, desperately reaching out for Valentino who she could hear moving nearby. Then it appeared again, circling and spinning so quickly that she could barely get a good look at it before it once again disappeared into the darkness of the surrounding forests.

She shuddered.  Her mind imagined every terrible possibility of the light’s identity as she clumsily continued to move around in the darkness. It’d been a miracle that she’d managed to get on her feet given how she could barely see her hands in front of her own face. 

But with the amount of fear and adrenaline that was coursing through her, she felt as if she could almost do anything. Anything that didn’t involve staying here . 

“Nope, nope, I don’t like that! Valentino c’mon we’re leaving! Quickly before whatever that thing is comes back-,” 

Its small luminescent form comes into view once more. 

Too late. 

It was already back.

She froze and watched it pause mid-flight, slowly levitating as it turned towards her and stared. 

Quickly her mind started to conjure up some sort of explanation for the small, yet golden glowing light in front of her. Could it have been light? No, It almost seemed sentient from the way it had looked, and…blinked at her?!

Was it some sort of animal? No, animals don’t float nor do they glow like that. 

Whatever it was, she most definitely did not like it.

It slowly began to float towards her as without thinking, she screamed, taking off as fast as she could in the opposite direction. 

She quickly found herself bolting through the forest, ignoring the branches that tore and tugged at her clothes and hair. 

It had been strange how differently the forest had looked in the dark. What had once been lovely glowing trees and flowers had now become a sea of dark, shadowy faces looming over her as she tried to escape the danger that followed.

Behind her, she could catch glimpses of brief flashes of light on either side of the forest.

She couldn’t see it but she knew that it was following.

Desperate, she continued sprinting wildly back and forth through the forest. A stupid thing to do considering her situation, but she knew better than to trust strange glowing objects.

She’d screamed as she felt her foot catch a rock that immediately sent her tumbling down in the darkness. Landing on her hands and feet, she winced as she felt the bandages on her hands tear, and with it, a fresh pain followed.

‘How had she ended up like this? Alone, lost, and scared in a forest she never should have entered,’ She wondered, fighting down a cry that threatened to leave her. 

What was she going to do? 

“BLLEEAATTTT”

“Valentino?” she whispered, immediately forgetting the pain as she looked around her. In her fright, she’d left him behind. Now she was unsure of whether or not he was still ok. “Valentino,” she whispered once more as her voice cracked. “Are you there?”

“BLLLEEAATT” came Valentino’s voice as she heard him nearby.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s going on,” she whispered. Her body felt heavy from fatigue as she slowly crawled towards where she’d last heard him. “I’m sorry I left you behind. Please-,” 

She’d nearly let out a cry of relief when she’d made out Valentino’s figure following her in the darkness. 

Reaching forward, she tightly embraced him, feeling that the goat was just as panicked as she was. But they’d be ok. 

 A few seconds later, they carefully made their way to another small clearing where another well sat. Her muscles ached as she felt her lungs burn for air. Adrenaline pulsed through her veins as she cast a few wary glances behind her. Maybe if she weren’t so frightened she would’ve simply sat down to rest and enjoy the rare sight of the starry sky. But she knew better than to take her chances when being chased by something magical.

Now she regretted not staying behind to see the rest of the play as she placed Valentino behind the starless well and hid. Maybe if she had stayed she wouldn’t have been in this mess. She’d never have seen the wish destroyed nor would she be chased through the forest by God knows what!

Speak of the devil…

In the distance she could hear it, rapidly moving back and forth through the forest as if it had been searching for something, or rather someone .

She gestured for Valentino to be silent as she risked a glance over the edge of the well.

There it was. 

Floating a few yards away whilst looking around.

 She wasn’t sure what it was doing, following after her like it had, but she didn’t intend to find out.

All they had to do was be quiet, and hopefully, it would go away, she thought as she turned back towards Valentino just in time to see that the glowing object had now somehow appeared above his head. 

She screamed. 

Then Valentino screamed.

She immediately scrambled to her feet once more as she began to bolt away. 

Only this time she didn’t get far.

An invisible force slowly and deliberately pulled her backward to the clearing she’d nearly escaped from.  It almost reminded her of how the king would make objects move on their own, only the king wasn’t here. So whatever had been chasing her was probably the source of this power.  This was confirmed when the mysterious force gently set her down a foot away from the glowing menace.

Oh no.

Backing away as quickly as she could, she felt her back roughly hit the well as she’d tried to put as much distance in between her and…and whatever it was.

“S-stay back!” she threatened as she grabbed a nearby stick and held it threateningly at the glowing menace. For a moment it halted, staring back at her. “I-I’m warning you! I’ve been trained in the art of stick fighting! I can make your life miserable!” It was ironic that for all the reasons that she’d told Valentino that they couldn’t confront magical beings, she’d ended up not only confronting but threatening one. But desperate times called for desperate measures. “I-I don’t know what you are...or why you’re here…or why you look like that-” she began as she watched it float towards her. For a second it paused, almost looking…offended before it began to move once more. Having enough of its shenanigans she harshly poked it with the stick as she’d yelled, “I SAID GET BACK!”

That seemed to do the trick as The small orb floated backward a bit. Its eyes were still on her as she held the stick out threateningly.  It looked as if it was almost thinking for a moment, before taking a few more spaces backwards. 

She’d slightly relaxed at the new distance it’d put in between them, with a part of her daring to hope that perhaps she’d frighten it off. But that hope had quickly died when she saw it begin to emit light once more. light that was so bright she once again had to look away. 

She shielded her eyes with her hand, expecting to hear the sounds of screams and destruction, but instead, she was greeted by the sounds of…silence?

Quietly she felt something in front of her move, something far heavier than the menacing ball of light as she risked a glance forward.  As expected she was surrounded by the near overwhelming darkness of the forest until he appeared.  To her surprise, there was now a young man kneeling in front of her, right where the small orb of light had been a few seconds ago. 

He couldn’t have been older than her with his unruly, golden hair that partially hung above his eyes and down his neck. His clothes were as dark as the skies with small dots on them that reminded her of stars and his eyes…His eyes were black yet they, like the rest of him, were glowing . Quietly he neared her and she felt her breath hitch in her throat as she tensed.

It was hard to describe, but when she was in such close proximity, she could feel a strange sort of power radiating off of him. It almost reminded her of the king, yet it felt different in a way she couldn’t quite pinpoint. 

She flinched as he inched closer, the sudden movement evoking pain from her hands as she winced.   He frowned,  something akin to concern was etched into his features as she watched his eyes lower towards her hands. She risked a glance towards them as well, partially unsurprised at the sudden blood that had stained the tattered remains of her bandages.

Carefully she watched him reach out. his dark gloved fingers taking hold of hers in a matter of mere seconds as she felt a sudden warmth envelop her hands. 

Then he let go, taking his warmth with him as he moved back.

His eyes darted back to her hands as she glanced at them- shock filling her as she realized that the blisters and cuts that had been present mere seconds ago were…gone. It had almost been as if they’d never been there. Her hand trembled as she looked it over, once, then twice.

He grinned, apparently finding this amusing before he moved towards her. A string of strange words left his lips, none of which she could decipher as she sat there too stunned to speak or move as she lamely held her stick in her hands.

She wasn’t sure why she still had it or what she was even going to do with it. 

Both of them knew how ineffective the stick was especially as she heard it or rather he began to laugh.

Quickly, he stood to his feet, and it was only when he moved did she realized that he’d been wearing a long cape that had nearly been concealed by the darkness. The underside of his cape shimmered a stunning gold as did the long earring he was wearing in his left ear. 

It was almost as if- wait.

“Valentino?!” she called out, looking for her pet that had suddenly disappeared. “Valentino if you’re alive say something! Oh God, he’s dead.”

Risking a glance back to the strange young man who’d appeared- Asha felt her heart freeze as she realized that he too had vanished. 

But how?

She hadn’t heard him move.

 He couldn’t have gotten that far, she thought, uncomfortably chewing her lip as she pulled herself to her feet. 

She’d have enough magic for the day.

“Valentino!?” she yelled into the darkness. “Valentino where are you?!”

“Do all humans communicate through screams and shouts or is that something unique to you?” came a voice as she shrieked and re-adjusted her grip on her stick. 

She was nearly tempted to take off again when she heard Valentino pleating again. Her eyes fervently searched the darkness for any signs of the goat when the voice spoke again. “Up here, princess.”

Cautiously, she looked up, spotting the familiar figure of the mysterious glowing boy levitating in the air far above her. “Is this yours?” he asked, lifting a dark gloved hand that was now holding a surprised Valentino.  

“Valentino!” she yelled, positioning herself to catch him, in case the boy dropped him. She wasn’t sure how she’d catch him without hurting herself, but it was far better than the alternative of letting him hit the ground.

The boy glanced at Valentino, muttering something to himself in that unknown language as she watched him slowly begin to float down toward the ground.  He looked around her, his eyes widening as if he was trying to take in everything around him. Finally, his eyes landed on her as a sudden thought hit her.

“W-wait,” she began, taking a step back before pointing at him tremblingly. “Y-you’re? Are you? I mean were You? T-that?” 

He smiled, not answering nor denying as she watched him set Valentino down in one gentle yet fluid motion. Now he was floating again.  “This is better. You’re not screaming anymore.” 

Screaming? So it was him. He had been that glowing ball! He’d chased her down and terrified her!

She groaned, rubbing her temples.

 This couldn’t be real. 

Was she sure she wasn’t hallucinating this?

She rubbed her eyes before slipping her reading glasses out of her bag and onto her face. When she looked around she’d seen that he’d disappeared again, effectively leaving her and a confused Valentino alone in the forest.

‘Maybe now's my chance to leave,’ she thought, taking one step before he reappeared out of thin air, obliterating what was left of her personal space.  “There is so much to ask about your world!” He started with an accent she couldn’t place. “What country are we in? Why do people haplessly scream and run around to communicate? How do you-,”

She yelped, barely steadying herself as she felt him slide her glasses off her face before putting them on his own. “Whoa,” he grinned, holding out his hands as she watched him float around. “What are these things? Has grass always been this green? Look at these rocks!” He nearly crashed into a tree before she’d heard him excitedly add, “Hey who put this tree here?”

She and Valentino exchanged looks. She had a feeling that neither of them was…quite sure of what to make of this. 

She watched as the goat hid behind her just in time for the bushes around them to shiver. Soon, several forest animals appeared- deer, squirrels, turtles, chipmunks, badgers and birds.

“Good evening ma’am!” A small mouse called as it scurried past her foot.

“Pardon me miss!” Said several rabbits as they hopped by.

“Excuse me, coming through, don’t mind me,” sighed the turtle as it slowly crawled by.

Asha was flabbergasted as she watched them casually converse with one another as they gathered around the clearing. “They’re…they’re talking!”

“I know,” the boy had answered, suddenly reappearing next to her, mercilessly killing the remnants of her personal space. “It’s wonderful isn’t it?” 

As soon as he’d been within reach she’d rescued her reading glasses from him. “No! The animals are talking . Why are the animals talking? How are the animals talking? This makes no sense,” she muttered to herself as she shook her head. “This has to be a mistake. I have to be going crazy!” 

“We’re all crazy out here,” sang a bird as it floated by.

Carefully, she turned back to the glowing boy who’d said nothing as he had begun to lazily float overhead.

Her eyes met his.

Despite the rather harmless demeanor, he was trying to display to her, she had a feeling that he was anything but harmless. 

“You-,” she gulped and pointed towards him cautiously yet accusingly. 

“I?” he repeated with a grin while pointing to himself. 

“You’re doing this. How are you doing this?! Why?!”

“I suppose I could begin with the why,” he begins thoughtfully as she watches him carelessly sprinkle some glowing dust from himself onto some nearby mushrooms. Slowly the mushrooms began to yawn and stretch as if waking up from a nap.  She stared at them in disbelief as she heard him say, “Haven’t you ever wondered what animals would sound like if they could talk?”

“No and I’m certainly not about to do so now,” she answered while nervously eyeing a bear that had entered the clearing.

Everything was so wrong .

From the way the animals interacted with the bear, talking and chatting with him, you wouldn’t have thought that the bear was an apex predator. But here they were, happily conversing with him as if they’d been old friends reuniting, and not as if they were in danger of being brutally mauled. 

Speaking of being mauled, maybe she too should’ve been happy that the bear was in a friendly mood. Dying would be the worst way to end this night.

“W-when did you find the time to make all these animals talk?” she shivered as she continued to watch the bear.

“While I was in the forest,” he answered with a simple gesture to the dark woods surrounding them. The light from his cape seemed to keep the darkness at bay.  “Is something wrong?” he asked while looking at her curiously.

She nodded, looking towards the now animals before quickly adding, ”No offense.”

“None taken,” the bear shrugged as several rabbits danced near his feet. 

“Say-,” began a deer. “How about We do a musical number?”

“Please no-,” she begged.

“Just for old time sake-,” the deer sang while being terribly off-key.

“I beg of you have mercy, I can’t-,” 

Then they began to sing.  It was like a nightmare for Asha as she couldn’t determine what part of the song was worse: their singing or the mysterious instrumental with no source. 

The whole forest seemed to come to life as she noticed that all of the trees and flowers were glowing far brighter than before. 

She quietly searched the surrounding trees and even the nearby well for the source of the music, but alas she found nothing. Well, nothing except for an angry squirrel who’d accused her of disturbing his nuts. 

She’d had enough of the animal's off-key singing as she watched a rabbit approach her as the music stalled.

Had they meant for her to sing? 

Oh no.

She quickly shook her head, leaning as far away from the curious animals as she could before she said, “Sorry. I don’t…I don’t sing.”

“Oh,” the animals murmured, looking somewhat disappointed before they quickly resumed their poorly thought-out tune. Earache aside, she began to think their singing was definitely going to attract the wrong attention.

Quietly cursing the glowing boy, She’d begun to back up slowly. She wasn’t entirely sure if she was going to leave, but she just knew that she wanted no part of whatever this was, or is.

As she began to slowly sneak off, she started to understand why the king had forbidden magic in this kingdom. If there was a reason why animals shouldn’t talk, then this song did more than enough to support said reason.

She didn't make it far before he’d appeared again this time behind her as he’d nearly startled her with “enjoying the music?” 

“It…It could be a lot better.,” she admitted without thinking. Most of the animals didn’t appreciate that, with a few casting angry flares in her direction before she hesitantly turned to face him. “You never answered my question.”

“I did. I told you why-,”

“But never how,” she warily interjected. “This is impossible. It should be impossible!” 

“What about this is impossible?”

Temporarily forgetting her fear, she gestured around her incredulously, “Everything! The animals talking, you- just how are you able to do all of this anyway?!”

“Well,” he started, rather thoughtfully before eyeing her healed hands.“ Let’s just say I can do a lot of things.” With that, he turned, two curling amber-colored beams of energy emitted from his hands. She was speechless as she watched it curl and contort around her. First, it turned into the shape of a few golden fish, then birds, and finally butterflies before disappearing into thin air.

The boy didn’t seem to be done yet as she watched with a brief wave of his hand, some of the surrounding trees and flowers began to emerge in full blossom as their petals and lovely fragrance filled the air. “Wonderful things,” he whispered, suddenly reappearing behind her. 

She felt his fingertips graze the side of her elbows before he stepped past her.

“Yeah, I can tell” Asha had agreed in a less than amused tone as she heard the animals begin their reprise. She knew she should’ve been grateful for him healing her hands. It’d been the nicest thing a magical person or being, had done for her today. 

But she was hesitant. 

He was being cryptic, to say the least, but she wasn’t brave enough to probe any further than what he’d told her. Fear began to rise in her as she wondered whether or not he’d been the rogue wizard that had been rumored to be arriving in Rosas. “Are you some sort of magician or something? A wizard from abroad?”

He shook his head, “I wouldn’t call myself that.”

“Then what are you exactly?”

“Me?” He’d pointed to himself as she’d hesitantly nodded. Now it was his turn to look confused, or surprised. It was hard to tell. “You don’t know what I am?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I’d known,” she’d answered, immediately regretting her words. This thing, no man had fallen out of the sky with such force that he’d easily created a hole in the clouds that’d always shielded Rosas from the night sky. Then he’d immobilized her with ease and had healed her. He’d even made the animals talk and sing out of silly curiosity! Clearly, he was more capable than he was letting on.  Yet here she was, talking back to him as if she’d somehow been the one with magical abilities…

She did not doubt that he could easily do far worse than whatever those hooded figures at the wish garden could. ‘He could probably make her regret even waking up this morning!’ She thought as she broke out into a cold sweat. “S-sorry,” she quickly began. “I didn’t mean it like that, I-,”

Her voice trailed off when she saw him staring at the ground thoughtfully, too consumed by his thoughts to hear her. “You really don’t know what I am. I suppose that makes this all the more interesting, doesn’t it?” She watched as he carefully brushed his hair from his eyes before nodding to himself. “But I guess that also explains the running and screaming,” he’d murmured to himself. No sooner did he say the words than she noticed that he had immediately begun staring at her once more. The corners of his lips twitched as if threatening to turn upwards, much to her chagrin.

“You surprised me,” she replied with as much diplomacy as she could. “I’m not sure how else I should react. I mean, you fell out of the sky towards me-,”

“I’d like to call it a rapid yet controlled descent,” he interjected. “I’ll have you know that I was trying to be punctual.”

“Punctual?” she repeated while glancing at the hole in the clouds.

He nodded, “Yes. It was my first time coming here. It’s incredibly rare for a star to come down to earth and-”

His words hit her like ice... “A star?” She took a step back, looking around frantically. Normally in most circumstances, Asha wouldn’t have panicked. But given everything she’d seen and experienced tonight, she didn’t want to take any chances.  “Where?!” 

“Here,” he gestured to himself like what he had said hadn’t defied every law of nature. “Me.”

She politely looked him over, once, twice, and for scientific reasons, a third time.  “I’m sorry- you?”

“Yes, me!” He said placing a dark gloved hand over where his heart- if he had one- would be. “I’m a star!” He exclaimed as she watched his cape shiver, glowing dust descending from it onto the ground. 

She let out an indignant laugh, “You’re messing with me.”

“I’m not,” he said his voice growing soft as she realized that now all the animals were looking at her.

Stars weren’t pretty people, nor were they bloodthirsty monsters that spread their destruction as they sought to steal wishes. They were merely a part of nature, another testimony to its intricate beauty. 

But Whatever he was definitely…did not seem like that. “There’s no way you’re a star,”

“But I am!” He protested.

Neither of them said anything for a moment, as Asha had begun to realize that once again the forest had fallen silent. None of the animals were singing anymore. Now they were all staring at her and the boy as if painfully anticipating what would happen next. 

Maybe they knew something about this strange entity that she didn’t.

“Hold on,” she muttered, reaching into her satchel to pull out her handheld telescope. She aimed it towards the sky in the direction she’d remembered seeing the light from. If her memory and calculations served her correctly, then this ‘star’ was from the Cepheus constellation.

But no sooner had she begun looking than did she realize that something was wrong . 

There was a noticeable hole in that constellation.

A place where a star should have been…

Stars weren’t supposed to do this.

Stars weren’t supposed to be like this!

A growing sense of dread filled her as for once, she began to suspect that maybe the king had been right about this.

She risked a glance towards the floating boy, watching as he’d begun to amuse himself by drawing yellow glowing faces on the trees for the animals. Finally, he turned his attention back to her. The smirk on his face made her scowl as he victoriously called, “Well?”

‘Luminescent lunatic,’ her mind grumbled as she took a deep breath. “I must confess. I’ve always thought stars were gigantic balls of gas that underwent a series of chemical reactions that allowed them to illuminate so brightly that we were able to see them in the vast depths of space!”

“Really? Honestly, I always thought we were fireflies that got stuck up in that big black thing up there,” he’d pointed up as he slowly floated by her.

“You mean the sky ?” She asked while crossing her arms. 

“Yeah! That’s what I said!”

He’s messing with me, she told herself. He has to be doing this to make me get my guard down. Fine. Two could play this game. 

“Fine. Let’s say you are a ‘star’- what are you doing on earth?”

“What do you mean?” He’d asked as she watched confusion replace the amusement on his face as he floated towards her. 

“what do I mean? I asked why a star from up there would come down here!”

“Don’t you know?” He’d said so quietly that she nearly strained to hear. “You called me here.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“When in the world Did I ever call on a star?!” She exclaimed. 

“When you dropped this,” he said holding up a familiar-looking silver coin. 

“How did you-,” she paused, forcing her eyes to meet his as he looked at her thoughtfully. 

She shook her head. “I’m sorry but I think there’s been some sort of accident. I didn’t mean to drop this down the well, in fact, I only did it because my pet tripped me.”

“That may have been accidental, but your words were not. You wished you could do more for yourself and others. You wished to be more than you were now.”

“Wait…you heard that?”

“I did.”

“From up there?” she pointed to the sky.

“Yes.”

“You…you didn’t hear any of the stuff I said before that, did you?” she grimaced.

“I- no? Maybe? Why?”

“Nothing, nothing, I was just curious, that’s all. Congratulations on having spectacular hearing ability.”

“Ha! Thanks, it’s a gift.”

In all honesty, said gift sounded like an anathema to Asha who was fortunately wise enough to not voice these thoughts. So she decided to move on.

“Anyways I was being serious when I said that I, never meant for this to happen.,” she admitted while kicking a few pebbles near her foot.

“I know, but as I said before I could feel the intent behind your words. So That’s why I’m here. To help you.”

“Really?”

He nodded.

It sounded too good to be true... “What’s the catch?” she warily asked.

“Catch?” he repeated, looking a bit confused.

“Yeah you know, like an ulterior motive or personal goal? No one just grants wishes for free, so tell me what you’re getting out of it.”

“Nothing! Look, as a wish-granting star it’s only natural I do things like this. I want to help you.”

“You’re the wishing star?”

“Ha, I’m a wish-granting star.”

“There’s a difference?”

He nods, “Very much so. It’s a funny story really. A lot of us grant wishes, but they all vary in extent, capabilities, and desires. I suppose I could explain it to you later.”

Later?! She didn’t even want him around now!!!

There could not be any later! 

She eyed him suspiciously, “So you really want to help me?”

“I do.”

“But you don’t even know me-,”

“Do you have to know people to help them?”

Well, she couldn’t argue with that. Before today, she hadn’t known Mr. Diego, Mrs. Isla, Alonso, or Lady Camilla and she’d helped them, or at least tried to.

 But even if he sincerely wanted to help, she couldn’t imagine it ending well for either of them. If the king had found out that she’d called down a star then she’d be banished. No questions asked. She didn’t even want to think of the mass hysteria that would break out once the people of Rosas discovered that there was a star of all beings in their midst.

Maybe it would lead to battle or worse, the end of Rosas,  all because she’d been careless.

The only way to avoid any further disaster was to politely refuse his help and convince him to go home.

‘C’mon Asha,’ she told herself. ‘You can do this! It’ll be just like reasoning with the nobles if the nobles were allegedly beings capable of great power and bloodthirst. Allegedly.’

Would it be too late to say that now she was missing the officials? Yikes, just how far had she fallen tonight to be thinking that of all things?!

“Ha, well as generous as that is, I’m afraid I’m going to have to politely, and I mean very politely …decline your offer.”

“Pardon?” he asked as she watched all the animals in the forest gasp, some even grinning.

She glanced at Valentino for any semblance of assistance, only to find none. “Look you seem like you’re a very nice guy, er, star. And I appreciate you healing my hands too, thanks for that-,”

“You’re welcome.”

“But I think it would be best if, and I’m saying this with a heavy heart!” she pointed for emphasis as she took a step back. “You leave me to do this by myself.”

He stood there, carefully eyeing her before he shook his head, “Yeah, no. Sorry, princess. I think I’m going to have to politely decline your polite declinations.”

The whole animal audience gasped, some roaring with laughter and cheers as Asha began to spatter incredulously. “You can’t just do that!”

“Watch me, princess! I like to make it my personal mission to ensure that I have a 100% customer satisfaction rate, and as such I will not leave until your wish has been properly granted.”

Now she was fuming, all caution improperly leaving her mind as she narrowed her eyes at him, “Alright, and just how many ‘customers’ have you had before?”

She watched as both the audience and the boy went quiet. “One,” he admitted.

“How many wishes have you granted?”

“One.”

“You’ve never granted wishes before have you?”

“Nope!” he says with a grin. “And now I give you the honor of being my first-,”

She placed her hands on her hip, frowning at him. “Those were definitely words…Look, is there  a manager I can speak to about this?”

“Yes. You can speak to me. I am the manager,” he called as she huffed hearing the growing laughter emerging from the surrounding animals.

“Yes but not on this planet. Where are your superiors?”

He shrugged, “They’re not here, so the best you have is me. Take it or leave it.”

‘This conversation is going nowhere,’ she thought, fuming as she heard the surrounding animals begin to cackle. 

“Oh, this is getting good! Some pass me the snacks!” laughed the bear as he gulped down a few acorns.

“What a strange human,” mumbled a badger through the laughter. 

“Are all humans so audacious?” asked a deer to her companion.

“Why is she being so rude!” chirped a bird. “He’s only trying to help!”

“She’s a Human. None of them know how to respect nature!!” grumbled the squirrel, whose nuts she’d unfortunately disturbed earlier.

Valentino defensively pleated at them as they all began to laugh once more.

 Her jaw clenched, and fists balled at the animals' incessant laughing. Without another word, she turned and stormed away. The laughter immediately died as she took her leave. 

“W-wait miss! Come back!” Said one of the bunnies.

“We didn’t mean to offend-,”

“Yes we did,” said the squirrel as several other animals hissed at him. “What?! We did!”

She could hear the star saying something in that unintelligible language, but she wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or the animals. 

Quickly Valentino followed after her, pleading with her to come back as he glanced from her to the clearing where the rest of the animals were.

She knew she shouldn’t have let this of all things get to her.

She was being petulant. 

She knew it. 

But after everything the day had put her through.  After everything she was now at risk of losing , she neither had the sanity nor patience to deal with the ‘star’ and talking animals any longer, as she continued to put distance between herself and them.

This was what she deserved for saying the word wish, even in a figurative sense.

She’d only made it a few yards away when she felt a hand gently grip her forearm, bringing her to a still. “Wait!” he called. “I didn’t mean to make you leave-,” His hand was far too warm, she thought as he gingerly turned her around to face him. “But, I don’t think you’re being very fair.”

As angry as she was, she’d concede that point to him. It wasn’t fair to call him all this way only to tell him to go back and she knew it. But she couldn’t let him stay, not when it would lead to disaster. “I know… but I told you- you need to go! Back to wherever you came from!”

“Well, that’s the thing. I can’t. There are rules to this. Once you make a wish, I cannot leave until I’ve completely granted said wish.”

“But this was an accident! I didn’t even make the wish on you directly! I just dropped a stupid coin into an old well!”

“Yet it still brought me here,” he declared with a surprising amount of sternness.  “I know you need help. Don’t lie to me. There’s something dangerous going on here, isn’t there? ” Her hesitation gave him all the confirmation she needed as she watched him begin to nod.

Quickly she stood back, pulling herself from his grasp. “Look, I’m sorry for whatever inconvenience I might’ve caused you when my coin fell down that well and you heard my words. But you don’t understand! You can’t stay here. Bad things will happen if you do!”

“But bad things will happen if I go, too. Won’t they?”

She almost nodded, the memory of the wish shattering replaying in her mind's eye as she felt herself break out into a cold sweat. 

Who knew what other wishes they were planning to destroy or what their end goal was? 

Whatever it was couldn’t have been good. 

As much as she hated to admit it, the more she thought about the situation, the more hopeless it felt. So many bad things were going to happen either way, weren’t they? 

What could she do?

She could panic and she had. Unfortunately for her, in her panic, she’d effectively made everything worse. She’d called down a star of all beings- a star!

“I’m going to be banished,” she breathed. “The king will ensure I never see my family or this land again!”

He frowned, looking concerned as he asked, “Why would your father do that to you?”

“My father?” She repeated, looking at him as if he’d grown two heads.

He nodded, “Yes your father.”

“Wait, you think the king is my father?”

He nodded. “Yes. Why would he banish you? Has he lost his mind?”

“The answer to your second question is a most likely or hard yes, but you really think the king is my father?”

“Yes. You are a princess are you not?”

She glanced down at Valentino who looked just as shocked as she did. “You-,” she paused, pointing to herself. “Think… I am a princess?”

“I mean you fit the criteria-,”

“Do I look like a princess to you?!” She exclaimed. 

“Sort of?” he shrugged. “Yeah?”

Without thinking, She burst into a fit of giggles, as did Valentino. 

She didn’t mean to laugh but the idea of her being a princess of Rosas of all places was too much. She couldn’t imagine what she’d do if she’d been born the princess of Rosas. ‘Probably make the king die of disappointment,’ she thought before laughing harder.

A disappointed king was nothing to laugh about, but in the grand scheme of things it was a funny scenario to imagine. 

“I’m flattered really, but I am not a princess.” She leaned against the old well while glancing at Valentino. “Although I will admit that being a princess would solve a huge portion of my problems. But unfortunately, I am,” she gestured to herself. “A peasant, and I live in a kingdom.”

“Ok,” he said, and much to her chagrin he looked a bit disappointed. But she didn’t spare a second thought as she immediately realized that she was on the verge of making a terrible mistake.

A lot of strange things that she’d once thought were impossible were now becoming reality. 

What if star monsters were one of them? Granted this star didn’t look too bad. Frankly, he looked the complete opposite of bad, if she were being honest. But that didn’t mean that she should trust him.

What if stars were shapeshifters, and he was merely using this form to get her to lead him toward the wishes?  What if he didn’t want the wishes? What if he wanted to destroy Rosas instead?!

She needed to be careful. Surely there was some loophole or back door she could use to get out of this unscathed. 

If She couldn’t get him to leave, then she’d have to keep a tight leash on him and ensure that he didn’t do anything risky. 

She knew it wouldn’t be as easy as it sounded, but what other choice did she have? 

“Do you…mind if I ask you a question?”

“Shoot,” he’d answered sprinkling some of his dust on a half-dead flower bush that quickly revived itself. 

“You need to forgive me, I mean. Not many people in our small, humble kingdom have magic and those who did would probably be  responsible and not make animals talk.”

“I feel like there’s an insult behind your words there but please continue-,”

“Stars aren’t exactly a native species to this planet. So I was wondering if this-,” she pointed at him. “Is this how you actually look? Or do stars usually look like something else?”

He shook his head, “No, but I do it so I can become more approachable to humans. Do you like my form? It’s great, isn’t it?”

“I- I, uh, um, well you know, I mean you’re a very, ah, help me Valentino-,” she pleaded. The goat proudly stepped forward pleating something as she nodded. “Yeah. Exactly, what  he said.”

The boy said nothing as he looked at Valentino and then at her before a grin spread across his lips. “I see. I didn’t know you felt so strongly-,”

“I’m sorry- strongly? Strongly?!”

“It’s what he said,” the star gestured to the goat.

“You can understand him?”

“Of course I can. In fact, I could make him talk if you’d li-”

“Oh no you don’t! I swear if I hear you make Valentino say one word I will launch you back into the sky so fast you’ll go from a wishing star to a shooting star in a heartbeat!”

“Noted,” he said, holding his hands up as he grinned, carefully backing away. “I will not make your pet talk.”

“Good,” she huffed, crossing her arms as she began to think through her options once more.

Alright, so stars were shapeshifters that could understand animals. Great. It was another thing she could add to her growing list of information about stars, right next to the existence of rules that forbade them from leaving until their wishes were granted.

Wait.

Her wish. 

It had been vague, hadn’t it?

She’d never referenced anything specifically to the king, nor the wishes nor the magic of Rosas, which were all things she was certain this star didn’t need to know about. 

Maybe this was the loophole she was looking for! 

If she could get him to help her complete her tasks then she’d be rid of him by tomorrow nightfall, which could give her enough time to warn the king of the imminent danger! It was perfect!

“Well since we’ve got that settled, I think I should let you know my grandfather’s 100th birthday  Is coming up.”

“Oh? Congratulations.”

“Thanks. Anyway I work for a really important person, and they said that they would give me time off for it if I got a certain amount of tasks done before tomorrow’s nightfall. I’ve admittedly gotten half done, but I’d be eternally grateful if you helped me with my other tasks, which include decorating a market.”

“Decorating? Are you guys throwing a party?” he asked, his eyes lighting with excitement.

She shrugged, answering “Ah, something like that yes. I also need to go to an island too-,”

“Which one? I’ve been told that there are a lot of islands on this planet.”

“It’s called Anaris,” she stated, before pulling out her sketchbook where she’d sketched a map of the island. He carefully took the sketchbook from her, thoughtfully looking over it as she continued to explain. “It’s off the coast of the kingdom and is almost a day’s journey. I need to go there to find someone, but between that and decorating the market I might not be able to complete the tasks on time.”

She paused, watching as his eyes narrowed for a split second before he smiled once more and handed the sketchbook back to her, “So you’d be eternally grateful if I helped you complete your tasks on time so you could go home for your grandfather’s 100th birthday. Is that correct?”

“Yes! Now I know it’s probably a bit more banal than you usually-,”

“I’ll do it.”

“Oh ok and I-, wait what?”

“I said that I’ll help you. That is what you want , correct?”

She nodded, not trusting herself enough to confidently articulate an answer.

“Very well then. Which way to the island?”

“It’s northeast from here. But I’m not sure how we’re going to get there in time. I mean my transportation is gone.” 

“Your transportation?”

“Yeah, my horse. He bolted when he saw your ‘rapid yet controlled descent’.” She remembered how quickly Sebastian had taken off, leaving her behind. 

The star pulled his cape around himself, grinning rather smugly as he declared “I’m dreadfully sorry about that. But Fortunately For the both of us, I know a faster way we could get to the island if you want to go there first.”

She hesitantly nodded before saying, “Really? It’s like a half a day’s journey-,”

“I Can cut that time down substantially. And besides I’m sure you’ll like it too.”

“What is it?”

“Come here and I’ll show you,” he said, reaching his hand out towards her.

Asha stared at it hesitantly, not taking it as she carefully looked back at him. 

She had a very bad feeling about this.

He stood there for a moment looking her over, before his eyes darted to the area behind her. “Is that your horse over there?”

“Over where?”  she asked, looking where he’d pointed to. To her confusion, nothing was there. She was nearly about to tell him this when he moved forward, his arms sweeping her off her feet.  “Hey?! What are you- ah!” she cried as she felt him pull her closer to him in a way that felt eerily similar to the bridal style.

She wasn’t sure what was more shocking- the way he held her or the fact that he lifted her as if she practically weighed nothing!

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?! 

“You need to get to the island fast. Well, what faster way to get there than by flying? It’s certainly more interesting than walking.”

“I- what? You’re going to fly with me in your arms?!”

He nodded, evidently not sharing her concerns in the slightest.  “We’ll be able to reach there before midnight, which will give you more than enough time to decorate the market tomorrow. Unless of course, you’d rather we go to the market first and then the island.”

She couldn’t answer as she watched Valentino run up towards them, before carefully levitating into her arms. 

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“I- wait you were serious about flying?! Have you lost your mind!”

“Absolutely. Now we’ll take off on the count of 3.”

“Wait can’t you just sprinkle some of your magical dust on me or something?! Why do you have to carry me like this?!”

“I’m a star, dear. Not a fairy. It’s called Stardust, not pixie dust.”

“What’s the difference?!”

“I’m not a fairy. Now then, 3-

“Hold on a second, shouldn’t we, I don’t know, not do this?! We’re defying the laws of gravity!! What if you fall?!?”

“2-” he adjusted her in his arms. “I’m not going to fall. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

“WHOA, You’re not actually going to do what I think, you are, are you? Wait a second!”

“Hmm?” He pauses looking at her. “Aren’t we missing something?”

“Like what?”

“We might not have the pixie dust but we are definitely lacking in the faith and trust department.”

“…1.5-,”

“Valentino tell him no! NO!” Valentino excitedly bleated, which earned him a smile from the star as he nodded. “Traitor!” she yelled to Valentino. 

“1- and here we go-!”

She squeezed her eyes shut, anticipating the quick ascension. She could feel it! They were rising now! She screamed, thrashing and kicking as she felt the air around her thin. “NO! PLEASE! I’M AFRAID OF HEIGHTS!” she choked. “WHY IS THE AIR SO THIN UP HERE?! SLOW DOWN! WE’RE GOING TOO FAST!” She cried as she felt the air whip around her once more as they began to nosedive.  “WE’RE FALLING-”

“But…I haven’t even left the ground yet?” he said softly, as Asha cracked open one eye. Embarrassingly looking around at the curious animals who were still watching them. 

True to his words, they hadn’t left the ground.

“Oh,” she muttered, trying to ignore the sudden warmth that had invaded her cheeks. She was half-tempted to wish that the ground would crack open to swallow her, but she’d learned her lesson about using the word ‘wish’ tonight. 

“I didn’t know you were afraid of heights,” he’d said gently near her ear. “If you want maybe I can bring back your horse.”

“No, no,” she shook her head, remembering the royal crest that all palace horses tended to wear. She couldn’t let him see it. “It’s fine. We can fly. Just promise me that you won’t drop me-“

“I won’t let go,” he says, his grip on her underside felt like a firm assurance. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“Alright,” she breathed, fighting down her nerves. “I’ll just remember to stay calm, that's all. Just don’t look down.”

“You could just look at me if it’s any consolation.”

She truthfully had no response to that as she felt him slowly begin to levitate once more, the trees and flowers rising in the background as she heard several animals begin to bid them farewell and wish them luck. 

She didn’t have the heart to look back as she felt the wind howling in her ears, tugging her clothes and hair in various directions. The cold night enveloped her as she instinctively shivered, begrudgingly moving closer to the warmth that the star offered. 

As they continued to fly, she could smell the faint scent of burning wood and the saltiness of the distant sea. 

He truly hadn’t been lying about cutting their time short as she could feel Valentino shifting in her arms to take in the view from below. 

With her curiosity getting the better of her, she decided to risk a glance at the scenery below as well. 

As much as she was afraid, she couldn’t help but feel that this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity with a view she knew she’d never see again. The sight of Rosas beneath her etched itself into her memory as she took in the sight of all the small buildings and houses below as several glowed with the familiar warmth. She could even see the waves wash in gently at the edge of the island, filling her with a sense of security that she’d long since missed as a child.

It was… beautiful. 

She knew that even at ground level the kingdom’s beauty had been nothing to scoff at, but up here it felt as if she’d been exposed to a whole new level of beauty. Everything seemed far more vibrant- even the architecture of the buildings she’d never given much thought to.

Had Rosas always been so beautiful?  She wondered. 

She remembered her father had always told her that there was beauty in everything and that sometimes that beauty just needed a different perspective for its expression.  But Speaking of her father, she wondered what he would think if he were here to see what exactly a star was. Would he be frightened? Excited? Overwhelmed? She wasn’t sure as she  looked up, past the star’s face to the beautiful starry sky above. 

It had been a while since she’d seen the sky like this, but it was just as she’d remembered it. 

“Do you live down there?” Came the star’s voice interrupting her memories.

“I live close by,” she confessed, thinking of the small and humble town of Hamlet. “The town I'm from is way smaller than that.”

“I see,” he hummed. A moment of silence followed with nothing but the sounds of the winds filling the space between them. It felt like an eternity before she heard him speak once more, “Are you alright?” the boy, no star asked, as she saw him look down at her.

“I’m as good as I’ll ever be, I guess,” she admitted, trying hard not to stare at him. 

How ironic was it that out of all the king’s apprentices, the one with the least amount of magical potential had achieved the impossible? Had it not been so frightening to her, maybe she would’ve allowed herself to marvel at it, marvel at him.

She shook her head, there was no point in marveling at anything magical.

She’d fix this by herself, and she’d do it without magic she thought.

If all went well, he’d be gone by tomorrow night, allowing this chapter of her life to close to make way for a new one.

[themratts]

Dear Red Biretta

Cardinal Copia x OC Slow Burn

Friends to Lovers

Rating: G

Chapter word Count: 2,180

Pairing: M/F

Synopsis: Sister Alena has been enjoying her life within the abbey walls and satanic chapel. What she doesn’t know, is that things are about to change, the moment she becomes aquatinted with a certain awkward Cardinal and picks up that dear red biretta.

Read on Ao3 🥀

Chapter One under the cut 🥀

• • • ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ

The Library was always her favorite.

Which is likely why Alena had taken up the “Librarian’s helper” position with great pride and diligence for the past three years that she’s resided at the ministry. She did not have to come early, but she could stay late. Stay surrounded by books, endless worlds of knowledge and fantasy, for hours at a time. And most importantly, the tables and cushions and window sills made the perfect locations for studying. It was easy to balance her clergical duties with her personal ones. The library was her safe space.

While she didn’t do it often, her favorite task of all was running the book checkout. Situated at the front desk, it allowed her a sufficient view of the main area, satisfactory, the sight of fellow siblings and other members of ranks of all sorts enjoying this wondrous part of the building filled her with great joy. She liked the smiles on peoples faces as they slipped her their library cards, and well, she also liked knowing what everyone was reading.

However, this was not to say that the library itself was a frequently bustling area. Quite the opposite, in fact. If Alena wasn’t sorting, putting back books, or indulging in her satanic studies , then she was likely reclined at the librarian’s desk with her legs folded. Teacup to her left, her own book in hand, just enjoying the peace and contentment. Precisely where she found herself on this serene day. Noon’s sun was high in the sky and the rays that shone through both regular and stained glass windows decorated the interior beautifully. Average Wednesday, next to no one around, all was still.

Alena lifted the teacup to her lips and tilted her head back, ever so slightly. Her eyes traveled along the lettering on the page in front of her. This was how you spend a lazy afternoon. The librarian herself, Sister Margaretta, a gentle, much older woman, was off in the back somewhere, sorting her own personal archives. Alena had offered to help, but was declined. “Go enjoy yourself, child,” she’d said to her, “I’ll call you over if I need you.” But so far, nothing. So there she sat.

The slight creak of the heavy wooded doors brought Alena’s mind out of her book and back to reality. She peeked up, delighted at the thought of a possible visitor. Strolling through the doors was one of her fellow sisters of sin, their name was slipping her tongue at the moment but that didn’t matter. They weren’t friends, but had definitely spoken once or twice post-mass or during a lesson discussion. Alena sat up, flipping the end of her nun’s veil over her shoulder and preparing to greet her as the woman stepped right up to the desk.

“Afternoon, Sister.”

“Afternoon.” She smiled, and came to a halt right across from her. “Sister Alena, yes?”

“That’s right,” their smiles mirrored now, “How may I help you?”

“I was told you’re here sometimes. I was sent for you.”

“Oh?” Peculiar.

“Mmhm. Cardinal Riccardo would like to see you. He’s doing note checks. Something about, uhh..” she rolled her wrist in a tight circle, “...making sure everyone is writing their verses, you know, studying properly, something something..”

“Ohhh,” Alena set her teacup down, “I see. And, when does he want me?”

“Right now.”

“Oh dear,” this seemed a bit sudden. But, it wasn’t like that was out of character for Cardinal Riccardo. Now, Alena didn’t personally know all the Cardinals, probably couldn’t even name them all, but she didn’t need to to know that Riccardo was the strictest. She stood from her seat, “-All my note work is back in my room,”

“Then I guess you better get to it.” The other woman shrugged. Alena scrunched her nose and quickly thanked this sister, before scurrying herself to the back. She would have to let Ms. Sister Margaretta know that she was heading off, then, she could be on her way.

♡… ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ…♡

More than anything, a deep annoyance pricked at Alena’s being. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if Riccardo had let his scholars know ahead of time about this so-called random “check”, but no, that would just be too convenient for that grumpy old guy. She had not been attending his personal Cardinal’s meetings, or “classes” as they technically were, for very long, yet she already did not like him. He was unkind.

Trudging down the hallway, she wished she’d picked a shorter habit skirt for the day. The leggings she wore underneath were sticking to her skin and the stress created by her desire to.. not get yelled at was causing an innate feeling of discomfort. Inside her skin and out. The hallways weren’t full, by any means, they weren’t crowded, but a few siblings staggered here and there and it was taking a lot out of Alena to keep her focus on where she needed to be headed. Despite having been living within the ministry for three consecutive years now, one issue that she still hadn’t quite hurtled was the navigation.

The corridors were nearly identical.

She wasn’t one to get lost, but it could at times take her a moment or two to make sure she knew where she was and where she was going. The best way, she found, to (at least temporarily) solve this problem was to have a routine. Find a passage of halls that lead where you need to go, and learn them, memorize them. Stick to them. As well as that worked, of course, there was always the downside of the outcome being she’d left a lot of the monastery unexplored. Slightly disappointing, but was it worth getting lost? She didn’t think so.

Upon rounding the corner, she confirmed she did in fact know precisely where she was, that in itself was comforting if nothing else. She was almost there. This hallway was a little less full than the one she just came from, but she didn’t make much note of those around her. Under different circumstances, Alena enjoyed greeting people as she passed them or exchanging a few smiles. In general the atmosphere here was very friendly and welcoming, hell most people would probably give you a hug if you asked nicely. Which made sense, given the messages preached by Papa himself and the environment he enforced. Might not be everyone, but, most of these people were quite nice.

Which is why it surprised her a little when the sound of rushing footsteps stomped past her in the opposite direction, followed by a crash, and then laughter. Alena whipped her head around, started by the sudden noise. The sight that met her eyes was not very pretty.

Someone, who must’ve been skedaddling way faster than their own feet anticipated, had taken an awful tumble, right there in the hall. There weren’t many others around, but the ones who were were covering their mouths and giggling as they stepped around this unfortunate scene. Papers and a few books were scattered about. It caused Alena to stop dead in her tracks.

The person who’d fallen was a man. Not someone Alena knew, but, something about him was oddly familiar. Judging by his attire, he must’ve been one of the Cardinals. His cassock, which was a rather striking shade of red, stretched and flopped as he struggled onto his knees. Only then did she get a look at his face. She didn’t recognize him, his jawline was sharp and nose long and somewhat pointy. His hair, a dusty chestnut brown, fell in waves down the back of his head. And to match, a handsome pair of sideburns and light mustache. The typical Cardinal’s paint, an eye and lip look, were clung to him. Alena blinked, slowly.

She watched as the man, with very shaky limbs, tried his best to collect his papers. Some of them continued to fall from his unsteady hands, while others were getting stepped on by passer-bys. Something inside of her hurt. Why wasn’t anyone helping him? Or making sure he was okay? He looked so sad. No, no. This wasn’t right. She had to do something.

Momentarily forgetting just how much of a hurry she was in, Alena’s feet seemed to carry her right up to him all on their own. Without hesitating, she crouched and began gathering up some of the papers for him. By now they seemed to be the only two in the hallway, which made things easier, although still several of the documents were stamped with dirty shoe prints.

Once her hands were full, she lifted her head to inspect the man in front of her. By now, he’d noticed her presence. And he was wide-eyed staring. Now that she was close up, Alena could get a better look at him. No… she still didn’t recognize him, but she couldn’t shake the feeling she had seen him somewhere. She also noticed that one of his eyes was a different color than the other, one a warm green while its partner a stark white. It was… interesting. It matched the eye pattern of the Emeritus family. The most well known, highest ranking family in the clergy. The LEADERS of the clergy. But… this guy wasn’t an Emeritus? Right…?

Alena’s thoughts were cut suddenly as she realized, a black, wet stain of a tear was trickling down his cheek. Her heart broke. And gently, she held the papers out to him and tried to smile. He didn’t move.

“Here,” her voice came out a little less steady than she would’ve liked it to. Perhaps she was nervous, she didn’t want to upset him further, “-that was a nasty fall, are-are you alright?”

He remained silent. Although his lips parted as if he wanted to answer. Instead, his trembling arms opened and he took the documents from her. After another moment of staring, he nodded.

“Good.” Alena continued. Another black smudge ran down his face. She winced. “Oh, dear, please… don’t cry,” And her hand began mindlessly fishing her pocket. Fortunately for this poor guy, a case of seasonal allergies left Alena with tissues on her person at all times. When she managed to wrangle one out, however, she realized his hands were completely full. Wanting to avoid making this worse, she opted to reach forward, and gently wipe the smeared paint from his cheeks herself.

He remained frozen.

“-there, see? You’re alright..” She crumpled the dirty tissue and shoved it back into her pocket. Then, with a huff, hoisted herself back to her own feet. She extended a hand to the stranger, a helpful gesture. But he only stared. For several moments, as if he had never seen another human hand before. Then, hesitantly, he took it, and Alena helped him up off the ground.

Oh, woah. He was taller than she thought he was. Well.. taller than her, at least. Not that that meant very much. The man stood dumbfounded, books and papers still cradled his arms. Alena felt a little awkward. Why wasn’t he talking to her? Was he that upset? The best she could think to do was brush it off.

Just then, another sibling walked by behind them, and kicked something. A glimpse of that same pretty red caught Alena’s peripheral and she looked down. Oh, yes, of course. It was a biretta. It must have been his. She bent down carefully and picked up the prim hat, something inside her shivered at the contact. Cautiously, she looked up again and held it out to him. He was still staring. And without moving his gaze at all, took the hat from her hand and placed it back onto his head.

Waaiiiit a minute.

It finally hit her. Alena knew why he looked so familiar. She had definitely seen that look before. She had definitely seen that hat before. The tip of it skimmed the top of the shelves in the library many times. Yes! THAT was it! The library. THAT was where she had seen him. It MUST have been.

As quickly as the realization dawned on her, the memory of where she was supposed to be right now flooded back as well. Panic shot through her body. She visibly tensed up and, not wanting to be rude, began to scoot away from him. “-um, good day, sir,” And a nod was all she could manage out of politeness before she promptly began to scamper away.

Truthfully, Alena felt a little bad about helping him up and then ditching himso suddenly. She wished she could have done more or at least gotten his name. But, oh well. Perhaps she’ll just have to keep an eye out. Admittedly.. Something about him more or less had her attention. He had such an… odd look to him, intriguing almost. But who knows. Maybe she could get to know him, or maybe there wasn’t much to get to know. It’s hard to judge a book by its cover. Even if it may be the most alluring cover you’ve ever seen.