#also i love the title i think ''the wind whistles through me'' is such a good phrase it activates my brain nicely

[cheddar-baby]

Remembered this triptych of poems i made about ghosts and decided why not share it and the photo of the doll i made to go along with it.

[aemondsbabe]

Wind's Howling

summary: sharing a bed & accidental stimulation || you're nursing osferth's injury as the two of you spend a cold night together in an inn, but you feel called to help him in another way as well

pairing: osferth x f!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, mentions of injury but nothing graphic, dry humping kind of, kissing, breast/nipple play, piv sex, unprotected sex it’s like literally the 800’s sue me, cuddling, osferth whimpering how precious, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 1.8k

a/n: happy day five of 12 days of smuff!! this one can be read as a continuation of love is patient and kind or as a stand alone! enjoy! also yes, the title is a witcher pun

12 days of smuff masterlist!

gif creds to @black-dread!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

You can hear Osferth let out a soft sigh behind you as you shift yet again in another futile attempt to get comfortable on the thin, lumpy mattress. You sigh too, as you finally settle, only to let out a quiet groan when you realize this position is really no better than the last twenty you tried. 

“Sorry,” you spare a glance over your shoulder as you speak, wincing as another harsh gust of wind blows a cold draft through the room, “I can’t get comfortable enough on this damn thing to sleep.” You say with a defeated sigh. 

“You need not apologize,” the monk murmurs behind you, “Between my shoulder and this cold, sleep eludes me as well.” 

As if on cue, another stinging draft billows through the room, eerily whistling through any cracks it can find. The two of you sigh, defeated — leave it to Uhtred to pick the worst possible inn to stop at, though he had insisted upon it, saying Osferth needed a few days in safety to rest his shoulder and the rest of you needed the opportunity to gather supplies anyway. 

Truthfully, a break was probably a good idea. Ever since the ambush a few days ago, the spirits of your group had been in short supply and members were beginning to bicker and fight amongst themselves. Your poor monk had taken it upon himself to be the peacekeeper, which had only served to cause you more stress as you kept trying to compel him to stay in bed and rest his shoulder. 

You can’t help but squeeze your eyes shut at the thought of his injury, the memory of him being harshly tugged off his horse in the chaos of the ambush still makes you uneasy; your heart twists in your chest as you think through your list of “what ifs” yet again. 

Almost as if he can sense your thoughts, Osferth bumps the back of your leg with his knee. “Please do not worry yourself, my lady,” he says, a heaviness to his tired voice, “I am fine, we are safe.” 

“How did you know I was thinking about it?” 

“You tense up every time you do.” 

You sigh again before finally turning over to face him, your tired eyes meeting his in the dark room, the only light in the room coming from the full moon outside. 

“Hi,” you murmur after a moment. 

“Hi,” he whispers, the corner of his lips quirking up into a soft smirk. 

“How’s your shoulder?” You ask, shrugging one arm out from underneath the thick wool blanket the two of you share to gingerly run your fingers over his arm, taking extra care in the spots you know are still bruised and sore, “Is it feeling any better?” 

“I think so,” he mutters, flexing it a little, “It aches to move it too much but as long as I am still, it causes me no pain.” 

You nod thoughtfully, silently thanking whatever God there may be that he had escaped relatively unharmed. 

After another moment of silence, you wiggle again on the mattress before letting out a quiet, rueful laugh. “I give up,” you groan, “This mattress is useless.” 

Osferth sighs next to you and shuffles closer, reaching out as far as he can without extending his shoulder to skim his long fingers over your arm as an act of comfort, “I’m sorry, my sweet lady.” 

“I should be the one apologizing,” you murmur, “Without my tossing and turning, perhaps you could find sleep.” 

He breathes a quiet laugh through his nose, “You are not what is keeping me awake,” he says with a sigh, “Between this cold and my shoulder, your restlessness is a blessing.” 

The wind howls outside once more and you see Osferth shiver as another draft of bitter air blows through the room. With a sigh, you shuffle closer to him, practically molding the front of your body to the front of his as your legs slot together under the woolen blanket; your eyes flutter closed as you savor the warmth of having him pressed against you, though the action causes your thin linen shift to ride up nearly to the tops of your thighs as one of his long legs presses between yours. 

After a moment, you find yourself squirming for a much different reason, the discomfort of the mattress quickly slipping from the forefront of your mind as your center begins to throb, making you keenly aware of the way the monk’s warm thigh presses against your bare heat, the thin fabric of his breeches the only thing separating the two of you. 

You stay quiet, opting not to disturb him further as you know sleep is important to the healing process. However, it seems his mind is wandering too because after a moment, your eyes shoot open when you feel his hard length pressing against your hip, only to find him already looking at you. 

“Osferth —,”

“I’m sorry, my lady,” he murmurs softly, a blush visible on his cheeks even in the dim lighting, “I—,” he starts, though you cut him off with a soft kiss, sighing as his lips press against yours, his warm breath fanning across your face. 

“You needn’t apologize,” you whisper, pressing soft kisses to his cheeks, “In fact, I can think of something that may help us both sleep…” You tease, just barely rutting your hips against his. 

His eyes slip closed at the feeling, a soft, whimpered sigh escaping his lips before he shakes his head. “You’ve already done so much for me, my lady,” Osferth murmurs, his blue eyes meeting yours once more. 

“So let me do this last thing,” you smile, pressing one more sweet kiss against his lips, “Please?” 

Your monk can’t help but smile at your eagerness and nods, making you smile brightly in the darkness of the small room. Gently, you untangle yourself from him before guiding him onto his back, taking care to ensure that he moves his shoulder as little as possible. Finally, you climb atop him, straddling his hips, both of you groaning at the way your wet, warm center presses against his length through his cotton breeches. You’re careful to keep the blankets wrapped over your shoulders as you maneuver on top of him, lifting your hips just enough to free his length. 

You shiver when you feel him press against you, already throbbing in your grasp as you run the head of his cock through your folds, gasping as it bumps against your already aching bud. 

“Please, my lady,” Osferth groans beneath you, his chest already heaving, “You… you feel too good, please.” 

You can’t help but obey him, smirking at his pleas as you position his length at your entrance. “Shhh, sweet monk,” you soothe, moaning as the head of his cock slips inside you, “Let me make you feel good.” 

Osferth whimpers beneath you as you sink down onto his length with a pleased sigh, your walls already squeezing against him. You gasp softly when he presses fully inside you, your hips resting against his as his length fills you completely, leaving no part of you untouched. You wiggle your hips on top of him, grinding your pearl against him with a soft whimper. 

You slowly start moving atop him, though you quickly pick up the pace as one of his hands grips harshly at your waist, the other remains draped across his chest at your insistence, determined to keep his shoulder safe. You bite your lower lip, intending to stay quiet as you know the walls of the old inn must be quite thin, however that gets harder and harder to do as the tip of Osferth’s cock brushes against that sensitive spot within you every time you sink back down onto him. 

“You feel so good,” the monk gasps as he stares up at you, marveling at how you move against him, at the beautiful blush spreading across your cheeks, at the way your breasts bounce beneath the nearly sheer fabric of your simple shift dress, “So beautiful, my sweet lady.” He sighs, his cock twitching against your walls. 

“Osferth,” you whisper through a harsh gasp, “I love you, my precious monk.” You smile when he groans beneath you, his cock throbbing as you continue moving against him. 

“I — Christ,” he gasps, the hand on your hip pushing itself under your shift dress, “I love you too, sweet girl.” He groans, perhaps a bit too loud, as he cups your breast, kneading your soft skin in his palm. 

You gasp loudly at the added sensation, the heat in your belly threatening to boil over. Blessedly, Osferth seems just as done in as you, his hips squirming beneath yours as he tries to stay still. 

“My lady,” he gasps, blue eyes staring up at you more urgently than before, “My lady, I — !” He cuts himself off with a loud moan when you lean forward to press your bud more firmly against him, which only serves to press his length somehow deeper within you as his fingers toy wildly with your nipple. 

“I know,” you nod your head with a gasp, struggling to keep your eyes open, “I know, my sweet monk. It’s okay, please” you moan, your walls clenching hotly around him as your high finally spills over you, igniting every nerve ending with a blinding pleasure, “God, fuck!” You can’t help but squeal, bracing your hands on either side of the monk’s head as you tumble forward, unable to hold yourself up. 

Osferth whispers your name over and over, as if in prayer, before he finally groans loudly, cock twitching wildly within you as he cums, painting your walls with his thick spend. He moans happily as you sink further down against him, mouthing at your nipples through the fabric of your dress. 

After a moment, your high subsides and you open your eyes once more, giggling softly as you lean down to press a sweet kiss to his lips. With a sigh, you lift yourself off of him before dropping to the bed with a tired groan. You slot yourself against his side and pull the blanket back up from where it had slipped off, one of your legs draped across the monk’s hips. 

Just as you’re about to open your mouth again to ask about his shoulder, a fist pounds on the wall above your heads from the next room, making the two of you gasp. 

“Oi!” Sihtric calls, his gruff voice muffled, “If you don’t stop fucking like rabbits I’ll come in there and strangle the damn monk myself!” 

“Oops,” you whisper to Osferth through a giggle, nuzzling your head against his neck. 

“I would face the wrath of ten vikings to bed you, my lady,” the monk whispers softly before pressing a kiss against the top of your head.

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @alerisc @fan-goddess @wickedfrsgrl @moonriseoverkyoto @echos-muses

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

[huramuna]

a maid's folly - chapter 1.

dark aemond x maid ofc minor aemond x floris baratheon work is 18+, minors do not interact, lest ye be smited.

previous | next

summary: a new maid from the Vale arrives at the Red Keep during a tumultuous time and becomes ensnared in the One-Eyed prince's web.

word count: 2k

i got a few requests for dark aemond x maid / servant / lowborn so here is my amalgamation of all of those! this will be a mini series!

warnings: smut (eventually, will add further tags on chapters with smut), power imbalance, dark Aemond, canon typical misogyny, canon typical violence, Aemond being a touch starved weirdo, possessiveness, jealousy, this is going to be ANGSTY

guilded lily - cults • christmas kids - roar

It was an eve of spring, a gentle breeze whistling through the corridors of the Red Keep. A particularly strong gust rippled the bandanna atop the maid’s head– she slapped a hand to the crown of her skull, pulling it taut once more.

She shouldn’t be getting knocked over by a mere gust of wind– in the South, no less. The newly appointed maid was a young girl of nineteen name-days passed. She was known by Rosemary; Rosemary Stone. Originally from the Vale, more specifically, she was raised in the Eyrie. Her mother was a handmaiden to Lady Jeyne Arryn– the two women were particularly close and Jeyne took Rosemary under her wing as if she were her own after her mother passed. Rosemary knew there had been a deep love between her lowborn mother and the Lady of the Vale.

Rosemary’s mother spoke little of her father, if at all– she had heard rumors swirling around the Eyrie that it was a bannerman of Lady Jeyne’s, but she paid no mind to it, it didn’t matter to her either way. She was raised as well as a bastard could be and received much love from Lady Jeyne and her mother.

“Rosemary, you must listen to me, my dear,” Lady Jeyne had said just a few moons prior, “The world is changing. You’ve grown in the safety of the Vale, but I fear that… you are unprepared for your future. You’re a young girl, beautiful and you could become something one day, something beyond your name,” she paused, taking Rosemary’s hand in her own, “You must leave the Vale.” 

Rosemary blinked, recoiling slightly as if she’d been hit with a physical blow, “W-what? What do you mean, ‘leave the Vale’?” she asked, her bottom lip quivering ever so slightly, “All I know is the Eyrie— all I know is you, all I know is… is…” she sniffled, clenching on Jeyne’s hand tightly before letting go. 

Jeyne let out a small sigh, getting a bit closer to her, their knees touching, “My sweet girl— that is exactly my point. I… cannot in good conscience let you live out the rest of your life here. You’re young, you have no titles, no land,” she paused, “No blood relatives keeping you here— you may see your bastardry as a hindrance and in some ways, it may be— but you have more freedom than anyone else in this Keep. More than I have, more than your mother had.”

The girl wiped the tears now pooling at her lashes, “I don’t wish to go— I don’t know anyone, and if… if I do, where would I go?” 

Lady Arryn took Rosemary’s hands in her own once more, rubbing small circles on them in a soothing manner, “I’ve been corresponding with King’s Landing— I believe you may be a good fit in the Red Keep, mayhaps as a handmaiden or a servant. I will make the necessary arrangements,” she let out a small sigh, “Between you and I— I’ve heard that King isn’t well, and that it is the Hightowers who sit the Iron Throne now. The Vale is impregnable— but it is also where information goes to die. I shan’t be uninformed, up here in the Eyrie with none the wiser if a war is brewing right under our noses— I wish for you to send me letters of anything you deem noteworthy. We are safe from legions of soldiers but we are nothing against dragons— Maegor saw to that.”

Rosemary’s brow furrowed, “You wish for me to… spy?” 

“In a way— think of it as your secondary goal,” Jeyne hummed, “Your priority is socializing, getting acquainted with other people and mayhaps finding a nice lover or two along the way, hm? You shan’t find any of those in the Eyrie, dear.”

The girl cracked a smile, albeit a small one. Slowly, she nodded. She didn’t wish to disappoint Jeyne. In a way, she was another mother to her, and she felt a strong desire to please her. 

But she still felt a deep pit in her stomach— she didn’t know what to expect in King’s Landing.

Rosemary was pulled from her reverie by a tap on her shoulder. It was Magelle, one of the older serving ladies. 

“Wake up, girl,” she whispered in a harsh tone, “Take this tray to the prince.” the older woman shoved a silver platter of hot water and tea leaves at her.

“The… prince— y-yes, the prince,” Rosemary stumbled, “Which one?”

Magelle rolled her eyes, “Do ye see wine on this tray? I told ye— the older prince only drinks wine. I’ll be rolling in my grave when that boy asks for tea. This is for the younger prince, Aemond. Remember what I told ye— no eye contact, especially with the second son. Ain’t a pretty sight none anyhow. Now get goin’.” she huffed, swatting the younger maid on the bottom, practically spurring her into action like a horse. 

Rosemary stumbled through the halls with the tray, getting lost a few times— what was the point of all of these damnable hallways? 

Eventually, she found her way to Maegor’s Holdfast, where the royal apartments were. She counted, Aemond’s chambers were third from last.

A gentle knock on the door was heard as she walked up to it. Her hand was shaking ever so slightly as she adjusted the hood of her kerchief , pushing up a single, errant hair. The teacups rattled on the tray she was balancing with her other hand. She was to serve the prince– the second prince, to be clear. If she were to serve the first prince, she would’ve just had to come with a decanter of wine and call it a day. But this prince– Prince Aemond ‘One Eye’-- was an enjoyer of tea, apparently. Rosemary thought it a much better choice than wine— she found the liquid to be sour and unappealing. 

“Your g-grace,” she murmured, then cleared her throat, enunciating once more, “Your grace– your tea.”

“Enter.” a voice said– it was quiet, but something about it made her want to prick at her nail beds.

She opened the door with her shoulder, scurrying into the room with her head down. As a servant of the Red Keep, she was taught to not make eye contact with her betters unless addressed, especially Aemond, as Magelle had warned.

“Do you require sugar or cream, your grace?” Rosemary asked, putting the tray to the small wooden table, looking down at her feet. 

She heard shuffling from her right, the creaking of leather and light footsteps growing closer. The scent of sandalwood and fire permeated her nostrils— it wasn’t unpleasant, just different.

“You’re new,” Aemond said, not even facing her. He walked past her to the table she placed the tray upon, pouring the rich brown liquid into his cup, “Are you not?” 

Rosemary put her hands together, sinking her thumb nail in the soft of her palm, “Y-yes, your grace,” she replied, blinking profusely, “I’ve just come from the Vale less than three days ago.” 

“The Vale?” he hummed, “Hm,” he dropped two cubes of sugar in his cup, stirring it, tasting it, before adding another two cubes. 

She watched from below fettered lashes, her eyes landing upon his hands— they were large and calloused. She heard that he was a proficient swordsman and rode the largest dragon in the world— and yet he took his tea with four sugars. Quite curious.

“If… you needn’t anything else, my prince,” she bowed slightly, “I will leave you to your tea.” Rosemary began to move, eager to escape. He was quiet enough, but something about him unnerved her— as if she was being taken apart in his head. 

“Wait,” his voice broke through the silence like a whip, “Come here, girl.” 

Her heart stopped in her chest— she was surely dead. She must’ve done something wrong, and he was to execute her. Rosemary was not an optimistic thinker. The maid turned towards him, head bowed. 

“Eyes up, little lamb,” he murmured, his already quiet voice rasping slightly, like flames licking at his throat. His hand, calloused and all, tucked under her chin, tipping her head up. 

Rosemary, ever diminutive, raised her eyes to him— her two deep, brown eyes met his one violet. She wasn’t breathing, her fingertips shaking ever so slightly. 

From her briefing about the royal family, she thought she was to look out for the older prince, Aegon, as he was known to be handsy with maids and servants alike. But no one had told her of Aemond except the warning not to look at him— and if they had, they said he was reserved, quiet and broody. 

Magelle said that he was a sight for sore eyes— and after looking at him now, she wondered if the old bat was blind. He had chiseled features and a pleasantly shaped mouth, like a taut bowstring. She glazed over the nasty scar over the right of his face, but didn’t pay it much mind. 

“Your name, little lamb?” he asked then, turning her head to the side, up and down, back and forth, as if appraising her like a slab of meat. 

“Rosemary, my prince,” the shaking maid replied, so quickly and quietly that she thought that she almost didn’t speak at all. 

The only indication that she had spoken was the tug of the prince’s upper lip in something akin to a grin. “Fitting. Lamb goes well with rosemary— or so I’ve heard.”

She felt a bead of sweat fall from her brow, “I don’t much like lamb, your grace.” 

He snorted at that, “You valemen, or valewomen, raise sheep, do you not? My uncle once said that the sheep of the Vale are prettier than their women,” he let go of her face, but not without looking at her a bit more, “He never had any taste, truly.” 

Rosemary felt her hands twitch as they came back together. What on earth did that mean? Was he calling her a sheep— more beautiful than a sheep? Was he calling her ugly? She was truly puzzled by the prince’s words, but said nothing of it. 

“Thank you for the tea. You may go now.” he hummed, turning away from her, attending back to his tea. 

A sigh of relief was felt throughout her body as she curtsied— it was still shaky from her nerves, but she managed to keep herself upright. “Have a good evening, my prince.” she murmured at last, leaving his chamber. 

She heard him once more, emitting a small ‘hm’. She could practically see the twitching sneer on his face like before. 

As she descended down the hallways, she unwrapped her kerchief from her head, her light cream colored braids falling out of their delicate shape and strewing across her back. Something about Aemond unnerved Rosemary so completely and her skin crawled as she left. 

She had never met a dragon before— how could she have? — but she felt as if he was an embodiment of one, bones made of obsidian and ash. And she was just a lamb in the face of a dragon. 

Descending back to her room— a chambered closet with a straw filled mattress— she curled into her bed, tossing her apron and dress aside. One of the things she brought from home— if she could even consider the Eyrie ‘home’ anymore— was a quilt sewed with thick, blue threads. It had depictions of the stars and moon, with little lambs and nightingales and dusk roses, sewn by her mother— with contributions from Jeyne— before her birth. Her hands traced the stitches, eyes filling with tears. The hem was frayed slightly from her habit of doing this very thing over the years. 

It was the only thing she had left of her mother, both of her mothers. Her chest ached at the thought that she would likely never return to the Eyrie, never see Jeyne again— never have her hands held by her, never have their knees touch, never have her kiss her forehead and tell her that everything would be okay. 

She was alone. A lamb alone in a castle of vipers and dragons. 

How truly precarious. 

Her sleep, when it came, was fitful. Tossing and turning, she dreamt of nightingales and lambs being torn limb from limb between dragons, some black and some green. Her skin was charred ash, her chest skewered by a stag’s horns until she bled out, wolves coming to feast upon her corpse. 

tag list: @watercolorskyy @queen--kenobi

[highlordofkrypton]

Tag game for fanfiction authors!

Thank you so much for the tag @angelosearch! I'm going to tag @goforth-ladymidnight @praetorqueenreyna @achaotichuman @yaralulu @goldheartedchaoticdisaster @thedickgraysons @chunkypossum and whoever wants to join pls! I'm really bad at remembering who are all the writers!

TELL US

The story you're proudest of

I have two fics that I'm especially proud of!

Wildflowers, which is my ACOTAR prequel. It's my first fanfiction written and posted online, and the first story I wrote start to finish. I tried my best to give depth to the world and the side characters. I do think some people are turned off by the main characters/ship, but it's so much more than that. It's also spawned so many side stories which is so exciting!

Regrets, which is my first SUPERBAT that I ever posted. I think it's a really good reflection of my style which balances emotion, humour and intimacy. I'm so happy my first attempt at writing my OTP turned out SO WELL.

Your story that's gotten the most love online:

The answers are the same as above, but for different reasons.

Wildflowers has gotten a lot of praise for multiple elements in the story, and I feel like those who read it all found different parts to enjoy. It's one of those stories that are really fun to talk about, and there's so many little nods here and there. It makes me happy to see that readers are noticing them. Wildflowers also has original additions (like family members of the main characters) that everyone loves as much as I do!

Regrets has the most kudos, but like mentioned above, it's a classic ship and a good balance of fluff and angst elements! I had so much fun writing it, and I think that came through in the piece.

Tease a current WIP or idea you're working on:

I've been wanting to tease NEEDLE & KING (wip title, subject to change), which is the prequel/side story for Rhysand's parents.

It was supposed to be a shorter, contained story about their romance, but now it's become a lore exercise, an exploration of cultural displacement in fantasy, starts off as a female-focused cast, etc.

Chapter 1 Flying

At the end of the world, Lilith thinks of nothing. No home to yearn for, no family to miss her—at least, not for long—and no future to look forward to.  She stands on the edge of a mountain’s peak, one of two Wolf’s Fangs, and feels. The world comes into her through the howls of the wind and the bite of the cold against her barely covered arms. Clouds stand between her and the bottom, if she could even see that far on a clear day. Her life, until now, has been a series of instances that have happened to her rather than experience. The absence of her father, the death of her mother, the fear that looms above her—she is at the mercy of everything around her. Here, the ice demands her wakefulness. Here, the skies challenge her. Here, every breath is earned. The height of the mountain is the only time she feels alive, so what is that feeling when she steps off its edge and careens downwards. Down, down, down, she goes with a whistle—a force against gravity. At the bottom, reality will come crashing down, but she can solve that problem quite easily. Just… fall. Her black wings strain against the fall, and she grits her teeth. It’s not in her nature to fall; she will never accept her fate. Lilith wages war against nature itself, demanding her muscles to yield to her will. A loud flapping noise signals her success, the membranes of her wings cradling the air itself to take her in an arc, a low swoop and then up again. She glides through the clouds, occasionally drawing her dark wings to herself and allowing herself to plummet before catching herself again. Lilith had taught herself to fly. It was the only thing she can control in her small, small life. Her flights have no destination, and they are timeless. She flies for as long as she can. She pushes as far as she can go because she never knows when it will be her last time.

Like any draft, this may be subject to change. The first scene I usually write for any draft is the one that 'sets' the tone of the story.

Fun fact - Lilith is a name/character that pops up in all my stories either as some weird writing signature/nod, or as a main character. She's a hyperfixation that started with Diablo and never left, but she's become her own phenomenon for me and my writing.

Your top 3 fandoms: that I write in... ACOTAR & DC Comics. I currently don't have time to write in a third one, woops.

Your top 3 ships: If it's what I've written for, then the answers are Tamlin x Rhysand, Bruce x Clark and Orm x Clark. If it's what I enjoy personally, then it's all of the above + many, many crackships.

Rec someone else's fic: Without a doubt, the people I've tagged above have amazing fics. I haven't had a chance to read their works in their entirety, but I've participated in challenges with them, creeped on their works, and they are SO GOOD! Please go check them out! Their fics are on my to-read, but part of my writing process is to just write without reading, so once I'm done my current fic, I will be going through each work to add comments and properly devote the love and attention they deserve.

Pick one!

Fluff or Angst - I cannot NOT write angst, but I believe that both (one into the other) create incomparable emotional depth.

Oneshots or longfics - I prefer reading oneshots, but I cannot stick to one chapter for the life of me.

Canon compliance or canon divergence - I have the worst memory, I couldn't be canon compliant if I wanted to...

AO3 or FF.net

[heresmyfiddlestick]

i've been meaning to do a short-by-shot breakdown of the trailers for the upcoming season of Doctor Who, and with full-length trailer #2 out today it seems like a good time.

this will cover the teaser trailer (dropped after the christmas special), trailers #1 and #2 (dropped March 22 and today respectively), and the YouTube short they've released with all the episode titles. I've previously looked at the premiere date teaser released March 15.

Title Drop Short

I'll start with this because it is the shortest and gives some helpful hints to identifying other clips.

The accompanying audio here is some babies crying as the lights flicker, showing the monster's shadow. Is the monster hunting the babies? Is it supposed to be protecting them?

What this screencap doesn't convey is the music notes lifting off the page on the far right. When looking up "The Devil's Chord" (aka the tritone) I find on Wikipedia that "George Harrison uses tritones on the downbeats of the opening phrases of the Beatles songs "The Inner Light", "Blue Jay Way", and "Within You Without You" - I'm clearly not big up on my George songs, and I think it would be hilarious if the Beatles-centric episode of Doctor Who winds up being specifically George Harrison-centric.

I can find no info on who Timothy Drake might be (besides Robin, but that feels like a long shot). There is a piece credited to Beethoven behind the book.

"Boom" - clearly The Moff trying to bring back the spooky one-word title steez of Blink and Hide and Listen and so on. This clip has falling rubble and a bit of lazer fire, and above the door we have written "Entrance 3"

We have a cawing corvid behind this one, as snow rushes past what looks like a sign for a pub. Pretty creepy sign!

The words appear in sequence with some electronic chimes here, before the whole thing glitches out. Social media episode?

Here we have the title for the episode that was provisionally known as "Regency", written by Kate Herron and Briony Redman. We have reference to "The Duchess of Pemberton", who is presumably "The Duchess" played by Indira Varma. 8 May 1813 is in fact in the Regency period, but I can't find any other historical significance to that date.

The multiple screens and tech set up here gives me the vibes of a television studio. Will Ruby turn out to be a Sam Jones situation, a companion orchestrated perfectly for the Doctor? I'd say that's unlikely but I'm not ruling it out.

Now THIS is a Doctor Who episode title. Go off king give us nothing!

Alright bearing those aesthetics in mind, let's move on to the teaser trailer that premiered after the Christmas special

Season Teaser

This trailer introduced us to the great, kinda creepy music that recurs throughout the rest of them. And a powerful gaze from Dr. Who themself.

I think I can connect this shot to a scene we'll see later.

We then pop to another stare, in a shirt we've already seen in the Christmas special - so this is probably Episode 1 ("Space Babies").

Lots of good stares this episode, as we also see him looking through a window in the premiere date teaser. Who is that behind him with Ruby?

Then he's running down a corridor, and I'm so glad they've chosen to give him loads of different outfits because that makes this job much easier.

This is undoubtedly in Episode 2. Is he racing to stop "The Devil's Chord" from being played? Or maybe he's going to find Ruby ensnared somewhere. More on that later.

Why is he wearing a whistle? Why are the lights so low?

Were they working out? I love it.

A TARDIS design has to have some good levers for yanking on. This one has that and a jukebox AND mood lighting. good for her!

"I have the whole universe at my fingertips" - this is only part of a quote, which we'll get more of in a later trailer. I like this spot on a cliff's edge that they end up on, and I've just noticed the silly little tree near the TARDIS. The Doctor fell deeply in love with Dingle's Door when they regenerated from 13 and now their go-to spot is gonna be precarious rocks overlooking the sea. Just my prediction. This is likely Episode 1 "Space Babies", given other clips we've seen of them popping out here in their Christmas special outfits.

A door opens, casting a shadow on Ruby as she looks somewhat dumbfounded at what lies on the other side. Judging by the costume, this is probably Space Babies too, and yeah it looks like there might be babies in jars behind Ruby there...

It really looks like he has fangs in this screencap. Again, probably Space Babies given the costume. But who knows!

He's slamming on a button. Possibly to "Reset Port B"?

Here is the Doctor dancing with Jonathan Groff in Episode 6 "Rogue", and nobody seems too interested in them, but then:

The Duchess (and those around her) have taken note of something.

Mr Groff glancing at the Doctor's lips lmao

I love his wig! Everyone has taken notice now, and there's clearly something that has interrupted their dance.

Here we've got the pair strutting along the TARDIS walkway, probably having just changed into these sweet outfits before heading to:

"Abbey Road Studios" in Episode 2 "The Devil's Chord"

They're freaking out I love them. This is a great second-trip in the TARDIS historical. The Doctor has fallen back on their old tricks, but at least they didn't end up in Cardiff again. They're in the recording booth here during a Beatles studio session.

Where is Ringo?!!!

There he is (:

The Doctor has stepped on something he shouldn't. This is presumably is "gonna be a minute!" in the other teaser I've looked at. Shot in the dark, this is from Episode 3 "Boom". Because of land mines. (And the rubble and lazer blasts in the Short seem to match the "warzone" vibe)

"I've really stepped in it now". This looks like similar lighting to the very first "intense stare" shot from the start of this trailer.

Continued in reblogs...

[playingforever]

'Togetherness'...

The sound work and composition of Little Nightmares is really wonderful. I love how often the pieces are paired with an equally atmospheric name; something that packs an extra punch when you dwell on it.

When I learned that the (main, standard) iteration of the music box's melody is called Togetherness, this really ruined me! What a sweet name... As a result, I'm vividly forced to think of the music box as a symbol of Mono and Six's relationship. Representative of the state of being together; togetherness... The track also bleeds into this lovely ambience that plays when Six and Mono are having their first key moments in the Hunter's cabin. Mono offering his hand... Six beckoning him towards her... all of this, is interconnected with the music box, its tune...

The music box is a leitmotif present in so much of the game. In the very title screen! It's also in Teeth & Leaves, which plays once Mono wakes up at the start. The sound is eerie, as if carried through the wind, whistling through the trees... Makes me really feel as though Mono wakes up with an imperative urge, pull, towards the cabin. The memory of the music box ringing in his ears...~

What I also love, is how the emotional weight of Togetherness then recontextualizes Six's Theme from the first game. Six's Theme now evokes her music box, and subsequently, her relationship with Mono.

Obviously, chronologically, the music box's melody was made to take after Six's theme — likely drawing inspirations from the second part specifically, with its twinkly, childish feeling celesta and rhodes — but I still love the power of association it creates retroactively. I'd say LN2 in general was Tarsier reverse engineering more fleshed out answers to questions presented by LN1. Subsequently, I like reflecting on what the devs were going for with their choices, knowing they were going to be fleshing out Six with them.

We knew we had a cool character in Six, but we weren't prepared for how iconic she would become for people who liked the game. Because Little Nightmares was about the world and the kids that go there, not one kid. […] It just felt very natural that this then took place before the first game. Like, "well, where's Six been before? And how was it for her? Was there anyone she met along this journey to the Maw?"

— from an interview with lead writer Dave Mervik.

I like knowing these were the questions they had at the start of making LN2... There wasn't a solid resolution for 'who Six was', yet. I imagine when they made her theme initially, it was as simple as trying to encapsulate something cute yet creepy. Childish humming. That suits her character at the time of inception.

... it's sweet though, to walk it back and make it a tune Six found comfort in. A melody she would sing to herself even when reduced, warped. Something from a cherished object– one that she'd cling desperately to, bringing her a sense of escapism from the terrible world outside the tower.

Knowing Monster Six's room is enshrined in toys and present boxes, knowing the Thin Man gave her all this, is the music box not simply a gift from Mono...? Doesn't the very sound of it make her think of him?? Isn't that, emblematic of Togetherness-!?!!?!?

Really, it only makes sense that Mono destroying this wounds her so terribly, and that it's the catalyst for their separation afterwards. T-T (I'd have to make a different post about Mono's motivation towards breaking it (though just know it's driven by ignorance and self-hatred. And perhaps a wildcard incel jealously.)) But ultimately I like that Six remains perpetually haunted by it now. She can't escape the music box; it's an integral part of her psyche. As much as Mono is feeling its presence all throughout his journey, drawing him towards her again and again.

Anyways this was just me celebrating how much I love the fact that LN2 envelops LN1's narrative into itself... even on this granular of a level. I feel like Mono is a metatextual inescapable force that has left his handprints all throughout Six's being. She can't be freed from him... But, it's sweet, because without her, he wouldn't exist. :'3

[clarakiki]

The race

warning: angst (like a lot), expressing emotions by anger (it’s sabine), injury (nothing serious)

disclaimer: gn!reader

word count: 1770

hello! i don’t know what has tempted me to write something so angsty, but anyway, it is here and i can’t really do anything about it now. also I am uploading this on the new year’s eve- so happy new year! i hope you’ll be happy and healthy in the new year. 

and now, without further ado, please enjoy.

(also sorry for the basic title i have no idea how to name this)

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The adrenaline zapped against your skin, heart stammering in your chest, the wind whistling by. This was what you loved the most- the thrill of the race. The blood pumping, eyes watering feeling coursing through your whole body. Your rival was ahead, but you were quickly gaining on her. Maybe today was finally the day you’ll beat her.

So, you spurred your horse once again, preparing to run up the Jarlaheim castle wall. In a couple long strides you made it up and just as you turned to cut the corner H/N tripped under you and suddenly, the world went dark.

________________________________________________________________

You weren’t coming. Sabine has been waiting for you for some time already, but you were nowhere in sight. She was getting impatient. She shouldn’t wait for anyone, let alone you! Maybe you really were so incompetent that you just couldn’t keep up with her. Maybe you got scared and bailed. 

No.

Sabine knew you weren't like that. And until today you were always able to keep at her heels. You were so righteous and propper you wouldn’t just run away. Against her better judgement, Sabine knew you and she knew that you would fight until your last breath. You wouldn’t give up.

So, now the seed of worry gnaws at the pit of her stomach. What if something happened? What if something happened to you? She despised herself for that. You are the enemy, she shouldn't feel bad for you! To be honest, she shouldn’t feel anything for you. Yet here we are.

With pretended complaining she checked her saddle and then hoped on Khaan. In a flash she was off.

________________________________________________________________

Sabine found you quickly ofcourse. She is always quick. You were sitting on the Jarlaheim walls, inspecting your leg, a pained expression on your face. You were injured. Sabine could see your horse standing near. The animal didn’t know what to do. Go help you, look ashamed, or protect you against the intruder. In the end, it didn’t do anything.

Sabine got of Khaan, who snorted angrily. What are you doing? He asked in Sabines’ mind. She ignored him. It’s none of his business.

“What happened?” Sabine asked finally, while walking towards you. 

“It’s nothing, really. Just a bad fall.” Meanwhile Sabine squatted before you, taking your foot in her hands. “I think it’s just a bit bruised.”

Sabine didn’t believe any of it. After all, she knew you and how stubborn you can be. 

“Have you tried walking on it?” Sabine asked, moving your leg gently from side to side. 

“No, not yet.”

“Do you want to try?” the softness of her voice surprised her, surprised both of you. Sabine didn’t know she was capable of being so gentle.

You shook your head and said: “Yes, I think I’ll try.”

Sabine helped you stand up, her strong arms around you, not really touching you but close enough to catch you if you fell. While supporting yourself on the walls’ edge, you stepped on your injured leg.

Sabine saw the way your face distorted with pain. You yelped, lost your balance and started falling. But she was quick and her arms eveloped you before you could fall. You were so close, she could smell your perfume. She could feel the magic emanating from you, the power. 

You hissed in pain, your breath fanning over her cheek so softly. And then you opened your eyes.

You shined. Your eyes held galaxies and Sabine couldn’t look away. You were so beautiful, so full of life and all things right in the world. She inclined even closer, hands tightening on your smaller frame. Her eyes darted to your lips. She could only hear the blood pumping in her ears. Sabine felt the way she felt after an exciting race. A race against you. So she came closer and closer and…

You shouldn't be doing this. Khaan said in her head. With that, Sabine withdrew, looking around, just so she didn’t have to look at you.

“We should go. Your friends at the stables can help you bandage it.” Sabine decided, she tried to sound stern, but it came out cold more than anything. Well, that's the way it is supposed to be. She can’t feel anything for you.

 She moved away from you, letting you lean back against the wall, and turned her back to you, pretending to check Khaans saddle.

“Sabine, I don’t think I’ll be able to ride on my own.” You said quietly. Your gentle voice gave her a whiplash. She shouldn't, but she turned around anyway. She seemed to do a lot of things against her better judgement for you. Sabine's heart was loud in her ears and full of… what? Anxiety?

“Well, I suppose I could help you.” Sabine stammered out, trying to sound cold and cool and withdrawn. “Or call one of your goodie friends, you love so much” She added quickly. How could she keep her composure, when you looked so wonderful.

You smiled a small, almost shy, smile. “It’s fine. You can carry me.”

At that Sabine flushed even more (If it was even possible). Were you flirting? Were you just making fun of her? What does that mean?

With a grunt, of what she hoped sounded like annoyance, she came closer to you. Sabine bent down, one hand behind your lower back, the other behind your knees and hoisted you up against her chest. You yelped, but she felt how quickly you relaxed against her. Was that her heartbeat or yours?

Sabine whistled at Khaan, the horse lifted his head and leisurely trotted to you, your own horse following. She watched you as you smiled sadly and gently patted your horse on the nose. “It’s not your fault.” you said and Sabine couldn’t believe it was you with whom her stupid heart decided to fall in love with.

________________________________________________________________

“So, where are your friends?” Sabine asked as she carried you through the main gait of the stables. She tried to not pay attention to the way you snuggled up to her. Why does she feel this way towards her enemy? It’s so wrong, but it feels so right. Like this is the place she should be… she should be next to you. With you. 

It’s been so nice putting your feud behind you for a while, no Garnok, no magic, just racing. But she knows it won't be possible to continue. 

So, as the sun sets over the horizon and paints your hair shiny and gold, she carries you into the, now deserted, barn and sets you on a stack of hay.

“I don’t know where they are. I thought they would be here somewhere.” you answered. Some people were still outside, but none of them were you fellow star riders. But maybe it was for the best, what would they say if they’d seen you with the enemy. It definitely wouldn't be positive.

“Incompetent fools.” Sabine scoffed. “I’ll take care of it.” She really wanted it to sound like she doesn't care, but of course failed miserably. 

“So you’ll help me?” you asked.

“But don’t think you can lure me into some sort of trap. I’m not so stupid as to let myself get caught.” Sabine is aware of getting more and more tangled in the web of feelings. Feeling for you no less. But she also knows she will let herself be devoured by you eventually. She is too far gone.

“The medical kit is in the closet right there.” you pointed your finger at an old wooden closet. Sabine complied without any protests. 

The inside was mouldy and smelled like old riding boots, but soon enough, she found a green bag with a white cross on it. Sabine took the whole bag with her. “You should keep your medical stuff somewhere less… old.” she scrunched her nose.

You laughed at that and it was the sound of her dreams. Oh, she was drowning and there was no hope of saving her. “Ok, I’ll let Herman know.”

With that, Sabine carefully took off your boot and sock, examining your ankle. It wasn’t swollen and she could move it easily, so most likely, your injury wasn’t serious. Still, she aligned your ankle straight and began wrapping it in gauze. 

“You should be fine, but go to a doctor to be sure.” she said, while tying the final knot, to secure her work.

“Yes, I'll do that.” you answered. “Why did you help me?” you finally asked. The question that was plaguing both of your minds. The shadow of confrontation hanging above.

“If you get hurt, how can I get better?” Sabine said. It wasn’t a lie, but not the whole truth either. No one shall ever know the whole truth.

“Is that the only reason?” you continued anyway, ignoring Sabines inner turmoil. Sabine didn’t know if she wanted to kiss you, or run away. 

At first Sabine didn’t answer, but as much as she tried to prepare what to say, it was pointless, you didn’t give her the time. You leaned forward and so gently, like the caress of  spiderwebs,  kissed her.

Sabine exhaled through her nose. She didn’t know if what she felt was relief, or want, or utter despair. But it didn’t matter, for the only way her emotions ever manifested was anger. She knew it and she didn’t try to stop it.

Sabine shoved you away from her, digging her fingers into your shoulders. “If you ever try that again-” she warned, angry and sad. But she couldn’t finish that sentence. What would she do? Sabine knows she is powerless against you. She wouldn’t do anything, even though she ought to.

“But-” you tried.

“I can't feel anything for you!” she said, her eyes aflame. “We both know it and it shall stay that way. You are my enemy and I hate more than anything in this world. If you ever try to manipulate me again, I will not hold back.” she was panting by the end, red and furious. At you, at herself, at everything.

But with that she straightened up to her full height, adjusted her vest and turned away from you. “Sabine.” you tried to say, but it came out in a sob. 

Sabine was done, broken and boiling on the inside, but she didn’t turn around, she didn’t dry your tears. She couldn’t and you both knew that. You are destined to be alone, you are destined for hatred. And so she walked away from you, back to her side, back to her darkness, leaving you alone in the light.

[le-souriant]

#MusicMonday Review - April 2024

#MusicMonday is the hashtag I've been using for quite a while to share music recommendations from up-and-coming artists. Always fresh, and always different, trying to look for trends before they become one. You can check March's review for more music.

What does getting lost in the desert, walking through the Campus, a story about nature, love, and just feeling good, have in common? All are the themes of this month's selection. Give it a listen, and dive in, with a word from the artists themselves. 🎧

TV Cult – Empty Quarter

Stranded in the empty quarter Run out of food and water Stranded out here alone But in a mirage I see home

We begin this month in Cologne, Germany for an 80s infused Post-Punk track about not being able to find something to hold on when you need it the most:

"Empty Quarter is about getting lost out in the desert. It's a bit about getting lost in terms of location but also in time.

It's kind of like getting lost from one's inner child (Stranded out by the park, Stranded out after dark). The childhood theme also comes from the title Empty Quarter which is a massive desert in middle east and not far from where I lived as a kid."

Sun God – Campus

walkin through the campus feeling dumb chewin on bubble gum listenin to songs about the dangers of love and no i've never felt it before no i've never felt it before

From Philadelphia, PA, an Indie Rock track perfect for the summer, whistling tunes while skipping stones down at the lake, with no worries at all:

"I think the song is a reflection on being young and wasting time. It’s kind of a sunny weather song, and it’s pretty simple so we wanted to add a bunch of different sounds (layers of warbly guitar, synth, toy keyboards, etc) to make it feel a bit nostalgic."

West Coast Caravan – Them Wicked Ways

Oh baby don't be harsh

From Antwerp, Belgium, let's listen to an Indie Rock song with a story to tell, up for the listener's interpretation:

"All the songs are quite autobiographical or inspired by something I saw someone experience that moved me.

Them Wicked Ways is actually based on a series of events that I and some friends experienced or are still experiencing in this 'wicked' world. We're trying to find a way to act good, which isn't always possible in everyone's eyes.

It was also the first song that wasn't structured like a 'little story'. Normally, the songs I write and we play have a beginning and an ending. Them Wicked Ways is the first one where I just wrote snippets of text that came to my mind and tried to glue them together so it would make sense to the listener, but open to his/her own interpretation."

Andy Smythe – Leaves to Burn

No gospel to learn No faith to confirm No need to discern The reason to yearn

Lovers we're torn By the rose and thorn Damnation to deeds That make these hearts bleed

Look to the river Is its soul with her It winds like a ghost Her spirit evoked

From London, England, a cool retro sounding Brit Pop about the dark depths of life, nature, and love. The tides of reason, distorted by the seasons:

"The track was inspired by my partner commenting that a neighbor who loves their gardening had 'no more leaves to burn'.

I then reimagined my childhood where I spent a lot of time working on farms and thinking back to some of the older men I worked with, who had spent their whole lives working the land. What would such a life be like, you are following a cycle of the seasons, planting in the spring and harvesting in the summer. What if they experienced loss in their lives, would the routine of laboring through the seasons compensate for it?

I'm also influenced a bit by writers such as Laurie Lee, Walt Whitman and Springsteen's writing style on Nebraska, I wanted to paint a panorama of love and loss, the earth and the sky, and reflect on how as modern people we view our connection with nature."

Sugar World – For a Moment

i heard your voice through the speakers tried to call couldn't reach ya i waited up in the bleachers feeling dumb over eager

later on i was tired took a walk through the fire caught a wave in the ocean

Our last stop is Los Angeles, CA for some sugar coated Indie Pop about feeling good for a moment, doing the most trivial things, with the ones you care about:

"It was a combination of being inspired to write a surf rock song, and the lyrics came to be about change, and how situations in life are fleeting.

It's not necessarily about a specific time or person in our own lives, but it was inspired by the feeling of growing up and realizing that things are always changing and will keep changing.

In some ways it's a song about loss, and was inspired subconsciously by loss that we experienced in our own lives."

Listen to them and much more on the complete Playlist:

[punkymonkeehat]

Another excerpt, a little more of an idea of the world for my story World of Mystery (working title). It's a long excerpt, but one of my faves so far :)

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

“Whoa.” Talli gasped. She was frozen, body stiff. Her hair floated with the gust of wind that barrelled through the gorge, causing the rocks to whistle as it passed. Althea had finally climbed up the small hill, cursing, pulling leaves and pine needles out of her hair, and kicking sticky vines off of her boots. She finally decided to pull a stubborn one off and threw it back into the bush with triumph before joining the other.

“Whoa, what?" She asked, yawning as she walked. "Can’t be as impressive as the ley line. I can't believe how straight of a path it is! I wonder how it was created - maybe the legends are true! What do you s-” she also froze in awe. "Whoa."

A vast, gray river that looked over a mile wide dominated the center of the gorge, crashing its waves as it ran towards the direction of the ocean. The wind coaxed the rippling waves, and some came up towards the cliff the two were standing on, licking the stones as it, with full force, slammed itself on the rocks. Across the river, mountains loomed in the distance, some still with snow at their tips, like great shadows watching them. Mist hugged these towering monuments, creating an air of mystery over the land. The forest that they were in seemed to continue across the river. The two women could spot similar trees with similar patterns of dying leaves. It was almost silent, save for the wind and waves. No birds were present to the awesome view of the other side. Althea grabbed Talli’s arm in comfort. The soil beneath their boots was thin and loose, and the two didn’t dare move in fear of slipping into the roaring waters below.

“Talli...” Althea breathed. “Where are we...?” Talli stammered a moment, trying to find words

“I-I… I'm not sure.” she swallowed. “This is where the ley line ends, though. It didn't continue, and the deer path doesn't continue, i dont think.” She finally moved her head to look at the other’s worried eyes. “I believe this may be the border to the South West.”

“What?" Althea hissed, eyes widening more and demeanor shifting to full-blown panic. "The border? We hiked that far?” Althea started and backed away, releasing the other. “We are not allowed at the border, South Westerners are dangerous.” She backed up even more, pushing herself against a pine tree closest to the hill they trudged up. Talli furrowed her brows, having never seen Althea be nervous like this before.

"We can easily go back if we retrace our steps. Why are you so worried? It's not like we're in the South West Territroy. We're just... staring at it."

“I'll get reprimanded by Krow if he knew I was here. He has told me that even being close to the border would invite them to sail over.” She pointed a quivering finger towards the mountains. “He said that they can sense when we're near and start to hunt us!"

“The river is too fierce for a canoe to get over, nonetheless a small boat. I don’t think they could cross this season. Besides, I see no smoke or life across the river. I think we are okay.” Talli murmured, glancing around. "And what Krow doesn't know won't hurt him. Come on, where's your sense of adventure? You used to chide me all the time when I was too terrified to even leave the fort walls."

"I love to adventure, but not when we're breaking the law."

"We're not breaking the law, Althea, we're exploring."

"Exploring an off-limits part of our territory. I'm the Learner, I would know."

"You're such a brown noser."

"And you are a terribly curious mouse!" Althea shot back the comment with a little poison. Talli set her mouth into a frown and huffed. She started down a few rocks in the cliff towards the water. Althea squeaked with fear, seeing the other climb down. “Talli, don’t!” She whispered. The other grabbed a large piece of wood that jutted out from the ground to help her stay steady as she descended. The flat land that Talli had crawled from had abruptly stopped, and she was picking her way across a path only she could see.

"I want a closer look, then maybe I can see the terror that you're claiming exists for myself."

“Tal, wait! Please, we're not supposed to be here. Where are you going?” Althea called, finally coming away from the tree and scrambling towards the edge on her knees to see her friend. She peered down towards the ground, a shiver of fear rolling up her spine. The river was so far down. Talli was a bit of ways east, making her way along the found path. She wasn’t as quiet with her steps as she usually was. Althea looked away for a moment, swallowing air to steady her stomach. She knew that she was in huge trouble. Pranking the wall warden by slipping a small amount of bloodroot in someone’s tea to make them vomit was fun. This wasn't.

“Talli!” Althea cried again, worry starting to bubble out of her again. “Talli, come back. Are you okay? Im sorry, you're not a mouse! Where are you?” She listened to the wind for a response. Nothing. Althea started to panic. Shaking her hands to get rid of it, she got back onto her feet and paced back and forth. What should she do? She was supposed to be the adventurous type, but this was too far. What would Zayden do? She thought about it for a momen but shoved it away. Knowing her friend, he would probably do the most reckless and idiotic thing he could think of. No, she couldn’t think like a guard. She paused her pacing. She needed to think like a Leader.

A Leader would go out of their way to help their people, whether it was through physical help or education, or to establish some sort of stability. That meant that Althea, as a Leader, needed to go get Talli back. She sighed. She hated that she had to think about being brave like Krow, but she knew that if she wanted to take his position in the future, she as going to have to practice what she was learning in the field. She grabbed a stick from the pine, sending a quick thank you to its spirit and apology for stealing its limb, and started trudgin down the found path.

She tripped a few times over the upturned roots of the cliff hanging trees, but Althea managed her way, looking for any sign of Talli and the path she took. She glanced for any footprints or broken grass throughout her hike. She finally saw some bushes that showed disturbance and began following the pattern back up towards the cliff side. Every once in a while, she would glance down at the raging river below her, taking a deep breath to still her nerves. If Talli can do it, so could she. After a few minutes, she followed the path as it turned inward towards the cliff. The terrain flattened greatly, and the large path swept open. Althea was in another ley line, the manicured path wide and inviting. She dug out some berries from her pocket and laid them in the middle of the path as her offering, repeating the words that they spoke before entering the ley lines back by the fort. After speaking her prayer, she screamed out, “TALLI! WHERE ARE YOU?” There was a brief pause.

“I’m over here!” her friend called out, and Althea almost jumped for joy that she didn’t get swept away by the river. She followed her friends voice towards one of the split off laylines back towards the river. The path opened up, much like the path before, but instead of there being a deer traip leading to a cliff for them to stand on, the path abruptly stopped almost without a warning. They were back out in the open again. There Talli stood, looking out towards the river, with her eyebrows furrowed.

“Thank the spirits and forest gods. Talli, I swear I am going to kill you! You scared me half to death!” Althea cried angrily. She grabbed Talli’s arm and shook it. “We need to go back. I’m serious.” She shook her friend’s arm again, getting frustrated that there was no response. Talli still paid no mind. Althea threw the arm out of her hand and tossed her own up into the air, cursing loudly. “Lost in thought again! Why can’t you ever listen to me when I talk to you? You’re always in the clouds up in that thick skull of yours. I said we should go back and look at us now! We’re lost on another ley line, which you didn’t even leave an offering for, need I remind you, and are still close to the border! We’re not. Supposed. To be. Here. We’re supposed to be back at the fort. I thought this was going to be some quick adventure that would take up a little time, but no, we had to have trudged our way to a place where we don’t belong! Krow is going to be furious! Give your curiosity a rest for once!” Althea huffed, waiting for some kind of response. Nothing. She growled, pulling at her blonde hair, and kicked a rock out towards the river; and as it leaped over the cliff, it rattled down, clanging on something below. “What are you staring at?” She shouted. Talli shook her head and blinked. Then, she pointed towards the border.

Althea walked up next to her friend and shielded her eyes, squinting to see. She gasped.

The skeletal remains of a bridge.

Then Talli pointed down at their side of the river.

The remains of the same bridge protruded out of the cliff. Althea’s kicked rock was on one of the beams.

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

[sincerelyella]

I already requested this from someone else but I love your writing so much and I wanted to request this from you too! After Olivia’s kiss in book 1 in Lythikos, Liam just breezed over it and it wasn’t brought up again. But what if he kissed Ella to prove to her he doesn’t have moment with anyone else?

Book: The Royal Romance AU

Pairings: Liam x MC (Ella); Drake x MC

Summary: Olivia kisses Liam and Ella sees and gets very insecure.

A/N: Thank you for this Anon! I love getting requests. Ya'll really make my day with these. Hope you like it!

A/N2: Participating in @wackydrabbles prompt will be in bold (the correct prompt - I’m a mess!)

@ofpixelsandscribbles and @alyssalauren thank you for prereading, and Lis, for coming up with this title. To @ao719 thank you for reassuring me about the pinky promise. Love you guys!

Warnings: maybe some angst

Words: 1672

Ella and Liam switched partners during the Cordonian waltz in Lythikos.

“Little Blossom, you’re doing gr-”

The crowd around her gasped, Maxwell stopped mid-sentence and gawked. Ella turned and saw Liam and Olivia in the middle of a kiss. Ella’s chest ached, her stomach churned and her eyes welled with tears. She quickly blinked it away, she was not going to cry in front of the entire court.

“El, you okay?”

She vaguely heard Max speaking to her. “I … yes, I’m fine. But I’m a little tired, so I'm going to go to my room.”

“Okay!” He leaned down and kissed her on her head. “I’ll see you later Blossom!”

Max had no idea how that kiss affected her and that’s how she wanted it. She squeezed her friend’s arm and slipped through the crowd to her room.

A little while later, Ella answered her door and there stood Drake with a vase of red rose blossoms in his arms. There was a note hidden in the bouquet from Liam asking to meet him in his suite.

Drake was munching on some candy as he stepped into her room. “Brooks? Did you hear me? Are you going?”

“No,” Ella buried her face in the roses, taking in their scent. “I’m not in the mood right now.”

“What’s going on?” Drake crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Ella until she looked up at him. “You left the banquet early, you’re avoiding Liam … which is odd because you’re all the time locking lips.”

Ella didn’t answer. She just stared back at Drake as she chewed on her bottom lip.

“It’s because Liv kissed him isn’t it?”

Two can play that game.

She stood on her tip-toes and pressed her lips to Drake's. Ella felt his body tense, but after a moment he relaxed and wrapped his arm around her waist.

"Brooks," he whispered after he pulled back.

"Yeah?"

"What are you doing?"

"Kissing you," Ella opened her eyes and met his gaze.

"Why?"

She let out a sigh. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that. I know how you feel for me and-"

"You're trying to get back at Liam," he arched his brow and let go of her.

“I know it’s really stupid,” she blurted out. “I already know, and I don’t need you to tell me that I’m acting irrationally.”

“Hey,” he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Brooks, it’s not irrational. Well, you kissing me was. But … you know he’s not with anyone else like that but you right?”

“How am I supposed to know that, Drake? You Cordonians are not monogamous.” Ella began to pace the room. “I know that’s why I’m here. For him to … get to know other women but … I forgot the part where I’m in love with him and my chest hurts when I see him with someone else.” With her last words she felt it, her voice wavered and her tears began to fall. She clamped her hand over her mouth in surprise and Drake’s eyes widened.

“Oh shit,” he pulled her to his chest. “Fuck, Brooks, don’t cry.”

“I-I’m … sorry,” she gasped out as she sobbed against him.

“Don’t apologize.” He was stroking her hair and telling her it would be okay. Finally, when she was a bit calmer he pulled away. “Better?”

"Yeah, thank you."

“Alright. Get some rest and I’ll see you tomorrow,” he moved towards the door, opened it, and then turned back. “No more of this crying business okay? That was your only ticket for me to console you."

Ella let out a watery laugh.

"Also,” his eyes softened. "Even though I enjoyed that kiss, I know you love Liam. No more of that alright?"

She nodded. Drake smiled and shut the door behind him.

The next couple of weeks, Ella did her best to avoid Liam. It wasn’t all that difficult, he was busy tending to social season balls and gatherings. Every time Max or Bertrand would tell her Liam was somewhere she would go the opposite way. It wasn’t that she didn’t love him, God, she did. With everything in her. But it wasn’t her place to be jealous and insecure, she knew she was here for this. She just wanted to be left alone in her feelings.

The Regatta was rescheduled by the royal family which was unheard of, but it turns out King Constantine’s health wasn't great and he was in the hospital. The court continued to the next stop which was Applewood. Ella, Max, and Bertrand arrived ahead of everyone else and were quickly shown to their rooms.

“I’ll meet you in a bit, Blossom, I gotta unpack and find something to wear.”

Ella nodded and watched him skip off after shutting her door. As she rummaged through her luggage a knock sounded and it startled her. “Max, how did you forget something already?”

She reached for the door, opened and saw a smiling Liam. “Oh!”

“Hello Lady Ella,” he quickly glanced down the hallway. “May I come in please?”

She stepped back, allowed him inside, and shut the door. Ella turned to face him, her heart was beating a thousand times a minute. “Your Highness,” she curtsied. “This is a surprise.”

“Ella,” Liam stepped towards her, concern in his eyes. “Why are you so formal with me? We aren’t outside.”

“I just-”

“Are you avoiding me?” His baby blue eyes gazed into hers and all her resolve dissipated.

“Truthfully, yes,” her voice trembled.

“Why? I’ve missed you, and I apologize for not coming to see you sooner. Now that I think about it, I haven’t seen you since Lythikos and” - Liam’s eyes widened - “Lythikos. This is about that kiss.” It wasn’t a question; he had figured it out without her explanation.

“I know I have no right,” Ella turned away and walked towards the bed to sit before her knees gave way. “You’re not mine,” her voice hitched. “I just needed time alone, that's all.”

Liam’s heart turned over in his chest. He followed her to the bed and kneeled in front of her. “Ella, you have every right to feel how you’re feeling,” she arched her brow and he chuckled. “You heard me. I have been meaning to tell you this but” - he wrapped her small hand in his - “I love you. I have been in love with you for a while now.”

“You …” Ella whispered, her eyes filling with tears. “I love you too, Liam.”

He grinned. “Really?”

“Really really.”

“Promise?” He looked up at her, a vulnerability in his eyes that she never saw before.

“Promise,” she held up her fist, her pinky finger out.

“What is happening?” He asked as he did the same.

“It’s a pinky swear,” Ella’s laughter filled the room as she wrapped her pinky around his.

“Why are we swearing on our pinky’s?”

“You've never done a pinky swear?” The look on his face said it all. “Nevermind,” she shook her head. “So, did you talk to Olivia?”

“I spoke with her outside after she kissed me. I told her she shouldn’t have done that and I don’t return her feelings. I wish you would have talked to me about it.”

“I should have …”

“This is why you didn’t meet me that night.”

Ella nodded.

Liam lifted her hand that was already in his and kissed her knuckles softly. “I’m yours, Ella. I don’t meet anyone outside of these events but you, I don’t kiss anybody else …” his lips traveled up her arm, slowly, ever so slowly. “… and you are mine.”

After hours of Liam proving to Ella that he meant what he said, he slipped out of the room later in the early hours of the morning. The events in Applewood the next day were kind of fun, baking, being crowned Apple Queen, throwing apples at Drake, and then having Liam come to see her that night in her room. Passionate lovemaking was an understatement, especially when a stoic prince that’s supposed to be proper and polite, dirty talks until she explodes.

The next day, the Apple Festival was winding down as Ella sat on the small swing in the garden maze, Liam gently pushing her.

“You seem happy here,” Ella mused as she pushed a strand of hair out of her face.

Liam smiled. “I’m always happy when I’m with you. I love you, Ella,” he leaned down to kiss the top of her head and let out a small sigh. “But it was less … stringent here. My brother and I never wanted to leave.”

“It has a bit more of a relaxed vibe here,” Ella nodded. “I like seeing this happy, carefree side of you.”

“You bring it out of me, you know,” he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her against his chest. “You bring a lot out of me.”

Ella turned and craned her neck up to make eye contact with him. “Like the dirty talking?”

Liam smiled and his cheeks and neck turned red. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he waited a beat. “But yes.”

A loud whistle blew and that signaled the end of the festival.

Ella sighed. “I think that means-”

“It means, we head over to dinner,” Liam pulled her up to her feet and twined his fingers with hers.

“Yeah, but you always go first,” Ella tried pulling her hand away from his but he held on. “Liam, what are you doing?”

“We’re going to dinner together,” he said simply.

“Wh-what?” She stammered. “You can’t … I mean-”

Liam stopped and turned to face her. His facial expression filled with determination and … resolve. “You don’t want to go to dinner with me, my love?”

His nickname for her went straight to her core and it took her a moment to answer. “I-I mean, yes but-”

Her words were cut off by his lips against hers. When he pulled back, her eyes were still closed. “I’m … I don’t remember what I was going to say.”

Liam chuckled and pushed Ella’s hair away from her face. “I don’t care what happens or what they say. My choice is you. I’m telling everyone about us. If this isn’t what you want, say so now.”

“Why are you doing this? You know they’re not going to let that happen before the coronation,” she whispered.

“You felt insecure in how I feel for you; it made me realize that I need to show you that I love you. Sneaking around and hiding my feelings doesn’t help matters. I can’t lose you, Ella. It’s just not a risk I’m willing to take. Will you have me?”

Ella didn’t even have to think about it. “Always,” she smiled and squeezed his hand. “Let’s go.”

[tellerluna-stories]

ii. rex lapis

The sands of time shifted once more, and now Rex Lapis ruled over Liyue. His land overflowed with wealth, and all who passed through Liyue saw their businesses prosper. The people who now walked the paved streets of Liyue had happily never known the tragedies of war, and they lived out their lives in blissful ignorance.

Within the Golden House, Rex Lapis paced around restlessly. His horns and claws were nowhere to be seen, as Liyue had no need for such instruments of war. The simple white robes he had donned for battle had been replaced with layers of multicoloured ceremonial robes and intricate headdresses that only the finest artisans could craft.

With these robes came great honour and responsibility, a reminder that the fate of Liyue rested solely upon the shoulders of Rex Lapis. Though they were made of mere fabric, at times Rex Lapis felt that they weighed heavier than chains of pure gold.

He sighed and fiddled with his sleeves— though he was, in fact, the reason mora existed in the very first place, he had to admit he was tired of seeing the same golden shimmer that surrounded him everywhere he looked.

“My lord.”

Without even turning around, he replied, “I told you not to be so formal with me.”

“Alright, alright.” You smiled and spread your hands disarmingly. “Thousands of years, but you’re still as legalistic as ever.”

Unlike Rex Lapis, you had not chosen to change too much about yourself in the years following the Archon War, whether in appearance or personality. It somewhat brought him comfort knowing that in a world that was constantly changing too fast for him to keep up, there was still one person who could keep him anchored; no matter what era you were in, you could always quickly adjust to the practices and customs around you without forcing yourself to mold to them.

“Thousands of years, and I still need to remind you that titles are unnecessary, my friend.”

“Ah, but the question is: am I genuinely forgetting to drop them, or do I keep using them just to irk you?”

He turned around, face carefully devoid of any emotion. “My friend, do you happen to fear the wrath of the Rock?”

He watched in satisfaction as the smug look on your face quickly morphed into one of fearful respect. “As a matter of fact I do, so let’s change the topic. Your robes are simply majestic, my— I mean, Rex Lapis!”

“Do you not have one just like this?” Rex Lapis looked down at his embellished sleeves— the people of Liyue had gifted both of you with ceremonial robes, but he had yet to see you wear them. “If I recall, yours had the phoenix embroidered on the front.”

“Oh yes, I still have it with me.” You bent over and inspected the nearest pile of mora, brushing the golden coins with your fingertips. “I don’t wear it much since it restricts my movements, but maybe I will if there’s a special occasion.”

“I would like to see you wear it someday, if you choose to. You’d look absolutely stunning.”

He waited for some witty comeback, the usual jokes you’d make in response to his compliments— but you remained oddly silent, hunched over the little pile of mora like a bird guarding its nest.

“My friend...?”

Gently, he placed a hand on your shoulder, unknowingly sending an electric current running through your veins.

“Ah, yes, yes! I was just, uh—“ Hurriedly, you jumped to your feet and dusted your hands off on your clothes. “I was just trying to remember where my robe was, that’s all. I stored it away but I don’t exactly remember where— you know how it is, right?”

Yes, you had just forgotten where you had last put that phoenix robe, as though you still didn’t clean it and carefully air it out at least once a month. That robe was one of the few things you treasured dearly, as it was a gift from the people you watched over... and perhaps also because it was a gift that matched with his.

The heat rushing to your face and the quickening of your heartbeat upon hearing him say you’d look stunning— that was out of pure embarrassment, nothing more. He only meant it out of kindness, now, don’t misinterpret his words.

Clearing your throat hastily, you tried to change the subject. “Did you know that there’s a full moon tonight?”

“Is there, now?” He tilted his head to the side; a somewhat endearing habit of his, left over from when he had horns. “I have not left this place in quite some time; the people of Liyue are a little too concerned for my safety to let me venture outside often.”

“They haven’t....?”

But Rex Lapis merely smiled in reply, dismissing the matter with a wave of his hand. “It’s only natural for young people to be overprotective of the ones who take care of them. I’m sure they would do the same for you if you just let them, my friend.”

“You sounded very old when you said that, my lord.”

“Pardon?”

“I said your words shone like gold when you said that, my lord.”

He narrowed his eyes skeptically, but you only returned his gaze with a look of pure, angelic innocence. There was no way he could say anything against you, especially not with that look on your face.

“My lord,” You said, with that innocent look still plastered on your face. “Given that you haven’t gone outside in a while, what say you to accompanying one such as myself on an outing this fine evening?”

“An outing, you say?” He put a hand to his chin and pretended to contemplate the idea, silently observing as your eyes lit up with poorly-hidden anticipation. “Where would one go at this hour? It would cause quite a stir if Rex Lapis were to suddenly disappear from his position, with no reasonable explanation.”

To that you raised a finger upwards in reply, pointing to the cavernous roof of the Golden House.

“Technically, you wouldn’t be leaving.” Holding out your hand to him, you smiled and said, “Shall we watch the stars together, then?”

———

“This is incredibly reckless.”

“It’s also incredibly exciting, don’t you think?”

Barely-suppressed laughter bubbled up into your throat as you looked at the great Rex Lapis, who had awkwardly bunched up his robes around his knees. There was no way he could climb to the top of the roof without either damaging his (very costly, one-of-a-kind) robe, or getting him tangled into a mummy wrapping of fine silk.

“Your laughter does not go unnoticed, by the way.” He said, glowing amber eyes trained on the vast ascent of roof tiles before him. “Since this was your idea, how about you think of a solution to this problem?”

The cool night breeze whistled in your ears like a distant flute, and he shivered slightly; it was best to think of a solution quickly, lest Liyue be in uproar over the dignified Rex Lapis catching a mere cold.

You squinted at the rooftop, trying to analyse the best way to scale it with as little collateral damage to your superior as possible. It was certainly possible, especially with your talents as an adeptus (and also because your position did not require such cumbersome clothing), but there would have to be some rather... unusual measures taken.

“Do you trust me?”

He blinked in confusion. “What strange sort of question is—“

Before he could finish, you lifted him off the ground as though you were carrying a princess.

“Hold on tight, my lord.” You whispered, your lips only a few breaths away from his ear. “It may be a little bit unstable.”

He barely had time to wrap his arms around your neck as you leapt into the air, nimbly bounding off the golden tiles like a deer.

What exactly was this situation he was in? Moreover, what was this odd sensation swelling in his heart?

“Mind your sleeves, Rex- I mean, my lord!” You huffed. “I can’t see where I’m stepping if you decide to obscure my sight, which isn’t exactly the best choice for you right now.”

With one final jump, you landed safely on the topmost roof of the Golden House. He could only stare at you blankly as he tried to process what had just happened in the past few minutes— however, you caught onto his stare too easily.

“What, are you surprised that I was able to pull that off?” Shaking your head vigorously to remove the flyaway hair from your eyes, you frowned at him in a jesting manner. “Don’t tell me you’ve been underestimating my abilities this whole time, my lord.”

“No.” He replied immediately. “I would never.”

“That’s what I thought.” With a nod of satisfaction, you gently set him down onto the roof. “Here is the moon and stars for you, as promised.”

Rex Lapis raised his eyes to the sky that he had not seen in some time, and the heavens did not disappoint.

Overhead, the galaxy stretched out in a rich tapestry of hues, stars interwoven in between the threads like beads of precious stones. A full moon hung in the sky, a pearl of great price that took all the beauty that surrounded it and unified it into a beautiful symphony of colours.

For the first time in a while, he felt free— up here with you by his side, there were no such things as duty and responsibility. There were only the two of you in this quiet, peaceful place, with the heavens above as your only witness.

“A lovely night, don’t you think?” You grinned and put your hands on your hips, the wind toying with your hair ever so slightly. “The minute I saw this, I knew you simply couldn’t miss it; not in a thousand years.”

His gaze lingered on the picture of you bathed in a soft halo of moonlight, smiling dreamily at the stars above. “...Very lovely, indeed.”

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Jolting suddenly, you fumbled as you brought out a brass bottle and a pair of teacups from seemingly thin air. “I figured it would be cold out, so I prepared something, just in case.” You gestured for him to sit. “Have a seat while you’re waiting— can’t have the ruler of Liyue standing around waiting for me to serve him, can I?”

“Your judgement is as impeccable as ever, my friend. Whatever would I do without you?”

You rolled your eyes as you began to unscrew the cap of the bottle. “Such flattery is unnecessary. We both know that you could manage Liyue just as well if you were on your own.”

“That doesn’t mean I would want to.” He hesitated, unsure if what he would say next would make you uneasy. “You have done more for me and for Liyue than you could possibly imagine, and I... I sincerely wish for you to know that. You have just as an important role in Liyue as I do, and this place would not be what it is today without you.”

Pausing in what you were doing, you slowly raised your eyes to meet his— there was nothing but pure sincerity in his eyes and words. He truly meant what he was saying, and the way he worded it made your heart- no, no, this wasn’t the time for that.

“...Thank you, Rex Lapis. Those words mean a lot to me, especially coming from you.”

“Do my ears deceive me?” He put a hand to his mouth in mock disbelief. “Say that once more, my friend, I do not think I heard you well the first time.”

“No, I don’t think I will.” You glared at him. “It seems that your age is showing, my lord. Perhaps I should carry you back inside, if your age has really advanced so rapidly.“

“You called me Rex Lapis, for once. This is a day that this aged man shall remember for the rest of his life, and shall be inscribed into the history of Liyue as a momentous occasion—“

“The tea will grow cold long before your long-winded speech finishes, my lord. How about you drink first and talk later?”

Rex Lapis gave you an unimpressed stare. “Perhaps if you cease calling me ‘my lord’, I will think the matter over. When did you learn to brew tea, by the way?”

You returned his stare with one equally matched in unimpressed energy. “Over the years, I’ve found that the art of tea-brewing helped greatly in calming myself, and so I’ve been practicing ever since. Your cup, please— my lord.”

He rolled his eyes at your smug face and held out his cup.

A faint wisp of steam curled from the bottle as the dark liquid trickled into his teacup, along with some unknown plant matter. His thoughts must’ve shown clearly upon his face, for you burst out laughing upon seeing it. “It’s not poison, for Celestia’s sake! If I were planning to assassinate you, I would’ve done it eons ago.”

“And how is that meant to bring me any reassurance?”

“Oh, it wasn’t intended to.” You poured a cup for yourself and downed a sip of your concoction. “But no assassin would be fool enough to drink the poison intended for their target... except for me, possibly. Drink up!”

Rex Lapis still eyed the teacup in his hands suspiciously— but then again, you had never given any reason for him to doubt you, so why should he start now?

“So, is it good?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the unique flavours on his tongue. “If I could, I would drink the tea you make everyday for the rest of eternity.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words; you choked, nearly sending the bottle of tea tumbling off of the roof. “Ah- er, well—“

“What, is that too humble of praise for it? I mean it from the bottom of my heart.”

“No, it’s just- well, it sounds like a phrase I’ve heard among the merchants of Inazuma— oh, never mind. I’m glad you like it.”

“What did you put in it to make it taste so exquisite?”

Leaning closer to him, you whispered, “Petals of peach blossom and glaze lily flowers. Along with some other choice ingredients, but what truly gives it that taste and aroma is the flowers.”

Your face was close, closer than he ever even dreamed to approach in a million years; in the pale moonlight, your eyes glittered brighter than any jewel the earth could give. Any dragon would covet such a treasure and guard it with their very life.

How had he not noticed how mesmerizing your eyes were till tonight?

“Absolutely fascinating,” He murmured, before belatedly realizing he said it aloud.

“Isn’t it?” You hummed in agreement. “It’s my special brew. I experimented on it until I could perfectly balance the flavours to my liking.” Your gaze swiveled to the elaborate water gardens sprawled in front of the Golden House. “Do you want me to plant a peach tree and some glaze lilies by the front of the gate? I could do that, if you really do enjoy my tea that much.”

A mix of relief and disappointment washed over him; you hadn’t realised he wasn’t talking about the flowers.

He mused over the idea— it didn’t seem so bad, after all, but...

“I’d like to plant them somewhere more.... permanent. Somewhere we can watch them grow together.”

“Say the word, and your wish is my command.” You beamed at him. “Just tell me when and where, and I’ll have them in full bloom for you in no time, no matter the season.”

A warm, fluttering feeling filled his chest, and Rex Lapis suddenly found it harder to breathe than before. His face felt oddly warm, while his hands were cold— was it a result of the night air? He wasn’t that old yet.

Anxious to change the topic before you cracked another joke about his age, he quickly asked, “How are the affairs of Liyue doing, my friend?”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “The trade routes are thriving splendidly. Many merchants from the other regions come to seek permission to transport goods to and from their lands, so I’ve been handling most of their affairs. Even picked up some of their languages while at it.” A mischievous smile spread across your face as you said, “Tu ne me comprends pas, non? Je t’aimerai pour toujours et à jamais, mon amour.”

“Impressive.” He hadn’t understood a word of what you had said, but he was almost dead certain that you were poking fun at him. “It is good to see that Liyue is in such capable hands. What about the—“

“—the adepti? Oh, they’re all doing quite well, I believe. They don’t really leave their abodes anymore, save for Madame Ping and young Ganyu.”

“How about—“

“Xiao? I visit him every now and then, to make sure he eats well and is doing alright. And yes, I bring him the painkillers you have specially made for him.” You paused. “He sends his greetings, and it is very obvious that that boy misses you, even if he won’t admit it himself.”

Rex Lapis breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. “You really do know what I’m going to say, even before I say it.”

“What can I say? Even before you need to ask, you can consider it already done.” A chuckle escaped your lips as you scuffed the sole of your shoe against the roof tiles. “That’s why I’m here, after all. Who better than I to carry out the word of Rex Lapis?”

“You had best watch yourself there, my friend, lest your head grows too big for your shoulders.”

“Oh, but my lord, who was the one who gave me this position?” Propping your chin on your steepled fingers, you give him a smug look. “I seem to recall a certain someone appointing me as his right-hand, after all.”

“What has been given can just as swiftly be taken away.”

“You’re no fun.” You stuck your tongue out at him and turned away, pointedly staring at the moon.

“So, what is the real reason you brought me up here?”

In an instant your head whipped back to meet his gaze, eyes wide and mouth agape. “How did you—“

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a lopsided grin, and now it was his turn to look smug. “You’re not the only one who can practically read minds, my friend. The facade you put up is better crafted than mine, but I can still see right through you.”

“Well...” You fell silent for a moment, fingers tracing along the sides of the brass bottle and etching invisible patterns into the metal with your fingernails. “I wanted to ask how you were doing.”

Rex Lapis tilted his head slightly, confusion and curiosity melding into one feeling. “How I was doing?”

“I struggle sometimes... with the memories of those who have passed on. Sometimes, in the heat of the moment I forget; I get distracted or actually feel happy, but then I suddenly think of them, and I wonder if I actually have the right to enjoy myself.”

Shifting slightly, your expression was unreadable in the pale moonlight. “But lately, their faces have become blurry, and I get scared when I can’t remember what they look like. It’s the least I can do for my comrades, since I’m the only one left.” You pursed your lips. “Do you have the same problem?”

The somber look on your face stirred up the remorse that still gnawed at his heart, even after all these centuries. You had been suffering alone because of his mistakes, and it pained Rex Lapis even more knowing that no contract he wrote could remedy the empty gap in your heart. All he could do was sit with you and be something you could anchor yourself to, just the way you had been a steadfast rock to him.

He shifted to sit closer to you, no longer caring whether his robes would be dirtied or not. “Not quite the same problem.”

“...Oh.”

“Like you, even after so many years I still cannot help but think of them. Every detail of their lives, their voices and faces— I remember it all.” Rex Lapis looked up to the stars, where perhaps the constellations of your friends lay, and laughed dryly. “Mortal men have been blessed with forgetfulness, but it seems that I have been cursed to remember.”

Tentatively, he raised a hand to gently pat you on the head, just the way his caregiver used to when he was feeling out of sorts or upset. “But worry not, my friend. If what you worry about is forgetting, then I will be the one to remember everything for you.”

“You needn’t worry about me forgetting you, by the way.” You said quietly. “Even if I forget everything else in this world, I know that I’ll always remember you, no matter what form you take.”

The strange, fluttering feeling in his chest returned, coursing through his veins and flowing through his fingertips— subconsciously he pulled his hand away, fearing that those feelings would somehow reach you.

It’s merely the chill of the night air, he told himself.

You said nothing as he pulled away, but Rex Lapis found himself wishing you would say something, anything; complain, or make a joke out of it, or perhaps even ask him to do it again— no, he couldn’t dare dream of that.

Not for your sake.

“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” You said suddenly, breaking the silence and the maze of thoughts his mind was trapped in.

Rex Lapis looked to the moon over Liyue Harbor, admiring the way it bathed the city in silver light. Though Liyue in the daytime was loud, filled with many colours and sounds that overwhelmed the senses, this version of Liyue was also beautiful to behold.

Perhaps... perhaps this is what she meant by living treasure, he thought to himself.

Caring for this city of people, nurturing them and building a better future for them and the future generations— that was certainly something close to his heart. It didn’t feel exactly like the living treasure he had expected, but as long as you were there to watch over Liyue with him, then perhaps... perhaps it would grow on him as time passed.

“Yes,” he agreed. “It truly is.”

But that evening, he failed to notice that you weren’t looking at the moon.

[tobi-momo]

Your Cupid

a/n: hihihihihidihgl;df im finally posting again!! so sorry to take so long! also- im so so so sorry if this is bad i really wanted to post so i kninda rushed the end, and ik its long im so sorry😭 also i hope you find out soon in the fic and interpret yourself but just to let you know the title is referring to Oikawa, not Iwa.

Pairing(s): Iwaizumi Hajime x reader | Oikawa x reader (PLATONIC)

Genre: Slowburn!!! Romance, Fluff, Angst, Comfort

Warnings: Cursing, i think that's it?

Word Count: 4k

Synopsis: Being childhood best friends with Oikawa meant you weren't going to hear the end of it when it came to volleyball, when you finally agreed to become the Seijoh manager, he suddenly started to regret introducing you to his other best friend, Iwaizumi.

It wasn’t your choice, being here. You were forced to come, Tooru practically dragging you to the gym while you whine and complain, his cocky smile and fake charm trying it’s best to convince you to stop resisting. You barely know a thing about volleyball, even though always going to Tooru’s games and helping him practice when you were little, you never really caught the whole jist of the sport. He vowed to help you, to always be there when you have questions about it.

So with an elongated sigh, and a pinch to the bridge of your nose, you agree. You would become the manager of the Seijoh Volleyball Club.

~.~.~.~

The first practice you had attended consisted of balls flying, smacking aggressively on the ground; your eyes not being able to keep up with them, instead finding entertainment in the players instead. Tooru had introduced you to them, each of them holding their hand out for you to grab and shake gently before letting go and subtly wiping your hands on your uniform. He had mentioned another best friend, one that he had been trying so hard to get you to meet, wanting to complete his holy trinity. When you refused to go anywhere he would moan in defeat, collapsing on your bed while fake pouting and turning around to pretend that “y/n doesn’t love me anymore”. You would always just hit him with a pillow after that, resulting in an all out war. You had assumed the other guy refused as well, as Tooru never mentioned if his poor friend desired to meet you.

You guessed even after the ace met you for the first time the desire still never came up, his nonchalant nod and monotone greeting of his name showing proof of that, even before he turned around to walk away without a care in the world. He never took your hand, he never even looked at you; must have been too busy, throwing the ball in the air before running and leaping upwards, smacking the ball on the other side of the court, a loud grunt bleeding through his throat when he misses his target, running to and under the net to receive the ball. You watched him, pupils stuck on the way his body moved so flawlessly through the air, the way his rough, calloused hand hits the ball, making it mold around his palm and forcing it through the air without resistance, the loud slap that echoed throughout the gym when the ball made contact with the polished floors, the annoyed glare he made when the ball didn’t go where it was supposed to.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

“Y/nnnnnnn,” Tooru mewled, his fingers waving in front of your face, his fingers snapping together to grab your attention. His head turns, eyes widening dramatically when he finds what you were so distracted by.

Only regret ran through his mind at that moment.

~.~.~.~

You had attended most of Tooru’s games, but you had never really paid attention, as your eyes kept drifting towards the scoreboard and the clock, impatiently waiting for the final whistle to be blown. This game however, was different. Your attention was nailed to this game, your hair pulled back and your hands gripping the rotation sheet ever so tightly, your breath coming in hitches when the score rises, the atmosphere becoming so much more intense than you remember.

Awe was painted all over your face as you gaze at your best friend setting the ball so beautifully among the court, it flying towards the wing spiker just in time for him to strike it down on the other side of the net, gusts of wind following after- the hair of the libero on the other team fluffing up as they stare at the number four player. You watch him smirk in victory and his hands balling up in congratulating fists. The rest of his teammates whooped and cheered, patting him harshly on the back, a shared smile between him and Tooru before their knuckles joined in a tiny bump before returning to their sides.

Then, his eyes went to yours. The sweat dripping down his heated face and his heaving chest disappeared after you caught a glimpse of his green iris’. They were piercing; cutting into your brain and engraving themselves in your memory. How were you ever going to get them out of your mind?

You didn’t notice him walking towards you, his arms slightly swaying back and forth as he walked, his quiet footsteps picking up speed only a tad towards you. Then, as your mouth opens in an attempt to speak, the light of his green eyes floods your pupils when the words catch in your throat. “I- you were-”

“Y/n-chan! How’d you think of the game? Being so up close and personal like that has to make a difference from the stands, right?” Tooru’s voice bleeds straight into your hearing, interrupting your stutter. This was one thing you’d have to thank him for later.

~.~.~.~

“Wait, I’m confused, what’s that for?” You point to an arrow on your clipboard, looking up in confusion towards anyone who would listen. The captain was busy announcing whatever he wanted to the team, making them groan in annoyance and roll their eyes, Tooru only continuing with his story.

“What’s what for?” You heard from beside you, the low grumble of his voice seeping into your ears, making you jump backwards. The palms of his hands move to grip your arms firmly so as to not let you lose balance, his rough fingers wrapping around the flesh of your arm to pull you back up. He only stares, more of a glare, if you were being honest. He looked madly confused, or it may have been his resting bitch face, you don’t know. It wasn’t until you were back on your feet when you decided to speak up again, subtly avoiding eye contact by letting your eyes zip from random item to item, finding purchase on the metal clip of the plastic board you were holding.

“Uhm, I’m just confused about what play this is,” you say, your finger pointing towards the specific circle and arrow you were questioning. His head tilts downward, his eyebrows furrowing as he narrows in towards your problem, a hand on his chin.

“That’s a back row attack.”

“A what?” You question, looking up towards him for an explanation, only finding his eyes still stuck on the paper.

“A back row attack. It’s when a hitter from the back row jumps up towards the ten-foot line and hits the ball on the other side,” he abbreviates, a little hand gesture making its way through the air.

“Oh, really? How would that work? Why wouldn’t the setter just toss the ball to a front row player?” Volleyball gets more confusing everytime you think about it. He glimpsed up at you, took a short breath, then shifted his feet, like he was getting ready for a long conversation; you just stood there, waiting for him to explain a little bit more before taking a quick look around the gym, the cart of balls standing out to your line of vision. You hold a smirk, his head following your movements as you turn around to set the clipboard on the bench and walk towards the cart full of balls, picking one up and bouncing it on the floor.

A single eyebrow raises, but he still follows you to the court. “So, if I were to toss...to,” you put a finger on your chin, pondering, “back there,” you point to middle-back, taking a step towards the spot, “where would I be over here?”

He understood immediately, nodding his head as his legs made their way to you, scaling the court with narrow eyes once he halts beside you. “Well, depending on the play and the rotation, you could be anywhere on the court, so you could toss to them from pretty much any position.” His explanation sounded brief, vague. It was just enough for you to get the idea, though.

“Uh, go stand over there,” he urges, pointing to the middle back position. “Do you know how to hit a ball?” You look at him incredulously, feeling a little embarrassed to say you barely know how to do your approach.

“Not...really?” You compromise, shrugging as you backpedal to the back row position.

“Here,” he jogs up to you, handing you the ball, “take this and go to where I was just now.” You comply, heading over to that position, shifting the ball between your hands. “Give me one.”

“What?” You question him as he pulls his ankle back up towards his back, stretching his quad.

“Toss me one and watch me.” Oh.

You do as told, under-handingly tossing the ball up towards the ten foot line, studying his footwork. His form was perfect, you thought, his right foot leading his approach until he jumps into the air, practically flying flawlessly as his arm comes up behind him at a perfect angle to shoot the ball straight down one of the back corners.

The setter on the other side of the court could see the sparkle in your eyes, the glistening of awe in your face as you admire his best friend. He had a feeling you would like him once you met him, but not like this. The idea of you two suddenly being fond of each other ate away at him, like he was about to lose someone. Maybe two.

~.~.~.~

Away games were the worst. You hated sharing a small bus with smelly boys who don’t know a thing called “boundaries”. They hover over you, their arms flailing and their mouths running. You were annoyed, to say the least, trying to refrain from rolling your eyes at the boy's antics, crossing your arms to separate yourself from them. You didn’t even get the chance to sit next to Tooru, who got stuck on the inside of Kindaichi, messing around with Matsukawa and Makki.

You were uncoincidentally stuck with the captain’s best friend, Iwaizumi. You didn’t mind him of course, as he would put Tooru’s ego in place and tell everyone to shut up before you explode on them. You didn’t know if he noticed your irritation, your bugged eyes staring out the window, your head leaning against the glass. His head was also turned your way, you guessed to doze off to the moving trees outside, but you didn’t notice the way his eyes focused on your hair, subconsciously trying to count the strands while you look away, your eyelids drooping downwards ever so often.

Your dreary state was interrupted by a plastic water bottle being caught in the air, your nose coming face to face with a hand- the hand of the man sitting next to you, you infer.

“Guys, what the hell did I just say? Stop throwing shit around!” He yells towards his teammates, their playful demeanor turning pensive, their heads rotating away guiltily.

“Thanks,” you mutter, the words barely leaving your throat when he pulls away.

“No problem,” he dismisses, forcing himself to not glance up at you when he shoves the bottle in Makki’s hands.

“Hey- what the hell?” Makki whines.

“It’s yours, dumbass, take it.”

~.~.~.~

The red marker covering the white page gawked at you, showing you how you weren’t good enough for anything better. You couldn’t look at it any longer, the bottom lip of your frown quivering before you bring the inside of your elbow up to your mouth, muffling your sniffles and absorbing the steamy tears that scurry down your raw cheeks. You were better than this, what the hell is wrong with you?

Hiding in the storage closet wasn’t a good idea, The initial plan was clever, sneaking in there to calm yourself down before practice, needing to keep an optimistic mindset. That plan was ruined as soon as you broke down though, slow, and quiet but clear footsteps closing in on the door, like they were leaning their ear in to listen. Your mind hadn’t kept up with the time, as you hiccupped and sobbed even after the door was opened and light shined through the dark.

“Y/n?” You whipped your head away, refusing to look at them as you deal with your mortification. They scoot in, shutting the door until only a little line of light cracked through. “Y/n, what happened?” They sat next to you, closely you may add, dipping their head down to try and see your face. You avoid them, trying your hardest not to cry in front of them. “Don’t turn away from me, look at me,” they hush, placing their fingertips on your forearms, gently pulling them towards their direction, your head hanging down as your arms are removed from your mouth. “Look at me.”

You sniffle with exhaustion as you drag your head up, finally letting them inspect your glassy eyes, tears continuing to run down without fail. They had felt the hot liquid stream down their thumb as they wiped it away from your face, caressing your cheek as you fret.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You shake your head.

“Do you want my help?”

You nod. And you don’t move away when you find the vice captain’s hand reaching behind your head to cradle it as you whimper in his shoulder.

~.~.~.~

Study sessions with Iwaizumi became a regular thing. Whether it was him coming to your house and staying for dinner, or it was you falling asleep on his desk, you two never stopped doing it. Even after your grades went back up, the red marker leaving your memory almost completely when you get your new tests back. He gave you a look of approval, nodding his head a single time to show his acknowledgement. He wasn’t surprised when you came up to him and tugged him into a tight embrace, his large hands coming to hold your figure like second nature. He was used to this, your excited hugs and your bursts of energy and your lack of an attention span and your bright and sunny nature. It was funny to him how much other people burn you out, like a dying fire that needs more gasoline.

The second your body hit his, a breath slipped out, creating a little chuckle that filled your ears, the cozy warmth of his chest slightly leaning into you.

“Finally! I finally did it. Proud ‘a me?” You smirk at him, feeling a little full of yourself at the moment.

“Sure, sure, yeah,” he replies, slowly shoving your body off his, your feet stumbling as you let go of him, struggling to find balance. The hands wrapped around your arms keep you firmly planted on the ground, gently letting go the moment you stop moving around. They dive straight into his pockets, his head lifting to see your cheery expression. “You did good.”

You only smile in response, opening your mouth before a hand was planted on your shoulder.

“Y/n-chan! How’d you do? I heard trusty Iwa-chan helped you study!”

“Shut up, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi grumbles.

“I did really well, thanks to trusty Iwa-chan,” you emphasize, a glare shooting your way once the sound of your voice finds Iwaizumi’s ears. He didn’t like that. Tooru giggled, his hand half-covering his mouth to ‘try’ and stifle his laugh.

“Well, I did amazing too, in case you guys wanted to know.” A cocky grin made its way through Tooru’s face.

“We didn’t.”

“That’s awesome, Tooru!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m amazing.”

“Shut up, Crappykawa,” you and Iwa both chant in unison.

“Aw, c’mon, you guys!”

~.~.~.~

“I have to admit something, Y/n,” Tooru blurts in your room while he sits on your bed, his head hanging low while his fingers trace the thread patterns of your blanket. You spin your chair to face him, the atmosphere brought down when you see his quiet expression. Oikawa Tooru was never quiet.

“I thought letting you two meet was a good idea, I wanted us to be the power trio,” he strained a chuckle. “I just didn’t know that you two would become more than friends.” Your eyes expand, your breath immediately slowed and your movements coming to a full stop.

‘What do you mean by that, Tooru?”

“You know what I mean,” he waves you off dismissively. “I see the way you look at him, Y/n. I see the way he looks at you. I’m like the biggest third wheel in the world.”

You were confused, shocked. Was what was coming out of his mouth true? Did you really have different feelings about him than anyone else? Did he have them for you?

“I was mad, at first.”

“What?”

“Yeah. Like, really mad. I didn’t want you guys to have all that lovey-dovey stuff together when I’m right here, you know,” he gestures to himself; your head tilts in understanding, nodding. “I guess you could say I was jealous. It just irked me that you two never wanted to meet and then when you do you immediately fall head over heels for each other, completely ignoring the fact that I was the one to bring you two together.” He didn’t feel left out, like he did before, though. He had watched you two for a while, realizing that you two need him just as much as he needs you and you two need each other. He felt as if this was really who he belonged with. You guys.

You just stared at him, the cogs in your brain trying their best to process his words, your fingers coming together into a fidget. Your wide eyes landed on his, and although his pupils were nailed to the bed, you could see the sadness that didn’t belong. His eyebrows were furrowed in a way that made him look like he was worried, regretful, yet his lips stayed thinned together as his hair dangled in front of him. You could tell he was trying really hard to say this. Even if it was The Oikawa Tooru, he wasn’t invincible.

You try to recall all the times you’ve met with Iwaizumi, all the conversations you had, all the tiny contact you made when your fingers had mistaken each other’s arm or fingers for the textbook, all the times he caught your lingering gaze, but refused to let it go, the times he caught up with you after practice, slightly jogging towards you and stopping once he reaches the same spot as you- you naturally having to speed up every once in a while as his legs were much longer than yours.

“You’re right,” you mumble, your words coming out slow and smooth, your eyes focusing back on him from the blurry space you just dropped yourself in. His eyes have a double-take on your face, moving back and forth from the blanket to your face of realization. “I do like him more than a friend. And it’s because of you.” His back stretches upwards, sitting up straight. “So, thank you, Tooru.” It was now his turn to be utterly stunned- thank...you? “I’m glad you convinced me to join the volleyball club, to meet Iwaizumi, to allow us to have these experiences together, thank you.”

What could he say? “Your welcome”? It seemed unfit for the situation, he figured. So instead of plastering on a confident smirk and showing his “Great King”, he exhales deeply, looking straight into the holes in your eyes. “Just don’t break his heart, yeah?”

You nod in assurance, returning a determined eye. “I can do that.”

~.~.~.~

The next few weeks passed slowly, like the clock gave an extra two minutes with every second that went by. You had barely seen him, as he walked away from you every time he noticed your presence. He refused to look at you, the back of his head being the only thing to face you during practice. Why was he avoiding you?

“Iwa.” He doesn’t look up at you from putting a ball back in the cart, shutting his eyes before turning around. He stops when your hand grasps his arm, pulling him into a stop. He tugs his arm back, your grip hardening on his flesh, your sharp glare not letting him leave. “Iwaizumi.”

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose while screwing his eyes shut. “What.”

“Why have you been avoiding me?” You bring your hand up in the air with question.

“Why have I been what?”

“You heard me. Now answer me.” Your tone was strict, firm. It annoyed the hell out of him that it made him want to confess.

“I haven’t been doing shit. Stop following me like a lost puppy,” he growls, side eyeing you.

“Excuse me?” Your head bucks back, surprised. With one last tug, his arm is out of your reach as he walks away with his dark demeanor.

Then, he was gone.

~.~.~.~

You had spent a couple days thinking about it. How the conversations were so short, how he just completely dismissed you. Tooru watched you two go back and forth between bickering, you usually being the one to start the conversation before he tells you to fuck off. He was curious as well. You mean, that’s what you assumed from the conversation they were having in the gym before practice, ceasing your stroll when you hear their voices echo throughout the room, your body hiding behind the door so they wouldn’t notice.

“Iwa-chan, we talked about this, she just wants to be your friend, stop being so mean to her!”

“Whatever.”

“Iwaizumi, I’m serious. Stop being so cold to her,” the captain’s voice changes, his playful attitude gone in a swift motion, replaced with a scowl when Iwaizumi’s wide eyes find him. “What did she do to make you like this, huh? Such a meanie, Iwa-chan.”

“I’m not,” the number four defends, looking Oikawa up and down before taking a step back.

“Oh, I think you are,” he taunts, “you too were getting along so beautifully, it looked like. What happened? Scared?” He smirks.

“Of what?” Iwa’s eyes twitched, his face flushed.

“Of her not liking you back.”

The ace stammers, his mouth not knowing what words to spit out as he looks his best friend in the face.

He was serious, wasn’t he.

Iwa stood there, gaping at Oikawa’s satisfied expression while stumbling on his words, trying to find the best one to respond with. But he couldn’t. There was nothing he could say at this moment that would change the way Oikawa thinks, because Iwa knows he’s right. He knows.

~.~.~.~

You were frozen in place, your heart seemed to stop working, you couldn’t tell. Your nerves had stuttered a couple times- you weren’t sure you were even alive at this point. The hand that placed itself on your mouth had fallen to your side, leaving your silent gasps less silent now. Thankfully, they hadn’t heard you, but once you rushed inside with purpose and resolution, the gym door slamming shut, their heads had whipped your way.

“You’re telling me you liked me this whole time?!” You shout to him, walking closer and closer until you arrive right in front of him. His eyes stayed glued to you, confusion stirring back and forth throughout his whole system. He was scared. “Is that why you’ve been a dick to me?”

“I didn’t-”

“Now, now, Iwa-chan, let her talk.”

“Tooru,” you lour, “stop talking.”

“I’ve liked you since I saw that jump serve you did at my first practice, and you’re telling me that you like me too? Even though you’ve been avoiding me and pushing me away and telling me to leave you alone and-”

“You what?”

“What? I like you? Yes! I do! Now can you finally stop acting like an asshole?”

Silence.

“Uh…”

“He means yes, Y/n,” Tooru cuts in while patting the vice captain on the shoulder, laughing it off.

You take a deep breath, running a hand through your hair as you sigh. “Okay,” you exhale, “well, then...are we? Do you-”

“Mhm! He would love to,” Oikawa answers again.

You look at Tooru once more, biting your lip to hide your smile before nodding once towards him.

Thank you, Tooru.

im so sorry for this mess oh my god

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REQUESTS: OPEN

[pinkchanelbag]

truthfully, miserably. [m. fushiguro]

the truth came to him like a drowning man’s first breath, but came far too late; you were already long gone.

cw: literally just angst. 

wc: 1.5k.

note: this doesn’t even have a plot??? it’s just me directing my bummed out energy on my poor baby megumi i feel so bad i have to like write him fluffly headcanons or something after this.

“you’re lying.” 

megumi stiffened his body to suppress the shudder that passed through him. he worried that those words would haunt him for the rest of his life. 

how terrifying it was to watch himself become undone by those two words. he’d known himself to be an honest man, a good man. it didn’t ever occur to him that lying about something as intangible, inconsequential as his own feelings could hurt someone; could make him a worse person. 

“it’s not the right time. i’m too busy to worry about you more than i already do. i can’t worry about your feelings too.”

it had been a harsh statement but an been an easy lie. so easy that he was mildly convinced of it himself until the moment you’d pulled it to pieces before him and turned your back on him with a suitcase in one hand. 

you’re lying.

a dark feeling manifested in his gut at knowing those were your last words to him. knowing the last time you looked upon him, your face was pulled into something like disbelief, hurt, hopelessness, and tears sat in your eyes but didn’t fall. it was the face of a person spread thin, a person giving up. 

the night was windy enough for it to be noticeable. the breeze tossed megumi’s hair before his eyes and obscured his vision of the train station. 

he had stayed behind when the first and second years and gojo sensei accompanied you in farewell.

“you sure?” gojo sensei had asked with a titled head and rare genuine empathy. 

“don’t think she’d want me there.” part of him had believed it to be true, but another part of him, the part that sneered at his cowardice knew it was also because he hadn’t come to terms with his own actions. he hadn’t been ready to face you after being hit with the crushing reality of his own deceit. part of him couldn’t make himself process that the hurt in your face wasn’t because of his words, but because of the fact that you knew they weren’t true.

gojo had simply sighed, paused for a few beats before saying,

“utahime will text me as soon as she’s picked her up from the station.” the sorcerer’s intuition had let him on to the circumstances, and it was that intuition that knew megumi would benefit from being reassured of the girl’s whereabouts. knowing this, megumi had thanked his sensei with deep sincerity, a rarity of his own.

he didn’t even know why he’d come. you’d departed before the sun had gone down. a creeping feeling told him it was because he should have been there. a part of him felt like he’d arrived several hours late to the most important encounter of his life. 

he supposed he was here because it was the last place he knew for a fact that you’d been in; that a few hours ago, you stood on the platform. maybe your fingers tapped against the handle of your suitcase like they often did when you felt anticipatory. maybe you smiled at the others with your eyes and hugged them with your whole body. you’d always had a way of pouring every single thing in your heart and mind into your interactions—your eyes, words, your touch. megumi had always seen it as both powerful and stupid. you were truer than any other person he’d ever met. your heart teetered on your sleeve, but it was by no means weak. you felt with no shame or inhibition, and it was your superpower. but the way you couldn’t—wouldn’t—mask your feelings in any way made you an exposed nerve. you were all offence and no defence. at first, to megumi, it was irritating. he hadn’t liked being called out or being slapped in the face by your vulnerability and not knowing what to do with it. 

then he came to know you. irritation turned to apprehensiveness; the feeling of wanting to grab you by the shoulders and shake you into some sense. to tell you to not be so open. a feeling as if he was constantly worrying about a toddler falling off a cliff. but you never changed, and he got somewhat used to it. and then he knew it was you, and knew he wouldn’t want you differently. then, unexpectedly, he came to like, even to admire, that quality in you. the anxiety never went away. all that had changed was that the more time he spent around you, the more he needed to protect your heart as you never would. 

it’s not the right time. 

it was a lie. and he of all people should’ve known better than to believe it. after having lost too many people far too soon in his life, he should’ve known that time becomes inconsequential, in the end. he should’ve known that you knew, which justified your look of incredulousness at his words. he wondered if you, with your terrifying ability to see through his every atom, had known that he didn’t truly mean to lie, because he had convinced himself of something that wasn’t true. megumi’s own heart answered painfully. of course you’d known. how long had you been wrestling with his iron-grip emotions before you gave up on trying to help him see truth? 

it had taken far too many hours, but the initial shock and cowardice had just about worn off. on the dark, empty platform, megumi faced himself. not for his sake—for yours. for what you had been trying to do for him before he’d pushed you away more times than even your kind soul could handle. 

with a lump in his throat, he thought about and acknowledged that as much as he should’ve known to cherish people before they were gone, he equally held himself back from growing close to anyone for fear of how badly their loss would hurt him. your closeness scared him more than any other because he knew that if anything ever happened to you, anything at all, he’d never be the same. it wouldn’t matter if you healed from whatever physical or emotional scars had been caused. megumi would never be able to feel like he belonged to the same world that had done you harm. his fists clenched in anger. and what had he done, exactly? he’d been the one to hurt you in a selfish pursuit of preservation. 

you’re lying. 

he’d been lying. he could own up to that now. he had to make his amends in some way, and not in hopes that it’ll make you give him another chance, but because you did what he hadn’t. you’d acted selflessly for his sake. you’d tried to help him be better, you’d tried to love him and to tell him—because i like you, fushiguro—to tell him that and whether or not you were around or would ever be around again to witness it, he would be better. and he’d start with this.

what’s the truth?

there was little thinking involved in what happened next. it wasn’t a conscious thought at all. it wasn’t so different from finally emerging from too much time spent underwater and the way your body pulls a dizzyingly deep breath into your lungs without your conscious decision or consent. for megumi, that was what it felt like to realize he loved you. 

he choked on a sob as the words piled into existence. i love you. 

he’d never been open emotionally, particularly with intimate feelings. that was why the conviction and forwardness with which he felt this truth shocked him—or would have, if he could’ve focused on anything else. vaguely he wondered if this is how you felt all your emotions. with such ferocious acceptance that no one could possibly mold them into weakness when they felt so much like strength.

i love you.

his body was nearly aglow with it. it bubbled up inside him and threatened to spill over. 

“i..i love you.” 

for just a moment, two opposite universes crossed. he stood inside that unfulfilled reality, where on this platform on this day he’d arrived before the sun had fallen and said those words to your listening ears rather than to deserted train tracks. he looked between himself and the reality where he’d done right by time, and he didn’t know which was the ghost.

“i love you.”

he spoke the words to the wind, and it heard him and whistled in empathy, but it would not carry his message to you. 

“i love you...i love you.”

megumi watched those words that scalded the inside of his mouth materialize only to be carried out of existence. without you to hear them, they meant nothing, no matter how much they felt like breathing fire. but for all their uselessness, he didn’t dare to not say them, even as they burned his lips. for one thing, they were the truth. 

“i love you,” he said miserably. “i love you. i love you. i love you.” 

right person, wrong time. how backwards a saying that was. he scoffed tearfully. not even the watery eyes took away from the dry, bitter expression on his face. he was the one—he had wronged time. how long had he spent deluding himself about all the reasons he should let you go? the timing had always been right—he was what was wrong. and now you’d broken his heart like he’d broken yours. his tears sunk and hid into his pores and his face turned to stone, and you were gone, and he’d never love again. 

[pillage-and-lute]

Eskel is a Fanboy (Part 2, Electric Boogaloo)

This is a second part of this. Which in turn was inspired by this.

Please note, this is less funny and a little deeper than the first part, despite the title. Discussions of FEELINGS, hardcore, but also the trials. Brief mention of hypothermia.

Read it here on Ao3

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Geralt arrived late that year. Vesemir had been pacing the corridors, a worry line between his brows, for the last week. The snows were getting worse and worse and innocent snowflakes joined other completely harmless snowflakes until a very un-harmless amount of snow had piled on the track and the passes. 

Lambert, alongside Aiden (another reason for the creases on Vesemir’s brow) lounged in the great hall, completely unconcerned. 

“He’s stayed later and later every year,” Lambert said, lazily. “He keeps lingering with that bard of his. Why should this year be any different?” His eyes were half closed as Aiden played idly with his hair.

“If he doesn’t get here in the next two days he’ll be too late,” Vesemir snapped.

“I recognize I’m the outsider, here,” Aiden said. “But I don’t always winter with my troupe, and Lambert occasionally spends winters away...”

Eskel shook his head. The constant bickering was impacting his reading and he’d long ago marked his place in his book and set it aside. “Not Geralt,” he said with certainty. “He always winters at home.”

Aiden levelled a chilly, yellow gaze. “You love him.”

“He’s my brother in arms.”

“He’s special to you.”

Eskel wanted to growl and snap, but Aiden wasn’t saying it in a malicious way. There was no threat or accusation in his words. If there had been it would have been pure hypocrisy, what with the way Lambert currently lay in his lap. Eskel had spent a week pretending not to see the pairs’ furtive kisses.

“He is special to me,” Eskel said at last. “I found him, after his second trial, was given special allowance to be away from training to help him. Whatever happened, with the mutagens, he was deaf and blind for nearly two weeks. And had as much strength as a kitten.”

Vesemir’s pacing gained a sharper edge. “I wish I’d killed the mage that called for that second trial.” He said. Lambert and Eskel made eye contact, they were familiar with the self loathing in Vesemir’s voice. Lambert was angry at the world and his whole situation, but they had all forgiven Vesemir years ago. There was no choice but to mend bridges with a pack so small. Still, they rarely talked about it.

“You killed the mage that called for his third,” Eskel said, quietly.

Aiden’s head jerked up. He’d been a witcher, albeit a different school. He knew the trials, he knew the pain, but three trials... “They tried...?”

Eskel nodded his confirmation. “Geralt survived, and the mages who ran the trials wanted to see how many he could take.”

“So I split his throat on my knife,” Vesemir said. There was no satisfaction in his tone, but just an empty statement of action.

“I didn’t know it was you that killed the mage,” Lambert said. “I just knew one had been killed for the suggestion. I heard they made the witcher drink hemlock as punishment.” There was a warmer light of respect in Lambert’s eyes than usually shone there.

“They did,” Vesemir said. “It didn’t kill me.”

That was it for conversation that night, but Eskel went to bed thinking about Aiden’s words. 

He’s special to you. 

Geralt was special to him. There was an understanding, something gentle and kind between them. Geralt and Eskel lived their separate lives and had lovers and adventures. But for three months of the year they had each other.

Eskel had sometimes wondered if there was something wrong with him. He never gave his heart to anyone. Sex meant nothing and love didn’t happen, and he could only love Geralt for three months at a time. 

Except that wasn’t true at all, because of course Eskel loved Geralt all the time. It was only a softer kind of love than he read about in poetry. He didn’t need fiery passion and desperate declarations of love. He had a steady love for Geralt, as sure as the beating of his heart. It was as good a love story as any, but now Geralt had his bard and a tiny, hidden part of Eskel whispered “If Only.”

If only he and Geralt could lounge like Aiden and Lambert, to pet each others’ hair and share small kisses in the corners. If only Eskel really had Geralt for those three months. He had no doubt that the feelings were mutual, but something in their lives had been built apart, and it would take something powerful to shape them anew.

The next evening brought a blizzard. And Geralt.

It took both Aiden and Lambert to shut the door behind Geralt with the way the wind blew in around him. It curled and flickered shards of ice through the air that melted in the heat of the hall, dampening Geralt’s old, black cloak. Which he was holding around himself like a cocoon. Vesemir took Geralts cloak for him, which revealed what he’d been holding. 

Huddled against Geralt, nose red and face pale, was a young man in a blue cloak. 

Geralt bundled him in front of the fire without a word, pulling away the damp cloak and hanging it to dry. Vesemir brought blankets as Geralt pried the instrument case from the man’s hands.

A lute case.

Eskel’s pulse picked up. This was obviously the bard. This was Jaskier, Oxenfurt’s most prodigious poet. He’d studied with Rumi and Alighieri and Li Bai. In just a few years he’d reformed witchers’ reputations. They’d all been treated better these past few years. More money, less tar and feathers. Eskel went to sit beside Jaskier to beg him for stories but Geralt met his gaze, smiled softly, and shook his head.

Eskel restrained himself. Jaskier was clearly staving off shock from the cold, as well as hypothermia. Instead of doing what he really wanted to do (lay himself prone at Jaskier’s feet and worship his skill with words) he put on a kettle for tea. 

Aiden and Lambert make eye contact with each other, nod to Geralt, and leave. Vesemir also makes a tactful retreat. This time was just for Eskel and Geralt. And the bard shivering on a pile of cushions next to the fire. 

“He had a hard time on the Killer,” Geralt said, quietly.

“It’s called the Killer for a reason.”

“He begged me to come, I told him it would be too dangerous,” Geralt whispered. “He followed me and I couldn’t make him leave, that’s why I was late.”

“Vesemir’s been worried,” Eskel said, staring at the fire. He sat on the cushions, beside the bard, without taking his eyes from the coals. Geralt sat on the other side of Jaskier, rubbing carefully over the bard’s chilly hands, pulling off the woolen mittens and gently warming each knuckle.

“I had to go slower for him,” Geralt said. Between the two of them, the bard seemed mostly asleep. His eyelashes flickered on his cheeks, struggling to stay open.

“You can sleep,” Eskel whispered. “You’ll wake up, you’re cold but not in danger.” He took the other chilly hand. “Just sleep.”

Blue eyes slipped closed and Eskel took the kettle off the fire so it didn’t whistle. 

“He was so desperate to be here, he wanted to see the Keep,” Geralt said. “And I wanted him to come. To meet you.”

“I did make you promise I’d get to meet him,” Eskel said, sitting back down and resting a hand on Geralt’s shoulder. “I think I’ve read everything he’s ever written.”

“That’s not why I wanted him to meet you,” Geralt said.

Eskel’s breath caught. They were talking about it, sort of. “I know,” he said.

The bard curled up a little, like a nautilus shell. Geralt lay down on the cushions behind him and Eskel made himself comfortable. Sleep and warmth and the smell of the pine fire lulled him slowly to sleep. Just as he was drifting off, Jaskier reached out in his sleep and placed one hand, less chilly than it was, on Eskel’s arm. It stayed there until the morning.

“So True Love’s Waste wasn’t inspired by a person?” Eskel asked over breakfast, mouth full of porridge. 

Jaskier shook his head, gulping down hot tea. “No, I was out on a bender with some friends and we saw this washerwoman’s cat trying to catch a soap bubble, right?”

Eskel nodded, entranced.

“It was so totally focused on catching this soap bubble, it’s eyes were all wide and determined, like all it wanted was the bubble, but when it caught the bubble...”

“It popped,” Eskel laughed. “And you wrote a poem that has been deemed the best love poem of the last hundred years about it.”

Jaskier chuckled. “Art is more trite and derivative than people think.”

Eskel reached out and touched Jaskier’s wrist, looking into those heavily-lashed eyes. “Your work could never be called trite, or derivative.”

Behind Jaskier, Eskel saw something flash in Geralt’s eyes, and he stood from the table, clearing his plate, but then Jaskier was telling a story about Rumi, his former professor, and Eskel’s attention was diverted.

The next week passed in peace, for the most part. Repairs to the keep were ongoing, but halted when the snow was heavy. Vesemir kept them training and the library, neglected by all but Eskel, kept Jaskier busy. At mealtimes and in the evenings Eskel and Jaskier chatted about art and music and life on the Path. But Geralt was subdued, something tired and sad gleaming in his golden eyes. He wouldn’t talk about it, and he fled when Eskel tried.

It hurt, that Geralt suddenly wouldn’t talk to him, but Eskel knew the white wolf better than anyone, so he cornered him in the training yard one afternoon and pinned him down.

“Talk. To. Me,” he panted, grinding Geralt’s shoulders into the flagstones.

“Nothing to say,” Geralt grunted.

“Bullshit.”

“Nothing!”

“You keep hiding! It’s not nothing!”

Geralt kicked his feet up, flipping them both over and freeing himself. He stood over Eskel who was still laying on the ground. “You can have him,” he said, beginning to walk away.

Eskel snagged his ankle, bringing his idiot wolf down to the ground without remorse. “You’re stupid.”

“I’m not, he adores you. You have so much in common, it makes sense.”

Eskel remembered the conversation of the year before. Please don’t take my bard.

“I’m not taking your lover boy from you,” he snapped.

“He’s not my lover boy.”

“He would be if you would only ask him.”

“He deserves better.”

“He wants you.”

“He wants you,” Geralt howled. “He looks at you like you got out a ladder and personally nailed the moon to the sky. Every time you talk he hangs on your words.”

“He looks at you the same way,” Eskel said, quietly. “And I...” He paused. This was so close to the thing they never talked about.

“You don’t look at me that way,” Geralt whispered.

“But I feel it all the same.”

The admission rang in the empty training yard, despite it being barely a whisper.

“I want you to have him, to be with him, because the two of you are made for eachother. It was obvious to me before you’d even met. I just wish,” Geralt stopped, his voice growing tight. 

“What do you wish?”

“I just hate that it hurts so much. I love you both, I do, so so much, and all I want is you two happy, and you’ll be happy together, but I just wish it didn’t cut me out.”

Eskel rolled over and bumped his forehead to Geralt’s. There were tear tracks in the dirt there. “It doesn’t have to. That’s a silly rule and you made it up for yourself. I love you both and he loves us both, so you can have us both.”

Geralt sat up, bringing Eskel with him, then pulled him into a kiss that burned. It was a simple press of their lips together but Eskel felt like he’d been struck by lightning.

“Oh,” came a quiet voice from the nearby doorway. Jaskier was standing there, cheeks flushed and eyes wide. “I’ll just--”

“Stay,” Eskel said, chuckling. He pulled Jaskier down to sit on the flagstones with them. “I think Geralt has something he wants to tell you.”

Geralt looked nervous. He swallowed a couple times, eyes darting over Jaskier’s face. “I...” He said. “Um, what Eskel means is that... um, I”

“Oh you great big oaf,” Eskel said. “Jaskier, he loves you, he’s absolutely mad about you. He just can’t say it because he loves me too and it’s taken him the better part of a century to tell me.”

Jaskier beamed, his blush growing. “And you?” he said.

“I’m not sure I love you yet,” Eskel said. “But I think I will.”

“I think I will too,” Jaskier said, then he leaned in and brushed a soft kiss to Eskel’s lips, off center, so it brushed his scar and part of his cheek too. Then he kissed Geralt the same way. 

“Aiden’s going to be so pissed that he lost the bet,” Jaskier said, as if he hadn’t just rocked both witchers’ worlds with a mere kiss. “He bet Lambert you wouldn’t figure it out until next week.”

“You knew,” Eskel said, touching the tips of his fingers to where his face was still tingling from the kiss.

“They way Geralt talks about you, well...” Jaskier said, smiling at Geralt. “And then the way you talk about him,” he smiled at Eskel. “And the way you both look at me, I knew. I just wasn’t sure you knew.” His smile shifted into something bashful and a little insecure. It was an odd look on his normally confident face. “And it seemed too much to assume you both would really want me, I’m not all,” he gestured at his shoulders and arms, obviously comparing their builds.

Eskel couldn’t help but let out a little chuckle. “We don’t care about that,” he said, carding his hand through Jaskier’s hair and revelling in the way the bard leaned into his touch. “I’ve seen Geralt with a face full of pimples, and I mean full, and that was back when he was calling himself Geralt Roger Eric du Haute-Bellegarde. It isn’t about looks.” He trailed his eyes across Jaskier. “And even if it was we wouldn’t find you wanting.”

“He’s right,” Geralt said, pressing a little kiss right behind Jaskier’s ear. “We find nothing about you wanting.”

“You both are going to leave me wanting if you’re not careful,” Jaskier whined, borderline laciviously. He leaned back against Geralt and pulled Eskel closer, kissing Eskel’s cheek chastely in spite of his words. When he turned to kiss Geralt’s cheek too Eskel nuzzled closer, feeling Geralt’s arms pull him into the pair of them.

“You have to promise to write me into your poetry, after all this,” he said.

Jaskier laughed, head tilting back and eyes crinkling at the corners. “As if I haven’t already,” he whispered. 

Three months later the great bard Jaskier debuted his latest poetry anthology. Silver and Steel was praised by academics across the continent, although the line about being eaten alive was highly debated. Jaskier’s sudden penchant for high collars might have answered the questions, but he wasn’t about to give away the secret. 

[cozy-the-overlord]

Miles To Go Before I Sleep

Part 3 of Cozy’s Fluff-To-Angst Fun and Games

@fablesrose said:

Alright, break my heart.

A lover softly combing their fingers through your hair as your head lays in their lap, quietly drifting to sleep with a hum.

Summary: She could accept this fate, did accept this fate, if it meant that he would escape safe and sound. But Loki could never let her fall alone.

Word Count: 1,663

Pairing: Loki x Sigyn

A/N: So this is based on a dream I had a while ago ... it’s weird. I know it might not make any sense, but my dreams never make any sense lol, so I was kind of trying to channel that a bit. The title is from Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”-- I debated about that for a while, because I know this story doesn’t really fit that poem thematically (like ... at all), but the atmosphere it creates is sort of what I was going for? Kind of? Idk this story is a trash fire. 

Also please let me know what you think of the ending! I’m genuinely curious to see how people interpret it ...

Thanks for reading!

Warnings: Drowning? (but no death)

Tags:  @lucywrites02 @silver-lupines @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian @imnotrevealingmyname @electroma89 @lokislittlesigyn @moumouton4 @theredrenard @justdontmindmetm​

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

At first, she thought she was dead. That moment when she first hit the water, the icy crack that shattered her vision as millions of tiny needles pierced every sliver of skin and cut straight to her bones—surely, she must be dead. No body could survive such raw cold.

But she wasn’t. She was alive for now, alive enough to scream as freezing water rushed down her throat, up her nostrils, through her ears, ripping her apart from the inside until there was nothing left but ice.

Can’t breathe—

The surface sparkled above her with a mocking glow. She knew how to swim, but when she tried to kick her legs only dangled in the water, useless chunks of lead pulling her deeper and deeper with each failed flail. Her arms weren’t working properly. Her fingers had turned to icicles.

No, she wasn’t dead, but she was dying.

The thought electrified her, and she tried another half-hearted thrash for the surface even as her chest swelled with water. She didn’t want to die. Not like this. Somewhere, deep down, she was ashamed of her fear. She hadn’t fought the drop. She had given herself up to death’s eternal slumber. Why was she panicking now?

But this was different. She had made peace with the fall, yes, but the water did not hold the same mercy. Please. She gasped for the surface, not even sure who she was pleading with.

Please, not like this.

She wasn’t expecting an answer.

And yet one came.

In one moment, she was spiraling down into the blackness, in another, the light was flying towards her in a halo of bubbles, a familiar arm tight and firm around her waist.

Somehow, the air she heaved into her lungs was even colder than the water below, the frigid wind that whipped across her cheeks threatening to take her skin with it. She coughed out a waterfall, the panic that had been frozen in her throat finally freed from its floodgates as she sobbed and shook against his chest.

His.

Sigyn gagged on the realization.

“You—you—” But her voice only burned, too raw for speech. When she attempted to twist around to see his face, he only held her more tightly against him as he pulled her to the embankment. She pulled at his collar with numb fingers.

“You were supposed to run,” she choked. “Loki, you were supposed to run.”

Loki said nothing. He scooped her up like she weighed no more than a feather, his ruby eyes staring off at something only he could see as they trudged through the snow. She realized suddenly that she was shivering, teeth chattering like a pair of castanets, and she gulped as she tried in vain to hold her frostbitten hands still. Loki’s grip around her tightened.

“We need to get you warm,” he said. “You’ll freeze like this.”

What he needed to do was drop her and get as far away from her as possible, but Sigyn’s voice wasn’t working properly. Really, very little was working properly. Her vision was going fuzzy in the corners, the steady sound of his wet boots crunching against the ice was starting to fade into an indistinguishable buzz.

She only noticed they had stopped when the fire crackled to life—a vibrant, vigorous warmth that washed all over her, and she found herself bathing in the glow of dancing flames despite her better judgment.

“Loki!” she whispered weakly, fighting to cling to her last dregs of reason. “The smoke— he’ll find you—”

Loki lay behind her, holding her to his chest with a touch so gentle she barely felt it. His fingertips danced across her temples, stroking clumps of wet hair from her face as they went.

“You’re so beautiful.” His voice was soft and safe, a warm blanket wrapping her up and sheltering her from the world.

She inhaled. Her chest felt numb. “What’s going to happen?” She hated that she sounded so small, like a frightened child cowering at a storm. But surely what they were facing was a storm of its own? Sigyn knew very well who it was pursuing them. She knew he would stop at nothing to retrieve what he wanted.

It could only be a matter of time …

But Loki was unconcerned. “Don’t worry, darling,” he soothed. “Don’t worry. It’s all going to turn out right.”

“The tesseract—”

He hushed her gently. “Everything’s going to be just fine.” He hummed as he combed through her hair, a tune that Sigyn almost recognized, something innocent and nostalgic. It was something from a lifetime far away, dancing on the edge of her memory. She found her eyelids slipping closed, even as she fought to remain awake.

Can’t sleep now. Can’t leave him …

“It’s all right, my love,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “You can go. I promise I’ll be all right.”

And so, she gave into his words, and the world faded to black.

…

When they found him, the fire had gone out. Loki was hunched alone in the snow, watching little flecks of ice crystalize on his blue skin. He didn’t bother to stand as they surrounded his makeshift camp. Why should he? He was weary, and besides— it didn’t matter now.

The Mad-Titan loomed over him, his golden armor sparkling with frost as he regarded Loki with a kind of patronizing amusement.

“And so the Jotun blesses us with his true colors.”

Loki fixed him with a heavy-lidded stare, breath whistling through his lips in a silver vapor. He was too exhausted for words. Besides, what was there to say? Everyone here knew how this was going to end.

At least, they thought they did.

“I’m surprised at your choice,” Thanos grinned. It was a spider’s smile, one that said he wasn’t surprised at all. Loki pressed his nails into the palms of his hands. “I thought for sure you had chosen to run.”

Yes. Sigyn had thought so too, had wanted him to flee. He had seen in her eyes, that peaceful resignation as she accepted her fate.

As if he could ever let her fall alone.

Thanos knew it. That was the frustrating part. He knew Loki would jump in to save her or die trying. He knew he’d give up his life, give up the tesseract, give up every living creature in the universe if it meant keeping her safe …

It didn’t matter now. Sigyn was free from harm, far outside the Titan’s reach, and the tesseract …

“Hand it over, princeling.”

Loki only smirked. History may call him Silvertongue, but oh, sometimes silence tasted so sweet.

Thanos’ eyes narrowed.

They dragged him to his feet in an instant. Loki didn’t fight it. It was only a matter of seconds before the realization would strike, and he for one was enjoying the anticipation.

The Titan towered over him. Loki fought the urge to laugh. He clearly thought himself intimidating, but his tiny eyes glaring out from beneath his helmet only made Loki think of an overgrown cockroach wearing armor.

Still, he bit his tongue.

“I’ll ask only once more,” Thanos leaned towards him, practically spitting in his face. “The tesseract. Hand it over.”

Loki didn’t flinch.

“My lord—” It was one of his Children, hunched over a datapad with a molded tension in his shoulders.

Here we go.

“What?”

“It’s not here.”

“What do you mean it’s not here?” Thanos snapped. “He has it!”

The man inhaled a shaky breath. “Forgive me sir, but he doesn’t. Here—” He held the tablet to the Titan with trembling hands in frantic supplication. “It’s not on his person. It’s not even on this planet. There’s not even the slightest trace of its gamma signature on this side of the galaxy!”

Loki grinned.

…

She awoke in her bed, cocooned in the snug embrace of her favorite fuzzy blanket. The rain pattered on the roof outside, a soft hum that almost soothed her back into slumber. Still, she pulled herself from sleep’s clutches and yawned, stretching as she sat up.

Such a strange dream.

It seemed so distant now, all wrapped up in warmth. She could only barely recall the last dregs of icy panic, floundering in a frozen river. And the man who had pulled her out …

She chuckled to herself. If only every nightmare ended with a tall, dark stranger rushing to her rescue. Although memory of his face eluded her, she couldn’t forget the feeling of his arm around her waist, so strong yet so gentle at the same time, clutching her to his chest like it was his sole purpose in life to hold her close. She sighed. Her subconscious had been kind to her last night.

A loud yowling from down the hall startled her from her reverie—the cat, demanding his breakfast. She frowned at the clock and jumped when she realized how late it was. Oh well. Can’t spend all morning fantasizing about handsome dream-men. Time to get up.

There was a song stuck in her head, she realized suddenly. It took her a moment to place it. Some silly jump rope chant from elementary school that she hadn’t thought of in years.

She giggled. How obscure is that?

Another meow reverberated through the apartment, an impatient edge to the cry. She groaned, throwing back the covers.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming!” One of her slippers was missing from its usual spot. She frowned. “Tigger, did you steal my slipper?”

Tigger only let out another screech, and she huffed. That damn cat was always snatching everything she left out and stashing them under something—he was a veritable hoarder.

“Fine,” she yelled, making her way to the kitchen slipperless. “Be like that, you little thief—”

So distracted was she by the cat, she didn’t notice the faint blue glow emanating from the tangled mess of her bedsheets.

[lovelylogans]

puppy love

roger: do you want another cup of marriage? anita: excuse me? roger: tea? another cup of tea? anita: you said marriage. roger: uh, marriage? anita: yes, that’s what you said. i—i mean, you meant to say tea... but it—it came out marriage. roger: oh, i’m sorry. uh—do you want another cup of... tea?

—101 dalmatians

warnings: misbehaving dog, misunderstanding that might cause secondhand embarrassment, please let me know if i’ve missed any!

pairing: virgil/logan, offscreen patton/janus

word count: 2,732

notes: this is for day four of @analogicalweek! the prompt of the day is “alternate universe” and i have decided to write a "i think my dog likes your dog” au, based off the introduction of anita and roger in 101 dalmatians! please enjoy!

⁂

Logan would have named his dog Tesla if the name had not already become popular due to the brand and if he did not have a deep-seated dislike of Elon Musk, but as it has, and as he does, his dog’s name is Nikola instead. He had finally given in and adopted her after his brother, Patton, had been wheedling him to adopt or foster one of the animals for years from the shelter he serves as veterinarian.

Nikola is a very intelligent dog. In the two-and-a-half years he has had her since she was a puppy, he has taught her a variety of tricks—the usual things, like sit, shake, stay, but also more unusual tricks like fetching him water bottles or tissues or any number of things that she knows the name of and is within her reach. She is a mix of two intelligent breeds—rottweiler and German shepherd—and as such learning and practicing tricks helps keep her from being bored. 

She has a surplus of enrichment toys. She never rips up shoes or furniture. She keeps an obedient trot at his side on hikes and runs ahead if he tells her to. She waits after he throws something for her to fetch until he says to run, and she has learned to sit before they cross the street. She is a very well-trained dog. 

Which is why it is so surprising when, as soon as he crouches to unleash her at the dog park they go to on Sundays, weather permitting, she snatches his baseball cap meant to keep the spring sun out of his eyes, and goes running off as if he has told her to fetch a tennis ball.

“Nikola!” He calls, out of being startled more than anything, before he starts to jog after her.

Nikola runs, just a black-and-brown streak of fur with the navy blue of his cap clamped between her teeth, and Logan is really quite fortunate that he spends most Saturdays, weather permitting, hiking, and weekday mornings on jogs besides. This habit has kept him in shape, however, it has also contributed to keeping Nikola in shape, and as such she is a very fast and athletic dog. He wonders briefly if he’ll catch her before he makes too much a fool of himself.

But just as suddenly as she’d started running, she stops at one of the benches installed around the dog park, dropping his cap on the bench and then immediately moving to the dog sitting beside her owner, Nikola wagging her tail and panting and looking quite pleased with herself, with eyes only for the other dog. The other dog, all black excepting the white splotch on her chest, looks at Nikola curiously, but does not crouch in a playful posture or otherwise react.

“Nikola, really,” he scolds, picking up his cap and jamming it back on his head. Then he looks to the man sitting on the bench with the dog that Nikola now seems enamored with, intent on apologizing for disturbing him or his dog, but his mouth goes dry almost immediately.

The man with the dog sitting calmly at his side is very handsome. 

He’s brown-skinned and black-haired—he’s Latino, Logan thinks—and in the middle of reading a book. Logan isn’t sure what book, based on the way his hands are placed, his long, elegant fingers covering the title. He’s also listening to music, as evidenced by the white wireless earbuds placed in his ears.

It’s likely that Nikola’s tomfoolery hasn’t disturbed him at all. The man only gives Logan a look—his eyes, which are a stunning shade of brown so dark they’re practically black—and returns his attention to his novel.

Logan clears his throat awkwardly, jams his cap back on his head, and turns to Nikola, who is still trotting around them, seeming very pleased with herself, wagging her tail, looking every inch a pompous showdog.

Sometime in the middle of watching Nikola, the exceptionally handsome man has closed his book and stood up, and Logan tries his best not to pay him any mind as he walks away.

“Helena, come,” he says, with a deep, lovely voice that hits Logan somewhere in the sternum. He has an accent—Spanish, maybe? Portuguese? Logan isn’t very familiar with romantic languages outside of English, other than the Latin he took throughout high school and college. Nikola is still looking very excited, but the black dog—Helena—stands and follows after the man.

“Nikola, really,” he repeats weakly, and crouches before her, gathering her leash in hand and preparing to let her loose so they can, perhaps, play a game of fetch, or something that does not involve Logan running after her like a madman.

But of course not. Whatever mood Nikola’s in persists, as she suddenly pulls forward, forcing Logan to get up off the ground lest he be dragged in her wake, and he really does not want to be dragged along the ground at the dog park, so he does, scrambling after her and trying to regain his balance.

He doesn’t notice she’s looping her leash around the man’s knees until it’s too late.

Which brings him to notice that she is also backtracking to loop around his knees.

He cannot help but notice when Nikola pulls tight and it brings Logan and the man colliding forcefully, chest-to-chest.

“Oh!” The man grunts. His chest is warm and broad. Logan would quite like to curl up under a nearby rock and never come out and also, if Nikola understood human terms, she would be so grounded. As it is he is absolutely revoking treats for her behavior today, even if the man is now putting a hand on Logan’s shoulder and it radiates warmth through his shirt.

“I beg your pardon,” Logan splutters, “I’m so sorry, please excuse me, I’ve no idea what’s gotten into her—”

At the same time, the man is saying “What the hell, oh my God, what—” and trying to push them apart, Logan stumbling with it.

Which makes the man stumble, which makes Logan stumble a little more, and very suddenly, they’re overbalancing, and Logan lands on top of him, the man wheezing as his back meets the ground, surely knocking the wind out of him. Even with that, he puts a hand at Logan’s waist to keep him from falling off of him into the dirt.

“I’m so sorry,” Logan gasps, and looks over—Nikola and Helena are side by side, Helena still haughty, Nikola still seeming very self-congratulatory.

“Nikola, bad girl,” he scolds. She doesn’t even have the decency to look chastened. “I swear she’s never like this, I really am so sorry—”

Logan manages to loosen the leash from around their knees and rolls off the man, apologizing all the while.

The man manages to sit up, eyes wide, and promptly Helena comes trotting over to him, leaning heavily into his side. 

“Uh, that’s,” the man coughs, “that’s okay. It—it wasn’t your fault. Um.”

He threads his fingers throughout Helena’s long fur, and Logan whistles sharply. Nikola at least has the good sense to return to his side.

“I am very sorry,” he repeats and stands, offering a hand to the man. The man hesitates before he releases Helena and takes it, allowing Logan to pull him to his feet.

Logan picks up the book—oh, he’s handsome and he has good taste, too, he’s reading On Beauty by Zaydie Smith, of course he had to go and look like an absolute buffoon in front of him—and holding it out for him.

The man takes his book back, eyes wide, before he looks to the dogs.

And then, of all the things to do, he starts to laugh.

Logan looks, too, and he feels his face crack into a grin.

Nikola is wagging her tail eagerly, staring at Helena, and Helena, at last, seems to look back at her. Her tail, almost grudgingly, starts to wag, too.

“I think your dog has a crush on my dog,” the man says, amused.

“I can’t deny that observation,” Logan admits. Sure, Nikola will play with other dogs, but she’s never been so sweet to another dog before. Even if he is irritated with her for running off, he can’t quite hold onto his sense of annoyance as Nikola makes doe-eyes at Helena.

“Like a regular Romeo,” the man says, then makes a face. “No, scratch that. Um—”

“She’d be a Juliet, regardless,” Logan interrupts.

He relaxes his shoulders. “Good. Romeo’s overused.”

He catches Logan’s confused eye, and explains, “My brother’s name is Roman. He crushes on people a lot. It was an easy joke growing up.”

“Ah,” Logan says, waits a beat, before he says, “It’s odd I know your dog’s name and your brother’s name before I know yours?”

“I have another brother named Remus,” he offers. “And, now that you know my family tree except me, I’m Virgil.”

“Well, I have a brother named Patton, and a brother-in-law named Janus,” Logan says. “I’m Logan.”

Virgil’s brow crinkles up. “Not Janus Ophidian?”

“The same,” Logan says.

“Small world,” Virgil says thoughtfully. “He’s a pain in my ass.”

He immediately blushes, as if he did not mean to say that, but Logan laughs before he can stop himself. Virgil blushes deeper.

“Uh, sorry,” Virgil says. “Sorry, he’s your—”

“No, you’re quite right,” Logan says affably. “He is a pain in the ass, he’d be proud to hear you say it. How do you know him?”

“Coworkers, of a sort,” Virgil says.

“So you’re a lawyer?” Logan says curiously.

“No,” Virgil says. “He’s in immigration law, right?”

“Correct.”

“I’m a translator,” Virgil says. “They hire me on retainer, sometimes, for clients who speak Spanish or Portuguese and not as much English. Or Catalan, or Aromanian, or Asturian, but those are way less common.”

“Interesting,” Logan says. “You’re a polyglot?”

“Six languages fluently, and three enough to make conversation,” Virgil says, then, “Aw, look at that.”

Nikola is nosing at Helena, and, after waiting a moment, Helena noses her back, their muzzles pressing together in a facsimile of a kiss.

“Well,” Logan says, unsure of what to really say to that, because it really is quite adorable. Then, “I suppose they’d like to spend time together. Would you like to sit back down on the bench to talk?”

Virgil smiles at him, more a quirk of his mouth than anything, and Logan’s heart flutters in his chest.

Please be single, please be single, he prays to no one in particular as they sit down together.

“So, what do you do for a living?” Virgil asks, ensuring that he has marked the page (his bookmark advertises for a small, local independent bookshop) and closing it, setting it aside.

“Oh,” Logan says, then, because his actual job title is quite long and unwieldy, he says, “I’m an astrochemist.”

“An astrochemist,” Virgil repeats, sounding intrigued. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that. What do you do all day?”

Logan brightens. “Well,” he begins, and off he goes.

He knows he can be something of a rambler, especially when it comes to topics he’s passionate about, and especially when it comes to astrochemistry, a combination of his two most favorite scientific disciplines of study. It only takes someone five minutes of listening to him ramble to discover he’s passionate about his work and the discoveries they make.

But he can’t help it. It’s the best thing in the universe, what he gets to do—use radio telescopes to detect the electromagnetic radiation that’s given off by objects in space, establishing what substances are in space and in what quantities, which can potentially come to tell the story of how the universe was made. 

He gestures frequently with his hands, his voice rising in volume as he talks about the significance of his work, the knowledge he’s helped discover, the theories they have. He sweeps a wide, expansive gesture to the sky, and points in the approximate direction of the various planets and stars of study. All the while, Helena and Nikola move to chase each other in circles, and all the while, Virgil alternates between watching the dogs with a soft look, and then looking back to Logan with genuine interest shining in his eyes, along with something Logan can’t quite name—well, he did just meet this man, he supposes that isn’t unreasonable.

Whatever the look is, though, it increases the excitement of lecturing about something he loves to someone who wants to learn, something in his stomach fluttering, his heart beating loud in his ears.

He’s about to start explaining the use use theoretical models as well as computer visualizations to help them explain their observations in terms of known physical and chemical principles, and how it helps them study the origins of extraterrestrial bodies and the chemical processes that have shaped their present forms when he stops, abruptly aware of how long he has been talking.

“Goodness,” Logan says, suddenly shy, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I’m so sorry, I’ve just talked away a good portion of your afternoon. Um. That’s the—that’s the sum of what I do on a daily basis. Which is what you asked.”

Virgil has that same quirk to his mouth as before, and that look in his eyes that had made Logan so eager in the first place.

“I don’t mind,” he says, and scratches at the back of his neck. “Um, I don’t drink coffee, ‘cause I have anxiety—Helena’s my emotional support dog, actually—”

Her stillness and calmness at the start of the whole debacle makes sense, then.

“—but, um. There’s a café nearby with outdoor seating, would you wanna maybe go... get a cup of marriage?”

Logan blinks at him, mouth agape.

“Excuse me?” He manages to squeak out.

Virgil blinks right back.

“Tea?” He clarifies, as if he was unsure if Logan heard him over the sound of other dogs and humans in the park. Goodness, there’s other dogs and people in the park, when did that happen? When did it get so crowded? “Would you want to maybe go get a cup of tea?”

“You,” Logan says, certain that his face is flaming red. “You said marriage.”

Virgil blushes then. He opens and closes his mouth a couple times, and at last he says, “Marriage?”

“Yes,” Logan says. “You—you said marriage. I mean, you meant to say tea, but it—it came out marriage.”

Virgil’s brow furrows. He thinks for a few moments. Then it seems to click, and he buries his face into his hands.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” Virgil groans. “It was nice to meet you and you’re very attractive and also you were so excited about your work so I have started liking you in a friendly way but also in a I’d like to date you way but I just proposed marriage barely an hour after we met, so I’m going to go fling myself into the creek so I never have to see you again, I can’t believe I said that.”

Helena has untangled herself from Nikola and is currently butting up against Virgil’s shins, seemingly in an attempt to get him to calm down.

“No! No,” Logan says hastily. “No. Oh, please don’t do that, um. Tea sounds great. Tea sounds lovely. I also think you’re very attractive and like you in both a friendly and romantic sense!”

Virgil peeks out from between his fingers. “Really?”

“Really,” Logan promises. “In fact, would you like to go get a cup of tea with me? Right now? As a date?”

Virgil grins at him weakly. “I guess a date sounds more reasonable than marriage right off the bat, doesn’t it?”

Logan smiles back at him, as encouragingly as he can. “It does. I’d like to go on a date with you.”

Virgil’s grin strengthens. “Great! Okay. Okay. Um—follow me, then?”

They both pause to leash their dogs, sharing a bashful smile with each other, and Logan follows Virgil and Helena to the gate of the dog park.

Nikola’s strange sense of mischief has worn off; she’s trotting obediently at his side again. To think, he’d thought Nikola had just caused all this trouble for nothing, and now he’s going on a date with a handsome, intelligent man. 

He sneaks her a treat as they exit the park, on the way to the café just down the street.

⁂

logan’s dog, nikola virgil’s dog, helena