#sunlit days challenge

[needle-thread-thimble-spear]

RGU and the Transfeminine, Part 1

OR

Why Miki Kaoru is an Egg

Fig. 1: The Sunlit Garden

When I’d first watched through Revolutionary Girl Utena, Miki Kaoru was initially one of the characters I had the hardest time figuring out. Unlike the other poisoned sibling relationships in the show, Miki and Kozue’s didn’t really make much sense to me. I couldn’t decide how I felt about the character, whether he was “better” somehow than Touga, Saionji, or Akio, or if he was “just as bad”. And of course. What the hell is with that damn stopwatch dude??* Looking at fan writings afterward just deepened the confusion. Everyone seems to have a different opinion on what’s going on with Miki. It’s only after much re-watching, and introspection, that I think I’ve figured out why I’m so conflicted about the character. I’d like to share why- and hopefully along the way I can at least show that Miki is more interesting than many give him credit for. Click the readmore if you please!

(And, to be clear, what is written below is a reading, a blend of evidence from the text, from the subtext, and my own personal experience. I do not claim to be the first to interpret the character this way nor do I claim that this is the definitive read of the character. Nonetheless, I hope I can make my case to you!)

and, a big thank you to @empty-movement for collating all the high quality screengrabs and scans in this post!

Fig 2: Rookie Princes

While I’m not the first to notice, I think it’s frequently overlooked just how similar Utena and Miki are in the first arc. It’s definitely something that flies over the heads of many first-time viewers. But Miki and Utena, are extremely alike! Of course, they are both motivated by an unattainable image of the past, and Miki’s early episodes codify the “sunlit garden” into the RGU symbolic environment. But it’s more than just this. Utena and Miki both treat Anthy in basically the same way. Utena has an easy time convincing Miki that the dueling game is objectifying nonsense. That the principled thing is to leave the whole exercise behind and treat Anthy like a person. It isn’t very hard for Miki to convince Utena to duel him for her hand either. They both view themselves as her personal protector, and (while maybe at different times), both project their imagination of what she must be thinking onto her. Utena does a bit more than Miki to try and figure Anthy out, but it doesn’t take much for her to get swept up in her own image of prince. In both their minds, Anthy needs them to save her. And, when Anthy looks them in the eyes, and tells them. I’m not yours. It destroys them. Freezes them in their tracks, breaks their hearts. Screaming, its a lie, you can’t mean that! Of course they get along so well! They see themselves in one another, plain as day. Little rival princelings, seeking the affections of the same princess, but always with chivalry and good intention.

Fig 3: Heartbreak

But I think there is more to it than that! Miki and Utena (and later Nanami) are some of the youngest duelists (at least, without a black rose anyway). And, they have fairly similar relationships to the other members of the student council. Juri acts as an older friend, mentor, and source of advice for both of them. Its not unlikely that she sees her younger self in the two of them, and while she does very directly take this out on Utena, its her sword that Utena takes to her second duel with Touga. Indeed, Touga manipulates Miki and Utena in unsubtle and sexually aggressive ways, as compared to how he might treat Saionji or Juri. And for both, its their relationship to gender that he directly attacks. He attempts to break Utena’s spirit by turning her “back into a normal girl”, and for Miki he seems to challenge his masculinity. And while this may seem as though the two of them are being shoved in opposite directions, in both cases, Touga hits them in the same place. “You’re a prince then? I don’t think so. Unless you prove it”. Touga isn’t the only one to question Miki’s ability or status. Utena and Juri both tell Miki. You are much more suited to playing piano than dueling. The main difference here is that they tell him this with genuine compassion, but the implication is the same. You aren’t suited to this prince thing. Give it up.

I don’t think it’s just the audience who is conflicted slotting in Miki with the other “men”.

Fig 4: Strange Friends

Much ink has been spilled on Miki and Kozue’s relationship, but I do think there is one thing consistent across readings. There is a power struggle going on between them, and they’ve both got something to hold over the others head. Personally, I don’t believe there is any attraction between them. Rather, What’s Going On With Those Two is their mismatch in understanding their sexuality and the RGU concept of “Reality”, and the friction that creates in their image of themselves and one another. That reading may go as follows. Miki sees Kozue as acting dangerously and immorally. In his mind, she is his responsibility, to keep out of trouble at the very least. Perhaps he sees himself as needing to step in for their absent parents. So he sees himself as the mature and grounded one, a father figure needing to keep the both of them on the straight and narrow. Kozue on the other hand, sees Miki as being essentially blind to Reality (with a capital R). She believes he doesn’t have a good grasp of what sex is, or what adult relationships look like. She may believe that she understands what happened with their parents much better than Miki, and clearly sees that her brother is in danger with his creepy music teacher. So she sees herself as the mature and grounded one, needing to protect her brother both by warding off people who would take advantage of him and by getting him to grow up and see things as they Really are. Without their parents, they feel the need to take care of one another and control how the other approaches their sexuality. But in the end, it does seem that Kozue is the one who is better able to manipulate Miki’s behavior, helping Akio convince him to duel a second time. That Miki needs to grow up and accept what he wants. He sees a vision of Anthy, and he’s driving the akiomobile. And, with fearful realization, he discovers the identity of End of the World.

Fig 5: Fear

So then. Why should Miki be so hung up about his sexuality? It clearly makes him very uncomfortable. And why does he compare the sister he had in the past onto the one he has in the present? What’s so special about that sunlit garden, anyway? What is Miki Kaoru’s shining thing?

Let me spin a yarn, if you'll indulge me-

As far as Miki remembers it, when he was little things were perfect. His parents were still there, and he and his twin sister were thick as thieves. They would play piano together, and drink milkshakes. Things were simple and happy as far as he’s concerned, and while his childhood was not nearly as rosy as he remembers, it was certainly better than whatever he has to deal with now. Now his parents are gone for reasons he doesn’t quite understand, and his sister has drifted away from him and acts promiscuously. His body is starting to change, and it fills him with disgust. Worse still, he finds himself envying his sister for some reason. It all floods him with shame. He needs to fight those feeling with everything he has. Being very clever for his age, he finds himself the youngest member of the student council. He becomes involved with the dueling game as it is revealed to him, and goes along with it, not wanting to act out of place. He gets a crush on Anthy, and is unable to figure out what the hell he should do about it. Later, he meets Utena, and the two become fast friends. And how lucky, his new friend is roommates with his crush! She’s just so perfect. She’s kind, and quiet, and chaste, not at all like his sister. He feels a kinship with her. And in an act of cosmic fate- she plays for him his favorite childhood arrangement. It’s just as Touga says. He can’t let the world get to her, the way its getting to his sister. The way its getting to him. He needs to make sure that Anthy, and his memories, are safe. But alas- it seems she doesn’t feel the same way. She’d rather be with Utena. Hopefully, Utena can protect her where he cannot. Miki and Utena go back to being friends, and he nurses his hurt feelings privately. It wouldn't do to make a scene about it, and besides, it wasn’t appropriate for him to think of her like that anyway. Thinking about anyone like that. He can’t help but feel disgusted with himself for allowing it. Later, his relationship with his sister continues to deteriorate, and his father is remarrying. But he can stick by his principles, and stay out of it all, the dueling especially. Kozue, Touga, and Akio have other plans. He is confronted with Reality, and it terrifies him. He sees himself in the drivers seat, Anthy his. This is what he is now, no point in trying to hide from it. He challenges Utena again, taking an early advantage utilizing his new resolve and Utena’s confusion. But that resolves breaks quickly. What is Kozue doing with Anthy?

Pay attention, or you’ll lose.

Fig 6: Crash!!

Miki is disgusted with himself, his role, because he does not want it. He hates what’s happening to himself and his family. He admires Utena and Juri, for embodying his ideal self. He listens to Touga, puts up with his music teacher, even if they make him feel gross and uncomfortable, because he feels he has to and that he doesn’t have a choice. He idolizes Anthy, so much. He is attracted to her, but maybe there is something more. Maybe, Miki wishes he could be her. Miki, in my mind, is a closeted trans lesbian going through puberty as a boy. I think that part of this might be projection, perhaps. But I hope that I might have made my case using the text of the show. But even if you disagree, I hope that you might have a better appreciation for his character. I think he’s fairly consistently people’s least favorite council member as a character, but honestly he’s my favorite and I think there’s a lot more too him than a lot of people give him credit for.

Fig 7: Three Lesbians Hanging Out

… this all being said. I think it’s interesting that Miki thinks Anthy is the picture of femininity right? That this is what he wants.

In the end, all girls are like the rose bride.

Please wait patiently while I make the case, that while Miki is an egg. Anthy has long since hatched...

(And I do mean be patient! This subject, and the concept that Ohtori represents a transmisogynystic institution at its very core, is WAY more personal than this headcanon, and also is much more of a difficult thing to write for dozens of reasons. I'm still not 100% sure it would even be right of me to post my thoughts on that publicly. But if enough people are interested, maybe that would motivate me to write it!)

*What’s a good Miki essay without some sort of Stopwatch Theory tm? Well (and I freely admit much of this is probably projection, but it’s not just me projecting! It’s also my girlfriend!!), Miki seems to get very wrapped up in his own thoughts. He is very self conscious, takes the criticisms of others very seriously, and also seems to get ideas about How Things Are Going To Happen in his head. He desperately tries to make sense of his surroundings, and finds himself consistently failing to do that. So my guess is the stopwatch is a way for him to regulate and calibrate his thoughts and hypotheses and self image. He picked it up in his duty as council secretary, but its something he feels is significant outside of that. Aha moment? Click. Unexpected end to a council meeting? Click. Something go completely as expected? Click. It helps him process I think. That is my formal Stopwatch Hypothesis tm.

Supplement Fig 1: Stopwatch

[konigbabe]

like real people do

Pairing: ID!Leon Kennedy x fem!teacher!reader | single dad AU

Word count: 5.8k

Tags/warnings: no y/n; fluff; eventual smut; p-in-v; slice of life; gendered female reader; gendered female anatomy; original kid Kennedy character

Summary: He's the sun, and you're the earth, drawn into his orbit; yet, he's your student's father. Handsome. Confident. Alluring. But off limits–at least he should be.

a/n: Inspired by @yeyinde’s ask. Also, canon ID!Leon is around 29 but Leon in this '"universe" is aged up to be in his 30s (age won't be specified but I imagine him to be in his mid-to-late 30s).

divider by @benkeibear [source]

series masterlist • masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi

The voice in your head keeps telling you to be professional, the thought of spending an evening with this man hard to resist; his confident, easy-going demeanor, the way he doesn’t give up easily– “So? It’s just dinner.”

The innocence of children always manages to brighten up even the darkest of days, their smiles and eagerness to learn contagious; filling your heart with positivity. It's a feeling that's hard to come by as an adult; life's challenges tend to chip away at your soul and slowly rob you of that childhood magic.

As the clock strikes five and your shift comes to an end, the school falls into an eerie silence. A lingering sense of relief washes over you when leaving the building; you've done your part in shaping young minds.

Walking out the front door, the warmth of the sun caresses your skin, its rays sliding around your bare arms like silk.

Twisting the key in the lock, your eyes catch a glimpse of slight movement from the corner of your vision. Turning your head, you see a little girl perched on the concrete steps below, her delicate features illuminated by the warm glow of the sun.

Her hair, a cascade of light brown waves, frames her chubby cheeks and the crown of her head is adorned with blonde highlights that shimmer like golden threads.

She turns to you when you address her, slowly stepping down to her level.

"What are you still doing here," you sit down, her small backpack creating a wall between your bodies.

As you sit side by side with the little girl, basking in the comforting embrace of the sunlight, she kicks her legs up; eyes up front, both of you watch the cars pass by on the street.

The Washington Spring air’s filled with the sweet scent of blooming cherry blossoms, carried on a gentle breeze that rustles through the trees. The distant sounds of children playing in a nearby park mingle with the honking of cars and the chirping of birds, creating a symphony of noise that signifies the arrival of spring in the bustling city.

"Waiting for daddy," she says with a hint of excitement in her voice.

The little girl looks up at you, her eyes full of wonder and innocence. You can't help but wonder about the mysterious Mr Kennedy and his absence; an enigma surrounding his name.

Like a forgotten toy left on the shelf, the girl's father remains absent from any involvement in her education. Despite several months passing since her admission to your class, there has been no sign of him. No parent-teacher meetings, no Father's Day celebration, nothing.

An enigma.

"Speaking of," your voice trails off for a moment, "How’s your daddy doing?" you question her. You shouldn’t; it goes beyond your job description to put a kid in situations like these. But still–

Her eyes, a vivid shade of cerulean, sparkle like sunlit water as she gazes at you; smile wide upon the mention of her father, the young kid toys with the straps on her bag.

"He’s busy."

A pang of understanding pinches your heart.

–his presence (or rather the absurd lack of it) keeps gnawing at your brain.

"He fights monsters," the girl adds after a moment of silence; her tone more serious. It's as if she's describing a mythical hero, fighting off beasts in some far-off land.

"He seems to be busy quite a lot," you smile to ease the topic; well aware that the girl, as bright as she is, surely catches on as you keep asking the same question every week, "is your mom coming to the parent–teacher meeting?"

The girl shakes her head before she speaks, "I don’t know my mom."

Oh.

You know you shouldn’t push more; well aware of the unprofessionalism you’re displaying.

"The woman who picks you up–"

"–aunt Claire," the kid corrects you, "I’m sorry for interrupting, miss teacher."

You smile, trying to put her at ease. It's clear that she's been brought up with good manners.

Lost in how to answer her, you almost don't hear the sound of a car approaching. The girl jumps up, her face alight with excitement. A low rumble reverberates through the air as a sleek black SUV glides up to the curb, its shiny exterior reflecting the warm rays of the sun.

The tinted windows obscure the view inside the car, adding an air of mystery to the vehicle. As the car comes to a stop, the quiet hum of the engine fades to a gentle purr, and the driver's door swings open.

The girl grabs her backpack at the same time a man steps out of the car; you’re able to only see the light brown hair decorating his head.

"Daddy," the girl yelps in excitement. You stand up, dusting the invisible dust from your jeans.

He stands tall, his broad shoulders stretching the fabric of the crisp white shirt, tucked tightly into the blue dress pants. A single button undone on his collar, revealing the curve of his clavicles. The sun glints off his aviator sunglasses, hiding his eyes from view. He approaches the little girl with a warm smile as she runs into her father, you presume; standing still, watching the situation unfold before your eyes.

Lowering himself to her level, he extends his arms, inviting her in. She eagerly accepts, wrapping her little arms around his neck in a welcoming embrace.

"Hey there, pup," you manage to hear his voice; low and soft. Gentle. "Sorry I’m late; got held up by paperwork. Y’know the drill."

The kid chuckles before pulling away, a sound so pure and innocent it brings a smile to your face.

Standing back up, his face turns towards you. You're struck by his imposing presence, the way he commands attention without even trying. His chiseled jawline is dusted with a light stubble, giving him an air of ruggedness. He moves with confidence towards you, one hand enclosed with his daughter’s.

The girl tugs at the sleeve of his shirt, introducing you before he even reaches your standing point–to which he smiles gently.

"Well, nice to meet you," his hand extended in greeting, "I’m Leon Kennedy. Her dad," he nods towards the girl.

"Mr Kennedy," you murmur, taking his hand in yours; noting the callouses on his palm.

As your eyes travel up his arm, they catch sight of a fresh bandage peeking out from under his slightly rolled up sleeve. But it's not until you look up at his face that you see the true extent of his weariness. Small scratches mark his jaw, subtle hues of purple and yellow decorate his cheekbone like a watercolor painting.

It’s clear that he's been through a rough patch. Makes you wander back to the girl’s words–

("He fights monsters.")

–and maybe he does. In some twisted sense.

"I actually wanted to speak with you," you release his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin lingering on your fingertips., "are you free next Tuesday? Around one PM?"

"Am I in trouble," he chuckles; the stretch of his lips exposing a slight scar on his lower lip.

The girl tilts her head, eyes studying you intently. You can't help but notice the slight beauty marks across her neck, the softness of her features, the way she looks up at her father with curiosity.

"Not really; I just need to discuss some matters with you."

"Okay," he responds, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, yet he remains stoic. Posed. "Sure."

"I’ll see you then," you nod and take your leave, but not before stealing a few glances at his back as he turns away from you. It’s impossible not to notice how his broad shoulders strain against the fabric, or how his hair cascades over his forehead; tousled yet somehow perfectly in place.

The weekend flies by, the days blurring together until suddenly it's Tuesday.

Despite his daughter's reassurances from yesterday that he'll be here, the uncertainty of whether he'll actually show up still grips you tightly.

A knock on the open door disturbs your grading.

"Mr Kennedy," you remark upon his arrival. The pen falls onto the desk with a clunk; back straighten, you invite him to sit on the chair prepared for him beforehand.

He’s dressed more casual–the black, expensive looking leather jacket squeaks against the wooden chair as he sits down after a simple "Hello". The faint but distinct aroma of sharp, citrusy notes wafts from his collar; the refreshing and invigorating aroma that catches your attention before your eyes trail to the bandage on his wrist.

Clearly seeing the way your eyes subconsciously linger on the piece of medical tape, Leon puts his other hand over it, shielding your view. Silently focusing your attention back on his eyes; the same blue hues as his daughter’s.

Sitting before you, legs spread apart, the undeniable similarities between him and his daughter are glaringly apparent. The way he holds himself commands respect, his posture erect and confident.

"Mr Kennedy, there’s something I wanted to discuss with you in person."

Fingers interlocking as you lean on your elbows, his gaze following your every movement like a predator stalking its prey; almost as if he’s sizing you up. His eyes watchful.

"Okay," he responds casually, a hint of question behind the simple word.

You clear your throat before continuing. "Your daughter is a remarkable child," a small smile accompanying your words. "She's well-behaved, intelligent, and often surpasses her peers."

Leon nods, lips pressed together.

"Got that from her mother, probably," he remarks. Almost bites back. Jaw tightening.

Leaning back, your fingers drum a quick rhythm against your desk.

"But we’re not here to evaluate your daughter; but you, actually, Mr Kennedy."

Leon’s brows arch up, highlighting the soft surprise that flashes across his face. The subtle shift in his expression does not go unnoticed by you.

"Didn’t know I was being evaluated," his voice trails off.

You nod in acknowledgement, sensing the man's confusion.

"You’re aware of our school assemblies, right?"

His face remains stoic, so you continue.

"Father's Day, parent-teacher meetings, career days, sports day," you list a few, hoping to spark the idea in the man’s mind.

"So," he leans back against the chair, arms folded on his chest.

With an exhale, upon your failed attempt to make him take the hint, you resolve to explaining the school rules to him.

"Our school mandates that the child’s parent or legal guardian be present at at least three of those assemblies per school year. You haven’t been present on any of them, not even last year."

He lifts his chin slightly and raises his eyebrows, eyes fixed on you with a look that suggests he's waiting for more information or an explanation.

"There’s actually a policy within out school that allows teachers to prohibit the child from participating in certain activities or events if a parent is not present–"

"–you’re kidding," Leon interjects, his tone laced with disbelief.

Raising your hand, you stop him from continuing, "and your daughter is a great student, so I don't expect that to happen to her. But with your continuous absence, she's at risk of being excluded from certain activities."

"My job keeps me busy. And I don’t really have a say in it," Leon retorts.

Arms still folded across his chest, his brows furrow in frustration. Defence sets inside his flesh; jaw slightly twitching, his eyes bore into yours.

"Maybe her mother could–"

"–not an option," he stops you before you manage to finish the sentence.

You nod in understanding. Leaving forward, you hope to appeal to Leon’s sense of responsibility a little more.

"In that case; we’re having a sports day this Friday. If you could just show up to support your daughter, I could mark it as you being present."

Leon chuckles, his voice smooth. Looking out the nearby window, he stares into the field right next to the school for a moment, deep in thought. The sunlight filtering through the window casts a warm glow on his sharp features, highlighting the intensity in his eyes.

Silence passes before he speaks up, "Wouldn't a dinner suffice instead?"

You clear your throat and try to compose yourself, feeling your heartbeat pick up at the unexpected request. "That's not very appropriate, Mr Kennedy, " you say softly, attempting to hide the fluttering in your chest. "Let's see each other at the soccer match."

"Sure. I’ll see what I can do; is that all?" he asks, head turned to the side. You gaze upon the now exposed wound on his jawline, vaguely resembling a cat’s claw scratch. The bruise colors on his cheek faded over the past few days.

"Yes," you assure him.

"Y’know, this whole thing could’ve been an email."

You smile wryly, "Would you react to that email?"

Looking back at you, there’s a flicker of mischievous dancing in his eyes. Leon's gaze holds yours for a moment longer, and you find yourself drawn to the subtle crinkles at the corners of his eyes, evidence of his amusement.

"You got me there."

The sun blankets the field in gold, casting elongated shadows of the children as they scamper around in pursuit of the ball. It’s still quite early. The air’s crisp and fresh, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and; sound of excited cheers and shouts echo throughout the surrounding area.

It’s comforting. Soothing in a way.

With a group of teachers, you watch the little girl darting across the field, her movements resembling that of a graceful gazelle as she expertly maneuvers the ball. She weaves in and out of the other players, a look of determination etched on her youthful face.

A chorus of her name echoes across the field, drifting like a wispy trail of smoke. The other kids cheer her on as she makes her way towards the goal, her tiny frame seemingly defying the laws of physics with her quick and nimble movements.

A round of applause erupts when the ball meets the back of the net. You watch as the little girl’s teammates rush to congratulate her.

"And who is that," a woman’s voice tears your gaze away from the cheerful moment, hands stopping mid-clasp.

Curious, you look at her. The other teachers already gazing to your right. To the parking lot.

Leaning against the sleek car, its design demanding attention; even from further away, he exudes an air of quiet confidence that's impossible to ignore. Eyes covered by another set of sunglasses, the same leather jacket strains against his folded arms.

Mr Kennedy.

Leon Kennedy.

Something about him always seems to draw attention; to captivate anyone who catches a glimpse of him.

It’s odd. Uncanny–

You should know better than to think in such a way about your student’s father.

–and you wonder if it’s just you who feels that way.

As the group of teachers chatter, a voice pipes up, "Is he someone's father?"

"He has to be," the conversation carries on, "or he wouldn’t be here–"

"–or he’s a creep."

Turning to face the person who said it, you scoff at the teacher before speaking up.

"He’s her dad," You nod in the direction of the girl with a beaming smile on your face, as she energetically waves at Leon. His response, though polite, is less enthusiastic, evident by the restrained movement of his hand.

Escaping the gossip, you follow the white boundary lines of the field towards your target, the soft grass crunching beneath your feet. Leon's eyes are fixed on the field, his sharp features softened by the spring glow.

But he's quick to notice your approach, turning his head ever so slightly to the left. It makes you feel naked as he shamelessly watches you coming closer.

"Mr Kennedy," you greet him.

As you approach, the warm spring breeze ruffles your hair, the sweet scent of blooming flowers mixing with his heady aroma. Posture relaxed, his broad shoulders almost blend with the darkness of the car behind him.

"Just call me Leon."

Eyes back on the field, a tinge of carelessness in his voice, a small tug on his lips. Hesitating momentarily, you put your hands in your pockets.

"I’d rather stick to being professional."

It makes him chuckle; voice rumbling with amusement–

"You’re making me feel old," he teases.

–making your chest tighten. His words brush against your ears like the gentle rustling of leaves on a cool autumn breeze.

The lightness in his tone, the hint of playfulness, stirs something deep within you.

It’s your turn to return the light laugh. The sound mingling with the chirping of birds in the distance.

"It’s good that you’re here. Your daughter seems to appreciate it as well."

Leon's eyes flicker to his daughter, still surrounded by her teammates; a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

"Yeah," he says, the warmth in his voice evident, "she’s been talking about this game for a week."

"She’s really talented in sports."

A cool breeze brushes against your skin as he removes his sunglasses. Eyes reminiscent of the clear waters of a mountain lake–the color seems to deepen and intensify as he looks at you, drawing you in.

"That she got from me," the corners of his mouth curve up into a charming smile. His voice deep and smooth, like a glass of well-aged whiskey. You can sense his confidence, the way he carries himself with ease, and it's hard not to be drawn in.

It's alluring. The way he exudes a sense of self-assurance.

Smiling lightly, hand resting on the cool hood of his car, you both watch the children race each other. Cheers fill the soccer fields.

Even in momentarily silence, it’s comfortable–

"Well, she certainly inherited some good genes, Mr Kennedy."

–there’s no awkward cluster around the two of you. It’s natural.

It draws Leon’s attention back to you. Arms folded, his fingers sneak around his bicep, gripping gently as he shamelessly looks at you. His face a canvas of chiseled features and sharp lines. reminiscent of a Greek statue carved out of marble. A faint scent of musk and cologne lingers around him, blending with the sweet aroma of blooming flowers in the air.

"Just so you know, miss teacher," his voice soft melody that lingers in your mind, "the dinner invitation still stands."

It’s tempting.

The words hang in the air, tantalizingly close.

A whistle cuts through the sounds of the soccer field, interrupting the moment. Leon’s attention briefly flickers towards his daughter, checking as the little girl sprints towards the two of you, before returning to your face.

"And I should remind you, Mr Kennedy, that it’s not very appropriate to ask your daughter’s teacher out."

The voice in your head keeps telling you to be professional, the thought of spending an evening with this man is hard to resist though. His confident, easy-going demeanor, the way he doesn’t give up easily–

"So? It’s just dinner," his tone is almost conspiratorial, as if he's sharing a secret with you.

–it makes you feel alive.

(Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. It’s not strictly forbidden.

Only frown upon. Harshly.)

It's like he's the sun, and you're the earth, drawn into his orbit.

"Daddy," his daughter doesn’t hesitate, jumping straight into her father’s arm; yet Leon isn’t phased at all, hoisting her into his arms, "Did you see my goal?"

"I did, pup," arm sneaking underneath her knees, you notice the bandage gone, "you killed it."

"Miss teacher," the kid addresses you, hand sneaking into her dad’s hair to hold him tightly while looking up at you with bright, curious eyes, "Did you see me? Did you see my goal?"

"Of course," you answer with a warm smile, "you did great. Seems like you got good genes for it."

The little girl beams with pride, hugging her father even tighter. Leon chuckles, the sound low and rich, and nods his head in agreement.

"I’ll see you on Monday then; pleasure seeing you, Mr Kennedy," as you turn to leave, you can't help but feel a twinge of regret.

The low hum of chatter fills the air, punctuated by occasional laughter and the clink of glasses. The dim lighting casts a warm glow over the wooden booths and bar, giving the place a cozy feel. The smell of fried food and beer lingers in the air, adding to the ambiance of the traditional American pub.

From a corner, a live band plays classic rock tunes, and the patrons nod along to the rhythm, singing softly under their breaths. It's a perfect spot to unwind after a long workday, catch up with friends. Or even make new connections.

Your little freedom.

Away from responsibilities. From the stress of daily life.

This is your escape, your sanctuary, where you can let loose and just be yourself.

Coming to the bartender, you order another round for the group you’re with, only to be taken back by a familiar voice saying your name.

Turning to look at the man by your right, the white stripes on his jacket contrast against the dim, warm ambiance of the room. Fingers tapping on the rim of the glass of whiskey, he takes a sip, his gaze fixed on you; the amber liquid catching the light, casting a glow across his features.

"Mr Kennedy," you exhale, almost in disbelief by the sudden situation.

Mind whirling with surprise and curiosity; the bar is chill against your exposed arm as you lean onto it, turning to look at the man by your side.

"Wouldn’t expect a teacher to be in a bar on Friday night," he smirks, the corner of his lips curving up in amusement.

"We’re not as frigid as people have us to be," you replied, feeling a smile tug at the corners of your lips.

Voice like a smoldering flame, waiting to be ignited, he tilts the glass towards you, "Oh, really."

The allure of his presence tangible.

A gravitational pull.

"Well, Mr Kennedy," the words roll off your tongue smoothly, "I suppose we all have our ways of letting loose after a hard week."

He chuckles, the sound deep and throaty; making your pulse quicken, heartbeat pick up. "I couldn't agree more," he says, taking another sip of his drink.

You study him for a moment; taking in the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, how his hair fal across his forehead in a disheveled yet stylish way. There’s something undeniably attractive about him, something that draws you in against all odds–

–like a moth to a flame.

Life has a funny way of working out.

You should stop.

But ‘should’ doesn’t exist in the moment of impulse. In the realm of desire. Pure, unblistered passion. The temptation to follow desire is too strong–

The world falls away.

–and all thought of 'should' dissipates.

Leon's hands slide around your thighs, gripping the flesh firmly as his body pushes against yours. Pinned to the wall; his lips trail the pulse of your neck. The tip of his tongue leaving wet patches on the heated skin.

The sudden intrusion of reality makes you gasp,"What about—".

It’s Leon’s hand on your breast; squeezing, teasing the clothed flesh through the thin material, thumbing at the erect nipple, that earns him a moan. His daughter’s name spilling over into a sound so soft. Inviting.

Like a hummingbird.

A content hum echoes in his chest; pressed tightly against yours. Feeling the muscles contract beneath you, respond to your movement; to the way your hips press against the growing bulge in his pants.

"—she’s stayin’ at my friend’s," he mumbles against the curve of your collarbones, teeth grazing the firm area.

With a strong grip, your fingers entangle in his hair. The texture soft and silky, like running your hands through fine threads of spun gold.

"Isn’t she young for sleepovers?"

It makes him look at you. Eyes glazed over; hungry. Primal–

He pulls you into an embrace, arm wrapping around your back, his palm cupping your ass. The heat of his body seeps through your clothing, searing your skin with its intensity, his breath ghosting over your lips as he whispers, "I really don’t wanna talk about my kid right now."

It’s a command rather than anything else.

Followed by your clothes.

He has you bare before you make up your mind.

–causing your skin to crawl.

With every touch, every whisper, every breath, he leaves you feeling more exposed, more vulnerable.

Limbs tangled together, lips pressed against each other; there’s no beginning and no end. When one begins, the other follows, like an unbroken circle of passion and desire.

Utter consumption by the fire inside you.

Leon’s hands feel scorching. Each stroke branding your skin.

He splits your apart, fills you to the brim. The head of his cock kisses the innermost parts of you as you stay seated on top of him. Nails scratching the firm muscle of his breastplate; he grips your sides. Digs his fingers into the soft, plump flesh there.

Teeth nip at your chin. Gently nibbles accompanied by your hips circling on top of him.

Cascade of groans, grunts and moans echo throughout Leon’s bedroom; each sound building on the other to create a crescendo of pleasure. The mattress beneath you creaks and strains under your knees.

Lost in the feeling.

His words a salacious melody; sung in a sultry whisper followed by his teeth, nibling at your earlobe; securing your grip on his shoulders feeling the strength of his muscles as he guides your moves.

Up and down. Up and down.

Circle your hips when your pelvis meets his. When your ass touches his thighs; when his fingers dig into the round flesh.

The rhythm builds, the tension mounting with every breath. The ache of desire deep inside, a longing that can only be sated by him. With each movement, you feel closer to the edge, your body aching for release.

Leon whispers encouragement, his voice like a caress against your skin. Head buried in the crook of your neck, your arms tighten around his shoulder. Face buried in the top of his head, the scent of him fills your senses; a heady, intoxicating aroma that envelops you in its warmth.

You breathe him in, savoring the subtle notes of bergamot and spice, the rich undertones of musk and earthiness.

Leon’s name leaves your lips in a soft, breathless moan, a prayer to the god of pleasure.

His lips brush against your collarbone, lingering there for a moment before trailing lower, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Skin erupting in goosebumps as his breath tickles your chest, your body bows like a taut bowstring, a supplication to his touch. Offering yourself up to him completely.

Hands roam over your body, tracing the curves and planes of your skin with reverent fingers. As if he knows just where to touch you.

With a strong pull and push, your back meets the hard mattress. His hands move over you like a painter's brush, each stroke bringing out a new hue of pleasure. Hips grinding against yours.

Pressing your body closer to his, chest to chest, he rocks against you. The intensity of his movements leaves you gasping for air, a low moan escaping your lips as you feel yourself getting closer to the edge. His hands grip your hips tightly, fingers digging into your skin as he continues to rut into you.

Long lost is the slow motion–

Your pelvis meets his in a harsh, demanding thrust.

–now he’s chasing his own high. His own release.

His hand slides to cup your jaw, grip your shoulder, eyes boring into yours; intense and unwavering, as if he’s trying to read your thoughts through the depth of your eyes. Consumed by the heat of you.

Head thrown back, you close your eyes; unable to match the fire in his as he grinds against you; his breaths ragged gasps, the only sound in the room the soft rustling of sheets and the slapping of skin against skin.

Leon knows he won’t last long. Not with the way your mouth remains agape, nails digging into the firm tendons of his biceps; heels digging into the flesh of his ass, pushing him deeper. Demanding him to go harder.

You just look so pretty underneath him.

Fingertips trace the warm flesh of your curves. They move slowly, mapping the supple contours of your body with precision; each touch deliberate, a way of committing the curves of your form to memory.

The sensation is electric, every nerve ending on high alert.

His thumb finds your clit, circling it with teasing precision, a feather-light touch. Pushing your hips into his, he obliges your silent demand – adding a bit more pressure with each pass. The slow, steady rhythm of his touch in bright contrast to the sharp thrusts.

Building the tension inside you, until you feel like you might burst. But he doesn't let up, not yet. He's savoring every moment, enjoying the way you writhe beneath him.

Your breath hitches, body tensing as he works you with an almost clinical precision. The ache between your legs grows, spreading through your entire body. He watches you, gauging your reactions, and adjusts his touch accordingly.

The way he focuses on you, with a singular, unwavering intensity, is both thrilling and terrifying.

As for Leon, every movement, every sound, is calculated. He wants to make this last. He wants to make you lose control.

His muscles tense as he drives into you, each thrust bringing him closer to the edge. His breaths come in short gasps, matching the rhythm of your moans. The heat between you intensifies, a physical force that binds you together.

With one final push, final flick of a thumb, he takes you over the edge, his name on your lips.

Clenching around him, walls fluttering, his thrusts grow slow. Leisurely.

As if he’s tantalizing himself. Savoring the feel before he lets go with a groan; a guttural sound that echoes through the bedroom; body spasming. The two of you entwined in a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss.

There should be some sort of regret.

Standing by the foot of Leon’s bed, still searching for your clothes amid the scattered chaos of the apartment, covered by a random shirt you’ve found on the ground (that’s definitely not the one you’ve come with), you can’t help but be drawn to the sleeping man lying before you.

The sheets barely cover the curve of his lower back, and even in slumber, the muscles of his back remain visible; the outline of his physique remains defined and sharp, even in relaxation. The memory of his back muscles beneath your palms lingers on your skin, as if he were still present with you in that moment.

There’s no regret.

Exiting the bedroom, you walk past the kitchen into the hallway. The emptiness of the space is palpable, with nothing adorning the plain white walls; no family photos or decorations to add personality. Only the essential pieces of furniture remain. The floor creaks beneath your bare feet as you open the door closer to you–

(It’s almost like he doesn’t have anyone.

A sense of desolation creeps in you.)

–and are met with a blinding contrast to the rest of the apartment. Rainbow colored sheets neatly tucked into the small bed, pillows in shape of various animals. Light furniture covered in school supplies; and a photo decorating the nightstand.

You pick it up, immediately recognized the two people. It might be the first time you’re seeing Leon actually smile, wide and bright. Happy; with his daughter tightly wrapped in his arms. Faces pressed together, smiling at the camera.

"I hope you're not trying to steal anything," Leon's voice interrupts your reverie; low and husky, still laced by the morning sleep, "I don't have much, y’know."

As you pivot to face him, you can't resist noticing how his bare feet stand out against his fully-clothed form. Hair tousled and messy, only adding to his rugged appeal.

An irresistible wave of attraction washes over you as you scrutinize his appearance, and his playful tone only adds fuel to the fire.

"Don't worry, I'm not after your prized possessions," you reply with a smirk, feeling emboldened by his proximity.

Leon's eyes twinkle mischievously as he steps closer to you, his warm breath brushing against your cheek. "Well, in that case, what’re you after?"

"I was just looking for a bathroom."

Leon's gaze lingers on you, lips curled up in a half-smile. "The bathroom’s down the hall to the right," he points with a nod of his head.

You nod back, trying to ignore the electric sensation that courses through you at his proximity. "Thanks," you say, stepping past him towards the direction he indicated.

As you walk down the hallway, you can't shake off the feeling of emptiness that you felt earlier. It's clear that Leon lives a minimalist lifestyle, but the lack of personal touches leaves you with a sense of melancholy.

Entering the bathroom, you take a moment to splash water on your face, trying to compose yourself before facing Leon again.

His voice echoes through the small apartment as you make your way towards his voice, entering the kitchen; you're struck by how immaculate it is. Everything’s in its place, and there isn't a single dish out of place. The countertop is spotless, the sink free of any debris, the stainless-steel appliances gleam in the light.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee fills the air with the morning sun streaming through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room.

"I’ll pick her up in an hour," Leon stands in front of the refrigerator, two mugs in one hand, bare feet making a soft thumping sound against the linoleum floor. His hair’s still tousled from sleep, his t-shirt is wrinkled, clinging to his muscles as he holds the phone to his ear.

There’s a certain charm to his disheveled appearance that you find appealing.

Looking at you, he makes no effort to stop the call, instead a playful undertones his voice as he hands you a mug and motions towards the coffee machine, "yeah, just woke up. Had a long night."

Shaking your head at his words; he watches you with a small, amused smile, the corners of his lips twitching upwards.

"See you then. Bye, Claire,” he ends the call, turning his full attention to you.

"Y’know, miss teacher," he pours himself a glass of water, "if you just wanted to skip the whole dinner thing, you should’ve just said."

[starlingflight]

I have only recently discovered your writing and was wondering if you've done a scene where Harry tells Ginny he smells her in his Amortentia?

I just think you capture their personalities so perfectly that I think you'd do the scene justice.

Anon, you're my new favourite person - so I dropped everything and wrote this for you 😘

AO3 or read below:

The smell hit her like a punch to the gut. 

It had been lying dormant, in wait, hanging unseen in the air of the dungeon corridor, ready for Ginny to wander unwittingly into its trap. 

She wasn't even taking potions this year, but Luna was, and the first day of Ginny's sixth year at Hogwarts had been so lonely and unpleasant that she'd been unable to resist using the end of her free period to wander down here to meet one of the few friendly faces remaining to her in the castle when the school day officially ended. 

It wasn’t the homely, comforting aroma of her mother’s apple pie that had the heart-wrenching effect on her, nor was it the damp, earthy fragrance that brought to mind the orchard after summer rainfall. The scent that had Ginny leaning heavily against the cool stone wall was more subtle, a faint hint in the air of something woodsy, evergreen and clean, and so intrinsically Harry that she suspected it would’ve taken her breath away even if she’d been expecting it. 

The door to the potions classroom burst open, spilling a handful of her classmates into the dimly-lit corridor. Ginny forced herself to stand upright, before anyone could see a hint of her distress. 

Despite their shaking, her legs carried her forward. Some invisible force summoned her; she pushed against the crowd exiting Slughorn's classroom, slipping through the doorway; ignoring Luna's puzzled gaze as she followed the scent to a golden cauldron sitting atop the nearest desk. 

The surface of the potion within had an opalescent sheen, and the vapour rising from it was ascending towards the stone ceiling in distinctive spirals that would’ve allowed her to identify it even if the overpowering scent hadn’t already given away its identity.

“Amortentia,” Ginny read aloud, peering over the top of Ron’s borrowed copy of Advanced Potion Making from where she was sitting on the ground opposite Harry. “Sounds a lot more interesting than levitation charms.” 

Harry looked up. Distracted from his attempts at revision, his head fell back slightly against the beech tree he was leaning against. “Slughorn brewed it for our first lesson this year. I could smell it before I even walked into the classroom.” 

Ginny tossed the charms textbook she’d been pretending to read aside, giving him her full attention, which, really, he’d had from the moment he’d convinced her to leave the library in favour of the castle's sunlit grounds. “And what does Harry Potter smell when confronted with the world’s strongest love potion?” 

Harry’s cheeks flushed and Ginny’s grin widened. Making him blush was a new, and favourite, activity of hers. “I’ll tell you next year,” he said evasively. “When you can tell me what you smell too.” 

Fleetingly, she considered accepting his non-answer. It was, after all, a deeply personal question. But this was one of the few boundary-pushing questions that Ginny could ask, unlike the others that she unswervingly steered away from – what are you whispering with Ron and Hermione about? What are you doing when you’re summoned to Dumbledore’s office? Why do I feel like talking about anything further ahead than next Tuesday is tempting a fate that I’m not ready to face? – Amortentia, by contrast, seemed utterly tame. 

She rolled onto her stomach, her elbows sinking into the grass, supporting her upper body and holding it upright. Her smile, she knew, was full of challenge. “I bet I can guess.” 

Harry’s eyes wandered the length of her body, before returning to her face. He mirrored her smirk. “And if you can’t?” 

Laughter rose, light and breathy in her throat, but Ginny swallowed it down, schooling her face into a look of total seriousness. “A forfeit of your choosing… and if I win, a reward of mine.” 

Despite what half the school would probably say, Harry was absolutely terrible at hiding his smile. He shook his head. “Considering my choice of forfeit, and your choice of reward are definitely the same thing, there doesn’t seem to be much risk for you here?” 

“Or you,” Ginny countered, conveniently ignoring the risk of him having to reveal a deeply personal fact. 

The spark in Harry’s eyes told her he hadn’t forgotten the risk, though he didn’t say as much. “We should probably just skip to kissing then.”  

There was nothing she could do to contain her laughter in the face of such a brazen statement; it rang out clear and bright across the grounds. A few weeks ago, when she’d been starting to wonder if he was going to tiptoe around this growing attraction between them forever, the idea of him saying such a thing outright to her would’ve been unimaginable.

She tilted her head to the side, pretending to consider the suggestion. It did sound tempting, but Ginny knew that neither of them would really agree to it. Lines had been drawn. A challenge laid out. Satisfaction must be granted. 

She started with the obvious. “Treacle tart.” 

Harry’s smile fell, clearly concerned by the speed with which Ginny had delivered a correct guess. He recovered quickly, one corner of his mouth twitching. “Been watching my dessert habits closely, have you?” 

Ginny ignored this, finding nothing worthy of denial in the question. “Now it’s a matter of narrowing down what you like more… flying seems an obvious choice, but there’s your fondness for Hedwig to consider–” 

“Hedwig?” Harry burst out. He leaned forward, leaving the tree trunk behind as he looked at her disbelievingly. “I did not smell my owl in a love potion!” 

“Well, it sounds weird when you put it like that,” Ginny said, fighting the urge to laugh once more at the outraged expression on Harry’s face. “Stop looking at me like that!  She's an important presence in your life – I think she’s amortentia-worthy!” 

Harry’s expression remained unchanged. “...She’s an owl.” 

“Fine,” Ginny sighed, shaking her head. “But I think Hedwig would be deeply offended by your reaction.” 

Harry released a snort of laughter, returning his back to the tree. “Well, it’s a good job she’s not as nosy as you, so she’ll never have to know.” 

“Flying then,” Ginny pondered loudly, her fingers twisting in the grass as she let Harry’s comment pass without argument. When it came to her interest in him, ‘nosy’ didn’t quite cover it. 

She fell silent for a moment, considering the many possible scents associated with flying. Her mind immediately went to the rich, leathery fragrance of a quaffle, but she dismissed this at once. She was a chaser, not Harry. Snitches, delicate and metallic, didn’t really smell of anything in her opinion. Being in the air had a unique smell, fresh and clear, but that wasn’t right either. 

Flying, she knew, started before you got in the air. Flying was the sense of anticipation, flying was the rush of pushing off from the ground, flying was endless possibilities. 

“Your broom,” Ginny said definitively after another moment of deliberation. Broomsticks were freedom. 

Harry nodded, confirming her guess correct. Their eyes met, and she knew, without either of them speaking, that her reasoning was sound too.

“Two out of three…” Ginny mused, waiting for Harry to correct her if her calculations were wrong. He didn’t. 

This time the silence that fell between them was charged with suspense, though Ginny suspected this might just be in her head. A flutter of butterflies had broken loose in her stomach. 

She didn't need to be in the presence of a cauldron of amortentia to know that she would smell him. The way he looked at her, it didn't feel completely out of the realm of possibility that Harry would smell Ginny too, but they'd only been together for a matter of weeks, and she'd wanted him for years, and if she guessed herself, and he told her she was wrong, she wasn't sure she'd be able to take the blow. 

“Not Hedwig…” she smirked with an air of confidence she definitely didn't feel, buying time, and coaxing a smile onto Harry's face that went some way to soothing Ginny's nerves. 

“Definitely not,” Harry agreed. 

“More food?” Ginny hedged, watching his face carefully for a reaction. “Or something like that? You do have a liking for butterbeer.”

Harry shook his head. His lips pressed together but Ginny could still see a hint of amusement in his eyes. “You're doing this on purpose.” 

Her heart was beating frantically in her chest. “Doing what?” 

Harry cocked an eyebrow at her. “If you make me admit it, you don't win.”  

Her butterflies were flying wildly now, swooping and diving within her. For once, Ginny found she didn't care very much about winning at all. “I want you to say it.” 

“Fine,” Harry sighed. His hand found hers on the ground, fingers entwining together in the long blades of grass. Much to Ginny's delight, his blush made a return. “You… your hair, if you want me to be specific.” 

“My hair?” She asked, somewhat breathlessly. Her free hand reached out and pulled a strand of her hair to her nose. “It just smells like hair.” 

Harry's cheeks turned from a faint rosy pink, to flushed crimson. “It smells like flowers.”

“Flowers,” Ginny whispered, elevating the word to the height of the world's greatest compliment in her mind. She was certain her smile looked completely ridiculous, but she was incapable of caring. She pulled herself upright, careful that their hands remained clasped together. She shuffled forwards on the grass until her face was inches from Harry's. “Really? My hair?” 

“Yes,” Harry laughed; there was a hint of nervousness beneath the usually carefree sound. “Can you stop looking so pleased with yourself?” 

Ginny's smile remained in place as she shook her head. “No, I don't think I can.” 

“This can't be news to you,” he protested, apparently gathering some confidence from how clearly delighted Ginny was about this revelation. “Have I not made my feelings clear?” 

She supposed he had, in a very Harry-ish way. Kissing her in the centre of the full common room had been a fairly loud declaration, even if no words had been exchanged at that particular moment, and he'd been very attentive from that moment onwards, but this was different. Amortentia was magic; pure, and ancient, and undeniable. 

“I’m ready for my forfeit now,” Ginny announced, not waiting for any further instructions before leaning forwards, her lips finding his, eager to make her own feelings clear in what time they had left before lunch ended–

“Miss Weasley!” Professor Slughorn's voice pulled Ginny abruptly back to the present. 

She was standing beside the golden cauldron; her knuckles had turned a ghostly white from the strength with which she gripped the edge of the desk. She was breathing deeply, taking in great lungfuls of the heady scent emanating from the potion. 

Slughorn was frowning at her, his face a mask of concern and pity. Ginny wasn't sure which sentiment she hated more. 

“Sorry,” she said, using all her force of will to take a definitive step away from the desk. “I was just looking for Luna.” 

“I'm here,” Luna said from the doorway. Her eyes were wide, piercing. “Did you want to go to dinner?” 

Ginny nodded, now that she'd come to her senses she was desperate to remove herself from the dungeons and the heavy miasma that surrounded her. 

Slughorn cleared his throat uncomfortably before she'd taken even a step towards Luna. “Are you sure you're alright, Miss Weasley? I wouldn't want you to go up to dinner if you're not feeling yourself… there's a lot of observant eyes in the great hall these days.” 

“I'm fine,” she lied, ignoring her thundering heart, and schooling her face into a mask of perfect neutrality she was already fed up with wearing after only one day of term. 

“Very well,” Slughorn nodded, though he still looked reluctant to let her go. His eyes travelled between Ginny and Luna. “The weather's still quite fine for this time of year,” he said, his tone observational. “I always find a walk around the grounds to be a pleasant prelude to one's dinner… There's nothing quite like fresh air to clear the mind.” 

[chiearsworld]

Reporter! Reader x Prohero Izuku Midoriya

As the first rays of the morning sun peeked over the horizon, the city of Musutafu came alive with the bustling energy of its residents. Among them was y/n, an ambitious reporter for the city's leading news outlet. Today was a special day, one that had the potential to define y/n's career. It was the day of the much-anticipated interview with the Number One Pro Hero, Izuku Midoriya, also known as Deku.

Arriving at the agency, y/n couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness. The towering building was a symbol of hope and safety, a testament to Deku's dedication and tireless efforts in protecting the city. With a deep breath, y/n walked through the revolving doors, greeted by a friendly receptionist who guided them to the top floor.

The elevator ride felt like an eternity, but finally, the doors opened to a spacious, sunlit office. There he was, Izuku Midoriya, standing by the window with a warm smile. His presence was as commanding as it was reassuring, his green eyes sparkling with a kindness that put y/nat ease.

"Welcome! It's a pleasure to meet you," Deku said, extending a hand.

"The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Midoriya," y/n replied, shaking his hand firmly.

"Please, call me Izuku," he insisted with a grin. "Shall we get started?"

The two sat down, and y/n began setting up the recording equipment. As the interview commenced, Izuku spoke passionately about his journey to becoming the Number One Hero, the challenges he faced, and the values that guided him. His words were not just inspiring but also deeply personal, revealing a side of him that few had seen.

"You've mentioned before that being a hero is not just about strength, but also about heart. Can you elaborate on that?" y/n asked.

Izuku's expression softened. "Being a hero means more than just defeating villains. It's about empathy, understanding, and the willingness to go above and beyond for others. It's about being a symbol of hope, someone people can rely on. Every decision I make is guided by the desire to protect and uplift those around me."

As the interview progressed, y/n found themselves captivated not just by Izuku's words, but by his genuine sincerity. It was clear that his heroism stemmed from a place of deep compassion and unwavering resolve.

After the formal questions were over, there was a moment of silence, a comfortable pause that allowed y/n to gather their thoughts. Izuku took this opportunity to turn the tables.

"You've asked me so many questions about being a hero. But I'm curious, what drives you in your work as a reporter?"

Caught off guard, y/n smiled. "I guess it's the stories. The chance to uncover truths, to share experiences that can inspire and inform. Much like you, I want to make a difference, in my own way."

Izuku nodded thoughtfully. "That's a noble pursuit. Our roles may be different, but our goals are very much aligned."

As the interview concluded and y/n began to pack up, Izuku extended an invitation. "If you're interested, maybe you could join me on a patrol sometime. See the world from a hero's perspective."

Y/n's heart skipped a beat. "I would love that. Thank you, Izuku."

With the promise of future adventures, y/n left the agency with a renewed sense of purpose and a story that would undoubtedly touch the hearts of many. Little did you know, this was just the beginning of an extraordinary journey alongside the world's greatest hero.

-Chiearsworld💋

[sinukiyo]

I’m sorry but this scene…THIS SCENE…

“Matthias cast an uneasy glance at the guards’ backs, visible through the doorway. “Ignore them,” she said. “Why haven’t you kissed me, Matthias?”

“This isn’t the time—”

“Is it because of what I am? Is it because you still fear me?”

“No.”

She paused, and he could see her struggling with what she wanted to say. “Is it because of the way I behaved on the ship? The way I acted the other night … when I tried to get you to give me the rest of the parem?”

“How can you think that?”

“You’re always calling me shameless. I guess … I guess I’m ashamed.” She shuddered. “It’s like wearing a coat that doesn’t fit.”

“Nina, I gave you my oath.”

“But—”

“Your enemies are my enemies, and I will stand with you against any foe—including this accursed drug.”

She shook her head as if he was speaking nonsense. “I don’t want you to be with me because of an oath, or because you think you need to protect me, or because you think you owe me some stupid blood debt.”

“Nina—” he started, then stopped. “Nina, I am with you because you let me be with you. There is no greater honor than to stand by your side.”

“Honor, duty. I get it.”

Her temper he could bear, but her disappointment was unacceptable. Matthias knew only the language of war. He did not have the words for this. “Meeting you was a disaster.”

She raised a brow. “Thank you.”

Djel, he was terrible at this. He stumbled on, trying to make her understand. “But I am grateful every day for that disaster. I needed a cataclysm to shake me from the life I knew. You were an earthquake, a landslide.”

“I,” she said, planting a hand on her hip, “am a delicate flower.”

“You aren’t a flower, you’re every blossom in the wood blooming at once. You are a tidal wave. You’re a stampede. You are overwhelming.”

“And what would you prefer?” she said, eyes blazing, the slightest quaver to her voice. “A proper Fjerdan girl who wears high collars and dunks herself in cold water whenever she has the urge to do something exciting?”

“That isn’t what I meant!”

She sidled closer to him. Again, his eyes strayed to the guards. Their backs were turned, but Matthias knew they must be listening, no matter what language he and Nina were speaking. “What are you so afraid of?” she challenged. “Don’t look at them, Matthias. Look at me.”

He looked. It was a struggle not to look. He loved seeing her in Fjerdan clothes, the little woolly vest, the full sweep of her skirts. Her green eyes were bright, her cheeks pink, her lips slightly parted. It was too easy to imagine himself kneeling like a penitent before her, letting his hands slide up the white curves of her calves, pushing those skirts higher, past her knees to the warm skin of her thighs. And the worst part was that he knew how good she would feel. Every cell in his body remembered the press of her naked body that first night in the whaling camp. “I … There is no one I want more; there is nothing I want more than to be overwhelmed by you.”

“But you don’t want to kiss me?”

“He inhaled slowly, trying to bring order to his thoughts. This was all wrong.

“In Fjerda—” he began.

“We’re not in Fjerda.”

He needed to make her understand. “In Fjerda,” he persisted, “I would have asked your parents for permission to walk out with you.”

“I haven’t seen my parents since I was a child.”

“We would have been chaperoned. I would have dined with your family at least three times before we were ever left alone together.”

“We’re alone together now, Matthias.”

“I would have brought you gifts.”

Nina tipped her head to one side. “Go on.”

“Winter roses if I could afford them, a silver comb for your hair.”

“I don’t need those things.”

“Apple cakes with sweet cream.”

“I thought drüskelle didn’t eat sweets.”

“They’d all be for you,” he said.

“You have my attention.”

“Our first kiss would be in a sunlit wood or under a starry sky after a village dance, not in a tomb or some dank basement with guards at the door.”

“Let me get this straight,” Nina said. “You haven’t kissed me because the setting isn’t suitably romantic?”

“This isn’t about romance. A proper kiss, a proper courtship. There’s a way these things should be done.”

“For proper thieves?” The corners of her beautiful mouth curled and for a moment he was afraid she would laugh at him, but she simply shook her head and drew even nearer. Her body was the barest breath from his now. The need to close that scrap of distance was maddening.

“The first day you showed up at my house for this proper courtship, I would have cornered you in the pantry,” she said. “But please, tell me more about Fjerdan girls.”

“They speak quietly. They don’t engage in flirtations with every single man they meet.”

“I flirt with the women too.”

“I think you’d flirt with a date palm if it would pay you any attention.”

“If I flirted with a plant, you can bet it would stand up and take notice. Are you jealous?”

“All the time.”

“I’m glad. What are you looking at, Matthias?” The low thrum of her voice vibrated straight through him.

He kept his eyes on the ceiling, whispering softly. “Nothing.”

“Matthias, are you praying?”

“Possibly.”

“For restraint?” she said sweetly.

“You really are a witch.”

“I’m not proper, Matthias.”

“I am aware of this.” Miserably, keenly, hungrily aware.

“And I’m sorry to inform you, but you’re not proper either.”

His gaze dropped to her now. “I—”

“How many rules have you broken since you met me? How many laws? They won’t be the last. Nothing about us will ever be proper,” she said. She tilted her face up to his. So close now it was as if they were already touching. “Not the way we met. Not the life we lead. And not the way we kiss.”

“She went up on tiptoe, and that easily, her mouth was against his. It was barely a kiss—just a quick, startling press of her lips.

Before she could even think of moving away, he had hold of her. He knew he was probably doing everything wrong, but he couldn’t bring himself to worry, because she was in his arms, her lips were parting, her hands were twining around his neck, and sweet Djel, her tongue was in his mouth. No wonder Fjerdans were so cautious about courtship. If Matthias could be kissing Nina, feeling her nip at his lip with her clever teeth, feel her body fitted against his own, hear her release that little sigh in the back of her throat, why would he ever bother doing anything else? Why would anyone?”

[simspaghetti]

I always get asks about what mods I use, and as I've been playing World Adventures recently for the Completionist LEPacy challenge, I've been trying to compile some mods specific to that expansion - I thought I'd share all the ones I've found here so anyone else who is new to WA can have some recommendations!

If this ends up being useful to anyone, I'm happy to make one of these mod pack lists for each EP - let me know if that's something you'd like!

Also, if anyone has any more suggestions on mods I should add to this list, please let me know and I'll include them!

Nraas Traveller

This mod overhauls the travel system and allows all types & ages of sims to travel, and also allows travel to any EA or custom world you have installed, not just the 3 standard vacation ones - so your sims could take a vacation in Sunlit Tides or Monte Vista if they want to!

PotatoBalladSims distant terrain fix for France & Qahne's Smaller Eiffel Tower

These mods are both just small aesthetic changes for France, the first one fixes blocky trees in the distance and the second one makes the Eiffel Tower a way more realistic size

TheBleedingWoodland's Shang Simla Icon Fix

This changes Shang Simla's icon to the Forbidden City which is actually located in China

Twinsimming's Take Practice Shots Mod

The photography skill can be so tedious to level up as you have to take photographs manually, this mod makes it much easier as you can leave your sims to idlly practice photography like they can do with any other skill

OutOfIdeas' More Unique Adventures Per Day

I was having a big problem where I would go to a country in search of a specific adventure to unlock a tomb & have to return home 8 days later, having nothing come up on the adventure board during my sims stay - this mod fixes that annoying problem as it allows for more adventures to appear each day, there are several flavours to choose from so it's totally customisable with how 'cheaty' you want to go!

NanaBx3's fishing box chest fix

There used to be a small chance that sims would reel in a treasure box when going fishing, but the feature got borked in one of the patches years ago and was never fixed - this mod makes it more likely you will come across this cool feature, it features additional items to be discovered in treasure boxes if WA is installed

LowMotivesWarning's Not-So-Weak Mummies

This ups the athletic ability of mummies & likelihood of your sim getting cursed to make them much more dangerous & threatening

StrexSims More Townies for Vacation Worlds

This is not technically a mod as it's a pack of sims, but it basically allows for more of the sims walking around town to fit in with the aesthetics of that neighbourhood - if you like this pack I strongly recommend checking out this creator's other townie packs, as they've released them for most EA worlds!

[bonefall]

When Thunder stays with Clear Sky for a while, does Clear ever insist on referring to him as Thunder Sky?

Towards the end yes, as the final detail to Thunder Storm that Clear Sky doesn't love him. He wants to ERASE him.

If Clear Sky recognizes he's made a mistake in casting Bright Storm away with their child, he's incapable of seeing it was wrong because it was cruel. He wants what he realizes he threw away, because he now sees it has value. He wants to own his oldest son the way he wants to own the entire forest-- as a reflection of his greatness.

Anything that makes Clear Sky uncomfortable about Thunder Storm has to be sanded down. The assertiveness was the first thing, he feels insecure when he's challenged, the child must learn to follow before he may learn to lead.

The second is that leg, presenting a prosthetic as a gift (that he isnt allowed to refuse), because he can't have been wrong about the choice that killed his younger brother-- here is a SOLUTION that simply didn't exist before! Behold how resourceful and wealthy his cats are, compared to your old group. We've fixed you.

(This prosthetic is a clunky piece of shit that is annoying to strap on every day, gets in the way and makes a ton of noise, and itches like hell, but the change in Clear's demeanor is immediate if Thunder doesn't wear it.)

But somehow, Thunder Storm was willing to take all of that. In hindsight, it bothers him that the tipping point wasn't the other two things.

Bright Storm gave her son her own last name. When Clear Sky sent them away and the Mountain Cats permanently split, it was pointed. "My only survivor is named for myself." SHE would raise him, alone.

Bright Storm herself slowly seemed to lose sight of the meaning, encouraging him to understand his father's good aspects, but in the meanwhile it took on a new meaning to Thunder. His mother raised him. He found a father in Shaded Flower. He grew up next to Lightning Cry and Acorn Swoop. Thunder Storm means this. It's the person he made himself, and the love they've all put into him.

Thunder SKY is just another monument to Clear Sky, stripping away the life he lived without him. And WHY? For ego? For comfort?

"What am I letting him DO to me?!"

It wasn't the final STRAW, but it was the tipping point. Once Thunder Storm had this realization, the minute he was not going to budge on something, that confrontation was inevitable. The blowout fight was making reservations.

Sunlit Frost is still the breaking point, the injury from his burn going sour, but I'm going to emphasize the way that Clear Sky only called that meeting in the first place as an abuse game. Thunder Storm knew it was coming-- but it still sickens him that it was something THIS monstrous.

[ginnyw-potter]

I can fix him (No really I can)

This is written for The Tortured Potters Department, also part of the Several Sunlit Daylights Challenge! @corneliaavenue-ao3 Read below or on AO3

I can fix him.

Ginny could see other people think it, sometimes they said it out loud. Not literally, but they said it all the same.

I can make you happy.

I can make you forget all your troubles.

I can make the scars fade.

They very well could. They all looked at Harry and saw a man in need of change. They wanted to fix the scars, inside and out. They wanted to take him on adventures and make him forget all the things he had gone through. They wanted to placate him. They wanted to chase the nightmares away and replace them with wonderful dreams. Some others wanted him to embrace his fame for once, or rise to power, be the man they thought he could be.

Ginny looked at him and saw someone she already loved.

She didn’t try to make him happy.

She didn’t try to make him forget all his troubles.

She didn’t mind the scars, the way he didn’t mind hers.

She loved on the scars the way she loved on the rest of his body. They were marks of his past, of the things he had been through, not things to hide or be ashamed of. Their existence didn’t scare her.

She knew he didn’t need an adventure, didn’t need to escape his life. He didn’t want to forget his loved ones, dead and alive. He spoke of enjoying time in the garden, and long walks enjoying the setting sun. Some things that some people may find terribly mundane, but it meant everything to him. They didn’t understand why it was important to him.

His temper was difficult for people to deal with, but Ginny always met him with equal power. She did not back off, and she wasn’t afraid to tell him the truth. She didn’t need to placate him, she needed to push back and meet him in the middle.

When he had a nightmare, she didn’t tell him it wasn’t real. She held him and sat with him until he felt better. They would talk about it and mull it over and let out bitter laughs over their misery. The nightmares followed a long time after the war was done, and she’d be there to work through them. Slowly but surely, tirelessly.

She didn’t want him to embrace his fame and attend event after event, knowing how it would torture him. She didn’t want him to grab power he never wanted. He did not crave it, he did not go looking for it, and she did not expect it of him.

Harry never asked to be changed. He didn’t need to become a new person, didn’t need to escape his life. He held onto the memories of lost loved ones and honoured their memory every day. He did not want the fame, or the power. And on most days, he just wanted to be normal.

But that’s not what people expect of him. They can fix him, or at least that’s what they think.

She did not need to fix him. Some scars never faded but they did not hurt him. Having his own home and settling him brought him peace. It gave him a place to come into his own and grieve the people he had lost. Sometimes it was the simple things, like hanging a framed picture up in the living room or making their favourite food. A place where he could be himself, where he wasn’t worried and where his emotions could flow freely. A place where the nightmares got soothed by comforting arms and softly spoken words, a cup of hot cocoa or a refreshing glass of water. And they could exist, and be talked about, and it would help him. A place where no one expected him to take the lead and have an answer to every question.

He spoke to her, softly whispered confessions in the middle of the night. She held him, and he kissed her softly.

“You make me so happy.”

She carded her fingers through his hair.

“You make me forget all my troubles without even trying,” he sighed. “You make me feel at peace.”

She pressed a kiss against his temple.

“You helped me love all of my scars.”

He never needed to change. She always loved him, flaws and all. Time healed many things, and she was there for it all, but he was never something to be fixed.

I can fix him , she thought. No, really; I can. It was never my intention; I would have loved him all the same.

“You fixed me.”

She shook her head and smiled at him. “I love you.”

He looked at her fondly and pulled her a little closer. “I am pretty sure that’s the same thing.”

[florydaax]

The Sims 3 - Store World Legacy

Hey everyone! I’m here to bring you all a new Sims 3 legacy challenge: the Store World Legacy. Each generation will live in a different store world. There are 11 different worlds, so this legacy will have 11 generations.

Riverview

Barnacle Bay

Hidden Springs

Lunar Lakes

Lucky Palms

Sunlit Tides

Monte Vista

Aurora Skies

Dragon Valley

Midnight Hollow

Roaring Heights

This is the release order, but you can always do a different order! The main goal of this challenge is to play in each store world! I also made some rules for each generation. You don’t have to follow them if you don’t want to, it’s completely up to you! This challenge is inspired by the Lepacy challenge, where each generation is a different expansion pack. With this challenge each generation is a different store world! I made this challenge because I realized I’ve actually barely or never played in some of the store worlds. So in this challenge we explore all the store worlds and see what they have to offer! (I've completed the challenge! Check out the playlist here) Generation One: Riverview All you want is peace and quiet. You’ve finally escaped city life and moved to the sleepy town of Riverview. Here you can finally live the life you’ve always dreamed of. You really want to become a farmer. Fruits, vegetables, chickens, cows! You want it all. Will you be able to find peace in Riverview? Traits: Green thumb, Loves the outdoors, Hopeless romantic, Technophobe, Eco-friendly Lifetime wish: The perfect garden (or one of the Back to Nature lifetime wishes) Career: Gardener

Rules:

Master the gardening skill

Reach level 10 of the gardener career

Complete the aspiration

Complete the Master Farmer skill challenge

Have one best friend

Have at least three kids

(Let Don Lothario ruin your life)

Generation Two: Barnacle Bay Arrr! Do you want to become a farmer just like your parents? No, you want adventure! You love camping, fishing and going to the beach. Barnacle Bay is perfect for you, with its beautiful beaches and relaxing campgrounds. You don’t want to settle down. You just want to have fun with the other Sims in Barnacle Bay and climb the social ladder.

Traits: Angler, Slob, Commitment issues, Good sense of humor, Sailor  Lifetime wish: Presenting the Perfect Private Aquarium or Seaside Savior Career: Angler or Lifeguard

Rules:

Master the fishing skill

Reach level 10 of the angler or lifeguard career

Complete the aspiration

Eat at the Pirate Ship at least once a week

Travel abroad at least once

Buy a boat

Reach at least celebrity level 3

Be romantically involved with 3 Sims at the same time

Generation Three: Hidden Springs You’re sick of everyone talking like pirates. You’re also sick of the media spreading rumors about you. Growing up, you never really had a good relationship with your parent, because they were always away from home. You also had a hard time making friends, which I why you completely focused on your studies. Once you’ve graduated high school, you realize you’re burnt out. You move to Hidden Springs in search for some relaxation and to escape the paparazzi. It’s time to take things slow and focus on yourself. Once you feel like yourself again, you decide you want to become a doctor and help other Sims. Traits: Genius, Loner, Good, Neat, Ambitious Lifetime wish: Living in the Lap of Luxury Career: Spa Specialist and Medical career

Rules:

Have an A in school and get on the honor roll

Don’t have any friends as a child and teen

Master the logic skill

Reach the top of the Spa Specialist career

Quit your job as a Spa Specialist and join the medical career

Complete the aspiration

Marry an athletic Sim

Become a partner of the Hidden Springs Day Spa

Drink from the Fountain of Youth and wish for youth

Generation Four: Lunar Lakes You love everything about space and science! So it’s not a surprise that you immediately joined the science career after high school. A couple of scientists get the chance to do research on Lunar Lakes and you’re one of the lucky ones! You say goodbye to your friends and family. Once you arrive there, you realize this all you ever wanted in life. You decide to never return to SimEarth. Traits: Genius, Excitable, Natural cook, Unstable, Unflirty Lifetime wish: Become a Creature-Robot Cross Breeder or Scientific Specialist Career: Science

Rules:

Master the science skill

Reach level 10 of the science career

Complete the aspiration

Get married as a young adult

Get divorced as an adult, you’re too busy with your career

After the divorce, you both still live in the same house

Use the clone voucher lifetime reward

Engineer a baby

Generation Five: Lucky Palms You’re bored of Lunar Lakes and decide to go to SimEarth. You end up in Lucky Palms and spend a lot of time at the casino. Money, money, money. You throw lots of luxury parties for your friends and you get a lot of attention from the Sims in town. You’re bored very quickly, so your relationships don’t last that long. Traits: Lucky, Schmoozer, Flirty, Party animal, Commitment issues Lifetime wish: Swimming in Cash Career: Business

Rules:

Reach level 10 of the business career

Complete the aspiration

Reach level 10 of the gambling skill

Have at least 5 friends

Go to the casino at least four times a week, you’re addicted to gambling

Have at least 3 kids

Make all 5 wishes at the wishing well

Generation Six: Sunlit Tides You never had to worry about money. You quickly get married to your partner and spend your honeymoon in the beautiful Sunlit Tides. You decide to never leave. Lucky Palms was nice, but it was very dry. You spend your days painting, writing and relaxing at the beautiful beaches while your partner works a shady job. You never planned to have kids, but one day you get bored and have an affair, and woops, there’s a baby! Will you keep this a secret? Or will your partner find out? Traits: Loves the heat, Loves to swim, Hates children, Snob, Artistic Lifetime wish: Illustrious Author Career: A job? What is that?

Rules:

Marry the first sim week of being a young adult

Have your partner join the criminal career

Master the painting and writing skills

Complete the aspiration

Have an affair and have a baby with this Sim

Generation Seven: Monte Vista You love cooking and you’re always making the best quality meals for your family. Monte Vista is the perfect place to learn the culinary arts! It’s your dream to become a famous chef. Traits: Natural cook, Perfectionist, Great kisser, Charismatic, Dramatic Lifetime wish: Celebrated Five-Star Chef Career: Culinary

Rules:

Reach level 10 of the culinary career

Complete the aspiration

Master the cooking skill

Complete all cooking skill challenges

Learn all recipes

Your house is not a house if it doesn’t have a wood fire oven

Never eat a quick meal

Have at least 3 kids

Generation Eight: Aurora Skies You go to Aurora Skies in search of love and happiness. You want to get married and have a bunch of kids. Your dream: a big happy family. You also care for the environment. The eco-friendly community welcomes you with open arms.  Traits: Eco-friendly, Family-oriented, Loves the cold, Nurturing, No sense of humor Lifetime wish: Surrounded by Family Career: Daycare

Rules:

Reach the top of the Daycare career (or not because this career can be a pain)

Complete the aspiration

Throw a bachelor(ette) party

Get married

Have at least 5 kids (I dare you to have quads)

Teach all your kids to walk and talk and potty train them

Generation Nine: Dragon Valley Time to become the new Mother of Dragons. You love mythology and fantasy. As a child, you were always reading books. You move to Dragon Valley because you’ve heared there are dragons. DRAGONS! There’s also a conflict between brewing between two families in the town for control of town. So, why not add more conflict by trying to become the leader of the town yourself? Traits: Bookworm, Virtuoso, Good, Brave, Irresistible Lifetime wish: Leader of the Free World Career: Political Rules:

Reach the top of the political career

Complete the aspiration

Have a red, green and purple dragon

Master the violin skill

Practice archery

Generation Ten: Midnight Hollow You never felt like you fit in. Sims think you are kind of strange. That’s why you move to Midnight Hollow. Here you can finally be yourself. You also hate the sun and going outside. Perfect! The sun never shines in Midnight Hollow. Traits: Night owl, Evil, Inappropriate, Hates the outdoors, Over-emotional Lifetime wish: Turn the Town Career: Run your own business or Toy Maker

Rules:

Run a business or reach the top of the toy maker career

Master the inventing skill

Complete the aspiration

Become a vampire

Invent a time machine

You get married, but your partner dies a tragic death

Bring your partner back as a ghost

Generation Eleven: Roaring Heights One day, you find the time machine your parent invented. You’re very curious and step inside. The time machine breaks and you’re stuck in the past! You have no idea how to go back, so you just try to make the best out of your life in Roaring Heights. You never see your family again. Traits: Party-animal, Workaholic, Handy, Vehicle Enthusiast, Star quality Lifetime wish: Superstar Actor Career: Film

Rules:

Reach the top of the film career

Complete the aspiration

Become a five-star celebrity

Fix the Fixer-upper Car

Congratulations!! You’ve completed the challenge! 

[acourtofthought]

Is Gwynriel a crackship?

The characters don't have chemistry -

Gwyn threw Azriel a withering stare as she strode past him. “See you tomorrow, Shadowsinger,” she tossed over a shoulder.

Az stared after her, brows high with amusement.

Azriel couldn't help his soft chuckle.

Pure amusement glittered in her stare.

He offered her a crooked smile.

Gwyn asked Az, her teal eyes bright, “What do we get if we finish the course?”

Az’s shadows danced around him. “Since there’s no chance in hell any of you will finish the course, we didn’t bother to get a prize.”

Boos sounded. Gwyn lifted her chin in challenge. “We look forward to proving you wrong.”

"I blame Cassian for this. He's too busy making eyes at Nesta to notice such mistakes these days."

Azriel laughed. "I'll give you that".

Gwyn smiled broadly. "Thank you".

Azriel dipped his head in sketch of a bow, something restless settling in him.

Cassian glanced over at Az, but his attention was fixed on the young priestess, admiration and quiet encouragement shining from his face.

The characters never interact -

Azriel had winnowed her and Cassian here after training, but hadn’t lingered. Apparently, Gwyn wanted him to go over dagger handling, so he’d left them with a promise to return in an hour.

"You're turning the blade a fraction as it comes parallel to the ground," Azriel explained, drawing his Illyrian blade from down his back. "Watch." He slowly demonstrated, rotating his wrist where she did. "You see how you open it right here?" He corrected his position. "Keep your wrist like that. The blade is an extension of your arm."

And when Gwyn reached the finish line, bloody and panting and grinning so wildly her teal eyes glowed like a sunlit sea, she only extended her battered hand to Azriel. “Well?” “You already have your prize,” Azriel said simply. “You just passed the Blood Rite Qualifier. Congratulations.” Gwyn gaped. Nesta and Emerie halted. But Gwyn said to him, “That was why you invited them?”

Nesta asked Gwyn, “But it seemed like you didn’t know what we were doing.” “Cassian and Azriel warned me that we’d be watched by males today, but didn’t specify why.

“The courses?” Gwyn asked. “Different routes,” Azriel said, “from various Qualifiers over the centuries.”

Succeeding in the Blood Rite didn’t mean the training stopped. No, after she and her friends told Cassian and Azriel most of the details of their ordeal, the two commanders had compiled a long list of mistakes that the three of them had made that needed to be corrected, and the others wanted to learn from them, too. So they would keep training, until they were all well and truly Valkyries.

I think it's pretty evident that not only do Gwyn and Az interact but in a short period of time their interactions have already turned playful and competitive.

Certain groups in this fandom believe chemistry only equals sexual chemistry but people in real lasting relationships realize that chemistry is more than that. Sexual attraction can fade but emotional chemistry is what leads to a relationships staying power.

Emotional chemistry is what makes a relationship special and different from other relationships.

Az has had hunger for both Mor and Elain. He's felt protective of both Mor and Elain, arguing against them doing anything dangerous. He's questioned why both Mor and Elain were not his mates and felt he would taint both Mor and Elain. Really, there's nothing all that special between the way he treats the pair of them. Sure, he never lent anyone TT but he also never sat out of battle after Mor begged and pleaded. He never had a recently turned fae female in need of a weapon while the female he loved for centuries asked him not to fight.

In an SJM romance, her endgame pairings have both sexual and emotional chemistry but the sexual side of things doesn't always happen right away. For example, Rowan and Aelin didn't have sexual chemistry for quite a while. They disliked one another at first, which eventually led to friendship, which eventually built to sexual chemistry.

A crackship would be Gwyn and Tarquin who have never met. But Gwyn being flirtatious towards Az, Az being amused by Gwyn, Az showing admiration for Gwyn, Az believing in Gwyns ability to make it through the Rite, Az feeling something spark in his chest at the thought of her happiness, Az imaging her teal eyes lighting up, Gwyn being the only one his shadows dance for (both in SF and the POV), knowing that not only has Az already spent time interacting alone with Gwyn and time with her during training but that he and Cassian are going to be continuing her training, we can safely say Az and Gwyn are not a crackship. We know Gwyn likes males as she said her chance to lie with a male for her first time was taken from her and she did not show any fear being with Az alone in the dark in the middle of the night. So it is not "ridiculous" to think that he could easily be someone she'd place her trust in when she decides she's ready to take the next steps in exploring her sexuality (something SJM will decide she's ready for and not petty readers within the fandom).

And the fact that he treats Gwyn differently than the way he's acted towards Mor and Elain, the fact that SJM had Gwyn and Gwyn alone spark something in his chest, are possible clues that their chemistry is the real kind and not the fleeting kind that sexual chemistry sometimes is when it's missing the other things that are important to a lasting relationship.

[legolasbadass]

Office Hours, Part 31

Summary: Lorelei Browning has just secured a job as an assistant professor at Exeter College in Oxford. Naturally, she is eager to prove herself and meet every challenge sent her way, but what she does not expect is the tall, handsome stranger who will quickly become much more than a colleague.

Relationship: Richard Armitage x OC (Professor AU)

Word Count: 4.1k

Rating: E

A/N: Hi everyone! It feels like I blinked and suddenly I haven't updated this story in over 7 months, ooops 🙈 I moved abroad and went back to school in September to start a postgraduate degree, so I've had very little time to write over the past few months. I hope you can all forgive me and are still interested in Lorelei and Richard's story! If you are, I've tried to make this chapter extra special... 😈

Before I know it, the spring break is over, and I am drowning in emails, deadlines, and assignments to correct. Thankfully, however, the telltale signs of summer bloom across Oxford as the term unfolds. The air, once crisp, now carries a gentle warmth, accompanied by the hum of bees and the fragrance of blooming flowers along the banks of the River Cherwell, which beckons scholars and locals alike to punting excursions. Days lengthen, inviting late-night strolls through narrow cobblestone streets while the evening sky blends into hues of soft pastels. The fast-approaching exams threaten the leisurely atmosphere of the city,  but when I walk through the sunlit streets with Richard’s hand holding onto mine, I feel as though time stands still; there are no exams, no piles of unmarked essays on my desk, and Richard is here, and he is not leaving. Not now. Not ever. 

I try to be happy and excited for him—I am—but with each passing day, it becomes harder and harder to imagine being thousands of miles away from each other. But we have many things to look forward to; in a few days, we will officially be on summer holiday, and I will move in with Richard. That is what I need to focus on. His imminent departure looms over us, but it does not change the fact that we love each other and are determined to make this work. A year ago, I was offered a lecturer post at Exeter College. It was more than I had ever dreamed of, and I thought life could not get any better. Little did I know I would meet Richard and fall in love with him. The past few months have been a whirlwind, and it still surprises me how fast things have progressed between Richard and me—how quickly he has come to mean the world to me. The thought of losing him terrifies me, but we have been through so much already, so I have to believe that we can get through this next year. 

“Lorelei?” A knock and a familiar rumbling voice pull me back to the present moment.  

Richard stands in the doorway to my office, one hand resting against the aged wooden frame as he smiles at me. The unbuttoned collar of his white shirt draws my attention to his throat and the patch of hair peeking through. Just like the first time we met. 

“Hey,” I say with a smile. 

“Lost track of time?” 

“What?” 

“It’s half past four.” 

“Oh,” I breathe out as I glance at the time on my phone. “Sorry—I completely lost track of time, yeah. Hope you haven’t been waiting for me too long.” 

Richard shakes his head as I throw my laptop and notebooks into my bag, then rush to the door, but he blocks the way with his arm. “You alright?” 

“I’m fine,” I reply, smiling at the concern in his voice. “Just have a lot of things on my mind.” 

He tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and the tender look in his eyes tells me he is thinking of kissing me, but the hallways are busy with students and professors, all rejoicing at the end of the term. 

“Good or bad things?” he asks, his hand lingering on my jaw for a moment longer than it should in this environment. 

“A little bit of both,” I reply, but when he merely continues to watch me, I sigh. “There’s still so much to do before the move. I haven’t packed any of my clothes or anything from the kitchen—”

“Sweetheart, I told you I’d help you pack. Don’t worry about that.” I nod and offer him a grateful smile. Then he frowns. “That’s not what’s bothering you.” 

Sometimes, I wish he did not know me so well. “It’s just the move combined with research deadlines and all the exams I’ll have to correct in a few days,” I say, not wanting to bring up the true cause of my discomfort. I do not want him to feel guilty—he should be excited about this research opportunity, and he deserves nothing less than my unwavering support. “Have you gotten any news on that flat you were interested in?” I ask a few moments later as I lock the door to my office before walking towards the main staircase, trying to appear unphased. 

“Not yet, but it’s still early in Boston so maybe I’ll get some news later.” 

“Right,” I say with a smile, but it hits me all over again that we will not only be separated by an ocean but by time as well, and the thought of needing to wait hours for a text or call from him when he wakes up each day claws are my heart. 

“So I told Michael about Harvard’s offer.”

“How did he take it?” I ask, knowing this was difficult for him as they have been friends and colleagues for many years. 

“He took it well. I mean—it’s not like he could do anything if he didn’t like the idea of me leaving for a year; I’m allowed to take time off from teaching for research. That being said, he told me he was happy for me and that it would be great for the department and the college to have one of their professors working with a famous scholar like Stanley Griffin.” 

“Just as great as it is for Harvard to have one of their professors working with you, I imagine,” I say, looking up at him. 

Richard chuckles skeptically. “Lorelei, he’s Stanley Griffin.” He speaks the scholar's name almost as if he were talking about Shakespeare himself. “His anthologies are used in most English departments.” 

“Well, only one of you is a professor at what is arguably the most prestigious university in the world.” 

“I guess,” he replies with a sheepish smile that warms my heart. 

The sun burns bright in the sky above the dreaming spires, casting long shadows on the cobblestone beneath our feet as we walk through the main quadrangle toward Broad Street. All around us, students rejoice in their newfound freedom, lounging at cafes, iced coffees in hand, discussing summer plans while cyclists whizz by, their wheels clicking against the cobbled paths.

“I can’t believe it’s so warm and sunny today and we have to spend the whole evening indoors for the staff party,” I groan as I step into Richard’s car, throwing my bag on the backseat. 

“We don’t have to go,” he says, closing his door and buckling his seatbelt. 

“Of course we have to go.”

“Lorelei, these things tend to be really dull. They call it a party but it’s just a room full of tired academics who’d rather be at home or locked in their offices, and they serve ridiculous canapés that leave you starving at the end of the evening. Although, admittedly, there’s always an open bar.”

“Alright, then let’s stop and get burgers on the way and stay close to the bar for the duration of the not-so-party party.” Richard chuckles as he steers out of the parking spot. “Come on, our presence is expected. And it might be the last time you get to see some of our colleagues before you leave.” 

He does not say anything for a while, then he reaches out to squeeze my thigh, and I know he, too, is thinking of the long months of loneliness ahead. 

In an attempt to change his mind, I intertwine our fingers and smirk as I say, in a light, sing-songy voice, “I bought a new dress for the occasion that I think you’ll really like. It’s navy, and sleeveless—I just hope it’s not too short…” 

Richard shakes his head but fails to hide his smile. “I see what you’re trying to do, sweetheart.” As we stop at a red light, Richard notices my expression and sighs. “Alright, let’s go to the stupid party—but we’re not staying too late.” 

***

It took longer than expected to get ready at my flat. Despite agreeing to attend the event, Richard prevented me from getting dressed with languid kisses and lingering caresses, but eventually, we managed to tear ourselves from each other and leave. 

The city is submerged in the sun’s golden farewell to the day when Richard and I arrive at an imposing, Jacobean-style mansion near The Queen’s College, and as we walk through the tall wooden doors and into the main hall, I cannot help but gasp and look up at the ceiling high above us, causing Richard to chuckle. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he says, squeezing my hand as he leads me toward the grand staircase. 

I nod. “I think I’d prefer to just walk around the building instead of going to the party,” I begin playfully, but Richard shakes his head.

“Oh, no, no, no,” he says, letting go of my hand to hold my back and push me forward. “You practically dragged me to this thing so you better not leave me for even a second.” 

I bite back a smile. “What if I need to go to the loo?” 

Richard chuckles. “Okay, you’re not leaving me except to go to the loo.” 

The hubbub of conversation and clinking glasses fills the air as we step into the grand room lit by the setting sun and the soft glow of chandeliers hanging from the frescoed ceiling. I spot familiar faces in the crowd while we make our way to the bar, but most people I do not know, so I am grateful for Richard’s reassuring presence, and I already dread having to attend events like these without him next year. 

“So here we are,” Richard says dispassionately after we order drinks. “Now do you believe me for saying these things are boring?”

I shake my head in amusement, then bite my lips, suddenly feeling shy. 

“What is it, sweetheart? You’re blushing,” he points out with a curious smile. 

Hesitantly, I lean in and speak in a soft voice only he can hear. “Would it be less boring if I told you I’m not wearing knickers?” 

Richard laughs, but then he catches my eyes and gulps heavily. “Are you—you’re really not—?” 

I shake my head, slowly gaining confidence as his eyes darken. He laughs again, the sound deeper and hoarser, telling me exactly how he feels about my styling choice. 

 “This is a work event!” he playfully chastises me, and I giggle as he brings a hand to my back.

“Well, I just wanted to make sure this party wasn’t too dull for your tastes.” 

He smirks. “I now suspect I’ll be feeling unwell or tired rather soon and you’ll have to bring me home earlier than planned.” 

“Oh, yes? And how will we spend the rest of the evening once we’re back home?” I ask, feigning innocence. 

“Well, for starters, you’ll take off that lovely dress and bend over—” 

Heat rises up my neck, and I nearly choke on my drink when, just at that moment, someone calls out to us, forcing us to pull apart suddenly. 

“Richard, Lorelei!” Professor Bennett greets us with a kind smile. “I was beginning to wonder if maybe you wouldn’t be joining us.” 

Richard glances at me, a cheeky grin illuminating his slightly red face, before turning back to Professor Bennett. “Last-minute outfit crisis,” he replies teasingly, squeezing my waist. 

I shake my head, trying to ignore the tingling in my belly caused by his last words to me. 

“And this is what you landed on?” Professor Bennett says playfully as he looks Richard up and down, causing me to laugh.

“Well, not everyone has your fashion sense, Michael,” Richard responds with a chuckle.

“Maybe we should start being evaluated on that; that way, I might stand a chance against you and win the teaching award for once.” 

Smiling, I look up at Richard and then back at Professor Bennett. “Richard was voted favourite Professor again?” 

“He sure was!” he says, raising his glass to Richard. 

“How amazing!” I exclaim, momentarily resting my hand on Richard’s chest. “Congrats, love!”

Richard’s grateful smile is made all the more endearing by the faint blush blooming on his cheeks. 

“But don’t tell anyone—I haven’t sent out the official announcement yet.”

Professor Bennett then turns to greet a passing colleague, so I lean into Richard. “I know one person who for sure voted for you,” I whisper with a teasing smile, thinking of Jane Taylor and the stars in her eyes when she speaks to him. 

“Shut up,” he responds, though he fails to hide his smirk as he pinches my waist, causing me to giggle. 

“Hey, there you are!” Natasha’s familiar voice interrupts us, and I turn to see her squeezing her way around a couple of Ph.D. students. We all greet her, but then she notices Richard and seems to hesitate for a second before she says, “Apparently, congratulations are in order!” Richard smiles shyly. “Working with Stanley Griffin—that’s exciting!” 

“Yeah, it is,” Richard replies with a nod, though he momentarily tightens his hold on me.

  “I must say, thank God for you, Lorelei,” Professor Bennett begins, causing me to frown in curiosity, “under different circumstances, I’d be worried about losing Richard to Harvard forever, but I know as long as you’re in Oxford, he’ll be coming back,” he says with a fond smile. 

I chuckle, then try to come up with a playful response, but I cannot ignore the heaviness in my heart. How can I miss him already when he is still here, holding me tight?

Thankfully, Richard steps in. “Don’t worry, Michael, you won’t even get a chance to miss me. I’ll be coming back periodically to check in on my postgrad students—that sort of thing…” 

“Yes, sure. For the students, of course,” Professor Bennett says teasingly, and from the corner of my eyes, I notice Richard staring at me longingly, and heat rises to my cheeks. 

As they continue to joke around, Natasha catches my eye and gestures for me to follow her. I reassure Richard I will be right back, then step aside, concerned by the frown on her face. 

Once we are far enough from the others, she reached out to caress my arm and asks, “How are you feeling?” 

I gulp, suddenly understanding her previous hesitation. “I’m fine.”

She nods slowly, biting on her lower lip. “So he’s leaving for a year…” 

I nod, struggling to gather the strength to respond in words. 

“That must be really tough for you.” 

“Yeah, it is, but… we’ll make it work.” 

“So you guys aren’t—aren’t breaking up or anything, are you?” 

“Oh, no!” 

She lets out a deep sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God! When I heard the news earlier today all I could think of was…” She trails off and laughs nervously. “You guys can make it work. I know you can.” 

I smile. “Yeah, I hope so.” Then my smile widens. “Actually, I’m moving in with him.” 

“Really?” she exclaims, her eyes lighting up in genuine happiness. 

“Yes! We want to make the most of the time we have together before he leaves, and this makes it a little easier to reassure ourselves that we’ll get through this together.” 

Natasha nods and squeezes my arm. “I’m so happy for you two!”

“Thanks,” I reply, grateful for her friendship. Then I notice Richard eyeing me from the bar, but before I can say anything, Natasha smiles in understanding. 

“Alright, go back to your man,” she teases. “I just really wanted to make sure you were okay. I’ll go see if I can find Sarah somewhere.” 

I give Natasha a quick hug before making my way back toward Richard, who is now conversing with two men I do not know. As soon as he notices me, he excuses himself from the conversation and, wrapping one arm around my waist, pulls me slightly to the side of the bar, away from prying ears.

“Everything okay?” he asks in concern.

“Yeah, Natasha just wanted to check in and make sure I was alright given… you know…”

Richard nods, then looks down at me with an exaggerated pout. “You left me alone when you said you wouldn’t.” 

“So needy,” I tease as I rest a hand against his solid chest, my fingers absently playing with the unbuttoned collar of his shirt. “You were talking with Michael so I figured you wouldn’t mind.” 

“Okay, new rule: when we’re at an event and you tell me you’re not wearing any knickers, you have to stay within arm’s reach.” 

I burst out laughing, though heat rises to my cheeks at his rumbled words. “Alright, I can abide by that rule.”

“You better.” He smirks before leaning in to kiss me. His lips are soft and warm against mine, sweetened by the wine he has sipped. I can feel passion simmering deep within him, and when I reluctantly pull away sometime later, all too aware of our surroundings, Richard groans quietly. He then takes one quick glance around the room before leaning in conspiringly. “I think we might be able to sneak out of here for a little bit,” he says in a quiet voice, then gulps, and I am momentarily distracted by the movement of his Adam’s apple. “You know, to explore the building like you wanted.” 

“Right. To explore the building,” I repeat, smiling innocently. He finishes his drink in one big gulp, then winks as he takes my hand to lead me out of the crowded room.

The sound of our shoes against the polished stone floor echoes through the long hallway as we search for a more private place to continue the evening, failing to contain our laughter as we try door after door, in vain. We have nearly reached the other end of the building when we finally stumble upon an unlocked door. We cast furtive glances around us to make sure we are alone before slipping inside what turns out to be a small reading room with bookshelf-lined walls and a few rows of desks, illuminated only by the lamposts in the street below. The sweet, earthy scent of aged paper and leather-bound tomes fills the air, but then Richard wraps his arms around me and pulls me close, laughter lingering in his eyes, and the familiar smell of his cologne surrounds me. I can still hear echoes of the party in the distance, but it all disappears when, with a soft smile, Richard leans in to rest his forehead against mine. One of his hands is now tangled in my hair, holding the back of my head and pulling me closer as we share our breath, lingering in this moment, allowing ourselves to pretend that the rest of the world does not exist. 

When he finally claims my lips in a hungry kiss, I let my eyes flutter close and, standing on my tiptoes, circle my arms around his neck, pulling him even closer to me as I drown in his passionate embrace, content to pretend that my only worry is knowing we will eventually need to pull apart for air. We move against each other out of instinct, ignoring the time and place, fuelled by an evening of flirting and lingering touches and our impending separation. He lets go of my lips to trace a path along my jaw, down my neck toward that sensitive spot below my ear, and the warmth of his tongue combined with the rasp of his beard sends heat spiralling down my spine. My hands are now buried in his hair, tugging on the soft curls, and he groans into my neck before reconnecting our lips. 

Without breaking the kiss, he effortlessly lifts me into his strong arms and sets me on one of the desks, spreading my legs apart with his body. Already, I ache for him; heat swirls through me, buzzing incessantly between my legs, and when he squeezes my left thigh with one of his large hands, I cannot help but buck towards him and whimper, the desperate sound of desire echoing through the room. 

“Be quiet, sweetheart,” Richard murmurs against my lips, and a rush of arousal floods my core. 

As his hand slides higher up my thigh and slips under my dress, I cannot help but chuckle. “Are we really doing this?” 

Richard grins. “Don’t act innocent; you knew we’d end up in this situation the moment you decided not to wear knickers.” I giggle into the kiss at the deep, unbridled lust coating his words. “I can’t resist you.”

He pulls away just enough to watch my face as he teasingly slides two fingers over my folds, coating me in my arousal. Biting my lips, I wriggle on the desk to grant him better access, and when his fingertips brush against my clit, the whole room seems to pulse with the intensity of the pleasure tingling through me. Richard knows my body by heart now—he knows exactly where and how to touch me to have me panting in his arms in no time. He sets up a languid pace, alternating between drawing circles on my clit and slipping a long finger inside me, only allowing himself to increase the pace when I latch onto his shoulders, my hands pulling on his tweed blazer. My breath hitches in my throat when he slips two fingers inside me, crooking them and almost instantly finding the spot that has me arching my back and whimpering his name. My legs are now wrapped around him, my thighs pressing into him as he catches my mouth, taking the breath from my lungs and the moans from my lips. 

My release washes over me in a dizzying wave, pulsing through every fibre of my being, leaving me hot and panting as I cling to Richard while he continues to pleasure me, not stopping until I collapse in his arms. A car horn echoes in the distance, reminding me of our surroundings. Even so, as I look up to meet Richard’s lust-darkened eyes, desire flares in me again, and the warm weight of his hardness pressing into my inner thigh reassures me that this is far from over. Licking my lips, I raise a hand to teasingly caress him through his trousers, revelling in the whimper he fails to hold back. One of his hands returns to my hair, gently tugging as I slowly reach for his belt buckle—

The door creaks open. 

In an instant, Richard and I pull apart, and I hasten to tug my dress back in place and press my thighs together just as a security guard steps inside. His eyes flicker between Richard and me, his expression a mixture of surprise and embarrassment. 

“Er, sorry, guys—this room is supposed to be closed. You can’t be in here.” 

Too mortified to speak, I turn to Richard, and he smiles sheepishly at the security guard. “Apologies, we didn’t realize. I was just showing her around.” 

The security guard nods, then steps back to let us pass. My face burns as we mumble apologies, but he walks away as quickly as he first appeared, leaving us to stand awkwardly outside the reading room. 

“I guess we should stick to our offices,” Richard muses playfully.

My heart still hammering in my chest, I look up at Richard, biting my lip, but then my eyes drift down to the noticeable bulge in his trousers, and I burst out laughing. 

“That man certainly won’t be losing any sleep trying to decipher what you meant by ‘showing me around’,” I giggle. 

Richard looks down and tries, in vain, to adjust his trousers. “Do you think he noticed?” 

“Well, I hope for his sake he doesn’t make a habit of staring at strangers’ crotches. But if he does, then yeah, he definitely noticed.” 

“It’s all your fault,” he replies with a grin. Laughing, I wrap my arms around him and look up to meet his tender gaze, but he quickly takes my arms and reasserts a more appropriate distance between us. “You’re not helping.”

“Sorry,” I chuckle as I straighten his blazer, not wanting to let go of him.

“Oh, yes—you look very sorry.” 

“How about I make it up to you instead?” 

Richard grins. “Does that mean we get to go home?” 

“Yeah, I think sneaking away sounds like a good plan.” 

The ride back to my flat is filled with stolen glances and lingering touches. As soon as we arrive and lock the door behind us, he pulls me in for a passionate kiss, and I melt in his arms. His touch is tender and possessive, and with each kiss, each caress, we reassert our love for each other, surrounded by the boxes that signal the beginning of our new life together.

Tag list: @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @i-did-not-mean-to @xxbyimm @middleearthpixie @enchantzz @myselfandfantasy @notlostgnome @laurfilijames @swoopswishsward @quiall321 @dianakc @sazzlep @albionscastle

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[starlingflight]

loml

Written for @corneliaavenue-ao3 TTPD Several Sunlit Daylights challenge.

Read on AO3 or below:

I. lesson of my life

Every illusion Ginny has ever had is shattered over the course of a single night. 

She doesn't go into the chamber willingly. She claws, and scratches and fights against Tom's commands with all her might. She cries, and she struggles, but in the end it makes no difference. She isn't strong enough. As the darkness swallows her up, her final childish hope is for a rescue she knows isn't coming. 

When she opens her eyes again it doesn't feel like a miracle. The cold from the stone floor has seeped through her skin, a chill has settled deep in her bones and she knows, with absolute certainty, it will never fully go away. 

Of course Harry is there, holding a mighty sword, a dead monster behind him. The very image of the conquering hero she's always fantasised about, but this isn't like one of Ginny's fantasies. He's covered in blood, and his eyes are wide with the same terror that's taken root deep within her soul. There's no triumph in this moment, only horror. 

This isn't a dream. It's a nightmare. One that Ginny won't fully wake up from for a very long time. 

She learns many lessons that night, but the most important one will come later. After she's spent weeks, months, years putting herself back together, because Harry might have rescued her from the chamber, but, as Ginny will come to realise, the only person who can really save you is yourself.

II. light of my life

Harry's never known a darkness like this. It starts when he watches Sirius fall through the veil, tiny tendrils of black slowly leaking out from his heart, unfurling with increasing urgency until he's overwhelmed by a cold, empty abyss that he's sure nothing will ever penetrate again. How can it when Sirius is never coming back? 

He doesn't even notice the first ray of light. It happens so quickly. He's in the hospital wing, trying very hard to let Hermione's commentary on the latest news from The Prophet distract him from the aching chasm in his chest, and the unbearable weight of the prophecy, when it happens. 

Luna says something completely ridiculous about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks – whatever they are – Harry can feel Hermione's exasperation from across the small gap that separates her bed from Ron's. Ginny's chocolate eyes meet his, and something happens that he'd assumed would never happen again. 

Harry smiles. 

It's fleeting, lasting less than a second.  There's very little time to dwell on it before they're looking away from one another, and the grief washes over him again, a tidal wave that steals the air from his lungs. 

That's just the beginning though… or maybe the beginning had been years ago. Maybe the blush he'd once thought of as the setting sun had actually been the opposite; Ginny's light rising, her warm, rosy glow beginning its ascent into his life. 

She continues to rise that summer, forcing the darkness back with her sheer brightness. Her smile turns black to grey; her laugh is powder pinks and bright oranges; the jokes she coaxes from him are pure, cloudless blue. 

When she runs at him across the common room months later, she's blazing, burning red. When she reaches him, when Harry finally kisses Ginny, the sun reaches its apex and his whole life is awash with bright, brilliant gold. 

For a few shining weeks there are only sunlit days. 

III. loss of my life

Fittingly, they're at a funeral when it happens. Ginny always knew he had great comedic timing. She's not laughing, however, as Harry lays out all his stupid, noble reasons why they can't be together. She's not crying either, though; that feels like a small mercy. The only one she's going to get for a while. 

She does cry when she finally makes it home. It's silly, she knows. Silly, foolish, naive Ginny Weasley, a familiar, cold voice whispers through her mind. For once, she doesn't try to argue with it, but she doesn't try to stop either. 

Instead, she buries her face into her pillow and lets herself sob until her eyes run dry. Her tears aren't just for her broken heart, but for everything Ginny's already had to sacrifice; her childhood, her innocence. 

It isn't until weeks later that she realises the true magnitude of what she stands to lose. 

“And then what does she think's going to happen? Someone else will kill off Voldemort while she's holding us here making vol-au-vents?” 

The fork Ginny is holding almost slips from her grasp. Her heart falters in her chest. Harry playing his flippant comment off a joke does nothing to return it to a steady rhythm. 

It plays round and round in her mind that night. Her knuckles are ghostly white where they grip her bedsheet. Vaguely, she'd known what he'd planned to do, but vague notions and knowing with absolute certainty are two very different things. The task Harry brought up so nonchalantly in the kitchen is nothing short of a suicide mission. It hits Ginny with the force of a barrage of stunning spells, knocking the air from her lungs; Harry might not come back to her. 

Two days later, when she kisses him in her bedroom, it doesn't feel like she's saying happy birthday, it feels like she's saying goodbye.

When Harry follows Ron out of her bedroom door, he takes a piece of Ginny with him, one she prays she hasn't lost forever. 

IV. longing of my life

She haunts him like a ghost. What was once screaming colour and pure unfiltered brightness is now just a memory, a pale imitation permanently stuck on repeat in his mind. 

Harry moves stoically from one hiding place to another and, though they're separated by miles, Ginny follows him to every single one. 

He can hear her laugh in the wind that shakes the canvas sides of the tent. He can see her smile in the sunlight that penetrates the thick canopy of the forests they move between. At night, when he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend the sheet brushing against his skin is her fingertips. 

It's worse when he has the locket on. Then, he's tormented with visions like the one he'd imagined on his birthday; of her moving on. Finding someone else. Living a life that can never be his. 

Horcrux or no, he can't stop himself thinking about her. Aching for her. Longing for her. 

He clings to memories of Ginny like scraps of driftwood, the only thing keeping Harry afloat when he's been set adrift. 

V. lament of my life

It's like the chamber all over again. Ginny's whole world is flipped upside down in the space of a single night. 

She doesn't see Fred go. She doesn't know the last time she sees her big brother that it's the last time.  

“Take care of yourself,” he'd shouted over his shoulder as Ginny had gone hurtling down a corridor in pursuit of a Death Eater.

“Don't I always?’ she'd called back. 

What if she'd told him to do the same? Would he have listened? Would he still be there? 

There's very little time to dwell on such questions in the middle of a battle.  Especially not when every passing second brings another devastating loss. 

Lupin. Tonks. Colin. 

Ginny's heart shatters into a million little pieces until it doesn't exist at all. Or so she thinks, until she sees Harry's body cradled in Hagrid’s arms. 

Then she knows she still has a heart, because it's in unbearable agony. She doubles over from the pain of it. His name escapes her lips on a scream, as though she might be able to call him back to life through sheer desperation. 

Tom Riddle talks; for the second time in Ginny's life, she's unable to hear him, but this isn't like the Chamber at all. This time Ginny wishes she was dead. 

When the battle resumes, she jumps straight into it with wild abandon. Ginny's lamentation is not filled with tears, or wailing. It's fire and rage for everything that's been taken from her. Tom Riddle already stole her past. Now he's taken her future. She will take everything she can from him, or die trying. 

VI. lowest of my life

He's never truly let himself imagine what it might be like to actually defeat Voldemort. If he had, Harry doubts he would have pictured it like this. 

If it's a win, why is there so much loss? 

He doesn't know whether the grief or the hope is more overwhelming. They mingle together, like waves in the ocean, swelling and breaking, threatening to pull Harry under. 

He can feel it crash over him as he stands in the great hall the day after the battle. The bodies are still there; all the people who don't get the second chance Harry does are laid out in front of him. Lifeless eyes staring, unseeing, up at the enchanted ceiling. 

The guilt and the pain sweep through him like ice water, filling his lungs; rising up in Harry's throat until there's no possible room for air. He takes a step back, desperate to flee somewhere he can sink down into the cold, lonely depths. 

Before he can, a hand, small and warm, slips into his, pulling Harry back to the surface. He releases one, long, deep breath before looking at her. 

Ginny's attempt at a smile is tinged with sadness, sunlight peeking through dark grey clouds. 

Only hours ago, he'd contemplated all the things he needed to say to her, but now no words are exchanged at all.  Only a look. It's all they need. All they've ever needed. Everything has changed. But he's still Harry, and she's still Ginny. 

Instinctively his arm comes around her. Ginny buries her face in his chest, sagging slightly against him, as though she was waiting for this moment to let herself rest. Like she needs him as much as he needs her. 

Harry's head rests against hers, the floral scent of her shampoo is faint, lingering beneath everything that's happened. It makes his heart falter anyway. He holds her tightly to him, something he never thought he'd get the chance to do again.  As he's come to expect, time seems to stop for her. They stay like that for what might only be seconds, or possibly an entire lifetime passes. 

Eventually, Ginny pulls out of his grasp. It takes less than a second for her hand to find his again, fingers entwining. She pulls gently, silently commanding him to follow her. Harry almost asks where they're going, but he doesn't really need to. He's free to go wherever he pleases now. He'll follow her anywhere. 

Ginny looks up at him as they walk towards the double doors. He can still see the embers of her blazing light smouldering in the dark depths of her eyes. He was right, there will be hours, days, and years in which to talk, but he doesn't need her to say a word now to know where she's taking him. He lets her pull him forward, lets her light guide him to a future he's still not sure he deserves to have. 

VII. loser of my life

For a while, Ginny thinks she'll never recover from the loss, from the grief and the heartache. It's not the first time she's felt this way, but this time she doesn't have to face it alone. Once she has Harry back, he doesn't leave her side again. 

They fall back together naturally. They stitch themselves back together slowly until one day, years later, the sun is blazing brightly in the sky, the pleasant summer breeze is ruffling the grass beneath her feet, and Ginny feels whole again. 

“Ready?” Her father asks, holding out his arm out to her. 

“Ready,” Ginny agrees, threading her hand through the crook of his elbow. Holding her colourful bouquet of wildflowers in front of her with her free hand. 

There have been times, in her darkest moments, when she wished she was someone else. A girl who hasn't dwelt in a darkness that most people don't ever see even in their worst nightmares; a witch who hasn't looked into the eyes of evil and refused to bend, refused to break; a woman who hasn't lost things that can never ever be replaced. 

Now, as soft music begins to swell in the summer air, and her gaze locks on Harry, waiting for her at the end of the makeshift aisle formed by the rows of chairs that have been put out in her parent's orchard, Ginny doesn't regret any of it. Everything she's lost is a step she's taken towards this. 

She can feel dozens of heads turn towards her, but Ginny only has eyes for Harry, and he, it appears, only has eyes for her. His smile makes the sun look dim in comparison. Still, the corner of his mouth trembles; even from a distance, Ginny can see emotion well up behind his glasses. 

‘Don't you dare,' she mouths, feeling her throat tighten as she does. Her arm stretches out, lifting her bouquet like it's a wand, miming hexing him. She's closer now. She can hear the tremor in his laugh as he puts his arms up in mock surrender. 

It's too late; the laughter she's coaxed from him doesn't stop the tear that slips down his cheek. Of course, one of her own escapes only a half a second later. 

“We look like such losers,” Ginny informs him, shaking her head, as her fingers slip from her father's arm into Harry's awaiting hand. 

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, quietly enough for only her to hear. He's still smiling as another tear slides unconcernedly down his face. His free hand reaches up, his thumb swipes away the ones that are currently leaking traitorously from Ginny's eyes. “But you're my loser.” 

It takes her a moment to regain her breath. A fleeting second in which she can't quite believe they're here; that they made it. Then she smiles even wider than before. “Not officially – not until we get through this ceremony.” 

Harry's gaze holds hers. Ginny almost forgets they have an audience. The world reduces down to just the two of them, grinning madly at one another. Harry's fingers squeeze her hand. “We'd best get on with it then.

VIII. legacy of my life

Books are filled with what many consider to be his finest achievements. Tales of thrilling battles, speculations on unsurvivable curses, and records of great victories are inked across the pages of history. 

As are the many titles thrust upon Harry; The  Boy Who Lived, Chosen One, Saviour.  To him, they're little more than noise, assumptions from people who don't really know him, and never will.

When he slips the wedding ring onto Ginny's finger, Harry gets the first title he's ever chosen for himself: husband. Her husband. 

Not long after, he gains another one, this one unplanned, but no less momentous. James, tiny, and so precious, is placed into his arms, and Harry becomes a father. 

His real legacy begins there. It's not just his, it's hers too. Their legacy. 

It's recorded in baby books and photo albums rather than history books. It's memorialised in finger paintings and handmade Christmas ornaments (made under Ginny's expert supervision) instead of plaques and statues. It's hundreds of little memories of their family that will never see the inside of a newspaper, but that doesn't make them any less noteworthy, not to Harry, who'd never dared to imagine that this life could be his one day. 

IX. love of my life

“Dinner!” Her mother calls from the back door of The Burrow, her voice ringing out across the garden. 

The sun is setting, dipping below the topmost branches of the orchard. The sky is a tapestry of pinks, purples and golds, stretching out for miles above them. 

“What do you think?” Ginny asks as her feet meet the ground, dismounting from her broom. “Could I make it as a pro?” 

Harry lands beside her. His eyes sweep appraisingly over her. Ginny's stomach swoops like she's still in the air. “I don't know,” he says thoughtfully. “The League is brutal. It requires rigorous training.” 

Ginny shrugs unconcernedly, hoisting her broom onto her shoulder as she does. “Do you know any Quidditch captains who might be interested in helping me with such an undertaking?” 

“I know one who might be able to make some time for you this summer,” Harry says as he falls into step beside her. He inclines his head towards her broom.“I can take it for you?”

Ginny's eyes narrow, prepared to tell him she's perfectly capable of carrying her own broom, but, when she turns, the way he's looking at her makes her heart race, and the words die on her tongue. without her permission, her expression transforms into a grin. “Very chivalrous of you.” 

A weight is lifted from her as Harry settles her broom beside his on his shoulder. “That's kind of what I'm known for.” 

“Only ‘kind of’?” Ginny's eyes wander to the quickly darkening sky above them as she laughs. “In that case, I'll be sure to let people know of this latest act of heroism – personally, I don't think you get enough attention.” 

“Well, if that's how you feel, you could always give me more.” 

Ginny stops midstep. Her head turns sharply back to Harry. She should keep walking, the words that are on the tip of her tongue will lead to something that neither of them planned for on this particular summer evening. 

Harry's eyebrows rise upwards; even in the dusk, Ginny can see the challenge sparking in his eyes. Unbidden, she takes a step towards him. “Are you flirting with me, Potter?” 

He doesn't back down, but he doesn't make a move towards her either. The brooms he's holding clatter together as he shrugs with just a bit too much tension in his shoulders to be truly nonchalant. “I might be.” 

Ginny's blood thrums in her veins as she takes another step towards him. “Need I remind you that I'm spoken for?” 

“How could I forget?” Harry's head lowers despite her reminder, until he's so close Ginny can see the flecks of gold in his green eyes. “I suppose he's deeply in love with you?” 

“Yes,” she nods with absolute certainty. “And I feel the same about him.” 

Harry's head dips lower, the determination in his eyes making his intention clear. Ginny rises on her tiptoes, unable to fight the pull that always inevitably beckons her to him. 

Barely an inch of space remains between them. Her heart flutters wildly– 

“Oi!” The loud, obnoxious shout comes from the far end of the orchard, making Ginny jump. She turns towards it and finds a lanky figure glaring at them from where he leans against the fence. “When you're done being disgusting, Nanna says to hurry up – dinner’s ready and the rest of us aren't allowed to start without you.” 

James doesn't wait for a response before turning on his heel and marching back towards the house. 

Ginny rolls her eyes at her son's retreating back. Her hand slips into Harry's, the most contact they're getting, at least until after dinner. “Remind me again why we had children?” 

Harry sighs, allowing her to lead him towards the gate James has just departed from. “You said they'd be cute.” 

“Well, they used to be,” she says fairly as she pushes the gate open with her free hand. “I wasn't thinking as far as them becoming teenagers.” 

Harry nods seriously. “Really, who could've predicted such an unforeseeable outcome.” 

Ginny looks up at him as he follows her through the gate. Brown eyes meet green through the burgeoning twilight. Two identical smiles bloom like flowers in spring. 

“Certainly not you, judging by your appalling Divination grades.” 

[ariadne-mouse]

So with Mercaleb being over for a while now, I’ve felt a bit bereft as an author and found myself working on my next project pretty quickly.  I wanted to explore the wizards through a different lens, as I do, but with Caleb once again taking the form of the Other contrasted to Essek.  Mercaleb, Volcaleb — this is definitely one of my jams.  I hope you will enjoy the start of something new!

The title is from William Cullen Bryant's A Forest Hymn.

(~1400 word snippet, shadowgast, rated G for now)

.

the groves were god's first temples

The night was dark, and the windows of Essek’s office were speckled with water droplets, each pane a portrait of the rain’s ever-changing visage as it peered in at the room’s lone occupant.

Essek of Den Thelyss worked by candlelight, and by magelight, comfortable with the dark and yet preferring illumination as he bent to his studious labors: a spell theorem that could unlock a new sub-branch of dunamancy.  A fire in the hearth warmed his back.  A cup of tea steamed at his elbow, hot only due to refreshments of Prestidigitation.  Essek had not arisen from his chair in several hours.

“It’s really quite simple,” Essek said aloud, tone edged in frustration. “I don’t see why you must persist in seeking complications.”

For Essek was not truly alone, whatever it might appear to an outside observer.  He was never alone here in the study, the sanctum sanctorum of his tower.

“Let us begin again,” he continued. “Beginning with the Principle of Infinite Division, which is the concept that there are a limitless number of divergences from any given point in time, and thus the isolation of a single timeline thread in continuity carries with it the complications of having to specify infinite selections within an infinite number possibilities.”

He paused, letting the words sink in.

The potted plant on his desk listened serenely, the green faces of each leaf gleaming handsomely.  This was a being of the sunlit hours, displaced in the eternal darkness of Rosohna, requiring specialized care and constant light.  A mark of status.  But for Essek, it was someone to talk to.  

Well — something.  Of course.

Merely something.

It didn’t feel that way, though; it was the strangest phenomenon.  It felt as though his words were being heard, and understood.

He had dreams, sometimes, where it answered him.

Essek cleared his throat.  “As you can surmise, this represents a challenge if you wish to locate a specific timeline in its entirety.  Now, if I can craft a formulaic element to the incantation or inscription — a repeatable recipe, if you will — I could solve the selection process without having to account for each of these divisions individually.  Namely, by identifying a unique signature that is ascribable to multiple points within it—”  He trailed off, and sighed.  “I’ve lost you again, haven’t I.  Here, let me better illuminate you.”

He beckoned several magelights — amber-colored, as the last afternoon sun — to hover closer to it, lips quirking wryly at his own joke.  

Was it his imagination, or did the leaves turn to seek the light?

“You are very patient with me,” Essek said.  “I have been preaching to you all day, and still you endure it.  I know what I mean, but when I say it aloud, I hear all the faults of each idea.”  

The tree rustled, as if to reassure him.  

It was probably just his sleeve brushing the branches — almost assuredly — almost — but he nodded in acknowledgement, feeling touched and a little chagrined.  “I know, I know.  It takes time.  You are constantly teaching me this.”

Carefully he tested the top of the plant’s pebbled soil with his fingertips, and then lifted the container from its dish to see its base, and found no chill of moisture in the sturdy clay. 

“Ah!  I am neglecting you, as well.  I am sorry.”

The remnant of his tea, made cold with the wave of a hand, went into the pot.

Essek leaned on his palm, maudlin.  “My theorem is a bit like you.  It started small and unrestrained, and over time has grown and been pruned and trained and refined until it is something worth looking at.  An elegant echo in miniature of a larger concept.  Or at least, that is what it is supposed to become.  I wonder, is there a Dwendalian tree somewhere in the Empire that looks like you, but as tall as a tower?”

It truly was a beautiful thing, a tree tricked by skilled gardeners into staying absurdly small, and yet lasting centuries, turning colors or bearing fruit as a full-sized tree might.  It was currently fashionable for Kryn nobility to own at least one.  His mother had a garden full.

“Maybe I’m wasting my time,” Essek sighed, rotating the pot with restless fingers, a centimeter at a time.  The tree was lovely from every angle.  “Maybe I am all tangled up in my own ideas, roots snarled together, strangling my own progression.  Maybe I’m not a prodigy after all, and my critics are right about me.  Maybe— oh!”

A bright crimson-orange flower had interrupted his vision of greenery.  Diminutive but striking, its petals were ruffled in an imitation of flame.  Had it been there before?  

Essek dared to touch the bloom and found it whisper-soft.  “Is this for me?”  He smiled and looked down at the desk. “Thank you.”

He didn’t let himself be vulnerable in public, especially not with his peers at the Marble Tomes.  Encouragement was usually concealing condescension, and praise, envy, and Essek had no appetite for these poisoned gifts.

Here, though, speaking to his quiet listener, he could be imperfect.  He could make mistakes, and be treated with grace.  Free of judgment. 

He traced the edge of the flower one more time, then took a breath, emboldened.

“Alright.  Starting once again, from the beginning.  Once we accept the Principle of Infinite Division, a challenge in identifying a single timeline occurs when—”

The rain pitter-patted on the windows, as though the night was curious too about how Essek’s research was progressing and wished to listen in.  The low murmur of Essek’s voice mingled with the crackle of the hearth, the space warm, and though Essek was alone, he was not lonely.

Hours passed.  The fire grew low, and the candles short. 

Essek was slumped on the desk, head pillowed on one arm, and the other loosely circling the base of the potted tree, knuckles resting against cool ceramic.  His magelights had gone out a while ago and he had not recast them.  A few fresh pages of scribblings were scattered around him.  A few had fallen to the floor among a modest graveyard of crumpled rejects.

His eyes were closed, neither fully trancing nor true-sleeping, but a hazy mixture of both in which reality felt surreal and soft-edged.  A well-earned doze after his academic fugue: he had made progress.

He was not alarmed when there was the muted susurrus of a throw blanket unfolding, nor the weight of it coming to rest on his shoulders.  He accepted these things each as they happened, feeling content.

“It’s me,” came a low voice, pitched soft as a midnight breeze through new leaves.  

“I know,” Essek said sleepily, eyes still closed.  “I always know when it’s you.”  

Fingers carded through his hair.  “Resting at your desk again?  I hope it is because things are going well.”

“It is,” Essek answered. “I have been using the method you suggested.”

“Oh?”

With a yawn, he straightened up and opened his eyes.

Caleb was there, leaned against the desk, looking down at Essek with fondness crimping his expression, his red hair turned bronze by the glowing embers in the hearth.  He looked travel-weary and wonderful.

Essek took up Caleb’s hand and held it to his cheek, just because he could. “Yes, I have been explaining the concepts aloud, as if to an ignorant audience.”  He indicated the potted miniature tree next to Caleb’s hip.

Caleb nodded sagely, eyes twinkling.  “Ah, and is our green friend here now fully educated in the Principle of Infinite Division?”

“He’s getting there,” Essek replied.  Then he tugged gently on the hand he held captive, turning his face up to Caleb as a morning flower does the sun.  “Now, come here.”

Caleb smiled, and went.

.

(Happy April Fools! 😁💜🌳)

(also the bonsai is a dwarf pomegranate and would not be "as tall as a tower" in the Empire. Essek knows nothing about botany except where it crosses into alchemy.)

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

3. "I think I'm good with Harrier Du Bois these days."

LILIENNE, THE NET PICKER - "Well then, Officer Du Bois..." She nods to you, then turns toward the sunlit sea.

THE SUN - The remains of the dying sun are reflected in the waves and the skyscrapers rising across the bay. Your mind clears for a moment as your senses take it all in -- not just the glass skyscrapers, fragile-looking in the shimmering air, River Esperance flowing into the bay...

LILIENNE, THE NET PICKER - "Isn't it strange," she breaks the silence abruptly, "For this all-powerful thing, the sun... to be so generous towards us? You know, the best time to go out fishing is usually toward sunset, when the water is warmer..."

THE SUN - The sun also falls on the cape-side tenements and war-torn ruins. An old sea fortress juts out, seemingly impervious to the sheen cast over everything else, shaking you out of your reverie...

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - The Sun does little for the dead, and those hopelessly lost in their own minds.

LOGIC [Easy: Success] - Or people living in desert climates with sparse vegetation and little drinking water.

"Is that why you named your boat 'The Sun'?"

"I'm not sure desert people are happy with too much sunlight."

Just enjoy the view. (Continue.)

LILIENNE, THE NET PICKER - "Oh, that was a bit of pride, and a bit of superstition..."

+5 XP

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Medium: Success] - And a bit of conceptual unity too, it being yellow and all...

2. "I'm not sure desert people are happy with too much sunlight."

LILIENNE, THE NET PICKER - "Now you're just nitpicking." She smiles. "But aye, I concede -- maybe *desert people* sometimes disagree."

3. Just enjoy the view. (Continue.)

THE SUN - There's salt in the air and the cries of the gulls and the skuas; the grit of sand and the green glint of broken bottles. But still your gaze always returns to the streaks of light, wherever they may be reflected, their fading opulence...

LILIENNE, THE NET PICKER - "It's bringing us spring, summer... It's entirely on our side, no matter what we do or who we are. For absolutely *no* reason. It's unlike no other powerful being -- certainly no powerful organisation, or government? How can that be?"

"The sun isn't exactly an organisation."

"There's an explanation to this. And it's political. You see…" (Begin a long, impassioned political tirade.)

"Well, *something's* gotta be on our side."

"Because it's not human. Humans betray you."

LILIENNE, THE NET PICKER - "Do they? Some of them do but..." She shrugs. "Sounds to me like you should choose your allies better, that's all."

VOLITION [Challenging: Success] - True, you ought not love ruins and hell -- and the fading scent of apricots.

SUGGESTION [Challenging: Success] - Maybe some general remarks before you say something big? Work your way up to the *cool*.

"You have fish-hooks in your ears."

"There's an interesting lilt in your voice."

"Do you wish you were out there fishing right now?"

"So... who do you think killed the hanged man?"

[Conceptualization - Heroic 15] Say something about the sun.

"This was nice. Thank you." (Conclude the date.)

LILIENNE, THE NET PICKER - "These?" she turns her head and they dangle. "These aren't real fish-hooks, silly. They're earrings shaped to look like fish-hooks. A drunk called Rosemary brought them to me. I kept them."

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Medium: Success] - She's right. They're made mostly of plastic. A cheap novelty gift you can buy from a flower shop or a kiosk.

LILIENNE, THE NET PICKER - The wind ruffles her hair as she looks at the setting sun.

2. "There's an interesting lilt in your voice."

LILIENNE, THE NET PICKER - "Thank you. I'm half Ubi. My mother was from Ubi Sunt?. Not a lot of sun there, I hear, though I've never been..."

The wind ruffles her hair as she looks at the setting sun.

3. "Do you wish you were out there fishing right now?"

LILIENNE, THE NET PICKER - "Aye, always do... I like it. It's like being on another planet. A water planet. With water worries... and water joys."

The wind ruffles her hair as she looks at the setting sun.

4. "So... who do you think killed the hanged man?"

LILIENNE, THE NET PICKER - "Good one. I'm gonna go with *the rope*."

LOGIC [Easy: Success] - She thinks it was a riddle. She must not even know of that business. Better that way.

5. [Conceptualization - Heroic 15] Say something about the sun.

+2 Your lost love. +1 Artful background. +1 Time to think.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Heroic: Success] - Here we go. Two different approaches to cap this off with style.

(Stare into the sun.) "Yeah, a massive thermonuclear reaction, five billion years old -- the sun is a god."

"The only fault with the sun is -- it shines on us as well as our *enemies*."

LILIENNE, THE NET PICKER - "Aye," she nods. "And a benevolent one. When did you last have one of those on your side?"

"In my early twenties, maybe?"

"When I had my love with me."

"Never."

"I still do. I'm righteous."

LILIENNE, THE NET PICKER - "Well -- now you have that giant thing to watch over you. So... to hell with love." She smiles. "You know..."

"The wind's gonna pick up soon and I have to go, but..." She takes her sword out of the scabbard. The blade shines in the gathering dark.

"Have this. The sun's good but it doesn't *stick* things -- I've no use for it anymore."

Item gained: Standart 115mm Sabre

"Are you sure you don't need the sword?" (Look at it.)

"Think we can do this again sometime?"

"Thank you for coming on this walk with me." (Conclude.)

LILIENNE, THE NET PICKER - "No. Men around here are too drunk to pose a threat to me."

2. "Think we can do this again sometime?"

LILIENNE, THE NET PICKER - "Doubt it." She smiles sadly. "But thank you for the company."

SUGGESTION [Easy: Success] - This is as far as it goes with her. You'd need to put a year between you and your last drink for anything more.

3. "Thank you for coming on this walk with me." (Conclude.)

LILIENNE, THE NET PICKER - "Farewell." She nods to you and turns to go.

STANDART 115MM SABRE

Equip this to impress yourself.

The blade of this mass-produced sabre has dulled over the years and won't slice or stab anyone. It still commands respect in your hand, however. Holding on to its bakelite hilt fills you with a sense of purpose – and a memory of the date.

Not wanting to start anything else until we can meet up with Kim again, I head back to our shack.

🎵 Coastal Shack

Since it's not quite midnight yet, let's pass the time with a little light reading.

THE GREATEST INNOCENCE - "The Greatest Innocence" by João Paolo Salomao Lopez de Fuego. The book is large and heavy.

Crack open this immense tome.

[Put the book away.]

THE GREATEST INNOCENCE - Browsing through the various chapters, you try your best to understand the ceaseless overflow -- the sprawl -- of names, dates, places, events historical. Most of it ends up as a twisted mass of facts inside your brain.

Your educational survey is done. Did you catch any of that? No? Oh well, it's pop quiz time! Let's see what you've learned. This might take a few minutes. You ready?

Sure, why not?

Oh god no, let me out of here.

THE GREATEST INNOCENCE - That's the spirit. Here we go! Question 1: Who was the first innocence?

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Medium: Success] - Oh yeah, this is what I was made for.

That so? Alright, go on, give me all the hints you got.

Sola?

Dolores Dei?

The Perikarnassian?

You know, I didn't really absorb anything from what I just read.

ENCYCLOPEDIA - A pop quiz is a short examination designed to test your knowledge without any prior warning or announcement. Such exams allow the teacher to assess how thoroughly the students have retained the material at hand -- voila! Now blast that first innocence!

HALF LIGHT [Easy: Success] - Thanks for nothing.

PAIN THRESHOLD [Easy: Success] - Dolores Dei! Dolores...

5. You know, I didn't really absorb anything from what I just read.

THE GREATEST INNOCENCE - Then go with your best guess! Isn't that what students are trained to do when they don't know the answer?

Well, Pain Threshold said...

3. Dolores Dei?

THE GREATEST INNOCENCE - Incorrect. Dolores Dei was the innocence of humanism, internationalism, and the welfare state. She codified parliamentary democracy and created modern institutions, among these the Moralintern. She was powerful. And beautiful, on all her icons...

Her colours are silver, white, and apricot. And when you think her name, Dolores, stomach acid rises to the back of your throat and it hurts -- you see a flash silver, a wreath, an airport bag. And blonde hair, you don't know why. Another choice, perhaps?

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - Steer clear of this one. There's something terrible about this one.

What?

Not thinking about it. Not thinking about it. Back to quiz.

INLAND EMPIRE - A strange sensation of loss. When she left the Earth, the dust and the ice and the humans... That is unimportant to the quiz. Stop thinking about this.

-1 Morale

THE GREATEST INNOCENCE - Yes. The quiz is impersonal. No need to rouse *sensations* in yourself at the mention of Dolores Dei. Who was the *first* innocence -- it wasn't Dolores Dei...

Um...

2. Sola?

THE GREATEST INNOCENCE - Incorrect. Sola was anointed during the previous century and even lived to see the current one. She was an urban planner who spoke her mind and largely left history to its own devices, encouraging people to excel on their own rather than prescribing to a deified model of history. She is often called an *anti-innocence*.

Sola resigned after an assassination attempt by a Yugo nationalist, who blamed her for not taking the side of the left during the turn of the century revolutions. (Innocences don't usually resign). Care to try again?

4. The Perikarnassian?

THE GREATEST INNOCENCE - Correct! Nothing much is known about him. It's not even clear that he was a *he*, but Franconegro presumed as such and called him Pius. He's depicted as a young man with molten gold pouring out of his mouth -- all he spoke was gold. It's said he *invented* god; and equality of men before god. He also introduced the gold standard as a way for measuring people's love for aurum.

As the first innocence, he declared that there should be more of those like him. It is presumed his disciples were the beginning of the Holy Party (the Founding Party).

Question 2: Who was the strongest innocence?

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Easy: Success] - Easy! Everybody knows the answer to this. You, me, anybody.

Level up!

Sure, try again. I trust you've got my back.

Vesper-Messina?

Franconegro?

Dolores Dei?

ENCYCLOPEDIA - An innocence is the highest category of historical personage in the world, a literal personification of History. Traditionally, an innocence, when anointed, assumes supreme rule over the Occident, or the known world in general -- at least the parts that matter.

Yes, yes, so interesting, but I thought you'd give me the answer to the question.

ENCYCLOPEDIA - Um... I can do better! Okay, so commonly an innocence does not enforce his or her power through military power. This is seen as unnecessary. The innocence wins because an innocence can't help but win, for their deeds are inevitabilities. Did this help?

No.

Yes. Immensely.

ENCYCLOPEDIA - Damn.

PAIN THRESHOLD [Easy: Success] - Dolores...

...

4. Dolores Dei?

THE GREATEST INNOCENCE - Incorrect again. While she originated many modern institutions, launched several successful expeditions, and was even critical of the innocentic system itself -- and *somehow* keeps popping up in your mind! -- she is not often considered the *strongest*.

Even though the words most associated with her rule are *l'amour, la compassion, l'autodiscipline* -- love, compassion, self-control -- which could be seen as facets of strength. Would you like to try again?

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - Please. Relax.

2. Vesper-Messina?

THE GREATEST INNOCENCE - Incorrect. Vesper-Messina is not a person, but a defunct state on the southeastern coast of the Occident. It used to take up most of the peninsula, before separating into the Republics of Vesper and Messina. Care to try again?

3. Franconegro?

THE GREATEST INNOCENCE - Correct! Named the innocence of militarism, he codified hereditary rule -- but at the same time ended serfdom and established the interisolary reál as the global reserve currency. He also established the concept of the Nation.

Franconegro attempted to solve the rising tensions between the aristocracy and bourgeoisie by building a unified society, in which every man has a place and a mission, but at the same time may rise to nobility provided on the strength of his virtue.

Question 3: Who was the false innocence?

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Medium: Success] - Got it under control. No problem. Solid on this one. It's wide-spread historical information.

You going to be helpful this time? I could use a hint.

Ernö Pasternak?

Kedra?

Stepan the Despicable?

ENCYCLOPEDIA - Yes. There exists a group called the Founding Party. Known as the Holy Party during the time of the Perikarnassian. This, the world's oldest international organization, spends its time in search of either the re-emergence of the innocence, or new members.

Sigh heavily, out loud.

ENCYCLOPEDIA - There seems to be a mix-up with the sources. It's not my fault.

PAIN THRESHOLD [Easy: Success] - At least it clearly wasn't Dolores Dei. She wouldn't be *false*. She's beautiful.

2. Ernö Pasternak? 3. Kedra? 4. Steban the Despicable?

THE GREATEST INNOCENCE - Correct! There have been a number of counter- or false-innocences -- some assumed to have innocentic qualities, some who just thought so themselves. Occasionally they have the support of a faction inside the ecclesiastic organization, and accusations of foul play have arisen...

The most famous -- and important -- of these was Ernö Pasternak. He was into torture, despotism, hymns, cannons, and world conquest, but got defeated and humiliated by Stepan the Despicable of Kedra.

Final stretch, you've come so far and learned so much. This is the most important one. Question 4: Who was the *greatest* innocence? The most *important* of them all. The most precious to human kind...

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Medium: Success] - I've got it! Honest.

PAIN THRESHOLD [Medium: Success] - I don't even have to say it anymore.

Okay, are you sure *this* time? I'll bite. Hint me.

Franconegro.

Ernö Pasternak.

Dolores Dei.

ENCYCLOPEDIA - Of course! This is my *thing*, the reason I exist in this world. The correct answer is Franconegro.

You're *absolutely* certain of this?

ENCYCLOPEDIA - Zero doubts.

PAIN THRESHOLD [Medium: Success] - While it was actually her...

Franconegro.

THE GREATEST INNOCENCE - Incorrect. While Franconegro built concrete churches and cathedrals, and while many people, especially the Mesque, consider him a father figure due to his militarism and nationalism, João Paolo Salomao Lopez de Fuego argues differently. Another choice, perhaps?

ENCYCLOPEDIA - Oh yes, militarism and nationalism -- my bad.

LOGIC [Easy: Success] - Yes. Obviously.

4. Dolores Dei.

THE GREATEST INNOCENCE - Correct! The Mesque might see Franconegro as the father of nations, but as of this century there's been a great shift in attitude -- Dolores Dei has become widely regarded as the greatest innocence. A most radical change to the whole fabric of the world.

Everything from interisolary travel, to the connected world, to three consecutive scientific revolutions can be traced back to her. Every decade that passes she seems less human somehow -- and more beautiful...

PAIN THRESHOLD [Medium: Success] - And more beautiful, and *more* beautiful...

THE GREATEST INNOCENCE - Congratulations on finishing the test. The results and your subsequent grade have been calculated. You get...

... a D. Not particularly remarkable, but technically a passing grade. Not that anyone really expected better.

INLAND EMPIRE [Trivial: Success] - You would have done better if you'd just left Dolores Dei for the end. Dial the Dolores Dei down *a bit*.

"Damn you, you arrogant book."

Close the book. [Leave.]

THE GREATEST INNOCENCE - You are shouting at an inanimate object like a real weirdo. No wonder you seem to have trouble with the right answers.

HORRIFIC NECKTIE - Man, something's weird about this book. You should do something fun instead. Rock out, forget about it.

2. [Put the book away.]

BED - The bed is comforting, if a bit run down. Still, you've earned a rest.

Go to sleep.

The place feels almost like home now, quiet and dignified around you -- a new life by the seaside. You're incredibly tired. The darkness and warmth come fast. You're falling asleep...

...

LIMBIC SYSTEM - It's easier, this time, drifting off. Your head has found a comfortable indent in the pillow. Your legs and your torso feel like lead weights sinking to the bottom of the sea, until they're suddenly light...

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN - This respite -- you've earned it, brother. Bask in the darkness. Let it swallow you up and swivel you around while you forget everything you've managed to remember...

But I've been bad. I haven't earned this.

Is this the last dream?

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN - No, you haven't. You've just *been*.

Is this the last dream?

Thank you, darkness. Thank you.

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN - No. This is the one before that. We'll just keep cycling it for you, if you don't mind. As long as we can. Spin it like black yarn.

LIMBIC SYSTEM - Enjoy it while it lasts.

Thank you, darkness. Thank you.

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN - You're welcome, Harry-boy. You earned it.

(Fall into a deep, uninterrupted sleep.)

LIMBIC SYSTEM - After centuries of darkness, the alarm rings -- but what's this? You *actually* feel rested. There's no time to cuddle with your pillow, however, or as much as shiver from the cold. The world awaits.

VOLITION [Easy: Success] - Go.

[Open your eyes.]

END OF DAY FIVE.

[tmbswhodunit]

WHO DUN IT MBS CHALLENGE: Fairytale

Once upon a time, there was a little girl. A lot of stories start like that, with a little girl. She was a small girl with blue eyes and a red coat she would always wear. Now this story you are familiar with. You probably know what comes next. She is sent out by her mother to bring cookies to her granny, and she is told not to go off of the path into the woods, but she does anyway and meets a big bad wolf who tricks her by dressing up as Granny and then eating her-

Oh. It’s not that story? 

Sorry, let me try again. 

Once upon a time, there was a little girl. She had blue eyes and a red coat with a hood she would wear everywhere. You would expect a nickname to come from that, but it didn’t. There weren’t many people around to give her a nickname, which is a shame because she quite liked nicknames. 

Her name was Kate, and she lived on her own. In the woods. Yes, she knew the dangers; the fair folk and the wolves, but she was careful enough to lock her door every night and not let anybody she didn’t know in. So she was safe. And she didn’t exactly live alone. 

Her father lived with her too. Now, in another life, he would have left without a trace, truly leaving her alone, but this is not that world. He would leave early in the morning and arrive back home very late, so she did not see much of him. She did know, however, that he had a reason he did not come back at a reasonable time, one that he would rather not tell her. 

(but she so wanted to know. Pry and pry until the truth came out. But that was then and this is now.)

Sometimes, she would wake up to a basket of fresh food, fruits and vegetables, cookies and cakes, and a note from her father saying that he got it for her and it wasn’t fae food. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, she’d wake up briefly to a pair of strong arms holding her, humming quietly and smoothing her hair. But no matter how early she woke up or how late she stayed up, she would never see hide or hair of her father.

It is one of those baskets, in fact, that sets the scene for this story. One day, Kate picked up the basket and decided to bring some goods to some other people living in the woods. So she put on her bright red coat and loaded up her basket with the nicest cakes and cookies inside. After scribbling out a note to her father in case he came back home while she was gone, she started on her journey. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her first stop was a small cottage only a bit off the main sunlit path. There lived a young couple, sad because their son had run away months ago and had not returned. As it had been a few months, the couple had started to move on with their lives. Kate treated this couple like she would anybody else, but inside she was a bit peeved. Her mother had passed away when she was a baby and her father had started disappearing soon after that. As far as she knew, no trace of the son being dead had shown up yet, and it was as though the couple had thrown in the towel too easily. 

Kate knew she was being unreasonable, it had been a few months. Even if the son was alive by now, he probably would have wanted them to move on from him. So she smiled, accepted the praise given by the wheelchair-bound woman about how she was getting so tall and pretty, handed some herbs to the Washingtons, and went on her way. 

As she walked down the path, Kate saw someone deeper in the woods: a tall, muscular man with blond hair chopping down some trees. She is tempted to stop by and say hello, maybe even offer something from her basket. However, the day is going by fast, and although she can’t see his eyes his face is unmistakably sullen. So she pulls her coat tighter around her and walks to her next stop. 

(Little did she know that seconds after she decided to keep walking, the woodsman stopped for a moment and turned to see her. His face, normally serious and sad, breaks into a small smile as he sees the figure in red dart down the path. He wants to call back to her and tell her hello, but no. His face goes back to its solemn expression. He turns back to his pile of wood and picks up his silver axe. He raises it and starts chopping again.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her next stop was actually her favorite one; a baker living in the woods. After he had left the circus, Moocho Brazos started a small bakery just outside the woods and started a happy trading with her. As the herbs had been the only thing she had packed, she felt that she needed to pick some goodies up for her stop after that. 

Moocho had been a friend of hers since she was a little girl, and he knew plenty about her: her absent father, her red coat, her favorite baked goods, and what herbs to trade for them. As they talked and laughed, Kate decided to mention the woodsman she had seen earlier. At this, Moocho got misty-eyed and decided to tell her a tale. According to legend, about the time she had been born, a protector had appeared in the woods. During the day, a blond man chopped wood with a sad expression on his face, but at night a beast prowled the woods once or twice a month, protecting its inhabitants from danger. Nobody dared approach the woodsman while he was busy, but while he traded for goods, he would sometimes talk about his life. A late wife, a young child, and a secret. Nobody knew what his secret was, but the woodsman had made one thing clear: this secret could never come out. 

Kate felt a pang of sympathy for the sad stranger. Still, she wondered. Why was he unable to return to his child? Whoever this child was, they needed a father, like she did. 

(who indeed?)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After she had left the bakery, Kate continued on her path. It was still relatively light out, so she started dancing and jumping about. She had fully expected to be alone on her journey, so she wasn’t watching where she was going and almost fell when she collided with a man in the path. 

Hurriedly, she started apologizing, but the man shrugged it off. He was about as tall as the woodsman but with brown hair and a sharp smile. His clothes were made of a nicer material and his shoes were made of leather, but he brushed off the dirt and helped her refill her spilled basket. This new character introduced himself as someone who had gone into the forest for some nice air, so it was all his fault for getting in her way. He then asked where she was going on a fine day like this. Kate knew not to talk to strangers, but he had helped refill her basket and looked human enough, so she decided to trust him a bit. She said she was going around giving baked goods to her neighbors, and her last stop was close by. 

The man nodded. He then asked if her parents knew she was out. Kate wanted to say she wasn’t comfortable with that, but what came out was the truth: her mother was dead and she didn’t see her father much. The man, who had held her shoulder to pick himself up, tightened his grip. He asked if she knew where her father was at the moment. 

Kate only responded with the logical answer: no, stop squeezing me, it’s starting to hurt, why are you asking me this? The man let go, his sharp smile gone. He said that he knew a shortcut there, off the beaten path. But he just wanted to ask what she was doing. 

And then he was gone, leaving only a sharp smell of musky cologne. Kate kept walking, no longer in the mood to dance. Under her breath, she muttered that she shouldn’t have trusted him with anything, why did you tell him, Kate? 

(oh, how right you are, Kate.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her final stop was in a very far corner of the forest. She was well off the beaten trail, but indeed it felt like the shortcut had worked. This was good because it was well after noon and the sun was starting to set. 

Her final family was a grandmother, mother, and son. That is, there was supposed to be a son, Reynard. He had climbed a beanstalk that had sprouted from beans traded for a cow. Kate’s head was spinning too, just thinking about the backstory. This was only yesterday, so the mother was still quite distraught. Kate could only offer comfort and the herbs and baked goods she had. They did seem to help quite a bit. As she left with the sun rapidly setting, the grandmother called back out to her. She had to be careful tonight, as it was the full moon and that was when the most dangerous creatures were out. Thinking about the woodsman, she said that the protector beast would be looking out for her. The grandmother said he would have to with an attitude like that to danger. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

About an hour later, Kate started to think the grandmother was right. It was dark now, with the full moon out. She had tried to take the shortcut again, but she had just gotten lost with only the trees to keep her company. 

Crack. What was that? Kate whirled around to see a dark wolf behind her, with glowing red eyes and sharp teeth, staring straight at her. It growled, then pounced at her. 

Kate dropped the basket and started running in the opposite direction. The wolf bounded after her, fearless in its pursuit. Oh, why had Kate even gone out in the first place? She should have just stayed at home, or with the grandmother and mother. But now, she was being chased by a large wolf with pointy teeth. Why was she being so stupid today? 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(elsewhere, ears perk up to crying, sharp breaths, and running. It’s the girl. Why is the girl running, what is chasing her? Then he smells it. Musky and sharp, he would recognize the smell anywhere. It’s the smell that filled the air the night he was attacked. 

McCracken. 

He picks up his silver axe with his teeth and bounds into the woods, redoubling his efforts when he hears a scream and the sound of ripping fabric.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kate was caught by her coat, the fiery red thing. She probably should have shed it as soon as the chase started, but it is too late now. She has to go down, but she is going down fighting. 

She threw whatever pebbles she could grip as the wolf claw pulled her closer, but the beast barely flinched. It was a wolf, but not one she had ever seen before. It smiles too harshly to be fully lupine, and it is now walking on its hind legs like a person. And its garments…

It was probably once clothed in fancy fabric, but now the monster’s clothing lays in torn shreds on its body. Hairy toes poke out of shredded leather shoes. Where had she seen this before? Then it hits her. The man in fancy clothing, the one whom she ran into on the way to her last stop, the one who squeezed her shoulder hard, had come back to end her. 

And she had fallen for his trap. She was going to die, and all because she talked to a stranger she wasn’t supposed to. Why had she passed up on meeting the woodsman? She could use him now…

Awooooo~

Both heads turn as a different beast slams into the dark figure. It is also a wolf, but its fur is pale in the moonlight. It tosses the angry beast off of Kate and leaps after it, axe gleaming silver in the moonlight. They pounced at one another, the pale wolf using claws and teeth and the clever swing of its axe in response to the dark beast’s body. 

It’s a fair fight, but it's one the pale wolf is quickly losing. It quickly becomes obvious that it can’t touch its own weapon, as silver hurts all werewolves. Soon, the protecting wolf has dropped its weapon, slash marks all over his face and body, barely able to stand. The evil beast, while also covered in injuries, raises its head triumphantly as though it has won. 

Kate had to do something. Otherwise, the darkness would win, and the wood’s protector would be gone forever. She picked up the fallen axe and swung at the beast, not exactly looking but somehow hitting it true on the body. The werewolf howled, flesh steaming under the silver. The white wolf stands next to the girl, standing tall despite his injuries. 

The dark wolf lunged one last time, not aiming for the other wolf but for the girl. Its jaws tore through ruby fabric and soft flesh, and Kate’s vision went dark to the sound of the woodsman’s howl. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(That night, a very different girl leaves a very different cottage at the witching hour to pick berries and instead arrives home holding the shreds of what was once a red coat out to very different hands, asking her sisters if they could help find the owner. The different girl claimed not to be concerned about our young heroine but wanted to make sure she made it back to her house safely. 

After teasing her for a bit, I said yes.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, Kate woke up slowly. Her arm and head hurt like the dickens, she was covered in scrapes and bruises, and she knew that the horrible things that had happened that night had been real. But she was back in her cottage, lying in her bed, and her wounds had been carefully bandaged up. 

The wolf had gotten to her, bitten her arm, and almost killed her. So how was she still alive, and how did she end up back here? It had been night, everyone’s doors had been locked, and her screams would have been indistinguishable from the wind. So nobody would have gotten to her in time. 

Nobody, that is, except…

The door opened. Kate looked up and saw the woodsman. The other wolf. She could see the resemblance now, pale fur now blond hair on his head, tall frame equating to its strong body, and bandages in the places the other wolf had scratched. And the eyes. She hadn’t been able to see them when she had first seen him chopping the wood, but she could see them now. They were the same blue as the ones on the wolf, flashing with fear and protectiveness as they ripped the dark wolf off of her. 

But she had also seen those blue eyes whenever she looked in the mirror. Those nights when she partially woke in the middle of the night to arms gently holding her, she could also vaguely remember those eyes. Even in those hazy memories, the eyes shone bright and clear. 

Her father had come home. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Apologies had to be made, and explanations, but hugs and kisses came first. When she was very small, the dark beast had attacked her family. Her mother, Piper, had given up her life to protect her beautiful girl, while her father, Milligan, had survived but was also bitten. Here Milligan paused, touching the scar still there on his leg. Afraid of attacking Kate, he had forever shut himself out during the day and only returned the nights when he would be sure that he wouldn’t turn. But now, it doesn’t truly matter. Kate had also been bitten, so now that fear is gone. He goes quiet at that, hand skimming over the bandages, tears pricking his eyes. Kate, trying to lighten the mood, makes a joke about wolves, and despite himself, Milligan laughs and holds her close, vowing to never leave her alone again. 

One month later, Kate was brought outside into an empty field just outside the woods and shown how to not resist the change, but embrace it. Her first transformation goes smoothly, and the woodsman smiles as much as a wolf can. 

That night, Moocho glanced out the window to see not one lonely wolf, but a happy white wolf and an excited red-furred pup. He went to bed with a smile, just knowing that two lost families had found each other again.

(A few days after Milligan came home, a knock sounds at the door. When Kate goes to get it, there is nobody on the other side. Nobody, that is, except the basket she had previously lost, covered by a blue cloth. When she and Milligan open it, they are surprised to find two coats, both in soft blue. The note tucked in one of the pockets said that it was for them, as Kate’s red coat wouldn’t be coming back to her anytime soon, so the sender wanted to offer a replacement.) 

(Just outside the window, three witch sisters nod and turn to go back to their cottage. Fingers now bandaged from needlework were holding the smallest one, who was now sporting a very altered, much smaller red coat. I ask the small girl if it made both her and Kate happy. Constance nods.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And that is the end to the story of Kate, the Wolf Girl, and her mighty father, Milligan the Wolf Man. A father and daughter reunited, and not even lycanthropy could separate them again. Now, there are legends of two wolves, a red pup and her pale father, that protect the woods from danger every month, and they all lived happily ever after. 

Until the beanstalk finally gave back Reynard, now armed with a harp, a golden chicken, and a very nice former giant. 

But we don’t need to worry about that yet. 

[tato-acm]

gwynriel weeks 2023 - ​week 1 - day 6 | personalities - competitive

acosf - ch 23:

“Right,” Cassian panted through gritted teeth as he blocked Az’s kick and bounced a step back, circling again. “Whoever lands the next blow wins.” “That’s ridiculous,” Az panted back. “We go until one of us eats dirt.” Az had a vicious competitive streak. It wasn’t boastful and arrogant, the way Cassian knew he himself was prone to be, or possessive and terrifying like Amren’s. No, it was quiet and cruel and utterly lethal. Cassian had lost track of how many games they’d played over the centuries, with one of them certain of a win, only for Az to reveal some master strategy.

acosf - ch 60:

Gwyn asked Az, her teal eyes bright, “What do we get if we finish the course?” Az’s shadows danced around him. “Since there’s no chance in hell any of you will finish the course, we didn’t bother to get a prize.” Boos sounded. Gwyn lifted her chin in challenge. “We look forward to proving you wrong.” [...]

Gwyn threw Azriel a withering stare as she strode past him. “See you tomorrow, Shadowsinger,” she tossed over a shoulder. Az stared after her, brows high with amusement. When he turned back, Nesta grinned. “You have no idea what you just started,” she said. Az angled his head, hazel eyes narrowing as Gwyn reached the archway. “Remember how Gwyn was with the ribbon?” Nesta winked and clapped the shadowsinger on the shoulder. “You’re the new ribbon, Az.” [...]

Roslin, Ananke, and Deirdre were close on their heels, propelling Gwyn to push her group harder. She wanted to be the first. Wanted Nesta and Emerie and her to be the ones who wiped the smirks from Azriel’s and Cassian’s faces. Especially Azriel’s. [...]  

And when Gwyn reached the finish line, bloody and panting and grinning so wildly her teal eyes glowed like a sunlit sea, she only extended her battered hand to Azriel. “Well?”

@gwynrielweeksofficial