#this great fairy is not happy with the Shade

[freezingwhitefire]

This one is fighting me a little but here is a small blurb of my current project that I am focusing on.

“What have you brought me this time? Another Hero to save?” She asked, her tone almost scornful.

He knew she disliked him for how he survived after his time should have passed and he accepted it. This was not the time for her dislike of him to stop what needed to be done though. So he shifted forms again, this time pushing further to assume a ghostly form that only ones with high magic potential could see.

“He was poisoned, I can fix it but he will not survive until I do so without help.”

“Why should I help?”

“Because if you don’t, the hero that saved us and defeated your trial will never be born.”

[kakushino]

Omg, Congrats on 1k!! For your event could I request, number 1 (“Is this okay?”) with number 11 (“Stay still”) for Giyuu? SFW fluff with the rest of the scenario being up to you! (If its against the rules to choose two prompts, feel free to focus on number 1)

Have a mice day :)

𝕴𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖔𝖐𝖆𝖞?

𝟷𝟶𝟶𝟶 𝔣𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫𝔱

AN: I chose to indulge you and did both, nonnie 😊 Thank you for the lovely request! You have a 🐭 day too! ❤️

It’s been a while since you’d had time to just exist together like this. Giyuu had been busy with his teaching responsibilities, and you were buried in your own work. At last though, your schedules aligned and allowed for a picnic date.

The day wasn’t too hot, or too cold. The sun shone and fluffy clouds chased each other at snail’s pace across the sky. There were countless flowers in the field, the tree you sat under provided ample shade as you relaxed on a blanket. All was peaceful.

You were pressed against Giyuu’s leg, him sitting up and fiddling with his hands. You couldn’t bring yourself to care what he was doing, as long as he didn’t move away from you. 

The sandwiches you’d packed were eaten already, the fruits Giyuu had prepared snacked on - full and content, you felt as if you could fall asleep. The lovely scent of flowers carried by the slight breeze lulled you further into easy slumber.

Before you knew it, Giyuu was gently shaking your shoulder to wake you up from your sleepy stupor. You felt disoriented for a moment, the warmth still pulling you further into relaxation but the movement of your partner finally had you sit up with great effort. 

“What time is it?” you yawned, blinking slowly. You squinted a little as a beam of light hit your eyes.

“We still have time.” You turned to Giyuu with a pout, you were having such a good nap too… “Close your eyes and stay still, please,” he murmured. You did as he bid you, trusting him.

He placed something onto your head.

“Is this okay?” 

You felt the top of your head, your fingers catching onto a- flower crown? You took it off to inspect it. A perfect mix of field flowers he had to have picked up on the way here, without your knowledge, the crown was fit to decorate a fairy’s head, not your own. 

As if sensing your thoughts, his hands cradled yours and he guided you to put the wreath back where it belonged. He leaned so much closer than he had to, his eyes warm and soft, a smile playing on his lips. 

The moment was coated in honey, so sweet you feared bees would come in to steal it all away.

He kissed you - a petal’s caress, a breath of fresh air - and you couldn’t help but to press against him, the sudden movement tipping him off balance. Giyuu clutched onto you as you fell, you over him, the feeling in your chest squeezing out of your ribs from the inside, threatening to burst.

You pushed yourself to your hands and knees to grin down at him, cheeks aflame and happiness on your tongue. The backdrop of sunlight streaming in through the leaves created a halo over your head, the flowers in your hair only serving to reinforce the otherworldly image in front of him. 

Giyuu never felt more in love than that moment with you.

Your friend had once said that you were each other’s cherries on top, and only now did you see it. He brought out the best in you and you the best in him. Balanced, as all things should be.

The requests are still open for a few hours 🫶

[audible-smiles]

Blue Birds of Happiness

Blue is an extra-fun color for birds to be, because, as you may have heard, it is not created by a pigment. Blue feathers (and the blue scales on butterfly wings, and the blue irises of some humans) are structural, meaning that the color is created by the physical properties of the living tissue, which are arranged in such a way that they reflect the short wavelengths of blue light. Often this is paired with a dark pigment which absorbs other colors of light and makes the blue 'pop'. Look at all the tints and shades they can make!

Mountain bluebird

2. Himalayan bluetail

3. Blue nuthatch

4. Blue jay

5. Indigo bunting

6. Great blue turaco

7. Tree swallow

8. Ultramarine flycatcher

9. Hyacinth macaw

10. Glaucous-blue grosbeak

11. Belted kingfisher

12. Blue dacnis

13. Taiwan blue-magpie

14. Shining honeycreeper

15. Siberian blue robin

16. Blue whistling-thrush

17. African blue flycatcher

18. White-throated magpie jay

19. Black-naped monarch

20. Blue paradise flycatcher

21. Cerulean warbler

22. Woodland kingfisher

23. Indian peafowl

24. Little blue heron

25. Philippine fairy-bluebird

26. Pinyon jay

27. Blackish-blue seedeater

28. Plum-throated cotinga

29. Deep-blue flowerpiercer

30. Blue coua

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I've been dreaming of the Knight of Dreams.

He pledged to see his father off with a smile. That last wish, he could not fulfill.

This isn’t the happy ending he wanted—open your eyes.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

He wakes to the woods.

Silver automatically recognizes his surroundings. He'd laid out at the base of a great oak, planted right in the center of a lush forest glen. Sunlight filters through the leaves, granting the place an ethereal glow.

A stream threads around a cottage with a roof of straw, shuttered windows open and smiling at him. Where the water rounds at a bend, there's an arched bridge that leads to a path winding up to the cottage. It's picturesque and cozy, an illustration right out of a fairy tale.

It's home.

Silver rubs at his eyes, dispelling the remaining shreds of his drowsiness.

I must have dozed off again. Father must be worried.

He stands, dusting himself off. There's a few blades of grass clinging to his clothes, some petals coming loose. As he runs his hands over fabric, they snag upon something small and hard in the pocket of his pants.

"Huh? What is this...?"

Silver's voice trails off as he fishes out the object. It's a chunky ring in the shape of a crown, which hangs off of a golden chain. Embedded into the ring are many small, clear jewels. In the center is a large gemstone--and when it catches the sunlight, it refracts the colors of the rainbow.

A dull pain starts in the back of his head. He frowns, gently rubbing at the spot to soothe it.

Strange. I don't recall owning something like this. Did I find it lost in the forest?

For reasons unknown to him, the vague image of a smiling man is conjured. The owner? He gropes around in his foggy memories, but comes up with no answer.

Even so, his fingers close protectively around the bauble.

"Silver!"

He looks up, finding his father in the doorway. Lilia wears a shamelessly frilled apron, KISS THE COOK emblazoned upon his chest. The fae happily waves for his son to approach, and his heart melts.

Silver jogs up the path, barely breaking a sweat when he arrives on the porch. "Father."

"Silly boy, you're going to be late for your own birthday party," Lilia teases, lightly booping him on the nose. "Well, come on in! Everything's just about ready."

Silver curiously peers inside. The cottage is clean and neat--a rarity when left alone with his father, though Silver suspects he must have enchanted a broom to do the tidying.

It seems that his father has been hard at work in the kitchen, whipping up many of his... signature dishes which radiate a noxious aura. The most edible looking thing on their tiny dining table is a tiered vanilla cake with 18 candles stabbed into it. It's leaning over, blue frosting dribbling down its sides.

Tucked in one corner of the room is a fine suit on a mannequin, stitched together in shades of pink, blue, and green. Silver raises a brow at his father, who shrugs.

"I couldn't decide on just one color!" Lilia admits.

"You didn't have to go out of your way for all of this."

"Oh, but I wanted to," his father insists, giving him a quick hug. He pulls back, but keeps his hands on Silver's shoulders. "After all, this birthday is a very special one: you're finally considered an adult."

An... adult?

There it is again, that throbbing pain. It comes stronger this time, blinking in and out like a warning light.

Silver grimaces, bringing a hand to his forehead.

Lilia frowns. "Oh dear, are you still half asleep? Maybe you ought to sit down. We can't have you feeling unwell, especially before Malleus and Sebek get here."

"Yes, I think I'll do that," Silver agrees. "I apologize for the trouble. I feel like I haven't been myself lately. Like something is... wrong."

"I didn't realize you were so anxious about aging!" Lilia jokes, steering him over to an open chair. As soon as Silver is safely seated, Lilia goes in for an aggressive ruffle of his hair. "Chin up, m'boy! There is no shame in maturing. Why, I've raised you to be an upstanding young man if I do say so myself! You've got nothing to worry about."

Silver attempts a smile. "Of course."

His clutch on the ring and its chain instinctively tightens.

Lilia notices. "What's that you've got there? You're clenching your fist rather hard."

"Oh, this..." Silver unfurls his fingers. As soon as Lilia lays his eyes upon the piece of jewelry, a shadow passes over his expression, clouding it.

"Where did you find that?" he asks softly. Lilia leans over, a hand hovering, as if preparing to snatch it up. "You weren't supposed to receive this yet. Here, give it back to--"

"NO!!"

Silver says it louder than he means to, startling his father. His body turns from him and toward the ring, intent on guarding it. He doesn't know why--but everything in him is screaming that he must not let it be taken away.

Lilia stops, then shakes his head. "... It's fine. You were going to be gifted it sooner or later."

"You know what it is?" Silver remains alert, still shielding the ring.

"It's your birthday present, from me to you. I've been saving up for quite a while to afford it for you--I wanted it to be a big surprise," Lilia pouts. "Ah, but in the end... I suppose it doesn't matter what the method of delivery is, so long as you're still happy with it."

Silver's brows crease. Something about the comfortable narrative does not quite roll of the tongue smoothly.

A present from his father...

He stares down at the large gem laid in the center of the ring. It's facets twinkle, pink and blue and purple. Just like his eyes.

My... eyes?

A buzzing sound rings in his ears. His father's deep voice rises up through the white noise.

"It must be what your parents wished for. That their child's eyes may remain like this jewel, clear and unclouded... It suits you, Silver."

That is...

Silver sits up straight.

All at once, everything looks different. The world, shifted, and the glowing filter over his lens, gone. This house is not his home, and this man is not his father.

"Hm? Why are you staring at me like that, Silver?" Lilia giggles. "Don't tell me you're daydreaming again."

"... No. No, it's not that."

Silver's eyes flick to the door. It seems so far away.

"I... just remembered something. I forgot to greet the bluebirds." His stomach sinks as he speaks the lie into existence.

"Oh? That's not like you. You're becoming forgetful at age 18!"

Silver nods. "I won't have the time to speak with them once the party begins. May I quickly go to them?"

"Oh my, you're heading out already? So eager to leave the nest."

"... Yes. But please don't worry about me." Silver closes a hand around Lilia's and squeezes. Even if this is all fake, a facsimile, it's still very much the face of his father he is gazing into. He offers reassurance. "I'll be back soon."

"Kufufu. Alright." Lilia squeezes in return. "I'll be waiting then. Don't be late now."

Silver heads for the door.

At the threshold, he looks back one last time. At this, the happy ending crafted for him. A quaint little cottage in the woods, where he would spend the rest of his days with his beloved family.

But it's not what Lilia would have wanted for him. For everyone.

Silver painfully looks away. "Farewell, father. I promise... I will see you again."

Out there. In the real world.

He shuts the door, putting the dream behind him. Silver takes a deep breath.

"Those I've met and will someday... Meet in a Dream."

And then he is gone.

[amethysia]

alright, I'm caving because my brain won't stop thinking about it. Even though I know so little about Gravity Falls and I've lived vicariously through others since five-ever.

This is a long one, so buckle up.

So with the book of bill, some folks have said that bill can get reincarnated. My brain was like, "well, how about a back in time/different universe reincarnation au?" And this reincarnation makes Bill born as the older brother of Fiddleford (either as a fraternal twin or just by a year). Let's say Bill's real name is Williford Cyrus McGucket, because yknow, why not. He's definitely the sassier, charismatic brother, with some playful bickering. He's a bit heftier with black hair, and has a weird passion for bowties. He and Fiddleford are close and decide to go to the same college together. Bill goes to become an astronomer and astro physicist. He meets Stanford when he visits his brother's dorm room.

The three of them become close and after graduation, work together.

At some point, Bill catches the feels for Ford. However, he notices at one point, Fiddleford also has feelings for Stanford. Fidds doesn't outright say anything, but Bill can tell, because he knows his brother. Now, in this world, he actually loves others more, albeit he still has a rather arrogant attitude. So he has a moment to think about it, writes some letters, and 'quits' working with his brother and Ford. He packs his things and heads westward.

Fidds and Ford are shocked that he left, but reads his letters. Essentially, it says to them that he loves them both, wants to try something new with his life, and who knows from there. PS, you two make a cute couple. They both get nervous and embarrassed that Bill would say that, but in a cute turn of events, they wind up confessing to each other anyhow.

Bill is pretending to not be sad, trying to be happy for his brother and Ford, but can't help but throw himself a pity party when he stays in another state, still trying to figure out what to do with his life (we find out Bill is a wine snob thanks to this moment in his life). At some point a certain door to door salesman comes along who looks an awful lot like Ford. Confused, Bill thinks something weird happened to Ford, but the salesman is obviously Stanley. Bill befriends him and realizes that he could help him out in his business endeavors, due to his 'genius' and giving him the opportunity to figure out his own future if this goes well.

They hatch up a scheme of making an oddities tourist attraction ala Ripley's, in a place that is affordable, has "gullible" locals, and is something they can run with minimum effort and can make the most profit. (Btw, because of this, our boy Stanley dodges jail time)

Stanley and Bill create the Mystery Shack. Because Stanley has been on adventures with Ford and Bill has knowledge of weird things, they are able to take the time to explore Gravity Falls and catch cryptids and other curiosities there. It becomes an odd place where there's fake dead fairies, but a real mummy corpse. Fake cursed gold, but a probably very real cursed spear. They are both charismatic swindlers, but amazing business partners. Because of their similarities, they become great friends over time. "Mr. Decipher" likes to wear a top hat and a gold colored sport coat (Stan: "that jacket makes your hips stand out, like you're triangular shaped."). "Mr. Mystery" wears a fez and a nice suit. (Bill: "At least I don't look like a Shriner...")

Many years later, with a fairly successful, somewhat shadely run, business, Dipper and Mabel arrive. Stan is nervous and does everything to prepare, even asking Bill to shape up a bit too. Bill agrees, because Stan has been a great friend to him and it's amusing to see him so excited.

They have a wild summer. (Bill is a bad influence for Mabel in the party hard sense, but he also becomes a bit of a mentor to Dipper, due to his scientific background.)

At one point, Ford and Fiddleford stop by to visit. They all catch up. Bill is kind of awkward, even though he's written to them, called, 'made peace with being single', but still a little sad over missing out on a potential relationship. Ford thanks Bill for helping him and Fiddleford get together all those years ago and Bill gives him a sober and solemn "you're welcome, Sixer". The visit is pleasant and the rest of summer runs its course.

A day after Fidds and Ford leave, Stan sits down with Bill. He knows the story about why he stopped working with them and how putting distance between them made their bond with him grow. He also thanks him for their business, their friendship, and for helping with the twins. Bill is also grateful and thanks Stan for putting up with him all these years.

Mabel at some point asks Stan how he got such a weird boyfriend. Stan obviously gets all, "What are you talking about?!" At another point, Mabel asks Bill how he landed her grunkle Stan. Bill just stares at her and asks, "Little too much candy today, ey Shooting Star?"

Later that day, Stan is the first to relay Mabel's question and Bill laughs, "you too, huh?"

Stan asks if Bill wants to go out at sea some day on the Stan-of-War and enthusiastically Bill agrees.

Hope you enjoyed my nonsense. Sorry if a lot of it is rather inaccurate, but I guess that's what AUs are for? Lol. Cheers!

[fictionadventurer]

That C.S. Lewis quote about being "old enough for fairy tales again" is really popular in this section of tumblr, but I think I've hit an opposite stage where I'm old enough for realism again. As a teenager in English class, realism seemed like the boring, baseline option that limited your imagination to only the dullest parts of daily life. If I wanted real life, I'd just live it! Stories should give us something bigger and brighter and more exciting!

But as I get older, I'm starting to understand that realism isn't about limiting yourself to the real world, it's about appreciating it. It's about noticing and caring about those tiny details in life. It's about looking at the seemingly ordinary and unexciting people and saying that their stories are worth telling, too. There's a beauty in gazing upon this world in delicate detail and drawing out those fine shades of nuance that you don't notice in the bustle of actually living life. Realism lets you slow down and recognize that our world has wonders, too, and they don't all have to be big and flashy to be worth our attention.

Younger me also got the impression that realism was depressing--we don't get happy endings because they're not realistic. And it's true that realism has a greater share of sad endings, but that can be a comfort. As you grow up, you have more and more experiences tell you that the happiness of life is buried in a lot of murkier emotions--a lot of turmoil and uncertainty and bad decisions--and realism says that's okay. The story's worth telling even if it doesn't end well, even if people don't rise above their baser natures, even if things are a bit dull. Realism can be happier, in some ways, than those bigger, brighter genre stories, because it acknowledges those murkier imperfections of life and says that they don't erase happiness or make someone's story not worth telling.

Lewis' quote is great, but it's not the whole story. Like Chesterton says, children are fascinated by fairy tales, but the youngest children are fascinated by reality--"A child of seven is excited to hear that Tommy opened a door and found a dragon, while a child of three is excited to hear that Tommy opened a door." Fantasy is a fantastic escape, but like all travel, the point of it is to make us see our own world more clearly when we return home. And that's where realism comes in. Those types of stories aren't about casting off childish fancy and focusing on the grim details of adulthood--they can be about regaining an even more innocent and child-like wonder.

[thecreaturecodex]

Gigi

Image © @iguanodont

[Of all my self-insert characters, this is my self-insertiest. I consider myself to be somewhere in the Venn diagram overlap of Mary Poppins, Bugs Bunny and any given Addams, and that's the spot where Gigi comfortably holds court. She's also the manifestation of my use of friendly but weird spellcasters to steer the party in the right direction. Which means I wanted to be sure in the flavor text to emphasize that Gigi's a light touch. She's the kind of character who will craft the PCs magic items, cast a reincarnate spell if one of them dies (because it's way more fun than resurrection, plus she doesn't happen to have that many diamonds on hand...) and point them towards the next adventure, not the sort of character who will do everything herself. ]

Gigi CR 21 CG Fey This woman is fat, jolly and subtly inhuman. Her skin tone is a light purple, shading to red on her hands and feet, and her witch’s hat moves as if something growing from her head is holding it in place.

Gigi is the “Scary Fairy Godmother” of Varisia, a powerful inhuman witch who helps the people there survive the onslaughts of other monsters. Gigi is a phouka, but rarely appears in her natural form, preferring a humanoid guise. When not appearing as a human, she often takes the form of a gnome or goblin. She lives in a well-hidden cottage in the Sanos Forest, and from there ventures forth under invisibility or disguise to engage in her well-meaning meddling. Gigi prefers to act subtly by giving advice, casting beneficial spells and hexes or pointing people in the direction of a magic item or clue, rather than unleashing her true power at a moment’s notice.

When Gigi does decide to fight, she can be truly terrifying to behold. She is one of the most powerful witches in Avistan, and couples that with her natural abilities as a pooka. She usually fights under cover of invisibility, and uses debilitating spells to end combat quickly and efficiently. Gigi is proud of her magical prowess, but is well aware that a well placed knife can solve some problems spells cannot. If she is in a playful mood, or is fighting to teach a lesson rather than kill an enemy, Gigi will instead use Flyby Attack and Greater Dirty Trick to inconvenience and annoy opponents. Gigi is happy to play a support role in a fight, especially if teamed up with her right hand gal, Priscilla.

Gigi began her life as an ordinary phouka in the First World, who spent her time living hedonistically and annoying fey and mortals alike. One day, she came upon a chameleon caught in the web of a giant spider, and she let it free. She spent days watching this lizard, fascinated by its patience in hunting and movement, and followed its slow and steady journey. Eventually, the lizard led her to Mormo, the Goddess of Predators. That Great Old One had been regaining her strength and putting together her plots to strike against the Mother of Monsters Lamashtu. She had sent various reptiles out as living invitations, to extend an offer of allegiance to anyone who might notice. And Gigi was the only one who noticed.

Gigi became an instant convert and Mormo is now her patron, granting spells through that same chameleon (which Gigi named Liz). Since Mormo received a cool reception in the First World, Gigi decided to move to the Material Plane to support Mormo in the Great Game and to win her allies and converts. She chose Varisia as her home base because of the remarkable density of catastrophic events that occur there regularly, as well as the large number of adventurers fighting against said events. Gigi is the patron of several groups of adventurers, not all of whom know her real identity and agenda, and at least one of which knows her solely as a helpful disembodied voice. She is also one of the driving forces behind the increasing integration of goblins into the societies of other humanoids, as she has a soft spot for tricksy little monsters.  

Gigi      CR 21 XP 409,600 Variant phouka witch 16 (vellemancer) CG Medium fey Init +11; Senses darkvision 60 ft., low-light vision, Perception +38

Defense AC 44, touch 35, flat-footed 32 (+11 Dex, +1 dodge, +1 natural, +8 armor, +13 deflection) hp 440(35d6+315) Fort +25, Ref +32, Will +32; +4 vs. mind-influencing spells DR 15/cold iron; Immune disease, divination, poison; SR 23 Defensive Abilities blur, eldritch shield, invisibility

Offense Speed 40 ft., fly 40 ft. (average) Melee dagger of subtlety +30/+25/+20/+15 (1d4+9/19-20), slam +23 (1d4+3), gore +23 (1d8+3) or 2 slams +28 (1d4+7), gore +28 (1d8+7) Special Attacks hexes (DC 34, beast’s gift, delicious fright, evil eye, feral speech, fortune, regenerative sinew, slumber, speak in dreams, ward), sneak attack +5d6 Spell-like Abilities CL 12th, concentration +25 (+29 casting defensively) At will—deep slumber (DC 26), major image (DC 26), suggestion (DC 26) 3/day—baleful polymorph (DC 28), blindness/deafness (DC 26), confusion (DC 27), dimension door, fear (DC 27), mirage arcana (DC 28), telekinesis (DC 28) 1/day—feeblemind (DC 28), greater shadow conjuration (DC 30), irresistible dance (DC 31),  phantasmal killer (DC 27), song of discord (DC 29) Spells CL 16th, concentration +32 (+36 casting defensively) 8th—demand (DC 34), horrid wilting (DC 34), maze, mind blank (already cast), prediction of failure (DC 34) 7th—harm (DC 33), heal (DC 33), jolting portent, shadow body, umbral strike (DC 33), waves of ecstasy (DC 33) 6th—cone of cold (DC 32), flesh to stone (DC 32), geas/quest, greater dispel magic, greater heroism, stone to flesh  5th—cure critical wounds (DC 31), greater forbid action (DC 31), inflict critical wounds (DC 31), overland flight (already cast), pernicious pranksters, reincarnate, waves of fatigue 4th—blessing of fervor, charm monster (x2, DC 30), death ward, debilitating portent, inveigle person (DC 30), neutralize poison (DC 30), wandering star motes (DC 30) 3rd—aversion (DC 29), bestow curse (DC 29, already cast), clairaudience/clairvoyance, fly, helping hand, remove blindness/deafness, speak with dead (DC 29), vampiric touch 2nd—anticipate peril (x2), cure moderate wounds (DC 28, x5), ghostly disguise (x2), inflict moderate wounds (DC 28, x5), mortal terror (DC 28, x2) 1st—charm person (DC 27), doom (DC 27, x2), identify, ill omen (x2), ray of enfeeblement (DC 27), vocal alteration (DC 27) 0th—arcane mark, dancing lights, detect magic, read magic Patron—Fate

Tactics Before Combat Gigi casts mind blank and overland flight on herself each morning. She also casts a bestow curse (-4 to all attack rolls, saving throws, skill and ability checks) into her witching gown each morning Contingency Whenever Gigi is reduced to 100 hit points or below, she is teleported to the hidden basement of her house in the Sanos Forest

Statistics Str 25, Dex 32, Con 28, Int 42, Wis 22, Cha 36 Base Atk +17; CMB +28 (+32 dirty trick); CMD 60 (62 vs. dirty trick) Feats Accursed Hex, Agile Maneuvers, Bouncing Spell-like Ability (baleful polymorph), Combat Casting, Combat Expertise, Craft Wondrous Item, Dodge, Eschew Materials, Extra Hex (x3: evil eye, feral speech, ward), Flyby Attack, Greater Dirty Trick, Improved Dirty Trick, Mobility, Quick Draw, Spell Penetration, Weapon Finesse Skills Acrobatics +43, Appraise +51, Bluff +49, Diplomacy +49, Disable Device +33, Disguise +45, Escape Artist +43, Fly +43, Heal +38, Intimidate +49, Knowledge (arcana, local, nature, planes) +48, Knowledge (dungeoneering, religion) +45, Knowledge (history, nobility) +51, Linguistics +36, Perception +38, Sense Motive +38, Sleight of Hand +43, Spellcraft +48, Stealth +46, Use Magic Device +45 Languages Abyssal, Aklo, Common, Draconic, Elven, Gnome, Halfling, Sylvan, telepathy 100 ft, 20 others Gear tome of clear thought +4 (expended), manual of bodily health +4 (expended), headband of mental superiority +6 (Appraise, Knowledge (history), Knowledge (nobility)), belt of physical might +6 (Str, Dex), dagger of subtlety (as sword of subtlety), hat of fortune’s favor (as headband), cackling hag’s blouse, witching gown, lesser cloak of displacement, periapt of health and proof against poison, bracers of armor +8, goggles of minute seeing, metamagic rod of Quicken Spell, rod of abrupt hexes, staff of vision, wand of cure serious wounds, ring of wizardry II, ring of spell turning, contingency statuette, scrying mirror, 4,000 gp worth of crafting supplies, 2 doses of herbs and oils for reincarnate spells, 80 pp, 7 gp Spells Known As above, plus resurrection, greater teleport, contingency (as 6th level spell), break enchantment, hold monster, teleport, scrying, secure shelter, spite, remove disease, tongues, bear’s endurance, bull’s strength, cat’s grace, eagle’s splendor, fox’s cunning, owl’s wisdom, mage armor, cantrips SQ change shape (Small or Medium humanoid or Tiny to Large fey, alter self or fey shape II), legendary, quick change, scry on familiar, selective invisibility

Special Abilities Eldritch Shield (Su) Gigi gains her Charisma modifier as a deflection bonus to Armor Class and Combat Maneuver Defense. Expanded Wishgranter (Su): A vellemancer adds the following spells to her familiar for free: bear’s endurance, bull’s strength, cat’s grace, eagle’s splendor, fox’s cunning, and owl’s wisdom. The vellemancer can cast these spells only as part of her wishgranter ability, but she can sacrifice any prepared spell of 2nd level or lower to spontaneously cast one of these spells. Invested Hex (Su): Each day, Gigi can implant a number of hexes equal to half her witch level  plus her Intelligence bonus (24/day for Gigi). Any given creature can have only one hex implanted at a given time, and implanting a new hex ends the previous one (the witch still loses the use of this ability she spent on the previous hex). Only beneficial hexes capable of affecting another creature can be implanted with invested hex, and this counts against the uses per day of hexes with limited uses per day or per creature. To implant a hex, the vellemancer must take a standard action and touch a willing creature. The vellemancer can activate the hex as a free action, or the hex can activate automatically when a single predetermined condition is met (decided when the hex is implanted). The subject must be within medium range (100 feet + 10 feet per level) for the witch to trigger the hex, but a predetermined condition can activate the hex regardless of range. An implanted hex lasts until the next time the witch regains her spells. Once triggered, a hex is no longer implanted and can’t be triggered again. Invisibility (Su) Gigi remains invisible even when she attacks. She can activate or suppress this ability as a free action. Legendary (Ex) Gigi's statistics are built off of 25 point buy and she has the equipment of a 20th level PC. This increases her CR by 1. Quick Change (Su) Gigi can use her change shape ability as a move action. Selective Invisibility (Su) When a phouka is invisible, it can choose to be visible to a single creature. A phouka can later choose to become invisible to that creature as well, but if that creature succeeds a DC 32 Will save, it can still see that phouka for the next 24 hours. The save DC is Charisma based. Wishgranter (Su): A vellemancer can borrow mental strength from others’ hopes and dreams to empower her own spellcasting. A creature can make a wish as a free action at any time, even during the vellemancer’s turn. The vellemancer must be able to hear and understand a wish in order to use it as a spell component. A spell that doesn’t normally have a verbal component gains one when cast using this ability. A wish doesn’t need to mention the name of a specific spell, but it must describe an outcome that can be accomplished by casting a spell the vellemancer knows (for example, wishing to be more likable could supply the verbal component for alter self, eagle’s splendor, or even baleful polymorph, depending on the results). A vellemancer gains a +1 bonus to her caster level when using a creature’s wish as a verbal component in this manner, but she cannot include herself as a target of such spells. She can be affected by such a spell if it affects an area rather than one or more targets. A vellemancer is under no compulsion to grant a creature’s wish. Once the vellemancer grants a creature’s wish using this ability, she cannot use this ability to grant that creature any further wishes for 24 hours.

Liz CR N/A Variant lizard (chameleon) familiar (pilferer archetype) N Tiny magical beast (augmented animal) Init +2; Senses low-light vision; Perception +1

Defense AC 30, touch 14, flat-footed 28 (+2 Dex, +2 size, +8 natural, +8 armor) hp 220 (effectively 35 HD) Fort +10, Ref +18, Will +22 SR 21 (31 vs. divinations) Defensive Abilities nondetection

Offense Speed 20 ft., climb 20 ft. Melee bite +21 (1d4–4) Space 2-1/2 ft.; Reach 0 ft.

Statistics Str 3, Dex 15, Con 8, Int 13, Wis 12, Cha 2 Base Atk +17; CMB +17 (+21 steal); CMD 23 (25 vs. steal, 27 vs. trip) Feats Greater Steal (B), Improved Steal (B), Weapon Finesse Skills Acrobatics +38, Bluff +25, Climb +10, Diplomacy +25, Disable Device +22, Disguise +25, Escape Artist +34, Fly +34,  Knowledge (arcana, dungeoneering, local, nature, planes, religion) +30, Linguistics +21, Perception +33, Sense Motive +30, Sleight of Hand +42, Spellcraft +30, Stealth +54, Use Magic Device +25; Racial Modifiers +4 Acrobatics, +4 Stealth Languages speak with master Gear bracers of armor +8, wand of scorching ray (50 charges), contingency statuette SQ empathic link,share spells, sneak

Special Abilities Contingency: Is Liz is ever swallowed whole, she teleports back to a spot ten feet outside of Gigi’s house. Sneak (Ex) Liz gains a competence bonus equal to half of Gigi’s witch caster level on Sleight of Hand and Stealth checks. Variant Lizard (Ex) As a chameleon, Liz gains a +4 racial bonus to Acrobatics and Stealth checks, instead of the normal lizard racial skill bonus. As a familiar, a chameleon grants a +3 bonus to Stealth.

[softeninglooks]

iwaoi week 2024 | day 7: drunken confessions, final haikyuu! quest

behind the heavy wooden door of the tavern, merriment and the carefree exclamations of loud voices bubble up among overflowing tankards of honeyed beer. in traditional fairy tales, this is the part when the victorious hero returns home to glory and adulation, the reward of a tranquil life bestowed upon them by whichever magnanimous god had guided them throughout such a perilous quest.

but sometimes, the journey does not follow quite the same pattern. miracles happen, unforeseeable chapters slip into the book, and just like that, instead of a brave hero facing the greatest of evils alone, armed with sheer courage and an unbreakable sword, the hero and the villain team up to save a world that they have both loved, only in different ways, with different hopes.

“cheers!” tooru's hand shoots through the air, some of his drink spilling out as he strongly clinks his glass against hajime's. “here's to the great king of darkness and his loyal knight saving the world!”

“hey! who are you calling your ‘loyal knight,’ you shithead!” hajime almost roars back, the drunken color in his cheeks flushing to an even brighter shade of crimson.

if it weren't for hajime's discarded sword, which lay harmlessly in its leather sheath at the bottom of his stool, tooru might have feared for his life. hajime's armor, too, was left in the hospital compartment and replaced by a brown vest laced up over the inner layer of black cloth that he wore underneath. the white scratch at the edge of his left eyebrow, the plaster placed next to his temple, and his scratched knuckles are proofs of everything that they accomplished over the past twenty-four hours.

despite his command of dark magic, tooru himself has not escaped unscathed - the collection of cuts and bruises running along his legs and arms serve as reminders of the mighty forces that they have struggled against.

“we make a great team. don't deny it, iwa-chan,” tooru delights in provoking the man sat next to him into another flustered groan.

“don't forget i'm not done with you,” hajime threatens, attempting to reach for his sword.

“come on now, easy, iwa-chan. you'll break another rib if you keep doing this,” tooru advises him mischievously. “let's stick to celebrations for tonight. everyone else is drinking and dancing! look how happy shoyo and tetsu-chan look chatting together,” he points at his right-hand man, lost in conversation with one of hajime's trusted allies on the other side of the bar. “here's to us saving the world!” tooru clinks his tankard of beer against hajime's once more.

hajime stops mid-movement, eventually renouncing to pick up his sword. he gulps down his drink instead, without saying a word.

“how are your wounds?” tooru questions, propping his jaw against his free hand lightheartedly. after saving the world together, it seems natural to tooru to stick with hajime for the celebration - in spite of hajime's furrowed eyebrows and disgruntled comebacks, he doesn't move away, either.

“they're healing alright,” he grumbles, looking into his drink, which he takes another swing from. he scratches the bridge of his nose, still intent not to meet tooru's gaze. “you?”

“look at you, caring for me,” tooru hums under his breath, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “what a gallant knight you are, iwa-ch...”

“shut up!” hajime almost chokes on his drink, his face a deep red the sight of which only heightens tooru's amusement.

“fine, fine, i forgot that you never show your soft side to anyone. ever the brave hero,” his interlocutor muses to himself - with a smirk that hajime has wished to wipe off tooru's face many times over the course of their journey. “but i'm doing rather well myself, thank you for asking,” he sighs contentedly. “i'm glad we got through this in one piece. it was a good idea to join forces, though your team should be the one thanking me,” tooru adds with a self-satisfied half-smile.

“yeah, thanks,” hajime mutters into his drink.

“your welc—wait, what?”

tooru's eyes widen at hajime's unexpected token of gratefulness. he has more than enjoyed toying with hajime's reluctance to show feelings throughout their adventure, well-aware that he did care for tooru deep down - hajime had given more than a few signs of it -, but for the stoic knight to admit it to tooru's face is something else. tooru clears his throat, disbelief still painted all over his face, and makes up for it with a proud grin. “you're welcome.”

at this point, he is fairly certain that the effects of tipsiness must've loosened hajime's tongue. he can feel it even on himself, the relaxation and glee that come with the honeyed taste of alcohol, the relief that accompanies their triumph over the forces of evil (even more evil than tooru, that is). “you were quite of help too. i never got to properly say it, but thank you for protecting me when we fought against those monsters immune to magic. they were the worst,” he grimaces at the unpleasant memory. “i'm glad that we teamed up,” tooru hears himself say, his smile no longer mocking, but contemplative - sincere.

hajime was there to protect tooru when his magic had failed him. it was the moment when tooru glimpsed the kindness in hajime's heart, the reason that drove him to fight for those that he cares about.

“i wasn't going to let you die. you're the greatest partner i've ever had,” hajime suddenly slams his tankard of beer onto the table. alcohol softly unravels the tangled knot of feelings he has kept aside this whole time, the gentle light that he sees in tooru's hazel eyes guides him through those unnavigable waters. “you may be a pain in the ass, but you joined us to defeat our enemy, i respect that.”

“thanks, i guess?” tooru laughs and sips his drink. with each gulp, a load tumbles off his chest, replacing the harrowing memories of numerous fights with the joy of the aftermath. “i never thought the day would come when i'd hear you say thank you. that's my reward.”

“well, i never thought i'd have to partner with you,” hajime chuckles, some of his grumpy expression wearing out. “you really are a handful, tooru.”

“but you wouldn't have me any other way,” tooru argues smugly, leaning forward on the counter, reducing the space between him and hajime as his eyes interrogate him.

“yeah.” hajime smiles, now venturing into tooru's game. “i guess i can deal with you better than i expected.” he taps tooru's forehead with his index finger boldly.

“oh yeah?” tooru leans into the touch.

“yeah,” hajime nods confidently, the corners of his mouth upturned into a smile.

the both of them have an idea of how this will end. the ongoing bickering is cut off with a kiss, fierce and tender, a way to silence one another as much as it is an unspoken declaration. it is the one step that they had thus far omitted in their quest.

[blackbutlerfandomnerddomain]

Could you do an ABO Headcanon of Alphas!Overblot Gang x Omega!Kalim, where Kalim is a boy who was sold for a ritual to summon the seven most powerful demons to be sacrificed, but at the time of the ritual, the demons ( who I imagine in their Overblots forms) are interested in Kalim and choose him as their omega/fiance, and despite their rude and irritated manner, they slowly show that they care and love Kalim

This took so long since I had to do so much research and by the time I nearly finished it it didn't save so I lost the whole thing so I'm rewriting this all over again so if you see double somehow, now you know!

WARNING: This post will have the following;

Alpha/Beta/Omega Verse (A/B/O)

Attempted murder

Sex stuff

Is Hella Gay

If you no not like ANY of this stuff, the ships around it, or are not interested, then move along! Do not comment or engage at all if you dislike all this!

Now onto the post!

Life of Kalim Al-Asim was always pleasant and sweet. He always relied on his family and close servants and lived in a beautiful home of a beautiful and thieving kingdom. Sure he's mostly isolated and not allowed outside the home's walls but that's for his protection!

He got along great with all his servants, his family adored him as much as he adored them. Though he does have one wish his heart aches many times over, the return of his best friend... Jamil disappeared in the two's younger years right when tests to determine who's an alpha, beta, or omega started. Nothing in his room was touched or packed which made it clear he didn't run away. Not like he would, thought Kalim... He promised...

Days have been counted down for Kalim's birthday, a large wide celebration everyone celebrates in many positive ways. And this birthday was extra special for Kalim since he was informed they will be holding a parade just for him to walk around and spread goods from the family in his honor! One the day of the his birthday, he was bathed in the nicest soaps and warmest water, dressed in the finest silks and softest fabrics and ate the most delicious food he ever taste before they swept him right to the soft and veiled palanquin waiting for him.

Btw if you wanna know what he wore, I pictured the Fairy Gala outfit

Kalim was happy seeing everyone's cheerful faces as they move across the kingdom, everyone excited to see and celebrate with the well rumored beautiful child of the Asim family name, he tossed much gold coins and flowers to everyone as he waves and smiles bright and kind

As the parade drew to a close he leaned back into the soft cushions before he took notice they seem to be wandering farther away from the kingdom and more to the darker shade due to the nightfall land Before he could ask his father where they were going, the guards quickly grab onto Kalim and yank him out of the once comforting and protecting veiled hide away and into the sand

The parade was a ruse. The kindness he believed from the servants was a ruse. The lie that he was being held inside was a ruse. It was all a lie for everyone, Kalim, the kingdom...All lied to with the idea the world was unsafe for the son of such a wealthy family, but in reality he was hidden away for this very moment... With the moon at the right phase and at it's peak, as they drag the poor screaming and crying Kalim to the ruins and pin him down to the large alter. Ruby eyes widen when seeing the large seven statues of the most powerful demons in the universe... The Crimson Tyrant of Wrath The Scarred Rebel of Sloth The Enchanting Merchant of Greed The Viperous Tactician of Envy The Poisonous Oppressor of Pride The Fire Guardian of Tristitia And The Thorn Dragon of Melancholy

Kalim cried and pleaded to be let go, even more when his father explained it has to happen, that if they sacrifice once in a while the land would be blessed with great farming, water, riches, etc. and if they sacrifice such a golden soul they might be blessed with something greater.

Kalim cried and squirmed as he tried to escape from their tight grips as the kept going of the ritual. That's when he sees them... Seven figures appear from the shadows, from the Earth, from the skies, from the fires, from mere matter... Standing around him in a circle...

Kalim woke up in a soft bed he doesn't recognize in a room he doesn't recall even more, sitting up he sees hanging up are a set of clothes seemingly fit for him to wear, black and red with glamourous golds to tie it all together...

After a moment a ghostly servant of sorts come to him and tells him to get dressed and come follow him to the gardens where "they" are waiting for him

Nervous of what'll happen if he disagrees right now, he does as he is told and waited for the servant to leave the room to change to the new clothes and stepped out, he followed the ghost to the location of the large and hauntingly beautiful dark gardens of many plants

There seated in a table at the center of the garden are the seven demons.

Kalim carefully sat with them, scared to look at any of them but more scared to upset him so he answered when they talk to him, nodded at yes or no questions, but why are they treating him like this? To make it even more fun when he dies in their hands? He finally spoke, "What am I doing here? Are...Are you going to kil-" His words were forced to a stop when a servant place a plate before him, his favorite food from childhood... But how-

The eight men talked a bit more before they finally informed Kalim he'll stay with them from now on. "Why?" Kalim was unable to not blurt out. The men look at one another, a silent agreeance, before they speak, "We pick you to be our's."

Days passed since that first meeting about Kalim's new living arrangements, and it's been doing alright.

Kalim started to get used to these demons, even more when he realize one of them was Jamil! As it turned out he was banished after he got back from the test he was an alpha and they assumed Kalim would be one and didn't want them to fight, not knowing until after the banishment that Kalim was actually an Omega... After the banishment, Jamil was fortunately found by a man who turns out was the previous demon of Envy and taught him the ways of ruling and magic. He also grew to understand that he has met every one of the other demons - Riddle, Leona, Azul, Vil, Idia, and Malleus - some time before they saved him from his attempted sacrifice ritual

Overtime since he began his new living arrangement, Kalim began to see the sides of these seven he never thought to see before. They may be seen as scary and intimidating, but they really are so different than what Kalim heard from the stories... He grew to adore Riddle's awe of the wildlife in the garden and how he loves games and his roses. He grew to like Leona's strong will of equal rights for everyone. He grew to admire hearing Azul's little rambles of paper work and how he can do so much in so little time. He grew to love Jamil's strong will and sharp tongue. He grew to like Vil's knowledge of nature and what it can give you in potion making. He grew to admire Idia's little rants and chill talks with him about his hobbies and interests. He grew to love Malleus' quirks and clingy methods of love and cuddles.

It didn't take much from wandering around the new home of his and going around the lands with them that he feel deeper and deeper in love with all of them. And like him, it didn't take much for them to make it clear they want him in a much deeper romantic sense

It was a whole six months since they saved him when the signs of gentle warmth and romance begun to show their heads to Kalim.

Riddle started to invite him to have sweets with him or a garden stroll

Leona naps a lot but now he's offering Kalim to nap with him or read beside him while he cuddles him

Azul began to offer travel plans to Kalim and spoiled him plenty with new clothes and items

Jamil began to cook more foods Kalim loves and helped him in dancing if wanted or needed

Vil started to do relaxing spa like methods for Kalim, setting up luxurious baths and spa facials, he also begun to give the boy his books if he so ask

Idia was starting to talk more with Kalim and they watched the stars together

And Malleus has invited him on many moonlit strolls across the gardens

It was after a while of all this did the seven sat Kalim down and asked him properly if they can all be lovers, that if he's okay being their omega. At this point, Kalim was not once uncomfortable by any of them and none of them tried anything to him without asking first. He agreed rather happily and thus the new romance begun!

The eight began to live their lives comfortably as lovers, they had to get used yes but they worked

Over time with their help the lovers really begun to get used to each other thanks to the heats.

Now, for the first one, as they weren't lovers yet, they all made sure Kalim was locked in his room and fought tooth and nail of their temptations to mate with him. The sweet coconut and sand scent he was giving off while he stole the varies clothes and items of theirs's for his nest nearly drove them mad

So, luckily, by the time the next heat happened they were all together and ready for it

The first night was a long passionate one with them eagerly exploring each other and how much their sweet omega can take

Each time they took mental notes with anything that gave their Kalim pleasure

Kalim's poor skin is just covered in bites and marks

[fountainpenguin]

Riddle watches New Wish - Post #6

Department of Magical Violations, here we go!

"With a pair quite strange!" Got it, got it.

Ooh, this title card implies Jorgen~!

SLKDJF, did Wanda become a seahorse immediately after they were complaining they spent so long as fish last episode?

Whoa, we're already 100 wishes forward in the future? That leaves a lot of wiggle room. Show me the moon phase; you know you want to...

Yep, she likes the fish guy from the theme. His name is Kennueth.

That cat photo is driving me up the wall. Is it Mittens, who hangs around Dinkleberg? I really feel like I've seen this cat...

Oh, Jorgen's gotten older! As he should have, I suppose, though you wouldn't think this would have been such a significant time jump for him. I'm not sure I love it.

sdfklj, I'm glad we're sticking with "Jorgen is in charge of godparents." Like... that man has no legal rights to Fairy World. He's over godparents and that has always kinda been his thing.

His braces are too big...

I'm glad SOMEONE here is yelling at them for not filing godparent paperwork. You sniped someone else's godkid assignment, you dummies!!

Wish Inspection! It's back! THE DMV! It's also back?? ... With fewer flying cars this time, but... wow. Didn't expect that one.

"Tedious structure and drab settings is my happy place" - Hazel, I know a race of magical beings you would love to hang out with.

I'm glad "I wish he had a trampoline instead" [of a parachute] turned out exactly the way I envisioned.

Jorgen has not changed at all, and he still loves dancing with bright lights around. I support him. I feel like they've not emphasized his sliced-off wings to new viewers, though.

Cookie: I know what you want. Hazel, who did not want a car:

I see where this is going.

Cosmo's cute pocket <3

Teacher's Pal

Nottttt sure it was a great idea to make one character's whole personality saying "Football," but let's see where it's going.

Aw, I like that Hazel's school has squirrels as a mascot since Timmy had the Squirrely Scouts.

... huh? was that Timmy?

Cosmo: Does she not know how a door works?

Tough talk for Fairies who like poofing doors away.

She likes mushrooms and anime... What a combo.

Having Dimmy as a nickname for the Dimmadomes is really gonna throw me off (Sounds like "Timmy").

Oof, did she wish for all the teachers to like her? And does that make the lady who doesn't like her... the principal? (Yes)

Wow, we are on a streak of brown and orange eyes. Who knew they were all hiding in Dimmadelphia?

... Is that Grey DeLisle / Grey Griffin voicing the principal? (It is!)

His shades are too big...

This is an attack against me specifically.

OKAY I thought I was going crazy during the quick glances earlier, but YES, that IS Timmy as the mascot! Oh, RIP...

He haunts history even when he's gone, as he should.

Bigfoot Club sounds like something Hazel's dad would want her to sign up for.

Okay, so it's end of 5th grade, so she's 10-turning-11?

OH, Wanda just called Hazel "squirt..." It's so similar to "sport." That's cute.

???

Where is Dev? Where is he?

Forget Dev- What is up with this kid?

Dev is running around somewhere, unsupervised. He just dipped out halfway through the episode. There were no teachers to make him stay and he's rich. I expect no less.

A little less upbeat and dramatic than the debut episode, but that's not a surprise. I'd say it fits the theme of the old show really well. I look forward to more, though I do think Jorgen's appearance wasn't pushed as far as it could've been. On the other hand, it's perfectly in character that he doesn't want to spook Hazel as much as he wants to spook Cosmo and Wanda.

Got through a bit faster than expected, so maybe a little more watching.

[somewherebetweendisorder]

Greek God

A/N: This is so cringe, but honestly I'm still really fond of it. This was posted on my old account basicallybats. I've decided to get back into the swing of posting because I've really missed it. I'd love feedback. :)

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Warnings: smut, fluff, cringe cringe CRINGE

~~~

Eddie hates storms. The clouds gathering over Hawkins have his heart rate picking up, nervous energy ticking through his fingers which tap an unsteady beat against the doorframe. He fumbles for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket, reaching blindly for his lighter, itching for something to soothe his nerves, contemplating heading over to your house. It's just a rainstorm, he doesn't want to appear pathetic and doesn't want you to think he's a loser for being unable to handle a little rain.

He flicks the lighter on, bringing it closer to the cigarette dangling haphazardly from his lips, eyes focused on the clouds that seem to get darker with each passing second. He hisses when he feels the flame lick at his finger, deciding yes, he's going to your house.

Smoke still hanging from his mouth he pulls the front door shut behind him, locking it before jogging down the steps and starting towards your house. Eddie curses the sky, the gathering storm on his left, the dying day to his right, mocking him with the last pretty shades of pink and blue. Walking faster, he hopes the rain holds out, wishes his van wasn't in the shop.

There's no warning drizzle, no introduction to the storm, the sky unleashes all at once, harsh fat raindrops pouring down, saturating the dry ground, soaking his clothes, his hair, blinding him. Eddie breathes deeply, taking in the smell, earthy and something else, something heady almost pleasant despite his hatred towards the wet seeping out of the atmosphere.

Lightning flashes above, cutting the world into purple and white shards, illuminating the two-toned leaves, shadows catching on the wind-whipped foliage the way light should be. The rain picks up, and Eddie wants to run, wants to be in the comfort of your warm house, sunny walls and fairy lights surrounding him like the scent of orchids, permanent to your room.

Thunder peels overhead, loud, echoing through the empty space, rattling his bones, confirming his decision to be next to you as soon as possible. When the door to your duplex is in sight Eddie sighs in relief, shoulders sagging as he staggers up the steps to your small porch which offers little security from the storm. Using his key, he lets himself in, toeing off his sopping Reeboks, scowling at the mud caked on his white sneakers, muttering to himself as he makes his way down the hall towards your room.

He hears you before he sees you, sweet voice intoxicating him, making the trek over more worth it than he expected, soothing his nerves.

"I don't really like how you never shut up, 'cause you got dirt on everyone." He pauses in your doorway, his eyes falling on your form naturally like you're all he was ever meant to see.

"And since you always swear that you wanted me gone, then why don't you go get your gun?"

You're pulling on your jacket, stepping into your shoes, hips swaying gently with the music, voice sweet, not quite hitting the notes, but striking something deep within him, awakening a desire to experience this scene for the rest of his life. You look up, shoulders jerking in surprise, breath catching interrupting your song. The shock quickly dissolves into relief as you rush him, arms wrapping tight around him, knocking the air out of his lungs in the best way.

"I was getting ready to come to you."

The admission falls from your lips with little grace, whispered like it's some great secret, but said clumsily like you're unsure it was the right thing to say.

The sentiment has his throat closing up, eyes squinting against the happy yellow ambiance of your space as he squeezes you tighter, nose burrowing into your pineapple-scent-tinged hair.

"S'nice out. Thought I'd walk," Eddie manages, voice tight.

You pull back enough to look up at him, eyes giving away the sea of emotions swirling around inside of you. Pleased he's here, sorry you were too slow to make it to him before he had to come to you. "Oh, Eds."

Your sigh invades his head, pierces his lingering misery, shattering it, settling on his tongue like something sweet, treacly. He wants to taste it. You take his weight, arms slipping around his neck, fingers sliding into the damp waves at the base of his neck, lips parting beneath his. He wants more, likes the way you whimper into his mouth, likes the way the sound tastes.

"Eds, you're soaked. Get changed, yeah?"

"Do I have to?"

"Yes."

Your brows are lifted in a challenge, daring him to argue, to defy you. He knows he won't, you know he won't, but it's a fun game, all the same, testing the other's dominance. He likes it when you bite.

"Fine. Fine, mind if I shower too?" He's already pulling away, missing the warmth of your skin against his chilled flesh, making his way to your dresser, tugging open his drawer, rings clinging softly against the handle.

"No, you know I don't."

You're straightening up your desk when he turns around, hair shiny beneath the little lights flickering around your room. He watches as you absentmindedly shove the loose strands back from your face, tying them up with the hair tie on your wrist, muscles in your arms flexing as you do.

"How will you survive while I'm gone?"

"I'm sure I'll manage." Your smile has him nodding, suddenly in a hurry to be done and back by your side.

"Alright, don't have too much fun without me."

The second the bathroom door closes, Eddie strips off his clothes, tossing them into a wet pile, wincing when they hit the tile with a squelch. You'd hate it, and he promises himself he'll make sure the bathroom is as neat as he found it.

Your water gets warmer than it does at his trailer, something he appreciates takes advantage of when he stays over. The scalding water pounds down on his head, his back, easing away most of the stress but none of the tension. His stomach feels pinched, a warm heat blossoming in his gut, spreading outwards, making it impossible to focus on anything but the thought that you're down the hall waiting for him.

He reaches for his growing arousal, desperate, needy, wanting you, before fisting his hands on his hair. He's here, you're here. Is it wrong to assume he can have you? He doesn't want to assume. He chokes on the steam, clears his throat, turns the water off before he can second guess himself.

He gets halfway through toweling off the rivulets of water cascading down his body before giving up and pulling on clean boxers and sweatpants, moving on to harshly scrubbing the towel over his head. His eyes fall on the shirt still lying on the cold countertop, he doesn't want to put it on, doesn't want to miss an inch of your skin that may touch his. God, why is he like this?

Eddie moves to hang up the towel, gaze falling on a large hole at the hem, fingering the frayed strands, pulling until one grows impossibly long and snaps off.

"Shit, sorry," he apologizes to no one in particular, feeling bad for causing further harm to your towel, rolling the string up into a tight ball before tossing it into the wastebasket. He steels himself, eyes shut so tight he can see colors bouncing around the blackness, and his eyes begin to ache.

He finds you standing on your desk chair, balancing on your tip toes, winding a strand of fake sunflowers around the fairy lights lining your window, the ratty old band tee you're wearing riding up, exposing the soft flesh of your stomach. His eyes follow the gentle curve, the silken flesh catching in the light, glowing with a pastel shine, an ethereal aura. Your shorts are short, the shortest he's ever seen you in he's sure, and the supple flesh of your thighs, your naked legs that never seem to end are dragging his thoughts further into the gutter.

"More flowers?"

His voice breaks your reverie, and you come down awkwardly on your heels. "It's not that many more," you mutter defensively.

"It looks like a forest threw up in here, baby girl."

You both look around, taking in the little mushroom shelves lining one of your walls, the moss on the mirror, the flowers wrapped carefully around your bedframe and window. "Well, I like it."

Your voice rings with finality, and Eddie likes it, likes seeing you needlessly defend your style, he likes it too, nearly as much as he likes to tease you. Truthfully, it's comforting, some odd sphere that you exist in outside of reality. Your arms come down to your sides, shirt falling back down, and he's closing the space, hands settling underneath the thin fabric, resting hotly, heavily on your waist.

You look down on him, wondering what's going on in that overly pretty head of his, hair still damp from his shower, skin pale and shiny, smelling faintly of your body wash. You can't help the smile that starts curling on your lips, faintly aware of the song you've had on repeat once again starting over. He notices too, you can see it in his eyes as he cocks his head to the side as though to hear it better.

"Again?"

"I like it. Gives me mad vibes."

Eddie chuckles, shaking his head, tugging you off the chair with ease that would impress you if you weren't hyperaware of the naked expanse of flesh he's pulling you into. He's warm, almost unbearably so, setting your skin on fire.

"Whatever you say. I like it better when you sing it."

Heat crawls up your neck, staining your cheeks the prettiest shade of pink Eddie has ever seen. His hands come up to bracket your neck, barren, rings left forgotten on your bathroom counter. His thumbs brush over your cheeks, enjoying the feel of your skin, soft underneath his calloused fingers, silky and warm. He kisses the gentle arch of your eyebrows, down your nose, hot breath fanning your face, leaving you dizzy. He smells like cigarettes and rain, and it has you wondering if it's really a good idea for him to be here like this, right now. As of yet, he hasn't had you how you want him to, something like fear and insecurity holding you back from whispering the words into his lips, the foolish questions lingering on your tongue, overly salty.

"Don't make fun of me," you finally manage, voice wavering with thinly veiled emotion.

"I'm not. I love your voice. It's too good to not hear. I always want-"

Your eyes widen at the implication his words are rushing towards, and he can see the wonder mounting behind the curiosity in your gaze. He stops, looks away, finds your face again in the nearly fictitiously perfect backdrop, flowers and lush green moss, painting you to be a fairy, a nymph, something too good to be true. Something too good for him.

"I always enjoy hearing you sing." The words fall short of their original meaning, having been edited to the point of misunderstanding, but you're sure you know what he was going to say. You let it go, pulling his lips down to yours, searching the dark little places in your soul, shadows, and puddles, for your courage, sure that it must be hiding somewhere. His lips are questioning, hesitant, he's battling some demon you can't quite see, and it has your heart aching, making it harder to ask, to want.

"What's going on in your head, Eddie?"

He retreats further, physically pulling back, breath coming hard and fast, little puffs of air ruffling the loose strands of hair around your face. His hands tighten around your waist, slide up to grip your arms, eyes earnest on yours.

"Too much. Sorry I- I'm good, I swear."

You touch his jaw, pleading with him to relax, soften, melt in your hands, and be happy. "Eddie. You're doing that thing again. Where you think you're being too rough or too much, and you disappear entirely."

You plant a gentle kiss on his cheek, the tip of his nose, the corner of his mouth. "I want you."

There's not an ounce of bravado in your voice. No confidence, no provocative hint, just words spoken hushed into his skin. It's enough for him, too much for Eddie, pulling the air from his lungs with a painful rush.

"Fuck, Y/N, don't- You can't say things on my account-"

"That's a very bold assumption. I'm not saying anything for you. It's for me. I want you. I want to touch you, feel you… Taste you. Selfishly."

Eddie gulps, and he swears the sound fills the room, drowns out the music, and booms over his racing heart, he's sure you hear it, but you show no sign that you did. How often has he imagined this moment, some fantasy playing out over and over in his mind, coming together now better than he ever could have hoped. Maybe it only feels better because it's real, it's happening, he can feel your chest flush with his, heart beating faster than ever.

"Please do. Fucking hell, whatever you want s'yours, baby."

You're sucking in a breath, taking in the last of the oxygen in the room, your chest rising, grazing his, pulling a growl from deep in his throat, the guttural noise pouring gasoline over the fire. You couldn't walk this back if you wanted to. That's the last thing you want.

The only thing on your mind, on Eddie's mind, is more, more skin, more lips, more hands finally free to touch every smooth plane of skin, trace every curve. He wastes no time, lifting the hem of your shirt, pulling it up up up, easing it over your head, and throwing it over his shoulder. The action has the desire pooling in your gut, threatening to overflow.

"Eddie."

His name comes out in a whine, a sound that inflates his ego with hot air, a pitiful sound that has you blushing the moment the word leaves your lips. "What is it, gorgeous? What do you need?"

His teasing has your eyes flashing, fingers digging harshly into his shoulders. This isn't a game, he knows that, he doesn't mean to tease, he just likes the way you're dissolving in his hands, sticky sweet, already trembling, and he's hardly touched you. He lets his eyes wander down to your nearly naked chest, choking on air at the sight of your breasts covered by only a white lacy bra, dotted with cherries. It's cute, it's you. He likes it.

You want to cover yourself, resist the urge, dig your nails deeper into his flesh, too excited and anxious all at once, surrounded by newness. Eddie sinks to his knees, closing the gap, making him eye level with your chest, a smile tugging at his lips. He pays no mind to your painful hold on his shoulders, leaning forward to place a reverent kiss to the swell of your breast, watching your eyes for confirmation that this is okay, that you still want this. Your lips part, eyes blown wide with lust and something else, something he's afraid to assume when the words haven't left your lips.

"S'this okay?"

Hot breath fans your skin, warding away the goosebumps, and you can only manage a nod, fingers slipping up into his hair, pulling gently, tipping his head back. His lips move over the stupid little cherries at a torturous pace, entirely too much fabric between his mouth and your skin. His fingers settle with a feathery touch on your ankle, ghosting up your leg, a barely there touch that's more ticklish than it is satisfying. A chill crawls up your spine, tingling across the back of your neck, egging him on.

Fingertips coast up your thighs, brush the hem of your shorts, and inch up higher and higher until he's walking his fingers up your butt to the waistband of your shorts, pulling away just enough to look at your face.

"Do it."

At your approval, he's rushing forward, pulling them down, tongue tracing the valley between your breasts.

"You're wearing too many clothes," you hiss, wanting more of his skin on yours, desperate to have him bare before you.

"That's your opinion."

"Eddie, I'm fuckin' serious. Take off your damn clothes."

He huffs a laugh, standing before you get any more upset, tugging off his sweatpants, leaving him in only red and black plaid boxers. You reach for the band, snapping it against his skin, giggling, hands retreating from his form to card roughly through your hair.

"What's wrong?" he asks, worried you're having second thoughts.

"Nothing. You're taking forever, touch me, please."

"You're not going to turn into a pumpkin at midnight, babe. Slow down. S'not a race."

You brace your hands on his chest, fingers twitching when you feel his heart, thumping quickly against your palm. It excites you, that he's as worked up as you are, his own hands shaking as they find your hips, trail up, around to your back, toying with the clasps of your bra.

An experienced hand would easily unhook your bra, let it fall down your arms to the floor. Eddie's hands aren't experienced, he fumbles with the clasp for longer than he means to, feeling his cheeks heat with shame when you sigh against his neck, impatient.

You begin to hum the Jeopardy theme song, nails dancing up his biceps, tickling the sensitive flesh, making it harder for him to concentrate.

"Fuck off, Y/N."

"Do this often?"

"I will leave you here. Horny and lonely."

"No, you won't. Look, I'm sorry. I didn't realize this was your first time, okay? I'll be nice."

"It's not my- Forget it."

He steps back, removing his hands, and crossing his arms over his chest. "You deal with it. You're the one wearing the damn thing."

You try to hold the laugh back, knowing he's embarrassed, but you're embarrassed too, and the absurdity of the situation gets the better of you, a bemused chuckle tripping off your lips. "Here."

You turn your back to him, making it easier for him to see, his fingers moving quickly to release the hooks, determined to redeem himself in some right. "You're not my first," he mumbles once you turn back around, holding the garment secure over your chest, straps hanging loose around your upper arms.

"Oh. I mean, I kinda figured." His admission is odd, unsolicited, hardly dampens your mood, but makes you wonder what exactly you have to live up to.

"I was sixteen, stoned and I don't remember what she looked like or what her name was."

"Oh."

He shakes his head, rubs the back of his neck, swallows once, then twice before speaking again.

"What I'm trying to say is really, you are my first. Only one that matters. Only one I want. Did I kill the mood? Fuck, now's probably not a good time to have this conversation. I just figured-"

"Shhh." You place your hand over his mouth, eyes crinkling up in affection at his honest rambling. "I get it. It's okay. You're my first. You're the only one for me. 'Kay?"

You don't remove your hand until he nods, and impossibly he loves you more. With extreme caution, you let the bra slip down, exposing your breasts for the first time, watching Eddie's expression, taking note of every emotion as it crosses his face. He takes in every freckle, every faint stretch mark, every inch of skin, swallowing thickly, reaching out to rapturously brush his fingertips across your flesh.

With no warning his lips are on yours, spanning the gap where words would fall short, reverent, awed by how you trust him. He's laying you back against the blankets on your unmade bed, pulling the hair tie from your hair, watching the strands fan out like a messy halo. Nothing has ever been this breathtaking. No song, no gig, no high could ever compare to the sight of you laid out beneath him, waiting with a small smile.

"I love you."

His words hang in the air, heavy and soothing. "Because I'm naked?"

He shakes his head, frowning at your implication.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. I'm nervous. I love you more. I've loved you since that time you played guitar over the phone until I fell asleep."

Eddie chuckles at the memory, fingers brushing along your cheekbones fondly. "And I've loved you since you cut me off leaving the record store, and then came to my show at the Hideaway later that same night."

He speaks quietly like it's a secret, weight settling on you comfortingly, fingers of his free hand tracing the elastic band of your underwear.

"No, you haven't."

"Yes, I have. That was it for me, I was a goner."

"You're an idiot, Eddie Munson."

The words are spoken affectionately, fingers tracing his facial features, brushing the hair out of his face, tapping his nose once, twice, three times, earning a smile.

"Only for you."

His fingers dip below the elastic barrier, shocking you, and making you whimper at the foreign pleasure. Eddie tries his best to memorize the sound, wants to keep it safe for later, safe for when he's alone and needs relief, but he settles for drawing the sound of you again, hand slipping lower to cup your heat, wet from your arousal.

"This all for me, baby girl?"

There's that sound again, high-pitched and desperate, keening. His middle and marriage fingers trace wide, sweeping circles around your clit, close enough to give you hope for relief, but never where you need him most.

It's driving you insane, and has you gripping the blankets, clawing at the fabric, attempting to tether yourself. Eddie watches your face, notes your pinched features, the pleasure building in your eyes, muddying the shades of color.

You're unraveling with every sweep of his digits against your folds, the heat in your abdomen winding tighter and tighter, thin thread on control threatening to snap, pleasure looming. The moment his fingertips brush your clit, you're crying out, gasping his name, trembling from the onslaught of sensations. His fingers on your core, lips on your neck, legs heavy on yours, arousal pressing into your thigh painfully obvious.

Your back arches into the pleasure, vaguely aware of Eddie rutting into your thigh, a hoarse moan building in his throat, muffled by your skin, fingers working you through your high, tracing tight circles over your slick. Eyes closed against the white-hot light of your orgasm, feeling the warmth spread through your body, bones turning to mush, brain-melting to jelly. You're spineless by the time you come back to yourself, only half aware of Eddie's hand retreating from your panties.

"Wow," he whispers, gaze focused on his slick fingers, coated in cum. He moves to lick them clean but your limp grip on his wrist stops him.

"Don't you dare. I can't-Just don't."

Pink dusts the top of your cheeks, more from the aftereffects of your pleasure than embarrassment, but he concedes, settling for dragging your underwear down your thighs, letting you help, pulling one ankle free, kicking them off the other.

He rolls onto his back, lifts his hips to ease his boxers off, tossing them on the floor with the rest of your discarded clothes, and he faces you again. Your eyes trace the edges of his body, trying to let a graceful amount of time pass before your eyes fall on his cock. It's pretty, a large, prominent vein running from his silken mushroom head down to the base. Tentatively, you take him into your hand, thumb tracing his tip, collecting the precum, tracing the vein, attempting to ignore the hiss of air that rushes past his lips, the way he twitches in your gentle grasp.

"I don't have a condom…" you begin, avoiding his gaze, concerned that was the wrong sort of admission for the moment, dick in hand.

"I don't have one either," he manages, jaw clenched at the feeling of your soft hand stroking him, the inevitable disappointment of not quite enough.

"Well, we could skip it. Just this once."

He swears a piece of his soul dies at the mention of this happening again. Never in his wildest dreams did he picture the night ending like this. Maybe, maybe in his wildest, wettest dream, but never could he see it morphing into reality, coming true before him.

"Huh? Y/N, that's how people end up pregnant."

"I know. I know but- Please? Just once?"

"Fuck, you're making it so difficult to say no."

You squeeze to emphasize your next words. "Then don't, Teddy."

The nickname is his undoing, saccharine as it falls from your lips, ensnaring him.

He rolls on top of you, breaking the contact of your hand on him. Doting kisses dropped along your jaw, up to your temple, nose brushing your hairline, breathing you in deep, trying to immortalize the moment, aware of every point where your bodies meet.

His hips slot above yours, bone to bone, forehead to forehead, breath mingling in a collective inhale of anticipation, his tip pressing against your heat, skin tingling.

"You ready?"

"Yeah."

The pain of that initial stretch has you whimpering, arching away in surprise. Eddie's eyes are wide, panicked at your reaction, following you with murmured sweet nothings, fingers lacing with yours.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No. No, just go slow."

He does, so slow, reigning in his own pleasure, muscles rigid, arms trembling in poorly restrained want.

"You can move."

"You sure, baby?"

You don't answer, shaking his hands off, wrapping your arms around his back, fingers bumping over his spine, urging him closer wordlessly. A silent plea. His large hand covers your thigh, pulling it up over his hip, experimenting to find what you like, what has your breath hitching and your eyes rolling back.

You meet his eyes, the deep brown so dark, pupils blown so wide with lust you can't distinguish the difference. Intoxicated on Eddie, surrounded by him, filled by him, high on his skin, his lips, bodies moving together, sticky with sweat.

His moan catches you off guard, the sweetest sound you've ever heard

You're opening your mouth, ready to ask him to do it again when his fingers find their way to your clit, rubbing eager, sloppy circles, pushing you closer to the edge.

"Oh, fuck, Eds."

"You close?"

"Y-yes."

He thrusts harder, faster, grip on your thigh bruising, sure to leave pretty marks on the doughy flesh to trace tomorrow. His lips find your neck again, sucking fervently, teeth skidding along your throat, stifling his sweet voice.

The overload of Eddie has you writhing, your body going stiff before the second wave of euphoria washes over you, threatening to drown, the danger of the riptide lapping at your frayed sense.

"Eddie."

The pleasure dripping off your tongue pushes Eddie off the cliff, has him freefalling at the taste of it on your tongue. He can feel it on his oversensitive skin. He thrusts deep, a shiver snaking up his spine, shaking his shoulders, lips parted, your name filling the space between you with a choked moan before he's sagging against you, thoroughly spent.

Eddie has no clue where you begin and he ends, an indistinct, messy tangle of limbs and bare skin, glowy with armory and satisfaction.

"I love you, Eddie."

"I love you more, Y/N."

Fingers trace skin, his, yours, it's all the same, all hot and soft, every touch magnified, different, and yet more same than ever before. A new familiarity sits between you, free of any inhibition or insecurity.

Finally, Eddie breaks the silence. "Let's get you cleaned up."

You follow him down the hall, never breaking contact, his fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist, flicking on lights as he goes.

You sit on the ledge of the tub as Eddie turns on the faucet, waiting for the water to warm up, testing the temperature every few seconds with a cautious finger. Once he deems it warm enough he soaks the washcloth under the stream, stepping over to you.

Tugging you to your feet, he plants a gentle kiss on your clammy skin, running the cloth along your body, wiping away sweat before trailing lower, removing any evidence of himself. He repeats the process on himself, far less gently, tossing the rags into the laundry hamper. He moves around your small bathroom easily, grabbing your toothbrush and his from the cup next to the sink, wetting the bristles before passing you yours, squeezing a glob of toothpaste out, smiling at you sheepishly when you shake your head in bemusement.

You can't tolerate the distance between you, stand and step closer to him, pretending to be engrossed in the simple task of brushing your teeth, even as your pinky finger seeks his out, curling around his. Eddie brings your joined hands to his mouth, kissing your knuckles, wincing at the smear of foamy toothpaste he leaves behind. You rinse it off, smiling at him in your reflection.

He gestures to your skincare products on the counter with a shrug. "I can never remember which order you use 'em in."

You line them up for him and he sets to work, dabbing careful little dots onto your skin like he's watched you do countless times before working it into your skin in gentle circles, caressing your face.

This isn't the first time, but it feels different, and new. You stand on tiptoes, kiss his lips once, twice when he's finished, bare chest grazing his before you pull him back to your room. carelessly rummaging around in your dresser for pajamas, you keep your back to him as he pulls his boxers and sweatpants back on.

Eddie pulls the covers down, unplugging the fairy lights as you tug on the stolen tee shirt of his you found. Clicking off the radio, you join him in bed, curling into his side, a perfect fit. In the still, you realize the rain continues to pound down on the roof, the steady thrum soothing.

His eyes are heavy with exhaustion, lips slack on your temple, a tender reassurance, an unspoken testament of love. You let the silence go unbroken, hand resting on his chest, head on his shoulder, shallow breaths washing over his neck.

"G'night, Teddy."

"Night, love. Sweet dreams."

You stay like that until sleep pulls you under, lulled by the rain and Eddie's warmth, his arms secure around you.

[capricorn-0mnikorn]

In the spirit of "Reblog Your Own Work," here's a story I wrote almost two years ago, that I'm really proud of. I originally posted it in 5 parts, so to shake things up a bit, here it is all in 1 part. It's a retelling of the Grimm Brothers fairy tale "The Frog King," this time with aroace and disability representation, and the squicky elements of child marriage taken out.

Under the Linden Tree

Once upon a time, there lived a king who was widowed, and remarried. His first wife had been a true princess of a wealthy kingdom, and the daughters they had together, Zephyra and Aurora, were as lovely as a summer breeze and the dawn. His living wife had only became queen through marriage to him. But she was exceedingly lovely, and gracious, and kind. And because she was the only daughter in a house full of sons, the king thought surely she would deliver him a son of her own. Instead, he got a third daughter, whom they named Galantha.

As she grew, Galantha became even more beautiful and gracious, until, as she approached womanhood, she began to outshine even her mother. Her elder sisters, once happy playmates, now teased her, and reminded her, whenever they had the chance, that her lineage would never be as great as theirs, and that she was last in line to be married, and most likely to a baron, if not a common paddler.

Galantha would sigh, and say she knew this. She would also turn away and hide her smile. She had little interest in being wooed. And being the mother of a future king just seemed like an extra weight upon her head that she would rather do without.

But Fate and Nature had little care for her secret desires. Every day, she could feel the eyes of the courtiers watching her. Their murmurs of praise for her beauty and grace seemed like the constant drone of crickets in her ears. On festival days and market days, minstrels could be heard singing songs about how the sun, itself, was jealous of her beauty.

Whenever she could, Galantha escaped to her favorite place in the royal forest, where the Tree of Oaths stood: a linden tree with a trunk wider than the span of her arms, with leaves broader than her palm, and a well between the fork of its roots, formed from a thousand years of rain and dew dripping from the leaves above. According to the law, it was forbidden to tell a lie within its shade; according to legend, it was impossible. Its crown had spread wide enough to preside over murderers' trials, and lovers' weddings, since this kingdom had been the size of a village. And these were recorded with carvings in its bark, some so old that even the alphabets they were written in had been forgotten.

She would spend whole days here, tossing and juggling her golden ball (her favorite plaything), entranced by how it glinted in the dim light.

But the king started grumbling that she was neglecting her royal duties, that she was growing too old to spend her days amusing herself with a mere child's plaything.

Her mother would lay her fingertips on his arm, smile in that way she had, and, almost imperceptibly, shake her head.

Then, the king would sigh, and say that he would permit her private walks, for now. But soon, she'd have to grow up, and perform her duties for the court.

It was after one such scolding, when Galantha distracted by worries, that the ball slipped from her fingers. It sank into the well before her cry of dismay had escaped her lips.

She sat mourning her loss, and wondering if her father would ever let her go out into the forest alone again, when the biggest frog she'd ever seen popped its head out of the water.

"What would you grant me," the frog asked, in a perfectly clear human voice, "if I returned your golden ball?"

Galantha stammered a few syllables before she regained her composure. "Forgive me," she said, practicing her diplomacy as her father never imagined, "but you must understand how it would me unwise of me to negotiate with a complete stranger."

The frog blinked in the slow, deliberate, way that frogs had, and the princess took that as acknowledgment.

"Three questions, then," she said, "I think is fair."

The frog blinked again.

"First question: Are you a frog enchanted with the gift of human speech," she asked, "or are you a man trapped in the form of a frog?"

The frog responded with a long, rolling, croak. And then, as if startled by the sound of his own voice, disappeared beneath the surface of the water.

The princess sighed. Maybe it was true that the frog could not lie to her, here, but neither the legends nor the law said anything about answering her in her own language. When the surface of the water stilled, and the frog had not yet returned, she thought the interview over, and started for home.

She had not gone three steps, however, when she heard a small croak from behind her, sounding, for all the world, like an embarrassed cough.

So—a man, she thought.

She smoothed the smile off her expression and returned to the well's edge.

"Second question: is this form one of your own choosing?"

"No."

"Final question: Was this form imposed upon you as punishment for a crime, or the breaking of an oath?"

The frog (or rather, man) was silent. She was nearly ready to take that as a refusal to answer, and to walk away, without his help.

But then, the frog took a deep breath, and let out an uncertain "No." Then sighed wearily, in a way that was unmistakably human.

She smiled. "All right, then," she said, "I accept your offer. I will grant you anything you wish that's mine to give, short of my body, or my will."

"Then my wish is to pass between the walls where you have tread," he said.

She was taken aback. "That's all?"

"That is all I ask from you, Your Highness," the frog replied.

She nodded. "That price is certainly a fair one," she answered. "And I'll grant it freely, once you return with my treasure."

The frog disappeared below the water.

The surface grew still.

There was no sign that any living thing moved beneath. Her gold ball was heavy, she thought, and even very large frogs must have limited strength. So, with a sigh, she started the long walk home.

But soon, there was a "plip, plop, plip" on the path behind her. She turned around. The frog hopped after her, carrying her treasure in his mouth.

She gasped, and managed to not to laugh.

The frog dropped the ball at her feet. "You promised."

Galantha admitted that she had, and thanked him. As she lowered herself to pick him up, she was nearly overcome by a horrid feeling, as if her body, itself, were recoiling in disgust.

It took all her strength to resist hurling the frog to the ground. Still, Galantha strode home with the frog under her arm and the golden ball in her hand. She passed through the gate of her palace courtyard with her chin held high, barely acknowledging the guards.

And at that moment, the strange sensation of disgust faded so much, she hardly noticed it. She made her way to the throne room with a light and playful step.

Her sisters squealed in harmony at the sight of the frog, and hid behind their thrones. Her mother gasped, and looked a bit ill (and for that, Galantha was sorry). Her father was the angriest, rising from his throne, red in the face, and signaling for his guards. He had just opened his mouth to give his orders, when the frog addressed him in the most courteous and proper royal etiquette.

Galantha then broke her family's astonished silence by recalling, in the most flowery language she could imagine, how this wondrous frog had swum to the bottom of that unfathomed well, and retrieved her precious family heirloom, the golden ball.

"All he asked, in return," she concluded, "was to pass between the walls where I have tread. It seemed a small price to pay."

Upon hearing that, the king agreed. He insisted on leading a tour of the palace himself, with his wife and daughters behind in a small parade. He repeated the story the princess had told to each courtier they met, saying that, as a courteous and generous monarch, it was his duty to ensure that the just payment was given to even the lowliest of his subjects, even those as lowly as an ugly frog.

The frog-man under her arm, if he were able to show expression, was very good at keeping his opinion to himself. For her own part, Galantha struggled to hide her embarrassment.

The tour ended in the kitchen, and the king was making a show of his magnanimity toward the servants, sniffing all the dishes as they roasted and bubbled away.

As if struck by a sudden thought, he turned to the frog tucked under the princess's arm, and said, with a grand sweep of his arm: "It would be a great honor to me, Sir Frog, if you would stay, and be my daughter's special guest at dinner, tonight."

Her two elder sisters, bringing up the rear of their little parade, giggled behind their hands.

The frog shifted his weight under her arm and opened his mouth as if to speak. But in the end, said nothing.

Galantha was ready to object on his behalf, and her own. But her father looked her in the eye with a frown, daring her to disobey his wishes a second time that day.

She dropped her gaze to the floor. "Yes. Of course it would be my honor. Please, be my guest."

No sooner were those words out of her mouth than the strange, horrid, feeling strengthened once more, spreading from the frog like ink from a tipped bottle. She fought to keep from hurling him to the floor that very instant.

At dinner, an extra golden chair was put to Galantha's right, and on it was placed a fine silk cushion. The princess set the frog on the cushion as graciously as she could, and then she took a portion of each food on her plate, put it in a fine china saucer, and set the saucer on the cushion beside her guest.

But the frog objected: "That well was very deep and cold," he said, "and that golden ball was so heavy. If it weren't for me, your treasure would be lost forever. I should sit beside you, and eat from your own plate."

The princess was about to object that this was more than she had promised him.

But before she could say anything, her father the king replied: "Quite right. Quite right. A princess must always be a generous hostess."

So Galantha lifted the frog from the chair to the table, while Zephyra and Aurora squirmed and made faces.

In between bites, the frog and the king discussed political matters, and the state of diplomacy between the various neighboring kingdoms.

Galantha's mind raced, trying to figure out who this might be. She tried to change the subject, but her father was thoroughly charmed. The queen, when she caught her daughter's eye, smiled and shook her head in the same disapproving manner that she had with the king, and Galantha found that, she, too, could not resist her mother's wishes.

As the evening's chatter melted into yawns, the king said that since it was now dark, and it was a long way to the forest, their guest should spend the night.

Galantha agreed. and picked the frog up into the crook of her arm, preparing to carry her guest to the fountain the center of the royal courtyard, where he would be comfortable in the cool and damp.

But instead, the king said: "Of course, as my daughter's honored guest, you are welcome to sleep in her chambers."

So she was obligated to carry the frog up to her rooms. With every step, the strange feeling in her body intensified. Still, she walked to her rooms with as much courtesy as she could muster, filled the basin on the washstand with fresh water for the frog, and set him down.

"Please look away," she said, "as I change for bed."

The frog dipped his head, and quietly crawled behind the mirror.

Just as she about to slip under her covers, the frog came out from behind the mirror, and called out to her. "Is this any way to treat an honored guest?" he demanded. "To give your guest a cold, hard place to sleep, and keep the feather bed for yourself? I should like to lie in your bed, and be as warm as you are."

And with that, the princess's last bit of patience finally snapped. "If you want my bed, Sir Frog," she said, "you shall have it!" She picked him up in both hands, and, giving in to every shiver of revulsion, hurled him against the wall.

What happened next was such a shock, she spun on her heel as though pulling her hand from a fire: a full-grown man in her bed, alive, perfect as an artist's ideal, and naked as a frog.

"You're a prince?"

"I was a king, once."

She hugged herself, willing her heart to slow. "And the spell is broken now?"

He did not answer 'Yes.'

"I must," he said at last, "receive recompense for service rendered to a human, pass between walls where a human has trod, share a meal off a human's dish, and--" he took a breath, "share a human's bed from midnight 'til first cock's crow."

As if to punctuate his point, the hall clock chimed the eleventh hour's last quarter.

"You were afraid I'd say no, I suppose," she said, "if you'd told me this, when first I asked."

"I asked for everything I wanted from you."

"And I must only 'share' the bed?"

"Only that."

"Even so, you understand: Because of my station, this will count as a betrothal between us?"

The bed creaked as he shifted his weight. "Yes," he said, finally.

"And if I gave you the bed outright, and slept on the floor?"

She heard a catch in his breath that sent a shiver down her spine. "Please," he said.

"All right, then. Keep your face to the wall and your hands to yourself, or we will find out what happens."

When she was certain that he was faced toward the wall, under the covers, she lay down over them. She could feel him at her back, that strange, horrid feeling still there, though fainter, now, like the heat from a single candle. At some point, she must have fallen asleep, because she had the distinct sensation of waking up before the sun.

When, at last, she was released by the sound of the cock's crow, she rose quietly, careful not to wake the man sleeping behind her, and washed her face and hands.

The cock crowed a second time.

There was a silent flash of light in the corner of her eye. Glancing up, she saw a full set of clothes laid out across the dowry chest at the foot of her bed. The coat was of red velvet, with gold buttons, and there was a broad purple sash, embroidered with heraldric designs she did not recognize.

The princess stepped into the foyer of her bedchamber to dress in private.

At least it looked like a king's outfit, she thought, even though the stranger in her bed seemed far too young. But some, she reminded herself, inherit their throne before they're old enough to pull up their own stockings.

The cock crowed a third time.

She heard him yawn, the bed creak as he rose, and the unfamiliar rhythm of his bare feet on the floor.

She brushed and braided her hair as she listened to the rustling of cloth as he dressed himself.

When she heard that his boots were on, she took a deep breath, counted slowly to five, and stepped back into the main apartment of her chambers.

She'd prepared herself, but seeing him was still a shock. She looked away almost as quickly as she had the night before, and dropped into a curtsy. "Good morning, Your Majesty," she said, feeling the blush spread across her cheeks. "Please forgive me, for--"

His chuckle cut her off, and she glanced up. A smile spread from the corner of his eye to his lips.

"Forgive thee?" The smile faded, but his expression remained soft. "I should thank thee, instead." He looked down at his hands and flexed his fingers. "Thou saved my life."

"I-- what?"

"Though it feels odd, having so much bone, again," he said, instead of answering her directly, running one hand down his side, over his ribs. "Did I hear correctly, last night," he asked, changing the subject, "that thy name is 'Galantha?'"

"Indeed, Your Majesty," she said.

His brows knitted for a split second. "'Milk Flower?' 'Snowdrop?' Princess Snowdrop?" He seemed on the verge of laughing, but managed to swallow it down.

"That would have been Sire's choice," she answered, "but my mother overruled him, Your Majesty."

He cocked his head to one side. "Please. Don't let me have the advantage of thee. I am named 'Cinnabar'."

She studied his face. There was nothing about him that suggested the fiery hues of that dangerous stone. His complexion was as pale as someone who had spent years in the shadows. His eyes were the dark brown of late summer honey. And his hair was so black, like a raven's feathers, that it glinted blue.

"Cinnabar?" she repeated.

He chuckled, and seemed to be about to say something more, when there was a light, familiar, rap on her chamber door.

"Come in, Margarete," she said, without thinking.

Her lady-in-waiting opened the door and poked her head around. "Good morning, Your Highness--" Her eyebrows rose barely a hair, and she (almost invisibly) mouthed: "frog?"

The princess bit her lip to keep from laughing at the absurdity. "Good morning, Margarete. Is breakfast ready?"

"Yes, Your Highness. His Majesty waits on you." She curtsied quickly and backed out the door.

The young king tugged at his sash, smoothing wrinkles that weren't there. "Well," he said, "they're expecting us, though probably not like this." He offered her his arm.

After a moment's hesitation, she took it.

She could sense the servants watching them, in the well-practiced way of not seeming to watch them at all. Halfway to the stairs, Lady Caroline, who had once been her nursery maid, caught Galantha's eye as she passed in the hallway, and smiled softly.

He ended up leaning more on her, on the way down the stairs, than she on him, testing his weight with each step, but managed to hide his uncertainty as they entered the banquet hall.

Her father was standing at the head of the table, red-faced, with clenched fists. He glared at the richly dressed stranger, then at her.

"So, it's true!?" he said, "I wasn't imagining the whispering of servants!"

"Your Majesty," the queen said, laying her fingers on his arm, her voice light, and clear, and cold, as a silver bell, "remember your royal duty to invited guests."

"Invited? Invite-- guests?!"

Cinnabar bowed. "Good morning, Your Majesty," he said. "I hope you had a restful sleep."

Her father sputtered. "I know that voice!"

"I am honored you remember it. And may I say what a pleasure it was to be a guest on your table, last night."

"On? 'On my table'? That thing? Thou!?"

"Yes. That was I."

The king huffed, and, with a sweep of his arm, gestured at the sash that the young king wore. "This bunting and glitter-- are they true emblems of royal office, or are they some player's costume?"

"This sash, along with my scepter, and crown," Cinnabar said, his voice quiet but tense, "is, indeed, an emblem of royal duty and privilege, bestowed upon me according to the laws of my homeland."

The king turned his gaze on Galantha. "And am I to take it, then, that there must now be a wedding?"

She bowed her head. "Yes, Sire."

It wasn't until then that he seemed to notice all his guests waiting for him. He nodded and sat, and signaled for others to join him, adding: "I suppose we'll need another chair."

The young king smiled and nodded at the servant who brought it, as if he had been welcomed to the table with the same generosity as the night before.

Zephyra leaned over and murmured in her ear: "I wish thee the best, truly," she said, with a catch in her voice. "We had some happy times, didn't we?"

Galantha nodded and smiled as best she could through the flurry of quiet congratulations.

She was just beginning to relax when a servant set a large, sweetened, bread between herself and her betrothed, with the knife placed on his side of the platter. It was gilded with a glaze of egg wash and saffron, decorated with a pattern of sliced, toasted almonds, and perfectly sculpted into the shape of a frog, bulbous eyes and all.

He coughed and looked around at the faces of those seated near him.

"Oh, dear!" Aurora said, giggling, and then quickly added: "It's nothing personal, Your Majesty. This is a custom in our country, for good luck, and a fruitful marriage. Even the common people do this, though not so richly."

Galantha wanted to bury her face in her hands. Instead, she nodded. "I didn't think there was time to make one for us."

He laughed. "Oh. All's well, then," he said. He picked up the knife and studied the frog a moment, before slicing it down the middle, from nose to rump, revealing the stuffing of dried fruit, nuts, and candied citron.

Turning the platter so that both halves were equally within her reach, he waited for Galantha to make her choice.

She tried not to think how things might have gone differently, last night, as she put her half on the plate before her.

The young king smiled. He popped the eye from his half of the frog into his mouth, and chuckled.

The elder king was silent and frowning throughout the meal, which was consumed and cleared away with all the haste of a picnic interrupted by rolls of thunder.

Galantha was only granted enough time to change into the gown that had been set aside for her marriage ceremony. And her only wedding gift was a wallet of sewing and spinning tools, along with her mother's blessing bound up in it.

The phrase "Husband and wife" was barely out of the priest's mouth when they heard the rattle and clatter of a carriage outside.

Her new husband nearly sprinted through the chapel door as the carriage slowed to a stop.

It was one of the finest Galantha had ever seen, with gilded eagles on the finials of the top, and scroll work of inlaid gems in twisting, vine-like patterns along the side. The six horses pulling the carriage had silver bells in their bridles, though they, themselves, were the sturdy, piebald, sort that Galantha had seen pulling farmers' plows, rather than the parade horses in whom elegant coat color was prized.

And it was also odd, she thought, that with a carriage so richly appointed, that there was only the coachman as servant-- that there were no footmen attending, to help keep the carriage steady on the highway, to watch out for ruts, or remove obstacles in the road ahead. And she also noted that the gold braiding on the coachman's livery was just a bit frayed, and there were spots in the sleeves of his coat that had been expertly darned, with evident care. But what sort of kingdom was she marrying into, if so much wealth was put into things, but not people?

The coachman alighted, and was in the act of dropping to one knee to honor his master when the young king interrupted him, and pulled him up into an embrace.

"Heinrich? Heinrich!" he exclaimed. "My good man-- it- it's been too long."

Heinrich pulled away-- a little too quickly, Galantha thought. But he was still smiling, and there were tears on his ruddy, weathered, cheeks, dampening the neat white beard on his chin.

He sniffled, still smiling, and squaring his shoulders, turned and bowed to her. "Your Majesty," he said. And he offered his hand to help her up into the carriage.

"Please, Sir," she said, "before we go, there's someone--some place--I need to say 'goodbye' to."

The coachman's mouth tightened into a thin line, and his brow furrowed.

Galantha feared he would refuse.

But her husband spoke up. "I know the place," he said. "It's not far. I'll go with her, and make sure she won't get lost."

The coachman hesitated for just a moment, but then, with a quick bow of his head, said: "Very well, Your Majesty. As you wish."

And with that, her new husband laced his fingers firmly with hers, and strode off toward the path leading to the linden tree. Galantha had to walk in double step to keep up.

As soon as they turned a corner, and his golden carriage was no longer in sight, however, he let go of her hand. He leaned close. "This way, he won't leave without thee," he said.

"Would he do that?" Galantha asked. For a fleeting moment, she imagined running away, but just as quickly dismissed the idea.

"Heinrich's… Something's…" He sighed. "I'm sure he's just eager to get me home."

The path narrowed. He stepped back to walk a few strides behind her, giving her some privacy, but also driving her forward, not giving her a chance to tarry.

He stopped at the edge of the linden tree's canopy, while she walked up to its trunk alone, patting it as though it were a dear friend's shoulder. Then, on an impulse, she took a penknife from her pocket, and carved a 'G' and 'C', back-to-back, into the its bark, along with the date, to join all the ancient inscriptions recorded there.

Then, she cut one of the slender, leafy, branches to take with her. She just could not bear to leave this old friend behind entirely. She dipped her kerchief into the well, and wrapped the wet cloth around the cut end of the branch. Then she hurried back to meet her new husband.

He fairly pulled he along the whole way back, only slowing down as the path widened, to allow her to come up beside him, before quickening his stride again.

No sooner were they back in the carriage than the coachman cracked his whip, and they sped off at an almost unnatural speed, the horses in full gallop before they even had taken three strides at a trot. The landscape outside the windows was nothing but a blur.

"Heinrich!" the young king called, "Must thou drive with such haste?"

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," his servant called back. "But if we do not pass through the Capital's gate by sunset, all is lost."

Galantha looked down at the linden branch and bit her lip. How much had she risked, she wondered, for a mere sentimental token that wouldn't even last the week?

"We did not tarry long," her husband said, above the noises of the carriage. "All's well. All will be well." He put his fingers lightly on her arm to draw her attention, and managed a weak smile. "Heinrich is one of the most sensible men I've known. If he really thought our errand would waste too much time, he wouldn't have let us go."

Still, he seemed as full of worry as she.

"The spell?"

"It's broken. But not all trouble is magic."

Nothing more was said between them. After a while, Galantha realized he'd fallen asleep.

Suddenly weary, she leaned back and closed her eyes.

Memories slipped into nightmare. She was both juggling her golden ball, and trapped inside it: up and down, and back and forth, until she was falling without end, into an icy darkness.

Galantha woke with a start, and for a moment, she feared they'd missed the sunset, before realizing they were driving through a forest, trees on either side blocking out the sun.

He was awake, too, staring out the window.

"May I ask you something, Your Majesty?"

"Please, don't let rank stand between us; call me 'Cinnabar'. Interview, or conversation?" he asked.

"Both, I think."

He gestured toward the linden branch and opened his hand. When she passed it to him, he nodded for her to continue.

"Who cursed you?" she asked.

He sighed. "I don't know if anyone did. Thou asked if it were a punishment for a crime, or broken oath. Until I heard 'no' in my own voice, I'd long wondered the same thing." He seemed about to say more, but just grimaced, as if the thought smelled of something noxious.

"How long?" she asked, after a moment.

"I see no change in my own face. But Heinrich's--. We were—he was my assigned playmate, as a boy."

Galantha pushed down the thought that this made him nearly as old as her father, along with wondering if that mattered. "If no one told you," she asked, instead, "how did you know what would break the spell?"

He shrugged, winced, and rolled his shoulders. "The same way I know to scratch an itch, perhaps. I never thought it could be broken, until thou came to the well. I truly thought passing between the walls where you had walked would be enough."

"But then it wasn't."

"Then it wasn't, nor was the meal."

"And if Father hadn't invited you to dinner?"

"Well, there were so many others I could have asked, once I was inside."

"Whom?"

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Enough!" Annoyance rang through his voice. "We're puzzling over troubles that never came to pass."

"I'm sorry, Your M--"

"Eh?"

"Cinnabar. Forgive me."

"For this? Easily."

Galantha turned and watched the landscape roll past. The sun was high, now, and there were almost no shadows on the ground. The forest was already thinning, unfamiliar mountains visible through the trees. They'd left her homeland while she was sleeping.

Perhaps it was better this way, she thought.

"May I ask thee something?" he asked.

"Certainly, Y-yes." She waited for him to hand back the linden branch before the questions began. But he seemed to forget that it was even in his hand.

"Didst thou mean to kill me, last night?"

"Yes."

"Ha-ha! That was quick."

"Well," Galantha counted off on her fingers. "You wouldn't-- couldn't," she corrected herself, "even tell me if you were man or beast. Father was boasting about things Mother, my sisters, and I aren't allowed to whisper, and your demands were exceeding what I'd promised. For all I knew, you were a wizard, or an assassin in league with one."

"Hm," he acknowledged, nodding.

"And--" she stopped herself.

"'And'? What?"

"It's of no matter."

"It seems to be of a little matter, at least." He swallowed hard. "Dost thou fear me?"

She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Y-Cinnabar," she said. "But touching you-- being near you-- was horrid. It lent strength to my arm. Like, like…"

"A tunic woven from wool and stinging nettles? Only, so tight, that it's under thy skin?"

"Yes!" A chuckle escaped her. "Very!"

"The magic," he said. "I suppose, as the strands loosened their hold on me, they entangled thee."

He was so quiet, Galantha thought he'd fallen back asleep. Then he spoke: "Still, thou tookst pity on me."

She glanced at him before looking back out the window. The forest was behind them completely, now. The midday light made her squint. "You said 'Please.'"

He chuckled. "The magic word."

"You didn't have to. It was in your power, then, to, well--" she cut herself off.

He started to speak, then stopped himself, once, then again, before asking: "Wouldst thou have asked my forgiveness, if I'd been dressed as a common shepherd?"

"Maybe," she said. "But not so quick."

"What?! Wh-?"

"You were fluent in courtly idiom," she explained. "You were at ease dining with a king. That cannot be learned through tutoring. A shepherd's garb would have seemed a bigger deceit than a frog's skin."

He threw back his head and laughed. "If our laws did not forbid it," he said,"I'd appoint thee High Judge."

Galantha almost let herself laugh along with him, when she felt the carriage slow. She noticed hedgerows along road, and other signs that they were entering an inhabited place.

"Heinrich?" her husband called, sitting straighter, and scanning the view, "are we reaching the Capital? I don't recognize--".

"We are only half-way, Your Majesty," the coachman called back. "But our own royal horses have boarded at the inn's stables, so they will be refreshed for the homeward journey."

Soon, they were driving through the city proper. People in the streets stopped what they were doing to stare at the spectacle, as Heinrich navigated through the ever-narrowing streets to the ally at the inn-yard.

Heinrich, taking on the role of footman, alighted from his seat, and hurried into the inn.

A moment or two later, he emerged, leading someone Galantha thought must be the innkeeper.

It was only when Heinrich had come back to the carriage door that her husband looked down at the linden branch in his hand, seemingly aware of it for the first time since Galantha had handed it too him.

"It would be terrible if this were trod upon, or if someone mistook it for kindling," he said. "Would it be well with the if I gave it to Heinrich to look after?"

She managed a smile: "If you think it best, Y-Cinnabar," she said. She turned her face partly away from him, and lowered her veil, as her mother had first taught her, years ago, when she first realized how extraordinarily beautiful her daughter was becoming.

After Heinrich helped them down from the carriage, the young king handed the branch to his coachman, and murmured something in his servant's ear.

Heinrich frowned and shook his head, but he still accepted the linden branch with care. slipping it into the buttonhole on his lapel, to free up his hands, before turning his attention to the horses.

She could see the whites of the poor beasts' eyes, and their coats were twitching as though they were being swarmed by biting flies from head to foot, or as if they were draped in blankets of wool and stinging nettles. It must have been magic, after all, that allowed them to pull the carriage so swiftly, and so safely, over wilderness roads that were little more than ruts in the ground.

She turn to follow her husband and the innkeeper, who led them to a private corner, behind a curtain, where his wife served them a meal of soup and bread, with a smile and a few words of congratulations, before courtseying, and leaving to attend her other patrons.

They ate their meal in silence, not quite comfortably. With each bite, she was aware of the time passing. Should it really be taking this long to hitch up a fresh team of horses to the carriage? Or was it only anxiety that made the time seem to pass so slowly?

Galantha tried to think of pleasantries for conversation, but it was like fumbling for objects in the dark. Several times, she thought he would speak, but in the end, he said nothing, either.

And though he smiled at her whenever their eyes chanced to meet, there was a tension behind his features. Was it regret, or anger, or simple weariness? She couldn't guess, nor keep from wondering.

When Heinrich came, at last, to say that it was time to go, the linden branch was no longer in his buttonhole. And the slightest of smiles passed between master and servant.

Their silence continued in the carriage as they sped over the ground. When they had left her home, early that morning, the shadows were long and blue on the ground, stretching far out behind them. Now the shadows were long and blue again, and stretching out in front of them.

The land was hillier, now, and they rolled up and down like a ship at sea. They were driving ever closer to the mountains that she'd glimpsed through the forest trees. Towns, and farmland, and patches of wilderness sped past her window as if they were fence posts along the road.

Despite it all, it seemed to Galantha that they were standing still. The sun was so low in the sky, now, that whenever the carriage rolled down the slope of a hill, they were cast into shadow. She gripped the edge of the seat, and willed the carriage ever faster.

Her husband patted the back of her hand. "All's well," he said, barely audible above the screeching and rattling of the carriage, "all will be well." He pointed to the view ahead. "Almost home," he assured her.

And there, she noticed, growing ever clearer with each moment, were the walls of a city atop the mountain they were climbing, with flags flying from the watchtowers.

The road was growing steeper, now, and more winding, back and forth. Sometimes, the Capital City was in front of them; sometimes, out her side window, as the road they were traveling snaked its way up the side of the mountain. Miraculously, the sun seemed to slow in its descent toward the horizon, as if it knew that it had to wait for them.

And then, at last, the road leveled out, and the walls of the Capital City was directly before them-- so high that Galantha couldn't see the flags flying from the towers.

Heinrich finally slowed the horses' gallop to a canter, and then to a trot, as the great iron gate in the City's walls rose to admit them.

Trumpets blared a fanfare, welcoming them home, as the last sliver of the sun finally disappeared below the horizon.

And then, all of a sudden, came three, loud, metallic, bangs, louder than the blaring of the trumpets, louder than any of the complaints that the carriage joints and springs had made during their entire journey: a noise like giant watch springs breaking, or three swords being broken over stones, that left her ears ringing.

"Heinrich!" the young king called, "is the carriage-- are we--?"

"The carriage is fine, Your Majesty," he said. "Those were-- those were three iron bands I'd put around my heart."

"Heinrich, why?! Wert thou injured?"

"To keep it from breaking in two for grief, Your Majesty," he answered, "when you were lost to us."

Her husband slumped back in his seat, his shoulders sagging. "Oh, Heinrich." There was a catch in his voice, and Galantha noticed there were tears in his eyes.

Soon though, he sat upright, alert and tense, and, with a touch, drew her attention out the window.

The street was brighter than twilight, lit with torches mounted to balcony railings. A multitude of banners, of several different heraldric designs, were draped from nearly all the windows. Crowds had gathered, as if everyone in the city had left their suppers and come out of doors. Many were carrying weapons. Some had bows, a few of those more richly dressed had muskets on their shoulders, and a few looked to be carrying swords they didn't really know how to use, taken down from the attic, perhaps, or from the wall, where they had been hung in honor of an ancestor. But there was no chatter: no calling back and forth between friends, no traders calling out their wares, no children.

"Heinrich," he called, "is it a tournament, or--?"

"These are no games, Your Majesty," his servant answered, his voice grim.

The young king scanned the scene, his eyes flicking from person to person, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. He took her hand. A look of determination spread across his face, and he squared his shoulders.

As they wound through the streets, they continued to see people of all classes and trades, from beggars, to cobblers, carpenters to councilmen, all lined up and ready to fight each other, with whatever weapons or tools of their trade they had to hand. As the carriage passed by, the crowds shifted around them. Some slipped into alleys, or back behind the doors of their houses. But others walked up alongside the carriage, and behind, until they lead a massive parade all the way to the gate in the wall of the young king's palace garden.

Heinrich stopped the carriage, alighted from his seat, and came down to open the carriage door. "Your country rejoices in your return, Your Majesties," he said.

Her husband took her hand as he helped her down from the carriage. "Welcome home, my wife, my queen, Your Majesty," he said.

These words acted on the crowd like pebbles dropped dropped into water, and the people moved back, to give her room, though Galantha could sense their eyes on her, as they turned to see this stranger their king was bringing home. She was glad they could not see her blushing beneath her veil.

King Cinnabar bowed and smiled to those who bowed and curtsied to him, as he led her through the courtyard garden toward the palace. But he stepped over those who prostrated themselves, as if they were mere impediments in the road.

As her husband walked with her up the steps to the palace's doors, Heinrich followed a step behind his left shoulder, while others in the crowd tended to the horses and carriage.

It wasn't quite as still, inside the palace, as those in fairy tales she'd learned, where everything is frozen in time. She could hear distant footsteps, and distant voices. But compared to her own home, the air felt chill, and stagnant, as if there hadn't been enough people here, moving about, and carrying on with life.

Her husband put his hand on her shoulder. "Galantha, I have a wedding present for you."

She put out her hands, and felt the weight of it, first.

It was a flowerpot of white stoneware, with a decoration painted in a terracotta slip around the edge, of roses and grapevines. And planted there was her linden branch.

"I wanted to pick it out myself," he said, his voice sounding like it was far away-- like it was on the other side of a window, "but Heinrich thought it unwise for me to go through the market dressed like this. So he sent one of the stable boys instead."

Everything felt far away. The stone floor under her feet felt as unsteady as a stack of feather beds. She was so tired.

He guided her to a bench along one of the walls and sat down beside her. "Galantha? Your Majesty?"

She wanted to tell him she heard him. She wanted to say 'Thank you.' But the words disappeared in her throat.

"Your Highness?" he persisted, "Princess?" He brushed aside her veil and whispered in her ear. "Snowdrop?"

She meant to laugh at that, but it came out as a sob, first one, then another, and another, as unbidden, uncontrolled, and absurd, as a case of the hiccoughs. "I tho- I thought you'd- you'd thro--"

"Thrown it away?"

She gulped and nodded, holding her breath, to be sure she heard him.

"Why would I ever? I would never!" he said, as though it were one long word. "This is thy connection to home (mine, too, for a while). And it's a far stronger reminder of our promises than any ring-maker's trinket, or ink spilled on parchment. Hm? When it's our anniversary, we'll plant--"

Something invisible, as fine as spider silk, and sharp as a knife, snapped from around her own heart, then. And she wept. She couldn't stop. It felt like she would never stop.

But at last, the flood eased, and her breath came without catching in her chest. However long it had been, the light had shifted; it was truly night, now. Cinnabar was still there, his arm around her shoulder.

He was humming something in her ear. It sounded like it might be a children's rhyme, or a lullaby. It wasn't any she had heard before, though she could tell it was out of tune.

"Thou'rt a terrible singer," she told him, smiling.

He laughed, touching his forehead to her temple. "Always have been," he said, "every day of my life." He stood. "Come," he said. "Thou gavest me a tour of thy home. Shall I return the favor?"

She took his hand. "Yes," she said. "Thank thee, Cinnabar."

As they passed by a window, Galantha could see that her cheeks were stained with dust from the roads, her eyes were red from crying, and her braids were all askew. She was still a beautiful woman, perhaps, but no longer one that would make the sun jealous.

She sighed, and smiled.

[eliotqueliot]

Happy Valentine's Day, Queliot!

Chapter 3 of you want it darker? || dark king eliot is now live! As a Queliot gift for Valentine's Day!

This chapter does still focus on Eliot's grief, and Quentin's still technically dead (but not really/permanently?). But, as dark and angsty as this story can be, there's a strong emphasis on the Queliot love story. It feels essential to me. Hopefully you’ll agree! Big 🍑❤️ to all of you today (Happy Valentine’s Day, no matter when you read this!) (Yes, today this fic finally earns its E-rating!)

A big thank you to my collaborator @juliawickers❤️who in addition to all the support and inspiration, and creating the original concept, graphic, and fanmix❤️has made an edit for Ch. 2 and now a queliot au: you want it darker? || dark king eliot pin board with Ch. 3❤️

Summary for Chapter 3 specifically:

Eliot sees glimpses of Quentin everywhere. Hears his voice. Feels his phantom touch.

He knows it's really Q. And that no one will believe him. Telling Margo or Julia will only make them worry more.

Meanwhile, attempts to bring Quentin back continue to fail. Will a visit with an old friend help turn things around?

================

Thank you @queliotbingo! ❤️ This WIP as a whole will be marking my Resurrection/Reincarnation, Time Travel, Underworld squares

Thank you @ficwip for Hey, Sweetheart 2024! In addition to meeting the "sweetheart" challenge (several times!), Chapter 3 fits today's themes of 🗺️ Forest and 💕 mutual pining.

you want it darker? || dark king eliot (34561 words) by victoriaandalbert, EliotQueliot Chapters: 3/12 Fandom: The Magicians (TV), The Magicians - Lev Grossman Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh, Margo Hanson & Eliot Waugh, Margo Hanson/Julia Wicker, Eliot Waugh & Julia Wicker, Quentin Coldwater & Julia Wicker, Quentin Coldwater & Margo Hanson, Quentin Coldwater & Theodore "Ted" Rupert Coldwater-Waugh & Eliot Waugh, Quentin Coldwater & Theodore "Ted" Coldwater Characters: Eliot Waugh, Margo Hanson, Julia Wicker, Quentin Coldwater, Alice Quinn (The Magicians), Josh Hoberman, Fen (The Magicians), Rupert Chatwin | Dark King Sebastian, Jane Chatwin, 23rd Timeline William "Penny" Adiyodi, 40th Timeline William "Penny"Adiyodi, William "Penny" Adiyodi, Henry Fogg, 24th Timeline Alice Quinn (The Magicians), Kady Orloff-Diaz, Todd (The Magicians), Ted Coldwater, Hades (The Magicians), Theodore "Ted" Rupert Coldwater-Waugh, The Great Cock of the Darkling Wood, The Great Cock (The Magicians) Additional Tags: Grief/Mourning, Canonical Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Violence, Blood and Violence, Soulmates, queliot, endgame queliot, Underworld, Resurrection, Dark Fantasy, Margo Hanson is a Good Friend, Julia Wicker is a Good Friend, Quentin Coldwater Lives, Depression, References to Depression, References to Shadeless Julia Wicker, Shadeless Eliot Waugh, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Hand Jobs, Castle Whitespire, Mountain of Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fillory (The Magicians), Goddess Julia Wicker, Crying, Fix-It, Alternate Universe, Suicidal Thoughts, Afterlife, Ghosts, Souls, True Love, royal husbands, Magic, Fairies, High King Eliot Waugh, High king Margo Hanson, King Quentin Coldwater, Queen Julia Wicker, Suicide Attempt, Lucid Dreaming Series: Part 2 of You Want It Darker? Series Summary:

Eliot finds among Jane Chatwin’s things perhaps a way to bring back Quentin—but it comes at an enormous personal cost: during the ritual, Eliot is stripped of his Shade completely. Violently ripping the reigning Dark King from the throne, Eliot assumes the mantle of Dark High King—a truly malevolent force who will do anything to get Quentin back. Even if it means he becomes somebody the man he loves won’t recognize when Eliot rescues Quentin from the Underworld. By any means necessary.

—summary from you want it darker? || dark king eliot [graphic + fanmix] by victoriaandalbert

[real-team-luster]

Introduction: What's Up World!

Hey everyone, the name's Darrin, leader of Team Luster (The real one) I'm new to this whole Rotomblr thing, but one of my admins, Laurel, suggested I start this blog to give me something to do on off days. The work we do here at Luster is simple, really. We've got locations all over, but mostly in Hoenn and Kalos. The gems we sell are great for all occasions, and they're ethically sourced from Carbink and other Rock-type Pokemon in the area. Anyone who tells you we "harvest" Pokemon's gems is just plain lying. Our work is absolutely legal and, even if it wasn't, who's really getting hurt? Anyway, that's all from me. I'll post every now and then about how business is going, maybe bring my admins on every now and then. One last thing, though, remember that no matter what you're told, Team Luster is NOT an evil team like those Galactic or Plasma guys. /// OOC information and team members below the break!

Team Luster is an evil team, but closer to Yell or Star in that they want to accomplish a specific goal (in this case, harvesting gems for profit from wild Pokemon.) Their primary motivation is growing their business and expanding as much as possible.

In-universe, the extent of Team Luster's actions is widely not known, at least for the moment. They take measures to cover up their actions and seem legitimate to the greater public.

Mostly a comedic/low-stakes blog, I won't be getting Team Luster involved with any plots about blowing up the world or anything. They stay away from that.

Team Luster's members are frequently wrong about various things, especially Darrin, but they're fairly knowledgeable about business and battling.

Legendary/Mythical Pokemon are real in this world, but at least from Team Luster's point of view, are more like critically endangered species that just happen to have significant power rather than actual deities.

All of Team Luster's members are more than happy to accept battles! They may not win, in fact they likely won't, but it's not a big deal in their eyes. I don't imagine this will come up for a while, if at all, but they're also willing to accept new members.

I may update this every now and then if necessary, so check back once in a while to see if there's anything new! TEAM MEMBERS Darrin - Male - he/him - 48 - Leader and certified old man

Scar - Garchomp - Female - Moves are Sand Tomb, Crunch, Dragon Claw, and Scary Face - Ability is Sand Veil

Fang - Crobat - Male - Moves are Hypnosis, Screech, Supersonic, and Cross Poison - Ability is Inner Focus

Ghoul - Gengar - Male - Moves are Night Shade, Sucker Punch, Acid Spray, and Dream Eater - Ability is Cursed Body

Peridot - Crustle - Female - Moves are Bug Bite, Smack Down, Dazzling Gleam, and Rock Wrecker - Ability is Shell Armor

TEMPORARY (Not officially caught or owned by Darrin)

Coquillant - Terapagos - Female - Moves are Tri Attack, Rapid Spin, Ancient Power, and Protect - Ability is Tera Shift (Currently resides in the Area Zero Underdepths)

Laurel - Nonbinary - She/they - 25 - Admin and certified braniac

Fractal - Sableye - Female - Moves are Astonish, Disable, Knock Off, and Mean Look - Ability is Keen Eye

Alloy - Steelix - Male - Moves are Rock Polish, Dig, Iron Tail, and Stone Edge - Ability is Sturdy

Kira - Female - She/her - 19 - Admin and certified naive newbie

Fuzz - Combusken - Male - Moves are Quick Attack, Double Kick, Flame Charge, and Aerial Ace - Ability is Blaze

Nippy - Mawile - Female - Moves are Fairy Wind, Iron Defense, Crunch, and Ice Fang - Ability is Hyper Cutter

[loneamaryllis]

Week 3 of recs for @hprecfest

Day 18: A fairy-tale inspired fic

Byzantium by TreacleTeacups (Female!Harry/Tom Riddle, E, 54k)

A fic with damsels in distress, knights in shining armor, demons and curses. Harry is kind of feral in this, and there are multiple Horcruxes running around, it's delightful. The author describes the fic as 'an excuse to write gothic fairytale sexual tension', and oh boy is there sexual tension! A really enjoyable read.

Day 19: Fic with the hottest smut

Back For More by tullythefish (Snape/Reader, E, 126k with more chapters planned)

You haven't read smut until you've read tully's smut. Her prose is sizzling with heat, and the sexual encounters between Snape and the Reader are incredibly compelling, while the fic balances plot and smut perfectly. This fic also features one of the most intense Snape I've ever read! This is probably the fic I've reread the most. Try it and you'll soon be Back for More (ta-da).

Day 21: A thought-provoking fic

Fifty Shades of Truth by starcrossedgirl (Harry/Snape, M, 13k)

I can't say much about this fic without spoiling it. Harry is in a happy relationship with Severus. Meanwhile, Ron and Hermione are trying to convinced him that something is wrong. A really great fic!

Day 22: An unfinished fic (hasn’t updated in 10 years or author stated it been abandoned)

Principles by orphan_account (Female!Harry/Snape, E, 29k)

An A/B/O fic with Harriet as an Omega and Snape as an Alpha. I really like it for its slow burn and the worldbuilding around the premise. The author abandoned it but they wrote a summary of how it would have ended, so it still feels complete in a way.

It's also the fic that inspired me to write my own Snarriet A/B/O so it holds a special place in my heart.

Day 23: A soulmate fic

not you, not now by @racfoam (Female Harry/Voldemort, M, 382k with more chapters planned)

THE Harrymort soulmate fic, period. Featuring Snake!Face Voldemort and a Fem!Harry that's perfectly in character. The Harrymort scenes are a veritable feast of tension and each one is a delight. Harry's relationships with the other characters are also thoroughly showcased.

I'm in love with the way soulmates work in this fic, and all the worldbuilding around it. And also, the writing! The writing is so great. There are some sentences of this fic that are burned forever into my soul.

Day 24: A holiday fic

Mistletoe by spicedlantern (Female!Harry/Snape, M, 8k)

It's about mistletoe so I count it as a holiday fic. Snape is stuck under said mistletoe. He has one thing to do in order to free himself. Will he do it? You'll have to read to find out.

This fic is delightful and Snape is so Snape in it. Also, the pining! Spicedlantern writes the best pining.

[randomtwfan]

Alexander x Princess Eilonwy's royal wedding please ?

U've got it!!!

Sorry in advance if this is not what you expected. I really hope you enjoy it, but if you don't, I can try my best to rewrite it.

I am also sorry for making you wait. Like I told you, I struggle with GAD, and sometimes it's a little hard for me to go on with what I know I have to do. Thank you again for your kindness and understandment.💕💕

Now, have your story, I wrote it with my heart.

The Royal Wedding

After the stylist was done making one final adjustment in her hair, Eilonwy smiled proudly at her own reflection as she took in her appearence. Her beautiful, wavy blonde lockes were styled with a beautifu flower shaped clip that held part of it in a perfectly held bun and allowed the rest to cascade down her shoulders, contrasting with the light lavander shade of her dress. Holding the veil was a delicate tiara, with encrusted little diamonds and a round polished ametist in the center.

-You look divine.

She turned around to see Taran looking at her, the smile on his face mirrorring her own.

-Thank you.

-Feeling ready!

-It's the most certain I have ever been.

It had been 6 years since Princess Eilonwy had accidentally stumbled upon Alexander in the halls of Auradon Prep. Now, both of them were 19 and ready to vowl that they would spend the rest of their lives with each other. She would have him by her side rulling Prydain; all that was missing was the official cerimony for that: the Royal Wedding. And this was exactly what she was doing here today; with Alice, Jane Darling, and Tiger Lily as her Bridesmaids and Taran to walk her down the isle, she knew that her big day was going to be just as perfect as a dream come true.

Outside, the castle was beautifully decorated. With the kingdom flag hanging on the walls, a red carpet to guide her to the altar and especially gorgeous tables for all of their guests, the whole environament was everything they could have asked for -though it might have take a little bit of work on Alexander's part to convince Eilonwy that there was no need for more than five steps on their angel food cake. And of course, some playful comments from his best friend, and best man Lampwick, that she was going a liiiitle bit overboard. Just a little bit.

-I'm ready. -She assured.

-So let's get this started. -He offered her his arm, and she took it.

As the orchestra began playing the most harmonic symphonies, the cerimony started. First, an incredibly happy Alexander entered, his green eyes sparkling with happiness; then, Alice and Pinocchio; Jane Darling and her girlfriend Shanti; and finally Tiger Lily and Lampwick. Now, for the great entrance, it was Eilowy's turn. With Taran by her side, she took a step, and walked in.

Everyone stared in awe as the beautiful princess walked confidently down the aisle, the joy in her groom's eyes being reflected in her owm blue ones. The not so long, flowery tail of her lavander dress and veil flowed subtly behind her, and each step she took was marked with graciousness; this was her moment.

-You look stunning; even more than usual. -He whispered when she was close enough.

-You look amazing too. -She replied. It was incredible how he could still make her blush even after all this time toghether.

Fairy Godmother started the formalities, and all of the guests were paying the best attention, but the bride and groom were too busy contemplating each other for that. They felt in heaven. Finally, it was time for the vowls: each of them spoke from the bottom of their hearts, love dripping out of every word that came out their mouths, the glow in their eyes showing just how devoted they were to each other and how happy they were to make that official.

-I do.

-I do.

With a joyful expression, FGM said what was missing:

-You may kiss the bride.

Everyone cheered as Alexander pulled Eilowy to a passionate, deep kiss. And to close the moment, they exchanged the beautiful white gold rings, hers having a pointy diamond on top.

-I love you. -She said one more time, staring at his eyes like they were her world; and they do say that eyes are the windows of the soul.

-And I love you. Always will.

This is Disney, folks; you know how it ends, don't you? But as the friendly cliché messanger I am, let's put in words: they lived happily ever after. ;)