#i spilled my jar of pressed violets :(

[garbagedisp0sal]

[vslattae]

ALL I COULD EVER WANT

ɪᴛ ᴀʟʟ sᴛᴀʀᴛᴇᴅ ʙᴄ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴀ ᴋᴘᴏᴘ ɪᴅᴏʟ...ʙᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇᴅ ʜᴏᴡ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏғ ʜɪs ɢʀᴏᴜᴘᴍᴀᴛᴇs ᴘᴀʏᴇᴅ ᴀᴛᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ..

ᴀʟʟ ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ɢᴏ ᴛᴏ ᴠsʟᴀᴛᴛᴀᴇ

Paring: taehyung x reader

warnings: ( oh another smutty chapter yes) almost shower sex, oral ( f and m receiving), mention of taehyungs masterpiece on your skin, soft tae kisses but then he kinda turns dommy, cursing..( overall just tae being soft with y/n once again)

chapter 5. a kim taehyung special.

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the sunlight drifting into the soft greys of the curtains woke you up. Shifting in the bed to flake out into a starfish you felt another body. taehyung stayed. He mumbled something that you could hear so you decided to pepper him him kisses like he did the day before.

“tae..(kiss)..wake..(kiss)..up..” he slowly opened his eyes and in return gave you a soft smile..and that turned into a chuckle. “what’s so funny” you cocked your eyebrow at his thrashing figure. “go look in the mirror” he finally stopped his violent attack of laughter.

getting up you yawned at once in the bathroom you glanced at yourself, your eyes trailing down the weird reddish violet spurs on your neck that tracked down to the valley of underboob. “tae...i’m going to kill you..” you whipped around showing him his artwork he gave to you last night. flashes of memory ran through his mind.

the soft ‘ohs’ that came from your mouth...the way you whined when you were so close, the needyness that pulled when your insides curled against his thrusting fingers. “...you said it was okay” he chuckled getting out of bed to make his way to your figure that stood in front of the mirror.

“tae where supposed to go swimming! how am i gonna explain this?” you lightly punched his chest only for him to cage you in his arms. “tell them you tripped and hit your chest on the bed while i was finger deep inside you” he trailed his fingers over the marks..his territory now.

with a hmft you gave up and got in the shower, the warm water coursing over your veins but you didn’t expect another visitor to pop in. His arms flexed around your waist as you sat under the warm water, tiny droplets pooling at his hair as he stared at you in awe.

Stepping out to look at you..all of you the sight when straight to his dick. Trying to play it off he pull you back into him... “tae put the monster away...” your laugh was music to his ears. “ not my fault he’s out..look at you, you made him happy” he mumbled in that deep but soft voice, the shock ran straight down to your heat causing you to turn around and wrap his semi soft dick in your hand..

“oh so he wanted to come out and play hm?” you looked at him slowly pumping the length while your thumb slides over the tip causing tae to let out a soft whine. “i suppose i do owe you for last night and i’m the one responsible for this hm?” you hummed as he nodded peering down at you while you slowly inched down onto your knees.

fuck. he was really hard..and really big..your hand looked so small wrapped around his pulsing length. taking your time doing a few slow strokes with your hand before he cursed, you looked up at him towering over you head tilted back in the water. Slowly inch by inch you took him in, his hands fumbled in your wet hair pulling slightly.

“ oh fuck.” he groaned. humming in the approval you tried your best to slide him down your throat but failing a little you gagged coming back up for air. “ use me..” you fluttered your eyes up at him. “ fuck are you sure?” kitten licking up the small dribble of pre cum that oozed out you nodded.

Then unexpectedly he opened his mouth letting his saliva poured out of his mouth onto the fist of your hand and the uncovered part of his dick, you licked your bottom lip before you let him fuck your throat raw. The strokes always were soft him pulling his dick out before slapping the tip on your tongue before sliding it back in.

God you’ve never felt anything like this..the soft groans that came out of his mouth sounded so fucking angelic, the way he cursed and rolled his eyes everytime the tip touched the back of your throat. Usually your gag reflex didn’t effect you too much but now you were breathing through your nose as your lips met the hilt of his cock.

“ god that mouth holy fuck” his breathing became harder before turning into whines and groans then mumbles.

“y/n are you in here” you heard a voice boom through the room before the door to the bathroom fumbled open. Taehyung ducked onto the floor god forbid haru find out your sucking dick in the shower. especially taehyungs.

“yeah i’m here why oh” you looked down to find taes tongues sliding down your core. you shook your head but he kept prodding his tongue over your clit rolling back and forth making your speech slurred. “ oh we were about to go swimming so i wanted to see if your up..where’s tae?” biting your lip and letting your hand slip in the curly hair of taes head.

he managed to slid two fingers into your dripping heat before looking back up at you to continue the torture of his tongue his other hand sliding vigorously on his length. fuck why is so hot?

“oh- alright yeah i’ll be done in a minute or two.” holding in a loud whine pulling taes finger out to place it in your mouth to lick off your arousal. “alright just making sure! see you in a bit” you heard the door close and the room door close.

“ what the fuck tae?” he pulled back up to look at you pawing at your lip to let him in. “fuck” you whined against his lips as he pulled your bottom lip. “get on your knees and open your mouth i’m close..” he panted out, obeying the order your tongue slipped out as the white liquid spurred painting your tongue white. “swallow” he looked down you watching as you licked your lips and swallowed the salty substance.

Once you were done with the shower. he patted you dry and wrapped the towel around your body and another around his waist. Pulling on the black two piece before piling on a sweatshirt and shorts watching taehyung pull on his grey board shorts. “stop fucking me with your eyes. you know i’ll pounce on you right here right love?” he looked at you eyeing him like candy.

scoffing he placed a kiss on your temple before walking out to join everyone else. grabbing something from the kitchen before piling outside to join haru and jin she gave you a sharp look telling you to spill whatever the hell was on your mind.

taehyung joined yoongi and jin in the water while you sat on the small picnic table where haru sat it only took one word. “spill” she giggled towards you so you openly told her about what happened last night but not what happened in the shower.

“ shut the fuck up..your joking right?” she dead eye looked at you. “does it look like i’m joking haru” you whined pulling the hoodie off a little to show her taes little art piece marked on your skin. “damn...i really lost the bet huh?” she laughed. A few girls arrived “guessing the boys found a few more bodies of company huh?” you laughed. “ uh yeah...that girl ( she pointed to a smaller brunette that splashed water at jk) she was on jk the whole night.” she giggled. “and he didn’t tell me what a shame.” you chuckled back.

“so are you and tae a thing now or just strictly fwb or something like that?” she questioned you sipping out of a glass jar that was filled with juice. “i’m not really sure...like we’ve established our feelings but nothing happened yet.” you looked back at the boys sitting in the water. Tae whipped around to look at you. “well i’m glad something exciting finally happened i mean remember that last guy-“ you stopped her to laugh “ omg he was such a dick huh” you giggled. “ we’ll come on as much as i love tanning i want to swim” she held out her hand.

causally not trying to be too suspicious you slid off the hoodie and your shorts running to the pier to jump into the clear water. Jin and everyone else swam towards you two trying to stay in the water to cover the marks taehyung held you up wrapping your legs around his waist as he smiled.

“ it was about time” yoongi laughed. “what are you talking about” your hands wrapped around taes neck. “ y/n we aren’t as stupid as we look we see taehyungs master piece on your body..” taehyung laughed. Haru was focused on jin running her hands through his hair while the other boys played around with the small group of girls in the shallow water.

Taehyung hand slid over your thighs ghosting your core. “not nowww was earlier not enough for you?” you pressed your lips into his to give him a peck.

“...i could never get enough of you are you serious?” you mustered up to giggle..

“so now what pretty boy?” you looked at him running your hand through the wet curls.

“let me treat you for a kim taehyung special my dear” he pulled your body closer.

“ are you asking me out on a date or are you being lame” you laughed

“ god am i that lame” he pouted.

“ nono i was just playing around. i’d love to but where are we going?” you kissed his cheek then his forehead than traveled back to his lips

“ a surprise you’ll see” he kissed you back as you spent the whole time giggling wrapped around tae and ofc pestering you with his shitty pick up lines. :)

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a/n: sorry this a short chapter but thank you for the reads and the love i’ve gotten from all of you! I hope your enjoying this story! don’t forget to tell me how it is or your opinions on what might happen next :) and as always don’t be afraid to ask to be in the tag list ily until next chapter <3

T͎A͎G͎L͎I͎S͎T͎:

@hantaev @strawverryxmilktae @serendipitysev

[kazuharem]

ok, angsty luci! i found this quote and kind of wanna see what you can do with it~ “doesn’t it bother you? that they refuse to see the good in you, that they choose to only focus on your faults and mistakes?” she asks him. he turns his head and looks for the horizon. “why should it? we’re all bad in someone’s story.” 👀👀

(Below contains an image not yet released in EN server)

Hi Grace! I loved receiving this request from you! (Cuz god knows how angst runs through my veins. And when it’s Lucien angst.... I just- *chef’s kiss*). Believe me when I say I love Lucien, okay. But something about Lucien angst.... is just so addictive.

Also, some of y’all seem to forget that I’m an ANGST writer (as well as smut) with all the requests I’ve been getting as of late... So this is my gentle reminder for you that I am indeed, an angsty soul 🤣

Anyways, thank you for requesting this (and helping me brainstorm hehe), this is dedicated to you, my friend 💜 @tartagilicious

───── ⋆⋅ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ⋅⋆ ─────

“We’re All Bad in Someone’s Story” ↠  LUCIEN [ANGST]

Characters: Lucien, Victor, mentions of MC (Female)

Genre: Angst (Pure Unadulterated Angst, A N G S T - You have been warned) *insert Lucien clutching chest*

Word Count: 1,312

A/N: Set after Ch. 13 (Lucien’s betrayal), mentions of established relationship between Lucien and Female MC, and let’s pretend Victor’s little time travel thingie didn’t happen

Summary: With her no longer trusting Lucien, Lucien goes to Victor with a request.

Lucien gazed across the expanse of city lights before him. It should’ve been a beautiful sight, but now, there was no beauty left in this world. Not for him. Not anymore.

“Was any of it true? Everything that you told me? It was all lies?”

He could still see the moment when her heart had shattered. Because of him.

The moment her tears had spilled from her beautiful eyes, he had wanted to run over immediately and wanted to pull her into his chest, just like he had done countless times. But he couldn’t. 

And when the moment she had put the pen that he had gifted her to her neck, his entire world had stopped. He had been forced to keep his emotions under control, to not let anything slip out from the mask he had crafted as he had watched crimson blood flow from her neck. He had felt his heart break along with hers. A heart, Lucien didn’t even know he had.

Foolish girl. Didn’t I warn you? 

A shaky sigh was exhaled from his mouth, exceptionally loud in the still air.

But he had tried so hard, hadn’t he? At the beginning, didn’t he try so hard to ignore her, to ignore the blossoming feelings she had planted within his cold, empty heart. The fact that she alone was able to make the seeds she had sowed grow into a beautiful, passionate yearning was a feat of its own.

“Will you miss me if I do leave?”

He remembered the way she had nodded enthusiastically without hesitation at his question.

“I’m the fool,” he muttered. There was a broken laugh, bitter and grating. 

Lucien looked up heavenward. The sparkling stars he had seen with her were now dull and gray.

“How unfortunate,” only the stars could hear his cracked whisper, “To fall in love with such a wretched man... And I, that wretched man, fell in love with you...only...to break your heart...”

The gentle hum of a car’s engine interrupted him and Lucien turned his head to see a man in a dark suit stepping out, the headlights illuminating the man’s silhouette.

“You asked to see me, Professor Lucien?” The man walked up to Lucien as he spat out his name. The expression on his face was severe. His eyes narrowed, “Or do I call you Ares now?” Indigo eyes met violet ones challengingly. 

“It appears that you’ve already been informed,” Lucien answered casually, schooling his expression into a calm mask, “Victor.”

Victor scowled, “What do you want? Why did you call me?”

“I know you’re busy, but I would just like to ask for a bit of your time,” Lucien said coolly. 

“You have no right to be making demands right now,” The words were nearing a low growl. “Not after what you did to her.”

“I’ll live with the consequences,” Lucien stated softly.

Victor laughed humorlessly, “And her? How do you plan for her to go on? Now after you’ve dumped her like some useless toy.”

“I suggest you get your facts straight before accusing me of anything,” Lucien’s voice was frigid; there was absolutely no trace of warmth. “I’m doing this for her good. To ensure her safety.”

“From you.”

“I’m not here to argue with you tonight,” Lucien smiled tightly. “I just have two requests to ask of you.”

Victor crossed his arms, “What do you want?”

Lucien exhaled, “It would appear that you care for her. And I imagine, with all comfort you’ve given her, she...cares for you as well.”

“What do you want?” Victor repeated, impatience creeping into his voice.

There was a pause.

“My first request is to ask that you keep her safe...Protect her in my stead...” Lucien spoke slowly.

“That’s hardly a request,” Victor scoffed, “I’m not protecting her for you. I’m protecting her from you.”

Lucien nodded once. “I understand. I just want her...to be safe.”

Victor’s eyes narrowed, “And what good does this do for you?”

“I’m prepared to lose the only color in my world,” Lucien’s voice was steady, betraying no sign of his inner turmoil. He turned to look at the man beside him, “Tell me, what are you prepared to lose?” The words carried a hint of underlying threat.

“I don’t lose,” Victor responded flatly.

“No? What about the girl you had yearned for so ardently? The girl whom you’ve searched for all these years?” Lucien couldn’t help but challenge.

Victor’s jaw clenched, “I won’t lose her,” his voice was sure and confident, leaving no room for argument. “Not like you did.”

“Very well,” Lucien conceded with a slight smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. He turned away to watch the city spread before him.

“The other request, what is it?” Victor spoke up after a brief silence. “You asked me to keep her safe, what’s the other request?”

Lucien watched the scene before him, a faraway look in his eyes. There was a touch of melancholy about him. “Keep her safe,” he repeated softly, the words carrying easily through the tranquil air. “And...Please let her be happy.”

Victor did not reply.

Lucien turned to leave, offering Victor a polite nod, “I hope you can honor these requests.”

“Does it not bother you?” Victor spoke up before he could leave. Lucien stopped, but did not turn to look at him. Victor continued, “Does it not bother you now that she found out who you really are? Now that she thinks of you as her rival instead of her lover?”

Lucien gave a soft chuckle, “Why should it bother me? After all, we’re all bad in someone else’s story,” he replied placidly. “Now, if you will excuse m-”

“Did you love her?” Victor cut him off, curt and cold. “Did you ever love her?”

Lucien stilled, his face ever so unreadable. There was a deprecating laugh. 

“How could such a despicable man like me ever be capable of love?” He finally responded, smiling thinly. He turned on his heel and walked away, until he was out of Victor’s line of sight.

As soon as he could no longer see the bright beams of the headlights, he doubled over, gasping. Steadying himself on the trunk of a tree, he took in great shuddering breaths.

A choked groan came out of his mouth as the pressure in his chest built. 

How ironic, he thought to himself, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. A pathetic man like me is capable of tears after all. A single tear traced its way down his cheek as he closed his eyes. He collapsed against the tree, sliding down the trunk until he sat at the base of tree. His head sank into his hands.

Images of her played behind his eyes. The way her eyes had lit up with such innocence, such joy when he had taken her to see the vibrant maple trees in Canada. The way she had taken him in that night when he was testing her, patching him up without a single moment of hesitation. The way she had trusted him wholeheartedly with no questions asked. The way she had loved him unconditionally despite knowing he had secrets, the him who was undeserving of such pure love. 

“Ha..” Lucien gave a strangled laugh. “I am indeed...wretched...”

He reached into his jacket pocket and opened his hand. In it, lay a peace knot. The one she had gifted him with a brilliant smile and a wish hoping he would be happy and healthy. It was frayed in some places. He could no longer remember what colors it used to be. Now it appeared to him in varying shades of gray. His fingers closed over it tenderly, holding it carefully.

“If only...you hadn’t met me...” He whispered, “I hope...my little butterfly will be happy and healthy from now on...I hope, she’ll be safe...” A broken sob broke out from his throat. “Victor...is good for you, little butterfly... So fly away and be free. Be free of this wretched man who had wanted to keep you in a glass jar forever.” He pressed his lips against the peace knot softly. 

“And...I hope you won’t mind this wretched man for wanting to love you just a little bit more... little butterfly, don’t let this man’s ugly blacks and whites stain your beautiful wings...and fly away...”

───── ⋆⋅ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ⋅⋆ ─────

A/N Part II: I’m...a Lucien stan I swear. I absolutely, positively love this man with every fiber of my entire being. I just couldn’t resist. Don’t worry, I’m sobbing as well. Also, I love me some good old rivalry between Lucien and Victor. *Cue TENSION* But if you are too sad from this Lucien angst, I have a treat in store for you. It involves FLUFF annnnnnd (sneak peak) wedding stuffs. Stay tuned!

To the Nonnys in my asks, I promise I’m working on your requests! (I just wanted to get through the drabbles before I launch myself into full-blown 10k word fics again). 

If the rest of you would like to request something, as always, my ask and/or messages are open!

Part II: here

More of my work: 📖

[solar-pxwered]

A snippet for my Naratrish fic I am writing while at work hiding from the cameras!

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

Narancia tilted the bottle back and Trish's unsteady vision watched with oddly pointed interest as his Adam's Apple bobbed with the large gulp that he took and then still as he licked the tiny bit of wine that was left behind off his lips. He set the bottle back into the empty spot on the floor between them and gave her an expectant look, waiting for her next challenge.

"Never have I ever...hmm..." Trish thought very carefully, determined to be the winner this round! It turned out that there were lots of things Narancia had never done that she thought were fairly easy and so she had been the one taking swigs of the wine far more than him...although from the bright flush of his face and the blurry sort of happy light in his eyes he was feeling the effects as well just from his few drinks.

She had to think of something she KNEW he had done that she had not. Killed someone? Nope, she had used that in round one! Pissed standing up? No, no, that wasn't a fair choice. Oh! One idea came to her mind, something Fugo had mentioned once vaguely in a conversation about how he had met Narancia. It was DEFINITELY not something she had ever done.

"Never have I ever eaten out of a dumpster!"

Her drunk mind had caught up to her drunk mouth at the exact moment the final syllable of those words left the tip of her tongue and her regret was immediate. It was jarring the way the happy light in his bright violet eyes snuffed out, darkening into a vacant emptiness that left Trish with a cold, fearful tingle in her spine. Surely he was about to explode, anger spilling out of the wound she had just ripped open...but, perhaps even worse, he didn't do anything at all.

When he did finally move, he simply lifted the bottle and took a drink, a big one, and set the bottle back down with surprising gentleness before looking her directly in the eye.

"Never have I ever used someone's shitty past against them to win a stupid, pointless game."

To her credit, Trish followed his lead and took the bottle, pressing it to her lips in preparation before tilting it back and chugging the contents until she had pulled the last drop from it. The game ended, she tossed the empty glass container aside and stared at the stone of the floor with eyes that were far from empty as his were. Tears were filling hers, but for the first time in all the time she'd known him, Narancia didn't stick around to wipe them away or make her laugh so hard that they fell from the laughter instead of the hurt...instead, he simply stood up, picked up the empty bottle, and walked to the kitchen to throw it in the trash with the other two they had already finished off.

"I think you were right earlier," she heard him say from the doorway, although she found she couldn't raise her head to even look at him from how heavy the shame sat on her shoulders. "It's perfect weather to take Aerosmith for a flight."

Moments later, the heavy wooden door to the patio shut hard and Trish knew he had left without even putting a coat on. He probably wasn't feeling the cold at all. He wasn't feeling anything.

But Trish felt enough for them both.

[toloveawarlord]

Pt. 4

Characters: Alara & Mansion Residents

Tagging: @plumpblueberry​ @ihavenotfallenyet​ @lady-moonbroch​ @littlewitty​ @ladyhavilliard​ @miss-wish-a-lot​ @sakura-1819​ @voltage-vixen​ @nad-zeta​ (Please let me know if you want to tagged/untagged from this series)

A/N: Alara is back to win over the tsun musician. Enjoy! Next chapter she is going to meet Jean!

“Good morning, Alara.”

Vincent was the first to greet the girl that continued to clutch onto the writer to avoid any of Leonardo’s attempts to speak to her again. The dining hall only held a handful of the residents, the others having gone about their day or had yet to rise. Spotted around the table was the Van Gogh brothers, both munching away on an enormous stack of pancakes, and another man that she’d yet to be introduced to.

He took a sip of his coffee, violet eyes never glancing in her direction.

“Why are you clinging to Arthur like that? If you aren’t careful, his strangeness will rub off on you.” Theo gave a little jab in between stabbing bites of pancakes covered with enough syrup to nearly spill off the edge of the plate.

A triumphant grin spread across Arthur’s lips as he patted her head with a gloved hand. “Leo gave her quite the scare and she came to me for protection instead of anyone else.” The detail of him being the only one present wasn’t necessary to his story. No matter the circumstances, he was the victor.

“I saved her from a collapsing pile of books.” Leo wanted to make things right but the fear radiating off her small body prevented that. Comte had informed him of her potentially temporary stay, but no amount of warning would have prepared him for how skittish she was.

“I’m sure that rising from the floor like a waking corpse wasn’t frightening at all.” The musician’s comment tossed out with irritation laced in it.

Snickers erupted from the others, drawing the glare of the pureblood in their direction. Leonardo had no retort to the snarky but accurate statement. Sebastian wheeled in a cart to serve the newcomers. “Please take a seat of your own, Miss Alara.” He placed a plate off eggs, bacon, and pancakes in front of the empty chair next to the writer.

Alara reluctantly released her hold on him to be sat on the cushy chair. No more time for frightful glances as she stared at all the delicious food right before her. The young girl couldn’t remember a morning when a fresh, warm meal had been given; leftovers of the adult’s breakfast, however little it was.

All chatter among the ones at the table ceased. The reminder that mornings of bickering and laughter weren’t normal for one among them. Alara attempted to wipe the tears from her face with the back of her arm, over and over as more drops slid down her cheeks. An overwhelming amount of emotion rushing over her. A soft apology slipped out between gasps of air.

Sebastian placed a reassuring hand on top of her head. “It’s quite alright.” He didn’t need to say more, those few words assisting in calming the child down. As she sniffled, the butler knelt to attend to her unbuckled shoes without comment. He’d be sure to keep a closer eye on her.

“Are you leaving already, Mozart?”

Alara turned her attention to the one in question. Violet eyes met hers.

“I’m going to start composing today. In peace, I would like.” Mozart gathered his sheet music and half-filled coffee mug. He didn’t quite understand why the others were so enamored with a young human who cried over breakfast.

No sooner had the musician left, did the others begin to file out one by one. Theo and Vincent going into town, and even Arthur had business to attend to. He’d lingered until she’d had her fill of breakfast. “I’m off to do some writing.” With a gentle smile and a wave, the writer disappeared into the mansion.

The girl gathered up her plate, the only piece left on the long table and carried it into the kitchen where Sebastian was filling up the sink to begin cleaning up. “Can I help?” Alara asked, letting her plate slip into the water and sink down.

“There’s no need for that. You are free to go play—”

“I like the hot water and soapy bubbles. I’ll be really careful!” She flashed a bright smile.

Sebastian carefully considered for a moment before relenting. He fetched a chair for her to stand on, drying the dishes as she finished washing. Her movements were slow and purposeful, and she attentively scrubbed each one. “You’re doing well. I’m very impressed, miss Alara.”

“I used to help Nine clean up. She’d put extra bubbles in the water because I liked to play in them after we were done.” The memory one of the few she had from before coming to France. Alara cupped a heaping mountain of suds, squishing them away with her fingers.

The term one that he’d heard in his studies. “Do you know where you used to live before coming here?”

“Turkey, that’s where Mama said I was born and we lived with Nine for a long time.”

Sebastian dried the final plate and stacked it upon the rest. Their reason for moving to France must have been because of the relationship with her step-father. He decided against addressing it further. “Thank you for your help. I’ll do the remainder myself. If you require any assistance, do not hesitate to ask, as a lady of the house—”

Hopping down from the chair, the girl turned her gaze up to the butler. “Lady?” Her head tilted in thought before she continued, “Miss Lily was the Lady of Estate. She was very pretty but had a scary look whenever she saw me. I was forbidden from going into the big house.” She could only remember once or twice when Lily came around their house.

“The monsieur was married?” Sebastian pieced together the picture that the child wouldn’t have seen.

Alara tapped her finger against her chin twice. “Mama said that she married beau-Pierre and that I should only listen to her and no one else. Aren’t married adults supposed to share a bed?” The staff would talk as if the child weren’t there, but her mother said they were liars.

Implications that a child wouldn’t understand. His original suspicions of a transaction shifted slightly. The mother must have been a mistress. That would explain why the mistreated child had been dressed in a silken nightgown. Should any discover his secret lover, the monsieur could cover it by saying he only cared for the two, a generous gesture to a young lady and child in need.

Behind that façade was a brutal man with a heart made of stone. How shameful, the butler thought. The topic began to wear on the girl before him. Her thoughts shown on her saddening features. Sebastian cleared his throat and retrieved a cookie from the jar. “For your assistance. I appreciate the company. Now off with you.”

Cookie in hand, Alara set off into the mansion. The further she ventured, the more convinced she became that this home was a castle. The hallways seemed as endless as the number of doors leading to various rooms. A library filled with more books than she could count. A parlor with many foreign games. Any open door was subject to inspection. Even though she was inside, the girl wiped beads of sweat from her forehead. It hadn’t been long since breakfast and yet her body felt oh so heavy.

Wandering back to her own room, a door previously closed now stood ajar. The polished marble floor beckoned her inside. A piano sat elegantly in the middle. The desire to press at least one key was overpowered by how exhausted the child was. Alara wobbled as she moved inside, only wishing to lie down.

Would they be angry if she were ill?

The staff of her stepfather would have cursed her for being a bother.

Out of sight behind the curtain that swayed with the breeze coming in the open window, she succumbed to her own weight, dropping to her hands and knees before laying flat on her stomach. Her lashes dragged downward, barely able to remain open. The cool tile soothing against her heated cheek. She could sleep in this very spot.

“Why are you lying on the floor in my music room?” The salty voice laced with slight irritation.

Alara could little more than squeeze her eyes shut in fear of a reprimand.

Mozart placed his sheet music on the piano bench before he approached. Was she attempting to play with him? He couldn’t waste his valuable time on silly children’s games. Narrowed violet eyes softened upon further inspection. Her labored breathing and rosy cheeks signs even he could recognize. “You’re ill. Why are you hiding in here?”

Her small hand patted twice against the tiles. “It’s cold.” A stark contrast to how heated her face was. The chill made the warmth a little more bearable. The girl started to lift her body up with weak movements. “I-I’ll go-”

“You can hardly stand.” He couldn’t understand. The frightful expression that had crossed her features after he’d asked a simple question and now the water pooling in her eyes as if he’d given her a stern scolding. He couldn’t bear to watch her struggle so helplessly.

Quite pitiful.

Stooping down, Mozart scooped the child up, awkwardly holding her slightly away from his body. “I’ll only escort you to your bedroom this once. Do not expect this kind of treatment from me.” The whole room would need a thorough cleaning since he had no idea what she’d touched. For reasons unclear to him, the musician wanted to be sure that the child didn’t suffer unattended.

“You aren’t upset with me?” Alara asked, the first words spoken to him since he’d tucked her into the bed.  She had no memory of the last time someone had put her to bed when sick, always a nuisance to the staff.

“Why would I be? It’s not as though one can control when they fall ill.” How absurd. Children can’t care for themselves, so it’s only natural that an adult look after them when needed.

However, that couldn’t possibly be him.

But upon further searching, there was no one else about to do so. Neither Sebastian nor Arthur, the two most qualified to watch over the sick girl, were in the mansion. Giving a resigned sigh, Mozart pulled an armchair to the bedside. “I’ll only remain until Arthur can treat you.” He’d planned to practice a new piece today, but that could wait, he supposed.

Alara rolled over onto her side to see him better. She pressed her lips together, unsure of what to say. His emotions unclear, but he didn’t look angry. Their eyes met and Alara opened her mouth to speak before promptly shutting it.

“What is it?”

“What was your name again?”

“It’s Mozart, although you cannot refer to me as that in public.” Could a child her age even understand that?

A moment of silence passed between them as her brows knit, the child deep in thought. Rubbing her fists into her tired eyes, she yawned softly. Sleep calling to her, but pale green eyes flickered back to him. “Can I call you Mozzie?” She wiggled from beneath the covers, fighting the inevitable.

Violet eyes immediately turned away to gaze out the window, a hint of pink on his own cheeks. What a peculiar child. The genuine innocence of her question too cute to deny the question. “Do as you wish.” A quiet giggle was all the response he received.

“Do you play that piano?”

For a child that was sick, she had the energy to ask a lot of questions. “Yes.”

“Will you play it for me when I’m better? I like pianos. They make pretty music.”

Mozart reached out to pull the cover back up to her shoulders. She squirmed too much. It would be easier for her to rest if only she’d stay still. “If you’ll close your eyes, I will make time to play one song.” A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips as she gasped and snuggled down, squeezing her eyes shut as if that would aid in putting her to sleep any faster.

He couldn’t bring himself to leave even long after she’d fallen asleep.

“Admit it, you like her, Wolfie!” Arthur teased the musician from the doorway after discovering him with the ill girl. He’d brought her a treat from his trip into town only to learn of her feeling under the weather. It was all too adorable to witness a softer side of him.

Mozart scoffed, abruptly standing to leave. “She’s incredibly helpless. I’ve lost a valuable day of practice.”  He cast a glance down at the girl, resisting the urge to brush her hair away from her features. It hadn’t been horrible to keep her company, but Arthur surely didn’t need that information.

As he turned to leave, a light tug on his hand brought his attention back to the bed. Peeking up from beneath the covers, Alara flashed a tired smile. “Thank you for staying with me today, Mozzie. I feel better already.”

“Rest more or you’ll only end up ill again.”  He had to admit that seeing her smile was relieving. The break from his normal routine may have even inspired the musician to create again. As he exited the room, Mozart stole another glance at their new guest.

Perhaps, it wouldn’t be entirely despicable to have her stay.

[bellalikeskitties]

tattoos and tea ☾

pairing: nakamoto yuta x reader

you work at a flower shop and a tattoo artist from across the street comes in to practice drawing flowers for his next tattoo

word count: 1.9k+

genre: fluff,fluff,fluff tattoo shop au, flower shop au

It started as something simple. A customer emailed, asking for an elaborate tattoo. The whole shop was in shambles because the request was something they weren't quite used to. They tattooed blood, curse words, and even dicks. They were surprised when they were asked for a tattoo of flowers. Everyone was ready to refuse the customer, but Yuta was always one for a challenge.  

"Yah! Don't worry! I'll take this!". He was confident, his skills as an artist never let him down. All his customers and co-workers said his work was fantastic and he was ready for this one to say the same. 

Unfortunately, this task wasn't an easy feat. He scoured the internet for a usable reference, but for some reason, none of them resonated with what he wanted. That's when he approached you. You owned the flower shop and cafe just in front of theirs. He didn't know you personally but you did give them a bouquet as a present for their grand opening. 

He fixed his hair again before he pushed the doors to your shop. A bell chimed and your head rose out from the corner. "Welcome! Are you here for the flowers or some tea?". You beam at him and he stops momentarily. He wasn't used to smiles and sweet greetings. 

"Uhm, hey. I'm from, uh-". You move closer and notice his fidgeting. "I remember you! You're from up front, aren't you? Go take a seat, I'll get you something". He nods and waits until you retreat to the back before letting out a breath. 

He knew you were a kind person. He sometimes sees you handing out roses to the old couples or small daisies to the kids who walked by after class. He just didn't expect you to be out-going as well. Yuta set his sketchbook and utensils on a table before slipping into the lush seats. 

His eyes wandered over the shop. It looked like his grandmother's house, but more sweet-smelling and flowery. Flowers lined on one side of the shop and the other was filled with jars of dried tea. His gaze lingered on the flowers. Watching how the light hit them, the curve of their petals, and the assortment of colors. 

"I guess you're here for the flowers then?". He falls out of his daze, not even realizing that he had started sketching one flower he couldn't name. "I didn't get your name earlier?". He coughed and set his pen down "It's Yuta". You smile and place a small cup on his table. "It's chamomile tea. I figured it would help your nerves. I'm (y/n) by the way". He gazes at the drink and takes a sip, "Even the cups are pretty, huh?". You tilt your head and giggle. "Thank you, Yuta".

He takes another sip before speaking. "I'm actually here for a favor. Would it bother you if dropped by from time to time? My customer asked for a tattoo of flowers and we don't really deal with stuff like that and-". "Sure! You can come to hang out". "What?".

Your eyes glance at his drawing. "Sure! I'm fine with it. Just as long as you taste test some of my new tea!". Your smile blinds him and at that moment, he thought you were a literal angel. "Deal". He extends his hand and you reach to shake it. Before he could even continue, his phone buzzed. "Looks like I need to go, thank you so much (y/n)". He gathers his things before heading to the door. "Your tea was delicious by the way!". You wave and watch him cross the street to his shop.

The next day, he's back. This time he isn't stuttering. He's ready and you are too. "Here, it's white tea". You press the tray to your chest and he takes a sip. "I'm not sure about adding it to our menu since it looks too bland". 

Yuta sighs at the warmth. "It's filling, it would be nice to drink with something though". You take a seat in front of him and lean closer. "Like cake or cookies?". He purses his lips and thinks for a moment. "I think a cake would be better". You hum and mentally note his comment.

"Anyways, what's this called?". He picks up a bundle of violet flowers. You prepared a handful of flowers for him to examine while you had prepared his tea. Remembering how his eyes sparkled when you said they were for him. "Those are Sweet Peas, take a sniff". He looks at you questioningly before taking a whiff. "Woah! Sweet indeed!". He quickly writes on his sketchbook before reaching for another flower. 

It was a fun activity for both of you. Asking each other questions on end. For you, it helped you add more things to serve and to share your knowledge. For Yuta, it helped him broaden his artistic skills and hopefully help your pretty shop. 

"I'm so nervous. They're coming in tomorrow y'know". It had been a week or so since you started your everyday fun. He was comfortable with the ins and outs of your shop now. Sometimes even helping you take orders or serve. A few of the ladies now come to your shop just to watch Yuta. 

"I know, you told me yesterday". You struggle to reach for a mug on the shelf and he moves behind you. "Need this?". He holds the said mug out and you flush. Even you couldn't help but follow him when he attended to your customers. He looked fitting next to the flowers, his smile refreshing and pleasant. He was really a beautiful man. No one would believe you if you said he worked as a tattoo artist, his looks would make you think he was a model or celebrity.

You thank him and continue to make another cup of tea. Yuta just watches. The last time he tried to help you, he burnt the tea. He chuckles as he recalls your panicked expression when he called for help. Your pouting face engraved in his head. To him, your daily hangouts were precious. He'd never met anyone like you. You and your love for flowers and fragrant teas. 

"So, what are you planning to give them?". You hand him the now tea-filled mug to serve. His face scrunches and he sheepishly laughs. "I'm not sure. I guess I'll just do it on the spot". You gasp and almost spill hot water on yourself. "What do you mean 'I'll just do it on the spot'?!". He smiles at one of your customers before looking at you. "I mean, I'll just know when I see them". Your hands find your temples and you rub them in frustration and panic.   

He laughs at your irritation. "Aw, c'mon (y/n). I'm not a bad artist at all! Don't worry! I'll even show you a photo of the finished product!". He ruffles your hair as you sigh. "How? You don't need to come here anymore after tomorrow". You mumble. His hand rests on your head. He realized that too. He doesn't have a reason to come over. After tomorrow, he didn't need to have flower lessons anymore.

He huffed. "What do you mean? Aren't we friends now (y/n)? I'll come over and hang out again. I promise!". A smile graces both your lips and you shuffle back to work. Yuta was determined not to let you go that easily. After tomorrow, he'll ask you out for sure. The bell chimes and he smiles, "Welcome!".

Finally, the day arrived. Yuta sat in his booth, glancing at his wall. It was filled with the sketches he made at your shop. Each flower was to his liking. You taught him so much, that he could probably be able to open a shop for himself. He scans over them again before checking his watch. "They should be here by now?". At that his buzzer rings and he jogs to the receiving area.

He wondered what his client looked like. He expected maybe a young teen wanting something simple for their first time or a middle-aged man wanting something to talk about to women. What he didn't expect was your smiling face as your were talking to Taeil. You were wearing a yellow summer dress and your hair was up, revealing the nape of your neck. You looked so perfect to Yuta. But it didn't explain why you were there.

"(y/n). What are you doing here? The tattoo isn't even done yet?". You scratch your head and glance at the man on the counter. "Oh? You know her? That's perfect then. She's the flower, Yuta". Yuta's eyes widen at the code name. You were his client? You, Miss "I-won't-even-hurt-an-ant", were getting a tattoo? "Oh, uh. Sure, follow me". You smile at Taeil before following Yuta to a more secluded room.

"Are you mad? I was going to tell you, but I didn't really know how to tell you". You walk next to him and peek at his face. He sighs. "I'm not mad. Just surprised, I guess. I never thought you would ask for it. It's my fault for not checking the name anyways". You enter his booth and gasp. Staring at the sketched on the wall while Yuta prepared a few more things. 

"So you saw me, and you met me, and you even worked with me. What are you going to do?". He gazes at you and the wall, contemplating. Just imagining you inked with his work made his heart swell. He wanted to mark you with all the flowers he'd seen, but he knows just what do to.

"You'll see. Sit here". He tapped the leather chair and you obliged. "Will it hurt?". He laughed and you whined. He moved around before settling himself on your wrist. "You ready?". He starts the initial sketch, eyes focused on your skin. His needle hits something and you wince. He lifts his hand momentarily. "So, why'd you decide to get a tattoo?". He starts a conversation, hoping to take your mind off what he was doing to you.

"I have a friend, you might know him actually. He's Thai and he got a tattoo here once. He showed his tattoo to me and I thought it looked pretty". His lips curl into a smirk. "Thai? You're friends with Ten? Didn't expect that. I do all his tatts’". You snicker. "Oooh, that's cool. I really liked the thing on his chest by the way". 

The pain suddenly stops and you turn to him. "How'd you even-? Are you dating him?". His eyes show anxiety and you realize what you said. "What? No! Ten just likes wearing flashy clothes. I just happened to see it". He sighs and continues to work on your wrist. "Wait, is this why you were panicking yesterday?". You groan and this time he laughs.

You continue chatting. You were amused at how Yuta had a steady hand, even as he laughed at your first meeting, but in your view. "I only gave you the pretty flowers to give you inspiration, I swear!". He chuckles and finally lifts his instrument. He gives your skin a few wipes before asking you if you wanted to take a look before he added the ointment. 

"Woah! It's pretty". On your wrist was a red chrysanthemum in its prime. It looked like it belonged in your hand, the red petals complimenting your skin. You trace the lines in amusement. It actually looked like it was glowing. 

Yuta watched you stare at your wrist. He felt like he was in heaven. You looked so pretty right there and then. "But doesn't this mean?". You feel Yuta's gaze on you and flush. "Yeah, you taught me yourself. So, uh, do you maybe want to get dinner after this?". He held your hand and you trembled a bit.

"Sure I would love to".

~

another yuta one 😔😔 and a flower shop and tattoo shop au!

btw red chrysanthemums  mean love or i love you 🤭

[author-morgan]

Kryptic ↟ Deimos

thirty - a bloody feast

masterlist

But the great leveler, Death: not even the gods can defend a man, not even one they love, that day when fate takes hold and lays him out at last.

Death submits to no one, not even Dread and Destruction.

They are both weapons of flesh and bone, of warm blood and beating hearts, and they cannot be controlled.

THE MYTILENIAN SHARK reclines at the helm of the Eurybia, turning his one-eyed gaze toward the violet sail emblazoned with the head of a gorgon and filled with the sea breeze —debating on whether it is time trade the sails for oars. Pittakos presses his fingers into the wooden arms of the chair as the pirate trireme marked with Xenia’s colors turns in the water. The sudden shift puts him at unease. His league was always friendly with the pirates of the seas, even those commanded by Keos’ new leader. Across the waves, Pittakos can hear the low rumble of pounding drums as four score oars extend outward from the trireme and dip into the dark water, pushing the vessel forward. The Eurybia is under attack. 

“Feel that wind, sister!” Tundareos shouts, mirth lacing the words —it’s been too long since he’s had a taste of combat at sea. Despite the grim task at hand, Lesya looks to her brother, grinning as he darts back to aid the helmsman —throwing his weight against the great rudder. She takes to the main deck, shoring up the morale of her brother’s crew. If they cast the right die, then this would hardly be a fight. 

The Ippalkimon cuts through the water, drawing nearer, and from a spot in the rigging, Lesya sees her new target. Dropping to the deck, she plucks several arrows from a barrel. “Aim for the oil jars!” Lesya shouts, laying one of the arrowheads wrapped in oil-soaked linen against the iron brazier. Knocking the flaming arrow, she draws back on the string and sets her sight on the stack of terracotta pots filled with oil and then aims higher before losing it in the wind and over waves. A rain of burning arrows trail behind her own. The Ippalkimon draws nearer to the trireme when the first of the flames take hold of the deck. 

“Brace!” Tryphena shouts over the roar of the water and drums. While the others crouch low to the deck awaiting the impact, Lesya holds fast to the rigging —ready to leap into the awaiting din of spears and swords. The two triremes collide, and Lesya leaps into the air, crashing down on the deck of the Eurybia. 

A familiar calm overtakes her in the heat of battle. Everything is practiced routine, even as she takes the heads of men and leaves them eviscerated on the blood-slick planks of the deck. Seizing a spear, Lesya drives the point through the back of a felled man attempting to hold his bloody intestines in while crawling away from the carnage, his legs gone below the knee from the edge of her blade. “Enyo!” The Mytilenian Shark shouts over the clash raging on his ship —leveling his sword and raising his shield. “Come to join my crew?” He taunts. 

“No–” Lesya spins her twin blades approaching the Cultist, face twisted in determination “–I’ve come to send you to the depths,” she shouts, charging. Pittakos raises his shield in time to block the first blow, but the second comes too quick, and the edge of her blade sinks deep into his thigh. He curses and throws down his shield, stumbling back. Lesya circles him with disdain —a lioness closing in on her prey. 

The Cultist straightens, slashing his gilded kopis with reckless abandon, but she dips under his blade —closing in— and grips onto his arm, twisting the appendage until it snaps, falling limp. His blade clatters on the deck, but he will not give up. He blindly punches the air behind him, hoping to land a strike against the disgraced champion. Laughing, Lesya pins his arm behind his back and kicks in his knees —forcing him to the deck. “Mercy!” Pittakos weeps, knowing his fate is sealed. 

“You will wander the fields of Hades blind, snake,” Lesya whispers at his ear, positioning the tip of her blade just above his eye. His cries and pleas ignored. “Never again to see the light,” she hisses, twisting her hand into his greying hair to still his head. Pittakos howls when Lesya presses the point into his eye, blood spilling down his cheek. Chills slither down Tundareos’ spine seeing his sister pull her blade free of the Cultist’s eye, flicking the ruined eyeball into the waves as the Mytilenian Shark crawls away in a trail of blood —blind. Bending down, she collects the discarded kopis and kicks Pittakos onto his back. With a great heave, she drives the sword through his neck and into the planks below —a captain should go down with his ship. 

Timbers creak and groan beneath her feet as she crouches, searching Pittakos’ corpse for his artifact and any clues to where other snakes may be hiding. Lesya looks down at the golden triangle in her palm, spattered with blood. Even apart from the pyramid, it is like she can feel its thrumming power. Plucking the scroll from his belt, she rises and takes a running leap back onto her brother’s ship as the Aegean claims the Eurybia. 

The deckhands and rowers cry out in victory as the sharks come up from the depths for a feast —there had been many riches aboard the Cultist’s trireme to claim for themselves and in tribute to Xenia. But Lesya is not concerned with gold and silver. She tucks the bloodied artifact into her belt and unfurls the scroll in hand. Shark, the correspondence reads, the southern Sporades are yours. I am sailing to the waters south of Messenia. Anyone who follows me will be sunk. You are the waves now. Lesya flattens the papyrus and looks at the broken signature and seal. The Hydra. 

“Mykonos seems a good place to celebrate this victory,” Tryphena notes, resting her hand on Tundareos’ shoulder. He nods his agreement, and the Ippalkimon turns in the water, setting out for the island rising from the water on the horizon. 

With the winds on their side, they dock before nightfall, and the crew takes to the polis. “Won’t you join us, sister?” Tundareos asks, noticing her gaze lingers on the shores of Delos. A dark glint shines in her laurel eyes, and he knows she must go. “Wine will not slake your thirst, I understand–” her brother grips onto her shoulder, meeting her hardened stare “–do what you must.”

LESYA PRESSES HER back against the cool stone, unsheathing one of the daggers on her back. Her mark is but feet away —a weak-willed man the Cult used as a pawn in their schemes to feed lies to the Athenians and Spartans. Drawing in a slow breath, she steps forward to strike, but the cold bite of iron against her throat and a familiar hand wrapping around her wrist stops her advance. “I can’t let you do that,” he whispers at her ear, drawing her further in the shadows.

“Deimos,” she hisses, turning to face him. “He’s a Cult puppet.” Neither of them could deny the truth of the statement. It was by their hand that the man rose to prominence on the Silver Islands. A corrupt puppet put Hellas at as much risk as one directly serving Kosmos —the snakes need to be relieved of their heads.

He shakes his head. “A puppet is nothing without a master,” Deimos notes. “He’s not worth your time–” Lesya’s brows furrow, not understanding why Deimos now stands in her way when he gave her the means to execute several of the Cult’s members “–he only does the Cult’s bidding to protect his family.” Lesya sighs, sheathing her blade. The gods will not have her take another life this day.

Deimos nods toward the shoreline, and Lesya follows. She sits on white sand overlooking the water. In the distance, red and blue sails clash under the full moon. Deimos lowers himself next to her and almost laughs —the gods were cruel to bring them together on a beach. He rests his calloused hand on her thigh, thumb rubbing circles on the constellation of freckles there. “What are you doing here?” Lesya asks, surprised to see him so far from Kleon’s side if he was to serve as Athens’ executioner.

“Delivering a message,” Deimos answers, but Lesya knows it is only a half-truth. He sighs, lips kinking into a fleeting smile. “Looking for you,” he admits, turning his tawny-gold gaze to her. Lesya shifts, raising her hand to cup his cheek, and he instinctively leans into her gentle touch. Months have passed since they parted on the docks of Naxos, yet now it is as though they never went separate ways. She brushes her lips against his without hesitation —Deimos responds instantly, arms slipping to her waist before drawing her into his lap. He brushes back her copper hair, fingers ghosting over her cheek when they part. “I know where the Shadow is,” he breathes.

“Where?” Lesya asks, leaning back. Eliminating the Shadow would starve Kosmos of new information, leaving them blind —the little birds over Hellas would have no one to report to and disband. She and the Eagle Bearer could travel freely without the Cult knowing their whereabouts.

“Megaris,” Deimos tells her. All this time, the Shadow had been hiding in plain sight, operating from the safety of the fortress at the port of Nisaia —a now poorly manned Athenian fort since Sparta claimed the region for the two kings.

“Come with me,” she breathes. If the winds and gods favor them, it will take no more than a week to reach the port of Kechries. After a long moment of silence, he agrees to sail with her —if it means spending time with Lesya, then Deimos will bear whatever torments Kosmos attempts to concoct.

[taglist:  @wallsarecrumbling @novastale @fjor-ok-skadi @fucking-dip-shit @elizabethroestone @maximalblaze @balmacedapascal @khaoskrossed @elizabethroestone @kitkitvm ]

[alias-b]

angel cake.

Summary: Former enemies, now friends and maybe lovers, Billy Hargrove and Evie Fenny start teasing in a church confessional. Things take a turn for the heated when Billy's imagination gets away from him. ~Also posted on my AO3

Billy/plus size!OC. Fucking in a confessional. Sin. Filth. Thanks for reading. Weird to write them romantically bc the start of the fic is Rough. They have work to do. Billy Being Nasty In Church. Teaser at later stuff for my new enemies to friends to lovers Billy/OC Fic, Sins of My Youth, that I want to start posting. XOXO.

Billy Hargrove x Evie Fenny

angel cake. 🍰

   “You really have to go to this thing?” Billy’s Camaro roared into a church parking lot. Looked out of place there. Multicolored tulips swept against the spring wind, too pleasant before the fender.

   “Told mom I’d help out. I’m not staying for the festivities, they just need extra hands setting up the food and Easter egg hunt.” Aviators flashed at Evie in the passenger seat.

   Billy with his arm propped in the window. Denim jacket and white button down tucked into tight jeans. Cigarette dangling out his lips. Exceptionally pretty, even against all the pastel flowers and banners set for the holiday. 

   “What a good daughter. Santa ought to put you on the nice list for sure.” He plucked the smoke out to exhale as she brought the car mirror down.

   “Hell, I forgot I had red on today.You have napkins in here?” She opened the glove box to sift through papers. Billy extended his arm.

   “Use the jacket, give me something messy to remember you by.” A wink followed before she took his wrist and smacked a ruby kiss into his forearm, printing the light wash. Eyes flicked as some of the red lipstick got swiped away, leaving a more pink tint behind.

   “Thanks, I guess.”

   “Red is the devil’s color,  Evangeline.” Came some mocking in a horrid southern accent. She scoffed with her eyes elsewhere.

   “You could always come help if you’re going to pout.” She dug around her purse.

   “Not pouting. Churches and I don’t mix. It’s the one thing dad and I agree on.” Billy pulled his shades down and folded them into his front pocket with the cigarettes. 

   “Well, pick me up in an hour, we’ll go catch something scary and sinful.” She applied chapstick and rubbed her lips together.

   “Sinful? I like that.” Billy’s fingers squeezed her thigh, hot on skin and just barely under the little black suspender skirt. Evie wore a brightly colored tee with sunflowers all over it. Her usual green bomber jacket covered in patches. “That new?”

   “The chapstick? No, it’s tinted and smells like watermelon though.”

   “Let me try.” Billy saw her offer the tube and instead pulled her in by the collar for a kiss. Mashing their lips together. He flicked his tongue out for good measure and heard her gasp against his ferocity. It still managed to catch her off guard. A light smack when he parted, tonguing his bottom lip. “Mm, tastes like watermelon too.”

   “Billy, there are people over there.” She pushed his wandering hand out of her skirt.

   “I’d like to see Jesus himself come out and...what the fuck is that?” Billy’s finger lifted so Evie followed it to see the Easter Bunny leaving a lone side door. Lavender fur with white tufts, huge goofy grin.

   “Yeah, they have someone dress up every year for when the kids arrive, which is in about sixty minutes, so I gotta go.” Evie had Billy’s wrist again to check the time. Pecked his cheek and shifting before he about howled. “What?” Her body jumped at the sound.

   “No fucking way!” Billy was scrambling out because the bunny head had come off so a quick smoke could be snuck around back. “No way! Hey, Harrington! That you, amigo? What’s up, doc?” 

   Steve spun on his heel, holding a cigarette in one hand and the bunny head under his other arm. His head fell back with a groan because Billy was leaning up against his chair, bent over to belly laugh.

   “Hargrove?” Steve looked mortified, but played tough. “Are they really letting you within five feet of a church?” Billy was too busy cackling to retort. Fist clenched and head resting upon his arm on the Camaro.

   “The fucking tail.” Billy wasn’t stopping so Evie crossed her arms.

   “What happened to Gary?” Evie approached Steve, head cocking. “Ignore Billy.”

   “I try to… And food poisoning. I dropped Dustin off at home yesterday to help Claudia out and she begged me last minute. I’m getting fifteen bucks for it though. Not bad for the Saturday before Easter.” He flashed a half smile. “Suit kinda smells like potpourri, I-...Is he gonna stop or what?” 

   “He’ll tucker himself out eventually.” Evie turned her head to see Billy unable to get air. “Billy, take a breath already before you pass out!” A huge gulp followed. More wild laughter. “Jeez.”

   “I’m never gonna live this down, shit.” Steve mumbled around his smoke, flicking it. “Asshole.”

   “Might want to get back in, Pastor will have a cow if he catches you smoking in the suit.” Evie took the head to help Steve back into it.

   “See you, Hargrove. Remember to breathe, dick.” The bunny snuck back in the side door. Another round of laughs at the sight of the puffy tail.

   “I wanna kick his ass so bad. You don’t understand.” Billy stretched out, eyes watering and cheeks blushed. Freckles glowing.

   “You short circuiting still?” Evie peered down at her boots.

   “I don’t know what Easter is about, but that...was the best shit I’ve ever seen.” Billy snickered like a little boy with his hand in the cookie jar. Evie only rolled her eyes.

   “New beginnings, Billy.” Heels clicked up behind them so Billy straightened quick to get his composure.

   “Hey, mom.” Evie leaned out from behind the boy.

   Mona Fenny appeared from the main doors, her arms full of bags. Brightly colored plastic eggs packed with treats about to spill out. Hair pumped, unable to move, with a short 60s sheath dress clinging to her body. Yellow and orange print. Something that was definitely noted by the men around. Single and ready at all times. Evie felt her cheeks heat at her mother.

   “New beginnings, Miss Mona?” Billy repeated, one hand sliding into his jean pocket.

   “That’s what I always thought, sugar.” That southern twang thick beyond all reach.

   Billy always liked to poke fun at Evie, she had the slightest Louisiana touch to her voice that came out when she was in a more fiery disposition. She swore it wasn’t true.

   “Evie, they’re trying to get the dessert table set up. I didn’t realize Billy was joining us.” Mona continued.

   “Oh, I-”

   “You know, Billy was actually telling me he’s never been to a real Easter gathering before. Not a church event.” Evie’s sly smile crossed and he shot her a look. “I’m sure those big, strong arms you got would really help out setting up.” Evie came to him and gave his bicep a pat.

   “That’s lovely, Billy. You know the kids just love this event, fun in the sun and more food than you’ll ever eat. Go on inside, you two. We have decorations to get going.” Mona clicked away, peppy in stride.

   “I had a hair appointment.” Billy hissed through his teeth when Evie’s mother was gone.

   “You want to tell my mother that you’re going to get your hair done somewhere that isn’t her salon?” Evie’s lips pressed. Billy’s face scrunched because she had him there. “I panicked, the people here are too much. Please stay.”

   “Your mom never turns her volume down, does she? Looking more like a brunette Sharon Tate than a Dolly Parton.” Billy locked his car, stuffing the scorpion keychain into his pocket.

   “Been like that since dad left, she’s...on the market. Trying to feel good. People notice and they say some not great stuff. She went from dressing like a nun to a model overnight.” Evie was holding her arms close to her chest still, making this unconscious patting motion Billy always noted like she was trying to console herself.

   “Really bugs you, what people think.”

   “It’s a small town, it bugs everyone.” Evie turned, skirt flitting while her curls bounced. “Don’t like all these guys ogling my mom.”

   Doesn’t like that one might replace her dad. Evie peered back at Billy, lips pushed up to appear brighter. He decided he wanted to see her happier without force.

   “I’ll stick around. You owe me.” Steps followed. One hand gave her bottom a firm pat.

   “You know, the Easter Bunny has to do a dance before the festivities begin?” She whispered then. “It’s tradition.”

   Billy perked up like a dog.

   “Right, so, decorations?” He waltzed ahead with a giggling girl in tow. Spotted the moms passing boxes off. All stilling to see him there. Wind sweeping his blond locks like a beefcake out of a romance novel. Shirt open with his saint chain glinting upon his tanned chest. “Ladies.”

   “Hi, Billy.” Came the chorus.

   He ate that up a little. 

   Sunlight was barely felt through the spring breeze. Balloons and streamers glowed every direction. Twisted around Evie’s manicured fingers as she passed them up to Billy to be tied around the banner.

   “Feel like I might float away here.” The wind swept up her unruly curls as she smiled below when Billy peered to see her. Pink and violet balloons. Yellow streamers. She looked like a piece of decadent candy there. “What?”

   Billy snapped out of it.

   “Why do I have to be on the ladder?” He snatched another bundle of strings from her to tie them up.

   “I wore a skirt so I wouldn’t have to be.” Came the cheeky reply. Hawkins residents hurried all over to set up the grassy field.

   “Let’s switch. Although, the view here ain’t half bad. I can totally see down your shirt.” His tongue swept over eager lips as eyes lowered to her breasts. Brows furrowed to glare at him. It was striking how cute she was, even angry. High, apple cheeks and pillowy lips. The sun brought some gold into lush, dark curls. 

   “Jerk.” An arm hanging with streamers covered her chest. “We’re standing next to a church. Behave yourself, you’re fixing to get smited.”

   “God’s got bigger problems than me.” He shrugged, caught his tongue in teeth. Smirked. “Fixin’ to. Your Louisiana is showing.”

   “Shut it, I got too much family down there still. Sometimes it jumps out. I don’t have an accent.”

   “You so do. Just saying it’s cute.” He caught her cheeks flooding all strawberries and cream.

   “Hey, I have to keep my clinically unapproachable ice queen reputation. You’re not helping.”

   “Damn cute then.” Billy’s head cocked. A wink of those sinfully, long lashes. “Hand me another one.”

   Evie’s hand came to his to offer a new bundle of balloons.

   Green grass swept about as parents worked to hide eggs all over and a full spread of picnic food was set out on blue gingham tables. Kids started to pile in so Billy decided it was time to hide around the building after snagging the biggest piece of apple pie he could. Alone, they watched the crowds play beyond a row of vibrant tulips.

   “One fork?” Evie leaned up against the wall.

   “You had my tongue in your mouth this morning, don’t complain about sharing a fork.”

   “Fair enough.” She let him feed her a bite. “That wasn’t so bad, time flew. You want to jet?” A bouncy tune played as Billy craned his neck around the corner after a huge bit of pie. Evie followed his line of sight.

   “Easter is my new favorite holiday.” He let Evie snag the fork to finish off the slice, tossing the plate into the trash. Genuine laughter as Steve Harrington did a jig in his costume across the open field. Billy’s arm slid over Evie’s shoulders. “You think I can pay one of these kids to kick bunny in the nuts?”

   “We’re leaving… Before you traumatize some child.” She tugged at his wrist to sneak in a side door. “Left my coat and purse over here.”

   Absolutely empty and dim save for the morning sun spilling into stained glass. They passed rows of pews to the tables covered in empty boxes. Evie went for her purse and realized she already lost Billy, curiously rooting around.

   “Hey, don’t touch that.”

   “They actually have one of these things? I thought movies made this shit up.” Billy poked his head around the little confessional booth. Hardwood and sleek to touch. Ornate and out of place against bright blue wallpaper. Two doors on either side. “So, everyone’s planning on staying outside right? Should be entertained a few hours, hm.”

   He went in and a lock clicked.

   “Billy, hey.” Evie felt the urge to keep her voice low. “Get out of there. They actually don’t really use this thing anymore.”

   “Doesn’t get use, eh? Too bad.” His snicker was muffled. “Get in the other side, Angel, confess your sins.”

   “I’ll confess that I think the nickname is still silly.” She wiggled the handle and poked her head into the opposite side. Saw Billy’s pretty silhouette through the tiny mesh window. Both sides were cramped like an airplane bathroom.

   “Roomier than I thought.”

   “Some of us have hips here.” Evie huffed at him, the door shut while she slid inside. “Kinda creepy actually, let’s go.”

   “You gotta confess first, it’s the rule.” His wild curls flicked so she plopped into the wooden bench.

   “This is not even sexy, I feel like I’m about to be murdered here.” She pressed her hands on either wall.

   “Better confess quick in that case,” Billy leaned in, she saw his lashes flutter, “what color are your panties today?”

   “Billy.” She covered the mesh with one hand.

   “Do they match the bra?” He continued, voice lowering.

   “I’m not doing this.” Evie lifted her skirt and shifted a lacy pair of shorts aside to see. Billy’s breath drew heavier. “What’s it matter if they match?”

   “If they match, you walked into this church thinking you’d be getting some later.” He said that far too matter-a-factually. “Sinner. What color? Describe them exactly.”

   “You’re being gross.” She knew he heard the band of her little biker shorts snap. Caved. “Purple. Like a lilac.”

   “Cotton?”

   “...Satin.”

   A lengthy hum from Billy at that.

   “And the bra. I’m assuming the same.” He already heard Evie shuffling to check.

   “Ah, shit.” She let her shirt go and he chuckled. “I didn’t even plan that. I wasn’t thinking about it.”

   “Your subconscious knew, Angel. No denying it.” Billy propped his arm up.

   “Okay, what do you have on?” The challenge was easily met.

   “Nothing under the jeans, currently. You should try it.”

   “In a skirt? Without my little shorts? My thighs would rub, I’d be miserable.” Came a whine.

   “I’d massage your poor thighs, maybe blow the hot skin to cool it off if you like.” His suggestion wasn’t helpful. “Spread them and rub some ice to make you feel better. Few kisses all the way up.” That damn low baritone lingered upon the syllables like he might lick them. Evie gave a silent snort out her nose. “You’d probably squirm a little bit like you are now.”

   “I am not squirming.” Evie’s chest lifted, eyes turned to Billy’s outline.

   “Now, Angel, you can’t tell lies in here. The sins are just piling up for you today.” Billy peered around, couldn’t see much in here. Spotted her lips parting, but sound came out. “Betcha, you’re already soaked through those satin, lilac panties.” His purring was met with hard silence before a forcibly huff.

   “Billy...quit it.” She bit her lip this time sounding like she’d smiled. Billy spotted her cheeks lifting, full and blushed all pretty he figured.

   “I’ll confess, it took every ounce of fight in me to get you here on time. Lot of places in this town to stop and...park at for a bit. The one charming thing I discovered about this place.”

   “How sunny side up of you.” She hummed.

   “You would have let me have it because we would have parked for awhile. You’d be late. Probably left your wrecked panties in the backseat and walked around here with fireworks still going off under your skin. We both know it.” 

   “Probably wouldn’t have made it here at all.” Her slow reply was uttered and Billy grinned.

   “See, I behaved.” He got closer to the window. “Confess, Evie.”

   “Confess that you’re a total horn dog.” She drew in to meet him.

   “Confess what you want me to do to you in there.” Billy murmured. She blew a curl out her face at that. “I got it, I want you to be my first.” He’d offered that with huge, glittering eyes she’d caught the glint of. Eyebrows jumped.

   “What? Literally yesterday, we-”

   “I never fucked in a church before.” He got her eyes rolling hard, almost to the back of her skull.

   “Jesus Christ, Billy.” She covered the mesh again, heard him laughing on the other side.

   “Not the name you need to be moaning right now.” Billy smacked the window closed and came out. 

   “Finally, we can go-” Evie had the door open. Still blushing. Chest puffed. 

   Billy appeared from smoke, had his hands on either side before he pushed in. Catching her lips on the way until the door could shut behind them. Cupping Evie’s face so she pressed into the wall. Back of her legs hit the bench and managed to not buckle. Palms felt around the hardwood for something to grab for until fingers bunched up Billy’s jacket.

   She broke for air. Gulped on it before his tongue was back into her mouth.

   “We should…” Lips swelled with kisses. “Go to the car.”

   “Will you make that walk? I know I won’t.” Came the hushed reply. “We could cross something big off the bucket list.” Persuasive lips were already working on her neck, teeth tugged her ear and grazed back down. Billy got a handful of her tits and hummed.

   “Not...Not sure it’s on my bucket list.” She just held onto him. Knees wobbling as Billy massaged through the bra.

   “I’d add it now while you have time.” He pecked her throat. Felt the pulse under tender skin racing. “Confess.” It was a sinful purr. Evie’s head tipped back. Lungs starting to sputter. Billy made her heart a pile of volcanic mush.

   “What if someone comes in?” She let him tuck her curls aside. Lips on her cheeks and jaw. Finding her mouth again. Tasting sweet sugar from the apple pie they shared.

   “We’ll just have to keep it down and pray the party is entertaining enough to keep people outside.” He mumbled, coming out to pull the shirt from her skirt up over the pretty bra she had on. 

   Hands pulled her suspenders forth until Evie molded into him. Kissed back with the same fierce vigor he gave. Felt the chain around his neck while her fingers slipped under the collar of his shirt, four buttons already undone.

   The hard lines of his body sweltered with fire. Whatever resolve she might have had melted away completely. 

   Evie liked how he always cupped her face to look at her features close between steaming kisses. Fingers trailed to work her bra down just enough for her to spill into his touch. Into his mouth. Bruising suckles. Teeth edging across silken skin. Tongue swirling one dark, rosy nipple than the other as she tried to quiet herself and ran fingers into his gold mane. A hiss and Billy’s eyes lifted. Evie’s head was turned aside, teeth in her bottom lip. Eyes shut.

   “Cute when you try to hold it together.” Cool breath against her hard, wet nipple sent a vibration down her spine. Billy licked up her chest to inhale that amber perfume, a floral scent with a touch of vanilla from her lotion. Smelled lush to match him. She pushed his face back into her cleavage, partly to quiet him because he was too cocky.

   Chuckling and breathless, Billy came up to tease her lips. Twisting her nipples just so to elicit a sigh. Low and even, Billy ran his finger over her mouth.

   “Just confess, Angel, it’ll feel so fucking good when you do.” He caught her bottom lip and let it go.

   “Promise?” Evie’s lips parted involuntarily at his touch, let his finger stroke her tongue and slip out. 

   “I promise.” That same hand already hiked her skirt to tug at shorts until they came down. His finger inched under the waistband of her panties, teasing sensitive skin. She pressed into his body, vibrating for more. Swaying. Arms snug around his shoulders to stay upright.

   A shameless sound when her lips collided with his. Thigh hitching around his hips in a needy motion. Not shy about what she desired for one beat because he knew how to coax that side of her out. Billy teased lighter kisses, let his deft fingers dance along her inner thigh. Evie was stubborn and she knew what he wanted. 

  Confession.

   A growl rippled out her tense vocal cords. Trying to reel sound in despite Billy’s inherent ability to make her see new sparks of vivid neon colors here in pure darkness.

   “Okay…” She panted, pulling for him until their foreheads touched. “Okay.” A drunken moment where eyes could close. One beat of peace in obscenity. His free arm tightened around the small of her back so they were flush together. Perfect fit. Every curve to her body sloped easily into him. An almost Biblical fate because of how good they felt together. Evie parted her mouth to ghost it over his. “I sinned.”

   “Yeah?” Billy’s palm inched up to reward her sighs. A smirk crossed. “How’s that?”

   “Because I was hoping you’d pull over on the way here. Would have seen the new underwear in a better light. And I squirmed the whole way. Your loss.” All that cheeky strength simmered down when fingers pushed between thick thighs. Wet satin fabric slipped deliberately against her and Billy moaned at the mere feel. Rock hard.

   “Fuck, you’re soaked, Angel.” His tone thickened.

   Evie wasn’t able to articulate. Face in his chest with her needy fingers tight on his jacket. She played her demure self again. Billy felt her legs tremor, nudged them further apart with his boot.

   “All for me? I wouldn’t call it a loss. You gotta hold yourself up a bit longer, open that mouth again.” He gave her two slick fingers to suck so he could kiss down her tits some more. Plucked and nipped at every sensitive part of her body. “Fucking god damn it, I might give religion a shot after this.”

   “Yeah?” Evie licked the pads as Billy slunk down to marvel. Thought about taking her skirt off, but he decided he liked the way the straps framed her breasts partially spilling out of the bra.

   One hand forced her thigh up until her foot hit the bench. Evie was curved back into the wall, holding the side frame and gripping Billy’s shoulder.

   “Long as I get to go where you’re going, I don’t give a shit about anything else.” A chuckle warmed her leg as he pushed her skirt up out of the way.

   “That sounded oddly sentimental.”

   “Maybe I’ll bring you down to my level instead. Sinner.” Billy’s mouth placed one open kiss against her wet panties. Tongue following the hard swell of her bud. She decided she’d let him there in darkness. Every muscle in Evie’s body jumped at full attention. His divine and equally wicked mouth hummed blissfully. She craned to dig teeth into her own arm. Fists clenching.

   Billy maneuvered her leg over to get the ruined fabric down. Tucked them into his coat pocket and she figured she wouldn’t be seeing them again. Kneeling, Billy scooted closer and pushed her thigh back up, baring her to his mouth. 

   A cry hitched, snuffing out immediately as he tasted her. Filthy, open mouth kisses until her fingers tangled into his hair. Pulled. Billy moaned into her folds. Squeezed her thighs and loved the feel of them. God, he really couldn’t get enough of this girl. Every whine she let him have. Every nerve that wanted him. Needed him to ease the frays and sizzling. He just couldn’t get enough and was fine with following her into the dark.

   “Don’t stop.” Evie whispered. Hair falling into her face while her breasts rose and fell. She licked her lips and savored him.

   The dirty sounds he made against her that barely carried outside the booth. Billy squeezed her breast once he was certain she could stay up so she covered his hand. Craned to suck fingers. A gasp left. Evie’s hips rolled into his mouth. Asking for even more until two fingers pushed inside. 

   Billy moaned when her walls clamped. Pumped through the resistance to massage her nice and deep. Evie was quivering there. Using both arms on the sides to stay up. Shameless working into him now. Billy made a vaguely amused sound and gave an obscene pop around her clit, leaning out with arousal slicking his pink lips. It was music, the sounds her body let flow into crisp air.

   “Damn, no wonder you don’t go here anymore. Fucking yourself so hard and pretty on my fingers like this. You couldn’t make the nice list if you paid.” Being eye level with the sight had his cock twitching almost painfully. Evie’s head was tossed back. Clearly getting herself closer so Billy pulled away. Silenced her whine with a kiss. Let her suck and nip at his bottom lip. “See how fucking good you taste?”

   Evie’s hands were opening his belt. Quick and eager. Billy hitched as one palm slipped in, fingers ghosting trimmed blond hair to ease him out of the denim.

   “Confess, Evie, how bad you want me to fuck you right here.” He spoke as if he still had the upper hand.

   “Bet you I can do it without words.” Evie had his hips, guiding Billy to switch so he could sit. The question died and buried itself the second she sank down to lick precum pooling at his tip. Billy’s hips thrust up, eyes heavy and hooded.

   “That bad?” He shuddered, legs opening so she could lean into him. Evie unbuttoned the rest of his shirt to kiss the steel muscles. Twitching and molten. Nails scraped his skin. Stopped to stroke him idly. Kissing his abdomen, thighs, and tip. Evie traced the lines of vein and muscle. Down his shaft and back up his chest. So many sharp angles to explore.

   Little butterfly kisses while she leaned in until his cock slipped snug between her breasts. Spit slick and beading clear arousal. Billy moaned at the sight and gave a rut as she noticed and started to come out. 

   Hands latched to her shoulders. Billy hummed and rolled her nipple. Felt the weight of her tits and pushed them to squeeze his shaft. Idle fingers stilled to tuck her hair back in a way that was almost tender.

   “You’re pretty like this,” he said thoughtfully, “you’re pretty every which way.” Teeth tugged at her bottom lip. A shy kiss followed. Sometimes, he got so bold, she sank. Learned to savor it. Billy whispered against her. “Have I ever told you my cock looks great between your tits like that?” Frankly, he’d be happy to get off rubbing between her breasts or thighs alone. Fingers digging into supple skin. Evie had become a drug to him. Vanilla and amber immersed him in a high.

   “The occasion hasn’t really crossed.”

   “I’ll have to fix that next time I can lie you down.” Billy let her stroke him again and come up. Hesitating so he had to encourage her. “Get in my lap.” He was already pulling her into him. Smoothing hair back sweetly for lingering kisses.

   She long stopped worrying about feeling too heavy for him. Billy threw her around a mattress like it was nothing. Spread her legs, bent them up how he liked. Marveled at her flexibility. Kissed her obscenely and told her how pretty and blushed she looked. She liked when he was ample with her body. The boy certainly lifted enough weights, a fuller girl with hips was nothing to that. Jeans shifted lower as she straddled him. A kiss before she sank down.

   Billy moaned. A low honeyed sound into her ear. Almost musical. Arms wrapped tighter. Evie thanked God for birth control and moved at his coaxing.

   “C’mon, fuck me. I want it.” Billy kissed her fiercely. Nipples. Collar. Throat. Jawline. Mouth. And each time, he felt that same thrill rush his bones. A palm smacked her ass, squeezed it. Got drunk off the pulsing and little whines she gave him as if they were gift wrapped. “Confession. I want pictures of you. Spread out with my cock in you every way you like. They won’t beat the real thing, but fuck, I can’t...stop with you. Don’t want to.”

   Billy looked vulnerable when he moaned so pretty.

   His knuckles traced the curve of her cheekbone. Evie bounced, gripped his shoulders to stay upright with her spine curving. Unable to respond to something so passionate. Billy had that mode on him, sometimes it came out in odd ways. Filthy words to match his obscene way of caressing and worship. His manner of making Evie feel bold and sexy. Cute. Pretty. Fierce. Desired. The fact that sometimes he’d lie still for once and seek out her fingers across his curls and her lips on his cheek.

   Evie Fenny was a drug and cure to him, all at once. She gave back. Made Billy feel full and light. Made him feel present. Like he could shed his fangs. Lie back and feel the sun on his skin.

   “Confession,” Evie said between quick kisses with her thumb tracing the edge of his jaw, “I want more of you too. After....”

   “After?” He scoffed. “Like tonight?”

   “Just… After.” She slowed to rock into him. Deep thrusts that made them both moan in sync. So close. “After what’s next for us. Life. High school. Whatever. I want you to be apart of my after.”

   He could blame the sex for short circuiting her brain, he’d given it to her pretty hard.

   “I don’t know what I’m saying.” She rubbed her eyes, laughed because it felt silly. Felt Billy swoop in to kiss her. Wordlessly validating it wasn’t silly at all. That was another thing they did, pumped life into hopeful hearts and dwindling thoughts of something more. Something that was waiting...after.

   “We’ll deal with the after.” Billy skimmed a hand between them. Stroked her until she gave a cry into the denim of his jacket. A beautiful note. Evie thought she heard the twinkling music from outside, joyful and airy. Realized that maybe it was just playing in her head. “Right now, I want you to come.” He pecked her parted lips. “Cum for me, Angel.”

  “Billy.” She found his mouth again. They shared a godly nectar in one kiss. He worked her hips into his as she climaxed. Lungs heaving with a great arch. Billy watched her tits bounce and found his own release quick. Let her slip into him as he fell back to the wall. Lungs tried to find some peace. That New Orleans accent laced her tone again. “God damn it, Billy.”

   “Still a church, Fenny.” He massaged her thighs. Eyes shifting while she breathed even and fixed her bra. Tucked her shirt back in.

  “I need a bathroom. This is about to be a mess.” She slipped off him, pulled her undershorts back on because he wasn’t giving her panties up. Thighs hummed, sore and blissful. Billy tucked himself away to fix his own clothing back. Evie poked her head out. “Coast is clear.”

  Without thinking, she laced her hand in his. Hurried him out to the bathroom to pee and wash up. Saw her patchy, red cheeks in the mirror and huffed. Patted cold water on them. Billy finished at the sink and lit a quick cigarette by the window. That chipper music lingered outside.

  “Your mom is going to be here awhile. I vote your place.”

  “Movie on the couch.” She flicked hair aside. Billy flashed a smile, nodding as he snuffed the smoke out.

  “To start, maybe.” Two fingers grasped her chin, angled Evie’s mouth for a slow kiss. Tasted sweet, obscene, and smoky all at once. Made her dizzy.

  “I’d come back here under certain conditions.” He passed to go out with Evie behind him. She found her purse and coat again.

   “Let’s go, you had your fun.” She chuckled as they rejoined the event outside. Wind and all.

  “Uh, I think you did too.” Billy’s arm hung around her shoulder. Easy with their height difference.

  “You two leaving?” Mona had called, edging from her conversation to cross once the teens were outside. Evie pressed her legs together. Smiled. The Pastor who’d been speaking to her mother followed too. Plastic grin upon his face.

  “Ah, yeah, I’ll see you later, mom.” Evie had replied.

  “Thanks for coming to help.” Mona beamed. “Pastor Ray, you know Billy. Our neighbor. He was kind enough to help out.”

  “Mr. Hargrove. I’m surprised to see you here.” They shook tense hands.

  “Only thing I like more than Jesus is Christ. Who doesn’t want to turn water into wine.” Billy’s sarcasm was almost charming. He got a flat look in return.

  “I see...”

  “Evie, can you take some of the food home, honey? We’ll feed the neighbors.” Mona grasped Evie’s arm to pull her forth. “Just put it in the fridge. I’ll organize later.”

  “Sure.” Evie started to follow.

  “Be sure to grab the cherry pie if there’s any left. The ladies outdid themselves this year. Billy, you’re free to take some food home, son.” The Pastor addressed him kindly again. Billy’s grin flashed shiny teeth.

  “I love a good cherry pie, but I filled up on angel cake.”

  He caught Evie’s head whipping toward him as she went. Eyes ablaze which made his smile bigger.

  “Oh?” Ray’s head cocked. “I didn’t see that over there. Must have went fast.”

  “Like you wouldn’t believe, sir.” Billy patted the man’s shoulder and sauntered by. “Nice church, by the way. Pointy.” Evie hurried to his car with her arms full of Tupperware and boxes. Settled them in the backseat.

  “You’re so dead.” She looked sweet, waving at her mother across the lot. Billy laughed, starting his car. “I pick the music.” Her hand swatted his and a groan followed as she tuned the radio to some Etta James. Billy revved out of the parking lot, turning some heads as he went.

  “Admit it, you wouldn’t change what you did today. Sinner.” Billy’s free hand found her leg out of his usual habit. “Made my first church going experience special.”

  “Don’t turn on the waterworks just yet.” She teased back, sucking her cheeks in without looking at him. “Still mad at you.” A smile pulled her forcibly grumpy expression. Billy came to a stoplight. Tugged at a curl to let it bounce so she peered at him. Nose crinkling when she broke to chuckle.

  “Admit it.” Billy gave her thigh a squeeze, vibrant eyes flickering.

  “Make me.” Evie said, facing the road. “Later.” Lips lifted before the light turned green. His Camaro lurched forward.

  “Happy to.” Billy caught the song change. “Hey.”

  “Hm?”

  “It’s that song you’re always singing to yourself.” Billy turned it up. Irma Thomas. “The mushy one.” Her favorite. He played like it was a careless thing, but Evie stared at him. Warming. Reeled in too easily.

   Anyone…

   Anyone…

  “Shocked you paid attention to that.” She offered after a beat.

  “I have to hear it every day I see you, Evie.” Billy snorted, ocean eyes intent on the road. Evie knew better. “Not like I have a choice. Singing and plucking that guitar constantly.” He peered at the trees. “That stuff you were rambling about during the sex high about after.”

   “Sex high.” She scoffed.

   “Was that the fucking making a mess of you?” Billy asked slower. “Used to hate me.”

   “I didn’t hate you,” Evie paused when he shot her an unconvinced look, “we weren’t agreeable.”

   “Agreeable? Okay, now you sound like that prissy Austen chick you like to read.” Billy’s retort made her giggle. These little details he picked up about her that stuck with him. It was true, their relationship used to be in the negative for good reason.

   “I like when we hang out.” Evie shrugged. “Labels. Whatever. I just meant, we should...keep hanging out.”

   “After?”

   “After.” Evie produced simply. Billy twitched amusement at her, turned a corner.

   “Well,” he parked, “I don’t know, good. I guess”

   “Fine.”

   “Great.” Billy cut back in, challenged.

   “Wonderful.”

   “Fan-fucking-tastic.”

   Evie grasped his jacket, shut him up with a kiss. Made the boy breathless there. Billy’s blue eyes glimmered at her. Calm seas for miles. The sun shined into his car. Made the teens glow.

   “Movie?” She unbuckled to get out with him following. “Gotta get this food into my fridge.”

   “Only if I pick.” Billy stood there and let her set boxes into his arms before she grabbed the rest so they could walk up the driveway.

   “Sure. Our tastes align.” Evie peeked back at him with doe brown eyes. “I trust you.” She’d offered that too casually, Billy stilled at the door to watch her unlock it. Blinked.

   That was the thing about them, how nonchalant their hearts beat together. A totally on purpose accident. Billy remembering Evie’s quirks and her reluctance to show certain petals sprouting from her stem for fear the world might not like the colors. Budding to flash them with some fire and vibrancy because she had a boy who encouraged them despite it all. And she teased this incandescent quality back out of him with ease. Made him work to be still and feel the world turn once in a blue moon. Billy gave this little smile to himself without her noticing and followed Evie into the house.

   They hadn’t trusted each other before. And now it was approaching the after. Whatever that meant. Evie glowed to beam at him there and few things were mattering today. New beginnings.

   Billy let himself hope that the after would last.

[alwaysfoolsparsley]

The Decision

(For the theme “Beginnings”; 1,232 words; no warnings; some indirect book allusions but no spoilers; x posted to AO3 here)

---------

What if destiny gave you a choice? If you were shown the outcome - however long and torrid and twisting - of a fateful decision. If you could watch one choice as it spills out into eternity. What if you saw - if you felt -  all the pain and the heartache that would follow. What if fate showed this to you, and asked you to choose? Would you make the same decision, or save yourself the pain and walk away?

Geralt's head was swimming, his body burning all over, bile churning in his belly threatening to come out. He opened his eyes, but everything was black. He struggled to stand, but he couldn't find the floor. He pressed against nothingness; he was in nothingness; suspended outside of space and time.

"Don't be afraid," a voice said from behind him. He turned towards the voice, already knowing who he would see: the sorceress, Yennefer of Vengerberg. Shining white stars appeared in the blackness around them as if called into existence by her presence. Such was her power, even the stars were attracted to her and would come out to illuminate her.

He remembered now - her skin, glowing gold in the afternoon light, warm beneath his fingertips; her eyes, milky purple like summer violets, sparkling up at him, drawing him in; her lips, soft and wet with lipstick; that scent, lilac and gooseberries. The last thing he remembered was the house in Rinde and being put under her spell.

"You're unconscious," she said, calmly. She had moved closer to him, though he had not seen her walk. She appeared directly in front of him now, looking up at him with those violet eyes. He found himself transfixed by her, as he had when he had first seen her just hours before. Something about her drew him in: like a sailor to a siren; a moth to an open flame. "You're about to wake," Yennefer explained, "and shortly thereafter you're going to make a decision. Do you see it?"

"Yes," he said. He could see it, somehow. He saw her calling on the djinn, saw its power, saw her fate. He felt himself make the wish, the words tumbling over his lips, binding their fates together. A rash and reckless wish perhaps, for a sorceress he barely knew, but in that moment, he saw her, knew her, and he could not pull away; he could only pull himself deeper towards her.

He saw and felt all this in an instant - thought he also knew none of it had yet happened. Strange, he thought, he had never seen the future before. Though it did not scare him.

"I want to give you a choice," Yennefer said, awakening him from his vision. "You should have the opportunity to make a different decision."

Geralt looked down at her and saw there were tears in the corners of her eyes, sparkling like precious diamonds she was about to discard. Instinctively he pulled her to him, holding her firmly with one hand against the small of her back. He held his other hand to her face, his rough palm against her soft cheek, his fingertips just brushing against a few stray locks of her long black hair. It felt entirely natural to hold her in his arms - as if she had always belonged there, and had returned there many times - though he had never held her before.

"No," he said, firmly, feeling the words with utter certainty. "I can't make a different decision. There is no other decision to make."

Yennefer looked away, hiding her face against his palm. He felt her wet tears falling on his fingers. "That's not true," she said. "You don't have to make the wish. You can choose to walk away. To save yourself - perhaps save us both. Just look, look at what happens to us. All the pain we will cause. I want you to know what will happen before you choose."

He could see it all now, somehow: their entire lives stretching out in front of him, like a river of time, spiraling into the night sky. He saw the wish, saw her dark curls across a red velvet pillow, he saw his hands on her arms, felt her lips against his neck; he saw the two of them come together and ricochet apart - the force that pulled them together equally pushing them away from each other; he saw them make love a hundred, no, a thousand times: at the peak of the tallest of the Kestrel Mountains, in a valley of wild flowers in Adern, in the heart of a pine forest, by a crackling fire, on a balcony overlooking a busy city, and - by magic - far beneath the surface of a deep blue lake; he saw anger in her dark purple eyes; he saw her hurl insults and jars of preserves at him; he felt his muscles tense with rage; he felt the burning bile of fear and distrust in his stomach; he felt a shard of ice; he saw a kestrel soaring across the night sky; he smelt fire; saw the glint of steel; the deep red of spilled blood; he saw himself alone on the Path, long and endless, cold at night, with a lone star above to guide him; he saw Ciri, his daughter, wrapped in her arms as she protected them both from darkness closing around them; he felt the warmth of her skin against his; he felt her hand, holding his, slip from his grasp; he saw her eyes, deep and endless and intoxicating, staring back at his with a kind of love he didn't believe he could ever deserve, and he couldn't look away.

He saw all of this and held her close. "I can't make a different decision," he said.

"You can," she insisted.

"Fine then, I won't." he said. "How could you think that in showing me all this, I would change my mind? What, to avoid the pain? That would mean sacrificing all the rest along with it. Without sorrow, there is no joy. You are my sorrow, you are my joy. My pleasure and my pain. I will have it all."

She laughed, wiping the tears away from her eyes with her slender fingers. "You really are a fool."

"Yen, how are you doing this?" he asked. He knew her power was great, but whatever this magic was, it was beyond even her capabilities. "Is this really you?"

"Hush now," she whispered. "It doesn't matter, does it? Soon you will wake, and not remember any of this. But you will make the same decision - I gave you the choice, but if you're sure that's what you want, you will make it again."

"Then let me wake," he said. He held both of her hands in his and gently kissed her fingertips. "So I can see you again, now that I know what will become of us."

He felt his eyes closing, his body becoming limp, the world around him swirling away like smoke, and her fingers slipping from his grasp. His thoughts faded too, his memories, his premonitions, until all that that remained was... her; the feeling of her; the touch of her skin; the sparkle of her eyes; her soft lips; and that scent. That, he remembered, he felt, with the core of his being, and after that, there was nothing to decide.

[snelbz]

Lovely, Chapter 4 {ACOTAR}

Written along side the beautiful and talented @tacmc​. Look out for Chapter 5 coming soon. :)

Find previous chapters here: Lovely.

“I’m going to ruin this.”

Rhysand chuckled. “No, you aren’t.”

Feyre blinked, placing her palms on the bar top. “Fine. Teach me your ways, bartender.”

“We’ll start with your favorite,” he said. “What is it?”

“Sex on the beach.”

Rhysand lifted a brow.

Feyre rolled her eyes. “Don’t get any ideas.”

Rhys held up his hands in a motion of surrender.

He taught her how to properly pour a shot, how to count as she poured. He showed her how to layer for certain drinks, told her what flavors worked best together and even had her to try to create a few drinks.

They tasted horrible, but since he had closed the bar early for the night, Rhys and Feyre drank them anyways. Rhys became more and more flirty as he became intoxicated and Feyre was loving every second.

“I hope you’re a better bartender than this,” Feyre giggled, perfectly aware how close together they had become.

“This isn’t…horrible,” he lied, hesitantly, downing the rest of his glass’ contents.

“You’re a shitty liar,” she whispered.

Rhysand laughed, and the sound of his laughter was more intoxicating than the over-vodka-ed drink in her hand.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, swiping her keys out of her purse from behind the counter.

Rhys grabbed her wrist. “If you think I’m letting you drive, you’re not only beautiful, you’re also insane.”

Feyre began to blush, not quite understanding what one had to do with the other but with how drunk Rhys was, she wasn’t sure he did either.

“I’m not trying to leave,” she giggled. “I’m cold and I have a hoodie in the car.”

“Oh.” He let go of her wrist. He grinned sheepishly. “My bad.”

She quickly dashed out to her car, unlocking the door, reaching into the backseat and grabbing the University of Velaris hoodie she kept for just these occasions. It was full of holes and paint splattered and she loved it. Pulling it in, she ran back across the street into the bar, completely ignoring the hustle and bustle of the rest of the night life of Velaris.

Rhys had set up a bottle, two shot glasses, salt and a lime on the counter. He rubbed his hands together. “Time to teach you the easiest drink, tequila shots. So easy even you couldn’t mess it up.”

“Oh ha-ha,” Feyre said, tossing her hair up into a bun as she stepped around the bar.

After acing her first round, but Rhys claiming it was a fluke and making her do it again, they had both had two more shots and Feyre found herself drawn to Rhys. He was leaning against the inside corner of the bar, laughing at something she had said, when she stepped in front of him.

He immediately stopped laughing and stood up straighter, towering over her. He breathed, “What are you doing, Feyre darling?” as she brushed her fingers against his hand.

He began to lean towards her, noting how she was beginning to lean into him, and watched her blue-gray eyes close. Her lips were so close to his, he could-.

The door to the bar opened and Feyre stepped back, Rhys unable to go anywhere as he was backed into the corner, but their eyes were still locked on each other.

“Feyre?”

She knew the voice instantly. Had done her best to block that voice out of her head these past weeks.

But somehow, he was here. She had forgotten to lock the door behind her when she’d come back from grabbing her hoodie.

Tamlin stood in the doorway.

“What the fuck are you doing with him?” He asked.

“What the hell do you want, O’Brien?” Rhys asked, his jaw locked. Feyre could see his hands in fists at his side.

She’d never seen Rhys be anything other than happy. Granted, they hadn’t spent much time together, but he was always the life of the party. The man in front of her now was dark and frightening. Almost like he’d put on a mask.

“Apparently saving my girlfriend from-”

“I’m not your girlfriend,” Feyre interrupted. “Not anymore.”

Realization hit Rhysand’s violet eyes. “Wait, this is your ex? Tamlin?”

Feyre looked back and forth between the two of them, curious as to how they knew one another, but too shaken up to ask.

“Come on, Feyre,” Tamlin said, eyes still locked with Rhys’. “I’m taking you home.”

“No,” Feyre said, although it didn’t come out as strongly as she had hoped.

“Rhysand here is not someone you want to associate with,” Tamlin went on, meandering closer to where Rhys stood, unmoving. “He’s a poor, pathetic college dropout who only owns this bar because it’s in his dead daddy’s name.”

Feyre was appalled that Tamlin could speak so horribly about someone that Feyre saw as purely beautiful. Rhysand’s chin only lifted.

“Get the hell out of here,” Rhys said, pressing his palms against the bar. “You have one last chance of my asking you to leave before I kick your ass and call the cops.”

“Feyre, let’s go.” Tamlin hadn’t looked at her once, not since he’d first walked into the bar. His eyes had been locked on Rhys and she’d never seen such hatred simmering in those green eyes. “You’re drunk, I’m taking you home.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t want to go home with you, I don’t want to go anywhere with you.”

Tamlin sighed and reached across the bar for Feyre’s hand. The second his fingers wrapped around her wrist, Rhysand’s fist made contact with his jaw.

Feyre gasped, jumping backwards as Tamlin stumbled and held his face.

“Get out.” Rhys ordered, once more.

Tamlin’s green eyes were ablaze as he looked up at Feyre. “You don’t know who he is.”

Feyre said nothing.

Rhysand grabbed Tamlin by the back of his shirt collar and pushed him toward the door, jaw already beginning to bruise.

He shrugged Rhys off and walked the rest of the way to the door, but as he pulled the door open, he looked back. “You just made the biggest mistake of your life, Lunasa.”

With that, he was out into the crisp evening and Feyre and Rhys were left alone again.

The haze of the alcohol had never left, and suddenly Feyre felt dizzy. Rhys was at her side before she could even begin to tip to the side. “Let me get you some water, I think you’re in shock.”

Shock.

She couldn’t process why, but she knew he was right. Tamlin’s sudden reappearance has jarred her enough that she was struggling to even speak.

It wasn’t until she’d downed an entire glass of water

that she asked, “How do you know him? Tamlin?”

Rhysand froze from where he was cleaning up a spill on the counter. “We….go way back.”

Feyre blinked. “That’s not an answer.”

Rhysand’s face fell into his hands. “I’m sorry I hit him. Well, no, I’m not. But I am sorry I hit him in front of you.”

Feyre leaned back against the bar stool as she repeated, “How do you know him?”

“We went to school together,” he replied, simply.

Feyre waited for more. He didn’t continue.

“I should go,” she said, slipping down off the bar stool.

“No, no, please.” Rhys was back in front of her, his hands on her cheeks, framing her face. “We went to school together, we were even friends when we were kids. But then something happened with our fathers and things changed. Our lives changed. I just…” His violet eyes guttered. “I don’t want to get into it tonight, please. I was enjoying spending time with you. With just you.”

Feyre wanted to look away but she couldn’t. His eyes were captivating. He was captivating. She’d be a damned liar if she said that she wasn’t into him.

“I’ve been with a liar,” she said, quietly, gesturing to the door that Tamlin had just left through. “I’m done with lies.”

Rhysand hung his head.

Shame.

He was feeling shame.

“I will tell you, soon, just...please, not tonight,” he begged. His eyes were full of worry, full of pain. Whatever it was, Tamlin had never mentioned Rhys. It wasn’t Rhys’ fault. Whatever it was, it wasn’t his fault.

Feyre wanted to lean up, wanted to kiss those full lips. She wanted to see what would happen if she closed the distance between them. She wanted to know if his lips were as soft as they looked. She wanted to know if he’d be the type of man who would wrap an arm around her waist or if he’d tangle his hands in her hair. She wanted to know if he’d be a tease or if he’d take lead. She wanted to know so many things.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she snaked her arms around his waist and she hugged him. She felt him relax in her embrace, felt as his arm encircled her shoulders and locked right.

“Thank you,” he breathed. “Thank you.”

She pulled back and looked up at him.

He was smiling again, though that darkness was still haunting his eyes. She wanted him to laugh and smirk again, so she said, “Show me how to make a martini worthy of James Bond.”

He threw his head back and laughed, not letting go of her as he said. “Now that, I can do.”

————

Elain was frantically walking around her kitchen. She kept opening cabinets, but wasn’t taking anything out of them. The stove was on, the oven was on, the radio was on, and Lucien was sitting on her counter drinking a glass of wine.

“I’ve never seen you this worked up over a guy before,” he said, taking another sip. “I mean, what the hell did he do to make you this worked up?”

Elain blew her bangs out of her eyes. “He’s perfect, that’s what he did.”

Lucien raised a brow. “Perfect? In the eyes of Elain Archeron? What are we talking about here? Tall? Handsome? Clean cut? How many suits does he own?” Elain stopped her pacing. “He’s…not my usual type.”

“What?” Lucien asked. “You mean he wears Prada instead of Armani?”

“I’d be willing to bet he doesn’t own a suit,” she said, then amended her sentence when she remembered he was wearing one when they met. “Okay, maybe just one.”

“I knew it,” Lucien said, crossing one leg over the other. “What does he do? Investment broker? Stock market?” He stopped and groaned. “Tell me it’s not another lawyer.”

Elain walked to where her wine glass sat next to him and took a sip before saying, “He’s a tattoo artist. He owns his own shop.”

Lucien only blinked at Elain as she took a larger sip of her wine.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I just heard you, he’s a what?” Lucien said, slowly setting down his glass.

“You heard me,” Elain said, eyes rolling. “And, I prefer you don’t make such a big deal about this.”

“What else is up with this guy?” Lucien asked, giving her the third degree.

“He has a baby,” Elain whispered, watching the wine as she swirled it around in her glass.

“A baby?” Lucien hopped off the counter and walked to where Elain was standing. “Does he also have a mortgage and a secret wife? Honey, this is no bueno.”

“You don’t know him, Luce,” she sighed. “He’s sweet and funny and so, so handsome. And no,” she added, “Before you ask, I will not see if he has a gay brother.”

“You’re literally the worst wingman of all time,” he sighed and tossed back the dregs of his wine. He looked around the kitchen. “Alright, we’ve got 45 minutes until he’s here. Let’s work some magic.”

“Work some magic?” Elain asked, brows raised. “Really? Because I’ve been trying to work magic all day.”

Lucien rolled his eyes, meandering down the hall to her bedroom. “Well, I know you’re not wearing that.”

Elain looked down at her stained tee shirt and shorts. He had a point.

“You cook,” he called as she heard him open her closet. “I’ll find your outfit. What statement do you want to make?” There was a short pause. “Are you sleeping with him tonight?”

“Lucien!” She laughed, nearly cutting her finger as she chopped the vegetables and tossed them into the pan.

“Alright, alright, don’t tell me.” Her best friend could be so dramatic. “But seriously. What look do you want? Flirty, casual, slutty, cozy?”

“Flirty and cozy,” she called back.

“Are you doing your hair or no?”

Elain ran a hand through her messy hair. “Probably just a top knot.”

She didn’t hear another peep out of him until he came 20 minutes later. “You clothes and jewelry are laid out on the bed.”

“How did I get so lucky as to having a stylist as my best friend?” Elain smacked a kiss on his cheek.

“Down, girl,” he drawled, refilling his wine glass. “Save it for your hunky tattooed boy.”

“He’ll be here in about half an hour,” she said, glancing at the clock. “Oh, gods. Luce, you gotta go.”

He paused with his glass halfway to his mouth. “What? I can’t stay and meet him?”

Elain barked a laugh. “Absolutely not.”

“I’m trying not to be offended,” he mumbled, drinking from his glass.

“I just…” she stopped, staring at her own wine glass. Lucien had been joking earlier, but would it be the night something happened between them?

“He hasn’t even kissed me,” Elain started, trying to state it matter-of-factly. Instead, it came out softly.

“Oh, El,” he breathed and his face softened, then he smirked. “Are you sure he’s not gay?”

“Lucien!” Elain cried, trying not to laugh. She pushed him away.

He smiled though and she realized so was she.

He said, “I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical reason he hasn’t kissed you. And after the meal you’ve made him tonight, he’ll probably ask you to marry him.” She smiled at him and he grabbed her shoulders and turned her around. “Now go change, I’ll leave as soon as you get back. Someone has to watch the food and I need to finish my wine.”

He gave her a light shove and she made her way to her room. She found a simple outfit of a large, cozy knit sweater, black leggings, thick, long socks, and plain silver jewelry. Comfortable but cute. Just what she’d wanted. She took a couple minutes to touch up her makeup and hair before heading back down the hallway.

She realized two male voices were floating down the hall towards her and she could easily recognize both.

She froze, trying to listen in.

“I didn’t know you had a kid,” Lucien was saying.

Azriel cleared his throat. “Yeah, well…”

Elain took a step into the kitchen. “Hi!”

Az turned, his smile lighting up his face. “Hey,” he breathed.

Lucien cleared his throat. “You didn’t tell me Azriel Draeven was your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my- Don’t you have somewhere you needed to be?” She asked, cutting herself off.

“Since dinner isn’t for three, I’d say so,” he sighed. “It was good to see you again, Azriel. Don’t tire her out too much, we’re supposed to go to the gym in the morning, bye!”

It all came out in a rush and before either of them could say anything, he was out the door, taking his wine glass with him.

Elain was staring at her front door, gaping, cheeks turning a bright shade of red. “He- I- He- Ignore him.”

Azriel just laughed, breathlessly. “I didn’t know you knew Lucien.”

“I didn’t know you knew Lucien.”

Azriel shrugged, hands shoved in his pockets as he took a step toward her. “We went to school together.” A moment passed, and he took another step closer. “It’s good to see you. Sorry I’m early. I couldn’t wait any longer.”

“It’s okay,” she said, leaning against the counter. “Early is good.”

“You look beautiful,” he said and she blushed again. “God, that blush does things to me.” He brushed a thumb over her flushed cheek.

Elain couldn’t stop herself as she leaned up on her toes and pressed her lips to his. She pulled back and breathed, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t wait any longer to do that.”

He watched her for a moment, and that moment seemed to pass by too slowly. She needed him to say something. Anything.

But, he didn’t.

Instead, his hands found her waist and he pulled her closer, kissing her much, much slower.

He tasted like mint. His lips were gentle, soft.

She felt like he was holding back.

When he let go, his mouth leaving hers, he said, “Sorry, it didn’t last long enough the first time.”

Elain giggled. She honest to God giggled, and said, “Are you hungry? Dinner should be ready.”

“I could eat,” he smiled.

He helped Elain make their plates, piling his plate extra high with the homemade macaroni and cheese she’d made. He’d carried her food out of the kitchen.

“Do you want a drink?” She called. “I have wine and beer.”

“White or red?” His voice didn’t come from the dining room like she’d expected.

“White.” She peeked her head into the living room and found him on her couch.

He looked back at her. “I’ll have a glass.”

She asked, “You don’t want to sit at the table?”

“There’s a little too much space at the table for my taste. I’d rather be able to sit next to you.” He smiled and patted the spot next to him.

“Okay,” she said,  smiling and walking back into the kitchen. She poured two glasses of moscato and grabbed silverware and napkins, before making her way back into the living room.

She set the glasses down on the coffee table before sitting by his side. He was devouring his plate, which made Elain feel good, but also found it humorous that he ate his food so quickly.

“So, did you have a good day at work?” she asked.

He nodded, swallowing before he said, “Only had a few appointments, so I didn’t stay the whole day. How about you?”

“I have a wedding coming up so I was extra busy,” she said, her thigh brushing his.

He set his plate on his lap and rest a hand on her leg, not to high as to make her uncomfortable, but he had this uncontrollable urge to touch her, to be close to her.

“How was your visit with Asher today?” She asked, taking a bite of roast chicken.

“It was great,” he smiled, but she saw the hesitation in his eyes.

“What?” She asked, running her fingers down his arm. She trailed her finger down one of his many tattoos. She marveled at the fact that it felt just like regular skin. She’d always imagined it would feel different, more rough.

“Just…” He shook his head. “We’ve got another meeting with our lawyers coming up and I’m sure Ianthe will make another bullshit reason as to why she can’t come.”

Elain hesitated. “I hope I’m not overstepping when I say that Ianthe is a hot mess.”

Azriel had bitched a lot to Elain about Ianthe in recent days. He laughed, quietly. “No, you’re not overstepping. In fact, you’re being quite nice.”

She nudged his shoulder. “Well, if there’s ever anything I can do...you know, let me know.”

His smile softened. “You are a beautiful woman. Inside and out.”

His words were soft, but they still made Elain’s stomach erupt into a fit of butterflies.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she said, taking another bite of chicken.

“So,” he said, setting his empty plate on the table in front of them. “You make me dinner, you get me liquored up. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to take advantage of me.”

She blushed and looked away. His fingers found her chin and he turned her face towards him. “I’m kidding,” he said, brushing his thumb over her lips.

“But are you wrong?” She asked, voice flirtatious although her heart was nearly about to burst through her chest.

Azriel raised a brow, a small grin on his lips. “Elain Archeron. Who knew you have a naughty side?”

His voice was light, but she saw the look in his eyes shift.

Lucien’s words from earlier flashed through her mind.

Are you sleeping with him tonight?

Maybe not. But did she want to?

She didn’t say a word as she twisted, throwing her leg over one side of his body. She straddled him, and his hands settled on her hips, pulling her close and their lips found each other’s.

Her hands framed his face and she gasped as he nibbled on her bottom lip. Her messy bun got a little messier as his hand dove into her hair.

He pulled back, breathing heavily. His hazel eyes were dark. “I really was kidding. I didn’t have any expectations coming here tonight. I just wanted to see you and spend time with you.”

She didn’t answer as she crashed her lips against his again.

She knew that.

She knew who he was, knew his heart. She also was fully aware of how bad she wanted him.

She wouldn’t give him all of her tonight, but she would give him just a taste.

Something to keep him wanting more.

Something to keep him wondering about the secret fantasies of Elain Archeron.

~~~

It was almost seven, and Nesta was still in her dance studio. It had been a long ass day.

When she’d woken up and found Cassian gone, she had taken the hint.

She wasn’t looking for a relationship, she hadn’t even planned on sleeping with him until she’d gotten drunk. But she didn’t expect the pain of waking up on her couch alone. She didn’t expect the subtle ache in her heart when she realized he had left without waking her, without saying a word.

She had spent all day trying not to think about him, but had failed. Every minute, all day, her mind had drifted to him. She wanted to storm down the hall, into his classroom, and demand why he’d left.

But, she didn’t. She had remained professional. She had a hell of a headache, but she remained professional.

She was packing up her things to go home when a soft knock came on the door of her studio.

Cassian was standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe with a small smile his mouth. “Hey.”

Nesta blinked. “Hey? Did you just say hey? Are you kidding me?”

“I mean, hello?” He shrugged. “Was hey too informal now or something?”

Nesta scoffed and picked up her bag, tossing her flats into it. “You’ve got some fucking nerve,” she mumbled, trying to pass him at the door.

He gripped her wrist, “What the hell are you talking about?”

Nesta shook her head, turning her back to him as she shoved her belongings into her bag. “You may leave.”

Cassian hesitated from his place in the doorway. “I’m...sorry, did I do something wrong?”

Nesta wanted to scream, wanted to slap him in the face before grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him. “You seriously don’t see a problem with what you did?”

Cassian’s eyes went wide. “I don’t know how to tell you, sweetheart, but you were a willing party in everything that took place last night.”

“That’s not what I mean, you ass!” She turned and glared at him.

A look of genuine confusion and hurt was on his face.

She asked, “Where did you go this morning?”

Cassian blinked. “Home? To shower? And get my shit together so I didn’t look like a hungover bum in first period this morning? And, considering I walked to your house, I had to walk back to the bar and get my truck. I didn’t want to wake you. You looked so peaceful. I was going to text you when I got home but I don’t have your number. Then, you know, you ignore me all day…”

He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. She had never seen him look so...genuine. The cocky grin was gone.

She asked, “You didn’t leave because I’m a one night stand?”

“What?” He asked, taking a step forward. “Fuck, is that what you thought? I’ve been trying to take you on a date since the night I stepped on you in the street.” He reached for her, but stopped, not wanting to overstep his boundaries.

His hand fell back down to his side. She had to admit, she liked this side of him. It was real.

“I would never do that to you,” he said. “I like you. A lot.”

Nesta couldn’t help it, she couldn’t help as the tears welled in her eyes.

“Hey, hey, no,” he breathed, stepping forward and taking her face in his hands. “Please don’t cry. I’m so sorry you thought that. I’ve been trying to catch your eye all day.” He chuckled lightly. “I didn’t expect you to still be here. I guess I got lucky that my eighth graders trashed my recording booth earlier and I had to stay late.” He smirked and a laugh bubbled from Nesta’s lips. “That’s better,” he whispered, eyes flicking from her eyes to her lips.

His thumbs were brushing her cheeks. He was so close. He breathed, “Can I kiss you?”

She pressed her trembling lips to his in answer. It wasn’t the same kind of kiss as the night before. Those kisses had been hungry, lustful. This one was gentle, sweet, slow.

When he pulled back, Nesta’s tears had stopped, a small smile taking their place.

“Are you busy tonight?” She asked, quietly.

“I was going to go to Rhysand’s, but he’s training a new bartender. Probably best that I don’t.” He chuckled. “I’ll end up being given the mess ups and I still haven’t recovered from last night.”

Nesta paused. “I think that bartender might be my sister.”

Cassian laughed. “No offense, but I definitely think I’ll pass now. Do you want to come to dinner with me?” He smirked. “I mean, you’ve already slept with me, it’s the least you can do.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re still an ass.”

His grin widened. “Is that a yes?”

She gave him a long, suspenseful look as she said, “Yes.”

“Good,” He said, offering his hand. “I’ve got an idea.”

He drove her to the supermarket in Velaris, telling her to stay in the truck and he’d be right back. He returned and tossed the bags he carried in the toolbox in the back before she could even ask what was in them.

When she got the look in her eye and opened her mouth to ask where he was taking her, he smoothly said, “Trust me, you’re going to love it.” He rested his hand on her thigh. She didn’t ask him to move it.

He drove outside of town and backed his truck up to the lookout point overlooking Velaris. The sun was just beginning to set and the skyline took Nesta’s breath away. She’d never seen the city from this perspective.

She heard Cassian hop out of the bed of the truck and turned around. With a grin, he lowered the tailgate and she melted at the sight in front of her.

A picnic was laid out in his bed, complete with a bottle of wine and checkered blanket.

“Attractive and romantic?” Nesta mused. “An interesting combination.”

Cassian huffed a laugh as he hopped up into the bed, taking her by the hand to help her up, too.

“I’ve always known you’ve found me attractive,” he winked.

Nesta just rolled her eyes. He poured wine into two solo cups, and handed one to her. She raised an eyebrow and looked at him as she took it.

He sighed. “It was either real wine glasses or the blanket, which would you have preferred?”

She crossed her legs and rested the cup on her leg. “Definitely the blanket.”

“That’s what I thought.” She could hear the smile in his voice as took a drink and began to unpack their dinner.

Chicken salad, potato salad, and ham and cheese from the deli. There was a bag of chips and two bottles of water that he pulled out last before offering her a little bit of everything.

“So,” he began, cramming a slice of honey ham into his mouth. “Tell me something about yourself.”

“My mother died when I was thirteen,” she said, reaching for the chicken salad. He choked on the ham in his mouth.

He coughed and took a drink of wine. “That...is not what I expected you to open with.” She chuckled softly. “I was thinking more along the lines of when you started dancing or your favorite movie or how good I am in bed.”

“Don’t you mean ‘wall’?” She smirked. He shook his head and swiped a piece of cheese from the pile in front of them. “And I figured might as well get it out of the way. It’s something I don’t dwell on. It’s the reason I threw myself into dancing.”

She shrugged. “Feyre had her art and Elain was taking care of our father. So I had my ballet.”

He asked, “Didn’t you go to VIA?”

She nodded and drained her wine glass. “It’s always been my dream to come back and instruct there.”

“So, now all your dreams have come true?” he asked, brow raised.

She laughed, shaking her head. “I’m happy. I’m at a point in my life where a lot of my goals have been met, yes.”

“But not all?”

She shrugged. “There’s always something to work toward.”

He nodded and refilled their glasses. The sun has almost set and she couldn’t help but notice the way the rays gilded his loose hair. She could see bits of gold in his dark hair. “What about you? Where did you go to school?”

“Good old VHS. Velaris High School.” He leaned back on his elbows. “I played football there. Got a scholarship to the University of Adriata and majored in music theory. I’ve always loved music, even more than football.”

“I wouldn’t guess that by looking at you,” she admitted.

He grinned. “Yeah, most people don’t. But, I don’t know. There’s something about music...getting lost in it. It makes me feel...peaceful.”

“I get it,” Nesta said, thoughtfully. “I feel the same way about dancing.”

“What about your sisters?” Cassian asked. “Have you always got along?”

Nesta chuckled. “With Elain? Yes. Feyre? We’ve had our ups and downs. I love her, though. And she loves me. Sometimes we just have an interesting way of showing it to each other.”

Cassian laughed as he took another sip of his wine.

“How about you?” she asked. “Family?”

He took a moment to think about it. “Never knew my father. To be honest with you, I’m not even sure if my mom knew my father. But she was a great woman, my mom. She passed away when I was in middle school. I moved in with Rhys after that. He was my closest and oldest friend. His mom took me in, raised me as her own. No brothers, no sisters. Just Rhys and Azriel.”

Nesta listened as she chewed. Cassian tipped the wine over her cup and refilled it, regardless of the fact that it wasn’t empty, along with his own.

“When did you start dancing?” He asked.

“When I was seven. I begged and begged my mom to let me start but wouldn’t with two babies at home. So as soon as Feyre turned three, she let me.” She swirled her glass, watching as the bubbles in the middle from the fresh pour spun. “I fell in love pretty instantly. I asked her to sign me up for every style of dance I could. I waited and waited to join pointe, but it had such a high age requirement. The day I was finally allowed to start...” She trailed off and looked out over the city, the last of the day’s light fading. “My life finally started to make sense. It was like a key clicking into a lock.”

“I know that feeling,” he said, falling back on the blanket as the stars of Velaris came out to play. “I love that feeling.”

She smiled. “Me too.”

She laid down next to him, his fingers instantly finding hers. She felt invincible with him. Beautiful. Flawless. Completely and utterly alive.

——

The hardwood of the bar against Feyre’s back was uncomfortable, but the feel of Rhysand’s body pressed against hers as he kissed her was enough to forget about it.

Her leg was thrown over his hip and he had one elbow leaned by her head as his other hand roamed her body.

They’d made sure the door was locked after Tamlin had left and before long, their hands began brushing which lead to lingering looks and finally Rhys had crashed his lips against hers and lifted her up to sit on the bar. One thing led to another and he was now on top of her, playing with the hem of her shorts.

Feyre pulled back and giggled. “I don’t think this is very sanitary. Your customers would be outraged.”

He grinned. “Eh, they don’t scare me.” He brushed her hair out of her face as his smile softened. “Are we drunk?”

“Oh, most definitely,” Feyre laughed, resting her palm against his cheek, “but that doesn’t mean that I haven’t wanted to kiss you like this every time I’ve been around you.”

Rhys lifted a brow. “Oh yeah? It’s because of my undeniable beauty, isn’t it?”

She rolled her eyes, leaning up to give him one more quick kiss. “Maybe it’s because of your undeniable cockiness.”

He smirked and looked up at the clock behind the bar. “Did you know,” he drawled, his lips brushing hers again, “that it’s 3:45 in the morning?”

Her eyes went wide. “Shit, it is?” She turned her head and looked at the clock. “I need to go. I have to be at the Farmer’s Market at 7:30.”

Rhys climbed off of her and hopped off the bar, helping her down as well. “Let me walk you to Nesta’s. You said it’s close, right? I’m not letting you drive anywhere.”

“That’s probably for the best,” she laughed, grabbing her purse and heading for the door.

Rhys locked the door as they left and immediately took her hand in his as they began to walk towards the residential district.

“I’m really glad I met you,” he said.

Feyre arched a brow, her fingers tightening around his palm. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “You’re a really amazing woman.”

Feyre looked away from him, up into the night sky. “I’m really glad I met you, too.”

She couldn’t help but compare. He was so different from Tamlin, in every way. She didn’t realize that the opposite of Tamlin was exactly what she needed.

They didn’t say anything else as they walked, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was warm, like slipping into bed on a winter’s night. It was easy and familiar.

She slowed down as they approached Nesta’s house. She stepped up onto the porch and he followed, stopping behind up. “This is it,” Feyre breathed, as she turned and looked at Rhys.

His hand wove into her hair. “Can I give you a proper goodnight kiss?”

“Please do,” she said, leaning up on her toes to meet him. His tongue brushed along the seam of her lips and she opened for him.

They kissed until she couldn’t breathe, until she was dizzy and high on the heady scent of him. “Goodnight,” she whispered, stepping back and leaning against the door.

“Goodnight,” he replied and pressed one last, soft kiss to her lips, before backing away and making his way down the porch.

When he reached the sidewalk, she called out, “Wait, how will you get home?”

She could see that handsome smirk on his face from across the distance. “Don’t worry, Feyre darling. I don’t live far.”

He waited until she was safely locked in the house before he began to walk away.

——

Elain was high on him.

Her heart was nearly about to beat out of her chest as he hovered over her. Her back was against the couch, the weight of his hips on hers as their lips crashed into one another’s a dream come into reality.

She had kissed men before, but none of them had felt like this.

They had done nothing but kiss the whole night, nothing but the occasional sigh or whisper leaving their lips.

Suddenly, Azriel pulled back. “How cheesy would it have been for me to bring you flowers?”

Elain’s brow furrowed. “Nobody’s ever bought me flowers before.”

“I’ll remember that,” he said, leaning down to brush a kiss to her neck.

She laughed. “Were you thinking of bringing g me flowers?”

“Mhmm,” he mumbled against her neck, “but I thought you’d be tired of flowers.”

“I love flowers,” she said, smiling like a fool. “The world could use more flowers.”

“The world could use more people like you,” he said, pressing another kiss to delicate curve where her neck and shoulder met. “Passionate.” Another kiss. “Caring.” Kiss. “Selfless. Kiss. “Beautiful.”

Elain was blushing, her face and neck on fire as he kissed his way back up to her lips. He pulled back and said, quietly, “I had this whole corny speech planned but I can’t remember any of it. I can’t get past the feeling of your lips, how good you feel against me. Be my girlfriend, Elain, please. I want you in my life. I want you in Asher’s life.” He paused and swallowed. “I know dating a guy with a kid probably sounds miserable, but-.”

She pulled him down the collar and pressed her lips against his, shutting him up.

“Yes,” she whispered against his lips. “Yes.”

[stars-and-rose]

Through Different Eyes

Soi sat down and wrote the first thousand words of the next part of Cursed Kingdom, and I couldn’t finish it because I was distracted by this little one-shot drabble so here we are! this was inspired by this prompt. i saw some comments about it being a perfect prinxiety prompt. agreed, but I put my own spin on it.

my lovely friend @fuzzylittleb drewPatton from his au! (you can see it here)

Fandom: Thomas Sanders/Sanders Sides

Pairings: Prinxiety, Logicality if you squint

Summary: Virgil Tenubrum has been a knight for years, and since being assigned to protect Prince Patton, he’s had to save the prince from the random kidnappings by a powerful warlock. But, apparently, the situation is much more complex- and sweeter- than he thought.

Word Count: 2,051

Trigger Warnings: Cursing, Fake-kidnapping

Sir Virgil Tenebris was really getting sick of this game. He slid down from his raven-colored horse, staring up at the tower before him. How many times had he come to his tower? It had have been at least thirty now. It would be the same routine as always. Challenge that dramatic warlock, disarm him quite easily, save the prince and go home. The whole situation was odd. First of all, the warlock kept the prince in the same tower, in the same location, every single time, like he wanted the prince to be found. Secondly, the warlock never injured Virgil. The magic-user was more than capable of hurting the knight, hell, he could have killed Virgil by now, but he never did. Third, Prince Patton never seemed uncomfortable at the tower; he'd never been hurt or forced into anything. Which made the whole thing even stranger, as the kingdom's main theory behind the constant kidnappings was that the warlock was in love with the prince. Virgil shook his head, clearing his thoughts. No time for pondering.  He walked up to the tower, knocking on the door. "Oi! I'm here, can you just hand over His Highness now?" No response. 

"Really? Come on, at least come out here at face me." Still no answer. Virgil sighed, attempting to open the door. It was surprisingly unlocked. Virgil entered the tower; he never had to enter the building before, Patton always exited the tower to meet him. A large spiral staircase reached upwards. Sighing, the knight climbed the stairs, cursing under his breath every step of the way. When he reached the room at the top, his mouth dropped. He had been expecting towers of musty spell books, stored body parts of animals, and possible chains, all lit by ominous candlelight and reeking stench of boiling potions. Sure, he had been stereotyping, but he had not been suspecting this. Flowing lights danced around the room, giving it a cozy glow. The walls were covered in paintings- some of the sky, some of various magical creatures. A ladder was leaning against one wall, leading upwards.  Some herbs were hanging from the walls, and crystals were lined up in jars based on their color. Journals covered a desk hidden in the room's corner, and the whole place smelled like vanilla and roses. Virgil brushed his hand against one of the murals, making sure that it wasn't an illusion. No, it was real. Somehow, it felt like it matched the warlock- Oh right, the warlock and the prince. They weren't in the room, and a quick look up the ladder (which revealed a loft bedroom with two beds) proved they weren't there either. Had the warlock finally switched up his plan? Virgil ran his hand through his dark locks. What was he going to do kno- Hold on, were those voices coming from outside? Virgil ran up to the tower's window and looked down. His jaw dropped. He thought the décor of the tower had blown his mind. No, the image before him now is what was blowing his mind. Prince Patton and the warlock were walking from the woods, chattering excitedly, and carrying flowers. Was his vision working correctly?  The prince had a bouquet of cornflowers and baby's breath; the warlock held peonies and daisies. Both had flower crowns circling around their heads. What. The. Hell? The knight studied Patton first. His Highness seemed unharmed, as usual, and was wearing a sky blue dress that was cut past his knees. That wasn't shocking for Virgil, he was aware of the prince's affinity for dresses, but he was a little surprised that warlock allowed him to wear it. Most miffing, however, was how happy the prince looked. Virgil saw the prince smile all the time, but a vast majority of those smiles were fake smiles saved for the King and Queen. The last time Virgil had seen Patton this happy was when he was taking with the new knight with a passion for books. Then, Virgil's eyes strayed to the warlock, and his breath hitched in his throat. Sure, he had known that warlock was attractive- they had fought many times, giving Virgil amble opportunities to study him. But now, the warlock looked absolutely, breath-taking, gorgeous. His eyes, which were usually burned like an inferno with the course of magic, were now flickering playfully like a campfire. The poppies and marigolds in his flower crown pinned down the locks of his honey-colored hair. The white tunic and black riding pants (the warlock must have left his signature red cloak in the tower) gave him a simpler, less threating appearance. Then he had the audacity to laugh, and oh god, Virgil would sell his soul to hear that laugh agai- No. No. No. No, he was on a mission, and that mission required saving the prince, not swooning over the warlock. "So, Roman, you know what you're going to do this time?" Patton asked, looking at the warlock as they neared the tower. Roman? Was that the warlocks name? "The same thing I've done the past thirty times and hope it plays out differently?" Patton smacked his face with his palm. "No. You're going to look Sir Virgil in the eye, and say 'So, I've been kidnapping-" "Hey! You came willingly every time after the first! And, to be fair, I found you cornered by the Dragon Witch that time and the situation was an extreme one." The warlock- roman, his name was Roman (Virgil's traitorous mind that name suited the warlock) replied. "Yes, because you actually treat me like a person and allow me to eat all the cookies I want."  Patton agreed. "But, anyway, you're going to say, 'So, I've been kidnapping the prince because you're cute, and apparently that was the only way to get your attention.' Apologize for any anxieties and panic you probably caused him, and throw in a sweet nickname to finish the deal. That's how you make him realize how you feel, Roman Lux" "He doesn't like my nicknames." Roman pouted. "That's because your nicknames are a bit condescending. 'Emo nightmare'?" The warlock winced. "I see your point." Virgil's head was spinning. Was the warlock serious? This whole ideal was not a plan for Roman to court Patton, but for him to court Virgil? The warlock, who bent the forces of the universe with a flick of his hand, who's eyes reflected fire itself wanted him? Or was this just a trick- "Well, I was not expecting this." Virgil was brought back to reality by a familiar voice. The knight spun and made eye contact with the warlock. The prince was right behind the magic-user, his soft eyes filled with a mixture of shock and amusement. "Neither was I, but here we are." Patton flashed Virgil a smile. "You two need to talk. Ro, is there any chocolate left?" The warlock, who was staring at the floor with apparent fascination, muttered an affirmative, and the prince wandered over to the loft ladder. Virgil and Roman stood there in silence, Virgil's hand gripped on the hilt of his sword. It was less of a move to defend himself, and more to just have something to ground him. The feeling of the worn leather of the hilt returned Virgil's focus, and he spoke. "I overheard what you said to His Highness. Were you- were you telling the truth?" Roman snorted. "It's so odd hearing you refer to Patton as 'His Highness'." "It's a symbol of respect." The knight responded. "He hates it. The title." Roman whispered, the statement almost inaudible. "He hates being royalty. Patton just wants to help people, and he hates that he can't do anything until his father hands down the crown. Hell, he hates that he needs the crown to be able to anything." Virgil was honestly so surprised, he took a step back. "You seem to know the Prince well." His nemesis (that really wasn't the right word, was it? If they were truly nemeses, wouldn't they be fighting in their usual routine?) let out the same god damn laugh. "Well, when the two of you are in the middle of nowhere together, you end up staying up late and spilling your secrets and gushing about cute boys." Roman looked up and finally meet eyes with Virgil, the fire in his eye' soft and comforting, like the flames of a hearth on a cold winter day. Virgil blinked. "Are you telling me…. You two have practically been having sleepovers this whole time?" "Pretty much." Virgil pressed his fingers to his temples. "I've been having endless anxiety fearing for His Highness's well being, and you two have been gossiping about your various love interests? And picking flowers?" Roman made a face. "Goodness, I didn't mean to cause you so much panic! You see, Patton and I have this system, he gets in contact with me when his parents are being overwhelming and I 'kidnap' him. We were going to tell you, but Patton said you'd think he was under a spell." Virgil's shoulder's tensed. He was starting to believe the warlock- there was too much earnestly in his voice. But what if this was just magic? What if his words were- "I'm not casting magic right now. I'd need my staff." That was true- the violet flowers in Roman's hands were not his wooden staff. The warlock seemed to remember the flowers, and a beautiful red crashed over his cheeks. "Um, these were for you…" The knight felt his cheeks flame. "You were telling the truth then?" He asked, almost breathlessly, remembering his earlier question. "I was." The warlock stepped forward, and so did Virgil and then Roman stepped even closer and they were practically breathing on each other. Roman offered Virgil the bouquet with his cheeks still flushed and eyes still warm. The knight accepted the flowers, breathing in the sweet smell of them. "They're pretty." Virgil mused. Another sentence formed on his lips before he could think it through. "Just like the man who picked them." Roman cheeks were as bright as the poppies in his crown, and he replied simply with the words, "Not as pretty as the receiver." A blush coating his face, Virgil realized he had two choices. He could continue with the same routine, bringing Patton back to the castle, but without the fear of danger. Or he could try this, this dangerously crazy, whirlwind romance (could it be considered a romance? Maybe not yet, but…) with the magical, extremely gorgeous sorcerer with the flaming eyes and the addicting laugh. Damn, he was absolutely smitten. If it was anyone else, Virgil wouldn't have even considered straying from his exact duties as a knight. Following a combination of the knight's code and Virgil's personal (and slightly paranoid) laws had gotten him this far in life, why change what worked? That was before seeing the softness in the warlock's eyes, and hearing the emotion in his voice. Virgil's mind was sent back to a conversation he'd had with Patton about a year ago. The Prince had been watching some of the newer recruits train, his eye's forced on the knight with the sapphire gaze and the wicked-sharp intellect. He had turned to Virgil, and asked a simple question, "Do you believe in soulmates?" Virgil had answered, "I'm not sure." Now, he was starting to believe- because nothing else could explain the sudden pull in his chest. Seeing the warlock- seeing Roman in this new light had opened something in Virgil's heart, and for once, he wasn't afraid to take action. Virgil ran a finger over one of the purple petals. "You know, I got here earlier than usual. The kingdom will only start to panic if I'm not back in five days. It's only a three-day trip." The shocked expression on Roman's face was something Virgil would remember until the end of time. "Are you suggesting what I think you are?" "We have two days. For these two days, let's forget it all. We're just two people giving each other a chance." Roman grabbed Virgil's free hand, and raised it his lips, pressing a soft kiss that sent Virgil's heart racing. "You won't regret this." Virgil gave him a hesitant, soft smile. "You just might be right."

[skyeravenhelliquinn]

Happy Accidents

Wrote a fanfic slightly based off of the body paint headcanon I made. I hope y’all like this shitty little story that got way out of hand. I typically never post my writing, but this thing is long af, so sorry. I did not proofread, my dudes. I’ll cut it so I don’t absolutely take over anyone’s dash.

The air was cool and inviting in the hut as you began to occupy yourself in your solitude. Muriel had gone out to gather firewood and other small supplies while you stayed behind to give him some space. You had become a regular visitor in the man’s home, which was a very large step in your relationship to say the least. It had taken quite a number of weeks to get him to warm up to you, but with each passing visit, you had the pleasure of observing the tension between the two of you evaporate into a comfortable trust. You loved to bring him various treats and trinkets from the market when you had the opportunity, and Muriel seemed to greatly enjoy your small gestures of kindness, as evidenced by the way he had begun to set your gifts on the shelves next to his whittled sculptures. The humble hut had changed to feel more like a home since you had met him, and it was having an overwhelmingly positive effect on Muriel, though he himself rarely vocalized this fact.

Sighing contentedly into the silence, you began to pull some rolled up canvases and various jars of paint out of the large sack you had brought with you. Spreading the assortment out on the floor of the hut, you casually selected one of the smaller pieces to unravel. It was a partially complete rendering of a starry night sky, with a few constellations still needing to be inserted. Running a hand over the dry portrait, you let your intuition guide you into your work.

Picking up a small brush, you began dotting white across the midnight background, meticulously mapping out the remaining stars needed to complete your masterpiece. For depth, you decided to add some deep violet and blue hues, swirling them together to create the illusion of a vast galaxy. Your hand continued to glide across the material until every inch of canvas was lovingly covered in your art. With a couple of larger brushes, you flicked some remaining color onto the page, getting your face and hands stained in the process. You wiped a palm across your brow before giving a satisfactory grin to the painting before you, but you realized it still needed a little extra touch. Concentrating your magic on the stars, you waved a hand over the portrait, and below your palm, the white specks flickered to life against the backdrop.

It was then that you heard a soft breath of awe coming from behind you, and, startled, you turned all too quickly to see Muriel standing before you, a pile of firewood in hand. Apparently you had been so caught up in your art that you hadn’t heard him come in, and your hasty movement accidentally tipped the large, open jar of black paint you had resting next to the canvas, spilling pigment all over the freshly finished picture. Muriel saw it before you did, and the poor man scrambled helplessly to save your beautiful painting, dropping the wood to the dirt floor and reaching his arms around and behind you in the blink of an eye. The sudden closeness took you by surprise, and your hands flew up on instinct, gently meeting his broad chest before he shifted back, face crimson with embarrassment.

“Sorry... I didn’t mean to startle you,” was all his gravelly voice murmured, gaze falling to his now paint-covered hands as he sat on his knees in front of you.

You looked behind you to see what he was talking about, and your face fell into a small frown when you beheld your ruined image, now a wet, messy blob of darkness on the ground. Picking up the now empty paint jar, your brows hardened in thought for a moment before you tried using your magic to extract the mess. The black puddle of paint glistened for a moment before most of the inky liquid receded back into the jar, but there was still a distinct black stain permeating your canvas, tainting all the other colors along with your precious stars. You quietly replaced the lid before pivoting back to Muriel, who was dead silent under your gaze. You lowered your voice to speak to him warmly.

“It’s okay, Muriel. It’s not your fault. I should have been more careful.” He seemed to uncoil a bit at your words, settling his shoulders before you spoke again. “I just didn’t hear you come in. Besides, I can start on something new.”

“Like what?” his voice still carried an air of frustration, as though he felt responsible for your portrait’s demise. Perhaps he was disappointed because he had liked it, you thought.

Your eyes drifted around the hut, searching for some muse, when you noticed small streaks of paint from your hands on Muriel’s chest. A fraction of it had dipped into one of his scars, staining the soft tissue and creating a gorgeous, dark texture. The unexpected sight gave you an idea.

“Muriel,” you hummed with a curiosity that was dying to press your luck. The large man grunted in acknowledgement. “Will you sit up straight for a minute?”

His brow furrowed in confusion before he hesitantly sat back and leveled out his posture, leaving the muscles of his torso splayed out before you. You discreetly plucked a small brush and a jar of gold paint from behind you, and began dipping into it before slowly, carefully, moving it toward Muriel’s body, giving him time to protest. When he said nothing, you scooted between his long legs and gently started to smooth the paint across a particularly large scar on his chest, causing Muriel to tense and his breath to hitch quietly.

“Is this okay?” you asked with a hint of concern. The large man took a moment, but nodded silently, prompting you to continue. You brushed the paint in fine lines and swirls around each scar, tracing delicate patterns along the fragile skin. The pigment glistened in the low light of the hut as you worked your way up his body, sparing no detail as you covered every last marking in the shimmering liquid. As you shifted your attention toward his shoulder, you timidly slid the edge of his cloak off of it, and Muriel tensed for a moment before letting his eyes slide shut to relax into your touch. After a long moment, he appeared to actually be enjoying himself, and when you paused to switch colors, he let out an almost inaudible whine at the lack of contact.

With a bit of green, you went back over your previous work to create intertwining vines, with tiny leaves feathering out from the branching edges of each scar. The hulking figure looked absolutely tamed before you, and a blush crept its way onto your visage when you took a moment to glance up at his face. Muriel was unusually relaxed in a way that you had never seen before. His normally hard brow line was completely free of worried creases, his eyes closed as though in a deep trance. His lips had released themselves from their hard line, and were instead parted, letting out soft sighs and hums every now and then. It filled you with repose and a passion to make your new showpiece as beautiful as the canvas it rested upon. Every last stroke of your brush was filled with devotion and purpose as you strived to create an image that would be both pleasing and symbolic to the forest-dwelling man. By the time you had finished, he was practically asleep under your ministrations. He stirred only when he heard the sound of lids being screwed back onto the paint jars.

“Finished,” you whispered with a pleased sparkle in your eyes. You searched around for a reflective surface before finding a small mirror tucked away in the corner of the hut, which you grabbed to let him see your work. When he saw what you had done, he froze, expression unreadable as he sat, staring at himself and the exquisite colors lining his body. His emerald eyes seemed to glow even brighter with the accents of the paint, and there was something very strong and urgent swirling around in his immense irises. His body didn’t move as he simply continued to stare, and you cleared your throat awkwardly, confidence waning in the quietness.

“I-is it… okay?” You stammered, averting your eyes as you fumbled with the fabric of your clothes sheepishly.

This seemed to break him out of his state, and he shook his head before focusing intently on you. He let out a long breath that almost shuddered as it left his lips. As he moved to speak, you could barely notice a gleam of moisture in his eyes.

“I… Yes… It’s perfect.” There was a slight tremor in his voice, and you moved from your position in front of him to wrap your arms tenderly around his neck. His hands drifted absently to your waist, savoring the closeness for a moment before pulling back to admire your handiwork once more.

“I think it’s… almost perfect,” you remarked, realizing that it needed one last thing. You closed your eyes, taking deep breaths and focusing magic into your hands once again, and the golden sheen of the paint came alive like glowing embers against Muriel’s skin. He was positively dazzling like this, embraced by the soft luminescence of the wild flora you had created for him. His body appeared to be one with the wilderness he adored so much, the leaves on his body seeming to breathe with him as he sat cross-legged before you. Muriel looked so different under the illusion of having no scars, no reminder of the gruesome past that he was forced to endure. It felt so pure, so riveting to see him like this, unhindered by those eternal marks just for a few fleeting moments.

You could feel him staring at you in the midst of your thoughts, and upon returning his gaze, you saw his eyes glazed over with a softness that was beyond anything you were accustomed to. His glassy orbs were half lidded, longing hidden in their depths. They called to you, and you felt yourself leaning into his body on instinct, the familiarity entirely inviting to your senses. He didn’t pull away, but instead waited for a fraction of a moment, his heated breath ghosting over your lips in a small gasp before the two of you connected. The kiss was stiff at first, but as Muriel’s mouth molded to yours, any reluctance the two of you had seemed to melt away. He was rough to the touch, but his movements were so agonizingly gentle as he returned your affections. Seconds passed like hours as you savored each other, but after a short time, you pulled back for air, heart thumping wildly in your chest. Muriel was crimson all the way to his shoulders, so after a brief pause, you decided to say something first.

“I’m glad you like my art Muriel. You make a lovely canvas.”

His blush only deepened at your words, and you chuckled a bit at his flustered expression. There was a trace of a smile on his lips though, a sight which sent a flood of joy through your veins. You ran a soft thumb over his scarred cheek, and his face nuzzled into your palm without any hesitation.

“I should probably help you wash this off,” you spoke again.

“Not yet,” he responded rather quickly. “I like it…”

“Okay,” you grinned, silently thanking your own clumsiness for knocking over that paint jar before pressing another kiss to Muriel’s eager lips.

[unfortunate-stranger-losers]

Six Baudelaires AU, Part Three {AO3} {Masterlist} {Part One} {Part Two}

Chapter Eight → in which the Baudelaires raid the fridge

IMPORTANT NOTICE FOR TODAY'S CHAPTER

TRIGGER WARNING - In the final section of this chapter, self-harm via scratching, brought on by a panic attack, is described. It does not go past scratching, and skin is not broken, but if that is triggering for you, please be cautioned or skip the final segment. Thank you, and stay safe! 

“Are you ready?” Violet said, standing under the waterfall. 

“If we wait until we’re ready…” Quigley began, staring up at the slope. 

“We’ll be waiting for the rest of our lives.” Violet finished. They shared a significant glance, and then she said, “Let’s go.” 

They moved forwards, and it took a few moments for them to get their forks into the ice far enough to hold. Then Violet reached up and tapped the ice to find a solid spot. For the first few steps, the two children feared that they might never reach the top of the waterfall at the rate they were going, but as time passed, climbing got a bit easier. They couldn’t find the strength or time to stop and talk, but they both sent each other encouraging smiles as they kept on. 

“They’re taking too long.” Lilac said. “I can invent some shoes and go after them.” 

“Lilac, chill. They’re climbing up a giant-ass waterfall.” Nick said. “Help us with the books.” 

Solitude was scouring the bottom shelves, climbing through and looking for some books or pages that may be intact. Klaus and Nick were climbing ladders, while Lilac glanced up and down the middle shelves and sulked. 

“Yeah, Li, let them have their date.” Klaus said. 

“It’s not a date!” Lilac said. 

Solitude looked up. “Sure, hon.” 

“They’re rescuing Sunny. That’s all they’re doing.” Lilac said sharply. “And if you all don’t shut up, you’re grounded.” 

“Ground us from what?” Nick asked, grabbing a book. “We haven’t got shit.” 

“I’ll make a preemptive ground.” Lilac said. “Soon as we have things, you’re grounded from them.” 

“You could ground Nick from Soli.” Klaus suggested, giggling. “Only Lilac can hold her for a week.” 

“Fuck that.” Nick said. 

“Grounded from frogs.” Solitude suggested. 

“Yeah, your frog’s already frozen over,” Klaus said, “So we can’t ground you from them for a while.” 

“I could push you into the empty swimming pool a few rooms over.” Lilac said, gesturing, “And leave you there until we get everyone back. No rescue missions for you.” 

“You’re the worst.” Klaus said, smiling slightly. 

Nick pulled a book from the shelf, and then he said, “Hey, guys? This one’s intact.” 

“Oh, hell yeah!” Solitude cheered, rolling out from under a shelf and running towards him. 

“Hmm, still not sure I like Solitude swearing.” Lilac said, walking over with Klaus. 

“You don’t get a say in it.” Nick said. “Thank fuck, this looks like a codebook- unless the ‘Codes’ on the front somehow means something else.” 

“Better than the cookbook we found last.” Klaus said, picking up Solitude so she could see. 

“Look for Verbal Fridge Dialogue.” Lilac said. 

“Yeah, no shit, Li.” Nick said, flipping through pages. “Looks like the index got burned out, but I can skim. Let’s see… shit, there’s a lot of codes here.” 

“Might be an interesting read when we’re not pressed for time.” Klaus said. 

“Okay, dingus,” Nick said, “Now shut up- here! I found it! I found it!” 

He looked ecstatic, his face lighting up as he looked down at the large title font that read Verbal Fridge Dialogue. He immediately spun on his heel and ran back to the fridge before his siblings could even move. 

“Hey! Wait up!” Lilac called as she and Klaus took off after him. 

Nick threw open the fridge door, holding the book in one hand and digging through with the other. “Okay, so, this book seems super fragile, so, Klaus, after this, we’re gonna have to copy it real quick.” 

“Okay, dude, what does it say?” Klaus asked. 

“Read it!” Solitude cheered. 

“The code is started with Very Fresh Dill; Quigley’s right. It then says, ‘The receiver of the message should find their own initials, as noted by one of our poet volunteers-” 

He tossed the book to Lilac, who jumped back in shock, only barely managing to catch it. She glanced down, and then read, “The darkest of the jams of three / Contain within the addressee. That’s a couplet, like Isadora writes.” 

“Are couplets a code?” Klaus asked. “Was Isadora a Volunteer?” 

Nick shot his head around, giving Klaus a glare that sent him stumbling backwards. “No!” he shouted, suddenly very angry, and Solitude let out a yelp. “Isadora is not one of them and she never will be!” 

Klaus gasped. “Nick! What the fuck?” 

Nick shut his eyes tight, taking a deep breath, and then he said, “Nevermind. We have to find the code, we’ll talk later.” he turned back to the fridge, and before anyone could say anything else, he said, “Boysenberry jam’s the darkest.” 

He handed the jar to Solitude, who quickly bit open the lid and looked inside. “JS.” she read. “Jacques Snicket?” 

“Jacques Snicket is dead, the message can’t have been for him.” Lilac said. 

“Maybe the sender didn’t know that.” Klaus said. 

“It doesn’t matter who was supposed to get the message.” Nick snapped. “It then said in the book that if necessary, the dialogue uses a fruit-based calendar for days of the week in order to announce a gathering. Sunday is represented by a lone olive, Monday by two, et cetera. Does anyone see the olives?” 

“There!” Solitude pointed to the top shelf of the fridge. 

Nick reached up and grabbed the olives, and then opened it, saying, “I see five, but we better make sure…” 

When the jar opened, the olive stench burst out, and Klaus threw his hand over his mouth, saying, “Crud! I hate that smell.” 

“I think it’s fine-” Lilac said. 

Nick dropped the jar and stepped back, throwing his hands over his face. The jar shattered onto the ground, five olives spilling onto the dirty floor. 

“Nick!” Lilac dropped the book, leapt over the jar and grabbed him by the shoulders, spinning him so he could see her face. “Nick, holy shit, what happened? What was it?” 

“I…” Nick shut his eyes. “I’m sorry, I just… I’m sorry.” 

“Nick, it’s okay.” Lilac said, reaching up to put a comforting hand on his face, but he flinched back, so she put her hand back on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. What happened?” 

“It’s… it’s just, the… the olives.” Nick said. “I forgot… they just remind me of the aqueous martinis, which remind me of- I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry.” Klaus said, also moving forwards; Soli hugged his arm, and Klaus put his other arm around him. “Don’t be sorry. Do you need a second?” 

“No, no.” Nick shook his head. “No, I…” he leaned his head onto Lilac’s shoulder, and then said, “There’s five. Five olives. That’s… Thursday. There’s a meeting on Thursday.” 

“How… how do we know where this meeting is?” Lilac asked. 

Nick shut his eyes, and started to recite; he found that recounting things he read sometimes helped calm him. “Any spice-based condiment should have a coded label referring volunteers to encoded poems.” 

Klaus handed Solitude over to Nick, watching as she gave him a quick hug, and then he and Lilac moved to the fridge. “Um, Mustard is a spice-based condiment.” 

Lilac took the jar of mustard. “Maybe there’s something on the wrapping?” 

“There’s nothing but the label and list of ingredients.” Klaus said. 

“Maybe it’s in the ingredients.” Lilac said. She gave a glance from Nick to the shattered puddle beneath them, and then she said, “Let’s go to the table.” 

Violet let out a gasp as her fork almost fell from the ice; it wobbled a little, and she lost her grip, holding on with one hand. Quigley looked over at her, terrified. They were so high up, halfway up the waterfall, and if she fell… 

“I can… I’ll-” Quigley began. 

Violet let out a groan and a cry as she managed to hoist herself back up, grabbing back onto her fork. She shut her eyes, breathing a second, trying to calm herself down. Quigley glanced down at her to make sure she had a good enough grip, and then he looked up. 

“Violet!” he called. “There’s a ledge a few feet up! We can rest there, can you make it?” 

“Definitely!” cried Violet. “Can you?” 

He nodded, and they stumbled up. 

After a few minutes, Quigley made it to the ledge, and shoved his forks into his pocket, reaching out a hand for Violet. She gave him a smile as she tossed her fork to the ledge and took his palm, letting him help her up. 

“Thank you.” she said. 

“It’s not a problem.” Quigley said, watching her stuff her forks into her pockets. “We’ve got a long way to go, and we don’t want to tire ourselves out. Oh, uh, I have some carrot bags. I packed snacks for the trip before I left with the Snow Scouts, they should still be good.” 

“Thank you again.” Violet said. “You didn’t have to do that, and you didn’t have to offer to share.” 

“What? Am I just gonna eat carrots by myself halfway up a frozen waterfall?” Quigley smirked, passing her a small bag. 

“We’ve still got a long way to go.” Violet said, glancing up as she struggled to open the bag, eventually taking her gloves off to make it easier. “Hopefully there won’t be an ambush up there.” 

“What’ll we do if there is one?” 

“I stole this from the caravan before it fell.” Violet said, showing off her knife. “I can stab someone.” 

“Good plan.” Quigley said. “I think I actually have a pocketknife somewhere, but it’ll take a while to find.” 

“Don’t worry, then. I’ll cover you til you find it.” Violet giggled. 

They laughed a second, and then Quigley said, “Do you really think we can make it up there?” 

“We made it this far.” Violet said. 

“Celebrate when you’re half done / And the finish won’t be half as fun.” Quigley said, his smile fading. “My sister wrote that.” 

“We’ll find her, and Duncan.” Violet promised. “And then we’ll all be together. We’ll solve all our mysteries, and find someplace to stay.” she smiled. “Duncan and I were talking about making a printing press and starting a newspaper.” 

“Of course you did.” Quigley grinned. “He’s wanted to be a journalist since our father decided it’d be funny to use the newspaper to help teach him to read. And Isadora’s wanted to be a poet since…” he trailed off. 

“What?” 

“Since our parents gave her a poetry instructor.” Quigley said. “They taught her all kinds of poems, and… and I had a cartography instructor, who came to our house and showed me how to make maps and… and hide things in them.” He turned to Violet, eyes wide. “It’s almost like they… they were training us. For this. For codes and secrets and… and VFD.” 

Violet thought hard. Had she ever had an engineering instructor? No, her parents had shown her and Lilac all they knew, and then helped them find books to learn more. In fact, with the exception of Prufrock Prep, she didn’t think she’d ever had a teacher past Kindergarten, where her and Lilac had gotten kicked out for taking apart the speaker system. But… Anna Karenina. How many books had they been given that were secret codes? Maybe there was a code she had been taught that she didn’t yet realize. 

“That’s a strange thought.” she finally said. “A bit worrying.” 

Quigley curled up, staring down at his snackbag. “There’s so much we didn’t learn about them. And so much they didn’t learn about us… I never told them a lot of things that I wanted to.” 

“I know the feeling.” Violet sighed. “I was learning how to make cake for Mother’s birthday, and I never got to try and bake it.” 

“I was making them an anniversary present- a map of all the places they’d traveled.” Quigley sighed. “And I never got to tell them that I don’t…” he hesitated, and then said, “I mean, Duncan and Isadora came out to them, but I never told them that whenever I was doing astronomy class and called myself a space ace…” 

Violet laughed, and Quigley flinched. “No, no, I’m not making fun of you, it’s a good pun, I’ll have to make sure Nick knows it.” 

Quigley’s face it up. “Really?” He paused, and then said, “I think they knew I… I’ve had crushes on more than one gender, but I don’t…” 

“I think my parents found out when I told them I wanted to marry both Elizabeth and Darcy.” Violet smiled. “Lilac and Nick teased me about that for years. I don’t even know if they remember now.” 

Quigley stared at her. “Holy shit. Vi… I said the same thing.” 

“You’re kidding.” 

“Oh my God.” 

“Nice to know we read the same books.” Violet said. 

They laughed, but as Violet moved back, one of her gloves fell from the ledge, falling down the waterfall. 

“Oh! Your glove!” Quigley said. 

Violet leaned over, looking down, and she said, “We’ll get it when we go back.” 

“Your hand will be cold.” 

“I’ll manage.” Violet pulled her other glove back on, so she wouldn’t lose that, too. “Worst case scenario, I’ll rip my jacket and wrap it around.” 

“Still…” hesitantly, Quigley reached out and took her ungloved hand, holding it between his gloved ones. “Maybe we can… keep it warm a bit longer.” 

Violet glanced down to hide the fact that her face had gone a bit red. “Um, yes.” She sighed. “You know, it was… very impressive that you got this way all on your own.” 

“Your inventions are more impressive.” 

“Just as impressive.” 

“Alright, we’ll settle for that.” 

They laughed again, and Violet turned her head to look across from the waterfall, out onto the mountains across from them. 

“You know,” she said, “If you have to build a secret headquarters, this is a good place to do it. It’s a very lovely view.” 

Quigley followed her gaze, and then turned to stare at Violet instead. “Very lovely indeed.” he said. 

She turned over to him, realizing where he was looking, and she smiled more brightly than she had in a while. 

Klaus sat on the edge of the table, flipping over the mustard bottle. “Okay,” he said, as Nick sat across from him, placing Solitude on his lap, and Lilac perched herself on the edge of the table, “So this should refer us to a poem?” 

“What does it say, first of all?” Lilac asked. 

Klaus read aloud. “Vinegar, mustard seed, salt, tumeric, the final quatrain of the eleventh stanza of ‘The Garden of Proserpine’ by Algernon Charles Swinburne, and calcium disodium- an allegedly natural preservative.” 

“Screw the natural preservative,” Lilac said, “Nick, Klaus, have you read The Garden of Proserpine?” 

Klaus shook his head, and then Nick quietly said, “I did.” he was staring very hard at the table. “Mom gave it to me. A collection of poems for our eighth birthday.” Soli put her small hand over his, and then he said, “I… I hate-” he cut himself off, and then said. “But I remember the poem. It’s very long.” 

“Skip to the eleventh stanza.” Lilac said. 

Nick shut his eyes. “Let’s see… Here, where the world is quiet…” 

“What?” 

“I am tired of tears and laughter…” he counted on his fingers, the first line of each stanza. “Here life has death for neighbor… No growth of moor or coppice… Pale, without name or number… Though one were strong as seven… Pale, beyond porch and portal… She waits for each and other… There go the loves that wither… We are not sure of sorrow…” 

“Cheery.” Solitude commented. 

“Yep.” Nick nodded. “Okay, eleventh stanza…” 

From too much love of living, From hope and fear set free,  We thank with brief thanksgiving  Whatever gods may be That no life lives for ever;  That dead men rise up never; That even the weariest river Winds somewhere safe to sea.

“The last quatrain is the last four lines.” Klaus said. “Maybe the clue is ‘even the weariest river winds somewhere safe to sea.’ Maybe the place we’re supposed to meet is at the end of the river.” 

“Or the end of the sea.” Lilac said. 

Solitude crawled off of Nick’s lap, wandering back over to the fridge. Nick watched her go, and then said, “The poem’s not a happy one at all, you know. You know Proserpine is-” 

“The Roman form of Persephone.” Lilac nodded. “I had a Greek Myth phase too, Nick, we all did.” 

“Well, then you’ll remember she was the Queen of the Underworld.” Nick said. 

“She didn’t really want to be.” Klaus said. 

“Nah, I think she was into it.” Lilac said. 

“Don’t project onto a greek goddess, Li.”

“If you’re quite done,” Nick interrupted, “The poem’s all about a garden that traps you, ensnares you, and leaves you for dead.” He let out a cynical laugh. “You know, in a way, it’s sort of like-” 

“Found something!” Solitude called, running back over. 

They looked over, to see her waving the codebook over her head. She climbed back onto Nick’s lap, tossed the book on the table, and then hoisted herself up after it. She flipped back to the page on Verbal Fridge Dialogue, and after making sure her siblings were looking, she flipped the page. 

On the back, above some other code instructions, was a word, very lightly penciled in. 

Sugar Bowl. 

Nick glared at the page as if he intended to set it on fire with his mind. 

“Sugar Bowl.” Lilac said. “Esme said something about finding that, she-” 

“Mom stole it from her.” Nick said. 

Lilac jumped. “What?” 

Nick got to his feet, not meeting their eyes. “Mom stole her fucking sugar bowl.” he said. “Because it’s important and she didn’t want her to have it. I don’t know much else, but…” he inhaled sharply, reaching to scratch his arm, and then he said, “I’m sorry. I need to be alone for a moment.” 

He ran off, and his siblings sadly watched him go. 

“Just give him a minute.” Lilac said quietly. “We don’t want to crowd him.” 

“But…” Solitude began. 

“He’ll be fine.” Lilac said. “I promise.” 

Nick slid against a half-collapsed wall, screaming into his lap, hot tears springing to the edge of his eyes and streaming down his face. 

Stop it! Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop… 

He had to tell them. He had to tell Lilac. He had to tell them everything, they were getting closer to them, to VFD, they had to know, they had… 

He kept scratching his arm, kept screaming into his clothes so that his siblings wouldn’t have to hear. His arm was getting red, but he didn’t care. He had to stay alert. If he thought about how it felt, how his arm felt, how his nails were digging into his skin, he would at least know where he was, what he was feeling now. His mind wouldn’t drift to what he’d felt then. What he’d heard, what he’d seen, what had happened to him. 

Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop… 

Why wouldn’t he just stop crying? His siblings needed him! He needed to tell them, but every time he tried, he just remembered the pain that came with the information, as if it was happening again. The grips on his arm as he heard secrets screamed at him, the kicks and punches and…  

STOP IT! 

Nick turned around, shoving his face into the wall, and screaming into that. 

He suspected, deep down, that he wouldn’t ever be okay again, that something had happened to him that had changed him completely. 

But that didn’t make accepting that fact any easier.

[draenei-tales]

👙 - Catch my muse half naked accidentally 

Books were pressed to her chest as she wandered the tower, violet eyes watched everything with a sense of wonder. The sights and smells of the old library the two found themselves in entrapped her. 

“Anton?” She called out, she had lost him when she was staring at old specimen jars, her tail had accidentally knocked one onto the floor, spilling its contents on the dusty ground.

Her hand pressed on a door, the door slowly creaked open. The loud clattering of books falling to the ground was heard as she quickly whipped around.

“Ah is, is not wearing many uh clothes. Is uh, Am sorry. With jar, and door and uh. Yes. Will be waiting downstairs for ju. Heh.”

((I just had the idea of those two adventuring and coming across a old ass crumbling tower and this scene came to mind. Thank you @curiouscodex <3 ))

[sfiddy]

What's your favorite chapter you've ever written? What fic is it from? Why do you love it? Copy and post it here!

Hi Anon!  I’ve got a LOT to choose from but I’ll confine myself to more recent, multi-chapter works. 

One of my favorites is the first chapter of Balcony Duet!  I love how the whole work turned out, but the first chapter just has such a mood, an atmosphere, and a charming ribbon of humor wound through it that, for me at least, it really offers a wonderful summary of Erik’s life  It’s a lot like another favorite of mine, Gold Restoration. 

So here it is, in all it’s spottily edited glory.  Thank you, anon!

Chapter 1 

The Maestro

Evening fell in a soft cascade of yellows, oranges and pinks as Erik showered off the dust and scuffle of the theater. After applying a layer of protective cream over his fragile face, he shuffled off and relaxed into his couch. Managing a busy theater was a draining job, even when done mostly through others to avoid the stares and side glances of the morbidly curious, and left little time for what he really enjoyed. Even if he could, he wouldn't want the grinding job of day to day collaborative piano work. Not in a theater, anyway.

He poured a drink and carefully replaced his mask. If pressed, he would admit that he missed the moments when just a few people gathered at the piano and made music together. The intimate play of skill, interpretation, and talent that took what was on the page to a different level. The moment when the written score no longer ruled and the music, the music, led the way.

When his music led, people tended to notice his face less.

With a sigh, Erik walked across his living room towards the balcony doors, side stepping the piano that lived where anyone else would have… whatever it was that they had in their homes. Desks, coffee tables, cabinets; the pedestrian and mundane. He had a small couch, a tiny end table, and a piano. It was enough. He hardly sat in the couch anyway.

With a gentle press, his French doors swung open silently and let in a cool breeze. The courtyard below was dark, and the gardens many floors below were lit with tiny fairy lights strung from the tree branches. They hung low here and there, illuminating the bushes and flower beds. All around, balconies staggered drunkenly up the sides of the apartment buildings. Dim outlines jutting from otherwise smooth concrete façades.

It was funny how apartments boasted about their balconies, yet hardly anyone stepped onto them. Occasional glows followed by a puff of lazy, curling haze betrayed the smokers. A handful of others took in the evening autumn air that spiraled through the courtyard walkways and down from the sky above. Most of the jutting platforms were vacant.

As the evening settled violet shadows to the world's edges, Erik turned back to his rooms. Nature had exhaled and let the remaining shreds of day pass by. Darkness was gentler, kinder. Blurring the details. Everyone was the same in the dark. He flexed his hands and stretched his fingers.

He settled on Haydn, for the cool air felt like a lullaby. The notes danced in the courtyard, echoing playfully into the garden and up to the deepening purple sky. Variations evolved the music into a fugue that fused itself to a thoughtful motif he'd heard once, and finally Haydn once more. Erik ended his concert gently, for himself and, perhaps more practically, to avoid noise complaints. Then he toasted the accommodating night, finished his drink, and gathered the fortitude to finish his work. If he was quite fortunate, he'd manage a few hours of sleep before doing it all again.

…

The next morning passed in a blur of budget shifts and retroactive justification. It was followed by hasty medical attention for and filing the medical claims on behalf of his prima donna who, after her leading man bungled a set piece, ended up with a chipped tooth and bloody lip. Then more budgeting to replace the set piece after being bested by the prima donna's face.

Erik pulled his keys from his pocket and gave serious consideration to arson. When he reached his door, he unlocked it with a sigh and reminded himself that he loved the arts and his theater, loved music, and this was just the business side. Music took talent and training, and neither were free. He pushed the door open and looked down.

Damn. He had a note.

A scrap of cheap notebook paper had been shoved under the door with enough force to send it a foot beyond the threshold.

With a grunt, Erik bent and picked it up. If the little fart took issue with his playing they should have complained the day after he'd smashed out some Rachmaninoff and transitioned to Metallica, not after an evening of lullabies. He'd show them what a noise complaint should sound like.

He unfolded the note.

...

A humble request to the Maestro: Liebestraum No. 3 in A flat.

...

Erik immediately took back the little fart comment. It was the nicest scribble, really. Loopy enough to be artful, but with enough spike for efficiency. He hurried through his shower, threw on some clothes, and sloshed too much red wine into a glass.

Liszt. Who didn't love Liszt? Erik even had a hard copy of it somewhere, but immediacy demanded he queue it up on his laptop. A glance at the first bar and his mind filled in the rest; a conversation with an old friend. Then he flung the French doors open, only just stopping one from smacking against the wall to his bedroom.

The night again was violet-cool and breezy. The drunken balconies shared no secrets, and the smokers and shadows kept each other company. Somewhere though, somewhere in this was his audience, and they must not be kept waiting.

With a few deep breaths, a healthy swallow of wine, and a splendid neck crack, he was ready.

Erik gave the keys a light stroke as he placed his hands for the piece, then eased into the music, letting it flow through him and out into the courtyard; relief after a day of pounding power chords and paperwork. Such a deeply satisfying refrain, elaborated by flourishes that made the core seem simple, then repeated to emphasize their breathtaking beauty, the pearl in the oyster. Six little bars; love at the center of the dream.

He did not look at the music, all one needed was the six bars and after that it was frills and ribbons. Magnificent and transcendent to be sure, but decorations for what lay at the center.

Erik closed his eyes, letting Liszt spill into the cool evening air without really playing it, for in moments like these he became the music. There was no more theater, no paperwork, no mask and no Erik. He spread himself out in the song, a thin veil across the darkening evening.

Across a courtyard.

He let the last notes linger, hanging in the air, as long as he could before he reluctantly released the sustain. As they silenced, Erik opened his eyes and raised his mask to gently wipe the collected moisture underneath, caught in the misshapen twists and ridges of his… face.

Applause. One person. There was applause for his playing.

His audience.

Erik rose from the bench, replacing his mask as he walked to his balcony. The clapping grew louder as he stepped out, but he could not tell where it came from. The concrete walls of the courtyard bounced the sound in every direction. He was uncomfortable being watched, but the clapping did not stop when he stepped to the edge of his balcony, and came faster when he bowed.

It slowed, and finally stopped when he retreated. Erik was tempted to play an encore, considered seeing if his listener would offer another round of appreciation, but decided they had already pressed their luck with the other residents.

Besides, if he left his audience with an appetite, there may be another request.

His smile raised the mask over his cheekbones for a moment, and he closed his balcony doors gently, bidding a fond goodnight to the stars and his charming fan.

…

Though he tried not to, Erik couldn't help feeling a little disappointed when there was no note under his door the next day. He played jazz classics and sipped a gin and tonic. There was no note the next day, either, and he soothed his soul with a melancholy air and tea before retiring early.

After a dull day coordinating maintenance work and city inspectors, Erik trudged to his door with a substantial chip on his shoulder. It was irritating work, lacking even an intersection of art and business. It required calendars, carefully scheduling work away from stage time, and the quick diplomacy necessary to juggle multiple contractors on limited resources. It was dull without the good manners to be mindless.

Thus primed, his hands itching to play and his nerves begging for a stiff drink, Erik slid his key into the door. Perhaps a good pounding of Holst or some Mahler tonight. Either way, he'd have a shot before his shower, just to burn the day away.

The door swung open and Erik glanced down.

Oh. He had a note.

His bag smacked on the tile floor as Erik dove down for the folded paper.

…

Dear Maestro, Thank you for Liszt and the lovely jazz. Would you consider Shubert's Ave?

…

Well, wasn't that just jarring. Smashing out the loudest hot mess he could to… this. One does not easily trade a tirade for prayer. His fingers flexed impatiently.

Would he consider it? He was already debating which arrangement, the musician's equivalent of 'how high?'. While the request would be honored, he couldn't be blamed for taking liberty with it. Besides, he was an artist.

Showered and comfortable, Erik patted his face gently with cream and opened his bar cabinet. The first shot of tequila was far from smooth, but it burned so good and cleared the sticky, clinging day from his mind. The second shot burned, too, and he set on the third on the table near the piano, then he eased the mask into place and headed to the french doors.

The evening was warmer. A thick blanket of cloud overhead had trapped the daytime warmth. Storm season approached, or maybe it was the energy of expectation that crackled in the air. It was eerily silent in the courtyard, as if the smokers and crickets had all taken a vow of silence for the night. He could even hear the wind as it whistled through the hallways and down stairwells.

Erik imagined he could feel the eyes on him as he stepped into the soft darkness, making sure it was obvious that he, the Maestro, was about to play.

How little it took to capture his imagination these days.

He sat at the bench and removed the mask again. The Virgin Mother was about to be invoked and he wanted her to know who was calling.

The first notes came easy, reverently, but just before reaching the first 'benedictus', he added power, bass where it had not been, and Erik pounded into a crescendo and let it die back and sweeten for the refrain.

As he let the notes hush and prepared to really let go for the second half, a sound caught his ear. A sound he did not make.

A voice. From outside. Soprano.

Erik's hands froze for only a moment, his ears tingling, trying in vain to find the direction, but he knew that was pointless. Even if he wasn't inside, sitting in front of a piano, the concrete square outside would ricochet.

So he played on, softer, to hear the voice. He changed the arrangement to accompany the singer, not plow over her, and then repeated to give her a go at the entire song. As she grew more confident, her singing grew bolder, and she adapted and threw in trills and improvised around him. She was skilled. She was strong.

She was bewitching.

Too soon the song ended again, and Erik hopped from the bench and ran to the balcony. His applause joined that of his singer, their noisy clapping ringing around the courtyard.

"Brava!" he shouted, and heard a light laugh.

Oh, she was a diva.

It wasn't until he raised the third shot to his lips that he realized he wasn't wearing his mask.

…

The next day, there were two notes under his door.

...

My dear Maestro: Brava indeed! Perhaps just a lullabye tonight? -Your singer

...

The other was a noise complaint. Erik grinned and eased into some Brahms.

…

Erik stayed home the next day. After another day of repairs, he had no doubt the errors would make themselves apparent quickly. He assured his production and stage assistants of his full confidence in them and, knowing the hellscape they were in for, ordered pizza to be delivered for lunch. Then he ordered sandwiches to be delivered for dinner. His confidence in them went only so far.

He was absolutely not staying at home because the diva had seen him without the mask. But his sensitive hearing had not detected a gasp of horror and she'd kept clapping.

Conclusion? She was blind.

Error. She'd clapped louder as he stepped onto the balcony, and tapered off as he retreated.

Mad, then? Whatever she was, she was a delight. If he was lucky, she was in the market for an accompaniment.

Erik dragged his sofa and turned it to give a view of his door. He wasn't going to let her get away this time.

…

It was approaching the late afternoon as Erik replied to a reasonably coherent email from a stagehand. The current project needed more sophisticated rigging than they usually ran, but Erik was never without a plan, and had personally designed the modern fly system. It was worth a call.

"There's more capacity up there. Check the store room and you'll see crates labeled 'expansion'. If you run into trouble before I'm back, call the number on the plans and ask for Khan."

As he hung up,he caught the sound of movement in the hallway. Rustling.

By the time he heard paper tearing, Erik had his hand on the doorknob. When he whipped the door open, a young woman with soft brown curls piled atop her head jumped and dropped her notebook and pen. Erik bent down and picked up the notebook.

Same handwriting.

The woman stood up and straightened her glasses. She peered up at him as she plucked a curl from under a lens. She took a breath as if to speak but Erik held up a hand to stop her.

"Are you warmed up?"

She blinked. "I, ah… no. Not yet."

He pushed the door wide and stepped back to give her a view of… his couch. Erik swore under his breath and pulled the thing out of the way to give the woman a view of the small grand piano. "Never neglect a proper warm up. Come."

She hesitated. "I don't know…"

"Of course. I'm a stranger. A stranger wearing a mask no less. Look, I'll make this quick because I'm rather impatient to begin," He stuck out his hand. "Hello, I'm Erik, and I'm a very ugly musician. I'm very pleased to meet you miss…?"

She giggled and turned pink when her hand disappeared into his. "I'm Christine, and I'm a… a failed soprano."

He released her hand and stepped back. "Who told you that?"

Oh heavens, now she was blushing. "Fifteen years of vocal study, thirty failed auditions, three coaches, and an ex husband." Christine tilted her head. "Who said you were ugly?"

"God decreed it and my mother, good Catholic that she was, did not argue. Your problem is probably stage presence, not your voice. Your coaches were imbeciles, and I assume your ex is an ex for a reason."

Christ, his rapid fire was making his own head spin. He held the door a bit wider. "Are you going to sing or not?"

Christine hitched her bag higher on her shoulder and watched him carefully. "Okay. Maybe we can avoid a noise complaint if we're not serenading the entire complex."

Erik felt his uneven grin nudge the mask. "Philistines," he sniffed.

...

[kirintorfanboy]

Ignorance.

Years had passed since the young magus was allowed his leave from Dalaran, his eighteenth birthday marking the milestone of his exposure to the warring world below the clouds. He accepted eagerly, visiting cities and landscapes he had only ever read of in stories, ready and willing to learn all he could from the new people he was destined to meet. Through it all he managed to remain in a blissful peace, his mind a far different world than the one he inhabited; a purposeful ignorance. The siege of Lordaeron would no longer allow him to look away.

A twist of his gut, a swirling rift of his body as the space surrounding it contorted into a conjured bridge between one place and another. The only problem was, he had not cast it. 

It was a jarring shift. His feet had been upon the sanded wood of his bedroom, content within a silent home among Dalaran’s towering spires. No sound filled the room save for the occasional turn of parchment, the scratch of a quill, and the soft hum of a focused scholar. He worried for his father who had departed days ago to aid the Alliance in their assault against Lordaeron, but he retained a calm composure. His father would come back. He always did. 

And then his feet stood upon blood-soaked soil. The silence of his room had fled, replaced now by the choir of warfare filled with a myriad of screams, steel, and sorrow. Judas had become disoriented, confused and puzzled by the drastic change of environments and how he of all people could have ended up in battle. He spun around himself in dizzy circles, eyes frantically snapping from one end of the field to the other as his mind finally began to piece together where he was. Buildings of dark wood in ruin, a crumbling city of old in the distance, tall siege engines barreling flames in overhead archs, races shooting and swinging at one another in scattered formations...

He was at Lordaeron, and his father was with him. 

Judas questioned how he managed to miss him in the first place, the man laying only a few yards away under the two-toed foot of a looming troll pressing down against his breastplate. The scholar caught the rolling tumble of a stone falling from his father’s coiled hand: a summoning gem Judas had crafted for him months ago should there ever be an urgent need for him during his studies. Another snap of his attention fell his gaze to the already bloodied spear within the troll’s hands as it began a downwards thrust into his father’s stomach. Adrenaline pulsed through his veins in a manner that made his skull throb in a pounding ache, the magi sending a spell forward on impulse that halted the spear’s movement no matter how hard the troll tried to force it down. Subtle waves of arcane energy rippled down the weapon’s shaft in show of what controlled it, and within seconds Judas had turned it’s tip to the owner’s chest and buried it within through his magic hold. His hand fell in sync with the dead. 

He had never killed before. Not even harmed. At most he would conjure binding runes to imprison enemies, but the magi had a reputation of flaunting profound defiance whenever he was requested to strike another. The pool of blood puddling under that troll was his doing, the jutting spear standing tall within its chest a result of his magic. The maelstrom of thoughts that his mind became began to worsen, a flood of conscience so overwhelming that he--

“Judas.” his father croaked, saving the mage from his wandering stupor and lulling him to sprint forward. Though often meticulous to his apparel’s condition, he threw such worry to the wind as his knees skid against the dirt to fall at his father’s side, one arm intuitively snaking under the man’s head and the other reaching over the armored torso to coil at his arm. The close proximity allowed the scholar to see what he had passed over before, a furious stab wound at his father’s stomach torn open enough to peer within if one dared. Judas did not dare. 

The troll had already secured its kill; he only wanted to quicken it. His father was dying. The area around them became quiet, or so it seemed.

A welling surge of tears spilled over the young man’s waterline before he could protest, his weeping gaze turning back to meet his father’s. His slim digits and palms shook violently, making it difficult to keep the paladin in hold, and showing the insurmountable fear coursing through the mage’s body in place of his fading adrenaline. Rambles and rants were typically all that escaped his lips, but in his moment of shock and utter confusion, only one question surfaced. “What do I do?”

“You carry on.” his father quickly replied, despite the pained labor it took to do so. In the heavy cloud of growing sorrow, he managed a smile. “You study to your curious heart’s content. You go to your mother’s old home, and learn all she left for you. You raise a family of your own one day. You continue to make me proud in calling you my son.” 

“Why?” he returned, the word hardly audible through his sobbing breaths. His tears fell to his father’s breastplate, creating streaks of red as they revived puddles of dried blood. “Why let me see you like this? Why bring me here?”

The man chuckled, resolving into a pained cough and a hand to his stomach to cover the wound under his gauntlet. “Even now you are full of questions. I did not want to spend my dying moments alone. And...” He turned his head, looking out towards the ongoing battle. “I wanted you to see what we face if the Horde continues. You never wanted to hear it, Judas, so now you must see it. You must see that there is good and bad in this world, and you will have to pick a side.” He turned back to meet the magi’s gaze. “I know you’ll pick the right one, you’re too wise not to. I’d even go so far as to test your wit against your mother’s.” Another grin to distract from the well of tears collecting within his own gaze, one warm enough to spur the same expression from his son. 

“I can’t do this, father. Any of it.”

“You can.”

“How can you know?”

His father exhaled, raising the bloodied hand from his stomach to instead mold against the mage’s jaw in an affectionate hold. His lids were fluttering, and the light behind them was fading. A weak thumb brushed at one of the magi’s tears. “Because you haven’t a choice, Judas. Trust in yourself. Don’t be afraid.”

The hand fell, the scholar’s face left in a painted smear of soot and blood. “Who will listen to my notes?”

Another chuckle from his father, though pained and choked. “I love you, little wizard. Change the world like you always said you would.”

The Shadowlands came to him on queue, the man falling entirely limp just as his final word was muttered. His once lively expression of comfort grew cold and pale, dull eyes staring blank into a smoke laden sky overhead. The weight was too heavy for Judas to lift any longer, and the two fell in a slump of violet as the mage’s cloak spread to cover them both. He wept into his father’s chest for what felt like an eternity, his moment of grief eventually stolen by the oncoming stomp of feet growing near. He lifted his head and glanced forward, eyes swollen but full of an illuminating azure as an approaching tauren roared towards him, axe raised and readied to swing. Violet light began to circle beneath the two, a conjured rune spinning around them as it grew in vibrancy. Just as the beast was about to seal the magi’s fate, Judas mustered every ounce of his anger into a shout that rivaled a banshee’s-- the rune spread outwards in a flash of light, freezing every Horde and Alliance member within ten yards in a timelock that rendered them entirely frozen. 

Judas stood, the sharp grind of steel against stone heard as his father’s sword rose with him in hand. Without hesitation the blade was lunged into the tauren’s stomach, inflicting the wound his father was given in immediate vengeance. He became swift in his work, using conjured runes to blast beams of arcane energy through some of his frozen victims, or summoning sharp javelins of ice to pierce through the throats of others. 

With a final spell the timelock shattered, the Alliance soldiers watching as their opponents fell to the ground upon release. Some blinked their confusion to the mage before scattering, finding another battle to partake in until the siege was won. 

The mage teleported his father’s body away for a proper burial later, where the full weight of his loss would fall upon him. For now, he raised his eyes to the crimson banner waving proudly upon one of Lordaeron’s walls, his brow furrowing in a newfound focus. A violet visage stained in soot, a face of innocence dirtied by blood, and caring hands burdened by death. He was a different man; he had to be. Magic coursing within his palms, the scholar set forward to contribute to a war he tried so diligently to avoid. 

His father was right. 

He could do this. 

And he would.