#regal rosebuds

[regal-rosebuds]

ꔫHow to Voluntarily Age Regress

ꔫHi all! I wanted to post this, but I can't call it as much a "guide" as I usually would, since it is purely my anecdotal experience!

ꔫNonetheless, I hope this is helpful to you in your endeavors!

ꔫTypically, when I am trying to regress, I start with age dreaming! This comes with a number of things, maybe it's:

Watching cartoons or another piece of media that I find comforting or that I've found puts me in the space

Coloring a picture or doing worksheets

Babytalking with my cgs, babysitters or other in-community friends

^Asking my cgs/babysitters to care for me as if I am already regressed

^^Generally interacting with other littles or friends I find comforting

Scrolling agere tags on here or ingesting other agere content

Using little gear like pacis, bottles, etc.

Playing with toys or playing video games that I've found put me in the space

Listening to a playlist that one of my cgs made me

Writing agere headcanons or making content of my ocs who regress

Daydreaming about agere outings, playdates, etc.

Going shopping and looking at toys

Cuddling, holding hands, getting my hair pet, etc.

ꔫThis is just a short list of things I've put together, there's a lot more that could be done, especially since it's extremely individual! This is just what works for me!

ꔫFrom there, I try to maintain this comforting and safe space by not taking on any work/responsibilities or really anything else not suitable for my small age.

ꔫAnd, it’s not like it’s a 100% success rate either! Sometimes, I’m just not feeling it; sometimes, I just continue age dreaming for the rest of the night! For me, you can’t really force it — it’s okay if it does happen, it’s okay if it doesn’t!

ꔫSome other helpful things:

I find it much easier to slip when I’m tired.

You might feel kinda silly being big and trying to do your small things, but that’s okay!

It’s not just a switch one can flip, so don’t be frustrated if it doesn’t come easily!

It’s different for everyone — for some people it comes really easily, for some people not so easily. Some people need to do a specific set of things and have a specific set of conditions to regress. Going further:

Not everyone can voluntarily regress, and that’s okay, but there’s no harm in trying it out!

ꔫWhile this isn’t as educational as my other posts, I still hope that you are able to find it helpful!

[maelstroms-blog]

In Beautiful Dreams

In honour of Dreamling’s centennial meeting, please enjoy this fic of Dream and Hob dancing, along with a declaration

Enjoy

Hob really should’ve expected this, he’s known Dream long enough. To be fair, he wasn’t expecting him to say yes, honestly, he thought he would balk at the idea. Especially given how many people would be attending.

Instead, Dream just tilted his head, in that bird-like way of his.

‘A dance?’

Hob shrugged, ‘Sort of.’

There would be dancing, but it was far from the glamorous affair he knew Dream was picturing. Hob’s university was hosting their annual staff do, the heads of each department rubbing elbows with the higher ups. Socialising and lording their profession over others, supplied with cheap champagne and the finest hors d'oeuvres from Tesco. An event that Dream’s sister, Despair, would very much enjoy.

Far from glamorous but wonderfully human. A prime example of humanity to show his Endless partner. Hob explained all this to Dream, waiting for the inevitable protests, or for that rosebud mouth to frown.

But, Dream placed his pale hands on the table top, slender fingers splayed like that of a pianist. Artist fingers.

‘Very well. I shall accompany you.’ He said it with the air of a king deigning to answer a peasant’s request.

Hob blinked, ‘Really?’

‘Is this so surprising?’ he raised an eyebrow, ‘You are my beloved. I believe it goes without saying that we have to attend each other’s social functions,’ he sipped at his wine, pursing his lips,

‘After all, you accompanied me to the faerie delegation.’

Hob couldn’t keep the frown from his face,

‘That was…an experience, to say the least.’ Part of Hob’s philosophy was to try anything once, and in his long life that was a lot of things. He’s pretty sure he had a cheese making degree knocking around in his attic somewhere. But that delegation was a lifetime’s worth of experience. Luckily, Hob had a thousand more.

Dream hummed, ‘Not many mortals can boast of meeting Titania and Oberon, or reject their charms,’

Hob chuckled, ‘Yeah, they were pretty flirty, weren’t they?’

The feeling of the faerie queen’s clawed fingers ghosted against his neck, as did the king’s lips when he lingered on a kiss to his palm. Hob shivered, chasing away the bad taste with a mouthful of beer. He sensed Dream tense up, probably seeing his thoughts. He reached out and entwined his fingers with Dream’s.

‘Don’t be jealous, love, I’m already under the spell of a mysterious creature,’ he winked.

Dream rolled his eyes but he couldn’t stop the blush from tinting his cheeks.

And that was it. Dream appeared on the night, just as Hob got out of the shower, he did his usual shriek, followed by a flail,

‘Christ, Dream!’ he clutched his damp chest, gesturing to the towel around his waist, ‘You’re lucky I didn’t flash you,’ he looked at Dream, then looked again.

Dream, as regal as ever, stood tall, clad in an onyx black suit, similar to the Ralph Lauren piece Hob dreamed him in once. Over his shoulders was long overcoat, black of course, and the star filled lining shining bright. His hair was stylishly spiked, à la Robert Smith, and a silver earring hung from his ear. A small gem caught his eye, something golden. Hob peered closer, pale fingers jumped to toy with it, a gesture he knew was self-conscious.

‘It’s nice, duck, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in any other colour but black,’

Dream just fiddled with his earring, letting it catch the light,

‘I thought…we could match,’ he quietly said. Confused, Hob frowned, and that’s when it hit him. It was amber, a tiny chunk of amber. Dream often likened his eyes to the honey-coloured gem. A lump rose to Hob’s throat,

‘It’s lovely, Dream,’ he said, trying to keep the emotion from his voice,

‘A wonderful idea.’

Without waiting for a response, he closed the distance and pressed his lips to Dream’s. It was only supposed to be a quick peck but Dream wouldn’t let go. He drew him further in, pulling him close like a life preserver to a drowning victim. Hob gladly reciprocated, sinking his fingers into feather soft hair. Dream did the same, toying with the hair on his chest.

His still damp chest.

Hob pulled away with a sigh,

‘I still have to get dressed, love.’

He felt rather than saw Dream’s gaze, travelling up and down his nude body. The hunger in his gaze set his skin alight.

‘Do you?’

The baritone voice settled in the back of his head, shooting down into his body, straight to his heart. Hob bit his lip, he wanted nothing more than to let the towel drop, his flimsy excuse for a shield against Dream’s want, and just have him. But he didn’t. Not yet. He had a function to attend, and he wanted to show off his elegant, enigma of a partner. So, mustering what little willpower he had, he turned, not a word to Dream, and headed for the bedroom, locking the door behind him.

Not that it would stop Dream. More like Jumpscare of the Endless.

Hob chuckled at his own stupid joke.

‘What is so humorous?’ a deep voice asked behind him. This time, Hob fell on his bare ass.

‘Dream! Let me get dressed!’

With a pinch of sand, Dream vanished, the last thing to fade was his satisfied smirk. Hob’s own Cheshire cat.

Once he was fully dressed, in his own midnight blue suit, and with a nod of approval from Dream. He took his arm, fitting perfectly, and they were off.

 An hour passed, filled with mindless chatter, and the buzz of background brainwaves, Hob followed along easily, asking questions here and there. Dream tried his best, nodding along, offering a dry comment along with Hob’s quips. Then, Hob went to get them drinks, Dream was only out of his sight for a second, that was all it took. Like he said earlier, he really should have expected it. He searched up and down the hall, trying to spot that familiar mop of hair. The more the search went on, the more his uneasiness grew. It wiggled its way into his chest, twisting like a knife. Did he get sick of it and teleported away? No, he wouldn’t do that without at least telling Hob. Would he?

Just as his unease bloomed into panic, he heard something, a chittering sound, coming from the open balcony door. Hob poked his head out, there he was. Kneeling down, under the watchful eye of the full moon, was Dream of the Endless, holding court with a group of cats. They gazed up at him, marvelling at the king he was. He touched his knuckles to the nearest cat, mewing in their shared language. The cat purred, accepting her king’s blessing. Warmth filled the vacuum left by the panic, he breathed out, and carefully approached Dream. Even with his quiet footsteps, the cats jumped, hackles raised at the interruption. Dream tilted his head, mewing something that settled his followers. The youngest cat, a tabby kitten, bravely stepped forward, rubbing up against Hob’s leg. Dream gladly took a glass, freeing a hand for Hob to offer head scratches. His hand dwarfed the tiny creature but the kitten showed no fear, happily trying to climb up his leg.

In one swift, elegant movement, Dream was up, leaning against the railing, like the model of a perfume advert. Hob didn’t miss the gleam in his eyes as he cooed over the kitten, the other cats, bored, sneaked off, tails flicking.

‘You alright, love?’ he asked, watching the kitten chase after its friends,

Dream hummed, looking down into his drink,

‘Yes, I am…enjoying myself.’

‘Yeah?’ he slotted himself next to Dream, ‘Are you honestly?’

He could see the slight tremble of his hands, the tightness around his eyes.

‘It is…loud,’ Dream quietly admitted, Hob nodded, he didn’t need him to explain. He explained it all before, it wasn’t just the never-ending chatter, it was the barrage of daydreams, assaulting him from all sides. There didn’t seem to be any reprieve. It sounded like hell, and it explained a lot about Dream. Taking another sip of champagne, he put his arm around his tiny waist, smiling when Dream leaned into his touch.

‘Would you like to leave?’

Dream looked up, eyebrows disappearing into his hair,

‘I thought you wanted to be here,’

Hob gently nudged him, ‘I wanted to come with you.’

Dream just looked at him, not blinking, Hob smiled,

‘Your comfort is more important to me than some staff do, if you want to leave then we’ll leave.’

Dream’s eyes sparkled, sparkled like he was in awe.

‘So,’ he downed the rest of his drink, ‘Let’s go.’

Dream sagged, the tension leaving his body. Just as he was about to pull out his sand, Hob stopped him. A familiar sound reached his ears, a song he hadn’t heard in years, Roy Orbinson’s dulcet tones beckoned to him,

A candy-coloured clown they call the Sandman.

Dream perked up, turning his head to listen. Hob smiled at the sight.

Tiptoes to my room, every night.

Dream closed his eyes, lips twitching minutely.

Just to sprinkle stardust and to whisper-

Hob sang along under his breath,

‘Go to sleep, everything is alright.’

Dream turned to him, surprised, his smile more obvious now,

‘How about one last dance, Mr Sandman?’ he wiggled his eyebrows for good measure. Dream rolled his eyes, failing to hold back his smile.

‘Very well,’ he accepted Hob’s hand, allowing him to lead him back onto the dancefloor.

I close my eyes then I drift away.

Hob pulled Dream close to him, steps he once thought forgotten, came flooding back to him as he led Dream with ease.

Into the magic night, I softly say, a silent prayer like dreamers do.

Dream had his eyes closed, letting the words wash over him. Hob could only imagine what he was thinking. Being separated from his dreamers for over a century, locked away from those he was supposed to nurture and protect. Hell, there were some that never even visited his realm. For someone that took his role so seriously, there must be no greater pain. But, as Hob watched him now, swaying along to the music, gentle smile on his face, he knew what he was realising. That the dreamers missed him just as much.

Then I fall asleep to dream my dreams of you

Dream opened his eyes, tearfully looking at Hob, with his own eyes growing wet, he raised a pale hand and pressed his lips to cold knuckles. Then, he leaned forward, never breaking their easy rhythm and sang softly in his ear.

In dreams I walk with you

In dreams I talk to you.

A sharp inhale was Dream’s only reaction, before melting into his touch.

We’re together in dreams, in dreams.

Hob didn’t want to sing the next part, luckily, Dream didn’t let him. Pressing his lips once again to Hob’s, silencing him. His cold lips tasted cosmic; he knew this was what stardust tasted like.

But just before the dawn, I awake and find you’re gone.

Hob felt Dream’s hands tighten, no doubt thinking the same thing. 1989. Hob rested his chin on his head, gently swaying in time.

I can’t help it

Fixing his stance, taking a chance, he placed his hand on the small of Dream’s back,

I can’t help it

And dipped his sweet Dream.

He overstepped. He knew it. he didn’t have to look at Dream’s wide eyes, or feel his iron grip on his arms, but then, another sound graced his ears, far more beautiful than any song. Laughter. Coming from Dream. It was nothing like his usual amused huff, this was a full bodied, unrestrained laugh that shook his lithe frame. It even ended with a cute snort. Hob found himself joining in. Taking him out of the dip, he gently led the Endless into a spin, watching his eyes crinkle with seldom seen mirth, giggling away like a lovestruck fool. Hob laughed the same way.

It only happens in my dreams, only in dreams

As the song slowed, so did their steps, Dream tilted his head, meeting Hob’s gaze once again, and leaned in close, Hob expected another kiss, instead, he was blessed with three words,

‘I love you.’

In beautiful dreams.

Hob let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Emotion surged through him, heating up his blood. He gazed back at Dream, shock clearly visible in his face. Dream just chuckled, cradling his face carefully,

‘Is it so surprising?’ his words were barely more than a whisper, settling in Hob’s bones, nestling beside the three other words, slotting comfortably in his heart.

‘A wee bit,’ Hob admitted, shyly,

Dream hummed thoughtfully, ‘Then, I have failed as your beloved.’

Before Hob could protest, Dream pulled him close, and pressed his forehead to his. The cold, solid weight grounded him.

‘I shall make it my primary duty to remedy this.’

Hob let out a breathy chuckle, dizzy from the cheap champagne, or the affection Dream was dishing out.

‘You already have, love.’

Dream smiled again, a sight that was becoming less and less rare, thanks to Hob.

‘Perhaps…we could stay for another hour.’

Hob pretended to think about it, running his hands up and down Dream’s back,

‘Nah, let’s get out of here, I’ve had enough socialising.’

Dream beamed. The only way Hob could get a bigger reaction was if he proposed to him. 

AO3

[enchanted-blade]

However Many Sentences Whatever Day it Currently is

Another day, another tag game! Who is she????

Many thanks upon the wonderful @tragediegh for the tag 🌟

Here are 28 sentences from my behemoth of a WIP (which has just cracked 200,000 words?? Help?) It's a Merlin AU that keeps me up at night. It features all that fun lighthearted stuff: dystopian government, ominous ancient prophecies, generational injustice, you know. (And, yeah, love and redemption and acceptance....... they might be there too.) This scene's from nearer the start.

Full disclosure: this story is one unwieldy first draft and not in its final form. I will get to the end before I edit anything or PERISH.

(Meet me back here in fifty or so years for the grand reveal?)

ANYWAY. 28 sentences:

Some animal part of Merlin took over: he writhed and thrashed even though his side was agony, biting back the pain until the man lost his grip. When he could, he hit out at random with his elbow. It collided with something solid and the man grunted, a distraction long enough for Merlin to somehow get to his feet again, hardly breathing for the pain, and make it down the short garden path. The gate was unlatched and he tumbled through it, only to be knocked down again, another cry escaping his lips as he hit the rough, rainswept tarmac.

Who the hell is this guy? he thought wildly. Agency officer or stray bigot – whoever he was, he had it in for Merlin, fighting like Merlin was stealing his firstborn. 

Well, Merlin could fight dirty too. He hadn’t wanted to use magic – not so visibly, not when there was a chance of getting away without putting such a target on his back – but he’d already given the game away with the torch, so when the brute raised his fist to knock him out, Merlin spoke a command. It was barely even a spell. He didn’t have the capacity or the time to shape one, too ruled in this moment by pain and fear. It was just the magic on the tip of his tongue, the words that flocked to him and the power that waited, full and patient, ready to make them real.

He spoke two quick, harsh words; two elements that together meant steam. 

It appeared instantly. It rose from his hands like a shroud of fog, fed by the torrents of rain all around, and though he felt only the slightest warmth – a drowsy heat, a rosebud in the sun – he knew that to others it would be searing hot. 

The man had frozen where he was, his fist poised above. Merlin could see better now, the flow of magic lending him clarity. In the streetlight his attacker struck an imposing figure, his face fine and regal, his mouth open and his breath coming fast. His nose was bleeding, the blood black as it ran over his lip.

And there in his eyes: the gold glitter of Merlin’s own reflecting back, already fading. Merlin watched as the look there turned from determination to something raw. Something that looked a lot like terror.

‘What did you do?’ the man said hoarsely. ‘What is that?’ 

The steam from Merlin’s hands kept coming, rising in thick clouds. It expanded around them, and the man gasped at the heat of it, retreating backwards. Merlin wasn’t sure what it was that scared him more: the risk of burning, or the sight of magic - any magic. He didn’t much care so long as it gave him these few precious seconds. 

He sat up slowly, unable to keep himself from trembling.

I tag @thefollow-spot and any writer out there who really wants to talk abt their writing! do it! i tag u! <3

[regal-rosebuds-main]

Primary Blog!

@regal-rosebuds was initially made as a side blog on my personal account! However, my lack of knowledge on Tumblr at the time was quite earth shaking! So, to avoid my other hobbies, likes, reblogs, followings, etc. to get wrapped up in the agere stuff -- I transferred it to being owned by this blog instead! So if you see it following you, it's just me!

[thatscarletflycatcher]

Physical Descriptions in North and South

One of the things I love the most about Elizabeth Gaskell's writing is the texture given to her characters, and that extends to physical descriptions too.

In North and South the most described character is Margaret (once again, Gaskell's intent to title the novel Margaret Hale comes through in the text); the main feature, her large, dark, soft eyes. They are called soft in 5 difference occasions throughout the novel. Interestingly enough, the word soft is used a lot to describe Margaret: soft flesh, soft voice, soft touch. The interesting thing is that each of these features presents a contrast. Margaret is plump, with round white arms and tapered hands; her figure is full but lithe: all that softness is balanced by her being at the same time tall ("tall, stately girl of eighteen) and limber. Her soft voice is also described as low and rich. In a very snow white fashion, Margaret's skin is like ivory, her lips are red, and her hair black, thick, and very straight. Besides that, very often her features and behavior are described as proud or fiery: her proud bonny face, proud look, so haughty and regal proud, her lips are one lovely haughty curve, short curled upper lip, round, massive up-turned chin, eyes all aglow with strange fire.

It's interesting to notice that, while Mr. Thornton goes gaga after what he perceives as her being regal and handsome, opinions about her differ:

"Sometimes people wondered that parents so handsome should have a daughter who was so far regularly beautiful; not beautiful at all, was occasionally said. Her mouth was wide; no rosebud that could only open just enough to let out a “yes” and “no,” and “an’t please you, sir.” But the wide mouth was one soft curve of rich red lips; and the skin, if not white and fair, was of an ivory smoothness and delicacy. If the look on her face was, in general, too dignified and reserved for one so young, now, talking to her father, it was bright as the morning,—full of dimples, and glances that spoke of childish gladness, and boundless hope in the future."

But there are as many passages in which other characters do call her beautiful, and Thornton describes her skin as pale ivory.

In the softness of her features, Margaret takes after her father:

"His blue-black hair was grey now, and lay thinly over his brows. The bones of his face were plainly to be seen—too plainly for beauty, if his features had been less finely cut; as it was, they had a grace if not a comeliness of their own."

"Her father was of slight figure, which made him appear taller than he really was... The lines in her father’s face were soft and waving, with a frequent undulating kind of trembling movement passing over them, showing every fluctuating emotion; the eyelids were large and arched, giving to the eyes a peculiar languid beauty which was almost feminine. The brows were finely arched, but were by the very size of the dreamy lids, raised to a considerable distance from the eyes."

"He had a trick of half-opening his mouth as if to speak, which constantly unsettled the form of the lips, and gave the face an undecided expression. But he had the same large, soft eyes as his daughter,—eyes which moved slowly and almost grandly round in their orbits, and were well veiled by their transparent white eyelids. Margaret was more like him than like her mother."

Mr. Thornton is a person whose face isn't particularly striking; this is the first description we get of him:

“Tall, broad shouldered man... About thirty—with a face that is neither exactly plain, nor yet handsome, nothing remarkable—not quite a gentleman"

The second description is presented as a contrast to Mr. Hale. Once again his tall, massive frame is mentioned, and then:

"in Mr. Thornton’s face the straight brows fell low over the clear, deep-set, earnest eyes, which without being unpleasantly sharp, seemed intent enough to penetrate into the very heart and core of what he was looking at. The lines in the face were few but firm, as if they were carved in marble, and lay principally about the lips, which were slightly compressed, over a set of teeth so faultless and beautiful as to give the effect of sudden sunlight when the rare bright smile, coming in an instant and shining out of the eyes, changed the whole look from the severe and resolved expression of a man ready to do and dare everything, to the keen, honest, enjoyment of the moment, which is seldom shown so fearlessly and instantaneously except by children."

We never get an indication as to the color of his eyes, the type of his hair, the clothes he wears, etc. Most of the definition and attraction of his person is in the way his personality is reflected in his gaze, gestures and manners. Here are some other examples:

"his eyes gleamed, as in answer to the trumpet-call of danger, and with a proud look of defiance on his face, that made him a noble, if not a handsome man"

"She saw it in his pitying eyes. She heard it in his grave and tremulous voice. How reconcile those eyes, that voice, with the hard, reasoning, dry, merciless way in which he laid down axioms of trade, and serenely followed them out to their full consequences?"

"his face flushed, his eyes shining with kindly earnestness".

Mrs. Thornton resembles her son:

"A large-boned lady, long past middle age, sat at work in a grim handsomely-furnished dining-room. Her features, like her frame, were strong and massive, rather than heavy. Her face moved slowly from one decided expression to another equally decided. There was no great variety in her countenance; but those who looked at it once, generally looked at it again; even the passers by in the street, half-turned their heads to gaze an instant longer at the firm, severe, dignified woman, who never gave way in street-courtesy, or paused in her straight-onward course to the clearly defined end which she proposed to herself."

The rest of the characters get mostly a couple brushes: Higgins is lean, middle aged and dark haired, Bessy has blue eyes and thin hair, Frederick is tall, dark, handsome and blue-eyed (Mrs Hale probably has blue eyes as well, although we are never explicitly told), Captain Lennox is tall and handsome, Henry Lennox is plain, but has an intelligent, keen and mobile face. This last bit is particularly interesting, as Thornton's competition isn't a handsome fop, or anything the like. Neither is handsome or striking physically, or fashionable, both are intelligent and ambitious, etc. The radical difference between them is that Thornton is earnest, direct, simple, and a man who applies his intelligence to work, while Lennox uses his only for fireworks, and he's rather coy with his intentions, vain, and calcullating.

[env0writes]

Drawtober 2022, 10.3.22 “Garden Gateway”

 Within the garden gates Are portals small and great    That only joy can open Release from their floral penitentiary  The smallest rosebud    Barbed with blood Sinks its wonder through my skin    But pain is not the final win For I am a neighbor to pain    Its process rote and plain      The topsoil is soft if you are weary Of seeing meaning in your sorrowful theory           Find a fertile door to bloom Give way to some delicate smelling room Soft, softer than stem has been to me and you   Behold the world within and know this true Pick a petaled portal and open the door      How to choose or escape this war                Locked inside a trap made of steel Only the flora you adore will begin the path to heal Secret gardens beyond quill and ink White into red, my blood will sink               Surrounded by a menagerie of royal buds Painting them all regally red, before the springtime floods Wash pain and paint and petals downstream Droplets waking me at the doors of dreams

@env0writes C.Buck Ko-Fi & Venmo: @Zenv0 Support Your Local Artist!

[jasmariswonderland]

Sidonie’s Ceremonial Robes Story+Voice Lines

Vignette Part One  |  Vignette Part Two

~ Ceremonial Robes Voice Lines ~

Summon: “Like fine young rosebuds, I’m looking forward to seeing how each of you freshman blossom here at Night Raven College!”

Groovy: “Aren’t these robes sophisticated? But don’t let appearances fool you, it takes strength and nobility to be worthy of wearing them.”

Set Home: “I trust you’re fully prepared?” 

Home Idle 1: “To think it’s been a year since my own mirror ceremony. It seems so long ago.” 

Home Idle 2: “When I wear these robes with the hood up, I’m reminded of the Rose Witch and the disguise she used before cursing the cruel prince.” 

Home Idle 3: “There always seems to be trouble at these ceremonies, I guess that speaks to the culture of our students. But try not to add to it and keep Grim  under control.”

Home Login: “These robes have a lot of meaning to the history of our school. Just wearing them gives me a regal feeling.”

Home Idle Groovy: “Oh? I was just waving to Heartslabyul’s vice dorm leader, the one with the glasses. Don’t misunderstand, we’ve just been friends for a long time.”

Home Tap 1: “Every freshman in Pomefiore is just like a seed, ready to bloom with time and care. I hope Vil won’t be too hard on them like he was with me.” 

Home Tap 2: “You wouldn’t normally see me wearing makeup. But this heavy eyeshadow is essential to this look. Vil made sure that knew that.” 

Home Tap 3: “I’m not a vice dorm leader, though it sometimes seems that I am considering all I do for Pomefiore.” 

Home Tap 4: “I always manage to gasp whenever I see Danica in her robes, she wears them with such elegance and poise. Her parents must be proud.” 

Home Tap 5: “Okay now, that’s enough of that. Please try to set an example for your peers.” 

Home Tap Groovy: “There’s nothing to be nervous about, my dear. Take a few deep breaths and you’ll be fine...there, feel better now?”

[writer59january13]

Respite from mortality

Poetry knows no age, as thee Marcia Abramsohn (the former ex lady friend of my late father corresponded with me some years back)

wrote (by hand nonetheless, a long lost art) inlaid with ambidextrous zealousness impossible to identify, which hand crafted artistically colorful epigrammatic ghostly hint emblematic of former exuberance toward English

Language..., perhaps other once vibrantly familiar tongues wagging

less as tempus fugit slithers unseen stealing most cherished, prized, savored... commodity set to countdown immediately post parturition, yet blessed for thee to be gifted your then four score plus four amazingly graceful journeys celebrating

your existence replete with handmaid's tales chronicling quotidian trials and

tribulations, yet still adept, buoyant, cogent, diligent, eloquent, fervent, gallant, hellbent, intent, jimmying,

kindling, loving, mustering, nursing, outlasting...Methuselah (ha...if only) lucid moments nudging awake memorialized occasions, where once upon a time (seems bajillion years ago) innocence concomitant with naivete throve, wherein unfettered dalliances

found untrammeled lasses and lads absorbed with natural unbridled virgin love – gathering rosebuds while they may whispering sweet nothings strictly for respective paramour, (this of course hearsay and speculation) promising each other moon and stars ah...dusty fading memories, yours truly can never recount,

(cuz mental illness co-opted, hijacked, up-ended...adolescent maturation,

whereby agonizing crippling forfeiture jabs silhouetted illusory oasis peopled with all the golden opportunities left to wither on the vine o'mine youth, which mirage mocks escapist attempt into literary realm invisible dead poets society regale an existence bereft nope, no App could ever even virtually duplicate (even approximate) sidelined unrequited love, and no this marriage yielded scanty

satisfaction, which fantasy life as Norwegian bachelor farmer (within mine imagination) solved, where living off the grid remedied forever being pennilessness, day late dollar short dime a dozen dirt poor

dude dulling dufus...that's the news from my Lake Woebegone...where all the

women...and children above the law never get reprimanded.

[candle-hair]

starter for @dragonsongs

Lorna always had some kind of plan — so it was strange for her to even have to consider a last resort scenario. Alas, here she was: hunched over on the stoop of the imposing castle-turned-lair, bundled up in a baggy cloak out of equal parts self-preservation and shame. Her ailment was caused by some TWISTED brand of magic, after all, turning to its most infamous wielder for assistance seemed counterintuitive — but she truly had nowhere else to go.

Uttering a soft, WINDED sigh, the girl glanced furtively around once more, before turning back to the task at hand. She lifted a set of delicate, trembling fingers, curled them into a fist, knocking decisively on the large wooden door before her.

[edgeobeyond]

Opulent hues to make you feel radiantly regal... Charlotte en Or boasts glistening gold rosebuds which gleam against your skin.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

An imagine for adeuce please! They hang out someplace in their hometown during vacation but awkwardly run into crewel. I think treys family bakery would be a nice location but the setting is your choice in case you want to limit the dialogue and number of characters

Ps. I personally feel like the game needs more interactions between the students and teachers. Hopefully we can get more in the new event

Teacher-student interactions are so much fun! We definitely got more from Vargas Camp (which I’m really thankful for), and I hope we keep getting more!

So far, my favorite teacher-student dynamic has been Vargas and Azul. I’d feel bad for octoboi if I wasn’t laughing so hard at his flying fails--

I really liked this prompt, so I wrote more than my usual ~1000 word imagine; please enjoy!

***Mild spoilers for chapter 4!***

Imagine this...

The Rose Kingdom was aptly named for the flowers that bloomed in nearly every corner of its land. In the summer time, they blossomed magnificently, perfuming the warm air with their heady aroma—but in the winter, those delicate rosebuds were banished by a spell of frost. Without fail, a great cold would wash over the region every year, casting their famous red flowers in a thick layer of white.

It was a pattern that the kingdom’s residents had long since grown accustomed to. This was, after all, their beloved home—amid the roses, frozen as they were.

“Oi, Deuce! Hurry it up, will you?!” Ace called, tossing an annoyed glance over his shoulder.

His friend—wearing so many layers that he resembled a moving blueberry more than a human—lagged several paces behind.

Deuce attempted to return the sass, but his words caught in the scarf bound tightly around his mouth, coming out muffled instead. The puffball on his winter hat furiously bobbed up and down, as though communicating his frustration for him.

“If we don’t pick up the pace, they’re gonna sell out of hot chocolate and fresh pastries!” Ace rushed back, grabbed Deuce by the arm, and tugged. “C’mon!! I thought you were in Track and Field Club or something—so let’s get moving!”

Deuce loosened his scarf with his free hand and, glaring at Ace, declared, “No way am I running with the roads this icy. That’s a recipe for disaster.”

“Hah? You serious? I already got wasted enough time waiting for you to dress in your 101 layers of coats,” Ace grumped, gesturing to Deuce’s ridiculous outfit. “It can’t hurt to be a little quicker about it.”

“Mom wanted me to stay warm,” Deuce countered stiffly. “I’m gonna respect that, no matter what.”

Ace rolled his eyes and waves dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, whatever—enough talk, we really gotta get going...!! I’ll be damned if I freeze out here.”

“The Clover Bakery isn’t that far from here, so we don’t need to rush.” Deuce indicated a warm building at the end of the block, which gave off delicious fumes—spun sugar, baked bread, and spices. “Slow and steady wins the race.”

Ace groaned loudly. At this rate, it would take all day for them to waddle on over. He was about to bury his head in his hands when an idea dawned on him.

A mean, but clever, idea.

“Betcha I could make it there faster than you,” Ace chirped, his voice casual.

“It’s not a competition,” Deuce reminded him sternly.

“No one said it was, dummy! I’m just saying I could definitely beat you at your own game.”

“Tough words for someone shaking like a leaf in the cold.”

“Oh yeah?” Ace’s grin was wicked. “Prove me wrong, then.”

“I don’’t have to prove anything. It’d be dangerous to run in this weather, anyway.”

“I bet it’s way more snowy in Pyroxene—and Jack’s probably totally fine with running through it!”

“That’s Jack, and this is me. I said I wasn’t going to rush things, and I meant it.”

“Yeah? Too bad~” The redhead gave an exaggerated sigh and a shrug. “Backing out, huh...? Oh well. Guess if you snooze, you lose...!!”

“Hey, I never said...” Deuce’s voice trailed off, for Ace had shoved by him, darting off in the direction of the bakery. “H-Hey...!! Ace...!! ACE!! GET BACK HERE!!”

He tore after his friend, shouting at him all the while—and Ace, with his (cheating) head start, only laughed in return. Deuce soon caught up (no thanks to his club conditioning), and they were neck-and-neck for first place.

Windchill, knives upon their faces. The biting cold seeped into their lungs, making it hurt to breathe as they hurtled toward their destination. Yet they sailed on, determined to outdo the other.

Both boys launched themselves at the bakery entrance, grasping the handle at the same time.

“EXCUSE US!!” Ace and Deuce yelled in unison, yanking open the door (struggling to cram through the doorway at the same time) and stumbling in.

They were greeted by a blast of warmth and the smells of sweet cakes and toasted breads. The employee manning the counter glanced up, startled at the duo’s sudden appearance. When he saw who it was that had barged in, he sighed and calmly readjusted his glasses.

He looked a little different than usual, wearing a white shirt with green plaid that showed off his broad shoulders. The sleeves were rolled up to reveal thick forearms forged from years of lifting flour sacks and kneading dough. A brown apron was slung over his attire, four-leafed clovers sewn on the pockets.

“If it isn’t Ace and Deuce. How are the two troublemakers of Heartslabyul doing?” Trey asked, his smile lopsided as his underclassmen approached.

“A-Are we really troublemakers in your eyes, Clover-senpai?!”

“I’m just kidding,” he reassured Deuce. “Well, you are troublemakers, but more for Riddle than for me.”

“Geez... thanks for the vote of confidence...” Ace grumbled, casting the third year a cheeky look. “Some senpai you are, huh?”

“Now, now... I’m allowed to have some fun, aren’t I? We’re all ‘off-duty’, so to speak.” Trey said light heartedly. “Anyway, what brings you guys to the Clover Bakery? I’m assuming you’re not dropping by just to say hello.”

“Hehe. Obviously we’re hungry, so we came by for some grub!” Ace held up his index finger. “One large hot chocolate, and a plate of assorted butter cookies for me!”

“I’m okay with a small spiced apple cider,” Deuce chimed in, “please and thank you.”

“Gotcha. I’ll get you your drinks in a bit,” Trey nodded, “but as for the butter cookies, I’m afraid I won’t be able to sell those to you.”

“Huh?” Ace’s face collapsed. “Why not?”

“We’ve only got a few dozen left, and they’re reserved for a client that preordered them. Sorry.” Trey pointed to a neatly wrapped box already set upon the counter, done up in a bright green bow.

Through the plastic window in the box, Ace could see that the cookies had been converted into little sandwiches. Each pair housed a generous dollop of cream, caramelized raisins threaded throughout it.

“What? Who needs that many butter cookies? And why are there gross raisins in them--“

The door to the bakery flung open, summoning a gale of cold once more. A bell suspended above jingled, ringing in a new customer.

“Ah, speak of deville the devil,” Trey said—while his underclassmen balked in terror.

There, in the doorway, was a tall man in black faux leather gloves and a voluminous fur coat—striped, black and white. Beneath that, he boasted a crimson turtle neck and a blazer, half solid white, the other half a black , checkerboard pattern. This, paired with his slicked back hair, steely eyes, and regal face, made him appear as though he had just strutted off the runway, were it not for the leashes he gripped.

Two Dalmatians—one in a blue coat, the other in a red one—stood alert by his feet. They caught Ace and Deuce’s eyes and barked in greeting, but the two boys were far too fixated on the Dalmatians’ owner to gush over dogs.

“Crewel...”

“... Sensei?”

Ace and Deuce glanced to one another, then back at their Alchemy teacher.

“C-CREWEL-SENSEI?!”

“Wh-What’re you doing here?!” Ace demanded, pointing an accusatory finger. “School’s out for winter break...!! You... You didn’t hunt us down to make us do our homework, did you?!”

Crewel snorted. “Spare me your theatrics, Trappola. Your instructors are granted a vacation for the duration of winter break as well. Were you not aware?”

“I-I knew that! I just didn’t know you lived in the Rose Kingdom, too!”

“I thought teachers lived at school...”

“... Seriously, Deuce?!”

“The more you know.” Crewel narrowed his eyes at Ace. “But speaking of homework, I trust you pups are keeping on top of your assignments? Being on break is no excuse to slack on your studies.”

“D-Duh! Of course I haven’t been slacking!” A lie, Ace grimaced, thinking to the piles of homework he had abandoned in his bedroom in favor of hanging out with friends. Whatever, he could just pester his brother for help later. “Right, Deuce? Back me up here!”

“I’ve been diligently studying and working on my homework bit by bit every day, Crewel-sensei!”

“... But have you done it accurately?” Crewel asked, raising an eyebrow. “Simply writing down an answer does not guarantee full marks, Spade.”

“... Errrrrr, okay, maybe I need to work on it a little more.”

“You’ve got your notes and a reliable Science Club member to count on for assistance,” Crewel quipped, gesturing to Trey with a gloved hand. “There is no excuse for why you should not do well. That goes for you as well, Trappola.”

“Y-Yessir!”

“Crewel-sensei, I think that’s enough interrogation,” Trey called, waving for him to come to the counter. Outwardly, he wore a smile, but inwardly, he sighed. For the love of the Great Seven, don’t offer my help for me. “Here, I have your order prepared--oh, but be sure to keep your dogs at the doorway. No pets allowed beyond a certain threshold for health and safety reasons.”

“I am aware, yes.” Crewel’s eyes passed over to the two scared stiff underclassmen. “... Trappola, Spade--come here. Do your professor a favor and tend to my Dalmatians for me.”

“What? You want us to watch your dogs?”

“I’ll do my best, Sensei!!”

“Don’t just blindly agree to it, Deuce!”

“It will only be for a moment,” Crewel insisted, shoving his leashes into Ace and Deuce’s hands. The boys fumbled, but held firm--the Dalmatians eagerly staring up at them.

“... Oi, don’t give me those looks,” Ace grumbled. “You’re... You’re too cute looking and innocent to be Crewel-sensei’s pets.”

The dog in the red coat gave a happy bark, as if pleased with the compliment. Its partner, in the blue coat, panted with delight as Deuce gave it a firm head pat.

Crewel received the box of raisin butter cookies--but allowed his eyes to quickly a scan the glass display case as he strode up. “Do you have dog treats in stock as well?”

“We do.”

“Then add two to my total, please--peanut butter flavor.”

“Alright, you’ve got it.” Trey ducked, retrieved a pair of tongs, and fished out two bone-shaped biscuits. He dropped them into a paper bag and handed them over to his teacher. “That’ll be--”

He was cut off by several bills being fanned out on the counter.

“I’ve ordered enough from your bakery to know the general prices,” Crewel smirked, tucking his wallet away into his massive fur coat. “If there is a discrepancy, you may keep the change.”

“Ah, thanks for that. Hope you and the dogs enjoy--” Trey paused, cut off this time by the sound of several small footsteps from the back room of the bakery. He groaned, already knowing what was coming. “Oh no...”

“Trey-nii!!” A chorus of high-pitched voices piped up, startling Ace and Deuce. “We heard bark-barks!! Did Mr. Fluffy Coat bring back his doggies?”

Three heads of green hair poked above the counter--just barely. One girl and two boys, probably elementary school age, all of them sharing Trey’s mustard yellow eyes.

“Guys, not now. Big bro’s busy with the customers,” Trey warned. He passed an apologetic look to his underclassmen and teacher. “Sorry, my siblings are excitable sometimes.”

“I wanna pet the doggies!”

“I wanna feed’m snackies!”

“I wanna dress them up!”

To the boys’ surprise, Crewel merely chuckled. “No worries. Fellow canine lovers are always welcome.”

“Mr. Fluffy Coat!! Can we feed your doggies?”

“Pretty please with candied violets on top!”

“Please, please, please!!”

Crewel barked with laughter. “Perhaps I can allow it, little ones--permitted that your brother grants his permission.”

All three Clover siblings looked expectantly at their eldest sibling.

Trey heaved a sigh. “... I guess I’ve got no choice. Go ahead.”

Excited squeals filled the interior of the bakery. The Clover siblings nearly tripped over themselves racing over to Crewel’s dogs (they nearly trampled Ace and Deuce’s feet, too).

“Hey, watch it! We’re the ones babysitting these dogs, not you!” Ace cried as the kids descended on the Dalmatians. I’ve only had these dogs for five minutes but if anything happened to them, I’d kill everyone here and then--

“We can share, Ace!”

“Spade is correct. There is plenty of the pups to go around,” Crewel interjected. He produced two dog treats and broke them into smaller pieces, offering them to Ace, Deuce, and the Clover siblings. “Go on, then. One for each of you to feed them.”

The Clovers cheered and eagerly claimed their pieces, holding them out and allowing each Dalmatian to sniff and lick the treats straight out of their palms. As soon as the food was slurped up, the Clovers proceeded to vigorously pet the pups. But the first years hesitated.

“You’re... being awfully nice,” Ace noted, eying him suspiciously. “Are you gonna spring a pop quiz on us as soon as I take the treat?”

“Keep biting the hand that feeds you, and I just might consider it,” Crewel warned with a dark smirk.

“W-We’ll take the treats!” Deuce snatched up two pieces, shoving one into Ace’s hands. “Come on, let’s not worry too much. We’re on winter break, after all. Let’s just relax while we still can.”

“You’re right, you’re right! Let’s not sweat it!”

They exchanged a brief laugh before kneeling and offering up their own dog treat pieces to the Dalmatians. Just as the dogs’ sloppy, wet tongues connected with the boys’ hands, their cell phones went off.

“... Huh? Did you just get a text, Deuce?”

“I think I did. I heard your phone ping too, though. Did you get a text too?”

“I can check. One sec...” With his free hand, Ace fished his phone out of his coat pocket and consulted it. He immediately paled. “Oh, shit.”

(“Hey, language!” Trey shouted--but his protest seemingly went ignored.)

“What’s wrong?” Deuce asked, frowning.

“Check your phone. Check it right now.”

“Is it something seri...” Deuce’s face dropped as soon as he looked at his messages. “Fuck.”

(“I said, language!” Trey tried again, only to be snubbed a second time.)

The distressing text they had received?

SOS SEND HE LP STRAND ED D IN SCAR ABIA CANT GET OUT - Yuu, Grim

Ace and Deuce abruptly stood and bolted toward the exit, much to everyone’s surprise. They paid no mind to the concerned shouts of Trey, nor Crewel, or to the excited barks of Dalmatians no longer held by leashes.

All that remained of where the duo once stood were soggy, half-finished peanut butter dog treats.

[regal-rosebuds]

ꔫWhy Do People Age Regress?

ꔫThere is a number of reasons that an individual may age regress!

ꔫBecoming familiar with terms “voluntary” and “involuntary” will be very useful in your understanding!

Voluntary: “intentional, done because one wants to”

Involuntary: “unintentional, carried out without one’s own wishes”

ꔫSo, age regression is something that can be done voluntarily or involuntarily. To restate, it can happen because one chooses to or because one unintentionally falls into the state.

ꔫVoluntary regression, oftentimes, is for fun or relaxation! However, it is sometimes also done voluntarily as a choice between different coping mechanisms.

ꔫInvoluntary regression is “triggered”. Despite the connotations of the term “triggered”, this does not always mean something negative! Yes, triggers for regression can be stress, anxiety, fear, etc., but they can also be happiness, comfort, external environmental factors, etc.

ꔫWhen used as a coping mechanism, age regression is commonly defined as “returning to a time where you felt safer, things were easier, and/or less stressed out.”

ꔫRegression is not always a bad experience, but it’s not always a good one either! Both happen, both are real, that’s okay!

ꔫWhether or not you are a voluntary or involuntary regressor, if you regress for fun or to cope — or a combination of all of these things — that is perfectly valid. All that matters is that you are safe, happy, and doing what’s good for you!

[voiceless-terror]

Perchance to Dream

@aspecarchivesweek Day Three: Drinks

Characters: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood, Tim Stoker, Sasha James

Jon comes out to Martin. Twice.

(Ft. Kiss-Averse Jonathan Sims and Hamlet References)

__________

“Ugh, no thank you.”

Martin pauses. Sasha and Tim titter behind their hands.

And Jon, well. He’s got a look of vehement disgust written across his features, not unlike when he’s laying into what he claims is a fabricated statement. Martin can feel his face turning red at the words.

Getting Jon to come out for drinks had been the hard part. It’s one month into his tenure as Head Archivist, and everyone’s starting to feel the scope of the task ahead of them. Tim thought a ‘monthiversary’ drink was in order, and the only way to get Jon to come out was to threaten him with some sort of ill begotten information, the likes of which Martin couldn’t hear behind the closed door. Ten minutes later, Jon emerged, looking grumpier than usual (and very dashing) with a scarf around his neck. And now he sat next to him in the cozy pub booth, Martin trying very hard to remain stock-still because Jon’s leaning into his side. Perhaps he’s cold? Either way, Martin isn’t going to discourage it. 

But then he’d had a few drinks and they all loosened up; even Jon’s laugh came easier. And Martin- well, Martin’s opening up a bit more than usual, chattering about his time in the library and bolstered by the smiles he receives in turn. Tim changed track to the personal, regaling them with his latest outdoor adventure while Sasha and Jon gave witty, sarcastic commentary. But then Tim directed the conversation towards him, and they seemed relatively interested in his poetry. He even felt comfortable enough to rattle out a few lines from his phone in a desperate hope to impress, and he stupidly chose one that referenced ‘lips like a rosebud’ and Jon reacts like he’s read a particularly saucy bit of a smut novel aloud. How embarrassing. 

“Whew,” Tim whistles lowly, folding his arms behind his neck with an exaggerated wince. “Harsh, boss.”

“No, that’s not it,” Jon says, shaking his head and putting a hand on Martin’s arm. Putting a hand on Martin’s arm. Putting a hand- “Martin, your poetry is fine, if a bit derivative.” Jon thinks his poetry is fine and he’s got his small, fine-boned hand on Martin’s arm and god, he’s got a poem about that too, somewhere in his phone-

Tim guffaws, slamming a hand on the table and startling Sasha. “What a compliment!”

“It’s just…kissing. Lips. Ugh.” Jon smashes his fork rather violently into a dumpling, sending bits of food flying across the table, one of which hit Tim directly above his eye. “I eat with my mouth.”

“Wise observation.”

“Very astute of you.”

Martin would join in on the banter but Jon’s hand is still on his arm and his warm weight is pressing into his side. Honestly, what’s Jon playing at? He could rip the poetry to shreds in front of him but as long as that hand remains on his arm he’d just sit there, not saying a word. Hell, he’d probably even agree.

“So the bossman doesn’t like kisses,” Tim says, taking an obnoxiously loud sip of whatever fruity beverage he’d decided on. “Is that why you ripped down all of my mistletoe back in research?”

Jon. Mistletoe. Hand still on arm.

“I don’t like any of it,” Jon says, removing his hand from Martin’s arm to make a decisive gesture across the table which nearly sent his drink flying. He instantly misses the pressure but the warmth is still there, burning through his sleeve. Jon looks incredibly drunk, now that Martin’s got a better angle to view his flushed cheeks and bright eyes and lips- “All that touching. I don’t understand why everyone’s so hung up on it. No thank you, not for me.”

A brief flash of understanding lights Sasha’s eyes but Martin’s not in a place to decipher it. He’s not sure if it’s the drink or the Jon-of-it-all that’s impeding him. He’s never seen him so relaxed, so animated about something that’s not work. He can’t even focus on the words coming out of Jon’s mouth at the moment.

But Sasha leans forward- once she’s got an idea in her head, she won’t let go until she’s seen it through. Martin recognizes that look. “You’re asexual, then?”

“Mm,” Jon mumbles, his head tilting back dangerously as he puts on an affected, exaggerated voice. “Man delights not me, no, nor woman neither.”

And then Martin’s gone, suddenly struck by a vision of teenage Jon, silhouetted on a stage by a dramatic spotlight, reciting Shakespeare like a born thespian- look, Martin despises theater, but even he’s not immune to Hamlet. In a dream world he’d be Ophelia, no, not Ophelia, idiot- maybe he’s a stage hand, or no, he helps Jon with his quick changes, that’s a job, right? So caught up is he in this pseudo-high school fantasy that the words being said don’t actually dawn on him until a full minute later, when Tim’s laughter reaches a crescendo.

“Boss, did you seriously just come out via Shakespeare?”

Jon’s not even denying it, giving a lazy, good-natured smile in response. Fuck. Here he is, having some stupid fantasy over his boss who is very much right next to him and very much not interested. God, is he taking advantage? He jumps to the side, trying desperately to put a few more inches of space between them for Jon’s comfort when that small hand comes back to his arm, the sudden and strong grip stopping him in his tracks. 

“No!” Jon’s voice is low, those dark eyes so intense. Martin can feel his face go scarlet from his gaze alone. “This is nice. I like it.”

Tim and Sasha share an evil little smile and Martin’s out of commission, the night’s revelations and Jon’s insistent snuggling having taken their toll. He couldn’t tell you what happened after that, how many drinks were shared or how he got home. All he remembers is the feel of Jon’s hand on his arm, his insistent closeness, and the sound of his laugh whenever Tim teased him.

The next day Jon comes in late, looking about as bad as the rest of them felt. From the way he interacts with them, it’s likely that he doesn’t even remember last night, what he did or what he said. Martin tries not to let it sting, and goes back to work, knowing there’s a side of Jon that he’ll likely never see again.

__________

“Martin, we have to...talk, if that’s alright.” 

Martin pauses, a lump building in his throat. “Okay.”

He settles in on Daisy’s lumpy couch, trying not to let his apprehension show. It’s been a week since Jon got him out of the Lonely and they’re still adjusting, but Martin likes to think they’re settling into a nice routine. There’s such a natural ease to their domesticity; they had their differences, sure, but he’s never seen the man so soft and unguarded, puttering around the cottage, making sure everything’s nice and comfortable for the two of them. And of course, there’s the bed situation. Only one, like in all the cliché fanfiction Martin had taken to reading back when he lived in the Archives and his biggest problem was worms. Maybe Jon doesn’t want to share anymore? He’s been strangely distant the past day, keeping space between them and hovering about in a nervous manner. He goes back through their interactions, trying to think of what he could’ve done wrong.

Jon sits down next to him, his face showing his own apprehension. “I know we’ve been getting...close, this past week. But if we’re going to ah, have an, er- well, you know, relationship- there’s some things you need to know.” Relationship. Jon thinks they're in a relationship. Martin didn’t want to put a label to it, too afraid it would shatter the fragile trust they built. But to be in a relationship with Jon, well, that’s something he’s always dreamed of, right?

So he relaxes minutely, tries not to show the utter joy he feels at the words. “Alright. What’s up?”

Jon takes a steadying breath, looking so oddly grave that Martin immediately wants to take him into his arms. “I don’t...well, I’m asexual. So I’m not really interested…” he makes a vague gesture down towards Martin’s crotch and then freezes, clearly embarrassed by the crudeness of the action. “I’m not interested in all of...that. Or kissing, for that matter. It’s just a personal boundary for me, if that’s alright.”

Oh. Martin blinks, taking in Jon’s serious countenance and hopeful eyes and while he wants to match it, he can’t control the laughter that bubbles out of his throat. “Oh-oh Jon-”

Jon immediately blanches, his brow furrowing in confusion and probably hurt. “W-What? What’s so funny?”

“I’m sorry! Fuck-it’s, it’s not that, that’s fine, it’s just-” Martin tries desperately to keep his laughter under control and fails. Christ, he can’t breathe. “Man delights not me, no, nor woman neither!” 

“Why are you quoting Shakespeare?” Jon’s looking at him like he’s lost his mind. Perhaps he has.

“Because you did, you daft thing!” Martin’s shoulders shake with the effort of containing himself, and he wipes a tear from his eye. He immediately puts a hand on Jon’s arm, a mirror’s reflection of that night at the bar and yet it’s still his hand that burns. “Jon, it’s fine. I already know. You told us over drinks my first month in the Archives.”

Jon’s face takes on that peculiar look of confusion and concentration that Martin loves, as if he’s searching his mind or maybe even the Eye for information. “I-oh. Oh!” He puts his head in his hands with a groan, ignoring Martin’s comforting pats to the back. “How embarrassing.”

“It was adorable.”

“No it wasn’t,” Jon whines into his hands even as he leans into Martin’s touch.

“It was,” Martin assures him, drawing him close to his side and letting him lean his head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry I laughed- you were just so serious, I couldn’t help it-”

“Yes, well,” Jon sighed, settling into his arms, the beginnings of a smile on his face. “It’s fine. As long you’re alright with…”

“More than alright.” It’s Jon, of course it’s alright. Being here with him, in their little shabby oasis- well, it’s more than enough. They sit there in silence for some time, Martin enjoying the closeness of the man he’d fought so hard to protect finally in his arms. He’s starting to think they just might be alright. He smiles to himself, perching his chin on top of Jon’s head.

“To be or not to be-”

“Shut up, Martin.”

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28741983

[jomiddlemarch]

Know your own happiness

Chapter 6

There were no roses left in all of England, the night of the ball; they filled every vase along the great table laid with delicacies, had been woven into garlands for every mantle and bannister, their heady scent warmed by the thousand candles it had taken the maids an hour to trim and light. Alina filched a cluster of white rosebuds from the hothouse for her sash, to match the ribbon she’d wound around her head, and pinched her cheeks to rosiness. If General Kirigan came, she would be glad to look her best and if he did not, it was a good reminder that all her reckless hope could bring her was a pain so ignominious she couldn’t even complain of it. She chose a spot at the far side of the ballroom, suitable to her low station, with a fair view of the dancers and the throngs on the perimeter; if he arrived, he would know to look for her in such a place and she would be well-positioned to notice his entrance. If, if, if…there seemed as many overlaid ifs as there were petals on the rosebuds she wore!

She endeavored to observe the other guests, the ladies in their fine gowns and jewels, the men in jackets and breeches and snowy linen, engaging in lively conversation and even more lively dancing, a scene full of myriad delightful tableaux, which once would have provided her endless amusement. Miss Anne was beguiling the stiff young curate and Miss Elizabeth moved most artfully through the figures of the country dance, attracting the attention of many gentlemen who’d paid her no mind when she was a shy and solitary miss waiting to be invited to the floor. There was so much worth regarding that she told herself she might not even appreciate General Kirigan’s admission to the throng.

Yet despite his sober dress and even more solemn mien, she saw him at once. As much as she had told herself he was simply a man with any man’s flaws and foibles, the moment she saw him, she was struck by how he stood apart from his fellows; how his gait was both graceful and puissant, his gaze acute, every aspect more refined, more compelling than every other gentleman in the room. She let her eyes rest on him as he moved through the room, preparing herself for his approach, his hand offered to invite her to dance or to squire her to the refreshments. Her anticipation, however, was in vain. He walked purposefully, but not towards her, and the arm he held out was to Cousin Eugenia. She could see the care he took in the way he touched her hand, the incline of his head, and could not fail to notice what a lovely pair they made, Eugenia’s bright beauty set off by the General’s regal dark elegance, her attention so focused she did not perceive the Honorable Zenobia’s presence beside her until the other woman spoke.

“It seems I shall have to resign myself to Lord Nicholas,” she said. “A pity, but given his estate and his rather more exuberant and entertaining temperament, a tolerable one. What shall you do when your companionship is no longer required, Miss Starr? Eugenia will be much occupied as the General’s wife and she shan’t need a timid little mouse like yourself scuttling about the halls.”

“I shall go home,” Alina said, as much to herself as to the sneering Zenobia. “I shan’t stay where I’m not wanted—” She broke off, watched as General Kirigan bowed to Eugenia and allowed another young gentleman to take his place as her partner, somehow managing to drift into the shadows.

“Go home? Will they welcome you back? Another mouth to feed, when they have so little. They must have so little, to send you away here,” Zenobia said. “If you had the least vivacity, I might be able to persuade Lord Nicholas to allow you to come visit, but that’s hardly the case. You could make a decent governess, Eugenia’s parents might try to find you a situation—”

“Miss, if you please, you’re needed,” Sukey interrupted from the doorway that led to the servants’ hall, breathless as if she’d run all the way from Cook, afraid of having her ears boxed.

“It seems your future has found you, Miss Starr, how very convenient,” Zenobia said. She didn’t bother to wait for Alina to respond and walked toward the end of the room where Lord Nicholas was laughing gaily, surrounded by a coterie who parted to allow Zenobia through. Sukey stood, anxiously twisting the hem of her apron, and Alina nodded and followed as they made their way to the housekeeper’s private sitting room, oddly empty of the housekeeper or anyone else.

“Sukey?”

“You’re meant to sit down, miss, it’s not long,” Sukey said. “There’s fresh tea in the pot, I made sure I did as was told.”

“Mrs. Bagshaw has allowed this?” Alina asked. The housekeeper was a stern woman and Alina would not have Sukey run afoul of her temper on whatever this errand was to be.

“Oh yes, miss,” Sukey answered. “Once he spoke to her, tweren’t any trouble.”

“He?”

“I beg your pardon for what must appear to be the most arrant nonsensical subterfuge, but I needed to speak with you alone without any risk of discovery and the ball makes that exceedingly difficult,” General Kirigan said from the doorway, somehow taller and even more impressive in the more homely setting than he had been in the middle of the candlelit ballroom.

“As you wish,” Alina said, Sukey slipping out as General Kirigan stepped in and sat down across from Alina, looking like a medieval king on his throne in Mrs. Bagshaw’s worn armchair.

“Miss Starr, there is something of the utmost importance I must discuss with you,” he began and suddenly she was terribly tired, though she had not danced one set. He had and it was enough.

“I must offer my felicitations on your happy news,” she said.

“I don’t understand—”

“But I do, General Kirigan,” she said, as coolly as she was able. “I understand quite well what it signified when you chose to offer your arm to Cousin Eugenia in view of every guest at Gregory Hall, what it meant when you spoke to her and she nodded, and the brevity of the duration between your departure from her and your arrival here is only evidence of her father’s eager approval of your suit.”

“Miss Starr, with all due respect, you understand nothing. In fact, you could not be further from the truth,” he said, his voice a mixture of impatience and reassurance. “But in order for you to do so, I will need to tell you a story and I don’t believe I can manage it if you interrupt. It is not an easy story to tell, especially since not all of it is my own.”

“Should you tell it then?” she asked, knowing she would be up all night wondering about what it was if he demurred, ruing, most bitterly, the questions she’d felt required to ask.

“I must and she will not hold it against me, I cannot think, if she knew what keeping silent would cost. She was tender-hearted, you see, much as you are. She would think of what my silence would mean to you and urge me on, I feel confident of that,” he said. Alina folded her hands in her lap and tried to believe that whatever he told her, she would be able to rise from her chair and walk to her little room with her composure intact, any degree of heartbreak entirely concealed.

“Her name was Louisa and she was my sister, my half-sister actually, the child of my mother and her first husband,” he said. “She was five when I was born. She might well have taken no notice of me, a colicky squalling infant I’ve been told, with nothing much to recommend me, my father dead within a fortnight of my birth, my mother once again an impoverished widow, now with another mouth to feed. But Louisa loved me. Dearly. Even if I never deserved it. Young as she was, she always looked after me, took care of me, played with me. My mother was not one to…coddle her children. It was Louisa who tended my scrapes and bruises, sat with me when I was ill, who told me there was no such thing as a monster when I woke with a nightmare. If only she had been right.”

“What happened to her?” Alina asked, when the pause grew too long, a rose becoming a briar.

“What happens to tender-hearted young ladies who trust too easily, Miss Starr. She fell. From grace. Into ignominy, into despair. She fell ill and when I found her, I knew she did not want to recover, no matter what future I promised her could be hers,” he said. “She only wanted a future for the child, so that is what I vowed to give her, the comfort of knowing her child would never suffer as she had. I had already amassed a sizable fortune and I traded upon my dead father’s name with his distant cousins and their need to take care of a mortgage coming due on Gregory Hall; I made sure everyone knew Eugenia to be the long-desired daughter of the mistress of Gregory Hall, including Eugenia herself.”

“General Kirigan—”

“I kept my vow to Louisa all these years and then, within the past few weeks, I discovered I had failed, or nearly so,” he went on as if having begun, he was unable to stop, driven to the brink by an inexorable candor Alina wondered at him bestowing upon her. There was such pain in his voice, in his countenance, such aching self-recrimination, it was all Alina could do to keep herself from reaching over to take his hand.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I mean Sir Basil L’Entasser. I mean how he was trying to entice her to run away with him and very nearly succeeding,” he said.

“But however unorthodox a fashion it came about, wedding Sir Basil would have been considered a fine match, sir,” Alina pointed out. “Society would forgive an impetuous match between a beautiful girl like Eugenia and a well-connected peer.”

“I said run away, not wed,” he replied. “He had no intention of marrying her—only ruining her.”

“Dear heavens!” Alina exclaimed.

“He is as far from heaven as it is humanly possible to be, an utter rogue, a loathsome, bloody blackguard—the only saving grace is that he is used to getting his own way and didn’t take much care beyond the obvious to conceal his intent, writing a number of letters which I was able to obtain, to the detriment of his nefarious plans,” he said.

“He will not try again, with some other girl?” Not every young woman would have a guardian as fierce with their seducer as General Kirigan, nor as understanding regarding what insincere words of praise might seem like love’s truest devotion to an innocent.

“I rather think the climate in Madras will end any machinations on his part, if it does not end him entirely,” General Kirigan said with a bitter satisfaction. “The Prince Regent was quite enthused about the plan to send him there, once I mentioned Sir Basil’s disdain for court and the Ton and his vast eagerness to venture further afield. Prinny displayed an uncommon degree of alacrity, I wonder whether Sir Basil has tried to sully more than one daughter of the aristocracy.”

“And the letters—do they pose a risk to Eugenia’s reputation?” Alina asked.

“They are ashes, the ones she received and the ones she sent. She is safe, as safe as I can make her. As I couldn’t make Louisa,” he said. “And that is what I said to her, when we danced just now, our public appearance creating an otherwise unachievable measure of privacy, at no cost to her reputation.”

“And this is why you left so abruptly,” Alina said. “Without any missive or note.”

“It was badly done, I know,” he said, shaking his head. “But I was not sure, when I got word, if I would be able to rescue Eugenia from that wretch and his revolting lust—I could not risk tarnishing your good name with any association with my own, if my initial plan failed and I had to fall back upon the one I hoped to avoid.”

“You could not have meant to marry your own niece, sir—"

“No, of course not! I believe that is the first truly daft remark I’ve ever heard from you, Miss Starr,” he said, some small measure of amusement appearing in his tone and his serious, dark eyes. “I would have found Eugenia wherever he’d abandoned her and taken her abroad, to live a quiet and untroubled life as a widowed Englishwoman. A villa in Portugal maybe or perhaps Malta. But if that was what transpired, I could not give you what you deserved, could not possibly convince you to shackle yourself to me, with the shadows that would cling to my name.”

“You believe I would think less of you, of your offer, if you had had to amend it to protect Eugenia?” Alina asked. He raised an eyebrow, shrugged and nodded.

“That would be the generally accepted response of a properly brought-up young lady and if I sought to use your station to consternate the Ton, I could hardly do well by you by lowering you further. I had intended to make you fall in love with me, I stated that in no uncertain terms, and yet—”

“And yet you acted in perhaps the only way that would ever have accomplished your goal,” Alina said, unable to bear his eyes upon her after the first moment when they lit up like stars, glancing at the teapot, at her folded hands. If she had worried that her feelings were only the idealization borne of absence, his anguished tone while speaking of his lost sister and his restrained ferocity towards Sir Basil, the gentle fondness in his dark eyes when he mentioned Eugenia directly and his concern about the possible harm he might pose to Alina herself had convinced her that her own affections were most definitely secured, far more than by a thoughtful cup of tea or aptly worded compliment.

“I cannot fail to observe you said would, not could or might, Miss Starr,” he replied. “There is a certain implication in that choice, but I shall not speak of it further if I have misconstrued your meaning.”

“I daresay you would not,” Alina replied. “But we have a pot of tea yet to be poured and I believe Mrs. Bagshaw has ceded her chamber to you for at least another hour; I should hate to waste such a rare opportunity for fruitful conversation, Aleksander.” She let him hear his name on her lips, the name she had vowed never to speak, pronounced with the same inflection as the most intimate endearment shared in the marriage-bed. “One lump of sugar or two?”

The correct answer was three.

But that was not something she discovered until much later, when the tea was stone-cold and stewed in the housekeeper’s best Wedgewood pot, the rosebuds at her sash were tucked into Aleksander’s vest pocket, and she was so far beyond the boundaries which constituted being compromised that it was very good indeed that she’d accepted his proposal along with what she considered a most satisfactory expression of his reciprocated affection and he countered was merely a glancing intimation of what he averred was his profound and abiding regard.

Such were his powers of persuasion that she declared, a little breathlessly, that she meant to take up beekeeping, happily provoking a look of such adoring, ardent curiosity she relented nearly at once when pressed for an explanation:

“I see you will require a positively vast supply of honey, given your impressive appetite for sweets.”

[confused-as-all-hell]

as widely requested, here is the era of peace between the couples who have subjected to my misery and doom. rest assured i’ll stop causing you all so much pain. first, as always, comes nina and matthias serving enemies to lovers. i would love it if you reblogged, because it makes such a difference

tagging everyone who stormed my dms and notes looking for kinder endings: @thebonecarver @crazywritingbookworm @holding-shan-back-from-murder @highfaelucien @saltyfortunes @queer-bookwyvern @smol-satan @quintessential-octessence @nightshade3465 @murderbabies @wafflesandschemingfaces @dreaminginvelaris

@black-like-my-soul to you, ofc, because you make everything brighter

Matthias Helvar hadn't always loved her.

Once upon a time, he had simply been a boy from the countryside, his fingers stained with blue ink, the curve of his mouth slow and deliberate.

Once upon a time, he had spent his days closeted away in the university library, poring over texts and thick tomes snatched from the very highest shelves.

Once upon a time, he had slept peacefully in his bed, and woken to the sun rather than a star-bright laugh, and his evenings were dull but he knew their rhythm, their beat.

Once upon a time, his name had been eight letters, three syllables, one simple intonation; the first time he heard her say it, breathless and gasping with her head thrown back against the wall, he lost his fucking mind.

They had just been two students, too determined and arrogant and convinced of their own pride. Nina Zenik was raucous and gorgeous and so likened to the sea, all lush curves and storming tempers and glittering surfaces and unknown depths. Matthias Helvar was quiet and furious and easily compared to the ice, all shining facets and cold beauty and unforgiving resistance and inflexible anger.

They danced around each other, at first, a solid series of cautious steps and mocking inclines of the head.

Sometimes he glimpsed her running around the fields, her straight dark hair slick with snow, spluttering as a tall young man tossed another handful at her. He watched with mounting fury as she stretched out during lectures, her head tipping back, soft rosebud lips parting.

Matthias hated her.

Hated the exquisite sprawl of her body, the graceful curves and elegant concaves and sharp angles.

Hated that when the night grew dark, darker, darkest, she was all he could think about.

Hated her eyes, brightest summer green, like dewy leaves and eager flower shoots and grapes stolen from his sister's plate.

But he had never glimpsed anything quite so ethereal as her gaze, and her lovely, secret smile. The smile she turned on her dearest friends, the smile he so often wished to experience, the smile he thought could turn the coldest dregs of the world warm.

She was fucking stunning, and brilliant and wise and glorious and he wanted to kiss her so badly it ached.

She was fucking awful, and loud and insouciant and miserable and he wanted to hold a knife to her throat and listen to her beg.

But she was Nina Zenik, after all, and he never managed to do much more than ruin himself with his fantasies and hopes and wild dreams.

When Matthias lay on someone else's bedroom floor, staring up at the ceiling with eyes that couldn't quite focus, all he could hear was the soft lilt of her laugh, the dulcet cadence of her voice.

He heard her whisper, Matthias Matthias Matthias as if his name was her religion, and she was kneeling at the altar.

And if Matthias spent his nights imagining the press of her hands, the furious set of her lips, the slide of her clothes against his bare skin, he could blame it on his hatred.

He found excuses to watch as she bickered with Kaz Brekker in the corridors, shouting over her shoulder and grinning all the same. He studied at the same table where she was talking to Wylan Van Eck as he sketched with limber dark pencils, preserving her smile in charcoal and paper. He couldn’t keep himself from listening as she laughed with Inej Ghafa, both of them doubled up, arm in arm. And when he glimpsed her trailing her fingers up Jesper Fahey’s arm, her eyes blurred with ecstasy, he nearly lost his damned mind.

Sometimes he reminded her of a hurricane, fierce and indomitable and unforgiving, and then he saw the shade of her eyes and all he could see was flowers flowers flowers.

Winter roses, shrouded in snow and cloud and mist, regal despite every attempt to make them bow.

Spring cherry blossoms, their branches slender and elegant, every little flower a bouquet of rosy jewels.

Autumn sunflowers, veiled in dusty light and the dying cinders of day, the sprawled petals a beacon of hope.

Summer hydrangeas, sweet and bright and prismatic with their precise hues, resting in a crown upon her head.

She was every blossom in the world flowering at once, a determined tide of unfurling colour, undaunted and unbothered.

Nina, Nina, Nina. Even the lilt of her name was a blessing in his mouth, though everything he longed to do with her was godless.

Matthias wanted to watch those rosy lips part, wanted to hear the breathless moan that escaped her, wanted to taste the sound on his lips. He wanted to watch the famous Nina Zenik come and come apart on top of him.

She was a song, and he could have listened until the downfall of the world. He had never heard anything quite so exquisite.

Her voice felt like redemption.

And suddenly, Matthias was seeing her everywhere.

She was in the little cafe across the street, her dark hair unbound, her lipstick the colour of fury, leaning across her table to better reach the sugar bowl.

She was dancing in the club his friends dragged him to, her hands tangled in a pretty girl's hair, and they were both kissing, moaning breathlessly, and all he felt was jealousy jealousy jealousy.

She was unwrapping a cherry popsicle and sucking on it idly, her head in some boy's lap as he braided her hair, and he had never known such hatred.

She was in his messages, in his kitchen, in his bed.

When Nina was drinking at a club, her lips around a twirling straw, her red velvet dress hitched around her thighs, all he could think about was the daring cut of her neckline, the precise slash across her breasts.

And maybe it was because he was drunk and tired and ecstatic that he asked her for a dance.

It wasn't the slow, sweet, serious waltz he had always imagined undertaking with his future bride.

It was furious and frenzied and fearless, his hands on the curve of her waist, her lips tracing a hot path down his throat.

It was Nina angling her face to stare up at him, long lashes low, her mouth parted ever so slightly.

It was Matthias sliding his fingers into her hair, gazing down at her, kissing her.

When she sighed against him, a breathless exhale, he lost his fucking mind.

His hands were tracing up the tight velvet of her dress, ghosting across the flare of her hips, faltering at the graceful curve of her breasts, and then she was whispering and smiling and her fucking green eyes were fluttering closed.

Matthias never saw the colour green the same way.

They never spoke of the kiss, or the dozens that followed, each one occurring beneath the strobe lights of their nightclub and a haze of ecstasy.

His evenings began to play out like a movie one had watched thousands of times, and yet every single twist was breathtaking, ethereal.

Nina's warm, sweet mouth. Her wicked hands. Her secret smile. The press of her lips against his own. The curve of her body tight to his own. The brilliance of her, so incredibly staggering that he felt the need to turn away.

She was Nina Zenik and sometimes when Matthias realized he was the one she was kissing, the one who felt her clever touch, the one who was witnessing her delighted grin.

And in those moments, the world could have been hewn of gold for how exquisite it seemed.

The very first time Nina kissed him outside of their club, he could barely move.

She had simply bounded up to him, dark hair ribboning back, and suddenly she was kissing him, one warm hand through his own.

All Matthias could do was stand still, stand still, stand still.

He still dreamt about the wicked, determined, furious look in her eyes as she collided with him. That single spark in her gaze could have lit cities aflame.

Their relationship was never the brutal, raucous wreck Matthias had imagined.

It was Nina with her arms around his neck in the corridors, leaning onto the tips of her toes, smiling up at him.

It was Matthias leaving a bouquet of sunflowers in her dorms, because something about their undaunted bright stand reminded him of her.

It was Nina tangled in his bedsheets, her hair a dark halo on the pillow, sunlight slanting across her soft skin, smiling just so slightly even in her sleep.

It was Matthias waking up to a series of drunken texts and shaking his head, because of course she was out drinking at three in the damned morning.

It was Nina skating across the lake of his childhood, her arms held aloft for balance, smiling softly as she whirled; a wraith of the cold, a sylph of the ice. Her cheeks were red as cherries in the winter air, and every breath was a cloud of warm air past her parted lips.

When she threw her head back, dark hair shaking loose, he thought love might be his death after all.

And on the single night when the sky was clear, and the clouds were softer than spun silk, and they were laying intertwined in the meadows, Matthias wondered if it hadn’t already.

If he could have captured the stars, they would have been hers.

[halfpricedfics]

Supernova

Warning: NSFW, A/B/O, pining idiots, fem reader, mentions of pregnancy

The way the meteor shower sparkled in the pollen that fell around him, the sharp gasp of his inhale when he caught sight of the aurora dancing above you, the stunned silence that echoed in the biting cold, the aching need in your chest that threatened to swallow you whole, it was all so overwhelming. Tears threatened to spill over as you watched him unclip the satchel slung across his chest with practiced ease and drop gracelessly into a snowdrift. He looked over at you with his crooked, roguish grin and patted the snow under the crook of his arm in a gesture of welcome.

The easy camaraderie he held with you was a poison blade between your ribs. Every honey- sweet compliment that dripped from his gorgeous lips, every casual passing of his hand across your shoulders or down your arm, every act of vulnerability so at odds with everything you’d ever known about alpha’s… it was so hard to breathe. You had it bad and he knew, right? It’s not like you’d made any real valiant effort to hide it.

You hesitated a beat too long and it caused a furrow in his brow that you resisted the urge to smooth away with a press of your lips as you acquiesced. His arm gathered you into his side and you visibly winced at the smell of him, not that he appeared to notice. Your suppressors did a miracle job of keeping your heats at bay, making life outside the safety net of civil society far less perilous, but even modern medicine has its limits. The two of you were biologically compatible and being so close to him had your nerve endings singing. Even without the complication of your schoolgirl crush, the proximity was intoxicating. You couldn’t help but pause to admire the way the aurora and flashes of spacerocks burning through the atmosphere backlit his profile in a stunning silhouette. He was a living work of art. The wild cast of his hair, the elegant curve of his nose, proud cheekbones and a gorgeous jawline accented by rosebud lips that begged for a kiss even as they rambled into madness.

He was rambling now, actually, exalting you with trivia about the lunar cycles of this planet and the rarity of such a cosmic event at this point in its cycle. His husky voice held a tension beneath that you couldn’t translate. As much as Ezra talked, he still managed to remain such an enigma at times. Simultaneously so vulnerable and yet so guarded, like a semi- domesticated feral cat. Whatever he said must have been laced with innuendo because he grinned down at you with boyish mischief that made you want to tug on his blonde patch and poke his dimple. Instead you just beamed up at him conspiratorially and tried not to react when he pulled you even closer into his side. Even through your thick coats you could feel his warmth, ever a living furnace. The two of you laid like that for a long time, just listening to him regale you with fanciful half truths, before the two of you agreed that it was best to set up camp before you managed to fall asleep in the snow and catch your death.

You helped Ezra erect his tent first, a feat he still struggled with in the absence of his other arm. Once he seemed set for the night, you set about constructing your own. In theory, the lining of the tent was filled with a bio agent that used exothermic bacteria to insulate the occupants. Unfortunately, you had somehow managed to puncture the lining of your tent. Without that layer of protection, the tent was essentially useless in protecting you from the elements. Your Omega instincts briefly had you considering asking the Alpha for help, but you quickly dismissed the notion. The deafening silence of the snowy terrain carried his pillow- soft snores to you and you were loathe to disturb his well- earned rest. Besides, earning respect in an Alpha- dominated field as an Omega had cost you nearly everything along the way. You weren’t about to let childish notions of romance and poorly suppressed hormones destroy everything you’d worked so hard for. Instead, you decided to layer all of your clothes and suck it up for the night. Despite the cold, you managed to fall asleep and dreamed about kissing the crinkles around Ezra’s eyes that made your heart ache every time he laughed.

It must have been several hours later when Ezra’s voice shattered your dreamscape and doused you in the bitter proverbial cold of waking reality. He was kneeling over you, panic carved into the noble sculpt of his features. You blinked blearily up at him before realizing that your tent was now billowing in tatters, the hole in the lining having grown exponentially in the biting winds, and you no longer felt cold. In fact, you were uncomfortably hot. You mumbled something to that effect and watched the panic light his face again. You couldn’t quite piece your thoughts together over why he was so upset, but you were overcome with the need to soothe his worry.

In a series of movements that you would not have expected from someone still adjusting to life minus a limb, he hauled you up and nearly dragged you the distance between your tents before depositing you carefully inside his much warmer insulated canvas shelter. You stared dumbly at him as he zipped the two of you inside and started stripping down. Some faraway part of you screamed to look away, preserve his honor and your dignity, but the sudden onslaught of his unfiltered scent washed over you and you barely bit back a moan. Once he was down to his boxer briefs he stumbled over himself to start peeling away your layers. Your foggy brain was now in full tornado- siren mode. He was saying something but all you could manage was to stare up at him in shock and confusion as he made incredibly quick work of all of your layers.

You were sure that he could probably smell your brain engine overheating as he zipped his sleeping bag around you and snaked his limbs around yours like he was trying to absorb you into his being. Everything was so overwhelming and you realized you were shaking against him uncontrollably.

“S-s-s-s-s-sorry, Ez. I c-c-c-cant s-s-t-t-t-top.” Ezra squeezed you tighter and pressed his lips to your temple.

“Shhhh, little supernova,I’ve got you. We’ll have you back to your resplendent self in no time, just keep your hold on consciousness. Don’t you dare depart from me, you stubborn woman.” The humor in his words did little to hide the fear in his voice. He hissed slightly when you wrapped yourself more tightly around him and he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck to hide it. The proximity of his mouth to your scent gland made you gasp and you felt your face warm painfully in response.

After several minutes exhaustion crept back into the marrow of your bones and you were quickly losing your fight against the sleep that was creeping in from the edges. Ezra noticed immediately and pinched your side harshly to keep you awake. You yelped in surprise as he rubbed his hand over the spot in apology

“Stay with me, please.” His voice was fragile and it sent a pang of guilt straight to your heart.

“I’m here, Ezra.” You whispered into his skin. He seemed dissatisfied with your reassurance, though, and proceeded to play a game of twenty questions to keep you engaged until you were warm enough to quell his fears of hypothermic coma. His questions ranged from your favorite prospecting location to childhood comfort foods. By the time your internal temperature had risen to safe levels, both of you were far beyond exhaustion, but he refused himself sleep in favor of watching you.

“I’ll find repose when I’m satisfied you are out of the woods, so to speak. Sleep, little flame, I will join you in slumber soon.” You didn’t have the strength left to put up a fight, settling for reaching up to place your hand on his cheek before dreams overtook you once more. Ezra fought his own eyelids for a while after, counting your breaths and keeping you pressed as tightly to him as possible. He was still shaken to his core at the fright of finding you, the clandestine goddess of his every redeeming quality, nearly frozen amongst the tatters of your ruined shelter. He had very nearly lost you as he slept completely unaware just a few meters away.

He covered the hand that still rested against his cheek with his own and wished bitterly that he could wrap you up safely in his arms the way another alpha could, the way you, above all other omega’s, deserved. Gingerly, for fear of waking you, he pressed his chapped lips into your palm as if he could pour every devotion trapped behind the impenetrable barrier of his self loathing into your flesh with a kiss. Your breathing hitched slightly at the tickle of his mustache and he held his breath until he was sure you had not awoken. Once he was satisfied that you were safe and comfortable, he tucked you up under his chin and drifted back to sleep.

Ezra woke to an empty tent and immediately began to panic. Outside the canvas flap he found a set of small, lightly covered footprints in the shallow snow that had fallen in the night. Quickly grabbing a heavy coat for himself, not bothering to fight over buttoning it single handedly, and a coat for you he set off to follow you. Several meters into the treeline he lost your prints to a blanket of pine needles and swallowed thickly around the scream that was threatening to rip its way out of his throat. He was teetering on the edge of losing his composure when a lilting giggle broke through the haze of terror. A frigid breeze carried another wave of laughter and with it your scent. He turned and walked into the breeze, keeping track of his path inwards lest he become as lost as you must be in a surely delirious state.

He climbed over a wall of shrubbery and stumbled into a clearing to find you knelt next to a frosty stream watching a small furry animal play in the snow. Your laughter carried over the snow back to him and he allowed himself a deep breath of relief. Your cheeks had a healthy color and you were bundled appropriately in layers of thick clothing. Kevva knows why you were out here, but you were safe and with you his heart.

The small animal you were watching spotted him first and scurried off into the brush to hide. You turned to face him, eyes bright and smile wide, and he felt his heart clench. You said something that didn’t quite register for a moment, when it did he felt his eyebrows knit in stunned confusion. You rolled your eyes.

“I ~said~ you are going to turn into a popsicle dressed like that out here!”

Ezra looked down at his disheveled appearance and back up at you in astonishment.

“You almost died and you’re making jokes?!

You laughed.

Ezra felt a blooming warmth in his gut. He reached down, gathered a handful of snow, and strode over to you.

“You are an incredible creature.” He dumped the snow over your head, causing you to gasp. “Yeah, that. Is that ringing any bells?”

“Pretty foolish for a one- armed man to start a snowball fight, don’t you think?”

“Pretty foolish for a woman with inadequate footing on an unstable terrain to challenge someone with no concern for their own well being in a physical altercation, don’t you think?”

You looked at him suspiciously and then down at your legs just in time to see him throw himself on the ground to sweep your legs out from under you. You landed squarely on top of him with a shriek and flailed trying to roll yourself off of him before realizing he had you trapped against his chest with his arm. 

Eventually you slumped against him in defeat.

“Fine, you win.” You wilted dramatically and he laughed into your hair.

“Hey.” You craned your neck to look at him, his face serious and his eyes soft. 

“You struck terror deep into my heart of hearts last night, little one. I truly believed you might have left me for the company of the star sprites.”

You were mesmerized by the sincerity in his voice. No mischief sparkled in his eyes, this wasn’t a game.

“I’m sorry I scared you, Ez. Truly.”

“What precipitated discovering you shivering in the snowfall?”

“My tent was damaged but I didn’t want to bother you. I didn’t think it would get that bad. Figured I could repair it in the morning.”

Ezra loosened his hold so you could turn to face him. He seemed to be searching your face for something.

“It wouldn’t have been a bother, starlight. I would not have survived the agony of finding you frozen not but a few paces from where I ignorantly slumbered.”

Your heart was racing in your chest. Ezra and his beautiful words, the way they danced in the air between you as he whispered what you dared not believe. That this incredible man, this alpha tried and true in the battle for life on the Green, would value your life above that of the treasure he left unguarded to come find you… it was inconceivable.

“I’m okay, Ez, thanks to you. You saved me. I’m okay.”

The air between you was thick and the world around you seemed to have faded into obscurity as the two you laid there in silence. The wind changed and Ezra, still not properly buttoned into his jacket and not wearing enough layers, shivered violently.

“We should head back to camp.” You tore your eyes from him, suddenly ashamed. Of your foolishness the night before, for making him worry this morning, for making him track you down in the woods like a wounded animal, for feeling this way towards your business partner, for everything.

Ezra grunted in agreement, uncharacteristically quiet for a man as loquacious as himself. You crawled into a crouch and offered your hand out, which he ruefully took. You hoisted him up without complaint and helped him button his jacket, something that seemed to only further sour his mood. The two of your trudged back to the campsite in silence with you following Ezra who seemed to have a map in his head of the way out of the treeline.

You looked over the tattered remains of your shelter while Ezra ducked into his own to check on your spoils. Once he was reassured of their safety, he joined you.

“Not much left to salvage. I’ll have to burn credits on a new one when we get back to the PUG.” It was an expenditure you had not planned to make and one that would be costly. At this rate there was no doubt in your mind that Ezra would be filing for a new partner before assignments were redistributed. Dropping credits on a new bio shelter immediately after cash out was not going to look favorable in the line up to other potential partners.

Ezra was watching you silently, trying as he ever was to gauge your inner thoughts by the emotions that flitted so swiftly across your angelic features. He worried he’d crossed a line with you in the woods, and the self loathing of almost not having been there in time the night before as well as the knowledge that you had not felt safe coming to him when you so clearly needed help were eating at him. He knew you were upset, but words eluded him when it came to comforting you. The star cycles on this planet were shorter at this point in the rotation. The two of you needed to come up with an answer to the shelter problem before the star fell from sight and took the livable warmt with it.

“You can take shelter with me until then, little spark. I won’t have you perishing in the frost. It’s not a bother.”

You looked up at him, cheeks chapped from the wind and snowflakes in your eyelashes.

“Are you sure, Ez? I’m sure we can send out an emergency signal to the PUG. I don’t want to invade your space again. I am so sorry about last night, I was foolish and I should have known better and I put the entire operation at risk.”

You were rambling now. Guilt and shame and all of the emotions you had been pushing down this entire dig with supressors that were now…. Oh shit.

“An E alert to the PUG will have vultures descending on us in hours. Neither of us is in any fit state for a skirmish. Your presence in my tent is- what are you doing?”

You were on your hands and knees in the snow, bottom displayed to him in a way that had him stirring slightly in his pants. Your hands dug through the powder into the ice, frantically searching for something. You stopped, took a beat to compose yourself, and looked up at him with the gravity of a terminal diagnosis.

“We have another problem.”

You tried not to panic as you watched Ezra process what you had told him with a slack jaw. An Omega already on hour 16 without suppressants, an unbound Alpha, one tent, and a deathly inhospitable terrain. Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke. The poetry that often spilled like life’s blood from his pouty lips frozen in the icy grip of fate’s poor humor.

“We will craft a solution, little flame. You are safe with me, I swear to you. I would rather part from my remaining arm, hell with the rest of my limbs, too, than put you in harm’s way”

Ezra offered you his hand and pulled you to your feet before brushing some snow out of your hair, another of his casual acts of affection that tore you apart inside

“Ezra, I’m scared. I don’t want to put you through this. I want to call for the PUG. Please, I don’t want to-”

Ezra’s hand was still cradling the side of your head where he had tucked a strand behind your ear. Concern shone brightly in his dark eyes and drew from you the confession you’d tried to swallow.

“I don’t want to lose your trust… or your respect. I- “ You took a deep breath. “I know, morning star.” Your eyes shot back up to his. There was sadness now, something you desperately wanted to soothe away.

“You…”

“Of course I know. Suppressants might stop a rut but they don’t render a man blind. Or stupid.”

You flushed deeply at his words, shame once again bubbling to the surface and threatening to spill over your eyelids. He hushed you gently.

“I dared not utter any acknowledgement for fear of scaring you away. You are resilient, but a creature as beautiful as you only survives in this field if they are incredibly smart, which you are. We may have conquered our more primitive urges through chemical but they still influence our… desires. I did not want to create such conflict within you by challenging your reason with your baser needs. I am not a suitable mate and… in crystal truth I did not care to risk the blessing of our proximity with gluttony.”

Your breathing was coming in ragged bursts as scorching hot tears blazed down your face to chill in the icy winds.

“Do not tease me, Ezra.” You barely gritted it out without sobbing.

“I would never conceive of such cruelty, not for you. I have done horrible, vicious things to survive, but I would surrender myself to a thousand tortuous deaths before I brought such tears to these eyes. Please believe my words to be true, my flame. My heart beats in tandem with yours. You make me feel alive. For the first time ever, I feel like I can breathe. Part of me died on the Green that.I thought was lost forever, long before the separation of my arm. Meeting you, the holy privilege of being in your service, it has revived that which had been mummified in the sunken hollow of my heart.”

The tears had started flowing in earnest now and his thumb brushed gently against your cheek to catch them. Your hands came up to rest on his chest and then, when he did not move in discomfort, you slowly slid them up to cradle the back of his neck. Ezra leaned down to rest his forehead against yours and then closed his eyes like he hadn’t had a moment’s rest in years. You stroked your thumb up and down his hairlineon the back of his neck in a motion that mirrored his on your cheeks moments ago and he shivered- whether from your touch or the cold you could not say.

“We should take shelter, Ez, before the weather gets mean.” Ezra squeezed your hip before turning to duck into the tent. You took a moment to ground yourself, already feeling the heady rush of hormones and the rising body temperature they bring.

Inside the tent, Ezra was prepping his bedroll for sleep and layering every item of clothing he had.

“Ez… what are you doing?”

“I won’t have you both in pain and afraid of being taken advantage of. I will sit watch outside the tent while you toil through the first wave. A fresh heat off suppressors can be intense, I need you to feel safe.”

You were stunned. An act of generosity like offering to share his tent and supplies was already monumental for a prospector, even one as kindhearted as Ezra claimed he truly wasn’t. To offer those things without trade for your comfort was beyond what you could have ever asked for, and all in the name of making sure you were safe. All for love.

You strode over to him and gently took the large sweater out of his hand and tossed it aside before taking his hand in both of yours.

“Can you stay? Just for tonight, please. I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts.With the pain. I feel safer with you, Ez. Always.”

Ezra looked to the top of the tent as if it held the answer to life’s dearest mysteries and swallowed thickly before dropping his head to his chest. Stepped towards you, into your personal space, and placed a chaste kiss to your heated forehead.

”‘l’ll stay for as long as you need. As long as you want.”

The winds picked up to a shrill scream outside the tent which helped cover the muffled sounds of your cries into the breadth of Ezra’s chest as the first wave of unsuppressed heat washed over you. It had started with a dull ache to your lower abdomen that bloomed into an inferno of bottomless need. Every nerve ending felt raw and exposed. The ache in your abdomen had spread out into your genitals and up under your rib cage where your heart beat wildly. Ezra did his best to comfort you, his large hand rubbing uselessly up and down your sweat- drenched back.The smell of him did very little to quench the fires inside. Another intense wave of agony gripped you and caused you to cry out his name. He pulled you into him through instinct , your mouth now dangerously close to his scent gland.You nuzzled against it slightly as you tried to breath through the mild convulsions your body endured at the crest of every wave.Ezra tried to hide his gasp at the combination of your heady scent and the feeling of you so close to marking him as he had imagined shamefully so many times before. His resolve was wavering as every new wave of hormones tested the strength of his own blockers.

“Kevva help me, tell me what to do.” It was barely a whisper into your hair, but the sound of his voice strained with desire drew a pitiful whimper from you that sent daggers into Ezra’s heart. He shushed you gently and squeezed you a little tighter in an effort to soothe you.

“Ezra…” Ezra took a breathe to steady himself before looking down into your eyes shining with fevered heat and the vulnerability of hope.

“Tell me how to be of service to you,, my love. Anything, simply name it.”

“Ez, I didn’t want it to be this way. I- I- I-” You hissed and gasped through another wave. “I’m so sorry Ezra.” He stroked his hand down the back of your head.

“You have nothing to apologize for, little one, not one thing.”

“Ez, please-” Another small noise gripped his heart like a vice.

“Anything, anything.”

“Ez please fuck me. I need you, please.” Ezra was stunned into silence. “I love you, I trust you. I’ve wan- wanted this for so long, thought about it more than is even sane and healthy. I never wanted it to be like this, but I don’t know if I- if I can take any more. I’m so sorry, Ezra.”

Ezra felt his heart shatter into a million pieces as you begged him for what he’d felt so retched and vile for squeezing himself to muffled release by fantasizing about for months. But this was wrong, he couldn’t do this with you, to you, in such a state of vulnerability.

“I won’t take advantage of you like this, Please don’t ask this of me, my flame.:”

“Ezra look at me.” Ezra looked lost and a little scared but he held your gaze. While you spoke. “It isn’t taking advantage, baby. You are helping me, taking care of me. My alpha.” You reached up to cup his cheek and he audibly moaned, both at the touch and the claim over him.

“I-”

“Ezra. I want this. I am of sound mind, or as sound mind as one could be surrounded by the smell and touch and sound of the person they love and desire more than anything in any known galaxy. My body has hungered for you- ah- for so long as my heart found its rhythm with yours. Even through suppressants I knew I was hopelessly yours. Ezra, I need you. Please, alpha. My alpha. My Ezra.” You reached up and brought his forehead down to yours as another wave tore through you. Your shuddered breath as you swallowed back a painde whimper was the final nail in his coffin. Kevva save his filthy soul, he was giving in.

“Okay, little one, you’ve conquered my acquiescence. I just ask of you, beg of you, that you not resent me later for what I will have done to temper your discomfort. You have my heart and, while the conditions are less than suitable, “

“Ez…”

The first kiss was like tectonic plates fitting back into place. Somewhere out in the great unknown stars aligned and the very universe breathed a sigh of relief. His lips were out of practice and unsure, moving against yours with only the faintest tremble as his body fought against his own suppressors. He wanted to take his time and savor you, learn you, worship you, but your own needs were like a lightning storm beneath your fevered flesh. You nipped at his lip and whined into his mouth when he deepened the kiss in response. He tasted like the bubblegum toothpaste that his adopted “niece” had sent him as a joke. His endearingly patchy facial hair scratched pleasantly against your face and, under more favorable conditions, you might have stopped to explore that sensation. The inferno ravaging your nervous system was unrelenting and you tugged him closer against you as it burned in another white- hot flash.

Ezra seemed to get the message, having pulled back to look down at you in concern. A part of you that desperately wished you could be lavishing him in every bit of honeyed affection that you knew he’d gone so long without wanted to kiss away that distress. Instead, you settled for placing a feather light kiss to his inner wrist where his arm was holding himself up in an impressive display of muscle control right next to your head. He dipped back down to plant a scorching kiss that left you breathless before moving down your neck a ways and sucking harshly against your scent gland. You cried out in a mix of pleasure and need, gripping his hair and thrusting your hips up to meet him. He moaned in response and met your thrust with a grind down of his own. You felt him against you then for the first time and nearly jumped out of your skin. He shushed you quietly before kissing back up the column of your throat to bite at your chin and then kiss you so deeply that you honest- to- Kevva forgot how to breathe. Your hands seemed to move of their own accord across his body; down his back, threading through his unwashed curls, palming at his backside, feeling the chorded muscles in his arm where he held himself above you. All the while he was grinding down on you until you hooked one of your legs around his waist to seek the friction your body called to his for.

This seemed to finally light a fire under his cute little ass. Suddenly he was leaning back away from you, tugging your tanktop down to release your breasts. He latched onto one nipple and pulled harshly at the other with his fingers. Your resulting cry of pleasure was met with a growl that seemed to come from deep within his chest. You pushed him back just long enough to strip yourself of your tanktop and begin working your soaked panties down your legs. Ezra started to resume his work against your breasts when instead he snatched your panties out of your hand and stared agape at the massive dark spot staining the crotch. You laid back and spread your legs for him, one hand trailing down to dip into your dripping folds, maintaining eye contact all the while. Tossing the cloth over his shoulder, Ezra made to dive into you but you stopped him with pointed toes to his bare chest. You could feel his heart pounding under the skin. He looked up at you in bewildered confusion, something that would have been incredibly kissable without the agony of fresh heat.

“Baby I need you inside me. I need to come on your cock, please. Alpha I need your knot.”

Ezra swallowed thickly and fumbled frantically with his pants. You sat up and batted his hand out of the way to do it yourself. He placed his large, rough hand between your breasts and gently pushed you back down so he could crawl over you, kicking his pants and boxer briefs down in the process. You reached for him and the look on your face as you did, so soft and sweet even in the throes of pain and passion, and he felt himself falling harder and deeper for you then he knew was possible. He needed this, needed to make it better. Needed to make you feel good. Needed to claim you. Needed to knot you.

“I need your assurance that you’re truly ready, my flame. I would never forgive myself if I hurt you.” His forehead was pressed to yours again, breath coming in hot bursts against your lips as he struggled to contain himself.

“Ez, I need you. Don’t- please.” He kissed you then and used the distraction of his mouth on yours to begin pushing into you. He wasn’t extraordinarily long, but goddamn he was thick. The incredible stretch of him inside you as he inched his way through the scorching wet of your aching pussy. You cried out as he bottomed out in you and he shushed you gently in response.

“Shhh, I’ve got you. I’m going to take care of you, little star. Such a sweet omega, my omega.” He was propped on his forearm next to your head, watching down at you while you adjusted to the welcome intrusion of him. He pulled out slightly, jaw set in a hard line of concentration as he focused entirely on not hurting you. The friction was almost unbearable and you cried out in relief as it sated the agonizing need that had been washing over you for hours.

“Oh Ezra!” The snap of his hips back into you was pure ecstasy and you were quickly losing any sense of composure as every nerve ending lit up like fireworks. Your head was thrown back in pleasure already, and that just wouldn’t do. He nudged at your jaw with his nose and you met his gaze before tasting his lips again. This kiss was slower, less frantic, and you took the opportunity to pull him fully down onto you with only a moment’s hesitation from Ezra. It started with grinding into you, both of you whining and moaning into one another’s mouths. Your legs came up without you meaning them to and wrapped around his waist. Grinding became slow, hard thrusts between whispered praises, pleas, and declarations of love. Slow, hard thrusts became more frenzied as both of you neared your release. His arm wound under you to hold you in place as he started slamming as hard and fast into you as he could without breaking your hold around him. You almost didn’t recognize the noises being pulled from you as your own voice and you weren’t in your own mind enough to care. You felt the winding within you threatening to break and tried to warn him.

“Ez! Ez! Ez!”

“I’ve got you. Come for me, pretty girl. Let it go!” Ezra’s voice was strained with the effort of keeping his thrusts measured and his aim sure so he could bring you the release that would stave off the worst of your heat. You could feel the rippling of his muscles under his skin as he worked over and within you. The little grunts and groans from his lips so close to your ear, the sounds of his praise and encouragement. It was all too much. You came with a deafening cry, your body bowing beneath him so hard that he nearly lost his hold on you. He managed to keep his grip and worked you through it, all the while your release pulled him deeper within you as your body instinctually prepared to take his knot.

“I- I’m”

“Oh alpha, please. I need it. I need your knot. Ezra, please.” Your words were barely intelligible in the haze of your orgasm but they were enough to bring him over the edge. You could feel his knot swelling at your entrance. His hips stuttered against you and from his lips poured a litany of whines and moans and mumbled praise that pushed you over the edge of another, less intense orgasm. The waves of your second orgasm helped draw his knot in and he spilled himself into you with a shout. His face buried into your neck on instinct but he stopped there. You stifled your disappointment on not being marked and reached up to stroke the hair on the back of his head with one hand while the other held him tightly to you. You kissed up and down the side of his neck, paying a little extra attention to his own scent gland and feeling him shudder above you. The two of you stayed that way for a long time in comfortable silence, so long that you had started to wonder if he had fallen asleep still knotted within you when he spoke soft and low next to your ear.

“Are you okay, little one?” You smiled against the warm skin of his shoulder and kissed him softly there before answering.

“I’m more than okay, Ezra.” When he didn’t immediately respond, your anxiety started to climb in a series of escalating ‘what- if’s’. He seemed to smell your discomfort and moved to sooth you.

“Hey now, what malfeasance stirs my love from her ecstasy?” His lips tickled against your cheek as he craned his neck back up to see you. You flushed in embarrassment.

“It’s okay if you didn’t mean it, Ez. I know the hormones can be a lot and I owe you big time for helping me and-” Ezra cut you off with a kiss that seemed determined to wipe any such thought from your mind.

“Hush now, little omega. Of course I meant it, every word. And you were beyond incredible, exceeding my every fantasy. The very idea of you being indebted to me for fulfilling a desire that I, too, have sheltered for far too long is ludicrous. I love you. Please, I am begging you to hear me. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.” Every confession was punctuated with another kiss to your forehead, cheek, chin, temple, until you gave in and palmed his cheek so that you could reach his lips.

“I love you, too, Ez.” The two of you fell back into easy silence for a while until the seeds of doubt sprouted again in your mind. You were toying lightly with the striking blonde birthmark along his hairline when you must have made a face.

“Tell me.” The request was soft and less a question than a gentle command. You screwed up your face a moment before sighing deeply.

“You didn’t mark me…” You felt pathetic and foolish the moment you said it. Ezra brought his hand to your cheek and looked into your eyes before explaining.

“It’s no secret at this juncture that the conditions under which we coupled for the first time were less than ideal. Truthfully I have fallen far short of what you deserve and what I should have provided you as your alpha. My omega,” That last part was spoken so quietly, like he had said it to himself before remembering himself and continuing. “The gruelling throes of an unplanned fresh heat were not how I desired to knot you for the first time and I am only so fortunate that you are newly off your suppressants so that breeding you would not be under such unfortunate circumstances as a shared bedroll on icy ground. That is to say, my heart, that I want to save such acts of commitment to scenarios in which I can worship you the way you deserve and lavish you in the sort of luxuries that an omega of your unsurpassable beauty and strength deserves. It was all I could do to contain myself and keep from claiming you for all to see, all I could do to refrain from asking you for the very same.”

Your eyes pricked with tears at the sentiment and you blinked them away. You wanted to hide from him until you got your emotions under control, but trying to escape his knowing gaze while still knotted would be excruciating for both of you. Your face was hot and you were filled to the brim with a hurricane of emotion.

“Ez, I would have been more than happy to have you just like this. I don’t need all of those material things. It’s you, Ezra, only you.” It was his turn to swallow back tears.

“I could never have presumed to even dream of such proclamations leaving your sweet lips, my star. You are my everything. My redemption, my faith, my hope.” You held him close to you for several minutes after that, just feeling his warmth and enjoying being able to touch him with the affection that had been tormenting you for months in the frustration of denial. When Ezra did pick his head back up there was a familiar determined set to his jaw. “If you desire it so, I will claim you right here, right now. I would not deny you anything you asked me for in earnest, but I would very much like to… I…” You had never seen Ezra at a loss for words before and it endeared you to him so fiercely.

“Ez, baby,” His eyes darted back up to yours guardedly. “I am yours and I am patient. We have all the time in all the worlds.” You trailed your fingertips across his scent gland and smiled when his breath caught slightly. “If candles and fluffy pillows and music are what you want, I am more than happy to oblige. I’ll give you anything you want. After everything you’ve been through… you’ve fought so hard and so long.”

“Are you positive you don’t mind accommodating my desires for…. My vow to you is unbreakable regardless of where it is made. You deserve better than to be claimed in the fog of your heat on the floor of my tent like an animal.”

“Ezra. This is already more than I dared to dream of. You are more than I dared dream of.” You kissed him then, silencing any other doubts he might have about the sincerity of your agreement to his request. The two of you laid together like that for some time, still fully entangled and lavishing one another with kisses and explorative touches and whispered praise while the storm raged on outside the tent and buffeted its thin walls around you. You traced his scars with admiration and reverence, something that seemed to make him quite a bit more emotional than he was ready to show you. You would give him time, but you longed to hear every story behind them. The scars around his stump were still quite dark, having not yet had time to fade. Your touches there were feather light and made with great caution to avoid making him uncomfortable. You knew what it meant for him to allow himself to be this vulnerable with you, Every scar was an almost- ending and this one in particular held a lot of shame. You knew he had lost it on the Green and somehow in the process of escaping with his life he had become somewhat responsible for the life of the young girl he occasionally corresponded with. As much as he ran his pretty mouth, there was still so much you didn’t know about his journey to you.

“You’re so perfect, Ez, so beautiful.” You cupped his jaw with the hand that wasn’t still cradling his arm. His lower lip trembled slightly but he muffled its betrayal by slotting it against your own in a kiss that stole your breath away. He didn’t trust himself to speak without his voice wavering, so he elected to show you instead. To thank you for trusting him, for loving him, for letting him love you. He cradled you with his hand and caged you in with his body like he was afraid that holding too tightly might hurt you, might scare you away. The smell of him all around you as another wave of heat washed over you made you cry out into his mouth and his hips ground his knot deeper into you in response, earning a wanton moan from both of you. The pain was less intense this time and Ezra set a more leisurely pace. Still knotted to you, he couldn’t move much without injuring you both but he could grind and rut against you. His hand tangled itself into your hair and he gripped at it to turn your head so that he could lavish attention down your neck to your scent gland. You finished faster this time, still sensitive from your last orgasm, and the wet heat of you again took him over the edge right after.

“Are you comfortable, my omega?’ His voice was hoarse from shouting his release just moments before. You looked up at him, fucked out and cockdrunk on him, and nodded with a dazed smile. He chuckled softly and stroked his fingers down your cheek. “You should rest while you can, little one. The sun will usher in a new beginning. The worst is behind us.” He kissed your hair, your nose, your lips, before settling himself atop you the best he could without crushing you or yanking the knot in such a way that might cause you more pain. You reached up to kiss the dimple that popped as he watched you fight sleep and then cuddled into his chest and had the best night’s sleep of your life. Just as Ezra had promised, morning’s light filtered through the leaves in the trees around you and made sparkling opalescent illusions in the snow below. You woke first, noticing first the empty ache between your legs where his knot had released and he had slipped out of you in the night. He had you in a vice grip pressed to his chest like he was afraid you might slip away from him in the night. He was sleeping so peacefully, the muscles in his face more relaxed than you had ever seen him. He looked about ten years younger without the worries of the world weighing so heavily on his features. He was objectively gorgeous and you simply could not resist reaching up to press kisses to the long stretch of his neck, the bare patches in his beard, the soft flesh of his cheeks, the ghosts of wrinkles around his eyes, the skin below his birthmark, down his nose, and to his lips which were now puckered comically in waiting. You giggled lightly and blew a raspberry against them, causing his eyes to shoot open and a raucous laugh to burst from his chest. He rolled the two of you so that he was back on top and proceeded to smother you in obnoxiously loud kisses until you cried mercy so that you didn’t pee the bedroll. The moment he released you from his iron grip you scrabbled out the front of the tent and sprinted for the treeline, completely oblivious to his hungry gaze on your bare backside as you scampered off for privacy. He unzipped the window flaps in your absence and started organizing supplies to make the two of you a ration breakfast- all the while daydreaming about being able to cook you a proper breakfast after ravaging you in a proper bed.

You crept quietly back into the tent when his back was turned and sheepishly pulled on his shirt from the night before. It smelled like him in a way that made your heart ache as much as your still- swollen sex. He turned to you with a crooked grin and you suppressed the urge to kiss that dimple you loved so dearly, electing instead to tug playfully at the blonde patch. The love in his eyes as he stared up at you and the way they glittered in the almost magical ambient light brought tears to your own. He reached up and wiped them away and rested his palm on your cheek.

The two of you ate in comfortable silence, just enjoying the proximity and domesticity. Once everything was properly disposed of, Ezra reclined back onto your bedroll and pulled you back into his chest with a sigh.

“Y’know, we could probably make the sling if we cut across that clearing you found yesterday and be back on the PUG before this planet’s next rotation.” You smiled up at him and felt warmth spread through your bones at the admiration and mischief married in his eyes. The two of you packed and and started on your way rather quickly, fingers interwoven and eyes trained on the wood ahead. There was a new kind of tension in the air between you as you traveled quickly towards the promise of the beginning of the rest of your lives bound together in blood and spirit. No matter what waited for you on the other side, you knew that you would never have to face anything alone ever again, and that was enough. Ezra was enough.