#in character: lights laughter and alliteration!

[aglaean]

“I see your charm did not protect you from falling early in battle,” Azama notes as he comes by to check on his totally-honest-to-gods-definitely-absolutely favourite student.

"... You did make one for yourself as well, did you not?"

What escapes next can only be described as a long-suffering sigh, though Azama masks it (perhaps poorly) with a look of incredibly deep concern™️.

“… Mayhap next year I shall have to bestow one of my own to you. 'Passing beautiful' though yours may have been," gods, he needs to hold it in, he can't break down so soon, "it means little if it doesn't work as intended, yes?"

Dread and horror have never been writ more strongly across the face of one so marvellous. ‘Hold! Do you suppose that, had I procured further tokens, I would not have been so rudely removed from the field?’ 

This was a disaster of the highest order! Once again, it seemed, L’Arachel’s unfailing generosity had proven too great, too perfect, for this cruel world. 

Of course, this was not to say that she was disappointed that her latent powers had been bestowed upon one so grateful. The defence of innocents was, undoubtedly, one of the many goals the Gods had predestined her for, after all.

But she rather wished she hadn’t been so blind to her own virtues, so negligent of the budding talent she evidently possessed! Had she made multiples of the charm, the very tide of battle could’ve been changed. 

Well, it was little worth lamenting what had been fated to be. She would simply have to be prepared for the next trial. 

At his offer, she smiles graciously. It would not do to enlighten him as to the fact that she was the one gifted with the talent in charm-making. His proferred charm, unimbued with whatever hidden powers of protection she possessed, would be taken with thankfulnesss!

L'Arachel resolve to arise early the next morning, dedicating herself to securing more candles, more threads, and eventually, more charms. 

[alj4890]

Can't Take My Eyes Off of You

(Maxwell Beaumont x Olivia Nevrakis) in a Choices The Royal Romance Crackship AU

A/N The Ball at Olivia's has always been one of my favorite chapters in TRR canon. I love how Riley gets special time with everyone, we see the feelings between each character begin to change and become more intense, etc. And with everyone's reaction during the Cordonian Waltz, how could I not include it in this AU?

Masterlist

Chapter 3

Olivia's Ballroom...

"Why are you acting so weird?" Riley asked. "I don't think I've ever heard you speak this formally before."

Maxwell held his phone up to her ear and hit play.

She could clearly hear Bertrand's numerous reminders that Maxwell needed to be on his best behavior. He was a representative of not only their name but their very position in society, and that Bertrand would find out if Maxwell stepped one toe out of line manner wise.

Bubbly laughter escaped her lips.

"How many messages did he leave for you?" She asked.

"That makes fifty-three since this morning." Maxwell muttered.

"So what I'm hearing is that you and I can't cut loose and just have a ball at a ball?" She teased.

"Not tonight." He grinned at her. "Not if you want your favorite Beaumont to be your escort the rest of the season." He pointed to the windows, leaning even closer towards her to whisper. "I bet Bertrand knows where the best spots are to hide my body if I don't act like the proper spare to a dukedom."

Riley giggled some more. "We can't have that. I wouldn't survive without you!"

"Then I better be the best behaved noble here." He straightened his posture, bowed before her, then ruined the effect with a wink.

"I'll find you ladies later for a dance. I need to go to my table."

"Where are we sitting?" Riley asked.

"About that..." He winced while leading her to a seating chart. "Olivia put me at her table. But you and Hana are over here." He pointed at a spot on the very opposite side of the ballroom, tucked away in a corner.

"Hey look!" Riley pointed at another name. "At least we'll have Drake with us."

"I think Olivia meant it as a slight." Hana explained. "She must not think too highly of us to sit us way back there with him."

Riley shrugged it off. "I'm just happy to be here instead of a dungeon. I mean, look at this place. It's gorgeous!"

Maxwell and Hana shared a smile as Riley went on how exciting it was to see another ball. Her infectious optimism could lighten up any situation and he was grateful for it. No wonder he'd seen Hana and Drake hanging around her more and more as their days in Lythikos dragged on. Who wouldn't want to?

"I think our table will be known as the fun one before the night is through." Riley declared. "Sorry, Max."

"Don't be." He squeezed her hand. "I wish I could sit with you guys."

He sincerely did, not just for a chance to relax and cut loose, but because he dreaded what the next few hours would do to him while being forced to have an up close and personal view in Olivia's dogmatic pursuit of Liam.

A man could only stand for so long to see the one he wants most want someone else.

Dukes and duchess are always invited to the head tables. Why couldn't my ancestors suck at being a noble? Then maybe Bertrand would be a viscount. OOOH! Or a baron! Baron Beaumont. Baron Bertrand Beaumont. That has a nice ring to it. Alliteration is always awesome.

"We'll find a way for you to have fun too." Riley reassured him.

When she noticed some guests staring at them, she curtsied to him, keeping her hand in his. The sparkling ice blue gown she wore twinkled in the light, catching everyone's eye.

Maxwell chuckled softly, then pressed a kiss to her knuckles once she stood up.

"Thank you, my lady."

"See ya," she replied in a thicker than usual Brooklyn accent to make him smile, "My lord."

*******************

Olivia's lips thinned in a line as she observed Maxwell and Riley's behavior. She didn't think it cute the little parting they had before Riley was banished to no man's land. Her eyes remained on Maxwell until he turned towards her.

She then directed a charming smile towards her approaching prince.

"Good evening, your grace." Liam lifted her hand to his lips for a brief kiss. "You've outdone yourself once again in hosting the court."

"Thank you." She gestured to the place towards her right. "Won't you sit down?"

Liam did so, his gaze sweeping the number of guests mingling and finding their tables.

"I know as a prince I shouldn't have favorites, but I've always preferred your ballroom to any of the others in Cordonia.*

"You can thank my ancestor, Theodosia, for this." Olivia explained. "She was the only hopeless romantic in the family and deemed that a ballroom be constructed over one of the fighting pits at Lythikos."

"I think I would have approved of Theodosia's way of thinking." Liam's attention settled on Riley once he found her.

"From what I've read, she was an annoying woman who was obsessed with falling in love." Olivia rolled her eyes. "I doubt I could stomach her for five seconds. No true Nevrakis could be that soft."

"I don't believe falling in love or longing for it makes one soft." Liam argued, his attention unwavering upon the lady he believed he'd lost his heart to. "In my experience, it makes the person better in every single way."

Olivia studied his profile quietly.

Does love really have that power? I suppose it would if the person one fell in love with was someone like Liam. I don't know if the world can handle it if I become better than I already am once married to the love of my life.

She was snapped out of her musings when a familiar shadow fell over them.

"Your highness" Maxwell greeted with a bow, "your grace."

Liam's welcoming smile held both delight and a great deal of relief. "Are you sitting with us?"

"Yes." Maxwell cleared his throat. "Lady Olivia was gracious enough to sit me at your table in Bertrand's absence."

"Hmm," Olivia mused, "so formal, Lord Beaumont."

"I believe formality is required at these events. Do you disagree, your grace?" Maxwell sat down across from the pair.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

It seems the snack cakes didn't work on bringing the old Maxwell back. I'll never get anything out of him in the current state he's in.

"Surely, my lord, you will relent on propriety so that we can talk as old friends." Olivia summoned her most charming smile. "The three of us share so many memories."

"Four," Maxwell corrected. "You forgot Drake."

"I think one should do all they can to forget him." She replied.

"I think you managed to pull it off with where you decided to sit him." Maxwell mumbled under his breath.

Her eyes narrowed once more upon him.

Liam's chuckle reminded them both that he was at their table.

"Some things will never change." He explained when they both looked at him curiously. "Though it might be nice to see you and Drake finally bury the hatchet that's been between you for years."

"I'm more than happy to bury that hatchet in his thick skull." Olivia quipped. "Once I find where I left it."

Maxwell snorted. "There's some better weapon choices in your armory."

"I've always been partial to a flail." She added, genuinely smiling at Maxwell for the first time in days.

"It leaves an impression like no other." Maxwell grinned at her. "Literally and figuratively."

Olivia laughed, launching into a tale of one of her ancestor's prowess with that particular weapon.

"Perhaps we could change to a less gruesome topic of conversation." Liam cut in once bowls of steamy lobster bisque was set before them.

His companions eyed him in surprise. He had to suppress his laughter over the thought of how long these two could talk about weapons. If not for the lumpy, orangish red substance in front of him, he would have allowed the conversation to continue in graphic form.

He didn't need a visual representation of what a flail could do along with their added commentary.

***************

Course after course was set before them. Olivia redirected the conversation each time to find ways to flirt with Liam. Though she had managed to catch a brief glimpse of the old Maxwell she once knew, he'd reverted back to being quiet and proper. She did her best to ignore him for the most part.

Liam, on the other hand, was doing his best to not only deflect her flirty comments but to also drag Maxwell into every new subject that was discussed.

Why, Maxwell silently cried out to the heavens, am I forced to have a front row seat for this?

Every touch Olivia gave Liam, every glance, every single compliment cut Maxwell to the quick. He knew before he ever sat down that this night would be the hardest of his life. He just hadn't anticipated it being this difficult.

He longed to interrupt them. He wanted to draw Olivia's attention back on himself. He needed her to look at him the way she did Liam. He knew the prince was handsome and practically perfect. The man deserved her attention because he was such a great guy.

But still...

Is it too much to ask to have one lady of the Court, one specific lady, be this way over me?

It might be. Who knew why he was so unlucky in love? He only knew his heart had been foolish enough to fall for someone who had fallen for someone else.

He eyed the cutlery when a plate of Olive Wagyu steak was set before him. The knife was looking more and more tempting as a means to ending his torment. Accidentally on purpose cutting himself would allow him a chance to escape.

Worst case scenario: after bleeding everywhere and freaking people out, he would have a cool scar to remind him of tonight.

Liam, being the epitome of politeness, pulled Maxwell's attention back from different body spots he could causally drop his knife on and survive when he complimented Olivia again on her choice of menu.

She lit up with pride each time the prince said he enjoyed something.

Maxwell did all he could to not simply stare at her.

His mind was refusing to work and help him find ways to keep his cool and with topics conversation. His imagination alone should have kicked into high gear and helped him out, but no, everything was against him tonight.

With a white knuckle grip, he cut into the perfectly prepared filet and did his best to ignore the pair in front of him.

****************

When Maxwell heard the beginning of a Cordonian Waltz begin, he softly groaned. There wasn't a dance created that set the mood, romantically speaking, more so than this particular one. His nation would do something like this to him. Give the perfect chance to hold the one he desires close, yet have her ask someone else.

"My prince?" Olivia stood and offered her hand to Liam. "Shall we begin the ball?"

"I would be honored to, your grace." Liam led her to the middle of the ballroom.

"Who wouldn't be?" Maxwell muttered, tossing his napkin on the table.

He rubbed his hands over his face then forced himself to join the other nobles along the edge of the dance floor. Instead of watching Liam and Olivia, he sought out Riley.

"Hey!" She smiled at him. "How's it going?"

"Great!" He lied. "May I have the honor of your first dance this evening, my lady?"

Her lips trembled with a giggle she was fighting. "It is I who is honored, my lord."

Maxwell grinned at her. Taking her in his arms, his eyes widened over a thought.

"Umm," he swallowed nervously, "do you know the steps to this?"

"I do, thanks to Hana." Riley whispered. "A heads up from you would have been nice."

"I am so, so sorry." Maxwell moved her through the steps. "I guess I had other things on my mind."

"It's okay." Riley squeezed his hand. "Just, help a girl out next time, okay?"

"I will." He grinned at her again. "You're doing great, by the way "

"I know." She winked at him. "The word flawless comes to mind when I spin."

To prove her point, she twirled elegantly within his arms.

"You're right. Absolutely flawless." He told her. "Even Bertrand would be struck speechless with your gracefulness."

"I would have loved to have seen that. Remind me to do this dance in front of him one day." She teased.

"Will do." Maxwell promised.

"You know," Riley added as she rocked back and forth in his embrace, "this seems a little scandalous for your people. I didn't think nobles touched anything other than hands."

"All that pent up frustration is probably what caused this dance to become a hit." He joked. "A hand can only do so much for one's libido."

"Only if you're not using it right." She teased.

Maxwell bit back his laughter. "Ready to change partners?"

Riley glanced over at Liam. "You mean?"

"Yep." Maxwell twirled her into her prince's arms.

And ended up with Olivia in his.

He felt a jolt of electricity shoot through his body the moment her curves briefly brushed against him.

Olivia tilted her head at an angle as she looked at him.

"Is, uh, is something wrong?" He asked.

He could feel the sweat building up on his forehead.

"Yes." She replied. "I don't know what it is, but there is definitely something wrong here."

"Sounds vexing." He mumbled.

"Good lord, Maxwell!" She snapped. "Why are you still talking like this?!"

"Like what?" He asked.

"Like everyone else in our society!"

"Isn't that how we're supposed to act?" He grumbled. "Aren't we trained to mimic each other?"

"They might be prone to act that way, but you and I never once caved in to that type of thinking!" She pointed out. "You have been the only noble I could depend on to be an individual, like me, instead of part of their hive minds."

He twirled her into his arms, almost cuddling her close to his chest.

Olivia's gasp was involuntary. She tried to recall the last time she'd danced the Cordonian Waltz with him and came up blank.

She couldn't remember ever doing this with Maxwell, which had to be the reason she was noticing everything being this close to him.

She could feel the restrained strength of his muscular arms. She could smell the light splash of his Fragrance Dubois Heritage. It was almost intoxicating the clean, woodsy aroma mixed with his body heat. His warm breath grazing her lips while those ocean blue eyes of his stared into her own made her heart stutter.

I didn't feel like this in Liam's arms.

That stray thought snapped her back into why she was hosting this ball in the first place. It was for Liam. All she was doing was for a chance to be with him.

No matter how odd she felt in Maxwell's arms, there was only one goal tonight: get closer to Liam.

I would probably experience the same reaction if I danced with Tariq or some other person here, she argued with herself. I shouldn't be surprised to feel this way around Maxwell. I'm sure it's normal to notice every little detail when this close to someone.

"I don't think I'm that bad." Maxwell said.

"Huh?" Olivia wondered what he was talking about.

"I don't think I'm like the other nobles." He reiterated.

"The other nobles?" Her eyes focused on his mouth.

"You said I'm acting like them." He reminded her.

"Umhmm." She noticed the beginning of evening stubble darkening around his mouth and jawline.

He must have shaved this morning.

His lips began to curve, causing her to look up once more. She saw amusement in his face which made her pull away some from him. Her eyes narrowed upon his in parting then she twirled back to take her place in Liam's arms. Her temper was teetering on boiling over at having been swept away momentarily by Maxwell and in now seeing that Liam and Riley were completely lost in the other.

"Excuse me," she cleared her throat. "I believe Liam's my partner now."

The couple reluctantly let go of the other. Olivia watched as Riley returned to Maxwell, frowning even more so at their easy smiles of greeting. One would think they hadn't seen each other in a while the way they acted.

It was grating on her already frazzled nerves to see their closeness.

"I think your ball will be the hit of the season." Liam said, noticing all the nobles enjoy themselves.

Olivia looked up at him. Her frown eased hearing what she knew to be true.

"They usually are." She boasted.

The moment the complicated twirl within his arms came, she knew the time was right to finally make her move. Without any hesitation, she closed the few inches of distance and kissed Liam.

**************

All color drained from Maxwell's face the moment it happened. His jaw dropped. A strange, buzzing sound filled his ears. He couldn't tell what Riley was saying to him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her turn to see what had put him into shock.

She somehow remained quiet. Her brow furrowed in thought as she watched what had drawn every eye in the room.

Kiara's gasp of outrage nearby helped bring Maxwell out of his stupor.

He wasn't certain how his mind cleared enough to act with precision. Somehow his body moved Riley away from the heart breaking spectacle, and into an empty corner.

Riley's attention was still on Liam and Olivia. She seemed to breathe a touch easier once Liam gently but firmly pushed the duchess away. Once the two left to talk privately, Riley turned towards Maxwell.

"You okay?" He asked.

"No. Not really." She mumbled. "It was stupid of me to think I'm the only one he's kissing. Liam's probably making out with every woman here."

"He's not that kind of guy." Maxwell gently grasped her arms. "Trust me. He isn't the kind to kiss every girl he can. Now if Leo was still the crown prince, then it would be a different story."

He lifted his eyes towards the door that Liam and Olivia disappeared behind.

"Olivia was the one to initiate that kiss."

"So?" Riley folded her arms. "I usually do the same with Liam."

Her brow furrowed with both anger and self loathing.

"Dammit! I'm going to stop throwing myself at Liam to see if what we have really is special. I bet he's been laughing at me every time I leave."

"Hey!" Maxwell grasped her arms once more and gave her a little shake. "Don't even start thinking like that! Liam doesn't do those kinds of things. If he's meeting you in private, you can bet you're the only one."

Riley bit down on her bottom lip. "I hate this competition."

"It isn't a competition." He lowered his head until he was eye level with her. "Not with you in it."

Her lips eased into a grateful smile. "How do you always manage to turn my doubts into hope?"

"It's a gift." He shrugged, grinning at her. "Now, how about we do some strategizing?"

"You mean, grab Liam and make out in front of everyone once he comes back inside?"

Maxwell started laughing. How often had he thought of doing something outrageous like that with Olivia?

"Maybe we'll put that as Plan B. Plan A is to gain you some needed support amongst the other ladies of the court."

He nodded towards where Kiara was furiously whispering to all who would listen about Olivia's behavior.

"Oh. But why would she support me? We're competing for the same man." Riley asked.

"Kiara's the kind who uses logic. She knows her chances aren't as great as others, so she'll want to get in the good graces of Cordonia's future queen. She has plans to be used in diplomatic endeavors for Cordonia more so than to win Liam." He explained.

"I see." She straightened her shoulders and did her best not to look like she'd had the rug pulled out from under her. "Okay. Here goes nothing."

Maxwell watched with pride as Riley made her way over. Seeing Kiara's frown leave in the midst of their conversation let him know all was going well.

He was finally able to allow his shattered heart to take over.

He slumped against the wall and lowered his head in his hands.

She kissed him. How can I possibly compete with Liam after this?

Maxwell straightened from his spot. He decided to do some more observing once he saw Liam make a beeline for Riley.

He dropped his hands and let his head fall back against the wall while failing to see a way forward. All his plans seemed pointless now that Olivia knew what Liam's kiss felt like. As great as the prince was in everything he did, Maxwell was pretty sure that he excelled in all romantic endeavors.

He was one of the first to notice when the pair return. Liam's features were in a carefully, calm mask while Olivia's expressive face revealed confusion and was that...disappointment?

***************

A few hours later...

Olivia had never been more thankful to finally be alone in her room. It surprised her how tired she felt once the ball ended. She knew the reason why she was exhausted, yet couldn't quite accept it.

Why did Liam refuse to see they were meant for each other?

As she began to pull the pins out that held her hair up, she replayed their conversation after she kissed him.

"Olivia, I don't quite know how to say this," Liam began.

She beamed at him. She knew this was when he would say he'd been in love with her for years too. He'd only been waiting on the proper moment to tell her. He would probably say he was grateful she'd taken the initiative.

"But we shouldn't kiss."

"What?" She blinked at him.

He hesitated.

"Olivia, I am supposed to give every lady here a chance."

"Come on, Liam." She rolled her eyes. "Are you honestly telling me you're giving serious thought to making someone like Penelope your queen?"

"I have to." He told her.

"Look, I understand you believe you have to, but we both know I'm your only choice. The best one, to say the least."

"Olivia, you're one of my oldest friends." Liam tried to find a way to make her understand without hurting her. "I care greatly for you and I would never want to hurt you, but..."

"But?" She prodded when his voice dropped off.

"But, I've only ever felt friendship towards you." He admitted.

She waived that off. "This is the first time you've allowed yourself to think differently. I'm sure you'll soon come to feel as I do."

"Olivia, I--"

"Besides, it is past time that everyone else sees our potential." She added. "No need for them to have their hopes up."

He shook his head. A muscle spasmed in his jaw as he tried to find a way to make her see he had no desire for her.

"You cannot kiss me again." Liam stated in an unusually hard tone. "Not in public nor in private."

"Liam, don't you see--"

Her jaw dropped as he bowed his head to her, offered his arm, then declared that they needed to return to the ballroom.

"No need to draw more attention to ourselves by lingering out here." He told her. "We will not discuss what happened on the dance floor again."

Olivia took his arm and quietly returned to the ball.

She hadn't particularly liked him deciding they wouldn't talk anymore about it.

Maybe he needs time to get used to the idea. If he has only seen me as a childhood friend, then it might take him longer to see me as a woman.

A knock at her door made her heart leap. She knew it must be Liam. He would want to check on her after all that happened. Maybe even tell her he had a change of heart.

She opened it, her smile disappearing at the sight of Maxwell standing there.

"Hey." He swallowed. "I, um, I..."

"You what?" She demanded.

"I wanted to check on you."

"And why would I need to be checked on?" She asked, folding her arms. "Tonight was a success. Surely, even you saw that."

He slipped his hands in his pockets, propped his shoulder against her doorframe, and lowered his eyes.

"Liv, I saw the kiss."

She stilled. She had a feeling she wasn't going to like what else he saw.

"And I saw what happened once you two came back to the ballroom." He lifted his eyes to hers. "I wish..."

She cocked an eyebrow in silent question.

"I wish you hadn't gotten hurt." He said softly.

"Hurt?" She scoffed at the notion. "Why would I be hurt? I kissed the man I loved tonight."

Maxwell's eyebrows drew together.

"How did it feel?" He asked.

"Excuse me?" She snapped.

"How did it feel?" He repeated. "Was it everything you'd imagined?"

Her lips parted as she thought about it.

While she'd infused every bit of her heart in the kiss, Liam's lips had remained firm and unyielding. There was no response, not even one of curious desire.

It was nothing like the many daydreams she'd spent years on.

Maxwell sighed softly. "You deserve to have a kiss that makes your knees weak."

She snorted in derision. "That's not real."

"It is!" He argued. "When you're kissed by someone who loves you, who wants you more than he's ever wanted anyone in his life, every part of your body comes alive. Your heart feels like it will beat out of your chest. Your mind seizes with the thought of how much you want them. You can't pull them close enough. You feel like you could kiss them forever and you're certain if you stop for a single moment that you'll probably die. You need them, their touch, the feel of their lips, like you need air."

He lifted his hand to her cheek, catching her off guard.

"That's what it's like to be kissed by someone who loves you."

Maxwell leaned closer while dropping his hand, his eyes locked upon hers. "So did you feel any of that when Liam kissed you?"

Olivia refused to answer.

"I didn't think so." Maxwell mumbled. "I knew something was up when you came back to the ballroom. You should have been on cloud nine after that kiss if it had been done right."

"So what, are you some kissing expert all of the sudden?" She snapped. "Who are you to assume it wasn't all that and more?"

His eyes narrowed.

She stepped closer, poking her finger in his chest. "Trust me. It might not be perfect now, but it will be. Once Liam chooses me, everything will line up with your version of a kiss."

"You think so?" He asked.

"I know so." She huffed. "There's no one like Liam."

"That's true." He swallowed. "Still..."

"What?" Olivia glared at him.

"Perhaps you should kiss someone else, just to prove that Liam is the one." He offered.

Her laughter held a bitter edge. "I don't need proof. I've known he was the one since I was five years old."

"Have you kissed anyone, other than Liam?"

Olivia rolled her eyes. "Of course I have."

"And did those do anything for you?" Maxwell hoped she said no.

"Not particularly." She replied.

He released a relieved breath. "Good."

"Good? Why is that--"

Olivia gasped when he slipped his arm around her waist. Her eyes widened when his free hand slipped into her hair. She knew in the back of her mind that she could easily escape this simple embrace. Lord knows, she knew at least ten moves that would have him flipped over her shoulder lying prostrate on the ground.

Something though, she supposed it was curiosity, kept her from doing so. Instead of reacting in her usual manner, she waited to see what he would do next.

Her eyelashes fluttered closed with the first tender brush of his lips on hers. The almost uncertain coaxing for them to part and allow him to truly kiss her sent a brief jolt to her body.

Feeling like she ought to at least allow him to do this to prove him wrong, she opened her mouth and ended up sinking against him.

A low moan escaped her as his tongue tangled with hers. Her hands moved up his chest so that her fingers could slip into his hair.

One of his hands moved to grip her hip, pulling her even closer. He wrapped a few of her loose, red locks around his fist, keeping her head at the perfect angle.

His moan followed hers as he dipped down to kiss along her neck.

Her breath caught in her throat when he returned back to her mouth with intense purpose.

Each suck, nibble, and full exploration of her lips made her restlessly move against him.

"Maxwell." She mumbled against his mouth before he pressed her against the wall.

Her eyes widened as his blatant desire for her notched hers beyond what she'd experienced before. She knew it was crazy, but she wanted more, more of him, his touch, everything.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" He asked, breathing heavily against her mouth.

She shook her head, leaning forward to kiss him.

He moaned, reaching down to lift her leg over his hip.

"Don't st--" she covered her mouth when she heard the click of a door being opened.

Maxwell pressed his face against her neck, willing himself to be silent.

The two watched Tariq, oblivious to them in the shadows, head towards the stairs.

Olivia sagged against Maxwell, nearly falling to the ground.

"That was close." He whispered.

"Too close." She placed a shaky hand on his chest to keep him from kissing her again. "It's late. We should probably turn in."

Maxwell nodded, his throat convulsing as if holding in his denial.

"Sleep well, Liv." He forced himself to step away from her.

She watched him until he returned to his room. She stood there a little longer afterwards to try and calm her racing mind in the dark hallway.

When she moved towards her room, she realized her trembling legs meant one thing that she absolutely refused to accept.

Her knees had gone weak.

[violettduchess]

A Lovestruck English Lesson👩‍🏫: Rafe🌹, season 1, set 2

Now this is getting good. As we move past the exposition and allow the characters to really spend time together, we are getting a really good idea of their chemistry. I know a lot of people were interested in seeing Rafe with MMC (and I do hope we get a chance to see that too), but I am really enjoying his dynamic with FMC. He pushes her to take risks and she is slowly getting him to care about...well more than his own desires. And boy do they both DESIRE each other. The tension is off the charts.

The writing is gorgeous. It's definitely ornate and full of figurative language, which may not be your thing and that is fine, but I find it a joy to read.

Lets take a look:

Rafe's laughter is compared to the sound of cello strings, and specified as "deep and velvetine": soft and low and moving. It unlocks something inside MC ("shock or salvation"), something sharp and yet possibly the key to finding her way out of the anger she has encased herself in.

Rafe is Italian and comparing his eyes to the Amalfi coast is very clever. In case anyone isn't familiar with it: The Amalfi Coast is a 50-kilometer stretch of coastline along the southern edge of Italy’s Sorrentine Peninsula, in the Campania region:

The line: his eyes are sharp as shattered gemstones has some nice alliteration with "sharp, shattered": they are beautiful and yet dangerous.

This is a metaphor ( a comparison without "like" or "as") and I love it for how deceptively simple it seems at first. Cyanide and cinnamon is, again, nice alliteration, and the implication here is so good: cyanide, a deadly poison, cinnamon, an exotic spice that is tart and distinct and delicious. Rafe is a combination of disarming charm and a flashing warning sign.

They share a brief kiss and this interjection of "-and god his lips-" says so much. The fact that the sentence is interrupted by the thought, the word "god" in italics as a means of expressing emphasis, the repetition of the word "lips" as the element she is so taken by. It's a perfect way to show how affected fMC is by what is happening.

Here is a simile comparing the way their lips feel: "satin", "velvet": soft, sensual materials or "the gentle caress of a moonlit lake on a white sand shore": a gentle touch, moonlight and white sand convey light and romance, beauty and natural truth. It's a gorgeous sentence.

[shatouto]

🖊 ✨ 💻 for the asks?? 💜💜💜

(💻 answered here!)

🖊 Post a snippet from a current WIP.

ohohoho

Obi-Wan carries him on their little trip back from the refresher as well. Their skin still soft and steaming from the hot-water shower, they have barely tucked themselves into bed when something pings from the bedside table. Anakin groans and turns his face down into the pillow. Obi-Wan ruffles his hair before sitting up, reaching for it.

“What is it, Master?”

“It seems we’ve been assigned a new mission,” Obi-Wan says, sitting up slowly. Anakin looks up to see his brows furrowing, his face illuminated by pale cyan light. His thumb taps at the screen, scrolling up.

“Did we…” Anakin blinks, his chest shaking with the beginning of held back laughter. “Did we just miss a comm call from the Council?”

“Several,” Obi-Wan says, huffing, his ears dyed a sheepish pink at the tip.

✨ Choose three adjectives to compliment your own writing.

oh noooo i’m bad at this i’m bad at this

okay ughndflks i’ll go for what i AIM FOR for my writing to be, not what i think it already is (yes i’m cheating)

vivid. i try my best to get into not just the pov character’s mind but also their body. i really like describing the nitty gritty details like how cold your fingers suddenly feel against your clammy palm as you slowly close your hand into a trembling fist (instead of saying you’re shocked) or the sound of your incisors grinding together and the feverish heat that spreads from behind your eyes to your face to your neck (instead of saying you’re angry), etc. which is probably also ‘evocative’, i guess? idk i’m just very into show don’t tell lmao

lyrical. i do pay a lot of attention to cadence and melody in writing. it’s just something i naturally do because my native language (viet) is tonal. sometimes i care more about the flow and the pretty words and the alliteration than the grammar or lexicon, and then i just roll with it lmao. i do read a little bit of poetry, but i’m in no way a poet, so i just try to incorporate what little poetics i have into my prose.

deliberate. i try to be, like, mindful, of what i write. of course there will always be stuff that readers point out that makes me go “:000c !!!!!!” but all in all i want to know what i’m doing basically hahahaha. so i try to fine-tune my word choice (no five dollar words here, no frivolous use of the thesaurus either!) and limit my use of imagery and literary device (i’m working on reducing the use of repetition haha it’s such an easy technique tho), etc.

[dukethomas]

chemically calm (fic title)??

 i love the alliteration on that, bonus points for alliteration. this actually stumped me for a while, iueshfouebfu (sorry to everyone who asked after this, i like doing things in order)

so in the end, i think i’m going with like. dream world to keep someone compliant. i don’t want to rip off the black mercy fic idea because i already have that one, so i’m throwing the idea into a different fandom, it’s wicked, it’s gelphie, and i’ll pull elements from book and musical because the book/musical amalgamation is my favorite thing. elphaba causes too much of a stir, so she gets put into the dream world because ~magic~ and because glinda is a people-pleaser, she appears to be on the wizard’s side, she’s the one put in charge of monitoring elphaba’s condition in the dream world and keeping her from asking questions.

more under the cut bc for some reason this got l o n g

but when glinda enters the dream world...... she’s astounded. because it’s so different to the oz she knows. there’s less tensions, Animals and humans live in peace, and the one thing she was sure elphaba’s brain would change in her ideal world—her green skin—stays. instead, people compliment her glowing skin. they pay it no more mind than they would anyone else’s. 

so glinda, content to watch but she must do her job, approaches elphaba. introduces herself. she’s quieter, more curious, less bratty and self-absorbed than the first time they met. and elphaba feels a prick of recognition, so she talks more. and glinda realizes that elphaba still doesn’t fit quite right in this world. she’s still just as jagged at the edges, but she doesn’t seem to know why. glinda keeps trying to ease elphaba into this world, this shiz, and as she’s required to be close to elphaba, they both get used to this them as well.

and for a while, it’s okay. elphaba’s living her dream, literally, and glinda is getting to know others’ perspectives intimately, she’s learning how pretty elphaba is when she really smiles or when her whole body shakes with laughter. when she doesn’t feel like a failure in every sense of the word. 

but glinda has to return to the real oz every two weeks or so to report on elphaba’s condition. she has to bite down her soft smile as she recounts what they’ve done, and she has to bear witness to every way in which the real oz couldn’t live up to elphaba’s dream. discontent lies underneath her skin, worming its way into her demeanor in the dream world. and glinda knows elphaba wouldn’t stand for this were she awake. so she has to change something.

so she tries. she innocently asks the wizard, madame morrible, anyone in charge. they frown and tell her no, they give her bullshit reasons, but this works. she’s seen it. it would be so much better for everyone if they’d just listen—!

but she bites her tongue. she waits. and she finds likeminded people. fiyero, who’s been working his way up in oz high society, boq (book boq because i can’t stand the musical version) who does little things to help in secret, crope and tibbett (characters from the book) who are willing to throw themselves into the fray for their beliefs. they’re so close. 

and then. 

and then madame morrible tells glinda they’re moving on to the next stage of the dream world. they’re going to slowly shift it to be more like the real oz, slowly have glinda herself convince elphaba over to their side, because they’re still greedy for elphaba’s power, and they know with her they can win over oz. 

and it hurts for glinda to swallow bile and nod, say she’ll be a good little witch, she’ll do it for them, just because she wanted status. and, glinda realizes, returning to the dream world, she’s... in love with elphaba. with the way her eyes light up when she talks about something she’s passionate about, her wild carefree cackle when she uses magic, her. and elphaba is content. she’s complacent. she’s accepted that this is her life.

so when the conflicts and tensions of the real oz begin to return—glinda’s hands tremble, but she knows. she knows she has to tell elphaba, help her escape, launch a coup, all while avoiding suspicion. 

and glinda does. because if she bites her tongue any longer, she might lose it entirely. 

(and then there’s conclusion stuff i can’t bother to write because this is already too long and strayed way too far from the provided title, but!! yeah!!)

[terrorhqs]

hello to each and every one of you absolute wonders !! first of all, we would like to apologize for the wait - when we saw 8 apps hitting the inbox in the last few hours, we knew we would have some Serious Work on our hands. it took us longer than we expected to go through all of them, mainly because every single one was absolutely incredible, and this entailed several very, very tough decisions. we also wanted to be as accommodating as possible for certain applicants who inspired us to make a few changes along the way - with their backstories, their line of thinking, their amazing character, which we will note below. this truly was a round of acceptances where we thought we might create a whole new batch of skeletons just to showcase each app. thank you to everyone who applied. and for everyone who got accepted, please make sure to send in your accounts in 24h !!

HENRY for THE COMMANDER (james norton)

henry, your writing was an absolute treat, but it was truly your future plot ideas we were feasting on! we absolutely loved how tightly tied to fitzwilliam’s psyche they were, how terribly heart wrenching they were - particularly the first one - we have to admit it made us weepy and excited in equal measure.

GEN for THE DEVOTED, captain’s steward (richard deiss)

gen, your writing flourishes and entrances and beguiles, just as rowan does, and the two of you do it so effortlessly. your in-character response was a brilliant show of creativity and development in showing how rowan reacts to the same question asked by different people, and we knew he would be a phenomenon onboard the promethean. your app was showstopping, and we couldn't wait to welcome you aboard.

CAIT for THE SOCIALITE (tuppence middleton)

the whole personality of stella was a whirlwind in motion !! we were so eager to read more about them from the very first seconds. and the prose ! how beautiful ! (Worship the altar of this consuming, rebellious  heart and wear it in red, bathe in this baptismal font of sordid gossip, glory, erupting nights of heated duels between wit and ego) - this is the epitome of what we wanted for them, and even more than we could’ve hoped !

KAT for THE DOCTOR (dev patel)

kat, please let us dwell with jonathan in his sunshine and pure spirit forever?? we are all rosa diaz on this blessed day and he is a golden retriever puppy we would all kill for. we love his love for nature’s wonders and for people alike, but we also adore the depth and understanding you brought to his future plots. we welcome you and jonathan to the crew with such, such open arms !

ALICE for THE DOE-HEARTED (su yihan)

alice, your writing was a siren song that lulled us into the depth of sybil's story - in a heartbeat, we would drown in it all over again. you kept the essence of the doe-hearted but took it so much further in making her a girl haunted, the buildup of sybil and her story a grimm fairytale to be told again and again. "You were born by the water, sweet thing. Your story is the sea with but an island in the middle of it." you have truly woven a complexity to the doe-hearted that we never expected - we'll all be holding our breaths to see how our dear fairytale fares on open waters !!

BEAU for THE INTREPID (tobias menzies)

oh, beau. the entire process of your application was as beautiful and chaotic as a natural phenomenon - it felt like we need albert in this rp, and that weight had the certainty of force? we knew we have to give him the leeway for development he deserved. i cannot properly convey how much we loved the schematics of his past, and how it contrasted with his ideals for the future. he is a map of contrasts and we are so eager to see him on the dash !

NAYAB for THE ENIGMA (katrina kaif)

nayab, the way you illustrated jaya's rich history was absolutely delectable - we were positively screaming over the intricate detail you put into the creation of such a nuanced, interesting, and fiery character. the research and thought you put into jaya absolutely wowed us, and it was impossible not to love (and admittedly, cower a little before) her. "what if this expedition makes you encounter what even you - with your cautious gait, and sharp, dark-eyed gaze - never saw coming?" what a cannonball she is, and what an impact she had on us !

JINHEE for THE HARUSPEX (avan jogia)

jinhee, ashwin is an absolute delight and so was reading your application! as rhi screamed, ‘FUCK I BELIEVE IN HOPE AGAIN??’ we loved the icarus imagery and were not prepared to be completely undone by this line: (and weren’t you told never to touch your idols? warned that the gilding will stick to your fingers?). the way you took his father’s ancestry and tied into his present feelings for britain was absolutely chef’s kiss. we were enamored from start to finish - well done.

KYLIE for THE IDOL (garret hedlund)

oh, what a STUNNING app !! it is so difficult to balance guilt and righteousness, and we feel like you did that thoroughly for jack. your level of close-reading through our skeleton was genuinely flattering, but the way you took it to new depths (and heights) was humbling. we are so, so eager to see how the tide will turn for jack, and all the possible ways you can give him a redemption arc - or the lack of one.

N for THE LOVER (zoe kravitz)

N, let me prostrate myself at eleonore’s feet. your application was so rich and beautifully written, truly embodying the lover’s feline lethality that you want to pet anyway despite knowing she might very well be your downfall. “feed me was all she had ever asked in exchange for burning day and night for him.” hello yes, we volunteer.

TILDA for THE NOBLE (madeline madden)

it was very hard choice for the noble, but tilda, i adore helene’s family’s backstory, how it seemed to rot from the core until collapse. you truly grasped the character and her yearning for abandon, her desperation, and her voice/dialogue in your in-character response was utterly delightful! we can’t wait to see her voyage from sea-legged noble lady to tide commanding shanty.

ADRIAN for THE PURSER (matthew goode)

if only you could see how we reacted when we received this app ! and trust me, the hype only increased when we got to reading it. did we channel that excitement through God-honest tears? uh, yes. we did. ( dead can’t receive letters but Edward still writes them anyway. ) we clutched edward to our chest time and time again through that - and the SPLENDID letter added at the end, what a treat to us ! we are so thankful just at the privilege of reading this. we’re even more thankful that we’ll see him on the dash.

EMI for THE ROMANTIC, wardroom steward (yang yang)

emi, we've concluded with all of your beautiful plot points that you and june do indeed, have the range - you gave us such a variety of wonderful exploration of june's personality, psyche, hopes, and dreams all wrapped up in the beautiful poetry that fit june's character like a second skin.  "the light upon the ice. a brilliant, sightless mirror. it comes not from the sun but from our prometheus, barrelling out from dark waters with an inexplicable gift: fire." you've captured him so beautifully and we cannot wait to see how he will be the promethean's sun to the open seas !

CLAUDIA for THE SCION (rome flynn)

you really manged to send a :59 app and still steal the show ! how very Scion-y of you. in all seriousness, i adored augustus background so MUCH - his maternal connection, the wishy-washy tides of his family’s structure, the conflict inherent in his very development !! so so good. you took a carefree skeleton and you gave it a million possible depths. we, as both admins and players, are so grateful for it.

AERIN for THE SHADOW (sebastian stan)

aerin, it is not an exaggeration that your app had us literally with our jaws open the entire time ? you truly took us turn after turn into elijah's story and hours later, we're still breathless and trying to recover from it. you captured the shadow's overcast history the way a shadow slowly looms over you - we were absolutely consumed by the end of it, and we're all here absolutely begging for more. we can't wait to have enoch onboard this expedition !

CASS for THE GODKILLER (kofi siriboe)

this is the sort of role dreams are made of. i think i speak for everyone when i say we never could have envisioned a skeleton as terrific, terrifying, tectonic as abel. stop me with the alliterations - lapsing into poetry is genuinely the only thing left to do when the support of prose fails you? you brought us to the end of prose. their role just jumped out for us and we knew it called for an entire skeleton. what an app !

ANNIE for THE STOWAWAY (riana hardesty)

i have to confess, we had such high expectations for the stowaway, because we knew their motivation would be one of the toughest to crack - and annie, you exceeded literally even the most optimistic of them ! (You’re no musician, but playing the melody of someone else, someone who can weasel their way in and out of a bad spot - that’s one song you know how to sing well enough.) that is such a fantastic rendition of their personality, and written so, so beautifully !

LEO for THE VETERAN (toby stephens)

i think this app was the one which sent me in a banshee-screech session that was genuinely disturbing to everyone on a 100 miles radius. the way you phrased the headcanons at the end had me in stitches - which was a welcome change for how DEEPLY i was feeling wells’ backstory. from sobbing to laughter just like that, huh. you have an unprecedented power, leo, and we love to see it !

[pollylynn]

All in the Family—Chalk Talk, Chapter 2: A Two-Shot Caskett Future Fic

Title: All in the Family—Chalk Talk, Chapter 2 WC: 1700

A/N: Can’t sleep. Sad about John Prine. And so an aimless ending.

He has been banished—absolutely banished—from the big bedroom and the surrounding areas. In fact, he is not even allowed on the second floor.  The Mad One insists on Mama, no substitutes, no intruders, if anything resembling normal bed time rituals are to be observed. And he’s fine with that. 

He’s mostly fine with that, except Alexis isn’t going to make it tonight, and she probably will only be able stay the afternoon tomorrow. Even his mother has, of course, gotten held up in the city, so the Official Summer in the Hamptons Kickoff Weekend is slow to get started. 

He’s mostly just feeling sorry for himself for the look of it, though. He’s pleasantly tired with sun and fruity rum drinks—with having a four year old—and he’s glad of the quiet time. And, of course, he loves how entirely Madeleine worships Kate. He revels in every mannerism she picks up from her mother, and he thinks a thousand times a day how lucky he got this time around. 

The only thing—the only thing—he would change about raising Alexis would be to spare her the pain of Meredith’s vagaries. And here, now, feeling sorry for himself just for the look of it, he thinks for the thousand-and-first time today how lucky he got this time.  

It carries him to the French doors standing half open. He looks up at a sky that’s darkening fast. There looks to be a good summer storm rolling in over the water. He can hear Madeleine’s shrieks—happy shrieks, he’s pretty sure—echoing around the master bath, overhead, and Kate’s response to his Do you need an exit? text was a video close-up of the two of them in close-up reminding him NO BOYS ALLOWED. 

It’s been a good day—a lovely day lolling on the giant, sun-baked chalkboard, then slipping into the cool water, only to hoist themselves back up a while later to press their shivering skin into the pleasant warmth of that black, black expanse. 

And they have high hopes for some sleep tonight. Madeleine has to have run the equivalent of a marathon around the edge of the pool to demonstrate her cannon ball, her jackknife, her recently-invented Pony Dog, which mostly involves a kind of gallop, then a spin, then the biggest splash possible. She has done her level best to talk herself out entirely with  mile-a-minute stories, each one illustrated, about her friends at school, most of whom seem to be named Mabel, except for the occasional Braden, Jaden, Caiden, or some other random consonant stapled to a long A sound and a final N. 

She has his gift for character and shameless embellishment, but it’s interesting—it’s interesting—the way she’s into people lately. Heliotrope and Jacquard haven’t gone anywhere—they’re often minor players in her tales from the schoolyard—but they’re definitely more on the back burner than they were even a month ago. 

She’s curious about real people, from her teachers to their neighbors to her friend’s families. She’s nosy and insightful and loves knowing things no one else knows. He hopes she’s destined to be either a writer or a cop, because otherwise she might grow up to be a super villain. 

The first flash of lighting comes as he stands there thinking it would actually be pretty cool to have a super villain in the family. The swipe of its blue-white tongue over the world stirs him. He waits for the thunder and tries to recall if there’s anything out by the pool or on any of the porches that absolutely needs battening down. He’s just stepping through the doors to check when another light—another two lights—sweep across the the glass of  the doors. 

There’s whispering behind him, stage and otherwise. There are giggles and a general air of furtiveness infiltrates the room. He pivots toward the interior of the study and catches them—two very stealthy figures in trench coats. Madeleine apparently has a tiny, devastatingly cute little belted trench coat, and the hem of her Princess Leia nightie is peeking out beneath. To complete the look, they’re each carrying a flashlight. 

“What’s all this then?” he says gruffly, dropping into character with an alacrity that would do his mother proud. “Bedtime violations? I thought we had . . . an understanding.” “It’s a mission,” Madeleine says sternly. “Me and Mama are on it.” 

“A mission,” he nods gravely. “And here I thought this was nothing more than a very tired little girl up past her bed time.” 

“Special circumstances,” Kate’s whisper is conspiratorial. It’s for Madeleine’s benefit, but the look she gives him over the girl’s head suggests there’s something afoot. “The storm—“ 

“Thunderstorm,” Madeleine interjects. 

“Right, baby.” Kate gets a heavy look from her daughter, who is not a baby. He gets a look in turn when he can’t quite stifle a laugh. “We’re going to say goodnight to our friends so they’re not scared about the the thunderstorm.” 

“Our chalk friends,” he says, thinking he begins to see the trouble. It’s one thing for the Mad One herself to happily slop pails of pool water on to one chalk scenario and begin anew; it’s quite another for any of the Mabels, any of the long A, final N crowd to disappear in the rain. “Yes.That’s a good plan,” he finishes, hoping Kate actually has a plan. 

She has a plan, of course, because he’s struck it lucky. He’s allowed to join the mission—after he finds a coat to put on, of course. It’s an old, army green rain poncho he finds in a closet he can’t actually remember ever opening before. Madeleine is disdainful until he produces a heavy Maglite she badly wants to carry. She’s on the verge of another nervous breakdown, but Kate pulls the situation out of the fire. 

“He’s our minion, Mad One.” She drops to one knee and pulls Madeleine into a side bar. “That means he has to carry all our stuff.” 

“Mission minion,” she crows, delighted by the internal alliteration. 

The two of them creep through the doors first. Madeleine tiptoes with about as much stealth as Inspector Clouseau. Kate follows her lead, biting down hard on her lip to keep from laughing. He brings up the rear, lighting a wide arc at their bare feet. 

They flatten their backs to the high wooden gate, then dart from column to column. Madeleine keeps an exaggerated lookout for sneak thieves and curious bunnies and a host of other old friends and foes of Heliotrope and Jacquard. Kate takes her hand as they reach the edge of the chalkboard paint. 

“Are we ready to say goodnight?” she asks gamely, though they hardly need the flashlights to see the girl’s lip quivering and the tears shimmering in her eyes. 

“I don’t want my friends to go,” Madeleine wails. She presses her face into the silvery grey skirts of Kate’s trench coats. “I don’t want my story to go.” 

He steps tentatively into the fray, poncho flapping noisily as the wind gets serious about kicking up. He weighs his options and sets the Maglite on its heavy end, pointing up at the three of them. 

“Hey.” He reaches gently for her shoulder, persisting when she clings tighter to her mother. “Can I tell you a story about stories?” 

“NO!” The word rings out. Mere fabric is no match for the Mad One’s lung capacity. 

“Okay, then. I’ll tell Mama a story about stories.” 

Kate gives him a wry look that conveys a wealth of feelings about this prospect. But lightning jolts the sky, and this is where they are. Kate gives him a Go on shrug, so he does. 

“Mama, do you know how when we go to work—” 

“Daddy doesn’t go to work,” Madeleine can’t resist the tearful interjection. “Daddy stays in jammy pants.” 

Kate’s shoulders shake with laughter. He sticks out his tongue at her and begins again. 

“Mama, you know how when I sometimes go to your work—”

“Not in jammy pants,” she interjects.

“Not in jammy pants, because Mama is a mean Captain,” he adds, even though it’s guaranteed to set Madeleine off again. It does. She howls that Mama is not mean. Her chest heaves, and he relents. “Not because Mama is mean. Because Mama’s work has uniforms. And we tell stories on a big board just like this one.” 

“We do,” Kate picks up the thread. She gives him a look that’s a little sad, because the Board is an infrequent indulgence for both of them these days. “We write and we write and we have pictures.” 

“What kinda pictures?” She tugs at Kate’s coat. “Mama, what kinda?” 

“Oh . . . people and places and . . . pretty jewelry sometimes,” she improvises, looking a little desperate. He sympathizes. All he can think of is bloody implements and scar-faced criminals at the moment.

“But when Mama solves the case—and Mama always solves it—” he reaches down and retrieves the Maglite, “Whoosh!” He sweeps the beam across the black surface, lighting up the purples and pinks and vivid greens for just an instant. Lighting up the curly hair and the triangle dresses, and the lopsided globe on the six-legged desk. “Whoosh! We say goodbye so we can start a new story.” 

“I wanna new story,” she says uncertainly. “For tomorrow. New story.” 

“That’s what we’ll do then.” Kate reaches a hand down to stroke the tear-stained cheek. “Tomorrow—all day—we’ll do all new stories.” 

“But we have to say goodnight to this one.” He steps closer to the two of them. “We can get your pail and Whoosh! Or the thunderstorm can go Whoosh!” He slides an arm around Kate’s waist and makes Madeleine wriggle by tickling under her chin. “Which one, Mad One?” 

She thinks about it long enough that the rain starts to fall in big fat drops. Kate leans against him, her fingers clutching his where they rest on her hip. 

“Flashlight Whoosh!” Madeleine says at last, as she tilts the beam of her own flashlight crazily across her canvas. “Flashlight and thunderstorm. Whoosh!” 

A/N: Aimless. 

[flannelshirtandjeans]

Like some kind of a copy machine, I... reheated an old piece of writing I did with different characters and replaced the characters with Grace and Norma, for my own amusement. I like this better. It's all my own. Besides, the title has some alliteration now so it's better by default.

________

NO KISSES FOR NORMA

Grace didn't kiss Norma first thing in the morning - on the forehead or on the back of the neck, a sleepy, sloppy, sleep-warm kiss on warm skin or brow that had not yet had time to tighten in the face of the day's worries. Nor did she kiss Norma's fingers when she tried to slip out of bed without waking Grace: no stolen little kiss, barely brushing against the soft knuckles, or against the pads of the fingers.

Grace didn't kiss Norma casually on the burned cheek or on the mole on her shoulder at breakfast in the kitchen where Norma pretended she didn't feel as sick as she actually did before she got some food in her belly, with varying success.

She didn't kiss Norma good-bye at the door when they both walked out of the door at the same time, or at the intersection where their walks to work separated. There was no quick, affectionate kiss on the mouth, and not perhaps another one for luck, with more feeling.

Grace didn't kiss Norma briefly when they met for lunch outside Norma's office - she didn't answer the peck Norma gave her on the cheek to greet her, or to thank her for bringing the food.

Grace didn't kiss Norma's head of soft brown hair, or the tense neck at the end of a long day when Norma stopped by the kitchen counter to lean on it for a moment to stretch her back and to catch her breath - "Baby sitting in your lungs again?" Grace liked to tease her as though it didn't terrify her that Norma got winded so easily even though she KNEW why.

"Kissing me doesn't make it any better," Norma liked to retort after Grace usually gave her a quick kiss 'medicinally', and it really didn't - usually just made her more out of breath. But there were no kisses now, no soft lips and a gentle drag of teeth on the sensitive skin on Norma's neck, making her squirm and laugh (or accidentally elbow Grace in the stomach).

Grace didn't kiss Norma hungrily when they were alone, tasting her mouth and her lipstick, or whatever she'd been eating or drinking in the last hour. She didn't kiss the corner of Normas mouth and make it twitch, and she didn't plant kisses on her jawline, or trail them down the strong pulse on her neck to her collar, and down again, and again, and again.

And finally, Grace didn't kiss Norma late at night in bed when the city lights had dimmed to the gentle glow of the bioluminescent night lights like so many stars across the ceilings of the domes they could see through the window above their bed - didn't kiss her wherever the sleepy kiss might land: on the mouth, on the cheekbone, on the forehead, on the eyelid, or on the hair, or the neck, or chest, or stomach. She ALMOST did, and groaned, pressing her forehead against Norma's shoulder instead, and Norma's entire body shook with laughter.

-

"The cold sore's all gone," Norma announced one day after examining Grace's lip carefully, and smiled at how much the thought perked Grace up - Grace very nearly beamed.

"Does that mean I can kiss you again?" Grace asked hopefully.

"Yes."

"Grace grinned, grabbed Norma's face, and kissed her until their toes curled. She kissed Norma until Norma was flushed and laughing, and she herself out of breath and light-headed.

"I've wanted to do that a million times this week," Grace said, looking entirely pleased with herself, and touched their foreheads together. She had not realized how much she took it for granted, kissing her wife - until she couldn't do it and suddenly missed it terribly. All the little touches - caresses, hugs, nuzzles - that she had used to answer Norma's kisses had been lovely, but weren't quite the same.

Norma licked her swollen lips and gave Grace one of her pursed little smiles, eyeing her mouth.

"I wouldn't mind catching up," she said.

[whilereadingandwalking]

Event Recap: V.E. Schwab on the Chicago Stop of the Vengeful Tour

Vicious into Vengeful

Vicious was what Schwab wrote as a side project to get away from the pressures of writing directly into the hands of editors (which she said felt like going “from writing in a cave to writing in a glass box”). She wanted to return to writing what she would write if publishing and audience and numbers didn’t matter, and what she wanted to read. 

She found that half of her audience thought it was a clear standalone, but that the other half, the ones who had been paying attention to Sydney’s powers, saw it as a massive cliffhanger. Vicious was about control. Vengeful, is about the men losing control, while the women (Sydney, Marcella, and June) take control in a world that has tried to strip them of it. 

The Rewrite

Schwab wrote Vengeful’s first draft with a lot of baggage. It was the book that would follow the best-received book of her career, and since Vicious, she had grown up, come out, “and we’re living in a hellscape,” so a lot had changes. Her editor called her and told her that “there’s a book you have chosen not to write here, in the interest of safety.” She could keep it how it is, and they’d publish it, but it would just be a continuation, something Schwab had never wanted. Or she could rewrite it, and make it better. The catch: if she chose to rewrite, Vengeful’s release date would not change. It had to come out in September anyway.

“So I cried for three days,” Schwab said, to laughter—and then she got to work. In two months, she rewrote more than two thirds of the original draft of Vengeful. She was transparent on social media about the process, both because she believes we over-romanticize the writing process, and because she needed the support from her community. And it paid off: she feels that Vengeful is the strongest book she’s ever written (A Conjuring of Light, she added, is the most satisfying). 

Fun Tidbits

Alliteration marks the natural heroes in the series. Victor Vale has the alliteration from the beginning—Marcella Higgins becomes Marcella Morgan when she breaks free from her husband and begins her revenge spree—and Eli attempts to force it by insisting on his last name as Ever. She also mentioned that originally, Vicious was Victor’s villain name, but it became a relic as it became clear that all of the characters in the book were villains.

Writing

Schwab’s favorite parts of the writing process are the brainstorming and the last pass of edits. That’s because at the beginning, your idea is concentrated and raw energy in your head, and then you toss the first draft away from you, and the rest of editing is walking towards it from afar, trying to get closer to that original idea. But in the final round of edits, she has a moment when she sees it as a reader, and loses herself in the story, and it’s a sigh of relief.

She does a couple of things to get the character depth we all love in her novels. First, every character has to have enough depth and complexity that they could lead a novel, even if she doesn’t know all of the details of it. Every character has a code or mantra they live by, and then Schwab can challenge it. Finally, she writes the ending first—if she knows where they end up, she can rewind to discover where they started.

[clove-teasdale]

change of scenery

*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧

A/N: super late practice challenge two! just posting because it’s kinda relevant to character backstory. i hate my new schedule :) hopefully, this isn’t too big of a mess, sorry if it is <3 Thanks, @claraeclair @phaniecastello and @ladyallegrahannon for the plane rp.There’s also a tease for an rp with @brooks-schreave at the end, but the full rp will be in a separate fic later. 

*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧

When I tried going downstairs for water I heard my parents’ voices in the dining room. It might seem stupid to assume an argument was happening without even understanding the words being said, but by this point, I just know. Otherwise, I would have heard the rustle of utensils against plates or mugs. The occasional laughter. My dad’s amused voice. My mom's soft chuckle. 

Lately, they’ve been arguing more and it kind of makes sense considering I will be leaving soon, no longer to be a part of the family trio we are. Whether it be to become a film student or a possible future lady, only time will tell. I considered eavesdropping, slowly making my way down the staircase, but after the palace was mentioned alongside my name I realized I was somehow weaved into the whole discussion and headed back upstairs as fast as silent steps enabled me. 

Now I lie on my bed staring at the ceiling, music flooding my ears, but it's not enough to drown my thoughts away. That means it’s time to let out some steam. I sit up and cautiously glance at the door like someone will barge in any second. As usual, the door remains unopened and I walk to my closet to grab a jacket. My cell phone is carefully placed in a zipper inside it as I lock the door, ensuring no one will be able to come in while I'm gone. The last thing to do is turn off the lights and whoever passes by will assume I'm asleep and keep walking 

Then I go to my balcony, taking in some fresh air as I watch autumn leafs fall gracefully. Seems like a perfect night...would be a pity to spend it in my room sulking. 

Better sulking with the stars.

I let my hand trace the railway around the balcony, feeling the cool of the metal under my grip before pushing myself up and swinging my legs past it to jump into the night.

The wind is cold against my skin when I’ve been running for a while, but I welcome it with a smile. The heat of going around the province jumping over dumpsters and climbing fences makes the air refreshing. Eventually, I reach the abandoned building I usually go to and make my way up the fire escape ladder. On the roof, the adrenaline slips away and sit in my spot, legs dangling over the darkness of the streets below as I stare at the darkness of the sky above.  

It is well known the less populated areas of the city are the best for stargazing, especially past curfew when everyone’s supposed to be in their houses. I’ve had an encounter with policemen only once for being out after hours and running away from them into alleyways was both thrilling and horrifying. If word of that had gotten out, however, every magazine would’ve talked about it. Thankfully I’d kept enough distance not to be recognized with a hoodie as I ran.

After I finally catch my breath and my thoughts settle, the overwhelming feeling comes. A few years ago I thought I’d never want to leave Columbia. That I’d miss the comfort of home, of what I knew, what I was used to...even my family as fragmented as it was sometimes. The past few months that has changed. Not because there aren’t still good moments, but because I’m done with it all. I need a break. 

Today I wish I could just leave.

I steal some popcorn from Wilson as he sits on the floor. He's trying to pick the movie we’ll watch when "The Report" is over. Meanwhile, Mrs. Grayson, aka Wilson’s grandmother, is chatting it up with my parents in the living room. It's always nice to be invited to dinner at her house. It has that comfy feel to it and it's where I get to call Wilson by his first name. According to him, his dad was an even bigger nerd than himself, hence the Star Trek reference on it. Sometimes he seems embarrassed by the fact, but I know he's fond of the memory he has of his dad.

On screen, Nate is starting to pick out envelopes with names, but even though his smile is on point, it’s pretty obvious he’s not really focused on what he’s saying. It's good to see even he gets hit by nerves on camera.

“He’s on C’s now,” Wilson points out as he spares me a glance.

I flip over a CD box in my hand to read the synopsis and pretend not to care that Colombia’s Selected will be announced soon. “I know the alphabet, Geordi.”

He rolls his eyes with a sigh but focuses on reading a synopsis of his own. I stare back at the TV then. I can’t believe how much I want this now. I want to be Selected.

Soon enough they’re in our province and Nate takes out a card from the chosen envelope. I’m not sure if I see recognition on his face, but the name that comes out of his mouth is unmistakable.

“Clove Teasdale.”

Wilson yells a “WHAT?” as he looks back at the screen and my photograph appears. A grin spreads across my face as my head wraps itself around the news.

“I’m in.”

Humanity is stupid and cruel, that’s a fact. A fact only some manage to avoid and yet it's not avoidable for long. You slip up. You mess up. You suck sometimes. I suck sometimes. Thing is if you notice it. If you change it. My dad? He’s probably never going to be able to change and become prince charming for my mom. Do I think that’s good? No. Will I shut him down for that? No. Will I accept the “I’m being nice today because I was an idiot with your mom earlier and started a discussion” tea? Also no.

I take a sip of it though. “Why are you offering me yours?”

“You said you’re not going for yours until later...and the water might get cold again if you wait. I can go for more right now,” he states with a shrug.

Usually, my dad is the kind of person that would ask me to get him his tea. Especially if I’m ‘not busy’.

“So you’re actually saying you’re gonna give me yours, go back to the kitchen, and then serve yourself another cup?” I ask. He doesn’t notice my hidden skepticism.

“Yeah, your mom heated water for herself. I heated what remained in the teapot after washing the dishes.”

And there it is. “You washed the dishes, huh?”

“Yeah.” He says it like it’s not a big deal. Either he doesn’t know I notice his biggest guilt-tell or he doesn’t realize it’s a major tell. Or maybe he denies it to himself. “There’s more water so you can keep my cup.”

Okay, fact about myself: I’m a lazy teen sometimes. But then again, aren’t we all? I don’t really want to get up for a tea I never planned to have, however, tea is nice. Now I want it and here’s my dad standing in front of me, offering me one that’s already prepared. I’m sort of in the middle of watching a movie. A major bad guy just turned out to be one step ahead of everyone so this might not be a bland one after all. Forgive me if I don’t want to go all the way to the kitchen for a drink right now.

That line of logic makes me want to accept his tea, but it’s prepared like he likes it and it’s an ‘I’m-compensating-out-of-guilt’ tea. After a silent debate that takes a matter of seconds I offer him the cup back. “I’ll just go in a few minutes to get my own, but thanks.”

He takes it and reminds me the water will get cold. I point out I don’t really mind if my drink isn’t burning with the intensity of a thousand suns like he and mom like theirs to be and he leaves.

My farewell was fun with how flashy Columbia decided to be with its parade and I managed to pull off the “inspirational, I’ll be amazing at this and make you proud” speech, but saying goodbye was probably the hardest part. Going on trips with my parents wasn’t the same as going alone. Still, even with the nostalgic feeling of leaving, there was excitement. The kind of excitement that makes you nervous at the same time.

Dad seemed a bit sad to watch me leave but smiled all around. Mom gave me a long pep talk, but I know I’ll miss those long conversations. Even Wilson surprised me with a hug out of nowhere yet for once I didn’t mind. I’d miss him too. Now it was time to actually interact with people I don’t know.

A blonde girl is standing alone at the airport with a plate I realize is filled with cookies when I arrive. Usual greetings happen except they involve skeptically staring at cookies. It turns out she actually made them for us and I can’t help but hesitate to take one. Even if she looks like the living personification of a cupcake, taking food from strangers seems inadvisable. The cookies look okay, don’t get me wrong, but Dad’s attempts at cooking look pretty good too until you taste them. I stare at the cream frosting for a while before taking a small bite, feeling the sugar pretty quickly. “Oh, they're not bad.”

I keep eating as she talks. Turns out her name is Clara Èclair so either her parents were really into tongue twisters or they were obsessed with alliteration. She almost gets my name right, but I decide to laugh at the mistake.

“It's Clove actually, but close enough.”

“Oh no! Guess my flashcards didn't work as well as I thought.” She giggles at her own words but I wouldn’t put it past her to be serious about flashcards hid somewhere in her clothes. I’m almost sure the third girl that arrives is Stephanie Loretta, the daughter of an old, infamous Selected. 

She’s more eager than I was to accept the offered cookie and the fact that Clara gets her name right on the first try further strengthens my suspicion that she made actual flashcards. The exchange of greetings, cookies, praise, and gratitude go too fast for me to follow so I just wave at Stephanie and contribute to the conversation when I’m able to. When we’re finally done waiting for the last girl--that turns out to be named Allegra--we board the plane.

As interesting as the clouds outside the plane window are it’s hard to ignore the sick look on Clara’s face once we take off, so I remove my headphones again and mumble, “You okay?” That gets the attention of the other girls, who quickly get concerned for some reason.

“I've just never been on a plane before,” Clara admits. “I’m a little nervous.”

Allegra goes with the “it’ll be okay” attempt at comfort while Stephanie goes to the extreme of... maybe getting medicine for some reason? I wave the suggestion aside and lean closer to the edge of my seat. “She just needs to calm down.”

Clara seems to agree with me on that, but when Allegra suggests water she declines, saying maybe a cookie will be better since sugar might calm her down. I don’t think Clara was the best at chemistry class.

“This is a nicer tin can than you think, don't worry too much about it,” I say, reaching for another cookie and leaning back on my seat. “Think of it as a means of transport. Like a car per say. You're not scared of cars, are you? Sure, things can go wrong in both, but the probabilities of it are slim so you don't worry about it when you get in a car. Why should you worry about it on a plane?”

My words seem to work and she goes into a ramble that boils down to “There's nothing to actually worry about.”

I take a bite of my cookie with a “Mhmm” as Stephanie tells her the first time is the hardest one. Somehow that leads to Clara realizing she’s a Three now and yet again her scattered thoughts lead to her complimenting each of us. 

Apparently, I could be an excellent queen because I’m level-headed. Also, Allegra is regal and Stephanie sweet enough for all the people to love. I can’t help but blink a couple of times at her sudden praise for each of us and swallow the piece of cookie I was chewing on. “Glad you think so..”

They chat for a while after that about how their nerves got a better hand over their sleep. That makes Allegra mention we have a couple of hours as she looks down at her wrist, but there is nothing to look at. “Darn I forgot my watch.”

“That's probably going to be the most annoying thing of being here,” Clara mutters, though it’s unclear if that was only meant for herself to hear. “Slowly noticing we forgot little things like watches.” She has some pretty weird concerns.

As if we haven’t had enough 180 degree changes in our conversation, Allegra suddenly mentions, “It’s scary to think we might not be the same people at the end of this.”

“Now I’m not feeling as better,“ Clara mumbles.

Well, this is getting deep. “At least you didn't forget your watch like Allegra. True tragedy there.”

Make overs were done as soon as we got to the palace but with my hair already short and well kept, there wasn’t much of a drastic change for me. 

The next day I decide to wake up early to scout the palace with no one around, only a few maids or butlers to be seen and none of my own maids in my new room making suggestions of what I should wear. 

When I arrived yesterday I realized I barely remember this place. Though it has been a while since I’ve visited. Being too busy with school work was the excuse I came up with to avoid trips to the palace as I got older--when arguing in front of me became less of a problem for my parents. 

The years haven’t made this building any less admirable fortunatly, so I walk in silence across the halls until I find the library. Even if you’re not an avid reader it’s one of the nicest areas here. It’s peaceful and there are books about basically everything you can think of.

My fingers glide over the old hardcovers, but I stop when I see a leather one with golden letters on it’s spine. I know you’re not supposed to judge books by their exterior, but every now and then I find it fun to judge covers as something completely seperate of their story. The empty spot the book leaves on the bookshelf, however, reveals something I was not expecting to see yet. Someone.

I can’t help but gasp at the sight of Brooks standing on the other side, flipping through a book casually. I duck before he gets a chance to see me, then roll my eyes at the luck I’m having. Why is he even up so early?

I don’t move for a while, hoping he will find it odd, but won’t question it. A few seconds go by and I start walking away, careful with my footsteps. I don’t need an encounter with Mr. snobby-pants right now. 

Why couldn’t I bump into Nate or Quinn? Heck, even Max would’ve been better than him. Just when I think I’ve been saved from having a meet up with the second prince, my back hits a stack of books on a desk and they fall to the ground. 

Shoot.

[aglaean]

"Come now, bundle up. The frost will leave your fingers soon enough if you keep warm." It was nothing short of a coo, fur lined blanket tucked over her shoulders. The rest of her scrapes and scathes could be mended with a healing touch, the after effects of a spell they would rather treat formally and aid any lingering ailments once restoration had merely taken it's path.

"I fear my hearing may be failing me as I am yet to hear one tale of the Princess of Rausten's greatness on the plains. It appears the task falls upon you to share your own triumphs with me." A pout, performative and prodding, took shape on their lips. Whilst there was an earnest interest in her tales, there was the undeniable need to keep her still and bundled till she was no longer in threat of losing her fingers.

"The highs and the lows of course. To hear the struggles and the triumphs makes for a better tale, does it not?” A ploy despite their earnest interest in how she fared, for the right detail could shed light on an ailment otherwise missed.

Having been instructed, multiple times, to remain seated and wait for some feeling to come back into the rosy digits that had once before been her fingers, L’Arachel is finally resolved.

She ought to comply, if only to appease the healers. If it would cheer their hearts, and perhaps too, the hearts of every denizen of this temple of healing arts, to see her obedience, the gentility with which she acquiesed to their tender pleas that she kindly stop trying to rally fallen students by yelling encouragment and generally being a nuisance then who was she to refuse! A hero served the people, after all. 

It was only that an age seemed to have passed, and her fingers remained stubbornly unresponsive.

Levelling a glare at them that would’ve certainly sent any mere mortal scurrying towards the nearest shelter, she lamented her own impenatrability. Woe indeed, that she should be so blessed as to be impervious to any intimidation, including her own!

Normally, her fingers were all too eager to service her every command. From couching her lance, to twirling her staff, to adjusting her hair-ties. Each and every action performed with grace and refinement! But now they were dead, and cold. Emptied out of animation, and turned traitor to her cause. 

She was about to try her hand (although, as this very same hand was being so uncooperative perhaps the turn of phrase was unapt) at some vocal lambastment, when something warm and heavy presses upon her shoulders. Looking up, she spies a familiar face. 

‘But this is a perfect mantle!’ She exclaims, burrowing herself deeper within its furred folds, bunching the fabric around her hands. The question of its origins didn’t venture into her mind. It was hardly worth consideration when other matters of far greater significance demanded her attention.

Emerging from her newly acquired coverings, she peeks upwards, meeting their gaze. ‘And how fare you, Arval?’ 

At the mention of her shamefully unrecorded but utterly daring exploits, L’Arachel flushes a (deeply becoming) red, excitment taught and tense within every muscle of her body.

That no ballads had yet been composed, no choirs formed to sing her praises was a remarkable shame; but if she must turn her own chronicler, she would take the burden with boundless humility and grace. 

Her thumb twitches, and she feels it this time. No doubt the memory of her endeavours, which, no matter the outcome had certainly been a sight to see, was restorative.

Directing a stealthy eye towards Arval, bearer of furred blankets, she smiles. Perhaps they too were in need of such a potage. 

‘Come, sit at my side.’ Patting a space next to her on the cot, L’Arachel generously extends a sliver of the blanket towards her companion. ‘I have a tale to tell.’ 

[ao3feed-mythology]

A Feastivus for All Seasons

read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2ZIaEiS

by Darkrealmist

Chase marries Albert, but has no recollection of how they got there.

Words: 871, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: 格闘料理伝説ビストロレシピ | Fighting Foodons (Anime), Chinese Mythology, Christian Bible, Christian Bible (Old Testament), Christian Bible (New Testament), Japanese Mythology, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga), Yu-Gi-Oh! - All Media Types, Dragon Ball, Dragon Quest I, Dragon Quest II, Dragon Quest III, Dragon Quest Series, Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, Power Rangers, Kellogg's Rice Krispies "Snap Crackle & Pop" Commercials

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Makunouchi Zen | Chase, Ash | Albert, Makunouchi Karin | Kayla, Makunouchi Tsukiji | Chef Jack, Pi-tan | Pie Tin, Haoji | Oslo, Natsume | Coco, Miamia | Clawdia, Shabu Shabu | Tureen, Chu-Nyan | Rose Marinade, Cherison | Hot Doggone-It, Rawhide | Cowboyritto, Bo Bo Do Fu | Tofurious, Dohnan | Doughnut-So, Omlessa | Omelet, Meat Sword | Spaghettabout-It, Kaniguraa | Crab Quake, Kanikororon | Tater Tons, Chaaman | Fried Ricer, Shuu Might | Sir Dumpling, Ebimusha | Shrimp Daddy, Green Xiaolong | Dim-Sumthin' Special, Makkuron | Burnt Meatballs, Brightron | Palator, Tenshingu | Feastivus, Tropicolor | Fruit Turtle, Big Xiaolong | Dim-Sum Deluxe, Burger Brigade, Lizardon | Charizard, Kaiba Mokuba, Shenron | Eternal Dragon (Dragon Ball), Dragonlord (Dragon Quest), Rita Repulsa, Lord Zedd (Power Rangers), Serpentera (Power Rangers), Crackle (Kellogg's), Pop (Kellogg's)

Relationships: Makunouchi Zen | Chase/Ash | Albert, Rita Repulsa/Lord Zedd

Additional Tags: Absurd, Accents, Acceptance, Action, Action/Adventure, Action & Romance, Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Advice, Affection, Affectionate Insults, Alliteration, Amnesia, Animal Attack, Animal Death, Animals, Anime, Anthropomorphic, Aprons, Arguing, Army, Asian Character(s), Ass-Kicking, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Crush, Awkward Flirting, Awkwardness, Awkward Tension, Baked Goods, Bad Puns, Bananas, Battle, Belonging, Bickering, Big Brothers, Biological Warfare, Biological Weapons, Bisexual Character, Bisexual Male Character, Biting, Blueberries, Bonding, Boys In Love, Boys' Love, Bread, Breakfast, British Slang, Brothers, Brother-Sister Relationships, Budding Love, Burritos, Candy, Canon - Anime Dub, Canon Backstory, Canon Character of Color, Canonical Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Celebrities, Celebrity Crush, Character Death, Character(s) of Color, Chefs, Chemistry, Chibi, Chick-Flick Moments, Childhood Friends, Child Marriage, Children, Chinese Character, Chinese Food, Chinese Mythology & Folklore, Clinging, Clowns, Comedy, Communication, Companion Piece, Competition, Complete, Confrontations, Confusion, Cooking, Cowboys & Cowgirls, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Crazy, Creation, Crime Fighting, Crimes & Criminals, Cross-cultural, Crossdressing, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Crushes, Crying, Cultural References, Cute, Cute Ending, Cute Kids, Daydreaming, Denial, Denial of Feelings, Dessert & Sweets, Devotion, Dinner, Discovery, Donuts, Dorkiness, Double Entendre, Doubt, Dragon Ball GT - Freeform, Dragon Ball Z - Freeform, Dragon Ball Multiverse, Dragons, Dreams, Dreams vs. Reality, Dresses, Duelling, Duel Monsters, Eating, Eggs, Embarrassment, Emotional, Emotional Baggage, Emotions, Endearments, Enemies, Enemies to Friends, Episode Related, Equestrian, Escapism, Evil, Evolution, Explanations, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, Fame, Family, Family Feels, Fanfiction, Fans, Fanservice, Fantasizing, Fantasy, Fantasy Fulfillment, Fast Food, Father-Son Relationship, Fear, Feelings, Feelings Realization, Feels, Female Antagonist, Female Character of Color, Female Protagonist, Ficlet, Fights, Fire, Fist Fights, Flashbacks, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluffy Ending, Flying, Food, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Food Critic, Food Fight, Food Metaphors, Forced Marriage, Foxes, Frenemies, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Fruit, Fun, Funny, Gender Roles, Geniuses, Gift Giving, Gluttony, Gods, Good and Evil, Goodbyes, Good versus Evil, Grief/Mourning, Guilty Pleasures, Hallucinations, Hamburgers, Happy, Harm to Animals, Having Faith, Heroes & Heroines, Hero Worship, Honor, Horns, Horseback Riding, Hugs, Humor, Hurt, Husbands, Idols, Imagination, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Impression, In-Laws, Innocence, Insanity, Inspired by Music, Insults, Interracial Relationship, Japanese Character(s), Japanese Culture, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Joyful, Justice, Just Married, Kings & Queens, Kitsune, Knives, Latin, Laughter, Leadership, LGBTQ Character, Light-Hearted, Little Sisters, Love, Love Stories, Loyalty, Lunch, Machines, Magic, Magic and Science, Magical Artifacts, Magic-Users, Makeup, Male Bonding, Male Character of Color, Male Protagonist, Male Slash, Marriage, Married Characters, Married Couple, Martial Arts, Master/Servant, Memories, Memory Loss, Metaphors, Mice, Military, Military Ranks, Military Science Fiction, Milk, Minor Canonical Character(s), Minor Character(s), Minor Violence, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, Monsters, Name-Calling, Nervousness, Nostalgia, Oaths & Vows, Oblivious, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, One Shot, One-Sided Attraction, Operas, Organized Crime, Originally Posted Elsewhere, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Pain, Pandas, Panic, Pasta, Pastries, Pie, Pizza, Plans For The Future, Plants, Pokemon References, Possessive Behavior, Post-Canon, Post-War, Potara/Fusion Dance, Pride, Prodigies, Promises, Puns & Word Play, Queer Youth, Rare Characters, Rare Fandoms, Rare Pairings, Reality, Realization, Rebellion, Rebels, Recommendations, References to Canon, Relationship Discussions, Relationship Issues, Relationship Problems, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Reminiscing, Rescue, Rescue Missions, Responsibility, Revolution, Revolutionaries, Riding, Rival Relationship, Rivalry, Role Models, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Gestures, Sappy, Saving the World, Scents & Smells, Scheming, Science, Science Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Secret Admirer, Secret Crush, Secrets, Self-Acceptance, Self-Denial, Self-Discovery, Self-Doubt, Shame, Shock, Short, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, Shounen-ai, Showing Off, Siblings, Sisters, Slash, Sleep, Snacks & Snack Food, Sorcerers, Strategy & Tactics, Summoning, Supernatural Elements, Super Saiyan, Surprises, Surreal, Sweet, Talking Animals, Teaching, Team, Team as Family, Team Bonding, Team Dynamics, Team Feels, Team Fluff, Tears, Teasing, Technology, Toasting, Transformation, Travel, Turtles, Tuxedos, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, Urban Fantasy, Vegetables, Vehicles, Villains, Violence, War, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Wedding Fluff, Weddings, Weirdness, Whimsy, Wine, Wings, Wish Fulfillment, Wizards, Wordcount: 100-1.000, Wordcount: 500-1.000, Wordcount: Under 10.000, World Domination, World Travel, Worry, Young Love, Cereal

read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2ZIaEiS

[ao3feed-strangerthings]

All Dogs Go to Heaven

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2XeIKdn

by Darkrealmist

Duck Hunt Dog made a name for himself ridiculing players, and Smash was just another turkey shoot. But have he and Duck Hunt Duck finally met their match in Palutena?

Words: 660, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Super Smash Brothers, Duck Hunt (Video Game), Star Fox Series, Metroid Series, Donkey Kong Country, Donkey Kong (Video Games), Metal Gear, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Super Mario Bros. (Video Games), Super Mario & Related Fandoms, Bayonetta (Video Games), 新��光神話 パルテナの鏡 | Kid Icarus: Uprising (Video Game), 光神話 | Kid Icarus (Video Games), All Dogs Go to Heaven (Movies), Greek and Roman Mythology, Stranger Things (TV 2016), The Police (Band)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Major Character Death

Categories: Gen

Characters: Duck Hunt Dog, Duck Hunt Duck, Duck Hunt, Fox McCloud, Falco Lombardi, Samus Aran, Diddy Kong, Solid Snake, R.O.B. | Robotic Operating Buddy, Mario (Nintendo), Luigi (Nintendo), Bayonetta (Bayonetta), Palutena (Kid Icarus), Medusa (Kid Icarus), Pit (Kid Icarus), Viridi (Kid Icarus), Athena

Additional Tags: Acrobatics, Action, Action/Adventure, Adventure, Afterlife, Alliances, Alliteration, Ambushes and Sneak Attacks, Americanisms, Angels, Anger, Animal Abuse, Animal Attack, Animal Death, Animals, Apes & Monkeys, Arcades, Ass-Kicking, Astronomy, Baked Goods, Banishment, Battle, Bets & Wagers, Bickering, Bounty Hunters, Branding, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Canon Backstory, Canon Compliant, Canon Crossover, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon - Video Game, Character Death, Chibi, Clouds, Comedy, Compare and Contrast, Competition, Complete, Confrontations, Cross-cultural, Crossover, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Cruelty, Crying, Cultural References, Cute, Cute Ending, Cute Kids, Dancing, Death, Dessert & Sweets, Dialect, Dimension Travel, Discipline, Discrimination, Dogs, Dorkiness, Double Entendre, Duelling, During Canon, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies, Evil Laughter, Environmentalism, Evolution, Explosions, Fame, Fanfiction, Fanservice, Fantasy, Female Antagonist, Female Protagonist, Ficlet, Fights, Fire, Fire Powers, Flying, Food, Frenemies, Fun, Funny, Games, Gods, Guns, Happy, Harm to Animals, Hate Speech, Hatred, Heaven, Hell, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Historical References, Humiliation, Humor, Humorous Ending, Hunters & Hunting, Immortality, In-Jokes, Inspired by Music, Insults, Joyful, Judgment, Justice, Killing, Lasers, Laughter, Light-Hearted, Magic-Users, Male Antagonist, Male Protagonist, Mercenaries, Meta, Mind Games, Minor Canonical Character(s), Minor Character(s), Mischief, Nature, Nostalgia, Omnipotence, One Shot, Originally Posted Elsewhere, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Parallel Universes, Partnership, Pastries, Pokemon References, Politics, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Pride, Psychological Torture, Psychological Warfare, Punishment, Puns & Word Play, Racism, Rare Characters, Recovery, Implied/Referenced Character Death, References to Canon, Resentment, Resurrection, Returning Home, Robots, Rocket Launchers, Sadism, Sarcasm, Saving the World, Science Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Self-Defense, Shame, Shooting Guns, Short, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, Showing Off, Snacks & Snack Food, Soldiers, Song Lyrics, Sorceresses, Souls, Speciesism, Strategy & Tactics, Strong Female Characters, Supernatural Elements, Superpowers, Super Smash Bros. Ultimate, Surprises, Survival, Teaching, Team, Team Dynamics, Teasing, Technology, Teleportation, Temple, Temporary Character Death, Threats of Violence, Tournaments, Underworld, Urban Legends, Video & Computer Games, Video Game Mechanics, Villains, Violence, Watching, Weapons, Witchcraft, Witches, Women In Power, Wordcount: 100-1.000, Wordcount: 500-1.000, Wordcount: Under 10.000, Xenophobia

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2XeIKdn

[aglaean]

🧃

“Princess!!” Ewan rushed up to her, holding out a drink. “I was cheering for you this whole time! I’m sure you’ll kick their butts next time!” He said with a confident smile, hoping to give her some spirit. “For now though, here! take this juice and relax!”

Oh! So, it had been none other than her dear ally who had been cheering so! In the furour of battle L'Arachel had been, to her own bitter disappointment, unable to locate the source of the sound. More pressing matters had engrossed her, such as ensuring her hair flew in the wind just so, that her ballad-worthy lines were primed at her lips, and oh, yes, that her lance landed when she tried to hit someone with it.

Though she had never been in any doubt that the jubilations were in her name, it heartened her all the more to know that it had been none other than he. What a marvel! She had never before known joy to come after the event. So oft it had a strange habit of dissapating once the moment had passed - a matter that would've been far more unfortunate if she wasn't always immured in some new delight!

And in the way of delight...! L'Arachel takes the proferred receptacle. An experimental sip, and ah! Why, this was simply delicious! She had never before this day sampled so sweet a juice - and now, on this day she had tasted of it twice! Perhaps she ought to submit her magnificence to such carousing more often.

'Ewan! Surely, the Gods themselves carried your voice to me over joust and duel! I thank you for aiding me in my emenance!' Smiling, she took another swig. So sweet! Why, she felt herself buoyed by a second wind! Springing to her feet, L'Arachel surrendered herself to those faculties that knew her before she knew herself: her instincts.

'In fact, I shall repay you tenfold with a cheer of my own - HURRAH! MAKE EXULTATION FOR EWAN, SWIFT-FOOTED AGENT OF NECTAR! AND MY CLOSE PERSONAL ALLY!' She adds the second part retroactively, it was important to make such connections clear!

Turning to where the dear mage should be, she smiles. 'How was that- Ah! Wherever did he go?'

[aglaean]

"Hey."

Faces are hard to find in the endless swaths of med-tents, but voices are easy to follow. And with a booming presence like hers, there's just no missing that L'Arachel.

...Is 'booming' the right word? 'Radiant' might be one she likes better...

In any case, Larcei has delivered a short knock against one of the princess' tent posts, as a courtesy. She enters proper and does a once-over of her wounds.

"'Just wanted to stop by and say my thanks. We lost, but I can tell you really tried. I appreciate you havin' my back and all that." The sunlight that streams through the slit in the tent illuminates the smile Larcei leaves for her, bringing a lighter note to their mutual defeat and reminding them both that the day is still young.

"And if you ever feel like working on your aim with that lance," she continues, flicking the guard on her sword with her thumb so that it comes out a few inches from its scabbard, "let me know. I'll give you a sparring session with the finest swordmaster in Isaach!"

It is the beam of sunlight, warm against her cheek, that registers Larcei’s presence to L’Arachel more than her addresses.

Of course, were she not fresh from the jousting of the field, she would have ascertain her presence immediately! The darting eye of a holy woman neglected little, and scryed even the most minute of details, when undiverted by other observations.

It was merely that there was so much to witness, even from her perch, tucked in amongst the swirl of meetings and commiseration and comraderie. And L’Arachel wished to see it all. 

Her roving gaze snaps to Larcei’s.

Certes, she bore about her the shared scars of their battle - ice fringing charred sleeves. She recalls her expression during their battle, as set as the frost rooting her to the spot.

It was a little like the one she wore now; fuelled by this ever-present, ever-pulsing motion. Across the field she had blazed - unable to remain still - burning deeper, and deeper. But never to the point of collapse. Just to the start of something new.

Her tone is easy, but L’Arachel feels as if there is something lingering just beneath the surface. Something determined. And it sparks something within her too. 

Leaping to her feet, she nodded sharply. ‘Unfortunate as our loss may be, I am fortunate indeed to have fought alongside such an ally. ‘Tis evident to me that the Gods drew us together for a reason!’ 

Sparring! Something she grasped well in concept - something Ephraim dedicated large swathes of his time to, and which had a perturbing habit of coinciding with her invitations to tea - but, within Rausten’s walls had remained purely conceptual.

She had proven herself, staff in hand, Dozla and Rennac by her side, upon the monstrous fiends roaming her beloved country, but to do so against another…! Perhaps, this event had given her a taste for it.

‘Ah, your wish for us to try our mettle, steel on steel, is well met! What say you to an encounter tomorrow morn? We may duel to our heart’s content, and then, perhaps you would like to come to tea?’ 

There was something in that name, Isaach, and something in this figure, the skilled swordswoman, that really was remarkably familiar… But L’Arachel found that it proved elusive, and dismissing it, extended a hand towards Larcei - her new sparring partner.

[aglaean]

When Marianne made her way to the med tent, she knew a very eager student would probably find her out and ask the questions she wanted answered. So Marianne found her first. "Um... We did take out Valter... Like you asked... He was scary."

There were many domains under the purview of L’Arachel, but time, alas, was not one of them. Sit as she might, willing the lagging hours to turn with haste, rudely they refused to gallop apace. 

 Of course, she could go and acertain the state of her arch nemesis with her own vision and no doubt, her presence on the battlefield was an innumerable advantage for her chosen fighters.

But there is so little allure in the ungainly asperity of ocular proof - if she must know the outcome of this fated clash, let it be through report. Narrative was the most seemly vehicle for heroics; the only one L’Arachel would permit.

And so, she waited. 

By the time Marianne finds her, L’Arachel is slumped sideways over a cot, staring at the ceiling in a pose of sublime contemplation. A painter would be hard-tasked to try and depict in flat colour her expression: ponderous and solemn, her hair: flowing and perfectly glossy, or her mouth: open as if ready to impart cherubic verse! 

She is so still, she could well be in repose, but do not be fooled! She is merely resting her eyes, and any snuffling can be attributed to the lingering bite of that frost mage. 

The very same frost mage who is here of a sudden, lingering near her side! 

‘OH!’ The Princess startles upright, swivelling to face her chosen knight. ‘YOU DID!’ And though, perhaps in another’s voice it may have registered as doubt, in L’Arachel’s it sounds like exultation. She’d requested something; so naturally it would occur! That did little though, to deaden the delight she felt. 

Bounding forward with an elegant lunge, her arm encircled the shoulder of the silent snowstress. ‘He is a ferocious foe indeed, though nothing that the agents of L’Arachel could not suppress!’

Now, where was? Ah! Seizing upon her stave, lying across the cot - recently relinquished from the Princess’ reclining grip - she brandishes it with glee. ‘Allow me to tend to any wounds that cur inflicted upon you, ‘tis the least I can do!’