#it was the only thing i was missing. i had so many prismatic shards i was giving them away to random villagers (already had galaxy sword)

[afictionalwhore]

SDV Bachelorettes’ Love Languages (hc)

This post is brought to you by my dear friend bribing me.

No kinks this time because I just struggled on that one.

───────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.─────────

Emily — Gift Giving and Quality Time

When it comes to giving and receiving gifts, Emily is not at all materialistic. She always has gems and crystals ready anytime she feels you need one.

Don’t bother trying to give it back. She’ll say you need them more than her.

Though she’s a giver, receiving gifts puts Emily over the moon. It’s the thought that counts for her. The fact that you were deep in the mines thinking of giving that amethyst to her rather than selling it speaks volumes to her.

Emily loves spending time with you, even if she can’t commit as much time as she’d like to with work.

You visit Emily at the saloon at least every Friday, as you know it’s the busiest, most stressful day and seeing you will help put her at ease.

Visiting Emily and spending time with her, be it meditating together or trying on clothes she’s trying to make, mean the world to her.

───────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.─────────

Haley — Gift Giving and Physical Touch

Haley, like her sister, is not materialistic when it comes to gift giving. She appreciates the thought the most, especially as you have to travel for some of her most loved gifts.

Haley is the only person who does not like the most valuable item, prismatic shard. That being said, too many expensive gifts will make her feel like you’re trying to buy her love.

Haley is not touchy until she gets to know you better, but once she’s comfortable with you, she can’t keep her hands off you. She wants to hold your hand around town, watch the sun set on the beach with her head on your shoulder.

If you fall asleep while cuddling her, she’ll lazily play with your hair or trace patterns on your skin.

Haley is absolutely showing you off through PDA. You work hard and she can’t believe someone like you would be interested in her, especially since she was so mean to you in the beginning.

She will steal your clothes and wear them, even if they aren’t fashionable. Additionally, she will try to dress you. It’s a very hands on activity where she essentially turns you into a doll.

Haley used to call you a dirty farmer. She feels bad about it every time she sees you’ve cleaned up for her when you go to hold her.

You used to think that she was trying to make Alex jealous, always hanging onto you and kissing you, but you learned that’s just how she's affectionate.

Gift her a teddy bear with your cologne/perfume, something that she can hold and think of you. She will try to act tough, but on the inside, she’s crying with how sweet the gift is.

───────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.─────────

Leah — Acts of Service and Quality Time

Leah is like any artist. She often forgets to take breaks when she’s working on a piece. She’ll forget to eat, to drink, you name it. You’ve made a habit of bringing her lunch that you made or bought from Gus.

You learn ways to help Leah, such as cleaning her brushes and tools. You organize her sketchbooks for her. She may think you think she can’t handle herself, but once she realizes it because you care about her and want her to be able to better focus on her art without stressing about cleaning, she’s incredibly touched.

Leah likes to spend time together, but she doesn’t always want to be doing something with you. She’s perfectly happy just being in the same space as you and doing your individual things.

Walks in nature!!! Leah adores dates with you that are just taking a stroll through the woods or on the beach.

Leah wants to consider you a muse, like Elliot. She is more focused on nature however, trying to avoid love due to her ex. Things just happen naturally for her, and she finds a lot of inspiration in you.

She’ll ask you to model for her. Maybe there’s a certain hand pose that she can’t quite get down. She’ll maneuver your hands for her to get just the right reference.

───────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.─────────

Penny — Quality Time and Acts of Service

With her mom, I can’t imagine Penny being very touchy-feely. However, I do see her being really appreciative of quality time with her s/o.

As the relationship progresses, Penny will melt into hugs and cuddles with you.

Penny likes planned out dates, things that she knows you put a lot of thought into. It’s a combination of her two love languages. One of her favorite dates is when you plan a picnic for her under the tree with artisanal goods from your farm. Goat cheese, jams, bread from wheat you grew. The effort put into this date blew her away.

Penny also enjoys spontaneity on occasion. Knock on her window in the middle of the night and tell her you missed her. She’s a romantic that loves the cliches she reads in the library while the kids study.

Speaking of the kids, help lighten Penny’s workload with them by taking them on a field trip to the farm. Tell them how crops work. Let them help with the animals. They’re learning hands on and having fun. The kids will love it, and Penny’s opinion of you will skyrocket.

Penny sees how hard you work on the farm and will often ask if there’s any way that she can help. She doesn’t want to be a burden, so she won’t take the initiative. Bonus points if it’s a job you can work at together. She’ll act exasperated if you tell her that her company is help enough, but she thinks that it’s really sweet.

───────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.─────────

Abigail— Quality Time and Words of Affirmation

Abigail is very vocal, so words of affirmation as a love language comes naturally to her.

Abigail likes to hear how you feel. She grew up knowing she was loved, but she never heard it. Sometimes hearing you say “I love you” takes her aback, but she soon grows accustomed to it and finds that she actually loves how open you are about your feelings with her.

Because of her dad pushing traditionally femenine roles and interests on her, Abigail needs a lot of reminding that her feelings and interests are valid.

Abigail loves spending time just chilling with you. Even though it happened early on, she considers your first date when the two of you played video games together in her room.

She loves going into the mines and exploring the woods with you. It’s a win-win situation. You get help with your work while getting to spend time with her, and she gets to spend time with you while doing something that she loves.

───────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.─────────

Maru —

I honestly see Maru having a mix of all of the love languages. Maru is also very logical versus emotional.

Maru will hold your hand in public, but she tends to keep physical affection limited to private spaces.

She’s a very dominant person who often initiates things. She also likes to be the big spoon when you cuddle.

When it comes to gifts, anything that could be used towards a project, Maru loves it. She will even consider soil samples from your farm or rocks you dig out from the mines a suitable gift. Bonus points if it’s something she’s mentioned recently.

Because these gifts are used for her work, she also sees this as an act of service, especially if it’s something that you had to go out of your way to get for her.

You also will stick around and help her with her projects or bring her lunch or something to drink while she’s working.

Maru doesn’t necessarily need to hear how much you love her. Instead, she wants vocal affirmation about her work. To her, your support is enough to show you love her. If you didn’t love her, you wouldn’t care about her work.

Come to visit Maru at the clinic and she’s over the moon. Her job can get boring, and she’s likely to talk your ear off. Your visits will have to decrease as Harvey may get upset if she’s constantly talking with you and not doing her job.

Maru likes to spend time with you while working on projects, but she feels like it’s not exactly quality time. That being said, she likes to sit by the lake with you or on the bench near the Saloon. While Maru is talkative, silence doesn’t bother her when she’s with you like this.

[wildlydeliciouspainter]

- III - The tower

*Hi! I hope you guys like the story so far. I’m thinking up each chapter as I go, and mainly use this as a way to improve my writing skills while typing about the things I could see happening in Stardew. If you have any feedback or suggestions for the storyline feel free to message me. Enjoy!*

“Here, this is for the journey.” Daya puts a small package into Elliotts hands. “Its your lunch, and a book for the road.” The brown wrapping is held together with a string which has a duck feather attached to it. Elliotts face lights up instantly when he notices it. “My favorite.” He wispers. “Thank you dear.” He softly plants a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll let you know when I get to Zuzu city, okay?” She nodds and smiles. Her eyes wander off to the tunnel leading the tracks farther into the mountains. Way down in the south, lies the big city where Elliotts booktour will take place. Zuzu city, a modern place with skyscrapers and highways. Daya saw its skyline once before when she went on a roadtrip with Robins son Sebastian. Thinking back on that memory is filling Daya with unease. 

Sebastian, her relationship with him could be called complicated. After they broke up he moved to the city taking with him one bag of clothes, his laptop and his motor cycle. She still though of him now and then and wondered how he was doing, but never felt comfortable enough to reach out. With the way things ended that was probably for the best, she though. The sound of the approaching train suddenly echoes through the tunnel and brings Daya back to the present. “I love you, stay safe.” Elliott says and cuddles her. His long red hair tickles her face. “Love you too, return to me in winter.” She wispers into his hair. “I will.” 

Daya waits till the train leaves to continues its journey through the mountain pass. When the last wagon has disappeared into the tunnel she turns around and starts walking back. Something moves her to take a different road than usual. Instead of walking home via the mountain road she takes the detour trough Cindersap forest.

The air in the woods is crisp, and dead leaves roll over the forest floor around her. A vague sound in the distance catches her attention. Mysterious music that can only come from one place. The wizards tower. There was a time when she ran a lot of errands for the wizard and his practices in the dark art, but ever since she moved in with Elliott her life shifted from the forest to the shore. Paying her old friend a visit couldn’t hurt though. She follows the sound, and suddenly sees the blue roof of Rasmodius home towering over the trees in front of her. 

The door to the building is closed, so she knocks. “Hello?” The wizard is always close to the tower and as expected the door slowly opens, creaking in its hinges. A sweet smell of herbs and incense wafts out of the hallway to greet Daya and the old door mysteriously closes behind her, though no one is standing near it. “Welcome.” Says the wizard, in his deep, calm voice. He is sitting in a purple chair next to the cauldron. From the big black kettle green fumes circle towards the ceiling. “Hi Rasmodius. I went for a walk in the forest and thought I’d stop by.” “Ah, is that so?” He says, his voice seemingly insinuating something different to be the case. “Yes.” Daya replied. “Tea?” “Yes please.” On the coffee table stands a bronze teapot filled with fragrant leaves. Its fresh, as if company was expected. Rasmodius pours two cups and hands one to his guest. The second cup stays on the table untouched. Daya’s eyes follow the intricate carvings on the table that show the cycle of the moon and its many forms. She sips from her tea as Rasmodius talks to her. “I was hoping you would stop by today.” He says, his eyes fixated on the cup in front of him. “I have a guest that was hoping to see you, so I might have used a bit of magic to lure you here.” He presses his fingers together and stands up. At the same moment there is a sudden movement at the fireplace, as a dark figure steps out of its shadow. Daya almost drops the tea cup in her lap. But manages to catch it on time so only a small amount of its content spills over her finger. “Damn it!” She growls, and puts her burned fingers into her mouth. Dark sweater and hair he disappeared into the wizards gloomy interior but when he turns towards her its unmistakable “Seb?”Daya’s cheeks immediately turn red as she realizes she is still using his petname. In an attempt to rectify her mistake she coughs and adds an unsure “astian.. sebastian, hi.” Rasmodius stands up awkwardly and points Sebastian to the chair he first sat in. “I’ll leave you two to catch up.” He mutters and pats Sebastian on his back. Then flicks his fingers and disappears into thin air. “Oh!” Daya’s eyes widen but this time she holds her teacup in a firm grip as not to spill more tea in surprise. “I hate it when he does that, it catches me off guard every time.” Sebastian smiles slowly. His eyes are fixed on the teacup the wizard left for him, an impenetrable expression in his eyes. 

She didnt miss this part of him, the silent stares and her guessing whats going on inside. “How, eh.. how are you Sebastian?” “Could be better.” He smiles wryly and picks up the cup in front of him. “You?” “I am very happy.” She thinks of her life with Elliott and instantly a smile appears. “Happy to hear that. Say Daya, I’m sorry to barge back into your life like this, but do you still have your sword?” At the word sword she has to put down her cup because her fingers start to tingle. She can feel the heft of the purple blade in her hands even though its not there. Sebastian looks at her moving fingers and frowns barely noticeable. “Yes, I still have it.” She wispers, her thoughts miles away from the tower.  “Could I borrow it?”  “Why?”  For the first time in the conversation he looks straight at her. His light brown eyes catch her off guard and she repressed the impuls to tell him he can take the weapon as long as he leaves now. His eyes leave her face to search the room. When he is sure no one is lurking in the shadows of the furniture around them he leans towards her to plead his case. “Its for Abigail. She got abducted from the mines on one of her adventures. I didn’t know untill I got a weird email that seemed to be encrypted. After I send it to Rasmodius he figured out it was send by the dwarf in the mines, warning me she was taken. This was only this morning. I came back from Zuzu as fast as I could.” “Are the two of you..” Sebastians eyebrows raise. “Friends, good friends.” Daya nodds. “Just so I know how delicate the situation is.” “Okay, will you help?” “Eh I want to but I’m not sure I can.” She can see his eyes darken while she struggles to find the right words.

 “You see, the prismatic shard I used to forge the sword in Calico, its infused with my energy. Even linked to my energy I had to find a way to learn how to handle it. Its almost like handling an animal, learning its body language and finding a way to work together. Its a bond that I’m not sure will be translated well to another.” She though back of an instant where Elliot picked up the sword. Holding it alone almost made him sprain his own wrists. The disbalance between him and the iridium made it uncontrollable. As soon as she took it in her own hands the purple metal calmed. Sebastian wouldn’t be able to handle the sword and without Daya’s link to it the weapon would turn into a crude waraxe with no regard for the person who yielded it. “Have you considered the adventurers guild? For their members they have some fine weapons, I’m sure a lava katana would do the job just fine.” Sebastian stands up, looking down on her with irritation written al over his face. “You know the galaxy sword is way more powerful than that. I expected a bit more from the women who fought serpents and shadow brutes alike. But I should have know, your feathers and fruit loving poet has made you soft.” Daya shoots up, almost matching Sebastian in height. “Listen to me very carefully.” She hisses. “No one took my bravery away. I chose love over a life of danger, but I can still fight. And if you want us to find Abigail you should try to work with me instead of pissing me off.” “Us?” “Yes us, we’ll get you a weapon and I”ll have your back for Abigails sake. But keep the attitude to yourself please.” His eyes darken but at the same time there is that slow smile again. “I’m sorry, your help is more than welcome.” “Thank you.” 

They set up a practice for the next morning, and as they both leave the wizard tower and walk into a different direction they are both wondering about the adventure thats ahead of them. 

[alamhigyoooo]

nameless

you have lived a thousand thousand lives, but at the end you are still the same boy who fell in love with her under the moonlight.

(emet-selch/hades x warrior of light)

[read it here on ao3]

Your name is Hades, and you are just a boy when you fall in love for the first time.

She is standing in the ocean waves, clutching her robes to her chest. Tiny little turtles waddle from the sandy shore into the dark abyss of the sea, floating with the current around her ankles.

“Just think, Hades,” she says, kneeling down to peer at the infant turtles. “So many lives, traveling out to explore the world. Isn’t it exciting?”

“Exciting?” you echo, unsure if you agree. “The world is so big, and we’re just children. Doesn’t the thought of the unknown scare you?” The ocean, pitch black and endless, roars back, as if it hears the trepidation in your voice.

“Of course,” she says, and when she turns to you the moon shines through her eyes, refracting into a hundred shards of light across her cheeks. “Of course I’m scared. But that’s why I want to go and see it all, someday. It’s only unknown if we never seek to know it.”

Profound words from such a young soul -  and the moment is broken by the crash of a wave that sends sea spray into her face. She shrieks in surprised joy, and you watch as she flounders in the water with hearty laughter.

(Your breath catches in your throat, and you’re not sure you understand why your chest feels so tight, but as she laughs in the waves you think that you’ve never heard anything so beautiful.)

--

Your name is Hades, and you have just become a different man.

“Hades!”

You turn away from the Convocation members - your new peers - and try not to smile too big as she floats across the room towards you. “I wondered where you’d drifted off to,” you call out, striding to meet her halfway. Behind you, there are soft whispers, amused chuckles, as the Convocation disperses into the greater crowd - but you pay them no mind.

“I certainly tried to find you, but you were swept up by someone else every time I got close,” she laughs, beaming. She reaches out and takes your hands in hers, and you feel your heart stop. “Congratulations! I told you that you’d make the Convocation one day.”

Ordinarily you’d smirk and agree with her - but as she looks up at you, kaleidoscope eyes peeking through her mask, your arrogance withers and you find yourself content to do nothing more than bask in her praise, her confidence in you.  

“I’m thankful to have had your support,” you say stiffly, failing utterly to convey the gratitude you feel. “Someday you’ll be on the Convocation with me, too.”

She snorts, but squeezes your hands gently. “I don’t need to be.”

“You’re still going?” you ask in surprise, unable to hide some of the disappointment in your voice.

“I always said I would,” she tells you, and she squeezes your hands once more. “But you needn’t worry. I’ll come back, and I’ll have so many stories to tell you.”

There are too many things you want to say, and not enough time to say any of them. So you smile and say, “Very well. Safe travels, my friend.”

(It takes all of your willpower to not beg her to stay, and as she slips from your grasp you wish you’d said “I’ll be waiting for you”, too.)

--

Your name is Emet-Selch, and you feel the weight of the world upon your shoulders.

Her steps through the grass rouse you from your thoughts. Though your eyes are closed, you hear her settle beside you on the ground. “Brooding again?”

You crack one eye open and frown. “I’m not brooding. Unless you think the world’s impending doom isn’t worth the extra thought?”

She looks down at you, before slipping off her mask - her new Convocation mask, marking her status as Azem. Her crystalline eyes are full of worry. “You spend too much time alone and upset. No one could solve a problem, much less the fate of the world, in such a way.”

With a sigh, you push yourself up and face her. “Well, what would you have me do?”

Her back straightens, and she leans close to you. “Come with me,” she says earnestly, and you’re lost in her prismatic gaze. “Come travel the world with me. There’s so much to see - there’s bound to be something out there that will help you.”

It’s a touching sentiment - but nothing more. Your place is here, in Amaurot, as the guiding hand of your people. You offer her a tired smile. “Surely if there was a solution in the wider world, you would have found it already.”

“My mind is hardly as acute as yours,” she replies, and she pulls back. You know she’s heard the rejection in your words, and though you find relief in her acquiescence, her withdrawal still stings. “Perhaps if you were to see something with your own eyes, you might find inspiration.”

Her compliment soothes some of the ache in your heart, so you tell her, “Your faith in me is inspiring enough.”

(In another world, you would have said yes, because deep down, you long for her to whisk you away, to show you the world - to set you free.)

--

Your name is Emet-Selch, and you have lost everything there ever was to lose.

As you wander through the rubble of what used to be your home, you’re not sure if it’s possible for a man to lose anything more. Every being, every soul - splintered beyond repair, halved again and again, into pitiful shadows of the majestic creatures they once were.

Every being. Every soul.

Save yourself, of course; yourself, and Lahabrea, and Elidibus. The three of you now comprise the final remnants of what was the greatest people to ever walk the land.

“Architect,” says the Abyssal Celebrant, emerging from the ruins of the Capital. He is pale-faced, haggard, and you see in the lines of his body the same deep, deep horror you feel in your own.

“No one?” you rasp, even though you know the answer. You have known the answer.

He shakes his head; you close your eyes and swallow down a sob, a scream.

(She had been there, to warn everyone, to warn you - and you turned her away like a fool, bitter and hurt and blind. That is all you will ever be, now and forever: a fool, who missed and missed and missed his chances, and will never have another chance again.)

--

Your name is… you aren’t sure what your name is, anymore.

What life is this, your eighth? Your fifteenth? You can’t keep track anymore. These lives, all too brief and empty, somehow manage to blur together into a mass of nothingness, but you must persist.

Zodiark demands it.

Perhaps you are a lord - perhaps you are a peasant. Perhaps you are ruling an empire, pretending to care about the ants who mill about this world and believe bloodshed to be their birthright.

You tried - heavens know you tried. You tried so very hard, in the beginning, to let go of the past, to live and love and die among the newfound stewards of this star, these stars. You gave it your all, gave them your all, and still they failed you.

You will not be failed again.

So you tread through these broken shards, silent and deadly, seeking your fallen comrades spread thin across fourteen planes. Igeyorhm, Naibrales, Mitron and Loghrif. Viciously as you work to tear down the walls between worlds and return the Source to its true self, just as tenderly do you press each crystal to the hand of its bearer and restore their memories, their minds.

It breaks your heart to see their faces when they begin to understand their reality, what happened to their home. Ten times do you restore an ally, and ten times must you witness that heartbreak - your heartbreak - all over again.

(Alone, you shut your eyes and imagine finding her. When you find her, when you press the crystal you made for her into her palm, you pray that she will take peace in your presence, that you will not have to watch her heart shatter as well.)

--

Your name is about to disappear, and you are there to watch Azem die.

It isn’t her, not really - but you know that color and would know it anywhere, despite being muted and dulled by the Sundering. Millenia since you have seen it, but it is etched into your heart with clarity nonetheless.

You see her color first, in the gaggle of souls who think they will escape the doom of the Third Shard. At first you think it might be a figment of your imagination, a ripple in the magic which makes you invisible to the untrained eye.

But it flashes by again, and again, and you are too weak to resist this chance to finally see her again. Like a moth to a flame, you let yourself be drawn to her color, pushing aside everything in your way to make it to her in time.

Time, after all, is dwindling - if not for you, then for her, and whose fault is that?

When you catch up to her shade, the ground is falling away at her feet, and she clutches to the side of a cliff wall with all the strength left in her body. Slowly, painfully, you let your magics slip away, revealing yourself with silence - a contrast to the howling of the earth around you.

The shade takes you in with wide eyes - eyes that are not right, not like hers. Violet, round, and afraid - not like hers.

Azem’s crystal is heavy in your pocket.

“Do I know you?” says the shard, and you are taken aback. You had expected a plea for help, a prayer for salvation.

You are not ready for the hand the shard reaches out to you, and like always, you miss your chance as the cliff fails her and she falls to her death far below.

(Nobody will ever know, but you search the Lifestream for her after, even though you know it will be in vain. She is gone, and you hate yourself for wishing she wasn’t. You vow that you will never look for her again.)

--

Your name is Solus zos Galvus, and you are bored.

“A toast, to Varis yae Galvus!” rings out through the dining hall, followed by a chorus of voices repeating, “To Varis!”

Boring. So very boring. A wedding for your grandsire, High Legatus Varis. As Emperor, it is your duty to attend such events, put on a show to bolster morale - but you despise it. There is nothing left worth celebrating in this world, you think.

The groom, your grandsire, rises from his seat, tall and imposing, so much like your son. Your pitiful dead son. You watch him lift his own glass, hear his voice booming through the hall, as he mechanically thanks the attendees for their blessings.

“How wretched,” you mutter under your breath, before wheezing as you push yourself into a better sitting position. The body you inhabit has cursed you with old age, feeble and decaying just like the rest of the sad remnants who surround you, and you long for a time when you may finally be free of it, to walk the world in youthful flesh.

At the sound of your fussing, all eyes in the room break from your grandsire and fixate on you, and you take small amusement in watching the bravado slip from your grandsire’s grasp.

Then his bride turns to look at you as well, with crystals glinting in her hair, and they reflect light in a way that makes you say “Pah!” and hobble your way out of the hall.

(Thrice cursed, in one night - to suffer through your own emotional failure, to sit through it all in an ailing body, and to be reminded of a love you will never see again.)

--

Your name is Emet-Selch, and your companions are useless.

Useless, you call them, though you tell yourself it’s well-meant. No matter how much you feud with them or gnash your teeth in frustration at them, deep down you love them. You can never say it, though - it lies in a box which cannot be opened, else other forbidden things come tumbling out.

But of course they would be useless when it comes to Hydaelyn’s champion - and suddenly, as you gaze upon the shard that people hail as “hero”, you are thankful that you locked away your love so long ago.

For who among them could turn on her shade?

Lahabrea tried, and failed twice. Naibrales lost, blinded by righteous fury and hate. Igeyorhm, too, silenced forever.

It’s cruel, but - you note with bitterness - cruelty seems to be your reality forevermore. Hydaelyn has chosen her, has chosen what’s left of her, pitted her remains against you in a grand cosmic match that, were you not utterly dedicated to your cause, is tragic enough that you would lay down your arms to weep.

You hate this shard.

(When you meet the shard for the first time, really meet her, her eyes are white - and they are too close to hers and yet not near enough anyways. White though they may be, they lack the fleeting colors which danced within - and every time you meet the shard after, you tell yourself to look into her eyes to draw strength from what she lacks.)

--

Your name is Hades, and you are finally free.

Though you have died a thousand thousand times, this is the first death that you really feel. It burns, it’s agonizing, and yet you have never felt so at peace.

She faces you - and it feels so good to finally, finally stop denying that it is her. To stop needing it to be her.

Remarkable, you think, that this life of hers is the one which ends yours. Dark hair, and white eyes, passion etched in every line of her face.

She is as beautiful as the day you lost her, and to admit it makes you weep.

“Remember us,” you tell her, at the edge of the world where your heart breaks and heals at the same time. “Remember that we lived.”

Silence, and though you know you are at peace for a moment your soul wrenches in agony. Maybe it is too late - maybe you have pushed her too far. And here, at the end, you must admit that you have.

Irony is ever so cruel - reunited at last, finished at last, and you are going to die in front of the one you love, in a body she hates because you made her hate it.

But she isn’t - she isn’t cruel.

“I will remember,” she says, surprising you like always. “I promise I will remember.”

(You fill your last moments with the memory of her eyes: they are no longer pure white, you realize, but now have the faintest hint of a rainbow at the edges, a gift of her impromptu rejoining. You think back to a night on the beach where the moonlight turned her gaze into diamonds and smile.)

--

Your name doesn’t matter, but she calls it anyway.

“Emet-Selch!” her voice beckons you, and you stir in the Lifestream. “Hades!”

(She needs you, and as you feel yourself pulled towards her warmth, you think that you’ve never heard anything so beautiful.)

[evan-mcculloch]

Breaking Glass || Evan & Barry

When: Oct 1st Where: Star City - Dr. Inglo’s Lab With: Barry Allen @scxrletspeedster

Summary: After discovering prominent physicist Dr. Inglo in Star City has been beating his daughter, Evan decides to take the law into his own hands; Barry arrives to stop him, with deadly results.  

TRIGGERS: Child Abuse (Implied), Injury, Death  

EVAN: It was all over the papers, the famous Dr. Inglo and his Prismatic refractor. The ability to convert light into pure energy, more so his research into dark matter; if light could craft energy, what could a substance we cannot see or understand do? All very interesting, remarkable, even. Shame a man so gifted with scientific acumen had thought it acceptable to use his daughter as a punching bag. It was only rumours, but rumours spread, and it was amazing what people would do in front of a mirror when they thought they were unseen. Evan wouldn't stand for it. Yes he was a villain, a killer, a monster, but he had his lines, and no one deserved to get away with doing what that man had done. So, the night Dr. Inglo's largest experiment into light and dark matter he'd struck. The man had mirrors set up to reflect beams of charged particles. It should allow mirrors to make energy gates, wormholes or even access new dimensions, similar to his own mirror world experience. They could've been allies, but no. Tonight this man would die. "Say it." he muttered, stepping out of one looking glass, his mirror-gun aimed squarely at the cowering doctor, "Tell me just how ya felt using yer wee one fer target practice. Did ye feel good? Feel strong?" his voice a whisper, "How de ya feel now?"

BARRY: It had taken Barry entirely too long to put two and two together. By the time the stories about Dr. Inglo's refractor technology and dark matter research had hit the presses, the rumors began spreading like wildfire about his abusive tendencies with his daughter. Barry had paid it the normal amount of attention - disgusted that the remarkable man would stoop to something that depraved; if the rumors were to be believed. He had been watching another news report about the man when his mind caught something his eyes couldn't see - the man had given an interview in his home and on display just shy of being off-camera was a large vanity mirror. The twisting in Barry's gut had given him all the indication he needed to check things out. He hadn't heard from Evan in a while - and though that didn't mean the man was up to something, Barry had a bad feeling. Inglo's rumored history was a prime target was Evan to take out some pent up aggression. The speedster bolted across the City, coming to a skidding halt as he whisked into and around the room - quickly moving Inglo behind his desk and out of the sights of Evan's mirror gun for the time being. "That's enough!" His voice was firm and commanding - the tone it came out when he was being serious and not his usual joking self. "I knew my bad feelings were justified..." He sighed, having not wanted them to be.

EVAN: “Flash.” Evan deadpanned. He’d also lost the quiet lightness he’d had in their previous meetings, this wasn’t a semi-dangerous heist. This man deserved to die. And Flash wouldn’t get in his way. “I’m a fair man so I’ll give one wee chance to zip on out the door before I start shooting. This monster’s gonna be put down.” He took a step forward, gaze fixed on the cowering doctor. “Rumours may be all you have but it’s amazing what some people’ll do when tha’ think it’s just em’selves and their reflections.” He spat. “If ye protect him yer fair game.” He took a shot, the concussive light blast shattering a large mirror behind the pair of them, raining down sharp shards. He took the chance to escape into a mirror and step out of another to get a better shot. “This can end with yer in one piece or shattered in bits Flash.” He said, voice raised yet still not quite shouting, he almost never raised his voice. His expression was deadly, completely devoid of anything save burning hatred in his eyes. It was enough to make clear there’d be no negotiating this time. He fired again and missed, but the shot continued to blasted Inglo’s machine, the pressure making in whirl to life.

BARRY: The shattering of the mirror behind them had Barry kicking up a gale as he whirled around Inglo - knocking the falling shards away from them just in case Evan decided to slip a hand up through one of them. He tucked the doctor underneath his desk and regarded him with a firm glare. "Stay put." The words were more of an order than anything. Evan wasn't playing around, which meant that Barry needed to buckle down as well. Standing back up, he quickly scanned the area for the next point the man moved to. A slight hiss and he glanced at his hand where one of the shards had cut a thin line through his glove and into his palm as he swatted it away. A minor inconvenience. "You know I can't do that Evan. I don't want to have to hurt you, but I will. The Justice system will deal with Dr. Inglo if there is anything to deal with -- not you." Barry stated firmly. The blonde checked the remaining reflective surfaces in the room - a couple smaller mirrors on the sides of the room and a giant mirror along the opposite wall. With another spark, Barry quickly turned Inglo's desk around to shield his new hiding spot from view of the mirrors and positioned himself on the other side - standing valiantly as he crackled with electricity; ready to move at a moment's notice.

EVAN: "And how will they do that?" he asked, standing within a mirror, Flash couldn't touch him there. "They'll try'n drag out a wee trail with all tha best lawyers he can buy and nothing'll happen." He'd seen it many times before; he'd taken some jobs like this pro-bono back in his hit-man days. In the end the wheels of justice just couldn't do in months what he could in minutes. And though it all Inglo's child would suffer. No. It wouldn't happen this time. He didn't smirk at the wound to Flash, he didn't want kill him, not really, but he had his own code which wouldn't be denied. Inglo had to die; if Flash got in the way he'd incapacitate him too; it was just business. "Good luck with'that." he vanished and appeared in another mirror, aiming a shot that glanced off the desk leg Inglo hiding behind. Meanwhile his machine was whirling loudly, a beam blasting into the largest mirror of the room to make the surface ripple. Evan shot out of another mirror and grabbed a sharp shard, throwing at Barry like a knife and aiming another few shots of light with his mirror gun.

BARRY: "The system isn't perfect, but it is what we have to use!" Barry stated. He knew the system was flawed, agonizingly slow, and more times than not the people that deserve punishment either got very little or none. Yet, it was what the people had chosen to carry out the law and it was what any true 'by the books hero' would have to accept. For all his speed, however, there were times that Barry just wasn't fast enough. Even he slipped up. The first shot that chipped itself off the desk behind him caught his attention and he moved to engage Evan as he unleashed his assault. Zipping and ducking over the spray of concussive light shots was the easy part, but the mundane shard of glass that had been thrown had been forgotten and as Barry came to a brief halt, the sharp shard burrowed itself deep into the forearm of his right arm. The speedster let out a pained yelp, but bolted straight at Evan. Reaching out to grab him, Barry whirled his body at the same time. In hindsight - Barry knew he should have used his left arm; but it was habit to use his right for most things. As he gripped Evan's clothing firmly and felt the man's body leave the ground in the speed-powered whirl, Barry let out a sharp yell as pain shot through his arm from the shard burrowed in it. The pain brought him to a sudden stop and his grip on Evan's collar slipped. He had been intending on sending even hurtling towards one of the walls in order to put an end to this conflict quickly - but the sudden stop and release of his grip sent the man in a different direction. The blonde could only look in horror - as if time itself seemed to stop around him more so than usual. He had noticed the machine going crazy earlier; noticed the rippling mirror, but he had paid it little attention. It hadn't seemed important enough with Evan being in the room. "Evan!!" Barry cried out, ripping the shard of glass from his forearm so it could begin healing.

EVAN: "The system's a damn toy folks like him know how a play with." He growled back lowly. He'd seen governments get real criminals off scot-free; hell they'd done that with him when he'd been given Scudder's tech. Then he'd been one more tool for them to play with system with; they could just blame their killings on the new Mirror Master who wasn't officially working for the government. He had no doubt someone like Inglo, who was working with this kind of tech, could easily call in that kind of help. It had been years since he'd last fought with Flash properly but it was like riding a bike, misdirection was the goal, he was fast but he still had to think, the blasts did their job of keeping his mind busy while the shard caught him. He was about to use that as a point of entry to get an unmissable shot but Flash, true to his namesake, was too quick and had a hold of him before he could get the shot off. Fuck. He was so close. He let out a wordless cry and tried to get hold of something but in the tempest of Barry spinning he couldn't get a grip, and then he was stumbling back, barely holding his feet steady, unable to stop himself for continuing back, the momentum too great and his arms flailed, trying to grab something, anything to stop him. It wasn't enough. It didn't hurt, but it was cold. So cold. And he yelped, stumbling to the side and falling to his knees as the semi-transparent beam from Inglo's machine hit him. Nothing happened for a few moments and then Evan's body began to ripple like the mirror surface. His feet began to crystallise over, turning to glass that seemed to be made of thousands of tiny shards. He struggled to his feet, he could barely move. "W-what have ye done?" he whispered, now shards of glass up to his waist, "F-flash," his voice trembled, "I-I'm..." he tried to speak but it was difficult, his neck glass, then his chin, "I'm cold." he whispered, his face glassing over.

BARRY: Barry could only look on with horror at the scene playing out before him. The beam had struck Evan and for a moment it looked as if nothing was going to happen, but once the man's body began rippling and crystallizing over with the very same mirror-like glass around them, Barry took a step towards him - unable to will his body to go further. What if he hurt Evan more by trying to touch him? Was it even safe? "Evan, what's happening to you!?" Barry pleaded with him for answers as the glass continued to spread. Another step forward and Evan's words sent chills straight to his bone. I'm Cold. "No, no, no." The word came out in quick, repeated utterances. "Dr. Inglo, what's happening to him!?" He demanded answers from their companion instead - only to find a look of true horror upon the man's lifeless body - a hole burrowed through the desk where one of the stray light bolts had penetrated his flimsy protection. Barry hadn't been able to save him. In all his show and firm statements, Evan had won out in the end and succeeded with what he intended to do all along. Yet, what was happening to him... that didn't seem like a just desserts. No, Barry had done this - whatever this was.

EVAN: Evan couldn't feel anything, he couldn't speak, he couldn't see... he couldn't feel. Everything was quiet. Silent. It should have been frightening but it was, peaceful. But, it was still cold. So cold. His body showed no change, he didn't hear Barry's words. He didn't see Inglo's dead form huddled beneath the desk. Nothing. His body began to fall apart, each shard pulling away from his form and beginning to fall to the floor until there was no form of Evan at all, just a pile of broken glass that continued to break down under the wobbling ray of Inglo's machine. They continued to crumble from shards to dust... to nothing at all. It was only then that the low hum of Inglo's machine quieted and it turned itself off, whirling down into standby mode. The giant mirror ceased it's rippling effect and all was quiet. Just Barry and the dead doctor.

BARRY: Silence. That was what filled the room as the machine quieted down into standby mode and the low thrum of the rippling mirror ceased. Blue eyes were locked onto the pile of shattered glass shards where Evan's body had once stood - wide, tear-laden as the situation sank in. Shakily, a hand went to his cowl-covered ear and he redirected his comm system to dial out to the SCPD. "Flash here. Got a body of Dr. Inglo, the work of Mirror Master. Can't stick around; I need to find him." And just like that the call was ended without giving the officer on the other end time enough to ask any questions. It had been an almost subconscious movement to report the body as his gaze never left the shard pile as it faded into dust and then nothingness. Barry dropped to his knees and sat there as his mind worked through the reality of what had just transpired. Evan was gone. That had been on him - because he slipped up and had gone about engaging him in the wrong way. Another mistake made from a spur-of-the-moment choice of action. That certainly seemed to be his track record. "I'm sorry..." The words came far too late. He had several minutes before SCPD would arrive - and he used them, motionless on the floor as he held his healing forearm in his lap. "I'm so sorry..."

END

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Goretober Day 17: All The Lights

Prompt: Experiment Fandom: Once Upon A Time Summary: Regina is abducted by aliens who run an experiment on her.

There is a distinct humming, rhythmic and steady. It is the soundtrack to the darkness that she can’t seem to pry herself from.

Regina blinks several times before her eyes remain open. Open and squinting against a harsh light. She has seen other lights, all sorts of them. Too many of them. The day began with the light of the sun. It closed with the setting of the sun. And then the moon cast its own light as she climbed into her car. There was the light of her phone when she called Emma to tell her that she was on her way home. She’d seen several lights in the sky, strange lights, a ring of them that were orange in color. She didn’t stare at them for too long because she found herself looking into one more set of lights. Headlights. And then there was no more light.

Her hand has tingles running through it like TV static. She realizes that her entire body feels as though it has been injected with static, a painless electricity. She winces to herself and tries to get a sense of where she is.

On an operation table, staring at white lights, she realizes. And it comes back to her; the sound of screeching tires, the smell of hot rubber and smoke, the sound of crunching metal and cracking glass. A burst of an airbag and a burst of pain. A shout. A few of them.

Regina tries to speak but her mouth refuses to move, to fully annunciate her words. The doctors and surgeons probably have her numb. It strikes her that they should know by now that she is somewhat resistant to anesthesia.

She tries to sit up but her body refuses to move. Whatever they have administered, it has paralyzed her. Her heart begins to race, what if they don’t notice. What if they begin to operate while she is still…

She feels a prick on her head and winces. The prick is followed by a thin slicing sensation. A very clean cut. Precise as a laser. She is dimly aware that she should be in rather dreadful pain, but after the initial prick she feels only a tickle. A mild sense of discomfort. Her panic is unrelated to the sensation. The panic is the product of a gathering awareness that she is not in a hospital at all. That she has no idea where she is.

The beam traces a circle on her head and her body shudders as hands come to open her skull. The hands are long and slender, ashy grey in color. She forces her lips to move, to demand them to stop. She only manages to get out a weak, “no.”

The creature hesitates. It comes to loom over her and puts an elongated finger to her lips. Her breathing quickens. It shakes its misshapen head and caresses her cheek almost lovingly. She can’t detect any hostility from the creature. She still doesn’t trust it. It turns her head away from it and to the side. She sees another operating table. A second alien lays upon it, its big eyes dazed and hazy. The first one turns her head back to face it and brushes her cheek again. She doesn’t know what it is trying to tell her, but it pulls out a small magenta marble. Only when it rests it on her tongue does she realize that it is not glass but a slime. Or a gummy. And closes her mouth and forces her to swallow.

It waits a few moments, until the white light seems to spin and the color begins to shift. Her world is growing fuzzy again. Small orbs and sparkles flash in prismatic colors across her vision. The hum of the lights distorts into a hauntingly beautiful melody.

She doesn’t notice when the alien pulls back part of her skull to reveal her brain with a series of wet crunches. It’s fingers are careful and its eyes observant. It wanders away from her and over to its companion.

The alien on the table is still, it has been dead for some time. For many years, in fact. It had been cherished and it will be cherished again, even if it will have to re-learn and adjust. The living alien cuts a chunk from its brain and feeds it into the syringe. This time it will work. It must work. There is only one part of the brain that has not yet been tried.

The alien comes back to Regina and carefully slips the needle into her brain. It is harder, much harder to handle a brain that still beats with life. If done wrong, the host body will begin to twitch and convulse; another experiment failed.

The alien is tired of failure. It misses its lover.

The needle works its way into the throbbing mass and the alien releases its contents. It carefully draws the needle out and waits for the spasms that will tell it that it has failed again. But the convulsions don’t come and the human, the new host, is still oblivious. It has until her eyes gleam with awareness to patch her back up.

It fixes her skull back in place and returns to its laser, flicking it into sealing mode. It traces the same circle around her head until the skin and bone are welded together once more. It comes back to her side and strokes her face. Her eyes are still distant and uncomprehending. For a human she is a lovely thing. It brushes her hair back and injects her neck. Her hazy eyes dim further and then they close.

It will take her back home. It will check up on her, monitor her. And when the time comes it will take her again.

It presses several buttons and they are, in a beam of orange, on the side of the road. It doesn’t want to hurt her, but there are things that must be done to avoid attention. It slams her head onto the dashboard, a shard of glass embeds itself there. The human is slumped over the wheel, her vehicle wrapped around another. It thinks that the other driver is dead. The other driver had been on the wrong side of the road anyways, it thinks that the dead driver should have been paying attention. But it can’t be too disgusted, the driver had done the hard work for it.

It takes the human woman’s hand as flashing lights and blaring sirens draw precariously near.

.oOo.

She hasn’t felt right since the accident. Emma insists that she only needs to be patient and that she’s still recovering. But Emma can’t explain why she is seeing things more vividly, why sights are sharper and colors are more vibrant. Why she is seeing colors that she can’t describe to Emma.

It isn’t necessarily a terrible wrongness, isn’t that the feeling of something being off is terrifying. It is more or less confusing and unsettling. But there are undercurrents of pleasantness to it. She likes to sit on the roof of her manor. This startles Emma because she has never been particularly fond of stargazing before. Regina still isn’t particularly entertained by the sight of them. It is their music. She can hear them, their voices are unique, not one sounds the same. Admittedly, it was maddening at first. Every night of the first week she would be on the floor clutching her head and yelling for them to stop.

Yelling and begging until Emma brought her to the hospital a second time and had her assessed for brain damage. The results aren’t yet in, but she has learned how to block the stars out and how to pick out particular voices.

She can hear the planets too; the moon sounds like the tinkle of wind chimes, the sun is loud and crackling, saturn has the likeness of a Tibetian singing bowl. As though a mallet is being dragged over its rings. She likes Saturn the best.

Emma joins her on the roof and slaps an enclosed envelope into her lap. “The results are in.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me, Emma.” She says softly. “I haven’t…”

“I know.” Emma laughs, cupping her hand over Regina’s. “But now you’ll have the paperwork to prove it. I know that you like paperwork.”

Regina rolls her eyes and opens the envelope. She scans over the results and furrows her brows.

“What?” Emma asks, suddenly sitting upright. “What is it? Do you have brain damage?”

She shakes her head. “Emma can you...check something for me?” She parts the hair on the back of her head.

Emma holds her phone flashlight to it. She too knits her brows. “Wha-what did that?”

Regina tries to remember. She remembers lights. The sun, the moon, phone lights, headlights, and… And what? She knows that there was something else. That she had seen more lights.

“Where did you find me that night?”

“In your car, Regina. Behind the wheel.”

Her control lapses for a moment. And for that moment the stars scream. All at once, their song is disharmonious and jarring. She can hear her brain beating, feel it throbbing and pulsing in her skull. There is a flare of pain. She slumps over, burying her face in her palms. The noise in her head swells and then a smooth voice cuts through it. Feminine, kind. It gives her something to focus on. At first she thinks that it is Emma’s voice. It is rather similar.

“You will be fine.” It says “Everything is fine.” An image surfaces on her mind, a swirling misty blue planet. Gauzy and gossamer like the wings of a morpho. It has the feeling of a first winter snow, pristine and gentle. Her body relaxes, though she can’t explain why.

The voice slips away, the vision fades. The feeling of Emma’s hand on her back returns. “Let’s get you back inside.”

Regina nods and lets Emma help her crawl back through the window.

.oOo.

It watches the human and her lover disappear through the window. It doesn’t understand why the human is taking things so hard. It tries to understand, but it can’t. It senses unease from the human. And it loses hope. This human seemed so receptive and logically driven and yet she is rejecting the second consciousness. It doesn’t understand her hesitance. Its lover is willing to share. The human’s body and brain isn’t exactly what its lover is looking for, but it is willing to work with the human and accept her limits.

The alien slips away, the human is not yet ready to come home.

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 49: Silent Hopes;Secret Regrets

Chapters: 49/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: none Relationships: Loki x Reader (Getting There) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor(Marvel), Heimdall(Marvel) Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Loki Can’t Bake For Shit, Now Is The Time For The Great Nemesis: Communication, He Wants This To Be A Date So Badly Summary:  Loki sets up a not-date, as an apology for his reckless behavior, while subconsciously reaching out to you through your dream connection. 

You fell endlessly through space, stars and nebulae all around. Such breathtaking beauty, all for you to behold, even the sparkling bits of golden debris surrounding you shone in the soft starlight.

Loki fell next to you, slowly, gently, also surrounded by the shimmering gold shards. He looked startlingly young, no lines at his eyes, his hair short and hidden under his horns. He was sobbing openly.

“Loki?” You whispered. “What's wrong?”

“What if that's not really my name?” He blubbered. “What if she named me something else before she left me? What if she didn't name me at all, and I was never supposed to have a name, because I wasn't supposed to be here? What if I don't have a name?”

“You have a name. I know your name, everybody knows your name!”

“What he gave me! What if that's not really it? Everything else was a lie, what if you're all calling me the wrong thing? What if every single thing about me is fake?”

“I don't understand.” You said, reaching out across space to take his hand. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Glowing runes trailed up your arms, sparkled on your cheeks.

“I'm not real. Nothing about me is real. A thousand years of lies. I always felt it, but I didn't recognize it for what it was. I trusted them so much, so I thought it was just the general pall of falsehood that hangs over the court at all times. It's torment, feeling it all the time, a background distraction forever in my mind, but it was them all along. I just wouldn't allow myself to believe it.”

You tugged, and he floated the short distance into your embrace. You still didn't understand what he was talking about. You knew he could sense lies, but you didn't really know what that meant. Was it like a little bell going off in his mind? A little thump? A pressure? Dealing with that constantly, like he described in the court, would probably drive a man mad.

“They were all just waiting to betray me.” He whimpered into your hair. “Everyone. It only took a few days for it to all break down. My so-called family. My so-called friends. They all hated me to begin with, and were just waiting for an opportunity...they got it.”

“No Loki, your family doesn't hate you. I know them, and I know they don't.”

“You don't know my family!” He insisted. “My family is dead! You never met them! Just...just him. It was all about him. I just wanted to show that I could be like him. I can't. I tried, but I couldn't do it. Now I have to die.”

“We're not dying!” You exclaimed. “We've been in space before, Loki. We'll be fine. It's all gonna be okay”

“No, it's not. You don't know what I did. I can't fix it, and I can't be forgiven. These weren't mere transgressions. These were the worst crimes that can be committed. There's nothing else but to give up my life. It's all I have left to give.”

“That's bullshit, Loki!” You said hotly. “I know you did terrible things, and I know why! I live on the planet you invaded, I know about it. And maybe you can't actually make up for the lives you took, but as long as you're alive, you can at least try! You can help people instead of hurting them. You can help repair the damage you did. You can't do anything if you're dead!”

Loki held you tight, his tears streaming above you; a line of shining, prismatic orbs, trailing off into the darkness.

“You don't know what I did. And you can't come with me now. You weren't there. No one was there.” He whispered mournfully. Then he flung you out into space, far, far away, while he continued to fall.

You woke with your arms outstretched and your runes fading, still trying to reach him.

                                                                          *****

You didn't seem to want to talk to him much today. He didn't like it, but he could understand. Yesterday had been stressful, frightening. Surely you must feel violated and insecure over what that huldra had done. Yet you showed her compassion anyway.

Compassion. You were such a beacon of it. He still wanted to show you his plans to house the believer's camp; he just knew you would love it. And you would fall into his arms, and kiss him, really kiss him this time, really you this time.

By the Nine, he could just kick himself over his own foolishness. It was thoughts like those that led him to ignoring his senses, to endangering his whole kingdom, for the false touch of a false woman. He had absolutely let himself be led, nearly to his death, for a simple kiss. And it wasn't even really you.

But Brunnhilde had set him straight over that, much to his dismay.

“Oh yeah.” She had said, when he sat down next to her, and leaned his head against her, and she stroked his hair, dispensing advice in what he was beginning to think of as 'Sister Time”. He was pretty sure Thor did it too, in secret, just as he did. “Having someone steal her face and attack people has probably got her feeling some kind of way, but if what Heimdall tells me is true, that's probably not the only thing.”

“You pick up human colloquialisms so quickly.” Loki muttered into her shoulder. “What else has her so vexed?”

“You assaulted a prisoner.” Brunnhilde said simply.

“What? I did not, I only-”

“You only took your energy back from a mystical creature in the only way there is to do so, yes. I know that. Does she? You haven't had a magic lesson together in some time, have you? Have you taught her about the beings she shares her world with?”

“No...not yet.”

“Then think about what that must have looked like from the outside. From the point of view of someone who knows nothing about Huldrafolk. You became violent with a bound and defeated female prisoner. That's what she saw. Not a vengeful spirit of the land, but another woman, just like her. Remember that thing she was afraid you were going to do to her? Don't you think, from her point of view, what you did might have looked a little like that?”

Loki lifted his head to stare at her in shock. He hadn't realized. He would never in another thousand years have even thought of it.

“Yeah, I know.” Brunhilde said wryly. “There's things that just don't occur to you. They aren't in your sphere of things to worry about.”

“How do I deal with this?” He asked. “This is no time for there to be rifts between us.”

“Well, for one thing, don't go trying to force an apology on her if she's taking some time for herself. If you get overbearing, she's not going to do anything but close herself off more. You obviously don't want that, so just keep in mind, while she's adapting to life here, and to you, you might also want to adapt a bit to her.”

                                                                      *****

And so your lunch came with some small fanfair, an artistic arrangement of open-faced sandwich and carved vegetable and cheese shapes. In pride of place, on a fancy dish, was the saddest cinnamon roll you had ever seen. It was dark with burned cinnamon, far more than would actually taste good, and it was flat and dense, as if it hadn't risen at all. Upon inspection, the dough was full of cinnamon as well, which would have kept it from rising, and the whole thing was rock hard and sticky.

Beneath the dish was a note, carefully written in clear, concise letters.

“My Dear.” It said.

“My Dear,

I have come to the understanding that my conduct yesterday may have caused you distress. I wish to ease your heart on this matter, if you feel willing to meet with me this evening, and to discuss a few other things as well. If, of course, you are comfortable with it.

                                                                                                    Yours,

                                                                                                               Loki of Asgard”

So he noticed. That was good wasn't it? That he realized you were freaked out by the whole situation, and he hadn't made it any better?

Had he made that poor, pathetic cinnamon roll? Had Loki of Asgard actually put on an apron and gotten flour on his hands? In his hair? On his nose?

You giggled out loud at the image.

You turned the note over and drew your rune on the back. It felt more formal than just your name. Then you walked the short hallway to the heavy wooden door of his bedroom, and slipped the note under his door. He wasn't here right now, but he'd see it when he got back.

You supposed it wouldn't hurt to have dinner with him now. You weren't angry, and you weren't afraid, just a bit upset. You wanted to hear his explanation. You wanted him to set things right.

You wondered if you would ever see the huldra again, or if she only came out of her rock when something terrible had happened. How many huldras were there? Were they just living in rocks, all over the world? No wonder so many people used to think certain stones were sacred! They really were!

What else was out there? Were there really dragons, and unicorns, and werewolves hiding somewhere in the world? Where were your lessons on that?

Well, it had been a while since you'd had any lessons at all. You'd been held up with convalescing.

You hadn't even been in Asgard for a year, and already there had been two attempts on your life. Was that what it was like to be royalty? Why did everyone want it so bad?

You'd better get used to it. After Buridag-whenever that was-you would be a Royal Seidkona...and you still had no idea how to actually be that. Hopefully, people would put off trying to kill you long enough for you to have more lessons. You never thought you would end up missing school, but here you were, wishing you could just go to some structured place with a set syllabus.

“Andsvarr,” You called through the door. “When is Buridag, exactly? Like, what's the date?”

“Oh, it's not too far off.” He called back. “Just a few months. I think it falls on the nineteenth day of your November. Have I said this correctly? November?”

“Yeah, you got it right. Good job.”

November. It didn't seem real. This time of bouncing back and forth to the healing wing had reawakened that sense of unreality that had overtaken you when you'd first come here. It was the instability, the feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop, even if they were both already on the floor.

It was August now, though the month was coming to a close. You peered at the picture that had so perplexed Loki: Dr. Bruce Banner, who everyone knew was 'secretly' the unstoppable being called the Hulk, bare-chested, in a lab coat. Oversized prop beakers and test tubes reflected a wash of green light over the entire scene, as he checked a clip board, holding a pen coyly to his lips.

You wondered how many pictures had to be taken amid bursts of laughter and bashfulness. These were not professional models, after all, these brave men and women were just that. Under the shiny suit, the Iron Man was just a man. The War Machine as well. And Rescue a woman, under the mask, and all of them, under their armor and codenames, just people. Was Dr. Banner bashful? Had he been embarrassed by this? Loki certainly was.

He was so old-fashioned sometimes. There was something endearing about that. He was probably the type to have a date home by ten, and to not kiss until the third date. Kind of refreshing, after how fast some of the boys back home wanted to move. There just wasn't much to do in a small town, except park a car somewhere.

You should probably mark down Buridag on next year's calendar too. You thought you recalled Loki saying that they didn't celebrate every year, but that might change as they settled into Earth time.

You removed the plastic from next year's calendar, flipped it open to November, and had to sit down.

Oh...That was Loki's month. This was what he was embarrassed for you to see. You could take a few guesses as to why.

Somehow they had wrestled him into an old-timey, black and white striped jailbird uniform; the pants too tight, the hat askew on tousled raven waves, the shirt unbuttoned to the waist and left open to display his flawless, alabaster torso. He was sprawled on the floor of a jail cell, legs open, arms above his head, handcuffed to the bars. He glared at the camera with such ferocity that you couldn't help but wonder if the poor photographer hadn't caught fire.

You certainly had.

This photo displayed the exact opposite of everything Loki tried to project. No cool, controlled, powerful, prince in this picture, but a common criminal, a prisoner, stripped of style; captured and defeated.

Oh good lord, that's hot...

Thoughts of writing down Buridag dates entirely lost, you absently ran your hands up and down your thighs, staring at the picture and just...imagining.

“Release me...” He would plead, squirming against the bars. “I beg you, give me release!”

You shivered under your own hands. Ooh, you liked that.

There was a knock at the door; you slapped the calendar shut and jumped to your feet,  hastily rearranging your dress. You could feel the sticky wet patch in your underwear, and hoped that the washing staff wouldn't notice.

That was one of the things you missed about doing all your own chores: the absolute privacy.

“Andsvarr? What do you need?”

“Messenger.” He said through the door. “His Highness would like for you to meet with Saga again. Would you like to?”

“Oh yeah, that's a great idea!”

It would probably be good for you to go learn something, instead of sitting in here, thinking inappropriate thoughts about your boss.

You gathered up your note papers and hustled to the library.

                                                                         *****

Loki was pleased to find your note. It seemed like you weren't actually angry with him, just upset. He could explain why he had acted the way he did over dinner, and impress you with his plans.

You had gone off to study with Saga, giving him a chance to set up dinner to his specifications. He'd located a cache of candles, and set them up all around the room. When looking up human romance on the internet, candle lit dinners seemed to be high on every list. But one candelabra seemed too dark in this little banquet room, so he set up several more. And several more, for good measure. More candles meant more romance, right?

And you had to be able to see his longhouse sketches. And him too.

He deliberated for too long over whether he should wear Asgardian or human attire. This was technically not what humans called a date, as he had not formally asked you, so he probably should not show up in his fanciest. He settled for a coyly casual outfit; form fitting tunic and trousers, to show off his princely figure, made of the finest velvet, to make him seem touchable. He confined his hair only with a simple circlet, letting it flow free over his shoulders. He chose soft, low boots, no gloves, and no shoulder padding, the only metal being his circlet, and the gold thread in the decorative stitching on his tunic.

There. He looked very approachable now, if you were to ask him.

Dinner was going to be lamb, grilled laukas, and a fresh salad, which he also understood to be a classic romantic dinner. He'd ordered some of that special wine for you, the thrilled vinter cutting a special deal for Asgard, both because of how much Loki had ordered, but also for the rights to advertise as favored by an Asgardian Seidkona.

Loki had not mentioned that you were human; calling you an 'Asgardian Seidkona' was accurate without lying.

So, that was dinner, ambiance, and personal presentation all prepared. Now he just had to wait for you.