#every day the stag fills me with such powerful emotion

[sugoi-and-spice]

Chapter Nine - Warmth

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x Fem!Reader, (3rd Person)

Rating: Explicit - Minors DNI

Summary: Tomura Shigaraki was her dad's boss's son. He was the creep that stole girls' underwear and tried to grope her in his room. But it's not like he could get her Dad fired just because she wouldn't sleep with him, right? ...right?

CW: Quirkless!AU, Explicit Smut, Dub-Con, Coercion, Blackmail, Cheating, Sexual Guilt, Humiliation, Unhealthy Relationships, Virginity Kink, Groping, Power Play, Hate to Love

A/N: Hope you enjoy this last stop in Fluffville before we make a hard transfer onto the angst train xD

Read Full Chapter on AO3

[EXCERPT]

She didn’t always live in Tokyo. The first place her family lived in was actually a rural little beach town in the Tottori Prefecture. Although, to be honest, even town was a generous word for it. It was a tiny port village where squid fishermen outnumbered non-squid fishermen by about two to one. A quiet place where everyone knew everyone and there were only two schools — a combined elementary and middle school and a high school.

As far as the town itself went, she loved growing up there. Her dad and his siblings had been born there, and their parents before them, and so on. Family was everywhere and barbecues were a weekly occurrence. She loved running up and down the beach to her grandpa’s general store every day — the flagship of a small but successful chain that had even started to spread into Shimane Prefecture.

She loved catching stag beetles and spending the cold days making little terrariums in their mason jars. She loved playing hard in the sun and swimming in the ocean until dark. There was a lot about this little town that she loved and she looked forward to showing her soon-to-arrive baby brother all of it.

But of course, there was a lot that she didn’t love as well.

“Expelled?! She couldn’t have been expelled! Are you sure they said the word ‘expelled’?”

She sat in the hallway, just around the corner from the living room where her father was assembling moving boxes. And where his father was trying to stop him.

“Pretty sure, Dad.” her father answered, punctuated by the tear of packing tape.

“Well, let me go talk to the principal. I’ve got some pull in this town, maybe they’ll overlook it!” her grandfather insisted.

“She hit the principal’s son with a chair,” her father sighed, “They aren’t going to overlook it.”

Her Grandfather went silent, definitively put in check by that information. But not checkmate. He was quick to bounce back.

“Just because she got expelled, doesn’t mean you have to move. She can go to school in the next town. Or even somewhere else in the prefecture.”

“And what about when she comes home from school? When those kids see her around town or shop in the store?” her father demanded, “This isn’t just about the expulsion. This place isn’t good for her.”

“Fine — then you move to Yonago. Or somewhere in Okayama even! I just don’t understand why you feel the need to run all the way to Tokyo!”

He yelled louder and louder, the anger and betrayal building in her grandfather’s voice with every word. She was pretty sure that she would’ve heard it even if she had been up in her room like she was supposed to, instead of hiding on the other side of the wall, eavesdropping. It was bellowing and desperate — filled to the brim with emotion. For a long moment, it seemed to even silence the cicadas outside.

“...I think the change will be good for her,” her father finally breathed, “For all of us.”

She could practically hear the tightening of her Grandfather’s fist, the cold severity of his glare as he rose to look down at his son.

“I don’t support it,” he growled, “If you go to Tokyo, you’re on your own. Don’t expect any help from me or any of your siblings.”

Her heart dropped, chest swelling with confusion and distress. What did that mean? Was she breaking up the family? It couldn’t be. Her grandfather couldn’t mean it. Her father couldn’t possibly accept it. 

And then, even louder, she could hear the sad smile in her own father’s voice as he said, “I won’t.”

“Hey.” 

She looked up from the crux of her knees, to her mother looking down at her in concern.

“You shouldn’t be listening to that.” she said, reaching a hand out to her daughter.

She stared at it, blankly. Her mother frowned.

“Are you really going to make me pick you up, right now?” she scolded, resting a hand on her belly.

She didn’t say anything, but she did stand up to take her mother’s hand.

“There we go,” her mother encouraged, reaching her fingers to prod gently at the dark bruise swelling around her cheek and brow,  “How’s your eye?”

“—s'okay.” she breathed, holding back a flinch surprisingly well. Her mother still caught it though.

“Yeah?” she lilted, sweet and leading, “That mean boy at school didn’t hit you too hard?” 

“I hit him harder.” she muttered.

Her Mother sighed, unable to decide if she should be amused or exhausted, “Yes you did, didn’t you?”

She buried her head suddenly into her mother’s swollen belly hard enough to feel her heartbeat. 

“Sweetie?”

She buried her head deeper, little hands clinging to the fabric of her dress, trying to wipe the burn away from her eyes.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” she insisted, “Does something else hurt?”

It wasn’t working.

“Is…”

She ran a hand through her daughter’s hair, coaxing.

“What is it?"

“...Is the baby never gonna see home?” she croaked, “Because of me?”

Her Mother’s brows furrowed. She knew the feeling that was currently aching in her daughter’s chest — she felt it too. The grief over the loss of a life they adored. The fear of starting somewhere new. 

The guilt of wishing she could’ve done better.

She felt it all. So strongly that she was having a hard time keeping her own eavesdropping and anxious midnight walks to a minimum. The pregnancy hormones certainly weren’t helping. This was their home, she didn’t want to lose it over something like this.

 But this wasn’t about her. This was about her daughter.

Her family.

“He will,” she assured, “He’ll see our new home.”

She looked up at her mother tearfully. A smile was returned. A genuine, comforting, contagious smile.

Her mother twirled a stray lock softly around her finger as she saw a little glimmer of hope flare in her daughter’s eyes. She knew that it wasn’t going to bookend these feelings for either of them. But it would keep them steady for the night.

“Come on,” she moved a hand to her daughter’s back, leading her down the hall, “It’s way past your bedtime.”

Continue on AO3

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[bmodiwrites]

The Stereo's On

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Rating: Explicit (E) Notes: This is just a random little idea that turned into 6k words of schmoopy loving - hope you guys don't mind! Word Count: ~6k Warnings: There’s a tiny bit of smut in here, but it’s me writing, so when is that not the case? Other than that, it’s pretty tame! Summary:

Despite trying to keep his feelings on the matter a secret, Steve knows that Eddie is bummed about not going to prom. As the best boyfriend there is, he's determined to remedy the situation. Between a couple strings of fairy lights and a mixtape made especially for Eddie, Steve puts together a night to remember.

Or - a sorry excuse for a feeling filled PWP!

Find it on AO3 here.

Staring down at the expansive mess of car parts before him, Eddie tries to focus on his job, but his mind is buzzing loudly, making it hard to do anything other than listen to the loud static building up in his ears. He took the shift that Sal offered him today in hopes of distracting himself. It’s funny that the exact opposite thing is happening. Eddie somehow forgot that the mouth of the garage opens up into Hawkins’ main street. Every person making their way into town passes right by the bay the current car he’s been working on is parked. It’s impossible not to see all of the couples in fancy garb flocking to the handful of nicer restaurants that exist in such a small town. His heart pangs with a feeling he refuses to name, knowing that labeling the emotion gives it more power than it’s already exuding on Eddie’s fickle heart. It’s embarrassing to think that prom night is eliciting such a reaction – never before has Eddie ever cared about cliché school shit. Too bad the ice around his heart is slowly melting, making him the sort of guy who’s upset about missing out.

Eddie tries in vain to shoulder the blame of his emotional meltdown on the person that’s been causing all the sentimental changes. Steve Harrington is the sort of boy that pushes Eddie to be the best version of himself – the sort of boy that makes Eddie genuinely proud of both himself and the one that’s chosen to stand by his side. Steve coming into his life is exactly what Eddie’s been waiting for – someone to kick start the engine and bring Eddie back to life. Though he’s never going to be excited about the way nearly dying brought them together, Eddie knows enough about second chances to be glad for the humble beginning of a relationship that’s quickly becoming all consuming.

Eddie spent a lot of life stuck in limbo and is forever grateful for the kick in the pants the encounter with the Upside Down ended up being. Without the widening of his vision, Eddie may never have seen the real person Steve is underneath his cool guy clothes and built up persona. He’s just a guy that feels and loves and fears and makes mistakes – just like the rest of the human race. Eddie’s glad for the chance to see Steve around the kids where he flourishes and behind the counter of Family Video next to Robin who makes him bigger and brighter than he already is. Steve the normal guy is someone that Eddie loves with all of his heart. So, he’s kind of sad that he can’t share this new and exciting addition to his life with the rest of the world.

He's been using the lameness of the dance to hide behind the hurt of the real reason he and Steve can’t attend tonight’s rite of passage. Being a wanted man is still something that haunts Eddie. To this day, people whisper about his devil worship and talk about the way he barely narrowly avoided being thrown in jail for crimes he didn’t commit. While he’s used to the status of outcast, being the town pariah is a lot harder than he ever imagined. Eddie’s sure they would’ve found a way to be at the dance together without putting themselves and their relationship in danger. While being gay is still something Eddie doesn’t openly share, a couple of guys going stag to a dance isn’t unheard of. No one questions that sort of thing – especially when they don’t really want to know the answer. It’s the never ending stigma of being unwanted by the entire town that is stopping Eddie from selfishly enjoying this pivotal night with Steve. Eddie thinks that alerting his boyfriend to the reality of people’s feelings towards him is in some way protecting Steve. Though, in a lot of ways, it’s probably just hurting them both.

Shaking his head of the thought, Eddie forces himself to take in the alternator he’s meant to be assessing. Even doing so with half of his attention, Eddie knows the thing needs to be replaced. He’s even conscious of the fact that they don’t have the part, so his current effort is totally useless, anyway. If he acknowledges those truths, Eddie also has to acknowledge that his presence in the garage tonight is totally useless, too. His mind is everywhere but the job he’s there to be doing. He’s too caught up in the way the distance he’s been trying to put between himself and everyone around him is slowly killing him. Eddie can’t get away from the unfairness of being treated like a killer when the actuality of the situation is so much worse. There’s even a feeling of mourning for the fundamental thing he’s missing because life isn’t fair and he’s too stubborn and prideful to talk to anyone about it. So many thoughts run through his mind and not one of them has to do with the Chevy he’s currently pretending to fiddle with. Thankfully, Sal notices and sends him home. “Don’t come back until your shift next Tuesday, Munson. I’ll have the replacement alternator waiting for you.”

Eddie leaves the garage without argument or complaint. He shoots his boss a grateful smile after he’s washed all the grease off his hands and changes out of dirty coveralls. The ripped up jeans on his legs already make him feel a little better as the wind brushes the bare skin of his knee as he walks out into the freedom of the night. Climbing into the car, Eddie starts to come back from the torrential storm of emotions he’s been letting get the best of him for the past couple of hours. At least at home, Eddie can call Steve on the phone or get stoned or watch a movie that’s truly going to distract him. The options in which he can soothe himself are limitless outside the confines of work. He’s already thinking about how he's going to get Steve over for the night when he pulls into the trailer park. Eddie’s plan is already made up by the time he parks his van, not noticing the halo of soft light coming from the otherwise dark trailer. Eddie doesn’t realize he’s walking into something amazing until the soft music of the stereo in the front room reaches his ears. Only then does he look up to see Steve standing in the front room of the trailer with a soft smile on his face.

Eddie takes in everything all at once. The fairy lights making the space glow, the emptiness of the room that’s been cleared out to obviously resemble a dance floor – all of the little details are so overwhelming that Eddie’s sure he’s missing some. His brain halts the moment Eddie’s eyes meet Steve’s. Steve who looks like a model in a button up white shirt and black tie. He’s in his customary blue jeans and Nike shoes, but the attempt to dress up is noticed. His hair is perfectly styled and the look of confidence Eddie loves the most is settled in Steve’s eyes. Though there’s a palpable layer of nerves that Eddie can feel from his spot at the door, Steve seems calm, cool, and collected. It’s both sexy and heartwarming. Eddie blinks for a second to jump start his brain back to working order in hopes of actually getting some words out of his mouth. “Steve, what is this?”

Steve looks between Dustin and Max before pointing at the small kitchen table. “Let’s move that first.” Both of his sassy children look at him with curious expressions on their face, though it’s Dustin who speaks up first.

“Wayne’s okay with this? Us moving his entire living room out into the lawn?” The little shit can’t even help the way his lip quirks with uncertainty.

Laughing, because that’s the only thing he can do when Dustin starts in with the attitude, Steve nods his head. “As long as everything gets put back where it belongs, Wayne doesn’t care. He thinks it’s sweet, even.” Steve recalls the somewhat embarrassing conversation he and Wayne struggled through the day before. Though Eddie’s uncle is well aware of Steve’s genuine feelings for Eddie, the man is still one of very little words. The fact that he talks to Steve at all is some kind of miracle. Pushing the memory away, Steve gestures at the table again. “You two get the chairs and I’ll carry the table.”

“It is, you know,” Max says, picking up one of the foldable chairs while Dustin handles the other one, “sweet, that is.” Her voice is so full of surety that Steve can’t help but smile widely. Sometimes, being the group’s default kid wrangler gets on his nerves but moments like this where the kids he cares about care right back, that makes being the babysitter worth it. The wink she sends him makes Steve think Max knows the power of her words, too. There’s a heady sort of satisfaction that surrounds the girl as they make their way outside. After depositing the table and chairs by the side of the trailer and rolling up the rug, they decorate the empty living room. Max brings over the lights from her own room and hangs them along the wall, creating a warm glow. Dustin helps Steve move the stereo from Eddie’s room into the hallway where they can maximize the acoustics the best. Weeks of asking Eddie weird questions and “borrowing” his boyfriend’s mixtapes helped Steve make the perfect playlist for them to dance to. It’s not exactly prom the way that Steve remembers it but it’s something.

When they’re done and Dustin makes the call to Sal, Steve thanks them both and sends them back to Max’s trailer where rated R movies are waiting for them as payment for their help. Steve’s sure the candy he threw in there will be greatly appreciated, too. With the few minutes he has to himself, Steve pulls on the new shirt he got for the occasion. Robin will forever make fun of him for the afternoon they spent picking out the perfect one. Though she understands the sentiment, his relationship with Eddie is always going to be something Robin gives him grief for. The weeks of pining she had to deal with give her a prerogative Steve’s always going to be paying her back for. He’s glad for it honestly. It reminds him how much he truly cares for the boy that makes him mindless and babbly like a school girl. Getting a little heckling from his best friend for the mushy person he is and plans to continue to be is absolutely nothing in the face of rightness being with Eddie creates in him. The past version of himself isn’t the guy who plans something cheesy just to see someone smile – this new and exciting version of himself is, though. The Steve he is now can’t wait to see the door open and take in Eddie’s face.

Though he’s never told him, Steve knows about the way people treat Eddie. He’s not immune to comments from people that don’t appreciate Steve’s affiliation with Eddie. It’s so easy to swat them down knowing how brave Eddie is. While the town will never understand the depth of it, Hawkins owes a lot to the boy who rode head first into Demobats that just about killed him. Steve’s been patiently waiting for Eddie to talk to him about the treatment, though he understands why Eddie doesn’t – there are so many things that Steve refuses to bring up again, too. Luckily, Steve is much more of an actions speak louder than words kind of guy, anyway. While Eddie may not be ready to talk about the voices that plague him or the people that still weigh heavily on his innocent boyfriend, Steve can give him something that no one should miss. And since they aren’t a very conventional couple, the off the wall way Steve makes it happen is fitting.

So is the overwhelmed look that overtakes Eddie’s face as he walks through the door. The surprise Eddie feels is tangible. Steve watches him grapple for words as the lights and music and overall atmosphere is taken in. It’s hard not to grin at the speechlessness that overtakes Eddie, but Steve manages to barely hold onto his control. He tries hard to radiate the sort of confidence that makes Eddie want to come to him. Out of all the people that Steve has tried to court, Eddie is the only person that Steve truly wants to lean on him. More than anything, Steve hopes that he’s a safe place for Eddie, that his presence is something that brings the boy peace and happiness unlike the suspicion and upset he’s constantly faced with. Eddie is that kind of serenity for Steve – he’s like a breath of fresh air, the kind of reminder that home exists, even if it’s a person with long curly brown hair and eyes that are wide and all knowing. Being something equal or similar to the person that makes him happiest is what Steve’s striving for.

The perplexed words that eventually fall out of Eddie’s mouth are what break Steve’s mold and drags a smile across his lips. He takes a second to look around, to hear the music he carefully selected, to see Eddie and the many emotions overtaking all of him. He’s proud and happy and glad to note that something he’s done is actually successful. “Not exactly prom, but something like it,” Steve says in reply, shrugging his shoulders like this is something simple and not weeks in the making. He takes a step closer to Eddie and then another until he can reach out and touch.

Eddie’s head is spinning, all previous thoughts of plans and upset and glumness are gone and out the door that’s somehow closed behind him. All that registers is the empty room and surprisingly not crappy music that is radiating everywhere. It’s surrounding Eddie the way the depth of the situation is. Despite never saying a word, Steve read the situation and gave Eddie something he still isn’t capable of asking for. He’s overwhelmed and lost in a way that makes it hard to breath. Ignoring the heaviness in his chest, Eddie leans into Steve’s touch and allows the reality of the situation to overcome him. Eddie’s been worried and sad and detached because of a dance that doesn’t matter (even though it does more than Eddie cares to admit). It’s crazy to think that Steve is perceptive enough to pick up on something that Eddie’s been going out of his way to hide. Except, maybe it’s not so far-fetched – Steve selflessly takes care of the people around him, giving them things they didn’t even know where good for them. Obviously, Eddie isn’t an exception. Steve’s so sneaky that Eddie is at a loss – he’s frozen and can’t think of anything to do but follow Steve’s lead.

Which ends up being the best decision, anyway. Steve’s arms are firm around Eddie as he brings them chest to chest. There’s no space between their bodies, so Eddie can continue to relax and lean into Steve’s hold. He lets the music surround him for the first time since stepping in the door and sighs wistfully. It’s one of the many songs that Eddie sings loudly whenever they’re in his van and Steve gives up his rights to DJ duty. When it ends and another one of Eddie’s favorite begins, he finally looks up and takes all of Steve in. From his wide open eyes to the smile on his face, Steve is radiant. There’s a blush on his cheeks and his hands tighten around Eddie’s waist the longer their stares are intertwined. Eddie wants to speak up and say something about the way his heart is beating faster than it ever has before – that this moment, this singular point in time is the greatest Eddie’s ever experienced. His mouth isn’t cooperating though and the ability to do anything but smile like a loon vacates him. Maybe that’s for the best – words can only muddle what’s quickly shaping up to be romance personified. Instead of forcing himself to speak of his happiness, Eddie experiences it with each bump and sway of their bodies to the music.

Mere minutes or maybe hours later, the tape finally rolls to a stop and silence surrounds them in the empty room. It’s easy and natural to keep on moving, despite the cessation of the music. Eddie’s arms are wrapped around Steve’s neck so tightly that they share breaths. Steve’s got him in a tight grip, like he’s afraid of letting go. Between their position and the shockingly right intimacy, Eddie’s not surprised to find himself leaning into Steve’s space in hopes of kissing red lips. He’s met in the middle with a fierce press of lip against lip. This is a practiced dance for them – Eddie knows how to tilt his head just right to slot Steve’s lip perfectly between his own. Eddie doesn’t hesitate to poke his tongue out and trace the plump roundness of Steve’s bottom lip. The tease is enough for Steve to open his mouth so Eddie can tangle their tongues together in something that creates a spark that lights up them both.

There’s no fumble or fuss as they make their way down the hall and into the furthest room. Not for the first time, Eddie’s grateful for his uncle’s sacrifice – having a room that’s all his own is a glorious plus when Steve’s hands and mouth are promising such beautiful things. Their closeness continues until they’re through the door and in Eddie’s room; only then does he resurface for a breath and put a bit of space between them. He’s able to let his head clear a little bit – Steve’s absolutely intoxicating and Eddie’s an easy victim. It takes very little exposure to Steve at all for Eddie to mindlessly fall into a pit of desire that makes higher function and any sort of thought difficult. After all of Steve’s effort, Eddie wants to be present for the absolute debauchery that’s about to take place. Gesturing over towards the bed, Eddie starts to take off his shirt. “Lie down – I want you to watch.”

Steve is quick to oblige – with a blush on his face and a pep in his step, even. He quickly gets onto the mattress and scoots back until his head is on the pillow with Eddie clearly in sight. The heaviness of his stare makes Eddie shiver – his skin is hot and covered in goosebumps, like Steve’s gaze is a tangible thing that’s touching him. Closing his eyes for a second, Eddie takes in a couple of breaths and clears his head. When he looks up again, Eddie’s focused enough not to fall victim to the blissed out look on Steve’s face (though, it’s a close thing). Instead, he feels confident and wanted as he strips himself down to black boxers that cling to his thighs. He allows Steve to stare to his heart’s content for another moment before launching himself onto the bed to fumble madly at the buttons on Steve’s shirt. Eddie all of the sudden can’t stand to have any barriers between them – he knows for certain he’ll feel so much more comfortable when there’s even ground between them.

Steve’s a little dumb struck as he leans back on the bed and watches Eddie. Things like nakedness and intimacy aren’t all that new to them. Despite not dabbling with guys before, Steve’s libido has taken no hit since getting together with Eddie – in fact, he’s more certain of himself with Eddie than he’s ever been with any of the girls he took to bed. Maybe it’s the safety thing rearing its ugly head again, or maybe Steve’s finally where he’s meant to be. Either way, he’s more than happy to be the one watching Eddie drop his entire outfit, piece by piece, down onto the floor. His feelings about the situation get even more positive when Eddie joins him on the bed and waits no time at all to start helping Steve out of his clothes, too. Between the two of them, Steve is shirtless and writhing on the bed in no time. As Eddie works on his jeans, Steve gets his hands on any part of Eddie’s skin he can. While he’s slim and a bit smaller than Steve himself, Eddie is relatively well built. His muscles flex with every one of the moves he makes while ridding Steve of his clothes. The sight is lovely, made even more so by the way Eddie looks up and grins at him when he gets Steve’s pants off. Soon, they’re both naked, groin to groin, bare skin to skin – it’s hard to think about anything else when Eddie is a delightfully warm weight above him.

“Thank you,” Eddie whispers after a moment of toying with the shell of Steve’s ear. His hips are casually thrusting against Steve’s, causing the most glorious friction. It’s hard to process the words at first but Steve finally absorbs them. It takes several moments for him to find the strength to make his lips work – the roll and swivel of Eddie’s hips and the soft press of lips against sensitive skin is too much for Steve to bear.

“Don’t thank me. I want you to be happy, Eddie – “ The words are choked off when another moan rips from Steve’s throat, instead. Eddie’s making quick work of the length of Steve’s torso with his lips, tongue, and teeth. Steve’s positive he’s going to have little suck bruises and hickies down his front. The marks will stay with him for weeks until Eddie decides to put new ones there as replacement. His possessive energy is familiar and welcomed – Steve appreciates the fact that Eddie wants to mark him up. There’s been so many people that hid their connection to Steve – that battled against it in a way that still makes Steve question himself to this day. His parents, Nancy, the friends he grew up with – everyone always finds a way to push him aside when it really matters. Except Eddie. There’s no limit to the sort of claim that Eddie wants to have over Steve. It’s sort of exhilarating, being wanted that much.

All of his thoughts quickly become nonexistent as Eddie’s lips work their way down Steve’s lower stomach – he’s dangerously close to Steve’s erection that’s practically begging for attention. Before Eddie can get any further, Steve reaches down and flips their positions. The last thing he wants tonight to turn into is a reciprocated gesture that Eddie feels obligated to give. Steve’s no saint but his intentions were completely selfless and pure. He knows Eddie’s angst about prom and wanted to alleviate it. If they’re going to be intimate, Steve’s going to be an active participant. Which is how he finds himself with a mouthful of Eddie’s cock a couple of minutes later. He made quick work of tonguing at Eddie’s nipples and reducing him to moans and pleas of want. Steve’s clever and completely into the physicality of being with Eddie – he’s made it his mission to make note of and remember all the things that drive Eddie wild. Steve takes giving Eddie pleasure very seriously. Seriously enough, at least, to reduce him to mindless groans of Steve’s name more often than not.

Letting up ever so slightly, Steve draws back from Eddie’s cock, replacing the wet heat of his mouth with the tight grip of his hand, instead. Steve shifts himself on the bed until he’s in between Eddie’s legs – strong thighs wrap around him thoughtlessly. In this position, Steve can feel the way Eddie’s hips move up into the circle of his hand, the way his body aches and shivers because of Steve’s ministrations. It’s a heady thing, to realize the sort of impact he has on Eddie – Steve’s never been more proud of himself, honestly. With that in mind, he loosens his grip on Eddie’s cock and looks up with questioning eyes. “What do you want, Eddie? My hand, my mouth, my cock?” Steve asks, leaning down to press their lips together in a hot kiss. There’s no answer for a while – Steve’s plenty happy to occupy Eddie’s mouth until they can’t help but pull away to take gasping breaths.

Eddie is oddly shy when he cups Steve’s face – “I want you to fuck me,” he says with a small break in his voice. Steve’s not given much time to think about it, though – Eddie brings him down into another all-consuming kiss. Whether it’s a diversion or simply lust taking over, Steve can’t tell and at this point, he doesn’t really care. He’s too preoccupied with clever lips and an antsy hand that digs helplessly through Eddie’s bedside table. Steve moans in triumph as his fingers wrap around a tube of lube. Eddie celebrates the little victory by tangling their tongues together in the most distracting way.

Steve’s fingers are dexterous and wide as they open him up – Eddie spends most of those moments thinking about the space they fill inside of him. It’s crazy to think that Eddie made it through so many years with so much emptiness inside of him. Though he can make it through the times where Steve isn’t there, Eddie doesn’t feel complete. Things aren’t right in the world until moments like this one where Steve takes his time mapping out and staking his claim in that empty space. None of the hook ups in his past ever came close to making Eddie feel the way Steve does. That cheesy shit is about as cliché as Eddie’s desire to go to the prom in the first place. He stubbornly continues to blame it on Steve’s influence – as the moment is proving, the greatness that Steve brings to his life makes Eddie do crazy things. Like moan out Steve’s name in such a wanton way that Eddie’s sort of embarrassed to be so done in.

Though, that emotion is so fleeting, Eddie barely registers it. He’s too busy enjoying the deep thrust of Steve’s fingers. First one, and then two, and then a third that almost gives Eddie the full feeling he’s looking for. There’s only one thing that’s going to remedy the situation – though, Eddie’s learned he’s got to be patient for it. Steve can slip in so easily when Eddie gives himself a couple extra moments to relax into the feeling of fullness once again. It’s a total body thing, finally feeling complete and real again. Not only is it a physical experience for him, but Eddie’s also come to find that his psyche and emotions like to jump into the mix, too. That’s why it’s always so overwhelming and Eddie hopes the intensity of it never changes.

When Steve pulls his fingers away, Eddie lets out an undignified moan. It can’t be helped – the sudden feeling of emptiness is too much after that sweet taste of being completely fulfilled. Steve doesn’t make him wait long – he’s gotten really good about rolling a condom on one handed while the other runs soothingly up and down Eddie’s inner thigh. The cool lube Steve spreads over himself is a shock to Eddie’s system, making his hips hitch into the press of Steve’s cockhead against him. The other boy takes advantage of the move and pushes his hips forward, easily slipping himself inside of Eddie so that two becomes one in a way that it’s gloriously impossible for Eddie to puzzle out where he ends and Steve begins. It’s more satisfying than any blowjob or orgasm will ever be. Eddie’s already blown to bits by the simple act of joining together – every thrust and clever flick of Steve’s wrist is a bonus Eddie’s overwhelmingly lucky to take part in. His body feels like it’s on fire, its source stemming from a spot inside of Eddie that Steve ignites so easily. It's heat and wanting and rightness and satiation. The closer he gets to it, the more Eddie knows the spark as the flames of love that burn so damn brightly. Steve Harrington is a magician in that sense.

Little by little, Eddie loses control of himself, willingly giving it over to sure hands that hold his hips and touch him with the sort of reverence Eddie never thought he deserved. Though Steve is admittedly out for his own pleasure, he never neglects Eddie along the way. His fingers are heavy on Eddie’s skin as they skim over ticklish spots and those that are so sensitive, Eddie can’t help but clench around the thickness inside of him. Steve spends more time giving attention to those spots the closer things get to the end – Eddie’s positive Steve loves the tight heat around him. Sometimes Steve even tells Eddie so; the dirty words drip so easily from lips that look so red and innocent and pure. Their plump and kissable and cookie cutter in a way that gives Steve that boy next door look. While Eddie knows the truth, it’s sometimes hard to remember that wicked things can bubble out of Steve Harrington’s mouth, too. He’s not just great hair and a body to die for. He’s grunts and pants and syrupy sweet words that make Eddie’s cock leak precoma uncontrollably. When he gets close, Eddie can’t decide if it’s the dead on hits to his prostate or the sneaky way Steve brings heat to the party with whispered words and clever flicks of his tongue against the shell of Eddie’s ear.

Soon, there’s no space in the room for words or declarations. Both boys are tip toeing the edge, standing right on the precipice a thrust or two away from falling. Eddie’s come to enjoy these tense moments the most – his body isn’t his to control anymore, it’s just a source of hormones and feeling and enjoyment that Eddie’s merely along for the ride for. He doesn’t have to worry about Wayne’s presence or Steve’s nosy parents – Eddie’s free to moan and call out Steve’s name to his heart’s content. He’s panting and groaning through the thrusts that shift from long and languid to fast and deliberate. Steve’s got his target locked in, hitting it with expert precision each swing of his hips. Eddie’s prostate is lit up, making his entire body shutter and clench up tightly the closer his orgasm gets. Finally, it all becomes too much. “Steve – touch me, please. You have to touch me,” Eddie gasps out around a shaky breath. He’s so close to the end that the taste of it lingers in his mouth.

It takes little convincing for Steve to change his pace and shift position enough to take Eddie’s cock in hand. His hips are moving on their own accord and there’s just enough brain power left for Steve to coordinate the movement of his hand with the rest of him. These moments, the ones where Eddie completely surrenders to his pleasure, they’re the ones that Steve enjoys the most. It’s a joy to see Eddie’s eyes roll to the back of his head, to watch his usual pale skin turn red and dewy with lingering want and desire. Never mind the fact that Eddie’s grip around his cock becomes vice-like the closer he gets to the edge. The feeling of Eddie squeezing around him with every stroke of Steve’s hand becomes something of a game. What sort of melody can they create in those last few steps towards that glorious little death. Steve sucks in a breath and buckles in for the finish – he feels it in the way Eddie tightens up before cum splashes over his fist and onto their skin. Though it’s only a mark that they see, Steve is proud to wear the evidence of Eddie’s enjoyment. He’s the reason such a beautiful person lost complete and utter control of themselves. That thought alone is enough for Steve to join Eddie in that far off state of bliss. Steve thrusts a couple more times before he tilts his head back and gasps out Eddie’s name.

There’s the haze of nothingness that surrounds Steve for a little while. He’s just conscious enough to feel Eddie’s hands running along the sweaty skin of his back. Steve recognizes that he’s still on Earth and alive, but that’s about it. He’s a collective haze of mind blowing pleasure and exhaustion that only comes from great sex. Little by little, Steve comes back to the present where Eddie is looking at him with fondness that Steve’s never known before. It’s almost shocking, to see such a soft glance directed towards him. He gulps in a couple long breaths of air before coming to terms with the fact that he’s exactly where he should be, in the arms of the one person that can actually make him feel like he matters. Steve Harrington matters to Eddie Munson, there’s no denying that. Not when Eddie clings to him and whispers “I love you” against the shell of Steve’s ear. Resurfacing in the sort of environment that fosters love is such a different experience for him. No matter how many times they do this, Steve is still taken aback by the extent of Eddie’s feelings – hell, his own feelings, too. While it’s getting easier to swallow the truth, Steve still struggles with the reality of the situation. At the end of the day, Steve’s a person that’s worth loving. At least, Eddie seems to think so.

There’s silence between them for a long time. Steve pulls out and makes quick work of the condom. He uses one of Eddie’s t-shirts from earlier in the week to clean them both off before allowing himself to relax in bed. When he does, Steve finds himself with an armful of cuddly Eddie Munson. His boyfriend is always a little clingy after they disconnect after sex. Steve still hasn’t asked why, but he recognizes the need. It’s nice to hold Eddie close, even if it’s just for a little while.

Eventually, Eddie turns into Steve’s chest, flinging an arm over him to keep him close. “You’re too much, you know that?” Eddie asks with a voice brimming with fondness. Steve knows that’s Eddie’s way of being affectionate. Grinning at that truth, Steve nods his head.

“Yeah, I do. I’ve got to keep you on your toes somehow or another.” Steve caps off his statement with a soft kiss on Eddie’s forehead. “You deserve good things, Eds. It’s nice to be able to give them to you.” And wasn’t that an understatement. The closer they get, the more Steve realizes that he and Eddie are much more alike than he ever could have thought. This love they’re creating between them is something that’s pure and real – it’s the sort of feeling Steve’s been looking to find for all of his life. Their relationship is acceptance and freedom and genuine joy – Steve can be himself and gives Eddie that same opportunity. Being able to live without stigma, that’s new to them both. But so is the all-consuming need to take care of each other. Steve’s certain that the little things they do for each other will get easier as time marches on. For now, he leans into Eddie’s joy and revels in the fact that he managed to bring out such an emotion. They’re learning how to exist outside of the norm in a reality that has monsters like Vecna and makes room for a love like theirs.

It's different but good and right in all the ways that matter. When Steve relaxes into the bed with Eddie curled into him, he closes his eyes knowing that safety and happiness are real for them and will continue to be when the new day comes. Heaven is here, right in this bed with Eddie in his arms.

[yostresswritinggirl]

Seers' Miscellany

Prologue: Origins of the first bloom

A circular fic for the Dainsleif mini-series I'll be working on. This will be the introduction; of the evanescent bough keeper of the new world. "Observers of the North do not usually wind up in personal business, but when they do, in their wake comes great shifting of the plates of the timelines." Logs of the stag and the delicate flower.

Pairings -> Dainsleif x Reader; Reader is NOT Traveler

Word Count -> 1579

Themes -> Pretty sad, but also fluffy

Chapters -> 1

Warnings -> Story progression takes a while, oh dear why am I doing this now, I'm so busy

"500 mora; and three answered questions."

He's not really sure what lead him to indulge the requests of a simple adventurer when he made his rounds around the city of freedom. Was it the simple need for currency? It couldn't be, he was better off with other commissions that Katheryne could offer.

Was it the desperation in your voice and eyes? You looked at him like a prophet, your only salvation, and perhaps in this context that may be true. You were but a lone adventurer and the way your weight leans heavier on one foot shows your struggle to those who have keen eyes like him, no other person wished to indulge your needs and you were getting desperate.

Or was it the three questions? Dainsleif have yet to hear such contractual obligations before, but it felt as tho it was the most important part of the agreement he took the moment you pleaded with that soft voice. Humble yet resolved, not letting him walk away without at least considering it once.

And so he found himself traversing the land of the wolves through a dangerous path, where you skip ahead with a gait of happiness, bubbly and energetic enough to surpass even his long legs. You hummed without consideration at the glee of finally having a companion, and he did not mind it at the slightest despite the attention it may bring upon your little party.

"First question," Dainsleif fleeted his gaze away from the horizon to turn to you whom slowed your pace to match his, head looking over your shoulder with a wide grin. "How are you?" So innocent.

He huffs in amusement, the most emotion you've seen of him. "You don't need to waste a contract question for such a simple question, you know," he stands behind you as you crouch down on a shrubbery filled with Wolfhooks. Your main objective for visiting Wolvendom in the first place.

You assured him that you meant your question in every way possible as your hands carefully pick at the herbs, wary of the thorns and the intrusive prickly leaves. Despite your attention turned away from him he knows you await his answer. Dainsleif hums to himself and stops—

How is he? What does he truly feel in this moment of his time?

A simple question yet risked for one of the three inquiries agreed upon definitely holds a deeper meaning. His train of spiraling thoughts halts upon the sound of otherwordly grunts and chants as he turns away from your still busy form (you seem very focused on your foraging) to find three Hilichurls approaching with ill intent.

Dainsleif squints at the impending threat before shooting a final glance to make sure you weren't looking. His arm glows blue as he raises it, power in the form of blue swirling mist surges around him - how are you? The feeling brings him back to vague memories of his past, of the energy rising through him at his expeditions with an old companion, of the thrill spent upon encountering the unexpected. Such thoughts are not vivid but the familiarity of what he is experiencing right now was enough for him.

Though he was sure that there were no camps before they went through this route.

"You asked me how I am," he spoke when you finally turned from the bush with an armful of Wolfhooks on your arsenal, confusion on your face at the sight of downed Hilichurls and the side profile of the bough keeper.

His cerulean eyes were fixated at his left hand that he repeatedly closes and opens for a few seconds, before he fully turns to you (your eyes did not miss the blue glow from underneath his cape, where his right arm should be) with a wisp of a smile, "I feel alive right now."

You reciprocated the gesture with a wide grin, "I'm glad to hear that!"

A majority of the wolfhooks gathered where given to the little Botanist Chloris, the seller of flowers, who looked relieved and ecstatic upon your arrival. Something Dainsleif took great notice of. Carefully handing over the berries and some which you had to pluck singularly from your companion's flowy cape, the little girl gave you her Valberries in exchange.

It was sweet and familiar, something Dainsleif took note as he accepted your offer of the fruit despite his none need for sustenance.

Your little chewing sounded through as you two settled on the humble camp you managed to setup with your supply for a single individual. There was a little hole in the middle for a campfire Dainsleif had made the effort to prepare knowing the coldness the night will bring soon enough, and your fragile form is not something he wishes to bargain now. Is that really the reason? Perhaps in the back of his mind, he was really just working on forgotten routines.

"Second question," his footstep at the edge of the camp halts as he turns once again, where you sat on the mat as tonight's bedding, hands flicking to remove the stray juices of the berries. He stood still in wait before he goes back to his mini mission of getting fire wood.

"Go on," he urged when you stood a minute longer in silence.

"Do you like traveling, Dain?" Easy enough, he simply said yes and left when you ended the conversation with a nod.

When he came back with the wood and tinder bundle for easy spreading, out of the corner of his eye he watched your hands work on the mortal and pestle as you grinded the remaining wolfhooks on your person. The fire started the moment he was done setting up the kindling and your face filled with admiration at the sudden and immediate spark, praising him for his quick work.

Dainsleif is both talkative and not, and at times he finds himself rambling to the wind. The moments of the night passed without much details until he found himself talking about his past adventures with his old companion, of the world they've seen together and the now estranged relationship between them.

His responses were sometimes cryptic unintentionally, and he apologizes when there are things about it that he couldn't answer simply because he could not remember. When silence struck after he finished his tales and meal, the beautiful spike in his eyes found yours gleaming despite the drowsiness pulling at your whole feature.

"I'm glad you're very fond of traveling. If not, I wouldn't have met you," and he wouldn't have taken the commission. Dainsleif's eyes flashed in recognition, finally understanding the meaning behind your second question. Somehow this little commission deal turned into a silent back and forth quip of him understanding past your simple inquiries.

Like a little game he muses on with his curious mind.

That night you rested with the extra comfort of his eccentric cape, something you needed more than him as he gazes over the clear night sky. His eyes silently traced the galaxy of stars while the sound of your whispered breathing accompanies his sleepless night.

The last question and that last of your very quick expedition came the next day at the cliffside overlooking the lair sealed by winds.

Your fingers were dusted by the violet paste of grinded wolfhooks long consumed the night prior, stained fingers gripping the thin and fragile stem of the yellow dandelion in its grasp. It was his great observation that let him realize the disaster that happened now but even his foresight could not prepare him for what has to come.

"Third question," his head snapped down to watch your ethereal face don a calm smile, the sun's setting light kissing your cheeks in the right angle that matched that of the clean clouds above. Your eyes silently questioned his unfocused gaze but he only shook his head.

Don't worry about it. "I know this last question would end the commission with you," your voice trembled in both fear and fatigue but Dainsleif didn't force you to preserve your strength like he should. "But I wanted to ask, maybe tomorrow again,

do you want to be my traveling companion?"

The hand that clutched the Dandelion found it way to the side of his mask, the petals brushing against his eyelids as he looks down at you with an eye. A ghost of a smile lingers on his lips as he leans on your hand.

"It would be my pleasure."

Life momentarily flashed over your orbs before you let out a sharp exhale and a breathless, joyous laughter. Relief overtook the tension that laid on your shoulders, and your hand would have dropped to the ground immediately if he had not gripped it on the last second.

"That sounds good. I've always wanted to travel the world," he pulls the cape closer around your form as your eyelids droop to a close. And he witness another breathe, "It was supposed to be today, but I feel really tired today, I'll rest early too if that's okay."

He rose from the ground with you in his arms, "I'll be here."

"Mmm thank you... good... night."

"Good night, little dandelion."

And perhaps that distant memory from faraway had urged him to invite and indulge, when he saw the same spark of intrigue and desperation, of the warmth of carefree days in front of him.

"But I will require advance payment,

500 Mora, and three answered questions."

Dainsleif SUPREMACY MWAHAHAHAHAH

@genshin-idiot : here's your Dainsleif content

@moaa @dandelion-dreams @witchsungie @lehra @zelos-simp @legionqueensav @snackgod @rxsalinee @cala-ran @wind-wheel @lilydewi22 @yellowflowre @traveler-lumine @nonniechan

[cheekygreenty]

In My Head - The Darkling x Reader

Supppeer angsty and kinda sad?

The fire engulfed the golden kefta in a water-like rhythm. The cracks and sparks echoed in the open field amongst the silence that settled around all of you. Alina was exhausted, Zoya was grieving, the Ketterdam criminals looked shaken too. But you were unmoving, as still as a painting and not showing a single emotion. They had all witnessed your heartbreak as it fell and crashed the world around you, breaking every part of you. They watched as realization flooded you that you never truly knew Aleksander. They watched as he tore your heart from your chest and threw it into the depths of the Fold to rot.

Painted a picture,

I thought I knew you well

It was humiliating. Alina had tried to warn you but you played her off as selfish and unwilling to use her powers for the good of all Grisha. You told her she was stupid and foolish for loving an otkazat'sya when in reality you were the fool for loving a man that didn't exist.

You told her she was crazy, that Aleksander would never lie to you and that he was good because you knew him. In truth, you were no better than him. You blindly followed everything he said, completely ignoring the alarm bells in your head. You had grown used to them as weeks went by, to the point of the alarm playing a low comforting tune in your mind all day and all night.

There weren't enough apologies in the world to say sorry for the things you'd done and said to Alina and she'd insisted that no apology was necessary because it wasn't your fault, 'It's not your fault you only see the good things about people' she whispered to you before she left to change. But the good things about him weren't there; they never existed. It was all in your head, a mind so desperate for love it concocted a whole new Aleksander, one which you loved so much and would do anything for.

I got a habit of seeing what isn't there

'We were all fooled Y/N, Don't blame it all on yourself' Despite her grieving and sorrow, Zoya's hand rested on your shoulder briefly as a sign of comfort. Without her, you wouldn't have been here right now, alive and breathing.

'I don't blame myself. I hate myself for being so blind'

'Me too'

I thought that you were the one

But it was all in my head

------

You could feel the nothingness of the Fold threading through your hair even inside Alina's tunnel of safety. You stared at her shackled feet, pushing the guilt away and replacing it with a sense of righteousness. There was nothing else that could be done to keep her in check, if she wanted to escape and hide from her destiny forever then she would do so over your dead body.

The Fold needed to be gone and if chaining her to the skiff was going to be the only way she obeyed then so be it. Your mind quickly spiraled back to her hasty words back in the tent. She was panicked and desperate, clinging to your arm like a wailing child begging to be heard. Her lies were bizarre and abundant, no doubt the works from her long journey to the Stag but they were unbelievable. So extreme even a Fjerdan would laugh at their ridiculousness.

The skiff suddenly stopped, Novokribirsk visible in the distance with lines of First-Army troops standing in neat lines.

'Why have we stopped?' A dignitary asked and you wondered the same thing. You searched the skiff for anyone with an explanation, but everyone looked equally as confused but Alina looked mortified. What is going on?

'One more demonstration. You’ve seen what the Sun Summoner can do' You whipped your head around to him slightly moving away but his arm pulled you back to his side with an edge. You heard the loud jangle of Alina's chains as she tried to move. 'Now bear witness to what I can do… with her power.'

He pushed you to Ivan, who took no time in holding you back by the arms, caging you in his grasp. You resisted on the simple basis that you didn't know why you were being restrained just like Alina but the answer came all too soon. There was no time to shout or gasp as Aleksander raised his own hands and the black shadows of the Fold expanded into Novokribirsk, killing everything in its path.

You stood motionless as the horrible sounds of volcra swarming and humans screaming flooded the air. Alina's words came back to you again but you didn't listen. No, you didn't want to. Zoya seemingly came down from the mainsail and looked at the black void in a hypnosis-like stare but nobody dared say anything. There was a silence on the skiff while hundreds and thousands of lives ceased to exist in a matter of seconds.

The comforting tune in your head had suddenly turned into a blinding screech, rendering you frozen and flabbergasted. He did this, Aleksander did this. How could he do this? You tried to fight the heartrenderer off, squirming desperately in his arms to cover your ears from the slaughtering sounds. Your knees had given out by now and Alina was on the floor of the skiff, struggling to get up due to the heavy and awkward chains. I put them there.

'Today, we redraw all the maps. With the power of the Sun Summoner at my command, I control the Fold.' A sob erupted from your throat right at the minute you realized Alina was right. You didn't listen, this is all my fault. Ivan pulled you back up, roughly smacking a hand over your mouth to stop your pathetic cried of betrayal. You fought a little harder, trashing around in hopes of escaping his hold or at least getting someone's attention but nobody seemed to care. They all feared for their lives.

'All countries will answer to us. For who would oppose us now?' He briefly shot a look in your direction but spared you no emotion. It was then that you saw the real Aleksander, blood-thirsty for power and revenge. The Black Heretic.

Everything you are made you

Everything you aren't

The next five minutes were a complete blur. You somehow found yourself fighting for your life and those around you. Your head was empty of its usual whirling thoughts as survival mode kicked in. Kill or be killed. You stopped counting how many hits you got or how many bruises were forming on your body. It was primal and in your Grisha nature to protect those around you, and in that haste of battle you made your allegiance to Alina obvious.

There was no time to think about Aleksander. You weren't quite sure you wanted to think about him. He was on this skiff with you, on the opposing side that just murdered a town full of people yet the part of your brain, your imagination, craved to be by his side. To please him by obeying, to get his touch in return. You were addicted to the man who had ruined your innocence.

'You betrayed me' His voice was right behind you as was his hand, creeping up the side of your throat and forcefully pushing you against the barrier of the skiff, ready to throw you over to the unlit Fold.

'I betrayed you?!' Your shout was loud and hearty, overflowing with sadness and shame at being relieved for being next to him again. You clawed at his tightening hand, feeling your airways restrict and your vision become fainter and fainter. You would die at the hands of the man you loved.

'Look what you made me do Y/N, do you think I want to kill you?' Your head bopped but your stupid heart grasped at the sadness in his words, he still loves me. 'I don't want to. I really don't'

'Then don't' you chocked out, your hold on his wrists becoming limp. You felt the ever-so familiar touch of his lips grace your temple and then he retreated.

The world went dark but your body hit the deck of the skiff, not the soft sands of the Fold and your lungs abruptly filled with forced Squaller air.

Yes, I did it to myself, yeah

Thought you were somebody else

'What are you going to do now?' You still sat by the fire while everyone stood. Zoya had left your side and was talking with Alina but you filtered out the noise. Your head was too full of your own self-hatred to stand any more voices so Jesper's question to you went unnoticed. 'Y/N?'

You looked at him and shrugged. You didn't want to move, your body still ached too much from being dragged away from the brink of death to make your way somewhere safe.

You would never admit it around anyone, but as Alina spoke of the Darkling being dead, a wave of grief washed over you. It was cold and unpleasant; unwelcome. But you knew love didn't disappear overnight. You didn't know who saved you on the skiff, whether it was he who had let you go, or was it Zoya who battled to have you freed from his grasp.

As much as you had created the Aleksander you viewed, the foundations were all him, you had only added on or omitted the parts you did and didn't like. You prayed it was him who spared you, you prayed there was something real about your Aleksander, that that was a foundation.

The tears that fell down your face in a stream were assumed to be for the betrayal and the horridness of what the Darkling had done to you and others, when if fact they were for him. You cried because you would never see him again, you cried because the people who had helped you get out of the Fold were the same people who had killed him.

-------

When Mal caught your deathly stare in his direction, he had to do a double-take. You had the same look in your eyes as the General did when he fought him in the Fold, that exact replica of coldness and rage; revenge. But surely he was wrong. You were happy to know the Heretic was dead. He betrayed you the most out of everyone here and almost killed you. Why would you be vengeful?

He waved it off with a shake, it's all in my head.

------

Masterlist

Taglist (Tell me if you want to be added!)

@aleksanderwh0r3 @theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @lostysworld @0-artemis @exo-1204 @staradorned @bookfrog242 @simp-for-ben-barners @keepdaydreamingbb @acciorudolphx @pansysgirlfriend @justmesadgirl @rosiethefairy @partiesandblurrypolaroids @ashwarren32 @s1xthirty @toujurespure @misselsbells06

[teamxdark]

He’s Not Here

More masquerade content but what’s this at the end???

In the grand castle ballroom, surrounded by soft golden light and the countless nobles clad in shimmering fabric, King Arthur was so bored he could cry.

This wasn’t what this night should have been; it was a masquerade party, an opportunity to hide away his identity and mingle among the people 一 okay, the nobility, but he would take what he could get 一 like he was a person instead of a king. Finally he had a chance to dance around until his legs ached, to eat food without worrying about the repercussions to his image should he dare speak with his mouth full or use the wrong spoon, to hold conversations that weren’t about politics or finances or how he was doing the best-or-worst job looking after an entire kingdom with a myriad of people with different needs and opinions. 

So how was it that, out of everyone in that room, he was stuck listening to some dull-voiced stag drone on and on about the rising price of grain?

“This is why pricing is tricky, you have to account for the pests before you ship it out and…”

Arthur fought the urge to dash away, but the instant he tried, he knew he would give himself away. His speed was renowned throughout the land, alongside his golden armor and brilliant blue spines. Those, at least, he had taken care of; Merlina had spent the better part of an hour adjusting his coloring to a warm orange and growing out his spines to disguise him beyond the limits of a simple mask. She had tried so hard to give him a chance to have a night off without people instantly worrying for his favor or trying to get something from him… only for him to be trapped all over again.

Arthur would have happily made an excuse to leave, if the stag would only let him get a single word in. His conversation “partner” seemed not to need to breathe, droning on and on in an endless monotone, offset by the cheerful music and bright lights and flashy costumes.

I’ll never be free of this.

“And now that the price is rising, it leaves me in a strange spot, you see. On the one hand, I sympathize with the people who cannot afford my wares, but on the other hand, it means more profit for myself and my own family.”

Chaos above, Arthur wished he hadn’t bumped into this man. His fingers tapped restlessly against his leg, mildly quelling the urge he had to just flee, to drop everything and everyone he had ever known and flee into the night and into the unknown.

“Not to mention, the cost of labor--”

“Mind if I cut in?”

Arthur’s head snapped over to the new voice, endlessly relieved at the interruption, though the stag continued to drone on, the odious voice still grating his ears even as the king faced the bold newcomer.

It was a tiger clad in elegant black clothing with silver accents, extending a hand out to him, and even though Arthur was eager to take it and be whisked away from this living nightmare, something about him made him take pause. His eyes took in the white fur streaked with blue, the slowly flicking tail that reminded him of Sir Percival 一 was it common among all cats? 一 and the eyes looking gently back at him.

He trusted those eyes. It was the look that they held, a look that reminded him of… 

Arthur mentally slapped himself. He’s not here, he reminded himself as he finally took the hand offered to him.

“Yes, please.”

The tiger seemed to brighten just a fraction at his approval, and he led him away from the trappings of boring conversation to the dancefloor, and Arthur had to try hard not to think about how this felt like being rescued by a knight. Especially not…

He’s not here.

The king was jostled from his thoughts as his new partner started to fit him into a hold, and a brand new anxiety washed down upon him as he tried to remember how to reciprocate the hold. Dancing lessons had never been high on the list of priorities when it came to running a kingdom, and yet somehow Arthur was expected to be able to social dance like a pro when his days were filled from dawn to dusk with meetings and drafting decrees and submitting notices of approval until he passed out on his bed. Arthur swallowed, trying to remind himself that stumbling during a dance was still preferable to listening to that one-sided conversation…

...but his partner didn’t dance like a professional. Well… he did, there was no denying his grace and timing, but he didn’t dance like he expected Arthur to be one as well. The steps were simple, the turns basic, and Arthur’s mind swam in relief as he realized that, somehow, this stranger was leading him through steps that he had managed to pick up on through trial and error.

This chance encounter was proving to be everything he needed.

The stranger led him carefully around the floor, maneuvering slowly around other people rather than weaving expertly between them like so many other couples did. If Arthur closed his eyes, he could easily pretend that he was practicing his basic steps with his brother, or his friends, or his--

He’s not here.

And yet…

Yet it was so easy to picture it, even as the peals of laughter surrounded him and washed into his subconsciousness like a spark of delight for him to enjoy. The strong hold, the careful footwork, the calculated rhythm…

Lancelot…

Arthur’s eyes opened, and though he saw stripes they were the wrong ones, and the bittersweet feeling of missing someone dear to him almost caused him to heave a sigh.

He had it bad, and he knew it. His greatest knight and closest ally and dear friend… Sir Lancelot was beyond compare. From questing as youths to his coronation, and in every disaster thereafter, Lancelot had been there, his pillar of strength in a tumultuous world, always standing nearby to passionately defend him or to spare him a quiet gesture of support. Lancelot had protected him from danger, defended his honor, strived to keep his spirits up for years and years…

Arthur had never considered himself one for romance, but as years went by, Lancelot had claimed more and more of his thoughts, attention and affection until the knight unknowingly held the king’s heart firmly in his hands. Too many times to count had Arthur been struck by the urge to grasp his hands, to sing out the words in his heart to him, to draw him close and see if he could make such a powerful knight’s knees buckle below him with a kiss alone…

One song changed into the next, and Arthur, too swept up in his fantasy, didn’t let go of the stranger, didn’t notice the slight lull in their dance, and so the dream kept going.

Lancelot wasn’t there, but Arthur could lean into this stranger’s hold on him, follow his dance, focus on his attire, concentrate on the energy he exuded, energy that reminded him so strongly of his Lancelot, and Arthur’s mind could so easily turn his dream into something more substantial. An illusion for him to drown in, just like this masquerade offered.

The music kept swelling, the sweet notes tickling his ears and driving him even deeper into his dream like he was in a trance. He kept dancing with the man that reminded him so much of his beloved that a second dance turned into a third, and Arthur clung on to his dream, not even registering that it might seem strange until--

“I mean no offense, but surely there are others who would want to dance with you?��

Arthur blinked, and the dream shattered as the man in his arms shifted back into a stranger. The king’s feet stilled, his gaze dropping to his feet. Arthur had to fight back waves of embarrassment and disgust at himself before he could answer.

“Forgive me, but the way you dance…”

HE’S NOT HERE!

“...it reminds me of someone dear to me.”

“O-Oh.”

His companion seemed at a loss, and Arthur held back another sigh, counting the beats in his head before pulling him along for the next dance, leading him in a very basic, repetitive step around the floor.

“I apologize,” Arthur murmured, knowing that there wasn’t much he could do to salvage the situation. At this point, he could only offer his apologies and an explanation. “I know it’s not fair on you, to imagine you are someone else, but…”

A look of hurt passed over his dance partner’s face, and goodness, even that reminded him painfully of Lancelot.

“...but you remind me so much of him.”

Arthur’s eyes swept over his partner, taking in the paradoxical way that he looked completely unfamiliar and yet he still somehow managed to feel so much like his dear knight. Perhaps the dream hadn’t fled from him quite yet, because now Arthur’s yearning mind was searching for any and every chance to convince himself that this was, somehow, Lancelot whom he was dancing with.

“You dance like he does,” Arthur thought aloud, as his partner remained silent. “Careful and precise.”

Your movements… I know them like I know my own.

“Pardon my asking,” the stranger returned, “but why do you not dance with him tonight?”

Like a weight to his soul that would never truly leave, Arthur’s melancholy came back to embrace him. “Ah… he isn’t here.”

He’s not here he’s not here he’s not here--

“Or at least…”

Arthur looked into the stranger’s eyes, his desperation to go back to his dream nearly choking him with emotion as the tiger’s eyes widened at the sudden look directed at him.

“...I haven’t recognized him, yet.”

Arthur knew it was terrible to put such a fantasy on a stranger at a party, but he wanted so badly to believe that this man was Lancelot. Arthur wanted to believe the ludicrous ideas his mind was supplying him with, that somehow this was Lancelot in front of him, disguised beyond all normal means. The tiger in front of him appeared to fluster, his mouth parting as though wishing to speak, though no words came forth.

“You have stripes like he does, too,” Arthur murmured softly, thoughtfully, and yes, he truly was reaching for every last detail in his pathetic attempt to turn what he had in front of him into what he wanted to see.

“If it pleases you,” the tiger finally said as the third song changed into a fourth one, “I… am not opposed to you pretending that I am he.”

Arthur smiled at that, feeling suddenly hesitant at the idea, now that the stranger, as kind and helpful as he had been, had given him his consent to mentally transform him into someone else, to be a player in this dream of his. It was sad, and unfair, but Arthur knew sadness and injustice. He tried to battle it every day, slowly changing and updating laws as they became outdated, but everything went so slowly and people only kept crying out in pain and Arthur wanted just one day, just one, to take ahold of something that he wanted and to cherish it.

“Thank you,” Arthur whispered as he stepped further into the stranger’s hold, feeling warmth overtake him as he confessed his truth. “I have loved him for a great long time and… perhaps this is the closest I shall get to what I dream of.”

Because that was all this would ever be: a dream.

He’s not here.

Arthur’s eyes closed as his head dipped down to rest on the tiger’s shoulder, a soft smile spreading over his muzzle as he noticed that he was of a similar height to Lancelot, and the dream came back in full swing. Arthur’s arms wrapped around his partner, blocking out any consideration to the lack of spines on his back, and the king focused on his heartbeat as it hammered in and out of sync with the other’s.

“I understand the sentiment,” his partner whispered in response, and Arthur had to hold back what was either a laugh or a sob, morphing it into a hum on its way out.

You speak like him, too.

And so the king held his partner as tightly and tenderly as he would a lover, humming along to the song as the masquerade around him faded into nothing. There was nothing, nothing in his dream, but himself and his Lancelot as they spun around slowly.

He’s here. He’s here, I can feel it.

Arthur’s dream permeated his mind, overtaking his consciousness, and as the fourth song faded into oblivion, he finally let out the sigh he had been carrying all night.

“Lancelot…”

Two pairs of feet stilled as both parties realized what had just been said, and one final word jolted the king from his dream.

“A… Arthur?”

He was here all along.

[sirenprincess15]

Please Don't Leave Me Chapter 7

Title: Please Don’t Leave Me

Author: SirenPrincess

Description: What if Aleksander hadn’t answered the door when Ivan interrupted the war room kissing? What if Aleksander and Alina had a bit more time to get to know each other before Baghra told her his true identity? Alina is the only one who can comfort Aleksander through his nightmares. Will she leave once she knows who he is?

This story is based on the show version and features a soft on the inside, hard on the outside Aleksander with an emphasis on emotional hurt/comfort and angst. If you are looking for lots of hurt!Aleksander thoughts, then this story is for you. Mal exists but pretty much solely to cause Aleksander some angst. Don’t worry. It will be a Darklina ending.

Chapter 1 is a missing scene at the end of Ep 4, and Chapter 2 takes place alongside Ep 5 and then diverges from canon there.

Pairings: Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov, bits of Ivan/Fedyor

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Grisha are oppressed in this universe, and I don’t shy away from showing the horrors of that. There may eventually be mentions of canon-typical torture (Fjerdan pyres), death of family members, and cruelty to Grisha children. It’s not the focus, but that backdrop is definitely there and comes up as characters discuss their past.

In this chapter: Aleksander struggles to find normality after his panic attack in front of Alina.

Chapter 7

Aleksander didn’t know how long he held Alina in his arms while focused only on her breathing. Every time he thought of saying something to explain why the nightmares had nearly caused the shadows to overtake them both, he was so flooded with shame that he nearly lost control again. With regret, he was going to have to tell her that she was going to have to start sleeping in the Vezda suite again. Being around his nightmares was just too dangerous for her, but he found he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her to the lonely nights. He couldn’t bring himself to say it. He tried to think of the future, of how they would someday bring safety to all Grisha, but there seemed to be so many obstacles in the way. Every time he thought of how to deal with Zlatan, the nightmare threatened to resurface. It was best to stay in the now, to focus on nothing but her breathing, on their simply being. And that made it better. She made it better.

Eventually, he tired of fighting off his thoughts. “Let’s have breakfast with the other Grisha,” he suggested. It would feel good to see the others intimidated by him after letting Alina see how weak he really was inside.

“That sounds good,” she agreed. She was worried about him; he could feel it, but she seemed willing not to push and to let him have what he needed to feel better for now.

Taking a deep breath to hopefully clear off the remaining shivers of the night, he stood to dress. The kefta was his mask, his shield. It made him look strong. He turned and saw Alina dressing in her black and gold, not the formal one of the demonstration, a soft velvet one. She looked breathtaking in it. Even after seeing his vulnerabilities, she was still choosing to align herself with him. The blue ones were in the back of the closet now, and he would be happy to never see them again.

“Shall we?” he asked, offering her his arm.

“We shall,” she smiled at him, that smile that could somehow bring joy back to his chest.

“If you would prefer to sit with Nadia, I would understand,” he whispered softly.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’d very much prefer to stay by your side.” And, with that, he knew she wasn’t abandoning him. Maybe she should. There would always be darkness and pain in him, but she wasn’t going to, and he couldn’t be more relieved.

“Why don’t we ask Nadia to join us? Nadia, you, me, Ivan, and Fedyor.” That would certainly cause a stir, but Nadia had lost Marie, her best friend, whether she quite realized the how or not, and Aleksander found he did truly care if the girl was suffering from that loss. There was nothing worse than the pain of grief accompanied by abject loneliness. If Ivan joined him, that would let Alina and Nadia feel more free to talk. Ivan could fill him with some details of something in the war that needed to be solved. It would feel good to feel in control again. Of course, he would not separate Ivan and Fedyor for breakfast. There was something about the lighthearted way Fedyor got his stoic Ivan to smile that gave Aleksander hope that old hearts could still be touched.

Every voice immediately cut off the moment he strode into the dining hall. People had been mingling around talking, waiting for the food to arrive, but now all eyes were on them. Deep down, he had to admit that he enjoyed that power over them. He took Alina’s hand and led her to the special chair he so rarely ever used. She would need a matching one, he decided, but for now, he seated her to his left. He flicked his fingers up towards his palm to gesture for Ivan to come to his side. His heartrender’s response was instantaneous, and that sense of control returned to him. Aleksander gestured with his chin towards Fedyor to indicate he should come as well. The smile on Ivan’s face was subtle, just the twitch up of his lips, but it was enough to make Aleksander glad he had made that decision. He had the power to give happiness to his Grisha. “Nadia,” he called. “Please join us.”

“Me?” Nadia asked in shock, and the room exploded with whispers.

He stopped them all with his hand. Oh, yes, he did love that power. “Come,” he commanded her, then turned his attention to Ivan. He was confident enough that Alina could get Nadia settled.

As he had hoped, Ivan was able to keep his mind occupied with updates of things that, in the end, probably didn’t matter, but it was enough to keep him distracted from thoughts of the night. Giving commands, even over mundane things, let him feel himself again. He was an ancient, and the most powerful creature in any room. He would do well to remember that just because he had allowed his wrists to be bound once, did not leave him that helpless fool. He would not repeat the same mistakes again. That meant making locating the Stag priority number one.

“Updates from the hunting party?”

“Not yet, sir. I’d expect another couple of days before we hear from them. The snow does move further South this time of year, which will likely slow their movement.”

He was about to say something else when Zoya walked into the dining hall. She made straight for him, but Aleksander gave the slightest shake of his head to discourage her. She was a good soldier, and he had permitted her back in the Little Palace for her skills, but he would not have her upsetting Alina. Her face showed her frustration, and for some reason, that amused him. He nodded his head towards Ivan for her to report to, and then turned his attention to Alina and Nadia.

“Nadia, I never got the chance to thank you for making Alina feel so welcome here. I know what it’s like to feel like an outsider. It means a great deal to me that you would offer her friendship.” He would be sure to keep her assigned to the Little Palace or in Alina’s guard as the squaller reached the end of her training.

Ivan leaned over and whispered in his ear. “Zoya found someone trying to sneak into the Little Palace.”

“Someone picked the wrong day to irritate me.” He would never hurt someone who didn’t deserve it. He tried to spare people when he could, but there was no chance someone was accidentally breaking into the Little Palace. When consequences were due, he did rather enjoy the way using his power made him feel. There was nothing like holding a man’s life in the subtlest movement of his fingers to banish the haunted memories of being helpless.

“I’m sorry, my dear, something has come up that requires my personal attention. Please, enjoy your breakfast with Nadia.” Well aware all eyes were on them, he gently kissed her. Let them see her marked as his.

He stood and motioned for Ivan to accompany him and Zoya. As he past Fedyor’s chair, he leaned in and whispered, “Stay right with Alina today. Have Inessa assist you. Do not let her go out on the grounds. There may be a second attempt. Do not leave her alone for anything. I am trusting you with her life.”

“I would die for her, sir,” Fedyor said without hesitation. “She will not be harmed on my watch.”

“As would we all.” He wasn’t sure Fedyor heard his response, but he would give everything to keep her alive and safe.

[secret-kkh-fics]

Light Casts a Shadow - Chapter 1

This chapter is now avaliable on AO3!!!

Chapter Summary:

Bagra whisks Alina away into the bows of the castle, telling her the ‘truth’ and insisting she flee, Alina is put in a spin. She wonders if Bagra was telling the truth and if Aleksander was lying to her. Or if it might be the other way around. She wonders about her new friends, and her old one, and what her place in all of this is.

Author Note:

I know there’s a thousand and one plots out here like this, but damn it, it’s a good one, so who cares. This is my take on it. I kinda binged the show and the books in a week, so there will be a mix of both in here, but mostly based off the show.

One thing I find super interesting about reworking this scene is that they made Bagra way more manipulative and Aleksander much more… emotional and human. Show!Aleks seemed like he legitimately fell in love with Alina, as opposed to Book!Aleks whose manipulations were so cold and obvious that of course Alina got the fuck out of there. In the show, there’s more room for her to doubt and think that she could maybe draw him back. So, I’m going to have fun playing around with that dynamic.

A Stupid Decision

Alina watched as Aleksander left, her heart still racing, a coy smile still pulling at her lips where she could still feel the kiss he'd rushed back to give her. She let out a slow breath to try and still her racing heart but was unable to wipe the smile from her face. She could barely believe that had just happened!

She'd barely been able to believe it since she'd surprised the both of them by kissing him that morning. It was an impulse, and when he'd drawn up to his full height, she remembered how dread had filled her that she'd overstepped the line. But then the start of that smile that set butterflies free in her stomach began to tug at his lips, and before she knew it, she was kissing him again. It had been interesting and thrilling throughout the day to see the small gestures of affection he showed her amongst his usual stoicism.

Telling her how lovely she looked, giving her flowers. She was certain that there would be a lot of gossip in the morning. She may be new at this, but she was sure that they were not being very subtle. The thought made her giggle. She could only imagine Nadia and Marie insisting on her telling them the real story and pestering her for every detail. She wondered how they'd react to know that they'd kissed… and that he had practically thrown her up on top of his war table and…

 A sudden creaking sound filled the air, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw a door swing open where there hadn't been one before. Quickly, she created a large ball of sunlight to defend herself but paused when she saw the familiar figure holding the door open, lantern in hand.

"Come with me," the old woman ordered.

"Baghra?! What are you…?" She let the sunlight go out.

"Stupid girl!" she hissed, striding over and grabbing her by the wrist, dragging her back towards the secret door. "No time to dawdle."

"N-no!"

"You need to leave this place," she insisted. She placed a hand on her back and forcefully guided her through the door.

"What? Why?" she demanded.

What had happened? Was there an attack? Was she being hunted? She hadn't heard a ruckus outside the door, but Aleksander had been urgently called away. It was something important enough he'd felt the need to keep his guards outside the door to make sure she was safe.

"Now, before it's too late."

"Baghra, why?"

Baghra reached up to the wall beside her and pulled a lever that closed the door before she finally answered. "I'm trying to save you living the rest of your life as a slave." And with that, she walked on ahead, down the narrow passage and the stairs before them. And this time, Alina followed. If not, just because she wanted answers.

"A Slave? But… Baghra!" Ugh, the old woman was always so frustrating. She kept moving and wasn't giving her a straight answer. Instead, she had to chase after her. "Whatever’s wrong, I should go back and find Aleks- General Kirigan,” she corrected herself. “I’m sure he can help.”

Baghra paused. “I’m trying to save you from Aleksander.” Then she carried on, leaving Alina stunned on the step.

Her head spun. What on earth was Baghra talking about?! Aleksander wouldn’t enslave her. He wouldn’t hurt her. He… he cared about her. They had been kissing only moments ago, and she was sure that she would have been in the cells from the get-go if he wanted her as a slave.

Looking back down the hall, where Aleksander was, where she wanted to go, she had to turn back and follow the old woman who just kept moving along.

“He intends to expand the Fold and use it as a weapon,” she went on. “That’s what he created it for in the first place.”

Hold on, what? Okay, Baghra had to be going insane. “The Black Heretic created the Fold,” she said. Everyone knew that. “Hundreds of years ago, and it was a mistake! Maybe you’re dehydrated from all the heat in your hut. He wanted me to train so I could get stronger!”

She finally managed to cut in front of her and force her to a stop. “Did he?” she replied patronisingly. “Or did he want you distracted by dreams of your future with him?” Anger bubbled up in her. How dare she? And how did she even know…? “Did he want you dependant on him, on his Fabrikator’s tricky little gloves?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. He wouldn’t. These were all words from a bitter old woman. He wouldn’t do that to her. “No!”

“Child,” her tone, for once, was almost sympathetic. “Aleksander is the Black Heretic. He chose a nobleman’s name to hide after he made the Fold.”

It all sounded so absurd.

“You’re lying.”

“Look at me, girl!” she demanded. Then, with a twist of her hand, the room around them fell into darkness as shadows surrounded them, making Alina look about in shock. Her heart froze in her chest.

She was a Shadow Summoner.

“You can… But only Kirigan’s bloodline…” His bloodline. Oh, that’s when it hit her. She was his bloodline. “You’re his mother.”

“My son tried creating his own army with merzost,” she answered, letting the shadows seep away and the light return. “He didn’t think about the people who lived there, what such power would do to them. Turned them into the twisted, evil things that attacked you.”

Baghra’s words sunk in, and she felt her heart sinking with them. “Volcra were men?”

“And women. Children.” She had tears in her eyes as she spoke now, and her words became a whisper. “I warned him there’d be a price.” And again, she abruptly walked on, sweeping past and leaving Alina behind to process what she’d just been told.

Part of her still refused to believe it. It just… it didn’t sound like Aleksander. And he’d said it was his ancestor, not him. He was nowhere near that old. She’d heard a rumour he was over a hundred, but no one could live for that long. No one could be as old as the Fold.

“That was hundreds of years ago!” she cried, rushing after Baghra.

“He’s had many names, served many kings, faked countless deaths… waiting for you.”

She’d led them to some kind of storage room, and as she looked around, she led them to a large, old picture frame and pulled the cloth off it to reveal a familiar figure.

Aleksander.

The details weren’t perfect, the artist’s style making it seem a little off, but it was recognisably him.

“With you at his command,” she went on, “he’ll be able to enter the Fold and weaponise it as he always planned. He’ll be unstoppable.”

“He told me he wanted to make the country whole again,” she said, unable to take her eyes off the portrait.

Maybe he was older than he’d said he was… but that didn’t mean his intentions were different. It was all he talked about. Bringing down the Fold…

“He’s had centuries to master lying to naïve girls.” This finally drew Alina’s eyes to her, and her voice suddenly grew mocking. “Did he tell you how lonely he was? Give you a glimpse of the wounded boy? He isn’t a boy at all. He is eternal. And you never stood a chance.” Alina wanted to scream at her that it wasn’t true. That she was lying. But she couldn’t help her mind running over every moment the two of them had spent together. Everything he’d ever said to her through the filter of deception… “Did you think this was just about you? He’s been obsessed with power, with hunting all of Morozova’s creatures. You nearly gave him the stag.” She looked up at her, confused about how she’d done such a thing, but the woman continued on. “And I’m telling you, you must hide.”

Again, Baghra was off, walking away and leaving her behind to stare at the imperfect but recognisable portrait of Aleksander… Her mind was reeling still. She didn’t know what to think or how she felt. She was just overwhelmed and lost. She didn’t know if she should trust Aleksander or his mother… Or either of them.

It wasn’t true… it couldn’t be true, could it? It just didn’t make sense. Yet there were small bits of proof before her already. She knew Aleksander, or at least she thought she had. Her heart ached as she thought of his every word being a lie to manipulate her. But the bigger part of her couldn’t bring herself to believe it. It just wasn’t true! But even if it was…

She strode determinedly over to Baghra. “I won’t help him! I’ll fight back!” she declared.

She just needed to figure out the truth. She couldn’t let Baghra drag her away until she knew that much.

“You’re far from strong enough to face him,” she scoffed. “I thought I had more time to prepare you, but it’ll have to wait.”

She opened another door and held it open for her. She was holding out the lantern for her, and it was clear enough that she was supposed to go alone from here. As she handed over the lantern and made to close the door behind her, she gave her some final instructions.

“Stay on the main path until the fork. Take the path to the right. You’ll find food storage. Wait there. There are some Grisha who are loyal to me. They will help keep you safe until I find a plan.

“The right?” she reiterated, and Baghra nodded.

“Now go, girl!”

The door swung closed, and she was alone.

Alone in the dark.

Alone with her racing thoughts.

Numbly, she continued down the dark, narrow passageway for some time, her racing thoughts a torrent threatening to drag her under.

A huge part of her struggled to believe what Baghra had told her. But what if she was right? If Aleksander really was hundreds of years old, it only made sense he’d have had years of manipulating people. He could have been telling her only what she wanted to hear all this time. Playing along with the whims of a foolish girl who thought herself beginning to fall in love. And how better to manipulate…

But… No. No, not all of that could have been a lie. It can’t have. She had seen the look in his eyes. She’d watched that beautiful, genuine smile bloom across his features, lighting him up like she’d never seen before. She’d seen the unshed tears in his eyes. And the pure awe and wonder on his face. She’d seen the look of hope in his eyes whenever they landed on her. That couldn’t all have been a lie, could it?

Or was she looking for things that weren’t there? Trying to deny it all, so it hurt less.

Did she trust Baghra more than Aleksander? Did she really trust anyone here? Maybe it was a good thing that she was getting out. She’d never have to come back here. She’d never have to deal with all this insane nonsense again. She wouldn’t have to be their Sun Summoner. She wouldn’t have to deal with the political bullshit. Or with bloody Grisha like Ivan and Zoya… and Genya, and Nadia and Marie, and Fedyor… Not… not any of them.

Her friends.

Once upon a time, if she’d been asked about friends, she’d say she only had one. Mal. But then, things changed. Then they were separated, and she joined the mapmaker's guild. And she supposed she could call some of them her friends. Alexei had at least been kind to her… Now he was likely dead - lost in the Fold, a place she was supposed to destroy.

And Genya and been a genuine friend to her, as had Nadia and Marie. Marie had even volunteered to pretend to be her for the night to help keep her safe. Could she really just abandon them with no warning?

Could she abandon any of them without warning?

What about Aleksander? What would he think? Would he think she’d run away from him right after they’d almost become intimate? Would he think she was kidnapped? Whether he was the Black Heretic or not, manipulator or just her Aleks, she knew that he would be driven to fury. She could already imagine the impassive mask he tried to wear to hide how upset or angry he was and how the shadows would flock around him, darkening the room as they darkened his mind. She could imagine the quiet rage he would command everyone at his service to search for her. He would leave no stone unturned…

He would never let her go…

She came to a standstill, realising that her arm was aching from holding the heavy lantern in her grasp. Why was she even bothering with it? She had the power of the sun at her fingertips! And with the smallest twist of her hand, an orb now floated there, lighter and brighter than the lantern, allowing her to put it down. She continued down the path only a few more steps before she came to the fork that Baghra had spoken of. She stared at the sharp point of the wall a moment before looking towards the right, where she’d been told to go.

Down there, Grisha loyal to Baghra would meet her to keep her safe… from Aleksander. Down there led to a path of being hunted, trained viciously and a life under the thumb of a woman she didn’t fully trust.

She turned and looked to the left path. She didn’t know what was down there or where it would lead out… but it was an escape. It was a path away from Baghra and away from Aleksander and the Little Place. She would still be hunted, but it was also freedom and a return to Mal.

Mal… her oldest friend, and the boy she’d loved for just as long… The boy who had left for the war when she’d done all she could for them to not be separated. The boy who had never noticed her feelings no matter how much she told him, dismissing it as the words of a best friend, and went out and flirted and fucked any pretty face he saw. The boy who had felt so betrayed by her being Grisha he hadn’t even written to her in all this time…

And still, he was her friend. And a part of her ached to see him.

But then, behind her… she looked back at the path from which she came. Behind her was her duty. She remembered in vivid clarity how not an hour ago, an entire hall of people, servants, Grisha and nobility alike had bowed before her and praised her a saint. They believed in her and trusted in – no, needed her to bring down the Fold tearing their country apart. Behind her lay her new friends. Genya, so strict and proper, yet sweet and utterly smitten with her Fabrikator. Marie and Nadia, who would worry about her and miss her so. She’d never had any friends that were girls before them, and it had been nice to gossip with them and feel… normal. For once in her life, she’d felt normal. Like this was how it was supposed to be.

Kissing Aleks had felt normal. It had felt right.

And yet, now she didn’t know what to think of him. The one thing she knew for sure was that he would never let her go. Not without a fight.

And she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to fight. Oh, she would fight tooth and nail if Baghra’s words were true, and he somehow tried to enslave her. But she couldn’t let the words of one person ruin how she saw him and what they’d had. She’d seen the proof that he was much older than he let on and that Baghra was his mother… But she needed to know more. She needed to know the truth.

And maybe it was a stupid decision to walk right back into the lion’s den, but maybe she had to take that risk. Part of her was desperate to know and wouldn’t let her go until she did. She felt something pulling her back the way she had come: an impulse, a gut feeling, an instinct. Like something was tethering her to something or someone back there, slowly luring her back in. She was drawn that way…

And so, she turned and took a step.

She sighed heavily, not even sure what she was doing.

And another step.

No path before her was perfect. But her heart yearned for answers.

And another.

She was going to have to find a way to survive this situation either way. And strangely… the best way to survive might be with maybe the deadliest of the lot. If Baghra was right, he needed her. Perhaps not in the way she’d started hoping he did. But he wouldn’t hurt her if he thought she was on his side. Maybe he’d see through her, but maybe he’d let her play along. Some kind of unspoken truce where they both had the advantage over the other.

But she was getting ahead of herself. She didn’t even know if any of this was true. And even if he was the Heretic, no one’s stories matched up.

She just… she wanted to know the truth.

It took a while for her to weave her way back through the narrow halls, and she had trouble remembering the way once she came to the door where Baghra had left her. It was all empty now, and she took a moment longer to stare at that ancient painting once more, taking in every detail, reaching out to touch the familiar features. When she finally began moving again, she turned herself around a few times, ending up in unfamiliar passages a few times until she finally found herself at the stairwell she remembered. She climbed all the way to the top and along to where she saw that lever. It didn’t take much to reach up and pull it. The metallic sound of creaking of gears filled the space, and the door swung open.

Cautiously, she stepped through the door and back into Aleksander’s outer chamber. All was quiet and still inside, the lights now dimmed. But chatter could still be heard beyond the door, the party still going on, oblivious to the fact that their Sun Summoner had been gone so long. Marie must have been handling the dinner very well.

But the lights were out… which means that Aleksander must have come back at some point and found her missing. He was likely out searching for her at the banquet, trying to see where she was. With the light out, she kept her own bright, looking out over the room. Her eyes fell on the irises left on the table.

The beautiful flowers he’d presented her with, out of nowhere before sweeping her off to his suit mere hours ago now. Her favourite flowers, no less. She wondered how he’d known or if he’d even known at all. Despite the turbulent feelings raging within her, she still remembered her elation when he’d handed them to her, and she found herself picking them up and pressing them to her nose once more. They still smelled just as sweet.

…This was a stupid idea.

Looking back to the secret door, she thought for a moment that she could still go. But she’d come back for a reason, and now that she was here, she wanted to see it through.

She also noticed, though, that the door wasn’t closing. The lever in the passageway was obvious, the one inside was not. And after a while of searching, she still couldn’t see anything. She supposed that Aleksander was just going to have to close it once he arrived. She didn’t plan on keeping her knowledge secret. She wanted answers, and that required the truth.

She wandered around the room for a while, looking at everything around her, including his papers and books, as if that would give her some kind of hint as to the truth. But everything out here gave nothing away. Of course, he probably wouldn’t hide important secrets on something so easy to access as a private bookshelf.

After what seemed like hours, she was more than bored. She was exhausted, having kept the orb of light going for so long. A record for her, most certainly. She was starving since she’d skipped the dinner. And she was honestly getting sleepy, almost nodding off while reading through his books. She had no idea what time of the night it was.

But falling asleep on the floor of his outer chamber was probably not the smartest idea. Slowly, she moved into the bedroom. The doors were wide open, and she could see his grand bed at the end, much like hers, only with dark sheets. But what did she expect? Black was his colour.

What she didn’t expect was the mass of papers that littered one side of his bed, though. As if he’d chosen to sit there and sort through them instead of at the large desk she knew sat just out in the other room. Curiously, she sat down and began picking up papers and reading them. Most of them seemed to be plans and details about the Fete. Others about the general activity of the Grisha both out in the Second Army and here at the Little Place. There were a few letters and reports from and about a Heartrender called Nina who had gone missing. And most interestingly, there were a few pages of maps and sightings of Morozova’s Stag.

…Baghra had said something about her leading him right to the stag. She wasn’t sure what it had to do with her, though. But it was clear that he was at least looking for it. It made her wonder why he would need an amplifier. He was already so powerful… And if he really was the Black Heretic, even more so than anyone could possibly imagine.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been in his rooms now, but it had been hours, and he was still not back. And soon, she found that the monotonous reading, the exhaustion of the day, and his very comfortable bed were the perfect recipe for her to slip off into the darkness.

Author Note:

Hope you enjoyed the start of this one! Things are going to split from the actual plot radically from here on in!

Chapter Index  |  Next Chapter >>

[nerdyhuntress]

Make Me Your Villain, Alina (Darklina Fanfic)

After taking Ravka's throne, Alina visits the Darkling and asks him for something. Rated E for explicit sexual content! You have been warned!

First posted on Archive  (https://archiveofourown.org/works/33385627)

The stag collar rested firmly on her shoulders as she walked through the hallways. Alina's heart was pounding in anticipation. Even though it wasn't strictly forbidden, she had no idea if she had permission to enter his chambers without prior consent. She vaguely wondered if he would be irritated with her. After taking Ravka's throne for himself, Alexsander had grown far more hostile sometimes. He was ruthless in overthrowing the former king and all the Lanstovs. But then, there were other days where he was calmer, cheerful and much more like himself. He would bring her flowers and chocolates, while the two spent hours in the sun-drenched meadows of Ravka until night fell.

Alina hoped that this was one of those days.

After a few minutes, she arrived at his door. Her fist was poised to knock, but she immediately hesitated. What if he was busy or upset? She shook her head, reminding herself that he probably wasn’t working at the moment. Alina steeled herself and knocked on the door. In the quiet hallways, it was immensely loud and echoed through the palace’s top floor. She heard his voice inside, asking her to enter the room.

Alexsander’s office has not changed since the last time she was here. A tall bookshelf full of ancient books and scrolls stood in the left corner. The dim lighting helped sustain the aura of mystery and medieval. His large desk was at the end of the long room and the large window behind him offered a spectacular view of Ravka. Alina sometimes felt in awe and impressed with him, especially since she had admitted her feelings to him.

Her husband was currently scribbling on a parchment, refusing to meet her gaze. She awkwardly cleared her throat, hoping he would acknowledge her presence. Instead, he continued writing as if she wasn’t even in the room. Irritation and frustration began to swell up inside her, but she forced herself to remain calm. After all, he had taught her that patience was one of the most important virtues. Alexsander taught her that every single night in bed, but she still managed to impress him in different ways.

A minute passed and he still hadn’t looked up from his important work. She stomped her feet in annoyance and slammed her palms down on his desk. That simple action triggered a frown on his calm visage. Her husband looked up at her as a small smirk danced on his lips. Saints, how she wanted to kiss him at this very moment.

“Can I help you, moya solnishka?” he asked cheerfully, a hint of danger lacing his tone.

“I’m here - I mean, I wanted to see you,” she explained, stumbling over her words as she blushed.

His attentive gaze on her was tantalizing, but it was a little terrifying. He could be so unpredictable sometimes with his ministrations and punishments. Alina could feel the bruises on her thighs and backside just beginning to heal after nights of passionate lovemaking. She yearned for him to ruin her, to take control and to make her feel absolute ecstasy. Sparks fluttered in her heart and she felt herself growing wetter between her legs.

“You wanted to see me?” he repeated slowly, unsure if he heard her correctly. “For what exactly, my little Sun Summoner?”

She has no idea what’s coursing through his mind at this moment. Is it frustration or anger for disrupting his work? Or maybe he’s just as excited as her. His gentle smile is as refreshing as cool water on a hot summer night. Alina perched on the side of his desk, attempting to craft the right words to explain her situation.

“It’s just - well, you’re so busy sometimes,” she said slowly. “I feel like we don’t get enough time together during the day. You’re off bringing peace to Ravka and I’m just sitting around. Waiting for you to come back. I feel so….lonely sometimes.”

There it was. Her deepest emotions came to light after so many months together. A deep frown creased his brow as he took in her words. Finally, after a moment’s thought, he set aside his parchment and stood up. He looked positively regal in his black kefta, sweeping behind him as he walked with a firm posture. She wanted him to take it off immediately and ravish her already. Alina was tired of waiting for him.

“I’m very sorry, malyshka. I had no idea that you felt this way,” he whispered in her ear, his beard tickling her skin. “Let me make it up to you. What do you crave, dearest?”

She moaned as his hand brushed her bare leg and lifted the hem of her kefta. His deft fingers seeked her warm heat and he grinned widely when he gently stroked her clit.

“My, is all this for me?” he asked eagerly.

Alina nodded, but he immediately retaliated. His firm hand came down on her backside, giving her a sharp slap for disobedience.

“How many times have I told you, solnishka?” he whispered darkly, shadows drawing closer to the pair. “Use your words when you speak to me.”

“Yes, master,” she moaned. “I - it’s for you. All of it. I want you to - to take me.”

He pulled away from her and she felt disoriented. Regret washed over her and she wished he would touch her already. Alina felt as if she would collapse or faint if he continued this slow pace. She was desperate for an orgasm already, but deep down, she knew he wouldn’t give her one until she was absolutely broken. Until she was absolutely submissive to him.

“Then remove your kefta,” he said firmly in a sharp tone. “Now!”

Alina jumped off his desk, immediately complying with his words. She feared the consequences if his orders weren’t followed. With shaking hands, she unbuttoned her kefta and dropped it to the floor. Now, she was only clad in her underwear, but his stern gaze was disapproving. He wouldn’t be satisfied until she revealed every inch of herself to him. Alina took off her bra and panties as goosebumps trailed up her skin. Only her stag collar remained. Finally, after she was absolutely naked, he came forward.

His kiss was electrifying, promising a night of pure passion and delight. As usual, she allowed him to take the lead. Alexsander’s rough, domineering hands were powerful. He placed a leg between her thighs and the friction was absolute heaven. She yearned for him to put his cock inside her. Then, once again, the pounding ache was unbearable, but he pulled away from her abruptly. It was like being denied water or sustenance in a dry desert. She whimpered and stared at him, silently pleading for a release. Her eyes widened and she hoped he would touch her again.

“You’re so desperate,” Alexsander chuckled. “I like that. But at the same time, I can’t have you like this, Alina. It’s improper and rude. I think you deserve to be punished for this.”

She began growing wetter and rubbed her thighs, hoping to relieve a little tension in her clit. Her husband frowned and forced a hand between her legs.

“If you do that again, I won’t let you come at all,” he growled, giving her a vicious slap to her clit. She whimpered again and moaned, clutching the collars on his kefta.

“Yes, master,” she said softly, eyes fluttering in sadness.

“That’s better,” he said in an approving tone. “Now, bend over the desk.”

Alina walked to his desk and bent over. He swept aside his work, leaving an area for her to lie down. It was a little uncomfortable and the cool wooden table felt strange on her warm body. She jumped when he pressed a gentle hand on her backside, forcing her to bend down more. He groaned in delight and a small grin came over his face.

“That’s better,” he whispered, looking at her from all angles. “Just how I like it. Now, count for me, solnishka.”

Without warning, a sharp slap hit her right buttock and she gasped in pain. Alina turned her head, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, but his other hand was fiercely gripping her throat. He restricted her airway as a dizzying sensation filled her mind. She was in her subspace now, desperate for pain and pleasure that only he could give her.

“Well?” he growled, fingers digging into her throat.

“One!” she gasped, struggling to speak.

He nodded in approval and hit her again. The pain was like an ongoing fire that was excessive and brutal. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and she allowed them to fall down her face. Sharp sobs racked her body as she continued counting his strikes. It was a simple task, but the unbearable pain made it so difficult. Finally, after thirty strikes, he immediately stopped. She moaned, craving his touch once again, even if he struck her again.

“Have you learned your lesson, Alina?” he said in a soft voice, slowly stroking her hair. “You were such a good girl, taking your punishment well. What do you say?”

Alina gulped. “Thank you, master. Thank you for my punishment.”

He nodded, lifting her up from his desk. Even if he only struck her backside, tingling pain gently caressed her entire body. Alina felt herself growing wet between her legs. It was dripping down her thighs and he could tell he was extremely pleased with her reaction. Suddenly, he lifted her in his arms and gently placed her entire body on his desk. She was so sore and tired that she didn’t bother to protest or ask him. Alina willingly submitted herself to his control.

Alexsander grabbed her legs and forced them apart, allowing himself full access to her wet heat. He leaned forward and stroked her clit with his deft fingers. She gasped, squirming away from his touch. Even that simple act managed to send electrifying shocks of pleasure through her body. He growled and leaned forward, licking her wetness with his sharp tongue. He tasted her clit as if it was a fine delicacy and he could never be satisfied. The cool desk was a strict contrast against her warm body. Her master feasted on her until she was approaching a wonderful orgasm, but he pulled away at the last moment. Alina whimpered and stared up at him, pleading for a release.

“Not yet, solnishka. I want to release myself inside you,” he explained, his hands firmly gripping her waist. “Turn around and bend over the desk again.”

She nodded and compiled immediately. This position was less enjoyable, but she wasn’t going to complain when he was about to put his cock inside her. Alina moaned when she felt him slowly enter her wetness. She was so soaked after he ate her out and her body was begging for an orgasm already. Once he was inside her, Alexsander didn’t waste a single second. He pounded into her with ferocity and power as if he had something to prove. His hands were gripping her waist so tightly that she knew he would leave bruises. Each morning, she awoke sore and tired, but ready for another round again.

“Yes,” he moaned, gripping her hair tightly and eliciting a sharp, pleasurable pain in her soul. “Give yourself over to me, dearest. Let me have you.”

She nodded and relaxed her body. He continued pounding into her until she felt herself on the precipice of an orgasm. Thankfully, her master was incredibly merciful this time and allowed her to come. Her release slowly built up from an ember into a sharp flame, sending waves upon waves of ecstasy across her body. The tingling sensation remained from her head to her toes and she nearly blacked out for a second. She was dimly aware of him pulling out and coming all over her ass. Deep, heavy breaths filled the room as the two relaxed and basked in the afterglow. Silence fell upon the couple as Alina closed her eyes and sighed in relief.

Then, her master gently touched her as he procured a clean rag to clean off his release. She stayed silent and allowed him to do his work. Once he finished, he tenderly pulled her off his desk and lifted her limp body into his arms. Alina rubbed her face into his chest.

“You alright there, solnishka?” he whispered gently, tucking strands of hair away from her face. “Was it too much?”

She stared at him with reverence and shook her head, biting her lip. “No master, it was perfect. I loved every second of it.”

He grinned in approval, pressing a sweet kiss to her forehead. Alina loved it when he was so warm and caring after a passionate, rough round of sex. It made the pain and humiliation bearable, since she knew the reward was worth it. The trip to their bedroom was quick and they didn’t encounter anyone along the way. Alexsander laid her on his dark silk blankets and kissed her on the lips. Drowsiness suddenly came over her and she relaxed in his bed.

“Sleep, my love,” he said quietly, looking at her with the deepest affection in his eyes.

Alina closed her eyes and fell into a peaceful sleep.

[vesperlionheart]

The Snowqueen

For @darth-salem-emperor-of-earth​ 

SasoSaku: 2014 AW Couture, The Snow Maiden. All the dresses for that collection are simply breathtaking!

All magic is savage, those who tell you otherwise are hungry liars with eyes for your soul and teeth for your flesh. 

Sakura remembered the words of her godmother well, and trusted in them deeply. She had seen the beautiful and the blessed side to magic, but knew too well how dark and deep it could leave a person cut open.  

“You think I would give him back to you after all this?” the woman made out of ice asked her, sounding neither displeased or delighted by the circumstances.

“Hope isn’t the same thing as belief, my lady,” Sakura answered easily, even as her heart hammered behind her ribcage. “I know you have a price.” 

“Where does this knowledge come from?”  

“Am I mistaken?” Sakura countered quickly. 

Her voice echoed in the crystal chamber. There was nothing but emptiness and a single sparkling throne of ice where the queen of winter lounged, a pale boy sitting at her feet on the steps beneath. When she shifted one way or the other the drapings of her gown and cape twinkled with winks of fleeting color. 

The queen turned her head and stared down her perfect nose and the half frozen girl who teetered on the cusp of womanhood. “You are not wrong,” her voice finally boomed a reply. “I have a great fondness for this wicked child. His price is great.” 

“I have come too far to not pay it.” When Sakura clenched her hands some of the shallow scabs popped and bled in between her fingers, coloring the snow-glass floor beneath her. 

There was no shift to her expression, no change in the snow queen’s features, but something about the way she stared down at Sakura seemed almost sad. 

“Then make yourself ready, young thing, you will take this from me and live at the boundary between death and life.”

The snow queen stood to her fullest height.  In front of her chest, wedge beneath her breasts, there was a shard of glass from the damned mirror. It slid out of her wound when summoned and rested in her outstretched hand, bloodless and cruel.   

Sakura swallowed, but undid the buttons and hooks that kept her warmest layers together. She stepped forward and the heavy furs fell behind her, then her cloak, and then the first of her shirts. She tugged up her last undershirt and peeled it free to drop next to her feet. Her hair had fallen loose over her breasts, no longer gathered up under her cap. 

Sakura didn’t pause as she passed her sweetheart on the stairs, but she did look his way, wincing at the void where his eyes had once expressed every secret emotion a child could fathom. He was nearly a man now himself, but he was thin and cold, and too far gone to recognize apart from the mop of curly red hair that fell over his eyes. 

It took inhuman self control to look away and focus her attention on the woman in front of her instead. 

“Take this and you will have mastery over the glass in your lover,” The snow queen said, passing over the king of all shards to Sakura. 

Sakura’s hands were still red with blood when she took the shard and tilted it to peer into it’s broken reflection. There was a history blurring beneath her eyes-one from a world still young and untamed with free devils, imps, and demons. Their climb to heaven with a mirror of truth was one of their last free ventures. Like in the stories, Sakura watched as they fell, as the mirror shattered, as the beast gods came to be. The snow queen, the lady under the mountain, the shrouded huntsman, the ferryman, the stag king...all took a little too much truth to the heart and became something too savage for such a young world. 

All magic is savage. 

Sakura gripped the shard harder, and fresh blood welled along the edges of her hands. The images in the glass shifted, colored with more recent memories, of a world far older, of children too young to know the difference, and the promises shared between them. A little boy and a girl, neighbors since birth, loving one another more than themselves, planting roses in the springtime, harvesting berries in the summer, and acorns in the fall. Their winters were wrapped in dark furs and spent in front of a fire while godmother told all the children in the village her stories to pass the long nights. 

We pay for this magic in many ways, but always remember, for as savage as it is-

Sakura screamed and plunged the shard into her chest. Upon impact, all the ancient magics that kept the snow queen together fell apart, and she melted with them, able to smile at last. 

The Truth that fed all magic its power ate away at Sakura’s, digging deep into her heart with a piercing throb until it breached her innermost chamber. 

She fell to her knees, bracing against the throne as her body turned atom over atom, rewriting itself for the oldest magics. The glass shard sunk deeper with a sound like ripping bed sheets and then Sakura felt the pop of it’s point pricking open her heart. 

-remember my child, you must be even more savage.

Her eyes went wide, filling with an aurora borealis of light from the conflicting magics. 

Sakura’s scream turned into a roar as every layer of magic she had clothed herself with came undone. 

She had navigated the wild earth, crossed it on the back of enchanted steeds, slipped free from the clutches of cannibal bandits, befriended the most friendless of their lot, burned her hands and feet to stay alive, and swallowed down coals from the witch mother’s furnace to make it through the undying lands on her own. 

For a hundred days she dreamed of her love and each night she whispered his name like a prayer against the dark, and every morning she woke to utter the same promise; She would see him again and save him. 

There was no truth or magic that could ravage her. 

Sakura’s roar mounted and the palace around her shook as her magic bloomed into something new-something that blinded the very stars.

The mirror shard shivered inside her chest, melting from the heat at her core, becoming an inseparable part of her. 

And then with a final echo the terror abated.

Sakura looked down at herself and the long cream colored gown that glittered when she moved. Every lung-full of breath made the dress shimmer, but unlike the snow queen previous, when Sakura inspected the details of her gown, she found flowers and blossoms made of dripping crystals trailing all the way down. There was winter in the fabric, but also spring, just like her magic. 

“Sakura?” she startled at the sound of her name, scarcely able to believe it. She had dreamed of that voice too many nights. 

She picked up her skirts and fell down at his side, throwing her arms around his neck and crying out his name. He groaned weakly and she kissed his brow in apology before pulling away.

“Don’t,” he whispered, grabbing at her elbows to keep her from pulling away. “N-no, don’t. I’m not dreaming am I? You’re really here? Don’t pull away from me, stay, even if this is a dream, let me...let me be with you, Sakura,” he breathed. 

“It’s no dream, I’m here, I’m here. Shh, I’m so sorry it took this long for me to find you. I’m-oh,” Sakura sobbed into his neck, pulling him closer even as she felt his arms around her, shaky but determined. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize, my dear, shhh, don’t, don’t…” he turned her face to the side and reached up to kiss at her eyes and wipe away her tears with his lips. He whispered close to her lashes and she melted from his comfort. “No more of that now, you’re here now, and that’s all that matters.” 

Sakura kissed him back, mouth to mouth, breath broken and he returned with the same shaky determination.

“Almost all that matters,” she murmured, resting her hand atop his heart where the mirror shard still stood out. It trembled for her magic, then melted into a liquid that seeped low into Sasori’s heart. It wasn’t the same degree of magic Sakura had absorbed, but it was enough to make him something more than human and less than god. 

“I’ll love you forever,” he promised her tiredly. 

“Forever?”

“And ever.”

 Sakura kissed him once more and then summoned a cloak of white fur from her fingertips, manipulating the new magic seamlessly. She gathered Sasori up and wrapped him in her furs before lifting him in her arms the way he often would once he finally passed her up in terms of height. She carried him out of the throne room as it began to crack and splinter behind her. Walls crumbled and fragments of the ceiling broke away to fall into scattering snow piles below. Sakura walked with Sasori in her arms all the way out until the sleigh pulled by silver reindeer could reach them. She set him inside before following him in, next to him on the bench seat so that he could wrap her up in the same furs under his arm.

“This wasn’t how Baba’s stories went,” he whispered as she wrapped an arm low across his waist. 

“Oh? What makes you say that?”

“The scoundrel gets the happy ending.”   

She kissed the underside of his jaw and grinned. “But so does the brave and savage maiden, and I think that trumps the storyteller’s bias for painful moral lessons, don’t you?” 

Sasori didn’t answer, he just kissed her back.  

[dunadaze]

Prophet

(Fantasy AU for the @stringsoftime contest, where Izuku is a prophet/seer)

“The pieces of the puzzle are visible, but not the grand design. Images flicker and dance like memories, hinting at events to come. They scatter the moment I reach for them only to re-form to taunt me. I who never truly possessed them, nor may I ever.”

― Mara Amberly

His eyes, green and as deep as evergreen forests, see through life and death, and everything in between. His dreams full of memories that were not his own, full of unborn heroes, full of dawns of distant futures. His blood golden as the sun, as golden as statues of gods erected in temples, rarely spilled, yet seeing so much war. 

Izuku Midoriya was born a prophet. 

As the day of his tenth winter faded to night his dreams were filled with the future. Behind closed eyes he saw the rise and fall of empires and peril growing on the horizon. He saw children born to do great deeds, and children born to equally bad things. His life was never his own𑁋 no, Izuku’s life belonged to the people. 

“When will the rain come?”

“Will my son be called to fight?”

“Is the sickness going to take me?”

The people needed him, needed answers to the questions that plagued their minds. Izuku could always answer, could always go to sleep and wake up with a head full of visions. 

“The rain will come soon, in less than a day.”

“Your son will fight whether he is called or not.”

“You will not die by the disease’s hand.” 

His life belonged to the people who needed him. To his mother he supported with his work. To the King who spirited him away to predict the future of the kingdom.

And as he watches knights and nicely dressed nobles pass by his window in the castle, Izuku only wishes that he had been born giftless. Wishes he had been born for himself.

(Scenes separated by images)

He predicts the prince’s betrayal a day before it happens. 

Blue fire turns cities to ash in his dream, smoke chokes out all life and a scarred man sits on a throne of embers. It’s because of his vision that Touya is locked away, hidden from sight and left to rot. The king praises Izuku for bringing salvation, but there’s a weight on Izuku’s shoulders that wasn’t there before. 

He hadn’t ever seen the outcome of any of his prophecies, only told them and heard news of them happening afterwards. He’d never seen the children he proclaimed heroes, never seen the wars in person, but Touya he knew. Touya he’d grown up beside. 

Izuku doesn’t like his prophecies after that. 

The third born prince will claim the throne. 

Izuku whispers it to that boy, the prince with the scarred face and mismatched hair. He’s never spoken to Prince Shouto before that, and it’s a bit awkward that his first sentence to the other boy was, “You will be better than your father.” 

But, Shouto smiles at that. It’s the first time in a while the boy smiles, he’d had a blank face since his brother was taken away, but Izuku’s words make his eyes fill with ambition and teeth bare in a snarl of a smile. 

They stick together after that. Izuku tells Shouto how to harness his powers and how to grow, and Shouto uses his influence to take the prophet outside the castle walls. An unlikely friendship, surely, but one that does not weather with time. 

A man haunts Izuku’s dreams. The prophet is sure he’s never met the man, yet he feels familiar somehow. It’s not exactly a prophecy, instead it’s like memories from a life he hasn’t lived. The man fills his dreams with dragon fire and raw emotion. Izuku wakes every morning tired, as though he had been awake the entire night. 

He’s never wanted to meet someone more than this stranger. Not the people he has visions about or the heroes he wants to be. No, he wants to meet the man who puts a sword in his hand and fights beside him. 

It’s an odd occurrence, the dreams with this draconic stranger, as though it is not a dream at all and instead an actual experience. Izuku can feel the heat of the stranger standing next to him, feel the weight of the sword in his hand. He can taste the salt of sweat as it runs down his cheeks and catches on his lips. He can see an endless horizon stretch out in front of him, hear the cries of gulls above him and the song of the wind. 

For now, Izuku will wait. He will wait for his dreams to turn to visions. He will wait for the stranger to find him. 

A dragon lands at the back of his mind. 

Izuku wakes in an instant, throwing the blanket off of himself and racing from his room. The castle is quiet this late at night, the nobles tucked away in fancy beds and only the unluckiest of nights up patrolling. The prophet slips into the courtyard and then the garden, past the hole in the gate that is covered by crawling Ivy. He knew the dragon would appear in the land beyond the town, where open meadows provided space to sprawl out and rest. 

His feet are raw and aching by the time he stumbles into the field. A dragon dozes in the middle of it, wings tucked against its scarlet back and steam rising from its nostrils. He wonders if he’ll die by waking it, wonders if the creature is hungry enough to eat a human. 

“Ah! Hello!” Izuku stands a great deal away from the slumbering beast, close enough to be heard and far enough to not be gobbled up in an instant. “I have a question for you!”

The dragon blinks one large, red eye open. From where he’s standing, Izuku can feel the heat radiate from its scales, and he wonders if his skin would burn by touching it. It opens its mouth and Izuku steps back afraid, but the beast simply yawns. 

“What is it?” The dragon’s voice sounds young, not at all what Izuku was expecting. “I’m kind of tired, gotta sleep before the sun rises. So, if you could make it quick.” The slitted eyes peer at him, and Izuku feels a bit like a bug pinned to a board. 

He stumbles closer, trusting the dragon not to devour him. “Your kind, do you know of someone who has a tattoo of a winged sword?” Izuku tries to remember all the fuzzy details of the stranger in his dreams. “A man, who wields a fierce blade and has hair the color of sunlight?” 

“Ah!” The dragon is suddenly much more awake, “You mean Bakugou! Yeah, I know him! Why? If you’re looking for revenge I gotta warn you to give up, the man hasn’t ever lost a fight an𑁋”

“No! I have no intention of fighting him,” Izuku sighs, relief flooding his veins. So the man he’d been seeing wasn’t just a dream. “I just wanted to know if he was real.” He trails off, mumbling about furred cloaks and necklaces made of bone. 

The dragon gives him a look, one that is almost knowing, and lays its head upon the ground. Izuku only realizes that the creature had fallen asleep after snores as loud as drum-beats start to echo through the meadow. The prophet laughs, turning back towards the castle in the distance. 

He had a long walk ahead of him. 

Tales of the barbaric dragon rider start to reach the castle’s ears. Izuku catches whispers of the young lord who’d taken out whole armies and the great, red dragon he rode upon. The ladies especially love to talk about the appeal of a man who’s an outcast, and Izuku soon finds himself tired of the dreamy sighs that accompany the name Bakugou Katsuki. 

He supposes he’ll have a prophecy about this Bakugou soon, as it sounded like the man was encroaching on Kingdom territory. It’s odd, though, he knows he should be fearful of this supposed conqueror that was on his way to challenge the king, yet Izuku didn’t find himself anxious. 

This was the man he dreamed about, the man he had fought beside. Izuku wanted nothing more to ride to the edge of the kingdom and personally invite Bakugou for tea. 

Izuku stands on the balcony as dragon fire rains from the sky. 

Shouto is in the courtyard, shards of ice dancing off his fingertips and snow falling from the air around him. The king is beside him, Izuku can feel the heat rise off of the man as he summons a wall of fire. There are other knights, Ochako bringing torrents of pink light down from the sky, Iida wielding a spear like an extension of his own body, Momo and Jirou standing back to back with twin blades. 

He feels useless, unable to fight or summon magic to protect his friends. What he can do is catch brief glimpses of the future, telling Momo to move a second before a dragon thuds down beside her, or commanding Shouto to throw a shard of ice in the spot a fire will break out in. It’s something he’s been training to do, forcing himself to see visions, rather than wait for them to come in dreams. 

What he doesn’t expect is the chief dragon rider to land on the gate that surrounds his balcony. 

“Oi!” Bakugou’s voice is loud, commanding, “You’re seeing my every fuckin’ move. How?” The word how comes out as a growl, like the sound the king’s hunting dogs made when they caught the scent of a fleeing stag. 

The words in Izuku’s throat die as they reach his tongue, up close Bakugou is terrifying. All lithe muscle and sharp edges. The blade in his hand is curled and nasty, gleaming in the dying sunlight. “I𑁋 I can,” His brain is a mess of thoughts, all tangling up in his head and causing his words to come out as jumbled stutters. 

“Hah? The hell you tryin’ to say? Spit it out already.” The king of dragons jumps down from the balcony gate as easily as a cat, his movements fluid and graceful despite his rugged appearance. 

The man is close enough that Izuku can see the fire in his eyes, and at once the thoughts in his mind snap into place and his words fall out in perfect comprehension.

“My name is Izuku Midoriya.” He narrows his eyes. “And I’ve been waiting for you.” 

[seduceme-lovestruck-thearcana]

i fell asleep last night sorry :'( but! think about alex's aura and mc's aura playing together once mc is a demigod too! :) it'd be so cute and there could be so much mischief-

OooOooOh!1!1! That’s a good idea!!1!1! Here ya go and I hope it was good XD.

Whenever she was young, she loved Alex’s aura. She just loved how it was a cute stag and doe and loved how they cared for her. Sometimes she would trip, and they were always right there to nose at her and help her up. She knew it was Alex, and it’s why she loved it. Alex would give her a smile whenever they saw her make a smile at their aura. It was like giving a smile right at them. It made both of them happy and Alex would let their aura out when they could. It was just to please her and put a smile on their face, because as long as she was smiling, they were happy.

They would always be extra careful around MC and her brother. There aura was a little new to them and they had to learn to keep it under control, but it was a little hard. So, if they felt like they needed a moment, they’d tell MC to back off for a second. She’d be a little sad on those days, but would understand that they needed to get it under control. It especially came out when they were around MC. Maybe it was the excitement of seeing her or the fact that she liked seeing them so they just let them out on accident. It didn’t matter, they soon did get it under control and MC and them had a good time when the stag and doe were there.

When MC grew up, she still did love their aura. However, she grew more shy to ask about their aura and ask to see it, so she never did. Alex couldn’t help but miss the way she was excited to see their aura and wasn’t afraid of it. It made them happy, but they guessed it was a way of growing up. It helped them get it under control faster, too. And life continued to go on and they slowly drifted apart. They were still best friends and that connection was there, but they couldn’t see each other often.

MC was into art at one point in her life. Her first drawing attempt was actually a stag and doe. She couldn’t help but draw them and she was excited to show Alex. After a few tries of drawing it from memory and some online tutorials, she eventually got it right and showed it to Alex with pride. When they saw it they felt honored and their heart filled up with more love for this woman. They hugged her and thanked her as she offered it to them.

They still have it to this day. It’s on one of their shelves in their apartment. It may seem like they lost it, but no they haven’t. They think about it sometimes and always remember where it is.

And as they grew closer and as she worked at H.E.R.A and saw them in action, she couldn’t help that awe on her face when she saw their aura. That little girl inside of her always wanted to go up and pet the stag and doe, but knew that wasn’t appropriate so kept it inside of her. But when they ended up together, Alex would sometimes let out their aura. MC would always be excited and want to pet them immediately. If she layed down on the bed they’d somehow figure out a way to lay next her. Sometimes not leaving enough room for Alex themselves. However, she loved them and would always give them attention. Even if Alex would give a pout and feel a little jealous.

It was a nice time for them, but when MC got her own aura, it was a great time. Alex’s aura seemed to be even more attached to her. It’s as if they wanted her aura to know that they (the stag and doe) were there first. She laughs at it and feels very happy. Alex would send them away before something happened. MCs aura was a peacock and sometimes she’d let it out as well. She was always curious about her aura and wanted to know more about how to use her powers. She felt a little anxious sometimes. She wasn’t born with an aura, so she didn’t learn how to control it. Because of this, Alex would help her learn how to use it and how to control it.

She felt so loved when Alex would help her. Alex loved on her 24/7, but these ‘sessions’ were sweeter and slower. It’s like when they teach her Greek. It’s slow and patient and they seem happy to teach her. She feels so loved and happy, and she’d do anything to stay like this.

But, when she learned she was stronger than Alex...she may or may not have used that to her advantage. She’d overpower them once she learned more about her aura and...you can go from there ;).

Sometimes when she let her aura out, Alex would do the same. The auras would look at each other (stag and doe and the peacock) and size each other up, but then they’d immediately be beside each other and look so cute. Mainly because the aura is a part of the person it belongs to, and Alex and MC love each other so much to the point their aura can’t help but be close to each other. It’s so sweet and MC can’t help but blush at the way they are.

Over time she learned to have her aura on full control, as if she was born with it. She still made jokes and let the peacock out every now and then (sometimes on accident) and would use her strength to her advantage when she could on Alex ;).

I hope this was good!1!!1! I kinda like it lol. Love you Meg and hoped you liked it. Also, look at my Aphrodite reblog of when you @‘ed me bc it’s emotional and I kinda like what I added but yeah bye love you djwndb.

[theprojectatedensgate]

You wanted requests, so I shall deliver. 52. “Why don’t you tell me why you really came here tonight?” Jacob Seed x Rook Your turn. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) I hope I did this right.

The arrow left the bow with a snap! Missing the Buck completely and smacking into the tree. The stag bolted into the bushes, leaving Rook to mutter silent curses. The leaves and twigs crunched beneath their feet as they plodding over to the tree. Birds serenaded above, Cicadas humming in the long grass. The evening was cool, a refreshing breeze blowing through the leaves in whispers. 

Rook tugged the arrow out of the bark, placing it back into their quiver with a sigh, they had been camping out in the White tail wilderness for two days, keeping a low profile. They had food back at the ten but the taste of venison won’t leave their mind. It had been a while since they ate anything decent, hoping to treat themselves with a roast, the idea escaping along with the Stag. They would have to settle for Jerky, eyes rolling at the thought. The turned back onto the foot path, meandering their way back to the campsite. It was a ten minute trip, no to far from the nearest road just enough to be secluded. Or so they thought, upon returning to camp Rook found all of their belonging, clothing, equipment, food, spread out in front of the tent, the door was ajar, even though they remembered zipping it up. Bile rose into their chest at the sight, something or someone had been in their tent, opening their bag, searching their possessions.

 A shiver crawled down their spine and their neck tingle with the feeling of being watched. Rook felt like prey, the birds had silenced, the Cicadas ceased their symphony. A heavy pressure settled on the atmosphere, they felt suffocated in the fog of tension. A twig snapped and Rook’s eyes scanned along the clearing and treeline. They slowly tucked an arm back, reaching for their bow. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you” The voice came from behind, warmth breath on their hair, they twitched to spin around cut off be the press of cool steel at their nape. Thinking quickly they raised their hands in steady surrender, not daring to move a muscle. A weight tugged at their back, yanking the bow and quiver off them, hearing them clatter behind. “Stay…” the voice drawled, the source now rounding into their vision, the red metal barrel tracing around their throat to push into their chin. Blue eyes met with theirs, camouflaged jacket hanging from his shoulders, Red hair and beard coming into view.

 “Jacob.” 

Jacob smirked at Rook’s greeting, looking them over. Rook stayed froze, their gaze never once leaving him. The eldest of the Seed family, Gulf War vet and head of security. He was violent. He held an authority over people, silencing rooms with one stare. It made them vie for his approval and mercy, hoping to be trained by the war born soldier. 

“You know Deputy, you were hard to find. I tracked you since you entered the region and I finally caught up.” Rook swallowed, clearing their throat to cover the noise. 

“Why are you here?” 

“I’ve come to bring you home.”

 Rook’s eyes flickered around, trying to avoiding looking at Jacob. They were pinned, they had no choice but to listen to him and do as he says. It was that or death at his hands and that would be anything but swift.

 “I have no home.” They managed through gritted teeth, slowly lowering their arms. Jacobs brow furrowed, the ring of the barrel poking them harder.

 “Wrong Deputy. You belong to me, you’re my soldier. You’re home is at the Centre and we have training to do.” He grinned as Rook flashed back to all times Jacob had abducted them, the claustrophobic cage, the smell of iron and dirt in the air, the wails of people being trained,they shuddered at the memory. They glanced over to the tent and remembered all their belongings on the ground, scowling at Jacob. 

“Did you root through all my things? Why did you pull it all out of the tent?” The Veterans eyes skimmed over their discarded clothing and equipment before grinning back at them. 

“I searched for anything that could cause me harm.” 

“In my clothes?”

 Jacob’s mouth hung open slightly in shock, before shutting it closed, Hesitancy crossing his expression. 

“I’ve seen stranger places.” Rook raised a brow at that, eyeing him with suspicion, Jacob grimaced in response. He removed the barrel from their chin, aiming it at their chest and nudging them with the gun. 

“Why don’t you tell me why you really came here tonight?” Jacob was so taken a back by the question he didn’t reply straight away, instead trying to work out how those words came from their mouth. His eyes narrowed, jaw tensing up. 

“What?” 

“Tell me why you really came here. I mean I believe you came to take me back with you, but what was so important that you had to track me down and come get me yourself? Why not send the Chosen?”

 Irritation peaked in Jacob as Rook questioned him. How dare they demand explanations from him. He was there to bring them home, it was as simple as that. Or was it? He could have just gotten the Chosen to do it but he had made the effort to do it himself. Why was it so important he did it? The real reason didn’t sit right with him he couldn’t help himself. He could not stay away from them. They were his best after all, topping every one of his trials. Jacob had never seen anything like it, he loved pushing them and seeing how they would respond, every life they took pleased him greatly, getting them to chase for his approval and oh boy did they chase for it. He was proud of them in a way, his little soldier, who waited on his every order.

 “Because I needed to come get you myself.” Jacob huffed, annoyance at explaining himself.

 “Why though?” Rook sounded desperate, shifting their weight intently whilst observing his expression. “Because you won’t listen to the Chosen.” Jacob stalked forward, tucking his gun in to his thigh holster and backing Rook up against the trunk of a tree, their back bumping against the solid wood. Their eyes widened with anxiety, looking up at him with doe eyes. Once the Deputy was firmly boxed in against the tree, he reached his arms up to brace either side of them, no room to escape. He revelled in their rapid breathing and shivering, Rook had killed so many, yet they still feared the War Vet. To know that the Deputy was one of the strongest in the county and they still bend to him? It fulfilled a need for power he didn’t know he had. 

“You won’t listen to my men, but you’ll damn well listen to me soldier.” Jacob leaned in close, the smell of earth and wood smoke filling Rook’s senses, their foreheads near touching. They released a soft whimper and he smiled. He was so close he could see the sweat glistening on the Deputy’s brow and neck, their flushed expression as they warily glared up at him. He flashed his teeth in another bemused grin and leaned into their hair, inhaling the scent, a low growl as he exhaled. Rook clasped their eyes firmly shut and tried to make themselves as small as they could as if they could disappear. Dirt covered fingers clamped on their jaw and tears pricked with the pain. He forced their head to side as he looked up the length of Rook’s neck. Rook was half concerned that he would tear their Jugular out with his teeth but he remained idle, silently examining their skin. Jacob’s free hand ran through their hair, petting them like a small fluffy animal. Rook was unused to Jacob’s affections, if you could call them that. The sight of him acting so gentle with obvious threat made them perplexed them. Why was he doing this? Was it some kind of intimidation tactic? Seriously messed up if it was. But gentle giant Jacob didn’t last for long, taking their shirt by collar and yanking them back with him so quickly they were flush against him, the heat making them squirm. 

“We’re going to go home now, you’ve had time to play your little games, but whenever I want I can have you right back here with me Deputy. You see that now.” He drawled his voice low but stern and clear at the same time. Rook knew they didn’t have a choice, they would have to go with him until they could find a way to escape. 

“Yes Jacob.” Rook uttered bitterly, what looked like glee sprung onto Jacobs face. They didn’t even know he could feel such an emotion, always the hostile, foul mood, bad tempered big brother. Rook could see the resemblance to his brothers there, all coming from the same line of abuse, no wonder they were like this. It was a sobering thought, the realisation that not everybody had a happy childhood. Insistently, Jacob pushed Rook forward getting them to walk in front of him. They would try to run if it weren’t for the fact that the Seed was a sniper, he had no problem aiming at moving targets. Rook stumbled, only just catching themselves from falling. A low chuckle leaving Jacobs lips. The Deputy would be locked up for a while, until Eli forms a search party or an Opportunity arises at the Centre. For now they would have to obey Jacob’s every word, complete training for him and compete over and over for his approval. They were his favourite little soldier and he was going to make use of them. 

Thanks for requesting! Enjoy!!

[cheekygreenty]

Little Witch - Part 15

The Darkling x reader

Time was in fact ticking and as minutes went on, your palms got sweatier and your heart never stopped thumping in your chest. Any minute now Aleksander could stroll into your chambers flanked by oprichniki and have you arrested. You had crossed the line and you acknowledged that but there was no other way to do it with him. He was never going to sit down and have a regular conversation with you where he detailed his plans out step by step, even if you said please and begged on your knees.

It was morning now and still no word from Aleksander. You had to return to your boring duties of reading trade agreements and approving Grisha posts at the war fronts, none of which passed the time any quicker. You skipped breakfast and threw on the first kefta that caught your eye, only making sure it wasn't black. A simple summoner blue, to reflect your sullen mood.

A knock on your door caught you by surprise but you opened it anyway to reveal your least favorite Heartrenderer sulking at your doorstep.

'Ivan'

'The General requests to see you'

'He sent his puppy to fetch me, how cute' You open the door wider to let yourself through letting a deep breath go in preparation. Ivan sent you a glare worth a thousand words, something along the lines of I hate you.

'Relax, I'm only jesting'

The walk to Aleksander's quarters was silent. Ivan wasn't the chatty type and even if he was, he probably wouldn't have much to say to you.

As you went to open the grand double doors, he caught your wrist tightly

'Don't lay a finger on him again, or I'll rip your heart from your chest' He warned. Either Aleksander tattled the events that took place yesterday or Ivan was eavesdropping, your gut told you it was the latter.

'I didn't take you as the type to disrespect your elders Ivan' You didn't care to return his tone of voice. He was simply Aleksander's lapdog, not somebody to be scared of or feared.

'Run along now' You dismissed him, watching as he huffed and turned down the hallway.

Aleksander sat at the same desk as yesterday except now he faced you. He was back to his normal self, void of emotion and collected in his embroidered black kefta. You sat down on a random chair, clearing your throat.

'Did you finally come to your senses?' You weren't here for pleasantries or to dance around the subject, you needed answers.

'Of sorts. Yes'

'Get to it then, you have a lot of explaining to do. And remember, I know when you're lying' You tapped the skin above your heart, indicating that he had no way out but to tell truth.

'Ask away.'

'How are you going to weaponize the Fold?'

'Alina. She can let us get through it, I can expand it into the borders.'

'How?'

'The stag. I'll use it to control her powers as well as amplify my own. She won't comply otherwise. ' He's going to use Merzost to control the Sun-Summoner.

'The King?'

'Gradually being poisoned by Ms.Safin. He'll take to being ill when the time comes.'

'You're not going to kill him?' To ascend the throne, the King needs to die.

'In time' You took a quick pause and let the information settle. You still needed to ask the most important question and you feared once he answered it, your heart would break in two.

'Alina.'

'Yes. Alina'

'Is it real?'

He took a sharp inhale and pondered for a quick second while you held yours.

'Not anymore.'

'Anymore?'

'Before you got here, perhaps there was something, But not now. I swear on the Saints. All she is is a key to more power. Everything we've ever wanted lies in our future if we play our cards right Y/N' You were sitting too far away from him, but his hands still itched to reach for yours.

'I'm suspecting there is a downside to all of this'

'I need her to trust me.'

'And the only way to do that is by loving her I assume' You hung your head low when he gave a small nod.

'I wish there was another way. She's young and blinded by her friend Mal to see what's truly happening'

'What if she finds out?'

'We'll cross that bridge when we get to it' He stood up from his seat and kneeled beside you, firmly holding your knees.

'You're not a loose cannon Y/N. I didn't want to tell you because if I told you about Alina, you would seek us out and watch. I don't want you to see me with her' You recognized that everything he said was true, his heart hadn't skipped a beat since you got here.

'I'm sorry for the other night, for what I said. I didn't mean it' Throughout your years with Aleksander, you had witnessed him apologize to you and every time he did, his eyes were the true apology. They reflected his whole soul, bared his deepest emotions to you, and begged for forgiveness with immense desperation in ways that his words couldn't. This was no exception.

'We all say things we don't mean in the heat of the moment' All it took was those simple words for his eyes to wash away the guilt and reappear filled with affection.

'Why didn't you tell me about Zoya?'

He sighed again, resting his forehead against your arm 'I don't know'

'Are you done with her?'

'She was just an outlet Y/N, I truly haven't loved anybody since you. You crowded my dreams and my daily thoughts, do you really think I could move on?' He gave a gentle laugh with an undertone of embarrassment at his inability to get over you.

'I'm flattered'

Although the areas of the future that involved Alina rubbed you the wrong way for many reasons, you were glad to finally know the things Aleksander kept from you. No doubt there were things you omitted that would come up in due time, but you had gone what caused you the most stress.

'Will you finally stop running away from me? I've barely had any time to enjoy your presence' His hand came up to your face, nudging a thin piece of hair away. You melted into his touch, grabbing him by the shoulders and embracing him tightly, forcing both of you to stand. He held you as close, if not tighter.

'I'll do anything you want me to if it means you trust me again' His words stuck in your mind as he spoke against your hair. Your statement must have cut him deep. It hurt you too, you loved this man, you've loved him for more than a century, and being scared to trust him dwindled your memory of him.

You were the first to pull away but only for a second as your lips crashed onto his. It wasn't rough or needy, it was sweet and reflected your love for him. It was the kind of kiss you imagined when you dreamed of him at your weakest; when your dreams were vivid and lucid in comparison to your feverish body as it lay on the brink of death.

'Have you eaten?' He asked as you wrapped your arms around him yet again, not ready to let go.

'Not yet, but give me a minute' You closed your eyes, reveling in his scent and warm touch.

At last, I finally got my hug.

***

It was later on in the day now, you had forced yourself away from Aleksander after breakfast and retreated into your chambers, sifting through documents and pointless papers. You barely read them as you signed away, doing the tedious work Aleksander passed onto you as he focused on the stag. You didn't know much about the animal and willingly chose to stay out of the affair, never really caring for the amplifier. For now, all that it entailed was chasing false leads and ending up at dead-ends. Not your cup of tea.

The Winter fete was coming up and much to your displeasure, you were asked to make sure the Sun-Summoner was up to scratch for her showcase. It was important she makes a good impression on the foreign ambassadors, Ravka needed stronger alliances now that Zlatan was claiming the West needed to break away. He was colluding with the druskelle to capture Grisha, and wherever your Grisha were concerned, you had to get involved.

You realized the measly reports of Alina's progress weren't enough and you had to go right to the source. There wasn't a single part of you that looked forward to stepping into that boiling hut and conversing with the rude woman, but work had to be done.

You took your time walking down, chatting to bystanding Grisha and trying to stall, you really weren't in the mood to be bullied. You didn't bother to knock, you just waltzed in and searched the dark for her hunched figure.

'You again' You could've sworn she appeared out of thin air as her voice carried disgust along the room, it usually did when it came to speaking to you but you stopped caring a long time ago.

'Why are you back, Witch'

With the track record Baghra had with you, the nickname never failed to fuel your temptation to throttle her.

---

Part 16

Taglist (tell me if you want to be added to the Little Witch taglist!!)

@theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @0-artemis @lostysworld @xceafh @fire-in-her-veinz @patdsinner33 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @wizardwheezes @aleksanderwh0r3 @tomhollandisabae @hotleaf-juice @justmesadgirl @exo-1204 @houseofdupree @oberonpascal @eireduchess @lunas1x1

[wannabeprotaginist-blog]

No Turning Back

If he didn’t show, she didn’t know what she would do. Her footfalls were muted by the leafless soil, in mid-summer few leaves were claimed by the wind and thrown to the ground to rot. Around her, the sun seeped to the horizon the gnarled branches held firm to their fat jade treasures. Glancing towards the golden orb she marveled at the beauty of the silhouetted trees, of how peaceful the forest looked from high above. Andromache had made her way from the palace disguised as a peasant with her sullen cloak atop Triumph, her golden mare. The steed’s steps were confident as she made her way through the winding trails, unbeaten as they were they would have been horribly difficult on foot. But her mare was sure of herself as she heaved both her own mass and the princess’ over the large roots and stones. Though safe their travel was, it was tedious. Roma caressed her nerves in efforts to sooth them, she would make it to the so-called highest spot, she would start the fire with no problem, and she would build it till it could gulp her whole, then and only then, she would spread the power the witch had given her.

Triumph dipped her head towards the grass and Roma loosed the lead just enough that her teeth could tear away the tall stocks and satisfy her need. Careful though, to keep it taut so that the horse didn’t get herself tangled. Many years ago, when her world was not outlined in black, Roma had made the mistake of giving her horse too much lead. She later earned herself a black cheek and an injured knee as she tried to free her charger from its entanglement. She had spent the rest of that day standing beside the poor beast as the stable physician looked over his pulled muscles and bruises. She would never forgive herself for causing unrequired pain to an innocent, even if it was just a horse. But, Andromache had been pure then, her soul had yet to be tainted by misery and hate, her heart had yet to blacken. Now, she knew that she would easily kill for vengeance, and she had.

For him. For the one who could help her. The only one she could turn to. If tonight didn’t work, then Andromache would be out of options, and she would then turn to desperate measures. Alastor had been the first to her mind, he was the very essence of the darkness in her soul. That feud, that hate, that need for revenge. He was all of that given godly powers and he would be able to aide her and her desires. She had no idea how. Achilles wasn’t just someone Alastor could go and wipe off the face of the planet. No, he would have to help her in others ways or risk the wrath of his own. And gods help her if he decided she wasn’t worth his time.

No. She would leave that as a problem for the Andromache who would watch Eos with disappointment weighing heavy in her gut. She was not one to put off thinking for a future self, yet tonight, she would make an exception. Her sandals filled with soil as she continued her ascent. Triumph would stay a good distance away, just in case the god of vengeance appeared and decided to be some raging bull or some other destructive beast. Or, if any other beast decided that a fire on top of the hill was interesting. Roma found the glade she had been told of and sucked in a breath, time to begin.

The powder weighed heavy in her pocket though the only true weight to it lay in the leather of the pouch itself. Perhaps it was all in her mind, the weight, and power. Perhaps the witch had mashed random bones and herbs together just to get the young woman out. Her steps were quick and steady as she gathered the wood needed. She’d chosen this night before the heavy rains had yet to scour the lands when the kindle was dry and would take to flame easy. Maybe she gathered more than enough wood if only to push off the inevitable needed spark and flourish of golds, reds, and oranges. That horrid smell. And the chilling sounds.

The wood was gathered and arranged into a pile tall as her breast, just so that the reaching arms of the ambitious light would tower over her head, and in the height of it, when the fire was at its greatest, she would pour the powder into her palm, and spread it over the flames. And then, he should finally show. She did just that, Andromache didn’t even try to hide her hesitation with the flint, didn’t even try to minimize her flinch and scamper backward as the flames crackled and leaped from one twig to another. Until the thick logs took to the fire and it burned long and hard and hot. She waited, watching with rising panic as the wisps grew and grew, greater and greater, louder and louder, brighter and brighter until the heat was immense as the size was terrifying. But the screams of her people that had grown with the sizzling and burning, for once did not root her feet to the ground. It was their moans that moved her forward, propelled her to the suffocating warmth and encouraged her to fling the white and gray powder. Pops and crackles whizzed as she stumbled back, losing the leather pouch to the flames. Her legs betrayed her as they tangled in her cloak she had discarded when she’d poured the powder into her hand. Sweat caked the chiton to her legs as she shoved herself away, fear racing through her veins and screamed at her to go, to run.

But she did no such thing. She was Andromache of Cilician Thebes. She had come too far, done too fucking much to turn back now like some coward. So she eased the cloak from her ankles and stood, shaky but standing. If anyone had been there to witness the first battle against her inner war she had won, they would have seen a woman of blunt determination. A scarred beast of tangled brunette hair, eyes that shone bright, and a stance of a man who faced his fate.

In one moment, it was only her breath and the crackle of the flames that occupied that glen. The wind whipped the gold and crimson into the air where it dissipated, using up all of the lingering fuel. In that moment, Andromache’s every breath, every thread of being was focused, waiting, anticipating, hoping. Had she forgotten to whisper his name? Was screaming it in her mind not enough? Did she need to yell out to the heavens? Chant? Shout? Would that be the defining variable, the absence of his name? Gods damn it all if it was, gods damn it all. But that moment passed and in the next, the winds stopped playing with the fire and the flame had only itself to dance with. For in the next second, Andromache was not alone with her greatest fear. A sensation crept over her skin as if the immortal part of her could sense it, warning her that what was there-deep in the shadows-lay something more terrifying than her menial fire.

She sucked in a breath at his appearance, at that thing that stood across from her. It was as if the forest knew, as if every blade of grass, every lingering tree, every leaf suddenly leaned away, desperate to distance themselves from the immortal-no, god-who now stood among them. A wolf in sheep’s wool. He was not the beast of darkness she had imagined, there were no horns or claws that she could see, only a man. A man whose eyes, when illuminated by the fire blazed with power so deep and strong and infinite. Andromache had forgotten to breathe. It was his hand that reminded her when he raised it slowly over the flames like a man would to feel the sun on his skin. Her instincts kicked into overdrive, pumped her blood with adrenaline and her mind barely had control over her body as her feet didn’t move, her limbs didn’t flinch. Her will was the single thing keeping her locked in that spot. Hands fisted at her side, she kept them that way-it was harder to tell how badly she shook. While her body throbbed with the increase of blood pressure, her face was cold and still. Years of training would not be worn away with a single hand-a hand that now caressed the flames.

“Andromache.”

She had just gotten herself under enough control that every aspect of her mind wasn’t concentrated on staying put when he said her name. The way it slithered through the air, it crept down her spine and she shivered, not giving a damn to hide it. It was horrible, the way he spoke. Like nightmares given a voice, like every child’s greatest fear suddenly whispering in her ear. Though, there was a softness in his word that did not go undetected. Like he wasn’t trying to scare her like he was a wolf trying to calm a doe.

“Not many call me like this.” The god of vengeance tilted his head.

Then why did she have to go to this extreme to even get his attention. Why had he made it so hard for her. As if she hadn’t been through enough fucking hardships. And it was with that thought that her spine straightened, her resolve hardened. And the feeble doe who faced the wolf became a stag who was ready to fight.

Her eyes, once brilliant with fear, now filled with something stronger she could hold onto. It was an emotion familiar to her, familiar to him. Anger, abhorrence, hate. It was that emotion that let her see him, see into him like she could do with any mortal man. In his gaze, she saw recognition and understanding. He knew her name, he knew her. He pulled his hand away and the fire bent in on itself, calming into a quiet thing that had been comforting men for millennia, from the moment Prometheus stole it from Mount Olympus and became the champion of mortals. Had he done that for a reason? If he knew her name he knew her story, he knew how the flames had engulfed her town, her people. Did he know her fear of them? Had he done that to... Comfort her? Not likely, he was a god from nightmares. A god only to be called upon in the last few moments of a man’s hate.

Whether he had done it for her or just for the ability to see her it didn’t matter. Without the tower of fire, she could breathe easier, and see him. Alastor wore a cloak that seemed to be made of shadows, and Andromache felt very bare with her own discarded, crumpled, and filthy only feet from her. He sat, movements similar to smoke dissipating and his image tried to hold onto its physical being. The night was cold indeed, and when her blood had slowed and her sweat dried, goosebumps rose along her skin. She didn’t mind, she was thankful for the chill. It would keep her mind from being suffocated and keep her wits sharp. That same voice whispered that she would need it if she wanted to even have a chance at being successful tonight.

“It’s a cold night to be out here alone.” His words slithered through the air, lips carved in an ever-present sneer. “What can I do for you, princess of Thebes?”

She listened, and her mind focused on him, every word, every tilt of his head, his smile-even if that almost made her choke. His teeth gleamed, far too white for any mortal, far too perfect. She couldn’t tell from her feet away but she could almost see his canines sharpened, like the teeth of wolves.

“That is what I planned on asking you.” Her sentence started choppily, then she smoothed it out, determined to at least show she had a bit of bravery. If she couldn’t completely hide her fear, why should she? She ought to be fucking afraid of him if she wasn’t then she would need some other god, someone more powerful to help her. He could probably smell it anyway, she probably reeked of panic. “You know my name, Alastor.” Andromache was not aware how powerful a name was, or how he could have heard his own from across the oceans, across the world. So she easily addressed him at the end of her sentence, ignorant to its power. “You know who I am, my title, my home, my people. So I won’t humor you and repeat it, it’s a waste of breath-and unlike you I only have so many.” Tread carefully Roma, whispered that inner voice. But she shut it out. A year of trying and failing came bubbling up and she almost forgot that an immortal being of destruction sat before her. That with a flick of his hand he could have turned her to dust and spread her along the flames himself, a tribute of his own. “You know exactly what I want. And you know that your powers are not common knowledge, that there are few scrolls with your name in them. So you know how,” a pause, she was about to swear, “hard it was to even find someone who knew what would get your attention. But, this doesn’t concern you does it? The struggles of some mortal, some woman.” Get back on track, get back on track. “You know what I want. Who I want it done to. So, Alastor,” She whispered his name then, without her knowing her voice had risen, not to a shout but just short of it. That inner voice had gone silent, lost in the sea of her need, her hate. “What exactly can you do for me?”

[lindoig1]

North-west Scotland. Days 69 to 71

Tuesday. Day 69

It is just after noon and we have not long finished breakfast - eggs, bacon and baked beans with bread and butter. No toaster and the gas is so weak, it takes more than 15 minutes to boil enough water for a cuppa. Took ages to warm the eggs and bacon enough to eat, but they were delicious. It is so beautiful in Durness that we have decided to hole up in our mobile cubbyhouse for another day and just enjoy it. We snuggled in under the doona for an extra hour or so before the calls of nature could no longer be denied. It is very moody here with Scotch mist filling the air, almost enough to get wet if we stayed out in it. We had a little light rain overnight, but it is just delightfully grey and a tad dour today - but in a nice way. The clouds and cliff-enclosed bay below our hideout seems to accentuate the sound of the waves. It is really quite calm, but the sound of the low surf is funnelled up to us making it all quite exciting and emotional. Just lovely!

It is a good opportunity to write up about our cruise if I have time. We have already done some puzzles and plan to watch a DVD on our tiny machine that we brought from home, but hopefully, I will get to post something.

There is a lookout at one end of the bay and we walked out there before a late lunch and watched a few porpoises enjoying the water too. There was a mother and young and at least one other in the pod and they have been playing around just near us most of the day. We haven’t seen much wildlife apart from birds on this part of our trip so it was interesting to watch them. We saw one fin whale on the cruise, and one pathetic scrawny stoat, one otter and quite a lot of seals, but nothing else.

We had a drink at the pub in the late afternoon and tried to use their Wi-fi to log on. Logged on OK, but couldn’t even download email after that - yet another limitation of the PC. Also, I am having trouble with my iPad. It doesn’t display what I type. Miscellaneous characters appear, some don’t appear at all, some sequences repeat themselves over and over again. I am about at the limit of my patience with the available technology here.

It has been a lovely relaxing day, but I didn’t get any of our cruise written up.

Wednsday. Day 70

We drive about 120 km today, but made camp in a parking area overlooking the sea at Drumbeg, but we are probably less than 40 km from where we camped at Durness. We have been surrounded by grandeur and beauty all day, but have looked around exploring minor mini-minor roads and tracks. We went for a walk to the beach at a place way off the road (next to a cemetery) and ended up at a deserted pier down another dead end for lunch. There have been very few cars or people and it has been delightfully enjoyable, cruising along slowly and stopping from time to time to just enjoy the place. There are literally thousands of lochs here, from pond-sized freshwater lochs to 50km long sea lochs and we spent a wonderful half an hour or so at one waterlily covered one looking at many wonderful flower species. Not another car or person disturbed us and it was an idyllic short stop along a really wonderful day. I always imagined waterlilies to be tropical or semitropical plants, but we have seen many thousands of acres of them in Scotland. I suspect they may all be the same species because all the flowers are white and look the same.

The mountains are craggy, often rock faces, both smooth or broken, but others are smothered in heather or other plants, most of it not yet quite in flower. Having said that, there is plenty of colour around. There is very little blue, but heaps of yellow, white, pink and purple from a plethora of different flowers. Anywhere you stand, you are surrounded by at least 10 varieties of flower from pinhead sized to wild roses, thistles and waterlilies - but you wouldn’t stand in a frigid loch just to be surrounded by waterlilies.

There are thousand of kilometres of stone walls here, some mortared, others just drystone, but all picturesque. I have mentioned the old stone houses, but all the houses, old and new are very plain and symmetrical and either natural grey or whitewashed, with dark rooves, whether slate, tiled, shingle or occasionally thatched - and just an occasional rusty red iron shed roof full of holes.

During the last hour or so of the drive today, we were talking about having a pub meal, preferably fish and chips, when we stopped. When we set up at Drumbeg, it was a bit early to go to the pub so we sat and did things in the van, marvelling frequently and effusively about the view. Then we went down to the pub, only to be told there were no meals available that night. So it was baked beans and cocktail sausages, warmed up on the pathetic gas stove because there was no power available in the parking place. An early night of reading that night.

Thursday. Day 71

What can I say? We continued to cruise around the most stupendously awesome mountains, moors and lochs with every corner smacking us in the face with an unexpectedly beautiful valley, a quaint village, a rocky headland, a sandy beach, a picturesque estuary - or a combination of several such gob-smacking delights.

We called in to a few villages and stopped and started a few times, even stocked up on some more food and wine at a Tescos, but basically just moseyed along from one jaw-dropping view to the next. I think I have mentioned the narrow roads a few times and with 6 forward gears in our camper and so many hills and passing places where you have to stop or nearly stop every time another car, motorbike, cyclist or hiker confronts you, I reckon I have declutched and changed gears at least a million times or more in the last week. At least my left leg is getting some exercise - maybe that is why my knee is causing me a little pain! I think I am concentrating 80% on my driving and 20% on the drive a lot of the time so frequent stops and isolated roads give me the chance to see more detail in this beautiful place.

We saw a few deer at last, two on a hillside where we stopped to take in the view and Heather saw one near the road a bit later. We also had a really good look at a stag in a field less than 50 metres away. He was not at all bothered by us so we watched him for a while and took some pics.

We visited a lighthouse at the end of yet another finger of yet another scenic loop road and spent an hour walking around looking at the birds and flowers on the headland. I also had a walk around the ruins of a small castle along with 30or 40 other tourists, but never found out quite what it was. It was a listed historical monument, but with no information about what it had originally been.

We ended up at a van park near Ullapool, a bit bigger town where we did our shopping. The park was on the very edge of a long sea loch and it was interesting to watch 5he ebb and flow of the tide - and how the dunlins, plovers, oystercatchers, gulls, wagtails and sparrows used the tidal movements to refresh their larder. I thoroughly enjoyed watching the birds as the tide drew them closer to us as it came in and covered most of the rocks - and the dunlins were a first for us anyway.

[dazzledbybooks]

White Stag, the first book in a brutally stunning series by Kara Barbieri, involves a young girl who finds herself becoming more monster than human and must uncover dangerous truths about who she is and the place that has become her home. As the last child in a family of daughters, seventeen-year-old Janneke was raised to be the male heir. While her sisters were becoming wives and mothers, she was taught to hunt, track, and fight. On the day her village was burned to the ground, Janneke—as the only survivor—was taken captive by the malicious Lydian and eventually sent to work for his nephew Soren. Janneke’s survival in the court of merciless monsters has come at the cost of her connection to the human world. And when the Goblin King’s death ignites an ancient hunt for the next king, Soren senses an opportunity for her to finally fully accept the ways of the brutal Permafrost. But every action he takes to bring her deeper into his world only shows him that a little humanity isn’t bad—especially when it comes to those you care about. Through every battle they survive, Janneke’s loyalty to Soren deepens. After dangerous truths are revealed, Janneke must choose between holding on or letting go of her last connections to a world she no longer belongs to. She must make the right choice to save the only thing keeping both worlds from crumbling. White Stag By Kara Barbieri Published by Wednesday Books On Sale January 8, 2019 Hardcover | $18.99 ISBN: 9781250149589| Ebook ISBN: 9781250149596 From The Press: In an exciting collaboration with Wattpad, an online community for readers and writers to publish and enjoy each other’s work, Wednesday Books will be publishing WHITE STAG (Wednesday Books; January 8, 2019) by Kara Barbieri. Based in a dark and violent world, Janneke’s journey in the Permafrost is addicting and immersive. This expansive fantasy already has a strong online following. Thousands of fans immediately jumped on board when Barbieri first posted her story to Wattpad. Using their own Story DNA, Wattpad was able to see that readers were spending more time reading WHITE STAG than any of their other top fantasy works. Today, the story has over one million reads with Wednesday Books publishing a revised and expanded version in print. As the last child in a family of daughters, seventeen-year-old Janneke was raised to be the male heir. While her sisters were becoming wives and mothers, she was taught to hunt, track, and fight. On the day her village is burned to the ground, Janneke—as the only survivor—is taken captive by the malicious goblin Lydian and eventually sent to work for his nephew Soren. Janneke’s survival in the court of merciless monsters has come at the cost of her connection to the human world. And when the Goblin King’s death ignites an ancient hunt for the next king, Soren senses an opportunity for her to finally fully accept the ways of the brutal Permafrost. But every action he takes to bring her deeper into his world only shows him that a little humanity isn’t bad—especially when it comes to those you care about. Through every battle they survive, Janneke’s loyalty to Soren deepens even as she tries to fight her growing attraction to him. After dangerous truths are revealed, Janneke must choose between holding on or letting go of her last connections to a world she no longer belongs to. She must make the right choice to save the only thing keeping both worlds from crumbling. Based in a wintery world with a frosty cover, it’s the perfect book to get into for the coming winter season. As the launch of a captivating new series, WHITE STAG is all a reader could want in a fantasy—brave characters, vivid worlds, and smoldering romance. Barbieri says, “[Janneke’s] journey of forgiving herself, letting go, and finding strength inside her own self and her own scars mirrors mine.”  Her characters struggle with issues that are close to her own heart making the reader connect with the characters in unexpected ways.  "Janneke’s epic journey to overcome past horrors and seize her rightful place in the world is packed with equally gripping action and emotion. Readers will flock to this compelling debut." —Booklist, STARRED Review "A promising debut from a gifted young writer!" —Anna Todd, New York Times bestselling author of the After series Excerpt: WHITE STAG EXCERPT  1 MASQUERADE THE FIRST THING I learned as a hunter was how to hide. There was a skill in disappearing in the trees like the wind and merging into the river like stones; masquerading yourself as something you weren’t was what kept you alive in the end. Most humans didn’t think the masquerade was as important as the kill, and most humans ended up paying for it with their lifeblood. Here, as the only mortal in a hall of monsters, I was very glad that I was not most humans. I kept my steps silent and my back straight as I passed beneath the white marble pillars. My eyes flickered around me every so often, counting hallways, retracing my steps, so I could escape at a moment’s notice. The Erlking’s palace was treacherous, full of twists and turns, stairways that led into nowhere, and places where the hallways dropped to gaping chasms. According to Soren, there were also hollow spaces in the walls where you could slink around unnoticed to the mundane and the monstrous eye, but you could hear and see all that went on in the open world. The lair of a king, I thought bitterly. I dared not say it out loud in case someone was near. But beside me, Soren sensed my disgust and made a sound deep in his throat. It could’ve been agreement. Soren examined his king’s palace with the usual contempt; his cold, calculating eyes took in everything and betrayed nothing. His lips turned down in a frown that was almost etched permanently into his face. Sometimes I forgot he was capable of other expressions. He didn’t even smile when he was killing things; as far as goblins went, that was a symptom of chronic depression. He lifted his bored gaze at the gurgling, choking sound coming from his right, and it took all my willpower not to follow his line of sight. When I felt the subtle whoosh of power transfer from one body to the next, my fingers twitched to where I’d slung my bow, only to remember too late that it had been left at the entrance of the keep in accordance with ancient tradition. A scream echoed off the cavernous passageways as we made our way to the great hall where everyone gathered. It sent chills down my spine with its shrillness before it was abruptly cut off. Somehow, that made me shiver even more. Ancient tradition and custom aside, nothing could stop a goblin from killing you if that was what they desired. My hand reached for my nonexistent bow again, only to be captured by cold, pale fingers. Soren’s upper lip curled, but his voice was low and steady. “The next time you reach for a weapon that isn’t there might be the last time you have hands to reach with,” he warned. “A move like that will invite conflict.” I yanked myself away from his grip and suppressed the urge to wipe my hand on my tunic like a child wiping away cooties. “Force of habit.” Soren shook his head slightly before continuing on, his frown deepening with each step he took. “Don’t look so excited. Someone might get the wrong idea.” He raised a fine white eyebrow at me. “I don’t look excited. I’m scowling.” I bit back a sigh. “It’s sarcasm.” “I’ve told you before, I don’t understand it,” he said. “None of goblinkind understands sarcasm,” I said. “In another hundred years I’m going to lose my understanding completely.” Another hundred years. It hadn’t hit me yet, not until I said it out loud. Another hundred years. It had been a hundred years since my village was slaughtered, a hundred years as a thrall in Soren’s service. Well, ninety-nine years and eight months, anyway, but who’s counting? Despite the century passing by, I still looked the same as I had when I was forcefully brought into this cursed land. Or, at least, mostly; the scars on my chest hadn’t been there a hundred years ago, and the now-hollow spot where my right breast should have been burned. The four months when I’d belonged to another were not something I liked to think about. I still woke up screaming from nightmares about it. My throat went dry and I swallowed. Soren isn’t Lydian. “You look tense,” Soren said, breaking me out of my thoughts. I’d crossed my arms over my chest. Not good. A movement like that was a sign of weakness. It was obvious to everyone that I was the weakest being here, but showing it would do me no good. “I’m fine,” I said. “I just don’t like this place.” “Hmm,” Soren said, eyes flickering around the hall. “It does lack a certain touch.” “What does that even mean?” I asked. “The entire design of the palace is trite and overdone.” I blinked. “Okay, then.” By now we’d entered the great hall where the reception was held. Every hundred years, the goblins were required to visit the Erlking and swear their fealty. Of course, their loyalty only extended to him as long as he was the most powerful—goblins weren’t the type of creature to follow someone weaker than themselves. The palace, for what it was worth, was much grander than most other parts of the goblin domain. Soren’s manor was all wood, stone, and ice, permanently freezing. Nothing grew—I knew because I had tried multiple times to start a garden—but the roots never took to the Permafrost. Here, it was warm, though not warm enough that I couldn’t feel the aching chill deep in my bones. The walls were made of pure white marble with intricate designs far above what a goblin was capable of creating, and streaked with yellow and red gold like open veins. It was obviously made by humans. Goblinkind were incredible predators and hunters, gifted by the Permafrost itself, but like all creatures, they had their flaws. The inability to create anything that wasn’t used for destruction was one of the main reasons humankind were often stolen from their lands on raids and put to work in the Permafrost. Soren’s scowl deepened as we passed under a canopy of ice wrought to look like vines and flowers. “I feel like I need to vomit,” he said. I stopped in my tracks. “Really?” I swore, if I ended up having to clean up Soren’s vomit … He glanced at me, a playful light in his lilac eyes. “Sarcasm? Did I do it right?” “No.” I forced myself not to roll my eyes. “Sarcasm would be when you use irony to show your contempt.” “Irony?” He shook his head, his long white hair falling into his face. “Saying one thing when you mean the other, dramatically.” “This is beneath me,” he muttered. Then, even quieter, he said, “This place is in dire need of a redecoration.” “I’m not even entirely sure what to say to that.” With those words, he flashed me a wicked grin that said little and suggested much. I turned away, actually rolling my eyes this time. For a powerful goblin lord, Soren definitely had the ability to act utterly childish. It could be almost endearing at times. This, however, was not one of those times. In the hall, the gazes on the back of my neck were sharp as knives. I kept my head straight, trying my hardest not to pay attention to the wolfish faces of the other attendees. From a distance they could almost be mistaken for human. They varied in size and shape and the color of their skin, hair, and eyes much like humans did. But even so, there was a sharpness to their features, a wildness, that could never be mistaken for human. The figures dressed in hunting leathers, long and lean, would only seek to torment me if I paid them any attention. As the only human in the hall, I was a curiosity. After all, what self-respecting goblin would bring a thrall to an event as important as this? That could very easily get me killed, and I wasn’t planning on dying anytime soon. My hand almost twitched again, but I stopped it just in time, heeding Soren’s warning. We finally crossed the floor to where the Erlking sat. Like Soren’s, the Goblin King’s hair was long. But unlike Soren, whose hair was whiter than the snow, the Erlking’s hair was brown. Not my brown, the color of fallen leaves, underbrush, and dark cherry wood, but murky, muddy brown. It was the color of bog mud that sucks down both humans and animals alike and it somehow managed to make his yellow-toned skin even sallower. He was the strongest of all goblins, and I hated him for it. I also feared him—I was smart enough for that—but the fear was drowned out by the blood rushing in my ears as I locked eyes with Soren’s king. Soren turned to me. “Stay here.” His eyes turned hard, the glimmer of light leaving them. Whatever softness he had before drained away until what was left was the hard, cold killer he was known to be, and with it went the last shreds of warmth in his voice. “Until I tell you otherwise.” Subtly, he jerked his pointer finger at the ground in a wordless warning. I bowed my head. “Don’t take too long.” “I don’t plan to,” he said, more to himself than to me, before approaching the Erlking’s throne. He went to one knee. “My king.” I eyed Soren from underneath the curtain of my hair. His hands were clenched in fists at his sides. He must’ve sensed something from the Erlking, from the other goblins, something. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good. Cautiously, I directed my gaze to the Goblin King himself, aware that if I looked at him the wrong way, I might be inviting my own death. While the behavior and treatment of thralls varied widely among goblins, I had a feeling submissiveness was required for any human in the Erlking’s path. This close, the Erlking’s eyes were dark in his shriveled husk of skin and there was a tinge of sickness in the air as he breathed his raspy breaths. His eyes flickered up to meet mine and I bowed my head again. Don’t attract attention. Soren spat out the vows required of him in the old tongue of his kind, the words gravelly and thick. He paused every so often, like he was waiting for when he would be free to drive his hand through his king’s chest, continuing on with disappointment every time. The tension around the room grew heavier, pressing down on those gathered. Somehow, like dogs sniffing out blood, they all knew the king was weak. Beautiful she-goblins and terrifying goblin brutes were all standing there waiting until it was legal to kill him. Beside the weakened king’s throne, a white stag rested on a pile of rushes. Its eyes were closed, its breath slow. Its skin and antlers shone with youth, but the ancient power it leaked pressed heavy against my shoulders. That power was older than anything else in the world—maybe older than the world itself. Goblins were, before all things, hunters. Born to reap and not to sow. Cursed with pain upon doing any action that did not in some way fit into the power the Permafrost gave them, the goblins fittingly had the submission of the stag as the symbol of their king’s ultimate power. Until it runs. I didn’t want to think about what happened after that. Soren continued to say his vows. The guttural language was like ice shards to my ears, and I shuddered. Catching myself about to fidget, I dug my fingers into my thigh. Control yourself, Janneke, I thought. If they can do it, you can. A soft voice whispered in my ear, “Is that you, Janneka?” His breath tickled the back of my neck, and every muscle in my body immediately locked. Icy dread trickled down my spine, rooting me in place. Don’t pay attention to him. He’ll go away. “I know you can hear me, sweetling.” Yes, I could hear him, and the sound of his voice made me want to vomit. My mouth went dry. CREDIT: WHITE STAG by KARA BARBIERI Copyright © 2018 by the author and reprinted by permission of Wednesday Books. About the Author: Kara Barbieri is a writer living in the tiny town of Hayward, Wisconsin. An avid fantasy fan, she began writing White Stag at eighteen and posting it to Wattpad soon after under the name of ‘Pandean’. When she’s not writing, you can find her marathoning Buffy the Vampire Slayer, reviving gothic fashion, and jamming to synthpop.

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