#human hue... elysia!

[herrschicken]

@aevitium asked:

[JADE HEARTS] - If Elysia entertains the idea of fate, then she would consider the timeline of events just too perfect to be anything else. It starts with a little stall on her hunt for a gift, nestled in the warm lantern-glow of the harbor's streets. The hand written sign pinned to its front declares the purpose of its sole ware-- a profession of love. So she had, naturally, wasted not even a moment of hesitation in pocketing one. It would be the sweetest thing, she could picture it exactly in her mind's eye-- the look on her face as she realized, how she would be certain to keep such a gift with her everywhere she went for the next hundred or so of her lives, no matter how silly... What she perhaps had not accounted for, and thus paints such an encounter as fate, would be the very object of that affection walking right past her. Perfectly smoothed jade nestled in her hand, Elysia strikes. Free fingers catch on a wrist, laughter like silver bells in her throat. "Thought you could sneak past me on such a special day, hm~?" And that's when the teasing expression she wears stutters, the barest flicker of surprise for only the most trained of eyes to catch. What's the fun in doing things halfway? With a hum, and just a little bit of mischief in her smile, she presents the small heart in an open palm. "It is your birthday, isn't it?"

This is the fourteenth time Senti has struck out on a jade bet, but it feels like the forty-fourth. No matter what she tries, she just can’t get her hands on any. And sure, she could’ve just bought some off a vendor–there was one spot that sold jade accessories meant to be given to lovers–or even conjured up the ore herself. But it won’t be authentic that way. Nothing wrought by mortal hands has value to her. Instead, the prospect of earning her prize is what sets her head straight–what has her coming back, bumming mora off whoever she can. And, in the case of the romantic gift, wouldn’t it be sad to just buy one on her own? 

So whatever, she’s surfing the crowd, eyes peeled for opportunity wherever it may strike. If she has to do a few favors to get another chance, then so be it. But Elysia doesn’t demand that much of her–

It’s something worse, actually. Though that’s besides the point.

–she reaches for Senti’s attention. Or Hua’s attention, most probably. Because she knows what Elysia thinks they’ve done, but that sure as shit was not Senti at the helm. If she ever had any doubts of merely inheriting the old-timer’s memories, they’re gone now. Fizzled up like the last bit of carbonation from a drink gone flat. The way those two spent their time was negatively no-way not at all any bit Senti, not even one! Though there is… something… swirling in the back of each of the Herrscher’s eyes. A ghost of the past, reminiscent of feelings or opinions that she’s unsure are inherited, or just the product of swapping gazes with Elysia. 

Discreetly, she tugs on the chain connecting her to who Elysia thinks she is. Hurry! Get over here! Pick up the pace, old-timer! You get the idea. 

“Eheheh, guess there’s no escape from Pink Elf here.” 

She looks like a six-year old caught stealing from a candy store. Every bit of her body language is shifty, ready to bolt. But she holds up a guilty smile, a horrible lie. “O-Of course it is! Why wouldn’t it be? I’ve always had the same birthday, year after year. And I’ve lived many. Yes, mhm, so many. I’m very old now, y’see.” She might as well have said ‘I am Hua! Believe me!’ because even the way she chops up her dialogue sounds far-fetched. Right now, that six-year old is fumbling as she tries to come up with some excuse for how the candy ended up in her bag.

Her eyes then land on the item in Elysia’s hand. Seeing it as a change of topic (and forgetting that she is now actually stealing a gift meant for someone else) she swipes it. “For me, eh? Ahahahahahaha! You shouldn’t have! I have a great many riches now, and lots of chickens to show my vast wealth! But while you already have…” 

Black-painted nails tear at the wrapping. “This…” Senti sputters, remembering the loserish item she passed on buying for herself. Only now it’s not so loserish, receiving it from this lady. It’s something else entirely, “Th-This is… Y-you…!” 

As her fist quakes, her neck fails to hold back a tide of blood which rushes into her entire face. She hasn’t forgotten. Her memory is as sharp as Senti’s. 

That means she also remembers…

Oh no…

[taixuandream]

[CUT LOOSE] - Back then, before it all, there had seldom been time for these things. They met during a war and they met as soldiers, so caught up in everyone else's tomorrow that they could not spare much time for their own.

Elysia is humming softly as they walk, milling about the streets of a foreign city beneath the warm glow of streetlamps and stars. There is life here for all to see, laughter spilling out of every open door and cracked window. People from every walk of life share in this moment, not knowing what it means to two girls from a world beyond this one, who had once only dreamed of a reality like it.

Fu Hua is warm where Ego clings to her arm, fingers laced together where they meet. It's silly-- so terribly silly, because playing at human is no longer a means of something greater to her-- how much it pleases her centuries-old heart to be ( for merely a moment ) just a cute girl on the arm of her partner.

They round a corner and the street spills out into a grand plaza so bright and teeming with life that it takes pale eyes a moment to adjust. At its very center is a group of musicians who pluck away at a song she has never heard before, but Elysia doesn't care.

Eager eyes turn to her phoenix, relinquishing her hold only so that she may find it once more in either of the other's hands. She's beaming, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she tugs Fu Hua just that much closer.

"Dance with me, little bird?" Her head tilts. "Just for a minute, please~"

The past was paved in hardship. One that meant growing up too quickly and forgetting about any innocence previously had. Yet in moving so quickly, it made these moments feel surreal. Like the clouds overhead simply rolled too slowly, or the subtle gusts of wind blew too gently.

Simplicity was truly worth the wait.

As blue darkens, decorated by gentle hues of orange and pink, radiating from the false sun above sets the tone. Setting over the waters of Fontaine, the lights of the street shine on, with stringed orbs creating a coziness in the coolness of the eve. These were the days Fu Hua found at St. Freya, the days that she found with new friends, the days that could never belong with sins of the past.

A glance over the other girl, arm fastening closer to her own body, securing familiar arms between. Questions, doubts, the desire to confirm happiness, they all melt away. The answer is obvious.

Yet the goes, as she always does. Fleeting, just to find purchase in the palms of Vicissitude. Such a look, many would yearn for. Yet she finds admiration interlaced in every facet of her being. Admiration that envelops doubtful eyes. Though unfamiliar, the song is upbeat, quick and demanding.

The Phoenix would step forward. "Of course, Elysia. For as long as you desire." A hand escapes, only to find her hip. Her other extends out, stepping in tune and circling as any other couple may. Warm giggles escape, eyes shutting as Elysia would find the lead handed over to her.

A shame this moment could not last forever.

[taixuandream]

Eyes follow those pastel oceans, waves of pink hues watching doves toy with each other. She finds Elysia's words to be of comfort, a soft blanket that had been felt only once since the last they spoke. Even if there is no answer, it is better than what had been before.

"The Elysian Realm..." Eyes slowly trace brickwork down the wall, following some crevice until the walls verge into floor. Digits curling beneath knuckles, thoughts of whether the others are attainable... no, that's too hopeful. Some ghosts would never be within reach. Perhaps just this one is enough.

A glance up as Elysia looks to her, quick to find a smile, albeit meekly, in the face of divinity. "Yeah, I am too..." a hand sliding closer, thumb caressing over silky skin, so close to humanities own yet just shy. Even in one touch, the Phoenix found that to be the most human thing conceivable.

It should not surprise Vicissitude that Elysia could recall the new Herrscher of Origin. Yet still, it does linger. Mei having potentially met her thousands of years ago, that is a terrifying thought. She may know who Fu Hua once was better than herself. Something oddly terrifying and nerve-wracking about that.

"Mmm. You'll have to tell me more about Mei. You sound familiar." A dulcet grin, one that would've been cause for cheer if worn by the soldier of old. "Mind telling me more? It sounds like you're familiar." A shoulder jostles against Elysia, eyes narrowing with some intrigue as to what Elysia knows of her old (very new in comparison) friend.

✧ ˖ — for all is not lost

solstice ... cathedral (happy pride month)

[famwhy]

I've found myself in a hole of sagau recently so here's my idea thrown into the mix.

An imposter au where the Reader is immediately able to fight back because they have their Honkai Impact 3rd characters, who could recognise them at first glance, with them.

Finding yourself trapped in the sagau imposter au would be a troubling situation for anyone. Well, anyone but you, that is.

See, the thing is, you were not only an avid player of Genshin Impact; but one of Honkai Impact 3rd too. In fact, you started playing Honkai way before Genshin came out. You were already at the max level for Honkai, unlike Genshin. What, with your captain level resting at level 88 as opposed to your adventure rank 57.

You spent more time on Honkai than you ever did on Genshin. Even your unbuilt Honkai characters could reach the damage levels your Xiao reached because of Honkai's insane damage scaling.

So even if in this world, your genshin characters forgot who you were, you knew for sure your girls had your back. They definitely remembered their captain that they would personally greet on the bridge every time you logged in.

So no, you weren't worried about the sagau imposter au.

In fact, to say you weren't worried would be a total understatement.

"Kanchō!" Kiana's, the Herrscher of Flamescion, determined hues landed on your form as she thrusted the arm of a familiar bard roughly in front of her. "Would you like us to eliminate them for daring to lay a hand on you?"

"Tut tut tut~." Elysia, the Herrscher of Human Ego, playfully smiled - although the dangerous glint in her eyes gave away her true feelings instantly. "How could they not recognise the cute, unforgettable face of our kanchō? Of course, not as cute as me~."

In her hands was the mighty geo archon himself, Zhongli.

Mei, the Herrscher of Thunder, threw her almost identical look-alike to the ground not long after. "This... 'archon' takes on my physical appearance but she is far weaker to me by comparison. Both in physical and mental fortitude."

As your Valkyries glared down at the inferior characters, said characters held their head down in shame. Not from the bitter taste of defeat, no, but rather from the feeling of disappointment in themselves for not recognising you as immediately as your other-world acolytes.

"We are deeply sorry, great creator." Zhongli's deep voice resonated through the area. "Had we known the other was a fake, we would have-."

"Ah ah ah~." Elysia raised her hand, wagging her index finger from side to side with each word she had said. "No excuses. If you can't recognise our kanchō, you aren't good enough to worship our kanchō; let alone speak to them."

Venti was trembling, his lips jutted out as tears pricked the corner of his eyes, his thoughts a complete mess.

All of your followers were horrified, disgusted in themselves for worshipping a fake this whole time, questioning their previous action and regretting ever setting out for your head.

"To have raised a sword against Kanchō," Kiana piped up once more. "It's unforgivable."

Ah yes, what happened mere moments before, when you had just arrived at the first bit of civilisation you had seen since being isekai'd. At the time, you were alone, no Valkyries keeping you company.

You had just stepped foot into Inazuma when a bright flash of lightning briefly crossed your eyes, a purple sword ready to slice you in half appearing not long after.

You didn't even have the time to register fear - luckily enough, you didn't need to. The sword was halted before it could reach you, the familiar long locks of a Valkyrie you frequently played as blocking your vision from your attacker.

"Mei?" At your call, she tossed her head back. "Wha-? What are you doing in the Genshin Impact world?"

"Keeping you safe, kanchō." She answered before swiftly returning her gaze to the front of her, heaving against the other character's sword with such strength, they were knocked back several feet, losing balance and falling over completely. "You dare make an attempt at my kanchō's life?!"

As she leapt away to go fight the Raiden Shogun, an arrow shot through the air, aiming straight at your head.

You would have been none the wiser to it had it not been for-.

"Kiana?" The white locks held up in a high ponytail belonging to the main character of Honkai Impact 3rd appeared before you. "You too?"

"Shōsa would get mad at me if I ever let anything happen to you." She gave you a gentle smile as she held the great sword her teacher once wielded with a tight grip. "I also wouldn't be able to forgive myself if anything happened to you."

With that, she was off.

Okay, so that was two attacks in a row by two archons. Surely, the third one doesn't want to-.

"Calm down, kanchō~." A familiar playful voice reached your ears. "It's just me, you're quite jumpy right now, hm~?"

"Anyone would be after being attacked twice in a row, Elysia."

Her pink, crystal eyes shone with mirth as she gave you a little giggle. "Don't worry, the most beautiful girl ever, Elysia, will make sure not a harm lays on your head."

Your own eyes crinkled with amusement at her words. "Glad to hear that, oh-so-beautiful Elysia."

She looked ready to respond when, suddenly, her expression shifted and her eyes narrowed. She quickly tugged at your wrist, pulling you behind her before she took out her bow and shot it at an angle ahead of you.

"Sorry to cut this short, kanchō. Someone seems to want to be greedy and take my attention away from you! I'll be right back~!"

You pursed your lips as she, much like all your other Valkyries, left you in pursuit of your hitman.

Just what was going on here?

"The Bronya will get to the bottom of it." You jumped upon hearing the voice with a hint of a Russian accent to it.

"Ooh! Ooh! Me too! Me too!" Another, more childish, voice spoke up.

Two more of your Herrschers seemed to have joined you.

And that all led to this moment.

"Kanchō." The deadpan voice of Bronya, the Herrscher of Reason, drew all of your attentions to her. "We have located the imposter. The Bronya wants to ask kanchō about what would be a sufficient punishment for them."

After her statement, the Herrscher of Sentience came in, very roughly throwing what looked to be like a clone of you, at your feet. "Yatta! That was so easy!"

The imposter shook with fear, their eyes trailing up slowly to meet with your cold gaze.

"So you're the one parading around as me, huh? Hmm, let's see, what would be a sufficient punishment for you?"

Kanchō is the Japanese word used to refer to the captain of a warship.

Shōsa is like lieutenant commander or major in Japanese. Kiana is talking about Himeko when she says shōsa.

I made this cuz when Genshin turns against you, at least Honkai will have your back 😌

[zorkaya-moved]

when her amber hues met with the woman's liquid gold, eden felt chills running down her spine. the eternal winter in belobog was one thing, but standing face to face with this ... person, was something completely different. it was like confronting the core of coldest winter and ice, that sort of intimidation from the half-empty melting gold meeting her own. the trailblazer felt her whole body freeze up, from ... innate instinct ? even the stellaron inside of her was quiet. it reminded her of when the aeon cast their gaze upon her. or even more than that ? chills ran down her spine as her lips finally parted, and the words were barely above a whisper.

" what ... are you ... ? " not who, what.

@lunaetis

Child bound by Fate, do you have the courage to meet face-to-face to the one who contributed to the human race's extinction? Even if this one's awakening was the only reason for the deaths of countless, she still belonged to those Sovereigns who were sent to end humanity, to 'embrace' it and crush it against their ribs. Destruction personified, the erasure of humanity and its progress to let them start a new cycle. The concept of Fate was erased from her land, letting the people decide their own stories, but in this world? It seemed Elysia's sacrifice did not reach out to this universe. Or did it, and Elio witnessed thousands while Aponia only witnessed one road? No matter. The Heroes (Flamechasers) were long gone, and so was the Genius (MEI). Before Eden stood a being that survived and overwhelmed the Herrscher personality, the Will of Honkai did not break her yet left eternal scars upon her psyche and body. 

I am Ice. I am Stagnation. I am Silence. I am Death. I am a Sovereign. 

Welt Yang and Himeko allowed to step on the Astral Express before the trio returned. Pom Pom was just as scared, but calmed down upon learning she was a friendly figure, an ally. Quite lucky. The Anti-Entropy's leader and she spoke extensively about each other's presence in this world, so far away from home. Possibly, never to return to their origin. However, Eden was now standing alone before the Herrscher of Ice whose presence would make the strongest warriors in the world, where both she and Welt came from, tremble.

"What am I?" Her gaze of gold meets the very similar one... and she smiles softly, letting out a soft exhale. There is no hostility in her presence or her movements, but it seems that not keeping her presence repressed causes someone with a Stellaron within her to act and to fear. Not the first time she sees such fear in one's eyes, but it reminds her of old times. Zarina wonders if Eden can be called a human, but it doesn't matter. What matters is her inquiry. 

Zarina stepped closer, her walk confident and royal, but it's slow and laid-back as if even if someone tried to escape she'll still find them. An Apex Predator, her energy as a Herrscher will always be considered more aggressive and against humanity, but she wouldn't let that to happen. Not again. Too many lives were already lost, Sokolova was no longer the broken woman she was before. Too much experience behind her back made her an ancient being. They said that even humans could become Aeons, so what was she now? It didn't matter either. 

What she was? It's simple...

"A friend," she answers as she stops right in front of the Stellaron's vessel. Eden reminds her of someone, but she doesn't remember the name or the face anymore. Only a familiar sensation of someone looking at her in fear yet not moving away. "Not an enemy. Breathe out, Eden. Such fear is unwarranted. If I was a danger to you or anyone on this train, I wouldn't have been allowed to remain." Zarina's words are melodic and followed with a velvety tone as if she's never been a human, to begin with. Dan Heng's words to March about living past a certain threshold make one lose humanity. "As for what I am in a sense that brings such shock into your body... Ask Welt Yang if he wishes for me to share that information with you. I am a seeker, Eden, attempting to regain even the smallest crumb of my humanity back."

[randomactuallywrites-57]

The Great Elysian Bakeoff

Title: The Great Elysian Bakeoff Author: randomwriter57 Rating: G Word Count: 7,293 Event + Prompt: @sormikweek day six - Anger/Humour (Thunder) Notes: because of today's prompts, i tried to make this a comedy fic. i hope you guys enjoy it!

Summary: Sorey extends a hand to Mikleo. “Good luck.” Mikleo returns the gesture, bumping their wrists together instead of shaking hands. “May the best chef win.”

Also on: AO3

“Ahhhh!”

Leaning back on his hands, Sorey lets out a satisfied sound, revelling in the feeling of a warm summer’s evening and a full stomach. The grassy fields of Lakehaven Heights sway in the breeze, and an expanse of colour opens above them as the sky slowly turns from blue into a soft pink hue, the beginnings of sunset appearing. The leftover scent of cake batter mingles with the smell of fresh grass. It makes him want another serving.

“That was delicious,” he says.

From the other side of the small campfire they’ve set up, Lailah smiles warmly. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. It’s been a while since I last made chiffon cake, so it’s good to see it came out well.”

“It’s really good,” Mikleo chips in. He prods his own slice of cake with his fork as he speaks. “The texture, the flavour - I don’t think I’ve tasted better chiffon cake before.”

“Seriously,” Rose adds, “we should sell these along with Mikleo’s ice cream! We’d make a fortune.”

Lailah gives a soft laugh as Mikleo narrows his eyes at her. They’ve had this conversation before, back when Mikleo first made fruit parfaits for everyone after Rose and Dezel joined their party. Sorey remembers how long that argument had lasted, with Rose trying and failing to convince Mikleo to market his parfaits, and Mikleo insisting that she shouldn’t try to sell the food he put all of his feelings into making.

Well, as long as Sorey has the chance to eat it, he doesn’t really mind. Mikleo’s ice cream and Lailah’s cakes both are a wonder to behold.

Before they can argue about it again, Sorey decides to speak up. “Putting that aside, don’t you think everyone’s really starting to improve with their cooking?”

Mikleo scoffs. “Speak for yourself. When it came to sweet treats, you could only make piles of black stuff when we first left Elysia.”

Sorey frowns. “You say that like you’ve never messed up when cooking! I don’t know how you make a fake snack, but somehow you’ve managed it a few times, now.”

“That only happened a couple of times! Besides, I hardly make mistakes in cooking, especially compared to you.”

“When it comes to cool sweets, sure, but if we let you near a fire-”

“Just because you can cook meat doesn’t mean you have the delicacy needed for baking-”

“Maybe I do, and you just haven’t seen it-”

“Oh? Then I’d like to see you try-”

Sorey stands up. “Fine! It’s a match, then! Let’s see who can make the best cake.”

Mikleo also stands, meeting him eye to eye with his shoulders squared. “You’re on.”

It’s as they stand in silence, challenging each other, that they remember their companions.

Edna is the first to break the silence, tapping her umbrella against the grass. “So are we hosting a cooking competition now?”

“That’s a great idea,” Rose says. “We should market it and sell tickets!”

“No one would be able to see Mikleo,” Dezel says, finally speaking. “It would be pointless.”

“Then we’ll only invite seraphim!”

This strikes Sorey with an idea, and he turns to the others. “Actually, could we do this in Elysia? That way we’ll have our own kitchens to prepare the food in.”

“You want everyone in the village to see your grand failure?” Mikleo teases. “Fine by me. We’ve not been home in a while, anyway.”

Lailah claps her hands together. “It’s settled, then! Let’s gather the ingredients before we head to Elysia. That way everything will be ready for the final showdown.”

Even though it strikes Sorey as a tad ridiculous that their argument has spawned a full-on cooking competition, he can’t say he’s not looking forward to it. After all, there’s nothing like wiping the smug smile off of Mikleo’s face with an undeniable victory.

Thus, their most recent competition begins.

Needless to say, when Sorey and the others arrive in Elysia with their arms filled with bags of baking ingredients, they get a few stares of curiosity from the seraphim who come to greet them. Once they explain the situation to them, though, the seraphim become far more invested in this competition than Sorey expected them to be.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen either of them make a cake in their lives,” he overhears Myrna saying to Lailah at one point. “It’ll be interesting to see how well they turn out!”

“My money’s on Mikleo,” Ed says, joining in with the conversation. “He’s always been better at cool sweets.”

When they catch Sorey listening, they only give him knowing smiles. He can’t find it in himself to really be annoyed with them, since they’re not wrong.

Despite the apparent low expectations, he is serious about this competition. Baked sweets are the one niche which neither of them have explored much in their cooking, but he’s sure he can make a delicious cake to impress even the stubborn Mikleo. Besides, there’s more of a chance of Mikleo burning it than of Sorey doing so. He already has a head start.

They take a couple of days in preparation to choose their ingredients and find the perfect recipes for their cakes, to save time on the day of their competition. In that time, Sorey and Mikleo barely see each other, less out of choice and more because the seraphim keep them busy, talking about their preparation and giving them tips and tricks. For the likes of Myrna and Medea, it makes sense, but for seraphim like Ed and Shiron, Sorey is sure they’re only getting involved because they have a bet going. He probably has Rose to thank for that.

Neither of them see each other until the night before their match. Sorey, unable to sleep, heads out into the night, making his way towards the cliff edge where he and Mikleo tended to relax at times like this, before they left Elysia. There’s already a head of white hair there, looking out onto the horizon.

Mikleo hears him coming. “You’re up late,” he says.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Sorey says, sitting down beside him. “Same with you?”

“Yeah.”

A calm breeze brushes through their hair. It’s times like this when Sorey feels most nostalgic, sitting in his pyjamas with Mikleo, without needing to worry about the state of the world below. Even if this will only last a short amount of time, he can’t say he’s not grateful for the distraction.

“Are you worried I’m gonna kick your butt tomorrow?” Sorey teases, nudging Mikleo with his elbow.

Mikleo only smirks, meeting Sorey’s nudge with one of his own.  “No way. We both know I’ll be taking the victory this time.”

They return to their relaxed positions. Though the temptation to start a tickle fight is all too real, Sorey only remembers how scared Mikleo had been that one time when they’d almost rolled off the edge of the cliff. Probably best not to relive that particular experience.

As Sorey reclines, his hand finds the edge of Mikleo's in the grass, and he leaves it there, their fingers barely brushing.

“Maybe I should start thinking of a forfeit for when you lose,” Sorey says.

“Or maybe you should start worrying about your own forfeit,” Mikleo replies. “I’ve got plenty of ideas.”

Sorey grins despite himself. It’s been too long since he and Mikleo have had this competitive banter, since they’ve been so busy purifying the malevolence and earning the spiritual powers. Even if he’s been lucky enough to have Mikleo at his side on this journey, this is something he’s missed, too.

“Don’t be too harsh, alright?” he says.

Mikleo presses his pinky finger against Sorey’s. “Don’t count on being given any mercy.”

They stay there a little longer, silent but enjoying each other’s company and the calm before the storm that is to come.

The next morning marks the day of their match.

They meet at dawn, with the wind blustering around them, wisping hair across their faces and their cloaks into the sky. A few feet apart, they stand at odds, eyes filled with determination. On each side behind them stand groups of seraphim (plus Rose), each having chosen which side to support. This way, everyone can watch whoever they’re supporting, since they’ll be using separate kitchens for the competition.

Sorey extends a hand to Mikleo. “Good luck.”

Mikleo returns the gesture, bumping their wrists together instead of shaking hands. “May the best chef win.”

Lailah, who is hosting the event, steps between them.

“Before we begin, I have an announcement to make,” she says, bringing both of their attentions to her.

“Huh? What is it?” Sorey asks.

Smiling with the air of someone who knows far more than them, she says, “We are implementing a surprise rule in your cooking challenge! As you both know, your task is to bake the perfect cake. However, last night, during dinner, we were talking to some of the residents of Elysia. They told us all about your childhood habits. It was really sweet.”

“Who would have guessed that Meebo had a rebellious streak a few years ago?” Edna’s mischievous smile makes Mikleo flinch in annoyance. “Rebelleo.”

“If this is in relation to when I ran away that one time-” Mikleo starts, but Lailah shushes him.

(Calling it a rebellion is a stretch, anyway. He’d hardly ran very far - only to spend the night in the Mt Mabinogio Ruins, after Gramps separated them into different houses. He’d gone alone, but Sorey found him an hour later, and spent the night with him until Mikleo finally caved, returning to Gramps to apologise for his behaviour. That doesn’t mean he didn’t break the rules a couple of times, but never so much as when they first met Alisha, when everything first began.)

“One of the stories they told us was about how you read a book one day about human customs,” Lailah continues. “It talked about birthdays.”

“Oh, I remember that!” Sorey says, turning to Mikleo. “You seemed down about the fact that I didn’t get to celebrate like other humans, and I felt sad because the seraphim didn’t seem to do it either.”

Mikleo nods. “Yeah. We gave everyone their own birthday, after finding out that they didn’t already have them.”

“And we always shared ours,” Sorey says. “You were so grumpy about that at first, but I thought it made sense.”

Lailah, looking pleased with their reactions, says, “Yes, that is what they told us about. And apparently, a certain seraph’s birthday is coming up.”

For a moment, Sorey and Mikleo freeze, racking their brains for the knowledge of whose birthday was coming up next. It’s difficult now that they’ve been gone for a while, since time passes by so quickly in the process of purification. Once the realisation strikes them, however, their faces move into identical expressions of mixed shock and horror.

“Gramps!”

Gramps’ birthday is always in the middle of summer, during the hottest period of the year. It’s the only time when the clouds beneath Elysia’s mountain seem to grow dark, and Gramps lights up the night sky with fascinating electric storms to clear the muggy heat. In the warmth of summer, they’d get everyone together to prepare a feast, filled with grilled meat and cool sweets and fresh fruit juice. Everyone would laugh and sing and celebrate together, and it was the one time of year where Gramps managed to be less strict towards the boys, ruffling their hair and going along with their antics, if only for a day.

A pang of guilt rushes through Sorey for having forgotten. It’s one thing to forget a friend’s birthday, but to forget the birthday of the one who raised him…

“We thought it would be good for you to try to create the perfect birthday cake for Sir Zenrus,” Lailah says. “Can you do it?”

Sorey exchanges a look with Mikleo, both apprehensive but willing to try. After all, they’d love nothing more than to make Gramps happy. If they can be here to celebrate his birthday, even after having left for the world of humans, they might as well throw in every effort to make it special.

“Of course we can,” Mikleo answers for them both.

Lailah smiles. “Alright. Your challenge is to create the perfect birthday cake for Sir Zenrus. You’ll be judged on flavour, texture, and appearance. And of course, you’ll only have so much time to do it, too.”

“We’ll be holding the birthday feast at sundown,” Kyme says from where he stands in the crowd. “That way most of us can prepare for it, whilst the others watch your competition.”

It’s nerve-wracking, to hear the stakes put so plainly. Sorey gulps.

“Now,” Lailah says, raising a hand. “Let the Great Elysian Bakeoff begin!”

The heat in the kitchen is stifling, and Sorry hasn’t even lit the fire yet.

He doesn’t know what to attribute it to: the summer sun, the pressure of competition, or the sheer amount of bodies lazing around his house, watching his process.

Okay, to be fair, there are only about ten seraphim in the house, but his house was only ever built for half that, at most. He didn’t even know his bed had the capacity to fit five people sitting in various positions. And yet, any time he glances over his shoulder at them, he’s proven wrong.

At least he doesn’t have to wait for the butter to reach room temperature.

He measures out a rough pound of butter on an old set of scales before transferring it to a bowl, along with a pound of sugar and flour. He cracks the eggs in a separate bowl, beating them before pouring some of the liquid into the batter. Then, he gets to mixing the ingredients.

Though Sorey likes baking well enough, he’s never been fond of the technicalities of it. Being bound to a recipe feels a little restrictive, so he’s always liked experimenting with his dishes. That’s probably why he ends up making black stuff all the time, though. In any case, it’s because of this that he ends up throwing in a teaspoon of lemon juice, once he’s mixed the rest of the ingredients together. He also adds some extra sugar, just to balance it out. It’s not so adventurous that it should ruin the cake for Gramps, but it gives him some freedom as well.

As he mixes the ingredients, Edna pops up at his side, watching him sceptically. “You look like you’re having fun.”

“I am,” Sorey tells her, keeping his eyes on the bowl even as he smiles in response. “Its been a while since Mikleo and I have had a competition like this. I’m enjoying it!”

“Even when it’s something as tedious as cake-making?”

Sorey shrugs. “I suggested it in the first place. Anyway, you talk as if you’re not interested in how it ends up.”

Edna turns away, tapping her umbrella on the floor. “I just need to make sure I didn’t waste my money, that’s all.”

“Wait, did you bet on me to win?!” Both the idea of Edna gambling over something like this, and the nature of who she put her money on, surprises him more than anything.

“I sure did,” she says, looking over to him again. “Meebo will probably burn everything. Faileo.”

Sorey laughs nervously. He supposes when it comes to elemental stereotypes, Mikleo has always been much better with cool sweets. Then again, there have been a couple of instances in their journey that he’s managed to make a perfect cake. He doesn’t point that out to Edna, though.

“I’ll try my best to win, then,” he says instead.

“You’d better,” Edna says, gripping the handle of her umbrella with a little more force.

He tries not to think about how painful the point of that umbrella will be between his ribs if he messes this up.

In his own house, Mikleo moves with the same cool composure with which he faces everything, save perhaps for Edna’s teasing. He sweeps ingredients into the bowl in perfect measures, mixing them with the kind of arm strength which might surprise those watching him if they hadn’t seen the force with which he uses his staff in battle. Everything comes together in a smooth, rich batter, flavoured with a touch of matcha, giving it the green tea flavour he and Gramps have always been so fond of.  Maybe it’s a dirty trick, but that's just the nature of the secret challenge they’ve been issued.

His house is smaller than Sorey's due to having been built later, and for the use of someone who rarely slept there, but it comfortably fits the group of people watching him. Then again, some of them are outside, taking in the sunshine, whilst those in his house have been instructed to stay away from the kitchen area whilst he’s baking. That’s probably why it feels spacious right now.

(He just hopes the others aren’t looking through his belongings. He’s picked up an embarrassing number of new books on this journey, some of which have nothing to do with history, and he doesn’t want to be the butt of any further jokes.)

Carefully, he pours the mixed batter into a rectangular cake pan. The slight green hue will die down during the baking process, so he tries not to worry about how unsatisfying it looks in the pan. Once that’s ready, he pops it into the wood-burning stove and relaxes.

That’s the hard part done with. Now, all he has to do is catch up with his dishes and make the glaze and decorations. It can’t be a birthday cake without looking special, after all.

As he’s washing the dishes, Rose comes over, sniffing the air with a hungry expression.

“Something smells good!” she says.

“Lets hope it tastes good too,” Mikleo replies. He uses an arte to evaporate the water dripping from the bowl in his hand, then returns it to its proper place in the cupboard.

“I’m sure it will, everything you make tastes amazing!” Rose’s expression becomes serious, and she lowers her voice. “Besides, I have a 1,000 gald bet riding on you winning this thing, so it’d better taste like the best cake on the planet.”

Mikleo gives her an exasperated expression. “I appreciate your support, but isn’t 1,000 gald a bit of a high bet?”

Rose shrugs. “That’s what Edna bet on Sorey, so I had to match her. The other seraphim here aren’t high rolling gamblers, you see.”

He doesn’t point out how all of their collective money ends up being spent on equipment fusion and food for all of them, no matter how much he wants to. She probably wouldn’t care that her bet means nothing when her money and Edna’s money are already essentially the same thing.

“Well, I’ll do my best to make sure you don’t go broke because of Edna, then.”

As he finishes the dishes and moves onto the glaze, Rose stays with him in the kitchen. For the most part, she keeps trying to convince him to sell his sweets, to which his answer is a consistent “No.” He’s beginning to tell her to leave when he smells something strange and pauses, halfway between a word.

“Do you smell that?” he asks.

Rose sniffs the air, grimacing. “It smells like after Lailah did that crucible of malevolence thingy.”

Turning around, Mikleo blanches.

“Oh no.”

Sorey pulls his cake out of the stove, using a towel to carry it over to the nearest clear surface. From what he can see, the cake looks beautiful. It’s perfectly browned, and already tested with a skewer to make sure it’s cooked through. He can’t wait to taste it.

Of course, he won’t be able to do that until after the competition. For now, he sets it aside to cool, with Edna watching beside him. She hasn’t moved since their earlier conversation, keeping Sorey amused with dry commentary and snarky remarks about Mikleo. It’s been nice, to have her company. It isn’t often that they get to hang out as just the two of them, after all.

“You left your stuff all over the counter,” Edna points out, not moving from her perch on one of the counters to help him.

“Oh, yeah.” Sorey moves over to start clearing away his used ingredients. Since he’s already made the glaze which will go over the cake, he doesn’t have much else to do. He moves to pick up the large bag of sugar, making sure to close it properly so it doesn’t go all over the place.

When he turns to face Edna, however, her face morphs into one of surprise, then quickly to amusement.

“What is it?” he asks.

“Humans sure are unobservant,” she says, a cryptic response to his question. She twirls her umbrella around idly.

Still, since she said it right after he picked up the sugar, Sorey can’t help the bad feeling which crawls up his spine.

He puts the sugar back down on the counter, surveying the bag. It’s only when he turns it around, however, that he notices the word neatly printed across the material: SALT.

Sorey freezes.

“Oh no.”

Out of the stove where Mikleo’s cake bakes comes a puff of black smoke, slowly gathering on his ceiling. He lets out a strangled cry, throwing his hands out to cast a water arte on the stove. It’s only once the fire is out that he realises his mistake.

With a pair of well-worn oven gloves, he pulls his charred, soaking cake out of the stove.

Rose watches on with an expression half pitiful, and half stifling laughter.

A couple of seraphim appear at the door, wearing concerned expressions, but they back away with good humoured smiles when they see Mikleo's agitation.

“This is because you distracted me!” Mikleo snaps when Rose's laughter becomes full blown. “What am I supposed to do now?!”

“You could always decorate it and try to make it look nice,” Rose says, her laugh lingering as she eyes the mess that was once Mikleo’s cake. “Probably won’t mask the taste, though.”

Mikleo puts the cake pan down on a nearby surface, glaring at it as though it’s the cake’s fault for burning to death. In his head, he runs through his options.

The cake is burnt through, not to mention sopping wet. Even if he extracted the water using his artes, it might remove some of the moisture from the cake, making it not only burnt but dry as a rock. It might even fall to pieces like ash as soon as he tries to remove it from the pan. There's no way he’s going to serve this to Gramps.

And yet, he only has enough ingredients left for a cake half the size of this one. He wouldn’t want to ask the other seraphim to borrow their ingredients, either – that would feel like even more of a loss.

But he doesn’t have any other options. If he wants to win this competition, he can’t give up now.

What is he supposed to do?

The front door creaks open, and Lailah pops her head through the gap, her eyes widening as she takes in the scene in front of her. “Oh dear, what happened here?”

“The competition heated up too quickly,” Rose jokes, still grinning.

Mikleo turns his gaze to the ground, listening as Lailah lets out an understanding “oh” and moves into the house, closing the door behind her. She heads over to where he stands and looks at the cake.

“It’s not too bad!” she says, wearing the falsest smile he’s ever seen from her. “It could be a new invention!”

“The cake is ruined, Lailah,” Mikleo points out, looking at her with a deadpan expression. “I don’t have enough to make another one unless it’s half the size.”

(In the background, Rose’s face falls, and she pulls out her coin purse, swearing under her breath.)

Lailah bites her lip, looking down at the ground. After a long moment, she looks up again.

“Why don’t you take a little break?” she asks. “Some fresh air might be good for your head. Maybe you’ll think of a new solution when you’re not stuck in such a hot kitchen.”

Though he very much doubts this feels too hot to Lailah - she didn’t even break a sweat during the fire trial, after all, and that was in a volcano - he has to agree. As a water seraph, his heat resistance has always been weak. Maybe the air will help.

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll take a break. But only for five minutes.”

“Of course,” Lailah says, holding the door open for him. “Let’s go, then!”

They head out of Mikleo's house. Once the mountain breeze hits his skin, he understands what Lailah meant; he takes a deep breath, and a wave of relief washes over him.

It might not be enough to really make him forget the situation, but it calms him nonetheless.

“It’s surprisingly lively, today,” Lailah says, her gaze falling on the seraphim setting up the decorations around the village. A couple of rocks make for tables which already hold the beginnings of a feast, plates of foods covered by cloths and a space especially for the main attraction – the cake.

Mikleo hopes Sorey's cake has gone better than his own.

A moment later, he scolds himself for thinking such things – he needs to stay determined, or else he’ll never have a chance of winning this competition.

Perhaps Lailah notices his frown, because she does not wait for him to respond before speaking again.

“Have your celebrations always been like this?”

Keeping his gaze on the blue skies, he hums. “At first, they were smaller, I think. We didn’t have as much experience in throwing parties. Over time, of course, this has become normal. I think everyone is putting in more effort because you guys are here, this time.”

He remembers the first birthday celebration they threw for Gramps. Incidentally, it had been the first birthday party they’d ever thrown for anyone, after their own shared birthday which had been organised as a surprise for them. All they’d had was a cake baked by Lawrence and a couple of flowers to give him as gifts. Gramps seemed to enjoy it regardless. He even let them off lightly on having picked the flowers from Cynthia’s garden without permission.

“It’s a lovely thing, to be able to celebrate the lives of those you care about.” Lailah says. “They must all truly enjoy this.”

“I think they do,” Mikleo agrees.

Walking once more, they take a quick stroll along the edge of the cliff, past the gate and back up the village summit. This way, they find themselves on track to Sorey’s house. Mikleo can only imagine the lively atmosphere inside of there.

“Would you like to visit him?” Lailah asks when she follows his gaze. “We can see how he’s doing.”

“Wouldn’t that be cheating? I’d be spying on my competitor,” Mikleo points out.

“Nonsense,” Lailah says. “It’s not spying if you’re just visiting.”

Though Mikleo isn’t sure how credible her excuse is, he goes along with her anyway.

When they open the door, a wave of heat smacks Mikleo in the face. For a moment, he wonders if Sorey forgot about his cake completely.

Only it seems that’s just the natural heat of a kitchen in the summer. Sorey’s cake sits on the counter on a plate, undecorated with a slice already cut off, though it lies unfinished beside the cake, like a broken limb. For a brief second he sees Sorey with his head in his hands, though he looks up upon hearing the door close.

“Mikleo, Lailah!” he says in greeting. He moves to stand in front of where his cake lies, blocking it from view. “What are you guys doing here?”

The wavering tone of his voice and the nervous, maybe even guilty smile on his lips are enough to tell Mikleo that something must have happened.

“Mikleo had some time to spare, so we thought we’d come to see how you’re doing!” Lailah says.

“Oh, right.” Sorey looks both taken aback and worried about her words. Almost like he doesn’t think he’ll have enough time to finish if Mikleo is already done.

Walking over to Sorey, Mikleo peers around him at the cake. Or at least, he tries to - Sorey shifts at the last second, frowning at him.

“Hey, no cheating,” Sorey says.

“I’m not cheating,” Mikleo replies. “I want to know what’s wrong.”

Sorey’s face pales. “Wrong? There’s nothing wrong-”

“Show me the cake.”

At first, Sorey stands his ground. Still, there’s nothing more corrosive than one of Mikleo’s glares, and he shifts, letting Mikleo past to look at the cake.

In all aspects, it looks innocent enough. In fact, Mikleo thinks this might be the best-looking cake he’s seen Sorey make. The outside is perfectly browned, and the cake itself looks light and fluffy. The only indication that something might be wrong, other than Sorey’s behaviour, is the lack of decoration and the broken off piece.

He turns his eyes to the counter, scanning for any evidence of something having gone wrong. All he sees is Edna on one of the other counters, twirling her umbrella and watching on with a smirk. Beside her sits a large bag of-

Oh.

Mikleo turns his gaze back to Sorey. “You used salt instead of sugar, didn’t you?”

“Maybe,” Sorey says, keeping his gaze away with a pout. A moment later he crumbles, letting his head fall. “Okay, yeah, I did. It’s an easy mistake to make though - the containers look exactly the same!”

“Yeah, except one says ‘salt’ in huge lettering.”

Lailah takes this moment to chip into the discussion. “Perhaps now wouldn’t be the best time to throw salt into a fresh wound, Mikleo.”

“It’d hurt just as much if you mistook it for sugar,” Edna adds from her perch.

Even though part of him feels victorious since he’s not the only one who messed up his cake, the rest of him feels bad for Sorey. They’d both been looking forward to this competition since it was proposed, and now everything has gone up in flames.

“Guys,” Sorey says mournfully. “I think I’ve lost this one. I don’t have enough ingredients for another cake this size - well, except for the sugar.”

“Neither do I,” Mikleo says. When Sorey gives him a questioning glance, he explains. “I accidentally left my cake in the stove too long, and when it caught fire, I doused it with my water artes.”

Sorey grimaces. “Charred and soaking cake? That sucks.”

“Oh, good,” Edna says. “I thought I’d lost my bet, but it looks like Meebo really did come through. Burntleo.”

“Knock it off,” Mikleo complains.

“This sucks,” Sorey says. “Now Gramps won’t have a birthday cake at all.”

For some reason, this hadn’t occurred to Mikleo before. Hearing it now gives him pause, and he feels his heart sink. “You’re right. What are we going to do? We don’t have enough time to get more ingredients; it would take a day just to get to the nearest human settlement, and they might not even have what we need.”

“We could make two smaller cakes, but that just seems…” Sorey trails off. His eyes light up a moment later. “Oh! I have an idea!”

“What is it?”

Sorey grins at Mikleo. “The competition is a bust - we’ve pretty much figured out how good we are at making cakes. You’re good at creativity and making the mixture, but you forget about the timing.”

“And you’re good with timing but you’re careless with the ingredients,” Mikleo adds. “But how will this solve anything?”

“Why don’t we just make a cake together?”

When the words come out of Sorey’s mouth, the answer seems obvious. They’ve both got half the ingredients they need. It would be easy enough to combine their resources and work together. And with Sorey being a Shepherd now, they even have a way of doing it so they won’t get in each other’s way.

Mikleo hates to say it, but it’s the perfect plan.

“Alright,” Mikleo says. “Let’s do it.”

“Does this mean the betting’s off?” Edna says to Lailah, her expression less annoyed than it should be for having just lost 1,000 gald. “Lame.”

“But everything has turned out in such an interesting way,” Lailah says, watching the boys with a smile. “Won’t it be fun to see where this goes?”

Edna shrugs. “I suppose.”

Bumping their wrists together, Sorey and Mikleo grin at each other before speaking in unison.

“Luzrov Rulay!”

They move around the kitchen like a river, flowing naturally between work stations. They measure out each ingredient in perfect quantities (with Mikleo making sure they definitely use sugar instead of salt, this time) and add them all into a large mixing bowl. Using their combined strength, they mix the ingredients, slowing moulding it into the perfect batter.

From the bedroom, their companions and a few of the Elysian seraphim watch on, amazed by this new method of making cake together.

“I don’t think this is what the armatus was created for,” Dezel grumps. He’s been in this kind of mood since Rose dragged him over to watch, making him stop being a loner and standing out on the cliff edge, as he’d been doing earlier.

“Maybe not, but somehow they’re actually doing it,” Rose says. “Besides, what do you expect from those two? They’re not exactly conventional folks.”

“They've always been like this,” Myrna says from where she sits nearby. “Even if they’re competing or bickering, if it means someone else will be made unhappy, they always resolve their differences and find a solution quickly. Even if their methods can be unconventional.”

Kyme laughs. “That’s right. They once argued over who should do which chores, and when I told them Gramps would be upset if they kept arguing and got nothing done, they started doing every chore together. They only ended up doing half of what needed to be done, but it stopped them from arguing.”

“In the end, their arguments made them unhappy more than anyone.”

Though the discussion is a serious one, and those watching Sorey and Mikleo can see the importance of this information pertaining to their friendship, it’s difficult to take them seriously when they’re wearing a pale blue apron over their armatus form clothing. At least it matches, in terms of colour, anyway.

With the batter mixed, the boys pour it into their baking tin. They share a sense of satisfaction when they put the cake into the stove, hopeful that this time, everything will turn out better than ever.

Despite expectations, they do not release the armatization just yet. They move on to do the dishes, using their shared artes to wash them, then evaporating the water just as easily afterward. By the time they put them away, the scent of a beautifully baked cake fills the kitchen. Putting on Sorey's oven gloves, they pull it out of the oven.

“It looks perfect,” Sorey says. “Let's test it with a skewer, though.”

The skewer comes out clean. Now, they put the cake aside to cool before getting to work on their topping. This time, the cake is a simple vanilla flavour, since they both ran out of their previous flavourings of choice. For the decoration, they whip up a vanilla buttercream icing to decorate it with, along with some summer berries they brought with them from Ladylake, where they bought their supplies.

(Actually, the strawberries came from a little farm on the way to Elysia. They’d all been surprised to see that some farmers had managed to keep their produce alive even in this Age of Chaos, and were wary that the farmer might be reluctant to part with any. On the contrary, he'd been glad to be of service to the Shepherd. Sorey made sure to pay him for the fruits, despite his insisting that he could have them for free.)

Primarily, Mikleo takes charge of the decorating. His stylistic sense has always been more composed than Sorey's, something which they used to argue over, though Sorey will now readily admit. Even if Mikleo makes cakes look beautiful, Sorey is faster at decorating them, or creating any artistic endeavour.

In the end, it’s no surprise that the cake looks amazing. They pick up the plate they transferred it onto before decorating it, then turn to their guests.

“It's done,” they say in unison.

Their small audience come closer, crowding around them to get a better look at the cake.

“It smells amazing,” Myrna says.

“The arrangement is beautiful,” Kyme says.

“You’ve done a marvellous job,” Lailah says. She looks just as proud as the Elysian seraphim, despite only having known the boys for a short time in comparison.

Edna pokes their side with her umbrella, though far more gently than she usually would. “Don’t just stand there, dummies. Take it outside.”

The front door of Sorey’s house opens, seemingly of its own accord, and they turn to see Dezel looking away, his frown softer than usual. They don’t thank him aloud, knowing that he’ll just say it wasn’t him, but they both felt the gentle breeze which passed them on the way to the door. There are no other wind seraphim in the house at the moment, besides. Instead, they shoot him a grateful expression before heading out the front door, their small entourage following them all the way.

It’s a short walk to where the feast has already been laid out, each dish covered to preserve its taste. In the centre of the table stands a cake stand, ready to hold Sorey and Mikleo’s prized creation. Very carefully, they place the cake onto the stand, the centrepiece to what looks to be a promising celebration.

“I’ll go get Gramps,” Kyme says before heading in the direction of the eldest seraph’s home.

In the meantime, Sorey and Mikleo finally release the armatization, now two separate entities once more. Sorey is the first to raise his arm for a wrist bump which Mikleo instinctively returns.

“Nice job, Mikleo,” Sorey says, grinning. “We actually made it.”

“I have to say, you did a good job on the cake itself,” Mikleo says. “The timing was perfect.”

“You’re the one who made it look amazing, though! If we’d still been competing, this would have to be your win.”

Mikleo frowns. “No, it would be yours. I still burned my own cake. Even if it looked good in the end, it wouldn’t taste good. Isn’t the point of food the quality of taste, not appearance?”

Sorey’s eyebrows furrow. “Maybe, but I’ve seen you make cake before, and they’ve turned out well enough. Even if my cakes taste good, they’re boring compared to yours.”

“I’m trying to give you your victory,” Mikleo says, his voice heating up a little in agitation. “Stop being humble!”

“I’m not going to accept a victory like that,” Sorey replies, also getting into the argument. “If we’re still having this argument, we’ll need to have another competition, with fairer conditions.”

“The conditions here were fair enough!”

“Maybe if we had less distractions-”

“We’re not having another competition over this, Sorey-”

“But how are we supposed to pick a winner if-”

A loud crack of thunder interrupts their argument.

Faces suddenly pale, they slowly turn to see Gramps a few feet away, with Kyme not far behind. His expression is unreadable, even to the boys who have learnt to search for the expression behind those thick eyebrows over their time of knowing them. They’re both inclined to think he must be angry, though.

The silence, perhaps, is the worst part. When Gramps doesn’t say anything for a long moment, they both brace themselves for the oncoming lecture they’re bound to receive. For what reason they’d be getting a lecture, neither could truly say, but they’ve probably done quite a few things that would make Gramps annoyed since they left Elysia.

Still, it’s not like this is their first time back since leaving. Gramps already knows that Sorey is the Shepherd now, and Mikleo a Sub Lord. They’ve already had the lecture for that, too.

Oh no. Did Gramps not want cake this year after all?!

“H-hi Gramps,” Sorey says, trying to smile through his teeth. “We’re back.”

When Gramps speak, his voice seems louder than the thunder he’d summoned.

“Arguing when in the presence of guests? Those aren’t the manners I raised you to have, are they?”

Sorey and Mikleo flinch. So it had been about their argument, after all. Quietly, they chorus an apology, hanging their heads.

“And what’s this I hear about misusing the Shepherd’s power for trivial matters?” Gramps says.

At this, Sorey raises his head. “It’s not trivial, Gramps!”

Mikleo also speaks up. “We just wanted to make the perfect cake, and this seemed like the easiest way of doing it.”

“Just because an idea is simple doesn’t mean it’s good,” Gramps points out. After a pause, he wears a small smile. “Besides, there’s no need to go to all that trouble for my sake.”

The boys hesitate only for a moment before rushing over to where he stands. They group together in a three-way hug, one which was far easier to manage when they were all the same height, close to ten years ago. Now Sorey and Mikleo have to almost kneel down to hug Gramps properly.

Still, it’s worth it. Gramps pats their heads in a caring nature, too used to their behaviour to truly be upset.

“Happy birthday, Gramps,” Sorey says into his shoulder, more emotional than he expected to be at this moment.

Mikleo repeats those words into his other shoulder, just as emotional.

Try as he might to be stern, Gramps still smiles as he responds. “Thank you, Sorey, Mikleo. Now, I hear you’ve made the perfect cake?”

They separate, smiles brightening even in the darkening evening, and their celebration begins.

“So who won the bet?”

Rose grimaces at Sorey’s words. “Did you have to bring that up?”

They’re all in Sorey’s house, late after the celebration has ended. Sorey and Mikleo sit on the floor near the fireplace, graciously allowing the girls to share the bed whilst Dezel lingers in a corner. It’s a cozy setting, one made warmer by their full stomachs and fond memories of the evening.

“Well, they both failed,” Edna says from where she lounges on the bed. “Shouldn’t we get our money back?”

“Actually, the bet’s still on,” a quiet voice says from the corner.

Everyone’s eyes shoot to Dezel, surprised at his contribution and even more surprised by the tiny smile on his face.

“Wait, you made a bet, Dezel?” Lailah asks. “Who did you bet on?”

“I bet that they’d both lose,” Dezel says, holding out a hand. “1,000 gald. Pay up.”

Sorey and Mikleo watch in shock and a little bit of offence as Rose and Edna give him the money they owe, both grumbling under their breaths as they do so.

Well, not every competition ends up as expected, but it’s the having fun that matters most. And Sorey can’t say he didn’t have a lot of fun, today.

He grins over at Mikleo. “Let’s make food like this together again, alright?”

Mikleo smiles with fond amusement. “Just so long as we don’t make a competition out of it again.”

They sit back together, feeling a sense of satisfaction as the day - and their cooking competition - comes to a close.

[divinaaquis]

Such beautiful & pristine wings. He can't help it as his fingertips lightly trail over those feathers, breath held in his chest. No matter how many times Mikleo would outstretch those wings & take to the sky, it was always breathtaking. It was always something Sorey admired so thoroughly.

And so his gaze is cast over his shoulder, where Sorey had been beginning to touch his wings, with a certain warmth. It’s gentle, and he knows that Sorey only does it because he’s so interested. The thought makes a laugh escape before he can stop it. They had eachother in Elysia for forever, but he was always so excited about his wings. It’s not like they were new, or anything. What an oddball, this one -  would he really fit with other humans? As pure as he was -

“You know that nothing has changed, right?”

Mikleo teases, giving them a good, quick flap, bringing a surge of air like a breeze toward them.  A little thing he tended to do to be a little bit of a show off, knowing Sorey’s fascination with them. feathers were a soft blue hue at the ends, and when they would detach, they would be given to Sorey for ‘good luck’, some dorky thing that they did since they were kids.

“Still the same old wings, Sorey.”

A reminder, though it really isn’t for that purpose. Just another little jab at Sorey. It was a little odd to have him staring for so long -

[quillerqueen]

Unwritten

Prompt 44 of @oqpromptparty​: Regina picks up the newest book by her favorite writer. Another best  seller that she can’t get enough of. What she doesn’t realize is that  the heroine from those books is inspired by her and the books were  written by her sweet, handsome but oh so shy (at least in RL) neighbor  Robin.

The package arrives around noon, delivered to the stables along with her afternoon charges all fitted out in their riding helmets and little boot Grace is among them, and baby Neal, who’s only just started to toddle but had been riding like a champ (with ample assistance, of course) for two weeks now. Rarely do Regina’s thoughts ever stray from the job she adores—but today is definitely one of those days.

 Another in a long line of Huntingdon’s masterpieces, Unwritten has all the trademark flair we’ve come to associate with him—yet in many ways it’s unlike any of his novels before. 10/10 would recommend!

 Fantastic—in all senses of the word!

 An epic battle played out in one remarkable woman’s heart. Huntingdon’s heroine is stunning in every way.

 Oh, she can’t wait to rip the paper off of this one, pour herself a glass of wine, and read through the night.

Only Regina ends up having to wait much longer than she’d like to crack the spine and leaf through crisp pages, because of course luck would have it she’s forgotten her damn keys at work.

 “Robin can help,” Henry pipes up as she huffs in frustration, and before she can stop him he’s knocking on number 107’s door. “Hey, Robin!”

 “Hello, Henry,” comes the neighbour’s raspy voice with its lilting accent and friendly smile. “Everything all right?”

 “We’re locked out. Can you help us get in?”

 “Somehow,” Robin chuckles, “I don’t think your mother would approve of my picking your lock.”

 “She certainly wouldn’t,” Regina quips, and only then does Robin poke his head into the hallway, his eyes widening at the sight of her. His grin freezes a bit, then his lips pull into an apologetic half-smirk. The scruff is back, she notices, and does it ever suit him. Regina clears her throat (and her wandering mind), readjusts her grip on the rustling package her neighbour’s bright blue gaze flickers to, and sighs in resignation. “At least not under normal circumstances.”

 Desperate times, after all, call for desperate measures.

 Elysia stretched before them, bathed in liquid gold sunshine painting the land in vivid hues as the drab blackness of Eva Quinn’s life lurked behind, shunned and rejected and stripped of its power.

 And the child was reborn—the light of her life, her little prince with claim to no kingdom but the entirety of her heart. He hadn’t come from her body, but she’d carried him swaddled and strapped to her chest through swathes of land, through blistering heat and crippling cold, dismissing all her aches only to soothe his, and braving the eternal night of Erebia with only a vague vision of some unknown but staggering light in the future she was fighting to build for the two of them. She’d left an entire life and part of her identity behind, a life only waiting to happen, and carried him here, where they could both be free.

 And the babe stirred in her arms, blinking his little eyes dazedly as a playful sunbeam tickled his chubby cheeks—and hers—for the very first time.

 They had reached their destination—and life was only just beginning.

 Regina clutches the book to her with one white-knuckled hand, her other gripping tightly the blanket Henry’s snuggled under, fast asleep with his comic long dropped from loose fingers, his solid warmth soothing where he’s cuddled into her side. She can’t look at him enough, her very own precious little prince—except she can barely see through the tears she hasn’t realised are rolling down her cheeks—and have been for a while judging by the state of the front of her pyjamas. Oh dear god.

 This heroine has hit a nerve. Several nerves, rather. Regina’s chest had squeezed when, driven by circumstances, centaur heiress Eva Quinn had given up her birth right and her hooves (and it should be cringe-worthy perhaps, this odd allusion to Ariel applied to a mythical humanoid-turned-human, but somehow Huntingdon’s managed to make it not so) in search for a better life. Yes, Regina’s chest had squeezed so hard she could barely breathe, scraps of memories of her equestrian career and its untimely end floating to the surface, old emotions flooding her. They no longer scratch and claw at her since she’d worked through them and made her peace with the course her life had taken, found happiness even. But they have a dull, bitter tang all the same, and likely always will. Rarely does she voice them, for rarely has she felt understood—except now, with this fictional kindred spirit, she does.

 And then there’s the wonder that is a child, a child not grown under your heart but in it, no less, and that’s another aspect of Eva Quinn that plucks at her heartstrings—something she has evidence of, she thinks, sniffling and shaking her head as she decides against changing her pyjamas so that she doesn’t wake her dozing son.

It is past midnight after all—an hour for most reasonable working people to be asleep.

Regina fluffs her pillow, adjusts the lamp, and reads on.

 To say the book’s exceeded her wildest expectations would be an understatement. Her expectations meanwhile had been sky-high, what with each of her favourite author’s last dozen works topping the bestseller list and lingering there practically until his newest piece hit she shelves. And she loves them all; but Unwritten, she can already tell five chapters in, is just…special.

 It’s…fairytale-like. Unusually so for a Huntingdon, who despite his clearly positive outlook and fantastical medium enchants Regina by precisely his realism interspersed with sharp witticisms and clever satire—all while he manages to retain an astonishingly unshaken faith in humanity. She wants to scoff at that, the blind idealism—but it isn’t that, not really. He sees the flaws, describes them in vivid detail—and yet. She can only envy him. And thank him, perhaps, for inspiring her to keep her heart open and her guard, well, if not down then at least a bit lower than it would otherwise be.

 If only she could tell him face to face. But Robert Huntingdon is a mystery, a pseudonym whose true identity remains hidden from the public, whose only recourse is the author’s social media and fan mail address. Regina isn’t into either (thank goodness the ranch she works at has someone else to run their social media), and so the only time her enthusiasm bursts forth is when she recommends his books to friends (and, sometimes, strangers) left and right.

 Even, it turns out, to clearly busy neighbours at the most inopportune moments.

 “Morning, sister,” Leroy the postman greets in his usual morose manner as she shuts the door behind her in the morning, tapping his foot and holding up a large box of whatever it is Robin Locksley’s trying to haul over the threshold and into his apartment.

 “Thanks again for yesterday,” she peers inside, and Robin turns around to give her one of those grins that make her belly flutter.

 “Any time,” he shrugs, fidgeting with a tear in the corner of the package and effectually blocking it from sight as he leans against it.

 Regina finds that a bit—off-putting, to be honest, feels almost unwelcome by this odd distance between them as she hangs awkwardly in the doorway while he remains stationed inside by his monstrous delivery. She’d find him hostile if it weren’t for the smile playing around his lips and reaching those warm, crystal clear eyes.

 She waves the book around on impulse, itching to open it even though it had barely been two hours since she’d put it down to take a twenty-minute nap before she needed to wake Henry for school. She knows Robin likes to read, has had brief discussions of books with him before when they shared short elevator rides, so why not recommend him this treasure?

 “Have you started the latest Huntingdon yet?”

 “Oh—well…” he rubs the back of his neck, shifting in place. “I haven’t had the pleasure yet, no.” And then, with visibly increased interest: “How are you liking it?”

 Regina is just about to unleash her full enthusiasm on her poor, unsuspecting neighbour, when Henry yells at her to hurry up or they’re going to be late, and Robin escapes with just a gasp-turned-yawn and a quick wave as she races for the car.

 Slowly but surely, Regina resigns herself to becoming an absolute mess every time she immerses herself in Eva Quinn’s story. She forgets about her surroundings, developing limb stiffness and backaches from the variously convoluted positions she finds herself in, and for the first time in her life arrives to work fifteen minutes late because for a moment she’s forgotten there’s a job she needs to get to. The only reason she even cooks that night is Henry, but after she burns her trademark lasagna by some miracle (not really—she was sneaking peeks at the pages again, dammit, and didn’t event hear the timer go off), they end up ordering in anyway.

 The world, so the teachings went, was split into two great realms, eternal night and permanent light, with no third land for those caught in between.

 If the world was indeed black and white, Eva Quinn was clearly evil.

 Everything she touched turned to dust and ashes. It was like she carried a taint, and whichever way she offered a helping hand, whosoever’s life she touched, that taint would spread to them like the plague. Despite her best efforts, regardless of her intent, darkness followed her.

 Perhaps her mother had been right all along. Perhaps, borne of darkness, Eva Quinn was darkness incarnate—and how could she escape herself? Flee from a fate inscribed in her very core, a personal night she carried around in her heart?

 She’s glad for the wine tonight, grateful for the slight prickle and burn of alcohol sloshing down her throat and into her belly.

Regina doesn’t hate herself. She can say that now, finally. But she also knows all the darkest corners of the lonely, convoluted labyrinth that is self-loathing. It took years of therapy to heal the damage inflicted by her own mother, and oh how broken, how unworthy she’d once felt. And still those dark thoughts, those patterns of self-hate do still rear their ugly head sometimes. They may never quite go away, having been so deeply ingrained in her—but on most days she can handle them now.

 Eva Quinn isn’t there yet. She doesn’t see, even rationally, that the path of destruction she believes she leaves behind is invisible to everyone else in Elysia, dwarven kingdom of purest hearts. She doesn’t see the fruit of her labours in the cloud of smoke rising from the blazing trail of ashes she supposedly leaves behind. She’s appalled then astonished to receive summons to the royal palace for recognition; remain sceptical of her own worth even as Bianca Neve’s court applauds and cheers the newly knighted champion of the righteous and true. Disgusted by the concept of preordained roles to be fulfilled in life rampant in both kingdoms, Eva channels her energy into establishing a new colony, Ephemera, for those who wish to break out of the confines of their prescribed fate.

Regina spots the flaw in her plan immediately, knows she’s doomed to failure looking for happiness outside rather than inside before it even happens, and caresses the inked pages as if she could somehow bestow even a bit of gentleness, understanding and compassion, through the paper. If only she could shake Eva Quinn by the shoulders, if only to pull her into a rib-crushing hug—and she grins. It’s such a Mary Margaret thought to have, one Regina would have absolutely detested being on the receiving end of once upon a time. Things change though. People change.

Eva Quinn—Regina has to believe this—is also going to get there. Next chapter, or the one after, or perhaps the following one, her journey to self-acceptance must surely begin. And Regina will be there every step of the way.

 The good news is, Eva Quinn’s journey does begin a number of chapters later, and Regina is indeed very much there—even though it’s at three in the morning. 

The bad news is, this book is going to be the death of her.

She doesn’t sleep. The nap she intends to take during her lunch break turns into another reading session, intense enough that she drops the fork halfway through her kale salad, food and sleep all but forgotten.

Food and sleep all but forgotten, Eva Quinn rode through forests and plains, through mountains and dales, through desert and storm, to the castle shrouded in a darkness thicker and more suffocating than it’d ever been. All for the sake of a sickbed. For a few words, whispered and slurred, into her ear as she kissed her father’s cheek and sprinkled it with tears. Perhaps if she’d come sooner, or had never left in the first place, he’d—but no. She couldn’t have stopped the inevitable. Her father smiled, a bright, childlike thing in the absolute simplicity of his happiness, and how did she have the power to bestow so much joy upon anyone?

There’s a light in your heart, darling, he told her and seemed to literally beam at the thought, there’s always been light—and now it’s strong, like the heart you carry it within.

Her shrivelled heart, filled with enough magic to sweeten a dying man’s last hours? Large enough to smuggle some of Elysia’s sunshine into the land of forever new moon? Could it be?

Eva Quinn couldn’t comprehend.

Yet as her father breathed his last breath, his words were ones of pride, and love, and absolution of past wrongdoings in exchange for the promise to allow herself happiness.

Papi had been gone for years. Ten, to be exact—the entire span of Henry’s life. Oh how proud he had been, how moved to hold his namesake, his precious grandson, for the first—and last—time when the adoption had been completed.

Regina cries for him tonight, cries for all the time they weren’t given together, then cries over all the time they had been gifted as she thumbs through albums filled with memories of her childhood and youth.

No one had loved her quite like him, or sacrificed so much for her happiness, even if he’d failed to protect her from his heartless wife.

The last chapter looms before Regina as she breaks open another box of Kleenex. Already she’s overtaken by that unique sense of loss experienced in the wake of a brilliant book. She doesn’t even begrudge Robert Huntingdon for turning her into an undignified sobbing mess on the regular, because few other experiences in her life have been so utterly—freeing.

Cathartic.

Change is incremental, and balance comes from within. As people from all corners of the world begin to embrace the good and bad in themselves, the sun and the moon shine for everyone again. The border between the kingdoms of light and dark is gone, and her son will grow up in a better world.

Eva Quinn’s heart has never been stronger.

Regina is left staring at the page. She’s barely breathed through the last few pages, but now her chest expands and she feels light, refreshed and almost weightless despite the alarming lack of sleep lately.

She’s still processing, still reflecting when the doorbell rings.

Startled, she shoots a glance at the neon display of the microwave. There’s enough daylight that she doesn’t need it though, and sure enough, it says 08:15 am.

Oh, shit.

“Robin, I’m so sorry,” she stammers out as soon as she yanks the door open. “I completely lost track of time—”

“Regina, what happened?” His voice is laced with worry, alarm etched into his frowning face. “Are you all right? Henry?”

It takes a good while for his meaning to sink in, and when it does, Regina is mortified. He’s standing there all gorgeous in a blue button-down shirt while she’s still wearing her work clothes from the day before, and the lack of make up will have those glorious bags under her eyes she’s developed in the past few days on full display. Her hair’s dishevelled, tear streaks running down her cheeks, eyes puffy from lack of sleep and excessive crying. Oh god, what a sight she must be.

“W—he’s fine. We’re both fine. Henry’s still asleep—shocking for a Saturday morning—but I’m sure he’ll be up the moment he hears Roland’s over.”

“Are you quite sure? Apologies, but you look like you haven’t slept a wink. And the flu’s been making the rounds of late—”

“It’s not the flu,” she says, then chuckles at the absurdity of it all. “I’m not sick. Just silly. I blame Huntingdon, actually.”

“I…see.” Robin draws back at that, a grave look settling on his features instead of the shared laugh she expected to garner from her joke. Instead, she gets a guilt-ridden: “I’m sorry.”

“For what? Unless you’re secretly him, you’ve nothing to apologise for.”

Her teasing only has him withdraw further, and that’s not like him at all.

“What gave me away?”

Is he—is he joking? But either he’s developed an impenetrable poker face in the last five seconds, or—he’s being serious.

“Oh my god,” Regina breathes. This cannot be.

“You’re mad,” says Robin, and it could be an accusation or a denial, but he delivers it instead as a n apology. “I quite understand, I shouldn’t have—should’ve been more discreet—”

It is then that it truly hits her.

“Eva Quinn is—is she—?”

“Inspired by you, yes. I never intended any harm. Truth be told, I never planned for you to find out. Although part of me thought you might—maybe even hoped that you’d see yourself the way I—the way others see you. Anyway, no one knows—nor will they ever, I promise you that.”

He’s rambling, churning out words like he expects her to cut him off any second now and possibly never speak a word to him again.

Regina has a temper—but she doesn’t exactly feel the urge to burn him down with its force.

“Robin, I’m not angry with you.” Funnily enough, it’s true. Is this how starstruck feels? “I’m just—this can’t be real. You’re my favourite author.”

“Present tense?” he asks hopefully, and she rolls her eyes at him dramatically, pleased to see his whole body relax.

“Are you in the book? As a character, I mean?”

“Ah, self-inserts,” Robin plays along with the theatrics, mischief in his eyes. “A blemish on everyone’s literary resume. So of course I went there. Not a primary character in Eva’s life—just a guest appearance here and there.”

“Oh. You’re—you’re Tobin Wood.”

Yes, Tobin Wood, friend for a rainy day, popping up here and there at different times of Eva’s life, always with a word of encouragement to spare and never asking for anything in return. He’s not ever on Eva’s radar as a romantic match, and with that knowledge, despite his own secret pining, he never vies for her affections. Regina found this refreshing, and healthy unlike many such occurrence in the realms of fiction and reality both.

She’s not sure where this sudden, indistinct pang of disappointment is coming from now.

“You did miss one thing after all,” Regina mutters before she realises she might be giving away a bit too much. Or perhaps not—if Tobin has a crush on Eva, perhaps this means Robin has one on Regina, too? He stares at her expectantly, his brow creased, and her mind feels sluggish as she stares back into all that startling blue. “About me and,” she clears her throat, “well, your heroine.”

The truth is, he did an incredible piece of work, and the effort he put in makes her feel all manner of things. Scraps of information, brief exchanges, subtle, cryptic hints at her life casually shared and forgotten—from these he assembled the puzzle, and the picture is startlingly accurate and at the same time somehow more stunning than she ever saw it—saw herself—for.

Robin rubs the back of his neck, trying to stifle the flush creeping up it. He cocks his head and regards her for a bit. Much to her surprise, his answer carries not a hint of bashfulness.

 “Perhaps,” he admits, “but I daresay I’ve captured the essence. Strong and tenacious, no matter what life throws at you. Passionate about what you believe in—and a fiery temper to match. Blunt and guarded and kind, and fiercely devoted to those you love. A sarcastic dreamer. A brilliant instructor—and a wonderful mother.”“Is that really how you see me?” she whispers, blinking back tears that are definitely a sign of exhaustion rather than simply of the impact of his words.

 “Yes,” he says softly. In response to her watery smile, he adds a smirk of his own. “And an avid reader, apparently.”

 Regina chuckles, and just like that, the prickle in her eyes stops.

 “Especially when it comes to Hunti— When it comes to your books.” Dear god, this man, Robin Locksley, her very handsome, very shy for some unfathomable reason, neighbour, is in fact also Robert Huntingdon, the author she looks up to and whose works have meant so much to her—and his latest success is inspired by none other than her. By Regina Mills, currently awkwardly leaning against the door close enough to said man that she gets a whiff of that delicious cologne that’s all fragrant pine and the crunch of leaves under hiking shoes. And he seems just as stunned, just as pleased by the latest revelations as she is. “I—thank you. This is the most unique, wonderful compliment I’ve ever received.”

“Not creepy?”

“No,” she laughs, because it really isn’t. He’s never not respectful when describing Eva Quinn, or any of his characters, really—be it their thoughts or their appearance. It’s something she likes about his writing—the utter lack of gross objectification or blatant sexism all too rampant in literature and life at large, the care and maturity his characters are crafted with instead. “Not creepy at all.”

“Oh thank goodness,” he exhales with a self-deprecating, apologetic little grin. His lips fascinate her, and he seems emboldened when he catches her staring. “Regina—” He reaches for her, then seems to think better of it and thrusts his hands into his pockets. She wishes he hadn’t. “Not to sound presumptuous, but would you like to—”

“Papa? Papa!” Roland sprints across the hallway and comes to a halt between the two of them. “Regina! Can we go now? I can’t wait to ride Foxy again!”

Robin chuckles, throwing Regina an apologetic look as he sweeps Roland into his arms.

“In a moment, my boy. Let’s give Regina and Henry just a few more minutes to get ready, and then I’ll drive us all to the ranch, how about that?”

And that’s not their usual routine, but he’s probably reached the conclusion she shouldn’t drive in her degree of sleep-deprivation—and he’s certainly not wrong. Regina musses Roland’s wild curls—he’s cute as a button, and she can’t be mad at him no matter what, including this particular interruption. But she’s frustrated, and clearly so is Robin. He was about to ask her out, she just knows it, and damn if she doesn’t stomp out every last bit of doubt he might still have about her interest in him.

“Robin?” she calls after him. “You still owe me that drink you were gonna ask me out for—perhaps after dinner?”

His smile is absolutely radiant, and the way it pulls into a smirk makes her heart—and not only that—flutter.

“I suppose I do.”

And that, they’re both soon to find out, is only the start.

Not because it’s written; but because in the end, the hand penning your story is your own.

[aeidein-blog]

☆  starter  for  @athenistics​  ☆

Many  a  time  -   and  oft   -   Mother  Leto  lulled  one  child-Artemis  to  sleep  with  her  beautiful  and  colorful hymns.   She’d sing of the mortal realm,  and this lore forever etched itself upon the little goddess’ heart.  Humans, Artemis had learned,   were fragile creatures with delicate hearts but stubborn spirits.   They’re thorny like the roses that  PRICK,  but then,   they’d  expire  like the rose  DISTILLED,   plucked  for selfish  gain  by the  hands  of the gluttonous and egotistical gods of ELYSIA.  Cursed be her distant sister,  banished from the god-realm.  Her home, now,   lies  beneath  the   celestial.     And  the    immortals   of  Elysia  are  too  blinded  by  their  luxury   to  ever     see         it      necessary       to         visit        the           Earth        below. But   JUST   and   fair is she who oversees the Hunt.   Adventure,   as well,   is enough   cause for her   to leave   behind her  sanctuary  and explore  the ways of the   mortal society.   Henceforth,   the strawberry-haired  Huntress fashions  herself in  human attire.     With divine knowledge  and a  keen sense of smell,   she navigates the bustling streets,   losing  herself  into  the  outskirts  of town where large  houses  scatter  across  the foothills.   It does not take  too   long  for  her   to  make  her  approach  before  one  large   estate.            Nimble  fingers  curl  together.   She     raps      her       knuckles     on       the     mahogany   surface   of     the     door. ❝ Athena   ?    ❞       carols  the  nymph-like goddess.    Curiosity   shines    through    jade-emerald   hues.      ❝   You     are     home,   yes   ?   ❞

[somefinelipstickonthatpig]

I don't know if you still accept drabble prompts or not, but...how about Sorey trying to keep it together but finally breaking down after his awakening, taking in Gramps' death and everything else that overloaded him during his time as Shepherd, and Mikleo comforting him the best he can?

Krissey’s Notes: ohhhhh my gosh okay I’m sorry this took so long. When I first got this prompt, the idea was so good, that I knew I wanted to take my time with it.

but this prompt also gave me the opportunity to slip in a lot of my personal headcanons about Sorey’s reaction to waking up again, particularly in a sudden new world and all that?? so really this prompt was perfect and thank you so much for giving it

WITHOUT MUCH FURTHER A DO HERE ComES THE ANGST!!

The tears don’t come until the night, when the sun passesand the world falls quiet, settling down its weary self for slumber.

Sorey can hear nothing else but the deep breathing of Mikleoat his back with the tranquility of Elysia just outside their hut door. It isa sound he has always, always known, which alone brings a strange comfort sojuxtaposed from the rest of the new world around him.

Listening, straining his ear for every inhale and exhale ofhis bedmate, he rolls onto his back. His hands fold over hisstomach. But then, eventually, his fingers find a way to his chest.

That’s where it usually begins, too. No matter how hard hepresses, he can never find a pulse.

It is usually one thing such as that, that sets off thetears. And whatever begins it, other regrets and sorrows soon follow,compounded by the heavy grief inside him. It surprises Sorey every time that he could feelso, so sad.

He wonders sometimes if this is why humans who becomeseraphim usually and mercifully don’t retain their memories.

Sometimes Sorey gets really selfishly sad about missing outon certain parts of being human that he had, quite honestly, been lookingforward to. There is a certain joy to living and growing in the way he knewthat he knows he will miss, and that he’s sorry to never get toexperience.

Sometimes Sorey thinks of Gramps, and cries anew withmemories and sorrow that he was gone. It has been years since his passing—too many to count. But what would hit him the most would be the reminder that even though Zenrus had been a father to him, he still missed thefuneral rites the seraphim of Elysia performed for him. He had slept throughthe entire ceremony, whenever they would have decided to do it. He never got tosay his proper goodbyes.

Sometimes Sorey turns over further to touch the length ofMikleo’s hair, to see if he could measure with his own fingertips just how long it had been since he saw him—justhow long it was that he had slept—and just how much time he had missed out on. Sometimes, that hurt the most:  to see with real manifest evidence how muchof his other half’s life he had slept through.

And sometimes, when the grief is heaviest, he wonders howmany times Mikleo cried while he was asleep, with pain equally so heavy andawful, that Sorey will likely never know about. How many times, while he wasasleep, was Mikleo afraid? How many times did Mikleo feel lonely?

Mikleo had to grieve Gramps’ passing alone, Sorey knew.

Sometimes, that regret alone made him sob until he couldn’tbreathe, fingers pressed over his eyes and clutching to his temple. Face hiddenin the night.

There were many times Sorey found himself sobbing silentapologies, gasping them into the air, fingers shaking, so utterly sorry for abandoning the light of his life when Mikleo had already losteverything else only moments beforethat final fight. Sometimes, Sorey felt like he had made the most horrible andselfish mistake to sleep the years away instead of find another way to achievetheir dream—together.

The grief came regularly each night in Elysia as Sorey foundit harder and harder to sleep with a body that no longer required rest. Themore hours he spent staring into the darkness with his thoughts as his onlycompany, tormented by memories of a five-hundred-years-ago yesterday that therest of the world had long forgotten about—that Mikleo might have forgotten about—he felt out of place. He felt astranger to his own home, to his own skin.

But above all, he knows he has made the gravest error ofall:  he abandoned the one person mostimportant to him, most likely when Mikleo needed him most.

“Sorey?”

Sorey turns from where he stands at the cliff’s edge, aprecipice along the southern skirts of Elysia that he remembers fondly fromtheir journey together. His loose button-up flutters in the wind as he seesMikleo walking towards him. The water seraph’s long hair is pulled back in aponytail. When the wind lifts it up, it frames his pale, moonglow face likewings, and Sorey thinks how pure of heart Mikleo must be, that he managed tosurvive all he did and still stand before him wholly untainted.

Even after five hundred years.

Sorey turns back around to view the world beneath. In thebreak of dawn, the world is quiet and crisp. The sun has only just begun tocreep over the horizon, and the sky yields to its burning hues of red and gold.

“...what are you doing out here?” Mikleo says slowly as hereaches his side.

Sorey can feel the burn of his eyes on his profile, and hedoesn’t know what to say. He blinks once and bows his head. His eyes fall uponthe way his fingers clutch at the cuffs of his blue sleeves.

Mikleo continues after a long pause. “Sorey?” And when hestill doesn’t answer, the water seraph drops his voice. Maybe he knows. “Areyou…okay?”

Sorey shakes his head.

Mikleo exhales; it’s a careful breath, but in part relieved.“Bad dream?”

Sorey shakes his head again. But then his face tightens. Hefrowns carefully, and considers whether or not his answer is true.

Mikleo waits, as patiently as ever.

And it makes Sorey suck in a sharp breath.

Like the sun shining its rays down on their sorry worldbelow, even in the world above the world, Sorey realizes that he’s been makingMikleo wait for more time than they had ever even spent together. And all atonce, he thinks how selfish he must be for doing that to him, for turningaround and when the waiting period was over, expecting Mikleo to just pick himback up and accept him back into his life like nothing had happened. Likeall those years didn’t make a difference; like things didn’t change after allthat time. Feelings didn’t change; concerns didn’t change.

Like a waterfall, follows the thought:  no more.

“I can’t believe you didn’t just—forget about me,” is the first thing he can think of to say andit’s nonsensical. Mikleo seems as surprised as him that it came from his ownmouth but now that it’s there, from it, spouts so much more.

“Y’know, I didn’t dream while I slept,” Sorey says and heshakes his head. “I closed my eyes and I opened them and then suddenly, the worldwas different.” He looks to Mikleo,and his eyes take in how much older helooks, how much taller he is. Thelength of his hair. Sorey looks away, back out over the edge. He shakes hishead, and the wind picks up his bangs.

He hates the way his breathing starts to get short.

Mikleo’s eyes go wide, and Sorey can’t conceive why.“Sorey…is…that what’s bothering you?”

Sorey just shakes his head, and chokes on his next words.“No!” he first says, and it’s stronger than he meant it to be. He can feel hisown throat go hoarse at the single word. He clenches his hands into fists. Heshakes his head again. “Yes? I—I don’t know. I just—I didn’t think it would belike this. I really didn’t.”

Mikleo stares at him. There’s a beat before he asks, just asquiet as he has been, “Didn’t think…‘it’ would be like what?”

“I didn’t think…” Sorey pauses. It’s hard to get the wordsout. But he says them anyway; Mikleo deserves closure and deserves release fromthe obligation he’s subconsciously held him to—all in the same breath. “…I didn’tthink I’d wake up to a world where I didn’t fitanymore. Y’know?”

The words go out through a tight, strangled throat. Sorey standsthere a moment more as the tension in his face gets harder and harder and hecan’t hold the tears back. He raises his arm to cover his mouth and the firstfragile ones break free.

When he next speaks, his voice is muffled, “I can’t sleepanymore.” He shakes his head, swallows and lets his arm fall to his side. Theworld starts to become hard to see. The tears distort his vision. “I know I don’thave to anymore, but…even if I could.I think I wouldn’t. I think I’m afraid to. I think if I sleep, I won’t wake upagain. Or—when I do wake up—I’ll wake up and the world’s different again—” –and you’redifferent again— “—and I’m afraid this time there won’t be anything I recognize.”

This time there willbe no one there in that uncertain future who still loves me.

Mikleo doesn’t say a word, but he listens. He stands thereon the precipice with Sorey, his expression hard to read.

“I lost…everything, Mikleo—evenwho I am—and I didn’t think thatwould happen.” He had thought so few things when he first accepted theresponsibility of being Maotelus’ vessel.

He should have thought more.

Sorey’s hands turns into a first and he sniffs. The tearscome faster now, and his voice turns shaky. “I’m not human anymore. I’m not the Shepherdanymore. I don’t know what I’m here foranymore. I don’t know why Maotelus brought me back as a seraph. I don’t knowwhy he let me keep my memories. I don’t—” –and perhaps this was the part he wasmost afraid of— “—I don’t even know if I’m still your best friend anymore, or if you still love me, because it’s been half of a millennia—and I don’t know what to d-do if—if I’m not—”

Mikleo’s hand touches his arm, and turns Sorey around toface him. “What do you mean you don’tknow if I still love you?” he asks, like it’s obvious.

And it flows out of Sorey; he could stop the tide if hetried. “I wasn’t there, Mikleo…! Forfive hundred years I slept, and I left you aloneright after Gramps died!”

He lets that sit in a hanging, awful silence, before it alltumbles forth, with a sudden fire and ringing pain that wasn’t there before.“Right after your mother died again—andthen me—” It’s a hard sob that breaks free. “I don’t know how you don’t hate me. I wonder if you do. I wonderwhy you don’t. I tossed the responsibility of the world on your shoulders when I decided to sleep, and I left you alone for—for forever, and I’m sorry! Iwasn’t there for you! I missed so much of your life—I missed countless birthdays—Imissed Rose and Alisha dying—I missed—!”

His throat gets too tight to talk, and he barely gets out,“I missed everything! I’m so sorry!”before he shakes too hard he can’t say another word.

Sorey sobs.

It’s unlike any other cry he can remember in his human life.It feels supremely inhuman, the wayhe feels like he’s crying from the depths of his soul and on out. He can’tremember crying this hard before, at a loss so deep and so grave and so sweeping.

But Mikleo doesn’t remove his hand from Sorey’s arm.

Instead, he pulls him closer. He wraps his arms aroundSorey.

And for the first time since waking up in this new andunfamiliar world, Sorey feels something like home.

“…I wasn’t alone, you know,” Mikleo whispers to him.

And Sorey clings to Mikleo, his arms wrapped tight aroundhis one anchor. He can’t form the words to respond back, but Mikleo continueson anyway, as if not expecting him to.

“When Gramps died? After the final fight?” He shakes hishead and Sorey can feel the soft movement of his chin against his shoulder. “Youdon’t have to feel like you abandoned me, because you didn’t, Sorey. Because of you and because of our journey together,I had friends who helped me afterwards to grieve him….and to grieve you. Rose, Alisha, Lailah, Zaveid—even Edna.”There’s a small rumble of a laugh in Mikleo’s chest. It’s so familiar, Soreyfeels more tears bubble to the surface. “They were there for me. And I wouldn’thave had them if it weren’t for you.”

Sorey shakes his head, but Mikleo doesn’t let him pull away.He tightens his hold, and he said again, “Yes.If you can believe it, I am gratefulfor you, and I don’t resent yourdecision, Sorey.”

He holds on for a moment longer, a beat of silence driftingbetween them, before he admits quietly, “I mean, yes, I was sad to not haveyou. Yes, I missed you.” Missed you so much that words cannot spanthe depths of that ache. “But I would never hold or have held that againstyou. Not in five hundred years. Not even in a million years.”

Sorey can feel Mikleo take his next breath, and he holds onto hear it. To feel it against his own chest. “You going to sleep was the onlyway to achieve what we’ve been dreaming about for all our lives up until thatpoint. And you know, maybe the reason you didn’t dream in all that time andmaybe the reason it’s so hard to sleep right now, Sorey, isn’t because you’reafraid to wake up. Maybe it’s because now, you have nothing to dream for.”

Mikleo loosens his hold and pulls back. Sorey looks up,lifting his head and tear-stained cheeks.

And Mikleo’s gentle smile that greets him is like the sun.

“…gosh, there’s so much more I want to tell you,” Mikleoconfesses to him, and he raises his hands from Sorey’s back to his face, tocradle the lines of his jaw with his own palms. His thumbs wipe away Sorey’stears.

Sorey sniffs. He raises a hand to cover one of Mikleo’s own,holding it to his cheek. Hope kindles in his chest at those words, a soft andlight-winged burn. Something to dream for, huh? “…y-yeah…?”

Mikleo’s smile widens. “Yeah,” he breathes back. “After all,it’s…all I’ve been dreaming about forthe past five hundred years. Talking to you again. Sharing space with youagain. Having the other half of me back.”

Sorey sucks in a sharp breath at those words. “…yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Sorey swallows hard. Despite all that Mikleo has said so far, despite all the promise of more that Mikleo wants to share with him too, the Shepherd-turned-seraph finds himself asking, “You—you mean still—”

“—Sorey.” And the single, familiar, chiding call of his namemeans so much more than any other word could. “I never stopped.”

A shuddering, shaky breath. A wet, incredulous laugh.

Sorey brings his forehead to meet Mikleo’s own, the risensun warm on their faces and their backs. And ironically, it’s him who feels released. It’s Sorey whofeels finally free of guilt and worry and shame.

“Not even in five hundred years?” he asks, breathless withthe impossibility of it.

But Mikleo always could do the impossible. And he alwaysdid.

“Not even in a million,” Mikleo promises.

The kiss they share tastes of home.

[808lionfire]

Baby Blues

A Fairy Tail Fanfiction

Overview: Rated T for minor heat and some foul language. Modern!AU. Characters are in mid- to late-twenties. Fluff. The summary is low-key misleading. It sounds like there’s angst, but there really isn’t.

Pairing(s): Natsu/Lucy (Main), Implied Sting/Yukino, Implied Jellal/Erza, Implied Laxus/Mirajane, Natsu/Sting - Friendship, Sting/Lucy - Friendship, Implied Lucy/Yukino - Friendship. 

Summary: With all the kids his friends were popping out, he never really found the urge to have any of his own. That feeling, however, was long before knew how wrong it felt when his weirdo best friend approached him with a child (that looked a little too much like her, and both draped in baby blues) on her arm, and it wasn't his.

Word Count: 4,343

A/N: Cross posted on FanFiction.Net. Inspiration is fickle and I still have to update my other story but lmfao. I’ll get to that when schooling calms down... probably.

Baby Blues

Natsu Dragneel wiped the sweat from his forehead, a bright grin on his lips.

Excited shrieks of children laughing around him, a few grabby hands tugging at the hems of his shirt. He tried to pacify their eager calling, one of his hand lifted in surrender as he dropped the ball he was holding in the other. The toddlers around him scooted to the side when he gently shooed them away. With a falsely anticipated voice, he slowly counted to three before he lightly kicked the ball and chuckled when three different children gave chase.

The salmon-haired man gave an exhausted sigh and walked over to break them apart when the kids started to tumble with each other, the soccer ball ways away from their small tussle. He noted to apologize to Makarov the next time he saw the old man, only now realizing how much grey hairs they must've given him when they were brats.

"Natsu Dragneel?" A voice called teasingly from the other end of the grassy clearing. "Breaking up a fight, and not being the cause of it? Now I'm sure I've seen everything."

The man in question looked up from where he was holding the collars of two different shirts, the children struggling in his grip to get at each other despite the obvious difference in their and their captor's strengths. Natsu had readied a glare and a sharp retort for the speaker, only to stop when a familiar mop of blonde hair and a playful smirk on the other man's face registered in his mind.

Sting Eucliffe, always the confident individual, swaggered over to where Natsu was, hands in his pockets and a sort of tired tint to his face. Natsu grinned as he let released the two kids and stood up to greet the blonde with a clasp of their hands and a brief bro-hug.

"What're you doin' here?" Natsu asked once they separated. "I thought you guys were on the first flight back to Crocus."

"We were stubbornly invited," Sting answered with a chuckle, glancing at the children who quickly forgot about the two adults and their previous squabbling and started chasing after the ball again. "Lucy insisted that we at least stay for Juvia's baby shower before we left. I figure she just wants us and Hugo to enjoy all the doting before we set off."

"Oh?" The pinkette's smile dropped, his lips pressing into a thin line.

"Yeah," the blonde man nodded, "but by how excited she looked, you guys must have some sort of surprise for us."

Natsu sighed, one of his hands slipping into his pockets while the other pulled his scarf away from his mouth. "Luce really doesn't know how to keep a secret."

"So I was right?" Sting looked a little shocked but then burst out into laughter. "Oh, man! It's a good thing Yuki is pretty oblivious to that kind of stuff. I guess also it helps that she still hasn't gotten used to taking care of Hugo on the go. That kid is an absolute monster at night, seriously."

"You and Yukino made Lucy happy though," Natsu chuckled. "She was really upset when she couldn't make it to Hugo's birth."

"Yuki too," Sting sighed. "That's why as soon as we got the green light from the doc, we got on the next flight here. I don't think I've seen my wife or our child the entire time we were here. It took six months, but my little family finally feels complete with Fairy Tail backing us up."

"You can count on us for anything," Natsu promised with an easy grin. "If it wasn't for your job back in the capital, Luce would've pestered you guys to move to Magnolia."

"Please. You wouldn't have to pester us," the blonde man admitted with a laugh. "If I know my wife, the she wouldn't let Lucy question before jumping at the offer. Yukino knows how important taking over the guild is for me though, and it would be a difficult move with Hugo so young."

"Congrats, by the way," Natsu told him with a chuckle of his own, "for the job and for the baby. Yukino must be relieved that he's not as ugly as you."

Sting punched his arm. "Screw off, man. I'm beautiful."

The pinkette laughed and opened his mouth to say more but an exclamation of surprise stole his focus and his head whipped to attention. "Oi, Simon Louis Fernandez! Put that down!" Natsu shouted across the clearing to the scarlet-haired toddler. "Your mother is going to have my head if she finds out I let you eat dirt again!"

The child, Simon, froze from where his dirt covered hand was poised halfway to his mouth and stared at him rounded eyes. Natsu sternly folded his arms across his chest when the child refused to budge and gave him the well-practiced 'eye' that Lucy always gave him when they first met. Mere moments later, Simon relented with a sag of his shoulders and dropped the fist full of earth back to the ground.

"Jeez," Natsu sighed when the child started after the other children again. "These brats stir up trouble the second you take your eyes off of them."

"That's why Uncle Natsu is here," Sting drawled in the most patronizing tone he could muster and snickered when the pinkette shoved him. "Kids are exhausting, man, but so worth it," the blonde man yawned and stretched his arms over his head. "So?" He asked, "when are we going to see little Natsu spawns running around and causing havoc?"

Natsu snorted. "These spawns are enough," he admitted, gesturing to the group of three children in front of him. "Erza and Mira synced their pregnancies with Simon and Elysia, so it's not like havoc is really a shortage in Fairy Tail. Thankfully they behave... sorta, with Asuka around." Natsu scratched the back of his neck, "I don't know how Jellal and Laxus can put up with this all day."

"Guess it's just something you won't really understand until it happens," Sting shrugged.

"Probably," Natsu agreed, "but don't count on it."

Elysia's gleeful shriek cut Sting's response as the four-year old broke away from the small crowd of children. "An' Usy!"

There was a quieter, but equally gleeful response and Natsu looked for the light-haired child's sudden interest. He knew, of course, that 'An' Usy' meant 'Aunt Lucy' in the child's warbled speech. He knew that Lucy wouldn't cause any harm to the kids, but constant cautious experience for the little humans developed a habit to always check what had gotten the kids so excited. Just for safe keeping.

What he wasn't expecting, though, was the sudden glow surrounding her as she held a lightly bundled child in her arms, beaming brightly at the children that ran up to her. She knelt in front of the kids, moved her body so she could cast a shadow over the bundle, and shifted the baby in her arms so the other kids' curious eyes could peek inside. Natsu couldn't hear what was said, but the excitement radiating off of the children had been enough to guess.

"There's the light of my life!" Sting exclaimed when Lucy stood back up to make her way over, a trail of duckling-children following closely behind her.

The blonde woman laughed, shooting the man a teasing look. "I'm flattered, Sting, I really am. But I don't go for married men."

"Oh, har har, Lucy. You're hilarious," Sting mocked in amusement.

"The talent oozes," Lucy shot back haughtily as she stopped in front of them, her chocolate-brown eyes glowing happily. "Hey, Natsu?" She grinned, bringing the baby up to her face and pressing their cheeks together, "doesn't he look like me? If I were twenty-three and a half or so years younger, we could be twins."

Natsu raised his eyebrow at her, but couldn't help but agree. The baby inherited Sting's blonde hair, just a shade paler than Lucy's, and Yukino's dark brown eyes. It wasn't the first time he was struck by Hugo's eerily likeness to the blonde woman; however, it was the first time they were close enough to compare. If he was a stranger looking in, he could have mistaken Hugo for Lucy's son.

And that really didn't sit well with him.

The grin on the woman's face slid off her lips, a frown of concern replacing it. "Natsu?" Lucy asked warily, cradling Hugo back into her arms. "Are you alright?"

Natsu blinked at her, his eyes focusing onto her own. "Huh? Wha– yeah. Of course I am, you weirdo. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You had a strange look on your face," Lucy replied, years of knowing him tuned out the weirdo comment. "I can take over watching the kids if you need a break."

"Nah," Natsu replied, an easy grin slipping onto his face as he shoved both of his hands into his pockets. "It's almost time for lunch anyway, right?" Lucy nodded, still hesitant. "See? I got them, Luce. Don't worry about it."

"If you're sure," she mused, eyeing him for a moment before turning back to Hugo with a affectionate smile on her lips. "Alright, Hue, you wanna go back to daddy?" Lucy's smile grew when the baby's arms slid out from the blanket and wiggled his fingers in the air. "What about daddy, huh? You think daddy's ready to take you back?"

In reply, Sting held his hands out and wiggled his fingers, mimicking Hugo's actions. Lucy snickered before she carefully passed the baby to his father and gave a final farewell coo before removing her hands entirely. The blond man loosed the blankets around his son, letting the baby's hands curiously explore his face as he playfully nuzzled their noses together.

"Hey there, little light," the blonde man cooed to his son, a finger lifted to move the blanket away from the baby's face. "Did you miss daddy? Mommy must have been desperate if she gave you to Aunt Lucy of all people."

The golden-haired woman rolled her eyes, folding her arms across her chest. "Yukino wants you to change Hugo's diaper," she informed, a smirk on her lips when Sting's quickly dropped. "I couldn't really smell it through the blankets, but if your son is anything like you, it's a stinker."

The children that were waiting faithfully behind Lucy finally drew her attention with their giggles and she missed the scowl Sting sent her at the jab. Natsu, however, chuckled at the expression the other man was currently wearing and could only smile in amusement when the (grown) man started to complain to the bundled baby. The pinkette turned back to his best friend just in time to see the children trying to drag her to where they caught an earthworm nearly an hour before.

Knowing Lucy really wouldn't take as smoothly to the wiggling worm as he had, Natsu quickly jumped forward and caught the blonde's wrist in his hand. "Hey, guys?" He addressed the children, ignoring the curious look Lucy sent him, "I really don't think Aunt Lucy wants to see the worm you three caught earlier."

"Aw! Uncle Natsu!" Asuka complained, a pout in his direction. "You ruined the surprise!"

Lucy's eyes rounded, her mouth popping open slightly. "A-Ah, well. U-Uncle Natsu has a p-point. "

"But is really big!" Simon tried to reason, his eyes widening up at Lucy. "Really, really big!"

Natsu's eyes shot towards Lucy's face, knowing the blonde was the biggest sucker for their wide-eyed attacks. As he expected, the blonde's chocolate-brown orbs melted under the stare. It also didn't help that Elysia, the more reserved one of the three, had started to tug at her other hand and gave Lucy the pout that Mirajane had most likely taught her to use on Laxus.

He could feel Lucy's hand weaken under his fingers as she quickly turned and shot him a panicked look. Natsu, who surprisingly doesn't fare much better against the visual assault when it's directed towards him, just shrugged back helplessly. He had to hide his amused smile at the comical look of betrayal that shot across her face.

Taking pity on his best friend, Natsu sighed and tugged her under his arm, giving the children a wary look. "Maybe later, yeah?" He asked with a grin. "It's almost lunch time, so why don't we get all cleaned up before your moms skin me alive?"

"Natsu!" Lucy hissed under her breath, elbowing him in the side. "That is not something you tell children!"

Natsu snorted, keeping a close eye on the children as they jumped and squealed over each other to get to the campground first. "Please, Luce. They each saw me get my ass kicked at least twice this week."

Lucy set harsh eyes on him. "Don't encourage them then, you dolt!"

"It got them movin', didn't it?" He asked with a noncommittal shrug. "And 'sides, it wasn't like I was lyin'."

"Oh, whatever," the blonde woman huffed, ducking under his arm to address the quiet father behind them. "Yukino's expecting you," she told Sting with a defeated sigh. "Are you guys sure you can't move here? I'm going to miss this little guy."

Sting laughed at this. "We have responsibilities back home, Lucy, but the wife would definitely take you up on that offer."

"Yeah, I know," she huffed again, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her face. "That's why I didn't ask Yukino."

"Doesn't mean you can't visit us up in Crocus, though," Sting offered and then continued with a wink, cuddling his son closer. "Who knows? Maybe you might have started your own little spawn buy then."

"Right," Lucy snickered, leaning back to press herself against Natsu. The latter glaring at Sting before the words even fell from the man's lips. "I have enough of my hands full with this big baby," the blonde woman cooed, reaching up and playfully tapping the pinkette's cheek with her hand. "Isn't that right, Natsu?"

The man in question gave her a mocking smile. "I wonder who's takin' care of who, Luce," he returned, wrapping his arm around her again. "Wasn't it just last week when you was complaining that you were just too sick to move?"

Sting cut in through Lucy's sudden silence, a grin on his face. "I'm still expecting some happy news the next time we see each other."

"Don't hold your breath," the blonde woman grumbled. She then shook Natsu's arm away and separated herself from the group. "I'm going to go check on the kids. Only the stars know what kind of trouble they'll get into at the sinks."

"Check Simon, yeah?" Natsu asked her, catching her hand in his and tangling their fingers together. When Lucy turned to look back at him with curious eyes, he winced. "Kid tried to eat dirt. Again."

Lucy huffed out a knowing laugh, turning on her toes and lifting herself up to plant a chaste kiss on his cheek. "I'll make sure there's no evidence," she giggled, dropping back on her heels. "You get cleaned up too, okay? Juvia wants to keep her baby blue tablecloths spotless and I really don't want to spend the night by my boyfriend's hospital bed."

"If she can catch me," Natsu snickered. Lucy just fondly rolled her eyes in reply before untangling their hands and bounded off to where the children disappeared.

"I don't know why you two are so against having a kid," Sting commented when Natsu turned back to him. "Having Hugo changed my entire life– and don't say it's because you're both too busy to have a kid, because I just inherited the guild and Yukino had her new internship at the office. I think Yuki and I know a thing or two about being 'too busy.'"

"It's not that," Natsu sighed, reaching back to fluff the hair above his neck.

Sting shifted Hugo in his arms, smiling down at his son when the child let out a happy giggle. "Did you ask her?" He questioned without looking, letting tiny fingers reach out towards his own.

Natsu blinked. "What?"

"Did you ask her?" Sting repeated, looking up this time. "Did you ask Lucy if she even wanted to have kids?"

"Well... no," Natsu admitted. "But– c'mon, man. You heard her earlier. She told you not to hold your breath."

"Geez, Natsu," the blonde man sighed. "Think about it. You've been together for what? Four years? Your friends are popping up babies left and right. There's no way that she hadn't considered having a kid with you. Women talk, man. One of the only women left in your group who hasn't had a kid yet is Levy, and it's not like it's for the lack of trying."

"Just talk it out, yeah?" Sting asked, clapping a hand on Natsu's shoulder when the other man stayed quiet. "We should get going. I still gotta change Hue's diaper and you gotta get cleaned up. I really don't want you to send us off in a hospital bed."

Natsu landed face-first in exhaustion, the crisp, soft sheets under him giving his aching muscles some reprieve from the harsh day. A laugh sounded from behind him him shortly before he was nudged aside and was joined in a similar fashion. Not caring that hot and humid the day was still clinging to their skins, he rolled enough to pull the equally exhausted blonde into his arms. He nuzzled his way to the side of her face and pressed a kiss to her temple. She giggled affectionately and curled closer.

"Hey, Luce?"

"Hm?"

Natsu lazily dug his fingers between her shoulders, easing the knots out of her back. "Did you mean it?"

"Mean what?" Lucy asked with a satisfied sigh, tension easing from her shoulders.

"When you told Sting not to hold his breath?" The blonde woman froze at his words, her body tensing appropriately. Natsu only continued his fingers' dance on her back until she was somewhat relaxed again. "Well, did you?" He prodded, the smug bastard's words willing him to continue.

Lucy blew out a breath, the air hot on his chest despite his shirt covering it. "Well... I can't say that I haven't thought about it," she admitted, her hand drifting up to rest on the area above his heart. "But, between our guild jobs, your work at the firehouse, and mine with Sorcerer's, I guess there really wasn't much time to really think about it. I mean, that's no excuse. Jason wasn't exactly being subtle when he said we could get maternity leave..."

"So... why don't we?" Natsu asked casually, his fingers falling on the bed when Lucy lifted herself up to look incredulously at him.

"This isn't the weather we're talking about, Natsu," she scowled at him, "this is a life we're talking about here! A baby is a lot of responsibility! Don't ask that so casually!"

He snorted. "As if asking if Hugo had any resemblance to you was such a complicated hint." The blonde went red, spluttering protests that only had the pinkette smiling. He reached up to pull her back onto his chest, quieting her protests but not the flame on her cheeks. "I'm not gonna lie. He does look like you and that doesn't sit well with me. If you have some secret kid, Luce, you better tell me about it."

"Shut up!" Lucy groaned at his chuckling, burying her heated face into his chest.

"But seriously," Natsu smiled, letting his hand drift to her hip. "I've thought about having a kid with you before. I didn't want to push it, though. I didn't want you to scare you off by bringing up a kid so soon. You know you mean the world to me, Luce, but you can do so much better."

"That's a lie and you know it," Lucy scoffed and shifted so she could press a loving kiss to the underside of his jaw. "No one can love me the way you can," she whispered quietly when she pulled back to lay her head back down. "You couldn't scare me off even if you wanted to."

"Unfortunately," Natsu admitted and laughed when she playfully hit his chest.

He shifted their positions, his elbows resting on either side of her as he hovered a breath above. Even in the dark, Lucy's dark-brown eyes gleamed mirthfully into his. He always loved the blissfully happy look on her face, so no one could blame him when he dipped his head to press a full kiss on his girlfriend's lips. She responded in kind, as she always did, submitting every inch of her body and soul to him.

He loves her in the only way he could; with every bend and twist and bit of strength that he could to keep her tethered so greedily to him. Each time their skin meets, he tries to leave a mark on her; a mark so bright and blinding that she would be reminded of him every time she remembered, but only as an act of retaliation because she so effortlessly leaves one on him without even trying. She had called him a greedy, hoarding dragon a few times before, mostly in the heat of a kiss when he robs her of her very breath. It makes him laugh and love her that much more.

Lucy reached places in him that no one dared to touch before, breaking down every carefully built wall he placed. Even through soft, pliant kisses, he monopolized all she had to offer while leaving himself bare for only her to see. For only her to feel. No one could love him the way she could.

Because she could be pretty greedy too.

"I want every piece of you."

It was a confession, soft but demanding in the limited air between them, and Natsu wasn't sure which one of them said it. Judging by the hot, mildly surprised breath that caressed his lips after the phrase was said, then it must have been him.

"You already own every bit."

The breathy reply made a small growling groan push past his lips.

Natsu drifted his hands up her arms, pushing them over her head and lacing their fingers tightly. He parted Lucy's lips with his own and delved deeper. He lost himself to the harsh breaths from her nose as she stubbornly refused to move back for air, and fell with each wanton whimper and desperate tug on his hair every time his sharp teeth scraped against her lip. Sometimes on accident, most times on purpose.

Phrases like before always stuck with him. They were promises. Vows. Guarantees for more without it becoming too obsessive. First came an admission, and then the reply. Like confessing what they already knew, but just making sure that they were still on the same page.

An admission: "I need you."

The reply: "I'm not going anywhere."

She tasted like spit and a bit like the s'mores they roasted over the campfire earlier, but he could swear that he never tasted anything more addicting. His heated hands detached themselves from hers and trailed a languid path down her arms, past the dip of her waist, and then clutched her hips where they stayed for a long moment. One dipped under her body to pull her closer, the other gripped the rising leg at his side and helped its path around his hips.

He liked surprising her in these kind of situations. Where she could easily be caught of guard, and where her reactions is always true. He liked bearing his soul in soft whispers despite being a man for action. That's why he confesses in this sort of way. So he takes leaps, and jumps without reserve. To honor that thought, the next admission came.

Well... sort of admission.

"Have a baby with me."

Lucy pulled back abruptly, breaking their kiss as a loud, surprised laugh erupted from her throat. Natsu chuckled at her mirth, his hand never ceasing their small patterns on her thigh.

"Is that a no?" He couldn't help but cheek, a grin on his face.

Lucy raised an amused eyebrow in his direction, her laughter slowly dying. "You didn't even ask a question, Natsu. Oh my god..."

Natsu blinked. "So that's a no on the no?"

The blonde shook in silent laughter and pulled him back down for another kiss, this one a bit more elated and, somehow, loving.

Later that night, when she was asleep in his arms, content and relaxed, he realizes that he never got his answer. He softly ran his hand down her bare back, slick with a layer of sweat, but he didn't mind in the slightest. At least it didn't feel like a no, he admitted quietly in his head. Natsu chuckled at the thought as he cuddled his loved girlfriend against his chest and dropped an affectionate kiss on the top of her head, following her quickly in slumber.

It definitely didn't feel like a no.

[zorkaya-moved]

reverse + 🚑 – an injured kiss 😌 fu hua kissing zarina bec she’s injured, yes.

@jiingweii

Injuries are not the worst things that could’ve happened. Zarina wishes to smoke, she craves to have something occupy her in the mean time as she remains alone in the room. Wounds will heal faster than anything, soon there will be nothing and she will no longer be considered close to death. It’s something that makes her wonder if she is even human anymore. The only thing that keeps her human is the memory of her brothers, Elysia, and the presence of the bird of dawn - Fu Hua, the one who truly brightens the day with her presence. It’s obvious who Sokolova wishes to see in this moment, dreaming of those beautiful sky-blue eyes, always as clear as the cloudless sky. The silky hair that looks like lavender itself, soothing the woman with one touch. 

Lying in bed becomes boring, mind starts to come up with different scenarios to keep itself occupied. Silence is poison when it happens without a good book or without a game of chess or anything that’ll keep the mind occupied. The memories of solitary confinment make her sigh as she closes her eyes, hearing the approaching footsteps, hurrying and desperate to reach this place. Zarina’s lips curl upwards, it is without a doubt the heaven’s bird visiting her on this fine day after hearing that she’s been brought up here by the students the Great Phoenix has been teaching. Head is turned to look at the one who enters the room, golden hues are soft and warm in their shine as she waves at Fu Hua’s presence, noting on her worried expression as she comes closer. 

Ah, there she sees that frown and concern over her beautiful face. It hasn’t changed much, the same kindness and strength remains to be seen. Zarina swoons over this view, not able to really make a joke how it’s not Fu Hua who looks from above at her. The other hasn’t really gained any height and it leaves the ashen haired woman chuckle to herself, giving her crush a smile. What she doesn’t expect is to hear her name leave the other’s lips in such a hushed and strong manner, then hovering over her as if she’ll escape or will try to get up (oh, she wanted, her attempting to change her position proves it right). Hua has always been attentive, noting on the body language and even sometimes predicting what Sokolova wished to do, it’s quite hot if she do say so herself. And yet, there is something different in her beloved’s eyes, the closeness is not the same. There is no embarrassment either and...

“ Hua? ” Only the name escapes the golden-eyed bedridden maiden before she feels warmth on her lips. Eyes open wider in shock, understanding exactly what’s going on. Fu Hua is kissing her. The bird of heavens is kissing her, letting her taste this forbidden fruit she’s been distancing herself from for eons for the sake of the other’s responsibility and duty. It unlocks something deeply possessive inside Zarina as if the Herrscher tells her to take what’s her and what she wants, but it’s not the will - it’s her own voice. Undeniably so, the woman cannot hold back anymore, bringing her hands up to wrap around the other’s neck, bringing her close. She’s unable to deny these lips, not when she dreamed of their taste and feel. Not when they are so soft against her own, not when Fu Hua’s scent and warmth envelops her at this very moment, addicting and intoxicating. Only when there is little to no air does she relaxes her hold on the other, letting distance to come between them, alas only for a short bit. 

“ Hua... ” 

Another whisper of her beloved’s name, Zarina wants nothing but to keep kissing her. If not for her recovery, she would’ve switched their positions, but she cannot. It’d be bad for them both, she just might lose the possibility to kiss her all she wants. Golden eyes stare deeply into the sky blue, brimming with affection and borderline worship of the other. Worship of love. There is desire lingering as well, not masked and not hidden from the plain sight as it usually is. All to keep their closeness, all to keep them together, all to not push Fu Hua away. Her sunlight, her warmth, the savior of her humanity and her wish to remain one with the world instead of moving on to join her brothers and her family. 

“ One more... Then, you can tell me anything you wanted, but... just one more, ” hot whisper against the plush lips before they unite in another kiss, eyes now closed to fully enjoy the experience. This warmth, this closeness, this gesture. The beast inside wishes to devour, but it’s shunned for the sake of tenderness and gentleness despite the passion behind such exchange. Zarina knows she won’t hear the end of it later on, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is the treasure in her embrace, the dream that turned into reality.