#order of the golden cricket

[mtg-cards-hourly]

Order of the Golden Cricket

"Should you take it in mind to ride a springjack, remember: there are easier ways to fly, and harder ways to break your skull." —Lann of Cloverdell

Artist: Mark Zug TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 15)

first chapter >> last chapter

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Sleep eludes you. You toss and turn that first night, not used to sleeping on your own. Every sound makes you jump. When the sky goes black and the bushes rustle with the breeze, you have to double check the locks on the doors no less than three times, fastening it with the wooden bolt just to be safe. 

Without John around, the world is twice as loud; crickets chirp raucous melodies, buzzing so loud that sometimes you swear there must be one on the pillow right beside your head, and, in the distance, an owl hoots at an interval so irregular that each screech tugs you back from the brink of sleep. The house groans as it settles into itself; the first time you hear it, you spring upright in bed, heartbeat erratic, certain that it’s the sound of someone coming up the porch steps. 

You collapse back onto the mattress with a huff when you finally recognize the sound for what it is. 

You don’t sleep well that night. Dawn finds you awake before its arrival. The songbirds keep you from drifting off back to sleep when the first wispy rays of sunlight creep over the horizon, and you lie in bed until the possibility of sleep is well behind you. That makes you huff, bitter over the loss. 

Again, the day is slow to come over you. It seems almost reluctant to really get going, the sunlight clear and the air brisk but the day itself slow moving. An early morning chill forces you to don heavier garments than usual. 

After breakfast, you take Buttercup into the paddock to run around, watching her from the edge of the pen, humming to yourself under your breath. 

Most of the morning is spent cleaning and doing chores around the house. You muck the stables, feed the horses, scrub the dirty laundry on the washboard before hanging it up on the line, weed the garden, and promise yourself that next week you’ll work up the energy to boil linseed oil to polish and oil the furniture. As it is, you stagger into the kitchen around midday for lunch, sticky with sweat. 

Kate comes up the path on horseback not too long after that, a large swooped hat perched precariously on her head. She has to hold it in place by the brim to keep it from flying off. You watch her from the window at first, drying your hands from the quick wash you gave them after finishing your lunch.

“I ought to start making new friends,” you quip when she takes a seat next to you on the porch swing. 

“Sick of my company already?” she laughs. 

“Well, a girl’s gotta have options.” 

She snorts at that, tipping her hat lower on her head to shade her eyes from the sun. It has the effect of cutting a wide shadow across her face, leaving only a swath of white teeth exposed. 

Her beauty has always come as an afterthought. Tanned, freckled skin, and hair like golden wheat. But you look now and you see something different than the woman you’re used to seeing, and it dawns on you that what you’re seeing now is a version of Kate divorced from the idea of her that you’d always had in your head. Almost fuller; more robust. 

You tear your eyes away only when she catches you staring and cocks an eyebrow. 

She coaxes you into saddling Buttercup up and accompanying her on a trail ride. Part of you resists initially, still wounded from your last ride, and when Kate presses you for more information, you reluctantly divulge, recounting the events from the weeks prior with a tremble in your voice. She nods only once while you speak, keeping her comments to herself. That she must have already known doesn’t surprise you; she’d insinuated as much only the other week. 

You’d be wise to not keep secrets from Kate in the future, you realize. Best to keep someone as omniscient as her on your side. 

After some encouragement, she talks you into a leisurely stroll and even helps you dress Buttercup in the stables. The dizzying spell of apprehension settles over you like a heavy fog up until you blink and realize that the two of you have been riding beside each other in silence for the better part of a half mile. 

The fear doesn’t entirely evaporate, however. Any sudden dip in the terrain or unexpected noise from Buttercup makes you start. You take several breaks to breathe and walk around. At the top of a hill, you ask Kate in a voice verging on shrill if you can take a break and dismount before she’s even answered you. 

“She can sense if you’re on edge,” Kate reminds you, nodding to where Buttercup grazes in a nearby patch of grass. 

“Well, I can’t help that much. I am on edge.”

She tips her head back to look at the sky and sighs before looking back at you. “Sit down for a bit then. It’s not a race.”

And you do, for a spell. You sit and rest with your back against the trunk of a tree that branches high above you, the canopy blotting out any sunlight save for the tendril thin strands that sink through like stones in water. 

You’re striking a delicate balance between the needs of the flesh and the needs of the soul. What the soul wants is to push itself beyond the boundaries that formerly enclosed it; after a lifetime of servitude and desires suppressed, even a simple trail ride feels momentous. What the flesh wants, however, is to shade in the shade until the urge to retch wears off. 

The walk takes the two of you by a farm with a large, fenced-in enclosure. A couple houses sit around the enclosure. The smell of the livestock is pungent at first and your nose wrinkles as you approach the farm, but you adjust after a time. 

Recent weeks so far from home have spoiled you; back in the city, the pungent stench of waste and manure was commonplace, the sour cloak of tobacco stinking up the alehouses and alleyways as much as the parlors and lounges. You’d adjusted to it back then as well. 

The grazing cows rumble and low behind the fence. It’s a pleasant bucolic scene, one lifted straight from a painting that you swear you’ve seen before, though the artist’s name escapes you. 

Looking out into antediluvian pastures sets your heart at ease. When the farmer wanders out of the barn to greet the two of you, the two of you join him and his wife for coffee in the big house. 

For a brief period of time, it’s like stepping out of your body; there’s no impetus to get a move on, and inertia doesn’t set in like a rolling fog leaving you stranded in no man’s land. Nothing like the late evenings lying in bed in your aunt and uncle’s apartment, staring up at the pockmarked ceiling and praying for something to change. 

You, simply, have a coffee.

After bidding them farewell, the bulk of the afternoon is spent at Kate’s house, a tiny plot of land just outside of town surrounded by fields of ochre prairie grass. You’re wiped by the end of the ride, sweat running in rivulets down your back. While Kate brings the horses into her little stable to let them rest and eat, you fill up the porcelain bowl in her bathroom with water to wash your face. 

It’s quiet. You help with a few affairs around the house and you learn, to your own internal amusement, that Kate hums through her chores. Soap stops by in the early evening to drop off Kate’s mail and stays for supper, glad for the company. You watch bemusedly as he scarfs down three corned beef sandwiches with ease, mildly nauseated by the way he talks with his mouth full. 

“Can he even breathe?” you hiss to Kate while Soap is busy shoveling food into his gob. 

She nods, unbothered by the display in front of her. “You should see him when he’s actually hungry.”

You pale when he belches, pushing your plate away from you.

“Ye tell yer man when he’s back what a good job I’ve done, Mrs. Price,” he says, licking a leaking trail of sauce off his thumb. 

“Won’t the town still standing be sufficient evidence?”

“Aye, but it’s sweeter comin’ from the missus, ye dinnae think?” 

Incorrigible boy. You shake your head, acquiescing even if only to get him to shut up. That mollifies him, gets him crowing about the raise he’ll get, or the commendation. You think he’ll start going on about lofty aspirations towards sheriffdom, but he never quite gets to that point. You wonder if the rest of your life will be similarly composed of assumptions that fall flat when you look at them too hard.

He takes you home at the end of the night as a favor to Kate, who watches you from the door until she disappears into the faraway. You only have to yell at Soap twice to slow down when he tries to goad you into a faster gallop. 

You sleep better that night, but only just. This time, it’s the empty spot beside you on the bed that bothers you. His pillow is cold when you reach over to touch it. Your hand lingers on the pillow; there’s a passing thought that maybe the warmth of your hand will transfer into the pillow and trick you in sleep. You have another passing thought that maybe somewhere out there, wherever John is, he’ll feel a phantom hand creep across the bed to cup his cheek. 

The blooming flower of daylight comes again to wake you up and the cycle starts anew. 

The chores never end, but there’s some comfort in routine. Regularity breeds familiarity. Any contempt has long been bled out of you, almost without you even noticing.

The days pass slowly. A horse-drawn carriage. A robin nestled in the branches of a pine tree sings at evening twilight. You look up to find it stark against the dark green needles, the fir’s red heart.

A neighbor comes by with fresh strawberries that you eat from the bowl out in the sun, lying down in the grass by the paddock. You suck the juice out of a big one when you bite into it and it drips messy down your chin. When the achenes fleck off, you wipe them off on your dress. 

Though you half expect Kate to come by, she never does. Perhaps she’s busy in town. You remind yourself that the brevity of your friendship can hardly measure up to competing priorities. Minding the shop, for instance, or stopping by to check on other acquaintances. 

And then the waiting ends when you see a dark shadow on the horizon that you recognize all at once as a man on horseback headed towards the house. 

Elation clambers up your throat. You very nearly shout at the sheer sight of him, but at the last second, you manage to reign it in. 

You wave at John from the porch when you can finally make out the face of the man riding up the path. Despite the euphoric wave that washes over you at the sight of him, you feign composure, keeping your butt planted on the porch swing until he dismounts and heads down the path towards you.

There's something striking about watching him from a distance. Like Kate, you see him now from a new angle, an added weight to him. When he lumbers up the porch steps, you don't just see the man that dragged you to the court house and forced you to marry him, but a man in his prime. Square, masculine jaw; thick thighed. Something in your belly stirs when he rolls his shoulders back, accentuating the breadth of them. 

When he reaches you, he grips you under the arms to pull you up, but your arms wind around his neck without any coaxing, meeting him halfway. Every inch of your body presses into his, and he smells and feels exactly as you remembered. 

“Been missing you like hell, sweetheart,” John rasps into your ear. 

“Missed you too,” you mutter, lips smushed into a kiss against his cheek. 

And you did, didn’t you? You can say it for once without worrying that you’ll fall apart. 

The two of you stumble into the house in a daze. Your hands are already trembling well before you fist them into John’s hair to drag him into a kiss. Desperation claws up your throat, need choking you when you go to tell him how much you missed him. You missed him bone deep. 

He pulls away briefly, chuckling when you whine. “Darlin’, can I at least get cleaned up? I’m a mess.”

His beard has grown since you last kissed him, the mutton chops more pronounced now. It scratches your lips and cheeks when you tug him back down for a deeper kiss. He can clean himself later as far as you’re concerned. You’ve gone three days now without your husband and you can’t go a second more. 

You can feel his smile when he breaks the kiss again. “Honey—”

“No,” you cut him off, a whine threading your voice. You tighten your arms around his neck, pushing your bosom into his chest. “Please, John, don’t make me wait; I can’t—”

“Alright, alright,” John sighs, and then hunches slightly to fit his hands under your thighs  and hike you up his body until your legs wind around his waist. “Poor girl. Never seen you this needy before. You missed me that bad?”

“Yes,” you answer succinctly, already pressing kisses into the sweaty skin of his neck and his cheeks. His arms shake when he laughs.

He nearly trips up the stairs when you suck at the salty skin of his neck. 

John smiles amusedly when you whip your dress off, nearly getting tangled in it before letting it pile on the floor by the bed. 

In a different time, your eagerness might embarrass you, but you’re well beyond that now. It’s impossible to hear that distant voice in your head shrieking modesty when your husband watches you indulgently and unbuttons his shirt so slowly that you nearly bark at him to hurry it up. And then you actually do when he goes to fold his shirt instead of simply tossing it to the floor.

He laughs; it sends frissons of heat down your spine. 

It’s unclear who pursues and who is pursued this time. All you know is that you either push him onto the bed or he pulls you down with him, clothes long since stripped and piled onto the floor. Your hands sink into the meat of his chest when you sit astride his lap, wet folds grinding on the hard shaft jutting up between his legs. John hisses through clenched teeth, already worked up, fit to burst. You wonder if he tended to himself at all on his trip, whether he even had time. 

The hands tightening around your waist tell you that, whether or not he did, it’s inconsequential now when faced with the thing he’s been wanting most.

Your instinct is to lift your hips and line his member up with your sopping entrance before sinking down, but John surprises you by shifting up the bed and dragging you with him, not stopping until your pussy is hovering over his mouth. 

It’s easy to panic over that, easy to grow skittish. You start when the flat of his tongue runs up the seam of your cunt, the only thing keeping you from tumbling off the bed altogether being the big hands clamped around your hips.  

“You try to keep your pussy off my face and I’ll give you a licking you won’t like anywhere near as much,” John warns, and then pulls you down onto his face without further ado. 

Your back arches at the first lick, his tongue burrowing into your hole, softened by the slick leaking out of you. His lips and tongue work you over until you’re a shivering, coiled mess on top of his face, hands braced against the wall and toes burrowing into the mattress. 

A stiff tongue stabs up into your hole. The groan he lets out at the taste of you vibrates through you, making you clench around his tongue. 

You’ve never been much of a drinker, but you feel drunk now, grinding on his mouth. Hands running through his hair. Blissed out, sex leaking, throbbing. Shameful noises pouring out of you unbidden, your inhibitions packed up and long gone by now. His upper lip glistens with your juices and when his eyes blink open, they’re nearly black with desire. 

The hands on your bottom holding you over his head grip into you good and tight. He readjusts his hold on you whenever you try to pull off his face, yanking you back down and digging his fingers in harder, the tips wedged between your cheeks. You practically yowl when a finger prods at your back hole, worrying over the puckered flesh. 

The time for gentle words is far beyond him. When you glance down between your legs, his hair is matted with sweat and disheveled, a flush high on his cheekbones. Blue eyes peer out through slits, locked on the dripping mess between your thighs. His nose presses hard into your pubic bone when he pulls you down onto his waiting mouth, lips parting and tongue sawing over your clit. That part you can’t see, but you feel the wet slide of his tongue over your slit. 

You come with a finger lodged knuckle deep in your ass and his tongue rolling over your clit, coaxing it from you. Your whole body pulses and shivers. Chuckling to himself when you go dumb during it, slumped over him and panting hard. Tears dripping down your cheeks that John cleans up himself with his tongue when he drags you back down his chest and rolls the two of you over. 

“God, you look so pretty like this, honey,” he coos when he’s got you under him, pinching your cheeks between his fingers until your lips go plump and pursed. 

When he drags you into a kiss, his tongue still tastes of you. 

He takes you on your back after that, knees over his shoulders and bending you in ways you didn’t think possible. Whatever control he had before is gone now. He thrusts in to the hilt the second he gets you flat on your back, taking three days of frustration out on you, near punching your cervix with the head of his cock. 

“There we go— fuck—” John growls. “C’mon, squeeze me tight, honey; make me come in your pretty fuckin’ pussy.”

You feel like a creature turned inside of itself. All high yips, sharp pangs of pleasure, an ache in your hips that you know instinctively will worsen by morning, and a deep seated, unquenchable need. He mates you like a beast in heat, jaw clenched and brows furrowed; when your eyelids slip shut, he growls at you to keep them open, and you do only to find him staring down at you with that indelible, maddening intensity of his. 

“Nngh, John—John—” you gasp.

“Just a little, darlin’—shh, c’mon, just take it. Like that, yes—that’s it.” 

A dark urge flutters under your skin, blinking its eyes open. You stare up at him through half lidded eyes. “Gonna come in me and give me a baby, John?”

His eyes go black. “I’m gonna fill this tight cunt right up, you keep talking like that.”

You reach up to rake your hands through his hair. "Please give me a baby, John. Give me it, please."

His hips snap forward, knocking the breath out of you. He pounds into you with renewed vigor, lost in it, your nipples tagging his chest with every thrust. 

If you could peel back your skin and tuck him into your ribcage, you would. He’s already in you anyway; everywhere it counts. Leathery musk wafting under your nose, sweat-slicked skin, his spend deep in your cunt and leaking out around his throbbing cock, the heat steaming off him and warming you from the outside in and inside out. His come spurts into you hot and viscous, so deep that you swear you can taste it at the back of your throat. 

In the aftermath, you curl up against his chest and he traces a finger lazily up and down your spine. 

“You’ve been so patient with me.” You don’t know what prompts you to say that, but you know it’s been sitting in your chest and waiting for you to put it to words. 

His fingers pause in their ministrations, his hand resting flat on your back. “Patient?”

“Don’t play dumb, John. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Got some nerve accusing me of playing dumb,” he chuckles softly, leaning down to butt his forehead against yours. 

You nearly go cross eyed. Doe eyed. Treacle tart soft in your chest. You wonder if you’ll look back on this someday in fear and awe, and think that is the very moment when you finally let him in. 

This is how love suffuses into the girl: you wake up gasping to find it staring down at you. 

You’re brave enough now to ask what it is that you need. The world flashes briefly before you: in it, you see every possible version of a girl, how she goes from animal skin to teeth glinting in the night. She is perforated and vibrating; lacunae as the voice drips back into the sea, papyrus crackling hot in the fire. 

Maybe new love flounders again against the rhythms of the old, the song of you now sleeping beneath an alder tree, thickening with lemon and honey.

“I’m going to…—you know I’ll tell you. I just need time.”

“Darlin’, I know. There’s no use for rushing things. It happens when it happens,” John murmurs. He drops a bristly kiss on your forehead. 

“…And if it doesn’t happen?”

He shrugs. “Then it doesn’t happen.”

It’s a shock when love finds you because you don’t expect it. You’d open the door to anything else in a heartbeat, but it’s love that finds you cowering under the stairs. 

Love is not something you’ve ever touched, not even grazed. You recognize the insidious rot of lust or the gnarled grip of possession, but love? That has yet evaded your attempts on it. Not that you’ve ever given it a good go. 

But now, when you think of it, it looks at you through blue eyes. 

You sleep on it. You don’t contemplate when it’ll happen only because you know it’s inevitable. Your lips have already grown loose. When he eats you out in the early morning hours after a good night’s sleep for once since John left, you have to swallow back the wails of I love you, I love you, tell me you love me, please, please. 

Your lips part, lax. Only sinking your mouth down over his turgid length after he’s made you come keeps you from accidentally saying the words. The soft, grunted fuck he lets out at that empties out any thought in your head.

Desperate times, desperate measures. 

If John knows, he jealously guards your secret. Would take it to his grave you think. Just for him and you to know. Any temerity from the night before is squashed in the light of day, and you sit across from him at the table during breakfast wishing that he could hear the words in your head, if only so you didn’t have to say it out loud. 

God bites the lip when you want it most to part. Isn’t that just the nature of life?

John leaves you off at the general store as always, dropping a peck to your lips before heading out on his way, but when you wander inside, you find Miles behind the counter instead of Kate. That dims the excitement in your chest a tad. It’s no fault of his, but you’d hoped to regale Kate with the revelation you’d had the night previous, omitting some of the lewder details. Instead you’ll be forced to wait until she’s back in town. When you ask Miles when abouts that’ll be, he shrugs, unable to give you a definite answer.

“Visiting a friend, she said,” he tells you, and you blink like you don’t know exactly what that means. 

Her absence leaves you in a lurch though, little else to do but wander around the store. You’d leave entirely and try to find something else to occupy your time, but you feel a bit foolish coming in just to leave right away, though you’re sure Miles wouldn’t care either way. Still, you tell yourself you’ll linger for a few minutes before heading out to the library or down the road for a coffee at the inn. 

The bell over the door jingles, but you pay it no mind. 

You linger in the aisle with the fruit preserves and canned fish, gazing into the bottles. Tins with hand-drawn labels, branded packaging. On another shelf, you find oyster crackers, National Biscuit Company on the label. Nabisco. If Kate were minding the shop, you’d pop your head around the aisle to ask her what corned beef brand she used the other day. 

The sound of spurs jangling from behind you makes you frown and turn your head. 

A hand clamps down over your mouth, muffling the yelp that leaps instinctively from your throat, and you go shock cold when the blunt muzzle of a pistol wedges against the small of your back. 

“Bet you thought you were clever gettin’ me out of town, didn’t you, girl?”

Your eyes widen.

[surielstea]

A Fatherly Fear

Based on this request.

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Fem!Reader

Summary: Eris has doubts about how good of a father he’ll truly be, Reader eases his mind.

Warnings: pregnant reader | mentions of abuse | mentions of manipulation | basic Vanserra childhood trauma stuff | hurt/comfort | fluff

1.8k words

I winced as a cold breeze entered my bedroom, huffing as I stirred from sleep and held the blankets to my chin as I shifted closer to my mate, who was always there to warm me up no matter the climate. The fire in his veins had been a blessing throughout the long winter months.

But his side of the mattress had been vacant. I squint one eye open, only to find ruffled sheets. I sit up and open both my eyes as I search for my mate in the dark room.

"Eris?" I murmured, rubbing at my eyelids with the heel of my palms.

When I receive no reply I quietly groan, slipping from the warm bed, padding towards the open balcony doors. That explained the chilling breeze.

I go to slide the glass door closed when I spot a familiar redhead staring out at the crescent moon in the sky, leaning against the railing of the balcony.

I frown and step out into the frigid night, immediately wanting to go back to our heated bed and bundle myself in the blankets, but he had already turned to look at me with despondent eyes and I knew there was no way I'd leave him out here.

"What are you doing awake?" I pace towards him, craving his fire. "Come back to bed," I wrap my arms around one of his biceps as I stare up at him.

He looks down at the golden signet ring in his hands, the one that had belonged to his father, and his father's father before him. "Couldn't sleep," He sighed, looking out at the green forest, vibrant under the moonlight. The smell of spring was unmistakable in the night-chilled mist.

I knew that Eris hadn't been sleeping well since the beginning of my pregnancy, I was unsure if that was because he was paranoid about my safety, or paranoid about becoming a father. I wish I could ease his mind about both.

I simply lean into him, his arm coming around my back as I laid my head on his chest. I watched the trees sway with the wind, and the stars twinkle in the night sky, I even spotted a doe trotting freely in the game park below us. I waited in the comfortable silence, letting him decide if he wanted to talk or not. Eventually, he broke our silence.

"My father," He began. "He used to beat me and my brothers with this ring on," He stated, holding the ring up and over the balcony. It was beautifully crafted, and no doubt solid gold. "I can still remember how cold it felt on my skin," He hummed, putting it back on his fourth finger.

I turned away from the railing, wrapping both my arms tightly around my mate, holding him close and bathing in the warmth he radiated.

I hated the idea of Beron still having an effect on Eris, on anyone living really. The late high lord would be rolling in his grave if he knew he was still tormenting souls.

"He's gone now," I say, propping my chin up onto his chest to stare up at him. "He can't hurt you," I brush a strand of loose hair from his eyes.

"No," He shook his head. "He can't," He placed his hands on my waist.

I cup my hands over his, smiling when I feel the chill of his wedding band. "I much prefer this ring anyway," I said, brushing my thumb against it.

He nodded, leaning down and resting his forehead against mine. "You should go back to bed, you need your rest," He murmured and I shook my head no, turning away from him and back to the rolling hills and mountains in the distance.

"You do too," I spoke stubbornly. "So we'll stay out here until you're ready to go back inside," I finalized, leaning back into his chest while he wrapped his muscular arms firmly around my waist.

The silence danced around us yet again, but it was an easy sort of quiet, the kind where crickets chirped and owls hooted in order to fill it.

"My mother used to tell me stories from the past, when my father was a better man," He began, tightening his hold around me, warming me to my very core. "Before he had power, before he had me, she said he had been so different then." His chin comes down onto the top of my head. "I know now that he was manipulating her, hurling her into a royal marriage when she was freshly twenty," He continues, taking a deep breath between his next words. "But still, a part of me likes to believe he had a soul before he became power-hungry."

I let him talk, let him sift through all the thoughts in his mind.

"I guess, what I'm trying to say is that I'm terrified I'll be just like him when our child is born," He confesses into my hair and my brows bunch. I whirl around to face him with a stern expression.

"Your father was a monster," I state plain and simple. Eris' eyes darken.

"Yes, and I was his favorite son," He stressed and something inside my gut tightened. I hated seeing him like this, so worked up due to his own mind reeling with no one around to tell him it was going to be okay.

"That doesn't make you him," I bring my hands to his jaw. "Look at me," I whispered and he did as I said, his beautiful amber eyes meeting my gaze. "You're not him, you're not your mother, you're Eris Vanserra. My amazing mate, and the father of my child," I argue. "You're just you, who runs through your blood can't affect who you choose to be, do you understand me?" I lifted a brow and he nodded. "Tell me you understand me," I demanded and he smiled.

"I understand you, my love, I understand you," He reassured and my shoulders fell with the release of tension. He inches forward and places a chaste kiss on my lips.

"You're going to be such a good mom," He whispers, holding me achingly close like I might slip from his grasp at any moment. "I hope he turns out more like you," He pulls back to look me in the eye and I beam up at him, thinking about our soon-to-be son, he matches the grin and I swear I fall in love all over again.

"Only if he has your smile," I bargain and he debates it for a moment before muttering, "Deal." Then leaning in again and attaching our lips.

I melt into his touch, wrapping my arms around the back of his neck. "But," I pull away for air. "No matter what he looks like, or how he acts, I'm certain you'd tear this continent apart if anything ever happened to him," I remark and his soft smile was an answer enough that I was correct. He pecks me in reply.

"Come back to bed." I intertwine our hands, dangling them between us as I slowly pull away from him, receding towards the glass doors behind me.

"It gets so cold without you," I whine and he smirks knowingly.

"Says a girl from the Summer Court," He teases and I scowl at him playfully.

"She up, you know I can't use magic while I'm pregnant with your baby," I somehow pin the blame on him and he chuckles, allowing me to drag him back into our bedroom.

I let go of his hands and slid the glass door shut, locking it and keeping the persistent cold out. "Gods, I hope our children don't complain as much as you," He sighs, flopping down onto the bed.

"Oh honey, we're going to be the bane of your existence," I taunt, crawling up towards him on the mattress.

"Impossible," He sighs, grabbing me by the hips and pulling me right into him.

He wrapped his arms around me, the blankets covering the both of us and as if he knew exactly what I needed, the comforter began to seep warmth, the way the sun's rays felt after a rainy day.

"Wait," I perked up to look at him.

"What is it?" His brows furrowed.

"You said children, as in, more than one," I recalled and he looked at me confused.

"What are you talking about?"

"You said, I hope our children don't complain as much as you," I say, mocking him with a deep voice.

His confusion remained prominent on his face. "What about it?" He arched a brow. "I mean, whatever you want is fine with me but I wasn't exactly planning on only having one," He frowned.

"Well, how many do you want?" I asked, and you'd think this is something we would have talked about before he put a baby in me.

"I want a girl," He confessed. "Once we have a girl I'll be satisfied," He explained and I paled.

The Vanserra family was known for having a very long lineage of only male offspring. Whether it was a curse, magic, or dumb luck she wasn't quite sure. But he seemed entirely serious.

I stared at him with a fearful look in my eyes and he burst out laughing, chuckling at my expression.

"Gods, you should see your face," He hummed between breaths, cupping my cheeks in his hands.

"My pretty girl," He sighed once he got his amusement under control. "I promise I don't want anything that you wouldn't be comfortable with," He reassured and my anxiety declined. "But I would love to fuck another baby into you," He hummed, throwing his arms back around me.

"For a male so worried about becoming a father, you seem horny at the idea of getting me pregnant," I say and he grins.

"You just, I like the idea of having a family with you," He confesses and I lean upward, kissing him gently.

"I like the idea of having a family with you, too," I reply and he flushes so red that I could see the hue in the dark. I don't say anything, just peck his lips, reveling in the idea of being about to have a kid and still being able to make him blush.

"Get some sleep, Eris," I say softly against his lips. "You can tell me all about your plans for our family in the morning," I murmur through a yawn, furrowing deeper into his chest, melting into his warmth.

"Goodnight, beautiful," He whispered, running a hand through my hair until I drifted off beneath his touch.

It took him a moment to join me in a slumber, but the thoughts of his father were wiped away by my comforting words. And after a moment of reciting them, he was able to finally find some rest.

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[kayr0ss]

Waters of March (ch. 1 of 2)

[Dungeon Meshi / Delicious in Dungeon, Farcille, Fluff & Humor, Established Relationship, Married Farcille, Falin is doing her best, Marcille is stressed] AO3 Link

Summary: The misadventures of Falin Touden as she gathers gifts to woo her wife.

-

“Is there anything I can help you with?”

They said that she was something fearsome to behold: with sharp, draconic eyes and a glorious cover of feathers. They said that she had the strength of a dragon, tempered by justice and kindness—a figure of legend—as terrifying as she was fair. And yet...

The baker fidgeted with his hands, swallowed, stuttered: “...Your Highness?”

And yet it was hard to think of her like that when she was hunched over a tray of raspberry tarts and croissants, visibly distressed by the burden of making the right pastry choice.

She was so normal that he could feel his mind slip into cognitive dissonance, refusing to believe that the Duchess of Melini was pacing around his pastry shop in a crumpled cloak. Her hair was disheveled, her expression forlorn. She pulled her collar further up her neck, a miserable attempt at hiding her tufts of feathers, offering a small yet weary smile to the townsfolk beginning to gawk into his shop window.

“Oh, please don’t call me that,” she asked kindly. “I didn’t mean to cause a scene at your workplace.”

Yes. Of course. Nothing to see here, just Falin Touden—Falin Touden!—sighing despondently at a box of chocolate treats. The baker was a bit lost for words, hovering awkwardly behind the counter while she scanned the shelves. Sure, okay, they were right about the feathers—but where he had expected mystery, or perhaps authority, he instead found a soft and gentle kindness. Even a little bit of awkwardness, if the way she fidgeted with her fingers was any indication.

She caught sight of his more peculiar treats: hardened chocolates shaped in the form of coin bugs. Was that awestruck wonder shining in her dragon's eyes?

"My apologies." He bowed, struggling to drop the honorific. She gave him a lighthearted wave.

Falin Touden circled the bakery for another while yet, her attention constantly pulled this way and that—there she fawned over caramel crickets, here she stared at a tray of macarons with studious intensity. The king's sister had tastes as peculiar as the Devourer himself, it seems, with the way she kept gravitating back towards his more.... monstrous design choices. He was about to tell her all about them, too—about how the molding chocolate was made from cacao beans found further east than Izganda, or how he'd spent years practicing his tempering technique—but she beat him to the punch with a question.

“Are you married?”

A very peculiar question too!

“For nearly two decades now, my lady.” He watched as she looked through the pie display a third time over. “She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I know how that feels,” Falin smiled wistfully. She toyed with the golden band at her left hand absentmindedly. He wondered if she even realized she did that. “Maybe you can offer me a bit of advice?”

“Advice?”

"You see," her smile turned sheepish, “my wife is furious with me.”

-

They had minimized the choices to 'puff pastry' and 'raspberry'—which didn't really make it that much easier. Helping clients figure out the perfect gift for a loved one was second nature to the baker by now, but dissuading someone from buying their spouse an eight-pound hydra statue was definitely... a first.

He had a few samples to show her, laid out on a spread on the counter. There were tarts, turnovers, pies, danishes—and while they weren't all filled with raspberries, he assured her that it would be of minimal effort to have a custom order made.

She regarded them with delight, ooh-ing and ahh-ing at the display of perfect, golden, flaky dough.

"Oh," she sighed dreamily. "They look wonderful. I could eat them all!"

"We could also make strudels," the baker offered, suddenly excited. Did the Royal Sorceress enjoy strudels? Perhaps something more dignified like: "Twists! Although palmiers are good option as well—drizzled with syrup, dusted off with fine sugar—"

The barrage of choices seems to have overwhelmed the poor woman, now blinking wide-eyed at the baker who very quickly schooled his demeanor. "My apologies, Your Highness!" He squawked, wincing at the way the title made her jump. "My excitement got the better of me."

"It's alright," she said with a laugh.

The baker hummed for a thoughtful minute. "What about mille-feuille?"

"Mill—um, what?"

"They're little rectangles of puff pastry, folded over and over again until each layer is so thin that they're almost like the pages of a book!" He smiled. "We could use raspberry cream, layered in between."

Her small, charmed gasp let him know he hit the nail on the head. "Like the tomes she pores over day-by-day!"

He ran behind the counter, reaching into his display where he had samples. "These are layered with simple buttercream—" he placed the tray in front of her "—but it would look something like this." This batch had come out handsomely: a dozen little rectangles, cut to perfection. There were three layers of puff pastry, each of their pages so thin he feared a stray breath of air might chip away the corners. A generous spread of cream lay between them, finished off with a dusting of fine sugar. While some of his clients liked things a little messy-looking, opting for the casual shapelessness of goopy drop cookies and uneven brownies, others liked symmetric perfection. Lady Donato seemed to be the latter, if his impression of her was sound: a stern, intelligent, and practical presence above the King's shoulder. Yes. It was settled. Mille-feuille would do.

She was in a much better mood by the time they had ironed out the details of her order—her shoulders relaxed, feathers almost settled in relief.

"I'm glad this place hasn't changed that much," she commented off-handedly while counting her coins. (He offered the pastries for free—she vehemently refused.)

"Have you been here before?"

"Mhm," she nods. "When Melini was still just an island, my brother and I would come here after particularly rewarding dungeon runs."

He paled. Her brother? The—"The King?"

"We probably seemed so different back then."

It's a bit of a blur—but he has faint memories of a scraggly pair of siblings with ash-blonde hair. They were too thin for the weapons they carried—the young man had barely filled out enough to fit his jerkin. Both had innocent, amber eyes—too hopeful and naive for this world.

It couldn't be...

"Well, I've got someone to meet." Falin Touden said, climbing out his back window. Why was she climbing out his back window? "I'll pick them up later this afternoon!"

She waved, threw her legs over the ledge, and was off.

-

"I'm still mad at you!" Marcille grumbled.

She looked so very vexed—an interesting contrast to how gently she was straightening out Falin's collar, smoothing out her feathers until they lay flat and presentable.

"But!" Marcille punctuated with an accusatory finger to Falin's chest. "You shouldn't miss lunch, you know that your metabolism is different now."

Lunch. The whole affair of finding the perfect pastry had caused Falin to miss it.

Marcille was right—her appetite was different now. It ran deep, as though it was more than just the physical sensation of needing to eat. Falin's hunger had grown with her strength. Marcille (and Laios!) had sat her down and forced her to endure lecture upon lecture on the intricacies of tall-man and dragon physiology—it almost felt like academy lessons! Stronger muscles, sharper eyes, deeper mana—all of that meant she needed more energy, and a regular tall-man's stomach could only digest so much. She'd just have to eat more. A lot more. It was a bit troublesome on her travels, but her days back home have become a joyful assortment of extra brunches, second dinners, and justified treats in-between.

How wonderful it was—the fact that the two people she loved the most had the perfect intersection of knowledge to help her.

Although today was not the day to be skipping her all-important meals: she'd planned to spend an hour or two foraging for magical plants with Senshi in the nearby woods. When she arrived at their meeting place outside the castle, Marcille was already there—glowering at her with one hand on her hip, a bag of packed lunch and travel snacks in the other. She had shoved it into Falin's hands before fussing over the disheveled state of her clothing.

"Sorry," Falin said earnestly, hoping to soothe Marcille's sharp temper. It was a hot, overbearing day. The humidity probably wasn't helping her mood. A sheen of sweat covered Marcille's forehead, and she had grown flushed from the heat. So beautiful—even while she huffed and puffed and pouted. Falin felt a wave of affection as overbearing as the heat of the sun on their backs.

She really, really needed to make it up to her today.

"Don't be late for dinner," Marcille mumbled, crossing her arms.

"Of course." Falin promised.

"Keep her alive for me?" Marcille said towards Senshi, who had been here the whole time but was very good at pretending he was somewhere else completely.

He held a thumbs up. "She'll probably be keeping me alive for you, lass."

That made her laugh a little, and Falin was going to have to thank him for that later. Marcille leaned over to give him a small hug. Falin followed, hoping to get one too, leaning forward to place her hands on Marcille's waist, but—

No such luck—Marcille swatted her away. "Uh-uh!" she tutted. "You're not off the hook!"

She pulled back, holding her hands up in resignation. She wasn't trying to pout—really, she wasn't—but there was a small crack in Marcille's resolve when she did and Falin was willing to take her chances. Marcille was stubborn, though. A stubborn (and wonderful) woman who simply would not give in just yet.

With a final round of goodbyes and reminders, Marcille finally walked (stomped?) back into the castle, seemingly in a better mood than she was before.

"What did you do?" Senshi stood beside her as they watched her disappear into the double doors of the gate.

"Well, my mother-in-law is arriving this weekend." Falin fiddled with her sleeve. "And I forgot."

Senshi sighed. Then he brought up a hand to give Falin a firm pat on the back in solidarity.

-

A pollux mushroom can be used as an enchanting reagent, she could almost hear Marcille's voice in her head. You can tell them apart from others by their double-layered caps and bright colors. But they're not edible, even if they look like candy!

They really did look like candy. There was a multicolored bundle of vivid colors that sat nestled by the roots of an aged, mossy willow tree. Falin wanted to eat them. They had gathered a good amount of plants by now, but having these would make their trip worth it twice over. It was the perfect gift to give Marcille—

—if only there wasn't a giant boar between them and the mushrooms.

"Quiet now," Senshi whispered, crouched behind a thicket of bushes they'd been hiding in. She nodded, carefully parting the leaves, her nose twitching at the scent of prey. It was a mean-looking fellow with menacing, curved tusks that jutted out of its lip. It stomped its hooves on the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust, looking around as though it could feel their eyes on its back—already on alert.

"Oh, that's a wonderful looking creature right there." There was something in Senshi's voice... some sort of anticipation. Not concern though, there was hardly anything to worry about between the two of them and a boar. But he was tense. Almost as if he was... excited?

"You know what we should do to help with Marcille?"

"What?" she whispered back, her hands tightening around the grip of her mace.

He had sparkles in his eyes—mushrooms forgotten. "Cook her favorite meal."

Their eyes connected.

Falin did her best to fight down a grin. Yes, of course, yes! What a wonderful thought—glazed cutlets of pork layered over pasta, a bit of cabbage, garlic, bean sprouts, egg! She trained her eyes back to the boar—the promise of a wonderful meal—and sank low. She felt for the knife sheathed by her boot. If they did this right, there wouldn't be much of a fight or a mess, and—

Her stomach grumbled so loudly that blood rushed up her neck.

Senshi dropped his face into his palms.

Falin chucked nervously.

The boar had whipped its head towards them.

It let out a monstrous squeal—pounding its hooves against the dirt. There was a minute of sweet, tense, silence before it bolted right towards them.

Falin swung on instinct—knife forgotten—her arm throwing her mace in arc effortlessly while Senshi rolled out of the way in an expert maneuver—

"Don't ruin it!" Senshi scolded. She blinked in surprise, changing the trajectory of her mace in the last minute before hitting dirt. "We need it intact around the shoulders—" he dodged a hoof "—and the legs for some ham, and—" Falin jumped back, eyes wide, nearly getting impaled by a tusk "—even the head, for stew!"

"That's the whole boar!" Falin whined. "Where else am I supposed to hit it?!"

"Knife it in the neck!" He deflected another kick with his axe. "Wait—no—the jowl is wonderful for—"

"Sorry Senshi," she growled, rolling over, steadying herself and gripping her mace with both hands. She really hoped she wouldn't have to walk back to the castle covered in blood with a boar slung over her shoulder. "I'm going to bash its head in."

-

She showed up to the castle covered in blood with a boar slung over her shoulders.

While the staff and been gracefully quiet about her ridiculous appearance on the way in, Chilchuck—on his way out from a labor meeting with the council sans Falin—had screeched at the sight of her, shivering hard enough that she swore the hairs on his arms stood on end.

"Falin!"

"Hey, Chilchuck." Falin looked around. "Marcille—"

"—is in a terrible mood!" Chilchuck growled, already pushing her (and the boar by proxy) towards the kitchens. "Negotiations were close to falling out this afternoon," he rattled on, "she's already terrorizing Kabru and your brother—if she sees you looking like you just murdered someone she's going to be an even bigger pain in our asses!"

"Well, I sort of did?"

"Unhelpful!" He whipped his head towards Senshi, who was whistling innocently behind them. "And you! Did you put her up to this?"

"I just made a suggestion."

Chilchuck pinched the bridge of his nose. "Of course you did."

"He was just trying to help," Falin pouted. She muttered a small thanks to the kitchen staff that had unloaded the boar from her back. "I've been trying to put together a few things to give to Marcille, since she's upset with me at the moment."

Chilchuck scratched at the back of his neck, scowling. "She did seem unusually ornery at the meeting today."

"Yeah," Falin sighed. "Senshi suggested we put together her favorite meal, something like the one he prepared for her back in the dungeon. I've already ordered some pastries for dessert."

They lingered in the back of the kitchen, watching as Senshi climbed onto a stool to look over the fresh boar carcass, butcher's knife in hand. He instructed the rest of the staff well, happy to have their help butchering it. She'd spent enough time under his tutelage to understand his process: He'd make pulled pork and sausages from the shoulder and cure some of the belly for bacon. The rest of the belly he would stuff with herbs and lemongrass and aromatics, rolling it up with twine and roasting in an oven before crackling the skin with scalding oil. He called that one pork belly lechon roll—and just the thought of it made her mouth water: the crackle of the skin, offering slight resistance before it gave in to tender, juicy meat covered in a delectable layer of fat that melted in your mouth.

There were the usual cuts of meat, too: ham out of its haunches, short ribs pulled apart for sour soup. He got to the head and—well, she was very good at clubbing things to their death so probably no stew this time, sadly.

Chilchuck considered her plans. "That's a good call, actually."

She beamed.

"She's probably irritable ‘cause she hasn't been able to catch a break for a good meal today." He rubbed at his chin. "What did you even do?"

Falin didn't really fancy being asked the second time in the same day, so she was glad when Senshi looked over his shoulder and answered for her. Though her relief was immediately replaced with concern at how pale Chilchuck had gone.

"Falin." He covered his face with his hands. "You done fucked up."

"Is it—" she blinked. "Is it really so bad?"

"In-laws are the most complicated part of marriage!" He grabbed her by the arms, as though shaken by some long-buried anxiety. "You need to buy her flowers! And—" he gave her a once-over from head to toe, shaking his head in disappointment. "We can go to the markets later to get some, but first you have to clean up, we're not walking around the city with you covered in blood!"

"I can’t cook with you two stirring so much of a fuss!" Senshi grumbled from his perch atop the stool. "You two go take care of finding Marcille's flowers, and I'll make sure dinner is ready by the time you get back."

Next thing she knew she was being pulled out of the kitchens, Chilchuck's hand around her wrist while he stomped back into the castle's main hall in a way that reminded her of her father.

"Um," she looked up at the elaborate clock on the far side of the hall, having to bend downwards so that Chilchuck could comfortably pull her along. It was three and a half hours past noon, which meant Marcille might be back in their quarters to rest. She'd need to figure out how to get changed without being spotted. She thumbed her chin, aimlessly following Chilchuck while he led her through the castle, wondering if maybe she'd left a shirt or two in Laios' chambers—or maybe borrow one of his? Surely it was better than this—stained deep with blood still fresh from the animal. Yes. Okay. Laios' chambers it is. They reached the hallway that led to the royal wing and Chilchuck finally let go. "I'll wait over here," he sank into one of the visiting couches.

She realized that she'd have to pass by the entrance to her and Marcille's chambers on the way to Laois. Not wanting to risk any premature meetings, she looked around, and found the appropriate detour.

She pointed at a window.

"I'm going to go this way."

"That's a window."

"I know."

"You know what," Chilchuck threw his hands up. "Whatever."

-

So, maybe the detour wasn't entirely necessary—but it was fun! From out here, she had a good hypothetical view of the town below: how the city sprawled outwards and then thinned before turning into golden fields that rolled on and on. Hypothetical because, well, it was hard to sight-see with your front pressed against the wall, holding on by the edges of your fingers and the lip of your boots.

The royal wing was, in reality, a random tower in the corner of the castle that had sections converted to separate apartments with rooms, kitchens, and living areas. The former royal wing was too much for any of them: Laios decided there were better uses for such grand, extravagant spaces.

She dropped lower when she passed by several windows that she knew opened up to her and Marcille's chambers—the first was their bedroom window, the second was their living area, and last was a small little square that let a breeze into their kitchen. She knew the way fairly well by now and was familiar with which of the bricks jutted out of the walls just right enough to be a hand hold. Overall, she was thrilled by the height and air that whipped around her.

It wasn't long before she spotted it: Laios' window on the opposite side of the tower. She bit her lip and scaled the few dozen feet that remained.

-

Laios—who was bored out of his mind after that god-awful meeting—had found reprieve from said boredom in the form of a bloodied hand coming up to claw at his windowsill.

He gasped and startled up to his feet, grasping reflexively towards where Kensuke rested on his hip before realizing that he'd left Kensuke out in a dungeon. (Nevermind that he was wearing lounge wear instead of armor.) There was some shuffling and then another hand came up, dirtied and smudged with blood under its fingernails. Laios couldn't help the panic and morbid excitement that filled him. Could it have been a zombie? A ghoul? He'd never heard of them having the inclination to scale walls—much less several stories up! Massive changes in its ecosystem often pushed deviations in monster behavior, though. Perhaps it was cornered into finding a new habitat?

But most importantly (and it made his breath shudder oh so sweetly to think of it), if it was near him—a monster—did it mean—could the curse have possibly been—?!

A mop of ash blonde hair bobbed into view, followed by a pair of amber eyes identical to his.

He sunk back into the couch. "Oh. It's just you, Falin."

Falin knitted her eyebrows. "Good to see you too?"

Whatever complaints he had were snuffed out when she pulled herself up and over his windowsill. She looked terrible—covered in blood from what looked to be a shoulder wound. "Falin?" He was quick on his feet, setting a firm but gentle hand on her shoulder with a scowl on his face. The surge of mana to his hand was almost instinctive—seeking to mend together whatever flesh might have still been undone—but she softly pushed him away.

"I'm okay," she reassured. "That's animal blood. I hunted."

"Oh!" What a relief. "Good," he looked out his window curiously. "Why did you come in through the window?"

"Hiding from Marcille," she admitted sheepishly. "Did I leave any spare clothes here by chance? Or could I borrow a shirt? I just need to—" she gestured vaguely towards herself.

There was a knock on his door. The siblings fell silent.

"Laois?"

Their heads whipped towards each other, a panicked stare between them. "That's Marcille," he whispered, grabbing onto her arm. She had grabbed it back.

"I know!"

He looked down at her shirt. "Oh, you've got to hide."

"I'm trying!"

There was another knock, more insistent this time. "Hello, Laios?"

"I know!" He whispered, already pushing her back out the way she came in. "You gotta—" he grunted, giving her a half-hearted shove.

"Brother!” She whined, grabbing onto the edges of the window frame. "Careful!"

"I thought you were good at climbing!"

"Well, I’m bad at falling!”

"Hurry!" He glanced back towards the door. If he didn't answer, Marcille might leave. "I'll keep her here. You can scale the wall to your chambers and get changed."

Falin's eyes widened in understanding, her mouth rounding off into an ‘oh!’. She leaned back out the window and pulled her knees up to her chest. She gave him an apologetic smile. "Thank you!" And then she dropped from view, already back out to scale the castle walls.

Laios cleared his throat. Alright. Time to be brother of the year. And maybe brother-in-law of the year, too. He could tell that Marcille was having a rough day of it. Falin's got something planned, he's sure, but there must be something he could do to help other than just stall. Maybe he'll ask for another magic lesson over some tea—teaching always seemed to relax her. He wondered if—if things were different, would Marcille be an instructor by now? Academia suited her quite well.

He walked to meet her at the doorway. "It's open, Marcille. Come in!"

But then, he supposed this suited her just fine as well. Actually doing magic. Inventing all new kinds of it. Using it to help people firsthand. She'd left behind the books and scrolls to chase magic into the depths of the dungeon, after all. Just like he and Falin did.

Laios could hear the knob turn and click open, followed by the creak of his heavy, oak door.

"Hey, Laois." Her voice was tired and a little defeated. As she looked into the room, slow and tentative, Laios noticed how worn out she was: her ears were low and her shoulders heavy. Between Falin upsetting her that morning, and the meeting they'd had to sit through with the labor party—well. He'd probably be better off not bringing any of it up.

"Did you hear if Falin got back yet?"

Laios gulped. "I—uh—"

"I feel bad." She was still holding onto the door knob. "I've been short with her all day. And with you as well.” She paused, chewing at her lip. “I'm sorry. I know she didn't mean to forget our plans, but it's more than just that, it's like… everything's testing me today."

"Why don't you take a break?" He suggested. "I could make some tea." At Marcille's concerned expression, he hastily added—"the normal kind! I promise."

She smiled, even laughed a bit. "Thanks. That... that would be nice."

"I'm sure she'll be back before you know it," he reassured. "Come on in. She's with Senshi, they'll be fine. You know, I asked them to keep track of any changeling circles while they were out there. I've been thinking about how changeling transformations could actually help us understand monster genetics." She followed as he walked to his sitting room. "It seems like they only transform creatures into adjacent types of species—like humanoids to other humanoids, or the gargoyles to statues. Isn't that so interesting? Nightmares look like little clams that we'd never think of as dragons—and yet, there they are! What else? What if kelpies were actually closer to hippogriffs than horses?"

"Isn't that a little... ethically questionable?" Marcille raised an eyebrow.

Laios blinked in genuine surprise. "I hardly expected pushback from you on the grounds of ethics—"

"Hey!"

"I mean it!"

"I suppose there are merits," she admitted, her shoulders already relaxing.  "Aside from the fever, it seemed relatively painless. The only facts we know so far are that the changes are temporary, that the transformations draw from related flora and fauna, and that mass isn’t conserved. So I guess there goes physics? It isn’t quite as straightforward as reshaping the matter we’re made of.”

"Right! Having a regularly accessible patch of them would be great. It would do much for us in terms of animal and monster husbandry," His voice began to swell in excitement. “I mean, imagine being able to transform oversized livestock into something smaller whenever farmers needed to transport them. Temporary resizing!” There was an undeniable twinkle of interest in Marcille's eye while he talked her ear off. Laios allowed himself a self-satisfied smile—Marcille looked to be effectively distracted from her woes!

But just as he thought things were going well, she froze, her eyes glued to his hand. Damn! He tried to hide it behind his back, but it was too late. "Laois?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?" She was rushing forward towards him with a scowl. "Your hand, it's—"

Covered in blood, yes. Likely from Falin's shirt.

He stepped back suspiciously. "It's okay."

"What do you mean?" Marcille was still frowning, but at least she had stopped. She narrowed her eyes. “What did you do?”

"Uhm." Laios stared at the ceiling. "There was... a being." Technically true.

"A being."

"A little guy, yeah." He nodded, swallowed thickly. "It was in trouble."

"So it was bleeding." She paused to consider this. "I'm guessing it was injured?"

Laois looked sideways, beginning to feel sweat under his collar. "Kind of? I helped it."

"You healed it?"

"With my hand." He held it up. She backed away. "Yes."

They stared at each other for another moment still. She finally broke the stretching silence. "Where is it?"

He could feel the prickling heat of panic at the back of his neck. He needed to think of something. Fast. Maybe it escaped out the window? Maybe he could say it was hiding around the room? No, no—Marcille would turn the whole place over just to discover that there wasn't even really an 'it'. Laios tried not to curse, racking his brain for some reasonable explanation that Marcille would believe.

"Laios?"

Something! Anything! Do it for Falin! Marcille was starting to walk towards him, a furrow in her brow. He set his jaw, looked her straight in the eye, and tried his best to keep his voice from cracking while he said:

"I ate it."

It all happened so fast. He didn't even register that the rounded end of Ambrosia was thrust violently into his gut until he heard Marcille's panicked shriek.

"Laios!" She was inching ever closer to a heart-attack every second that passed. Hopefully she wouldn't actually get one—his sister's wrath was rare but formidable!

"Ouch!"

"Spit it out!" she growled, shaking his shoulders. He could feel her fussing over him, her palms buzzing with mana in what he assumed was an attempt to magically detect toxins.

"No!"

Marcille was kicking up a small storm, but that was okay. This was killing time as intended. She rubbed at her temples, already beginning a litany of consequences they'd have to manage if he turned up with food poisoning—again. Something about a dignitary meeting tomorrow, and a public appearance the following day. He didn't worry too much, knowing that there weren't really any gastrointestinal calamities to mitigate, but he was disappointed that her progress towards relaxation had all but come undone—and guilty to have worried her so much.

"I'm fine!" He insisted, holding up his hands (bloody and all) to assuage her.

She was unconvinced. He jumped to the side, narrowly avoiding another jab of Ambrosia's rounded end, and only hoped that Falin's plans were going better than his.

-

"Uhm." The new castle guard nudged at his partner. "Are we getting robbed?"

"Huh?"

"Over there," he pointed to the tower that held the royal family's quarters.

His partner squinted his eyes, lifting a gloved hand to cover the sun's glare. He could see... blue? A fluttering blue coat, scuttling around the walls and—ah. "No, we're not. That's Lady Touden."

The new guy whipped his head back. "What?"

"Yeah, she kind of just… does that."

They watched as she leaped upwards in what looked like an impossible feat of strength, her arm outstretched and hanging on a hand hold. They both whistled. She made it look effortless—easy!

"That's pretty awesome."

"I know, right?!"

-

to be continued

-

A/N:

I promise that the second chapter will be a majority of Marcille and Falin interacting fluff! This is meant to be a one-shot, but it kept winding on and on and was generally fun to write, so it's been split into two chapters. I'm a huge fan of some fluffy slice of life goodness so - here's my attempt at making some! The title is inspired by the song "Águas de março" by Antonio Carlos Jobim & Elise Regina (I'm a big bossa fan!). I really encourage y'all to look up the song and have a minute to yourself with a nice beverage to just relax and chill! The song encapsulates how I feel a Farcille marriage would be: a little bit of everything, ups and downs and little hiccups and stretches of bliss - always circling back to the joy in their hearts ^_^ Many, many thank yous to @saltypyrotato who beta-read this chapter. Your feedback is always so insightful! Ur the best! Some notes: In this fic I refer to Falin as a 'Duchess' - I'm not actually sure if I used it correctly buuuuuut it sounds cool soooo yeah!

[callsign-rogueone]

hey cutie! i hope you're doing well! i saw your liam post a while back and bc i seemed to love him and so does literally everybody else, i was wondering (bc im writing a book) what makes him so likeable to people? like why did we all fall in love with him immediately and then die of devastation when he was killed?

hihi!! Liam deserves multiple essays on how amazing he is, but here's some thoughts that I can def expand on later if you'd like, not edited at all (also if I missed anything, feel free to add in comments / reblogs!!)

he has a tragic backstory and he's from a group that you're "not supposed to like". Xaden drags Vi into the marked group, but Liam's the one who truly brings her around on the issue and builds sympathy? empathy? whichever one. for Vi and the reader -- we find out his parents were killed, he was separated from his little sister, both of them are forced to be riders and serve a country that has done terrible things to them and their family...

he has a sweet old man hobby. he WHITTLES. that is senior citizen behavior. I know the hobbies a person can have in this world are a bit limited since their tech isn't like ours but still. he's 20 years old and he whittles for fun. what a dweeb. (I say this affectionately. you all know I will defend this man with my life. and he's very good at it and it makes him happy 🥺)

his whole relationship with Xaden. Liam is this perfect (literally) little puppy soldier that does absolutely everything Xaden asks of him because he quite literally owes Xaden his life (and Sloane's.) that level of dedication is rare. and that he clearly looks up to Xaden (and I HC that he wants to make him proud...)

adding on to that... him protecting Violet without (visible) pushback. he's agreeable to protecting the daughter of the woman who killed his parents and aunts/uncles/family friends etc., most obviously because Xaden asked him to, but I also think he was able to separate the mother and daughter like Garrick did too. he knows Vi isn't at fault for his problems.

he's smiley / laughing / a good time. he's the foil to Xaden in many ways (brothers who look nothing alike, most obviously) but he shows us that not all the marked ones are angry and gloomy all the time. he gets in on second squad's banter, makes jokes of his own...

he's very observant and emotionally intelligent. he knows what's going on b/n Vi and Xaden, and I highly doubt that's because him and Xaden are having slumber parties with Bodhi and Garrick to talk about their crushes (I have to write that now, don't I... the girlfriends having a "girls night" and the boys not knowing what to do with themselves. so they have their own girls night...) he just picks up on all the little things and he knows when Vi is and isn't okay, despite having known her for like... a max of 6 months?

literally mister perfect. he's the quadrant's golden boy. he was forced to be here, but he's top of the class, jogged across the parapet, best time on the gauntlet, dusted everyone. never lost a challenge. I know Deigh is so dang proud of his boy. probably brags to the other dragons about his perfect son <3

Sloane. he's worried about her for next year, he's writing her letters weekly even though he can't send them, and by the time he CAN send them, she'll be in the quadrant herself... yeah, good thing he wrote them in advance... [crickets] anyway, he's a cutie big brother like Brennan, wanting to protect lil sis, and it's clear he loves her so so much <3 (another headcanon of mine that she absolutely adored him and he was forced into all the tea parties and dolls stuff but he did it with a smile. need girl dad Liam so bad.)

and then the circumstances of his death. he died following Xaden's orders (prime directive: keep Violet safe) and while it's been eight months since I last read that scene and I refuse to read it again any time soon, I think he definitely knew that he was putting himself in immediate danger to save her, and he still did it anyway.

that's all I got for now but I am absolutely positive that there's more. good luck with the book!! I did some work on my own today on the flight, inspiration struck after leaving it to sit there for months lol

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Link sighed, listening to the crickets as he laid in the grass. Sonia was napping peacefully, a gentle, grounding weight pressed against his chest as she laid on top of him. Occasionally he tipped his head to kiss her hair, smiling at the golden curls.

They’d played all afternoon and into the evening, which technically meant she’d missed her afternoon nap. That would likely come back to bite him (or the nannies), but she was sleeping now, right? He couldn’t say no to her, honestly – they were having so much fun, and he… well, it seemed he had little impulse control when it came to his daughter. Perhaps they were both toddlers, he mused with a smile.

His mind wandered as he rested. His recent visit to Hemisi was still weighing him down, frustrating and freeing and terrifying and painful as it was. He didn’t particularly like that he couldn’t remember what had happened after they’d started drinking (surely… surely nothing too terrible—as wild as Hemisi could be, his dear friend also had principles as well… and they’d woken up in separate rooms, fully dressed…), hated that he’d let himself lose control like that, hated it even more knowing that Zelda had likely figured it would happen.

Zelda. He still couldn’t believe she’d—how could she—

Link bit his lip. He didn’t know why he was surprised, honestly. Zelda had been ordering him around since their marriage, since he’d enslaved himself and then made himself thoroughly useless.

He knew he hadn’t been doing the queen any favors. His mere acceptance of the proposal had helped her, of course—the Sheikah had been brought back into unity, the Sage of Shadow had pledged her loyalty to Zelda as a result, the people had seen it as a sign of destiny itself that everything would be fine—but since then… he’d only just recently started to step up once more. He knew that. He wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t like Zelda hadn’t been struggling and trying to rebuild a nation by herself.

But it still hurt that she would start treating him like she did the nobles. Link wasn’t an enemy, damn it. It wasn’t the fact that she’d sent him to the desert that bothered him, it was that she’d had an ulterior motive without telling him, and she’d wanted to manipulate Hemisi as well. He would not stand for that.

Sighing, the king consort rested his hand overtop his daughter’s back, trying to settle himself and only feeling bitter. He’d thought maybe their relationship was improving after he’d finally started helping, after the incident with House Ishita. He supposed he’d been wrong.

Perhaps I’m just not doing enough, an old, familiar anxiety whispered. He ignored it. That anxiety had driven him to tear himself apart his entire life, seeking the approval of others. He was sick of it. He was so sick of it.

It was foolish to assume everything would be fine. Almost four years had passed since their wedding, and neither of them had really been an admirable spouse. But as he looked down at his daughter once more, Link felt his heart soften a little. At least something good has come of it.

His mind betrayed him a moment, thoughts lingering on Hemisi for too long, wondering what it would have been like to have children with her, and he shook his head as his hand slid off his daughter. It did him no good to linger on such sentiments. He knew that by now. Why couldn’t he just accept the position he was stuck in, that he’d put himself in? Why did he have to be so angry, so hurt, so lonely? Fear gripped at his heart as he looked away from Sonia, the same fear that partly drove him to avoid her when she’d been born, because what if he took that hurt and anger out on her? He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. It wasn’t her fault she was born into these circumstances.

He should have never gone to the desert.

Footsteps approached, moving at a pace that put him on edge. It wasn’t quite running, but it certainly wasn’t a casual gait.

“Your Majesty,” a guard called as he approached.

Link sat up immediately, holding Sonia so she wouldn’t be too jostled, face hardening. This couldn’t be good.

“Sire, it’s—it’s the queen,” the guard stammered breathlessly. “She’s collapsed—”

Before the guard could get another word out, Link was on his feet. “What happened? Where is she?”

Link heard council room and then taken to her quarters and moved quickly, handing off his half-asleep daughter to the nanny at the entrance to the castle. It didn’t take him long to reach Zelda’s room, and he saw her laying in bed looking paler than ever, Lady Impa at her side with a hand on her forehead.

“What’s wrong?” Link asked as he approached the bed.

“The healer said she’s sick and worn herself out,” Lady Impa answered.

“I’m f-fine,” Zelda mumbled, looking anything but fine. Her usually perfect curls were plastered to sweaty skin, bags under her eyes, face drawn and exhausted. “You can go, Link.”

Link glared at her. “I’m not leaving. You look awful.”

Zelda’s brow furrowed a little, eyes remaining closed, mouth pulling into a frown. “I’m ordering you to leave.”

Link felt his body stiffen, irritated and hurt. He wasn’t going to leave her while she was like this! But she clearly didn’t want to deal with him, and just her having the gall to order him around—

Link bit his tongue while Lady Impa looked between the royal couple, worry and sympathy in her gaze. It wasn’t her place to speak up against the queen, and she knew that. Link, however, was reaching a point where he didn’t care anymore, where he didn’t want to keep repeating this cycle any longer, and he knew exactly how to get to her.

“You’re keeping Lady Impa from her duties,” Link said curtly.

Impa immediately stiffened. “Taking care of you two is my duty, Link.”

“As are the Sheikah,” Link reminded her firmly as he watched Zelda open her eyes. “I don’t really do much around the castle, in case you hadn’t noticed, except for take care of the royal family. Given that Zelda falls into that category, it makes more sense for me to care for her so you can continue helping others. Wouldn’t you agree, Your Majesty?”

The queen frowned further. Link smiled. He had her and he knew it, and it made him feel vindicated; it was fairly common throughout his life for people to assume he couldn’t think for himself because of his quiet and obedient nature, and he knew Zelda had probably started assuming the same, so it felt good to prove her wrong. Just because he bowed over to her all the time didn’t mean he was a fool.

When the queen couldn’t come up with an argument, Link waved Impa off. “Just tell me what she needs. I’ll handle it.”

His chief sighed, glancing at Zelda once more, and then rose. Link knew that Impa was just as fiercely protective and caring for Zelda as she was for him, if not more so, but if finding a way to essentially get her out was the only way for him to take care of the queen, then he would do it. He’d apologize to her later.

“The healer’s convinced it’s just a bad cold, but given…” Impa stopped, glancing at the queen once more. “She’s… just overworked herself.”

Link watched the Sheikah chief quietly. There was more to it than that. He didn’t push, though. Not yet. Nodding, he thanked her and then sat at Zelda’s side.

“I don’t need anything,” the queen said quietly, tiredly, as Lady Impa looked at them one last time from the doorway.

“Your Majesty,” Impa called from where she was half out of the room. “Please, just… let him help you.”

Link glanced over at his chief, giving a small nod of gratitude, and then she left, closing the door behind her. The pair was silent, and Link suddenly wasn’t entirely sure what to say next. The last time they’d spoken was when he’d snapped at her in the throne room upon his return from Gerudo Desert, and that had been a week ago.

He definitely had no right to be here. But he also knew Zelda, like him, would hardly accept help from anyone. She somehow trusted people even less than he did.

“You know, when I was younger I fell prey to the same issues,” Link noted, leaning back in the chair. “I pushed myself too much, and I… learned it didn’t do me much good to not accept help.”

His heart twisted for a moment, recalling that the help came from Hemisi and Merovar, from Ganondorf. That had been a lifetime ago.

He still wondered if that monster had ever cared at all. Probably not. It didn’t matter anymore, anyway. He was gone, and with his soul split into four pieces, the primordial evil that he’d bound himself to would never return, either.

It shouldn’t still hurt, after all these years, should it?

Link shook his head. Not now. It wasn’t like Hemisi didn’t have it infinitely worse than him. He had no right to mourn anymore.

“Spare me your anecdote,” Zelda snapped tiredly. “I know I got myself into this. I’m not a child.”

“You’re right,” Link bit back. “You’re not a child, yet you choose to act like one.”

Zelda sat up, eyes opening, glaring at him weakly. “I’m not the one who lost my temper last week.”

“I’m not the one who lied to my spouse, manipulating her to make someone else fall in line with my wishes,” Link retorted before realizing this was quickly spiraling in the wrong direction. He took a calming breath, slow and steady. “Look. I… I still don’t agree with what you did. But can we put that aside to just focus on now? It doesn’t matter our opinions on what happened, you’re sick and you need to rest.”

“I don’t see how that involves you.”

“Perhaps because you look like you can hardly get out of bed,” Link snapped. “Perhaps because you probably will not be able to attend to your duties in the morning—”

“I will attend to my duties in the morning,” Zelda insisted, laying back down, voice shaking, and though she glared defiantly at the canopy of the bed, he could see fear starting to trickle in. She looked on the verge of tears.

Link didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to get through to her. He tried for one of her redeeming qualities. “Look. Hyrule needs you to be strong, but you can’t always do that all the time. The best way you can help your people is to rest.”

Zelda’s lip wobbled, and she closed her eyes as the tears quietly slid down the sides of her face. Link slipped a hand into hers, and thankfully she didn’t pull away.

“C-can… can I see Sonia?” She asked quietly.

Link’s thumb traced along the back of her hand. “In the morning, okay?”

For once, she didn’t argue. But the tears continued to fall.

Link frowned at it, feeling his chest hurt. As much as they didn’t get along, he hated seeing her like this. “I’m sorry.”

Zelda started to sob. Link’s eyes widened a little, alarmed, and he pulled away from her touch to grab a handkerchief for her. Helping the queen sit up, he let her lean against him as she buried her face in the cloth.

“I’m a—a t-terrible mother,” she cried.

Link wasn’t quite sure what to say all of a sudden. Zelda did try to be there for Sonia, but honestly the couple spent so much time avoiding each other that he wasn’t entirely sure how often she saw her. Sonia did talk about her mother, though, so that had to count for something. “She loves you, Zelda.”

The queen cried even harder, losing all composure, and Link finally just wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly.

“I don’t—I don’t know if I—if I can do this again,” she gasped between sobs.

Do… again…? Link stiffened, glancing down at his wife. “Are… are you pregnant?”

Zelda tried to halt her tears and cries, tensing up, but there was no denying it now. It explained her cold, defensive demeanor, her sudden burst of emotion, Impa’s hesitancy to leave. She was not only pregnant, she hadn’t wanted him to know.

Link swallowed, blood freezing.

That had to be the case, didn’t it? They hadn’t been physically intimate since their tour of Hyrule, and that was months ago. She must have known for a while, based on what little he did know of the process.

Unless, of course, she had found someone else to take to her bed, and that was why she had sent Link to be with Hemisi. He wasn’t sure if he should feel insulted or not. But no, it made no sense – Zelda didn’t trust anyone enough to let a man into her life like that. The only reason she and Link had a daughter was out of duty.

So the child was his. And she’d hidden it from him.

Link took another steadying breath as so many different thoughts washed over him. He bypassed that initial realization, just thinking about the fact that she was pregnant again.

Could either of them handle that?

He supposed they had to. Their actions had created the baby, after all. His actions more than anything – although Zelda had never said no to his advances, he had always been the one to instigate them on their trip across the kingdom, a means of physical release from being paraded around like a doll.

This was his fault.

Well. Technically, Zelda had been the insistent one for their first child, had always been the one to push for the matter. So… he supposed this evened things out?

Her first pregnancy. Sonia. Link hadn’t even looked at Zelda since finding out she was pregnant, not until that awful baby shower. He hadn’t looked at his daughter until six months after her birth.

Link swallowed, overwhelmed, and held her more tightly. “You’re not doing it alone this time.”

Zelda glanced up at him, fear dissolving into pure, utter vulnerability. She was so exhausted. He felt all the worse seeing it. Link tried to smile, and it only made her cry once more, burying her face into his neck.

Link hushed her gently, closing his eyes, heart racing, reeling at the fact that this was how he found out, that she was actually willing to hide it from him. Just how broken was their trust if…?

He should know better. She’d manipulated him anyway, time and again, steadily growing subtler and seemingly more sinister as a result. How was this any different?

It involved their child. That was how it was different.

Link hadn’t been involved with Zelda’s pregnancy with Sonia. He’d been too lost in himself. Perhaps that was why she hadn’t bothered to tell him. It stung either way, even more so because Lady Impa clearly had known for a while; she’d been glued to the queen’s side for weeks.

He swallowed, swallowed the hurt and frustration, the regret and shame, the fear of bringing another child into this chaos, and rested his cheek against her hair. “Get some sleep, my queen. I’ve got you.”

[akookminsupporter]

hybe needs to re-evaluate their relationship with geffen. they have fucked over release, distribution and promotion of bts ( grp & solo ) releases since 2021

I agree with the first part but I wish people would call it as it is and that is that it's Jimin time and time again getting fucked over. every single previous release since golden has gotten pre order on iTunes. They changed random inclusions to help members chart in the UK. They at least post about the members new releases on different platforms but it has been absolutely crickets for Jimins new release thats in 4 days. No pre orders, no pre save links, no official posts on ANY platform and now we have proof that they do in fact know fans are begging for the bare minimum and they just do not care. Jimin got fucked over during FACE and they still haven't made things easier for him. CALL IT HOW IT IS!

THAT. PART!!!

[kiatheinsomniac]

──── 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 ˊˎ -

☾ ⋆ ﾟ𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 / 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: a commission from the wonderful @magical-warlock who is always a pleasure to work with!! 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Kassandra of Sparta x Reader 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4k 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: canon-typical depictions of violence and injury

You check on the bread in the fire oven to watch it steadily rise, seeing how it bubbles up towards the sky and begins to toast golden, covered in some aromatic herbs that you know will go excellently with the dips that you have already prepared in the kitchen, covered by a cloth to protect them from any stray insects that might find their way into your home while your attention is elsewhere. The weather has warmed significantly as of late and so you don’t really have it in you to work over a hot stove for long and cook with whatever meal you would have going in the pot or pan. Today, dinner would just be bread with an assortment of meats, cheeses and fruits - you had not the energy for much else with the hot weather making the air hang heavily all about you, making your moves slower, sluggish, sweat glistening upon your skin. 

You make your way over to the basin in order to dip your hands into the water, rubbing its coolness over your wrists, chest and the back of your neck in an attempt to cool your body. Oh, how you couldn’t wait for this heatwave to pass over so that the weather can return to its habitual state. You could only pray to Apollo and Helios that they would soon show mercy but in the meantime you praise Artemis and Selene for the kindness and reprieve of their feminine and silvery moonlight as opposed to their counterparts whose sunlight beat down on you like the brunt of a mighty warrior’s shield. 

You hum a little tune to yourself as you work around the kitchen, preparing food for when you know your sweetheart will be done with her contracts. You used to worry for her safety but Kassandra is the toughest woman you know: she stands for no disrespect, she’s built like an Olympic champion. You hope that her skills will one day get the two of you off this island once she has saved up the money or made the right connections. The two of you whisper about it at night beneath Nyx’s blanket of stars, the glittering stars of her creations the only witnesses to the fantasies that you share between your lips. She promises that she will give you the life you deserve, beyond the limited borders of Kephallonia, that she will get a boat large enough for the two of you to sail to the mainland on. She will buy land and you will tend to it while she works on contract to bring home money to you, eager always to come home to her beloved wife; for she promises the two of you will marry and all the Gods shall bear witness and drink to your union. 

You smile fondly to yourself as you recall the memory, the sounds of crickets chirping in the nearby foliage, the soft crashing of waves on the local shore of the island, the salt carried in the breeze. You wonder if you will one day live so far inland with your love that you will smell the spring blossoms more so than sea salt, that Persephone’s return will fill the air more than Posideon’s rule. 

Kephallonia’s statue of Zeus is mighty but you have heard travelling merchants talk of temples upon great mountains; to Athena, to Aphrodite, to Apollo. You gaze upon the blue sails of Athenian ships and you wonder just how busy the city of scholars may be, you wonder what Sparta’s wall-free borders must look like from a distance. You think of exploring markets with your love, with Kassandra, knowing that no matter where you are, no matter where you go, you will feel hope so long as you can hold her hand, feel your fingertips caress her callouses as she squeezes your palm and fingers in return. So long as she is by your side, you know that she and her glinting, broken spear shall defend your life.

You have known that spear for as long as you have known Kassandra as the two of them are inseparable – she even sleeps with it upon the bedside table. You have joked time and time again that it will soon fuse with her palm if she does not allow herself a break from time to time. That is something you often worry about when it comes to the woman who has possessed your heart: Kassandra is an incredible fighter, the best you have ever seen – you’d put drachmae on it – but she didn’t know when to rest at times. You do not worry that she will be outmatched but you do worry that she will walk into a fight disadvantaged by fatigue, thirst or hunger. It is why you do your best to assure that you keep her well-fed and rested whenever you can, to entice her to stay longer with food, gifts, open arms and the warm embraces they can give. She is determined to leave and create a better future for the two of you but that future cannot exist if she works herself to death before it can be realised. 

Once more, you wander over to the oven in order to check on the bread, covered in aromatic herbs and turning a beautiful gold beneath the fire. Everything else is ready and waiting in the kitchen, as are you, for Kassandra’s return. You close your eyes and a smile dances gently upon your lips as you think of your love, of the lives ahead of you beyond the shores of this little island. It’s always wonderful when your misthios comes home. She always has a smile on her face as she shows you the drachma she’s made. You both pour over how it brings you a little closer to the mainland, a little further from Kephallonia and you’d enjoy seeing her muscles unwind and relax as she sat down and ate with her. This is the image you have in your mind when you hear footsteps approaching the door. 

But the little fantasy of your habitual domestic life is shattered when she’s leaning on the doorframe for support and there’s blood all over her.

“Kass!” You lunge forwards to help catch her, looking over her shoulder to assure that she hasn’t been followed; though, deep down, you know that she never would have come home if she knew that she had enemies on her tail, even if she were in a worse condition than she already is. It had happened only once and she swore to you that she would ascertain it would never ever happen again. “What happened?! Come, sit!” You find yourself panicking but try to get a hold of yourself. Your other half is the one who’s strong for you all the time but now it’s your turn to be strong for her. 

“They brought a lot more friends with them than I had thought.” She winces as she takes a seat. You could wash up the pillows later but for now you had to stop the healing and get her cleaned up. You keep a box of medical supplies for the instance in which this very situation comes to be. You take out strips of fabric to use as bandages and add pressure and you bring the basin over to the table nearby Kassandra so that you can begin cleaning away some of the half-dried blood in order to get a better look at what you’re working with. 

But her armour was in the way and so you began to pull at the straps and buckles methodically to cast it all aside. The metal rattles against the hard surface of the floor as it piles up; like the pillows, it too will need to be cleaned later. “So eager to undress me, γλυκιά μου (my sweet)~” She flirts and you can only return her bloodied smile with a half-hearted glare. How can she joke in a time like this when you’re fretting over her health? She only gives a little laugh at your sharp look and, as much as you had been angry a moment before, it calms you down. If she’s alright enough to make jokes then you don’t need to worry so much and, instead of panicking, you can carefully focus on tending to the misthios who has stolen your heart.

The faintest of smiles ghosts across your lips that had previously been curled down in an anxious frown, quivering with worry for Kassandra. She knows you better than anyone else who walks the world – she knew that some humour would make you relax, would make you realise that you could calm down and approach this with a much more level-headed manner. She trusts you with her life, she trusts you to nurse her back to health so long as she can drag herself to your doorstep. You endeavour to prove that her trust in you and your abilities is not misplaced. 

You begin by wetting a clean cloth and trying to wipe away the dried blood from her olive skin, already littered with scars that spoke of her history like the etching of legends upon stone tablets. Her muscles glimmer with the water-thinned blood as you diligently clean her up. Once you determine that her wounds are no longer bleeding as much as they initially must have been, you set to mixing up a balm with some ingredients that you have on hand in order to help the healing process. You apply the sticky honey mixture to her wounds and then wrap them in bandages to keep them clean. 

Your anxiety completely dissolves as you walk through this process with her and she looks at you with the warmest brown eyes you have ever bore witness to. As you kneel by her side, wrapping her bicep in bandages, your head dips down to sweetly kiss a large scar that runs over her shoulder. As you tie off the bandage, you lift her forearm to your lips to kiss yet another scar there. You reach for another bandage but are stopped by Kassandra’s alloused and worn palm upon your soft cheek, turning your head so that she can take in your face. 

You must be her very own Hellen of Troy, she decided long ago when she first met you. Kassandra sees you as a blessing from Aphrodite herself who surely must have sculpted you in her image so that you can walk this world as a testament to the existence of the goddess of beauty, only able to exist thanks to her divine hands. Now, the roughened pad of her thumb tugs gently at your pillowy bottom lip, feeling the warmth of the mouth that had just pressed the tenderest kisses to her peach-coloured scars. 

What did she do to deserve such a thing as sweet and beautiful as you in her life? What had she done that the gods had decided to usher you into her life as a gift of the divine, a sample of ambrosia in this mortal world? The corner of her scarred lips quirk up into a smile and your eyes flit between hers as you try to figure out what’s going on in her head. Kassandra then leans in and kisses you lightly, almost experimentally. She treats you like you could crumble to dust should she be too harsh on you. But once her anxieties seem to quell, she pressed her mouth to yours with much more surety and kisses you in a way that gives you just the briefest glimpse of the bottomless well of passion she harbours in her heart for you. 

You pull away by only a few inches afterwards, your warm breaths mingling, Kassandra’s eyes glued still to your mouth, wanting your lips swollen gently with her kisses so that she can leave a lasting part of herself upon you if only to be able to say that she was lucky enough to be born in the same era of one so brilliant as you who had stolen her heart right from the vault of her chest. You can’t help the soft giggle that slips past those very lips her eyes are fixed upon. You will yourself to pull away so that you can continue to patch up your lover. 

When you are done securing her in honeyed balm and clean bandages, you strip the pillows of their cases and begin heating up water in the kitchen so that you can clean them. Her armour can be cleaned and polished in the morning, you haven’t the energy to do that tonight too. 

“Come, I was preparing dinner before you arrived.” You beckon your misthios into the kitchen where the bread is finished baking and has now cooled and you have a variety of cured meats and some cheese with sliced fruits and a salad prepared. Again, it is not the most extravagant meal but the heat of the season has made you more lethargic than usual and so you didn’t have it in you to cook over the searing heat of a fire. 

Kassandra sits right by your side, her toned thigh pressed to yours beneath the table as she begins picking at the food you’ve prepared. It might not be a full-on meal but she’s beyond thankful for anything you make for her, especially after the day she’s had and how incredibly you’ve just handled patching her up after she stumbled through the door so wounded. You’re the beat in her heart, the breath in her lungs, the very electricity dancing through her every nerve and she might survive without you but she knows she could never live. 

She recounts her day to you and your heart stutters as she gets to where she suddenly realised how outnumbered she was. She managed to get away – as you know with having her sitting and telling her tale to you over dinner – but she hadn’t got rid of them all and so she wanted to see you on your guard when she is to go out in the days to come in order to eradicate the loose ends of her contract so that she can collect her money, your money, she insists as everything of hers is yours. 

She watches you with enamoured eyes as you clean up after the two of you, like you so often do. She rises from her seat as you finish up and tucks some hair behind your ear, pressing her lips to your forehead. 

“Go relax for a while, γλυκιά μου (my sweet).” She insists, her words mumbled against your brow as her nose nudges against you and her hands gently caress the swells of your hips beneath her palms. “I’ll run you a bath, you deserve it. Let me look after you now, alright?” Your brow furrows slightly as she pulls away a little to look down at you part your lips to protest – Kassandra is the wounded one, not you. Her finger presses to your mouth. “Shh. Let me pamper you? It’ll make me happy to care for you as you’ve done for me; as you’ve always done for me.” You release the softest of sighs. 

“Very well. Don’t strain yourself though, ok?” She affirms your condition with a nod of her head and you go to relax in bed for a while, curling up on your side. You can hear Kassandra moving around to prepare your bath for you, water sloshing and drowning out the more distant sound of the waves crashing upon the nearby coastline of the island. The scent of lavender faintly wafts into your nostrils as you lay with your head upon the plush pillow, your arms tucked under it to cradle it around your head as you lay on your belly with your body turned slightly to one side. You face the door so that you can watch your lover when she walks through it to fetch you. 

You had been terribly worried when you saw her covered in half-dried blood as she staggered through the door and, in the moment, you hadn’t realised just how much you were panicking until you looked back on it now. But you have patched her up, shared a meal with her, are now relaxing in the bed you share while she returns the favour and draws a bath for you. After a short while, you hear her footsteps patter into the room and she perches on the edge of the bed next to you, her weight making the mattress sink down. 

The misthios leans down over you and presses her lips tenderly to your forehead, beginning to pepper kisses in trails like waterfalls from your temples down to your cheeks, keeping an even balance on either side of your face: first the left and then the right. The corners of your mouth tug up into a smile as your eyes slip closed and you simply enjoy the feeling of her soft, scar-dissected lips pressing to your skin, her breath fanning over your face in gentle exhales. Her fingertips dance across the curve of your jaw, so gentle it almost tickles and you feel one of her arms slide behind your knees. Her other strong arm works its way beneath your shoulders and you let out a breathy laugh as she hoists you up in her arms. 

Kassandra knows you’re strong and capable enough to manage yourself but she always loved to show you that you should never need to use those capabilities of yours, that she will always be there for you. Never again would she allow a situation to come to be wherein you need to defend herself without her there standing in front of you to protect you. Her hands glide over your body to unfasten your clothes, letting them pool in a puddle around your feet. She spends a moment grazing her fingers across your skin as though it were the finest foreign silk or velvet that she had ever been given the privilege of feeling. Her lips graze across the slopes of your shoulders as her hands caress the plains of your waist. You feel the warmth of her muscular body press to your back for a while and her nose nudges against your neck, her breath and eyelashes tickling you slightly. 

“I love you…” She breathes out, unsure what else to say. The words cannot quite carry the weight of her emotions, taking only a small portion of them and carrying them over to you but she cannot find a single comprehensible way of phrasing just what you stir up in her. She does not think that any set of words in her vocabulary can possibly be strung together in a way that can contain her love for you. 

She pulls a stool up beside the bathtub and helps you ease into the warm water. The heat soothes your muscles and melts away much of the tension that you hadn’t realised you were still carrying in your body. Kassandra coaxes you to lay back in the water, hair fanning about in tendrils around your head and framing you like a halo. The word ‘smitten’ does not quite describe how she looks at you. She looks as though you are the sun Helios pulls across the sky, the moon Selene draws across the night, the stars Nyx cast into the sky, the Spring beauty announcing Persephone’s return to her mother. She cannot picture a greater beauty for her mortal eyes to lay upon in this realm. 

Delicately, she wets your hair and caresses her fingers across your scalp, massaging in nourishing oils and layering your hair in soaps. Consistently, she plants kisses across your face and smiles down at you. Kassandra leads a life that is full of action and violence; so long as she has a contract, her days are fast-paced and with little rest. That is, right up until she comes home to you. The moment you are in her vicinity, life slows right down and it seems she is finally able to catch up and catch her breath. You are her sanctuary and should anything fatal ever befall you, the Greek world shall see Kassandra possessed by Nemesis herself to see that your justice is realised. 

Her calloused fingers smooth over wet, scarred skin just beneath your right collarbone. It was the sort of scar that would never fade, that would persistently push the misthios to assure your safety. She was careful today in making sure she would not be followed home but it was a behaviour she had learned as a result of her past mistake. Once in the past, she had not been so careful and as you tried to assess her wounds, the door had been broken in by those who had harmed Kassandra. She had watched in awe as you took up a spear and shield that your lover had previously only thought of as being for display right up until those men were sent running, stumbling over their feet due to their injuries. It was the one time that you had defended Kassandra against danger and not the other way around and she would never forget it. 

Her throat tightens slightly as she recalls how the spear sank into your chest and in that split second when she couldn’t quite see where you had been hit, she worried that your heart had been pierced, her heart, the one you had given her. Thankfully, you had managed to put enough distance between yourself and the assailant that it didn’t go right through you but the scar was deep, prominent and the wound had wept with great amounts of blood. Kassandra could not recall a time in her life that the coppery smell had ever made her feel as ill as it did when she worried she was about to lose you, her other half. 

Now, she leans down and presses her lips to the wound in the most passionate of kisses, her soft mouth pouring her love over your marred skin. She swallows hard as she withdraws slowly, so overwhelmed by the feelings you stir up within her that she’s beyond sure Eros has shot arrow upon arrow into her back in order to possess her with the profoundest love she has for you. 

“So many legends are full of lovesick fools,” She begins in a quiet but sincere voice, “and I once sneered at them for their stupidity. But now I understand. I’d go to the Underworld for you, I’d launch a thousand ships for you, I’d face the trials of Psyche. I could say I’d die for you but I’d rather live for you.” A smile and a little giggle plays upon your lips as she pours her heart out to you like this. You reach your fingers out of the water and stroke some of her hair behind her ear, wetting it in the process just so you can get a better look at her sun kissed face. 

“When did you become a poet, hm?” You muse. 

“You bring it out in me.” She returns your smile and leans in so that your breaths mingle once more. Your other hand reaches out of the water so that you cup her jaw in one palm while the other rests at the nape of her neck, keeping her close to you. Meanwhile her palm has pressed over your scar from the spear while the other is cupping your cheek, the pad of her roughened thumb caressing over your soft skin in the tenderest of touches. 

“I love you.” Your words fall out on a breath, barely above the volume of a whisper. 

“I love you doesn’t even begin to cover it.” She flashes you that smile which makes your heart stutter and your belly fill with butterflies every time as she pulls you in closer and your lips melt into a warm and sweet kiss. You yearn for this moment to last forever and yet you cannot wait to tend to her all day tomorrow so that she can heal and the two of you, hand in hand, can take another step closer to the life that you will have beyond the borders of this island. 

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[violetganache42]

Highlights from tonight's movie night celebrating some of the different teams Donald has been a part of in categorized and chronological order (I honestly like this format. I might stick with it):

"Boat Builders":

Good news: The short has subtitles! Bad news: They're not in English, so you still can't understand what the fuck Donald is saying.

Donald: "Yeah, even a child can do it!" Godfrey: "Even Della could do it!"

justaboot: "god's third choice after the 3 stooges"

Max's mother has been found

"The First Adventure!":

Bradford Hate Club

Ludwig appearance!

puffywuffy8904: "he's serving whatever the opposite of cunt is" WriteBackAtYa: "So di—"

(I love this screenshot. 😂)

The reference to Della's letter

WriteBackAtYa and I being on the same wavelength

Eat the rich uncle (Sorry, Scrooge, but I had to. XD)

"You can't mute me, old man!"

RIP Donald's guitar

The Temple of Doom parallel!

PAPYRUS

"Treasure of the Golden Suns" easter egg!

"fragile old body"

POGO CANE

Black Heron doing the smug anime girl laugh (You know what I'm talking about.)

"I'm the chosen one!" Pure Deweycore

"So long, suckers!"

Just Black Heron in general (She's a fun villain. lol)

DONALD KILL

Us ranting about Bradford using the Papyrus of Binding to escape like the COWARD THAT HE IS! WHY WE OUGHTA— COME BACK HERE, YOU LITTLE—

If I had a nickel for every time Black Heron lost her robot arm, I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice.

Me: "BEAKLEY YOU FOOL" Godfrey: "YOU FUCKING FOOOOOOOOL"

"The House of the Lucky Gander!":

Louie "I do hate hot dogs" Duck noticing the neon lights shaped like a hot dog

"We're all gonna die! I'VE WASTED MY LIFE!"

Launchpad deserves his own episode dedicating to his love life

Gladstone Hate Club

Scrooge looking at the camera like he's on The Office

puffywuffy8904: "gladstone you have a haircut shut up"

Huey autism moment

Just how bored and tired Dewey, Webby, and Scrooge were after seeing Aquarioon

Dewey and the jade tigers

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

27!

Webby's love for chocolate fountains

"And a distraction."

Scrooge: "I don't even get to be part of the blasted challenge?" Huey:

Real-Life-Pine-Tree: "Roasted duck anyone?" Me: "'Danny: I'll have the duck.'"

Louie's motivational speech

"Where did that come from?"

Us @ Liu Hai: RIP bozo (at least until DuckTales World Showcase Adventure)

The underwhelming Golden Cricket and how fucking bored and exhausted the family was

"Mt. Fuji Whiz":

LotTC basically being DuckTales on crack

Me: "Hell is a city. Where have I seen that before? 🤔" Godfrey: "Hazbin Hote—[gunshot]"

My idea of Clinton and Webby bonding over Clan McDuck history

Missy thirsting for Panchito

The return of the Ari the Autism Bird!

Xandra and the nieces in general (They're some of the best characters in the show. ^^)

*The Three Caballeros are stuck in the Underworld* AMJ: "We have a very simple solution." DT17!Huey: "This doesn't feel simple."

Jack Skellington moon

Donald saying the Karen phrase

Xandra and Charon clothes swap

Panchito being "that" guy

The Sheldgoose family tree taking notes from Goofy's family tree regarding the relatives' designs

IN THE PLUMS!

Clinton hugging Donald 💖

Tokyo? LIKE IN DUCKTALES!

"Potatoland":

Dreamy: "SEE HE HAS 27 FINGERS" Me: "27!"

POTATOLAND! POTATOLAND!

"Mickey, I am fed up with your bullshit devil magic."

Praising Mickey's characterization in the Paul Rudish shorts

Donald's blush

No more Idaho

Just the whole short in general. It's the best. XD

"Mickey, Donald, Goofy: The Three Musketeers":

Black Arts Beagle's Musketeer cousins

puffywuffy8904: "they wanna be Scrooge soooo bad"

Donald being, and I quote Jamie, "a punk bitch" in this movie

The return of Pete Hate Club

"Whoa, he's bisexual, I didn't know that!"/"By the way, I'm bisexual! I forgot, I- forgot to announce it! How do you turn this shit off- wait-"

The entire opera gag

Clarabelle appearance!

Dreamy pointing out the parallels how Pete is to Minnie what Bradford is to Scrooge

In the Hall of the Mountain King

"Why did the music stop?"

"Together, we'll save the princess or die trying!"/"…Die? …Die?"

melcat33: "Minnie discovers she's into bdsm"

WriteBackAtYa and I quoting Philip CD-i Legend of Zelda

The turtle trying to be the rooster from Robin Hood at one point

"That little diddy's starting to grow on me."

Pete referencing The Lion King

Donald FINALLY unleashing his iconic temper

melcat33: "Goofy finally being Dad Material" WriteBackAtYa: "But he was daddy material"

(Look what you made me do! /lh)

Pirates of Penzance

"Not long… maybe… 40 years?"

The movie ending with the fucking Can-Can

Learning about how Tokyo Disneyland had Mickey, Donald, and Goofy as the Three Musketeers and they all looked AMAZING (Why does Japan get all the cool shit?!)

[deancasbigbang]

Title: Willow

Author: thatpeculiarone

Artist: 7hunnyybunnyy7

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Sam/Jess, Ellen/Bill, Mary/John, Chuck/Becky

Length: 65000

Warnings: Minor Character Death, Talks of Grief and Loss, Talks of Alcoholism, Internalised Homophobia, Mentions of Conversion Therapy

Tags: Alternative Universe - Modern Setting, Childhood Friends to Lovers, Reunion, Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending

Posting Date: October 6, 2023

Summary: Castiel Novak had known Dean Winchester his entire life. Growing up together, the two friend's worlds revolved around one another, each of them looking forward to their annual summer get togethers at the Winchester's farm and winery, located in the rolling hills of Napa, California. However, it only takes one night for seventeen years of friendship to all come crashing down. When Castiel confesses his feelings for Dean, his friend's rancorous reaction sends him packing. Castiel leaves, and stays away for ten years. When Dean’s father John falls ill, Castiel begrudgingly visits the farm again for the first time in a decade. Castiel is nervous to relive that night. He is nervous to be back at a place that holds so many memories. He is nervous to see Dean for the first time in so long. While he grapples with his anger and hurt, he also has to grapple with the fact that the feelings he holds for Dean may still be there after all this time.

Excerpt: Castiel Novak had known Dean Winchester his entire life. Their parents had been friends for years before either of them were even conceived; a friendship that only grew once they came into the equation. He had been coming to the Winchester’s farm since he was still in diapers – in fact – he had pictures of him only wearing diapers on the farm. And in those pictures, Dean was always by his side, sporting his own, accompanied by a cheeky baby grin. They had been inseparable since the moment they met, growing from boisterous toddlers to rambunctious children. They’d run through the vineyards under the golden glow of the sun -- rosy cheeked as they chased each other through field after field, until one sent the other tumbling down. On rainy days, they’d trench back to the house with mud-soaked boots, sending their mothers into a frenzy as they shoved them into the bathtub, not letting them out until they scrubbed every bit of dirt off their bodies.  Even when they grew into teenagers, a time when everything was awkward and uncomfortable, they still seemed to fit together. Castiel looked forward to summers more than anything, wanting to escape the demands of high school and the pressure of attempting to be accepted by his peers, in order to see the one person who knew him better than anyone. The person who knew about his dislike for prime numbers, and would listen to him spout the guttural language of Enochian without even batting an eye.  To everyone else, Castiel didn’t seem to fit the mold. But to Dean, Castiel was just… Cas.  He had been expecting that summer to be the same as the last sixteen.  Yet instead, he’d watched his best friend turn into a nasty, arrogant asshole who had been ignoring his existence for weeks. A cool, callous person who was nothing like the friend he’d known his entire life. And finally, after days upon days of enduring it all, Castiel had had enough.  He knew where to find Dean. Despite being without a flashlight under the pitch black sky, his muscle memory led him through the rows of ripening vines all the way down to the creek. He could hear the quiet trickling of the water amongst the loud sounds of crickets. There, even in the darkness, he could see the silhouette of Dean, standing under the large willow tree on the edge of the property. It was Dean’s favourite spot on the entire farm, a fact Castiel had known about him since they were children. Soon, it had become more of their spot, where they spent most of their time during the summers.  As he approached, he heard Dean huff. “Figured you wouldn’t be sleeping,” he grumbled. “Did you think that maybe I snuck out to be alone?”

DCBB 2023 Posting Schedule

[mtg-cards-hourly]

Order of the Golden Cricket

"Should you take it in mind to ride a springjack, remember: there are easier ways to fly, and harder ways to break your skull." —Lann of Cloverdell

Artist: Mark Zug TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link

[keyplaid]

It was his first day at St. Edmund's Academy, a prestigious boarding school tucked away in the English countryside. The morning sun poured through the tall, paned windows of the dormitory common room, casting golden stripes across the polished oak floor. Thomas sat alone on an ornate chair, back straight, his hands tightly gripping the armrests as if they were anchors. His freshly pressed blazer felt stiff against his shoulders, and the unfamiliar knot of his tie seemed to choke him slightly. He had heard stories about schools like this one — stories of privilege, tradition, and a quiet, simmering rivalry among the boys.

He looked around at the room, filled with old books, trophies, and remnants of past glories: a cricket bat propped against a dusty shelf, oars hanging on the wall, and a leather football resting on a nearby table. Everything in this place seemed to carry a weight of history, a story of some past student who had left a mark, and now it was his turn.

But Thomas wasn’t naive. He knew how these places worked. He’d seen enough boys’ schools to know that there was always a hierarchy, an unspoken order that was established from the very first day. He was determined to stay above it, to rise above the petty rituals of initiation that he knew would come.

“Oi, new kid!” A voice broke through his thoughts. Thomas turned to see three boys, a little older, standing by the door. They wore the same uniform, but their blazers were worn in and their ties hung loose around their necks. One of them, a tall boy with a mess of blond hair and a mischievous grin, stepped forward.

“You’re sitting in Rupert’s chair,” the blond one said, his grin widening. “And Rupert doesn’t like anyone sitting in his chair.”

Thomas felt a surge of irritation but kept his face calm. “I didn’t see a name on it,” he replied coolly.

The other boys snickered. The tall boy's grin disappeared, replaced by a look of mock seriousness. “Oh, we’ve got a funny one, lads,” he said. “What’s your name, then?”

“Thomas,” he replied.

“Well, Thomas,” the boy said, “around here, you earn your place. And today, you’ve earned yourself a little… welcome.”

Before Thomas could react, the three boys rushed forward. He fought back, pushing the first one aside and landing a solid punch to the stomach of the second. But there were too many of them, and they were too quick. Within seconds, they had grabbed his arms, pulling him out of the chair and onto the floor.

“Let go of me!” he shouted, kicking out, but it was no use. The tall boy grabbed the waistband of Thomas’s underwear, peeking out above his shorts. They were plain white briefs, a bit too snug and with the elastic band slightly frayed — an old pair he hadn’t thought twice about that morning. With a practiced yank, the boy pulled them up sharply, the fabric stretching painfully against Thomas’s skin, causing a searing pain to shoot up his back.

The boys erupted in laughter, their eyes gleaming with amusement. “Look at those tighty-whities!” one of them hooted, his voice filled with mockery. “Did your mum pick those out for you?”

The tall boy grinned wider. “Classic choice, Thomas,” he sneered. “Perfect for a mummy’s boy.”

Thomas’s face flushed with embarrassment, but he kept his jaw clenched, refusing to let them see any tears or hear any whimpers. He could feel the fabric cutting in painfully, the underwear riding high up his back, but he forced himself to remain still, to not give them the reaction they wanted. His fists trembled slightly at his sides as he endured their taunts.

Finally, they let go, shoving him back down onto the chair with a satisfied smirk. “Welcome to St. Edmund’s, Thomas,” the blond boy said with a sneer. “Hope you enjoy your stay.”

Thomas watched them leave, the laughter still echoing in his ears. His cheeks were burning, but he didn’t cry. He wouldn’t give them that. Slowly, he straightened up, adjusted his uniform, and took a deep breath, his underwear still uncomfortably bunched but ignored.

As he sat there, still feeling the sting of the wedgie, he looked around the room once more. The old trophies, the books, the oars, and the bat all seemed to be watching him, challenging him.

Thomas smiled to himself, a small, determined smile. He wasn’t going to let them break him. Not today, not ever.

[blacklegsanjiii]

North Blue Language CH. 7

“We got company!” He yells pointing up.

“They’re just bugs! Why the hell are you scared of them!” Zoro demands of him and Sanji can't say anything about the iron mask and how Sanji couldn't fit his tiny, bony, malnourished hands into it to get the bugs to stop eating him. His mother cried looking at him during their escape or how his dad had found him in a panic attack because he got bit while outside once.

“They're a cook's worst enemy.” He says because that is also true.

“So you act like a little girl?” Zoro laughs at him. “Pathetic.”

“Stop pissing me off, asshole! At least I don't get lost!” Sanji yells as he lands a solid kick against the green haired man. He wishes he could be honest but he can't, he can't it will kill them if he is. The crew only just found out he's from the North Blue talking to a descendant of Noland the Liar, Cricket, and he's not sure people believe him.

Sanji fights a man who claims to be God in order to protect Nami and Usopp. He's electrocuted several times and he doesn't die. Sanji wonders if his death would be payment for the suffering his mother went through, especially if it was for protecting his crew. Would it be worth enough?

Luffy wins against God, he's Luffy. Of course he won. Enel, God’s name is Enel. The golden bell is ringing and it's gorgeous. He can't help but sing to the dead god under his breath as they leave Skypiea. The hymnal to a god of slaves as they leave. It's comforting as they head to Water 7.

The Foxy pirates are an interesting group and Sanji is made to be the ball in the final game. He's getting his ass kicked with Zoro. All the illegal moves are legal for them and Sanji can feel his ribs break. They win luckily. Luckily. They make it to Water 7.

The Merry is no longer seaworthy unfortunately and Usopp doesn't believe the builders as he starts to work on the Merry. The crew is fighting about it and Usopp leaves and Sanji, regrettably because it's Zoro making a good point, he agrees with the Mosshead that he'll have to make gracious apologies to come back to the crew.

They just don't expect Robin to leave either. They save her with the help of Franky. And Sanji takes on the Sea Train mostly by himself. He finds Usopp and they watch Robin and Franky be saved by Luffy and as they head back to give Merry back to the sea Nami catches it.

“Sanji! You're bleeding! What happened?” She yells at him as she rips the sleeves of his shirt up and sees the scabbed over cuts up both his arms.

“They're not that deep, they've already stopped bleeding too, don't worry!” He says, deflecting easily. “It's not my hands, I'll be fine! Promise!”

“I'm sorry you went through all that trouble for me, Cook-san.” Robin apologises.

“Nonsense, I would have done it for anyone on our crew.” He smiles at her as he fends Chopper off. He wouldn't expect the crew to do it for him because a cook is more easily replaced. Maybe they could find one Zoro got along with. Franky, Paulie, and Iceberg promise to have a ship ready for them in three days. The fourth day the ship is revealed and it's magnificent. Sanji loves the galley, it's for them and their ever growing crew, like Franky. They hang everything up from before.

Nami's trees are back on deck, Luffy and Chopper have a swing, Zoro can lift weights in the crows nest. There's more room in the bunk rooms. Nami's navigation room is huge and she's in love, the aquarium has the bar and library and Sanji finds more books from his childhood than he thought possible.

When they sail and find a skeleton named Brook and a ship island called Thriller Bark. Usopp, Nami, and Chopper are terrified and for good reason. Of course they go investigate the island despite Brook telling them not to. Luffy has to get this skeleton’s shadow back. Sanji will follow his captain to the end but he knows a warning when he gets one, a real one anyway.

After he saves Nami, because she got kidnapped and almost married off to the guy who had the clear-clear fruit and Sanji. Sanji has issues okay and he's so glad his crew isn't around or conscious enough to hear it. His shadow gets stolen and he sees his zombie fight Zoro and maybe they're meant to be enemies after all.

“Okay but we need to get our shadows back because the fog is gone and it's almost dawn!” Sanji yells at Zoro.

“And what do you take me for, Shit-Cook?” Zoro yells back as they fight Luffy's zombie until all the shadows are free. Luffy is passed out from exhaustion and Moria is gone. Somewhere. Sanji can't feel him or that pink haired girl anymore but there's someone new.

“We got company!” He yells pointing up.

“Who the hell is that?” Zoro demands and Sanji could tell him it's Kuma, he could tell him about the paw-paw fruit but he stills in fear because he needs to protect his crew, his captain. Sanji gets thrown away when he attempts to attack as do most of the crew. “Leave my captain alone!” Zoro demands of the Warlord.

“If you take your captain’s pain I will spare him. I will not take his head.” Kuma says.

“You got a deal.” Zoro says and then Kuma gives him a taste and it's awful. Sanji can hear his haki scream in agony and pain. Sanji wishes he would never hear something like that again.

“Tell the crew to find another, Zoro.” He demands as he lights a cigarette and stands in front of Kuma. Except Zoro knocks him out and when he wakes he follows the searing pain until he finds Zoro. “Zoro? What happened?” He asks gently as goes and holds the man upright and starts leading him back. There's so much blood. Too much to be outside a normal human body and live and Sanji feels anger that Zoro, the one Luffy needs most, did something like this.

“What happened?” Zoro breathes raggedly as he lets himself be dragged. “Nothing, nothing at all.”

“Stay with me Moss, we’re almost to Chopper, okay?” Sanji says as he tries to go faster. Faster and faster because the crew needs them back and for Zoro to live. He lives and Chopper is thanking Sanji for finding him.

“You have as much resolve as he does, it was quite beautiful.” Brook says as he plays the piano.

“I thought you were a violinist.” Sanji says instead.

“I know a good amount of instruments.” Brook answers. “Do you have a request?”

“No, it's alright. Thank you, Brook. I'm happy you're joining the crew.” Sanji smiles at him as he goes and sits next to Zoro. “Fucking idiot Mosshead.” He sighs. He watches the crowd sing Bink’s Sake with Brook and wishes he was in Zoro's place. The nicotine steadies his shaking hands as he sings the lullaby about moon softly to Zoro. He sings again when Luffy climbs into his bunk shaking and clinging to him.

“Captain?” He asks at one point, clearly concerned because Luffy hasn't climbed out or fallen asleep. “How about some hot cocoa then? That's what I do-” he cuts himself off but Luffy is nodding and rubber arming himself around the cook so he gets up and makes his way to the galley.

“Luffy, I need you to get off me and free my arms, okay? You can still hold on if you want but I need my arms and hands.” Sanji explains and Luffy nods and his haki is scared and frightened. Sanji makes it and sits with Luffy at the table.

“What happened? I'm his captain, I'm supposed to protect us.” Luffy asks as he burrows into Sanji's side as the elder lights a cigarette.

“He's the first mate, Captain, his job is to protect you.” Sanji explains and Luffy buries himself into Sanji's side.

“Can you sing the song about the moon again?” Luffy asks and Sanji obliges, petting his captain’s hair. If it was him Luffy wouldn't be as sad because a cook is as replaceable as an oil lantern. Eventually he and Luffy both fall asleep and there's a photo of it on the wall the next day.

~*~

The next one comes out two weeks later and Sanji looks both less ridiculous and more ridiculous. Mihawk and Sora stare at it perplexed because this one is an actual photo at least but his heart eyes are sickening.

“I hope it was a cat.” Sora murmurs.

“It was definitely a type of cat.” Mihawk sighed and took a light slap to his shoulder as penance.

They do not get another bounty poster, instead a wailing pink haired teenager, younger than Sanji floats into the parlour. The look Mihawk gives Sora as she observes the girl and flicks her hair.

“Well, she's not Reiju.” Sora says after going to sit on Mihawk's lap. The girl huffs indignantly at them as Mihawk wraps an arm around her and gives Pink Hair a look of anger.

“Ew, what an ugly name. So not cute.” Pink Hair sneers as she looks around. Sora stiffens and Mihawk is furious. He knows Sora didn't have much of a hand in anything involving her kids until her and Sanji's escape. The names were numbers and codes for experiments.

“I suggest you apologise and leave or I will make you leave.” Mihawk snarls.

“I would love to leave but I have no idea where my captain is! Where the hell am I?” Pink Hair snaps.

“Kuraigana.” Mihawk snaps back, grabbing Yoru’s hilt. Pink Hair follows his hand and her eyes widen in shock.

“Oh shit, you're Dracule Mihawk.” She whispers in horror.

“Yes, I am. You just so happened to insult my wife. Who the hell are you?” He demands.

“Dracule, she's a child.” Sora chides quietly.

“She's a pirate.” He says, fixing Pink Hair with a look. “And not a very bright one.”

“Gecko Moria is my captain, he's a warlord as well! I'm Perona!” She squeals out in terror.

“Moria? I haven't heard about him in ages.” Sora says. “You don't know where he is?”

“No, some stupid rubber kid wrecked everything.” Perona groaned. “I haven't heard anything in like a week.”

Sora fixed Mihawk with a look that made him frown at her. They both knew if Sora said the word Perona could stay. They both knew that she held so much power over him that if she told him he would die for her. It didn't take much as he released Yoru.

“She can stay as long as she's polite to you.” Mihawk relented. Sora nodded as she stood once again. She led Perona away to a spare bedroom he assumed. Perona and Sora appeared to be about the same size so she could wear Sora's dresses until he went on a supply run.

[msweebyness]

Class of Heroes Intro

Here's the final installment! The title sequence for Class of Heroes! As always, @imsparky2002 and @artzychic27! Enjoy!

(Instrumental of "Ever Ever After" begins to play. The camera shows a panoramic view of a gorgeous and old-fashioned palace, before zooming up to the sign in the front courtyard, which reads, "Francois Preparatory Academy" in looping golden script. The screen then shows several interior shots of the gorgeous school; the grand ballroom, the massive theater, a classroom, the main entry hall, before zooming out to a field of emerald green grass outside the school.)

(We come to a dirt clearing in the middle of a field, where a girl of Eurasian descent, donning a practical pink hanfu is practicing motions while wielding a sword with a hilt carved to resemble a dragon, an expression of determination in her blue eyes...only for them to shoot open wide as she trips over a rock, prompting an exasperated groan from the small black cat hovering nearby while a small red cricket hops over to check on the girl.)

*TITLE CARD: Marinette: Honorable warrior...and a bit of a klutz!*

(The camera zooms into something golden resting at the edge of the clearing, and we are suddenly following a long, long trail of silky blonde hair, eventually landing on a boy with sparkling green eyes, perched on a windowsill, smiling brightly as he is brushing out his fifty-foot locks. The boy begins to hum a soft melody, causing his hair to begin glowing a brilliant gold, as the small teal snake wrapped around his shoulders hisses in content.)

*TITLE CARD: Adrien: Sunshine prince with a whole lotta hair, and a special power that comes with it!*

(Adrien smells something cooking and looks in the window of what is revealed to be the cafeteria. The camera zooms into the kitchen, where a girl of creole descent with her hair tied back is mixing ingredients into a large pot of gumbo. She adds a few shots of tabasco, deeming it perfect after tasting a sip, and begins ladling it into bowls for the lunch rush.)

*TITLE CARD: Alya: Determined workaholic with a passion for good ol' southern cookin'!*

(On their way out of the kitchen and into the cafeteria, one of the cooks trips over a bump in the rug and falls over, sending the tray of gumbo bowls he was holding flying into the air. However, before they can hit the ground, the bowls and airborne gumbo are trapped midair in a glittering blue aura, floating and reassembling themselves on the tray as the cook is set back on his feet. The camera then pans over to a boy with a dark pink cap, comfy pastel clothes, a laidback smile, and a glittering wand.)

*TITLE CARD: Nino: The best bro you could ever ask for, with a magic touch!*

(Nino turns and winks at the audience, pointing his wand, and with a *poof* the scene changes to the warm and yet grand atmosphere of the school's library. The camera pans over the shelves before coming to rest by a roaring fireplace, where, in a large armchair, a girl with short blonde curls and wistful blue eyes sits with a book, reading about far-off places, daring swordfights, magic spells and a prince in disguise!)

*TITLE CARD: Rose: Fairytale-Fanatic bookworm who sees the beauty beneath the surface!*

(The camera pans over to a window with roses growing in a pot on the windowsill, before being whited out by the sun, allowing the scene to transition outside, to the school's maze-like garden. Moving into a row of tall rosebushes, we see a girl with silky black fur and large horns walking down the path, before she stops and gently takes one of the roses in her black claws, admiring its beauty.)

*TITLE CARD: Juleka: Beastly princess who proves that beauty is found within.*

(Juleka smiles softly as she hears a soft melody floating through an open window, making the camera pan to the left in order to look inside. Sitting before an ornate grand piano is a boy with his teal hair pulled back in a ponytail and a gentle smile, his fingers flying expertly across the keys, weaving a story through music as he smiles peacefully.)

*TITLE CARD: Luka: Mellow maestro who plays mesmerizing melodies for all the land!*

(The camera suddenly pans up into the sky, where a horse with orange-brown fur and golden wings is swooping through the clouds. The camera follows him as he swoops downward towards the main entrance of the school, where a very muscular boy with a goofy, but cute smile is carrying a stack of large crates up the front steps. He sets them down, giving a wave to the grateful teachers as he bounds down the steps.)

*TITLE CARD: Kim: Loveable Himbo with the heart of a true hero!*

(Kim smiles with a dreamy look on his face as he hears a familiar and gorgeous singing voice approaching. The camera pans upward to see a girl with adorable freckles and wavy red hair walking towards and descending the steps, twirling with a bright smile as watches the people around her with bright and curious eyes.)

*TITLE CARD: Ondine: Mermaid princess who's happy to be part of this world!*

(Suddenly, Ondine's foot catches on a step and she begins to fall, bracing for impact with the ground. Thankfully, Kim is there just in the nick of time, catching her in his arms. With a loving smile, the two give each other a soft kiss before Kim is splashed with water from a nearby fountain, and we turn to see a girl with the scales of a tropical fish and sharp teeth smiling mischievously.)

*TITLE CARD: Missy: One feisty fish but a friend to the end!*

(Suddenly, a colorful carpet whizzes across the screen in midair, the camera hurrying to follow it. Once we catch up, we see a girl with messy pink hair and patched-up clothing smirking as she looks over the contents of the wallet she snatched off of one of those jackass royals. Turning to the screen, she gives a two-finger salute.)

*TITLE CARD: Alix: Former street rat with sticky fingers and attitude to spare!*

(Alix is then grabbed by the back of her collar by a blue hand, jerking her with a yelp and pulling Carpet to a stop. The camera does a spinning pan to reveal a boy with cerulean skin and an abundance of gold jewelry looking at Alix with an unamused expression. He holds out a hand, and Alix reluctantly forks over the wallet, which he returns to its owner with a snap of his fingers.)

*TITLE CARD: Ismael: All-powerful genie getting a taste of life as a free man!

(Alix and Ismael look up as a microdrone flies across the sky, carrying some documents with what looks like mechanical plans. The small robot flies in through the window of a small mechanical workshop, where a bespectacled boy dressed in baggy and comfy clothes works at a cluttered desk, turning to look at a large, marshmallow-like blue robot before turning and examining the plans.)

*TITLE CARD: Max: Robotics genius with a mind that just won't quit!*

(The scene suddenly cuts to an archery target in a field outside the school, which is pierced dead in the center of the bullseye. The camera pans to the side, showing the same thing happening to several other targets. The camera then pans back to show a girl with short black hair and a practical junihito aims another arrow straight toward the screen, her expression fierce and focused.)

*TITLE CARD: Kagami: Cold and quiet princess with a fiery heart and deadly aim!

(We hear a soft, almost angelic voice singing peacefully from somewhere offscreen, and the camera gently drifts into the nearby forest, coming to rest in a flowery clearing. Surrounded by a ring of light that almost resembles a halo, we see a girl with soft blonde curls and tender amber eyes, singing beautifully to a dove perched on her finger, as a bevy of other woodland creatures are at her side, listening with rapture.)

*TITLE CARD: Mylene: The fairest in all the land, of both heart and face.*

(Mylene smiles in a loving way, looking up at the school's belltower as she hears the grand chimes of noon sounding out. The camera zooms up to the tower, swooping in through the window, and weaving through the bells from above before resting on a tall, muscular boy with a hunched back and a slightly sunken eye, who smiles as he ceases pulling on the thick ropes, listening to the bells chime as three small gargoyles swoop around the rafters.)

*TITLE CARD: Ivan: A big guy with some atypical features but the gentlest heart.*

(The camera pans deeper into the forest, the trees growing thicker, covering the area in shade, soft grasses and dark flowers, where another song, the wistful melody of 'Once Upon a Dream', is being sung by a boy with brilliant red hair, who is drawing in a sketchbook as he spins contentedly through the woods. Suddenly, he lets out a loud yawn...and collapses on the soft grass, snoring peacefully.)

*TITLE CARD: Nathaniel: Creative prince who has a bit of a narcolepsy problem...*

(The camera pans over to where some frost has begun to spread through the grass. We follow the trail to a small pond, which has been frozen over by a thick layer of ice, on top of which skates a raven-haired prince clad in shimmering blue, his green eyes twinkling as he sends wafts of snowflakes from his fingertips into the air, forming different shapes and patterns.)

*TITLE CARD: Marc: Sweet but nervous royal with the chilly power of frost!*

(The camera flashes back to the school, skimming along the ornate floor of the grand ballroom, coming to rest on the motions of a broom, sweeping dust into a pan. The shot then pans up to reveal a girl with shining blonde hair dressed in simple work-clothes. She hums 'Sing, Sweet Nightingale' to herself as she continues to sweep, smiling at a mouse that darts up onto her shoulder.)

*TITLE CARD: Zoe: Former housemaid and world's most patient stepsister!*

(The camera pans upward to a nearby banister, where a girl with tailored blonde curls and a froufy yellow dress watches Zoe cleaning with a pensive expression, while also examining her nails to make sure each one is perfect. She then turns with a huff to leave, casting a remorseful glance at her half-sister before she goes.)

*TITLE CARD: Chloe: Former bully who's slowly learning the value of goodness.*

(The shot switches to the school's lavish dance studio, where a girl with neat ginger hair and skin carved from pine wood is performing an intricate tap dance routine. After executing a few flawless turns and kicks, she takes an ending pose, to the applause of her peers. She notices a scratch in her arm, takes out a block and begins to sand it out.)

*TITLE CARD: Sabrina: Wooden girl who won't be anybody's puppet anymore!

(The shot changes over to the school's elaborate display of trophies and student art...which have been knocked asunder by a group of rambunctious students. Suddenly, the fretting teachers watch as a blue aura surrounds all the paraphernalia, levitating them back into pristine order. The shot rotates to show a blonde girl with glittering wings, clad all in blue as she wields a star-tipped wand and gives a stern look to the sheepish students.)

*TITLE CARD: Aurore: Motherly fairy who maintains order as best she can!*

(With a clean swoop, the shot changes to the in-school TV studio, where a girl with dark hair, and the ears, tail and eyes of a lion, nervously flicking through the script of the report she's about to give. Hearing the call of "Rolling!", she looks up at the camera, putting on their best smile.)

*TITLE CARD: Mireille: Future Lion Queen who's ready to stop running away from her past.

(From somewhere up above, we hear the sound of jingling bells, and the camera pans up to see a small fairy with a short pixie cut, clad all in green whizzing down the hall with some miscellaneous supplies in a bag at her side, dodging past the heads of other people, no doubt focused on her newest project.)

*TITLE CARD: Lacey: Spunky fairy with a talent for tinkering and ingenuity.*

(The scene cuts to a field outside the school, where some snooty princes are engaging in a game of croquet. Suddenly, all of their mallets are swiped from their hands. While they’re looking around in confusion, one prince is tripped and falls head-over-ass from his own mallet. The audience hears mischievous laughter from someone, and the camera pans over to a boy with bright red locks, clad all in green, grinning broadly as he flies away.)

*TITLE CARD: Simon: Neverland jokester learning the value of growing up.*

(The shot transitions to a road outside the school, which is blocked by trees from a recent storm. An extremely tall student with wild curls and colorful overalls steps up, easily demolishing the trees with their massive fists and clearing the way for cars and carriages to pass through without trouble.)

*TITLE CARD: Denise: "Bad Guy" with a huge heart coded to be good!*

(The shot changes to a wide view of the entrance to the school’s gorgeous gardens, where more and more flowers seem to be growing by the second! The camera then pans over to a girl of Indian descent, dressed in beautiful, colorful floral prints, who is growing rows and rows of roses and carnivorous sundew, humming lightly to herself as the different colored pollens stain her clothes.)

*TITLE CARD: Reshma: Family golden child with serious flower power ready to express her true self!*

(The shot then changes to the main gates of the school, where a crowd of people has assembled around a teen with curly hair, dressed in 90’s inspired pop garb. They give everyone a smile as they pose for picture after picture and sign numerous autographs.)

*TITLE CARD: Cosette: Beloved popstar with a voice to make a siren blush!*

(The scene then transitions to the school’s grand amphitheater, where a show of epic proportions is being put on, complete with music, lights and a full chorus. In the center of all the grandeur is a student clad in gold jewelry and stylish Inca robes, belting each note perfectly and loud enough for everyone to hear.)

*TITLE CARD: Jean: Bigshot emperor with theatrical flair who's learning to watch out for the little guys!*

(With a dazzling smile, Jean produces a blue desert flower in his hand and tosses it to someone in the crowd. It lands in the hands of a prince clad in shimmering teal whose eyes twinkle behind his glasses. He gives the emperor a soft smile as he pets the tiger reclining at his side.)

*TITLE CARD: Austin T: Spirited prince who's not a prize for anyone to win!*

(The scene then transitions to a dark hallway, shadows creeping around every corner. Suddenly, the audience hears an eerie giggle sounding from somewhere in the darkness. With a deathly shriek, a girl who appears to be a skeleton, dressed in a trimmed and macabre black suit with a lacy gothic parasol appears, causing the camera to seem to jump. The girl giggles, her unearthly violet eyes twinkling.)

*TITLE CARD: Eri: The Pumpkin Queen of Halloween, always ready for a good scare!

(The camera then drops to the floor, showing a detached blue hand carrying a handful of flowers as it scuttles along the floor. It then jumps up to reattach itself to a patched-together boy with shaggy black hair, fiddling with a vial of something called ‘Fog Juice’.)

*TITLE CARD: Anthony: Ragdoll with a snarky streak and Eri's voice of reason.*

(Anthony smiles as he hears a lovely voice humming a soft tune, and turns to see a prince of Hispanic descent walking towards him, gently stroking a small rabbit in his arms on the head. The young royal blushes as the ragdoll hands him the flowers he had collected, squeaking in happy surprise.)

*TITLE CARD: Jesse: Gentle and musical prince with a secret love for the spooky!*

(The camera zips out of the dark hall, stopping at a doorway when a cheerful bark is heard from inside the school’s graphic arts studio. A well-put-together girl with the ears and tail of a cocker spaniel trots out, watching her latest project on her tablet, making tweaks as needed, her tail wagging in seemingly constant joy.)

*TITLE CARD: Ayesha: Perky puppy who loves making peppy cartoons!*

(Ayesha’s ears perk up as a girl with neatly arranged dark curls and thick glasses hustles by, carrying several scrolls and maps while reviewing an ancient text in a book, weaving effortlessly through oncoming students as she takes notes on her cell phone.)

*TITLE CARD: Dot: Quirky but organized librarian with a fascination for the undiscovered.*

(As Dot passes, the shot focuses in on a student in a dark purple chiton dotted with punk-rock accessories, watching the passing students with a somewhat bored and detached expression as they spin a small white flower between their fingers.)

*TITLE CARD: Roxie: Snarky rebel against society with some heavy debts to pay.*

(The shot then transitions back to the woods outside the school, where a student with perky glasses and blue-black hair pulled into a neat bun sketches a detailed diorama of a young mother squirrel in its habitat, adjusting their yellow dress as they make sure each detail is immaculate.)

*TITLE CARD: Petra: Gifted sketch artist with a passion for the natural world.*

(The camera zooms up to a window of the school, revealing what seems to be the chemistry lab…for only mere seconds before the room is engulfed in an unusual pink smoke. When it clears, a student covered in pink powder, clad in a white labcoat and platform sneakers grins madly at the success of their latest experiment.)

*TITLE CARD: Anais: Eccentrically brilliant chemist who'd love to be a superhero!*

(Just outside the chemistry lab, a girl with wild red curls and a stylish leather jacket appears to be fiddling with the hi-tech wheels on her skates, trying to adjust them to lower resistance and amplify her speed. With a smile at her seeming success, she takes off down the hall in a blur.)

*TITLE CARD: Aggie: Skating speed demon with a brainy edge and 'tude to spare!*

(In the school’s main office, a girl with well-groomed white fur and the ears and tail of a mouse adjusts her fluffy purple cap as she arranges a stack of documents for a missing child case in perfect order, ready to be sent to the RAS.)

*TITLE CARD: Candace: Passionate social work intern with natural leadership skills!*

(The scene then transitions to the school’s basketball court, where a tall boy of Korean descent with short, spiky hair of a bright red hue is dancing to ‘Nobody Like U’ through his headphones as he scores three-point shots effortlessly in succession of each other.)

*TITLE CARD: Soo-Yeon: Pop Band Fanboy who's a beast on the basketball court!*

(The camera then exits the gym and zips through the hall, until entering the door of the school’s shop classroom, where there’s been an accident with some of the equipment. A tall girl clad with a pink cap and clad in white overalls whips out a golden hammer, tapping it against the broken machines and repairing them instantly.)

*TITLE CARD: Margo: Fix-proficient video game hero who wants everybody to be happy!*

(Outside the shop classroom, a girl of Asian descent wearing a flat hat and a strip of fabric over the lower half of her face watches the passing students with keen eyes, never seeming to rest or change expressions for a moment.)

*TITLE CARD: Staci: Warrior and friend of the dragons, not the best with trust.*

(The shot changes to an overhead view of a police-academy modeled obstacle course, overseen by a surly instructor. With a high trill of the whistle, a girl with short auburn hair and the ears and tail of a rabbit, begins the course, blazing through it in record time as the other students watch in awe.)

*TITLE CARD: Parker: Aspiring cop-to-be and the most determined person you'll ever meet!*

(The camera then once again zooms back to the woods, climbing up a tall oak tree and stopping on a particular branch. On that branch perches a muscular boy with the features of a fox, shooting arrows at falling leaves with a relaxed smile.)

*TITLE CARD: Brecken: Big-hearted jock who gives back to the community in his own way!*

(Brecken turns with a smile as someone lands delicately on the branch next to him. A girl with immaculate brown curls, a stylish blue coat and a delicate red parasol dusts herself off as she hums a merry tune to herself, having just completed another babysitting job. She did so adore children!)

*TITLE CARD: Evie: Devoted and near-perfect caretaker of the young with a passion for parasols and song!*

(Down below, beside the entry road, a wheelchair-bound student with wire black curls and a variety of mechanical parts films the procession of carriages for a class assignment, an easy and spacey smile on their face as she cheerfully greets everyone who passes by.)

*TITLE CARD: Mona: Friendly half-car who's always smiling, even when they're confused as heck!*

(The scene then transitions to the school’s kitchen, where a girl clad in wizarding robes is simultaneously leading the dishes to the sink with magic and solving complex math equations on a blackboard, murmuring quiet little utterances to herself as she works.)

*TITLE CARD: Eloise: Brilliant mathematician with the additional talent of ancient sorcery!*

(The scene then changes to the school’s cafeteria, where Alya has just brought a bowl of her gumbo to a blonde boy clad all in pink, stopping a moment with a fond smile to listen to him chattering excitedly about some new happening at the school.)

*TITLE CARD: Austin A: Spoiled southern beau with a sweeter side once you get to know him!*

(Just outside the school, a hapless chicken nearly walks right into an open manhole cover, only for the water from a nearby fountain to scoop it up, and deposit it into the waiting arms of a boy with dark red hair and tattooed arms, who gives its head a fond pat.)

*TITLE CARD: Austin Q: Cranky Chief's son who shares a special connection with the water!*

(The camera follows a boy in spiffy dress clothes with his hair pulled back in dreads as he talks rapidly on the phone about an upcoming superhero publicity event he has planned, wanting everything to go smoothly.)

*TITLE CARD: Austin B: Hero enthusiast who wants to shed some light on super prejudice!*

(The scene changes to that of the school's state-of-the-art training facility, where a young man with shaggy blonde hair and dark-hued battle armor is battling a magical simulation with his sword. He is swiftly victorious, sheathing the blade...only to notice something glowing in his pocket. He takes out a small, smooth blue gemstone, staring at it with an unreadable expression.)

*TITLE CARD: Felix: Raised to be a lawman, destined to fall between right and wrong.*

(The scene changes to the school's lush courtyard, zooming up to stone pavilion, where a skeletal girl clad in gaudy orange plays a soulful love song for an adoring crowd, only for her expression to darken as she hears two students murmuring about how they had heard this song before...and not from her.)

*TITLE CARD: Lila: Performer with a closet full of dark skeletons to hide!*

(In the grand entry hall stand two women, one with shimmering fairy wings and another in distinguished wizard robes. Caline Bustier and Olga Mendeliev, the teachers of the famed 'Hero Classes'. The two magical teachers turn to face the entrance of the school as the grand, gold-plated oaken doors fly open, allowing the students to walk in as sunlight dances on the gleaming tiles. Directed by their educators, the students gather together under a massive stained-glass window, smiling at the camera for the final group shot.)

(With a grin and a flick of Nino's wand, the title appears on the screen in looping, grand cursive with a poof blue pixie dust: "Class of Heroes". A rainbow of fairy dust rains down, sending us to black screen.)

And that concludes this little miniseries! I hope you enjoyed, and lave your thoughts in the comments and reblogs!

[youthmustfight]

"Order up." Benji chuckles a bit to himself, ringing the bell prematurely. He shrugs to himself before looking around in the clearing of the woods where the son of Hebe had brought himself to. Along with the bell, Benji sets down the items he had brought with him. The son of Hebe had trouble finding a place where he felt comfortable enough to hold the ceremony and preform the ritual. Even his own cabin, while yes belonging to him, didn't feel like it was truly his home. What he knew from this timeline's Benji, didn't allow for him to rest easily either. It made him wonder if his karmic debt would somehow effect him in this ritual as well.

Most of the items joining the son of Hebe were in a box. Though he was sure he could have done without a couple things, but Benji thought probably better safe than sorry. He sets down the box for a moment onto a knoll of grass beside him, pulling out a folded up blanket. Taking a pair of corners, Benji shakes the blanket to nicely float and spread the blanket across the forest floor. Once laid flat, Benji brings the box with him to sit on top of the blanket. He blinks as he sees the blotches of dirt along the bottom of the box once he sets it down on the blanket. And with that, Benji decides to begin the ritual.

*"Divine Song within my veins, Hear my call beyond the planes.

He rings the bell lightly into the cool crisp air of the forest. Benji holds onto the bell as he begins to feel a soft breeze against his skin. His eyes look at the bell in curiosity, perhaps a trick of the light or the jet lag from his previous couple of quests. Benji could have sworn there was a bit of push back against his hand and the bell. There were loud choruses of crickets as the son of Hebe began to recite the next piece of the spell work.

I pronounce my intentions to thee, Appear for me now and equals we shall be.

He rings the bell once more, his attention refocusing on the items in the box. His free hand reaches inside and pulls out a laminated menu from a diner. He was surprised to find it when he had first moved back into the Hebe cabin. It had only ever appeared once in his past and even then, Benji wasn't as confident to talk the server that had given him the menu, let alone take it as a keepsake. A soft smile is brought out from the son of Hebe as he places the menu onto the blanket. As he does so, Benji feels that push on his hand again. Benji simply eyes the bells curiously once more. There's a slow and gradual blinking of many lanternflies around the godling as Benji continues on with the next piece of the ritual.

Not master and servant, nor collar or chain. But partner to partner, equals in name.

The bell rings again, but without the use of Benji's hand. Seems like whatever pushed onto Benji's hand wanted to ring the bell as well, apparently the promise of being equals exciting the entity. Benji returns his attention to the box, bringing out a black hoodie he had found in the Hebe cabin. Losing it in his timeline, Benji was more than excited to find his frog prince hoodie. The hood even had golden accents to mimic a crown as well. This new timeline, as confusing as it was, Benji did appreciate finding what he's lost before had come back to him. He'll admit to it being a an unconventional.

I call you forth, and bind together, An eternal bond that lasts forever."

The bell rings once more, the unseen weight joining Benji's hand as the son of Hebe welcomed whatever had ran the bell with him. The breeze had picked up around him and wherever the son of Hebe tried to catch a glimpse of the creature, the lanternflies were persistent in blocking his sight. Using his hearing the gauge the size and stature of the creature wouldn't do either, the chirping of the crickets seemed to have boosted in volume, drowning out any sound for the son of Hebe. The weight on Benji's hand had continued to be maneuvered oddly, ringing the bell until it stopped. Silence. Darkness. Both surrounded the son of Hebe until he could parse out the features in front of him, the creature in front of him…

[kookaburra1701]

WIP Wednesday - The Wives of Shor I: Moth to Flame

tagged by @dirty-bosmer tyty❤️ tagging @nientedenada and @tallmatcha

Fandom: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim Rating: T (entire fic is E) Category: M/M Pairing: Kaidan/Lucien Flavius Genre(s): Romance (bodice-rippers my beloveds), bildungsroman Other main characters: Inigo the Brave, she/her Breton LDB

Summary: A scene from near the beginning of the fic, Kaidan and and Hadvar share a moment of soldier camaraderie the night before they delve into Bleak Falls Barrow. Lucien Flavius is by Joseph Russell, Kaidan is by Liv Templeton, and Inigo the Brave is by SmartBlueCat.

27 Last Seed, 4E 401 The cool night air was bracing; the usual sounds of daily life in Riverwood had given over to the quiet of the evening: the creaking of the water wheel, the rippling of water in the millrace, and a thousand crickets in the forest. High overhead the stars glimmered.

A creak of leather caught Kaidan's attention. Just at the edge of the lantern-light from the sconces at the door of the Sleeping Giant, Hadvar leaned against the roadside fence, looking up at the arches that carved out chunks of the night sky. He turned towards Kaidan as the inn's door clattered shut.

"Peaceful evening," Kaidan remarked, walking over to Hadvar.

"Aye," Hadvar replied, taking a sip from the tankard in his hand. "When I was a lad I thought it was too peaceful, and that living here I would never get my chance at glory and adventure." He laughed bitterly. "Now I'm going to choke on it. Did you want something from me?"

"You looked like you could use the company," said Kaidan, also leaning on the fence and looking up towards the barrow. "I also wanted to apologize." Hadvar looked up at him in surprise. "For not believing you about the attack on Helgen. About the-" even after hearing multiple eye-witness accounts the word felt strange and ridiculous on his lips "-dragon."

"Don't mention it." In the woods an elk's bugle echoed out of the trees. "If the tables were turned, I wouldn't have believed you, either. But you and Inigo helped me and for that you will always have my gratitude. Would have been a fine ending to my tale, perishing of thirst within sight of Whiterun's walls."

"That it would."

They fell into a companionable silence; the muffled sound of a Nord drinking song filtering through the sturdy timbers and into the night. Kaidan hoped it wasn't too bawdy a tune, but he also knew he'd been able to recite at least a dozen ribald limericks by the time he was Pascale's age and he had turned out fine. After a few more moments Kaidan spoke.

"I've been selling my sword long enough to know when a man is dreading the morning."

Hadvar sighed. "Is it that obvious?"

"Not too obvious. I, er, also overheard you talking to Lucien on the road," Kaidan admitted. "About the stories your gran told."

Hadvar groaned. "I've faced down bandits, rebels, anything else the Legion has pointed me at, and I haven't felt this nervous since the night before the first day of training." He suddenly turned to look at Kaidan. "If you're doubting my mettle, don't. My orders are to retrieve the Dragonstone, and get everyone back out safely. No matter how much some old ghost stories have me spooked I've never refused a mission and I don't intend to start now."

"Never doubted you for a second. I can tell you're a man who does what he intends to do." Kaidan turned to look back at the Sleeping Giant, its horn-pane windows glowing golden in the evening gloom. "I'm not too pleased about having tramp through a dusty old cave myself. Those places are always crawling with frostbite spiders."

Hadvar pulled a face. "And you just know that the mages will be wanting to stop to harvest venom and silk every time we kill one. Are you sure we can't leave them here?"

"I tried leaving them in Whiterun, you saw how well that worked!" Kaidan said, while Hadvar chuckled at his indignation. "Digging around in dangerous places is the entire reason Lucien came here, and trying to leave Pascale anywhere out of trouble...you might as well tell a cat to stay put." Hadvar laughed harder.

"I meant to ask you, how did you find yourself with such...an array of traveling companions?" asked Hadvar. "Not to put too fine a point on it, but you strike me as someone who is used to working alone. And...that girl does not look like your kin."

Kaidan could tell Hadvar was looking at him sideways, judging his reaction, and suppressed the annoyance at the question. It was only natural - Brynjar probably fielded it countless times as he dragged Kaidan around from one end of Tamriel to the other.

"She's not kin. She's from High Rock." Kaidan met Hadvar's veiled reproach without apology. "And if you must know, she saved my life."

Hadvar choked on the swig of ale he'd been taking from his tankard.

"Laugh all you want, it's true," Kaidan smiled himself now.

"And you had difficulty believing in a dragon."